Warning, this fic may include: Deus Ex Machina, SlightlyApathetic!Aziraphale, Alternative Character Interpretations, Aziraphale sauntering vaguely downwards, happy ending

Reviews and criticism are highly welcome.

Disclaimer: Good Omens belongs to Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett.

They both knew this was going to happen sooner or later.

It has been four weeks into the rest of their lives. To Crowley and Aziraphale's relief, the folks Up There and Down Below seem to have forgotten their little mishap.

They were relieved too soon, for Adam's influence was weakening, and the two sides were beginning to remember.

"Hello, dear, this is Aziraphale's err... voice mail, I'm terrible sorry that I can't pick up the phone right now. Please leave your message after the beep and I'll try to get back to you as soon as I can. Blessings. I hope I'm doing this right... Hmm? Oh, this button?"

-BEEP-

Ah, right, still having a meeting Up There. He probably still haven't figure out how to use the answering machine anyway. Oh well, it was worth a try. Crowley sighed grimly as he went and retrieved the flask of holy water from his safe.

When Aziraphale returned from his long meeting and recent demotion, the first thing he did was to call Crowley, on both phones. Neither were picked up. This was worrying, for Aziraphale had remember Crowley proudly telling him about the new Sell-Phone he had bought, and how he can take it anywhere and pick up calls at any time.

So the next thing Aziraphale did was to pay a visit the demon's mansion. He found a broken Bentley, a smoldering circle of black sludge (thankfully, not Crowley, judging by the pile of 19th century clothes on top of it), a messy room, and lots of blood and feathers.

Aziraphale didn't find Crowley's body. He wasn't sure whether he should feel a little relieved about this, but by the look of things, it really wouldn't make much of a difference.

He had let himself sat on the bed, staring at the little circle of dried blood on the carpet. This might or might not have went on for hours.

So... what now? Aziraphale found himself thinking. What now?

Crowley was a valuable business partner, and more recently, a friend. Aziraphale was certainly very fond of the demon. That being said, he was also very found of humans. Having lived for 6000 years, Aziraphale had witnessed countless human deaths. Many deaths were of individuals that he was particular fond of. Deaths he could have had easily prevented. Yet he didn't, because humans die, and souls must go to where they belong, Heaven or Hell. That's ineffability.

So although Crowley is a friend, he's also a demon. Demons don't die (easily), but they still belong to Hell. So if Crowley's demon colleagues have came to collect him and took him back to where he belong, Aziraphale is in no place to deny them.

Anyway, haven't they always knew this would happen?

"What have you got to loose?" Aziraphale had asked, when they were planning to face Lucifer.

Azariphale stood up, and proceeded to clean the room. Gently, he picked up the feathers one by one, and wrapped them up with a towel. Then he miracled away all the blood, righted the potted plants, mended the broken furniture, and cleaned the little circle of black sludge. He thought, hoped, that one day, when they're done with him Down Below, Crowley may want to return to this. When he walked out of the mansion he also mended the Bentley. Crowley loves that Bentley. When all this is done, Aziraphale took the little pack of feathers, and headed back to his bookshop.

He spent the night drinking alone.

"The point is.. The point is... The point I'm trying to make, is the dolphins. That's my point..."

The next two days were spent feeding ducks at the park (the ducks did not rush towards him hungrily without seeing his partner in black suit), reading, and distributing divine ecstasy. There were no news from Heaven, and no news of Crowley. It almost seemed as if life had fell back to it's monotonous pattern, before the whole Antichrist business, before Crowley's frequent visits. Perhaps this is fine, Aziraphale told himself. Even if Crowley was still here, there was no reason for Aziraphale and Crowley to keep in contact anyway, seeing how the world was no longer in any danger of an impending apocalypse.

"Why are we talking about this good and evil? They're just names for sides, we know that."

Aziraphale noticed the flashing red light on his answering machine on the third morning, while cleaning up the empty wine bottles. Realizing it's probably trying to tell him something, Aziraphale pressed the "PLAY" button.

There was 20 seconds of static noise.

-BEEP-

Followed by two more seconds of static noise.

-BEEP-

"Right, still up there- Oh what's the point, it's not like you're going to remember to check this thing anyway."

-BEEP-

"Actually, by the time you're back you'll probably already know, that is, if you ever get back here. So maybe you'll never get to hear this. Right, that's good. My superiors Downstairs are looking for me. So if I'm not here when you come back, then there isn't any point in looking for me. Nothing you can do about it. I just... uhh, I just want to say that, uhh... it's nice knowing you too. Trying to prevent the apocalypse and almost taking on Lucifer and all, that was... umm... good, right. So... Thanks, I guess. That's all, good luck, if you even get to hear this."

