Chapter Text
It started, as most things do, with a baby.
This is probably where the similarities ended.
For starters, this particular baby was born in late spring, making them a Gemini. And secondly, this child was not “born” in the traditional sense at all.
Indeed, Heaven had decided that the second time around would have to have some edits. Aziraphale had spent enough time on Earth to know that the feminist movement had drastically lowered the chances of your average 21st-century woman taking kindly to an Immaculate Conception. It was Aziraphale’s suggestion that Heaven remove the middleman completely, so to speak. It seemed to him that Heaven could take a page from Hell’s book – though he didn’t say this part aloud. Of course, the bringing of the antichrist was hardly a success, and Aziraphale could not simply plagiarize Hell’s methods wholesale anyway – plagiarism is Bad, and more importantly, Lazy. But there were some things Hell had done quite well, and simply bringing a baby in a basket to Earth was one of them. Crowley’s voice rang in the back of Aziraphale’s mind about “going along with Heaven as well as he can.”
Aziraphale had wanted desperately to be the one to raise the babe, but that suggestion had been met with laughter from Metatron.
“You would go back to that place?” he had chuckled. “Aziraphale, there is so much more for you to oversee here. Your work has only begun!”
His work was nothing short of all-consuming. Who knew Overseeing was such an involved process? So involved in fact, that he was declared much too busy to deliver the second coming himself. It stung to have to merely oversee, but Aziraphale oversaw the whole ordeal with a careful eye. From the moment Heaven sent their first missive to Muriel to the moment Aziraphale personally stepped into the elevator and hesitantly placed the baby into the arms of an eager lesser angel exactly nine months later, Aziraphale took his role extremely seriously.
It should be mentioned that it was pure bureaucratic coincidence that it took Heaven nine months exactly to deliver the second coming to Earth, but Aziraphale found it fitting and hadn’t complained. Obviously, he wouldn’t have complained even if he wanted to. Who would he complain to? The Metatron?! That would be like complaining to G-d herself, which simply wouldn’t do. No, Aziraphale could not do more than suggest – and suggest he did. He had suggested the basket, and the birth date, and he had suggested Muriel. Heaven was adamant that Christ must have an even more heavenly influence this time around. He knew Muriel was perhaps not the best choice to raise a child, but their residency in the bookshop was too perfect to pass up. If the Messiah could grow up in the bookshop… Well. Aziraphale had some hopes for the child in this regard. If he could not be down there himself, he knew only one person– well, Demon– who could fill the shoes of parent. Whilst he watched from Upstairs as the lesser angel deposited the sleeping infant on the bookshop’s doorstep for Muriel to try their best, Aziraphale thought, somewhat selfishly, that he certainly hoped Crowley would return to the bookshop sooner rather than later. If Aziraphale himself could not be in this child’s life, Crowley must be.
This is how Muriel found the baby on the morning of May 28, around 5:32am. When they opened the bookshop doors to start preparing for the business day, there was Christ.
“Oh, wonderful, they’re right on time!” Muriel exclaimed, clasping their hands in glee. The glee left quickly as they got a better look at the infant. Christ, like every newborn, looked rather like a stewed tomato. This had not been mentioned in What To Expect When You’re Expecting, a book Muriel had read through and annotated as soon as Heaven sent the missive detailing their ineffable plans nine months ago.
Muriel, to their credit, had tried to prepare as best they could based on a combo of the telegram-like Heavenly communications and the plethora of baby parenting books available. Unfortunately, Heaven seemed more concerned with what to do when the savior had grown considerably, and the parenting books were by nature rather contradictory and oxymoronic. This meant Muriel was in no way prepared for what happened next:
The baby woke up, and began to cry.