Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Butterfly Effect. If put simply, it is the phenomenon where a small, seemingly irrelevant change can lead to a dramatic change elsewhere. The idea insinuates that nothing is linear and that at any given moment a simple change, that was not supposed to occur, could re-route the outcome of a scenario that was already being played out. One could argue that The Butterfly Effect does not exist and that all changes were predetermined and that everything is how it should be with a set outcome that can not be disrupted. Both are correct.

I have control of the ending of a scenario, and if I so choose it, that is how it will be and there is not a thing you could change to disrupt the arrival of the prearranged final destination. However, despite that, freewill dictates how one gets there. For example…

“Shit, shit, shit! Why me?” Crowley cursed, while speeding down the dark, dreary, road.

There was slight crackling as Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody cut out, and another began to speak.

“You earned it, Crowley, didn’t you? What you did to the M25 was a stroke of demonic genius, darling.”

Sure, Crowley anticipated the end of the world, but witnessing it in actuality was a whole different story. A lot of things were better in concept than in actuality. For example: most men as well as pineapple on pizza. At least, in his own opinion.

There was the horrifying sound of a horn blaring and Crowley quickly whipped the car to the side to avoid the collision brought on by being telepathically fed his instructions. He cursed and heard the sound of a child crying and looked back to find the basket flipped open. He immediately looked away.

You could have hit the truck and ended it here and now.

He scowled as he found himself considering how to kill a child, to end this before it even started. That would be no good. Disastrous on all accounts. There was nothing to be done about it now.

He pulled in to his destination quickly, wanting nothing more than to get this over with as fast as possible. He grabbed the basket and made his way towards the door, wasting no time in doing so.

“Has it started yet?” He asked the man who was lingering outside, who he could only assumed was the ambassador.

“Um, they made me go out.” He responded, somewhat awkwardly.

“What room was she in?” Crowley questioned while turning and beginning to enter before he even received a response.

“We’re in room three!” The man called out after him.

“Room three. Got it.” Crowley confirmed while disappearing inside.

He made his way down a hallway and caught sight of a nun and made his presence known. He held out the basket and allowed her to take it, which she did with great enthusiasm. She then went on with her annoying antics and Crowley found himself growing more annoyed than he already had been with the situation.

“Take him to room three.” He instructed and made his way out almost as quickly as he made his way in.

It was done and now all they had to do was wait eleven years. He had eleven years to figure out what he wanted to do, where to go, who to take…” He cursed again, his mind automatically drifting to Aziraphale. He really needed to speak to Aziraphale.

He climbed in to the Bentley, turning it on, and resting his hand on the gear shift. However, just as he was about to pull out, a thought crossed his mind. What if the Antichrist was raised to do good? Or at least, to be normal, and to identify with the world and all that was in it? A ridiculous thought, really, but then again Aziraphale was an angel after all. Crowley drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of his Bentley. How would they manage that though? Surely Hell would be watching over him every hour of the day to ensure his destined role in Armageddon. That was, unless they were able to isolate him without Heaven or Hell knowing.

Crowley actually laughed out loud at his own ridiculous plan. He had done a lot of ridiculous things in his six-thousand years on earth, but kidnapping the Antichrist? It was delusional, suicidal even.

Now, you might be familiar with a story. A similar story. This story involves Crowley taking this idea and leaving. He would call Aziraphale, they would spend the day together, and he would come up with something a little more… practical so to speak. And here is where things got a little turned around, and not just with the Three Baby Shuffle.

There was a small event that occurred earlier that day, that had laid the ground work for, well, everything else. On the way to meet with Hastur and Ligur a small animal had run in to the road and he was was faced with a decision to brake or not to brake. Originally, in the story you may know, Crowley had opted to brake and swerve. This got him to the meeting point 15 minutes and 30 seconds late. The animal kept it’s life. Our Crowley, in that split moment, decided not to brake, but instead to quickly straddle the animal. This decision got him to the meeting point 15 minutes and 27 seconds late. The animal, as you can assume, also kept it’s life. Unless you were expecting a different ending in regards to the animals fate? In that case, I encourage you to think back to what I originally said about the final destination.

However, this 3 second head-start is important. This 3 second head-start allowed for 3 seconds more reaction time when he avoided the collision with the truck. In this three extra seconds, you see, Crowley’s mind had a chance to trigger one’s parental instinct in the face of potential danger. Yes, Crowley had considered the possibility of wrecking and taking out the Antichrist, stopping things before they started. This, however, was not a thought of the original Crowley. No, this thought stemmed from the fear that he had almost taken out an infant, and the 3 second sudden urge to protect it at all costs. So you see, Crowley’s choice to not brake gave him the 3 second head start that ultimately lead to a shift in mindset, which brings us to Crowley’s next decision.

The car door slammed shut as Crowley made his way back inside, mostly without thinking, feeling almost like he was being compelled by some higher force. Which was, frankly, ridiculous. He was the one to lead the birth of free will after all. He quickly made his way over to two of the nuns, taking them by surprise.

“The baby they took to exchange the Antichrist, where is he?” He asked, trying to mask the urgency in his voice.

“Being held in the kitchen, for now. Why, is something the matter master Crowley?” One of them answered cautiously.

“No, no, just new orders from the boss.” He answered while swiftly making his way towards the kitchen, not allowing any further questions.

He threw open the doors and came face to face with two more, very startled, nuns.

“The baby, I need the baby. Hell’s orders.” He stated and gave them no time to respond before scooping up the newborn from the bassinet. “And the Antichrist is in room three, right?” He figured he’d double check, just to make sure.

