"Oh. Yeah." Crowley shuffled his feet, looking surprisingly boyish. "Come to New York with me tomorrow?" Aziraphale blinked. "Why?" "To see how Warlock is doing," Crowley said, as if that was obvious. "Warlock?" He blinked again, and Crowley looked annoyed. Unfortunately what came out of his mouth was, "You were the one who suggested killing the boy." "It wasn't personal." Crowley took off his dark glasses, apparently the better to glare at him. "He's still our kid." "B-but, Crowley, he's not our kid," Aziraphale said helplessly, wondering if Crowley was going insane or if he was. "You're a terrible father for an angel," Crowley said, accusingly. "I'm a demon, and I make a far better mother." --- Aziraphale is almost certain that Crowley is only being perverse. But demons are unaccountable creatures, and Aziraphale finds himself flying to New York with him anyway.

excerpt: "Gosh, Crowley thinks to himself. Is Aziraphale really that drunk? He thought he was more dramatic. Does he really take his English that seriously? Crowley puts on a robe and walks around the dull lit hotel room. He groans. Technically demons don't really need to sleep, but Crowley swears that his body is uncomfortable after the consumption of too much alcohol. His mind is too bottled up from talking earlier that he jumps into bed and barely thinks of his surroundings. His body merely feels exhausted, aching from the effort of suppressing his desires." All my late night writings when I refused to sleep. There's no broken english, I've made sure of it! It's a short story of Crowley and Aziraphale :) And yes, the cover is my very OWN artwork lol!