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Is he single or is he just gay

Chapter Text

“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.

Chapter Text

“The Great Beast Asmodeus will get you!” Crowley ran after Brian and Adam, who had already been gotten by the Great Beast Asmodeous four times this week, but he seemed to be their favorite monster, with Sir Pepper (she had insisted on Sir rather than Lady) on his heels, brandishing a cardboard sword that was now decorated with jewels made of various pieces of pasta and construction paper.
“Papa!” Adam suddenly changed directions, followed by Brian, The Great Beast Asmodeus and Sir Pepper. Crowley looked up, and his eyes met with blue, and he told himself the sudden weakness in his knees was due to Sir Pepper hitting them with her sword.
“You’re here early,” was all Crowley could say, looking at the clock; four twenty-nine.
“We’re going to get a dog!” Adam interrupted before his father could say anything.
“Going to pick him up?”
“Yes, already has a collar and everything,” Mr.Fell held out a small red collar with a shiny name tag.
“His name is Dog!” Adam exclaimed, he mostly exclaimed everything he said, actually.
“I let Adam pick the name,” Mr.Fell scratched the back of his head, blushing slightly, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly in a way you could only describe as adorable, and Crowley felt like a stupid school girl with matching pink cheeks. Mr.Fell grinned and gestured to Crowley, “Interesting outfit.”
It was then Crowley remembered he was wearing his black coat over his head to make himself into a hunchback, it didn’t really match with the blue and yellow apron with the big pink flower on it, and he took the jacket off in embarrassment. “Adam said that I should be a hunchback,” Crowley explained, cheeks growing from pink to red.
“Oh. Well, that’s probably because that’s what I’ve been reading to him.” Crowley asked himself who reads a child Victor Hugo? Mr.Fell, he supposed, and of course he did.
“Papa, let’s go get Dog,” Adam tugged on his father’s hand, they all said goodbye and Crowley knew that he was going to need extra fancy grape juice tonight as Anathema laughed in his face.

Crowley sprawled out over Anathema’s couch, it was movie night and it was Anathema’s turn to choose the movie, and she was taking her sweet time.
“We are not watching Brokeback Mountain,” Crowley knew that music.
“Oh, but why?”
“I’m drunk and I will cry.”
“Love Simon, then.”
“Anathema. No sad gay movies,” Crowley complained, “You have enough sad gay right here,” he gestured to himself.
“And why are you a sad gay?”
“Anathema we aren’t talking about Mr.Fell,” Crowley took a sip of his wine.
“I didn’t say anything about Mr.Fell,” Anathema pulled out some other movie.
“You were,” Crowley searched his brain for a word, “Implying it.”
“He’s gay, you know,” Anathema put in some obscure movie about witches.
“I thought you said you didn’t like to pry.”
“I wasn’t prying,” Anathema defended herself, “I saw it on facebook.”
“Oh! Facebook stalking boys for me, now?”
“Shut up. Just ask him on a date.”
“What?” Crowley’s face flushed, “No! Not my type, besides, I’m probably not his type anyways. He probably only likes other guys that read big books and have pretty hair and blue eyes. Or guys that look like girls, repressed homosexuality and all that.”
“You don’t look like a girl-”
“I sure hope not!”
“Sorry,” Anathema went red with embarrassment, “Okay, we can stop talking about this and watch Fight Club?”
“If we’re gonna watch Brad Pitt can we at least watch Inglorious Basterds?”
“Fine. But only because you’re sad,” Anathema grumbled.
“I wuv you,” Crowley grinned.

Meanwhile, Adam Fell was carrying a little black and white dog that was halfway asleep in the boys arms, telling a story about how today Warlock had climbed on top of The Great Beast Asmodeus’s head and nearly tugged a tuft of red hair out.
“Is that his real name?” Aziraphale interrupted.
“Yeah, his parents are weird. They’re Americans!”
“Not the Dowlings, and don’t call people weird, it’s rude.”
“Sorry, Papa.”
“I mean The Great Beast Asmodeus, is that a real name? Sounds like a demon,” Aziraphale was well aware of who Asmodeus (the demon) was, but who knew what people were naming kids nowadays.
“Oh! His real name is Mister Crowley! Everyone loves him,” Adam lowered his voice, as much as a four year old could lower their voice, “But you can’t tell Miss Anathema.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear. Is Mister Crowley new? I haven’t heard you talk about him.”
“No, why?”
“Just curious,” Aziraphale assured, and Adam began to tell a new story about Sir Pepper and Prince Wensleydale fighting the awful dragon-king, Warlock. Aziraphale and Adam returned to their small flat which hadn’t needed much dog-proofing, it was already baby proofed, which Adam didn’t really need anymore but Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to take the baby gates down or the locks off the cabinets, if anything happened to Adam, he would probably leap out a window.
Adam sat playing with Dog, who thankfully didn’t need much training, he was already a year old, apparently his old home didn’t want him, something about not going well with cats, but Aziraphale never planned on adopting a cat, because Adam was allergic, so it worked out alright. Aziraphale turned on a movie about Oscar Wilde, and was very glad Adam wasn’t paying it any attention when it was hardly to the fifteen minute mark and it was already showing things Adam shouldn’t be seeing. He would have to finish it after Adam went to bed. Speaking of which, it was seven, and that meant bath time.
“Adam, dear, it’s bath time,” Aziraphale said as he got off the beige love-seat to start the bath.
“I can do it myself, Papa,” Adam protested.
“Alright, but I will be right here if you need me,” Aziraphale sat on the floor as Adam closed the bathroom door, and probably splashed water all over the floor as he leapt into the tub and giggled.
Aziraphale read the freshly-bathed Adam to bed with The Hunchback of Notre Dame, changing the occasional sentence to fit a four year old, even if he wouldn’t remember it in a few years.
Aziraphale did end up finishing the Oscar Wilde movie, not what he had expected, but it was enjoyable. He remained glad he didn’t let Adam watch it, so much nudity, good lord. Aziraphale ended up falling asleep on the loveseat, and his dreams were invaded by a redhead and Oscar Wilde.

Chapter Text

Monday, Crowley had a crick in his neck from falling asleep on Anathema’s couch in one of his odd contortionist like positions he found comfortable, that Anathema often posted on her instagram, tagged of course, she was like that. So The Great Beast Asmodeus took a break, his brother, Mephistopheles, took over, even if none of the children could pronounce it. They didn’t need to pronounce the name of something to vanquish it, well, maybe a witch, but Anathema hadn’t fallen down dead yet, maybe because they couldn’t get her full name right.
This week, The Them (Pepper, Brian, Wensleydale Adam, and occasionally Warlock) had decided to become American cowboys, at Warlock’s request, Pepper seemed all too excited to run about with a fluorescent orange gun and chew sticks, and Adam had gotten into the habit of saying “Y’all”, which is something Wensleydale refused to say. Crowley, or Wild Cowboy Mephistopheles, had been outfitted with a black cowboy hat far too small for his head, and The Them all wore matching animal print cowboy hats, complete with jewels with their initials on the front.
“This town ain’t big enough for the two of us, Sheriff Warlock,” Mephistopoles declared, fingers on his bright green water gun. A tumbleweed named Brian sommersalted between Warlock and Crowley, and Adam made his best attempt at whistling for background music.
“Get ‘em sheriff!” Pepper yelled.
“DONG!” Mayor Wensleydale put his arms above his head.
“High noon!” Warlock yelled, reaching for his water gun.
“Yah!” Mephistopoles pulled out his gun in the same moment as Warlock, pointing it at the boy’s chest and firing a very pathetic squirt of water.
“Hey!” a boy protested as the water hit his head.
“Ligur! Go away!” Pepper told the boy, apparently Ligur, he was new, him and what was his name had already formed a little clique, of two, it was a bit pathetic. They didn’t really like Crowley, or Mephistopheles, or Asmodeus.
“Hah! You’ve been hit!” Warlock triumphed, squirting Mephistopheles with water, thankfully it wasn’t apple juice, he had done that once before.
“We gottem, y’all!” Adam jumped in the air as Mephistopoles clutched his chest, sinking to his knees in shock, the children danced around him singing a victory song, as he dropped his head and stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth, with a final groan, Mephistopoles closed his eyes.
“Snack time,” Anathema announced, and Brian stepped on Crowley’s stomach in his rush to be first in line for goldfish, even if everyone got the same amount of food. Crowley stood up, brushing himself off, and picked his hat up off the floor, and put it back into the costume box/costume pile overflowing from the box, next to the golden plastic crown the children wore on their birthday.

“Crowley can you work front desk again? I have a headache,” Anathema rubbed her temples.
“No you don’t. And if you did wouldn’t being at the desk instead of taking care of kids help?”
“Oh come on,” Anathema stuck her bottom lip out, “I’ll tell Tracy you’ve been slacking, we’re supposed to take turns.”
“Blackmail is illegal,” Crowley sat in the run-down spinning chair, “You’re going to influence the children. That’s my job.”
“Oh and what an awful influence you are, a true demonic presence in their lives.”
“They have murdered me in cold blood every day,” Crowley shrugged, his friend sighed in response and went back to where Ligur and Hastur were antagonizing Uriel for having a funny name, oh he would be getting an earful from Mr. and Mrs.Christensen today when they came to pick up a crying daughter. Those two were definitely his least favorite parents, and their kid was a little spoiled, but she was almost five, this was probably (hopefully) her last year here.
Crowley was right, he did receive an earful from Uriel’s father Gabriel when he came to pick her up at six-fifteen, a bit later than usual, but apparently he’d had a “spat” at work and his wife was away on business. At six-eighteen, Crowley was still getting scolded by Gabriel as if what two children had done was his fault, as things that went wrong were often, like Uriel being stung by a bee, what on Earth could Crowley have done to prevent a child from being stung by a bee?
“Papa!” Adam crawled out from under the desk, where he often sat at the end of the day, leaning on Crowley or Anathema’s legs staring out of the glass door awaiting his father. Crowley had just recently found himself in a similar routine.
“Hello, dear,” Aziraphale knelt down to hug Adam and Gabriel stopped his endless droning for a moment, “Hello, Gabriel, hello Uriel. My you’ve gotten big!” he reached out a hand to ruffle her hair or something of the sort, but she pulled away to hide behind her father’s legs.
“Hi Aziraphale,” Gabriel held Uriel behind him. Since when did these two know each other? Gabriel must know that Aziraphale’s kid went here, Adam was dropped off early and picked up late, but it didn’t sound like Aziraphale was aware Uriel co-existed with his son. Crowley supposed it was because Uriel didn’t really talk to anyone, she read a lot and occasionally played with Warlock but Crowley sometimes forgot she existed, if he was honest.
“Hi Uncle Gabe!” Adam said. Oh.
“Hello, Adam,” Gabriel sighed and left with Uriel close behind, with steps too calculated for a four year old.
“What a nightmare,” Crowley grumbled, although he didn’t mean to grumble out loud.
“Try living with him for twelve years,” Aziraphale laughed. God, that was a soft laugh. His eyes crinkled at the sides and his cheeks went the tiniest bit pink
“Is he your brother? You have different last names,” Crowley said.
“Half brother, we have the same mother. I haven’t seen him since Adam was two, I didn’t even know he lived here,” Aziraphale paused and his eyes fell to his feet, “My apologies, I’m rambling. He just isn’t my biggest fan.”
“Nah, ‘s alright, family can be awful,” Crowley didn’t have much experience with siblings, or parents for that matter, they weren’t around all that often.
“I was actually going to ask you a question,” Aziraphale looked to Crowley for an indication to continue, “I, erm, I’m going out Friday night after you’ve closed and I can’t find any sitters for Adam, I was just wondering if you could watch him? He,” the blonde stammered, “He really likes you and he suggested it. I’m sorry if it’s inappropriate. I-I’ll pay you. If you can't, I can just cancel my plans, it’s fine if you can’t,” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Actually, could you just forget about that?”
“I can do it, it’s fine. I’m normally with Anathema on Friday nights but I don’t think she’ll mind one missed movie night.”
“Oh. Are you two together?”
“No. Nope,” Crowley blurted, “She has a boyfriend, not my type anyways.”
“My apologies,” Aziraphale tugged at his flushed earlobe. Did he have an earring hole or was that a dimple? Crowley was staring. He shook his head.
“Okay let me just give you my number and you can text me the time and your address and all that,” Crowley put out his hand and Aziraphale placed a phone that was probably older than Adam with one of those wallet cases, in it was a picture of a very young Adam, in the bathtub. Very cliche, Aziraphale was definitely going to be ready to embarrass Adam when he was old enough. An admirable trait, Crowley thought.
“Anthony?” Aziraphale said when Crowley handed him his phone back.
“You don’t like it?” Crowley joked, “I picked it out myself.”
“No. I just think it suits you,” Aziraphale smiled. Adam, watching all of this, groaned and made Crowley remember he was supposed to be signing Adam out for the day. They had Adam signed out and confirmed as not abducted in a moment, and waved goodbye.

Chapter Text

The Them had decided that it was cowboys all this week, but they didn’t want Mephistopoles coming back to life, so Crowley took on four new personas, one every day, all parts of Mephistopole’s gang. The Good Cowboy Raphael, who didn’t want to be an outlaw and was spared by Mayor Wensleydale in their duel. The Bandit Azazel wore sunglasses all the time, which Pepper removed upon slaying him, they looked better on her anyways. The Other Bandit Lezaza, who stole his twin brother’s sunglasses from Pepper, before Brian sprayed him down with water from a pink squirt gun. Finally The Demon Crawly (Crowley was beginning to run out of names) that could turn into a rattlesnake, that Adam took as a pet rather than killing him.
At around five, many of the children had been picked up and Crowley’s phone buzzed.
Unknown: Hello, Anthony, I hope you can still care for Adam tonight at my flat. I will be there to pick up Adam in a moment, and you can go home and get changed, I’m not leaving until six-thirty.
Unknown: Oh this is Aziraphale by the way!
Crowley: yeah, send me ur address and i can be there by 6:15 and you can give me the rundown
Aziraphale: Oh thank you, dear.
Crowley told Anathema he was leaving early, she teased him about missing Mr.Fell, he replied by telling her he was taking care of Adam tonight, she replied with a wink. Who knew what Anathema’s winks meant, they could really mean anything but Crowley didn’t want to dwell on what he thought she might mean.
Crowley returned home in his bentley, he had found it in a junkyard when he was sixteen, he found the theatre kids were fairly good at fixing up old cars, although it was mostly crew kids working while the actors sang Greased Lightning off-key (they were fully capable of singing on-key but what’s the fun in that). He did find that the theatre kids couldn't fix the cassette, which had The Best of Queen stuck in it, Crowley didn’t actually own any other cassettes but if he had, he probably wouldn’t have felt the need to change it. Even if a few Queen songs had the nasty habit of making Crowley burst into tears, many of them just made him drive a bit too fast, but the old girl could handle it.
A GPS would tell you that Crowley lived fifteen minutes away from Madame Tracy’s Daycare, but Crowley would tell you he lived eight minutes away on a good day, and today was a good day. Crowley was in his flat at five twenty-three, he stripped down and took a very hot shower, most would call it too hot, but Crowley was practically cold blooded, so it felt amazing. He traced the scars on his chest and grinned at his reflection, they were practically fully healed. Crowley pulled on sweatpants and a very oversized maroon sweatshirt, normally what he would wear with Anathema on a Friday night, honestly the sweatshirt could’ve very well been Anathema’s, the two of them traded all the time, he lifted the collar to smell it. Weird witchy herbs, Anathema's sweatshirt.
“Alright, you,” Crowley pointed to his newest houseplant, a very sickly baby’s teardrops, he planned on nursing her back to health, it was a nice hobby. “You will grow better here,” he told the plant, gesturing to his fiddle leaf fig, Jackson, who had grown to be one of the nicest plants in the flat.
Crowley would often find badly treated plants in nurseries and turn care for them until they became beautiful and lush, he had originally planned to sell the healthy plants, but he got attached when he named them. The teardrops, which Crowley had decided to name Esmerelda, shuddered, despite the fact that Crowley did not keep his windows open (if he did his flat grew far too cold). Luna, a moon cactus was beginning to lean over in her pot towards the sun, so Crowley turned her around, she would even herself out, or else.
Aziraphale had texted Crowley his address, it was only twenty minutes away, but that actually meant twelve minutes away, or, as Crowley measured drive time, roughly three Queen songs away. Crowley was halfway through Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy when he found a place to park, but sat in the bentley another minute to let the song finish, despite having heard it thousands of times over the past six years. Crowley yanked his keys from the ignition and put then into his pocket, something he wasn’t always able to do because he often wore jeans too tight to fight anything but a bit of cash in the pockets.
“Mister Crowley!” Adam jumped into Crowley’s arms upon opening the door, Aziraphale running right behind him, he stopped when he realized it was Crowley.
“Adam you shouldn’t open the door without me,” Aziraphale pointed a hand holding a bowtie at the boy in Crowley’s arms, he was getting a bit too heavy to hold like that, so Crowley set him on the ground and ruffled his little dirty blonde curls.
“Yeah, kid, could be a monster,” Crowley dropped down to tickle Adam, who laughed loudly in protest.
“Thank you so much for watching Adam, dear. I don’t think I can thank you enough,” Aziraphale tied his bowtie from muscle memory, not a mirror in sight.
“Just leave us pizza money and we’ll be fine,” Crowley smiled.
“Pizza?!” Adam’s eyes lit up, and Aziraphale sighed.
“Well I suppose if I get food I want tonight it’s only fair that you have pizza,” Aziraphale reached for his phone-wallet for a twenty pound note, Adam made grabby hands at it but it was handed to Crowley.
“Where you going?” Crowley realized he hadn’t asked that yet.
“Papa has a DATE!” Adam yelled, before Aziraphale had opened his mouth, he was very good at that.
“Ooooo,” Crowley winked, “Is she cute?”
“I’m not sure what he looks like, to be honest,” Aziraphale confessed, “I let my friend set me up. His name is something strange and long I can’t remember it.”
“You’re one to talk Aziraphale,” Crowley teased, the other man blushed, it wasn’t all that difficult to make him blush, and Adam cleared his throat loudly.
“Right. Bedtime is seven-thirty, bathtime is an hour before, I’m sure Adam knows the rest,” Aziraphale told the blonde boy and the much taller, redheaded, boy.
“Got it,” Crowley nodded, “Bedtime at nine.”
Aziraphale rolled his blue eyes, “I should be home by seven-fourty, eight at the latest. I love you, Adam,” Aziraphale bent down to kiss his son’s forehead.
“I love you too, Papa,” Adam turned on his heel and was somehow on Crowley’s shoulders, he could swear the kid levitated, “Bye!” Aziraphale grabbed a tan coat and left the flat.
“Okay kid. Dad’s gone what do you wanna watch,” Crowley walked across the dining room that looked hardly used to the living room, which looked much more used. Not that it was messy, but the oak coffee table had an open coloring book, accompanied by scattered crayons on it, and the two camel love seats had a permanent sitting dent in each cushion, one of which was inhabited by a small black and white dog curled into a ball, probably napping. A snake plant sat in a small window next to jars of rocks and shells and pieces of sea-glass, and Crowley counted five scented candles in the living room alone, most of them had a baked good of some sort on the label, and only one had a lid.
Crowley ordered a plain cheese pizza, and Adam was already bathed before it arrived. Adam ate pizza with a fork and knife, and Crowley unhinged his jaw to shove it down his throat, he told Adam not to copy him, but Adam did anyways, and Crowley nearly had to perform his first heimlich when the boy shoved an entire slice into his mouth.
Adam was different in his home than he was at daycare, he talked more, and actually stopped moving his body for more than ten minutes at a time when he was engrossed by Doctor Who. Crowley wasn’t sure if Adam was allowed to watch Doctor Who, but if he could be read Victor Hugo he could handle the living plastic (Crowley had to start on season one, he wasn’t going to let Adam just skip Christopher Eccleston). If the boy had a nightmare Crowley would take the blame, he had started watching Doctor Who younger than Adam had, it was always re-running on the old television in his house growing up. He and Adam were beginning their second episode after Crowley had confirmed the first was not too scary when the door opened. It was hardly seven fifteen.
Crowley careened his head to see a rained-on Aziraphale rubbing his eyes and snivelling, walking towards the living room, Adam was already off the couch and on his way to his father.
“Ough!” Aziraphale laughed in surprise as the four year old leapt into his arms.

Aziraphale had not planned to be home early, his friend told him his date would be a good fit for him. But that was possibly the worst date he’d been on in his life, not that he had been on that many.
The man, who he had actually never officially asked his name, it got to a point where it was embarrassing to ask, had taken one look at Aziraphale and rolled his eyes. Aziraphale had told himself he was imagining things, and ordered a sushi platter (the only enjoyable part of the night) but the man ignored him all through dinner so he found himself eating in silence, before paying for his own food and leaving as quickly as possible.
Aziraphale wasn’t sure why a simple bad date was making him cry, but he hadn’t cried in quite a while, it was probably just built up emotions. He hadn’t had much to cry about in the past three years, he would say four but that would be lying, because the first year of Adam’s life had been miserable, even if Adam didn’t know that. Adam was eventually going to find out where babies came from and going to ask where his mother went, and Aziraphale would have to tell him that, he knew where she had gone. But he didn’t know where Adam’s biological father went, he would have to figure a way to explain that sometime. Hopefully the question wouldn’t come up for a while, though.
Aziraphale pleaded with his eyes for Crowley to put Adam to bed and let him take a shower and compose himself, Crowley furrowed his eyebrows, but nodded and took Adam off to bed, promising him a kiss from his father once he had showered. The promise was fulfilled and Crowley practically invited himself to stay and demanded Aziraphale tell him what had happened (“I would do it for anyone, ‘s no big deal,” he’d said).

Chapter Text

“Oh good lord it was awful,” Aziraphale presented his wine glass to Crowley, who poured him his second serving, the first he had drank while he told Crowley about his awful date. “I’ve hardly been on any dates since I had Adam. It’s difficult to finish university, be a single father, and balance a damned love life.”
“Yeah I get that,” the redhead nodded, and took a sip of his wine, he sat very awkwardly, Aziraphale noted. Limbs all tangled up like someone from a crime drama, which Aziraphale didn’t often watch but he found himself imagining a brooding detective poking a dead contorted body only for it to wake up and complain about interrupted sleep, he smiled. Crowley furrowed his brows (he was very good at that) and put his wine down, “What are you smiling at?”
“You just sit odd,” Aziraphale laughed.
“You’re as bad as Anathema,” Crowley grumbled, “She says I could join the circus.”
“Well you could. Get in a fancy outfit, put on some makeup and just sit in a chair, bound to amaze.”
“If I was ever going to be in the circus I would be a snake charmer.”
“And why is that?”
“I dunno, I like snakes,” Crowley shrugged, “When I was a kid my parents just kinda opened the door and told me be back by dinner. We lived near the woods and when I was eleven I brought home a grass snake, told mum and dad I was a parseltongue and that I had a new pet snake. It took them three days to realize I wasn’t lying about the second part.”
“If I ever did anything like that my parents would have sent me off the whole year around. I went to a sleep-away camp in the summers, worst six weeks of every year,” Aziraphale suddenly realised he was sharing more private information with Crowley than he had shared with anyone in years, “I’m rambling, sorry.”
“No you’re not, you had a shite date,” Crowley assured him, “I went to a sleep-away camp too. Just full of repressed teenage girls.”
“Was it co-ed? Mine wasn’t we interacted with the girls during the day but past six no contact was allowed. Sins and all that,” Aziraphale laughed and felt himself go a bit pink, “Some of the boys didn’t have a problem though.”
“No, mine was the same. But I uh.” Crowley made a gesture with his spindly arms. Oh. OH.
“Oh Crowley dear, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know-”
“Hey, hey. It’s fine. We can dig up childhood trauma some other time,” Crowley finished off his wine.
“Another time?”
“Yeah. I could use a new friend. Anathema is fun but she gets annoying,” Crowley bit his lip, Aziraphale noticed the small hole beneath his mouth, and his brain (not him) produced the image of Crowley with a lip ring, had Aziraphale been standing, his knees would have felt weak, and he would have told himself it was the wine. Aziraphale could also use a friend, he didn’t have that many, and he would have to have a discussion with the friend who’d set him up on that date.
“Oh. Alright with me, and I think Adam would like it, too.”
“Yeah, Adam would love it,” Crowley looked at his watch, who even wore watches anymore, “I should get going, I’m really tired.” Crowley was out the door all too fast and left Aziraphale alone to watch television, he found himself watching a new crime drama with a brooding detective, but it did not have a comically contorted body, a child had died, and he checked if Adam’s windows were locked before he finally went to bed.

Crowley drove home with Queen playing a bit too loud, “Shitshitshitthit,” he slammed his hands on his steering wheel. He had gotten way too personal, way too fast, with Aziraphale. He was just supposed to have pleasantries with him until Adam moved onto primary school, Crowley would see them in a Tesco a few years later and they would wave at each other awkwardly and that would be that.
Anathema was going to devour this information, and Crowley wasn’t sure he wanted her doing that, so he went right back to his flat, checked on the plants and flopped into bed, hardly bothering to take his shoes off before he fell asleep, one of the few things he prided himself in his ability on.
Saturday consisted mostly of plant threatening, ignoring texts from Anathema, and eating leftovers (which were always in the fridge, even if there was nothing for them to be left over from), all while Doctor Who played in the background, he had already seen the first six seasons, but he wanted to see Nine again, closest thing to childhood nostalgia Crowley could get.

Chapter Text

Crowley did end up telling Anathema about Friday night, and he was right, she did love this information, but swore on her very great-grandmother’s grave that she would not say anything. Crowley knew the stories about Anathema’s very great-grandmother, and was certain from what he’d heard that a swear on her grave was meaningless, she wouldn’t have cared.
Monday came and Crowley glared at Anathema when she asked him to help sign kids in, but Crowley was occupied with thoughts of how many times he would die this week, and how the children would do it, they were getting awfully creative. Adam was one of the first to arrive, as he often was, and he had decided that this week’s game was pirates, and declared himself captain of a cardboard box Crowley had brought out from the back of a supply closet. Warlock showed up roughly ten minutes later, his mother, Harriet, asked for a kiss goodbye and he made a raspberry in response, before rushing to investigate the cardboard box.
“This is the S.S Fell!” Adam announced proudly.
“That’s not fair,” Warlock crossed his arms, he was still wearing that awful blazer his mother forced him into every morning with a tiny American flag on it’s lapel.
“I’m the captain.”
“Why are you always the boss?”
“This is mutiny! You will walk the plank,” Adam pointed in a general direction, and ran off to the toy chest to grab a sword, pointing it at Warlock, “The Kraken will eat you!”
“The Kraken will eat both of you if you don’t stop bickering,” Crowley put a hand on each boy’s head, Warlock would have been taller if he didn’t slouch so much, though Crowley supposed he was guilty of that as well.
“Sorry Mister Crowley,” Adam dropped the sword.
“Sorry Crowley,” Warlock sighed.
“Wasn’t so hard, huh?” Crowley paused and dropped to his knees, “The Kraken is still going to eat you, though.” The boys went running, followed by Crowley, making noises that he assumed a giant sea beast would make. One could only assume, he’d never actually heard one before.

