The lamp light had gone out.
Aziraphale could have fixed it without a thought, but it felt more proper to search out a new lightbulb. It was time for an upgrade anyway. He hadn't changed it in at least fifty years, and new lights were much better for the environment. He had to consider things like that, after all.
The walk to and from the grocery store was uneventful, almost unnervingly so. It was as if the town, or indeed the world, was sheepishly doing business as usual while ignoring the massive elephant that orbited the globe. The one about the apocalypse, and how it had almost happened a month prior, but then didn't. The people seem to have collectively agreed to avoid the issue, be it from fear of it all starting up again or the fear of being called insane. There was no evidence, of course, that the whole thing hadn't been the hallucination of a sole individual, and eight billion people feared the possibility that that they were that single, unfortunate person.
There were only a handful of people on Earth who didn't hold the fear of insanity. That same handful of people knew exactly what transpired the week before and would consequently never breathe a word about it again. Of all the people in the world, it was likely this handful felt most strongly about putting the whole thing behind them.
However, it wasn't an easy thing to forget. The four terrible bikers facing off with children. The gentleman with the comically large gun. Satan, of course, rising from the crumbling concrete of the airbase.
However, that hadn't even been the worst part. That had been immediately afterwards.
The humans, of course, had no idea what was going on, and had watched in bemusement as two grey-suited individuals had seized the red-headed man by the arms and dragged him, spitting curses, away from his white-haired partner, who had tried to intervene but had been restrained by a man and a horribly ugly woman who seemed to be surrounded by flies.
At first, it had seemed almost comical. The man in the grey suit had announced something about it all being the fault of the man in the black glasses and had produced something from his suitcoat pocket. The humans had flinched, but relaxed when they saw what it was—an ordinary bottle of water. It appeared that the red-headed man was about to be gently reprimanded—in a rather odd way, but this whole day had been odd, so this wasn't anything different. What was much odder was the way the white-haired man was acting. He was fighting tooth and nail with his captors, to the point where the woman had kicked out his legs and they had both held him down to the pavement.
Then, the grey-suited man had poured the water, and they had seen the red-haired man disintegrate, and they understood why the white-haired man had been fighting so hard.
As he unlocked the door to the bookshop, Aziraphale did what he always did—he tensed, preparing to see Gabriel or Michael when he swung the door open. It wasn't going to go away anytime soon, this reaction. There had certainly been a sense of unfinished business that day on the airfield, after they had killed Crowley. Their next objective had been cut short by a rather blinding message sent from above. Aziraphale had received it as well, even preoccupied as he was; he had felt the rage of God in every vein in his body. What it had been in response of was anyone's guess—a lot had happened in the past hour, after all—but the archangels had taken it to mean, at least, that they should stop what they were currently doing and return to Headquarters to debrief. Aziraphale had been left alone on the airbase, surrounded by humans who needed escorting to safety, a task he had done dutifully, however not because he felt any desire to help them. In fact, he felt closer to murdering every one of them. But it wasn't who he was.
He was an angel, after all.
Aziraphale pushed open the door and was greeted by an empty bookshop. Perfectly clean and cluttered; exactly how he'd left it, and exactly how he'd found it the day after everything went down, despite the rather burned-down state he had last known it to be in. Aziraphale had examined everything that day, and aside from some books being somewhat different than he'd remembered, it was all in order. Then he had found a pair of freshly mended sunglasses on the desk. He kept those glasses in a drawer now, one he never used.
It had been a long time coming, he'd decided. One doesn't go thousands of years hiding and obscuring and fraternizing behind the back of Heaven without it all coming out in the wash. He should have known better. He had known better. He'd just tried to ignore it, that's all. That had been his fatal flaw. He'd had the gall to be positive. And he'd been foolish enough to be tempted by a demon.
Weary, Aziraphale sank into his desk chair. He often felt tired these days. The thought of changing a lightbulb exhausted him. His eyes smarted and his chest was thick with pain; this happened, sometimes. When he made the mistake of letting it.
