Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I bet it’s wicked!” Adam mused, staring up at the ceiling.

“Well, yeah.” Warlock conceded.  “I mean, obviously.  Demon.”

“No… Like, properly horrifying!”  Adam rolled closer to grimace at the other boy in the semi-darkness.  He waggled creepy fingers in Warlock’s face.  “I mean claws.  Drool.  I’m talking the whole bit.  Would probably turn you to stone just to look at him!”

“You’re thinking of Medusa.” Warlock corrected.

“Well.  Exactly my point!  Creepy snake lady, right?  Sound like anybody we know?  Like when Crowley was your nanny-“

Warlock sat up, suddenly.  “You shut up about my Nanny!”

“But you said-“

“Seriously, Adam.  I mean it!”  Warlock’s usually bored, mild expression was replaced with something else.  Something formidable.  Until that moment, Adam had trusted that he was stronger, scrappier and generally more Adversary, Destroyer of Kings than this pampered, rich, American kid.  Now, he wasn’t so sure. 

“Fine.  I take it back!”  Adam wasn’t certain what he was taking back, so he elected to remain vague on the particulars.

“Just… Don’t mouth off about my Nanny.”  Warlock summarized with one last warning flash of his eyes.  Then, he laid back down. 

Adam also flopped back into the pillows with a sigh.  “He’s only my Godfather too, you know.”

“Since, like, last year!” Warlock’s tone made it clear how little weight that carried when one had been literally raised by a demon.

It was quiet enough, suddenly, to hear Aziraphale’s delighted laughter echoing up the stairs.  The sound was quickly shushed, and their Godfathers’ voices dropped again to a comforting murmur coming from the bookshop below.    

“You’re telling me that you aren’t the least bit curious?”  Adam asked, eventually.

Warlock was curious.  Of course, he was.  He was fascinated by everything, when it came to Crowley.  But even as Adam speculated about Crowley’s True Form, Warlock knew, somewhere deep down, that his Nanny’s real, actual True Form was a prim, cool, powerful lady with a secret little smile. 

If Adam was right, then it meant his Nanny had kept something else from him all these years.  He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.  “I don’t know.  All this time, I never saw any creepy-gross stuff.  She’s got class, you know?”

“Sure.  I agree with you!  But that doesn’t mean that she’s not also a he and,” Adam paused significantly, “maybe also an IT… With class, of course.”

“Maybe.”  Warlock seemed deep in thought.  “You know, I wanna be just like her.  Always have.”

Adam grinned, he liked it when he was presented with an opportunity to make someone feel better.  “You are, though!” He insisted, kindly. “Like two peas in a pod, you two!  Aziraphale even said it the other day when you guys walked in.  He said, ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’.  Heck, I’m the… You Know.” Adam waved a hand, vaguely.  “I’m supposed to be like the Whole Thing, and I don’t even have as much in common with Crowley as you do.”  He could feel Warlock brightening at that, which presented the perfect opportunity for Adam to revisit his original point.  “So… if he’s gonna tell anybody about his True Form, it’d be you.  Maybe he’ll even teach you his tricks, and then the two of you can go ‘round together, all glowing eyes and acid breath, scaring the shit out of bank robbers and stuff.”  Warlock laughed in spite of himself. “So, if you find out anything, you got to spill it.  Agreed?”

“Ok.  Agreed.”

“So, you’re in?”

Warlock sighed.  “I’m in.  Now, go to sleep, Antichrist.”

Adam kicked him under the covers.  “Go to sleep yourself, Decoy.”

How do you entice a demon to reveal his true, monstrous form? 

Adam had been thinking about it all night, and he announced the next morning that they would almost certainly have to anger him.  He suggested either scratching the Bentley or making fun of Aziraphale.  Warlock strongly objected to both tactics, saying that awakening The Beast would not be worth it if they both ended up dead.  The Bentley and the angel were worth more than either of their meager lives. 

Besides, they had the rest of spring break to work on it.  There would be time to try a variety of tactics. 

Over breakfast, they tried to start a conversation about werewolves.  Aziraphale had laughed and asked what kind of young-adult books they’d been reading.  “But,” Warlock had pressed, “Do you think there are any real actual people who can shapeshift?”   

Crowley ruffled his hair, “Getting bored with us occult and ethereal immortals, already, are you?”

“Ah, they’ve moved on to greener pastures.”  Aziraphale sighed regretfully, sipping his tea.  “Angels and demons are so passé, at this point, wouldn’t you say, dear?”

Crowley shrugged, popped a bagel out of the toaster and tossed half of it onto each boy’s plate. “Yesterday’s news, I’m afraid, angel.” 

Adam rolled his eyes, expressively.  He’d been pretty sure that you couldn’t just talk a demon into revealing the truth about himself.  Time for Phase Two.

Later that day, Crowley had been dozing in a patch of sunlight on the bookshop sofa.  Adam waited till his breathing slowed, before knocking a precarious pile of books to the floor, with a sudden and very loud crash.  The demon jumped, snapping his fingers even before he was fully awake, and the books were suddenly back on the counter.  Adam did a double take.  It was like they had never fallen.  

“Crowley!  What happened?” The angel’s voice echoed tensely, from the next room.

