By My Side - Demonicputto - Good Omens (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

February 1991

It all began as Gabriel’s problem. He’d been gifted, by the Almighty herself, with a small glass bottle and an opportunity that he did not want. An opportunity that he might be able to pawn off onto someone else, if only he could manage to do it without seeming ungrateful. The Lord had implied, in that all knowing, unreadable way, that the chance might be taken by anyone in the celestial or infernal hierarchies- but someone had to take it. If no one else volunteered it would be up to the highest ranking of the Archangels. Gabriel hadn’t asked for further clarification.

The Lord spoke rarely and when she did only a fool asked questions.

So here was Gabriel, having struck out in his sales pitch from the highest Seraphim to lowest Foot Soldier, standing in Beelzebub’s office with a smile plastered on his face. If the look in his eyes was utterly manic, hopefully the dim flicker of the lights did something to hide it.

“What I’m offering you here is more than what it seems at face value. This isn’t merely the chance at a human life, a rare opportunity in and of its self, but the chance to do your job better than ever before. That’s right! You, and only you, will understand humanity like no other super natural being. Think of what that’ll mean. A better understanding of the effects of torture, real inner knowledge of temptation, all the information you need to do... whatever else it is you people do down here!”

Beelzebub leaned back in their chair, head lulling to one side as they blinked in disinterest. Gabriel went in for the hard sell. He leaned on the desk between them, recoiled inwardly at the mysterious greasy film that met his hands, and tried to meet Beelzebub’s eye. “Look, you don’t actually like it here, do you? It’s cramped, it smells, it’s too hot, and no one has any fashion sense. You don’t actually like it here.”

The Lord of the Flies shrugged. “It’s better than heaven.”

“It is not better than heaven!” Gabriel breathed deeply, to recenter himself. It would have worked better if the office hadn’t smelled of something rotten. “You’re lying to yourself. Admit it! I’m offering you a chance to get out of here. You live a nice little human life and you could win yourself a ticket home. That’s worth a shot, hmm?”

Something resembling a smile worked its way across Beelzebub’s face. “What’s got you so desperate?”

“I’m not desperate. Angels don’t do desperate,” Gabriel said desperately.

“I’m serious. What happens if you can’t find someone to take your little deal? Will the boss be mad? Will she be sending you on down to join us here?”

“That’s not... that’s not it.”

“But something is ‘it’.” They drummed their fingers on the desk and scowled for a moment, before their eyes lit up and dozens of flies hung unmoving in the air as understanding hit them all at once. “You’ve got to do it then, don’t you? If you can’t find anyone to take your deal, you’re the one heading on up to have a little human life span.”

They laughed, a harsh buzzing noise that did not subside until Gabriel spoke. “Fine! Fine. You’re right. But that’s not going to matter, because someone in this pit has got to be hopeless enough to go for it. I’ll canvas even the lowliest imp. There’s got to be one.”

“There won’t be,” Beelzebub said flatly, all mirth gone. “It sucks down here, sure, but none of us misses heaven either. Certainly, not enough to go through the trial of being human. If I were you, I’d hug your sisters goodbye and start preparing for a trip earthward. You’re not going to find anyone in heaven or hell who wants to be human. The Almighty is a bit of a bitch, huh?”

Gabriel did not dignify that with a response. “There must be someone...”

“No. Sorry. You’re more f*cked than those traitors should’ve been the day after the apoca-” Then Beelzebub grinned, the expression so wide and twisted that Gabriel took a step back. They began to mutter. “That could do it. That could work... Idiot, how sure are you that a human life will reroll the dice?”

Gabriel shook his head. “I don’t follow...”

“I mean, are you certain that a demon could end up as an angel or vice versa?”

His pitch already failed, Gabriel spoke truthfully. “Relatively sure. There’s the possibility that you could just end up as a soul like the humans do... But that would mean the Lord was willing to lose me forever and that can’t be true.”

“That could work too.” Beelzebub stood up, prowled around the table, and pulled Gabriel down by the shoulder until they could buzz conspiratorially in his ear. “Listen, if there’re any beings broken enough to want to be human just for the sake of it, it’s those two traitors.”

The memory of Aziraphale spewing fire from his mouth sprung unbidden into Gabriel’s mind. He shuddered. “I hardly think they’ll be willing to listen if I just stroll up and ask for a chat.”

“So, it’ll be a little risky, but think of the benefits. If it’s a sort of reset, they might come out the other side a lot more destructible than they are right now. Might lose their current immunities.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened in comprehension and he smiled despite the cloud of flies infringing on his personal space. “That would be worth it. Only, I’m not sure if the offer is open to more than one person. We’d have to choose.”

Beelzebub began to pace the short distance across their claustrophobic office. Gabriel watched patiently. This sort of malicious planning was best left up to the professionals.

“It’ll have to be Crowley,” they said at last.

“You’re not just saying that because you hate him more?”

“No, see, the angel has more to lose. Could risk falling and all that. I can use that I think, if I play my cards right. Besides, I’ve rather gotten the feeling that the serpent has always envied the humans their Free Will just a little bit. After all, he gave it to them, didn’t he?”

Gabriel shrugged. “I suppose I should pop on up to earth to have a little one on one?”

“No. You’ll probably just f*ck it up. I’ll do it. You just go on up to heaven and wait. If I do this right the victim’ll deliver himself before long.”

Gabriel might have objected to the wording, but he had no quibble with the suggestion. The sooner he could get himself back where he belonged and wash the scent of hell from his being, the better.

The Bentley had been idling outside of Aziraphale’s book shop for some twenty minutes before the angel finally got out. Even then, he leaned against one sleek black door and bent at the waist so that he could still see the demon within.

“Thank you again, Crowley, really. Dinner was just delightful. You’ll have to tell me how you find these places.”

Behind his sunglasses, Crowley rolled his eyes and tried not to look pleased with himself. “You don’t have to keep thanking me every time, Angel. It’s getting old.”

“Isn’t that just lovely too, though? That we can do these things often enough now for there to even be an ‘every time’.” He was beaming bright enough to make the full moon jealous and Crowley began to wonder if he’d discorporate if he took his shades off. Then Aziraphale straightened up and said once more. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. And thank you.”

If Crowley had had to bet he’d say the Angel had said it just to be a bastard. He grinned to himself as he drove off. He was very much enjoying the world post-apocalypse or post-non-apocalypse- whatever you wanted to call it. So many things were twice as enjoyable when you knew they’d nearly been lost- night drives, sitcoms, coin based pranks. Chief among them though, was his time with Aziraphale. With the apocalypse averted there was no reason to see one another anymore and yet they did. Regularly. At the book shop, at St. James, at the Ritz and any other little restaurant Crowley could locate for the occasion. If that was all he had to do in exchange for the angel’s time, it was well worth it. He couldn’t have asked for more.

Well, he could’ve asked for a bit more, but he didn’t.

His wildest dreams might have involved a wide variety of physical contact and more dramatic confessions, but his day to day included leisurely conversations and a welcome increase in hand holding. The dreams weren’t worth the possible loss of reality. Besides, they’d gotten to the handholding after 6,000 years, there was hope yet if he went slow enough. They’d averted the apocalypse; they had all the time in the world.

The Bentley came to a screeching halt outside Crowley’s Mayfair building, and he whistled absentmindedly as he slithered up toward his apartment. The whistling had to be absent minded, if he’d realized that he was treating the neighborhood to a lovesick rendition of “Good Old Fashioned Loverboy” he would have been forced to relocate. As it was, the music died on his lips the moment he opened the door.

Something inside felt very wrong.

It smelled wrong too, and sounded wrong. There was a buzzing and a rotten stench, not unlike strolling past an open rubbish bin at the height of summer. Crowley froze where he was, half-hoping that he’d left something out on the counter the last time Aziraphale had come by for something to eat. He cleaned up magically, of course, but imagining the impossible was far more pleasant than considering the more likely alternative.

He should’ve gotten Aziraphale to give him a replacement thermos of Holy Water. Maybe carried it around in one of those clever little spray bottles some women kept on their keychains. Too late now for brilliant ideas; his best bet was to slink back into the hallway then make a break for Aziraphale. The sweat of his palms made it difficult to close the door and he was interrupted before he could finish.

“I’m not here to hurt you, you coward. I wouldn’t know how if I wanted to.” Beelzebub came out from the shadows, flies clinging about their head. They hadn’t cleaned up like they had for the apocalypse, which probably meant they had no intention of seeing any humans today. Crowley couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad for him.

He also couldn’t decide whether to play up the indestructible bit or go for the safety of fawning respect. Somehow, he wound up at overly practiced nonchalance. He would have to roll with it.

“Lord Beelzebub, didn’t expect to have you round today. Would’ve bought some refreshments or something. I don’t know if there’re any places that have rancid meat on the takeaway menu, but there’s a chippy around the corner that just failed a health inspection which might be to your liking. I can just pop over there and grab-”

“Shut up and don’t try slithering out of here with your lies and your little persuasions. I’ve got some information that I thought would be of interest to you. Might help you keep that angel your wretchedly fond of safe.”

Crowley, who had been seeing how slowly he could back up, went still. “What are you talking about?”

“Thought that would get your attention. Now close the door. I don’t want anyone overhearing us.”

Crowley did as he was told, never so much as looking away from Beelzebub’s face as he flicked on the lights. Beelzebub hissed and winced in the sudden brightness, but Crowley couldn’t savor their discomfort. He was too anxious for what might come next. “Well?”

“Well, that chubby friend of yours has probably found himself back in heaven’s crosshairs.” Crowley had turned and seized the door knob before Beelzebub could continue. “Oh, calm down; it’s not that immediate. Gabriel’s got himself in a bit of a jam is all. The Almighty, cursed be her name, made him the proposition of a one lifetime stint among the humans. He’s been offering it to everyone from heaven’s top floors to the very bowels of hell, and he hasn’t found a taker yet.”

“What’s that got to do with Aziraphale?”

“I’m getting to that. By the time he got to me, the archangel was already seeming pretty desperate. If he can’t find a volunteer he’ll face the Almighty’s wrath and you and I have a pretty good idea of what he has to be afraid of. So he’s got to force it on somebody. It can’t be a demon or Satan’s going to have words with him about jurisdictions. It can’t be some random angel or he’ll cause problems in paradise and get in trouble with his sisters. So that would leave?”

“Aziraphale...”

“There it is. I’ll give you one thing, Crowley, of all your faults you were never stupid. I’m sure you can see the problems it could cause for him, beyond disappearing out of your life for 80 years, give or take. Heaven isn’t too keen on him, aren’t likely to let him back in if they can help it. They’ll send every hurdle they can think of at him, give him every reason to take up a life of sin. Then, even if he manages to lead a mostly blameless life, they’ll find one little hiccup and use it to throw him our way.”

Hard as it was too imagine Aziraphale earning a spot in hell, it was plenty easy to imagine Gabriel finding some excuse to send him anyway. He’d say Aziraphale ate too much or argued too much or spent too much time reading fiction. Crowley’s mind was racing now, scrabbling for solutions, escapes, some way to keep his angel with him. His train of thought only paused when it pulled in at a new station.

“Wait. Why are you telling me this?”

“Easy. I hate you, I tried to kill you, it didn’t work, and now I’ve found a way to get rid of you- at least for a little while anyway.”

“Get rid of me?”

“I told you Gabriel wanted a volunteer, didn’t I? All you’ve got to do is jump first and nobody’ll have to be pushed. Your angel’s safe, I get to be rid of you for almost a century, and you get a little Free Will on the side. Win, win, win.”

Crowley could feel the anxiety bob in his throat as he swallowed . It would be less of a risk for him, really. Heaven would never let him in, so he’d just end up back in hell when all was said and done. Then he could just walk out and go back to his current life like nothing had ever happened. Hell wouldn’t be able to stop him; they were still frightened. That was clear enough from the distance Beelzebub had kept between them. If it had to be him or Aziraphale, then there really wasn’t any choice at all.

“I’ll... I’ll consider it.”

Beelzebub shrugged. “It’s no skin off my nose either way. Just take the up escalator if you’re interested. Gabriel will know why you’re there.”

Then the floor opened up and swallowed Beelzebub whole. Crowley was left alone. The tension that he’d held since first opening the door to his flat overwhelmed him then and he slumped to the floor in a heap.

Crowley should’ve spoken to Aziraphale first- should’ve but didn’t. He’d been too afraid that Aziraphale might successfully talk him out of it. Instead, he’d slept fitfully, got in his car and driven to work.

Then taken the up escalator.

The guards who met him at the top had been too surprised to even draw their swords. They’d just stared, blinking with bewilderment, swords still hung at their belts, until Gabriel arrived to whisk Crowley away.

Now here they were, in some private space, just the two of them, away from prying eyes and straining ears. It was difficult to have a one on one conversation when Crowley could hardly look at the bastard’s smug face, but he’d been trying his best.

“It seems that Beelzebub explained things pretty clearly, actually. I’m glad that someone is interested in the offer even if it’s...” There was a long pause in which Gabriel gave Crowley an appraising look. “...you.”

“Right. So, how does this work exactly?”

Gabriel pulled a small bottle, more of a vial really, from an inner pocket in the jacket of his suit. Crowley fought the instinct to flinch and back away. He couldn’t go letting just anyone know that he still had every reason to fear holy water. But then, that wasn’t exactly what Gabriel was holding, was it?

On closer inspection this liquid had color, although exactly which color Crowley could not have said. It shifted, now tinted red, now yellow, now black. Never any one thing long enough to give a sense of certainty. Crowley must have been entranced by it, because Gabriel laughed.

“The Lord gave me this. All you’ve got to do is drink it all down and the next thing you’ll know you’ll be wailing in some doctor’s arms without the ability to lift your own head up.”

“However did you fail to persuade anyone?” Crowley said, sarcasm a welcome relief from thinking too hard about what Gabriel had just implied.

The joke didn’t land. “I don’t know; I’m usually very persuasive. Anyway, here you go. Just drink that on up and let’s be done with it.”

He tried to press the bottle into Crowley’s hand, but Crowley stepped back. “Now? Right now? I haven’t even... I still... I have a car so... There are things I need to do first.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “This can’t wait for all that. Let’s just head down to earth, you can tell Aziraphale what he needs to do, and then we’ll get it over with there. Will that work?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, “Ok.”

He’d have said more if he hadn’t still half been in shock. It didn’t help any when Gabriel snapped his fingers and a moment later the two of them were standing in the streets of London in view of Aziraphale’s book shop. Now he was in shock and he was anxious. This wasn’t supposed to be happening this fast. He’d had a plan of how to tell Aziraphale. It had involved wine and pastries. It certainly hadn’t involved strolling into the book shop in the middle of the day with one of the few beings Aziraphale actually despised.

But there wasn’t any stopping it now. Gabriel was walking down the street, Gabriel was pushing open the door, and then there was Aziraphale staring at them with a half-shelved book clutched in one hand. If the way his mouth opened and closed were any indication, he was in shock too.

For a moment, no one said anything. Then Gabriel became impatient.

“Aziraphale I know this comes as a bit of a surprise, but I assure you I had no desire to ever see you again either. Unfortunately, some things have come up and now your um... demon needs to have a little conversation.” Silence again. “Demon, you have something to say?”

Crowley blinked at him, once, very slowly. “Right. Erm, could you step out maybe? Give us a bit of privacy?”

“I guess,” Gabriel said. “But don’t take too long. And don’t try to pull something sneaky. I’ll be just outside.”

Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley said anything until the little bell was done tingling to announce Gabriel’s departure. Then they both tried to speak at once.

“Crowley, what on earth-”

“Angel, listen, I was-”

They both went silent again, until Aziraphale came closer, took Crowley’s hand and said gently, “Is everything alright?”

His eyes were very blue, very earnest, and very worried. They made Crowley’s stomach twist. If he spoke calmly enough maybe the concern would go away. “It’s not half as bad as it looks, really, Angel. There’s, er, well, you see, last night when I got home Beelzebub payed a visit and-”

All the color left Aziraphale’s face and a bit of anger joined the other emotions in his eyes. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No! No. Nonono. Nothing like that. It’s just they told me Gabriel had a little opportunity that I might be interested in and I was actually kind of interested...”

Aziraphale leaned back, as though seeing a bit more of Crowley might cause what he was saying to make more sense. If the arch of his brow was any indication, it hadn’t worked. Crowley tried to look calm, cool, collected.

“You see, Angel, seems your boss has given Gabriel a little chance at a human life. You know, just one life span, and then back to business. And...” He could tell Aziraphale the whole bit about him being in danger, about how Crowley was doing it for him, but then that worried look wouldn’t go away. It’d get worse because Aziraphale would certainly turn it on himself. So, Crowley bent the truth a little. “And I figured that’s just not the kind of opportunity you pass up. I mean, think about it, that’s like what 80 years of no holds barred Free Will. That’s a once in an eternity offer, Angel.”

For a fleeting moment Aziraphale looked hurt. For a millisecond Crowley thought he might cry. But the expression was gone almost immediately, replaced by a warm supportive smile. If he’d been able to look Crowley in the eye, the demon might have bought it.

“That does sound... truly amazing, my dear. You’ve always, admired Free Will, haven’t you? I mean you essentially gave it to them. And I suppose we’ve gone much longer without seeing one another before... And you’re certain it’ll all go back to usual once it’s over?”

Crowley nodded more enthusiastically than might be believable. “Right! It’ll just be like a fun metaphysical trip.”

“And since Gabriel came with you... Is this all going to happen soon?” He couldn’t quite keep the smile up.

Crowley looked away. “Yeah, I hadn’t realized that when I agreed. Gabriel didn’t even want me to come here, actually, but I said I needed you to take care of some things for me.”

“Oh, is that all this was about?” Aziraphale’s voice was cold.

“Course not. Angel, I-” Crowley never got to decide how to finish that sentence. The shop bell tinkled and Gabriel stepped back into the room. Crowley tried to catch Aziraphale’s eye as the archangel strode toward them, but he was too busy glaring daggers at Gabriel.

“Well that seemed like more than enough time to me. Let’s get all this over with.” He held the little vial out between Aziraphale and Crowley.

Crowley grabbed it, wanting the one weapon that heaven might wield against his angel out of Gabriel’s hands as soon as possible. Aziraphale turned, voice heavy with pleading, “Crowley are you absolutely certain that-”

He was. Crowley popped the little glass stopper out, leaned forward, kissed Aziraphale on the cheek, and then downed the entire bottle before anyone else could react.

Then he was gone. The bottle fell to the floor. It did not shatter. The stopper returned. Slowly it refilled.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

April 1996

Aziraphale wasn’t lonely. Not really. It had only been five years after all and he’d gone far longer without seeing Crowley before. Of course, that had been before the apocalypse, before they’d started seeing each other almost every day, before Aziraphale had allowed himself to start inching closer...

But that was no matter right now. Crowley would be back in a few decades, and until then Aziraphale would keep busy and not dwell on what might have been. So he kept on collecting books, cataloguing London’s little restaurants, and made a point of checking in on Adam and his friends every so often. If he also occasionally called up heaven to request updates on Crowley, well, that was simply being a good friend.

At present, Aziraphale was spending the afternoon in Tadfield. Adam was out from school on his Easter holiday and had agreed to go for a walk with his angelic god father. Together they wandered down early spring roads, Dog dogging their heels wherever they went. Aziraphale had purchased them each a cup of warm cocoa, which was especially pleasant when the wind blew. The summer was still a long way off.

“I just don’t see why Wensley’s got to be talking about university all the time, is all. I mean, it’s a few years off yet. It’s not like any of us’ll be applying for a year even, so I don’t know what the big deal is, really.” Adam punctuated this last sentence by kicking at a low fence that had the misfortune of being on the side of the road just as they passed by. One post came loose and toppled to the ground. Immediately filled with regret, Adam hastily righted it.

“You’re not interested in attending university?” Aziraphale asked. The only response was a surly adolescent shrug. Aziraphale considered the human before him. He was taller now than he’d been five years ago and bigger across the shoulders, but in many ways he was still very much the same boy. “Is it the idea of everyone leaving that bothers you?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Adam nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I know I can’t make them stay here. It wouldn’t be right or fair or anything... I just don’t like thinking about it, especially when there’s no reason to.”

He perched on the poor abused fence and offered his empty cocoa cup to Dog so he could get the last few good tastes out of it. Aziraphale sat beside him.

“They won’t be gone forever, Adam. You can still write and visit with one another. It’s not as though they’re going to disappear.”

Adam suddenly straightened. “Oh! I’m sorry, Aziraphale. I shouldn’t have been complaining about any of that, not when-”

“Oh no! My dear child, I wasn’t making any comparisons. You needn’t concern yourself about my wellbeing. I’ve been around a great deal longer than you, I don’t need any looking after.”

Adam raised his eyebrows, as though he didn’t quite believe what Aziraphale was saying. “Still... I’ve been talking about myself an awful lot. What’s going on with you? Have you got any new information on Crowley?”

Aziraphale tried to take a moment to feel some pride in Adam’s growing emotional maturity, but it was just so nice to be able to talk about these things that he couldn’t contain his response. “No, and not because I haven’t asked. I’ve been contacting heaven with some regularity. At this point I think it’s only their fear over the failed execution that has stopped them from telling me to… to piss off. Even then though, they simply won’t tell me anything more.”

“What do you know, exactly?”

“He should be about five years old now and he lives in the north eastern United States.” He paused a moment to let Adam sigh with envy. His understanding of America was only slightly more accurate now and still mostly formed from movies. “His father is an electrician or was at the time Crowley was born. Heaven claims they aren’t keeping tabs on him, and I suppose there’s no reason to assume they would, but still... I’d just like to know if he’s alright.”

