Chapter Text
The Throne room is prepared for an execution.
King Lucifer sits tall and proud on his throne, looking every bit the King of Hell that mortals expect to tremble before. It is a look Crowley has seen time and time again, but he hates it every time. Normally. Not this time. This time it is a power he relishes is on his side. Their side - his and Aziraphale’s. None are foolish enough to look directly at him, and all are appropriately afraid.
Beelzebub is sitting in their usual throne, looking fierce and intimidating in a way that makes Crowley proud, despite having no real reason to be. It is the demeanor that has made them the Voice of Satan, the Day-to-Day Ruler of Hell that Crowley has long denied is his sibling until very recently. He doesn’t deny it any longer. Neither does Beelzebub. And he feels a sense of pride in knowing that he can trust this demon. That is not something a demon is supposed to do. But he has made it a habit of doing what demons normally do not do. More shocking is that Beelzebub trusts him , and Beelzebub is a model of a demon.
As for Crowley, he is sprawled on his throne, much like how he used to confidently sprawl, before a certain angel came to live with him. More and more demons gather in a throne room that has been miracled to fit as many of Hell's subjects as possible, and if it looks like a certain room that would hold a certain Iron Throne, that is his business and his alone. As they pile in and stand in the perimeter, they eye him. He is the most unfamiliar to the Lords and Nobility, so he must look his own brand of menacing. And he does. Crowley begins to slowly push himself up. He does this slowly, deliberately. Like how he would approach his plants. It has a similar effect on the demons, who shrink back from him. His eyes - which had not been shielded behind sunglasses since he came down that first day - bore into any demon unfortunate enough to make eye contact with him. They shrink back even moreso.
Power has always been a good look for him. And he needs to look particularly menacing right now.
There is a loud banging sound, as Dagon, back in her rightful place, her mind her own and her vengeance her own, calls for the attention of the Court. The King stands, and everyone follows suit to rise with him.
“We have had a traitor in our midst,” King Lucifer growls, inflecting his voice so that the sheer volume of it bounces off of the walls. “Bane, once a Lord of this Court, has betrayed us to enemy forces. He bound your Prince Consort in a Prison of Demonic Energy, betrayed your Serpent Prince to our enemy , attacked Your Prince, My Voice, and enslaved the mind of our trusted Lord of the Flies!”
Many demons cry out in anger, calling for all sorts of tortures and acts of revenge. Their hatred, their rage, breathes an emotion of euphoria that Crowley has spent thousands of years learning to quell Up There. It’s a demonic power that he is so used to holding back, never really letting consume him - the potential it wields is much too dangerous. Tonight though, he lets it settle within him, and it is glorious .
King Lucifer waves his hand, and the room falls silent in an instant.
“We enact vengeance tonight!” He roars, and the room erupts in a thunderous cheer, which he silences quickly. “We enact a punishment to show the power we now hold.”
At this que, Beelzebub gives a theatrical wave of their hand, and a large porcelain bathtub appears in front of the thrones. Immediately, the surrounding demons hiss at it, and many try to shift away. They all know what it means, even if they were not there for Crowley’s show trial.
The doors open at the far side of the room, and Crowley’s heart swells to see the Queen and Aziraphale walk down, side by side. They are flanked by Hastur and Ligur, and no demon who sees the Prince consort can mistake him as anything but very visibly pregnant. Aziraphale is wearing a cape similar to what Crowley wears, but the coloring is white. They are not hiding his angelic nature, not now. His clothing has been adapted to accommodate for his rounder size, but the coloring has remained the navy Lilith has put him in since he came down with Crowley to Hell. Crowley feels so much pride as Aziraphale walks, slowly, trying to taper down on the waddle, but determined. His head is held high, and he looks unflinching for what is to come. And Crowley knows how much he so desperately did not want to do this, how much convincing it took, but the Angel knew it was the right move. For Crowley’s future. For Aziraphale’s future. For the future of their baby .
