Chapter Text
“Aziraphale, sweetheart?” Crowley gently taps his knuckles on their bathroom doorway. He glances at his watch, and then stares at his own tired reflection in the mirror for a moment. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news n’all, but we’re cutting it a bit close on time.”
Aziraphale, whose elbows are currently on either side of their porcelain toilet seat, hands gripping the hair on his head, nods slowly. “Don’t I know it. I can feel Percy’s impatience from up here. I take it they’re both in the car?”
Crowley responds in the affirmative, and Aziraphale carefully sits back on his heels, looking up at him with glassy eyes.
The demon wants nothing more than to kneel on the floor beside him, knees pressing into the cold tile floor just as Aziraphale’s have been, to bend his head beside him as the angel does the same, face coming uncomfortably close with the porcelain. He wants to tenderly press a cool cloth to his neck and offer him peace, to stay steadfast at his side until he’s ready to get back into bed on a day that was quite literally made for rest.
But he can’t today. Having children unfortunately meant that sometimes, their needs had to come before the love of one’s existence.
And when there’s a fourteen year old boy just outside with red curls, a newfound conviction for his own independence and a football obsession that’s finally granted him his first semi-final game of his life, Aziraphale and Crowley were going to do whatever it took to get him on the field and to be on the sidelines themselves, the same grass under their feet.
When Crowley takes a couple steps forward to offer him help off the ground, Aziraphale shakes his head.
“I’m fine, Crowley, just give me a — oh,” Aziraphale tuts, “I know that look. I am not missing this match. You know how much it means to him.” Aziraphale stares back into the toilet bowl with a look of utter disgust, as if he’s deliberating whether or not he’s going to use it to be sick again.
“And?” Crowley prompts, lowering his eyes at his husband and leaning his hip into the doorframe.
“And I’m in charge of the drinks this week.”
“Angel,” Crowley runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots in frustration. “Someone else can hand out the drinks. I can set up my phone and you can watch the game from bed, if you like. Think Alice’s iPad is charging in her room. How’s that sound?”
Aziraphale ignores his offer. “Oh, so Robin dashes to Tesco and purchases the summer fruits squash so she can mix it with water for the third week in a row? I think not,” Aziraphale replies primly, running a tender hand across his progesterone-bloated belly. “You know I’ve figured out the perfect balance of electrolytes and carbohydrates for those growing young men. Every cup I hand to them is poured with them in mind. I am going to do my part, as I have since they were as tall as my kneecaps.”
Before Crowley can respond, his phone pings in rapid succession, a slew of messages coming through from Percy, undoubtedly. He knows exactly what the texts say too. Aziraphale is not oblivious to it either and simply huffs in determination, the heels of his hands pressed into the toilet lid as he slowly pulls himself to his feet. Even with the sheen of sweat barely visible at his hairline, — his usual rosiness missing from his cheeks— there’s a certain grace about him.
The angel could look like death warmed over and still make it seem like some divine act of beauty.
As Aziraphale reaches for his toothbrush and applies a tiny dollop of toothpaste, a mild, slightly herbal blend for these weeks when he can’t stomach mint, Crowley can’t help but marvel over his husband. Despite the morning sickness that came with a vengeance at week six and is just as relentless into week ten, Aziraphale’s tan trousers are impeccable—crisp, perfectly creased, as if he had just stepped out of a catalog and didn’t just spend the first half of the morning bent over the loo. His shirt, white with faint blue stripes, is slightly wrinkled but still tidy, buttoned down enough to show a dusting of chest hair.
Slung over his right shoulder is a slightly too-large forest green crewneck sweatshirt with Percy’s team name, The Rangers. How Crowley wishes it was still cool enough outside for him to wear it, because it makes Aziraphale look soft and strong at the same time, lovely in a way Crowley could never quite describe.
Aziraphale’s New Balance shoes, spotless as ever, gleam white despite the yellow light of the bathroom, completely free of the dirt or grass stains that would plague any normal person who’s worn them around a football pitch every weekend for months. And if they know what’s good for them, they’ll stay that way.
His hair is a bit messy, curls falling over his forehead in that effortless way Aziraphale always managed, even in the midst of a sick day. And the faint scruff of a beard? Delightful. It serves as a telltale sign he’s avoided shaving in favor of not vomiting on the bathroom counter from the smell of the cream.
