The End of the World...Again? [Good omens/S3]

2

-Two Years Later-

"The humans are delicate; seeing the sky open would be too much for them" -Uriel explained, trying to think of a perhaps slightly less dramatic way to express it.

Michael rolled his eyes. "They're just humans; besides, there will be a swift judgement, and it will all be over."

Aziraphale took a deep breath, watching everyone debate the plans for the Second Coming. He didn't want to harm the humans; he didn't want to bring an end to all the wonders, inventions, and delights they had created over every millennium and civilisation. But the time for the end of all things was approaching.

Barely two human years had passed, and Aziraphale was no longer the plump and cheerful angel he used to be. His appearance had changed; his suit was now white with grey trousers, his curls were a bit longer, his starry eyes now emitted faint purple glimmers, and his face sported a bushy beard. He hadn't set foot in the bookshop, hadn't touched the earth, and hadn't laid eyes on his friend. Frankly, he had spent time occupied with heavenly matters, keeping his mind away from the memories that pained his heart.

Not wanting to hear any more about the Second Coming, he stood up, drawing the attention of the others. "You take care of this and report back to me with the decision that has been made. I'll attend to other matters." -Everyone gave a slight nod of their heads, and he withdrew.

All the sweetness and gentleness Aziraphale had once possessed had been replaced by severity and seriousness, which had earned him the respect of those around him.

On the other hand, Crowley, who had been uncontrollable for the past two years, had lost his motivation. Being a true demon didn't suit him; he didn't even enjoy it, though he wouldn't admit it.

[Flashback]

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the—" -The priest interrupted himself as he felt something at his feet. Looking down, he saw several snakes coiling around his legs. "HOLY GOD!" -he exclaimed, frightened.

Suddenly, a tall, thin figure appeared before everyone, shifting from serpent to human. Dressed in a very elegant black suit, a hat, and dark glasses, he looked at them all and smiled. "Call him Father, but God won't answer..." -he hissed in a somewhat mocking tone.

Then the whole church erupted into screams as snakes appeared from nowhere, terrifying the people and causing them to flee in a panic, stumbling and knocking each other over.

Crowley's feet burned, but he ignored the pain, for the rage that filled him made him immune in that moment. Meanwhile, he merely observed his handiwork, clenching both hands behind his back.

[End of Flashback]

Now, the demon saw no point in anything. He had been terrorising churches for months, but he didn't do it out of genuine desire. Despite the anger and pain he felt walking on holy ground, he wished that one of these days a certain platinum-haired angel would appear to stop him, just as he had been stopped before he could destroy Job's flocks. But it didn't happen; instead, those from Hell visited him, praising him for his "feats" on Earth, winning souls for the master, and offering him a high rank for having the courage to step inside a church. But he wouldn't accept the title of Duke or anything similar.

«Bah, nonsense» -Crowley thought.

Not even on the day of the rebellion in heaven did he want to take part, much less support Lucifer. He just wanted answers to his questions, and for that, Michael had thrown him out of heaven.

He had secured a new flat; it was smaller, but it sufficed. The place he spent most of his time was the living room, where he had arranged his plants covering the walls. His favourite armchair was in the middle of it all, creating a jungle effect as he sat surrounded by them. The rest of the flat was tidy and clean, but that little corner of the living room with his armchair and plants was a disaster, with empty bottles here and there, books with torn pages tossed about carelessly, clothes, shoes, and socks. And Crowley—Crowley lay reclined in his armchair, staring blankly at the ceiling, which he had adorned with an astronomical map to gaze at the stars he was condemned never to appreciate again in the night sky. His feet were in a bucket of water and ice. Why? Simple; he had burned the soles of his feet from standing so long in churches, watching as panic spread while waiting for that angel to appear. But the pain and burning sensation were nothing compared to what he felt in his chest.

«I forgive you...»

That phrase echoed in his mind over and over, thumping in his head and giving him a headache.

"Aaagghhhh, for crying out loud!" -He grabbed one of the bottles from the floor, uncapped it, and took a long swig. "Why did I do it?" -he wondered.

Sadly, Crowley blamed himself, believing that by confessing his feelings and kissing him, he had given him the impetus to leave.

"Angel..." -he sighed, taking another drink and, in a fit of rage, hurled the bottle away, causing it to smash against one of the walls.

The sound of glass shattering on the floor resonated in the silence of the demon's anguish. His mind and heart were filled with guilt, anger, pain, and sadness.

Aziraphale sat at his desk, staring blankly into space with his purple-glimmering eyes while fiddling with the ring on his pinky finger. He felt thirsty; for a being who had no physiological needs, despite having "purged" himself of human food, he felt thirst.

"How strange..." -he muttered, then noticed someone approaching him. He cleared his throat and settled back in his chair. "Well?" -he asked.

"Details have yet to be specified, but we hope to have everything ready soon," -the other replied without further ado and left.

"How odd; heaven has never been delayed like this with anything," -he thought.
Then a brief flash of the wager between God and Satan crossed his mind for a few fleeting seconds.

"No," -he said, pushing the memory away as quickly as it came.

He wouldn't allow himself to remember, not only because of the memories but because of what they made him feel.