Chapter Text
"What's a Demo-Craft?" Aziraphale asked softly, eyebrows knitting together as he peered at Crowley over his newspaper.
Aziraphale had started reading up on American Politics. There had been a lot of presidential assassinations in the past hundred years and he couldn't tell if they were from Above or Below.
"Democrat, angel, they're for.... equality and women. Or whatever," Crowley grumbled.
From behind them, your head tilted and your face clearly read a bemused 'what the fuck.' You laughed lightly and examined the angel and the demon.
"I don't- I don't think that's right," you interjected. Your lips turned up in a grin and a laugh bubbled from your stomach.
"I don't think that's right," Crowley mimicked. "Who asked you, peanut gallery? I'm pretty sure I know what a Democrat is, my lot invented political parties."
The Bentley came to a fire-hot stop.
"Oh no! Crowley, it says no parking," Aziraphale murmured. "What are you going to do?"
"Park." Came the reply.
Crowley was the first to exit the Bentley, slamming the door behind him and pushing a pair of sunglasses on as he strode towards the bookshop. Crowley was better suited as an Inconvenience than as a Demon.
"I don't know why I bothered to ask," Aziraphale said to you. "What matters a parking ticket when he can just... damn it all to Hell? This is Crowley’s world and we’re just… forced to suffer in it.”
The both of you looked at each other before sharing a laugh. Crowley was a most amusing character. He never failed to entertain you. Every day he gave you both a reason to laugh. Simply just by being himself.
You and Aziraphale made your way to the bookshop, arms linked together and discussing happy little topics. Crowley watched you with an endearing smile gracing his lips. You. You were Crowley’s second prized possession. Second only to the Bentley. And not so much a prized possession, but a highly favored human. His precious human being. Aziraphale’s too, if he was being fair.
You were the eldest child of Anathema and Newton Pulsifer. Conceived on the day of Armageddon. Agnes never told them to use protection. So… here you are. Some odd years later.
Aziraphale stumbled upon you almost immediately after you were born. He kept close tabs on all the characters and creatures of Armageddon. Aziraphale had watched you grow up, and in turn, had developed a very soft spot for you in his heart.
Crowley didn’t really take an interest until you were old enough to be fun. And boy, did he take an interest. Crowley absolutely and utterly adored you. He valued human life. A lot. Yours especially.
As a descendant of Agnes Nutter, the first generation after the end of the world, you were gifted with… magic. Real life magic. Shadwell’s worst nightmare. The Witch daughter of a Witchfinder. Your mother was serious and elegant. Your father was, well… his legal name was Newton. Newt for short. Salamander if you happened to forget it. As you liked to put it, your parents shared one brain cell and Anathema had it.
“Come on angel, witch-trials,” Crowley chided as you and your angelic companion approached the bookshop.
Your eyebrows furrowed at the nickname and you giggled under your breath.
“Witch-Trials?”
“Ngk. Salem Witch Trials, really that’s what I oughta’ call you,” Crowley mumbled.
“Crowley! That is so disrespectful. Do you not remember what happened to Agnes Nutter?” Aziraphale scolded as he opened the door to the bookshop. You and Crowley followed in, happy to be back in this comforting space.
Crowley lifted his hands from his pockets and made explosion motions with his hands as he spoke: “Yeap! Blew up like a feckin’ nucluuar bomb. Roofin’ nails, gunpowder. Ka-blewy!”
Choosing to ignore the Agnes Nutter adlib, you looked around the bookshop curiously.
“Did I forget to bring in pumpkins?” You asked softly, hands on your hips.
Another pair of thin arms snaked around your waist and you felt Crowley’s chin against your shoulder. You reached up a hand and gently pressed it against his cheek as you kissed his temple. Crowley was much more affectionate than you expected him to be.
Whereas Aziraphale was very loving and caring, Crowley was bitchy and affectionate. He’d berate you for hours and then hug you until your lungs gave out.
