***

THREE YEARS LATER...

"My mummy works at the supermarket." One excited boy declared with a beaming grin, immensely proud of his mother's occupation; he was almost bouncing off his knees.

Their preschool school teacher patted her thighs, kneeling on the floor with the rest of the kids in a large circle. "That's wonderful, George. Your mother must work very hard."

The boy nodded. "She gets back really late, and then I only see her in the mornings."

"Well, that must mean she's doing a very good job." Her eyes shifted to the girl next to him, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her head bowed. She picked at her fingernails, bored senseless as the teacher asked. "What about you, Maren? Where do your parents work?"

Maren lifted her head, glancing from left to right as all eyes landed on her. She swallowed, straightening her back. "My daddy owns a bookshop."

"Ooh, how interesting." She feigned enthusiasm. "Does he like reading?"

"Yeah, he does," Maren enjoyed talking about her parents, "which is why he never sells his books," but she could overstep at times.

The teacher furrowed her brows, her lips parting. "Oh."

"My other daddy says he's centi mento." She tried her best to pronounce the word Maren thought she'd heard. Crowley spoke too fast for her to understand at points, using too many words at once when his emotions were at their peak.

Aziraphale didn't trust her with handling his books, and instead of reading her stories, he'd read her the English Dictionary to improve her vocabulary without teaching her to read. But she'd find herself falling asleep once they were a few pages through the book.

Her skills would improve more when she was in pre-school. Maren would sit in this little book corner, reading anything that appealed to her. And though her teachers worried about her antisocial habits, the young girl was quite content with the independence reading granted her.

The teacher rubbed the back of her neck, stammering. "And what does your other daddy do?"

She blinked, stating with a nonchalant tone of voice. "He works in Hell."

"Oh, um, Maren, we don't say that word here." She hoped none of the kids would repeat it -- the teachers already had enough of them swearing from time to time. "Does your daddy mean his job is really hard?"

"Not really. He just doesn't like it." Crowley enjoyed the little things he did to mess up society, but he hated taking orders. Lucifer proclaimed they would be free to do anything -- only that meant they weren't bound by the rules of Heaven anymore. "He used to work for God, and then he fell down something," she imagined he tripped down the stairs and couldn't get back up again, "so then he started working for the Devil."

"... Right." Her statement certainly raised some alarms, but the teacher swiftly moved on. "Hayley, what about you?"

Growing up with a literal angel and devil on your shoulders is something little Maren considered to be morally grey. Of course, she didn't really understand that when she was young.

She knew her life was different to others, always wondering why she was the only one with supernatural parents. And when she asked Aziraphale what a "mummy" was, he explained the method of preserving the body of a human or animal -- which wasn't quite the answer she was looking for. When she asked Crowley, he avoided the question entirely, and the moment he put on Queen, she soon forgot.

They told her to keep their true identities to herself, knowing it would land them in trouble. But Aziraphale, the good-natured angel, encouraged her to be honest, and she thought it was cool to have an angel and a demon as her parents -- the other kids were lame.

Though Maren longed for another human to understand her, she was quite content with her unearthly parents.

***

ONE YEAR LATER...

Both Aziraphale and Crowley knew the season of winter inspired such joy, the latter moderately sickened by humanity's enthusiasm towards the holy birth. In fact, he didn't quite understand the holiday, but Aziraphale loved how Christmas had evolved over the years. He loved the trees, the carols, and the yuletide spirit. The angel made sure to decorate the shop every year with wreaths adorning his entrance and candlelight by the window sill once night had fallen. All these little traditions filled Aziraphale with seasonal delight.

For the first time, the pair decided to attend a small production of the Nativity at Maren's primary school. It turns out the youngest class had to perform a mandatory reenactment of the Biblical tale every year, though the older classes were doing their own segments. Of course, Aziraphale was very excited to see Maren utilise her acting skills.

