Chapter Text

“Everything alright, my dear?” Aziraphale slowly extended his arm and squeezed Crowley’s shoulder. He had noticed that Crowley seemed somewhat distant in the last few days. Not in a way of coldness or indifference—more along the lines of quiet pensiveness that occasionally overtook him, especially during moments of downtime they had in the evenings before going to bed, like now. The sun was setting over their little cottage, peeking down low through heavy clouds and illuminating the room in a warm, orange glow, casting sharp shadows across Crowley’s equally sharp features.

“Huh?” The demon seemed to jolt a little, clearly having been taken out of deep, concentrated thought. The soft fabric of his long black tunic top rustled under the angel’s touch. “Oh, yeah. Sure.”

Aziraphale took off his reading glasses, put down his book with a sigh, and moved to sit closer to him. “Crowley, you may be a demon, but you’re a terrible liar.”

Aziraphale felt Crowley’s hackles rise in the way his body stiffened. “I’m not ly—”

“Then just tell me what is on your mind, dearest,” he interrupted, “I can see you’ve been mulling something over in that head of yours for days now. It must be something important.”

Crowley sounded a low, throaty groan. Of course Aziraphale would notice. The man always saw through him like he was a window, and Crowley always forgot to draw the curtains to save himself the embarrassment. The last few years, perhaps he was the weirdo with no curtains to speak of. 

“Fine. You’re right, something has been bothering me.”

But oh, there came the hard part. How could he possibly say what it was and not make a complete fool of himself? It didn’t appear to be possible, not in his mind. He didn’t want to disrupt their beautiful, hard-earned peace with such worries, and yet this idea, this thought, was plaguing his mind and refusing to let up even when he tried to squash it, and the demon didn’t deal in half-measures—he really tried .

He stood up, snaking away from Aziraphale’s gentle touch, and walked over to the burning fireplace. He took the fire poker and ruffled the logs a bit, more to just occupy his hands with something than to tend to them. Aziraphale shifted on the sofa, watching his husband with worried eyes.

Crowley took a deep breath, bracing himself. “How long have we been married?”

Aziraphale took a beat to answer that question, caught slightly off guard. He smiled and rubbed the back of his head. “Oh, it’s been… three years and eight months, give or take. Not that I’m counting.” 

“Right. And we have everything we need, beyond just each other, which is already more than enough, but–” Crowley carded a hand through his own hair, tugging at the strands a tad more than necessary. He sat down on the floor and continued without looking at Aziraphale. His voice got a bit softer—a small, timid thing. It was running away from him, but he held on. “What I mean to say is, ahhm… I’m happy with what we’ve got. Happiest I’ve ever been. Yet I’m greedy, aren’t I? I just want us to have more. I want something… something of ours, beyond just this house or the bookshop or the Bentley.”

Crowley swallowed around a lump in his throat and took a breather. It felt like he was going to choke. He hadn’t even truly said anything yet, and he already felt his heart race and sputter like an old exhaust. Why was it always so hard to say these things? It was only one of the most important, life-changing things—no big deal, right?

Aziraphale’s heart was being stress-tested as well. He may not have completely understood what the demon was alluding to, but he thought he had a pretty good idea. Certainly that couldn’t have been it, he thought. Crowley was probably talking about a pet. Wasn’t there that one time when he hinted that they should get a cat? He said it was their best bet to get rid of that pesky field mouse that kept finding its way back into their kitchen no matter how many times they caught and brought it away from the house. Common sense, however, told Aziraphale that Crowley wouldn’t have been so anxious and on edge had it been the simple question of adopting an animal. 

Seeing as the demon wasn’t saying anything else, Aziraphale softly spoke up, trying to prompt him for more. “Darling, I’m not quite sure I understand where you’re going with this.”

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Kids. I’m talking about kids.” He immediately regretted them.

Aziraphale watched as Crowley brought his knees to his chest, hissing quiet curses into the crackling flames in the fireplace. He blinked. An emotional rollercoaster of shock, surprise, confusion, and a flicker of hope passed across his face. Did he truly hear that right?

“But, Crowley— How…” he began carefully, feeling quite unbalanced and dazed. He shifted in his seat so he was leaning forward, as if obeying a tug of some invisible line wrapped around him that urged him to get closer, but he knew that Crowley usually got a bit jumpy when he was this keyed up, so he kept his distance and remained seated where he was, however much he wanted to reach out. “I mean, if we could, how would we…”

“Hell do I know,” Crowley grumbled, giving the burning logs another hard jab that almost seemed personal. “I mean, I figured if I had the right bits—which can be arranged, not something I haven’t done before—it could theoretically be possible, assuming…” He rambled on before coming to a sudden stop. He slowly turned to look at Aziraphale and studied his face. An almost question mark-like shape formed of his left brow. “Wait. You’re considering it? Seriously?”

Aziraphale avoided looking at Crowley while awkwardly wringing his hands in his lap. “You sound surprised.”

Crowley put the poker away, got to his feet in one quick, fluid motion, and whirled around on his heels. “‘Course I’m surprised! It’s a stupid idea!”

“It certainly is not, Crowley.” The angel spoke quietly but firmly. “I must admit, I’ve… I’ve thought about it. I never supposed… you might want that too, quite frankly, but I’m… I’m glad that you do.”

“You… you have?” It was Crowley’s turn to stare back at him, wide-eyed. He made a step toward the sofa and took a sideways seat. “You’re mad.”

Aziraphale shook his head with a fond smile. “Maybe, but a family together… It seems rather wonderful. It’s more than I could have ever dreamed of.”

Crowley’s face softened a little, but there was still an unmistakable hint of perplexity in it. 

“Still, I mean, two supernatural beings and a baby in tow? Bit ridiculous, that.” He exhaled, deflating against the back of the sofa. “And you kinda said it yourself—me, a dad? Right.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Crowley. I just didn’t expect it, is all. In fact, I think you’d be a wonderful father.” Crowley rolled his eyes dramatically in response. “Please. Don’t believe me if you must. I do think so nonetheless.”

For once, Crowley chose to keep his mouth shut and not argue. He reached for Aziraphale’s hand, seeking the soft and warm comfort of it. There he is, Aziraphale thought, smiling ever so slightly to himself and giving the demon’s fingers a gentle squeeze. Crowley always came around, after all. He just needed a moment. 

“And how would we, well, proceed if we were to… decide to pursue the idea?” Aziraphale murmured. “I mean, did you perchance want to adopt?”

Crowley briefly thought it over and shook his head. “No. As much as I’d like to give some poor kid a loving home, I don’t think I could, angel. I cannot have to… bury them less than a hundred odd years later.”

Aziraphale flinched, but the demon was right. Outliving your child, and in their case it would be a near certainty if a mortal child was involved... What a terrible thought. “Then how?”

Crowley gestured vaguely to his own body, his long-fingered hand gliding gracefully through the air. “Didn’t you hear me earlier? I could change some things. Y’know, bits.”

The angel gave him a once-over. “No, I did hear you. I just didn’t quite catch what you meant by…” Crowley couldn’t help but smirk when Aziraphale’s mouth made an adorable ‘o’ and his cheeks flushed pink. “Do you mean to say you wish to try to conceive ? You… you’d do that?”

Aziraphale stared at him with those beautiful sky-blue orbs of his, an expression of pure, unadulterated love written clear across his face. Crowley averted his eyes and tersely nodded, blushing. 

The angel felt at a loss for words. Crowley, his beautiful, wonderful Crowley, carrying their child… He cleared his throat and attempted to say something, but words that were forming there died, unborn, and what came out was just a low, inarticulate sound. Crowley’s fingers slipped to and caressed his angel’s forearm, pads playing with the light velvety hairs. He grinned, cocking his head to one side, exposing—rather purposefully—the delicious bit of freckled skin of his neck. The tunic decided to back his intentions up; its neckline slipped just enough to reveal his clavicle. Aziraphale’s eyes went there immediately, and Crowley hummed contentedly, almost a little proud of himself, when a ragged exhale hissed through the air. 

He summoned the best approximation of a low, sultry voice he could, given the nervous energy coursing through him. “I take it you’d like that, angel.”

Aziraphale really couldn’t resist him—not ever. He nodded enthusiastically, eyes not petering out their roaming along the column of the demon’s throat and across the constellations of freckles and moles. He had already charted them all, but one never got tired of looking at the night sky if they understood even just a little what endless beauty it held. He marvelled at the thought of being able to see an entire cosmos up close; he could even create a nebula if he’d just sucked a little bit on that smooth, beautiful skin, which is exactly what he wanted to do. 

The fabric of the sofa rustled when the angel moved, sliding closer until their thighs were touching. Crowley looked him in the eyes, noticing the milky clouds in the slate blue of them beginning to form. He swallowed as their hot breath wafted through the air, mixing, intermingling. He kept the pressure on with all the patience and diablerie he could rally, intent on teasing first, giving later. “Impatient again, angel?”

It worked just as he’d intended. Aziraphale’s brows twisted to a point. He whined. “You cannot possibly propose such things and expect me to remain composed, Crowley.”

Crowley’s eyes wandered south, and he noticed the way Aziraphale was pressing his thighs together. How very unsubtle, he smirked.

“Not that I expect you to, exactly, but I do need a little alone time to arrange this, you know,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Typically have to iron out some kinks with these types of miracles.” 

The angel momentarily spaced out, imagining what that entailed. He wouldn’t know; he’d never made changes to his corporation like that. Was there some shaping, some sculpting involved? Could he watch? ‘Alone time’ implied that he couldn’t. Bummer. He’d have to settle for tasting the fruits of Crowley’s labour once he was done. Yes. Now that was certainly a prospect worth looking forward to.

Meanwhile, Crowley slid further down the back of the sofa, splaying across the cushions, his tunic riding up, and gazed at him through the fan of his eyelashes. Aziraphale was now visibly squirming in his seat. Would he ever get tired of teasing and winding him up like this? Not likely. He was starting to get a little hot himself, and it certainly wasn’t the fireplace’s doing.

His voice dropped to a low whisper. “Wait for me in the bedroom, will you, angel?”

With a swishing of clothes and a few lingering glances, hands itching to outstretch and grab, fingers aching to touch, Aziraphale reluctantly stood up and made to leave. Crowley chewed on his lip, watching him. “Good boy.”

Aziraphale felt, as he walked, like his entire body was tingling. It took serious wherewithal to obey now, but with Crowley, obedience was oftentimes very rewarding. This was a game he knew very well.

The floorboards creaked in the hall, and Crowley knew he was alone when the bedroom door clicked, once when it opened and again when it closed. He stood up and took a minute to shake off his anxiety like a duck shaking off water after a swim in the pond. He stopped, rooted firmly to the spot in concentration, took a deep, deliberate breath, and put both hands over his solar plexus, pressing down with the pads of his fingers. Aziraphale felt the surge of energy from the other room. That was one hefty miracle. He could feel some residual waves of it even minutes later, as well as hear that the demon was shuffling about and muttering to himself. At some point he debated whether or not he should call out or go there to see if everything was okay, but just as he started to get up, the bedroom door clicked. 

Aziraphale plopped back down onto the edge of the bed and stared. Crowley stood in the doorway a moment, leaning against the frame. He was wearing only the tunic now, which seemed long with trousers but looked very much like a flowing mini dress when worn alone. Just lots of thigh happening. Aziraphale had a particularly crippling weakness for that.

Crowley drank in the sight before him too, Aziraphale’s flushed face and restless hands, before stepping over the threshold fully, not closing the door behind him. He walked, very slowly, backlit by the hallway lamp, toward the angel and rested a hand on his shoulder. There was something intoxicating about the way Aziraphale was looking at him.

The angel studied Crowley’s body, captivated. Nothing jumped out at him—Crowley looked entirely the same gorgeous creature he always was. It wasn’t before he came up close and Aziraphale slid his hands up his thighs to raise the hem of the tunic that he saw. Crowley was still wearing his usual dark-grey boxer briefs, but they were ill-fitting at the front. And there was already a small wet spot visible.

“Oh, Crowley…” he breathed out. His hands squeezed the demon’s thighs, impatient fingers already reaching inside his undergarment’s legs. Crowley bit his lip from the equally familiar and completely new sensation in his lower stomach. His clit throbbed. 

“Excited, love?” he murmured, his hand moving along the angel’s shoulder, his thumb massaging the muscles underneath the layer of fabric. Instead of answering, Aziraphale leaned forward and pressed his face against his crotch with a small whimper. Crowley let out a quiet moan. “Hnnngh. That’s a yes then.”

Aziraphale pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss against the fabric, and even that dulled sensation made Crowley’s body jolt. He retreated half a step and hurriedly kicked his pants off his legs and tossed them aside, then reached to remove the tunic as well, but Aziraphale’s hands caught his wrists. A soft ‘don’t’ was the only thing that came out before the angel, encountering no opposition, seized his hips and drew him back in. Long fabric always suited him exceptionally well, so it was more than welcome to stay on.

Aziraphale spent a moment just taking it in. He parted and licked his lips, an action that was very reminiscent of that of a man looking at a piece of fresh pastry, only with considerably more lust. He looked up to meet Crowley’s golden irises, having already moved close enough that the thatch of coarse red hairs was tickling the tip of his nose. “May I?”

Crowley nodded. “Like you even have to ask, angel.”

As soon as the warm flat of the angel’s tongue pressed and licked against him, Crowley went for a fistful of his soft blond hair. “Oh… oh fuck, that’s– ngk.”

“Mmm…” Aziraphale’s mind was swirling in a flurry of sensations. He licked and tasted, teasing the clit or moving his tongue between the folds, mouth sucking and exploring. He wanted to bury his entire face in Crowley because he was just so warm, wet, and soft. He hummed in blissful content, and Crowley arched his back from the vibrations. “You’re utterly delicious, my sweet.” 

Crowley hissed and rolled his hips, seeking more. Aziraphale opened his mouth wider, capturing the full lips of the demon’s pussy, pushed his tongue as far out as he could, and moved lower, licking around the slick entrance, delving in. His eyes rolled back and fluttered closed, his brow furrowed, and Crowley nearly lost it right there. “Fuuuuuck.”

That’s it. As much as he liked those lips and that tongue and that blissful expression that adorned Aziraphale’s face like he’d tried possibly the best food in the universe, or the moans that accompanied it, he’d decided he very much needed to just be dicked down into the mattress, preferably five minutes ago.

Pushing Aziraphale back, Crowley clambered on top of him, enthusiastically kissing his moist, slightly salty lips. He did taste pretty good, actually—not to brag. He wrestled with the waistband of Aziraphale’s trousers, but his hands were far too uncoordinated and overeager, so they fumbled. Aziraphale broke the kiss briefly and attempted to come to his rescue… 

“Darling, let me—”

…but Crowley shut him up with another kiss, finally yanked the trousers off together with the boxers, and immediately sat down, pressing the angel’s cock flush against his body. It slid between his pussy’s lips and they both moaned into the kiss, hips jerking to rub against one another in a way that made Crowley’s body shoot out sparks. “Ohh fuck– fuck, angel–”

Given how much excitement was going on, he’d better not summon the lightning upon himself again.

“Ah… oh dear— Crowley…” Aziraphale panted between kisses, his head swimming. He reminded himself that he didn’t really need to breathe, but he was very short on his supply of oxygen anyway. He wanted more of this. 

A temptation from Crowley never went quick and easy. The demon enjoyed finding ways to free Aziraphale’s self-indulging nature from his purportedly pure soul’s hands and unleashing it like a hungry beast with little concept of boundary. It was very seldom that he failed to accomplish that, and in the past few years—he never did. 

Sometimes, Aziraphale wondered: Was I ever truly pure? He might have been, a very, very long time ago, but certainly not for centuries. Millennia, to be exact. Most likely, not since the sunbathed seashore, when Crowley told him he wasn’t going to take him to Hell for lying to Gabriel and the rest about Job’s children; back then, Crowley said that he wouldn’t like Hell, or Falling, and Aziraphale knew that he wouldn’t, but he did fall that day regardless. Or at least began to. It simply took a while, considering Heaven must have been very high up. 

The angel realised, much later, that he was extremely fortunate in that, rather than the fiery pits of Hell, he landed right in Crowley’s tender embrace, and then that he would just as well dive into a pool of boiling sulphur if it meant staying there forever. Though he was still thankful that it didn’t have to come to that.

The demon pushed himself up with his hands on Aziraphale’s chest, decided to tug the tunic off after all, and tried to get the feel of his newly augmented body. He slid up and down against the angel, swaying back and forth, experimenting with pressure and position to see what felt best, and settled into a steady rhythm once he found just the right thing, grinding down. Aziraphale was lovely from this angle, all little gasps of excitement and flushed cheeks. Aziraphale could hardly take his eyes off him as well. Crowley’s almost sly smirk and half-lidded eyes, the way his body moved so smoothly, coupled with the feeling of his pussy… He knew he wasn’t going to last long if he kept it up, and they still had much to do. 

As if Crowley had been entirely weightless, Aziraphale grabbed and rolled him onto his back. He settled between his spread legs, needing the closeness so much that it seemed like he would burst. As Crowley cast a glance down at their bodies, his hand reached down and wrapped itself around Aziraphale's cock, angling it toward his hole. It felt more like an order than an invitation. 

Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to oblige, but the more sensible part of him hesitated and resisted, to which Crowley squirmed and gave a little growl in response. “Come ooon, love.”

“Crowley, I think you’re forgetting that this is your first time this way.”

“Who caaares,” he drawled, encircling the angel’s midsection with his legs to hold him down and draw him in. 

Aziraphale moaned and bit his lip when the head of his cock teased the wet, hot entrance. “I do, Crowley. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Crowley frowned and curled his lip a little. “You know you don’t have to be so careful with me. I’ll be fine. Just fuck me already.”

Aziraphale blushed a vibrant shade of red but tried to maintain an air of control and composure about himself. He shook his head and chided, “Now who’s being impatient, darling?” 

Maybe he should try a different approach, Crowley thought. He wrapped his arms around the angel’s neck and pulled him down into a slow, languid kiss. Separating only barely, he murmured, “Please?” 

It worked like a charm. Aziraphale looked down at him and sighed. That wasn’t in the slightest bit fair. “Alright… Just please let me know if it ever becomes too much or in any way uncomfortable, my love.”

Crowley nodded, a reassuring smile spreading across his lips. “I will. Promise.”

With that, carefully and slowly, Aziraphale pressed in. “Ah—!” they sounded in unison.

It was so wet and hot, and Crowley clenched so tightly around him as he pushed, and he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to rein in the wave of pleasure that overtook him, but he did, somehow. He pressed his forehead against Crowley’s heaving chest, trembling, while the demon’s head fell back against the pillow, his breathing quivering. The sensation caught them both completely unawares.

“Oh heavens…” Aziraphale murmured breathlessly, pushing forward just a little more until he was fully sheathed inside him. Crowley gasped and writhed, glossy black fingernails scratching the skin of the angel’s back. He felt so full. It wasn’t an entirely new feeling, but it was different. There was such a pleasant something, low in his belly, that crashed in waves against the rest of him. Whining softly, he brought a hand to his mouth and bit down on his knuckle in an attempt to ground himself. It hardly worked, but it got Aziraphale quite concerned. The angel pulled back a bit, and that tug made Crowley squirm and vocalise again. “Are… are you alright, darling?”

Crowley struggled to stabilise his breathing but nodded determinedly. Couldn’t have Aziraphale worried, or he might decide to stop, and oh, how much did Crowley not want that to happen. “More than alright… Ah!” 

They’d barely started, and he was already seconds away from seeing stars, and his legs were shaking. Sensitive. Too sensitive. 

Aziraphale leaned in and embraced him, one arm supporting the low of his back, raising his hips to get a better angle, the other tight around his shoulders. Crowley buried his face in the crook of the angel’s neck, pressing breathy kisses to the skin there, and hugged him back. They held onto each other for a short while, fitting like puzzle pieces, before Aziraphale began moving in slow, steady strokes. Crowley trembled and unravelled into a litany of moans and gasps with each one—so did Aziraphale. He slid in and out, his cock fitting tightly into that wet, pulsating heat, until he was hardly able to bear the pressure of his release. He straightened up and looked at Crowley beneath him, his beautiful red hair spilling in messy waves across the white sheets, his thin lips parted and swollen a bit; he’d been biting them, trying to contain himself. 

Aziraphale shook his head and brought a hand to cup the demon’s cheek. “Just let go, my love. You know how much I like to hear you.” He slipped his thumb into Crowley’s open mouth. Crowley moaned and sucked on it, eyelashes fluttering as he looked up at his angel, meeting his eyes and intent on holding them while his tongue swirled laps around the soft pad. “That’s it. That’s a good boy.”

He grabbed onto his hip with his free hand and pumped in quick, shallow bursts. Crowley bit down, not strong enough to hurt, but enough to leave little indentations. Aziraphale tutted and pushed down on his tongue, forcing the demon to keep his mouth open. 

“Ah… Sowwy…” Crowley managed so far as this precarious position allowed him to. “Ah!— angwel… Ahm…”

Judging by the urgency in Aziraphale’s movements, he was right there on the precipice with him, readying for the blissful moment of dizzying free fall. He took his wetted finger out of Crowley’s mouth and rubbed the swollen pink bud of the demon’s clitoris.

“Ah! Azira— angel— Oh fuckfuckfuck–”

It took but a few flicks and strokes to do him in. He shook all over, writhing on the sheets like a bloody adder, and yowled far louder than he’d expect. Luckily, they weren’t in danger of receiving noise complaints, remote as their cottage was, and he didn’t have to worry about keeping it down; he wouldn’t’ve been able anyway. 

Aziraphale drew a sharp intake of breath, air hissing through his clenched teeth, put both hands on Crowley‘s slim waist, holding him tight, helping himself rock the demon’s increasingly slackening body in rhythm to the jerky movements of his hips. Crowley continued gasping and moaning until the wooden headboard banged triumphantly against the wall one final time, and the angel pushed into him to the hilt, trembling, sobbing tearlessly from the intensity of sheer feeling that was exploding and dazzling like a firework’s blast. Crowley could feel him spill his seed and pulse deep within, and his own body, finally allowed a moment’s reprieve, broke down into pieces accompanied by a symphony of pathetic little whimpers and shakes. 

Aziraphale slumped forward, out of breath and spent, crushing Crowley between himself and the springy mattress. Crowley didn’t mind. Aziraphale was the best weighted blanket in the world, ever. And even if he crushed him, so be it. There were worse ways to go. 

For a while, Crowley wasn’t in the right headspace to grasp the concept of time. The same could be said about Aziraphale. He didn’t know how much of it had passed until his breathing finally evened out to an acceptable rate, but when he’d separated from Crowley’s sweat-slicked body, he was nearly fully flaccid. He slipped out, to which Crowley whined almost disappointedly, and looked down to admire his handiwork. Crowley’s legs still trembled, his hole still pulsed at regular intervals, and a small trickle of cloudy white slipped out, soaking the sheets. Aziraphale hummed appreciatively at the sight and lay down next to his beloved, winded but utterly content. 

Crowley turned on his side and clung to him, burying his face in whatever body part he could nuzzle into without lifting any part of himself off the bed. Couldn’t do lifting at the moment, even if he wanted to. Boneless, jello consistency demon. Charming, Aziraphale would say. He turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss to the messy auburn waves. Crowley closed his eyes and just bathed in the glow for a while.

Speaking seemed a behemoth of a task, too, and it took some time until he could string letters into syllables and then syllables into words—a tremendous achievement, really—confidently enough to say something that didn’t sound like a ‘ngk’ or a ‘hrmph’. 

“Don’t you think… we went in a little fast?” he asked, still breathing laboriously, hands clenching and unclenching against the soft folds of the angel’s side. 

“How… how do you mean?” Aziraphale croaked; it sounded as though he was having a hard time speaking too. Well, if even the wordy, eloquent angel was suffering from the curse of postcoital brain fog, there was hope for poor Crowley yet.

After a moment to clear his throat, he craned his head to look at Aziraphale’s face. “I mean, hardly took an hour to get from talking about having children for the first time to making them,” he chuckled, wiping down the sweat from the angel’s forehead and smoothing his unruly wet curls back with the palm of his hand. 

Aziraphale smiled, giving a small nod of his head. “Perhaps. But we don’t know if we have yet, love. There will still be time to digest everything either way.”

Crowley’s expression went through a hue shift from dreamy and relaxed to darkened and tense. “That’s the scary part. What if it didn’t work? What if it did?” 

Crowley wasn’t entirely sure which one was scarier, actually. Aziraphale pondered the question. For him, there was only one way to approach this. 

“If it did, you’d made more than one powerful miracle happen tonight,” the angel replied calmly, a small affectionate smile tugging at the corners of his lips. ”And if it didn’t, we still have all the time in the universe to try again, my dear.”

Crowley pursed his lips and frowned. That was too easy, wasn’t it? Just roll with it. Accept it either way. That seemed easier said than done; he’d been a bumbling mess just considering the idea, in the back of his mind, and now that it reached the foreground, he was practically vibrating with nerves. What if they were making a mistake? 

“How are you this cool about it?” he murmured, lowering his gaze and hiding it somewhere distant, somewhere dark—the far corner of the dimly lit, plant-cluttered bedroom worked.

Cool was a vastly overstated assumption. Aziraphale could feel anxiety churning in his stomach; what if it were all just a silly dream, or what if it really worked and they found they were in over their heads? That last bit hardly mattered, for as long as they were together, Aziraphale believed they could overcome anything.

He exhaled shakily. “I’m… not. I’m just as worried as you are, my dear. But I also know that nothing would make me happier than having this with you. So… however this goes, I’m ready.”

Crowley felt his throat grow tight with feeling. He sniffed, shifting a bit so he could press a kiss to Aziraphale’s sternum, right above his fluttering heart. “I love you.”

“I love you too, dearest,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley had long decided he would never tire of hearing these words. Never. He stretched his legs and curled and uncurled his toes, releasing the thrumming tension in his body one tendon at a time. Aziraphale gently stroked his head, playing with soft, short hairs at the base of his skull. Bliss—that’s what this feeling was.

“You know, it’s funny,” Crowley hummed, the sound of his voice muffled against the angel’s skin. 

“What is?”

“I love yous. They’re jus’… such small words, but they always hit so huge. ‘S still funny to me.”

Aziraphale considered it a moment and chuckled. “They do, don’t they? When I first heard you say them, it felt as though someone had pulled the earth out from under me.”

Or the many times after that, truth be told. It was a long learning curve to begin to accept these words like they were as natural as breathing, and even then, even now, Aziraphale could never take them for granted. Each one meant something: the soft I love yous in the morning that said ‘I’m happy to be waking up next to you’, the passionate I love yous during sex that said ‘I want to do this for all eternity and never let you go’, the quiet I love yous such as this one right here—‘You mean everything to me’, and many others. Each one was cherished and special.

Crowley hummed as the memory of it popped into his mind. He separated from the man, inching his way upward so he could prop himself up on an elbow. “Right. You did look like you needed to sit down. And something to drink.”

“But in a good way, I assure you.” Aziraphale looked up at him and smiled. “The best way.”

“Oh, I know. It was the same for me when I heard you say ‘I do’. And then you were making eyes at me just the entire ceremony…” Crowley drawled, grinning, idly moving his index finger around and making little swirls in the angel’s chest hair. “It was hard to keep calm under that much pressure.”

“You will never let me live that down, will you?” Aziraphale rolled onto his back and pinched the ridge of his nose, but the annoyance was merely a feigned one, indicated plainly by his unwavering smile and the smallest hint of a blush. “How could I not? You were nothing short of… you were magical, darling.”

Which he always was, of course, but on that clement, wondrous day, Crowley was a thousandfold that. After the wringer that Heaven put them both through, they were finally free, finally together again, unburdened, as they swore under God’s eye of their undying love and commitment to each other. To be an ‘us’ forever—Heaven and Hell be damned. 

Crowley shook his head and let out a hissing, exasperated exhale, the movement of his finger stilling. He grumbled—never a fan of compliments. “Yeah, yeah. Sure.“

“I’m serious, darling. I have likely spent a… quite a bit of time looking at you over the centuries. But there was something truly extraordinary about you that day. It was like you sparkled in the sun, and…” Aziraphale’s blush deepened, and his eyes took on a twinkle. “Oh, I can’t wait to see you glow when you’re pregnant. Oh God, if my heart can even take that much.”

His mind instantly conjured up the image of his Crowley, with sharp, angular features contrasted beautifully by the roundness of his belly, and his cheeks slightly reddened with that lovely radiant flush that pregnant people got. He’d pamper and shower him with all the love and affection his soul held, he’d take care of him so well the demon would never want for anything, and he’d know that deep within him was a little heart, a tiny being, growing and getting stronger, and he’d do everything to make sure it knew how wanted it was, how welcome–

Aziraphale’s daydreaming was interrupted by Crowley’s dejected sigh. 

“If I even get pregnant, angel. Let’s keep it realistic, eh?” he said solemnly, lying back down onto the pillow and tucking his arm underneath.

Aziraphale turned on his side again and reached up to caress the demon’s cheek, trying to gently nudge him to raise his downcast eyes. He kept his voice very gentle, his eyes—even gentler. “I’d much prefer to keep it optimistic, dear boy.”

Crowley shrank away and turned his face to hide it in the soft fabric of the pillowcase. “Well, I wouldn’t. We don’t even know if it’s possible. Me having a uterus doesn’t mean much if I just can’t conceive. I doubt God intended for that to be an option.”

Crowley didn’t know where all this gloom was coming from, but here it was, despite Aziraphale’s attempts to soothe him, despite the mind-blowing sex they’d just had. He wanted this so much, someone knew he did, but he also might have misjudged the weight of this decision. He suddenly realised he was, plain and simple, scared. Not of anything in particular, but just of everything that came with.

Aziraphale could sense the battle ensuing in Crowley’s mind, saw how he tensed up again like a coiled spring. He understood. He kept his voice and attitude light, hoping that would help. 

“I can name a few things She probably didn’t intend. Hasn’t stopped us yet, has it?”

While that was true and they’d never shied away from doing things they weren’t supposed to do, the magnitude of this particular Endeavor was far greater than anything they had done before.

“No, but… that’s different,” Crowley replied darkly. “It’s creating a whole new life we’re talking about, angel. It’s a lot more nuanced than… everything else.”

Aziraphale sighed. He laid a hand on Crowley’s side, stroking him tenderly. 

“I know, I know. I do realise that what we’re doing here is very serious, Crowley. I simply… I want this to work. So, so much.” His hand slipped downward, pressing with the palm against Crowley’s lower stomach. Crowley shivered and finally looked up. His eyes met Aziraphale’s—endless, like the sky above. Were those tiny tears glistening? It was hard to tell in the dark, but the angel’s voice quivered as he spoke. “Just imagine, love. A little one, growing right here. Oh, it’s so wonderful…” 

Crowley opened his mouth to say something but couldn’t. His bottom lip trembled, and the corners of his eyes prickled. It was wonderful. No words could do it justice. He looked down at Aziraphale’s hand drawing careful circles, pressing in. Right there. Could there really be something there, one day? Even if there was just the smallest, astronomically insignificant chance… 

Ah, what the hell. Worrying about it was senseless. They both wanted it more than anything, Crowley reminded himself, and it would mean the world to both of them if they succeeded. Least they could do is try. 

Besides, they had already taken the leap of faith, and even if the scary part was yet to come, Aziraphale was close by his side—forever and always. What more could a demon ask for? 

“Let’s… let’s hope, then.”

And in response, Aziraphale smiled his beautiful, loving smile—the best one in the whole universe. Of course. So long as Crowley could make him smile like this, he had nothing to fear. “Yes, my love. Let’s hope.”

Chapter Text

Crowley paced the dawn-lit hallway, shuffling his feet against the hardwood floor. He had been at it for quite some time, and so instead of being filled with the usual serenity that presided over the cottage in the early morning, the air was crackling with sparks of nervous energy. The demon was clutching a white foil packet with pink lettering on it, which he fussed with to no end, passing it around from hand to hand or turning it over to catch the umpteenth glance at the most straightforward instruction that had no right to be analysed and studied this intently.

He had been a ball of nerves and twitchy limbs ever since the Day, but even more so this morning. He barely slept that night and rose up at the earliest possible convenience (or rather, what he deemed acceptably early to get out of bed, which concurred with the first rays of sunlight peeking through the curtains of their bedroom window). He had bought a couple of pregnancy tests earlier the same week, so it was only a short walk from the bedroom to the medicine cabinet, which previously only contained some gauze and a few bandages that they kept on hand just in case, and so began their anxiety-filled morning. Crowley hadn’t even bothered to have his morning coffee—and he always had his morning coffee.

Aziraphale stood leaning against the archway to the adjacent room, no less in a state of stress himself. He was nursing a cup of tea in his hands, which had got cold ages ago. He prepared it out of habit, but drinking it wasn’t a priority right now, so instead he just utilised the dainty ceramic handle as a sort of fidget toy.

“Crowley, it’s too early,” the angel breathed quietly, hoping he could coax the demon to let it go, just for now. “You have to wait, dear.”

“I have waited.” Crowley fished his phone out of his pocket to check what date it was. Again. “It’s been two weeks.”

“Which is too early—“

He unlocked it and frenetically typed something into the search engine. Again. “It says the test thingie can detect a pregnancy as early as 10 days after conception, so—“

“Can doesn’t mean that it will, Crowley…” he said softly. “People typically find out much later. Give it time.” 

But I don’t want to give it time, Crowley thought. I want to, need to know.

He chewed on the corner of the packet, growled, walked a tight restless circle and finally pulled the door to the bathroom open. He’d disappeared behind it faster than Aziraphale could say anything. The angel sighed and worriedly stared down at his tea, tapping his foot. 

There was little use trying to convince Crowley to reconsider once he had set his mind to something, Aziraphale knew that. But he also knew that Crowley was likely setting himself up for disappointment, and that concerned him. He listened to the sounds behind the door: the swishing noise of Crowley’s belt, the foil ripping, and, some time later, the toilet flushing. 

Aziraphale waited with bated breath, but no voice came out. He gently rapped on the door. “Crowley? Is everything alright?”

Crowley cracked the door open and mumbled something that Aziraphale didn’t catch. He put his cup on the nearest surface, particularly the table that held different little knickknacks in the hallway, and walked in. Crowley stood a little ways away from the sink, one arm wrapped around his torso and the other nervously scratching his chin. Aziraphale looked down at the test lying on top of the sink. “So?” he asked softly.

“I don’t… ngk. Can you look, please, angel?”

Crowley himself was much too wired to do it. How powerful that little stick of plastic was. It was a window into a world that he wished to be real, a world he wanted to be a part of. It was, simultaneously, the guardian at the gate of that world that could tell him to turn around and walk the other way. That he wasn’t allowed in. A compass that could either lead to a treasure chest with a bounty far richer than any, or to a dark, barren place where hopes and dreams come to die. A dark forest. Fallen trees and naked branches. Which was largely hyperbolic, of course, greatly exaggerated, but that’s how it felt.

“Oh. Of course.” 

Aziraphale carefully picked up the stick and examined it, then once again after he’d consulted with the guide on the back of the package. A single, bright control line, but not much else, at least nothing that was obvious. “It’s negative, darling.”

Crowley bit his lip and grumbled, then extended his arm. Aziraphale passed him the stick. The demon twirled it around, hoping to see at least a faint, barely-there test line, but regardless of how closely he looked, there wasn’t anything. “Should’ve bought some of those electronic ones, maybe th—“

“I’m telling you, dear.” Aziraphale came up close to him and put a hand on his wrist. “It’s just too early. This result could mean absolutely nothing.”

It certainly didn’t feel like it to Crowley. It stung. He continued biting his lips. “Or it means there is nothing.” 

Aziraphale’s expression twitched, and he gave him a weak, sympathetic nod. “Or… that. We just can’t be sure, either way. Not as of right now, anyway.” He took the stick away from Crowley’s grasp, laid it back down on the edge of the sink, and then held both of the demon’s cold, damp hands in his. “I want to know just as much as you do… but we have to be patient.”

