Chapter Text
“Please Aziraphale?”
“I told you,” Aziraphale said, pretending to ignore him by flipping through his book, “I’ll think about it.”
Crowley was not fooled. “But Aaaannngeeell,” he whined, flopping every which way to emphasize his point, “You’re just saying that to make me go away.”
“Not everyone puts double meanings on everything,” Aziraphale said, sipping his tea.
“You do,” Crowley said, pouting as he sat in his chair backwards. “Come on, you’re the one who’s supposed to like all this stuff.”
Aziraphale sighed, putting aside the tea and the book, seeing as Crowley wasn’t going to be deterred. “What you’re asking….it’s big.” he bit his lip, thinking of how to word this, “There are so many factors in this just for humans, let alone an angel and a demon. It’s a huge responsibility!”
“Can’t be too big for us,” Crowley said, “Come on, we staved off the apocalypse! We can handle this.”
Aziraphale clicked his tongue, “This is different. There’s a lot of things to consider.”
“Alright,” Crowley said, clapping his hands together and turned the chair around, leaning back in it, “Let’s consider it then. What do you need to consider?”
“Well, first of all,” Aziraphale said, “How?”
“What?”
“How do you intend to create this child?” He said, “Do you want to just go to an orphanage and ask for a human child?”
“Nah, humans are like goldfish,” Crowley said, “You blink and whoops, they’re dead.”
“You realize a child isn’t a pet,” Aziraphale chided him.
Aziraphale couldn’t see directly since Crowley was wearing his sunglasses, but he knew anyway that Crowley had just dramatically rolled his eyes as he groaned, “I KNOW that,” Crowley said, “But this is more than that. We don’t have any rules anymore! We can do what we want! And I want a kid of my own.”
Aziraphale stared at Crowley. He wasn’t exactly ever hiding his emotions, but he had been getting better at expressing his less-than-evil side since the not-armaggedon. After literal eons, Aziraphale could see the desire on his face. He wondered how long he’d thought about having children, but not ever expressing it or daring to think the words as he tried to be the best demon he could.
The argument was already lost. Aziraphale liked kids. There were still all the ridiculously complicated factors he couldn’t begin to list, but Crowley was looking at him like that, and he knew it was no longer a matter of weighing the pros and cons, but pushing through the obstacles to achieve their goal. “So. Are you going to carry it?”
“What?” Crowley said scrunching up his face in surprise.
“The baby,” he said, “Do you plan on carrying it yourself?”
“No!” Crowley said, “Why would I--This body isn’t outfitted for that.”
“Well neither is mine,” Aziraphale said, in his voice of explaining things very slow, “But a miracle here or there….” He snapped his fingers emphasizing his point. “Do you have a problem having a vagina, Crowley?”
“I’ve had one before, Aziraphale,” He said, “That’s not the problem! The problem is a demon growing inside this body and...and...crawling its way out of me.”
“I don’t think it works that way,” Aziraphale said, “And besides, it would be half angel, presumably.”
“Half demon is enough, trust me,” he said, “The point is, pregnancy is...is painful. And dangerous!”
“Well, who’s fault is that, hmm?”
Crowley opened his mouth, but grumped as he remembered the whole Apple incident. “Give one woman a fruit, and they carry on about it for 6,000 years…”
Aziraphale chuckled as lightly as he could, but didn’t manage to avoid Crowley’s glare. “It is dangerous, though, you’re right.” He sipped, “And seeing this is no doubt going to be….an abnormal child, the risks are higher. And we can’t very well go getting disencorporated anymore. Maybe we can consider other options.”
Crowley, who no doubt had been trying to think of arguments why AZIRAPHALE should carry the child quickly faded, as he realized any reason he had for Aziraphale to do it would apply to him as well. And clearly Aziraphale wasn’t keen on the idea any more than Crowley was so….that was out. “I miss the old days,” He said, “One day you don’t exist and then,” He snapped his fingers, “Boom. Existence.”
“Yes well,” Aziraphale said, “There’s more than one way to pet a cat.”
