Work Text:
Monday:
The alarm clock burst into life and from under a pile of twisted blankets and pillows, the man called Warlock groaned. He let the obnoxious beeping continue another thirty second, maybe a minute, and then, with another groan that was more like a cross between a moan and a growl, he rolled over and snoozed the stupid thing.
Fifteen minutes later he repeated the ritual, finally rolling himself to the side of the bed and pushing his legs dejectedly onto the floor.
By the time he’d showered, his coffee was tepid. But he gulped it anyway, pulling on an unremarkable and very boring suit, trying not to meet his morose reflection in the bathroom sink as he quickly brushed his teeth. He searched for a couple frustrated minutes for his wallet and car keys, muttering a half-hearted expletive when he found them in the pockets of yesterday’s pants. And finally, inexorably, he gave in to the slow, mundane drive to work.
His cubicle was, as it had been for weeks, noticeably dimmer than it should have been and he glanced balefully up at the dark florescent bulb above his desk. How hard was it to change a light bulb?
“I mean how hard is it?” he muttered impotently under his breath.
Not that it really mattered. Without the bulb, he had to squint at the forms. With it, the glare off his computer screen made him squint at that.
Hours of mind-numbing data entry later, he shambled into the cramped break room for a highly unfulfilling microwave lunch, after which he worked monotonously through the afternoon, took a couple bathroom breaks which he stretched out as long as possible, and finally drove home through the traffic of all the other people driving home from their jobs. Identical rows of identical cars returning to identical homes.
He had an unremarkable dinner in front of the tv, went to bed, and got up the next morning to do the same thing all over again.
Wednesday:
Warlock ambled through the grocery store, one wheel of his cart intermittently sticking and dragging him to the side. As he navigated doggedly through the aisles, dropping the same things he always got into the cart, he wondered if maybe he should try that whole Instacart thing he’d heard a coworker talking about. On the up side, he wouldn’t have to endure the gambit of shopping. On the other hand, he didn’t really have anything better to do.
That’s when it happened. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two people. One was tall and lanky, and dressed all in black. The other was shorter and rounder in a long tan coat. They held hands in the casual, comfortable way of couples who have been together for a long time, and even though the quick glance he got told him he’d never seen them before, some odd feeling of recognition sparked in him. When he turned to look again, they were gone. With more energy and focus than he’d done anything in years, he checked all the aisles, some unknown need building within him, and actually felt disappointed when he didn’t find the odd couple again.
He paid for his groceries and drove home, feeling unsettled and, inexplicably sad.
Friday:
Warlock leaned back in the overstuffed armchair, feeling even sillier than he’d thought he would. “No… I mean, I don’t really know what’s wrong. I just… nothing feels like anything.”
The therapist nodded thoughtfully, notepad in one hand, pen in the other. She was short and plump, and sat poised on the edge of her seat. Her hair was short and curly, and reminded Warlock of nothing so much as a very blond sheep. She was watching him intently, hope practically shining out of her face.
“Maybe this isn’t a good idea.” Warlock mumbled. Both self-conscious, and worried that he was going to let her down in some way. “You know, maybe I should just go”
“Nonsense dear boy” the therapist’s smile was disarmingly warm, and her proper British accent filled him with an unexpected feeling of nostalgia. “There’s absolutely nothing to worry about. Therapy is a process. Try talking some more.” she offered encouragingly.
“I don’t know” Warlock rubbed a hand through his hair, “I just feel like there was supposed to be something important… something special… for me. ” he trailed off with an awkward laugh, “Wow I sound like a cliché of privileged first-world white boy problems. This is all pretty stupid. I don’t know why I’m here really.”
“Everyone needs someone to talk to now and then,” the therapist smiled encouragingly, “And since you are here”, she pulled out a pair of what looked like antique reading glasses, tucking the wires behind her ears before opening her notebook and peering down at it. She flipped back through her notes, her lips moving silently as she scanned, then triumphantly tapped her pen on the paper, pulling the glasses back off and folding them carefully on the desk in front of her.
“In your intake forms you mentioned your childhood nanny a couple times,” she said with a disarming smile, “and a gardener named Brother Francis. Could you tell me a little bit more about them? Maybe a little something about your childhood?”
