Archive of Our Own ^beta

It's... just a book.

It can do the unimaginable. It can erase someone so completely, so terribly, until they never existed in the first place. Until there is no memory of them, no trace of their life left. It is the most powerful book in the history of the universe, and yet... the Book of Life is really just a book.

Aziraphale strains against the miracle holding him still, his eyes fixed on that book. He burns with rage so strong that he can feel it escaping him. He can feel his angelic grace spilling from him furiously - it makes the ground of heaven shake and tremble beneath them. But no matter how angry he becomes, he cannot move. The Metatron has fixed him here, to make him watch.

Across from him stands the Metatron, smiling calmly. He meets Aziraphale's gaze.

"It's for your own good." The Metatron says, which he has said often since Aziraphale was promoted. "He will not stop until heaven is destroyed."

But Aziraphale knows that it's not the destruction of heaven that Crowley wants. He just wants peace. He just wants to live on earth, left alone until the end of eternity. Aziraphale would know, because it's all he ever wanted, too.

Aziraphale's eyes flicker to Crowley, who will not meet his eyes. He hasn't looked at Aziraphale since he was captured. He and Muriel had fashioned themselves battle outfits. Crowley's face is covered in war paint. But he is not angry. And he is not fighting anymore.

He is resigned to his fate.

Crowley's serpentine eyes stay fixed on that book. The longer they stand like this, the more Aziraphale can see Crowley come to terms with his inevitable end. At first, Aziraphale had seen terror in him. It has faded now into calm acceptance.

But Aziraphale's terror has not ceased. It grows stronger and stronger and stronger, until it consumes him whole. It is one thing to die. It is another to be erased, and Aziraphale could not bear Crowley to be erased.

He would forget everything .

Aziraphale won't think of that yet. It's not too late. Crowley is here. As long as he's here, Aziraphale can still save him.

"Is that everyone?" The Metatron asks. The angels have gathered. Muriel has been fixed in place like Aziraphale. Their cheeks are damp. Every now and then, they let out a little sob.

The angels hum in agreement. Michael and Uriel hang back to watch, expressionless. It makes no difference to them whether the demon Crowley is destroyed. But to Aziraphale... it is worse than death.

"Right." The Metatron claps his hands. "We are here to witness the erasure of the demon Crowley, who actively fought against the Second Coming, from the Book of Life."

Aziraphale chokes on his fear. It manifests as a flash of light, blinding them for a moment.

"Aziraphale." The Metatron says. "If you cannot behave as an Archangel, you will be removed from this courtroom."

What Aziraphale wants to do is shout and scream and destroy heaven himself - if he were someone else, he would. But he tries to calm himself. He has to be here. There must be something he can do.

"It is a shame." The Metatron says. "You had the opportunity to return to heaven as an angel, Crowley. Instead, you have betrayed the almighty, you have betrayed hell, and you have betrayed heaven."

Crowley's lips twitch.

"Do you deny it?" The Metatron asks. He has always been curious about Crowley, Aziraphale knows. Aziraphale sometimes gets the impression the Metatron quite admires him.

"Nope." Crowley drawls. He flashes the crowd a grin. "I work only for myself."

"You must be eradicated, before you inspire further rebellion." The Metatron says. "I'm sure you understand."

"I understand perfectly." Crowley says. "Would be a lot easier if I'd just never existed, wouldn't it?"

His eyes flicker to Aziraphale, at last. Aziraphale mouths no, strains against his bounds. He can feel tears burning in his eyes. Crowley looks away again.

"We do not do this lightly." The Metatron says. "But you have escaped death once before. It will not happen again."

And Aziraphale finally sees the Metatron, not as a voice of God, but as a selfish creature, who had never intended for Crowley to be an angel in the first place. The Metatron had known, of course he had known, that Crowley would never come back to heaven. It was manipulative, it was cold - it was just like the rest of heaven.

Aziraphale watches Crowley carefully. He had hoped Crowley had some trick up his sleeve, some sort of plan, but it was a foolish hope. Crowley had not expected to be ambushed. He had always been an optimist, and they had always won.

