Chapter Text
A shriek cuts through the quiet morning.
It’s repeated a moment later, mixed with a second voice in an imperfect echo, but Aziraphale has already left his chair. As he hurries towards the front there is a series of hectic noises from Crowley.
He turns a corner and nearly stumbles over the battle.
“Aziraphale, stay back!” Crowley is lying on the bookshop floor, at the mercy of his attackers. “Don’t come any closer, I don’t know what they’ll do —”
It’s too late, though, as with another shrill cry, both of the intruders turn their focus to Aziraphale.
“Uncle Azzie!” Grace yells, grabbing him about one thigh and hanging on.
“We’re here!” Aggie attaches herself to the other leg. “Daddy said no unless we ate all our veg’tables for a whole week, but we did!”
“And we’re delighted to be worth such a sacrifice, truly.”
Aziraphale separates the girls from his person just long enough to kneel down and deliver a proper hug. Crowley, still on the floor where he seems to have been abandoned, looks over with a scowl.
“Sure, I see how things are. Aziraphale gets hugs, I get tackled. Don’t you little monsters know I’m the cool uncle?”
Aggie looks back at him, seeming unimpressed. “You make funny sounds when you fall,” she informs him.
“Hrngph,” Crowley says, then grins when both girls laugh.
The front door jangles, letting in the sounds of a drizzly Soho weekend. “Oh, cripes,” the newcomer says. “I promise we’re trying to teach them not to attack people.”
“Vicious things, they are. Real killer instinct.” Crowley takes the hand their visitor offers and gets up again. “Definitely take after my side of the family.”
When Adam looks at his daughters, something in his face smooths out, making him seem almost the boy he once was. “Well, they don’t take after me. They’re already learning division.”
Crowley gets reclaimed by Aggie and Grace, presumably due to his status as the ‘cool’ uncle. They all curl up on the floor together, the twins spreading out bright drawings for Crowley to look at, to spin stories about. He stops often, though. At every turn he asks the girls for input, for details and descriptions and decisions, then weaves in their ideas to make them the storytellers just as much as he is. The tale currently seems to be unfolding aboard a spaceship.
Adam and Aziraphale watch them for a few minutes, until Aziraphale remembers his manners. “Forgive me, dear,” he says, “was there something you needed help with outside? At the very least I can give you an umbrella —”
Adam shakes his head. “I’d just forgotten to lock the car. We never bother at home, and I know I ought to in the city...” Then the fine lines at the corners of his eyes deepen. “Then again, I bet I don’t need to here, right? Bet my car is always safe here.”
“One of the privileges of having supernatural godparents,” Aziraphale says with great dignity, “is built-in protection of one’s things.”
That makes Adam laugh. Aziraphale joins him, and the mingled sound of their happiness makes Crowley smile at them for a moment. Then he returns his attention to the children. The other adults let their laughter trail off into a peaceful silence.
“I’ve decided I’m going to tell them.” Adam’s voice is hushed when he at last speaks, plainly meant for Aziraphale alone. “Not now, obviously, they’re too young to understand, but... later on. Before they really start noticing that you guys don’t age.”
The three of them had talked this over well before the twins had been born. Adam maintained that his children couldn’t possibly have better godparents than those he’d grown up with. Aziraphale and Crowley had been less certain about the idea. They’d never stayed this long in a child’s life before. Adam would be no worse off for the exposure, of course, he’d already looked into the eye of madness and told it to sod off; but his spouse had never been anything but human, and there was every reason to think the girls would be as well.
They’d agreed to the idea in time. Crowley maintained that it was only because Adam’s puppy-dog eyes were almost as devastating as Aziraphale’s.
“I kind of like the idea of you guys being... I don’t know. Their protectors.” Adam’s head tips thoughtfully. “On down through the ages. My kids, and someday their kids, and then theirs... until long after I’ve been forgotten, but... you’d still be there.”
Aziraphale pulls in a breath to cool the sudden warmth in his chest. “Like an inheritance. Or a family secret, with each generation imparting it to the next.”