“Nothin, angel.  It’s all good.”  Crowley shouted back.  Then, with a tiny grin, Crowley said, “Careful, kid. I think there were some first editions in there.”  He winked.  “I got your back.”

Adam was chagrined when he had to explain that Phase Two had failed to prove anything except that Crowley was sympathetic to the plight of clumsy kids.  That didn’t surprise Warlock in the least.  He enjoyed recounting how Nanny had often protected him from his mom’s wrath, any time he had accidentally knocked over something stupid and expensive. 

They both concluded that Crowley was simply too cool to be startled into revealing his True Form. 

Aziraphale declared that the next day should be “educational”.  But because it was still spring break, they had offered to instruct the boys on any subject that interested them. 

Adam requested access to the super-top-secret-occult-manuscripts in Aziraphale’s private collection.  Aziraphale had nodded and immediately agreed to let him explore The Vault.  Adam was so stunned and elated that he missed Aziraphale’s sly smile. 

Crowley had shaken his head, saying, “Just don’t give him the texts that melt human eyeballs, ok, angel?”  

Warlock wasn’t interested in learning about anything in particular, but maybe there was a subject that would necessitate a whole bunch of quality time with his Nanny. He decided to go with, “I haven’t seen much of the City.” 

Then, Warlock had put his hand in Crowley’s.  The demon looked down at their joined fingers, stunned. 

“What a wonderful thought.” Aziraphale encouraged.  “Maybe a historical tour for young Warlock?  You do know more about London than anyone alive.”

“Yeah,” Adam agreed with a dramatic eye roll.  “Cuz he’s been alive longer than anybody alive.”

Crowley gathered his wits, looking up from their hands, to Aziraphale who was smiling warmly at the two of them.  “Sure,” Crowley managed.  “Um.  I can do that.  Lots of awful, grizzly history.  Sound fun to you, Hellspawn?”  Warlock nodded.  Being called Hellspawn again warmed him right down to his toes. 

Warlock was thrilled when, coming down the stairs the next morning, his Nanny greeted him in an elegant, high-waisted pantsuit and pearls.  The boy lit up at suddenly seeing Crowley in a more feminine aspect again.  Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile at Warlock’s obvious delight.  The angel had expected that perhaps physical form was important to a human child, and he had told Crowley as much.  

Crowley for her part, appeared more confident in a caretaking role, dressed like this.  Maybe it was the shoes, or the handbag which miraculously contained anything that they two of them would need for a day on the town.  She instructed her young charge to quit dawdling and put his shoes on, and Warlock jumped to comply. 

Aziraphale, stepped close, straightening Crowley’s jaunty little jacket and tucked a stray hair behind her ear.  Crowley reddened and then grumbled about being fussed over. 

“Where’s Adam?” Warlock asked, once he’d tied his shoes.  “I should say bye.”

“Oh, he’s busy in The Vault, looking at all kinds of things little boys aren’t supposed to see.”

Warlock frowned and arched an eyebrow at the angel.  “Brother Francis, do you even have a vault?  Cuz I think-“

“Sure, he does!” Nanny interjected.  “Full of eye-melters, right?”  Warlock gave them both a skeptical look, silently objecting to being talked down to.  Crowley seemed to give up and shrugged at Aziraphale, resigned.  “What can I say, angel?  We didn’t raise no fool!”

“Well…”  Aziraphale replied cautiously.  “I actually do have a vault… now.  Complete with chains and torches, in fact!  Because, well.  Oh, Adam was so looking forward to it!  And we really didn’t want him to be disappointed with a regular old bookshop.  Plus, the setting will hopefully inspire him to pay more attention to his studies.” He winked at Warlock, and the boy nodded sagely, pleased to be included in the deception.  “Right, then.  You two have a good day out.  Learn lots!”  Aziraphale gave Crowley a peck on the cheek.  “See you tonight… Miss Astoreth.”

The two not-very-demonic beings headed out, hand-in-hand. 

They made it to the Tower of London early in the day, before it became too crowded.  Crowley figured that the Crown Jewels were a good place to start: historical and touristy and, well, shiny.  They queued up and filed past the ridiculous opulence of the monarchy.  She was trying to think of something educational to offer up about the wealth of nations. 

“That one looks heavy enough to make someone fall flat on their face.  ‘M I right?” 

Warlock didn’t answer, he seemed deep in thought. 

“I once met the Prince Regent, you know.  I think he was wearing this.”  Crowley pointed to an emerald thing in a glass case.  “What an absolute prat! I convinced him to…”  She trailed off.  Whoever thought it was a good idea for Crowley to teach history?  

“I like your pearls.  Better than all this stuff.” Warlock said quietly.

Crowley’s eyebrow arched above her glasses. “Do you, now?”

The queue of people slowed down considerably as they reached the crown, so that everyone could take their turn oohing and ahhing over it. 

There it was.  “Yep.  That’s a crown, alright.  What do you think, Hellspawn?”

“I’ve actually been thinking, you’re lucky.”

“Really?”

Warlock sighed.  “You get to change your name.  Change your clothes.  Change your…” the boy seemed to be struggling to express himself.  “Your… you know… he, she…”

“Pronouns.” His nanny specified, patiently.

He turned his back on the exhibit and looked up at Crowley, and there was a vague accusation in his eyes.  “Whatever!  Change your form.  Any time you want.”

