Chapter Text
“Hold me like you would a photograph. From the edges, and lightly.” Because anything more and I’d be stained; sullied by the desire of what would always and inevitably leave me undone.1
The Antichrist had been on earth for 24 hours.
While in London's Soho, an angel and a demon had been drinking solidly for the last 6 of them.
“Even if I wanted to help, I couldn't,” Aziraphale insisted. “I can't interfere with the Divine Plan.”
“What about diabolical plans? You can't be certain that thwarting me isn't part of the Divine Plan too,” Crowley swayed forward, his eyes alight with fire. “I mean, you're supposed to thwart the wiles of the Evil One at every turn, aren't you?” Aziraphale seemed ready to interject, but Crowley didn't give him the chance. “See a wile, ya thwart, am I right?”
“I…” He was, in fact, right. That was his job description. “Broadly. Actually, I encourage humans to do the actual-”
“But the Antichrist has been born. But it's the upbringing that's important; the influences. The evil influences, that's all going to be me,” Crowley trailed off, but his snake eyes lingered, piercing him. “It'd be too bad if someone made sure that I failed…”
“If you put it that way…” Crowley gave a small knowing smile, he knew he had him. “Heaven couldn't actually object if I was thwarting you.”
“No... It'd be a real feather in your wing.”
Aziraphale thought about it for a little while longer, knowing full well he had already made up his mind. Without breaking his eye contact with the demon, he reached over and offered his hand for a handshake. Crowley shook it with a cunning smile.
“We'd be godfathers, sort of. Overseeing his upbringing. We do it right, he won't be evil. Or good, he'll jus'... be normal.”
Aziraphale was finally, completely on board. He gave a broad, hopeful smile. “It might work! Godfathers,” he said, wishfully. “Well, I'll be damned!”
Crowley's eyes mellowed in a manner equal parts scheming and flirtatious. “It's not that bad when you get used to it.”
They were all set with their plan, their secret identities acquired, their roles discussed. They were mere hours from setting it all in motion.
And then Crowley got a phone call.
“Wot?” he answered, already knowing it wasn't anyone he was interested in talking to.
“M— Master Crowley?” he heard the voice on the other end of the line, tentative and exhausted. The lady was clearly scared of him, and he hadn’t even had to lift a finger. Good . He felt a smirk forming on his lips and made himself comfortable in his big chair.
“Who is it?” He knew his smile was audible by that point, but he was already plotting how to increase the terror the caller felt, so it wasn't that big of a deal.
“It's— Sister Mary Loquacious, sir. F— from the convent?”
The name didn't ring a bell but the convent sure did. The job was done, the Antichrist was already home, what did they want from him? “Right. What d'you want?”
“There's been a mistake, sir,” Sister Mary, apparently, began, now a little more confidently. “It appears—” she hesitated for a second, long enough for a long exasperated sigh to leave the demon's lips. “It appears there's a chance that the Antichrist has been mislaid, sir.”
Well, that ought to get his attention. He shot up from his desk and his grip on the receiver nearly put a dent in it. Every hint of a smile being on his lips had now disappeared and been replaced with a deep frown.
“What do you mean a chance?” Making Sister Mary weep wasn't exactly his goal, but he felt proud of the fact nonetheless.
“I— I mean—” she was barely managing to get her words out between sniffles. “Definitely, definitely been mislaid. I am so sorry, Master Crowley— we— we would have figured it out sooner, but— there was a fire, you see, and—”
“So— wait—” she kept throwing apologies at him, not letting him get a word in. “Jus' shut up for a second!” Sister Mary conceded, and immediately all that could be heard from the other end of the line was quietened sniffles. “Where is the kid?” Crowley gave himself a mental pat on the back for being able to refrain from screaming at the woman and then burning down the convent a second time for good measure.
“He— he's still in Tadfield, sir,” she replied timidly.
“Right,” he bit back. “I'm gonna need more than that, Sister Mary.” Honestly, he felt he deserved an award for managing to keep his voice level low and now start throwing curses at her. Actual curses.