“Obviously you two would have to talk it over. It’s a big decision, and forever is a long time. But...”
Crowley has just asked the girls something. Aggie bounces with excitement, shouting “they’re what water slides off!”, which presumably makes sense in context.
“I’d be honored to know that you’ll be there. That they’ll never be alone.”
The two of them will discuss it later, yes, absolutely, but Aziraphale already knows how Crowley will answer. It was Crowley’s idea to watch over that very first infant, after all. Having untold future generations of Youngs under his protection is probably his secret dream.
Adam nudges him gently.
“Spouse is all for it, by the way. Says you’d be like their guardian angels.”
He grins as he says it, this joke that no one outside this room can truly be in on. He’s been hearing Crowley call Aziraphale ‘angel’ for nearly thirty years, after all; moreover, he understands — as perhaps no other human ever will — the sixty centuries of love behind that name. The mortal mind wasn’t made to grasp such lengths of time, but having once been part Elder God apparently fills in the gaps.
Grace and Aggie will hear the name all their lives, too. Aziraphale wonders just how they’ll explain all this to their children.
“Thank you,” he says. The words are too small, really. They totter beneath the weight of all they cannot encompass, this warmth in Aziraphale’s heart and this ache in his throat, but they are all he seems to have. “I believe the honor is ours that you’d even ask.”
Adam’s eyes drift back to his children. “I’m still sort of waiting for them to hit eleven. And we’re trying to raise them so they’d make the right choice, if...”
It’s another conversation that they’ve had before, in nearly every combination of Aziraphale, Crowley, and the new generation of Mr and Mrs Young. What was started centuries ago was almost certainly finished that day at the airbase, when Adam rewrote himself human to evict the Risen’s summoned Elder God. Any who might have tried the scheme again had been banished to another facet of existence. The individual Risen who are left, the ones who chose love (of friends, of family, of the world itself just as it was) wouldn’t do such a thing even if they knew how to.
But there’s no way to be certain. The girls will be raised in love, and taught to be kind, and that is all any of them can do.
Aziraphale reaches up to lay a hand on Adam’s shoulder, drawing a distracted half-smile from him. “They are your children, mathematics skills aside. You found the way through. So will they.”
The smile deepens. “Yeah, but I had help.”
“And so will they.”
The silence which follows that promise is a complicated one, overflowing with unsaid things, yet peaceful. Adam nods with the air of one confirming a well-known fact.
The girls make room for their father when he joins them, sitting cross-legged on the floor with Aggie clambering into his lap. Grace, meanwhile, turns an expectant face towards Aziraphale. “Sit, Uncle Azzie,” she declares.
“Yeah, sit, Uncle Azzie,” Crowley says, grinning up at him like the impossible menace he is. “We were just gonna draw the duck-aliens.”
“Oh dear. I’m afraid I missed that part of the story.”
Aggie grabs one of the crayons which have been spilled across the floor, though she seems content merely to hold it. “They’re really really scary, and they have fangs and red eyes and swords that go ‘shoom shoom’,” she says. “Only they’re good, so it’s okay.”
“I'd actually like to see such a creature, thank you.” Aziraphale steps a bit closer, and Grace and Crowley shift apart to open a space for him in the circle around their art supplies; it’s not large enough for him, for his wide bulk as he lowers himself to the floor, but he knows it’s no matter. Grace barely waits for his posterior to touch down before she’s claimed his lap. Crowley, meanwhile, presses up against his other side with a decidedly contented sigh.
Once everyone is settled, Crowley readies himself a fresh sheet of paper. “Let’s see... what color were they again? And they had... three heads, was it? But two of them were invisible?”
The girls call out answers to his questions, although Aziraphale has the feeling that things are getting rather more embellished as they go. Crowley doesn’t really look up until somewhere midway through drawing the jetpack.
“Wh — hang on a second... I’m the only one doing all the work here! You lot’ve outsmarted me again!”