Lilith helps Aziraphale towards the tub with one arm. With the other, she is holding a pitcher of water. It is a normal pitcher, if normal pitchers can hold massive quantities of water contrary to the size of their containers. They reach the tub, standing side by side. She tips it, and pours, and pours, and pours until it is just below the rim. Aziraphale looks behind him, needing to shift his entire body to do so, and makes a motion for Hastur and Ligur to step back. They do.
Crowley watches as his angel, his husband, his soldier, stoically raise his hand over the water. His voice is too low for anyone to hear what he says, but everyone can see the results . The water immediately gives a bright glow, so brief , and it fades. But the water gives off an intensity that was not there prior, and everyone in that moment is aware of how deadly this angel really is. Aziraphale has just created Holy Water in front of the entire Demonic Kingdom. The room is completely still.
Never has Crowley felt so in awe of him before - or turned on.
Dagon stalks to the back of the room, the same path that Aziraphale and Lilith had come down, head held high. She is greeted by Stolas, who is dragging a bound figure behind her, sack over his head. This is merely a demoralizing piece, everyone knows who it is. Together, the two demons drag their prisoner down the aisle.
“We are presenting the traitor,” Dagon calls out, thrusting the prisoner to Lilith. Dagon lifts the sack, although everyone knows to expect Bane’s face underneath. He’s face has been miracled away from the horrors of what Lilith had done, but only so that the demons could know without a shadow of a doubt that it really was him they were seeing. The demons hissed at him, jeering with rage.
Lilith says nothing, and lifts Bane with one hand by the back of his shirt. He dangles, limp and sneering.
Slowly, Lilith makes a gesture with her free arm for everyone around the tub to take several steps back. Hastur is quick to help Aziraphale, who is not able to move quickly. He shifts, and Crowley can see how hard he is trying to not let his face contort with pain. The angel doesn’t believe in murder, even to someone like Bane.
He’s sympathetic, but he cannot interfere and make Aziraphale look weak.
Lilith approaches the tub, effortlessly raising Bane all the more. She glances up at the King.
“What say you?” Her voice is cold, authoritative, in a harsh way Crowley is not used to hearing from the Demonic Mother. Too quickly does he forget what it means for her to be the Demonic Mother.
King Lucifer gives a pause that is drawn out. No one moves - the air is thick with tension.
Finally, he gives an intentionally careless gesture with his hand.
As a general rule, time does not make sense, particularly in Heaven or Hell. But in this moment, somehow, time slows to single moments.
In one moment, Lilith has released her hand, and Bane begins to fall.
In another, Dagon lets out a small, relieved , breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
In another moment, Aziraphale clutches as his stomach as another contraction hits.
A moment right after, Hastur narrows his eyes as the angel does nothing but grit his teeth. Their backs are to the thrones, and no one is looking at them.
Bane falls.
Bane hits the water.
It only takes an instant, but the scream seems to last a lifetime.
But what’s more haunting, is that Bane’s last cry isn’t one of pain.
It’s laughter .
The water, thankfully, does not spill over the sides, but it is a near miss.
Several demons begin to awkwardly cheer, and more join in. Their voices chorus louder until all that can be heard is thunderous applause. The traitor is dead. Their Kingdom is secure.
During the noise, Crowley can make out Hastur and Aziraphale whispering furiously to each other. He cannot hear them. But he can make out a stubborn tilt on his husband’s face, and an exasperated one on the Duke of Hell.
From where they are, though Crowley cannot hear, the conversation is as follows:
Once the roar of the crowd is loud enough, Hastur growls in Aziraphale’s ear, “You need to leave now .”
The angel replies, in a low voice, “My contractions are nine minutes apart, there is still plenty of time before I have to do anything.”
“If I’m going to be your guard, I get a say in what you think you have to do” Hastur is starting to get angry, but it’s an anger that Aziraphale is growing used to, “It’s going to be my head your husband has when he learned you came here in labor.”
“You are being - oh - dramatic!” is Aziraphale’s response, even as he winces through it.
The uproar slowly dies down, and Hastur reluctantly does not press the issue. He does help Aziraphale make his way up the stairs to Crowley, muttering passive-aggressively all the while. He also helps Aziraphale sit next to Crowley, who has already miracled the throne to fit them both. The demon prince also added more cushions, in the hopes that he would be able to sit comfortably. It’s a futile hope, but appreciated nonetheless.