Crowley knows the words aren’t exactly welcomed right now, but he cannot help himself.
“You look beautiful.”
Aziraphale looks at him through the mirror, his tired smile still managing to melt Crowley’s heart.
"Oh come now.”
Crowley’s lips curl into a smile. "Gonna head back to the car before Percy drives away in it. See you in a mo’?”
Aziraphale gives a small nod, and tugs at the slight snugness of his shirt. “Before you can say Bob’s your uncle.”
Crowley lingers for a moment, watching his angel try and steady himself before jogging to the car. He hopes he can avoid Percy’s next onslaught of messages and stop Alice, who could never sit still, from unbuckling her seatbelt and finding a spontaneous reason to bail out on her brother’s football match and beg Aziraphale to stay back with her.
Now that Crowley thinks about it, maybe he does hope Alice would suddenly decide on the latter.
The demon heads down the staircase, nearly stepping on one of Percy’s shin guards. He bends down and picks it up before walking out to the car, appreciative of the cloudless sky that lends to a perfectly acceptable day for sunglasses. He kicks at the gravel, tiny rocks scattering as he walks, and laughs to himself when Percy scowls at him from the backseat window.
“Sorry ‘bout that, sprogs. Papa’s coming,” Crowley murmurs, and immediately turns up the radio which is set to Planet Rock. “Also, you dropped this.”
“Can you change it?” Alice asks immediately.
“Then where is he?” Percy asks with palpable impatience, taking the object from Crowley’s extended hand. “Al just said they’re already halfway there! And Hamish left home twenty minutes ago.”
“Mate, you know I’ll get you there in time, ‘kay? Alice, what station do you want?”
The nine year old gasps, and quickly slaps her book shut between her hands. “You didn’t use a miracle when I was late to ballet! No fair!”
It was true, but it was just ballet rehearsal . It had been the Saturday prior, and Aziraphale had been so poorly that Crowley could not bring himself to get out of bed and leave Aziraphale alone until he had absolutely no choice but to get dressed and drop Alice off at ballet. Aziraphale had thrown up so many times in a row with barely a moment to take a breath and compose himself.
It had taken so much out of him that once the angel was done, rather than head downstairs to join the kids for breakfast — which nowadays meant replacing a buttery pan au chocolat or Turkish eggs with dry toast and ginger tea instead —- he had crawled back into their bed. Crowley had heard him whimpering his name, relentless until the demon was finally back upstairs with him, back against the headboard and holding him upright, Aziraphale’s head tilted in such a way so he could try to get some rest and prevent acid reflux.
And when Crowley, who hadn’t gotten much rest himself over the last few weeks either, was woken up to Alice pushing her ballet slippers into his chest and smacking Aziraphale awake, he certainly wasn’t about to use a miracle to get her there on time.
“Life isn’t fair. No one mentioned a miracle and you two need to chill. Alice, last time I’ll ask cos then it’s Classic FM for the angel.”
“Stop,” Percy groans, and begins to dramatically thump the side of his head against the window. “Because of him, Coach isn’t gonna let me play if I’m late for warmups!”
“And that’s not very angelic of Papa,” Alice adds unhelpfully. “BBC Radio 1, daddy. Thank you.”
Crowley shudders at both the thought of Coach Dumante telling Percy he can’t play in the semi-final game, and the idea of listening to TikTok’s latest anthems for the next forty-five minutes. Not only would Crowley give the coach hell if he didn’t let Percy play, but he had a perpetually nauseated, hormonal husband who was on drinks duty and was certainly not schlepping himself all the way to Chichester just to see his son warm the bench.
Before Percy can follow through with his latest threat to go inside and drag Aziraphale out himself, the front door opens and Aziraphale steps out, turning around for a moment to lock up the house. His usual bright aura, especially on a beautiful Sunday in spring, is already noticeably subdued. There’s no pep to the angel’s step as he walks towards the passenger seat, one hand uncharacteristically shoved into his trouser pocket, while the other rests over his tender middle.
Way to be subtle, angel, Crowley thinks.
