... Yeah. I have no excuse. But it was fun. Probably the only M-preg I'll ever write.
Prompt: We've had a few A/C m-preg fics here, but I've yet to see one where Crowley's the one who's knocked up. Maybe he gets discorporated and Hell decides to give him a replacement body that can get pregnant as punishment for the Not Quite Apocalypse Incident? Bonus points for multiples.
The radio crackled to life. "Hi there." said Crowley neutrally, being sure to keep his anger in check.
"Crowley, is that you?" Demonic snickering in the background, barely audible above the static.
"Why yes, it's me. And you lot've given me a defective body."
"Whatever gives you that idea?" Dagon said cheerfully. There was more background laughter.
"Because," Crowley started in a tone usually reserved for idiots, the slow-witted and people bothering you on a bad day, "I, for one, can't change my shape with it, which I suppose is your idea of a joke. But there's more. I haven't eaten for at least a week, and still I've been gaining weight. The fact that I've been gaining weight at all is an anomaly in itself."
Dagon giggled. He actually giggled, like a pre-teen girl in a frilly dress. Someone else replied in his stead.
"Aww, you've been starving yourself and your little Nephil? What a bad mamma you are." Hastur let out a mean little laugh.
"We're all looking forward to the results of this glorious, hehe, experiment where the demon is the pregnant, hihi, parent for a change." Crowley vaguely remembered the new voice as belonging to someone who was demoted to the level of an imp. He couldn't be bothered to have ever remembered their name.
"Aha." Crowley said slowly, skepticism still keeping the panic down. "And whose idea was this, exactly?"
"Oh! Oh!" said and exited female voice. Crowley did recognize this one; a low ranked succubus, too dumb and too nice to lie and an utter masochist, which explained how she lasted in hell. "I know! It was the humans. You see, us succubae got access to something called internet, which is a connection to the fangirl layer of hell*, and they said stuff about M-preg, and we sorta mentioned it at the office, and once the blokes had gotten over most of the revulsion, they thought it a nice prank, and some had a grudge against you anyway, and then you were discorporated by that truck, that horde of elephants, those killer bees, those piranhas and the moon**, they just gave you a body with that option, and of course, seeing as you're the original tempter, you get laid enough by plenty different sorts of humans to get you preggers!" ... said the succubus cheerfully, who was lucky indeed that she did not actually need to breathe.
"Oh." said Crowley weakly. "Nephil, you said?"
"Well, yes, that's what it's called when a human and an angel well, fallen angel in your case, go at it and make a totally cuta and adorable tiny little hell-Nephi..."
The succubus was audibly shoved aside.
"Crowley, if you even think about aborting your little treasure, we'll torture you longer than it takes to raise the brat. And I'll enjoy it, Crawlee." Hastur drawled. "I really will."
Crowley sighed and pressed the off-button.
"Wait, can I be it's aunt, pleeaaa..." The voice of the succubus died away.
Crowley rubbed his temples. And then lightly touched his belly, where, if what they had said was true, grew something that was most definitely not a Nephil. Or a snake.
"Oh fuck." he said.
He tried to get to terms with it, and mostly failed. Then he realized he had to tell the angel. He groaned and rested his head against the steering wheel until he felt a bit, not better, but calmer.
* Credit to the writer/writers of Manchester Lost and its sequel for that specific part of hell.
** When subject to infernal bureaucracy, it does not pay to use understatements.
Crowley had eventually decided to use the more-or-less honest sideways-straightforward approach. Which sort of began with "I contacted hell yesterday because I thought they had gotten me a defective body." and more or less ended with "But since the only person I ever slept with is you, uhm, well, I guess there's a bit of a possibility that you're going to be a father."
Crowley looked up from the cup of tea he'd been talking into to see an angel in the grasp of mild shock, silent horror and the desperate need for a drink. The distant stare got a bit creepy after a while.
"Aziraphale?" Crowley ventured.
Aziraphale seemed to wake up from something. His eyes focused on Crowley and he smiled, rather sickly. "Oh, don't you worry, dear boy. There's, ah, medicine and operations these days to help you with childbirth and all, isn't there? And oh, we must make certain you're a little less, well, thin and all on beforehand perhaps?"
