Five Meetings + One Parting

1. Anthony

As soon as he heard the knocking, Fergus rushed to open the door. He knew how angry his mother would be if her sleep was interrupted, and mother had drank rather heavily last night.

He opened the door and stopped staring at the long, slim man standing right outside. The stranger wore fancy clothes – the sort that wasn't usually seen this parts of countryside – and his wide-brimmed hat hid the whole upper part of his face. Fergus could still feel his eyes taking him in; his ragged clothes, bare feet and sore left cheek that his mother had slapped last night when she came home, drunk and bitter and angry. She had shook Fergus awake, screamed of how it was all his fault, "you useless little bastard", and then she had slapped her before staggering on to her own bed.

The stranger cursed. "So it was true…" He tilted his head, and Fergus could see a glimpse of yellow eyes under the brim of his hat. "Tell me, child; your… mother, I guess… Is she called "Rowena"?"

Fergus bite his lip, but there was something in this man – air of authority – that made him answer, "Aye, sir."

"Hmm. And what about you? How old are you, child?"

"I'm five on this Samhain, sir", he answered. That would be in few months... not that he expected his mother to give him anything.

"You will be five, child… Ah, no matter… So, Samhain, you say? How… fitting, I think she had something to do with that timing… Speaking of which (or witch), is your… mother home?" he pronounced the word "mother" as if it let a bad taste in his mouth.

"Aye, sir. …She's sleeping, sir."

"I'll woke her up, then", the man said with a voice that left no place for complaints – not that Fergus was planning to make any complaining; new, hopeful idea had started to form his way in to his mind. "Sir… Are you my father?"

The man, who was already walking past him inside the house, turned to look at him again. Then he said, slowly and contemplatively, "Yes… I suppose I am."

Rowena indeed wasn't happy to be woken up so early, and even less happy she became after she saw the father of her son standing in the middle of her hut, looking disgusted both by the state of her housekeeping and her herself.

"Crowley… What are you doing here?!" she screeched.

"I think that you should already know", he said and nodded towards the boy – who stood beside of his father, looking up at him with eyes gleaming with admiration.

"Who told you?" Rowena demanded. Whoever had dared…!

Crowley shrugged. "I'm not good with the names… She'd made a bad deal and begged me for help. Normally, I won't intervene in situations like that… but then she told me about you. Told me what you did, and what you planned to do. So I did some paperwork for her, and… then, I came for you. Or rather, I came for my son."

Rowena stood up, only thin sheet covering her nakedness, and swing her messy, red hair over her shoulder. "And you came to do… What, exactly? To take him? Sure, why not… the brat is more wasted effort than use anyways. So, go ahead! I mean… If he's ready to leave with a Fallen angel…"

She saw how the boy's eyes went wide. "Fallen angel? A demon…! Are… Are you really, sir?"

Crowley stiffened for a moment before taking of his hat, revealing his face – and yellow, gleaming eyes, with slitted pupils like those of a lizard… or a snake. He then knelt down, so that his face were right before Fergus' – the boy gulped – and said, "Yes – I am a Fallen. Does that scare you, child?"

The boy looked at Crowley's eyes with caution. "Have… have you come to take me away from here?"

The fallen nodded, and stooped then to think before continuing, "Yes… If that's what you want. I can take you with me, and raise you by my self – though I have to admit, I have no idea how to take care of a child – or maybe find an another family to look after you. It's your decision. But if you decide to come with me, I promise to make the best I can to raise you so that you can be happy… I may not know a lot about children, but as it seems, neither do you know a lot about parents (good ones, at least), so maybe we can teach each other's."

The boy was quiet a moment before nodding. "Aye. I would like to go with you, sir… father."

Crowley nodded solemnly and stood up. "What is your name, son?"

"Fergus, sir- father."

The fallen smiled. "That's a good, strong name; now, say goodbye to your mother and go gather your belongings. We adults have few things to discuss about…"

Fergus nodded and bowed towards Rowena. "Goodbye, mother", he said dutifully before hurrying away.

As soon as he'd went, Crowley used a bit of his powers to make sure that he wouldn't return too early, and wouldn't be alarmed by anything that was said and done. Then he turned to look at Rowena, poison in his eyes. "Are you this low, witch? Clearly there's no love lost between the two of you…"

Rowena laughed. "'Love'? What for? He was tool to be used, nothing more… Being Nephilim would have made him a powerful bargaining piece… or a sacrifice…! But they – the coven – were too cowardly to roll the dice and take a chance!"

Crowley shook his head. "You're despicable."

Rowena's felt angel boil inside her stomach. There he stood, looking down at her… looking her like she was something dirty and rotten, like that another man had once done – that man who'd once promised her so much, before walking out of her life, back to his wife and house and family, leaving her to lay there in agony, sticky with her own blood, the miscarried baby on her side…

But that had been a long time ago; long before she'd realized that love was only a weakness. Her coven might hadn't like that she'd laid with a "non-magic and hatched his spawn", but she'd been so sure that bearing a Nephilim, she'd still be able to make it up to them… Surely they'd understand what an opportunity it could have been for them…!

They hadn't, and so she'd been casted out of the coven, let to survive at the best she could… with a useless child she didn't love, couldn't allow herself to love! And then this man, this… thing, this abomination, dared to march in to her hut and look down on her like that…!

"You're in no place to look down at me! Deceiver, first tempter… Who are you to criticize me?!"

The fallen nodded. "You're right, I'm not without blame, myself… that's why –"

– and suddenly he was standing right before Rowena, holding her arms down so that she could not move, other hand over her mouth to silence any spell she could try to utter, and lowered his head towards her shoulder –

"- that's why… I can do this…"

And he bit down on her flesh, great fangs coming out from the roof of his mouth and pumping their poison into her. Rowena screamed muffedly, tears of pain and terror flooding from her eyes.

Then Crowley let go of her and stood few steps pack, smirking at her. "It will take only few hours of my poison to melt your innards completely; I know you have knife hidden somewhere near your person. My advice is that you use it, as long as you still manage to hold it…"

You… you have murdered me! she wanted to scream, but no words came out.

