Another fic based on a dream i had, I just had to write this, Crowley and Warlock is so cute! Check out my tumblr or ao3 for my art, Ive also got Twitter, insta and i'm on discord, all under the same monicker

Crowley had a bad feeling. It had been bothering him since he sensed the real anti-christ naming his hellhound, and had been feeling it grow more and more each passing moment that brought Armageddon closer. Aziraphale may have said that he hadn't found the boy, but the angel was a rubbish liar. It hurt he didn't trust him after everything they'd been through, but he trusted him. Aziraphale must've had a plan. That meant he could take care of something more pressing. Hastur was going to meet with who he thought was the anti-Christ soon, and when he learned that Warlock Dowling had no powers and was not the notorious son of Satan... well, the demon was known to have a temper. He couldn't help but feel responsible, and considering he raised that child for over half his life, he couldn't on good conscience(not that he had one) let anything happen to him.

Which is how he found himself leading the motorcade of one Thaddeus Dowling the 3rd, as they drove to the sacred place in Israel. Mr. and Mrs. Dowling and their son Warlock sat in the back of the limousine he was driving, heading towards a predestined point in the middle of Israel. It may have been written that Armageddon was to begin here, but... it wasn't. He stole a glance in the rearview mirror at the boy heaven and hell thought was the son of Satan, watching as the boy played the handheld game he had brought, complaining about always being dragged on his dad's boring business trips. Crowley couldn't help but think back at watching this boy grow up, and having a wild imagination. Oh the games they played together. There was never a dull moment raising him. He hid his smile. Now was not the time for reminiscing.

The motorcade pulled to a stop at the site, and Crowley's heart nearly stopped at the sight of Hastur. Yes, he knew the demon was going to be there, hell, he had sensed the demon's power spike three separate times. (Probably dispatching a legion demon who should have been there as well.) He slouched lower in his seat, suppressing his power as much as possible.

Crowley watched, listened closely, as Hastur ignored the adult Dowlings, as he demanded to know where the hellhound was. He chuckled to himself as Warlock brightly told Hastur he smelled like poo. He had a point, the duke of hell knew absolutely nothing about personal hygiene. He couldn't help but feel a bit proud, having taught the boy to always speak his mind and never sugarcoat his opinions. (Something Aziraphale had counter taught to be kind with his words).

Suddenly there was a spike in power, Hastur started to lash out at whatever was nearby, and that was his cue. Crowley rushed over and grabbed Warlock right as Hastur moved to grab Mrs. Dowling, who had started screaming when the dark demon had started his tantrum. She was right to panic, but screaming right now when a killer had a tight grip around her throat, was not the best idea.

"Crowley. I knew you were behind this." Hastur growled, his grip tightening on the woman's throat silencing her screams.

"Mom!" Warlock cried out, struggling in Crowley's arms. He reached towards his mother; Crowley tightened his grip.

"Hastur, bit over dramatic, don't you think?" Crowley's heart pounded, his mind raced on how he could get out of this.

"Please save my mom, mister!" Warlock trembled, clenching at Crowley's jacket. He didn't know what was going on, why the man that smelled like poo hurt his dad and why he was hurting his mom. He wished he were back home. Or why the chauffeur was now holding him.

"Shhhh, " Crowley hushed. "It will be ok, dear heart."

Warlock paused at the endearment the driver had used. Only one person ever called him that. He blinked and looked closely at him, taking in his deep red hair, just like hers, only much shorter. He recognized the sharp, angular nose and the glimmer of yellow eyes hidden behind dark glasses. It couldn't be her, could it? "Nanny?" He whispered softly. "Is that you?"

Crowley nodded imperceptibly, tightening his grip on the boy.

"Where is our Lord, Crowley?" Hastur growled, tightening his grip on Mrs. Dowling, causing her to make a sound of distress. "Where did you hide him?"

"Didn't hide him anywhere. I followed my orders. Drop the kid at the church. Not my fault the nuns gave him to the wrong family." His eyes looked around trying to figure an escape. If he tried to help Warlock's mother, it would put the child in danger. He was running out of time.

"It was your responsibility."

"Yes, and as soon as I realized something was wrong, I investigated the hospital, but SOMEBODY burned down the church archives." Crowley rolled his eyes, making a low sound in his throat.

"Where is the anti-Christ?" Hastur growled, baring his blackened teeth.

Crowley noticed something coming from the other demon's coat. Maggots! He was out of time. "I don't know. He's hidden," He lowered his voice. "Warlock, honey, hold on to me real tight, and close your eyes for me. Okay?"

"'kay."

Crowley shifted his grip on the boy, so that he was holding him with both hands. Once he was certain Warlock was holding tight and had his eyes closed. He looked at the duke of hell with a sneer. "And to be perfectly honest, it's for the best that no one finds him!"