The Them spent the day building the ship, they had asked Anathema to give it a name because they couldn’t decide, so a few minutes later five children had miraculously crammed themselves into the S.S Nutter, complete with painted port-holes and a scented marker drawn smiley face in place of a shirtless mermaid.
Warlock and Adam had bickered over who would be captain, and Crowley suggested Pepper should be a leader, and she had already pulled her hair from it’s ponytail to make herself into the dreaded Captain Salty (“because I get salt in my beard”). Today’s murder included Adam, Warlock and Brain pushing the S.S Nutter with a sword taped to the ‘bow’ into The Kraken’s chest, while Captain Salty cheered loudly, apparently she had watched The Little Mermaid over the weekend. Crowley pointed out that he was a kraken, not a sea witch, but Captain Salty only stroked her beard to consider this for a second before ordering her servants to push the ship into The Kraken.

“Crowley could you please sign kids out while I clean?” Anathema honeyed her words, but it hadn’t exactly been a question, and she handed Crowley the clipboard and pen with the colorful pom-pom. Crowley begrudgingly signed kids out, he got a comment from Ligur’s mother on how the boy had to go to the hospital over the weekend, apparently had an allergy to grapes and Crowley handed her papers to fill out on epipens and all that, the woman snatched the papers and dragged her son out the door. Gabriel told Crowley that Uriel had spent the weekend talking about how Adam and the rest of The Them had teased her, even though Crowley knew full well they hadn’t. Well, Warlock could be a bit cruel, but The Them had rounded him out.
Adam had found his place beneath the front desk, watching for Aziraphale, and Crowley did the same, for some unknown reason. Crowley checked the clock, six fifteen, any moment now.
“Waiting for your boyfriend?” Anathema sat on the desk.
“You’ve disgraced Agnes,” Crowley went red.
“She wouldn’t’ve cared.”
“I know,” Crowley rolled his eyes, “He’s not my boyfriend. He is just Adam’s father, and we are friendly.” Adam popped out from beneath the desk at the mention of his name.
“Adam, I will actually eat you if you tell your Papa about this,” Crowley pointed a finger at the boy, who had a new scratch on his chin from outside time, it was probably going to scar.
“No you wouldn’t,” Adam was good at sensing lies, although he hadn’t figured out Santa yet.
“You wouldn’t what?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley felt as if his head was about to explode. If looks could kill, Anathema would have been badly injured, because Crowley wasn’t much for killing anyone, but if he was, Anathema would have been dead in a ditch.
“He wouldn’t eat me,” Adam said nonchalantly.
“I certainly hope not,” Aziraphale scooped the boy up as if he hardly weighed anything, that was probably from lifting all the books Crowley had seen in his flat. Adam played with his father’s tie with the hand not wrapped around his shoulders like a sloth.
“Well he’s right, I wouldn’t,” Crowley tried to sound as casual as possible, he wasn’t very good at it.
“Adam has been begging me to let him watch more Doctor Who,” Aziraphale began, “I’m not a big fan but he told me you liked it. Perhaps you could come over Saturday and watch it with us,” the blonde paused, his ears going slightly pink, he definitely had them pierced at some point, “If you’d like that.”
“I’d love it,” Crowley put his cheek in his hand, hoping his perpetually cold fingers would make his suddenly warm cheeks cool down.
“Good, it’s a date then,” Aziraphale grinned, his eyes were so goddamn shiny, they just made him look like an angel.
“Yeah,” Crowley smiled a slanted smile and handed the pom-pom pen to Aziraphale to sign the paper confirming Adam as not snatched by strangers. He held a pen very properly and wrote very gently, if fast, with curvy letters halfway between print and cursive. Aziraphale left, still carrying Adam like an infant.
“I haven’t seen anything like that since high school,” Anathema slapped a hand on Crowley’s shoulder, he’s forgotten she was there.
“Shut up,” Crowley groaned, “This isn’t some little American teenage romance.”
“I wasn’t implying that,” Anathema pushed up her owl-glasses, “You’re the one who said romance.”
“I said it is not romance.”
“Not yet,” Anathema giggled.
“I hate you,” Crowley pulled out his phone and was planning on making a big show of changing Anathema’s contact name, but she saw his last text, it had been from Aziraphale (he didn’t text many people).
“‘Thank you again for Friday, dear,’” Anathema read over his shoulder. Crowley immediately went to his texts with Anathema, in which they had been talking about which type of soap bald people used on their heads, and went to edit contact.
“You are no longer Anathema you are now Witch Bitch.”
“Oh no!” Anathema cried, “You took the heart emoji off of my contact name this is a travesty.”
“That’s just still there from when you pretended to be my girlfriend,” Crowley dismissed her.
“How did you tell your family we ‘broke up’?”
“You left me for another woman, of course.”
“Oh, I told my family you’d left me for another man,” Anathema grinned and opened her phone, his contact name was still Anthony with a peach emoji.
“Why the peach still?”
“You have a nice ass.”
“Gee thanks.”

Chapter Text

The Them grew bored of pirates quickly, Hastur and Ligur had tried to join the game, Crowley tried his best to include them, but they just seemed interested in making Warlock play with them, when Warlock denied them they moved on to pestering Adam, who was too polite for his own good. So, by Thursday Adam had decided on spies, and Crowley often found the children hiding behind colorful furniture and ‘taking pictures’ of him with plastic cameras, and shouting into walkie talkies (because they were too staticy to understand anything but yelling through them).
“Secret agent Fell,” Crowley closed his book on his thumb and turned to the boy who wasn’t all that good at hiding behind furniture, the boy feigned shock.
“How did you know it was me? I’m in disguise!” the boy gestured to the small ponytail on the front of his head, and Warlock’s American blazer.
“I have x-ray vision,” Crowley put a piece of torn paper in his book.
“Scatter!” Agent Fell exclaimed. The other children were apparently very good at hiding behind furniture, and did in fact scatter, Crowley chased after Wensleydale, who was currently wearing the bright red poncho of Pepper.
“Yaaargh!” Crowley scooped Wensleydale up, kid was light as a feather, the boy protested by weakly kicking his legs, and Crowley put him down. “Now you go tell your friends that Crowley knows all their little secrets,” Crowley said, “Tell them I let you live to deliver a message, they won’t foil my plans.” Wensleydale pushed up his glasses and nodded, then ran back to his friends huddled in the corner making ‘pspsp’ sounds very loudly. Crowley didn’t really know what his ‘plans’ were, one of the children would have to reveal that in expositional dialogue later.
Crowley returned to the couch and checked the time, and Aziraphale had texted him, an hour ago, must have done it on his lunch break, something Crowley didn’t really have.
Aziraphale: I know you’re at work at the moment and can’t text me back at this very second.
But I was wondering if we were still on for Saturday?
If you’ve changed your mind it’s alright.
Crowley: of course we are lol
what time should i be over?
Aziraphale: 10?
Crowley: sounds good
means i can sleep in
Aziraphale: Yes I figured you would like that.
Crowley grinned at his screen, and then he realized that Brian and Adam were behind him, ‘taking pictures’ with their plastic camera. Brian read the texts aloud over Crowley’s shoulder, he hated it when people did that.
“Who’s Az- azeyeraw- pail?” Brian tumbled onto the couch, he played it off as intentional, but he didn’t often do stunts intentionally.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley corrected, and put his phone in his pocket.
“That’s my Papa!” Adam yelled, “He told me he had a friend coming to watch Doctor Who on Saturday!”
“That’s me, kiddo,” Crowley ruffled the boy’s curls, and Adam returned the favor by assaulting Crowley’s perfect ‘I just rolled out of bed but in a handsome way’ hair, flattening it. Crowley ran his hands through the reddish brown mess, he needed to re-do his dye, maybe tonight.

“Anathema did I get all the color in the back?” Crowley called from the bathroom, running a brush coated in dye across a strand of hair, it smelled awful, but in the same way gasoline smelled awful, in the sense that it smelled amazing.
“When did you get that?”
“What, the dye? Today. You alright? You were with me when I bought it.”
“No the tattoo,” Anathema gestured to the snake on Crowley’s ribcage.
“Got it right after my chest healed,” Crowley said, “Now did I get all the back of my head or not?”
“Yeah you did.”
“Thank you,” Crowley scrubbed his scalp with gloved hands and pinned the wet hair from his eyes, it technically was not movie night, but Crowley missed last week, so Anathema’s couch had a towel draped over the back so Crowley wouldn’t get dye on it like last time. Anathema had eventually gotten the stain out but she and Crowley (and her boyfriend Newt, who had at the time thought it was blood, obviously he hadn’t seen blood before) would always know it was there. Anathema let Crowley pick the movie but only if she was allowed to talk through the whole thing, he had protested to this and his friend threatened to put nutritional yeast all over the perfectly good popcorn, so Crowley picked a movie he would be fine with Anathema talking through; Apostle. He had already seen it twice before and maybe gore could make Anathema shut up, and he was right, she was quiet most of the movie. Well, except for her normal Anathema-during-movie noises.
“Prophet Malcolm.”
“He’s hot.”
“You won’t think that later,” Crowley shook his head. He was, once again, correct, something about excessive gore turned Anathema off, Crowley didn’t really mind.
“That was so fucking disgusting,” Anathema said after the movie was over.
“Yeah I know. Not as disgusting as nutritional yeast, though” Crowley stood up and popped his back, he really needed to take a shower, he should have taken a shower an hour ago when the dye was done setting.

“So are you excited for Saturday?”
“Anathema I’m naked,” Crowley rolled his eyes and walked to the guest bedroom that had essentially become his room, his flat was more just a place to store things and sleep, he closed the door in Anathema’s face.
“What? I’ve seen you naked!”
“At a sleep away camp! When we were like fourteen! It’s different,” Crowley yelled from behind the door, tugging underwear on. He and Anathema went to the same Jesus Camp, Anathema’s rich parents wanted her to get an authentic experience or something, she was the only person from that camp Crowley kept in touch with. Although, when the girl’s side of the camp and the boys had been allowed to interact, there were a few boys Crowley wished he could have stayed in touch with. One of them was a year or two older than him and always sat alone at bonfires. Shit.
“Are you saving yourself for your boyfriend?” Anathema somehow managed to audibly flutter her eyelashes on the other side of the door.
“He’s not my boyfriend and it’s a bit late to save myself.”
“Oh, really.”
“Remember Sarah Jane from camp?”
“It’s okay, I didn’t like it that much,” Crowley pulled his pyjama shirt over his head, “She was a decent kisser, though.”
“At least I’m a man.”

Chapter Text

“Good luck on your date,” Anathema grinned and went to wipe an invisible smudge from Crowley’s cheek.
“Okay mom,” Crowley smacked her tan hand away.
“Now, remember son, boys don’t like it when you wait to make the first move,” she straightened Crowley’s hoodie strings.
“But don’t move too fast, they’re like deer.”
“Anathema I do not need dating advice,” Crowley paused, “This isn’t even a date!”
“Oh but yes it is. He’s gay, you’re gay.”
“Anathema, not all gay people want to date each other.”
“I didn’t say that I just think these two specific gay people do.”
“You’re unbearable,” Crowley deadpanned.
“But you love me anyways.”
“It’s called stockholm syndrome,” he opened the door to leave and Anathema stuck her tongue out and scrunched up her nose, Crowley rolled his eyes and shut the door. Had Crowley not removed his lip piercing to get a job, he would have been tugging at it, it was a nervous habit, so he settled on picking at the chipped nail polish on his hands. His nails needed to be trimmed, he and Anathema could do that tomorrow while she gossiped and he tried to avoid discussing the day before, even if he knew full well he would be telling her every detail. Anathema was a witch, not in an insulting way, she just did funny things and had a bad habit of slipping things into tea when you weren’t looking.

“Adam what did I tell you about opening the door without me?” Aziraphale looked up to where Crowley stood, and his stern father face melted.
“How do you know I’m not a murderer?” Crowley asked the little boy.
“I just know,” Adam puffed out his chest, “I’ve been spying on you so I know.”
“Hello, Crowley,” Aziraphale’s blue eyes crinkled at the sides.
“Hey Aziraphale,” Crowley sauntered over the threshold and knelt to pull his boots off.
“We have to get started right now,” Adam demanded and stamped his very small foot, “Papa wouldn’t let me watch any more this week!”
Crowley gasped, “Aziraphale! Cruel and unusual punishment, that is.”
“Well I hardly know what’s going on!”
“That’s why you have to watch it,” Crowley pulled his hoodie off, Aziraphale’s flat was so warm you could feel the temperature difference as you crossed the threshold. Adam ran through the dining room, and Crowley almost instinctively followed him, but he stayed behind to walk with Aziraphale, who walked almost unbearably slow, although maybe that was how normal people walked, Crowley called a jog a speed-walk and running a jog.
“Papa bought,” Adam cleared his throat and spoke in an almost offensive French accent, “croissants.”
“Oh-hoh-hoh, croissants,” Crowley mirrored the French, this was met by a very dramatic eye roll from Aziraphale.
“I won’t buy French food ever again if you two keep talking like that.”
“You could never give up crepes,” Adam pointed out, and rolled onto the tan couch, waking Dog from his nap.
“Hey, bud,” Crowley crouched to meet the dog, who had slept most of his baby-sitting Adam, Dog sniffed him curiously and shoved his muzzle into Crowley’s chest as a sign of approval. Crowley picked the dog up and scratched behind his ears.
“How does he like you more than me?” Aziraphale complained.
“Just have a way with animals,” said Crowley, Dog wagged his tail in response. Crowley had spent about half of his childhood in slums with his mother, and he’d had several stray dogs (all with incredibly creative names such as Mr.Scroggy). The other half of his childhood was in an all-too sterile house with a surgeon for a father, if one could even call him that. Crowley had not been allowed to have pets in either household, but he had snuck a grass snake in once before his parents divorced when he was seven.
So, Crowley had always really liked animals, mostly because he had read a book in which an orphan boy’s loving god-father could turn into a dog, he would often imagine one of his strays turning human and the two of them would run off to a new life, maybe with the circus.
“Dog doesn’t like Papa very much,” Adam giggled.
“You have a ghost haunting you,” the newley redhead paused, “Probably wants it’s books back,” Crowley picked up a very tattered Oscar Wilde novel.
“That’s a first edition!”
“Of course it is,” Crowley sat on the couch with Dog still in his arms, “Maybe your ghost is Oscar Wilde!”
“Oh that would certainly be something.”
“Madame Tracy does seances, I could get you a free one if you like.”
“Madame Tracy who owns the daycare?” Aziraphale sounded more interested than concerned that the woman who owned the place his son spent every day at also contacted spirits.
“Yes, the very same. Odd woman, rides a little motorbike everywhere,” Crowley shrugged, “she pays fair, though.” Dog wriggled his way from lanky arms and trotted to where Adam sat, and sprawled his whole body out over half the couch, the other half occupied by Adam. Crowley patted the spot on the couch next to him hesitantly, surely Aziraphale would want to sit with his son, but he instead sat in the place next to Crowley.
“Doctor!” Adam screeched and practically threw the remote at his father, who apparently had very poor hand-eye coordination, because he could not catch it. Aziraphale used the remote in the same way Crowley’s mother had used it on the rare occasion she watched television, held near arms length, pressing one button at a time with manicured hands. Resisting the urge to grab the remote from those prim hands, Crowley stood, and walked into the kitchen and filled a plate with hardly warm croissants. Aziraphale had only finished typing “Docto” by the time Crowley snatched the remote, their fingers brushing for just a moment.
“Good lord, Aziraphale. Are you forty-five years old?”
“You’re twenty years off, dear boy.”
“Right, sorry I missed the big six-five.”
“Papa isn’t THAT old!” Adam interrupted, he was very good at that. Crowley flopped onto the couch, legs involuntarily resting on Aziraphale’s thighs, old habit of him and Anathema’s. Crowley jerked his stick legs away and began to apologize, more than he had apologized in perhaps a year for anything he’d ever done.
“It’s alright,” Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s calf and moved it back to his lap, leaning into him, “I have a four year old there’s no such thing as personal space.” Crowley grinned and set a hand on top of Aziraphale’s arm, lord he was warm and soft, the blonde leaned into him a bit more and Adam was too enveloped in the world ending on the television to notice.
“Aziraphale, how is your skin so warm? You got a fever?” Crowley joked quietly.
“I think you’re just cold blooded, dear.”
“Eh, maybe I am. Like warm rocks, all that.”
“I’m not a rock,” Aziraphale sounded maybe a bit offended.
“Course you’re not,” Crowley stared at Aziraphale’s blue eyes and the perfectly golden-white hair that curled around his face, his lips looked awfully soft as well. “You’re an angel,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry?”
“Shhhh!” Adam turned with a finger pressed to his lips. Aziraphale and Crowley sat up and moved a bit away from one another.

Chapter Text

Crowley didn’t know what to do with his hands other than pull out his phone, he certainly didn’t want flakes of picked off nail-polish on Aziraphale’s nice white furniture.
Witch Bitch: how’s the daaatee
Crowley: not a date.
Witch Bitch: i dont know. where are you sitting
Crowley: on the couch??
did you think he’d make me sit on the floor?
Witch Bitch: are you on the Same couch?
Crowley: yeah
Witch Bitch: DATE
Crowley: it’s not a date if theres a kid here
thats like against the rules or something
Witch Bitch: domestic
Crowley: shut up.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered, the named dropped his phone onto his chest like a teenager caught watching something they weren’t supposed to.
“What is that?” Aziraphale pointed to the television at a trampoline of skin with eyes and a set of thin lips.
“Cassandra,” said Crowley plainly, “Real bitch.” Crowley slapped his hands over his mouth, he wasn’t sure if he would be ashamed or proud of himself if he were to teach Adam his first swear word.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale hissed, smacking his arm lightly, “Adam did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” the boy said from his place on the other couch.
“Nothing, dear,” Aziraphale turned to Crowley and glared with what Aziraphale thought were the best laser-eyes he could do, they were more like beams of sunlight, burned a bit when you looked right at them, sure, but nothing a set of sunglasses wouldn’t prevent.
“You’re not very intimidating,” Crowley muttered.
“Yes I am,” Aziraphale straightened himself out and cracked his knuckles, not to seem though, it was more of a habitual thing than anything else.
“Shhh!” Adam pressed a finger to his lips once again, “If you’re gonna talk go somewhere else!” Dog made a small sound of agreement, if he knew what Adam was saying, it certainly looked like he did. Crowley stood up, his hip bones popped lightly and he sauntered towards the kitchen, sitting down in a cushy barstool, he adjusted its height, as it was obviously raised for Adam. He didn’t expect to be followed by the (only slightly) taller man in the pastel sweater. But he was.
“If I he starts swearing I’m blaming you,” Aziraphale sat on the barstool beside Crowley, but that was the only other one to sit in.
“Sorry, angel,” it took them both a second to process what Crowley said.
“You called me an angel earlier,” said Aziraphale after a moment.
“No I didn’t.”
“Yes you did,” Aziraphale played with his shirt collar.
“Well if I did,” Crowley paused, “would it matter?”
“Yes,” Crowley’s heart sank, “If either of us are an angel, it’s you, dear.”
“I am not!”
“Yes you are,” Aziraphale put his elbow on the counter, resting a very soft looking cheek in a hand that desperately needed to be held. “You play better with kids than I’ve seen anyone do,” Aziraphale counted reasons on his fingers, “Surely that’s an angelic quality. And I’ve heard you sing-”
“Anathema likes to embarrass you,” Aziraphale’s ears went pink, “But you do sing beautifully. Isn’t that what angels do?”
“I thought they played harps,” Crowley tugged on his hair, had it been longer he would have tucked a strand behind his ear.
“You can do both, and Anathema told me you play piano, and that’s just a harp turned on it’s side being hit with hammers!” Aziraphale chuckled.
“Dad made me take lessons,” Crowley put his hands up and wiggled his fingers, “Can’t just let fingers like these go to waste!”
“And you watched Adam last week, even though you’re not a baby-sitter and you hardly know me,” Aziraphale finished his mental power-point presentation with a smile.
“I would like to know you better,” Crowley was certain he did not say that, and shifted in his seat, bringing one leg up to his chest and hugging his knee. The blonde sat up straight and Crowley bit his tongue, though he was so nervous that it had gone numb in his mouth.
“I don’t think I would mind that,” Aziraphale leaned back into his hand, though the hand had moved a bit farther in the direction of Crowley, and so did the face it was holding.
“In- in like a,” Crowley stammered, “romantic way?”
“Yes,” Aziraphale’s nod bounced a perfect ringlet curl that sat just behind his ear, “I think so.” The two sat like that for a moment, or what felt like a moment, they had only been halfway through the second episode of Doctor Who but now the introductory music for presumably the third episode was blaring from the living room.
“Is it alright if I call you angel, then?”
“Perhaps,” Aziraphale’s feet went to the floor and he stood, “maybe just not in public.”
“Not a fan of PDA?” Crowley stood as well.
“Well I am. I just am not,” Aziraphale sighed, “Fully out. And now I know Gabriel lives in this part of town, and-”
“Slow down, angel, we haven’t even been on a proper date yet. You might hate me in a week.”
“I certainly hope not,” Aziraphale walked back towards the living room, “I think Adam likes you,” he added softly, not for Adam to hear. Crowley hopped over the back of the couch and settled into a circus-worthy position, and Aziraphale sat down beside him, lifting Crowley’s legs to rest them on his lap.
The three of them (four if you count Dog) got through most of the first season in one day, but eventually Crowley had to go back to his flat, but he would have to go to Anathema’s first, if he didn’t she would think his not date had taken a turn into another room and closed the door. Maybe it would, one day, but Crowley would never do it with a kid in the flat, and Aziraphale most definitely wouldn’t if Adam had any chance of seeing or hearing something he wasn’t supposed to. That was wishful thinking, thought Crowley, Aziraphale might go on one actual date with Crowley and decide he wasn’t his type.
Anathema somehow managed to pry every detail of the day from Crowley within twenty minutes of him stepping over the threshold, maybe that dumb horseshoe she hung above the door made you tell the truth. Admittedly, it was probably the wine she somehow had an infinite stalk of.

Chapter Text

On Friday Crowley and Adam had taken their normal spots at the desk, staring out the glass doors (which were harder to stare through now as Anathema had had the children coat their hands in paint and slap the glass) for a certain blonde man. Adam was sleeping over at Pepper’s house tonight, he wanted to stay home, but Anathema couldn’t be trusted alone with children, in groups she was fine but she had a tendency to practice witchcraft when left unsupervised, and Adam’s last babysitter was busy tonight.
“Waiting for your boyfriend?”
“Not my boyfriend. Haven’t even been on a proper date yet.”
“Awkward flirting and pining will get you nowhere in life, Anthony,” Anathema tutted, met with a groan from Crowley, he hated it when Anathema pulled out the first name card.
“Don’t call me that,” Crowley grumbled, “Only special people can call me that.”
“I’m not special?”
“Oh you certainly are. Just not a,” Crowley bit the inside of his cheek where a scab was beginning to develop, he needed to stop doing that,“You’re just not a special someone.”
“Papa says everyone is special,” Adam was somehow on top of the desk, Crowley added this moment to his mental list of times he was certain the boy could levitate. Adam pressed his hands into his cheeks, “But I’m the most specialest.”
“I doubt Aziraphale would say that,” Crowley rolled his eyes.
“Implications,” said Adam. He was too well-read for a four year old.
“Speak of the devil,” Anathema said as the door opened.
“Not the devil, dear,” Aziraphale chuckled, Adam somehow already clung to his neck.
“Yeah, Anathema,” Crowley hissed, and couldn’t help but say “Can’t you see he’s an angel?”
“Let’s go!” Adam yelled, eager to be home as soon as possible to get out of home to get to Pepper’s.
“Pepper’s mother told me that Warlock is going, too,” the man grinned.
“Yeah! He’s gonna get driven in a big fancy car like Mister Crowley’s!”
“How do you know what kind of car I drive?”
“Anathema rides a bike,” Aziraphale shrugged, “and there’s a car parked in an employee only spot, just natural to assume it’s yours.”
“Let’s goooo!” Adam flailed his little arms in the air.
“I’ll pick you up at seven and you can know if your assumption is correct,” Crowley said quietly, met with a smile from Aziraphale, who walked out the door with a now cheering Adam.
“You are,” Anathema exhaled violently, “you are so fucking hopeless do you know that?”
“Oh I’m fully aware of that. But I find it works,” Crowley shrugged and got up, “Everyone is a hopeless romantic deep down,” he turned to leave, “Newt was worse than me you know. I think he messed with the internet here on purpose so he could come back.”
“He’s just bad at his job.”
“I didn’t say he isn’t I’m just saying I think he was bad on purpose,” Crowley checked the time, he needed to get ready, he waved goodbye to Anathema and rushed home (eight minutes). Crowley held open the stairwell door for his elderly neighbor, she was a bit reclusive but it was good to see her out, even if it looked like she was going to tumble over. In his flat, he scolded his venus fly trap, Beelzebub, accidentally attempting to eat herself, gently prying a trap head from the other. He took a very fast, but very hot, shower and scrubbed his hair with a towel stained in bleach and a rainbow of dye, reserved for use when his hair dye was still bleeding. Crowley spent a few minutes fussing at his hair, this was a moderately in-formal date, so his hair had to look like he’d just woken up from a nap, but there wasn’t time for a nap, so needless fussing did the job well enough.
Crowley didn’t very often stare at his reflection, but right now he had been staring for five minutes, he fumbled at his belt, wondering if the snake was too much, but his denim jacket (the most colorful item of clothing he owned, all covered in patches) went down far enough that it covered the belt partly. Were ripped jeans too much? He looked like a university drop out, maybe because he was, but he certainly didn’t normally look like that.
Crowley had not wanted to drop out, but he really needed a job and he couldn’t do university and work at Tracey’s, no other place would hire him. Anathema later told him it was probably because of his hair, which had been blue at the time, and the lip ring, and she was probably right. But Madame Tracey herself had bright orange hair and ornate earrings, she didn’t seem to mind Crowley’s hair color, and Anathema put in a good word. He did have to get rid of the lip ring for the sake of the parents, though, that and one kid who had since moved on to school had a particular interest in grabbing it whenever possible.
Crowley wrinkled his crooked nose, it had been broken twice when he was a kid, the first time had been his fault, admittedly, a boy named Wiess from primary school just had a very punchable face, he had apparently thought the same of Crowley. Wiess had gotten into more trouble for hitting a girl, though. The second break was due to a girl named Carmine getting mad at Crowley for trying to break her away from the very skinny boy named Raven, who was apparently a doctor now, worked with Crowley’s father. He took one final look at his eyes, he thought they were a nasty color, but tried to embrace them, made him stand out in a crowd, his mother had said when he went through a phase around age fourteen where he tried colored contacts. Looking back on it, choosing blue to go over the light brown was not a great decision, so in many secondary school pictures Crowley looked a bit dead behind the eyes.
Six forty-seven. Crowley could most definitely make the ‘fifteen minute’ drive to Aziraphale’s in a tight ten minutes, and he did. At six fifty-nine he knocked on the white door, he was met with fumbling from the other side and the door would have shot open had it not been for the chain lock. A moment later the door was open again and Aziraphale was standing there in a navy crew-neck, upon closer inspection it was from Oxford University, because of course it was. He was most definitely an english major, with girls and the occasional boys attempting to flirt with him, but his nose was probably buried in a book. Even though Crowley had never seen Aziraphale wear glasses, he could imagine a set of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he sat in the big library reading some comically large book.
“I like your jacket,” Aziraphale broke the momentary silence and smiled, pink cheeks to match Crowley’s.
“Thank you,” Crowley pointed to a heart patch on the cuff of his jacket, “I made this one.”
“Oh it’s lovely. Am I under-dressed?”
“No, I think you look just fine for a trip to the theatre.”
“Crowley you told me we were seeing a movie!”
“I thought if I told you we were seeing a show you’d over-dress,” Crowley shrugged, “It’s a college production I don’t think they’ll mind terribly how you’re dressed.”
“What’s the show? Les Miserables? The Hunchback of Norte Dame?”
“Nerd,” Crowley offered an arm to his date. His date. “You’ll like it, trust me.”

