Hi :) I was just contemplating a photo tweet about Crowley's braid... and I had a horrifying thought related to "not the kids" What if kids, not some lover, had braided his hair? It would make a really sad story, but I don't think I can un-see it now. What do you think? What it I were to pull an Aziraphale, wring my hands and say: "It is terribly presumptuous of me, my dear, but do you think you could ever be inspired to write it?" 😉
Honestly one of the best worded requests I’ve gotten :D And it’s like you were reading my mind ‘cause I’d been fishing round for an idea on something to write to do with Crowley’s hair. So! Without much more ado! Here’s your ficlet :) Can be read here on AO3
The kids are the sweetest he’s ever met. They talk to him, excited voices lilting over syllables they’re still learning to make sense of, about the names they’ve given their family’s goats or who in the village plays the best games with them or the creatures they find out in the sands. Crowley sits, enraptured by the tales they weave. Almost all are largely exaggerated. He treats them all as if they were the most logical, realistic facts he’s ever heard and the kids love him for it.
They’re the ones who encourage him to grow his hair out. So he does. It tumbles in waves down to his shoulders, vibrant red that they all ooh and ah over. He asks one of the more shy girls to show him how to dress like her. He loves the change and doesn’t correct anyone who addresses him differently.
It is with a heavy heart that he leaves the children behind one day to follow after an angel in a crowd to a fenced area for humans not just animals. He taps Aziraphale’s shoulder before popping up on his other side, already fighting back a grin.
“Oh,” Aziraphale says later, when the conversation has trailed somewhere darker than is comfortable, “I like your hair by the way, my dear. Did you do the braids?”
And without thinking about his words, his mind still whirling with the repercussions of what this flood will mean for the world, he answers: “No, a group of children did them for me… Aziraphale… not the kids. Why is She killing the kids?”
Crowley is distraught. He doesn’t have as many walls as he will later on. As many constructed pretences and false personalities. Right now, right here, he has a gaggle of children he feels responsible for and who care for him. A collection of innocent kids who are doomed to drown. One of the worst ways to go, he thinks distantly. It’s not fair.
Aziraphale looks at him sadly, the depth of empathy in those eyes just makes it hurt all the more. Because there’s little in the way of hope alongside. Crowley shakes his head, narrowing his eyes. He takes a step back. The first of the bricks and mortar are being laid.