"Aziraphale?" Crowley said, slightly taken aback by the angels forced cheer.
"My full size was originally 700 cubits*, if you care to remember! I've always scaled myself down to a more human size, but... Don't you remember how many of those poor girls died in childbirth? Oh!"
Aziraphale slammed his head against the table. "Sons of God and daughters of men... those children were far too large for them. And you..."
"Discorporated." said Crowley.
Aziraphale looked up.
"Discorporated, angel, in the worst case. We're immortal, remember? And one of those Caesarean sections to give birth does sound like a good idea to prevent all that mess. And anyway, we're human-shaped, and even the biggest Nephilim weren't that much larger than an ordinary human child. Even Adam ended up the same size and shape as your average human baby, right? And like you just said, humans did come a long way with medicine and such since then. And... actually, I'd rather not think about it all too much."
"Well, alright." said Aziraphale, and he didn't say: "But angels never had children before with their own kind, fallen or not." or "But what if it isn't just a pregnancy of the body, but your real you too? If something were to happen to you then?"
Instead he said: " You can't drink any alcohol, though. It'd be bad for the baby."
"Well shit." said Crowley.
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows in a way that meant "Language, dear." and drank his tea.
Crowley shrugged and moved his head in a way that meant "Yeah, sorry." and "Oh, you know me." at the same time. He took a biscuit.
* Which translates to really freaking huge. The observation is shamelessly jacked from http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dr-clef-s-proposal of the SCP-foundation, in which the guardian to the Eastern gate to Eden is described. On a rather grim-apocalypse-happy site, I might add.
Since there are angels around that are basically sparkly wheels with eyes on them, and one description of the angel of Death is a giant ball of eyeballs of which one closes whenever someone dies, and four heads is practically normal for angels, I find this little bit of improbable info completely acceptable to use.
"So, no alcohol." Crowley said after a while.
"Oh, no, dear, most certainly not. It interferes with the development of nerves, and as such, the brain and the spinal chord. It'd be horrible. And as for other things, well, don't eat too much salt and such, thing like cigarettes are also a bad idea, babies that get addicted to anything while unborn either cry an awful lot or are far too silent and are terribly unhealthy in any case. Coffee might also not be the best of ideas. I don't know what it could do, but all that caffeine can't be good."
"And sex?" Crowley said with a wry expression that implied something along the lines of "Is everything pleasurable forbidden to me now?"
"Oh, women can have sex while pregnant, right up to the contractions. I don't know whether that'd be the case with you, although it's probably similar.
"How come you know so much about pregnancy anyway?"
"Uhm, well, having to help people and such, and you pick things up a bit..." It wasn't a lie, not exactly, but Crowley knew Aziraphale and he could outstare almost anyone.*
"Alright, alright, and I read womens magazines. They have crosswords in them too, sometimes."
"But that was not the reason you started reading them."
Aziraphale looked away and mumbled a bit.
"What was that?"
"I said, they had advice for seducing men in them."
Crowley sipped his tea.
"Well, you are mostly male, mentally and all."
Crowley shrugged. "Seeing it's you, any way probably would have worked." Then he grinned. "Then again, it is rather flattering you go to such lengths to try to get my attention."
Aziraphale was only mildly placated by the concealed confession of love, but at least he was sufficiently distracted from his worries.
* Vicious skinny old Lancre witches excepted.
The next two months went by almost normally, except that Crowley now avoided alcohol like the plague after a very educational half hour on the internet concerning its effects on unborn children.
And Aziraphale was far more careful during sex. Mostly in the way of not leaning on Crowley's belly. He got nearly obsessively careful, but then Crowley got fed up with that, and made Aziraphale reconsider the value of compromising, balance, moderation, that sort of thing. And also of blindfolds. And viciously dominant lovers.
Crowley had expected the whole morning sickness thing, but except for a feeling of nausea in the mornings during what he estimated to be about the third month, it simply didn't happen.
His belly was getting noticeable, though. He didn't fit his clothes as well anymore. And he refused to wear Aziraphale's. Even the ones without patterns just had the wrong fabric and cut.
"I," said Crowley while standing on the stairs wearing a sweater Aziraphale had persuaded him to try, "refuse to wear this in public."