Crowley nodded. "Like you said, I'm no good… There's no cure to my poison, so no reason to try to brew one; my advice still stands. Knife is more merciful than I am."

Rowena's knees went weak and she fell back on her bed. Why can't I -?

"Oh, and I took away your speech, just for a while… I mean, we don't want to scare Fergus, right? You're still his mother… And no children should be forced to hear their mothers screaming of agony – no matter of how rotten excuse of a mother they are!"

That said, Crowley took few more step away from Rowena's bed and called his son. "Fergus! Are you ready to go?"

The boy came rushing to him, eyes shining and cheeks red with excitement. He spared only one look towards his mother, laying over her bed. "Did she go back to sleep?"

"Yes; she was awake late last night, after all", Crowley said.

Fergus glanced once again towards Rowena, before shrugging and taking his father's hand; and then they left the hut together.

And not once did either of them turn to look back.

"Is this really your house, father?" Fergus asked, as he let his gaze wander all over the sizable hall in a two-store house of what his father called to his 'London apartment'. While most of the city was still suffering from the Great fire, at least here no signs of it could be seen.

"Yes, child; or it is at least now. I have a habit to change locations quite often; is that… problematic for you?"

Fergus shook his head quickly. "No, sir – father, I think that's neat!"

"Good." His father smiled clearly relieved. "Ah, um… I should probably repair a room for you… Well, there are three free bedrooms, pick one you like a most and I'll find you furniture's… Let's see, you need a bed, wardrobe – also something to fill it with, I see that you hardly own more clothes than those you wear – a desk, now what more… toys, you need toys – I think. You… do still play with those, do you…?"

Fergus was little overwhelmed by all that. "But… You don't need to buy me anything, father!"

"Nonsense", his father waved him off. "I'm a man – er, manshaped being – trying to live out a certain status, so what do you think it would look like if I'd let my son run around, looking like a common street rascal, and play with… I don't know, rocks or something…?"

By that, Fergus gathered his courage. "If that's so, then… could… could I have a book, father?" he asked hopefully.

His father looked at him. "A book? Some… specific one, or…?"

Fergus shrugged, nervously. "Any book at all, please."

Now father smirked. "Another bookworm, eh? Well, Aziraphale sure will grow into you, then…"

"Whose that?" Fergus asked, little unsure if his father was pleased or not.

"Oh, you'll meet him soon enough… He's an angel, a real thing; he owns a bookstore here in London, too…"

"An… an angel?" Fergus repeated. "You mean… there are angels, too? Like, in real?"

His father tilted his head. "You'd no qualms to believe that I was, indeed, a demon; why would angels be any different?"

Fergus looked at him, thinking first time that his father might be just a little dim. "It's easier to believe in punishment than in redemption", he said simply.

"Ah. Well, fair enough", his father admitted. "But Aziraphale is indeed a real angel. And let me give you an advice: never mistreat any book near of him. Never. I once, purely accidentally, spilled some ink over one scroll, and… no, let's not talk about that", he reckoned, shuddering a bit. "But yes, you'll meet him soon enough. Now, considering other angels", he then said, more seriously, "of them, you need to steer away; I'll ask Aziraphale to help me to put a ward on you, so that they cannot sense you, if you won't reach out for them by yourself. Which you really shouldn't."

Fergus shook his head; he didn't understand everything his father was saying, but he understood that it was important. "I won't, father", he promised.

"Good. Now then, where were we…? Yes, your room… curtains, of course, and I think that carpet would be nice, too…"

"Eh… father, excuse me…" Fergus interrupted timidly.

"Huh? Yes, what is it, child?"

"I… What's your name, father?"

Father looked surprised. "I didn't even introduce myself, did I?"

"Um…"

"Well, that's easily fixed", father said smirking, and then bowed down so theatrically that Fergus couldn't help but giggle a bit. "Anthony J. Crowley, at your service."

"You're funny", Fergus said, and then hurriedly slapped a hand over his mouth, but his father didn't seem offended at all. Quite opposite, since he actually laughed at that.

"You only now realize my comedian talents, wee laddie?" he said with a funny accent.

"So now I'm Fergus Crowley, then", Fergus summarized, kind of liking his now name. "What does that "J" stand for, father?"

"Memento", his father said simply. "I'll explain it some other day… Now, let's choose you a room, and I promise that I'll fill it with books for you, if you want… Aziraphale will probably be more than happy to help us with that… Oh, and that… what's that thing – school? We need to give you a proper education! You see, now days, it's very important if you want to be successful in your life, I mean, certainly you want to, don't you? I need to as Aziraphale, he should know all about that, too…"

Fergus skipped happily after his father, feeling more happy than he ever thought that it was possible to be. He hesitated a moment, before reaching out his hand towards the bigger one of his father's.

Anthony almost jumped when he felt his son touch ghosting over his hand, but didn't give it even a moment's thought before closing the tiny hand inside his own. He'd no idea where these feelings, this protective steak came from, or if it always was there, just waiting for this little boy to appear before him and drag it out.

One thing was clear: No-one, no-one would mess with this child.

He would make sure of that.

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2. Aziraphale

Aziraphale was understandably surprised that when the demon next time appeared behind his door – at least three days early, but since when had Crowley ever been punctual? – with a small child sitting on his shoulders.

"Hey, angel! This is my son; say hi to junior. Fergus, Aziraphale", he said, pointing with his hand when name was said. "Now what do we say?" the demon said to the boy and shake a little his shoulders, making the child giggle.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Aziraphale", the child said and offered a small hand for a shake; Aziraphale took it, still too stunned to quite catch on what was happening.

"Nice to meet you", he mumbled absentmindedly.

The boy – Fergus – looked at him with sparkling, green eyes. "Father said that you've more books than anyone else that he knows! Please, can I see them, please?"

"Planning to let us in any time soon, angel?" the demon said on his part.

