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Now that Crowley was reclining against a throne of perfectly positioned pillows, a fresh, warm baby curled against his chest, he could scarcely believe how he’d gotten here.
In the months he’d been waiting to meet his little angel, he had been preparing himself and Aziraphale for everything—every possible obstacle, warning sign, medical mishap, emergency. There was an almost endless list of ways a pregnancy could go wrong, and that was only considering human pregnancies, not even factoring in what it could mean for an angel and demon to arrogantly try their hands at creating life together. Crowley was an optimist at heart, but he’d grown accustomed to unwelcome surprises such as loss and disappointment in his millennia of existence, and there was only so much he could take. He needed Aziraphale to be ready for anything, be ready to support him through anything.
And yet, despite all of their fears and vigilance, Crowley’s pregnancy had been peaceful. Joyous. Not quite comfortable—especially with the mass and weight that caused his spine to bow and limited his ability to lay down without feeling slightly crushed—but content.
Aziraphale’s nerves had grown considerably leading up to the final days as he waited for the catch—as if, at any moment, God would beam into their lives and laugh about what She had in store, about how the serpent who had tempted Eve would be cursed by the pain and wrath of generations of mothers. They were nerves Crowley felt he should have shared, and while he did feel a slight edge of anticipation, the relative peace he’d settled into throughout his pregnancy remained otherwise unshakable.
It was a miracle—demonic, angelic, or otherwise. Maybe just a plain old miracle.
When the time came, Crowley’s labor was short—not painless, but manageable. He listened to his body, allowing his feet to pace whenever he was restless, stretching his back and hips when his muscles strained and worked and begged for momentary relief. Aziraphale had, of course, fretted and flitted about, convinced Crowley was just putting on a brave face for his sake. True to his nature, he offered various nibbles and sips to Crowley through his hours of laboring, but Crowley was too focused on the task at hand to accept.
The birth itself was already becoming somewhat of a blur to Crowley, but he could remember the heat and solidity of Aziraphale pressed against his back, his own slow, deliberate breaths as he tucked his chin against his sternum and bore down against the tugging pressure building in his pelvis. He thought Aziraphale might’ve been talking during—praising him for his strength and beauty and courage, or perhaps praying to Her for his beloved partner and their expected child to make it safely through the transition.
What Crowley mainly remembered was the relief that followed the release of pressure, Aziraphale’s surprised little 'Oh!' that suggested he’d not been pushing for long at all, and Aziraphale’s hands pulling a soggy, squalling baby up onto his belly.
By all means, Crowley should’ve been utterly exhausted. And, sure, perhaps there were some lingering stinging aches and cramps that rang through his lower half. But really, he felt good—awake and alert, prepared to glue his attention to this new life for the next several hours with minimal distractions. Aziraphale still didn’t seem wholly convinced, but when Crowley finally acquiesced to the offer of a bracing beverage, Aziraphale’s posture visibly relaxed, and his angel whisked away to the kitchen with a skip in his step.
Crowley couldn’t say how long Aziraphale had been gone—seconds, minutes, hours, days. He felt as if he were in a timeless capsule where the world beyond their bed had ceased to exist. There was nothing in that moment aside from Crowley and his precious little gift, the unrestrained awe he felt as he processed how real it all was.
He couldn’t keep his hands to himself, examining every inch of the soft skin that reddened beneath his fingers. He pressed his thumb into a tiny, wrinkly foot that kicked back, the same foot that he and Aziraphale had felt dancing against their palms as they held their hands to his stomach in the months leading up to now. He marveled at the way the baby instinctively tucked their legs close to their body, making it so he could practically hold them in their entirety with a single hand on their lower back. One hand stayed resting there, secure, while the other brushed out the dusky, speckled downy feathers of their wings that flexed and flapped under his touch. One wing settled over the baby’s side, warding off the chill of their new environment, while they tucked the other close against their back once more.
Crowley got hung up on their darling hands, surprised by the amount of force and determination with which they managed to squeeze the thumb he offered them. He cooed as he wiggled his thumb, moving their hand back and forth in what Crowley would consider their first handshake. Nice and firm. Aziraphale would be so proud.
He couldn’t stop there, though, not when there was a round, cherubic face waiting for him. If anyone asked, Crowley would deny the squeals and giggles he let out as he traced the pointed slope of their nose and the pout of their lips, both features so distinctly Aziraphale that it drove his heart batty in his chest. The wispy hair on their head was much lighter now that it’d dried, too light to be red, but too warm to be blond, and already, it was attempting to make fluffy little curls.
While he continued to stroke the soft strands of hair between his fingers under the guise of supporting their head, Crowley blinked down to find curious reptilian eyes blinking back. The hazel irises were unexpected, a ring of golden brown threatening to swallow the outer paler green. At their center rested slitted pupils, something he had initially dreaded, though now, he couldn’t imagine a sight more perfect than this.
“Hello. Hello,” he wooed at them, gently rocking them with the hand below their wings. “Look at you. Charming little devil, aren’t you? Your daddy’s perfect little thing. You know, I worked very hard to cook you up, and look at what a bang-up job I did.”
They blinked back slowly, scrunching their nose for a moment before blowing the smallest of spit bubbles at him.
Crowley gasped, scrunching his nose back at them with a delighted grin. “Yeah, there you are. Hi, Bubba. You know just how precious you are, don’t you? Your papa’s going to be so cross when I tell him I’m never letting you out of my arms. N’awwh. I know, I know. Poor Papa.”
