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Crowley set the angel-wing mug on the side table, then reached over to tickle the pinion feathers of the great white wing obscuring a good portion of the bed.
Aziraphale peeked out, smiling sheepishly. “Hello, my dear.”
“Thought you might want some cocoa.” Crowley sat down on the edge of the mattress and then held the mug out.
“Oh! Oh, thank you, my dear.” The angel sat up and wiggled closer, keeping one wing curled around the little nest of blankets and heating pads he had been lying beside. The nest that held three large, perfect eggs. “That’s ever so kind.”
“Hmph.”
“Thank you for being so patient with me,” Aziraphale said as he cradled the mug. “I know I’m being silly.”
“Angel, they’re still fresh laid. It’s normal to be protective.”
“Oh—is it?” His wing flexed and fluttered. “We were always told the behavior was…clingy.”
Crowley scoffed. “It’s only ‘clingy’ when you’re preventing omegas from doing what their instincts are telling them to do.” He nodded to the sky-blue eggs. “Protect their clutch. Haven’t you ever heard of ‘brooding’?”
“Oh,” he breathed out. He contemplated the nest and its occupants as he sipped his cocoa.
Crowley tucked against his mate’s side, sighing when Aziraphale’s other wing folded around him. “Still hard to believe it’s real?”
Aziraphale nodded. “One would think, after carrying them for so long, that it would have hit home by now.”
“Likely won’t, until the spawn hatch.”
“Spawn? Or fledgelings?”
“To-may-to, to-mah-to…”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter so much, really…”
“Mm.”
Crowley slid a hand along the smooth, faintly iridescent surface of one of the eggs, feeling the brand-new life pulsing within. The life that he and his mate had created.
It still didn’t feel real to him, either.
“You know, I was thinking, just now,” Aziraphale started. “We—I don’t know what it was like for you, but—we—we never had anything that could be called a ‘childhood.’ Not as I’ve come to understand it down here.”
“Mm. They really expect fledgelings to hit the ground running up there, don’t they?”
“Being handed a sword and sent to training is almost my first memory.”
“Hell’s not much better, just less able to keep track of the clutches. But here—” Crowley nodded to indicate the Earth and all that came with it. “S’a bit different here. Raise them anywhere near humans, and they grow as human children do. We won’t be handing them anything sharp for, oh, years to come.”
“Oh, that sounds lovely.” Aziraphale sighed. “Can you imagine them, running and playing with human children? Perhaps with Anathema and Newton’s little one.”
“It won’t be so ‘lovely’ when they’re constantly underfoot and pulling on your feathers,” Crowley said with a grin. “They all go through a hellion stage, no matter where they end up. Some more than others.”
Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. “Oh. Well. I suppose that’s all part and parcel.”
“Aaah you’ll miss it when they’re properly grown. We always do.” Crowley took back the empty mug and sent it to the kitchen, then wrapped his arms around his omega, his mate. “They’ll drive us to madness several times over and make us swear that we will never do such a foolish thing again and we’ll have the best time of our existence.”
“Oh, I do hope I’m up to the task,” Aziraphale fretted, squeezing his arms as his feathers ruffled. “I was never trained for this part. I haven’t the foggiest idea where to start…”
“Aziraphale. Angel. You’ll do fine.” Crowley gave him a squeeze and pressed a kiss to his temple. “You’ll be the best papa these spawn will have ever known.”
“Well, technically, I’ll be the only papa they’ve known…”
“See? You’re doing great already.”
Aziraphale snorted, then buried his face in Crowley’s shoulder, other emotions clearly threatening to bubble up.
“Whatever happens, angel, we’ll get through this together,” Crowley assured him.
“Our side,” he muttered, voice only a little wobbly.
“Exactly. Our side.”