Not this time.

"Do you have anything to say in your defence?"

"Nah, I'm good." Crowley says. "Just get on with it."

How had they gotten here? From working together to being on opposite sides. From saving the world to being erased from it. Tears stream down Aziraphale's cheeks now, hot and angry. 

"No last words? No clever quip?" The Metatron asks. Curious, probing. He glances at Aziraphale with a twinkle in his eyes. Look, his eyes say, I've won.

"It will be forgotten anyway."

"I suppose so." The Metatron agrees. "But you should feel special. You are the first ever being to be erased from the book of life."

"That you know of." Uriel pipes up.

"Very true." The Metatron says. "It is a tragedy, isn't it? To be forgotten."

Crowley meets Aziraphale's gaze again. He smiles slightly, a sad little thing, the sort of smile that asks what happened to us?

"Anything to say, Aziraphale?" The Metatron asks. The Metatron has always disguised cruelty as kindness. His words dig the knife further into Aziraphale's chest.

“I-" Aziraphale starts.

And there is so much to say to Crowley. I love you, I love you, I love you - the three words he has never spoken repeat themselves in Aziraphale's mind, but even now, Aziraphale cannot say them. He tries instead to beg Crowley to stay, to do something. He tries to ask for forgiveness, he tries to tell Crowley how good he is, but all he can do is apologise.

"I'm sorry." Aziraphale manages to say.

Crowley's face softens.

"Don't worry, angel." He says gently. "You won't even notice I'm gone."

Aziraphale lets out a sob. How doesn't Crowley know that every day without him in heaven has been slow and lonely and boring, that Aziraphale has longed to see him for so long? Crowley will die not knowing, but Aziraphale can't find the right words. He never can.

He tries with everything inside of him to break the miracle the Metatron has cast on him, but it holds strong. He feels he is pushing against a brick wall. But there's no choice but to try. Aziraphale can't allow this to happen.

"Goodbye, Crowley." The Metatron says. He seems wistful, even a little sad, as he presses a long, gold quill to the book.

The book glows. Golden words lift from the page and into the air, and as they flicker in front of the crowd Aziraphale realises these are the pages and pages and pages of Crowley's life. And on almost every page, there is Aziraphale.

Crowley watches his life rise into the air. Aziraphale can't bear to look at the words, so he looks at Crowley instead. He memorises him. His nonchalant position, his golden eyes, his hair and his clothes and everything until he has committed Crowley to memory. He won't forget Crowley. He won't.

The words finish. Crowley's eyes flicker back to Aziraphale, just quickly. He catches Aziraphale's gaze.

"I thought it would end with us ." Crowley says. It's a little cruel of him, but he doesn't stop himself. 

Aziraphale's heart breaks in two, breaks again into four, breaks again until it is in a million small shards.

When Crowley speaks again, it's softer. 

"Goodbye, angel."

Aziraphale snaps. Heaven erupts into golden light, illuminated with divine wrath. Heaven trembles and shakes as if struck by an earthquake. He breaks free of the miracle, which should not be possible, but he does, and he runs to Crowley, and he holds him in his arms, close and warm and tight.

Crowley had seemed so brave, so unconcerned by his death, but in Aziraphale's arms he trembles. He grips Aziraphale in return, but his hands feel light and airy, as if they're fading away.

"Don't go." Aziraphale says. But he is pulled from Crowley with strong hands.

"Aziraphale." The Metatron says gently. "It is too late. Don't torture yourself like this."

Crowley is becoming transparent. Aziraphale can see the pale walls of hell behind his eyes. He shakes his head, cries in earnest. 

But it is too late, and Crowley is gone.

The forgetting is not instantaneous. It will take a long time for memories of Crowley to disappear. Perhaps that's worse. Perhaps the slow forgetting is the real punishment. 

Aziraphale looks at Metatron and curses him, curses him in front of God and the angels of heaven. Then he holds his grace close, and he performs the only miracle he can.

He remembers.

Time is not as humans imagine it.