-BEEP-

"..."

-BEEP-

"Actually, Angel, I really want to see you right now, oh well."

-BEEP-

"You have no more messages. To repeat these messages, press REPLAY."

"..."

-BEEP-

"..."

-BEEP-

"Right, still up there- Oh what's the point..."

Crowley's voice echoed throughout the bookshop.

When it comes down to it, angels really aren't all that sentimental. Sure, they're made for goodness and compassion, but they carry these characters with a professional detachment. Angels have no need for companionship, and feels no loneliness nor pain.

When it comes down to it, Aziraphale is still an angel. Despite how much time he have spent with the humans, despite going "native", an angel will still be an angel. He had spent most of his 6000 years with little company, and if he's perfectly honest with himself, he never felt lonely. He was willing to kill an eleven years old boy to prevent the apocalypse, and would had done it with no remorse if it was necessary. Aziraphale is an angel, and angels does not experience loss.

(Aziraphale was perfectly content with his apathy. It's always been Crowley who saves the doves, who tells him to think of the dolphins, who convinces him to defy Heaven and prevent the apocalypse. But now Crowley isn't here, and there's no one to compel Aziraphale to retrieve a demon from Hell.)

When it comes down to it, angels need reasons. To protect, to defend, to maintain order, to make right.

When it comes down to it, Aziraphale would dive down straight to Hell if Crowley had said "help me." Crowley didn't say that, Crowley said that there's no point. So Aziraphale was facing the lack of a reason.

Once again, Aziraphale pressed the REPLAY button.

Aziraphale tried to pour himself a cup of tea, it ended as a stain on his sleeve. Absent-mindedly, he miracled the tea stain away. He's been putting the voice messages on repeat for the whole afternoon. He's not quite sure what he's looking for, but surely, there must be something he missed.

"uhh, I just want to say that, uhh... it's nice knowing you too. Trying to prevent the apocalypse and almost taking on Lucifer and all..."

They were going to take on Lucifer back then, with nothing but a flaming stick and a gas pipe, Aziraphale thought. But that was for the fate of the world. That was penance for our meddling.

"I'll have known, deep down inside, that there was a spark of goodness in you." Aziraphale remembered himself saying.

No, Aziraphale decided. That was because he was with Crowley. It had always been Crowley. If it weren't for Crowley's persuasion, Aziraphale would have followed The Great Plan, he would have let the sky burn and the sea boil and watched as people screamed. Aziraphale would have killed the boy, if Crowley wasn't there with him. Aziraphale had always assumed that he wanted to bring out the goodness in Crowley. But that wasn't true, it was always Crowley who compelled Aziraphale to do good things, things that were pointless, foolish, things that were right.

"Actually, Angel, I really want to see you right now, oh well."

For the first time in three days, Aziraphale realized that he really want to see Crowley.

"So what you're asking is for us to readmit your... companion, who is the demon that caused original sin, to Heaven, because you claim you saw goodness in him." Metatron's tone was flat.

"Yes."

"And you claim this because he... revived a dead dove, and guaranteed the miraculous safety of a group of marketing trainees even though he changed their paint ball guns to real guns."

"Yes, that is correct."

"Reviving a soulless animal and adverting harm which he would have caused himself are not sufficient evidence for redemption. Furthermore, it can not balance the sin the snake had brought, and would continue to bring, upon humanity. You do realize this, Aziraphale."

"Well," Aziraphale took a metaphorical deep breath to steel his nerves, "although his deeds does not balance the sins he had caused in humanity, it does show that he is capable of goodness. Crowley's demonstration shows potential for further improvement on his behavior, if we are to give him a chance, he could-"

"I must remind you, Aziraphale, that demons are fundamentally incapable of goodness. It's regretful to tell you that the "spark" you saw is likely the product of your wishful thinking. As a demon who expertise in temptation, he would have only performed these acts of goodness in front of you to gain your favor. I would kindly advise you to stop pursuing this matter and to avoid any future interaction with this demon. Is that understood?"

There was a pregnant pause as Aziraphale's brain looked for an answer.

"He loved me," Aziraphale blurted out.

"Pardon?" It is rare for Metatron to find himself confounded.

"I had sensed it. I didn't understand it until just now. But it was, no doubt, the aura of love. I had dismissed it earlier because I thought demons are incapable of love."