“Yeah. Right. Sure,” Crowley mumbled, lowering his eyes to their joined hands. 

They stood in silence for a moment while Crowley attempted to relax, which he wasn’t able to—not completely. He looked over his shoulder at the test again before turning back to look Aziraphale in the eyes.

“Sorry, angel,” he sighed. “‘m a mess.”

Aziraphale smiled softly and raised their clasped hands to his face. His hot breath ghosted over Crowley’s knuckles. “Oh, love, don’t be. It’s alright. I expect it is very normal to feel anxious about this. I know I do.” And, to prove his point, he pressed the demon’s palms against his chest. 

Crowley’s eyebrows converged thoughtfully as he focused on the sensation of the angel’s fast-beating heart beneath layers of fabric and skin and bone, coursing with flurried blood. 

He huffed a small puff of air out and slipped his hands down to Aziraphale’s waist to entangle him in a tight hug, resting his chin on the curve of his shoulder—a place made specially for him, specially for that exact purpose. 

Aziraphale held and stroked him, gliding fingers up and down his spine. “We just need to focus on other things for now, and wait and—”

“Wait and see,” Crowley echoed smilingly. “Yeah, angel. Alright.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Ah!” he suddenly exclaimed with a lively little shimmy of his shoulders.

“Wot?”

“Speaking of focusing on other things. I have an idea,” he said in a singsong voice with a distinct and quite particular emphasis on the last word.

Crowley separated from him, for all that his hands seemed to want to linger right where they were, and for a beat they did. He simpered and looked quite amused. “You’re doing that thing again.”

Aziraphale didn’t understand what it was that he did just now, like he’d never noticed every time he did it, so he furrowed his brow and tilted his head to the side. “What thing?”

“Capitalising,” Crowley pointed out. “That was an ‘idea’ with a capital ‘i’.”

“Oh, shush.” Aziraphale shook his head and ran a hand through Crowley’s hair, ruffling it up. The demon scrunched up his nose and snorted. He loved this ridiculous angel so goddamn much.

“So, what’s the idea?”

“Yes, so.” Aziraphale stepped back, straightened up, and clapped his hands in front of himself like a teacher preparing to give a presentation to his class. “I think I should pick up cooking.”

Crowley arched his brow in curiosity. “Should? Why’s that?”

“Well, we know for a fact that you and I don’t need to have a balanced diet, or eat at all. But we can’t be sure of the same for the baby.” Crowley watched the angel then speak animatedly with his hands, like he always did when he got really enthusiastic. It was incredibly heartwarming to see him so obviously excited, so much so that Crowley’s anxiety and worry were slowly but surely seeping out of him. 

Aziraphale carried on. ”Therefore, even if we take our… unusual biology into account, the baby probably still needs nutrients to grow. So we need to prepare for it.” He pointed at Crowley, who stood, hands crossed over his chest, watching him with a smile and open, glinting eyes. “And that means you, my sweet, need to eat.”

And then Aziraphale stepped forward again and booped him on the nose before leaving the bathroom with a gleeful giggle, and Crowley momentarily froze, nearly melting on the spot. Once he shook the pleasant stupor off, he stepped out to follow him, and just so, the negative pregnancy test stayed behind, lying on the edge of the sink—forgotten like the disappointment it caused earlier.

Crowley pattered into the kitchen. Aziraphale was standing in front of the open refrigerator that never contained much beyond milk, takeout leftovers, and things that went on a charcuterie board—cheeses and cured meats and some such. 

“Do we even have enough to put something cohesive together?” 

Crowley doubted it, and Aziraphale pretty much confirmed his suspicions when he blew a long exhale through his lips after checking their sorry inventory. 

“We do not, no.” The angel closed the metal door with a soft thump and sidestepped to check the upper kitchen cabinets. That they had stocked, mainly with imperishables: grains, lentils, and several types of dried pasta. They did a good job making the shelves look less empty, but then again—they were rarely used. “No worry. We’ll just have to make a quick trip to the market.”

Crowley came up closer and leaned against the counter. “What do you have in mind, anyway?”

“Hmmm…” Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. He had to choose something simple, considering he’d never done much cooking in all of 6000 years of his existence. “It’d be unwise to attempt anything too complicated, I suppose. Perhaps… I could make pasta? Pasta isn’t overly difficult, is it?”

“Probably not. Pasta sounds nice.”

“Oh, good.” Aziraphale closed the cabinets and lit up—he was bursting with excitement at the fact that his husband had so willingly accepted the idea. “Wait, but there are so many kinds! We have to choose one first before we go shopping for ingredients. What would you like, my love?”

“Ehh…”

In actuality, this whole thing altogether seemed a bit intimidating to Crowley. Alcohol and coffee were his pleasures of choice, while food, with its texture and complicated flavours, was generally hit or miss. He didn’t mind an occasional fancy dinner or some crêpes, but he found himself to be rather picky, so he preferred just watching Aziraphale eat. But Aziraphale was so excited to treat him to something, to take care of him and help him conceive and carry a healthy baby, and Crowley just couldn’t refuse. 

He took out his phone and typed in ‘simple pasta recipes’ in the search bar, then clicked the topmost link. It contained a lengthy list of different options, some fancier than others, some simpler. He swiped for a hot second until he landed on a picture that looked appetising to him and passed the phone over to Aziraphale, who had been waiting patiently. 

“How ‘bout this one?”

“Let’s see.” Aziraphale produced his reading glasses from, well, somewhere, looked at the screen, and read the title of the recipe aloud. “Tomato basil pasta…”

The list of ingredients included pasta, fresh tomatoes, basil, garlic, onion, and tomato paste, as well as white wine and a short list of spices. Aziraphale glazed over the flowery introduction from the author that included entirely too much information not pertaining to the actual dish and read the instructions. “It does seem very straightforward. And the pictures look delectable, I must say.”

Crowley nodded. “Uh-huh. Let’s make that then.” 

He felt that this was a safe option—no offensive smells or weird chewy bits, just a smooth sauce, pasta, and some greens. He could work with that. 

Aziraphale, however, noticed one visible problem with the dish in that it lacked any sort of protein, and considering that his goal was to make things that weren’t just tasty but also balanced and good for Crowley and the potential little being inside him someday, it surely had to be amended to fit the requirement. 

“What would you say if I added some roasted chicken on the side?” he queried, looking up from the screen over the thin rim of his glasses.  

Crowley made a face. Chicken was among the things he really did not care for. “Nyeah, no. I’ll skip the chicken, angel, thanks. We can make some for you, if you like. Should I help you find a recipe?”

The angel shook his head. “No, no, I want to make something you can enjoy.” He looked back down at the screen and scratched his head. “Then, is tofu alright?”

Crowley considered it. He’d tried it a handful of times when they went to that small Chinese restaurant that Aziraphale fancied, but he distinctly remembered struggling through the fact that it was somehow both smooth and crumbly, and so he usually opted to order it, try it and then let Aziraphale finish his plate.

“It tastes alright, but the texture weirds me out,” he concluded.

“And what if I blend it into the sauce? That way, you shouldn’t be able to feel it, but we’ll still get some protein in.”

Crowley stuck out his lip, thinking. “You think that would work?”

“I believe so.”

“Huh. Alright. That’s clever, actually. How’d you come up with that?”

Aziraphale waved his hand in the air and chuckled. “Oh, I didn’t. The recipe provides this option in the ‘modifications’ section right here. See? So the, uh… some lady named Sarah is the one deserving of praise, I believe. She says she’s from Ohio..?”

Crowley nodded his head in appreciation of the creative genius of a Sarah from Ohio he didn’t know and never would. “Praise her then. Shall we go to the market right away?”

Aziraphale closed the browser app and passed the phone back to Crowley. “Yes, let’s.” 

The nearest market was, conveniently, just a short drive away. Soon the backseat of the Bentley had a paper bag of fresh local produce—vegetables they needed for the dish and some fruit to snack on later. Crowley also picked out an enticing wedge of Gruyère to replenish their supply of cheese platter ingredients, and Aziraphale couldn’t pass on a lovely golden brioche. They also popped into a chain supermarket on the way, and Aziraphale soon came back with a carton of silken tofu and a packet of red pepper flakes. 

“All set?” Crowley said, quickly pulling out of the parking lot. Aziraphale learnt to prepare himself for that manoeuvre over the years, so he held on hard while his other hand reached back around and held their grocery bag upward to stop tomatoes and garlic heads from flying out of it. 

“Y-yes,” he sputtered, bracing himself for the next violent turn. “You know, Crowley, you really must reconsider your driving habits. Or just let me drive.”

“Never. Maybe,” Crowley replied curtly. “Anyway, going home now, right?” 

“Uh-huh.” Aziraphale shakily nodded. Suddenly a thought struck him, something he’d noticed and wanted to make sure he understood correctly. “Oh, by the way… You keep saying ‘we’, darling.”

Crowley could hear the little satisfied smile in the angel’s tone. He turned to look at him. Sensing the lack of his attention on the road, the Bentley let out what sounded like a low groan and took the liberty of correcting her course to avoid a pothole just ahead that would have sent the driver and his unfortunate passenger hurtling into the air and slamming the tops of their heads against the hard metal roof.  She saved them many an accident, that car. “What do you mean?”

“I mean when you and I talk about cooking.”

Crowley let go of the wheel—the Bentley again begrudgingly adjusted—and shrugged, throwing his hands up. “Well, I am helping ya, aren’t I?” 

Aziraphale huffed and lightly swatted him on the shoulder to make him focus on the driving until the car decided it had enough of his frivolous antics and drove them off the road. “You are. That’s what I am saying.”

“Wot, you didn’t think I was gonna?” The demon’s eyebrows shot up, and he dramatically pouted. “You hurt me, angel.”

“I was just prepared to do most of the work myself since it was my idea and didn’t anticipate that you would like to take part as well,” the angel explained, giving him a half-suppressed laugh. “You could just relax or do something else while I do it.”

“Pfft. Nah. I’ll help. It’s more fun that way, isn’t it?”

A small grateful smile appeared on Aziraphale’s face, and he reached over to gently squeeze Crowley’s forearm. “It sure is. Thank you, dear.”

“Don’t mention it.” 

Once they’d reached the cottage, Crowley pulled in front, got out, walked around the car to the passenger’s side, and pulled on the handle. “There. And we’re back in a flash. Just in time to start working on lunch.” 

With the car being finally stationary again, the angel relaxed. He looked up at the demon when the door opened, sure he must’ve looked like a man that had just got off a rollercoaster. It was pretty accurate. “True, but I still think you should drive a little more carefully. Slow and steady wins the race and all.”

The demon snorted. “There will come a day, angel, when you might convince me of that, but that day sure ain’t today.”

He held the door as Aziraphale got out, then grabbed the paper bag off the backseat and strode toward the front door. He snapped the fingers on his free hand to unlock it and lightly kicked it to open it. 

“Was that really necessary?” Aziraphale tutted and followed him inside. “You do have arms.”

“Absolutely necessary, angel. Paramount,” Crowley sneered. “And snakes don’t have arms, so I’ve no idea what else you expect.”

His abilities in making an entrance were one of the things Crowley prided himself on, after all. It also happened to coincide with his topmost thing he prided himself on, which was being an inveterate nuisance. Aziraphale’s inveterate nuisance, first and foremost.

“They don’t have legs, either,” the angel pointed out and closed the door behind them after they walked in.

Crowley looked at him over the shoulder and made his face look like he was entirely unconvinced. “Well, this one does.”

Aziraphale shook his head fondly, holding a smile, and hung his coat on a hook in the entrance. Crowley kicked off his boots and waltzed into the kitchen. He unloaded the groceries onto the counter and took stock of their inventory. The only thing they were missing now was the greens.

Aziraphale came up behind him and put a hand on Crowley’s back, right between the shoulder blades. There was no subtext in that touch, just everyday affection given in passing and without much thought, but Crowley’s skin still prickled pleasantly at the contact. “Will you go fetch me some basil while I get everything ready?”

“Sure thing, angel.”

He walked into the main living space and turned off to the side into the sunroom, where some of his plants took residence once it got too cold out. He had also been growing herbs there for no reason in particular other than that they smelled and looked nice and for when they occasionally needed garnish for cocktails. He came up to the planter that held the basil; its time had finally come to be put to good use. Like most of Crowley’s indoor and outdoor garden, the herb was lush, healthy, and verdant—and also terrified out of its planty little mind. It trembled a bit while Crowley picked it.

Once the basil had been secured, Crowley came back into the kitchen to find Aziraphale wearing a light-beige apron. He passed Crowley one as well.

“So, what’s the first step, angel?” The demon put it on—his was plain black and sleek—and tied it securely behind his back. “Oh, right. You need the recipe.”

He took the phone out, opened the recipe, and stretched his arm to give it over to Aziraphale, but Aziraphale was busy staring at the way the apron’s straps hugged his husband's waist, accentuating that beautiful curve he oh so liked to put his hands on. He swallowed and shook his head to chase the thoughts away. Naughty, bad thoughts, he scolded, now is not the time for you. 

Crowley, oblivious to the angel’s little exchange with himself, interpreted the shaking the only way it was obvious to him, of course. “What, you don’t need it?”

“Ah, sorry. I do.” Aziraphale cleared his throat and finally took the phone from Crowley’s hand. He looked at the first step of the recipe. “First we cook the pasta according to instructions on the package.”

“Alright. Easy. I can get on that.” The demon opened the upper cabinet and took out the two available options of pasta shapes they had. “Rigatoni or shells?” 

“Uh… let’s do shells.”

“Roger that. You start on the sauce then.”

While Crowley filled up a pot with water for the pasta, Aziraphale took out a cutting board, a knife, and one large onion. He sliced the two ends off first, then separated the bulb into two halves and roughly chopped them. The sauce was going to be blended afterwards, so he didn’t need to worry about finely dicing anything. That was a plus, considering how clumsy with a knife he actually found himself to be. Crowley was watching him like a hawk, making sure the angel didn’t take a finger off. Didn’t need that type of protein in the dish, that’s for sure.

The chopped onion went in the preheated skillet with a bit of olive oil. Crowley chopped some garlic and added it to the sautéed onion once it began to brown, then after a couple more minutes Aziraphale poured some white wine in. The aroma filling the kitchen was already divine at that point.

They decided to nibble on some grapes while waiting for the liquid to simmer and evaporate.

“This isn’t so bad.” Aziraphale washed and dried his hands on a towel hanging from the front pocket of his apron. Crowley fed him a grape, watching how Aziraphale’s pink lips enticingly enveloped it. The angel looked utterly fetching, always, Crowley once again pointed out to himself—something he did at least thrice a day.

“I mean, the process isn’t exactly complicated.” Crowley popped a grape into his mouth. He emptied the package of shells into the now bubbling water and stirred. “But yeah. ‘S nice. Quite relaxing, actually.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Aziraphale gave him a bright smile. “And I’m terribly glad that you are helping me, my dear. This is all rather lovely.”

It was time to add in the cherry tomatoes he had washed beforehand. They went in whole and had to be sautéed first, then steamed under a lid before they got soft; in the meantime, Crowley took out and assembled the blender where the whole mixture was supposed to go once ready. They worked and moved like clockwork, never once hitting elbows in their rather small kitchen, flowing next to and around each other, fluid and natural. It was all rather lovely.

Not long after, the pasta was ready, and the sautéed vegetables went into the blender jar together with the tofu, spices, and tomato paste. Aziraphale tried the sauce once it had been blended smooth. If the satisfied little wiggle of his shoulders was any indication, it turned out quite well. “Oh, this is amazing! Here, try it, Crowley.”

Crowley tasted the small bit of sauce offered to him off the spoon and smacked his lips. Aziraphale could swear the demon’s slit pupils dilated slightly like those of a cat that’s seen something it liked. “Woahhh. That is very nice. Good job, angel.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together in a bashful smile and looked at the floor, blushing. “Oh, please. I haven’t done much.”

“Shhtil. ‘S great. Honeshtly,” Crowley said with a lisp as he spooned himself another small bit of the sauce and supped it. The almost milky taste of the tofu and the sweetness of the browned onion beautifully balanced out and complemented the acidity of the tomatoes. The addition of some heat from the pepper flakes was also a great touch, and, most importantly, the trick with the blender worked splendidly. He was, admittedly, sceptical at first, and he needn’t’ve been—he really couldn’t say anything bad about the mouthfeel. Praise Sarah from Ohio indeed. 

Aziraphale stared at his husband with wonder. If not for the sake of the baby, this sight right here was worth any trouble he could and would now put into cooking for his demon. 

He combined the sauce with the cooked pasta and let it simmer for a minute to allow the flavours to blend and then plated each of them a portion, which they garnished with basil leaves before taking them over to their small dining room. Habitually, Crowley also brought some wine glasses and a bottle of red.

“Ah. Prob'ly shouldn’t drink this,” he grouched, having already uncorked the bottle and poured a glass. He slid it to Aziraphale’s side of the table and eyed the bottle. “Didn’t think about that.”

“I’m sure a glass wouldn’t hurt,” Aziraphale reassured him, “Just one. Just for a toast.”

“A toast?”

A toast. They had much to drink to, like to their love, and freedom. To many more days like this. And now, just maybe, to a day when their group of two became a group of three. Aziraphale was getting misty-eyed just thinking about it, which hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale swallowed thickly and raised his glass. “To… new beginnings, love. May they find their way to us.”

Crowley’s slender fingers twitched as they reached to hold the cool stem and held it up. He was getting choked up all over again. When had he gone so soft, he wondered? New beginnings. Kids. He could still hardly believe that they had embarked on this journey together, notwithstanding the fact that they had little idea what the future held. 

Once again, he imagined himself a parent. A precious weight in his stomach. A bundle in his arms. Days of worry and nights of little sleep. A pit-a-pat of tiny feet against the floor. A cry, a laugh, their first word. Whinging and whining over the silliest things, like him or Aziraphale not tying their shoes right. And love, a whole lotta love, unconditional and all-encompassing.

Shit. He was getting ahead of himself, being so hopeful. Hope was a nasty thing for a demon to feel. It made him all tingly and weird inside, which is why he’d never hoped before The Kiss or before Aziraphale came around and loved him and married him and was now wanting children with him. And now—here he was, hoping, and the weird tingly feeling felt pretty good for a change.

He smiled and lifted up his glass. “To new beginnings, angel.”

His and Aziraphale’s met over the table in the middle, and the crystal sounded a beautiful note that reverberated through the quiet, sunlit space.

New beginnings. Their beginnings.

In the days that followed, different types of pasta dishes became a staple in their house until Aziraphale worked up the courage to branch out and try something more complicated. He made pan-fried cod with lemon and herbs, lentil and spinach dahl, and leek and potato soup. He bounced up and down and giggled like a little kid when he successfully baked his first tray of blueberry muffins that looked so delectable that not even Crowley, even with his general distaste for all things sweet, could refuse. He suffered a heavy blow to his confidence when his vegan stuffed peppers disintegrated in the oven (he accidentally forgot about them because he got too captivated in a new book). The angel looked like he was on the verge of tears when he took what was left of them out. Crowley tried to convince him to let him eat them anyway, but Aziraphale protested, so Crowley just grabbed a spoon and ate the stew-like peppers and rice straight from the baking dish. That’s when Aziraphale did actually tear up, and when he’d recovered, he took very good care of Crowley to show his gratitude without bothering to move from the kitchen.

On top of his growing list of culinary achievements, Aziraphale was also very happy about the fact that Crowley started to warm up to the idea of letting nature run its course. He eventually stopped beating himself up about the fact that they haven’t been successful conceiving yet and ceased his obsessive taking and hoarding of pregnancy tests. The ones he already had now lay in a neat pile in the far corner of the cabinet neither of them frequented. There would come a day for them, Aziraphale was sure of it, but for now they remained there, waiting for their moment to shine. And Crowley seemed content and relaxed and hopeful, and for a good blip of time, life was just as it had always been in their cottage—wonderful.

Until it came crashing down on them when they least expected it—one peaceful, idyllic morning, just as Crowley was enjoying a bowl of delicious blackberry oatmeal and a cup of freshly brewed tea.

Chapter Text

Crowley knew better than to blame God for any of life’s shortcomings. No, they were almost always Life’s doing, and she was a completely separate entity. Unlike God, who, for the most part, stopped interfering with things on Earth a long time ago, she was determined to stick her nose into anything and everything. She’d ruin your day, week, year, or, well, life, leave you battered and bruised, and then she’d still come back for more. On a good day she was generous and kind; more often than not, she was ruthless and unfair. 

Crowley and Aziraphale had had a lucky streak of her ‘good days’, but today wasn’t one of them.

It was a balmy summer morning. The sun was already high above the horizon, illuminating the entire property with a warm, golden glow, and Crowley was perched on a tall wooden barstool at the island counter, his bare back to the window, soaking up those rays like a sunbathing cat. His exposed skin was painted with oodles of freckles that’d gotten bolder now that he spent much of his time in the garden; they sat like a flock of tiny brown sparrows all across the span of his shoulders, enjoying the luminous star’s bountiful attention.

As per what now seemed almost like a tradition, Aziraphale had awoken before him (and Crowley made quite a fuss of it, the needy little spoon that he was) and made a wonderful breakfast. This time, it was an oatmeal with fresh blackberries and a drizzle of honey, accompanied by some chamomile tea that was still steeping in the pot when Crowley finally slithered into the kitchen. Aziraphale came up, all smiles and radiant, and held him by the hips, and Crowley pressed against him and rested his head on his angel’s shoulder. He closed his eyes as they swayed. 

There might have been Shostakovich playing in the other room, but Crowley couldn’t be certain; music was such a constant in their house that sometimes it felt like it was there even when the vintage record player stood idle. 

Aziraphale seemed to possess a great ability to breathe a unique personality into any place he occupied for long enough, and so, much like their Bentley or the bookshop, the cottage had quite a mind of its own. It reminded him of Casita from Encanto—a film he and the angel watched together with great enjoyment. If the Bentley was sassy and full of rebellious spirit, much like Crowley, the cottage was the embodiment of Aziraphale’s angelic grace, cosy and mellow. It liked classical music and their sitting in front of the fireplace when the weather was freezing and called for a bit of comfort. It liked Aziraphale’s books left on about every available surface and Crowley’s plants occupying every shelf. It adored Christmas lights. 

With that in mind, perhaps Crowley should’ve been more careful with it, not kicked doors open and stomped about in his trademark style—but the Casa didn’t seem to mind. He loved it, and it loved him, despite his tendencies to play a little rough.

Eventually their slow dancing ended with Crowley being manoeuvred to sit at the island where he now was. Aziraphale kept him company, drinking tea and discussing plans for the day. He promised to come visit Muriel in the bookshop, which they were the de facto owner of now that Crowley and Aziraphale spent the majority of their days at the cottage. The young angel got into a tonne of hobbies over the years they’d spent on Earth: reading (for obvious reasons), drawing, knitting, cross-stitching, writing short whimsical poems, taking care of houseplants (they weren’t terribly skilled at it), journaling and scrapbooking, and doing puzzles. The most recent additions to the ever-growing list were baking and cooking, adopted thanks to Aziraphale’s infectious enthusiasm. Crowley was glad that Aziraphale and Muriel got along so well. They took good care of the bookshop while Aziraphale was in Heaven—and of Crowley, but he’d never admit it out loud. They were by all means a very good egg and a great friend to have. The fact that Aziraphale trusted them enough with all his precious first editions and other rare volumes was enough of a testament to that. 

Once the tea was drunk, Aziraphale gave Crowley a wet peck on the lips and left the kitchen to go get dressed.

Crowley was halfway through his bowl, which was scrumptious, as the angel would put it, when Aziraphale popped his head back into the kitchen.

“Do you need anything from the bookshop, darling?” he said, nimbly tying his bowtie with practiced ease.

“Ah, nyeah,” Crowley replied through a mouthful of porridge. “Muriel’s dracaena isn’t ‘feeling well’, they said. I promised to take it off their hands. Sort it out. Remind ‘em to pass it on to you.”

“Alright. And what about dinner? Any requests?”

Dinner had become Aziraphale’s favourite time of day. His enjoyment of the cooking process was doubled every time the demon hummed appreciatively when he ate and tripled on the rare occasion that Crowley helped himself to a second serving. It all became so clear why Crowley had always liked going to restaurants with him—there was something special in watching your loved one find joy in meals. As for Crowley, he found in time that he liked almost anything the angel made, both due to the simple fact of it being done by Aziraphale for him and to the angel's diligent attentiveness to his preferences, which he never pushed or disregarded in his craft. He'd chosen meals that Crowley would most definitely enjoy, he made modifications, and he always gave him a heads-up for their next course, especially when he tried making the more extravagant options. 

“I’ll trust the chef,” the demon smiled. 

Aziraphale made a mental note to himself to prepare something special for the evening to impress him. Something with a rich, buttery sauce and an exploding palette of flavours. Crowley watched as he fussed over his collar in the mirror humming a little tune to himself.

“You didn’t forget the biscuits, did you?”

“No, no,” the angel assured him. He was finally done with the tie and was now straightening it until it sat perfectly neat and centred. “They’re already in the car.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m fairly certain Muriel would not forgive you if it happened the second time,” the demon chortled, pointing at the angel with his spoon.  

The angel turned to him and huffed, “I've learnt my lesson.”

It was a learning experience for sure, less so for Aziraphale than for Muriel. They learnt the hard truth that day: that certain angels are forgetful and that sometimes not having one end of the bargain fulfilled isn’t the end of the world—but it upset them a great deal anyway. Aziraphale managed to get away with half a tray of gingerbread biscuits and a bruised consciousness, and Muriel spent the time until their next food swap sulking. Fun times. 

“I wonder what they cooked up this time.”

“I don’t know, but they sounded quite excited on the phone.”

“Well, that’s promising,” Crowley murmured. “By the way, is movie night on tonight?”

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss it for the world, darling,” he chippered. “I’ve been meaning to show you this film for a long time.”

Crowley sipped on his tea. “Is that the one with a bloke that looks eerily like you?” 

“That’s the one, yes.”

“I’m still surprised you’re so into a sci-fi thing. Not your style, usually.”

“My tastes are quite variable, my dear.” He took a quick look at his pocket watch. “Oh, how the time flies. I shouldn’t keep Muriel waiting. What are you going to do while I’m gone?”

“Uh, I’ll probably work some in the greenhouse.” Crowley always had lots to do in the garden; no plant was ever perfect, at least not in his rather biased opinion. He waved goodbye to the angel and brought another spoonful of porridge to his mouth. “Mind how you go, tell Muriel I said h–hiiii—!!! ”

Without warning, a gutting, awful sensation took root in his belly and quickly spread through his entire body. Out of shock, Crowley bit down on his spoon and nearly chipped a tooth before dropping it to the floor with a clank. He hunched over, clutching his stomach with one hand and the edge of the island counter with the other. Aziraphale dropped everything to run back into the kitchen when he heard his pained cry and the commotion that followed.

“Crowley! What is it? What’s wrong?” With a trembling and panicked voice, he placed his hand over Crowley's and squeezed. He tried to look into his husband’s face and blanched when he saw how pale Crowley was.

The demon contorted his brows and growled on an exhale when another wave of stabbing pain surged through him, making his vision go funny and blurred at the edges. He struggled to look up. “I— I don’t know, it just—”

Crowley saw no reason for it; one minute he was fine, and now he was only just holding himself together. It wasn’t clicking—not through the veil of absolute torture that was roiling in his insides.

That was when Aziraphale looked down and noticed that the demon’s light-grey trousers were getting saturated with blood. He watched as the dark spot spread its tendrils like a horrible, grotesque creature. He clapped a trembling hand to his mouth. “Crowley, darling, you’re— you’re bleeding.”

Crowley struggled to make sense of what the angel was saying at first—him, bleeding? But he was just eating, it's not like he could cut himself. He just couldn’t understand. What was this terrible pain? He felt as though he had solar flares blazing and roaring inside of him. When his spinning mind finally registered the feeling of something warm and sticky between his legs, he followed Aziraphale’s gaze down, and his heart sank. Then it shattered, sharp pieces of glass poking at his lungs. The air in the room turned into a gloopy black tar. He realised he couldn’t breathe. 

“No. Nonononono , this isn’t happening—” he choked out.

The next moment, he stumbled off his barstool in a frantic attempt to run away from this nightmare. The heavy piece of furniture fell with a loud, resounding bang to the floor as the demon scuttled away from it. He looked like a wounded animal. His breathing grew more erratic by the second, and the pain wouldn’t go away, and everything was blending together, and he just couldn’t… he couldn’t think. Not a single thought stuck. There were only the floodgates of panic that opened; the water toppled everything over, leaving him drowning inside his own skull.

“No, oh please, not this—“ He couldn’t breathe. The world was starting to get darker as the oxygen waned.

A voice tried to incise through, pleading to be heard, “Crowley, darling, please look at me.”

But Crowley didn’t, because he was no longer there. He was suspended in an endless, all-consuming darkness miles above his body. The Crowley he looked down on grabbed at his waistband and pulled his trousers off together with the underwear, exposing his bloodied thighs. A trickle of dark red ran down his leg. He reached over toward the counter to grab a fistful of paper towels, trying desperately to stop the bleeding by pressing them between his legs. At the very least he was hoping to hide it from his own eyes—but the blood would not stop. He couldn’t breathe. All was lost. 

He stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall and slid down to the floor, trembling and gasping. The only thing he still had the strength to do was sob. And he sobbed, and he sobbed, and he sobbed…

The tar swallowed him. There was just the pain left. His mind offered forth images of everything he’d gone through being reprimanded and punished by Hell for his slip-ups over the millennia. None of those measured up to the penance that was this. Penance for fucking what, was the question. He amended his emotions compendium; there was plenty of anger mixed into his anguish, too. Only, he had nowhere to direct it to. The darkness he drifted through was impervious to his flailing and kicking. It didn’t care.

So he went limp and let the dark current take him. 

When he came to after what felt like an eternity, he was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, naked, with no recollection of how he’d got there. The tile under his feet felt freezing. The light emanating from the fixture overhead—blinding.

He saw Aziraphale crouched before him, knees on the fuzzy bathmat, using a washcloth to wipe his legs clean. The angel knit his brows and blinked abnormally fast, as though trying to stave off tears. His hands moved almost robotically while he worked on the bloodied insides of his thighs. He was quiet; the quiet felt freezing cold too. The whole room felt like being submerged in an ice bath. Only the brief contact of his skin upon Crowley’s offered up any sort of warmth.

Crowley caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that hung over the sink. Unsurprisingly, he looked ghastly. His eyes were red and puffy, his cheeks were spotted while his skin was sickly pale, and snot was all over his chin and upper lip. He sniffed, averted his gaze, and wiped his face with the heel of his hand.

The stirring brought Aziraphale back to reality. He raised his head to meet the golden, glassy eyes. The broken shards in Crowley’s chest crooned woefully at the fact that the starry sparkle in his angel’s blue was gone.

“Crowley?”

Crowley blinked, very slowly, which seemed to indicate that he was listening, and he was. The whir of blood in his ears wasn’t gone completely, but it quieted down to a level that allowed him to hear both the sound of his thoughts and Aziraphale’s voice. The former offered no consolation, but he was far too weak to fight them.

Aziraphale was at a loss. It was torture, seeing Crowley this way. He wanted to do something, anything, but what could he possibly do or say to make this better? Words were shallow, and ways he could assist were limited. He was through with the most pressing issue of getting Crowley stable, cleaned up, and relatively present, but what he was to do next was still up in the air. Perhaps he’d better tackle the challenges one at a time. One foot in front of the other. Baby steps… Oh. The irony of that.

It all just happened so fast. He fell into pure problem-solving mode when Crowley collapsed. There was no time to process anything; Crowley needed him, so any help he could provide, he did. He held him and sat with him on the floor, whispering soft words of reassurance, petting the demon’s hair while he hyperventilated. It seemed to last a million years, this, and it was agonising—yet nothing could prepare Aziraphale for the moment when Crowley stilled. Somehow him being completely out of it was even worse. It was as if Crowley’s soul left his body, leaving behind only the empty, worn-out husk. Aziraphale’s heart broke a thousand times over, but he soldiered on: he managed to get him off the floor and into the bathroom. He did his best to wipe the remnants of what was no more off of him, even though his hands shook with the power of an earthquake. Later, he told himself, I can fall apart later. 

How much he wished that none of this was real.

Crowley's eyes remained fixed on his face. He kept looking at him, expecting something. Aziraphale fought hard to find his voice, but he must’ve left it on the bloodied kitchen floor, and it was having a difficult time finding its way back to him.

“Does… does it still hurt?” he finally croaked. 

Crowley tried to tap into his senses and then shook his head. Either the pain wasn’t there anymore, or he was too numb and exhausted to even perceive it.

The angel felt a tiny bit of relief at this. He put the washcloth aside and laid a gentle hand on Crowley’s knee. The heat from it slowly seeped through his skin, but it wasn’t enough to make even a small dent in the icy cage he was in. It took every ounce of his spirit to speak. “I’m cold, angel.”

Aziraphale recoiled slightly from the brokenness of the demon’s voice, the sound of it like a dagger to his chest. When Crowley quavered violently, he ran his thumb very gently over his skin. “Can you stand, darling? I will help you into the bath.”

Crowley nodded. The angel rose slowly, held his hands, and helped him get to his feet. The demon carefully stepped over the lip of the bathtub and lowered himself to a sitting position with Aziraphale’s assistance. The angel turned on the tap and adjusted the water temperature. Neither of them acknowledged or looked at the clot that slipped out and was quickly washed away—down the drain it went.

Aziraphale carefully rinsed him off, beginning with his legs. The sensation of the water on his body was utterly bizarre. If before he was freezing at every point of contact he made with the surroundings, now he could feel little indication of how hot or cold the moisture on his skin was. Aziraphale could probably turn the hot tap all the way, and Crowley wouldn’t even bat an eyelid. His corporation refused to cooperate and send appropriate signals. It was as good as dead with how useless it was at its job. 

And there was Aziraphale. Oh God, there was Aziraphale. The nauseating fear came back to Crowley with a new force. If he himself was broken, a silent heap of smashed pieces, his angel appeared one stray particle away from imploding and becoming a supernova. He had to unscrew the cap to let the pressure drop, but he was clearly withholding and refusing to do so with how quiet and reclusive he was acting. Ever the guardian.

The move from the bathroom to the bedroom went like a blur. Wrapped in a big towel and sitting on the bed, Crowley watched Aziraphale go about the room gathering clothes for him. Additionally, the angel popped over to where they stored the medicine kit and fashioned a makeshift pad out of gauze because Crowley was still passing small amounts of blood. 

Once that was finished and Crowley was dry, dressed, and in bed, Aziraphale finally let out a breath and lowered himself onto the bed. He tucked his trembling hands between his thighs. A silence descended upon them both. 

Aziraphale looked out the window through the airy sheer curtains and wondered gloomily how it could still be so sunny out. The fact that it was the same morning they were happily having breakfast, joking, and getting ready for the day was beyond belief. He peered at the clock on the wall. The entire ordeal, if it were to be believed, took just over an hour, which was simply ridiculous. How could something so catastrophic unfold in sixty measly minutes?

Crowley covered his still-trembling body with the blanket, pulling it to his chin. More cramps followed. It appeared that Life was meaning to wring him out completely before it was to decide she was done with him. He felt like a dirty, wrung-out rag, too.

With some effort, he focused his bleary vision on the angel, with his face turned partially away, looking displaced and lost.

“Aziraphale...” he managed shakily. 

Aziraphale startled and looked at him. “Y-yes, my love?” 

Crowley winced as if slashed when he saw the expression the angel attempted to wear. It was disingenuous, a haphazardly constructed mask to hide the emotions underneath. The angel had one simple reason for that: he didn't want to add to the demon's already profound suffering. If he had to put a cork on his bottle of feelings and bury it for now, that was what he was going to do. The thing was, it felt like trying to conceal a blazing fire by covering it with a paper bag, and Crowley knew him far too well—he could see him smouldering. It was only a matter of time until the support beams of his mind crumbled and buried him underneath.