“I'm afraid that's all I can do, sir. I told you—”
“Records! There must've been records,” he exclaimed as if he’d had the most brilliant idea.
“Y— yes, there were lots of records. We are very good at keeping records,” Sister Mary sounded almost proud, while mere seconds earlier her voice betrayed her terror.
“Well, where are they?” If there was a little more growling in his voice than was strictly necessary, nobody could blame him. If head office caught a sniff of that little mistake , he would be in way more trouble than those nuns.
“Burned in the fire, sir. I told you—”
“Oooooh, Hastur!” Crowley's patience was wearing dangerously thin. But he knew that screaming at the woman wouldn't help her give him the information he needed, so he took a deep breath instead. Aziraphale would’ve been proud. “Do you know anything about where the kid is?”
“O— only that he's still in Tadfield, sir. His parents— I thought his dad was the American Ambassador, you see, I mean— he didn't sound American but I thought that's what years in the country would do to a man— I guess—”
“Right. Ta, I'll look into it,” Crowley interrupted her ramblings. Without waiting for a response, he slammed the receiver down and hung up on her.
Running his hands across his face, he allowed a few — well deserved — profanities to escape his lips. “Damn it. Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT! Blasted bollocks— they had ONE FUCKING JOB!”
Without wasting any more time, he picked the receiver back up and quickly dialled Aziraphale's number. He was now pacing in front of his desk, as far as the telephone cord would allow him — which, thanks to a miracle, was basically the length of the room2. Before long, Aziraphale picked up, ready to politely — but firmly — turn down who he thought to be a customer.
“I'm afraid we can't be of service at the moment, we are quite definitely closed,” his clearly well-rehearsed customer voice was ridiculous, nothing like the voice he used with Crowley, and if a fire wasn't lit under both their arses, he probably would have made fun of him.
“It's me. There's a problem. Meet me at the main rendezvous spot.”
“The main— is it the—”
“The old bandstand, angel. Heaven, you would make a terrible secret spy.”
“Well, I'm sorry I'm not used to all those ridiculous code names.” He was almost offended at the implication he would be a good spy, so it took him a while to register Crowley's initial words. “Problem? ”
“I'll tell you about it when we meet. But— you better stop hand-sewing your gardener's costume.”
“I wasn't—”
“Yeah, yeah, don't bother. We both know you were.” He couldn't help the snicker that left his mouth. “Actually, on second thought, I'm picking you up at the bookshop. We're going for a drive. See you in 15.” Again, he didn't wait for a response and slammed the handset back on its base.
Aziraphale, on the other side, didn't have time to refute anything Crowley said, since the line went immediately dead.
Right. Problem. They hadn't even begun and there's an obstacle already.
“You've lost the boy—”
“We 've lost!” Crowley refused to be the only one responsible for the— mishap.
“A child has been lost! But— you still know—”
“We know!” Crowley snapped at the cars in front of him, opening a barely wide enough path for the Bentley to pass through.
“...his birthday, that ought to help,” Aziraphale's desperation was seeping through in his speech, but he did need something else to focus on besides Crowley's horrendous driving.
“You make it sound easy,” Crowley commented, for once letting the disappointment of the situation overtake him.
“Well, it can't be that hard,” Aziraphale insisted. “How many kids could've been born in one day in a tiny village in the middle of— where did you say that hospital was?”
“A village near Oxford; Tadfield.”
“Right. Well, all we need to do is ask around, knock on some doors.”
“And then what?”
“And then we find the child,” Aziraphale said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“And then what?” Crowley repeated. Aziraphale couldn't be sure, but he was fairly certain there was an eye roll with those words. Crowley turned his head and looked at him, anxiously awaiting to hear some sort of plan. And, well, there's only so much a demon can do while driving.
“Watch out for that pedestrian!” Aziraphale exclaimed, reaching over to firmly grip on the dashboard, in an attempt to calm his nerves.
