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Chapter Text

The bottle of wine between them was nearly empty, and Crowley was sprawled lazily in the armchair, long legs stretched out, sunglasses tilted low on his nose.

Aziraphale, perched primly on the edge of his seat, was halfway through recounting some obscure anecdote about 14th-century illuminated manuscripts. Crowley wasn't really listening, but he liked the sound of Aziraphale's voice when he got going. Cozy, comfortable, familiar.

Then came the knock.

Both froze.

It was a sharp sound, more like a rapping than a polite tap. Crowley frowned, sitting up slightly.

"Bit late for customers," he drawled.

Aziraphale blinked at the door, as if it might vanish if he stared hard enough. 

"Perhaps someone's in trouble."

Crowley huffed. 

"If they're knocking on your door at—" he flicked his wrist, glancing at his watch, "eleven-thirty at night, they've clearly made a mistake."

But Aziraphale was already up, smoothing his waistcoat unnecessarily as he shuffled to the door. Crowley watched him go, one eyebrow raised above his glasses.

The angel hesitated a second, then unlatched the door and opened it.

"Oh, my," Aziraphale breathed.

Crowley got up. Slowly. 

"What? Demon on the doorstep? Angelic auditor?"

He got a glimpse then—of the basket. And inside the basket, a tiny wriggling bundle of blankets. A small, pale face peeked out, round cheeks flushed pink. And then it made a noise. A tiny, indignant squawk.

"It's a baby," Aziraphale said, as if Crowley needed clarification.

Crowley stared. 

"No," he said flatly. "Absolutely not."

But Aziraphale was already bending down, lifting the basket—carefully, reverently—like it was the Crown Jewels. 

"Oh, you poor darling!" he cooed. "Left out in the cold like this."

Crowley backed up a step. 

"Angels don't get cold. Humans leave blankets."

"This is a human baby, Crowley."

Crowley's hands went up as if Aziraphale was holding a live bomb. 

"That's exactly why we should leave it where it is!"

Aziraphale gave him a look. 

"Crowley."

"I mean it! Babies are— they're messy. They're loud. They leak. You can't just—" he flailed, "—take one in!"

But Aziraphale was already closing the door with his foot, cradling the basket in his arms. 

"Nonsense," he said, tone firm. "We can't leave her outside."

Crowley groaned, dragging his hands down his face. 

"This is a disaster."

The baby chose that moment to let out a small hiccup. Then another squawk. Crowley winced. Aziraphale's expression softened into something terrifyingly tender.

"She's adorable," Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley glared at the ceiling. 

"We are doomed."

The baby squawked again. Louder this time. Aziraphale cooed back at her, entirely unbothered, adjusting the blanket with gentle hands like he'd done it a thousand times before. Crowley, on the other hand, stood stiffly by the armchair, looking for all the world as if someone had offered him a live grenade.

"She doesn't have anything with her," Aziraphale murmured, inspecting the basket with a faint frown. "Just these blankets. No note, no... no instructions."

Crowley snorted. 

"What instructions were you expecting? 'Feed every three hours, burp after meals, do not hand over to demon'?"

Aziraphale shot him a look over his spectacles. The Look. It was not unlike the ones Crowley used on plants that refused to thrive—except somehow worse. It had expectation in it.

Crowley sighed. Loudly. 

"Right. Fine. We need baby supplies."

"We do," Aziraphale said, as if Crowley had come to that conclusion entirely on his own.

Crowley pointed at him, sunglasses flashing. 

"But just so we're clear, this—" he gestured at the baby, who was now trying to eat her own fist—"this isn't a permanent arrangement."

"Of course not," Aziraphale said breezily. "But until we find her family, or someone more suitable..."

Crowley gave him a flat stare. 

"You're an angel. I'm a demon. No one's less suitable."

The baby gurgled.

Aziraphale's entire expression softened again, his eyes positively glowing. 

"She seems to like us."

"She doesn't know any better," Crowley muttered, but it was already too late. 

Aziraphale had the determined set to his jaw, the same one he wore when he was about to ignore Heaven's orders. Crowley knew when he was beat.

"Fine," he growled. "What do babies need, then?"

Aziraphale looked momentarily panicked. 

"Oh. Well. A crib? Bottles? Blankets? Toys?"

Crowley's eyes widened behind his shades. 

"We're going shopping? Now?"

The angel looked down at the baby, who let out a contented sigh in her sleep, tiny fist still lodged in her mouth. 

"We can't very well wait until morning."

Crowley swore under his breath. 

"You're lucky I don't sleep," he said, reaching for his coat. "And that I happen to know a Tesco that's open twenty-four hours."

Aziraphale brightened. 

"Oh, excellent! I'll fetch my wallet."

"Miracles, angel," Crowley grumbled, heading for the door. "We are not paying for nappies."

Aziraphale hesitated, glancing between Crowley and the basket. 

"I can't possibly leave her alone."

Crowley paused. 

"You... want me to go? Alone?"

"Well, you're the one with the car."

Crowley groaned. 

"Fine. But if I'm buying baby bottles at midnight, you owe me."

Aziraphale smiled serenely, lowering himself into the armchair with the basket in his lap. 

"Crowley, you're an absolute dear."

The demon scowled and stalked out the door, muttering, 

"Doomed. We are utterly doomed."

As the Bentley peeled off into the night, Aziraphale hummed a lullaby—one he was fairly sure he remembered from somewhere—and rocked the basket gently.

"Don't mind him," he told the sleeping baby. "He'll come around."

The Bentley rumbled up to the curb, headlights dimming with an indignant huff of an engine that was certain it was far too dignified for this sort of errand. Crowley slammed the door harder than necessary and stomped up to the shop, plastic bags dangling from both arms, a scowl firmly in place.

He muttered to himself as he went. 

"Demon of Hell, they said. Powers beyond comprehension, they said. Now look at me. Errand boy for a cherub and an overgrown larva."

He shoved the door open with his foot. The little bell jingled sweetly. Too sweetly, if you asked him.

Aziraphale was in the armchair by the fire, holding the baby in his arms, humming something soft and ancient under his breath. He was swaying gently, like he wasn't even aware he was doing it. The baby—still unnamed and entirely too small for Crowley's comfort—was tucked up against his chest, tiny fingers fisted in the lapel of his waistcoat. Fast asleep. Tiny puffs of breath against cream-colored fabric.

For a second, Crowley froze. Something twisted somewhere deep in his chest—annoying, unwelcome, and absolutely not worth thinking about.

Then Aziraphale looked up, beaming. 

"Oh, there you are, dear! How did you get on?"

Crowley shook himself. 

"Like pulling teeth," he grumbled, kicking the door closed behind him. "Do you have any idea how many kinds of bottles there are? And nappies! Sizes! Materials! Absorbency ratings! There was a chart, Aziraphale!"

He stalked toward the sofa and dumped the bags with a dramatic rustle. They slid off the cushions and onto the floor in an undignified pile. He ignored them.

"I picked the expensive ones," he said. "Figured that was safest."

Aziraphale chuckled, a quiet, warm sound. 

"You did splendidly."

Crowley huffed but preened just a little, straightening his collar.

"What did you get?" Aziraphale asked, craning his neck to peer at the bags.

Crowley waved a hand. 

"Everything. Bottles, nappies, those tiny socks—why do they need socks that small, angel? Their feet are the size of grapes! Got wipes. A blanket. Toys." He paused, considering. "Probably too many toys."

Aziraphale smiled fondly as he set the baby back in the basket. She wriggled, but stayed asleep. 

"Let's have a look then."

They unpacked the bags together. Crowley had, in fact, purchased a rather impressive collection of baby supplies, clearly swept up in a combination of panic and perfectionism. There were five different kinds of bottles, a dozen pacifiers (two of them already glowing ominously), an entire pack of bibs that read Mummy's Little Angel—Crowley winced at those—and a plush snake.

The snake was bright green, cartoonish, with a goofy grin. Aziraphale held it up, brows lifted.

Crowley bristled. 

"What? Thought she might as well get used to reptiles."

Aziraphale chuckled again, far too amused. 

"It's adorable."

Crowley looked away sharply, suddenly fascinated by the wall. 

"Whatever."

They worked in companionable silence for a while, setting up a little nest on the sofa. Aziraphale fluffed blankets while Crowley fiddled with a bottle warmer, glaring at it until it obeyed.

Eventually, Aziraphale sighed, smoothing his hands down his waistcoat. 

"She'll need a name, you know."

Crowley stiffened. 

"We're not keeping her."

"Of course not," Aziraphale said placidly. "But until we find her family..."

Crowley made a noise in the back of his throat. The angel was relentless.

"You could help," Aziraphale added lightly.

Crowley scoffed. 

"You're the one who likes names. Books and saints and all that."

Aziraphale smiled softly, glancing at the sleeping baby. 

"I was thinking something simple."

Crowley crossed his arms. 

"What, like Agnes?"

"Agnes is lovely," Aziraphale said, "but perhaps... something that suits her."

They both stared down at the baby, lost in thought.

"Maybe..." Aziraphale murmured.

The fire crackled softly as Aziraphale and Crowley stood over the basket, watching the baby sleep. She gave a little sigh, her tiny fingers twitching as if dreaming.

Aziraphale clasped his hands together. 

"Agatha."

Crowley squinted. 

"Too witchy."

"Elizabeth?"

"Too royal."

Aziraphale raised a brow. 

"Cordelia?"

Crowley smirked. 

"Too tragic."

The angel sighed, visibly thinking harder. 

"Beatrice?"

"Talks too much."

"Dorothea?"

Crowley made a face. 

"Sounds like a great-aunt with a mustache."

Aziraphale pursed his lips. 

"You're not being very helpful."

"I'm not being helpful on purpose, angel," Crowley said, gesturing vaguely. "We're not keeping her. She doesn't need a name."

Aziraphale gave him a pointed look. 

"We are not keeping her. But I am not going to call her 'the baby' until we sort this out."

Crowley sighed heavily, sliding his sunglasses up onto his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"Fine. What about... Jane?"

Aziraphale blinked. 

"Jane?"

"Yeah." Crowley shrugged like it didn't matter, but there was a faint flush on his cheeks. "Plain, simple, easy. No tragic backstory. No destiny to fulfil."

Aziraphale tilted his head, considering. 

"Jane."