Chapter Text

“I assumed correctly,” Aziraphale smiled smugly as Crowley opened the Bentley’s passenger door.
“Found her in a junkyard in Camden,” Crowley shut the door behind Aziraphale, who was searching for a seatbelt, and sank into the driver’s seat. “You ever been to Camden, angel?”
“I can’t say I have,” Aziraphale had found the seatbelt.
“My mum lived there, visited her on weekends,” Crowley said, “Dad lived in Soho, though. Weekdays with him.” The Bentley’s engine hummed and Queen began playing very loudly, both men jumped and Crowley rushed to turn the volume down. As much as he loved Another One Bites The Dust, it doesn’t exactly set a mood.
“I lived in Llangollen until I was eight, then we moved to Upper Norwood,” Aziraphale said.
“You lived where until you were eight?”
“Llangollen,” he sounded like he was speaking through a mouthful of food.
“Are you having an aneurysm?”
“It’s in Wales- oh good god!”
“Welsh looks like you made license plates into a language,” Crowley said, turning a corner.
“Slow down, dear,” Aziraphale was white knuckled clinging to the sides of his seat. Crowley took his foot off the floor and slowed.
“Sorry angel,” Crowley fumbled to turn the music back up a bit.
“I once read an article,” Aziraphale began, “That Don’t Stop Me Now is the most dangerous song to drive to.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, it certainly is,” Aziraphale straightened his sweatshirt collar. They listened as the bass faded from the car and very familiar piano began, Crowley reached for the skip button, Aziraphale smacked his hand away. “I like this song!”
“You know this?”
“My mother taught me how to play it on the harp,” just a hint of embarrassment sat in his voice, slightly outweighed by pride.
“Of course you play the harp,” Crowley rolled his eyes, “You’re an angel.”
“Just this song,” the blonde argued, “I probably can’t even play it anymore.”
“I know it on piano,” Crowley said after a second, and Freddie Mercury began to sing.
‘Love of my life, you’ve hurt me,’ he crooned, Crowley sang along under his breath. ‘You’ve broken my heart, and now you leave me.’
“You do have a lovely voice, dear,” Aziraphale said in an instrumental break.
“Shut up,” Crowley turned the volume up in hopes it would cover his voice, had his eyes not been fixated on the road, he would have noticed Aziraphale leaning towards him ever so slightly to hear him better and smiling.

Crowley fiddled with the program in his lap, flipping through actors and understudies, sponsors and acknowledgements. The small theatre had hardly anyone in it, and Crowley didn’t know if that was good or bad, but he took it as a blessing and made sure to sit Aziraphale in an aisle seat near the front.
“Why aren’t we in the middle?” Aziraphale leaned over to ask as the lights started to dim.
“Aisle seats are the best in a show like this.”
“If you say so,” Aziraphale sat back in his seat, all he knew now was that the show was called Rent and that a majority of the very few audience members were teenagers and young adults with piercings and dyed hair. Crowley could tell Aziraphale felt a bit out of place with an Oxford sweatshirt, and offered for them to switch. Aziraphale looked rather handsome in a denim jacket, and Crowley grinned as he pulled the navy sweatshirt over his head and his hands didn’t quite come out the ends of the sleeves.
A guitar strummed and some bloke in an awful scarf came walking down the aisle between seats, carrying an old camera, it’s red light indicating that it was actually recording, Aziraphale grinned at the camera and Crowley hoped they’d be selling footage afterwards. “December twenty-fourth, nine pm, eastern standard time,” he sang in an American accent, “from here on in I shoot without a script,” the man nearly tripped over his scarf as he hopped in stage, “see if anything comes of it, instead of my old shit.” Aziraphale seemed surprised that this was the opener, Crowley half expected him to lean over and ask where the trumpets and flutes were. But he stayed silent, already invested in the young men on stage (Mark and Roger).
Aziraphale gasped as thugs attacked Collins on stage, Crowley knew what song was up now. A young woman hopped down from a rafter, asking if Collins was okay, Crowley turned to Aziraphale, bracing for the next line.
“I’m Angel,” the woman on stage said.
“Angel-” Collins said, Crowley felt a warm hand in his and nearly leapt from his seat, Collins continued, “Indeed. An angel of the first degree…”
Halfway through the first act a girl named Mimi was running along the railings in a very scandalous outfit, singing about Spanish babies, and Aziraphale’s hand was still in Crowley’s, he could swear the grip tightened while Angel and Collins sang about Santa Fe.
Despite the antics throughout La Vie Boheme (such as Mark running across the table as angry businessmen looked on), Crowley’s eyes stayed on Aziraphale’s face through the whole song, every verse sung by the chorus made the blonde’s cheeks pinken ever so slightly.
When intermission came, Crowley’s hand went cold as Aziraphale got up to use the restroom. Maybe Rent was a bit much for a first date. No turning back now, though. Aziraphale returned to his seat, cheeks still a bit pink.
“Do you like it so far?” Crowley asked from where he stood, his limbs needed a stretch.
“Oh yes I like it very much,” Aziraphale sounded sincere, so that was good.
“Not too scandalous?”
“Les Mis has a prostitute die and reaching out to her daughter as she does so,” said Aziraphale, “I can handle dry humping through leather pants.” Crowley did not expect that comment, and had to sit down. Aziraphale laughed and joined him, crossing his legs towards Crowley, “Did you know ever brothel in Paris closed for a day when Victor Hugo died because all his mistresses were grieving?”
“Why do you know that?”
“I’m well-read,” Aziraphale shrugged. Crowley liked this Aziraphale, maybe a little too much. The lights flickered and dimmed, and the whole cast was on stage, and Aziraphale’s hand was back in Crowley’s. During the song Contact, Aziraphale briefly let go of Crowley to rub his temples, Crowley had never really been a fan on that song, either.
“Why isn’t Collins allowed at Angel’s funeral?” Aziraphale whispered, he was definitely crying.
“Not allowed at church,” Crowley was also crying a bit.
“How awful!”
Aziraphale fully sobbed when Angel’s ghost appeared on stage, and by the reprise of Seasons of Love he was a bit of a mess. But so was Crowley, though he didn’t want to admit it.
Crowley and Aziraphale weren’t back at Aziraphale’s flat until ten o’clock, Crowley walked up to the door with Aziraphale, he hadn’t ever been the one walking a date to the door. Previously he had been walked to his door, so he didn’t really know what to do.
“I had a lot of fun tonight, Crowley,” Aziraphale unlocked his door.
“So you haven’t decided I’m not your type?”
“I’ve decided the complete opposite, actually,” he stepped into the doorway.
“G’night, angel,” Crowley grinned, and for a split second Aziraphale’s face was right next to him, and his right cheek was warm in a small spot, then his whole face was warm all over.
“Goodnight, dear,” Aziraphale smiled and closed the door. Crowley brought a hand to his cheek, feeling very much like a schoolgirl about to be scolded to leave room for Jesus by an angry nun.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t until Crowley was in the Bentley and it had decided he was listening to Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy that Crowley realized he was still wearing Aziraphale’s sweatshirt, which meant Aziraphale had his jacket. Does he go back tomorrow to exchange them or wait until Monday and bring it to work? Either way, he ended up asleep in just boxers and the sweatshirt of a university he had never seen in real life that smelt of a library in the best possible way.
In the morning Crowley’s tired hands searched for his phone, nine thirteen, not bad. Underneath the clock were several texts from Aziraphale, all from eight am to eight-o-five.
Aziraphale: Last night was wonderful, but I was so tired I didn’t even realize I still had your jacket!
I love all the patches, especially the frog on your sleeve
Oh you’re probably still asleep I’m sorry dear
Crowley: didnt kno i still had ur sweatshirt till i was halfway home
want it back today or monday?
Aziraphale: That would be lovely! Adam is still at Pepper’s, I probably need to get dressed to go pick him up.
Crowley: i could pick you up and go get adam w/ you
if you want
so you dont have to pay for a cab
Aziraphale: That’s very sweet but I’m worried you’ll kill us all.
Crowley: ill drive a mile under the speed limit how abt that
Aziraphale: I suppose that’s alright then.
Crowley: see you in half an hour angel
Crowley rolled from his black bed sheets that really needed to be washed and into the bathroom he tossed his boxers into a dirty clothes pile on the floor and carefully folded Aziraphale’s sweatshirt to put on the bathroom counter. Normally, Crowley was not one for morning showers, but he suddenly felt a strong need to look nice, and he might have put a bit too much thought into his outfit. So much that he changed into clothes that looked like he hadn’t put any thought into them, when he actually had spent five minutes picking them out. He shot himself a glance in the mirror and attacked his hair with the hand that was not holding the Oxford sweatshirt.
Fifteen minutes later he was at Aziraphale’s door, he grinned at the man, who did in fact have wire-rimmed glasses, which he pushed up by delicately grabbing the leg and pushing it past his eyebrows and letting it fall into place on his nose.
“Since when do you wear glasses?”
“I ran out of contacts,” Aziraphale played with his collar, well, Crowley’s collar, he was wearing his jacket.
“I think you look nifty,” Crowley offered an arm to Aziraphale, briefly wondering if that was too fast, but then he remembered that Romeo and Juliet died for each other three days after they met, so walking arm in arm is hardly a romantic gesture compared to a marriage after not even a day. Aziraphale took Crowley’s arm, lord he had warm hands, or maybe Crowley was just cold. Without thinking, Crowley slipped a navy sweatshirt over his head and shoved his hands in the pockets, there was a tiny hole in the bottom of the pocket he could just barely stick the tip of his finger through, maybe he could offer to fix it.
“You know,” Aziraphale said, “I told Pepper’s mother that I wouldn’t be over to pick Adam up until noon.” Crowley looked at his phone in confusion, it was hardly ten in the morning.
“Alright, I can come back later if you like,” Crowley pushed the button for the lift.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” the lift dinged and a woman stepped out and walked down the hall, leaving it empty.
“Uh, no. Have you?”
“Let’s go get breakfast then!” Aziraphale smiled, oh it was such a nice smile.
“Second date already?”
“Is there anything wrong with that?”
“No,” Crowley said quickly, “Nope. Nothing wrong with that.”
Somehow Crowley was now sat in a tiny booth in the corner of a creperie realizing he’d never eaten a crepe with a burnt tongue from too eagerly sipping his tea. Aziraphale got a crepe with a lot of chocolate and strawberries and possibly too much powdered sugar. Crowley on the other hand just had a plain crepe with banana slices, but he found himself stealing a sliver of strawberry from Aziraphale’s plate more than once, and very much had to resist the temptation to wipe a bit of chocolate from his cheek.
“You have chocolate on your face, angel,” Crowley said.
“Oh do I?” Aziraphale stuck his tongue out in an attempt to lick it away like a child.
“No, let me just,” Crowley picked up a napkin and wiped Aziraphale’s pink cheek with it. They both smiled and Crowley took a sip of his tea, which was now too cold, but what could he do about that.
“Sir, look, it’s Mr.Crowley,” came a child’s voice. Which of his kids said sir? Crowley had had to call his father ‘Sir’ when he was in trouble. Crowley turned to look at the voice and his heart found its way into the soles of his shoes.
“Hello Gabriel,” Aziraphale moved away from Crowley, eyes locked on the plate in front of him.
Gabriel turned to the waitress showing him and Uriel to a table, “Actually, may we sit somewhere else?”
The waitress blinked in confusion, “I’m sorry sir this is the only table we have left empty at the moment,” she gestured to a table right next to Crowley and Aziraphale.
“Uriel, how about we eat someplace else?” Gabriel bent down to his daughter, “We can meet your mother there instead.”
“It’s my birthday!” the girl protested.
“Oh happy birthday, Uriel,” Aziraphale said and grinned.
“Shut up,” Gabriel spat, and the waitress simply stepped away awkwardly. Suddenly, Crowley was standing, he rolled up the sleeves of his (Aziraphale’s) sweatshirt and made a move towards Gabriel.
“Don’t talk to him like that,” Crowley growled, several people eating stopped their conversations and stared.
“He isn’t even taking care of his kid, he’s on a goddamn date with a man. You’re going to confuse poor Adam more than you already have,” he spoke through Crowley, towards Aziraphale, “A child deserves a mother, not a-” Gabriel let a word Crowley hadn’t heard in a long time slip from his mouth.
“That is enough!” the poor minimum waitress yelled, shoving Gabriel away. “Sir, please leave,” she said, “That kind of language will not be tolerated in this establishment.”
“Fuck off,” Gabriel said, but he swiftly turned around and left, Uriel trailing behind him. The waitress, who’s name tag read Frannie, placed a hand on Crowley’s shoulder.
“Sir, please sit down or you will need to leave as well,” said Frannie calmly.
“Sorry,” Crowley slunk back down next to a wide-eyed Aziraphale.
“It’s alright,” Frannie poured him a new cup of tea.
“You okay, angel?”
“Yes, yes. Thank you dear,” Aziraphale shook a bit, “I suppose I won’t be expecting another Christmas card in the mail this year,” he chuckled.
“Has he always been like that?”
“Oh yes, especially since I had Adam,” Aziraphale sipped his coco, “Adam is actually my sister’s, child of pre-marital sex, so Gabriel already hated him,” Aziraphale fiddled with his hands, “I think he was actually glad my sister passed, he didn’t want to see Adam, ever. Adam was going to go into the foster system so I offered to take him in.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, how did you sister die?”
“Car crash,” that was why Aziraphale was so nervous in the car.
“What about Adam’s dad?”
“Didn’t want anything to do with the boy. He sends him a birthday card every year, but Luther Hellson isn’t a name my son will ever know,” Aziraphale said matter-of-factly.
“I think I went to bible camp with a Luther Hellson,” Crowley said.
“East Eden? If so then yes, that’s where he and my sister met.”
“West Eden. Girl’s side.”
“Right,” Aziraphale waved the waitress over and asked for the check, “Don’t tell Adam about this.”
“Of course I won’t.”
“Thank you, dear,” he placed some money on the table and got up, indicating for Crowley to follow. They got in the car and Crowley drove five miles below the speed limit, one hand on the wheel, one gently making its way toward the hand of the passenger, who closed the gap between their fingers. Aziraphale brought Crowley’s hand to his lips and Crowley near crashed the goddamn car.

Chapter Text

“Hello Mister Crowley,” Adam said as he hopped in the back seat of the bentley.
“Hey kiddo.”
“Did you and Papa have a sleepover, too?”
“Uh,” he hadn’t slept over but it felt like an odd question, “No, I went back to mine afterwards.”
“After what?”
“We saw a play.”
“Papa says we’re not allowed to see The Hunchback of Notre Dame until I’m older,” Adam crossed his arms in the backseat, and Aziraphale was done thanking Pepper’s mother for letting the boy sleep over. Had Crowley not had the windows closed, he would have heard Pepper’s mother (Jane?) ask Aziraphale if that was his husband in the car, and he would have heard Aziraphale struggle to think of what to call Crowley for about fifteen seconds before settling on ‘friend’.
“Oh Warlock likes this song!” Adam said as Aziraphale made certain his seatbelt was buckledfor the fifth time. “Turn it up!”
“That’s not how you ask, Adam,” Aziraphale chided.
“He’s right. You have to say ‘crank it’,” Crowley cut in.
“Crank it!” Adam yelled, Crowley obeyed, and as Adam and Crowley sang Bohemian Rhapsody at equal volumes, Aziraphale looked up the lyrics on his ancient phone in attempt to join in. How Aziraphale didn’t know the lyrics to the song, and Adam did, evaded Crowley but it was certainly endearing. If Adam was not in the car Crowley would have reached for Aziraphale’s hand, but he didn’t know how much Adam knew, and he had seen sitcoms, children were very protective of their single parents when it came to a new potential romance. But Adam did already like Crowley, or at least he seemed to. It would take a few more dates to know, anyways.
Crowley dropped the Fells off in front of their building and waved goodbye to drive to Anathema’s, this was going to be an interesting movie night. Maybe Newt would come out of his room for once, he was often in his and Anathema’s room when Crowley was over. It wasn’t that Newt disliked Crowley, it was more that Crowley had a strange energy about him and it apparently put Newt off, but he did enjoy gossip on occasion.
“You didn’t go to Oxford,” said Anathema when she opened the door.
“Ah fuck I forgot to give it back again,” Crowley slapped his hand over his forehead and shoved past Anathema into the living room.
“So I take it last night went,” Anathema lowered her voice, “well?”
“Argh don’t be a perv,” Crowley threw himself into his place on the couch, “No, nothing happened. We went to see a show and I dropped him off at his place.”
“And where were you this morning?”
“I went to return his sweatshirt and offered to drive him to pick Adam up to bring the kid home,” Crowley drummed a hand onto his chest, “I swear we didn’t do anything. He just kissed my cheek- don’t look at me like that.”
“Young love,” Anathema cooed, shoving herself onto the couch and forcing Crowley to sit at least a bit properly.
“I’m older than you!”
“By two months.”
“And as you pointed out, he’s a year and a half older than me.”
“Going for older men, then.”
“Newt is three years older than you,” Crowley argued, and the man himself snuck down the hall and was attempting to walk as quietly as possible to the kitchen.
“Hi Crowley,” Newt said awkwardly, pushing up his glasses, one of the legs was broken and had been for six months but he couldn’t be bothered to fix them, thus they fell down his breakable nose every five seconds.
“We’re getting off topic,” Anathema shooed Newt away, to his relief, and he was back in their room with a bag of chips and a glass of water. “Tell me every detail of your night.”
“If we actually do end up going on a date where something happens don’t expect to hear those details,” Crowley picked off the final bit of nail polish on his thumb.
“Oh gross I wouldn’t wanna hear about your sex anyways,” Anathema feigned a gag, “You’re like my brother.”
“Well I don’t know! I haven’t had a boyfriend since we’ve known each other,” well, Crowley had had a boyfriend or two in university, but they weren’t serious.
“What about Michael?”
“Michael? The one with the curly brown hair and the beard?”
“Oh yeah, that was for like two weeks Anathema. Actors aren’t my type.”
“I would just like to remind you that you were an actor.”
“Well, yeah I’m not my type.”
“Am I your type?” Anathema fluttered her eyelashes behind her owlish glasses.
“Maybe if you were a dude. Am I yours?”
“Ew, no.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Crowley grunted.
“But you love me.”
“I really don’t.”
“I took care of you after surgery and this is the thanks I receive?” Anathema threw her head back dramatically, wiping nothing from her eyes with a lacey sleeve. Crowley searched for the remote and put the television on.
“Anathema you watched ahead!”
“Okay I couldn’t just leave off on Libby’s miscarriage!”
“Now I actually hate you,” Crowley didn’t really mean it, Anathema was really his only friend. Well, did Aziraphale count as a friend? He wasn’t a boyfriend but this certainly wasn’t a platonic relationship anymore. Unless that was a friendship date and a friendship hand-hold and a friendship kiss on the cheek AND the knuckles. Definetly nothing heterosexual about that. Did he text Aziraphale or was that too clingy? He pulled out his phone and Aziraphale had texted him first.
Aziraphale: I just realized I still have your jacket!
Crowley: yeah anathema gave me shit abt still having ur sweatshirt
thinks we slept together
Aziraphale: Is that a bad thing?
Crowley: no ig
but shes relentless about it
Aziraphale: What does “ig” mean?
Crowley: “i guess”
Aziraphale: Oh. LOL.
Crowley: you dont have to capitalize acronyms angel
Aziraphale: Oh. lol.
Crowley: there you go
well you can have your sweatshirt back on monday ill bring it to work
Aziraphale: Alright. Just remind me to bring you your jacket back
Crowley: will do, angel
Aziraphale: Thank you, dear.
Crowley smiled at his phone and put it back in his (Aziraphale’s) pocket, this earned a glance from Anathema, who raised a perfect eyebrow. Anathema backed off when Crowley shot her a deadly glance. Well, a glance with enough menace in it to seriously harm her, he could never kill anyone, not even on accident, which was why he had never crashed his car. Sheer willpower, it was.

Chapter Text

It had been a week (or nine days if you want to be precise) since Crowley and Aziraphale had been on their first date, and Crowley had finally returned Aziraphale’s sweatshirt, and he had his jacket back. Admittedly, he missed the sweatshirt and was planning on finding a way to steal if again. They had already been on two more dates and even though it was a week day tonight was their fifth date. But it was a special date because rather than going out to eat and then walking around Soho aimlessly, he was going to Aziraphale’s flat for dinner. He had been there before but not like this.
Ever since the Gabriel Incident, Aziraphale had been very hesitant to lace fingers with Crowley in public, or even in the privacy of the hall outside his front door, if they were walking about together after dinner they linked arms and that was about it. Crowley very much minded this, but if it was what Aziraphale wanted, he wasn’t going to protest, worried he could ruin their relationship. But tonight was just them alone, nobody could see them, Adam was at Warlock’s.

Crowley nervously buttoned up his shirt, he didn’t often wear button ups at all, and when he did they were normally so hideously ugly that they looked good, but tonight it was just a solid black and silver skinny-tie/scarf/ whatever it was. Were the black dress pants too much with the black top and the black jacket? No, solid black was stylish. He was fussing again. When Crowley still went to therapy she had told him he fussed over himself too much, she was probably right. Crowley tugged on his lower eyelashes, dragging his eyes open. They were the same color as the leaves dying outside that you expected to crunch beneath your feet but instead made no sound and left you oddly uncomfortable for a few minutes. He hated it. But there wasn’t much he could do about it, well there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
Crowley was convinced the bentley had somehow become sentient because on the way to Aziraphale’s, it only played love songs.
“You think you’re real funny don’t you,” Crowley said to the radio, the bentley replied with You’re My Best Friend, “You can’t fool me! This is a love song too!” Crowley pulled up in front of the building and pulled his keys from the ignition, they jingled as he walked inside and towards the lift. Fourth floor, flat 429, at the end of the hall. He could do this. It’s a fifth date! Why was he so nervous!
Crowley rapped on the door, met with barking from Dog and Aziraphale’s soft voice trying to calm the little mongrel down (“It’s only Crowley!”), the door opened and lo, an angel. Aziraphale was dressed similar to Crowley but in the exact opposite color pallet, and with a tartan bow tie in place of whatever Crowley was wearing. He’d gotten a haircut, just a trim, but his perfect little blonde curls were more perfect than usual and oh he did have his ears pierced. Two tiny little blue stones sat on either of his ears, almost the same color as his eyes, but not quite. They lacked the depth of Aziraphale’s eyes, and the tiny golden flecks around his pupils.
“Hello Crowley,” oh that smile was going to wreck him.
“Hey Aziraphale.”
“You look,” Aziraphale inhaled, “Lovely.”
“Thank you,” Crowley felt like a dumb schoolgirl again, “You do as well. I- I like the earrings.”
“Oh thank goodness I was worried they were too much,” Aziraphale stepped aside and let Crowley in.
“No, no I like them. When did you get them pierced?” Crowley sauntered into the dining room and sat in a chair with a floral cushion and wobbly legs. A candle with a rose on it’s label sat in the center of the table, flickering and providing the only light in the room. The rest of the light was what streamed in from the kitchen and the windows revealing the setting son.
“Oh, you’ll laugh,” Aziraphale sat across from Crowley, elbows on the table, “I was seventeen, and my sister convinced me to let her shove a needle through my ear. Like The Parent Trap, you know? She put an apple core under my ear and shoved a sewing needle through my ear into it!”
“If I had done anything like that my father would have probably killed me.”
“Oh yes, my dad was angry, more with my sister than he was with me, though.”
“I didn’t have any siblings,” that wasn’t entirely true, Crowley had a step sister he had never met from his mother’s second marriage. What was her name? Beatrice? Something stupid like that.
“I had three,” Aziraphale talked with his hands a lot, he wore a ring on his pinky finger, Crowley noticed. “My half sister and brother, Michael and Gabriel, and my full sister, Mary.”
“Parents into biblical names, then?”
“Oh yes, we went to church every Sunday morning and Wednesday evening. I had three rosaries!”
“Isn’t re-marrying against the bible or something like that?”
“Gabriel and Michael’s father died, and their mum married my dad, and then she had Mary, and then me. It’s why Gabriel doesn’t like me very much,” Aziraphale twirled a strand of hair around his finger.
“I don’t like Gabriel very much.”
“Oh well, blood is thicker than water, as they say,” Aziraphale laughed awkwardly, the oven beeped from the kitchen and Aziraphale hopped up to rush for it. Whatever it was, it smelled nice.
“Thank you for cooking, but I honestly would have been fine if you put take-out on my plate and called it a night,” Crowley said as Aziraphale placed a blue plate with ‘flatbread’ (most people would just call it fancy pizza) in front of him.
“But that would be lying! Thank you, though,” Aziraphale sat in his seat, “I’m sorry if it’s plain I don’t know how to make anything fancy. Normally I just make food for Adam and I, and he can be awfully picky and- oh I’m rambling. I am so sorry.”
“Angel, it’s fine. I’m sure it’s great, and you can ramble as much as you want. I like your voice,” Crowley blew on the flatbread to help it cool, he was suddenly starving. Aziraphale grinned and started talking about nothing in particular as they ate, somehow his brain could manage to connect two unrelated topics and have them make perfect sense.
Somehow, by the time they were done eating (it was delicious), Aziraphale had moved onto the topic of how much trouble he had gotten into when he had knocked a crucifix off the wall and beheaded Jesus because he wasn’t looking where he was going. Understandable, as it was apparently when he was reading Romeo and Juliet for the first time at age twelve.
Crowley replied with the story of the one time he had gone to church with his father and accidentally knocked an entire bowl of holy water over onto the floor, he’d had to clean the carpets and hang them to dry himself and pray to the rosary twenty times. It wasn’t his fault that a cute boy had winked at him during Christmas mass! It should have been Jordan cleaning up those ugly rugs, not Crowley.
Now, the conversation had moved onto the couch and was tainted by a glass and a half of wine in both of their systems. They had both lost their jackets and neck accessories, and Crowley had unbuttoned a few buttons on the top of his shirt, it was just more comfortable that way.
“Yeah angel?”
“You have very nice eyes, did you know that?”
“So do you.”

