go_exchange | Happy Holidays, impishtubist! Part 1 (Reply)

Title: Out of Place

Recipient name: impishtubist

Rating: G

Pairings and characters: Crowley & Warlock, Aziraphale/Crowley

Warnings: Brief suicide ideation

Summary: Seven years after Armageddon, Warlock comes to England to find his former nanny.

Note: I chose the TV canon for this one, because it suited the prompt better, but there are also some details from the Book canon.

Happy Holidays!

A huge thank you to my beta and the Mods for their hard work and patience.

Chapter 1.

Warlock was pretending to be asleep. He was in the hospital. Warlock quite liked hospitals; they’d helped him a lot when he had been at school. He had this almost supernatural ability to fall ill when he needed to – when he had a test in English or simply was fed up with studying. He didn’t even have to fake it; it just really happened. For a while, he had considered it his superpower, something that had made him special. Only later, a medical student he’d met during one of his visits to the hospital had told him about psychosomatics. Apparently, the human mind was so clever that it could convince the body to fall ill when a person was too nervous or too bored to go on with their life.

This was a fascinating discovery. Doctors, in general, tended to be rather clever people. And what was even more important – they always paid attention to him. They listened to him and were interested in how he was feeling. Even if it was only about feeling pain in his stomach.

He suspected that his superpower had worked again. He had finished high school, he hadn't chosen a college, he didn't have a job, and he didn't have a place in life. Because he currently didn't know what to do with himself, instead he had appendicitis.

It wasn’t a near-death experience, but it was serious enough for his Dad to leave work and come to see him. He was here now arguing in a loud whisper with one of the doctors.

Warlock listened without opening his eyes.

“It’s ridiculous!” his father said. “You’ve just made this nonsense up. I was there when he was born. Well, not exactly there, but I shared the experience! Anyway, how did you even learn about this stuff? Since you claim that it’s true, of course.”

“It is true, Mr Dowling. I know I shouldn’t have done the DNA test without your request, but this hospital needs money, it’s falling apart, and I had to fight…”

“And you thought you could blackmail me by threatening to tell my son that he’s not my biological child? Whatever happened to the Hippocratic oath, uh? Is it a hypocrites’ oath now? I will sue you, you bastard!”

“I’m so sorry, Mr Dowling, you’ve misunderstood me! I didn’t mean to… Clearly, there’s been some mistake in the lab…”

But that would explain a lot. – Warlock thought, still pretending to be asleep.

It would explain why almost all his life he’d felt out of place as if he hadn’t quite fit in anywhere. His father wanted him to become a diplomat like himself, but Warlock wasn’t good either at culture or diplomacy. He liked talking to people, but he liked it when they said what was on their minds and not what they needed to say to make other people feel nice. His mother didn’t want him to become a diplomat at all. She was fed up with his Dad always being away, and she didn’t want Warlock to leave her too. Instead, she tried to get him interested in science, art and other stay-at-home activities. He liked Maths and was quite good at it, but neither his teachers nor his parents thought it suited him to become some boring accountant. So he soon lost interest in it too.

Once he had been told that he was special. Back in England when he was a little boy, there were people who’d treated him like he was not an ordinary boy and as if everything that he did was important. That feeling was magical. He knew that the Universe would look after him. His nanny had told him that.

Yes, now Warlock remembered: it was his nanny who had made him believe he was special. She probably had been the only person in his life who had really thought so. She and maybe that strange gardener they’d had for a while. But he had mostly talked to young Warlock about the earth and its creatures. But the nanny had spoken about Warlock himself. She had sounded as if she had known what his destiny would be. Maybe she could tell him. Right now this was just the thing he needed. He needed a person who knew him better than he knew himself. And that person was clearly not his Mom or his Dad – who might not even be his real Mom and Dad.

So, lying in the hospital bed, Warlock decided that he was ready to get better. He was going to England.

It wasn’t difficult to find the telephone number: Mrs Dowling kept all Warlock’s papers in perfect order, so of course, she had kept the old notebook with his nanny’s number.