“Please, angel. Don’t do this to yourself,” he whimpered softly, “Cry, yell, do something. Don’t try to shut it down. You can’t.”

Aziraphale clenched his teeth so hard he felt iron on his tongue. He could do anything for Crowley, and yet the demon was right—this was beyond his capabilities. At last, he couldn’t suppress the unbidden loud sob that escaped him. The cork suddenly wasn’t all that effective. Big, heavy tears streamed down his cheeks. Too long had they been waiting in the corners of his eyes. 

“I— I just—” He choked and turned his gaze heavenward. His face glistened in the warm cast light of the sun. “This is so unfair, Crowley.”

Crowley weakly nodded and reached to squeeze his thigh. The angel grasped his hand like it was the only thing holding him to the ground in a hurricane and dissolved into weeping, overcome by the wave of his sorrow. He pressed the demon’s knuckles to his wet and trembling lips. “I’m so sorry, love. I’m so sorry.”

His beloved Crowley didn’t deserve it—nobody deserved it. It was cruel, cold, and merciless. In the wake of so much suffering, how was one meant to deal with such loss when it tore through them? It ripped through them both with reckless abandon, bearing their hearts to the cruel slashing winds. Not a single soul could be prepared to handle that. 

Crowley wished for his thoughts to be quiet and empty again because now they were screaming at him all the things he didn’t need to hear. He felt as though he was a defendant in a court hearing, being bombarded with accusations and questions he didn’t know the answers to. While Aziraphale kissed his hand and tears fell off his eyelashes and onto the cold skin, the gavel hit the sound block, and the judge sounded their verdict. 

“It’s my fault,” Crowley said quietly. “I should’ve known. I should’ve been more careful.”

Aziraphale stared at him with wide eyes and vigorously shook his head, but Crowley didn’t let him interject. “I should’ve just kept taking those stupid tests, I—“ His voice broke off, and another stream of tears came and fell onto his pillow. 

The angel was horrified by what he was hearing. It was bad enough to have lived this, to have lost so suddenly, but to hear Crowley’s broken voice as he blamed himself, sounding so convinced, so sure there was no other explanation for this horrible tragedy…

“Crowley, stop. Stop, and listen to me.” Aziraphale moved closer and leaned over him. Crowley started from the way his voice, however raw, took on an almost stern quality. It didn’t sound angry or unkind, quite the opposite, yet it demanded to be heard. Aziraphale’s hand cradled his cheek and wiped away the tear tracks. “You did nothing wrong, Crowley, nothing. None of this is your fault, my love.”

Crowley twisted his brows and squeezed his eyes shut. His throat constricted, disallowing a pained cry that was trying to make its way out. “You say that, b-but—“ He stuttered when it managed its way through after all. He brought a hand to cover his mouth and breathed for a second before continuing, something he felt he had to do before his voice died completely. “I was careless. It’s my body, I should have listened to it when it was trying to tell me that something was wrong, and I… I didn’t.”

Aziraphale blinked away his tears and looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“My… my lower back has been sore for the past couple of days. This weird, strange feeling. Not pain, just… tightness. Discomfort. I didn’t know what it was. I ignored it because… I just thought it was from moving heavy stuff around in the garden. I should’ve done something about it, or said something.”

It seemed so painfully obvious in retrospect, but how could he have known? It never once crossed his mind that anything like today’s event could occur.

“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale stooped even lower until his forehead touched Crowley’s. “I beg of you, believe me—you did nothing wrong. That’s what everyone would assume, and even then… we couldn’t have saved it regardless.”

That was the painful, bleak reality. Crowley likely would not have been more than a few weeks along. When these things happened at such an early stage, they just did—all the time, in fact. He wasn’t some medical abnormality, and it wasn’t some punishment for anything he did, nor a consequence of any of his actions. Yet, at the end of the day, blaming oneself was far easier than accepting that this torment was brought on by arbitrary chance, and Aziraphale’s voice of reason, though sound, did not much ease Crowley’s horrible sense of guilt. He heard the loud bang of the gavel again and again, sure he would hear it until he went deaf. Guilty, guilty, guilty, like an echo.

“B-but… what if I caused it somehow?”

“You didn’t, Crowley. In no way is any of this your fault. It just… happens sometimes.” He felt his chest tighten. The thought that they lived in a world where things such as these 'just happened'  would forever make his blood run cold. “God , how horrible that is. I’m sorry. I never could imagine that it would happen to us…”

Crowley withdrew and sat up, thinking. That, he figured, was part of a larger issue. They went in virtually blind. He was too focused—hopeful—on what could be gained to presuppose what could be lost, and now it was too late because the damage was irreparable. Crowley’s gaze lingered on dark-red stains on Aziraphale’s vest. Those would never come off.

He sniffled and hugged his legs. His belly twisted once more in reminder, and he clenched and bared his teeth. 

“What… kills me is that we didn’t know. Not until we’ve lost it,” he hissed through tears that welled anew. Aziraphale put a hand on his forearm, extending to him any and all sympathy he could. “It took, and we… we didn’t fucking know.” 

With the mental exhaustion setting in, Crowley could feel the anger showing its ugly face, so he took a deep breath to attempt to calm down before his impulse made him want to break something. They had enough broken things as it was—him, for a start. There was no need for more. 

“It took…” the angel breathed out weakly. How long did Crowley really have it in there, within him? How many nights in a row was he holding him and it both? He couldn’t chase away the thought.

Crowley, for one, couldn’t think about it any longer. The more he struggled to make sense of anything, the harder the snare cut into his throat. So he just let out a listless sigh and lowered his head onto his knees. Enough. He was far too tired. 

Aziraphale watched his demon deflate and felt his own body go slack, too. He crawled onto the bed fully and sat beside him, extending his arms around his frame. Crowley leaned into him, wanting little more than to let his reddened eyes rest. To make his thoughts quiet down.

“Do you wish to lie down, my love?” Aziraphale whispered. 

The demon shook his head, then shifted just so he could press his ear against the angel’s chest. “I’m afraid of what I might see if I fall asleep now, angel.”

Aziraphale looked down on him there, curled up and so vulnerable. “I understand.” He laid his hand on Crowley’s head to stroke the copper locks. “Try not to think about anything, love. Just lean into me and breathe.”

“The same goes for you, angel...” 

Aziraphale sighed. That was the tricky part—not thinking about it all while Crowley lay shattered in his arms. “I… I’ll try.”

“Yeah. You do that,” Crowley mumbled, nuzzling closer still into him. He took a deep breath to fill his nostrils with the warm, oaky smell of Aziraphale’s cologne and fell silent for a moment, just focusing on the regular thumping in his chest. Aziraphale kept on petting his head, gentle fingers carding through it carefully, as if he were afraid that he could break him further.

“Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale stopped the movement of his hand. “Yes?”

“Thank you,” Crowley said in a hushed, weak voice. 

The angel didn’t know what to reply. Crowley had nothing to thank him for. There was never an option for him not to help, not to do anything that was in his power to help. When his demon was hurting, nothing else in the world mattered. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to stop his suffering, but right now he still felt entirely helpless. He drew Crowley in closer, almost into his lap, and pressed his lips against the top of his head. They breathed. They held.

Crowley lay cradled in Aziraphale’s arms for hours, and, by some divine grace, no less, when he finally did allow himself to fall asleep, he spent the next fifteen hours soporous in a dreamless, empty void.

Chapter Text

When Crowley awoke, he was alone. He looked around—the room was dark, the curtains drawn. He rose to a seated position, lifted up the covers, and inspected himself, noting how significantly his pad was marred by the rusty-coloured blood. He sighed, snapped his fingers to have the dirtied gauze gone, and fell back onto the mattress. Part of him still held out hope that he had dreamed it all, but it was quite obviously and unfortunately not the case. He was no stranger to nightmares, but this one was up there with the worst ones. 

There were sounds and footsteps from the other room he could hear only barely, distant echoes of an everyday routine he’d grown accustomed to, one that now seemed almost bizarre in its mundanity. He heard Aziraphale speak quietly—most likely on the phone with Muriel, explaining why he hadn’t come the day before. It was almost as if Crowley was a guest in his own home, and life carried on without him. He and Aziraphale were very different in that regard. While the demon’s first response to hardship was running away, or shutting down, Aziraphale typically managed by keeping busy and thus not allowing his thoughts to sink their claws into him. 

That was precisely what Aziraphale was doing as he carried on with chores in the other room. He was devastated by what he saw when he entered the kitchen first thing in the morning. It felt like stepping onto a crime scene, where a skilled detective could retrace it all and play every frame of the morbid film in their mind—the overturned chair, the spoon on the floor and the abandoned bowl of porridge on the counter, the hurriedly discarded bloodied trousers, the red-soaked paper towels.

Instead of miracling the mess away, which felt like an easy but hollow solution, he cleaned everything meticulously by hand until not a shred of evidence remained, save for the heavy scent of loss that permeated the room and refused to air out. Having done with that, he went out into the garden to pick some flowers—luxuriant peonies and delphiniums—which he arranged in a small porcelain vase that he placed in the middle of the island counter, meaning to bring some life back into the space. It always worked on a regular day, and though it didn’t quite do it this time, in a way it almost felt like a tribute to what was lost.

Crowley moved and lowered his feet to the floor but didn’t find it in him to get up. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, staring into the distance with unfocused eyes, his mind still adrift and throat tight. The time ticked and moved on—right then and there, he couldn’t imagine how he ever would.

Aziraphale saw him as he was passing by the half-open door, his attention drawn to the demon’s state and the shape of his body there, hunched over and taut. He walked in quietly and sat down next to him. For a time, neither said anything, but Crowley inched up closer so that their sides were pressed one against the other, finding quiet comfort in the warmth of his angel’s body—something he felt he needed most at that moment. The angel looked to study his face, but when their eyes locked, Crowley couldn’t quite hold his gaze. He looked down and let out a long, weary exhale. Aziraphale slinked his arm behind him and rubbed his back. 

Crowley thought he’d mustered enough courage to say something, but when he’d finally opened his mouth, his words flatlined, having got caught somewhere in the barbed wire of his raw throat. It was exhausting, this helplessness. He hated it here.

Aziraphale kept the gentle caress of his hand on his back and supplied the words for him. 

“Do you… want to talk about it, dear?” he said softly, his own voice wavering. The talking about it seemed quite daunting, but he knew it was something that they needed to do, unfortunately. Everything about this was unfortunate. 

“N-no,” Crowley answered without raising his head. “I don’t. But it has to be done.”

Daunting indeed. He didn’t know where to start. He straightened up, threw his head back and breathed a long inhale, trying to fill his lungs with oxygen he seemed to be seriously lacking. It made him light-headed.

“Are… Are you in any pain still?” Aziraphale said after taking a long breath himself. “Do you think we should go to the hospital?”

Crowley shook his head. “No. No hospital. It’s gone. Nothing they can do.”

Aziraphale shivered. Gone. “I just… I just hope there isn’t anything wrong still. You… you were in so much pain.”

Crowley solemnly bowed his head and shrugged. “I’ll… I’ll heal. Don’t worry, angel.”

Aziraphale looked at him, a sorrowful, mournful expression on his face. He reached out and held the demon’s cheek, fingers pressing against his cheekbone.

“I always worry about you, Crowley. I don’t want anything like that to ever happen to you again.”

Crowley leaned into his palm. Without leaving himself a second to reflect, he spoke what was swirling in his mind ever since the terrible yesterday, “Doubt I could handle it if it happened again.”

“Which means…” Aziraphale exhaled shakily, feeling the cold, salty waves rise up and moisten his eyelids again. It could only mean one thing, of course—it was just that the truth of it hurt so badly it was hard to articulate.

The words scraped the aching lining of his throat, “I can’t risk it happening again.”

Hearing them hurt like a hot poker pressed to the skin. Aziraphale clenched his teeth together from the burning pain that radiated throughout his entire being—not just the body, but his soul, too. They were stopping then. Burying this dream hardly any time after they’d started. 

And Crowley, in light of this new development, just felt so foolish. He never should’ve brought it up in the first place, he thought, as it never would’ve happened if he hadn’t. He knew there was reason in his being so unsure to broach the subject that evening. It seemed a ludicrous idea then; it proved to be just that now. Were all the ideas that seemed so magical in theory so stupid and destructive in practice? As a being almost as old as time itself, he should know, shouldn’t he?

The fact of it all, the pain, the surrender, cracked Aziraphale’s heart in two, but if there was no other way, what could he do? What kind of partner would he be if he insisted or tried to reassure Crowley that it would all be okay the second time around? It was just luck of the draw, a fifty per cent chance, and there was no way to know for sure. He had to accept it as something he could not fix or better and try to move on.

“I just want you to be safe, Crowley. If that means we have to stop… then we will stop.” 

Crowley winced and hissed through his teeth, feeling a nagging ache in his skull start to grow stronger. His brain was screaming at him— you have to stop, you can’t do it, you can’t live this again, you can’t give him what he wants. You can’t, you can’t, you can’t. A broken bloody record. 

But when he was almost ready to concede and let his head slip underneath the cold water that threatened to drown him, he saw another bright, beautiful thought bouncing around in the back of his mind, like a shiny marble or a small pearl. He picked it up and rolled it between his fingers, feeling the smooth, iridescent bead underneath and the coolness and the vibrancy of its surface. It took. It took. He lost it, but losing it meant having it first. It was there inside him for however many days, and despite its untimely end, it meant, just maybe—that he could do it. He held onto this tiny little thing like a drowning man holds onto the scattered debris of his sinking ship. 

In a voice that was equal parts pained and resolute, he finally managed a quiet, “I… I do not want to stop, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale’s hand on his back trembled. Suddenly he was filled with joy, trepidation, and fear, all swirling around like a tornado. But what if, was the thought that tried to crawl out from the dark recesses of his mind, but he didn’t give it any audience or voice. Stay away , he said, you’re not welcome here . “Are… are you sure, dearest?”

Crowley leaned against the angel, burying his face in the crook of his neck. “I have to think that… it might still be possible,” he murmured. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathed out, perhaps a little too quickly, as he moved his hand to squeeze Crowley’s bony shoulder, fingers crawling beneath the hem of his sleeve and pressing against the freckled, cool skin there. “I think it might still be. ” 

Aziraphale had to pause and concentrate on his breathing because it was becoming irregular and shallow. What grace Crowley was bestowing upon him, even knowing they could fail again. His brave, strong Crowley. We won’t fail , Aziraphale told himself, hoping he could somehow will it into existence. Little did he know, the notion was mirrored in Crowley’s mind just as well. We won’t fail. It’ll work the second time around. It has to.

Crowley sniffled and swallowed thickly. “Ngk… good.”

He threw his legs over Aziraphale’s lap and hung onto his neck with both arms, and the angel held him up with his hand supporting his side. They would not get out of bed that day, but that was quite alright by Aziraphale. They could go as slowly as was necessary. 

For many days onwards, Crowley felt like time was a joke; it either sped up to a nauseating blur or dragged on as if the clock hands of life were covered in something sticky. He’d look at the dial, blink, and miss an hour, or he’d look at the tear-off calendar and be dumbfounded how it was still the same week. Most difficult at first was getting back into the rhythm of regular life without breaking down at the threshold of the kitchen where his memory would get flooded with fear and pain once more, weaker each time but still dreadful. He avoided the kitchen altogether for a few days after it happened the first time. He avoided eating, too, because he found he could not keep anything more substantial than coffee or tea down. His corporation was going through it all like through a maelstrom, and though Aziraphale tried to cushion the blows, they still bruised him.

It was obvious to them both that some scars would take longer to heal than others. He eventually relearnt waking up at an hour that wasn’t well past noon and slowly eased into taking better care of himself—he found the new old solace in taking care of his hair, for instance, which he’d let grow out nearly down to his shoulders again. Step by step, life around him restored to its previous ease, with Aziraphale being the driving force for much of Crowley’s trying hard to get there. 

That didn’t mean that Crowley didn’t still cry himself to sleep on an especially difficult day when all he could feel was empty and broken, but, well. It was par for the course, he figured. Aziraphale stuck around through every such episode, which in and of itself was as comforting as it was dispiriting. Crowley hated making him miserable. Among all the twinges he felt, Aziraphale’s hurt struck him hardest. Aziraphale couldn’t imagine anything worse than seeing Crowley so depressed either—but there could be no rushing him on his road to renewal. As long as you need, dearest. As long as I need, too. We’ll be alright.

Still and all, it would not be terribly long before Crowley would be the first to suggest that they go to the park and stretch their legs. He would spend hours in the warm August sun, his dark glasses off and his stunning, lustrous eyes on full display for Aziraphale to lose himself in. Or before he one day asked what was for breakfast, fully unprompted. Little victories like these felt most wonderful against the backdrop of darkness they’d endured, and in time—the backdrop would dissipate and leave them be. They could finally breathe.

When Aziraphale came into the sunroom, Crowley was lying on a recamier like a great shiny python, sun-kissed, sweaty, and practically melting off of the furniture. The angel came up to him and swatted his legs playfully so Crowley would move and he could sit—the demon grumbled but used the opportunity to then rest his long limbs on top of his husband’s lap.

Aziraphale giggled, putting his hand on the bridge of his foot and giving it a little squeeze. “Are you asking for foot rubs, you snake?”

“Mhmmhm,” Crowley hummed, squirming further down the back of the recamier. “If you dare. They’re wet.”

“Ye-es, I can feel that,” the angel groused. He reached over and wiped his palm with the bottom of Crowley’s long sheer robe.

“Hey!” The demon snatched the fabric from his reach and hissed, but Aziraphale merely smiled in response, his bright blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me to Anathema’s. She was asking about you.”

“Wasss she now?” the demon drawled sceptically. “Well, that’s something that doesn’t happen every day.”

Aziraphale tutted, “Oh, come now, Crowley. She has not seen you in a long time, and she is just as much your friend as she is mine. What will it be, then? Are you going to accompany me?”

Crowley stuck out his lip, thinking, but it didn’t take long for him to decide. He’d not been out of the house enough lately, and the day called for some adventure.

“Sure. Don’t see why not,” he said, trying to sound indifferent, though he was, in fact, rather pleased to be able to tag along to one of Aziraphale’s and Anathema’s hangouts. He’d not seen the witch in a while—that much was true. He could even say that he missed her.

“Lovely,” the angel smiled. “You have a shower then, and we’ll be on our way.”

Having done with that, Crowley got dressed in his usual clothes—which might have been a great miscalculation considering the heat—and they set out of the house. The Bentley let out a low vibrating noise as they approached, her engine terribly hot from the scorching sun. 

“Sorry, pet. Here.” Crowley snapped his fingers, and the steel magically cooled down. The car roared her motor in thanks.

Aziraphale climbed inside and flicked down both of their sun visors. “Anathema said she’ll be out in the town square. We should pick her up on our way.” 

“What’s she doing being out there in such heat?” the demon squawked as he got behind the wheel. Aziraphale shrugged.

As said, Anathema was in Tadfield Square, a trusty pendulum in hand. Aziraphale trailed behind Crowley as the demon pulled to the kerb and got out to meet her. She spun around, long pleats flowing in the clammy air, and actually looked quite excited, albeit a little parched. 

Aziraphale walked around the car and gave her a small greeting flourish of a hand and a little bow. “Hello, dear.”

Crowley gave his usual amiable scowl. “‘Ey.” 

“Hi,” she replied with a charming smile. “Funny seeing you both here.”

“Yeah, thought I’d come along today for a change. Need a lift, or you’ll get home alright on your own?”

Anathema roguishly scrunched up her nose, and he opened the door for her. She climbed in, picking up her maxi skirt and bunching it up a bit to sit. “Thanks.” 

The drive to the so-called witch’s cottage was short but filled with a jubilant exchange between the angel and the witch. Crowley parked outside in front of the low fence; they all stepped out and trekked through the small well-taken-care-of front garden, but when the demon reached the front of the house, he stopped in his tracks.

“I thought you took that thing off,” he said, looking up and giving the horseshoe over the entrance a malicious glare. 

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I did, but you weren’t around for a while, so I thought I’d put it up again. ’Cause, well. You never know in these parts.” She looked around until she found an old broom hanging on the rack of garden tools on the side of the house, and used the handle to knock the talisman off, leaving behind a burnt silhouette of it on the white paint. “There. Better?”

Crowley scoffed as he finally stepped onto the porch. “Nyeh, lots.”

“It wouldn’t hurt you though, would it?” she asked as she fiddled with the old door’s lock. “Adam and Dog used to walk in and out just fine.”

“It doesn’t hurt. ’S just weird,” he grumbled. “It feels like an itch you can’t scratch, and it won’t go away until you’ve left the space. So I’d rather avoid it when I can, thank you very much.”

“Curious. Got it.”

“Is Newt not around today?” Aziraphale followed the young woman inside the house and into the kitchen, trying to keep clear of any of her things which were scattered about pretty much every available surface, shelf or other—pendulums, dowsing rods, decks of cards and bundles of herbs and such. 

“He’ll be out for most of the day. Work, then some very important meeting with Sergeant Shadwell and Private… Leaf, or something like that.”

“Ah. They must be celebrating Private Leaf’s nearing retirement, then. Seeing how it’s almost autumn.”

Anathema smiled as she ran the tap to fill up the kettle. 

Crowley flopped down into a chair and reclined like he owned the place. “Any luck with your occult studies, witch?” 

“Actually, yes,” she confirmed, “Plenty. This area is full of weird stuff and places. Even this many years later, there are spots of energy in the forest and all around town. It’s amazing.”

“Well, I wish you good luck,” Aziraphale said. “The world has much to offer. Endless mysteries to uncover.”

“And how are you two doing?” She set the pitcher of lemonade, some glasses, and the pot of tea down and sat at the table with them, resting her elbows on top. 

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a look. The demon shrugged, sliding down in his chair after he’d picked up his glass of cold beverage. 

“We’re a’right. How are you and Newt?”

Anathema took a sip of her drink and considered something for a moment, as if calculating. She looked at Aziraphale first, then at Crowley, and spoke in a hushed tone, “Can you keep a secret?” 

The two man-shaped beings before her looked at her expectantly; they were intrigued. 

“Suuure.”

“Of course. What is it?”

Anathema leaned closer to them across the table, as if preparing to say something so secret that she was afraid there were people listening in to their conversation through the wires in the walls. Aziraphale felt the tension and squirmed rather uncomfortably in his seat. Crowley remained in his gravity-defying position, not particularly worried. Humans were masters of making it seem like a bigger deal than it usually was, so nothing she could say could shake him, certainly—

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

Crowley choked on and nearly spat out his drink. That was not at all what he expected to hear.

“Oh!” Aziraphale gasped a little.

He reached for Crowley’s knee under the table as the demon covered his mouth and hacked from the citrusy liquid going down the wrong pipe. Anathema watched them with some amusement and concern.

“You okay?”

Crowley straightened up and smacked himself on the chest a few times, still coughing. “Kkh— Yeah. Ahem . Peachy. Tip-top.“

”Sorry.”Aziraphale moved his arm behind his poor husband and patted him on the back. “It’s a little unexpected, is all. You must be very happy.”

Anathema changed in the face and made a moue. “I knew you’d say that. And, uh… I don’t know. Actually.”

Crowley’s head shot up, and he looked at her in utter disbelief. He had to bring himself down a notch before speaking, and he wasn’t entirely successful, so he still came across as completely astonished. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Anathema threw her hands up, more than a little peeved by his tone. “I don’t know if I should be happy. I am? I’m not? I don’t know, gents, it’s a lot.”

Aziraphale felt the need to plant his palm right between Crowley’s shoulder blades—for his own comfort. He was growing more and more unsure of how to handle this situation, taking into account his own muddled thoughts and Anathema’s palpable frustration. “Oh, of… of course. It is a lot. Truly.”

“Ehhh, yeah, but—!” 

But what? Crowley mentally reprimanded himself. It is a lot. So maybe don’t go policing how your lady-friend should or shouldn’t feel about it just because, be it you in her place, you’d… Halt. Don’t go there. Stomp that thought down like a cockroach. 

He did; it crunched under his foot, but something told him it wouldn’t be the last he was seeing of it today. Famously difficult to get rid of, those buggers. 

Anathema took her glasses off and ran a hand through her long hair. “I mean… I want it. I know that much. I’m just… ugh.”

“What is it, dear? What are you so afraid of?” asked Aziraphale, worriedly watching both her and the obviously baffled Crowley. 

She turned sideways in her chair and twisted the fabric of her skirt in her hands. “The obvious. How it is a big responsibility and everything. How I’m not sure if I’ll be able to handle it.”

Aziraphale sympathised. Whenever he thought of Crowley and him having a child, there were these endless scenarios in his head, eddying around—all the worries, the insecurities of being a first-time parent, of not knowing exactly what to do. It was one of the biggest responsibilities of all, perhaps, that a human could take upon themselves—bringing another one into the world. It was understandable that Anathema would be anxious or even upset.

Crowley, on the other hand, while seeing clear reason in her behaviour, couldn’t quite hold in a scoff in response to her statement—even at risk of sounding like an arsehole. “And moving across the pond to locate the Antichrist and save the world isn’t a big responsibility then?”

Anathema stared daggers at him, which Crowley had anticipated. “I was preparing for that my whole life! And this, this is just…”

“Sudden?” Aziraphale supplied. 

"This was never the plan, and I have lived for years following a strict manual."

”None of the years after the Armageddon were part of any plan, though, were they?” Crowley shrugged. “And I’d say you’re doing well.”

“Yes, but— This feels like something I should have Agnes’s guidance for, and I… don’t.” 

Crowley looked at the woman before him, so capable and smart, and groaned. You people, he thought, always second-guessing yourself.

“Look, Anathema.” Aziraphale watched as the demon kicked one leg over the other and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s your decision at the end of the day, but I feel compelled to say this. You’ll be brilliant as a mother. So don’t even worry. I mean, worry. Worry an appropriate amount. But not about whether or not you’ll be good at it, because you will be. Trust me.”

A silence fell over the room, and both the angel and the witch stared at him; Anathema—flabbergasted, Aziraphale—a weird mix of taken-aback and moved. Both misty-eyed. Crowley puffed air out like an agitated horse and stood up to avoid their gawking under the pretence of putting his empty glass in the sink.

With a quick series of blinks to regain his composure, Aziraphale reached over the table to brush against Anathema’s shoulder in a friendly, comforting gesture, which seemed to have brought her back to Earth too. “Crowley is right. You will be a phenomenal mother, my dear.”

She pressed on the corners of her eyes and sniffled, stumbling over her words and clearly overwhelmed. “Jesus Christ… Okay, uh... Thanks.”

Crowley swivelled in place and leaned against the counter behind him. “I take it Newt doesn’t know yet.”

She accepted a handkerchief that Aziraphale handed her and blew her nose. “No. I was going to tell him once I’ve made up my mind.” 

“And, have you? Because you should really tell him.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chided. “Don’t push her, darling.”

Crowley fixed the shades on his long nose and glowered. He was aware that he was becoming a little heated—perhaps unjustly so—but he couldn’t help himself. Anathema had nothing to worry about, unlike him if he were in her shoes, a blundering wreck of a demon. She had everything going for her. And Newt? He would definitely make a fun dad, that one. The kid was in great hands.

“I think I have, yes,” she replied, looking up at him with what was unmistakably a grateful smile. “I’ll… talk to Newt tonight.” 

“He’ll be over the moon, I’m sure,” Aziraphale reassured her. He looked at Crowley, too, going soft at the thought of his demon so passionately trying to allay their friend’s concern, despite the fact that, if his heart felt at all like Aziraphale’s now, the subject had gnawed at his scabbed-over wounds—and it hurt. 

They spent some more time in the small cottage kitchen, though Crowley neither participated nor remembered what else they discussed; Aziraphale carried the interaction up to the point when they were ready to get out of the door and back to their car. The sun had begun to settle down, getting obscured by great shaggy clouds; it looked like it was going to rain later into the evening and night.

“That was…” Aziraphale exhaled, coming around the side of the car and getting into his seat, heavy in the limbs and frazzled.

“Yup.” Crowley flumped into his driver-side seat with just as much prostration as his angel. “Not how I expected today to go.”

“Certainly…”

The angel looked out the window at the witch’s cottage and let out a prolonged exhale. Crowley turned his head to look at him. “Hey. Are you alright, angel?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer immediately, and after that initial bit of hesitation, he didn’t find the will to reply anything at all. He felt conflicted. He was genuinely happy for Anathema—he really was—but there was this small, bitter part of him that kept nagging at him. Crowley could relate all too well. He covered the angel’s hand with his own, fingers sliding between Aziraphale’s and grasping carefully. He could see the bright blue eyes glint wetly in the setting golden sun. 

Aziraphale willed himself to snap out of this daze and look at his husband’s face, just as ill at ease as his own. 

“I suppose I am a little worse for wear today than usual, my dearest.”

“Nyeah, that makes two of us.” Crowley leaned in and nuzzled his cheek with the tip of his nose, like a very big affectionate cat. That earned him a faint smile.

“You… handled it well,” Aziraphale pointed out. “It was good of you to put her mind at rest.”

“I was just being honest. She has no need to worry, with how she is. I’m sure you agree.”

“It’s hard to put one’s worries aside when it comes to such important things, you see. I… relate to her all too well.”

Crowley let his head fall to the angel’s shoulder. He turned his face a bit so his lips grazed just slightly over the skin of the angel’s neck. Aziraphale’s heart fluttered.

“You’re jealous too.” Crowley said in a voice that was low and tentative, meaning to ask it but turning the question into a statement halfway.

Aziraphale bowed his head. “It is bad, to be jealous of this, isn’t it?” 

For an angel—certainly. Not to mention jealous of a dear friend’s joy. It seemed… unbecoming. But he couldn’t curb it; it kept gnashing its teeth against his ribcage, making it ache and spasm.

“Bad? Nahh. I mean, probably a little, but, ehhh… I’d say we’re allowed.” Crowley brought his hands around his husband and pressed them together in an awkward hug—given their position in the car—before drawing back and looking Aziraphale in the eyes. 

When he first heard Anathema say the words, they felt like a hard blow to the chest; he was sure they were going to haunt him later. She has that, and I don’t. That’s what Aziraphale was thinking about. But instead, Crowley felt emboldened. She has that, and we will. It came from some strange place, this newfound surety, where—he wasn’t sure. Maybe his body and mind were just too tired of heartbreak. “You do still believe we can do it, don’t you, angel?” 

To the demon’s great relief, the angel didn’t falter when he nodded decidedly in response. 

“Well, then we’ll get there. Just you wait.”

And he kissed him tenderly, and they drove off, and the angel felt just that much lighter.

Chapter Text

With how dotingly Crowley took upon himself helping Anathema following her announcement, one looking at them from an outside perspective as they sometimes went to shops when Newt was busy working, or on walks around Tadfield and London together, could argue that they almost looked like a couple. Anathema did not take kindly to it at first—Crowley’s attempts at help bordered on hovering at times, with all his growling and grumbling at her for doing too much of this or overexerting herself with that, especially after he volunteered to help her with her herb garden. I could use your green thumb, actually—she said, but promptly regretted it. After that, she and Aziraphale both had to—with different degrees of tolerance—educate him on the matters of pregnant people not being made of glass, the fact of which he begrudgingly accepted after Anathema threatened to put the horseshoe back in place and disallow him from Jasmine Cottage if he kept ‘bugging’ her.

That did not mean that Crowley backed off completely, but he reined the impulses in some, nonetheless.

From what Aziraphale could see, Anathema did still enjoy the attention. The angel was used to spending time with her around weekends, drinking tea and talking—she was most interested in his and the demon’s adventures over the centuries, which seemed never-ending (which they somewhat where, considering he had the compounded six thousand years’ worth of stories to go through), fact-checking the accuracy of history books and gleefully getting details from him that could not be found in historical figures’ memoirs. The tea was shared between them both literally and figuratively. Theirs was a friendship that kept on blooming and prospering for years following the failed Armageddon and more, and, by the looks of it, would continue to do so—Aziraphale hoped for as long as the humans had in them. But Crowley, until lately, managed to skirt around deepening the bond beyond a level he seemed comfortable with. The angel postulated that that need to stay outside of the bounds of a true, engrossing friendship stemmed from losses he’d suffered through the long course of his life. Humans didn’t stick around for long, after all.

But the life that was sprouting inside Anathema seemed to fascinate him to an extent that made him willing to put past reservations aside. He even initiated hangouts, and rather frequently—he rarely did initiate prior. They’d meet in the bookshop or at either of their cottages, drinking a variety of non-alcoholic beverages and swapping stories, not unlike what was usual for Aziraphale, but spiced up significantly by the demon’s witty sense of humour and an incessant stream of sarcasm. Anathema matched his energy well, so much so that their conversations often devolved into verbal frays, the witch trying to one-up the demon and vice versa—in good spirit, of course. 

There were moments of tranquillity as well, the three of them, often four—five, now, if the little forming soul could yet be considered in attendance—settling nicely around a table. They had one such meeting after Anathema’s reassurance scan, the witch and her husband dropping by their cottage on short notice to wind down after a rather exciting time at a private clinic that offered such a service. It was only natural that their conversation would swerve in the direction of pregnancy and its kindred subjects.

“Have you not been around pregnant people much, Crowley?” said Anathema, sipping some of her sage tea before biting into a Chelsea bun. The baked rolls of delicious custard-and-raisin-ed goodness were supposed to take more than an hour to prepare, let rise, bake, and cool, but with Aziraphale’s gentle miraculous nudge, they were done in less than twenty minutes total.

“Uhh, not as such,” answered Crowley through a mouthful of homemade jammy dodgers—another testament to the angel’s baking wonders. “I’ve hung around Eve, briefly. She was expecting then.” 

“Which will never not baffle me,” she said, raising her eyebrows and blowing air through her crumb-covered lips.

“Agreed,” chimed in Newton, the very tip of his nose covered in white icing from a cupcake.

“We are very old, my dears,” the angel quipped, smiling.

“I’ve witnessed a baby being born once, when I was wearing my female form,” the demon carried on, thinking back to his long history of centuries on Earth, “Jerusalem—not that baby, mind you. But I’ve, uh, I suppose I’ve only ever been around pregnancies close to or at their resolution. Never have stuck around through much of the process.”

Aziraphale took a scone from a tiered display of sweets that could rival an assortment of a small bakery, especially considering the time such inventory was assembled in. “I’ve delivered a baby once. I was escorting a young woman through the desert—Egypt. We got stuck in a dreadful sandstorm. She had to deliver her boy in a dusty old tent in the middle of a tempest, the poor dove.”

“Huh. You never told me that one,” Crowley swallowed his mouthful of biscuits like a snake swallows a mouse and leaned with his elbows on the table, his full attention on the angel.

“Oh, it was thousands of years ago, dear,” Aziraphale waved off. 

“Was she alright?” Anathema asked sympathetically. 

The angel sighed, splaying a hand across the middle of his chest. “Oh… barely. It was a breech delivery, you see. She lost a lot of blood, so I was… very thankful to have my miracles then.”

Crowley shuddered and made a small squeaking noise. Newt stopped and lowered his cupcake before he could take another bite, and Anathema brought a hand to her yet unpronounced belly. 

“And she was very lucky to have you,” she murmured quietly. 

The table momentarily fell silent. The old clock on the wall in the hallway, usually too quiet to be perceived, tick-tocked loudly to fill the stillness of air that began to settle before the angel, with a moment to clear his throat, tried to amend it. “I did not mean to bring the mood down, do forgive me. A-anyway, tell us more about your scan, dear girl! How did it go?”

Anathema shook her head to clear it, her hand still on her stomach. “Oh, yeah, it was great. Well, not much to look at, but the baby is there—you can’t imagine what relief knowing that is, strangely enough.”

“We heard the heartbeat.” Newt raised his eyes from the plate and gazed at Anathema, beaming with childlike wonder so tangible he nearly shone. She smiled back at him and reached her hand to swipe at the icing on his nose with her thumb.