Chapter Text

“I mean it,” said Aziraphale softly, “I’ve never seen anyone with eyes like yours before.”
“That’s because they’re devil’s eyes,” that’s what Crowley’s father had told him, made him wear sunglasses to church and claimed he had an eye condition that made him light sensitive.
“Well they often say the devil is handsome,” Aziraphale moved slightly closer to Crowley on the couch. Crowley’s whole body just felt like he’d leapt from a plane, his stomach dropped and his senses were either gone or so heightened that they stopped sending signals to his brain, and his heart was threatening to jump from his chest. Crowley set down his wine glass, and Aziraphale set his down next to it, with his newly free hand Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s hand, and Aziraphale did the same, moving ever so slightly closer.
“Is this alright?” Aziraphale moved one of his hands up Crowley’s arm to rest it on his shoulder, Crowley wanted to scream ‘yes’ but he just nodded a bit and moved closer, one of his own hands cupping Aziraphale’s face.
If you asked Aziraphale who made the first move he would have said it was Crowley, but Crowley would say that it had been Aziraphale who leaned forward first. Regardless, their lips had met for a brief moment before they both pulled away. The second time it was surely Crowley who less moved forward and more pulled Aziraphale towards him for more, Crowley was pressed against the arm of the couch with Aziraphale practically on top of him, one hand on the small of Aziraphale’s back, the other cupping his impossibly soft cheek. Both of Aziraphale’s hands clung to Crowley’s shoulders as if he would fly away if he let go, which seemed entirely possible to both of them at this point.
“Oh good lord,” Aziraphale sighed when he pulled away.
“My thoughts exactly,” Crowley tugged on Aziraphale’s shirt, the blonde jerked away when it became untucked from his pants. “Oh, angel I’m so sorry,” Crowley stammered, “we- we don’t have to go that far.”
“I’m just worried I would disappoint you,” Aziraphale fumbled at Crowley’s shirt as he spoke.
“If you’re not ready we don’t have to,” Crowley assured, “We don’t ever have to go farther than right now.”
“Really, truly angel.”
“Well I want to,” Aziraphale un-buttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, “But I think for now we can just keep doing this.”
“Whatever you want to do,” Crowley pressed a chaste kiss to Aziraphale’s lips.
“I have a question first though.”
“Are we boyfriends now?”
“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”
“Oh we sound like school children,” Aziraphale laughed, “But yes.”
“I’m fine with it then.”
Eventually whatever that was moved onto Aziraphale’s bed, but didn’t move to anything else, they just un-buttoned their shirts and laid on top of one another like awkward teenagers. This was fine with both of them, they both weren’t exactly ready to move farther than that.Eventually they fell asleep still for the most part fully dressed.

Crowley woke to the sound of a very loud string orchestra. None of his neighbors liked Les Mis and that certainly wasn’t his alarm blaring Hgh Jackman. This was not his bedroom, or Anathema’s guest bedroom. This was Aziraphale’s bedroom, and Aziraphale was getting dressed for the day in front of him, he shied away beneath the sheets, it felt wrong to see Aziraphale if Aziraphale didn’t know he was seeing him.
“Oh! Good morning Crowley, Adam had an impromptu sleepover at the Dowling’s I suppose, they’re bringing him in today. Isn’t that kind of them?”
“Morning angel,” Crowley sat up, his clothes were wrinkled to hell, “Uh- sorry that we had an impromptu sleepover.”
“I think it’s alright,” Aziraphale tightened his neck tie, “Nothing happened.”
“Anathema is going to kill me, you know,” Crowley grumbled and climbed from the down blankets “Never hear the end of it.”
“Oh I’m sorry dear,” Aziraphale moved over to Crowley and stood taller than him, he normally was an inch or two taller, but now he was in his loafers and Crowley was slouched over in sleepiness. Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s necktie on impulse and pulled him down and forward for a kiss.
“Have a good day at work, angel,” he grinned at Aziraphale’s flustered hands worrying at his shirt collar.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale falsely protested, but Crowley had already stolen Aziraphale’s sweatshirt to cover his wrinkled dress shirt and slipped into his shoes and opened the door, “I have to get home and get ready for work.” He waved goodbye and ran out the door.
After a quick clothes change and tooth brushing session, Crowley was at work, only half an hour late. Could be worse.
“YAAARGH!” Crowley was immediately tackled by Adam, Warlock and Brian, though he had been half expecting it to be Anathema.
“Art thou a witch?” Brian demanded.
“No! I’m not a witch,” Crowley replied
“I told you, he can’t be a witch. Boys can’t be witches,” Warlock said.
“Boy witches are called warlocks!” Brian yelled, Adam gasped and turned to his friend.
“He’s right, though. I can’t be a witch,” Crowley dropped to the ground, “I’m a demon!” The children screamed and ran off, followed by The Demon Crowley.
“Pepper!” Brian screamed as the girl walked in the front door, “There’s a demon here!”
“I thought he was a witch,” Pepper’s mother said, but Pepper was already running after The Demon Crowley.
“Demonic possession!” Crowley yelled as he picked Adam up, “You’re my minion now!”
“Yessir,” Adam saluted, off to do evil bidding. Uriel was wearing her rosary today, or maybe she always wore it and Crowley hadn’t noticed, but she was pointing the cross at its end at the other children and screaming in a more demonic way than Adam was.
“Anthonyyy,” Anathema snuck up behind Crowley.
“Anathemaaaa,” he imitated.
“Why were you late?” Anathema chided, Crowley grabbed her by the arm and dragged her from earshot of the children.
“Are you asking me about my sex life at a goddamn daycare?”
“I didn’t say anything about that!”
“Yes you did,” Crowley hissed.
“Is there one to be asked about though?”
“If I asked you after work would the answer be different?”
“If you don’t bother me about it for the rest of the day and ask me after you give me a glass of wine maybe it will,” Crowley turned on his heel, “You’ll have to wait to find out though.”
“I’m dying of anticipation.”
“Shut up.”
“Demon Crowley!” Hastur tugged at Crowley’s pant leg.
“Yes, Hastur?”
“Adam recruited us,” the greasy boy gestured to Ligur at his side.
“Just go, make some trouble,” Crowley shooed them away, glad they were interacting with The Them.
“Alright,” said Ligur and the two ran off.
“No biting, Hastur!” Anathema ran after the boys, apparently half an hour without Crowley had led to pure chaos. Not exactly a problem, it would be a fun story in a year or two, once Wensleydale’s finger was healed and his parents had calmed down about it.

Chapter Text

The Demon Crowley continued his evil wiles after Hastur had been sent to time out after biting Wensleydale, and Uriel had gotten a talking to about places where you can and cannot scream. Ligur was moping in the corner, building something out of off brand legos that weren’t very sharp, actual legos had been banned and Crowley still had a scar on his elbow from when he had broken a fall onto a castle a kid was building. It was a great way to start your first week of work, really.
“Warlock, I’ll get the demon, you get his minion,” Pepper commanded, she had made Uriel ‘bless’ a cup of grape juice that was now being poured into a tiny pink water gun.
“Holy water?!” Crowley gasped, “You wouldn’t.”
“Well, it’s grape juice, so I would.”
“Holy grape juice? That’s even worse than holy water!”
“Do you feel lucky, demon?” Pepper pointed the gun, Crowley darted to the corner where Ligur sat, hiding behind a wall of not-legos, the little girl fired.
“OW!” Ligur howled, the holy grape juice had hit him on the cheek, it was swelling.
“Anathema!” Crowley yelled, he forgot Ligur was allergic to grapes, but Anathema was somehow already there, and had stabbed Ligur with a needle. Crowley wasn’t supposed to handle the epipen really, he hadn’t been trained to use it, but he wished he had been the one to administer the medicine. An epipen was the only time it was legal to stab someone, and Ligur was a bit of a brat sometimes. Well, all the time.
“Oh-kay,” Anathema took the water gun from Pepper, discarded it, and wiped up the droplet of juice on the floor, “No more grape juice.” Crowley stomped two times, the children clapped, he stomped twice more and they clapped again. Satisfied, Crowley let Anathema take their attention. “No grapes allowed anymore, not grape juice or raisins or anything. Ligur is allergic,” she announced, the children all nodded and went back to daily shenanigans.

“Are you waiting for your boyfriend?” Anathema asked, doing her usual sit on the desk while Adam sat beneath it and Crowley sat and waited.
Crowley habitually began to say “Not my-” and remembered that Aziraphale was in fact his boyfriend. “Yes. I am waiting for my boyfriend.”
“It is official as of last night,” Crowley said matter-of-factly, but shot a glance at Anathema and then down towards Adam, telling her not to push it.
“Mister Crowley?”
“Yeah, Adam?”
“Are you and Papa gonna get married?”
“Uh- I don’t know kid. We’ll wait and see,” Crowley ruffled Adam’s hair under the desk. Crowley’s parents had divorced past the point where kids believed that you could fall in love and get married in a week, so he had never gotten to be a kid that asked embarrassing questions to potential suitors for his parents. Though he had had a few awkward conversations on the occasional Tuesday morning with strange women wearing one of his father’s shirts in the kitchen, who didn’t know he existed until the morning after they had been brought home by Dr.Crowley. He never saw them a second time, though.
“Hello Crowley,” Aziraphale always seemed to enter when the topic of conversation had shifted to him.
“Hey, angel,” Crowley replied, and Adam rushed to his father’s side.
“Papa?” the boy asked.
“Yes, dear?”
“Are you and Mister Crowley going to get married?”
“Erm, we’ll wait and see.”
“That’s just what Mister Crowley said!”
“It’s only been a week, dear.”
“No, you’ve known each other for a month,” Adam protested and Aziraphale signed his name with a pom-pom pen, to confirm Adam had not been kidnapped.
“But we’ve only been together a week.”
“Implications,” Adam said. Little bastard. But, at least Crowley knew he was not a suitor Adam disapproved of. Hopefully.
“Alright, let’s go. You need a bath,” Aziraphale leaned over the desk and kissed Crowley’s forehead, to his surprise, he’d never done that in public. Crowley turned red as a strawberry and Aziraphale the same as he opened the door.
“Bye, angel,” was all Crowley could manage.
“Goodbye my dear.”
“Oh are you two going to get mawwied?” Anathema raised her voice about an octave.
“You do a horrible Adam impression.”
“Okay. We’re going back to my place now and you’re telling me everything that happened last night,” Anathema grabbed Crowley by his sleeve and dragged him to the car, “We’re leaving my bike here, you can drive me to work in the morning.” It was a command, not a statement, as many things Anathema said often were.
“Are you aware we can have conversations about things other than my sex life?” Crowley didn’t wait for Anathema to buckle up before rushing off to her flat.
“Is there a sex life to be conversed about?”
“Get me a glass of good wine and you can find out,” truthfully, Crowley did want to talk about Aziraphale with someone, just let himself gush for a little bit and get it out of his system. Anathema was not preferable, but she was more responsive than Dennis the rex begonia. But Crowley should be entitled to a bit of privacy regarding his relationships, especially with a friend he saw more of like an older sister (despite his being actually older). Had he told a therapist about this, the therapist would have called seeing Anathema as family a coping mechanism to make up for Crowley’s lack of one. They were all alive as far as Crowley knew, but Anathema could tell you more about Crowley than his family certainly could. Or she could tell you more accurate information.
For one, Crowley’s family could hardly get his name right, and hardly remember his birthday was on October thirteenth, or that his favorite color was red, or that he still played the piano. They couldn’t tell you who he’d played in Rent at age seventeen because they hadn’t shown up, or what he wrote on his Christmas list every year. They probably didn’t even know he didn’t go to church anymore. They did know he liked boys. They probably didn’t know he was gay. They couldn’t tell you that he had a tattoo of flowers on his thigh, or a snake on his ribcage. Or that he took French lessons in university, and still spoke a bit. It dawned on Crowley that Aziraphale also knew most of this, and they’d hardly known each other a month, this was all information Anathema had collected from years of friendship.
But Crowley’s family, Aziraphale and Anathema most certainly did not know that he was the happiest he had been in a long time. Nobody, not even Crowley, knew why.

Chapter Text

“So,” Anathema began, cut off by Crowley taking a very loud and obnoxious sip of wine from his glass.
“I said,” Crowley took another sip, “after a glass.” Anathema balled her fists in her hair and groaned loudly.
“You’re killing me here.”
“Ana, you’re killing me,” Newt said, Anathema was currently crushing her bean pole of a boyfriend between her body and the arm of the couch.
“Sorry, sweetie.”
“Domesticity,” Crowley muttered into his glass. Before downing the rest of it, he had never really been one to nurse on a glass of alcohol for an hour until it got warm and the bubbles (if there were any) had all gone away. Anathema climbed off poor Newt, who moved to an armchair to silently drink his tea.
“You’re done. Details,” she commanded, Newt shifted awkwardly under his tartan blanket. Crowley told Anathema that Aziraphale had cooked dinner, they both had a glass of wine and sat on the couch, he lied and told her they had been watching a movie, when in reality they had just been listening to some scratchy record of an old classical musician that had an affinity for waltz music. Crowley also lied and told Anathema that not a single shirt button had been undone, and he woke up alone on the couch.
But Crowley was a decently good liar, from years of practice, especially in secondary school about where he had been. Luckily, the kids in Dungeons and Dragons club were very willing to tell Dr.Crowley that his offspring had been with them all night.
“So what I’m hearing is that I wasted a glass of good wine.”
“No, I never told you we did anything. I told you that you would find out after a glass of wine.”
“Yeah and that story wasn’t worth it.”
“Ana, don’t be rude,” Newt said from his arm chair.
“Yeah Ana,” Crowley mocked, sticking his tongue out.
“You would look less childish doing that if you still had your piercing there,” Anathema chided.
“Well the piercing hole closed,” Crowley said, “and I’m not getting it pierced again. Hurt like a motherfucker.”
“Not even for fifty pounds?”
“That worked when we were nineteen. Not working anymore,” Crowley would have stomped his foot if he had been standing, but he was sitting with his legs criss-crossed. Anathema pouted and turned to the television, indicating for Newt to play the episode of the show they had been watching. “I miss Betty,” Crowley complained, she had hardly been in the second half of this season.
“We know she was your favorite lesbian prostitue, Crowley,” Newt said, group television binges were really the only time Newt and Crowley interacted. Though Masters of Sex was a show that often had Newt covering his eyes or needing to check his phone.
“She’ll be back,” Anathema pulled a blanket over herself, and Crowley moved closer to share it, it was starting to get cold. Crowley was already normally very cold, his hands were constantly frigid and on actually cold days his finger tips would go numb if he didn’t keep moving. But as September made its way into October Crowley felt the need to wear thicker socks and nicer jeans, and the want to wear sweatshirts that smelt of old bookshops. He had a feeling that want would remain into the summers, though.

The next morning Crowley drove Anathema to work as she had said he would, and of course he’d been in the bathroom when Adam was dropped off. Anathema had probably pestered poor Aziraphale and Crowley made a note to not drink so much tea in the mornings. Since the incident with the holy grape juice, water pistols had been banned, a little disappointing, but ninjas, as Brian had decided The Them now were, did not need water pistols. Instead they made terrible origami and threw it at Crowley throughout the day, covered their noses in their shirts and ran off. They were starting to become more independent, which was a bit disappointing to Crowley, but most of the children would be off to school next year, this could just ease the transition, he supposed.

Two weeks (and six dates) after that, it was Friday the eleventh of October, and Anathema had ‘let it slip’ that Sunday was Crowley’s birthday. The children decided that Friday was his early birthday celebration, and he came to work to find that the children were all already there, Anathema had told him he could be a few minutes late, he was twenty four now, elders need their rest. They had made him a very awful Happy Birthday banner, spelled more like HAPpy BIRThday, in glitter and scented marker. Everyone (excluding Hastur and Ligur) screamed and attacked Crowley in a hug, nearly making him topple to the ground. Nearly.
Until Anathema came at him, then he did actually fall, thankful for the colorful puzzle piece shaped foam underneath him.
“Okay everyone, off,” Crowley laughed, a bit painfully as Wensleydale was pressed into his stomach.
“Get the birthday crown,” Anathema instructed Adam, the boy walked to the costume box and picked up the plastic crown with its plastic jewels. Crowley knelt as Anathema placed the crown on his head, the children sang very loudly and off key, as was traditional when singing the happy birthday song.
Crowley stood and bowed for the sake of the audience, holding the small crown on his head, and apparently Warlock had introduced a new song.
“Happy birthday!” they all sang and clapped, “You’re one year older,” clap, “People dying,” clap, “all around you,” clap, “so happy birthday,” clap again, and they slowly got closer, “you’re one year closer,” they clapped and all paused, “TO DEATH!” they all leapt at Crowley again, Anathema was mortified.
“Who taught you that?” she said.
“Warlock!” Adam said, “we learned it at his birthday slumber party!”
“Warlock,” Crowley attempted to scold the boy but he was a little proud, if he was honest. Warlock grumbled and went to sit in the time out chair and everyone giggled and applauded, marvelling at how old Crowley was.
“My father is thirty one,” Uriel stuck her nose up.
“That’s old!” Adam said, “My Papa is twenty five, now he and Mister Crowley are only a year apart!”
“Your papa is stupid.” This comment earned Uriel half an hour in the time out chair, normally the S word was only for twenty-five minutes, but Crowley didn’t like her tone. So Warlock was released from time out a few minutes early.
By request of the birthday boy (man) the old tv larger than Wensleydale was rolled out and a dusty VHS of Disney’s Robinhood, and then they watched Matilda. Two movies that reminded Crowley of his childhood in a good way, he remembered seeing Matilda and how she could take care of herself and Crowley had thought ‘I can do that too’ thankfully, Crowley did not have an awful school principal like Matilda, but he was often alone like her. He mostly just enjoyed Robin Hood because he would excuse stealing from his father as taking from the rich to give to the poor. He didn’t steal that often but he did give himself birthday presents on the occasion it had been forgotten.
Snacks were changed from fruit slices and crackers to cookies Anathema had made herself, she wasn’t an amazing cook, but you couldn’t go wrong with store-bought cookie dough, which Crowley knew it was. The children all gave their crafts to Crowley and he knew he was probably going to cry when he got home, Anathema hadn’t told them about his birthday last year, but when she found out Crowley didn’t get any gifts (except from her and Newt) last year, she was determined to give him a good birthday. As insufferable as Anathema could be, she was a goddamn good friend.

“Papa it’s Crowley’s birthday!” Adam yelled when Aziraphale walked in the door.
“I know,” he laughed and picked his son up, “We’re having a party tonight.”
“We are?” mouthed Crowley, Aziraphale nodded. Crowley was definitely going to cry when he got home.
“With cake?” Adam asked.
“Yes, with cake,” he signed the paper signing Adam out, kissed Crowley on the cheek and waved goodbye. “Seven-thirty,” he said softly before he left. Crowley grinned, why couldn’t it be seven thirty already? He probably would have crashed the Bentley out of excitement if he listened to music, so the drive home was silent except for the happy humming of it’s driver.

Chapter Text

Seven thirty wasn’t soon enoughand Crowley was at Aziraphale’s at seven twenty five, he bounced on the balls of his feet outside the door, answered by Aziraphale, Adam right behind him.
“Hello, dear,” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in his and kissed his knuckles, he was probably the only person in the world that could make that work.
“Hey angel,” Crowley breathed.
“Happy birthday,” Aziraphale placed a kiss on Crowley’s cheek, as he had many times before but tonight was just a little different. Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand again and led him into the kitchen and sat him down on a barstool. There was three now, Crowley noticed. Adam hopped on the seat next to Crowley and looked to his father and raised an eyebrow. Well he tried to raise one eyebrow but he could only manage both at the same time, a lightbulb appeared over Aziraphale’s head, “Your presents are in my room, let me get them,” he left the room and Adam leaned over onto Crowley.
“Crowley,” Adam sounded like a four year old often does when delivering serious news, not all too serious, but serious by the standards of a four year old, “Papa said he likes you very much. I’m the man of the house so I have to lay down the law.”
“You’re the man of the house?”
“Yes, and Papa told me he likes you very much, and I’m just here to tell you that if you break his heart,” Adam stood on the stool, “I’ll have to kill you.”
“I won’t break his heart, kiddo,” Crowley leaned forward, “Can I tell you a secret?”
“I suppose,” Adam crossed his arms.
“I like your Papa very much.”
“Oh,” Adam sat down, “That’s fine then. But you can’t tell him I told you.”
“I promise.”
“What are we not telling me?” Aziraphale had entered the room with one perfectly wrapped package and one wrapped very clumsily. Knowing the Fells, it was impossible to tell which had been wrapped by who.
“I was telling Crowley a secret,” Adam said, Aziraphale looked to Crowley who mouthed “I’ll tell you later” Aziraphale nodded and handed Crowley the well wrapped package.
“This one is from me,” he said. In perfect handwriting on top of the baby blue wrapping paper said ‘Anthony Crowley ♡’ Crowley just about imploded. With delicate fingers, Crowley peeled the package open, in it was a cardboard box, he opened that and inside was a maroon hoodie, embroidered with a yellow angel in the style of Keith Haring in the corner of the chest.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley picked the hoodie up and checked the sizing on the inside, it was a size too big, which was just how he liked it.
“Do you like it?”
Crowley pressed the hoodie to his face, old bookshop, “Angel, I love it.”
“Oh, thank goodness. I worked so hard on it.”
“You made this?”
“Just the embroider-ugh,” he was cut off by a firm hug from Crowley.
“How long did this take you?”
“He worked on it every day this week!” Adam piped in, “Stop being gross and open my present now!” Adam shoved the ball or wrapping paper at Crowley. There was no delicate way to unwrap a present wrapped so un-delicately, so a set of torn Charlie Brown paper made its way into the recycling bin. It was a tiny clay pot covered in fingerprints and messily painted all sorts of colors.
“Oh thank you Adam,” Crowley thought about where he could move some of his plants to the pot could sit in his bedroom windowsill, he could plant a succulent in it. Adam beamed and began ranting about how he made it all by himself with no help from his papa.
“Can we have cake now?” Adam interrupted himself and hopped down from his stool to turn the lights off. Aziraphale uncovered a cake covered in lilac frosting with three candles stuck in it, and pulled out a lighter. The Fells were not particularly talented singers, but it was certainly the thought that counted. Crowley could not think of a wish before he blew out the candles.
Aziraphale cut him a slice, it was angel food cake. Little bastard. He gave Crowley a knowing smile as he put the cake on his plate. Of course it was delicious, Aziraphale was a miracle worker, or maybe he had just watched too much of The Great British Bake Off. Adam scarfed his slice and asked for another but his father was immune to the puppy dog eyes and covered the cake again before putting it into the fridge.
“Can we watch Doctor Who now?” Adam said after he’d changed into his pyjamas.
“Only if Crowley wants to.”
“Yes we can watch Doctor Who.”
“Yeah!” Adam rushed into the living room and scared the daylights out of a sleeping Dog, who crawled onto the boys lap and fell asleep again.
“One episode, then it is bedtime, young man,” Aziraphale informed him as he sat down on the couch where Crowley joined him. They had been together a month at this point but sitting next to each other in a dark room was still a bit nerve wracking, Crowley pulled his new sweatshirt over his head and lay down. Aziraphale moved to lay between his legs, resting his head on Crowley’s chest.
“Dear, your heart is beating very fast,” Aziraphale whispered.
“Sorry,” Crowley didn’t know why he was apologizing for something he couldn’t help, Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and brought it to his own chest.
“Mine is too, it’s alright.”

“Bedtime,” Aziraphale dragged Adam off the couch and walked him to his room, Dog on his heels. Crowley heard promises of cake for desert tomorrow and Dog’s collar jingling as he presumably hopped on Adam’s bed. “Nos da, Adam. I love you,” Aziraphale said.
“Nos da, Papa.”
“What’s ‘nos da’ mean?”
“It’s Welsh for goodnight,” Aziraphale sat back on the couch. Crowley nodded and leaned toward Aziraphale, pressing a long, loving kiss to his lips.
“Thank you so much for tonight, angel,” he said, and kissed him again.
“You’re so welcome dear,” Aziraphale returned the favor, “Do you want to sleep over here properly tonight?”
“Oh I would like that very much,” he and Aziraphale got up and walked to Aziraphale’s room, “We don’t have to do anything, you know.”
“Hm? Oh I didn’t mean like that,” Aziraphale’s cheeks went pink, “I just, like waking up next to somebody.”
“Me too,” Crowley took off his sweatshirt as Aziraphale unbuttoned his own shirt, Crowley pulled off his old Against Me! T-shirt and Aziraphale turned to him, of course he was wearing an undershirt.
“Oh, dear, I love your tattoo. I could never get one. I’m too scared of needles”
“Thank you. It hurt, ribcage is a painful spot.”
“It’s very beautiful,” Aziraphale stepped closer and Crowley lifted his arm to let him get a better look, and he gently placed a hand over the snake.
“You’re very beautiful.”
“Oh, I am not.”
Crowley turned and took Aziraphale by the arms, “Yes you are. Shut up.” Crowley put his new favorite item of clothing over his head again, it was incredibly soft on the inside. Aziraphale walked into the bathroom and Crowley stripped down to his boxers and flopped into the bed. The blonde re-entered the room in his own boxers and concert t-shirt. He crawled under the tartan covers next to Crowley and kissed his cheek. Crowley wrapped his arms round Aziraphale, who placed his soft head of Crowley’s chest, he exhaled loudly ran his hands through the blonde ringlet curls.
“Nos da,” Crowley said.
“Nos da,” Aziraphale responded softly, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Crowley said it so naturally it was as if it was their hundredth time saying this, he certainly hoped there would be at least one hundred more nights like this. If he had known that this feeling existed he would have wished for it when he blew out his candles. They both fell asleep faster than either of them had in a very long time.

Chapter Text

Crowley woke up when Aziraphale climbed out of bed, exposing him to the elements, he hissed, half joking, and pulled the blankets back over himself.
“Crowley, dear, it’s nine am, get up,” Aziraphale laughed and pulled on a set of pajamas in the same tartan as his comforter, and tossed a similar pair in Crowley’s direction, before putting on his glasses. Crowley begrudgingly pulled them on under the covers and stood up, they were very soft inside and out. Much like everything of Aziraphale’s. Much like Aziraphale in himself.
“Good morning!” Adam flung the door open after only knocking once.
“Good morning, dear,” Aziraphale smiled and walked off into the kitchen.
“Mornin’ kid,” Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets, hopefully this was not a moment Adam would look back on in twenty years and think about it in a negative way.
“Adam! I told you not to use the stove without me!” called Aziraphale from the kitchen, Adam nearly jumped from his Winnie the Pooh pajamas and ran into the kitchen after his father. Adam had attempted to make pancakes and made only about one third of the mess you would expect a four year old to make when attempting to make pancakes alone. Crowley and Adam cleaned up the pancake mix with wet paper towels while Aziraphale made the batter actually usable and grabbed a pan of the suitable size from the cupboard. Adam and Crowley sat in their stools and waited to be served, Adam put about a tablespoon of syrup on each pancake, and Crowley seemed determined to drown his. Aziraphale was somewhere in the middle, but he was the only one who put butter on them first (“It’s buttermilk angel you don’t need more butter!”).