Before Hastur goes to his own station, he looks at Crowley and hisses, “ Keep time ,” before leaving them. Aziraphale gives a huff and pouts.
“What is that about?” Crowley whispers to him.
Aziraphale looks towards Lucifer, who begins to inform the rest of the population about new security measures and policy changes that will be going into effect. He doesn’t look back at Crowley, but replies in a low murmur, “You are not allowed to freak out.”
“You are guaranteeing I am going to freak out,” The demon hisses, and the angel gives a sigh.
“My contractions are nine minutes apart at the moment,” Is his answer.
Once again, time has stopped working for Crowley. Only for Crowley.
Here’s the thing:
He is well aware that Aziraphale is pregnant. He was very involved in the conception. For every craving, ache, and kick he has been there. When Aziraphale needed anything that involved a waffle. He was there when Aziraphale realized he couldn’t have wine or sushi - and very graciously did not fight back when the angel pouted at him as if it were his fault.
There was that scary moment when they learned about Braxton Hicks contractions, and again, Crowley was very supportive that night even though Aziraphale yelled at him for being the reason that pregnant people experienced pain as punishment for his original sin.
(He didn’t even point out that that was referenced in the Bible , not something from Her , and it wasn’t even correct, because he was a smart husband.)
And then he was there when Aziraphale cried and apologized for being so terrible to him.
It was a precious science, to know when he needed to nod along and not talk back, and when to hold his angel close and reassure him that everything would be okay. Crowley liked to think that he had become something of a master at it.
(He had.)
But it’s beginning to set in for him in a very real way that Aziraphale is pregnant , and that in a matter of hours (he hopes hours, hopes it’s going to be a quick delivery even though a demon as smart as he is should know better ) he is going to meet the baby they have spent so long thinking about. That they’ve talked to quietly, in the moments they had been resting in their bed before getting up or going to sleep. That he would press his lips to on occasion, and speak to when Aziraphale had been lucky enough to fall asleep in couple-hour increments.
They really were going to have a baby .
Aziraphale then gives a very noticeable wince, and gasps quietly. Instinctively, Crowley grabs his hand and wills it to withstand the grip that his husband returns. The angel tries to hush his own breathing through his nose.
“We are at eight now,” He whispers, leaning against Crowley. The demon wonders how no one else is noticing this, but very quickly realizes that they have been.
Hastur has been keeping watch, and Crowley realizes he has been keeping watch since it started. Suddenly their angry conversation he saw earlier makes sense, as do the pained looks that Aziraphale had during the execution. (He tries very hard not to think about how Aziraphale went through the execution in labor. He does not succeed.)
Beelzebub looks alarmed, and is trying to send an eyebrow to Crowley that seems to say, ‘Can you ask him to hold it?’
‘Fuck off,’ Is his reply.
Lucifer is still detailing his next series of plans. The King has stood, attracting attention for doing so. He begins to move about the room, and Crowley realizes, experiencing a rush of fondness he never thought he would feel towards Satan, that he is providing a distraction for them. Lilith has turned her head towards them both, and gives a dismissive gesture.
In his mind, a message is planted.
Go. I will join you later, when the time draws near. Walk slowly, and be ready.
---------
They move at an agonizing pace. Never in all of his existence has Crowley wanted so badly to miracle them straight to their bedroom, but at this point they don’t know how safe such a move is. As they walk, they are forced to stop so Aziraphale can lean against a wall and moan in pain. It’s a horrible sound, and Crowley wishes more than anything he can take that pain away.
He does what he can, which is to help his angel breathe and keep time - they’ve gone from nine minutes from the start of Court to eight now. The intensity of the countdown is so much that Crowley feels like crawling the walls - he can only imagine how his angel feels. Aziraphale feels the exertion of their walk - which is already strenuous for him - plus the contractions.
Finally, finally they arrive to their quarters. Crowley gave into the urge to use his powers to miracle their bed away, and lean it against their wall. It was replaced with something of his own design. It looked like one of the hospital beds women would use, but it was much nicer. More comfortable, for starters. The memory foam would help support his angel, and the cushions may be able to help. At least he has that fantasy.
