Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It just had to be impossible for a chair to be this uncomfortable. There must have been some sort of meeting, a collective of stuffy suits hm ing and chin-stroking at each other while they devised this sorry excuse of a sitting device. There was probably even a reason why they did it, besides the general sadistic nature of businessmen. Maybe being uncomfortable makes people more likely to let slip some things they wouldn't have otherwise. Excluding him, of course. He was just uncomfortable, not inclined to share anything he didn’t need to. 

“It just might be the best option for you at this time.”

Crowley shifted in his chair for what was probably the seventh time, finally tuning back into the conversation at hand. He wrinkled his face. “I don’t– really? I know it’s not, eeeeueh, the best it’s ever been but it’s not that bad, is it?”

His case manager, Ms. Anathema Device, folded her hands in her lap. “Mr. Crowley, your university has reported a total of three unintentional drops in one month. Not only is that less than ideal, it is a sign that your gap is thinning and will continue to get worse. I know your counselor has already warned you that you may be kicked from the program entirely if it goes on.”

“Nnyeah. But full time care? How the fff– how would I get to classes?”

“We recommend enrolling online. I assure you that this facility would fully support you through your bachelor’s.”

“And let a bunch of self– self-congratulatory government Caregivers play hero? No thank you,” he sneered and shifted again in the plasticky chair. 

“I know you’re hesitant,” she shifted in her own seat, though it was more plush than his own. “But at this point, the agency isn’t going to let you do anything else.”

Crowley huffed. “I thought that this last care group was going well.”

Anathema barked out a laugh. “Anthony, you bit your group Caregiver.” It usually only took her a few minutes after sharing whatever shitty news she had before she dropped the more professional veneer and got real with him. As much as he both loved and hated her for it. 

Finally willing to let his own veneer slip, Crowley petulantly slid down in his seat, unable to keep from pouting. “Was an accident.” 

She softened with a sigh. “I know that, and so does he. We all know you don’t mean it. It just– I think it might be easier for you if you had more structure.”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, “Cause it’s just sooo helpful.” Crowley shrunk in on himself. “Has it…has it really gotten that bad?”

“It– hasn’t gotten better. And I know it can. So we’re going to try this and see how it goes.”

“But full time care, Device?” Crowley sneered. 

“To be clear, this meeting isn’t to suggest alternatives.” Anathema seemed to steel herself and shook her head. “It’s to tell you that you should start packing up and reaching out to your advisor. Toiletries are provided, and you can bring up to two comfort items not including pacifiers.”

“Are you–” Crowley gaped. “Are you fucking serious? This is happening?”

“This is happening,” Anathema repeated, unfairly calm. “And we will see you at Little Eden care off Hart street on Wednesday morning at 8am.”

“I– Device–” 

“I think this will be good for you. You need to drop more often, and under more comfortable circumstances. A twice-a-week care group just isn’t cutting it anymore.”

Crowley just sat there slack-jawed. Suddenly the chair didn’t feel as uncomfortable anymore. Not in the face of this unbelievably shite news. 

“And who knows? Maybe the Caregiver who can finally get you to relax will be there.” Anathema, the bastard, nonchalantly moved the clipboard heavy with his information from her lap to her desk like she was done with it.

“Not bloody likely!” Crowley was done being ‘open to ideas’ and sat straight up in his chair, incredulous and furious. He should have run the moment she said that she had a new plan. 

“Try to be positive.” Now she looked entirely at peace, which, rude. “I’ll be in at about noon to check on you. I’ll bring some of those strawberry puffs you like when you’re small, you’ll probably appreciate them by then.”

“Not. Likely,” Crowley ground out, ignoring Anathema’s grin. “No one has ever managed to make me drop on their time, and no one has ever gotten me to shut up when I’m upset like…that. And it’s not going to happen. No one has, and no one will.”

It likely wasn’t necessary to pull into the parking space with such minuscule, lurching accelerations, but Aziraphale would be kidding himself if he said he wasn’t verging on his headspace. Just — you could never be too sure if there were little ones running around! And it was just safest if he was careful. 

Granted, they probably wouldn't be…running around outside willy-nilly. But maybe someone was arriving at the clinic, or someone else was leaving, or maybe there was an escapee. 

He agonizingly jerked into the space. Press, pause. Press, pause. Press, press. Pause. He was late, which was not the best first impression for his first day. But he had forgotten to turn on the kettle when he made his tea this morning. And, even at 32 years old, he was still constitutionally incapable of starting a day without his cup of Twinings’s english blend. At this point it wasn’t even the caffeine so much as the ritual of drinking it and starting his day on a familiar foot. 

Press, press. Oh, for god’s sake, just park, Aziraphale. 

It was the bright green, drooping leaf sign with the words Little Eden scribbled across that assured him he had finally made it to the center in one piece. The building, in the outskirts of the main city, was large and brown. It didn’t look necessarily confining or brutalist, but didn’t telegraph its young occupants either. He twitched into the space with a final press and squeezed the steering wheel. 

He sighed aloud. “Alright. It’s time.” And proceeded to sit still, just staring at the sign for at least another 30 seconds before he finally left the car — double-and-triple checking it was in park — to push inside. 

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but the minimalist waiting room was not quite it. Large chairs with old geometric patterns, a few potted plants that looked less-than-enthused to be there, and a small play table that seemed like an unused afterthought. He startled at the soft voice of the receptionist. 

“Morning! What can I help you with?” She cocked her head to the side, her smile almost-perfectly tacked on.

“Ah– yes. Hello. Good morning. Uh–” Aziraphale fidgeted with the strap of his book bag. “Yes, I’m Aziraphale Fell? I’m here for the ah, Caregiver volunteer program.” 

“Oh-kay! Just one moment.” The receptionist clacked away at her keyboard while Aziraphale busied himself with staring at the activity table. Did they properly sanitize it each time a new Little played with it? And with something that was safe for skin? Nothing like bleach, oh no. And nothing with synthetic scents, that may cause irritation as well. 

“Someone will be up here in just a moment to collect you, Mr. Fell.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke, instead tapping insistently away at a single key.  

“Thank you, miss. Do I just– ah…” He gave a weak gesture to the chairs which she returned with her own quick wave. 

“Of course, go ahead.”

Aziraphale sat at the very edge of the seat closest to the back door and took out his newest read. He had sanitized its cover as well, just in case of any possible cross-contamination. That’s a thing that could happen, surely? Some horrible germs brought in by one of his patrons at the library. They could have nestled into the pages of the library’s copy of A Gentleman in Moscow and infected some poor, innocent Little. Never could be too safe. He turned the pages of the book, could feel his eyes tracking the words, but couldn’t read a single word. Instead Aziraphale’s mind buzzed with the day ahead of him. 

Tracy had suggested the program, and had pitched it to him with zeal every time he confessed his fears. He was still ashamed; how could there even be a Caregiver who had trouble with, well, care- giving? It was just embarrassing. No Caregiver he had ever met had trouble with something so natural. The thought alone was almost ridiculous. Tracy assured him that it was normal to be nervous about entering a headspace no matter what side of the spectrum one laid. And Aziraphale had long since beat himself up over his inadequacies and general apprehension with caretaking, deathly afraid of hurting any Littles or Middles in his care. But Tracy was the single most confident Dom Aziraphale had met. To an impressive degree; the woman simply exuded strength and pluck. So if even she had headspace hesitation in her past, then there was hope that perhaps he wasn’t so unusual and lost a cause. 

So, here he was. Fidgeting in a rather uncomfortable seat, barely reading a book he brought for the express purpose of reading, and prepared to help some Littles with the Little Hands, Big Hearts program. How did Tracy put it? “To help some little ones and yourself, dear.” Though perhaps with a touch more profanity. 

“Aziraphale?” 

“Ah, yes, that’s me.” Aziraphale quickly stuffed his book back into his bag and looked up to see a rail of man wearing a collared shirt under a wool jumper and, unfathomably, another collared shirt atop. A strange collared sandwich. 

“Nice to meet you. I’m Newton. One of the volunteers.” He ran a hand through his mop of curly hair and scratched at a slight five-o-clock shadow. “Have you ever volunteered before?” He opened the back door that Aziraphale had been so nervously eyeing and led him through. 

“…Yes, though not for any Littles. Meals on Wheels. That sort of thing.” Aziraphale stared at the hallway. Messily decorated cupcake liners as flowers, drip art, cut out handprints, and paper bag jellyfish crowded the walls for attention. The floor itself was a monochrome gray and provided a shiny counterpoint to the chaotically colorful walls. The combined smell of play-dough, antiseptic, and bread lingered. 

“I promise you’ll like it here, especially if you’re a Caregiver. They don’t make you do too much, just whatever you’re cleared for and like to do.” He chuckled. “I mostly just sit with the Middles and clean up some. Michael said you had signed up for the infants though, did she?” 

“I did, though I really don’t have much of a preference.” Aziraphale trailed off staring at a fingerpainting. Some sort of abstract…unicorn? The artist had taken liberties with the general shape of a horse. Painfully adorable. 

“Well, we’ve got the seedlings, sprouts, and stalks. That’s infants, toddlers, and middles. And then colors to make it easy to group them. Placement sort-of varies. There are some kids who slide pretty dramatically and some who’s headspace requires both toddler and Middle stuff. It just depends.” Newton stopped to give his forehead a light slap. “Ah, I completely forgot to even give you a tour. C’mon then.”

Newton took them down the hallway, which didn’t lessen in its artistry or number of soupy paintings. “It’s all sort of organized by age group. This here is Middle lounge, that’s the sensory room for the younger Littles — Michael says she put them close for any Middles who like to play with the younger ones—”

Aziraphale nodded politely, fidgeting with his strap again as he stared at the first Littles he had seen in a long while. A group of about 5, with one pigtailed little girl squealing at her giggling friend. It squeezed his heart and he looked away so he could properly focus.

“Then there’s the Middle bunks, showers — those are only for the Middles, we have table baths for the babies and normal baths for toddlers—”

One of the others belly-laughed as she threw a triangle-shaped foam block across the room. God, they were adorable. 

“The kitchen, laundry room, nurse quarters, offices, that’s all in this wing—”

But what if he accidentally hurt one of them? Or yelled? Or made one cry? Oh lord, he was not cut out for this, was he.

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes! Yes, sorry, Newton.” Aziraphale startled. “Cribs in the very back, right?”

“Yeah, but– you alright?”

“I suppose I’m just… nervous. I don’t want to ruin anything.”

Newton chuckled and seemed to loosen for the first time. “Thought the same thing. You’ll be fine. If you’re that worried, you could just clean bottles.”

“No, no. I can…I’d like to help. Really help. Just… it’s been some time.”

“We could,” Newton tugged at his jumper. “Get you started with seeing the babies and see how it goes from there?”

“Yes, that sounds perfect.” Aziraphale tried to relax as much as possible. “I’m actually quite excited, I promise.” He grinned sheepishly at his obvious nerves. 

“Oh yeah, don’t worry.” Newton grinned back and led him further down the hall towards the seedling’s room. “Everyone is really nice here, especially the kids. Little Eden is mostly where more anxious or special-care kids stay. Everyone’s pretty understanding.”

They were walking down the hallway, Aziraphale still entranced by the charming wall-art when he heard the screaming. Somewhere much deeper in the building to the left. Loud screams that melted into even louder, fearful wails. 

Aziraphale completely stopped in his tracks, any budding excitement in his chest quickly shriveling away to make room for fear. Every instinct in his body yelled at him to run down the hall to help whatever Little was in that much pain. He clutched his chest and whirled around to Newton for an explanation lest he make a fool of himself. 

Newton grimaced in sympathy. “He’s one of our special cases. Poor guy. I promise he’s okay, we have Mary in there taking care of him.”

Though it was hard to convince himself that the crying little boy would be alright, Aziraphale nodded stiffly. “…Alright. The, ah…the seedlings?”

Newton snapped himself out of the same fearful worry, seemingly thankful for the distraction. “Right down here.” He winced at another, shriller scream, but led them down the hall regardless. 

It was all right, Aziraphale reassured himself. It was alright because he could help, and he would. He would sing little mindless songs to the babies and clean them up and change them and feed them and burp them. He’d read them stories like he always wanted to when he imagined taking care of a Little, and would play with their stuffies. It’d be alright. He’d be alright. 

“—And of course, one of them saw fit to pull my hair and tug on it, which I thought was even more adorable than the eating fiasco I told you about on the phone—”

“Well,” Tracy’s eyes shone even brighter in mirth as she scrubbed at the casserole dish. “It sounds like you really enjoyed it.”

“I…did. I really did enjoy it.” Aziraphale paused to take another sip of the merlot they had cracked open. Though he had been nervous at first, his first day at Little Eden went spectacularly well. The sort of warm fuzzy feeling he remembered from the time he had helped out his friend’s Little had come back full force. And, if he were to be honest with himself, felt even nicer because he knew no Littles completely depended on him. It made him nervous to imagine that much responsibility, that much love someone so innocent could have for him that he could ruin in an instant. Caring for the Littles in the program let him scratch that itch without fear. “One of the older boys, about a four year old, demanded that I read him a book. It was lovely.”

“And you doubted me!” Tracey crowed. She didn’t even seem upset that she couldn’t scrub off a particularly persistent spot on the dish. 

“I did, and I shouldn’t have because loathe as I am to admit it, you are always right.” Aziraphale smiled and corked the bottle. 

“So I’ll assuuume you’re going back?” 

“I think I might. Perhaps after work on Friday.” He wrung his hands around the bottle, thinking back to the poor screaming Little. “Oh, Tracey, it’s so sad, I can’t imagine why no one would adopt them.”

Tracey hummed. “Someone will, dear. Though–” She scrubbed harder at the dish. “I don’t know why you still just won’t try to get your own.”

“You know how I feel about that,” Aziraphale downed the rest of his wine. “I…don’t feel ready. I don’t want to subject some poor Little to–” He scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the warmth of the drink. “To me.”

“Aziraphale.” Tracey slanted into her wooden chair. “I hope I don’t have to tell you how good of a Caregiver I know you are, you goose. Everything you’ve told me about volunteering sounds like the kids loved you.” 

Aziraphale squeezed the bottle tighter and nodded. “…Alright. Yes. I did enjoy myself.”

“I thought so,” Tracey sniffed and took a sip of her own glass, her hands still wet from the dishes. “Doll, you need a self-esteem seminar.”

Aziraphale gave a hysterical chuckle. “Perhapsnotabadidea,” he said into his hands. “Thank you Tracey, as always.”

Tracey sipped her wine again, this time with a bit more purpose and a grin. “Of course, pet.”

Yes, Tracey, as usual, was right. He knew his self-esteem was not…the best, but he was working on it. He was doing things he enjoyed. He was considering therapy. And, of course, he was helping Littles to indulge his more paternal instincts. He was doing everything right, he just needed some time. Maybe even at some point he would start to feel more comfortable with himself and get a Little of his own. 

…At some point. 

Chapter Text

Nope, no, not in Shadwell’s office either. Aziraphale rummaged through shelf after shelf looking for the supposed screwdriver that Ayesha sent him for. One of the bookshelves in the seedling’s room was going a bit sideways, and Aziraphale was nothing if not an expert in bookshelf maintenance. Or at least a man who had to deal with them quite frequently. 

Despite the various stains he was covered in — red paint from their crafting earlier, a splotch of thrown-up milk on his vest, and an indiscriminate stickiness on his shoe — he hadn’t been this happy in months. It was only his second week volunteering at Little Eden, but he had truly fallen in love with it. The babies were just absolutely delightful, and nothing was as fulfilling as rocking one to sleep after a bottle feeding. 

Of course it hadn’t been all glamor. As Newton had mentioned, most of the Littles and Middles at Little Eden were there for some unfortunate reason or another. Two of the babies in the smallest Little age range were permanent regressors and needed full-time care. One Little had difficulty moderating their headspace and slid across the age scale each day. Another had trouble staying in headspace for long periods of time. He had heard that one Middle was there because of the extreme anxiety their Big counterpart had, making it difficult to trust Caregivers. And, of course, there was that poor little boy who’s screaming could be heard a few times each week. Though Aziraphale hadn’t met him yet, he was apparently separated from the other kids during the part of the day that Aziraphale volunteered. 

It was rather sad; most of the children just needed extra love and attention. It simply seemed like the right Caregivers had yet to come across them. 

Aziraphale personally flourished in the seedling’s room, and was becoming known for his efficiency in calming a frustrated or angry Little. Even some of the Middles began to befriend him — albeit to make fun of him, to his chagrin. 

