Let’s say that after three days, their original universe pops right back, with everyone and everything in it (Canada, too, thank you very much).
“What… do you mean, it’s been three days?” Jehoshua will ask as he looks around Soho, his newly reincorporated hands still tingling as the stigmata of light fade. “Days? But—there wasn’t anything, there couldn’t have been anything, not even the sun—“
“Nnh, don’t go asking me,” Crowley will say to one side of him. “I didn’t make the rules, he did. I thought it was taking him a while, writing in that book.”
And Crowley will point a thumb at Aziraphale, there on Jehoshua’s other side, and will smile that proud crooked smile—that’s my angel—as Aziraphale preens, and flushes, and says with all the brightness of a new beginning,
“Well—dear boy! Welcome back! God’s elsewhere this time, I’m afraid, and we’re on our own. You can choose to join Her, many have, or—ah—”
“Or you could stay here. You could stay and figure out what you actually want.”
“Oh,” Jehoshua will say. “Does that mean that I... get a go, this time around?”
“Don’t need to. ’S better than that. You get a choice.”
“This time around, you can just be you,” Aziraphale will say, very gently. “Figure out who you are.”
And Jehoshua will stay. Despite the loss and the being lost, I absolutely think he will choose to stay on this resurrected Earth, woven of rules and determination and wonder and awe and love.
Muriel will stay, too. And Saraquel. And so many others, demons and angels, ready to try and figure out who they are with no Heaven or Hell—not any more—and with no roles to play.
The Bookshop will become a place for outsiders, those needing a haven before they venture out into the mundane glory of the human world. Some of those outsiders will be people.
Crowley and Aziraphale will help rebuild Whickber street—Crowley grumbling all the way, but secretly pleased—because, even if Aziraphale was thinking about his love for Crowley when he said “but I love... Whickber street”, what he actually said was also true.
Even Mr. Brown will be back, with his world of carpets.
And Aziraphale and Crowley… well.
They probably won’t talk about it all for a while, not properly. They’ve spent a while not talking, after all, they’re well-practiced—but they will never be apart through any of this.
One morning, Crowley’s half-dead plant will find itself growing a new leaf. Then another one, and another. Then, it will find itself with a neighbour—“Angel, you have no idea how to care for a plant.” “Well, no, dearest, but you do. I thought we could—but if you don’t want—“ “Oh, I do. Just... put it down and come here, will you?”
They will grow a garden, all their own. It might not—gasp!—even have an apple tree, not for a long while. And they will get that cottage. The Bookshop’s a little crowded, these days, even if it is bigger on the inside, and it’s good—it’s great—but so is them finally, finally getting to be an ‘us’.
They will wake up together—Aziraphale still doesn’t need to sleep, but he will do it, just for this new experience: waking up with the love of his existence, with the one who completes him, and looking into his gorgeous, honey-gold, slit-pupil eyes.
(Crowley had been an angel, once. It was a long time ago. He doesn’t need to be an angel, or a demon, or anyone but himself for Aziraphale to love him—and by all the nebulas in existence, Aziraphale loves.)
They will get each other through, as they always have. Through the trauma, and the fears, and the anger. Through the centuries of accumulated hurt. They chose this world together, back in the empty bookshop, Crowley’s hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. They believed, and they made it be. They will get each other through.
They will kiss. That goes without question. But it won’t be Aziraphale who says do it again, I think—it will be Crowley, once he’s ready, his heart louder than any drum in a marching band. “Angel. Can I—can I try it again? Do it properly this time?” And Aziraphale’s answering smile will be brighter than any sunrise.
They will live, and love, and heal, and care.
And Jehoshua will send them postcards when he goes to see the Kingdoms of the World, with Adam and the Them, all of whom remember far too much. All of whom have chosen, once, to fight for this imperfect world, and all of whom would choose it all over again.
Break the narrative. Fight predetermination. Fill the blank pages of those books. Make your own choice.