Adam scratched at Dog’s ears as he considered the problem. Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure how much of his powers Adam had retained when the apocalypse had ended. He half hoped that the boy might have some omniscience, might suddenly announce that he could tell Aziraphale anything he wanted to know. Could say if Crowley was happy or healthy or how he was doing in (what did the American’s call it?) Kindergarten.

Instead, Adam just had a good idea. “You should try asking Hell.”

“What?”

“I mean, it might not work but I could definitely see them keeping track of Crowley and they might not tell you everything, but I bet they’d tell you if anything bad was happening to him.”

“Why would they do that?”

Adam shrugged, “Because it would make you unhappy. But at least then you’d know, and I reckon that’d be worth something.”

Aziraphale did not dither as long as he usually would. As soon as he’d dropped Adam back home and taken the train back to London, he made his way straight to Hell. He’d never been before, not in his own corporation or under his own volition, and he wasn’t sure how he would be received.

The demons not only noticed him the moment he stepped off the escalator but seemed to recognize him. They pulled back, as much as they could in the crowded hallways, and tried to hide in the many available shadows. Aziraphale could hear them whispering. He caught snatches of “...immune...” and “...hell fire...” and “...Crowley...”.

Despite his surroundings, Aziraphale’s heart was warmed to know that that was one of the first connections they made. He tried not to beam too brightly. He didn’t want to scare all the demons off.

“Excuse me, I was wondering if I might speak to someone in charge. Not all the way in charge, of course. But a prince perhaps or maybe a duke? It’s just a small query, really. Nothing major.” The demons inched away, all carefully avoiding contact. “Please?”

Aziraphale stood alone at one end of a damp and moldy hallway, purposefully ignored by every other being in the vicinity. He sighed, heavily, then forced himself forward. He could hear the lesser demons swearing and speeding up, as though he might smite them simply by asking a polite question.

A voice rose over the panic. “What’s all this about?”

Murmured answers.

“Is that all? Get back to work, you cowards. All of you!”

Aziraphale paused and waited until the speaker approached him. Beelzebub emerged from the darkness, Hastur looming over one of their shoulders. The Lord of the Flies rolled their eyes when they saw Aziraphale. “You’re causing a work flow problem. Leave.”

“I will, shortly, I assure you. I’ve just got a brief question and then I’ll be right on my way.” Beelzebub and Hastur looked at one another and then Beelzebub nodded for Aziraphale to continue. “I was merely wondering if you or your people had been keeping an eye on Crowley’s life on earth. I know heaven has surveillance and I thought you might as well. I’d be grateful for any information.”

They grinned, both of them, in a manner that made Aziraphale’s skin crawl. Beelzebub spoke, “It’s not something we’re doing officially, but Hastur here is a bit obsessed. It’s kind of a new form of entertainment for him. You want to tell the angel what you’ve learned?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell him. It’s a great show, really. The humans Crowley’s got himself stuck with are a right sight. The female is out of her mind on… Whatchacallem? Drugs? Yeah, on drugs half the time and the male is even worse. Shouts and screams when things aren’t going his way, then lies and tricks when things are going alright.” Hastur laughed, high and cruel. “And there’s Crowley just a tiny little maggot caught up in the middle of it. He thought he could escape and he wound up somewhere worse.”

Aziraphale’s blood, if he had any, ran cold. This was the sort of thing he worried about late at night when the rest of the world was quiet. He couldn’t let it continue.

“Thank you,” he said in a tone so icy that both demons backed away. Good, they deserved to be frightened. Without another word, Aziraphale turned and strode away. He would go now, straight to heaven, and demand that something be done.

Two escalators later and Aziraphale had worked up quite a righteous fury. It was good, really, he needed it. He had not stepped foot in heaven since his unfortunate discorporation in the bookshop, and just being back brought a flood of memories. He’d grown so much that day, learned to stop assuming that his fellow angels knew better than he did or that they had humanity’s best interest at heart. But being here brought back every obsequious need to cringe and bow and second guess himself. Only his anger, the fury he felt on Crowley’s behalf, powered him onward.

He stalked down gleaming halls of sterile whiteness, passed uncertain coworkers, and did not stop until Michael appeared before him, sword drawn.

“You’re not supposed to be here. There was an agreement that you wouldn’t come back.”

“I need to speak with Gabriel, this instant.” It helped to remember how she’d reacted when he’d been in Crowley’s form and he’d demanded a towel. It kept the fear at bay.

Michael’s brow furrowed. “Who do you think you are?”

“I… well I…” Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment and reminded himself what he’d heard Hastur say. Crowley was alone and small and frightened. This was not the moment to doubt himself. “I am an angel of the lord with a legitimate grievance that must be addressed. I… I need to speak with Gabriel and I will not be leaving until I do. The worst you can do is to discorporate me and then I’ll just be harder to get rid of.”

Aziraphale gripped his hands together tightly, hoping he appeared stately and not as though he were trying to hide his sweaty palms and keep himself from shaking. If Michael noticed, it didn’t do much to add to her disgust. She sneered at him, “I still don’t understand why you haven’t fallen.”

Aziraphale had no answer that wasn’t a multi-hour philosophical discussion best shared over bottles of wine in the back room of his shop after an excellent meal with someone he cared deeply about. Luckily, he was spared from having to respond by the arrival of Gabriel. He strode up, his own hands pressed together as though he too were trying to suppress an emotion. If Aziraphale had to guess which one, he’d have settled on aggravation.

“Aziraphale! You finally stopped calling the Metatron and now here you are. You’re like a bad penny, aren’t you?”

“I have just been to Hell,” Aziraphale began. It was a more aggressive opener than he had intended it to be, but he went with it. “I was informed by one of their higher- or lower I suppose- ranking members of Crowley’s current welfare.”

Michael turned to Gabriel. “I told you, you should never have gotten them involved. We were lucky enough to be free of them and now look what you’ve done.”

“It’s not as though you were volunteering to take the trip for me. I had to find someone!”

“Is that it, then?” Aziraphale said in horror. “You got him to do it just save your own skin? Did it not occur to you that the Lord might have wanted you to spend some time in a human’s shoes after you tried to throw them all away as though they were nothing?”

“I’m not discussing the Almighty or her plans with you, Aziraphale.” Crowley had recounted Aziraphale’s failed execution to him only once. At the time, Aziraphale had barely been able to imagine the unmasked version of Gabriel that Crowley had described. He thought he could see it now. “Look, your friend agreed to it. He wanted Free Will, he got Free Will. It’s not my fault if he got the short end of the stick. A lot of humans do. That’s how it works.”

“But he might not even get the chance to use Free Will,” Aziraphale argued. “Not fully. He’s in a dangerous situation, one of neglect and abuse. If he dies before he’s old enough to fully grasp his own decisions I could hardly think that counted.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened as though he were realizing something, and Aziraphale hammered home his point. “I’m right, aren’t I? He’d just automatically get into heaven and you wouldn’t be able to turn him out. Moreover, this might not even qualify as getting someone to take your place. The Lord might simply make you have a go, if Crowley dies before he reaches an age of accountability. And then where would you be?”

“Why are you like this?” Gabriel snapped. He looked toward Michael for some sort of support, but she only folded her arms.

“Again, I told you involving that demon was a bad idea.”

Gabriel made a noise in the back of his throat not unlike a small animal being strangled. “Fine, maybe you’re right. Maybe it won’t count. But what am I supposed to do now, hmm? Just send an angel on down to interfere? That might count as cheating and then it wouldn’t count anyway!”

Aziraphale was silent. He had argued them into a logical catch 22 and now he wasn’t sure how to proceed. He said the next thing that made sense, before thinking through all the implications. “Well, what if we sent someone who wasn’t an angel. That wouldn’t count as celestial interference.”

Gabriel’s face split into a wide smile that would have impressed the demons. “You know, that little bottle refilled itself. Someone could become human and go look after him.”

It was very clear from the inflection who “someone” was.

“It wouldn’t be much use to send an infant with no memory of the problem to try and solve it,” Aziraphale told him. “We’d just be throwing one problem after another.”

It was evident that Gabriel wouldn’t have considered it a problem if both Aziraphale and Crowley were stuck on earth in abject misery, but he kept that thought silent. Instead he adjusted his plan. “What if… what if you, because I’m sure you’d want it to be you… What if you just drank most of the bottle. Not all in one shot like the demon did, just a couple sips. Just be mostly human.”

“But we couldn’t be certain that would happen.”

“But isn’t your dear friend worth the risk?” Gabriel snapped his fingers and the little bottle materialized, looking very much the same as it had the day Crowley had disappeared. Perhaps there was another way. Perhaps he could get one of the humans he knew to go cause some interference, but what then? Would Crowley only end up in some government system, forgotten once more? It wasn’t as though he could ask the humans to use their single lives to keep an eye out over Crowley forever. That wouldn’t be fair. But Aziraphale could do it, he could spend a human lifetime looking over him.

And if it went a bit wrong, he and Crowley could laugh about it a century from now.

With a tentative hand, Aziraphale reached out for the vial. The color of it, dancing in heaven’s light, was at once ugly and beautiful, subtle and far too vibrant. He tried not to look at Gabriel who seemed entirely too eager for something to go wrong. Aziraphale swallowed once, before tipping the bottle back and letting just a small amount wash over his tongue. It tasted bitter and sweet, like joy and sadness and every other emotion that touched a human life.

At first, nothing seemed to happen and so Aziraphale had a little bit more- not everything, but certainly more than half. Then something began to change. Aziraphale felt different. He felt alive in a way he never had before, and consequently felt aware that he must also be aging and dying too. What was it Peter S. Beagle had written? “This body is dying. I can feel it rotting all around me.”

But then the sensation didn’t stop there and Aziraphale realized in horror that he’d had a bit too much. He should have waited a second more to see what would happen, not turned back to the bottle for more. He could feel his corporation, his body, changing. The skin went first, tightening here and there, smoothing all over until he was left looking younger, less defined. Then his whole body started shrinking. It would have been unbearably painful if it hadn’t been relatively quick. He shut his eyes as bones and muscles pulled in and downwards. He was shriveling up. He was going to disappear into nothingness as Crowley had. He was going to forget everything. He was going to become utterly useless.

But then it stopped. He opened his eyes one at a time. Heaven was a touch blurrier than it had been, but otherwise it was all still there. And Aziraphale was still there, memories and emotions all intact. He turned towards Gabriel and Michael. They were much taller than before and were staring at him with a mixture of shock and amusem*nt.

Aziraphale looked down.

There was the body of a child, veritably swimming in Aziraphale’s suit.

“Oh dear,” he said.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Aziraphale did not have long to get his affairs in order. Gabriel, desperate to get him out of his hair for as long and as soon as possible, had gone immediately to the prayer department to find some geographically convenient family in desperate want of a child. Aziraphale had been forced to wait with Michael who hadn’t even been merciful enough to miracle up a change of clothes. The wait had been long enough that Aziraphale had become aware of a number of human inconveniences. He’d gotten a bit tired first, then increasingly hungry, which wasn’t at all the same sensation as wanting a snack. At least Gabriel had returned before he found himself in need of the loo.

“I found one. I found a few actually, but the couple I’ve got in mind seem like a really excellent fit. They might actually have a positive influence over you, Aziraphale.” This was not particularly encouraging. “I’ll just need to make a few arrangements, act like I’m part of some child care thing…”

“Adoption agency?” Aziraphale had suggested.

“Yes that. Wow, your voice is even more annoying now. Anyway, it shouldn’t take more than a few earth days. I’ll come get you when it’s all sorted out.”

It had been two days already, and Aziraphale had spent the time making plans and getting used to having a human body. There was a great deal more upkeep required than he’d ever assumed. The regular trips to the bathroom, the having to wash, that was to say nothing of the odd ordeal of sleeping. How bizarre to think that every night all the humans just gave up being conscious for hours. He didn’t know how Crowley could enjoy it. Even eating was more complicated. The only thing he had in the house was cocoa, tea, and biscuits, which were still quite lovely but perhaps not enough of the right thing. He felt a bit ill after eating them for the fifth meal in a row.

Aziraphale was trying to decide which books might be worth taking with him when a knock came at the door. He took a moment to adjust the shirt he was wearing like a robe before hurrying to answer it. He’d put out a sign upon arriving home which said “Extraordinarily Closed” so he could only imagine that knock was one he was waiting for.

Out on his stoop stood Adam Young and Madam Tracy. The moment they saw him, Adam’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline and Madam Tracy stifled a giggle. “Oh, look at you. You’re just a little cherub!”

“That’s not actually what- Never mind. Thank you for coming. Please do come in.” He gestured for them to enter, then hastily locked the door. Aziraphale had called Adam first, explained the situation and asked him to come into the city to do a few supernatural favors. Adam, after laughing for a solid ten minutes, had agreed to come as soon as he could. The only obstacles were Mr. and Mrs. Young who would never let their teenage son faff off to London on his own.

They needed an adult and Madam Tracy fit the bill. Of all the non-Adam humans involved in the not quite apocalypse, her memories remained the clearest, particularly where Aziraphale was concerned. Her eyes went a bit foggy if you mentioned Satan or the four horsepersons, but she knew perfectly well that she was acquainted with an angel.

“So, Aziraphale, what exactly do you need me to do? I gave up most of my powers, you know. I can’t do half the stuff I used to.”

“Hopefully it’s nothing too difficult. Just a little protection on the shop so it goes unnoticed and unchanged until I can get back to it. I did the same for all of Crowley’s possessions, but I can’t do it now.” Aziraphale ushered them into his back room and began to prepare tea. It involved a lot more moving a chair around so he could reach things than it used to. “Also, if at all possible a little bit of erm… forgery? I don’t have any documentation that I exist, which I imagine is going to be a problem soon.”

“Is that all you need?” Adam said with a lopsided grin. “I should be able to do that easy! Though, I can’t do the shop bit until we’re out of here for the last time, I don’t think.”

“All he needs?” Madam Tracy said and tutted. She shooed Aziraphale away from the kettle and began to make the tea. “Look at him; he’s wearing just a shirt for goodness sake! You expect him to show up and meet some unsuspecting family looking like that? There’s going to be questions.”

Aziraphale did not appreciate having his own tea set taken over for him. It made him a bit testy, “What, my dear woman, are you suggesting?”

“Shopping for one thing. You’re going to need at least a few pairs of clothes and a travel bag to bring with you, or they aren’t going to buy it.” She gestured into the other room where Aziraphale has been packing. “A briefcase full of old books isn’t going to fool anybody.”

“I suppose.” Aziraphale admitted. “I do have some money I’ve been setting aside over the years, we could make some purchases.”

Not an hour later they were out on the streets of London. Tracy had sent Adam out to grab Aziraphale something to wear, just so he could walk out of the house without drawing too much attention. Adam was a very nice boy, but the cartoon t-shirt and mis-sized jeans would certainly be taking a trip to a charity bin after their errands were done.

Aziraphale had always liked buying clothes, although he missed the personal touch that came with a tailor. Tracy assured him he’d outgrow what he was buying soon enough and that a tailor wasn’t worth the extra fee, but Aziraphale wasn’t certain. Nonetheless, he made his purchases where he could, favoring bow ties and jackets and other clothing that Adam said might get him beat up at school.

“I’ve seen it on TV, Aziraphale. They haven’t got uniforms over there.”

Aziraphale bought what he wanted anyway.

He was out voted at last when they reached the luggage store. Both Tracy and Adam were adamant that he could not just use a briefcase. They bought him a rolling bag in appallingly bright colors. All the classy options were reserved for people who had reached five feet in height.

After that they had planned to go straight to lunch, but Tracy paused just outside and pointed to a sign on a building just down the road. “What does that say?”

Aziraphale squinted, something he’d done a lot over the past few days, and tried to make out the words. “It’s too far away. I can’t see it from here. Can you? I thought perhaps all humans eyes must be like this. I suppose I’m rather relieved for you if they’re not, but does that mean I need glasses?”

It did. There was no time for a proper visit to the optometrist, so he was forced to choose the pair that did the best job off of a rack in a questionable outlet. He’d need to go to a doctor though, when everything was settled. If, Adam had added ominously, his new American family had insurance.

At long last it was time for lunch. Aziraphale was quite famished by now, and put aside his dreams of taking them to one of his favorite restaurants in exchange for a pleasant little sandwich shop. It was nothing special but he ate with delight. Perhaps humans were right about hunger being the best sauce.

As the meal wound to a close, leaving Tracy to order a second drink as the boys picked at the last of their chips, Adam decided to discuss business. “So, I’ve been thinking, and you’re going to need some kind of a back story. We’ve got to decide what happened to your family and how old you are and you’ll need a different name and everything.”

Aziraphale frowned at his chips, deep in thought. “Well, I suppose you both might have a better idea of how old I look than I do… How old am I?”

He sat very still as the two humans studied him. Tracy shook her head. “Sorry, love, there haven’t been a lot of children in my life. I’m not a good judge of it. You could be anywhere from four to fourteen.”

They both turned to Adam. “I’d say nine or ten. Depends when your birthday’s going to be. Any ideas about that?”

“The 21^st of October,” Aziraphale answered without hesitation. For clarification he added, “That’s when the earth was first made.”

“Right,” Tracy said blankly. “Of course.”

“Only you’ll be in America so it’ll be October 21^st. That’s how they do it over there. So if your birthday is in October, I’d say we make you nine. So you’ll have your tenth birthday this year. That’s a big birthday anyway, you wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Over dessert they hashed out the rest of it. He chose the name Ezra Fell, one of many from the long list of variations he’d used over the years. His family had died tragically in a fire, as suggested by Adam to explain away any documentation they might forget to forge. Tracy encouraged a bit more detail as she was certain it would come up. Ezra Fell’s family had been strict, religious and a little bit distant. He’d been with the adoption agency for almost a year. These both seemed decent reasons for him not to be particularly mournful.

It was fun, almost, making everything up. If only it had been under different conditions. He still wasn’t certain how he’d find Crowley once he was over in the states, and the memory of what he must be suffering kept coming back to sober up the proceedings.

Still, Aziraphale felt considerably better by the time the afternoon was done. Tracy and Adam agreed to stay the night with him. The excuse was that Adam needed the time to get all the documentation just right, but Aziraphale couldn’t help but think it was mostly pity. He’d seen himself in the mirror plenty that day and he knew what he looked like.

He was a chubby, cherubic (in the modern sense of the word), bespectacled little thing, who looked like he could not take care of himself. And when dinnertime rolled around, and he was forced to admit that he’d been living on chocolate biscuits for two days, he had to admit that perhaps he really couldn’t.

A day later Aziraphale found himself standing with Gabriel outside of John F. Kennedy international airport in New York City. He was dressed in his finest little tie and jacket ensemble, luggage clutched tightly in one hand while the other arm cradled a stuffed Winnie the Pooh. Tracy had bought it for him after he’d teared up saying goodbye to his bookshop that morning. It was a bit embarrassing really, but he’d always been fond of A.A. Milne’s work, and besides it seemed to complete the look.

“That’s good,” Gabriel muttered, “Makes the whole child thing more believable. Keep it up, they ought to be here soon.”

They hadn’t actually taken an airplane. Aziraphale had simply gone back to heaven the usual way and they’d arrived directly from there. However, this was the rendezvous point that Gabriel had organized when the couple had insisted on being there to greet their new son when he arrived in the United States.

That being said, they were a little bit late.

He glanced at the sign Gabriel was holding, double checking that he hadn’t written something strange. But no, he’d only written the names: Edith and Elijah Clark. Perhaps Aziraphale should have gone for a first name that started with a different letter. Well, he was committed to it now; Adam had put “Ezra” on all the paper work.

Aziraphale stood on his tiptoes to try and see over the endless line of yellow taxis arriving to whisk people away. There were simply too many humans around for him to pick anybody out. He squinted down the pavement. He probably wasn’t looking for the group of teenage boys in sports jackets, the large family of screaming children all decked out in Mickey Mouse hats, or the old woman being pushed by a doting girl. But then, there was a couple. They were looking about, a bit joyfully, a bit frantically, exuding a nervous energy so distinct that Aziraphale needed no angelic powers to read it even at a distance. As they came closer, he could see that they were relatively young, perhaps mid to late thirties. Certainly younger than he’d ever passed himself off as, at least before this whole debacle.

The woman noticed Aziraphale first and waved at him shyly. He waved back, feeling oddly nervous himself. Gabriel glanced down at him, then over at where Aziraphale was looking. He pointed to the sign and the woman lit up, pulling her husband toward them.

The husband spoke first. “You must be Gabriel, I’m Elijah, we spoke on the phone. And this is?” He offered Aziraphale an encouraging smile and an apology. “Sorry buddy, he didn’t tell me your name.”

“Oh, er, my name is Ezra. Ezra Fell.”

The woman beamed when he spoke. She squatted down and held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Edith.”

She was a plump woman with thick brown hair and eyes that crinkled when she smiled at him. Aziraphale adjusted the stuffed Pooh so that he could reach out and take her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

The smile widened. “This is my husband, Elijah. We’re so excited to get the chance to be your parents, if you decide you’ll have us.”

Elijah, who was blond and handsome in a bland sort of way, let out a nervous laugh. “You know, we were shocked when we got the call. I didn’t realize we’d even applied for international adoption and I thought these sort of things could take forever. We’re amazed at how smooth it’s all been.”

