Over the next few weeks, Adolf grew prodigiously, after about a month already the size of a teenaged Great Dane. Oddly enough, however, he still fit in the bathtub. Aziraphale thought that confirmed his theory about said tub being an interdimensional portal; Crowley said he was just compactable. Over the days, though, they settled into a comfortable routine, each with their own role to play. Crowley took the job of feeding it. Aziraphale took the job of watching it suspiciously. Adolf got the job, by default, of making their flat smell like a Japanese fish market.

Adolf squelched happily around the kitchen, banging cupboard doors open and closed. He never seemed to dry out, either, and would not put up with being left in the bathroom if he thought something interesting was or might be going on. "Aren't you going to do something about the smell?" Aziraphale demanded to know as they both sat at the table, sipping coffee just for the hell of it.

The look Crowley gave him was reproachful at best. "He can't help it."

"I tried to eat some Provolone yesterday. It tasted like fish. Cheese, Crowley. Fish."

"I didn't notice any problem," the demon objected.

"That's because you have the taste buds of a single-celled aquatic creature. Trust me, it is getting simply-"

He was, however, cut off by a wet sensation on his calf. Looking down, Adolf seemed to be hugging his leg with two long, nauseously colored tentacles. He mewed and purred, rubbing its bulbous cephalopod head against his khakis, leaving a suspicious stain. "—and he keeps ruining my pants!"

Crowley was grinning, though. "Awww."

"Shut up. Would you get him off?"

"He likes you."

"He's a tentacle monster. Named after an infamous dictator. I'm so glad he likes me." Aziraphale scowled down at his leg. "Can't you just keep him in the bathroom?"

"I told you, he doesn't stay in. He kept wrecking my locks. And he cries, too." Aziraphale twitched and made a brief effort to pry the tentacles off his leg. Adolf wrapped a few more around his ankle in response, purred again, then made a loud gagging noise and spewed noisome slime on his shoes.

"…ew," said Crowley, mildly. Adolf burbled apologetically and splotched over to the bathroom, where he fell messily into the tub and vanished, eyes poking above the water in a slightly embarrassed way.

Aziraphale could only sigh in an exasperated manner and hope that the cleaners wouldn't ask too many questions.

Of course, the only problems weren't ones of unpleasant smells and dirty clothing. Aside from the distressing fact that Adolf the tentacle monster seemed to have taken a liking to the angel, there were the cultists that kept trying to sneak into their flat in increasingly inventive ways – one even attempted a disguise as one of Crowley's potted plants. There was the fact that strange lights emanated from the bathroom at night. And the way the neighbor's cats kept disappearing.

And there was the door-to-door salesman who went mad, which was unfortunate. Crowley's excuse was that he'd been busy at the time and it wasn't his fault Adolf went and opened the door on his own. Aziraphale accused him of doing it on purpose. Either way, the angel had come home from grocery shopping to find a salesman on their mat gibbering about non-Euclidean geometry and eldritch horrors, Adolf sitting on his feet with an expression that was almost smug – if a tentacle monster could be smug.

However, the last straw, for Aziraphale, came on a sunny Tuesday morning when, as he was sipping his coffee, Adolf heaved his way onto his lap, rubbed his bulbous head against his shirt, and blorped in the way that indicated their tentacle monster had the munchies.

"Crowley, your pet wants food."

"You can feed him just as easily as I can," Crowley said absently from behind his tabloid. "Oh, look. 'Inside the Queen's Closet.' Thrilling."

"AJ Crowley."

"You know where the mice are. In the baggie in the freezer. Put on some Queen while you're up, won't you?"

Aziraphale sighed, shoved Adolf off his lap, and went over to the freezer, muttering mutinously to himself. Opening the bag, he tugged one of the frozen mice out of the resealable bag and tossed it at Adolf.

Who examined it critically, poked at it with his tentacles, and promptly turned up his beak at it.

"Oh, what now?" The angel grumbled, and picked up the mouse by the tail, examining it. "Anthony, he won't eat his mouse."

"He's been fussy lately," Crowley said, looking up briefly. "Just make it flop around a little. I think he likes to pretend they're alive."

"…that's disgusting." Aziraphale dropped the mouse, quickly. Adolf poked it with a tentacle, mewed, and the dead mouse abruptly vanished. Aziraphale stared at Adolf, who stared back, belligerently, little red eyes glowing with annoyed dissatisfaction.

"Crowley."

"What now?" The demon asked, peevishly.

"He made the mouse vanish. I don't think he's going to eat it."

Adolf, for his part, blorped impatiently and slapped his tentacles on the floor in a demanding 'feed me' gesture.

"—what?"

"He didn't want to eat the mouse. Now what are we going to do? I told you the cats were going missing on our floor-"

"He's a growing boy," Crowley protested defensively. "We knew he was going to need something a little bigger-"

"Growing tentacle monster and he's eating cats. You still don't see a problem with this? And what about that poor salesman?" Crowley muttered something uncharitable that Aziraphale chose not to hear. "What are we supposed to feed him now, kittens?"

"Could try fish."

"He is a fish."

"He's a cephalopod. There's a difference." Crowley seemed to be sulking, just a bit, and his forked tongue slithered out in that vaguely nervous motion he had sometimes. "We'll just have to try a few things, that's all!"

"Why don't we just give him to the cultists?"

"They're not going to take care of him!" Crowley scowled. "I'm not going to just sell him, Aziraphale. He turned up in my bathtub. And if you're going to be that way, you can just – deal with it!" He set the tabloid down, unfolded. "I'm going to go grocery shopping and see if I can't find something he'll eat. Adolf," and here he held up an admonishing finger, "Behave." And seizing a pair of sunglasses and Aziraphale's Haydn CD and took off out the door.

"You'd better bring that back!" The angel yelled after him, "I don't want any more Queen CDs around here!" Adolf came and sat helpfully on his foot, looking up balefully.

"Don't look at me," Aziraphale snapped. "This wasn't my idea. And you're making my foot go to sleep."

Adolf burbled agreeably and waved his tentacles in a vaguely pleased manner, showing no intention of moving.

Aziraphale wondered, privately, if it would be uncharitable to kick the demon when he got back. "Is there anything you can do about that smell?" He asked Adolf, irritably. "I don't like fish."

He could have sworn the look he received was indignant.