“Crowley,” Aziraphale said one day in the cottage, “I do think that you weren’t completely correct.”

“About?” Crowley was used to Aziraphale calling him out for being wrong, whether he was wrong or not. He was unaffected by the claim.

“Being Godfathers. I don’t think really really made it that closely with Warlock, as wonderful as it was to be with him through his first years.”

Crowley made a face and then dipped it back into his glass. “Yeah, well, I said ‘sort of’, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but I was rather looking forward to it and as much fun as it was – outside of the panic of the end of the world and all – it wasn’t exactly what I’d wanted.”

Crowley choked on his drink after that and Aziraphale didn’t say anything else about that, because he obviously knew what it was that Crowley was thinking.

Still, Crowley decided to tell him it anyway. “You really wanted to have more to do with raising the kid?”

Aziraphale shrugged, twisting his hands together. “Maybe? Not quite. Sort of. You know.”

Crowley would have loved to say that he didn’t know at all, thank you very much, but he knew Aziraphale. So of course he knew. He just didn’t want to agree with it out loud, because that would be a little too much than he really wanted to admit to.

“All right, I see… your point.” Crowley slipped back against the chair and put his feet up on the table between them.

Aziraphale gave him a look, but didn’t ask him to remove his feet.

“I just was saying. I know that we, well, it’s not like we really should say we wanted anything to be different. I rather like that the world ended up existing without us mussing around too much.”

Crowley liked that too. “Okay, then you brought this up because…?”

“Conversation.”  Aziraphale blushed slightly and he looked down at his own drink, busying himself with that as if that was more interesting than the conversation he had brought up.

“Conversation.”

They both spent some time drinking instead of talking. Crowley hated that he knew where his mind was going. He really would do anything for this blessed angel. It was annoying, but he couldn’t help it.

“It would be hard to do that more than we had, you know. Godfathers tend to stick around for a bit, and we can’t do that without having people think we’re different or something.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Of course. I know that, dear. I was just thinking.”

He left it at that, but Crowley knew better. His mind scraped around, trying to think of something to fill in the space Aziraphale had left open between them.

Then it struck him.

“Is thissss because Anathema called with her news?” Crowley said, right about to become indignant, but not quite.

Aziraphale beamed at him, as though this was where he was going with the conversation all along.

Crowley wanted to say he wasn’t about to become a godfather to a witch’s spawn, but he was going to.

Hopefully the brat would be more Anathema than Newt, because Crowley could think of some terrible things to get a little witch into.