Warlock hadn't thought much about it when The Grim Reaper had seemed to appear out of nowhere to officiate the wedding.
It was some pretty impressive special effects make up. He really did look like a skeleton from a few rows back, and he certainly had the voice for it. Nanny and Brother Francis had really gone all out with the Halloween theme.
The ceremony itself was a bit odd, but then, that hadn't been much of a surprise either. Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis had always been a bit odd—they had a code of ethics and way of looking at the world that had meshed and opposed in a complicated dance that had been completely lost on his childhood self, but had been the cause of some speculation and analysis as an adult.
Even their changes in appearance hadn't thrown him completely. Nanny Ashtoreth (or was it Crowley now?) had still seemed very much the person Adam had remembered. And Brother Francis, Aziraphale, well… Warlock certainly wouldn't have recognized him on the street. He seemed to be giving a bit more care to his appearance these days. But, the way he looked at Nanny, Crowley, was unmistakable.
It wasn't until after they'd finished snogging like the world was ending that Warlock started questioning his whole existence.
It was the wings.
He'd dated a girl who was into the whole cosplay/convention scene. He'd seen some high quality prosthetic wings before. He'd thought that these ones were nice, well articulated, and very lifelike. Top end stuff. Probably set them back a few grand. The whole Heaven and Hell theme was a nice touch—very original. It fit- the bad boy and the retired vicar. But, ultimately, Warlock had just taken the wings as another prop to the whole wedding extravaganza.
But then, they had taken flight.
They had actually flown.
Great beats of strong muscles and sinew that sent the air blowing through his hair.
At that moment, it was as if all the memories that he had somehow forgotten from his childhood came flooding in the garden and scraping his knee, and Brother Francis waving his hand over it, saying, 'There, there, all better now. No damage done,' and there hadn't been. The skin had been perfect and unblemished, though Warlock would have sworn that he'd been bleeding a moment before. Or, there had been the time that little snot, Nancy Streeter, had been making fun of his accent, and Nanny had just given her a look over the top of her glasses, and Nancy had spent the next three days talking like some Californian valley girl from the movie Clueless.And, the way Nanny drove around in that big, black car, well… Warlock could understand why he'd repressed those memories.
He was still sitting in his seat, mouth slightly ajar, remembering it all with startling clarity, when the very familiar sound of the engine of the car in question, roaring to life and speeding off through busy London streets, brought him back to his senses.
The other guests had all risen to their feet and were milling about, chatting and discussing travel plans to The Ritz. He took them in again, the winged pair on the opposite side of the aisle, the fellow who looked an awful lot like Freddie Mercury and his old-fashioned friend in the velvet suit, the old man at the back in his dirty mackintosh, the two women a few rows up from him that seemed to glow slightly with their own light.
Warlock slowly rose to his feet. "Um, excuse me?" he asked Pepper. She, at least, had seemed normal enough.
She turned to look at him with a bland smile. "Yeah?"
"Um… I don't really know how to ask this. Who… what… are they?"
"Who?" Pepper asked, looking around.
"Nanny and… I mean, Crowley and Aziraphale?"
"What do you…" She frowned. "Wait, who are you? How do you know them? I thought you were a friend from work?"
"No. I mean, they worked for my family. Crowley was my nanny, and Aziraphale was our gardener."
"Crowley was your…" She suddenly snorted out a laugh and covered her mouth. "I'm sorry? Did you just say that Crowley was your nanny?"
Despite the oddity of the situation, Warlock stiffened defensively. "He was a very good nanny."
"I…" Pepper blinked. "So… you're a muggle."
"I… what?" Warlock looked around again, feeling more out of his depth than ever. Maybe this was just some weird, meta, cosplay, Harry Potter themed wedding that had gotten way out of hand. Was that guy in the back supposed to be Mad-Eye Moody? Did J.K. Rowling write some more books that he didn't know about?"
