Chapter Text
“Quickly now, Pippin, please,” Aziraphale said, clapping his hands in a more agitated way than Crowley had seen him do in months. Which made sense; the last time had been Pippin's Easter performance, and the boy had taken ages to get himself ready. It had amused Crowley to no end to watch Aziraphale fret over getting to the school in time for the musical Pippin's class was doing. The words 'evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction' had echoed in his head, and Crowley gleefully watched as Aziraphale slowly but surely came to the devastating realization that their son, like him, loved taking his time getting ready for anything that required putting on your best clothes. Or, in this case, a costume.
Crowley checked his watch, and leaned against the frame of the door that led into the garage. “He still getting dressed?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I honestly don't remember Joseph having such a complicated outfit. Leather shoes, long robe with a belt, and a woollen cloak. Done.”
Aziraphale pursed his lips together. “Yes, well,” he muttered, glancing at his husband, “the school thought it would be a good idea to let the kids take their props home.”
Crowley groaned and thumped his head against the door frame. “So he's lost it.”
“He's misplaced it,” Aziraphale muttered, wringing his hands in front of him as he gazed up the stairs.
Crowley pulled his sunglasses from his pocket, in his turn looking at Aziraphale with a smirk he couldn't hold back despite his annoyance. “Sounds like an angel I know,” he said, snorting at the indignant huff he received in return.
“And not quite unlike a demon who keeps losing his car keys,” Aziraphale sniped without any real sting to his words. “You do have them now, don't you?”
Despite his husband clearly not meaning it, Crowley felt a flash of annoyance course through him. “Yes,” he snapped, jamming his glasses onto his nose and digging the keys out of his pocket, dangling them in front of Aziraphale's face maybe a bit too aggressively. “Now if you'll trust me with them, I'll go start up the car. Get Pippin, he can do it without the bloody staff. Joseph didn't even have a bloody staff to begin with!” He turned on his heels and shut the door behind him with more force than necessary, leaving Aziraphale to watch his retreating back with mild surprise.
Crowley snapped his fingers as he walked into the garage, the double doors opening automatically. A cold December wind immediately found its way inside now that the barrier was gone, but Crowley was already getting in the Bentley. The engine rumbled merrily as soon as he stuck the key in the ignition, and for a moment Crowley simply sat, both hands clutching the wheel as he took a few deep breaths to calm himself down.
Aziraphale hadn't meant it like that at all, Crowley knew that. And yet the words had stung. Mostly because they were true. He had been forgetful lately. His brain was like a sieve, his head hurt, he was tired, and since yesterday his stomach had decided to join the party and give him a near-permanent queasiness to boot. And the worst thing was, he knew exactly why.
Crowley's frame relaxed slightly with another sigh, and he rubbed small circles over his forehead. No, he told himself, he didn't know exactly why. He suspected why. A very strong suspicion, but only a suspicion nonetheless. And it would stay that way until he found the time to take one of the tests that lay in the back of the topmost shelf of one of the bathroom cupboards. Out of reach for the curious little fingers of Peregrine, and mostly out of sight to stop reminding Crowley of what a barren wasteland he assumed his corporation had become.
Until two weeks ago. Well over a year since he and Aziraphale had decided they'd like for Pippin to have a sibling and a few months after Crowley had damned just about every pregnancy test to Hell. (They had received them back not a day later, with a note that 'Hue Grant is still alive, but thanx for the torchur idea'.[1])
Aziraphale had huffed when he found out, and told Crowley to keep his chin up and hope for the best. Even when Crowley's period kept coming back every month, with the timeliness of the eight o'clock news, the angel simply insisted they keep trying, and told him to keep taking the tests. And sure enough, just when Crowley had been ready to throw in the towel, he'd missed his period. First by a few days, which then flowed into a week, which became two weeks without the usual cramps and bleeding. By then, Crowley had started eyeing the tests in the back of the cupboard, but he refused to take one yet. People missed periods all the time. There was still a fair chance for disappointment.
Two weeks passed, and still Crowley's uterus gave no sign of life. Or rather, that was exactly what it was doing
Now, after nearly three weeks of no indication whatsoever of his period arriving any time soon, Crowley promised himself to finally face the music and take a test. Tonight, after they got home from Pippin's nativity play. His stomach lurched at the thought, and he firmly rubbed his hand over it to try and make it settle. “Already more of a menace than your brother was, though. Far as I remember, anyway,” he muttered, just when the door opened and Pippin clambered over the front seats to sit in the back.
“I found the staff!”
“He found the staff,” Aziraphale confirmed, sounding both relieved and pained as he held up said staff. He got in and closed the door behind him before handing the prop to Pippin once the boy had done up his safety belt. “Let's go, dear, he's supposed to be there at five for the dress rehearsal.”
“Right, going,” Crowley nodded, pulling out of the garage. He saw Aziraphale gesture at the doors to close while he got the Bentley on the road, and drove off to the school at a pace his angel usually wouldn't allow. There were perks about being late to Christmas events.
*
Thank someone the school's gymnasium was dark enough to hide the light sheen of sweat that lay on Crowley's face. Not that it was all that warm in here, but between the rush to get Pippin to his class in time and then having to find seats so they could actually see their son's performance, Crowley's stomach had decided to kick it up a notch. He tried taking a couple of deep breaths again to calm it, but by the time the lights went out and the stage was lit, he wasn't sure how long he could stay seated. The only good thing about the situation was their seats; they were on the outside of the row, providing an easy escape if necessary. He crossed his arms over his chest, and slouched a little to try and force his body to relax. He managed, save for his leg jiggling restlessly.