It was truly, exceptionally charming just how much Newt looked at her in awe and adoration when they were together; Aziraphale noticed it at each such meeting they had, and, from what he could tell, the intensity of the boy’s love hadn’t dampened with time. Funny how two beings brought together by fate could form a union so dear and harmonious—well. Aziraphale smiled at the thought. His and Crowley’s relationship wasn’t that much different in that regard, was it?

When Aziraphale turned his head to look at Crowley, his was the only face that still had dark clouds lingering over it. The demon had his shades on, but they didn’t hide the painful crease in his brow—not from Aziraphale, though their human guests appeared oblivious to the shift. The conversation had prodded at something within him; something aching, like a healing wound that was still too tender to be touched. It wasn’t difficult to imagine what that wound was.

Crowley’d thought back and tried to hold onto the hopeful side of a great boat that was his mind, bobbing up and down in the sea of worriment and heaviness of heart. She has that, and we will, he reminded himself, though not without his lips curling into a wobbly, disbelieving smirk. Wasn’t he the one who reassured Aziraphale just a few short weeks ago of the same thing? That was the thing with it all—he never knew calm waters from a storm before he was struggling to keep his head up in a whirlpool. 

He let out a long breath and stared through their smiling guests with unfocused eyes for a time before he felt something brush against his calf under the table. He came to with a barely perceptible start and moved his leg back, but the touch found him again and persisted. Aziraphale looked at him, asking wordlessly, ‘Are you okay?’. The demon made a small noise between a grunt and a sigh. They remained touching underneath the billow of the tablecloth, Aziraphale having found his answer.

Crowley sat up in his seat and stretched, trying to act as casual as his state of mind permitted; he did not want to bring any attention to his disquiet—certainly not now, with the lovebirds on the other side of the table from him being so excited. What right did he have to bring them down and spoil their moment? “Are we officially godfathers then, now that you’ve made sure the little witchling is in place?”

Anathema rolled her eyes. “More like two weird uncles,” she scoffed, then added with a placating gesture of her hand directed at Aziraphale, “No offence.”

“Oh, none taken, dear.” Aziraphale gave her a warm, even pleased, smile. “What is a childhood without an odd uncle or two?”

Crowley blew a long raspberry. “Pffft. Speaking as though we are the only loonies here.”

“Loonies—no. But you’re a little more than just loonies, you know that much yourself.” 

“Eugh. True,” he grunted with a smirk.

Their chat turned back into a casual one after that, though for the angel it was still apparent that the weight had not fallen off his husband’s shoulders. It sat there, heavy and looming. He moved his leg a bit in a stroking motion against the sleek black fabric of Crowley’s jeans, hoping that it helped even just a little to ease the demon’s tension. Anathema spoke some more about the scan and some about the experience so far in general. Aziraphale swooned when she mentioned that the little embryo they saw on the scan resembled a chicken—or a chicken wing (her and Newt’s perceptions of the greyscale blob varied). The same revelation yielded mixed feelings from Crowley. He once again tried to chase the thoughts away. She has that, and we will, he said to himself, firmer this time. Then, completely out of left field, an especially vile idea took form in his mind. How far along would he be now if– No. No! he snapped at it, Kindly piss the fuck off, leave me alone, don’t you dare do this–  

Aziraphale saw Crowley clench his jaws and run what he knew to be a frustrated hand through his hair, after which the demon went slack in his chair and zoned out completely. The angel felt a twinge of pain for him, burning from the inside of his ribcage, exacerbated by the need to act casual in front of their friends. If only they could share their loss… but it was clear that the demon did not want that—at least not now.

A sudden mention of a familiar name brought Crowley back into focus again. “You know, it’s a bit lonely at the cottage sometimes, with Adam all grown up. Tadfield’s grown very quiet.”

“With your little one coming, I’m sure it won’t be lonely for long,” said Aziraphale softly.

“Or quiet,” added Crowley, forcing himself to straighten up in his seat.

“Yeah…” she smiled, “It’ll be nice for Newt and me to have them around. And when they are older, they will make friends. Hopefully, they will have the same close-knit group as the Them, to liven up this town again.”

Newt excitedly nodded in assent.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that they’ll find wonderful companions, dear.”

Now, there was another thought jouncing through Crowley’s mind, the effect of which—whether uplifting or not—he could not quite discern. Friends. How lovely would it be if their children could be friends? Judging by the smile that curled the corners of the angel’s lips, he might have been thinking the same thing. 

Maybe they ought to try again soon, but… the wounds still ran too deep. He could still feel the ghost of pain in his abdomen if he thought back to that day, his eyelids prickling and his throat constricting in response. He and Aziraphale had not been intimate since, because Crowley felt too scared of the possibility of inviting something inside him again that could end in another loss. No, it was far too early—for the both of them. He could still see the same terrible sorrow in Aziraphale’s eyes sometimes, exactly like the one he saw in them when the angel knelt before him in the bathroom, tending to him at his most fragile. They needed time. Time and their love for each other, thankfully, were the two things they had in abundance. And until they were ready, he could keep the part of him that yearned to protect and take care of something fed by continuing to be a friend to Anathema, pregnant or not. If he even still had a right to her friendship, that was.

As the sun began to get lower above the line of the horizon, the humans thanked them both and prepared to leave. At the creaky metal gate outside, Anathema pulled Aziraphale into a tight hug (Crowley respectfully dodged her, and she did not push), and Newt amiably shook their hands before the two climbed into their somehow still running ridiculous excuse of a car and drove off. With the blue three-wheeled chariot out of view, Crowley exhaled a breath so long it seemed to empty the entire volume of his lungs. 

Aziraphale laid a comforting hand on the small of his back. There wasn’t a point in asking if Crowley was okay, so he asked the next best thing, “Do you need anything, my dearest?”

“Nah. I just… I think I’ll turn in early today, angel,” the demon answered weakly.

“Of course. Do you mind if I sit with you and read?”

“Sure. I mean, I don’t. Don’t have to ask. Let’s go.” Crowley turned around on his heels and walked along the cobblestone path back to the front door of their cottage, which was now quiet and sleepy with their guests gone.

After tidying up in the kitchen with a quick miracle, Aziraphale soon joined Crowley in their bedroom. When he walked in, the demon was lying on his back with one hand on his chest on top of the covers, the blackout curtains drawn and the gentle glow of a bedside lamp illuminating the side of his angular face. Aziraphale changed into his home clothes and crawled into bed next to him. The demon looked at him at first but soon turned his gaze ceilingward again.

He lay quiet and motionless and only spoke when the angel was positively settled on top of the mattress, his pillow set upright against the backrest. “Makes me feel like an arsehole, this.”

“What does?”

“Anathema. I can’t seem to make my brain think straight. It just goes… places. Bad places. I hate it.”

“Is that why you were so distant today?”

Crowley didn’t answer immediately, startled like a man caught flat-footed. “...Nyeah,” he finally croaked.

The angel took his reading glasses out of the drawer of the bedside table and put them on, adjusting them to sit low on his nose. “Well, for what it’s worth, Crowley, you’re far from an arsehole, as you so crassly put it.” 

Crowley grunted and slithered closer to press his face into the side of his hip, the nervous sibilation creeping into his voice. “You’re jusss’ sssaying that to make me feel better.”

Aziraphale propped the old worn-out book against the chub of his stomach and held it in one hand while the other moved to rest on top of Crowley’s head, plump fingers carding gently through the carnelian locks and scratching the scalp of his crown. “I’m really not, my dear. You’re an exceptional friend, and you help Anathema so much.”

A low rumbling noise, muffled against the soft fabric of Aziraphale’s beige pyjama bottoms, escaped Crowley’s throat. “Nrgh. Doubt it. I keep lumbering her with my presence, and she’ll hate my guts before long if I keep it up, and it’sss–“ 

Suddenly, his voice got cut off by a strangled, choking noise—almost a sob. He quailed, pulling the covers up to his chin, and let out a shaky, uneven breath; Aziraphale felt the heat and dampness of it on his skin as it seeped through his clothes. “Shit, ‘m sorry, angel, ‘s just… You were always so good at this—s-striking up friendships, keeping them alive, knowing what people needed. And here comes Crowley, barging into her life like we’re sssuch close chums, because what, because I want to be at least tangentially involved in– graahh. Shit, shit. Fuck this. God.” 

Crowley fitfully sat up and pressed the heels of his palms against his eye sockets to not let himself cede to this torrent of woe and start crying. He felt pathetic—and right when he was starting to think that he was doing so well. Something really did break in him that day, as it was patently obvious now. The several months that passed had done sod all. He was still the same Crowley that sat keening in the kitchen, tearing his lungs out. That Crowley could not even pick himself off the floor—what use could he be as a friend?

Listening to Crowley’s disparaging ramble, Aziraphale hardly held back the tears that burned his eyelids. He shuffled close to him, letting his book slide off his lap and fall to the wooden floor with a thud, feeling his heart constrict in painful throes and pangs. Crowley whimpered meekly, the ringlets of his coppery hair getting in his face as he bowed his head and fervidly rubbed at his eyes. Aziraphale gently grasped both of the demon’s wrists to stop him before he hurt himself, and Crowley collapsed against him. When the angel let Crowley’s arms go, they slinked around Aziraphale’s torso and gripped at the back of his shirt. Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s head and pressed his lips to his springy yet soft hair, which smelled of smoke and peppercorn. He held on to him, listening to the demon’s uneven breaths and half-contained sobs.

“Oh, my dear…” he shushed gently as Crowley released another series of quiet, feeble sounds. “I do wish you trusted me more when I say that you are far too hard on yourself.”

Crowley quietened and sniffled, raising his head just slightly to look sheepishly into the angel’s aquamarine eyes. I do trust you, he wished to say, but the words would not come. Instead, he sat back and swiped at his dripping nose, looking rueful and forlorn, his eyes downcast. It’s myself whom I don’t trust.

Aziraphale put a hand on his knobbly knee and squeezed it ever so gently. “I’m sure there’s more to your desire to spend more time with Anathema than her being pregnant, is there not?”

Crowley sniffled once more and faintly bowed his head in a nod. “I mean… obvi’sly. She’s sharp and pawky, and… nrgh. Funnn.”

“See?” Aziraphale smiled kindly. “So then why, my dear, do you keep making it sound like you only chose to keep her company out of some ulterior motive?”

Crowley shifted to sit akimbo and drummed an index finger against the jut of his hip bone. His voice rang steady enough now, but it still fizzled slightly, like a sparkling wine swishing inside a crystal flute. “‘Cause it’sss what happened, no? We’ve hardly interacted since stopping the Armageddon, save for me occasionally tagging along with you these past four years, and soon as she’s up the duff, I decide it’s bonding time,” he grumbled, scrunching up his nose.

"While it's true that you didn't spend as much time with her as I did, that doesn't mean you weren't friends prior to this recent development, Crowley." 

The demon crossed his arms over his chest and sneered, “Friends. Right.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows and cocked his head in a sure gesture of bemusement. “Yes, friends,” he said firmly. “Would she heed your advice when you reassured her she’d be a wonderful mother if she did not see you as just that—a friend?”

Crowley rolled his eyes and waved him off with a self-abasing curl of the lip. “You’d’ve managed to lift her spirits without me, you’re the angel.”

Aziraphale fixed him with an austere, but not unkind, look. “That’s beside the point, love. You were the one to ease her worries, and she listened. That must mean something, must it not?”

Crowley felt the whips of his self-flagellating stall under the angel's eye. He chewed his lip, searching his mind for a thing to answer, but it’d gone numbly blank.

"And I assure you that you really are a huge help to her. And a very entertaining company to keep.” 

Aziraphale shuffled closer and, in the warm lamplight, saw the very tips of Crowley’s ears tinge with pink, though his brow remained furrowed and the line of his mouth tight.  

“Doesn’t… ngk,” the demon began in a subdued tone, “Doesn’t negate the fact that I’m still jealous of her, and that… it makes it hard to be around her sssometimes. You seem to ‘ave… uhh… I mean, you seem just genuinely happy for her. Plainly.”

“I am. It is difficult at times, yes, but… well. I remind myself that, in our time, we will have what she has, too. And it helps.” 

Crowley felt a strangled sort of noise scratch the back of his throat. “You… still believe we can, then?” 

“Of course, Crowley. You told me so yourself. And I trust you more than anyone.” 

Crowley held his beautiful, soft eyes. They always spoke volumes, those eyes, even when words couldn’t. Right then, they were gleaming with a mix of hopeful reassurance and dolefulness, the latter of which Crowley, to his dismay, had started to grow accustomed to. He pushed himself off the mattress to sit on his haunches, resting his hands on his lap like a parishioner preparing for prayer, his golden slitted eyes not leaving his angel’s. Aziraphale extended his hands to cradle Crowley’s face, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. Crowley leaned into the touch and sighed, slowly going limp, the stiffness seeping out of his body in trickles. 

“It always ends up this way, eh?” he whispered, a faint smirk curling up the corner of his mouth. “With me being a, uh, total mess, and you piecing me back together again.”

As Crowley’s body continued to melt and his eyelashes began to flutter, Aziraphale slowly leaned in and captured Crowley’s lips in a warm, tender kiss. Separating with a wet noise, the demon finally, truly, smiled—and Aziraphale did, too. So Crowley took the liberty of answering his own question on behalf of the angel, “Yeeah… I guess so. Thank you, Aziraphale.”

“You’ve nothing to thank me for, my sweet.” Aziraphale pressed his forehead against the demon’s, and Crowley closed his eyes. “I love you.”

Crowley let out a breathy, content sigh. “I love you too, angel. I love us. Whatever else ‘us’ might yet become.”

There was still a long way to go, but there was no doubt that they would heal, given time. And time they had a-plenty.  

With Anathema now already in her second trimester,  Crowley was beginning to make confident progress along the learning curve of self-healing and acceptance. It wasn’t a smooth curve—there were dips and valleys and plateaus, sudden highs and devastating lows, but they were all a necessary part of the journey that began in early June and continued all throughout the summer and the autumn and now dipped into December. It’d been a difficult and exciting time for the witch and her husband and the angel and demon alike, but they could all confidently say that around the time approaching Christmas, their spirits were lifted. 

Anathema was feeling better and had more energy now than she had in the first trimester, which, given her fiery nature, was a welcome change to her. 

One snowy afternoon, Crowley and Aziraphale, as had become customary now, drove to Jasmine Cottage and parked out front, the Bentley’s engine puffing smoke from the exhaust as if annoyed by the gelid conditions outside. The angel got out once the engine had been turned off and lay a hand on top of the car’s bonnet. Warm energy flowed from his palm and into the metal below, a small miracle meant to keep the engine warm and ready once they decided to leave. 

“There you go, darling.” 

The Bentley purred like a great black cat.

“She’d‘ve been fiiine,” Crowley drawled as he got out and walked around the car to join Aziraphale’s side. “You’re spoiling her, angel.” 

“Oh, no such thing.”

They intended to stay awhile today. Aziraphale had brought a freshly baked potato mushroom pie (which stayed steamy through their journey because it’d been politely asked to do so) and a metal tin of sugar biscuits he’d made earlier that day. When they walked to the front door, Newt opened it and candidly invited them in; the cottage was filled with a comforting smell of food, a kettle whistle coming from the kitchen.  

“Heyyy!” Anathema greeted them with a smile when they walked into what doubled as a kitchen and dining room. She put a wooden spatula aside on a ceramic rest next to the stovetop and quickly washed her hands in the sink before coming up to embrace Aziraphale, her now-rounded middle nudging slightly against his stomach. Crowley allowed her a quick one-armed hug.

“Whatcha brewing there?” he asked, peeking over her shoulder at the large stockpot on the stove.

She picked up a scrap of paper off the countertop to inspect it before answering, “Scouse. Aziraphale gave me the recipe. Oh, and I made you some chickpea noodle soup.”

Crowley grinned appreciatively. “Nice. Thanks. Shoulda made your husband toil in front of the stove, though.” 

“Oh, please.” Anathema puffed her cheeks up and turned around to stir the meat and vegetable mixture in the simmering pot. “I feel great! Besides, Newt has his hands full with all this snow. Could you maybe help him, Crowley? And Aziraphale and I can set the table while you’re at it.” 

She glanced back at Newton, who stood a few steps away from Crowley. It seemed like they were exchanging a knowing look.

“Y-yes, that would be nice,” stuttered Newt.

Crowley shrugged and clapped Newt on the shoulder as he turned around. “M‘kay. Let’s go then.”

The two of them walked back into the entry to grab their coats, while Aziraphale set the still-warm pie on the table and got to work getting plates and cutlery ready. Anathema spent some more time working on the food before covering the pot with a lid and turning to the angel. 

“So, how are you two doing?” she asked. 

Aziraphale looked at her and smiled brightly, a cosy, crackling fireplace type of smile that warmed and lit up the room. “Oh, wonderful, my dear! We’re excited for the holidays, as you probably are. How are you?”

Anathema answered him with a warm smile of her own. “Good. Very good. But, umm, there’s a reason I’m asking, actually. How’s Crowley been?”

Aziraphale paused, looking a bit flummoxed. His smile didn’t fade completely, but it wavered slightly. “Crowley? He’s been, well, good. Why do you ask?”

She walked up to the table and held onto the back of one of the chairs as a clear indicator that she wanted the angel to sit down—so he did, albeit somewhat hesitantly, and she followed suit.  

She clasped her hands on the table; Aziraphale felt like a student in a headmistress's office, but Anathema’s expression indicated he was not about to receive a rebuke—instead, it conveyed concern. “I’ve just been… worried. Thought I’d ask, if that’s okay with you.”

The angel nodded, still keeping a small smile on his lips. “O-of course.”

“And Newt’s been worried too,” she added quickly. 

“Oh. Well…”

Aziraphale fidgeted with the ring on his pinky. It seemed that their human friends were far more discerning than either he or Crowley had thought.

“Has something happened between you two? Don't get me wrong, you both look great today! It’s just that… We’ve noticed that something felt off for a while now.”

Aziraphale wondered how ‘off’ they’d truly seemed to other people, even considering his and Crowley’s attempts to mask it. Up to this point, he thought they were doing well on that part—most of their strongest emotions were limited to the bounds of their house and their car, in the absence of anyone but themselves. Sure, they both displayed varying degrees of feelings that were especially difficult to keep in check, but nothing catastrophic has ever got out, and Crowley’s knitted brows and clenched jaws had always been too subtle for anyone but Aziraphale to catch. Perhaps to Anathema it hadn’t been so invisible after all.

He wracked his brain, thinking how to answer her question without revealing too much. He started very softly and reluctantly, wringing his hands in his lap, “Nothing’s happened between us so much as to us, I suppose. But I assure you, dear girl, that we are alright now. Or, well, as much as we can be.”

That did not seem to mollify Anathema’s concern. “What… what happened?”

Aziraphale raised his eyes to look at her and raised his shoulders, his lips pressed in a tight, wobbly smile. He did not answer. Anathema exhaled and averted her eyes. “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“Oh, no, no, dear, it’s quite alright,” Aziraphale said, raising both his hands and shaking his head. “I appreciate it, truly, that you and Newt thought of us. It’s a… delicate matter, you see. It concerns Crowley more than me, and I’m afraid he isn’t ready to talk about it yet, and I can’t do it for him. You understand.” 

Anathema furrowed her brow. She might not have realised the nature of this weird, unnamed, and terrible happening that her friends had gone through—or were still going through—but she did recognise the necessity of keeping it hidden and private if that was what they wanted to do. So she nodded. Aziraphale mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ and squeezed one of her hands on top of the table. There were waves of understanding and sympathy felt in the way she squeezed his back.

The door to the garden opened, and, with a loud barking sneeze and a grumble, Crowley stumbled through it, followed by a red-nosed and sniffly Newt.

“What shhhhite weather.” He shrugged off his coat and kicked aside his snow-crusted shoes. “I guess without Adam around, Tadfield’s no longer a weathercaster’s paradise, eh?”

The man beside him quaked in a full-body shiver. He tugged his mittens off and pawed helplessly for a place to lay them down as he could not see anything—his glasses were fogged up. Crowley dramatically rolled his eyes and snatched the wet mitts from the boy’s hands, putting them on top of the two empty pegs on a nearby clothing rack.  

“Thanks,” Newt said, and Crowley grumbled again. 

The two then walked into the kitchen, where Aziraphale had risen to his feet and began to mill about while the witch remained seated at the table. She looked up at her husband, whose eyebrows rose up slightly in a silent question, but she did not indicate anything in response, instead turning her attention to Crowley. “How’d it go?” she asked.

“C-coulda been better. Hate the effing snow.” Crowley shook his long limbs and shifted from one leg to the other. He continued once the chatter of his teeth had quietened. “Newt did most of the heavy lifting with the shovel, and I made sure you still have rosebushes when the spring comes. You didn’t even cover the poor birds with anything, and they have some things to say about that—trust me.”

Newt gulped nervously, and both Anathema and Aziraphale chuckled amusedly. The witch shot Crowley a small wily smile. “Thanks, demon.”

“You’re welcome, witch,” he beamed down at her with an affable scowl, walking up to join Aziraphale by the counter and peeking over his shoulder as the angel ladled the stew into three bowls, plus a bowl of vegetable-packed golden noodle soup for Crowley. Scooping up two of the bowls, he stepped to the table and set them down in front of the woman and at the empty space at the table next to her, for Newton. Aziraphale joined them with the two remaining bowls for himself and Crowley.

Looking at the food now set out in full on top of the small wooden table, the pie still steaming slightly, the aroma of the stew and soup wafting through the air, cosy and warm, Crowley realised just how hungry he was. He’d only recently started falling back into the habit of having regular meals, and it seemed today his corporation was especially eager. Perhaps it was the snow and the gales outside, or perhaps just the domesticity of the scene, but his stomach rumbled so loudly that Anathema turned her head to look at him, and the sharp angles of his cheekbones reddened slightly. 

She ushered them to sit down. With a scraping of chairs, Aziraphale, Newt, and Crowley all gathered round the table to join her.

“Well, tuck in, everyone!” 

Aziraphale made short shrift with cutting and plating everyone a piece of the pie, Crowley expeditiously topped his hearty soup with a modest sprinkling of croutons, and Newt took care of passing Anathema a slice of crispy fresh bread. The tableware clinked, and a murmur picked up, filling the room with more of the homey, comfortable hubbub.

Over the small table, Anathema looked at Aziraphale again with understanding and warm care; a look that invited him in in case he ever desired to share anything that troubled him. A wave of appreciation rolled over him, making his heart flutter. He instinctively searched for a point of contact with Crowley’s body to ground him until the side of his foot bumped against the demon’s, who didn’t appear to give it even half a thought before he pressed back, his toes curling over the angel’s. Aziraphale looked to his side to catch an answering glance of Crowley’s amber eyes, peeking from the rim of his shades, and a tiny smile on his thin pink lips before Crowley shifted his attention to the bowl of soup and slurped. 

Once again, Aziraphale remembered that there were five of them at the table, and the warm feeling in him bloomed even stronger. There’d soon be six—he was more sure of it than ever. Until then, both him and Crowley had wonderful friends to lean on, and despite the wind picking up speed outside and the cold, the inside of Jasmine Cottage was snug and unworried.

Chapter Text

With time feeling like a joke again, they hardly noticed its passage—months flew by like nothing at all, especially now that the anxieties of both the angel and demon had somewhat lulled. Out of the second trimester and well into the third, Anathema was growing increasingly excited for many reasons. The most exciting part was meeting their baby, of course, but she also seemed eager to get said baby out. Fortunately for her, she didn't have much longer to wait. 

In fact, the time for her baby shower was just around the corner. She didn’t quite agree on calling it that, not wanting to fuss too much or partake in a wildly commercialized event, but they agreed that it would be nice to have a little gathering at the Jasmine Cottage to celebrate nonetheless. Adam’s spring break wasn’t for another few weeks, and Shadwell and Tracy had planned to go on vacation around that time, so it would be just the four of them—five, for certain, as the witchling was making their presence very hard to ignore now.

Crowley and Aziraphale, of course, knew they ought to get something for the occasion. They settled on going to the shops together after Aziraphale and Muriel closed the bookshop up early on a weekday. They hoped there wouldn’t be too many people there if they planned it this way. 

Muriel made quite a gaggle when Crowley mentioned what they were buying a present for, curious about this—interesting, as they deemed it—human tradition. To Crowley and Aziraphale’s joined surprise, they seemed eager to know quite everything regarding pregnancy and childbirth. They recalled Eve’s creation, as well as the fact that Crowley and Aziraphale were present when Job’s wife gave birth to their 'new' children. In their eyes, that alone seemed to have made them experts.

“Yeah, no, this is entirely different from that,” Crowley said to them with a snort. “Trust me.”

Aziraphale thought it was a good idea to bring them some books from a section that held his medicine and biology-related titles; they got down to researching the old dusty tomes (which had seen far less use than his other titles) as soon as Aziraphale flipped the sign to ‘closed’ and he and Crowley got ready to leave. Crowley saw them pull a face at the pages when he popped back into the bookshop to retrieve his forgotten glasses—he figured they got hit by a particularly detailed diagram as they were flipping through the pages. He raised his fist to them in a gesture meant to bolster them up as he was walking back out through the door. They weakly mimicked him and gulped loudly but did not close the book.

At the stores, it took them some time to agree on what to buy. Aziraphale insisted on getting a basket full of supplies for Anathema, while Crowley thought it would be best to stick with something simple as to not put Anathema on the spot—she did say she didn’t want us to fuss, ‘member? That could just be some clothes for the baby. Reluctantly, Aziraphale agreed, adding that he would also add a set of herbal teas to their gift, for Anathema—nettle, red raspberry leaf, lemon balm, ginger, and peppermint. These, he had read, were supposed to be good for her at this stage.

They walked past the aisle that held nappies, bottles and baby wipes over to the clothing section, but Crowley’s attention got caught by something on the way. He stopped to inspect it. 

At a closer look, the items on the shelf turned out to be different types of breast pumps—manual and electric, in several makes and models. Crowley gingerly picked up a box and turned it around in his hands. 

“That’s, uh, for lactating people to help them express milk,” Aziraphale began to explain, stepping close behind Crowley and looking at the box, too. This particular one did not immediately reveal its function to an unknowing person, as the box was white and sleek and minimalistic in appearance, with a tear-shaped device featured in the front under an equally modern-looking logo. It wasn’t unusual that Crowley was drawn to this exact box or that he did not understand its function right away. When Crowley turned his head to look at him, eyebrows raised, Aziraphale continued, “Some people produce more milk than their baby needs, so they use this to express any extra and store it. Or they might want to use a bottle to feed their milk to the baby instead of letting them suckle on their breasts, for different reasons.”

Crowley looked back to the box, pursing and pulling his lips to the side. “Huh. Clever humans.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale agreed.

Crowley put the box back in its place and glanced around the rest of the shelf, frowning. “Do you think when I… I mean, will I also have to…?” he murmured, his voice hushed and unsteady. 

Aziraphale didn’t immediately understand what Crowley was asking him, but when he did, a warm flutter rumbled through his corporation, especially at the word that the demon used— ‘when’ . Whether purposeful or just a slip of the tongue on Crowley’s part, it made Aziraphale’s soul vibrate with hope.

“Not unless you want to, my dear,” the angel answered softly, a small smile playing on his lips and crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

Crowley made a grunting noise and turned to continue walking down to the clothing aisle, with the angel following closely behind, a light skip in his step.

There, Crowley briskly walked along the rows and rows of differently sized and patterned clothes until they reached the shelving unit that held stacks and hangers of tiny sleep suits. They stood in front of the display, stupefied—the whole thing looked overly cutesy. Aziraphale turned his head and stared at his Crowley, dark and mysterious, amidst all the pinks and blues and little plush teddies in nappies that decorated the shelves, and short-circuited, his mouth falling open slightly. 

Finally, the demon sighed, as if bracing himself, and began browsing through the options. Aziraphale shook the stupor off. He thought he’d better make himself useful, because the assortment looked like it would leave anyone vacillating. His head certainly spun, he knew that much. 

The angel walked over to the neighbouring shelf. This one had an array of shoes and options of tiny headwear and accessories. After so little as a short glance at them, Aziraphale got rather smitten by an adorable sage green set of a headband (one of the few ones without a bow or a flower on it) and knitted booties. Without much deliberation, his choice was made. He picked the set up and walked a few steps back over to Crowley.

Nose buried in racks, Crowley knit his brows and sniffled. Aziraphale watched him; for a second, he got worried Crowley might be struggling with his dole again. It wasn’t unlikely, given how Aziraphale’s own heart throbbed looking at every little thing surrounding them. He approached, trying to see Crowley’s eyes behind the dark glasses, and put a hand on the small of his back. “Darling?”

Crowley carefully folded a pink babygrow and put it back on top of the stack. He wiped the underside of his nose with the back of his hand. 

“I renounce my status as a demon,” he grumbled softly. “No demon has ever got, ngh… emotional, at the sight of blasted… what even are they? One-piece baby… things. Babygro. Grh. Babygrow.”

True enough, when Aziraphale finally caught a glance of Crowley’s eyes behind his shades, they were slightly wet, unshed tears brimming in the corners. “Oh, sweetheart,” he drawled, running his hand up and down Crowley’s spine in a gentle, soothing caress. 

“Shut uuuup,” the demon groaned, ducking away from his touch. “I’m fine.”

Aziraphale worriedly twisted the headband and booties in front of his chest, unconvinced. “You can return to the car and I’ll finish here myself, if you–“

“No, I mean it, angel, ‘m fine,” Crowley assured him with a loud sniffle. “Everything’s just so… ugh. Cute and baby… baby-ey? Rrrrgh.”

To Aziraphale’s relief, there really didn’t seem to be any painful edge to Crowley’s voice. Hearing the word ‘cute’ out of the demon’s mouth made him titter. He pressed a fist to his lips, and his shoulders shook when a small chuckle nearly broke out. Crowley glowered at him and tapped his foot with annoyance, the hard soles of his snakeskin boots loud as they hit the wooden floor. 

“Akhem,” the angel cleared his throat and tried his best to wipe the smile off his face. “So, has anything caught your eye?”

Crowley hissed incomprehensibly, turned to retrieve something from the rack, and shoved a simple, subtly patterned sleepsuit Aziraphale’s way. It was of a similar colour to the set he had chosen. The angel wondered if Crowley picked this one to match it or if they just landed there naturally. Either way, the combination of their items looked like they were practically made to be worn together, which was perfect.

Aziraphale took the sleepsuit and inspected it closer, raising it up with the headband and booties, imagining the little being donning them all at once. “It’s pretty, but a bit monochromatic, don’t you think?”

The tilt of Crowley’s head made it obvious that he was rolling his eyes. “It’s a baby, angel. Not a fashion model.”

“Right, right. Let’s take these then,” conceded Aziraphale. He swivelled his head to locate the checkout and turned around to walk in its direction. Crowley initially made a few steps alongside him but then stopped and briskly returned to the rack. 

“Oh? Did you change your mind?” the angel asked, stopping.

“No,” he said stiffly, running his hands through the hangers, searching for something. Aziraphale watched as he took out a yellow long-sleeve babygrow, looked at it a while, and draped it over his forearm before returning. He did not utter a word. 

Aziraphale leaned his head sideways to look at the piece of tiny clothing. It was a sunny shade of yellow, not unlike the colour that Aziraphale liked so much, with delicate white velveteen cuffs and a petal-shaped collar of the same material. It also had something embroidered on the front, but it was hard to make out as it hid beyond the slope of Crowley’s forearm. “Didn’t you say you wanted to keep the present simple?”

“That‘s not for Anathema,” Crowley replied gruffly. He did not raise his head as he spoke. “That’s for, y’know… ngh. Us. Well, ours. One day. I guess.”

Aziraphale’s heart stuttered, having momentarily forgotten its primary function. “Oh.”

At the checkout, as the cashier was ringing them up, Aziraphale saw that the embroidery on the sleep suit was that of a small duckling. He considered going back to the aisle and picking out something that went along with it and regretted not doing so as they walked out of the shop, but he figured that he had better not get on Crowley’s wick any further. Crowley looked lost in thought and jittery on their road back.

At home, he folded the item neatly and laid it in his own dresser drawer, in stark contrast to his mainly black clothes. Aziraphale watched him with a small but luminous smile.

The demon closed the drawer shut. “Quit staring, angel,” he grumbled and walked over to the monstera in the corner to avoid the angel’s gaze. The plant trembled slightly as he ran a finger along its glossy heart-shaped leaf. 

Aziraphale stood in the doorframe, still weak in the knees. “Oh, I’m sorry, dearest. It’s just so sweet that you–“

Crowley turned around and closed the distance between them in a few long strides, a snake ready to strike. Aziraphale, having observed him do this many a time like this, didn’t even flinch. “ Don’t . Am still a demon, remember?” he hissed venomously. 

Aziraphale tried and failed to contain an adoring sigh. He knew he was being a tease, but he could not help it. “A demon, but what a darling one–“

“Ngaaah.” Crowley growled and stormed off, leaving Aziraphale behind, still swooning. 

Once he heard Crowley’s heavy footsteps quiet down, he slowly approached the drawer Crowley put the babygrow in and opened it. The bright yellow fabric was like a miniature sun among the storm clouds of Crowley’s blacks and dark greys, the velveteen soft and inviting to trail a finger along its surface. A pair of white booties and a pale yellow knitted hat he had seen back at the shop came to mind as the perfect match. Aziraphale considered it a moment. 

A sway of his hand transferred the necessary amount of money to the cash register there and brought the little clothes to the drawer to rest on top of the folded one-piece. The gentleness in his expression was making the air of the bedroom almost sickly sweet. 

“You wait here,” he whispered under his breath. “We’ll be needing you soon enough.”

Come the middle of March, on what happened to be an unusually hot day by the season’s standards, the four, plus an especially active and kicky baby inside Anathema’s belly, gathered outside the Jasmine Cottage—not that the baby had much choice in the matter. They did seem, however, as excited as the adults, their mother said. 

Aziraphale walked out to the garden with trays of  savory nibbles: caprese skewers with fresh basil leaves, courtesy of Crowley’s herb garden back home; egg salad sandwiches; warm brie and pear tartlets; mini quiches; spinach puff pastry bites…

Anathema floated up to him and patted him on the shoulder as he stood the trays on top of the weathered wooden table after freshening it up with a quick miracle. “One might say you went a bit overboard,” she drawled playfully. Aziraphale’s cheeks reddened slightly. 

Crowley sauntered up to the both of them and set down a tray with more food. The savoury options were now joined by a medley of sweets: cake pops with rainbow sprinkles, brown butter-maple shortbread biscuits, eccles cakes… Crowley stood and surveyed the abundance. When he looked up, hands on his hips, at his angel, Aziraphale’s face was the same shade as the raspberry confiture on his homemade jam drops.

“I a-admit I might have got carried away,” he floundered. “But this is a once-in-a-lifetime occasion for you, my dear! It ought to be a well and proper celebration.”

She smiled at him and stroked her hand along the curve of her belly. “It already feels like one. Thank you, guys.”

Newt soon joined them, bearing drinks. Anathema wished to rest her feet for a bit, so he helped her lower to the bench while the demon and angel continued to mill about. Crowley popped over to the Bentley to grab the presents; Tracy and Shadwell had left theirs with them for safekeeping before going away on vacation. When he came back, Aziraphale and Newt had joined Anathema at the table. She popped a mini quiche in her mouth and sipped on some non-alcoholic punch.

“How have you been feeling, dear girl?” asked Aziraphale.

“Oof. Good?” she replied, reaching over for a tartlet. “I’m ready to get this over with, to be honest. They’re not the most agreeable tenant.”

Aziraphale helped her to some sandwiches to boot and simpered. Crowley put the gifts on the bench close to her and walked around the table to join his angel. He leaned into him slightly and grinned at Anathema. “Don’t worry, you’ll be evicting them soon enough.”

She shook her head fondly and lightly patted her stomach. “I am looking forward to meeting them.”

With a smile on his face, Newt touched and gently kneaded her shoulder, bringing her closer. “Me too,” he said most gently.

“As do we,” hummed the angel. 

