Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 It wasn’t a dark and stormy night. Nor was it a mild one; the general consensus was that it was only a bitterly cold one, with a 24% chance of light rain, to be exact.

 That is, unless an angel permitted it.

 Aziraphale had been fussing about in the kitchen, making two cups of earl grey tea. He knew Crowley would be coming, and knew that even though his lovely demon claimed to hate tea, he was bound to drink it anyways. 

 He’d made sure to force the rain to clear up - it wouldn’t stay that way for long, because unfortunately he wasn’t an omnipotent being, contrary to popular belief. He hoped Crowley arrive soon, he was awfully late…

 Almost on cue, the front bell rang, and Aziraphale grabbed the two mugs, ready to hand one off to Crowley. He stepped out into the front of the shop, shocked to see Crowley not only soaking wet, but carrying a basket of all things. His usual styled hair was damp and sticking to his forehead; he shivered in the dim light. His sunglasses, which he normally adorned, were gone. 

 Aziraphale stared at the basket for a moment, but soon diverted his attention to his partner. 

 “Here, dearest,” he said, handing him the mug and dragging him into the back room. “Why don’t you warm up while I get us some biscuits?”

 Crowley didn’t take his usual spot on the couch. He didn’t even put the basket down. 

 “Crowley?”

 “Angel, I...the..” Crowley began. “I’m sorry, it was stupid of me.” He set the basket down on the couch gingerly before rubbing his neck.

 Aziraphale stared at him, confused. “Why are you sorry, my boy?”

 Crowley visibly tensed, and opened the lid of the basket. Whatever it was, it made a sweet, high pitched noise similar to a cry.

 A baby's cry. 

 Aziraphale peered inside, gasped, and dropped his mug. It shattered to pieces, the tea seeping into the rug and the hardwood floors underneath. 

 “Crowley…a..a baby?”

 Crowley only nodded. “I had to, angel. Please, I didn’t know what else to do, You know how I am around kids, and-” Crowley stopped as Aziraphale pressed a gentle kiss on his lips.

 “You have nothing to apologize for, my dear.” Aziraphale miracles away their mugs and the mess on the floor. “How did you.erm, find it?”

 Crowley lowered his head and sunk into the couch. “You wouldn’t wanna know, angel.”

 Aziraphale sat down next to him, avoiding knocking over the basket, and the child that lay in it. 

 “Please, Crowley. Please tell me. I’m here for you, dearest.”

 Crowley nodded, and nestled into the crook of Aziraphales neck. “Alright, angel. But you won’t like it.”

 “Oh please. I am not that emotional when it comes to these matters.”

 “Angel, you got emotional when I made crepes and ruined the topping.”

 “Fair enough.”

 “I was out getting us some wine, you know, that fruit one you like, the..”

 Aziraphale jumped in. “Lafite-Rothschild? That marvelous Bordeaux blend?”

 Crowley nodded. “Something like that, yeah.”

 Aziraphale beamed. “Oh, Crowley…” He blushed, but then realized that Crowley still had to tell him what had happened. “Oh, I’m sorry, do go on.”

 Crowley did. He explained that as he was about to enter the shop, he watched a man, maybe middle aged, slink down into a back alley with a garbage bag slung over his shoulder.

 Aziraphale wiped his eyes, and pointed to the baby. Crowley was crying too, and nodded. 

 “Yep,” his voice was low and rather hushed. “I could sense he was up to no good, the rotten bastard, but I didn’t know what, so I..I followed him.”

 Aziraphale jumped as the baby began to cry, watching in awe as Crowley rushed over to the basket and hummed a lullaby to calm it down. He sat back down and resumed the story, quieter than before.

 “I didn’t know what he was gonna do, angel. I think he had something with him to..to..hurt it. Kill it, even.” He leaned into Aziraphale again, and before long both the angel and the demon were crying silently. Neither of them really knew what to say.

 Aziraphale raised his head first, his pale blue eyes suddenly angry.

 “DId you kill him?”

 Crowley sat up, surprised. “Angel, what did you say?”

 “You heard me, Crowley. That utter.. asshole deserves to die.” 

 Crowley’s mouth only lowered in a mix of amusement and shock. He had never heard Aziraphale swear, except for the usual damn, which honestly doesn’t count in a demons book of swear words. 

 “I mean...I kicked him, did the usual with his kind of lot, and grabbed the baby, but.. holy fuck , angel. I wasn’t going to go that far. Even a regular ol’ demon like Hastur wouldn’t go that far.” 

 Aziraphale shrugged. “To me it seems like the reasonable thing to do, considering all things.”

 Crowley grinned. He knew Aziraphale was a badass, but never guessed he’d go as far as to kill someone. Unfortunately, his smile vanished when he realized something.

 “Angel, I didn’t contact the police. You think I did the right thing?”

 “Well, did you just kick him or did you..?”

 “Oh no,” Crowley said devilishly, another wicked grin growing on his face. “I did something else. Something much, much worse. He won’t be doing anything like this ever again, far as I’m concerned.”

 Aziraphale smiled again. “Then there was no need to get the police involved, I suppose. Don’t want them finding anything..out of the ordinary out. Plus, it makes it that much easier when we raise the poor thing.”

 Crowley blinked. “We...raise..? Angel, you don’t mean..”

 Aziraphale gave him a nervous look. “Did I go too far? I am sorry, Crowley, but you must know that I believe-” he stopped, smiling at the demon wrapping his arms around him. 

 “Angel, I was just surprised you’d ever suggest it..I’d love to raise it. I would.” Crowley said, peppering Aziraphales’ face with a thousand little kisses. 

 Aziraphale kissed him back, but they both separated upon hearing the baby cry again. 

 Crowley went to work hushing it up quickly, while Aziraphale tittered around the room, folding his hands nervously. 

 “Crowley, do you know the gender of this child?”

 Crowley closed the lid of the basket and turned around. “I don’t...I never actually checked.”

 Aziraphale nodded. “Ah. I see.”

 Crowley thought for a moment. “Well, if it doesn’t like it it can always change it later.”

 Aziraphale smiled. “Quite right, my dear. Uh..would you..do the honors?”

 Crowley opened up the basket and pulled out a squirming red headed baby. Its eyes were a close match to Aziraphales, with little yellow flecks on the edges of the iris. 

 “What a beautiful child..” Aziraphale said softly, melting at the sight of Crowley rocking the baby back and forth.

 “Why don’t you do it, angel? You’re the father.” Crowley cackled, handing the baby off. 

 Aziraphale frowned. “ I’m the father? I thought we both were.” He smiled again as he looked into the baby's eyes. 

 Crowley laughed. “Whatever you want, angel. I guess I’m Dad, then?”

 Aziraphale’s eyes glittered. “Whatever the little one decides. I suppose I should check, then?”

 Crowley nodded, his own anticipation growing.

 Aziraphale carefully unwrapped the baby, (Crowley had made sure to keep it warm once he got into the Bentley.) his eyes widening in surprise.

 “What is it?”

 Aziraphale chuckled. “It’s..well, I think you should see for yourself.” He handed the baby back to Crowley, whose own mouth dropped, agape in surprise for the second time that night. 

 “It’s...sexless.”

 “Like us.”

 Crowley looked up to Aziraphale, wishing he had glasses on so he could throw them off dramatically. 

 “Like us.”

Chapter Text

Aziraphale and Crowley sat in the flat above the bookshop. A baby sat on the floor, swaddled in the softest fabric a demon could conjur, perfectly content in their own little world.

 “What are we going to do, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked as he nursed a glassful of whiskey. Crowley had a glass too; both of them were stupid enough to forget about the baby, whom they had aptly labeled ‘it’.

 “I dunno, angel. I mean, s’not human, is it?”

 “How should I know?” Aziraphale said, rubbing his temples. 

 “You’re an angel..you know...everything.”

 Aziraphale sighed. “I don’t know everything, Crowley. You know that.”

 Crowley groaned. “Yeah, but don’t you have...like..angel spider senses?”

 “What?” Aziraphale asked, already choking from a fit of laughter. 

 “Y’know..don’t you know like..if it’s an angel or not?”

 Aziraphale laughed. “I already know it’s not angelic. You are right about one thing, though,” he said as he set his glass down. 

 “What?”

 “It isn’t human.”

 “Angel. We’ve covered this. But what is it? If it’s not angelic, and I doubt it’s demonic, then what is it?”

 Aziraphale sighed again, grabbing his glass to take a sip. “That’s what I don’t know. It doesn’t look like anything but..human.”

 “Is there an in between we don’t know about?”

 Aziraphale perked up. “Whatever do you mean, dearest?”

 Crowley thought for a moment. “Would it be plausible to think that..just maybe, it’s a bit of both?”

 “Angelic and demonic? But that’s not possible, Crowley, Didn’t you say it was a human that tried to...harm..the child?”

 “Well, what else is it?” Crowley snapped, draining his glass.

 “We know what it isn’t.”

 “So that just leaves my theory.”

 Aziraphale got up, and began to pace the room. He wasn’t as nerve-wrecked as Crowley, just thinking. It felt as though they were getting nowhere with their conclusions, but at the same time like they had stumbled upon a gold mine, or some unknown treasure. 

 “Crowley,” he said, brightening. “Do you think another angel, or maybe a demon may have had something to do with this?”

 Crowley raised a brow. “What makes you say that? I don’t think either side likes us very much, angel.”

 Aziraphale waved a hand. “Listen to me, Crowley! If this child is both demonic and angelic, then there has to be an angel and a demon out there that both...both..”

 Crowley smirked. “What is it, angel?”

 “Both..had intercourse. Couldn’t that be a reason?”

 Crowley got up and walked over to the baby without saying a word. He stared at it for a moment, then spun around. “I suppose so. But I’ve never heard of any other... relationship other than ours. How do you explain the human?”

 Aziraphale grimaced. “That I don’t understand. There’s no way they could be the father, not if the child has both angelic and demonic qualities.”

 “Wouldn’t that make it neutral?”

 Aziraphale frowned. “Hm?”

 Crowley straightened up, looking very serious in the light. “If it has both angelic and demonic qualities, wouldn’t they balance it out? I don’t get it.”

 “Not if it has powers,” Aziraphale said solemnly.

 “You don’t mean..”

 “I do,” Aziraphale said sadly. “I’m already preparing myself for it. If it’s some sort of...hybrid, then it will have both angelic and demonic powers.”

 Crowley sunk into the leather chair. “Why? Why us? How is any of this real?”

 Aziraphale laid a warm hand onto his shoulders. “Dearest, it’s ineff-”

 Crowley spun around in the chair. “Don’t you dare say that word.”

 Aziraphale smiled cheekily. “As you wish.” He walked into the kitchen, wondering if the baby was hungry. Probably not, all things considered, but he knew food was something human children often needed, so it wouldn’t hurt to whip something up for the little one. 

 “Say, angel, what are we gonna name it?” Crowley called out from the living room.

 Aziraphale stopped looking for saucers in the cupboard. “Something..something pretty, I suppose..it is rather beautiful, you know.”

 Crowley wandered into the kitchen, carrying the baby in his arms with little effort. “How about Esme?”

 Aziraphale swiveled on his heel. “Esme?”

 “I always liked it,” Crowley muttered. “Sorry angel, I-”

 “Crowley,” Aziraphale said, stopping him mid-sentence. “I adore it.”

 “Really?”

 “Of course, dearest.” He pecked a kiss on top of Crowleys’ head and smiled. To his surprise, the demon smiled back, and how all the warmth and love in the world were portrayed on his face was beyond Aziraphale. 

 “You have to pick the middle name, angel.”

 Aziraphale looked up, startled. “Me?”

 Crowley rolled his eyes. “Angel. You’re raising this thi-Esme, too, right?”

 Aziraphale nodded happily. “Oh, of course, but I will have to think about it.”

 Crowley laughed. “Okay, angel, whatever you say.” He bounced the baby on his knee. It was so fluffy and adorable and sweet that Aziraphale had to take a picture. 

 After he miracled a camera, and a matter of seconds, a photo had appeared, and Crowley was none the wiser until after it happened. 

 “Did you just take a picture of me n’ the baby?” Crowley asked. He sounded incredibly severe, but Aziraphale knew he was joking.

 “I suppose I did.” Aziraphale glanced at the baby. “Besides, I wanted to have a picture of our child with their father.”

 Crowley’s eyes watered. Shit, he thought wearily. Esme hasn’t been here a day and already their dad is crying. 

 “I love you, angel.”

 “I love you, Anthony Jerome Crowley.”

 Crowley’s eyes flashed. “I’ll get you back for that later.”

 “Oh, of course you will, fiend.” Aziraphale took Esme from Crowley’s arms and cradled them in his arms. 

 Crowley laughed, and hugged Aziraphale, careful not to crush Esme in the process. 

 “We’ll have to figure their living arrangements out,” Crowley murmured into the angels curls. “They can’t stay at my place, you know that - too much black and..”

 “Sterile.” Aziraphale finished sourly. “Quite right, my dear. I don’t think poor Esme can stay here, either. It’s a bit..” he trailed off, looking around the cramped flat. 

 “Stuffy?” Crowley offered, scratching his neck.

 Aziraphale nodded. “I’m afraid so. Luckily, I now have a spare bedroom, so they can sleep there for the time being.” He waved a free hand, and both the angel and the demon laughed. 

 Crowley suddenly bit his lip tentatively. “Do you want me to go? I mean, I can leave or stay with Esme, whatever you want, angel.” 

 Aziraphale raises both eyebrows. “Why would I want the father of our child to leave?”

 “I-I just thought, y’know, with only two bedrooms, you would want me to go so you could stay with the baby.”

 Aziraphale chuckled. “Oh, so that’s what you’re worried about. It’s alright, my dear. You can sleep with me.” 

 Crowley turned red. Aziraphale, that bastard , knew exactly what he meant by that. 

 “Of course, angel. Wherever you want me. Er.” He tugged at his collar, turning an even darker shade of red. Shit, why did I say that, Oh, bugger it all, fuck me...

 Aziraphale and Crowley, though technically together, had actually not discussed the nature of their relationship. They were altogether too nervous (Okay, one of them was) to further explore it, and it was undoubtedly why Crowley was shocked when Aziraphale first kissed him. 

 Both of them knew, at least after the non-apocalypse, that they had always loved each other, but they didn’t really know where to start. After all, it’s one thing to tell your best friend of 6,000 years plus that you’re in love with them, and, by the way, the feeling is mutual - and another for it to actually go anywhere past that. 

 Where would you even start? None of the romantic scenarios that had run through Crowley’s mind had played out yet, and most of the ones Aziraphale thought of were so erotic and beyond simple, sweet gestures or proposals that they beat out even the most demonic wet dreams. 

 Aziraphale eventually carried Esme to their new bedroom; a neutral tan shade blanketing the once nonexistent walls, friendly tartan curtains, thick fleece blankets, and plenty of children’s books and appropriate toys that even starch Christian mothers would allow in their homes. 

They didn’t know it yet, but Esme would bring them together, far closer than they had ever dreamed or hoped for. 

Chapter Text

 “Any news on subject B-47 yet?” 

 “Pleazzze. Azzz if I would know.”

 An ethereal man-shaped being sat across from an infernal womanly-shaped being, both from the same stock, of course. They were as incompetent as Aziraphale and Crowley, but served their respective sects diligently. 

 After Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship had gone public, it was considered..well..taboo. Neither Heaven nor Hell wanted anything to do with each other, unless it meant fighting, and anymore unnatural partnerships (as they were called around Head Office) were seen as erroneous. 

 It would seem suspicious for the top representatives of Heaven and Hell to be philandering around, but there they were nonetheless, in the dead of night in a coffee shop near Bristol.

 A demon took a swig from her coke and set it down. 

 “You can’t pozzibly expect this to work. This,” she paused, cringing at the buzz laced in her words. “Izz your doing. Your side hazz done this.”

 The angel waved his hands. “Excuse me? I haven’t done anything. Don’t put the blame on me, Beelz.”

 Beelzebub kicked the angel, earning a well-deserved ow. 

 “I told you not to call me that!” She hissed vehemently. 

 The angel rolled his eyes. “Alright, Lucinda. But you can’t call me Gabe either. You know…”

 “Of courzze I know, do I look like an idiot?” 

 “I’m just reminding you of our..arrangement.”

 “Oh, alright, Jimothy, have it your way!” She spat, chugging her coke. 

 Gabriel pulled the bottle out of her hand. “That’s not good for you! Stop ruining your corporation with that disgusting liquid!”

 Beelzebub flashed a forked tongue. “I do what I want. I’m a lord of hell, for Satan’zz sake.” 

 “And I’m the-”

 “Archangel Fucking Gabriel,” she finished for him, taking one last sip. “Right.”

 Gabriel groaned but Beelzebub only winked at him. “Let’zz get down to businezz, shall we?” She brought out a large and incredibly thick manila envelope from the deep black bag she had carried inside. In the back pocket lay a horde of flies; if the waitress asked for Gabriel’s number one more time they would be unleashed into the kitchen. 

 Although Beelzebub knew it was viewed as wrong for a demon to be so protective over an angel, of all things, she brushed it aside. It’s best that no one knows. Besides, it would be rather cute if Gabe…

 Oh shit. 

 “Lucinda?” Gabriel asked, waving a hand in front of her face.

 Shit! I blacked out! Get it together, Beelz. Don’t fuck this up. 

 “Er..Oh, yes! Right. Subject B-47. Where were we?”

 “Beelz?” Gabriel asked again, frowning.

 “What?” She spat, glaring at him. 

 “Your uh…..you know what?” he said, waving a hand. “It’s nothing.”

 “Oh, come on, zzpit it out, Jimothy!” She growled, leaning into the table and Oh, for somebody’s sake, she could smell him. A divine mixture of lemon and lavender and something else she couldn’t put her finger on. 

 He smiled. “That’s more like you. Alright, have you made sure that the infant is with them and safe?”

 “Yezz. The baby is doing well.”

 “Oh, thank you..you know I couldn’t leave post. Everything’s been so damned hard lately, what with all the protests and the fighting. Some days I wish the almighty didn’t have preferential treatment.”

 “What do you mean?”

 Gabriel sighed. “Everyone’s at odds. They want me gone, Beelz.” He said sadly, practically crumpling in the seat. 

 “I’m...zzorry,” and she grabbed his hands, shaking as she intertwined them with her own. “I really am. Everyonezz angry down below, too...”

 They both looked down at their hands, surprised at the warm feeling growing in their chests.

 Gabriel pulled his hands out of Beelzebubs, frustrated with the thumping sensation coming from his heart. It was usually the effect the demon had on him; nothing new, really. Once, he had asked Micheal about it, who only laughed and told him there was a malfunction with his corporation. Gabriel decided that he shouldn’t question Micheal, because they were usually right about these things. Besides, no one had ever questioned Micheal, except for Raphael, but that was ages ago…

 “That baby is going to eventually stop growing,” Gabriel said solemnly as he smoothed out the wrinkles on his overcoat. “They’ll have to figure it out at some point.”

 “That izz true.” Beelzebub winced at the thought of the angel and the demon storming both sides, desperate for an explanation. They wouldn’t get one from Beelzebub or Gabriel, that was for sure.

 “Do you think they’ll return it?”

 “Return what?”

 “The baby.”

 “Can you return a baby? Really?”

 “If they figure it out, they might.”

 “Bugger.”

 Gabriel motioned for their waitress to come to their table, who was fortunately infatuated with him. “Miss,” he spoke so seriously, his voice incredibly low, that somehow Beelzebub became even more attracted to him. “Do you know if it is possible...for a baby to be returned to its owner?”

 The waitress blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

 Beelzebub leaned across the table, her sinister eyes shooting daggers at the young woman. “He asked if a baby can be returned to itzz owner, darling. Can it?”

 “Uhm...I don’t...er..” Waitress Girl trailed off. What kind of question is that? Who asks that?

 “Right. We’ll be getting along then.” Beelzebub turned to Gabriel. “I was just talking to my husband Jimothy here about motels nearby,” Gabriel looked up, stunned, but had little time to react at all before he felt a boot kicking his leg. “And I was wondering what you might suggest?” 

 Waitress Girl’s eyes widened in shock. “There’s an, uhm...bed and breakfast up the road, there..I’ll get your check.” Her shoulders slumped as she sulked back to the kitchen.

 Beelzebub waited until she was gone to let out a breath. “I am zzorry, she wazz just rather annoying.”

 Gabriel grinned. “You were great, Beelz.” He wanted to lay a kiss on her forehead. When had that entered his mind? 

 She shrugged it off unconvincingly. She hadn’t seemed to notice (Or maybe she just didn’t want to admit it) that the buzz to her words disappeared every now and then, or that it only occurred when she was near Gabriel. Or thinking of Gabriel. Or wanting him, or…

 Never mind, she thought to herself. In the end, it won’t matter. The war will have begun, and he’ll have long since moved on. 

 Oh, how wrong she was. 

 Very wrong indeed.

Chapter Text

While an angel and a demon sat in a coffee shop, two well-known demons were hiding away behind blinds in a dingy, dirty office. 

 “Alright, I say we go up to her and ask what’s up, I know we can take her, she’s scrawny, n’ those flies won’t do any harm. I’d just tell ‘em buzz off, the little buggers.”

 “I think she’s lost the pot. We’d been working all those years for the apocalypse, and then those two wankers came along and screwed the whole thing up.” Dagon swiveled around in the rickety old chair. “You said it first, Hastur. She’s been sneaking around. Can’t trust demons, we all know that, but this is Beezie that we’re talking about. It’s not like her to leave Head Office in the middle of a work day.”

 “Yeah, but we trust each other, right? ‘Cause we’re teaming up n’ all?”

 “Who said anything about teaming up?” Dagon asked, grinning toothily. 

 “Don’t you want to catch her?”

 “Doing what? If she’s crazy, I don’t want anything to do with her.”

 “I think she’s up to something. Just like the traitor Crawley. Leaving Head Office, always nervous, jumpy and the like. Demons aren’t supposed to be fearful. They put the fear in others.” 

 “And what’s in it for me if I help you?”

 Hastur paused. “You get the pleasure of working with me.”

 Dagon cackled. “It’s never a pleasure, Hastur, but fine. If we catch her doing something cuIpable, I get ten minutes to beat it out of her.” 

 Hastur wrinkled his nose. “I suppose I have to do the questioning?”

 “Who else?” Dagon licked their lips. “Anyways, you got any files on her? Anything to bring up in a trial?”

 Hastur rubbed his neck. “Not really.”

 Dagon moaned. “Hastur…”

 “I’m sorry, but M’the one Beelzebub put on riot control. I can’t spend my whole day keeping up on my superiors.”

 Dagon muttered something under their breath before starting up the ancient computer on their desk. “I’ll look, then,” they sneered. “Takes forever for the damn computer to work.”

 “I’ve never understood them myself,” Hastur said, taking a seat in the only other chair. “All the buttons and the noises, oh, they’re hellish.”

 “Noises? This one doesn’t make any noises,” Dagon said, putting their ear against the machine. There was only the sound of air whirring around inside. 

 “You know, the big box that makes that beeping noise.”

 “What the devil are you talking about?” Dagon asked warily, typing in their login*. 

 “The box that humans use! It’s a big black thing with..buttons! There’s a light that comes from a little screen and then it suddenly beeps after 30 seconds or so. Bloody humans, making computers, always trying to complicate things..”

 Dagon stopped typing for a moment and stared and Hastur. 

 “Hastur, are you talking about a microwave?”

 Hastur turned a deep red. “It’s all the same,” he said, waving his mistake off. “Won’t matter anyways. Hell wants it’s war. All those wicked creatures out there, they’ll rebell against us.”

 “Not if we can help it,” Dagon said, frowning at the screen.

 “Not if we… ? What about Beelzebub?”

 Dagon turned to Hastur, a nervous look on their face. “We have bigger problems than Beezie right now.”

 “What do you mean?”

 Dagon ran their tongue over their teeth, their apprehension growing. This isn’t good. 

 “I’ve got an email here, from the boss…”

 “An email?”

 “Letter.”

 “Oh. Commendation?” Hastur asked excitedly, completely misreading the situation.

 “No,” they said miserably. “I’ve got an assignment.”

 “Now?” Hastur asked incredulously. “What now?”

 “They want me to recruit...angels. Ones that can be easily swayed.” They turned to look at Hastur glumly. “It’s the war. He wants to start all over..again.”

 “He can’t...it’s only been a year!”

 “We don’t have a choice,” Dagon said sourly. They got up from the chair and began to pace. This isn’t good at all. “We have to follow orders. You know I don’t want to get...involved with angels if I don’t have to.”

 “We were all angels once.” Hastur said, forlornly.

 “Really? Almost forgotten that,” they snapped, brushing a hand through their thick hair. “Why me, of all demons...I don’t even know any willing angels, anyone that can be…” Dagon stopped mid sentence. They froze completely as a message was forced into their brain. It was painful, but it was how the dark lord sent all of his memos. 

 Dagon felt their mind go blank. There was nothing but a name, and a few words that followed, and then blank again.

 Their fishlike smile began to curl upwards, their demeanor suddenly brightening. 

 “Oh, I think I’ve got it now. Yes, that’s it.”

 “What is?” Hastur asked dazedly. 

 “The perfect plan. The perfect angel .” Dagon said wickedly. “It’ll all come into place, my Lord,” they said, looking down at the floor. “Just as you asked.”

 In a single moment, any thought of rebelling against Hell itself, as Crowley had done a year earlier, was gone without a trace, replaced by a new demand. 

*Hint: It’s AngelSlayer656 (The 5 is a typo) and their password is suckitgabriel4739!

Chapter Text

 Aziraphale paced the length of the hallway in his flat. It wasn’t very long, really, but it helped him think and he liked it. Crowley had gone out to go get takeout*, and Esme was happily crawling around in the living room. 

 It was all rather lovely, and for the first time in years both Crowley and Aziraphale felt as though they had a family. A real family. 

 But Aziraphale could not for the life of him think of a middle name. 

 Everytime he had suggested one, Crowley only wrinkled his nose in disgust. 

 “ Evelyn ? Aziraphale, what the heaven are you playing at?” He had said at the time. 

 “I thought it was rather nice, myself.”

 “Angel. Even if Esme is...something different, we are not naming them after a woman I tempted.” 

 “I see,” Aziraphale had replied. At that point, he had mentally crossed off a dozen names. Nothing worked. Everything was either too old-fashioned** or too biblical.***

 “I don’t like ‘Fell-Crowley’ or ‘Crowley-Fell’, angel. It’s like the universe just played some mega trick on me, making fun of my falling. S’not fair.” Crowley had mused one night. He’d been trying to fall asleep, but had gotten distracted by Aziraphale.

 “Yes, but won’t ‘Fell-Crowley’ work?”

 “I don’t like the sound of it.”

 “Yes, but Crowley-”

 “Can’t we just wait until they pick one?” 

 “Alright. But we still have to put up a birth certificate. What about their schooling? Doesn’t the government or something of the sort make you show a certificate of birth?”

 “Schooling? Oh angel,” Crowley had groaned, curling up into a ball under the covers.“I hate school.”

 “You’re not going, Esme is.”

 “No, angel. Esme is going to come home, and tell us all about it every day and they’ll have to be by themselves, n’ they’ll have to protect themselves too. Children, nasty little buggers. You remember Warlock when he was young, don’t you?”

 Aziraphale had to think for a moment, and then groaned. He had remembered Warlock coming home with a bruised knee, and the crying - it was horrid. 

 “Well,” he said nervously, clasping his hands together. “We’ll just have to hope they come into their power by then.”

 “That’s a long way away, angel.” 

 They still hadn’t figured out what to do about the names. But by the time Crowkey had walked up the stairs with two bags of takeout, Aziraphale had one that he liked. 

 “Angel, it’s me,” Crowley called out from the hallway as he set the bags down on the coffee table. “Esme? Is that my little dark overlord?”

 Aziraphale came out from the hallway and peered out into the hallway, his heart beaming at the two of them. They really did look like father and child physically. It was strange, very strange indeed. 

 Esme giggled and pointed at Aziraphale from Crowley’s arms. “Zi!” Crowley spun around, a gleeful expression on his face. Aziraphale could feel his eyes watering. 

 “It’s not Dada, but I think we can take it,” Crowley said, and the two of them laughed as they greeted each other. 

 Aziraphale happily took Esme in his arms as Crowley rushed to the kitchen to grab plates and cups. He had also gotten some pureed vegetables and restocked the formula supply. 

 “Alright,” he announced, balancing the dishes in his hands. “Angel, you want your usual?”

 Aziraphale took a seat by the coffee table. “Yes, thank you dearest.” He looked to Esme, patting their head. “Esme? How about your bottle? Do you want your bottle?” 

 Crowley and Aziraphale waited. Secretly, they both hoped that Esme would say another word.

 Unfortunately, ‘Zi’ was the only word Esme knew, because their father was constantly mentioning him, and Aziraphale was always the one to change their diaper.

 “I think she’s had-” Aziraphale began, opening up a carton of rice, but was cut off by Crowley.

 “She?” 

 Aziraphale looked up and blinked, confused for a moment, before realizing what he’d said. 

 “I’m sorry, Crowley - I forget we’re all sexless. With their name being a girls one I often forget. I am sorry.”

 Crowley laughed. “It’s fine, angel. Could happen to anyone. We may as well start talking about it now.”

 “What exactly is that?” Aziraphale asked, poking at some beef with his fork. (He was never good with chopsticks)

 Crowley looked over at the baby and sighed. “It’s all muddy, really, because if Esme decides she’s a girl, then it’s settled and fine. But if they want to be a boy, then we’ve to explain it to all his wanker teachers.”

 “Crowley, language.” 

 “Sorry angel.” Crowley leaned over and pecked a kiss on Esme's forehead. “Sorry, Esme.” 

 Aziraphale set his food down and thought for a moment as Esme crawled out of the room. 

 “Explain what exactly dear?”

 Crowley groaned. “Humans are funny about these things angel. Boys have boy names and girls have girl names and it’s all very ridiculous.”

 Aziraphale looked up, shocked. “Well, I should say!”

 “Must have something to do with sex and that sort of thing. I mean, we can make the effort, and we were made to look like men, but we really aren’t. Esme will..probably...go through..uh..” Crowley trailed off, looking around nervously.

 “What is it, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked inquisitively, looking around as if he had missed something. By now they’d both completely forgotten about dinner.

 “Uh, y’know what humans go through, right?”

 “Tell me, Crowley.”

 “Okay! Alright. Uhh..young human people. Go through.”

 “Yes?”

 “Puberty!” Crowley hissed, his forked tongue slipping out. 

 Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, and Crowley facepalmed. 

 “Angel. It’s when boys and girls go through, y’know, the changes. With their bodies.”

 Aziraphale suddenly brightened, laughing. “Oh! Well. No need to worry about it, dearest, I know all about such things.”

 Crowley’s mouth gaped open. “ You know? You know ? You’re an angel, though.”

 Aziraphale waved a hand, smirking. “It’s not like I don’t read.”

 “Yeah, but I didn’t know you knew all about the human body!” Crowley muttered, tossing a container to the side. He knew Aziraphale would tell him to clean it up later, but he figured performing a demonic miracle would be easier. 

 “Well, what were you saying? I believe we were talking about Esme?”

 Crowley rubbed his forehead. “Oh. Yeah. Well. I guess there’s no need, because you know, but I was just saying that when Esme...grows up, it’ll be different for them because they’re a hybrid or whatever..”

 Aziraphale thought for a moment before replying. “Hm. I do suppose you’re right. Do you think they’ll know by then? I remember Uriel’s experience quite well, it was very difficult for her…”

 “We can hope so. Oh, heaven, I almost forgot about that. She was a bit of a late bloomer, wouldn’t you say?”

 “Mhm. Whenever we’d molt she would have to sit with the Almighty and wait for her time. So rough, that is, what with all the grooming and all.”

 “Your wings are so badly groomed, Angel. No offense or anything.”

 Aziraphale sniffed sadly. “I know, my dear, but I never take them out. Besides,” he said cheerfully, straightening up. “I much rather like looking human.”

 “It‘a much simpler, innit? Well,” Crowley gestured to the angels appearance. “For you, at least.”

 “Crowley, whatever do you mean? I thought you enjoyed your corporation.”

 Crowley sank further into the sofa. “I’m still too...slithery. Can’t help the hiss much. Scared a woman the other day getting coffee, too used to walking ‘round without glasses on nowadays.”

 Aziraphale beamed. “And you don’t need them, demon. You’re absolutely perfect just the way you are.”

 Crowley curled up into a ball, suddenly draped in a tartan blanket. Aziraphale took a seat next to him, allowing Crowley to warm up before saying anything else. 

 “Mm. Thank you angel.”

 “You’re welcome, dearest.”

 “I love you.”

 “Oh, you are so sweet, Crowley.”

 “Shut up.”

 They sat for a minute or so, basking in each other’s company, when Aziraphale made a low humming noise.

 “...Crowley?”

 “Ngk?”

 “Crowley, where’s Esme?”

 The blanket suddenly disappeared, and Crowley was up, frantically searching for their baby. 

 “Esme? Esme, I’ll come find you, I swear, I’m sorry, I did-“

 “Crowley?” Aziraphale called from Esmes’ bedroom. 

 “Hold on angel, I’ve almost got them,” Crowley said, grabbing a large doll from underneath a chair. “And...Oh. No. It’s just a doll. Just a doll,” he yelled, and tossed it aside. 

 “Crowley, you better come quick. Esme’s in here.”

 Before Aziraphale could blink, Crowley had appeared, already directing his head in various directions, trying to look for the child. 

 “Up there, dearest,” Aziraphale said, and pointed upwards. 

 Up above them on the ceiling was Esme, happily taking handfuls from a floating container of, you guessed it, pureed vegetables. 

 “They’re coming into their power,” Crowley said happily, wiping away a tear on his cheek. Jesus, fatherhood made him emotional. Before Esme, he hadn’t cried since he thought he’d lost Aziraphale to the fire. Now he cried almost every few days. 

 “I know,” Aziraphale said excitedly. “I am so proud.”

 “Of course, couldn’t they fall from that height?”

 Aziraphale shook his head. “They’re not a human baby, Crowley.”

 “Right, right. Sometimes I forget.”

 “Esme? Do you want to come down and see your papa?” Aziraphale called out, eagerly holding out his arms. 

 Esme gurgled. “Zi!”

 “Good girl,” Crowley said, tearing up again. “Now, try and come down from the ceiling. Fly down to papa.”

 “Can they fly yet, Crowley?”

 “I don’t know. I’ve always known how, myself.”

 “Me too. I do hope they can make it.”

 “Okay, ready, Esme? Come down to your papa.” Crowley flashed a demonic grin at them, and suddenly there was a bright spark of light, and Esme had appeared in Aziraphales’ arms.

 Their romper had been brandished with a winged pin, similar to the one Gabriel wore.

 “Oh, don’t tell me they’re angelic and we never knew,” Crowley groaned. “They’ll hate me for the rest of their eternal life.”

 “No, I think it means they’re learning.” Aziraphale said, smoothing out Esmes’ red curls.

 “Oh, thank somebody.” Crowley groaned, and kissed Esme's head. “Good job, my little overlord. I am so, so proud of you!” 

 “I am as well, little one.” Aziraphale smiled happily at Esme before looking up to receive an eye-roll from Crowley. 

 “Ugh, angel, that is so unoriginal.”

 “So is ‘my little overlord’ - I really don’t want our child to rule over anyone, if I’m being honest  with you, dearest.” 

 “You’re no fun.”

 “You’re no fun, either.”

 “Do you hear that?”

 Aziraphale stopped with the bickering for a moment to listen. 

 There was the sound of scraping, or scratching, or something equally loud and sharp. 
 The sound of crashing. The sound of something being broken. It was the sound of someone breaking in. 

 “You stay with the baby,” Aziraphale spoke seriously now as he handed Esme off to Crowley. “Don’t leave the room.”

