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Crowley usually does not visit a small pub where quality liquor and good service are missing. Yet, as a middle rank demonic agent working on Earth, he does not always have a choice of his workplace.
“Get up there and make some trouble.” That is what he has been told. Crowley just can't help sneering at this simple instruction. He can not understand why the authorities of Hell prefer to slur their orders, as if a single one more word meant multiple wages. He will spend days trying to read his boss's mind before giving a presentation, during which his gorgeous ginger hair will be dim. How on earth can he make those unimaginative colleagues like Beelzebub, Hastur and Ligur understand his masterpiece? Hundreds and thousands of people will crowd in Bethlehem, filling every available space. The exhaustion, anxiety, resentment and other emotions that have accumulated over the course of several days will be combined together to create even more negative emotions. Crowley doesn't even need to lift a pinky. All he needs to do is to get humans together and enjoy the outcomes. It is far more efficient than killing an unborn baby. Besides, he does not approve of killing children, even though sometimes their imagination for evil would even make a demon feel ashamed.
That bright new star has been hanging in the sky for three days, guiding waves of pilgrims to the stable. Heaven always tends to make a splash. This time is no exception. Crowley has suffered at least three migraines since he arrived in Bethlehem. Thanks to the army of angels, the sanctity in the air has increased and Crowley sometimes feels that every breath he takes is a torture.
There are not many factors that can be strong enough to make the demon put up with such hush working conditions. Of course, Hell's blacklist might be one of them. But if Crowley can be honest to himself, then -----
The former Serpent of Eden tastes the air with his tongue and notices a trace of familiar smell along those holy dusts. It is not a taste that will delight a demon in a traditional sense, for those creatures of darkness crawling in Hell, anything that is related to holiness can only cause subconscious nausea and fear. After all, Crowley has spent thousands of years on Earth and, in the words of his fellow colleagues in Hell, “go native”.
Crowley leaps lightly from the trunk and walks towards the stable.
This is his first time to venture into the most sacred field of this area. However, the gravel under the demon's feet does emit painful heat. Like all other sun-burned grounds, it is still slowly releasing its warmth.
Crowley notices the holy taste at the base of his tongue first, then a clearer outline of glory. A gentle singing sound is passing through the cracks between the wooden boards on the stable. It is really, well, angelic.
“Ah, haven't seen you for a while, Azi -----,” the former Serpent of Eden stumbles, “Oh, ah, looks like you are …Eh, busy with work?”
Aziraphale has stopped singing as soon as the devil steps inside the stable. He holds the baby closer to his chest and raises an expressive eyebrow, “Might I ask what you are doing here?”
“I can ask you the same question,” Crowley is determined not to look at the angel's breasts, “Heaven just won't waste any chance to ‘squeeze’ its employee, huh?”
“This is purely my own ----- personal behaviour,” Aziraphale ignores the puns with his cool attitude as usual, “ That poor couple are exhausted and they deserve a good sleep, I think. ”
Crowley follows his gaze and looks deeper into the stable. On a haystack which looks unusually soft, Mary and Joseph are snoring. A transparent barrier created by the holy miracle is hovering around,which effectively isolates various noises.
“Why don't you just use miracles to him too? ” The demon nods to the baby resting in the angel's arms, nods to the Son of God, Almighty, King of Israel, the Holy and Righteous, the Blessed Jesus ----- Crowley has no intention to remember all those wordy titles.
Aziraphale holds the baby's head and guides him to suck the other breast. Crowley can't help noticing his swollen nipple and the wet traces on the skins.
“I don't want to use up my monthly miracles so soon. Besides, I have to deal with the swelling after the heat. It is rather intense this time.”
“Well I guess it is the crowd, you know, pheromone disorder,” Crowley looks at the angel's tired eyes and pale lips, “I think this is more effective than murdering a child, isn't it?”