He smiled then, the kind of warm, approving smile that Crowley had once seen stop traffic. 

"Like Jane Austen?"

Crowley groaned. 

"Sure, why not."

"Jane," Aziraphale repeated, more to himself now. "It's lovely."

Crowley waved a hand. 

"Settled, then. We'll call her Jane."

As if on cue, the baby stirred. She let out a soft sound, a cross between a sigh and a hiccup, and her tiny fists waved in the air before settling again.

"Hello there, little Jane," Aziraphale murmured, reaching down to tuck the blanket around her more securely.

Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets. 

"Yeah. Kid suits it."

Aziraphale glanced up at him with that Look again, but this time it was softer. 

"Thank you, Crowley."

He shrugged again. 

"Whatever. Name was just sitting there."

But he stood there a little longer than he had to, watching as Jane's tiny fingers wrapped around Aziraphale's pinky. His mouth twitched, the faintest hint of something like a smile.

"Jane it is," Aziraphale said softly.

And for the first time in a very long time, everything felt... right.

Chapter Text

The bookshop was quiet. Unnaturally quiet. Crowley sat in the armchair near the fire, boots up on the coffee table, sunglasses still in place even in the dark. He wasn't really watching the baby—at least that's what he'd tell anyone who asked—but he was definitely sitting close enough to hear if anything happened.

And, of course, something did.

A thin wail pierced the air like a dagger. Crowley winced.

From upstairs, there was a rustling sound, followed by an unmistakable thud, a muffled "Oh dear," and then the shuffle of slippered feet down the stairs.

Aziraphale appeared moments later, hair mussed, dressing gown slightly askew, and a bleary look in his eyes. He blinked owlishly at Crowley as he made his way to the basket where Jane was working herself into a respectable tantrum.

"She's hungry," Crowley drawled from his chair.

Aziraphale yawned. 

"She was fed two hours ago."

Crowley smirked. 

"Guess she didn't get the memo."

The angel gave him a tired glare and scooped Jane up, rocking her gently as he made his way toward the little setup they'd cobbled together on the side table. He managed to warm a bottle with a miracle, though it took a few tries in his sleep-deprived state.

Crowley watched the whole scene, arms crossed, amusement dancing at the corners of his mouth. 

"You know, I could handle the night shifts."

Aziraphale glanced at him, eyes half-lidded but determined. 

"No, no. I insisted on helping."

"You did," Crowley said smugly.

Jane latched onto the bottle with surprising enthusiasm. Aziraphale smiled softly, cradling her with practiced care. The effect was entirely ruined by the enormous yawn that overtook him seconds later.

Crowley chuckled under his breath. 

"Bet Heaven didn't prepare you for this, huh?"

Aziraphale huffed.

"They most certainly did not."

"You don't have to do this, you know," Crowley said, trying for casual but failing completely. "Could miracle her quiet. Or miracle her away."

Aziraphale frowned at him over the bottle. 

"I'm not going to miracle her away."

"Just saying," Crowley muttered. "Wouldn't blame you."

They lapsed into silence for a while. Jane finished her bottle and drifted back to sleep, which was apparently Aziraphale's cue to start trying to burp her. It went about as well as expected: gently at first, then with increasing desperation.

Crowley's smirk widened. 

"You're going to need more practice."

"I'd like to see you do it," Aziraphale said through gritted teeth.

Crowley lounged back in his chair, completely insufferable. 

"Nah. You've got it handled."

Finally, Jane let out a very impressive burp, followed by a tiny, contented sigh. Aziraphale practically sagged in relief, only to groan as he caught a whiff of something decidedly not angelic.

"Oh dear."

Crowley laughed outright. 

"Your turn."

Aziraphale shot him a look that was meant to wither but landed somewhere around mildly inconvenienced. He lay Jane down on the blanket spread across the coffee table and set to work, muttering soothing things under his breath as he unfastened the tiny nappy.

Crowley craned his neck slightly to watch. 

"That's the wrong end, angel."

"I know, Crowley."

More silence, broken only by the faint sound of crinkling wipes and Aziraphale's soft sighs.

Crowley bit back another grin. 

"You're getting attached."

Aziraphale didn't answer immediately. When he did, his voice was quiet. 

"She's just a helpless little thing. Someone has to care for her."

Crowley leaned back again, hands behind his head.

"Someone is," he said. "You're doing a decent job."

Aziraphale finished securing the fresh nappy and bundled Jane up again. He sat down in the armchair opposite Crowley, rocking her gently.

"Thank you," Aziraphale murmured, though whether to Crowley or Jane wasn't entirely clear.

Crowley huffed. 

"Don't get used to it."

But he stayed up the rest of the night anyway. Just in case.

The faint morning light was starting to seep through the edges of the bookshop curtains, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. It was the kind of gentle dawn that made the dust motes hang in the air like something enchanted.

Crowley sat slouched in the chair by the fire, boots still up, but his usual coiled energy was softened. He wasn't even pretending to read anymore. Instead, he watched the two forms curled together on the sofa across from him.

Aziraphale was fast asleep, mouth slightly open, his head tilted back against the cushions. His arms were wrapped carefully around Jane, who was nestled against his chest, rising and falling gently with every slow breath he took. One of Aziraphale's hands rested protectively on her tiny back, as if even unconscious, he knew she was there.

Crowley sighed quietly. 

"Ridiculous," he muttered, but he didn't look away.

For a while, it was peaceful. The kind of quiet that rarely existed in Crowley's world—soothing, almost sacred. He told himself he was only staying to make sure nothing happened. Aziraphale would be furious if anything happened to the baby on his watch.

Then Jane stirred.

Crowley tensed before he even realized he was doing it. Her small body wriggled against Aziraphale's chest, and she made an inquisitive little noise that wasn't quite a cry yet but threatened to become one.

Aziraphale didn't so much as twitch.

Crowley stood abruptly, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, as if he had just been about to move anyway. He crossed the space in three long strides and hovered over them, scowling at nothing in particular.

Jane's eyes blinked open—big and impossibly clear, and somehow both ancient and brand new all at once. She stared straight up at him.

"Oh no," Crowley said under his breath. "None of that."

But she just watched him, calm and curious. Then she smiled. It was small and sleepy and maybe not even intentional, but Crowley still felt something like a punch to the gut.

He sighed, glancing down at Aziraphale, who was blissfully unaware of anything outside his dreams.

"Course you'd sleep through this, angel," Crowley muttered. "Fine."

With a slight grimace, he reached out and slid a hand under Jane's back, lifting her carefully, awkwardly, like he thought she might break. Aziraphale murmured something in his sleep but didn't wake.

"Yeah, yeah," Crowley whispered, adjusting his grip. "Let's not wake Sleeping Beauty."

Jane made another soft sound, somewhere between a hiccup and a coo. Crowley froze. 

"Don't do that."

But she only snuggled closer into his chest. He was pretty sure his heart—or whatever he had in place of one—lurched in an unpleasantly pleasant way.

He stood there for a long moment, completely still, as if moving might ruin the fragile spell. Then he shook his head, scowling at nothing.

"You're lucky I'm a demon," he told her. "Nobody expects me to be good at this."

Jane yawned. Crowley sighed again.

He paced the bookshop in slow circles, careful not to jostle her. Aziraphale snored faintly in the background, still curled up on the sofa.

Crowley glanced over at him and then back down at the baby in his arms. 

"Hopeless," he said softly. "Both of you."

But he kept walking. And didn't stop until Jane fell asleep again.

Aziraphale stirred slowly, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the bookshop's tall windows. For a moment, he forgot where he was—he only knew he was warm, and there was an odd weight on his chest. Then he remembered.

He sat up with a soft gasp, looking down at his arms, which were now... empty.

Panic bloomed for half a second before he heard it. A gentle cooing sound, not far away.

Aziraphale turned his head, slowly, carefully—and his heart nearly stopped at the sight before him.

Crowley stood by one of the tall shelves, swaying just slightly from side to side. He held Jane in his arms, cradled in an almost absurdly careful way, as if she were made of the most delicate porcelain. One tiny hand was curled into the lapel of his leather jacket, gripping it with surprising determination. Crowley was looking down at her with something that almost passed for fondness, his sharp features softened in a way Aziraphale had rarely—if ever—seen.

Aziraphale didn't move. He didn't dare. He just watched.

Jane cooed again, and Crowley let out a breath, shaking his head faintly. 

"You are far too awake for this hour, kid."

She wriggled a little, and he adjusted his grip, smoothing one gloved thumb over her tiny fist where it clung to his jacket. 

"Yeah, well, don't get used to this," he muttered. "I'm not some—some nursemaid. You've got an angel for that."

It was so gentle. So achingly careful. Aziraphale's chest felt tight.

And then Crowley glanced up and noticed him.

Instantly, he stiffened. The softness evaporated, replaced by a familiar scowl as he very briskly—and not entirely gently—transferred Jane back into Aziraphale's arms.

"Here," he said gruffly. "She wanted a walkabout. Sorted now."

Aziraphale accepted the baby without argument, settling her against his shoulder. 

"You're very good with her," he said quietly.

Crowley snorted, turning away to adjust his sunglasses back over his eyes. 

"Hardly. Just kept her from squawking."

Aziraphale smiled, smoothing Jane's soft hair with his palm. 

"You care," he said, a little teasing but mostly just true.

"I don't," Crowley shot back, far too quickly. "Just—thought you might need sleep, is all. And she was about to wake up the neighborhood."

"Of course," Aziraphale said mildly, but his eyes were knowing.

Crowley shoved his hands deep in his coat pockets, stalking back toward the armchair with exaggerated nonchalance. 

"Don't make it weird, angel."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Aziraphale said, smiling into Jane's downy hair. "But you are holding her rather well. Very natural."

Crowley flopped into his chair, legs kicked out in front of him, exuding studied indifference. 

"Fast learner."

"I'm sure," Aziraphale said, still smiling.

Jane gurgled against his shoulder, utterly content.

For a long moment, the bookshop was quiet again. Peaceful, even. Aziraphale hummed softly, rocking Jane as he sat down beside Crowley.

Crowley glanced over. Just once.

"You're both hopeless," he muttered.

Aziraphale beamed. 

"And you're not fooling anyone."

Crowley groaned, but didn't get up.