All in all, it was very rewarding work, even if it occasionally meant odd jobs like searching every office in the building for a screwdriver. 

Not in there either. Goodness, where on earth could it be? Aziraphale finally ducked into Agnes’s office, though he didn’t expect to find a screwdriver in the headmistress’s room. She was likely far too busy with other non-bookshelf related jobs. But he was startled by someone who was certainly not Agnes clacking away at a laptop at her desk. He had a half-spiked half-curled mess of red hair, and wore a collared shirt along with the soft pants of a Little belonging to an older seedling group. He looked up from his rapid typing with an expectant face. 

Aziraphale floundered. “I– er– I’m sorry, darling, but aren’t you supposed to be…ah. Not here?” He hadn’t come across many of the Littles while they were in their Big headspaces, and he wasn’t the best at enforcing anything with people his age. His jurisdiction over the personal sliver of authority he had ended with kids who were able to count past twenty. 

The Little shrugged. “Middle’s lounge was too loud.” He reached under the desk and extracted a pair of sunglasses to flick open and put on. While indoors. 

“Well, I– I. I’m quite sure Agnes wouldn’t want anyone using her office. Unless she’s allowed you, of course.”

“Well, she hasn’t, but I don’t see the harm in it.” He stretched out, revealing two plainly-socked feet from under the desk. 

“I suppose I don’t, don’t see it either if you aren’t using it for, for misguided purposes,” Aziraphale stammered. He should at least try to get this boy out of Agnes’s office so Aziraphale could explain himself if he got in trouble for letting a Little around unattended. “What are you doing?” 

The Little barked out a laugh. “Misguided purposes. Like what. Government take down? Hacking? Embezzling people?” He leant forward, one eyebrow raised. 

Aziraphale sniffed, trying not to smile. “The fact that you can at least name several criminal activities does not, does not bode well for you, I will say.”

“Ha!” The Little snickered and rubbed his eyes from under his sunglasses. “Doooon’t wind yourself up, ‘m just working on school. Which I am allowed to do, thanks.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale straightened up. “You must be Anthony!”

“Just Crowley, actually.”

“Crowley, my apologies,” Aziraphale grinned at his mistake. “Newton had mentioned that there was a Little here who was studying! What are you pursuing?” 

“Astronomy and astrophysics. Might just switch to physics, though.” Though Aziraphale couldn’t quite tell, Crowley was probably back to staring at his computer screen instead of himself. 

“That’s wonderful,” he beamed. It was probably a bit rude of Crowley to not look at him, but Aziraphale loosened under the lack of intense sunglassed-eye contact. “What drew you to physics?” 

“Ehh.” Crowley leaned back in the chair, though it did not seem made for the motion. “It isn’t boring.” He paused before grinning. “And it’s perfect for my eventual takeover of the world that you’re so convinced of. Mm. Missiles from space ‘n all that.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help himself and snorted. “Oh my. Should I, should I run for my shelter?” 

“Eventual takeover. Gotta finish building my weapon first.” Crowley paused before learning forward, giving Aziraphale a slivered glance of his green eyes. Gosh, were they green. “You have a shelter?” 

“Why would I tell a criminal where my hiding space is?” Aziraphale answered coolly. 

Crowley laughed before leaning back again. He seemed to have no idea how to properly use a chair. “You need something? Agnes?” 

“Ah, no. I just need a screwdriver. Do you know where I could find one?” 

“Mm. Maybe.” Crowley leaned back the furthest Aziraphale had seen and smiled the most wily smile. “Have some trouble remembering where Agnes keeps all her tools in here, though.” He tapped his chin. “Might jog my memory if I had some sort of, I dunno, reward for helping out a staff member. You are staff, are you?”

“I. I am.”  

“Well then. Might help me remember where she keeps them if you brought me some cheese crisps.” 

“…And where would I find those?”

“Well,” Crowley stretched and cracked a few of his knuckles. “There might be some hanging about in the staff kitchen. But your best bet will probably be in the brown bag labeled ‘Hastur’ in the fridge. Just a guess.” 

Aziraphale tried hard to curb his immediate instinct to laugh, his lips moving in some wriggly frown. “Ah, so the exact snack you’d like just so happens to be in Mr. Hastur’s lunch bag?”

“‘Fraid so.”

“And this request is entirely without ulterior motives?”

“I just really like cheese quavers,” Crowley smirked. “I can already feel my memory coming back–” He pressed his fingers to his temples and concentrated. “Something about a… toolbox.” His cocky grin gentled in self-awareness at Aziraphale’s laugh. 

“Alright. I’ll get your crisps. You’re lucky I don’t particularly like Mr. Hastur either.” Aziraphale didn’t, to be quite frank. It was nothing short of a complete mystery why the cook hadn’t left Little Eden in a fit, not with how much he seemed to hate noise and mess and anything Little-related. “Now where’s that screwdriver?” 

“Just a mo.” Crowley scrutinized his laptop, tapped out another few furious lines, and stood up in a quick motion. He dragged the rolly chair over to a tall cabinet with his foot before — oh god — starting to climb on top— 

“Ah, uhhhm!–” Aziraphale couldn’t help himself and quickly went over, hands outstretched as if to pull Crowley off. “I can’t particularly, ah, recommend that, my dear—”

Crowley just snickered and waved him off. “It’s fine, do this all the time.” With Aziraphale watching helplessly, he launched himself up and began to root for something at the top of the cabinet. Aziraphale was incapable of putting his hands down the entire fraught 10 seconds. This boy, he could slip and fall, or accidentally drop something on his foot, or the chair could break, nevermind that he was on a rolly chair of all things. 

When Crowley finally slid down with a screwdriver in hand, Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. “Gracious, you’re going to take years off my, off my life, you are.”

“Not before I get my crisps, I won’t.” Crowley passed the screwdriver over and flopped back into Agnes’s seat, sending the chair rolling a bit to the side from the impact. 

“I suppose not.” Aziraphale gave a disbelieving chuckle. “Let me fix this shelf, and I’ll be back with your, your innocent crisps in a moment.” 

Crowley, already re-absorbed into his computer, just waved him off. “Good luck.”

Once free from Crowley’s eye and ear-shot, Aziraphale giggled to himself. What a ridiculous boy. He idly turned the screwdriver in his hand. And taking over Agnes’s office, no less. What pluck! It was rather endearing. 

Aziraphale looked at his watch. Already 11:12. He best go now while Hastur was occupied with preparing lunch to grab, ah… lend off his crisps. He hurried back to the green seedling room to fix the shelf before excusing himself to the staff’s lounge for water. 

He should probably feel worse about stealing from Hastur than he did, but there wasn’t too much harm in it, he didn’t think. As he waved his staff card in front of the sensor, he was at least grateful he didn’t have to worry about running into Hastur himself around this time. He was likely preoccupied with snapping at the little ones and his kitchenaid. 

Crisps retrieved, Aziraphale tried to hide the crinkly bag from any other passing staff, though he logically knew there was no reason for them to be suspicious. He was just holding a bag of crisps, for heaven’s sake. There was no need to be so nervous about it. 

When he returned to Agnes’s office, Crowley was still there, but so was Agnes. Aziraphale immediately hid the crisps behind him. 

“Ah, uhm, good afternoon, Doctor Nutter.” He focused every muscle on not squeezing the plastic. 

“Mr. Fell,” said Agnes. She was clearly in the middle of some sort of gentle discussion with Crowley, who looked over at Aziraphale with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Agnes grinned at him. “How can I help you?”

“Nothing, nothing in particular, Doctor. Just. Erm. Ah, returning this screwdriver.” He whipped the screwdriver from his pocket and held it out to Crowley and the head of Little Eden. Just staring at Crowley’s rather impish face, completely at odds with his now more demurred posture around Agnes, made Aziraphale feel slightly protective. Agnes wasn’t one to be curt with any little ones, especially not the more misbehaved ones, but he felt that she needed to know he was helpful. And, for his own sake, that he had at least attempted to get him from her office. “I was surprised to see Mr. Crowley in here, though he was kind enough to help me find it.”

“That’s our Crowley,” Agnes said with a knowing grin. Crowley, interestingly enough, sneered at the praise. 

“Shining beacon of kindness, I am.” He pushed up his sunglasses. “Is that everything? Can I get back to it?” 

“Mm.” Agnes took the screwdriver from Aziraphale and tapped it on her hip in thought. “It’s almost noon. I know you’ve been studying since this morning, it’s time you get back to your group.” 

Crowley pouted. “…Dunno about that, Aggie.” He suddenly looked more like a Little than Aziraphale had yet to see, and he suddenly felt that he was encroaching on a more private conversation. Trying not to listen too hard, he began his trademarked awkward shuffle from the room. 

Agnes was unmoving. “I’ll walk you back to your room, sweetheart.” 

Crowley pouted even harder and blushed when he noticed Aziraphale still watching him. He straightened up, the motion clearing up his reddening cheeks and making him appear taller than he already was. “Fine, fine.” He waved a hand around dismissively. “But I can do it myself, don’t worry.”

He clicked his laptop shut and slid it into a cabinet. Then, with the air of an aggrieved teenager, gave a huge sigh and shoved his feet into a pair of slip-on loafers. “Bye. See you at dinner. And thank you—” In another quick motion, Crowley snatched the crisp bag from Aziraphale’s hand to wave it at Agnes. “For my crisps. Y’know Doctor, the volunteers this year aren’t too bad. Kinda poorly dressed, though.” He grinned wide at Aziraphale like he was in on the joke and sauntered from the room. 

Aziraphale was gobsmacked, caught between embarrassment at being caught and laughing at Crowley’s jibe. “I, ah. I assure you I am aware we aren’t allowed to give them snacks.”

“Don’t worry,” Agnes chuckled. “The rules usually don’t apply to him. He’s a menace,” she said, her voice soft.

“I, I certainly gathered he’s not quite, ah. Standard? Er. The norm.” He chuckled a bit and smoothed down his coat. “He’s rather likeable all the same.”

Agnes twisted the screwdriver between her fingers, too long and heavy to be properly spun. “I couldn’t agree more.” She took a seat, placing the tool on her desk. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Fell? Besides telling Mr. Lavise that I’m sure no one took his crisps.”

“Ah. Uhm.” Aziraphale gave a nervous chuckle and proceeded to complete step two of leaving a room in an awkward situation: start waving goodbye. “No, no, I’m ah, quite, quite alright, thank you ma’am. I’ll be seeing you!” And he fled. 

My goodness, he had known Crowley for less than an hour and the boy was already getting him in trouble. What a personality. But however meddlesome, Aziraphale still hoped he would see him again while volunteering at Little Eden. Crowley was certainly a baby, so in one of the seedling rooms. Aziraphale had met most of the below 2’s, but he hadn’t quite met the higher age-spectrum babies in the blue or yellow rooms. Perhaps he was in there. 

Either way, Aziraphale couldn’t help grinning to himself in exasperation as he collected his things to leave. “Poorly dressed.” Like he wasn’t blatantly wearing a pair of shades indoors himself, lord. Aziraphale chuckled and swung on his sling bag. Tracey would have a hoot hearing about this one.

Chapter Text

“Crow-LEY!” 

Aziraphale looked up in shock from the little girl he was helping down the hall. Who on earth would be yelling so loudly? He quickly looked back down to her, worried he would have to do some damage control, but she only giggled. “Uh-oh,” she said around her pacifier. 

“Where is he?” Hastur came huffing down the hall, absolutely soaked from head to toe. “The little bugger put rubber bands on the taps.” He growled and flicked a few droplets onto the wall. 

It took every inch of his strength not to laugh. “Oh, I’m not sure. I believe there are some towels left in the Middle’s lounge if you need any.”

Hastur growled at him, at the ceiling, and seemingly at the world at large. “Yeah. I’m off.” And he sploched down the hall.

The little girl was now giggling madly, and spat out her paci. “Three ‘imes!” she crowed. 

“Three times what, my dear?” questioned Aziraphale as he led her back to the nursery, grinning madly himself. What a little devil Crowley was. 

“Three ‘imes Crow, mm, go– ‘im!” And she laughed again, making Aziraphale laugh with her. 

“Oh, three times he’s pranked Mr. Lavise?” He chuckled at her delighted nod. “Poor Mr. Lavise. Crowley’s very funny, isn’t he?”

“Mhm!”

He was very funny, Aziraphale mused. Unfortunately it might be one of the last pranks he sees, as he had no idea when Crowley was studying and when he was in a more wily mood.

Aziraphale huffed as he adjusted the three stacked boxes he was carrying. Next time he was certainly going to ask Newt if he was free enough from Middle-corralling to lend a hand. As he gracelessly bumbled down the hallway, he came up on a familiar mop of red hair. 

“Crowley?” The man in question was cackling to himself, though not very subtly. He looked up and his grin went even more impish. “Whatever are you doing?”

“Nothing,” hummed Crowley. He sat back to reveal a pound coin lying innocuously on the ground. Not so innocuously, however, was the tube of Krazy Glue clutched in his hand. 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, willing himself not to smile. He was sure his cheeks twitched. “That doesn’t quite look like nothing.”

Crowley chuckled to himself and stood up, leaving the coin behind. “Don’t worry about it. But word to the wise — don’t trust any loose change you see ‘round, yeah?” 

“…Alright,” said Aziraphale. “Speaking from experience, are we?”

“Nah. Jus’ a hunch.” And Crowley sauntered off with a small nod of his head and a sharp grin. 

This boy. 

“Okay, but you all must have heard it that time,” sneered Michael. She was not the most pleasant of case workers from what Aziraphale had heard, and frankly, seen. It was difficult to imagine why she found herself working for the Little Care and Protective Services. 

And Aziraphale did hear it that time, and though he didn’t feel quite inclined to share, he did so. “I did, though I’m not quite sure where it could be coming from.” 

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and looked around. “Hmph. Anyways. As I was saying,”

“Help meeeee,” whined the voice again, coming from somewhere above them. “Helllp mee.” 

“Alright.” Mrs. Arque stood up quickly. Newton looked over at her over his salad, and thankfully he too seemed to have difficulty trying not to laugh. “Whoever’s doing that, I suggest you knock it off.”

“Helllllpppp meeee.” 

She leveled a sharp look at Aziraphale when he couldn’t hold in a chuckle, and pulled over a chair. Though she wore severe pumps with her white blazer, she still clambered onto the chair to push aside the ceiling tile. Delicately, she pulled out a walkie talkie that had the name Uriel scrawled across. 

“This is your conscienceeee. Things aren’t going very welllllllll up here.” 

“For god’s sake.” Michael turned the thing off and stalked out of the room, likely to find the culprit. The moment she left, Newton and Aziraphale burst into laughter. 

“Bet he’s hiding in the bathroom again,” snickered Newton. 

Aziraphale grinned harder. “Oh, I’m sure.”

Aziraphale waltzed into the break room, hoping to steal a chocolate from the dish for himself, when he saw Newton positively shaking with laughter at the table. He quickly went over and grinned himself, Newton’s laughter impossibly infectious. “What? What is it?”

Unable to speak, Newton simply gestured toward the free office section of the room. For whatever reason, Hastur was… yelling? At the printer? 

“I said on, you useless hunk!” he growled and slapped at its side. 

Newton only shook harder. Aziraphale hazarded a few steps closer to see what it was all about when he saw a printed sign reading, ‘Voice Activated’ taped to the side.

“On! Print 5 copies!” When nothing happened after a beat of waiting, Hastur seemed to make some sort of realization. He snarled and snatched off the paper, hurrying out to chase after Crowley again. Because who else could it have possibly been? 

Aziraphale shook his head and completely forgot to grab his chocolate. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale paused his conversation with Agnes. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeahh,” groaned Crowley. He was bent over something on the floor before shuffling to his feet in an unbalanced motion. “Alll good.”

Aziraphale looked down on the floor. It was one of the coins he had glued around the building. He had seen at least two nurses and three minders as well as a few unsuspecting Middles fooled by them. “Did you try to pick up one of your coins, my dear?”

“Stop talking.”

Spilled sugar was harder to clean up than it looked. 

“God, shit, ugh–” What only made it worse was the feeling of the whole universe laughing at him. Yeah, it was probably karmic justice that it had spilled in the first place, but it still didn’t feel too great. 

It hadn’t taken Crowley long to reassure himself that it was actually Agnes and company’s fault that the kitchen was so easy to get into. He barely had to sneak at all. Kinda took the fun out of it, really. He needed to sit Aggie down and tell her that she should probably invest in a padlock. If he actually wanted to give up his secret, then all the cupboards would be emptied by opportunistic Middles faster than Uriel could say “Quiet .” Agnes was lucky that he didn’t want to spoil his in. Plus this was probably one of the more benign things he’s ever done, swapping the salt and the sugar! Wasn’t his fault that Little Eden made him more juvenile than usual. Even if it was rather the point of them. Either way, he didn’t feel too inclined to tell anyone anything. 