“Room four, actually. Is everything alri-”

Crowley was already out the door. Room four, okay. They moved, no big deal. He came to a halt in front of the room clearly marked with a large, golden, four. Reality seemed to suddenly set in and he began to second guess his decision. What was he thinking? This was mad! Absolutely mad! If he was to get caught it would surely be a fate worse than death.

He took a deep breath and entered the room. It was too late, he was in the process. It would be too suspicious to back-peddle now. Time froze and Crowley came alongside the mother who was holding the child in her arms. She was alone, no husband, no nuns, just her and the Antichrist. Crowley carefully laid the baby in his arms in the bassinet beside the bed. He slowly pulled the Antichrist from her grip and made sure not to disturb the shape of her hold. He laid the Antichrist in the bassinet and picked back up her child, her real child, and maneuvered him in to her arms. Her form faltered slightly, but not enough where he felt it would be an issue. He picked up the Antichrist and stepped off to the side and away from her direct vision. Time restarted and she resumed cooing and making faces at the baby, who unknowingly, had just been changed.

Crowley watched for a moment before clearing his throat.

She jumped at the sudden noise and whipped her head over to where he was standing. “Oh my good god, I didn’t hear you enter.”

“Sorry about that. I’m the doctor; I was just making sure everything was alright. I am sorry I did not make it in time for the actual process.” He lied.

“Yes, everything is great.” She said while eyeing the baby in his arms.

“Another patient. It’s why I was late.” He answered her unspoken question and she seemed to relax. “What did you end up naming him? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Warlock. One of the nuns suggested it.”

“Horrible really, you should change it.” He turned and made his way towards the door.

She was a little put off, but seemed to consider it. “But change it to what? I suppose we considered naming him after his fath-” She began, but was cut off.

“Judas has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” He flashed a smile, and before she could object, he closed the door behind him.

“Call Aziraphale.” Crowley instructed as he looked at the baby in the basket that was residing in the passengers seat.

“Sorry, all lines to London are currently busy.”

Crowley let out an exasperated groan. He pulled up alongside a payphone and began dialing, not bothering with paying, opting to simply snap his fingers instead.

“-I’m afraid we’re quite definitely closed.” Aziraphale’s voice came over the receiver.

“Aziraphale, it’s me. We need to talk.”

“Yes. I rather think we do. Is this about-”

“Armageddon. Yes.” Crowley responded, not allowing Aziraphale to continue. He glanced back at his car. “I fear it’s rather urgent. I’ll be at the shop in 20 minutes.” He didn’t give him time to object before hanging up the phone.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale said firmly, while opening the door. “Pray tell, what is so urgent that you have to show up at this hour, in the rain, with-” Aziraphale glanced down. “-a basket?”

Crowley sauntered in, ignoring his question. He put the basket on a chair, close the fire. Not so close as to burn, but enough to keep warm. Before Aziraphale could make his way over, Crowley leaned in and whispered, “sleep through the night” and snapped his fingers as quietly as possible.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale scolded, growing impatient with the lack of response he was receiving.

Crowley finally turned to face Aziraphale. “End of the world, that’s what is so important.” He said while making himself comfortable on a sofa nearby.

“Important, yes, but Crowley that doesn’t come in to play for another eleven years.” Aziraphale sat in a chair across from him.

“Yes and in eleven years all of this-” He gestured vaguely around the shop. “-ends.”

“Well yes, that is the Divine Plan, now isn’t it? Heaven and Hell will go to war and Heaven, of course, will win. It’s all going to be rather lovely.” Aziraphale said matter-of-factly.

Crowley was almost amused. Almost. “Is that so? So, no more music and no more unique little restaurants where they know you by name. No more books and no more shops where you can mind your own business. No more fascinating – intelligent – creatures as they meet a terrible fate for the sake of war.” Crowley paused a moment to look at Aziraphale who seemed to have grown concerned. “Eleven years and it all ends, so that’s why I think we should, you know, work together.”

“Work together? To do what, exactly?” Aziraphale questioned sternly.

“Stop it. To stop Armageddon.”

“Are you out of your mind, Crowley? We can’t just stop Armageddon! And even if we could, I can’t just interfere with the Divine Plan!” Aziraphale couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He knew Crowley had a tendency to deviate from the set rules, more so than most demons, but this was the end of the world they were talking about.

Truth be told, Aziraphale should not have been as surprised as he was. Crowley, after all, had attempted to stop The Great Flood, or at least, minimize those affected by it. Unfortunately, that was the final destination for most of those people, therefore there was no way to change the outcome of their fates, not matter what sort of change was made. There were a few young ones who did, in fact, have their lives spared due to Crowley’s involvement. However, Crowley always felt as if he had failed. What he doesn’t know is from one of those who he had saved came a descendant who has just recently discovered the cure for HIV and AIDS and, instead of going public, would begin operating in secret to save hundreds of thousands of lives without government involvement.

“Well, what about diabolic plans?” Crowley pressed. “How do you know thwarting me isn’t a part of the Divine Plan too? You are to thwart evil, are you not?”

“In a broad sense, yes.” Aziraphale eyed Crowley skeptically.

“The Antichrist has been born and it’s the upbringing and influences that are important. Evil and negative influences, that will be me. It would be a shame if someone made sure I failed.” Crowley said with a smirk.

“Well, if you put it that way…” Aziraphale considered it a moment and seemed to find reason. “They really can’t object if I am thwarting you.”

Crowley smiled and leaned in, taking Aziraphale’s hand and shaking it. “If we do it right, he won’t be evil. Or good. He’ll just be normal. There won’t have to be a war and Earth can continue as it is.”

“As it is, yes.” Aziraphale smiled.