“This is indeed your style.” Aziraphale frowns, as the baby can suck harder than he has expected, “Of course, I suppose you do know that any evil action against the Son of God will be in vain? I have come across with colleagues these days. They ----- ” The Principality pauses just in time, for he realizes at that moment his primary intention is not to stop Crowley's “evil deeds”, but to let the demon be careful and avoid the army of Heaven. This is, no doubt, a serious dereliction of duty.
“Come now,” Crowley suddenly gets excited, “I just don't see why Heaven has to boast about this matter like, ‘ the Savior’ or ‘ the King of Israel’. He is just an infant.”
The Son of God, Almighty, King of Israel, the Holy and Righteous, the Blessed one burps and Aziraphale pats the baby's back lightly.
“And I have heard rumors, about the ‘father’ of the savior. He is our little brother in a sense, isn't it? ”
“Maybe.” Aziraphale puts the sleepy Jesus into a simple wooden cradle, “But I think he should be more like them than us.”
Crowley follows him to the cradle and looks down at the little face. The baby is carefree and contented, for now.
“He will become a great man.” Aziraphale says softly, “Glory to the most high God, and peace to those in whom She delights.”
“You seriously believe this bullshit?” Crowley snorts, “What if he only wants to be an ordinary carpenter? I guess as the Old Nanny's son he will suffer a lot? ”
The little Jesus's eyes shift back and forth between the demon and the angel.
“It is a test.” Aziraphale bites his lips, “We must make sure that he is qualified.”
“How thoughtful.” Crowley says sarcastically.
“We can't judge Her decisions.” the angel mutters.
“You can't,” the demon replies, “But I can.”
He looks at the angel kneeling beside him. The dim light from the stable lightens the other's pale blond hair and it looks like a mini halo. Yet Aziraphale is not like his colleagues in Heaven: He is too soft, anxious for some reasons even he himself doesn't know. He always prefers to listen to Crowley, to his random thoughts and wild ideas. Sometimes he might retort halfheartedly. Crowley wonders if this is Aziraphale's unique way to doubt the “ineffable”.
The demon refocuses his attention on the baby who is now dozing. He snaps his fingers and replaces the linen in the cradle with something more comfortable.
“You don't want to test him so soon, right? ” Crowley winks at the angel, “A baby like his age has not yet developed much sense of autonomy. A little luxury won't do harm, eh, good, whatever.”
Aziraphale makes no protests. He winces and rubs his swollen breasts, “I didn't expect they will be so sensitive. Oh, well, thank you?”
The angel straightens the soft robe created by Crowley's miracle,“I am afraid that I have to stay here tonight. Do you have any other plans?”
Crowley shrugs. He doesn't have any specific plans yet.
What he really means is that he is going to patrol this area. Demons is possessive and protective towards what they long for. It is in their bloods. Crowley doesn't want to know why tonight he has suddenly responds so positively to this instinct. It must be the stupid pheromone: As an Alpha, he must protect the only Omega here. Crowley really becomes too “native”.
Aziraphale just stares at the demon in front of him.
As an angel, he should have made him leave. He should have kept those who might corrupt the Holy Son as far away from here as possible.
But Aziraphale wants Crowley to stay.
“Most of the army of Angels have already left here.” the former Angel of the Eastern Gate says slowly to the Serpent of Eden.
Crowley raises his eyebrows.
“Stay,” Aziraphale taps the ground beside him, “At least until morning, I can't have you lurking around at night.”
“Well, as you wish, angel.” Crowley grins. He takes out a leather pouch full of wine and holds it to Aziraphele's lips, “Here, drink something. You look exhausted. ”
The angel accepts the seduction easily. The amber liquor burns its way down his esophagus into the stomach, bringing a sense of ease.
“By the way, do you know it was Gabriel who told Maria about the Pregnant?” he shakes his head at Crowley, “Poor girl, she is allergic to lily pollen.”
The little Jesus lying in the stable still can't understand the hardship and trials he must face in the future. He turns around, listening to the conversations of those two supernatural beings and falls asleep again. He finally doesn't have to be carried out and exhibited to different strangers like rare goods. Most importantly, he has had a wonderful meal. What more could a baby ask for?