Aziraphale shook away his bemusement. "…Yes, of course! Please, come in." The look he gave to Crowley told that the demon would better to have a good explain for this, or else…

Crowley nodded and his eyes signaled back, as soon as the child is not listening. Out of loud he said, "Okay, Fergus; time to jump down, chimp." He bend down on his knees, and the boy slid down from his father's back, only to take his hand as soon as the demon had stood back again.

Aziraphale looked pointedly from Crowley's eyes to their joined hands and back, but the demon only shrugged, Well, what can you do?

"Would you like some tea?" the angel offered.

"Could I see your books, Mr. Aziraphale; please?" the boy asked again, his eyes big and pleading.

"He really likes books", Crowley offered, and smiled fondly down on his son. It was that smile that finally won Aziraphale over, and as soon as he saw it, he also knew that he would do whatever he could to help Crowley with whatever mess he'd now gotten himself into; since from that smile, the angel saw that the demon loved this child, even if he probably doesn't know it by himself.

The thought was strange, since love, as Crowley would probably put it, didn't fit in demons' job description; but then again, Crowley had always been a little strange demon, so maybe it should have been expected.

So Aziraphale smiled too, and said, "He seems little young for that."

The boy – Fergus – stood as long as he could, and answered boldly, "I'm almost five years old, sir, and I learned to read when I was only one!"

Aziraphale was genuinely impressed by that. "Really? Then, my young, book-loving friend, allow me to show you around my bookshop…"

As soon as Fergus had gotten enthralled by one book in Aziraphale's library – Paradise Lost by John Milton, precisely – Anthony sat down with the angel on the other end of the room, so that the child could see them but hopefully not catch too much about their conversation.

"Now, Crowley… Please explain this all to me. I presume that you're seeking my help?"

Anthony nodded. "As you have probably guessed, my son is Nephilim. Since we both know how Heaven sees them nowadays, I ask your aid to hid him from their eyes."

Aziraphale nodded. "And from your side?"

"That, too", Anthony admitted.

Aziraphale took a little sip of his tea. "Please, start from the very beginning. How did this happen? I always thought that you find the sin of lust little too… personal."

Anthony sighed. "Well, there was this Winter Solstice bacchanal few years back, that I had sent to oversee…"

Anthony then told to Aziraphale the whole story about red-haired witch and how he'd woken next morning, unable to clearly recall the events of night before, and how he then had let it slip from his mind… until another witch had told that from that night there was left little more consequences than just hazed memories.

Afterwards, he looked at the angel with guiltiness and determination mixed on his face. "I killed her. When I went to retrieve Fergus; I poisoned her with my fangs and left her to die."

Aziraphale sighed but nodded. "It's not like I can blame you on that."

Anthony was taken aback. "You – huh? Here I thought you were all about "turning your other cheek" and "second chances" and all that stuff…"

The angel smiled wryly. "Isn't it also written, that "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live"? We aren't all good and sunshine, either. And not only did that woman rape you, she also mistreated your son…"

"Hey, hey, hey! It wasn't… I wasn't… raped, or anything, I just…"

Aziraphale looked at him with sympathy. "Well, did you give your consent?"

"I… No. Or… I don't remember."

The angel nodded. "She took advantage of your state, then. And since you were taking effort, one would draw the conclusion that she gave you something to cause that reaction. You said yourself that the drink she gave you had a strange taste…"

"But… but… Well, damn." Anthony was stunned; had he not been already sitting, he would have possible fallen right now. "I… dammit."

Suddenly Aziraphale made a move, as if to hug him; Anthony scooted hurriedly backwards. "Hey! Nothing of that sort!"

His voice made Fergus whip his head up and scowl fiercely at Aziraphale. "Hey! Don't bother my father, mister!"

Aziraphale smiled towards him apolitically. "I'm sorry, young man; sometimes I forgot how nervous your father is towards any kinds of physical shows of affection."

Fergus frowned. "That's a lie!" he said, clearly worked up enough to forgot to watch his tongue, like he normally did. "Father allows me to hug him any time I want!"

Aziraphale nodded solemnly. "But of course, dear; you're his son, after all."

Fergus pondered that seriously a moment before nodding and returning back to his book, only giving Aziraphale few suspicious glances every now and then.

Aziraphale smiled. "He's a good boy", he offered to Anthony.

"And a clever one", Anthony bragged happily. "So well-behaved, even while he's still so young! He even picks up his stuff without me having to ask, and makes absolutely no messes on his clothes, even though I've said that it's okay since that's what children do, or so I've heard…"

"And he clearly loves you so much", the angel mused.

"…And there's that too", Anthony admitted, his voice weakening a bit.

"And you?" Aziraphale pressed on, gently.

Anthony fidgeted nervously. "I… I'm fond of him. Even though I've only been with him a couple day, I… I like his company, of how he admires even the stupidest things I do. I want to protect him, and get worried if I don't see him or know where he is… I would fight for him, and you off all know what kind of a coward I am, so you also know how much it means from me to say so. I… I don't know if that's love but…"

Carefully, Aziraphale laid a hand over his shoulder, making him flinch slightly but not pull back. "It is, dear", the angel assured. "It's more than enough… Anthony." The last word was pronounced by questioning manner, as if Aziraphale wasn't quite sure if it was a name he was supposed to be using.

Anthony looked him at the eyes and smirked slightly. "We've always been like on the same boat here… Aziraphale."

It took little effort to make Fergus swallow the drink that would make placing the Enochian wards on his bones painless, but finally they managed once Anthony promised to take him to the another bookstore (since he really knew that Aziraphale never separated from any of his tomes without a good fight) to buy three new books afterwards.

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3. Growley

A few weeks went by, and Anthony and Fergus were once again visiting Aziraphale's shop. Fergus had by now decided that the angel didn't mean any harm towards his father, and was now completely relaxed in his company, using the angel's library as if it was his own.