Aziraphale looked up from his crossword to see a rather lithely built, indignant demon in a fluffy blue over-sized sweater, which, as he was looking, sagged down from one shoulder.
"Ah, yes." said Aziraphale. "Not in public. Naturally."
Crowley blinked.
"Can't have you leaving the house with no clothes. With clothes you don't like, I mean." Aziraphale babbled.
Crowley pictured how he must look, in only tight trousers and... He managed to turn an appearing grin in a coquettish smile. Getting clothes came... later.
They eventually got Crowley maternity clothing targeted at businesswomen. Arranging that any bystanders believed that Crowley was female took care of the stares.
Aziraphale did insist on getting Crowley a doctor, though. Crowley didn't disagree, especially not since he had found out how impossible it was to give birth with a male pelvic bone-structure.
And besides, he'd have some nice information to send to downstairs. Especially on how and why the Caesarean option was the preferable one. He just knew he'd get at least some fun in explaining that one.
"So I was wondering whether this body is oviparous."
"Whut?"
"Does it lay eggs?"
"Course not, yur not a bird."
"No, but I am the serpent, and snakes do lay eggs."
"So sorry to disappoint, Crawly, but no." said a Hastur that enjoyed himself far too much.
"And I suppose I also haven't been given, say, female hips and such for giving birth?"
Hastur snickered nastily. "No. You're all male, except for that uterus connected to your..."
"Right, right, just asking. I just wanted to make sure whether or not a Caesarean section was my only option."
"Whut?" said the person who had first answered him again.
Crowley explained. In detail.
"You're saying," Hastur said slowly, "that humans cut open their women when they're about to give birth?"
"Oh, no, only in the cases where the natural way is more of a hazard to the mother and child, or simply impossible, such as, for example, with hips that are far too narrow on the inside. And seeing as my hips are decidedly male, and I can't even change them... I haven't got a choice, really. Especially since I have no wish whatsoever to walk around with a few pounds of dead, rotting child in my abdomen. Or, if these contractions are also something I can't do anything about, to get discorporated in an extremely painful way. I mean, the healthy women going trough such a thing already experience enough pain for them to wish they'd die. I'd rather not go trough anything worse than that."
"So you let yourself get carved open." said Hastur in a bit of a dumbfounded sort of tone.
"Well, it's not like you left me a choice, now did you." snarled Crowley while trying not to laugh.
It wasn't every day you had the opportunity to instill horror in a duke of hell.
"Is there anything else you'd like me to report?" he said as icily as he could.
"Huh? Oh, no. No. This is alright for now." said Hastur. He sounded like he was going to be sick.
Crowley made certain the connection was broken before he laughed out loud.
It was easier to convince the medical personnel that Crowley was a sort of hermaphrodite than to explain the truth. It was only slightly more complicated to keep the press away from even that.
The sonograph came as a bit of a shock, though. Not because of the rather cold gel or anything, and the wings were expected, at least by the parents, but because of...
"How many?"
"Three. Triplets."
Crowley whimpered a bit at that.
Aziraphale was the one who started with making space for the babies, getting cots and soft toys and blankets and clothes and everything.
It was Crowley, turning a fluffy duck between his fingers, who started thinking of names.
"So I was thinking... Lillith?" He said, fully expecting Aziraphale to disagree.
"Oh, I remember her. Lovely girl, yes. That'd be a nice idea, naming one after her in case it's a girl. And we can always name her Lily for short."
"Oh, yeah, I guess. I sort of expected you to disagree because of te negative associations with her name, tough."
"Hmm, yes. There's that. But there are just so many names. I thought perhaps Milly would be a nice name, but then part of me remembers axe-wielding brutes and warhorses, simply because of the origins of it, you know? Most Celtic and Germanic names have such violent backgrounds."*
"You mean that there's always associations that come with a name."
"Yes."
*True. Milly comes from Millicent, which comes from Amalaswintha, which meant strength in battle, which basically meant you were a badass mofo capable of destroying every warrior you came across. Names that aren't related to skill in battle or weaponry are often connected to riches, power, a role in society or good fortune. Or fame. In battle.
