Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended upsomehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!
Ordinary Miracles
by Nenena
Chapter 13
Klatte, William C. 1999. Live-Away Dads: staying a part of your children's lives when they aren't a part of your home. Penguin Books, New York. HQ756.K52
It was Saturday morning, and it was wretchedly cold outside, and there was a layer of thick yet severely un-fresh, dirtying snow all over the ground. The sky was the color of dull, slate gray. Adam let the weather deter him from going outside just long enough to justify a bowl of sugary cereal and an hour or so of cartoons on the television; then he was off, with his coat and his hat and his little rat of a dog in tow.
Deirdre Young, beleaguered wife and mother of two, although it sometimes felt as though she were a mother of eight, took a deep, grateful breath as she stood over the kitchen sink, cleaning up the remains from breakfast. At last, some peace and quiet. Her husband had gone in to the office and had promised to be home by noon; Adam had also promised to be back for lunch, although Deirdre had had enough experience to know that, in his mind, this meant that all he had really promised was to be home before nightfall. Deirdre didn't mind - she would enjoy having the house to herself, for once. Even the dog was gone, thank the Lord. She could finally relax for the day. She could do practically whatever she wanted - she could even spend all day in a hot bubble bath, reading a book, if she so desired! Whatever housework needed to be done could certainly wait, and it wasn't as if she had any other pressing engagements for the day. In fact, the bubble bath was beginning to look better and better. Deirdre hummed to herself pleasantly, lost in happy anticipation of the day to come, as she finished off the dishes.
The doorbell chimed.
Deirdre hurriedly wiped her hands on a towel. "Coming, coming," she called out as she walked briskly toward the door. She hoped that it was a salesperson. She'd always enjoyed rudely slamming the doors on salespersons. She would never dare do anything of the sort when her husband was home, but he was gone for the moment, and today was her day, and she was going to do whatever she darn well pleased.
Deirdre opened the door and saw a tall, red-haired man in a black winter coat. He smiled at her, very pleasantly, and said, "Hello."
Deirdre stared at him. "Hello," she echoed.
He smiled at her.
She raised one eyebrow at him. "Can I help you?"
He tried to peer into the house around her shoulder. "Is your son around?"
"Oh, no," Deirdre groaned. "What'd he do this time? Pull up your flowers? Break off part of a fence? Break one of your windows? Did he--?"
"No, although I'd certainly be very proud of him if he did." The red-haired man's grin was broadening, and he really did have a pleasant smile. "Would you mind if we--?"
"You have to let us in," a curt blonde woman suddenly interrupted him, pushing her way in front of the man and angrily thrusting a wad of documents in Mrs. Young's face. "We have papers."
Deirdre stared blankly at said papers. They appeared to be covered in strange, sharp black symbols arranged in a pattern of pure gibberish. Still, there was something extremely disquieting, almost sinister, about the way that the writing seemed to almost lurk on the page in front of her, as if it would start squirming around if she would only look at it long enough. Deirdre reached out and pushed the other woman's hand aside. "Is this some sort of joke?" she asked, now beginning to feel somewhat impatient. Her hot bubble bath was being delayed further and further every minute.
The blonde apparently did not appreciate Deirdre's gesture. She glared icily at the other woman and hissed, "This is not a joke. I have your son's birth certificate, social insecurity number, and Infernal registration right here." She gave the wad of papers in her hand a jerky little wave. "Plus his baby handprints and hoofprints. THIS is the boy's biological father." She jerked one thumb at the red-haired man. "I think that makes us entitled to enter your home."
Deirdre glanced up at the red-haired man, who was now blushing slightly, as if embarrassed. "No," she said, quite confidently, "I don't think so. He can't be the boy's father. I would know."
"How would you know?" The blonde looked aghast at the suggestion.
Deirdre wondered if she was dealing with someone who lacked even a basic understanding of how reproductive plumbing worked. "I assure you," she repeated calmly, "I would know. He's my son."
"No, actually, he's not."
The red-haired man coughed, obviously embarrassed. "Technically, thereisn'tanymother," he said quickly. "It was a solo project."
"Now that's interesting." Deirdre placed her hands on her hips. "Are you loonies from the tabloids?"
"The whatl-oids?"
"I'm sorry, but I've had enough of this." Deirdre made as if to slam the door--
The red-haired man shot out one hand and held the door open. For a brief moment, something hot and red flashed in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said politely, "But we really must come in and see him. They've managed to talk me into coming here already, and now that I'm standing here, I realize that we have no more choice in the matter... You see, we need his help."
"You need my son's help?" Deirdre was incredulous.
"Yes, believe it or not."
"I don't believe it. And I'm certainly not going to let an obviously insane and probably dangerous individual like you anywhere near my--"
The red-haired man sighed. "It's times like this that I miss my pitch-fork," he commented wearily to someone standing behind him.
"With all due respect, sir, I don't think that she's going to believe you, unless you give her any sort of reason to do so," said a third voice.
Deirdre craned her neck and glanced over the red-haired man's shoulder. There were others standing behind him - two men and a young boy, the latter hardly a few years older than her own son. One of the older men, a pudgy blonde, was also cradling an enormous semi-automatic weapon in his arms.
