Chapter Text
The Dowlings had no way of knowing that they’d been plunged into a life of supernatural occurrences when they decided to use a church instead of a hospital to have their child. And it wasn’t even limited to the angel and demon on staff.
What they didn’t have any way of knowing was the fertile land their mansion was built on and that it had attracted something ancient to the land to watch over the greenery - even with a terrible gardener.
O
Freyr had felt the pulse of magic far different from any fertility god’s hand as it blossomed flowers in the garden of the ambassador. Curiosity brought him to the edges of the surrounding forest, looking for the being that had caused almost a full garden to bloom without anything more than what seemed to be - love .
Just the feeling of that love was enough to get his heart racing, excitement and a twinge of his own feelings starting to escalate. Peering down from the thickest tree, he noticed the figure kneeling along the flowers. He was thick himself, thighs and generous tush pulling the smock tight around him and Freyr followed his curiosity closer to observe.
“Oh, you beautiful darlings, won’t you be so kind to grow just a little taller for me?” the man said, running strong and calloused fingers along the stems of the flowers. “You’ll bring joy to the day just with your shining glory. Come now, darlings, shine for me.”
The flowers, and Freyr himself, shivered at the voice and the sunflowers peeked their heads higher towards the sun.
“Lovely,” said the man and straightened himself out.
Freyr was not a shallow man, he saw beauty in a lot of things that the rest of the Aesir didn’t, and he was a god of beauty for a reason - and this man before him was stunning.
Yes, there were weird tufts of white hair and his mutton-chops were unruly, the nose took up the majority of his face and his buck-teeth took up the rest, but there was so much beauty there that Freyr almost lost his balance.
The man cracked his back, his neck, and then moved on to the next patch of greenery, stumbling as something emerged from the bushes.
“Dear little friend,” he said, scooping up the garden snake that had startled him. “Aren’t you beautiful? Not the most beautiful snake, I’m afraid, but darling nonetheless. Let’s get you somewhere safe.”
Oh , Freyr thought as the gardener placed the snake among the flowers. It’s over for me .
O
It wasn’t stalking, or else, that’s what Freyr was trying to convince himself of as he perched on a tree branch outside the Gardener’s cabin.
For the past week, he had been coming closer and closer into the land of the ambassador to catch a glimpse of this gorgeous creature. He’d watch as the Gardener cooed over the baby and flustered over the Nanny’s jokes, jealousy twisting his stomach.
Every night, he’d follow him to the cabin where the man would close all the curtains before settling in for his daily rest but this night, this night, plans had been made with a friend - at least that’s what Freyr had overheard the Gardner tell the Nanny.
What will he look like , thought Freyr, without his smock? In regular clothes?
Steps from the path brought his attention away from the door and towards the sound - the friend - approaching the door. A frown spread on his face at the sight of familiar red hair pinned back, of black clothes, of eyes hidden behind sunglasses, and he saw an echo of the Nanny coming up to the door.
“Oh Francis, are you ready to go?” called the voice, a mimicry of the Nanny’s but shriller and nasally.
The door opened and Freyr felt his heart flutter against his chest. If he’d thought the Gardener was beautiful before, that was nothing compared to the vision presented now. Gone were the nose, the teeth, the hair and eyebrows and in its stead were the cutest upturned nose and clouds of white curls.
A pout pulled those lips out and Freyr wished to be the breeze as to touch them, “Crowley, that’s enough of that. We are not Ashtoreth and Francis tonight - we are Crowley and Aziraphale.”
The red-head, Crowley, smiled, “Of course, angel. We should go, we have to make it to the concert in time.”
“Then dinner?” asked Aziraphale - Aziraphale - hazel eyes brightening.
“At your favorite table at Benares.”
The smile that brightened his face was enough to dazzle Freyr even from his place in the tree, “Lovely. Let’s get a wiggle on, my dear.”
Freyr watched them leave, trying to focus on the strong back of the man instead of the round bottom, and made up his mind.
“I gotta get closer .”
O
Thad Dowling would not be able to tell you what possessed him to hire the new bodyguard. All he knew was that one moment the man had appeared saying he was responding to a position opening and the next he had a new bodyguard that would be patrolling the grounds.
After a moment of confusion, he’d shrugged and accepted it - he was an important person after all and he needed all the protection he could get if he planned to eventually run for president.
Freyr was buzzing with excited, and nervous, energy. He’d already circled the grounds twice trying to get a glimpse of the angel he was smitten with - but had not gotten a glimpse of either faces of him - of Aziraphale .
It was around noon when he heard whistling and caught a blessed glance of the crisp, white smock of Brother Francis making its way through the gardens, a flower held lovingly in his hand. In an instance, he found himself accidentally bumping into the man.