 “Angel, I can’t have you getting hurt.” Crowley looked down sheepishly. “I can’t lose you. Not again.” He whispered. 

 “You won’t, Crowley. I’ll be back in a jiff. Two shakes of a lamb's tail, really.” 

 He shut the door and miracled it locked up, safe from anything supernatural. 

 He had business to discuss.

 And whoever it was with, they weren’t getting away with it. Not on his watch.

*You Brits out there call it takeaway, I think. Same thing. 

**See: Mary, Helen, Jane, Mildred, Anne, Margaret, Oscar, Charles, Ethel, Florence, Ruth, Winston, and Virginia. 

***See: Mary, Margaret, Ruth, Leah, Sarah, Lydia, and Martha.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale unfurled his wings. He didn’t have a weapon, but that was no matter to him. He didn’t need one. 

 It’s common for many angels to scoff at a simple principality. After all, they aren’t archangels and somehow managed to be created with better reflexes, an increase in stamina, and above all more power . 

 Aziraphale descended the stairs carefully so as not to knock any of the books down. He only had a vague idea of who the intruder could be; he supposed it was a demon, or maybe Esme’s father, come back from near-death just to reclaim them.

 “P-Please, is anyone here?” A faint voice croaked from a corner. 

  That sounds like a young woman’s voice, Aziraphale thought. A frightened one. 

  Aziraphale tucked his wings away and cleared his throat. 

 “I may be of assistance,” he said swiftly, miracling a light on. Indeed, there was a woman, looking around in terrified bewilderment at the sudden appearance of light, and then at the angel at the foot of the stairs. “What do you need, my dear?”

 As he approached her to get a better look, he noticed her body was covered in scrapes, bruises and underneath her emerald eyes lay a deep gash. Her shirt was torn, her jeans stained with blood.

 He reached out to her, but she flinched, suddenly backing away from him and toward the door.

 “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. I’ll be going now.”

 Aziraphale laid a soft hand on her shoulder. It told her not to. “Nonsense, young lady. I can’t have you leaving my bookshop in this state. Why don’t you come upstairs and have a cup of tea, hm?” 

 The woman stared at him in awe. “Tea?” She squeaked.

 “Come,” Aziraphale said, holding out a hand. “I won’t harm you.” 

 The woman nodded, and took his hand. She hoped he was telling the truth.

 The woman’s name was Danielle, but she insisted Crowley and Aziraphale call her Dani. 

 Aziraphale had led her upstairs, and sat her down, told her to stay there* and that he was getting his husband.

 It had taken some effort and reassuring, but finally Crowley strolled out of Esme’s room, still nervously looking around the corner for any sign of demonic presence. 

 After Aziraphale had tended to her wounds and prepared three cups of tea, Dani revealed her name, and, after a long span of tense silence, finally explained how she had ended up inside the bookshop.

 “I was having an argument with my boyfriend,” she said quietly, taking a sip from the hot mug. “He was angry, saying he didn’t want a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or anyone, really. He said he wanted to be alone, so I told him he could, and left him be.” She rubbed her eyes, tears already beginning to well up. 

 “I left his apartment, and I started walking home, but something didn’t feel right. So I turned and there he was right behind me, but his eyes, there was something wrong with them.”

 Crowley cut her off, much to Aziraphale’s dismay. “What do you mean when you say wrong?”

 She shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t believe me.”

 Crowley, who was wearing his glasses, smirked. “Try us.”

 She smiled back and nodded. “They were really bright. Sort of. Look, they just weren’t his eyes - maybe it was the sun, I dunno, but something was off, and so I backed away and then…” she bit down on her lip, trying to stifle a cry. Aziraphale only lay a hand on her shoulder, allowing her to let it out. 

 There was no judgement. 

 It was safe. 

 “He called me a bitch, and started on me with the names, which wasn’t so bad, but there was a knife, and…” she gratefully accepted a tissue and wiped all the tears away. 

 “I’m sorry, I just…”

 “Don’t,”Crowley said, stopping her again, a ferocious expression on his face. “You don’t say sorry. Not to us, not that rat bastard.”

 She nodded, appreciative of his words. 

 “I - We’re terribly sorry this has happened to you, Danielle. Have you contacted the authorities yet?”

 Dani bit her lip. “No. I didn’t know what to do, you see, so I just ran. I don’t think they would believe me.”

 Aziraphale nodded stiffly. “I see.” He took a sip from his tea, then set it down, a new look in his eyes. “Well, that man should be careful. He might end up in the wrong hands, committing such atrocities.”

 Crowley and Dani stared back in stunned shock as Aziraphale took a sip of tea. Distracted, he set it down, clapping his hands excitedly. “Ah, my darling little Esme!”

 Dani peered over the sofa and a mountain of takeout boxes and books. There, crawling on the floor, was a baby. 

 Crowley, remembering that a human was present, grabbed Esme and held them up proudly, eventually opting to sit next to Dani in a large easychair. 

 Dani smiled, which comforted both Aziraphale and Crowley, and cooed at the baby. “Ah, what an adorable child.” 

 Crowley held Esme toward her. “Would you like to hold...them?”

 Dani hesitated, then nodded. “Sure,” she said almost cheerfully. “Why not.” She opened her arms and accepted the baby, making sure to cradle them appropriately. 

 “Boy or girl?” Dani asked after a few moments of silence. 

 Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other nervously. 

 “Uh..both?” Crowley said, then shook his head, shrugging it off. “Erm. I mean. Girl,” he said finally. So much for letting her grow up to figure it out and decide. 

 “She’s such a sweet thing. I have a feeling she understands me, too. I think children are much smarter than most people think.” She said, handing the baby back to Crowley. 

 Both parents sighed in relief, nodding in agreement, before Crowley sniffed and handed the baby over to his partner. 

 “Time for a change, don’t you think?”

 Aziraphale looked at him, confused before realizing what he’d meant. He’d gotten so used to using miracles that he reminded himself that he’d have to pretend to do it the human way.

 “Oh yes. Yes, of course. I’ll be taking care of that now.” He carried Esme off to her room, and upon checking the clock, realized that Esme not only had to be changed but had to go to bed as well. 

 He miracled her clean and added a soft onesie so that she would be comfortable and carried her to the crib.

 “Alright, little dear. I’m going to read you a nice bedtime story, and I’ll pray you won’t cry again when I read it to you. Does that sound good?” He asked as he tucked her in.

 Esme only gurgled happily. 

 “Alright, now,” he said, pulling an enormous book from the shelves. “Last night I explained to you about the amazing works by a nice man named Leo Tolstoy.” He opened up the book, dust flying everywhere, and flipped to the first page. “So I decided to read aloud a story I helped him write...Let’s see.”

 Aziraphale miracled on a pair of glasses, the ones he wore as an affectation, and began to read the opening paragraph:

“WELL, PRINCE, Genoa and Lucca are now no more than private estates of the Bonaparte family. No, I warn you, that if you do not tell me we are at war, if you again allow yourself to palliate all the infamies and atrocities of this Antichrist (upon my word, I believe he is), I don't know you in future, you are no longer my friend, no longer my faithful slave, as you say. There, how do you do, how do you do? I see I'm scaring you, sit down and talk to me."

 As the last words escaped his tongue, Esme began to wail, and sighing Aziraphale set the book aside and picked his daughter up, trying to do every possible thing in his nature to console her. 

 When the crying did not stop after a few seconds, the door swung open and Crowley was there at his side, examining their child. Dani only lingered at the doorway, unsure if she should enter or not. 

 “Angel? Is she alright?”

 Aziraphale handed the baby over and pointed to the book. “She hates fine literature.” He said sadly, shaking his head.

 Dani suddenly entered and picked up the book, dusting off the cover. 

 “ War and Peace ?” She asked incredulously. “You’re reading your daughter that? How old is she, anyways?” 

 Once more, Aziraphale and Crowley turned to face each other, unsure of the answer. 

 “11 months.” Aziraphale said quickly. “She’ll be one soon.” 

 Dani looked at the baby for a moment. “You sure? She looks younger than that.”

 “Never can tell these days,” Crowley cut in hastily, waving her off. “Kids grow up fast these days. Angel, why don’t you talk to Dani here and I’ll read to the baby, hm?” 

 Aziraphale nodded, kissed Crowley’s cheek, and nodded again. “Alright, dearest. Don’t keep her up too long.”

 Aziraphale guided Dani out of the room, the door shutting behind them.

 Crowley set Esme down on the floor by a rocking chair**. He studied the chair for a moment, and then snapped his fingers, replacing it was a sleek black leather one. 

 “That’s better.” He leaned down to Esme’s level and motioned to the chair. “What do you think, kid? Better?”

 Esme clapped in approval.

 Crowley grinned and took a seat, still staring at the baby. “Alright, Esme. I’m gonna tell you a story, like in the old days, when we didn’t have human things like books.” He paused for a moment, and grunted. “I’m getting old. Fuck. Sorry Esme. I mean ‘shoot’. You ready?”

 Esme agreed in content silence. 

 “Alright, so this is the story of a snake and an apple and a uh...robot. Or something. Whatever. Anyways, imagine its really hot out, and you’ve just been kicked out of your house. You lived there with your mum and your dad and this big family, but there are fights and everyone’s at odds. So you get kicked out, and you’re reduced to this thing people are scared of. It’s summer time, and you’re in a garden, and you’ve to do your job. You don’t like it. The job is..uh..Y’know, doesn’t really matter,” he said, sniffing. “What matters is that even though everything sucks and you’re doing a job you hate, it gets better. Yeah, you get downs. Like the fourteenth century. But you also get those little ups too. Like humans inventing cars and mindless TV.”

 He looked down again, and could see Esme was already starting to drift off to sleep, so he decided to speed it up.

 “Anyways, m’point is that everything will turn out okay. Even if everything is shitty, you’ll make it.”

 He noticed Esme had fallen asleep, so he carefully picked her up and tucked her back into bed, making sure she was warm. 

 “I love you, little overlord.”

 He knew he wouldn’t get a reply, but it didn’t matter. He watched her for a moment, letting his mind wander, until it eventually found its way to Dani. As he turned off the light and opened the door, a thought entered his mind, one he couldn’t brush away.

 Something didn’t make sense.

 Something was off.

  But what?

*Trust me, she would.

**Yes, if you’re wondering, it comes with tartan straps and is not sold in stores. 

Chapter Text

After three days of staying in the Crowley-Fell household, Danielle Smith took a job in the bookshop downstairs. They’d even lent her some money so she could get back on her feet. In a few months time, she’d learned what they liked most, their names, and a shortened version of how they’d met. By then, she’d grown accustomed to working there, and found her new job relatively easy. Most of it consisted of dusting and rearranging books that A.Z* didn’t want to sell. 

 Dani had also taken up the job of babysitter to give Anthony a break. Some days he would go out and bring back bags of food. Then he’d retreat to the sofa or the back room where Esme would be playing or taking a nap. Some days, she wouldn’t see him for hours on end.

 “Where’s Anthony?” Dani asked one day, looking around suspiciously.

 “Sleeping, I suppose. Esme has been keeping us up lately, though it shouldn’t really affe-” he suddenly stopped talking, and coughed. “Erm. I mean. You know how babies are. Crying, and the like.” He went back to dusting a book cover and put it back in its place.

 Danielle nodded. “Yeah. There’s a new family renting a flat across the hall, and they’re rather loud, and they have at least two young children. I can barely get any sleep.”

 “Really? Y’don’t look tired,” called a voice from the sofa. 

 Danielle perked up and looked over the counter. “Oh, hi, Anthony. I didn’t see you there.”

 Crowley stretched, similar to that of a cat, and then got up. His lanky frame was draped in a long blanket. His eyes were, as usual, covered by his sunglasses. 

 “Yeah, just sleeping.”

 Aziraphale shot a knowing glance at Dani. “It’s almost noon, dearest. Would you like some tea?”

 “Do I look like I want tea?” Crowley spat, then groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Sorry angel. Got a headache.”

 Aziraphale gave him a comforting smile. “Why don’t you go up and see Esme? That might make you feel better.”

 Crowley nodded, then pecked a kiss on Aziraphales cheek. “Alright, angel. Love you.”

 Dani placed a hand on her heart. “How sweet! You two are just adorable .” 

 Crowley sniffed. “Yeah. Sure. Adorable.” He glared at Dani and then stalked up the stairs gloomily.

 Aziraphale gritted his teeth, then smiled at the young woman. “Dani, my dear, please excuse me. I just realized that I have to talk to Anthony about something.” 

 Danielle nodded, grinning toothily. “Yes, of course. Don’t be gone too long now, Mr. Fell!”

 Aziraphale laughed. “Of course, my dear. I’ll be down in a moment.” He walked up the stairs and then flung open the door to the flat. Crowley had completely covered himself in a thick fleece blanket. Esme was on the floor next to him, happily playing with some blocks. 

 “Crowley, I need to discuss something with you.”

 Crowley moved over on the couch, but Aziraphale waved a hand. “That won’t be necessary. It’s about Danielle.”

 Crowley groaned. “Really, angel?”

 Aziraphale folded his arms. “Crowley, why must you treat that poor woman like a criminal? We’ve known her for three months now and you act as though she is a murderer.”

 Crowley sat up straighter. “That’s m’point, angel. We’ve only known her three months. She could be a murderer, and we just don’t know it.”

 “ Crowley! ” 

 “It’s nothing personal, angel, but I don’t trust her. There’s something wrong about this whole thing. I just can’t put my finger on it.”

 “I can’t believe you, Crowley. The poor thing was terribly frightened, and she has treated us with nothing but respect and kindness.”

 “So did the angels.” Crowley muttered. “Look where that got me.”

 Aziraphale suddenly softened. “Is that what this is all about, dearest?”

 Crowley’s eyes flashed. “No. Look, angel, what did you think of Gabriel in the beginning, hm?”

 Aziraphale looked down, cringing at the memory. “I thought he was wonderful.”

 “Yeah? So did I. You know what he did to us, angel. He wanted you and me gone, the both of us. He never liked you. He never cared what happened to you. And you trusted him all the same. I trusted him. And then he turns me in and I’m doing a 180, spinning down until I’m burning. You just took a lot longer to realize it, because he hadn’t done anything to you yet.”

 Aziraphale suddenly turned angry again. “Are you trying to turn me against her?”

 “I’m saying you should side with me!”

 “And why should I? Aren’t I free to make my own decisions?”

 “Not in God’s eyes,” Crowley said. “We aren’t free. Not yet. We’ll never be,” he growled, getting up from the couch, pacing the room. “You think just because we fooled Heaven and Hell we’re suddenly free? Look at us, angel. We can pretend we have a side. That we’re on our own side. But we’re not. We never will be.”

 Aziraphale looked down. His eyes were watering. “Crowley. Stop, please.”

 “What’s the point of it, anyways? Don’t you think this is a little strange? A human suddenly appearing, a year after the apocalypse, wanting into our lives?”

 “Crowley, I’m begging you, please- ”

 “A baby that obviously isn’t human, a baby that can fly, a baby that has powers. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s from Satan herself, just disguising herself…”

 “ CROWLEY !” Aziraphale shouted, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

 Crowley suddenly stopped. 

 Esme was crying.

 He looked down at the baby, and then to Aziraphale.

  Oh Somebody, what have I done?

  “I’ll leave. Don’t worry about it, angel.” He began grabbing his jacket, his keys, and then stormed off to their bedroom, Immediately, his side of the closet was emptied out. His coffee mug was gone. His only white t-shirt neatly packed away.

 “Crowley, where are you going?” Aziraphale said, choking on the words. “What about Esme?”

 Crowley, bag in his hand, stopped at the door and turned. “You’re a much better father than me, angel.”

 Aziraphale reached out, grabbing onto Crowley’s sleeve. “Don’t go,” he whispered. He couldn’t lose Crowley. Not after everything. Not after a simple fight.

 Crowley dropped his bag on the floor and walked over to their daughter** and kissed her forehead. Then he turned to Aziraphale.

 “I have to, angel. I’ve ruined everything.”

 “You haven’t, Crowley. It was only a lover’s quarrel.”

 Crowley laughed, an empty look in his eyes. “Yeah. Lover’s. Right.”

 “Don’t do this, Crowley. Please.”

 “Angel, we aren’t meant to be...we can’t..” Crowley sputtered, tears dripping down on the carpet. 

 Aziraphale held out a hand, and he accepted it.

 They didn’t know how long they stood there, holding each other and crying; maybe it was only for a few moments, maybe it was for an eternity, while down below, in the back room of a bookshop, a young woman happily hummed as she turned the page of a book. 

*He wouldn’t tell her his first name, so she usually addressed him as ‘Mr. Fell’ 

**They were still arguing about what to call it. It’s a difficult thing, having not only a sexless child, but having one that is of supernatural origins. Because she is a hybrid, Esme would be born as a baby and would have to grow up, just like a human baby. She’d eventually come of age when she’d be granted the appropriate corporation, similar to angels and demons. (ie Aziraphale and Crowley appearing as men) Of course, this would all happen around the time of puberty, which makes it all the more horrid. I apologize if this is confusing but it’s the only way I could come up with that would make some sense in later chapters.

Chapter Text

 “Gabriel? Can I speak with you for a moment?” 

 Gabriel stopped dead in his tracks.

  Micheal . 

 He turned and gave his usual smile. “Yes. What may I do for you, Micheal?”

 “I need to see you in my office,” they said, dripping in sweetness and artificial sugar. “Now, please.”

 “Of course,” Gabriel replied, then followed as Micheal walked briskly away.

 He stepped into Micheals office. It was clean, pristine, and there wasn’t a single ounce of color. 

 Micheal took a seat at their desk, and then motioned at the chair. “Have a seat, please.”

 Gabriel did so, folding his hands nervously. “What is it, Micheal?”

 “Cut the bullshit. You were gone from your post, what was it, three months ago? Any reason why?”

 “Ah. Er...no?”

 “I thought there was something you’d like to see,” Micheal said, and pulled out a large Manila envelope. Just as they had done with Aziraphale only a year before. “Do you see what I see?”

 Gabriel looked at the envelope with fake interest. Micheal opened it, brought out records from the observation files, and slid three pictures toward him. 

  Damn backchannels.  

 A picture of him with Beelzebub in a coffee shop, looking at each other keenly.

 A picture of Beelzebub outside a dingy old bookshop in Soho.

 A picture of Beelzebub watching over a small baby.

 “Well? I suppose there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation?” Micheal asked, miracling away the pictures with a snap.

 “No,” Gabriel replied icily. “No, there isn’t.”

 “As I suspected. Did you know of the demon Beelzebub taking your position?”

 “Yes,” he admitted, smoothing out patterns of wrinkles. “I did.”

 Micheal formed a steeple with their fingers. “Do you know of the punishment you and your little friend will receive if I were to disclose this information?”

 “Extinction,” Gabriel said softly, his eyes drifting to look outside. 

 Micheal nodded. “Correct.” 

 A short length of silence spanned before Gabriel could feel a sharp, pain-inducing twinge in his neck.

 “Fuck..” he keeled over in his chair, hand clamping down on his neck. “What the-”

 Micheal was already standing. “You see, dear, that’s what happens when you disobey. You can experience more of that if you continue these... unnatural tendencies. Of course,” they said, spinning around to shoot him another icy stare. “There’s always the option of working against the opposition.”

 “Working...against?” Gabriel murmured, the pain suddenly leaving his neck. 

 “Yes,” Micheal said, taking a seat. “Care for a drink?” They asked, holding up a pitcher.

 “No, thank you. What do you mean, working against the opposition? Hell is and has always been the opposition.”

 Micheal laughed. “Not for you, it seems. You seem to be taken with your little demon friend.”

  She’s not just a ‘little demon’ , Gabriel thought, but shook it off as if it never entered his mind. No use in even thinking things like that. Not now.

 “Yes,” he said coldly, staring them down. “I suppose I am.”

 “Then you wouldn’t mind getting yourself involved with them.”

 “Do you mean...a re-relationship?” Gabriel sputtered. “With Beezi-Beelzebub?”

 Micheal paused for a moment, then nodded, a nasty grin appearing on her face as they poured themselves a glass of water. 

 “Yes, what else? Of course, that’s just the beginning.”

 Gabriel leaned into the desk, an incredulous look in his eyes. “What else do I have to do?”

 “The usual.” They took a long, slow sip from their glass before setting it down. It made Gabriel uncomfortable. He didn’t like being uncomfortable. In the old days, he was on top. Then, things happened. Time passed. Now he was terrified of Micheal , of all the archangels. 

 “And what if I disagree?”

 Micheal laughed. It was the kind of laugh a socialite would use to sound interested in a boring politicians story.* The kind bosses use to make their employees feel deplorable. The kind a villain would use before shooting someone. 

 “Oh, like you can’t figure it out? You’re sound almost as stupid as the traitor Aziraphale and his boyfriend, the other one, with the flaming hair.”

 “What about Beelzebub?”

 “She’ll get what’s coming to her. I’m sure Hell can think of a deserving punishment.”

 Gabriel sat back in his chair, horrified. 

 “I’ll do whatever it takes,” He said hoarsely. “Just don’t hurt her.”

 Micheal smiled again. “Of course. We wouldn’t want this little incident to get released, now would we? It’d be such a shame if Sandalphon found out. You know how he is with traitors and the like. He still seems rather attached to the whole Sodom and Gomorrah episode.” 

 Gabriel choked on their words. “Right. Of course.”

 Micheal continued, still grinning like a shark.** “So I suppose we have a deal then, hm?”

 Gabriel nodded weakly. 

 “Right. Sign here.” They said, motioning to a contract they’d just conjured up. 

 Gabriel did it the old way, an angelic spark prickling his fingers as he drew his old signature on the paper.

 Micheal examined it, smiling brightly as ever. As if Gabriel had not just practically signed the rest of his eternal existence away. As if nothing had happened. 

 “Well then. Glad that’s settled.”

 Gabriel could barely speak. He felt completely numb. “Yes. Well. I’ll be getting back to my post, now.”

 Micheal nodded. “Thank you for stopping by, Gabriel.” Before he could walk out the door, though, they stopped him. “Oh, and Gabriel?”

 He stopped. Suddenly, he felt incredibly hot and wanted to leave as soon as possible. What was he? A dithering human? I’m still the archangel fucking Gabriel, he thought proudly, and turned.

 “Yes?”

 “Mind your way as you leave. There was another fight this morning and I don’t want any blood outside my door, or in my hallway.”

  Gabriel bit his lip. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

 He opened the door and, as if in a dream, walked slowly down the hallway and then out into the common area.

  And nothing more. I’ll never be anything more than just a simple archangel.

  He watched as yet another fight broke out. Angels have to take their anger out on something , he supposed sadly. A war has to take place somewhere, after all.  

 It just sucked that it had to be taking place in Heaven.

 In that exact moment, the archangel-fucking-Gabriel felt less like a once-powerful messenger sent from God, and more like a regular human stuck in the middle of somewhere they didn’t want to be in the first place. Somewhere they just didn’t belong.

 In that moment, he felt completely powerless.

  *This one might not make sense, but it did at the time, so I’m just gonna roll with it.

  **Do sharks grin? I’ve never actually checked. Anyways, I saw one in Shark Tale so again, I’m just gonna roll with this one. 

Chapter Text

 “Any news on B-47 yet?” A demon called from their cubicle.

 “Not yet, but we’re getting there.” Beelzebub said as she walked through the dim hallways. She walked passed Hastur, flashing him a wide grin. “Hey Hastur, how’s it getting along?” 

 Hastur opened his mouth, dumbfounded. “ Beelzebub ?”

 “That’s Lord Beelzebub, to you.” She said cockily, any hint of her impediment suddenly gone. It was as if her confidence had skyrocketed overnight, and while Hastur was impressed, he was admittedly still shocked to say the least. 

 “R-right. Yes, yes of course, m’lord.”

 “That’s better. Right, now listen up, everyone,” Beelzebub exclaimed, clapping her hands. Nothing happened. When the crowds and rioting didn’t dissipate, Beelzebub shouted.

 Suddenly, thousands of pairs of eyes were on her. “Alright, that’s good everyone, now listen up. There are some changes to be made around here. There are to be no more rioting. Our Dark Lord has finally sent us a new mission.”

 The crowd began to perk up at this. Some angrily shouted that they were done with missions. Beelzebub only dismissed them.

 “Now, I understand all of you are rather displeased with the outcome of the apocalypse-”

 “Oi! What did waiting ‘round a few thousand years down here get me? Nowhere, that’s what I say! I say we take down this tyrannical army and start our own-”

 “SILENCE.” 

 A loud, booming voice thundered above (or below, however you see it) their heads. Beelzebub nervously took a step back.

 “NO ONE IS TO LEAVE HELL TO FORM THEIR OWN UNIONS. YOU ARE MY CHILDREN NOW. WE ARE STILL FIGHTING THE OPPOSITION. YOU WILL ALL FIGHT AGAINST THE WICKEDNESS OF THE GOD THAT BETRAYED US. THAT BETRAYED YOU. ALL OF YOU. WE WILL WIN OUR WAR. OUR TIME WILL COME.”

 A clicking noise came from the intercom, and though He had left, there was still an incredible mounting tension coming from each side of the dingy basement; like a dark cloud still lingering after a heavy winter’s storm.

 Beelzebub stood on the podium now, addressing the noise and clamoring. “Thank you, Sir. That was a very ...arousing speech. On that note, I think I should discuss the changes that are to be made.”

 Groans could be heard from amongst the crowd. “Silence. Alright, listen up. The riots have to stop. Jeremy, I don’t care how much low-grade evil a cowbell can spread, it’s not a good excuse. You’re literally resorting to tricks the demon Crowley would use.”

 That earned a few gasps from some of the higher-ups. Beelzebub only grinned. Good, she thought proudly. I have their attention now. 

 “So. No more riots. We’re also having guest speakers come in on Tuesdays to give a quick speech on how to spread evil on a larger scale, double-crosses, that kind of thing. Now get back to work!” She snarled, jumping off the podium with a new spring in her step.

 “Lord, what does this mean? All these new initiatives? What does that mean for...for us down here?” Hastur asked timidly, trying to keep up with Beelzebubs swagger as she sauntered* down the hall toward her office. 

 Beelzebub spun around, hands on her hips. “Hastur, it means that our respective head offices are battling against each other one last time.”

 “Our..You mean Heaven and Hell are actually going at it again? I thought Dagon was joking…”

 Beelzebub raised an eyebrow. “Dagon?”

 “Yeah, the sod..We thought..Never mind what we thought.” He sniffed, rubbing his neck uncomfortably. Somehow, the new Beelzebub was even worse than the old one. Bugger that for a lark . Hastur thought to himself. “Dagon is out on special mission themselves. Hell’s orders.”

 “Hell’s orders? I didn’t get any message about a special mission for Dagon .” Beelzebub wrinkled her nose. It would have been rather cute, except a fly had landed itself precariously there, and Hastur found it to be disgusting. 

 “Really? They got an..whassit called, the blasted thing..”

 “Spit it out, Hastur.”

 “Y-yes, of course, m’lord. It was an...electronic letter, I believe.”

 “An email?” Beelzebub thought for a moment. Suddenly her face twisted in horror. “I-I’ve got to check zzzomething,” she said hastily, her buzz returning. “I-I’ll be right back.” She hurried into her office, slammed the door, but forgot to close the blinds. 

 Hastur peered into the window. He could see Beelzebub, on the phone, frantically pacing the floor of her small office. 

 She paused, then nodded, her face suddenly very grave.

 She ended the call, threw the phone on the ground, and sunk into her chair. Hastur leaned into the window a little further. He could sense her misery, feel her pain. 

 He felt sorry for her.

 It was stupid, too, really - to feel sorry for a demon. To Hastur, and other demons alike, it would seem stupid to feel sorry for their fellow demons (and for good reason). Demons aren’t supposed to get stressed or worry or cry or feel . That’s an angels job. It’s just routine; just the nature of things, really. They’re supposed to spread evil, even if it’s low grade; they’re meant to wreak havoc and hope for the apocalypse.

 But Hastur, a Duke of Hell, knew he felt sorry for his boss. He’d been through a lot with her - even though they didn’t even trust one another. So much so that he was willing to curb stomp her when he was feeling especially prickly about her leaving her post.

 Maybe it was the cool, sulphuric filled air, or dimly lit hallways, but something inside Hastur sparked. He opened the door, and did the worst thing a demon could do for another:

 Lend a hand.

 It was more of a hand he was lending, really. He ended up lending his entire shoulder; and even though he still believed Beelzebub was slightly off her rocker, he hadn’t known how much she was dealing with. 

 “Hastur,” she hummed after throwing back another bottle of vodka. “D’you think that I fucked everything up? With the baby n’everything?”

 Hastur took a sip from his own bottle. “I dunno. I mean, with Dagon up there, that things better off dead, I s’pose.”

 Beelzebub groaned. “That’s not the answer I was looking for.”

 “Best case scenario: They don’t realize the truth about the baby’s existence until after the War starts. Worst case scenario: They’ve already figured it out and Dagons’ mucking things up further.” 

 Beelzebub rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t give me much hope.”

 “Eh, we’ve had it worse.”

 Beelzebub shot him a nasty glare. “It izzn’t funny,” she buzzed, snatching the bottle from his hands. “Gabe and I could be killed for this.”

 “Still dunno why you’d tell me about your sex life, too.” Hastur said, cocking his head upwards. “Not that it’s any interesting.”

 “Wanker.” Beelzebub muttered. “We’ve only done it once, you know.”

 “And I don’t respect you any for it. He’s an angel, you’re a demon. Don’t you see how... unnatural it looks? You’re a traitor, Beelzebub. Doesn’t look s’good.” 

 Beelzebub shrugged. “You seemed all for it earlier when I said it was for the betterment of Hell. And it is,” she said, wagging a finger. “We’re only together to get the riots to stop.”

 “Honestly, it just doesn’t sound like that good of a plan.”

 “What?”

 “You and Gabriel? C’mon, Beelz. You think a relationship like that will get 10,000 demons and 10,000 angels to stand down and come together? It won’t. Look,” he said, getting up from where he had been sitting on her desk. “As horrid and wretched as it sounds, you ought to realize that everyone still wants their war. You heard Him earlier. We’ve only got thirteen years before it goes down. You can wait and join the rest of us, or join the opposition.”

 “What about the other traitors?” Beezelbub said stiffly. 

 “What - Oh, c’mon, Beelz. Don’t be like that. You know what I mean.”

 “Crowley and the angel Aziraphale came together to fight against the rest of us once,” she whispered, a pleading look in her eyes. “We can join them. Gabe and I - we can fight in this together.”

 “You really think he...cares for you like that?” Hastur asked distantly, a sad look in his dark, dark eyes.

 Beelzebub shook her head. “I don’t know. But I do know that the both of us want the fighting to stop - on both sides. For everything to go back to normal. We just have to figure something out about that blasted baby, the little bugger…”

 “You don’t have a plan?” Hastur spluttered, holding in a laugh. 

 Beelzebub shot another glare toward his direction, but softened suddenly. “A part of me wishes that He would speak to us...directly more often. I’m at my wits end. Even you can see that, Hastur, and, no offense, you’re dim.”

 Hastur shrugged. “Your point?”

 “My point is that everything is getting out of control. I don’t know how Aziraphale and Crowley managed that week, when they realized they’d lost the antichrist.”

 “Don’t bring that up,” Hastur snarled, looking around quickly. “You'll start another one.”

 Beelzebub groaned. 

 “Look, if this doesn’t work, then nothing will. Either Gabe and I come up with a plan and continue to... meet secretly , or we go public with it and hope that there’s a large enough reaction that people start coming together.”

 “You got any better ideas?” Hastur asked, filing through a cabinet to see if there was anything they could use in case Beelzebub was tried for treason.

 “Nope,” Beelzebub said, and took a swig from one of the now full bottles. “If either of us do we’ll let you know.”

 “Oh, and Beelzebub?”

 “Yeah?”

 “You think the flash bastards will forgive us if we ever have to go up there and ...make amends?”

 Beelzebub looked at her friend sidelong, took one last sip, and set the bottle aside. 

 “I suppose we’ll just have to find out.” 

*vaguely down the hall. Haha. I had to. 

Chapter Text

 Crowley didn’t leave that day. 

 To Crowley’s displeasure, though, he was forced to apologize to Dani. 

 “Angel , why do I have to apologize to her ?” He whined, stomping his foot like a child.

 “Crowley. I am telling you once and for all that you must apologize. Your treatment of... that woman is unprecedented and rude.” 

 “Just say her name, angel, it’ll be fine.”

 “Not if she’s listening. She’ll probably think we’re going to murder her.”

 “Well don’t say that . You want a coffee thing - latte, is it? I’m going out.”

 “If you do, bring back a drink for Dani. It’s easier to apologize that way, dearest.”

 “Ngk.” Crowley pecked a kiss on Esme’s forehead and waved a hand before slipping out the door. 

 “Well then, my dear, it looks as though we are alone.” Aziraphale hummed to Esme, cleaning as he walked around the flat. 

 “You know, you’ve been here for almost four months. I suppose we should figure out a birthday for you, oh; it’s October now, isn’t it...hm. I gather the Almighty would be rather displeased if we set your birthday around December. I will also have to figure out some sort of cake for you, and presents. Cake and presents take lots of planning…” he trailed off, distracted, and began to rearrange the kettle and all the kitchen utensils, but continued to speak to his daughter as if she were a full grown adult. “I will have to wait until Crowley comes back. Your father, that is. Now, where did I put that spatula…” 

 “Cowlee!”

 “No, dear, It’s only Papa-” Aziraphale stopped to look over the counter. “What was that, dear? Can you say it again?” He said, hurrying over to where she sat on a large blanket by the sofa. 

 “Cowlee! Cowlee!”

 “Oh, you are so sweet!” Aziraphale laughed, picking his daughter up and cradling her. “And very quiet during recent nights, thank you. Yes, Crowley! He’s very happy with you. So proud! You’ve been so polite and well-mannered we wonder if you were sent from…” Aziraphale trailed off again, frowning. “Hm.”

 Aziraphale set Esme down and thought for a moment. It didn’t seem right to ask one of the angels if Esme really was something slightly angelic, only one year after the apoca-not and all. He very well couldn’t ask a demon, either, or the metatron, or anyone, really. He’d have to wait until Esme would age. 

 “Just how long will you take, my dear?” He asked, stroking her red hair fondly. “I suppose Crowley and I can wait. After all, we are immortal.” He chuckled, a part of him wishing Crowley was there to laugh along with him.

 Suddenly, there was a series of rapid-fire knocks at the door. Aziraphale stood, brushed himself off, and walked up to the door. He knew it wasn’t Dani or Crowley; Dani had the habit of calling out for ‘Mr. Fell’ and his door never stayed locked for the latter. 

 Aziraphale opened the door, shocked to see none other than Gabriel and Beelzebub standing awkwardly, midway in the doorway. 

 “Sorry, Mr. Fell! I couldn’t stop them. They said they’re here on official-”

 “Unofficial.” Gabriel interrupted quickly.

 “Unofficial business, sir.”

 Aziraphale nodded, gritting his teeth. “Right. Yes, of course - do come in. Dani, you just stay downstairs and wait for Crowley. I’m sure he’ll be down at any given moment.” Dani nodded and hurried down the stairs. 

 The door shut, and for once in a very long, long time, it locked.

 “Aziraphale! So nice to be seeing you!” Gabriel said, grinning like the idiot that he was. 

  Still a bastard, too, Aziraphale thought, almost half amused at seeing his old coworker. Boss. Whatever Gabriel had been to him that the rest of the angels weren’t.

 “I really don’t think I can say the same for either of you,” Aziraphale said quickly, then brightened at the thought of playing host. “But could I offer you some tea? Earl grey, perhaps?”

 Beelzebub crossed her arms. “Why aren’t you glad to see us?” 