Eucgh. Now there was sugar coating his palms and making everything sticky. 

Crowley was in the middle of trying another sugar-cleaning method — scraping it all together on the counter with a wadded-up paper towel — when he heard someone opening the kitchen’s metal door. 

“Shit.” Crowley immediately began trying to hide the evidence, swiping all the sugar off the table in one go and shoving the salt and sugar bags back into the pantry. He was heading towards the backdoor to the hallway, creeping the best he could. It was probably just one of the aides. It was still too early for Hastur. …wasn’t it? 

He was practically gunning for the backdoor when,

“Crowley? Is that you?” 

“Gfkihk– Aziraphale?” Crowley skidded and turned to see, yup, the new volunteer Caregiver. He looked like he had just escaped from a convention of near-eccentric professors. Dark salmon shirt, pale blue vest. Absolutely absurd. 

And. Well. Cuddly…looking. “What’re– d’you need something? I’m just.” He grabbed the closest nearby object, which happened to be a pan, and placed it on the opposite counter. “Cleaning up the pans.”

Aziraphale, unfortunately, didn’t look like he believed him at all. “Ah. I see.” He grinned and smoothed down his vest. He went from looking harried to completely calm. “That’s rather kind of you.”

“Oh yeah. Course. I’m, y’know, uchk, saving kittens from trees in my spare time.” Crowley grasped blindly around the shelf below for something to help his story, and set it next to the pan. He only realized belatedly that he had grabbed a rolling pin from the shelf below. Not a pan. Play it cool, play it cool. Rolling pins can be pans, sure. It’s an exercise in creativity. 

“Oh? I thought you were a criminal mastermind. With — what was it? — missiles in the sky?”

Crowley couldn’t help but snort. “In space, actually. Why are you here anyways?” He leaned as normally as he could against the counter. “You looking for something else?” 

“Eric sent me to fetch some bowls. We’re making edible sand today.” He chuckled. “I didn’t even know there was such a thing.”

“Eh, ‘s just biscuit crumbs you mash around.” Still hoping to save face, Crowley kept pulling out more things. So far the table had accumulated the pan, the roller, and now a grater, lemon squeezer, and series of measuring cups. 

“Out of curiosity,” Aziraphale studied the table. “What do you need with all this?”

“I told you. I’m just cleaning up.” Aziraphale just quirked an eyebrow. Well. Shit. He definitely knew something was afoot. To be fair, even Crowley wouldn’t have really believed himself. There was still sugar scattered across the table, making all the kitchen things even dirtier by sitting on top of it. At least if Aziraphale got upset he’d make Hastur angry too in the process. Two birds.

But Aziraphale didn’t look particularly angry. Or even disappointed. Actually, he looked kinda…amused. Crowley had been surprised enough that he had indulged him in stealing Hastur’s chips — the fallout was hilarious, Annie had said that he had been pissy the rest of the day — and Aziraphale had been a good sport. But he had sort of assumed that was a one time thing, just a way to get his tool and move on without rocking the boat too much.

And yet, here he was again. Not yelling or getting upset or even running out to report him to Mary. 

“This must be a new cleaning technique, taking everything out and laying it on the table. Unless,” Aziraphale hummed in thought as he examined a cheese grater. “You plan to wash these all by hand? My, you’re dedicated to cleanliness, are you?”

Crowley growled and started shoving things back under the shelf and into drawers. “Ha-ha. Funny.”

“You know darling,” Aziraphale began to help him put away the kitchen things too. “I have a bit of a sweet tooth as well. I won’t tell.”

A slow grin spread across Crowley’s face as he eyed the spilled sugar on the table. “…A sweet tooth. …Yeah. Major sweet tooth, me. Thanks, Fell.” It was nice to know that the Caregiver would let him slide, even if he didn’t quite understand what he was giving the slide to. 

“Of course.” Aziraphale helped him put away the last of the bowls and grabbed one for himself. “Do you…ah, need to be anywhere? I feel like I’ve only found you in places you shouldn’t. Er. Be.”

Crowley gave another snort. “Better get used to that. If it was up to me, I’d only be in places where I’m unwelcome.”

Aziraphale immediately shifted from his look of hesitant amusement to a nervousness to rival a chihuahua at a Christmas party. “Oh, you’re not unwelcome at all! I– well, I’m sure Hastur wouldn’t quite appreciate you being here. And I will not be accessory to another one of your capers—”

Crowley subtly covered his mouth to hide his laugh. 

“—But it is nice to run into you again. I actually wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure,” chuckled Crowley. “What?”

“You, ah, didn’t get into too much trouble, did you? With the chips?” Aziraphale looked down, fingers tangling with each other and the hem of his vest in a flipping pattern. Worry hands, worry vest. Worry hands, worry vest. Crowley’s sharp grin softened. Ah. That was…nice. Weird but nice. No one really ever worried about how he felt about the ‘ consequences’ of his ideas. He usually just waltzed out of mini-detention or the corner. The last thing he wanted was for other kids or Middles or worse, Bigs and Baselines and Caregivers to see him actually fazed by anything. And generally he wasn’t.

But sure, he did get annoyed by things sometimes. Made to sit in Agnes’s office under mind-numbingly boring conditions. Just sit, not even allowed to spin around in his chair. Sometimes he was made to write lines or sit out of certain activities. Punishments that were boring and irritating enough to have him spacing out his ideas, but not so terrible he wanted to rip his own hair out. Device said that Agnes didn’t really punish him too badly because he added spice to an otherwise pretty sad place. 

Still, no one had ever asked. They assumed he found the trouble after as part of the fun. And to be fair, it mostly was. But sometimes he really did hate being forced to do stupid, childish punishments when his headspace didn’t quite match. Especially over things that he found pretty harmless. Like switching all the ‘m’s’ and ‘n’s’ on the office keyboards. Food coloring in the hand sanitizer. Plastic wrap over the soaps. 

He gave a gentle smile and waved a hand around. “Ach, nah. Don’t worry about me. All I had to do was survive a night locked in the basement with the rats.”

“What?” Aziraphale looked up panickedly, before frowning at Crowley’s cackling. “Oh, very funny. You’re ridiculous.”

“Pfff– Sorry, sorry.” He sighed. “Don’t worry. They only do the basement on Tuesdays.” He snickered at Aziraphale’s expression, like a puffed up bird, and threw the last of the sugar away. “Right. I’ll see you around then.” He was about to sneak through the door when Aziraphale put a warm hand on his shoulder. 

Crowley immediately jerked away, flinging himself around to look at the owner of the hand even though he knew who it was. “Nngh.” He grimaced harder when he saw Aziraphale’s concerned-confused expression and quickly shifted his tensed shoulder with a loose, purposeful roll. “M’bad. Yeah?” He restrained himself from putting his own hand in the place where Aziraphale had touched him. 

“…I. Well, before you go, I have something for you, actually.” Aziraphale rooted around in his trouser pocket before pulling out a crumpled bag of mini cheese quavers. “I was hoping to run into you.”

The moment he saw the orange packaging, Crowley laughed. “Those aren’t Hastur’s are they?”

“Oh no. I won’t be committing any more snack theft if I can help it. I thought if you had your own, you might be, ah, encouraged to do so as well.” Aziraphale grinned sheepishly.

Crowley gingerly took the bag. He couldn’t help but grin. “No promises on the theft, but thanks.”

Aziraphale grinned back so gently it made Crowley want to shove his face into his shoulder. Even if he was wearing a stupid sweater vest. “Well,” he said, taking a bowl, “I best be getting back, but I’ll see you, my dear.”

“Alright.” Crowley gave a small salute. “Good luck with your sand.”

“Thank you. Try not to get into too much trouble!”

“No promises!” 

Instead of leaving when Aziraphale did, Crowley stayed in the empty kitchen for a minute more. He rubbed his shoulder absentmindedly. Aziraphale was pretty nice. And not just nice in the way that most Caregivers were. Nice in a real way. Nice in a way that Crowley knew if he wasn’t a Little and Aziraphale wasn’t a Caregiver, he’d probably still act the exact same. It was niceness that transcended the people he talked to. Not many people like that about. 

But Aziraphale still was a Caregiver. What would he be like if he wasn’t? Probably leagues less nervous about things. He seemed to be constantly worried about something going on. Yeah, that was definitely a Caregiver thing. Ahh, well, but then again, Mary never really seemed nervous about things. And Newt definitely did. And he wasn’t a Caregiver. Crowley knew because he had interrogated him about a week after he first showed up. 

He liked to do that, take the piss out of new minders or volunteers. And Newt had been nice, and really funny. But Aziraphale was somehow even more nice and funny. Sure, Crowley hadn’t launched his usual rigmarole of questions at him yet, or his older Little self with the dozens of “why’s?” but he felt like he didn’t really need to. Aziraphale was so open without it. Crowley could probably ask him anything, and he’d answer with a smile and a “my dear.”

Crowley blinked at the sudden sweetness of loose sugar. He hadn’t noticed his thumb stray into his mouth. Or the arm he was using to rub his shoulder starting to hold the rest of himself tighter. He sighed, wiped his thumb on a spare paper towel, tossed it, and walked himself back to the seedling room to find Mary.

“Ugh.” It was a shame that Crowley had been caught pretending to work on his lab. He had finished analyzing his data hours ago, and was just faffing off because anything was favorable to dropping. He was just so bored and the last thing he wanted to do was be cooed at. Especially after he heard Aziraphale had left for the day, boo. 

At least Mary had bribed him with cookies that Hastur whipped up earlier. 

He paused after biting into one. Chewed. Chewed harder, a little more cautiously. Then groaned and banged his head against the bright blue table over and over. Salty.

Chapter Text

“Oh, oh oh oh oh, ohhh goodness—” Aziraphale delicately held the wet spot on his jumper away from his skin as he hurried to the staff restroom. 

It had been shaping up to be such a good day, and now he had to sanitize absolutely everything so he didn’t make some other Little sick. Really, he should have realized that Barnabus was ill. The dear was ashen ages before he sicked up on himself, the floor, and Aziraphale. Poor thing. 

Could he get sick himself from vomit? No. He had to — heaven forbid — ingest it, didn’t he? But what if he scrubbed his jumper as hard as possible, and the bacteria or fungus or what-have-you still indelibly seeped its way into the threads? And got another Little sick because of his negligence? Oh goodness, what a mess. 

He jiggled the handle to the restroom. Locked. 

Whoever was inside cleared their throat before speaking. “Occupied!”

Aziraphale paused, his knuckle hanging in the air. Something about that voice was familiar. “Crowley?” 

“Wh— ergk. …No?” 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed with a grin. This was beginning to become a sort of pattern. “Why are you in the staff restroom?”

“I’m. Using it.” 

“I see.” Aziraphale’s grin widened and, feeling distinctly out of character, he leaned against the wall. “And what are you using it for this time? Are you constructing some nefarious device? Pipe bomb?”

“Strapping dynamite to gerbils, actually. Much more efficient.” 

Aziraphale chuckled. “If you don’t mind, I do need to get a stain out.” He paused at Crowley’s silence. “If the, ah, gerbils don’t mind either, of course,” he added. 

“Yeah. Yeah, course. One sec.” 

He heard some shuffling within the bathroom, the squeaky sound of a cloth rubbed aggressively against glass, and a muffled “ Shit!” before Crowley opened the door just a tad and poked his head out. 

Like the first time they had met, Crowley was wearing a pair of sunglasses, but this time instead of a collared shirt he wore a baggy tee reading Black Sabbath over a soft jumper for the seedlings . He kept the door held tightly shut to his cheek. “Can’t let you in, I’m afraid. The gerbils are shy. But I can help you with your stain.” 

Aziraphale winced at the reminder of the stain, which he had stopped holding so far from his skin. Oh, bother. His jumper was going to get stretched. But Crowley’s reluctance to let him see inside was far more attention-grabbing. “What are you doing in there?” 

Crowley grimaced and shoved his sunglasses up with the back of his hand. “Stuff.”

“…Stuff?” Aziraphale repeated. “Stuff besides, besides gerbil wrangling?” 

He grimaced harder, eyebrows going in an impressive upside down v-shape. “Ehhhhh, just things.” He waved his hand around above his head. “Yeah, nothing important. Lemme help with that stain though. Reparations.” He grinned in acknowledgement of his own private inside joke before carefully squeezing out of the bathroom without giving away whatever dastardly things he was getting up to. Aziraphale squinted to look, and all he could see were some creative-looking scribbles on the mirror. And were those…devil’s horns?

“C’mon then!” Crowley breezed right past him.

“Ah, really, my dear, you don’t have to help me. If you’re not, not using the staff restroom for your gerbils anymore, then I can use it myself.”

“Nah, I have something much better than that. Were you really planning to get the spew off with that soap dispenser stuff?” Crowley wrinkled his nose. 

“…Yes?” 

“Oh noooo.” He scoffed and quickened his space. Goodness, he was fast! “Need a bit more than that to get it out. You’re lucky I was around, I’m an expert.”

“Oh my,” Aziraphale breathed out, trying to keep up. “Missile-maker, gerbil-tamer, and a cleaning expert? You’re a, you’re a triple threat, aren’t you?” 

Crowley tsked like he was offended. “Only noticing this now?” 

“I was just so distracted by, er, ah, your scheming.”

Crowley paused in his brisk walk right as they were about to round a corner to level a sharp grin at him. “Quadruple threat, then. Criminal mastermind.” And off he went again. 

Aziraphale laughed. “Where are you taking me?”

“Middle’s lounge. That’s where they keep all the science-y stuff.” 

“Are you going to science the stain away, then?” 

“I am a learning physicist stuck in this place.” His words, though bitter-seeming, were spoken with complete calm and apathy. “Gotta practice somehow.”

“…And I’m your unwitting guinea pig, then?” 

Completely deadpan, Crowley said, “Yup. Gerbils didn’t make the cut for this one.” 

Aziraphale really couldn’t help himself, and burst out into raucous laughter, attracting the gazes of a few passing by attendants. He gave a nervous wave and tried to control himself. 

As they approached the Middle’s lounge, the imaginative and rowdy conversation of 6 and 12-year olds alike grew louder. The recreational area was put together for Middles of all ages, with shelves of board games, cards, coloring supplies, a rather rickety foosball table, and even a system for video games. Like every other time he had first walked in, Aziraphale was a little overwhelmed by the activity. Though not every Middle at Little Eden was in the recreational room at once, even the smallest number seemed to compensate and be as loud as possible. Today there seemed to be 2 or 3 groups around, intermingling with other ages in reading, drawing, or playing games. 

Crowley, unsurprisingly, strode right in like he belonged though he neglected to check in with anyone. Aziraphale hurried over to one of the workers who had noticed them come in. 

“Ah, my apologies ma’am, we’re just here to…Mr. Crowley had mentioned there was some stain removal?” 

The worker paused in their game of Uno with two other Middles. She looked tired but rather bemused. “Did he? I swear he has the run of this place.” 

Though the Middles had seemed initially uncaring as to Aziraphale’s presence, they perked up when they heard Crowley’s name. “Crowley?” One wearing a pair of loose dungarees pulled his legs up into his seat. “What’s he doing here again?” 

The other playing Middle abandoned their cards on the table, a few falling to the floor in their hurry over to the lanky Little. Aziraphale looked over to see quite a few Middles — at least 4 or 5 — hurrying over to Crowley as he rummaged through a few cabinets. 

“Is he…Is it alright if he does that?” Aziraphale wrung his hands together. 

“Yeah, yup. Whatever’s in those open ones is completely harmless. Though I won’t be surprised if he comes over here in a minute to beg for my keys. What is it that he needs?”

“Ah, I have a stain,” Aziraphale grinned sheepishly and tugged at his jumper. “He said he had a tried and true removal method.” 

“I’m sure he does. Kid causes enough messes to know how to properly clean them up.” She grinned again, though simultaneously looked as if she were deprived of at least 3 days of good sleep. 

One of the Middles that had been speaking with Crowley bounded over, curls bouncing. She was called — Elise? Emmy? “Mr. Fell, are you Crowley’s new nurse?”

“Oh, oh no, my dear.” Aziraphale couldn’t help but blush a little at the sweet assumption. “Crowley is just being very helpful and getting me something to fix up my jumper.”

Another little boy came over, wearing a sportsy sort of cardigan. “What happened to it?” 