Aziraphale had seen right away that there was something bothering the demon, but knew by now that it was better to not push him but let the demon speak once he was ready. So they sat on the sofa, sipping their teas while Fergus was laying on the rug, totally absorbed in his tome (he'd moved to The Tragical History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus by Cristopher Marlowe), till Anthony finally sighed and put his cup down. "Say, Aziraphale…"

"Yes, dear?"

"Since you've read so many books, is there… anything in those that teaches you how to get a child to start sleeping in their own bed?"

Aziraphale lifted one eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Fergus doesn't sleep in his bed. I mean, he goes there every evening, but as soon as I have climbed in my own bed, he's right there, standing in a doorway with a pillow on his armpit, asking if he could sleep with me."

"And you let him?"

"Well, what else I can? At first, I thought it was some kind of phase – it's a new house, a new room, a new father, for someones sake! – I mean, maybe he needs time to get used to it, so I let it continue; but last night I then told him that he really needs to learn to spent whole night in his own room, so he went back – and didn't I just feel myself to a some kind of a villain, demon or not – and so I later went check out how he fared, and didn't I just found him sitting in the corner of his bed, crying his eyes all red and puffy!"

"Oh, poor dear! What did you do then?"

Anthony shrugged helplessly. "What could I do? That night, we slept both in his bed – and now I really need to find a good answer for this matter, for the sake of my back if nothing else!"

Aziraphale nodded. "I see… Um, have you thought about buying him a pet?"

"A pet?" Anthony exclaimed.

"Yes; I mean, clearly he doesn't want to sleep alone, but it's true that he cannot get too accustomed to sleep with you, either. So… maybe, if he'd a living, breathing animal sleeping right next to him, he would feel more… secure?"

Anthony thought about the idea, and more he mulled it over his head, the more he liked it. "Angel", he said seriously, "you're a treasure."

Was it just his imagination or had he really seen, that before Aziraphale quickly lifted his teacup before his face, there was little more color on the angels face than there normally was…?

Few days later, Aziraphale decided to pay a little visit to Anthony's house, just to see if the new pet had helped to ease the situation.

As he stepped on the yard, there was suddenly a warning growl to be heard – and a giant Hellhound, that had clearly be taking a nap before the open doorway, stood up on its four legs, hackles raised and teeth bared.

Wisely, the angel took a step back.

"Growley? What is boy?" Aziraphale heard Fergus calling, and then the boy appeared to the doorway, putting his arms trustfully around the hounds neck, even thought the thing could probably have snapped him half with a one bite. "Oh! Mr. Aziraphale! Did you come to visit us? Did you bring anything for me?" he asked as he saw the angel standing there. The boy stood up and took one step closer; the Hellhound started to growl louder. "Growley!" Fergus scolded, shaking his rosy finger in front of its snout, "Stop that! This is Mr. Aziraphale, and he's father's friend, so do not growl at him!"

The growling stopped, and the Hellhound held his head down, sheepishly.

Fergus patted its head. "Good boy! Please, come closer, Mr. Aziraphale! Let him sniff your scent, so that he recognizes you now on!"

Hesitatingly Aziraphale stepped closer and let the best sniff him all-around; truth to be said, what he'd wanted to do was turn around and leave the same way that he'd came, but some sort of pride hold him still. If the child wasn't scared by this thing, there was no way that he, an angel and a Principality, would run away…!

"…But you yourself said that a pet could help! And it has; nowadays, he sleeps in his room with no problems…!"

"What I meant was a regular pet, like a cat or a dog…"

"Hellhound is a dog!"

"Only technically, and even that is under the debate… And is it really wise to keep that kind of a beast in the house middle of the London…?"

Anthony scoffed. "Does that look like a beast to you?" he said, pointing where his son had climbed on Hellhounds back, holding its ears tightly in his little fists while lightly kicking its hides, spurring it on a run, while the Hellhound just laid down on a rug, clearly unbothered by Fergus' actions.

"…Well, no."

"Besides, he can also protect Fergus, in case that some angel or demon just in accidentally happens to appear in front of him… or a witch-finder or one of the Men of Letters."

"That's all true, of course; but does Fergus understand that he can't tell about his "pet" to anyone else?"

Anthony shrugged. "He knows that only angels or demons – or Nephilim's like him – can see or hear Hellhounds, at least without selling their soul or doing some impressive spell-work, and that if we needs to keep him secret from everybody else. He thinks that the whole thing is super "neat", or something…"

Aziraphale couldn't help but smile. "He's such a cheerful child, isn't he?"

They watched Fergus to climb down off Growley's back and rush towards the stairway, laugh of pure joy on his lips and the Hellhound straight on his heels.

Anthony smiled too. "Indeed he is."

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4. Mary

Seasons kept coming and going, and for the first time Anthony, and Aziraphale to certain degree, really noticed the time that passed by them, leaving them untouched while changing everything else around them.

They were living in Glasgow, a place that Anthony had chosen by using his traditional method: a dart and a map. Fergus was now twenty-one years old; he'd grown up into a bright, talented young man, and was currently working as an accountant in training in a big shipping company. He was sharp with his money and adamant to one day open his own company.

One evening Fergus came home with his eyes gleaming brightly and cheeks red with excitement. "I've found her!" he greeted his father. Growley, who had slept on a sofa beside Anthony, jumped down and leaped to his master's side. Fergus ruffled Hellhound's ears affectionately while smiling widely at his father.

Anthony looked at him puzzledly. "Found whom?"

"The girl I'll marry!" Fergus replied with certainty of a young, enamored man, and threw himself down on armchair, Growley coming to lay on his feet.

Anthony knew he shouldn't be overly surprised – Fergus had started to notice girls when he was fourteen, and now that he'd proved himself as a someone with stable income and bright future ahead, they too had started to take notice of him (and of course it didn't do any harm that he was rather easy on the eye) – but so far word "marriage" had never be spoken out.

"Oh? And does this maiden have a name?" Anthony pried.

"Mary MacKenna", Fergus said dreamily. "Oh! What a heavenly name!"