Gabriel, perhaps sensing that the ploy was in danger, finally spoke. “Oh not with us. We’re very quick and professional. We get things done.”

“Well, Ezra,” Edith said, squeezing his hand. “Is there anything you’d like to do before we all go home together? Do you want to have a bite to eat so we can all talk a bit before Mr. Gabriel leaves? Are you comfortable with all this?”

He wasn’t comfortable with any of this, not really. For the first time since his… transformation he was spending time with people who didn’t know who he was. Who didn’t know what he was. She was sweet, clearly, they both seemed kind enough, but she was speaking to him like a child. And going forward, so would everyone else.

Still the prospect of a meal with “Mr. Gabriel” was all the more horrifying. He could hear Gabriel’s voice now apologizing for delivering a child that ate so much.

“No, I believe Mr. Gabriel has a flight to catch. I’m ready to go… home. If that’s alright with you?”

“Whatever you want, honey. Would it be all right if I hugged you?”

He nodded, and found himself wrapped within the warm enclosure of her arms. Aziraphale had not often had occasion to hug people. It was rather nice. He should to it more often.

Less pleasant was the affectionate hair ruffle that he received from Elijah.

“What do we need to sign to take this little guy home?”

“Sign?” Gabriel repeated dumbly. “Um, nothing. Nothing at all. Like I said, we run a very talented… agency. The lawyers. The lawyers took care of everything. The lawyers. Everything.”

“Right…” Elijah said. “That’s great.”

If they lingered much longer, Gabriel was going to give himself away. It would be all wings and “fear not” and screaming. Thankfully, Edith stood up and took Aziraphale’s hand.

“Thank you so much for bringing him. We’re forever grateful. Say goodbye, Ezra, and we’ll show you to the car.”

Aziraphale and Gabriel stared at one another. Uncertain how much to pretend they liked each other.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said and nodded.

Gabriel offered an uncomfortable double thumbs up.

Well, there was one upside to this entire mess. He shouldn’t be seeing Gabriel again any time soon.

The Clark family lived in the town of Westwich, Connecticut, about an hour or so from the airport. Or it would have been an hour in a world without traffic. But this was a weekday shortly before dinner and it seemed that everyone who worked in the city was trying to flee New York state at once. It was nearly three hours before they reached ‘home’.

The ride was not uneventful, however. Aziraphale had never been in a car where the driver sat on the left, nor had he ever ridden in the back seat of what Edith called a ‘Mini Van’. The Clarks chatted amiably, filling a silence that Aziraphale was glad not to be responsible for.

“I know it’s going to be a huge adjustment for you,” Edith said kindly. “But I really think you’ll end up loving our home. We’ve got a fantastic community of people who are going to be so excited to meet you.”

Elijah met Aziraphale’s eye via the rear view mirror, “I suppose you might want to know what we do for a living. Uh, your mother or-”

Edith cut him off. “You don’t need to think of us that way until you’re ready. I don’t want you to feel any pressure.”

“Right,” Elijah said. “Sorry. Anyway, Edith is going to be a stay at home… guardian. She does a lot of volunteer work through our church. I’m the Pastor there, at Westwich Methodist. I know Mr. Gabriel said that religion was very important to your family and that relationship with the Lord is something we really hope to continue to foster in your life.”

Aziraphale wished that he’d separated from Gabriel by kicking him in the shin.

“In fact we actually live in the manse, that’s a fancy word for the pastor’s house.” Edith explained. Aziraphale tried to look as though he didn’t have a larger vocabulary than her. “It’s right on the same property as the church and it belongs to the congregation. There’s a little room waiting just for you. We invited a number of friends from the church to come over and we decorated it for you.”

A brief look of concern crossed her face, as though something had just occurred to her. “I hope you like it. I’m not sure it’s quite your style.”

“I’m sure it’ll be just lovely.” Whatever worried her about the space was forgotten then, as Aziraphale’s stomach gurgled.

“Sounds like we should grab dinner before we get home!” Elijah said. “I think there should be a McDonald’s at one of the gas stations soon.”

He was right. They pulled off the highway and maneuvered their way into a drive through line. Aziraphale had studiously avoided what humans referred to as ‘fast food’, but he supposed that sort of thing was out of his hands now. He couldn’t exactly blame them either. The number of options of restaurants physically connected to the highway appeared to be one. Before long, he was handed an aggressively friendly cardboard box that smelled mostly of grease. Inside he found a small bag of fries, a smaller cardboard box containing four pieces of breaded meat, a plastic bag containing a few disappointing biscuits, and much to his surprise, a small plastic boat helmed by a frog in a pirate hat.

He stared at it in utter bewilderment.

Edith laughed. “There’s a new Muppet movie out; I think you’ve got some kind of pirate Kermit.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, implying that he understood. He did not.

Still he had something that passed as food and before long he was full enough and nodding off in the back seat. He missed most of the rest of the ride, not blinking awake until Edith turned and tapped his shoulder.

It was dark out now, the world lit with street lamps, and he could see by their faded light, a decent sized church. It was a classic looking building, very American in its architecture, with white, clapboard siding and a pleasant little steeple. Somewhat out of place was the building beside it. They were connected, though clearly not built at the same time. This was utilitarian, rectangular edges made of grey brick, something clearly designed after the second world war.

“That’s the church; it was built way back in the early 1800s,” Edith said as though that were a very long time ago. “Beside it is what we call our Fellowship Hall. It’s where our congregation holds non-religious functions, like charity auctions and receptions after services. The Sunday School classrooms are in there too. To be honest there’s more space than we know what to do with! I can show you around tomorrow, if you’d like.”

Aziraphale nodded blearily. He hadn’t quite mastered ‘waking up’ just yet.

The car pulled into the church parking lot, then headed as far back as it could go. Hidden behind the church was a charming little home.

“This is us!” Elijah announced, bringing the car to a stop. “We’ll get you all settled and tucked in, alright? I’m sure you’re looking forward to your very own bed.”

Edith helped Aziraphale out of the car and led him around to the front of the house. Elijah followed behind, Aziraphale’s luggage and the stuffed Pooh, tucked under his arms. There was a small stair case and a little stoop with a friendly welcome mat featuring a sun with a smile on his face. They each stepped on him to get to the door.

They entered, Edith flicking the lights as she went. Aziraphale was led through a small foyer, an awkwardly shaped living room, up the stairs, down a hall, and into a room that was ‘his very own’. It had been painted in an overly cheery shade of blue with a wallpapered rim of various sports balls plastered all around. There was not a single book shelf to be seen.

Aziraphale took a moment to appreciate that Edith had immediately realized all of this was a bit of an odd fit. Before long he was unpacked, washed, and dressed for bed in what he thought was a rather fetching pair of tartan pajamas.

The Clarks returned to say goodnight to him. Edith went so far as to tuck the blankets in around him after he lay down to go to sleep. She swept his curls back from his forehead and gave him a gentle kiss.

“If you need anything at all, don’t be afraid to wake us up. We’ll be right down the hall. Sleep well.”

Elijah stayed to turn off the light, “Goodnight, buddy. You have no idea how glad we are to have you. We’ve waited for so long; it’s like finally having a miracle come true.”

Then he left, and Aziraphale was alone, the darkness pierced by nothing but a small baseball shaped nightlight in the corner.

There were so many children in the world who needed homes, and Aziraphale wondered whose space he’d taken up. What actual child could have been here, whose very presence wouldn’t be a lie to what was clearly a well-meaning couple? A sense of guilt began to stir within him, and he forced it back down.

If being here brought him closer to Crowley then it would be worth it.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

November 1996

Over half a year had passed and Aziraphale was failing. He was no closer to finding Crowley than he had been when he’d first arrived in the states, and the prospect of what Crowley might be suffering daily hung over him like a constant cloud. He’d pored over phone books, contacted registries and even made a few tentative ‘internet’ searches on the large computer in Elijah Clark’s office. He simply didn’t have enough information to turn anything up.

He’d thought, at least, that he was doing well in the other areas of his new life. Aziraphale played the part of a dutiful son, respectful and always willing to lend a hand. He was charmingly polite with the church ladies of Westwich Methodist. He was friendly with the children in both regular and Sunday School. His grades, as might be expected of a 6,000 year old being attending classes designed for ten-year-olds, were excellent.

Only, it appeared he was failing as a human too.

Aziraphale sat, perched half way down the staircase. He’d been heading down from his room (still sports themed but with two new, large, press-board bookshelves) to grab a snack, when he’d heard the hushed tones of concerned voices. Aziraphale had begun to turn, not wanting to infringe on their privacy, but then he’d heard his name, or at least the name he was going by. He froze, uncertain. Was eavesdropping still immoral if you were the topic of conversation?

Curiosity, and a few weak moral arguments, won out. Aziraphale sunk down to sit upon a step and strained to hear what he could from the living room.

“I’m just not sure he’s adjusting as well as we thought at first. Am I being ridiculous? Am I worrying too much?” It was Edith’s voice, the timbre even higher than usual.

“No. I think that’s fair,” Elijah responded. There was the rustling sound of someone adjusting their position on the couch and Aziraphale could imagine that the pastor had moved closer and put an arm around his wife. They were usually that affectionate. “I’ve been worrying too. He seems to get along with everybody, but he hasn’t really developed any friendships at school or through the church. Do you think maybe we should get him involved in something? Somewhere he’s really forced to interact?’

Aziraphale certainly hoped not.

Edith, it seemed, agreed. “No, not just now anyway. I’m worried it’s deeper than that. I mean, he hasn’t even gotten closer to us, really. He’s still calling us Mr. and Mrs. Clark; he won’t even use first names! He seems so hesitant to talk about anything on a more than superficial level. And I know it’s not because he isn’t thinking more deeply than that. I can tell how smart he is… I’m just worried he’s not comfortable with us. He’s not fully comfortable with anybody.”

Guilt, like a great cold wave of water, came splashing down on Aziraphale’s head. He’d thought it best to make certain that he wasn’t a burden, but here he’d been acting more like a roommate than a son. He didn’t know how to be a human, let alone a child. Should he be more openly affectionate? It all felt so dishonest.

Edith continued. “And I just can’t stand the idea of him bottling up his feelings all the time. I mean, he lost his family. He’s been through some real trauma and he’s got no one he’s comfortable reaching out to! Even when he cried like a baby last week, when we watched that cartoon, he wouldn’t talk about it or let me comfort him. He just told me he was being silly.”

The cartoon in question was a Walt Disney picture that had promised to tell the heartwarming and folksy tale of the unlikely friendship between a hunting dog and a red fox. It had been heartwarming for perhaps twenty minutes before society and the world at large tore them apart. Their “happy ending” had been not murdering each other and then going their separate ways. Aziraphale had been overcome by a fit of uncontrollable tears, not matched since the opening night of Romeo and Juliet back in the 1590s.

What was he supposed to say to Edith when she tried to calm him?

I understand your confusion, dear woman, about how much more upset I am by the ending of this film than the beginning. But you see, the death of the mother at the start of the picture, while sad, does not touch me on a personal level because despite what I’ve told you I am not a recently orphaned child. On the contrary, I am an angel of the Lord who has developed a rather forbidden relationship with a literal demon. Knowing this, I am sure you can understand how the tragedy in the latter half of the narrative hit a bit of a nerve.

Somehow Aziraphale doubted that would have flown.

Elijah’s voice from downstairs brought him back to reality. “Do you remember a couple years ago when the Robertson’s first started fostering their daughter? She was having some major issues and the foster program put them in touch with a children’s therapist. I could call them and get the name, if you think that might be helpful?”

And that was how, a week later, Aziraphale found himself sitting in the waiting room in the office of a child therapist. The office was tucked away on the third floor of a medical building in a sizable business park. It was hard to imagine an actual child not suffering severe intimidation simply walking in, although the room was pleasant enough once they’d finally arrived. It was decorated all over in calming blues and greens with happy cartoon sea creatures adorning the walls. A few toys had been arranged in one corner of the room and presently a small girl with uneven pigtails was smashing some sort of beaded contraption against the floor.

She didn’t seem particularly happy, but perhaps that’s why she was there.

Aziraphale sat, back straight, arms folded in his lap, wondering if there was some way to get out of this. It wasn’t that he disapproved of therapy, quite the contrary, he was so proud whenever humans found ways to care for themselves and others. Only, this was a child’s therapist and he was not a child. He could not imagine much would be accomplished.

“Really, Mrs. Cla- Edith, I don’t think this is necessary.”

She smiled at him, a little sadly, and pet Aziraphale’s curls. “It’s okay to be nervous, but I want you to give this a try. It’s good to talk about your feelings.”

A door beside the receptionist’s window opened, and a woman with a clipboard stepped into the room. She looked a little bit like Eve, if Eve had taken to wearing business casual instead of fig leaves. She was a bit older than Edith, if the few proudly uncolored streaks of gray which shot through her hair were anything to go by. She greeted Aziraphale first.

“Hello, you must be Ezra. My name is Doctor Amanda. I met with Mrs. Clark here yesterday, and today I’d like to get to know you. Is that alright?”

He nodded, it wasn’t as though there were really any other option, and before long he was swept away to small room further back. The color scheme continued, bright and calm, but this place looked more like a small classroom than an office. Toys and art supplies were set along the walls, on shelves sized appropriately for children. Two squishy arm chairs commanded one corner of the room, while the center was reserved for a large table and four handsome wooden chairs. Aziraphale was directed to sit here.

A fine layer of paint and old crayon marks had built up on the table over time and Aziraphale wondered about the children who might have left them there. The doctor pulled out the seat beside him, sat, and offered an encouraging smile.

“So, as you can see there’s a lot to do in here. We’ve got toys and games. You could do a little art or, if you’d like, the two of us could just talk about how things are going at home. It’s all up to you and whatever would make you comfortable.”

“There’s really nothing wrong,” Aziraphale assured her. “I’m sure your time would be better suited with a child who’s in crisis.”

The doctor shook her head. “Nope, this afternoon is just for you.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale faltered. “Well then, is there anything you usually discuss with clients?”

She had an excellent poker face. This was the first time an adult hadn’t done a double take at his way of speaking. He’d tried, early on, to mimic the way his classmates spoke, but he wound up sounding even more like a pale imitation than he did otherwise. He’d mostly been allowing people to operate under the assumption that this was simply how most children spoke in Britain. If an exchange student ever showed up it would all be over.

“The kids who visit here talk about all sorts of things. Their families, their schools, their favorite TV shows. Just whatever’s on their minds. Or, again, we could just play a game.”

Aziraphale cast a wary glance toward a faded box in the corner on which children excitedly pressed levers on the backs of multi-colored hippopotami. He decided it would be preferable to talk.

“Well, I am currently in the Fifth Grade. The teacher is a very kind woman, although she could do a bit more in terms of discipline. I rather like her choice in books. She has a group of us reading the Phantom Toll Booth which I’d somehow missed up ‘til now, but I’m enjoying it immensely. It’s exceedingly clever.”

He noticed her writing things down on her clipboard.

“Oh, don’t let that bother you. I just like to take some notes so that the next time you visit I can remember everything we talked about. So you like reading?”

“Oh, yes. I, er, my family owned an antique book store back in London.”

The doctor perked up. “You miss it?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale admitted. “There were thousands of years of human imagination on those shelves, more than you could read in millennia, I assure you.”

“Did your whole family like reading?”

Aziraphale froze for a moment as he tried to remember the back story he’d developed half a year ago. Somehow the Archangels sprang to mind. “Er, not particularly. It was just a shop to them. They didn’t love it like I did.”

Oh, he’d put his foot in it now. That nugget could be enough to guarantee repeat visits for a couple of months at least.

“Did that bother you?”

“What? That they didn’t care about what our family was supposed to care for?” He asked, thinking of earth. “I suppose, a little. It had been entrusted to us, after all. It should have mattered.”

He was uncomfortable now, and the doctor noticed. She backed off a bit, letting him guide the conversation back towards the mundanities of daily life. Aziraphale told her about other books he’d been reading, Sunday School, books, how kind the Clarks had been, and also books. It was nice, actually, to speak like this, even when there was so much he wasn’t saying. He couldn’t talk about Crowley, the one thing that was really haunting him.

When their session began to wind to a close Aziraphale decided to admit something.

“I overheard them actually, when they were talking about bringing me here. They made some excellent points if I’m going to be fully honest. I suppose I have been a little closed off. And I’m sure I could make strides in those areas, but I’m afraid they might be a bit disappointed.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, I’ve never quite been the type to ‘fit in’ as it were. Not even with my own kind. The British.” He added hastily, realizing that even with that cover his wording had sounded wrong. “What I mean is, I’ve always gotten along, but I suppose I can be a bit of an odd duck.”

He looked at her from under his white-blond curls, curious as to what she might say. He rather hoped she’d simply tell the Clarks for him and let them down easily.

The doctor looked thoughtful. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to feel that that’s something you’ve got to change. It’s great to be different and to be yourself. But that shouldn’t stop you from reaching out and taking a chance on new friends. There’s plenty of people who are waiting to love you whether you fit in or not. I think that’s all your new family wants to see, that you aren’t shutting yourself off.”

If only he could have said, No, you don’t understand. I’m immortal, I’m not going to be bosom buddies with anyone among the Elementary School set.

Instead Aziraphale nodded. “I suppose I could give that a bit of a try.”

“Trying is huge,” the doctor assured him. “Well, our time is up. It’s been great getting to know you, and I’ll talk to Mrs. Clark about setting up a regular time, alright?”

In all honesty, it hadn’t been terrible. Dr. Amanda was more than kind and Aziraphale had liked being able to talk a bit once he’d let go of worrying if he sounded too adult. Still, weekly visits took time away from his stalled search for Crowley and he was certain the doctor’s time would be better spent with actual children. He’d need to end things quickly, and the best bet seemed to be going all in on her advice.

He’d begin with a two pronged attack. First he would call the Clarks ‘Mother’ and ‘Father’, which was clearly what they wanted to hear. Second, he would get involved in something where he could spend time getting to know them better, where he’d have something to do besides making awkward small talk about school and television.

“Mother,” Aziraphale began. He’d started using the name a few days ago and Edith’s delight had not yet dimmed. “It’s almost December and I know you and Eli- Father have been discussing the Nativity Play at the church. Is it quite a big to do?”

“Oh yes!” She was in the middle of making dinner and she gestured excitedly with a wooden spoon as she explained. “It’s my favorite thing to run all year. There’s costumes, and we hold auditions with all the Sunday School kids, the Youth Group comes and builds the set. We’ve been using the same script forever, but we change the songs out year to year. Oh it’s just beautiful. It wouldn’t be Christmas without it.”

“I was wondering, if you’d like any help with it this year? With that and anything else the church needs to do around Christmas. It sounds fun.”

A moment later he was wrapped in her arms.

Edith’s love of the holidays only became more evident over the coming weeks. They had a cozy little Thanksgiving with just the three of them and Aziraphale found he rather liked the holiday, problematic origin myths aside. The day had not yet ended when the Clarks’ infatuation with the coming season began. He and Elijah were clearing the table, with the slow carelessness of people full to the brim on good food, when Edith came hurrying down from the attic with a little basket of musical cassette tapes. They were dusty and forlorn, but she took each one out and wiped off its case with the same sort of care Aziraphale gave to his books.

When these careful ministrations were complete, she fetched the cassette player from the other room and popped in her choice. The tinny voice of a choir burst forth, harking the herald angels with all their might.

Edith smiled with clear satisfaction. “Now it’s officially Christmas.”

With the season inaugurated, the Yuletide became the center of the Clarks’ universe. The house was decorated first. Trimmed from top to bottom in festive reds and greens until there was nary an inch left that was unadorned in evergreen boughs, twinkling lights, or grinning models of Father Christmas. Then on they went to deck the church. One Saturday afternoon, families were invited in to the Fellowship Hall to make decorations and help hang them around the building. Aziraphale and Edith spent the whole time acting as caterers, providing enough cookies and cocoa to keep even the most taciturn child from pouting.

Then of course there was the nativity play, which Edith mounted with an intensity of purpose better suited to a Broadway production. As promised, Aziraphale stayed by her side when he could. He took notes when she held auditions, ruined a perfectly good pair of trousers painting sets, and spent his evenings helping to organize costumes. This included one memorable night twisting gold-sparkle pipe cleaners into halos while trying not to think too deeply about what his life had come to.

It all might have been a bit much if Edith and Elijah hadn’t been so earnest in their faith. Beneath the plastic Santas and cardboard stars was a genuine desire to help the community improve. The Fellowship Hall had not merely been decorated with paper chains and drawings of presents. The tables had been pushed about and reorganized, then laden down with donated goods. The tree in one corner was left uncovered except for a sign requesting hats and mittens that could be given to the poor.

This. This was what Christmas ought to be about. After all, that’s what Jesus had asked of them.

“Just wait buddy,” Elijah told him. “By Christmas Eve it’ll be covered in hats and gloves. That’s the day when we’ll open the doors up the public and any one in need can come in here to take what they need for themselves and their families.”

“I wish I had something…” Aziraphale said. “Do you suppose someone would want that stuffed Pooh Bear?”

“That’s the only toy you brought with you, I wouldn’t want you to do something like that!” He seemed to notice that Aziraphale was unconvinced. “Besides, we don’t generally take used stuffed animals, it’s hard to make sure that they’re clean enough to be given away safely.”

“But he’s in quite good condition and-”

“You know, your mother generally knits a hat and some mittens for the tree every year. If you want, she could probably show you how to make a scarf.”