And if you use Milly as a short for Miljushka... the woman that woman was named after got into a Nazi-camp disguised as a whore, and then used explosives to send the whole thing to hell. And here you were thinking it was a bit of a frumpy name.
"Arthur?"
"Not anything related to the canned pea-brains of Camelot, please."
"How about... Antonia?"
"How about Angela?"
"Both are rather nice sounding names, yes."
"..."
"No. Not anything angelic. No archangel-based names or associated either."
"Jehanne was a nice girl, though."
"Yes, but if we call any of our kids that, we fight as well call them Mikael or Michelle. No."
"I wish moments like these had a name."
"Me too."
"Kurg the Destroyer? I very much hope you're joking."
"Yes. But you should have seen your face, angel."
"Victor is not a "nice name", angel. Nor is Henry. Or Gertrude."
"You can't name our children after deadly sins!"
"Well, you suggested we'd name them after virtues."
"Rachel?"
"Rachel is nice, but I thought you'd find it too biblical. You didn't like Eve."
"I liked Eve. The person, I mean. I just don't think she'd be thrilled about me naming any of my kids after her. Considering."
"Not Alto, that's for sure."
"Hmm? What do you mean, dear?"
"I know a bloke they call Alto. Right psychotic bastard."
"Alice. Alice is always a good name."
"Not any Greek heroes. Most of them were rather weird and even the ones who weren't don't really have a fitting name for these days."
"Jillian?"
"Didn't we know a concubine with that name?"
"Oh. Right. Forget it then."
"Believe me, angel, Meredith is not a boy's name anymore."
"We're not naming them after pagan gods, no matter who of them was a drinking buddy of yours, Crowley!"
"So we've got Sam, John, Alexander, Anthony, Ezra because Aziraphale isn't really a name you'd give a child living among humans, Jack, James, Mark, Matthew and Luke as acceptable boys names?"
"Cross out the evangelists?"
"You suggested John."
"Just Mark then. And Luke. And Sam."
"Sam? Because of Samuel?"
"And because of Sammael."
"Oh."
"So now we've got... seven names for boys. Cross out Anthony and Ezra then."
"Ah, but..."
"And Jack, John and James only when they're three boys. Is that alright with you?"
"Yes, I suppose. But I thought Anthony quite a lovely name."
"It's also my name, angel."
"I suppose."
"No Hilda then. Alice, Lillith, Judith, Rachel, Sanderine, Claire, Hannah, Tania, Vera and Mina."
"Then we cross out... Sanderine? Tania too. That bitch was murderous. I think I'd only use Lillith as a name if there was only one girl. What do you think, angel?"
"Alright. If they're three girls, I thought of using Alice, Claire and Rachel. Alice and Claire if there are two."
"Sounds good enough. Now let's go do something else. I'm bored."
Time moved on, as time does. Eventually it was time for the children to be born, which started with a panicking Aziraphale, calm doctors and Crowley trying to keep the contractions in check, and ended with Crowley getting a neat row of stitches, and a calmed down Aziraphale convincing the doctors that the wings weren't there.
There were two boys and one girl, so Alexander, Matthew and Lillith it was.
"So you've given birth?" asked the radio.
"Via Caesarean section, yes."
"So, anything special about your brat?"
"Which one?"
"The one you've given birth to."
"I have given birth to three brats. And they're all quite healthy. Their other father is taking care of them right now."
"You let some human take care of demonspawn?"
Oh, well, he had to tell someday, and they'd find out sooner than later, with all of this going on.
"I let an angel take care of angeldemonspawn."
Static.
"You bagged an angel?" Disbelief. A trace of stunned admiration.
"On a regular basis, yes."
More static.
"Wait, you, you have sex with an angel. And he tops?"
"We take turns, actually."
"You..."
"Yes! Now is there anything else I have to report? I've just been carved open and lost a few pounds of weight in under an hour only a few days ago. You understand if I'm still a bit on edge."
"What are the children?" the voice on the radio asked weakly.
"We have no idea. We'll see when they grow up." Crowley snapped. They mostly seemed to be angels, but try and tell that to hell.
"And you seduced an angel." said the radio again.
"Yes. That would be all?"
"Uhm, sure. I, I'll go and report this, shall I?"
