Chapter Text
As Adam and the Them drove away from Shadwell, Madame Tracey, Aziraphale and Crowley, the air seemed to clear. For one, beautiful, perfect moment, everything seemed to be exactly where it should be.
And that was when Aziraphale looked over to where Crowley was fiddling with his phone.
“Dear Lord, do you ever cease with that infernal device?”
Crowley made eye contact with Aziraphale as he pressed a green call button on his phone and levelled it to his ear.
It rang for a minute before the recipient picked up.
“Hello, is this Mrs Cawldwell?” Crowley asked.
Aziraphale realised that Crowley had slipped into his Nanny Ashtoreth voice.
There was apparently an affirmative from the other end of the line because Crowley continued: “Yes, this is Ms Ashtoreth. I’m coming to collect Warlock.” Another pause. “I understand. I’ll be by on Tuesday during work hours.” Then he hung up.
He turned to Aziraphale. “We’re picking Warlock up on Tuesday. Operation Hell Spawn is in motion.”
“Operation Hell Spawn?”
“Yes,” Crowley blinked at Aziraphale. “I thought all the staff was in on it.”
“Apparently not the garden staff.”
“The household has been planning to take Warlock away from his parents.”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “You- you what?”
“I’m going to take Warlock away from his parents. It was too constricting there for him. The only reason that I didn’t set this plan in motion sooner was that we were sure he was the Anti-Christ. Position of power and all that.”
“No, no, I get that part, but why are you taking an eleven-year-old child away from his parents?”
“Because they’re miserable parents and don’t know the slightest thing about what they’re doing.”
“Not ta’ interrupt ye, laddie,” cut in Shadwell, “But what are ye talkin’ about?”
“None of your business,” Aziraphale quipped before turning back to Crowley. “Fine. I acquiesce, however, we’ve yet to see what the Dowlings will do without us there to tip the balance.”
“If you’ll recall, we entered the Dowling household when he was five. We do know how they worked with him. They neglected him. Completely ignored they had a child after the first week of changing nappies. They hired a wetnurse, the father went returned to work immediately, and the mother barely saw her son. They’re not fit to have a child.”
By this point, Crowley’s eyes had gone completely serpentine, and Aziraphale could see little scales beginning to appear on the sides of his face.
Aziraphale began to say something along the lines of: “But you can’t take a child away from their parents, not without evidence, and not without a place for them to stay,” but Crowley grabbed his arm and began pulling him towards the newly-reformed Bentley.
“Crowley? Crowley! Stop!” Crowley stopped pulling him along and turned to look at him.
“I’ll do it, Angel. I will take him. It is in his best interest. And ...Someone… help me, I will raise him on my own if you won’t do it with me.”
Aziraphale paused for a moment. “You-You’re actually going to do this? Raise a child that isn’t the Anti-Christ?”
“Yes.”
“Lord help us.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“Of course. That boy can’t be all demon, now can he?”
Crowley’s scales began to retreat back behind his collar once again as he smiled softly. “Thank you,” he said.
“Of course, my dear.”
Shadwell and Madame Tracy stared as the odd conversation unfolded. Something about taking a child away from neglectful parents.
Madame Tracy approved.
Shadwell was more apprehensive.
When the two (Angels? No, that didn’t work. Not with Mr Crowley’s apparent affinity with the devil. Demons? That didn’t work either. Mr Fell was too… how would you put it… cherubic to be a demon. Beings? That didn’t fit right either, but it worked better than anything else Madame Tracy could think of.) beings began to move in the direction of the former inverno - now car, Madame Tracy spoke up. “Excuse me?”
Mr Fell turned and smiled. “Yes?”
Mr Crowley rolled his eyes.
“How would you suppose we get home from the airbase?” Madame Tracy asked. “The scooter seems to be out of petrol, and it’s much too slow to get us back to London before sundown.”
Indeed it was. Mr Fell had burned through it all the way to Tadfield Airbase and then some, and the sun was already setting.
“Why,” Mr Fell turned to Mr Crowley, who instantly threw up his hands and stalked off to the car. “I do believe that you can come with us.”
“And what about me scooter?” Shadwell asked.
“Your scooter will be able to fit in the back,” Mr Fell began to wheel the scooter towards the car as Shadwell pointed out the obvious fact of: “There’s not enough room for a scooter, much less a scooter and a sidecar.”
“Oh,” Mr Fell smiled a little wider. “That won’t be a problem at all.”
It was not a problem for Mr Fell nor Madame Tracy. It was, however, an annoyance for Mr Crowley, and a problem for Shadwell to wrap his mind around.