Aziraphale and Crowley wanted to wait until the twelve-week mark to tell the children that Aziraphale was expecting, which was a bit less than two weeks away now. Some might assume that they were concerned about the viability of the child, to ensure that Aziraphale was in the clear and the pregnancy had a higher chance of going to term before telling them.
In reality, they were borderline terrified to tell their kids, mostly due to Percy’s reaction than anything. And by “they,” was really Aziraphale, who was worried about how his teenage son, his first baby, would take the news. Percy was almost constantly irritated by his younger sister now, spent less and less time with his parents, and Aziraphale was even beginning to think that Percy personally found him uncool.
The couple had tossed the idea around of having a third child every now and again, but neither was exactly shooting their hand up into the air to volunteer to be the one to carry them. Aziraphale had truly enjoyed his pregnancy with Percy, every week bringing welcome changes that he found exciting despite how daunting it all was, to do something that the universe had never seen before. To create a child born of an angel and a demon, and to bear the responsibility of whatever that meant for the world.
He had had an easy birth for all intents and purposes, and healed up nicely too. And when it was Crowley’s turn, he had a textbook pregnancy (if there was one for demons to consult) that turned into an unplanned cesarean due to Alice being too large for him to push her down into his birth canal and ultimately out. And as much as Crowley took it in his usual stride, he had made it clear to Aziraphale on more than one occasion that he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to try it again. He’d look down at his narrow frame and frown, and Aziraphale would gather him in his arms and show him just how incredibly perfect it was.
So when Crowley took Alice into his arms for the first time around when Percy was starting nursery, their lives revolved around their perfect little family. Soon enough, outings as a family of four turned into three as Percy gained his independence and began wanting to spend time at friends' houses. Or, when Aziraphale and Crowley would host a slew of boys who ate them out of house and home and got into all kinds of trouble, like the time when the boys heated the Playstation up to the point where it began smoking because it hadn’t had a break for an entire weekend.
Crowley is still convinced one of the little buggers put a slice of meat in the disc tray as a dare. Percy’s room had smelled of roast ham for half a day.
But when Percy no longer wanted anything to do with his little sister, not even an occasional hang out, Alice began to look longingly at her friends and their siblings. Soon enough, the longing looks became vocal pleas. At the most random times, she would bury her face into Aziraphale’s chest, asking him to please have a baby. To please, please give her a sister to play with and teach.
The angel had tried to stave her off, to hope it was just a phase. He himself felt busy enough with two children, and with them becoming more independent by the day in their own ways, he was starting to enjoy the personal time he was slowly getting back that he had lost some fourteen years ago.
Alice’s loneliness in their household meant he ended up spending even more time with her, adding extra chapters to their nightly reading time, even learning how to make loom bracelets with her if that’s what it took.
But when her months of asking Aziraphale for a sibling came up fruitless— and she set her sights on pestering Crowley to do it instead—Aziraphale took it more seriously than he ever had.
And so Aziraphale gingerly slides into the front seat of the Bentley and winces slightly as he bends his head down to buckle his seatbelt. Crowley wordlessly starts the car, reaches his free hand over to hold Aziraphale’s and discreetly slips a few ginger lozenges into his hand. When he looks over his shoulder to back the car out of their driveway, he can see Aziraphale’s face brighten at the gesture.
Crowley gave him a small nod. “You alright?”
“Hello, darling,” Aziraphale breathes, and settles the back of his head against the seat. “Rather sorry about that, Percy, I couldn’t seem to find your team sweatshirt,” he lies. “It may be too warm now to wear it, but I like to keep it with me. Go team! Chin up, and charge the mountain!”
Percy doesn’t exactly reply, he just lets his breath release loudly from his nose. He twists his back so he’s facing as far away from Alice as possible, hand curled over his phone as he undoubtedly texts his teammates about how late he is and how it’s all his annoying Papa’s fault.
The angel reaches his hand back for Percy to squeeze it back, and after about five seconds of it hovering there, Alice takes it instead.
“Ah, lovely jubbly,” he smiles, but Crowley can see his shoulders visibly slump. “What are we reading today, dear Alice?”
As they drive, the rhythmic hum of the car engine and the sounds of today’s chronically online youth fills the space among them all, and Crowley keeps as watchful of an eye on Aziraphale as he can.