“She's on the street, she knows the risk she's taking!” Crowley argued, but he did swerve the car at the last second, turning back to look at the angel.
“Just watch the— watch the road!” Oh, now there definitely was an eye roll. And a mocking head shake.
Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale went back to their conversation.
“I— I just hope nothing's happened to him,” he mumbled, anxiously fidgeting with the ring on his pinky finger, a habit he's picked up ever since he first got the ring on.
“Hap— nothing's happened to him,” Crowley retorted. “He happens to everything!”
“Crowley you can't do 90 miles per hour in central London!” Aziraphale's attention unfortunately focused on the speedometer behind the wheel.
“Why not?” The demon had the audacity to lift his hands off the wheel, mockingly raising them in surrender, while also managing to have an incredulous look in his face. Fiend.
“You'll get us killed!” He heard the words the moment they left his mouth and rushed to correct himself. “Well— inconveniently discorporated.” Oh, the paperwork would've been a complete nightmare. In an attempt to calm his nerves, he turned to the glove compartment where he knew Crowley kept his CDs. “Music! Why don't I put on a little... music?” He took a couple of cases out and looked through them. “What's a Velvet Underground?”
“You wouldn't like it,” Crowley warned him. He never liked his music anyway, save for a couple Queen songs he'd caught him hum every now and again.
“Oh... Be-bop.”
If anyone accused Crowley of intentionally cutting the upcoming turn very abruptly, just so he could punish Aziraphale for his little comment about Velvet Underground, they would be correct, but Crowley would never admit to it. Nevertheless, he didn't bother to hide his smile when the angel gripped on the door handle with his left hand and on his bicep with the right one, letting out a horrified shriek.
The rest of the trip went by in some comfortable — yet increasingly anxious — silence, broken every once in a while for a little comment on their trip or on their most recent assignments. When they passed a sign that said 'Welcome to Tadfield', Crowley slowed his driving considerably, and not because the sign read with tiny letters 'Please drive carefully'. Definitely not. It was because he had a job to do.
“Right. Knock on some doors, you said?” He was glancing around, eyes restlessly jumping from house to house, as if there was going to be another sign that read 'Missing Antichrist here', with a big, flashing arrow pointing to the house. Well, a demon could only hope.
“I don't see you coming up with any plans,” Aziraphale retorted, finally easing his death grip on the hand rest above the door, now that he could finally hear his thoughts over the roaring of the engine. “Come on, I'm sure finding the Antichrist won't be that much harder than never losing him in the first place.”
Crowley pulled over at the side of the road, just at the start of a little neighbourhood. He glanced over at Aziraphale, clearly not appreciating the apparent sass in the angel's voice.
Without a word more, they got out of the car and approached the house closest to them. Crowley gave a mocking little bow, allowing Aziraphale to walk in front of him and ring the doorbell, while he lurked behind, but not too far away.
While they waited for someone to answer the door, the demon observed the houses around them. They all seemed fairly similar to begin with; picturesque houses of brick and mismatched stone, each having their own details beneath roofs of worn mosaic. It was a neighbourhood of brilliant contrast, with its array of dark oak beams and stark white window frames warring against intricate curves and arches. Regardless, it was the greenery that caught his eye; azaleas and ivy adorned almost every windowsill, like splotches of red and green on weathered canvas.
The door finally opening drew Crowley's attention back to the task at hand. It revealed a young girl, no older than 7 or 8 years old. Crowley’s eyes pierced through her very soul, his death stare not in the least diminished by his Persol sunglasses. The girl simply stood there, unimpressed, and Crowley prepared for the worst. Even though she probably wouldn’t pose a threat, he opted for assuming his usual role of the guard dog— just in case. The angel had always been better at negotiations anyway.
“Um, hello dear,” the angel began, leaning forward a bit to get closer to eye level with the girl. "Are your parents home, by any chance?" He had put on the sweetest smile he could possibly muster at that point, which was way more than anyone would be able to do. He'd had a lot of practice.