“Skin a cat is the phrase,” Crowley corrected, “I know the guy who invented all the ways to skin a cat. There’s 8. Well, 8 and a half, but I don’t think one of them really counts.”
Aziraphale pouted, not liking the expression, or the visuals Crowley was providing, “What about a surrogate?” Aziraphale said, “We could entrust someone we knew well, perhaps Ms. Anathema, or maybe Miss Tracy!”
Crowley made a gagging noise. “One, I’m not trusting anyone with MY child, one slip and suddenly ‘oops, sorry ‘bout that.’ Two, A demon and/or angel baby is going to tear up the insides of any normal human. There’s a reason the antichrist was hand delivered, not entrusted to a mortal to carry.”
Aziraphale frowned, “If you’re going to tear down all my ideas, then I don’t know why I even bother.” Crowley frowned right back at him. “There are other animals out there. God’s creatures have all sorts of ways of creating new life. What about an egg?”
“A--an egg?” Crowley said, confused.
“Sure!” Aziraphale said, “Like a snake! Or maybe some kind of bird!”
“I don’t want a snake or bird baby,” Crowley said, “I want a….” he trailed off, floundering between ‘human’ ‘angel’ and ‘demon.’
“A what?”
“A child,” Crowley said, frowning. He screwed up his face like he was annoyed with the world, but Aziraphale knew he was really just frustrated with himself.
Aziraphale pulled his chair up alongside Crowley. He could feel the disappointment coming off him in waves as this escapade turned out more complicated than he had been envisioning. “I’ll do some research,” He said, kindly “This has never been done before, but perhaps I can find some helpful texts that will give us some ideas.”
Crowley grumped and leaned his head over onto Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Thanks, Angel,” He said, still frustrated this endeavor was something more complicated than snapping his fingers. Aziraphale chuckled, putting a hand to his hair to stroke through the strands a bit and soothe his feelings.
They tried everything. Well, a lot of things. In the vast expanse of the universe it’s hard to say what ‘everything ‘encompasses, but they tried so many things over the course of months.
There was the uh, traditional route, once they broke down and decided to take the risk to their corporeal forms (Crowley first because of the apple thing.) It didn’t take, either time, and all the shapeshifting in the world didn’t help.
They got more creative after that. They tried making an egg, then fertilizing it. The eggs instantly went innate.
They tried planting seeds, in an attempt at getting a baby to bloom. No such luck.
Aziraphale knew that Crowley was getting frustrated. He was too. He still wasn’t sure about all of this, but he knew he would try his hardest. He WAS trying his hardest.
The thing was, angels and demons hadn't combined in 6000 years. They were opposites. Aziraphale was trying very hard not to bring up the possibility that the two of them were...well...incompatible.
He tried bringing up adoption again, and Crowley considered it this time. Maybe they could adopt in cycles, every few decades or so, pick up a new batch. Crowley thought about it for a while, but the prospect of not just once, but continually outliving a human you were raising was….unfortunate. It was why they had not grown attached to young Warlock, despite helping to raise him. It was all so...temporary.
Aziraphale did not bring up the idea that they might not have another choice.
He was preparing for another bout of research into the strangest reproductive techniques the Earth had to offer, when he got a call. “A.Z. Fell Bookshop, how may I help you?” He asked.
“Um, hi, Aziraphale,” Newt Device (because of course he had changed his own name at their wedding a year ago) “So...I wasn’t sure if I should call you. I don’t...I mean I don’t really understand what’s happening, but I didn’t want to bring this up to Anathema, not yet, so uh…”
“What is it, my child?” Aziraphale asked, patient, but not too patient.
“Right,” He said, “So, um, Ana didn’t want to tell you, but well, after the whole...event a couple years ago, remember? Of course you do, what am I saying. Anyway, Agnes left us something. It was...it was more prophecies.” Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. An expansion? To Agnes Nutter’s Nice and Accurate Prophecies? He could barely dream of such a thing! Of course Anathema wouldn’t want to part with the original, but he wondered if he’d be allowed to copy them down in a new print, Crowley had been telling him about ‘copy machines’ and how useful they were and--- “We burned them.”