“What do you need pumpkins for, Witch Trials? Going to fill them with Molotov Cocktails? That’s what I would do,” Crowley hummed as his body relaxed into yours.
Your presence was peaceful to him. Aziraphale was comfortable, you were peaceful.
“I believe our dear girl was going to have us… carve pumpkins. What do they call that? Jack’s-Lanterns? Where you… put funny faces on the pumpkins and a little candle on the inside. I think the Americans started it, I saw them once and I thought it was quite charming,” Aziraphale answered.
The angel carefully removed his coat jacket and hung it up, smoothing his vest and adjusting the buttons.
Neither you nor Crowley tried to correct Aziraphale on Jack-O-Lanterns.
“Ah, can’t you just… miracle the pumpkins here?” Crowley asked you, turning his head so his face pressed lovingly against your jaw.
“Crowley, I’ve told you… its not called miracle-ing when you’re an occultist. It’s just normal magic stuff,” you replied. However, you did consider snapping your fingers and filling the room with some beautiful orange pumpkins. But where was the fun in that? Part of the fun in hanging around Crowley and Aziraphale was that they also enjoyed feeling like normal humans. And normal humans would carry the pumpkins in from the car.
“Alright. If you make me go get them, I’m going to miracle the pumpkin guts away. I’m not touching any blasted pumpkin goo,” The demon grumbled.
You grinned. Pumpkin goo.
“Awh, Crowley! That’s part of the fun. Go, you two fetch the pumpkins. I’ll clear out a space. I reckon this is going to get awfully messy.”
✿
“Isn’t Halloween as a whole offense to you lot? The occult?” Crowley asked.
Crowley had stripped down to just his pants and his black dress shirt. The sleeves were rolled all the way up and he was wearing a pair of black leather gloves. Which was ridiculous, you thought, but it was… cute? Aziraphale, on the other hand, had completely changed into a pair of working clothes and had even tied a smock around his neck.
You were wearing one of Aziraphale’s old t-shirts and a pair of comfortable pants. He had to dig the shirt out of storage, seeing as he had never worn it, but the Heavenly Army handed out t-shirts when fabric printing became big on Earth. It said ‘Ask Me About the Bible!’
And yes, you did feel like a Jehovah’s Witness in it.
Crowley meant it when he said he was going to miracle away the pumpkin goo. While you and Aziraphale hand-gutted your pumpkins, Crowley sat like a grouch with a hollowed pumpkin between his legs. He was drawing a face on it with a marker so he could prepare for the carving.
“Ah… I guess. I don’t think Halloween is about the occult anymore. Now people just dress up. It’s about just as offensive to me as it is to you. Or… like Christmas is to the angels. It’s just a silly little things the humans do because they don’t understand the bigger things,” You reasoned.
Aziraphale nodded in understanding and Crowley gazed at you for a while before turning back towards his pumpkin.
“Should I giv’em a happy face or… a grumpy face?” Crowley mumbled, marker scribbling.
You looked over at him and smiled. With a small wave of your fingers, you changed the drawing on his pumpkin to a smiley-face.
“Smiley is traditional.”
You waved your fingers again and the face transformed to a happy kitty face.
“But if you prefer… catty.”
You waved your fingers once more for the final time, the pumpkin’s face transformed into a grinning jack-o-latern. With two little devil horns. And fangs. And grumpy pumpkin eyes.
“Or if that’s not much your style. Devilish.”
Crowley gave you a wickedly delighted grin. He was a big fan of your magic. He wasn’t sure why, but he enjoyed it much more than he should. It didn’t feel like miracles performed by the Celestials. It felt like real magic. The kind they tried to sell in cheap kits for toddlers, or the kind that compelled humans to make wishes when they blew out candles.
There was no limit to your magic,
“Enchantress, how you tempt me so,” Crowley purred.
“You shouldn’t- you shouldn’t joke about that,” Aziraphale interjected with a pointed look to Crowley.
✿