Crowley, on the other hand, wasn't so thrilled. In his opinion, children shouldn't act. "I don't get why we have to watch this -- we were practically there for it."

"We're here for Maren." The pair found their assigned seats in the fourth row, Aziraphale holding a blue program in his hand.

"I know, but I don't see the point in performing the birth of Christ," he folded his arms, "especially when there are kids involved." As Azriaphale opened the programme, the demon turned to him with a wrinkled nose. "Oh, don't tell me there's a birthing scene in this."

He sighed. "No, that would be too inappropriate."

"Good," commented Crowley, looking back at the stage, "because that would be weird." 

The dim spotlights reflected against Crowley's sunglasses, creating a slight glare. Aziraphale acknowledged the small beam of the light on his programme, tilting his head towards Crowley. "Can you see in those?"

"You know I can't take them off in public." Besides, with his snake-like abilities, he could see quite well in the dark, converting heat from other organisms into electrical signals. Think of it as detecting infrared radiation, and everyone you see is burning from inside.

"Would it hurt you to wear contacts?" asked Aziraphale.

"I'm not poking myself in the eye, thank you very much!" Even in Hell, he didn't take off his sunglasses. They became a part of his look, and perhaps he felt a little insecure without them. He'd never let Aziraphale know -- he was too cool for that.

But when Maren was much younger, she used to pull Crowley's sunglasses off his face and for some reason, he allowed it. It was either to wear them herself or get a better look at her father's unusual eyes. Before she knew what a demon was, Maren thought he was half-cat, and that his ears were hidden within his voluminous mane of hair. 

His eyes held her fascination though, wishing hers could match so he wasn't the only one. Even if Crowley told her he was fine with his unique trait, his daughter didn't believe that for a second. He was far happier when he got to take them off and speak freely with her other father. Maren wasn't sure if he noticed how much his smile grew in his presence.

Crowley folded his arms, his brows twitching up and down. "Why does everyone think Jesus was born on December 25th?"

"Because they have to have a reason for Christmas." Aziraphale barely tore his eyes away from the programme, searching for Maren's name in the long list of students partaking in this production.

He pursed his lips, contemplating. "Why must there be a reason for everything?"

"You'd have to ask the Higher-Ups." Obviously, he couldn't. Running back to angels would be the worst thing a demon could do -- of course, Crowley had already broken that rule.

Soon enough, once the audience settled into their chairs, the headteacher welcomed all parents and guardians to the show before introducing Maren's class to the stage. A small row of young children formed in front of the stage dressed in black, though their adopted daughter was not among them.

A pair of young children strolled onto the stage with teatowels on their heads, staring back at the audience as one of the kids below opened their mouth. "We open in the town of Nazareth," the child said, sounding as if his lines had been spoon-fed to him, "where Mary and Joseph live."

Another child piped up. "They were a nice couple-"

"- Who never had sex despite being married," Crowley muttered, brushing his thumb against his lower lip. The angel struggled to stifle a giggle, holding a fist to his mouth and pretending to clear his throat.

"... until they were visited by an angel." A third child finished, welcoming another one of their classmates to the stage.

A white-robed girl stood on a pedestal, her cheap angel wings shimmering in the light. She stretched her arms out and declared. "I am the Angel Gabriel..."

"No wonder Gabriel's got an ego -- they're practically worshipping him." The demon scoffed. Aziraphale would never speak ill of a colleague in public, so it was lucky that Crowley did it for him instead, badmouthing any angel whenever their name cropped up. "Wish they could do the Garden of Eden story instead."

It appeared Gabriel wasn't the only one with an ego problem. "Oh, you just want someone to play you."

"Yes, I do. It'll either be embarrassing or hilarious." He could imagine a small child in a snake costume, trying their best to slither across the stage, only to look more like a flailing worm in the rain.

Aziraphale wrung his fingers together. "There's nothing hilarious about giving into temptation."

"Oh, you'd be surprised." He smirked.

