Work Text:
“Tell me a stowy.”
Warlock Dowling plops himself down in the garden dirt, grinning. At four years old, he’s already imperious, manipulative, adorable, and altogether spoiled rotten — as befits the heir of both an American Cultural Attaché and the Devil Himself.
As usual, nanny and gardener cede to the presumed Antichrist’s commands. This is one activity all can agree on, at least. Ashtoreth claims storytelling is lying and/or laziness, obviously evil; Francis claims it encourages empathy and insight, inherently good.
It’s possible that both Francis and Ashtoreth just like stories.
Warlock’s godparents argue briefly over which tale to tell, then apparently settle on one.
Nanny Ashtoreth laughs aloud. Brother Francis clears his throat. “Once upon a time—”
“—in the Beginning—” Ashtoreth puts in.
They go on in unison: “—there was a garden.”
As the story continues, of an angel and a sword and a serpent, even the four-year-old overlord can sense he’s no longer the focus of attention. Warlock is too absorbed in the tale to mind.
If pressed, Aziraphale would say this is a story of ineffability. Crowley would say it’s a story of nonconformity.
Neither would go so far as to say it’s a story of friendship…