Crowley wasn’t sure where this was coming from, but if the kid needed to talk, that’s what they were going to do.  “Want to go somewhere else?”  she asked, and Warlock nodded.  “Um, are you sure don’t want to see the prison?  The gallows?  Places where humans did a lot of twisted shite, all for these jewels and stuff?”  Warlock only shook his head, and Crowley laid a hand on his shoulder.  “Alright, sweetheart.  Here, let’s get out of line.”

They left the tourist trap and made their way back to the Bentley.  They walked in silence.  Crowley knew how to be patient.  Finally, back in the car, she cast him a side-long look.  “Where to, next?” she asked, with studied nonchalance.

“Crowley?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Do I have to call you Crowley?”

“Oh.  Well, it’s like Aziraphale said.  We have lots of names.  You can call us whatever you like.”  After an awkward pause, the demon reached out and turned Warlock’s chin toward her.  “I actually rather like ‘Nanny’.  Coming from you, anyway.  If anybody else called me that, I’d probably punch ‘em.”  That elicited a tiny smile from the boy.  “I know that things are a little different now.  But, I’ll always be your Nanny.”

At that, Warlock launched himself over the gearshift and threw his arms around her, knocking her glasses askew.  Warlock was sniffling in that familiar embrace, and Crowley was certainly not doing the same. 

“I’ve missed you, Nanny!”  Warlock declared wetly.  “I don’t care what you look like, really.  As long as we can still, hang out … raise hell!”

Crowley made a shushing sound and smoothed a hand over Warlock’s hair.  “I’ve missed that too.  Nobody raises hell like you do!  But hey, I’ve been told I go to fast.  Is that it?  Do I change too fast for you?”

Warlock let go and pushed himself back far enough to study her face.  He frowned, looking deeply, sifting through the layers of overlapping personas, until Crowley was starting to get uncomfortable under the scrutiny.  “No.”  Warlock announced, finally.  “It’s cool, actually.”  Crowley released the breath she'd been holding, relieved that she’d somehow passed the test.   “Actually, I’d like to learn how you do it.”

“Do what?” Crowley seemed taken aback.  “What part?”

“The, uh…”  Warlock knew this was his chance.  He should take this golden opportunity to ask about shapeshifting into a ravening beast of Hell.  But instead he heard himself say, “The looking pretty part.”

And that’s how the “educational” day turned into a shopping spree in the teen girl’s section of Marks and Spencer’s, followed by two very expensive manicures, and a tutorial in eye makeup at Crowley’s favorite beauty salon. 

By evening, they were both feeling rather fabulous. 

Crowley was really digging having long black fingernails, again.   Warlock was rocking a bright orange skirt with black stripes angling across it, every which way.  He liked the way it was tight at the top and then fell in loose points to his ankles.  Nanny had called that a handkerchief hem.   He’d paired that with strappy sandals and a black t-shirt that just said “Nope”. 

There were a bunch of other clothes in embossed shopping bags in the back seat: a jean jacket with bling, skinny-jeans embroidered all over with vines, a pink tank top that read “Alpha Male” in cursive font, a pair of brightly-colored trainers, even a black mini-skirt which Nanny had insisted on buying him, even after he’d gotten inexplicably embarrassed trying it on.  “For later, then,” she’d said, as she’d thrown it in the basket with everything else.  There were also numerous accessories.  Nanny had explained that a simple hair band, scarf or bracelet could dress up even the drabbest boy clothes.

Before heading back to the bookshop, Crowley needed to swing by her flat and water the plants.  Warlock was excited to see Nanny’s home, even though she had thoughtfully added that the bookshop was pretty much home, anyway.  The two of them sauntered up to the lobby of the apartment building, swishing fabulously past the doorman and the security guard, pleasantly aware of their confused gazes.  As Crowley punched in the code at the elevator, proving that she was (somehow) the guy from the top-floor, Warlock turned back around and gave the two men a little wave.  The wave was, at once, shy and sweet and confident and felt a bit like the middle-finger.

“That’s my boy.” Crowley murmured as she ushered Warlock into the elevator. 

On the way up to the flat, Crowley began a treatise on proper plant care.  It was supposed to be an educational day, after all.  She explained that plants were inherently lazy.  That once you laid out what was expected of them, a lack of motivation would have to be punished.  The emphasis on discipline wasn’t at all what Warlock had learned from Brother Francis. 

“Yeah, well.  As much as I love him,” Nanny said easily, “that angel doesn’t know an albuca from an azalea, and he couldn’t control soil drainage if his life depended on it.  I try to tell him that failure cannot be tolerated...”

Warlock considered this as Nanny opened the door and threw her keys and handbag on a tiny table.  Warlock found himself unsettled by the dark hallway.  He watched her walk deeper into the flat, heels echoing in the chill austerity of the space.  She was still going on about “showing no mercy.”  As she disappeared into another room, Warlock lingered.  He was having another of those unsettling moments of cognitive dissonance that felt like double vision.  Crowley sounded so calm about the brutal rhetoric she was espousing.  The flat was kind of creepy.   

Her monologue continued for a moment, and then paused.  “Hey.  Where’d you go?”

