Chapter Text
Crowley’s just finished his daily tormenting of his houseplants when Aziraphale rings him.
To be fair, Crowley has been waiting for the day when Angel would call him first— but he’s got the weird feeling that what said Angel wants to talk about has to do with Crowley's new. . . Development.
“Angel!” The demon picks up on the third ring, voice faking his typical nonchalantly tone, “What can I do for you?”
“I’m sure you know exactly what you can do for me, Crowley. Meet me at the Regency Cafe in ten minutes, won’t you?” And with his words said, the line went dead.
~666~
“So Satan just decided that you’d be the best fit demon to carry the Antichrist?” Aziraphale had already ordered for them both by the time Crowley showed up, a whole twenty minutes late with the excuse of ‘ there was traffic ’ rich on his tongue.
“In simple terms, yeah. He said it had something to do with all the evil deeds I’ve done and how he would be the one honored to have me mother his son.” Crowley winced in memory of the day Satan had summoned him down to the depths of Hell for a chit-chat, but faked it off as a chill.
Aziraphale eyed him curiously, one bushy brow raised in obvious suspicion over the rim of his teacup. Crowley really wished the Angel would either just drop the topic or ask questions until his heart was content— it would be a lot better then the silence Aziraphale had created.
“When you say mother. . . Do you mean that you’ve, oh well you know.” Aziraphale gestured a hand towards his groin, and flapped it aimlessly like it would get the message across.
“Excuse me? I have literally no idea what you’re trying to say here, Angel.”
“You know!” Aziraphale leant across the table in a way that Crowley could only describe as dignified, well— as dignified as one can be when leant across a table of tea and hand foods. “Did you change your parts to fit the motherly role?”
“Of course I didn’t! Gods no, for Satan’s sake Aziraphale, what kind of question is that?” Crowley hush shouted, face a brilliant flush of red as embarrassment crept up on him. Aziraphale’s cheeks matched his.
The Angel to seemed to contemplate a respectable answer judging by the way he refused to make eye contact with Crowley and the way he shoved three more crepes down the hatch.
“It was just a question, I don’t see why you had to get so worked up over it. Have the mood swings already set in?” Aziraphale asked.
From this point on, Aziraphale knew he had severely messed up. But it was always fun to tease Crowley, at least, it had been before this new issue had arisen.
Crowley gasped, a hand sprayed out over his heart for added dramatic effect.
“I can’t believe you’d say that! Oh my feelings! Oh my heart, it hurts— you’ve wounded me, Angel. Truly, you’ve all but stabbed me in the gut with that firey sword of yours that you gave away!”
For the first few seconds after Crowley's outburst Aziraphale just stared at the demon, expression unreadable. He made no motion other than setting his teacup down.
“Crowley… Are you prepared to be pregnant?”
The question took Crowley aback.
Was he prepared to be pregnant— well, he was already pregnant but was he prepared to carry out this pregnancy? Obviously he’d have to, seeing as he couldn’t just abort the Antichrist but Crowley wasn’t completely sure if he was ready for a full nine months of pregnancy.
He barely ate as it was. Human food never brought him any pleasure, and it wasn’t like he had to eat to survive, Hell, the only times he ever actually indulged in a meal was when Aziraphale tempted him to a lunch and even then Crowley just liked to pick at his food.
There was no way he was going to be able to supply the baby with the nutrients it needed for nine months.
And not to forget, his habit of drinking a bottle of something a day— that would have to be something he stopped right away. But could he? Crowley never considered himself addicted to alcohol but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to just stop drinking, he wasn’t even sure if he could stop even if he slowly weened off of it.
In conclusion, there was no way he could do this.
“I can’t do this, Aziraphale.” Crowley voiced.
“Oh yes you can. This is all part of the Great Plan! God wouldn’t have let this happen if she didn’t think you could do this!” Aziraphale argued.
Fair point, Crowley thought. But he’d already gone and fucked up once before and God didn't seem to mind booting him right out of Heaven— so what’s to stop her from terminating his pregnancy and finding another demon who could do just as good, if not even better, than Crowley?
“I can hear you think, Crowley! Just take a breathe in, won’t you? All this stress can’t be good on the baby.”
Oh great, another thing to add on. There was no way Crowley was ever going to be stress-free!
“I’m going to be a horrible parent, Angel. What if I accidentally drink— or what if I stress out too much, or what if I don’t eat enough for him? What if I starve him? Oh my lord below, I’m going to kill the Antichrist!” Crowley bashed his knee against the table as he jolted himself up, sending poor macaronis into the air along with a spot of tea.
“Crowley— you’re going to be fine! Now sit down, won’t you? You’ve rather caused a scene.” Aziraphale seemed to do his typical job of miracling everything back to perfect, if the unblemished macaronis were anything to go by, “Sometimes I wonder if I know you better than you know yourself, dear Crowley. You have been chosen by God for a reason, and I’m sure the almighty wouldn’t have picked you if she didn’t know that things would turn out all right in the end. You truly are an admirable person— well demon in your case —and I believe that God made the right choice on choosing you to carry the Antichrist.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Am not. I’m an Angel, I don’t lie.”
“Yes you do.”
“No I don’t.”
“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
“Well yes— but I also—“
“Okay, stop.” Crowley held a hand up, effectively silencing the Angel, “Can we just be over and done with this conversation? I’m rather famished and I’d like to get home as soon as possible, and we both know that we could argue for a decade. So let’s just settle this next week over a cup of tea at Le Gavroche, you know how to get there.”
Aziraphale seemed to mule over Crowley’s words for a second, but sighed in defeat after Crowley faked a yawn. He supposed he should let the demon rest while the baby was still inactive.
“How about Wednesday at noon then? I’ll reserve your favorite seat by the window.” Aziraphale questioned, and made a mental note to do such once we returned to his bookstore after Crowley nodded in agreement, “Well then, till Wednesday.”
“Till, Wednesday.”