Aziraphale physically flinched as his entire being came to a halt at Newt’s words. “You did what.” He said so monotonously, even he could hardly believe it. He was about ready to sprout wings and head over to them himself.
“Please don’t make a big deal about this, it was a hard decision, and this is why we didn’t tell you, but really it’s what’s best for Ana, ok? So just….just listen, because I think one slipped out of our hands and fell to the floor before we burned them all.” Aziraphale heard him swallowing, a laborious task by the sound, possibly because his mouth was so dry. “And I think it’s about...well, you.”
Aziraphale stifled his anger, at least for the moment. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s like, it’s a recipe,” he said, “But it’s for ‘the bastard angel, and the nice demon?’” Newt gulped, “I’m...I’m not calling you a bastard, sir, it’s just, well, I don’t know any other angels, and from what I understand none of the others interact with demons so--”
“What’s the prophecy, Newt?”
He heard Newt gulp again, “Right, so, it says, “Plumage pure, of lily and coal, stewed in the waters of above, cooked in the flame below . In the bubbles your answers lie.”
“Answers?” Aziraphale said, “Answers to what?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Newt said. He’d taken to calling both Crowley and Aziraphale ‘sir.’ “It just says ‘in--in the bubbles.’”
Aziraphale frowned. Agnes was never wrong, but what could that be the answer to--
He cut off his own train of thought as he looked down at the many books he had open, trying to find an answer to his and Crowley’s problem. “Mr. Newt, I have to be going. We’ll discuss this ‘burning’ issue later.”
He hung up the phone before he could hear Newt’s whining and ran off in search of Crowley.
“Are you sure this will work?” Crowley asked, looking suspiciously at the basin Aziraphale set on the stovetop.
“No, not at all,” Aziraphale said, cautious as he poured the holy water he’d accrued into the basin, ensuring not a drop spilled out. It wouldn’t do to have a droplet loose in their (formerly just Crowley’s) apartment, for him to trip over and burn himself on. “But, we’ve trusted Agnes so far, and she hasn’t lead us wrong. I don’t even know what this will make,” He smiled at Crowley, “But….what could it hurt, right?”
“What could it hurt have Holy Water and Hellfire in a room together? Goodness, I don’t know.” Crowley said, rolling his eyes.
Aziraphale glared at him, and gestured with his head for Crowley to come closer. Crowley eyed the water suspiciously, but did as was asked. “Wings out,” he instructed. Crowley sighed, and spread his wings for Aziraphale to find a feather that would fit in the basin, not too small nor too big, and wouldn’t hurt Crowley to pluck. He turned for Crowley to do the same for him.
Crowley gulped, white feather in his hand, while Aziraphale held the black. “So, you wanna go first, or me, or…”
“I think,” Aziraphale said, “I think we ought to do it together, don’t you?” Crowley took a deep breath and nodded.
In sync, their hands moved over the basin and dropped the feathers in. Crowley’s feather sizzled, touching the waters surface. “Quickly!” Aziraphale urged Crowley, “before it’s all gone!”
Crowley opened his mouth and shot a blaze of hellfire that sat under the basin, lighting it from the stove. The water didn’t wait a moment, instantly it began boiling, steam rising into the air. Crowley backed away on instinct, but Aziraphale lingered, trying to get a look at what was happening inside.
The second the first bit of steam touched his hand, he yelped at the burning sensation. Crowley dared a step forward, grabbing Aziraphale and pulling him out of the room into the next and shutting the door behind him.
Aziraphale stared at his hand, “I don’t understand…” he said, “It was just holy water…”
“Boiled in hellfire,” Crowley said, grabbing blankets to cover the frame of the door, blocking any steam from getting in, “Thats poisonous to both of us!”
“How strange,” Aziraphale said, “No one’s ever discovered that before.”
“Because no demon’s ever been dumb enough to boil holy water!” He said, finishing his makeshift doorjam, and instantly coming to Aziraphale’s side, taking his burnt hand into his own. “Is it bad?”