His father rolled his eyes. "Tell me about her", he asked, knowing that that was exactly what Fergus wanted to do.

Duiring the evening, he get to know all about Mary MacKenna, who had came to Glasgow to visit her aunt, who in turn was a mother of one of Fergus' closest friends; how warm were her brown eyes, how white was her neck ("Like a swan!" Fergus moaned), how cute were the freckles over her tiny, and how her cheeks were like apples and her lips like rose petals, soft and enticing…

Anthony leaned back on his chair and looked at his child talking animatedly about the girl of his dreams, and his thoughts were bittersweet. Well, it's not like I ever thought that I could keep him as my little boy forever…

Mary MacKenna proved out to be, not some etheric, fairy-like being as someone would have concluded from Fergus' eulogy, but rather short and ordinary looking young woman with brown curls and shy, down-casted eyes; but her face were, if not downright beautiful, at least very pretty, and her freckles, pointy chin and just a little bit upright nose put together gave her face a personal, if not little impish, look. She had that body type that was often combined to a motherly disposition: short stature, rounded shoulders, a bit plump arms, soft, tiny hands, round hips – and, as far as Anthony could estimate, her bosom was also rather, er, plentiful.

And once she finally overcame her shyness, raised har gaze and smiled sweetly at Anthony (who was introduced to the MacKennas as Fergus' older cousin, considering how he didn't look much more than ten years older than his son), her big, chocolate-brown eyes sparkling with happiness and kindness, the demon could very well see, if not really understand, what had made his son to fell on her.

Three years later Anthony and Aziraphale watched as Fergus and Mary bid their lives together.

"You should leave right away if it starts to feel too much", Aziraphale warned as he patted the demon's hand. "Fergus will understand…"

"I'm fine", Anthony grunted, even though he really wasn't; standing on the holy ground, in a church, was taking it's tool on him. But he wanted to be there, he had to share this moment with his son.

"He's grown so much", Aziraphale muttered.

Anthony nodded. "Yeah", he agreed. "When on earth did that happen? I could swear that just yesterday he was that little boy who ran to my room at mornings and jumped all over me until I rose up."

Aziraphale smiled wistfully. "It's so easy to forgot how fast the time flows, when it has no meaning for us, my dear."

Anthony sighed. "True, so true…" He watched as groom put a ring on his bride's finger while audience cheered. "Now he's going to start his own life, raise a family of his own… And leaving me all alone, with only a Hellhound on my side… And you, of course", he added, turning to look at Aziraphale, looking uncommonly shy.

The angel smiled and took his hand into his own. "You'll never get rid of me now, my dear", he promised.

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5. Gavin

Few more years passed; Antony changed his location once again, as his ever-lasting youthfulness would soon start to raise too many questions. He once again returned to London, and started to live on in his old house, now presenting himself as his own son. Of course he only returned to London because he'd all things already settled down there, and because familiar house would maybe help Growley over the depression he'd gotten after it came clear that he could not follow his master to this new journey of his life – the decision had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Aziraphale was also living there.

Fergus, who now had started his own shipping company and was cautiously hopeful with the results, visited his father every couple of months, spending a week in the house where he'd lived as a child, making walks with his beloved Hellhound and staying awake to the late of night, wining and talking with Anthony and Aziraphale. Of course there would have been easier ways to meet – it wouldn't had taken Anthony to no time to fly to Glasgow in everyday, had he wanted – but Fergus wished to gift his wife a normal life with no supernatural relatives popping up out of nowhere, and Anthony had decided to respect that wish.

Then one year Fergus once again came to visit them, looking like his face didn't quite know which kind of expression they should be wearing, and said, "Mary's pregnant!"

Anthony stared at him as if he couldn't quite catch it.

"Pregnant, father!" his son repeated. "Like, having a baby. WE'RE having a baby. I'll be father!" Even his voice sounded like it was having mixed feelings, half joyful, half panicked.

"Sit down, dear", offered Aziraphale, who once again get to work as their saving grace. "Would you like some tea?"

They all sat down and relaxed, with warm cups in their hands and Growley rushing all around them, tail wagging wildly, happy that all of his pack was once again together.

As soon as Anthony had got his thoughts gathered, he remembered his manners. "So, uh. Congratulations", the stammered.

Aziraphale smiled too. "Is Mary faring well?" he asked.

Fergus nodded, pride and fondness in his eyes as he thought about his wife. "Oh yes. She's very… radiant. Her mother came to live with her while I'm here, and she'll come again once her time is nearing, and probably stay few months to help her with all… stuff, I guess."

"And what about you?" Aziraphale queried.

Fergus shrugged. "Well, of course I'm happy. I'm just… I don't know. Bemused? Worried? … I don't know."

Anthony smiled and put his cup down. "I understand what you mean. I mean, when I heard that there was a child of my flesh and blood out there, growing up in a hands of a classical evil witch? Well, of course I knew right away that I had to do something to make sure you were safe… But damn, weren't I worried that I would just mess you up somehow! But look at you now: against all odds, you grew up to be a decent man, after all!"

Fergus rolled his eyes. "Oh, please! You were a perfect father, and you know that."

"Well, I'm not one to brag… No, of course I am! But seriously, when I took you in, I at first had no idea what to do with you! I mean, my memories of my previous childhoods – when I was someone else – are more than little blurry, and most of them aren't even relatively good memories; but then I just decided to treat you as I thought that I'd wanted to be treated, and eventually it went pretty well, even if I say so myself!"

Fergus tilted his head. "So… be to your child the kind of father that you'd wanted your father to be to you?" he asked with a impish smirk.

"Exactly… Hey! Are you trying to make it sound like I was quoting Jesus, huh?"

"Well, if shoe fits…" Fergus laughed. "But I understand what you meant. I'll just need to be just like you… Well, minus the things like you pinching cookies from my jar and then blaming Az…"

"What?!" Aziraphale huffed as he turned to glare at the sheepishly smiling demon. "Dear, you didn't…!"