Warlock blew out the breath he’d been holding, “Well, it was back in England, when I was a kid. I don’t remember much from that time”
“But you do remember these two people? They must have made an impression” the therapist prompted.
Warlock snorted, “Yeah, you could say that.”
The therapist looked startled for a second, but recovered quickly, her expression returning to calm and curious. “Well that sounds promising. What do you remember about them?”
“Well, it was almost like they were caricatures of a nanny and a gardener. They were pretty odd ducks. Which is a funny expression really because ducks aren’t really that odd. But actually they also did really like ducks…” Warlock trailed off, distracted by a sudden memory of stuffing his pockets with bread while his mother wasn’t looking, and marching proudly out to the duck pond behind their mansion of a house. The picture of Nanny and the gardener waiting for him there, sent a pang through the numbness in his chest.
The therapist coughed politely and Warlock started, realizing he’d been staring into the past, “Anyway,” he tried to brush off the lingering feeling of loss, “there was something different about them. Of course I didn’t think so back then. I didn’t know any different.” Warlock paused, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to stay focused as memory fragments kept sending jolts of unexpected emotion through him. “I remember Nanny Ashtoreth would sing to me”
“Oh well that’s nice” the therapist beamed.
“Yeah.” He paused thoughtfully, “I always felt safe when she was around. Which is pretty weird because I also remember being half scared of her most of the time.”
The therapist seemed taken aback. “Scared of her?”
“Just silly kid stuff.” Warlock squinted at the blurry memories, “I remember her teeth being really long and pointy, kind of curved. But not all the time… And I could have sworn her eyes were like…” he made a gesture with both hands in front of his face, “You know, slitty, and yellow like a cat or something.” He shook his head with a self conscious laugh, “I told you I don’t remember that time really well. I do remember she wore sunglasses all the time. Even inside. Other people noticed that, so I know I didn’t make that bit up. But…” Warlock frowned slightly, “… I could have sworn she had an adam’s apple.”.
He grinned self-consciously, “I was a weird kid. I don’t know. Sometimes I think I can’t tell the difference between things that really happened, and things I just dreamed.”
He paused, “But you know what I do remember for real? I always felt like I was special. That there was something special I was meant for. Like some day I was going to wake up with super powers or something. Do all kids feel like that?” he didn’t wait for the therapist to answer, “Maybe it was because I was always so different from the other kids.”
“What makes you think you were different?” she asked gently.
“Oh lots of things. I mean I was the only American kid in my school, I never really made friends easily. Plus none of the other kids knew the right words to the nursery rhymes. I was always getting in trouble for trying to teach them… I think I was kind of a dark kid. But nanny didn’t seem to mind.”
Warlock could have sworn the therapist let out a little snort of her own but when he looked up her features were carefully composed and she sounded a little anxious when she asked “And this Brother Francis?”
Warlock shrugged, “He was our gardener. He was nice. He always talked to me, even if he was busy. I think he had a thing for my nanny”
The therapist made a small choking sound and Warlock looked up to see her dabbing a drop of hot chocolate off the front of her blouse as she steadied the mug on the edge of her desk.
“You okay?”
“Ah, yes, yes thankyou.” She murmured, smiling brightly at him, then continuing with a comical level of nonchalance, “Um, what makes you think this Brother Francis had a “thing” for your nanny?”
Warlock couldn’t imagine what that had to do with his problems, but she was the therapist after all so he thought about it, “Well, I didn’t really know what was going on with them back then. But looking back, I think I can say for sure that if they weren’t secretly together, they definitely wanted to be if you know what I mean.”
The therapist shifted in her chair, and Warlock was surprised to see her cheeks go pink.
“Oh geez, um, is that not appropriate for me to talk about? I… I’m sorry, I’m new to this whole therapy thing…”
“Oh no, it’s quite alright” she assured him, her eyes dropping to her notepad, then back up to his with a softness that he couldn’t really read.
“Were your, um, parents around?”