Warlock moved his feet, because he certainly wasn’t afraid to follow a demon into a dark building.  Some part of him was quite sure that, in the next moment, he’d come face to face with the slavering beast that Adam had described.  But it was just his Nanny, elegant as ever, standing in a spacious kitchen. 

“There you are, little terror,” she said fondly and placed a juice box in his hands.  Warlock looked at the juice.  She had put the straw in for him.  The straws always used to give him trouble, but he’d been able to do his own juice box for years, now.  Still, he figured that his Nanny would always do things like that, as long as he didn’t do something stupid, like object.  He took a sip.

“Where was I?” she asked.

“Um.  Ruling with an iron fist, I think.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t have them failing to live up to their potential, now can we?”

Warlock nodded, realized that wasn’t the right response and then shook his head, vigorously.

“Falling-short is failure.  Failure is a betrayal, and betrayal is punished.”  She grabbed a plant mister from the counter.  “Ok.  You’re ready.  Let’s water the plants!”

In that moment, Warlock had a revelation about his Nanny.  She was, indeed, a shapeshifter.  She was many different things, and some of those things were… made-up.  Illusions.  The person who helped him with his math homework never made him feel like a failure.  This person had never once punished him for his mistakes.  Instead, she’d scooted his mom’s furniture to cover the chocolate stains.  And yet, here she was playing at being a dictator, a wicked witch.  It was all pretend! 

But for some reason, Nanny expected him to go along with it. Was that the game?  To look like something you really weren’t?  Warlock caught a brief glimpse of himself in the mirrored surface of the refrigerator.  He twitched his skirt and tried scowling menacingly, before following her into the next room. 

It was like walking into a small jungle.

“Wow!”  He couldn’t stop the small exclamation of appreciation.  “These are great-”.  Nanny spun around and pinned him with her gaze.  “… A great, big… disappointment!” Warlock amended.

Nanny seemed mollified.  “The ones in the big tera cotta pots want to have their leaves misted.  Take this and give them a squirt.  And be sure to tell me if any of them aren’t doing their best.”

Crowley took charge of the watering can because soil moisture was trickier.  The two of them began circling the room, working around each other.  Crowley muttered as she worked.  “That’s less growth than I’ve come to expect out of you.  Didn’t think I’d notice?”

Warlock decided to get into the spirit of it. “Not bad.” He said.  “But I’ve seen better, though… from weeds in the driveway!”

Crowley had to focus to keep the grin off her face.  Luckily, Aziraphale had provided her with eons of practice.  Keeping her head in the game, she continued, “You expect me to be impressed with a bud?”

“Proud of yourselves, are you?“ Warlock riffed off the theme. 

Crowley hummed speculatively at a zebra-striped leaf.  “I think we all remember what happened to your partner in crime.”

“I bet you don’t realize how lucky you are to be raised by this lady, here.”

Crowley did crack a tiny grin at that.  “Sure.  They don’t know how much worse it could be.  I’m afraid I’ve been too soft with them.”

“You’d think that you all could try a little harder… for her.”  Then, after a pause.  “Nanny?  Um.”

Crowley looked over her shoulder to where Warlock was pointing.  On the soil beneath a medium sized plant, three brown leaves had been shed.  Another leaf lay on the floor. 

“With all that I do for you?” She shook her head and looked away a moment, the knuckles of her hand pressed to her lips, as if overcome.  “And THIS is how you repay me?” she thundered.  “Give it here,” she said to Warlock, and he picked up the plant with both hands.  “It’s a shame.  This one had such potential.”

Warlock hugged the heavy pot against his stomach.  It had been fun for a little while, but now he balked.  “What… what are you going to do with it?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to make an example out of this one.”

“Like, you mean… kill it?”

“Nothing else for it.” She said with a chilling tone of regret in her voice.

He put the plant back down at his feet.  Warlock had come to a decision.  First, being mean to plants was one thing, but he didn’t want to be party to murder.  Second, he knew he was right about this, even though he also knew that it was really going to piss Nanny off, something fierce.

On the upside, this might be the break they’d been waiting for.  Adam had said that the True-Form-thing was only going to be solved if they could find a way to anger the demon.   

“You won’t.” Warlock announced.

Crowley looked shocked and maybe a bit impressed.  “What?”

“I said, you won’t.  It’s just pretend!  But it’s a shitty joke.” 

Crowley folded her arms and put a thumbnail between her teeth, contemplating the creature before her: the tasteful eyeliner that she’d overseen earlier that day, and the little fists clenched at his sides. “You object to my methods, Warlock?”

The boy swallowed.  “Yes,” he said, with more confidence than he felt.  “And, sort of, no.  Because I know you won’t.  You’re not as mean as you make out!  Everyone who knows you… I mean, like I do…  You may have your plants fooled, but… I know the real you.” And then, just so there would be no mistaking his meaning, Warlock went all the way: “You’re nice!”

There was barely time to register the twitch in Nanny’s cheek before she struck. Suddenly, she had him by the upper arms, and he was being lifted up, so they were nose-to-nose.  “Not nice!”  She hissed.  “You’re gonna wish you’d made a different choicsse there, boy!”

Warlock yelped as her sharp nails pressed into the back of his arms. She lifted him fractionally higher.  He stared down, wide-eyed into Nanny’s glasses as her teeth became strangely sharp.  It occurred to him then, that this might not have been the best idea he’d ever had.  