“Would you stop it,” Aziraphale whispered, placing a hand on Crowley's knee and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It's fine. He knows his lines and cues. He's going to be just fine.”
Crowley couldn't help but smile. Trust Aziraphale to completely misinterpret his fidgeting while at the same time projecting his own nerves onto Crowley. He uncrossed his arms to cover his husband's hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. He brought it to his lips and pressed a quick kiss to it before lowering it onto his leg again. “He'll be great, angel,” he murmured, right as Joseph and Mary got onto the stage.
For the first twenty minutes or so, it helped to hold Aziraphale's hand; squeezing back when the angel did (which was every time when Pippin remembered his lines). It distracted Crowley enough from the churning of his stomach to enjoy the show the way any parent enjoyed the show; not particularly caring for the storyline, just proud that their kid was up on that stage delivering every line with gusto. He even managed to laugh along with the rest of the parents when the innkeeper announced the baking contest they were holding in Bethlehem, and Joseph said his wife must be baking the biggest cake of all. Even if he'd heard Pippin rehearse the lines over a hundred times before, the boy seemed to shine extra bright under the stage lights. All in all, it wasn't until the show neared its end that Crowley felt his situation became truly precarious.
Baby Jesus was born, and the cakes that had been baked for the competition by the shepherds, wise men and angels, were wheeled out onto stage. Ready to be judged.
Crowley just about managed to hold back a groan; he had completely forgotten about the actual bloody cakes. A few parents had baked them for the show, and were to be had with coffee and tea afterwards while they talked proudly about how well the children had performed. Something Crowley didn't particularly enjoy, but Aziraphale delighted in taking part in.
The sweet smell of the freshly-baked goods wafted from the stage into the public, and Crowley felt his saliva glands kick into overdrive. He could count the times he'd thrown up in his existence on one hand, but he knew this was usually the point of no return. So while the innkeeper pretended to taste and judged the cakes, Crowley gave Aziraphale's hand a quick squeeze before releasing it. He jumped up and made his way to the doors of the gym. Without letting too much light into the darkness of the makeshift theatre, Crowley slipped out as quietly as he could. As he made a frantic run for the lavatory, he tried not to think about Pippin's disappointed little face when he realized his papa had missed the ending of the show.
Thank Someone he knew the layout of the school a little bit; the only downside was that the nearest toilets were the ones for the first years, which meant he ended up kneeling in front of a tiny porcelain bowl fit for a toddler, emptying his stomach's contents in it. By the time he felt it was safe to flush and go rinse his mouth,he could faintly hear applause coming from the gym. He sighed, quickly miracled his mouth clean, and stepped out of the lavatory.
He made it back to the show during the encore number. Crowley didn't recognize it from any of the songs he'd been practising at home, so it was probably something the kids had practised only while at school, as a surprise for the parents.
The lights in the gymnasium were already back on, and Crowley hunched over a little as he sneaked over and slipped back into his chair. Aziraphale's hand immediately landed on his knee again. Crowley ignored it for now, searching for his son's face between the other expressions of relief and elation at a performance well done, and surprising their parents with an extra song to boot. He found Pippin within seconds, and smiled when he saw the boy's expression turn from mild distress to pure joy when he spied his father in the crowd again.
Ten minutes later, while the kids were clearing off the stage and the parents were chattering amongst themselves and complimenting each other on their kids' performances, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's elbow and gently took him to a slightly quieter corner. “What was that about? You just up and left,” he said, looking both worried and a little irritated. “Pippin nearly forgot his lines.”
“Wasn't sure if I'd locked the car,” Crowley said, stuffing his hands – well, fingers – in the pockets of his jeans as he looked over at the tables that stood against the wall. Coffee and tea were being poured out now, and the cake was getting sliced up by a woman he vaguely recognized as Pippin's teacher from last year. He only remembered because she'd screamed her head off at the kids for planting a bunch of flowers so they spelled out a rude word. Crowley smirked, but it faltered when he looked back at his husband.
“You missed almost a third of his performance,” Aziraphale said sourly, crossing his arms over his chest, “because you weren't sure whether you'd locked up the car?”
“Yeah,” Crowley said, feeling annoyance flash through him again. “Well, lucky thing I've already seen him rehearse it a hundred times at home, so I knew what was gonna happen anyway.”
“Crowley!”
Aziraphale's semi-quiet hiss of outrage made a few people look over, and Crowley winced, rubbing his temple to try and soothe the ache that seemed ever-present lately. “Look, fine,” he said after a few seconds. “I didn't go check on the car, I... Got sick.” He mumbled the last few words, and looked away from his husband so he wouldn't have to see the upset look on the angel's face. “Just... not here, yeah? We'll talk when we're at home. When Pip's in bed.” Crowley scuffed the toe of his shoe over the hardwood floor, his sole leaving a black skid mark on it. Nice. He looked back up at Aziraphale, expecting a scolding look. Instead, he was met with the endings of worry, and the beginnings of an understanding dawning on Aziraphale's face.