Angels can flick through time as if looking through a book. The Metatron had meant it when he had said he was looking through Aziraphale's history - time can be watched like a TV screen,  if angels so desire. They cannot change anything. Only the Book of Life could do that. But they can observe. In fact, they are encouraged to, as a form of self-reflection.

Crowley's past is slowly being erased, backwards through time. So Aziraphale follows it.

He witnesses Crowley's arrival in heaven the day before. How Crowley had tried to stop the second coming. He had spoken to Christ directly. He had tried to get the angels on side. And it had almost worked, because many of the angels, thanks to Aziraphale's changes in heaven, had already become disillusioned with the current state of things.

Aziraphale witnesses Crowley's plans with Muriel, who had become very fond of earth, and was pretty devastated to learn it would be destroyed. He witnesses Crowley's budding friendship with Nina, who found his grumpiness rather charming, because she herself was the same. He witnesses the subtle miracles Crowley performs to ensure Maggie's record shop stays afloat. He witnesses Crowley's initial reactions to Aziraphale returning to heaven. His drinking, his anger, his endless drives.

Aziraphale does not want to recall their last moment in the bookshop together. But he must. It is the only chance he will have. So he stands and watches Crowley's honesty, his earnestness. He watches himself beg for Crowley to come with him. He feels his heart ache all over again, feels that kiss as if it was the first time. 

He watches Gabriel and Beelzebub's happiness with a lump in his throat. He watches himself hope and hope and hope and glance at Crowley as if they could be just like that. 

He watches their adventures after Jim arrives, the laughter and the misunderstandings and the precious, peaceful, fragile existence they'd lived in for a while. He watches himself be cautious, watches himself never really accept Crowley's affection. He sees parts of Crowley he'd never seen before, like Crowley's coldness towards Jim, his anger at Gabriel's words, and he loves Crowley so deeply it hurts.

Aziraphale watches all of it with a lingering sense of regret. What could they have done differently? He wonders this to himself as he watches himself and Crowley perform their miracle together. If they had worked together like that all along, what could have changed?

Their lockdown memories come next. They had phone calls every now and again, their little life together growing and growing even with the distance.

And then, before all of that, is the Ritz.

Aziraphale tries to savour this one. How happy they'd been! The sound of the nightingale brings tears to his eyes. He watches his own happiness like he's looking at a stranger. How had they lost this? Of all their memories, this remains one of Aziraphale's favourites.

On and on the memories go. Crowley spent so much time with him - he was Crowley's life, and Crowley was his. Aziraphale watches them stop Armageddon. He watches them fight and argue and come back to each other.

He watches Crowley break down in the burning bookshop. Someone killed my best friend. Aziraphale could never have imagined Crowley's grief. It takes his breath away.

He watches Crowley talk to God. It strikes Aziraphale. He'd never known that Crowley still thought about his fall. It was so sad to think of, Crowley's confusion, his despair.

Aziraphale watches them have fun looking after Adam. He watches their secret little meetings. He watches Crowley take the anti-Christ in his moses basket. 

The more he watches, the more desperate Aziraphale becomes. The recent memories are already fading - he can feel the sense of loss inside of him. He keeps going. He combs through history, through every time they met one another. He sees every time Crowley lied to hell about his achievements. He sees every time Crowley did something kind for Aziraphale.

In his life, Crowley had been so good. Aziraphale came to that conclusion a long time ago, but it strikes him with clarity now. How could God be so wrong? Crowley always did the right thing. It was heaven, Aziraphale thought, who was wrong. He wonders for a moment whether that thought should make him fall. But deep in his heart, he knows he's right.

Crowley should have been worshipped in heaven. He should have been adored. But as it was, Aziraphale was the only ever being who adored Crowley, and he didn't do it right.

Too quickly, Aziraphale finds himself and Crowley in Eden. 

"That went down like a lead balloon." Crowley quips. If Aziraphale could go back, he would laugh and agree, and he would keep Crowley by his side for the rest of eternity, right from this point.