Warlock, surprised by the abrupt change of subject, waved a hand vaguely, “Oh, they were around. My Mom more than Dad. He was some big shot in politics. Even when he was around, he wasn’t really around. Then again, neither was my Mom. It was like they were in a competition to see which one of them could stay away from me the most. I’m not even really sure why they decided to have a kid anyway”
“Ah” the therapists gentle voice broke through the familiar but time-dulled feelings of rejection and loneliness starting to settle in around Warlock, “It sounds like maybe this nanny and gardener were more important to you than they realized.”
Warlock shrugged with resignation, “Maybe. I always felt like I had to compete for my parents attention. That the rest of their lives were way more important than I was. But with Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis, well it was more like they were competing with each-other over me. Like I was important, like I mattered.” He trailed off. “But then they just left, kind of suddenly.”
“Oh? When was that?” the therapist leaned forward.
“Just after my 11th birthday. Funny that I remember that. Maybe it’s because I always thought maybe I did something wrong, like if I hadn’t started that food fight at the party, or if I’d been nicer to that really bad magician, they wouldn’t have left. Weird what a kids brain puts together huh.”
The therapist shifted again, straightening her tartan bowtie, and didn’t meet his gaze for a couple seconds. Warlock had just started to worry that he’d offended her in some way when she seemed to rally and met his gaze with renewed focus.
“I might hazard a guess that they didn’t leave you because of something you did or didn’t do. But because of something… else. Maybe something big. Something out of their control”
Warlock thought about it “Maybe I just thought it was because of me because everything they did until then seemed to be about me.”
The therapist nodded thoughtfully.
“I did wonder if maybe my parents fired them. Or if they ran away to get married. I just didn’t understand why they never tried to get in touch with me again. I did do a little looking around for them. Before I moved to America….”
“Ah.” The therapist took a deep breath, “It sounds like they were very important to you. And I can say for sure that you were very important to them as well.”
“Hm” Warlock breathed non-comitally.
The therapist nodded to herself as if she’d come to some kind of decision, set her pen and notepad down, and folded her hands around her middle, “Warlock, I’d like to try something.”
“What?”
“It’s something we therapists do sometimes to help people remember things. Things they can’t remember, or that are kind of fuzzy.”
“You mean hypnosis?” Warlock asked frowning, “Oh I don’t know. Do you really think that’ll help me? I mean remembering my childhood is one thing, but do you really think that’ll help me figure out why my life feels like such a let-down?”
The therapist cocked her head to the side, studying him, “Well it can’t hurt to try can it?”
Warlock shrugged, since he was here, he might as well get his money’s worth, “Well, okay sure. Why not.”
She seemed relieved as she beamed back at him, “Okay dear, I want you to get comfortable and close your eyes.”
Warlock leaned his head back and dutifully shut his eyes.
“I’m going to have you take three long, deep breaths. And each time you exhale, you’re going to relax a little more, until all the tension in your body is completely gone. Remember you are safe. And everything is going to be okay.”
Warlock, breathing and relaxing, thought fleetingly that he didn’t think this was how you hypnotized a person, when he heard somebody, presumably the therapist, snap her fingers, and suddenly reality shifted.
He was in his childhood room, tucked into his childhood bed. The hands resting in front of his face on his Transformers pillow case, were kids hands, stubby and grimy under the nails. The room was dark save for his nightlight casting shadows into the corners. He shifted, aware of a couple awkward objects spread out on the bed around him, and, feeling across the covers in the dark, identified random toys he’d long forgotten about. A sense of adventure flooded back into him, an underlying level of excitement, expectation, and self-importance, as if it was irrevocably connected to the younger version of his body, welded into the reality he was revisiting. He felt so real, so alive, that he could have cried.
He heard a squeak from the corner where his dresser sat, a soft metallic clicking, and another squeak, accompanied by soft shuffling sounds. And that’s when he knew. This was the night after his eleventh birthday party. And the sounds emanating from the corner were his new pet gerbil, exploring its ridiculously elaborate set of tunnels, tubes, and exercise equipment.
He’d had no idea how detailed hypnosis could be, but he was definitely impressed. He was there, he was eleven years old. It was all accurate down to the smell of damp grass outside his open window, the texture of his flannel pjs, and the slightly sticky feeling above his right ear where some icing from today’s epic cake fight lingered. He was about to congratulate the therapist for doing such a good job, when the door to the hall opened slowly, and two figures entered. Even in the dim room, Warlock knew who they were and he sat up expectantly. “Nanny? Brother Francis?” his voice was high and sweet with only a hint of the harshness that signaled the coming roller coaster of puberty. The adult Warlock inside the child watched curiously, realizing this was a memory he had no recollection of.