“We’d be Godfathers, well, sort of.” Crowley began.

“Godfathers…”

“Sort of. Well, okay, you specifically would be a Godfather.” Crowley corrected.

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “Pardon?”

“I would just be…” Crowley’s demeanor suddenly changed as he began to shift nervously.

“Crowley, what are you not telling me?” Aziraphale asked cautiously, growing nervous about Crowley’s sudden change in mood.

“I would just be, well… father. Or mother. You know, whichever works best.”

Aziraphale said nothing, only stared at Crowley, trying to make sense of what he had just said. After a tense moment of Aziraphale trying to process the situation, he finally found his words.

“My dear, what have you done?” His voice was low and cool.

And as if on a cue, the basket that had been put aside, shifted and moved, catching both of their attentions. Aziraphale stood up and moved towards the basket while Crowley refused to look over.

Aziraphale slowly opened the lid.

Now, Aziraphale had not been blind to Crowley’s meddling in the situation of The Great Flood and if he had remembered, in that moment, how passionate Crowley had been about the situation, then maybe the revelation of their conversation tonight wouldn’t have come as such a surprise. None the less…

“First of all, don’t be mad-” Crowley said, desperation heavy in his voice.

And here is the story of how The Butterfly Effect exists, but is also under my control. Of how life reaches the same, predetermined, destination, but on a wildly different trip. There is a song, that the humans quite like, where a Nightingale sings in Berkeley Square. I personally have always preferred Mockingbirds. Some say they represent the inability for anyone to kill your spirit. That you have much to accomplish in the world. And maybe, they are correct. Who am I to tell them otherwise?

“Crowley…” Aziraphale breathed out. “Hell have mercy.”

Either way, I can assure you that, that evening a Mockingbird sang in Soho.

Chapter Text

There was the click of heals against the pathway that lead up to the mansion. Red hair was lightly curled and pulled back on one side while small, dark, glasses concealed her eyes. A gloved hand made contact with the door as she knocked, light and swiftly, three times.

You see, Crowley’s plans, when they actually cared to make them, were usually well thought out. Their best work - when it was actually their own work and not humans acting on their own - was typically born from careful planning. This is something that other demons traditionally did not do. The only thing they typically forgot to take in to consideration was how said plans would directly affect themself. Though, to be fair, we can’t all be omniscient. And by all, I mean me, exclusively. And for that very reason, Crowley’s plans, whether they be well thought out or not, are never designed for long term commitment.

The door opened and a woman stood with confidence, a young boy at her side. “I heard you're in need of a nanny.” She said calmly while a fleeting smirk crossed the child’s face.

And I could explain the exact process of how things got so wildly out of control that Crowley found themse lf handling more than what they originally cared to consider . Ah, but that just seems like a terrible waste of time. Really, all you need to know about how things ended up the way they did is that C rowley, like the Earth, is a Libra .

“Hell wants you to do what!?” Aziraphale nearly dropped the cup of cocoa that had been lingering in his hand since the moment Crowley arrived at the shop with Warlock.

“Watch over the Antichrist and ensure his inclination towards evil.” Crowley answered dryly. “Because, you know, they have no idea the Dowling child isn’t actually the Antichrist, and it’s not like I can just tell them.”

“Ashtoreth…” Aziraphale lowered his voice and glanced to where Warlock was seated with a coloring book, out of ear shot. “You can’t, I mean what are you – we – going to do with...” He gestured vaguely.

Crowley shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, I don’t know yet. I tried to talk my way out of it, but apparently Luci is insistent that it’s me.” She sighed.

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, you better figure it out and quickly.” He stated, putting an unnecessary emphasis on the last word. “I take it you’ll be starting soon?”

“Yeah… tomorrow, actually.”

“Oh for Heaven’s sake!” Aziraphale turned to set down his cup. “You know I can’t take him in for extended periods of time, Crowley! I can’t risk having him around with me and me alone, since I’m prone to surprise visits from the higher ups. They certainly would ask questions and I’m an intensely nervous liar, you know this.”

“Unless you’re not here for them to surprise.” Crowley’s face lit up as she seemed to settle on a solution.

“What are you getting at?” Aziraphale questioned, not trusting the look on her face.

“Well, how do you feel about dropping the god from godfather?”

There was the light thump of shoes against the pathway that lead up to the mansion. White-blonde hair was well kept and slicked back while small, clear, glasses emphasized his eyes. An un-gloved hand made contact with the door as he knocked, heavy and slow, two times.

Now Aziraphale’s plans, and he always had plans, were usually not thought out and functioned mostly on direction from Heaven. His best work - when it was his own and not Crowley on his behalf - was typically born from spontaneous action. This is something that other angels traditionally did not do. The only thing he typically took in to consideration was how said plans would directly affect himself. To be fair, Aziraphale was known to be a bit selfish for an Angel. Which I won’t say I don’t understand; I did create him after all. And for that very reason, Aziraphale’s plans, whether they be spontaneous or not, are never designed for long term commitment.

The door opened and he stood with openness, his fingers gliding over a ring on his left. “I heard you are in need a tutor.” He said cheerfully. “I believe you’ve already spoken to my wife.”

And I could explain the exact process of how things got so wildly out of control that Aziraphale found himself handling more than what he originally cared to consider. But again that just seems like a terrible waste of time. Once more, really all you need to know about how things ended up the way they did is that Aziraphale, like Alpha Centauri, is a Gemini.

A boy of 5 years ran across the garden and stopped near a flower bed. He studied it for a moment before picking a flower from the garden and examining it, while another boy, also of 5 years, came up along side of him. The two were to take a break from their studying, and both Mr. Fell and Ashtoreth felt it would be best if they got some fresh air.