Aziraphale is taking slow, deep breaths as Crowley helps him onto the bed. Crowley makes quick work of miracling the Court attire off them both, placing Aziraphale in the maternity nightgown he’d been using - it was soft, and he’d be able to keep it on during the delivery. He was wearing his usual silk pajamas, guessing correctly that later he would be holding the angel, and that he would like to lean back on silk. The Demon takes his hand, holding it between his two, offering him a smile.
"You were incredible out there," He says, remembering the pride in watching Aziraphale enact justice. "My very own avenging Angel. It was hot as fuck ."
Weakly, Aziraphale starts to laugh but then gasps as another contraction takes hold. He moans, trying to regulate his breathing the way Lilith had instructed him. The angel forms an 'O' shape with his mouth, but he breaks off to groan at the effort. Crowley encourages him to breathe through it - feeling very stupid all the while. What else would he be doing? But there’s not much else he can do except offer encouragement and a reminder to breathe.
Finally - finally - it passes and Crowley tries to remember how many minutes that could have been. They seem to be speeding up, but Aziraphale shakes his head when he supposes it.
"Still eight," Aziraphale gasps, regaining his breath. "This will last for hours yet my love. It always does when it’s your first."
Hours . Logically, Crowley knew that would be the case, but it didn't exactly make this easy . His husband should never be in pain. Not like this. It wasn’t fair how one-sided this was, when Crowley had been just as involved in the creation .
Also, he really wants to bring up what Aziraphale means by ‘first’ , because it sounds an awful lot like his is implying the first of more . But he doesn’t think this is the right time.
"You are brooding very loudly," His angel reproached. Sheepishly, Crowley gave an apology, bringing his hand up to his lips and keeping it against his chest.
"Just don't like you in pain Angel," is his response.
"Well, it's not all bad," Aziraphale is a very poor liar, but Crowley is a smart husband and doesn't mention the fact. "Do we still have popsicles?"
Crowley wants to laugh. Of course.
" 'Course we do," He says, placing a kiss on the Angel's temple. He’ll bring all the popsicles in the world if it’ll help.
----
They spend the next several hours this way. For the first three hours, they both try to keep things light. Aziraphale will eat a popsicle, and suggest more and more ridiculous names that Crowley will reject.
Most of them are characters from Game of Thrones. Humans, dragons, any creature, even locations just too keep listing things. Nothing was off limits, and it’s quite clear Aziraphale kept up with it more then Crowley because the demon didn’t even remember most of these names.
"You told me you didn't watch it!" He teasingly accused over his own popsicle. Crowley wasn't really eating it, but Aziraphale had been really sensitive over the last few months about eating alone. So he would pretend to eat and ultimately give Aziraphale his food when the angel had finished his. The same was true now.
“I couldn’t - I didn’t want to see it without you, and we had been preoccupied with raising the wrong Antichrist when it came out initially,” Aziraphale defended.
They were laying side by side, still holding hands, and Crowley had miracled the bed so they could both stretch out. The contractions were at seven minutes now, and Crowley had miracled a little stop-watch. It helped them both to watch the seconds count down while the angel rode them out.
The Angel continued, “But I figured the books were a safe way to-”
“Not the books!” Crowley groaned. Well of course. That was how the Angel knew more than he did - and he was really very pleased that he had kept up so well with the demon’s work. It made him feel loved, especially because it was before they had confessed their feelings towards each other.
“ Yes the books,” Aziraphale snickered, finishing his popsicle. Crowley motioned with his, and Aziraphale waved him off in favor of holding his hand to breathe through another contraction. This one was sooner then they’d anticipated.
“That was either five or six,” He said when it ended. Aziraphale gave a few more measured breaths, still looking pained. Guiltily, Crowley offered his popsicle, and Aziraphale reluctantly took it.
“ This , I think, is the last popsicle for now my dear,” The Angel said, wincing as he tried to resettle.