“Oh...” the angel said as a smile started to spread over his face. “Oh, Crowley, are you...?”
Crowley quickly shushed Aziraphale, and placed a hand on the small of his back to guide him away just a bit further from the other parents. “I haven't taken a test yet, I was planning on doing that tonight,” he said, his voice low, “but don't get your hopes up, alright? Might as well be nothing.”
“Are you late?” Aziraphale asked, still smiling widely, blatantly ignoring the advice of not getting his hopes up. “Oh, it explains so much, though, why you've been sleeping longer, why you've been so irritable lately...”
Crowley started shaking his head and held up a warning finger. “Angel, it's just a few- Ngk, hang on, what?” he huffed. “I haven't been 'so irritable lately'...” His voice trailed off, and he frowned a little. Thinking back on it, he may have been a bit short with people the past weeks. But honestly, who wouldn't when they felt so bloody tired all the time. He couldn't recall it being this exhausting the last time... In fact, he couldn't recall much from the last time at all, since he'd never known he was pregnant until Pippin was practically in his arms already. Had there been a period where he'd been bone-tired, though? He honestly didn't think so.
Shaking his head, Crowley brought himself back to the here and now. “Okay, fine. Maybe I have. Look, I've missed it by three weeks, it might just be like last summer.” He bit the inside of his cheek when Aziraphale's smile faltered and his expression became one of sympathy.
“My dear, we don't know for certain if that was... well... I mean it was rather... severe...” Aziraphale's optimism stuttered for a moment, but then he took Crowley's hand and squeezed it briefly. “But the test was negative, then,” he reminded his husband gently. “Even if it was, that doesn't have to mean it will be like that again.”
Crowley grunted wordlessly, looking out over the heads of the talking crowd to see if he could spot a tuft of copper amongst them. He took a deep breath, and shook his head. He met Aziraphale's eye again, and managed to reciprocate the angel's smile with a thin one of his own. “Let's hope so,” he said. “Just- Can we drop it until we're home? We can talk about it when Pip's tucked in and everything.”
Aziraphale squeezed his hand again and nodded. “You're right,” he agreed. “This is hardly the occasion for such discussions. How about a cup of tea, dear? How's your stomach?”
They made their way to one of the tables that held the tea and coffee, and Crowley made a face when the smell of cake became stronger. He paused. “How about you go get us those drinks,” he suggested, as his stomach gave an unpleasant roll again. “No cake for me. I'll stay in one place so Pippin can find us more easily.”
Aziraphale bustled off to the tables, and Crowley could immediately see him getting involved in some small talk with other parents. Shaking his head with a faux-rueful smile before cheerfully diving into probably some sort of explanation on why he hadn't made a cake, and how he was already quite busy with the preparations for their own Christmas feast. Which wasn't exactly a lie. A nod and laugh from the two mums Aziraphale was talking to, told Crowley he'd best have some patience for his tea.
He wasn't sure if he was happy with opportunity for his brain to mull over Aziraphale's wide smile at the news that Crowley's period had stayed out. The mere thought of it warmed him from the centre of his chest, but it also properly cemented the nerves he'd already been feeling about taking that test tonight.
They had been trying for well over a year now; if this was another negative test, Crowley wasn't sure if he had the mental resilience to keep trying much longer. Even if they did have all the time in the world to try for another baby, it felt more and more like he'd only been meant to create life once. And he hadn't even been able to marvel over the journey. Rather, he'd only truly realized what had happened once Peregrine was safe and sound in his arms...
“Papa!”
The cheerful cry made Crowley snap out of his own head. He turned around to see his son hurrying towards him, beaming brighter than Crowley had seen him do since he'd learned how to tie his shoelaces by himself. All worries forgotten for the moment, the demon went into a half-crouch, and scooped the boy up as soon as he was within reach, earning a delighted laugh from his son. “Heya, little star!” Crowley grinned, smacking a kiss to Peregrine's cheek. “Weren't you a fantastic Joseph! I'm proud of you.” He set the boy on his hip, and braced himself for a detailed description of how Pippin had experienced the evening.
By the time Pippin had gotten to the part where they had surprised all the parents with an extra song, Aziraphale joined them, carrying two paper cups with tea and one with lemonade, as well as a slice of chocolate cake. Crowley set Pippin back on the ground so he could have his cake, and offered to hold the lemonade so he'd have his hands free to eat his cake, first.
“Papa and I are so proud of you,” Aziraphale beamed, stroking back the unruly curls from their son's forehead. “Aren't we, Crowley?”
“Hmm,” Crowley agreed around a sip of tea before swallowing it. “Just told him he was the best Joseph I've ever seen. Which is a feat since, y'know, considering.” He shared an amused look with Aziraphale before saying to Pippin: “And you did a good job at helping the ox remember his line, too.”
Pippin nodded, although a more serious look had settled on his face now that he was getting off the applause-high a little bit. “He only had to say 'moo', but he forgot when,” he said, before taking a big bite of his chocolate cake. “An'then- so I did- I hadta-” in his excitement, he stumbled over his own words, while bits of cake flew from his mouth.
“Peregrine, no talking with your mouth full,” Aziraphale reminded the boy gently, also casting a warning glance at Crowley not to make any uncouth jokes here. At home those were alright as long as Pippin didn't catch up on them, but with other parents here...