“Oh! I know how to knit.” Aziraphale clapped his hands together in delight. He’d picked the skill up back in the 16^th century and gotten rather good during the Second World War when the government had run drives to help keep the soldiers warm. He was certain he could whip something up in a few weeks, especially something sized for a child.

Aziraphale would have been quite content, if only he knew what to do about Crowley. He was still looking of course, any time he could steal a moment, but the whole endeavor was feeling increasingly pointless. Whenever the joyful madness of the season gave him a chance to breath, his mind would fill with horrid images of what Crowley might be experiencing. He felt useless, a helpless, stupid waste of space. If he wasn’t going to help Crowley, why on earth was he down here in the first place?

“You seem a little sad, Ezra. Is there anything you want to talk about?” Edith asked as they browsed the local fabric shop for yarn.

Aziraphale had vowed to try and be more open. The truth did not make this easy. “Oh, well I… I just don’t feel like I’m doing enough to help people. To help… children… who might be in trouble.”

“Well, that’s what we’re doing today, isn’t it?” She paused to peruse a variety of pinks and purples before popping a few into her basket. “We’re making something special for kids who need a little warmth in their lives. We’re making something that could keep them safe in the winter and remind them that someone out there cared enough to knit something by hand.”

“I suppose…” Aziraphale nodded, running his hands through lamb soft fibers. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps doing a little good for some child in Crowley’s position was the best he could do right now.

“Do you have any idea what colors you want?”

Aziraphale thought deeply. “Red and black. And perhaps a little gold.”

December 23, 1996

It was 8’o’clock in the evening and the church had cleared out at last. Alone, Aziraphale and the Clarks sat heavily in the pews, completely overcome with exhaustion. There had been a rehearsal for the Nativity Play, complete with set and costumes. Dozens of children had tramped in and out of the sanctuary, dressed as bathrobe shepherds or cotton ball sheep, to sing their songs and pay their respects to the plastic baby Jesus at the front of the room.

There had been the sort of mishaps one might expect from such a production. The Christ Child had lost an arm during a vicious tug of war, a lamb had wet herself and been forced to perform the rest of the show in her Pocahontas pajamas, and that was all before the lead angel forgot the message he was supposed to deliver to the shepherds.

Aziraphale, who had carefully cultivated a role for himself backstage, found himself thrust into the spotlight simply because he’d memorized the entire script.

Now that the rest of the cast had been dispatched, it was beginning to occur to him just how ridiculous he must look. He was dressed in an adult sized T-shirt, tied at the waist with a piece of gold rope. A pair of wings, made solely of elastic, two reshapened wire hangers, and an set of white tights had been sewn onto his back. One of the pipe cleaner halos he had assembled floated above his head with the help of a plastic headband. It had changed hands a few too many times that evening and was currently shedding golden flakes into his curls.

“Alright crew, we’ve got cleaning up to do and another big day tomorrow. Let’s get this done and then home for some rest!” Elijah forced himself up and clapped as though that might force his false energy to become real.

“Can’t we eat something before bed?” Aziraphale asked. “The church ladies didn’t order quite enough pizza to go around. I’m rather famished.”

“Me too.” Edith pulled herself to her feet. “Why don’t we split up the labor a little bit. Your dad and I will start cleaning up in here. You go see if there’s anything in the Church’s fridge. I think there was a platter of sandwiches left over after the last committee meeting.”

Sandwiches were just the thing to get Aziraphale moving.

There was a door, to the left of the pulpit, which led into the more modern extension of the church. Pushing it open, Aziraphale found himself in an unlit hallway of white bricks and uninspired tile. The whole place had the uncomfortable air of emptiness that always haunted places that ought to be bustling. Blindly, Aziraphale reached out for the light switch, illuminating his way past bathroom doors and on toward the Fellowship Hall.

Then something in the room beyond moved and Aziraphale froze in the doorway, framed by the light behind him.

He squinted, struggling to see into the shadows. The only light he had, came from the hallway and what little was given from the thin moon outside. Still, it was enough to see the shape of someone standing by the door across the hall. The door that led to the outside.

“Who are you?” He called out. “Why are you here?”

Later, when Aziraphale remembered that he had the appearance of a small boy, it would occur to him that he should have gotten an adult. He’d been lucky.

“I’m… I… I’m sorry… I thought there was… I saw a sign for a charity? I was just looking… I thought I was allowed to… It’s so cold outside.” It was a woman’s voice, thin, wavering, terrified. All that was angelic in Aziraphale melted at the very sound. He hurried forward.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t see you properly. The charity drive isn’t until tomorrow, but if you need anything it’s no matter if you’d like to take something right now.”

Closer, his eyes were able to adjust to the shadows, and Aziraphale could see the woman properly. She was thin, painfully so, to the point that her eyes appeared sunken. Her clothing was old and battered, but not inappropriate to the weather. Her oversized coat looked downy and thick. Aziraphale couldn’t quite imagine that she’d been miserably cold outside.

But then, she was holding herself oddly, as though she’d zipped something bulky up in the front of the jacket. Before Aziraphale could tell her that she didn’t need to hide whatever she was taking, the thing inside moved.

He jumped.

“Sorry!” The woman said nervously. “Don’t be scared. That’s just my son. He outgrew his coat from last year, and I didn’t want him to get cold. And then he got so sleepy.”

The boy stirred once again and Aziraphale could make out the shape of him. He was clearly too big for the woman to carry for much longer. Too old and too tall to be lifted under any other circ*mstances.

“I think we’ve got just the thing. Hold on a moment, my dear.” Aziraphale hastened to the mitten tree and reached for his own finished wares. He’d completed them that morning and received a great deal of praise from Edith. They were loving detailed and intricately patterned. The hat was mostly black, with two bright gold eyes knit into the front and a silly red tongue hanging over the forehead. It was the scarf that made the ensemble though, it looked just like a snake. If he ever got the chance, he’d make another set for Crowley. It was clear this child needed them now.

He brought them back to the woman, handed them over, and then went to sort through piles of old clothing. There weren’t many options in terms of coats, but Aziraphale did his best. He chose a big fluffy white thing lined with too much faux fur. It was a bit much in terms of fashion, but it would be warm.

When he turned back around, the child was now standing on the ground. His back was to Aziraphale as his mother dressed him with shaking hands. She’d got the hat on already, but struggled a bit with the scarf. When she’d finished she offered her first smile. “You look so cool, Tony.”

A dangerous thought knocked on the door of Aziraphale’s mind, but he refused to let it in lest disappointment destroy him. Instead he walked forward, tentatively, tentatively, until he was standing right behind the boy, the coat trembling in his treacherous hands.

The child turned, hat slipping down over his face as he did. For a moment it sat there like a mask and the only eyes Aziraphale could see were the golden eyes of a serpent knitted lovingly in yarn. Two tiny hands rose to grab the rim and the boy pushed up. There was a little mouth, a little nose dotted all over with a galaxy of freckles, then eyes that struck Aziraphale to his very soul.

He’d found Crowley at last.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

They beheld one another, but Crowley made no sign of recognition. Whatever memories he had were gone and buried. Instead, he watched Aziraphale with an unreadable intensity that seemed out of place on a face so young.

For his own part, Aziraphale was overwhelmed by emotion. He’d found him. In a moment where he wasn’t looking, he’d found Crowley at last. Aziraphale strained his eyes against the dimness to make out the details of his face. In some ways he looked very much as Aziraphale would have expected. Wisps of uneven red hair stuck out from the rim of his new hat, curling into his eyes. His round face was dotted with freckles, but sallow beneath them as though he’d been recently ill. Most arresting were his eyes, which were at once familiar and so very different. They were large and round, normal except for the inhuman shade of gold- the hue that Aziraphale had known for thousands of years.

Aziraphale did not know what to do. He wanted to run to him, wanted to call his name, wanted to laugh, wanted to cry. But he restrained himself. He moved forward with tentative steps, holding the puffy white coat out before him like an offering.

Crowley was so small, so vulnerable. It was cold outside, below freezing, but he wore nothing more than a t-shirt and a baggy pair of jeans. Aziraphale would need to decide what more he could do to shield him from danger. For now he’d offer what paltry protection he could from the weather. He draped the white warmth around Crowley’s shoulders, gently enough that he did not pull back.

It was only then that Aziraphale became aware of the tears rolling down his own cheeks.

“Ezra, what’s going on? Are you having trouble finding it?” There was no time to respond to Elijah’s voice before the lights in the Fellowship Hall flickered on. Elijah and Edith stood together in the entrance, staring back at Aziraphale and the unexpected visitors.

Aziraphale had not seen Elijah get truly angry before, but he did now. He took one look at the invaders and Aziraphale’s tear streaked face and strode across the room to put himself between them.

With one arm back to shield Aziraphale from any potential danger, Elijah growled. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”

Crowley’s mother was terrified. Her already pale face went somehow whiter and she reached out a trembling hand, fumbling to grab Crowley by one shoulder. “I… I… I’m sorry I… I’ll go. We’ll go. I didn’t do anything. I don’t know why he’s crying… I just… We just… We’ll go…”

She was stumbling backwards, nearly tripping over donations as she pulled Crowley toward the exit. She was going to take him away. Aziraphale was going to lose him again.

“Wait! Wait, don’t go! Father, you can’t make them go,” Aziraphale seized Elijah by the sleeve. “I was never in any danger. They just needed help.”

When Elijah didn’t react immediately, Aziraphale turned to Edith who still stood in the hallway. He went for the spiritual jugular. “It’s Christmas, isn’t it? What would we be if we turned away a needy mother and her child from the doors of a church, especially this time of year?”

Above his head, Elijah and Edith made eye contact. With just a gentle nod of encouragement from Edith, Elijah let out a deep breath and his shoulders lowered. He turned toward their visitors. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I got frightened when I saw my son alone with a strange adult. It looks like you’ve got a little guy of your own, I’m sure you understand.”

If she did, she didn’t say so. She only gripped Crowley’s shoulder tighter and edged closer to the door. “We could still… go…”

Edith, Lord bless her, stepped forward with a wide and comforting smile. “We were actually just about to have a light dinner if you’re interested. There’s more than enough to share, especially if we’re talking about cookies! Do you like cookies?”

The last sentence was directed to Crowley who, until this point had done little more than continue to watch Aziraphale. Now he turned to his mother with a pleading gaze.

She swallowed heavily. “I guess we could… have a little to eat.”

“Wonderful!” Edith clapped her hands together, then hurried to the little kitchen on one side of the hall. She was like a whirlwind in and out, and before long a small table in the corner had been cleared and set with a platter of sandwiches, a plate of cookies, and a random assortment of sodas. Crowley and his mother were soon coaxed to come sit down. After just a moment of hesitation, they dug in with such fervor that Aziraphale began to wonder when last they’d eaten. It wasn’t until they began to slow down that any conversation began.

“So, I suppose we ought to introduce ourselves after all this. My name is Edith, this is my husband the Reverend Elijah Clark. And this is our son Ezra.”

Aziraphale offered a gentle smile to Crowley who was staring at him thoughtfully. He did not smile back.

“I’m Maddy.” Crowley’s mother said, her voice less shaky than before. She mussed her son’s hair. “This here’s Tony.”

“How old are you, Tony?” Edith asked.

Crowley shrunk back into his new coat before holding up one shy hand, all five digits spread wide.

“He, uh, he’s not real talkative.” Maddy explained. “Even with me he usually whispers.”

Aziraphale frowned. That was hardly what he might have expected. If anything, a little Crowley ought to be unusually loquacious. If Aziraphale hadn’t already known that something was wrong, it would have been clear enough now.

“Do you…” Elijah began carefully, “Do you two have a place to stay?”

Maddy froze, eyes wide like some small animal that had been caught in a trap. “Yeah, of course…”

“Because it wouldn’t be a problem to have you stay the night,” Edith chimed in.

Maddy shook her head making her shoulder length red hair flair out. “No. No. I’m not homeless. I’m not. We were just about to take the next train home to Norford. We have an apartment. My husband’s there...”

She put an arm around Crowley, pulling him closer as though to protect him from something. She said nothing more.

Edith broke the silence, “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to miss the holidays with him.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

Aziraphale tried to imagine how she would sound if he hadn’t had Hastur’s information buzzing about his mind. If he hadn’t known her husband had a temper, would she seem more enthusiastic? Maybe he was being unfair. After all, Maddy didn’t seem to be under the influence of drugs, at least not to his uneducated eye. Perhaps Hastur had exaggerated.

But even then, there was Crowley, mute and withdrawn beside him. Something wasn’t right.

He studied Maddy closely and considered what little he knew. They had been wandering the town, half frozen on the night of the 23^rd. There had to be a reason.

“Were you intending to spend the holiday in Westwich originally?” he asked.

Maddy worried her lip before speaking. “I uh, I was hoping to spend it with my parents. But um, we’re not on real good terms. They didn’t wanna see me.” Her voice began to shake. “Ben told me they wouldn’t. He said I shouldn’t bother. He’s always right about that sort of thing. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have argued with him. But I didn’t want to go back early and prove him right. So I took Tony to the library to hang out for a while until it closed. There was a sign up for your charity drive and I thought maybe I could get some stuff for Tony while I was here. Ben isn’t real big on charity. I figured I’d tell him my parents got them.”

“You could stay here,” Aziraphale said urgently. “You needn’t go back.”

“No, I should. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have left. I was stupid. Besides, Tony’s all warm now so it won’t be so bad waiting for the train. Will it, Tony? You like your new things?”

Crowley, who had been wearing his donations the entire meal, buried his face in the warmth of his snake scarf, cast a bashful glance at Aziraphale, and nodded.

“You’re absolutely sure?” Edith asked.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, right? You’ll have services or whatever and I’m pretty sure my parents go here. I don’t want to see ‘em. It’d be awkward.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, trying desperately to think of what he could do in the moment. He certainly had more information now. He had names, a city, proof that Crowley was still alive and that someone, whether she was struggling with addiction or not, cared about him. Perhaps the best he could do now was make Crowley feel that someone else cared as well. “Before you go, since it is Christmas, might I show Cr- Tony to the toy table? He ought to have something more fun than clothing to take home with him.”

Maddy smiled more honestly and freely than she had yet that evening. “I think that’d be alright. You want to go with Ezra?”

Crowley nodded and when Aziraphale reached out a hand, he took it. The warmth of his fingers through his new mittens, filled Aziraphale’s heart until he might burst. They left the others, adults you might call them or humans, and went off together to a table of toys in one corner of the room. The chatter behind them faded into the distance. All that mattered stood beside him.

Crowley was not quite tall enough to see the playthings that had been put out on display. Aziraphale skimmed the table, wondering what a child Crowley might enjoy. There was a toy Noah’s Ark, which Aziraphale immediately decided what was not a good idea. Neither, he decided, were any of the myriad plastic ponies. Crowley had never enjoyed horses. There were a few stuffed animals, purchased new, that might be of interest. Then Aziraphale noticed the cars. There were dozens of them, little metal cars just a few inches long. He scooped up a handful and held them down where Crowley could see.

“Do these interest you?”

Crowley put a finger in his mouth, then nodded. Aziraphale was pleased as punch, he handed six of them to Crowley who quickly shoved them into his pockets. He was smiling for the first time.

Still, it didn’t feel like enough. A child ought to have something to hold close and little metal cars, no matter how much Crowley liked them, wouldn’t do the job. Aziraphale gave the stuffed animals a closer inspection, moving a few off the top of the pile so he could get a better look. There weren’t any snakes, but there was a fluffy yellow duck that was more than big enough to squeeze. Aziraphale freed it from where it was trapped and held it out to Crowley.

“Something tells me that this might be to your liking?”

Crowley hesitated, looked up at Aziraphale as though there were something he’d like to ask, then he opened his arms and pulled the duck close, burying his face in its soft down.

Aziraphale beamed at him. “I’m so glad you like it… Anthony. I want very much for you to have a happy Christmas. I hope you will.”

Crowley just stared before hurrying back over to his mother. She was up already, saying her thank yous and goodbyes to the Clarks. They’d be leaving now, and it would be up to Aziraphale to make sure that they saw one another again. The very thought formed a wicked little pit in his stomach. Just before they could step out the door, Crowley tugged at Maddy’s sleeve, refusing to stop until she bent down so he could whisper in her ear. She laughed and turned to Aziraphale.

“He asked me to tell the angel ‘thank you’.”

For a moment, Aziraphale thought Crowley knew. However, that only lasted until he remembered he was still dressed for the nativity play and his hopes came crashing down.

But then Crowley looked at him and gave a lopsided grin that Aziraphale knew well from an older face.

And how could he be disappointed after that?

When Aziraphale woke the next morning the previous evening felt like something he had dreamed. It had happened so suddenly, so perfectly, that his sleep addled mind effectively convinced him that he hadn’t seen Crowley at all. It was only when he settled himself, yawning, down at the kitchen table for breakfast that he received the proof he needed that his imagination was playing no cruel tricks.

Edith and Elijah were already up and mid conversation.

“I don’t see what harm talking to her parents could do, and if I’m going to do it, it’s got to be now.” Elijah leaned against the counter, a festive mug of coffee clutched in his hands. “The Murphys are Easter and Christmas attendees. If I can’t get to them tomorrow, there won’t be another chance until April.”

“I’m worried it’s rude. We reached out. We let her know that we’re here for her if she needs a place or people to count on. But she was pretty clear that she didn’t want any more help. It’s not our business to make those kind of decisions for other adults.” Edith frowned as she shoveled scrambled eggs out of a hissing skillet and onto three waiting plates. She handed one to Elijah and took the other two over to the breakfast table, where she put one in front of Aziraphale.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, before asking, “Was that their surname? Murphy?”

The Clarks met wary eyes across the table, perhaps silently discussing whether the conversation ought to include what they thought was a ten-year-old boy. Elijah sighed, “I don’t think so. I got her to tell me who her parents are while you and her son were over at the toys. But most married women change their last names, so I doubt that’s what she goes by.”

Fiddlesticks, Aziraphale thought. That wouldn’t help him find their name in a phonebook.

Edith cleared her throat, “Speaking of last night, your father and I are very proud of the kindness you showed. However, you need to be more careful around strangers. You should have come and got an adult. Is that clear or do we need to have a conversation?”

Aziraphale swallowed his pride and gave a mere nod and a smile; he had more important things to worry about.

Christmas Eve, however, did not give him much time to worry about them. The next twenty four hours was a ceaseless blur. The church doors were thrown open to the public for the donation drive and by the time that was winding to a close, children began to arrive for that evening’s pageant. Despite the relatively disastrous rehearsal, all went as well as might be expected, though Aziraphale still hoped that no one from above was watching. He would never live it down.

It was late when the Christmas Eve services wound to a close and Aziraphale was shortly sent to sleep. There wasn’t even time to fret in the morning, as he was ushered out of bed by the excited Clarks who’d clearly been looking forward to a Christmas morn with a child in the house. Aziraphale tried to be upbeat and excited. He wasn’t sure he pulled it off.

And so it wasn’t until the afternoon, when Christmas services had completed and the flock had gathered for snacks in the Fellowship Hall, that Aziraphale had a moment to fret. Elijah, it seemed, had decided against meddling in the affairs of Crowley’s family. This meant, of course, that the job was left to Aziraphale.

There were certain advantages to appearing ten-years-old and chief among them was the ability to go unnoticed. As the humans nibbled baked goods, sipped coffee, and gossiped with one another, Aziraphale slipped among them. He glanced up at faces, listened in on conversations, and tried to reason with what he knew. Crowley’s mother had appeared to be somewhere in her late 20s, which would put her parents somewhere around 60, perhaps a little bit younger.

He paused, pretending to be interested in a display of poorly frosted biscuits, and eavesdropped on a conversation behind him. There were two couples conversing, each of which could be a reasonable possibility.

“Well, you know, both the kids are back in town with their spouses and all their kids, so we’ve got nine people crammed in every nook of the house. You forget how much room a baby can take up with all the things they sell for them. It was madness at the Christmas Tree this morning! How about you two? Any visitors this year?”

That woman and her husband were out. Aziraphale ate a biscuit and strained his ears.

“No, but we’re planning to go to my brother’s house for dinner. He’s got his children, the doctor and the lawyer, so no babies yet with all that schooling. It should be nice though. Calm.” The tone was harsh, not in keeping with the words. You would think the woman had a cultivated hatred for both the medical and legal fields.

“What about your daughter. I don’t think I’ve seen her since she went off to school. How’s she doing?”

The silence that followed was just long enough to be suspicious, and Aziraphale turned to get a closer look at the speakers. They were a small couple, both naturally short and thin. Aziraphale was forced to admit that they were well put together, particularly the woman whose bottle blond hair was artfully piled on the top of her head. It was her husband, though, that really caught Aziraphale’s eye. His thick hair and bushy mustache still had streaks of red among the gray. It was the same shade as Crowley’s.

“Well, she moved away,” Mrs. Murphy said plainly. Then added without much description, “You know how rebellious kids can be.”

The discomfort that had fallen over the conversation was palpable enough that the other couple quickly found an excuse to extricate themselves. Before the Murphys could move onward, however, Aziraphale stepped up and made his presence known.

“Excuse me Madam, Sir, I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Ezra.”

“Right, everyone said the Reverend had adopted a British kid,” Mr. Murphy said. “Good to meet you.”

Mrs. Murphy gave him a fake smile and a curt nod, then tried to step around him. Aziraphale moved in the way. “I hope this isn’t too impertinent, but I’m in a bit of a spot. You see, we were visited, on the 23^rd, by a woman and a small boy. I’ve reason to be concerned about their well-being and I was hoping you might give me more information.”

