Work Text:
Crowley likes paleontologists. They’re curious; venturesome; tenacious.
And, of course, hilariously wrong.
It’s 1811. Crowley is hiking the Spittles, having nothing better to do. If this century doesn’t turn interesting soon, he’s considering a nap. But today, he’s watching a couple children digging in the dirt.
If they’re digging, they might as well find something. A flick of Crowley’s wrist, and the nearest large fossil works its way towards Earth’s surface.
Fomenting amateur science. Demonic work. Nothing to do with kids looking like they could use some fun.
Soon, Joseph and Mary Anning will find a fossilized skull. Mary will unearth the rest of the ichthyosaur specimen.
Some call this groundbreaking discovery serendipity. They’re not wrong. Others call it a good eye and perseverance. They’re also not wrong.
No one[1] calls it demonic intervention. If they did, they wouldn’t be wrong either.
Crowley won’t hear about Mary Anning until after his century-long nap. He’ll never connect “the greatest fossilist the world ever knew” with the kids he pranked in the cliffs of Dorset.
He grins anyway. Crowley doesn’t generally appreciate God’s sense of humor. He tries not to laugh at Her jokes. But the fossils were a good one.