“You can’t get me!” Adam shrieked, Crowley panted, for a four year old he could really run.
“Adam!” Warlock yelled as Adam ran through his military base made of wood blocks, Adam came to a halt and began to comfort his friend. ‘Good lord,’ Crowley thought, he snuck up behind Adam, poked his sides and rushed to grab him around the waist before he ran off.
“The beast has me!” Adam giggled, “Warlock help!” Warlock made a deep noise in his throat and banged on Crowley’s thigh.
“Let him goooo,” Warlock whined, punching Crowley’s thigh, he toppled to the ground dramatically and released Adam, who stood triumphantly with one foot on Crowley’s stomach.
“The Great Beast Asmodeus has been defeated,” Crowley cried, reaching a hand out, he could swear he’d read or heard the name somewhere, and Asmodeos had died nearly three times this week. Adam and Warlock cheered as Crowley pretended to choke and laid his head down, tongue out.
“Oh, leave Mr.Crowley alone,” Anathema, Crowley’s co-worker, scolded. The children nodded and ran off in the direction of Pippin Galadriel Moonchild (who had recently began going by Pepper), Brian, and Wensleydale. Anathema pulled Crowley up with a strong tug, she could pull a lot more weight than her sinewy arms would lead you to believe.
“Ana we’re playing,” Crowley straightened his apron and floral name tag.
“I was just worried they actually killed you this time,” Anathema pushed up her round glasses, Crowley thought that the combination of them and her frilly clothes and fluffy brown hair made Anathema look a bit like an owl, but he would never tell her that.
“Well I did do theatre in school,” Crowley flipped invisible hair from his shoulder.
“You were on crew,” Anathema teased.
“I will have you know,” said Crowley, “I was Heather McNamara’s understudy in year eleven.”
“Miss Athena?” Pepper tugged on Anathema’s dress.
“Anathema,” said Anathema, sounding the word out.
“An-athema,” Pepper sounded out, “Greasy Johnson tripped and now he has a boo-boo.”
“Don’t call him that, it’s rude,” Crowley chided.
“Sorry Mister Crowley,” Pepper looked down at her bright green frog socks, before leading Anathema to Greasy Johnson, who was crying on the floor with a red knee.
At six seventeen, Adam was the only child left at daycare, as he often was, his father apparently worked late, though Crowley had never met him, he didn’t work well with the parents, Anathema was normally the one signing children in and out. Crowley sat behind the small front desk that had none of its original color left on it, it was a victim of arts and crafts days, while Adam quietly played with wooden blocks nearby.
“Excuse me,” a soft voice said, startling Crowley, “Do you work here?”
‘What is it now?’ Crowley thought and without looking up, said, “If you need need something you can talk to Anathema.”
“Oh, I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” the man said, Crowley looked up, and his eyes met with a set of blue ones, a frazzled man with perfectly messy blonde hair, “I’m here to pick up my son, Adam. Could I just quickly sign him out?”
“Ye-yes,” Crowley stammered, the blonde man was hardly older than him, maybe a year or two, “What’s your name?”
“Aziraphale Fell,” Adam’s father said, at this point, Adam recognized his father’s voice and ran over to hug his legs, scarcely meeting his hips.
“How do you spell that?”
“A-z-i-r-a-p-h-a-l-e,” Aziraphale told him, adding “Where’s Ms.Device?”
“Oh, she’s getting paint off her face, courtesy of Brian” Crowley laughed, and bent over the desk to Adam, ruffling his dirty blonde curls, “So Adam, this man is not kidnapping you?”
“Nope!” Adam giggled and squeezed Aziraphale’s leg, “This is my papa!”
“Well, if you’re certain. See you tomorrow!”
“Bye-bye, Mister Crowley!” Adam tugged his father out of the daycare’s glass doors and Crowley rested a, now pink, cheek in his hand.
“Anathema?” Crowley asked from the couch in Anathema’s living room while title cards for The Golden Girls played.
“Hm?” Anathema came out of her kitchen with two glasses of ‘fancy grape juice’ and sat next to Crowley, handing him a glass.
“Is it always Mr.Fell that comes to pick up Adam, or does his wife help?”
“Mr.Fell doesn’t have a wife,” Anathema took a sip of her drink.
“Single father or gay father?” Crowley asked.
“I would say both. Why?”
“Are you sure he’s even a father? He’s like a baby with those eyes and that dumb hair,” Crowley took a very long sip of his wine.
“He’s an adult, Crowley,” Anathema paused, “Although I think he’s technically Adam’s uncle. Something with his sister not being able to keep Adam, I don’t know I try not to pry.”
“He’s a baby.”
“He’s a working father.”
“Well, he’s a very hard working baby,” Crowley concluded.
“For Pete’s sake Crowley, you’re younger than him.”
“I’ve been aged far beyond my years. Im seventy-two on the inside,” Crowley dramatically popped his back.
“You’re twenty-three,” she deadpanned, “He’s twenty five.” Crowley groaned and sipped his wine quietly, turning his attention to The Golden Girls.