“You shouldn’t do that, it’s going to die now.” The boy know as Judas said, eyeing the sunflower in the other's hand.

The boy known as Warlock shrugged. “So? It’s ugly anyway.”

“That’s not very nice.” Judas huffed.

The Dowlings had been quite sympathetic to the struggling couple and their child, whom they could not afford to obtain a babysitter for. They thought it would be beneficial for Judas to have someone his own age around anyway. Because Aziraphale and Crowley both were aware that Judas was not the Antichrist, neither of them had much desire to purposely sway him towards either side. So to them, this job, was simply for appearances.

“Are you two getting along?” Aziraphale questioned, while walking over to where the children were lingering in the garden, Crowley close behind.

“He picked a sunflower!” Judas exclaimed while pointing to Warlock.

“Okay… and?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“And he shouldn’t be disturbing the Dowlings' garden.” Aziraphale stated while shooting Crowley a judgmental look.

“It’s terribly wilted which means it was probably going to die anyway.” She ignored the look Aziraphale was giving her.

“That’s not the point, Ashtoreth.” Aziraphale said sternly.

“Yeah! This is my house!” Judas turned to Warlock. “You’re only here because you’re poor!”

“Excuse me!?” Warlock whipped around to face Judas.

“Okay, that’s enough!” Crowley snapped. “Both of you, inside, now!”

“I didn’t do anything!” Warlock whined.

“Either way, both of you need to finish your reading assignments.” Aziraphale added, while ushering them out of the garden.

“Poor?” Warlock’s voice was low, while looking at Crowley.

“Hush, we’ll talk later.”

“Are you leaving now?” Judas asked, while Crowley settled him in to bed.

“Soon, yes.” Crowley answered kindly.

“Can you sing me a lullaby before you go?”

“Of course, darling.”

However, despite not making an active choice to bring Judas up a particular way, it was inevitable that he would be exposed to everything that wasn’t discussed in private, since he was essentially being raised alongside Warlock. That was something that Crowley and Aziraphale both somehow forgot to take in to consideration.

As she sung, Aziraphale lingered at the door, listening quietly. Warlock was in his arms, draped over his shoulders, and fast asleep.

“Mr. Fell says I should love everything that has life. Flowers have life.”

“That’s nonsense. You are not obligated to love anything or anyone.” Crowley said while standing up.

Before she had time to make her way out the door, Warlock made his way in.

"Sorry." He said, sleepily, while he placed an item on the nightstand.

Crowley leaned down and picked up Warlock who seemed to be fighting sleep. “Goodnight my dear, we’ll see you in the morning.” She said and turned towards the door.

Judas looked over to the nightstand to find the sunflower from earlier, in an elegant glass vase. It was no longer wilting.

To Crowley’s relief, Hell did not check up on Judas personally, and instead relied solely on their periodic reports. Demons lied, of course, but Crowley liked to think they were exceptionally good at deceiving the unholy hierarchy – and the unholy hierarchy specifically. I mean, it has been their M.O. for the majority of 6,000 years after all.

“Tell us about the boy, Judas.” Beezelbub demanded while approaching Crowley.

“He’s a remarkable child, Lord Beelzebub.” Crowley said with a smile. It wasn’t a lie, really. He was remarkable, but the catch was that he was only remarkable by human standards.

“But is he evil?” Hastur pressed.

“Fantastically evil.” There was no base in truth for this one. Actually, Judas had a habit of gravitating towards Aziraphale and was shockingly well behaved for the most part.

“Has he killed anyone yet?” Ligur questioned, while approaching Crowley.

“Uh, not yet.” Crowley shrugged. “But there’s more to evil than just killing people, you know.”

Everyone seemed to agree.

“I suppose, but it’s fun.” Ligur said, with vigor, while stepping back.

“Have you encountered any problems from the… opposition?” Beezelbub questioned.

Crowley flashed a cocky smile and replied, “they don’t suspect a thing.”

Now, Aziraphale debated with himself whether or not it was a good idea to inform Heaven of his involvement with the Antichrist. However, getting involved with Judas, the one both Heaven and Hell assumed was the Antichrist, made things a bit more difficult. Technically he was, in fact, involved with influencing the Antichrist, but of course he wasn’t about to tell them the real Antichrist was in the custody of Ashtoreth J. Crowley. If he didn’t use names, didn’t specify, it wasn’t really lying. If they assumed he was speaking of Judas, because he didn’t clarify that he was speaking about Warlock, it was just a misconception; not a lie.

I would like to point out that this is, in fact, lying. He will later say a prayer of confession, so I am choosing to ignore it.

“I am proud to say that the Antichrist child is being influenced towards the light.”

“Excellent work, as usual, Aziraphale!” Gabriel said sincerely.

“Yes, indeed. However, we will be most understanding when you, unavoidably fail. After all, wars are to be won.” Michael chimed in.

“Not avoided.” Uriel added bluntly.

“But I won’t fail. I mean, that would be bad.” Aziraphale was slightly taken aback. Surely they weren’t insinuating they wanted to see Armageddon occur?

“What you’re doing is praiseworthy, but obviously doomed to fail. Still, as the Almighty likes to say: climb every mountain.” Gabriel said, while beginning to walk off, the other Archangels following behind.

"Every mountain…" Aziraphale echoed.

Crowley stepped on to the bus and swiftly made her way over to sit behind Aziraphale, ignoring the heavy eyes of a few of the other passengers.

“He’s too normal.” Crowley stated blankly and Aziraphale lowered the newspaper he’d mostly been pretending to read.