Warlock took it out while nobody was home and sat at the table. He put the notebook and phone in front of him. He took a couple of deep breaths. He picked up the phone. Then he felt nervous and went to the kitchen to get some water. He sat down again. Then he dialed and held his breath, half wishing that no one would pick up the phone.

“You have reached a number that is no longer in service.”

He felt disappointed. Now that his plan was ruined it seemed to him that all his hope and happiness depended on that strict British lady in dark glasses.

Warlock decided not to give up. He had a private conversation with one of his father’s men with special skills and asked him to find a person. He’d remembered that one day when he had been about five his nanny had needed to quickly pop up home to get something, and she’d taken him with her. She had probably thought that he wouldn’t remember it later, but he had. Vaguely. It had been a mysterious adventure. He had liked how big the building had been and that there had been no other people except for them, as if Nanny Ashtoreth had lived in the kingdom of Sleeping Beauty. He had liked the beautiful strange car parked near the entrance.
She had told him to wait for her outside, and he’d thought that her flat must have been even more magical than the car and the building…

Now, that past adventure let Warlock give at least some details to the man who had agreed to help him without telling his Dad.

The next day he brought Warlock the address. He was a bit nervous:

“We found an A. Crowley living in that area, but I’m not sure it’s Ms Ashtoreth Crowley. It’s not the rarest surname, sir. Do you want me to send somebody to check?”

“No, thank you. I don’t want to scare her.” Frankly speaking, Warlock doubted that anything could scare Ms Ashtoreth Crowley. Rather it would make her furious. He couldn’t risk it.

He took the address and started packing.

Warlock didn’t tell his mother the real purpose of his journey; she would be worried. Everything worried Harriett Dowling these days. He’d just said he needed to clear his head before taking his next step in life.

The more correct way to phrase it would, in fact, be: he needed something to fill his head with.

***

As soon as Warlock stepped inside the building, he knew it was the place. It had that familiar sense of magic and mystery about it. Warlock had thought that it was something only children felt when entering new and strange places, but he wasn’t a child anymore, and yet there it was.

He went up the stairs very slowly and froze in front of the door. He didn’t even know what he was going to say. What if she wasn’t happy to see him?

Well, he was almost certain she wouldn't be happy to see him. He remembered his nanny pretty well. Despite her telling him that he was special, he doubted that she’d ever loved him.

It was okay. He didn’t need love. He needed answers.

Warlock took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell button.

There was silence. He tried again. Nothing. Then a rude male voice shouted through the closed door:

“Go away, angel! I don’t want to hear your stupid excuses!”

It sounded oddly familiar.

He rang one more time. Then he heard footsteps.

“Okay, I’m coming. But it’d better be a good one.”

It was too sudden. Warlock wasn’t ready to meet someone he didn’t know and explain to them who he needed to speak to and why… He didn’t fully understand it himself… He…

The door swung open.

“Oh.” The man on the doorstep looked at him and sounded disappointed. Warlock was used to that. But then, the stranger took a better look at him and suddenly said:

“Warlock? Is that you?”

Warlock looked up and stared at the owner of the flat.

Red hair, sunglasses, prominent cheekbones… Of course, it could be a relative – a brother or something – but the likeness was too great. Besides, he knew Warlock’s name.

“Er… Nanny?” he mumbled.

“What the… What are you doing here? How did you find me? Did you look for me? Maybe it’s a mistake?”

Warlock saw he wanted it to be a mistake.

“No, I’m here to see you. I… I guess I missed you, er, Nanny.” He’d known all along that all his words would sound awkward during this meeting. But now it was just a whole new level of awkwardness.

“O-kaay,” the nanny said with hesitation.

“May I?” Warlock nodded towards the door. The nanny shook himself and let go of the door.

“Er. Yeah. Sure. Why not.”