The show continued on, children wandering to and fro with coloured robes, plastic crowns, and felt beards. Not all of them were confident either, speaking in meek tones when they noticed the audience staring them down.

However, as they reached the final scene in the manger, Maren's presence remained a mystery. Her whole class must have been up on that stage, and yet it was impossible to locate her. "I don't see her. I thought all the girls were playing angels," Aziraphale glanced at the programme again, "which is honestly a little disrespectful."

Crowley leaned towards him, peering down. "Isn't her role listed here?"

"No, it's just a long list of who's in her class." He looked up, eyeing the children at the back, painted in gold. "Perhaps she's a star."

His mouth gaped. "They're playing the bloody stars too?"

"Weren't you paying attention?" It was hard not to pay attention to their whiny voices, so Crowley chose to tune them out for a few minutes. Though, it must have been a few minutes too long. "And keep your voice down."

Aziraphale didn't want to steal parents' attention away from their children, but his demonic friend did not seem to care. Surely the audience suffered as much as they did watching this atrocity of a production.

"Honestly, I've seen a lot in my lifetime," Crowley mentioned, slumping back in his chair, "but this is just ridiculous."

Aziraphale sighed, closing the programme and laying it on his lap. He tried his best not to fret about Maren's whereabouts, hoping she wasn't crying in a toilet cubicle or suffering from stage fright.

He shook his head, brushing those thoughts aside. The angel glanced towards Crowley, aiming to take his mind off things. "You know, I hear they're doing another play at Easter."

"What's that gonna be about then -- the death of Christ?" he chuckled. His gaze met Aziraphale's firm expression, his brows tight. Crowley's smirk fell, his lips parting. "Seriously?"

The angel turned away, shifting against the plastic chair. "Yes."

Slowly, Crowley twisted his head towards the stage. This world had evolved into something incredible, and the demon couldn't comprehend what humanity would do next. "Okay, clearly, school is Hell on Earth."

Aziraphale shrugged. "Everyone needs their education."

"Is this a place of education," he faced the angel again, "or did we send our daughter to one of the nine circles, instead?"

His brows perked up, his eyes widening as Crowley angled his body away from Aziraphale. He rested his fingers against his lap. "You called her ours?"

"Well, at this point, Angel, she is." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "I mean, she calls us her dads anyway."

The angel's heart glowed with a strange warmth, a golden glimmer rippling through his veins. He tried his best to ignore it, though. Aziraphale searched the stage for a familiar face. "Where is she? I don't understand. I have perfect eyesight."

"Then why do you need glasses?" wondered Crowley.

And then the moment was over. Almost every conversation included some form of taunting, but isn't that what true friendship is? "They're reading glasses -- they're for reading."

When Crowley opened his mouth to respond, his eyes were drawn to a smudge of brown in the corner of the stage, settled between a couple of sheep. Under the smudge's headdress, he recognised a face as his vision adjusted to the light. "Wait, is that her?"

His head snapped towards the stage, his gaze darting back and forth. "Where?"

At first, the demon was unsure, lifting his sunglasses and squinting. The headdress their daughter wore was quite ugly, even more when he realised what she was supposed to be. "Oh, shit -- she's the horse."

"They cast her as an animal?" The programme crinkled in Aziraphale's fingers, his grip firm. "That's just ridiculous."

Crowley's lip curled upwards. "Oh, that's too ridiculous for you? Maren dressed as a horse?" 

"Well, she's the only girl playing an animal." The other boys in her class played sheep, cattle, and the most important role in the production -- the ass.

Due to Maren's withdrawn personality in class, her teachers assumed she would not perform well on stage. And since it would be a bad look to exclude students, they presented her with a non-speaking role. She would have argued against it, but as a young child, Maren knew she had no real authority when it came to adults looking down on her. They would just pat her head and move on. Luckily, her adoptive parents encouraged her more at home and recognised her talent -- if only the world could see her for who she truly was.