"Um…"

Fergus shook his head amusedly. "But… You'll both come to see us, don't you now? Once the baby has born. You could probably pass as my older cousin's son, I think…"

"Yes, of course", Anthony said hurriedly, trying to distract the angel. "Just sent a message, and we'll be there."

"Thank you, father."

"Aren't he just so small?" Aziraphale breathed out, scared to speak too loudly as if his voice could somehow hurt that tiny, pinky thing in Anthony's arms.

Anthony, in his turn, sat stiffly on the armchair. He hadn't moved and inch after smirking Fergus has passed the sleeping infant in his grandfather's arms before vanishing somewhere and leaving him there, too scare to move in case that he managed to drop the baby down and broke his fragile limbs into a little pieces.

"Oh, he's so adorable", Aziraphale kept musing on. "Just look at these tiny little fingers of his…!"

"I never took you as someone who likes babies", Fergus said as he came back to them, wineglass in both of his hands. "Then again, I never thought that you would be scared of babies, father…"

"Well, har har! I'll let you know, I've never held anyone this small before! You were much bigger when we meet…"

"Well, obliviously since I was almost five years old and he has barely five weeks behind him", Fergus muttered as he offered both glasses to Aziraphale on took his son from his father. "Hey there, Gavin. Did you give a scare to your grandfather, yes?"

"I wasn't scared! And stop holding him so carelessly, you might drop him!"

Fergus sighed. "I know what I'm doing –"

"– Which something that wouldn't have been possible to believe just a few weeks ago", said a gentle voice and Mary joined their company, looking little worn out but happier than ever. "Remember? You were all the time worrying around, driving my mother almost lunatic…"

"She banned me from my wife's bedroom!" Fergus told to Anthony and Aziraphale.

"Because she didn't want you to stress me out", Mary reminded, and reached out to brush her son's cheek with tips of her fingers. "Just look at him, sleeping like a little cherub…"

"But not for long", Fergus assumed wryly. "I let you know, this boy can scream like a banshee!" But his face were beaming with proud as he said that.

Mary turned towards Anthony. "I was so sorry to hear about your father passing by", she said eyes shining with sympathy. "He was a true gentleman… Did you know that he was Fergus' spokesperson when asking my hand from my father?" she asked, giving an admiring glance towards his husband.

Anthony nodded seriously. "He told me that – said that you're one of the most loveliest brides that he ever had honor to see", he added with a wink.

Mary blushed. "Oh my!" she giggled. "Well, it's best that I take Gavin now", she then said to Fergus, "he's going to wake up soon, and no doubt that he'll be hungry… It was nice to meet you – both of you", she said, curtseying little clumsily with the baby in her arms – "Be careful!" came from three mouths simultaneously – and then she left the room.

Anthony smirked at his son. "Scared, huh?"

Fergus rolled his eyes. "Let's not start that again." He was quiet for a moment, before saying, "Hey, father?"

"Huh?"

"About his name – Well, Gavin was Mary's father's – my father-in-law's – name, who died duiring the Jacobite rising, and so we decided to honor him by naming our son after him, right?" Fergus said hurriedly, looking at his father's eyes like he really, really wanted him to pay attention on and understand what his son was saying.

"I see…" Anthony said and nodded, even though he'd now idea what Fergus was fussing about.

"Good. But, now, that's not his whole name." Fergus took a deep breath. "My son's full name is Gavin Anthony Crowley."

Anthony – well, it took him a couple of seconds to process that inside of his brains. Then he uttered out, "Oh." And then, little louder, "Oh!"

And then Aziraphale smiled with tears in his eyes while he watched father and son hugging each other.

.

.

+1. Fergus

Years went by; Fergus and Mary were blessed with four more children, daughters Lorna, Agnes and Margaret, and a son named Douglas. Fergus' shipping company was grown and flourishing, and Anthony would always fondly remember the pride of his sons face when he retold about twelve-years old Gavin starting his own training in his fathers company. "Of course he still must finish his school, too", Fergus had assured. "Since proper education seems to equal successfulness, or so have I heard…"

Anthony was vaguely aware of the passing of time, but intentionally turned a blind I, refusing to see how his son got more silver on his browns and lines on his face.

Reality made a first check when Mary died, taken over by illness while she was fifty-five years old. While her family mourned her, Anthony was left with horrible realization: that one day, he would loose Fergus, too.

Of course he'd know it; Nephilim don't normally live any longer than regular humans do. But to rationally know something and realize inevitable truth are two completely different things to do. Fergus was now fifty-eight, still strong and competent man, but already time was taking it tool on him.

After that, Anthony wanted meet his son more often, and Fergus gladly accepted. Gavin, now thirty-years-old, was already taking more and more responsibilities in the company; all Fergus' three daughters had by now married and moved on their own houses, and his younger son, who had never much care about his father's company, was busy with his studies (to become a priest, of all things!). Fergus had now more time in his hands that he'd ever thought about, time that he once thought he would've spent with his wife, and a big, empty house to remind him of his lost; spending time with his father helped him to cope with that.

"Just promise me", Anthony said one evening after drinking way too much wine and almost falling face-down on the floor, "promise me that you won't leave without saying good-byes."

Fergus, who immediately knew what his father meant, squeezed his shoulder reassuringly; "I promise."

One night, little after Fergus' sixty-third birthday, Anthony woke up middle of the night (was it Growley's whine that woke him up? Or did some part of him already know what was coming?), and saw his son standing beside his bed; but it wasn't Fergus in his current state, who probably was still laying in his own bed in his Glasgow's house – no, this was the child he'd been so many years ago, when he still climbed in his father's bed late at night to seek comfort.

Anthony know immediately what it was.

"So", he said with wavering voice, "these are the good-byes?"

The image of his son nodded serenely.

"Right", Anthony said, "right." He looked at his son. "Were you happy? Was… was I good enough of a father to you?"