“Nanny?” he called again softly, “what are you doing?” then hopefully, pulling himself up farther in bed, “Are we going to go look at the stars tonight with Brother Francis?”
Nanny Ashtoreth stepped out of the shadows then in all her dark, mysterious beauty, “No dear” she said gently, sitting down on the chair by his bed. Brother Francis stepped up behind her, clasping his hands behind his back, “Hello there young master Warlock” he smiled his lopsided smile, and in the dimness, his gentle eyes looked sad.
“Hi.” Warlock felt his child self begin to pick up on an unexpressed tension around the two adults without understanding it.
“Warlock” Nanny Ashtoreth said softly, “I… we have something to tell you dear”
“What is it Nanny?” he asked
“Well you see, we… we’re not just your nanny and gardener.”
“Okay” little Warlock nodded his head, waiting expectantly.
“You see I’m, well I’m…” Nanny Ashtoreth paused, glancing up at Brother Francis.
“I’m an angel dear boy” the gardener said quietly, “and your nanny, well, is a demon.”
Warlock nodded his head again, “Cool”. The boy Warlock grinned, and while the adult Warlock experienced the memory of that feeling of ready acceptance, he now added a heavy dose of skepticism and bewildered disbelief into the mix.
“We met in the garden of Eden you see.” Brother Francis’s voice became animated, his accent beginning to soften, “Nanny was a wily serpent… and I was supposed to be guarding the apple tree. You know the one Adam and Eve weren’t supposed to eat from. But I got distracted. You see, the pears had just come ripe, and, well you know how much I love pears…” Nanny turned to rest a hand delicately on the gardener’s shoulder and his story petered out into silence.
“And then what happened?” Warlock asked, undaunted.
“Well, many, many things my dear” Nanny Ashtoreth replied in her familiar, soothing voice. “But the important thing is that angels and demons, well we work for different people.”
“Yeah, heaven and hell” Warlock supplied helpfully.
“Yes” Nanny agreed as the gardener nodded his head sagely, “and eleven years ago, my boss gave me a big job.”
“What was it?” Warlock asked eagerly.
“Well, I was supposed to deliver a baby, the antichrist to be exact, to a certain hospital, and then watch after him until he was old enough to start Armageddon and end the world in fire and flame. You know, teach him the ways of evil and all” Nanny broke into one of her unexpected toothy smiles and Warlock grinned mischievously back until a thought dawned on him.
“I’m the antichrist? That’s the special thing I’m supposed to do? The Arma-whaty?”
“Well” Brother Francis stepped in quickly, “we thought so. You see after Nanny delivered the baby, she came to see me. As I said, we had known each-other for a very long time, and, well, neither of us wanted to see the world destroyed, so we figured out a plan. Your nanny’s job was to teach the child to be… well… evil. So I came along to balance her out with my heavenly influence.”
The two adults exchanged a glance before Nanny Ashtoreth turned back around and leaned forward, “Warlock dear, there was a… mix-up. I thought you were that baby that I delivered. The Antichrist. The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is Called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness… but, well dear, you aren’t.”
“But…” Warlock wasn’t sure how to feel about that, “why not?”
“You just aren’t dear boy. And that’s a good thing” Brother Francis added quickly. “A very good thing”
“But I want to be Prince of the Dragons and Darkness Pits and I tell really good lies!” Warlock felt his voice rising.
“Shhhhh. Hush child.” Nanny Ashtoreth murmured soothingly, “You are all that. Best little liar I know. And you are meant for great things. Great and mischievous things. But you aren’t the Antichrist.”
Warlock opened his mouth to protest again but Brother Francis spoke quickly.
“The antichrist is supposed to end the world. Bring about the end of everything. You don’t really want to kill everybody and everything in the world do you? Or make your nanny and me fight each-other in the great war that is to come?”