"It's just a bloody lightbulb," he muttered to himself, grabbing the grocery bag he'd deposited on the floor. Inside was a pack of curly fluorescent lightbulbs. He wasn't a fan of how they looked—it would look rather out-of-place with his antique lamp—but the store had been out of the rounder variety.
He was just opening the box when the bell above the bookshop door rang. He looked up to see Gabriel enter the shop.
"Aziraphale," the archangel said, looking around to make sure there weren't any other customers. "I'm glad to see your little haven was restored." He sniffed. "It smells better."
Aziraphale placed the box of lightbulbs on his desk and stood. He didn't answer.
Gabriel tried for a moment to flash one of his salesmen smiles, but gave up when Aziraphale didn't react and proceeded with his more natural expression—all business, his violet eyes cold. He drew a clipboard from a briefcase he was carrying. "I have some paperwork for you to sign."
"What paperwork?" Aziraphale finally said. His nerves were taut. His eyes flitted around for anything he could use to discorporate Gabriel and they landed on the lamp. It was the heaviest thing in arms reach.
"There's no need to be suspicious," Gabriel said coolly. "It's standard procedure."
"For what, may I ask?" Aziraphale said. He was waiting for the moment when a demon would walk through the door, a flaming bowl in their hands, ready to cast hellfire the moment Aziraphale signed.
Gabriel let out a long-suffering sigh. "It's the form regarding the recorporation into a new body. It should have been filled out weeks ago, but we're willing to overlook it, given the strange times."
Aziraphale stared at him, confused.
"You received a new body four weeks ago." He gave Aziraphale a tight smile. "I assume you remember. Regardless of how that body came into being, the proper paperwork still needs to be filled out. Red tape. All that jazz. Sign here." He tapped a pen on a dotted line.
Aziraphale could only stare. His fingers twitched in the direction of the lamp.
"Aziraphale," Gabriel said, eyebrows raised. "Times ticking. I've got places to be."
Aziraphale clenched his fists. "Why aren't you killing me?"
Gabriel let out another massive sigh as he lowered the clipboard. "Oh, Aziraphale. Don't you think I would have done that already if I could?"
Aziraphale gave a tiny shrug. "I have no idea, Gabriel. We think very differently."
"Oh, I know." Gabriel laughed without humour, gesturing to Aziraphale with the pen. "While I try to bring about the war necessary for Heaven to finally destroy the opposition, the war that's been brewing for thousands of years, you find it much more necessary to dick around with a demon and screw it all up. No, Aziraphale, don't think for a second I wouldn't have killed you immediately if I could. But, unfortunately…" He shook his head and then gave Aziraphale a steely glare. "Have to follow orders."
"Orders? From…" Aziraphale glanced upwards.
"Yeah. Lucky you." Gabriel shrugged. "But then, maybe She's just saving you for Herself." He brought up the clipboard again. "Sign, please."
Aziraphale paused. His fingers twitched towards the lamp again. Then he reached toward the desk, grabbed his own pen, and signed the clipboard from as great a distance he could manage.
Gabriel gave a tut of laughter and stowed the clipboard back in his briefcase, snapping it shut with finality. "Well, that's it. Enjoy your material objects." He turned on his heel and headed for the door.
"You got in trouble, didn't you?"
Gabriel paused just before the door. He turned, that false smile on his lips. "What?"
Aziraphale was breathing hard. "You got in trouble with Her, didn't you? She was angry that you killed—that you did what you did."
A muscle jumped in Gabriel's jaw. He took a breath before speaking, his words measured. "I was lightly reprimanded for being hasty in a situation that may have called for further inspection and judgement. My instincts were correct, of course, but I hadn't followed proper procedure—"
"That's a lie. You weren't correct." Aziraphale was finding it hard to speak now. "Crowley acted with greater dignity and benevolence than any of us, and She knew, She did—"
Gabriel snorted and held up a hand. "Aziraphale, I'm going to have to stop you there. Dignity? Benevolence?" He waved his hand. "Now, I know you guys had a history, but hell, the guy was a demon. I doubt the Almighty saw him as much more than a…" Gabriel searched for a word. "A roach, or something. Something you'd crush under a book." He snapped his fingers and a smile lit his face. "A snake! Duh."