Aziraphale is tense in his seat, his head turned towards the window that’s cracked open, the constant breeze created from the moving car hitting his face directly. He’s barely moved a smidge in twenty minutes, and has already gone through all of the lozenges Crowley snuck into his hand.
"I can see if one of the mums can drive you back, angel," Crowley murmurs after upping the volume on the radio slightly.
Aziraphale harrumphs.
Crowley’s fingers stroke the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “You know at least half of them would kill to be anywhere else but the hundredth footie game this year.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs, but squeezes Crowley’s hand all the same.
“And they adore you, angel. Can’t blame them. You’ve been at every game for their boys for the last seven seasons, handing out the drinks, patching up their scrapes, encouraging the ones who missed the goals when it counted most or never even made it off the bench. Me? I’m just there to entertain Alice so she doesn’t slowly lose her mind.”
Aziraphale actually giggles, and it sounds like magic. “Truly a courageous endeavor, that. Anyhow, you give me too much credit. It’s not about me, it’s about them,” he says quietly, ever so slightly tilting his head back towards the kids who are both unaware of how much effort it’s taking for Aziraphale to simply sit upright.
Eventually their steady pace is interrupted, the Bentley finally hitting the mid-morning rush. , The car rolls to a complete stop, and the sound of the engine is replaced by the harsh reality of idle traffic. Percy had put his Airpods in the moment Aziraphale asked if they wanted to play I-spy, and Alice griped that it was no fun if everyone didn’t play, so she was back to being engrossed in her book.
But now, the teen is back to expecting the full attention of his parents. He lets out a groan loud enough for them to hear over the radio, glaring out the window with arms crossed in palpable frustration.
“Ugh, we’re gonna be late,” Percy starts flicking the window. “I told you this was gonna happen. Can you just use a fucking miracle?”
“Oi!” Crowley looks behind his shoulder, and at the same, time, Aziraphale lets out a shocked:
“Perseus!”
Alice looks positively scandalized, and reaches over to swipe the back of Crowley’s shoulder with her book. “You said we weren’t allowed to say the F word!”
“Hey! Not when I’m driving!”
“We aren’t even moving!” Percy throws his hands up in the air, and lets them fall back onto his thighs with a smacking sound.
Crowley looks over at Aziraphale, who’s currently pinching the bridge of his nose now with one hand, eyes closed, while the other rests on his belly. He’s tempted to reach over and soothe his hand across it, to reassure, to calm him down with gentle words, but the incessant sound of the kids bickering in the back seat is distracting.
“You guys,” Crowley turns around, twisting his spine in a very inhuman way.
“I’m not a guy!”
Crowley, not normally the parent who does the disciplining, feels out of his element. But, he also feels just enough in his element from the look of Aziraphale alone. It’s enough to set his blood boiling.
“Your father doesn’t feel well. Is it that difficult to leave each other alone? We will get there when we bloody get there!”
Percy rolls his eyes and mutters something about how once they show him how to use proper miracles, he’ll never have to worry about anything ever again and he won’t need them.
“Stop talking to yourself!” Alice reaches over and tries to cup Percy’s mouth with her hand.
“Get your grimy hand off of my mouth you irritating freak!” Percy smacks her off of him, and then tugs on her ponytail hard enough that she screams.
“Alice, Percy!” Crowley hisses, and then slams on the brake again when the car runs into another spot of congestion.
At the harsh jolt, Aziraphale gags , cheeks puffing enough to send a surge of stress through Crowley’s own stomach. Aziraphale visibly swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing forebodingly.
“Fucking hell, you two!” Crowley just about growls. He hated using a rough tone of any sort with the kids, but Aziraphale was his pressure point and it had certainly been pressed.
From the rearview mirror, Crowley can see Percy open his mouth to retort, but Alice beats him to it, her eyes blazing with indignation now that she’s been disciplined by Crowley of all people.
“He started it!” she yells, pointing at Percy dramatically. “He pulled my hair and called me annoying!”
“I said you’re irritating!” Percy corrects, throwing up his hands as if the distinction is important. “That’s totally different!”
“No it’s not, stupid!”
Percy lunges forward, long arm reaching towards Alice’s book. He manages to swipe it, and tucks it on the side of his door.
“Papa!” Alice cries, leaning forward so he can hear her better, as if they weren’t mere feet apart. The angel flinches at the loud sound of his indignant nine year old in his ear. “He took my book!”
