Twelve

Death

Most people believe that the relationship between Nothing and Everything is a straight line. On the one end, there is Nothing, on the other end, there is Everything, and all other Things (including Something and Anything) are on a spectrum between the two:

Nothing ... Everything

(Things)

This is what you are taught at school, and it is a perfectly functional way of thinking about the world. But reality is always more complicated. Someone decided to make the Universe obey crooked laws and bend everything left and right, and phylocisists nowadays visualise the continuum between Nothing and Everything as a semicircle:

(Things)

. ∙ .
 Nothing Everything

The arc between the two is the spectrum of Things. Here you may find Things like the Earth, and cars, and flower pots. There is, however, a shorter route between the two ends. Another space between Nothing and Everything. There are no Things here – yet there is also not Nothing. It is a strange vacuum, like a held breath, or an airplane, or a Mary Poppins bag. Whoever finds themselves in this place, exists and does not exist at the same time. They simply are(n't).

It was here that Crowley's next conscious moment was.

He blinked into (non-)existence, still reeling from the explosion just moments before. Dazed, he looked around.

All about him was dark. Stars and nebulae floated in the far distance – at least, they seemed distant; he had no sense of space here. Other thin strands of light branched above him, like mycorrhizal networks. He could hear a soft droning sound, seemingly coming from everywhere at once. For a moment he stood in awe.

'So, Crowley,' a voice said behind him.

Crowley whirled around. There was no one to see, but he knew the voice. She still spoke in the rural Egyptian Arabic dialect as when he'd first met Her. 'Ah – hello, God,' he said. 'You're everywhere at once, it seems.'

A chuckle. 'Indeed.'

'Er... What is this place, exactly?' Crowley asked, unsure in which direction to speak. God's voice seemed to come from all directions at once now.

'This is the back side of the Universe,' God said. 'The place where all the departed souls will go from now on. How do you like it?'

'Ah... yeah, very nice,' Crowley said. He gestured vaguely at the distant stars. 'Love the decorations. So, what am I doing here?'

God was silent for a moment. Then She said: 'You're dead, Crowley.'

Crowley frowned. His mouth began to form several answers at once, but in the end he only repeated: 'Dead?'

God snorted, sounding very much like Gee again. 'You looked upon My face. What else did you expect?'

Crowley opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn't know what he had expected. He hadn't really been thinking about himself. He hadn't been thinking much at all. 'That's... not fair,' he croaked.

'Not fair?' God said. 'You opted for mortality when the Dark Council gave you the choice. This is what that means, Crowley.'

Crowley swallowed. He didn't like to be reminded. He'd been stupid, all right. Now the full impact really hit hime.

'But... dead?' he said weakly. He couldn't understand. Six thousand years he'd lived, give or take, and now it was over? Just like that? Impossible. 'And... and now?'

'Now you'll be reborn,' God said. 'You may have to wait a while – there are six thousand years' worth of dead souls waiting to reincarnate, and there are only so many babies being born every minute. Then again, Time does not exist here. It won't feel long at all.'

'But – but-but-but I still have things to do,' Crowley said, increasingly desperate.

'That is what death is,' God said. Her voice was regretful but unmoving when She said: 'You'll have to accept it like every other human, Crowley. This is the end of the story.'

Elsewhere in the space between Nothing and Everything, Aziraphale came into (not) being. He brushed the cosmic dust off his jacket and looked around.

The darkness around him stretched to infinity on all sides. He could see little lights here and there, but no sign of life.

'Hello?' he called hesitantly. His voice echoed in the empty space.

A moment's silence, then a voice answered from the darkness: 'Hello.'

'Lord?' Aziraphale said.

'Aziraphale,' God said. He could hear Her smile.

He looked about him. 'Am I... dead?'

'Ah,' God said. 'That is up for debate. You're no longer an immortal angel, nor a living human. Let's just say you are a soul without a body.'

'...Ah,' Aziraphale said, not much enlightened. 'And that means...?'

'That means that for all intents and purposes, you are indeed dead.'

'Oh.' Aziraphale swallowed. Well, that was a concern for later. 'What happened? Is Crowley all right?'

'Crowley is dead,' God said.

Aziraphale's heart stopped. (Only figuratively, of course. He didn't have a body). A cold feeling spread through his chest. It couldn't be. Crowley, indestructible Crowley...

'He looked at My face and killed himself,' God said.

Aziraphale swallowed. He could actually see Crowley doing that.

Well, if they were both dead... He looked around, but he already knew he would not see Crowley. The dark around him remained empty. He felt the flame of hope wane, but he refused to let it go out.

'A sad ending,' God mused. 'I enjoyed the two of you. Complete idiots that you are. Dying for each other?' She tutted. 'That was a very dramatic ending. But ah, it's not the first tale to end like that. And now you'll have many more chances and stories to live.'

'What do you mean, Lord?' Aziraphale asked.

'You'll be reborn,' God said. 'The dice are already being shaken.'

'The dice?'

'Eight-billion-sided dice,' God clarified. 'To determine the time, place and parents and the like.'

Aziraphale's heart sank. Eight billion sides. He was terrible at mathematics, but he immediately knew the obvious: the chance that he and Crowley would be reborn together, was infinitesimal.

Fate would sever them. The Fall and the six millennia of war following it, had not succeeded at what a pair of dice would do in an instant.

'If you read any good books during your next life, do give Me some recommendations when you get back here at the end,' God was saying. 'Who knows what obscure languages you'll end up speaking and reading? So exciting! Oh, and I want your wine recommendations. The stuff My son makes is so bland –'

But Aziraphale wasn't really listening anymore. He made a decision, there and then (though, being in the space between Nothing and Everything, there wasn't really a there or a then).
'All right,' he said. 'I'll find him.'

'What?' God said.

'I'll find Crowley,' Aziraphale said resolutely. 'If it takes one life or a hundred, I'll look for him, and I won't give up until find him again.'

God hesitated. 'Listen,' She said, not unkindly. 'You're dead, both of you. The story is over. Accept it.'

Aziraphale firmly shook his head. He was absolutely certain now.

'You're not the first to die with things left unsaid,' God said. 'But this is how it goes. This is how it's always been.'

'Perhaps,' Aziraphale said. 'But now, You have given us reincarnation, Lord. And I'll make use of it. I don't care if it takes another six thousand years, I'll find him.'

God was silent for a moment.

Then She groaned. 'Oh, Hell. I'm not going to watch that.' She let out an exasperated sigh. 'Fine. Fine. Get ready.'