The child smiled and reached out his hand, letting it hover over Anthony's cheek; the demon know that if he tried to touch it, he wouldn't meet flesh and skin but only empty air. Fergus lips moved, with no words coming out, but Anthony didn't need to hear his voice to read the message: I love you.

He felt tears burning in his eyes but didn't dare to brush them off, afraid that his son would dissolve into empty air as soon as he took his eyes away from him. "I love you too, son", he said instead, not caring how teary his voice was. "I'm happy that I got to meet you. With you I… I first time felt like I was really living. Thank you for that." There was so much more that Anthony wanted to say, so much more to tell, but he knew that their time had run out; Fergus was already became more transparent. "Go with ease, child; I'll look after your children – not that they need it, you raised them well – and I'll have Aziraphale – and Growley – to look after me, so you don't need to worry about me, either; I know Mary's waiting for you. I – I love you."

Fergus only smiled once more and vanished before his eyes. Growley, who'd stood stiffly and silently on the other side of the bed duiring whole order, now climbed up to the bed and buried his snout in Anthony's hair; the Hellhound, too, was mourning, after loosing it master and dearest friend.

Anthony hugged the hound, and for a first time since his fall, he heard himself praying, "Please, Az, I need here, I can't go through this on my own!"

It didn't take long for him to feel how the mattress dipped as someone else sat down, and then soft arms came to encircle him. No words were said; the whole night the angel just sat there, hugging his demon and gently stroking his hair while the demon kept his face buried in a Hellhounds fur, crying of the lost of his only son.

They were invited to the burial – or, Anthony's father or grandfather was; he'd stopped caring which generation they'd going on anymore. Ceremony was quiet and respectful, and Anthony who sat with Aziraphale on the back row was quite surprised of how many people had arrived; Fergus children of course, with their families, but also many relatives from Mary's side of the family and numerous friends, workers and business partners.

Anthony went through the whole thing like he'd been only half-consious; both the pain of his lost and the agony caused by intruding the holy ground were taking their tool on him, so that he hardly registered what was going on. Eventually Aziraphale had to lead him around like he was some lost toddler, and was almost holding him up as they watched Fergus' coffin being lowered to the grave. He know that some people were throwing looks at them, probably thinking that he was drunk, but he didn't care; he'd just lost his son, dammit!

At some point Anthony finally realized that someone had came to stand beside them and was saying something to him.

"Ah? Excuse me?" he said.

The man smiled sympathetically. "It's fine. I just wanted to ask if you're Mr. Anthony J. Crowley?"

Anthony tried to remember if he was still (or again?) using that name and decided that it didn't really matter. "Yes, that's me", he said instead.

The man nodded. "I'm Gavin Anthony Crowley." He gestured towards the grave that was now being filled. "He was my father."

Anthony nodded, now feeling little stupid for not immediately recognizing his grandson. "Ah. My condolences."

Gavin looked at him searchingly. "Or should it be me giving my condolences to you?"

Anthony stiffened a little; beside him, Aziraphale did the same. "What do you mean? He was only a cousin of my grandfathers – no, wait, my great-grandfathers? I'm sure that you being his son means -"

Gavin shook his head. "Please, don't take me as a fool, mister. I know. At least, I think I do."

"And what might it be that you know?" asked Aziraphale.

Slightly hesitating, Gavin bite his lip. "It – it sounds crazy, but think –", he shook his head, "– No, I know that I'm right." He took a deep breath, before continuing. "My father told these stories when I was young – of these two immortal beings, angel and demon, who lived in London… and of the child that came to live with them." He looked soberly at them. "He told them to me almost every night, so vividly that you almost believed them being true stories – well, to me they were, I think. At some point, my mother asked him to start telling me more proper stories, and I never heard those again – until recently."

"You mean – before he died?" Aziraphale asked carefully. "You must understand, that in an old age –"

"My father wasn't delirious, mister", Gavin interrupted firmly. "He was in his right mind, once again telling stories for both of us sake, to remind us of fond memories – Douglas of course didn't want to hear about those, called them heresy and wanted me to stop father from telling them – but how could I had, while they brought him so much joy?"

Aziraphale nodded. "Yes, I see. But that doesn't still explain –"

This time it was Anthony who interrupted him. "Please, Az. Let him talk."

Gavin continued as if he hadn't even heard them. "If it had been only stories, I wouldn't have paid much attention… but there was so much more. Like this one cousin, who no-one of us ever saw, even though he couldn't have been but a ten years older than our father was… And who apparently had a son, looking exactly the same… and being exactly the same age that his father was when my mother meet him? And now his son, once again in his early thirties, looking just like his father… You see what I'm getting into?"

"I do", Anthony whispered.

"And then the night my father died… I was alone him in his last moments. He was coherent to the very end, but he kept telling "I need to meet my father, I promised I wouldn't leave without saying good byes"… And then he asked me to open his drawer and give him a little bag that was there… It scented strongly of herbs, and I know right away that my brother would have called it witchcraft – and in my father's stories, the little boy had lived with an evil witch before the demon took him in.

"I gave the bag to my father, and once he took it, his face went peaceful and he smiled at me before saying, "I'm going to join your mother soon now, son. I only have one more stop to do before that… please, after I've dies, take this bag and burn it; don't let it tarnish my memory in your siblings eyes". I went to say, "please don't say that, father"; but then, he just gestured me to come closer, and kissed me on my forehead and said, "I love you, Gavin. I love you all, you and your siblings… Please tell them that I'm sorry that I couldn't wait any longer". And then he closed his eyes and never opened them again."

There were tears shining in Gavin's eyes. "I sat beside him till he stopped breathing; after that, I took the bag and burned it, just like he'd asked…"

"You did the right thing", Anthony said quietly.

Gavin nodded. "He was never worried that he would "tarnish" my image of him; never. That's why he told me all those stories… He knew that I would understand. He knew that I wouldn't judge him…" He looked Anthony at the eyes. "Tell me, did he truly come to you? Did he say his goodbyes? … You're my grandfather, aren't you?"

Anthony felt his shoulders slumber. "Yes… Yes, he did; and yes, I am. I am – was – am his father, and I'm your grandfather."