Chapter Text

The bell above the shop door jingled cheerily as Aziraphale swept inside, practically glowing with enthusiasm. He clutched a shopping list in one hand (a literal scroll, because of course it was), while the other hand fussed with the lapel of his coat like a man on a mission. Crowley followed behind, looking profoundly out of place in his all-black ensemble and dark glasses, glowering at the pastel displays with barely concealed horror.

The shop itself was aggressively cheerful. Soft colors, stuffed animals on every surface, and a constant loop of tinny lullaby music piping through hidden speakers. Crowley grimaced as they passed a display labeled "Snuggle Bunny Sleep System" featuring a disturbingly lifelike rabbit wearing a nightcap.

"Angel," he hissed, "I'm fairly certain we've stumbled into a trap."

"Nonsense," Aziraphale said, already wandering toward a wall of tiny onesies. "This is exactly the place we need. Isn't it sweet?"

Crowley's gaze flicked toward a display of miniature socks no larger than his pinkie finger. He grunted. 

"It's a nightmare."

A sales assistant, young and chipper in a pastel polo, appeared at Aziraphale's elbow with the kind of practiced brightness that spoke of commission-based pay. 

"Good morning! Looking for anything in particular?"

"Oh, yes," Aziraphale said warmly, unfurling his scroll with a flourish. "We're taking care of a child, you see, and we've found ourselves rather unprepared. We'll need the basics, of course—clothing, bottles, nappies—but I've also been reading up on things and it seems there's quite a lot to consider these days. I'm particularly interested in swaddling techniques. And a pram! We'll need one of those. And a crib. And perhaps a mobile to keep her entertained..."

The assistant blinked. 

"Right... How old is the baby?"

"About six months, we believe," Aziraphale said.

"Human," Crowley added unhelpfully. "Probably."

The assistant gave them a slightly worried look but rallied. 

"No problem! We can start with—"

"I want one of these," Aziraphale interrupted, holding up a onesie emblazoned with "Little Miss Perfect" in curly letters.

Crowley leaned in, deadpan. 

"Bit optimistic, angel."

"I think it's charming."

Crowley sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. 

"Right. I'll, uh... keep an eye on things."

Five minutes later, Crowley was already regretting that statement. Aziraphale had gone completely feral. He'd filled an entire cart with an alarming number of baby items. Organic cotton onesies, little hats with ears on them, blankets so soft they might've been woven from clouds. He cooed over a tiny sunhat with a bow, held it up for Crowley's approval, and Crowley—against his better judgment—nodded.

"Right," Crowley muttered under his breath, "that's it, I'm losing my edge."

They came to a wall of bottles. Dozens. Hundreds, maybe.

"What is all this?" Crowley asked. "They're bottles. How complicated can it be?"

"Well," Aziraphale said, scanning them, "some are better for colic, some are angled, and others are supposed to mimic... oh, my."

Crowley raised an eyebrow behind his glasses. 

"What?"

"These mimic the mother's—er, you know. Anatomy."

Crowley blanched. 

"I don't need to know that."

The assistant reappeared, now looking slightly harried. 

"Do you need any help choosing?"

Crowley stepped back, lifting his hands. 

"This one's all his. He's the, ah... mother."

Aziraphale flushed scarlet. 

"I beg your pardon!"

Crowley smirked. 

"I'm just here for moral support."

"You're here because I gave you the look," Aziraphale pointed out.

"Technicality."

They argued their way to the pram section, where Aziraphale immediately fell in love with something called "The Cloud Cruiser Deluxe." It was an enormous contraption with chrome trim and wheels that looked suspiciously like they belonged on a sports car. It even had a cupholder.

Crowley raised a brow. 

"Expecting to take her street racing, angel?"

"It has excellent suspension," Aziraphale sniffed. "And it's on sale."

That was enough for Aziraphale. Crowley sighed and muttered something about how he used to tempt saints to sin, and now he was arguing over pram features.

By the time they reached the register, the cart was piled high. The assistant rang everything up with an air of disbelief. Crowley leaned against the counter, watching Aziraphale chat about sleeping patterns and bedtime routines with the eager enthusiasm of someone who'd read exactly one parenting book.

"Angel," Crowley said after a moment, tilting his head, "you realize the kid's only been with us two days, yeah?"

"She needs proper care," Aziraphale replied, handing over a large stack of banknotes. "And we need to be prepared."

Crowley eyed the shopping bags that were rapidly accumulating. 

"You've prepared for the apocalypse with less."

"That's different," Aziraphale said. "This is important."

Crowley shook his head, but he was smiling as they left the shop, Aziraphale practically glowing with pride as he pushed the ridiculously high-tech pram.

Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets. 

"We're keeping her, aren't we?"

Aziraphale's expression softened. 

"For as long as she needs us."

Crowley sighed. 

"Hopeless."

But he reached out and adjusted the sunhat on Jane's tiny head as they walked. Just to make sure it fit properly.

Later that night, back at the bookshop, Aziraphale was sitting cross-legged on the floor with several baby books spread out around him like he was studying for the most important exam of his life. His reading glasses were perched on his nose, and he kept making small hmm noises as he scribbled notes on a pad of parchment.

Crowley lounged nearby on the sofa, one booted foot propped on the armrest, arms folded as he watched the angel fuss. Jane was tucked into a new bassinet, swaddled within an inch of her life, while Aziraphale adjusted and re-adjusted the blanket corners.

"You know," Crowley drawled, "for someone who's been around since the dawn of time, you're awfully worried about a six-month-old human."

Aziraphale looked up over the rim of his glasses. 

"Human children are fragile, Crowley. Very fragile. This book says they must sleep on their backs. And this one says we must keep the room precisely between twenty and twenty-two degrees Celsius."

Crowley quirked a grin. 

"What happens if it's twenty-three? Baby explodes?"

Aziraphale huffed. 

"Don't be flippant. It's important to follow the recommendations."

Crowley slid lower on the sofa, arms behind his head. 

"Angel, you've got books contradicting each other over there. One of them probably says she needs to sleep upside down like a bat."

Aziraphale sniffed, flipping a page. 

"I'll cross-reference."

"You're cross-referencing?" Crowley barked a laugh. "Unbelievable."

"Someone has to take this seriously!"

As if to illustrate, a soft wail rose from the bassinet. Jane squirmed inside her perfectly arranged blankets.

"Oh dear," Aziraphale fretted, immediately diving for the book titled "Soothing Baby: A Beginner's Guide." "It says we should—oh, drat, where is it? Swaddle? Bounce? Hum?"

Crowley stood, shaking his head. 

"Step aside."

"You're not going to follow the—"

But Crowley had already picked her up. He held her close, supporting her head with practiced ease. 

"Hey, kid," he murmured, voice dropping to something surprisingly soft. "You're all right."

Aziraphale watched in mild disbelief as Jane quieted almost instantly. She blinked up at Crowley, tiny fingers fisting into the front of his black T-shirt.

Crowley began to pace the room slowly, rocking her without any conscious thought. 

"No need to cry. You've got an angel and a demon wrapped around your little finger already. Lucky you."

Aziraphale set his book down, a fond smile creeping onto his face despite himself. 

"You're quite good at that," he murmured.

Crowley scowled. 

"Beginner's luck."

"Hmm," Aziraphale said, unconvinced.

They spent the next hour in a strange, peaceful rhythm. Aziraphale insisted on checking Jane's temperature (twice), making sure she was fed exactly three ounces, and documenting her feeding time with a fountain pen. Crowley mostly ignored all of it, holding Jane however she seemed happiest and occasionally pulling faces that made her gurgle with delight.

At one point, Aziraphale caught him sticking out his forked tongue. Jane reached for it.

"Crowley!"

"What? She likes it."

"She's not a snake."

By midnight, Aziraphale was yawning behind his hand, still trying to write down every detail of Jane's day in a tidy journal. Crowley was sprawled across the couch, baby on his chest, her little hand wrapped tightly around one of his fingers.

"You should get some sleep," Crowley said without looking up. "You're turning into a zombie."

"I'll sleep when she sleeps," Aziraphale mumbled, but he was already nodding off in his chair.

Crowley sighed. 

"Hopeless."

Still, he conjured a blanket and floated it gently over Aziraphale's shoulders. Then he shifted a little so Jane could snuggle more comfortably against him.

"You're making us soft, kid," he muttered to her. "Don't get used to it."

Jane burbled happily in her sleep.

It started with Aziraphale reading, as most of his mild panics did. He was sitting in the armchair, Jane snoozing in her pram, flipping through a chapter ominously titled "Hygiene is Health: The Importance of Bathing." His brows knitted as he read about water temperature, delicate skin, and "proper sponge techniques."

"Oh dear," he murmured. "Crowley?"

Crowley, who was pretending to nap on the couch while actually watching a nature documentary on his phone (snakes, naturally), glanced up. 

"Hmm?"

"We need to give her a bath."

Crowley stared at him over his glasses. 

"What, now?"

"Yes," Aziraphale said, already bustling about. "It's very important for her skin and... and general wellbeing. Babies can get all sorts of rashes if they're not properly cleansed. And it says here—"

"Angel," Crowley interrupted, sitting up, "you do realize humans have been dunking their young in basins since the dawn of time, yeah? Bit of soap, bit of water, job done."

Aziraphale gave him a long look, holding up the book like it was gospel. 

"It's not quite as simple as that."

Crowley sighed deeply and got to his feet. 

"Fine. Let's get this over with."

Ten minutes later, they were standing in the bathroom, both of them staring into a small, pastel-pink baby tub that sat ominously in the middle of the floor. Jane was kicking her legs on a fluffy towel nearby, seemingly unbothered by her caretakers' rising panic.

"I don't think the temperature is right," Aziraphale said, dipping his wrist in the water for the fifth time. "Too warm? No, too cold?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. 

"You've tested it more times than you checked the flaming Holy Water seal on my car."

"Well, this is more delicate!"

Crowley muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "So is my paint job", but he stepped in. He flicked a finger and the water immediately shimmered to exactly the right temperature.

"There. Happy?"

Aziraphale gave him a begrudging nod, then turned back to Jane with a mixture of excitement and dread. 

"All right, darling," he cooed, scooping her up under the arms. "We'll just pop you in..."

Jane, sensing something new was happening, gurgled happily—right until her toes hit the water. Then her little face scrunched up like a storm cloud, and she let out a mighty wail.