Crowley, however, had other things on his mind. He kept his tea as close to his face as possible without sticking his nose in the cup in an attempt to mask the overpowering smell of the cake. He could feel his stomach churning again, and simply nodded in agreement with his husband.
Pippin thankfully made quick work of his snack, and a few minutes later Aziraphale told the boy to go say goodbye to his friends. “Five minutes! We'll be by the doors,” he called after him, as the tuft of ginger bounced off into the crowd. Aziraphale sighed. “That's going to take at least ten,” he said, turning to Crowley. “Right, my dear, shall I drive us home? You look rather pale.” He gently rubbed the small of the demon's back, and smiled sympathetically. “I'm sorry I brought the cake over. I just figured he deserved it.”
“Oh, he did,” Crowley agreed. “But it'd be great if we could stop talking about it altogether now.” He dug through the pocket of his jacket, and fished out the car keys, handing them to Aziraphale. “She'll understand,” he said, looking at Aziraphale's fingers closing around the keys with a bit of a wistful expression. He still preferred being behind the wheel of the Bentley, if he could help it, even if Aziraphale had never made so much as a scratch or dent in it.
Crowley took the last sip of his tea. He zoned out a little when the parents of one of Pippin's friends came to make small talk. He feigned a friendly smile when they said their goodbyes, and followed Aziraphale as he made his way towards the gym's exit. His stomach continued to roll dangerously, and Crowley wasn't sure what would happen if he opened his mouth. He'd rather not risk it.
“Ah, there's the man of the hour,” Aziraphale said, sounding cheerful enough for the both of them when he spotted Pippin making his way back to them again. “Alright then, let's go! Pip, would you like a ride?”
“Yes please!” Pippin said, looking absolutely delighted. Aziraphale picked the boy up and effortlessly placed him on his shoulders. To keep his balance, Pippin held his hands on his dad's head as he started walking. Crowley couldn't help but shake his head as he smiled. He knew both Aziraphale and Pippin loved moments like this, even if it looked a little awkward now that Pippin was growing taller. He pointedly ignored the lump in his throat when he realized someday Aziraphale would pick Pippin up and put him on his shoulders for the last time... and they probably wouldn't even realize it.
The boy seemed to unwind more the further they walked away from the gymnasium, and by the time they stepped outside his voice had lost the shrill edge of excitement. “Look, papa!” he said, pointing up past Aziraphale's head. “It's Orion's belt. You can see it really well now.”
Crowley made a non-committal sound, glancing up at the sky and taking the opportunity to try and swallow against the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him again. Of course it had to be this strong tonight, of all nights. “Yep,” he said, his voice a little strained, “definitely Orion's belt. Well spotted.”
Aziraphale patted their son's knee. “Well spotted indeed,” he said. “What's that star all the way at the bottom called again? Nigel?”
“Noooo,” Pippin giggled. “It's Rigel. You know that!”
“Oh, your silly old dad keeps forgetting,” Aziraphale chuckled, casting a glance at Crowley, who had paused in his tracks. The angel and demon shared a look, and immediately Aziraphale pointed up at the sky again, before Pippin got the chance to take in just how pale Crowley had gotten. “And what about that one, Pip? Is that the big dipper?”
Thankful for Aziraphale's quick understanding, Crowley made a beeline for a nearby tree. He still tried to breathe through the nausea, but knew it was a fruitless attempt as soon as he felt saliva filling his mouth again. He spat it out, and a few seconds later his stomach rid itself of the tea he'd just drank.
As he joined Pippin and Aziraphale in the car a few minutes later, he was met with a pair of worried blue eyes. “Papa, why aren't you driving?” Pippin immediately asked. “Are you sick?
Crowley reached over the back of his seat as Aziraphale started the Bentley and pulled out of the parking lot. “I'm alright,” he said gently, ruffling his son's curls affectionately. “My tummy was a bit upset over something I ate earlier, that's all. I'll be right as rain, Pip, don't you worry.” He smiled, which seemed to dissipate the worried look on Pippin's face.
Still, the boy looked slightly troubled. “But can you still read to me?” he asked.
Crowley couldn't help but laugh, hearing Aziraphale let out an amused snort as well. “We'll see,” he said. “But will it also be okay if I can't, and daddy takes over for tonight?”
Pippin thought about it for a few seconds, then sighed dramatically and nodded. “Okay,” he said. Then he quickly added: “but only because if you're sick, then you have to sleep too. And you can't really read well if you're sick. And only if dad does the voices!”
“I'll do the voices, sweetheart, don't you worry,” Aziraphale promised, looking at their son briefly through the rear-view mirror. While Pippin nodded his agreement, Aziraphale reached out and squeezed Crowley's knee, letting his hand rest there for the rest of the ride home.
Chapter 2
Summary:
Aziraphale put the first two pieces of toast on a plate, and spread a thin layer of butter over them. Then he walked to the door opening and called out, “Pippin, dinner!” Only when he came back and put the plate with buttered toast in front of Crowley did he look at the demon. “Crowley, I know you don't like to worry me,” he said, “and I know you think you're putting extra pressure on me when you're not feeling hale and hearty. But please.” He took Crowley's hand with a small smile. “Please, my dear. I'm right next to you every step of the way, no matter where it leads us. But in order to do that, I need you to be honest with me about how you feel.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As soon as Aziraphale turned off the Bentley's engine, he and Crowley got out of the car so the front seat could be folded down, giving Pippin easier access to get out as well. The boy clambered out, and tried to hide a yawn. “I'm still a bit thirsty,” he announced.