“DAAAAAAAAD!” The young girl shouted over her shoulder, then looked back at the two of them with an expression that was nothing if not utterly bored. There was some similarly bored muffled yelling in response to hers and she continued. “There's two men here asking for you!”
Aziraphale managed to catch the dad's response, but even if he didn't, the door shutting immediately to his face would have been enough to figure it out. One inch closer and he would have a broken nose to mend.
“No— wait—!” Aziraphale's words made no difference, the sound of the door slamming shut almost reverberating around them.
“That went well,” Crowley snickered behind him, earning him an unimpressed glare from the angel who felt the need to straighten his bow tie, stepping away from the door and moving on to the next one.
“You know, you could have helped.” He hesitated before knocking on the door, waiting for his friend's response.
“Yes, I could've, but then I wouldn't have watched an 8 year old girl slam a door to your face, now, would I?” The demon didn't even pretend to be put out by it, the delighted grin in his face saying everything his words weren't.
“See— as I recall, you were the one responsible for the Ant—” he managed to catch the word before it left his lips completely, remembering where he was and realising that anyone could hear him. “For the child going to the correct family. And now he's lost, and you're not even trying to help.”
“I did drive us here, didn't I?” Crowley looked almost offended at the implication he wasn't doing anything to help, but he didn't bother to argue any further with the angel. “Fine, step aside, let me handle this.”
He knocked on the door and rolled his eyes once again at Aziraphale's expectant little smirk. Part of him wondered if Aziraphale secretly hoped that a door does get slammed in his face. Before long, they could hear slowly approaching footsteps, feet dragging on the floor, and then the door was open, revealing a little old lady, not much taller than the girl next door. Crowley did actually lean closer, ignoring Aziraphale's self satisfied smile.
To the angel's surprise, Crowley snapped his fingers in an upward motion, and the lady straightened her back and went rigid, her words dying in her mouth.
“You didn't have to do that, you know,” Aziraphale quipped. “You could've just asked her!”
Crowley looked back at his friend, his eyebrows raised so high you could see them above his sunglasses.
“Oh— of course— of course, no, yeah! Excuse me, ma'am,” he turned to the old lady, “we're two supernatural entities jus' looking for the notorious son of Satan. Wonder if you might help us with our enquiries?” His voice had gone up by an octave now, mockingly exaggerating on his accent and over-annunciating every consonant. He was directing his words at the lady, but his eyes were fixed on Aziraphale's face, his eyebrows not resting back down for a second.
Aziraphale didn't bother to dignify his little outburst with a response, and instead stepped closer to the lady after Crowley repeated his 'the floor is yours' bow from earlier.
“Um, hello.” Aziraphale spoke with a gentle voice, no need to scare the poor woman now that she was completely powerless against them. “You haven't by any chance noticed—” Crowley was now hanging from his every word, wondering how the sentence was going to end. Was he really about to ask if that lady had seen the Antichrist? “... I mean— has anyone around, recently, 4 nights ago to be precise, um— had a— a baby?”
Crowley mockingly nodded at him, pursing his lips in the meantime, clearly disapproving of his choice of words. Not that he would ever admit it out loud, but he didn't actually have a much better way to go around that plan of theirs.
“What baby?” The lady asked, speaking slowly.
“Um— no, I mean— have there been any births... Around...?” Aziraphale attempted to clarify, vaguely waving his hand in the air.
“This is not a hospital,” the lady replied, just as slowly, but her eyebrow did raise slightly. If you asked him, Aziraphale would say she was rather cheeky, for an entranced old lady.
“I know that, my good woman, I'm just—”
“Look, have you seen anyone with a newborn around this week?” Crowley's patience gave out, and he decided to actually try and be helpful.
“Mmmno. No newborns.” The eyebrow went back to its place at the same speed it came up, which was ridiculously slow.
“Right. Let's go, angel.” Crowley walked away but Aziraphale hindered for a second longer.