“Ah, one of the babies sicked up, unfortunately.”

“Was it Crowley?” The girl asked. Perhaps her name was Emily? 

“Hm?”

“Was Crowley the baby who’s sick?”

“Oh no.” Aziraphale looked back over at Crowley, still joking with the Middles as he rummaged through cabinets for god-knows-what. It was honestly still somewhat difficult to imagine him as a Little, however young. “No, it was someone else.” 

“Oh, good. He promised he’d give me a piggyback and I don’t want to get sick.” 

The little boy cut in, apparently to speak on his and Emmy’s (surely it was Emmy?) behalf. “Crowley promised me a piggyback first last time, Sophie.” Sophie! Oh bother, he hadn’t been close at all. 

“Nuh-uh. It was me first. Remember? We were playing mancala and Crowley was on my team, and he said that if we won he’d give me a piggyback first.” 

“No, he said–”

“Zira-hale!” 

“Ooof–” Aziraphale was promptly tackled by a blur and tried to steady himself on the table behind him.

“It’s been ages since you’ve come!” The Middle of around 8 or 9 mental years named Avery — this time he was quite sure of her name — squeezed him tight around the middle. “Have you been with the babies all this time?” 

Aziraphale desperately tried to pull his jumper up so she didn’t smush her face into the damp spot. “I have, yes. And, er, ah, where have you been? All this time? Up, uhm, up here?” Lord, but he was still awful at talking to Middles. 

She giggled and loosened her grip so she could beam up at him. “Yup!” She poked at the small hole at the bottom hem of his jumper. “Your sweater is all hole-y. Why haven’t you fixed it up? 

Sophie paused her argument with the other little boy to smirk and poke at Aziraphale as well. “He always wears really old things.”

“Have you all decided to make fun of Aziraphale without me?” Crowley snarked. Aziraphale almost deflated in relief at the sight of him. Crowley grinned wide, one Middle monkeying on his back with a squished box of baking soda crushed in his elbow. 

“Crowley, put Martin down,” said the worker, her voice both exasperated and annoyed. 

Crowley either couldn’t hear her over the noise or, more likely, didn’t listen. “Cause he does wear old things, doesn’t he?” 

“Oh, well,” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and tried to gently pry Avery away from the stain. “Considering you wear sunglasses indoors, I’m not quite sure you’re the leading example of proper fashion, my dear.”

Crowley barked out a laugh. “At least what I wear is current.”

“Crowley,” said a lounging purple-haired girl reading a comic book, “You’re wearing a Black Sabbath tee. That’s hardly current.” 

“Better than a literal sodding bowtie,” Crowley spluttered. 

“Language,” admonished the worker, sounding increasingly spent. “And what did I say about Martin?”

“Martin’s here? Where’s he gone?” Crowley pretended to look for the boy, turning sharply left and right. Martin giggled madly, holding on tighter to Crowley as he spun. 

Much to Aziraphale’s concern, the worker sighed before standing up. “Crowley.”

“Oh! There he is, you right bugger!” Crowley swung Martin off his back. “Trying to hide from seeing Aziraphale’s awful fashion choices? I don’t blame you.” Before the worker could properly scold him, Crowley barreled on. “Well, we’re off. Have to help Mr. Aziraphale preserve his jumper for the Natural History Museum.”

Aziraphale stammered, caught between either laughing embarrassingly loud, helping Crowley get away from the imminent chiding, or letting the worker do her job. “Ah, er, yes, if you don’t mind my dear—” 

The worker looked terribly unimpressed. 

“We, ah, yes. My stain. Crowley?” 

With a bright, uncaring grin, Crowley near-sauntered out of the Middle’s lounge. He ignored a few of the Middle’s cries for piggyback rides or being swung around or playing a round of speed to hurry away from the worker. Aziraphale gave her a sheepish grin before following after him, hoping he hadn’t upset the calm too much. Or, well, as much of a calm a roomful of Middles was going to achieve. 

Crowley led him down a few halls to the nurse’s station where Miss Uriel Obianyo, Little Eden’s onsite EMT, sat passively clacking at a computer. Unlike with the worker in the Middle’s lounge, Crowley did announce himself. 

“Uriel! Don’t mind us, we’re just here for a sink.”

As Aziraphale had come to expect in any conversation with Uriel, she didn’t react past a slightly raised eyebrow. “A sink?” 

“Yup,” said Crowley, popping the p. “Aziraphale has a stain.” He shook the box of baking soda at her like it would further explain everything. 

She paused before seeming to decide something in her head. “Don’t take too long. Don’t be loud. And don’t take my gauze again.”

“Course, of course.” Crowley grinned and hopped onto the counter next to the sink. He was completely at ease, ignoring the obvious displeasure Uriel seemed to have for him. He beckoned Aziraphale over with a grin as he yanked at the paper towel dispenser’s lever over and over again. Ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk. “Who spewed on you anyways?” Ka-chunk. 

“Oh, it was Barnabus. Poor dear.” Aziraphale stepped closer, increasingly curious with Crowley’s miracle cleaner. 

“Yeah. Doesn’t surprise me that he’s sick. Barny’s always putting stuff in his mouth, the nut.” He folded up the towel before passing it off. The moment Aziraphale was done wiping off the milky muck, Crowley plucked the towel away without even a hint of a grimace. 

“Oh, oh no, let me do that, my dear—”

“Oh, nah. It’s nothing for me. Being a Little and all.” He snorted and tossed the wet mess into the bin. “Why else would I be here?” 

“I had, er, assumed for an alibi. For, ah… Well, no one suspects a sweet Little to be a criminal, do they?” 

Crowley gave an amused scoff. “I don’t know about sweet, but I will neither confirm nor deny the utility of this place as an alibi.” As Aziraphale laughed, Crowley passed over the baking soda. 

“Ah, oh, this won’t stain either, will it?” He nervously started sprinkling it but Crowley just waved his hand. 

“What do you think the powder’s for? That’s the science-y part.” 

He kept sprinkling until the patch made Aziraphale look victim to a baking accident. “See? Nothing bad happened. I’m perfectly trustworthy.”

“So you say, but who’s, who’s to say you haven’t just secretly poisoned me?”

Crowley snickered. “I swear you have a darker mind than I do. It’s all the white you wear,” he gestured at a non-powdery section of his sweater. “Throws me off.” 

“Oh yes, I really should reconsider my dress, should I?” Aziraphale sighed. “I’d rather not have a mess like this be so obvious.” He pouted. “And one that can stain, no less.”

“Achk, you’ll be fine.” Crowley waved his hand again and gestured to the powdery jumper. “You have science, remember?” 

“Yes. I trust you.” Aziraphale grinned. “And, and your science, of course. Though,” he paused and sniffed. “I can’t help but wonder if you hope to leverage this for something dastardly.”

Crowley swung his legs and leaned back. “Like for wot?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know,” Aziraphale tried very hard not to smile. “Like accosting someone’s lunch, for one.” 

Crowley grinned. “Mm. Yeah. Well. Got it in one. I do have a request for you, actually. I need a chaperone.”

“A chaperone?” Of all the things Aziraphale was expecting, from a plan to put red garments in the wash with the white sheets or swap all the mustard for mayonnaise, chaperoning was certainly not one of them. “For what?”

Crowley groaned and banged his heels on the counter until Uriel glared at him. “I need to get a lab done at the University, and I can’t leave without someone else.”

“Do you…” Aziraphale paused, trying to think how to phrase his question as delicately as possible. “Are the nurses not allowed to accompany you?” 

“No, just. Erhm. Friends. Family members.” Crowley didn’t look at him. “Normally my friend Bee does it for me, but they’re abroad. So. Then.”

Aziraphale began to fidget with his jumper, continually adjusting his grip on the wet stain. “Ah, well. When is your lab?”

“Saturday morning. Can you?” Crowley looked suddenly very interested in the paper towel dispenser, pushing down on the lever to watch the paper emerge. Ka-chunk. Ka-chunk.  

“Considering that you have helped me with my stain, I’m afraid it would be rude of me to decline,” Aziraphale said. In truth, he was much more excited about the prospect than he was likely letting on. Crowley was, as Tracey put it, “An interesting sounding character,” and Aziraphale was anything if not interested in interesting people. 

Crowley deflated in relief, and immediately proceeded to look as if he had expected a “yes” regardless. “It would be,” he grinned, “So be here at 9am Saturday.”

“I suppose I’ll see you then.” He paused before gasping. “Oh! Oh, I know the loveliest place to take you for a breakfast! Cafe Maya does a fantastic acai bowl.”

Crowley snickered. “Trying to poison me now, you are.”

“I’ll have you know,” Aziraphale scolded, “That acai is delightful, and come Saturday you will agree with me.”

“Acai is just oats! It’s horse food!” 

“Mr. Crowley, I don’t know if you have forgotten, but I am working here,” said Uriel.

In casual defiance of Uriel’s agitated tone, Crowley giggled. “Alright, yeah, yeah.” He passed on a second paper towel bunch. “Let’s fix this up, then.”

“And I’ll accompany you on Saturday. Though don’t think you can weasel anything else out of me,” Aziraphale said, though he tried badly to hide his amusement. 

“We’ll see about that, Fell,” said Crowley, grinning wide. 

Chapter Text

“Fine. You got me. This is actually pretty good.” Crowley waved the acai at Aziraphale with a sneer. 

Aziraphale grinned back. He looked way too smug. “What did I say?”

Aziraphale’s car was exactly as Crowley had imagined: clean, reliable-looking, and old. Very old. But not old enough to be cool exactly, more like old enough to be gently encouraged by friends to take it in. It looked somewhat scuffed, like it was used to be shoved around by other cars and pavement alike, but not damaged. Crowley tried not to notice the Little Eden branded bag innocuously sitting in the back. Though he didn’t really want to think about it, he was all too aware of what could be inside. Snacks. A paper with phone numbers to the clinic. Pullups. Eugch, god.

But as much as he had squirmed, he’d gotten the “necessary evils” talk from Device, Mary, and Aggie alike. It was shite, but he was honestly lucky enough to be granted to leave the home in the first place. So the embarrassing bag of unnecessary Little goods it was. At least the acai was good. And, frankly, the company. 

“I don’t care,” he sniffed. “It’s still — what’d I call it? Rabbit food?” He sneered and shoved another spoonful of berry into his mouth. “‘M jus’ a rabbid food luber ‘oo, now. Converded me, y’did.”

“I’m glad to hear I was successful,” beamed Aziraphale, beamingly. 

As much as he appreciated the help, Crowley had honestly been dreading his lab. It was annoying enough that he had to have someone hold his hand just to go to the same uni he used to stroll around no problem, but specifically asking Aziraphale? That was even more annoying. The last thing he ever wanted to do was put out someone as nice as him, but he knew that he would be willing. And not as overbearing as any other Caregiver. Though an even more annoying, honest part of himself was excited about it too. Aziraphale was fun. 

“Hrmph.” Crowley scoffed around a clump of granola. “This once. ‘M not about to try the applesauce-y thing you were talking about.”

“But Applesauce bandit really is wonderful.” Aziraphale grinned and unsubtly placed a fresh napkin on the console between them when Crowley felt a cold slash of accidental berry betray him on his upper lip.

“You also think Hastur’s food is good.” Crowley paused a moment before actually going to take the napkin. He tried not to let his face flame into red and focused on staring at the minor dust on the tops of the air conditioning unit. Everything else in the car looked pristine and shiny, probably Aziraphale’s doing. He was more fastidious than Newt trying to get some order on arts and crafts day. But the top of the console had a smudge of faint dust, and Crowley absentmindedly dragged his finger through it. 

Aziraphale hummed and placed the finished carton behind him. “You said it was just ten minutes down Columbia, my dear?”

Crowley rubbed his dusty thumb and pointer finger together. “Yup.” 

Going about the speed of an extremely unpunctual snail, Aziraphale pulled out of the cafe parking space. Crowley snorted to himself when he noticed how many times his curly white head swiveled back and forth to check for any cars. When the way proved free, Aziraphale dragged them onto the highway with eyes impressively focused on the road ahead. 

They were both silent, Azirphale insistently focused on the road and Crowley insistently focused on not insulting the Caregiver’s sweater first thing. This was probably not the normal amount of quiet. Was there a normal amount of quiet? Varied from person to person, did it? But Aziraphale seemed the type to be okay with quiet. Probably welcomed it too. Shit, now it was just awkward. 

This probably called for intervention. “Sssoo. You said you ran a bookshop?”

“Oh no, no,” muttered Aziraphale. He seemed very concerned with the lorry edging slowly onto the highway beside them. “I mean, no. I do not; I think I’d rather enjoy having one. Though I imagine it would be difficult to actually, ah, part with the books themselves.”

“Ha. Pftb.” Crowley snorted. “Why’s that?”

“Well, I work at a library that deals in rare acquisitions, and I would really hate to just — give precious books off to some of the people I’ve seen.” Aziraphale sighed and shook his head before shaking it again in a different way, mostly at Crowley in the seat beside. “Not that I don’t like most people, of course,” he rushed out.

“Ahhh, don’t be afraid to say you don’t like someone,” said Crowley. He leaned forward and grinned right back at Aziraphale. 

“I don’t dislike them! It’s just,” Aziraphale gave a fiercely unsubtle sigh as the lorry pulled away. “You imagine handing a Porout missprint to someone who just returned a book he’d accidentally managed to run over with his car.”

“His car?” crowed Crowley. Aziraphale could get angry at someone? 

“Oh yes. If you can believe it.” With another sigh, this one of the more anxious quality, Aziraphale went into a multi-step process of changing lanes. “In fact, if you can believe that — ohhh,” he grimaced as a car came too close. Crowley couldn’t stop his face from grinning. “If you can believe that, then you will be absolutely shocked by what I found in a perfectly good copy of The Secret History…” 

Thanks to Aziraphale’s driving — which Crowley delighted and agonized over how truly, impressively slow it was — they made it to the parking lot in one piece. He was just slinging his laptop bag over his shoulder, squinting at the window to see if anyone else signed up for Saturday data collection and hoping they didn’t, when he turned to see Aziraphale happily toting the diaper bag. For a moment, Crowley tried to imagine himself as the kind of person who wouldn’t care. He was cool, right? He didn’t have to care. He never did. He didn’t have to do anything. 

…Just like Aziraphale definitely didn’t have to carry that blue monstrosity inside his uni. 

“Eerhg. Aziraphale. Could you…” Crowley half-gestured and half-cringed at the bag. “You don’t have to bring that in.”

Aziraphale, to his credit, looked apologetic. “I know, my dear, but Agnes rather encouraged me to take it with us. She said it was—”

“—Just in case, yeah, gave me the talk too. Just.” He made a sort of wriggling motion with his hands, fingers caught between miming throwing the whole thing at the bike racks or squeezing it until its cheery turquoise went to a sad pukey beryl. “I promise I’ll let you know if I. Urghkh. Need it.” He sneered. “But trust me, right?”

It looked like it was going to be a firm but gentle no at first, but Aziraphale was nice, as he always was, and placed the bag into the car. “Alright. I trust you.” Surprisingly, he even looked more assured than he did nervous. 

Shit. Maybe Aziraphale did actually trust him. Bad idea, that. 

Well. “C’mon.” Crowley jerked his head towards the building and started for the entrance. “Lab’s just up here. And, mmrh. If y’like I can take you to the library after.”

“Oh!” Any lingering upset immediately disappeared at the prospect of some dusty books. “Oh, yes, I’d love that. I miss my old University library.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Loughborough, if you know it.”

“Course I know it! Have a friend up there, actually.” Crowley opened the door with his key card and held it open for Aziraphale, who looked way too pleased at just an opened door. 

“Why, thank you very much, my dear.” Aziraphale smiled at him before pausing at the ever-confusing architecture of the science building. “Er. Where to now?”

Crowley started going up the closest flight of stairs to them, hurrying to finish the acai before lab safety rules kicked in. “Lab is just up the stairs, then to the rightish.” 

“What exactly is this lab you have to do?”

“Sort of atom thing. Nothing special. S’for…” Crowley pushed open the door, the little glass window failing to prepare him for whoever was at the back and dealing with their own experiment. Ah fuck. He should have looked harder, because Talia Dagan of all people was busy in the corner. Why would she even need to be here? 

He couldn’t stop himself from making a sort of hissing sound and whirled around to see Aziraphale, his usual placid excitement still in place. 

“Ahh. Another student’s here, so just…yeah.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale peered around to watch her. She looked like she was dealing with something water plant-sy. “Is that a problem?”

“Yes,” said Crowley immediately. “I mean no. It’s fine. Over here.”