Gavin nodded. "And you're a demon."

"That, too", Anthony admitted. "Does it… bother you?"

Gavin tilted his head. "Not as much as it should – and certainly less than it would bother Douglas. Like I said… Nothing can tarnish my fathers memory in my eyes. And since you're the one who raised him to be the man he was, you cannot be all that bad altogether."

"He isn't", Aziraphale assured, and squeezed Anthony's hand. "Sometimes I swear that he's not bad at all."

"And you're the angel…" Gavin shook his head, "Even while I expected this, it's still little overwhelming to have characters from my childhoods fairytales come to a flesh in front of me…"

"I hope that you won't have to get used to it", Anthony said somberly.

After that, none of them know what to say next; what you say to a grandchild, who has always thought you were only his distant relative? What to say to a grandfather who you never knew you have?

They watched as gravestone was put in its place; Fergus Crowley, 1661-1723; Beloved husband and father; rest in peace.

"They would have wanted there something from a Bible", Gavin said, "but I was against it. I said that it would have been hypocritical, since father was never a religious man… I guess I now understand why."

"It's hard to take angels seriously after you've seen one bitching about too much sugar in his tea", Anthony admitted.

"Or be too worried about Hell, when your father's from there… I see they finally gave up of that."

"They know that I was closest with him. Not that he didn't love my siblings, too", Gavin added hastily. "We just… We were on the same page, father and I."

Anthony nodded. "I see", he said, and felt now wave of dizziness sail through his body, forcing him to lean heavily on Aziraphale shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Gavin asked.

"This is sacred ground we're standing upon", Az answered. "It's not easy for him to dwell on here, being a demon."

"Yet he still came."

Anthony sighed. "I did, for my son."

Aziraphale looked at him with worry in his eyes. "I should take him home", he said.

Gavin nodded, and then said, little timidly, "Will I see you again?"

Anthony and Aziraphale shared a look, before the demon answered. "I'm not sure if that's wise… But I'll tell you this: If you need me – us – we're here. Always."

"Just give us a prayer", Aziraphale added.

The church bells started to ring, and Gavin turned his head to look towards the bell tower.

Before he'd time to look back, the demon and the angel were already gone.

Few days later Anthony looked around in the house he'd lived so long. Everything personal had already been taken away, and everything was clean and ready for a new people to make it their home.

"So many good memories", Anthony muttered and patted Growley's head; the Hellhound barked affirmatively. "Well, I think it's time for us to take now once, don't you think?"

"Dear? Are you ready?" Aziraphale called from outside.

"Coming!" the demon answered, and after one, final look he stepped out of door, Growley on his heels, and locked the door for a very last time.

"No regrets?" Aziraphale asked as they walked down on the street.

"Nah", Anthony said, "I'll probably have time for those after you drive me crazy with your books and tea and muffins…"

The angel punched him very lightly on the shoulder. "Oh, I'm sure that you'll pay me back equally… being all snuggly and lazy and falling asleep in my lap…"

"That was only once!" the demon denied.

"Whatever you say, dear…"

Their friendly banter continued as they walked towards Aziraphale's bookstore – towards home – hand in hand, their fingers laced together and happy Hellhound following them with his tail wagging.

It was a beautiful day indeed to start their future.

.

.

Explaining (a lot of it):

1) As those who have read Angelic Family know, J. in Anthony J. Crowley's name on my head-canon stands for Jörmungandr, and he was Loke's child in his previous life – but he's also every single Snake in every single mythology and religion, like Apep from ancient Egypt or the Rainbow Serpent, a common deity in Aboriginal Australia. Jörmungandr just happens to be his latest motive before he became the Snake of Eden in Christianity, which is one of the youngest religions around here. (Judaism is much older, but even though the Snake of Eden appears also in Torah, undertones are different for Jews than for Christians – from what I've read, the snake is either seen as just a regular (talking) snake, or then as God's "employee", who tests Adam and Eve's loyalty towards God – so they're different incarnations that just repeat the same theme.)

2) I wanted to wrote something about Rowena's (canon) backstory, just to explain why she acted like she did towards Fergus (because no-one is rotten from a birth, we are all shaped by our experiences). From what I gathered (I still haven't watched season 11 yet!), Fergus canonical father abandoned her after she gave birth to their son, and left her lay on a mat, half dead and still slick with blood. I wanted to add this, so I changed it to a different baby and made the pregnancy end up in miscarriage. (And now I feel horrible…)

3) I know lot of the words and phrases I use weren't probably used in 17th century! Let's just assume that this work of text has been translated to modern English, like many fantasy books are also claimed to be actually only translated from the original (fictional) language by the (e.g. a German author Walter Moers, who claims to be a humble translator of works of the legendary Zamonian author Hildegunst von Mythenmetz, the dragon).

4) I chose the books which Fergus reads in Az's bookstore because they felt nicely ironic; John Milton's Paradise Lost tells about fallen angel (aka Lucifer, but I think Anthony also fits nicely in the category), and Dr. Faustus by Cristopher Marlowe is about man selling his soul to devil – like Fergus does in his original timeline.

5) Mary should of course be Moire in Gaelic, but since Fergus' name is also an Anglicisation (Gaelic version is Fearghas), I decided to use Mary instead. (Fearghas, by the way, means "man of vigour", and that's why Anthony complimented it being a strong name. Gavin instead is a medieval form of name Gawain).

6) If anyone is interested about the years and ages, here's a timeline I used:

Year – Fergus' Age: Event

1661 – 0: Fergus is born

1666 – 5: Fergus meets Anthony (+ Mary is born)

1682 – 21: Fergus meets Mary (16)

1685 – 24: Fergus marries Mary

1689 – 28: Gavin is born

1691 – 30: Lorna is born

1692 – 31: Agnes is born

1695 – 34: Margaret is born

1698 – 37: Douglas is born

1719 – 58: Mary dies (53)

1723 – 63: Fergus dies