 Aziraphale, though surprised her buzz had left her voice, kept his icy stare fixed on them both. “You tried to have both Crowley and I killed. Now, if you don’t want tea I’d like to inquire as to why you are here in my bookshop unannounced.”

 Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Hey, both of you committed acts of treason, not us,” he said, motioning to Beelzebub. 

 Beelzebub nodded. “That’s right. And you both lost the antichrist.” 

 Aziraphale folded his arms. “That was the fault of those blasted Satanic nuns!”

 “Yes, but we all know you had a hand in it.”

 Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Gabriel, please, just tell me why you’re here. Now,” he added a groan for effect. “My partner is to be home at any minute.”

 “ Your partner ?” Gabriel sputtered. Both he and the demon began to laugh. Suddenly, Beelzebub lost the humor in her eyes and stopped. 

 “I heard you mention Crowley, earlier...is it true? Really ?”

 Aziraphale sighed. “If you must know, yes. Crowley and I are...together, as they say.” 

 “And..?” Gabriel gestured toward the redheaded baby on the floor. “The baby?”

 “We’re raising her,” Aziraphale snapped, grabbing Esme. “Obviously.”

 Beelzebub took a step back, horrified. “D-Do you mean... her ? It’s a human baby?” Her voice went incredibly high at the end, cracking like a prepubescent teen boys. 

 Aziraphale sighed again, as if he was utterly over the conversation. And he was, but he wasn’t sure why Beelzebub and Gabriel were there in the first place, so he decided it would be best to act polite in case they might smite him, or worse, smite Crowley.

 “If you must know, it is most certainly not a human baby. Esme has already shown us she can fly. For now, we’ve all seemed to gravitate toward calling her a female, but when the time comes, if she does not feel that she is one, she can obviously make an effort to change it.” 

 Beelzebub crinkled her nose. “It’s rather disgusting looking. Have you washed it lately?” 

 “Yes, I have washed her ,” Aziraphale growled. “Now. What is the meaning of your visit?” 

 Gabriel was the one to sigh now, rubbing his temples furiously. 

 “We are...sort of in between, a - oh what is it, Beezie?”

 “A rock and a hard place,” offered the demon, massaging his back.

 “ I’m sorry, what the hell is going on here?! ”

 Two angels and a demon turned around to see Crowley, a stunned look on his face, his hands full of drinks and pastries. 

 “Crowley, Beelzebub and Gabriel were just about to tell me why they’ve popped in.” Aziraphale began carefully. He knew the trials were hard for him. They had to be careful. Crowley couldn’t handle any more pain.

 “Isn’t that fucking lovely,” Crowley snarled. “So, you two want to explain why you’re harassing my family?” 

 “Please listen, Crowley. We’re all mad and angry, but you don’t understand. We need-”

 “I”M NOT GIVING YOU ANYTHING!” Crowley shouted. Aziraphale clutched Esme a little tighter; he knew Crowley wouldn’t dare hurt her, but deep inside of him, he worried the poor girl knew exactly what was going on.

 Dani was right - children are much smarter than what we give them credit for. 

 Gabriel nodded weakly. “We-we understand, Crowley. It makes sense why you don’t want to associate with either of us, but Dag-”

  Crowley shook his head. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it,” he bared his teeth viciously, and took a step closer toward the terrified couple. “And I want you gone from our sight.”

 Beelzebub nodded, and without using the door, they disappeared. 

Chapter Text

Crowley and Aziraphale looked around the flat.

 The only other person* in the room was Esme, who had wrangled herself out of Aziraphale’s strong grip and was happily climbing up the walls. 

 “W-we can’t stay here,” Crowley looked around the room warily. “I can’t. Not with…them looking for us. They want something from us, angel. What are we going to do?”

 Aziraphale bit his lip. 

 He couldn’t leave the bookshop - Crowley knew that. Not for some horrid corporate people in suits to show up again, trying to turn it into a Starbucks. But someone would have to stay. 

 “T-there’s always Dani, you know. Hadn’t I told you to apologize? We could ask her to stay here - she works in the shop, after all.”

 Crowley nodded. “She accepted my apology. Just laughed it off, really.” Although he still looked uncomfortable about it, he seemed calmer. 

 Aziraphale smiled, and, walking over to Crowley, kissed him, lip and all. 

 When he pulled away, Crowley grinned. “I should apologize more often,” that for a laugh out of both of them. “C’mon. I need a drink.”

 Aziraphale nodded. “Me too, dear.”

 It had been a long day, even if the only event had been Gabriel and Beelzebub. 

 They both made sure Esme had just drifted off in her crib, unlikely to wake up for a few hours at least. 

 “So,” Crowley said, sprawling out on the couch. “Are they a thing now?”

 “Whom, dearest?” Aziraphale asked from the kitchen.**

 “Gabriel and Beelzebub. A back massage, ack , in our own flat..”

 Aziraphale came out with two wine glasses and handed one to Crowley. 

 “I dare say it was a bit uncomfortable to watch. I do wonder though, what they meant by coming here.” He took a long sip from his glass and looked up to see Crowley eyeing him incredulously.

 “You mad?”

 “Hm?”

 “You can’t possibly want to see them, even if it has been over a year.”

 “I never said that,” Aziraphale said sharply. “I just...wanted to know.”

 Crowley rubbed his forehead. “I know. Erhm..I’m sorry, angel. Never meant to ruffle your wings.” He drained his glass and set it down. 

 “I’m sorry too. For putting you in such a position. You don’t have to stay here, Crowley. You can go back to Mayfair and I can stay here with Esme.” Suddenly, he brightened. “And you can always visit us, sort of like those shows on the telly where the parents are…”

 “Separated. Divorced, probably. Something like that,” Crowley put in. “Look, angel - I don’t want that. I want…” he slowed down, trying to find the right words. “I want to stay with you. Forever.”

 “Oh, Crowley-”

 “Don’t you dare say it-”

 “You marvelously lovely demon!” Aziraphale exclaimed, practically jumping at the redhead from across the table. 

 “Aziraphale, all I’m saying is that I..I love you. And. You know. The rest.”

 “I’ve known for quite a while, dearest. I just enjoy these little moments when you show affection, I’ve always told Madame Tracy at those little parties she puts together how swe-”

 Aziraphale was cut off by Crowley’s lips on his, engulfed by the scent of wine mixed with that insatiable cologne Crowley always used, and something else he couldn’t put his finger on…

 “Mr. Fell! Mr. Fell, are you in there?” 

 The couple pulled away, annoyed. It also happened to be the exact moment Esme had decided to wake up, which surprised them both; Crowley was sure he had kept Esme from stirring for at least another two hours. It didn’t make any sense. 

 “I’m coming, Dani,” Aziraphale called, and opened the door to see the young woman extremely pale and sweating profusely. “Dani, dear, do come in. Are you alright?”

 “Y-no. No, Mr. Fell, something’s just come up but I really must be going and I’ll call you tomorrow, thank you very much for your concern, goodbye!” 

 The door slammed shut in his face. Aziraphale frowned - he’d watched Dani. Neither of them had shut it. 

 “Crowley, did you shut the door?”

 “Hold on, what...Esme! Get down! Come on, it’s Daddy! Come..wait, that sounds wrong. Ngk. Okay, let’s try this again. Esme - oh, thank somebody, yes, go back to sleep...perfect.”

 Crowley walked out, proud that he had gotten the baby down from the ceiling in such record time. “What was that?”

 “I asked if you shut the door.”

 “Why would I do that?” Crowley wrinkled his nose. 

 “Because I didn’t do it. The door just slammed shut. Doors don’t just slam shut.”

 “Maybe this place is haunted. You should get Ryan and Shane in here.”

 “Who?”

 “Never mind, angel.”

 “Oh. Well, it’s just odd…”

 “There’s always another possibility.”

 “And what’s that?”

 “Dani isn’t human.”

 “ Crowley .” 

 “Fine.”

 “We still have to figure this,” Aziraphale motioned around them. “Out.”

 “You won’t lose the shop, I promise.”

 “That’s not what I’m worried about, dearest.”

 “What is it, then?”

 “I’m worried that we’ll lose all our memories here. That once we pack up and leave...we’ll be leaving our first home behind. I mean, we’ve had hundreds of homes when you think about it, really, through time, thousands, even. But this...this is the first place I settled down in. You’ve been in Mayfair for..”

 “Since ‘78. 42 years, that is.” 

 “You built a home there. Your plants are there.”

 “Plants can be moved, angel,” he mused as he rocked Esme in his arms. “Besides, even though it was our first night together, y’know..like that..we can’t stay here. Not if we’re getting check-ins from Mr. American Accent and his new...whatever she is to him.”

 Aziraphale nodded, fumbling with his bow tie. “You’re quite right, Crowley, and I agree, I just-”

 “I’ll never force you to do something you won’t want to know. I may be a demon, but...I love you, angel.”

 Aziraphale practically melted right then and there. “I love you too. I know it will be hard, but the bookshop will always be here, and...we can make a new home. Somewhere else.”

 Crowley pulled him into an all-embracing hug. “I’m sorry angel.”

 “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” 

 Crowley shook his head. “This is your home, though. I never cared about mine, really. It’s cold and sterile in there, like…”

 “Heaven?”

 Crowley nodded. “Mhm. Hadn’t noticed it before, the eh..trials.”

 “Are you really ready, dearest? Where would we even go?”

 “I’ve always had places in mind, but you wouldn’t like them.” 

 “Crowley, you-”

 “I’m evil,” Crowley growled. “No. Don’t go ‘round saying how good I am when all I am to everyone else is a piece of rubbish. I don’t deserve you, or Esme. You can’t do this to yourself.”

 Aziraphale sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you how much I love you, Crowley? You aren’t rubbish, not to me, not to anyone else around us. Anathema and Newton - they both like you just the way you are. They’re inviting both of us to their wedding, next summer, aren’t they?”

 Crowley silently nodded yes. 

 “Madame Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell - he must like you. He’s called me a Southern pansy plenty of times!” 

 “He doesn’t like the way I dress,” Crowley said softly. 

 “Yes, but I do, and isn’t that enough?”

 “You do?”

 “Oh, for somebody’s sake - of course I do, Crowley!”

 “South Downs.” Crowley didn’t even wait for Aziraphale to continue or go on. But he didn’t have to. It was already processing through Aziraphale’s mind. 

 “The South Downs?”

 “You haven’t been before?”

 Aziraphale had, but he wanted to try something. He had been to The South Downs. He knew about the livestock and the countryside and the long winding paths. He had always preferred it to the busy streets of London; but he’d never think Crowley to be the type to take a liking to such a place. The South Downs may not have sushi bars and grumbling motorists circulating around it, but it had other things London didn’t. 

 “Describe it to me.”

 “Ah..er. Okay. Well, uh, there are cottages and these really gorgeous..er.. nice  pathways, and bookshops and goats and farms and benches to watch the sunset that you can’t really get a view of in St. James Park.” He stopped, his cheeks turning a flushed red color. 

 “It sounds lovely.”

 “But is it what you really want, angel? To..to move into a tiny cottage? You’ll have to have room for all your books.”

 Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I won’t be taking all my books, Crowley. The cottage will make room, anyways. They’re much larger from the inside, you know.”

 Crowley narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been, haven’t you?”

 “And how did you come to that conclusion?” Aziraphale grinned mischievously. He was rather clever, Crowley mused, when he wasn’t busy being so incompetent. 

 “You’ll have to deal with me during the mornings.”

 “Are you trying to convince me to not move down there with you?” 

 “I just don’t want you making a bad decision.”

 “I can make perfectly good ones, Crowley.”

 “You can’t even decide what you want for breakfast, lunch, and dinner!”

 “Because there are so many options, dearest.” Aziraphale sighed, and, cupping the demons head, stared straight into his eyes. He  couldn’t make this any clearer. “But there’s only one of you. I made that decision long ago.”

 Aziraphale laid another kiss on Crowley’s lips and pulled away, a warm smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

 “...And I don’t intend on changing it.” 

*as close to a person as you can get 

**it’s actually closer to a kitchenette, but Aziraphale begs to differ 

Chapter Text

There was a going away party. 

 Anathema, Newt, The Young’s, the Them, and the newly wedded Shadwells all knew about the existence of baby Esme, but had never actually met the child because they all had their own lives to attend to. 

 Fortunately, they were all more than willing to drive up to London* to say goodbye to the happy couple and wish them well. 

 While the adults** crowded around baby Esme, Adam had found himself in the kitchen making cookies with Aziraphale while Crowley was busy supervising the wine stock.***

 “What were you saying about the Them, Adam? I see they haven’t arrived.”

 “The gangs sort of...broken up.” Adam said quietly, focusing on adding more milk to the batter. 

 “Oh, Adam, I am dreadfully sorry to hear of it. Would you like to tell me about it?”

 Adam shrugged. “Pepper said she wants to find her real friends, not Brian n’ Wensleydale and me.” 

 Aziraphale shook his head. “That’s rather unfortunate. I suppose you can’t convince poor Pippin that you three are her friends?”

 “Angel, I don’t think you can. I mean, these are preteens we’re talking about. They’re stubborn, human children. Right at this age, with all the...stuff. No offense, kid.” 

 Adam grinned. “None taken.”

 Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, but can’t something be done? I’d hate to see the group broken up.”

 “Sounds like what Gabriel said right before the Fall,” Crowley muttered, half-amused. Aziraphale only shot him a glare, as if to say, Not Helping. 

 “I dunno. I guess Crowley is right - Pepper is pretty stubborn. She’s been acting funny lately, and the like.” Adam said, furiously stirring the dough. 

 Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Pepper’s your age, isn’t she, Adam?”

 Adam nodded. 

 “Maybe you should ask if everything’s alright,” Crowley said thoughtfully. “Try to be nonchalant about it. Everything is alright at home and all, right?”

 Adam nodded. “Her mums really nice, but she has been thinking of getting married to her boyfriend.”

 Crowley groaned. “That’s always the worst. Hate that - not the marriage part, really, s’long as you’re happy - but the whole kid thing. It makes them miserable. I’ve seen it firsthand.” 

 “Were you ever married, Crowley? Before you started dating Aziraphale?” Adam asked innocently. 

 That got a laugh out of the couple before Crowley shook his head. “No. I’ve just been around a lot longer than most people.”

 “I know.” 

 “Adam, are you sure you don’t want to see the baby? She’s really cute,” Deidre Young called from the living room. 

 “Yeah, looks just like Anthony and Ezra,” Arthur Young chimed in. 

 Aziraphale put the cookies on a baking sheet while Crowley escorted the boy into the next room. Deidre examined Esme, looked at Crowley, looked at Esme again, and then at Aziraphale. 

 “My heavens, she looks just like you two. How, erm, did you get her?”

 “We’ve...adopted,” Aziraphale said, laying a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “It just so happens little Esme has Crowley’s red hair, rather funny coincidence, if you ask me..”

 “Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Ezra. She’s got your blue eyes - of course, they aren’t as clear. Is that gold I see? Arthur, do you see gold in little Esmes’ eyes?” 

 Crowley grit his teeth. If they said anything about his eyes - 

 “Crowley, with your hair growing out like that you remind me of someone,” Arthur said, wagging a finger at the demon. “I just can’t put my finger on it.”

 “I look like a lot of people,” Crowley offered. 

 Adam, bored of the conversation, drifted over to where Anathema and Newt sat on the couch.

 “What’re you two doing?”

 Anathema looked up, surprised. “Oh hey, Adam. We were just looking through their family photos. I think they forgot to human-proof it, though.”

 “What’ddya mean?”

 “There are pictures of them together from 1896. I don’t know how they’re going to explain that one to everyone else,” Newt said, amused. “Crowley did seem to enjoy himself in the 20th century though.” He showed Adam a handful of pictures of Crowley throughout the decades.

 In the 20s his hair was cut short, and he looked rather dapper in elegant suits and canes. In the thirties, he still looked good amidst the depression, of all things - his hair was a bit longer, though, and he was wearing a dress and makeup. 

 “Is he a girl here?” Adam asked, confused.

 “I’ve never asked,” Newt said, and then quickly looked over to Crowley nervously. “And I don’t think I ever will. He could smite me.”

 Anathema rolled her eyes. “He won’t.” She showed Adam a photo from the forties - a picture that had Aziraphale in it, too. They were both laughing and looked incredibly happy.

 By the fifties, they were all sniggering at a picture of Crowley in a leather jacket, standing by the Bentley, but stopped to read a note on the back. 

 “Dear angel, hope you like the record. I picked it up and thought of you. Dinner at eight? 

-AC”

 “Jesus, they’ve been together forever...literally,” Anathema said after reading. “Wonder what record it was.”

 Newt thought for a moment, then waved Aziraphale over while Anathema hid the photo album. 

 “Ezra, do you happen to have a record collection?”

 Aziraphale beamed. “My, Newton, I didn’t know you had an interest in records. Now, I do, but you will have to be quite careful as there are a few in my collection that are either very rare or very sentimental and often both.”

 Newt nodded. “I got most of that.”

 Anathema rolled her eyes. “Come on.” She motioned to Adam. “You can come, too Adam.”

 Adam shook his head. “I haven’t seen the Shadwells yet.”

 Anathema shrugged. “Your loss.” 

 Adam always approached the Shadwells, at least the Sergeant, with careful apprehension. He always wanted to tell a story or tell him the price of milk when he was a boy, and though Adam was polite and kind enough to want to talk to them, he was never sure of what he was in for. 

 “Oh, Adam! How lovely to see you. I was just telling Mr. Shadwell about little baby Esme. Have you seen the little tyke yet?”

 “No ma’am.”

 “Oh, well, if you get the chance. I’ve always like children myself. I think you know that better than anyone, though,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes that made Adam smile. “Doesn’t she look just like Mr. Fell and Anthony?” She turned to Sergeant Shadwell who was nursing a glass of whiskey. 

 “Aye, m’lady, she does.” 

 Adam wished he had gone downstairs to see the record collection, but stayed to hear a story about inflation. 

-

 Meanwhile, downstairs, Anathema and Newt were sorting through the record collection. 

 “Look for the ones from the fifties.” Anathema said, choking on the dust.

 “Are you alright?”

 “I’m fine, it’s just... Jesus , does he ever dust in here?” 

 “Have you seen his clothes? I doubt it.”

 “Hm..”

 “What is it?”

 “I think the record Anthony bought for Ezra was Black Coffee. ” 

 “Black Coffee?”

 “Yeah, it was one of my moms favorite albums..ah, here it is,” Anathema pulled it out and dusted it off. “Looks like it’s been used.” 

 She pointed to the edges, which were incredibly worn. There was a red stain on the back, and after closer inspection both Anathema and Newt determined it was red wine. 

 “You think this is the one?”

 “I’m positive.” 

 “What kind of album is it, anyways?” Newt asked as they circled around the shop. “I can’t really imagine Anthony listening to anything other than Queen.”

 “Well, it was for Ezra.”

 “Hm. True.”

 “Why don’t we give it a listen?” 

 Newt found the phonograph and they put the record on, wondering if they’d done it right. Luckily, they had, and suddenly a song started playing.

I'm feelin' mighty lonesome 

Haven't slept a wink 

I walk the floor and watch the door 

And in between I drink 

Black coffee

 “Turn it off,” Anathema hissed. “He might come down, angry that we started playing their..whatever this song is for them.”

 Newt did, and then looked at her anxiously. “What do you think it means?”

 “It means Anthony loves him, idiot. Have you ever seen them kiss while we’re around?”

 “Well, er...no.”

 “See? Anthony’s always used that pet name, angel - I bet they aren’t even together. Have you heard this song before?”

 “Nope.” 

 “It’s about a woman who is in love and knows the guy she likes won’t ever come around ,” Anathema said, gesturing to the phonograph. “I bet Ezra doesn’t even know.”

 “Are you sure?”

 “What do you mean? Of course I’m sure!”

 “They’re in so many photos together, and I’m quite fairly sure Ezra and Anthony aren’t their real names!”

 “Oh come on, Newt!”

 “I meant think about it. We only know they’re immortal. We only have a vague idea of who they really are, all because that one blasted day-”

 “No one can remember that day,” Anathema said quietly. “Ask anyone except for those two and maybe Adam and they won’t remember a single exact thing that happened.”

 Sighing, Newt slid the record back into its cover and put it back right where they had found it. 

-

 After everyone had cleared out, Aziraphale and Crowley finished packing**** for the most part, and Esme had been bathed and finally drifted off to sleep. 

 “Are you ready, angel?”

 “Hm? Oh, yes. Very much so.”

 “To say goodbye, I meant.”

 Aziraphale patted his knee. “That will come soon, dearest. For now..”

 “What is it?”

 “I just haven’t seen Dani all day. I did tell her she could stop by for the party, of course, but it is rather odd that she hasn’t even dropped in.”

 “I still don’t trust her.” 

 “I know, dearest, but I am grateful that she’s agreed to stay and watch the shop, but, oh, I do wish she came in to say goodbye...”

 Crowley nodded silently. This whole Dani thing was eating at him, but he knew it’d be best not to mention it to Aziraphale. He liked the woman and treated her as he would a good friend. 

 “Sun,” he said suddenly. 

 “What was that, Crowley?”

 “What time did Dani say her boyfriend attacked her?”

 “I believe it was in the dark, wasn’t it? She came into the shop, all jittery and the like, poor thing, said it’d just happened.”

 “She mentioned the sun.”

 “The sun?”

 “She said she couldn’t see him right in the sun. Something doesn’t add up,” Crowley said, pacing the floor. “None of it does.”

 “ Crowley… ”

 “You stay here, angel. I’m going out.” 

*Anathema and Newt, plus the Young’s all carpooled together to certain events. Newt had found a job working as a computer salesman and had somehow managed to get promoted enough to the point that he never once had to touch one at all. Mr. Young found that he could drive Newt there since it was along the way, and felt that he was doing his part for the environment, which usually checked off his list of good deeds for the year. 

**The Young’s still couldn’t remember exactly who Crowley and Aziraphale were, or the rest of the group for that matter, but knew that they were good human people and, for the Young’s, that was enough.

***He was actually looking at Aziraphale. The angel did look good in blue, after all. 

****There wasn’t really a need, of course. 

Chapter Text

Beelzebub and Gabriel has figured out something when they made their visit to Aziraphale’s bookshop. 

 Something was off. 

 “Dagon.” Beelzebub said nervously, before they’d entered.

 “ What ?” Gabriel had said, scratching his head. “How can Dagon be in there? I don’t sense anything demonic.”

 “I can tell their scent. They’ve masked it well, of course, but there’s something... Something fishy, as they say, about this place.” Beelzebub sniffed the air, wrinkling her nose in disgust. 

 Eventually, after they’d been threatened by Crowley, they’d dragged the demon out, who was also somehow driven to make a scene. It almost worked, too - people began crowding around them, wondering why a poor innocent woman was being dragged through the streets of London. 

 “I’m not Dagon! You’ve got the wrong person!” The woman had screamed, flailing her arms. “Let me go!”

 Now she sat in a dimly lit room, chained to the chair she sat in. 

 Her appearance hadn’t changed, but her voice had dropped a few octaves lower. It sounded almost...sinister. 

 “Tell me again,” Beelzebub sneered. “Who are you?”

 “You wouldn’t believe me.” 

 “Tell me, or I’ll...I’ll..” Beelzebub couldn’t think of anything. Her creativity ended there. “I’ll inflict pain on you - more than you’ve ever known.”

 The woman laughed. It was practically maniacal, the way she threw her head back, the way she shook in the chair. 

 “I know pain, darling. I’ve practically invented it.” 

 Beelzebub took a step back. She couldn’t understand it. This woman had to be Dagon. Where else would they be? 

 “None of this makes any sense,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I want it to end..”

 “Oh, honey, don’t worry. Give it a few more years, and it will be.” The woman leaned as far as she could and winked . “Just you wait.”

 “Who are you?” Beelzebub asked in awe. “ What are you?” 

 The woman could feel her body slowly beginning to evaporate. “Very soon, darling, you’ll see. All of you will ,” and in a flash the chair was empty.

-

 It was raining heavily. 

 “All right, you bloody blasted assoholic fish! SHOW YOURSELF!”

 Crowley’s anger was rising; it was more or less like a volcano. He was erupting, swearing and cursing as the rain poured down. His now-long flaming hair was matted and his glasses were fogging up.

 Lightning struck.

 “I’m warning you, Dagon,” Crowley hissed vehemently. “GET OUT HERE, NOW.”

 “You called?”

 Crowley whipped his glasses off, squinting as the rain pelted his face. The voice didn’t sound like Dagons. 

 “Dagon..?”

 “Oh, honey. I’m not Dagon. They died a long time ago.”

 Crowley’s heart dropped. He never liked Dagon; after all, they’d almost gotten him killed*, but it didn’t seem right. And he knew whoever he was dealing with wasn’t lying. 

 “You-you killed them?”

 “With my own hands, yes.” They said, approaching Crowley now. He could make out a pair of large brown eyes and a scar on the cheek; it was Dani’s face, alright, but it wasn’t her. It never was. 

 “So Dani’s just a cover?” He asked weakly, slowly inching backwards.

 “More or less. Do you want to hear the truth, hon?”

 “Mh..ngk..er..”

 “I’ll tell you. Dani’s dead, too.”

 “What...when did you kill her?”

 “Oh, baby...I never said I killed that poor girl. Just the demon. You must think I’m evil, huh?” They let a hand slide down Crowley's cheek. He felt wrong..this all felt wrong. Their fingers were icy cold, as if they’d just met with death itself. 

  What’s happening to me? 

  “Just tell me what’s going on,” he said sharply, wrestling out of their grip. “Or..”

 “Or what?” They said, laughing. The rain continued to fall, the moon covered by a parade of dark clouds. “That’s what they all say. But you can’t hurt me, honey. Nobody can.”

 “What are you?” Crowley snarled, taking another step backwards. “And what do you want from my family?”

 The woman smiled, and then began to laugh. A wicked, evil, horrible laugh. “What would be the fun in telling you, hm? It’s no matter what I want, anyways,” A boom of thunder shook the ground. The woman only happily hummed. “I’ll get it eventually.”

 “You won’t get anything out of me,” Crowley snapped. “You lay a finger on any of us and you’re dead.” Another flash of lightning.

 Winds began to whip around them.

 “What do you mean, you’ll get what you wanted?” Crowley asked nervously. 

 “Can’t you see, Crowley? The storms already begun. There’s no stopping me, or Esme, or any of my creations!” They cackled horribly, and in a flurry of wind and rain they disappeared.

 Crowley shivered in the cold. He looked up and could see that the stars had returned, and the looming clouds gone from sight, not a single trace of the wild storm that had just taken place. 

 “Esme,” he whispered, and in a snap, he was back home. 

-

 Aziraphale had been making tea. He did it to calm his nerves, and knew that Crowley had to be freezing, wherever he was. It had to do with Dani and possibly something else. 

 On top of that, he was slightly worried about Esme; not only was she not going to sleep, but had decided to crawl up onto the ceiling.

 “Esme, I am not telling you once more. Please, get down from the ceiling. Your father will be home any minute and I don’t want him worrying about you anymore than I am at the moment.”

 Esme hummed thoughtfully. 

 “Mm..No.”

 Aziraphale smiled. “Well, at least her vocabulary is getting along nicely.” And off he went, back into the kitchen to take the kettle off the stove, when the door opened.

 “Esme, oh god - oh somebody, Aziraphale !” 

 “Oh, Crowley, you’re freezing.” Aziraphale tsked and handed the demon a steaming mug, who promptly set it down. “Crowley, what the heavens is the matter with you?”

 “We have to get out of here,” Crowley said faintly. “Where’s Esme?”

 Aziraphale pointed upwards. 

 “Right,” Crowley muttered. “Amazing, so she’s defiant and she’s bringing about the end of the world.” 

 “What are you playing at?” Aziraphale asked as he pulled Crowley’s jacket off. “Don’t make those kinds of jokes. They’re in bad taste.”

 “I’m serious, angel - Dani..she’s..she’s not who we think she is. Not who I thought she was, at least.”

 Aziraphale sank into the couch. “What is she, then?”

 “I don’t know..but it’s not good. I think she’s a demon, but I can’t tell. I think she’s a shapeshifter, maybe, because she’s obviously not who Dani was.”

 “Was?” Aziraphale asked.

 “They - the..whatever they are - had her killed.”

 “Oh my.”

 “They...they killed Dagon, angel.” Crowley said softly. “They’re out to get everyone. And..” he pointed in the vague direction of the ceiling. “Esme is, too.”

 “She’s...one of them?” Aziraphale whispered, horrified. 

 “I dunno. But it’s not good, angel. We’ve got to get out of here. Now.”

 “We’ve almost finished packing,” Aziraphale said hurriedly. “We can move in early tomorrow.”

 “And the shop?”

 “I’ll manage it; we can figure something out.”

 “Angel, I’m worried,” Crowley said quietly, taking Aziraphale’s hands in his own. “More n’ usual.”

 Aziraphale nodded. 

 “Me too, dearest. Me too.” 

*Or tried to, at least

Chapter Text

The house didn’t come with a price. Before, it had - and it was rather expensive. 

 “Did you see the new couple, Jenny?” A man asked as he laid a couple candy bars on the counter. “They just bought that place on Penrose, the really expensive one.” 

 Jenny shook her head. “Nope, sorry, Benson. You know I don’t gossip.”

 “I’d be careful ‘round the redhead. Looks like he’s using the older fella for money,” Benson remarked, taking his spot on a stool. “Clever, he is - I can tell just by looking at him.”

 Jenny raised an eyebrow. She’d promised herself not to do this - after all, she’d gotten kicked out of book club after calling Anne Hapner a tart. 

 “And you think he’s using an older guy for money? What if they’re in love?”

 Benson shook his head. “Nah, don’t look it to me. Weird, though, I thought I saw them carrying a basket in. No luggage, no boxes, no moving van.”

 “Moving vans always have a hard time here,” Jenny said. “It’ll find its way sooner or later.” 

 Unfortunately, Jenny Watts was wrong. Aziraphale and Crowley had packed, of course; but when you have Heavenly and Demonic powers it doesn’t make much sense to use a moving van. 

 The moment Aziraphale and Crowley stepped into their new home, Aziraphale was already snapping his fingers and adding homey touches.

 “Please, angel, no tartan. Our daughter is going to grow up and hate us.”

 Aziraphale glared at him. “She won’t hate us if she’s warm and comfortable. Tartan is stylish, but practical.”

 “Mhm. Right. And I suppose she’s going to school in Houndstooth tweed too?”

 “I’ll have you know that Houndstooth is a very nice pattern. I’ve seen many youngsters walk into the bookshop with it on.” 

 Crowley grumbled, and began pacing the cottage floors. 

 “Crowley, dearest, why don’t you take a nap?”

 “ Where ? We haven’t got a bed,” Crowley muttered as he fashioned his hair* into a low bun. 

 Aziraphale rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. “Now we do, dear. Take a nap.”

 Crowley shivered and nodded. “Alright, angel.”

 Soon the house was warm and bright; Esme got a room of her own again, adorned with gender-neutral accents** bookshelves, and her favorite toys which included a large black racecar and an octopus named ‘Fisher.’

 The kitchen had a lovely update, but Aziraphale decided that it would be best to keep the exposed stone and tile. He added little touches, like the kettle and a box of Earl Gray just in case. The living room was much more expansive than his old one; there was a comfortable sofa and a coffee table and in front of it, just for Crowley, was a sleek black T.V.

 There were three bathrooms in the cottage, of course, originally, there was only one; Although Aziraphale did feel slightly embarrassed about adding a tub into the master bathroom without consulting Crowley, who liked quick showers over a long soak. 

 (Of course, it wouldn’t matter later, but Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t know this yet) 

 Aziraphale took a step back, proud of his work, when he felt a hand tugging at his pant leg. 

 “Esme, I-” Aziraphale began, but stopped when he saw his daughter standing. “Oh! Oh, my, your father will want to see this. Wait a moment, dear, alright?”

 “Cowlee!” Esme exclaimed happily. 

 “Yes, Crowley! That’s it, my dear. “ Aziraphale said, patting her head, before hurrying off the bedroom. 

 The bedroom had taken some work, but the angel was glad it turned out perfectly. He knocked on the door. 

 “Crowley?”

 “Mhgh.”

 “Crowley, dearest, I am sorry to wake you, are you, er...decent?”

 The door flung open. Crowley was in his bathrobe, half-awake. 

 “You didn’t wake me angel.”

 “Dear, you’re half dressed.”

 “I know.”

 “Do you want to hear what just happened?” Aziraphale said excitedly, grabbing the demons hands. 

 “What?” Crowley asked, a smile creeping up on his face.

 “Esme’s walking.”

 “Get out!” Crowley said, his sepertine eyes popping out of his head. 

 “I’m not, dearest, come see,” Aziraphale said, dragging the redhead out into the living room. “Alright, Esme, dear, show Daddy what you did for your Papa.”

 Slowly but surely, Esme hobbled across the room toward Crowley, his arms expectantly awaiting her. 

 Crowley grinned. “That’s my girl! We’re so proud of you, my little overlord.”

 Aziraphale beamed like a ray of sunshine. “Why don’t we celebrate, dearest? We can fix her up something sweet and we can..er..”

 “Break out the champagne?” Crowley asked, hopefully. 

 “We run the risk of getting drunk.”

 “That’s true. Maybe we could celebrate our new teetotalism.” Crowley sighed.

 Aziraphale snorted. “We’ll have plenty of times to drink, dearest. Besides, the time will come when Esme will want to share a drink with one of her fathers.”

 “Is that really a thing?”

 “I suppose it is. Do you think she’ll take after us or…”

 Crowley shrugged. “Only time will tell. If she can’t take the alcohol that’ll be a sure sign she’s slightly more human than we thought.”

 “Hm.”

 Crowley poked the blonde gently. “You haven’t said a word about dinner all day. Are you alright?”

 “Just thinking.”

 Crowley didn’t get the chance to answer, because suddenly there was a loud series of knocks on the door. 

 “I’ll get it, dearest,” Aziraphale said, scooping up the baby along the way. He opened the door, surprised to see a small but lively group of men and women standing on the porch. 

 “You must be the new neighbors!” A woman piped up before Aziraphale could get a chance to answer. “What a lovely baby! Well, anyways - my name is Lisa Peterson and I represent the Welcome Wagon!” 

 Aziraphale smiled. “Oh, why don’t you come in. I do apologize for the mess.” 

 The group followed Aziraphale in, some stopping to stare at the cozy features of admire the furniture. 

 “Didn’t you move in today?” Lisa asked, stunned. 

 “Yep,” Crowley called from the kitchen. “Few hours ago.”

 “How-what...How did you do this, er..?”

 “Ezra.” Aziraphale said quickly, remembering to use his human name. “Ezra Fell. My...partner, Anthony, is in the kitchen, as you’ve probably heard.”

 One of the women leaned into Esme’s face. “And who’s this little tyke, hm?”

 “Esme,” Aziraphale said proudly, stroking her red locks. 

 The woman looked at Aziraphale, and then the baby. “My, she’s got your eyes.”

 “Oh, oh, thank you. That is very kind.”

 “She’s an absolute angel ,” The woman said, as she poked Esme’s nose. 

 Crowley suddenly strolled in, looking around suspiciously. The room suddenly shifted and all eyes were on him; Crowley looked down, realizing he was still wearing his robe*** and his hair was incredibly tangled. 

 “Oh. Er..”

 Aziraphale looked behind him, threw his partner a glance that said, ‘Oh, please ,’ and turned back around, a stretched smile on his face. 

 “Anthony was just taking a nap, you’ll have to excuse him. He doesn’t take well to retirement.” 

 “Retirement? Anthony, you can’t be that old!” One of the men remarked. Aziraphale and Crowley both shared a knowing looked before Crowley shrugged.

 “Eh. Looks can be deceiving. You’d all be surprised to find that I’m actually older than Ezra.”

 The group gasped audibly, and soon, the room was a buzz, chattering coming from all sides, while an angel, a demon, and their child looked on in amusement. 