He led the two of them over to the cabinets, gesturing for Aziraphale to sit down at one of the side desks. In an attempt to be as blaise and cool about having his literal mandated Caregiver figuratively holding his hand around one of his old classmates, he got straight to pulling equipment out and setting it up. 

“Ooh. What’s all this for, then? I was never a science person.” The baseline-excitement turned into fascinated-excitement and Aziraphale hungrily peered at every angle of the devices. 

“Well,” Crowley cleared his throat. It wasn’t often he got to describe what he did to other people. The other Littles and Middles cared, but really only listened to the ‘stars and planet studies’ part and stopped asking questions. Boring. But at least here was a chance to actually show that he wasn’t just some whiny toddler. Shame that this experiment was dull and unnecessary and more of a get it out of the way -type thing. “If you really wanna know, it’s basically just proving stuff we already know. Called the Zeeman effect. Useful for looking at sunspots ‘n all.”

“Those are the darker parts of the sun, yes? Cooler than the rest?”

Crowley made a low, short whistle. “Got it in one. The sun doesn’t rotate uniformly — faster rotation speed in the equator — so the magnetic field lines from north to south get tangled up. When you move closer inside the spot, the spectral lines get all split-y and you can measure the magnetic fields pretty accurately. This is just a mini magnetic field.” He started screwing on the different lenses to the spectral lamp. “Like I said, nothing too fun or crazy or anything. Probably just to prove to the professor that I know how to follow a procedure without fucking things up too bad.” 

“So this— you’re, you’re looking at the sun, then?”

“Oh, nah. Be much more fun if we did.” The screws made a sort of eerky sound. Old fucking equipment. “This is just looking at it on a smaller scale. What I’m actually doing here is subjecting an atom to excitement — exposing it to a magnetic field, getting it stressed out, basically — till it splits. Into all its different electronic energy levels. Supposed to show how energy is quantized in an atom.”

Aziraphale sat back, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Oh my. There’s certainly a reason I stayed in the humanities.”

“If I was smart I probably would’ve done the same.” Crowley dropped a screw, which Aziraphale was almost too quick to help him pick up. “—Thanks. Not much money in academics now.”

“There isn’t much money in being a librarian either. Unfortunately.”

“What, you’re telling me the library isn’t a front for illegal activity?”

“Oh, well, I can’t be giving away all my secrets, can I?” Aziraphale deadpanned.

Crowley laughed. The quickest way to get in and out was probably to set up the kepner lamp first before mounting any of the lenses on the optical slide track. Then he could check the normal and abnormal variations as fast as possible and not have to be here any longer than he needed to be. Not that he was thrilled to be going back to Eden — definitely not, he was still in Agnes’s office every weekend trying to convince her he was fine enough to waltz out by lunchtime — but being in the same room as an old peer made him feel like someone was stirring his guts with a long stick. 

“Oh my!” Aziraphale’s cheery surprise pulled him right out of his thoughts. “You’re a legitimate scientist!”

Crowley scoffed. “‘M more like a — I dunno. Not a scientist, I can tell you that.”

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t say that, my dear. Look at you! This is actually rather exciting for me, I’ve never quite seen an experiment in… in action, I suppose.” Aziraphale has the fidgety look about him of someone who really wanted to get closer to an active, sparking firework but let reason convince them otherwise. 

He was probably just excited to see the spectral lamp ready to go. Frankly, Crowley was too. If he cared a bit more, he’d stop rushing the whole set-up process and take some more pictures for qualitative set-up, but a few glances over to Dagan told him she was wrapping up quick, and quick enough to catch him before he left. 

“Is that…pardon me, my dear, but is that supposed to be like that?”

Crowley glanced over. “Fuu-huck.” He groaned and went over to adjust the position of the field. Escaping conversation with Dagan wasn’t worth his grade. Or paying for broken equipment. Honestly, when did he start caring so much about other people’s opinions anyways? He used to be cool. Now here he was, actually giving half a fuck about Dagan and the irrelevant, dull thoughts in her head. Embarrassing, really. He should —

“Crowley, is it?”

Crowley’s head shot up. 

“Yeah,” said Dagan, either completely unaware of the rebooting-to-social-agony journey his brain was on, or choosing to ignore it. “We were wondering what happened. You disappeared.”

“…Government business,” said Crowley, drier than a postmortem cactus. He leaned against the hard edge of the table and fiddled with the lens positions to busy his hands before they choked something. The lenses were probably in some danger themselves. “Not at liberty to say much.”

Dagan smiled, or at least leveled a grimace that could be charitably called a smile. “Haha,” she said. “You’re still funny.”

“Need something?” Crowley looked over at Aziraphale who was, thank fuck, just quietly and passively observing. Though another part of him, the part he had lectured at in the mirror for the better part of 20 minutes to make sure they were on the same page, hoped that Azithaphale would just butt in and save him from this nightmare of a conversation. 

“Just curious,” leveled Dagan, kindly continuing to take a hammer to all of Crowley’s peace. “I heard that you were actually a Little. And you had to move to an orphanage or something.” She grimaced the same smile, though this one verged more on a sneer. “Just rumors, are they?”

“Yeah, well, rumor is you’re doing well in world religion.” He sniffed derisively. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

“Hrm.” She readjusted her things and gave Aziraphale another look, one that wasn’t so indifferent. “Is this your nanny, then? Babysitter?”

Crowley immediately felt all sanity leave him, every small bit of it. He sneered back as nastily as he could manage before, in a rare moment of timely self-consciousness, tamping it down to more of a glower. “Fuck off,” he growled. He could tell it wasn’t as quick as he would have liked it. 

He could hear Aziraphale make a sharp breath or move or something but he didn’t look over. The whole of the room was sort of concentrated on Dagan and her stupid face — as little as he liked it that way. 

Dagan’s sneer turned slimy as she walked away. “Didn’t know you were so touchy, Crowley. Have a good weekend.” And the heavy lab door clicked behind her. 

What a swot. Crowley slumped against the counter very cooly. He groaned. “Sorry about — that.” He finally hazarded a look at Aziraphale, but he mostly just looked concerned. 

“Really, I’m sorry. That was — goodness.” Aziraphale shook his head. “I’m so sorry you have to deal with, with people like that.”

“‘S fine. Don’t worry about it.” Crowley waved him off, Aziraphale’s concern actually grounding him further in his coolness. It was cool. 

“Are people usually… well, pardon me for asking, but are people often that…oh…” 

“That much of an asshole?”

“I—” Aziraphale made a sort of disagreeing-laughing-choking sound. “I suppose, yes.”

Crowley laughed back, finally feeling a little looser. “Sometimes. ‘S not piece of cake, but it’s not bad. Perfectly, I dunno, tolerable. Y’get through it.”

“What is it like?”

“What?” Crowley was genuinely a little surprised, and paused his fiddling with the back plate, which probably didn’t require anymore fucking-with. “You’re telling me no one’s ever assumed anything of you?”

“Because I’m a Caregiver?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Well. Yeah.”

“Ah.” He shifted a bit in his seat, looking simultaneously pensive and uncomfortable before his face brightened with recollection. “Actually, would you believe me if I told you that I once had a customer who genuinely thought all Caregivers were required by law to be teachers?”

“What?” Crowley scoffed into a laugh. Then steeled himself, feigning confusion. “Wait, are you telling me they’re not threatening you with jail time to feed me acai and keep Ami from sticking everything in her mouth?”

Aziraphale scoffed back and waved his hand with an amused grin. “You’re silly,” he said. Crowley’s insides did a sort of zing. Aziraphale went on, unaware. “Unless you’re asking if they pay me in entertainment. In which case, I am a rather rich man thanks to you.”

“Entertainment—” he paused, wracking his brain for what could possibly be so entertaining about life at Little Eden. The most entertaining thing that ever happened there were the days he managed to slip away long enough to pull something on Hastur. “What, like my plans?

“Oh, yes. Exactly. What was it that you did the other day?”

“Uh.” Crowley adjusted his phone, trying to get all the components in the set-up picture at once. “Are you talking about the mustard or the fake spider?”

“—Fake spider, yes, exactly.” Aziraphale chuckled to himself. “That was absolutely fantastic.”

In a sort of split second — about the amount of time it takes someone to figure out that their water is boiling a bit too enthusiastically — Crowley realized that Aziraphale was being genuine. He found him funny, liked his pranks, was even willing to hold his goddamn hand to his lab. Sure, he probably felt obligated to do it, but if he really hadn’t he could’ve just lied. Said he had something else going on. Crowley was more than familiar with that tactic. He used it all the time whenever he wanted to get out of a lame party or study group that seemed duller than a rubbed-down crayon. So Aziraphale maybe, possibly, actually liked him. 

“Er. Thanks,” Crowley said. He paused for a moment, just staring at his configuration. 

It was afternoon now, and the sun was cheerfully streaming through the lab windows, whatever chemical or lack of chemicals making the glass go all filmy. The golden light lit up the drying beakers in Dagan’s corner, warming up every cold, static surface it crept up on. A stray beam had kindly refracted itself onto his printed methodology sheets. Crowley pulled them away. 

He could still taste the sweet-tartness of the stupid acai bowls. A bit of granola was probably still stuck in his teeth. The sun beam didn’t move, and he ran his hand across the warming metal. Aziraphale sat sort-of comfortably in the desk chair, almost screaming how much he didn’t quite fit the environment. He looked like he belonged at a very important meeting for academics or was waiting his turn to give an obscure TedTalk. He also looked, most distinctly, like Crowley was someone worth checking in on. Worth spending time with.  

“Everything alright, my dear?”

Crowley looked over. “Yeah,” he said. He adjusted something, who knew what. He definitely hadn’t needed to. “Just thinking about how much I actually hated the acai.”

“Ahh, kept the truth hidden from me, did you?”

“Yeah. Just wait, I’m gonna make you stay for Hastur’s chili next time. Reparations.”

“Don’t threaten,” Aziraphale faux-scowled before laughing. Crowley laughed with him, finally feeling a little looser after Dagan’s bullshit. He hated needing someone, and he almost hated needing Aziraphale even more, but this—

This wasn’t too bad. Maybe things were looking up.

Crowley shook his head a little and took a final set-up photo, one that at least got the tail end of the optical stand. He could drift off later. For now, he had a library to get to, some acai to make fun of, and atoms to split. 

Chapter Text

Aziraphale hummed to himself as he worked. Cleaning strollers was much more delicate work than he had assumed. There were so many ridiculous little nooks and crannies. Too many to be necessary, frankly. He was sure their inventors hadn’t thought of the poor Caregivers that would be stuck cleaning them. And much less stuck cleaning them after a Little somehow managed to spill their crunchy snack all over themselves and the seat. If Aziraphale ever got his own Little — which he would begrudgingly admit Little Hands was helping him better imagine — he would steer clear of anything even remotely crunchable. 

But even worse, this was the third or so stroller he had to clean in the past month. He was going to have to have a word with Agnes or Newt: no more dastardly melty puffs. 

He was right in the middle of picking some crumbs out of the buckle when Newt came in. 

“Ah, hi, Aziraphale.” He looked harried as he began to quickly rummage through the top kitchen cabinets, not bothering to close them. 

“Newton,” Aziraphale paused his cleaning in concern. “Is everything alright?” Newt was an infamously nervous person, which meant they found kinship in one another. But this didn’t seem to be the usual sort of stress Newt carried with him. He seemed genuinely distressed. Frazzled. And goodness, that couldn’t be anything good. 

“Have you seen any puffs around? Or those Organix biscuits?” He asked, still searching the cabinets. 

“None that haven’t been destroyed by toddlers, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale stood and dithered with his cleaning cloth. “Could I help you at all?”

“Actually, yes.” Unlike all the others, Newt slammed the last cabinet shut. He finally turned to face him, looking terrified and exhausted in equal turn. “It’s Crowley. Mary said he ran off while in headspace.”

Aziraphale stammered. “…Crowley?” 

For the first time, Newt displayed something other than panic and cocked his head in confusion. “You’ve come across him once or twice, yeah? Ginger?”

“I, I have.” Aziraphale was still dumbfounded. Crowley had run off? And while in headspace? Logically, Aziraphale knew that he was a Little. He had seen flashes of it during his more boyish pranks or when he was teasing him. And he was almost sure that Crowley was a seedling, considering his wear. But the image of the cool, collected, endlessly witty Crowley clashed in his mind with the softness that came with being a young Little. 

A smaller part of his mind chimed that it was a day where Aziraphale normally didn’t run into Crowley. He knew it was a day that he presumably dropped, but he had just never realized that he might run into a small, precious Crowley himself. 

He grinned and shook his head to himself as his mind played out the possibilities. Perhaps Crowley had run off because someone was about to find themselves at the receiving end of a truly adorable prank. They must be even more harmless if he was in his headspace! But what could a seedling do— paint all over the wall? Googly-eye a barrage of unsuspecting objects? Aziraphale had no idea, but he was excited to find out.

Happy to abandon his stroller-cleaning — and to experience his share of shenanigans for the week — he heaved himself off the ground. “I’m sure he’s only up to no good. Where did Mary say he ran off to?”

Newt ran a hand through his hair, still breathing heavily. “Somewhere down towards the kitchen. She said he likes chocolate biscuits.” He gestured loosely at the opened cabinets. 

Unhurried, Aziraphale strode out of the room and to the first of his guesses where Crowley could be. Perhaps in one of the offices. On the days where Aziraphale usually ran into him he was doing schoolwork in one, regardless of whether or not their owners had actually invited him to or not. 

But no, he wasn’t lounging in Agnes’s office. Or Chaney’s. Or Arun’s. Or even pestering Uriel. Aziraphale went through the kitchen, ducking down to check under tables or in pantries. Nothing. 

During his search, he started to wonder about Newt’s frenzy. Was this really something to be concerned about? And where on earth was Crowley? He wasn’t the Middle’s lounge (Aziraphale had poked into with as impassive a face as possible to not scare the children), wasn’t in the hallways (a quick walk-down that only served to emphasize how big the facility was), wasn’t in the staff bathroom (which presented not a Crowley but a Ximena inside), and certainly not the—

On another sweep of the hallways after running into a frantic Mary, Aziraphale simply began to start jiggling the handles of every door. Most that were usually off-limits to the Littles like the laundry or mechanics rooms were locked, but the one furthest from Agnes’s office clicked open at Aziraphale’s tugging. It turned out to be the janitor’s closet, a small room bisected by a large shelf full of miscellaneous cleaning products. He was ready to back out and attempt another sweep of the building when the sound of a small breath stopped him. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale gingerly stepped in and peered around the side of the tall shelf. There, tucked between bottles of floor cleaner and nestled on top of a few discarded mop ends was Crowley. 

At this point, Aziraphale didn’t quite know what to expect. A giggling little boy, perhaps, taken by his own mischievous genius. Trite and nervous about getting into trouble at worst. But when he finally saw Crowley, the reality was far from what he had assumed.  

The boy — for that’s what he was in this moment — looked absolutely miserable. He was curled up tight, one knee close to his chest and the other carelessly kicked out. His eyes were red and crinkled. Without his sunglasses, it made him look so much more vulnerable, perhaps even more so than the hand he cradled by his cheek. 

Any excitement he had felt over seeing Crowley in his headspace was promptly dashed. It didn’t feel right coming to find him when he clearly didn’t want to be found. Of course he had always wanted to meet Crowley in headspace, first out of curiosity and later out of sheer personal desire, but his teary eyes, his intentional hiding, his posture, his everything made the whole situation feel wrong. Aziraphale averted his eyes and kept close to the door. 

“C-… Crowley,” he said, his hands folding and unfolding together. “…Darling, it’s Aziraphale. I’m just here to help you back to– back to Mary, I believe.”

“Don’t want to,” Crowley replied tremulously. His voice was completely unlike himself, and it shocked Aziraphale to his core. 

He cleared his throat. “And why’s that?”

Crowley gave an angry sniff. “Don’t want a bath. ‘M tired.” His hand strayed down to play with the white threads of the mop, twisting and teasing the fraying bits. 

Oh. Upset over a bath? That was… actually rather darling. “Well,” Aziraphale began, “Sometimes I don’t want a bath myself. Especially when it’s been a long day and I’m tired.” He stepped a little closer, his hand keeping the door open so Mary could see where he was if she passed by again. “Has it been a long day for you, my dear?” 

Terribly, Crowley’s face crumpled and he shoved it into his knees. “Go please, ‘Zira.”

Oh lord. Crowley’s small nickname for him just punched him right in his heart. Aziraphale frowned in concern. “Darling, I can wait right outside until Mary comes, but I can’t let you alone.”