From outside the garden wall, the Bentley honked—don’t forget about me!—and the garden rang with a heartfelt laugh of four joined voices.

When the time came to open her present, Anathema tugged at the neatly tied bow with the excitement of a child unwrapping their Christmas gift. After that initial trip to the store, they’d realised they wanted to get more than just a few articles of clothing, so when Anathema opened the box, inside it, in addition to the babygrow and its accessories, were some washable cloth nappies, a swaddle blanket, and a small teddy with a darling tartan bowtie. The demon protested extensively against the pattern at first but eventually caved—a pleading expression from Aziraphale went farther than he cared to admit. The blanket, which was lavender in colour and featured a star and constellation motif, in turn, was chosen by Crowley.

She carefully took out and studied every item, her big dark eyes misty when she looked up at them and managed a wobbly smile. “These are beautiful. Thank you,” she mouthed. Newton took the pair of booties in his trembling hands and squeaked.

The demon and angel shone back at the parents-to-be with brilliant smiles.

“Blessings to you and your growing family, my dears,” murmured Aziraphale. There would be a proper blessing to cast later—one to ensure that everything continued going well for his dear friends and that the baby was well and comfortable when they were finally with them. A protective bubble would form around Jasmine Cottage, bringing warmth and repose to its inhabitants, soothing pains and discomforts of the final stages of pregnancy and the beginnings of labour. It would also lull the new baby to sleep and relieve their colics, should they have them. He had not performed such miracles for a long while now, but this occasion was worth every bit of trouble and celestial energy he would have to expend on it. 

Crowley flicked his glasses up, unveiling his gleaming copper eyes for them to see. He kept on grinning as he spoke. “Can’t promise you a blessing, ‘m afraid, so I’ll just say one thing—that kid,” he pointed a spindly finger at Anathema’s belly, “won the lottery with their parents. You’ll both knock it out of the park, no doubt in my mind. And if you ever need any help with the little grub, you know who to ask.”

The couple were completely tongue-tied by then, so all they managed was another grateful smile, still shaky—Newt’s especially—and a nod in wordless appreciation. For Crowley and Aziraphale, that was more than enough.

Having had their fill at the table, the group split up into two; Aziraphale and Newt dove into a discussion about their experience with computers—or lack thereof for Aziraphale—and Crowley and the witch retreated to inspect the garden beds and the rose bushes, which were slowly coming back to life after the cold snowy winter. 

“They bother you with those kicks much today?” Aziraphale heard Crowley ask, coming up to stand beside her and gesturing to her belly.

“Jesus, you can’t imagine.”

“Not my name, though I do know the bloke well,” he jeered, and the witch groaned loudly, “And yes, I cannot.”

When his and Newt’s conversation eventually fizzled out, the boy excused himself to go get more drinks from the kitchen, and Aziraphale found himself staring at Crowley. 

He stood tall and slender beside the young woman, bending his knees a little so he was more level with her, and chatted away, perfectly comfortable, which was a miracle in its own way. At one point, Aziraphale didn’t hear what sparked it, Anathema invited him to feel her belly. Crowley blinked and carefully placed a trembling hand above her navel. He’d done this before, but it appeared that no matter the count, he still felt almost scared to touch her. Aziraphale held his breath, watching Crowley suddenly spring back a little, hand still splayed over the curve, the widest, brightest beam stretching his lips from ear to ear. And when the demon turned his head and met Aziraphale’s eyes, breathing was all and truly forgotten.

The angel smiled back at him, and when the demon drew his attention back to the unparalleled sensation of little kicks and nudges against the palm of his hand, Aziraphale withdrew into himself and wondered and wondered and wondered, letting his mind drift. 

Despite his many attempts, he still found it difficult to imagine his demon having a large round belly like Anathema’s. What would his gorgeous Crowley look like? More than anything, he wished that he could finally find out.

He put a hand on his chest and breathed. No rush. They were in no rush, he had to remind himself. But his heart tingled half-painfully nonetheless.

Crowley then barked a loud laugh, and Anathema poked him in the chest. Newt padded to them and extended a glass of juice for her and Crowley, who thanked him with a leer and turned to walk over to Aziraphale. 

“Hey, angel,” he said, plopping down on the bench beside him. “You with me?”

Aziraphale shook his head to clear it and turned in his seat to face Crowley better. “Oh, yes, my dear. I’m with you.”

Crowley leaned with his elbow on the table and looked out at Newt fluttering around Anathema like a butterfly flutters around a blooming flower. She was a blooming flower, truly—all radiant and rosy and beautiful. She pecked Newt on the cheek and, hand in hand, led him back toward the rose bushes. 

“They’re a feisty one, that’s for sure. Still astounds me how much force goes into those kicks.”

Aziraphale observed the soft expression of Crowley’s face, the way the corners of his mouth settled in a delicate, kind smile. He drank in the little crinkles of his crow’s feet. A sigh escaped him before he spoke. “It is rather incredible, isn’t it? Such a small soul and so strong already.”

Crowley turned his head to look at him and leaned in, close enough that the tips of their noses brushed one against the other. He placed a quick, chaste kiss on the angel’s lips—Aziraphale tasted fresh orange juice on them—and took his hand, squeezing it tight. “It is remarkable, yes,” he whispered, lowering his head to lie on Aziraphale’s shoulder. The wafts of the angel’s shaky breath, hot against the early spring air, tickled the crown of his head. 

Aziraphale breathed in the comforting scent of Crowley’s coppery locks. No rush. No rush at all. 

He closed his eyes.

In a blink of time, Jasmine Cottage was ready to receive its new resident. The world heard the first cry of a new being on April 22nd—Earth Day.  

Crowley and Aziraphale got the pleasure of meeting them some time after Anathema was back with them from the hospital. Having required a c-section due to some complications, she needed all the rest and healing she could get with a newborn baby now in her life before worrying about inviting them over. So when the time for that finally came, they embarked on a journey down familiar roads with excitement and trepidation they weren’t sure they’d known in all of six thousand years of their existence. 

And oh, their enthusiastic disquietude turned out to be well justified, because when Crowley first locked eyes with the tiny—oh, so, so tiny—baby boy in the cradle of Newt’s arms, it was like someone pulled the whole planet right from under him.

Anathema, exhausted, sleep-deprived, but full of warmth and unwavering love for the little creature, waddled to stand next to her husband. Newt angled the baby slightly so they could get a better look, his movement careful and unsure. 

“Say hi to your godfathers, Oracle,” Anathema crooned.

The baby cooed and blinked at them with his big bleary eyes. His was a strange, unfamiliar face, every bit new, and yet every bit a miniature version of his mother—save for the shape of his nose and the bright blue colour of his irises, which were indubitably Newt’s. Aziraphale pressed both hands to his mouth, and Crowley gawked, blinking away the moisture welling up in his eyes.

“H-hello, little one,” the angel croaked. Oracle made another small noise and smacked his lips sleepily. 

They did not dare touch Oracle, let alone hold him, but neither of their eyes left him during the entire duration of their visit. Anathema jested that it was as if they’d never seen a baby before in their lives. Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale could argue with that—it felt as if they really hadn’t. The whole experience just left them dumbfounded in ways they could not express. Ever the patron and master of the English language, even Aziraphale did not find the appropriate words in his vocabulary. But Oracle soon grew fussy, and they would have no more time to get their heads straight before they had to leave, still dazed.

Outside, they saw the couple come up to the window to see them off; Newt held Oracle up, and the Bentley swished her wipers in greeting to the smallest stranger. She also kept her engine extra quiet as they drove off—Crowley patted her dashboard with reverence of a proud parent.

It was a good thing that Bentley could drive herself if needed, because Crowley was hardly in any shape to. The impact of meeting little Oracle was much more profound than he could have ever assumed. For one, it left him wanting more than ever before, for the same thing—a familiar yet completely new creature he could hold and nurture and watch grow, one that was of them both. An us. 

As for the rest… To his surprise, there wasn’t much else. He did not feel the agony of dread grip him back at Jasmine Cottage, even though he had expected it to, nor had it caught up to him now. It did not dare show its nasty self in the face of a fresh new brilliance that was Anathema and Newt’s child. 

Instead, he felt light, and the marble of hope he had squirrelled away shone as bright as the North Star. All he had to do was take a step forward and let it guide him. 

He felt ready.

Or, well, he still needed some time to work up the nerve, but it did not take long at all, comparatively. The beacon shone—he followed it.

And so, one lazy evening, a fire of desire mixed with nerviness crackling inside his corporation, Crowley walked up to Aziraphale as he was sitting in his armchair in the living room of their dusking cottage. The angel was so engrossed in his book that Crowley’s approach went unnoticed at first.

“Haven’t you read quite enough for one day, angel?” Crowley said, long fingers reaching to take the book away. He bookmarked it carefully, closed it, and put it on a table nearby. 

Aziraphale huffed. “I was going to finish this one chapter and–“

“And then you would’ve started another and another until you’d read the whole damn book. I know you,” Crowley interrupted him, play-mockingly shaking his head. “You have better things to be doing, Aziraphale.”

The angel looked up at him, his head cocked slightly, like a curious puppy. “Oh? And what is that?”

Crowley smiled mischievously—much less a golden retriever and more of a sly, devious fox. He pushed his husband’s legs open with his foot and planted his knee on the armchair seat, pressing against the fork of Aziraphale’s legs, who squirmed and shifted back a bit. “Me.” The words slipped off his tongue languidly, like a drop of honey.

Aziraphale looked down. Crowley’s touch was just inches away from his groin; his body reacted appropriately, and he swallowed. He was thankful that his choice of house attire was usually loose-fitting; otherwise he would now be feeling quite crammed. The front of his bottoms twitched when the demon’s eager hands reached to touch his neck, and yet, Aziraphale remained motionless, his mouth dry and eyes staring up at the demon hovering above him as if he were seeing him for the first time.

“Well? Are you just going to sit there, angel?” Crowley asked chaffingly. 

Aziraphale brought his hand to Crowley’s waist, timid and uncertain. “Does that mean that we can…?”

Crowley nodded. “Mhm. Evidently.” His fingers made quick work of the dainty buttons of Aziraphale’s pyjama shirt. It came open, exposing the angel’s chest, soft and covered with downy hair that was especially lush in the middle, above the sternum, and then feathered out the more it grew to the sides. Crowley could not help licking his lips. 

Aziraphale felt the demon’s hungry gaze and moaned a bit. They’ve not done this ever since it, the awful and horrible, happened, and he was, understandably, a bit piqued. His hands moved with a sense of urgency and hunger, sliding upwards underneath the dark material of Crowley’s top until they counted every ridge of his ribcage.

The demon shifted so he could sit on top of him in the armchair, straddling his lap, and as soon as the gap was closed between them, Aziraphale made to quickly remove Crowley’s clothing and planted his lips on the sensitive skin in the divot between his collarbones, surer now, kissing wetly down to his breastbone and to the side, capturing his perked-up nipple. Crowley moaned and rubbed down against the angel’s stiffening Effort. “Ahh… fuck. I don’t wanna move, angel. Okay if I just, ah… miracle the clothes off?”

Instead of answering, Aziraphale waved his hand, and their clothes vanished, reappearing folded neatly on top of the sofa nearby. He drew back, drank in the sight of his husband's wet and glistening labia, and slowly slid his fingers down the mons to between the velvety folds, fondling them along with the swelling nub of the clit. Crowley moaned with each of his deft motions. His own hand enveloped Aziraphale’s thick cock, moving slowly in long, measured strokes, going fully up and then down to the base to stretch the foreskin and fully expose the pink, oozing head. Aziraphale whimpered beautifully with each one. 

Crowley then sat up and braced himself on the backrest to align them and, without further hesitation, slid down Aziraphale's length until it was snugly pressed against his cervix. He opened his mouth in a breathless gasp and took a moment to just relish the feeling. “Oh… hells, how I missed this.”

With his heart pounding in his chest, Aziraphale admired the intimate link of their bodies, feeling the heat and little jerks and squeezes of Crowley’s pussy. “Ah… oh, me too, my love,” he managed breathlessly.

When Crowley gazed down lovingly at him, his honey-gold eyes, half-lidded and soft, had that hint of need and hunger that always made Aziraphale weak. “Be very, very good to me, Aziraphale.”

A dazzling spark ran through Aziraphale’s corporation. He swallowed and nodded. “Of course, my love.”  

He put his hands on Crowley’s hips, supporting him so the demon could slide up and down his shaft easier. Crowley did just that, going in careful, slow rises and falls first until he got into a steadier rhythm and picked up the pace a bit. Aziraphale continued kissing his chest and nipples, just the way Crowley liked it; he’d got rather masterful in his work, knowing exactly what pressure was best and what spots needed the most attention. Not long after, Crowley was gasping and moaning with every flick of the tongue, every suckling kiss, and every careful bite. 

Gradually, the demon began to move faster, every bit of his catlike grace gone, replaced by burning, urgent necessity. He raised his hips up and slammed them down, panting and growling, driving Aziraphale deeper and faster, skin clapping against skin in a hot carnal symphony. Aziraphale dug his fingers into the flesh of Crowley’s hips. He could feel the waves rising. “Oh… ah, Crowley… darling, I–“ 

Crowley braced himself on the armrests, arching back and lifting himself up just so the angel could pump into him in his own rhythm. Aziraphale looked at his body, lean and beautiful on top of him: the erratic rise and fall of his chest, his flushed face and parted lips, the muscles of his belly taut and stretched. It went without saying that Crowley looked stunning in this pose. 

In control now and with the pressure inside him building, Aziraphale began to move in earnest. Crowley balanced so he could free one hand to rub himself off, quivering and moaning. “Come on, angel, oh… yesss, ah, please!..” he cried out and threw his head back in a major shudder that ran through his whole being.

And all the angel needed to push him over the edge—was that. He gasped, overflowing with pleasure, and buried himself deep in the demon’s heat. It took Crowley a few more seconds to carry himself over as well, and as he did, Aziraphale felt a rhythmic squeeze around his shaft, as though Crowley was attempting to drain him of every last drop possible. They shivered, closed their eyes, and breathed. 

When his head stopped swimming, Crowley opened his eyes and cast a glance down. He looked utterly pleased—he always enjoyed the sight of them joined like this. Judging by the way his body was relaxing, he wasn’t in any rush to get off. His intention was to stay like this for a while, actually. 

He raised his head to look at Aziraphale and asked, in a put-on casual manner, “So, angel. Mind telling me more about that book?”

Aziraphale’s mind was still blissfully hazy from the orgasm. “I’m uh… I’m sorry?”

Crowley grinned and jerked his head to point with his chin to the colourful paperback on the nearby table. “The book you were reading. Tell me about it.”

Aziraphale cleared his head with a shake and laughed softly, the sound rumbling deep in his throat. “Do you… honestly wish to hear about it, or are you just trying to make a little fun of me, dear?”

Crowley untensed completely, putting his full weight on top of Aziraphale and pressing him in again. They both moaned. “Mngh, well… a little bit of both. I did really want to hear it, actually.”

“Ah. V-very well. But maybe we should firstly…?” He gestured to their bodies and raised his eyebrows in question. 

Crowley shook his head. “‘m afraid you’re stuck like this for some time, so get comfortable.”

The angel huffed a bashful chuckle. “Alright… I was, uh…” Unsurprisingly, he found that it was rather difficult to speak in this state, especially about such matters as books. It took quite an effort to string words together into something that made sense. “I was… revisiting some of my more c-contemporary titles earlier this week, and… Muriel reminded me of Cloud Atlas, because they’d read it themselves for the first time recently…”

“Huh. Again with the science fiction,” Crowley murmured.

“Precisely. I just, ah…” There was another gentle squeeze from within Crowley’s body. Aziraphale carried on, though his words took on a tumble as he tried to get them out before they gummed up in his mouth and turned into gibberish. “I… adore Mitchell’s convoluted way of storytelling and worldbuilding, I m-must say. He does it masterfully in all his novels, but I feel this one is where it really shines. You should…” Another squeeze came, only purposeful this time—Aziraphale saw it from the sly twinkle in Crowley’s golds. “ Ah… give it a chance some day.”

Even though his breathing was still erratic and his cheeks were still red, Crowley was handling the sensations better. He readjusted, very slightly, coaxing another little gasp from his angel. “Nahhh. You know I don’t really read. There’s a movie, right? I could do a movie.”

Aziraphale blew a long breath. “I’ve heard mixed reviews on it, but yes… there is a movie. We could try it.”

“Sweet,” the demon smiled. “Always love a movie night with you, angel.”

Aziraphale playfully pinched Crowley’s thigh. “Oh, you flattering snake,” he said breathily.

Crowley ground down against him with a mischievous grin. They slotted together so perfectly. “Flattering you, am I?”

“Ah! Crowleyyy…” the angel whined. “That’s quite enough, dear. You know how… sensitive I get.” 

As he whispered in his ear, “And you know what bassstard I become when you're like this,” the angel beneath him writhed even more violently. Crowley captured his earlobe with his lips and tugged the soft flesh gently. He toyed with it for a little bit, lapping his tongue around it. His mind brought up the memory of a time when Aziraphale had worn earrings; if he concentrated, he could almost feel the small indentation of a scar with his tongue. It was delectable, teasing him like this, and yet, when Aziraphale suddenly enfolded him in his arms—so tender—his breath hitched and his ministrations abruptly came to a stop. 

The angel nuzzled the side of his neck, pressing gentle kisses to the soft skin and the oh-so-loved freckles and moles. His hands squeezed him tightly. Wasn’t this lovely? Blissful.

But there was a flicker of something cold and unpleasant growing inside Crowley’s chest, and his pulse quickened. All at once, he became hyperaware of the stickiness between them, which trickled out in a cloudy runnel when he shifted; Aziraphale’s content huffs that tickled his nape; the simple fact of what they’d done, what he’d been avoiding for so long, too scared—terrified.

“I… really did miss this, Aziraphale,” he murmured, drawing the angel closer with his hands around the other’s shoulders. 

How starved he was, denying himself the bliss of being in Aziraphale’s arms like this, as close to one another as they could possibly be. But it was alright. They were here now. He took a big breath and exhaled, ridding his lungs of their iciness. 

Aziraphale turned his head and placed a wet kiss on the sigil on Crowley’s temple. “If you wish, I can carry you to bed, and we can stay like this as long as you wish, my dearest,” he said quietly, liltingly. 

A smile slipped onto Crowley's lips. “Be careful what you propose, angel. I might just take you up on the offer.”

“Please do,” whispered Aziraphale, and Crowley felt goosebumps run all across his skin. “I’m finding that I’m not against the idea in the slightest… Even if you choose to let this last the whole night.”

The demon hummed. “...Alright. Just, careful, alright? Don’t drop me.”

Aziraphale huffed in mock offence. “I would never! How could I, with such precious cargo as yourself?”

A loud groan resonated from inside the demon’s throat, and Aziraphale chuckled.

“Speaking of…” Crowley began hesitantly, “Do you think it will work, I mean… this time?”

Aziraphale cupped his husband’s bottom to support him and, with a quiet grunt, rose to his feet in one motion. Crowley clung to his neck like a terrified cat clings to its owner in a veterinary clinic. “Sh-shit! Hey! ”

Aziraphale walked through the dark hallway to their bedroom with surety, him and Crowley still joined impossibly close. “Don’t you fret, my dear. I’ve got you.”

Crowley clung tighter and pressed into the side of Aziraphale’s neck, hiding his face. “Ngh… I know you do…” he mumbled.

With a smile, Aziraphale lowered them both slowly onto the mattress. Crowley looked at him, loving the way the sun, which had almost fully set, kissed his white curls and soft features. Loving him.

“And yes,” he whispered after some time, “It will, my love.”

Crowley felt weird for a few days before he started to get suspicious. 

His stomach kept churning, and he was having a hard time keeping food down. He felt exhausted, too. It was after he’d finally teetered and barfed up Aziraphale’s carefully crafted lunch that he decided to stop being an idiot and walked over to the long-forgotten cabinet. 

When the two pink lines showed up bright and unmistakable, he did not trust his eyes. He took another test and then another. He spent a long time staring at the three of them. They had all apparently colluded to display the same thing.

Crowley’s corporation was apparently at odds with itself trying to decide whether to flood his brain with endorphins or cortisol, so it seemed to have done both. He felt junked-up and nauseous, unsure whether the nausea was from the stress his body was under or from what was apparently inside him now.

It was there—telegraphing loud and clear. He felt stupid not to have realised it sooner; the nausea was the telltale sign, the most common and evident. He had never got nauseous in his existence, unless he’d drunk too much—of course what the tests were telling him was the obvious conclusion. He was a right prat.

And of course, by Murphy’s law, Aziraphale was not around—he’d left a few hours earlier to manage some things at the bookshop and help Muriel with some new arrivals, and Crowley decided not to follow him. If this went as it always had, he would not be home until the evening. Crowley’s fingers itched to call the bookshop’s phone, but he resisted. For one, he wasn’t certain that he would even be able to say anything; it was easier to tell Aziraphale in person, to just show him. On top of that, he also needed a minute to breathe and calm the fuck down, which was proving beyond difficult. 

The most frustrating part was that he did not understand why he was acting like this. They wanted it, and they got it. He should’ve been excited, jovial, thrilled, elated, as happy as Larry—all of the above. Not on the edge of a panic attack. 

But then he’d remembered Anathema, and how worried she was. He almost felt bad for going off on her like that, because it all made perfect sense to him now.

If he stopped to really think about it—which was probably a bad idea, given how much he was trembling already—there was a small something inside him, feeding from his energy, his very flesh and blood. It was right there, coming together slowly, and it would continue to expand and grow and take up more space, both in his corporation and in his life as a whole. No, not it —they. They were already a powerful presence, and as they grew, they would become a whole new world, one that Crowley knew nothing of. He would never, ever be the same after that, nor would Aziraphale. It wasn’t just scary—it was mind-numbingly petrifying. Which in and of itself was making it hard to marry the competing emotions sloshing around in his skull. 

The demon dug in the medicine cabinet until he found an electronic test and took it on top of all the others, not knowing what doing so would even achieve. He had a number now, that’s what. Not that it helped. 

He gathered the test strips and floated over to the sofa in the living room like an unmoored boat. It was three o’clock. He cocooned himself in a light throw-over blanket in an attempt to force himself to fall asleep and skip the time until his angel came back. Somehow, he managed it.

When the front door of the cottage clicked familiarly and Aziraphale called out for him, he gathered himself to sit upwards and snapped his fingers to turn the lights on. The fixture overhead nearly blinded him—it had been completely dark around him. Night had fallen while he slept.

Aziraphale walked in, rubbing his eyes. He looked ruffled and exhausted. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said on a long exhale.

“H-hi,” Crowley rasped, the sound of his voice rough from both the sleeping and the nerves that were starting to grip his throat again. “Everything alright, angel?”

“It is. I’m just tired…” Crowley watched as Aziraphale walked over to the armchair and unhurriedly untied and discarded his bowtie, leaving it to hang off the armrest. “There had been a, ugh… miscommunication on the part of Muriel concerning the retailer who had promised to deliver me a couple of rare first editions. It took a while to straighten out, as you can see…” He shuddered. “I never wish to spend this much time on the telephone again. ”

“Ugh. Bummer,” Crowley grumbled halfheartedly. He held the sticks in his hands, obscured by the cover of the blanket still draped over him.

Aziraphale turned and looked at him. “And you, my dear? Are you alright?”

Crowley lowered his eyes and tried to swallow the lump in his throat—it refused to pass down, and his voice sounded rough when he spoke, “I… it… it happened.”

Aziraphale wrung his hands in front of him in bewilderment and unease. “What did?”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and extended him the small bundle of positive tests with a shaking hand. “Thisss.”

Equally trembling, the angel took the small white strips from the demon and stared down at them. Crowley looked away, cowering deeper into the blanket, hiding his gaze. He did not see how the angel’s blue eyes widened and shone, or how his jaw slacked open, or the tremble of his bottom lip.

“It’s done. I’m knocked up. It worked, and I… I… I don’t even know, this doesn’t feel real, I can’t–” he spiralled, but a choking sob pulled him back, like a splash of cold water on his face. He looked at Aziraphale before him. He was quaking, a hand pressed to his mouth. Tears streaming down his face. “Angel, what are you–”

Before he could finish, Aziraphale flung himself to the floor and knelt by his feet. He took the demon’s hands into his and kissed them, pressing his lips to the skin awhile. His breath was hot against the coldness of it. “Oh Crowley, my darling, my dearest–“ Crowley sat frozen, not knowing what to do. Words, if there were any, died in his throat. “My love, oh… oh… We did it. You did it.”

“Ngk,” was all he managed to say.

The angel withdrew and looked up at him. Everything, just his whole essence, left Crowley’s body. Aziraphale was beaming—radiant. There were large droplets of saltwater staining his cheeks, but he looked at him like Crowley had put… well, he did do that, but that was beside the point. Aziraphale was gleaming , overfloweth with love so vast that it seemed to fill the whole room. 

Crowley stammered but could not push anything out. He glanced down at the sticks still clutched in the angel’s fist. His vision grew blurry and his eyelids stung. A tear rolled down his cheek, and an unbidden, loud sob tore through the lump in his throat. 

Aziraphale rose up slightly and touched his face, wiping his tears. He pressed a kiss to the demon’s forehead; one so fond and soft that it took all of Crowley’s breath away. “You’re pregnant. Oh, God, I can hardly- oh… We’re going to have a baby, Crowley.” A wide smile would not leave his face even when he spoke.

It was only then that Crowley’s face finally cracked into a broken sort of smile of his own. He brought a hand to lay it on top of Aziraphale’s. It shook violently, but it was warm now. 

He was pregnant. They were going to have a baby. They did it. He did it.

Whatever darkness was residing in his chest wasn’t strong enough to withstand Aziraphale’s angelic glow; it scurried away, tail between its legs, and Crowley laughed—brokenly, on the edge of hysterical, but he laughed. His voice sounded like carol bells, bright and clear. He managed to intersperse his laughter with little words, “Yes…” quiet words, “W-we are…”

Aziraphale carefully put the tests away and cradled Crowley’s face with both hands. His mouth opened and closed a few times in an attempt to say something, but nothing came out. But he was beaming still, and Crowley did not need much more than that. He was saying everything. 

Crowley cupped both the angel’s cheeks as well and brought their lips together in a series of small, quick kisses separated from one another with little gasps and giggles. They must have looked like a pair of fools, but that hardly mattered to either of them. 

Crowley was going to carry a being—their child—that was of them both, just like he wanted to. They were going to love them and cherish them and protect them; and when they come, they would make their life the best there could be. 

They could make something beautiful together. 

Then, Aziraphale shifted and nuzzled into the flat of Crowley’s stomach, and Crowley stroked his hair. He smiled tearfully, letting it all sink in.

They have made something beautiful already. 

They were going to have a baby.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale was so incredibly happy. He was glowing, on this plane and the celestial one, shining like a burning star.

As he pressed his face into Crowley’s stomach, he could not shake the thought of the little being there under his cheek. He knew they were very small, possibly no larger than a grain or tiny seed. Not much to speak of. Yet Aziraphale felt as though his heart had grown ten sizes to accommodate all the love he was feeling for them already.

And Crowley, oh, his wonderful Crowley. He was the one who made it possible, who had given so much already for this little life to exist. And what a gift that was. 

Aziraphale let out a half-laugh, half-sob and pressed in, wanting to be as close to both of his beloveds now as was physically possible. Crowley carded his long, shaking fingers through his hair and sobbed too.

There would be no accepting this new reality happening today—he had already resigned himself to it. But that was alright, he supposed. He had nine months ahead of him to let his mind catch up.

“Oh. Right,” he mumbled, and Aziraphale raised his head to look at him, “I took another one. Another test, I mean. Must’ve left it in the bathroom. The one that shows weeks. Shown ‘three plus’ for me, which I’d read is supposed to mean around five, actually.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brow slightly and did the math in his head. He smiled as realisation dawned on him. “Oh! That must mean that first time really did work, Crowley!” 

Crowley huffed a small laugh and ran a hand along the angel’s cheek, tugging at it lightly. “All ‘cause you said it would, obviously,” he teased. 

Aziraphale looked quite pleased with himself. “I did always have an excellent intuition, my darling.” He pressed one more kiss to Crowley’s abdomen and got up slowly to sit beside the demon on the sofa. Crowley leaned into him. “To think they’ve been with us for five weeks already...” the angel murmured, smiling.

“Yeah, I can't quite wrap my head around it either,” agreed Crowley. “I’m not sure I will fully believe it until I see them.”

Aziraphale cast a glance at the wall calendar. If the test was right and everything went well, they could expect this baby to come around… February. 

“There’s a long way to go for that, I’m afraid.”

“I mean in an ultrasound, angel,” Crowley snorted. “We must get one of those when the time comes. See that everything’s alright in there.”

“Oh. Right, of course.” The angel nodded his head and draped his arm over Crowley’s shoulder to bring him closer. “Do you want to get one early, like Anathema did?”

Crowley tilted his chin down and looked at his stomach, thinking. “Hmm… no. I think I want to let the nugget form a little better before we go see them. Y’know, so they look a little… well, less like a nugget.”

“Yes, that is a sound idea. Let’s give them some time and privacy then.”

Time. For a being that could quite literally control it, time had always been Crowley’s worst adversary. There had always been either too little or too much of it. While he’d waited for Aziraphale to come back to him from Heaven, it had drawled along like a lazy garden slug, but the comfortable years of their marriage, on the other hand, seemed to speed past them like lightning. He liked it, somewhat—it meant that their existence was unworried and simple, as time always loved to stick around for longer when there was misery involved. They had none of it, save for what happened last June. Those summer months could have been among the slowest in Crowley’s entire life. A drawn-out torture.

“You know what I just realised?” Crowley said quietly.

“Hm?”

“Last year, it’s– ” he began to say, but his voice cut off abruptly. He had to take a breath and bite down on his tongue to make it behave. “We've found this one around the same time we… lossst the one before.”

He felt Aziraphale’s body stiffen, like a drawn bow, almost instantly. The angel clenched his hand harder around his shoulder. 

A numb ache tugged at his chest when the echoes of Crowley’s wailing cries rang loudly in his ears again, and he felt the light touch of iron in his nostrils. But he did not want to give in to those ghosts now, not when he was holding something so alive so close.

Aziraphale turned his head and pressed a kiss to the top of Crowley’s crown. He murmured, “We must really have a rainbow baby, then.”

“A rainbow baby?” the demon said quizzically, “Whassat?”

“It’s what people call a baby that’s born to parents who had suffered a… a loss.”

Crowley scrunched up his face. “Hah… a rainbow,” he smirked, but there was no mirth in his voice. A cold shard of ice poked at his lungs—not as painful as before, but still noticeable. “A rainbow in promise not to drown anybody else, was it…”

In promise not to take anybody else. 

Aziraphale did not know what to say. Instead, he brought both arms around Crowley’s frame; he’d have enveloped him in his wings, too, and on the celestial plane—he did. Crowley exhaled and smiled at the light touch of Aziraphale’s feathers against his own. They were alright. All of them.  

“It is beautiful, in a way, I’ll give it that. A rainbow baby, huh…” he hummed softly before springing up. “Hells, a baby, period. An actual baby, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale shook his head with fondness, ruffling up Crowley’s hair with his chin. “Yes, darling. A baby.”

“Shit. I seriously can’t believe this is real.”

“I can, actually,” the angel said softly. “You have always been a maker, my love.”

Crowley drew in a shuddering breath and held it. His heart raced in his chest so fast that it bumped against his ribs like a trapped dove. 

A maker… His stars. Beautiful globes of gas and molten metal he helped create, the nebulas he’d drawn onto the sky like stains of watercolour... He liked seeing them through the telescope set in their garden; he loved watching the Perseids, Orionids, and Leonids and waving his hand at them like they were friends dropping by for a short visit, but they always seemed so distant, for he was here, and they were there. 

Which was about to change—or had, already. He had a beautiful little star of his making right there, now; all he had to do was press his palm against his stomach. He thought he would never create again, not anything as grand as his galaxies. 

Look at him now. 

“Little star… You grow well, got it? Grow big and strong, like your father,” he whispered and brought his hand to rest on top of where his uterus was. He added, casting a mischievous glance at Aziraphale, “Pretty like him, too.”

The angel giggled and blushed. “You silly old serpent.” 

Crowley parted his lips slightly and sounded a trilling hiss to prove his statement right.

What a peculiar couple they were, indeed. 

It was a little early for that, but Crowley wondered silently who the little one would take after more. He really, really hoped it was Aziraphale. Or perhaps both of them, in equal parts. Wouldn’t that be something?

Aziraphale brought his hand on top of Crowley’s there on his abdomen, squeezing his fingers, and Crowley adjusted his body to lie against his angel’s. He snapped his fingers to dim the lights until they were barely there, casting the softest of glows. 

The wind hummed outside. The stars and moon shone into the room through the four-paned windows and the light, gauzy curtains. The clock ticked distantly from the other room. On the celestial plane, Crowley felt the large white wings cover him like a blanket. 

The demon looked up at Aziraphale, his eyes going soft and dreamy, and his angel looked down at him, matching his softness with his own—loving and gentle. They did not have to say the words. After all, the confirmation of their undying love and loyalty to each other was just below their fingertips.

“That’s alright, my heart. Let it all out.” 

Aziraphale sat on the edge of the bed next to Crowley, stroking his back and holding a bucket up for him. The demon groaned, then retched violently. With as little as a wave of a finger, Aziraphale whisked away the contents of the bucket, and another one got rid of the sour taste in Crowley’s mouth. 

He gave his husband a soft pat. “There you go.”

“Ugh… bollocks,” Crowley grumbled, wiping a bead of sweat that collected on his brow. “Sorry you have to see this, angel.”

Aziraphale put the bucket aside and tutted. “Oh, nonsense. I’m not afraid of a little spew, darling.”

Crowley licked and smacked his lips in disgust, despite the taste of vomit really being gone. The sickness hadn’t become an everyday occurrence yet, but it was clearly ramping up. 

The angel extended him a glass of cold water with ice. “Here. Small sips, remember? Slowly.”

“I knowww, angel,” the demon groused. He took the glass and drank a little, then popped an ice cube in his mouth and sucked on it. “Thanksh.”

“What would you like to eat today? I was thinking jacket potatoes. Or, perhaps… some plain pasta?” 

Crowley nursed the glass some more, staring cross-eyed at the ice cubes floating near the surface. The last thing he wanted to think about was food. “I think I’ll stick to just fruit for today, angel.”

Clasping his hands together, Aziraphale rose slowly, prepared to recite the inventory at their disposal. “Quite alright. We have watermelon, apples, kiwis, grapes, oranges…“

“Yes to all of it, but skip the oranges. Eugh. And you don’t have to bring them here, angel. I can walk. For now, anyway…” He slowly got up, though there was another small bout of nausea that made him sway as he did so. Aziraphale stood on high alert, ready to provide the necessary assistance if needed—in this case, The Bucket. But it appeared that Crowley managed through the vertigo without incident. “H-have you checked on the garden already? If even one of the bastards decides to wilt today, I swear to Sat–“

“No need to invoke his name in this house, Crowley, thank you,” hastily interrupted Aziraphale. “Your garden is doing well, don’t worry. I’m making sure of it.

“But you’re too soft on them! I know you! You can’t just ask the begonias to stay put. They need a proper talking to, otherwise–” he suddenly clapped a hand to his mouth and doubled over. Aziraphale had supplied the bucket in time to catch most of it, but some spillage did end up on the floor anyway. Crowley whined and growled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, while the angel silently miracled the mess away. “Mngh. You know what, fine. I’ll ssstay here. You go.” He sat down carefully back onto the bed, fell sideways onto the mound of pillows, and curled up, hugging himself around the middle. 

Aziraphale sighed and gave him a small, sympathetic smile. “I’ll be right back, my dear.”

“Mhm.”