The radio was silent after that. Crowley turned it off, and drove home. The next twenty years or so promised to be very interesting. The next twenty months probably involved lots of crying and diapers. But it'd probably be alright.
The radio crackled to life. "Hi there." said Crowley neutrally, being sure to keep his anger in check.
"Crowley, is that you?" Demonic snickering in the background, barely audible above the static.
"Why yes, it's me. And you lot've given me a defective body."
"Whatever gives you that idea?" Dagon said cheerfully. There was more background laughter.
"Because," Crowley started in a tone usually reserved for idiots, the slow-witted and people bothering you on a bad day, "I, for one, can't change my shape with it, which I suppose is your idea of a joke. But there's more. I haven't eaten for at least a week, and still I've been gaining weight. The fact that I've been gaining weight at all is an anomaly in itself."
Dagon giggled. He actually giggled, like a pre-teen girl in a frilly dress. Someone else replied in his stead.
"Aww, you've been starving yourself and your little Nephil? What a bad mamma you are." Hastur let out a mean little laugh.
"We're all looking forward to the results of this glorious, hehe, experiment where the demon is the pregnant, hihi, parent for a change." Crowley vaguely remembered the new voice as belonging to someone who was demoted to the level of an imp. He couldn't be bothered to have ever remembered their name.
"Aha." Crowley said slowly, skepticism still keeping the panic down. "And whose idea was this, exactly?"
"Oh! Oh!" said and exited female voice. Crowley did recognize this one; a low ranked succubus, too dumb and too nice to lie and an utter masochist, which explained how she lasted in hell. "I know! It was the humans. You see, us succubae got access to something called internet, which is a connection to the fangirl layer of hell*, and they said stuff about M-preg, and we sorta mentioned it at the office, and once the blokes had gotten over most of the revulsion, they thought it a nice prank, and some had a grudge against you anyway, and then you were discorporated by that truck, that horde of elephants, those killer bees, those piranhas and the moon**, they just gave you a body with that option, and of course, seeing as you're the original tempter, you get laid enough by plenty different sorts of humans to get you preggers!" ... said the succubus cheerfully, who was lucky indeed that she did not actually need to breathe.
"Oh." said Crowley weakly. "Nephil, you said?"
"Well, yes, that's what it's called when a human and an angel well, fallen angel in your case, go at it and make a totally cuta and adorable tiny little hell-Nephi..."
The succubus was audibly shoved aside.
"Crowley, if you even think about aborting your little treasure, we'll torture you longer than it takes to raise the brat. And I'll enjoy it, Crawlee." Hastur drawled. "I really will."
Crowley sighed and pressed the off-button.
"Wait, can I be it's aunt, pleeaaa..." The voice of the succubus died away.
Crowley rubbed his temples. And then lightly touched his belly, where, if what they had said was true, grew something that was most definitely not a Nephil. Or a snake.
"Oh fuck." he said.
He tried to get to terms with it, and mostly failed. Then he realized he had to tell the angel. He groaned and rested his head against the steering wheel until he felt a bit, not better, but calmer.
* Credit to the writer/writers of Manchester Lost and its sequel for that specific part of hell.
** When subject to infernal bureaucracy, it does not pay to use understatements.
Crowley had eventually decided to use the more-or-less honest sideways-straightforward approach. Which sort of began with "I contacted hell yesterday because I thought they had gotten me a defective body." and more or less ended with "But since the only person I ever slept with is you, uhm, well, I guess there's a bit of a possibility that you're going to be a father."
Crowley looked up from the cup of tea he'd been talking into to see an angel in the grasp of mild shock, silent horror and the desperate need for a drink. The distant stare got a bit creepy after a while.
"Aziraphale?" Crowley ventured.
Aziraphale seemed to wake up from something. His eyes focused on Crowley and he smiled, rather sickly. "Oh, don't you worry, dear boy. There's, ah, medicine and operations these days to help you with childbirth and all, isn't there? And oh, we must make certain you're a little less, well, thin and all on beforehand perhaps?"
"Aziraphale?" Crowley said, slightly taken aback by the angels forced cheer.
"My full size was originally 700 cubits*, if you care to remember! I've always scaled myself down to a more human size, but... Don't you remember how many of those poor girls died in childbirth? Oh!"