“You will wake having had a lovely dream about what you like best,” Aziraphale whispered to her. Crowley threw a quiet 'oi' his way, when he noticed he wasn't following. The angel snapped his fingers in a downward motion and walked away hurriedly to catch up with him.
The lady blinked a few times and shook her head as if to clear it, before allowing a smile to break through her face and closing the door without sparing a second look at the men fleeting from her doorstep.
The two of them knocked on every single door without exception. At around the 9th door, Crowley was dragging his feet, whining about the 'stupid plan' they had to come up with in order to 'locate the blasted baby' that 'shouldn't have even been fucking lost in the first place' .
Aziraphale pointedly ignored his protests and knocked gently on the door, glancing at the demon who was putting way too much faith on the old railing at the entryway. The poor thing screeched and shook in protest of the demon leaning his whole weight on it, but stopped when Crowley gave it a stern stare as if he said 'don't you dare break under my weight' . And it wouldn't.
After the third time Crowley had snapped his fingers at the residents in order to get them to answer truthfully, Aziraphale noted how, if anything, this slowed them down because the humans took ages to answer. So Crowley opted to go back to his first role of lurking behind him and looking intimidating. Granted, the intimidation levels had plummeted now that he was exhausted and extremely bored. But the lurking stood firm. He could do that in his sleep.
The door opened, revealing a man around his mid to late thirties, if Crowley's calculations were to be trusted. Generally they weren't, he really was horrible at guessing the humans' age, but when he paid enough attention he could make a fairly accurate guess. And he was paying attention. The man was wearing horrid tight jean shorts and an even tighter yellow tank top, which would have been fine, given the hot August day, it really should have been.
Upon noticing the way that stranger was eyeing Aziraphale up from the second the door swung open, though, Crowley had to bite his tongue in order to stop himself from snapping his fingers and either lighting him whole on fire or throwing 3 more layers of clothing on top of him.
Or both. Both is good.
“Hello there,” the stranger drawled, now fixing his eyes on Aziraphale's face. Disgusting. He didn't even seem to notice Crowley straightening up next to him, or even the grateful responding squeak of the railing.
“Oh, hello, young man. I was wondering if you've noticed anyone in the neighbourhood recently having had a baby, by any chance?” His question had been well rehearsed by that point.
The man leaned against the door frame and his smile widened, but also turned sly. Oh, Crowley's fingers were itching to snap the smile off his face. The man was practically undressing the angel with his eyes by that point.
“I don't know, but we can give it a try, if you'd like.” On second thought, Crowley really wanted to punch the smile off his face. Yes, that would be more satisfying.
Aziraphale, ever the naive angel when it came to flirting, dignified his comment with a response.
“What— no, I mean— if— look,” he took a deep breath. “We're looking for a newborn. Well— his family, really, I guess,” he turned around to glance at Crowley and noticed the stern look on his friend's face. He furrowed his brows at him, losing his thought process for a moment. Was the man dangerous? What is Crowley even looking at? “A couple had a baby recently and— you see— they forgot to sign some paperwork at the hospital and— and we're trying to track them down, and get them to fill out some... forms.” He lied through his teeth and Crowley broke his staring for a second to raise an impressed eyebrow at him.
“I can help you look,” the man suggested, realising that his innuendos would get him nowhere with this one. To Crowley's dismay, the smug smile never wavered and only grew more confident when he finally turned to see the stare directed at him. “Want to come inside for some lemonade? It's a hot day,” the man made a gesture with his hands as if to fan his face.
“No, we got it, thanks,” Crowley retorted. He all but dragged Aziraphale away, ignoring the way the angel was trying to apologise for his friend's outburst.
“Right, well, you know where to find me,” the man said before shutting the door, shooting them one last wink.
Crowley didn't let go of Aziraphale's arm until they were standing in front of the house across the street from the last one.
“Thank me later,” was all he said and moved to walk up the little path that led to the front door.