Needless to say, Crowley had been aware of the negative effects pregnancy had on the body. However, against perhaps his better judgement, he had decided to go through the process as naturally as possible, allowing himself and Aziraphale to perform only minor miracles, mainly for clean-up and not to relieve any of the symptoms. Besides, they still had to fly under the radar of Heaven as per their agreement if they wanted to keep their peace, and if not for that, Crowley simply wanted to experience the process as undiluted as he could—within reason. He figured if people could do it, so could he. It felt satisfying, somewhat, to prove to himself that he was capable of doing something like this without having to rely on the crutches of his and Aziraphale’s otherworldly powers.

The angel did not try to press Crowley to change his mind on that point, though it pained him to see his beloved in such discomfort. He’d read that it was expected to get worse before it got better (from what he understood, the second trimester was supposed to give them a little breathing room before the new challenges of the third one), and seeing how Crowley’s symptoms had been developing, he was going strong on the road to ‘worse’. 

Aziraphale was providing as much support, encouragement, and help as he could. He took care of the garden on days such as today’s, when Crowley could not. He continued to cook delicious food for his husband (though he had to change the menu to include more bland, easier-to-digest options). He helped ease his worries when Crowley got anxious, and Crowley, in turn, did wonders helping ease his own. They continued working as a team, a group; that was not about to change with the addition of a third—quite the opposite. If one was down in whatever way, the other was sure to lift them up. They could always rely on each other.

He soon came back into the bedroom with a platter of fruit, cut into wedges and cubes for convenience. He set it down on the bedside table along with a dainty dessert fork and lowered himself onto the mattress next to Crowley, laying a hand on his side.

“Such a tiny thing and kicking my arse already,” the demon mumbled, slowly rising on his elbows and scooching to sit propped up against the headboard. “Anathema seemed livelier than I at this stage...”

“Well, she had her challenges too, remember? It’s hard work, Crowley, what your body is doing,” said Aziraphale. He picked a couple of grapes from the bunch and fed them to Crowley, who begrudgingly let him. 

“Ngk. Just saying, I’m not even in the thick of it yet, and I feel like shit.”

He chewed slowly, sucking the flesh and juice from the rubbery skin before swallowing it all down. His stomach churned a bit, but held on, so he took an apple wedge from the platter and bit a small piece off, giving it a similar treatment, chewing slowly and methodically.

“That is to be expected, dear. It’s supposed to get a tad easier soon, once your corporation begins to adjusts to the changes.”

“Let’s hope so…You know I don’t do well being bootless,” the demon grunted.

Aziraphale picked up the fork that Crowley had ignored and munched on a half-circle of kiwi (not without a satisfied little wiggle of his shoulders, obviously). 

“You’re far from it, darling. You are working as we speak. I for one know I would not be able to do what you’re doing.” 

The latter slipped out of his mouth without a thought, and Aziraphale winced internally at the implication of what he had just voiced.

Crowley raised his brows and scoffed. “Pfft. Sure you would, angel, and probably better than me. Not saying this is easy, or that you wouldn’t be barfing left and right like—“ he pressed the back of his hand to his lips again. Just a false start this time, and it went away quickly. He did still put the apple wedge down and picked up a handful more grapes instead—they seemed to be agreeing with him better. “Guh. But knowing you, you’d probably do it all elegant-like, too.”

Aziraphale tsked indignantly and put his fork back beside the platter. While Crowley sat interchanging his strategic consumption of grapes with sips of water, it got the angel thinking.

Until now, he hadn’t even considered why he’d never propositioned himself for the role that Crowley was now playing and having to deal with the setbacks of. Crowley wanted to do it—it was clear from the way he spoke about it from the start. It was him who proposed taking this route in the first place. But they’d never really spoken about switching places, and it never even crossed the angel’s mind to even just discuss the possibility. That seemed a bit assuming, didn’t it?

Truth be told, thinking about it filled him with a strange sort of dread. The idea of carrying Crowley’s child might have seemed magical and beautiful, but it was the entire carrying part that scared the wits out of him. He had always been apprehensive of change, and pregnancy seemed as big a change as possible. Which was true for the way they were doing things now, too, but… 

Aziraphale sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight. He’d found he had no mental strength to try and find the root of this feeling now. He decided he should retire it for the time being. 

“Maybe… maybe one day,” he muttered quietly, his fingers twisting into knots atop his lap. 

Crowley gulped loudly. “Wot?”

“I-I mean, if we ever decide to… expand our family some more, maybe I could…”

Crowley gawked at him, frozen with another grape brought halfway to his mouth. Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably on the mattress. The demon blinked a few more times, watching him. It did not escape him that Aziraphale looked shaken.

“Angel, I was just saying that. I didn’t mean to imply that I wanted you to do it,” said Crowley carefully. “I mean, I might , but that does not matter if that’s not something you want. A’right?”

Aziraphale sucked on his teeth, still looking down at his hands. He nodded. 

Crowley touched his angel’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Besides, let’s get through this one first. Before we go planning on more, eh?”

Aziraphale finally raised his eyes and smiled meekly at him. “Yes, darling. Of course.” He straightened up and shook off the anxious feeling from his body. Crowley was right—they needed to focus on the task at hand. They were just barely in it, there was no need to speculate so far into the future. 

Aziraphale added, much more confidently, “And we will get through this, Crowley. You don’t have to worry. I’m here for you, my loves. Whatever you need.”

Crowley hissed, flustered, “Sssap.”

“That I am,” chortled the angel. 

The demon put down his glass and slipped down the headrest, as if melting into the pillows below. He stayed quiet a moment before saying gruffly, “And, well, I know that. That we’ll get through it, that is. The only reason I worry is ‘cause we’re not out of the woods yet… I’ll have my peace when I see the critter and know they’re well.”

“They will be,” Aziraphale assured him, despite being quite worried about this himself. It was like Anathema had said—knowing they were healthy and even just there would make all the difference to them.

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale with a smile as his hand found its way back to rest on the low of his abdomen again. It seemed to be Crowley’s favourite place to put his hands on lately—save for a certain angel’s body, that was, though the nausea had made that venture difficult to indulge oneself in to its fullest. “Your angelic intuition again, hm?”

“Mhm. I have faith that the little one’s doing splendidly,” Aziraphale stated, and any shadow of doubt lifted from his face when he saw Crowley’s hand there. Aziraphale might have been the Guardian, but Crowley was just as much of a protective force as he was. A snake, tending to her brood. 

“They better be.” Crowley looked down at his stomach and lightly poked it. “I’m not suffering here for nothing, ya hear?” 

His hand resumed its careful caress immediately after. 

“Twelve weeks, then,” breathed Aziraphale. “And we’ll see them. Not too long to wait.”

“And also somehow a hecking eternity.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, my love,” he tittered, affectionately shaking his head.

“Am, and will always be, angel. Proper drama queen. Wait until the hormones kick in,” joshed Crowley. Aziraphale felt the demon bump him lightly against the back with his knee. “And you’re stuck with me, ‘member?”

Aziraphale leaned in and kissed his gorgeous, silly husband on the mouth, lingering just long enough for the both of them to feel their breath hitch. “Would not change that for the world, my darling.”

Per their forecast exactly, around eight weeks Crowley’s condition grew worse; not to a level that was unmanageable, but it was enough to make him stick to the bedroom on most days. They’d used that as an opportunity to make sort of a home cinema out of it. Crowley quickly got tired of watching his angel’s favourite period dramas, but Aziraphale was usually flexible enough to allow Crowley to choose what to watch without much quibble. 

Plus, the hours-long cuddling sessions were greatly appreciated. 

“Oh, I forgot to tell you that Anathema called earlier,” said the angel when Crowley yawned and shifted against his side. “You were asleep then, and later I suppose it had slipped my mind with all the excitement of your jim-dandy film here.” 

Crowley cringed, audibly, at the choice of adjective. 

“Didja just say– Hnrgh. Never mind. How is she?” the demon asked, laying his head on top of the angel’s chest with an annoyed grunt.

“Good. Oracle’s good too, though she says they’ve been having a hard time getting him to sleep lately. She sounded tired.”

“Sleep deprivation honestly sounds like arse to deal with, for a human. Good thing you and I don’t really need to sleep.” He proceeded to yawn again. “We do still get tired, though, I s’ppose. Which is pretty arse too.”

Aziraphale twirled his finger in Crowley’s coppery locks. Was he imagining it, or did his hair get shinier? “She was also asking when we planned on visiting them again.”

Crowley groaned. “I don’t want to get bloody sick in front of them, angel. Would be pretty hard to explain, wouldn’t it? Imagine if she thinks I'm spreading some sort of demonic plague or sssomething . Not a good look.”

Aziraphale petted Crowley’s hair some more. The demon rumbled with a low purr. 

“Why not just tell her?” said the angel lightly.

Crowley’s body stiffened up just enough for Aziraphale to notice. ”Tell her what?”

“That you’re with child now, obviously.” 

Crowley didn’t answer for a minute—or two. Finally, he muttered, somewhat defensively, “What for?”

“Well, she is a f-friend, Crowley,” stuttered Aziraphale. He felt the demon's shackles rise up in the way his lithe body tensed further, the way his fingers curled around the roll of his stomach where they were resting. 

Crowley looked outside at the Bentley parked out front. She honked at him, and her headlights blinked. 

He was never much for company, he wasn’t, but he did miss the computer guy, the witch, and their kid—that much was true. Which was all the blasted angel’s doing, getting him to miss people. Or maybe the hormones had caught up to him already and were making him mushy.

He rose up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, turning his back to Aziraphale. “I don’t want them to know,” he muttered, biting his lips.

The angel moved away from the headboard and sat up too. “We don’t have to tell them if you don’t want to, but…” he continued carefully, “They… will know eventually, my love. And I’m certain that Anathema would be excited if we shared the news, and… she knows things, having gone through this herself. Maybe she could give us some advice.”

“She’s got enough on her plate already, she doesn’t need me to— ngrh. No. No, I don’t want to tell her, angel. End of discussion.”

Perhaps if he’d dug a little bit he would find that the issue was not in his desire not to inconvenience Anathema, but in what resembled in shape something like shame, or insecurity. He’d followed Anathema around like a duckling for most of her pregnancy, and he didn’t need her to know that part of the reason he did that was because he was wanting for the same thing. She would certainly put two and two together if she knew he was expecting now—the dots were not that obscure to connect.

Another thing was that, perhaps, part of him still felt he didn’t deserve it. 

Aziraphale sighed and scooted closer to Crowley, laying a hand on Crowley’s back. “Alright. But if you change your mind, dear, I’m sure she—“

“Angel! Look, I don’t want to tell her!" he exploded, "It’s in my body, not yours, I get to call the shots on this, and—“

Aziraphale recoiled from him with a sharp, shaky exhale, his eyebrows drawn to a point on his forehead. His lower jaw trembled as he flailed to say something but couldn’t. Crowley watched him, wide-eyed and tongue-tied too. 

“Shit… I’m sorry, angel, I— That’s not what I—“

Aziraphale lowered his eyes and swallowed through the thick clump that obstructed his airway at a moment’s notice. “No, I’m sorry, Crowley. You’re right, I… I should not have tried to make you change your mind, it’s… it’s my fault. I apologize.”

At the end of the day, Crowley was right, wasn’t he? He was doing all the work—he deserved to be the one to make decisions like this. Any amount of excitement felt by Aziraphale, or his desire to share his happiness with the world just a little bit, were irrelevant if he wasn’t the one putting all of himself into the process. Of course.

The demon watched as a guilty sort of smile spread across his husband’s lips. Aziraphale got up. 

“Do you… need anything?” he asked, looking at his feet.

“Uhm… no. Thanks,” Crowley answered stiffly. 

“I’ll… I’ll go check on the greenhouse then, if you don’t mind. The window to the garden’s open, so just… call me if you need anything, dearest.”

And left the room. 

Crowley hunched over on the edge of the mattress, digging his fingers into the scalp and massaging his temples in an action of irritation and regret more than in an attempt to soothe the headache that suddenly began to roll in on him. 

“Fuck… Why would you say that, you twit… shit.” 

Another wave of nausea came over him, which he managed to contain, somehow. He bit down on his lip and fell back onto the bed. Head buried in the regular pillows, throw pillows and other soft things he’d arranged like a great big reptile nest, he squeezed his eyes shut, and forced himself to fall asleep.

Outside and in the greenhouse, the angel surged gentle streams of life into the struggling plants. “There you go, darlings… Be good. The weather will sort itself out soon enough." He traced his hand through the sunburnt leaves and wilted stocks and they straightened up—a couple flowers gratefully bowed their blossoms and swayed in the hot summer breeze. 

In the greenhouse, Aziraphale made sure to spritz water onto the green friends that needed it, and then unsteadily lowered himself onto a creaky stool in the corner by the shelf of garden tools that held spades and gloves among other things. 

A stocky tomato plant brushed against his shoulder with evident concern as he placed his hand on top of his belly and bothered the fabric of his shirt. “Oh, don’t you worry, friend. I’m alright.”

But the tomato plant slid along the line of his shoulder again with insistence, coaxing from the angel a heavy, deflated sigh. The hand on his abdomen gripped the cloth underneath. He did not say a word more when another twiggy branch touched him from behind—only sighed, and the air in the stuffy greenhouse seemed to get a bit colder, to the bittersweet content of its leafy residents.

Waking with a start wasn’t all that unusual to Crowley—at certain points of his long life, like for a good stretch of time after the Flood or all through the Blitz, it was easier for him to count the nights when he didn’t have nightmares than the ones when he did. They were always the same, making him relive moments of terror and pain and grief over and over again while suspended in a gummy state that allowed him to neither change anything nor run away and hide. His dream self was always too late to save himself or others, always too tongue-tied to say the words that needed to be said, or, in the cases when his dream self had to appear before Hell’s dukes to answer for his deeds, he’d always say far too much. 

He’d learned to live with them, these dreams, taking them as if they were part of his Damnation, like his snake-like eyes or his being ripped away from his stars. Among the many things that Crowley trained himself to do over the millennia, accepting his demonic afflictions was one of them. At least he had it better than Hastur and Beelzebub and didn’t fill every room he was in with the stink of shit and decay or the buzz of flies. He could manage a nightmare so long as it didn’t involve too many Aziraphales getting ripped apart by hellhounds or human children’s gurgling screams as their heads bobbed down below the rising water.

The strange part was that it wasn’t Crowley being tormented by these dreams tonight—it was Aziraphale.

When Crowley opened his eyes, his sleep interrupted by stirring of Aziraphale’s body just beside him—the angel must have crawled into bed, quietly, while Crowley slept—he looked around the room to see it pitch-dark and the clock on the wall showing just past three in the morning. 

Aziraphale suddenly thrashed, hard. Crowley just began to extend his hand to him when he yelped and sat upright, gripping the covers and sweating and looking wildly around him with half-focused eyes. He was breathing like he had run a marathon. 

Crowley placed his palm on top of Aziraphale’s hand, lowering it down on the angel’s plump thighs, and interlocked their fingers. His voice sounded steady, silky, and soothing, dampening the rough noise of Aziraphale’s wheezing. “Everything is alright, angel. You’re alright.”

Aziraphale gasped and swallowed. He tried his best to shake the image from his dream away, but it stuck to his eyelids as if it were a negative of a film.

He was walking through their house, following the sound of a rough, creaky voice that sounded like it had gone raw from crying and yelling at the top of one’s lungs. He saw the rooms of the house distort around him, confusing him, misguiding him away from the noise he seemed so desperate to find the source of. He wandered and wandered, feeling dread fill his body, his legs leaden and numb to the point that he felt he could collapse, any moment, when he finally turned the corner and saw it—Crowley, on the floor, with his head in his hands, and—

That was when he woke up, thank someone. 

“Shh… Hey, angel. Hey. It’s alright, see? Real world. All fine. Breathe,” soughed the demon. He drew a long, exaggerated breath, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. Aziraphale followed his example and did the same. He held Crowley’s hand tightly, and Crowley brushed his thumb against the cold surface of the angel’s knuckles. “There ya go. Need me to turn on the light?”

Aziraphale made another series of long, deep breaths. He shook his head. “No… no, i-it’s okay, darling. I just… need a minute. Thank you.”

Just hold my hand, and I’ll be right as rain soon, he pleaded silently.

Not only did Crowley hold on, but he also brought his other hand, cupping the angel’s between them. He continued to gently stroke his skin until Aziraphale’s breathing evened out and his fingers began to warm up.

“I’m… sorry about what I said. Earlier,” whispered Crowley. When Aziraphale raised his eyes to look at him, Crowley’s face was turned away. The light of the moon shined softly through the window and illuminated his golden eyes, making them lustre with a gentle glow. “I know we talked about it, and I said that I didn’t, well… that I didn’t mind that it was me doing this and not you, and that it doesn’t mean that you owe me anything in return now, angel. And I really meant it then, I don’t know why I snapped like this today and I’m, really, um… I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale gave him a stiff sort of smile, and said, “Don’t apologise, my dear, it’s…”

“Don’t you dare say ‘it’s nothing’. I bloody well see that I hurt you, and I didn’t mean to, and if you try to say that it’s ‘nothing’ I swear to Sa— someone, that I will bite you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale sat stunned before coming to and breaking into a quiet giggle at the seriousness of both his husband’s voice and expression. “Alright, alright. I will not.”

“Ngk. Good,” grumbled Crowley.

“And I apologise for putting pressure on you. I understand that you are a private person, and…” 

“Why do you want to tell her so much, anyway?”

Aziraphale sucked on his lip, thinking. “I… I suppose I just wish to share our joy with her, like she did with us. And I want you to have someone you could turn to for advice and support, if need be… I can only do so much for you.”

“Come oooon. You do plenty, Aziraphale,” drawled Crowley, pouting. 

“I try, but… as great as books are, you know that firsthand experience is oftentimes far more valuable.”

Crowley thought about it. For a while, he sat, holding the angel’s hands in his, absentmindedly stroking the soft skin and running the tips of his fingers over the lines and bumps.

Finally, he mumbled an uncertain, “I s’pose that’s true. I just… feel weird about it.”

“Why?” asked the angel innocently. 

Crowley laughed bitterly before answering. “I know ya love me, angel, but I also know even you can’t pretend that I’m not the most conventional kind of person for this role, am I? We already discussed this...”

Aziraphale squeezed his fingers tighter. “We did, and I told you that that doesn’t matter, dearest. We’re not conventional in any shape or form, and there’s no fault of yours in that. There isn’t anything wrong with it, either.” He freed one hand, which Crowley reluctantly let go of, and brushed the demon’s belly with his fingertips.

There were torrents of love coursing through all of the cottage, so strong they sometimes felt as if they could sweep them off their feet. Perhaps, that’s why it needed room to grow; it was so big, this love, that it required more space to hold it.

“What if…” Crowley began, meeting Aziraphale’s blue eyes, which sparkled beautifully in the muted light of the night, “We tell her after the ultrasound, then?”

The angel initially lit up, then said slowly, “Are… you sure? Y-you don’t have to, truly, Crowley, it’s ok—“

“Hnrgh. We’ll tell her after the ultrasound,” he repeated firmly, “I’m not just trying to make you happy here, trust me; your argument just makes sense, I guess. She did tell us about herself, after all.”

Aziraphale smiled and brought Crowley’s hands to his lips, kissing them reverently along the long lines of fingers and sinew.

The demon huffed a quiet sigh. “Will you call her tomorrow to see if she wants a visit? I want to see the little bugger, if our bugger,” he lowered his chin to point downward, “permits it.”

Aziraphale leaned in and nuzzled his cheek, leaving a pecking smiley kiss behind. “I will.”

Crowley yawned. “That dream left you alone by now? Can we go back to sleep?”

The angel shivered briefly at the thought of his nightmare that awoke him so suddenly but quickly relaxed. “Yes, my dear, it’s gone. It doesn’t worry me.” Dreams were just that, after all—echoes, or cruel tricks of imagination. Nothing that happened there mattered so long as Aziraphale could see Crowley, safe and sound, and know that their baby was with them at all times now, too. “Let’s sleep, love. You need your rest.”

He tugged Crowley down onto the bed. The demon was nearly limp as the angel manoeuvred him to lie on top of his chest and cradled him gently in his strong, delicate arms.

“Night, angel.”

“Good night, my sweet.”

Chapter Text

A loud voice broke the stillness of the early morning.

“Angel, angel!” called out Crowley from the bathroom, “Come here!”

Aziraphale put his book down, not bothering to bookmark it, and walked at a fast, hurried pace through the short hallway to the bathroom. His blood ran cold momentarily at the urgency in the demon’s voice, but as he walked, he realised that there had been no fear or worry in it. It sounded more so as if the demon was very excited about something. 

True enough, when Aziraphale popped his head in, Crowley was trying, and failing, to contain a smile. Wearing only a bath towel wrapped around his lower half, he stood in front of the sink, toothpaste slathered around his mouth and the toothbrush still held in his hand.

“Yes, my dear?” asked the angel, walking in through the doorway. Crowley put his brush back into its holder and wiped his lips. It appeared he could not hold it any more, because when he stepped back from the sink to sort of half-turn toward his husband and put his arms akimbo, his face broke into a full-blown grin.

But he did not say anything. Aziraphale tilted his head to the side and watched him with amusement and gentle confusion. “Well?” he probed again. 

Crowley still didn’t say anything. Instead, he snorted and cocked his hip to pop his pelvis forward, and that’s when Aziraphale finally noticed what all this was about. His eyes fixated on the gentlest slope of Crowley’s abdomen, which he was nigh certain was not there the day before. He gasped. “Oh! Oh, it’s–!” 

He took a step toward Crowley, hand hovering in front of him, and Crowley’s grin softened. The demon met him halfway, and when Aziraphale’s hand bumped into his stomach, they both let out a strangled sort of noise—something like a squeak or a sharp trill. 

“Oh, oh… oh, Crowley…” murmured Aziraphale breathlessly, and Crowley found that his tongue refused to provide any assistance in helping him speak; it wriggled lazily in his mouth, numb and useless, so all he could manage was a low hum. He leaned in to press his forehead against the angel’s and stared down at his hand drawing careful circles around the new plumpness of his belly. It was barely noticeable; you’d never know it was there if you didn’t know to look for it. Still, the angel was positively enthralled. 

And what of when the baby made him large and round? Whatever would happen to his poor angel then? Crowley wondered. Not that he was expecting to take it better himself. 

Enthralled, spellbound, mesmerised—Aziraphale was all of these things. He carefully seated himself onto the edge of the bathtub and placed both his hands on Crowley’s tummy to frame the soft roundness with his fingers. He raised his dewy eyes and smiled brightly at the demon, who watched him unblinkingly from above; affection and warmth gleamed all around his Crowley like a halo. 

“You’re beautiful, my love,” whispered Aziraphale, and a tear brimmed in his eye. It was as if he were looking at an exquisite painting or a work of a most esteemed sculptor.

Crowley melted into a smile, but, remembering himself, he stuck his bottom lip out and frowned just a moment later. He gave a sly little roll of his eyes and sneered, “Shut uuup.”  

But the angel could do nothing to dam his wonder. Even though it was still very early and not yet a proper bump, it made it evident that Crowley's body was holding a treasure inside it. His darling’s corporation was going through the process of changing and moving around to accommodate their precious baby, and Aziraphale loved that he could now see and feel it for himself. 

He placed a gentle kiss just above Crowley’s navel and stayed there, pressing his lips against the freshly bathed skin. In that moment, Crowley allowed his usual inhibitions to slip and eased into the warm, enveloping feeling that coursed from the points of their contact. It was comforting and pleasant, to just sink into this and allow himself to be revered. 

Then, amidst the comfort and warmth, something else stirred—something hot and needy. The demon put his hand on top of Aziraphale’s shoulder, and his index brushed against the bronzed skin on the side of his neck. He trailed a gentle line up to his jaw and then cheek, sensing the shiver that ran through Aziraphale in response.  

“Would it… ruin a heartwarming moment if I said I wanted you so bloody much right now, angel?” he breathed.

Aziraphale blushed, but his hand wasted little time before it slid to hold Crowley’s hip. “Not at all, darling… Are you feeling alright?”

With a hum of affirmation, Crowley wiggled his legs to make the towel wrap fall down to the tile floor. “Mhm. Yeah. Never better,” he blurted out. Even just then, his heart rate had already begun to quicken. 

The angel looked him over and let out a content, heated huff, drinking in the sight of his husband’s gorgeous body. He wanted to worship it—and worship he would. 

“Oh, my love… We’ll see about that,” he teased, and Crowley, like he often did under the gaze of those blue, adoring eyes, somehow both innocent and lustful, forgot he was supposed to breathe.

In the Bentley, Crowley looked like he’d bitten into something foul. The landscape around them gradually transformed and shifted from the greenery and lushness of the countryside to the dusty asphalt and concrete walls of London, grey and foreboding as ever. 

The demon grumbled at everything and nothing in particular, moaned about the speed the car was making him drive at (she had blatantly refused to go anywhere beyond the speed limit ever since Crowley had got pregnant), and all in all appeared less than thrilled. Aziraphale twisted his head around, looking at the familiar streets, searching for their destination. 

He had never before had the “pleasure” of going to a hospital as someone who needed its services—or, more accurately, as someone who was accompanying someone who did. Aziraphale had volunteered and provided comfort and support to patients like a guardian angel would and like he knew Crowley did as well, albeit very much under the table in his case, but with no ailments and conditions to worry about, they had no need for making actual appointments and seeing doctors. Even as it was equally new for both of them, the difference in their demeanours was striking—if Aziraphale was just a healthy amount worried and not even that much per se, Crowley appeared almost neurotic.

“Come now, love. Weren’t you looking forward to this?” chimed the angel.

“The ultrasssound? Yes. The whole shebang? Hell no,” the demon sibilated in response. The car drove carefully around another bend in the road and attempted to stop at a red light, but with the force Crowley was putting on the gas pedal, she had no luck doing that. Something inside her metal frame rumbled with clear vexation, but Crowley disregarded it. 

“The important bit is the ultrasound, I guess. Focus on that. Nyeah. Fuck aaall elssse, nyeah…” he mumbled to himself as they pulled into the parking lot of the medical facility and got out.

Crowley glowered up at the blocky modern building before them. He loathed hospitals. He had immense respect for people who chose to work there, yes, but a fan of white corridors and sterile rooms he was not. They made him uncomfortable, and he did not like how they smelled: the scent of disinfectant made his nose itch, and the heavy perfume of sadness, pain, and grief added a level of discomfort one would rarely find anywhere else.  

The place they were going to get the ultrasound done at was an outpatient clinic, which meant no gurneys in the halls and no beeping of life support equipment, but that was hardly any comfort. Crowley wanted to get this over with—see his kid, know they were alright in there, and be done with it for a handful more weeks until they had to come in and do the check-up again. So he pushed his hands into his pockets once the receptionist had told them where to go and walked, followed closely at his heels by Aziraphale, who was in a much more buoyant mood than he.

“Oh, darling, I can’t wait!” the angel chirped in a hushed tone so as not to disturb the other people in the waiting area. Despite the nerves and building unease, Crowley did look back at him with a small smile. At least one of them was appropriately stoked about the whole thing.

They navigated the long winding hallways until they reached the room the receptionist had directed them to and sat down on a cushioned metal bench just in front. Crowley slid down the seat with a long, tired exhale and rested his hand atop his rounded middle, which had grown quite a bit since they first noticed it two weeks ago. Aziraphale watched him with an unwavering smile, marvelling at the fact of… well, everything. “We really are going to see them today, aren’t we, my dear?” he murmured giddily.

The demon looked down at his stomach and stroked his thumb over it. “Yeah, well… ngk. Yeah.”

“Are you nervous?”

Crowley scowled and blew air through his teeth, hissing like a big cross duck. He knew full well that his feigned annoyance would not convince Aziraphale in the slightest that he wasn’t, in fact, nervous, but he feigned it regardless. Maybe he could trick himself into calming down that way.

No, he could not. Weeks of waiting for this appointment, struggling through sickness and fatigue, fearing the worst and hoping for the best, and Crowley still could not fully fit the thought of this upcoming event neatly into the drawers of his mind. Add the hormones raging inside his body, and this was a sure recipe for disaster. He just hoped he didn’t have another fit about seeing his child for the first time today, at least not in front of the ultrasound tech. 

Funny though how, despite all those feelings, he was beginning to get more in tune with the little presence in his body. As time passed, he observed a change in his aura the more they grew, as if not only his body but his very essence was making space within itself to hold theirs. According to Aziraphale, it would not be long until he began to actually physically feel them flutter inside, too… Presently, Crowley did not want to dwell on said fact—that would certainly earn him an ugly crash out if he did.   

Indifferent to any other patients watching them and a couple giving them the side-eye, Aziraphale lowered his hand on top of his demon’s on his tummy and squeezed his fingers, telling him without words, in that sweet, soothing voice that Crowley knew like his own, ‘everything will be alright, my darling love’ . The demon accepted the comforting gesture with grace, placing his other hand onto Aziraphale’s and grasping tightly.

“Thanks, angel,” he smiled. 

Just then, the door of the hospital room opened, and they both straightened up. A woman in scrubs looked out into the waiting area and checked her clipboard. “Mr Crowley? Mr Fell?”

“Yep,” popped Crowley, “That’s us.” He put on a flat face, disentangled his hands from the angel’s, and got up.

Aziraphale followed suit. Unlike the gloomy-looking demon, he shone at the woman with a polite smile. “Good day. That is, indeed, us.”

She returned the smile, nodded her head, and motioned for them to enter; Aziraphale practically floated in, while Crowley stalked through with a hunch. She closed the door behind them. 

Most of the space within the room was occupied by an examination table and the ultrasound machine, its screen black and empty. As Crowley and Aziraphale neared the table, the sonographer dimmed the lights and sat down by the machine. “Please lie down and make yourself comfortable, Mr Crowley, and we’ll begin the scan shortly,” she said, taking a bottle of gel into her hands to warm it up a bit. “May I ask you a couple of questions in the meantime?”

The demon did as instructed and got onto the table, but “making himself comfortable” was far down his list of priorities. If he could be even more stiff, he would be a wooden board. Aziraphale sat down on a stool next to the table and watched him with a mix of solicitude and excitement.

“Yeah, sure,” Crowley replied gruffly. He didn’t really mean to sound flippant, but he did, and his face remained dour. The woman didn’t seem to pay his attitude any mind, though—she just carried on with a courteous and even somewhat peppy tone. 

“Great. When was the first day of your last period?”

Crowley thought about it. It would complicate things if he said he didn’t have any menses prior to conception, so he just roughly estimated when that would’ve been and went with that.

“Okay! Any pain or bleeding?”

Both the angel and the demon shivered. Thank someone there wasn’t, was the thought that ran through both of their minds. “No,” they replied simultaneously. 

She rolled the tube of gel between her palms some more and finally clicked the cap open. “Perfect. I think we’re ready. Lift up your shirt a bit, please.”

Crowley clenched his jaws. With his face turned away from the tech, he slowly rolled up his top, revealing the small hillock of his abdomen. She seemed to have noted his rising discomfort, for she did not move immediately after. Instead, she said, speaking softly and calmly, “You may apply the gel yourself if you like.”

At that, the demon turned to look at her with his brows drawn together, but his shoulders did relax a tiny bit. “Uhm… alright,” he mumbled. She squirted a bit of gel onto his stomach after he gave her an approving nod, and he spread it over his skin while she put a dollop onto the transducer and waited for him to finish. “Eugh . That okay?” he asked, scrunching up his nose.

“Absolutely! You will feel pressure as I move the probe—do tell me if you need me to adjust or pause at any moment.”

Crowley nodded. “Mhm. Got it.”

While all this played out, Aziraphale sat close, watching the doctor and the demon interact with a sort of marvel writ on his face. He was aware that Crowley disliked being touched by strangers, so it was comforting to see that their doctor was so understanding and that Crowley appeared to have greatly calmed down as a result. They had previously questioned whether visiting a human clinic was the best course of action, but since it was their only option for having this procedure done, they decided to go ahead despite the possibility that it could be quite uncomfortable. He was glad it didn’t have to be.

As the woman pressed the roll to Crowley’s skin, they both drew a long breath, and Aziraphale took his husband’s hand. “Let’s see… oop! That was quick,” she chirped, and both the angel and the demon froze in anticipation; they couldn’t see anything yet because the screen was turned away from them, but then… “There they are.”

She pushed a button on the machine, and a loud, echoey thump-a-thump, thump-a-thump filled the room. Crowley’s mouth slacked open. Aziraphale sucked in a shuddering, gasping breath.

“All looks good so far. Heartbeat’s nice and strong, and they’re quite active! Would you like the screen turned your way?”

Crowley could hear little over the quick pulse resonating in his ears. Thump-a-thump, thump-a-thump, like a tiny drum. Immediately, there were tears in his eyes. When he slowly turned his head to look at Aziraphale, his angel was hardly any better—wet, glistening tracks stained his rosy cheeks.

“Oh God… Yes. W-we’d love to— oh my God,” the angel choked, “W-we’d love to s-see them, right, darling?”

Crowley pulled himself together just enough to blurt out a “Yes, please,” before his voice cracked and died in his throat. He was in no semblance of meaning prepared for the torrent of emotion that crashed against him like a typhoon a moment later when they were finally shown the machine’s display.

On it, a form wriggled amidst blobs and dark shadows of the sonogram image, fully human in appearance, and suddenly—very, very real. Crowley had been conscious of their existence practically every moment of every day since he saw the two pink lines on those tests, of course, but this? He knew it would impact him, but he could not even begin to anticipate how much . He couldn’t… he just couldn’t . Thought, language, breathing—all was forgotten and lost to the storm that picked him up and whirled him around like a limp, useless rag doll. If not for Aziraphale’s hand tethering him to this plane, he would have evaporated, turned into mist or seafoam, or fulminated into atoms, and he wouldn’t even know it. He couldn’t have prepared himself for all this in a million years.

And as the woman pointed out the head with unmistakably human features and little arms and legs that stretched and flexed and moved within the dark space of his womb, Crowley’s soul finally descended back into his corporeal form, now rekindled, bright, and warm, and he shone . He smiled so widely that his cheeks hurt, and when he turned to Aziraphale, his angel met him with a smile much the same as his. Everything in the whole universe dimmed in comparison, for here they were: him, his angel, and their child. The three Centauri stars—blazing , irradiant , aglow.

“Alright, I’m just finishing up with some last measurements. Shall I print the sonograms for you?”

Crowley and Aziraphale shakily nodded, their gaze shifting from the screen to each other’s faces and back. Bringing Crowley’s hand to his lips, Aziraphale peppered his knuckles with kisses as tears continued streaming down his cheeks. Then, the woman took the probe away from the demon’s skin, and the screen darkened; Crowley nearly broke out with a sob when the perfect little greyscale face disappeared from view, and the overhead lights in the room flicked on. He took the tissue paper extended to him with a trembling hand and absentmindedly wiped at his belly to get the gel off. His heart, or maybe the baby’s, as he could not be certain, still pounded against his eardrums while the woman continued to explain something to conclude the appointment. Aziraphale helped him off the examination table—thank the angel for that, because Crowley was about ninety per cent sure he would not be able to get up and stand unassisted on his jelly legs right then. 

They drifted out of the room, winded and out of their minds on endorphins and serotonin and only God knew what other chemicals flooding their earthly bodies. Hands still clasped together, they pranced to the lobby and the reception desk, where an envelope of printed sonograms had already been waiting for them.

If Crowley hadn’t been so drunk on this feeling, he would have most certainly been deathly mortified by the way he, a demon, a being older than time, was acting, but his elation would not let up a moment—not when they walked out of the hospital Crowley forgot he was supposed to despise, not when they descended the steps on shaky legs, Aziraphale being mindful of his husband’s safety even as his own brain was frazzled and overwhelmed, and not when they got into the car, which roared and revved her engine in what they knew was joy shared with both her owners. 

Before Crowley would even think to drive, he tugged Aziraphale close to him in the front seat and buried his face in the angel’s shoulder, still laughing and shaking. What an absolute fool of a man he was, allowing himself to lose his whole sanity in glee like that, but did he care? No, not even a little. After a millennia of stifled feeling and holding back—the last few years, not really, but still—he had bloody well earned the right to be a giddy idiot after seeing his and his angel’s perfect little miracle in even just a hazy black-and-grey rendering of a human machine. 