“How did you enjoy your birthday yesterday?” Aziraphale said as they all digested on the couch.
“My actual birthday isn’t till tomorrow, angel.”
“Well then we’ll have to do this all again tomorrow!”
“More cake!” Adam exclaimed from his place on his couch.
“I will not be making another cake,” Aziraphale chided, “We can just put candles in the one from yesterday.”
“Angel you don’t have to do that.”
“Oh but I love you,” Aziraphale smiled at the pink in Crowley’s cheeks, the latter leaned forward and kissed the former gently. It had not been a dream.
“I love you too, angel.”
“Ych!” Adam giggled.
“You have to get used to it Adam,” Aziraphale teased and kissed his boyfriend, “Crowley and I are in love.”
“Are we now?”
“I certainly hope so.”
“Of course we are,” he kissed Aziraphale again.
“Eeww!” Adam laughed again, Dog nodded in agreement, as much as a dog could nod.
Pulling his phone from his pocket, Crowley sighed. Anathema.
Anathema: did aziraphale show you his birthday suit
i bet he did
Crowley: nope. didnt even see him shirtless
dont be a perv
Anathema: you two are going too slow
Crowley: our relationship isn’t something for your entertainment
we’re together right now, adams here too
“Adam get over here,” Crowley said, the boy followed orders and put himself between his father and Crowley. Crowley pulled Aziraphale close and used his long arm to hold his phone away from him and took a picture, Adam stuck his tongue out at the last second and laughed jovially at the pink blur coming from his mouth in the photo.
“Send that to me,” Aziraphale smiled and pushed up his glasses, Adam ran back to his couch afraid of them breaking out into another set of (semi) public displays of affection.
Crowley sent the picture to Anathema, not including the one he snuck a second later of him kissing Aziraphale on the cheek. Both pictures found their way to Aziraphale’s phone, the first became Crowley’s home screen, though his lock screen remained Alexandre Campell’s Fallen Angel, he couldn’t ruin his tough exterior. Which he clearly had, thank you very much.
Anathema: are you guys gonna make another one of him
Anathema: i had to ask
Crowley: you really didnt

All good things must come to an end, and Crowley had to return to his flat eventually, Aziraphale, still in pyjamas walked Crowley to the car.
“What was the secret Adam told you?” he asked as Crowley climbed into the driver’s seat and rolled the window down.
“He told me that you told him you like me very much.”
“He cannot keep a secret. Goodbye dear,” Aziraphale leaned down and Crowley presented his cheek, but Aziraphale took his face in his soft hands and turned it towards his own, and kissed Crowley softly and only for a moment.
“Bye angel. Love you.”
“I love you too, dear,” he pecked Crowley’s lips and he rolled the window up, driving off. Three times. He’d said it three times. Unable to help himself, Crowley squealed like a schoolgirl, and of course the Bentley knew it was time for Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy.
Though it was not on the way home, Crowley stopped at a plant nursery run by a sweet old woman named Frances that always called you ‘love’ or ‘lovely’ and had a bowl of those strawberry candies nobody knew the name off that you could never buy, just find from sweet old women.
“Are you looking for anything in particular, love?”
“Maybe a little succulent? My boyfriend’s son made me a pot for my birthday,” he said proudly.
“Oh how precious,” the smile lines around Frances’s green eyes deepened, and she had miraculously come up with a small rosey succulent from out of nowhere. Frances always had a tendency to find exactly the plant you were looking for, it was a bit frightening.
“Perfect,” Crowley checked the succulent’s price, just five pounds, he handed it over, “Thank you.”
“Have a wonderful day, love.”
“You as well, Frances,” Crowley strutted back out to the car and put the succulent in the bentley’s cup holder, “Hello, Eve,” he said. Back at his flat, Crowley quickly potted Eve and found a place for her on his windowsill, he went around, watering the plants that needed it, misting the rest, deadheading the flowers. He lectured a Christmas Cactus named Chris about already beginning to bloom, it was hardly Halloween.
Then Crowley realized he hadn’t even thought about his Halloween costume yet, last year he had been a (slutty) vampire, he still had the fishnets buried in a drawer somewhere. Maybe he would ask Aziraphale if he had Halloween plans. Or was that too clingy? He would ask tomorrow at his second birthday party/roughly one month anniversary dinner. Knowing Aziraphale, he was probably going to match with Adam, Aziraphale could be Tinkerbell and Adam could be Peter Pan. Aziraphale could be a knight and Adam the dragon, and vice a versa. Things like that. Crowley couldn’t imagine Aziraphale as Peter Pan, although the tights wouldn’t be something he was opposed to.
The rest of Crowley’s day was spent watching The Golden Girls and folding laundry, something he had been putting off for maybe two months. To this day Crowley had never really learned how to properly fold a t-shirt and somehow his socks would find their way into separate loads of laundry. Dinner was takeout and he stayed up far too late texting Aziraphale about nothing. Before he fell asleep Aziraphale’s name had been changed to ‘Angel’ and his contact photo was that of Crowley kissing his cheek. Crowley was not aware that for the past week, in Aziraphale’s phone, his name had been ‘Crowley ♡’ and his contact photo had been one snuck of him asleep with hair fussed up and mouth hanging open slightly.

Chapter Text

On Wednesday, the twenty-third of October, Crowley knew that Adam and Aziraphale were planning on spending Halloween as Jean Valjean and Cosette, respectively, and Crowley had been invited along in whatever costume he liked, Adam had suggested he go as Marius, and thus he had decided on Marius. The whole month, Anathema had tasked the children with all sorts of witchy things, which Crowley often received parental complaints of as he had made a habit of working the desk. Crowley hadn’t seen Gabriel since his second date with Aziraphale, only Uriel’s mother had been to pick her up, she seemed unaware she even had a brother in law with perfect blue eyes and soft blonde curls that made him look like an angel in a renaissance painting.
But of course at the end of the month that Crowley had had it up to here with the parents, Mrs.Christensen had gone away on business. Leaving Gabriel to pick their daughter up. And, of course, Gabriel was late and Aziraphale was on time.
“We can make halos tomorrow and even it out,” Crowley offered, today Gabriel was mad that in arts and crafts, the children had made devil horn headbands, it had been Anathemas idea and all the other kids had fun with it. Yesterday it had been animal headbands, Hastur and Ligur had made a frog and chameleon, and they would apparently be staying on their heads until November. Uriel had made a bird, Gabriel didn’t seem to like that either.
“Sir, it’s alright,” Uriel tugged at her father’s sleeve and Crowley cringed when he snapped back at her to keep quiet, the adults were talking.
“Papa!” Adam pushed past Gabriel to run into Aziraphale’s arms, they both grinned and one smile melted at the sight of a dove gray coat. Gabriel turned to his half brother, he too frowned, more than he had been.
“Uncle Gabe is being mean to Crowley,” Adam stage whispered in Aziraphale’s ear, Aziraphale glanced at Crowley for confirmation, he shrugged and nodded.
“Gabriel you cannot be rude to someone just because you don’t like them,” Aziraphale put Adam down, the boy went to sit in a bean bag chair followed by Uriel, kids had a sense for when a situation needed leaving. Aziraphale, despite already being a decent height, straightened his back and took a step at Gabriel, who still stood taller than Aziraphale.
“I will not tolerate hereacy being pushed in my daughter’s face,” Gabriel straightened out, and Crowley suddenly felt very small, but knew that he would perhaps feel smaller if he stood, so he remained seated.
“It’s Halloween costumes! You’re supposed to dress as ghouls and demons and all that,” Aziraphale took another step, “And nobody is pushing it in her face!”
“You sound just like you did when you were sixteen,” Gabriel grumbled.
“You sound just like you did when you were sixteen! That’s why it took me four years to come out, you were just so-” Aziraphale searched for a word, “close-minded!”
“I only told you that you were too young.”
“I knew when I was twelve, Gabriel,” Aziraphale exclaimed, “I know you’re just mad at Crowley because you think we’re together. You- you-” Aziraphale searched for a word again, “Bad person!”
“Oh, Aziraphale, I’m frightened,” Gabriel took a step in Aziraphale’s direction.
“I’m stopping this discussion right now,” Aziraphale literally put his foot down, “This is not a conversation my son should have to be exposed to, or your daughter, for that matter.”
Gabriel seemed to have a brief moment of self-reflection, but there was no remorse in his eyes, he whistled for Uriel and took the pom-pom pen. “Your lifestyle isn’t something Adam should be exposed to,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?” Crowley stood now, though he wondered why today of all days Anathema had made herself scarce.
“I said that Adam shouldn’t be exposed to his lifestyle.”
“You know, Gabriel, being fucking rude won’t stop me,” he shot a glance at Aziraphale, who nodded, “or my boyfriend.”
“I knew it.”
“Oh good, I was hoping we made it clear,” Aziraphale walked right up to Crowley and gave him a quick kiss, “We’ll see you at Christmas.” With that, Gabriel stormed out, shouting something about the homosexual agenda and how he would be calling Madame Tracy to report this behaviour. He had already paid for the whole year’s worth of care, though. Tracy didn’t take refunds.
Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand, it was shaking, the adrenaline rush had worn off, he eyed Adam and the boy ran up to his father and wrapped his arms around his waist, squeezing as tight as possible.
“Oh dear, I hope that wasn’t the wrong thing,” Aziraphale fretted.
“‘Course it wasn’t the wrong thing, you’re an angel,” Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand.
“Oh, thank you.”
“Uncle Gabe is fucking rude,” Adam said, slightly muffled from his face being pressed into Aziraphale.
“Adam! Don’t say that!” Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed and rose on his forehead.
“Only twenty-four year olds are allowed to say that word,” explained Crowley, apologizing to Aziraphale with a look, though he found it a bit funny.
“Twenty years?!”
“If you don’t wait, the monsters will get you,” Crowley dropped to the ground to tickle Adam, “Come on angel, let’s go back to yours.”
Adam threw his arms straight in the air, “Sleepover!” he cheered, and ran out the door.
Aziraphale walked behind Adam, Crowley’s hand in his and said, “You might as well move in at how often you’re over.”
“Is that an offer?” Crowley was only half-joking.
“I suppose, if you want it to be.”
“Is there a male equivalent to U-Haul lesbians?”
“Must be. You’re always complaining about where your flat is. You don’t have to do it now, or at all, ever. I just think, Adam would like it.”
“But would you like it?”
“Yes, yes I would.”
“Your wish is my command, angel,” Crowley brought their joint hands to his lips and kissed Aziraphale’s knuckles, “Adam, no.” Adam had climbed into the driver’s seat, the boy scrambled to his place in the back of the car. Crowley opened the door for Aziraphale, he was thanked and he made his way around the car and sat in his own seat, slightly warm from the little bastard.

After dinner, Aziraphale went to read Adam to bed and Crowley sat on the couch awkwardly in Azirapahle’s pyjamas.
“Angel, are we going too fast?” Crowley asked when Aziraphale had said ‘nos da’ to Adam.
“Maybe a bit,” he replied, “But I hardly mind.”
“How about we wait a little longer for me to move in.”
“Alright,” Aziraphale breathed, laying his head on Crowley’s shoulder.
After a few minutes, Crowley said, “Did you mean it when you told Gabriel that we would see him at Christmas? Or was that a royal we?”
“If it’s okay with you, I would want you to come meet my family, yes.”
“I might punch your brother in the face.”
“He’s only a half brother, and no you will not,” Aziraphale reprimanded, “You will kick him in the balls, no evidence of assault there.”
“Angel!” Crowley chuckled, “I don’ think he has balls.”
“You’re right, dear,” Aziraphale nodded against him, “No assaulting my family, then.”
“Fine, I won’t,” Crowley faked a sigh of frustration and kissed Aziraphale’s head, “Love you.”
“I love you too.”

Chapter Text

Crowley adjusted the pin on his lapel, Marius was not a redhead but Crowley was not re-dying his hair just for Halloween. On his way to Aziraphale’s, he sang loudly to music from his phone rather than the bentley’s speakers, Queen did not exactly match a French revolutionary.
“My name is Marius Pontmercy,” Crowley half sang and bowed as Aziraphale opened the door, Aziraphale curtsied with an invisible skirt, Cosette was a man tonight. The costume was still just as dramatic and shiny, though. Aziraphale and Cosette both had standards.
“And mine’s Cosette,” he half sang, in a very different key, extending a hand to Crowley, which he took.
“Cosette, I don’t know what to say.”
“Then make no sound,” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s knuckles.
“I am lost.”
“I am found.”
“A heart fu-”
“My name is Jean Valjean!” Adam belted from between them
“Wrong song,” Crowley said.
“I know how that song ends! You two will be gross, and I want candy.”
“He’s right, let us get candy,” Aziraphale took Crowley’s arm. There were not many children in the building, so the hall was mostly empty. Adam, ahem, Jean Valjean brandished his sword and demanded candy in a bad French accent. Crowley broke out his year of French classes and attempted to teach Adam to say trick-or-treat, but he wasn’t very good at it. Crowley made a comment on how difficult Welsh was compared to French, Aziraphale only shrugged and said something about draigs.
“Adam say the L word,” Aziraphale prompted.
“Love,” he replied.
“No the other one.”
“Oh! Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch!” the boy beamed.
“You can say that and you can’t say je t’aime?”
“Yup. Trick or treat!”
“And who are you?” cooed the woman in the door.
“Who am I?” Adam replied.
“Oh good lord,” Aziraphale whispered.
“Two-four-six-oh-oneee!” Adam sang/yelled. The woman winced, but dropped a tootsie roll in the boy’s pillow case. This happened a few more times throughout the night and they were home by nine-thirty. Aziraphale wiped the face painted beard from Adam’s cheeks and sent him off to get into his pyjamas, Dog at his heels as always.
Crowley and Aziraphale stayed in their costumes, though the scarves around their necks came off and so did their shoes, one set stained with fake blood and caked in mud, the other set shiny and silver with buckles. Adam snuck up behind them, he really had a talent for that, perhaps he could teleport.
“Can I stay up with you?” he asked and situated himself on his father’s lap.
“It is Thursday, dear.”
“Not an answer, Papa,” Adam harrumphed.
“No, you have to go to bed- young man get back here!” Aziraphale ran after Adam who had too much energy for a four year old at nearly ten at night. Crowley hopped up, as a professional child-wrangler, he was easily able to wrestle the boy into bed, almost aggressively tucking him in.
“Nos da, Papa,” Adam reached out his hands, “Kiss!” Aziraphale leaned over and kissed Adam’s forehead, “Nos da, Crowley.”
“I’m not kissing you.”
“You kiss Papa!”
“Dear, that’s different. Nos da.” Aziraphale kissed Adam again, and Crowley grumbled and kissed the boys forehead as well.
“Nos da,” Crowley said.
“Nos da,” Adam corrected.
“That’s what I said.”
“No, nos da.”
“Nos da.”
“You got it!”
“Adam stop pestering Crowley, I know it’s a rouse to stay up,” Aziraphale chastised and flipped the light off, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Adam said and there was a sound of shifting in blankets and a sigh. He was already asleep.

Crowley and Aziraphale sat on Aziraphale’s bed. Well, Crowley sat on the bed, Aziraphale sat on Crowley. Lips met lips and hands found hair and un-did top shirt buttons, Aziraphale ran his hand over where he knew Crowley’s tattoo was and Crowley found a mole on Aziraphale’s soft stomach. Tonight went only a bit farther than they had before, their pants came off (mostly because they were a bit uncomfortable), but boxers stayed on. Shirts came off and hands went places they hadn’t quite been before. Aziraphale found the flowers on Crowley’s outer thigh and kissed the scars on his chest. Crowley’s kisses moved to where the guillotine would sever his neck had they actually been in the French revolution, Aziraphale was too pretty to have not gotten arrested by revolutionaries. Marks were left, mostly on Aziraphale, but he did leave a few spots on Crowley bound to be darker tomorrow.
“I love you, Crowley.”
“I love you too angel, now go to bed,” Crowley buried his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and left another mark. Aziraphale somehow managed to smile audibly and his legs entangled with Crowley’s as Crowley wrapped a strong arm around Aziraphale’s middle. Aziraphale whisper sang A Heart Full of Love and Crowley joined in, before reprimanding Aziraphale for making him wake up again.

Chapter Text

Crowley woke up and grinned into Aziraphale’s neck, reluctantly rolling out of bed and into the small bathroom. He would need a collared shirt today, lest he risk the wrath of Anathema. Footsteps behind him, he checked in the mirror, Aziraphale was wearing a shirt, curses.
“Dear, you should have been a vampire this year,” Aziraphale said behind him, resting his chin on Crowley’s shoulder.
“Sorry, angel.”
“That wasn’t a complaint,” Aziraphale grinned at the pink that tinted Crowley’s cheeks, “I already wear collared shirts.”
“Because you’re a nerd.”
“Because it looks professional. You get to spend all day playing with actual children, I have adult children that don’t know they’re children,” Aziraphale opened his contacts.
“I don’t think the kids know they’re kids, they seem very insistent on being anything but that.”
“Oh yes I forgot to tell you Adam said ‘y’all’ every twenty minutes for a week, he told me it’s what cowboys say,” Aziraphale peeled back his eyelid by grabbing his eyelashes, which were very long, Crowley had noticed, and stuck a contact in, before moving onto the other perfectly blue eye.
“Oh that is disgusting,” Crowley cringed, “I couldn’t do that. Lucky me, ‘ve got twenty-twenty vision.”
“That’s because everything about your eyes is perfect, dear.”
“Gross,” Crowley didn’t mean it.
“You didn’t seem to mind last night,” Aziraphale teased.
“Shut up.”

Crowley’s shirt did not quite cover his neck as much as it needed to, but hopefully, the stripes would put Anathema off. They only did until very late in the day.
“So how was your first Halloween as a couple?” Anathema asked when she and Crowley sat on a couch that had suffered so many stains that you could hardly tell what color it was originally.
“Halloween is not as big of a deal as you make it out to be, Anathema.”
“Oh but scary movies, you know, ‘I’ll protect you’, candles everywhere, you know…” Anathema trailed off.
“Not everyone is gonna like, have sex with a gord or whatever you’re into.”
“I do no- Crowley!” if Anathema had been a cat, her hackles would have risen fully, she pointed a finger with nail polish that needed to be re-done at Crowley. Oh lord.
“I got hit by the medicine cabinet,” Crowley stood, intending to ask Warlock what he was up to, the boy had seemed a bit lonely as of late.
“You don’t have a medicine cabinet.”
“It’s called sarcasm, Anathema,” Crowley rolled his eyes and was very suddenly on the ground with Adam crushing his ribcage.
“The Terrible Dragon Crawly is down! Sir Pepper!” the boy called, back to knights this week, he supposed.
A mass he recognized as Sir Pepper landed on his stomach, knocking the air out of him, Anathema sighed and walked to where Uriel was reading a book far too advanced for her age in an attempt to get her to join in with the other children. Crowley wondered what the Terrible Dragon Crawly had done to deserve this, probably hoarding jewels, or if this was a modern setting, used car parts.
“By decree of the king, we demand the prince is released,” Wensleydale had a bright blue feather taped to his glasses and had a piece of rolled up paper with chicken scratch on it, attempting to be cursive.
“I’m not listening to a king! The prince is mine,” he sat up and shoved the children off, Sir Pepper demanded a sword from her squire, Brian.
“Hand him over or we’ll,” Adam thought about what they would do for a moment, “Arrest and behead you!” Crowley breathed out loudly, making the children run, shouting that there was a fire.
Wensleydale cleared his throat, “Actually we will not do that, but we will be forced to take the prince back by force.”
“You can never have Prince-” who was the prince? Warlock? No.
“We will have Prince Aziraphale back in the safety of the kingdom!” Adam announced.
“Never! He’s mine,” Crowley declared.
“Pippin!” Pepper’s mother called, breaking the illusion.
“Ugh,” Pepper dropped her sword and ran to the cubbies to pull her poncho on, “Byeeee!”
“Hwyl!” Adam called.
“Hwyl,” Brain repeated.
“No you have to,” Adam made a sound in the back of his throat, “Hwyl.”
“You got it!”
“I think you’re using Welsh to annoy me at this point,” Crowley was knocked down again.
“Silence, draig,” Adam pressed the dropped sword to Crowley’s chest.
Within the next hour, Hastur, Ligur, and Uriel had been picked up, shortly followed by Brian and Wensleydale, who were having a slumber party, then Greasy Johnson, according to his parents he was getting new fish today. Leaving only Warlock, Adam, Crowley and their designated adult Anathema. Warlock was telling Adam something about his family considering sending him off to a hoity-toity private primary school instead of public, and Adam was making a valiant effort in confirming they would keep in touch.
“You know the worst part?” Warlock moaned, “It’s a Catholic school, there will be nuns everywhere! We aren’t even Catholic!”
“That’s stupid,” Adam agreed and leaned in to begin devising a plot to kidnap Warlock that Crowley wished he could hear, as he sometimes considered not letting the Dowling’s (well, their secret service agents) take him home at the end of the day. He would be lying if he said he didn’t stalk Harriet online for any sign of Warlock, he was mostly in the background of photos of perfectly groomed gardens.
“Hello, dears,” Aziraphale announced himself to the children and Anathema.
“Prince Aziraphale, tell this knight and his squire that you are happy living with a dragon,” Crowley kissed his boyfriend’s cheek.
“Oh, I am certainly fine with this dragon.”
“Papa, Warlock is coming home with us but we have to go get his stuff from his house first,” Adam informed him.
“Alright, just a second,” Aziraphale pulled out his phone and Crowley caught a glimpse of his lock screen, a red-headed Marius Portmercy. The blonde called ‘Harriet Dowling (Warlock’s Mum)’ and it only took two seconds to confirm that Adam had been telling the truth about Warlock staying over. The boys cheered triumphantly and ran out the door, Aziraphale had somehow already signed them both out.
Crowley sighed happily and Anathema forced him to drive her home and give her the details of last night. Crowley lied and told her that they had made out and slept in the same bed, nothing else. Crowley told the truth when he said they hadn’t gone below the belt and wouldn’t if Adam was around, Anathema replied by saying that she could put the idea of having a sleepover at Brian’s into Adam’s head. Crowley growled at her but said nothing more on the subject.

Chapter Text

As the weeks went by both Crowley and Warlock had essentially moved in with the Fells, you could often find Warlock sleeping on the couches, or Adam in his bed with Warlock on pillows on the floor, sometimes Adam was on the floor with Warlock in the bed and on the very rare occasion they fell asleep together. After less than a month Aziraphale had gotten into the habit of making extra dinner, which would be tomorrow's lunch on the very few days it was not eaten. This fell into a weird rhythm, Crowley felt less like a babysitter and more like a father, or what he imagined fatherhood was like, the closest thing he’d had was plants and stray dogs. It even got to a point that the boys were being driven home in the Bentley so often that Crowley bought not one, but two booster seats, Aziraphale had offered to reimburse him but he refused.
One night near the end of November Warlock and Adam had weaseled their way between Crowley and Aziraphale, despite there being a perfectly fine couch not two feet away. Adam was still insistent on Doctor Who, Warlock didn’t like it as much, but he would have rather watched a show he didn’t like very much on a comfy couch with soft blankets than watching CNN on a cold leather couch in an echoey home. Crowley knew exactly how he felt. Eventually, everyone went to bed, Warlock was spending the night and so was Crowley. At this point, it was more like they were staying at someone else’s when in their actual places of residence.
Crowley couldn’t sleep, not wanting to wake Aziraphale he rolled out of bed and put on a shirt and pants, it was nearly midnight when he walked into the living room. He would watch some nature documentary and help him get sleepy. This episode was about reptiles, just as a snake awoke from her hibernation a sniveling Warlock was behind Crowley.
“Did I wake you, kiddo?”
“No. I had a bad dream,” Warlock walked around the couch and went to sit in Crowley’s extended arms, rubbing his eyes. Crowley wrapped his arms around the boy and smoothed his dark hair down, rocking slightly. Normally Crowley would have worried about getting snot and tears on his shirt, but he figured that comforting a crying child was a bit more important than ‘God’s Favorite Band’ (Aziraphale had laughed at the shirt, though he had never listened to Green Day).
“Just a bad dream, Warlock,” Crowley fought the urge to kiss the boy’s forehead.
“Mister Crowley?” Warlock whispered.
“You can just say ‘Crowley’ I’ve already told you that.”
“Sorry,” Warlock adjusted himself and moved up to Crowley’s ear, “Crowley?”
“I wish you were my dad.”
“Well when you’re sixteen you can do this thing called ‘emancipation’, means you’re an adult and can move wherever you want,” Crowley said after a moment, he had researched it at one point.
“Could I move in with you and Adam and Mr.Fell?”
“Of course, dear,” Crowley said what Aziraphale most certainly would have said if presented the question, though Crowley didn’t technically live here.
“Can I call you dad?”
Crowley didn’t know what to say to this, he’d certainly had friend’s parents he jokingly called ‘mom’ or ‘dad’ but this felt a little different. He’s four, Crowley reasoned and nodded, kissing Warlock’s forehead. They stayed like that for a while before Crowley turned off the television and walked Warlock to bed, gingerly shoving Adam to the side to make room for Warlock.
“G’night,” Crowley murmured.
“Night dad,” Warlock rolled over and Crowley walked into Aziraphale’s room, he’s stolen all the blankets. Wrapping himself around Aziraphale, Crowley grinned and fell asleep with a light heart, though his eyelids were heavy.

“Angel I think it’s time I move in,” Crowley told Aziraphale after they’d been lying awake for twenty minutes, not wanting to leave the warmth of bed and each other’s arms.
“Yeah, even Warlock thinks I live here.”
“He practically lives here himself, dear,” Aziraphale gingerly closed his book, one Crowley insisted he should read even if it wasn’t classical literature. Crowley nodded, considering telling Aziraphale about last night (or this morning, technically). Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s cheek.
“Want to start today? Plants can be first,” Crowley chuckled, plant moving might be a day of itself.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been to your flat.”
“That’s cause its a shit-hole.”
“You don’t lecture me on my language past nine pm angel,” Crowley teased.
“That’s different!” Aziraphale turned pink.
“You know I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear. ‘S a bit holier-than-thou don’t you think”
“Your demon,” Crowley nipped at Aziraphale’s ear, “Love you.”
“I love you too, dear,” Aziraphale paused, “We have to get up now.”
“Boo,” Crowley groaned.
“You’re so dramatic.”
Crowley gasped loudly and clutched his chest, “I am not!”

Anathema was completely overjoyed to learn that Crowley was moving in, Newt was less so, mostly because he knew he and Anathema would be helping. Warlock and Adam went to the Dowling’s for the day, and by the time all the plants had been moved into Aziraphale’s flat it was too late to make sense to go get them, so they stayed the night. Anathema raised a perfect eyebrow at this, prompting a slap from Crowley. Maybe he was ready, but Aziraphale might not be and that was what mattered to Crowley, he would bring it up later.