Aziraphale slammed his head against the table. "Sons of God and daughters of men... those children were far too large for them. And you..."
"Discorporated." said Crowley.
Aziraphale looked up.
"Discorporated, angel, in the worst case. We're immortal, remember? And one of those Caesarean sections to give birth does sound like a good idea to prevent all that mess. And anyway, we're human-shaped, and even the biggest Nephilim weren't that much larger than an ordinary human child. Even Adam ended up the same size and shape as your average human baby, right? And like you just said, humans did come a long way with medicine and such since then. And... actually, I'd rather not think about it all too much."
"Well, alright." said Aziraphale, and he didn't say: "But angels never had children before with their own kind, fallen or not." or "But what if it isn't just a pregnancy of the body, but your real you too? If something were to happen to you then?"
Instead he said: " You can't drink any alcohol, though. It'd be bad for the baby."
"Well shit." said Crowley.
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows in a way that meant "Language, dear." and drank his tea.
Crowley shrugged and moved his head in a way that meant "Yeah, sorry." and "Oh, you know me." at the same time. He took a biscuit.
* Which translates to really freaking huge. The observation is shamelessly jacked from http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dr-clef-s-proposal of the SCP-foundation, in which the guardian to the Eastern gate to Eden is described. On a rather grim-apocalypse-happy site, I might add.
Since there are angels around that are basically sparkly wheels with eyes on them, and one description of the angel of Death is a giant ball of eyeballs of which one closes whenever someone dies, and four heads is practically normal for angels, I find this little bit of improbable info completely acceptable to use.
"So, no alcohol." Crowley said after a while.
"Oh, no, dear, most certainly not. It interferes with the development of nerves, and as such, the brain and the spinal chord. It'd be horrible. And as for other things, well, don't eat too much salt and such, thing like cigarettes are also a bad idea, babies that get addicted to anything while unborn either cry an awful lot or are far too silent and are terribly unhealthy in any case. Coffee might also not be the best of ideas. I don't know what it could do, but all that caffeine can't be good."
"And sex?" Crowley said with a wry expression that implied something along the lines of "Is everything pleasurable forbidden to me now?"
"Oh, women can have sex while pregnant, right up to the contractions. I don't know whether that'd be the case with you, although it's probably similar.
"How come you know so much about pregnancy anyway?"
"Uhm, well, having to help people and such, and you pick things up a bit..." It wasn't a lie, not exactly, but Crowley knew Aziraphale and he could outstare almost anyone.*
"Alright, alright, and I read womens magazines. They have crosswords in them too, sometimes."
"But that was not the reason you started reading them."
Aziraphale looked away and mumbled a bit.
"What was that?"
"I said, they had advice for seducing men in them."
Crowley sipped his tea.
"Well, you are mostly male, mentally and all."
Crowley shrugged. "Seeing it's you, any way probably would have worked." Then he grinned. "Then again, it is rather flattering you go to such lengths to try to get my attention."
Aziraphale was only mildly placated by the concealed confession of love, but at least he was sufficiently distracted from his worries.
* Vicious skinny old Lancre witches excepted.
The next two months went by almost normally, except that Crowley now avoided alcohol like the plague after a very educational half hour on the internet concerning its effects on unborn children.
And Aziraphale was far more careful during sex. Mostly in the way of not leaning on Crowley's belly. He got nearly obsessively careful, but then Crowley got fed up with that, and made Aziraphale reconsider the value of compromising, balance, moderation, that sort of thing. And also of blindfolds. And viciously dominant lovers.
Crowley had expected the whole morning sickness thing, but except for a feeling of nausea in the mornings during what he estimated to be about the third month, it simply didn't happen.
His belly was getting noticeable, though. He didn't fit his clothes as well anymore. And he refused to wear Aziraphale's. Even the ones without patterns just had the wrong fabric and cut.
"I," said Crowley while standing on the stairs wearing a sweater Aziraphale had persuaded him to try, "refuse to wear this in public."
Aziraphale looked up from his crossword to see a rather lithely built, indignant demon in a fluffy blue over-sized sweater, which, as he was looking, sagged down from one shoulder.