“Well he isn’t the Antichrist, so there’s only so much we can do about that. It’s not like anyone from either side is checking u-”

“No, no! Not Judas. Warlock. He’s too normal. Something seems… off.” If her eyes weren’t covered, Crowley would have rolled them.

“I’m sorry, was that not that the goal? It just means we’re succeeding.”

Crowley shrugged. “Yeah, maybe… but-”

“And if we’re being honest, my dear.” Aziraphale cut her off. “I absolutely would not call Warlock normal.”

“Excuse me?” Crowley said with a scowl.

Aziraphale scoffed. “Well, what is it that you want him to be my dear? Settle on something, honestly.” Aziraphale brought the paper back to eye level. “Either way, we still have 6 years to go; I wouldn’t fret over current states. I mean, it’s not like someone else could be the Antichrist.”

“Someone else… right.” Crowley responded dryly while leaning back in the seat.

Aziraphale sighed. “Oh, by the way, are you picking up our son from the Dowling’s? Or am I?” Aziraphale asked, raising his voice dramatically. He didn’t put down his paper, but he did turn slightly to make heavy eye contact with the man who hadn’t stopped staring at Crowley since she boarded.

Crowley didn’t bother hiding a smirk as the man quickly relocated himself, Aziraphale’s judgmental eyes on him the entire time.

“Bounderish. Honestly.” Aziraphale complained under his breath.

“To answer your question, Angel, I’ll pick up Warlock. I’m the one with the car after all.” Crowley said with humor while turning to look out the window. However, at the mentioning of Warlock, she couldn’t help but feel like something wasn’t quite right.

Chapter Text

Chapter Warnings: Brief homophobia with use of a homophobic slur, kids with knives, kids with guns (inspired by the book)

6 Years Later

“Judas, Warlock, are either one of you listening to me?” Harriet questioned, while walking the park with the two boys.

“Yeah, dinosaurs. I heard.” Warlock responded rather blandly.

“The Earth is only 6,000 years old so dinosaurs couldn’t have existed.” Judas added in.

“What are you talking about sweetie, the earth is like four and a half billion years old, don’t be ridiculous.” Harriet huffed.

“Yeah, but how do you know?” Warlock questioned.

“Do you not pay attention to your science studies?” Harriet accused.

“No we do, but Nanny says it was a joke that the majority has yet to realize, and those that have, have exploited it to gain financial aid which is then pocketed more than used.” Judas informed, while smirking at Warlock.

Warlock laughed under his breath.

Harriet looked between the two. “Seriously? You know she’s joking, right?”

Warlock laughed a little louder this time.

“And what’s so funny?” Harriet shot him a look.

“Nothing, it’s really nothing. So, we doing a dual party again? Or am I uninvited since my parents retired from their positions?” Warlock changed the subject.

“Of course we’re doing a dual party! I thought we already agreed on the theme?” Judas replied.

“I brought it up to your father, but I never got an official response. I don’t know if your mother possibly has other plans, but if not, you’re still very much welcome to do what you please. However, you should probably check with them first.” Harriet informed while they continued to walk.

A distance away, Aziraphale and Crowley sat on a bench, watching them as they conversed.

“You know, they still want their birthday to be held together, even after all these years. I think that is very sweet.” Aziraphale said while glancing over at Crowley.

“Yeah, I figured they would. They already picked out a theme.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale cocked his head to the side.

“Harry Potter.” Crowley smirked. “Warlock asked me to handle most of the preparations, but I still have to talk to Harriet about it. To be honest I was still hung up on the Hell Hound scheduled to arrive that day.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Yes, uh… you see you never mentioned a Hell Hound before.”

“Ohhh, yeah, sorry about that. I told Warlock at least.” She shrugged.

Aziraphale stared at Crowley a moment, growing visibly nervous. “So what, this Hell Hound is just going to show up to the party?”

“Yup. 3pm to be exact.” Crowley informed casually.

“Don’t you think being at the Dowlings’, with a bunch of other people, is a bad idea then? I mean a huge, demonic, dog is about to suddenly appear. That’s not exactly something that is easy to explain.”

“Nah. If he refuses to name it, and sends it away, everyone’s memory of the incident will fade.” She paused a moment. “Well, probably.”

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably. “And if he doesn’t send it away?”

“Well, then we failed.” Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale. “He will come in to power and Armageddon will begin. I suppose at that point the least of our concerns is whether or not anyone notices a giant demonic dog.”

They both remained silent for a moment as they watched Harriet answer a call while the two boys leaned against a fence, discussing the party arrangements.

“Not that I would change anything…” Crowley began, suddenly looking upset. “But sometimes I wonder if I made the wrong decision.”

“In how you – we – raised Warlock?” Aziraphale frowned.

“Yeah. What if I – we – screwed up? Would it have been better to have simply raised him more…” She clicked her tongue. “Human?”

“Why? Are you not confident that he will make the right decision knowing what he knows?”

“No, actually I’m not.” Crowley answered honestly. “I mean, given, I didn’t tell him that the Hell Hound is what brings him in to power, but instead stressed that it was simply swearing an annoying loyalty to Hell. Which-!” She cut herself off and raised her hand to quickly silence whatever Aziraphale was going to say. “-really isn’t a lie! It's just missing some key information, which frankly I don’t think is important when we’re talking about avoiding the end of the world.”

Aziraphale simply shook his head disapprovingly.

“Either way you and I, of all people, should know that even if you know you shouldn’t do something, sometimes personal desire to pursue a curiosity takes precedence.”

Aziraphale blushed. "Yes, right... like Adam and Eve." He quickly turned to face forward. "However, I like to think that I taught him better than that.” Aziraphale commented, while continuing to avoid looking back at her. “I do see your point though.”