"Oh no! Oh dear, oh dear!" Aziraphale flapped, still holding her mid-air. "She doesn't like it! We're doing something wrong!"

Crowley, less fussed, gently took Jane from Aziraphale's hands. 

"We're doing nothing wrong. She's a baby. Babies make noise."

He cradled her with one arm under her back and the other supporting her head, easing her into the warm water. Jane kicked and flailed, splashing water everywhere—Crowley's dark shirt took the brunt of it.

"Oi," he grumbled, pushing his sunglasses up to keep them from sliding off his nose. "You're lucky I like you, kid."

Aziraphale wrung his hands. 

"Be gentle!"

"I am being gentle," Crowley snapped, though his hands were soft and careful as he poured warm water over her belly. "She's squirmier than a basket of eels."

The squirming only intensified. Crowley tried to grab the tiny washcloth Aziraphale had prepared but ended up dropping it into the tub. Jane seized the opportunity to flail again, her foot kicking a wave of sudsy water directly into Crowley's face.

He froze. Slowly wiped his face with his free hand. Suds clung to his hair, his glasses, and—somehow—his left ear.

Aziraphale clapped a hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh.

"Oh, go on," Crowley said dryly. "Laugh it up."

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale wheezed, though he didn't sound sorry at all.

Crowley gave him a glare, but it softened when he looked down and saw Jane now splashing contentedly, no longer fussing. She even gave him what could almost pass for a smile.

"Look at that," Crowley muttered, his voice gentler again. "Demon one minute, angel the next."

"I do believe she likes you," Aziraphale said warmly.

Crowley shook his head, sending a few bubbles flying. 

"Dangerous business, that."

They managed to get through the rest of the bath without major catastrophe. Crowley rinsed Jane's hair with a careful hand while Aziraphale fussed over the temperature again. Once she was dried off, Aziraphale wrapped her in the fluffiest towel he could find—white with tiny golden stars, of course—and hugged her close.

Crowley, still damp and sudsy, folded his arms. 

"Remind me again why we're doing this?"

Aziraphale smiled down at Jane, who yawned contentedly against his shoulder. 

"Because someone left her with us. And because she needs us."

Crowley made a noncommittal noise, but he stepped in close anyway, using one finger to adjust the towel so Jane's little head was snug.

"You're going to be the death of me, kid," he muttered.

Aziraphale chuckled softly. 

"Oh, I highly doubt that."

Crowley gave him a look. 

"You never know."

And as they left the bathroom—Aziraphale humming a lullaby, Crowley still damp and muttering under his breath—Jane gave a tiny hiccup of contentment, her small hand grabbing Crowley's finger again.

He let her hold it.

Just for a minute.

Chapter Text

It was late. The kind of late that made the streets outside Aziraphale's bookshop completely silent, save for the occasional distant hum of a car or the flutter of wings (which Crowley claimed was just pigeons, but Aziraphale suspected otherwise).

Inside, the lights were dimmed low, golden warmth pooling in corners like honey. Aziraphale sat in his favorite armchair, baby Jane cradled against his chest, her tiny fist curled under her chin as she blinked sleepily up at him.

Crowley stood nearby, arms crossed, leaning against the wall like he wasn't invested in this in the slightest. His sunglasses were off—had been for a while now—and his yellow eyes were soft in the glow of the lamplight.

"She won't sleep," Aziraphale sighed, rocking her gently. "I've read three chapters of The Wind in the Willows, and she's still wide awake."

Crowley smirked. 

"Maybe she prefers something less... pastoral."

"Oh, and I suppose you have a better idea?"

Crowley shrugged. 

"Might."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow but didn't protest when Crowley crossed the room and crouched beside the chair. He reached out, hesitating a second before brushing a fingertip along Jane's soft cheek. She blinked up at him, big-eyed and curious.

Crowley sighed. 

"All right, kid. But this stays between us."

And then, low and almost reluctant, he started to hum. A strange little melody—something ancient and wordless, the kind of tune that might've been sung in some old Mesopotamian temple or hummed by a snake coiled around the roots of the Tree.

Aziraphale watched him, eyes wide. 

"Crowley..."

"Hush," Crowley muttered.

But Aziraphale couldn't help himself. He recognized the rhythm after a moment—simple, lilting, soothing. He'd heard it, once upon a time, long before Earth was quite so complicated.

So he joined in.

His voice was soft, tender, and unashamed. Their harmonies wove together, Crowley's darker tone grounding Aziraphale's lighter one, like sunlight and shadows dancing side by side.

Jane's eyes drooped. Her fingers loosened, and her breathing slowed into the steady rhythm of sleep.

By the time they finished, her tiny body was warm and heavy with sleep between them. Aziraphale smiled down at her, his hand gently stroking her downy hair. Crowley watched them both for a long moment before easing back, trying (and failing) to look unaffected.

"She's asleep," Crowley said gruffly.

"She is," Aziraphale murmured, voice full of wonder.

A quiet hush settled over them. Aziraphale shifted, careful not to jostle Jane as he glanced toward the sofa. 

"Would you...? Would you help me get her settled in her cot?"

Crowley rolled his eyes, but there wasn't any bite to it. 

"Fine."

They stood together, Aziraphale still cradling Jane close, Crowley hovering a hand near to steady her just in case. Together they walked to the bassinet by the window, gently laying her down on soft blankets.

For a long while, they both just stood there, watching her tiny chest rise and fall in peaceful sleep.

"She's going to be trouble," Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale smiled softly. 

"She's already caused a great deal of it."

"And yet," Crowley said, slipping his sunglasses back on even though the room was dim, "you wouldn't have it any other way."

Aziraphale chuckled quietly. 

"Neither would you."

Crowley didn't deny it.

Instead, they sat together on the sofa afterward, companionable silence settling between them, broken only by the soft breathing of the tiny human who, somehow, had managed to get under both their skins.

And as Aziraphale dozed off not long after, Crowley stayed awake. Watching over them both.

Just in case.

It was a sunny afternoon—one of those rare, perfect days in London where the clouds had taken the day off and the sky was a soft, brilliant blue. The kind of day that practically demanded an outing, or so Aziraphale had insisted.

Crowley had, of course, protested.

And yet, here they were. Crowley pushed the pram—he claimed Aziraphale's angelic pace was "far too slow for modern city walking"—as they made their way through St. James's Park. Jane sat snug inside, swaddled in a cozy blanket, occasionally kicking her feet in delight. Aziraphale walked beside them, practically glowing, holding a ridiculously large parasol to shield them both from the sun.

"Do you see this, Angel?" Crowley muttered under his breath as they passed a woman jogging with a double stroller and a man desperately chasing after a toddler on a scooter. "Carnage. Utter chaos."

"Nonsense," Aziraphale beamed. "Everyone looks quite happy."

"They look knackered," Crowley said. "And sticky. Definitely sticky."

Aziraphale only chuckled, ignoring him in favor of fussing with Jane's bonnet. Crowley didn't point out that Jane didn't technically need a bonnet in this weather, but the angel seemed content enough tying little bows under her chin.

Then it happened.

They'd barely sat down on a park bench—Aziraphale settling with Jane in his arms, Crowley perched beside them with a scowl—when another couple appeared. A young man and woman, looking very human and very parental, with a baby strapped to the man's chest in one of those peculiar front-facing carriers.

"Oh!" the woman said, smiling brightly. "How old is your little one?"

Aziraphale lit up like a beacon. 

"Nearly six months, we believe."

Crowley stiffened. We believe? Oh, this was spiraling fast.

"She's adorable," the young man added. "What's her name?"

"Jane," Aziraphale answered warmly. "She's been such a blessing."

Crowley made a choking sound beside him but quickly disguised it as a cough.

The woman leaned closer, peeking into the pram. 

"Ours is Charlie," she said, patting the squirming baby against her partner's chest. "He's six months. And teething."

"Oh, teething," Aziraphale nodded sympathetically, shifting Jane gently in his arms. "We've read about that! We're preparing ourselves."

Crowley turned very slowly toward Aziraphale. 

"We're what now?"

Aziraphale ignored him completely. 

"What worked for you?" he asked the couple.

And just like that, he was in. The three of them launched into a full-blown discussion about teething rings and swaddling techniques and something called "tummy time." Aziraphale was thriving, exchanging anecdotes as if he'd been doing this his whole life.

Crowley sat there, sunglasses hiding his wide eyes, wondering if he'd accidentally wandered into an alternate dimension.

"Angel," Crowley muttered after a while, leaning in. "You don't even know what tummy time is."

Aziraphale waved him off, mid-discussion. 

"It's for building upper body strength, Crowley. Pay attention."

Crowley leaned back on the bench, rubbing a hand over his face. 

"I'm in hell," he murmured. "Actual hell."

Meanwhile, Jane cooed happily, one tiny fist wrapped firmly around Crowley's finger, anchoring him to the spot.

After the other couple had departed—leaving behind promises of a future playdate—Aziraphale finally turned to Crowley with a radiant smile.

"That was nice, wasn't it?" he said cheerfully. "They were lovely people."

Crowley blinked at him. 

"You just agreed to go to baby yoga, Angel."

"I did no such—" Aziraphale paused, thoughtful. "Well... perhaps I did."

Crowley groaned, tilting his head back against the bench. 

"This was supposed to be a walk. One walk."

Aziraphale adjusted Jane's blanket with a fond hum. 

"And yet, here we are."

Crowley looked down at Jane, who smiled up at him with a gummy grin. He sighed.

"Fine," he muttered. "But if there's chanting, I'm out."

Aziraphale chuckled and gave his hand a squeeze. 

"Of course, dear."

They sat there a while longer, watching the ducks glide across the pond. Crowley silently flicked crumbs into the water, making sure the ducklings got their share. Aziraphale hummed under his breath, gently rocking Jane in his arms.

And for a demon who didn't do the whole family thing... Crowley wasn't entirely sure why this didn't feel like punishment.

It started, as these things often did, with Aziraphale saying, 

"It'll be fun, my dear."

Crowley was not convinced.

And yet, here he was: standing awkwardly at the back of a bright, airy studio with a yoga mat under one arm, a baby carrier strapped across his chest (Jane nestled inside, gumming the collar of his black shirt), and a deeply suspicious expression behind his sunglasses.

"Fun," Crowley muttered. "Sure. This'll be a riot."

Aziraphale was positively glowing, rolling out a mat beside him and settling Jane's diaper bag down with great care. He clapped his hands together. 