Both children laugh, sitting comfortably on one of the other grown-ups’ knees, and very much not doing any drawing themselves. Grace has pulled herself comfortably against Aziraphale’s soft body in a way that recalls her father at about the same age. Adam and Aggie, meanwhile, are sharing the same impish grin; Aziraphale merely lifts an eyebrow when Crowley looks at him for sympathy.
“Ought to go on strike, start demanding some better working conditions.” Crowley makes a show of shifting against the hard floor. “More juice breaks. The really big box of crayons.”
Immediately his oppressors turn into comrades, one child running to fetch a sofa cushion while the other presents the juice break demand to their father. Adam provides the counteroffer that they both assist him in securing beverages.
With the three Youngs off to the kitchen, Crowley flops over so his head rests on Aziraphale’s knee. “Hi,” he says, golden eyes brimming with love. “How are you?”
“I’m doing splendidly, my darling. And yourself?”
Aziraphale brushes Crowley’s hair off his forehead, then continues to weave his fingers through it. The start of an answer turns to a pleasurable hum. Aziraphale nods gravely. “I see.”
Crowley’s eyes slip closed. “Keep doing that and I’m going to fall asleep,” he says, although when Aziraphale tries to heed the warning, Crowley makes a sad little noise and stops his hand from withdrawing.
Voices filter down from the flat upstairs; Adam will already be guiding his daughters through their task, movements slow with gentle patience. He doesn’t need to ask where the glasses are to do this, nor the bright plastic cups that now sit beside them. Designed specifically for small hands, unbreakable, spillproof — all ordinary miracles of invention. There is no question that any accidents at the bookshop should still be handled the human way. No magicking away the children’s messes, at least until they’re old enough to understand that self-reassembling drinkware is not the norm.
There are signs of Aggie and Grace all over the shop and the flat these days. All the low shelves have been carefully set up with only child-safe contents. There are new blankets on the upstairs sofa with smiling cartoon animals adorning them. There are even two little stepstools in the broom closet, bright plastic barely six inches high, for when one or both want to ‘help’ with reshelving.
They’ve made a place for the girls in their shared life, and it’s been just as easy as loving them has been.
“It really has,” Crowley replies, and Aziraphale realizes he’s spoken the thought aloud. “Easiest thing in the world. Hard part’ll be getting used to when they outgrow us.”
Aziraphale strokes through Crowley’s lovely hair again. “You’re very accustomed to being a godfather now, aren’t you.”
Crowley makes an assenting noise.
“It just so happens that Adam and I were discussing that very subject.”
The noise is questioning this time.
“We’ll need to have our own discussion later, you and I, to be sure we’re making the right decision. But, well.” When Aziraphale scratches lightly at Crowley’s scalp, the silly thing almost puddles bonelessly right off Aziraphale’s leg. “It seems that, if we’re amenable, there’s a place for us as Young family heirlooms.”
The peaceful expression on Crowley’s face lasts perhaps another two seconds before he bolts upright. “He said we could —”
“The girls will have the final word, of course, when they have families of their own.”
“Right.” Crowley nods vigorously.
“And then those children would decide for their own, and so on.”
“Course.” Crowley nods again.
Then he positively beams, handsome face radiating his joy to what surely must be half the neighborhood.
“Think of it, angel — never just abandoning them because they turned out human — no more having to sneak off before the parents realize we’re not actually old friends, because we would be, we’d’ve known one or the other their whole life — no more having to poke around in their heads to keep ‘em from guessing for as long as possible, because they’d know us, know exactly what we were...”
When he finally seems to register the weight of Aziraphale’s hand atop his own, he goes quiet, his words not cut off so much as they trickle gently to a stop. He dips his head when Aziraphale adds a squeeze. “You get a say too, obviously. Could be you don’t want to tie yourself to a bunch of humans for the rest of eternity, and I — I don’t need them, y’know. The godkids.” Gracefully he shifts their hands until their fingers slip into perfect alignment together. “I just need you.”