“Right… Adam and Eve.” She gave a soft hum. “Free will can be quite a bitch sometimes, huh?” Crowley pressed while purposely leaning forward to meet Aziraphale’s gaze.

“It’s not nice to call yourself that word, my dear.”

Crowley threw her head back and laughed while Aziraphale laughed timidly alongside her.

“Okay, come on Angel.” She stood up quickly. “We have a party to organize.”

“Avada Kedavra!” Warlock shouted while tapping Judas with a plastic wand. Judas intentionally stumbled backwards before falling to the ground dramatically. Other kids were also running around the garden with wands, black cloaks, and tagging each other with various colored wands. Several parents, who decided to stay, mingled casually near several snack tables that were decorated and themed accordingly, and paid no mind to the children running wildly. Warlock stood over Judas and smiled before helping him up.

“So, anything exciting happen yet?” Judas asked while they walked over to a table containing various colored drinks.

Warlock shook his head as he reached for a purple punch labeled polyjuice. “No, mum said nothing will happen until 3pm.”

“Oh, then what happens?” Judas asked while dispensing a brown liquid labeled pumpkin juice.

“The Hell Hound shows up.”

Judas gave him a quizzical look. “I’m sorry, the what?”

“Hell Hound. You know, like a demonic dog.” Warlock gave a dismissive wave. “But like, don’t worry, mum already told me not to name it and to reject it as a gift.”

Now, under normal circumstances one would typically be confused or bothered by these types of statements made in complete seriousness. These, however, were not normal circumstances. You see, Judas was quite used to Warlock's eccentricities. Warlock had talked about his family's demonic, and celestial, nature practically since the day they arrived. Despite Crowley's original order not to say anything about their nature, or the reason for their involvement, Warlock had eventually gone off and told Judas everything. This, unfortunately, had included the lie that Crowley fed Warlock to justify why they had to be there in the first place.

Not wanting to mention the Antichrist at all, Crowley had to come up with another reason as to why they had to watch over the ambassador’s son. The reason Crowley had come up with was that Hell believed Judas may be an angel, that like Warlock, was also destined to come in to a specific amount of power, and they were tasked to keep an eye on him.

Judas took genuine interest in the things Warlock told him and willingly played along. Key word: played. Judas, even at a young age, recognized that it wasn’t just Warlock that was, well… intensely odd. While Judas would openly admit that he did, in fact, love having them around, over the years he came to the conclusion that they were all, to some degree, crazy.

Judas generally had an aversion to conflict and found it easier to resign himself to going along. After all, the concept was fun, and Warlock had always kept it between the two of them while in front of others. Despite being a horrible liar, Judas was a good actor, and it really wasn’t Warlock’s fault he was, what Judas believed to be, delusional.

In hindsight, had Crowley said they were simply given the task of corrupting a child from a political family, and that Aziraphale was given the counter-task of stopping it, like, well, normal demons and angels, then maybe things would have played out a little more elegantly. However, the simple explanation never crossed either Crowley or Aziraphale’s minds. I could defend them and say this is a side-affect of going native. Ah, but you see… I don’t lie. So I am not going to do that. I suppose this is a good time to remind you of that popular quote from Sir Walter Scott’s poem titled Marmion, which reads ‘o, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive!’

A nd in the end, whether he believed Warlock or not, Judas quite liked the concept – and attention – of potentially being an a ngel. I mean, he’s a Leo after all.

“How do we explain it, though?” Judas pretended to be mildly panicked.

“Calm down. It’s just part of the theme, y’know? Like Fluffy from the Chamber of Secrets or…”

“Sirius Black?” Judas raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah!” Warlock laughed.

They both took a sip of their drinks and Judas looked back at Warlock. “What if you did name it? What would happen?”

“I guess it would symbolize my loyalty to Hell which is very annoying, terribly restricting, and not a good idea.” Warlock shrugged. “Or so mum told me.”

“Do you want to be loyal to Hell?” Judas questioned.

“Why? Do you want me to be?”

“No, absolutely not! It just seems odd though, don’t you think? If she’s a demon, why wouldn’t she want you to be loyal to Hell?”

“I guess other demons say she’s gone native; doesn’t check in to Hell much. It’s the same deal with Aziraphale.” Warlock gave a vague gesture towards Judas. “Plus, if I was loyal to Hell, I do believe you’d be off limits.”

“That obviously didn’t stop your parents, but I guess you do have a point.”

“It’s odd though, they didn’t mention anything about you and Heaven.” Warlock informed.

Judas was quiet for a moment, contemplating his next words. “Yeah, Warlock… about that-”

“Hey!” A girl ran up to both of them, interrupting their conversation. “We’re going to play muggle, muggle, mudblood. You guys in?”

“Sure!” Warlock chimed while placing his drink on the table.

Judas sighed and followed suit. He waited a moment for the girl to be out of ear shot before turning to Warlock. “Hey, real quick. Whatever happens, you know I support you, but like… if nothing happens today, you’re going to be okay, right?”

Warlock raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be dramatic Judas. Come on!” He turned suddenly and ran towards the group.

“What are they doing?” Harriet asked, while watching the kids gather.

Crowley leaned back and checked her watch. “Duck, duck, goose I do believe, except they’re going to shout a fictional slur.”

Harriet cleared her throat. “Well, okay then.”

Crowley chuckled. “I know you’re not a fan of the theme.”

“It’s fine, really. I personally don’t care, I just don’t know how some of the other parents feel.”

“They’ll get over it, most of them left anyway. Besides, it’s not like you actually care for any of them. I mean, just last night you said…”

“Shh!” Harriet threw her hand over Ashtoreth’s mouth, quite dramatically, and laughed.