Both husband and wife turned red, and Aziraphale wondered whether it was from anger or embarrassment. By the way the next words were delivered, whispered through clenched teeth, Aziraphale supposed it was both.

“Why are you asking us?”

“Oh, I am under the impression that it was daughter and grandson. Did you know there was a grandson?”

“We are not discussing this.” Mrs. Murphy’s voice was strained.

“It seems you’ve made a decision about not involving yourselves, and while I think that is a crying shame, I don’t intend to spend time trying to persuade you. All I ask is for an address, a last name, perhaps a little bit of background information. I can’t imagine that would be too much of a burden.”

Apparently it was. They turned from him and marched across the room. Aziraphale scoffed at their manners before he realized exactly what they were doing. He was not being ignored; he was being reported. They’d gone straight to Edith and he could see them now, scowling and pointing at him from a distance. She left them with Elijah for company and then approached Aziraphale, arms folded.

“Ezra, that was very rude.”

“I was rude? I wasn’t the one who walked away in the middle of a conversation.”

“Nosiness is rudeness.”

“Perhaps, on most occasions, but there are more important things at stake than their mild discomfort.”

“Like what?”

“Like the wellbeing of a child and a family in crisis. You heard her last night. You saw them. Something isn’t right and someone had to act.”

Edith closed her eyes for a long time, nostrils flaring as she tried to collect her thoughts. “I’m not arguing with you about this. Good reasons or not, the way you went about things was rude. That’s not how a child should speak to adults. I want you to go walk back to the manse, and we’ll talk further when the congregation has gone home.”

It was utterly insulting and a grave miscarriage of justice. With as much dignity as he could muster, Aziraphale took the directive. He gave Edith not another glance, but strode from the room. Out of the crowd, his offense subsided into grief. He let himself cry when he’d rounded the corner of the church, and finally sank down when he’d reached the stoop of his home.

He was useless like this. Too small and unimportant and disrespected to be any good to Crowley. Perhaps this was Gabriel’s plan all along, and he was up in heaven watching Aziraphale fail and telling all his favorite parts to Sandalphon.

He never went into the house, just sat on the cold stoop with his head in his arms, fretting and mourning alternatively. He didn’t look up until he heard the sound of footsteps. Edith and Elijah were returning at last.

“Were you out here this whole time? Ezra, you should have gone into the house. You didn’t need to punish yourself!” Edith croaked. She looked wretchedly guilty and the petty bastard in Aziraphale was glad to see it.

“It’s a pretty warm Christmas, Edith, he’ll be alright. We’ll be in in a second and we’ll have a fire and cocoa and get all cozy. I just want to talk to him a second.” She nodded, as though they had already discussed this, and then went into the house. Elijah settled down on the stoop. He didn’t say anything more until Aziraphale looked up. “You’re really worried about that kid, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale looked at him carefully and nodded.

“I could tell that night. You’ve been so quiet and controlled since you came here. The way you tugged at my sleeve and begged to let them stay…You haven’t been that passionate about anything.”

Aziraphale had decided shortly after his arrival, that he rather preferred Edith. She understood him better. She had never decided, for example, that they ought to go out and ‘throw a ball around’ or suggested he put a book down after a few hours on the couch or forced him to wear a baseball cap. Elijah had. Now though, in this most important instance, he seemed to understand.

“And you’ve got a strong moral compass. You don’t need one of those WWJD bracelets to let you know what’s right. I probably shouldn’t say this but, I don’t think your mother should’ve yelled at you.”

“In fairness, ‘yelled at’ is a rather strong turn of phrase.”

Elijah laughed and mussed Aziraphale’s hair. Well, perfection wasn’t to be expected.

“I’m serious though. I think you were right to be worried and right to do something about it. But I don’t want you worrying anymore. We’ll make sure the little guy’s alright. We’ll check on him.”

From his pocket, Elijah pulled a paper napkin. It featured, in colors bright and cutesy, three small angels opening up boxes of toys. Aziraphale glanced at it, then up at Elijah. He could not gather the significance. Elijah adjusted his grip and all at once Aziraphale noticed something written in the corner.

It was a street number and three names. Benjamin, Maddy, and Anthony Drake.

Elijah had gotten the address.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

On Sunday the 29^th of December, for the third morning in a row, Aziraphale greeted Elijah with the same question: “Good morning. Were you thinking of going today?”

He settled down at the breakfast table across from Elijah and waited for him to stop sighing into his coffee. The rumors had been true; Americans certainly drank a lot of the stuff.

“It’s Sunday, Ezra. I have to give a sermon and your mother has to run Sunday School, which you have to attend.”

“I was thinking of the afternoon. They might be traveling for New Years, so it wouldn’t do to wait much longer. I suppose we could do tomorrow, since the Winter holiday is still going, but then not everyone is off work. Besides, Sunday seems like rather the day to this sort of thing, given the usual topics of your sermons.”

Elijah sighed. “You’ve made some good points but Ezra, even if I go today I’m not planning on bringing you with me. I don’t know what sort of situation they’re living in. It might not be a safe place for you.”

Aziraphale paused, half way through pouring syrup on a waffle and turned to Elijah in surprise, “But you must take me with you!”

“Why?”

There was so much about his current life that would have been improved by a simple change of form. With just a pair of wings and a few extra eyeballs, Elijah would have been on his knees in worship. Aziraphale would’ve settled though, for just another meter and a few age lines. At least then he wouldn’t be getting into these ridiculous arguments. He wouldn’t be fumbling for an excuse.

“Well, because… because you can use me to explain why we’re there. I know Mother was concerned that they wouldn’t want to be checked up on. If we say that I was the one who asked to visit… Anthony, then they’ll have no reason to get cross with you.”

Elijah’s next sip of coffee was long and deliberate. He was buying time. Aziraphale watched his eyes dart toward Edith.

“Fine,” she said. “He makes a good point. But Elijah if anything happens I’m holding you responsible.”

It would appear she was the one who’d refused to let him go. Elijah turned to Aziraphale and winked. Seeing his good humor, Aziraphale decided to wrap everything back around to what he originally wanted to know. “So, this afternoon then?”

In the end, he got his way.

Elijah agreed to take Aziraphale to visit after church, which meant the only remaining hurdle was surviving the day’s Sunday School lesson. He’d gotten used to them by now, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed them. Quite the opposite. Adam had once described a game to him wherein children whispered a phrase to one another, passing it around a large circle until the words came back to the original speaker now nearly unrecognizable. That’s how he felt in the church classroom. It took a great deal of self-control not to raise his hand and explain to everyone just what parts of the story they were getting wrong.

If you asked Aziraphale, he’d mostly done an admirable job, only slipping up a little on the day they’d discussed Eden. “There’s actually nothing in the text implying that the Serpent is Satan; that was a misconception added by later Christian authors and popularized by Milton.” Everyone had stared and then Edith had thanked him for sharing and moved the lesson on.

Today he sat on his hands and watched the clock as she told the fourth and fifth graders about the Temptation of Christ. He’d always meant to ask Crowley for more details on precisely how that had all gone down, now that would have to wait. Still, at least he would get another chance to see him, even if Crowley could no longer remember anything.

When the lesson ended and the services let out, Aziraphale hung about Elijah’s elbow waiting for the parishioners to leave. The families cleared out quickly enough, off to fill the stomachs of complaining children with Sunday brunches, but the elderly lingered. Usually, Aziraphale was happy to chat up the lonely old congregants, who were more interested in some much needed company than the poorly brewed tea and cheap biscuits. Today he hadn’t the patience. When the last of them was finally helped into a car she should probably not have been driving, Aziraphale turned to Elijah with pleading eyes.

“After lunch,” he was told.

They ate quickly, nothing more complicated than the iconic American lunch of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (a food Aziraphale had decided he did not hate, although he suspected that had something to do with the underdeveloped taste buds residing in his childish form). Then Edith handed Elijah a loaf of freshly baked banana bread to take as a peace offering and sent them on their way.

Aziraphale settled into the back seat of the family car. He was too small, he’d been told, to safely sit in the front. This idea seemed laughable considering how carefully both of the Clarks drove, particularly compared to Crowley. Still, he made no attempt to argue today. Instead he watched the wealth of Westwich roll by outside the window. The manse was easily one of the smaller houses in the town, which was mostly home to the families of New York professionals who’d decided their children would be better off far from the hustle and bustle of the metropolis.

The well-manicured lawns of stately homes and mini mansions transformed rather abruptly into a mix of one story houses and duplexes as the car crossed the border into the neighboring city of Norford- inequality of income laid out in physical form. Still, the neighborhood they drove through was pleasant and well cared for. Christmas lights, not yet taken down, twinkled from many of the windows and a few children, off from school, laughed as they pushed their bikes down the pavement. Gradually the buildings changed, growing taller, less charming in their architecture.

As they wound their way through built up streets of businesses, the only homes left were piled on top of one another in high rises. Apartment buildings, they were called here. In the center of town, the windows of these places gleamed invitingly, but when Elijah looked at his map at the next light he turned in a new direction and everything changed. The buildings became smaller, less the sort of shining place that Crowley would have admired, and more the type that one might live in because there were no other options.

Elijah pulled the car to a stop on the curb outside a brick complex within spitting distance of the local highway. The sound of vehicles rushing by up above was droning, endless, a continued interruption to the mind. Aziraphale wondered if the apartment windows did much to block the sound; he doubted it.

When they had disembarked and Elijah had locked the car (twice) he took Aziraphale’s hand. “Alright, stick close. They should be up on the third floor.”

Aziraphale hadn’t much experience with high rise flats. He’d been to Crowley’s only a handful of times, all post apocalypse, and he’d never thought much about locks or doorbells. He watched with some curiosity as Elijah looked over an odd set of buttons and numbers beside the door.

He pressed one and a decidedly unpleasant tone buzzed out from a speaker set above the buttons. They waited. Elijah pressed it again. Just when Aziraphale was about to ask what was supposed to have occurred, a snarling voice came over the tinny speaker.

“The hell do you want?”

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry if this is a bad time. My name is Reverend Clark. I’m looking for the Drake residence. Do I have the right place?”

In the ensuing pause, Aziraphale’s heart beat in anticipation. He missed being able to turn that sort of thing off.

“A reverend, huh. What’s a reverend want around here? This some kind of Jehovah’s Witness sh*t? I don’t need your pamphlets.”

“No, I met your wife Maddy when she was visiting her parents over the holidays. I’m the pastor at their church.”

“She in trouble?”

“No actually-”

“Her parents send you?”

“No, you see, our sons hit it off. My boy has been asking to visit yours before school starts up again and we were in town anyway on… business, so I thought we’d drop by.”

There was another long silence in which Aziraphale could practically hear the gears in Benjamin Drake’s mind grinding over the intercom. From his initial tone it seemed clear enough that he wasn’t keen on visitors, but Elijah Clark had familial connections and a position of at least some authority. Sending them away might be more trouble than letting them in.

The speaker buzzed back to life. “Come on up. We’re in 304.”

Then, without any one touching it, the lock on the door clicked and Elijah was able to pull it open. The lobby inside was dimly lit, smelt like cigarette smoke, and was most flatteringly described as ‘clean enough’. On one wall the light above an elevator door flickered. Elijah took one look at it, pulled Aziraphale closer and headed instead toward the stairwell.

It was a short climb then to the Drake’s apartment, although it might have been easier with a longer pair of legs. Still, opening the door on the third floor brought a smile to his face. Since the very beginning, or well, since shortly after the garden, he’d admired humans and their ability to find joy in difficult places. In this dim hall, in this miserable building, there were wreaths on some of the doors, welcome mats outside of others, little signs of humans being humans, making homes and warmth wherever they went.

There was nothing outside door 304.

Elijah knocked, then held the little loaf of banana bread out before him like a shield in one hand while the other went defensively around Aziraphale’s shoulders. The door opened. The man that stood before them was large, intimidatingly so. At least as tall as Crowley, but much wider, more solid. He was dark haired, but pale, with the scruffy half beard of someone who had not bothered to shave that morning. In the first moment in which he looked Elijah and Aziraphale over, the man’s eyes were cold. But that expression went quickly, and a friendly mask was inserted in its place. He waved for them to enter.

“Welcome. Come on in. Sorry I snapped on the intercom. We get people trying to sell us stuff and bums trying to get into the lobby all the time. It’s not the best neighborhood. I’m in between jobs right now, so we’re low on options.”

The door led to a thin entryway, where Elijah and Aziraphale were forced to walk single file just to navigate between a bathroom door and an awkwardly placed dining table. Beyond that was a single room with just one more doorway. It was all distressingly small and cramped in a way that made Aziraphale feel like he had to pull in his elbows just to keep from knocking into anything. A kitchenette in the corner bumped right up against the back of a couch, which in turn was barely two feet from a small television with a fuzzy display. Behind that was a little bed, its Big Bird sheets unmade. It was the sort built for a toddler, certainly too small for a boy of five.

If there was anything else in the room, Aziraphale didn’t notice. He became fixated on the couch, where a little red head had just poked over to look at them.

Crowley’s eyes went round when he saw Aziraphale. They seemed to light up for a moment, but then they slid toward his father and he sank back down, disappearing behind the couch cushions once more.

“Don’t be rude, Tony. Say hello.” Benjamin called out. He turned to Elijah and offered a sheepish grin, “Sorry. You know how kids are.”

Crowley appeared around the side of the sofa, eyes fixed on the floor as he shuffled closer. Dragging behind him was the stuffed duck Aziraphale had given him the other night. He went about as slowly as humanly possible, without actually defying his father’s request. Nonetheless, Benjamin’s hand clenched as his mask began to slip, “Faster. Get over here. Now!”

With a flinch, Crowley sped up. He raised the duck as he went, as though he could disappear inside its fluff to a happier place than here. Benjamin could try and charm Elijah all he wanted, but Aziraphale could recognize terror when he saw it. This man was not to be trusted.

To spare Crowley from having to get any closer to his father than necessary, Aziraphale stepped forward, putting himself directly between the two of them. “Hello, Anthony. It’s nice to see you again. Did you have a happy Christmas?”

A “yes or no” question meant there was no need to speak, and Crowley offered a grateful little nod in return.

“My father and I wanted to visit with you and your mum, since we had such a nice time meeting you. Is that alright?”

Another nod.

Benjamin turned to Elijah. “This is your kid? Where’d the accent come from?”

“We adopted Ezra last year. He used to live in London.” Elijah swiftly changed the subject. “My wife sent a loaf of banana bread by the way. She asked me to give it to Maddy, is she around?”

“She’s still asleep actually,” Benjamin said, affecting a tone of pity. “She went out partying with her girlfriends last night. She didn’t get back until three… maybe four in the morning. She worries me, Reverend. I love her, you know, but she’s a mess. Mommy can’t take care of herself, can she Tony?”

Crowley, who at five years old had been terrified into near silence, had found other ways to communicate. He fixed Benjamin with a dead eyed stare that was blank and yet clearly dripping with contempt.

“Could you show me what you were watching on the telly?” Aziraphale interrupted, hoping to break Crowley and his father apart. It worked; Crowley turned his back on Benjamin, grabbed Aziraphale by the hand and dragged him toward the television.

There was a pile of what Aziraphale had learned to recognize as VHS tapes, although these did not have the neatly printed titles of the ones that the Clarks kept in their home. These were labeled with pieces of tape stuck on the end that had names scribbled on them in an uneven hand. Among the titles were “Sesame Street”, “Mr. Rogers”, and “Reading Rainbow”, which Aziraphale immediately decided he approved of.

The bulky VCR player that sat beneath the television was currently humming as it did the difficult work of playing back a tape. Crowley settled them down in front of it, continuing to hold Aziraphale’s hand as he stared longingly at the odd series of images that flickered before him. He did not look at Aziraphale, never turned to him or said a word, but his grip was tight and desperate. Aziraphale was content never to let go.

Behind them, the two men chatted as Benjamin cut up a few slices of bread for them to eat. He was very clearly trying to make a good impression, although Aziraphale could tell Elijah was not entirely buying the act. He was performing too, being friendly while continuously wrapping the conversation back to the importance of family and going to church. It would appear that Elijah was trying to use baked goods as a means of conversion; Aziraphale supposed there were worse forms of pressure.

Yet, Benjamin never seemed to bite. Under his guidance the conversation always wandered elsewhere. “Does the British kid watch a lot of TV? That’s all Tony does. You have to peel him away from that thing when you want to watch something. Maddy never should’ve recorded those tapes for him. At least he used to get up when PBS stopped showing kids shows, now he’s got them on 24/7. And it’s the same episodes over and over again. It’s awful.”

On the couch Crowley let go of the duck just long enough to raise the volume of the television.

“Doesn’t he go to kindergarten?” Elijah asked and Aziraphale strained his ears.

Benjamin made a dismissive noise. “We missed enrollment. He’s only five he can wait a year.”

Aziraphale fumed. Crowley had been born in February; he’d be one of the oldest children in his class already. Besides, it was clear he needed care that he was not receiving in this environment. The later he started, the worse off he’d be. How could he possibly be learning anything here?

The television gave something of an answer as a handful of children began to dance and chant about the number fourteen. Still, it hardly seemed enough if the rest of his world was narrowed to this little room. How often did he get to leave? How much time did he spend with this one set of walls, cowering from one parent while the other found her own desperate means of escape? He was being set up to fail and Aziraphale bristled with the injustice of it all.

The scene before them shifted once more and now a puppet lay in bed staring up at the moon through his little puppet window. Crowley slid down from the couch, nearly pressing his nose to the television screen. Aziraphale followed after, kneeling beside him and wondering what had drawn him forward.

The orange puppet made his way to the window and started singing. It was oddly melancholy for a preschool program, all about how visiting the moon wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Aziraphale began to wonder if any child would actually find it calming, when he realized he was hearing something that was neither coming from the television nor the men behind them.

Crowley was, very softly, singing to himself. Aziraphale had not yet heard him make so much as a peep, had heard it implied that he rarely spoke in full sentences, but now it was clear that was a choice. He was perfectly capable of speaking; he just didn’t. In fact, he was more than capable. For a child so small he had remarkable pitch. He’d only ever heard Crowley sing before when drunk. He hadn’t had much pitch then.

Aziraphale listened in stunned silence as Crowley finished the song.

“So if I should visit the moon

Well, I’ll dance on a moon beam and then

I will make a wish on a star

And I’ll wish I was home once again.

Though I’d like to look down at the earth from above

I would miss all the places and people I love

So although I may go I’ll be coming home soon

Cuz I don’t want to live on the moon.

No, I don’t want to live on the moon.”

It was all so sweet and pathetic that Aziraphale fought back the sting of tears. Crowley was staring at him, face flushed with what seemed to be mild embarrassment. The show rolled on before them, abruptly changing tone to some bebop sounding number, but Aziraphale barely noticed.

He’d have to leave soon, go back to the lovely little house with the well-meaning humans and leave Crowley behind in this misery. He was so powerless in this form, even by human standards. The best he could do was force a gentle smile and squeeze Crowley’s hand.

“You have a lovely voice. I liked your song very much.”

With that, Crowley moved in closer, snuggling up as though Aziraphale were providing some warmth that he could find nowhere else. They stayed that way through the rest of the silly show, pressed close until the tape ran out and the screen burst into a flurry of white pixels.

“Well, it was nice to meet you Ben, but we shouldn’t take up too much more of your time.”

“Nice to meet you too.” There was nothing else to the response. No invitation back. No nothing. Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s fingers harder.

“I’d love to visit again, sometime when Maddy’s feeling better. Or the three of you can come visit us; I’m sure Edith would be glad to have you.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. That’s be great,” Benjamin said, not quite matching the tone. “Let me write down our number, that way you can call ahead next time, make sure everyone’s awake.”

So that was good. There’d be another visit. Another check in on Crowley. But as Aziraphale was forced to rise and let go of those clinging little fingers so desperate for affection, it didn’t seem like enough. He said goodbye, gave Crowley a hug and was forced to follow Elijah out the door. When he last glanced back Crowley was putting in another tape, escaping the only way he knew how.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

March 1997

Aziraphale perched in a large plush chair, staring pensively out the window of the therapist’s office. It wasn’t far, not really, to Crowley’s dingy little apartment off the highway. He could walk there in fewer than two hours if he pushed his stubby legs as fast as they would go. The problem was Edith, of course. She’d be back to pick him up before Dr. Amanda dismissed him. The half-formed plan was dead on arrival.

“So, what’s got you so quiet, Ezra?”

“Hmm? Oh, my apologies. What was it we were talking about? I’m afraid my mind wandered.”

Dr. Amanda leaned back in her own seat, scratching something new onto her notepad. They were sitting together, in what was labeled in bubble lettering as the ‘Cozy Corner’, the rest of the room full of toys and games left untouched. That’s usually how it was during his weekly visits. It was the closest thing to an adult conversation he could manage these days.

“Well, we were just talking about the last book you finished for school and how you found it really sad, but I’m not sure that’s what you were just thinking about.”

To say Where the Red Fern Grows had made him sad was an understatement. It was an unmitigated tragedy masquerading as children’s literature. Certainly the dog dying in a coming of age book was to be expected, but to have two dogs and kill off both of them, particularly when the second one died of a broken heart because of the loss of the first, it all seemed unnecessarily cruel.

“You’ve gone quiet again.”

“That time I was thinking about the novel.”

“So what were you thinking about the first time?”

“Nothing in particular.” He avoided her eyes.