Aziraphale cracks an eye open, and looks at Crowley with the heat of a thousand fires, before closing it again and promptly rubbing his queasy middle.
Crowley doesn’t think he can be more upset if he tried, until he hears the sound of Percy laughing, clearly enjoying the power he holds. The demon looks up in the rear-view mirror, hands gripping the steering wheel to start threatening loss of screen-time for Percy, the birthday parties Alice had on the calendar for that month, anything he could think of, really. He’s barely able to start the first threat of punishment when he’s stopped in his tracks by the sight of Alice snatching one of Percy’s Airpods out of his left ear and, with a flash of mischievous fury, opens the window.
“Stop that!” Percy yells, but it’s too late.
With an expression of glee that only a sibling can pull off, Alice winds up and— plop —throws the AirPod out the window.
“ALICE!” Percy and Crowley yell at the same time.
Aziraphale actually whimpers.
Percy reaches over and smacks her arm. “Are you crazy?!”
“Ow! Don’t hit me!” Alice cries, and promptly hits her brother back.
The two begin smacking each other, not enough to truly hurt but nonetheless relentless in nature. As they go at it, it’s clear to Crowley that both are hoping that one will give up and let the other have the last swipe before giving up. No amount of Crowley telling them to cut it out from his spot behind the wheel, or threatening to turn the car around gets them to stop their bickering and swiping.
That is, until they hit yet another bout of standstill traffic.
“I’ve had quite enough,” Aziraphale says, voice quiet but firm. With no further warning, the angel unbuckles his seatbelt, gets out in the middle of the road, and yanks open the back door. His face is flushed with a mix of exhaustion and parental fury.
“Aziraphale–” Crowley starts, hoping to get his attention, but Aziraphale is reaching over Percy and unbuckling his seat.
“Out!” the angel roars, and Percy, slack-jawed, listens to him without a second thought.
Alice freezes in her seat, eyes wide as he climbs into the back of the car and in an almost absurd but completely effective way, plants himself in the middle seat between them.
Crowley blinks, stunned. “Angel, come back up here. Please.”
But Aziraphale ignores him. “Can you even begin to comprehend how utterly immature and monstrous you two are being?” Aziraphale’s voice is low, a mixture of exhaustion and exasperation. He adjusts his position, sitting between the two, his arm barely touching theirs, but making it clear that he is the boundary.
“I don’t care who started it,” he continues, his expression still soft, but the firmness in his voice unmistakable. “I’m at my wits end hearing you two carry on like this, hitting each other like it’s the only form of communication you two understand! It’s barbaric.”
Percy and Alice look down at their laps and Aziraphale sighs, wiping a hand over his forehead before speaking again. “We’ll get there. Eventually. But for now, you’re both going to sit there quietly. I’ve had it up to here with this nonsense.” His tone softens just a little. “Do you understand?”
Percy, after a long, drawn-out moment of silence, finally mutters, “Yeah. Fine. But she’s paying for my new Airpods.”
Alice grumbles, “It’s not my fault,” but Crowley knows that even she seems to realize this is a battle she’s not going to win. That Airpod didn’t open the window and throw itself out.
Aziraphale leans back into the seat with a sigh, pressing his palms against the sides of his face, looking completely wiped out. He offers no further words, though Crowley can see his shoulders are still tense, clearly feeling the weight of parenting two stubborn children and of an unborn one that is clearly determined to make him question his decision to carry their third.
Crowley chooses his next words carefully. “Angel, if you have a… headache, sitting in the back seat is only going to exacerbate it.”
“I’m fine, Crowley,” Aziraphale settles the seatbelt under his belly and shifts slightly in place. “If they both know what’s good for them, after all, they will stay quiet and let me rest my eyes until we get there.”
And they do. The car begins moving, and soon enough, they’re just tipping past the speed limit. Crowley notices that Aziraphale’s “rest” slowly turns to him hunching forward slightly, eyes squeezed shut.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley said softly, his eyes glancing over at the angel as he sits between Alice, who’s boredly sipping at her water bottle, and Percy, who’s trying to make use of the one Airpod he has left. “You okay, dove? I can pull over and you can sit in the front again, no trouble.”