“Why,” he sniffed. “Cause I’m little?” It was the angriest Aziraphale had ever seen him. Or, well, the angriest he had seen considering that he had never truly seen Crowley upset in any real way at all. From what he had seen so far of the boy, Aziraphale had honestly assumed it was impossible for him to become genuinely angry, but here was proof otherwise. 

Aziraphale kept his voice soft. “Yes. And you’re upset.”

“I don’t wanna bath,” Crowley growled into his knees. His fingers wandered to tug on a curl. Oh gosh, with how the boy was touching the mopheads and then around his face, he really did need a bath. 

Aziraphale looked anywhere but at Crowley. “Even if I’m tired, on long days a nice, hot bath sets me straight. I’m sure if you ask Mary she’d even let you have bubbles.” That was likely preferential treatment, but bribery surely didn’t hurt considering the circumstances. 

“Don’t like baths,” mumbled Crowley. 

“Well,” Aziraphale nervously swayed from left to right. Normally he was perfectly capable at talking to upset Littles, but this was Crowley. He was entirely out of his depth. “I, ahh. I rather hate making my bed.” Crowley sniffed, and he stammered. “Really hate it, actually. Dastardly, ah, bedsheets. I am utterly convinced they do it on purpose.”

“Purpose?” Crowley’s hesitant little voice gave Aziraphale some hope, and he hazarded a glance over. He still seemed upset, but now rubbed at his eye in a tell-tale sign of toddlerish exhaustion. 

“Oh, yes. They’re so difficult to cover the mattress with, I’m sure they do it purposely, just to spite me. It’s rather like, ah, uhm, hah– …oh, you’re much more creative than I am, my dear.”

Crowley snorted at that, the most familiar sound he had made so far, and it emboldened him. 

“Yes, much more creative, but I’ll try. It’s as if… like, like wrestling with a crocodile.”

“Crocodile?” snickered Crowley. 

“Exactly like wrestling a crocodile.” By now Crowley was giggling and Aziraphale felt much more at ease. “All this to say, I am no fan of, of crocodile-wrestling, I suppose, but I do it regardless because it makes me feel better. Not so dissimilar from your bath.” 

It shouldn’t have been so reassuring to see Crowley immediately return to his scowl, but it was a relief to see him act even a little like his usual self. He paused before whining. “…You tell her about the bubbles.”

Aziraphale felt every muscle loosen in relief. “Of course I will. And if she can’t, then I’ll be sure to bring you some next time, hm?” 

“…Kay,” Crowley said, though somewhat dubiously. 

Aziraphale stood there for a moment at a complete loss of what to do next. Lord, but it was hard to reconcile this small, soft Crowley with the sharp-tongued one he had grown used to. Most Littles he had ever met seemed so similar both in and out of headspace. There were certainly hints at an even more playful side of Crowley, one that could spend hours learning anything and gigging at nonsensical ideas. But now while he was in his actual supposed headspace, Aziraphale could sense none of it. Just a concerning mix of an adult’s anger and a child’s overtired petulance. 

“Would you like some help, darling?”

Crowley immediately shook his head with a frown as he untangled himself from the brooms. “‘M, I’m good.”

Oh my. Aziraphale’s heart squeezed in his chest. Crowley was just absolutely precious. “Alright then,” he said. “Let’s go find Mary, shall we?”

Standing up to his full height should have startled Aziraphale since Crowley was the taller of them by a measure. But if anything, it only served to emphasize Crowley’s small-ness. He seemed floppier than usual, his motions less precise and more free. Suddenly Aziraphale was more able to see Crowley in full; he was the same sort of casual carelessness when smaller that he was when big. Though now it was less cool and more adorably guileless.

In the dark closet that smelled like bleach and an odd mustiness, Aziraphale offered his hand to Crowley. The boy gave his outstretched hand one look before he simply left the room himself. That was — disheartening, perhaps, but plenty of Littles liked to feel more independent. 

Once out in the lights it was somehow even stranger to see Crowley. The dear was just so much smaller like this. And, of course, that only made sense, but the combination of the boy standing beside the messy artwork, his teary eyes, his rumpled clothes, his crankiness about bath time — it was simply too much to take. He was…really, there was no other word for it; he was precious. 

“Let’s find Mary, hm? And then get to our crocodiles.”

“Wres’lin,” corrected Crowley, attempting a wobbly, crooked grin. 

“Oh, yes. My mistake.” Aziraphale grinned back, feeling overflowed with warmth from how endeared he was. “Our crocodile-wrestling.”

“Oh goodness, there you are Crowley!” 

Aziraphale jumped a little at Mary’s sudden arrival, and so did Crowley. His sweet, hesitant expression melted into contrition. 

“Mary,” the boy started, feet shuffling and hands still playing with a piece of his hair, “Sorry.” He didn’t look up from the ground. “Dun wanna bath,” he grumbled.

“Oh, pet,” crooned Mary. “I know it’s scary. But we must, otherwise we wouldn’t be all nice and clean! Come now.”

As Crowley was being gently led away, the boy whipped his head around. He looked at Aziraphale with complete desperation. Oh! Oh right! The sweet dear — 

“Oh, ah, hum, Mary?”

“Oh yes!” Mary turned around herself, her hand holding Crowley’s loosely. “Thank you for finding him, Aziraphale! Real kind of you. I’ll tell Agnes you found him later.”

Aziraphale gave a sheepish grin. “Ah, yes, of course, but would you mind putting some bubbles into his bath? I happened to have promised you would try to manage some if you could.”

Mary just grinned again at Crowley’s teary face in an effort to soothe him. “Oh, well, of course! I’ll ask Newt if we have any left in storage. How about that, Crow?”

Crowley tearfully nodded, now refusing to look up from the tiled floor at either of the adults or at his joined hands with Mary. 

“Alright then, off we pop!”

Aziraphale was incapable of doing anything else but stand like a loon and watch Mary lead Crowley down the hall. In a flash of movement, Newt slid down the hall to stop himself from turning again when he noticed Aziraphale.

“You found him?”

“I did,” said Aziraphale, still very focused on watching the pair as they disappeared into a room furthest down the hall. 

“Well thank god for that.” Newt gave a nervous chuckle. “Poor guy has enough going on as is.”

Aziraphale paused, the question he wanted to ask — what kinds of things? — warring in his mind with his desire to respect Crowley’s privacy. This whole experience was strange and jarring and he felt nothing but concern. He hadn’t expected…this. He was sure the question was about to come out regardless in a jumble of words, when a horribly familiar scream shocked a gasp out of him. Newt cringed. 

The screams, he had heard them before. More frequently than he wished, in fact. It was the pained, fearful yell of the boy he heard at least once a week. A boy who Aziraphale had, strangely, never met before. Or at least thought he hadn’t, whispered a dismayed voice in his head. 

“Yeah. Crowley is…he has a lot, really.” Newt looked and sounded devastated, his more rumpled appearance only adding to the sadness in his tone. “He has…” He grimaced at a wail. “A lot.”

Aziraphale was —  he was — 

Crowley? 

Crowley — constantly joking, always composed, classically cool Crowley — 

Crowley was in pain. In pain as a little one, and enough pain to scream. What was it about baths that had scared him so much? For a toddler or baby to be nervous or downright angry about a bath was expected. But — oh lord — the screaming? That simply was not normal. The hallway, rife with an array of messy colors, clashed so horribly with Crowley’s obvious, chilling fear. It wasn’t right, and Aziraphale felt it deep in his bones. 

He clutched his chest, heart beating fast. “Newton,” His voice didn’t sound like his own. “Will he be alright?” 

Newt seemed to stand with the same upset as Aziraphale. “He will, he, he always bounces back.”

“That I believe,” said Aziraphale. He did know that. It was true. Knowing without hesitation that Crowley would bounce back, would be alright after whatever horrible thing this was, helped. It soothed the sting that was quickly growing in his chest. He felt like he had been caught in a wave, being tossed up and down, lost and confused as to which way was up. 

He went home rather soon after that. The anxious, twisting monster that saw fit to pace around his heart seemed more active than ever. And he simply couldn’t be so nervous around the other children. They sensed and absorbed things — his agonizing would have only hurt them too. 

But despite his anxiety, he still knew he would go back the next week and do what he always tried to do: help wherever he could. And though he was only realizing it now, it was Anthony Crowley who he wanted to help most. 

Chapter Text

Libraries were sacred places, and Aziraphale’s was no exception. Of course, across the broad strokes there wasn’t much of a difference between his and most others. The same pervading scent of paper, the ambient sounds of clicking and tapping and buzzing, the dozens of event cards advertised at the front. Aziraphale’s library wasn’t very different. Sure, his had a more “vintage” feel, what with the wooden ladders at every corner and computers he likely should have replaced by now. But every library had the same warmth, the same understanding that people were there to learn and grow and immerse themselves in a separate world. The same beauty. 

They also made for fantastic places to hide from interacting with others when your head wouldn’t quit spinning. 

“Mr. Fell?”

Aziraphale dragged his head up from his desk. His back office was a labyrinth of shelves and books. Whoever managed to pick their way through to him must be important. Or unaware of his swirling mind. 

“Yes?” He looked up to see Pepper holding a stack of papers. “Ah, Miss Moonchild.” He desperately tried to clear his tortured expression. “How can I help you?”

Pepper frowned. “Just about some fliers. Are you alright?” 

Ah, well. He should have known it wouldn’t have taken her long to ask. He sighed. “I am, my dear. It’s just been a rather, ahm, long day.”

“Anything you need, Mr. Fell,” said Pepper with a sly grin. “I wouldn’t have been able to finish my keystone without your help.” 

“Oh, it’s all my pleasure,” Aziraphale said, a little flustered. The university crop this year had been very sweet. “Here, why don’t you—” He was about to begin the process of squeezing around his imposing desk when his table vibrated. 

“Getting a call?” Pepper asked. She looked passively curious. 

“It’s likely a friend of mine.” Aziraphale glanced at his phone — purchased at the encouragement of last year’s students — only to have his heart stopped by the caller name. Little Eden. He nearly dropped the phone. “Oh dear, I, oh, pardon me, my dear, very important call.” 

Pepper backed out quickly, and Aziraphale couldn’t find it within himself to be ashamed at his brashness. 

He pressed the green button. “Hullo?” 

“Mr. Fell, good afternoon! This is Theresa from Little Eden.”

“Ah, yes, hullo, Theresa.” Aziraphale’s palms were sweaty and he gripped the phone tight. Was everything alright? Had he made some sort of mistake? No, no, he was catastrophizing. They were likely just calling to ask to change his schedule around. “How can I help you?” 

“We have a request,” said Theresa. “Would it be possible for you to come in outside your volunteer hours earlier this week? Say, tomorrow at 5?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but make a punched out sound of relief. “Oh, of course, of course.” He kept fiddling with his glasses. “Is everything alright?”

He could hear Theresa’s smile through her voice. “Of course! Everything is fine, it’s no emergency. Doctor Agnes just believes you could help her with a special project.” 

“Special…project?” Aziraphale was dumbfounded. 

“Yes. She’ll tell you all about it. So tomorrow at 5 work alright?” 

“Wh– yes. Tomorrow at 5.”

“Lovely,” beamed Theresa. “Have a great day, Mr. Fell.” 

“You as well.” And Theresa hung up. 

A special project? A project at Little Eden could be anything. Redecorating a whole classroom, perhaps. Or installing a new set of mobiles. A special project was likely something of that nature, Aziraphale reassured himself. Absolutely nothing to be nervous about. He had done everything right. Even with Crowley. 

He opened the door back up — after pushing aside the newly arrived copies of textbooks for students — to take Pepper’s fliers. “Here, my dear. I’ll take these off your hands. More Prism meetings?” His heart still hammered, but Pepper’s presence helped. It was a reminder that he was helping people. 

“Yeah, thanks. Meeting in the cold room?” she asked. 

“Of course. Though, I must ask you save me some scones, if you don’t mind.”

Pepper snorted. “Sure. I’ll tell Adam to go easy on the food cart this time.” 

The rest of the afternoon, and the following morning, were spent in a state of nervousness and thought. Thinking about Crowley, about the project — if Tracey’s thoughts, as she described, were occasional wanderings, then Aziraphale’s were a constant roiling storm. Ideas and opinions and fears above all tended to spin in circles around him. Sometimes enough to make him dizzy. Volunteering at Little Eden had helped channel his anxieties, but since seeing Crowley and hearing him, it had been difficult to turn off. 

And harder still as he drove up to his usual parking space. He never came in on Wednesdays, so an unfamiliar gentleman sat at the front. 

“Afternoon, sir. How can I help you?” 

“Ah, Aziraphale Fell. I’m here to see Doctor Agnes?” 

The man nodded. “Go straight through. Down the hall to the left, and it’ll be the second door down.”

Finally walking down the hall, all of the possible scenarios swanned about his head. Painting? Moving? Cleaning? Though as he neared the meeting spot, he could only help but feel more disconcerted. His fingers worried each other. It was the meeting room where potential caregivers or fosterers discussed adoption terms with the Little and their caseworkers. Perhaps, then, this was all a series of formalities to boot him from the program entirely. Lord. It really could be anything. He just had to pray for the best.

But when he pushed the door open he was shocked to see many people sitting in a quasi-circle, all looking at him. Doctor Agnes at her desk, Mary the nurse sitting next to her, a lady he did not recognize with thick tortoiseshell frames and wavy hair pulled back in a half-bun, as well as. Oh. Crowley. He looked absolutely miserable, like someone had just shared something embarrassing about him very loudly. Aziraphale’s heart squeezed at the sight. 

Agnes finally broke Aziraphale’s confused silence. “Aziraphale. Please, take a seat.” Her voice was warm, if businesslike. 

Still entirely startled and confused, Aziraphale did, which left him able to see everyone — and vice versa — as well as right across from Crowley.

Clearing her throat, Agnes gestured to the others sitting around them. “Aziraphale, you know Nurse Loquacious. And this is Ms. Anathema Device, Crowley’s case manager.” 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Fell,” said the lady with glasses. Aziraphale leaned forward to shake her hand. “Crowley has mentioned you a lot.” 

Crowley immediately went red and squirmed in his seat. “Device, please.” 

“We’ve asked you here today,” Agnes interrupted, “Because I’ve had many of my colleagues mention that you were becoming close with Crowley. Is that true?” 

Aziraphale gave a nervous titter. “You, ah, say it like it’s a bad thing. Yes, I’ve spent some time with Mr. Crowley.” Aziraphale paused, considering the possibilities of this meeting. “He isn’t in any trouble, is he? I can assure you he is an absolute pleasure to be around.” He didn’t miss Crowley’s flush and eye-rolling. 

“Oh, no. No one’s in any sort of trouble, I promise. In fact, we have a proposition for you. I’ll let Ms. Device explain.” 

Ms. Device shuffled the papers and binder on her lap. “Crowley has some…difficulties in his care,” she said. Crowley hid his face in his hand as she went on. “Because of experiences in his past, he isn’t able to be touched without feeling some level of discomfort. He has headspace fluctuations throughout the day when he isn’t studying, anything from an older child to teenager, but generally lands at 4 years. And when he’s in headspace, his discomfort is worse. This means he has difficulty with getting dressed and even more difficulty with baths.” 

Aziraphale tried not to gape, tried not to gasp in shock and remorse, tried not to even look at Crowley.  Not when this was so obviously hard for him. But he couldn’t stop himself. The poor boy was almost completely hunched over, his face buried in his hands. 

Anathema went on. “I’ve worked with him for about 3 years now. From what I’ve seen, he needs a careful touch. Someone kind, gentle, and understanding. And someone that he likes.”

“Aziraphale,” said Agnes. He turned to face her, completely lost. “Since you’re certified, we’re asking you to join Crowley’s care-team. Mary has expressed to me that he has asked for you in headspace—”

Crowley shifted in his seat again, curling even tighter on himself, and refused to look at Aziraphale.

“—And trusted you enough to go with you. What this means is, if you accept, you’ll come to the center on certain days to play with Crowley and join Mary when she bathes him. We’re not asking you to be his Caregiver, but we are asking you to provide some extra and personalized support. Of course, we’ll have a trial day or two to see if you both work well together while in headspace. If it doesn’t work out, it’s completely alright and we won’t try to force it. Do you have any questions for us?” 

The whole thing seemed very well-executed. Clear, methodical, and non pressuring. — Crowley had had a difficult past? — Crowley trusted him? — Crowley needed him — He likely looked very daft, sitting there with his mouth agape, struggling to understand everything. “W-well, I–”

“Aziraphale,” said Crowley, finally looking up from a scuff on the floor. He seemed tired. “Please don’t think that you have to say yes or anything.”