"It's important to explore new experiences together, Crowley. Bonding activities."

"Thought we'd bonded over saving the world," Crowley grumbled. "Didn't realize we needed stretching."

Before Aziraphale could reply, the instructor—a serene-looking woman with a lilac headband and the most terrifyingly calm aura Crowley had ever seen—clapped her hands and greeted the group.

"Welcome to Baby Yoga!" she chimed. "We're so happy to have you and your little ones here."

Crowley glanced around at the circle of parents and babies. He counted at least three overly enthusiastic dads in pastel shirts and several mothers who looked like they lived for this sort of thing. One baby already had their foot in their mouth. Another was attempting to crawl off someone's mat entirely.

Jane, bless her, seemed utterly content in her place against Crowley's chest, blinking up at the ceiling lights.

"This isn't so bad," Aziraphale whispered, beaming. "Isn't this lovely?"

Crowley made a sound like he'd swallowed his tongue but didn't argue. Mostly because Jane was looking up at him with big, bright eyes and he was pretty sure if he said something rude, she'd find a way to look disappointed. Angels had that effect. Apparently, babies did too.

The class began with gentle stretches. Aziraphale, to Crowley's absolute shock, was surprisingly limber. His arms stretched toward the sky with graceful ease. His balance was solid. At one point, he even managed a pose that made Crowley stop in his tracks.

"Since when?" Crowley muttered, watching Aziraphale hold a warrior pose with serene dignity.

"I had lessons," Aziraphale said, without turning his head. "India. 14th century. You might have been busy causing plagues."

Crowley opened his mouth to argue but was immediately called out by the instructor.

"You, in the back," she said cheerfully. "Yes, you! Sunglasses."

Crowley froze. 

"Me?"

"You're doing great," she said with a smile. "But try loosening your shoulders. Let go of your tension."

He scowled, but obediently dropped his shoulders a little. Jane gurgled happily and kicked her legs. Aziraphale gave him a proud smile that made something very annoying flip in his chest.

They moved on to partner poses, which meant Crowley and Aziraphale somehow ended up sitting back-to-back, knees crossed, with Jane nestled between them on a soft blanket.

"Now, we'll practice synchronized breathing," the instructor said. "Feel your partner's breath. Match their rhythm."

"I am not breathing in time with you," Crowley hissed.

"You are, dear," Aziraphale whispered back, sounding far too pleased about it.

Crowley gritted his teeth but found himself doing it anyway. Jane giggled and grabbed his finger. He sighed and let her hold on.

The final pose was something called "Happy Baby."

Crowley stared at the instructor. 

"You want me to do what?"

"It's easy!" the instructor chirped. "Lie on your back, grab your feet, and rock gently! Like a happy baby!"

Aziraphale, to Crowley's horror, immediately flopped onto his back and grabbed his ankles with both hands. He rocked side to side, laughing softly.

Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"I cannot believe I'm here."

But then Jane squealed with delight and clapped her hands when Aziraphale rolled close to her. Crowley gave a long-suffering sigh... and then, muttering curses under his breath, lay down beside them and awkwardly grabbed his feet.

Jane shrieked with joy. Aziraphale turned his head, beaming.

"You're doing wonderfully," Aziraphale said.

"I'm never living this down," Crowley replied, but he was smiling. A little.

By the end of the class, Jane was snuggled up between them, fast asleep. Aziraphale was practically glowing with happiness, and Crowley... well, Crowley couldn't deny that something about the whole ridiculous experience had felt oddly good.

As they left the studio, Aziraphale glanced over at him. 

"See? Fun."

Crowley snorted. 

"Let's not push it, Angel."

But as Jane stirred in his arms and grabbed his lapel with a tiny fist, Crowley gently pressed a kiss to the top of her soft little head.

"Maybe next week?" Aziraphale suggested, hopeful.

Crowley sighed. 

"Fine. But only if there's no chanting."

"No promises, dear."

Chapter Text

It was quiet in the bookshop. For once.

The afternoon sun filtered through the dusty windows, turning the air golden. Aziraphale sat in his armchair, a book in one hand, cradling Jane in the other. She's been fed, changed, and swaddled in a soft blanket, her tiny head tucked beneath his chin. Crowley lounged on the sofa, long legs stretched out, pretending to nap behind his sunglasses. He wasn't napping. His attention was flicking back and forth between the ceiling and the baby with barely concealed suspicion.

"She's not ticking," Crowley said suddenly.

Aziraphale glanced up from his book.

"Pardon?"

"Like a time bomb," Crowley clarified, adjusting his shades. "I keep waiting for her to... explode or something." He gestured vaguely. "That's what babies do, isn't it?"

Aziraphale sighed fondly.

"She's a human child, dear. Not a grenade."

Crowley made a noncommittal noise, but he didn't look away from Jane. Not really. He watched as she blinked up at the ceiling, eyes wide and curious, fists waving in slow, clumsy circles.

And then—

"Eh."

It was a funny little sound. Short. Half a hiccup. Both of them froze. Aziraphale lowered his book. Crowley sat forward slightly. Jane kicked one tiny foot.

Then it happened again. This time, it was unmistakable. A giggle. A soft, bright bubble of a laugh.

Crowley stared. Aziraphale blinked as though he's just been struck by celestial lightning.

"She—did you—?" Aziraphale's voice went high at the end, as if he couldn't quite believe his own ears.

Crowley slowly took off his sunglasses. His gold eyes were wide. 

"She laughed," he said, in the same tone he might have used if he'd just witnessed the second coming. "She actually laughed."

Aziraphale looked down at Jane, who was now grinning up at him as though she's just discovered the world's best joke. Her whole face lit up, her nose scrunching in delight. She giggled again, a sound so pure and bright it seemed to fill the entire shop.

And for the first time in millennia, neither of them had anything to say.

Crowley cleared his throat. He rubbed the back of his neck like it itched. 

"Right," he said gruffly. "Well. That's... something."

Aziraphale's eyes were suspiciously shiny. He pressed a kiss to the top of Jane's soft head and held her a little closer.

"It is," he agreed quietly. "It really is."

They sat like that for a while, under the soft glow of afternoon light. The shop smelled faintly of old books and tea. Jane laughed again, and they both looked at her as if she was made of stardust.

Maybe she was.

It started innocently enough. One laugh. One shining, perfect little sound. And suddenly, Aziraphale was on a quest.

"We must try again," he insisted, positively glowing as he cradled Jane in his arms. "It was such a delightful sound, don't you think?"

Crowley, who was already perched nearby in the armchair with a drink in hand (something suspiciously golden that Aziraphale pretends not to notice), shrugged. 

"S'pose it was fine." He took a long sip. "For a noise."

But he was watching Jane over the rim of his glass, just the same.

Aziraphale shifted Jane so she was facing him. He beamed. 

"Hello, little darling," he said in that sing-song voice he's been perfecting, all treacle and sunshine. "Shall we have another giggle, hmm?"

Jane blinked up at him, entirely unbothered. She blew a bubble of spit.

Crowley chuckled. 

"She's got your manners."

"Now, now," Aziraphale scolded gently. "I think she just needs some encouragement." 

He wiggled his fingers at her, like he was casting a spell. 

"Coochie coochie coo."

Jane stared.

Crowley leaned forward. 

"Is that... is that an incantation?"

"It's baby talk, dear." Aziraphale tried again, this time with added wiggling. "Coochie coo!" 

His face was practically alight with hope.

Nothing.

Crowley smirked. 

"Right. Move aside."

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow but handed Jane over—carefully, because Crowley, mind her head—and the demon held her under the arms at a cautious distance, like she's both precious and highly breakable.

He studied her. She studied him back. It was a bit of a stare-down.

Then Crowley made a face. Not just any face. He morphed his features into a frankly disturbing, exaggerated grin, tongue out, eyebrows wiggling, his yellow eyes wide. 

"Boo."

Jane blinked once. Twice. Her lip wobbled.

"Oh, no," Aziraphale breathed.

And then—she laughed. A burst of pure, bright sound, and Crowley almost dropped her in shock.

"Well," he said after a second, adjusting his grip with extreme care, "I am rather funny."

Aziraphale clapped his hands in delight. 

"Do it again!"

Crowley narrowed his eyes. 

"You're enjoying this too much." 

But he made the face again, this time wiggling his nose like he was possessed. Jane giggled so hard she hiccupped.

Aziraphale practically melted.

"Oh, my dear. Crowley, she adores you."

Crowley huffed. 

"Yeah, well. Don't tell anyone." 

But he was bouncing her slightly now, making little nonsense sounds as he swayed back and forth, and he looked... soft. Practically radiant, in his own, serpentine way.

They spent the next hour trying every ridiculous thing they could think of:

Aziraphale read Pride and Prejudice in his silliest voices (his Mr. Collins was particularly dreadful).

Crowley made her rattle float just out of reach, then zipped it back again, which got a shriek of laughter every time.

They both attempted peek-a-boo. Crowley vanished entirely and reappeared behind the tea trolley. Aziraphale scolded him for showing off, then immediately tried to miracle himself to the other side of the room and knocked over a lamp.

By the end, Jane was thoroughly delighted and thoroughly worn out. She yawned, one tiny fist stuffed in her mouth, and nestled against Crowley's shoulder, fast asleep in seconds.

Aziraphale sighed happily as he tidied the bookshop. 

"She has the loveliest laugh."

Crowley stroked a finger gently over the soft down of her hair. 

"Yeah," he said quietly. "She does."

They sat in comfortable silence, under the same stars that were just starting to glimmer through the Soho sky.

And for once, neither of them were in any rush at all.

It was nearly two in the morning. The bookshop was quiet. Peaceful.

And then Jane screamed.

Aziraphale jolted awake, nearly knocking over his teacup in the process. 

"Oh! Oh, goodness!"

He flailed for his dressing gown and stumbled toward the bassinet tucked behind the counter.

"There, there, angel," he soothed as he leaned over. "It's all right, Mummy's—er, I'm here."

Crowley materialized a moment later, fully dressed but barefoot, sunglasses on despite the hour.

"What did you do to her?"

"I didn't do anything! She woke up!" Aziraphale snapped, lifting the wailing baby into his arms. She's red-faced, tiny fists clenched, tears leaking out the corners of her bright, furious eyes.

Crowley winced. 