“Yeah, you can have some water,” Crowley said, checking his watch. “And a piece of toast with a slice of cheese? Sound good?” He looked at the boy, just catching the wrinkled nose and stuck-out tongue at the mention of cheese. It would never cease to amaze Crowley that the boy didn't like cheese, even though he had a father who would have eaten the Sistine Chapel if it had been made out of the stuff. Especially if it were Neufchâtel.
“Can't I have marmalade on my toast?” Pippin asked, quickly schooling his face into his best 'good boy' expression.
“No,” Aziraphale answered before Crowley could, as they entered the house. “Because there's too much sugar in it to have before bedtime. We've been over this, darling. We do have eggs, I can make you scrambled eggs on toast in the twinkling of an eye, how about that?”
Pippin sighed, but nodded. “With bits of bell pepper, though?”
“With bits of bell pepper, dear, if we have it,” Aziraphale promised, hanging up his coat. He glanced at Crowley. “It might be a good idea for you to eat something too, actually. Just bland toast... it might help your stomach settle a little.”
Crowley grunted as he took off his scarf and coat, hanging them up next to Aziraphale's coat. “Yeah,” he agreed reluctantly. “It might. Don't expect any miracles, but sure.”
It was enough for Aziraphale, though, because the angel disappeared into the kitchen with a pleased hum, and seconds later there was the sound of a pan being set on the stove and the toaster being filled with slices of bread.
“Daddy can do miracles,” Pippin said, as he fought with the zipper of his jacket. “Maybe he can miracle you better! Papa, can you help me?” The boy looked up with a defeated expression, pulling the stuck zipper forward to show it to Crowley, who got down on one knee to release the bit of fabric that had gotten stuck in it.
“I don't think this is something Daddy should try to miracle away, though,” Crowley said, as he pushed the jacket off his son's shoulders and hung it up on the lower coat rack in the form of two ducks and a duckling. “Some things just need to take their course, Pip, until you know what causes it, so you can fix it properly.”
Pippin frowned a little, and Crowley knew it could be solely attributed to the already eventful evening that he didn't pursue the topic any further. Instead, he announced he was going to put away his costume, and left Crowley alone in the hallway. The demon sighed, and got back up to his feet. Not a second later, he found himself stumbling back against the wall, nearly tearing the coats off their hooks as he grappled for something to keep him upright.
“Fuck,” he hissed, waiting for the stars to disappear from his vision while the dizziness slowly faded. “What the hell was that about? Is it everything or nothing, with everything this time?” He pushed himself away from the wall, still a little unsteady, and made his way into the kitchen. A glass of water would probably help. A glass of water and a week of sleep, his mind supplied unhelpfully.
Once he was in the kitchen, Crowley stepped around Aziraphale to reach into a cupboard, gently squeezing the angel's hip, receiving a light tutting of lips and a hum. Crowley grabbed a glass, and filled it with tap water before leaning against the kitchen counter. The smell of eggs and herbs coming from the pan weren't exactly doing any good for his stomach, but right now he just wanted to be near Aziraphale. So be it if that meant having to deal with the smell of scrambled eggs. “Think you can handle the little bugger on your own for a second?” he said. “I know I said I'd take the test when he's in bed, but...”
Aziraphale made a face of Crowley's nickname for their son, before he looked up from the pan with a look of mild surprise on his face. “Of course, my dear,” he said. He studied his husband's face for a moment while his hand still blindly scrambled the eggs. “Are you alright? You look a little paler than before... I really think you should try to eat something first. After that I can put Pippin to bed as you take the test, and we can look at the result together.”
There was a slightly hopeful note to his voice, Crowley noticed, and with a slight hint of annoyance he realized it worked, too. He already felt guilty about even suggesting he do it by himself.
“I'm fine,” Crowley said automatically, taking another sip of water. He set the glass down, looking at Aziraphale, who had now had enough time to really take in his husband's tension, and clearly see Crowley's fib for what it was. He sighed and shook his head, continuing to scramble the eggs into even smaller pieces with movements that were a little sharper. Crowley swallowed a couple of times, but managed to keep the threatening nausea at bay.
“Go have a sit down, dear,” Aziraphale said, briefly pointing the spatula at the kitchen table. “You look like you're about to keel over; I'm not having you climb the stairs only to fall down them again once you've reached the landing.”
Cheeks flushing red in an otherwise pasty face, Crowley took up his glass and did as his husband said. “Look, I didn't mean- I just meant- I'm not dying or anything,” he said, once he was seated and watching Aziraphale turn off the heat under the pan and put two more slices of bread in the toaster as soon as the first two popped out.
Aziraphale didn't reply immediately. Instead, he put the first two pieces of toast on a plate, and spread a thin layer of butter over them. Then he walked to the door opening and called out, “Pippin, dinner!” Only when he came back and put the plate with buttered toast in front of Crowley did he look at the demon. “Crowley, I know you don't like to worry me,” he said, “and I know you think you're putting extra pressure on me when you're not feeling hale and hearty. But please.” He took Crowley's hand with a small smile. “Please, my dear. I'm right next to you every step of the way, no matter where it leads us. But in order to do that, I need you to be honest with me about how you feel.”