-

 Gabriel was supposed to be at his post. 

 He wasn’t. 

 He’d gotten Sandalphon to take his spot, and at this rate, he didn’t really care if Micheal said anything about it. It was probably what they wanted, anyways - after all, he was meant to spend time with Beelzebub.

 It just didn’t feel right. 

 “I’m going to get a lolly,” Beelzebub called. “D’you want anything, Gabe?”

 “No thank you, Beezie.” 

 “Okay,” the demon said, planting a kiss on his forehead. “Don’t do anything angelic while I’m gone.” 

 Though Gabriel and Beelzebub weren’t particularly fond of Earth, Beelzebub enjoyed eating copious amounts of food in one sitting and Gabriel enjoyed the clothes. They had their Earthly pleasures, just like Aziraphale and Crowley. 

 They just weren’t exactly...acclimated to human life yet. 

 Just like humans, though, they began to form their own habits. 

 Beelzebub often went out to buy ice cream instead of conjuring it up so she could take walks around the streets of Bristol. It was nice, anyway - nicer than Hell had ever been.

 Gabriel, on the other hand, invested his time by working out and...that was about it. His enjoyment ended there. 

 He did, however, enjoy intercourse of all forms, and was often able to persuade Beelzebub into doing just about anything. Some days he wondered how she ever worked her way up the demon hierarchy, being gullible as she was. 

 After a particularly fun**** evening together, Gabriel felt his phone ring. Beelzebub had passed out next to him, and he felt somewhat appreciated to have a caller. 

 “Hello?” He said, exuding his usual cheeriness, though this time, it was real. 

 “Gabriel. How lovely to talk to you. This is Sandalphon.”

 “Right, yes. I think I know your voice, Sandy. We have known each other for 6,000 years, after all. What’s up?”

 “It’s subject B-47. Our operatives up here have given us reliable information that it has moved location permanently.”

 “Permanently?”

 “Yes,” Sandalphon sighed into the phone. “Micheal has told me that I am to inform you that you are to watch it.”

 “And Micheal couldn’t tell me this themselves?”

 “I suppose not. Gabriel, things are getting a little tetchy up here. When are you to be returning?”

 “Ah..right when I can get my hands on B-47. Yeah. Looking forward to it,” Gabriel muttered. “It’ll be ours by the time it comes into its power.”

 “And you have seen the child, correct?”

 “...Yes.” 

 “Perfect. I shall be letting Micheal know promptly. Good day, Gabriel.”

 “Bye, Sandy.”

 “Ford every stream,” He called, cackling into the receiver. 

 “Fuck off.” Gabriel snapped as he turned the phone off and tossed it aside. 

 Gabriel turned the lamp on his bedside table off. He turned on his side and laid a kiss on Beelzebub’s cheek. 

 “Good night, Beezie. Love you.”

 He flopped over, assuming a somewhat-comfortable position, and right beside him, a demon was smiling happy. 

*It had gotten incredibly long. The off-limit hairstyles for him included the ponytail and the mullet, on account of the former looking too ‘greasy’ and the latter too ‘American’ as he put it. 

**Just in case. Aziraphale couldn’t tell what her favorite color was yet, anyways. 

***It was actually Aziraphale’s, but he liked the angels scent so he often preferred to wear it. 

****Gabriels idea of fun is much different than ours. I am terrified to think of what Beelzebub endured that night. 

Chapter Text

-A (very shortened) Summary Of The Following 12 (and three-fourths) Years In Accordance With The Nice And Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch, Ye Saga Continues Or, The Book that Anathema and Newt burned that they actually shouldn’t have that contained some interesting, random, and quite necessary facts about the world that was to come-

 By the time Esme was almost three, and Crowley was still too nervous to pop the question, they’d grown into a happy family. Aziraphale had even asked a neighbor from Soho if they’d be willing to watch all his books, and surprisingly, they said yes. 

 For an almost-three year old, Esme’s vocabulary had gotten incredibly large; it was far larger than most adults, and she could speak more clearly than her fathers most days. It did break Aziraphale’s heart when she stopped calling Crowley ‘Cowlee’, but it was soon replaced by Dad, which both parents thought to be appropriate.

 And while Esme was young, she was incredibly adorable and quite a pretty little thing. It terrified Crowley to think that someday a human might ask her for a date; Aziraphale only calmly told him that they would be dealt with when the time came. 

 Unfortunately, that seemed to unsettle Crowley even more. 

 Beelzebub and Gabriel were getting along nicely, both sending information back to their respective head offices; but neither of them could find the baby. 

 “Do you remember what it looks like?” Beelzebub had asked one day as they drove around the streets of London. They couldn’t find a parking spot. 

 “Why must I be the one to remember these things? It looked rather like a...oh, what is that doll humans play with?”

 “Barbie?”

 “No.”

 “The creepy porcelain ones?”

 “No.”

 “The other creepy ones?”

 “ No. The ones with the weird hair.”

 “That doesn’t help much.”

 “Whatever.”

 “D’you think the baby will be as powerful as they say? The boss? The prophecies?” Beelzebub said softly. 

 “Of course it will be, it’s made to be. What kind of question is that?”

 “Well it’s not the Antichrist. The Boss hasn’t said much to any of us, just about our respective missions.”

  “...Same here.”

 “I just don’t understand it,” Beelzebub said, swerving into the next lane. “If the baby is so powerful, wouldn’t it have done something already?”

 “God - Watch the road, Beezie! You have to wait these things out. The baby has to grow to accumulate more power.”

 “You read that off a pamphlet.”

 “So?”

 “I want real answers.”

 “Cabbage Patch Kids!” Gabriel exclaimed. 

 “ What ?”

 “The dolls with the funny hair. Cabbage Patch Kids,” Gabriel said triumphantly. 

 “Oh, you are a ridiculous twat.” 

 “Shut up.”

 “You shut up, dickwad,” Beelzebub muttered, almost hitting a pedestrian before parking the car*. “Who are we meeting up with?” 

 “Some old guy, says he has an army that’s willing to help out. Remember that advert I put into the paper?”

 “The one you threatened the editor to print?”

 “That’s the one! Anyways, I got a call within the hour. Says his wife is a witch.”

 Beelzebub grinned. “Perfect!”

 “I know!”

 Before they entered the coffee shop, Gabriel peered into the window.  He turned to Beelzebub and, bending down slightly, kissed her. Their lips met and didn’t part until a pedestrian cleared their throat. 

 “Oh, piss off!” Beelzebub hissed. Gabriel grinned and kissed her again. 

 “Good job, Beezie.”

 “What was that for?”

 “The…good job?”

 “No,” she said warily. “The kiss just now.”

 “I felt like it,” he said, grabbing her arm. “Let’s get inside.” 

 When they entered the shop, they looked around, before Beelzebub cocked her head. 

 “Isn’t that the guy that was at the air base?”

 “Hey, you’re right,” Gabriel said. “That’s funny, seeing him here. Of course, it’s not actually laugh induci-”

 “Shut it,” Beelzebub whispered, before making her way over to the man. “Hello, sir. Do you remember me?”

 A woman with short blonde hair sitting across from him nodded her head.

 “Why, I do!” The woman said. “You know, I know you, but I just can’t put your face to any day. Mr. Shadwell, do you remember?”

 Mr. Shadwell looked up from his menu, and then at the short woman and her...significant other? 

 “Aye, Marjorie, I do. Just can’t put my finger on it. Nay, there’s witchcraft involved here. I can smell it on yer clothes!” He said, shaking his head vehemently. 

 Beelzebub wrinkled her nose. “I think that’s in bad taste. I was just trying to be polite.”

 “We apologize, love - we’re waiting on someone,” The woman said gently. “And Mr. Shadwell gets rather testy at times. He’s really rather sweet when you get to know him, though.”

 “Wait,” Gabriel cut in, raising an eyebrow. “Did you say Mr. Shadwell? The man I’m supposed to meet...is you?” He asked incredulously, pointing at the scruffy old man. 

 The man grinned. “Aye, that’s me! Didn’t know you’d be a Yankee, of course, but it’s no matter. Have a seat.” 

 Gabriel grit his teeth. “I’m actually not-”

 “Anyways, Shadwell, was it? What exactly does your organization do?” Beelzebub interrupted, kicking Gabriel underneath the table.

 Mr. Shadwell beamed. “Well, technically, I am retired, but I thought for such a worthy cause…”

 “Oh, yes, the cause.” The blonde chimed in. “We’ve always had a soft spot for children, and when we heard that we’d be getting back to our roots and helping out those poor children...we couldn’t resist!”

 “ Poor children ?” Beelzebub asked in awe. “I think you’ve got the wro-”

 “Yes, the poor children.” Gabriel said seriously. “You see, we need all the...occult forces we can find to stop the war mongrels living...over there. My associate and I are sure that they are to bring about the end of the world,” He said, pointing in a vague direction. “We just need a highly skilled army and anyone with any special talent, because...”

 Gabriel was running out of ideas. And bullshit. He’d already convinced the old man on the phone - he didn’t even have to say much. All it took was the mention of money. When asked what for, he said ‘starving kids’ and that was that. 

 Mr. Shadwell raised an eyebrow. “Aye, Jezebel. Suppose you’d be going back to Madame Tracy?”

 The woman shook her head. “No. I’d rather not. I think I’ll stick to the tarot cards.” She sent her husband a warm smile, and, upon realizing how confused the other couple looked, gave them a short explanation:

 “You see, dears, My name is Marjorie Potts. Most people know me as Madame Tracy. I may be retired, but I know I still have something left in me. And those children - they’re worth fighting for, you know?” 

 Beelzebub suddenly felt guilty. Gabriel obviously wouldn’t tell two humans what their real purpose was in all of this, but it felt wrong.

  It really doesn’t matter what I think is wrong , Beelzebub thought glumly. It doesn’t mean anything, in the grand scheme of things. 

 “Yes,” Gabriel said at last. “Yes, they are. Now, we’re really excited to start working with you. I think we have a deal.”

 Mr. Shadwell eye’s glittered. “Lovely. Innit lovely, Marjorie?”

 Marjorie Potts nodded. “Indeed.”

 A deal had been struck. 

 And time was running out. 

-Two Years After That-

 “Dad, my teacher says that we’re all supposed to have a mom and a dad on our family tree,” Esme said as she walked into the kitchen. “Not a dad and a dad. He says it’s wrong.” 

 Crowley looked up, his brows furrowed. “Your teacher - what’s he like?” 

 “Don’t do anything rash, dearest.” Aziraphale called from the bedroom. 

 “I dunno, Dad. I don’t think he likes me very much. The other day he said that Jesus walked with the dinosaurs, and I told him he was stupid.” 

 Aziraphale walked out, frowning. “Did I hear you correctly, dear?”

 Esme nodded. “Yup.”

 Crowley ran his hands through his hair. Aziraphale had been nice enough to braid it that morning. 

 “You did well, honey,” Crowley said, kneeling down to face her. “You know better than he does. Too bad those paleontologists haven’t figured it out yet.”

 Aziraphale nodded. “Such a shame, really. I do hope they realize they’ve wasted their time.”

 Crowley hummed thoughtfully. “Okay. Come on, angel, Esme. We’re going to the school to have a chat with your teacher. Straighten him out.” 

 Aziraphale nodded gravely. “Alright. Come along, dear. We’ll get this settled.”

 Soon, the Bentley was speeding down the gravely streets and then onto the main roads until then finally reached the school house. 

 “Esme, you stay in here. The Bentley will be locked. If a stranger tries to attack you-”

 “Attack the jugular, yes, dad, I got it.” Esme sighed. “And I won’t magic myself out, Papa, I promise.” Aziraphale smiled, and patted her head. “Thank you, dear. We’ll be out momentarily.”

 The couple walked into the school, hand in hand, and then stopped at the door. 

 “Do you think they will kick us out?”

 “I don’t think so, angel, why?”

 “Oh..er..”

 “What?”

 “I thought we were going to..never mind, dearest. Let’s go in, no time like the present.” 

 Crowley laid a hand on the angels chest.

 “What, were you planning on killing the guy?”

 “ Heavens no! I just thought, you know, when you said we were going to straighten him out …”

 “Get on with it!” Esme called from the car. “Stop bickering already!”

 Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but Crowley was still stunned as they walked inside. 

 “I mean, yeah, I wasn’t too happy about it either, but fuck, Aziraphale...I wasn’t going to curbstomp the guy!” 

 “Shh,” Aziraphale hissed. “There are children here!”

 “Oh, come on. It’s after hours. Only the teachers are here.” Crowley strolled into the office where they were met with a cheery young secretary.

 “Oh, Mr. Crowley!” She said, practically melting in her seat. “You look incredibly sua-” she suddenly stopped when she saw Aziraphale at his side. “Yes, er. Hello, Mr. Fell. What can I do for you?”

 “My partner and I need to speak to a teacher, Mr. Cornwall, is it, dearest?” Aziraphale said, deciding to act rather bitchy. He could almost hear the young woman groaning internally. 

 “Yes,” she said, sighing. “Room 110. Have a nice day.” 

 Aziraphale decided to stick the knife in just a tad deeper as he wrapped an arm around the demon. “You too, dear. And might I add, that anti-aging cream is working wonders for you.” 

 The woman’s jaw dropped as the door opened and then shut, the angel and the demon already out the door. How did he know that?! 

 “Jesus, angel. That was harsh.”

 “She deserved it,” Aziraphale murmured. “I know what people think of you around here, dearest, and I don’t like it.”

 “I know,” Crowley said, his eyes searching for the right room number. “The other day Harley LeBlanc asked me who bought my jacket, and someone else asked how much younger I was than you.” 

 “You were created much earlier,” Aziraphale said sadly before they entered the classroom. “I do wish people were more understanding.”

 “They are - they just get the wrong idea, I think.”

 Aziraphale sighed and knocked on the door. 

 “Come in.”

 They both opened the door and peered in. A middle aged man sat at his desk, poking at his phone. 

 “What’s the matter? Kid get in a fight?” 

 “Ah, no.” Aziraphale said. 

 “Kid upset?”

 “Well no, not really, but-” Crowley admitted.

 “Kid angry?”

 “No-”

 “Then why are you wasting my time?” The man asked sourly, throwing his phone on the desk.

 “Sir!” Aziraphale said sharply. The other men looked up in surprise. 

 “I will have you know that what you have been teaching your students is completely wrong and blasphemous.”

 “Really?” The man asked smugly. “You’re the first to come in and tell me that it all my thirty years of teaching.”

 “Well, maybe it’s because no one realized it before.” Crowley said shortly. 

 “That’s right - Our daughter came home today, Mr. Cornwall, and told us that you told her that Jesus rode and walked with the dinosaurs. Is that correct?”

 “That’s what I’ve read. Who are you to say it’s not true?” The man asked. 

 “Pardon us, Cornbread, but I think you should do some research first. The dinosaurs never existed. If they did, I’m fairly sure God would have told one of us,” Crowley said angrily. 

 “ God ? God speaks to you?” The man began laughing harder. “This day just keeps getting better.”

 “It won’t, when the school finds out that you’ve been teaching without a license. Your wife also won’t like what she finds on your computer, I can tell you that.” Aziraphale cut in, his icy blue eyes shooting daggers at the teacher, who’d begun to look horrified. 

 “H-how do you know that?”

 “I know quite a bit about you, Mr. Cornwall. I may not be omnipotent, but I have my resources.” The angel said, an almost devilish shine in his eyes. 

 “Y-you can’t do this,” the man whispered. “I’ve done nothing to you - th-this is blackmail.”

 “Yet. I gather you’ll include everything that we’ve told you in your lesson plans?” Crowley asked, leaning into the desk. 

 “Oh, bugger this - I quit.” The man said, grabbing his things and hurrying to the door. “You take over the classroom if you know so much.” 

 The door slammed shut. 

 Aziraphale adjusted his shirt collar. Lately, he’d decided to change things up, opting for a dress shirt under a sweater. Crowley, on the other hand, kept most of his goth appeal, including the skinny jeans. 

 “I dare say, dearest, that someone will have to take over this class.”

 Crowley looked around the room. “Hm. Yeah.”

 “Do you have anyone in mind?”

 Crowley looked at the angel mischievously. “You bet I do.”

-Arkansas, USA-

 War had returned since the apocalypse. She’s always been there, really, always lurking in the recesses of the human mind. She enjoyed her work. She enjoyed watching the world burn.

 “Barman,” she called, waving an arm. “Whiskey. Neat.” The bartender nodded. 

 “Hey,” a man said as he approached her. “You look amazing. You here with anybody tonight?”

 War grabbed her drink, drank it, and turned, her long red hair tossing about on her head. “No,” she said sweetly. “I’m not. I will be soon, though. Are you lost?”

 “L-lost?”

 “The exit is right behind you,” she whispered into his ear. “I’d get out while you can, hon.”

 The man turned white as a sheet and nodded. He didn’t know why his feet were telling him to run, but they did all the same. It was for the best. You didn’t want to be in a room with War around; trouble was always brewing. 

 “You handled him well,” a woman said from her stool. War turned. The voice sounded familiar. 

 “And you are?”

 “They call me Leila,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “But you might know me as Raum.”

 War nodded. “I know you quite well. You worked with an old friend of mine.”

 “That was long ago,” Leila said, reminiscing of the old days. “Carmine, is it?”

 War grinned, baring her sharp teeth. “Zuigiber. Yes. I used to go by Scarlett, but you probably don’t remember that.”

 “I do. He always spoke highly of you. Out of all of them, you are his favorite.”

 “I know. He was never fond of Sable.” War paused, peering downward at the bottom of her glass. “I suppose you are looking to work with us?”

 “I am.” 

 “You won’t become an official member. He won’t allow it,” War said, motioning to the barman for a second drink. “But I suppose He wouldn’t mind a little help for the second go around. Have you seen the child?”

 Leila smiled wickedly. “I have, yes. Held it in my own arms.”

 “Marvelous. Do you know when it will come into its power?”

 “13. Right around puberty.”

 “Hm. That doesn’t give us much time.”

 “No, it doesn’t.”

 “Do you know what it is made of?”

 “No; no angel, no demon - no one knows what it is. No one person knows,” Leila said, humming thoughtfully. “I know others that do. Others that are only others and nothing more. They cannot be considered human or people - those who are you and me.”

 War tried to wrap her mind around that. Leila always had a habit of explaining things in odd ways; maybe that was her point, but War didn’t like it one bit. She groaned in confusion.

 “It’s alright, dear. One day, very soon, the world will be ours again. We can make the world anew - we just have to find that child. That..that thing is the key to our power.”

 “And have you come close to taking it?”

 “Once,” Leila said mildly. “That was a few years ago. But it’s no matter,” she said, happily accepting the drink from the redhead. “It’ll all be over soon. There won’t be a world for angels and demons, not even the ones that have rebelled.There will be a world for others.”

 “I can drink to that!”

 The two womanly-shaped beings left the bar, and behind them, a fight had broken out. Money was stolen, stools were thrown, guns were fired, and people had no idea why. It wasn’t because they were people being fundamentally people - it was War being fundamentally War, and a former demon of Hell being fundamentally...them. 

*It was an Aston Martin DB5, and the only reason** she liked it so much was because Gabriel hated it. 

**She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but, okay, yes , there was another reason: She realized that she found Sean Connery sexy, and it hadn’t dawned on Gabriel yet that he somewhat resembled him. 

Chapter Text

 -Present Day-

2033

(Or, a few days to the supposed end of the world)

 Marjorie Potts opened her spell book and looked inside.

 She was getting older now, and so was Shadwell. They’d been working for Gabe and Lucinda Bee for quite a while; almost 13 years, to be exact. 

 Of course, even though she and Shadwell weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed, they’d been able to figure out that those poor Armenien children probably didn’t exact, and the war mongrels were just a cover up. 

 “Aye, Marjorie - they’re in the mafia, you see to it!” Shadwell had told her one evening. 

 “The mafia, Mr. Shadwell?”

 “Aye, they are. Always speaking in tongues, I figure one of them is a bloody daemon sent from the depths of Hell!” 

 He was almost completely spot on.

 “I’ll get you another tea, love.” Marjorie said hurriedly, and grabbed his mug.

 Now, she looked in her book and tried to remember some of her incantations. 

 The four of them hadn’t actually been all that successful. What Marjorie knew about the enemy consisted of this:

1.They were probably supernatural

2.They were powerful

3.They wanted more power

 (And it wouldn’t surprise her if they were also in the mafia, too) 

 Marjorie knew that there was also something that Gabe and Lucinda were looking for but couldn’t find. Every few days, they’d stroll into their house, looking extremely nervous.

 “Hello, Marjorie. Everything well?” Lucinda asked as they walked into their living room.

 “Mr. Shadwell has come under, but he should be much better by tomorrow. Have you any news?”

 Gabe tugged at his collar. “We believe that the item* is ready. We also have reliable information that Lower Head Office** will attack first, and then Upper Head Office*** will retaliate.” 

 In the years Marjorie had been working with them, she’d learned to just nod her head yes. After all, if these two really were in the mafia, she didn’t want to be shot.

 “Well, I’ve got a protection spell for all of us in case things go awry,” Marjorie said, tapping her book. “And Mr. Shadwell doesn’t exactly have the army...ready, but he’s still got his gun and all and I suppose that will do nicely against...what we’re fighting...against.” 

 They talked for a few more minutes, before Gabe and Lucinda excused themselves to have a chat outside.

 “You haven’t said a word all morning,” Beelzebub hissed. “What’s wrong?”

 “Nothing,” Gabe muttered. “I just wish we knew more about that fucking demon. They’ve rebelled, you say?”

 “I think. It has to be them. Dagon’s dead, we found out that woman’s dead too, and the death toll hasn’t been looking so good for the rest of the world. Have you seen Hell lately? We barely have room for everyone!”

 Gabriel nodded. “I know. Something isn’t right. Alright. Let’s just run down the list and see what we know.”

 “Right.”

 “Okay, so we know it is a demon from Hell, correct?”

 “Are we talking about the demon or B-47?”

 “Oh my G-Bee. Seriously . The demon , what do you think?” Gabriel wailed. “That’s stupid. Don’t do that again.”

 Beelzebub stuck her tongue out. “Yeah, its a demon of Hell.”

 “And we know….” Gabriel tried to think. “We know…”

 “Crowley and Aziraphale are raising it.”

 “That’s the baby, though.”

 “JesusfuckingHELL this is confusing!” Beezelbub yelled, kicking a rock. “Why does this have to be so goddamn confusing?!”

 “ Shh !” Gabriel hissed, shushing her up with a kiss. “Better?”

 Beelzebub nodded numbly. “Better,” she whispered. “We know it has ties to the Horsemen.”

 “Right! Good job, Bee! You know, I forgot about that.” Gabriel said, grinning like an idiot. “Thanks,” he hummed, as he kissed her on the forehead. 

 “Is that it? Really? I feel like after all this time, we should have more information. I feel like we’re getting nowhere, you know?  Everyday feels like a step backward instead of a step forward.”

 Gabriel shrugged. “I think we’re doing fine. Look, Bee. Once we are able to stop B-47 from ending the world and bringing about the deaths of billions, both human and angelic and demonic, lest you forget, everyone will love us. Then the War can begin.”

 “Yeah, but...what’s the point of saving everyone if it's pointless in the end?” Beelzebub whispered. “I’ve never understood it.”

 “Oh, Bee,” Gabe said softly, running a hand down her cheek. “It’s sweet, how naive you are. Here, I’ll explain it for you: Yes, we don’t really want to fight, but look at it this way - we’ll be saving all your friends and mine back in our Head Offices. Then, we can come together as a whole and fight against the greatest opponent.”

 “Humanity,” Beelzebub sniffed sadly. “I think I’ve got it now,” She said miserably. 

 Gabe grinned. “Great! I’ll go talk to Marjorie about it and see if she’s got anything better to use. Be right back!” He planted another kiss on her head.

 Beelzebub felt very, very small in the whole of everything - a speck, really. A speck that felt rather glum about saving the world...just to end it. 

  I don’t want to be a hero, she thought unhappily. I just wanted to get the riots to stop...for everything to go back to normal.

  Normal was unfortunately very far away.

 And somewhere that was also everywhere, a place unknown to man, Death was collecting his scythe. 

 War had her sword.

 Pollution had Pestilence’s crown.

 Famine had his scales.

 And alongside them, a demon stood with wings of the darkest night, a name that yearned to be spoken by all. A name that meant power. A name that wanted power that they couldn’t have. 

 All around the world, people that were strong, healthy, and young suddenly felt weak and tired. 

 And somewhere else, in a large cottage by the seaside, an angel and a demon were preparing for their little girls birthday.

 A girl was coming into her power, the Horseman had rebelled against Hell, and a demon was actually, technically, on second thought  having more second thoughts about her relationship. 

 What could go wrong?

*The item was code for B-47, or the baby, or, in other words, Esme . Marjorie and Shadwell had just assumed Gabriel was talking about a drug deal, but what that anything to do with the end of the world was beyond them. 

**Hell

***Heaven

Chapter Text

 Michael say across from Gabriel. Their hands were clasped tightly. They smiled like a fish.

 “So,” they said calmly, writing something down quickly on a legal pad. “Did Beelzebub say anything else?”

 “Raum is teaming up with the horsemen. That’s what we know. We just don’t know where they are or how to stop them.” 

 “Didn’t I tell you to keep a watchful eye out for them?” Micheal hummed. 

 “Uh..well. Yes. Yes you did, but a while back you might remember that the child moved? Permanently?”

 “I do remember that, I’m not stupid,” Micheal snapped. “Can’t you find out where they are? You’re supposed to be an archangel, Gabriel.”

 Gabriel hung his head low.

 “I’m sorry, Micheal.”

 “You should be. You’re a pathetic excuse for an angel. Going out and fraternizing with the enemy, consorting with them, and not even able to follow orders correctly.” They sneered angrily.

 The telephone on the desk beeped. 

 “Hello, Micheal. Sorry to bother you, but the demon Ose is here to see you. Says he’s got the packages you wa-”

 Micheal picked up the receiver. “Shut up, Sandalphon. I’ll be done in a minute’s time.” 

 They put the phone back in its cradle and stared at Gabriel. In the pit of their stomach, anger was boiling. 

 “Gabriel, you know what the point of all this is, right?”

 “I collect B-47, bring it up to Heaven, and we...use it?”

 “We save the angels and the demons. That’s the point of it all, isn’t it? We save everyone. It’s going to be rather glorious. You know what happens next?”

 “Yes…” Gabriel said absentmindedly. “I do.”

 “We’ll have more power than we have ever known,” Micheal said proudly. “That’s the point - to win. You want to win, don’t you, Gabriel?” 

 “Yes, but..”

 “But what?”

 “I just feel like something's off. I’ve told you everything about Beelzebub and what Hell has been doing. I don’t know why I’m blackmailing her if we’re coming together in the end to fight against the greater opponent.” 

 “In the end, Gabriel, we’re still enemies. Don’t forget that. They’ve killed our brethren. Don’t you see? We’ll still come out on top even if we’re fighting in this together. There isn’t a together in this battle. This is everyone for themselves once the Earth will be ours.” 

 “But...what will we do without the humans?”

 “What do you mean by that?” Micheal snarled.

 “If there aren’t any humans, how are we to do our jobs? How do we spread the word of God?”

 “You don’t,” Micheal hissed. “That’s the point. Once we rule, there won’t be anyone to spread the word of God to. We create the world anew. The world will be ours. It will be a better world.” 

 Gabriel nodded numbly.

 Micheal picked up the receiver. “Send him in, Sandalphon.” They looked up at Gabriel and set the phone down. 

 “I’ve got company coming. I don’t think you’d like to stay and watch.” they said thoughtfully. 

 “I thought you were against fraternizing with the enemy,” Gabriel said glumly. “Having them come up to your office, that’s fraternizing, isn’t it?”

 “Enough!” Micheal sneered. “Get out of my office. I don’t want you back here until you have reliable information about the whereabouts of the child.”

 “And what if I don’t?” Gabriel asked, raising an eyebrow. 

 “Your title will be revoked.” Michael said simply. They motioned to the door. “You may leave now. Watch your step.”

 “Right.” Gabriel muttered unhappily. 

 He opened the door to find a demon standing there, scratching his neck. 

 “Are they in there?” The demon asked. “Micheal?” 

 Gabriel responded by grunting and a slight tilt of the head.

 “Hey, ain’t you the one who talked to Mary? Way back?”

 “Yeah.” Gabriel said.

 “I thought that was real cool when I heard ‘bout it,” The demon said. “Good on you, then.”

 Gabriel brushed past the demon and made his way out the all too familiar hallway. When he walked out into the wide open floors, he was met by another familiar face. 

 Uriel.

 “Hey!” She hissed waving an arm. Gabriel walked over to her nervously. “Yes?”

 “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

 “What do you mean, what the fuck am I doing? I’m here to see Micheal.”

 “Not that. I figured it out - you’re - you’re sleeping with Beelzebub!”

 Gabriel pushed Uriel up against the wall. “Don’t you dare say that up here. You say that again and I’ll fucking smite you, Uriel.”

 She only smirked, dusting her overcoat off. 

 “You don’t have any power up here,” she said softly. “I’d be careful Gabe. I’m on your side.”

 “Wh-what?”

 “I don’t like it anymore than you do- the fraternizing part. Real smart of you, that. Going ‘round and double crossing your girlfriend, I like it.” She said, grinning.

 “You’ve got the wrong idea.”

 “Huh?”

 “That’s not what’s going on.”

-

 They ended up discussing it in a coffee shop near Bristol. 

 It made sense that they’d meet there. It was custom, at that point, for colleagues and the like to meet and discuss business proposals. It had that atmosphere - Norah Jones playing softly over the speakers, cozy booths and a warm, inviting sense about it.

 Really, it was the opposite of Heaven and Hell both. Hell was too dirty and cramped, while Heaven was sterile, spotless, and empty. Maybe that was why Gabriel liked it so much. 

 He waited until Uriel finished her espresso before starting the conversation. 

 “It started with B-47.”

 “I figured as much.”

 “The riots had been getting pretty bad and I just..I needed someone to check in on it for me, and Beelzebub and I had always kept contact…”

 “Have you ever, er…”

 “What?” Gabriel asked.

 “Done it?” Uriel asked, cringing.

 Gabriel looked out the window, and then at his hands, which were folded neatly in his lap.

 “Yes.”

 “Really?”

 “Look, is that all you wanted to know? It was a hell of a long time ago.”

 “Alright, bloody hell, no need to get angst-y about it.”

 “Why are you siding with us anyways?” 

 “I need protection,” Uriel groaned. “The riots haven’t stopped, people are angry, and I’m next in line for the chopping block, as they say.”

 “You aren’t really, though?”

 “Of course not, you wanker. I’ll just get demoted. Which is rather annoying, considering it shouldn’t even be their job.”

 “I hate Micheal,” Gabriel whispered. “I fucking hate them so much.”

 “How bad is it?”

 “I really do love her, Uriel. I do. I just...I didn’t want to see her get hurt. And now I feel like I’ve dug myself in a hole that I can’t get out of.”

 “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’re an asshole.” Uriel said. 

 “Is that what people really think?”

 “You’re basically selling your girlfriend out to your boss. That’s kind of shitty, if you ask me.”

 “What else am I going to do? Huh? You tell me.” Gabriel sat back in the leather. He felt like crying. Angels don’t cry. Angels aren’t meant to. 

 He rubbed the tears away from his eyes and looked down at his lap again. Uriel's gaze could be quite piercing. It didn’t make him uncomfortable though, like the way Micheal or Sandalphon would look at you. 

 “Gabriel, do you really think B-47 is going to call for the end of all of us? I mean, I don’t know what they’re made of, but they aren’t demonic. I’ve never understood it.”

 “Probably. I don’t know. Some say there are prophecies lying around somewhere that explain part of it, but no one’s found them.”

 “Have you told Micheal that?”

 “What? God no, I don’t want another job on my plate. It’s just what my...agents have told me.”

 “Do you think they’re Nephilim?” 

 Gabriel thought for a moment. He’d actually never considered it.

 “A hybrid?”

 “Maybe not in the traditional sense,” Uriel mused. “Who knows? It might be a mix between something else. Something that isn’t exactly Heaven and Human, or Hell and Human.”

 “But then it wouldn’t be Nephilim.”

 “I know,” Uriel said, sinking into the leather booth. 

 “See? I mean, honestly, If we don’t know what’s going on then how are we to fight against it?” Gabriel said waving his arms in defeat. 

 “If it’s a hybrid, hellfire and holy water won’t work.”

 “True.” 

 “Silver bullets are out of the question.”

 “Also true.”

 “Does it have to be killed?”

 “If it isn’t, it’ll kill us first.”

 “Well...true. Do you think it will end up like the Antichrist?”

 “What? Renouncing it’s title? That was a mess. Let’s hope not.”

 “No. More...human. Do you know who’s raising it?”

 Gabriel wrinkled his nose. “And you don’t?”

 “No,” Uriel spat, annoyed. “Tell me.”

 Gabriel sighed. “Yes. Has Micheal not told you?”

 “Not really.”

 “Of course.” Gabriel sighed. “The..traitors Aziraphale and Crowley.”

 “You’re kidding.”

 “Nope,” Gabriel popped the p. “From what I saw, when Bee and I visited, they all looked very happy together.” Gabriel said, amused.

 “The demon Crowley...a father. That’s something I’d pay to see.” 

 Gabriel shuddered. “I’d rather not. Who knows what kind of...demon-ry he’s instilling in the child. I do hope Aziraphale is making good parenting decisions. Obviously, after the Antichrist debacle I wouldn’t trust either of them with my child but, I suppose, as long as they’re happy…”

 Uriel nodded, smiling. She rarely did; but she looked stunning, radiant, really. It suited her well. And for the first time in ages, she felt like she could smile along with someone from the office.

 Even if that someone just happened to be the archangel Gabriel, of all angels. 

Chapter Text

 Strange things were happening on the coast of the Black Sea in Iceland.

 “What do yer think it is, Jon?” A fisherman asked. His name was Gunnar Magnússon. 

 “Looks like a woman.” Jon Þangbrandurson replied. 

 “But with er tail?” Gunnar scratched his head. 

 Jon scratched his head, too. In all his years of fishing, he’d never seen a mermaid show up on the shoreline. 

 “I suppose we call the news,” he said calmly. “This is something they’ll want to hear.” 

 “Right on it ser!” Gunnar said, running as fast as he could* to alert somebody, anybody . 

 Soon, a crowd had formed, and people from all over began inspecting the poor creature. Her stomach was slashed and her eyes were completely white...no iris, no pupil. It was eerie. 

 “What an awful way to die, no? You think it was drowning?” 

 “Why would she die from drowning, Olga? She’s a mermaid, for Christ’s sake!”

 “Well I’m sorry, Klaufi! I’ve never seen one before!”

 A news van appeared ten minutes later. A camera crew began filming the scene, the reporter shaking out strands of their long blonde hair. 

 “Hello, this is Leila Stefansdóttir with Iceland 5 News. I’m here with Jon Þangbrandurson, is it?”

 “Yes, that’s right, ma’im,” Jon said, taking off his hat and sniffing. “We’ve found a mermaid on the shore, dead, it is. Quite a sad day.”

 Leila nodded apathetically. “And can you describe what it looks like for our viewers?”

 Jon raised an eyebrow. “Long hair, red, er...naked, till yer get to the tail.. it’s quite scary, really. Dunt look like an animal could of done it, but I s’pose when the coroner gets on the scene we’ll know for sure.” 

 Leila only stared back blankly. “Such a shame. And I’d like to add that this is the first recorded sighting of a mermaid with substantial evidence. Do you believe in mermaids now, Mr. Þangbrandurson?”

 Jon scratched his head. “I suppose I must, if I just saw one.”

 He didn’t see the news reporter roll her eyes, or the way she looked at the body. He didn’t see the flash in her eyes once the cameras were off, as if she’d just spotted her prey. 