"Your point?" Aziraphale had never seen such an expression on Metatron's face (metaphorical face, the Voice of God doesn't actually have a real face or use any expressions), it almost resembles worry.

"Well, love is the proof that he have capacity for goodness. If he's capable of love-"

"Perhaps your time on Earth had clouded your judgment, Aziraphale. I do not doubt your genuineness, but ascending a fallen one is unprecedented, and there is no intention on changing that. However, there is no need for you to worry. I will reassign you to Prayers Department, and arrange for someone to replace you in your current position."

"He tried to prevent the apocalypse!" Aziraphale raised his voice. "He defied orders from Hell and tried to prevent the apocalypse because he loved the world, while all of you would have watched it burn just to win some Cosmic Chess Game. He resurrected a dead dove when I contemplated on murdering an eleven years old! How can we declare someone like that to be incapable of goodness when we ourselves have failed to show it?"

There was another long pause before Metatron spoke again.

"I have been instructed not to hold your involvement in The Great Plan against you, Aziraphale, but your behavior today have shown that you are incapable of judging between right and wrong. It is regretful that I have to say this, Aziraphale, but I'm afraid that your service will no longer be required in Heaven. I am sorry, truly, I am." Metatron's (metaphorical) face was a mixture of sorrow and disappointment. Aziraphale felt his own clenched fist relax.

"I understand," Aziraphale answered respectfully, with a slight bow, "thank you, for listening to my case." Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, looking behind the Voice of God, "You knew they would have taken the apples eventually, didn't you? He just happened to be there, to give them a push. They've always had it in them, because that's the way you've made them."

As Aziraphale left, he thought he heard an amused chuckle. He dismissed it as a figment of his imagination, after all, the Voice of God does not chuckle.

Oh well, Aziraphale thought. He may have failed to win Crowley's ticket to Heaven, but at least he had obtained his own ticket to Hell.

As Aziraphale sauntered vaguely downwards, he had a nice view of the world.

He looked to a church, and saw greed.

He looked to a school, and saw sloth.

He looked to a man sitting naked in a bathtub full of spaghetti, and saw lust.

Aziraphale briefly pondered with fascination whether this is what Crowley saw all the time. He did not linger on that thought. He needed to go see Crowley, after all.

It was only Erickson's first day as Hell's front desk receptionist, and so far, everything had been going real smooth. He had to admit front desk was a lot more relaxing than working at the pit. Truth be told, he had always found torturing the damned to be more tiresome than rewarding. Here, he just had to work on his best smile (for the higher ups) and his best menacing face (for the damned). Things seemed pretty simple and straightforward until that thing showed up.

"Hello," the being said, with a polite smile, "I need to see someone who go by the name of Anthony J Crowley. Would you be so kind as to help me?" It, or he, is winged, and eerily radiant, as if he's burning. The being is giving off grace, like an angel, but he is also unmistakably a demon. Whichever one it is, the thing obviously have enough power to smite Erickson to oblivion anytime.

"Umm... sorry, Sir, but I've never seen you before. Your name?" Erickson decided to use an impassive polite face for now, he felt his throat dry.

"It's Aziraphale, ah... but I suppose I may need to find a new name soon. I'm new here, you see," the being doesn't seem angry, so at Erickson probably isn't going to die... yet.

"Oh... hahaha... of course! Umm... sorry, I need to speak to my supervisors. Excuse me." Erickson dashed off. This was not covered in his trainings.

To be completely honest, the snake was always Lucifer's personal favorite. He's an insolent and annoying little bastard, no doubt, but he had thoughts. Hell could do with a few more creative and forward thinking individuals like that.

Favoritism aside, ignoring his orders, killing other agents, and preventing the apocalypse is not acceptable conduct for Hell's agent. See, you have to set a good example, or else all the demons will be running around doing whatever they please like a flock of headless chickens (Lucifer will never admit it, but he secretly finds headless chickens very amusing). Then where would he be?

When a freshly Fallen arrive, inquiring for Crowley by name, Lucifer was a little intrigued.

HOW ABOUT A BET ON THOSE TWO? NEW YORK.

"That's pretty much ours anyway. Vatican."

SURE, IF YOU WIN, THAT IS.

"Deal."

Since the apocalypse was a no go, there got to be some ways to pass the time. Lucifer snapped his finger, and the front desk receptionist appeared with a pop. The little guy was confused for a second before he bowed down and trembled with terror, uttering some form of incoherent apology.