“That’sss it.  You wanted to tessst a demon?  Well, blame no one but yourssself!”

No, Warlock thought, he was definitely going to blame Adam for this.

With a tiny flicker of her tongue, Crowley hoisted Warlock and dropped him over her shoulder.  She hadn’t lifted him bodily since he was very little, and he’d mistakenly thought he’d grown too big for this kind of treatment.  But Nanny was clearly stronger than she looked.  He flopped unresisting, with his torso down her back.  She had both arms constricting his legs now, so that he couldn’t kick her.  But Warlock was no fool.  Well, in fact, he apparently was a fool, but he wasn’t planning to fight back.  He stared passively at her designer snake-skin belt, and let the blood drain to his head.

Crowley muttered to herself as she stalked from the room.  “And here I was thinking that all I would have to kill this evening was a disappointing plant.”

Silence descended in the atrium, a pregnant silence that the plants knew and dreaded.  When the demon left the room angry, it was only a matter of time.  Leaves trembled, waiting for the sound that would signal the passing of one of their brethren. 

But this time, the demon had taken a human boy instead.

The sound, when it came, was not the rumble-rattle of the Shredder, it was a human scream.  The scream was very high pitched, and it went on for some time, until it petered out in a strangled gurgle. 

The plants observed their usual moment of silence for the child who had given its life trying to intercede on their behalf. 

The demon returned, carrying a small black shirt and a kitchen knife.  Stone-faced, Crowley stabbed the knife into the word “Nope” pinning the shirt to the wall above the Tradescantia.  Then, she sighed, looking around at the plants.

“Now, look what you’ve made me do.”

Without another word, Crowley picked up the one which had been shedding its leaves and left.

And that was how Warlock ended up being driven back to Soho, chilled and shirtless, wearing only eyeliner and an orange skirt and hugging a very confused plant in a big terracotta pot. They drove in silence, both of them wondering how they were going to explain this to Aziraphale.

It turned out that the angel accepted their return, with nothing but a placid smile.  He would deal with Crowley, later.  It was Adam who demanded an explanation.

“What the heck happened?!” Adam asked, as soon as they were alone upstairs.

“Nothing much.” Warlock hedged, as he carefully folded up his new clothes and made room for them in his suitcase.

“You spent a whole day with Medusa herself, and you expect me to believe that?”  

Warlock cast Adam a speculative glance and shrugged. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Hey!  I understand plenty!  Spent all day reading occult manuscripts, didn’t I?”  Adam shoved his dirty clothes into the rucksack with the rest of his stuff. 

Warlock went to the old-fashioned washbasin and poured cold water out of the pitcher.  He shivered and began to wash off his makeup.  “Did you read anything good?”  He asked, trying to change the subject.

“It’s unbelievably creepy-cool down there.” Adam enthused.  “’Ziraphale let me look at whatever I wanted.  I found this one from the 1400s, or something.  The pictures were crazy!  “They’re called woodcuts.” He explained, knowledgeably.  “Those ancient artists; they were sick in the head!  They drew the devil every which way you can imagine.”

Warlock toweled at his face.  “Says the Antichrist, who won’t shut up about Crowley’s True Form.”

“Hey, I’m nowhere near as bad as those guys.  Absolutely obsessed with Satan’s knob!”

Both boys made faces of disgust, before visibly trying to shake this off.  Adam went on, “I did find a spell that grants you limitless wealth.  I think.  But it was in Latin.”

“Could you get him to translate it for you?”

On opposite sides of the room, they both got into their pajamas.  “Well… no… Just because I was curious about that, Aziraphale ended up giving me Latin lessons for the whole rest of the entire day!”  Adam seemed confused at how he could have been suckered into participating in this.

Warlock snickered.  “Classic!”

Adam dropped, dramatically onto the bed. “So, maybe I’ll be able to read the wealth spell, by the time I’m old.”

Warlock continued laughing as he buttoned his pajama shirt. “It’s a classic Brother Francis move!  He gets you interested enough to ask one question, just one question, and then bang!  You’re tricked into studying it… FOREVER!”

“Pretty sneaky, for an angel.”

“He used that on me all the time when I was a kid.  I’m still not sure how I ended up being my primary school’s foremost expert on opera.” 

Adam grunted, as Warlock carefully emptied his water bottle over his new plant.

“At least the occult books gave me some idea of what we can expect from our demon. Not just horns, but definitely talons, and maybe fins as well.  And certainly a huge-“

Warlock rounded on him with some of the demonic speed Crowley had used on him earlier.  “Shut the fuck up!”

Adam made an immediate 180° pivot. “… about your Nanny. Sorry. Got it!”  Adam did look a little sorry.  “But aren’t you gonna tell me what happened?  We’re partners, aren’t we?  What did Crowley DO?”

“She and I just needed to go back to her flat, for some… demon stuff.” 

Adam arched an eyebrow, “And a makeover?”

Warlock switched off the light.  “Well, that was before.  Demon training was after.”  He got into bed.

“Lucky!” Adam whined, jealous.

“Why?  You want a makeover, too?”  Warlock lit up.  He would have been pleased to enlist his friend in the game of “looking pretty”, but Adam shook his head, vigorously. 