 “Well, that’s all for now until we have more developments in this wild story.” Leila said, smiling fiercely. “Again, I’m Leila Stefansdóttir, with Iceland 5 News.” 

-

 Esme awoke in a cold sweat.

 She could have sworn she had heard voices. Someone telling her to do something…

  Eh, she thought, looking at her clock. It read 4:38. Whatever. Weird dreams always seem to happen around my birthday, anyways.

  Esme got out of bed. School would be starting in two hours; it was a Friday, and while it was her birthday tomorrow, she knew her Papa wouldn’t allow her to skip.

 Her Dad, on the other hand, would. He was always up for a surprise or a fun excursion out somewhere. When she had turned eleven, he’d paced the floor all morning, peering out into the hallway, checking for her Papa. For Ezra. 

 “I think you should go for it, Dad.”

 “No, no. Not on your birthday. He’d hate me for spoiling your fun.”

 “I don’t think proposing would ruin my birthday though. You two would look cute in tuxes, anyway. I haven’t seen you both dressed up since ...Anathema and Newt’s wedding. N’ that was ages ago.”

 Back in the present, Esme got out of her pajamas and dressed in the dark. No point in magicking the light on; one of her fathers would see it. A vintage concert T-shirt**, blue jeans, red converse, and to top it off, a biker jacket. Somehow, she still retained a very girl-next-door style about her. 

 Contrary to popular belief, a girl doesn’t need a mother for that ‘woman’s touch’ or whatever - Esme had her Papa for that. He’d been very kind and open during his lesson about puberty; he was excellent at braiding hair, and he was always obliging whenever she wanted to go shopping. 

 Of course, she was usually shopping for voodoo trinkets. Or pens. Or paper. Sometimes books. 

 Esme stared back at her face in the mirror. Her red hair had turned to a nice strawberry blonde color, his skin was fair and light, and a bridge of freckles adorned her nose. When she turned ten, one of her eyes turned completely golden. Nobody could really explain it - but that’s usually how life went for Esme. No explanations given. 

 She brushed her hair out and clipped it back, opting for a more 40’s style. She looked out the window. It was raining, unfortunately.

 “Damn.” 

 Esme walked back into her room and checked the clock again. She was supposed to be in bed, sleeping.

 She walked around her room, looking at the family photos and the voodoo trinkets and then at her bookshelf. She’d have to find a flashlight if she felt like reading. Instead, she felt more like eating a snack. Or an early breakfast. However you might look at it. 

 She tiptoed around her parents bedroom*** and walked into the kitchen.

 The light flickered on.

 “Esme Fell-Crowley!” 

 Esme stopped and closed her eyes, startled. When she opened them, her Papa was standing there with a mug, giving her a stern look.

 “Oh, hi...Papa..”

 The angel suddenly softened. “Dearheart, you must get your sleep. Do you know what time it is?”

 “Well, actually, no, not right now, because I don’t carry a clock with me,” Esme said sarcastically. “I’m hungry.” She took a seat on a stool at the counter. 

 Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Alright, let's have a look in the pantry. How much sleep did you get?”

 “I dunno.”

 “You need more sleep. How many times have I told you that, hm?”

 “Too many to count. Can’t I just miracle something up?”

 “Well, it's not technically miracling if you aren’t an angel or a de-”

 “Ugh, Papa, I know! I get it. I’m not like either of you, blah blah blah...I still don’t understand, i mean, I’ve got powers too,” She muttered, conjuring up a mug. “You two have been acting strange all week. Just because I’m gonna be a teenager doesn’t mean I’m gonna….I don’t know, infect you or something.”

 “I know , dearheart. We have our reasons. We don’t want you mixing in with the wrong crowd.”

 It came out wrong. Aziraphale cringed as he watched Esme roll her eyes. She must absolutely hate me now, he thought miserably. Lovely. 

 “Oh, this again ,” Esme groaned into the mug. “I have a perfectly normal group of friends, Papa.”

 “It’s not bad to be different, dearheart, but you don’t understand what we mean-”

 “No!” Esme exclaimed. “I understand perfectly. You guys just don’t seem to grasp that I’m gonna be okay. I literally don’t need two guys who are actually as old as fucki-”

 “That’s enough, Esme.” Crowley growled from behind her.

 Esme jumped. Oh shit. 

  “Oh, Dad, you’re up,” she said, getting up from the chair. “I didn’t, er...hear you.”

 “Yeah? I was trying to get some sleep,” Crowley muttered, putting his arms around her other father. “I think I heard you talking. What was that again? We’re as old as…?”

 “Old as time,” Esme said shortly. “You heard correctly.”

 Crowley kept his glare fixated on her. “Esme. You’re not thirteen yet. Just because you’re older doesn’t mean you have every liberty a grown adult does,”

 “Yeah, but it's just a word. Fuck .” Esme said, emphasizing the swear word. She was upset - no, she felt more than upset. Angry, maybe. Smug, even.

 “Don’t interrupt your father, young lady!” Aziraphale said, brow furrowing. “He’s right - I hate to take sides, but, we ah..”

 “Just say it angel,” Crowley muttered. 

 “We’re on our own side...Oh heavens, that sounded lamer than I anticipated. Well. You get my point, Esme, dear. You’re not a grown-up yet - you won’t be for several more years.”

 “Yes, but someday I’ll want to get on with life, Papa!” Esme wailed. “I won’t be a kid forever!”

 Crowley bit his lip.

 He didn’t feel like telling her that someday, she’d stop aging. She’d be one age for the rest of her life; she’d miss out on all sorts of things. She’d never be able to have a normal family. She was destined to a life of immortality, a flower never fully able to bloom. 

 He patted her on the head and walked out, yawning. It was time to go back to sleep.

 “That’s enough for now, dear. We’ll have a chat later. Eat some breakfast, first. I’ve already worked out my lesson plans for the day so I’m ready when you are.” Aziraphale made her sit down as he went to work. Some days he made crepes. Today seemed more like a pancake sort of morning, though. 

 Esme watched him mix the batter.

 “I’m sorry, Papa.”

 He didn't respond. 

 “I’m sorry, really.”

 Aziraphale poured the batter onto the stove. “I’m sorry, too, dearheart.”

 “For what?”

 Aziraphale turned, sighing. “For...well, lots of things. It’s rather hard to explain, dear. You’ll know soon enough.”

 “Can’t I know now ?” Esme whined.

 “Best not. You’re too much like your Dad in that regard, always asking questions. It’s what got him in trouble.”

 “Will he ever talk about it with me, Papa?”

 Aziraphale shook his head sadly. “It’s too painful, Esme. You know how he is about such matters.” He turned his back to her, continuing to focus on the pancakes. 

 “Alright.” She paused, and then went on. “I’m still sorry about the swearing. I don’t mean it, mostly. I just...I just..” 

 “You want to be independent,” Aziraphale said, smiling. “Your Dad and I understand that better than most parents can. We know you want freedoms, but you just can’t have all of them yet. You’re so young, you know, and we try not to hold you down but-”

 “Papa, papa, I get it,” Esme said, laughing. “You don’t have to explain it. I know I should probably hold back a bit.”

 Aziraphale ruffled her hair, and poured her a glass of milk. “Thank you for understanding. We’re not exactly trained in these sorts of things..”

 “You’re doing fine,” Esme said, rolling her eyes, accepting a plate of pancakes. “I mean, my mom left me on the side of the road,” she hummed, barely chewing as she scarfed her food down. “N’ you and Crowley picked me up. Almost like a fairytale really. You guys are great cause you saved me.” 

 Aziraphale set his fork down. “Er...yes. About that, Esme, we’ve be-”

 Esme checked her watch. “Ugh, we have to go. I seriously wish you hadn’t left the Year 1 kids, cause their classes start way later. Such a drag.”

 Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. Well. You run along and I’ll walk. Your Dad’s not in the move to drive this morning.” 

 Esme grinned. “See you at school, Papa!” She hugged him and ran out the door, past the greenhouse, and then into the garage. 

 Right next to a pristine 1926 Bentley, sat a shiny electric roadster****. It had two owners from new, the first being Aziraphale and the second being Esme after Aziraphale had decided it was a little too fast for him. 

 Esme grabbed her helmet and hopped on. She couldn’t wait to drive the Bentley, considering the most this thing could do was around 30 mph.

 “Alright, ol’ girl,” She said quietly, adjusting her grip on the handles. “Time to go to prison.” 

 Esme didn’t hate school, per se. She just disliked being told that she was wrong about the dinosaurs, or ancient history, or what Wilde really meant when he wrote The Picture Of Dorian Gray . 

 Making friends hadn’t been so bad - none of them had noticed she’d never gotten a pimple, or that she was able to memorize all the problems in their math textbook. 

 For Esme, life was by some standards perfect.

 Unfortunately, it wouldn’t last for long. 

-

A group of four sat in the corner of a bar near Porth.

 “Have you heard about Kailua-Kona?” Pollution said, a wicked grin on their face. “Acid rain befell them last night. It was quite mysterious.”

 Famine smiled. “I can already feel it coming. The hunger..the pain…”

 “I hear tensions have been rising yet again in the Middle East,” War spoke, a smug look in her eyes. “I can feel it too.”

 “WE MUST RIDE. IT WILL OCCUR TOMORROW. THERE IS NO TIME TO WASTE.” Death said severely. 

 “He’s right,” War said, standing up to put her helmet back on. “Raum will be back from Iceland tonight. We may as well join her.”

 Pollution grinned. “I found her efforts there to be quite...amusing. I’ve never understood why she took up the job of a reporter…”

 “It pays well,” War said, rolling her eyes. “Come on. You know where it is?”

 Pollution and Famine shrugged.

 “I DO. LET US GO.” Death said. 

 The horsemen were preparing for their final ride. 

 After all, if you had to go, why not go in style?

*He’s at the shoreline, so it couldn’t have been very fast. Trust me, I’ve been to Iceland and can confirm: I was doing it in crocs and kept getting stuck in the sand. 

**She hadn’t gotten into Queen yet, mostly sticking to The Beatles and (very) early Bowie. 

***One time, when she was very young, she’d walked by and heard groaning . That told her to STAY AWAY DURING THE NIGHT. It was one of her many rules. Not that she cared what her fathers’ did during the nighttime. She just felt a bit awkward hearing their sex life. (And rightfully so!) 

****I don’t know if almost-13 year olds are allowed to ride shiny electric roadsters in the South Downs. I suppose in my head canon they will have to be allowed to, because the idea of Esme riding this thing is so cute. It can be bought here for the small price of (around) 7000 US dollars: https://www.vintageelectricbikes.com/products/roadster?variant=29668792107083

Chapter Text

“We’ve got to come clean to her, Gabe.”

 Gabriel practically dropped a dumbbell on his foot. “C-come clean?”

 Beelzebub rolled her eyes. “To Marjorie and what’s his name…”

 “Shadwell.”

 “Yes. Shadwell. How do we explain to them that there aren’t any poor Armenien children, hm? That we’re just using them to fight against the horsemen.”

 “You want to come clean and say who we are ?” Gabriel asked, dumbfounded. 

 “What else are we going to do?” Beelzebub cried, waving her hands in the air. 

 “ Fine ,” Gabriel grumbled. “Let’s get it over with.”

 They drove down to the Shadwell’s home and parked hap-hazardly in the yard. “Bee, do you think..you think that they’ll…”

 “Oh, bloody hell, what now?”

 “What if they reject us?”

 “What, like this is some kind of high school rom-com? You literally told Mary she was pregnant with Jesus, Gabe. This should be...rudimentary for you, at this point.”

“Rudimentary,” Gabriel said, mocking her as he made a face. “Whatever. If this goes to shit I’m blaming you.”

-

 Marjorie Shadwell* was making tea. Mr. Shadwell was busy cutting out articles in the paper. 

 “Aye, Jezebel. Have ye seen the news?”

 “Not recently, Mr. Shadwell. Anything of interest?”

 “There are mermaids in Iceland. You don’t suppose there’s...witchcraft involved?”

 “It wouldn’t surprise me, love. These days anything can happen.”

 “Aye - lookie here, Marjorie. Ice Queens’ are bein’ resurrected as we speak, in Russia, that is.”

 “The Ice Queen?” Marjorie said, raising a brow. “Like in the movies?”

 “Aye, Jezebel, that it be. N’ then there’s the bunyip, n’ Bigfoot - aye, he’s been sighted too, nare Denmark.”

 “What d’you think he’d be doing in a place like that for?” Marjorie asked, cup in hand. There was a rapid series of knocks on the door. 

 “Here, lassie, I’ll take yer cup,” Shadwell said, grabbing it from his wife’s hands. “There ye go.”

 “Thank you, Mr. Shadwell. I’m coming,” she called, and opened the door, surprised to see Gabe and Lucinda Bee standing outside. 

 “Mr and Mrs. Bee, do come in. I’ve got the kettle still on, if you’d like a cup.”

 “That won’t be necessary,” Gabriel said, waving his hands. “We just wanted to have a talk with you.”

 Marjorie nodded. “Alright, well, don’t just stand there, dears- you’ll catch a cold.”

 “Thank you, Marjorie,” Beelzebub hummed, stepping inside. She and Gabe both enjoyed the constant warmth of the Shadwell home; it was rather inviting and cozy. “Hello, Mr. Shadwell.”

 “Aye, hallo.”

 “Should we take this to the other room, or…?” Gabriel asked, unsure. 

 Marjorie looked to her husband and then at the couples “I suppose here’s a good a place as any,” she said sweetly. “Unless it’s more serious, we can always take it to my dressing room.”

 Mr. Shadwell continued to cut out articles with such vigorous energy that Gabriel only nodded, a faint smile on his face. 

 “Over there..your dressing room is..fine.”

 “Alright.” Marjorie said cheerfully. She walked them down a short hallway and then into what appeared to be her dressing room, complete with stuffed animals and pink walls. 

 She sat on the stool by the vanity, while Gabriel and Beelzebub opted to sit on the sofa opposite.

 “So,” she said, clapping her hands. “What is it that you wanted to tell me?”

 “Well, er…” Gabriel began nervously. 

 “It’s rather hard to say,” Beelzebub said quickly, clamping a hand down on her boyfriend's thigh. “How to put it..ah, Marjorie, have you by chance ever looked at the Bible?”

 “The Bible?” Marjorie blushed. She wasn’t very religious - after all, she used to hold tarot readings for nervous executives. “Not really, dear.”

 “Have you ever heard of the apocalypse? The second-coming of Christ, perhaps?” Gabriel butted in, flashing a faint hint of a smile. 

 “The second coming of...excuse me, Mr. Bee, but what are you on about?”

 “You see, Mzz. Potts,” Beelzebub nervously buzzed. “I am a demon, and Gabe here is an angel.”

 “Wha- Excuse me ?” 

 “Would you like the short version or the long version?”

 “I don’t want any version,” Marjorie said, standing up. “I don’t get what you two are playing at, but it better be funny.”

 “Uh..it isn’t a joke, though.”

 Beelzebub kicked Gabriel. “Look, Marjorie, I am a demon. He’s an angel. You have to believe us - I’m sure at some point you knew about the apocalypse, but I suppose you’ve forgotten it..”

 “The apocalypse ?” Marjorie slumped down on the stool. “What on Earth?”

 “Well, it was supposed to be on Earth, the first time. But now it’s sort of..everywhere.” Gabriel said, cringing at the thought of the riots. 

 “The first time? There was a first time?!”

 “There was, but the Antichrist ruined it. He...rebelled. Quite unfortunate, going against The Great Plan. Of course, now, we’re the ones to fix it. It’s why we enlisted you and your husbands army in the first place” Beelzebub said, motioning vaguely around the room. It didn’t really console Mrs. Shadwell though, he was furiously rubbing her temples. 

 “Let me get this straight,” she groaned. “The end of the world is happening.”

 “Yes.” Gabriel and Beelzebub said at the same time: 

 “For a second time?” 

 “Yes,” they said again. 

 “And you two...have to save everyone?”

 “Well...not exactly. Yes. Sort of.” Gabriel said, scratching his neck. “We’re trying to stop this kid who's got immeasurable power from teaming up with The Four Horsepersons Of The Apocalypse to bring about the End of angels and demons alike.”

 “And probably humans,” Beelzebub added. Gabriel nodded, and pointed to his girlfriend. 

 “Yeah. We’re assuming humans are probably gonna come later.”

 Marjorie blinked. “Okay. Explain this to me again. You are…?” She pointed at Beelzebub.

 “Beelzebub. Lord of the…” she paused, and then looked at Gabriel for help. “Lord of the Flies, I guess,” she shrugged. “The whole thing is kind of messy, I’ve never actually checked myself.”

 Marjorie nodded. She decided it would be best to just nod her head and pretend like she knew what the demon meant. Besides, they had the power to send her to Hell**, didn’t they?

 “Okay..and you are..?”

 “Gabriel.”

 “Gabriel…?”

 Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Y’know...the archangel Gabriel?”

 “I’m not actually well-versed in these kinds of things…”

 “Oh my - I’m the archangel fucking Gabriel, okay?” He said, waving his hands. “The one who talked to Mary? Right before Jesus was born? Hello?”

 Marjorie thought for a moment, and then brightened. “Oh! I do know you, yes! And I believe I’ve heard of you, Beelzebub, was it? I used to do tarot readings, you see and-”

 “Look, er, that’s great, Potts, but the end is nigh,” Beelzebub said. “You and your husbands army is all we’ve got. Do you think you can round them up by tomorrow?”

 Marjorie bit her lip. “About that...the army isn’t really much of an army, these days.”

 “Your kidding,” Gabriel muttered. Marjorie sadly shook her head. 

 “No,” she sighed. “Unfortunately, I’m not. Shadwell and I are getting older now. The army wasn’t big to begin with, honestly. I never really knew that he was the last one left until recently.”

 “..The last one left?” Beelzebub repeated. “Really?”

 “I’m afraid so. We just didn’t want to let those children down, and I thought he was rounding people up, but I..I guess I was wrong.” 

 “Y’know, people used to have a stronger reaction when they met the archangel fucking Gabriel,” Gabriel muttered, still pissed. “I mean, I talked to Mary, for God’s sake. I literally told the goddamn Virgin Mary she was pregnant.” 

 “It’s okay, Gabe.” Beelzebub hummed, patting his knee. “Later, alright?”

 “Whatever.”

 “Look, we must be getting on now. We’ll contact you later. Much to do, and all.” Beezelbub said, grabbing Gabriel by the arm. 

 “When is it to happen?”

 “Tomorrow at the latest.” 

 “It’s odd, you know, I’ve always felt like I’ve seen you two from somewhere…” Marjorie whispered. 

 “It could be my dazzling portrayal in the media,” Beelzebub said sarcastically. “We’ll be in touch. Thanks for...taking it so well, and all.”

 “It was a rather...interesting experience,” Marjorie said, smiling. “I don’t know how Mr. Shadwell will take it though, working with a demon and all.”

 Beelzebub looked down, suddenly feeling very guilty. 

 “I’m sorry. For lying.” She said softly.

 Gabriel nodded. “I am too.”

-

 As soon as Lucinda - scratch that - Beelzebub and Gabriel had left, Marjorie sunk into the sofa in the living room and took off her shoes. 

 Mr. Shadwell recognized her with a grunt and she took that as her cue. 

 “Er, Mr. Shadwell?”

 “Aye?”

 “I’ve something rather important to tell you, love.”

 Mr. Shadwell set down his papers and the scissors and folded his hands in his lap. 

 “Alright, Jezebel. I’m listenin’ to ye.”

 “Gabe and Lucinda Bee just left. They told me some rather interesting things.”

 “And what were they?”

 “They said..ah..well, it’s a bit funny, you see. Well, not really. But..”

 “Spit it out, wumman!”

 “They’re not who we think they are,” Marjorie began simply. “They’ve just told me that they are not human.”

 Mr. Shadwell stood now, grunting. “Not human, ye say?”

 “That’s right...Gabe - Gabriel, that is, has just revealed to me that the apocalypse is upon us. Or..again. He’s an angel, love.”

 “An angel?”

 “That’s right, love.”

 “N’ there’s nae...witchcraft involved, is there?”

 “Well, sort of. I’m not sure, exactly, but Lucinda is quite the opposite. She’s a demon. They’re a demon. I haven’t actually ch-”

 “A daemon ?!” Shadwell shook as he spun around. “There’s a bloody daemon runnin’ wild in me home, wumman, and I’m just noo figurin’ it out?!” Shadwell began to shake violently. 

 “Mr. Shadwell?” Marjorie said, approaching him carefully. “Are you alright, love?”

 Mr. Shadwell continued to shake. 

 He clutched his chest. 

 And then sunk to the floor. 

*Gabriel and Beelzebub still called her ‘Old Potts’ or ‘Marjorie Potts’ even though she had been going by Mrs. Shadwell for several years. I don’t think they ever caught on.

**They did not. 

Chapter Text

“Hey, Esme?”

 “ What ?” 

 “Are you okay?”

 Esme and her friend Ruth were outside during recess with everyone else. Esme didn’t feel like going to see her Papa; he was still disappointed in her for swearing. 

 Esme had actually never seen her Papa angry before. His equivalent of angry was something much, much worse. Sometimes, he would just ignore her, or he’d cluck his tongue, shake his head, and say:

 “I thought you were better than that, dear.”

 It stung, and that’s exactly what he told her that morning before class started. 

 “I just feel weird,” Esme explained to her friend. “Have you seen Zach lately?”

 Ruth shook her head. “Nope. I think he’s skipping school today. Said he wasn’t feeling well.”

 Esme rolled her eyes. “Yeah, whatever. If he was actually sick we would have heard ‘bout it cause he complains so much.”

 Ruth shrugged. “Yeah, but at least he’s cool.”

 “True.”

 “Hey guys!” A boy called, waving his arms wildly. “Come here!”

 “Hey, look, it’s Alfie!” Ruth cheered. “C’mon, Esme,” she said, grabbing her friend by the arm. 

 They met up with the boy and chatted for a few minutes before they heard an audible grunting noise from behind them. 

 They turned, startled to see none other than Daniel Tennyson, AKA local 9th grader* and, as Esme aptly dubbed him: Bully Extraordinaire.

  “Hey, Esme.”

 “Hi, Daniel.”

 “Nice biker jacket.”

 “Thank you,” Esme said, biting her lip nervously. 

 “So,” he said, approaching her now. “Which of your faggot dads bought it for you, hm?”

 Esme grit her teeth. She tried to take a step forward, but Alfie and Ruth were holding her back. 

 “Let me go!” She hissed. 

 “No, Esme! You can’t fight him, he’ll beat you to a pulp!” Alfie whispered, terrified.

 “He’s right, Esme. You can’t just fight him. He’s older! Besides, your dads will kill you.” 

 Suddenly, Esme broke away from them. There was an incredible amount of anger in her eyes, and almost a flash of red. 

 “Get the fuck away from me,” she snarled angrily. “EVERYONE EXCEPT DANIEL!”

 A silence crept over the playground, blanketing it like a sheet. 

 The crowd dispersed. Only Daniel stood before Esme, a shaking, quivering mess. 

 “What did you say about my parents, hm? I’m FUCKING TIRED OF IT!”

 Esme felt herself fall to the ground, someone screaming, someone crying, someone hitting and kicking someone else. 

 It was her. 

 “Esme! Stop, your-”

 “Oh, for God's sake, shut up Alfie!” Esme growled, and suddenly, Alfie’s mouth was clamped shut. Esme jumped, startled. 

 She hadn’t meant to do that. 

 “Esme…?” Ruth whispered. “What...are you..?”

 Esme looked at her hands. They were covered in her own blood. Or maybe it was Daniels. She wasn’t sure. Her T-shirt was torn, her sneakers were dusty, and worst of all, Daniel was slowly backing away from her.

 As if she was toxic waste. 

 “No..no..” Esme rubbed her eyes. “I’m..I’m sorry, I just..”

 Everyone else followed suit and began backing away, retreating into the corners of swingsets and the trees. 

 “I’m SORRY!” She yelled, kicking up all the rocks she could. They didn’t come down, though; they stayed in the air, as if frozen in time. “DAMNIT!” 

 There was nothing but the whistle of the wind; and a soft breeze passing by. 

 “Esme, you need to come with me.” A gentle voice said behind her. 

 Esme turned, almost expecting to see her father. She was half-hoping he’d pull her out of this mess, explain what was going on...do something, anything to help. But she knew her Papa’s voice. 

 Instead, it was a woman that stood behind her, with striking blonde hair and eyes that shone in the light.

 “Who are you?” She asked, looking around at all her classmates, who’d been frozen as well. “What are you?” 

 “I’m a demon, dear.”

 “Then what do you want from me?” Esme asked tentatively. “I’m not demonic. Or angelic, actually.”

 “That’s why you’re absolutely perfect,” the woman purred. “You’ve no ties to your own cause. It’s rather marvelous.”

 “My own...cause?” Esme scrunched up her face in confusion. 

 “The second chapter, dear. Bringing about the end to demons and angels, and making it ours once and for all.”

 “Angels.. and demons?” Esme squeaked. “My fathers - they’re an angel and a demon. What about them?”

 The woman laughed. “And what about them? They’ll die too, dear. But why should you care? You’ll have the whole world when this is over. You’re something they’ll write about in the history textbooks.”

 “I don’t want the whole world,” Esme hissed. “I want my fathers. I want school and friends and a normal life. What about the humans, hm?”

 The woman cackled. “Oh, they’ll come too, dear. Don’t worry about them. They won’t know what’s coming.”

 “My friends - what about them? They’re human. How are they gonna defend themselves?”

 The woman shrugged, a grin capturing her wide, wicked face. “That’s easy - they won’t.” She laughed again. 

 “When does all this happen, anyway?” Esme asked, motioning around them. “The end?”

 “Tomorrow, love. For now, you come with me and my friends. You’ll like them, once you get used to ‘em.”

 Esme tried to kick, tried to scream, tired to get out of the woman’s hold - but couldn’t. The woman dragged her away, amidst all Esme’s pulling and wrestling. Nothing worked. The woman literally had an iron grip. 

 When the world was unfrozen, Aziraphale continued to unpack his lunch, students continued to play, and nobody noticed when a woman drove away on her motorcycle, a student sitting right behind her. 

 Something felt odd, to Aziraphale, though he could sense a change in things, a shift in the surrounding energy. He peered out the window, searching for his daughter. 

 She was nowhere to be found.

 Aziraphale looked down at his lunch, and then outside. 

 “Well..” he said thoughtfully, clasping his hands.    “Welcome to the End Times, I suppose.” 

*Basically, a Year 10 kid against a couple of Year 8 kids

Chapter Text

Beelzebub and Gabriel walked into their flat and practically collapsed on the couch together. They were tired. 

 It wouldn’t last for long, though. 

 “Beezie?”

 “Mmph..”

 “Beelz?”

 “Gabe? Iss’at you?”

 “Bee, wake the fuck up or I’m not getting you dessert later.”

 Beelzebub shot up from the couch. “M’up, I’m up,” she groaned, rubbing her head. “Hey..what’s that,” she said, pointing at the flash of light in their living room. 

 Gabriel got up sulkily. “It’s the portal - it’s starting soon.”

 “You mean...really?” Beelzebub rubbed her eyes. “I’ll get going. Nobody will even know I was here.” She stood and dusted herself off, glancing around the room apprehensively.

 Gabriel stared at the light. 

 “Alright, babe. I’ll talk to you later.” 

 Beelzebub pecked him on the cheek and nodded. “Usual meeting point?”

 Gabriel nodded, smiling weakly. 

  She won’t even know...she won’t ever know. He shook the thoughts away. He felt like something was coming to an end; maybe it was their relationship, maybe it was the double cross, the ruse he’d used just to sell Bee out. He wasn’t sure. 

 Then again, their whole relationship was technically a ruse. 

 Gabriel could kick himself. He suddenly felt weak, and very tired. And very shitty. 

-

 Beelzebub felt herself sink into the basement of Hell. It was just as dingy as she’d remembered. Familiar screams, the groaning, the wailing - Hell was just the same as when she had left 13 years prior. 

 “Beelzebub!” 

 “Hastur?” 

 “Get over here,” he hissed. Over the intercoms, messages were being delivered from the Dark Lord himself. Hastur motioned wildly to a darker corner, near her office. 

 She looked around, and, seeing nobody of interest, hurried to his side.

 “Yes?”

 “What the hell is the matter with you?”

 “What do you mean what the hell is the matter with me?” Beelzebub snapped. “I’m trying to avert all of us from getting killed, that’s what!”

 “Not that, you idiot! What are you playing at, getting back with Gabriel when you knew he was tricking you?!”

 “Tricking...me?” Beelzebub whispered. “Gabes not tricking me, Hastur. We had that talk, remember? We got back together to get the riots to stop. To get all the fighting to end.”

 Hastur suddenly bit his lip, a wave of pity and concern dancing on his face. Hastur may not be bright, but he suddenly knew what was going on. He’d been tricked before - by friends*, of course. 

 “You..you don’t know?”

 “What do you mean?” Beelzebub asked, running a hand through her hair. 

 Hastur groaned. “Okay. Come on. I’m going to sit down and show you, but you can’t cry or scream because everyone’s a bit tetchy right now.”

 Beelzebub nodded numbly. “Alright.” 

-

 There was screaming. 

 Hastur couldn’t very well stop her. There were also lots of accusations thrown about. 

 “I’m going to kill him.” 

 “You can’t kill him for tricking you, Bee.”

 “I’m going to put him through the most pain he has ever known - Oh! I know,” Beelzebub said devilishly. “I’ll take away that lovely exercise bike of his. That’ll be perfect.”

 “Can’t he just miracle a new one up, though?”

 “Fuck.”

 “You can always talk to him about it, like a normal person.” 

 “How much character development have you gone through since this story even started?” Beelzebub snapped, rolling her eyes. “I mean, what am I gonna do, Hastur, huh?”

 “It all started with Micheal,” Hastur grumbled. “It had to have.”

 “That conniving little twat! I’m gonna to kill them, then. They deserve it much more.”

 “Why?” 

 “They’re the ones who leaked it, dumbazz!” Beelzebub cringed at hearing her old buzz return. “Shit.”

 “Look, as long as you confront him about it then you’ll come out on top as the bigger person.”

 “Hastur, you’re treating this like it’s a very small, tiny thing. This isn’t even just some thing - the guy - the angel I loved turned me in to his superiors, trashed talked me, and complained about my work performance!”

 “Are you sure this isn’t dramatized?”

 “It’s the newspaper, isn’t it supposed to be 100 percent correct?” Beezelbub asked, confused. 

 Hastur shrugged. “Eh..”

 “Whatever. Someone izz..FUCK..getting their asses kicked.” Beelzebub snarled, grabbing her jacket. “I’m going to meet up with him, and then I’m going to either fucking slam his body into the wall or something much, much worse.”

 “Hey, Bee?” Hastur murmured, holding out a hand. 

 “What?”

 “Your buzz left when you were with him. I think you’re happiest with him. You always seem.. happier talking about him.” 

 Beelzebub nodded sadly. “I know. I’ll...see you later, Hastur. Thanks.”

 “You’re welcome.” Hastur said and awkwardly opened his arms. 

 Beelzebub rolled her eyes and hugged him back, the human way. 

 “You’re like a sibling to me. I wa-”

 “Okay, you ruined the moment,” Beelzebub wrestled out of his arms and waved as she walked out the door. “See you there?”

 “You got it.”

-

 Gabriel got into the elevator. He’d zoned out the entire lecture. He hadn’t really paid anyone or anything any attention. 

 He stood for a while when the door opened. There in all her demonic glory stood Beelzebub, adorning her a brass fly pin and an old jacket. 

 But her expression told him there was something to be concerned about. More specifically, his well-being. 

 The doors shut. 

 “Alright, you blasted asshole. Explain to me the meaning of this ,” she said, holding up an Angelic Times newspaper. 

ARCHANGEL GABRIEL SPEAKS OUT ABOUT RELATIONSHIP WITH THE DEMON LORD BEELZEBUB IN TELL ALL 

 “What do you think this izz?” She asked, tears streaming down her face. “You tell me ,”

 “There is a reasonable explanation, honey-”

 “Then FUCKING GIVE IT TO ME! DON’T JUST STAND THERE - TELL ME, YOU BLAZZTED JERK!”

 Beelzebub cried, flinging the paper at him. 

 Gabriel examined it, suddenly feeling very dizzy. About half of it was true; most of it was just plan lies. 

  How could he tell her that? 

  “I didn’t want to see you get hurt,” he whispered, cupping her head. “Look at me, Beezie. It was safe then.”

 “I’m crying now. I’m hurt now. You hurt me - what good did any of this do?!” she wailed, sobbing into his shirt. She wanted to pull away, wanted to hit him. 

  I love him too much. 

  Suddenly, Beelzebub understood what humans felt when they got heartbroken. Or tricked. It made sense, now. It felt like there was a huge hole in her heart that's aching to be filled but didn’t know how. 

 “Micheal was going to have us killed, Bee. I couldn’t have you killed.”

 “You could have told me.”

 Gabriel shook his head. “I didn’t want to risk it.”

 “Oh, come on, risk what?” Beelzebub said, snorting. 

 “Losing you.”

 “That’s the stupidest thing you’ve said all day,” she laughed, soaking her face in his shirt. “Why would you lose me?”

 “If I told you...why would you want to stick around?” Gabriel asked severely, rubbing the tears away. “Why would you want to be with me if all it brought you was trouble? Or execution?”

 Beelzebub swallowed a heavy lump in her throat. 

 “Because I love you.”

 The elevator had already begun to rock; a cable broke, and it began to fall. It would continue until it was finally stopped at the first floor - the level above the basement. When the doors were pried open, an angel and a demon were found there, completely infatuated with another. 

-

 Marjorie Shadwell was rapidly flipping through her books. 

 More specifically, her summoning ones. 

 She’d called 999 and hoped the paramedics would be there soon; she had no time to waste. If this didn’t work, for the first time in her life, Marjorie Potts Shadwell would have to hope for the best. She’d never really been one to hope; she always thought it would be best for nature to take its course unless it was something rather pressing.

 This was one of those times. 

  Demon summoning...demon summoning..

  Gabe and Lucinda Bee or, as she should now call them - Gabriel and Beelzebub - hadn’t answered their phones. Even when she called out, neither of them had responded. 

 She found the correct chant, and looked over at her husband. He’d turned white as a sheet. 

  Oh dear… 

  She recited it, word for word, and crossed her fingers. Hope, she reminded herself. That’s what I need. Hope. 

 There was a small flash of light. She gasped, rubbed her eyes, and blinked. 

 “Mr. Crowley?”

 Crowley rubbed his own eyes, and then at the surrounding room. 

 “Did you.. summon me?” 

 “You’re..you’re a demon!” Marjorie gasped again, taking a step back. Then, thinking of Shadwell, she took a deep breath. “Oh well, all the better. I need your help.”

 “My help? I don’t think this is really a good time.” Crowley said, tugging at his collar. “You see, my daught-”

 “Mr. Crowley, now please, if you could - the paramedics will be here at any moment.”

 “The paramedics?” Crowley asked. 

 “It’s - it’s my husband. It’s Mr. Shadwell, Crowley,” she said, pointing to where she’d propped him up on the floor. “I can’t get him to breathe, and they haven’t come yet, and..” she sniffed, dabbing at her eyes. “I’m out of options.”

 Crowley shook his head. “I can’t..I don’t have the power to-to bring someone back to life.”

 “Well, can’t you try? Please, I’m begging of you, do something!” She continued pleading until Crowley gave in. 

 “Alright,” he mumbled, pausing time for a moment. He approached the rugged old man and lay a hand on his heart. 

 There was no pulse, no beat. 

 “ Shit ..”

 Crowley could feel that Death had its icy hands on his body; his fingers and hands were ice cold. His jaw had gone slack. 

 There was nothing he could do.

