End of the World Scenarios

Aziraphale took awhile to figure out where he was. He was supposed to be back in Anathema's house, but he seemed to be in a red desert with no sun, stars, or moon. It wasn't hot or cold; just endless desolate sand. Crowley had described it to him before. So there was a nice little (halfway-decent) bar if he walked toward the mountain in the distance. He knew that Crowley would find him. After what Metatron told him on God's behalf, he was sure that Crowley was still alive.

"Why isn't she speaking to me herself?" he had asked. Metatron had shrugged.

"I think she's been silent for so long that she's forgotten how."

Aziraphale wasn't too worried. This whole Heaven and Hell thing seemed so petty now. No one knew. There were five beings in the world who knew; including Metatron and assuming Crowley now knew as well.

Aziraphale spotted the bar. More like a little run-down shack that serves questionable liquor. He stepped in. Yup. Shady and questionable. But a drink is a drink.

"Could I get a whiskey please? On the rocks, thanks."

"Huh," said the bartender.

"Yes, yes, I'm not a Demon. But could I get that drink anyway please?"

He shrugged and said, "Sure."

He slid the drink along the bar and Aziraphale stopped it expertly.

The bartender grinned and said, "So, an Angel walks into a bar and orders a whiskey."

Aziraphale paused with the drink halfway to his mouth, "Is there a punchline?"

"I dunno. You tell me."

With a flash of light, Crowley appeared in the seat next to him.

"Oh. Hi Crowley," the bartender said, as if this was a fairy regular occurrence.

Crowley looked at him blankly. "That blessed, lying, cheating bastard."

"I never knew your eyes were green," Aziraphale said idly.

Crowley realised he was there and they found themselves hugging. Neither was sure who started it but they smoothed each other's hair and ran their hands through each other's feathers. Being slightly taller, Aziraphale rested his cheek against the top of his head and Crowley unashamedly nuzzled into Aziraphale's neck.

The bartender didn't know what to do, so he put another whiskey on the bar and looked on with concern. What exactly were they doing? Elaborate ruse to kill each other? Silent warfare?

"'Ziraphale," Crowley muttered, muffled.

"Just let me, this is far overdue."

Crowley grumbled faintly, but he allowed it.

When Aziraphale finally released him, they linked hands. They both sort of reached at the same time without really even looking at each other. Crowley hoped that this wouldn't become specific to end-of-the-world scenarios, because he could really stand for doing this more often.

"So, who's a bastard?" Aziraphale asked. "Besides me."

Crowley chuckled and replied, "My boss. He was supposed to bring me to you and I didn't see y- Why are you in Hell? Angels can't get into Hell."

Aziraphale shrugged. "Accident. Bad timing and I fell in after you."

"Ahh... Well er- since you're not dead, did your boss tell you about..." he glanced at the bartender "...it?"

"Yes. I'm glad I don't have to explain it all to you. So what do we do now?"

"Glad you asked, Angel. Come on."

Crowley pulled him out of the bar, still holding his hand.

The bartender looked after them, then down at the abandoned whiskey. He drained both glasses then sat down to take in what he just witnessed.

"So an Angel walks into a bar and orders a whiskey." He paused, waiting for someone to ask for the rest.

Conveniently, a Demon walks in at that moment. "Oh good, I could use a joke."

The bartender leaned over the bar eagerly as his customer sat down.

"I'm glad you're sitting for this one mate," he said with a grin.

"Alright, lay it on me."

"An Angel walks into a bar and orders a whiskey..."

"...And?" he leaned forward as well, one Demon sharing the very secret of the universe with another.

"And he left holding hands with a Demon."

The bartender looked at the Demon who looked back at him. The Demon looked at the bartender who was looking at him.

The Demon giggled. And again. Then he laughed doubled over in the barstool. The bartender laughed as well, both of them laughing even harder for it. They laughed until tears of mirth fell onto the bar and both were left with red faces.

"That was good," the Demon gasped.

"Came up with it myself," he said proudly.

"I'll have to use that."

Another Demon walked in. "Hey guys, what's so funny?"

Anathema and Newt sat unamusedly. Envy and Gluttony stared at the T.V with baited breath. Sloth did a combination of a jiggle and a wobble. War and Famine unconsciously leaned closer. Metatron was a tense buzz.

"He is not the father."

Everyone groaned.

"Look at him!" Envy shouted, "How can he not be the father?! Look at those eyes! Obviously he has his father's eyes! I want those eyes!" And her eyes promptly turned a startlingly bright shade of blue. She smiled smugly.

"Bullshit," Gluttony said, triple chins swaying with the effort. "Absolute bullshit. Hey pass the crisps."

"You ate them all you insufferable asswipe," War said acidly.

"I wipe no one's ass but my own," Gluttony retorted.

"Barely," Anathema muttered.

Newt chuckled as silently as was possible for him- which was to say not at all. And Sloth made a few shluping noises in agreement.

"WHAT'S THE JOKE?" Metatron asked.

"Well," said a recently arrived Angel, with his hand linked to a Demon's, "An Angel walks into a bar and orders a whiskey."