“I’m fine, there’s no need,” Aziraphale mutters, but his voice lacks conviction.
“Are we there yet?”
“You can literally see we aren’t, Percy,” Crowley pushes his head against the seat. There’s still a long stretch of cars ahead of them on the motorway.
“Can I have my book back now?” Alice asks, clearly taking advantage of the opportunity of broken silence too. Crowley can hear her ruffling through her backpack from behind his seat.
Aziraphale takes in a slow breath, and tries to stretch his legs further. “If everyone could please just stop talking for five minutes, I might be able to sort–”
And then, crunch.
A sound so unmistakable. The opening of a bag. Crowley glances back, his heart sinking. There, in the back, Alice had— of course —decided that now was the perfect time to open a bag of Marmite flavored crisps.
The scent of yeast, salt and a certain earthy, umami-richness crashes through the car like a tidal wave.
“Oh, Christ!” Aziraphale heaves, his hand clutched over his mouth. “Crowley, pull—NOW!”
Crowley slams on the brakes, tires squealing as he veers off the road. Without thinking, he gets out of the car, flings open the door, barely allowing the car to come to a full stop, and quickly shoves Percy out, the boy having to make a speedy exit for the second time that morning. “Go! Go, go, go!” he barked.
“I’m trying!” Percy complains, stumbling out of the car and muttering something that sounds like, ’you don’t have to shove me!’
Crowley walks Aziraphale over to the freeway guardrails and keeps a gentle hand on his back as the angel heaves. “It’s okay, love. Just breathe. You’re gonna be okay,” he murmurs, rubbing circles on Aziraphale’s back as the angel takes in shaky breaths.
“What a nightmare,” Aziraphale says after spitting onto the ground. “There’s nothing even left in my poor stomach.”
Crowley miracles a cold water bottle and the taste of sick out of Aziraphale’s mouth, and all Aziraphale can do is look at him with guilt. “I’m so sorry. I’m only making us more late than I already made us in the first place. Percy is going to loathe me.”
Crowley tuts and tips the bottle of water to Aziraphale’s lips, coaxing the angel to drink even just a bit before they get back into the car. While Aziraphale sips, Crowley miracles the marmite crisps out of the car and replaces them with plain crackers. Alice would have to simply deal.
“First of all, he loves you,” Crowley makes sure to say as Aziraphale stares towards where Percy is sitting in the car, an upset look spread thinly across his features. “He’s supposed to be dramatic and grumpy… comes with the territory of being a teenager. And when we tell him about… about all’a this… I mean, I’m sure he’s already putting the pieces together. I’m gonna use a miracle to get us there. You’re unwell, Percy’s stressed and who knows what Alice is going to do next.”
“Almost like she came out of you,” Aziraphale adds, and Crowley smiles brightly at him. He was happy to just hear something light come from the angel.
“Ready to get back in?”
“As ready as I can be,” Aziraphale folds his hands together in front of him. “And thank you, dearest. I certainly hope you’re right about Percy. I do worry so.”
When they get back on the road, traffic blessedly (rather, demonically) cleared up, Crowley can’t help but notice how uncharacteristically quiet Alice is as she sits, left side pressed against Aziraphale, holding onto his upper arm. Even Percy’s chatting more than her, the car cruising down the freeway without interruption easing his stress and grouchiness. He talks with Crowley and Aziraphale about who he thinks will be starting the game, and what positions they’ll be playing, and who the top players are on the opposing team.
And when she scoots even closer to him, hand absolutely gripping his arm like a lifeline, Aziraphale opens his closed eyes and speaks up. “Alice, darling, whatever is the matter?” he turns his head slightly to press a kiss to her platinum blonde hair. “I know I was a bit cross with the pair of you, but I do love you very much. Without question.”
Alice simply whimpers, and at his attention now, buries her face in his arm. Crowley turns the radio down, and looks over at Percy in hopes to have an idea of what the hell is going on.
Percy, entirely readable just like his Papa, has it written all over his face.
He’s done something.
“Don’t die, please!” Alice cries, her sniffling turning into full blown sobbing now.
Aziraphale is entirely wide-eyed now, meeting Crowley’s eyes through the rear-view mirror. He soothes a hand over her head.
“Alice, who told you Papa is dying?”