Crowley turned his hand in Aziraphale's and squeezed it, looking up at his husband. His warm smile, his eyes, loving with a pinch of worry in the crow's feet next to them... Crowley brought his husband's hand up to his lips and kissed it. “Promise,” he said gently. “Force of habit, angel, sorry.”
Aziraphale's smile became wider, and he looked like he was about to say something when the sound of running footsteps sounded overhead. They thundered down the stairs, and it was only at the foot of them that the owner of said footsteps slowed to the walk he knew his parents preferred inside the house. Crowley and Aziraphale shared an amused look, and while the latter went to put the eggs on his and Pippin's toast, Crowley took a bite from his own bland dinner.
*
“Right.” Aziraphale entered the bathroom with a half-hearted smile. He watched Crowley rummaging blindly through the cupboard above the sink, meeting the demon's eyes when he looked over. There was the sound of various things being knocked over by Crowley's hand, and Aziraphale sighed and rolled his eyes. “Pippin's asleep,” the angel said, fetching the step stool and setting it by the sink to step up on it and have a better view of the contents of the cupboard. “It went easier than I thought. Though I suppose he was quite knackered after his stellar performance... Ah. Here we are.” He pulled out and brandished a long carton box, handing it to Crowley. “There you go, dear, the magic stick.”
“Will you stop calling them that?” Crowley grumbled as he took the box, immediately taking out the test and glaring at it. He was ready for this to be over with whatever the results were at this point; he was tired, the nausea kept plaguing him, and his head had started to throb viciously over the course of dinner. All he wanted was to go to bed and sleep for five consecutive days. He looked at Aziraphale, who had turned to face the door and folded his hands behind his back. “Angel, you can look,” Crowley muttered, snapping his trousers out of existence. “Nothing you haven't seen before.”
He took the test, capped it, and put it on the edge of the counter. He then miracled on a pair of flannel pants he figured they probably had somewhere in the back of their wardrobe, washed his hands, and sat back down on the closed lid of the toilet. All the while, he could sense Aziraphale's gaze on him.
“I think Pippin will be so excited, don't you?” Aziraphale said, moving over to stand in front of Crowley. He placed his hand on his husband's head, and started to massage his scalp, threading the soft red strands between his fingers. He smiled when the demon let out a soft hum and leaned into the touch. “A little baby, a sibling. Someone like him. He's asked me a few times if there are others besides us, you know.”
Crowley closed his eyes, leaning his head against Aziraphale's soft hip. He swallowed a few times to fight the nausea once more, and tried to get lost in the scalp massage. He grunted when the hand disappeared from his head, and looked up. “Hey, I was enjoying- oh. Thanks.” He took the glass of water Aziraphale was holding out for him with a knowing smile. “'S it saying something yet?”
“It hasn't been two minutes yet,” Aziraphale said, “but I think it's safe to assume it will be positive. Look at you, poor dear...”
“It'll be better in the morning,” Crowley muttered, after taking a small sip of water. “Doesn't mean anything. Could just be...” His brain failed to supply him with another logical explanation, but he refused to put too much faith in the situation. “Nhh... something else. Can't you just look at it, angel?”
“Why don't you look for yourself?”
Crowley narrowed his eyes in a glare that was just two strikes away from spiteful. Aziraphale knew full well he didn't look at the tests anymore. They had a routine going by now. Crowley would take a test and leave it on the counter, Aziraphale would come in to check, and then dispose of it without a word. The perfect method to avoid too much hope and disappointment, functioning like robots around it almost. Another reason Crowley didn't know how much give he had left in him anymore. Just a few more times of peeing on a stick, leaving it in the bathroom, and having Aziraphale check it and he'd be done in by the business-like way they'd gotten accustomed to. Every time they didn't talk about it afterwards, it was as if a little bird flew to the top of a faraway mountain to sharpen its beak. And one wouldn't notice just how much a mountain could wear down until it was nothing but a hill. Until one day you passed that hill and thought: wasn't there a mountain here?
Crowley couldn't bear to think that would happen to them. After tonight, it had to stop.
He got up, and set the glass aside. “Whatever. That's my part done, anyway,” he said. “I'm going to bed. This'll pass overnight, you'll see. Just some weird bug we happen to be able to catch. See you when you get to bed, angel.”
“No- Oh, Crowley, come on, just this once,” Aziraphale said, quickly taking his husband's hand to prevent him from leaving. “Please? I'm sure this one's positive. I know there's been a lot of disappointment in the past months-”
“Try over a year.”
“-but you haven't shown such strong indications before,” Aziraphale went on mulishly. “Although if I remember correctly, you did go through a phase of... well, not nausea, but a bit of a finicky stomach, when you were pregnant with Pippin.”
Crowley huffed. “Barely,” he said. “Just a couple days of not wanting your cooking.”
“Well, do you want my cooking now?” Aziraphale countered with an expression that was far too smug. He received another glare for it.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley finally said, after an intense twenty-second stare-off, “if this test is negative, I'm done.” He shook his head and looked away from the worried look on his husband's face.”For a while, anyway. “It's been over a year. Human couples would've started looking into fertility treatments by now. We can't. I'm not going to a human clinic and letting a human decide how we should have another baby. Maybe it's just not in the cards for us anymore, angel.”