"Ah, yes." said Aziraphale. "Not in public. Naturally."
Crowley blinked.
"Can't have you leaving the house with no clothes. With clothes you don't like, I mean." Aziraphale babbled.
Crowley pictured how he must look, in only tight trousers and... He managed to turn an appearing grin in a coquettish smile. Getting clothes came... later.
They eventually got Crowley maternity clothing targeted at businesswomen. Arranging that any bystanders believed that Crowley was female took care of the stares.
Aziraphale did insist on getting Crowley a doctor, though. Crowley didn't disagree, especially not since he had found out how impossible it was to give birth with a male pelvic bone-structure.
And besides, he'd have some nice information to send to downstairs. Especially on how and why the Caesarean option was the preferable one. He just knew he'd get at least some fun in explaining that one.
"So I was wondering whether this body is oviparous."
"Whut?"
"Does it lay eggs?"
"Course not, yur not a bird."
"No, but I am the serpent, and snakes do lay eggs."
"So sorry to disappoint, Crawly, but no." said a Hastur that enjoyed himself far too much.
"And I suppose I also haven't been given, say, female hips and such for giving birth?"
Hastur snickered nastily. "No. You're all male, except for that uterus connected to your..."
"Right, right, just asking. I just wanted to make sure whether or not a Caesarean section was my only option."
"Whut?" said the person who had first answered him again.
Crowley explained. In detail.
"You're saying," Hastur said slowly, "that humans cut open their women when they're about to give birth?"
"Oh, no, only in the cases where the natural way is more of a hazard to the mother and child, or simply impossible, such as, for example, with hips that are far too narrow on the inside. And seeing as my hips are decidedly male, and I can't even change them... I haven't got a choice, really. Especially since I have no wish whatsoever to walk around with a few pounds of dead, rotting child in my abdomen. Or, if these contractions are also something I can't do anything about, to get discorporated in an extremely painful way. I mean, the healthy women going trough such a thing already experience enough pain for them to wish they'd die. I'd rather not go trough anything worse than that."
"So you let yourself get carved open." said Hastur in a bit of a dumbfounded sort of tone.
"Well, it's not like you left me a choice, now did you." snarled Crowley while trying not to laugh.
It wasn't every day you had the opportunity to instill horror in a duke of hell.
"Is there anything else you'd like me to report?" he said as icily as he could.
"Huh? Oh, no. No. This is alright for now." said Hastur. He sounded like he was going to be sick.
Crowley made certain the connection was broken before he laughed out loud.
It was easier to convince the medical personnel that Crowley was a sort of hermaphrodite than to explain the truth. It was only slightly more complicated to keep the press away from even that.
The sonograph came as a bit of a shock, though. Not because of the rather cold gel or anything, and the wings were expected, at least by the parents, but because of...
"How many?"
"Three. Triplets."
Crowley whimpered a bit at that.
Aziraphale was the one who started with making space for the babies, getting cots and soft toys and blankets and clothes and everything.
It was Crowley, turning a fluffy duck between his fingers, who started thinking of names.
"So I was thinking... Lillith?" He said, fully expecting Aziraphale to disagree.
"Oh, I remember her. Lovely girl, yes. That'd be a nice idea, naming one after her in case it's a girl. And we can always name her Lily for short."
"Oh, yeah, I guess. I sort of expected you to disagree because of te negative associations with her name, tough."
"Hmm, yes. There's that. But there are just so many names. I thought perhaps Milly would be a nice name, but then part of me remembers axe-wielding brutes and warhorses, simply because of the origins of it, you know? Most Celtic and Germanic names have such violent backgrounds."*
"You mean that there's always associations that come with a name."
"Yes."
*True. Milly comes from Millicent, which comes from Amalaswintha, which meant strength in battle, which basically meant you were a badass mofo capable of destroying every warrior you came across. Names that aren't related to skill in battle or weaponry are often connected to riches, power, a role in society or good fortune. Or fame. In battle.
And if you use Milly as a short for Miljushka... the woman that woman was named after got into a Nazi-camp disguised as a whore, and then used explosives to send the whole thing to hell. And here you were thinking it was a bit of a frumpy name.
"Arthur?"
