Crowley was having a rather nice time watching over Warlock- watching over the Antichrist , if he was being honest. However, he was a demon, so didn't owe anything even resembling the truth to anyone. Except, perhaps, Aziraphale, but that was a different matter altogether. Crowley didn’t owe it to anyone to say he was having a nice time taking care of a four-year-old, and that was that.
He was having a rather good time, though.
Crowley had always been fond of human children, and the Antichrist wasn’t all that different, aside from the destiny to bring about the end of the world and all that. Crowley fed him, played with him, sang him to sleep; he did all the things one would do when caring for a small child. And while he was ashamed to admit it, he enjoyed every minute of being the nanny of the Dowling family. Well, every minute that involved Warlock. Some of the other people in the house were too rude and vulgar, even for the demon himself.
He put all of that to the side, however, and focused on caring for Warlock. Crowley told himself he was doing what was necessary to prevent armageddon. He was only doing what he had to. He needed to put a band-aid on Warlock’s knee when he scraped it. He needed to carry him on his shoulders through the garden so he could pick leaves from the trees. He needed to scare off or miracle away dangerous creatures and people alike. He needed to keep the child- the Antichrist, safe. It was all part of the plan. That’s what Crowley told himself. That’s the rationalization he used again and again as he gave Warlock more love and attention than the boy’s own mother.
It’s the same rationalization he used later that day, when he heard a crashing noise downstairs, followed by what could only be little Warlock crying. Crowley rushed downstairs, finding Warlock sitting on the floor next to a table and a few objects that had been knocked off of it.
“Little one, what did you do?” he asks softly, picking Warlock up and turning him around. He’s shocked by the blood trickling out of the child’s nose. He had forgotten for a moment just how fragile humans were. “Oh dear,” he says, sitting Warlock on the couch as he cries and hiccups. “Shh, it’s alright.” He pulls a cloth from the pocket of his skirts and wipes just under Warlock’s nose, miracle-ing away the blood as he does so. He can’t have anyone catching on to the fact he’s a demon, or worse- thinking he’s an angel.
Just as Warlock’s crying stops, he looks down and sees the blood on his clothes, and the tears return, falling down his face even quicker. He squirms and looks back up at Crowley.
“Shh, Warlock,” Crowley whispers. He can see the fear and confusion in Warlock’s eyes, and it hurts him just where he thinks his heart would be. “Let’s check your nose, dear.”
Crowley could see that Warlock's nose was broken. Warlock must have crashed hard, or just the wrong way, and it was probably still causing him pain even after Crowley stopped the bleeding.
"It's not broken at all," he lies. "Does it still hurt?"
Warlock wipes his eyes and nods. "Mhm. Kiss?"
Crowley smiles. "Of course I'll kiss it better." He leans forward, gently kissing the bridge of nose, using the contact to miracle away the damage. When he pulls back, Warlocks nose is fine, as if nothing had happened. "Better?"
Warlock's eyes are still wet, but he nods again, and reaches out for Crowley, clenching and unclenching his little hands. "Up," he says. "Carry me."
Crowley picks him up and sets him on his hip. "How about we get you changed and go into town for some ice cream?" Crowley asks, heading for the stairs.
Warlock lights up. "Yeah!" He wraps his arms around Crowley's neck and hugs him tight. "I love you, nanny!"
Crowley looks at Warlock with just nearly more adoration than he has ever held for any other living being, the amount of emotion he felt in that moment only trumped by the six-thousand-year-old love he felt for his angel.
“I love you too, Warlock.” He kisses the child’s forehead. “Now let’s get you in some clean clothes. Try not to dirty them up again with your ice cream.”
“I’ll try!” Warlock exclaims, beaming.
Crowley is sure that the little Antichrist will fail to keep his clothes clean, but it’s alright. Doing laundry isn’t all that bad.
As he carries Warlock up the stairs, Crowley thinks about just how much he’ll miss moments like these when Warlock grows up and realizes his place in the universe. Until then, Crowley will sing him lullabies about the destruction of Earth and simply hope for the best.