But the memory fades. And Aziraphale is forced to watch Crowley fall. He sees Crowley's disillusion with heaven, with God, the emptiness in his eyes as his grace is taken away. And then he sees Crowley's wonder, too. His love of the galaxies and the universe and the stars.

It is that naivety, that wonder, that is in Crowley's eyes when they first meet.

Aziraphale watches Crowley plan in detail the small section of the universe he has been assigned to. He watches Crowley's excitement. Aziraphale watches himself become completely and utterly enamored by the angel beside him.

He stands with his younger self, surrounded by stars, and once again all he can see is Crowley. He loves Crowley so deeply, so completely. He has just watched every single one of Crowley's memories, from the end to the very beginning, and he still loves him just as much. Even more.

For a moment Aziraphale is convinced that he loves him too much for any of it to be forgotten. He could defy time itself, he could remember.

"Its time to go." The Metatron says. He places a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder.

Aziraphale looks to his left with tears burning in his eyes.

"Not yet." He says.

"We have things to do."

"What does it matter?" Aziraphale asks. He looks around him, the stars becoming unfamiliar. "What's the point of any of it without-"

Without-

Without who?

Aziraphale swallows. An image of someone lingers in his mind, but he can't remember their name. All he can feel is a deep, deep sense of loss.

Grief. 

He is crying, but he doesn't know why.

"When you leave here, the universe will be very different." The Metatron says. "But without the demon, and without your irritating attachment to him, the second coming should be able to go ahead."

Aziraphale looks at the Metatron, confused. 

"Sorry?" He asks.

The Metatron squeezes his shoulder.

"I know how much it hurt." The Metatron says. "Well done, Aziraphale. When you leave here, it will no longer be painful. You will be as you have always meant to be."

Aziraphale considers this. He doesn't know why he's in space, why the Metatron is there, why he is so sad. Why does he hurt like he has had his insides carved out? He rubs the tears from his face and offers the Metatron a polite smile.

"Right." The Metatron says. "Shall we go?"

Aziraphale nods, still confused, and everything changes.

Without Crowley, the universe is a little different.

Job's children and goats are destroyed. It is a moment Aziraphale still remembers with despair. But while Aziraphale is more and more disillusioned, he is not disobedient. He lives his life on earth quite comfortably, but without food or drink, and without any sort of fun. He follows the plans for Armageddon, albeit reluctantly, but he is relieved when it is prevented by the humans (the anti-Christ is still mixed up - demons are not just bad at spelling, but any sort of admin work that requires careful precision). Gabriel and Beelzebub will still run away together, though Aziraphale has yet to hear of it. 

Aziraphale still has his bookshop. He still drives customers away. But the little spark of righteousness and rebelliousness inside of him has grown dim with no one to keep it alight. 

Above all, Aziraphale is awfully, dreadfully, completely, lonely.

He doesn't have the words to describe loneliness, but there is an emptiness inside of him that he's never quite been able to fill. After 6000 years alone on earth, he has come to accept it as the  way things are.

So yes, without Crowley, the universe is more or less the same. But there is one thing different.

Aziraphale is so unhappy.

One evening, a few years after the failed apocalypse, Aziraphale settles down at his desk with a book and thinks to himself, there's something missing.

It's a strange thought to have. He looks at his desk. There should be something there, in the space beside his book, but he can't quite recall what it is.

He stands. He walks to the back of his bookshop. He thinks, there should be something here. He doesn't know what.

He miracles a kettle. He plugs it in. It boils. The entire time, Aziraphale thinks incredulously, what am I doing? But without memories, all he can do is miracle a mug and a tea bag and drink a cup of tea, without the faintest idea what he's doing or why he's doing it.

If he had memories, he would know it was because Crowley had introduced him to tea, and he had not stopped drinking it since. He would know it was because tea tasted good and brought him warmth and pleasure. 

But the Aziraphale without Crowley drinks, and almost spits it back into the mug out of fear of being caught by heaven, sullying the temple of his body. But he swallows, and delights at the taste and the feeling of warmth that spreads through him. At the same time, Aziraphale grows dreadfully sad, without the faintest idea why.