Well, when put like that, Warlock knew for sure he didn’t want to do any of those things. Especially make nanny and Brother fight each-other because the way they were looking into each-other’s eyes broke his little heart even though he didn’t have the first clue about what they were thinking.
Quickly he shook his head, “No” he said softly, “I don’t want to do that.” But still, disappointment was already settling in. “So if I’m not the Antichrist then who am I?”
Nanny Ashtoreth turned her eyes from Brother Francis’s and slowly removed her sunglasses. Her eyes glinted yellow in the dark and Warlock was not afraid. “You my darling boy, are Warlock.”
“But what does that even mean?” Warlock nearly wailed.
“That, my dear, is your mission. To figure out who you are and what you’re meant to do in this world.” Brother Francis’s rough accent was completely gone and his expression was very earnest.
“You are also the keeper of the biggest secret an eleven year old has ever possessed”.
Warlock was about to ask what secret when Brother Francis backed up a step and smoothly *changed*. His goofy teeth receded, his hair curled, his baggy outfit turned into an impeccable vest and pants set complete with tartan bowtie and golden shoes. And from his shoulders, enormous white wings stretched from one side of the room to the other.
Even as Warlock gaped at the golden light surrounding this very changed Brother Francis, Nanny stood and circled to the other side of his bed, and with a hesitant glance at what was clearly an angel, began to change as well. Black wings filled that side of the room, and Nanny Ashtoreth transformed into a lanky, twitchy rock star. Warlock stared even harder than he had at Brother Francis before he blurted out “Nanny, you’re a man!”
“Sometimes dear boy.” The demon replied in a much deeper voice than he had heard his nanny use before, shaking out his shoulder length hair and stretching like a serpent released from a pencil skirt, “And the name is Crowley”
“I’m Aziraphale” the angel on his other side offered.
“And now you know us as no other human does” Nanny Ashtoreth, no, Crowley told him.
“Warlock” the angel named Aziraphale who used to be Brother Francis knelt down by the bed, and his wings swept gently against the window frame, “Armageddon is days away. We have to find the antichrist and stop the world from ending.”
“Wicked” Warlock said breathlessly, “I’ll come with you!”
“No dear” his nanny demon squatted on the other side of his bed, “just because you aren’t the antichrist doesn’t mean it isn’t my job to protect you. I’m going to keep you safe. And to do that, I need you to stay here. I’m gonna find the antichrist, and I’m gonna put an end to all this. And you are going to have a good life. The kind of life every kid wishes they had.”
Warlock felt his eyes filling with tears. “But I already do” he whispered.
The demon named Crowley looked down at his hands, then extended one to Warlock. It was as delicate and strong as Nanny Ashtoreth’s had ever been, “I swear if you ever need me, I’ll find you” he promised, and looking into his eyes, young and old Warlock saw the intense truth of a demon’s promise. Warlock spit solemnly into his small hand and clasped his nanny’s as hard as he could. “Okay. Just be careful okay?”
Crowley nodded back then straightened, folding his wings away. “Okay angel, let’s go.” The demon pulled his sunglasses back on, and left the room quickly but Warlock could have sworn that in the dim light, tears glistened on his gaunt cheeks.
The angel folded his own wings away and smiled sadly at Warlock.
“Be a good boy” he said gently, brushing a hand over Warlock’s forehead. And as grown-up Warlock felt his child self falling instantly into a supernaturally deep sleep, the last thing he heard was Aziraphale’s sweet voice say “I’m so sorry.”
Warlock opened his eyes and was stunned to find himself in the armchair in the therapist’s office.
He stared uncomprehending at the ceiling for a minute, then straightened his neck, rubbing the stiffness out as his gaze fell on the therapist. She waited expectantly, hands poised on the desk, eyes wide and hopeful.
“Aziraphale?” he asked groggily.
The angel relaxed visibly, letting out a long sigh of relief, “Yes! Oh thank the Almighty it worked!”. The angel slipped smoothly back into his most accustomed look, smoothing his vest and straightening his bowtie.
Warlock laughed a little hysterically, “For real?” he managed to say before a shadow appeared at the door. His hair was short, but apart from that, he was the exact same rock star Warlock remembered.