----
Despite all the walking the angel had to do for the execution and to get back to their home, Aziraphale gets taken with the urge to walk around because he’s a few feathers short of a full angel. But Crowley can never say no to him, so they walk around the perimeter of the room, shifting their conversation to other matters. This is how they spend the next three hours.
“I don’t know how we’re ending the war,” Crowley admits, once Aziraphale has breathed through the last contraction. They are at the six minute mark. The angel nods.
“I suspect we will have to stay down here,” Is what the Angel surmises. He is correct.
Crowley startles when Aziraphale gives a weak chuckle. “Something amusing?” He asks, helping the Angel back on the bed.
“I was just thinking about irony,” Aziraphale said, slowly shifting, with Crowley’s help, to get comfortable.
“Go on,” He prompts, glaring at the pillows to be more comfortable for his husband. They obey, knowing what is good for them.
“Well, Bane set the archangels free because he wanted everything to go back to the way it was ,” Aziraphale explained, leaning back. He starts to grin, and begins laughing during the next words he says. “But by doing that, he prevented us from ending the war, and you and I couldn’t go back Up Stairs. So we received a Blessing, one that ties us here. One that solidifies our - my - belonging here. Nothing could ever go back to the way it was. Had Bane really wanted everything to go back, and for us to leave, he should have just done nothing! He would have had everything he wanted.”
The angel is now laughing, much like when Bane had put him on the spot at his first Full Court Session, and Crowley is shaking his head, amused.
"Is this what you spend your time thinking about?" He asks. Without realizing it, he's begun stroking Aziraphale's stomach.
"Just reflecting," was the reply.
Crowley gives a snort, very gently resting his head on the bump.
“You’re the one that married me,” Aziraphale teased, “After 6,000 years you were perfectly aware of what you were getting yourself into my dear.”
Aziraphale wasn’t prepared - he never was - for the intensity of Crowley's unconditional love . It shone through his eyes and bore right into the angel.
"I did, you're right." Crowley's tone was completely serious - not an ounce playful. The angel had to look away from him, and conveniently - the only time it could be considered convenient - a contraction came through that he had to work through. It left him not nearly as breathless as Crowley did.
----
"You can do this Angel," Crowley whispered fiercely. "You're the strongest being I know."
Four Hours have passed from their walking around, and Aziraphale is no longer joking and laughing at the situational irony their lives had become.
Contractions are down to four minutes apart, and the force of them has his angel shrieking in pain. In between them he’s taking shuddering breaths. Exhaustion is beginning to set into his face, and he is in no more of a mood to get up and walk around. Crowley isn’t sure that he can . After a contraction after which his body trembles from the force, the Angel is relying completely on the pillows to keep him in place.
Crowley hates it. Hates the fact that he can only glare at the pillows so much for them to help. Hates that all he can really do is hold his hand, miracle it to not be crushed from the force in which the angel grips his hand. Hates that all he can do is offer words of encouragement, and pat his forehead down with cold towels to help relieve pressure.
But it's all that he can do, and it's better to do something than nothing.
The Queen comes to them at this time. She does not bother knocking - the door knows better than to keep her away. Lilith enters their bedroom, surveying them both before her. She gives an approving nod as Crowley gently dabs at Aziraphale's forehead.
"How far apart?" She asks as the angel begins to scream.
"Four- three minutes," Crowley corrects himself, struggling not to wince when Aziraphale grips his hand. The angel is bloody strong.
"We are close, maybe another hour," Lilith informs them, settling in between his legs.
Aziraphale gives a cry when the latest contraction ends. He shakes his head, desperately.
"Please, please , I can't do this another hour ," He gasps. His voice is hoarse from screaming and Crowley's heart is breaking at the devastation in his voice.
Lilith is like steel, looking completely unsympathetic.
"You can , and you will ," She commands. "Since the beginning women have been continuing this cycle to further the humans you have spent your life protecting and influencing. You risked your life to betray the Angel's of your Host because you Believed in them. You allied with a demon for them. You carry his child because you two pledged that you would defend your side and this is the fruit your union hath wrought. You will bare this child Aziraphale, Angel Prince of Hell."