Ms. Device cleared her throat. “Crowley–”

“No,” Crowley snapped. “Don’t say yes because you feel bad for me. I don’t need anyone feeling bad for me.”

“I don’t, I don’t feel bad for you, Crowley.” Aziraphale awkwardly scooted forward in his seat. “Not at all. I, I’m mostly just surprised.”

“Surprised,” Crowley scoffed. 

“Yes, surprised. You always carry yourself so, so confidently, I suppose. I wouldn’t have guessed you had trouble with anything.” Aziraphale tried to keep his voice as gentle as possible. Mary continued looking troubled, while Ms. Device had the same impassive yet thoughtful expression as she stared at him.  

“I just don’t want you feeling like you have to.” Though it seemed hard for him to do, Crowley looked right at him as he spoke. His sunglasses had slipped down, and his hazel eyes were angry and sad and looked more ashamed than Aziraphale could have guessed him capable of. 

“I don’t feel like I have to.” How could Crowley not understand how liked he was? How he wasn’t a burden, or a hindrance? “I, I’d like to, rather. If you’d let me.” He looked over to Agnes again to see her small smile. 

Rather than the relief that Aziraphale expected, Crowley looked even angrier. “How can you know that you don’t want to out of pity?”

Aziraphale stammered. “Well, of, of course I don’t want to do it out of pity. I don’t pity you at all. You’re a good student, an academic, you’re very kind to others—”

“Okay,” Crowley huffed, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Stop. Stop– all that. ‘S just— …there are things. Things,” he looked at Aziraphale dead on. His sunglasses had been pushed up, and Aziraphale stared at his dark reflection. “That, that I’ve— I’ve.” 

Crowley’s face went from agonized to entirely blank, staring off into an unknown distance. They sat in silence for a moment, all four of them, just staring at Crowley. He stared harder, leg bouncing crazily. They sat for a good 26 seconds or so, until Aziraphale could see Crowley’s eyes dart up to see them all looking. He proceeded to melt into a too-casual slouch and waved his hand like he was waving off an idea. “I’m just nervous I’m a bit, ergm. Much. In headspace. That’s it.” His leg continued to bounce.

“I’m sure you are perfectly fine,” Aziraphale said, entirely resolute. “Crowley, I want to help you. If you’ll have me, of course.” When Crowley didn’t respond, Aziraphale went on. “What’s the worst that could possibly happen?”

“I dunno. Just know that ‘m a right terror when ‘m— like that, alright?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh and repeat himself. “My dear, I’m sure you’re fine. I’m sure you, ah, you,” he parsed his mind for something that could make him laugh. “You are as much an evil genius as a toddler as you are as an adult.”

It seemed Crowley couldn’t help himself, a snort breaking through his gloom. “Yeah, actually. Evil genius all the time.” And out of nowhere, startling Aziraphale, made a loud groan. “Ahhhh, alright, fine. Fine. Maybe.”  

Ms. Device, funnily enough, smiled at that. “And that’s all we’re going to get out of him.”

Adorably, Crowley’s face pinkened. “Device,” he growled. “C’mon.”

The whole room seemed to deflate in tension. Agnes gave a smile as well and pushed some papers on her desk aside. “Well, that’s settled then. Mary?”

“Oh yes!” Mary passed Aziraphale a laminated sheet of paper. “So, his schedule is as follows…” 

Aziraphale paid rapt attention. Thankfully it seemed that he didn’t really have to move many things around, though he would have to ask Warlock if they didn’t mind coming in earlier than usual on Monday mornings. He looked over to Crowley every so often, who still seemed somewhat upset at the whole meeting. It was still nearly impossible to imagine Crowley feeling anything other than mischievous or warm towards the other Littles he had seen him interact with. But even more difficult to imagine than that was that Crowley wanted him to help, to be there and comfort him. He found him safe. Aziraphale honestly never thought that someone would ever find him safe, much less a Little. 

He would have to tell Tracey. Granted, he could already imagine what she would say. Something along the lines of, ‘see? You’re a perfectly good caregiver, Aziraphale.’ But still. Even if Crowley was comfortable with him, even if it felt very nice to be wanted — and as a Caregiver! — Aziraphale still knew it was tosh. 

But thinking of Crowley and his needs was much more important than his more selfish musings of how poor of a Caregiver he was. So he asked his questions, rescheduled his hours, gave Crowley the most sure, encouraging smile he could muster, and went home to wonder. 

The door clicked quietly behind Aziraphale as he left, and Crowley felt like he had been flattened with an awful rolling pin. All wrung out and covered in bits and pieces of horribleness. 

“See? Didn’t go as bad as you thought it would, did it?” 

Crowley groaned. “Yeah, yeah, thanks for that, Device.”

Anathema just laughed and packed away her things. “He wants to help. Doesn’t he, Doctor?”

“Of course.” Agnes pushed herself out of her seat. She looked soft and huggable too in the same sort of way Aziraphale did. Not as much as him, but some. “Do you think you’ll be alright, Crowley?”

“Yeah. Course,” said Crowley. He would be alright. He was already alright, really. This whole thing had just thrown itself at him out of nowhere. Or at least Device had thrown it at him out of nowhere. And right after naptime too, which was just rude. She just knew he was more agreeable after then. Barmy caseworker. 

Mary had only sort of nudged him. Probably as gently as she was capable of, but she was the single least inconspicuous person on the planet and Crowley had seen through her. ‘How about Aziraphale, poppet? Just a thought .’ And anyways, who was the tosser who had agreed regardless? 

Ugh. Crowley pushed himself up and stretched. “We-ll, thank you all, but I have important things to do. So. Yeah.” 

Device just sort of glanced at him. She still seemed much too smug. “Let me walk you back to the nursery.”

Crowley was about to leave, hopefully faster than Device could shuffle her papers together so he didn’t have to talk, but Agnes stopped him. “Crowley.” She tilted her head and now looked even more huggable. “I’m proud of you.”

Crowley immediately sneered. “Yeah. I know.” He sighed, trying not to let Agnes see how much her words hurt. “Thanks, Aggie.”

“Come on,” said Device, mercifully freeing him from matronly warm smiles that made him want to simultaneously bask like a plant and rip his own eyeballs out. “I told you it would go well.”

Dragging his feet, Crowley groaned. “You don’t need to keep saying it.”

“Hm. I think I will.”

“Right. Please don’t.”

Honestly a part of Crowley was still pretty damn convinced that Aziraphale was only agreeing because he felt bad for him. Most people only did nice things for him because of pity. He was a pretty pitiable person, sure, but he didn’t like being reminded of it. He knew he was a weird, neurotic Little who couldn’t handle normal stupid shit because he was an idiot. He knew that. But he also knew that Aziraphale was pretty genuine and not many people were like that anymore. 

So, maybe. Well. It was possible that the caregiver was actually doing it just out of the kindness of his heart. People could be like that, sometimes. Device certainly wasn’t. She was always a few steps ahead with future motives, but like. In a nice way. Ugh. He would never tell her that. 

There was another part though, probably his Little side that was just bounce off the walls thrilled to have Aziraphale play with him and talk to him and maybe even cuddle him. He’d be like a giant couch. All cozy and cuddly and warm and perfect for lying on. Probably hug real nice, too. Do voices when he read stories or played with the plastic dinosaur figures Crowley liked. 

And maybe when Crowley got scared, he’d be like that too. Cozy and cuddly and warm. It was why Mary seemed convinced that Aziraphale would help, after all. 

Because if he was being completely, dead honest —

Crowley thought he could too. 

Chapter Text

It became 3 days later in the blink of an eye. One moment he was recounting everything to Tracey, absolutely terrified of the prospect of ruining things, and the next he was being led down the hall to one of the seedling’s rooms. He had spent last night completely wide awake, as if he had drunk an entire pot of coffee before forcing himself to sleep. It wouldn’t do not to be aware, Crowley deserved to have every ounce of his attention. Especially in his headspace. 

Oh lord, Aziraphale thought to himself as they passed room after room of other Littles. What if he wasn’t ready at all? Agnes, Mary, and Ms. Device had completely overestimated him. Sure, he was certified, but what volunteer wasn’t? What if he wasn’t very fun for Crowley? What if Crowley altogether disliked him? Or worse, feared him?

“Alrighty then,” said Mary, more restrained than Aziraphale had ever heard her before. “We’ve just now finished brekkie, and Crowley is a little older than usual, about 5 or so.” She stopped right before they were about to enter. Aziraphale could hear the soft sounds of giggling and chattering and toys being messed about with. “He has rather good memory, so he will recall you, and don’t be nervous if he seems to get any younger or older. Just follow his lead.”

“Of course, of course.” Now the anticipation and excitement almost blanketed the intense shivery anxiety in his throat — almost. Aziraphale followed Mary in and immediately spotted that flash of red. Crowley looked entirely different from his time in the janitor’s closet; he sat with his legs sprawled out and comfortable at a low table. It was the first time Aziraphale had seen him without anything to cover the soft seedling uniform, and now he looked like any other toddler with a long sleeved sweater and fuzzy pants. His entire focus was enraptured by a picture he was coloring, a tiger in the jungle. Aziraphale was unsurprised to see him stick so closely to the real life colors for the plants and trees and still make the tiger an outrageous blue. 

Mary crouched down close beside the table. “Crowley,” she crooned. “Do you remember how Mr. Aziraphale was coming today? Are you ready to play with him?”

Crowley looked away from his drawing, first over to Mary, then up to Aziraphale. His face morphed from passivity to bashfulness and went an adorable red, and rather pouty. He curled around his picture, looking down at Aziraphale’s dress shoes. It was off-putting to see Crowley so shy, but his timidity soothed any nervousness playing at the surface of Aziraphale’s heart. Instead, he couldn’t help his smile as he crouched beside the table at Crowley’s level. 

“Good morning, darling,” he said with a gentle grin. “What are you drawing?” He shifted to make himself more comfortable on the ABC carpet. 

“…Tiger,” said Crowley. He fidgeted with the corners of the page, folding and unfolding them. 

Oh my. Aziraphale’s heart did another sort of flutter. “I love his blue fur. Is blue your favorite color?”

“Yeah, I like blue. ‘S a good color.” Crowley nodded to himself before sort of petting one of the tiger’s uncolored ears. “Though I– I know that tigers are orange. They’re orange and white to blend into their environment.” He blushed again and shrank impossibly smaller against the wall. 

Though it pained him to realize, Aziraphale could see Crowley was anxious. Too shy to even look at him. It was difficult and rather confusing to see such a different side of the boy, but it only stoked the fire that had been steadily growing inside of him to help. He promised himself he would try to help, to do what he could to make Crowley’s life easier. It seemed much more trying than he had assumed. 

“Goodness,” said Aziraphale when Crowley kept clutching his crayon in silence. “Do you know anything else about tigers? You’re very smart.” 

Rather surprising Aziraphale, Crowley scoffed, though he kept his blush. “It’s jus’ a fact. I, it’s not anything…big.” Then Crowley rubbed his face and sat up in a kneel rather than his sprawl. “It’s– everybody knows that.”

“Poppet,” hushed Mary, sitting on the other side of the table. “It’s okay to be teensy, if you’d like. Mr. Aziraphale is here to have fun with you.”

Aziraphale felt awash with abashment and surprise. He hadn’t even really noticed that Crowley was struggling to be little. Gosh, he was an awful Caregiver. “Dove, it’s perfectly alright to be small if you need to. I’d never tease. In fact, I’m really quite happy to see you being small.” Honesty was the best here, especially considering Crowley’s strength to be vulnerable around him. “And I would love to play with you, any game you’d like. Dress-up or coloring or reading. Though I know you’d tease whichever I’d pick.”

Thankfully, Crowley giggled. When the boy just sat, twirling his crayon and looking at Aziraphale, he went on, still grinning wide. “What’s your tiger’s name?”

“Mm.” Crowley thought before tapping the page. “She’s, uhm.” He squinted at the label of the crayon, struggling to parse the words on the side. “Mmn–”

“Let me, sweetheart.” With more care than Aziraphale afforded even his most precious books, he gently took the crayon to read the name. “She’s called cerulean?”

“Ce– yeah, sroo‘lean.” 

It took every inch of Aziraphale’s will to not reach out and pet the boy’s hair in overwhelming affection. He still looked somewhat shy, but Aziraphale wanted more than anything to make him giggle like that again. “That’s a wonderful name. Does this mean your name is red?”

“…Red?” Crowley cocked his head.

“Well, for your lovely hair, of course. Isn’t your name Red?”

Crowley dissolved into snickers again. “Yeah, so you’re almost called White.”

Aziprahale immediately burst into laughter. “You’re right. My hair’s much too blonde, is it?”

“Yeah,” grinned Crowley. “Really blonde. Y’should dye it. Like ‘reulean’s.”

“Oh? You think I’d look better with cerulean’s color?” Aziraphale lifted an eyebrow. “Not quite a fan of my hair now, are you?”

“It’s fine, but ‘s not ‘reulean,” Crowley grinned and showed him the tiger again to help his case. 

“Well, I would be wounded if I wasn’t afraid that you were right. Cerulean does have a better eye for color, does she?”

“Yeah. She’s a stylist.”

“Ah, no wonder you wear such cool things like your sunglasses. You’re friends with a genuine stylist.” 

“Zactly,” Crowley grinned. His smile was deeper than the rest had been, and showed off his light freckles. He looked so innocent. It was at that moment that Aziraphale wondered why he had ever doubted Crowley’s orientation: he was truly Little. “She says you need to fix your clothes too.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh again. Even when small, Crowley couldn’t help making fun of his stuffy professor wear. “And what does Cerulean think I should wear instead?”

“Uh, pshft, we-lll,” Crowley held up the picture for a moment before practically tossing it down and shuffling for the nearby shelf of toys. Aziraphale chuckled to himself as he smoothed the drawing back out on the table. Crowley returned clumsily holding a bucket of colorful wooden blocks. “She’s gotta build her salon first. Then you can be her, uhm, then you can get her analysis.” 

“Can I build with you?” Aziraphale asked, but Crowley was already pushing the bucket towards him. 

“She needs a catawalk, and a dressing room, and a ticket place.” The boy began carefully arranging an outline of blocks, completely absorbed. Aziraphale’s chest felt like it was about to burst with how sweet Crowley was. It was just relaxing and loosened every bone and tension he held as he let himself be gently bossed about.

Aziraphale was nice. Really nice. He wasn’t a very good builder, but that was okay. Not everyone was a good builder. And he was good at other stuff like suggesting things Cerulean might need for her salon. He read lots of books because he had a library, so it made sense that Aziraphale was the smartest person he had ever met. Cerulean’s salon had ended up looking fairly awesome, and now they were building an evil fashion place that made evil stuff. 

Crowley was busy drawing out evil flags to stick between the evil magnetic plastic pieces and Aziraphale was doing important color sorting before they started building. “But if I was in charge of your library,” Crowley said, “I’d put slides before the take out.”

“You’d put slides?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Yeah, long ones.” And swirly ones too. Blue and green and red and all the colors. He’d have to do one for Cerulean too. 

Aziraphale chuckled and set aside another blue triangle. “Would it be more fun if the slides were before you had to check out your book?”

“Hm. Sure. Slides anywhere. But d’be hard to read and slide, right?”

“Ah, you’re right. Perhaps you should be running my library instead, hm?” Aziraphale grinned at him, making Crowley helplessly grin back. Aziraphale was funny. 

“I don’t wanna be quiet all day,” he whined through his smile. “I’ll just go to yours an’ be behind the desk an’ be reading an’ then slide.”

“I’ll have to take you someday, though I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed by the lack of slides.” Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled the way they did when he was being cheeky like Crowley sometimes did. It made him want to push his face into Aziraphale’s sweater and squeeze him tight. Even cuddle, maybe. 

“Yeah. I’ll go to your library.” Crowley started trying to cut out the evil flags, but it was kinda hard. He growled as he failed another cut. It was really hard to cut out the exact shape of the flag, he had made it too spiky. 

Thankfully Aziraphale was there. “Here, darling. Why don’t you show me how?” Crowley grumbled as he passed it off after a small and non-effective demonstration — he could cut things even if it was with stupid baby scissors — but was happy to see Aziraphale do a pretty okay job with the cutting instead. He could be on cutting duty, and Crowley could start building then. They made a really good team. Building team. 

