Chapter Text
“We’ve got a streaker!” Aziraphale called from Tartan’s bedroom.
“I’m on it!” Crowley called back from the kitchen, ready to catch a wee naked preschooler who was trying to avoid their bath and the hair detangling that would follow. Crowley quietly walked out of the kitchen.
“Where does one hide a naked four year old these days?” He walked into his and Aziraphale’s bedroom. No Tartan there. He walked back out to the hallway.
“Certainly not in the sitting room,’ Aziraphale said with a wink, appearing in the doorway of Tartan’s room. He was slightly out of breath.
“Alright there, Love?” Crowley put his hand on Aziraphale’s lower back.
“Perfectly tip top! Just a whisper of a back ache. I think I’ll put my feet up with a book while you scrub down a certain escape artist.” He gave Crowley a soft kiss on the cheek.
Crowley heard a tiny giggle coming from the guest bedroom. He gestured in that direction with his head and put his finger to his lips as he slowly walked toward the room. He looked down at the bed. “Do I see an actual bum cheek peeking out from under the bed?” He asked in a high voice.
“Noooo,” whispered a totally well-hidden Tartan from under the bed.
Crowley got down on his hands and knees. “Oi! What if we had guests? How would I explain that there is, yet again, a small naked angel hiding under their bed?”
Tartan laughed with a shriek and attempted to escape past Crowley, but he caught them. “Got you! Into the bath we go!” He said in a sing-song voice as he carried an upside-down Tartan to the bath. Water was already politely filling up. Bubbles were rising toward the edge of the tub. He deposited Tartan into the bath and grabbed a shampoo bottle.
“I can do it!” Tartan held out their hands. Tartan was fiercely independent at times and didn’t require much assistance with hair washing anymore - a fact that pulled on Crowley’s heart now and then just as it did anytime Tartan no longer needed their help with something. He was happy they still needed help detangling their hair at least. He sat on the toilet lid and answered at least 39,388 questions about how shampoo is made, what makes bubbles, why can’t bubbles last, how do ducks take baths, and why do they have curly hair.
Crowley was on their last question. “Well, Daddy has curly hair. Papa has curly hair. You’re made from both Daddy and Papa and that’s why you have curly hair, too.” Crowley gazed at Tartan’s face, taking in their features. Even though he was fully aware of how genetics worked - and the fact that they apparently had genetics - it always took his breath away to see his Aziraphale in their face or to catch a glimpse of his own expressions.
“Dic-dic-dictionary, please!” Tartan held out their hands.
Crowley smiled softly and picked up a bottle of conditioner. “Remember how we use conditioner, Bug?” he asked while squeezing a dollop of the strawberry scented conditioner into their hands.
“Start at the end then go up top!” Tartan said expertly.
“Right! Start at the ends because they need the most help.” Left to their own devices, Tartan would apply half a bottle of conditioner to their scalp, leaving their hair a heavy, greasy mess.
Crowley reached for the pitcher and filled it with clean water. “Time to rinse. Close those gorgeous eyes”
Tartan squeezed their eyes shut and covered them with their hands, giggling as Crowley dumped water over their head. “Again! Again!” They repeated the process together several times.
Crowley lifted them out of the bath and helped them dry off before carrying them, again upside-down, into their room to get changed into pyjamas and begin the process of combing out their hair. Tartan chose pyjamas with a blue and green whale print on them.
“Piggy tails, please,” they requested before starting to whine as Crowley sprayed in detangler and began the process of combing their hair out.
Crowley and Aziraphale had been hopeful when they each had visions of a curly-haired child. They were delighted when little curls developed during Tartan’s infancy. They soon learned that maintaining curly hair in children wasn’t exactly the easiest task leading to many tears and bath time battles over combs. Neither of them would trade a single second of it.
Tartan sat on Crowley’s lap as he began to comb and section out hair to make two Dutch braids. “Can we have a Papa day tomorrow?” They held a doll their lap and began combing its hair out.
“A Papa day? What’s that, bug?” Crowley asked, expertly working through their hair.
“A Papa party! Because his back hurts.” Obviously.
“Well, that sounds like a perfect reason to have a Papa party to me. What shall we do for our Papa party?”
Tartan scrunched their brows for a moment and looked up at Crowley. His heart melted seeing the same look of concentration that his husband makes. “Ummmmmm. Make Papa food!”
“Oh that sounds like a good plan. Shall we make him breakfast?”
“And lunch.” Their eyes widened and they made an excited sound. “Like Pooh’s Hero Party!!!”
Crowley laughed. “We can make breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert for Papa tomorrow. How does that sound?”
“Snacks! And tea!” Tartan added. “Ouch!”
“Sorry, bug, that was a pretty good knot.” He kissed the crown of their head.
“And a new jumper. Papa was sad about his jumper,” they said solemnly.
“He was, wasn’t he? Well, sounds like we need to have a special day for Papa. Starting with breakfast.” He tied the second braid with an elastic. “If we want to get up early to make breakfast, we’ll need to get to bed on time, too, yeah?”
“Okaaaaaaay,” Tartan said softly, laying their doll in its bed. “C-c-can I have an apple first?”
Crowley smiled. “I never say no to anyone asking for an apple. Tell you what, you go get your apple, get one for Papa, and then we’ll go to bed!”
Tartan clapped their hands together. “Okay, Daddy!” They ran to the kitchen.
Crowley picked up the wet towel and went around the house with the laundry basket, picking up anything from the day that needed washing. He brought them to the boot room, throwing them in a hamper. He’d start the washing tomorrow. He put away dried dishes and wiped down countertops in the kitchen and headed to the bathroom to clean up from Tartan’s bath. He did a quick tidy of toys throughout the house before joining Tartan and Aziraphale in the sitting room, where he found them cuddled together on the couch with their apples. Tartan had their hands on Aziraphale’s belly.