"You must be new. Stop trembling, don't you have any manners?" Lucifer must admit that it does get on his nerves when all demons do when they see him is tremble and mumble incoherently. If he was in a bad mood, he would have sent any tremblers to be burnt until they learn to have a nice smile when addressing their superiors.

"Yes, Your Lowness. Sorry, Your Lowness," the little guy seem to have remembered his training. He quickly regained his composure, stood up straight, and put on a perfect smile.

Not bad, this one may go far yet.

"Escort the new guy to Crowley, he's held at level 38. You two will have full clearance."

"Yes, Your Lowness."

"Carry on, then." With that, the receptionist poofed back to the front desk.

Hastur was happily enjoying Crowley's screams when his lord summoned him.

"A freshly fallen will be sent to our Snake shortly. Let them talk to each other, I want to see what they will try. Do not interfere until further notice. Understood?"

"Absolutely, My Lord."

"Good, you may go."

It took Hastur only a moment to understand the implications of the statement. Of course! That's where the bastard stole his Holy Water. The sneaky little bastard probably tricked the angel and caused it to fall too, and now that its here, its looking for blood. Hastur can't help but feel a new found respect for the serpent. Using Holy Water on a fellow demon and causing the fall of an angel, the little bastard really outdone himself this time.

Vengeance loves company, and Hastur was more than happy to share.

Aziraphale walked down the road, lead by the receptionist. He can hear screams coming from all directions. At one point, he heard a sound between a scream and a hiss, unmistakably Crowley. All the blood froze in Aziraphale's body. Thank goodness, said a voice in the back of Aziraphale's mind, he's still alive.

Oh great, I'm hallucinating, the angel too, of all people. Crowley silently damned his brain for conjuring the image in front of him. Having the angel in hell is a disturbing thought.

"My dear, what have they done to you?"

Except when that hand brush against his cheek, burning and leaking angelic grace, it all felt way too real. There were something wrong with this Aziraphale, the eyes that were once blue were bloodshot and red.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU? Crowley wanted to shout. But what actually managed to get out of his mouth was a quiet "Angel...?"

"Not anymore, I'm afraid," his angel said with a warm smile, there was just a slight trace of sadness.

"Why...?" Crowley's eyes dashed from Aziraphale to the little demon who lead him here, then to Hastur, looking for some sign of trickery. To his bafflement and despair, the other demons looked bewildered.

"You wanted to see me," his (former) angel glanced around, then took a deep breath before continuing. Crowley wasn't sure whether he's imagining it or there's water in the former angel's eyes. "Listen, my dear, we don't have much time, so I'll cut it short. While you were here, it occurred to me that... I love you. Do you love me, Crowley?"

"What... what are you sssaying?" Crowley's eyes shot wide with fear and confusion. They will torment you and make me watch! They will rip out your guts and skin you and make me WATCH!

"They say demons are incapable of love, yet here I am. So what about you, my dear? Do you love me?"

Crowley's stared at Aziraphale with panic and confusion, trying to find some sort of excuse.

"What else have I got to loose?" Aziraphale's smile was warm and persistent, his grace burning brighter. They had a minute of staring contest.

"Yessssss," Crowley whispered in resignation, "I do love you, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale's smile could light up the whole room. (This was quite literal, as Aziraphale's grace seem to expand and brighten.)

He felt the angel's lips on his, and soon they're both burning. Everything is warm and bright. I could die like this, Crowley thought, yes, I don't mind dying like this. I can die with him.

They did not die.

The two were abruptly interrupted by a booming, righteous "I TOLD YOU SO" that seems to have came from the back of their heads.

At that exact moment, every human, every demon, and every angel heard the exact same phrase in the back of their mind, "I TOLD YOU SO". Most humans paused, shrugged, and went back to exactly what they were doing the moment before.

Later, the citizens of New York could not understand why ten of their churches spontaneously combusted into flames on the same day.

Gabriel stood imposingly in front of Hell's door, waiting to collect two angels.

Let it be known that God moves in ineffable ways.

For the next three days after the event, Hastur tortured the damned tirelessly, trying to let the screams of pain and terror drown out sheer wrongness of what he had saw.

"...So, you see, dear, this is why we should make an arrangement," said the angel by the name of Aziraphale.

"Neither of us will have to smite you, you can lay back, and the humans will try to destroy themselves. You can soon report to your superiors and get commended for work well done," the angel in the sunglasses, Crowley, said with a smirk.

Erickson's eyes widened. Applying to fill the empty position Above was definitely the best choice he had ever made in his life.

-END-