They were seated on the opposite side of the garden, away from the other parents, and drinking wine that they insisted was juice that simply ‘looked better in a wine glass’, despite the fact they knew everyone was aware that they were lying.

“So, did you get Warlock anything special this year?”

“Oh, you know… just average 11 year old things. Like usual.” Crowley said with a dismissive wave.

Harriet looked at her curiously, though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

At some point, Warlock had broken away from the group to get another drink from the table, as if he hadn’t already left two or three others, half full, sitting around.

“Hey! Warlock!” Harriet called out, before he was able to make his way back to the other kids. “Show me what you got!”

He was confused for a moment before concluding, correctly, she was talking about his gift. Before Crowley had time to object, Warlock had reached in to his pocket and whipped it out.

“A knife!” He shouted, enthusiastically. He gave it a skillful, flashy, twirl before re-pocketing it and running back to the group.

“Yeah, he was supposed to leave that at home.” Crowley said with a sigh.

Now, under normal circumstances one would typically be alarmed by this choice in gift for a child. These, however, were not normal circumstances. You see, Harriet was quite used to Ashtoreth’s eccentricities. Warlock had been receiving weapons every year since they arrived, and yes, that included when he was 6 years old. Harriet and Thaddeus weren’t around much, and often terribly busy, but Harriet still took the time to be social when possible. Except, sometimes her ‘social’ included not leaving the house and forcing Miss Ashtoreth to endure her company. Not that Crowley minded given they were quite a fan of a relationship that supplied you with the details of political scandals, wild affairs, and good old-fashioned petty drama. If observation wasn’t enough, Judas was also a terrible liar – to Crowley’s dismay – and quite chatty when it came to relaying the details of his day and his interactions with the Fell family.

Most people questioned the Dowlings' choice in staff, since it was quite common to assume that the Dowlings themselves were more conservative and a bit reserved. Nonetheless, anyone who was aware that they almost named their child Warlock, would know that assumption is very wrong. Of course, Crowley was the only one who knew that bit of information considering Harriet herself had also miraculously forgotten that particular detail. Either way, a few shots of tequila would tell anyone that Harriet and Thaddeus Dowling were actually quite liberal, and frankly, a bit weird. Which was probably a good thing considering Harriet was convinced that, at the very least, Ashtoreth came out of a cult. To her, Judas seemed to be doing fine, so she didn’t bring it up. She was an Aries after all.

“A butterfly knife? Really, Ashtoreth?”

“It’s a trainer; the blade isn’t sharpened.”

“And was that your choice, or your husbands?” Harriet teased.

Crowley smirked, but didn’t answer.

“Hey! What did you just pull out of your pocket?” Kayla asked while Warlock made his way back to the group.

“Oh, nothing, just something my mum got me for my birthday.”

“Let us see!” Another child, Marcus, demanded.

Warlock frowned. “Mum said I can’t take it out; I was just showing Mrs. Dowling.”

“Yeah? I heard you yell it’s a knife. I bet you’re lying.” Marcus scoffed.

Warlock rolled his eyes and pulled it out, giving it a dramatic spin.

While a few kids did step back, for the most part, there was a chorus of impressed “oh”’s.

“That’s scary!” Kayla complained. “You’re scary!”

“Hey, don’t be rude!” Judas scolded, moving closer to where Warlock stood.

“Let me see it!” Marcus demanded, while attempting to take the knife from Warlock.

“No, you’ll probably break it!” Warlock responded, while pulling away from him.

“You’re supposed to share, you know.” Marcus spat before lunging at Warlock again.

Before they were able to come in to contact, Judas had moved to push Marcus back. “He doesn’t have to do anything, Marcus! If you have a problem just call your mom and leave!”

“Or what? Are you going to cry like you do about everything else?” Another boy, Tyler, stepped forward. “Get your way by being a crybaby.”

Judas immediately took on an expression of obvious hurt.

“See, there you go.” Marcus jeered.

“What is wrong with you guys!? It’s not his fault!” Warlock snapped.

Tyler stepped up to Warlock. “Yeah, you’re right, he’s just naturally a faggot just like you and the rest of your family.”

“Oh dear, it looks like something is going on over there.” Harriet informed, noticing the confrontational stance that a few of the kids had taken, while the others seemed to be watching.

2 minutes. Crowley, who had been checking her watch again, stood up. “I’ll go see what’s up, I need to speak to Warlock anyway.” She said while starting to making her way towards the kids.

 Judas saw Warlock finger the knife and immediately pushed Tyler backwards and away from Warlock. Dulled or not, he knew how Warlock could get. Before anyone could say anything more, Tyler threw his weight at Judas, which prompted a security guard to instinctively draw his weapon at the sight of violence directed at the ambassador’s son. Tyler hadn’t even finished pulling back when Warlock’s fist collided with his face, sending him tumbling backwards.

As Crowley drew closer she saw Judas hit the ground, rather hard. She watched security take a defensive position, but still hesitant and unsure how to address the situation. No one told them that more than likely, the most viscous thing at the party, would be the children. Frankly, it would have been amusing if she wasn’t worried about a time constraint and the fact that she just witnessed Warlock punch another child. By now a bunch of kids were chanting, “fight, fight!” and Crowley couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She wasn’t going to hear the end of it from Aziraphale over the fact that this, unsurprisingly, involved Warlock.

Security moved closer just in time for Marcus to crash in to them while trying to avoid a particularly violent swing from Warlock when he attempted to step in to defend Tyler.

Crowley stood close by, but didn’t step directly up to the group, wanting to avoid getting caught up in the fuss. “Warlock!” She called, trying to get his attention.