“Excu— thank you? For what? Being utterly daft and rude to the young man? He was trying to help, Crowley! Which is more than I can say for some of the people we've encountered today.” He ran his hands over his clothes in an attempt to restore his dignity after Crowley's little display.
“Yeah, he was trying to help! Help his way into your pants,” Crowley muttered through his teeth, turning around to look at him.
Aziraphale sounded utterly scandalised. “Pardon?”
“He was flirting with you, Aziraphale. Before he even spoke, somehow. Didn't you see how he was looking at you?”
“Don't be preposterous, dear, he was just friendly,” Aziraphale brushed off Crowley's concerns and walked up to join him in front of the door.
“He was not! Come on angel, even you can't be this clueless. The man practically invited you to his bed.”
“He did no such thing, Crowley, you are most assuredly exaggerating.” Crowley noted the faint blush on the angel's cheeks and thought it best for his mental health to ignore the implications thereof. “Besides, even if he was,” Aziraphale began and tried his best to contain the smug smile upon seeing Crowley's challenging eyebrow rise back up. “What is it to you? I could have handled it, if things got out of control.”
“I— wh— I thou— ngk— well—” Crowley took a deep breath in an attempt to get his thoughts in order and his mouth to cooperate with them. “Pardon me for trying to help you get out of an uncomfortable situation, I promise I will never do it again.”
He would do it again.
To his chagrin, the angel smirked. “The only one that was uncomfortable with that interaction, my dear, was you.”
No way of getting out of this hole now. If managing to get words that would form any sort of sensible sentence were hard before, now it would be well-nigh impossible. Be that as it may, it didn’t matter anyway, because Aziraphale raised his hand to knock on the door, before once again tugging down his vest from its worn out edge.
A few seconds passed and nothing was heard from the other side of the door, so Aziraphale knocked again, a little louder this time.
Nothing.
When ringing the bell didn't seem to help either, they turned away and walked back to the street wordlessly, side by side.
“You'd think he'd show up, wouldn't you?” Aziraphale inquired absent-mindedly after a moment of silence. “You'd think we could detect him in some way.”
“He won't show up, not to us,” Crowley responded. The angel threw a questioning glance his way so he elaborated. “Protective camouflage. He won't even know it, but his powers will keep him hidden from... prying occult forces.”
“Occult forces?!”
Crowley turned to look at him when he noticed the offended tone in his voice. “You and me,” he replied, as if it was self-explanatory.
“I'm not occult!” Aziraphale objected. Ignoring Crowley's teasing 'oh!', he continued. “Angels aren't occult, we're ethereal!”
“Right, my apologies, your holiness.” His mocking tone wasn't appreciated but Aziraphale opted to return to the matter at hand.
“Well, is there some other way of locating him?”
“How the Heaven should I know? Armageddon only happens once, you know. You don't get to go around again until you get it right.” They came to a stop in front of the next house and Crowley knocked on the door before whispering conspiratorially. “But I know one thing. If we don't find him, it won't be the war to end all wars, it'll be the war to end everything.”
“Can I help you?” A middle aged woman opened the door to them, and they could hear children playing behind her in the house. They exchanged a look and Aziraphale took the lead.
“Good evening, ma'am, sorry to disturb you.” The smile on his face was vaguely mirrored on her own. “We were wondering if you've noticed that a young woman had a baby recently?”
“What's her name?” The lady asked, protectively blocking the entryway.
“I— well— no, it's not—” Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley for help, but he shook his head slightly, as if he was saying 'I don't know what to say either'.
“Right. Go away, or I'm calling the police,” she warned, and before she had a chance to do so, Crowley snapped his fingers at her and stepped closer.
“You will forget this ever happened, we were simply travellers passing by, asking for directions,” he growled at her ear before snapping again.
The smile returned on her face, more genuine this time. “Have a nice day, gentlemen!” She closed the door before they even turned away, and they both breathed sighs of relief.
How did that detail escape them? Most importantly, how come nobody else thought to ask that question?
