Well, That Was A Thing (Good Omens One-Shots)

43; Some Things Do Last Forever

Context: This angsty little one shot was inspired by some cut content for S2, which showed that everything, except Aziraphale's bookshop, was destroyed by something catastrophic. Italic text is used for dreams and bold italic text is for flashbacks.

He had expected to find nothing but dust. He hadn't expected to find everything he loved still waiting for him. Well, almost everything.

Word Count: 3,600

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As supreme archangel, Aziraphale didn't have to participate in The Final Battle. And frankly, he hadn't wanted to. He didn't have the heart for it. And now, he actually had the authority to refuse the order. So, he didn't fight. He waited for all that to be done with, before going down to Earth again. It all lasted a decade.

He wanted to say goodbye, in a way, before properly starting eternity in two days. He wanted to stop by his favorite spaces, pay his respects to whatever was left of said places. It wasn't much. Rubble from buildings he barely recognized. If he was lucky, pieces of a sign which told him what had once stood there. A vast wasteland is what stared back at him. Everywhere he went, just an empty, destroyed field. He almost didn't have the heart to see the depressing state the ground which once held his bookshop must be in. But he also knew he would regret it if he went back to Heaven without checking.

And when he got there, his jaw nearly dropped. There was a massive crater where Soho once stood. But that wasn't what broke his heart. What broke his heart was the fact that towering over the crater, right at the center of it, was a giant pillar of earth, holding his, seemingly, still intact bookshop.

But how?

The angel flew to the column and landed on what used to be the sidewalk. Very cracked and starting to crumble, but the closer it was to the shop, the better it had been preserved. Cautiously, he stepped closer to the front door. It looked just as clean as the day he left it. No dirt, no smudges, absolutely nothing to show as evidence of the obvious catastrophe which destroyed the surrounding area.

He looked at the front door. The sign with his opening hours was still there, next to the closed sign. For a moment, he felt a familiar presence. He ignored the feeling as he was about to reach for the door handle and both doors swung open for him. Strange. He hadn't ordered them to do that. It was as if the shop was welcoming him back home.

As soon as he entered, he felt overwhelmed by love. Which probably shouldn't have been too surprising. He had loved this shop since 1800. It'd only be natural for his love to still be here. Except, angles can't sense their own love. They can feel it for things and people, just like humans do, but their own love for things and people? They can't sense it like they would anyone else's. Basically, every angel had an internal love radar which could be used on others, but not on themselves.

So, it wasn't his love he felt as he walked through the bookshop and upstairs flat. But he did recognize whose it was. Even seconds before he saw a familiar figure come down from the spiral staircase.

A soft smirk tugged at the figure's lips. "Hello, Aziraphale." He said, voice strangely echoey.

"Crowley?"

"...Not as such." He said, before stepping closer. As he did this, the light coming from the nearest window shone right through him. He looked like a ghostly apparition. Fairly similar to Aziraphale when he had been discorporated.

Aziraphale's eyes became glassy. "What happened to you?"

"To me? Nothing. To the Crowley you knew? A lot."

The archangel felt like he had just been punched in the gut. "What do you mean 'the Crowley I knew'? Where is he? What's happened to him?"

"You might wanna sit down, angel." Said the ghostly figure, pulling a chair closer to the angel.