“Eternity is a very long time,” Aziraphale allows. “And you are such an unholy terror sometimes. I’m sure I’ll be glad to always have someone else who understands that.”
He’s not really sure whether Crowley has shifted closer to him, or whether he’s moved closer to Crowley, or whether it was perhaps both of those things. What he is sure of is that when Crowley leans in, he’s there to meet him. Their lips brush together before Aziraphale tilts his head just a little, their mouths sliding into place as though they were meant for this, the gentle pressure, the soft gasp which draws trembling breath from the other’s lungs.
It’s only a brief moment of contact, that kiss. It is nearly more than Aziraphale’s heart can withstand.
“Angel,” Crowley says quietly.
Aziraphale holds out one soft, heavy arm so that Crowley can snuggle up beneath it. “Demon,” he murmurs back.
Eventually the stairs thunder with descending footsteps, both girls galloping ahead of their father to bring their excited tidings. “We got juice,” Grace hollers, “and there’s some for me and for Aggie and —”
“It’s orange and Daddy let me do the one for Uncle Crowley —”
“And Uncle Crowley gets the pretty cup!”
By the time Adam appears, tray steady in his hands, his daughters are deep in a retelling of their kitchen adventure. There’s a rueful sort of look on his face which is explained once he starts handing off beverages.
“They actually had an excellent point, which was that we didn’t want anyone to spill in the bookshop.” He puts a child’s cup adorned with rainbow stripes into Grace’s hands, then a bright green one into Aggie’s. “Because Uncle Aziraphale would be sad if anyone did.” Aziraphale accepts his own drink with as much graciousness as he can muster, even though he isn’t usually one for polka dots. “So... sippy cups for everyone.”
Crowley looks almost confused about the drink Adam gives him. Aggie and Grace mostly get along well, but there have been a few altercations over ‘the pretty cup’. It really doesn’t seem much different to Aziraphale than any of the others in the cupboard — another bright pattern, this one random shapes on a field of blue. Both children feel that it’s the best of the lot, though. It’s remarkably unusual to see it in anyone else’s hands.
“This isn’t some crafty plot for you two to jump me again, is it? Because I’m happy to surrender the goods right now.”
The girls seem to find that very amusing. “Noo,” Aggie giggles, “we can’t both have it. So now it’s for you.”
“It’s like a present,” Grace says. “Only not for your birthday, but just because.”
Aziraphale has seen Crowley be surprised by happiness a thousand times since they wove their lives together, and he hopes he will see it ten times ten thousand more. Today it’s as lovely to watch as ever. Faced with two little girls who love him just because, those yellow eyes brighten like twin handfuls of stars, suffusing him with an almost heavenly glow. His mouth forms a crooked little grin which then grows, all the familiar lines of his face shifting to hold the joy that has chosen to rest there, and he pulls the ordinary mass-produced chunk of plastic closer like the precious thing it now is.
To take the focus off the poor overwhelmed darling, Aziraphale clears his throat. “It’s much pleasanter this way than if you were fighting,” he says, looking at each child in turn. “Don’t you think?”
There is a chorus of earnest agreement.
Aziraphale shares a look across the group at Adam, currently drinking out of the cup with flowers printed on it. I won’t be worried even if we do have to face it again in a few years, he hopes to convey with his smile. They will be ready.
The basic message does get across, judging by the way Adam ducks his head almost shyly. He is not the least bit bashful when he looks up again, though, reaching to gently still Grace’s wildly gesturing hands. All that Aziraphale sees in his young face now is fierce pride, and even fiercer love.
“Careful, kiddo,” he murmurs, just barely in Aziraphale’s hearing. “Might want to put down your juice before you launch it into orbit.”
The topic of space, logically enough, leads them back to the story Crowley had helped them tell earlier, invisible duck heads and all. Grace very carefully sets her beverage down before running after her sister on some manner of alien-related mission.
“Gosh, they’re a handful,” Crowley says with obvious delight.