She peered into the audience, biting the dry skin off her chapped lips. It was rare to see her parents in the same place for once, and she liked it when they were together. 

Crowley noticed her darting gaze. "I think she's looking for us."

Aziraphale's nostrils flared, struggling to contain his displeasure. "I just find that unacceptable. I mean, look at what she's wearing, Crowley." Her costume wasn't that fashion-forward, but the demon doubted it affected Maren that much. "I ought to miracle her a better outfit. It's just a sheet." He turned to him. "She's wearing a sheet, Crowley."

Maren's gaze settled on a glimpse of red and white in the audience. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, the corners of her lips curved upwards. In excitement, she raised a hand and waved, her heart bursting with joy.

It filled Crowley with pride -- one of the seven deadly sins, which meant he was doing something right. He gestured towards the gleeful child. "Just smile and wave, Angel." He lifted his arm, his lips widening into an almost manic grin. Crowley whispered through his teeth, encouraging Aziraphale to do the same. "Smile and wave."

And so he did, swallowing his slight annoyance and forcing it to dispel. The pair waved, knowing that no matter who she played, they were proud of their daughter.

The keys of a piano chimed, and all the children stood on their feet, tugging at their cheap robes as their teacher appeared in the aisle. With her bony fingers, she began to conduct and the children opened their mouths. "Away in a manger, no crib for a bed..."

Crowley's eyes widened. "Oh, no, why are they singing?"

Aziraphale looked down at the programme and read through the list of scenes. "According to this, every class sings a song."

"But they can't sing for shit." He hissed, acknowledging their terrible pitch and screeching voices. They sounded more like banshees than children.

Not even the angel could deny how terrible it was. "I know, Crowley, but remember who we're doing this for."

"Sometimes, I wish I never found her." Sometimes -- that was crucial wording. If Crowley had truly meant it, he wouldn't have used that word. The demon continued. "Then I wouldn't have to care about things like this."

There were times like this when Aziraphale would wonder if, very deep down, Crowley wasn't as bad as he appeared. Demons were meant to be unredeemable, but there was something different about this one. "Well, I'm glad you do care about her."

Crowley felt the same, but as the days passed and the fifth anniversary of Maren's arrival crept closer, the angel and demon remained unsure whether this would last. The threat of their superiors checking on them filled them with fear most days, wondering what they would do. 

The worst thing they could do was leave Maren on her own.

***

TWO MONTHS LATER...

It was unusual for the school to contact Crowley and ask him to come in for a meeting. He didn't really care for that place -- but he did care about Maren. So, he got in his Bentley and sped through London, reaching the school within ten minutes.

He crossed in front of another parent's car, parking in front of the school's main entrance. As Crowley stormed out, his face furiously twitching, the other parent poked his head out of the window. "Excuse me? You can't park there!"

"Hey, it's a free country!" It was a free world. Humanity could do what it wished, and as long as this demon walked the Earth, Crowley could do what he wanted. If this was Hell, he'd be in trouble.

Crowley clicked his fingers, and the front doors swung open, letting him inside. He wandered through the stretching halls covered in bits and bobs from streamers to terrible works of art -- it was a sight to behold.

As he approached the headteacher's office, he yanked at one of the dangling streamers, tossing it to the ground. He didn't knock, instead barging inside with this glimmer of hatred washing over his hardened expression. "Alright, what's going on? Why's Maren in trouble?"

Aziraphale sat in front of the headteacher's desk with pursed lips, wringing his hands together. It's not like he wanted to be her either. He'd been trying so hard to keep Maren in line, but then again, her other father was a demon.

"Ah, you must be..." the headteacher glanced at the records in front of her, "... Mr Crowley. It's nice to meet you."

The demon jumped into the other chair, crossing his arms. "Come on -- spill. What happened?"

"Sorry, he can be a little blunt." Aziraphale cleared his throat, shooting Crowley a quick glare before meeting the headteacher's gaze. "Please, continue."