"No, wait, hang on. It's okay." Pepper put a hand on his shoulder. "When's your birthday?"
Because, that question made perfect sense, under the circumstances… "August 20th," Warlock answered uncertainly.
"2008?"
"…y-yes."
"There's someone that I think you should meet."
"You're not about to tell me I'm a wizard, are you?" he asked, because really, at this point, it wouldn't have surprised him.
She laughed and covered her face again. "I thought you said you were a Warlock?"
oOoOoOo
Adam was trying to extract himself from the remaining wedding party long enough to make his way over to Oscar, when Pepper caught his attention, and he turned to see her walking toward him with a dark-haired stranger.
Except, stranger wasn't really the right word. Adam didn't need to be introduced to Warlock Dowling to know exactly who he was. He looked like a younger, better dressed, version of Adam's father, but with his mother's eyes and nose.
"Adam," Pepper said, "have you met Warlock?"
"No, I haven't," Adam said, forcing a smile, and extending his hand.
"He says that Crowley used to be his nanny, and it's the strangest coincidence, but the two of you have the same birthday." Pepper gave him an expectant look.
He hadn't needed the confirmation, but he still felt a pang of fear at what the next few minutes might change. He was standing face to face with Arthur and Diedre Young's natural born son, and he had no idea what that might mean for him. What happened to the cow bird imposter when the realchick came home to roost?
"We have the same birthday?" Warlock asked, looking from Adam to Pepper. "Wait. How did you know that we would have the same birthday? Are one of you going to explain what's going on?"
"He doesn't know about Crowley and Aziraphale," Pepper said. "No idea about any of it, I think."
"Yeah, Pepper, thanks. I'm getting that," Adam said.
"Looks an awful lot like your dad," she pointed out.
"Yes, thank you, Pepper."
"Might want to fill him in."
"Yeah, thanks, Pepper. Why don't you get Wensleydale and Brian to help you get everyone on the bus?"
"What bus?"
Adam waved a hand at the car park, as if in gesture. "The Citroen party bus," he said pointedly.
"Riiiight," Pepper thumbed her nose at him and walked off yelling, "Alright, you lot, everybody onto the bus!"
Adam rolled his eyes at her and then gave Warlock an appraisal. He seemed confused and maybe a little shell-shocked, but he didn't look like he was about to run away screaming, so Adam figured that he could handle a few revelations.
"Why don't you and I take a little walk?"
oOoOoOo
Oscar frowned as he watched Adam walk off with another young man. "Any idea who that is?" he asked Freddie.
Freddie followed his gaze. "No, but I don't know who most of these people are."
Pepper walked over then. "Adam wants everyone on the bus."
"Who is that he went off with?" Oscar asked her.
Pepper smirked. "That's his brother."
"I didn't know that he had a brother."
Pepper shrugged. "Sort of. They kind of just met. Well, unless you count the whole baby swap thing."
Oscar's brow furrowed as he thought it over for a minute. "Cow bird," he said finally, "yes, I see."
"What kind of bird?" Freddie asked.
oOoOoOo
Lucifer was watching them as they walked off along the path, as well. He hadn't given much thought to little Warlock since Meggido, when the truth had come out.
It seemed strange now. He'd watched the child grow from a distance, believing him to be his son, but now, seeing him beside Adam, there could be no question as to which boy was a true part of his spirit, and he wondered how he had gone eleven years without suspecting the truth.
He wondered, too, what would have happened if Warlock had been his son. Would they have had their war? He spared a glance at God, and found his gaze met with a knowing look. He scowled and looked away quickly.
It was beyond irritating to have an adversary who always knew what you were thinking. What made it worse was that sense that, even when you won, it was all part of some greater ineffable scheme to make sure that you were the one with your feet in the fire at the end of it.
Lucifer was well convinced that even Crowley's incompetence with the baby swap had been God's doing. Adam was never meant to start Armageddon, and whatever God's long-game was, Lucifer's son was sure to figure into it. He seriously doubted that Adam had finished playing his role in whatever ineffable machinations God was busy working on all of His creations.
