Chapter Text
Crowley hated Aziraphale's guts. He knew something was afoot when the angel quickly came up with the "half miracle" solution. Crowley could've said something, but at that moment it seemed like the only option.
He stood there, holding Gabriel's hand, trying his best to conjure up a miracle without ringing a bell on Beelzebub's desk. Aziraphale looked like he was trying harder.
*That fool. Why is he making it so obvious?! For Lucifer's sake, stop straining, or there won't be a bigger alarm that ever rang in Heaven,* Crowley gritted his teeth watching Aziraphale.
After what felt like an eternity, with no flash or magic happening around them — usually there's a ring of light around their palms when a miracle is successfully performed — both the angel and demon sighed.
"Well, for what it's worth, it's been a good 6,000 years on Earth with you, Crowley," said Aziraphale.
"Aye," Crowley grumbled.
Unbeknownst to both of them, a small flake of spark came floating down onto Gabriel's lap. Upon settling, it started getting bigger.
"Umm, guys — this light ball isn't you, right?" asked Gabriel.
By the time both Aziraphale and Crowley looked over, it was almost the size of a football, glowing bigger and brighter. They were struck with awe at the brilliant, fiery yet somehow calming globe — no one could speak anymore. It almost looked like a mini supernova burning right there on the Supreme Archangel's lap.
And then it happened.
The ball of fire burst into fiery dust and ashes all over the bookshop, and something solid landed on Gabriel. And that something was crying like a newborn baby. A baby boy.
And indeed, it was a whole, entirely human-looking baby — a full head of platinum blonde hair, with a serpent drawn beside each ear. Everything else seemed perfectly normal, until the baby opened his eyes. All three of them stared back at devilish, yellow irises split by jet-black slits.
"Oh Lord, good Lord — no, no, no. That's not what this is. For Heaven's sake, I did *not* create a baby," Aziraphale cried, jumping up and down in a panic.
Crowley was deadly silent. The kind of silent that fell over him when someone had killed all his plants. He looked as though, if someone so much as touched him, he would burst into flames.
"I did not create a baby?! *Me?!* Do you *not* see my markings? The eyes?!" Crowley hissed, keeping his voice just below a shout — as if the baby might hear him.
Aziraphale gulped. In all his 6,000 years of friendship with Crowley, he had never expected things to go *biological*. He almost felt like weeping.
Gabriel, among all of them, seemed to have already been completely won over by the baby's charm. He was cooing and playing with his tiny toes, babbling warm, unrecognisable little sounds at him. Not a care in the world.