Crowley didn't need his instructions to know that Lucy would probably be opposed to 'leaving Adam unattended in a locked bookshop', but it was that or no instructions at all.

He all but groaned in frustration as he and Ezra used sticks and branches to fish the pages out of the duck pond from the side. There was no way Crowley would ruin his snakeskin boots for pages of which he knew the contents were unsalvageable. But Ezra insisted they not pollute the park more than it already was. He had a point, but that did nothing to brighten Crowley's mood.

"That'ss the lasssst one," he mumbled. His tongue was thick and uncomfortable in his mouth after he nearly bit off the tip, courtesy of a well-placed football to the cranium that put him back to square one with his speech impediment. "Can we pleasse go back to Adam now, before something happensss we both regret?"

"Yes," Ezra said as he plucked the final page from the stick in Crowley's hands. "I'll put these in the recycling." He gave the grocery bag they had collected the pages in a good pat. "By the way, how's your head?" He asked as they walked the short distance back to the shop.

"I haven't had any complaintss."

"I mean it, dear," the shorter man said, less than amused.

Crowley shook his head. 'Dear'? Did Ezra just call him 'dear'?

"I'm ssure I'll be fine," he mumbled as he glanced through the window of the bookshop. Adam, who was still strapped into his stroller, had decided this would have been a good moment to take a quick nap.

Ezra peered through now opened front door of the shop. "Oh, would you look at that. Isn't he precious?" he said as he held the door open for Crowley.

He really is, the man thought, but Ezra didn't allow him the opportunity to actually voice his reply.

"Let's see if I have any books to replace those instructions of yours," he said as he ran off into the shop, to the self-help and parenting section.

The bookshop was old. All creaky hardwood floorboards and sturdy oak bookshelves, contrasting creamy white walls that were lined with antique, dusty light fixtures. There were at least five flights of stairs behind the till that each led to a different section of books, as well as a modest apartment. Crowley knew self-help and parenting was on the second floor, so he unclasped the sleeping Adam from his seat, carefully cradled the boy against his chest, and went up the stairs.

"Find anything?" he asked.

Ezra turned around, holding a stack of books. Crowley stopped counting at five, but there were at least thrice as many of varying page counts.

"Well, yes. Each of these books has some truths and genuinely good advice in it, but there's no way one person can read all of this for two weeks of babysitting. Even marking the right pages with memos would take me days."

"Maybe it'ss time for the great 'Aziraphale' to write a book on child care then, isn't it? Compiling the good bits?"

Ezra pouted. "You know historical novels are more of my thing, Crowley. Besides, if I used that pen name, no one would take the book seriously."

"I was kidding," Crowley said. "But you do have experience with this kind of stuff, which is why I meant to call you in the first place. I was hoping you could jusst… help me out. You know?"

"Help you out?" Ezra repeated.

"I mean, if you don't mind."

"Well, if you don't mind seeing a lot more of me these next two weeks, I don't mind helping you out. But I really can't leave the shop alone for that long."

"That's okay. I'm sure Adam would love being here," Crowley said as he carefully ran his fingers through the boy's hair.

Ezra smiled at him. There was something about it that was unlike any other time Ezra had smiled at him before. There was a fondness in his smile. Crowley was in no way equipped to deal with this.

"You know, I never thought I'd see you doting on another human being like that," Ezra said, his soft gaze now cast at Adam, who made a face in his sleep.

"You should have seen me with my niece. Anathema was at least as cute as Adam when she was that age, and twice as demanding."

Ezra frowned, deep in thought.

"Now that you mention it, I do remember you coming in with a little girl every once in a while. I figured out she must have been a niece later. I could have sworn she was your daughter at first."

"Ez, I'm thirty-two. Isn't that a little young to have a seventeen year old daughter?"

Ezra raised his hands in self-defense. "Not judging."

"Okay, enough about how good I would look as a dad. I'm just glad you're willing to…" Crowley sniffed at the air. "What's that smell?" he asked only just before Adam woke and started wailing in his ear. "Jesus Christ!" he shrieked as he barely managed not to drop the boy.

