Chapter Text
Six years ago
The first time Aziraphale realized Adam wasn't an ordinary child, he was just four months shy of his first birthday.
Aziraphale had put the baby to sleep in his crib, as he had done every night since Margaret passed away. Margaret, his wife, a woman of unwavering faith and a kindness that lit up the room, had passed away during childbirth. The birth of Adam. The emergency cesarean section saved the baby, but not the mother.
Aziraphale never allowed himself to question why this had happened. He no longer had the strength for that. Instead, he focused on Adam: on his gurgling laughter, on his blue eyes that seemed to hold the sky, on the way the boy looked at him with an intensity that made Aziraphale's heart race.
That night, Aziraphale was downstairs washing the baby bottles when he heard a strange noise coming from Adam's room. It wasn't crying, but something more like... a buzzing? A vibration?
He ran up the stairs, his heart in his throat. When he opened the bedroom door, he saw Adam sitting in his crib, his little hand reaching for a stuffed toy on the floor. The toy wasn't just lying there.
He was floating.
About thirty centimeters from the floor, the teddy bear spun slowly, as if being manipulated by an invisible hand. Adam laughed, clapping his hands, and each clap made the teddy bear somersault in the air.
Aziraphale sat on the floor, his body trembling. He lay there, looking at Adam, who now stared back at him with those deep eyes. The teddy bear fell to the floor with a soft thud.
"Daddy?" Adam stammered, stretching out his arms.
Aziraphale took a deep breath, stood up, and picked up his son. He hugged him tightly, feeling the warmth of the small body against his chest. Aziraphale's heart was beating erratically, but he forced a calmness he didn't feel.
" It's alright, my sweet boy ," he whispered, kissing Adam's head. " It's alright ."
He knew he wasn't. But that night, as he rocked his son to sleep, Aziraphale made a silent promise: he would protect Adam. No matter what Adam was, or what he might do. Aziraphale would be the shield between his son and the world.
Present - Tadfield, Oxfordshire
At six years old, Adam Fell was a charming child. He had tousled blond hair, freckles scattered across his nose, and a smile that could disarm anyone. He was popular at school, made friends easily, and had a special knack for getting into harmless mischief.
But there was something more to Adam. Something his teachers noticed but couldn't explain. Animals followed him. Plants grew faster in his garden. And sometimes, when Adam was very happy or very sad, strange things happened.
On the day of the goldfish incident, for example, the teacher at Tadfield Primary School was astonished. Adam, who adored the classroom goldfish, arrived on Monday and found it floating belly up. The teacher, Mrs. Henderson, was already preparing her speech about the cycle of life when Adam reached out to the aquarium.
He didn't touch the water. He just stared at the little fish with an expression of deep concentration.
The little fish, which had been dead for two hours, gave a jolt, turned around, and began to swim again.
Mrs. Henderson blinked. The children in the classroom fell silent. Adam smiled and returned to his seat.
"He was just sleeping, teacher," Adam explained, in his sweet, innocent voice.
Mrs. Henderson couldn't articulate an answer. That night, she called Aziraphale. " Your son is... special ," she said, and Aziraphale felt his heart freeze.
Crowley
Detective Anthony Crowley was in a bad mood. The case he was working on—a series of fires on rural properties—was at a dead end. Everything pointed to accidents, but something didn't add up. And now, his superior was sending him to a small town in the middle of nowhere to investigate a report of "suspicious activity."
" Suspicious activity ?" Crowley repeated, snorting. "What's that? A case of... people walking very slowly?"
The superior was not amused. " We've heard reports that a research lab near Tadfield may be involved in illegal experiments. Furthermore, there are... unusual reports coming from the local school. Things concerning a child."
Crowley raised an eyebrow. " A... child."
" A child with... extraordinary abilities ."
Crowley almost laughed. " You're sending me to the middle of nowhere to investigate a child who probably has a very fertile imagination and an overprotective father?"
" You're going, Crowley, and you're going to keep an eye on his. For now."
Now, Crowley was driving along narrow, winding roads surrounded by green fields. The scenery was beautiful, but he was distracted, thinking about the report Michael had given him. There was something about this case that bothered him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
He parked the car in front of a small stone house, with a garden full of flowers and a tree that looked like it had been planted centuries ago. The house was modest but cozy, with lace curtains and a bright red door. He adjusted his sunglasses and rang the doorbell.
The door opened, and Crowley forgot how to breathe.
The man at the door was... handsome. Not in a conventional way, but in a way that seemed old-fashioned, as if he had stepped out of a 19th-century painting. White, curly hair, soft blue eyes, a gentle expression that contrasted with the tension in his shoulders.
"Can I help you ?" the man asked, his voice polite.
Crowley caught his breath and showed his badge. " Detective Anthony Crowley. I'm investigating some complaints in the area. You are..."
"Aziraphale Fell ," the man said. " What exactly are you investigating, detective?"
Before Crowley could answer, a child's voice echoed from inside the house. " Daddy? Who is it?"
Crowley tilted his head and saw a small figure emerge from behind Aziraphale's leg. The boy—Adam, he supposed—was exactly as the report described: blond hair, bright blue eyes.
Aziraphale placed a protective hand on Adam's shoulder. " It's nothing, my love. Go back inside."
But Adam didn't move. Instead, he stared at Crowley with an intensity that made the detective uncomfortable.
"Are you the detective ?" Adam asked, and his voice was strangely calm for a six-year-old.
" Yes, I am ."
Adam smiled. " You look like a demon."
Aziraphale blushed, clearly embarrassed. " Adam, that's not a polite thing to say!"
Crowley, however, couldn't help but smile. " Don't worry, kid. I've been called worse before."
" Detective ," Aziraphale said, breaking the silence. " Would you like to come in and have some tea ?"
Crowley hesitated. He knew he should refuse, maintain a professional distance. But something about that house, that family, drew him in.
" Tea would be great ," he heard himself say.