Beelzebub, upon taking on look at Crowley, decided that the journey hadn't been worth it. What would be the fun in killing someone that looked like a dad through and through? And what would they do, drag him down to Hell when an angel that could kill them was right there, looking like Beelzebub was trying to steal his dream husband? Maybe the angel thought that.
Why would Beelzebub settle with Crowley? The mere thought of them hugging the great annoyance was enough to make them puke. And the thought of their lips touching his? That was, well, worthy of a bath in Holy Water. The idea of a romance between them was nasty, almost as much as the idea of Heaven winning the Great War.
Beelzebub figured they might be happier if Heaven won the Great War. The angels, despite being celestial creatures with deadly intentions, had little patience. The angels would put Beelzebub out of their misery quickly. A romance with Crowley would- likely- be eternal.
Maybe, they figured, they should just leave the annoyances alone. The dumbasses might go on to get married and raise a child together, and they might leave the next world ending event alone. And looking at them, Beelzebub could see that they were already in love. And Hell, they already had children. Or, well, at least one little gremlin child.
Would having family make them stronger or weaker? On one hand, there was this whole 'love superpower' that Beelzebub had heard about. If there love was strong enough, they might rip apart the next Apocalypse just like they had this one. Having a family could make them weaker too. The urge to protect the mortal flesh that they defined as family and friends would obviously hinder them, so Heaven and Hell could have extra time. The threat of death to the mortals that Crowley and his angel adored would be enough to stop them.
Beelzebub was so dumb. Looking at the Crowley's hair and laidback posture, they realized that they probably should have told Hell he'd been stuck living out the rest of his life as a dad. That idea was miserable. Being an eternal dad sounded awful, and Beelzebub was far from a dad. A domestic house husband would be enough to terrify the demons for months on end.
The idea of confinement was rather... terrifying to a bunch of demons. Having been once confined to Heaven and all of Heaven's rules, they never seemed to recover again after that. The idea of living in groups larger than four seemed terrifying, and many demons chose to spend their time alone. Establishing deep and meaningful relationships between themselves seemed nearly impossible. So far, the only demons to establish a meaningful connection were Hastur and Ligur, and Crowley- unless you counted whatever Azazel had with some Americans, then you had four demons. Hastur and Ligur had a relationship that mocked that of a dating human couple, and Crowley had one with an angel.
Was there something special about those demons? Was there something genetically special- inferior even- about them? What made them unlike every other demon? The real question was: could Beelzebub use it to their advantage?
They sure could. Crowley would be remembered as nothing more than a sniffling husband. That would surely calm down the situation in Hell. The idea of saying these things filled Beelzebub with a childish delight. It was so simple and clever and easy- it was everything that Beelzebub needed it to be.
"Stay out of my way, you overdressed city rat." Beelzebub looked Crowley in his eyes, seeing him look down at them.
Overdressed was, perhaps, a nice way of putting it. Bulky black platform heels, which Beelzebub was sure must have went out of style by now, was his choice of shoes. They could picture Crowley running around the house and dancing to a slower song about music with them on. The low-cut grey shirt he wore showed more skin than Beelzebub wished it did, and the skinny jeans were tight enough he could have been wearing a second layer of skin. And all this, with a leather jacket.
"What for?" asked Crowley. "What are you planning that you need little old me out of the way for?"
"The apocalypse will come again," said Beelzebub, clicking their tongue. "And I want you to stay out of the way. You can't keep doing this. Just stay with your husband and meddle about your own business. Buy a nicer shirt."
"Eww. What are those socks?" said Warlock disgustedly, looking at their socks with disgust. "Come look at these socks Adam!"
It appeared that curiosity had taken over. His curiosity had overtaken his fear. At some point, he'd crawled out from behind the couch. Once something got into his mind, he was going to accomplish it- a trait he'd learned from his father and Crowley. And, it was- of course- pointing out the socks of Lord Beelzebub, one of Hell's most unforgiving reckoning forces.