"She's loud."

"She's hungry," Aziraphale said firmly. "Fetch her bottle."

Crowley swiped a hand through the air. The bottle materialized in Aziraphale's hand in a puff of warm, milk-scented air. Aziraphale immediately offered it to Jane.

"Here we go, darling," he cooed, tilting it toward her lips.

She turned her head. Screamed louder.

Crowley stiffened. 

"That's not right."

"I know it's not right!" Aziraphale hissed. He tried again, gentler this time, but Jane batted the bottle away. It clattered to the floor. She wailed like she was being tortured.

Crowley ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up in even wilder spikes. 

"You're the one who reads all the books! What's next?"

Aziraphale bounced her frantically. 

"I don't know! The books didn't say what to do if she suddenly refuses perfectly good milk at two in the morning!"

"She's defective," Crowley decided. "I knew she was a bad idea. Should've left her with the nuns."

Aziraphale glared at him over Jane's squalling head. 

"We are not returning the baby, Crowley!"

Crowley muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Should've left you with the nuns," but he came over and held out his hands. 

"Here. Give her to me."

Aziraphale hesitated. 

"What are you going to do?"

"No idea," Crowley admitted. "But you're vibrating."

Reluctantly, Aziraphale handed Jane over. Crowley took her with surprising gentleness, adjusting his arms so her head was supported just right. She was still crying, little face scrunched up tight, and Crowley made a low, soothing noise in the back of his throat. 

"Oi. Enough of that."

She didin't stop.

Crowley paced. Aziraphale followed him, wringing his hands. 

"Perhaps she's gassy?"

"I am not burping her again," Crowley said flatly. "I did it last time."

"Fine," Aziraphale snapped, taking her back and settling her against his shoulder. He patted her back in uneven little thumps. Nothing. No burp. Just more screaming.

"Colic?" Crowley offered.

"Too old," Aziraphale sighed. "Teething?"

"She doesn't have teeth."

"She might be getting them early!"

They both looked down at her, completely stumped.

Then Crowley frowned. 

"She's chewing on her fist."

Aziraphale peered closer. 

"So she is. But—she won't take the bottle." He lifted it again, hopeful. Jane batted it away with another howl.

And then Crowley said slowly, 

"What about the other thing?"

Aziraphale blinked. 

"Other thing?"

"You know." Crowley made a vague circular gesture. "The soft thing. Humans do it."

Aziraphale stared. 

"Crowley," he said, scandalized, "are you suggesting I nurse her?"

Crowley shrugged. 

"I don't know! It's nature!"

"She is not going to nurse on me! I'm an angel!" Aziraphale squawked.

A pause. Jane screamed louder.

Crowley sighed and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

"Right. New plan. Where's that cloth thing? The one that smells like you."

Aziraphale frowned. 

"The swaddling blanket?"

"No, no, the other one. The one she always grabs when you're holding her."

Aziraphale thought for a moment, then retrieved a soft, worn scarf from the back of the chair. He handed it over. Crowley wrapped it loosely around the bottle, then warmed the milk a little more with a flick of his fingers.

"Here," Crowley murmured, nudging the scarf-wrapped bottle toward Jane's mouth as he cradled her close. "Smells like Angel. Feels like Angel. Just take the bloody thing."

To their mutual shock, Jane paused. She snuffled at the scarf, then latched onto the bottle as if she's never been fed before.

Aziraphale's mouth dropped open. 

"It was comfort! That's all she wanted!"

Crowley smirked again, but it's softer this time. 

"Yeah. Guess she's smarter than she looks."

They both slumped onto the sofa, watching in exhausted awe as Jane drank happily, her little body finally relaxing.

After a while, Aziraphale rested his head on Crowley's shoulder. 

"We did it."

"Barely," Crowley muttered. But he doesn't move away.

They sat like that, the three of them, under the dim light of the bookshop lamps.

Morning came far too soon.

Aziraphale was slumped at the bookshop counter, head resting on his folded arms, his usually pristine waistcoat rumpled beyond repair. His curls were sticking up in odd directions, and he had the distinct air of someone who has not only been through it but has also had exactly no sleep to recover from it.

Crowley was draped over the armchair in an equally tragic state, sunglasses crooked, mouth slightly open. He was barely holding onto consciousness, arms folded as if trying to protect himself from existence itself.

Between them, Jane was blissfully asleep in her bassinet. Warm. Fed. Utterly content. The picture of innocence.

Aziraphale lifted his head blearily. 

"I feel like I've been smitten."

Crowley grunted. 

"You look like you've been smitten. Smote. Whatever."

Aziraphale didin't even have the energy to scold him. He just exhaled deeply, rubbing at his face. 

"Do human parents always suffer like this?"

Crowley snorted, adjusting his sunglasses. 

"Dunno. Never stuck around to find out."

A long silence stretched between them.

Aziraphale watched Jane sleep. 

"She's worth it, though," he murmured, almost to himself.

Crowley made a noncommittal sound but didn't argue.

The bassinet stirred. A tiny yawn. A little stretch. And then—big, bright, sleepy eyes blinking up at them.

Aziraphale leaned in instantly. 

"Good morning, my darling." His voice was still thick with exhaustion, but it was warm. Full of love. "Did you sleep well, little one?"

Jane blinked. Stared at him. Then at Crowley.

Then—

She smiled.

It was tiny. Barely there. A little upward twitch of her mouth, a soft, gummy thing, like the morning sun just beginning to rise.

Aziraphale gasped. 

"Oh—oh, Crowley—"

Crowley was already looking, frozen in place. 

"Bloody hell."

Then, just as they were processing that, Jane giggled. Soft and sweet, like the sound of bells in the distance.

Aziraphale clutched his chest like he has been mortally wounded. 

"Oh, heavens."

Crowley, for his part, just stared at her, completely undone. 

"That's illegal," he muttered. "That's too much."

But Jane wasn't finished. She let out another little giggle, as if she was just so pleased with herself, and kicked her tiny feet.

Crowley slumped back against the chair. 

"I'm never gonna recover from that."

Aziraphale sniffled. 

"I knew she was an angel."

"She's your problem," Crowley grumbled. "I'm too weak for this."

But he was watching her with a softness he didn't even try to hide, and when she reached out a tiny hand, he let her grab onto his finger without hesitation.

Jane cooed happily.

Aziraphale beamed, all exhaustion forgotten. 

"We did well, Crowley."

Crowley huffed. 

"Dunno about we. I was the one who figured out the scarf trick."

"Oh, you will let me have this moment."

Crowley smirked. 

"Make me."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes fondly. Then he looked back at Jane, who was still smiling at them both like they hung the stars in the sky.

Maybe, just maybe, they did.

Chapter Text

The bookshop is unusually quiet.

Jane, normally full of little gurgles and coos, is curled up in a blanket, sniffling miserably. Her tiny nose is red, her cheeks warm, and every so often, she lets out the saddest little sneeze.

Aziraphale is beside himself.

"Oh, oh, my precious darling," he fusses, pacing the length of the shop with Jane in his arms. "My poor, sweet thing. You sound dreadful—oh, I knew we shouldn't have gone outside yesterday! It was too chilly, and now look at you!"

Crowley, lounging on the sofa with his feet up, scoffs. 

"Angel, it's a cold, not the apocalypse."

Aziraphale whirls on him. 

"Not the apocalypse? Crowley, she's suffering!"

"She's sniffling," Crowley corrects. "Human babies do that. Constantly."

"Well, I don't like it!" Aziraphale snaps. He sits down with a huff, gently stroking Jane's back. She lets out a little whimper, buries her face in his chest, and oh, that does it. Aziraphale looks absolutely devastated.

Crowley sighs, rubbing his temples. 

"Right. So, what's the plan, then? You gonna miracle it away?"

Aziraphale bristles. 

"I thought about it, of course—"

"Of course you did," Crowley mutters.

"—but human children are meant to build natural immunity! It's part of their development! I can't just miracle it away!"

Crowley tilts his head. 

"But you want to."

Aziraphale glares at him. 

"I am exercising self-control."

"Barely," Crowley mutters, but there's no real bite to it. He watches as Jane snuffles pitifully against Aziraphale's chest, little body rising and falling with tiny, congested breaths.

And then, just when he thinks he's still got a handle on this whole "not being soft" thing—

She sneezes.

A little, squeaky, heartbreaking sneeze.

Crowley sits up immediately. 

"Right. That's it. We fix her."

Aziraphale gasps. 

"Crowley!"

"What?" Crowley gestures at Jane. "She's tiny! She doesn't deserve this! Look at her! She's suffering."

"You just said it wasn't the apocalypse!"

"Well, I changed my mind, didn't I?" Crowley scowls. "You're telling me you can sit there and listen to this and do nothing?"

Aziraphale looks like he's having a personal crisis. 

"I—I can't—I mean, it wouldn't be fair—"

Jane sniffles again. Her tiny fingers clutch Aziraphale's lapel.

Aziraphale folds instantly.

"Right. That's it." He waves a hand, and a warm, soft golden glow envelops Jane for a brief moment before disappearing.

There's a pause.

Jane blinks up at them. Then—she sighs, snuggles deeper into Aziraphale's arms, and lets out the most contented little breath.

Crowley exhales. 

"Thank Satan."

Aziraphale gently presses a kiss to Jane's forehead, relief washing over him. 

"Well. That's much better, isn't it, my love?"

Crowley flops back onto the sofa. 

"I feel like we just survived a war."

Aziraphale huffs. 

"You weren't the one carrying the patient."

"You weren't the one suffering in silence," Crowley retorts.

Aziraphale levels him with a flat look. 

"You were not suffering in silence."

Crowley waves a lazy hand. 

"Details."

They sit in peaceful silence for a while. Jane, fully recovered, stretches a little, then sighs again.

Crowley watches her, then mutters. 

"So. Next time, we just miracle it away immediately, yeah?"

Aziraphale glares.

Crowley grins.

Jane sneezes again.

And Aziraphale immediately lifts a hand to miracle that away too.

Aziraphale is thrilled. Crowley is miserable.

Jane, of course, is entirely unaware of the unfolding disaster. She's happily gurgling in Aziraphale's arms, kicking her little feet as they sit in the crowded waiting room of a very ordinary pediatrician's office.

Crowley slouches in his chair, arms folded, sunglasses firmly in place. 

