one; the ineffable arrival

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WEDNESDAY 17TH JUNE, 2003


Is there such a thing as a good omen?

A red-haired man, dressed in all black, sauntered towards the front door, having bid his old friend farewell. His plan after this day was to take a few months of rest and pass time through deep slumber.

But as he reached the entrance, pulling the door towards him, his gaze drifted to the floor. Under his dark sunglasses, his eyes narrowed. "Angel?"

The blonde was sorting out the books by his desk, reorganising a few poetry collections and placing them in order by volume. "What is it?"

At approximately quarter past three in the morning, after a night of heavy drinking, the demon Crowley made a strange discovery outside his friend's bookshop. "There's a baby on your doorstep."

He froze, unsure whether he heard that right. "I'm sorry?"

"There's a baby on your doorstep." Crowley reiterated, staring down at a rectangular box. Inside, loosely bundled in a blue swaddle, the baby squirmed with half-closed eyes, their little fingers clutching the fabric covering their body.

The angel straightened up, removing his reading glasses as he peered at Crowley, who had his back turned away from him. "A baby what?"

"A baby-baby. A human baby. A literal infant!" He didn't know how to make this more straightforward for his friend. If it were an animal, he'd state the name of the species -- but this was a human child, abandoned in modern London.

There wasn't even a knock when the child was left on the doorstep of one "Mr A. Z. Fell" or, as he is commonly known, the angel Aziraphale. To be placed somewhere so conspicuous meant that, whoever abandoned the baby, wanted them to be found.

He joined Crowley by the doorway, looking down at the box, his mouth falling open. Aziraphale never expected deliveries of this type to arrive at his bookshop, and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. He shared a glance with the demon, who shrugged in response.

It is estimated that around fifty babies are abandoned each year in the UK alone, many being left in their hospital cribs by parents who cannot afford to raise a child or didn't want one in the first place. Some aren't even born in a hospital, and those are usually the ones who are discarded onto the street, left to die in the cold.

Aziraphale hoped this one hadn't been left to die; it was cruel.

The weather was dismal that day, raining buckets every couple of hours, so the box that carried the infant's frail form was damp and breaking apart at the corners. Of course, he couldn't just leave them there.

Out of the goodness of his angelic heart, he took the babe in his arms and carried them inside. With a slight click of his fingers, he miracled a small crib into the centre of the bookshop. Crowley trailed behind him, his yellow snake-like eyes fixed upon the child.

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