Lucifer wanted nothing to do with it, but when had he ever had any choice in the matter?
He wrapped an arm around Azazel and pulled her close, as he plastered a smile onto his face and turned his back on God. He slid a hand down the sheer silk of her dress to settle it on the small of her back.
This. This was what he chose for himself. He'd have Azazel and their son. Let God make His plans. So be it. He didn't care anymore. He was done fighting the inevitable, and the ineffable too, come to that. He was going to choose for himself what happiness he could find.
God could keep His fucking board games.
oOoOoOo
Warlock wasn't sure what he thought of Adam exactly. He looked to be one of the "normal" people, but he also acted like he was the one in charge of everything. But, then, he was Brother Francis' best man, so he probably had been put in charge of everything. Nanny's best man didn't look like he could be trusted to handle much more than a mocha latte.
"So, I don't know how to say this, and I don't think there's any way to put it delicately, and it's going to sound crazy either way, so I'm just going to say it," Adam started. "Crowley used to be a demon, and Aziraphale used to be an angel. The reason they were working for your family is that they're both idiots, and they, mistakenly, thought that you were the Antichrist."
"You're right," Warlock said. "That does sound crazy."
And it did, it really did, but it also kind of made sense. He'd seen enough that didn't fit into the expected order of things to almost believe it. Almost.
"Also, your parents aren't your biological parents. A bunch of nuns were supposed to swap me with the biological child of the American Cultural Attaché to Britain, your father, but they messed it all up, so instead of taking home the Antichrist, your parents ended up with the biological child of The Youngs, a couple from Lower Tadfield, in Oxfordshire, who just happened to be in the wrong hospital at the wrong time—my parents."
"Your… parents…" Warlock's brain had turned to static somewhere along the line. The worst part of it was that this part made a kind of odd sense too. He wasn't sure he'd followed everything Adam had said after 'Your parents aren't your biological parents,' but he didn't look anything like either of his parents, and he'd never really felt like he fit in with the rest of his family. It wasn't anything specific, just a general feeling of not being quite right.
"So, you're saying that you're my parents' real son?" Warlock asked when he felt like he could speak again.
"Well," Adam hedged. "As far as my parents, The Youngs, are concerned, I'm the only son they've ever known, but I don't have anything to do with the Dowlings. I'm the Antichrist."
"The Antichrist," Warlock repeated.
Adam nodded.
"You're the Antichrist. My nanny is a demon, and our gardener was an angel. So, I suppose that guy performing the wedding ceremony was actually The Grim Reaper, then?"
"Yeah, but he's a complete arse. Don't talk to him, if you can avoid it."
Warlock took a breath. He wondered what a normal person's reaction to a wild story like this would be. He took another breath. "And Pepper? Is she some kind minor deity as well?"
Adam snorted. "She'd like to think so, but no. Human as they come. Just a mate. There's a couple of witches around though, a couple witchfinders, my biological parents, God, the Virgin Mary, Freddie Mercury…" Adam smirked a little. "Oscar Wilde. It's going to be quite the party at the reception."
Warlock chewed at his lower lip and nodded, slowly and thoughtfully. He mulled it all over for a moment. "This is all very weird."
"You really have no idea."
"What am I supposed to do here?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do I just believe you and go along with all this, or should I run screaming back to America and pretend like this was all some crazy dream?"
Adam shrugged. "What do you want to do?"
Warlock thought it over again. Part of him really did want to forget about all of this. Part of him was curious as to just how far down the rabbit hole he could go. Part of him had really been looking forward to working up the courage to ask Pepper to dance later. Another part of him just didn't feel equipped to handle any of this, and the calm detachment that he was affecting right now felt like it was going to shatter at any moment. He wasn't sure he was ready for whatever was underneath.