She leaned forward, joining her hands together on her desk. "There was an incident."

Crowley lowered his brows, his expression questionable. "What incident? Did someone hurt her?"

"No, your daughter's fine." The headteacher assured the two, though she held her face in a solemn grimace. "In fact, it was her who started the altercation."

It certainly didn't sound like Maren to start a fight. Aziraphale prided himself on teaching her that violence was the answer, but he was more worried about her budding love of setting items aflame. Maren enjoyed lighting his candles, intrigued by how they danced on the wick -- so then she started lighting other things on fire. Aziraphale hoped that didn't include people now.

"Well, what did she do?" questioned Crowley.

The headteacher averted their worried stares momentarily, wetting her lips. "She punched a boy in the face."

Any and all tension receded, the demon's muscles loosening. He leaned back, releasing a relieved sigh. "Ah, thank fuck. I thought it was serious." Crowley scraped his fingers through his red hair, lightly giggling. "That's my girl."

On the other hand, Aziraphale was not as thrilled. Maren might not have caused any lasting damage, but this remained a serious situation. "Crowley!"

"What? It was obviously for good reason." He clicked his fingers, pointing at the stunned headteacher. "Hey, what was the reason?"

She stammered, checking her notes. "Apparently, he called her a liar-"

Before she could finish, Crowley clapped his hands together and declared. "Then he deserved it."

Aziraphale disliked being the sensible parent, but someone had to do it. "Crowley!"

"Mr Crowley, he called her a liar," her lips pressed into a tight slash, unsatisfied with his behaviour, "because she continues to claim that you and Mr Fell are mythical beings." 

They froze, their expressions blanching. Crowley's jaw went slack, no longer relaxed. "... She what?"

"Well, her exact claim is that Mr Fell, here, is an angel." She gestured to Aziraphale, who shared an awkward glance with Crowley. He adjusted his tie and coat as the headteacher turned her attention towards the other parent. "And that you are a demon." The headteacher narrowed her eyes. "You can see how this is worrying, right?"

Crowley rubbed two fingers against his temple, glimpsing another look at Aziraphale. "A little, yeah."

"May I inquire as to what relationship you both have with Maren," she eyed the girl's records again, "since you're both listed as her primary guardians?"

"We're her Dads." Crowley clarified.

"Not technically." Aziraphale straightened up in his chair, explaining. "Mr Crowley and I are..." he chewed on the inside of his cheek, "... friends who took in Maren when she was young after the death of her parents." Since no one had shown up to claim her, they could only assume they were long gone. "We take turns looking after her in our respective places of residence."

The headteacher glanced between the strange pair. "So, you're not...?"

"Oh, no!" he chuckled.

Crowley shook his head, smirking. "No, we'd never."

"It would never work." Aziraphale was unsure whether angels or demons could feel anything towards a specific person. They were too busy focusing on the Great Plan to care for feelings so frivolous and fleeting.

With a light bob of her head, the headteacher leaned back. "I just want to make sure Maren's getting the best care at home."

His smile fell, the yellow in his eyes glimmering under his sunglasses. "She is."

"Crowley, please." Aziraphale placed a hand on his shoulder, holding him back. His grip was a little too firm, and when the angel realised, he pretended to brush some dust off his blazer instead. After a few rapid blinks, he turned back to the headteacher. "I'm sorry that this happened. This incident should have never taken place."

"I agree." She corroborated, her chest puffing out. "Other than that, Maren is a very bright girl with potential for so much more. I would rather you encourage her more academically, instead of making her believe in these false notions." Crowley folded his arms again, scoffing to the woman's dismay. Her face hardened into a scowl. "And perhaps she should spend less time with Mr Crowley here."

Before he could argue, Aziraphale placed an arm in front of his chest, not wanting to start anything in here. "We'll talk to her."

