For those of you who (like myself) were deeply traumatized and offended by the GO Finale... may I present a completely different ending, which is to say, not an ending at all, but the beginning of a new chapter of the World, after the Second Coming.
Here ya go (the bulk is under the cut for length only)... This is from Born of Starlight:
As they crossed the street back to the café, Crowley caught sight of something he'd been too focused on Aziraphale to notice, before. Tucked back into the alleyway alongside Marguerite's was what looked like a small shrine he was almost certain hadn't been there in the past. Curious, he detoured in that direction, coming to stand in front of what was definitely a shrine. On the wall, artistic hands had painted permanent renderings of what he had no doubt were someone's memories of the battle here on Earth. He flinched from the familiar sight of demons in all their war regalia, swarming through the streets of Soho. Rising in front of the terrible images was a small stone altar, with lit jar candles, surrounded by cellophane-wrapped arrangements of cut flowers, handmade cards, and little pieces of paper with prayers and memorials written on them.
His gut twisted and his eyes burned at the sight, and the simple knowledge of how strong humanity's faith in a better future always was. Regardless of the horrors they experienced, they still believed there was some great, cosmic force, some Providence, that would somehow salve all their worries, fears, and pains. They believed in God, or in many Gods, and their belief alone gave them strength to endure through even the most terrifying atrocities existence could visit upon them. Even when God was the one doing the visiting.
"It's a memorial for the lost. We decided it was only right."
Nina's voice dragged his attention around, and he saw the sorrow and strength of humanity reflected in her expression as she came to stand beside him, looking down at the shrine. "We fared okay, here. I think that's because Whickber Street had Mr. Fell, and you. We had someplace safe to go, and people capable of giving us the means to protect ourselves. Overall, I think London fared better than anywhere else, because of Muriel. Don't know what they did, but they did something to the pipes, to the water. Made London safer."
Crowley blinked, impressed. He hadn't known the Scrivener had it in them. "Holy Water. Amazing. That little Scrivener blessed all the water in London."
Nina shrugged. "Thought that might have been it. Whatever they did, London suffered a lot fewer losses than anywhere else. This memorial's for the rest of the world. A lot of people died, and I don't even know if anyone really understands why."
A scoffing laugh slid loose from Crowley, even as a frown tugged at his face. "Not sure any of us really understands why, Nina. Just glad some of us understood why we couldn't let it happen."
"Yeah, I'll give you that one. For what it's worth," she touched a hand tentatively to his upper arm. "I'm glad Mr. Fell came back, and that the two of you worked things out. Mags and I worried about you, after he left. She said you looked rough, when she saw you in the pub."
Her words formed a lump in Crowley's throat. Aside from Aziraphale, he'd never had anyone worry about him, before. He had to admit, it felt kind of nice. Swallowing hard, he managed a hoarse, "Yeah. Thanks for that."
She withdrew her touch with a nod, then turned and went back to the café. Crowley stood there, staring at the proof of humanity's strength and resilience, as the sounds of the party washed over him. He was barely aware of the passage of time, except for the shifting of sound around him, and the eventual quiet -- or as quiet as a busy Soho street ever got in the daytime -- that indicated everyone had returned to their normal business.
Finally, feeling weary to his soul, he muttered a quiet, "Sorry" and miracled in a single white stargazer lily, its roots sunk into the soil of a rainbow glazed clay pot. Aziraphale told him, back just before the Flood, that God created the rainbow as a never again type of promise. This seemed an appropriate time and place for a similar promise. If he ever had anything to say about it, humanity would never face this kind of horror show from Hell, again. He'd tear Hell down with his own two hands, first.
"It's lovely."
He turned at the quiet words, spoken in a voice as familiar as his own soul, to find Aziraphale seated on the bench across the alleyway, a small, sad smile on his angelic face and his hands folded in his lap as primly as ever.
Crowley winced. No one was supposed to see what he just did. But, if anyone was going to, at least it was his angel. "Angel, I..."
Aziraphale rose from the bench with a sigh and closed the distance between them, reaching out to take hold of the demon's hand even as he rested his head lightly against Crowley's shoulder. "You don't need to explain, love. Let's just leave it at 'it's lovely'."
Crowley nodded, steeling himself against the sudden urge to glance around and make sure no one else saw this moment of tenderness, before pressing his lips to Aziraphale's temple. He still battled the fear someone would notice and hurt Aziraphale to get to him. Hell could still try to seek revenge, even if they couldn't drag him back, or directly harm Aziraphale.
A glance around and a brief scan told him no one paid them any attention. There were no agents of either Heaven or Hell about. Just humans, going about their business. If anyone even glanced down the shadowed alleyway and saw them, they didn't say anything.
And for the first time in nearly a century, Crowley let himself relax, knowing his angel was finally safe.
For the rest of the story...
Born of Starlight (Pg-13): https://archiveofourown.org/works/52159429/chapters/131928235
Born of Starlight (NC-17): https://archiveofourown.org/works/55699651/chapters/141391873
The fact that not only goddamn Jimbo Keats had put a psychiatrist on his back, but the guy's surname was Tyler, sounded like nothing but bloody trouble.
Dedicado a Lau y Almu. This is going to be epic shit, una vez más. IIIIH.
