The morning was blue. The clouds that covered London sent a dim blue light across the blinds.
The air was cold and frigid but the food was warm and sweet.
"Adam! Breakfast!" Crowley called out. The crisp air in the room freezing his silk pajamas.
Little feet tapped down the hallway.
A messy haired boy turned the corner, Sesame Street blanket it hand.
Adam rubbed the crusts from his eyes, still very tired.
"Good morning..." he mumbled, moving to the kitchen island. Where he plopped himself on a wooden barstool with a horrid tartan cover.
"How are you feeling this morning love? I heard you went home sick yesterday. Sorry I wasn't here...but I'm sure daddy took great care of you." Crowley asked moving towards the small boy and placing his frigid palm on his forehead.
He was burning hot.
"I'm okay I guess." Adam poked his food, clearly not very hungry.
"Your burning up."
Adam was slumped in his chair. Looking very tired and very sick.
"C'mon love, lets get you back to bed."
Crowley walked around the counter, holding his arms out for the young child to reach out for.
He swiftly picked him up, holding him tightly to keep from dropping the poor boy.
A few minutes later, and a few pills popped.
"Dad, I'm sorry I didn't eat breakfast." Crowley was stroking his hair, pulling the covers up to his chin.
Crowley couldn't help but laugh.
"You're sick ma' pet. What you really need is more sleep."
Adam pursed hip lips sinking into the covers.
"So you're not mad at me?"
"Because you didn't eat breakfast?" A smile smile crept into Crowley's face.
Adam nodded.
"Why would I be mad?"
He nervously scooted up so he was sitting against the headboard.
"Because you always are."
Crowley's eyebrows furrowed.
"What in sata-heav-someone's name do you mean?"
"You yell at your plants... and you fight daddy."
The small six year old whispered burrowing into himself. To the point where it seemed Crowley was threatening him.
Crowley simply let out a small 'tsk' and faced the boy.
"You are right about the plants love, but they've got to know who's boss. No plant of mine is going to wilt..."He tickled Adams stomach lightly, Adam had now started giggling.
"But your daddy and I...We don't fight.. we just... we just disagree a bit." His throat had now gone dry as he stared at the sick boy.
"It's fine to disagree. Especially between Aziraphale and I. We have some very key differences... But we don't hate each other. And we're hardly ever mad at each other...Just opinionated."
"So your not mad at daddy?"
Crowley shook his head.
"No dear."
"And you don't hate him?"
Crowley stroked young Adams hair pushing it back from his forehead.
"I don't think I could ever hate him."
Adam smiled and grabbed his dads hand.
"Do you love him?"
Crowley paused, pondering his words. His heart wanted to beat out of his chest and say "ABSOLUTELY!!" But his brain struggled with what to say and formulate. Really putting his feelings into detailed words.
"More than anything." He whispered, gesturing him to lay back into his bed and go to sleep.
Adam did as he was told.
Before Crowley could leave the room he heard a sick and scratchy voice call out to him.
"I love him too. I love you also."
Crowley smiled, looking back to his 'adopted' son.
"I love you...sleep tight Adam."
He closed the door.
...
Crowley walked his way back into the kitchen where he found Aziraphale, awake finally, but looked to be a little shaken.
"Angel?"
Aziraphale looked up from his cup on coffee. His eyes puffy and red.
"Crowley... oh, goodness me. I probably look like a wreck." He wiped his eyes harshly.
"Angel what happened?" Crowley rushed to his side already prepared to comfort the angel.
"Oh it's nothing really, just a uh, a bad dream that's all." Aziraphale smiled. His eyes didn't show the brightness the rest of him did.
"Let's take you to the couch, Angel." Crowley said softly lifting him from the stool, guiding him by his lower back to the couch. The horrid tartan couch.
Miracling a blanket, Crowley left Aziraphale get comfy before he explained the dream.
There was silent for a second before the angel finally spoke up.
"What if... Adam is the Antichrist."
Crowley didn't respond, he himself had feared that. But just like everything he bottled it down to where no one, not even Aziraphale could find it.
"If-if-if-if" Aziraphale stuttered, his pink cheeks flushing out in annoyance. "If he really is...that would mean we may have to..."
Crowley nodded. Both beings were facing each other on the couch, closer than any of their respective offices would allow.
"Kill him..." he whispered, his breath catching in his throat.
Aziraphale shook. His face morphing. Eyebrows turned up, tears threatening to fall.
"I-i-i I don't think I could possibly have it on me...to-to..." he had now taken in short breaths, trying to keep is voice from cracking under the intense emotion he was feeling.
Crowley's throat was dry once again. At a lost for words. He imagined Aziraphale holding his sword plunging it into their son.
"Me either." He whispered, softly placing his hand in Aziraphale's.
Aziraphale squeezed lightly, not long after, a few drops of water had landed on Crowley's hand. He was so fixated on watching them slide of his fingers and into the crevices that he almost didn't hear the whimpers coming from his angel.
The angel had blinked several times, letting the tears fall loosely to the point where his vision had blurred.
Crowley clicked his tongue. On the outside he looked sympathetic. But inside himself he was breaking and cracking. Seeing his angel in so much pain, feeling his own pain as he thought of his son.
"Come here angel." Crowley held his arms out, Aziraphale scooted towards the red haired demon. Still in a mess of his own tears and feelings.
The rest of their interaction was wordless. They didn't need to use words. Both could feel what the other was feeling.
Just two bodies pressed together, sitting across one another on a horrid tartan couch. Tangled of limbs and tears.
Both neither knowing who's tears were who's.
Both of them squeezing the life out of each other while a devil stroked an angels hair to calm the muffled whimpers and sobs in his shoulder.
That was a grieving day... for both of them.
...
Years later, Adam had just turned 11.
Everything has been just as it should have. While an angel and demon catered into a party of a young boy named warlock... Adam was out in Tadfield celebrating with his friends.
Of course Tadfield was hours away from London. But with a bit of demonic intervention, and the speeding of a certain black Bently. It was mere minutes away.
Back at warlocks party.
"No dog." Aziraphale said staring into the field of the luscious house.
"No dog." Crowley agreed.
There was a minute of silence until Aziraphale spoke up again.
"Wrong boy."
"Wrong boy."
Both simultaneously realized what could be a possibility.
"Adam."
...
The rest went on as you think it would. The two beings run over a young Anathema Device. Where she left her book in the back of the demons Bently.
Aziraphale finds it and rushes into the shop while Crowley and Adam and Adams new dog named 'dog' go up into the flat.
"Your cocoa doth grow cold...." the angel read fascinated. He looked around and exclaimed when he saw his cocoa to the right of him.
He continued on. When he read a passage referring to the end times.
Immediately calling Crowley, he could hear Adam on the other line.
"Dad look! Dogs on his hind legs!"
Aziraphale immediately hung up and sunk into his chair. His hands shaking violently and his heart palpitating more than it ever had.
'Adam is the Antichrist, Adam is the Antichrist, adamistheantichrist, my son is the Antichrist. This cannot be happening.' A million thought swirled in his head as the world crashed around him.
"I must tell Crowley."
Aziraphale rushed out of his back room.
———
It's super unedited so I'm sorry