"I'm telling you, angel, this is completely unnecessary. We just miraculously fixed her cold last week."

Aziraphale huffs. 

"That's beside the point, dear boy. Human babies require regular check-ups to ensure they're developing properly." He adjusts Jane's blanket, positively beaming at her. "Isn't that right, my love? We're just being responsible."

Crowley grumbles something under his breath about hellfire and bureaucracy.

Aziraphale, ignoring him, looks down at the clipboard in his lap. He frowns. 

"Hmm. Crowley."

Crowley groans. 

"What now?"

"What's Jane's surname?"

Crowley blinks. 

"Her what?"

Aziraphale gestures at the form. 

"Her surname! The humans require it for documentation."

Crowley stares. 

"She doesn't have one."

"Well, she needs one!"

Crowley thinks for a moment, then smirks. 

"Jane Doe."

Aziraphale gasps. 

"Absolutely not! That's what they use when someone is dead, Crowley!"

Crowley cackles. 

"Nah, angel, it's for mystery people. And she's a mystery, innit?"

Aziraphale glares, so Crowley scribbles down Jane Crowley on the form and refuses to discuss it further.

By the time the nurse calls them in, Aziraphale is practically vibrating with excitement. Crowley, on the other hand, is dragging his feet like a demon about to be executed.

Inside the examination room, they're met with a kind-looking doctor in a white coat. She smiles warmly. 

"And how's little Jane doing today?"

Aziraphale beams. 

"Oh, she's wonderful, thank you! A delight, truly! Growing beautifully—she's a bit advanced, you know—"

The doctor chuckles. 

"Well, let's see how she's doing, shall we?"

And that's when things take a turn.

Because suddenly, the doctor is measuring Jane's head circumference (which Aziraphale finds unsettling—"Why ever would that be necessary?"), checking her reflexes (Crowley is now hovering protectively—"Oi, watch it—"), and listening to her heartbeat (which neither of them had ever actually thought about before).

Then—then the worst happens.

The doctor pulls out a syringe.

Aziraphale pales. 

"Oh, dear."

Crowley straightens. 

"What's that for?"

The doctor, completely unfazed, preps the needle. 

"Just a routine vaccination."

A beat of silence.

Then—

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" Aziraphale clutches Jane to his chest, horrified. "You are not stabbing my precious darling with that thing!"

Crowley has also stepped in front of Jane, arms crossed like a demon prepared to wage war. 

"You want to inject her with something? Have you met humanity? You lot can't be trusted!"

The doctor sighs, clearly used to overprotective parents. 

"It's perfectly safe—"

"NO." Aziraphale is scandalized. "I will not allow it!"

The doctor gives him a look. 

"Sir, I highly recommend you let me do my job."

Crowley gestures wildly. 

"Look at her! She's tiny! You can't just—just stab her!"

The doctor pinches the bridge of her nose. 

"It's not stabbing, it's a vaccine."

"I don't like the sound of it," Crowley grumbles.

Aziraphale clutches Jane tighter. 

"Neither do I!"

The doctor sighs, exasperated. 

"Well, if you refuse, you'll just have to sign a waiver—"

"Oh, for Heaven's sake," Aziraphale groans.

"More paperwork?" Crowley scowls. "Absolutely not."

The doctor shrugs. 

"Then the shot it is."

Aziraphale and Crowley exchange a look.

Another look.

A silent conversation.

And then—

A tiny, pitiful sneeze.

From Jane.

Aziraphale wilts instantly. Crowley swears under his breath.

"... Fine," Aziraphale mutters.

"Fine," Crowley growls.

They hold Jane's little hands as the doctor administers the shot, both flinching harder than she does.

Jane blinks at them. Then lets out a single indignant wail.

And just like that, Aziraphale is devastated.

"Oh, my poor baby!" He kisses her forehead frantically. "You were so brave, my love! So courageous!"

Crowley groans, rubbing his face. 

"I swear, I just aged a century."

The doctor—clearly used to far more dramatic parents than this—just smiles. 

"See? That wasn't so bad."

Aziraphale sniffles. Crowley mutters something about never forgiving humanity for this.

The doctor hands Jane a sticker.

Jane immediately stops crying.

Crowley stares. 

"Wait, that's all it took?"

The doctor grins. 

"She's a baby."

Aziraphale sighs in relief. 

"Well. I suppose that wasn't entirely terrible."

The doctor nods, making a note in Jane's file. 

"I'll see you all at the next appointment in a few months."

Aziraphale pales.

Crowley groans.

Jane, clutching her sticker, coos happily.

And with that, the absolute chaos that is Aziraphale and Crowley's first proper parenting experience comes to an end—until next time.

It happens so fast.

One moment, Jane is lying on her blanket in the bookshop, gurgling happily as Aziraphale reads aloud from Emma ("A proper introduction to fine literature, dear, none of that nonsense Crowley would expose you to—"). The next, she's wiggling onto her stomach, rocking back and forth—

And then—

She moves.

Just a few inches, but—

Aziraphale gasps so dramatically he nearly drops the book.

"Crowley!"

From his spot on the sofa, Crowley barely glances up from his magazine. 

"Mmh?"

"She's crawling!"

Crowley immediately tosses the magazine aside and leans forward, grinning. 

"No way."

They both stare in awe as Jane tries again—this time making it half a foot forward.

A beat of stunned silence.

Then—

"Oh, well done, my darling!" Aziraphale claps his hands, delighted. "Such a clever girl!"

"Atta girl, kid," Crowley smirks. "Knew you had it in you."

Jane, encouraged by the attention, gives a happy squeal and wiggles forward even faster.

That's when Aziraphale panics.

"OH GOOD HEAVENS—"

In one frantic motion, he scrambles to his feet, eyes darting wildly around the bookshop as if seeing it for the first time.

"The corners! The sharp edges! The stairs!" He clutches his face. "Oh, gracious, the bookshelves—what if she pulls one down on herself?! Crowley, we have to baby-proof! Immediately!"

Crowley, still seated, watching Jane's determined little crawl with absolute glee, snickers. 

"Yeah, sure, angel, let's just bubble-wrap the whole shop, why don't we?"

Aziraphale whirls on him. 

"This is serious!"

"Yeah," Crowley grins. "Serious fun."

Aziraphale gasps in scandal as Crowley lowers himself to the floor and—

"C'mon, kid, let's see how fast you can go!"

Aziraphale watches, horrified, as Crowley wiggles his fingers encouragingly at Jane—who giggles and crawls toward him faster.

"Crowley, stop that!"

"Stop what?" Crowley smirks. "Encouraging her natural sense of adventure?"

"She's not an adventurer, she's a baby!" Aziraphale hurries over, trying to scoop Jane up—only for her to veer off course, crawling toward a low bookshelf instead.

Aziraphale squeaks.

Crowley grins. 

"Oh-ho, we've got a little troublemaker on our hands."

Jane beams, delighted, and plops herself down next to the books, patting one with great satisfaction.

Aziraphale gasps again. 

"Oh, my dearest, no, those are first editions!"

Crowley, practically cackling at this point, lounges on his side. 

"Go on, kid, you touch whichever book you like."

Aziraphale scoops Jane up at once. 

"Absolutely not!"

Jane makes an indignant little noise, wiggling in protest, but Aziraphale is already conjuring soft cushions, magical safety barriers, and a veritable fortress of baby-proofing spells around the entire bookshop.

Crowley watches in amusement. 

"You do know you can't stop her from moving forever, yeah?"

Aziraphale huffs, holding Jane protectively. 

"Of course, I know that, Crowley, I'm not dense." He looks down at Jane, who is already reaching determinedly for his bowtie. "But still! She's so small, she's fragile!"

Crowley snorts. 

"She's small, yeah. Fragile? Not so sure about that." He leans forward and boops Jane's nose. "Kid's a fighter."

Jane lets out a delighted little giggle.

Aziraphale sighs. 

"I suppose she is quite determined..."

"'Course she is. Got it from me."

Aziraphale gives him a look. 

"Oh, really?"

Crowley grins. 

"Absolutely. Pure demon energy."

Aziraphale rolls his eyes, pressing a fond kiss to Jane's forehead. 

"Well. Regardless of her energy, she's not getting into any more trouble today."

Crowley raises an eyebrow. 

"That so?"

Aziraphale lifts his chin. 

"Yes."

And at that exact moment—

Jane, with an absolutely mischievous sparkle in her big eyes—

Promptly vomits all over Aziraphale's waistcoat.

Crowley howls with laughter.

Aziraphale, frozen in pure horror, just stares.

Jane giggles.

Crowley wipes a tear from his eye. 

"Yeah, angel. Real fragile."

Aziraphale sighs. 

"Oh, heavens."

Crowley smirks. 

"Face it, angel. She's one of us now."

Aziraphale looks down at Jane, who is grinning up at him, impossibly precious.

"...Oh, dear."

Chapter Text

It was sometime around completely unreasonable o'clock in the morning.

The bookshop was quiet, save for the occasional creak of old wood and the persistent, escalating fussing of one tiny human. Jane, normally a very sweet baby, had apparently decided sleep was for other people.

Aziraphale sat cross-legged on the floor, his hair disheveled, his waistcoat buttoned crookedly. He was softly bouncing a squirming Jane on his knee, murmuring soothing words that had long since turned into rambling nonsense.

"There we go, sweetheart... hush now... there's a dear... no need to cry, my little cherub... there, there, we're just going to—Crowley, please tell me you have the bottle?"

Crowley was rummaging frantically in the baby bag, his usual slick appearance utterly undone—hair a mess, sunglasses shoved up into his wild curls. He held up a bottle like it was the Holy Grail. 

"Got it!"

Aziraphale sighed with relief, but Jane, uninterested in this offering, let out an indignant wail.

Crowley's shoulders slumped. 

"We're doomed."

"She's just overtired," Aziraphale insisted, though there was an unmistakable note of desperation in his voice. "We learned about this, remember? Baby yoga. Gentle movements. Breathing."

Crowley stared at him like he'd grown an extra head. 

"You want me to yoga at her?"

Aziraphale gave him a frazzled look. 

"Do something, dear!"

Crowley gave a long-suffering groan but lowered himself onto the floor next to them. He slipped his hands under Jane's tiny arms, lifting her in the air like a fussy, wiggling loaf of bread.