“Yes, what on earth are you on about?” Aziraphale asks, his voice hoarse as he looks at Percy, who’s trying to act like he isn’t listening. “I know I’ve certainly seen better days, but it’s rather offensive of you to say I look like I’m dying, darling. Good Lord.”
Alice looks up, tears having spilled all over her cheeks, wetting Aziraphale’s shirtsleeve. “Percy said you are! That he heard you and Daddy say your corporation is dying because it’s so old and that’s why you’ve been sick and that heaven is gonna give you a new body and it’s gonna be a bald man with warts and two teeth! Papa please don’t!”
Crowley blinks in disbelief, and to his own horror, feels a smile begin to tug at his lips at the very thought. He turns his head in hopes that Percy doesn’t see.
“Crowley, don’t you dare!” Aziraphale hisses, although Crowley hears something in Aziraphale’s tone of voice that’s not entirely disciplinary. “Percy, that’s not funny. You’ve terrified your sister!”
“But it’s so funny!” Percy laughs into his hands, his voice full of amusement. Crowley had to admit, it was wonderful to see Percy with such a grin on his face, to hear him laugh like this. “I mean, come on— a bald guy with warts and two teeth? That’s hilarious!”
Aziraphale looks at his lap, his lips twitching despite his obvious best efforts to maintain a serious expression as Alice clutches him.
He clears his throat and tries to speak, his voice soft but filled with that familiar, exasperated warmth. “Percy,” he begins, but his tone falters as he struggles to hold back a laugh. Crowley thinks it’s delicious. “That... that really wasn’t the sort of humor I was hoping for when it comes to having a laugh with your sister. And darling,” he says to Alice, his voice cracking slightly from the effort of holding back his amusement, “I assure you, your Papa is quite alive and well. And he most certainly is not turning into a bald man with warts.”
Crowley sucks in a breath, his voice suddenly more serious, and Aziraphale’s smile falters when he realizes where this is heading. “Aziraphale,” Crowley starts, his eyes briefly glancing between the kids, who are now both listening attentively. “I think we should talk to them tonight. Been long enough.”
“I think you’re right, dear,” he sits back and closes his eyes again, not sure if the sudden wave of nausea was entirely morning sickness, or anxiety from the idea of telling their children he was expecting. With Percy around causing trouble, and his sickness bad enough that concealing it was impossible, the time had come and they were on the same page. “Alice, could you be a darling and put the window down a bit? I could use the fresh air.”
“So, Percy, once the game’s done, where do you want to head for a little celebratory dinner?”
“I haven’t won the game yet.”
“Your Papa’s on drinks duty,” Crowley throws a wink at the angel, whose eyes are still closed, but there’s a hint of a pleased smile on his lips. “You’re all about to be little Ronaldo’s for the next two hours.”
“Cool. I want to go to Spoons.”
Aziraphale’s eyes pop open.
“Wetherspoons?” he repeats, like the very word tastes awful on his tongue. “Really, my dear? You’d rather go there than anywhere else?”
“I love Spoons!” Alice cheers.
“Can I get a wahoo for Spoons?” Crowley pumps his fist in the air.
“Wahoo!” Alice and Percy chime in, laughing now at the angel’s expense.
“Crowley! I will not discuss anything of importance in a Wetherspoons!” His voice rises with the words, though his face remains flushed with the ridiculousness of the suggestion.
Crowley is cackling now, head thrown back as he pulls off the freeway, mere minutes from the football field now. To him, the idea of Aziraphale, with all his high-brow sensibilities and fondness for exquisite dining, possibly having to discuss something as serious as their growing family in a place like Wetherspoons is pure gold.
The pub was the antithesis of everything Aziraphale held dear—noisy, cheap, and filled with grubby decor that made it impossible for someone like the angel to pretend it was anything but a dive. The tables were sticky.
To Crowley, it was deliciously ironic.
“What is so funny about me wanting Spoons?” Percy asks, the humor in it all clearly having died out for him. “Okay, it’s not your favorite,” he turns to Aziraphale. “But what is up with you?”
“Save that question for Spoons,” Crowley replies on behalf of his husband.
Aziraphale gags.
Percy eyes Aziraphale suspiciously. “We better be getting a dog is all I can say.”