Another young man, forced to deal with a situation beyond his ability to cope with, might have wanted his mother, but Harriet Dowling had never really been the sort of mother who kissed away her son's tears, or tucked him into bed at night with assurances that the whole world would one day bow at his feet, or told him that everything was going to be okay. She'd hired other people to do that for her.
"I think," Warlock said. "I think I want my nanny."
"Well, you'd better come to the reception then," Adam told him. "Come on, I made us a party bus. It will be fun. This will probably all seem a lot more reasonable after a few drinks."
Alcohol. Yes. Nanny had had many things to say about the virtues of alcohol. Warlock hadn't put any of it to the test until he'd been much older, but like most of Nanny's advice, he'd found that it held true.
oOoOoOo
Adam was surprised that Pepper had managed to get almost everyone onto the bus.
Only the Pulsifers lingered, Anathema and Newton trying to decide which of them should drive Dirk Turpin to The Ritz, and which of their children should be allowed to ride on the bus, and Agnes and William loudly fighting over the same question.
"Sorry kids," Adam said, putting a hand on one shoulder of each, to separate them. "I don't think it's a good idea for either of you to ride on the bus."
"Oh, come on, Adam," William whined. "I promise I'll be good."
"It isn't you that I'm worried about," Adam told him, ruffling his hair.
William pushed him away with an irritated huffand ran back to his father.
"How about this?" Adam asked, and waved a hand at the Wasabi.
The little car made a pop like a backfiring engine and turned into a robin's egg blue, Volkswagen microbus, with pink and yellow flowers and peace signs painted all over it.
Newton and Anathema spun around together in surprise at the sudden transformation. Newton appeared utterly dismayed, but Anathema was just relieved that she no longer had to entertain the prospect of having either of her children stuck on a bus full of inebriated supernatural entities. Even with God on board that seemed like a recipe for disaster.
"That's much better," she said. "Thanks, Adam. You take both of the kids, Newt, and I'll ride with the rest of the wedding party."
"By myself?" Newt asked, dismayed.
"I'll get Shadwell to go with you."
Before Newton could object, though he obviously wanted to, Anathema had disappeared onto the larger bus to fetch the retired Witchfinder Sergeant.
"Uh, Adam?" Warlock piped up from beside him.
Adam had nearly forgotten about him. "Yeah?"
"How did you do that? The thing with the car?"
"Magic. I told you; I'm the Antichrist."
"Yeah, I know that's what you said, but… you turned that car into a hippy bus… It has peace signs painted on it…. I don't remember anything like thatin The Omen or Rosemary's Baby."
"I'm not that kind of Antichrist."
"What kind of Antichrist are you then?" Warlock asked.
Adam thought about it. He remembered the kraken pulling whaling vessels into the briny depths, Brazilian rainforests and abused mall trees stretching limbs up toward clear skies, the city of Atlantis rising up for a game of quoits, subterranean Tibetan tunnels, nuclear reactors with cores of lemon sweets, and aliens coming to Earth with messages of intergalactic peace and harmony. He gestured at the Volkswagen and shrugged. "Peace, man," he said, in the voice of an aged hippy.
At the same time, Shadwell stepped off the bus and made a disgusted sound. "Och, what did he let the lad do to yer car, Private? He's bedeviled it with his demon magicks. I'll nae ride in the devil's beatnik wagon."
"Hurry up, Grampy Shadwell," Agnes said excitedly, grabbing him by the hand. "You can sit with me. There's dinosaurs painted on the ceiling, inside, and it has curtains. It's super cool."
Adam laughed as Shadwell's protests melted away in the wake of Agnes' unbridled enthusiasm.
"Come on," Adam said, clapping a hand on Warlock's shoulder, as he turned toward the Citroen. "If I'm not quite what you expected from the Antichrist, you should meet my uncle so you can compare- get the mismatched set."
"What does that mean?"
Adam shot a grin back over his shoulder. "You need Jesus."