“You know, we might get another human to find him,” Aziraphale suggested once they were far enough from the house.
Crowley looked at him for a couple of seconds, before speaking. “Wot?”
“Humans are good at finding other humans. They've been doing it for thousands of years. And the child is partly human. Other humans might be able to sense him.”
“He's the Antichrist. He's got an automatic defence... thingy. Suspicion slides off him like…” Like? He swore it was on the tip of his tongue. “Whatever it is water slides off.”
“Got any better ideas?” They arrived at another door, skipping a couple after the woman who threatened to call the police, just to be safe. “Or one single better idea?”
Crowley threw a sideways glance towards Aziraphale to let him know that, no, he did not have any other ideas, but that didn't excuse Aziraphale's cheeky tone. It was a very pointed glance. He knocked on the door and waited.
It had been hours and they were half way through the village. Crowley was getting more restless by the minute, his profanities getting all the more imaginative the longer their investigation went on.
There had been a few people telling them that there was, in fact, a woman that gave birth recently, but nobody had been able to point them in the direction of their house so far.
Thankfully, nobody else asked for the new mother's name, or threatened to call the police on them. And, if you asked Crowley, 'no more flirty comments' came in as the second worst thing that thankfully didn't happen again.
It was getting dark and nobody really opens the door to strangers at night anyway, so they decided to stop for the day and go back to the bookshop, continue in the morning.
Crowley led them back to the Bentley in silence, both their disappointment evident.
“Look, um… There's something I should tell you,” Aziraphale broke the — rare, now — silence after a really long series of curse words spat out by the demon. Crowley looked at him expectantly and allowed him to continue. “I have a… network… Of highly trained human agents spread across the country. Now, I could set them searching for the child.”
“You do? I act— I actually have something similar... Human operatives.”
“Gosh, do you think they ought to work together?”
“I don't think that's a very good idea,” said Crowley, recalling his most recent meeting with Sergeant Shadwell. The man had gone on and on about some 'southern pansy' he was in business with. “My lot are not very sophisticated, politically speaking.”
“No, no, neither are mine,” Aziraphale admitted, recalling his most recent meeting with Sergeant Shadwell, and how he kept calling him a 'southern pansy'. He hadn't decided if he was meant to have heard him call him so, and he thought it better not to dwell on it. “So, we tell our respective operatives to look for the baby. Unless you have a better idea...?”
“Ducks!” Crowley exclaimed, ignoring Aziraphale's question.
“What about ducks?!”
“They're what water slides off!” he turned to his left to give a victorious smile at the angel.
“Just— drive the car, please.”
They continued the drive in silence, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to them. Both were lost in their own thoughts and before long, Crowley was pulling over at the bookshop. Aziraphale hesitated before getting out of the car.
“Would you— would you be interested in a nightcap? So we can... Strategize for tomorrow, I guess?”
“I— yeah, that'd be fine. Sure you're not bored of me, yet?” Crowley's tone was mostly teasing, but Aziraphale would bet good money that the small smile he was plastering did not reach his eyes.
“Of course not, don't be silly. Come on.” Aziraphale left the car and walked towards the bookshop, only then stopping to check whether Crowley was following him.
The demon turned out to be right behind him, not expecting Aziraphale to pause in front of the door. His chest nearly collided with the angel's back, only stopping at the very last second before impact, though the curls right under Crowey’s nose weren’t much better. They both started exclaiming apologies before giving in and walking inside.
In the dimly lit bookshop, Crowley and Aziraphale were on their second bottle of wine, brainstorming strategies after their fruitless search in Tadfield. They tossed around ideas with varying degrees of feasibility.
“But I've spent so much time on my costume!” Aziraphale lamented, his voice tinged with frustration.
“I know, angel, but why'd you think Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis are going to be more successful than we were today?” the demon said, his tone softening as he tried to comfort him.
Aziraphale’s pout remained, Crowley’s playful sideways smile doing little to ease his frustration. It felt like such a waste of time and energy. And his best fabrics.
