The Heavenly Host was coming. There was no stopping them now; no running away, no escape, nothing to be done but to prepare as quickly as possible. Crowley darted about securing everything most likely to fly around and discorporate them, while Aziraphale dashed from window to window, closing and barring the shutters. Neither knew exactly when the Host would arrive, but both could feel them coming, the awful sense of their presence getting closer and closer with each passing second. They had thought it was all over, that this was their safe haven, a new Eden from which to pass their existence; but one more trial, it seemed, was in order.
"You're sure this is going to work?" Crowley shouted from the upstairs landing, rummaging about in a crate.
"Yes!" Aziraphale called back, pulling closed the final shutter. In a building like this, it was never truly dark, and daylight still seeped in here and there, casting the cottage into a shadowed semi-light. Crowley clattered down the stairs, panting, the Bentley's crank in one hand.
"Right. That's as much as we can do."
Angel and demon started together as a kneel sounded in both their minds; a world-ending (or beginning) drone that blared without sound, and everything around them began to tremble and shake. Aziraphale gulped.
"That's it then. Here they come." He looked at Crowley, wishing he could simply lose himself in those golden eyes. "Are you with me?" Crowley reached out, and took Aziraphale's hand.
"To the End, Angel."
Together they turned forward, and as the cottage began to fill with a blinding white light that seeped in around the cracks of every door and window, Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's hand, and raised his flaming sword.