"Alright, kid," he muttered, swaying side to side. "What did we do at that ridiculous class? The... uh... 'happy baby' thing?"

"She's already a baby, Crowley," Aziraphale sighed. "She is the happy baby."

"Not right now, she's not."

Jane let out a hiccupping sob and Crowley flinched like he'd been stabbed.

"Okay," he said, glancing at Aziraphale. "What about the partner thing? Breathing?"

Aziraphale perked up. 

"Yes! The synchronized breathing! Let's try that."

And so, at three-thirty in the morning, an angel and a demon sat cross-legged on the worn wooden floor of a Soho bookshop, their knees touching. Jane lay on a soft blanket between them, sniffling but slowly quieting as both her guardians took long, deliberate breaths in unison.

"In... two, three... out... two, three..." Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley followed, muttering under his breath but keeping pace. Jane watched them with big, curious eyes, her tiny fists opening and closing as if testing the calm air between them.

"It's working," Aziraphale whispered after a few moments.

Crowley dared a peek. Jane's eyelids were fluttering. 

"Well I'll be damned," he said, then caught himself. "Er. Again."

Aziraphale gave him a tired but fond smile. 

"Language, dear."

Crowley grinned crookedly. 

"She doesn't know English yet."

Jane let out a soft little sigh and, to their mutual astonishment, closed her eyes.

They both froze.

"Don't. Move," Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale nodded slowly. 

"Agreed."

For what felt like an eternity, they sat there, breathing in perfect synchronicity, as Jane drifted into peaceful sleep.

Eventually, Aziraphale carefully leaned down and lifted her back into his arms. Crowley leaned against a nearby bookshelf, letting his head fall back with a relieved groan.

"Well," Crowley said, "guess all that yoga nonsense wasn't so bad."

Aziraphale chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Jane's downy head. 

"You did wonderfully."

"Don't get used to it," Crowley warned, though he couldn't help but watch the sleeping baby with something dangerously close to tenderness.

As they settled on the couch together—Jane curled safely against Aziraphale's chest—Crowley draped an arm lazily across the backrest. The fire crackled softly in the grate, and the whole shop seemed to exhale with them.

"You're a natural," Aziraphale murmured sleepily, his head resting on Crowley's shoulder.

Crowley huffed a quiet laugh.

"Hell's most terrifying demon, reduced to a babysitter."

"And doing an admirable job of it," Aziraphale said, his voice warm and fond.

Crowley didn't answer, but his hand found its way to Jane's tiny foot, giving it a gentle poke. She wriggled once in her sleep and then stilled.

They sat there in the quiet, the exhaustion making everything soft and still. For all his protests, Crowley wasn't quite sure when he'd started thinking of this as their little family... but at some point, he had.

And maybe that wasn't so bad.

The morning sun filtered through the bookshop windows in buttery gold streaks, catching dust motes as they lazily drifted in the beams of light. It was unseasonably warm for London, and for once, Crowley hadn't drawn the curtains closed. The place almost looked cheerful.

Aziraphale was in the kitchen, humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like Greensleeves, standing at the stove in his shirtsleeves and a frilly apron that read Kiss the Cook. He wasn't entirely sure where the apron had come from—one of Crowley's ironic little gifts, perhaps—but it had become a regular feature in these breakfast preparations.

He flipped a crepe with practiced ease, glancing over his shoulder. 

"Crowley, do stop her from gnawing on your sunglasses."

"Oi," Crowley drawled, lounging on the worn sofa with Jane perched on his knee. "She likes 'em. Don't you, kid?"

Jane giggled in response, holding the dark lenses in both fists as if they were the crown jewels. She gave them another experimental chew.

Aziraphale tutted fondly. 

"You'll ruin her appetite."

Crowley arched an eyebrow, though the effect was lost behind his now lensless frames. 

"She's a baby, angel. Pretty sure chewing on things is half her job."

Nevertheless, he gently extracted the sunglasses from Jane's grip and replaced them with a soft, crinkly toy shaped like a duck. It made a triumphant squeak, which earned another delighted laugh from Jane. Crowley's mouth twitched upward. 

"Yeah, alright. That's better."

Aziraphale plated the crepes neatly, adding a generous dusting of powdered sugar and a few raspberries for color. He carried the tray into the sitting room, where Crowley was now laying on the floor, his long legs stretched out, Jane sitting between them like a tiny queen holding court.

"Breakfast is served," Aziraphale announced, setting the tray down on the low table. "I made an extra one for you, Jane."

Jane offered him a gummy smile, showing off her toothless grin.

Crowley made a face. 

"She doesn't even have teeth yet. What's she gonna do, gum it to death?"

"She's celebrating her first month with us," Aziraphale said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "We must celebrate properly."

Crowley gave him a side-eye, but there wasn't a trace of his usual snark in it. Instead, there was something softer, something dangerously close to contentment. 

"You're completely ridiculous."

"And you love it," Aziraphale replied brightly, sitting down beside him.

Jane, sensing something delicious was afoot, reached for a raspberry. Crowley intercepted her with the ease of someone who had become very familiar with grabby baby hands, and popped the berry into his own mouth instead.

"She's not ready for those," he said around the mouthful. "Choking hazard."

Aziraphale sighed, but his eyes crinkled at the edges. 

"Fine. She can have her mashed bananas later."

Crowley smirked. 

"Bananas. Food of demons."

"You're thinking of apples, dear."

Crowley wiggled his eyebrows.

"Close enough."

They ate quietly for a few moments, Jane babbling softly to herself as she kicked her little feet against Crowley's shin. Every so often, Crowley would hand her another toy from the growing pile beside him—a soft cloth book, a teething ring shaped like a star, a rattle shaped like a tiny tambourine. Aziraphale pretended not to notice that they were all black, with little flames embroidered somewhere on them.

After breakfast, Aziraphale stood, brushing off his hands. 

"Right. I think it's time for a walk, don't you? The park will be lovely in this weather."

Crowley groaned dramatically. 

"Must we?"

"You promised," Aziraphale reminded him. "We're commemorating her first month, and we agreed to make an effort."

Crowley sighed, though his lips twitched. 

"Fine. But I'm not carrying the nappy bag."

An hour later, Crowley was carrying the nappy bag.

The park was unreasonably green.

It wasn't Crowley's fault. Aziraphale had insisted on the outing, and if Crowley had been left to his own devices, the grass wouldn't have been quite so... enthusiastic about being alive. As it was, they strolled along the sun-dappled path with baby Jane tucked snugly into her pram—an old-fashioned, over-the-top contraption Aziraphale had insisted on acquiring, complete with lace trim and tiny golden wheels. Crowley thought it looked like it belonged in a Victorian ghost story.

But then Jane had giggled when they put her in it, and Crowley had decided it was acceptable. Begrudgingly.

Aziraphale, as usual, was in full doting-guardian mode. He'd stopped for the fifth time to adjust Jane's bonnet (white, lacy, far too frilly), and was now cooing at her in what Crowley privately called his "heavenly voice," all soft vowels and unbearable fondness.

Crowley was about to suggest they head back for lunch when he spotted them—again. Lucille and Alan. The human couple they'd met a few weeks ago during their last ill-advised park adventure. They were sitting on a nearby bench, baby Charlie on Lucille's lap, drooling happily onto her shoulder.

"Oh, great," Crowley muttered. "It's them."

Aziraphale brightened immediately. 

"Oh, how lovely! We must say hello."

Crowley made a face but followed. Jane was babbling in her pram, clearly in a good mood. For now.

Lucille looked up and smiled warmly as they approached. 

"Oh, look! It's the bookshop dads."

Crowley sputtered. 

"We're not—"

Aziraphale cut him off with a pat to his arm. 

"Good afternoon, Lucille, Alastor! How's little Charlie today?"

Alan, a gangly man with an earnest grin, beamed at them. 

"He's great! He's just started teething."

As if summoned by the word, Jane let out a small, questioning noise from her pram. Crowley glanced at her, a creeping sense of dread tightening his shoulders.

Then it happened.

Jane's face screwed up. Her little fists clenched. Her cheeks flushed an ominous pink. And then—the wail.

It was less of a baby cry and more of a banshee's lament. Several pigeons scattered from a nearby tree.

Crowley winced. 

"Oh, Hell."

Aziraphale immediately sprang into action, lifting Jane from the pram and cradling her to his chest.

"Oh, there, there, dearest," he crooned, patting her back gently. "What's the matter?"

Lucille leaned over, nodding sympathetically. 

"She's teething, isn't she? Charlie was just like that last week."

"Teething?" Aziraphale echoed. "But she's so young!"

Crowley sighed, rubbing his temple. 

"She's been chewing on everything that isn't nailed down. Should've known."

Jane howled again, her tiny fists clutching at Aziraphale's lapels. Her face was blotchy and damp with tears now. Crowley could feel the mortals' eyes on them and resisted the urge to miracle them all into conveniently forgetting the scene.

Alan fished something out of a tote bag. 

"Here, we used these for Charlie." He held out a chilled, silicone teething ring shaped like a giraffe.

Aziraphale took it gratefully. 

"Oh, thank you! Crowley, be a dear—"

Crowley was already fumbling to get the ring into Jane's grasp. She took it, eyed it suspiciously, and then shoved it in her mouth.

The sudden quiet was staggering.

Crowley blinked at her. 

"Well, that was easy."

Lucille laughed. 

"For now."

Aziraphale sighed with relief, gently rocking her in his arms. 

"Poor darling. This must be dreadful for her."

Crowley muttered under his breath, 

"And for the rest of us."

Jane gnawed furiously at the giraffe, her tiny eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Crowley found himself weirdly impressed by her determination.

Lucille smiled at them. 

"You two are doing great, by the way."

Aziraphale beamed. 

"Oh, well, we're trying our best."

Crowley made a noise that could have been agreement or protest, but Lucille only winked at him.

Alan was busy burping Charlie, who had started to fuss as well. Soon, both babies were gnawing away at matching giraffes like tiny, adorable twin monsters.

"Well," Aziraphale said after a moment, "I suppose we should be heading back."

Lucille nodded. 

"We're off soon, too. Good luck with the teething!"

As they strolled away, Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, who was once again adjusting Jane's bonnet. 

"Bookshop dads," he repeated flatly.

Aziraphale chuckled, patting his arm. 

"I think it suits us."

Crowley groaned but found himself smiling despite everything.