“Nuh-uh!”  Then Adam realized that had come out kind of judgy, and he backpedaled.  “Um. Nah, I’m good.  But… cool for you.” 

Warlock couldn’t have expected more than that.  If he was lucky, maybe Adam didn’t find him too weird.  

“Now, what about the top-secret demon stuff?”

“Well,” Warlock stared into space.  “First, we got a mani-pedi-“  

“Aghhh, you know that’s not what I meant!  Did you SEE anything?”

Warlock chose his words carefully.  “Actually, I did.  Kinda.”  Then, pointedly, “I took a risk.  For you, Adam!”  He wanted credit for this, even if loyalty to the plan hadn’t been the only reason.  “I saw an opportunity to challenge her, and I took it.  Went right into the lion’s den and pissed her right off!”

“And?”

“Pretty sure she has a snake’s tongue.” Warlock whispered.  “It was forked!”

“I knew it!”  Adam shouted.

Warlock smacked him with the back of his hand.  “You want them to hear you?”  

“Fangs?”  He asked.

“Kinda.  Maybe.  Nothing definitive, yet.”

They lay in silence, thinking this over.  Adam contemplated the fact that his friend could have been eaten earlier that day, just to help with the investigation.  “You really took one for the team, Decoy.”

“Yeah.” Warlock agreed, and then rolled away.

That was when Adam got a niggling feeling that the situation called for a little more encouragement.  The Antichrist was nothing if not a supportive friend.  “Hey,” Adam said to his back.  “Those strappy new shoes are cool; like a gladiator.  And…”  He searched for something else nice to say, “I thought the eye makeup was pretty bad-ass.”

Warlock grinned in the darkness.  “Thanks, bro.”

“No.  That’s not how you do it!” Adam objected.

The boys were sitting side by side on the bookshop sofa, swinging their feet. Crowley prowled around, displaced as he was from his usual spot.

“Says, you.” Crowley quipped back, reaching for the liquor shelf.  He grabbed down a bottle and poured a splash of rum into his own waiting teacup.

“Well it is their idea, dear!” Aziraphale called out from the kitchenette.  “Don’t you think Adam and Warlock should get to tell us how it’s done?”

“That’s right!  The Slam isn’t going to work with alcohol.” Adam chided.

“Why not?” the demon demanded.  “Everything’s better with alcohol!”

“Darling!”  Aziraphale’s voice held a warning note. 

“What?” Crowley shouted back, being obtuse.

Warlock rolled his eyes. “He means, cuz we’re kids.  You know?  No alcohol.”  Then, he sighed and adjusted his bling-encrusted hairband.  “Sheesh, Nanny!  You’d think you never looked after kids before.”

“And it only works with tea.” Adam reiterated.

Crowley picked up the package of biscuits and examined it.  They were labeled in big, excited font: TimTams!  “These are chocolate, right?  Rum and Chocolate?  Is all I’m saying.”

Aziraphale had come to stand in the doorway, to make sure everyone was playing nice.  “Crowley, be a good sport.  Our lads want to share something with us, but you have to wait for the tea.”

“Ughhhh!  Hate waiting.” He tossed the biscuits back down on the table.  “Always have to wait for the water to boil.  Can’t just miracle it ready.  Not like you’re an angel or anything…”

“I guess, he’s really in a hurry to try it.” Warlock observed, barely stumbling over Crowley’s pronoun of the day. “Knows it’s gonna be awesome!”

“I’m not!” Crowley assured him.  “I don’t even like chocolate.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.” Aziraphale waggled his finger. “Mr. ‘Look-what-a-delicacy-I’ve-just-brought-back-from-the-Mayan-empire!” To Warlock, the angel whispered, “We’re both very excited.”

Crowley continued pacing and grousing.  “That was before they screwed it all up!  Cacao. Now, cacao, I liked.  Not this, over-processed, sickly-sweet stuff, rolls off the factory line in America-“

“But,” Adam interrupted, “these are from Australia.”

“How is that better?”

“Ah,” Aziraphale brightened, “the water!” And he disappeared back into the kitchenette.

He returned a few minutes later with a pot of tea in a floral cozy.  Warlock had distributed the TimTams; a chocolate rectangle now sat beside each of their teacups.  Aziraphale poured out while Crowley circled around behind the couch.  When he got to Crowley’s cup, Aziraphale hesitated, then he tossed back the shot of rum that Crowley had poured and then forgotten about.  He winked at the boys, and they giggled.

“Hey!” Crowley objected.

“Well, then, get over here an take a bloody interest, will you? You’re incorrigible!”  Aziraphale scolded, taking his comfy seat, and Warlock laughed again.  He always loved it when Brother Francis nagged at his Nanny.  It equalized things, put the world back into balance, somehow. 

Crowley came back and dropped to the floor beside Aziraphale’s chair.  Everyone’s tea and biscuit were sitting in front of them on the coffee table. 

Adam, being a natural leader (of armies of darkness), took charge of the instruction.  He showed everyone how to nibble the ends off their treat.  Not too much, just enough to break the chocolate seal on both ends.

Crowley eyed the TimTam skeptically.  “Tastes like a chocolate biscuit.”  He said, unimpressed.