They spent a few more minutes just breathing together and basking in the warmth of skin-on-skin. The comforting scent of newborn was intoxicating as it tickled at his nose, and before he could stop himself, he ducked down, pressing his nose to the top of their head, too-thin-to-be-human tongue flicking out repeatedly from between his lips to invite the scent further in, where he could press it to the roof of his mouth and shudder with the intensity of it. It was so new, so different, and yet so familiar, like an eons-old ache in his chest. It smelled like him, the body that had sheltered this precious being for so many months, but it was also a smell uniquely them that he would be able to identify even the subtlest trace of, anytime, anywhere.
Crowley’s eyes were damp when he finally pulled back, those seconds of closeness having been too long for Crowley to go without being able to see his baby fully. With another flash of his tongue, he tasted the air again, unable to stop now that he’d started.
If he didn’t know any better, he’d say those little hazel eyes below followed the movement of his tongue with a wise understanding.
Crowley groaned, willing his eyes to cease their ridiculous leaking. “I’m being an utter sop, I know,” he said with a sniffle. “Don’t go telling on me, now.”
The baby blinked once, twice, face twisting up again, and Crowley swore his eyes were playing tricks on him. But no, there it was again, the most unlikely of movements—the tiniest hint of tongue, forked at the tip, peeking out from between their lips. Crowley let out a wounded coo as he watched the flicking motion a third and fourth time, unaware of the tear tracks now painting his cheeks.
“That’s right. It’s me. Can you tell it’s me? You know me,” he murmured, using the hand he had at the back of their head to angle their face closer to his skin.
At first, they seemed to nod in agreement, hands and feet grabbing and sinking into the plushness that had recently developed over his previously bony angles. He realized after a time, though, that they were nuzzling, searching, that little tongue leaving tiny wet tracks as they followed the scent of milk. He guided them, then, into the perfect incline beside his breast, allowed them to nose around until the smart thing managed to latch onto his nipple without assistance and take rather hungrily to their first meal.
The clattering of porcelain made Crowley aware of Aziraphale’s return, though he still couldn’t bear to tear his gaze from the cherub in his arms. A warm, fragrant spice filled his senses as a cup of tea presented itself near his bottom lip, and a gentle hand held his jaw and eased him into his first drink.
“There we are,” Aziraphale murmured, letting out a pleased sigh as if he himself was savoring the taste on Crowley’s tongue. “Another one, darling. For me.”
Crowley could’ve very well taken the cup from him and handled things on his own, but it was nice, for once, to allow himself to be cared for, to convince himself he’d earned it. Aziraphale’s hands didn’t leave him until he’d managed to drink the entire cup, surprised to realize how thirsty he was. Aziraphale handed him a glass of water, after, before ducking out of sight and shuffling some things around on the table next to the bed.
After Crowley confirmed that, yes, he was fine, and no, he wasn’t quite in a state to eat just yet, Aziraphale settled into bed next to him, close enough so that together they could admire their nameless little one as they suckled away. Crowley barely managed to repress his giggles as he watched Aziraphale experience the same wonder he had moments ago, his sturdy, well-manicured hands following the same curious, wandering trail as he stroked and memorized their baby’s every feature.
“Angel, you wouldn’t believe it. I was, well, you know, I may have lost myself a bit, snake brain ‘n’ all, scenting the air,” Crowley rambled, fighting through a flush of embarrassment. “And they saw me, and they, I mean, their itty bitty, teeny tiny tongue! I could hardly—forked like anything! Poking it about like they already knew! And these–these bloody tears—” Crowley trailed off with a ragged groan of annoyance and a loud sniffle as his vision blurred once again.
“Language, dear,” Aziraphale replied, sounding far too amused. Crowley let it slide, if only because the angel was kind enough to pat his cheeks dry with his handkerchief without mention. “I’m sorry to have missed it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure you’ll get the opportunity. Just hope I don’t end up with a blasted snake attached to my tit—although, objectively, that would be quite funny.”
Aziraphale’s strained expression suggested that he did not, in fact, find that particular mental image to be funny.
“I don’t mean to rush you, my dear, but have you been thinking on names?” Aziraphale eventually responded, unabashedly changing the subject to something more comfortable for him but more complicated for his counterpart.
Crowley grimaced and gave a half-shrug. “Nothing worth sticking them with until they find something they like better. Why—have you got something?”
Aziraphale gave an excited little wiggle, clearly pleased with himself. “Well, actually, I have. What would you say to Bennet?” He beamed at Crowley, gaze expectant. “They could go by Benny, or even Nettie.”
Crowley hummed, narrowing his eyes with suspicion. “Let me guess. Austen?”
Dimming slightly, Aziraphale turned up his nose with a hmph. “Well, if you’d read them, you would know, wouldn’t you?”
“Sure, yeah. Definitely Austen, then.” Crowley fell silent in thought, stroking the curve of the baby’s ear and watching as their fire-licked eyes began to droop tiredly. “‘s not bad, if I’m being honest. My wee Nettie. Suits them.”
“It’s settled, then.” Aziraphale pressed a fleeting kiss to his temple before his hand draped over Crowley’s on the baby’s head. “Welcome to the world, Nettie. We’ve been waiting ever so long for you.”