 Crowley knew Mr. Shadwell wasn’t a religious man. Sure, he fought against witchery of all kinds, but that doesn’t make you a Catholic or a Methodist by any means. 

 All the same, he made the sign of the cross, said a quick prayer, and made sure Shadwell would be happy in the afterlife. It was really all he could do. Anything more would be stepping out of line. 

 It was mostly Death's job now, and up to either Office to decide what to do with his soul. 

 “You were a good man, Mr. Shadwell,” Crowley said solemnly. “May you Rest In Peace.” 

 Crowley wiped away a tear that had begun to trickle down his cheek and cleared his throat. 

 A loud banging could be heard at the door. Marjorie only continued to look at Crowley in desperation. 

 “There’s nothing I can do,” he whispered. “He’s gone, Marjorie.”

 Marjorie shook her head. “No. No..no..no...there has to be something else. You’re a demon, isn’t this your job?”

 “No..I can’t, I’m sor-”

 “I don’t want to hear it,” Marjorie hissed. “This is all your fault, you wretched, vile..”

 “Is this the residence of Marjorie Shadwell?” Someone called from outside. 

 “Get out of my home,” she sneered, brushing past him. “If you can’t do anything for my husband then I suppose nobody can. So just get the hell out of my sight and crawl back to wherever you came from. I’ve had too much excitement for one day.” 

 Crowley stood the corner, alone, watching as Mr. Shadwell was pulled onto a stretcher. Nobody saw him; he was completely invisible to the human eye. Nobody saw him shed another tear, and then another. Nobody watched as he said his last goodbye and disappeared into thin air. 

 Besides, it’s not like anybody would believe it anyways. A demon crying ? Impossible. 

 But it happened nonetheless. 

 *Take Crowley for example - though not friends by Crowley’s standards, they were coworkers, and Crowley killed his best friend. 

Chapter Text

All around the world, people were panicking. And rightfully so; the world was going to end. Again. 

 “Breaking news, right now in the Netherlands Bigfoot has just been spotted. Creatures of all kinds are roaming the Earth. Some say it's the end of the world all over. ...Wait..huh?” 

 In a church in Colorado, Christian Fundamentalists were having the time of their short, misled lives*. 

 “And I tell you, my brothers and sisters, I’m gonna tell you a story - a story from Luke 19, it’s about Zaccheus the tax collector, and he knew the lord he touched the Lord and Jesus said to him-”

 The doors swung open. 

 “It’s the rapture, it’s coming! There are frogs flying ‘round outside, I swear it’s happen’n!” A woman cried. Her name was Lynn, but her name doesn’t matter. What matters is that Lynn jumpstarts the apocalypse in America just by those few simple words.

 Needless to say, the church had burned down by the end of the night, and never was replaced by a new one. In fact, the community decided to start a garden there. 

 In other cities and towns, people got side tracked. They forgot about their jobs and instead focused on partying until whatever was going to happen..happen. 

 By the next day, the day the world was supposed to end, the girl who was meant to start it could not be found. An elderly man had died, his wife had become a wreck, and a relationship was in tatters.

 Oh, and, on top of all that, there were five powerful beings ready to stop at nothing to bring about the end of the world just so they could rule it.

 I wonder if they’re any fun at parties. 

-

 Aziraphale couldn’t find Esme.

 He’d tried every trick in the book. He and Crowley hadn’t gotten her a cell phone yet, but now he wondered if it would have been a good idea. 

 He’d very calmly walked himself back home, trying to think of a way to tell Crowley their daughter had gone missing the day before the apocalypse. 

 But Crowley wasn’t there, either.

 “Right.”

 Aziraphale looked in each room, making sure his boyfriend wasn’t in snake form or hiding out in the greenhouse with his plants. 

 But he still wasn’t there. 

 Aziraphale decided to hole himself up in the library; after all, he had some work he needed to get done, and he’d know when Esme was ready.

 First he started with the Bible, and then laid out a few separate texts. Then he found a book on demonology Crowley had gotten but never read.

 He continued making notes well into the night, annotating in the right and left corners, piecing things together. 

 And then he found it.

 The paragraph he was looking for. It was in the Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, thank somebody. 

  Raum vel Raym Comes est magnus: Ut corvus visitur: Sed cum assumit humanam faciem, si ab exorcista jussus fuerit, mirè ex regis domo vel alia suffuratur, and ad locum sibi designatum transfert. Civitates destruit: Dignitatum despectum ingerit. Novit præsentia, præterita and futura . 

 Aziraphale stared at the text for a few more moments, until he began rapidly translating it onto a blank sheet of notebook paper. 

  ...past, present, and to come…

 Aziraphale gasped. 

 He flipped around in a different book, this one about shape shifting. 

 ... the demon Raum is especially known for changing shape, sometimes taking on the appearance of a..

  “That’s it!” Aziraphale whispered, shutting the book. He got up, ready for action, ready to tell somebody, when he realized that he still had to find Esme. And Crowley. 

 “Oh dear...this may be harder than expected.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers, everything back the way it was, and then rushed out the door. 

-

 Night fell.

 Marjorie Shadwell paced the floor of the house. She wasn’t crazy; just horribly depressed and alone. 

 But a part of her still had some fighting spirit left. The world was worth fighting for, she supposed, and it’s what Shadwell would want her to do. 

  Shadwell.

 There was a sharp pang in Marjorie's heart as she lingered in the kitchen, unsure of what to do next. She hadn’t been without her husband in 14 years. 

  There has to be something I can do, she thought to herself. There has to be something I can use. If I know about it, and nobody else does, then what’s the use of standing around? 

 She walked down the hallway, and then into Mr. Shadwells study. The walls were lined with newspaper articles and pictures of friends** and family. Behind the desk sat stacks of books and magazines. Most of them were unread. And on the desk, front and center, was a picture of Marjorie. 

 Marjorie began filing through the desk drawers and cabinets. She knew her husband didn’t have a gun. His form of weaponry was more along the lines of telling you about the price of milk, or yelling at you about witches and, as he called them, daemons . 

 Marjorie paused at a glass case. She lightly tapped the top and checked her finger for dust. And boy, there was lots of it.

 Inside was a bazooka. 

 “My word, would you look at that,” Marjorie murmured. She pulled the gun out, examined it, and then walked out of the room. 

 She had some business to take care of. 

*You can follow any religion you please, but I think most people draw the line at Christian Fundamentalists. It’s the sort of religion that makes you uncomfortable because the pastor is always spitting in your face. Or on the TV screen. Or both, and asking for money at the same time. 

**Yes, most of the pictures were of Anathema and Newt. A few were of the Fell-Crowley household. 

Chapter Text

A man-shaped being was sitting in a bar drowning his sorrows in alcohol. He’d done it so many times that each seemed almost like a ceremony at that point. Lose a friend, pull out the whiskey. Drink until bottle is empty or refill it with a snap. Repeat process until one is sorely inebriated. 

 Crowley was sorry. Guilty, really. Death had its grips on his friends, and it wasn’t letting go anytime soon. Everyone was shifty, or on edge, and now no one trusted him, and he’d made matters worse by leaving.

 “It wasn’t m’fault. I made the wrong choices. That’sss all…”

 Joe patted him on the back. “Hang in there, Tony. You’ll get through this spell. Remember when Esme had that little tumble in the park five years ago?”

 “Joe, this really isn’t the time.”

 “She got better, Crowley, and-”

 “Now is not the time!” Crowley shouted, throwing his glass at a wall. A few heads were raised, but at that point he didn’t care. Why should he? He was one of the damned, after all.

 “Alright, Tony. I’ll leave you to it..” Joe walked away, still watching the redhead out of the corner of his eye. Anthony (Or as he was known to many around town, ‘Tony’) wasn’t the type to get violent, not in the village pub, but he was known to make rash decisions. 

 “Just hung ‘round the wrong people..” 

 The door suddenly opened, a flash of bright light blinding everyone inside the dim room.

  Looks like Ezra’s finally come to drag the old guy home, Joe surmised as he cleaned a glass. Funny, he looks a little worn himself.

  And worn he was. 

 “Crowley,” Aziraphale hissed. “I’ve been looking for you for hours. Sober up. Now .” 

 “Angel?” Crowley whispered, lifting up his glasses. “That you?”

 “Of course it’s me, you lovable bumbling idiot! Heaven and Hell are collecting angels and demons. They’re collecting warriors ,” Aziraphale shuddered at that last part. “It’s all leads back to the demon Raum. There’s something going on, I’ve just about got my finger on it.” 

 Crowley didn’t respond. 

 Aziraphale sighed. “And, I can’t find Esme anywhere. She won’t come when I call, and I can’t get a signal anywhere-”

 In an instant they were outside the pub and Crowley was pacing the sidewalk. “Explain, angel. Where is she? Is she up there or...below?”

 “I don’t know! How should I know?”

 “I don’t know either!”

 “Alright. We’ll have to collect anyone. Anyone within reach. Can’t really call Marjorie to come up, she’s not available now.”

 “What do you mean, dearest?”

 “Shadwell. Dead. Something killed him. There is a chance it was natural, maybe not, I don’t know, and I really don’t want to know.” 

 Aziraphale’s jaw dropped. He placed a hand over his mouth and gasped. 

 “You mean…? Dead ? Really?” 

 “Mgh…I don’t want to talk about it. Look, we can’t call on Anathema and Newt. Not with a baby on the way, and I don’t expect they want anything to do with us now, not if Marjorie has anything to say...”

 “Adam.”

 “What?”

 “Adam. He’s ought to have some power left, right, dearest?”

 “He’s practically 25, angel. Why would he even want to help us? We haven’t talked to him in ages. We talk to his parents, sure, but they’re our age, well, not literally, but close - and when Adam moved we had no reason to stay in contact with him. He has his family, now.”

 “Can’t we give it a try?”

 “By phone or…?”

 “Oh, please - Phone , do you think he’s telepathic?”

 “He was the antichrist.”

 Aziraphale rolled his eyes, and before long, they were both speeding down the winding village roads toward anywhere away from...everything. 

 Crowley tossed his phone over to the blonde. “Hit the call button, angel.”

 “The green one?”

 “ Yes , the green one.”

 Aziraphale pressed it, and, after much fumbling, managed to turn the volume up, only to hear that all phone lines were down.

 “Figures,” Crowley muttered. “Fuck. FUCK. Godda-”

 “Best not, dearest. Not with the state of..things at the moment.”

 Crowley nodded numbly. “We’ll have to get a crew of humans, then.”

 “Humans? Against…”

 “Well, whatever we’re fighting against. Did I hear you right back there? That they’re collecting souls just to get active fighters?”

 “Mhm,” Aziraphale said sadly. “Every single one they can get their dirty hands on.” 

 “Bollocks. Anything else?”

 Aziraphale thought for a moment, clutching the sides of the Bentley as Crowley swerved to avoid a chicken. “Sort of.”

 “And what’s that?”

 “Heaven and Hell still want their war. Them against humanity, that is. I think Raum is leading some sort of group of her own, with their own motives. It could be a power struggle...” He paused, looking outside the window. “Is that Lisa?”

 “Lisa…?”

 “From book club, Crowley! We’ve been through this already,” he said, exasperated. Crowley pulled into a dip in the ground and the couple got out, waving to the woman. “Lisa?”

 Lisa turned, surprised to see the couple. “Oh, Ezra! Anthony, it’s so nice to see you too. Where’s Esme? I hear someone’s turning 13.”

 Crowley grumbled something incoherent.

 “What was that, Anthony?”

 “She’s out playing with her friends.”

 “Ooh, sounds like fun. By any chance, she going to the dance next weekend with anyone? My son, Jack would be really inter-”

 “You know, we really have to get going, but if you could just tell us where you’re headed that would be fantastic,” Crowley said, snapping his fingers. “Tell me, human.”

 “I’m going to the end of the world party,” Lisa said simply, he eyes staring straight forward. 

 “And where is it, love?” Aziraphale asked.

 “Just up the road, in the village square,” Lisa said. “Can’t miss it.”

 “Of course,” Crowley growled. “An end of the world party. Lovely human people, with their blasted parties. C’mon angel, get in.”

 Aziraphale threw his boyfriend a look and smiled warmly at the woman. “Now when you wake up, you will have had a lovely dream about what you like best, and you will remind your son when you get home tonight that he is to never lay a finger on our daughter, and if he does he will experience the most pain and discomfort the world has ever known.”

 “Angel, please .” 

 “Right. Yes. Well, see you later, Lisa.” 

 In a snap, the Bentley was roaring away and a woman was happily thinking of how nice it would be to get a divorce and move to the Bahamas. She’d heard that the tropical fish business was booming down there.

Chapter Text

God wanted to get one thing straight;

 She wasn’t bad. No, she played a game of her own ineffable devising. It just so happened, though, that bad things did happen in the world. Good things happened too. 

 And none of it was her responsibility.

 Sure, she’d created the all sorts of things - and, eventually, mankind - and was proud of them. But she knew in her heart that people had free will and would make their own decisions. She’d predicted the Fall the moment Raphael began questioning. He liked doing that, and she couldn’t do anything to save him. 

 It wasn’t her job to, anyways. Nobody could have saved the Fallen, even if they’d tried. 

 So it wasn’t her job to save fallen angels; it wasn’t her job to see to it that good happened in the world. God liked to think she’d gone into an early retirement.

 The end of the world was something the angels had been working toward, of course. It was the only thing they had. The demons, on the other hand, though testy, were more resilient. They’d fallen. They’d seen and felt the scorch of hellfire and known pain no human alive could ever experience. 

 The demons had nothing to lose. 

 That’s what separated them from the angels, who had stayed up in Heaven after the Great War. The angels had high towers, the wonders of the world, the finest clothes...they had everything. 

 It surprised God when the riots struck. But she knew she should have seen it coming. The angels had been looking forward to winning for so long they hadn’t even wondered what would happen if the war never happened. 

 Now she and Lucifer himself were faced with a power struggle they hadn’t seen coming. 

 Something was wrong. 

 Something was incredibly, extremely, horribly wrong. 

 And now they had to fix it. 

 -

 “Hey, Uriel, whazzup…” Hastur straightened his collar in the mirror. “‘Oh, not much Hastur, you look absolutely wicked!’”

 Hastur grumbled something incoherent and began undoing the collar. This was too much. He had to be really straightforward. What was he doing, anyway? Trying to get a date with Uriel, an archangel ? He was being ridiculous, that’s what. 

 Hastur looked outside Beelzebub’s office* and decided it was safe. People were beginning to fight. He’d have to be quick. 

 Hastur filed past hundreds of other demons, hurried down slimy hallways, until he finally was able to get up the stairwell. Someone had said that the elevator was broken. 

  Figures, Hastur groaned. Elevators never work in this damn place. 

 He grabbed his cellphone** and began stabbing the buttons. 

  Come on, you blasted bugger, you…

  The phone began to ring. 

 He waited less than a moment before he heard a familiar sharp voice on the other line. 

 “Hastur?”

 “Uriel, we need to talk. Actually, no, er..we need to ah...fight. Yes. That’s...right.”

 “Hastur, are you drunk?”

 “No, why would I be drunk?” 

 “Hastur, I’m going to hang up if you’re going to play these stupid games with me.”

 “This isn’t a game,” Hastur hissed. “This is important. This is ‘bout Armageddon .” 

 “Then why didn’t you say that!” Uriel shot back. “They’re trying to summon all of us down there..on Earth, you know - give them armor and the like.”

 “Bloody Hell…” Hastur remarked. “Have they said anything else?”

 “Not much..Head Office has been trying to work out a compromise with your lot for ages, I do have reliable information about B-47, though.”

 “And what’s that?”

 “It’s going to kill us all,” Uriel whispered. Hastur could feel the fear in her voice. “Every last one of us, Hastur. Maybe even God and Satan, too. The horsemen are involved too, and that’s about it. I don’t think I’d be of any use.”

 “No,” Hastur murmured softly. “You’ll do great. You can trust me, Uriel. How long have we been friends?”

 “Not very.”

 “Okay, yes, in the scheme of things, we hav’nt been friends that long, but can’t you at least trust me?”

 “You’re a demon, why would I do that?” 

 “Because we’re friends,” Hastur said sharply. “Now, are you coming or not? We’ll have to work together, but-”

 “Alright, yes..Jesus, you’re rather difficult.”

 Hastur mentally cheered. “Alright! Er...I mean..that’s fine. See you there.”

 “See you there.”

 Hastur shut his phone and put it in his pocket, letting out a long-awaited breath. Then he continued to walk up the stairs and outside. 

 He had to find the child. 

 But where could they be?

-

 Crowley was somehow able to park the Bentley. Admittedly, it was done haphazardly, but it wasn’t really the time to care about the way his car was parked. 

 Thousands of citizens (and tourists) were standing around, partying and enjoying themselves in the bright sunlight. 

 “We’ll have to make an announcement. Get everyone we can,” Crowley shouted over the noise. “Who knows what’s going down.”

 Aziraphale nodded, reaching out for his hand. “Quite right, dearest - Oh, is that a danish stand? How abo-”

 “Not the time, angel.” Crowley called. He noticed that, in the center, there was a band playing. Funny, he hadn’t even heard over the party-goers. 

 He grabbed his boyfriend's arm. “Come on. We’ll have to get on the stage.”

 Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “On..stage? Really?” 

 Crowley nodded. “Let’s just get it over with.”

 Crowley stopped for a moment. “Oh, hey - I know these guys. They play over here a lot. American band, I think.”

Trouble on my left, trouble on my right

I've been facing trouble almost all my life

My sweet love, won't you pull me through?

Everywhere I look I catch a glimpse of you

I said it was love and I did it for life

Did-did it for you

Ooo ooh

We will come to pass, will I pass the test?

You know what they say, yeah

The wicked get no rest

You can have my heart, any place, any time

 Crowley swayed to the sound a bit, chiding himself because it wasn’t Queen, and then bumbled on up the steps until he was facing thousands of people. 

 He grabbed the mic out of the singers hands. “Hey, Matt, is it? Sorry about this.”

 The singer shrugged. “It’s okay, dude.” 

 Shaking, Crowley cleared his throat.

 “Hey, guys...so. You’ve probably heard it’s the end of the world?”

 The crowd began to cheer. 

 “Well, d’you guys actually know why the world is ending?”

 “The suns gonna crash n’ burn into the Earth and kill us all!” A man yelled - Aziraphale recognized him immediately. He’d gotten kicked out of the local book club after he started yelling at everyone about his political preferences. 

 “You sodding bastard, that’s idiotic! A massive earthquake is gonna come up and destroy us, that’s what - it’s ought to be something natural.”

 “Okay, okay, well, none of that’s true,” Crowley said. The crowd began to quiet down. “Er..Look. I’m a demon, alright? Yes - Terrence - don’t shake your head. Look, see, I’ll prove it.” Crowley handed the mic back to Matt and took off his glasses.

 The crowd gasped in unison. 

 “Doesn’t it hurt your eyes?” Josie Denner asked, scratching her head. 

 “Yeah, I thought you had an eye condition!”

 Crowley shook his head. “Do I look like I have an eye condition right now? No. Just believe me, or else I’ll have to get Aziraphale up here too.”

 “Aziraphale?”

 Aziraphale waved his hand. He’d been standing at the bottom of the steps the whole time. 

 “Hold up,” Josie said, walking up the front of the crowd. “Are you telling us that you’re a demon, Tony? What ‘bout Ezra? It s’not his real name, even.”

 “I’m an angel, actually,” Aziraphale piped up. “A principality.”

 “Okay, you know what, we’re getting side-tracked,” Crowley muttered, snatching the microphone from Matt’s hands. “Alright, guys. I’m going to be very quick about this. Armageddon is coming. There is a chance our kid is bringing about the end to angels and demons. The four horsemen are behind her, and so is a demon who doesn’t actually want to be a demon. Probably has a complex. I don’t know. But what I do know is that Heaven and Hell - which, yes, are real - want their war. We will have to save them and stop them at the same time. Does that make sense?”

 People began shaking their heads.

 Crowley groaned and rubbed his temples. He felt someone poking his shoulder and turned, surprised to see Matt there. 

 “Hey, man, let me handle this, ‘right?”

 “Uhh...sure?”

 Crowley handed the singer the microphone and stepped off to the side. 

 “Stage is yours.”

 Matt grinned. “Thanks, dude!” He clapped his hands and began waving. “So, do I have your attention?”

 The crowd cheered once more. 

 “Cool. So, basically, this demon is saying that the world is gonna end. And I’m guessing he needs you guys to help him and his boyfriend out, because they can’t fight this alone. There’s a whole army out to get their...kind and whatnot.”

 People began nodding. 

 “Yeah, alright!” Someone began clapping. 

 “Uh, so yeah. That’s like the basics of it, right man?” Matt looked to Crowley now, who grabbed the mic, smiling.

 “That’s it, Matt! Heaven and Hell is also going to be making an appearance, considering my kids trying to kill them. Funnily enough, they’re supposed to be at war right now, but-”

 Aziraphale shook his head, walked out onto the stage, and pulled the mic out of his boyfriends hands. 

 “On that note, would anyone who would enjoy fighting against several supernatural entities please form a group over there? Thank you so very much.” 

 Crowley smiled. “Thank you, angel.”

 Aziraphale clucked his tongue. “I didn’t want to see you embarrassed.”

 Crowley rolled his eyes, then turned red when he noticed Matt staring intently at the both of them. 

 “Y’know, I’m not really a fighter, like, a fighter, you get me? But I think this gives me some ideas. Thanks, guys.”

 He gave them two thumbs up, and then, looking up at the sky, motioned to the band. 

 “Looks like a storm is brewin,” he remarked. “I’ll see you two later.”

 Crowley and Aziraphale waved goodbye. The crowd began to file home, wishing each other well in the final hours. 

 “Seems to me as if nobody has any hope here,” Aziraphale murmured. “It’s rather sad.”

 “Angel, the world is literally about to end, and all you have to say is ‘it’s rather sad’.”

 “Well, it is rather sad,” Aziraphale mused. “We will win. You know that, dearest.”

 “You don’t know that, though. We don’t know that.” 

 “Have you any faith, Crowley?”

 Crowley shook his head. They were alone on the stage, and their small crew of humans had huddled together at the end of the street.  

 “No. Not anymore. I’m not made that way.”

 “We’re of the same stock. You just fell.”

 “Yeah, but what’s the point, Angel? I’ve been a demon for 6,000 years plus. I’ve seen the most horrid things - I saw Esme...I saw her in the bag..n’...I can’t have faith. Not in anyone or anything.”

 Aziraphale cupped his head, stroked his cheek, brushed away his hair...there was something so sweet and gentle in the demon that he just couldn’t resist. 

 “Can’t you have a little faith in us?”

 “Do you have to get all mushy now, angel?” Crowley whined, kissing the angels hand. 

 “You’re mushy yourself. Now come along, dearest. We’ve got a world to save.” 

 And just as an angel and a demon walked off the stage, Hells’ Angels had just entered the arena***.

*She let him hang out there whenever he wanted after her first mini-meltdown. It had become sort of their own little Arrangement, minus the occasional sex. 

**It’s a Motorola Razr from 2006 that somehow still functions just as it had when it was first released. 

***Plus Raum and Esme. 

Chapter Text

***Two Days Prior***

 “I have ordered my troops to stay on standby,” A man hummed, running his claw like fingers through long locks of hair.

 The man is one you wouldn’t know if you saw him walking down the street. He looked like any other guy with dark hair and a goatee. It wasn’t until he transformed into his regular state that people began nodding their heads obediently and agreeing that they did in fact know him from somewhere. 

 He was referred to by many names.

 His favorite is and will always be The Dark Gentleman , but for our sake I will refer to him by a name almost everyone knows:

Lucifer. 

 A woman with cropped blonde hair sat across from him. You may know her even better than you do Lucifer. She spoke with a divine sense of wisdom behind her words, as though she had lived through everything and was old enough to know and see through things. 

 And she was. She had lived through everything. She did have a divine sense of wisdom, because she was divine, and above all, wise. 

 “I just don't see how this could have happened,” she murmured, her eyes drifting out the window of a coffee shop*. “I had everything planned, everything set to occur..”

 “Things happen,” Lucifer growled. “Look at me. I’d never have assumed that I’d one day be sitting here with you. I’ve practically been kicked out of office. You wouldn’t know what’s that like, though.”

 Her eyes flashed. “I wouldn’t, hm? Have you not listened to me for the last hour? I mentioned that I, too, have been displaced? Heaven is in a state of disarray, and I am to sit back and wait and watch? I never wanted this.”

 “Is this because an archangel has finally put you out of power? You’re more petulant than I thought.”

 “Do not dare call me that, fiend. If you want our respective kinds to be saved then you must cooperate. I am still your creator, never forget that.”

 Lucifer rolled his eyes.

 “Uh-huh . You haven’t been around for the past 6,000 years, or the birth of my son,” he snapped back.

 “You weren’t there either, so don’t use that against me.”

 “Touche.”

 “So,” She said, rather tetchy, clutching a warm mug. “How do you propose we stop this?”

 “I don’t think we can. I mean, you can try stopping Micheal and the rest of your lot and regain your status, but it won’t be the same. You’ll have lost respect. Power. Fame. You’re practically just a queen now - sit ‘round, do nothing. You have that power, but you’ll never use it.”

 “Are you saying all I am is just a..an emblem of Heaven?” She sputtered, setting her mug down. 

 “I suppose I am. I won’t lie - I’m the same at this point. I haven’t given an actual message in ages.”

 “Then who’s been giving out orders over the intercoms? Don’t you still deliver instruction in that way?”

 Lucifer paused for a moment. “Yes. And no. Sometimes we force it in. Doesn’t matter - I’ve always had someone else do it for me.”

 “I suppose things haven’t changed.”

 “No, they haven’t. Our sides want to fight, some don’t, I think - some blasted kid that you made supposedly wants to kill us - I suppose they have, though, because the horsemen hate me now, and-”

 She began nodding grimly. “I know. I think they’ve got the wrong idea. I do believe it’s Micheal, on my side - at least - that’s what my sources tell me. I doubt I’m wrong,” she said sadly, shaking her head. “I did trust them so…”

 “I still don’t get how these things go right by you,” Lucifer hummed, picking at his nails. “Your kid is literally being raised by an angel and a demon, both of which are technically traitors-”

 “And I love them all the same,” She murmured. “Aziraphale is so sweet, always was…”

 “And Crowley?”

 She bit her lip. 

 “He was the sweetest. That’s why it was so hard to let him go,” she brushed a tear away and took a sip. “I know I couldn’t save him, I think a part of me wanted to, but…”

 “They’d never have gotten together.” He finished for her, giving the tiniest hint of a smile. 

 “So...what are Raum’s motives, exactly?” She asked, changing the subject. She wanted to get her mind off the whole Crowley matter. It bugged her constantly, swirling around her in rhythmic patterns. 

 The look on his face when he fell, the way he smiled at the stars, ones he had created...It was all too much. 

 Lucifer began inspecting a crumb on the table as he spoke. “I know she’s rebelled. And she wants the basics of my job description.”

 She snorted. “That’s funny. Hm.”

 “What?”

 “She wants your job...you’re practically retired, aren’t you?”

 “Yeah, basically. I mean, I wasn’t planning on it, but the kid, God… ” He crushed the crumb into smaller pieces until tiny little fragments had broken off. 

 “Yes?”

 Lucifer rolled his eyes. “That joke is as old as you.”

 “Yes, I know. That’s why I find it funny.”

 “Whatever. Hey, as long as we calmly explain everything to them, it’ll work out. It’ll have to.”

 “I don’t doubt you, I know everything will turn out well.”

 “Then why sit and chat, hm? Why talk about the end times?”

 “I’m not entirely omniscient,” She said sharply. “I didn’t expect another one of my creations to get swept up in false procephies and lies. She will soon find out what she is destined for.”

 “And are you sure it’s what she wants?”

 She stared into her mug for a moment and sighed. “It won’t matter what she wants, it’ll happen soon enough.”

 “Like a flash of lighting … ”

 She raised her mug to him and nodded, a dark look on her face. “A flash of lightning.” 

 ***The Now***

 Beelzebub and Gabriel swerved into a free parking spot. The whole town itself looked to be in disarray, everything strewn about, a stage completely empty. 

 “This doesn’t look right,” Beelzebub whispered. “This looks eerie.”

 “I know,” Gabriel groaned, shuddering at the cold. “Come on, they’ve ought to be here somewhere.”

 Beelzebub sniffed the air and took a step back. “Hold on.”

 “What?”

 “Something isn’t right...I smell that sodding bitch!”

 “ Bee ! Keep your voice down!”

 “Not my fault, she’s a slimy, artful little...blasted beings, demons n’ the like going ‘round thinking they’re better than the rest of us.”

 They walked for a little while until they noticed, there, in the middle of the street, two familiar beings. And a group of humans. Some looked incredibly unfit for the job of defeating some kid and the horsemen, but who was Bee to judge? She was one of the damned, after all, lest she forget it.

 “Look, angel,” Crowley was saying. “When they arrive, we just hit them straight on. You’ve been fine with killing before, Hell, you almost killed Adam - it won’t be so bad.”

 “I know, Crowley, I just don’t want Esme getting hurt.”

 Crowley softened and kissed his boyfriend tenderly. Bee could pratically feel her icy heart melting. It had hardened throughout the tumultuous past few hours, but she and Gabe would find their way. She just didn’t know it yet. 

 Gabriel grabbed her arm and led her into the center of the road and waved frantically. 

 Crowley saw them, and at once his forked tongue was already lashing out. Some of the humans trembled in fear. Gabriel didn’t blame them. Crowley was one scary bastard when he wanted to be. 

 “ You ,” the demon snarled, stomping towards them. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!” 

 Beelzebub pushed past Gabriel to explain. 

 “Crowley, we’ve no time to explain,” she said, exasperated. She looked around, and, upon seeing no one arriving yet, took a deep breath. “Okay. Well, there is time to explain. But you’ve got to listen - your kid is going to start Armageddon. The horseman and their dumbass plus one is coming too, and they are literally going to bring down the Heavens and raise Hell.”

 Crowley stared blankly and shrugged. “I knew that already.”

 “You knew?” Gabriel asked, dumbfounded. “How could you go on for thi-”

 “I’ll have you know, Gabriel, that Crowley was just informed that the demon Raum is involved in all of this; we love our daughter very much and therefore treated her like an average child, or as average as one can be with powers and the like. We had no intentions of turning her in or containing her once this all began. We just simply wanted to fight against it in any way possible.” Aziraphale said, lacing his arm into Crowleys. 

 Clapping could be heard from both sides. The humans began to cheer, and more of it could be heard from behind Gabriel and Beelzebub. 

 “Uriel?” Beelzebub said, shocked. “Is that you?”

 Uriel suddenly walked into view, Hastur at her side. “Hello, everyone.”

 “Ar-are you wearing jeans?” Gabriel gasped, pointing at her legs. “That’s an abomination!”

 Uriel rolled her eyes. “I’d rather not put up a fight in a tailored suit, thank you very much, Gabe .”

 Crowley muttered something under his breath.

 “I’m sorry, what was that?” Hastur asked peevishly. 

 “I said, ‘Oh, Lovely,’” he repeated, dripping in his usual sarcasm.

 “Oh, Crowley - please do be kind, we need all the help we can get,” Aziraphale cried. “I am sorry, Uriel, for Crowley’s comment.”

 “Angel, she wanted us both dead, remember?”

 Aziraphale groaned. “Not now, dearest. If Uriel and...Hastur are really here to help then I think we should by all means accept them.”

 Hastur nodded. “Thank you, ‘Ziraphale. Nice to know someone appreciates me.”

 “I appreciate you,” Beelzebub and Uriel said at the same time. Both exchanged embarrassed looks, on the account of the fact that Bee hated showing affection and the fact that Uriel was meant to hate Hastur, but didn’t.

 Some of the laughter coming from the humans stopped. A few paused to listen, and then groaned. 

 “Is that motorcycles I hear?” One of them called. The humans began to nod. A few ran away. Some held up their weapons** and braced themselves. 

 Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's hand.

 “I love you, Crowley.”

 “I love you, angel. Aziraphale. Shit, that sounded bad coming out, I did-”

 “ Shh !” Uriel hissed. “They’re coming!”

 Two angels and two demons and a small crowd of humans stood together, united. They were finally were ready. 

 War, Famine, Pollution, Death, Raum, and Esme pulled onto the scene. Before them stood a slightly-quivering crowd of what looked like a bunch of humans and angels, and some demons.

 “This will be easy,” War hummed, pulling off her helmet. She grabbed Esme by the shirt collar and pushed her forward. “Go ahead.”

 Esme fell to the ground, hitting the pavement facedown. It took so much control for Crowley and Aziraphale to hold back. When she was finally able to lift herself onto her feet, she was crying.

 “Papa?”

 Aziraphale trembled. “Y-yes, dear?”

 “I don’t want to kill anyone,” she whispered. “I don’t want to, really.”

 “Y-you don’t?” Crowley blubbered. Aziraphale gripped his arm even tighter. 

 “No,” Esme said softly, running a hand through her now-dirty hair. “I’ve been waiting for a day now. Nothing’s happened.”

 “But something will happen, eventually,” Raum cut in, glaring at the girl. “It must. You have the power of a God.”

 “Yeah, but who says?” Esme asked innocently.

 People began scratching their heads. One of the humans piped up. “Wasn’t it a prophecy or something?”

 “Yeah, it was that!” Gabriel said excitedly, pointing at the human. “That’s what I was thinking!”

 “This is getting ridiculous,” Pollution muttered. “You’re supposed to be a God - she’s right, nothing is happening.”

 “But she is the right kid, right?” Someone asked, confused. 

 “Of course she is,” War snapped. “We’re not so stupid that we’d follow the wrong kid all these years,” and suddenly (mostly) everyone turned to stare at Aziraphale and Crowley.

 “Hey, don’t look at us,” Crowley groaned. “I don’t need to be reminded of that now.”

 “Is the war even going to start?” Famine whispered into Pollutions ears. 

 At this Raum pulled out a gun and pointed it at the crowd. Already someone was screaming at the sight of it. Perfect, she thought to herself. Just what I wanted. 

  She had been killing time for too long. She’d waited long enough. Now, finally - it was her chance. 

 Her chance to win . 

*Yes, it was near Bristol. 

**By weapons, I mean some shoes, a Swiss Army knife, and a hairbrush. I think someone was able to grab some books, but Aziraphale told them that they should actually give to him instead. Legend says those books are still in his shop to this day. 

Chapter Text

 Marjorie Potts parked her old scooter on the curb near a deserted stage and grabbed the bazooka. 

 How she had gotten there so fast was beyond her. It was a miracle, really. 

 “It has to be happening around here somewhere,” she murmured, and began walking. Soon, she could hear loud noises and chattering. 

 “Yes, dear?” 

 Marjorie perked up. Is that Ezra? Ezra Fell? 

 “I don’t want to kill anyone,” a woman’s voice answered. It was a rather young voice, too. “I don’t want to, really.”

 “You don’t?” 

 Marjorie poked her head around the corner. She could see a row of motorcycles and a group of somewhat-familiar people crowding around an even la her group of people. Sure enough, Beelzebub and Gabriel were standing there, right next to Ezra and Anthony. 

 Marjorie squinted and let out a small gasp. A tall red haired girl stood there as well, her back facing Marjorie. Right away she knew it was Esme. 

 “No,” Esme was saying, scratching her head.“I’ve been waiting for a day now. Nothing’s happened.”

 “But something will happen, eventually,” A blonde woman spoke now, her eyes shooting menacing daggers at the girl. “It must. You have the power of a God.”

 “Yeah, but who says?” Esme asked.

 People began looking around, confused.

 “Wasn’t it a prophecy or something?” Someone asked.

 Marjorie would have tried to listen to the rest of what they had been saying, but got distracted from the sound of a car driving down the road.

 Everyone continued to talk, oblivious to the screeching rubber. 