Warlock stepped inside and looked around. This was probably the strangest residence he’d ever been to. For one thing, it was huge. The Dowlings’ houses had always been big too, but every room had a purpose. Two rooms of this flat, visible to Warlock from the dark and incredibly long hall, were almost empty and contained just a few pieces of furniture and some house plants.

His former nanny led Warlock to the kitchen. It looked a bit more normal and lived-in than the hall. There was a table with chairs, a fridge and some cupboards too.

“What should I call you?” Warlock finally dared to ask. “Nanny sounds a bit… childish.”

“Crowley. My name’s Crowley.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want tea?” Crowley asked awkwardly.

“It would be nice, thanks.” Warlock nodded. He did feel a bit dry-mouthed.

“Good.” He seemed relieved to have something to busy himself with. The pause became too long though, so putting the kettle on, Crowley asked:

“Now, what’s happened to you? You look different.”

“Huh, look who’s talking.” Warlock chuckled a bit.

“What d’you mean?”

“Well, you’ve changed too, haven’t you?”

“Of course, I have. I’m not Aziraphale to be wearing the same clothes for fifty years. But you’ve become... er... bigger?”

“It’s been seven years. I’m eighteen now.” Warlock smiled.

“Really? That means, seven years since the Apocalypse? Seven years of freedom, and he’s still not over it?”

“What?”

“No, no, it’s nothing.” He shook his head and changed the subject. “So, how’s your life been?”

“Don’t know. Normal.” Warlock said and realised at that moment that that was the problem. His life had been too normal – nothing too bad, nothing too good either. Nothing extraordinary. Everything had seemed extraordinary every time he had been with nanny Crowley. “We left for America when I was eleven. I don’t know why. Something to do with Dad’s work probably. I didn’t want to. I had loved England. I didn’t quite fit in there, in the States. I had to find new friends, but I wasn’t very good at it. School was another problem. I didn’t like to study and I was never interested in the things my parents wanted me to be interested in. At first, I liked Maths a bit, but neither Mum nor Dad thought it was cool enough for a son of a diplomat. So I gave up practising. Now I’m no better than my former classmates. Now, Dad wants me to study law and become a diplomat, and mother tries to make an architect out of me. But that’s just because she thinks artists are cool, and because I used to make Lego models when I was a kid. It’s stupid; she could just as well suggest I become a race driver because I used to ride a BMX bike. But of course, she wouldn’t want that!”

“And you?”

“Well, that would be at least better than an architect!”

“No, I mean, what do you want to be?”

“Nothing! That’s the point. I don’t know what I can or want to do. I don’t know who I am. I could become an economist, I suppose, and my parents might agree. But that would mean accepting that I’m going to do the only thing I’m good at for the rest of my life. It’s so depressing! To do something you don’t like in a place that you don’t like, just because you’re no good for anything else.”

“Ah, ninety per cent of humans do that.” Crowley put a cup of tea in front of him.

“Yes, but I’ve always thought I wasn’t one of them. You always said I was special. And I feel like it’s true. I’m just not in the right place, you see? And recently I’ve learnt that I might have been adopted!”

Crowley looked at him in horror.

“H-how did you find that out?” he asked hoarsely.

“A doctor said to my Dad at the hospital that I’m not his or my Mum’s son. He said it was a mistake, but I feel that it might be true. I’ve never been close with my parents. They love me, but they don’t try to understand me.”

“Every young man says that… Oh.” Crowley said, and when Warlock looked up at him he looked a bit stricken as if he’d just remembered something. Warlock thought that it was a good sign.

“But what if it is true? What if my life would have been absolutely different if I had grown up with my real parents? Something or someone has taken that chance from me, so I’ll never know. And perhaps, you’re the person I’ve been closest to – the one I’ve had the strongest connection with. You’re the only one who’s believed in me. Who thought I was special.”

“So what exactly do you want from me?”

“I want you to help me find my way. Find myself. Tell me what it was you saw in me. What should I do to see it too?”