Once the meeting was over, the headteacher directed them to a classroom where Maren was waiting for them. She'd been given time-out for what she did, which Crowley thought to be unreasonable, of course.

When the headteacher was gone and the pair were free to speak freely, Crowley tucked his hands into his trouser pockets and tilted his form towards the angel. "We should take her out of school."

Aziraphale shook his head, disagreeing. "No, we need to give her a normal human experience."

"She needs to be with people who understand her."

"Like us?"

"Exactly."

They stopped outside Class 1C, and as the teacher said, Maren sat alone at a desk, pouting. Aziraphale released a dejected sigh. "But she needs to be around humans as well."

Crowley drew his shoulders into his chest. "Humans are thick and dull -- she won't be missing much."

"Are you suggesting we keep her confined to the bookshop?" he asked.

"Well, it would mean she would be safe." He believed. The world couldn't hurt her if she stayed tucked up in bed -- no one could harm her there. And if she wanted to be educated, then they could just give her a book.

"I'm sorry, Crowley, but we shouldn't isolate her," he peered through the window pane, his gaze fixed on his despondent daughter, "even if it means she'll grow up in a dishonest environment."

Beings created in Heaven weren't exactly "raised". It was more like God took some Play-Doh, mixed some colours together and named it. They all look a certain age, but they never were a certain age.

It's why it was so simple to keep track of one human growing up in their care.

Aziraphale grasped the door handle, pushing it open. Their daughter did not respond upon hearing the door, keeping her head bowed. Her blunt, bitten nails picked at the chipped wood, wondering how it got like that.

"Maren?" She peered over her shoulder, spotting her dads by the entrance.

They weren't angry -- she could tell, but disappointment lingered in Aziraphale's expression. Maren sighed, looking away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt him."

If anything, it hurt more when her fist collided with her classmate's cheekbone. Her knuckles ached and still trembled from the shock. She'd never done something like that before, and Maren didn't know how to feel. Her dads taught her the difference between right and wrong -- was there ever a middle ground?

Her demonic father seemed proud of her. "Hey, you were proving a point. Nothing wrong with that."

"No, there's plenty of things wrong with that." Her angelic father approached her with an ethereal pace -- or perhaps the room wasn't as big as she originally thought. "Maren, what would compel you to do such a thing?"

"Because Samuel Davies is a dingbat!" And she would have set him on fire if Aziraphale hadn't hidden the matches. She'd searched every nook and cranny in that bookshop -- nothing. Next time, she'd be ready.

Crowley nodded, stepping away from the doorway. "Okay, so his name is Samuel-"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, glaring at the demon. "Crowley, he's just a boy."

"Oh, so damning people depends on age, does it?" It was his job to damn people to Hell -- to persuade humankind to the side of evil.

"Yes, I think it does." Aziraphale crouched down on the carpet, meeting her eye level. "According to your headteacher, he called you a liar..." his teeth pinched on the rim of his lips, "... because you told him what we are."

"We were talking about the jobs our parents have." It reminded Maren of her pre-school days, and they thought she was lying back then as well. "But they didn't believe me when I said you both worked for Heaven and Hell."

"Sweetheart," the angel stroked her hair with a delicate touch, "I thought I told you couldn't tell anyone that."

Maren pursed her lip, her small nose wiggling a little. "But it's cool."

"It is," Crowley sat on one of the tables, settling his feet on a beige, plastic chair, "but it's also unbelievable and far-fetched."

"They still believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, though." Some would say the pair killed her childhood whimsy and imagination by telling her the truth, but they found the whole thing quite ridiculous. Why would a bunny give out eggs anyway?

"Yes, we know. They're dumb." He opened his palms, waving his hands about. "But if someone told you their dad was Santa Claus, then would you believe it?"

She shook her head, frowning. "No, because Santa doesn't exist."

"Exactly." He replied.

Maren furrowed her brows, looking between them. "But you exist?"