The strange feeling of pleasure and sadness lingers with him as he finishes the cup of tea. 

Then there is a knock at the bookshop door.

Aziraphale hurries to hide the mug of tea. He opens the bookshop door.

"Good evening." He says. The man in the doorway offers him a smile. They have not met before. "Might I ask who you are?"

"Aziraphale." The Metatron says. "It is I. The Metatron. I appreciate it's our first ever meeting in person."

"Oh!" Aziraphale's eyes widen. For most of his time on earth, he has been left alone, apart from the occasional conflict with hell's representative on earth, who thankfully he didn't really run into much. Why would the Metatron be here?

"Can I come in?"

"Of course!" Aziraphale opens the door, and the Metatron slips inside.

The Metatron sits at Aziraphale's desk, in his armchair. Aziraphale feels a stab of irritation.

"So," The Metatron says. "How is earth?"

"The same as always." Aziraphale says. "Why? Is something going on? Have I done something wrong?"

"No, no, quite the opposite." The Metatron says. "In fact, you've been doing a splendid job on earth."

Aziraphale smiles, pleased. It's nice to have his work appreciated. Granted, he didn't quite deserve the praise - he was quite lazy with his miracles sometimes.

"I've come to offer you a position."

Aziraphale's pleasure fades, a little. He's quite content stationed on earth.

"The supreme Archangel Gabriel has left heaven." The Metatron says. "I want you to take his place."

Aziraphale feels a sharp pain in his head.

"Sorry?" He asks. The Metatron, concerned, rises to his feet.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine." Aziraphale says, touching the point on his temple that still ached. He feels as if he's been here before. "Um, do you not think there's a better angel for the job? Michael, or Uriel, or-"

"But your commitment to your angelic duties is better than any of the others." The Metatron says, which Aziraphale knows isn't true in the slightest. "I've been looking back at your assignments. You're a leader, Aziraphale. Heaven needs your fresh ideas."

Aziraphale knows he has no choice than to say yes. Without Crowley, the idea of going against heaven is even more unimaginable.

"Alright." Aziraphale agrees. "But my bookshop-"

"It will be looked after."

Aziraphale nods. He looks around at his bookshop. He is very fond of it, but without Crowley, there are less memories stored here. Just his books. His little bit of peace and quiet.

The Metatron smiles, pleased by his obedience. He turns to the door. And as he does, Aziraphale's head hurts again, and the Metatron is replaced by someone else. Someone with golden eyes, someone who Aziraphale almost recognises. He blinks, and it is only the Metatron.

"Are you coming?" The Metatron calls to him.

Aziraphale hurries outside. On the sidewalk, a car is parked. A 1933 series Bentley. But when Aziraphale blinks, it disappears.

The Metatron walks to the elevator. Aziraphale looks around at Soho feeling lost, feeling strange and unsure. He follows the Metatron. He looks back, as if expecting to see someone behind him.

"Aziraphale?" The Metatron asks.

"I-" He swallows. He aches. "I-"

He turns his head again. There, behind him, leaning against his car - Crowley. The name echoes through his mind. It feels right.

"Crowley." He says aloud.

The Metatron's eyes flash.

"Who?" He asks, lowly.

Aziraphale tries the word again, and again. Mismatched memories come to him. A pile of books rescued from bombing. A gun. A bottle of wine. The end of the world. A nightingale. A glass of champagne. To The World.

Goodbye, angel, says a voice in his head.

And suddenly, time rearranges itself. The missing parts of Crowley slot back into place. The force of Aziraphale's love, so divine and so holy and so strong, it rewrites Crowley into the book of life. Suddenly Crowley exists again, in every moment that had been erased.

Aziraphale had missed Crowley so strongly, he had done what only God could do. He had brought him to life.

Suddenly, Aziraphale finds himself kneeling in heaven, with Crowley in his arms. The book of life is on fire.

Crowley looks down at himself, surprised.

"What?" The metatron says. His voice is quiet at first, then louder. "How is this possible?"