Crowley was, as expected, equally as proud as he was mortified. He was glad that Warlock was every bit as courageous and brave as the very first man, but that idea was equal terrifying. And there were many reasons for that.
When there was bravery, fear had to present as well. When there was good, there was bad. Where there was beautiful, there was a defined ugliness waiting just around the corner. Where their was a gentle and sweet love, there was a love not so happy and perfect. Where there was life, there was death. When the light shined through, the darkness lingers and waits. There can be no one thing without another, Crowley reckons.
And there was something mortifying about admitting Warlock was so human. When Crowley had meet the youngling, Aziraphale had to him not to get attached. But how was Crowley to not get attached to the child? Crowley poured love and divine knowledge into that child- everything fell apart rather quickly. Warlock acted like such a brat at times, and Crowley shouldn't have taken to loving him, but he did- much like an angel that he knew. Oh Hell. Crowley just kept loving things he shouldn't- humanity, an angel, children.
Crowley then realized why he should be proud. Men stronger than Warlock had fallen before things weaker than a demon. Warriors chosen by the angels had fallen victim to urges that lead to their names being erased from the Bible. Men, trained by angels and the cruelty of a commander's whip, feel before the very armies that the Heavens had sent them to fight. Women, men, and many others, guided by the presence of the angels and words of their mothers, had fallen to the words of losers. But Warlock was strong.
"Those are awful ugly," admitted Adam hesitantly. "Have I seen you before? I think your name was Beetle or something?"
"My name is Lord Beelzebub." They gave Crowley a disgusted look. "I knew the Antichrist was pathetic, but this is disappointing even for you Crowley. Perhaps even more than that time you drew angels like cows and called it- how was it worded- "tempting humanity away from religion." And that was very disappointing."
"Go cry me a strawberry. That's not it. What's the word Aziraphale?" Crowley looked around helplessly.
"Pond, perhaps," added Aziraphale. He'd stepped into the room, and he'd never thought that Crowley could look any sexier than he did right now.
Reading the words of his parent- perhaps if parent was an appropriate term for the creator of universes- didn't help him not want to touch, to kiss, Crowley. He still wanted to know what it would feel like to finally kiss Crowley like he wanted to. What would it feel like to be one with Crowley, to allow their celestial intents to be something- one thing- together? How would it feel to give into the true enemy, perhaps even the one greatest to humanity? Aziraphale was sure it would be beyond swell and jolly good.
"Go have all weird eye staring somewhere else. Just, stay away. Pretend you don't exist. Pretend the world won't end with your husband and kid or kids or whatever. Just stay away from Hell." Beelzebub gave Crowley an exasperated look.
"Okay." Crowley closed the door.
~
Sin was sweeter than it should be. Aziraphale was nearly sure of it. Crowley's cherry chapstick had to taste sweeter than Holy Water, although Aziraphale had never tried cherry chapstick enough to know. He would rather a honey, organic based chapstick if he was allowed to choose. There was, of course, no need for an angel to use such a human luxury, other than the fact that he simply enjoyed it.
How Gabriel would have a fit. He would hate that Aziraphale loved humanity to the extent of sin, how he loved Crowley enough to do more than a simple one-time sin. But Aziraphale couldn't help but love Crowley. No matter how much he tried to run from it, there were reminders nearly posted on every street. "Buy cards for your beloved today!" "Does your loved one like plants? Buy them a plant today!" "Would you like to marry your spouse? Call this number for more information."
It was like the whole world knew he loved Crowley. Oh, but did Crowley know? If he did, Aziraphale would simply die on the spot.
Even though they shared a bed (sometimes- when Crowley didn't feel like sleeping on a stack of books) and laid less than five feet apart, it seemed that Crowley didn't know.
And later, Crowley turned to him later that night and said, "It's too bad you'll never love me. I could be a great lover."
Aziraphale nearly died. He did love Crowley.
~
[1] There's roughly three more chapters for this yet, and I have more ideas for these idiots™️. My next ideas are really unconnected one-shots (sapphic Ineffable Wives, a siren AU, and a bit more).
[2] I hope you enjoyed!