Crowley raised his wings and took off as fast as he could go without hurting his cargo. The last thing he heard as he flew as far away from Megiddo as possible, was Hastur calling his name, and a woman screaming. He tightened his hold on Warlock, one arm cradling the back of his head, the other hand around his torso.

He wasn't sure how long he had flown, but he didn't stop until he was certain he wouldn't be found by the forces of Hell immediately. Once he landed, he hid his wings and let Warlock down on his feet.

"Nanny?" Warlock caught sight of the wings as they vanished from sight, and suddenly a lot of things from his childhood started making sense. He had two questions on his mind, and the first one slipped out before he thought to ask the one he SHOULD have asked. "Are you an angel?"

The question caught Crowley off guard. That was the last thing he had expected to be asked, that was for certain. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling suddenly very tired. But then again using his wings on this plane took a great deal of effort. "Nnnn not exactly."

Warlock looked confused. And then very sad. "And where's my mom?" Crowley stopped pacing. "You said that everything would be okay. But that scary guy, he was going to do something, he DID do something... he... he..."

Tears started flowing from his eyes and suddenly Crowley was reminded that humans, especially human children, can be very emotional. And watching Warlock grow up, the boy was certainly one for waterworks. He grabbed him into a hug, holding him tight. He ran a hand along his back, the same way he did when the child woke from nightmares in tears. He just knelt there holding him, giving him a little time to process what had happened. He hummed the old lullaby he used to sing to him every night, and they just stood there in the middle of a near empty field in Israel. He knew they were pressed for time, but considering what just happened, he let Warlock have at least a few moments.

After a few minutes of that, Crowley pulled away from the boy. "Listen, Warlock, we need to go now. I'm... sorry about what happened today, but that man, the one you said smelled like poo, he's going to come after us. We need to go."

Warlock scrubbed at his eyes, trying to calm down. "Go where, Nanny? What's going on? What happened to my parents!?"

Crowley noticed that the boy was starting to get upset again, and he had to stop that. Hastur was going to come after him, and because he would never leave Warlock alone in a foreign country, that meant that the boy was now in danger, because of him. He had to think fast, and he had to do something. They were in the middle of Isreal, thousands of miles from London, and the end of the world was coming in less than a day. He looked around and noticed they were in an airport parking lot. Well, might as well make the best of things, and just borrow a car. If the world ends, no one will miss it.

But first he needed to call Aziraphale, to see if he had any ideas on what was going on with the real anti-christ. He pulled out his cellphone and called the bookshop, and got a busy signal. Great. As if he had time for this. He ended the call, and stared at the phone. Suddenly a thought occurred to him. He looked at Warlock, the boy was certain to have a cellphone as well.

"Warlock, dear, do you have a phone?"

"Um, yeah. Why, did you need it?"

"Yes." Warlock handed him the phone. He then dropped both phones on the pavement and stomped on them, ignoring the boy's shout of protest.

"What did you do that for!" Warlock was no longer sad, now he was angry. Well, that was much more productive than the tears.

"That man, he's a demon. He can travel through things like mobile phones. He could still track us down, but without something traceable like a phone, it would be harder for him to do. Now, we need to get going. We need to get to Aziraphale's."

Warlock got into the car that Crowley pointed to, not sure what was going on, but the day certainly was a strange one. Maybe it was all just a bad dream, and he was back at his bedroom. If it were a dream, it was better the alternative. "Who's Aziraphale?"

"Oh, ugh, nnng... You know him as Brother Francis. He has a bookshop in London, and we need his help."

Brother Francis as well? Did he miss them that much, that he would drum up a bad dream like this? And... If this WAS a dream, why would he need to think up a weird name such as 'Aziraphale'? "Isn't London far? How will we get there?"

"Drive there." Crowley sped up, increasing his speed. "Buckle up, dear."

Warlock buckled his seat belt, with a little bit of attitude. Crowley was almost proud. Yes, London was more than 3,000 miles from their current location. But, he knew a short cut. He just needed the boy to fall asleep. So he did what he used to do to a small boy, not wanting to go to bed at his bed time. He sung the lullaby he wrote for him. Within minutes, the boy was drowsing, head leaning against the window. He then placed a small miracle on the car he stole, and hoped that the next one he pulled would not bring suspicion of hell on his heels. He would hate to think what would have happened if Hastur were to pop into the car right now. But the next one was going to be a much bigger one, a massive shortcut to get to London, two days ahead of schedule.

His mind raced, wondering what they were going to do... how they would fix everything. He hoped Aziraphale had a plan, the angel was clever. He looked over at his sleeping passenger and couldn't help but smile at the thought of him seeing the boy. He turned onto Brewer, slowing down, just a smidge, as he was almost at his destination, only to find out the road was partially blocked off by police and firefighters. What was going on? He had a bad feeling his day was going to go from bad, to worse.

(By no means complete, there will be a second chapter!