Work Text:
When all was said and done, no one was sure exactly what Adam was. He seemed human, but he was also the Antichrist. Being half Satan had to mean something. Though exactly what, Aziraphale and Crowley weren’t sure, and were too scared to speculate, lest they bring the wrath of Heaven and/or Hell down upon them. They’d only barely escaped their last run in with their head offices.
Adam definitely aged. That much they knew. But he seemed to age a bit slower than normal humans. Though it was hard to tell, especially for two supernatural beings for whom a human lifetime was largely meaningless. His delayed aging could also be attributed to good genes. If he had good genes. If he even had genes.
No one seemed to notice his unusual youthfulness, but then humans only saw what they wanted to see. Crowley and Aziraphale had gotten away with being immortal far more easily than they should have. The excuses of ‘I look just like my father’ or ‘what a coincidence that painting that’s 8 centuries old looks just like me’ could only stretch so far. After that, it was just humans blindly refusing to see something they’d deemed impossible.
But Adam, for all intents and purposes, did seem human. It wasn’t until he kept living past even the most generous of life expectancies that Crowley and Aziraphale began to worry. He made it to 100 years old, which was not too much of a strange occurrence. But then 110 went by. Then 120. When he made it to 150, Crowley and Aziraphale weren’t sure what to do. Should they contact Heaven or Hell and ask for guidance?
They went to see him, on his 150th birthday.
Adam was an old man. Being the Antichrist hadn’t prevented the physical changes that regularly accompanied old age. He suffered the fragility of age – perhaps more so than any other human, since he was by far the oldest. He endured the pains, though he could’ve used his powers to will them away. But he’d learnt over the course of his life, with some guidance from the angel and demon, that it was best to leave his powers alone. They tended to have unintended consequences that couldn’t just be willed away so easily.
But apart from the physical changes, he was still the same Adam.
They knocked on his nursing home room door early in the afternoon. They were greeted by a familiar barking.
“Who’s there, Dog?” Adam’s gruff voice joined the excited yapping.
“It’s just us, dear boy,” Aziraphale answered, opening the door and entering.
Adam rasped out a wheezing laugh.
“Aziraphale, how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that? As far as anyone in this place is concerned, you’re young enough to be my great-great-great grandson. Seriously, you two haven’t aged a day since I first met you.” His weathered face split into a grin that carried the echo of the cheeky grin they’d known from the child who’d almost destroyed, but then saved, the world.
Dog, who also hadn’t aged a day, hopped up on the bed and rested himself beside his master. The nursing home didn’t usually allow pets. But Dog was the miraculous exception.
“If you’d rather we went around looking like skeletons, we could. But all the heart attacks we cause will be your fault,” Crowley replied, plonking himself down in one of the visitor chairs, legs somehow splayed in ten directions at once.
“Really, you two,” Aziraphale scolded with a roll of his eyes.
“We could look like zombies, if you’d prefer?” Crowley grinned at him, while Adam laughed himself into a coughing fit.
“My dear, do be careful.” Aziraphale rushed to pour him a glass of water.
Adam and Crowley rolled their eyes at his fussing, as they always did.
It felt just like it always had, the three of them each falling back into their roles as if they’d never been apart.
But it wasn’t the same. The gasping of every breath Adam took showed how tired he’d become. The hand that reached out to take the glass from Aziraphale shook and could hardly hold the weight of it.
Aziraphale and Crowley shared a look, concerned.
Adam caught it though. He’s always been too perceptive.
“Stop worrying. I’m fine. Or as fine as a man my age can be, I suppose. Not that I have anyone to compare myself to.”
“Worrying? Me, worrying? You’ve got the wrong demon,” Crowley tried to lighten the mood.
Adam simply shook his head fondly.
“Anyway, what brings you out to Tadfield? Something supernatural happening?” He had a glimmer in his eyes, remembering all the times he’d gotten up to mischief, or later in his life, helping them to track down anything amiss.
“We came to wish you a happy birthday,” Aziraphale smiled cheerily and summoned up the cake they’d purchased fresh from Paris’ best patisserie that morning.
“Aziraphale, you really haven’t changed,” Adam laughed.
Aziraphale reprimanded him with a look, but it was affectionate too. Reminiscent of all the times he’d had to keep him (and frequently Crowley) in line.