Tuesday morning came quickly. Crowley and Aziraphale had set up a room for Warlock in the upstairs flat of A. Z. Fell and Co, and Crowley had moved some of his more… important possessions in as well.
These possessions included all of his plants, misters, and some really large speakers, which he had moved in very specifically after he had set the plants down in their permanent home in a spare room.
All was ready for the arrival of Warlock.
Crowley had styled his hair differently and began to speak in the lilting and stern way that Ashtoreth spoke in.
Aziraphale was not keen to change his appearance again, as the dirt required to pull off Brother Frances was emphatically not allowed in his bookshop, which they were fully intending to return to immediately after picking up Warlock.
With papers and documents stuffed into a folder, Crowley and Aziraphale stepped into the Bently, and Crowley started the engine. They were at the Dowling’s English Residence in under an hour, thanks to Crowley’s driving.
Aziraphale had made Crowley promise to drive the speed limit while Warlock was in the car. He had made him Promise. With a capital P. That had to mean something to even Crowley, right?
Warlock was waiting for the pair of them with Mrs Cawldwell. His suitcase was packed.
When the Bently pulled up, Crowley stopped for a minute and looked at the boy. Wait- the not-boy. Aziraphale recognised the shift, and smiled.
“They figured it out,” Crowley said, a grin forming on his face. “They finally figured it out.”
“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “They did.”
And in a moment, Crowley had bolted from the Bently, arms wide, calling out “Warlock! It’s wonderful to see you, my little Hell Spawn!”
Warlock knocked his suitcase over in his haste to get to Crowley.
Aziraphale opened the car door, brandishing the paperwork. “Are we all ready, then?”
Crowley looked at the top of Warlock’s head fondly. “Are you ready, Warlock?”
Warlock nodded and let go of their Nanny.
Crowley reached down and brushed the hair out of Warlock’s eyes and froze.
“Warlock,” he asked carefully. “What did he do to you?”
Warlock ducked their head.
“Did you tell him?” Crowley asked. “Did you tell him what you told me?”
Warlock nodded, and Crowley’s face hardened. He grabbed Warlock’s hand and marched up the stairs with Aziraphale and Mrs Cawldwell in tow with paperwork.
Crowley burst into Thaddeus Dowling’s home office, startling him out of staring off into space while on the phone with someone.
“Thaddeus Dowling,” Crowley growled. “Hang up and listen to what Warlock has to say.”
Mr Dowling held up his finger to Crowley and continued his conversation. “So, what did we decide on for the trade with Iran?”
So Crowley did something drastic. Perhaps not the wisest thing under the circumstances, but the most appropriate thing, given that Crowley was a demon, and had little to no impulse control when it came to incompetent parents.
“What the HELL was that for?” Mr Dowling raged. “I thought we fired you.”
“No, I quit. In preparation for this moment.” Crowley squeezed Warlock’s hand. “I am taking Warlock with me. He is not safe, accepted, nor comfortable here. Given recent events, I believe that the best course of action for these circumstances is for the child to come with me and my associates.”
Mr Dowling’s face was slowly changing from red to purple. “And what circumstances are they?”
“I believe that Warlock told you over dinner last night,” Crowley said.
“That,” Mr Dowling said. “Was nothing.”
“And the way that you reacted was not appropriate in the least,” Crowley continued as if Mr Dowling had not said anything. “I have signed paperwork from three separate judges, and as Warlock is a naturalized UK citizen, there is no reason why they, yes they should not come with me. I am a qualified child care professional, and practically raised him since the age of five, which is much more than you can say.”
Mr Dowling tried to say something, anything, that would give his argument some sort of weight. He came up with nothing other than the look of a fish.
Crowley turned to Warlock. “Is there anything you would like to add?”
Warlock nodded. “May I swear?” They asked.
“Of course you may swear, my dear little demon.”
Warlock turned to his father. “Your ego is the size of your waistband, yet your brain is the size of a pea,” he said.
With that, Mrs Cawldwell placed the papers and a letter of resignation on his desk. Then all four of them left Mr Dowling’s office.
They piled Warlock’s things into the Bently and drove off.
“You didn’t swear,” Crowley said, turning to face Warlock. “Why?”
“He wasn’t worth it,” was all that Warlock said.
Crowley drove the speed limit, and Aziraphale took out his tin of car biscuits and offered it to Warlock.
“Thank you, Brother Frances.”
“Call me Zira.”
“Okay,” Warlock munched on a biscuit. “Thank you, Zira.”
Crowley broke the speed limit on the M25. By a whole hundred kilometres per hour.
Warlock loved it.