Crowley was certain The Metatron was behind…something. There was no way Aziraphale could accomplish what they had asked of him. So why carry on? Why did Jesus have to come before the task was completed? Why had only six angels shown up? That kind of dissent was something that used to get noticed even on a small scale. But thousands? That felt like those angels weren't rebelling but following an order from somewhere else.

"Why would The Metatron want me to fail?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shot him a look of incredulousness.

"I may not have told you the full story of your trial in Heaven." It was clear the way Crowley said 'trial' that the whole thing had been a farce.

"I did rather wonder. Was it worse than Hell trying to erase you in holy water?"

Crowley made a face thinking. "Pretty even actually, they tried to burn you in Hellfire."

"I see."

"That may have also played a part in my reaction when you said you were going."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him. "It seems as close as our friendship has been, we do have a tendency of not sharing everything."

"I'm working on it," Crowley grunted.

Aziraphale's face softened. "I know. I shall endeavour to do my best as well. So you think Metatron brought me to Heaven to have me fail? Then what? What is the end game there?"

"They tried to take Gabriel's memory and demote him. I'm not sure they would be even that kind if there was a mistake of this magnitude. Not being able to collect all the souls meant for Heaven? That could bring on extreme sanctions."

"You think they would erase me from the Book of Life?" His tone was accepting but shaky.

Crowley reached out and took Aziraphale's hand. "Not if we can stop this from happening. When we hid Gabriel, our miracle, it was powerful, ay?"

"We set off alarm bells in Heaven, I would say so."

"Angel, we were trying to make the smallest of miracles, what if we tried to do a big one?"

"How big?" Aziraphale asked.

"The biggest."

"Do you think that would work? That we could get all the souls off safe before tomorrow?"

"Think bigger, angel. We aren't going to collect souls, we're going to stop the Second Coming from ever happening."

"Excuse me, Mr. Fell, Mr. Crowley?" Muriel was standing in the doorway. They shifted back and forth on their feet and then stood up tall. "Can I help?"

The first part of the plan was simple. When Muriel returned from the store with a can of black paint, Crowley went to work. "You're sure this is okay? Having a connection portal to Hell in the middle of a Heavenly outpost could cause some problems."

"If it doesn't work, it won't matter, and if it does, then we will figure out what to do with it later."

Crowley nodded and he picked up the paint brush and went to work. When he was finished a black pentagram was painted next to Aziraphale's white circle.

"What if they don't come?" The worry was clear in his voice as Aziraphale walked around the demon symbol and carefully stepped into his own.

Crowley had never created a portal before. Hell had its own ways of contacting him, usually through the radio or television. He hadn't ever particularly wanted a direct line for himself. He had spent most of his time on Earth attempting as little contact as possible with his former head office.

"You forget, Archangel, the angels are yours to command. It's time they remember that. Ready?"

Aziraphale nodded and lifted his hands in the air, preparing to pull power down to him. Crowley's hand started low, raising up, pulling power from Hell. The power began to fill the bookshop but Aziraphale could tell it wasn't going beyond. Something was blocking it from being reflected back out.

"It's not working," Aziraphale looked over toward him.

Crowley reached out his hand, holding it between the two circles. Aziraphale took it and they doubled their effort.

"I command thee, Angels of the Lord, come to me," Aziraphale's eyes glowed as he pushed, the power flowing through him.

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale's hand. He could feel it, or the lack of it. There was so much coursing between them but nothing was happening. Aziraphale looked over at him, panic in his eyes. Without thinking, Crowley stepped one foot outside of his circle and pulled Aziraphale toward him. The angel came willingly and as soon as his body was out of the circle, Crowley kissed him.

The power they felt before was nothing compared to this. Holding hands, with their lips pressed together, their wings shot forth from hiding tearing through their clothes in their need to be free. If there had been anyone there to see, they would have been blinded by the light surrounding Aziraphale, or succumbed to the endless black etched around Crowley.

The kiss lasted far beyond the miracle. Or perhaps the kiss was the miracle. Crowley's hand moved to Aziraphale's waist and the angel melted against his chest. As the power died down and they dragged their respective feet out of their circles, to be even closer.

Aziraphale looked up at him and placed a hand on his cheek.

"How was I so blind? I thought you were trying to tempt me."

"No, Angel. I was trying to love you."

"I see that now. Will you ever forgive me?"

"I already have," Crowley whispered, his eyes staying locked on Aziraphale's.

While the power of Heaven and Hell was no longer swirling in the bookshop, there was a new kind of magic in the air. Crowley wished he had forever to stay in it, but there was a new call to be heard.

"They're coming, I can feel them."

They reluctantly released themselves from each other and went to the door. They both retracted their wings, and with a quick snap up, and down respectively, their clothes were made new on their bodies. They gave each other one more look before stepping out into the street.

Marching down the road, each in an identical white suit and tie, were thousands of angels.