“If that’s the case, I’d like to ask you about something. You know that I check in with your parents every week, right?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Well, your mother’s been telling me about a new friend you’ve made that you haven’t mentioned yet. I’d love to hear about him, if you’d like to talk.”

This was delicate territory. On the one hand, Elijah and Edith both seemed pleased that he’d made an emotional connection with someone outside the family. However, it was becoming increasingly clear that they were both a little worried about his level of concern. They seemed to think he was fixated and he couldn’t very well explain that helping Crowley was, in fact, the sole purpose of his life as a human. It would sound worryingly obsessive.

Still, there might be some benefit to discussing things now. Dr. Amanda did pro bono work with foster children for the state, and she was required to report if she suspected child abuse. She might approach the situation with the seriousness it deserved.

“You’re quite good, doctor. That was precisely what I was thinking about. My mother is correct, I have made a friend, although he’s a fair bit younger than me. He only just had his sixth birthday last month.”

She did not appear surprised. Edith must have included that detail in her report. Aziraphale revealed more of his hand.

“If my mother expressed any concern, however, I believe it has less to do with the age difference and more to do with his current state of affairs. His family is living on the verge of poverty, you understand. This despite the fact that his father is a highly trained electrician. For whatever reason, though I suspect it’s because he’s a monster to work with, the man is unable to hold down a job. My father has made him, Anthony’s father, into a bit of a project. He visits regularly, only sometimes taking me with him. Although, Mother doesn’t much approve of that. She thinks I’ve become a bit obsessed.”

There was a part of Dr. Amanda that never seemed to quite know what to do with him. She was mostly good at covering it, but every so often bewilderment at his tone would leak through her professional demeanor. Still, she always recovered quickly.

“Do you think that’s fair of her? To be worried?”

“About me, no. However, I would like for both of them to be more worried about Anthony’s welfare.”

This statement got the pen scratching, as he’d hoped it might. “You don’t think they care about him?”

“I think they’re being naïve. In my mother’s defense, she really only visited once and that was for Anthony’s birthday. It was an unusually warm day, for February, so we all went to a local park. Not only did she not see his usual claustrophobic surroundings, but that was probably the best shape I’ve ever seen his mother in.

“In terms of my father though, he’s convinced himself that he can save the whole family by making a connection with Anthony’s father, but I’m utterly certain that he’s being duped. Benjamin Drake can play the charmer well enough when there’s an audience, but the way his wife and child shrink in his presence ought to be signaling warning bells. Yet my father insists on calling ahead now, which gives that man all the time he needs to make sure he’s on his best behavior.

“And I do think there is a good heart in Anthony’s mother, but she’s clearly not well. She sleeps most days and when she’s awake she’s either completely withdrawn or utterly restless.”

Aziraphale stopped at last, fixed his gaze on the doctor, and awaited her response. Mostly she was just writing. But her brow was furrowed and she was recording in far more detail than he’d ever seen before. That seemed a good sign.

When she spoke again it wasn’t about the details she’d written down. “So, why do you feel responsible for this boy. Antony Drake, I think you said his name was?”

And how was he supposed to answer that? You see, my good woman, what we are dealing with here is a case of reincarnation. While he might outwardly appear to be a mere tot, Crowley and I have known one another for nigh 6,000 years. We have grown, in this time beyond your human comprehension, to care deeply for one another. This despite our opposite natures as angel and demon. Because of this I have sworn to make sure that he is able to live this one chance at humanity to its utmost. Does that fully answer your question?

The best translation he could muster was, “Because he needs somebody and I think I’m all he’s got.”

May 1997

Aziraphale could never know if Dr. Amanda filed a report; it would not have been legal for her to share that information with him. He rather suspected she had, but in the end it didn’t matter much. If Child Protective Services had looked into it, they’d decided against separation. The months went on as they had before, with Aziraphale in a constant state of anxiety.

If he could’ve changed one small thing, it would’ve been Elijah’s damned insistence on calling before they visited. It gave Benjamin a chance to straighten up, both the room and his manner, before anyone visited. It also gave him the ability to say no, to turn them away, and on those days Aziraphale wandered the house like a restless spirit, imagining every worst case scenario.

Still, even under these circ*mstances, which allowed Benjamin to appear his best, it became increasingly evident that things were getting worse in the Drake household.

The first sign came as the percentage of refused visits climbed into the spring. The rest all happened quickly, revealing themselves one by one at a single visit in late May.

It was a long weekend, due to the U.S. federal holiday of Memorial Day, and Benjamin had forgotten to prepare an excuse that would keep the Drake family engaged on Monday. The Clarks had been invited to a neighborhood cookout that afternoon and so Elijah and Aziraphale arrived unusually early. The fact that something was wrong was clear before they’d even reached the building’s door.

On the pavement below the Drake’s apartment the plush duck lay abandoned amongst the shattered remains of video cassettes.

Distress grasped at Aziraphale’s heart, and he gathered the duck into his arms at once, brushing the filth of the city from its dingy yellow fluff. A few jagged pieces of black plastic had lodged themselves into the fabric and he plucked them out with gentle precision. Then he turned toward Elijah and glared. Though his relationship with both parents had improved markedly since his arrival, he’d made his feelings about the Anthony matter very clear.

“The sidewalk is right below their apartment. Tony probably figured out the window locks and dropped them outside. Sometimes little kids do things like that because they’re curious.”

“You can’t honestly believe that’s what happened!”

Elijah didn’t believe it, not if his wrinkled forehead and the way his eyes slid from Aziraphale’s face to the damaged videos were any indication. But all he said was “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

He didn’t wait for further argument before buzzing in and persuading Benjamin to let them come up stairs. As they entered, Aziraphale took stock of the poor, abused, duck. The seams along the wings were stretched, in some cases to the point of ripping. The stuffing inside peeked out, and he did his best to tuck some of it back in. If only people still carried sewing kits these days, he could’ve put everything to rights.

When they reached the apartment, Benjamin was standing in the hallway.

“Look, I tried to tell you over the intercom, but I know the sound’s not the greatest. Maddy is fighting a pretty awful fever right now. She’s sick as a dog. Chills. Sweats. The whole thing. I wouldn’t want you to get sick. Particularly not this little fella.” He patted Aziraphale on the head, roughly enough that his glasses slipped. It didn’t stop Aziraphale from glaring at him with righteous fury.

“We weren’t planning on staying long,” Elijah assured him. “Could we just come in for a moment? Ezra has something to return to Tony.”

For the first time, Benjamin noticed the duck. Clever charmer though he might be, Aziraphale still caught the sharp intake of breath and the way his eyes darted from one guest to the other. He was weighing, balancing, deciding which option would seem the least suspicious.

“That kid. He’s not being careful with his stuff. You can give it here. I’ll make sure he gets it.” Benjamin held out a hand, like the literary Mephistopheles offering a twisted deal. Aziraphale pulled back.

“I’d like to see him.” Then with the practiced politeness cultivated over 6,000 years of dealing with people he despised, Aziraphale added, “Please.”

Benjamin’s smile was forced. “If it’s alright with your dad. You can see him for a minute.”

Elijah was quick to nod, and the moment Benjamin opened the door, Aziraphale hurried in. Although the windows were all cracked open, the apartment was unpleasantly warm. The day itself was hot, as summer was drawing near, but the poor ventilation exaggerated the discomfort inside. Despite this, and her reported fever, Maddy sat at the little dining table by the door dressed in long pants and a full turtle neck. She was sweating and so was the glass of water clutched tight in her hands.

Despite the heat she shivered.

Benjamin had been smart to handwave it all with a fever before Aziraphale and Elijah had even entered the room. It made Elijah go to her side and start tutting without asking further questions. Aziraphale might have said something, if his immediate concern had not been Crowley.

He cast his eyes about the room, looking for the little figure that housed his oldest friend. Crowley did not appear to be there. The television wasn’t on; there was no one on the couch. He was nearly frantic before he noticed the little bed by the back wall. There was a shape curled up beneath the sheets.

With all deliberate speed, Aziraphale crossed the room. It was only when he got close that he slowed. Gently, quietly as he could, he knelt beside the bed. “Anthony, may I speak to you?”

He hadn’t needed to say even that much. The moment he heard Aziraphale’s voice, Crowley pulled the sheet back, revealing his freckled little face. His eyes were red rimmed and puffy from crying, although just now he looked almost relieved. In near silent awe he whispered, “Angel…”.

Crowley had not become more talkative over the past few months and so Aziraphale was taken aback. He’d known that Crowley had called him that the night they’d been reunited in the church, but he’d had no idea that he still thought of Aziraphale that way. It made him pleased and sad at once. He tucked the stuffed duck under the covers with Crowley and patted him on the head.

As quietly as he could, he asked, “Can you tell me what happened?”

Crowley’s eyes widened and he shook his head.

“Did your father get mad at you? Did he get mad at your mum?”

Crowley retreated behind the safety of the duck, and said nothing more, although one tiny hand held tight to Aziraphale’s wrist.

Across the room, Elijah’s gentle murmuring was suddenly overwhelmed by Maddy’s voice. “I’m not… Please, Ben… I’m sorry. Just let me go out. I’ve gotta get… Or you could get me… Please, Ben.”

“Maddy, you’re delirious. You can’t go out. You should go back to bed,” Benjamin told her, voice strained. “Sorry, Elijah, but you really ought to clear out. Call again in a week or two, alright?”

“Alright,” Elijah agreed, though his tone was wary. “Ezra, say goodbye. We’ve got to go.”

But Crowley was still clinging and Aziraphale had no intention of leaving him. He stayed sitting by the bed with his back to the adults and didn’t budge.

Benjamin spoke next. He wasn’t loud or cruel, but there was an edge of warning to his words, “Tony, let him go. Now.”

It was enough. Crowley released Aziraphale’s wrist and retreated back beneath his sheets, as though the thin layer of cloth could protect him from the outside world. Aziraphale stumbled to his feet, afraid that staying too close would result in Crowley being blamed. But he still didn’t leave, not until Elijah took him by the hand and led him from the room. Aziraphale should have, would have fought back, but a thousand years of memories had swamped him.

He’d visited places of misery so many times. Seen suffering from plague, from poverty, from famine, from war, from the worst of humanity. It was awful every time, but at least then he’d had his powers. He could offer some small alleviation from suffering with minor miracles, could offer hope with his mere presence. Now, now when the victim meant the most to him, he could do nothing. He was useless.

Aziraphale did not regain himself until he was back in the car and Elijah was urging him to buckle up.

“We can’t leave! Something is clearly wrong; more wrong than before. We have to do something!”

Elijah stared out the front windshield of the unmoving car, not turning back to face him. “We’re doing what we can. For now, the best we can do for them all is to pray.”

“The best we could do is contact authorities.”

The pastor’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel until the joints went white. “I have, Ezra. I didn’t want to worry you, but I have. They did an interview with Tony and with his Dad. There wasn’t enough to go on. If we’d seen bruises or Tony said something…”

Aziraphale had felt this way before, when the world was ending and every plea to authority hit a dead end. Perhaps the stakes were lower, but if possible, he felt even more wretched.

June 1997

Over the next week, Aziraphale carefully unpicked everything he’d been able to glean from that visit and added it together with everything he’d known before.

Maddy had gotten demonstrably worse. Before all this had started, Hastur had told him she had drug problems, but upon meeting her they had not seemed all that severe. She kept odd hours and, with the exception of her attempted escape over the holidays, seemed to bounce only between the euphoria of parties and the gray despair of the Drake apartment. It wasn’t healthy, but it wasn’t extreme.

At some point since he’d met her, things had begun to devolve. Use had slid into dependence and addiction. It wasn’t something he had any intimate familiarity with, but he’d seen things over 6,000 years. The substances may have changed, but humans hadn’t really.

As to Benjamin, Aziraphale had his suspicions. The man was undeniably abusive, that much was evident from the way his wife and son shrunk in his presence. But Aziraphale wasn’t certain whether it was psychological abuse alone or if there was some physical aspect to it. Lord knew both were monstrous, but physical abuse was easier for the human authorities to wrap their heads around. Bruises and broken bones were admissible in court.

He thought about Crowley’s beloved tapes smashed upon the pavement and Maddy’s long sleeves keeping her arms and neck covered in the heat. The way she’d apologized and begged for Benjamin to give her something… Was withholding dangerous drugs a form of abuse? Perhaps if you provided them freely when you got what you wanted and withheld them only to get control.

The more he thought, the more he worried and the more he became convinced that Crowley would suffer further if he could not find some way to get him out. But every plan he conceived, seemed doomed to failure. They could run away, but it wouldn’t take long in these current forms for them to be reported and returned. The Clarks were too straight-laced for kidnapping. Cold calling the police might result in Maddy being arrested for drug use and Benjamin gaining sole control of Crowley.

The Clarks clearly didn’t know what to do either. Elijah called almost daily with the excuse of checking up on Maddy’s illness, but Benjamin put him off at every turn. Edith put her attention on Aziraphale, trying to sooth his worries with baked goods, new books, and extra hugs. It only made him wonder why Crowley could not get such kindness.

After two weeks, Aziraphale could stand it no longer. On a Friday morning, after Edith had dropped him off at school, Aziraphale walked to the train station. It was not a short trip, and his childish legs ached by the time he got himself there, but determination made them easy to ignore. He had gathered what change he could from the Clarks’ home the night before and was relieved to find he could afford the cheap fare for a ticket. It helped that there was an automated teller by the tracks too. It meant there would be fewer questions.

The platform was relatively empty, as it was past the time that most commuters would be traveling to New York for work and well before anyone would be heading in for an exciting weekend of shows and shopping. Only the few people looking to hop from one part of Connecticut to another bothered to take the train at this time of day.

When it pulled into the station, Aziraphale’s heart palpitated, worried that the ticket taker might ask why he was traveling alone. But the man seemed to be running on habit and he didn’t take much note of the ten-year-old boy by himself on the train during school hours. This meant Aziraphale could lean back and think about his half formed plan.

It was simple. He’d confront Benjamin directly. If the man became violent or enraged, all the better. If he harmed Aziraphale there would be proof. He was a soldier of the Lord; he could take whatever was thrown at him.

When the train came to its stop in Norford, Aziraphale hastily disembarked. The train station and highway ran parallel to one another, meaning he was already close to the Drake’s apartment building. Getting there was easy, getting in was another question. He couldn’t simply buzz up. Calling ahead was half the problem, and Benjamin would only contact the Clarks anyway. Instead Aziraphale waited. It was nearly half an hour before a trojan horse arrived.

A little, old lady, weighed down by groceries, stopped beside him and fumbled with her keys.

“Excuse me. I could carry those for you, if you’d like?”

“Oh, dear me, I didn’t see you there! What a little gentleman!” A few brown paper bags were passed over to him, allowing her to unlock the door more easily. “I’m just on the second floor if you don’t mind, sonny. It’s nice to know children these days aren’t all becoming punks.”

He followed her in, up the suspicious elevator, and right to the door of her apartment. She invited him to join her for cookies and lemonade, a prospect which would have been delightful on some other day. For now though, he fell back on an excuse that half a year as a child in 1990s America had prepared him with. “I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to go into a stranger’s home. Even when they’re as nice a stranger as you are, Ma’am.”

So he was paid with a butterscotch and sent along his way to confront a violent man on the third floor.

Aziraphale took the elevator again, and he had nearly made it to the Drake’s apartment when the door to the stairwell swung open behind him. He froze, hand raised, ready to knock, as Elijah came rushing down the hall.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Elijah, at once terrified and furious, grabbed Aziraphale by the hand and bent down to his level. “Don’t you ever, EVER, disappear like that again! Do you hear me? Do you have any idea how scared we were when the school called and said you’d never shown up? You could’ve been kidnapped or killed. Your mother is at home right now crying because we couldn’t find you.”

“Well, I’m sorry about that but I had to-”

“No. You didn’t have to do anything. You are not an adult yet, Ezra. You might be smart. You might be mature for your age, But you are not an adult. You do not get to decide when to put yourself in danger. I’m just glad I realized where you might have gone before you got yourself hurt.”

The door to the Drake’s apartment creaked open and Benjamin looked at them in confusion. Perhaps he hadn’t realized who was shouting, hadn’t recognized the voice he’d only ever heard speak calmly. It was too late now though. He couldn’t just close the door and pretend he hadn’t seen them.

Elijah stood quickly, putting himself between Benjamin and Aziraphale. “I’m sorry about this. I don’t know what got into him. Do you mind if I use your phone to call home? He ran off from school this morning and my wife is worried sick.”

Benjamin shook his head. “Sorry, we’re late on the phone bill this month. There’s a pay phone down stairs, if you’ve got any change for-”

Aziraphale was not going to get this close only to fail. “You- you’re lying. Why don’t you want us to go in there?”

“Ezra…” Elijah whispered, but his voice was more frightened than angry. Benjamin seemed to notice this too. Seemed to realize that whatever story he’d been building up wasn’t working anymore. He didn’t have anyone convinced.

So he changed his story. “Sorry, I… just didn’t want anyone to know. Maddy, she… she left me.” The bastard had actually managed to get tears in his eyes. He opened the door to his apartment and fell heavily into one of the dining table’s seats.

Elijah paused before following him in, though he stayed protectively in front of Aziraphale. “What exactly happened?”

Benjamin shook his head. “I don’t know if you knew- I’ve been trying so hard to hide it. My Maddy, she’s got a real problem with drugs. It started with just parties, ecstasy, alcohol. I never liked it, always told her it would get her in trouble. I told her the cops would call her an unfit mother. She didn’t care. She just needed her next fix.”

Aziraphale believed at least one part of that. He had no doubt Benjamin had held the fact that her drug use would get him custody of Crowley over her head as a means of control.

“It’s expensive, you know. It kept us from affording stuff we needed, stuff Tony needed. I’ve tried to make her quit, but last time she took Tony and tried to run to her parents, so I didn’t want to push her again. But, she’s gotten into harder stuff, and I was afraid of losing her. So I tried again, and now she’s gone. She took Tony and she’s disappeared.”

Aziraphale couldn’t stand it. “You expect us to believe that your wife ran off with your son, due to no fault of your own, while under the influence of illegal substances and you decided not to contact the authorities?”

Benjamin barely managed not to glare at him. “She’ll come back. It’ll be fine. She always comes back to me.”

And again Aziraphale could believe that. He’d convinced her she could do nothing else.

“You should still report this, Ben.” Elijah said steadily. “Tony could be in a lot of danger. Even if she does come back eventually, you don’t know what state he’ll be in.”

Benjamin shook his head. “I can’t do that to her. You can, if you feel like you’ve got to, but I can’t.”

Elijah nodded. He took Aziraphale by the hand and walked out the door.

“Aren’t you going to-?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to call in front of him. We’re going to go to the police station. We’ll tell them in person and then we’ll call your mom from there. I’m sorry, Ezra. You shouldn’t have run off and I don’t know what I could’ve done before... But I’m still sorry. I’m just sorry.”

And Aziraphale could understand that. He didn’t know what more he could’ve done for Crowley either but he still felt as if he’d failed.

From the outside, the Norford police station looked more like a large school than anything else. It was the same red brick that every other government built building seemed to be in this area of the United States. Still, no one would ever have confused the station for anything but what it was. It crawled with officers, plain clothed and uniformed. Anyone might have been intimidated just by stepping through the door.

But ‘anyone’ did not apparently include Elijah Clark, who had strode into the station with the confidence of a man who had nearly every type of societal advantage one might have in late 1900s America.

He’d gotten immediate attention from the officer running the front desk and had shortly explained the situation in as much detail as possible.

“We take missing child reports very seriously, I’ve got officers looking into it already. And,” The officer looked down at Aziraphale with a raised eyebrow, “Because of that we’ve also contacted our fellow officers in Westwich to tell them not to worry about you, young man. I understand that you were worried, but you should’ve talked to your dad right away.”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, although he wasn’t.

“Is there anything else we can do?” Elijah asked.

The officer shook her head. “Nope, you’ve given us a description of both mother and child, and the father’s address so that we can talk to him. You’ve been a lot of help, thank you. Now, I think you should give your wife a call. I can only imagine how she’s feeling right now.”

There was a collection of payphones just outside the station, and with each additional quarter, Aziraphale felt a weight of guilt added to his shoulders. He didn’t regret what he’d done, not one bit, but he rather wished Edith hadn’t fretted about him so. He wasn’t the one who needed worrying over.

He could hear the desperation in her muffled voice when she picked up the phone, and the relieved tears as Elijah explained that ‘Ezra’ was just fine. Then Elijah handed over the phone.

“Mother?” he asked nervously. She was crying so hard she could barely even respond. “I’m sorry I frightened you, really I am, but I’m just fine. Absolutely ticketyboo I promise.”

“Thank God. Thank God, you’re alright. Ezra, you can’t do things like that! You realize you can’t just go off on your own? There’s so many ways you could’ve gotten hurt! Honey, never again. Never ever again. Do you understand?”

“I understand… I won’t do it again.” And he meant it too, or at least he would if he could be certain Crowley were safe. If that would happen, he’d promise to live out the rest of this human life as normally as he could. He’d have promised anything to anyone if it meant Crowley were alright.

Elijah held out a hand and Aziraphale gave the phone back. He paid only half a mind to the conversation after that. He was too busy staring at the station, waiting for some sign that Crowley had been found.

“Yeah. No. I mean, he was right on that count. No, you should still have yelled at him, just not anymore. He’s really upset. You should see the way he’s watching the police station; I don’t think it’s going to be easy to get him to go home…. Uh huh. Yeah, this close to the end of the year, I don’t think it matters much either. And I do want him to know that if he talks to us we’ll help, just pulling him away won’t make that better. No, I don’t think he’s listening to me. Yup, I’ll take him for something to eat while we wait, and no matter how it goes we’ll be back for dinner. Love you too. Bye.”