Aziraphale takes Crowley's face into his hands. He was gone, and now he isn't, and Aziraphale smiles so brightly that it looks like heavenly light.

"What happened?" Crowley asks, wide-eyed, relieved.

"I remembered you." Aziraphale says.

Crowley's eyes widen even further. He searches Aziraphale's face.

"You what? But that isn't possible."

"I know." Aziraphale giggles. 

"I was written out of the book. I never existed."

"I know!" Aziraphale's happiness makes him glow, literally, alighting heaven like a million candles. "Oh, Crowley, of course I remembered you, of course I did."

Crowley swallows. He seems stricken by Aziraphale's insistence.

"But you-" He tries again. "But you left me."

"I missed you so terribly." Aziraphale says, all in a rush. "I was so lonely, Crowley, every day, you must know, surely you know."

Crowley shakes his head.

"Crowley." Aziraphale says. "When you were being written out of the book, I watched your entire life. I saw everything. I saw all of you."

Crowley's eyes flicker away from his own, as if scared to be seen.

"I love you." Aziraphale can finally say, at last. Crowley looks back at his face sharply. 

"What?"

"I do, Crowley, oh I do." Aziraphale says, and he's so happy to have Crowley back that he's crying, and he pulls Crowley's face closer and kisses him deeply. 

Crowley melts against him. Aziraphale kisses him and kisses him and kisses him, for all of the times that he was never brave enough to, and as he does he holds his memories of Crowley close to him, in fear they'll be taken away.

He pulls away to find the angels have backed away from them. Even the Metatron looks fearful.

"You are just an angel." The Metatron says. "Only God Herself can rewrite someone into the Book of Life."

Crowley is smiling now, too.

"Well." He says. "Who wants to try and do that again?"

None of the angels move. They seem frozen in place, fearful of Crowley and Aziraphale's power. The two of them have defied death before, but this time, the angels are terrified. Even the Metatron swallows.

"I suggest," Aziraphale says lightly, still holding Crowley close to him,  "That you leave us alone now."

All at once, the angels run away. The Metatron keeps his eyes locked on them, but even he begins to retreat backwards.

And once they have all left, Crowley and Aziraphale laugh.

"Angel." Crowley says, through tears of laughter. "You saved me, this time."

Aziraphale grins back at him, pleased.

"Of course I did." He says.

"They should leave us alone now." Crowley says. His laughter dies. He looks into Aziraphale's face, and he rests his hand against Aziraphale's face nervously, his fingers trembling. Whether it's the initial shock or the thrill of touching him, Aziraphale can't tell. "For good."

Aziraphale nods.

"You can go back." Crowley says. "You can still be the supreme archangel. Nothing has to change."

"I-" Aziraphale says. "I think my work here is done."

Crowley makes a surprised noise.

"The angels have started to organise." Aziraphale says. "There is going to be a rebellion against the upper levels soon."

"Oh!" Crowley smiles again. "Well, that's interesting."

Aziraphale nods.

"There is going to be change around here." He says. "I want to see it. But I also-"

He tilts his face into Crowley's hand, and kisses his palm.

"I also want to be with you." Aziraphale says.

Crowley goes very still. He makes another noise, deep in his throat.

"Angel..." Crowley says. "Last time, in the bookshop, I-"

"Don't apologise. I won't either. But I think..." Aziraphale pauses a moment, and tries to find the words. "We've never really talked before. And I think we need to talk about a lot of things."

Crowley nods.

"And I think I can finally accept," Aziraphale is brave, "That I would like to spend eternity with you."

He finishes the sentence that Crowley couldn't. And I would like to spend-

The tears in Crowley's eyes fall. He smiles.

"Yeah." Crowley says. "Me too."

Crowley kisses him, gentle now, reverent.

"I'd remember you too, you know." Crowley says, when he pulls away. "I could never forget, I-"

"I know." Aziraphale says, and of course he does, because he had done what only God could, and he had brought Crowley back.

For the first time in heaven, a nightingale sings. Crowley and Aziraphale listen to it for a moment. And then they go home.