"I'm not going anywhere," Crowley adds, "You are the strongest being in the universe. I've known that from the beginning. You're the best part of the Angel's, the kindest and most loyal to Her. No one else could do what you do. I've had six thousand years to know this, that you are the best person to be having our baby. And they are going to love you as much as I do. As much as everyone here loves you."
Aziraphale gives another sob, only this time it's mixed with pain and emotion . Crowley knows he's feeling overwhelmed, so he leans over to kiss his temple.
"I have you, I'm with you," he repeats. He doesn’t stop.
"Get behind him, and brace him," Queen Lilith orders, and Crowley is quick to obey. He quickly miracles the pillows to move accordingly, and slides in to brace Aziraphale before he falls back from his own weight. The angel really isn't able to hold himself up anymore. But he can lean on Crowley, who is determined to stay here with him no matter what.
True to the Queen's word, Aziraphale is not ready to deliver for another hour. Crowley holds him, keeping Aziraphale's hands in his. In between he's still alternating between placing kisses to his hair and placing towels when the angel gets too heated. Aziraphale cries and moans in between, but is careful not to say that he can’t do it anymore. Crowley doesn’t know if it’s because he doesn’t want retribution, or if it’s that he’s started believing in himself. He knows what he prefers, but guesses it’s not the reason. But it doesn’t matter, because he believes in his angel, and so does Lilith. That will be enough for now.
Lilith is an excellent coach. The Demonic Mother has overseen many births in her tenure as the The Fallen Women, and her experience comes through now. Her role allows for Crowley to play more of a supportive role, and there's no time for him to feel bereft because Aziraphale is relying on him so much. He keeps Azirphale propped in his arms, letting the angel focus on bearing down on each contraction.
Which is fortuitous, because soon Lilith is placing straps to position his legs, and informing them that it’s time .
“I love you,” Crowley whispers, gripping back at Aziraphale’s hands. “You can do this.”
The angel doesn’t reply, but steels himself with a newfound strength.
Lilith orders for him to begin pushing at the next contraction, and Aziraphale screams louder then Crowley had ever heard before. Were he mortal, his hands would most certainly be broken at this point, but Crowley has decided they wouldn’t be, so they are not. The Queen continues to coach, and this pattern repeats. She orders him to push, Aziraphale shrieks in pain, and Crowley continues to tell him how amazing he is.
In the pauses, Aziraphale seems to list, unable to keep himself upright. Crowley does not let him sway too far one way or another, and keeps him steady. They are doing to do this together. Just as they do everything.
She begins to tell them that she can see a head, and then begins to update that its through. Finally, they get to one last push for the shoulders. For this last push, Aziraphale finds another unforseen burst of energy. With one last scream, the angel lurches forward with the force of this contraction, and time stops again for Crowley.
In one moment, Aziraphale falls, limp, back onto Crowley, who is quick to secure him.
In another moment, Lilith has let out a small gasp.
And in the next moment, Crowley hears the most wonderful sound in all his millenia of existence.
It’s a scream . A baby’s scream.
Their baby’s scream.
Crowley is gasping, suddenly so aware that they’ve gone from a hypothetical baby that lived in Aziraphale to a very real baby that is existing on its own. There are no words for him, or syllables to utter unintelligently. Not now.
Aziraphale was still panting for air, shaking with the aftershocks of what he had just been through. His eyes fluttered, desperate to stay awake through sheer will.
Distantly, Crowley could hear himself whispering, “You were amazing , you were incredible Angel,” and placing kisses to his face. But his focus was also on that screaming limp thing in Lilith’s hands, unable to make any part of the baby out. Lilith whispered a few words, and Crowley watched as blood and viscera cleared away, both from the baby and at the foot of the bed they were using, and his Demonic Mother went to place the baby down on Aziraphale’s chest.
“Congratulations,” Lilith said, her voice gentler than Crowley had ever heard it.
“It’s a girl .”
A girl. They had a daughter .
She was so tiny . So impossibly small against the angel’s chest.
Aziraphale cried, and Crowley had never seen him so overcome with emotion. He was also aware that he was crying, but that came in second behind observing everything he could about this baby that existed . Everything was going to come in second to the family in his arms now.