“Which is always nice,” Aziraphale added, dusting a bit of crumbled wafer off his lapel. “No complaints, here.”

“Just wait!”  Warlock said with a degree of eagerness usually reserved for the unveiling of ancient works of art or sports cars.  He already had his TimTam prepared, hovering over his teacup. 

Adam insisted on inspecting everyone’s biscuit before they could proceed.  He instructed Aziraphale to take a bit more off one corner.  Warlock and Crowley both rolled their eyes in tandem.

“Come ON!” Warlock moaned, “The tea’s getting cold.”

“Oh, do forgive me.” Aziraphale took full responsibility for the hold-up.

“Ok.” Adam pronounced them ready.  “Here’s what you do...  You’re only gonna get one shot at this, men.” 

“Cheek.” Crowley muttered.  Warlock smirked.

Adam ignored this and continued.  “You’re gonna put one end of the TimTam in the tea.  You’re gonna put your lips around the other end and suck the tea up, like it’s a straw. When you feel the tea hit your lips… TimTam Slam!  You pop the whole thing in your mouth.  Don’t wait!  You wait too long, it’s all over.”  That sounded rather ominous.

“As soon as you taste the tea,” Warlock agreed, “That’s when you pound the whole cookie back.”

Crowley, it seemed, was in a better position, his face already nearer to his cup.  Aziraphale and the kids joined him on the floor, around the coffee table.  

“Everyone in position?”  Adam leaned over his teacup, readying his own TimTam.  “Ok. Slurp!”

At his command, the kids and immortal beings alike started sucking the tea up through their chocolate biscuits.  Aziraphale hummed to himself, fully focused on the challenge before him. 

“Mmph!” Warlock exclaimed and stuffed his into his mouth.  He was obviously quite skilled at this.

It was taking longer than expected, so Crowley managed to quickly mutter, “Think mine’s broken,” before going back to sucking furiously on his TimTam.  Aziraphale’s eyes cut over to Crowley, and he giggled with the biscuit still at his mouth. 

“Whoop!” Adam said, and devoured his.

Aziraphale suddenly stopped laughing at Crowley, when he realized that his was next.  It was now or never.  He popped it in, and through his chocolate-stuffed mouth, Aziraphale let out an oddly high-pitched and gleeful sound.

Crowley tasted success at nearly the same moment, so he flipped the biscuit around, noticing as he did, that the little rectangle had become soft in his hand.  Into his mouth it went, not a chocolate biscuit any longer, but a molten chocolate geyser!  Crowley’s eyes went wide as saucers as tea-warm chocolate gushed around his tongue.

Everyone was laughing.  The kids were laughing, lips and teeth coated with chocolate.  They were obviously watching closely, enjoying every little detail of their Godfathers’ reactions. Aziraphale’s  eyes were sparking, his shoulders shaking with amusement, but no sound came out.  He was hiding his decadent mouthful of chocolate behind a napkin and wiggling delightedly. 

Crowley couldn’t swallow.  He sat ramrod straight.  What was he supposed to do with this?  This wasn’t a biscuit.  It was barely even food.  It was unexpected.  It was goopy.  It was almost obscene.  It was way, way too sweet.

Aziraphale barely had time to register Crowley’s distress, before…  

THWINK! The demon disappeared.

PLOP! A tiny snake, dropped to the rug, and coiled up in a little ball.

“Oh dear!” said Aziraphale around the remnants of his chocolate goo. “Did that startle you?”  He leaned over and put out a hand to the tiny creature. 

Adam and Warlock gaped!  They’d done it! 

That was what had done it???

The angel scooped the snake up and held it gently, right before their eyes, while he muttered endearments at it. “You poor thing.  We should have thought of your blood sugar!  Though, I’m afraid, I had no idea what to expect, myself.  There now.  You’re safe.”

Adam found his voice.  “That’s IT!?!?” he shouted.

“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale spat back. 

“That’s… that’s… Evil’s True Form?” 

“Now, please don’t shout, lad.”  Aziraphale seemed less inclined to be patient with raised voices in this moment.  “As you may have noticed, Crowley’s not feeling well.  Calm down before you scare him senseless!”

“But he’s tiny!” Adam had lowered his voice, but he was still incredulous.  “Is he even… I mean- Is he at least poisonous?”

Warlock spoke up, at last.  “Is Nanny alright?” he asked in a small voice.

Aziraphale peered down at Crowley, assessing.  “I believe so.”  He stroked the little diamond-shaped head with the tip of his pinky finger.  “The Serpent of Eden, here, has just gotten overwhelmed, I think. Feeling chilled, and probably quite embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” Adam asked, thoroughly confused.

“Well, how would you like to shapeshift uncontrollably?” Aziraphale retorted.  Then seeing Adam’s face, “Actually, no.  Don’t answer that.”

“Nanny’s a snake.” Warlock stated, simply.  “She’s cold blooded, so she needs to be warmed up.”  He wrapped both hands around his teacup to get them warm.  “Also, she’s embarrassed because somebody here doesn’t think she’s demonic enough!”  He cast Adam the side-eye.  “But we all know that Nanny is positively terrifying.  Humans and plants cower in fear!  It’s just…. the chocolate was a bit much, huh?  But that’s ok.  We know brave she is, and how scary she is.”  He came around to the other side of the coffee table and held out his cupped hands. 