The morning stretches on, turning to afternoon amidst more games, a healthful lunch, and a nap for the little ones (which, of course, Aziraphale is the only one awake for, as Adam can use the rest too, and Crowley will never pass up a chance to sleep by Aziraphale’s side). It’s a lovely time, truly. Catching up with Adam, with the girls — occasionally bringing them to parks and zoos and child-friendly museums — it’s all lovely. It doesn’t matter whether the Youngs come to London or Aziraphale and Crowley drive out to Tadfield. Just being with their human family is a delight.
Because they are family. That will never be an illusion again.
“So,” Crowley says, once everyone is hugged and farewell’d and bundled off home again. “Cryptids, then.”
Aziraphale is headed towards the sink, but rolls his eyes anyway. “We wouldn’t be cryptids, Crowley, we’d be godfathers.”
“Nah. Family cryptids.” The voice grows louder, audible even after Aziraphale turns on the water and begins washing up. “Fair folk, bound to serve the same bloodline forever.” Long arms wind around Aziraphale’s waist from behind, cradling his belly for a moment, before Crowley steps up and grabs a tea towel. “Ancient heroes, sworn to return in times of greatest need.”
“Oh, yes, heroes, I’m sure we qualify for that.”
Crowley’s response is as tranquil as if the subject were dish-drying. “Took pretty heroic strength not to swoon at your feet all those millennia.” Then, back to the joking tone: “Time travelers, maybe? I bet I’d make an excellent time traveler. All those... y’know, adventures and whatnot.”
“You’d be splendid, my love.” Aziraphale smiles down at his washing. “But I rather think I’m done with adventure for now.”
“Sure, now. But someday we’ll have a godkid somewhere that isn’t England.” Crowley begins drying more enthusiastically as the idea forms behind his eyes. “Maybe on the moon. In space. Three centuries from now, Shikha Young-Featherstonehaugh —”
“Featherstonehaugh?”
“ — Shikha Young-Featherstonehaugh will be on a ship to, to Alpha Centauri —” Crowley twirls the last mug on his finger before setting it gently on the rack. “And we’ll be there. Other planets, angel. You know the humans won’t be limited just to this one.”
Even with only one planet, of course, there will someday be far too many of Adam’s descendants for the two of them to look after. They’ve started to find some of the others, though — those Deep Ones and Risen who chose love over war, when Adam posed the question all those years ago. It seems all have maintained their powers, and most are quite fond of humanity. Aziraphale thinks more than a few will actually be delighted to someday be godparents themselves.
He tips his head in concession. “I suppose I’d be willing to tag along. As long as I can get a proper cup of tea on those other planets.”
His heart gives a happy thrum when Crowley’s hand curves against his cheek. Crowley just looks at him for a bit, a tiny smile playing absently about his mouth, not saying anything.
“You’re ridiculous,” Crowley says finally. He punctuates the statement with a kiss to Aziraphale’s temple. “All the tea and crepes and cocoa you could ever want, no matter where we go. How’s that?”
“Would you be part of the deal?”
It’s meant teasingly, but Crowley doesn’t play along. He only looks at Aziraphale again with enough reverence to serve an army of gods.
“You know I’m already yours forever, right?”
Six thousand years of golden eyes watching, bright with fascination transmuted to fondness and then into love. An ancient unspoken language of gifts, of acts, of offering up one heart ten thousand different ways. The touches and words they can now share as they move through their life each day, hold each other each night.
Yes. Aziraphale knows.
“My treasure.” Aziraphale reaches for Crowley, who’s already in motion himself, each tightly embracing and being embraced in turn. “I’ll touch every star in the heavens, as long as it’s by your side.”
His treasure, his dearest, his Crowley, who once Rose alone before they fell in love together, breathes out on a peaceful sigh.
At length Crowley speaks. It’s not even a whisper, more felt against skin than heard. Aziraphale knows the shape of these sounds by heart, though. He knows how powerful they are.
It’s just three short words, in a perfectly commonplace sentence. But the truth behind them can save a world.