“Oh, my dear boy, I’m so sorry, I was in such a hurry, though that’s not an excuse,” said Aziraphale, eyes gleaming with concern underneath unruly eyebrows. “Are you alright?”
Freyr felt himself burning where a hand pressed his elbow, mouth dry as he nodded at the friendly face before him.
“Lovely. You’re new, aren’t you, dear? I’m Brother Francis, the gardener.”
“I’m - um, I’m Niklas, ne-new bodyguard,” Freyr stammered out, “Um, the garden is stunning. You must be a great gardener.”
The ruddy cheeks seemed to brighten with a blush, “Oh, heavens, thank you, dear boy. Miss Ashtoreth would beg to differ - she thinks I’m too soft with them - but I appreciate the compliment. I should be off. It was nice meeting you Niklas.”
And he was on his way again, smiling over his shoulder and weakening Freyr’s knees, “You, too… angel.”
And so it went for the next few weeks.
Freyr would find a reason to ‘accidentally’ bump into the gardener a few times a week, or a few times a day if he was feeling a little greedy. And sometimes, when Nanny Ashtoreth was too busy with her hellion of a ward, Aziraphale would invite him for a bite of lunch along the garden and Freyr’s heart would just about give out.
Every brush of their skin was electric, every smile scorched his heart, and he was sure - so sure that maybe this wonderful being could be convinced to be spirited away by a fertility god and tend to the earth in a more - ancient way.
It was just about finding the right moment to ask.
O
Nanny Ashtoreth was not an overly friendly woman, everyone on the staff knew that. She ruled her tiny domain with an iron fist and the only person that she ever seemed to give any sort of kind word towards was little Warlock - and if anyone listened close enough they’d say Brother Francis, as well.
She was feared by many, sought after by many others, but her attention never wavered - but for the last few weeks the rumor mill had focused on her hyperfixation with the newest bodyguard Niklas.
“I bet she wants to screw him,” the head of security said, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “Young little thing like him, she’ll be able to do whatever she wants with him.”
The chef gave a little snort, “Like Niklas wants her. Besides, it’s not him she wants - she’s just pissed because the boy’s giving that hideous thing all his attention.”
“Francis? That’s what this is about?”
“Of course, poor boy must be blind as a bat if he thinks Francis is worth larking over, but Ashtoreth must not like the fact that her territory’s being poached upon.”
Before the guard could respond, a throat cleared behind them and the two gossips almost fell over. They glanced back to find the stern face of the woman in question.
“I suggest,” Nanny Ashtoreth said, giving them a sharp, predatory smile. “That you get your facts straight before you gossip. And maybe not talk shit in the middle of the house.”
Both ducked their heads and muttered something that could’ve been considered an apology, then she walked away.
O
Crowley was not jealous.
She wasn’t .
A stupid little crush from a human boy towards his angel didn’t mean anything in the span of their years. After all, she survived Michelangelo’s crush on Aziraphale (barely), and this little Niklas means nothing when they’re on a mission to save his pitiful little existence.
Still, she guessed it might bother her a little that Aziraphale’s kindness didn’t let him give the boy a hard ‘no’ and leave him to the worms. And maybe the little bumps and brushes and touches did bother her a little.
It was too forward for this pipsqueak.
One afternoon, a sunny day that would’ve been perfect to bask in, while pushing Warlock’s pram, she noticed the bodyguard closing in on Aziraphale, catching the angel by the waist when he stumbled, startled by the sudden appearance of the boy.
Fury ran through her body at the slow slide of his hands across the rough surface of the smock, and while she knew that, though Aziraphale was blushing underneath the ruddy makeup on his face, he wouldn’t say anything as to not hurt this young man’s feelings.
“For Ssssatan’s ssssake,” said Crowley as she approached them. “Francis, dearie, are you alright? That would’ve been quite a nasty tumble.”
Aziraphale turned that sunny, angelic smile at him, “Oh, Miss Ashtoreth, I’m quite alright. Niklas ca - er, helped me out a little. No harm done. Now, may I take a quick look at Master Warlock?”
Crowley couldn’t fight the smile that twitched her reddened lips, “Be my guest.”
While Aziraphale’s attentions were fully on the wide-eyed babe that was reaching out towards his whiskers, Crowley turned to Niklas.
“I think you’re guarding the wrong body there, dearie,” she said, giving him a sharp smile. “Wouldn’t want people thinking you’re up to something…untoward.”
Niklas looked at her, bright green eyes staring at him with a defiant glint, “There’s nothing untoward about my relationship with Brother Francis. I’m giving him the attention he rightfully deserves.”