He was reabsorbed in building the evil fashion place when Crowley realized he had to go to the bathroom. He whined to himself, not really wanting to get up, but he had promised himself that he’d be a big boy, an adult around Aziraphale. Not all embarrassing and whiny like when he was really little. Good thing Mary knew him pretty well, and was already standing up. “Mary? I gotta go.”

“Of course, pet.” Mary took his hand and smiled. “We’ll be right back, Aziraphale.”

Crowley was too embarrassed to look over at the Caregiver, but Aziraphale sounded very warm and fluffy like he usually did. “Of course. Take your time.”

Mary led him out of the seedling room before asking him, “How do you feel? Do you like Mr. Aziraphale?”

That was an easy question. “Yeah, lots. Can he come every day?”

It was probably a good sign that Mary laughed as gently as she did. “Most days, poppet. He won’t be here tomorrow, but he will be the day after that.”

“Rrhgh. Too long.” Like almost two whole days of waiting for Aziraphale to come back so they could play more! They were playing now, but Mary had said Aziraphale would only be here today until naptime, then he’d go back to his library. Crowley already sort of missed him. 

“Yes, but you’ll see him more often now. Isn’t that nice?”

Crowley grumbled, but it was true. It was nice. And it was going to be even nicer to finish the evil fashion place with him, and then challenge him to a library building contest. He was going to add slides.

“An’ you’ll be back after that?”

“Of course, dear.” Aziraphale was crouched down, resting on one knee. “And if you’d like, you could ask Mary if it would be alright to call me tomorrow.”

“Call you?” Whoops. Considering the mischievous glint in Crowley’s eyes, it likely wasn’t the best idea. But when Aziraphale started to imagine the prank calling possibilities that Crowley would likely indulge in, he couldn’t help but smile. 

“I do have a library to run, but you can certainly call me during lunch,” he chuckled. 

“Tell your library people about the slides.” Crowley looked dead serious, and it was likely the most adorable thing Aziraphale had ever seen in his entire life. 

He smiled. “Of course I will. And good luck with your classes tomorrow! Don’t cause too much trouble.”

Crowley nodded, his small smirk the closest to his Big self Aziraphale had seen all day. “Uh-huh.”

“Rascal," said Aziraphale, voice painfully fond. His smile only deepened when Crowley laughed light and innocent. "Goodbye, my dear.” Though it was hard to leave, he finally pushed himself up. Waiting just outside the seedling room was a satisfied Dr. Agnes. He went to go meet her, hands wringing together at what she could possibly say. But right before he left he turned to wave at Crowley, who was already back to his — was it an evil palace? Something about evil. He chuckled when Crowley waved a flag at him and finally tore himself away.

“Well,” said Dr. Agnes, grinning. “I think we can count that as a success.”

Aziraphale was flustered, still warm and fuzzy from interacting with Crowley. “Oh, well, I’d like to hope so.”

“Don’t worry, Mary told me you were doing a great job with him. How did today feel for you?”

“I felt—” Aziraphale took stock. The constantly whirling tornado of thoughts and anxieties and what-if’s seemed to have abated. In its place was something soft and tender. Something he hadn’t felt for a while now. He almost felt as if he had just exited a sauna to feel the cool, refreshing air on his face. That’s it, that’s what he felt— refreshed. “I think it went rather well. I certainly, I feel like it went well.”

“Good,” said Agnes, and she looked like she meant it. “I’m really glad to hear it. We’ll stick with what we planned: two weeks of acclimation before anything else. Does the schedule work out for you okay?”

“Oh, yes. It’s no bother.” Now he was running through everything that had happened, seeing Crowley in his sweetest, more vulnerable state. It was an honor. And fun, it had been fun. Tigers and building and coloring and something that he was rather sure had to do with evil and warmth— it was just nice. 

“We’ll see you in a few days then, Aziraphale.” Agnes put out a hand to shake. “We’re all really grateful.”

“Oh, really,” said Aziraphale, eyes crinkling in a deep, genuine, untethered smile. “Crowley is a delight— I’d say I’m rather grateful too.”

Chapter Text

“Shefu, hontoni arigato.”

“That’s not real japanese!”

Aziraphale laughed at him. “Goodness, you’re a tough critic. What do I sound like then, hm?”

Crowley had to think about that for a moment. Aziraphale deserved the best truth he could give. “You sound. You sounddd. You sound like you don’t know japanese.” At Aziraphale’s absolutely scandalized gasp, Crowley burst into laughter.

“Well,” Aziraphale huffed dramatically. “At least you’re being honest with me.”

“Yup,” Crowley giggled and velcroed the sushi bits back together. This wasn’t his favorite playset, but Aziraphale said he liked sushi and Crowley was going to serve the best meal ever before they finished reading the chapter of Edward Tulane they were on. He didn’t usually like reading lots of books, he only ever read for school things, but Aziraphale did all the voices and did them well. So sushi. 

They were sitting in one of the quiet corners, the one with the rainbow carpet and the lumpy throw pillows. A low bookshelf with toddler books boxed them in and sort of separated Crowley’s line of sight from the other Littles.

It was embarrassing to play separately from everyone else, but Mary and Ana said it was best to ‘acclimatize’ to Aziraphale for a week or so first before joining everyone else. Sure, he usually liked playing by himself anyways. But it was when he was Little that was the only time he really felt like it was okay to be around others. It was nice when Middles thought he was fun when he was Big, but it was…still hard. 

Then again, sitting with Aziraphale was honestly kinda nicer than playing with anyone else. Aziraphale was imaginative, and definitely the smartest person Crowley ever knew. Maybe even smarter than Bee. And Bee was definitely the smartest person Crowley knew. Besides Aziraphale now, he guessed. 

“I tried to say, ‘Thank you, chef,’” smiled Aziraphale. “Because your sushi is absolutely wonderful. I might have to declare you my favorite restaurant, in fact.”

Trying to live up to the praise, Crowley quickly un-velcroed the chopsticks and placed them in front of Aziraphale. Cutlery first at the best restaurants. “Not surprised,” he chirped. “I catch all the fish and the eggs and the rice myself.”

Aziraphale prepared his chopsticks in his hands very well because he was a very good customer. “Oh my. How do you catch all these fish?” He gestured toward the little fish pieces Crowley had separated from the rice. Aziraphale said they were called nigiri, which was a cool word. 

“With my mouth.” Crowley saw Aziraphale laugh, but he tried not to join in too fast. It was funny to be silly, but honestly it was even more funny to be all serious about things. “And teeth.”

“That’s very dedicated of you. You truly are the finest sushi chef in London.”

Crowley nodded and pushed the little bowl of fake soy sauce over. His personal favorite pieces of the sushi set, besides the chopsticks because they had been fun to wave around until Aziraphale stopped him, were the two floppy-soft pink things. Aziraphale said they were probably meant to represent ginger, but it looked nothing like the ginger Crowley had ever seen. Ah well. Still fun to play with. 

He finished preparing the little slotted box, the bento box, with all the cut up wooden sushi bits arranged by alternating color and all the sashimis and nigiris. Aziraphale looked very impressed. “Goodness. And you’re a Michelin star restaurant?”

“17, actually.”

“17 Michelin stars,” Aziraphale breathed and readied his chopsticks. “Really, I should have guessed. This looks absolutely scrumptious.”

Just as he picked up one of the small rice sushi bits, Crowley pointed at something just over Aziraphale’s shoulder. “‘Zira! Look over there!”

“Oh? What is it?” Just as planned, Aziraphale looked completely behind him, searching for whatever Crowley had pointed at. While he was occupied, Crowley plopped the large green blob that was meant to be wasabi and placed it on top of the sushi bit. Finally, Aziraphale turned back around. “Oh well. I’m ready to eat my sushi now, at least.” He very slowly brought it up to his mouth and then very slowly chewed and put aside the chopsticks. 

“Hm.” He smacked his lips a little. “Oh my. Why is it so spicy?” He gasped and covered his mouth. “So very spicy!” When he began fanning himself, Crowley just couldn’t help himself and burst into loud laughter. 

“You’re— you’re ridiculous!” He snickered. 

“I’m ridiculous? Darling, I’m on fire,” Aziraphale gestured frantically at the kitchen playset just across from them before starting to laugh too. “How devious of you to trick me like that!”

“Sorry,” Crowley snickered again. “Your fault.”

“Oh I see. Mm. It’s rather my fault for letting my guard down around you, hm? I should have expected something dastardly.”

Crowley was nice enough to take the wasabi away so it wouldn’t jump out at Aziraphale or burn him or anything, and started to put all the rest of the sushi bits back in the box. He liked tidying and sorting everything as much as the rest of it, really. He liked his things all neat and organized. This time though he felt like switching where the sushis had originally been resting. Make it more interesting that way, shake things up. 

“Can we do Edward Tulane?” asked Crowley. 

“Of course we can, dearheart. Let me get it from my bag.” Aziraphale stood up slowly and went to go find his bag over by the cubbies. For whatever reason, a reason that not even Crowley really knew, he was obsessed with Aziraphale’s bag. It was a worn brown leather with a floppy top, and whenever he got his hands on it, Crowley loved to mess with all the buttons and fobs and straps on it. Last time Aziraphale brought it over, he had turned it into a mini spaceship and pretended he was loading up for a journey off-planet.

Thankfully Aziraphale was really smart, and seemed to know that Crowley liked his bag. He brought the whole thing over and set it closeby, and didn’t say anything when Crowley’s fingers started to wander and fiddle with — oh? That was new. A silicon keychain shaped like a piece of edamame. When Crowley gave it a hesitant squeeze, a little edamame pod with a cat face popped out. The soft rubber, the smooth popping feeling, and the cute cat face all felt like they worked in synchronized tandem to make him feel even littler than he was a second ago. What had originally been a buzz became a blanket draped entirely over his brain, and everything outside of the little edamame thing seemed to fade away. 

He grinned softly and kept squishing it. 

“Crowley, dove,” Crowley looked up at the very gentle voice. Aziraphale looked like he was melting from how warm his smile was. “Would you like a dinosaur, a unicorn, or a ring?”

Crowley made a soft sound of confusion only to look down at Aziraphale’s hands. He was holding out a few of the chewable necklace things that Mary always offered him. “Or I could get you a paci, if you’d rather. Whatever you’d like.”

No, not a paci. Crowley wrinkled his nose at that. He was too big for pacis. But it looked like Aziraphale wasn’t going to back down about the chewable stuff, especially since he realized he was chewing on his thumbnail, which, fine. Fair. He pointed at the dinosaur. He actually liked unicorns more than dinosaurs, but he felt like for this kind of job the dinosaur probably had tougher skin than the unicorn. He wouldn’t want to hurt the unicorn by accident. 

“Would you like some help, darling?” asked Aziraphale as he placed back the other two necklaces. Crowley shook his head no and gently took the necklace from him by the dangling string, placing it over his head and slipping the hard rubber in his mouth to gently gnaw on. 

“There’s a good boy,” Aziraphale hummed and took out the book. Crowley’s face felt very hot, and he was probably red. Aziraphale said very nice things. And he felt all fuzzy from getting smaller, like he just downed a hot cup of tea on a cold day. Aziraphale leaned back against the colorful pillows against the walls and gestured to one beside him. “Go ahead and get comfortable. Do you remember where we left off?”

Crowley didn’t completely. He was pretty sure Edward the rabbit had just fallen off the boat and was now floating down, but he didn’t really feel like confirming all that, so he just nodded. Thankfully Aziraphale seemed to be happy enough with that and grinned. 

“Alright then. Chapter six. ‘How does a china rabbit die? Can a china rabbit drown? Is my hat still on my head? These were the questions that Edward asked himself as he went sailing out over the blue sea. The sun was high in the sky, and from what seemed to be a very long way away, Edward heard Abilene call his name…”

Crowley settled against the pillows too, a little curled up. As Aziraphale read, he ran his hands along the mesh rug beneath them. He liked feeling all the individual little stitches. He ran his hands along the fabric of the pillows they were resting on, too. They weren’t as chunky as the carpet threads, but they were also nice to touch. Then Crowley couldn’t help but look over at Aziraphale’s sweater. It had all sorts of knits. Criss-crossy ones and ribbed ones and circly ones. Crowley’s fingers itched to trace them and feel if Aziraphale was as soft as he sounded and looked, but he stamped down the impulse. 

…But as Aziraphale went on reading, Crowley just couldn’t help but start focusing on what it would be like to cuddle instead. He sort of always wanted to do it with Aziraphale, but he was usually way too nervous to try. He couldn’t help but squirm, gnawing a little more urgently on the t-rex.

“My dear,” Crowley perked up from his worrying. It didn’t sound like the first time Aziraphale had said something that wasn’t the cool tones of Edward Tulane floating down and down. “Do you want a cuddle? You could sit on my lap if you’d like.”

And any fuzziness that was warming Crowley up on the inside froze. He froze in his spot too, breathing getting all funny and insides curdling. He felt himself making a whine. “I— mn.” The t-rex fell out of his mouth and, stupidly, he could feel hot tears building in his eyes. “No,” he whispered tremorously. His heart was pounding hard thinking about it, stomach twisting up. He didn’t— not in the lap. 

“Okay, okay, darling. Sweetheart.” Aziraphale’s voice was very soft and entreating, and Crowley looked up from the rainbow carpet to see him sitting up and looking scared. “It’s alright. Just breathe. We don’t have to cuddle at all, sweetness.”

Mary’s voice swooped in, and Crowley was jarred. The whole world had sort of melted away to just him and ‘Zira, but he was also glad that Mary was here. Mary usually fixed things okay. “Oh, poppet,” she crooned. “No one’s going to make you do anything. Are they, Mr. Aziraphale?”

“Of course not.” Aziraphale’s voice was very firm, but Crowley still felt very embarrassed and ashamed. He hid his face between his elbow and his knees and burrowed in deeper when he heard Aziraphale coo. 

Mary sat beside him. “Do you want to keep reading, pet?”

Crowley nodded and rubbed some tears away. “But, I wanted,” he sniffled and felt the insistent clarity of Bigness nudge him up. “I wanted to cuddle still.” His voice was small before he gave a bitter laugh, trying to push the littleness down. “Sorry. That’s…embarrassing.”

“It’s not embarrassing at all, Crowley,” said Aziraphale. He still sounded very firm, and held the book to his chest. Not all book covers were cool, but Crowley loved looking at this one. Whenever they were reading, no matter what part, if Crowley demanded to look at the cover again because he wanted to see what Edward Tulane looked like there versus in his head, Aziraphale always flipped back. No complaints either. 

“Here. I have an idea,” said Mary. She shifted on the carpet to sit in front of both of them. “Do you want to try leaning on Mr. Aziraphale’s shoulder? I’ll be right here to help.” She also looked very earnest. 

Though the thought of it was kinda scary, Crowley nodded. He was about to let the way they were talking to him lull him back towards the fuzziness again, but he remembered that Aziraphale was a part of this too. He sat up and looked directly at him, though he stopped after a second. Eye contact was hard. “‘Zira. Are you…you sure you’re okay with that? I don’t wanna. Um. Don’t wanna make you do something you don’t wanna do,” he whispered, the words leaving him in a rush. His thumb hovered at his lip. 

“Sweetheart,” Aziraphale said. His face looked very open. “Of course I’m okay with that. All I want is for you to be comfortable, and I’m very happy to help you do that. Alright?”

Crowley couldn’t do anything but nod. Again, Aziraphale made himself comfortable against the pillows. Crowley scooched somewhat closer to him, glad that Mary was there to watch and make sure everything and everyone was okay. Eventually he was shoulder to shoulder with Aziraphale, and he could feel the warm brush of his sweater against his arm. The body heat was honestly exhilarating, which was embarrassing no matter what anyone told him, and he very carefully moved until his legs were tangled together and angled away and his head was resting on the crook of Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

When Aziraphale made a big sigh, it shifted all of Crowley’s head, which made him giggle. Aziraphale laughed too. “Are you comfortable, darling?”

“Yeah,” said Crowley. And he was. His skin didn’t feel like it was going to crawl off his bones, and that squashy sort of feeling was slowly coming back. He jerked up suddenly. “Are you?” 

Aziraphale chuckled again, the soft movement jostling Crowley’s head. “I am very comfortable, don’t worry.”

Crowley didn’t lift his head as he nodded. Good. He tilted his head toward the book, hoping Aziraphale would get the picture. 

Aziraphale chuckled and pointed his finger back where they stopped. “‘He told himself that certainly Abilene would come and find him. This, Edward thought, is much like waiting for Abilene to come home from school…’”

Crowley sighed just like Aziraphale did and nibbled lightly on his necklace. He had always been right. Aziraphale was very soft.