"Oh, come here. He just needs a clean diaper," Ezra said as he took the crying baby from the man's arms and rocked the boy gently as he took him into the apartment.

Crowley, on the other hand, ran down to the diaper bag downstairs and carried the whole thing up. He was in no way equipped to deal with that, either.

It was around four in the afternoon by the time Ezra was feeding Adam. The boy was happily sat in Crowley's lap, who held an arm around him while he read through the manuscript of Aziraphale's next novel in his other hand as Ezra fed the child.

'The Nice And Accurate Vengeance Of Agnes Nutter, Witch'. Agnes Nutter. The name rung a vague bell with Crowley, but for the life of him, he couldn't put his finger on why.

"That's good, isn't it?" Ezra cooed as he wiped some mashed vegetable from Adam's cheek.

"Ez, I know you know you're a good writer, but would you not patronize me like that?" Crowley mumbled without looking up.

"I wasn't talking to you, dear. I was talking to Adam," he said as he offered Adam another spoonful. "But thank you. It's only the first draft though. It's nowhere near the quality it needs to be."

"You always were the better storyteller between us. I mean, I don't know how you do it. The dialogue, the visual descriptions… I can see it all in front of me. I can't believe people kept records of all this. Was there really a witch that wiped a complete village off the map?"

Ezra chuckled, he seemed amused by Crowley's curiosity. "Well, yes and no. Records of the Witchfinder Army showed that a woman accused of witchcraft was to be burned at the stake at 2 PM that day in 1655, while other records showed there was an explosion around that time in approximately that area that was heard as far away as Halifax. The following day, the WA goes back to the village to investigate only to find that rubble was all that remained, which was also recorded. The rest is more of an… 'educated guess'," he air quoted.

Crowley mocked a gasp. "Aziraphale? Using educated guesses to write his absolutely not fictional novel rather than researching even more dusty old records? Are you hearing this scandalous scoop, Mr. Adam?" He leaned down to look the boy in the eye. Adam giggled. When he looked back up at Ezra, the man didn't seem as amused.

"You know I'm not comfortable calling my books non-fiction. Also, might I remind you that all eyewitnesses to this event have been blown to smithereens?"

"I'm sorry. I was just kidding," Crowley said. This time, he really was. Sorry, at least. "I'll make it up to you, I promise," he thought for a minute before speaking up. "Anything you want done, I'll do for you," he spoke confidently. Oh no. Should have thought a little longer on that.

Ezra seemed to put a lot of thought into his answer; his brows knitted together tightly, a pout pulled at the man's features as he bit on his lip, but eventually the other man spoke up.

"Well, if you can really envision the story like that, it would only be a small effort to make a mock up for the cover, right? You always were the better artist between us, and I'm sure I can get my agent to get my publisher to pay you for your time."

Crowley was quiet for a second.

"Pardon?" He asked eventually. The greatest extent of art nowadays were quick sketches and storyboards to communicate Lucy's ideas for the shareholders and the marketing teams. To make the cover of a book was a whole other ballpark. Besides, he was offering a favour, and now Ezra was offering to get him paid in return? What even was this conversation at this point?

On the other hand, now that he was out of the office for two weeks to look after Adam, he had the time to figure it out. "Are you sure? I mean, where did you even get the idea?"

Ezra shrugged. "I found a picture of us at your graduation expo while I was doing my spring cleaning. You were good. Are good, I'm sure. Why you ever chose to become an assistant in a marketing department is beyond me."

"Cold, hard cash, Ez. A man's gotta live," Crowley stated simply. "Besides, I like working with Lucy," he said as he carded another hand through Adam's soft hair.

"Yes, but do you actually like your work?"

"Ezra, this isn't the time for me to start questioning my life choices. It isn't even five in the afternoon and I'm dead sober," he snapped, and frowned at the realization of what he'd just said. "But I'd love to make you a sketch or two for your book," Crowley said in an attempt to make it up to his friend.

"I'm glad you do," Ezra smiled. "Would you like to stay for dinner? I was planning on getting takeout."

"Yes. Absolutely."