“Stings,” Aziraphale said, “But not too bad, no?”
Crowley pulled him to an aloe he had planting. “You knew you had this coming,” he told the plant, and chopped off one of the stems. Cool gel seeped out, and he rubbed the plant directly onto Aziraphale’s burn, soothing it. There was a mark left behind, but it didn’t hurt as much.
Aziraphale smiled, “Thank you, Crowley.” He looked back at the door, “I wish I could have seen the process. I don’t know what’s happening in there.”
“I suspect whatever it is,” Crowley said, “We’ll find out soon.”
They waited. And waited. And waited a little longer.
Patience was not something Crowley was known for, but the threat of airborne holy water was enough to keep him still--for a little while. “Alright,” he said, “It’s got to have dissipated by now, right?”
“Maybe we should give it a little longer,” Aziraphale said, “Just in case.”
Crowley shook his head, carefully removing one of the blankets from the door. Nothing seeped in...a good sign.
He creaked the door open slowly to the rest of the apartment. Water clung to the windows as an evaporated mist, and it was ridiculously hot and muggy….but it didn’t hurt.
Crowley stepped out first, pushing Aziraphale back in case something dangerous had occurred as he approached the basin. The basin was filled with something, red, but not like blood. More like--
“Clay?” Aziraphale said confused, looking over Crowley’s shoulder. “Of some sort?”
“Looks like it,” Crowley said, hesitantly reaching a finger into the basin to touch it. It was very light, very fresh. “Though it’s weird, I don’t think I’ve seen any like it since--”
He cut himself off, eyes going round as what it looked like occurred to him. He snapped his gaze to Aziraphale, waiting for the realization to hit him.
Aziraphale examined the sample on Crowley’s fingers. It did look familiar. Like…. “This...this can’t be--” he said, looking up at Crowley, “Adamah?”
“The dust of Eden,” Crowley said, smiling, “that Adam was made out of. First Adam, I mean”
Aziraphale blinked, and blinked again, trying to make sense of things. “What--What do we DO with it?”
Crowley dug his fingers into the clay, pulling out a large clump. “I guess we make a baby.”
Aziraphale rolled his sleeves up all the way, attempting to keep his clothes clean as he joined Crowley. He grabbed his own clump and the two of them began shaping it together.
The clay was incredibly moldable, seeming to form more by thought rather than skill. They gathered together a general body-shape, and then broke off, Crowley working on attaching the legs, while Aziraphale added the arms and head.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Crowley said, “You want our kid to be a damn bobblehead?”
“Kids have naturally larger heads,” Aziraphale chided, using a stick to shape the eyes, “they’ll grow into it.” Crowley rolled his eyes and went back to work, doing some detailing. “What about you? What...What are you doing there?!”
Aziraphale looked at him scandalized at where Crowley was poking. “What?” Crowley asked, “Kids have genitalia, ya know. We don’t want her to be a damn doll.” Aziraphale winced, “If she doesn’t like any of it later we can just,” He snapped his fingers, “Miracle. Easy.”
Aziraphale’s face settled from his shock into more of a twitch of surprise. “‘She’?” He asked.
Crowley gulped, ducking his head down as he concentrated hard on what he was doing. Aziraphale couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but he didn’t really need to. “Well, if she doesn’t like that later, we can change that too.”
Aziraphale smiles at him. He supposed Crowley was right. He didn’t really much think of gender, being considered male had just been kind of easier over the millenia, though it was getting better. Crowley picked up different genders like hats, picking one, then another, a third before going back to the first. He wondered what his---goodness he hadn’t thought the word out before--what his daughter would think of that, one day.
As the details were carved in, a fingernail, a lock of hair, some lines on the knees, the clay started moving. Aziraphale and Crowley froze, watching it like they’d done something wrong.
The clay moved more, first the arm, then a twitch of the leg. The clay cooled to a more regular skin-tone color, and the little mouth opened.
Crowley would deny it until the end of all days, but when he heard his daughter cry for the first time, he cried right along with her. Aziraphale might have made fun of him, but he was bawling too.