“Nanny…” Warlock’s voice cracked a little, “I mean… Crowley”
The demon took a step into the room, “I didn’t know” he said quickly.
“Know what?” Warlock asked, completely lost.
The angel at the desk cleared his throat, “That I put an, um, protective bubble around what occurred that night. What we told you. What you saw. So you wouldn’t remember.”
He looked so sheepish that Warlock almost couldn’t be mad at him. Almost.
“Why the hell would you do that?”
Aziraphale looked hurt and guilty at the same time and Crowley took another step into the room, “He didn’t think we’d be able to stop the antichrist and he didn’t want you to know you only had a couple more days to live. Plus humans are weird about other humans saying they’ve been visited by angels and demons. I know…” Crowley put up a hand as Warlock tried to protest, “He shouldn’t have done it. You were already a part of the whole thing, and it wasn’t fair for him to take that memory away. I was mad too when he told me…”
The look the demon exchanged with the angel was decidedly not mad.
“But he did tell me. And when he did, we started looking for you.”
“But you said you’d be there if I needed you. You swore. Didn’t you think it was weird that I never needed you?”
Crowley shrugged one shoulder self deprecatingly, “I was just your nanny. I figured you’d moved on.”
As if from a great distance, Warlock realized he was about to cry, and choked down the first sob before giving up and letting it out. “You guys were the only people who ever cared about me!” he roared between gasps, the pent up emotions of ten plus years pulling him to his feet, “How the fuck could you have thought I would just stop needing you?”
There was a rush of air around him and he found himself folded between two sets of arms, and two sets of wings. Cocooned from the world he’d never felt a part of, he felt the depths of the angel’s regret and caring, the fierceness of the demon’s pride and support, and slowly the years of confusion and disappointment began to melt away. Every unfulfilled moment, every minute he’d felt alone or unimportant. The apathy, the pointlessness, the questioning, the wondering, feeling like a freak, a stranger in his own life, all faded; drawn out and away, leaving a vast void of potential and possibility. And at the heart of that void, burned the embers of emotions long forgotten. That excitement, the sense of adventure, expectation. But best of all, a sense of himself. Of his real self. Self worth that wasn’t contingent on anybody’s reactions to him, either their interest or apathy, their judgment or approval. Deep in the embrace of the demon who had once been his nanny, and the angel who had once been his mentor, Warlock found himself. And when those wings and arms released him, he emerged no longer a confused and lost boy, but a confident and self-aware man. With the two best friends anybody could ever have. And the best secret any human had ever known.
Saturday Morning:
Warlock opened his eyes. He’d left his curtains open the night before, and although the sun wasn’t quite up yet, the sky was an incredible display of red, orange, and gold. He sat up on the edge of his bed, then padded out on the balcony, shivering in the chilly breeze as he watched the colors shift and lighten until the first sliver of the sun peeked over the horizon, warm on his skin.
The first thing he did was write his resignation letter. That was very satisfying.
Then, in a rush of inspiration, he signed up for a cooking class, a ballroom dancing class, and a volunteer gardener program at a local wildlife habitat park (where, unbeknownst to him, he would, some years later meet the love of is life, whom he would marry a scant six months later in a ceremony presided over by two very proud supernatural beings) . He spoke to a nice lady at the library down the road who was very happy to have him join their reading-to-kids-on-Thursdays group, telling him enthusiastically that he would be the first man to join the group, and they would be so thrilled for the children to see him volunteering to tell them stories. He requested information packets from all the most interesting colleges he could find online, and got a chuckle out of a meditation workshop that offered to help you contact your spirit guides.
Finally in a rush of inspiration, he took himself clothes shopping, checking out every department and ignoring the sales associates’ confused and thinly veiled judgments of his wide ranging and unconventional final choices.
Back home he threw away every last one of his boring, itchy suits, lugging the bulging trash bags out to the bin and shoving them in with relish.
He met with two old friends for dinner. A lanky demon all in black, and a paunchy angel with impeccable taste. They laughed over their food, talked about the past, and savored the present.
And as the man named Warlock walked home that night, wondering why the moon and stars were so bright, he realized for the first time since forever, that he was happy, and that, finally, he was ready to discover who he was. And that that was the great purpose he’d been meant for all along.