Chapter Text

Both Crowley and Aziraphale knew what could happen in a home devoid of children, they both chose to ignore this and wash down the sudden tension with wine and a movie. But they couldn’t decide on a movie, so they watched a stand-up comedian yell about nonsense. By the end of it, Crowley had laid his head in Aziraphale’s lap, with soft, gentle, fingers running through his hair, now and then brushing his cheek. It was heavenly.
At this point, they’d both maybe had a bit too much wine, or just enough.
“I, erm,” Aziraphale tugged at his shirt collar, “this is a stupid question.”
“No stupid questions, angel,” came Crowley’s reply, he sat up and Aziraphale turned to look him in the eye.
“Have you ever, uh, been with someone? In the- the biblical sense.”
“Would it be a problem if I had?”
“No, that,” Aziraphale tugged at his shirt collar again, “That would be hypocritical.”
“Oh? Do tell,” Crowley leaned forward and made a very scandalized expression, eyebrows raised, and mouth open in a perfect ‘o’ shape.
“I asked you first!”
“Well if you must know, yes,” he would certainly not go into details, it could scare Aziraphale away from whatever path he was walking down. They could exchange stories later. “Why?”
“Just curious,” Aziraphale assured.
Crowley thought about this for a moment, “Angel if you’re ready, I am as well.”
“I’m still not totally sure how to, it was just twice and, and he lead the way and oh-”
“Aziraphale Fell. I love you so much, stop fretting and just kiss me,” Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s hand, “The second you want us to stop, we stop. Alright?”
“The same goes for you, dear.”
“I don’t think I’ll want to stop,” Crowley grinned and closed the gap between their lips. They were pushed off the couch by each other and Aziraphale practically carried Crowley to their bed. Crowley broke the kiss to fumble with Aziraphale’s shirt buttons, curse them all, and curse the damned undershirt, before pulling his shirt off, tossing it to the ground.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, reaching down to unbuckle Crowley’s snake belt, and undoing his own, Crowley peppered kissed along Aziraphale’s collar bones and down his chest as the blonde peeled his tight jeans off.
“Oh I have to take my socks off now, this is weird,” Crowley wriggled out from beneath Aziraphale and took his socks off. Aziraphale lay panting on the bed and Crowley took his belt from its loops and slowly pulled the creme pants off. Eyeing Aziraphale for approval every two seconds. Now just in boxers, they had both seen everything before them already, but this was just a bit different, in a good way, though.
“Crowley I’m ready.”
“Are you completely certain? We can stop right now.”
“I am one-thousand percent certain, dear. Are you?”
“One-thousand percent,” boxers came off and things went places, fingers fumbled, marks were left.
“Cr-OH!” “You okay?” “Yes. Please do it again.” “Your wish is my command, angel.”
Aziraphale ran hands over Crowley’s tattoos with reverence, tracing the delicate lines of the forget-me-nots on his outer thigh. Crowley had an affinity for kissing every inch of Aziraphale’s body, though he most enjoyed the neck, but below where a shirt collar would land, lest he be berated by Aziraphale.
“Angel, ah,” Crowley whined on top of Aziraphale. “Oh, fuck,” Aziraphale muttered. “Angel, did you just swear?” “Oh be quiet.” “Make me,” Crowley teased, and Aziraphale did just that.
It could have been hours, or it could have been five minutes, before the two of them fell asleep, limbs entangled and hair fussed every-which-way.

“Good morning, my love,” Aziraphale pressed a kiss to Crowley’s forehead, still filled with dreams, he rubbed dust from his eyes but smiled.
“Good morning, angel.”
“Did-did you enjoy yourself last night?” Aziraphale climbed from bed and pulled a shirt on, such a shame.
“Yeah,” Crowley nodded, “Did you?”
“Of course I did.”
“Well, I got you to say ‘fuck’ so I think that’s a good sign.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“But you’ve committed to me!”
“Oh, get dressed we’re going out for breakfast,” Aziraphale threw a collared shirt at Crowley, “You might want to wear this one.”
“No I don’t,” Crowley rolled from the bed and pulled on a new set of boxers and tight jeans.
“My dear, you have a-”
“Oh I know,” Crowley smiled at the reaction this garnered and pulled only his maroon hoodie on, winking at Aziraphale.
Breakfast had to wait a little bit, but not too long as their clothes stayed on, but hands tend to wander even if you don’t want them to. Not that Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t want them to wander, though.

The two young men tucked themselves into a booth in the corner of a creperie, eating crepes, sipping cocoa, being stared at every now and then. This was the same creperie they’d been at nearly three months ago now, and the first time they had so publicly displayed affection. They had kissed outside buildings, held hands as they walked, used pet names in public. But now they were sharing food and exchanging glances, saying ‘I love you’ out loud.
One woman reprimanded her husband and asked why they couldn’t be like that. One young man came to tell them they were a cute couple and then said what he’d been wanting to say for years to his family. One man sighed and looked away, mumbling something negative, and Aziraphale held Crowley back from running after him and slamming his dumb omelet in his dumb face.

“Do you think there’s room for a piano in your flat?” Crowley asked as he walked a box of clothes in through the door, though most of his clothes were already there.
“Yes, I think so.”
“Good. Can move it in from storage and serenade you.”
“Oh please do.”

Chapter Text

By mid-December Crowley was completely moved in, some of his furniture went into storage, some was sold and the rest was moved in. ‘The rest’ was just a spinning armchair, a few pieces of art and a small piano. The piano stood by the window and was also used as a shelf for some partial light plants, it’s keys needed serious dusting and it would have to be tuned, but it was nothing Crowley couldn’t do.
“Crowley do you know the bum-bum-bum-bum-bum ding-ding-ding, ding ding din-ding-ding song?” Adam hopped onto the worn piano bench.
“It’s called Heart and Soul and yes, my piano teacher used to tell me ‘if you play Heart and Soul you have no heart or soul’, so I learned it,” Crowley joined him on the bench, “Want me to teach you?”
“Yeah!” Adam slammed his hands into the keys, Crowley grabbed one of his hands and guided him over a few keys, instructing him which one to hit when and repeat, and played his part, he messed up a bit, but Adam didn’t know that. As his theatre director in school had said ‘It’s not a mistake unless you let the audience know you’ve made it’.
“Can you play The Addams family?” Warlock asked. Crowley nodded and played, the boys knew when to snap, and Warlock knew the words, Adam only shadow-sang.
“Do you knooww,” Adam thought of other songs one could play on the piano, “Any Christmas music?” Crowley racked his brain for the very few Christmas songs he could still play, not willing to admit that he had learned a certain Mariah Carey song as a joke when he was sixteen.
“I don’t remember any, I’ll have to ask for some sheet music for Christmas,” he messed up both heads of hair on the bench and got up to open the door for Aziraphale to let him in with box ornaments.
“Oh you didn’t even set up the tree,” Aziraphale put the box down and opened it, then retreated to the linen closet to get three small parcels wrapped in tissue paper, “You can all open these when you’ve put the tree together,” he set them down on the coffee table and went to get the second box of Christmas-y things from the Bentley, which he had driven himself, mind you.
“Okay you heard the man,” Crowley pulled the tree from its box, it was prickly and began putting it together.
“This part goes on top,” Adam said and handed Crowley the last piece, he stood on his toes to fluff out the artificial branches that, thankfully, already had lights strung on it, though he had to reach through them to plug them in. Crowley admired his work once Warlock had put the silver Christmas tree skirt on, but told both boys to wait for Aziraphale to open their presents.
Aziraphale returned and put down the box of stockings and remaining ornaments, before instructing the three of them to open their presents.
Warlock went first, the boy pulled a small stone angel with wings made of wires holding a dog, on the bottom of the angel’s dress Warlock read aloud; “Angel of friendship” and ran to hug Aziraphale. Adam went next, he pulled a small paw-print painted blue, something written on the back, Adam read aloud; “Dog’s first Christmas” and followed Warlock to hug his father.
“That’s from Dog,” Aziraphale laughed, “Give him a hug, not me.” Adam ran over to squeeze Dog.
Crowley gingerly unwrapped what he assumed would be his ornament and pulled out a small picture frame hanging on a string. In it, was a picture of Crowley kissing Aziraphale on the cheek, and Crowley re-created the photo before reading aloud; “Cwtch. Did I say that right?”
“Yes,” Aziraphale grinned.
“Whatsit mean?”
“It means ‘cuddle’, do you like it?”
“I love it you dork,” Crowley kissed Aziraphale, earning an ‘ych a fi’ from Adam and Warlock. Crowley was later informed that they had essentially said ‘yuck’ but he knew they didn’t mean it.

“Do you get ornaments every year?” Crowley asked over dinner after ‘Baby’s First Christmas’ and Winnie the Pooh ornaments had been hung, the tree was less organized than Crowley’s had been as a child, not a single plain bauble, everything meant something. Adam and Aziraphale nodded.
“When I was young, it was a gift for Christmas Eve and it would just be something significant from the year,” Aziraphale took a sip of his water, “Like when I had my wisdom teeth out I got a set of glittery dentures.”
“I would like to see those at your parent’s house.”
“Oh I’ll be certain we pull all the ornaments out of storage, we still do it to this day. Maybe you’ll get one this year.”
“They haven’t even met me yet, angel I doubt it.”
“They’ll like you, dad,” Warlock assured, Crowley couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear whenever Warlock called him that.
“Yeah dad,” Adam confirmed, this was the first time he’d said this, “Grampa and Gramma will like you, they’re really cool. Last year they got me a truck!” Crowley and Aziraphale made eye contact, not sure what to say to this, Aziraphale only winked and smiled, Crowley returned the favor. Though who knew what a wink meant, it was a very diverse form of human communication.

“Well now you can’t bring me back with the receipt,” Crowley said after the boys had gone to bed and he and Aziraphale had changed into pajamas. “I’m dad now.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. But Adam was right, my parents will love you,” Aziraphale picked up his book, another suggestion of Crowley.
“Is Gabe gonna be there?”
“Sadly, yes, but my half-sister Michael is a bit better about my being gay.”
“What about your parents?”
“Took dad a while to get used to it, but the year I came out mum got me a rainbow ornament.”
“Any uncles I should worry about?”
“Maybe, but we aren’t pretending to be straight, you are my boyfriend and we live together and they have to deal with it,” Aziraphale opened the book, “My aunt Mary might even be a little over-supportive, but we have another week until we leave. I’m not going to quiz you on all my family’s names and who’s homophobic and who’s not.”
“Good, because I get test anxiety.”
“Shh, I’m reading, dear.”

“Angel go to bed,” Crowley begged after perhaps forty-five minutes of Aziraphale reading in a way you could only describe as ‘aggressive’.
“Crowley he’s about to find out who Blue is!”
“I don’t care, I’m tired,” Crowley crawled up Aziraphale’s side and closed the book, of course, placing the bookmark where the page was, he wasn’t a monster. Aziraphale grumbled but turned the light off, though they stayed awake for about another fifteen minutes before they said ‘Nos da’ and fell asleep, Crowley with arms wrapped around Aziraphale with their legs entangled, smiling.

Chapter Text

“Aziraphale, have you told them I’m coming?” Crowley asked, they’d already packed and began the very long (only an hour, really) drive, Adam had begged for Dog to come, but Great Aunt Mary was allergic to dogs, Adam acted as if he’d never see him again, though they’d only be away for a week. But Crowley and Aziraphale both knew he was just reluctant to leave Warlock, they were a bit as well, to be honest.
“I would assume Gabriel has already told them, he’s probably already up there,” Aziraphale admitted.
“So you haven’t told them we’re together?”
“Not exactly,” Aziraphale turned to look at Adam who was already asleep, “I’m just nervous. Last person to bring someone new home for Christmas was my sister Mary.”
“Sister Mary and Great Aunt Mary?”
“Only so many biblical names, dear. Anyways, my sister,” Aziraphale crossed his hand over his chest, not in a sarcastic manner, though, “Didn’t have the best judgment. Luther didn’t get along well with the family.”
“Can’t imagine why. I sure hope you have better judgment, angel.”
“I’m certain I do-deer!” Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand to veer around the doe in the road, “Good lord, pay attention to the road.”
“Sorry, you’re distracting.”
“Oh. I’m sorry,” Aziraphale turned the music back on and grinned at Love of My Life, “You still haven’t shown me you can play this.”
“Your folks got a piano?”
“I believe so, nobody ever plays it anymore, though.”
“Well maybe I’ll win over your parents with a song,” Crowley smiled.
“Oh I was hoping you could just play it for me,” confessed Aziraphale, and Crowley nearly crashed the car, jerking Adam awake. “Sorry, dear,” Aziraphale said, to Adam or Crowley.
They drove in anything but silence, both Adam and Aziraphale had learned the lyrics to many Queen songs at this point, and Adam was an excellent Roger Taylor in the back with his air drums. Adam wasn’t the best singer, both of his fathers had pleasant voices, though both of them would say the other had a nicer one, Adam would tell you that Crowley was better, he wouldn’t tell Crowley or Aziraphale that, though.
City transitioned into countryside and countryside transitioned into a small town with a very thin coating of snow on it. The Bentley made its way up a steep hill to a house number 4004, a building no different than the ones that surrounded it, but certainly twice as daunting, despite its beautiful garden and warm yellow light in the windows. Adam jumped from the car and rushed down the pathway to knock on the door, backpack of only stuffed animals bouncing loosely on his back. Aziraphale and Crowley stayed back to grab their actual bags with things like clothes and toothbrushes.
“Oh Adam you’ve gotten so big!” a kindly woman’s voice screeched, “Where’s your Papa?”
“He and dad are getting our stuff!”
“Dad?” the woman asked, Aziraphale walked to the door, holding Crowley’s hand.
“Adam has taken to calling Crowley ‘dad’,” Aziraphale smiled at the woman, who Crowley could now see. Her hair was the same blonde as Aziraphale’s, but it was much straighter and her face was less round, same eyes though, “Mother, this is Anthony Crowley.”
“Zira you didn’t tell us you had a partner!” the woman ran to hug her son and kissed his cheek, then gave Crowley a quick hug. “Anthony, my name is Eden. Terry! Aziraphale has company! Come in you two,” Eden gestured for them to walk through the door. Crowley breathed a sigh of relief and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. Adam was already at home, antagonizing Great Aunt Mary who was, in return, relentlessly smooshing the boys face in her hands.
“Hello Anthony, I’m Terry,” a man with the same round face and curly hair as Aziraphale gave Crowley a firm handshake. “Good handshake, son,” he added.
“My father always taught me to have a strong handshake, he was a doctor,” Crowley said, glad to have made a good impression, “You can call me Crowley, though.”
“Has your father passed?” Eden asked with a pout.
“Oh, no, we just- don’t talk anymore. Stopped when I came ou-ugh,” Crowley was cut off by a hug from Eden, a very strong, maternal hug. A hug that brought sliced fruit or baked goods to your room when it sensed you were in a bad mood. This was new.
“Mum stop harassing him, it’s been years,” Aziraphale fussed, “You don’t have to mother everything that breathes to death.”
“Angel‘s alright,” Crowley assured, returning Eden’s hug.
“Gabriel, Grace, and Uriel are going to be late, they said we could start dinner without them,” said a woman from the kitchen, similarly dark hair and eyes to Gabriel, her jaw only slightly less square than his. It was a very safe assumption that this was Aziraphale’s half-sister Michael.
“Crowley I hope you like steak,” Terry walked into the dining room and sat at the head of a grand, dark, wooden table with enough elegant chairs for ten. Aziraphale sat in the chair closest to his father with Crowley at his side, Adam directly across from them. Michael and Eden put plates of steak in front of them, Adam’s was already sliced into small pieces. Everyone sat down, Mary next to Adam then Michael next to her, and beside Crowley sat Eden. Before Crowley could bite into a carrot everyone was joining hands.
“Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen,” Terry prayed.
“Amen,” repeated everyone, and dug into their food. Great Aunt Mary was certainly, eccentric, and spent most of dinner babbling about how big everyone, especially Adam, had gotten, and was always pushing food towards Crowley and commenting on how thin he was.
Maybe twenty minutes past dinner they all sat in the living room, Adam strewn over his father’s laps, Eden and Terry curled up together with Great Aunt Mary fussing over Michael’s hair. Crowley now knew for a fact that it was Michael, they had been formally introduced at dinner, though she had already known who he was. There was a knock at the door, answered by Mary.
“Oh, Uriel look how big you’ve got!”
The Christensens were here, and Aziraphale’s grip on Crowley’s hand tightened.
“Hello, mother, Terry,” Gabriel hugged them both, so did his wife Grace, who Uriel most certainly took after in every way, except the eyes, those were taken directly from Gabriel.
“Hey Uncle Gabriel,” Adam said, drawing his aunt and uncle’s attention toward him. Technically, Gabriel and Aziraphale had not both been home for Christmas at the same time, Gabriel always went home for the holidays with Grace. Of course, the year that he chose to come home was the same year Aziraphale had brought Crowley.
“Hello, Adam, Aziraphale,” Gabriel nodded.
“Hon, have you met Aziraphale’s boyfriend? He’s a delight,” Eden chirped in a way that Crowley somehow recognized from somewhere but it was impossible to put a finger on. She was very much like a fifties American dream housewife, but very modern as well, that must have been where Aziraphale got his love for sweaters.
“Yes I have,” Gabriel gritted his teeth and pulled his mother aside, Uriel approached Adam and he grinned, crushing Crowley’s stomach with his elbow when he jumped up. Grace walked over to Crowley and Aziraphale and smiled warmly, that’s where Uriel got the human from.
“Mister Crowley! I didn’t know you would be here,” she said, and extended a hand to Aziraphale, “I’m sorry we’ve never met. I’m Grace.”
“My name is Aziraphale, nice to finally meet you,” he shook the woman’s hand, “You’ve already met my boyfriend, Crowley.” Crowley grinned at the comment and Grace nodded, they had only ever exchanged pleasantries when Uriel was picked up or dropped off, but she seemed like a nice enough woman.
Gabriel did not speak the rest of the evening while Mary attacked Crowley and Aziraphale with questions about their relationship, Crowley’s childhood was danced around but apparently, Terry had met Dr.Crowley once before, in medical school.
“Oh Neil, such a nice man, I didn’t know he had a son,” he said.
“He hardly knows himself, ‘s alright,” Crowley mumbled.

It wasn’t until nearly ten that everyone retired to their rooms. Saying goodnight and ‘nos da’, in the other room Eden and Terry were having a conversation in Welsh. Aziraphale said they were talking about Crowley, saying he was a nice young man, but there was no way Crowley could confirm that. Adam slipped into his elf onesie and leaped into the center of the bed, letting his fathers lay on either side of him.
“Nos da Papa, nos da dad.”
“Nos da,” Aziraphale kissed Adam’s forehead and turned off the light, and Crowley wrapped his arms around both of them and smiled into sleep.

Chapter Text

The next morning Crowley slept in, woken up by Adam jumping onto the bed and shouting, “Dad! Gramma made muffins!”
“Argh, five more minutes,” Crowley groaned.
“You’re the last person asleep, my dear,” said Aziraphale and yanked the silk blankets off Crowley’s legs, he hissed but got out of bed, pulling a pair of pants on. “Your hair is all messy, let me,” Aziraphale fretted, running hands through the tangled mess, “You need a haircut.”
The three of them walked downstairs, saying good morning, Crowley had a pumpkin muffin nearly shoved into his hands by Mary. “Hon, you’re so skinny, must get some meat on your bones,” she said.
“Maybe Aziraphale should stop eating his food and they’d both get to an appropriate weight,” Gabriel muttered loud enough for Crowley to hear, earning a sharp slap from Grace. If Aziraphale heard, he said nothing.
“Crowley, how did you and Aziraphale meet?” Grace changed the subject, steepling her hands over her lap.
“Dad works at my daycare,” Adam announced, this piqued the interest of Eden.
“My friend Anathema essentially forced me to work the desk signing kids out for the day,” Crowley began, “Aziraphale asked me over to care for Adam one night while he went on a date.”
“It went awful. But Crowley here comforted me afterwards. I nearly asked him on a date then,” Aziraphale added.
“I didn’t know that,” Crowley smiled.
“Couldn’t work up the nerve for another week though,” Aziraphale finished, “We went to see a play for our first date!”
“Angel, when it’s a musical they call it a show.”
“You two are so sweet,” Eden chirped, “I didn’t think Aziraphale could ever ask anyone out first, though. Right, Terry?”
Terry nodded, “Do you remember oh, what was his name, you wanted to ask him to a dance, spent two months a nervous wreck about it.”
“I think I’m jealous of what’s his name,” Crowley wrapped an arm around his boyfriend.
“Don’t be, he got absolutely sloshed at that dance, someone spiked the punch,” Aziraphale said, Eden gasped.
“You didn’t tell us that!” she exclaimed, Aziraphale hid behind an arm and they all laughed lightly.
“I didn’t have any of it, if it makes you feel any better,” Aziraphale (probably) lied, “Alright let’s stop before you bring out the photo albums, we have a tree to decorate.”
Terry had already cut down a tree and set it up in the living room, the ornament boxes had already been taken out and Michael was already putting its tartan skirt on. Aziraphale and Crowley got to work on untangling the lights, Michael insisted she had wrapped them up properly last year, but she clearly hadn’t. Terry spun Eden around to the Christmas music, being no help at all, and Crowley could sense Aziraphale resisting the urge to brag that his boyfriend could play the piano for all of them. Uriel stood on her father’s feet and he actually smiled, something Crowley wasn’t sure had been possible until this point.
When the lights had been untangled and strung along the tree, ornaments came out and began to be hung. Like Aziraphale’s tree, there was not a single plain bauble, everything had meaning. Aziraphale explained what all the ornaments meant as he hung them, if they had been his he would say what year he’d gotten them and what had happened that year.
“This is from Adam’s first Christmas,” he pulled out a photo of a young woman holding what he could only assume to be Adam, “That’s Mary!” Mary, Aziraphale’s sister, not the doteing great aunt, had most definitely gotten her traits from Eden, the same kindly smile and blonde hair, maybe a bit darker. The look of pride in her eyes was similar to that of Aziraphale’s when Adam poured his own milk in his cereal.
“Adam you were so little,” Crowley teased, pulling the photo close to his eyes to get a better look at the baby in the photo.
“Papa stop showing him pictures of me,” Adam protested.
“Mum where’s the photo albums?”
“Aarrggh,” Adam balled his little fists in his hair, a trait Crowley now knew was inherited from his mother. Eden ran off to the bookshelf, the top shelf had maybe thirty photo albums on it, each labeled with a year, she pulled out 1997.
“Not the photos of me, mother,” Aziraphale chided.
“Oh it’s only fair,” Terry replied with a laugh, taking the book from his wife’s hands and flipping through the pages, looking to embarrass Aziraphale the most. “This is when we still lived in Llangollen,” he said and pointed to a photo of a three year old boy in an argyle sweater, his hair would have been blonde were it not caked in mud.
“Noo not the mud pies,” begged Aziraphale, covering Crowley’s eyes with his hands, Crowley tore the hands away to look at the photos. “No bath photos, please.”
“Oh I doubt it’s anything Crowley hasn’t seen,” Eden laughed, they both turned red.
“Mother!” Aziraphale threw his hands in the air and got up, “I’m getting back to decorating. You’re all ridiculous.” Aziraphale pulled out a ceramic rainbow ornament, “Crowley why don’t you help me with this one?” Crowley rose and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, they joined hands to hang the rainbow together.
“Dad, Papa, stop being yucky,” Adam called.
“No,” Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s cheek. Gabriel groaned, and Crowley could hear the sharp slap of Grace’s hand on his arm and a harsh whisper.
“Zira, look at this,” Eden had pulled out 2009, that looked a bit more like Aziraphale, “When Mary pierced your ears. Oh I was so mad at her.”
“They’re still pierced, he wore earrings on one of our dates,” Crowley said.
“Bet that looked interesting.”
“Gabriel John,” scolded Terry, Gabriel sat back in his seat with Grace pressing a firm hand on his shoulder.
Adam broke the light tension in the house by shouting gleefully, “It’s snowing!” and running outside, only taking the time to pull on his galoshes.
“Adam wait, you’ll catch cold!” Aziraphale ran after the boy and was back inside, brushing the snow from his hair, within a moment. “We can play in the snow tomorrow, and there will be so much, we can make a snowman.”
“Snow angels!”
“Oh snow angels are awful, you get your back all wet and cold,” Crowley complained.
“Snow is messy,” Uriel added, Gabriel nodded proudly and patted the girl on the head, she cringed slightly at the touch.
When the tree had been decorated everyone went to wander about the house, some read in the living room, some ate a late lunch in the dining room. Aziraphale led Crowley down the hall where a grand piano sat in a lonely room with no door, only a tall archway with the same ornate framing as the rest of the framing in the house. Crowley ran a sleeve covered hand over the keys to wipe off the layer of dust, pressing each key as he went up the scale. By the sound of it, the piano was mostly in tune, though an untrained ear probably wouldn’t notice.
“Got any sheet music?” Crowley asked, Aziraphale nodded and placed Ave Verum Corpus in front of him. “I know this!”
“Good, I sang it in choir when I was younger.”
“Oh I will be asking for those photos,” Crowley teased, “Won’t you sing along?”
“I only know the alto part.”
“I can sing soprano,” Crowley looked over the music and Aziraphale nodded. Crowley began to play, he and Aziraphale sang quietly. Aziraphale turned the pages when needed and leaned into Crowley on the pianos bench.
“You know,” Aziraphale said when they had finished, “I never really learned what that song meant in english. Something about Mother Mary.”
“Were you in a church choir?”
“Definitely about the Madonna, then.”
“Zira why didn’t you tell us your boyfriend could play piano?” Eden said behind them, they both jumped and shied away like awkward teenagers caught about to have a first kiss.
“Father made me learn, said I have piano hands,” Crowley said.
“Oh you do,” Eden grabbed Crowley’s hands and looked at them, she had a very delicate touch, though still maternal. Everything the woman did was like that, the way she walked and talked.
The rest of the day was spent with Eden and Terry asking about Crowley’s childhood, he told them the truth for the most part, changing the occasional detail, he mostly focused on the stories before his parents were divorced, Eden and Terry countered with stories of Aziraphale, peppering in Mary, Michael and Gabriel.
Crowley’s favorite story was that of the time Aziraphale had apparently been asked on a date by a girl and gotten out of it by pretending he didn’t speak english, even though he had been speaking it only moments before.
“I panicked!” Aziraphale defended himself, he was very cute when flustered, pulling at his collar, twisting his curls around his manicured fingers.
Dinner was more awkward than last night, Gabriel still not speaking, but Great Aunt Mary had a tendency to chatter on and on. It got to a point where Crowley wasn’t even certain if she needed to drink or eat, but everyone at the table was thankful for the silence being filled.
The Fells (and Crowley) went to bed and were asleep quickly, Adam talked in his sleep, it was either Welsh or just nonsense. Either way, Crowley couldn’t understand what the boy was saying.
Crowley dreamed of kicking Gabriel’s teeth in, and then running into the arms of Aziraphale in a suit in a cathedral, Adam wiggling with a pillow holding two silver rings on it.
It was a good dream.