That was the final straw. "I've had enough of you all," she hissed, and slammed the door shut on them without warning. "Leave this property right now, or I shall call the police!" she practically screamed at the shut door.
A split second later, the door was gone. It vanished as if it had never been there in the first place. Deirdre found herself staring at the red-haired man standing on her stoop again, who mumbled an apology and asked, "Would you please at least grant us the courtesy of letting us come in and hearing us out?"
Deirdre stared up at the top of the empty doorframe, and then stared back at him again. "How'd you do that?" she asked in a small, breathless voice.
"I'm the Devil," he said, beginning to grin again. "And for the past twelve years, you've been raising my son."
"Oh," said Deirdre, quite calmly. "Oh. Well. That certainly explains a lot."
Deirdre let them come in.
One by one, they filed into the house. Deirdre only held out a hand to stop the blonde man and say, "I'm sorry, but you can't bring that rifle in here."
"But I can't put it down again," he said, very reasonably. "We're being hunted."
"Fine. All right," said Mrs. Young testily, since she was no longer in a mood to argue. "Bring it on in, go shoot somebody in the head, see how sorry you'll feel."
"That depends on who I actually shoot in the head," said Aziraphale pleasantly.
From somewhere within the living room, the Devil gave a great, dismayed cry. "Just LOOK at this!" Deirdre heard him exclaim. "They've got little ceramic angels and - and - and - what is THIS supposed to be?!"
Deirdre rushed into the room and found him holding a framed photographof the Young family, grinning at the camera and arranged around a vicar wearing a black cassock and green stole. Deirdre was holding baby Adam inher arms, the angelic-looking baby dressed in a white christening robe.
The Devil whirled on Mrs. Young. "You BAPTIZED him?!"
"Well, of course!"
Then the Devil whirled on Crowley, who was seating himself on a sofa and pausing to admire the kitschy ceramic cherubim arranged on a shelf nearby. "You!" the Devil said, pointing an accusatory finger at Crowley. "You were supposed to prevent things like this from happening!"
"Things like what?"
"Holy water! They actually doused him in holy water! HE COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED!"
"Well, he obviously wasn't." Crowley was smiling pleasantly, albeit a bit spacily, at Lucifer. Now that he was away from his car, he seemed to have reverted back into being a perfectly good, angelic being again. "No harm done, right?"
"Give me that back," Mrs. Young cried out angrily, snatching the framed picture out of the Devil's hands. "You're getting greasy handprints all over it!"
"Er, sorry." Lucifer looked suddenly flustered. "I didn't mean to yell, my apologies, I--"
"Are you sure that you're the Devil?" Mrs. Young eyed him suspiciously. "I didn't know that the Devil ever apologized for anything."
"Yes, well, I am, but I, uh, I have, uh, right now, I, um..." The Devil trailed off, then coughed self-consciously. "I'm impaired," he finally finished, lamely.
"But he is the Adversary," Pauline said quickly. Then she turned toward him and suggested, "Sir, why don't you show her your tail? That should prove it."
Lucifer blushed a deep shade of red. "Pauline, I can't show that to a stranger!"
"Oh, so now you're modest, too?" Pauline snorted with disgust. "It's worse than I thought."
Lucifer, still blushing, sat down on the sofa next to Crowley, and took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm himself down. Pauline pushed him aside and sat on the other side of him, setting her briefcase carefully down beside her. There were other large, overstuffed chairs in the room; Aziraphale took one, cradling the Colt in his arms as he sat down, and Mrs. Young took the other. Theo sat on the floor next to his angel, and tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, suddenly overcome with a horrible curiosity and anticipation regarding the conversation that was about to come.
"So," said Mrs. Young calmly, steepling her fingers together. "So you're the Devil."
"That's right." Lucifer nodded. "But you can call me Lucifer. And this is one of my demons, Crowley."
"Hello," said Crowley pleasantly.
"And this is my lawyer, Pauline."
"Greetings," Pauline said icily.
Lucifer made a vague gesture in the direction of Aziraphale and Theo. "And those'r supposed to be some angels."
"Er, hello," said Aziraphale nervously, fully aware of how dangerously insane he appeared as long as he was still holding the M4 Carbine in his arms. Theo nodded respectfully to Mrs. Young, but said nothing.
"And my son is supposed to be your son?" Mrs. Young asked carefully.
"Yes, but..." Lucifer shifted uncomfortably. "I have the distinct feeling that he already chose to retire from the whole Antichrist occupation. Which is a shame, really. I did so want for him to take part in the family business, you understand."
"Pardon me for asking, but what exactly is your, ah, family business?"
"World domination."
"I see."
"Although we participate in many other side ventures as well," Pauline added hastily. "We have branches devoted to the damning of mortal souls, the eternal torture of mortal souls, spreading misery and injustice throughout the Earth, and sustaining the popularity of reality television programming."
"That last bit was my idea," added Crowley, modestly. Then he blushed and said, "Er, sorry."