“I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong address, kid.” Crowley scoffed. He seemed a bit nervous. “I’m the last person you should seek advice from. Especially when it comes to problems with parents and finding your place in the world. I am a very, very bad role model, believe me.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because when I’m listening to you, I’m not thinking about your problems, I’m thinking about mine. And I think that you, kid, can’t even imagine what real problems are.”

“Come on, don’t start!” Warlock felt disappointed. Is this why he’d flown across the ocean? “You aren’t going to give me all that grown-up bullshit about responsibilities, relationships, jobs, and mortgage, are you? You weren’t like this when you were a woman. You used to be cool.”

“I wasn’t a woman, I’ve always been me. And I am cool!” He somehow managed to stress two words in a row.

“No, you aren’t. You’re talking about problems like they’re something one has to be worthy of, like you have to deserve the right to have them. Problems are problems. Not only old people can have them, you know?”

“Oh, really?”

“Really! What’s so special about your problems that you can’t forget about them for a moment to listen to someone else?”

“You don’t want to hear.”

“I do!”

“Fine! Where should I start?” Crowley shouted. Warlock didn’t know why he had suddenly become so angry, but he guessed that he might have hit a nerve. Crowley started pacing back and forth, then stopped and grabbed the back of a chair opposite Warlock. He looked as if he was using it as a shield and trying to murder it at the same time.

“I was an angel once. And before you ask: no, it’s not some bloody metaphor. And then I Fell. Meaning: I was talking too much and listening to the wrong people, and my Mother – who is also my Father – was disappointed in me. She never even told me about it. She just threw me away. Me and some other angels like me. You say that your parents want you to do things that you don’t like. But at least they don’t turn their back on you when you don’t! I ended up in Hell. Again – not a metaphor! I had to make a name for myself really fast, otherwise, I would’ve been eaten alive. To do that, I made humanity Fall. It took me several centuries to stop looking at people’s miseries thinking that every scream of pain, every tear of sorrow was my fault. And you’re telling me it’s hard for you to figure it out who you are? Anyway, I got over it at last. I realised that I didn’t need to be good if there was no one who cared. Life became great, it became interesting, and I was free to enjoy it. Until I met someone who cared. Unexpectedly I found a whole new life only to lose it again later. Like a child, I was given a toy for the first time in my life only for it to be taken away because I was not worthy of it. This one is a metaphor. And now you come here and tell me that your life is hard and I have to help you. I can’t even help myself, and I definitely can’t help you. I don’t fix things, I ruin them. I’m the one who made your life a mess in the first place!”

“W-What?”

Crowley was talking nonsense. It was clear that he was trying to make his own problems look bigger using all those exaggerations and metaphors (even though he said they weren’t metaphors), and to make Warlock forget his own misery. But the last sentence was totally unexpected.

“Eighteen years ago the forces of Heaven and Hell were going to start Armageddon. You know what Armageddon is? Seas of blood, skies turn red, the world ends. And they ordered me to bring the Antichrist on Earth and switch him with the newborn child of an American diplomat. I did my job, only I didn’t know that there was another baby born at the same convent that night. So your real parents got the Antichrist, the Dowlings got you, and their real child… I’ve no idea where he is now.”

Warlock was trying to process this. It sounded too weird and cruel to be true, even if he ignored all that “Heaven and Hell” shit.

“What? Why..? Why would somebody do that?” he whispered, barely able to speak.

“I told you, I was ordered. You don’t just go around disobeying Hell’s orders. Well, I did, but that was later. At that time, I just had to. As simple as that. Because of me – well, and the Satanic Nuns – you ended up with the Dowlings. And I thought you were the Antichrist. My friend and I tried to stop Armageddon, so I became your nanny and he became a gardener at your house.”

“Brother Francis…”

“Oh, you remember him, good! Anyway. We wanted you to be neither too evil nor too good so that when you grew up, you wouldn’t start the Apocalypse.”

“Are you trying to say that you were with me only because of some conspiracy?” The realization hit Warlock like a pile of bricks.