"You're wrong," Aziraphale said in a low voice.
"Aziraphale, can I give you some advice?" Gabriel gave him a sympathetic smile that had about as much warmth as an iron rod. "Get over it. The guy's gone. I mean, if I were you, I'd be celebrating—you got off Scott free. For the moment, at least." He checked his watch. "Anyway. I really have to run." He gave Aziraphale a cheery nod, and the door closed behind him with a tinkle of the bell.
Aziraphale stood frozen. He wanted to seize a book and throw it, but he didn't want to ruin any of his books. And what he truly wanted was more on the lines of following Gabriel and…and…
"And what," Aziraphale asked himself. "Killing him?"
The idea was tempting. It was more than tempting—it was closer to a need. Like he wouldn't live another moment if he didn't.
But he knew that was just silly. He didn't need to do anything to live. He didn't need food or water or shelter. And he, apparently, didn't need to sleep with one eye open any longer. No angel or demon was coming to finish what had been started in the airbase. He had an unlimited number of years stretching in front of him. Years, and years and years.
The trouble was that this thought didn't give him the relief he'd hoped for. In fact, he barely gave it a thought at all.
"The guy's gone."
Aziraphale went to the door of the bookshop, flipped the sign to closed, and locked the door, though it was barely three in the afternoon. He headed back to his desk and sat, burying his fingers in his hair.
A while later, when the bookshop had started darkening with the setting sun, he remembered what he had been doing before Gabriel had arrived. The pack of lightbulbs sat on his desk, half-opened.
He finished opening the box and pulled out a bulb, examining the new shape. He remembered when the lightbulb had first come out, all those years ago. It had taken Aziraphale quite some time to adopt the new technology, though it would have been simple for him to procure. He was just loathe to give up the romantic ambiance of his candles. Crowley, on the other hand, had bought some of the first available on the market; his flat had been illuminated like a sun-soaked garden.
Look at it, Aziraphale, he had said, gesturing to the place. Soon they'll make light that plants can grow in. I'll finally be able to keep those bastards inside, and there'll be no more using bugs as an excuse.
It occurred to Aziraphale, then, that all the plants in Crowley's apartment were likely dead. Perhaps they had been relieved, at first, when Crowley didn't return home—no more terrifying watering sessions—but as the weeks passed they would have all gotten spots, then dropped dead from neglect. The thought hit Aziraphale right in the chest, and he had to put down the bulb and press his fists into his eyes.
Gone. Not coming back.
He's not coming back, you fool. You still have to change the lightbulb.
It took some time, but eventually he dragged his lamp across the desk towards him and unscrewed the broken bulb. As he was turning it, however, a blinding light lit the room, and he nearly knocked over the lamp in his haste to cover his eyes.
Once he was sure he hadn't been set alight with Hellfire, he lowered his hands and squinted in the direction of the light. It was coming from a bookcase. However, it was no longer filled with books, or shelves. It was instead filled to the brim with white, shining vapor, like a doorway opened to a room of smoke.
Aziraphale stood and approached the portal, his eyes wide. "What on Earth," he murmured.
Somehow, though, he knew this phrase was exactly wrong. This wasn't Earth. Or, at least, it wasn't leading to anywhere on Earth.
"What will happen if I walk through?" he asked aloud, to no one in particular.
The door shimmered. It didn't make a noise. But some of the most dangerous things were silent. Rarely do dangerous things make a noise to announce themselves if they truly wanted to do harm.
"Except rattlesnakes," Aziraphale muttered. He held out a shaking hand and waved it through the vapor. It tingled, but didn't hurt. Without another thought, Aziraphale stepped through the bookcase.