Warlock didn’t hear her. He had been too focused on the gun that had been knocked out of one of the, terribly under prepared, guards’ hands. Before anyone had time to fully acknowledge the dropped weapon, Warlock had rushed to pick it up.

30 seconds. “Warlock!” Crowley yelled again, while looking around the garden, unaware of what was unfolding with the excited kids.

“Hands up, dog breaths!” Warlock yelled as he raised the gun and pointed it aimlessly at the crowd.

While some kids had enough sense to step away, most simply complained that it wasn’t fair that they didn’t have guns as well. Security was now at an even bigger loss as to what their course of action should be as they looked back and forth at each other, waiting for someone else to make a move.

“Oh, you tosser!” Judas yelled, sounding more annoyed opposed to concerned.

5 seconds. “Oh for Hell’s sake Warlock!” Crowley whipped around to face the kids. She saw the piece of cake collide with Warlock’s face first. Three. And, inconveniently, the gun that was pointed her direction second. Two. Warlock instinctively tensed up and pulled the trigger. One.

There was a loud bang that caught the attention of everyone else in the garden. Crowley felt wetness run down her face and through her hair as kids began screaming and scattering from where they had been positioned. She looked up, confused, and saw food start to fly in every direction. Crowley blinked a few times and looked back at Warlock and his now water gun then turned slightly to meet the eyes of an embarrassed Aziraphale who was now standing close by.

“Damn it!” Harriet cursed, from across the garden. “The sign fell!”

Both Crowley and Aziraphale looked over to where one of the large prop signs now lay on the ground, a giant piece broken off and splintered having hit the concrete porch.

Crowley looked back at her watch. 3:01pm.

Aziraphale moved closer to her, rather sheepishly. “I’m sorry you’re wet, I panicked.”

Crowley shook her head. “That’s not my concern right now, Angel. Come here.” She grabbed his arm and lead him out of the garden and towards the Bentley. She checked one last time for any sign of a Hell Hound. There was nothing. She slammed the car door shut.

Okay! Settle down, settle down!” Harriet yelled. It was a moot point. Cake, cookies, and a variety of other foods already covered a good portion of the children, guards, serving staff, and – to Harriet’s personal amusement despite the situation – some of the parents who had chosen to stay.

“I want you to know…” Judas began, while running up to Harriet. “That this was the best thing that could have happened today.”

Warlock came up behind Judas, and before he had time to react, smeared icing down his face.

“Hey!” Judas exclaimed, with a short laugh, while trying to pull away.

“Look what you did!” Warlock flashed a wild smile. “Why would you throw cake? At me? Your best friend!?” Warlock put on a face of – quite dramatic – mock hurt.

Judas rolled his eyes and attempted to wipe the icing off his face which only made a bigger mess.

“Well, since everyone is a mess, we can’t publicly do gifts now. Your father is here, so we will end this with the gift from us.” Harriet huffed. “The other parents should be arriving soon.” She rubbed her head, already exhausted about the extensive conversation she was going to have with various parents as to why their kid was covered in food. “It’s after 3pm anyway.”

Warlock’s demeanor immediately changed. He looked back to Crowley only to find both her, and Aziraphale, were gone. Judas, not sensing his discomfort, grabbed Warlock’s hand began to drag him to the middle of the garden.

“What do you think it is?” Judas asked, excitedly.

“I’m not sure.” Warlock answered while looking around the garden nervously. Something was wrong. Where did his parents go?

“What an interesting conclusion…” Thaddeus began, while looking around at the disaster that was now his backyard. “… to this wonderful day.” He cleared his throat and shot a quick glance to Harriet who simply shrugged. “I am sorry I couldn’t join you, but I was busy obtaining the newest addition to our family.” He turned and gave a sharp whistle.

And with that a large, black, dog came running in to the garden and right up to Judas.

Crowley flipped on the car radio while continuing to look out the window.

“It’s late.” Aziraphale stated.

“Yeah, I know that.” Crowley replied, a bit harshly. “Something's wrong.”

And as if on a cue, the radio began to static and the music cut out.

“Hello, Crowley." A voice came through the speakers.

“Yes, hi. Who’s this?” Crowley asked while glancing at Aziraphale.

"Dagon. Lord of the Flies, Master of Torments." Dagon replied.

"Yes, right. Uh, just wondering about that Hell Hound."

"It should be with you by now. Why? Is something wrong, Crowley?" Dagon questioned.

"Wrong? No, no. Nothing's wrong… oh! There he is! Very nice… hell-ish Hell Hound. Yes, okay, great talking to you." Crowley quickly flipped off the radio.

“No dog.” Aziraphale stated blankly.

“No dog.” Crowley echoed.

“Wrong boy.”

“Wrong boy...”

“You-” Aziraphale paused a moment, as if still trying to process the situation. “-kidnapped someone’s child.”

“…I kidnapped someone’s child.”

There was a long silence that was suddenly broken by a sharp knock on the passenger window, startling both of them. They looked over to find Warlock, who gave a playful wave, before climbing in to the backseat of the Bentley.

“So…” Warlock began casually, while leaning forward. “I don’t know what a Hell Hound is supposed to look like, but Judas, the angel, just got a big, black, dog.” Warlock eyed both of them. “He named it Abaddon.”

There was a long silence. Warlock looked back and forth between the two and watched Aziraphale shift uncomfortably. Crowley hadn’t moved an inch.

Warlock cleared his throat and leaned in further to tap Crowley on the arm. “So…” He began, his voice losing all casualty, and instead, was laced with hostility. “I want you to start from the beginning so we can pinpoint where this went horribly wrong.”