Reservation and all his aloof demeanour be bloody damned. He laughed and laughed and stuck to Aziraphale like a clingy goddamn kitten, not about to let go. Aziraphale did not mind in the slightest. All he wanted to do was hold his demon and their child and be content that they were all healthy, safe, and happy.

They didn’t know how long they had to hold each other before either of them was fit to drive. Time was meaningless. There were only them in the whole wide world, after all—it could wait.

“Angel?”

“Yes, dearest?”

“Do you remember how the fuck we ended up back home?”

Enveloped tight in each other's arms, they both giggled, separating from one another just enough to have room to breathe. Aziraphale revelled in the feeling of Crowley’s belly pressing against his own, and the mental image of what they saw earlier would not leave him for a second, as if etched onto his very eyelids now.

“Not a clue. Why, you think it’s important?”

Crowley guffawed and turned over onto his back. “I guess not, eh? Bloody hell, angel. Bloody fucking hell,” he snorted, washing his face in his hands. Words were lost on him.

He would not, could not stop grinning.

Aziraphale propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that. You’re shining, my love.”

“Please. You’re one to talk.” The demon stared back up at him, squinting mischievously. “Gonna blind someone if you don’t rein it in, ‘Ziraphale, I swear.”

Aziraphale puffed up his cheeks. “I can’t help it. This is magical, Crowley,” he crooned. “We made them.”

“Mhm,” Crowley hummed, still all grin and crinkly eyes.

“And they’re healthy,” the angel carried on, his voice a pitch higher than usual.

“Mhmm.”

Then, it dissolved into a warm, silky-soft tone of pure adoration and wonder, “And, oh, God, they’re perfect already.”

“Mhmmmm. I know, angel. They are. They really, really are.”

Aziraphale put his hand on and stroked Crowley’s bump, and Crowley watched him do so through half-closed eyes, relaxing fully into that soft touch. Their child was there, healthy and perfect and so, so loved. Crowley and Aziraphale could power a whole country with the combined amount of love they had in their hearts for them. 

“Little star…” the demon warbled gently, and brushed the bump with his hand too. Aziraphale leaned over him. They moaned and sighed and giggled in between as they exchanged a few wet kisses.

“I love you so, so much, my dear. Both of you,” the angel said, and his hand continued to glide over the slope with gentleness and reverence.

Dreamily, Crowley gazed up at him and exhaled softly, “Me too, angel. Love you, and them. My two most precious beings in the universe… The stars and nebulae can’t compare.”

Aziraphale appeared to be on the verge of crying again. “Oh, Crowley…” he sniffled.

“Akh. So much for me being all sweet with ya,” the demon groused. He raised his hand and cupped Aziraphale’s cheek, pinching it a bit. “Softie.”

The angel wiped his nose and chuckled. No point arguing that. 

“Let me take you somewhere. I hear there’s an empty table for two at the Ritz.”

“I don’t wanna go back to the city for the second time today, angel. I’ve a better idea.”

“Oh?”

“Let’s have dinner in the garden. Make something together,” the demon suggested. “The flowers are in bloom.”

Aziraphale stuck out his lip. He seemed intrigued by the idea, but it appeared that he wasn't entirely sure about it. “Oh, but I want to treat you, darling. My cooking isn’t that good, and you need your rest, I’m sure.”

“Oh, bugger off, Aziraphale. I’m not made of glass, I’ll manage. I’m better than I used to be, you know that,” Crowley protested. "And trust me, I will always choose your cooking over that of some hoity-toity chef’s."

They had great food at the Ritz or other fancy restaurants they frequented, but Crowley was not exaggerating—after Aziraphale picked up this new hobby of his, the demon could rarely pass on the dishes he made, even ones that did not turn out so well. There was something in the fact that Aziraphale was making these for him that sweetened anything slightly charred and levelled out the taste at times when the chef got a bit overzealous with the salt. Everything Aziraphale made was special. Evidently.

The angel gave him an unsteady smile. “Well… alright. If you say so.”

“I do say so.” He sat up and stretched his arms over his head. His stomach rumbled. “I’m actually super hungry.”

Perhaps it was the excitement of the day, or just the energy he was constantly using to feed the baby, but he could even say he was starving , which was something that he’d rarely ever said in his long life. 

“I guess she does need a lot of energy, doesn’t she, huh,” he mumbled.

Aziraphale looked at him, a bit puzzled. “She?”

“Eh?”

“You just said… ‘she’,” he said quietly.

“Oh, uhh…” Crowley rubbed the back of his head. “I dunno, they kinda felt like a ‘she’ when I saw them today, I s’pose. Just a gut feeling.”

The angel’s eyes lit up, and another small smile graced his lips. So many smiles were being had today. It seemed they had been really catching up on them since the hundreds of thousands they’d had to hide over the centuries. “Interesting… Though I must say you do have an equal chance to just guess between the options here, dear,” Aziraphale chuckled warmly. 

“Well. not equal. They might also turn out to not be either. Factory settings, y’know? But to me they felt like a girl today. I guess,” he shrugged. “Forget about it. ‘S probably nothing.”

Aziraphale leaned in to kiss him again and gave another gentle brush to his belly. “As you wish.”

They got out of bed and walked the way to the kitchen while Aziraphale questioned, rather thoroughly, what Crowley wished to eat today—he wanted to make something special for the occasion, but his priority still remained that the dish was, paramountly, not only what Crowley wanted but also what he could eat. His morning sickness was mostly gone, but there still had been changes to his palate that they were both learning to navigate. For example, Crowley had developed a particular disgust toward peas (of all things) and an appetite for peanut butter so strong that it could be considered abnormal. Especially considering that, in the past, Crowley would not touch the stuff with a ten-foot pole. Aziraphale even walked in on him eating Ants On A Log one morning, and they were both so mortified by that experience that they silently agreed not to talk about it. 

“I think I want something that’s relatively light.” Crowley thoughtfully scratched his chin. “But also filling. Does that make sense?”

Aziraphale had gathered quite a library of cookbooks and memorised a tonne of recipes over the months, so, taking in their stock and Crowley’s wishes, he had an idea immediately. “I know just the thing, dear. Fetch me some garlic, would you?”

Crowley’s stomach rumbled loudly. “Right on, angel.”

And so the clatter of pans and utensils commenced. Much to Crowley’s chagrin, Aziraphale actually didn’t require much assistance in the kitchen; he didn’t know if that was just a ploy on the angel’s part to choose a one-man recipe to prevent Crowley from being a more active participant, or pure happenstance. Regardless, the demon soon realised that it was a good call—by the time it was five, he felt too tired to be of any use. So he sat at the island counter and watched Aziraphale hungrily as he minced and fried and sautéed with ease of a practised chef. 

“My, angel, you really are a pro, love,” he drawled, hardly able to stop himself from salivating.

“Oh, shush,” the angel tutted. He scooped up some chilli flakes, about to add them to the mixture of garlic and onion in the food processor. “Is the spice really okay for you?”

Crowley enthusiastically nodded. “Abso-fucking-lutely. I’d even go as far as to say the hellion likes it, with how much I’ve been craving it lately.”

The angel added the flakes and blitzed the mixture, then returned it to the saucepan and laid the baked portobello caps on top. “I’m not sure I like that nickname for them.”

“What, ‘hellion’? How’d you want to call them?”

“Oh, I don’t know. ‘Cherub’, mayhaps?”

Crowley smirked; the bastardry in Aziraphale’s voice was pretty obvious—he was pulling his leg.

“Imp.”

“Angel.”

“You’re ‘angel’, but good try,” the demon scoffed. “Runt.”

Aziraphale turned to look at him over the shoulder and made a moue. “Darling, now that’s just rude. Little lamb. Lambie.”

“Rug rat.”

“Cupid, dumpling, sweet-pea—”

“Punk, sprog, anklebiter, mite, whelp—“

“Alright, alright,” the angel made a placating gesture with his hands, holding up the sauce-covered spatula in the air like a white flag. “The point is clear, dearest.” 

Crowley snorted proudly, head held high. “Hehehe.”

Aziraphale shook his head fondly. “On a more serious note, I do quite adore ‘little star’, like you’ve been calling them.”

“Yeah. I like that one too.”

In the garden, Aziraphale set up the table beneath the canopy of fruit trees and brought out the trusty record player. The sun was beginning to set, and the air was pleasantly cool. 

The demon waved a finger, and a line of string lights flew out of storage and strung itself out between two trees. He walked over to the table and sat down heavily. “Y’know, I think my miracles have been getting weird lately. It’s, foof… ” He looked up at the lights and let out a tired sigh. “It’s harder to cast them, even the minor ones.”

The plates of food were brought out, and the angel stood them before the demon’s place at the table and his own. “Really? How does that… how does that feel?”

It was surprising, because miracles were usually effortless, save for the more advanced ones, and needed little concentration at all. On a regular day, they could do them with their eyes closed. 

“I have to think harder to get them to work. And they make me woozy,” Crowley explained. He waited for Aziraphale to sit down and picked up his fork. The food looked scrumptious: gorgeously juicy portobello “steaks” with a spicy glaze over butter bean mash, topped with a sprinkle of chopped chives and parsley.  

“Oh my,” the angel breathed. He poured his husband a glass of red grape juice—closest thing to wine they could have. “Maybe you should consider not using them from this point on, then.”

Crowley pouted but nodded. That’s a conclusion he was beginning to come to as well. “Yeah, probably.”

The angel raised a bowl of fresh arugula salad with lemon balsamic dressing and Parmesan. “Salad?” 

“Yeah. Thanks, angel,” replied Crowley through a mouthful of food. “This is delicious.”

“You’re welcome, dearest. I’m glad you like it,” smiled Aziraphale. 

For a bit, they settled into a comfortable quiet as they ate. Sufjan Stevens crooned gently over the strums of banjo and guitar; the wind whooshed through the verdant leaves and blades of grass. It was right that they decided to dine out here. The jasmine, phlox, and cosmos perfumed the air, and the sun had warmed the earth just enough for the eve to be comfortably cool. The whole garden looked and felt magnificent.

“You take good care of them,” Crowley murmured softly, looking out at the green hedges and swaying branches. “The plants, I mean. And, well, them, too. And me.”

Aziraphale reached over the table for Crowley’s wrist and held it—gently, carefully, feather-light. His eyes twinkled with the lights over their heads and with the light that came from within him, too. 

“You take wonderful care of them too, Crowley.”

The music tinkled with strings and a woman’s airy vocals, joined by a soft croon:

And I am joining all my thoughts to you

And I’m preparing every part for you

Crowley turned his hand palm-up for Aziraphale to grasp and held his eyes, smiling. “I try, you know. But I could never do it without you.” The angel intertwined their hands. The music swelled, wrapping around them like a fuzzy blanket. “I mean, quite literally, actually. This is a two-man job. A joint effort,” the demon added jokingly. “Two joint Efforts, rather.”

At that, Aziraphale sighed and rolled his eyes. “Alright. I admit that it’s on me for hoping you’d keep it romantic for longer than a minute.” 

The demon simpered at him.

Having finished with the main course, they moved onto dessert—Aziraphale had prepared a strawberry tart from berries grown in their greenhouse. Crowley relished the fresh sweetness on his tongue, melting into the cushions of his chair at the unalloyed rapture of the moment.

Oh, but it could be better. A song came on, tender and warm, its melody floating gently over the chords. Crowley got up from his seat and extended his hand toward the angel, bowing forward slightly. Who said he wasn’t romantic? He’ll show them romantic. “Dance with me, angel?”

Aziraphale glanced up at him with a face of surprise. By habit, he took the offered hand before he could even say anything. “Dance?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said smilingly. His other hand supported the swell of his tummy. “Sway with us, love.”

At times, the angel felt as though his heart was uncontained by the cage of his ribs; he could swear that, on occasion, it swelled and grew far beyond the volume of even his whole body—like it did now. “Crowley…”

They walked together into a clearing, where the lights still shone but with a much softer glow. The demon smiled and put the angel’s hands on his waist and wrapped his own around his broad shoulders. Clumsily, pressed together, they stepped, more or less foregoing the rhythm of the actual music—side to side, slowly, tentatively.

I can see a lot of life in you

I can see a lot of bright in you

And there was, wasn’t there? If Crowley tried, he could almost see the little thing in the depth of his body, shimmering. He reminded himself once again that so he would feel them, and this time, the thought didn’t scare him as much. It's funny how his perspective changed in just a few hours after he had finally seen the being he had been eager to get to know for so long.

And I think the dress looks nice on you

I can see a lot of life in you

With a careful tug of hands, Aziraphale closed the distance between their bodies to once again feel the press of Crowley’s bump. “It does look nice on you, really, my dear,” he whispered softly.

The demon smiled and lowered his cheek onto the angel’s shoulder. “Shut up,” he hissed back, hardly trying to sound annoyed or anything along those lines. Instead, the words came out in a quiet, dreamy lilt. 

What all this did to him—ugh, unthinkable things. He never thought a quiet, domestic life with his best friend, his one true love, would reshape him so drastically. Though he never really went as far as even hoping for a quiet, domestic life with Aziraphale until a few years ago, with all the apocalyptic scenarios and former bosses’ drama close at their heels. And there he was—swaying in the sweet-scented air of their very own Garden, golden bands on their fingers, a child-to-be pressed between their bodies. No Hell, no Heaven. Just them and everything they ever wanted, right within their grasp. 

He closed his eyes and sank into his angel’s arms, as much as he could while remaining upright—a move Aziraphale knew and welcomed, bringing Crowley closer to him. 

The air was cool, the music bright and soothing, their embrace warm. And they swayed.

Chapter Text

The angel and demon walked the path to Jasmine Cottage’s front door and knocked, but when the door opened and Aziraphale had already readied himself for a friendly hug he’d usually exchange with Anathema, a complete other face was in the doorway. 

“Aye. There ye are,” said Shadwell, looking just about as gruff as usual, despite the baby in his arms extending his chubby arms to grab at anything they could reach and cooing cutely. 

“Good day to you too, Mr Shadwell,” Aziraphale said politely, bowing his head as if he were taking off his hat to greet the man. Shadwell grumbled something under his breath and sidestepped from the doorway to let them in. 

There in the hallway, walking out from the small kitchen, Tracy met them with open arms and a happy smile. She tugged Aziraphale close and pecked him lightly on the cheek. “Oh, darlings, hello! Long time no see, ‘ave we?”

“We have,” smiled Aziraphale. “Wonderful to see you, my dear lady.”

“Yeah. Hi,” grunted Crowley, who, as usual, had made a step back to stay outside the woman’s orbit—he knew she wasn’t going to try and hug him, as they’d been over agreeing on that boundary a million times already, but he felt the need to do so just in case. 

They walked to the kitchen together. Tracy kept her arm around Aziraphale; Crowley and Shadwell trod behind them, and the baby in the latter’s arms occupied himself with trying to grab onto a button of Shadwell’s shirt.

Still effectively trapped by the woman, Aziraphale walked up with her to the kitchen counter. Only there did she let go of him to put on the kettle and begin readying the cups for tea. It amused the angel just how much Tracy seemed at home in Anathema’s cottage. For Crowley, what amused him more was the sight of the crotchety Sergeant carefully, a bit uncertainly, cradling a squirming baby. The demon shot him an impish smirk. The man squinted at him, which might have appeared intimidating if Oracle hadn't smacked him on the chin with his tiny palm the next moment.

Crowley laughed. “Witchling’s beat ya fair and square, old man.”

Shadwell groaned and shifted hold of the little boy to press him against his shoulder. “Naht a witch, this one.”

“Well, not yet.” Crowley crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his hip, pretending he was an expert explaining something painfully obvious to a dilettante with an edge of light condescension. “They usually come to their powers with age. Come three years old, and he’ll be conversing with cats and crows. Sending them out to do his evil bidding.”

“Nah he won’t,” Shadwell said sternly. 

“Yah he will,” parried Crowley jokingly.

Aziraphale, overhearing their conversation, shook his head and tittered before turning his attention to both Tracy and her man. He might have had to change the subject before Crowley made Shadwell even gruffer than he already was. “So how was your holiday?” asked Aziraphale warmly.

“Tha’ was ages ago,” grumbled Shadwell in response.

“Oh, t’was simply marvellous,” chirped Tracy. “I’m pale as death with this London ‘sun’, and there I finally got myself a nice tan!”

Crowley snorted a laugh. “Completely different Sun in Egypt, obviously.”

“You jest, dear, but I’m telling you,” playfully scolded the woman. “It’s a whole ‘nother deal there. You two should go someday.”

The demon clicked his tongue and unwound his folded hands to put them on his hips instead. He shook his head. “We’ve been to Egypt a million times. You’ve seen one pyramid being bloody built—you’ve seen them all.”

Oracle began to fuss softly. Shadwell changed hold of him again to see his face, which the little boy scrunched up, clearly preparing to cry. “Eh, whas’ the mattah, wee bairn? 

Crowley took a step closer and extended his arms toward the child. “Maybe he just needs a change of hands. Here, let me take ‘im.”

Shadwell frowned but begrudgingly allowed him to take the baby. As soon as the boy was in his arms, Crowley flicked his glasses up and looked down at him, smiling. Oracle stared back with a curious expression, his little mouth open. The little one always found the demon's golden snake eyes quite enchanting, so whatever he was about to cry about was quickly forgotten.

Aziraphale melted into a soft, endeared smile, watching them. Tracy gave him a tongue-in-cheek little poke with her sharp elbow. “Your husband’s a real darling with kids, Zira,” she whispered, leaning closer so the demon wouldn’t hear. 

The angel sighed musingly. Crowley had always been good with kids; little Warlock adored him when he was his nanny, for one. Aziraphale could still hardly believe that Crowley was going to hold and soothe and play with their own baby soon. He focused on Crowley's slightly round abdomen, which Aziraphale knew was unquestionably there but which the demon tried to hide with looser clothing before they came in for a visit today.

Finally, a very tired-looking, ruffled Anathema entered the room, followed in tow by her equally exhausted husband. “Hey,” they both said, yawning. Aziraphale smiled brightly at them in greeting; that, somehow, seemed to have an immediate refreshing effect on the poor couple.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Anathema walked into the kitchen and sat down on a chair by the table. She looked up at Crowley, who was still entertaining the little boy, now with the tips of his fiery waves of hair that the little one tried to grab onto and inspect, and smiled. “Oracle had an… accident. We had to clean up.”

“A diaper accident,” shuddered Newt. Despite his genuine sympathy, Crowley couldn't help but bark in amusement at the situation the two had found themselves in. Hearing his parents, Oracle swivelled his head toward them and babbled sounds of excitement. Crowley walked over to Newt and handed him the baby. “Thanks for keeping an eye on him for the time.”

“Oh, he’s neigh bother at all. Good bairn,” lilted Shadwell.

“Ye-es, he’s an angel. No problem,” drawled Tracy. 

She and Aziraphale filled the cups with freshly brewed tea and set the table. Anathema smiled graciously at the two and picked up her cup after everyone sat down; when her gaze fell on Crowley, she paused with her tea halfway to her mouth and frowned.  

Crowley noticed her looking at him and raised an eyebrow. “Wot?”

“Something’s off about you,” she stated bluntly. The arch of Crowley’s brow only became steeper.

The demon wasn’t the only one surprised. Aziraphale lowered his cup and looked to the woman and to his husband, back and forth. “Off?”

“Hm, now that you mention it, I noticed something as well,” agreed Tracy. “Can’t put my finger on it though.” 

Crowley hunched his shoulders forward. He didn’t know what the witch was seeing that made her say that, but whatever it was, her staring made him feel defensive. He didn’t like being looked at like that: searchingly, like he was a specimen under glass being examined. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The woman kept on, either indifferent to Crowley’s state of unease or simply too captivated by what she was seeing to just let it go. “Ah. I get it now. Your aura is different,” she concluded.

Aziraphale’s ears perked up. He did notice changes in how Crowley felt , and the demon himself admitted that, with the baby growing, he could now sense wavelets of their energy in his own. But his aura? Aziraphale wondered what exactly it was that she could see.

Admittedly, that piqued Crowley's interest as well, despite his discomfort. He straightened up a bit and looked back at the witch over the table. “Different how?”

She looked at him more seriously, with intent and focused observation. The whole room got silent, save for Oracle, who kept on babbling something in his dad’s arms. “It’s… weird. Hazy, or… twinned? I mean, usually there’s just one outline that an aura has, but yours has two now.” 

She adjusted the glasses to sit low on her nose, as if that would somehow aid her analysis. With her being a curious, inquisitive woman, it wasn’t surprising at all that such an odd change in what she knew about Crowley would make her want to get to the root of the cause of it. So she kept looking, and Crowley kept squirming, and Aziraphale sat back and watched the two, with much of the same curiosity as the one gleaming in the woman’s eyes.

“It’s subtle, but… huh.” She squinted and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Seriously, I’ve not seen it do that before. Certainly not yours. Did you do something? Did something happen?”

That was when Aziraphale realised he could no longer contain himself. When Crowley looked at him for some backup (so much for that) , the angel was hiding a smile behind the lip of his teacup. So she did actually see the baby’s aura, was his conclusion. It made his stomach rumble pleasantly with a warm, bubbly feeling. 

Crowley, meanwhile, wasn’t so keen. He did plan on announcing his pregnancy after the ultrasound, and now seemed as good a time as any, considering how the woman had unknowingly brought it up, but he still wasn’t certain. There weren’t just Anathema and Newt, but also Tracy and Shadwell—a whole crowd, watching him. It was foreboding, to say the least, to just reveal it like that, right now.  

So he remained silent and sipped his tea, while the others, mainly Anathema and Tracy, continued to have their undivided attention on him. After a moment, Aziraphale found his hand under the table and squeezed it gently. Crowley stuck his lip out and nervously jumped his leg up and down. 

His agitation did not escape the two women, but they looked lost as to what to do about it. Aziraphale didn’t look worried, quite the opposite—but Crowley did, and that contrast of the two’s demeanours didn’t much help their understanding of the situation. Whatever theory Anathema might have had about the aura, if any, she didn’t voice it. Shadwell and Newt exchanged silent, confused glances with one another and their respective partners, but by the end, they were just as lost as they were. 

“I’m…” the demon began uncertainly, but his voice cut off there. Aziraphale tightened his grip on Crowley's hand, sending little trickles of positive energy into his body, telling him wordlessly, ‘Go on, dear, don’t worry; I’m here,’ but even with that, Crowley couldn't quite get the tongue in his mouth to make the turns and movements required to say what he wanted. He lowered his cup to the table and put his hand on top of his small bump, concealed by the edge of the table and strategically chosen dark and loose-fitting clothes. He took a deep breath. “I’m… Ugh. You see two auras because there isn’t jussst mine anymore. ‘S one way to put it, I guesss.”

“Huh?” Anathema looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

She was still watching the other plane, where the auras resided, judging by her half-focused gaze. She could see the twin image around the demon’s aura shimmer and ripple in peculiar ways. In a bit, she noticed it wasn’t encapsulating all of Crowley; it congregated around the midsection of his body—glowing brighter where his hand lay. 

Again, Crowley took a breath. It shouldn’t’ve been this hard. All he had to do was say it, but the whole table was watching him, which was pressure enough. He could’ve asked Aziraphale to say it, but—no, he wanted to do it himself. 

In all honesty, after the ultrasound, he’d felt like he was carrying all the emotion and excitement on his shoulders. Unloading them didn’t seem all that bad, had he not been the anxious wreck that he often was. 

He let out another sigh and finally stumbled out a stiff, “I'm pregnant.” 

Aziraphale’s grip on his hand grew gentler; he caressed it soothingly, noting how the warmth began to leave the demon’s palm. Crowley huffed and turned his eyes away, escaping anyone’s who now stared at him with an entirely different kind of expression, but certainly not one he liked. 

More particularly, when the group heard the words leave Crowley’s mouth, Newt let out a little gasp, and Shadwell coughed and blinked rapidly at him in confusion, but otherwise everyone around the table remained silent. The more the silence dragged on, the more Crowley wanted to crawl under a rock to hide.

At last, Tracy put down her cup of tea and leaned closer to the pair over the table. “Sorry, dear, you said you are…?” 

“Do I have to say it again? You heard me,” Crowley snapped back, sounding a bit harsher than he would’ve liked. His hand on top of his bump pressed into the warm skin underneath the layer of clothes as if he wanted to reach out to the little being inside and hold their hand for comfort.

“Just so, dear lady. Crowley and I are expecting a child,” Aziraphale intercepted softly. A small, proud smile was on his lips when he looked at his husband. Crowley unsteadily looked back at him; with his glasses still perched atop his head, his eyes were on clear display for everyone, with all their anxious discomfort. He did manage a subtle, barely-there smile for his angel, however. 

Anathema took off her glasses and blinked. Shadwell didn’t seem to understand how to take such information—he nervously, noisily sipped his tea and drummed his finger on the china. Newt sat frozen with a squirmy Oracle in his arms, and Tracy looked at the angel and demon with wide eyes.

Crowley bit his lip and rambled on, unsure of what else to say but determined to break the silence for his own sanity’s sake. “We’ve been trying for a while, actually, but now I, uh… we hope it goes well and all, and… ngk. So. Ghm. Yeah.”

Aziraphale shone a bright smile toward Anathema. His fingers went on moving in gentle circles over his husband’s knuckles. “It is quite fascinating you can already see their aura, my dear friend. They’re such a little thing—we saw them on the ultrasound just the other day, in fact.”

“Y-you did? So, that means… how far along are you, Crowley?”

“Bit over three months,” the demon mumbled, flicking his glasses back to sit on his nose. The dark shades provided the tiniest bit of relief.

With one hand pressed against her cheek, she reached and squeezed Aziraphale’s wrist. “Oh, how wonderful! Congratulations, darlings, congratulations!”

The angel’s breath hitched. Crowley’s heart stuttered. They looked at the woman and at each other. The demon noted how, pronto, his husband’s eyes glistened with tears.

The next around the table to unfreeze was Newt. It took him a moment to find his voice, and when he chimed in, it sounded higher-pitched than his usual tone. “Y-yeah! Congratulations!”

Anathema’s voice came in right after. She too appeared rather stunned, but clearly not in a bad way. Her voice was perhaps the loudest out of the three—smiley and zippy—and she stumbled over her words even more than Newton. “A-absolutely, congrats, mis amig– G-guys! Oh my god!”

Even Shadwell grunted something that was an approximation of a positive reaction before hitting them with a clarifying question, “So this bairn… a’ they human? Or… demon?”

Both Crowley and Aziraphale seemed to have predicted something along the lines of that (not that the Witchfinder Sergeant was that hard to predict). They made a face—together, but different ones: Crowley’s was a smidge smug, and Aziraphale’s appeared amused, but both gave Shadwell a somewhat askance look. 

Tracy openly fixed him with a scolding stare and shook her head like an angry duck. “Mr Shadwell! What kind of question is that to ask expecting parents?”

The words jounced around the demon’s red-haired head like a rubber ball. Expecting parents. He hadn’t much gotten used to even the word ‘pregnant’ at that point, and ‘parents’ was so much more beyond that. Parents, fathers, a family. None of the words seemed to fit them but felt so right at the same time.

Aziraphale kept his tone light and patient as he answered the man who he knew well enough wasn’t malicious, just… well, just Shadwell. “Not human, we surmise, but they do look like one. No hooves or horns,” he jested, chuckling. “And, well… Time will tell what they’ll have from Crowley and me.”

“Ahh.” Shadwell nodded approvingly. “Well, tha’s good.”

Tracy reached over and softly swatted him on the arm in reprimand. “Don’t listen to this old fool, darlings. My gosh, a baby ! So many babies happening round these parts lately, hm? Do you know what they are yet—a boy, a girl?”

Aziraphale raised a finger in the air. ”Not yet, but Crowley thinks–“

“‘S a girl. Certain of it,” the demon interrupted him.

For a being who was, in essence, genderless by design, he didn’t know why he felt so strongly about this little piece of info he believed was true; it wouldn’t matter if their child was male, female, neither, or none. What mattered most was that they were healthy, but for some inexplicable reason, he still sensed it rather definitively. Maybe he just convinced himself because he wanted it to be so; maybe the little soul was telegraphing something about themself—he wasn’t sure. Either way, he wasn’t going to find out for sure until the next ultrasound, and that was still some time away. He could trust his gut for now.

Tracy sighed and practically melted. “Ohh , how sweet! Once again, congratulations, my dears, congratulations. Ohh…”

Looking at her, it seemed like she was about to cry—she took a handkerchief out of the small pocket of her dress and carefully dabbed the corners of her eyes with it so as not to ruin her makeup. Anathema appeared equally emotional—she leaned into Newt’s shoulder and looked at them with a touched expression and bright eyes. Newt more or less mirrored her face.

Crowley cringed. He did feel lighter, true, but those eyes staring back at him still made him quite uncomfortable even through the safety of his shades. He once again looked down and to the side, and then waved the people at the table off.

“Alright, alright, quit the goo-goo eyes. We figured out the aura situation, there are no more news, thas’ it. You all can go back to drinking your tea.”

Some laughed, some humphed amusedly, but everyone did, in fact, go back to drinking their tea—an activity that soon transformed into conversation, and jokes, and swapping of stories, much like it often did when they spent time like this together. And while some careful glances of the expecting duo were still stolen, they were subtle enough to not cause the demon too much trouble. 

“That went better than I thought,” the demon said, putting the engine into drive and quickly pulling off onto the road. 

“Why, of course it did,” smiled the angel. “How exactly did you think it would go?”

“Well, I dunno. Something told me there’d be more… egh, shock? But everyone just kind of went with it.” He put on an exaggerated expression and shook his head as he spoke. “Oh, our demon friend saysss he’s up the duff? Why, of course!” he parodied, “We totally thought he was just an odd bloke—turns out he’s even odder!”

Aziraphale huffed and clicked his tongue. “Firstly, pregnancy isn’t weird, Crowley, and…”

“It is for me,” Crowley cut in, curling his lip.

The angel carried on, “…And secondly, you and I have very respectful and open-minded friends.”

“And Shadwell,” Crowley smirked. “Eh, alright, he was actually nice about it. In his own way.”

“See? You shouldn’t be so surprised, you know.”

The demon shrugged and groaned in reluctant assent. They turned off the main road onto a small paved path leading down the valley to their cottage. Crowley drummed his fingers on the wheel. 

“I’m cross with you, just so y’know,” he finally said, his gaze fixed ahead over the low rollicking hills and tallish grass. 

The angel snapped his head his way and batted eyes at him. “What? Why?”

“Because! You shoulda seen your face—bloody smug bastard, sitting there grinning while I was freaking out!”

“I was helping, was I not? Emotionally,” Aziraphale said sheepishly. His cheeks flushed faintly with pink.

“That doesn’t excuse your smug bastard face,” the demon humphed. “Honestly, the fact that you wanted everyone to know you knocked me up so much is concerning, angel.”

Aziraphale grew bright red in the face and held onto the dashboard. Crowley laughed when he saw him flail helplessly to say something in response for a good second or three before finally managing the protest. “C-Crowley!”

“Haha. Relaaax. I’m jus’ pulling your leg.”

The angel rolled his eyes and tutted, then crossed his arms over his chest and looked out the window. After a minute of silence, he mumbled, “Even if I did—“

The demon guffawed so hard that he missed a small pothole in the road by accident. The Bentley revved her engine and sputtered a few times. “Ack, shit. Sorry. Anyways, ha! Called it.”

Flaunting his virility in front of their friends was nowhere on the list of Aziraphale’s priorities, of course—but Crowley grinned, looking much less anxious now. He continued driving down the windy road, with Aziraphale looking at him out of the corner of his eye with a gentle smile.

“In all honesty though, it is nice to have told them. I’ll give you that,” the demon admitted.

Then, his phone chimed—once, like he’d received a message. Aziraphale looked down at the lit-up screen of the sleek black phone lying between them on the seat. “Oh, it’s Anathema, dear.”

Crowley continued looking straight ahead. “Yeah? Uh… Can you check it?”

“Alright.” The angel picked the phone up and clumsily unlocked it and opened the message app. 

“Did we forget something? One of your baking tins, maybe?”

“No, I left those on purpose—she asked me to lend her one. Must be something else.” He paused to take out his reading glasses and put them on. “Let’s see…” 

Crowley groaned theatrically. “Do you have to carry those with you? You don’t bloody need them.”

Aziraphale ignored him and read the message.

Crowley raised an eyebrow in question. “Well?”

Aziraphale read on, summarizing the message for Crowley in the process. “She says… she wanted to talk to you in private but didn’t get the chance to, and… she says, once again, that she’s very happy for us and that… she wants you to know that you can call her anytime if you need to… talk, or ask a question, or if something bothers you.”

The demon took the phone out of the angel’s hand and looked at the message for himself while the Bentley took over driving the last bit of distance before pulling in in front of their house. His fingers quickly typed out a short text—a curt, simple ‘thx’—swiped the app down, and shut the screen off again. He chewed his lips and turned the ignition of the car off, but didn’t move to get out. 

“Darling?” Aziraphale asked carefully. There wasn’t tension in Crowley’s body; at least not the one he’d come to associate with anger, or worry, or any other kind of negative emotion. It was there—subtle, mild, and different. Almost as if Crowley was… touched, or grateful, but didn’t quite know how to express it. Eventually, he managed a stifled ‘ngk’ and wiped his face with his hand. 

“I’m… fine,” he croaked. He cast a long glance at the black mirror of his phone before scooping it up to push into the pocket of his jeans he still managed to squeeze himself into somehow (being reminded every time how he should probably start thinking about wearing maternity clothing but ending up just miracling the waistband to fit him instead, which was a small enough miracle that he could still do it without issue) and turned his head to look at Aziraphale. “She did manage to pull you aside though, didn’t she? I saw you talking while Tracy was chatting me up.”

Aziraphale shifted in his seat. “Oh, uh… Yes. We did talk.”

“About…?

The woman brushed her hand against the angel’s forearm as he began to rise from his seat to come join Crowley and the rest—Tracy wanted to show Crowley some of the photos from their trip and ask him some questions about his experiences in Egypt during the period when the ‘bloody pyramids’ were being built, as he put it. At the gesture, he sat back down and looked curiously at his friend over the table.

“I, uh…” she began uncertainly, “Wanted to ask something, if you don’t mind.”

Aziraphale smiled. He figured the question was most likely about the pregnancy, considering she couldn’t exactly ask anything after Crowley called on them to refrain. But she must’ve still had them, and he didn’t see any harm in answering some. “Of course, dear girl. What is it?”

She looked over the angel’s shoulder to make sure Crowley and the others were out of earshot before speaking. She looked hesitant—and concerned. The angel stiffened at the sight of that. 

“Crowley said you’ve been trying for a while, and… I was wondering, does… last year have anything to do with it?”

“Ah…” Aziraphale breathed out. The conversation they had last year—about Crowley’s state of mind, his condition, his not visiting or calling. How Aziraphale mentioned that something had happened but that he couldn’t say. He hadn’t expected her to bring it up, but it made sense that she would; she had been worried sick about Crowley then, trying gently to figure him out, and now, having a bit more context, it really wasn’t difficult for her to connect the dots, was it?

Aziraphale cast a quick glance at Crowley in the other room, being bombarded with questions about pyramids and pharaohs. He looked like he was having a great time—laughing, smiling, poking fun at Shadwell. The angel somberly recalled how Crowley was last summer—distant, withdrawn, hardly ever allowing himself as much as a moment of peace, especially in the immediate time after the… He blinked to chase the visual that still haunted him away. 

Anathema watched him, how he darkened and how his shoulders slacked as if a terrible weight was on them. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about it if—“ she began, but Aziraphale stopped her. 

“No need, my friend,” he said quietly, a small, sad smile on his lips. “You’re right, last year we… lost something very special. Unexpectedly. It hit us hard—Crowley, especially.”