"Yes, but..." Aziraphale hesitated for a moment, "... not everyone is sure of that." Everyone had their beliefs, but it could prove hard for people to imagine an almighty being watching over them sometimes. "Look, what we're trying to say is that when someone asks you what we do, you tell them we're a bookseller and a..."

"Freelance... whatever." Crowley tended to assume jobs and blend in with society to cause immense calamity. He didn't earn much, but it was good fun. Well, not good, per se.

Her head twisted back to Aziraphale. "But you told me lying is bad."

"I know, but don't think of this as lying. Think of it as..." he looked up at the ceiling, taking a brief moment of thought, "... keeping a secret."

Maren's fingers clutched the edge of her chair. "So, that's not lying?"

"No, it's just sparing people the truth." Gently, he took her hands, rubbing two thumbs against her knuckles. "Maren, you're the only human in the entire world to know of our existence. Though people may believe in us, they cannot always see the truth," he leaned his head towards Crowley, "even when it's right in front of them."

"So, I can't tell anyone?" she asked.

"Fraid not," Crowley answered. "Otherwise, you might land us in trouble with the upstairs and downstairs departments."

"And if they find out, then we wouldn't be able to look after you anymore." Lord knows what they'd do to her if they found out. The angel couldn't bare to see her get hurt.

Her chin trembled, this cool shiver travelling through her nerves. "You mean I'll never see you again?"

"Not for a very long time." Azriraphale didn't want to say "forever" or "eternity", even though it was quite probable.

Tears built and welled in her eyes, her nose scrunching. Maren wrapped her arms over his shoulders, hugging him tight. "I don't want you to go."

"Oh, don't worry, dear." The angel held her close and if he could, Aziraphale would wrap his feathered wings around her, providing his daughter with a soft embrace. "We're not going anywhere."

"Promise?" her voice broke, choking back a wailing sob.

He couldn't say for sure, but with Maren in his arms, Aziraphale wasn't going to let anything ruin this. With a soothing tone, he uttered. "Promise."

They held each other for a little while to Crowley's annoyance -- he needed to get out of this place, it was too colourful. He needed dark shadows and dim lighting to feel sane, and the school's essence was draining him.

Finally, they broke away from each other, Maren sniffing as she wiped her eyes. Crowley slipped off the table with a huff, standing on his feet again. She turned her head, recognising her other father's discontent and ran towards him.

The demon's eyes widened. "Ooh, incoming." She folded her arms around his knees with a tight-lipped grin. "There, there, pet. Don't squeeze too hard -- you might discorporate me." Crowley patted her shoulders. "Daddy's got some precautions in case the mean old demons come looking."

Aziraphale stood up, observing the scene with a pleasing smile. He brushed the dirt off his beige trousers, asking. "Shall we go home?"

"Yeah." Maren let go of Crowley's knees, taking his hand. With her right hand, she stretched it towards Aziraphale, who took it almost immediately. As the trio strolled out of the classroom, Crowley whispered to his friend. "Which home do you mean?"

"Just the bookshop will do." He answered.

The little girl gazed up at her parents, the mythical beings chosen to guide her way in life. Maren couldn't be happier with them, and she knew the pair were better off together. Aziraphale raised her to be intelligent, and Crowley raised her to be cunning -- so she could see what they couldn't.

***

Sorry for the long wait. I'm currently working on another fic at the same time as this, but I'm nearly done with that one so this will have my full attention soon.

The nativity play thing is based on a true story. I was a shy little kid so my teacher thought "hey, let's cast her as the fucking horse instead of an angel like the other girls", and yes I'm still salty about it. I just thought it would be funny to write about. Do any of you have any nativity horror stories because I would love to hear some?

Anyway, thank you so much for reading and for the support you've already given this fic. The moment I see a vote or a comment, it just brightens up my day, so thank you.

We will meet the Antichrist in the next chapter, but that's just going to be a small chunk of Maren's life. There's a lot to get into more we reach the main stuff.

- Alice.