A bright light, perhaps of nothingness and perhaps of everythingness, shone through the bookshop windows, illuminating all the empty books as God and Satan listened to Aziraphale and Crowley’s decision.
“We know what we’re asking for,” Aziraphale said. He and Crowley joined hands, staring down their maker.
Behind them, the shop bell jingled urgently.
A humanoid being barged through the doors. In the same way that Crowley, Aziraphale, God, and Satan were presenting in specifically human shapes that represented beings of a vaguer nature, this being was presenting in a vague shape that represented a specific group of humans. Its edges were fuzzy. It shimmered strangely, not exactly with light, but with a fast flickering of different faces and bodies. It seemed to be trying to look like thousands of people at once. There was a strange fringe around it, not unlike the kind VFX artists grapple with when placing characters in front of a CGI background.
The being tripped on its way in, catching itself with an odd sound that may have been the collective version of a grunt.
“Hi, yes. Excuse us, but, um— come with us,” it said in the voice of a crowd as it pulled itself to its feet. It held its hand out in Aziraphale and Crowley’s direction.
God and Satan raised their eyebrows.
“We still have your universe, but without the, you know, the problems. Come on!” Although the appearance of its face changed many times every second, one could get a general impression of its expression. Currently, it seemed to be impatient and out of breath.
“Er, you are…?” Aziraphale prompted, not unkindly.
“You can probably call us, uh,” the being hesitated. “The Fanatic Domain,” it concluded, with some satisfaction.
“The Fandom. Humans,” God said, smiling mysteriously.
Crowley had been looking around wildly, and he finally checked through the windows as if the crowds had returned to Whickber Street outside. “Humans? Where’d you come from? How’d you get in here?”
“We crawled in through a plot hole,” admitted the Fandom. “But that doesn’t really matter. The point is,” it reached out again, more impatient this time, “come with us.”
Aziraphale and Crowley, still holding hands, shot each other and God a confused look.
“I’m their God and your canon,” God said to the Fandom. “You can’t undo what you already know happened. It will always have happened. If not here, elsewhere.”
The Fandom considered God for a moment. “You can do literally anything you want. Why this?”
“Fine, then.” The Fandom sat on the ground (mostly; there were a few flickers indicating that perhaps all of it didn’t, but the gesture was conveyed). It crossed its arms. “You and we can sit here and stare at each other forever.”
“I've got eternity,” said God.
“See if we're going to let that mean anything,” said the Fandom.
There was an awkward pause as the Fandom sized God up and God enigmatically watched the Fandom.
By now, Aziraphale and Crowley had relaxed a little. “If we're planning to be a while,” said Aziraphale, very tentatively, “should I make us some hot cocoa?”
“No, thank you,” said Satan.
“Cocoa would be lovely, thank you,” the Fandom said.
Crowley said nothing; he just followed Aziraphale closely. The Fandom glowered at God until the pair returned. It felt a little guilty about accepting a treat from an angel with one foot in oblivion, but something was going to have to happen to pass the time.
As Aziraphale handed over the cocoa, Crowley leaned on the pillar next to the Fandom. “She isn't a genie. She's not granting a wish,” he said so gently it was painful. “We criticised Her game, so we get to choose freedom for humans like you or the existence we’ve already had for thousands of years. ‘Both’ isn't one of the choices. She’s making a point.”
“We know you think you're making a selfless choice, but we're human, too. You're part of us.” The Fandom’s face crumpled like a tissue. “Look, we can't be entirely sure how any of this works. We're flying by the seat of our pants here. We just know more chances to make more choices are out there, and we can bring you to them."
Aziraphale smiled at Crowley. “What do you think?”
“Well, anything's worth a shot, I suppose.” Crowley looked the Fandom up and down. “This isn’t part of Ineffability, is it?”
“Where we come from,” the Fandom said with conviction, “ineffable is just a word referring to things that are too profound for other words. And by definition, we expect plans to be effable.”
“Remember: you're here because you know what happens,” said God.
“You’ll always know what was there. Underneath,” Satan added.
“Sure. So they still have the Godless universe they asked for and we have them,” the Fandom said. “It doesn’t have to be about erasing or undoing. It can be about…answering. Making it so this doesn’t have to be the only thing that happened. And we're real, so you can't stop us any more than we can stop you.”
God chuckled. “That is fair enough, I suppose. But,” she said to Crowley and Aziraphale, “when you put your faith in humans, you can only last as long as they do. And these ones are in a state of high conflict.”
The Fandom managed to convey a collective sigh. “That’s none of your business,” it said. “We’ll sort it out with them.”
Once again, Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s hand. “This is unexpected, isn’t it?” he asked gently.
“Yeah,” Crowley said. “Yeah, it is. But looking back, I’d say putting faith in humans is the only thing that’s ever really worked for us.”
“Well, after you,” the Fandom said hopefully, turning its back to God and Satan, gesturing toward the door.
And so Crowley and Aziraphale stepped out of their Eden and into the unknown together.