“Daddy! Bebop kicked me!” They said excitedly. There was nothing quite as effusive as the excitement on display when Tartan felt their sibling kick. They squealed. “Again!! Hi, baby Bebop!” They rested their face on his belly, laughing with delight when another kick came.
Aziraphale was beaming. Glowing. Shining brighter than the Sun and any other star. Radiating joy. Crowley leaned against the doorframe and took in the scene, feeling a happy lump in his throat. Aziraphale was adorable pregnant - round, joyful, and exuding the magical energy of a life growing within him. Crowley was enamoured with him and doted on him hourly. There was a time when Crowley would roll his eyes and argue when Aziraphale accused him of being nurturing, but he now leaned into that role. He loved nurturing Tartan and Aziraphale and he couldn’t wait to meet their new baby. Tartan’s excitement over being a big sibling electrified the house with so much beautiful energy. Crowley grew happier with each day and was grateful that their family was expanding.
He sat down on the floor next to the sofa and put his hand next to Tartan’s on Aziraphale’s belly. “Hello, little one,” he whispered and placed a kiss where the baby had just kicked. They sat together quietly, save for the munching of an apple by one four year old, and enjoyed the rippling motions from Aziraphale's belly.
“Seems like Bepop is getting ready for bed in there,” Crowley said when the kicks had slowed. “I think we should all do the same, yeah? Let’s get those teeth brushed and then we can have a story.”
Crowley and Aziraphale played their respective roles in getting a wiggly Tartan settled into bed. They took turns reading stories before showering them with many goodnight kisses and snapping on some twinkling stars throughout the room.
“Daddy?” Tartan called as they were walking out.
“Meet you in there,” Crowley said to Aziraphale. He walked back to Tartan’s bed and knelt down.
“What is it, Bug?” He stroked their forehead with the back of his fingers.
“We can have a Papa day tomorrow?” they asked in their softly sweet voice.
“I promise. A nice day for Papa.”
“Lots of feasts! Like Merida?”
Crowley had to scan his brain for a second to remember the feast scene in Brave. “Lots of feasts, tiny Angel. We will take care of Papa and give him a nice day.” He kissed their forehead.
“Will you tuck Papa in?” they asked with a yawn.
“I promise. Now let’s get to sleep. Love you very much.” He stayed there and stroked their hair until their droopy eyelids gave in and they fell asleep.
“Ah. You have returned from your perilous mission,” Aziraphale quipped. He was coming out of the bathroom, already decked in his pajamas.
“I have been given orders to be sure you are properly tucked in.” Crowley draped his arms around Aziraphale's shoulders and pressed himself up against his belly, smiling at the soft movements he felt.
Aziraphale yawned. “I certainly could use a proper tuck in. I’m knackered.” Belly between them, he leaned up for a kiss.
“Sorry about your jumper. I could always miracle the size…” One of Aziraphale's favorite and rather posh jumpers, a cream cashmere turtleneck, reached the limits of covering his gorgeous belly.
“No, no, no. It’s not the same. I can wait. It’ll still be cold when the baby arrives. I’m happy to have a healthy, growing baby that causes me to grow out of my clothes.” He gently rested a hand on his belly.
“I’m grateful too,” Crowley said, his voice soft and sincere. “You're amazing at this.” He clapped his hands together. “So amazing that it’s making your back hurt. You know the drill. Hop up on the bed and let me work these magic fingers on those muscles.” He wiggled his fingers at Aziraphale.
“I haven't hopped on anything in months!” Aziraphale laughed.
“Hmmm. Don't know about that. Think my lap and my cock would disagree on a near daily basis.” Crowley gave him a cheeky wink. “Now, onto the bed with you.”
Crowley sat behind Aziraphale and worked at the angel’s muscles with his fingers. “Might have to think twice about picking up Tartan a lot until Bebop is here. You're super strong and it turns me on, but baby bellies do strain the back.” He kissed the back of Aziraphale's neck as the angel agreed.
He tucked Aziraphale in, nice and cozy, as promised and tucked himself in right next to the angel. They lay facing one another, happy roundness between them - the child within giving a few late night kicks when Crowley wiggled down to kiss the belly. He and Aziraphale kissed for a good while, Crowley twirling his fingers through soft white hair. "I'm so in love with you, Angel."
Aziraphale nuzzled their noses together. "That's a happy coincidence because I happen to be so in love with you, Demon."
Crowley smiled and snuggled in closer, kissing Aziraphale's forehead in the process. He continued to run his fingers through his hair, eventually soothing the angel into sleep. "I love you," he whispered once more as Aziraphale's breathing deepened and rested a hand on the full belly between them. Fingers traced sigils onto it and he whispered blessings to Aziraphale and the baby, just as the angel always did when Crowley was pregnant with Tartan. Crowley felt the bittersweet pangs over the memory. He missed pregnancy, but he was so thankful that this was their current life with Aziraphale having the chance to experience the wonder and excitement of carrying their child. They only had ten weeks left to go and he was grateful that the coming Winter season would mean that they would be slowing down, spending more time cuddled up together, and enjoying their remaining time as a family of three as they lovingly prepared their home and themselves for their new addition. Crowley would guide them all through it as Aziraphale increasingly focused inward on the hardest work he would ever do.
"My beautiful, beautiful angels," Crowley soothed with another kiss to the sleeping angel's forehead. "I live for the three of you, for the four of us." He closed his eyes and let himself rest.