"Not anything related to the canned pea-brains of Camelot, please."
"How about... Antonia?"
"How about Angela?"
"Both are rather nice sounding names, yes."
"..."
"No. Not anything angelic. No archangel-based names or associated either."
"Jehanne was a nice girl, though."
"Yes, but if we call any of our kids that, we fight as well call them Mikael or Michelle. No."
"I wish moments like these had a name."
"Me too."
"Kurg the Destroyer? I very much hope you're joking."
"Yes. But you should have seen your face, angel."
"Victor is not a "nice name", angel. Nor is Henry. Or Gertrude."
"You can't name our children after deadly sins!"
"Well, you suggested we'd name them after virtues."
"Rachel?"
"Rachel is nice, but I thought you'd find it too biblical. You didn't like Eve."
"I liked Eve. The person, I mean. I just don't think she'd be thrilled about me naming any of my kids after her. Considering."
"Not Alto, that's for sure."
"Hmm? What do you mean, dear?"
"I know a bloke they call Alto. Right psychotic bastard."
"Alice. Alice is always a good name."
"Not any Greek heroes. Most of them were rather weird and even the ones who weren't don't really have a fitting name for these days."
"Jillian?"
"Didn't we know a concubine with that name?"
"Oh. Right. Forget it then."
"Believe me, angel, Meredith is not a boy's name anymore."
"We're not naming them after pagan gods, no matter who of them was a drinking buddy of yours, Crowley!"
"So we've got Sam, John, Alexander, Anthony, Ezra because Aziraphale isn't really a name you'd give a child living among humans, Jack, James, Mark, Matthew and Luke as acceptable boys names?"
"Cross out the evangelists?"
"You suggested John."
"Just Mark then. And Luke. And Sam."
"Sam? Because of Samuel?"
"And because of Sammael."
"Oh."
"So now we've got... seven names for boys. Cross out Anthony and Ezra then."
"Ah, but..."
"And Jack, John and James only when they're three boys. Is that alright with you?"
"Yes, I suppose. But I thought Anthony quite a lovely name."
"It's also my name, angel."
"I suppose."
"No Hilda then. Alice, Lillith, Judith, Rachel, Sanderine, Claire, Hannah, Tania, Vera and Mina."
"Then we cross out... Sanderine? Tania too. That bitch was murderous. I think I'd only use Lillith as a name if there was only one girl. What do you think, angel?"
"Alright. If they're three girls, I thought of using Alice, Claire and Rachel. Alice and Claire if there are two."
"Sounds good enough. Now let's go do something else. I'm bored."
Time moved on, as time does. Eventually it was time for the children to be born, which started with a panicking Aziraphale, calm doctors and Crowley trying to keep the contractions in check, and ended with Crowley getting a neat row of stitches, and a calmed down Aziraphale convincing the doctors that the wings weren't there.
There were two boys and one girl, so Alexander, Matthew and Lillith it was.
"So you've given birth?" asked the radio.
"Via Caesarean section, yes."
"So, anything special about your brat?"
"Which one?"
"The one you've given birth to."
"I have given birth to three brats. And they're all quite healthy. Their other father is taking care of them right now."
"You let some human take care of demonspawn?"
Oh, well, he had to tell someday, and they'd find out sooner than later, with all of this going on.
"I let an angel take care of angeldemonspawn."
Static.
"You bagged an angel?" Disbelief. A trace of stunned admiration.
"On a regular basis, yes."
More static.
"Wait, you, you have sex with an angel. And he tops?"
"We take turns, actually."
"You..."
"Yes! Now is there anything else I have to report? I've just been carved open and lost a few pounds of weight in under an hour only a few days ago. You understand if I'm still a bit on edge."
"What are the children?" the voice on the radio asked weakly.
"We have no idea. We'll see when they grow up." Crowley snapped. They mostly seemed to be angels, but try and tell that to hell.
"And you seduced an angel." said the radio again.
"Yes. That would be all?"
"Uhm, sure. I, I'll go and report this, shall I?"
The radio was silent after that. Crowley turned it off, and drove home. The next twenty years or so promised to be very interesting. The next twenty months probably involved lots of crying and diapers. But it'd probably be alright.