“Yes! But it was our plan to save the Earth. The stakes were too high. If the Earth had ended, it wouldn’t have mattered who grew up where. I didn’t even have a childhood, let alone loving parents; do you hear me complaining about that?”

“And… Brother Francis too?” Warlock was holding onto his last hope. “He was in on it too?”

“Yes. His real name is Aziraphale. He’s an angel. That doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t get it… First, you took me away from my real family and then you tried to make me your puppet. And not even me, because I was just accidentally misplaced, right? I was the wrong boy!”

“Absolutely.”

“And neither you nor Brother Francis ever cared for me. You said I was special! You were the only one who did…”

“It was because I thought you were the Antichrist,” Crowley said mercilessly.

“I don’t know what that means,” sniffed Warlock. “This Antichrist, Armageddon, Heaven and Hell stuff. Are those code names? Do they have something to do with politics? But I do understand one thing now: you are a really horrible person. I never should have gone looking for you.”

With these words, Warlock stormed out of the room and then – out of Crowley’s flat. Crowley didn’t follow him.

Warlock ran down the stairs and then stopped in the stairwell at the fifth floor. He didn’t know where he was going. He wanted to get out of here, didn’t want to stay a minute longer in this terrible building, in this terrible country... He didn’t want to go back to the States. Nothing was waiting for him there. All his hopes had been pinned on this, and all of them were now shattered. He stepped to the window in the stairwell and jerked it open. Then, following some strange urge, he climbed up on the windowsill and looked down.

Warlock didn’t want to die, not really. But he didn’t want to be either. He didn’t know how to be, and what to be, and he hadn’t known for too long. He was tired. And disappointed. He was so disappointed that it made him feel ashamed. He wanted it to stop...

Suddenly, a woman screamed. The scream startled Warlock, and he lost his balance. At the last second, he grabbed at the ledge outside the window, but now he was hanging outside the building, ready to fall down any second.

The woman who had screamed rushed up the stairs and started to knock at all doors. No one answered.

Finally, one door opened.

“What’s going on here again?” Crowley’s irritated voice said. “Can’t I have some peace and quiet in my own home?”

“Mister Crowley, sir, there’s a young man in the window! He... He’s going to fall down! Please, Mister Crowley, do something!”

“What?!”

Warlock heard hurried footsteps running down the stairs and then Crowley’s face appeared above him.

“What the Hell are you doing, you little bassstard?!”

“Why d’you... care...” mumbled Warlock.

“You think you can just come here and kill yourself using my house? You think this will guilt-trap me, or what?”

“No... I don’t... To feel guilt... one has to have a conscience...”

“Don’t you dare... Well... I mean, you’re right, I don’t need a consciencssse, I’m a demon.”

“So just go away... Leave me alone...”

“Do you think you’ll die if you fall from here? Nah, that’s unlikely. You’ll just break a couple of bones, probably a spine. Fancy spending the rest of your life in a wheelchair? I could prove it to you, jump down first, but even immortals prefer not to feel such pain.”

“Fuck…off!” Warlock’s mind was blank. He knew he was going to fall any minute now, but it didn’t seem like a bad scenario. He’d be either dead or in hospital. Warlock liked hospitals. You didn’t need to decide anything there.

A second before his numb fingers let go of the ledge, he thought absently if he’d done it on purpose after all.

“Shit!” was the last thing he heard as he fell down.

He didn’t scream; he was too terrified. He couldn’t even close his eyes.

And so he saw it – a winged figure in the window jumping after him.

No, not jumped. Flew.

He looked like a giant bird. Warlock was afraid of him but wanted him to save him anyway.

The winged man stretched an arm and grabbed him by the jacket. Then he scooped up Warlock and pulled out of the dive.

“Bloody hell, you’re heavy!” he said, panting on his way to the window of his own apartment. “And I remember carrying you around in my arms and on my back once…”

“C-C-Crowley?” Warlock was shivering violently. He thought he might have hit the ground and lost his consciousness. Crowley with wings? A flying nanny? What the…

“Yeah, I told you I was a demon, didn’t I?”