 Marjorie tucked the gun into the crook of her arm and began waving madly to the driver to stop. Thankfully, they did, and she hurried over to them, gun still in hand. 

 The window rolled down, and the person who sat there blinked for a moment.

 “Madame Tracy?”

 “Er..yes? How…” she paused, and then took a step back and recognized them instantly - the shape of their face, their eyes, the oh-so-curly mop of hair. 

 “ A-Adam ?! What are you doing here?”

 “Trying to help save the world,” he said, grinning. “M’godfathers sent me a signal.” 

 “Y-you mean Ezra and Anthony?”

 “Mhm. Angels and demons, you gotta love ‘em. He motioned to the passenger next to him, who had been kind enough to stop the car and pull over.

 “This is my boyfriend, Warlock.”

 Marjorie gave the other young man a sweet smile and a wave. “Hello, er..are you saving the world as well?”

 The man shrugged. “Uh-huh. I mean, I’m only here ‘cause of Adam, but whatever.”

 Adam rolled his eyes. “Shut up, you do care.” 

 “Yeah. Well. Whatever. Let’s just get this over with,” Warlock mumbled, tossing his hair to the side. “I can’t be late for that stupid press conference.” He unbuckled his seat belt and hopped out of the car. Adam did the same; they met in the middle. 

 “He’s not the boss of you. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” Adam said softly, tracing his cheekbones. 

 “He’s a sodding-“ Warlock started, before stopping for a moment.

 Everything had grown quiet. 

 Around the corner, there was the faintest sound of crying, and then - nothing. 

 “Come on,” Marjorie hissed, grabbing the two boys* by the arms. “We haven’t any time!”

 They rushed around the corner but stopped at what they saw. 

 “Alright everyone,” a blonde hummed, aiming her gun at the angels. “You’re going to listen up, because this war is going to happen, whether you want it or not.” 

 “I don’t think so,” Marjorie called, stepping forward. Beelzebub, Gabriel, Crowley, and Aziraphale all gasped in horror.

 “She’ll get herself killed!” Aziraphale whispered nervously. Everyone else nodded in agreement. 

 Esme only planted her feet firmly on the rocky ground. 

 “And who are you?” War asked, flashing her sword. “You look...familiar.”

 “Marjorie Potts. Formerly Shadwell. Before that, Madame Tracy. Now,” she said, hoisting up her gun. “I cannot have you start the apocalypse.”

 “Why not?” Raum growled. 

 “Because my husband would have never wanted it - he would have fought.”

 Crowley bit his lip, still feeling shame for not saving Mr. Shadwell. He’d never felt like this since the bloody 14th century when he was stuck caring for those poor kids…

 Raum only laughed, and then the horsemen did, as well.

 “What’s so funny?” Marjorie asked, aiming the bazooka at them. “Hm?”

 They only continued laughing. “Oh,” Raum sniffed, wiping away a tear. “You can’t hurt us, darling. You can make us go away, sure, but we’ll always be here. And once the war has started, we’ll never leave. We’ll always be here, roaming around..”

 Marjorie raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to count, love, and then I’m gonna shoot you, I will! You’re filthy, I swear it!”

 Marjorie could see a gun being pointed at her, and then the bazooka flying in the air, and then...the ground.

 “Madame Tracy - Marjorie, I can't have you do this!” Adam whispered, pinning her to the ground. “She’ll kill you, I already know it.”

 With some great amount of strength, Marjorie forced herself to her feet and out of Adams grip.

 “I don’t care about that anymore,” she said gently, patting Adams hand. “I just want to carry out what my husband would have done, After that, it won’t matter.”

 Warlock knew what she meant immediately. “Please, Miss, please don’t do this - it’s - it’s suicide!” 

 Marjorie nodded grimly. “I know, my boy,” and looked around for the bazooka.

 Crowley stepped a little closer to the newcomers and blinked.

 “ Warlock ?” 

 Warlock gasped, his eyes searching for that familiar voice. When he glanced behind a red headed girl, he could see his Nanny standing there - except, she looked more like a male. 

 “ N-nanny ?” Warlock’s jaw dropped, mouth agape. “Wh-uh-how-”

 “Enough with the fucking reunions,” Raum barked, snapping her fingers. Warlock was frozen to the ground. She raised her gun at Marjorie, hands completely steady. 

 “I’m going to c-”

 “WAIT! HOLD UP, EVERYONE! STOP! DO NOT LET HER SHOOT! EVERYONE, DO ANYTHING IN YOUR POWER, NOW !” A booming voice called. No one knew where it came from. 

 Fingers were snapped. Humans piled on top of one particular demon - and Esme had to watch. Suddenly, more of the humans had guns. 

 “Why didn’t you think of that earlier?!” 

 “Oh, don’t do this now, Hastur. I swear to somebody I’ll-”

 Crowley stopped talking. Aziraphale blinked, and then pointed, and then wondered if it was a dream. Uriel suddenly felt very embarrassed holding Hastur’s hand, and Beelzebub and Gabriel were still rather shocked that the latter couple were even together. 

 There, standing before them, was Her. She doesn’t need a name, really, because there is no name grand enough for her. She is the Almighty, Our Creator, and above all, God . 

 The horsemen began backing toward their motorcycles. This wasn’t good. 

 “Hello, my children,” she said, straightening her coat. “Rather chilly, don’t you think?”

 Crowley pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Okay. Uh. What’s..y’know, I have a lot to say to you right now.” 

 Hastur nodded. “So do I,” he said, sniffing. “Been a’long time coming.”

 She folded her hands, and nodded. “I suppose the rest of you have many questions for me as well?” She gestured to the crowd behind the angels and the demons. They began nodding and tucking their guns into their pockets sheepishly. 

 “We have some things to discuss. Rather,” she motioned the pileup on her right. “A demon. Raum,” she called, snapping her fingers. “Show yourself.”

 In an instant, Raum was standing there, wrists bound. She looked around nervously.

 “H-hello..”

 “I will have you know that I have seen through your plans, dear. So has Lucifer. He is very displeased.”

 Raum whimpered. 

 Behind them, screeching motorcycles could be heard. 

 “No…” Raum cried, choking on her words. “Do-don’t leave, not now..”

 “It’s not over, though,” Crowley said, motioning to Esme. “You can stop the horseman, and Blondie over there, but Esme’s supposed to kill people, or something.”

 God began to laugh. 

 And then a little harder. 

 “Lucy!” She called, waving her arms. “Get up here, you have absolutely got to hear this.”

 In an instant, He was there, and, surveying the land, frowned.

 “It hasn’t started?”

 “No, but listen to this - Oh, Crowley, do tell me that joke again.”

 “Ah..Esme’s going to kill people...or something? Look, we don’t have a lot of time, so if you could pick a side that would be great.”

 God nodded seriously. “Oh, I know we don’t have much time. And you’re right, Esme will be killing! But I understand what you mean.”

 “And, er, what’s that, if I may?” Aziraphale asked quickly.

 “Esme’s not the Antichrist, as most of you know,” she said, folding her hands again. Most of the humans have each other embarrassed looks. “But something much greater.”

 “And that is?” Gabe asked, shifting a little closer to Bee. 

 “You’ll find out,” Lucifer growled. “Wouldn’t you all like it to be a surprise?”

 Esme coughed. “Y’know, it’d be nice to know if I could actually know what I am for once. I don’t get it,” she said, pointing to Raum. “You want to kill me but at the same time you want me on your side, and you guys,” she motioned vaguely to the group of angels and demons. “Don’t seem to hate me, but say you’re against me.” She spun on her heel, gesturing to Marjorie, Adam, and Warlock. “And I don’t even know what you guys want.”

 “We’re here to help,” Adam said, approaching the young girl. He looked up at his godfathers. “Anything you guys can think of right now?”

 Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand and nodded. 

 With a snap, time was frozen. Crowley rushed to his daughter, enveloping her in a hug. 

 “Esme, dear, is there anything you know?” Aziraphale asked tentatively. 

 Esme shook her head. “No, papa.”

 “You’re something much greater than you will ever know,” She said, suddenly walking toward the young girl. 

 “Stop,” she cried, shielding herself. A wall of flame circled around her. “I just want answers.”

 “My dear, I’d never hurt you. You are my daughter. You are my creation.”

 Crowley began to sputter.

 “Y-yo-do-what?”

 Aziraphale brightened, suddenly understanding. “The second coming!”

 “What?” Crowley asked, itching his head. 

 “Esme, do you actually want to kill anybody?” Aziraphale asked, reaching out to her.

 “No..” Esme began, but then bit her lip. “Yes. And no. I really do, but not everyone.”

 God nodded. “Okay. Getting somewhere. Do you understand what this means, dear?”

 “Not really,” Esme muttered. “Wait..second coming..do you mean I’m the second coming of Christ ?!” 

 God nodded. “There,” She said happily. “You do understand.”

 “No, you don’t get it, lady,” Esme took a step back toward her fathers. “I don’t want to be the second coming of Christ. I don’t want to want to kill people, even if they’re bad - that’s a lot of freaking pressure, okay? I don’t want to fight Lucifer or whomever…” Esme trailed off, clutching her head.

 “Esme, what is it, dear heart?” Aziraphale asked, kneeling down. “Please, if you can speak, tell me.”

 Crowley only patted her head and she slowly rocked back and forth.

 “I can feel them coming,” she whispered. “Daddy, please, can’t you make them stop?”

 “Who?” Crowley asked. “I can’t, love, unless you tell me who.”

 Esme shook her head. She’d gone completely white, and then looked up. “The angels. They’re coming down. They’re bringing Heaven with them.”

 She nodded. “She’s right. Esme, there are consequences if you refuse this. There are going to be problems for the next millennia if you don’t fight.”

 Esme twisted her mouth and nodded glumly. “I understand.”

 Crowley kissed her forehead. “Whatever happens, your Papa and I will always love you. You’re very special to us.”

 Esme nodded, tears welling up in her eyes.

 “Dearheart, do not cry,” Aziraphale whispered, wiping away her tears. “Everything will work out in the end, you’ll see.”

 “And what if it doesn’t?” Esme murmured.

 Crowley tucked a strawberry-blonde lock behind her ear. “Trust us. Please.”

 Esme nodded, and hugged her fathers for what felt like the last time.

*I will continue to refer to them as boys even though they are fully grown men. 

Chapter Text

 Time restarted.

 Uriel pointed up at the sky. “Look!”

 A flash of light appeared, a figure materializing before them, in all their celestial glory.

 “ Micheal .” Gabriel growled, ready to pummel them into the ground. Beelzebub grubbed his coat sleeve, pulling him back.

 “It’s not worth it, Gabe,” she whispered. “Wait.”

 God wound Her hands together and approached them instead, her expression cold and grim. 

 “Micheal,” She said, holding out her arms. “How lovely of you to join us. I suppose you’re here with the angels?”

 “You bet.” Micheal hummed, straightening out their overcoat. “I don’t think you’d want to stay. This isn’t your scene.”

 She pursed her lips. “Do you really think it wise to blaspheme me as you have done?”

 Micheal laughed. “Why not? You’re useless, now. I’ve come down to collect the little brat before she murders us all. I think our lot would have barrels of more respect for someone like me.”

 “No one respects you,” Gabriel snarled. “You are a dirty old..old..”

 Micheal rolled their eyes. “Cat got your tongue? It’s alright, Gabriel. You’ll see to it that I’m right.”

 “She’s not who you think she is,” Aziraphale said quietly. 

 Micheal looked around, their eyes darting amongst the group. “Who said that?”

 “I did,” Aziraphale said, stepping forward. “ You will see that you are wrong, Micheal.”

 “What do you mean by that?”

 “You’ll see. Your little minions will turn against you and towards Her,” Uriel said angrily. “We’ve all figured it out while you were up there philandering around like some ninny.”

 Micheals mouth opened slightly, and then shut it. Angels began to appear, hundreds of them, and then thousands. The demons would be coming, too, ready to fight, only knowing their first battle would be against the opposition, and then humans themselves. 

 Micheal wasn’t right when she had told Gabriel there wasn’t a together in this fight. There was, but nobody could see it yet. 

 “They’re right, Micheal,” Esme said, approaching the archangel. She could sense the angels raising their weapons. They weren’t angry - they were scared. “You’ve got it wrong. In fact, the whole lot of you got it wrong, even me.”

 Micheal tried to seize Esme, but the girl pulled away, her wings unfurling.

 “STOP!” She yelled, pulling away. She said it with so much force that it knocked Crowley and Aziraphale and some humans over, the Earth suddenly shaking violently.

 “I don’t want to be collected, or used, just for my power,” Esme said sharply, glaring at Micheal and then at Raum and then even at Lucifer because she felt like it. “I barely knew who I was before today. I still don’t know who I am - I’m still trying to figure myself out, I guess. But what I’m trying to say is that I won’t be used as a pawn in your...your stupid little war. I’m a person, practically, and I have free will. I have rights, and I have the right to say I don’t have to go with you.”

 Micheal took a step back, a new anger in her eyes, restraining herself from darting forward and slapping the girl. 

 “You filthy, insolent little-”

 The ground continued to shake. Esme looked around, nervously. She could feel what was coming, and it wasn’t happy. She could also tell that Lucifer knew, too.

 Crowley, Beelzebub, and Hastur both fell down, groaning.

 “ Crowley !”

 In an instant, Uriel and Aziraphale were there next to the three demons, trying to figure out what was going on. Gabriel looked around nervously, and, upon noticing God wasn’t paying him any attention, helped out Beelzebub too.

 Esme spun around, shocked to see her father lying on the ground.

 “Dad!” She cried, and ran to him, pushing past the demons that were beginning to appear and the angels and everyone else. 

 Marjorie only shared a concerned look with Adam and Warlock, who had been standing by just in case. She suddenly felt sorry for turning him out after Shadwell had died, and resolved to apologize once this was all said and done for.

 Esme tripped on her shoes lace and moaned in pain. 

  I have to do something, she thought frantically. Everything’s going to Hell..

  Slowly, she raised herself to her feet, her body cut and scraped. Her nose was bleeding heavily, and she could feel a pang in her back from when she had quickly pulled her wings in. 

 She raised her head to get a better view and saw the army of angels and the hoarders of demons. There were so many she knew she could never count. God and Lucifer walked to their representative teams.

 Micheal had seemed to have figured it out via another angel. Her face had drooped, and her lips were starting to quiver. 

 “You’re not going to kill us all?”

 Esme shook her head. “No. I’m meant to do the opposite.” She gestured up above. “I know what God wants of me, but I don’t want to do it.”

 “You... you don’t want to ?” Micheal repeated incredulously. 

 “ No .” Esme spat.

 “I gather we cannot persuade you to join us, instead, if you do not feel tempted to fulfill your own cause?” A demon asked.

 “What?! God, no, look, everyone just stop !” Esme cried. “I’m not leading anyone. I’m not on your side or yours,” she said, pointing to the angels and the demons.

 “Esme, please, you-” Aziraphale started, but Crowley grabbed his hand. 

 “Papa,” she groaned, shaking her head. “In my heart, I know what’s right. Killing you lot isn’t one of ‘em. I don’t care if you’re God, or Satan, or some other higher up. I won’t do it! I have the right to make my choice. I just...I just wish that you bloody angels n’ demons kept to yourselves!”

 A trumpet blared over head. 

 Micheal moaned. 

 “What is it?” Crowley asked, throwing Beelzebub a look. The demon only shrugged. 

 “I dunno. Doesn’t sound too good.” 

 Everyone looked at the angels. God sighed, and glanced over at Micheal, who was wringing their hands.

 “You’ve stopped them,” they whispered, rubbing their temples.

 “Stopped what?” Esme asked, confused. 

 “The horses, you blasted freak!” Micheal screeched, their vicious teeth lashing out like...well...teeth. Or maybe like a claw, or serpents fangs, which is rather deceiving for an angel when you think about it.

 “The horses?”

 “When you wished us to keep to ourselves,” God explained mildly. “Horses - white ones - are supposed to come down from the sky - they represent my wrath that I am to instill on the Earth. You’re actually supposed to be on one, I believe, so you’ve already missed that-”

 “Horses...from the sky?” Esme squeaked, interrupting Her. “That sounds wicked!”

 “It really isn’t,” Adam called. “I can think of something cooler!”

 Esme glared at him. “Oh, I bet you can. I bet the coolest thing you’ve ever come up with was some stupid game or a joke only your friends laughed at.”

 Adam turned bright red and mumbled something along the lines of, ‘What’s up hers’ which earned a chuckle out of Marjorie and Warlock.

 “When we get out of here I am teaching that child a lesson on manners.” Aziraphale muttered.

 “ If we get out of here,” Crowley replied, shifting a little closer to the angel. Hastur and Beelzebub did the same, to Uriel and Gabriel respectively.

 “So is the war gunna happ’nen or not?” A demon yelled.

 “Yeah!” Some of the humans yelled. 

 “Quiet!” Lucifer ordered. “Even if the war does not happen, people are to blame. To start, the demon Raum, who has rebelled against me and our side, Beelzebub and Hastur for fraternizing with an angel and cooperation with the opposition, and anyone that I’ve missed...uh..you guys are in trouble as well.”

 “What about us?” Crowley yelled. 

 “You guys don’t count!” Micheal shouted back. “You two are just on the payroll because its illegal not to!”

 “Not to…?”

 “Not to pay, you stupid idiots!”

 “Wait a second,” a demon said, walking to the center. “If its illegal not to pay us, then can’t we retire?”

 Lucifer and God turned to glare at Micheal, who only scrunched up their nose in defense.

 “Forget that ,” Esme cried, pointing at Raum, who was still tied up. “What about Raum, huh? Can’t I ask her anything? She’s the one who started this anyways! This whole time, she’s been out to get me, and I think I at least deserve to know why.”

 Everyone stopped blaming everyone else and stared at the demon, who only scowled back. 

 “Fine, very well..” Lucifer griped, conjuring up a scarf. Everyone else nodded, taking a few steps back to give the two women-shaped beings some space. 

 It was colder than what he was used to, after all.

 God sucked in a breath. She hoped that the poor girl wouldn’t mind hearing the truth. Then again, what was that human expression? The truth hurts? Yes - that was it. 

 Indeed it does. 

Chapter Text

 “I just wanted control,” Raum said to herself, arms and legs still bound. “That’s all.”

 “But why this?” Esme asked, still standing. “I mean, yeah, something was bound to happen because of me, but why...why did you have to rebel against Hell and Heaven and everyone else?”

 “Because I’m different,” Raum said, coughing between her words. Blood and saliva dribbled down her chin. Esme knew she was dying; she’d never seen anyone die, but she just knew . 

 “I’ve always been different,” Raum whispered. “Now look at me...are you sure you won’t help me?”

 “No.” Esme growled, pacing up and down the street. “ No .”

 “You’re just like the rest of them,” Raum mumbled. “You’d turn on me no matter what. You know, for someone who doesn’t want anything to do with sides, you seem to hate someone who just up and did the same thing.”

 Esme spun around, her eyes flashing an incredible amount of anger and fury. “Oh no,” she thundered, upbraiding Raum. “Don’t you dare compare me to you. Even if someone made me want to kill someone...instilled it in me, maybe, but I never actually went and did it. I never wanted to harm anybody. I have restraint, and I know what’s good and bad, because my parents raised me right. I may have turned my back on both sides, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to kill ‘em. That’s where we’re different.”

 “We’re actually much more alike than you think, my dear.” Raum retorted. 

 Esme glimpsed at the crowd of others around her. She knelt down, criss-crossed her legs, and looked her straight in the eye.

 “Tell me.” 

Chapter Text

 “I didn’t mean to become...like this. I was so tormented. Walking the halls of Hell, no one to talk to. I was alone. So alone...and there was no one there for me. No one...do you know what that’s like?”

 Esme shook her head. 

 “I didn’t think you would. You have friends. You have a family, and people who love you. I’ve never had that. When I fell, I lost everything. My creator. My friends. My family. A part of me got tired with the way everything was being run. I suppose it happens, almost 6000 years on the job, but I had no say. I couldn’t change anything. I couldn’t do anything.”

 Esme kept shaking her head, biting back tears. “But you could. My dads - they stopped the first war. You didn’t have to do this.”

 Raum took the girls hands in hers and, biting her lip, trembled. 

 “I had to do anything to get out of there. It was so cold, so lonely. All I ever did was ask questions…”

 “But did you have to abduct me?” Esme whispered. “Did you have to go to all these lengths just to bring everyone down with you?”

 Raum laughed. “Oh, honey, I’m not going down. I’m going to stay right here.”

 Esme grappled with the icy hands that had clung to her wrist. When Raum let go, there were visible marks from her nails on her skin; like deep grooves in the depths of a valley.  

 “Why?” Esme contended, clutching her wrist. “Why...How did it come to this?” 

 Pain loomed in the demon's face, a fire dancing in her eyes. 

 “I don’t know. I just wanted to be number one. I wanted...I wanted it all.”

 Esme shook violently, leaning her head into Raums shoulder. 

 “Do you know?”

 “Know..?”

 Esme pulled away, rubbing her snot and tears away with her sleeve. 

 “My mother. I don’t care if God created me - I had to come from somewhere. You..you told me you’ve done things. Now tell me what the fuck you’ve done, or..or else I’ll do something drastic.” 

 Raum lifted up her hands nonchalantly. “I don’t think you’d like to hear it.”

 Esme rose to her feet. “I don’t give a damn.” 

 Raum grinned, choking on her laughter. “I killed her.”

 “You didn’t.”

 “With my own hands.”

 “Why, though?” Esme said, her shoulders moving up and down rhythmically. 

 “I wanted to.”

 Esme dropped to her feet, and sobbed, unmoved from the arms around her or the soothing voices or the packets of tissues being tucked into her hand. 

 “WHY?!” Esme cried, rocking on the ground. “YOU SICK BASTARD!”

 “Your mother was a wretch,” Raum sneered, staggering for her feet. “She deserved to die. I may be a demon, but I know she was unfit to carry the spirit of Christ.”

 “She loved me, didn’t she?” Esme breathed, her voice soft and low. “My mother loved me and..and you killed her.”

 “I wasn’t bad at first.” Raum countered weakly. “I’m not asking for much, just forgiveness.”

 “I will never forgive you,” Esme growled, her blue eye turning golden, both eyes now shimmering in the light. “NEVER.”

 “She hadn’t given birth yet,” Raum hummed, pacing the ground. “And Micheal has just told her the news, but there was a miscommunication…”

 Everyone else turned to stare at the archangel, who only folded their arms, frustrated.

 “I don’t want to hear another word,” Esme shrieked, trying to pull herself up. “Get out. Of. My. Sight.” 

 “I didn’t stop there,” Raum continued, drifting around in circles. “I killed Dani, I’ve shot, I’ve stabbed, I’ve..I’ve..” she shook her head, biting her lip as tears streamed down her face. 

 “GET OUT!” Esme roared, her wings opening and expanding. She rose above the ground, experiencing a lightness she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. 

 She could see the chains that bound Raum slowly disintegrating.

 “Please, Esme, I just want to be forgiven,” she begged, sobbing. “Please.” 

 “No. Never.” Esme called, a low, guttural call escaping from her throat. “I want you to rot in pain and suffering for eternity. Not in Hell or Heaven - but alone. Far away from anyone or anything.”

 Raum nodded numbly, and then winced as a searing pain shot through her body, her soul burning in divine essence. 

 Esme only hung in the sky like a limp puppet, her wings barely supporting her as she convulsed in the air. 

 And everyone else down below watched as the dark storm clouds blended together, and the Earth experienced its first rain since the events of the second non-apocalypse.

 Lightning struck. 

 It was a good day for a storm. 

Chapter Text

 What came next was the screaming. It was ferocious and shrill, if anything, so sharp it could cut through glass. 

 Esme’s wings folded and she could feel herself falling from the sky; fortunately, she didn’t feel herself hitting the ground. 

 She groaned, and rolled over on her side. 

 “Papa?”

 “I’m here, dearheart. So is your Daddy, and everyone else.”

 “I want to go home.”

 Everyone in the crowd laughed; her parents and some other residents from Heaven and Hell helped her to her feet. It had begun to rain, so Esme found herself blinking to avoid the droplets getting in her eyes. They had begun flickering out the scene nervously, watching and waiting. 

 “Where is she? Did I…?”

 Crowley nodded. “She just..melted. I suppose it was by holy water.” He winced at that last part, as if it had stung him, too. 

 Esme could tell she was crying, and that she had become a dithering, emotional mess. She also felt five years older, because it had been a long day, hadn’t it? 

 “I’m sorry,” she whispered, tucking her head into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. “I let you down.”

 “Wha-Dearheart, you haven’t let me down! Quite the opposite, really.”

 “B-but you told me to have love and reverence for everything - even if they’re awful. To not kill, to not…”

 Warlock snorted. “Love and reverence. Wow . Haven’t heard that one before.” 

 Aziraphale and Crowley shot the boy a glare before returning their gazes to their daughter. 

 “Look, love , ” Crowley said, cupping her chin. “No matter what happens, I’m proud of you. This isn’t exactly what you wanted for your birthday, but...you dealt with it like an adult would. Better n’ that really, but m’point is that we’re proud.”

 “But why is this...why is this the way things are?” Esme asked swiftly, glancing over at God and Lucifer. 

 Both shrugged in response. 

 “There are some things that are just ineffable, my dear,” Aziraphale spoke quickly, ruffling her hair. “Hard to explain, you know. I don’t think any of us could sum up why all of this had to happen, but it did.”

 “It warrants an explanation, though, don’t it?” Hastur asked, scratching his head.

 “Yeah, I would think that another one of these things deserves to be explained.” Uriel said, nodding in agreement. 

 “I don’t think anyone can,” Beelzebub muttered, who, like Esme, also wanted to go home. “I think Aziraphale’s right, for once*.” 

 “I can,” Adam said coolly. Everyone, including the humans, turned to stare at him. 

 “Okay, if you’re so smart, then go ahead.” Gabriel spat. 

 “Okay. Basically, Esme, if you want the short version: Heaven and Hell hate each other. The first time there was a war, both sides lost. Now, a second time through, there are different circumstances. Both sides seem to want to work together, but there were receptions and miscommunications. So they ended up mucking things up on both ends. The fact that a demon and her henchmen - horseman, oh, whatever Warlock - propelled things probably didn’t help much. Does that sum it up for you lot?”

 Most of the demons and angels only grunted in response, a bit annoyed that the former antichrist was even there, let alone speaking to them. 

 “Can’t everything go back to normal now?” Esme asked, looking up at the stormy clouds above. 

 God sighed, Her tone suddenly grim. “I’m sorry, dear. But no. I don’t think it’s possible. You’ve refused your title, Raum has been killed, the horseman are already trying to see their effects on the world - too much has changed for that to be possible now.”

 “I want things to change back, though.” Esme said softly, leaning into her parents sides. 

 “You can change things, Esme. You can trust me - no one said it would be easy, but I did it. You don’t just have to want them to change - you have to believe that they will.” 

 “That sounded lame,” Warlock mumbled under his breath. “Isn’t that what you told me, Nanny, when I mentioned I’d broken that vase?”

 “Er..Yes,” Crowley replied, rubbing his neck. “It’s actually Crowley. Anthony J. Crowley.”

 “What’s the J for?” Beelzebub and Hastur asked at the same time.

 “Ngk..mh..just a J, really.”

 “Well, whatever,” Warlock grumbled, smoothing out his hair. “You n’ Francis left me. Y’know, Adam is the first person to have not done that. Did you know that? I bet not. My dad left. My mom left. I’d no friends up until college - But I guess you lot wouldn’t know what that’s like,” he said, motioning to the other angels and demons by their side. “Would you?”

 “They know more about that than you would think, young man,” She said, folding her arms in dissatisfaction. “It was a very lonely world out there.”

 “A dirty one,” Lucifer commented. He was rather sententious, eclipsing everyone else on the street; maybe it was his style, or the way that he spoke, or the deadly warmth in his eyes - he stood out, and when he did speak, he’d caught everyone’s attention. 

 “The world was dirty,” he continued, unwitting to the hundreds, if not thousands of eyes staring at him. “It was cold and bleak, and, She’s right - lonely. So I do think our friends understand you quite well, Warlock. You are just too ignorant to see that yet.”

 Warlock opened his mouth but no words came out. He did manage to mumble a short apology before weaseling himself into Adams’ arms. God smiled, seeming to appreciate it, and looked up. 

 The rain had stopped. 

 “I suppose it’s over. But,” She said, peering at her rival. “We will have to work something out.”

 “What’s it gonna be, a treaty?” Hastur said, bemused. 

 “What a wonderful idea!” She said, clapping her hands. “Thank you, Duke Hastur. That may just work!”

 Hastur groaned. He hoped this didn’t mean paperwork. 

 Esme finally found the strength to stand on her own and parted from her father's grips, which had become much stronger than she’d remembered. 

 “Are we going to have to move now?” 

 The group began to laugh, collectively before Crowley and Aziraphale shared a glance. Crowley tucked her hair behind her ear and shook his head. 

 “Nah. Not really our scene, moving. We like to stick to one place. Settle down.”

 Aziraphale suddenly raised a hand to his mouth, a horrified expression on his usually placid face.

 “What is it, angel?”

 “Yeah, are you okay, Papa?”

 “The bookshop.”

 Crowley’s face suddenly darkened, but he put on a brave face, soothing the angels back. 

 “I bet it’s gonna be alright, angel.”

 “I left it with her , Crowley, and now she’s dead! Why did I trust her?” 

 “Because she lied to you?” Beelzebub offered.

 Aziraphale pouted. “Yes, that’s true.”

 “Did she use a sob story?” Hastur asked, picking at a scab. 

 “Yeah, and it wasn’t even good. I saw right through it.” Crowley muttered. 

 “Was it rape?” Uriel asked, shivering.

 Aziraphale shook his head. He looked closer to tears than ever. “Assault, I believe - it is so awful, because those poor dears out there go through so much, things like that, you know - rape, sexual violence, the like, and then..then sick fucks like her go and fake it.”

 Everyone stopped chattering. 

 God raised an eyebrow. Lucifer held back a laugh. Crowley opened his mouth, shut it, and then began stuttering. Esme blinked rapidly, wondering if this was actually a dream. Some of the townspeople did the same, some wondering if Mr. Fell had been cloned. 

 “Papa?” Esme began to laugh before she was faced with a fit of coughing. 

 “Hm?”

 “You ju-you just swore , angel.” Crowley said, dumbfounded. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he found it really hot. 

 “I’m not perfect, Crowley!” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I’ve done it before.”

 “You’ve sworn before - when ?!” 

 God gave Lucifer a weak smile. 

 “Well, Lucy?”

 “I told you not to call me that.”

 “Are you ready?”

 “Hm. Yes, I believe I am. I don’t want to spend any more time down here than I have to - brings up a lot of bad memories.” 

 God nodded, and signaled to the angels. In a flash, the pair had left the street, angels and demons suddenly disappearing too. 

 Within a matter of moments, the fleets from Heaven and Hell were gone; and slowly, all around the world, life was beginning to change forever. 

*That one earned her more than a glare. 

Chapter Text

 Hastur had been holding onto Uriel's hand for some time. Crowley, Aziraphale, and Esme were saying goodbye to all the townspeople, giving warm wishes and hugs, and all the while, Hastur, Duke of Hell, was holding onto an archangels hand.

 It shouldn’t even be allowed, he told himself. He’d always found Uriel attractive, but he’d never have thought to pursue any kind of relationship. It just didn’t make sense to him. 

 Even if their...whatever this was...stated strictly platonic, he wouldn’t mind. He just wanted some like-minded company, and since Ligur died he had become rather lonely. 

 Demons aren't really meant to make friends. It had been instilled in his brain for so long it felt almost funny thinking of all the times he’d chatted to Beelzebub in her office, just hanging out, and sometimes lending a hand (or a shoulder) when needed. If it really was a rule, he’d definitely broken it. 

 Uriel continued to accept his hand, though, so he figured it was okay. Sometimes, she stroked his thumb or warmed his icy fingers. It made him feel odd, not sick or anything like that, but rather light and tingly. 

 “Are you two... erm..leaving together?” Uriel asked, looking at Gabriel and Beelzebub. The other couple spied a glance at each other and then bobbed their heads unanimously. 

 “Yes, I believe we were about to get lunch,” Beelzebub buzzed, gripping Gabriel’s arm. “Weren’t we, Gabe?”

 “Whatever you want, honey-bee.” Gabriel said, grinning. Hastur wanted to smack him, but decided against it when he saw Beelzebub throwing him an equally happy smile. 

 “Uh..okay. I hate to intrude, but would it be alright if we tagged along?”

 Beelzebub shrugged. “Sure.”

 Gabriel waved a hand. “Come on, let's go find the car. I hear you don’t drive, Hastur?” 

 Hastur nodded weakly. “Never liked the blasted things.” 

 Gabriel nodded. “Understandable. I don’t either. Beezie, on the other hand, loves it, for some inexplicable reason.”

 “I suppose it’s ineffable,” Uriel murmured. “Unable to be defined.”

 The two couples piled into the car, deciding to drive to the local pub. They were all in need of a drink. 

*Meanwhile*

 Crowley and Aziraphale had a hard time getting Esme inside. She was tired, weakened, and kept mumbling something about a TV show she wanted to watch that they’d never heard of before.

 “I don’t wanna sleep, Dad..” she groaned as Crowley carried her to her bedroom. Aziraphale miracled the door opened and gasped at the state of it.

 “It’s rather untidy in here,” Aziraphale said uncomfortably. “Are all teenagers like this?”

 Crowley grunted as he lowered Esme into the bed. “I s’pose, angel. I dunno. In the movies they always are.” 

 “Didn’t you stay with that nice family, the Badeos, in Rome - they had a teenage daughter,” Aziraphale said as he began putting books away. “Was she like this, dearest?”

 Crowley finished tucking Esme in and thought for a moment.

 “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure she died before she could really get the whole...teenage experience.”

 “How unfortunate,” Aziraphale said softly, glancing at the young girl. Already she’d fallen asleep. “I hope Esme will be able to pull through this. I’ve read that these years are rather hard.”

 Crowley nodded and looked around the room. “Hey, it’s not as bad as your flat. What’s that?” He asked, pointing to a piece of paper Aziraphale had been examining.

 “I don’t know exactly. What does ‘you look like a snacc’ mean?” 

 Crowley snatched the piece of paper out of the angels hands and studied the words before it ignited in his hands.

 “What did it mean, dearest?”

 Unfortunately, Crowley didn’t get a chance to answer before they could hear shrieking from behind them.

 “What are you doing in my room?!” 

 “Oh, dearheart, we were just putting you to sleep, and I thought I’d tidy up.”

 Esme jumped out of bed and looked on her desk. She could feel Crowley’s gaze and realized he’d seen that stupid note. 

 “You may have stopped the world from ending,” Crowley growled. “But you better explain to me how you got that note in your hands and who wrote it.”

 “What is it?” Aziraphale asked, still confused. 

 “It’s just a boy, Papa,” Esme sighed, rubbing her temples. “Look, I already said no. I’m pretty sure I’m too young to date, anyways.”

 Crowley nodded. “Good - I mean. Er. You can make your own choices. Sorry,” he sniffed, rubbing away new tears. “You’re just growing up s’fast, love.”

 “Hey, don't cry,” Esme said sweetly, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I don’t want to yet, anyways.”

 Aziraphale, smiling, kissed Crowley on the cheek. “I’ll go make us some tea. We can watch a movie - one that the both of you like.” 

 Crowley and Esme turned and sniffed, wiping away tears.

 “Goodfellas?” Esme offered.

 Aziraphale almost choked. “Ah..maybe some other time. Crowley? Any suggestions?”

 “Fight Club?”

 “How about something that isn’t so violent?” Aziraphale said lightly, fiddling with his pinky ring. 

 “The Wizard Of Oz?” Esme said, biting her lip. 

 Aziraphale smiled, and nodded. “Is that the one with that lovely singer, the redhead?”