She looked him in the eyes and let out a shaky breath. Aziraphale felt a rush of emotion emanating from her core: sympathy and sadness. She didn’t have to say she was sorry—Aziraphale felt it. She knew he did. So he just nodded subtly in thanks and lowered his gaze to the table, on top of which his hands lay. He fiddled with his pinky ring and rubbed the tops of his knuckles. He hoped before it would feel leavening, to share this, but it didn’t really provide the comfort he’d hoped for. Maybe it would come later, he thought, but for now it just felt like poking at an old wound all over again. 

Yet, he could hear Crowley laugh from the other room. He knew there was a little being there, too. What they lost mattered, but what mattered most was what they had . 

He let out a long exhale, unloading the burden of a thousand pounds of weight on top of his body that had begun to suffocate him. He straightened up and lifted his eyes at Anathema, still watching him carefully. 

“What matters now, is that we have it,” he said, reiterating aloud the notion he wanted to make sure he remembered. “And we couldn’t be happier.”

“You could, actually,” she added, smiling. “You will be when they’re here.”

Aziraphale looked almost surprised before softening into a warm smile of his own. “That’s… yes. Quite right. Thank you, dear girl.”

She reached and held his wrist but for a second before standing up, and they walked together to join their friends.

Crowley looked thoughtfully in the distance, over the rolling hills speckled with delicate flowers and verdant trees. “So you… told her.”

The angel laid a hand on top of Crowley’s knee and squeezed it. “I know I should’ve talked about it with you first, my love, before—“

The demon shook his head and turned to look at him. “No, no, it’s… it’s alright. I’m not mad at you. I guess it’s… best that someone knows.” He lowered his hand on top of the angel’s, locking their fingers together. 

Crowley’d never thought he would become the person to share these things, neither the good nor the bad, but as he did, he was beginning to realise the reason people did that—shared. It felt nice, to halve or quarter the burden with someone else; leave less bad for yourself, multiply the good. He found that he really didn’t mind it. 

“We should visit Muriel one of these days. Tell them too. Not about the, ngk, but— y’know.”

Aziraphale smiled and nodded. “Yes. They’ll be happy to learn the news.”

“I’m sure they learned quite a bit from those books you gave them,” the demon smirked. “Let’s hope that in their youthful enthusiasm they can manage without throwing facts at me like a cannon.”

The angel laughed. “Oh, they’re far more considerate than you think, darling. They might just throw one or two.”

“Hah. Well, we’ll see. You’re going tomorrow, right? I’ll go with you.”

Aziraphale leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “Wonderful, dear.”

Granted, they couldn’t exactly anticipate the strength of the explosion that the revelation caused for Muriel. At first, they were stunned and froze in their seat for a good long minute, after which, with much confusion, they began to probe both the angel and the demon for answers, the most prevalent of which was ‘how?’ . They knew enough to understand that they shouldn’t technically be able to do something like that. Aziraphale masterfully navigated the subject without giving too many details away while still trying his best to be informative. 

Besides, it’s not like they knew fully ‘how’ it happened, given their nature, but the important bit was that it did, and when Muriel’s mind seemed to finally grasp what it meant, they graduated from confused muttering into full-on giggles and squeals. 

Telling Maggie and Nina had not actually been on their checklist for that day, but after they came into the shop, having seen the Bentley park outside and both of them get out, it seemed only fair that they should hear the important life update as well. They weren’t as surprised as the young angel, but that didn’t mean they were about to wrap up the encounter without leaving both the angel and the demon mortified—Maggie joined Muriel in excited giggles and congratulations; Nina made some snarky comment to Aziraphale that Crowley didn’t hear over the sounds of excitement but that left the angel very red in the cheeks. 

They had some on-the-house drinks and pastries at the coffee shop together; Crowley and Aziraphale could say that they certainly felt overwhelmed at the end of the day, but also happy and excited. Crowley didn’t hunch as much to try and conceal his bump, for one, which was a welcome sight for the angel to see. He loved how comfortable in his own skin the demon was slowly becoming now that he didn’t have to worry about hiding anymore. It was a rare sight to see, and thus—all the more precious. 

Aziraphale remembered clearly how freeing it was, to not have to be connected to Heaven anymore after they’d first averted the Apocalypse or after his long, soul-crushing stint as the Supreme Archangel. They both liked not belonging to any side anymore. 

But this community they’d gathered around themselves over these years?—well, that wasn’t a bad type of ‘belonging’ at all.

“Funny how the little grub isn’t even born yet, and there’s already a line forming to babysit them if we need it,” Crowley laughed on their way to the car after they’d said goodbyes to everyone and went to head home. Aziraphale adored how light his voice sounded—bright and clear, like wind chimes.

“I appreciate the offers, but I’m not sure when I’ll be able to leave them with someone—even with our dear friends. I feel like I wouldn’t want to let go of them for a moment,” the angel sighed dreamily.

“Weeell,” the demon drawled. To be honest, he had a similar feeling. Even though the child had only been with him for a short time (comparatively), he still found it impossible to imagine his life without being inextricably bound to them. “Still, we might need it one day. Kids are tough. Not a bad prospect to have some help, jus’ in case. It takes a village, eh?”

Aziraphale grinned and squinted at him. “Darling, did I hear correctly? Do I see the wily Serpent opening up at last?” he quipped.

“Ugh, shut up,” Crowley groaned. He scuffed the pavement with his shoe and flung the passenger door open for Aziraphale. “Forget what I sssaid, just get in the car.”

“Right away, sweetheart.” The angel laughed and accepted his polite, albeit floundering, gesture, and they drove off.

Chapter Text

“Do you want me to get you something, dear?” Aziraphale murmured, keeping his voice quiet and soft. 

Crowley didn’t answer. He was turned away from the angel where he sat by him, facing the back of the sofa, his legs drawn as close to his chest as his bump permitted. Clearly, he didn’t want to be spoken to—and clearer yet, the angel wasn’t about to just let it go. “Crowley, darling, what’s wrong? Talk to me, please— ”

“I’m fine, angel. I’m fucking fine,” he hissed. His tone crackled with a mixture of venom and hurt and whatever else that he couldn’t quite place—something bitter that burned his tongue. “Just go do whatever it was that you were doing. Leave me alone.”

Aziraphale felt wounded, like a hot knife had slashed him across the unprotected, soft bit of flesh of his chest. He might have been used to harsh, biting words from Crowley while they were still ‘on different sides’ , but he’d gotten entirely unused to the sick feeling of them since they became an ‘us’ . There and then, he did not know how to react. Once he felt his heart settle a bit, he tried to speak again. He had to know what was causing Crowley to lash out at him like that—was it something he did? Was Crowley in pain?

But he didn’t get past even a syllable when he noticed Crowley’s frame trembling and shaking, and heard something that sounded a lot like quiet, muffled crying. 

He put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder and just let it lie there, not stroking or squeezing just yet, just lying, motionless and warm. The demon tried to buckle it off with a jerk like it was a galling cowboy seeking to tame a wild mustang, but his attempt was half-hearted at best. He gave up and didn’t try anymore—only shook harder.

“Crowley…”

“What about ‘leave me alone’ do you not understand, angel?” Aziraphale clenched his jaw at the sound of the demon’s breaking, cracking voice. “ Please… just go.”

A different kind of blade slit his chest open again, but he held on. Like a threatened snake, Crowley had to be approached carefully: shown safety, treated with respect, and given space. If rushed, he would strike or slither away to shelter himself, and Aziraphale couldn’t let that happen. Not anymore. He was unmoving. “You know I won’t, Crowley. I’m not going to just leave you.”

Crowley scoffed, but the sound of it fractured over the rocks of yet another choking sob and came out almost pitiful. He swallowed the snarky words he wanted to say at first, and said no more. Aziraphale stayed, moving his fingers just a little now, just so he could add a little bit of movement to break the flow of Crowley’s trembles and quakes. He waited until they ceased.

“You are so very forgetful sometimes, my dear,” he said quietly. 

The demon wiped his eyes and sniffled. “What are you talking about?” 

“You always seem to forget that we are a team .” Aziraphale moved his hand up Crowley’s shoulder to move his long locks of hair out of the way so he could see his face. Crowley frowned and side-eyed him with frustration, which quite clearly was just trying to mask his despondency. “You don’t have to carry anything alone when you can just talk to me.”

Talk. Sure, he knew they could always just talk ; the only problem was that he also knew he was still terrible at it. It was better now than before—for both of them, considering Aziraphale used to be pretty bad at having conversations and voicing his worries, too—but still terrible. He groaned. Try and talk he might, but he knew it wasn’t going to do him any good. Certainly not today.

“Okay. I’ll talk.” He shifted on the sofa to turn onto his back and threw his hand over his head, wiping his swollen eyes once again, now with the crook of his elbow. “Why’d you let me do this, Aziraphale?”

The angel looked about as confused as could be. “Let you do what, Crowley?”

Crowley pointed with his chin at his protruding, rounded belly, and drew a shaky, sharp breath through his nose. 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and his heart plummeted downward, settling down in the pit of his stomach. “Wh… what do you mean, my dear?”

He couldn’t make sense of what Crowley was saying. They were so happy, so excited in just the short days prior; why was Crowley acting now as if he… regretted it, almost? The angel bit his tongue to distract himself from the rotten feeling of dread that tried to sink its claws into him. 

For the demon, he, too, felt the claws of it squeeze his heart from the inside, leaving deep gashes that ached and bled. He hid his face again and exhaled, emptying the entire volume of his lungs, trying to get rid of the coldness that filled them, but it was no use. He sobbed again. “I’m fucking terrible at this, angel. I’m fucking terrible now, and I will be when… if they’re…”

Aziraphale let out a breath he was holding. Some little trickles of relief actually washed over him. He understood it now—saw the dark clouds swirling all around Crowley’s head. They were not of regret but rather of anxiety and fear. 

“No, love, don’t say that. You do so much! You’ve done such a good job growing our little miracle already, and you take such good care of them, why—“

”You don’t know that!” the demon snapped at him. It was meant to sound abrasive and loud, but it cracked like thin glass, crumbling into pieces. “I… I can’t feel them.”

“What?”

“I can’t feel them! I usually feel their… energy or whatever, I don’t know, but I can’t feel it now. I woke up today, and it was just… gone . I tried, and tried, but… nothing, absolutely bloody nothing…”

Aziraphale shivered. The demon’s implications were clear—if he could not feel the energy, something must have happened to the little one. Something that Aziraphale shuddered to even think about. His hand hovered over the demon’s bump, shaking, asking for permission to touch. He had to see for himself. “May I?”

Crowley nodded quickly, gritting his teeth in an effort to stop himself from whimpering again. Aziraphale lowered his palm to the warm, taut surface of Crowley’s belly, and closed his eyes. After the little revelation at Anathema’s from a few weeks ago, he figured he could probably pinpoint the little one’s energy too, if he tried. So he did. 

Right enough, his palm felt warmer when he reached out for it. The fragile essence of their child touched his own like a ray of sunshine filtering down through the leaves. He let himself enjoy it for a moment before pulling back on the other plane, though on the corporeal side his hand continued to lie where it was. 

“They’re still there, Crowley. They’re alright,” he said, hoping that would reassure the demon.

Crowley moved his arm to reveal his eyes, puffy and red-rimmed. His brows furrowed, as if he was concentrating on something—trying to do what Aziraphale just did—but his face contorted in a tired, almost pained expression, and he hissed. “Then why can’t I… ngk.”

Aziraphale caressed his belly and side, moving in gentle, soothing circles. “I don’t know, love, but you have to trust me. They’re there, and everything is fine. You have nothing to worry about.” He allowed himself to be a bit more daring; his hand moved upward along the demon’s chest, up the side of his neck, and carefully massaged the tense muscles and traced the lines of his jaw. “Besides, we will see them again on the scan tomorrow, love.”

Crowley shivered. The ultrasound was the thing he was actually dreading. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it could reveal, what the black-and-grey window into his womb would show—or maybe, what it wouldn’t . 

“What if you’re wrong? What if we see tomorrow that they’re—“

Aziraphale cupped his cheek. “Darling, stop. You’re scaring yourself, and there’s no need to.” He went quiet for a second and hummed, thinking. There must have been a reason Crowley couldn’t feel the child even despite the fact that he was tethered to their essence. It shouldn’t’ve taken much for him to—and it usually didn’t, but a lot of changes were happening in these past weeks, and their baby had grown considerably. “Yes, that must be it… Maybe you can’t feel them because of the way they’re affecting your energy, Crowley. You said it yourself, that your miracles became difficult to perform. Is it still so?” 

Crowley frowned and pursed his lips. Not only had his miracles become ‘difficult’, but these days he could not perform them at all without feeling like he’d run a marathon. Even his everyday routine of miracling his jeans looser became too much to handle; he had to settle for looping a hairband around the button (a trick he’d looked up on the Internet) or wearing joggers. “I mean, yeah, but… I didn’t need miracles to feel them before, I just did .“

“You were still tapping into your celestial powers, even unconsciously,” he pointed out. “If they’re drained, or… affected somehow, it makes sense that you wouldn’t be able to. I think that’s the reason.” 

Whatever little comfort that was supposed to bring Crowley, the attempt fell flat. He felt pretty useless these days as is, sensitive like never before, and with his miracles now, supposedly, gone… Well, that wasn’t comforting at all, in fact. “So I’m just in the dark now, huh.” He shifted on the sofa and let out a bitter laugh. “Great.”

“You’re not.” Aziraphale caressed the side of his head, gently petting his hair. “I can always check up on them for you.”

“As if I wasn’t relying on you enough already.”

“Crowley, that’s my job. I’m your partner , you’re growing our baby —the least I can do for you is to take care of you.” Aziraphale sighed. “You like when I take care of you...”

The demon turned his face away, though Aziraphale’s hand remained on his cheek without issue. He did not attempt to swat it off. But he continued to not say anything more, only breathing with slight difficulty, still trying his hardest to look annoyed or tetchy, but succeeding only in looking troubled and confused.

The angel looked out the window and let out a sigh. “Maybe Tracy was right. We need a vacation. Let’s get away from the house and drive somewhere. I’m sure it’ll help clear both our heads for the big day tomorrow, hm?”

Crowley huffed and scowled. “Angel, I’m not driving anywhere, I don’t want to drive anywhere.”

“I’ll drive. Just a day trip. Nowhere far,” Aziraphale reassured him. “When was the last time we went anywhere other than Tadfield and London? Come on, love. You’ll like it.”

“I… ugh.” Crowley rolled his eyes and groaned. He knew the sound of that particular tone of voice the angel now had—Aziraphale was being sweet, but annoyingly determined and unyielding was usually what it meant. “I’m not gonna convince you otherwise, am I?”

“I won’t pressure you, dear.” The angel waved his other hand in the air in a placating gesture, though, truth be told, he wasn’t planning on backing out unless Crowley put up some serious resistance. “But I really do think it’ll do you good.”

Crowley chewed his lip and looked down at his abdomen. Maybe Aziraphale was right—he needed a distraction, and he wasn’t feeling half-bad, if you take the hormones out of the equation. “Ffffine,” he growled. Slowly, he sat up and got off the sofa. “Where are we even going?”

“Wait and see,” the angel chirped, which only drew a long, tired breath from the demon. In a few long strides he made his way out the living room archway and down the hall to reach the bedroom to change. Aziraphale sighed at the sound of his footsteps and grumbling noises receding. Nevermind that —he told himself. The objective was to cheer Crowley up no matter what, and the angel felt he would succeed. 

“I hate how stubborn you get with these things, angel,” Crowley grumbled, melting into the upholstery of the passenger’s side seat. Aziraphale noted how rather charming he looked with his hands crossed and lying atop of his bump. If he was trying to appear any bit intimidating, he was failing miserably. “We could’ve just stayed home .”

“And let you run yourself into the ground with these thoughts, Crowley? No thank you. You need to take your mind off things and relax. As do I.”

The demon looked at him and continued snappily, “What, you’re suddenly worried too? Didn’t you say everything was ‘fine’ ?” 

“It is , but that doesn’t mean I don’t worry about you , darling,” replied the angel. He gently manoeuvred the car along the road, mindful of any bumps or divots. Unlike when Crowley drove, the Bentley sailed smoothly—like butter on a hot plate. “You’ve been in your head a lot lately. So help me understand. Is it just the hormones bothering you, or is there something else?”

Crowley slid further down the seat, his knobbly knees bumping against the glove compartment. “You know exactly why I’m like this,” he sighed. “I just worry, angel, day in and day out, that something might go wrong, and—“

Aziraphale cut him off. “Crowley, you’re doing everything you’re supposed to be doing. You’re resting, you’re eating well, and you’re not doing anything that has even the slightest chance of being bad for you or the child,” he enumerated, extending one finger off the wheel for each of the points. “You have to give yourself a break, my love.”

“Yeah sure, I do everything right, but I don’t have control over anything!” Crowley exclaimed, sounding frustrated and insecure. “That’s the whole point! I have no idea what’s happening to me, or in there, and now I don’t even have the bloody miracles to keep an eye on things.”

Aziraphale sighed. He understood Crowley’s worry, he really did, but—perhaps for the sake of his own sanity—he was choosing the more logical approach to all this. It was the only way to stop himself from overthinking the issue as well. “That’s the reason we chose to have this process be guided by a doctor. We have the ultrasounds, the appointments, the tests, all at our disposal. Nothing has given any indication that there’s anything wrong in any way,” he reassured. 

The demon only stared out the window and bit his lips. The rational thought did not seem to assuage his fears that much, if at all. 

“Crowley…”

“Actually, I worry most that I’m just not cut out for this,” he murmured. His voice sounded soft and uneven, barely audible over the mechanic hum of the Bentley.

Of course. Aziraphale knew there must have been more to this unending anxiety that the demon felt. There must have been something deeper, something that was harder to escape because it could not be properly rationalised. It stuck to Crowley like a leech, draining him of not just his spirits but also his confidence. Aziraphale wasn’t going to continue to let it. “Listen, darling… Do you trust me?” the angel asked bluntly. 

The demon looked down at his feet. He couldn’t wear his usual boots anymore—too uncomfortable—so he opted for some comfy black running shoes that he did, actually, quite like, though it took a bit of finesse to work them into his usual style. Granted, half the time he couldn’t really be bothered to care about the way he looked anymore. He was beginning to feel too unmotivated for that, which was another testament to how low he actually was some days.

It took him a moment to switch his attention back to the angel. The days he didn’t feel ‘bad’ he usually just felt foggy, like his mind wasn’t operating at its full capacity. He wondered if that was how Jim, or Gabriel, felt when he said that his mind was too big for his head. “Umm… yeah,” he finally answered, shrugging. “With my life, evidently. Considering we’ve proven that many times already.”

Aziraphale looked at him sitting there, head hung low and suddenly very small. Crowley had a lot to get used to, a lot of things to contend with, but this was one of Aziraphale’s. To him, Crowley always felt like he filled the space, like he occupied every inch of a room that he was in, despite his thin frame. He could be completely still in a chair somewhere, he could remain quiet for the whole time, but he would still be felt all over the space. The angel loved that. It felt like, every time the demon came to the shop, every breath taken was Crowley , every step made on the dusty hardwood was following Crowley’s , every cup of tea drank was sweetened with Crowley . It was a billion times better than the essence of white that followed everywhere in Heaven that he’d grown not to just dislike— despise. Heaven was empty, cold, grating, and unwelcoming. Crowley’s presence felt like an embrace, warm like a thick blanket, comfortable and soothing, even when outwardly he remained the aloof, brash self that he was. 

Which was why this small, quiet Crowley was still taking some getting used to, which was no bother at all. For an angel conditioned to feel less-than, powerless, and out of control, Aziraphale knew he had the confidence and the courage to spare that his demon now needed so much. 

“Then just trust me, my love,” he smiled and reached out to hold Crowley’s hand. “You are cut out for this. You are brave and strong, but it’s alright to sometimes feel like you’re not. Just remember that you are wonderful , and you’ll be wonderful. There isn’t a doubt in my mind, my darling.”

The inside of the Bentley stayed quiet for the remainder of their journey after that. Like most of the times like these, Crowley did not know what to say to such words. They warmed him up a little from the inside, but they also always made him wary, wanting to try and refute such ‘obviously’ false claims, as his mind tried to convince him. But it was Aziraphale saying them, and, like he’d said, he trusted him. 

Even if Aziraphale would like to actually hear the confirmation that his words had reached Crowley, he knew without it that they did. All he could hope was that they would stick, but in the meantime, he was ready to repeat them as often as necessary.

Close to an hour later, they arrived at their intended destination. Crowley sat up and looked out the window at the sign they were about to pass. “The South Downs? Really, angel?” 

“Quite right. I heard it’s beautiful this time of year.”

It was—all around the road they drove on, the nature stretched in lush green fields, which were just beginning to yellow and dry a little underneath the late August sun, or the thick walls of trees and shrubbery. Aziraphale drove until they could get off the main road onto a path that led deeper into the park area and ended with a cul-de-sac that combined in itself the functions of a rest stop, a souvenir shop, and a start and end point to one of the many footpath systems that serpentined through the park like veins in a body.

Crowley got out of the car when they parked and paced to stretch his legs. To the angel’s surprise, he didn’t sound half as annoyed as when he was still in the vehicle, though he was, still, unmistakably grumpy—or tried to appear to be. Whether that was the angel’s words that had an effect like that, or just the change of the scene, he did not know, but he was happy to see it nonetheless. 

With his hands pressed against the low part of his back, Crowley stretched and looked around. “We’re here then. And we’re headed where, exactly?”

“Oh, I was thinking we could go down to the cliffside and the beach,” Aziraphale explained, getting out of the car too and walking over to join the demon’s side. 

Crowley shuffled to a nearby map of the area that stood close to the parking spaces. “So we’re just gonna walk… five miles or so, to the beach?” he asked, tracing what seemed the logical route to the destination Aziraphale was suggesting with his finger, and raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t feeling that tired today, but his legs still hummed unpleasantly from the anticipation of a long walk through the downlands of chalk soil and springy turf while being weighed down by a still modest yet already sizeable bump.

Aziraphale had thought it might be an issue, but—he had a plan. “Distance is… subjective,” he chuckled with a funny glint in his eye.

Crowley’s face cracked up in a grin. “Ahh. That’s a nice way of saying you’d miracle up a couple trails that certainly weren’t there before so we could get around faster.”

The angel nodded and smiled warmly, content that, at least seemingly so, Crowley was really starting to lighten up a bit. 

They followed the markers along the way through chalk downs and down to the coastline. As expected, the journey, as far as they were concerned, took probably half the amount of time it was supposed to, thanks to the angel’s rather liberal use of small but cleverly applied miracles. Crowley could practically smell the celestial energy in the air around them—every now and then the angel would ‘inconspicuously’ move his hand, and a trail would open up for them to take around the usual walking paths. It was as sweet and convenient as it was irksome, considering Crowley felt rather strongly about the fact that, miracle-y speaking, he was now as helpless as a newborn colt, comparatively. 

“I really don’t like this… magical impotence I’m experiencing,” he spat, curling his lip in genuine disdain.

Aziraphale helped him walk carefully on the uneven ground as it sloped downward to take them to the shoreline. “Remember that it’s temporary, darling.”

“Assuming that it’s really the baby’s doing, your ‘temporary’ still extends the next five months, angel.”

“Come now, don’t be so defeatist. What is five months for a being like yourself, hm?” 

Crowley scrunched up his face again and craned his head back with an exasperated groan. True, he knew that, relatively speaking, five months was an insignificant blip in their timeline of over six thousand years, but it didn’t make the wait much easier to stomach. He was patient; he could wait years if need be, and he had, for most of that timeline. Which is maybe the exact reason why now the idea of waiting seemed so tiresome—he had quite enough of it as it was.

The angel held his hand for the last stretch of their descent. The air from the waterside blew nice and crisp, in wonderful contrast to the general stuffiness of the end of summer. The wind danced betwixt the coppery locks of Crowley’s hair, which cascaded to his shoulders, gently pulling apart the waves and ruffling it up in a way only nature’s artistic touch could. Grumpy or not, he looked fetching. The angel couldn’t help staring for a little longer than necessary, long enough that Crowley would notice. 

He turned away from the vista before him and looked at his husband, who did not avert his eyes. After a moment of gazing at one another, Crowley gruffed and took a few steps to force them to continue walking along the path that led to the beach. They still held hands as they did so. 

“Do you think they’ll have powers, like us?” Aziraphale asked suddenly. It was a thought he’d been considering since the beginning of it all. With how unprecedented their whole situation was, it was still anybody’s guess what their child would be like. Being born on Earth, would they be more earthly than celestial? Would they take mostly after one of them, or arrive somewhere in between? 

“Eh, maybe?” the demon shrugged. “With how she’s affecting my resources, I guess she already does?”

The angel looked at Crowley again and tilted his head, smiling warmly. “Still sure they’re a girl, are you?”

“Hnrgh, I dunno. Guess we’ll see tomorrow,” Crowley answered, stuffing his free hand in the tight pocket of his jeans. “I just hope they’re okay, above all else.”

“ She is, Crowley. Don’t stress.” Aziraphale squeezed his hand gently and caressed the bumps of his knuckles. Crowley huffed again, which was beginning to seem like his favourite activity of the day. The angel snickered over to the side, his shoulders shaking gently, and they continued on their merry way to the beach. 

There, they stalked further away from the other visitors of the park, to a place more secluded and quiet. The angel summoned the small basket he’d packed from the car’s boot and handed it to Crowley to hold while he unrolled the picnic blanket. “I packed some ham and cheese sandwiches and those sourdough ones you like, dear.”

“The BLT ones?” 

Aziraphale chuckled at the note of excitement in the demon’s voice. “Yes. Oh, and some scotch eggs. And sausage rolls. And biscuits.”

Crowley loudly barked with laughter, scaring off a curious seagull who was trying to approach them. “ Hells , angel. Is that just for the two of us, or d’ya plan to invite more people? Who packs this much food for a picnic?”

“Me, evidently,” he replied, sounding a tad aggrieved. “And all the people I wish to spend this picnic with are already here, so. Sit down, dear. You should eat something.”

He extended a hand to help Crowley down onto the blanket, which the demon reluctantly took. Making himself comfortable took a moment, but as he did, it did feel very nice to rest after their walk. The sea breeze continued to play with his hair and tickle his nose, and the sandwich he took a big, hungry bite out of was, as was all his husband’s cooking, ambrosial . “Thas good, ‘Ziraphale. Really good.”

“I am very pleased you like it, my love. The sourdough is a fussy little thing, but I seem to be getting the hang of it.”

“As is this little thing,” Crowley patted his stomach. “Very fussy. And I’m decisively not getting the hang of it, not even close.”

“You will,” the angel assured him. He helped himself to a nicely browned sausage roll and then carefully poured the still hot tea from the thermos into some cups—for himself and for Crowley. The demon took the one he extended to him with an amused snort but sipped it with enthusiasm. 

He carried on thoughtfully between the sips of his tea and the bites of his sandwich. “Y’know, it’s interesting. I mean, miracles—they’re sort of an appointed power, right? Considering we get resources to perform them from Heaven and Hell’s vaults, and—our baby won’t have access to those, will she?”

Aziraphale scratched his chin. “I… don’t know, Crowley. We… can’t know how that’ll work. Nobody can.”

Sourcing power for miracles was, indeed, a tricky and complicated matter. It was the reason he and Crowley couldn’t allow themselves to be too frivolous with their miracles—if they were, it would draw unnecessary attention to them, which was something they wanted to avoid as much as possible. Heaven and Hell might have let them off their hooks, and a semblance of an agreement was reached, but they knew very well that that peace was fragile. In the absence of Beelzebub, Hell wasn’t terribly interested in pursuing Crowley, for multiple reasons. But Heaven… The angels there were as spiteful as a whole horde of demons. They never really let anything go. The idea that their child might need to have some sort of connection to Heaven in order to be able to use magic like them was frightening.

“I do suppose the only way to know would be to just… see, with time, how it all works,” he concluded uncertainly. “We can’t know anything for certain, I’m afraid.”

Crowley looked down at his belly and sighed. “Nyeah. Lots to figure out.”

He munched on his sandwich in silence for a bit, still looking pensively down at his pregnant stomach. Aziraphale moved to sit closer to him, enough that Crowley’s knee, as he sat cross-legged on the blanket, touched the angel’s thigh. The subtle touch helped ease both of their suddenly very worried thoughts. 

“Do you ever just…” began the demon quietly, “…stop and think: ‘What have we got ourselves into?’”

“Sometimes,” the angel sighed. “But I’ve never regretted our choice. Not for a second.

Crowley shook his head and waved a hand in the air. “ No no no , that’s not what I’m— not what I’m implying, angel. It’s just… everything is a mystery. We really don’t know what we’re doing or what to expect. There are so many questions and no answers whatsoever.”

The angel put a hand on Crowley’s knee and squeezed it tenderly. “We’ll just have to figure it out as we go, my love.”

“I know that, but… ugh . Yeah, alright.”

They went back to eating their snacks in the relative calm and quiet of the beachside, interrupted only by the swooshing of water, bird calls, and occasional distant voices of other people. Although Crowley wished he could just relax and unwind, he was now plagued by theories he had never considered before and anxieties that had been brewing in the back of his mind but were now rising to the surface. He absentmindedly caressed his stomach, unable to stop thinking of the little creature residing within, and actually cowered away from Aziraphale’s touch the deeper he plunged into his thoughts. 

The angel took the hint and slowly got up from the blanket. “I’ll go check the water, dear.”

“Mhm.”

He walked up to the very edge of the sea and peered into the distance where the water met the sky, stretching for miles and miles whichever direction he would look. It reminded him of the time he’d spent Up there, where he felt the loneliest he’d felt in centuries. How much he wanted to return to Earth and be with the one being he had valued more than anything else in the universe.

There were two now, and while he tried not to show it, he fretted incessantly for them both. He worried about Crowley’s health, about his state of mind. He knew from the start that this pregnancy was going to be tough on him, but perhaps he had underestimated just how much. All he wished for was for Crowley to be happy; he wanted to lift him up, to carry him over the hurdles of his struggles. And he tried; he really, really tried, but…

Just then, he felt a wave of some indescribable, muddied-up emotion hit him in the back, like a great gust of powerful wind that signified the beginning of a hurricane. He stumbled around, nearly losing his balance on the rocks, eyes wide as he searched for Crowley’s form a distance away from where he stood. He found him where he left him, cross-legged on the blanket, staring down at his abdomen—but now he could see the profoundly shocked look on his face that he could not quite place. Afraid that something might have happened, he rushed to him as fast as he could and knelt down before him.

“Crowley? Crowley, is something wrong?”

The demon’s expression turned into a frown, and he shook his head vehemently. Aziraphale opened his mouth a mere second before Crowley interrupted him with a grunt—so he shut it and simply watched, his heart beating in his chest, while the other being slowly moved his spider-like fingers atop the swell, searchingly, as if trying really hard to sense something.

Then, a ripple of shivers ran through Crowley again, and he jolted visibly, and his brows shot up so high that he looked almost cartoony. 

“ I just felt it, ” he whispered.

The angel peered into his face, suddenly even more confused and concerned. “W-what?”

Crowley splayed his fingers and let his hand drift downward, now holding the bottom part of his bump, just below the navel. “I felt her , angel. Just now.”

That made Aziraphale loosen up a little, and his voice took on a hint of excitement, even if a little shaky. “Oh! S-so your miracles are back? Well, that’s wonderful, my de— ”

“No, Aziraphale, I mean that I felt her. Physically ,” the demon choked out. He felt that he was finding it hard to find the words to express himself, because his entire body was like every nerve in it was firing out at once, completely overwhelming him with emotion and feeling and all of it. He made every effort to focus on the strange little wobbling he could feel inside himself. It would start, then cease, then pick up again—gentle jerks that made his heart stutter and his breath catch in his throat. 

Finally, he forced himself to look up at his angel, who still stared at him with wide-open eyes, silently, as if he was trying not to scare off this moment that Crowley was having. Another jolt sent a shiver down his spine and actually made him gasp a little. Then, as the reality finally began to set in, Crowley melted into a wobbly smile, and Aziraphale quickly followed suit.

“Y-you truly feel it?” he quavered. 

Crowley continued moving his hands around, which helped him focus on the movements a little better. They were small, very subtle, and yet each one ripped right through him like a bolt of lightning, and he could barely make his fluttering heart still. “Y-yeah, it’s… it’s still going, there’s just… a little movement every now and then, and… oh, hells, it’s… it’s indescribable.”

The angel kept on watching him, with a smile now that was gentle and loving and warm. His eyes rowed over the demon’s hunched over form, the way his hands moved around, the way his face would twitch a little with what looked to be surprise and complete, unbound awe. “W-well, can you still try, my love? To describe it,” he said softly, extending a hand toward Crowley’s belly, waiting for an invitation to touch. 

Instead, the demon pulled him to sit more comfortably atop the blanket and crawled over his legs so he could sit between them, pressed with his back against the angel’s chest. Aziraphale nearly melted at the gesture, allowing Crowley to snuggle up closer to him, wrapping his arms around him. They moved their hands on top of the bump together. 

Crowley closed his eyes, looking inward to concentrate. “Alright, it’s like, uh… Imagine bubbles in champagne rising to the surface, but I’m the champagne glass? It sorta… tickles , but from the inside. Couldn’t even tell what it was at first, but it’s… I’ve never felt anything like it, that’s for sure.”

“That sounds very unique indeed, my love.” He put his chin on the demon’s shoulder and gazed down at his body, which was getting so, so beautifully full and rounded. 

“Can you try something, angel?” Crowley asked, pressing his cheek against Aziraphale’s. “Try, uh, looking at her again. With your miracles. I’ll tell you when she’s moving.”

“Oh! Oh, that’s a wonderful idea, Crowley. Alright, let’s see…”

The angel closed his eyes as well and breathed out, channeling his miracle inside the warm, snuggly domain of the demon’s womb, where he saw the little one for the first time like this that morning. Slowly, a shiny form emerged on the celestial plane, painting itself on the back of his eyelids. He reached out for it gently and touched it. It was warm like a droplet of dew warmed by the dawning sun.

Then, it rippled. 

“Oh, uh, now! Yeah, just felt it again!” exclaimed the demon. “Did you see anything?”

Aziraphale exhaled. He was completely awestruck. “Yes, yes, my sweet. I did .”

“Well, what does it look like?” Crowley asked, curious. 

“Well, she’s a light. A little light, like a…”

“Star. Little star,” he finished for him, smilingly. 

The angel pressed his fingertips a bit firmer to the taut surface of the demon’s belly, and turned his head to nuzzle into his neck. Crowley chuckled at the tickling sensation of the angel’s breath on his skin. “Mhm. Little star,” he drawled, the sound of his voice muffled. “And… when she moves, her light twinkles a bit. And she’s warm.” 

Crowley was smiling so much that it seemed as if he was making up for the lost days when he wasn’t. The baby inside him fluttered again. He let his head hang back, pressing against the angel. Warm . She gets that from you, angel —he thought to himself. “I can’t wait to see her tomorrow,” he whispered.

“Oh? You’re not worried anymore?” Aziraphale asked carefully.

“‘Course I am,” Crowley scoffed. “But she’s moving, and I can now feel that she’s there. Great comfort, that.”

He stretched his legs and finally opened his eyes. 

“We should probably get back,” the demon said, but he made no attempt to move. 

“Not yet…” replied the angel quietly. He was still pressed into the crook of the demon’s neck, and Crowley could feel that he was smiling, and that he would let out little puffs of air, the tiniest gasps, every time the movement inside picked up again. 

“Heh. Enjoying yourself, angel?”

“You know better than anyone how hard it is to resist a bit of stargazing, my dear. She’s stunning .” He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s neck and embraced him just a little tighter. 

“Oh I bet she is…” the demon drawled, relaxing into the warmth of Aziraphale's soothing, loving touch.

The sky above them was just slowly turning into the pinks and yellows of the evening. The sea whispered with the gentlest waves.

An angel and a demon spent just a little bit more time together before they would get up and walk back, holding each other close the entirety of the way.