“I…”

“You thought it was a metaphor, yeah.”

Crowley stepped on the windowsill and from there – into his living room. He lowered Warlock onto the sofa and shook out his strained hands and arms.

“Now you know that it wasn’t.”

Then he took off his sunglasses – for the first time since Warlock had known him.

He had snake eyes.

Warlock, who was shivering already, let out a little frightened whimper. Crowley sighed. His wings disappeared, and he sat down next to Warlock, who recoiled a bit, pressing himself into the back of the sofa. Crowley took a blanket from the chair, where it hadn’t been a moment before, and wrapped it around Warlock.

“You’ve frightened me,” Crowley said, sounding as if this fact surprised him.

“Oh, I did?” Warlock scoffed a little shakily.

“I…” Crowley rubbed his hands nervously. “I guess I should apologize to you for all that stuff in the past. It just… It really was a hard time, the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t. I thought we’d either save everyone or everyone would die. Or I would die before everyone else. I could have, many times… And later… I think it’d never occurred to me that you might not be happy. You have a great loving family, lots of opportunities… And I still think that you can sort everything out for yourself and have a great life.”

“Will you help me?” Warlock said quietly. Crowley looked at him in amazement.

“You still want me to help you? After all… this?” He made a vague gesture whose meaning could include himself and his demonic nature, his past crime against Warlock, and their recent disagreement too.

“Will you?” Warlock repeated stubbornly. When Crowley remained silent, he added. “And I could try to help you.”

“I don’t need help,” Crowley scoffed.

“You said only a few minutes ago that you were unhappy.”

“I didn’t… Ugh. Whatever. Shall I bring you more tea? You’re shaking.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I can miracle up a cake.”

“You can miracle things up? You mean, like, magically create them?” Warlock even propped himself up on his elbows.

“It’s better when you just transfer things that already exist somewhere. When you create them from thin air they sometimes taste like… well, thin air. But basically, yeah.”

He waved a hand, and a plate with a piece of cream cake appeared in it. Warlock gasped.

Crowley chuckled. “Being a demon has to have its perks, otherwise no one would want the job, right?”

He pulled the coffee table closer to the sofa, put the plate on it, and stood up.

“I’ll make tea again. Help yourself.”

Warlock took the little fork and tried the cake. It was fantastic.

“There are bananas in it,” he informed Crowley when the demon/nanny reappeared in the living room. “I like bananas.”

“I know,” Crowley smiled.

“How? You can’t read my mind or something?”

“No, no. Just remembered. You always made me buy that banana-flavour bubble gum. You would do anything for it. Even play jokes on Brother Francis, remember?”

“Right!” Warlock chuckled, remembering Brother Francis’s face when the gardener saw that his roses were of all colours of the rainbow and that apples had “grown” on his pear trees.

“We had a good time together,” said Crowley, not looking at Warlock. “Even though it had started as business and even though it didn’t help to stop Armageddon. Besides, I’m sure you were more fun growing up than the real Antichrist was.”

“Thanks… I guess,” said Warlock and swallowed the cake. “Nanny?”

“Don’t call me that. It makes me feel old,” Crowley grumbled.

“When I was little, you used to sing songs to me. They were sort of strange, but they helped me calm down and fall asleep. Do you remember them now?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Please?”

“Hm… Fine… I can try. But only so you fall asleep and stop bothering me.”

“You said that same thing back then!”

“Hush!” Crowley took the empty cup from his hands and tucked in his blanket. Warlock rested his head on the sofa cushion, which was softer than his pillow back home, and closed his eyes.

Crowley began to sing:

Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do.
I’m half crazy, ‘cos I want you to Fall too.
When I become Prince of Darkness,
You’ll be my unholy duchess.
We’ll burn this world
For Satan, our Lord,
And then we’ll defeat him too.

“Your songs have changed, you know,” Warlock smiled without opening his eyes. “They’ve become more sentimental.”