“Crowley...” Aziraphale said softly, squeezing the demon's hand.
Crowley ignored his husband and continued. “With every negative test I just- I mean, you'd think it would get easier, right? That you get used to disappointment on a regular basis. But honestly, it just makes you hopeless. I feel fucking hopeless. Pippin was just a lucky shot, let's call it as it is. A gift? Maybe. Who knows. We were lucky, and we should just be happy with what we've got. Focus on him. He's enough for me.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale tried to interject again.
“I'm just so done with this. The waiting, hopes being crushed over and over again, walking past one of those stupid baby boutiques and feeling that excitement before remembering your body's apparently fucking barren. The not talking about-”
“Crowley!” Aziraphale whisper-shouted, pointing at the thin white stick on the counter. “The two minutes are up.”
Crowley's gaze automatically followed the gesture. He narrowed his eyes, and looked at Aziraphale as he stepped towards the counter and snatched up the test. “Don't get your bloody hopes up,” he muttered. “It's neg-ngk- hn-” He choked on the word, all his thoughts, the whole spiral of doubt screeching to a halt.
On the test were two bright pink lines. Although with the way Crowley's hands started shaking, he may as well have seen four.
The demon continued to stare down at the plastic stick in his hands, his mouth hanging open. He barely even registered Aziraphale peeking over his shoulder and letting out a hushed laugh of delight.
“Oh, Crowley!” he said, a wide smile audible in his voice. “Oh, my darling!” He turned his husband around in his arms, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. At that, the demon finally blinked and looked up from the test.
“It's positive,” he brought out, turning to properly look at his husband “Angel... It's positive.”
“It's positive,” Aziraphale repeated, still beaming. “Oh, Crowley, you're pregnant! We're having another baby!” He cupped the demon's face and pressed a loving kiss to his lips, his thumb catching the tear that rolled down Crowley's cheek. He pulled back a little, and rubbed his husband's arms. “You look shell-shocked,” he said with a chuckle, pecking his lips once more before gently taking the test from Crowley's fingers and placing it back on the counter, where it lay innocently, as if it hadn't just brought on a shift in the universe.
Well, that was to say, a shift in Crowley's universe. He looked down himself, then back up at Aziraphale. “I... I'm pregnant.” Once again, he looked down at himself, taking in... well, nothing, really. No subtle swell of his stomach, nothing in the sense of rounded edges or maybe tenderness on his chest. Nothing he would tell women to look out for all those millennia ago, when he'd gone around doing some midwifery. All he felt was the now constant churning of his stomach, the throbbing of his head, and the sort of exhaustion that still had him longing for that sweet, long sleep.
Aziraphale's hand on his cheek made Crowley look up. The angel smiled, a little softer this time. “Are you okay? Do you want to take another test to be sure?” he asked gently. “Or maybe just... head to bed?”
Crowley nodded, letting out a shuddering breath. “Yeah,” he admitted, finally managing a smile. “Bed would be great, angel. I just... it's gotta sink in first, I think.”
They made their way to the bedroom holding hands, not letting go until they stood at the foot of the bed and both had to get in their nighties as well as move over to their respective sides of the mattress. Once they had done that, the pair easily found each other's arms again. There was some shifting and squirming, until finally, Crowley ended up with his back pressed up against Aziraphale's front, one of the angel's arms wrapped around his waist.
As they got settled, only one thought played on a loop through Crowley's mind: I'm pregnant.
He was. He had suspected it, even if he'd held hope at an arm's length from day one of his period being absent. And now, he didn't have to anymore. The little stick that still lay on the edge of the bathroom counter proved it; he was knowingly, consciously, carrying a baby. Not hours away from giving birth and only now finding out, no. No, he knew now. He could do it right this time around. No getting drunk, no secret smokes outside after a fight with Aziraphale – although he'd given that up completely after Pippin was born. Sleeping, eating, taking prenatal vitamins, the likes...
Crowley felt Aziraphale's warm breath and lips against the back of his neck, and hummed. “Wake me up tomorrow morning,” he murmured. “Think you'll have to, or I'll sleep for days.” There was a smile on the angel's lips; Crowley could feel it widen even in his half-asleep state. His brain was slowing down, getting ready to be pulled under by those blissful tendrils that reached for his consciousness. “Don't wanna miss days,” he mumbled. “Wanna 'xperience all of it, angel.”
“I'll wake you up tomorrow, darling,” Aziraphale promised, pressing another warm kiss to Crowley's neck. “Now sleep. You need your rest. You and them both.”
With the beginnings of a smile on his lips, and his hand covering Aziraphale's on his stomach, Crowley drifted off.
*
As it turned out, a week-long slumber was out of the question for Crowley anyway.
The following morning, he woke up and immediately hurtled himself to the bathroom while trying not to be sick all over the landing. He barely made it to the toilet, hardly even registering the clattering as he knocked various items from the counter in his rush past it. Only a few minutes later, after flushing the toilet and getting back to his feet, did Crowley notice the items on the ground.
He grunted slightly as he miracled his mouth clean, then picked up the bottle of Aziraphale's cologne – thank Someone it hadn't broken – one of the rubber ducks Pippin still liked to play with during his bath time, and the pregnancy test Crowley had taken the night before. He straightened, blindly dropping the other items in the sink as he stared at the two lines on the display. Quite vague by now, but unmistakable.
