Chapter 1
Adam lay under the covers with a flashlight. He would shut it off whenever he heard the sound of footsteps with an air of you-must-be-doing-something-wrong-and-I'm-going-to-catch-you-at-it pounding up the stairs. You could always tell when the source of the footsteps was Mr. Young, who took the attitude of 'I don't know what you're doing, so you must be up to something.' Never Mrs. Young, though. She thought her child was a veritable angel. She didn't know how right she was, half right, to be exact, but Adam was also half devil.
The anti-Christ in question was currently reading the first of seven books about a hidden world of castles, magic and secrets. Adam paused, closed his eyes, and concentrated hard. One by one, certain strand in the line between fact and fiction fell away.
When Crowley woke up the next morning, he felt like something… odd, had happened, like an event of extreme significance had blown right over his oblivious head. He pondered it as he ate a completely unnecessary breakfast*, and came to the conclusion that, late last night, something huge had been added to the world, that had always been there as of that particular moment in time. Crowley decided to call Aziraphale about this. He got up from the table, pausing only to briefly terrorize his house plants, dialled, and picked up the phone.
RING…
RING…
RI- "Hello.?" Sounded a voice on the other end of the line.
"Angel?"
"...Yes?"
"Did you feel that?"
The demon said frantically.
"Hmm?"
Crowley could practically feel Aziraphale's eyebrows raising.
"The-there's this..this … ah, feeling like something, well, changed. In your own words, I couldn't put it any better. Especially not to you."
"I recall you accusing me of being over sensitive"
Remarked Aziraphale.
"But ssssserioussly Angel-"
"What?"
"I really think we should look into this."
"But dear-"
Sly grin back in place, Crowley said
"It looks suspiciously like a wile that needs some thwarting"
"Oh all right, but you owe me dinner at the ritz for this."
*Mostly because he figured that eating 'even though he dun't need to', as Hastur would put it, qualified as indulgence which he thought his distant superiors would grudgingly approve of ( but secretly because he enjoyed it).