Chapter Text

For once, Crowley was awake first, his forehead pressed into Aziraphale’s with Adam’s dirty blonde curls between them. He smiled, as he often found himself doing these days, and rolled from the bed to pull his pants on, followed by his maroon sweatshirt, and trotted down the stairs. Eden was already clanging about in the kitchen.
“Morning, Crowley, how’re you?”she asked and twirled around to grab two mugs from a cupboard.
“I’m doin’ well, thank you.”
“You like milk in your tea?”
“Just a bit,” he said, Eden set a mug down in front of him, “Thank you.” Eden poured some water in the mug and passed a container of various teabags and sugar to Crowley. He chose some peppermint tea and put two sugars into the water as Eden set the carton of milk down in front of him.
“I haven’t asked,” Eden began, blowing on her tea, “How long have you and Zira been together?”
“Goodness, I don’t know, four months now I reckon.”
“You seem to make him very happy.”
“He makes me very happy.”
“Good to hear,” she smiled and sipped her tea, “Ah!” too hot. “Good morning sweetheart.”
“Morning,” Terry said and rubbed his eyes, “Crowley you’re up early.”
“Circadian rhythm or whatever it’s called,” Crowley shrugged.
They drank their tea in moderate silence, Terry told stories about medical school and work in the hospital (a nurse in the emergency department). The best one was certainly the story of the sixteen year old girl who’d gotten doll’s shoes up her nose.
“Good morning,” Adam said behind Crowley.
“Bore da,” replied Eden.
“Morning, kid,” Crowley bent down and scooped Adam up, “Morning angel.”
“Good morning dear,” Aziraphale pushed his glasses up, he was very cute when he did that. He was very cute when he did a lot of things, actually. Aziraphale handed Adam a muffin from yesterday and grabbed one for himself before stealing a sip of Crowley’s tea. “How do you drink this? It’s so bitter,” he commented.
“Has Zira always had a sweet tooth?” Crowley asked.
“Oh it’s bad enough when my parents call me that, not you too,” Aziraphale grumbled, those awake who were not Adam snickered. Crowley took a step closer to his boyfriend.
“I love you Zira,” Crowley batted his eyelashes.
“I’m breaking up with you,” he deadpanned.
“You’d never!” Crowley gasped.
“Dad’s right,” Adam said through a mouthful of muffin, swallowing it in one more big bite, “Can we go outside now?”
“Only if we go get dressed,” Aziraphale took another sip of Crowley’s tea and stuck his tongue out.
“I thought you didn’t like it.”
“I don’t, but annoying you is worth it, my love.”

There had hardly been a foot of snow, but Adam buried himself in it, shaking his hair free of it like a dog.
“Let’s build an igloo,” Adam commanded, his fathers obliged and began making snow bricks. It was freezing, but Crowley never really got to play in the snow as a child, and doing anything with Adam and Aziraphale was worth some numb hands and cold legs.
Crowley, Aziraphale and Adam did not notice they were being photographed by Eden, commenting to Terry about photo albums for 2019. There was cocoa waiting for them inside and the three of them changed back into pyjamas after a snowman had been made, lopsided but still a snowman.
The next day was remarkably similar, except by the end of the day Crowley had shown off his skills at Carol of the Bells, which he had forgotten he knew how to play. Adam did not know the lyrics, just the notes, but he sang along diligently. Crowley commented on Terry and Aziraphale’s voices, Terry slapped his son on the back proudly.
“All Welshmen can sing well, ‘s the law,” he said, perhaps a little tipsy, as they all were.
“That’s how we know mum isn’t Welsh.”
“Sorry mum.”
“My mother said something similar, said all Scots could sing well, too,” Crowley told them, he put on the accent of his mother, “she was verra proud o’ bein’ a Scot.”
“That’s where the red is from, then,” Eden ruffled Crowley’s hair.
“Oh no this is hair dye, got black hair from me dad,” Crowley leaned forward and started playing again, he didn’t know what he just played. Gabriel rolled his eyes and left the room.
“Told ye,” Terry exclaimed, “Nobody’s hair is that red.”
“I wish my hair was that red,” Adam grumbled.
“When we get back we’ll bleach and dye it,” Crowley said.
“We will not!” Aziraphale laughed.
“When you’re eleven, then.”
“Maybe,” Aziraphale took an only slightly angry sip of his wine.

When everyone was asleep, including Adam on the couch, Crowley and Aziraphale were still laying awake in their bed.
“Aziraphale? You alright?” Crowley asked, something seemed off, “You didn’t eat much at dinner.” Aziraphale only sighed in response. “Aziraphale.”
“Right. Sorry. I just, Gabriel said something today while you and everyone else were watching the movie.”
“I’ll kick his teeth in for you.”
“He just said I should lose some weight,” Aziraphale rolled onto his side, so did Crowley, to meet his eyes, “It’s stupid to be upset about, I know.”
“It is not, for three reasons,” Crowley listed these reasons on his fingers, “One, you don’t need to lose weight, two, Gabriel has no right to say that and three, it’s reasonable to be upset if someone says that to you. Your aunt thinks I should gain weight.”
“I love you just the way you are,” there was a rustling of cotton on silk as Aziraphale moved closer to kiss Crowley.
“I love you just the way you are,” Crowley repeated, and returned the kiss. Aziraphale deepened the kiss, surprising Crowley with a little bite on his lip, “Angel,” he breathed when they parted, “Can we?”
“Only if we’re quiet,” Aziraphale whispered, and rolled on top of Crowley. This was the fourth time they would go with boxers off, but Aziraphale asked if he could keep his shirt on this time.
“Of course you can, but you know I think your body is wonderful,” Crowley pulled his shirt up and moved down to kiss the soft skin of Aziraphale’s stomach.
Aziraphale often paid attention to Crowley’s tattoos, this wasn’t any different and Crowley considered getting more tattoos, maybe one on his collar or inner thigh.
“I love you, angel. I hope you know that.”
“I do,” Aziraphale traced a hand over the line of the snake on Crowley’s ribcage, “I love you too. Nos da.”
“Nos da.”

“It’s Christmas Eve morning,” Adam announced, hopping onto their bed, Crowley was very glad that he and Aziraphale had thought to put their boxers back on before bed. “Hot hot hot! We got it! Hot hot! Oh we got it!” Adam sang as he ran out of the room.
They did in fact have hot chocolate, and sugar cookie dough waiting to be cut into shaped and put in the oven. Crowley ate a large piece of his cookie dough, Aziraphale fretted that he could get sick, and he ate another piece.
“If you get salmonella don’t come crawling to me dear boy,” he chastised, this time Adam ate some of the cookie dough, “Adam!”
“Adam do as I say, not as I do,” Crowley said. Gabriel muttered something negative that Crowley couldn’t make out, as he often did, but Aziraphale pleaded with his eyes for him to not make a scene. He took his anger out on the cookie dough, using a sweater shaped cookie cutter and placing it angrily on the baking sheet. Crowley took a bit of solace in knowing he had committed sodomy in the room right next to Gabriel’s.

Adam was very messily icing his cookies, and Uriel was carefully placing sprinkles one by one on hers. Crowley made his sweater shaped cookie to make his maroon sweatshirt, making the yellow angel from dyed sugar crystals. All of the cookies were placed on a multi-tiered whatever it was called, the plates with the rod in the middle fancy old ladies ate biscuits off of.
Apparently, Aziraphale knew almost every line to Elf, and Adam knew most of the lines of The Polar Express, Crowley would have to find a chance to show off his knowledge of the third Harry Potter film, if Adam was even old enough to watch it. Crowley reasoned that Adam had seen Les Mis, but he also reasoned that Aziraphale might insist a man turning into a big black dog was frightening.
Adam begged to sleep on the couch again and wait for Santa but his fathers both insisted he eat his melatonin laced apple sauce and get into bed, so he did. That didn’t stop the little bugger from trying to escape Crowley’s grip when he’d thought his father was asleep. That also didn’t stop him from rolling around in bed for an hour until Crowley had to sit up and force the boy down and sing a lullaby.
When both Fells were asleep, finally, Crowley slept too, nestling himself under the sheets, warm hearted with a heavy body. He hadn’t been this excited for Christmas since he was Adam’s age.

Chapter Text

“SANTA’S BEEN!” Adam shrieked and leapt onto his fathers, waking them both up with a groan.
“Santa!” Uriel yelled, less shrill than Adam though no less excited, the sound of two sets of feet barrelling down the hall towards Michael’s room to get her up as well. Crowley grumbled and checked the time, six fifty-nine.
“The only day of the year when he can get up before eight,” Aziraphale rubbed his eyes with his palms and fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand.
“Wait ‘till he gets to secondary school,” Crowley retorted and crawled out of bed, wiggling his toes in the white shag carpet as he pulled on his pyjamas.
“Good lord, don’t make me think about that,” he paused, “That’s going to be your job.”
“Warlock will do it, he’s planning on getting an emancipation and comin’ to live with us.”
“Since when?”
“Couple weeks ago.”
“They should get bunk beds at this point,” Aziraphale said, not really joking.
“That can be Adam’s Christmas present when we get back. Ikea trip,” Crowley wasn’t really joking either. Speak of the devil and he will call you down because you’re making everyone wait to even start pouring out stockings.
When Crowley got downstairs he realized why the kids were so excited, there was a mountain of presents worth roughly three Adams and a Greasy Johnson. This was the Christmas morning every kid dreamed about but never really got, the cookies on the plate had bites taken out of them, the milk was drank and the carrots Uriel had insisted they leave (“Reindeer get hungry, too”) were gone. Everyone was squeezed onto the large tan L couch, still getting comfortable and nursing cups of the hot liquid of their choice. Before presents could be given out it was time for stockings, Crowley did not expect a hand-knit stocking with a large MA stitched in.
“That was Mary’s, but she was big on sharing, she wouldn’t mind,” Eden said as Crowley stared at her when the stocking was placed in his hands. “Alright, go ahead,” she made a gesture with her hands and let everyone dump their stockings into their laps or on the floor, something was stuck in the bottom of Crowley’s, he reached down and pulled out an orange.
“That’s so you don’t get scurvy,” Terry informed him, everyone else had gotten an orange as well, “You don’t have to eat it, just tradition.” Crowley nodded and looked at the dumped contents on his lap, mostly just assorted chocolates and that sort of thing, everyone else was similar.
Presents were given in a system, Adam would open one of his, then Uriel, then Adam would deliver a present for Eden, then Terry, then Great Aunt Mary, followed by Grace, Gabriel and Michael until the presents finally reached Crowley and Aziraphale. Crowley knew he would hardly be getting any presents this year, the Fells hadn’t even known Aziraphale was bringing him but he was very pleasantly surprised when the present precession reached him. A very badly wrapped package was placed in his lap, scrawled on top next to a big stick-on bow read; ‘From Uriel To Crowley’.
“Do you like it?” Uriel asked as Crowley unwrapped a picture frame painted in delicate flowers. Crowley nodded and Uriel beamed with pride, “I painted it all by myself!”
“It’s beautiful, Uriel, thank you,” Aziraphale spoke for Crowley.
“You’re welcome Uncle Crowley,” Uriel grinned and went to where Adam was opening his next present (a Doctor Who Box Set from ‘Santa’), Crowley bit his lip in an effort to not cry.
Crowley’s gifts ended up being a set of patches from Aziraphale, various arts and crafts projects from Adam and Uriel, a set of socks from Grace, she must have gotten them on a day out with Gabriel, because Gabriel had liked to go out shopping for the day all week, something apparently he didn’t do but had taken a very recent liking to, even if the shops were crowded. Eden and Terry had given him books, worn out on the spines with fraying pages, something Aziraphale said meant they were loved, something Crowley could feel in the yellowing pages.
“That was Aziraphale’s,” Eden said when Crowley unwrapped a package labeled for him and Aziraphale. The Picture Of Dorian Gray, of course. Crowley flipped through the pages, Aziraphale did not seem the type to deface a book, but he had. Every page was covered in various colors of ink, taking notes on the text.
“I thought we lost that,” Aziraphale said, taking the book and reading on it’s first page, “Property of Aziraphale Zachery Fell.”
“Zachery?” Crowley asked and took the book back.
“Short for Zachariah,” Aziraphale admitted and, upon seeing the look on Crowley’s face, added, “I didn’t pick it!” Of all the books Crowley had received today, this one had the most love set in its pages.
“You nerd,” Crowley teased and kissed Aziraphale on the cheek.
“Ych a fi!” Adam yelled.
“Adam Nicholas Fell,” Terry said.
“Sorry, Grampa.”

Great Aunt Mary made cinnamon rolls that were miraculously ready by the time presents had been returned to their rooms, still too hot for Adam to touch but he did. Crowley wished Gabriel would do that.
“Papa can I have more cocoa?” Adam asked when Aziraphale was making some for himself.
“I suppose,” said Aziraphale, and pulled Adam’s mug from the sink, rinsed it off and dried it. He knew it was Adam’s mug because on it had been painted ‘ADAM’S MUG’ in bright red paint over the black ceramic.
Crowley had definitely had the right to be as excited for Christmas as he had been last night, this was the best Christmas he’d had since he was three. Probably, he didn’t remember much before age eight, but the disappointment of Christmas morning at age four was pressed into his brain. That was the year he’d found out Santa wasn’t real, only because his parents had been too cheap and/or busy arguing to get him much. Even if they had the money. Maybe second Christmas tomorrow with Warlock would be just as good.

“Crowley would you like to come to mass with us? Or are you not very religious?” Eden asked later and she ran a brush through her hair. Crowley was not very religious, but he did enjoy a good cathedral, the one he’d seen down the street the other day was absolutely gorgeous, so he agreed to get dressed in his nicest clothes and go to mass. He hadn’t been to church since he was sixteen.
The cathedral was very beautiful, stained glass windows with the madonna, a choir of children in robes sang Ave Verum Corpus, accompanied by an old lady with fingers that would have been riddled with arthritis were they not so used every Sunday.
“Those are the same robes we wore when I was in that choir,” Aziraphale whispered as he crossed the holy water over his chest, Crowley refrained from this, because he had actually forgotten which direction your hand went in when you did the cross thing. Crowley sat down in a pew and fidgeted in his seat for the next hour, as he did in church growing up. Standing up when other people did, sitting down when they sat, shadow singing to the solms.
“Peace be with you,” said the Father, probably John or Tim or something like that.
“And also with you,” Crowley muttered.
“And with your spirit,” the rest of the attendees chimed, Crowley went slightly red in the face as Aziraphale snickered at him.
After church the Fells (and Christensens and Crowley) had a late dinner. Adam ate a lot of rolls, and somehow managed to get two scoops of ice cream for dessert, Eden couldn’t resist puppy eyes, Crowley supposed. Everyone went to bed with full stomachs in soft, new, pyjamas, Crowley, Adam and Aziraphale were leaving tomorrow morning, the Christensens were apparently staying into New Years, Great Aunt Mary lived in Wales so she was staying another week, and so was Michael, who didn’t talk much, at least not to Crowley.

Eden cried in the morning when they left, and insisted she pack them lunch, even though she was sending them home with leftovers for another week, and they would be home by noon.
“Aziraphale how do you say ‘bye’ in Welsh?”
“Hwyl!” Adam cut in, Crowley rolled down the window and waved.
“Hwyl,” Crowley called, Eden wiped a tear away and Crowley rolled the window back up.
“We only live an hour away, she acts like she’ll never see us again,” Aziraphale said.
“That’s just mums, I guess.”
“You should have seen her when we all went off to university.”
“Papa will you cry when I go to university?” Adam asked from the back of the car, hugging a new stuffed Kraken from Great Aunt Mary.
“Of course I will.”
“I’m going to university in America,” Adam declared, “Me and Warlock are going to Yale together.”
“You even know what Yale is?” Crowley raised an eyebrow and turned a corner.
“A good university,” Adam said.
“If that’s what you want, go for it,” Aziraphale said and smiled proudly. The next twenty minutes were spent listening to Queen loudly, the last forty minutes were spent listening to Queen quietly, because Adam had fallen asleep.
Aziraphale carried his son up to the flat just as you would luggage, if maybe a bit more careful, Adam’s shoes were pulled off and he was laid in bed, followed by Dog. Crowley walked to the kitchen where he’d left an instruction manual on watering his plants for Anathema, surveying the plants along the way. All looked well. Maybe Beelzebub looked a bit limp, Crowley found a spider on the floor and she gladly closed around it.

Knock at the door. Crowley answered to a little boy that needed a haircut and a bath. Dog and Adam came running into the room, one of them barking.
“Dad!” Warlock jumped into Crowley’s arms.
“Bye son, love you,” said Harriet Dowling, nobody heard her, because she didn’t quite mean it. Harriet closed the door as if she was intruding on the situation.
“Agh, hey kiddo,” Crowley roughed up the boy’s already messy hair.
“Warlock!” Adam said, Crowley put the boy down next to his son, “You’ll never believe what I got for Christmas!”
“Show me!” the boys ran to Adam’s room, their laughter was audible through the closed door, Dog was laughing too. As much as a dog could laugh.
“Warlock’s here,” Crowley said to Aziraphale.
“I heard, time for second Christmas once they’re done being excited about the first one.”
Crowley and Aziraphale went to setting up Second Christmas, putting the presents Adam hadn’t received at his grandparents’ house and Warlock’s presents accompanied them beneath the tree. Aziraphale’s presents from Crowley came out from under the bed, Crowley’s presents from Aziraphale came out from the linen closet. Crowley hadn’t had them spoiled because he rarely put laundry away, he wanted to but Aziraphale insisted on re-folding nearly everything he folded. Crowley had never been very good at folding laundry or cooking, luckily he was gay and a man and no pressure would be put on him like his father thought it would be. Aziraphale and Crowley were content with their household dynamic, though it might look a bit strange to outsiders.

Chapter Text

It took maybe an hour of Adam and Warlock catching up on what happened in the week they didn’t see each other and discuss what they got for Christmas until the boys emerged from what was essentially their bedroom now, getting all the more excited to their new presents. The same rule of one present at a time from Eden and Terry’s did not apply here, the four of them tore into presents in a moderately orderly fashion, hugs were exchanged with each gift that wasn’t from Santa. Dog even got gifts, dental chews, squeaky toys, and a little tartan bow tie to go on his collar. Warlock and Adam both got pins for their jackets of a Welsh/Scottish flag. Warlock pinned the new pin above the American flag (“Most important goes on top.”)
“Aren’t you dapper?” Aziraphale said as he straightened Dog’s bow tie on the collar, his black and white chest puffed with pride.
“Dad there’s one more for you,” Adam reached under the tree to pull out a small box wrapped in shining blue paper, written on it in Aziraphale’s very neat handwriting was Crowley’s name. The recipient of the gift unwrapped it and pulled out a wooden box with a little piece of paper sticking out of it.
Crowley slipped the note from the box and read aloud; “‘Wild nights! Wild nights!/Were I with thee,/Wild nights should be/Our luxury!
Futile the winds/To a heart in port,/Done with the compass,/Done with the chart.
Rowing in Eden!/Ah! the sea!/Might I but moor/ To-night in thee!’ Emily Dickinson,” Crowley smiled, “You nerd!” Aziraphale’s brows furrowed and he looked down, it would have been at his feet were they not sitting. “No, no, I love it,” Crowley assured, Aziraphale’s eyes brightened.
“Okay now open the box,” Aziraphale said and leaned forward in anticipation, Crowley unlatched the silver latch and opened the box. Inside the velvet-lined box was a small silver ring, just a silver band.
“It’s the matching one to mine,” Aziraphale wiggled his pinky finger with the golden ring, “Family heirloom. Does it fit?” Crowley slipped the band over his pinky finger, not a perfect fit but it wouldn’t slip right off.
Crowley nodded and twisted the ring around, he didn’t usually wear jewelry, “Like a wedding ring without the wedding.”
“They were made to be wedding bands, but my very very great grandfather underestimated finger size,” Aziraphale grinned, “So, pinky rings.”
“Maybe he just had tiny fingers,” Adam suggested.
“Maybe,” Aziraphale said and turned to Crowley again, “Do you like it?”
“I love it, angel.”
This was not a proposal or a wedding but it was certainly something that the four people and one dog in the room could sense was special, so Warlock and Adam stayed quiet when Crowley pressed a gentle kiss to Aziraphale’s lips.

Gifts were given again a month later when Aziraphale’s birthday came in January. It fell on a Saturday and Adam spent the day itself with Crowley and Aziraphale but went to Warlock’s for dinner and a sleepover. Crowley found he could bake a red velvet cake well with very strict instructions and adult supervision. The frosting came out a little runny, but Aziraphale insisted he preferred it that way.
Crowley did not get many gifts for Aziraphale, Christmas and excessive purchasing of plants left him a bit dry. He did use his free-to-spend money fund to buy some sheet music and a horribly misprinted Bible found in a tiny second-hand shop that seemed to disappear the second you left the door.
“Are you sure this isn’t purposefully this way?” Aziraphale said as he flipped through the faulty Bible.
“Maybe it is, still funny though,” Crowley shrugged and stole the last bite of cake from Aziraphale’s plate.
“You told me you had a surprise gift for me,” said Aziraphale.
“Greedy, that’s a sin, you know,” Crowley replied and got up, followed by Aziraphale.
“I know but I would like it.”
Crowley opened the piano bench and pulled out the sheet music for Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy, Love of my Life was too sad. He sat on the bench, and scooted to the side to let Aziraphale join him,
“I can dim the lights and sing you songs,” Crowley crooned, “Full of sad things. We can do the tango just for two, I can serenade and gently, pull on your heart-strings, be a Valentino just for you.” Crowley paused before he played the next chord to grab Aziraphale’s hand and kiss the ring on his pinky finger.
“Ooh, love. Oo lover boy,” Aziraphale joined in at this point, “Whatcha doin’ tonight, hey-boy.”
“Set my alarm, turn on my charm, that’s because I’m a good old-fashioned lover boy,” Crowley sang alone again, “Ooh, let me feel your heart-beat, grow faster faster, can you feel my love heat?” Crowley smiled as Aziraphale’s cheeks grew a bit more pink, “Come on and sit on my hot seat of love and tell me how, do you feel right after all. I’d like for you and I to go romancing, just say the word, your wish is my command,” Crowley winked and faltered in the music when Aziraphale returned the gesture.
“Ooh love ooh lover boy, whatcha doin' tonight, hey-boy,” Aziraphale joined in again.
“Write my letter, feel much better, use my fancy patter on the telephone,” Crowley sang alone once again and his fingers danced over the keys, “When I'm not with you, I think of you always, I miss those long hot summer nights. When I'm not with you, think of me always,” Crowley turned away from the music to hold eye contact with Aziraphale.
“Love you, love you,” he sang, “Hey boy where’d you get it from? Hey boy, where did you go? I learned my passion in the good old fashioned school of lover boys,” Crowley kept playing over what was normally filled by a guitar solo.
“Dining at the Ritz, we'll meet at nine precisely,” Crowley crooned, “I will pay the bill, you taste the wine. Driving back in style, in my saloon will do quite nicely,” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s side.
“Just take me back to yours that will be fine, come on and get it. Ooh love, there he goes again just like a good old-fashioned lover boy.”
“Ooh loverboy. Whatcha doin' tonight, hey boy,” sang the two of them.
“Everything's all right,” Crowley added a pause not in the song, “Just hold on tight,” pause, “That's because I'm a good old-fashioned fashioned,” one last pause for a kiss, “lover boy!” Crowley pounded out the final chord and beamed at Aziraphale.
“I would ask you to play me another but I just want to kiss you right now,” said Aziraphale.
“It’s your birthday, do whatever you want,” Crowley teased, and Aziraphale did just that.

It was not until September that they did actually get to dine at the Ritz, meeting at nine. Warlock and Adam stayed home in their new bunk beds, which had taken longer to build than Crowley would like to admit, neither he or Aziraphale knew the difference between various wrenches or anything like that. They would have liked to be there earlier, but Adam and Warlock had to be asleep before they left, anything else would be irresponsible. Tonight was roughly their first anniversary, but if you asked Adam or Anathema, they would tell you it was a year and a month.
Crowley shifted in his seat awkwardly on a small box in his pocket, the lava cake was almost finished, now or wait for another romantic moment. He finished off his wine, Aziraphale re-filled the glass and topped off his own and reached for a toast.
“I love you,” said Aziraphale as their glasses clinked.
“I love you more.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
The tiny box in Crowley’s pocket would wait for another romantic moment, he decided. Crowley paid in part, but it was a split effort, as relationships should be, and both of them had tasted the wine.
They did not get back until eleven at night, but neither of them had work in the morning and the boys were still asleep (Aziraphale had checked twice) so they stayed up another hour. It was roughly their first anniversary, after all.

Chapter Text

Saturday the third of October, Crowley’s fingers were intertwined with Aziraphale’s walking through Kew Gardens, Crowley had been rambling about it for the past year, and he hadn’t even been, it wasn’t that far from home, just had never made a day of it. Adam and Warlock were at Brian’s for a slumber party, Wensleydale and Pepper were there too, Crowley and Aziraphale were both glad their son had retained friendships when he made the transition to primary school.
They had been walking for three hours at this point and hadn’t even scratched the surface of all the plants, admittedly they had spent too much time at the roses, taking care to smell them all.
A small box had been burning a hole in Crowley’s pocket since the Ritz, and it burned even more as Aziraphale stood by a large pond being ambushed by ducks begging for a piece of his peanut butter-marshmallow sandwich.
“You can’t have any of this,” Aziraphale told them, “Bread is bad for you.” A duck quacked in protest. This was not a particularly romantic moment, but this was a moment, Crowley stuck his hands in his pockets and opened and closed the box in the pocket. Nobody else was near them except for a few older women lingering by a birch tree that you could hardly tell was a birch tree, all carved into by teenagers and young adults that would soon become a victim to Crowley’s car keys.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley had his attention now, on shaking legs he sank to one knee, if he didn’t Crowley would have probably collapsed. The box came out of its pocket, “Angel I-” Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he fumbled in his own pocket for a very similar box. Matching smiles spread across both of their faces.
“You go first,” Aziraphale said after a minute of only slightly awkward laughter, the ducks had lost interest at this point.
“Uh- Aziraphale. Will- will you marry me?” Crowley finally said.
“Yes,” Aziraphale reached a hand for Crowley to help him up, and presented his box to Crowley, “Will you marry me?”
“Hell yes,” was all Crowley could say before he pulled Aziraphale into a kiss. A duck quacked happily as an old woman dropped a piece of bread for it, but it surely couldn't have been happier than Crowley and Aziraphale. “I love you so much,” Crowley said when they pulled away.
“I love you,” Aziraphale replied and laced his fingers in Crowley’s and kissed the hand with the new smokey silver band with a single deep red stone embedded in it. Crowley returned the kiss to a hand with a new ring remarkably similar to Crowley’s, just a shinier silver with three opals embedded.
They sat on a bench that had been donated by some family, but it had been worn away by so many people laying against it to admire birds swim lazily across the pond. The birch tree that was no longer a birch tree became a victim to Crowley’s car keys, he had always wanted to carve his initials into a tree or a fence or something. He had never thought he would be carving his initials into a tree with an Oxford alumni in a giant botanical garden. He’d thought it would be with another burnt-out boy with dark hair and a septum ring or something. Crowley liked what was happening in this situation better.
Crowley asked himself who he should tell, Anathema would tear it out of him eventually, Adam and Warlock had to be told, but would this be something to facebook message to his parents about? Maybe he should, just to spite them a little, show them he’s happy. The rest of the day was spent looking at plants, and each other, the roses were better a second time through, they even smelled better.
“I wish we could pick the flowers,” Crowley said, “I would pick them all for you.”
“Oh you’d get pricked by thorns,” Aziraphale fretted, bending over to smell another rose, “You could just grow some for us, infinite supply.”
“Maybe I will,” Crowley kissed Aziraphale on the cheek.
Walking around all day looking at plants and getting engaged was apparently something that got your appetite, so dinner was had in a small Chinese restaurant, in which Aziraphale reprimanded Crowley for eating the noodles ‘wrong’ (“How can you eat wrong?” “You’ve somehow managed it”). On the way home, they stopped at Frances’s plant nursery, who already had a pink rose bush ready for them, it would go next to the piano. Frances handed the pot over, “Congratulations, loves,” she said with a smile.
“How did you know?” Crowley asked.
“I saw the rings,” she replied, “Have a good night, lovelies!”
“Goodnight Frances,” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in the hand that was not attached to the arm holding a rose bush, Aziraphale bade her goodnight and they left. Crowley would be telling his parents about this, accompanied by a picture of Aziraphale grinning as a bee landed on his jacket, “They think you’re a flower,” Crowley had said to him.