Crowley bristled, then something “Whatever you think you’re doing - this isn’t courting. I’m sorry to break it to you, he doesn’t even realize what you’re doing. He’s a little slow on the uptake. Besides, what do you know about what he deserves?”
Angry magic pulsed through the earth below her and her covered glasses widened. She met Aziraphale’s eyes around the young man, his face also stunned.
“You should watch your tongue, Ashtoreth,” Niklas bit out. “I think I’m more attuned to what he deserves than you think.”
A strong hand landed on his shoulder that tensed under the touch. Niklas turned around and followed the line of the hand up to the now thunderous expression on the face of an angel. Though he cradled a child against his shoulder - there was something terrifying about him.
“Niklas, if that is your true name, I think you owe Miss Ashtoreth an apology. That is no way to talk to a lady,” said Aziraphale, tone as cold as his eyes had turned. “And I think we’re going to need to have a talk…all of us.”
And he lift his fingers, gave a snap, and the three of them - plus Warlock - found themselves at the gardener’s cabin.
“Angel,” started Crowley, then took a step back at the angry look on that face. “At least give me the hellspawn. You’re radiating right now.”
Aziraphale’s handed the babe over and marched forward, disguise falling as he stepped through the threshold, “In.”
Both Crowley and Niklas had the good sense to do as they were told. As if there was a shield at the door, the Ashtoreth disguise melted off and left Crowley in the usual clothes she wore to get Aziraphale and Niklas went through a transformation himself, losing the suit and ending up in a flowing tunic and hair growing wavy and long to his shoulders.
“Oh,” he croaked out. “Angel wasn’t just a nickname.”
Aziraphale sent him a look, “Not at all. Now sit. I’ll get the kettle on.”
O
An angel, a demon, and a fertility god all sat around the table and sipped at their drinks - two teas and a strong coffee.
Freyr had introduced himself and explained what he had been doing in the area originally - then the two beings explained their reason for intruding on what is, technically, his land.
“So, dear,” said Aziraphale, now a little calmer that things had been cleared. “What is it that made you sneak into the staff? Oh, I do hope my little miracles haven’t upset the balance of your growth.”
Freyr blushed and hid his face with a large swallow of tea, “N-no, the miracles haven’t been - what I mean is - they’ve been wonderful. That’s - erm -that’s what really brought me.”
“Oh?”
“I -uhm, I sensed the love that you were using to get the garden to grow and I got curious. And then- ” he trailed off, embarrassed.
At his hesitation, Crowley gave a little laugh and when the god turned to look at her, defensive, he took in the sympathetic smile.
“And then you caught a glimpse of an angel and you couldn’t help but fall in love yourself.”
Freyr nodded, a small smile of his own as he risked a glance over to the angel in question.
For his part, Aziraphale was almost glowing pink as the weight of the words fell on him. Hands slid away from the table to start fiddling with the hem of his sweater and the worried pout tugged his lips.
“Oh, my dear. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - to lead you on,” said Aziraphale, eyes wide with worry. “I did think you were such a dear heart, but I hope you understand - that is - I don’t - I already - I couldn’t - ”
“It’s okay, Aziraphale,” Freyr said, holding out a hand to stop the man’s nervous wordstream. “I think - I think I figured it out. Besides, I think it would be very looked down upon for an angel to become the consort of a fertility god.”
Again, Crowley laughed, this time full-bodied and bringing Warlock to a bout of bubbling giggles as well, “Utterly blasphemous.”
O
Freyr and Crowley, who lugged a snoozing Warlock in her arms, left Aziraphale’s cabin, their disguises sliding back on them like a cloak.
“I really am sorry about the way I reacted,” said Freyr in a quiet voice. “I didn’t realize how much history the two of you had.”
Crowley shifted, “I guess I might be, too. I, being the great demon that I am, was feeling a little -ngk- jealous . ‘S not often that a pretty boy gets so handsy with him and, well.”
“You lost your shit?”
“If you wanna put it like that.”
Freyr laughed, pitching his head back and letting the sound bounce off the trees. Crowley joined him after a moment and soon the woods were echoing with the pair’s laughter.
Then, they sobered up at Warlock’s snuffling.
“You’re the luckiest being alive, you know that Crowley?”
Crowley’s eyebrow crawled over her glasses, “Uh-huh…because I get to change his damned majesty’s nappies?”
“No,” said Freyr, a secretive smile on his face. “Because Aziraphale loves you . Because you get that soft and strong, heavenly being all to yourself. Because you got to love him first.”
The blush that crawled up Crowley’s neck washed out her hair’s color with its brightness, “I - ngk - what gives you the idea that I’m - that he - ”
A strong, long-fingered hand landed on Crowley’s shoulder, “It’s alright. Just wait - you’ll see. The most epic of love stories will have a happy ending. I know it.”