The demon helped raise Aziraphale’s arms around her - the angel was too weak to really move. Crowley took that moment to gently place a hand on her back, her very small back that his hand was larger then, when his hand felt something odd . It was a casing of some sort. An instinctual part of him yelled no , and that it needed to come off.
He placed one last kiss to Aziraphale’s temple, before maneuvering around him to get a better look at his little girl. A quick miracle had pillows appearing under his angel, so Aziraphale didn’t need to shift quite so much from the movement. And the angel moved as the pillows did - he officially wasn’t able to move on his own accord.
Her eyes were closed, and her body was curled on top of the angel. Instinctively, she must have recognized him as a safe space to rest, considering that was where she had spent the last several months. Because she was fast asleep, no longer wailing about from the effort it took for her to be in the world. Crowley had never considered how exhausting it must be to be brought into the world, but it took all the energy right out of the little thing. His little girl.
From below Aziraphale’s waist, Lilith made another miracle before placing a sheet over him, to cover him again. “Your body will mend very soon,” She promised.
“Thank you,” Aziraphale whispered, and Crowley began wiping away the new tears that fell, from both of them. Lilith stood, leaning over to kiss his forehead. She placed another one to Crowley’s temple, making more tears fall.
“You did well,” She said, “You are strong. I am proud of you both.”
Crowley struggled in that moment to tell her everything he wanted, everything he wanted to be able to convey to her. How she had helped him, throughout his existence. How she had protected him. How she had saved Aziraphale - more then once now. How through her, they were able to stay together in this world.
He had no words. But Lilith looked him deep in the eyes, and he knew it was not necessary.
She knew.
“Spend time with your daughter,” The Queen ordered them both. “See to her back, make sure you preen.” With that ambiguous message, she turns to leave them. Not far - Crowley was distantly aware of her settling in their kitchen. Nearby and ready to help.
Crowley’s eyes shift to his baby , to her back, and he saw that odd casing that his very core had rebelled against. With a good look at it, he slowly started to clear it away. But carefully, as her back could fit under his entire hand. She was so fragile . Aziraphale murmured a protest at what he was doing, but couldn’t really interfere. Crowley shushed him and batted his hands away.
“What is it?” Aziraphale whispered tiredly.
“Just a moment,” Was his answer, and sure enough, he was able to clear off that odd sac to reveal -
Oh.
She had wings .
Aziraphale gave a trembling gasp as Crowley slowly smoothed them out. They, like she, were so very little, but somehow managed to envelope her.
“Crowley she’s beautiful ,” Aziraphale sobbed, one of his shaking hands stroking a tiny feather.
They were a light gray, with lighter spots in the center, and darker spots further away. But that wasn’t accurate. The lighter and darker spots were everywhere. A perfect blend of them on her . The white feathers from Aziraphale that reminded him of doves, and his own dark feathers that the Angel liked to say were like a raven. This gray coloring reminded him of-
“Our little pigeon,” He cooed, pressing his lips to her head. They were little birds that could coo. Analogies were not his specialty, but it seemed perfect to him, just adorable enough, in the moment. Aziraphale gave a weak laugh.
“That’s not cute,” The angel said, his own fondness betraying the words. He loved the nickname, Crowley could tell. Crowley flicked his eyes up to him, raising his eyebrows with a smile.
“This is our little pigeon,” The demon repeated, “What else could she be? You see these little wings?”
“We can’t name her pigeon ,” Aziraphale protested, but he was smiling. So was Crowley. Neither had ever been more happy. Or more exhausted, as Aziraphale gave a rather loud yawn and struggled to open his eyes after.
“We’ll name her soon enough,” Crowley whispered, not wanting to press the matter with him as exhausted as he was. Justifiably so. “Get some rest now, I’ll hold her.”
Without much further encouragement, Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut, and he was asleep within moments. Crowley didn’t go to take her immediately, just let himself watch the two of them breath together. He didn’t think about the sequence of events that brought them there. He didn’t think about the names they still needed to plan and reject before picking the perfect one. He didn’t think about the work that lay ahead.
He looked at his husband.
He looked at his daughter.
And it was good.