“It’s not every day that the Antichrist turns 150.”
“I should hope not. Once has been more than enough,” He joked.
Aziraphale and Crowley smiled at him, but he saw the hesitance in their eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Adam. Don’t worry,” Crowley said, handing him a slice of cake.
“What aren’t you telling me?” He asked. The air in the room shifted. Dog put his head up, alert at the sound of the command in his master’s voice.
The two beings shared a look, before turning back to Adam, who was clearly impatient.
“I’m not going to live much longer. So hurry up and spit it out.”
“That’s just the problem, my dear. You might.” Aziraphale had put on his most reassuring and calming tone.
Adam looked between them, unsure if he’d heard him correctly. Despite his age, his hearing was still perfect.
“You’re worried I may never die?”
Aziraphale gave a sheepish nod, while Crowley looked away.
“I used to worry about that too. But you don’t need to get yourself all in knots about it. I’m not immortal. Not like you. I’m going to die tonight,” He said, as if he was simply telling them the weather forecast.
“You’re what?!” Crowley screeched, eyes wide and darting around the room, as if an assassin were waiting to shoot Adam any moment.
“My dear,” Aziraphale began, clearly concerned. His frown was deep and the hand not holding his own plate of cake was shaking.
“Like I said, don’t worry about it.”
“How can we not be worried about it?” Crowley had gotten himself mostly under control, but he still looked at him, incredulous.
“I’m tired,” He heaved a world weary sigh. “You two don’t know how it feels to be human. I’ve lived a long time. Far too long. My children and my grandchildren are gone. No parent should have to bury their children. And especially not their grandchildren.” He wiped his teary eyes with a trembling hand.
Aziraphale rushed to his side and took his hand, abandoning his cake on the bedside table. Crowley sat up, reaching for his other hand.
Adam gave them a thankful smile.
“I’ve had a good life. I’ve done things other people couldn’t even imagine. And I’ve had the two best guardian angels watching over me,” He grinned through the tears. He squeezed their hands.
Crowley opened his mouth to interrupt and tell him that he wasn’t an angel, but Adam silenced him with a look. They all knew that Crowley wasn’t really a demon anymore either. Just as Aziraphale wasn't really an angel. They were something else, something other. Just like Adam.
“But it is time. I have resigned myself to it.”
“You don’t know that it’s going to be tonight,” Aziraphale argued.
“I do. My family are coming to see me, to celebrate my birthday. And once they’re gone, I’ll go too.”
He obviously meant it. The two celestial beings wanted to argue, but they couldn’t. If he wanted to believe it, they would let him.
“Come on, let’s eat this cake and catch up, OK?”
A few hours later, Aziraphale and Crowley left him. His family would be arriving soon to see him and they couldn’t be there when they arrived. The pictures of them and a young, smiling Adam were still hung all around the family home, even through the multiple generations. They couldn’t afford to be recognised.
They walked hand in hand through Tadfield. It’d changed a lot, but it still felt the same. So much love.
“Do you think he’s going to be alright?” Aziraphale asked.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine, angel. He’s strong. He saved the world.” He shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t connected to the hand holding Aziraphale’s.
“You helped, my love.”
Crowley shrugged again, this time from embarrassment. Even after over a century of being officially together, Aziraphale’s sweetness still took him off guard.
“Remember when he ruined that beloved coat of yours?” Crowley laughed.
“Or when he scratched the Bentley?”
Crowley’s laugh abruptly stopped.
“Luckily it had been a quick miracle to fix it, or Adam would’ve regretted it to this day.”
“He used to raise Hell,” Crowley sighed fondly.
“He wasn’t so bad. At least he didn’t literally raise Hell,” Aziraphale replied.
“Touché, angel.”
“And he and those other kids, scheming to get us to admit how we felt about each other.”
“Thank goodness they did, or we’d still be being idiots about it.”
“Speak for yourself, darling. I’m very intelligent, you know,” Aziraphale sniffed smugly. But the mischievous twinkle in his eye gave him away.
“Did we ever say thank you?”
They received the call at 8 the next morning. Adam had died peacefully in his sleep at exactly 11:59. He’d been right. He’d always been right.
Aziraphale and Crowley stood together, holding each other as they both grieved.
But the world went on. Thanks to Adam, the world would always go on.