"It's a very demanding business, being, you know, the Evil side of the universe," Lucifer said. "But we manage to hold it all together. Well, we did, that is, until last year, when my son decided to derail a little project that I'd been working on since the dawn of time."
"Good for him," said Mrs. Young dryly, who was certainly clever enough to figure out immediately exactly what affair the Devil was so politely alluding to.
"Yes, well, um." Lucifer coughed uncomfortably. "I was, er, understandably upset about it at the time."
"I'll bet you were."
"I even went so far as to try to approach him and, er, give him a piece of my mind."
"You mean, break out the old whipping belt?"
"Metaphorically."
"My husband and I," said Mrs. Young coolly, "do not approve of such things."
"Well, that's because you're not nearly evil enough," Lucifer said, as if he were explaining this to a particularly thick child. "Although," he admitted, shame-faced, "Now that I look back on that, it did seem to be the wrong thing to do. Which was, actually, the right thing to do, at the time, because it's right for me to do the wrong thing, am I right? But right now, due to circumstances outside of my control, all I can seem to want to do anymore is the right thing. Which is extremely disconcerting, because for me, the right thing to do is usually the wrong thing to do. But now, it's as though the wrong thing to do is the wrong thing to do, and the right thing to do is the right thing to do. How screwed up is that?!" He pressed his fingers to his nose again, as if warding off a headache, and sighed. "What I'm saying is, I would like to see my son again, very much, if only to properly apologize to him. That, and we need his help. We all seem to be in a pickle right now, Mrs. Young, and my little boy is the only being I know left in this universe with connections to Hell, a reason to listen to me, and the power to be of any use to us."
"You mean, you want to use him."
Lucifer stared at her, aghast.
But she only set her chin and shook her head. "I'm terribly sorry, but the answer has to be no. I can't let him anywhere near you. I'm his mother, and of course I'm not going to let him within sight of you. Either you're a lunatic who claims to be the Devil, or you really are the Devil... Either way, can't you see that you're not the type of person that I want my little boy around?"
Lucifer scratched the back of his neck. "I understand your position, but--"
"You're NOT his mother," Pauline cut in.
Mrs. Young turned toward Pauline and narrowed her eyes. "I'm not, am I? Then who is?"
Everybody turned expectantly to stare at Lucifer.
"Thereisnomother," he coughed, blushing a bright red. "Well, technically not. I think it was just a solo project..."
"Then where did the baby come from?" Aziraphale asked, quite reasonably.
"Um..." Lucifer blushed an even brighter shade of red. "If I say it, you'll laugh."
"A cabbage patch?" asked Aziraphale, in a voice that sounded as if he were confirming one of his deepest fears.
"No... It was a stork. There was a stork involved."
"Ah," everybody said at once. Nobody bothered to ask exactly in what capacity the stork had been involved.
"Regardless," Mrs. Young continued coolly, "any claims to paternal biology aside, this is MY son that we're discussing here. I'm the one who raised him, I'm the one who cared for him for all these years, I'm the one who loves him, and I'm the one who has the authority to make decisions like this for him." She stood up, resolutely, and pointed dramatically at the door. "Out! Out with you, the lot of you! I don't want to see any of you fools setting foot on my property ever again, or so help me God, I'll pull out my husband's crowbar and--"
Aziraphale made a "tsk" sound in the back of his throat.
She whirled on him. "I don't see what gives you any right to take the moral high ground!" she practically snarled, casting a meaningful glare at the Colt in his arms.
Less than thirty seconds later, they were all standing out on the porch again, and Mrs. Young slammed the front door (which had just popped back into existence) from behind them.
Crowley gave a painful little wince as the door slammed.
"Well," snarled Pauline nastily, casting dirty glares at all of them in turn, as if they were all equally to blame, "That was certainly a waste of time. And we are definitely running OUT of time." She fixed her angriest gaze on Lucifer. "Sir, if you would've just let me have at her, I could have gotten your son in less than a minute, two minutes, tops--"
"No, Pauline," Lucifer sighed wearily. "No. No blood. Not here."
"What now?" asked Aziraphale, as they were all still standing outside the Youngs' house again. "It could be here any minute!"
Crowley was giving a long, careful look at Aziraphale's rifle. Then, he drawled slowly, "No, it should have already been here. I saw how fast that thing was moving. It would have caught up to us by now."
"What are you getting at?" Pauline tapped her foot impatiently, frowning at Crowley.
"That." Crowley pointed at the Colt. "Aziraphale told me that last time, it hesitated when he showed a gun to it. I bet it must be able to see that weapon that he's got now, and it certainly isn't going to show itself to us as long as we have that in our party. I'm beginning to think it only jumped us in the diner this morning because it saw that the idiot angel had left his rifle back in the car."
"You mean..." Pauline glanced around suspiciously. "You think it's already here? It could be watching us right now?"
"Probably. Which means that we have to find a way to draw it out into the open." Crowley's eyes then fell upon Theo, and he grinned a grin that was astoundingly reminiscent of the old, demonic Crowley that Theo knew. "We need bait," Crowley said.
Theo gulped.
Continued.