All eyes in the room swivelled to them (and in Sloth's case, he sort of flopped half-heartedly toward them), and the occupants shouted a chorus of "Crowley!" and "Aziraphale!" The latter followed by an "ow" for those who forgot it would burn.

No one was sure why anyone was happy to see them. Well, Metatron was happy to see that he wouldn't have to explain what happened to Aziraphale to his boss, but the Horsemen and the Sins were supposed to be mad at Crowley for ditching them and concerned that Aziraphale was now with him. Upon realising this, they all looked at each other in concern.

"Too much daytime television?" Envy suggested.

"No such thing," Gluttony said.

"I'm so sick of soap operas," War said.

"Maybe that's why we're so excited," Envy reasoned, "Proper romance."

Crowley and Aziraphale simultaneously coughed and looked at the floor.

"Awww," Famine said weakly.

"Why are you all even here?" Crowley asked.

"Waiting for you," War said.

"Oh," Said Crowley.

"Does this mean you're all leaving now?" Anathema asked hopefully.

"Sorry, my dear, but no. They won't be much longer though, we just need to have a word with my boss."

"Fine, but all of you are lucky the world is ending or you wouldn't be staying any longer."

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale mentioned that the Apocalypse hadn't been so much ended as cancelled.

"NEED A LIFT?" Metatron offered.

"What are you doing here?" Aziraphale asked.

"... IMPORTANT END-OF-THE-WORLD STUFF."

"Jerry Springer was on," Anathema clarified.

"You guys get that rubbish here?" Crowley asked.

Newt shrugged. "I think it has something to do with Wrath. He likes it. We suddenly got it after he showed up."

"Was that you or me?" Aziraphale mused.

"I think we both claimed the success."

"Ahh, yes."

Metatron cleared his non-existent throat. "ARE WE GOING?"

"Oh, you don't want to finish your program?" Anathema asked.

"NO, BUT THANK YOU," he replied. The sarcasm was lost on him.

Anathema rolled her eyes. "No problem."

"Allons-y," Crowley said.

The last thing the room's occupants saw of the was Aziraphale giving Crowley a bewildered look.

"Did... Did he just make a Doctor Who reference?" Newt asked.

Anathema and Envy shrugged.

Then Envy sighed. "I wish I had a love like theirs." She looked around expectantly, then slumped disappointedly when a suitor failed to appear.

"Do you really think Below started Doctor Who?" Famine asked.

"Probably," War replied. "That's the stuff that steals your soul, you know."

Famine nodded sagely.

"Hold on," Newt began. "They never told us the punchline."

Crowley didn't find himself as sickened by Heaven as he thought he would be. Clouds surrounded them- more of a dense fog, really. A dense fog that seemed to absorb and radiate yellow-orange light. IT was pretty, but there was no way anyone could be expected to see.

"Angel, I can't see a blessed thing."

"I know where we're going, follow me."

"Is it always like this?"

"What other way is there to be?"

They turned a corner and continued walking.

"I don't know. Ha! No wonder you never spoke about up here, there's nothing to see!"

Aziraphale tried to refrain from rolling his eyes, and he succeeded.

"Oh, come on, Angel. I'm hilarious and you know it."

Before Aziraphale would have to refrain from another eye-roll, they reached a door (Crowley stumbled into it), and stepped into an empty room with high stained glass walls and an endless ceiling. The figures in the glass were depicting the true origins of Earth. The-story-so-far for this eternity.

"YOU'VE COME BACK," Metatron said, speaking for God.

"Of course we did," Aziraphale said.

"HOW DID YOU GET A DEMON IN HERE?"

"Same way I got in?"

"INTERESTING. DEMON?"

His throat suddenly dry, he asked, "Yes?" then added, "Please don't smite me." The hands still holding his tightened protectively.

"let me hear you say his name," a small, weak, exhausted- sounding voice said.

"His name?" Crowley gestured to Aziraphale.

"yes, your angel's name."

"Aziraphale," Crowley said. Still no burn.

"now you, little angel."

"Crowley."

There was a long and heavy pause.

"Angel," Crowley muttered, "Why did she just-"

"I told her she had no right to use either of our names."

"Ah."

"i assume you know, little demon."

"Yes, I do."

"then you know what your angel is here to do."

"Yes."

"do you swear to catch him?"

"Yes."

"and hold him after?"

"Yes."

"do you swear?"

"I do."

With a flash of light, heat, and pure terror, they were back in Anathema's living room. Aziraphale was clinging to Crowley with the kind of desperation specific to dying men and apparently Fallen Angels. He was shaking, so Crowley picked him up and looked at the five Horsemen, six Sins, and two humans smushed into the small living room.

"'Scuse us," he said to the thirteen curious onlookers.

And with that, he miracled the two of them to Soho, England.

Sorry about the wait, I like to be pretty far ahead in the story before I post something new. That way, if I have to go back and change something, it won't be a huge pain in your ass or mine.

If I don't update with at least one chapter tomorrow night, you can expect another two or maybe even three the day after tomorrow.

Thanks for the patience guys!

P.S: You still have no idea what's going on. Again, you may think you do, but you don't.