“Hey, Halloween's comin' up. How 'bout we take lady Ashtoreth and m' man Francis to the streets? You can take all the treats and I'll do the tricks,” his smile turned into a sly smirk and Aziraphale felt goosebumps cover his arms.
'My man' Aziraphale's brain kept repeating. Surely, Crowley didn't mean it that way, but it still set off a fluttering feeling in the angel's stomach.
“Wait, I have an idea.” Aziraphale sat up so abruptly, some of his wine almost spilled to the floor. Almost, because Crowley reflexively snapped his fingers and the few drops that were about to make their big escape thought better of it. Aziraphale was so taken by his excitement that he didn't even notice the miracle. “How about we tell them we are looking to buy a house?”
“What? How would that help with asking if they've seen a baby?” Crowley wasn't very drunk, but the exhaustion of the day paired with a good bottle of wine or two didn't leave him with the clearest of heads.
“We could ask if it's a family neighbourhood. People are always looking for family neighbourhoods,” Aziraphale reasoned.
“Yes, that's because they want to start their own families there. How many angels and demons do you know raising kids in the suburbs?”
“Well—” the angel gleamed, “they won't know we're angels and demons!”
Crowley blinked at the ceiling, slow and dazed, until it clicked. “Angel…” Then he was sitting up too. “Are you suggesting we go ask around... Pretending we're a couple ?”
The dubious look the demon shot his way rendered Aziraphale speechless. In a matter of seconds, all the confidence he’d felt evaporated. Suddenly, the not-so-lost original manuscript of The Forme of Cury 3 seemed a lot more interesting— humans would say he avoided Crowley’s eyes like the plague wouldn’t they; not that he’d have to avoid the plague, he was merely fond of their little expression. As if on reflex, words stumbled out of his mouth. “I— it's stupid— I've had a lot to drink— don't mind me— I— apologies, I—”
Crowley didn't even register Aziraphale's rain of excuses pouring his way. He was fairly certain that his own blush matched Aziraphale's — almost as certain as he was that Aziraphale wasn't going to comment on either of their heated faces.
“No— it's actually brilliant,” he breathed, finally putting a stop to Aziraphale’s incessant babbling.
At last, the angel looked up to meet his friend's gaze, a bit hopeful. “You really think so?” Crowley watched as Aziraphale’s blush creeped down his throat, but did not care to comment on it. Such things happened all the time and they'd learnt, by now, to blame them on the weather, or the lighting or, in this case, on the alcohol they'd been consuming.
“Yeah— I mean—” The words came out a little more choked than he would have liked. He cleared his throat, gulping down the unease. “Gives us an excuse to go around the neighbourhood, and nobody will question it if we end up finding the baby and staying there. I guess we can even buy a house next to them, keep an eye on him at all times.”
“Oh, oh that is great! Jolly good! Okay, we— there's a plan now!”
They exchanged satisfied smiles, relief written all over their faces. Crowley reached over to where they'd left the bottle with a miniscule sigh, topping both their glasses off before offering his own in a silent toast.
1. Undone, a story by Anam Sufi, read by none other than our very own David Tennant. Back to the story.
2. It happened when he first moved in, back in the 1950s. He had called Aziraphale under the pretence that he was simply checking to make sure his brand new phone worked. He had begun dialling sprawled over his golden throne, but the second the angel picked up, he sprung to his feet, incapable of containing the sudden spurt of energy. Annoyed by the limitations the cord was placing upon him, he snapped his fingers at it with a deep frown. The machine had no choice but to provide him with almost as much cord as he needed. Almost, because when he tried taking the phone to the other room he ended up stumbling over it and falling to his ass. Back to the story.
3. The Forme of Cury is an extensive 14th-century collection of medieval English recipes. Although the original manuscript is lost, the text appears in nine manuscripts, the most famous in the form of a scroll with a headnote citing it as the work of "the chief Master Cooks of King Richard II". Back to the story.