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Awarnach knocked on the door, picnic basket in hand. It seemed right, that it should be a picnic basket. It was symbolic, after all, and his fathers didn’t need to know that he couldn’t afford a proper baby carrier.
Aziraphale opened the door.
“Oh, Awarnach! Do come in, it’s been so long - how is everything?”
“Alright, Dad, thank you.” He bowed his head and entered, putting the basket gently on the kitchen table. Aziraphale followed him, putting on some cocoa. Crowley nodded to his son, who nodded back.
When everyone had been supplied with hot cocoa, and had sampled the cookies Crowley had made the previous night, [1]Awarnach cleared his throat, one hand atop the picnic basket.
“Dad, Dad… remember how I was in New York about a year ago?”
“Nine months ago, wasn’t it? Ten?”
“Around there, yes. Ah…”
He took a breath and opened the basket. In it, Sacrifice was fast asleep, wrapped in a few scarves.
Crowley blinked. Aziraphale’s eyes widened. Awarnach couldn’t quite look at either of them.
“...Who’s this?” Aziraphale gently lifted Sacrifice, looking him over. He was quite a cute baby, mercifully bearing no resemblance to any British political leader. Crowley leaned over, his pupils widening.
Awarnach bit his lip, toying with his piercing, before responding. “This is your grandson, Sacrifice.”
Crowley nodded. “I see. Angel, let me hold him?”
“Yes, of course.”
Crowley gently rocked Sacrifice, and Aziraphale watched for a minute. Awarnach felt like scurrying away and hiding.
What was he even to say? Hi, Dad, Dad. I never told you this, but I sleep with men for money. Apparently, one of them didn’t wear a condom, and now I have a baby. Take care of it for me? Thank you!
Aziraphale put a hand on Awarnach’s shoulder. “So. ...How old is Sacrifice?”
“Barely a month.”
“And, ah, are we to meet the father, anytime soon?”
“Don’t know who it is.”
“I see, I see.” Aziraphale hummed. “Do you want us to...try and find him?”
Crowley looked over. “Out of curiosity, why didn’t you, oh, I don’t know, tell us?”
Awarnach shook his head, and Aziraphale mouthed something at Crowley. “He’s had a very trying year, I assume. ...What do you intend to do?”
It was almost a minute before Awarnach could look up and speak again. He twisted the ring on his thumb. “...I can’t care for him.”
Crowley put Sacrifice back in the basket and sits back. “So you want us to?”
“I-”
“We will, of course.” Crowley sipped his cocoa. “...It’s late. You ought to get some rest.”
Awarnach nodded and stood, picking up the basket. “Ah - is it alright if I - do you still have -”
“Your old crib? Yes. I’ll set it up for you.” Aziraphale left, stopping in the linen closet to say a quick, futile prayer. Meanwhile, Crowley looked at his son.
“I had you from a one night stand too, you know.”
Awarnach looked up. “You did?”
He nodded, miracling a cookie to its intended softness and dunking it. “I was at a protest, and hid with somebody. Tensions were high, I was concussed like Hell, my defences were lowered, he was bigger than me. And now I have you.”
“...Does Dad...know?”
“What, that you’re not his? Of course he knows, he isn’t stupid.” He runs a hand over his face. “...It took him a while, though.”
“...You-”
“I don’t want to discuss these particulars with you, you’re still a kid. Point is - I know what you’re going through. Sort of. And… I’m not going to judge, if it turns out I need to go take care of some American.” He stood and hugged Awarnach. “So, if someone hurt you, you tell me, alright? Because I’ll make it better.”
After a second, Awarnach put the basket back on the table and hugged Crowley back, tearing up. “I didn’t - I never meant to- it was - I’m sorry-”
“’S alright, it’s done now, you’ll be fine. Sacrifice will be fine. I promise.”
After a few minutes, Aziraphale called down that the crib was ready in Awarnach’s old room, and that his bath was drawn. Crowley pulled back. “Oh, and you’re grounded.”
“What - Dad-”
“You’re nineteen and you have a baby. You’re grounded.” He smiled, slightly. “Go to bed.”
Awarnach nodded, picking Sacrifice back up. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Good night, kid.”
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[1]Much to his own chagrin, Aziraphale hadn’t allowed him to “cheat”, and they were so burnt they barely resembled anything edible.