Was it, though? Weren't there faulty tests, false positives, that sort of thing?
Crowley couldn't help but glance up at the cupboard, where he knew there were one or two other tests. He could just do one more. Just to be sure this was really happening. That they wouldn't be telling Pippin he'd be a big sibling only to have to take the joy away from him after a few weeks. Or be buying all kinds of furniture just to have to send it back again... Nope. No harm in double-checking.
Ten minutes later, Crowley stood in the same spot, only now staring at five positive tests rather than one. “Hng,” he muttered, one hand drifting down to his belly and hesitantly giving it a pat. “Well then. Guess you're really there, huh?” He looked down, a small smile breaking through despite the queasiness that still pestered him. “Blimey. We've been waiting for you a long time, you know?”
“So we have.”
Crowley jumped and turned around to face his husband, who stood in the door opening. “Bloody hell, angel, a warning?”
Aziraphale smiled and came into the bathroom, pulling Crowley into an embrace and kissing his cheek. He rested their heads together and raised his eyebrows as he looked at the tests on the counter. “Oh, dear,” he chuckled. “Well, I suppose that puts the seal on it, doesn't it?”
“Better safe than sorry,” Crowley shrugged as he turned his head to press a soft kiss to his husband's neck. A light scruff tickled his lips, and he revelled in it for the moment; Aziraphale would pick up his old-fashioned razor, dab his cheeks and chin with shaving cream, and shave it in a few minutes' time. No matter how often Crowley tried to convince his husband to grow it out, the beard would probably never happen. He sighed, and mumbled against Aziraphale's stubble: “Did I wake you?”
Aziraphale shook his head gently, reaching out to straighten one of the tests, then picked up his cologne from the sink and set it back in its rightful place. “You were already gone when I woke up,” he said. “Were you sick again?”
“Mmh,” Crowley hummed in confirmation, still brushing his lips back and forth over the angel's skin. “Proper morning sickness now, I s'ppose.”
Aziraphale tutted, and ran a hand through Crowley's hair, making him look up. “Let's get you back in bed,” he said, “and then get some ginger infusion in you. That should perk you right up, I'm sure.”
Without giving Crowley the chance to protest, Aziraphale guided the demon back to the bedroom. He put the pillows up against the headboard, so Crowley could sit up comfortably. Before he left, he paused in the door opening, and looked at Crowley pensively.
“Wot-” Crowley started, but a second later Aziraphale made a complicated little gesture and Crowley had the answer in his hands: a large bowl.
“Just in case,” Aziraphale explained at Crowley's arched eyebrow. “I would hate for you to have to get the bed dirty. Or have to go to the bathroom every time you feel sick. And I don't trust that look on your face.” He made a vague jiggling motion at Crowley's face, and disappeared downstairs.
Crowley let out a half-amused huff, and set the bowl on the bedside table. He was only a little queasy, still. Nothing too bad, really. Worse than what he could remember from when he'd been expecting Pippin, maybe... he hadn't actually thrown up then. But really, he probably just looked worse than he felt.
Grabbing his phone from where it lay next to the bowl, Crowley started to scroll aimlessly through his social media apps. He was usually in the mood for throwing down a little provocation here and there, just for a lark. It was fun to watch comments stream in and watch people get into online fights with each other while both interpreted Crowley's words completely different. He did it almost every morning, pretending to be thinking about the daily Wordle which Aziraphale loved to compare notes about later on in the day.
This morning, though, Crowley needed something different. He wasn't in the mood for squabbling humans online. Instead, he went into his photo album, selecting the separate folder titled 'Pip', and scrolled all the way down to the first pictures he and Aziraphale had taken of newborn Pippin.
They were a little out of focus, but that only made Crowley smile. He remembered it like it was yesterday; Aziraphale's murmured 'oh dear, I'm quite literally shaken up, I'm afraid' as the angel tried to steady the camera phone as he aimed it at Crowley and Pippin.
Crowley studied the picture, taking in his own blotchy face, the expression of... well, everything, but mostly relief and disbelief. Pippin's tiny pursed up lips, the small squint at the world that was still brand new to him...
He sniffled, and wiped his cheeks as he put his phone away. “Ugh, bloody sap.” Crowley muttered, taking a deep breath and leaning his head back. His hands wandered to his stomach again, trying to feel any indication, any proof of the new life growing underneath. Nothing.
“Well,” Crowley sighed, closing his eyes as a stronger wave of nausea hit him. The cresting of it had him reaching for the bowl, but it turned out to be a false alarm. He glanced down. “Like I told you yesterday, you're definitely more present than your big brother.” He couldn't help but smile and touch his stomach again. “I gotta be honest, though, I can appreciate a bit of drama. You got that from your father.”
Settling into the pillows a bit more, Crowley kept one hand on his stomach as he allowed himself to drift off a little, while waiting for Aziraphale to return.
Maybe some hills had never really been mountains to begin with.
Notes:
I mean I think you'd feed a kid a slice of toast with cheese before bed if it's a Weird Night and he's already had cake. Right?
Don't judge Pip too hard for not liking cheese, okay. Some of Crowley's lesser sides went into him.
tweedfeather on Chapter 1 Sun 29 Jun 2025 11:26PM UTC
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