Elijah gently tousled Aziraphale’s hair and bent down to speak to him. “Alright, buddy here’s the plan. The officers said they’d page me if there’s any news, so for now why don’t we get a bite to eat nearby?”

Aziraphale had had nothing since breakfast, and by all rights he should have been hungry by this point in the day, but he wasn’t. All he could think about was Crowley. Perhaps he was hungry, or frightened, or tired, or dead. He’d thought he was doing a good job holding himself together, but all his worry must have been clear on his face. Elijah pulled him into a tight hug, rubbing comforting circles on his back. Such kindness made it all the harder to retain control, and although he managed to keep his tears back, Aziraphale knew he was shaking.

Elijah straightened, took Aziraphale by the hand, and together they walked around the block. They didn’t speak much, but there was something to be said for just putting one foot in front of the other. It almost felt like doing something productive. They made a few laps before Aziraphale’s voice and hands felt less shaky. It was only then that Elijah persuaded him to stop at a hotdog cart to order something. On some other day he might have turned up his nose at such fare, but it didn’t matter much now. He was too anxious to really taste anything. Besides, he did feel a bit better with something in his stomach.

“Thank you... I’m sorry for making such a fuss.”

“It’s okay to be upset. Family’s supposed to be there when you’re struggling.”

Aziraphale had no such experience in the matter.

“I don’t know how helpful you find it, but I noticed that we passed a church while we were walking and I know I’d find it comforting if we could step in. It’s not a Methodist church, but I think God’ll hear us just fine.” He helped wipe mustard from Aziraphale’s hands before tossing their napkins in a nearby bin.

Aziraphale shrugged and let himself be led on. There wasn’t much else to be done and, if it helped Elijah keep a steady head, it certainly wouldn’t hurt. The church in question was a Catholic one, and Aziraphale found some comfort in the stain glass windows, so architecturally similar to churches he might find back home.

They were stopped in the entryway by a priest who asked what they might need. Despite what centuries of warfare had trained Aziraphale to expect, the priest and the pastor were delighted to speak with one another. Elijah explained the situation and the priest ushered them into the sanctuary that they might sit quietly in the pews and pray.

Elijah lowered the kneeler and whispered to Aziraphale, “I’ve always been jealous of these things.”

Then he knelt, closed his eyes, and communicated with God in the simplified way humans always tried to. For him there was no hierarchy, no ancient symbols to be sketched upon the floor. He merely thought in an upward direction. Sometimes Aziraphale wondered if, somehow, this worked for them. If perhaps She was more apt to listen to their words than She’d ever been to his. But then, he was human now too, wasn’t he?

It was worth a shot.

He lowered himself beside Elijah, the red velvet soft on his knees. He was too short to rest his elbows on the pew before him, so instead he put his forehead there and clasped his hands before his chest. Then he thought:

Dear Lord. I am not entirely convinced that this is an effective form of communication, but at the current moment I have no other options. I am presently living among the humans that I might keep an eye on one of… your more wayward creations. I know he might not be favored in your eyes, however he certainly is in mine. And beside all that, he doesn’t know what he was anyway. As far he knows, he is a child in desperate need of being cared for and all I ask is that you let me care for him. If you might, only for a moment, return me to my true form, I could better carry out my duty to look out for him while he’s living among the humans. It wouldn’t need to be for very long. With wings and my senses I’m sure I could find him straight off. That’s all I ask, Lord. Please.

And then, because nothing happened, he decided to finish the letter. Your faithful, in spirit if not always in law, servant Aziraphale.

But still there was nothing. No powers, no response, no nothing. Just as it always was.

He opened his eyes and raised himself back up to sit on the pew, waiting for Elijah to finish. He wouldn’t be disappointed, because he wasn’t expecting an answer.

A harsh and horrible beeping made Aziraphale leap to his feet in shock. Elijah was equally surprised, but less frightened. A hand flew to his belt and pulled off a little machine so he could peer at the tiny gray screen on one side of it. “I think that’s the police station’s number. Let’s go back and see what they have to say.”

Aziraphale did not need to be told. He grabbed Elijah by the hand, pulled him from the church, down the street and back to the police station. The desk officer greeted him with a look of pity that sent shivers down his spine.

“What happened? What is it? What did you find out?”

“Calm down, Ezra. Let her speak.”

The officer’s voice was steady, trained and professional. Aziraphale could barely hear it through the blood pumping in his ears. “While our officers were out searching, we got a call from a mother at Roosevelt Public Park. She said there was a young woman passed out inside one of the bathroom stalls there. Our officers arrived on the scene with medical help and were able to revive her. She seems to be our missing woman, but she’s disoriented and is unable to say when she last saw her son. There’s no reason to panic yet. The officers think he’s probably nearby. We’ve also got a few men waiting at the family’s apartment with the father, in case he tries to go back there.”

“Thank you for the update. I’m sure your men will find him. We’ll let you do your job.” Elijah told her firmly. He was calm, too calm. It made Aziraphale unreasonably angry with him. This situation was deserving of more emotion than that. It was deserving of panic. Elijah took his trembling hand and led him out of the station. He grasped Aziraphale by the shoulders, as though trying to channel his own tranquility into Aziraphale’s small form. “Do you want to go home to wait or do you want to wait here?”

“I want to go the park!” Aziraphale snapped. “They’re searching. We could help search. We know him better. I know him better.”

Elijah hemmed and hawed. “I think that might count as interfering in a police investigation.”

“I doubt it. She didn’t say they’d closed it down to look for him. They don’t even know if he’s still there. They’re just looking in the area. It’s a public park. It’s safe for children. If he’s not there, we’ll still be in a lovely park.” He opened his pleading blue eyes as far as they would go. “Please!”

“Ok. Fine. Let’s get in the car. We’ll go, but if there is any police tape up, we’re leaving alright?”

When they arrived, there wasn’t any tape. There were two cop cars parked by the gate, but a few mothers with young children went in and out, pausing as toddlers pointed excitedly at the vehicles.

“What’s going on?” Elijah asked one woman who’d just pushed a stroller out through the park gates.

“I’m not sure exactly. There were more cars before, and they wouldn’t let us near the bathrooms for a while. I think they took someone away in an ambulance.” She gestured to her drooling tot. “Jimmy loves ambulances.”

Aziraphale did not stay for further conversation. He had moved to study a little cork board by the gate, hoping that something there would feel right. That something would feel like Crowley. There were flyers for nearby restaurants, public concerts, the local community garden within the park... Aziraphale froze.

A garden. If there were any piece of Crowley left in his tiny human form, that’s where he would be.

“I’m going to start looking. I’ll meet you by the gate in an hour. I won’t talk to strangers. I won’t leave the park. Can I please go?”

He wasn’t really waiting for a response, he was walking backwards through the gate as he looked at Elijah. With a sigh, the pastor nodded, and Aziraphale took off. He sped passed a playground, dodged through picnic tables and passed outdoor grills, before catching his breath by a chain link fence.

Beyond the wire barricade were vegetables, bushes, and flowers, lovingly grown by city dwellers who had no gardens of their own. The gate that led inside was unlocked, likely because it was meant to keep out hungry animals rather than people. Aziraphale swung it open and stepped inside. One of the searching cops walked by, scanning the garden for any sign of a child. He didn’t see anything and Aziraphale didn’t either. Still, he would take the time to look closer. Crowley was good at hiding in gardens. No one knew that better than the angel of the eastern gate.

Aziraphale stepped quietly, as though he were trying not to scare off a frightened animal. His eyes carefully roved the ground, looking for some sign of life. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. He’d been so certain, so utterly certain, he was right. But Crowley was nowhere to be seen.

“Anthony? Are you there? Anthony?”

There was a little gasp, and Aziraphale whirled around. It had come from the direction of a blueberry bush, its branches thick and laden with fruit. Aziraphale dropped to his knees. He was wearing shorts, due to the heat, and the little stones in the uneven earth dug into his skin. Despite this, he crawled forward to peer beneath the bush. Hidden in its shadows was a face, filthy with earth and stained with purple juice. Crowley stared back at him from where he lay, down on his belly in the dust.

“Oh thank the Lord. You’re alright. Crowley, you’re alright! Anthony, I mean. It’s going to be okay, I promise. Just come here. Come to me.”

But Crowley shook his head and lay where he was.

“That’s alright. If you’re not ready to come out, then I’ll stay here with you. Is that okay?”

Crowley nodded and then burst into tears. Aziraphale reached for him, but Crowley winced and pulled away, overwhelmed by his own fear. It was no surprise he’d stayed hidden when the police had passed by.

It broke Aziraphale’s heart. What good was finding Crowley if he wasn’t any help to him? Aziraphale wasn’t equipped for this. Crowley had always been better with children, but that wasn’t any good now that Crowley was the child. God, this was all so bizarre.

This little Crowley liked music, but Aziraphale didn’t know children’s songs very well. Even after a year as one, he wasn’t certain what children were fond of. At most his knowledge had expanded to include more children’s literature but that… Well, actually that could work.

“Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin,” Aziraphale began, his voice both soft and clear. The sobs slowed to sniffles as he continued. “It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it.”

He knew the whole thing off by heart, he had since not long after the book was first released back in 1926. He and Crowley had not been talking then, though the demon had recently woken up. Aziraphale had had a lot of time on his hands, and the book had been so calming after the Great War, that he could not help but read it cover to cover until the entire text was in his head.

Now he went on reciting, tone calm, voice gentle. He had reached the point when Pooh got himself caught in the door to Rabbit’s warren, when Crowley began to shuffle about. Aziraphale’s breath hitched, but he kept going until Crowley had crawled all the way out from the safety of the blueberry bush and pressed himself against Aziraphale’s side.

With tremendous relief, Aziraphale rolled over, wrapped the small form within his arms and stroked Crowley’s hair.

“You’re alright. It’s going to be alright. I promise.”

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

They lay for a while on the warm summer earth, watching the clouds float by above. Despite the high chain link fence at the edges of their vision and the sounds of the city droning on in the distance, Aziraphale found himself thinking of Eden. Here they were, the two of them, nestled among growing things, in a small safe place from the wide, wild, world. And, as with Eden, this moment could not last forever.

Aziraphale looked at his watch, it was a simple black thing, as understated as one could get in child sizes. He’d promised to meet Elijah by the park gate in an hour and he was nearly out of time. Propping himself up on his elbows, he looked down at Crowley who was watching his movements uneasily.

“I’m sorry, my dear, but we can’t stay here forever.” Aziraphale ran fingers through filthy hair and hoped the sensation was calming. “There are police officers about who are looking for you.”

Crowley shook his head and tried to nuzzle further into the dirt. He couldn’t.

“You’re not in trouble. They just want to make sure you’re alright.”

There was a response, but Aziraphale couldn’t make out what it was. Crowley was whispering, muttering against the ground. Aziraphale lay back down, getting close enough to hear.

“Won’t go home.”

“Oh, Anthony… Am I right to think your father… that your father has hurt you and your mother?” He waited for an answer as Crowley began to sniffle and cry again. The tears created muddy tracks in the grime on his cheeks, and he smeared it all across his face with the back of his hand.

Aziraphale pet his head, murmuring comfort and gentle meaningless noises. He managed to coax Crowley into a sitting position, letting him breathe more easily as he leaned against Aziraphale’s chest.

“If you tell them, Anthony… If you tell them what you’re father has done, they won’t send you back. I won’t let them.” Although he wasn’t sure how he’d do it, Aziraphale absolutely meant what he said. “But we should go. They’ll take care of you, I promise. They’ll get you a bath and something besides blueberries to eat and something clean to wear. No one will hurt you anymore. Not ever again.”

He could not tell if Crowley believed him or if he’d merely accepted that he could not stay where he was any longer. Either way, when Aziraphale stood and offered a hand, Crowley took it. Together they walked, neither too slow nor too fast, out of the garden and into the world.

Aziraphale was unsurprised to see Elijah waiting by the fence for him to return. The pastor was speaking with two police officers, one hand pressed against his forehead with worry. He did a double take when he saw the two boy shaped beings walking toward him and a moment later he and both cops were running forward.

Crowley panicked. He dropped Aziraphale’s hand in favor of clinging to him. His little arms wrapped completely around Aziraphale’s stomach, his eyes clenched shut as though that would make the adults go away.

The officers divided their work; one pulling a radio from her belt while the other got down on his knees to address Crowley.

“Hey there, I’m Officer Garcia, are you Tony?”

Crowley would not look at him, would not even nod. Aziraphale coaxed him. “It’s alright, you can talk. They want to help you.”

So Crowley nodded, though he still wouldn’t look.

“We’re very happy to see that you’re safe. My partner here is calling for someone who’s going to ask you a few questions so we can decide the safest place for you, alright?” He glanced up at Elijah. “If you and your son would be willing to wait, I think that might help keep him calm.”

Elijah nodded and then Officer Garcia turned to Aziraphale, “You’re being an amazing helper.”

Patronizing as it was, Aziraphale appreciated the sentiment.

So they waited, and before long a woman with a clipboard and a tight smile arrived. She greeted the police and Elijah with flustered nods before crouching down before Crowley. She placed a small tape recorder on the ground between them before she began to speak.

“Hello Tony. I’ve got a few questions for you okay?”

Crowley was not an easy interview. To questions about his age and birthday he offered only hand signs. When she tried to build rapport by asking about his favorite food and shows and animals, he gave the occasional nod or head shake, but mostly just shrugged. She got the same when she asked about his mother. Not once did he look at the woman, whom Aziraphale assumed was a social worker, in the eye. He just leaned his forehead against Aziraphale’s shirt or stared at his shoes. For all the crying he’d done earlier, he did a remarkable impression of indifference.

“Okay Tony, I can tell you aren’t a big fan of talking, but we’ve only got a little bit more to do, alright? I want to ask how you feel at home. Is that a place where you feel safe?”

Aziraphale felt Crowley tense and freeze against him. He did not answer immediately, although he did at last look up. He did not look to the social worker, one of the officers or even Elijah. He looked to Aziraphale, as though seeking permission to finally tell the truth. Aziraphale nodded.

So Crowley turned to the social worker and shook his head.

“Can you tell me why you don’t feel safe there?”

“My… my dad gets… angry. He yells. And… he hit Mom… and he grabbed me real hard.” He said all this into Aziraphale’s shirt.

There was a knowing nod between the Social Worker and the officers.

“Can you tell me where?”

Crowley partially released Aziraphale from his grip as he stuck out one of his arms. He was filthy from his time living in the park and crawling around beneath the plants in the garden; it made his skin difficult to see. Looking closely though, under the dirt was the distinct greenish-yellow of a fading bruise. Although he should not have been surprised, Aziraphale gasped. He was certain once Crowley had cleaned up, there would be the clear mark of fingers.

“Thank you for sharing that, Tony. We’re not going to send you back to your dad or your mom tonight. Officer Garcia and I will take you to a safe place for right now. So, you’re going to have to let go of your friend, okay?”

“It’s alright, Anthony. They’ll take care of you. I promised, didn’t I? You’ll be alright.”

Slowly, Crowley released his grip and took Officer Garcia’s outstretched hand. Aziraphale watched as he was led off. As he was put in the back of the social worker’s car. As they drove away to bring him God knows where.

He’d done it then. He’d gotten Crowley out of danger, but somehow he didn’t feel much better.

Elijah sighed heavily, reminding Aziraphale that he existed, before putting a heavy hand on his shoulder. Warily he said, “Come on buddy, let’s head home.”

Edith had finished her reprimanding over the phone and so greeted Aziraphale with clucking and worry and freshly baked cookies. She drew up a bath for him, told him he was very brave, and offered to take him to the book store.

It was pleasant, in its way, to be so worried about, though it was not enough to assuage Aziraphale’s anxiety over Crowley’s whereabouts. Had they put him with a family? Was he in some sort of group home? He was relatively certain that orphanages weren’t a thing anymore, but he hadn’t actually checked. Once he’d cleaned himself off and changed into something that wasn’t caked with dirt and tears, he headed back downstairs to discover the Clarks deep in conversation.

“I don’t know if he has any family, but I imagine they’d get in contact the Murphys. They’re probably his closest relatives. It’s the best place for him.” Elijah was saying over his coffee mug.

“You don’t really think that.” Edith sat beside him, a box of tissues hanging loose in her hand. It was clear she’d been crying at some point, although she wasn’t any more. “They were horrible at Christmas. Lord, I feel even worse about the fact that I scolded Ezra for the way he talked to them then I did before… I mean, their daughter did the near impossible and got herself safely out of an abusive situation, and they chased her right back into it! I doubt they even want Tony and if they do they don’t deserve him. Good God, I should’ve taken this more seriously the whole time!”

“Don’t beat yourself up. You were just worried about Ezra getting involved. Although after all this I don’t think there’s anything we could do to stop him… He is unexpectedly stubborn.”

At this point, it seemed rude not to clear his throat and make his presence known. The Clarks both jumped in their seats and turned to see him standing by the foot of the stairs.

“Ezra! Are you feeling any better now that you’re all cleaned up?” Edith asked.

“A little, I suppose. I’ve been better.”

Elijah offered a sort of smile. “You’re worried about Tony?”

“Yes, actually. I was thinking we could-”

“Ezra. You have done so much to help today. So much to make sure that Tony was alright. And now he’s in good hands. It’s not your responsibility anymore. If you still feel like it’s not enough, why don’t we walk over to the church and pray on it. You can ask for Tony’s guardian angel to make sure he ends up in a good home.”

That’s precisely what “Tony’s guardian angel” was trying to do.

“I don’t believe in all that,” Aziraphale stated because it was true. His case right now with Crowley might be the closest thing on record.

Edith patted the cushion beside her, encouraging him to come sit down. “I know it can be hard to believe sometimes, especially when you’ve seen some really bad things. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a God or that God doesn’t love you.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that. Of course God exists, it’s just the guardian concept I was taking issue with.” There was an audible sigh of relief from Elijah before Aziraphale continued. “You see, there’s simply so many humans, it would be difficult for angels to get involved personally on every individual account.”

“You don’t think God makes sure everyone is looked out for?”

It would’ve been rude to laugh, so Aziraphale didn’t. He spoke instead in half-truths, “I think that God has put… us here to look out for each other. If humans are going to be saved, we need to do the saving. We have to be each other’s guardian angels.”

“That’s kind of a beautiful way to put it, Ezra. I might poach that for a sermon someday.”

“Right, well, on that note, would you consider the possibility of fostering Anthony?” He wasn’t certain what reaction he’d expected, but Edith fixing Elijah with a smug smile wasn’t one of them.

“That’s just what I was saying to your father before you came downstairs.”

“Right, and I was saying that courts look for family first.”

Aziraphale had done plenty of internet research over the past few months, hoping for just such an occasion. “Connecticut law considers the concept of fictive families, which includes family friends or clergy members. You’re both of those. I’m sure if you put yourselves up for consideration, you’d be accepted. I mean, you’ve already proven yourselves as capable adoptive parents.”

“Have you been planning this?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, alright. We’ll do it,” Elijah agreed. Aziraphale and Edith both hugged him. “We’ll put our names out there, but I can’t promise that we’ll be chosen.”

“Of course not,” Edith agreed. “And Ezra, I want to clarify that it wouldn’t be permanent. His mom is working on getting better and it’d be best for him to go back with her.”

“I know. Of course that would be best, but don’t you think it’ll be easier for her to focus on her own recovery if she knows he’s in good hands?” Aziraphale said brightly. A weight that had sat upon his chest for a year had been lifted.

Elijah called Child Services before they even sat down for dinner, but the response was vague at best. The system could move slowly and then very fast, he was told. The court had to get involved, and immediate family would be contacted first, but they’d put the Clark’s name down for consideration. They could expect a call, or not, in the next few days. ‘Tony’ would be at a group home until then.

And so the waiting began. Saturday was a long drawn out affair. Aziraphale spent most of the morning reading the same page of Alice in Wonderland over and over while trying to overhear phone conversations. He learned very little of value other than the fact that Mrs. Marjory Holmes, one of the church’s senior attendees, had a bed she was willing to donate.

After lunch, Elijah and Aziraphale went to pick it up, a chore that took a great deal longer than it might have if either of them had been rude enough to tell Mrs. Marjory to shut up and let them get on with it. By nightfall, Aziraphale’s room had been rearranged, the new bed now in place just on the other side of the nightstand from his own. Edith had bought a set of sheets and blankets, race car themed, and made the bed up already. Aziraphale spent the last moments before closing his eyes staring at it, and wondering if it would ever be used.

They still had no word by midmorning on Sunday, when it was time for church services to begin. The prospect of leaving the phone unmanned chagrined Aziraphale. He made a desperate plea that he might stay and wait while the others attended church, but Elijah assured him his pager would remain on. He even made a joke of it, telling the parishioners not to be offended if his pager went off during the sermon. You never knew when God might call.

It turned out that God called early. They hadn’t even come to the twenty minute mark in the service, where the children were usually sent away to Sunday School, when the grating beep of the pager erupted throughout the room. Elijah quickly excused himself, waving the choir on to sing their bit earlier than planned as he went off to locate a phone. Only Edith’s hand on his knee kept Aziraphale from leaping up to follow him.

She leaned in to whisper, “He’ll tell us when he can. Just breathe deeply. We’ll find out soon. It’ll be okay.”