“Are we going to wait to tell your folks in person or on the phone?” Crowley asked at home, sprawled on the couch while Dog gnawed on a bone.
“We can video chat with them right now!” Aziraphale pulled out Crowley’s laptop from the shelf on the bottom of the coffee table and let Crowley put the password in. “How do I do this again?”
“Oh lemme do it,” Crowley grabbed the laptop and pulled it onto his lap and the phone was ringing for only ten seconds before Eden showed up on screen.
“Terry! Zira and Crowley are calling,” Eden called, “Hello you two.”
“Hello mum, we have important news once dad gets over here,” Aziraphale said.
“I’m here, I’m here,” Terry popped into frame, reading glasses perched on his nose, “What is it?”
“Crowley proposed!” Aziraphale proudly presented his hand to the camera and let his parents gasp in excitement, “Well I was trying to propose, and he did it first.”
“I won, is what you mean,” Crowley said.
“Oh I’m so excited! Zira you’re engaged!” Eden clapped her hands.
“I know!” Aziraphale and Eden talked for maybe another forty minutes about nothing, Terry chiming in every now and again from out of frame, Crowley just adding in details of the day Aziraphale had forgot to mention in his excitement. Eventually, Crowley had to drag his fiance (his fiance!) away from the laptop to get in bed. Anathema and Crowley’s parents could wait till tomorrow to find out. Maybe Monday, because most of Sunday was spent watching old movies with Adam and Warlock, who were very excited that Crowley and Aziraphale were going to get married, and Aziraphale earned a ‘dad’ from Warlock and Adam asked if he could be the flower girl. Of course, he could be, and Warlock would apparently be joining him as the other flower girl.

Chapter Text

Wedding planning was more difficult than Crowley or Aziraphale had thought, Crowley had only been to one wedding before and it was when he was twelve and he didn’t pay attention to it at all, he was too busy moping about his uncomfortable dress.
Luckily, Aziraphale and Crowley agreed on a lot of things, like angel food cake with minimal frosting, rose boutonnieres (despite the cliche), and a soft color pallet of creams and pinks. Warlock protested to not being a flower girl as promised but was appeased when he was informed that he would be one of the groomsmen, Adam reacted similarly. Aziraphale called two friends from Oxford to be his groomsmen, and Crowley had Anathema and Newt.
They all agreed that champagne cheap enough for everyone to have was disgusting so just a white wine was settled on for toasts.
Crowley’s birthday presents on the thirteenth were minimal but weddings were expensive, even the one Aziraphale and Crowley were aiming for. They were both fine with smaller birthday and Christmas presents that year.
“You know, I wanted to propose at The Ritz,” Crowley said the day after Halloween while they looked at venues with Adam in a candy coma in his room. The idea of a church wedding had been thrown around but they both decided against it.
“So did I, but I thought it was a little too cliche,” Aziraphale admitted and pointed to a venue in an old barn, “Ooo this one’s in Snowdonia!” Crowley clicked through to the barn and looked at the inside, but the surrounding mountains drew Crowley to check their schedule for dates.
“What about the last day of May.”
“Why the last day of May?”
“So we start June married,” Crowley said plainly, “Look it’s available.”
“Alright then, we will be married Sunday the thirty-first of May,” Aziraphale said and pulled out his phone to call the venue. The thirty first of May couldn’t come soon enough, but they had to book everything else now. “Wonderful! Thank you,” said Aziraphale into the phone, Crowley took this as a sign to write their wedding date (their wedding date!) into the calendar. Save the dates were sent out via email.
“Were there any other times you wanted to propose?” Aziraphale asked later as he put away a (hopefully) fake skull for next year.
“Earlier you said you wanted to propose at The Ritz. Were there any other times?”
“Oh definitely,” Crowley nodded, “Wanted to do it the day I got the ring, and every day after that.”
“Why in Kew, then?”
“It just felt right, I don’t know.”
“I was planning on proposing on the catwalk in the trees, but I was already too nervous being up there I couldn’t add to it,” Aziraphale said and clicked the box of Halloween decorations closed.
They finished taking down Halloween decorations, joined by Adam and Warlock. Warlock, at this point, had essentially moved in with the soon to be Crowley-Fells, even if it wasn’t official. Crowley was now an emergency contact to three people, he’d never been an emergency contact before. Though hopefully, it would never come to be needed. The Dowlings had become friends by association with Crowley and Aziraphale and the boys were often juggled between households. The Dowlings and soon to be Crowley-Fells interacted like awkward in-laws who had only met at the wedding and nothing else, everyone involved was fine with this.

“Did you send a save the date to my folks?” Crowley asked later in bed, he hadn’t even told them about his engagement. Or his relationship, for that matter.
Aziraphale closed his book, “I don’t even know your parents' names.”
“Doctor Neil Crowley and Cheryl Jones. Don’t even know I’m with you.”
“Would you like them to know?”
“Yeah, rub it in their faces. They probably won’t even come,” Crowley shrugged.

An email was sent to Doctor Neil Crowley and Cheryl Jones the next morning, with the subject Anthony James Crowley. It contained only a date and location with the names of the betrothed, and an ‘accidentally’ attached picture Anathema had taken of them at St.James’ Park a few months ago, smiling at a black swan and a white swan swimming together, they found it awfully befitting of them.
Miraculously and email from Cheryl Jones RSVPing a spot for her husband and step-daughter arrived soon after. Even more miraculous, a similar email came from Doctor Neil Crowley.
Anthony Crowley took both of these RSVPs as a joke but marked them down at a table nonetheless. Terry, Eden, and Great Aunt Mary would have to suffer sitting with Crowley’s father, but Terry had met him a few times in med school, so at least he would be a familiar face. Gabriel, Grace, Uriel, and Michael would be at the same table. Cheryl and her husband John (John Jones, how creative) would be sat next to some of Aziraphale’s friends, along with Crowley’s step-sister, who he was still yet to meet. The Dowlings accompanied Crowley’s very few friends along with Aziraphale’s English professor from his first year at university.

By March, everything was planned, suits had been picked and flowers were set to order, actual wedding bands were picked (just a thin silver band, nothing special), Eden had convinced them to let her bake the wedding cake. Caterers were booked, a wedding playlist was made (less Queen than Crowley would have liked but Tori Amos was a nice choice). It was all a little surreal. Well, almost everything was planned, both Aziraphale and Crowley had not completed writing their vows, mostly because neither of them knew what to say.
With every day to the thirty-first of May they grew more anxious, not at all in a sense of cold feet, but they just wanted to get it done with so they could honeymoon in the Welsh countryside and kiss in the tallest towers of as many castles as possible.
The drive to Snowdonia was long, to say the least, they’d found an Airbnb in a very old farmhouse that slept eight people (fourteen if you try hard enough). On the drive, Crowley attempted to pronounce the names of the towns to help the drive go by quicker, he wasn’t very good at it, but it was certainly entertaining. Just the two of them were driving up a day before the groomsmen (and woman) would be arriving to spend the week before the wedding just watching the clouds pass behind the mountain across the road and desperately attempt to feed the sheep that lived around the farmhouse.
The farmhouse, they found, was three hundred years old with thick stone walls, surrounded by blooming foxgloves and a thick layer of every color of heather coated the ground to one side. At first, they weren’t sure they were at the right place, because the place was so high up the mountain that you couldn’t see it from the road. Crowley and Aziraphale took advantage of the complete privacy and spent the whole day all over each other all over the place, get it out of the way before they were sharing the place with five other people. It would have been seven if the whole party was attending, but Adam was staying with his grandparents and Warlock was with his actual parents.

Chapter Text

Sunday the thirty-first of May Crowley woke up alone, Anathema made him and Aziraphale sleep in separate beds last night on the opposite side of the farmhouse, and they weren’t allowed to see each other until the actual wedding. It was unbearable.
“Anathemaaa,” Crowley groaned as Anathema pulled his hair into a quiff.
“Shut up and hold your breath,” Anathema shook a bottle of hairspray and Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath while Anathema sprayed his hair into place. Crowley stared at himself in the mirror, he’d gotten his ears re-pierced a few months ago, were the little silver rings too much? No, it was an easy way to look nicer. Crowley shifted his eyebrows around, Anathema had plucked them last night and it still hurt. “You’re getting married!” Anathema squealed.
“I know, stop telling me you’ll make me freak out!” Crowley fiddled with his tie and checked the time on his phone. It was starting in twenty fucking minutes.
Anathema and Newt drove Crowley to the venue, he didn’t like anyone else driving the Bentley, but Newt’s car had three wheels, so he was a decent driver. Newt parked the Bentley and they all left the car.
Crowley walked toward the door, and was stopped by Adam and Warlock, who were trying to look like intimidating bodyguards, but not very well. “Don’t come in!” Adam yelled, “You can’t see Papa yet!”
Warlock led Crowley to a back entrance and sat him down on a bench, Aziraphale’s two groomsmen whose names Crowley couldn’t remember quickly closed the door to another room and giggled. Adam and Warlock stood by the door leading into the hall and gestured for Aziraphale’s groomsmen to line up behind him, then Newt, then Anathema. Music played lightly through the speakers only slightly drowned by the drone of conversation, Crowley recognized the song but from where. Aziraphale had picked it, he would have to ask him tonight.
Everyone shut their yaps as the line of boys (and Anathema) walked down the aisle toward the small stage. The groomsmen went to sit, except Warlock, who stood at the bottom of the steps with Crowley, who was using all his energy to not turn around as the song changed, something from Mozart.
“You can look now,” Warlock stage whispered, and Crowley did. Aziraphale was right behind him, letting go of his father’s hand and went to trade it in for Crowley’s.
Crowley had not cried in public since he was thirteen, but the twelve-year streak just broke. Aziraphale had a similar reaction as they took the two creaky steps up to the tiny stage. The officiary started speaking but Crowley would be lying if he said he was listening fully, too busy going over his vows in his mind.
Crowley glared into the crowd when they were asked if there were any objections, holding brief eye contact with his father, who he still hadn’t spoken to.
At the point of vows, Crowley pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, “Aziraphale, I don’t know what to say other than; I never thought I would be marrying someone I love so much, but,” Crowley paused and made a gesture, “Here I am. When I was a teenager I didn’t know if I would live past twenty-five and you just make me want to live forever, just as long as you can live with me forever. If I can’t get a forever, I’ll take the rest of this lifetime.”
“Okay, I’m not a poet, so I didn’t write one, and now I wish I had done my vows first,” Aziraphale laughed awkwardly and tugged at his collar, “I love you so much and I’m so glad we were brought together. I’m glad that date went awful and you were there to comfort me. I’m glad that you proposed to me first because if I’d done it I would have rambled on for half an hour, just like I am now. I’ll be quiet now.”
“Angel don’t apologize, it’s vows, that’s the whole point.”
“Well the more I talk the longer I spend being not married to you,” Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hands thrice, Crowley replied with four squeezes.
“Will the ring bearer please bring forth the rings?” the officiary asked, Dog bounded down the aisle, two silver bands clinking on his collar. The dog presented the rings proudly and rubbed his head against Crowley’s leg
“I, Anthony James Crowley take thee, Aziraphale Zachariah Fell to be my lawfully wedded husband,” Crowley said as he slipped a ring on Aziraphale’s hand, he couldn’t tell whose hands were shaking, and congratulated himself on not letting his voice crack.
“And I, Aziraphale Zachariah Fell, take thee, Anthony James Crowley to be my lawfully wedded husband,” Aziraphale slipped Crowley’s ring on his finger with shaking hands.
“With the power vested in me by the law, I pronounce you man and husband,” she could hardly finish her sentence before Aziraphale and Crowley pulled each other into a kiss, applause and the sound of Eden crying filled the room as the newly-weds walked to a small table together. “I invite any of you to sign the registry as witnesses,” the officiary said, Anathema practically pushed past Aziraphale’s groomsmen to be the first to sign. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and they signed their names on the bottom line together and kissed, if they lingered the fresh ink would be wet with tears so they moved aside to let witnesses sign.
Aziraphale offered an arm to Crowley and they left the stage together and led the way on to the stone patio and gazed out at the mountains, the doors were closed and the guests stood outside to wait for the chairs to be turned over into the tables for dinner. Aziraphale was finally able to tear himself away when he saw his old English professor, who’d brought her wife.
“Hello, Anthony,” Crowley jumped at turned around to face his father, who looked the same as he did seven years ago, just more wrinkles and greyer hair.
“I uh- I felt the need to come and set some things straight,” said Neil, awkwardly drumming his fingers on his thigh, “I’m not asking for forgiveness for all the shit I did when you were a kid. I don’t even expect you to call me dad.”
“You aren’t forgiven,” Crowley seethed, “I thought your RSVP was a prank.”
“I can leave, if you want me to,” Neil put his hands up, “I just wanted to say I’m happy for you, son.”
“No you can stay, just don’t make a scene or brag about being a doctor,” Crowley said and eyed his husband for support, Aziraphale hurried over to Crowley’s side, “Father, this is Aziraphale.”
“Good to meet you, young man,” Neil extended a hand to Aziraphale, who hesitated before shaking.
“Nice to meet you, sir, we’re glad you came,” Aziraphale smiled, or, smiled more because they were both smiling and had been since the day began.
Crowley and Aziraphale stuck together through long hugs from Aziraphale’s family and avoided Crowley’s mother, she could wait until they’d had a drink.
Everyone went inside and received their food and wine. Except Adam, Warlock, Uriel and Crowley’s step-sister Beatrice, who was eighteen next week, but she was a little bit of a brat so she was not allowed a sip. The children got Sprite poured into wine glasses to pretend it was sparkling wine or something. Adam swirled his in its glass until the bubbles were all gone and nearly spilled on himself several times in the process.
People toasted to the newly-weds and speeches were made, Aziraphale just told the story of when he knew Crowley was the one when Crowley had sung him Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy for his birthday. Crowley replied with the same story and said that was the moment he’d decided he wanted to marry the ‘adorable bastard’ and it had been in that moment that they’d both decided it. Great minds think alike.
Crowley, Aziraphale, and the groomsmen retreated to a back room while the tables were taken out to make room for dancing. When the groomsmen had left in pairs Crowley asked, “What was the song playing when we got here?”
“It’s the song that was playing during our first kiss,” Aziraphale admitted, Crowley grinned and kissed the smile off Aziraphale’s face.

Chapter Text

“Presenting, for the very first time, Mr. and Mr. Crowley-Fell!” Anathema yelled, she hardly needed the microphone. Crowley took Aziraphale by the arm and they stood by the door to wait for the music to start. Everyone laughed while Newt tried to figure out how to play the music, Crowley stuck a long leg out the doorway and waved with his foot. There was a sound of scuffling and finally, Anathema had put on A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square. The newlyweds swept out onto the dance floor, though neither of them could dance well.
“I may be right, I may be wrong,” Tori Amos crooned as Crowley pulled Aziraphale close to him and buried his face in his husband’s neck. If Crowley was honest, it felt a bit awkward, just dancing in front of everyone. He just had to imagine nobody else was there.
“And as we kissed and said goodnight,” Amos sang and Aziraphale twirled Crowley around, “A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square,” Crowley dipped Aziraphale into a kiss, met with whoops and cheers.
Anathema led Newt to the floor and they all swayed awkwardly for a few seconds, until Anathema said, “Anyone else gonna dance or?” Guests joined and the song changed, of course, Aziraphale had snuck Elton John onto the playlist. The songs got faster and people started dribbling away to the patio outside to drink and talk without burning their ears out.
“Hey Anthony,” Crowley felt a tug on his sleeve and he turned to who he assumed was his step-sister, she was only seventeen but her eyes were sunken into her face like a corpse, maybe that was the dark eyeshadow, “I’m Beatriz.”
“Everyone calls me Crowley.”
“Everyone callz me Bea. Nize to meet you, Crowley.”
“Nice to meet you, Bea,” Crowley extended a hand to shake Bea’s, tight grip.
“Cheryl told me to zay congratulationzz. Where’z your huzband?” she could have been asking it that way to emphasize Crowley’s new relationship status, or she might have forgotten his name.
It was probably the latter but Crowley took the opportunity to say “My husband is in the bathroom. Where’s my mother?” Bea shrugged and moved a tuft of messy hair from her face, only for it to fall back in front of her eyes. She cursed and went off, fumbling in her purse for a hair clip, probably.
The newlyweds cut the cake together and served everyone a slice, people ate standing up, and Crowley hardly touched his slice as he watched Aziraphale eat, sitting on the stone wall outside. Adam and Warlock split what Crowley didn’t eat and chased each other around. Bea was attempting to flirt with Gabriel, hopefully, it was in a joking way, he was a married man and she was a minor. It was almost disappointing when Warlock dragged Bea away to dance and Gabriel retreated to Grace. Adam pulled Michael to dance with him, she bent down to twirl around and Uriel danced on her father’s feet. Crowley, not wanting to be dragged into a dance retreated onto the patio and sat down on a bench near the recently lit fire pit.
“Tony!” Cheryl near shrieked, she still did that apparently, Crowley would be lying if he didn’t say he was a bit disappointed that her Scottish accent was nearly gone.
“Hey mum,” Crowley said, nobody had called him Tony in a long time, “I mostly go by Crowley now, you know.”
“Crowley, ooh I missed you,” she said and tried to yank him into a hug, Crowley jerked away and she, thankfully, took the hint. “Sorry, I’m just excited, my kid’s married!”
“You can say ‘son’ you know, it’s legal now.”
“Right. So, son, you remember John, right?” Crowley’s mother pulled over her husband, who had gotten more compressed since the last time Crowley saw him, probably the same weight, he was just shorter and it was less muscles now.
“Yup. Hi John,” Crowley waved awkwardly, before making a half-hearted excuse to leave and mingle more.
“There you are, I saw you talking to your mother. How did that go?” Aziraphale said Adam was on his shoulders, even if he was too old to still be doing that.
“Eh, fine,” Crowley shrugged. Adam asked to be put down and his father sank to the floor and let the boy leap off and went to hug Crowley’s legs. “Thanks, kid.”
Crowley met Aziraphale’s English professor, Agnes, and her wife whose name Crowley couldn’t remember. Agnes was a very sweet woman, if a bit vivacious, she had a funny accent and had a tendency to speak in rhyme. Aziraphale said she was acting exceptionally normal, apparently, this was a five on the one to fifteen scale of Agnes behavior, she taught at a ten. Crowley didn’t want to know what fifteen looked like.
Before everyone was too drunk, Gabriel offered to drive the children home, claiming he had a headache, Grace apologized for his behavior afterward. Nobody other than the kids actually left until well past eleven, though Crowley and Aziraphale were almost the first, Neil had left an hour ago, but had wished Crowley and Aziraphale a happy marriage first. Crowley did not want to leave the Bentley there all night, but he, and everyone else, was decently drunk, he didn’t want to ruin the car so a cab was called. How a cab had been found at eleven at night in the middle of the countryside was beyond Crowley, but he appreciated it nonetheless.
The old farmhouse was empty now and would be until further notice, the groomsmen had all moved to another place the day prior. Crowley and Aziraphale, once again, took advantage of the privacy once the cab had left.
Crowley pressed into Aziraphale against the ancient wall, how he wished they could just pass through it and to their bedroom on the second floor. They parted for only a moment before making their way through the house and up the slim stairway, not bothering to close any doors along the way.
“These buttons are so stupid,” Crowley slurred as he fumbled at Aziraphale’s shirt, “I just wanna tear it off.”
“Please don’t, it was expensive.”
“I know, I won’t. I just wanto,” Crowley gave up and started unbuttoning his shirt, somehow Aziraphale unbuttoned his shirt in a matter of seconds. “Angel, you’re so beautiful,” Crowley ran a hand down Aziraphale’s collarbone, tracing it downwards, grabbing a zipper along the way.
“Crowley don’t tease,” Aziraphale whined, Crowley grinned but did not listen, he pressed kisses all over Aziraphale, “Your hair isn’t soft,” Aziraphale complained as he tugged on said hair.
“Blame Anathema, she attacked me with hairspray.”
“You should shower and get it out, I like your hair.”
Crowley got up and unbuckled his belt, “Care to join me?”
They did not get out of the shower for another half hour and dried off with fluffy towels before leaping back into bed, Aziraphale now satisfied with Crowley’s hair as he used it to pull his husband back up to him for a longing kiss. Aziraphale, as he often did, traced his fingers over Crowley’s tattoos, which there were now three of, the flaming sword on his inner thigh was of particular interest to both of them.
“Oh my god, Crowley!” no matter how many times they had indulged in this particular sin, Crowley always felt the urge to ask if Aziraphale was alright whenever he shouted like that, even if the answer was most often “Yes, please do that again,” and it was tonight as well. Or maybe it was morning. They had been everywhere in the room but the floor at this point, however long that took you, but it was definitely morning now.

In the actual morning, when the sun was high in the sky, they made their way downstairs to make breakfast, but it ended up going cold and the couch got warm. Sex had never been a defining part of their relationship, it would normally happen twice a month or so, but that was fine with both of them, but today and probably the next week would be very different. Not in an awful way, though.

Chapter Text

The next nine days were spent driving around the countryside, visiting as many castles as possible, going to the tallest towers and kissing, lamenting romantically in echoey spiral staircases. They had a few tourists give them funny looks, but it hardly got to them anymore, it was June, they could do as they pleased in public. Each night was a different place and a ruined bed, that Aziraphale often felt guilty about, Crowley insisted that it was certainly not the worst he’d seen a hotel room. Every day was a new castle, two if they were close enough together, and the whole nine days’ diet consisted of baked goods, wine and cheap hot chocolate that Crowley always paid an extra ten pence on for Aziraphale to get whipped cream. Crowley was sure Aziraphale got whipped cream on his upper lip and was ‘unable’ to wipe it away on purpose, it was very frustrating.

When they finally arrived home, they were tackled by Adam and Warlock when they went to get them from the Dowlings, Dog had enjoyed his stay with Anathema but was happy to enjoy a good nip at Crowley’s heels.
“This is why I wear boots,” Crowley said as Aziraphale picked the dog up to kiss his snout.
“I thought it was because it made you as tall as Papa,” Adam remarked.
“That might be part of the reason, too. Maybe I should get platforms and I can be the tallest person in the house, my husband will have to stand on his toes to kiss me,” Crowley laughed.
“Oh please don’t, I like being able to kiss my husband without too much physical effort,” Aziraphale did what he liked and earned a raspberry from Adam and Warlock. If they had not been there, Crowley would have commented how Aziraphale didn’t mind kissing with physical effort as of late.
If you had told Crowley that by the time he was twenty-five he would be married with a six-year-old son and said son’s friend calling him ‘dad’ he definitely wouldn't have believed you, especially if you told him they had a dog.

When Adam and Warlock were seven, the Crowley-Fells and Warlock went on a trip to Paris for a few days in the summer. Aziraphale was almost arrested due to a misunderstanding, and Crowley had an excuse to use the little French he still knew to get his husband out of it.

On Adam and Warlock’s eighth birthday, a day they had been celebrating together every year for the past three years, they were at the Dowling’s house, or more accurately, mansion. Crowley and Aziraphale sat on a bench in the garden while the children played, eating cake that was too well made for a child’s birthday party.
“I just think,” Crowley said, “It’s not a great birthday cake if my mouth isn’t dyed another color by the end of it.”
“I like your mouth the color it is, dear.”
“You need to stop turning everything into an opportunity to flirt, angel,” Crowley said, but he didn’t mind.
“Hopeless romanticism always wins,” Aziraphale shrugged and pecked Crowley’s cheek.

When Adam and Warlock were nine, they both signed up to play football, they were both bench-warmers for the most part, but Crowley and Aziraphale both diligently attended every game. Then Pepper and her mother started a co-ed football team, and Warlock and Adam joined them. They were quite an awful team, and could hardly get other teams to play against them, but it was still something they all loved, even if clothes got muddy.

When the boys were ten, Adam announced that he wanted a snake, a request Crowley couldn’t deny, and Aziraphale had never become quite immune to Crowley’s persuasions. So, Adam got a corn snake, which he named Crawly. The boy had gotten more creative with names since ‘Dog’ but Crawly was still an interesting choice.

When the boys turned eleven, Adam’s biological father tried to contact him.
“I don’t need three dads,” Adam had said and shrugged, Aziraphale took care of Luther Hellson and told him that Mary had died. How he didn’t know that was lost on Crowley, but he decided that Adam definitely did not take after Luther.

When Adam was twelve, Crowley had mended his relationship with his father enough to come home for Christmas. His father had scaled down from the large cold house to a small cottage in a village called Tadfeild, Adam almost didn’t want to leave and declared he would be moving there when he was older. When Warlock was shown the pictures, he agreed and said that he and Adam could be house-mates. Crowley’s father still called him ‘Anthony’ or overused ‘son’ in every other sentence, but this was dismissed as overcompensation for the first twenty-four years of Crowley’s life.

The year afterward, Anathema and Newt finally got married, mostly because Aziraphale had pointed out the tax benefits to them. Adam and Warlock had both been very glad to get an excuse to throw rice at someone. Crowley had to get payback at Anathema and spray her purposefully messy bun down with hairspray to see how she liked it.

When the boys were fourteen, Gabriel and Grace separated, but Uriel still came to Eden and Terry’s every other Christmas, and Gabriel had warmed up more to Crowley and Aziraphale, as a couple and as people.

When Adam and Warlock were fifteen, they were both taught how to drive by Crowley, who had become less stingy about his Bentley, and more about his safety and that of the boys’. Warlock’s parents bought him a nice car and Adam got a used one, they were both content with this.

When Warlock was sixteen, he kept a promise he’d made twelve years prior and got emancipated, he had been actually living with the Crowley-Fells for the past month, but this was the year it became legal. Adam and Warlock’s birthday was spent moving the last of Warlock’s things into their flat.

When Warlock and Adam were seventeen, Dog passed away, that was a great week of pure crying.
“Pops, I miss him,” Adam cried and played with the tags on his collar.
“I know, we all do,” Aziraphale stroked Adam’s hair.
“He was the greatest dog to ever live,” Adam buried his face in Crowley’s chest.
Dog’s ashes were put into four necklaces, his collar sat on the mantle, and the ashes that hadn’t been put into necklaces were spread in special places, the four of them cried every single time.

At eighteen, Adam was accepted into Oxford, studying theology, Warlock stayed with Crowley and Aziraphale, they all cried the day Adam left, and the day afterward. Warlock helped Aziraphale with his recently opened bookshop/book repair shop, the shop had a flat above it, but it was easier for Warlock to move into the one-bedroom than for Aziraphale and Crowley to do so.
Crowley still worked for Tracey, he still got attached to all the kids, but not any other parents. One desperate single mother had tried to flirt with him by asking him the time, he replied by showing her his phone’s clock with the lock screen of him and Aziraphale on their tenth-anniversary dinner at the Ritz. The single mother backed off, and her son said sorry for her the next day.

“Angel, I love you,” Crowley said one day from a chair in the bookshop, sipping his wine.
“I love you too, my dear,” Aziraphale laid over Crowley’s lap and kissed him sweetly, “You know that.”
“Of course I do.”