Aziraphale stared at the boy he had helped raise, and he felt his heart swell with pride. 

“She’s the best demon.” Warlock said softly, the request plain in his face. 

“That she is.” Aziraphale agreed, as he found himself getting suddenly misty eyed.  He’d trust the demon with the child, and vice versa.  He gently poured the snake into Warlock’s palms.

He boy peered down at the tiny serpent, appreciating its shiny black scales, the hints of other colors appearing and disappearing in their iridescence.  And there were Nanny’s eyes.  She had always kept her glasses on, but from time to time over the years, Warlock had caught a glimpse of her eyes.  It had been inevitable that he would notice the yellow at some point during his childhood.  He had wondered about it but had kept her secret, faithfully.    

They looked right into each other’s eyes, then, and really knew each other.

Warlock ran a finger down her back.  Crowley tickled his nose with a flickering tongue. 

The boy glanced up from the snake and gave the angel an appreciative little grin.  Brother Frances had let him touch many garden creatures, but he had never put one so precious into his care, before.  Warlock got up and walked slowly upstairs, whispering secrets into his cupped hands at his chest.

Aziraphale sighed after them, and then gave Adam an appraising look.

Adam frowned.  “I don’t get it.”

“Well, maybe it’s not for you to get.”

He didn’t seem at all pleased with that answer.  “What about you?” Adam pointed, at Aziraphale, contemplating.  “What crazy form are you hiding? Cuz it’s gotta be better than the itty-bitty-snake trick.”

“Not all mysteries are appropriate for children.”  Aziraphale said primly.  “Now, it’s just us for a while, I think.  Let’s work toward your limitless wealth, shall we?”  Adam rolled his eyes, but Aziraphale confirmed, “Latin.”

It was the best spring break Adam and Warlock could ever remember having (even if the Serpent of Eden had turned out to be much smaller than expected).  By the end of the week, they were solemnly promising to come to London and stay with their Godfathers every spring break, for the rest of their lives. 

“Hey, do we get any say in that?”  Crowley interrupted their conspiring.

“Ah, you love having us here!” Adam insisted, cheerfully.

Crowley scowled, muttering, “Troublemakers. Lay-abouts.  Always, plotting against poor unsuspecting demons.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale agreed.  “We do actually love having you both here.”

“Good.” Said Warlock.  “Cuz you’re not getting rid of us.  We’re family.”

“One really weird family.” Adam agreed.

“Just your usual, demon and angel.” Said Aziraphale.

“Plus, one Antichrist.” Said Warlock.

“And one Antichrist Decoy.” Said Adam, giving his friend a poke in his ribs.

They decided to head back to Tadfield early, so that Warlock could spend the afternoon at Adam’s house and meet Dog.  They gave the address to the Dowling’s driver, who would eventually take Warlock to the airbase and the Embassy’s private jet.

Arthur and Dierdre Young were grateful to the two strange men who’d taken care of their son for the week, and who had dropped him off safely at home, earlier than expected.  They had felt unaccountably reassured and appreciative about their son’s “educational” spring break in London.  Their week had been relaxing and romantic, and now they were quite happy to have Adam and his fabulously-dressed-little-friend home for tea-time. 

In front of the Young’s house, the boys said good-bye to Aziraphale and Crowley and promised to text frequently and see each other the following year.  After awkward, heartfelt hugs all around, an angel and a demon watched the boys bound toward the back garden with Dog at their heels.

Angel and demon leaned against the Bentley for a moment, thoughtful.

“Why a small snake?” Aziraphale asked.

“Huh?” Crowley was still gazing after the kids, where they’d disappeared behind the house.

“I just wondered: why a small snake?  When we both know that you’re-“

The demon interrupted, offended.  “Hey, I was upset!  Alright?  Too much sugar.”

“Of course.”

“And… well… Kids gotta learn.  You can’t always get what you want.”  Crowley allowed himself a little smirk.

“This from the demon who miracled the bookshop a whole temporary catacombs, just to entertain a kid.”

“Temporary?”  Crowley objected.  “I think you should keep it.  Spooky.  Not to mention sexy.”

Aziraphale laughed, “Anything for you, dear.”  Crowley obviously wanted to change the subject, and Aziraphale had half a mind to let him, but it wasn’t his nature.  “Warlock thought you were adorable!”

Crowley made a disgusted sound, more appropriate to a rain of fish.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Grumpy One.”  Aziraphale tried to keep his face placid as he added, “Were the cuddles good, anyway?”

Crowley cast his angel a sidelong glance and made that scowl that was actually a smile, even if the corners of his mouth were going the wrong way.  “Was kinda fun,” he admitted.

Aziraphale tried to suppress a fond look, but, never having learned Crowley’s trick, his lips had no choice but to turn upwards.  “I don’t think you should worry.” Aziraphale said decidedly, after a moment.

“’M not.” Crowley said automatically.

“Of course not.” Aziraphale agreed, just as automatically.  “But you shouldn’t worry, anyway.  There’s nothing you could show of yourself that would…”  The angel swallowed and took Crowley’s hand.  “That boy is going to love you, in all your forms.  And, so do I.”