So Aziraphale forced himself to settle back into the hard wood of the pew. He forced himself to breathe in and out, counting each breath. And he forced himself to listen to the two women who had stepped forward to sing in harmony.

“Where are you going?

Where are you going?

Can you take me with you?

For my hand is cold

And needs warmth

Where are you going?”

It wasn’t a proper hymn and perhaps because of that Aziraphale recognized it straight off. The song was from musical theater, Godspell, if Aziraphale wasn’t mistaken. Although they went to many Westend shows together, it had taken a great deal of cajoling to get Crowley to this particular performance back in the seventies. The demon had rolled eyes and made tortured faces at him throughout the entire thing. It wasn’t one of Aziraphale’s favorite shows, although perhaps it ought to be. Still, he’d always found this number, with its simple, haunting melody, to be beautiful.

“Then I’ll take your hand

Finally glad

Finally glad

That I am here

By your side (By my side)”

It was at this point, near the very end of the song, that Elijah reappeared in the doorway. He leaned there, smiling vaguely at the musicians until he noticed Aziraphale staring at him. Then he winked and gave a thumbs up; Aziraphale heard nothing after that. There was a sermon, Sunday school, the after services coffee gathering, but he floated through all of it on a cloud of blissful relief.

When at last the parishioners had all cleared out, Aziraphale set himself on the steps of the church to wait. He thought perhaps Edith would tell him to do something else to distract himself, but she and Elijah came out with a plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade to settle down beside him. At every approaching car, Aziraphale’s heart leapt, then fell as it continued onward.

Then finally one stopped.

Aziraphale and the Clarks were on their feet as quickly as they could put their plates aside. The same social worker from the park got out from the driver’s seat before coming around the side to open the back door. Aziraphale waited with baited breath, but no one else appeared.

“You can get out now, Tony. We’ve arrived,” the social worker announced. “Do you need help with the seat belt?”

Aziraphale got closer, trying to peer around her and into the car. There was Crowley, arms folded, seat belt still stubbornly buckled, a little backpack beside him, glaring at his toes. How many strange places had he been these past few days? It all must seem so frightening and wrong. How could he trust that this woman was taking him anywhere with a semblance of permanence?

When the social worker saw Aziraphale beside her she seemed relieved. She stepped out of the way, waving him forward to speak. He held out a hand and spoke softly, “Anthony? You’re to stay with us now. It’ll be alright; I promised it would be.”

Crowley whipped his head up, unbelieving, and stared at Aziraphale. He was frozen for a moment, suspended in hopes finally come true. Then he seemed to move all at once. The buckle was undone, the backpack thrown on, and he came scrambling out.

He did not take the offered hand, but threw himself forward, wrapping Aziraphale in a hug so wild they nearly fell over.

But Aziraphale stayed steady. He had to. In the midst of the chaos and uncertainty of human life, Aziraphale would provide an anchor for the being that had saved him countless times over the millennia. He would make sure Crowley stayed as he was now- safe and by Aziraphale’s side.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

On the day after the end of the world, Adam had put everything back together. The bookshop no longer lay in ashes, the Bentley was no longer a twisted hunk of metal, Atlantis was gone, the kraken went back to sleep, and all those aliens he’d dreamed up had retreated back into fiction. In some way, this is what Aziraphale had been imagining would happen when he rescued Crowley. If he were just removed from the clutches of his father, everything would be as it should be. Crowley would be Crowley again, smaller, true, and without his memories, but still himself in some recognizable way.

But that wasn’t what happened.

On the day after the end of the world, Aziraphale and Crowley had been haunted by the places they came from.

This was more like that.

After he arrived, Crowley said nothing. He clung to Aziraphale’s hand as the Clarks toured him around the house. His eyes rarely left the ground, not when Edith gave him the new clothes she’d bought for him nor when Elijah showed him the toy chest of cars and action figures which had been gathering dust since Aziraphale’s arrival. Crowley refused any help when he took his bath, picked at his dinner, and put himself to bed at 6:15.

“Should I go to bed too?” Aziraphale asked. “I wouldn’t mind. I’ll just read until 8 or so.”

Elijah gave him a sad sort of smile. “Tony has had a really stressful, very busy, very crowded last couple days. I think he might need some time all by himself. Go to bed when you usually do and you can check on him then.”

On most days, Aziraphale was displeased with his 8 PM bedtime. He knew his current form required more rest than human adults, but going to bed before sunset in June was rather insulting. That night, however, he was impatient. He brushed his teeth, said goodnight, and hurried up the stairs by 7:45.

The only light in his- their- bedroom, came from the infernal baseball nightlight that Aziraphale kept meaning to break. He was glad he hadn’t now. It cast a soft white glow across the room, letting him see Crowley’s face. He appeared to be asleep, though his freckled brow was furrowed. Aziraphale couldn’t decide whether this was because of some stressful dream or because he was faking his slumber.

Aziraphale hastily changed into a pair of tartan pajamas, then paused before climbing beneath his own sheets. He half hoped that Crowley would awaken, take one look at him, and make some snide remark about the pattern. He didn’t. The eyes stayed clenched and Aziraphale lay down, trying his best not to be disappointed.

There was no call for frustration. The night before he’d stared at the empty bed across the room wondering if Crowley would ever be safe beside him. He was there now. He was protected. That was all that mattered.

With that thought, Aziraphale began to drift off to sleep, but just when his eyes fluttered shut a sound made them snap open again.

Little gasping sobs mixed together with whimpers and sniffs. Crowley was crying

“Anthony?” Aziraphale called. The only response was the quick stifling of the sniffles. “Anthony, is there anything I can do?”

He was met with silence.

There hadn’t been much in the little backpack Crowley had arrived with, just a few changes of clothes and a toothbrush, all donations from Child Services. The little he owned, that was actually his, remained in the claustrophobic apartment. The stuffed duck was a few exits down the highway.

Aziraphale climbed out of bed and crept toward the bookshelf where the Pooh plush had taken up residence. He heard Crowley move behind him, perhaps trying to see what was going on. He was feigning sleep again when Aziraphale turned back around, but it didn’t matter. He tucked the stuffed animal in beside Crowley before returning to his own bed. Within ten minutes, the crying began again but at least this time Aziraphale knew there was something there to console him. It was all he could offer now, or at least all Crowley was willing to accept.

There were still four days of school left and although Aziraphale politely asked if he could simply skip the last week of fifth grade, Elijah and Edith refused to even hear of it.

“I do hope you know I’d much rather stay home with you,” Aziraphale explained to Crowley as they walked down the stairs Monday morning for breakfast. He was already dressed and ready to go, hair combed, bow tie firmly in place. Trailing behind him, one hand firmly clasped to the railing, Crowley still wore a pair of pajamas decorated all over with garish automobiles. He said nothing, and so Aziraphale continued, “It’s not that I dislike school, I wouldn’t want to give you that impression, but I’d like to see that you’re settled before leaving…”

Crowley remained silent. He refused eye contact with Elijah and Edith when they entered the kitchen. When presented with a bowl of cereal topped with freshly cut strawberries, he picked at it in much the same way he’d eaten dinner the night before. Aziraphale worried that he must be starving. But worry alone would not keep Edith from forcing him into the car, and so he was forced to watch Crowley standing barefoot on the pavement refusing to wave as they drove off down the street.

School was a waste of time that Monday. The students and teachers alike were waiting for Thursday to come and bring the end of the school year with it. After a day packed with games, films, ‘memory books’, and all other manner of time biding tricks, Aziraphale was desperate to know how Crowley was getting on.

As soon as he scrambled into Edith’s car he asked, “What has Anthony been up to?”

But there wasn’t much to tell. He’d eaten his lunch, which was something of a relief, but outside of that Crowley had spent the whole day going through the church’s collection of donated VHS tapes. He’d discarded the ones he didn’t like (Edith noted a strong aversion to the ‘Beginner’s Bible’ series) and then proceeded to watch the others over and over again.

It was the same escape he’d used when miserable back in the apartment, and Aziraphale could not bear to think that Crowley was just as unhappy here as he ever had been. He would have to work harder to make the little demon feel comfortable.

Crowley’s newly appointed bedtime was 7:00, and Edith had stuck to it admirably. She’d had him all clean and tucked in with the lights off on the stroke of the hour. Aziraphale had been admonished to stay downstairs and give ‘Tony’ some time to fall asleep before he headed up himself at 8 ‘o’clock. As it turned out, Crowley was still awake.

He looked as though he’d been crying again.

“Anthony, before I go to sleep I usually like to read for a half an hour or so. I’ve an, admittedly meager, collection at present, but if you’d like to pick something out, I could read it aloud for you.”

With one loud sniff, Crowley threw back his sheets and padded across the room to Aziraphale’s book shelves. It wasn’t a collection to be proud of. He’d only brought three of his first editions from home, The Wind in the Willows, Winnie-the-Pooh, and the brothers Grimm’s Kinder- und Hausmärchen, Only bringing children’s literature had been a conscious choice so as not to reveal his true nature, although he did concede that the 19^th century German might have been a bit of a giveaway. Neither of the Clarks had commented on it though and besides, Crowley had brought it back for him after a trip to Germany in 1814. Aziraphale had wanted that reminder with him.

He watched now as Crowley searched the book shelves, half hoping that he’d stop at the fairytales- that something would happen to prove he remembered it. But no, he moved on past, more interested in the bright covers on the reprintings gifted by the Clarks. After a while he turned to Aziraphale and shrugged.

“That’s alright, I think I know just the one anyway.” He removed the decades old copy of Winnie-the-Pooh from the shelf with the tenderness it deserved. “This is the one I was telling you in the park. I suppose you’d like to know if that silly old bear ever got himself out of rabbit’s warren, hmm?”

After a pause, Crowley nodded. This was all Aziraphale needed to usher him back to his bed, tuck him in, and sit down beside him to read. It wasn’t long before his freckled chin began to droop, his eyelids grew heavy, and his head finally lulled to one side. Quiet as he could, Aziraphale crept back to his own bed and settled under his sheets.

He supposed he could consider this day a step forward; he wasn’t falling asleep to the sound of Crowley’s muffled sobs.

The rest of the week dragged on in much the same fashion, with only occasional differences to mark the passage of time. On Wednesday Crowley had his first appointment with Dr. Amanda. Edith, who’d attended the session due to his age, reported that he’d sat at the table with his arms folded for a full twenty minutes, refusing to interact with any of the toys or art supplies put before him. The closest thing they’d had to a breakthrough was when the doctor got out a xylophone and missed a note of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”. Crowley had seized the mallets from her and proceeded to practice until he’d figured out the entire song. He’d ended by performing it flawlessly, dropping the mallets, and then folding his arms and going mum once again.

Aziraphale supposed the doctor must have learned something from that. Privately it made him pleased. It showed a smidgen of familiar exhibitionism.

On Thursday night Aziraphale ‘graduated’ from the fifth grade. It was a rather silly to-do, including paper mortarboards, children warbling their way through songs about the good old days, and a slideshow of memories most of which were photos from the class picnic two days prior. The most mortifying moment, however, was when Aziraphale was called up to receive a reward for ‘Academic Excellence’. It was a bit like giving a rocket ship the prize for winning a horse race. It wasn’t quite fair to the horses.

Ridiculous as the whole affair was, it had the benefit of getting Crowley out of the house to do something unrelated to his recent change of affairs. He seemed utterly fascinated as he sat in the audience watching the fifth graders up on stage. Aziraphale supposed he’d never seen so many children in one place before- not since he’d been born anyway.

When all of it was over, and Aziraphale had received many unearned hugs and congratulations from the Clarks, Crowley stared at him intensely. His mouth opened soundlessly a few times, before he shut it.

He wanted to say something. Ask something, if Aziraphale had to guess. But Crowley clammed right up, as though he didn’t trust that he could actually say the words.

Still, Aziraphale had caught the moment and it gave him an inkling of an idea. Perhaps Crowley recalled nothing of his real self, perhaps he would never quite be what Aziraphale remembered, but the core of him was the same. The trick to getting him to open up wasn’t to coddle or coax or to ask him questions, it was to get him to do the asking.

Aziraphale began his plan on Friday, just before bed. They had finished with Pooh the previous evening and he’d been thinking, originally, that Alice in Wonderland would make for a fine next choice. Instead, Aziraphale smuggled an untouched copy of Paradise Lost from Elijah’s church office. It was perfect for his purposes, difficult enough for even the most educated speaker of modern English, let alone a six-year-old who’d barely mastered the alphabet.

Crowley would have to ask him what was going on in the story or, at the very least, ask him to stop reading it. Even that would be an improvement; he hadn’t said a thing since his arrival.

Unfortunately, Aziraphale had over shot. They passed confusion and hit boredom so quickly that Crowley was asleep and snoring fifteen lines in.

Aziraphale was undeterred. Over the next few days he made all manner of attempts at coaxing forth a question. He tried to teach Crowley how to play chess, helped him put together a track for little die cast cars, and created Avant Garde works when they were coloring. None of it was effective.

Elijah had foiled the first plan. When he’d walked into the living room to discover the two boys playing chess, he’d suggested a four person game instead. After that there’d been no need for Crowley to ask questions. The Trouble Game, which turned out to be nothing more than a pathetic, plastic imitation of Pachisi, did not require much explanation. Crowley played without looking either of the adults in the eye. Although he did cast a rather wicked grin in Aziraphale’s direction after sending his poor yellow pawn home for the fourth time.

As to the plan with the tracks, that had been an abysmal failure because Crowley did not care to follow directions. Aziraphale had helped him empty out a new box of toys, dumping little tracks made of bright orange plastic onto the floor of their bedroom. He’d gone for the directions immediately, certain that Crowley would have to ask him what to do if they were going to create the “Power Loop” displayed on the packaging. But he’d been wrong to assume that that was what Crowley wanted to do in the first place. Instead, he’d gathered up all the available pieces and headed into the hallway. He spent the next hour or so carefully creating a road that would shoot every unfortunate miniature driver off a ramp and down the stairs of the Clarks’ home.

He’d been silent the whole time, but Aziraphale stayed beside him anyway. It was the first time that Aziraphale had seen this human version of Crowley look anything but wary and vigilant.

For the plan with artwork, Crowley simply missed the point. When Edith set them up with markers, crayons, and paper pinched from Elijah’s printer, Aziraphale had decided to do his best impression of modern art. He considered the colors available to him from the limited pallet of Crayola’s eight pack, then carefully made broad geometric shapes. A bright yellow circle stood beside a thin red triangle, close, but never touching. He showed it to Crowley, awaiting his questions as to its meaning, but instead Crowley took it as an invitation for improvement. He added a black car in one corner.

He was either being obtuse or remembered far more than he was letting on. Looking at his marker smudged face, Aziraphale supposed there was the third possibility of him just being six.

And so it went on. Two weeks of waking to Crowley crying to himself in the middle of the night, two weeks of near silence otherwise. After believing that he’d finally made everything right, Aziraphale was starting to feel like a failure again. He stirred his Frosted Flakes with the air of a depressed old man remembering fond days that could never return. In fairness, this was close to the truth.

The tiger on the box would not stop grinning at him.

“Alright boys, just because it’s summer doesn’t mean you can stay in your PJs all day,” Edith said over her own, now completed, breakfast. “We’ve got some shopping to do. And if you’re both good we’ll grab some ice cream from the truck in the park before we come home. How does that sound?”

Crowley shrugged without looking up.

“Just lovely. May I ask what sort of shopping we’ll be doing?”

“Tony needs some new clothes. I’ve stayed home from church with him the past couple weeks, but he’s been doing so well I thought he could try attending with us. So we need to get some church clothes.” She smiled fondly in Crowley’s direction. He glared at his cereal.

Half an hour later, breakfast done, and waiting by the door to leave, Aziraphale pulled Edith aside. Behind her, he could see Crowley struggling with the Velcro of his trainers, so he spoke quietly. “Do you… Do you really think he’s doing well? He’s been more quiet since he came to stay with us than he ever was before. He used to speak to his mother, even if it was mostly whispers. What if we’ve actually made everything worse?”

“Ezra, it’s been less than three weeks and he’s already drawing and playing and building. Yes, he’s awful jumpy and he’s scared to talk, but he’s doing really well. And a lot of that has to do with you. You’ve been an amazing friend. You’ve just got to adjust your expectations a little.”

Perhaps that was it after all. His expectations were off. He kept remembering the friend he had lost to the detriment of properly considering the child before him. He couldn’t expect this little shade of Crowley to just become him overnight.

And so Aziraphale tried to pull back. As they went about their shopping trip he helped and laughed and talked with Crowley, no longer trying to cajole some sort of response. It was certainly a less stressful way to go about his day, and it let him take better stock of how the boy was actually doing. He was smiling more than he had been a week ago. He did seem more comfortable with Edith. He was doing better and, just by watching him, so was Aziraphale.

But that morning’s depression came back with the striking force of hurricane winds when their chores came to a close and Edith took them to the park. Here he was, beside a duck pond, ice cream in one hand, Crowley by his side, and it all made Aziraphale feel terribly lonely. He sat on the bank, knees curled up to his chest, and despondently nibbled his fudge bar. As if to make matters worse, he’d just discovered that you couldn’t even get a 99 on this side of the Atlantic.

If he’d been in another mood, he might have appreciated the day for what it was. The sun was beating hard, working towards a strong 85 degrees Fahrenheit where ever its rays could reach. He and Crowley, however, were nestled in the cool grass below the overspreading branches of a kindly oak. From here they could watch the ducks in comfort.

Aziraphale gazed, millennia of waterfowl parading before his mind’s eye. In London, in Mesopotamia, in Eden. Beside him, Crowley just saw ducks.

Yet, just ducks, was enough. He gazed, open mouthed, completely absorbed in their every movement. Aziraphale didn’t notice at first, not until Crowley’s forgotten Batman popsicle had melted clear away, turning his arm blue from hand to elbow.

“Anthony! Look at you, you’re an absolute mess. What on earth were you thinking about?”

Aziraphale hadn’t expected a response. They were just words to say while he tutted and mopped with the napkins Edith had entrusted to him before settling herself on a bench. He hadn’t expected a response, but he got one.

Crowley turned to him, looked him straight in the eyes, and spoke his first words to Aziraphale while not in a state of distress. “Do ducks have ears?”

“I… what..?”

At the sound of his confusion, Crowley pulled back. He curled in on himself, shame and a touch of fear evident on his face. Aziraphale could almost see it now: Benjamin yelling or mocking every time Crowley asked a question, crushing him down until he learned to never say a word. Aziraphale wanted to ask him if that was the case, wanted to hold him close and pat his head and tell him it was okay to be curious.

But Crowley didn’t need that right now. He needed to have his questions answered with respect.

And Aziraphale could answer, because he’d been asked that before- in 1862. He’d looked it up afterward, not yet realizing just how upset Crowley really was over their conversation. Eighty years later, when they finally spoke again, he’d forgotten to share what he learned, “In a manner of speaking, they do have ears. There are holes, just behind their eyes, that are covered by special feathers to keep them safe.”

Slowly, Crowley unfurled. He turned to Aziraphale and gazed at him with such naked adoration that the angel squirmed. Very softly he asked, “Why are their feet like that?”

“Those webs between their toes let them paddle more easily through the water, because they can push more of it at a time.”

“An’ how come they’ve got beaks?”

“I don’t actually know that one,” Aziraphale admitted, “But we can look it up at home. Would you like that?”

Crowley nodded, enthusiastically enough that his red fringe danced on his forehead. Then he added a shy, “Yeah.”

Aziraphale was over the moon for the rest of the day. After Crowley was sufficiently cleaned and no longer sticky from the disaster with his ice lolly, the two of them spent the afternoon laying on their stomachs poring over books about animals. Now that Crowley had begun asking questions, he seemed incapable of stopping. He pointed to pictures of gorillas, giraffes, and guinea pigs.

“Why is his fur like that?”

“Why is its neck so long?”

“How come they’re called that if they’re not pigs?”

And, whenever the text or his own experience allowed him to, Aziraphale answered. When the explanation was beyond him, he’d write the question down for later, telling Crowley that they could go to the library or the computer to find what they needed. More important than the answers, was that Crowley know his questions mattered.

Although he went mute again when Edith came to get them for dinner, the chattering returned at bedtime. Crowley peppered Aziraphale with questions until he exhausted himself and they both drifted off to sleep. Aziraphale had not slept more peacefully in his entire stint as a human. It made him all the more groggy when he woke at two in the morning to the sound of muffled sobs.

“Cro- Anthony? Do you want to talk about it? We can, you know.” He was met with silence, and Aziraphale’s stomach fell. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe he’d gone and ruined the whole day.

A small voice derailed his worry, “I… I… don’ wanna.”

“Oh! Well, that’s alright too. We could talk about something else…” Aziraphale whispered. The Clarks’ bedroom was just down the hall and he didn’t want to wake them. Their arrival would break the fragile balance of the moment. “Do you have any other questions?”

“Yeah. Could… could I…sleep over there?”

It wasn’t a voice Aziraphale knew well. It was too high, too fragile, too American, to be the Crowley he knew. But just the same, his heart clenched at the desperation in that little plea. “Of course, my dear boy.”

The bed across the room creaked, followed by the padding sound of bare toes on hard wood flooring. Then suddenly there was a little form beside Aziraphale, snuggled up against his side beneath the sheet, close enough that strands of red hair tickled his nose.

“Th- thanks. It’s nicer with you, Angel.”

And Aziraphale, his heart melting, had to agree. Whatever the situation, it was nicer when they were together. It always had been.