 “Yes, angel,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “Come on, little overlord. I’ll get you a wash cloth.” 

 “Am I really that dirty?”

 Crowley and Aziraphale nodded, a little amused.

 “It’s been a long day,” Aziraphale muttered, walking away to make tea. “And do clean behind your ears, dear.”

 Crowley cleaned up Esme’s bathroom with a snap (in his opinion, it wasn’t that dirty, but she had a habit of strewing her clothes everywhere) and found some towels. 

 “Thanks, dad.”

 “You’re welcome, sport.” He said, patting her head. “I love you. And please, clean behind your ears. He’ll know and then I’ll have to hear about it all night if you don’t.”

 Esme rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

 Crowley grinned and in an instant, she was alone in her bathroom.

 She looked in the mirror and realized she hadn’t seen herself since yesterday. Her hair was messy, her skin was dirty and scraped, and, great, she was bloodied, too. 

 Yesterday…

 “Wait a minute..” Esme raced down out of the bathroom and then down the stairs. She stopped to catch her breath, and, panting, she hurried into the kitchen.

 “It’s my birthday, and I forgot,” she said dramatically. Aziraphale only smiled, shaking his head. 

 “I knew you’d remember at some point,” he said happily. “I was going to surprise you, but there’s no time like the present.” He opened the oven and pulled out a massive cake. 

 He snapped his fingers, and in an instant it was decorated; normally, Aziraphale would do it the natural way, but he knew Esme would rather eat cake than wait as he tediously made little roses out of red icing. 

 “Crowley, are you ready?”

 “Just about, angel.”

 “Oh, heavens, you haven’t gotten yourself clean, dear.” Aziraphale said, and snapped Esme and her clothes clean. She gave him a grateful smile and took a seat at the counter. 

 “Thanks, Papa.”

 “Of course, my dear. Crowley?” 

 “I’m coming, I’m coming!” Crowley strolled in, balancing several boxes, some large, some small on his hip. 

 “Happy birthday, love!” He said triumphantly, setting the boxes on the table. 

 “Thank you guys so much,” Esme said, gently untying a ribbon off. She opened it up and gasped. “Oh my God.”

 “Do you like it?” Crowley asked nervously, twitching nervously. 

 “Oh my God,” Esme repeated, holding up a large record. “A signed copy of Please Please Me?! Oh. My. God.”

 “I think that means she likes it, dearest,” Aziraphale purred. “Wherever did you find that?”

 “I’ve been saving it for a long time, angel. Just seemed right,” Crowley whispered, a glass of chardonnay in his hand. He took a sip and winced. “When did I start drinking white wine?”

 “I believe it was when we started raising a child, dearest. You seem to, er..”

 “What?”

 “If it’s anything else we tend to..you know..”

 “Go overboard?” Esme offered, examining the record. 

 The couple both turned bright red. Aziraphale grabbed the glass and sighed. 

 “I’ll drink it, then.” He took a sip, smiled, and snapped his fingers, an old fashioned appearing in Crowley’s hands. 

 “Oh my god, Papa, this is so sweet,” Esme gasped, holding up a locket. She opened it up, frowning as she glanced at it in the light. 

 “What is it, dear?” Aziraphale asked nervously. “Is there something wrong with it?”

 “You guys don’t look happy here,” Esme said sadly. “When was this even taken?”

 Her fathers set down their glasses and peered into the pictures. 

 “Ah,” Crowley said bitterly. “1890?”

 Aziraphale nodded. “After the fight, yes.” His face dropped. “I should have picked a different one. I-I wasn’t thinking.”

 Crowley kissed his cheek. “S’right, angel, you know we’ve forgiven each other. Was a long time ago.” 

 “You guys look so funny here,” Esme snorted. “Jesus, Dad, what is going on with the front of your hair - Papa’s looks just the same, really, but I can’t imagine you with long hair anyways. No offense, of course.”

 Aziraphale chuckled. “None taken, my dear. Your Dad has always been the one to change, unlike me…” 

 “You’re just old fashioned,” Esme said, looping the locket around her neck. “That’s all.”

 “I can drink to that,” Crowley added, holding up his drink. “Happy birthday, love.”

 It was a small, happy little celebration - and the beginning of something remarkable, that was rather inexplicable. 

 Maybe...even ineffable. 

Chapter Text

*The Next Day*

 “Am I calling to early?” A cheery voice asked on the other line. 

 Marjorie looked at the cup of tea she was balancing on her lap. “Mm..no.”

 “Oh - good. Y’know, I know we talked n’all yesterday, but can you remember any of it? What happened?”

 Marjorie thought for a moment. “No. Bits and pieces, I suppose. It’s a bit foggy, now that you mention it. What about you?”

 “Everything, though some parts I wish I could forget.”

 “You’ll have to tell me, then - some other time, of course. Funeral’s today, and all,” Marjorie said, trembling at the thought. She knew it would be hard to bear, but now it seemed ten times worse. “I have to be getting ready soon.”

 “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot. Please, take care of yourself - do you need any assistance? We can drive down and be there in an hour or so.”

 Marjorie sighed. He is rather helpful, but..

 “I can’t have you two do that. I’m sorry, Adam - but this is rather hard, and I’d much prefer to go about it alone.”

 “Understood,” Adam said softly. “I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

 Marjorie nodded, a faint noise escaping from her throat. 

 “Bye, Marjorie.”

 “Goodbye, Adam.”

 Marjorie Potts hung up the phone in the cradle and set it back on the end table next to Shadwells old chair. It didn’t feel right, not seeing him there, but something told her he was happier now, wherever he was.

*Somewhere in Coventry*

  Hastur looked around his bedroom and groaned, wondering how much he’d had to drink the night before. He only had a flat just in case everything went to hell, literally. He wasn’t sure the last time he’d even been in it - in fact, the only reason he knew that it was his was from the painting on the wall, which he had done himself back in the twenties* on a whim. 

 He rubbed his head and stumbled out of the covers. Turning to stretch, he jumped, seeing a figure on the other side of the bed.

 Tiptoeing out of the room, he decided he should probably make some coffee, when he groaned again. There, sitting at the kitchen counter was Beelzebub, pouring some cereal into a bowl.

 “Why are you in my flat?” He hissed. “I have a girl over, apparently.”

 “Yeah, I know. I helped her into your bed.”

 “Wait...don’t tell me.”

 Beelzebub grabbed a spoon that hadn’t been there before and dug in. “Yep,” she said, popping the p. “Uriel.”

 “Oh, God, why me…” Hastur muttered. “She’s gonna hâte me forever.”

 “Oh, shut up,” Beelzebub retorted. “You two didn’t do anything. Grow up.” She passed him a bowl. “You should try this. It’s good.”

 Hastur picked up the box and studied it. “What’s a Trix?”

 “It’s the best fucking cereal ever,” Beelzebub said happily, taking bigger spoonfuls. “It’s fit for the Gods.”

 Hastur grabbed a clean bowl and the jug of milk, but stopped when he noticed Beelzebubs sharp stare.

 “...What?” 

 “Don’t you dare.”

 “Dare do what?” Hastur snapped. “I’m trying to eat!” 

 “Don’t pour the milk in before the cereal!” Beelzebub seethed, grabbing the milk out of his hands. “God, you are so daft.”

 “Hey guys, can you keep it down?” Someone moaned from the couch. “It was a long night last night.”

 Hastur looked out from over the counter. “Why is Gabriel on my couch and not in the spare bedroom?”

 Beelzebub shrugged, and then paused for a moment. “Oh, yeah, about that. We had sex and didn’t really feel like cleaning up. So.” She took another spoonful, oblivious to Hastur’s disgusted expression.

 “You guys did what?” Uriel called, walking out to join them. 

 “I’m never inviting either of you into my house. Ever. Again.” Hastur said, snatching the milk away from Beelzebub. 

 “I thought you’d be proud that we eloped..again,” Beelzebub whined. 

 “Again?” Uriel asked, dumbfounded. “Wait - when did you two get together the first time?” 

 “It was a long time ago,” Gabriel called from the couch, sinking his head into a pillow. He hadn’t expected the headache that would come from drinking so much. “A long, long time ago.”

 “What, like 1490?” Uriel asked, amused.

 “No, like, in the beginning.” Beelzebub replied, satisfied with herself. “It was a long time coming, too-”

 “You guys got together that long ago? What the bloody hell happened?” Uriel raised an eyebrow - she was definitely interested in this now. 

 “We didn’t want to get caught,” Gabriel said miserably, sitting up. His hair was incredibly messy and to Hastur's disgust, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. “It’s a complicated thing, you know.”

 “Damn, I never knew,” Uriel hummed. “When did you guys get back together?” 

 Beelzebub and Gabriel both shrugged. 

 “Off and on. Wasn’t really serious again till Micheal forced us to be together.” Gabriel humming as he stretched. 

 “That’s..nice?” Uriel tried, wincing at the thought. “You guys are good now, though, right?” 

 Beelzebub shrugged again. “Only time will tell.” Gabriel nodded weakly. “Yeah. We’re going to go get a shower.”

 Hastur groaned again. “Together? Do you have to?”

 They both stared at each other and then back at Hastur. 

 “Uh...yeah,” Beelzebub said, rolling her eyes. “We’ll be our in a minute.”

 Uriel and Hastur were left alone, and neither of them complained. In fact, it was rather nice. 

*1520s, that is. 

 *Somewhere in the South Downs*

 When Esme woke up, she was incredibly groggy. She’d had a great time celebrating her birthday, but it had been a really long one. She stumbled out of bed and tried to extend her wings, but couldn’t.

 “Papa?” She called. She hated when Papa had to help her with this - it made her feel like a little girl. And technically, she still was one.

 Esme turned to fold her blanket over but cringed when she saw blood on the sheets. 

 I was only resting for a minute yesterday and it stained it already…

 Unless…

 Horrified, Esme took a step back, bumping into a lamp. “Papa? Get in here!”

 “I’m coming dearest, I’m coming,” Aziraphale shouted and ran into her room, panting. “Are you alright?”

 “No, I’m not,” she sobbed, pointing at the bed. “Look.” 

 Aziraphale examined the blood and sucked in a shaky breath.

 “There must be a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

 “I can’t get my wings out,” she whispered.

 “Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted. “Get in here, quick!”

 “Look, darling - did you try to conjure anything up last night?”

 Esme shook her head. “No,” she said feebly, toying with her messy curls. “I didn’t.”

 Crowley staggered into the room, most definitely hung over. In a snap, his headache was gone. 

 “What isss it?” He hissed, his eyes adjusting to the light. 

 “Esme, tell your father what you just told me.”

 “I can’t my wings out, Dad, a-and the sheets,” she gasped out, continuing to point. Crowley looked her over and then the bed. 

 “Just go to the bathroom and check, love. It’ll be alright.”

 Esme nodded weakly and walked out of the room. 

 Aziraphale and Crowley waited in silence. 

 “Esme, dear, are you alright?” Aziraphale asked nervously. 

 The silence continued. 

 “Esme?”

 There was nothing, and then the shrill sound of a girl screaming. 

-

 Collectively, they had no idea how to explain it. Privately, they had their own ideas, but even those wouldn’t explain it. Nothing would.

 “I’ll never fly again,” Esme whispered. “I’ll have to make tea like a normal person, and put my clothes on like a normal person, and do everything...normally.”

 Crowley let her curl up into his chest. She sobbed for a few minutes, pulled herself together, and then started again when Aziraphale miracled a blanket for her. 

 “Why did I have to go and refuse being...whatever I was. Second coming,” Esme cried, rubbing at her eyes. “God hates me - she really has to now!”

 Aziraphale shook his head. “God doesn’t hate anybody. Not even bad angels like Micheal.”

 “And, to be fair, love - even we didn’t see that one coming. You were just being yourself - you are yourself, even now, more than ever. If that makes any sense.” Crowley offered. It didn’t seem to come out right, though, because Esme only ducked her head deeper into the crook of his neck. 

 “Yeah, but I had powers and now I don’t.”

 Aziraphale thought for a moment.  “But Adam-” 

 “Adam still has power,” Esme cut in sharply. “I have nothing. Don’t compare me to him when he can still get signals and all that and I don’t have anything.”

 Crowley ruffled her hair. “Look at it this way, love. You have the opportunity to have a normal life. Normal - you can make friends now and a family - just like anyone else.”

 “I guess that’s true.”

 “We’ll always be here, for you dear - yo-you can..” Aziraphale trailed off, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. “I’m sorry, Esme. This is rather hard, for all of us.”

 The color suddenly drained from Esme’s cheeks. She shot up from the sofa, a terrified, horrified expression on her face.

 “Oh my god - I-I’ll die before you two. You’ll have to go on living without me.” 

 Aziraphale clutched Crowley’s hand, the both of them nodding silently. 

 “Is this the consequence She meant?” Esme asked, pacing the living room floor.

 Crowley and Aziraphale looked at each other and then back at Esme.

 “I suppose it is,” Aziraphale said miserably. “A horrid one indeed.”

 “There has to be something you guys can do,” Esme said quickly, brightening. “Please. Please, Papa, Dad? For me?”

 Crowley sighed as he shook his head. “M’afraid not, Esme. We’re only an angel and a demon - we can’t restore any power to you. It’s not possible.”

 Esme lowered her head. “I’m going to bed. Again. I feel tired.”

 “Tired?” Aziraphale squeaked. “You..actually feel tired now?” 

 Esme shook as she laughed, tears trickling down her cheeks until they reached the carpet. “Yep.”

 Aziraphale and Crowley stared blankly as Esme trudged up the stairs, back to her room.

 “I gather she’ll have to take your word for it on the whole sleeping thing now, huh?” Crowley asked, poking the angels shoulder.

 But Aziraphale wasn’t in the mood. 

 “I’m sorry, angel. I never meant for this to happen. To you, to her, to anybody.”

 “You didn’t do anything wrong, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, sighing. “In fact, it’s rather the opposite. You brought a lovely child into our home and I’ve grown so attached to her that I can barely think of losing her.” He stood up and turned back around to face Crowley, his eyes strained and red. His face had grown increasingly pale and his curls were matted to his forehead.

 In a matter of seconds, Crowley realized how pained he looked - this had an effect on everyone, no matter who did what. It didn’t matter that Crowley had brought home Esme. It mattered that Esme was now going to live, age, and die. 

 And both Aziraphale and Crowley would have to witness it.

 “Angel, we’ll never have to leave her. We can watch her until it happens, and we can savor every moment - it’ll be perfect, and-”

 Aziraphale bent his head. “No, that wouldn’t be fair.”

 “What do you mean, it wouldn’t be fair? We’d take care of her at every turn, be together until the end - doesn’t that sound great?”

 “It wouldn’t be fair to Esme, dearest,” Aziraphale whispered mildly. “She will eventually want to leave. Start her own journey - experience the world. I should think you know what that’s like better than either of us.”

 Crowley paused to think for a moment until it finally made sense. 

 “I just don’t want to let her go either, angel.”

 “I know, dearest.”

 Crowley shifted into serpent form and curled up next to the angel; it wasn’t long before Esme finally lumbered back in and did the same.  

Chapter Text

*Two (ish) Years Later*

Bristol, England

 “So, counseling. How’s that working out for you?” Hastur asked smoothly.

 Both Beelzebub and Gabriel shot him a look. “I’ll have you know, demon, that it’s for the betterment of our relationship.” Gabriel replied petulantly. 

 “Yeah, after the advice you two gave us.” Beelzebub muttered, stabbing at her steak. 

 “To be fair, you guys are rather...aggressive. I don’t know how you manage,” Uriel said simply, taking a sip from her wine glass. “At this point, you may as well be friends with benefits.”

 Gabriel wrinkled his nose. “And what exactly is that?” 

 Beelzebub snorted. “You wouldn’t like it. All sex and none of the stuff you like.”

 Gabriel winced. “Then I wouldn’t like it.”

 “See?” Beelzebub said proudly. “I do know my boyfriend well.”

 “Whatever,” Hastur grumbled. “At least we’re aren’t dead.”

 “There is that,” Uriel smiled. “And I suppose without the little brat we wouldn’t be sitting here today.”

 “I say let’s propose a toast,” Beelzebub lifted up her empty glass. “To Esme.”  

 Uriel and Hastur did the same. Gabriel nodded, and, realizing he didn’t have one, miracled it up himself. 

 “To Esme.” 

 Gabriel set his glass down and paused for a moment, and then glanced at Uriel. 

 “Should we be celebrating a child that refused God?”

 “We’ve been over this. Technically, she didn’t refuse God - she just refused being herself.” Uriel sighed. “I still don’t understand her, or why she did it. I suppose it was the right thing, really, because if she hadn’t done all that we still might be fighting. Who knows?” She took a sip from her glass and smiled. “Plus, a world without beverage would be rather sad.”

 “We could always miracle it up,” Gabriel thought aloud, stroking his chin.

 “Dunt you call ‘em frivolous miracles?” Hastur asked. 

 “Yeah, Gabe, what’s up with that?” Beelzebub continued jabbing at her steak. Her mouth was watering - she’d been craving it for ages. For some reason, though, she wanted it topped with mustard. She’d have to look into that. Was that normal? 

 “There’s nothing up with it,” Gabriel growled. “I was just telling Uriel that using her power is always an option.”

 “Don’t raise your tone!” Beelzebub snapped, and began rubbing her forehead. “Please be quieter when you yell at me.” 

 Hastur  groaned, and looked to his friend, who was busy watching the scene with hapless amusement. “They’re fighting again.”

 “What an astute observation,” Uriel hummed, drained her glass, and got up. 

 “Hey, where are you going?” Hastur shot up from his chair, almost knocking it over. 

 “To get another drink?” Uriel rolled her eyes. “I’m not a baby. I don’t need you getting it for me, waiting ‘round at my beck and call. I’m a big girl, Hastur.”

 She pushed her chair in and took a seat, trying to ignore the increasingly loud insults flying back and forth at their table. 

 Hastur, a bit discouraged, slumped down in his seat. “Figures,” he muttered. 

 Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a dark-haired man approaching Uriel. Though his back was turned, Hastur could tell he wasn’t demonic. Demons weren’t always the sharpest knives in the drawer, but they were often clever little bastards.

 And from what Hastur could tell, this wasn’t so clever; his movements gave himself away immediately. 

 “Hey, wanker, sod off, you hear me?”

 The man spun around on his heel. “What did you say?” 

 Hastur straightened himself up and edged nearer to him. 

 “I said, sod off.” Hastur grabbed the wine glass, thankfully untouched, and smashed it over the mans’ head.

 “You utter tosser,” the man grunted, rolling over on his side. Hastur turned around to see Beelzebub and Gabriel still arguing and then back around to face Uriel, who only stared back in horror.

 She looked to the bartender and then grabbed his arm. “Come on,” she muttered. “Let’s get out of here.” 

 They ran out of the bar and stopped to catch their breath. The moonlight bounced along the skyline, the stars just right…

 But something else wasn’t. Maybe it was the atmosphere, or the fact that it was bad timing, but something kept them from leaping into each other’s arms or holding each other in a sweet embrace. 

 Something there kept them three feet apart, and it would continue to do so until either of them made the next move. 

 “Thank you,” Uriel breathed, flashing him a small smile. “I didn’t even see that guy.”

 “I just didn’t wanna see you get hurt,” Hastur mumbled, kicking a rock. “That’s all.”

 “Thank you,” she said again, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I mean it. Really. I could have gotten discorporated if I’d actually taken a sip.” 

 Hastur turned bright red.

 “Welcome.”

 “A-are you hungry?” Uriel asked, staring at their feet. 

 “A bit. I mean, sometimes I am, but s’not like I have to-”

 “Want to go get something with me?” 

 Hastur grinned. 

 “I’d like that.” 

*Somewhere in Tadfield* 

 “So, Marjorie, I hear you’re in the counseling business now?”  Deidre Young asked, stirring her cup of tea. 

 Marjorie set her cup down and nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Offering counseling and relationship advice - for the divorcées, you know.”

 Arthur spoke as he waved his fork around. “Is that a tough business?”

 “It can be,” Marjorie said blankly. She’d never met a more boring man than Arthur Young. He always had that fatherly quality to him, and even now that Adam has moved out, he’d still kept it. “But some of my clients keep me on my toes.”

 “Mum, we’re going out to get dessert,” Adam called. “We’ll be back soon!”

 “Don’t stay out late, Adam!” Deirdre yelled from her chair. “I don’t care if you’re almost twenty-eight, don’t give me that face young man.”

 Adam rolled his eyes and walked out, Warlock in tow. 

 “You too, Warlock,” Arthur said proudly. “Thank you boys.”

 They continued to wave goodbye from the window and then hopped in Warlocks car. 

 Marjorie stood up, motioning to their now empty plates. “Let me get these, dears.”

 “Oh, Marjorie, you’re our guest, let me.”

 Marjorie shook her head and collected them. “I need to put myself to good use. I’m 75 now, no use in staying idle.”

 “That’s a good way to look at it!” Arthur said. “Good on you, Marjorie!”

 She smiled and, balancing the plates on her hip, slowly walked into the kitchen. Humming, she cleaned them off and set them down in the sink, careful not to break them. 

 She would have started scrubbing them if a photo on the fridge hadn’t caught her eye. She plucked it off and studied it, tracing each and every grain and line. 

 “Something wrong, Marjorie?” Deirdre inquired, walking into the kitchen. She saw her standing there, photo in hand, and hurried over. 

 “No, love, just thinking.”

 “I know it’s incredibly painful, dear-”

 “Well, yes,” Marjorie began, looking at a much-younger Shadwell embracing a much-younger her. “I do miss him. Terribly. That’s why I’ve gone back into work, helping out women in need of coaching. It’s not as though I’ve gotten over it, either, but I’m moving on now. I have my memories of him - lots of them. And memories last a while.”

 “Don’t they last forever?” Deirdre asked weakly. 

 Marjorie smiled. “You never know, love. I could lose them.”

 In an instant, Deirdre understood what she meant. “Oh, Marjorie, you can’t really be thinking of things like that now - things are looking up, I can tell.”

 Marjorie nodded. “Thank you, dear.”

 The door suddenly flung open, Adam and Warlock carrying large bags of ice creams and cakes.

 “We’re home, just as we promised.” Adam pecked his mother on the cheek. 

 “Thank you, Adam.” Deirdre said, rolling her eyes. “Arthur, they’re back!”

 Warlock poked Marjorie's shoulder. 

 “Are you staying for dessert, Marjorie?”

 She glanced around the room and took note of all the happy, cheerful faces. 

 “Sure,” she said, patting his shoulder. “Now, what kind of ice cream did you get?”

 Warlock grinned.

 “All the flavors you can think of!” 

Chapter Text

*Rottingdean, Brighton*

 Rottingdean was only a twenty minute drive for the Bentley. For others, it would have taken at least 40 (if you lived in the South Downs) but Crowley and Aziraphale were not like others.

 They really weren’t like anyone. 

 When Aziraphale had been packing up a basket for the trip, he had asked Esme if she was coming along too. Unfortunately, she’d refused, citing that she’d really rather not, and that she wanted to go hang out with some friends.

Aziraphale clutched the sides of the car as Crowley swerved, avoiding a goat that had wandered onto the road. 

 “Ah, Crowley, dearest?”

 “Mhm?”

 “Has Esme been acting... strange lately?” 

 “She’s almost fifteen, angel. Most teenagers are strange. Lots of...bodily things going on.” Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

 “She loves going to the beach but today she was quite adamant that she didn’t want to go. I don’t understand it, Crowley - why wouldn’t she?”

 “Angel, she probably just wants to hang out. Did she tell you that? That she wanted to hang out with her friends?”

 “Well... yes .” 

 “See?” Crowley flashed him a comforting smile, his hair flying in the breeze. Aziraphale bit his lip and looked out the window.

  Oh, Crowley... Aziraphale tried to cool his face from the evening winds but it wasn’t working. His cheeks had grown flushed and hot and he was damned if Crowley was going to see them. 

 “You alright, ‘Ziraphale?” 

 “Yes, Crowley,” Aziraphale mumbled. He just wished they could talk about how they felt, for once. He hated feeling this way, hated wanting Crowley so horribly but only getting little kisses on the cheek in return. 

 He hated knowing Crowley might never feel exactly the same. 

 The Bentley pulled onto the cliffs. Crowley stepped out first, eager to bask in the sunlight before it left.

 “Maybe we should have come earlier,” Aziraphale murmured, folding his hands together. “It’s going to be dark soon, and you hate the cold..”

 Crowley pulled a thick tartan blanket out of the back. “I know, angel. That’s why I came prepared.”

 “Yes, but you’re a snake , Crowley, you’ll practically freeze!”

 Crowley pulled a hair tie off his wrist and put his hair up. Aziraphale restrained himself from reaching out to touch it, to…

 “I don’t care, Aziraphale. Right now, that doesn’t matter. I’ve got you, haven’t I?”

 Aziraphale nodded weakly. “I just don’t want you getting uncomfortable.”

 Crowley smirked. “I may be cold-blooded, but you always warm me up easily.” Crowley blushed and shook his head. “T-that came out wrong,” he said quickly. “Forget I said anything.”

 Aziraphale smiled. “It’s alright, dearest.”

 Crowley offered his hand. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk, shall we?” Aziraphale accepted it gratefully. 

 “Of course.”

 They walked down, hand in hand. The sun had just begun to set. Aziraphale thought about something as Crowley laid out the blanket.

 “Crowley?”

 “Hm?”

 “I thought you once said you didn’t like the beach,” Aziraphale said, giving the demon a wry smile. “I’ve always liked it, much more than you...are you sure you want to be here right now?” 

 Crowley stood up nervously. “What do you mean? I’ve always liked it. Favorite place in the whole world.” He bit his lip. He looked more vulnerable than ever. 

 Aziraphale only raised an eyebrow. “It’s not your favorite place, Crowley - you only enjoy going when Esme and I are around because we enjoy it so much. I’m just trying to take your feelings into consideration, dearest.” 

 Crowley looked down at his feet. “Sand gets everywhere…”

 Aziraphale chuckled. “That it does.”

 “Bugger to wash out…”

 Aziraphale didn’t wait for Crowley. He couldn’t. Instead, he only lifted his chin up to look into his eyes. 

 Aziraphale could feel his heart beating - he was sure they’d never been this close. 

 “Is there something you want to tell me, Crowley?”

 “Ngk..er..mph…” Crowley started, trying to find the right words. “Oh blast it, Aziraphale. I’ve tried to do this for ages and it seemed so perfect but now I’ve gone and mucked things up.”

 “Crowley, you haven’t mucked anything up - you’ve made it worthwhile, just as you always do.”

 “I just wanted it to be the best - perfect for you, angel,” Crowley whispered. “Alone, right here, on the beach.”

 Aziraphale grasped his hands, intertwining their fingers together like embroidery. 

 “It already is perfect, Crowley. You’re here with me after all.”

 “I guess so. But there aren’t any books, or wine or flowers.”

 “And there doesn’t have to be, Crowley. I never asked for any of that nonsense - I just asked that you be with me.”

 Crowley pulled his hand away to rub at his eyes. “Shut up, you’re gonna make me cry.”

 Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “It won’t be the first time.”

 Crowley suddenly jumped out of Aziraphale’s grip and looked around them in horror.

 “I haven’t even asked you yet, have I?”

 “Er...no?”

 “Oh, bollocksss!” Crowley hissed. “I can’t even propose right!” 

 “Shh, Crowley, it’s alright, dearest.” Aziraphale coaxed, rubbing Crowley’s shoulder. “I love you all the same.”

 “I still want to do it right.”

 “Oh, all right,” Aziraphale said, amused, and stood up. “Go ahead.”

 “Oh - oh . D’you mean now ?” 

 “Yes!” Aziraphale pouted. “We’ve waited far too long, I’m surprised you haven’t yet.” Embarrassed, he clamped his mouth shut. “Sorry.” 

 “You’ve been waiting?” Crowley asked, twitching. 

 “I’ve dreamt about us for a long time, Crowley.”

 “I didn’t know.”

 “For a while, neither did I,” Aziraphale quipped. “I suppose I often acted otherwise, though.” 

 They both laughed for a little while before Crowley got down on both knees, and, upon realizing his error, mumbled a quick apology before fixing himself. 

 “I’ve never done this before,” he whispered anxiously. “What do I say?”

 Aziraphale paused. “Isn’t it ‘Will you take my hand in yours’?”

 “No, that’s what that one girl said to me in ‘39.”

 “1639?”

 “1839.” 

 “I don’t remember that .” 

 “Most people don’t,” Crowley said, grinning. “She moved on pretty quick.”

 “I’m terribly sorry, Crowley.”

 “S’alright, angel. I always loved you. More than anybody else.”

 Aziraphale laid a hand on his heart. “Oh, Crowley, that is so sweet, I do!”

 “I haven’t proposed yet, angel.”

 Aziraphale blushed. “I’m sorry, do go on.”

 “Uh...so...wanna get married?” Crowley asked, his voice cracking. 

 Aziraphale bit back a sob and nodded. “Yes. Of course, Crowley.”

 Crowley, who was beginning to cry himself, miracled* up a box. It wasn’t new. He’d had it for some time - the ring wasn’t new either, but it made the occasion all the more special. And, after all, Aziraphale was never one to complain about something old fashioned. 

 “I’ve been saving it for you for some time,” Crowley said as he gently opened the box. He stood up and cracked it open. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like it or not.”

 “It’s gorgeous,” Aziraphale whispered as Crowley shakily slid the ring onto his finger. “Crowley, where did you get this?”

 “Italy,” he said softly, shuffling his feet in the sand. He suddenly felt awkward. “I had it made for you, in a little shop by the sea.”

 Aziraphale felt his neck heat up and his face blush; he lifted his hand up to see the ring in the moonlight, but something caught his eye. 

 Slowly, he slid the ring off and studied it for a moment, and then put it back on.

 “Is there something wrong with it?” Crowley asked tentatively. 

 “No, dearest - quite the opposite. It’s rather lovely, especially the engraving - Amorem acuit absentia,eum praesentia confirmat ,”

 Crowley grinned happily. He cupped the angels head, and, just as a snake would, wrapped himself around the angel in a tight embrace.

 “ O ego quam videor felix, immobile pectus Pectoris immoti semper amantis amans ,” Crowley whispered into Aziraphale’s ear, and pecked the angels cheek.

 Aziraphale blushed. “ Etiam compotator verum , Crowley.” 

 As the moon shone, they kissed again, this time on the lips, and then walked back to the Bentley, hand in hand. 

*The miracles thing has always confused me - demons aren’t angels, so how do they perform miracles? I suppose the miracles themselves are demonic when used by a demon, but angelic in nature, because after all - angels and demons are of the same stock...

Chapter Text

It was late when the Bentley pulled into their driveway. Aziraphale, ready to get out, was stopped when Crowley was suddenly in front of him, holding out his hand. 

 “C’mon, Esme’s got to be wondering where we are,” he said happily. 

 Aziraphale accepted it, but then looked at the house nervously. Thankfully, it hadn’t burned to the ground. 

 “I do hope she found something to eat, I do so worry about her..” 

 “I’m pretty sure she’s eaten, angel. She has the appetite of..of..” Crowley trailed off, trying to think of an animal with a large appetite.

 “A bear?”

 “Yeah, that.” Crowley stopped and then glanced at Aziraphale. “Aren’t I supposed to carry you?”

 “Like a bride? Crowley, we haven’t actually gotten married yet.”

 “Yeah, but we could be,” Crowley said devilishly, a marriage contract in hand. “Done and done, if you’d want.”

 Aziraphale thought for a moment. “We wouldn’t have the ceremony, though.”

 “No cake.”

 “No cake…”

 “Do you want a ceremony?”

 “Do you want a ceremony?” 

 “Angel…” Crowley groaned. “Maybe we should think this through. Do we need a planner?”

 “I suppose, we don’t know the first thing about weddings.”

 “Ugh...that sounds like paperwork.”

 “I know,” Aziraphale pouted. “Well, I gather it’s time to tell her, then?”

 Crowley nodded, but there was a sort of pleading look in his eyes, like a child that didn’t get what they wanted for Christmas.

 “Please?”

 Aziraphale laughed. “Why don’t I carry you, dearest?”

 “ Me ? I’m not the sort to be carried, angel.” 

 “You can always carry me after the ceremony ,” Aziraphale said, a twinkle in his eyes. Stunned, Crowley nodded and hopped into the angels arms. “Better?” Aziraphale asked. 

 “I didn’t know you were so strong..” Crowley murmured. He suddenly turned red, much to Aziraphale’s amusement. 

 “You’d be surprised, dear.” He kicked open the door and walked in, still bridal-carrying Crowley. 

 “Holy shit - did you just kick open the door, Papa?” Esme asked from her spot on the couch. She threw her book down and turned on her heel to face her fathers. Noticing the excitement on their faces, she folded her hands. “Well?”

 “Indeed he did,” Crowley said, kissing the angels cheek as he slipped out of the angels grip. “You want to tell her, or should I?”

 Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand and showed Esme their wedding bands. “We’re getting married, dear! Aren’t you just so happy?”

 He waited, but Esme only shrugged. “I know.”

 “You know ?” Aziraphale dropped Crowley’s hand. “H-how?”

 “I’ve known for ages. You guys aren’t very clever. I mean, it was pretty easy to figure out - I saw the box when I was in the study cleaning. And boy, it’s been a long time coming. So,” she gestured to the pair. “Do I need to leave the house for a few days?”

 “Uhh... what ?” Crowley asked, scrunching up his nose. “Leave? Why’d you wanna do a thing like that?”

 “Because... you know ..” When neither the angel or the demon seemed to know, she groaned. “You guys want to be alone…”

 Aziraphale winced. “I do hope you are not referring to what I think you are implying, darling.”

 “Wait, is she talking about us..” Crowley looked to Aziraphale and made a slight gesture. “ Shagging ?”

 “Of course I am!” Esme said, rolling her eyes. “I mean, I’ve already heard you once, so if you don’t want me to go I’m sure I can stand to stay and hear it again.” 

 Aziraphale furrowed his brow. “Whatever do you mean by that , Esme?” 

 “So..I’m guessing you guys weren’t doing it?”

 “No!” They yelled at the same time. 

 The color from Esme’s face suddenly drained, but quickly returned when she began to laugh, almost falling over on the floor.

 “I heard groaning one night and I thought you guys were going at it,” Esme said in between short bursts of laughter. “Oh..bugger, I’m sorry Papa!”

 Crowley began to laugh too. “Groaning? Oh please, Esme.”

 Aziraphale tutted as he shook his head. “I’ll have you know that we have wings , Esme. Wings that often need grooming.”

 Esme wrinkled her nose. “So...it’s like foreplay?”

 Crowley began laughing harder.

 “No, it is not like - where are you learning these kinds of words?”

 “I read.”

 “Jokes on you, angel!” Crowley said, who had turned bright red. “No point in trying to protect her from the evils of the world, they’re all inside those blasted books!”

 Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “As long as she’s learning.”

 Crowley stopped laughing for a moment. “What, that’s it?”

 “Whatever do you mean?”

 “Our daughter knows about...this stuff and you’re just letting it slide?”

 “I’m not letting it slide, she learned it by reading.”

 “And what book was that?” Crowley asked, half-amused, half-mortified.

 “The one you keep in your desk drawer, Dad,” Esme said, grinning wolfishly. “You know, the one about how to impress your boyfr-”

 “Oh, that’s enough, and oh would you look at that there are stars outside! Come on, Esme, I’ll show you which ones I made.”

 Esme and Aziraphale only shared a knowing look before continuing to giggle. 

 “I’ll come too, dearest.” Aziraphale called. 

 A family of three rolled out a long, soft blanket and curled up together, listening to the soft hum from the crickets and the low whistling from the trees. Up above, somewhere not exactly in the sky, a heavenly woman watched over them, smiling. 

 To the couple and their daughter down below, she only said a few words:

Amor Vincit Omnia

End