***

ONE MONTH LATER...

(tw: mentions of periods, a bit of religious trauma, implied homophobia and bullying)

She never got sick. The moment she'd sneeze, cough, or show signs of a fever, Aziraphale was quick to heal her of any illness -- except when she got appendicitis and needed her appendix removed. He couldn't really do that himself.

This was different, though. It was like a stomach ache, only it wouldn't go away. Crowley noticed how uncomfortable she was on the ride home from school. "You okay? You keep squirming."

Maren shifted in the seat, laying her back against the leather. They shared a glance, and a quick smile appeared on her face, trying to stifle her discomfort. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" he asked.

She returned a few rapid nods, biting down on her lower lip. "Mm-hm -- yeah."

Maren turned her head away, biting the skin around her fingernails; her teeth were too blunt to break through, though. She looked out the window, intending to focus on something other than her pain. And though she could sense Crowley glancing back and forth, continuously checking on her, Maren did her best to ignore him.

Eventually, they pulled into the bookshop, Crowley parking surprisingly close this time. Usually, the demon would park his car on the opposite side of the road, enjoying a little saunter across the street before visiting Aziraphale and his daughter.

This time, however, he knew she was desperate to get inside. And though he loved a dramatic walk, his daughter was more important. The moment he pulled the car to a stop, Crowley barely had time to switch off the engine before Maren jumped out. She swung her bag over her shoulder and approached the shop, looking down at the floor. 

The shop bell rang as she entered her home. Like always, Aziraphale welcomed her inside with a warm grin on his face. "Hello, darling." He strolled over, dusting his cream coat. "How was school?"

His daughter could barely look at him, speeding past and heading upstairs. "Sorry, I really need the toilet."

The bell rang again, and Crowley entered the shop, his eyes following their daughter as she climbed the stairs with one hand on the railing and the other clutching her stomach.

As she disappeared into the hallway, Aziraphale's smile fell and he raised an inquisitive brow. "Don't they let her go at school?" He knew she was having trouble at secondary school, but it was only her first year and she just needed some time getting used to it.

Crowley's gaze remained fixed on the hallway, uttering. "Something's wrong."

The angel spun back, his eyes widening. "Wrong?" He glanced back at the hallway, joining his hands together. "What do you mean wrong?"

"She's not acting like herself." Maren wasn't usually this withdrawn, especially around her fathers. She was always honest with them about her feelings.

"Oh." Aziraphale fiddled with his ring, twisting it around his finger. "She did seem awfully rushed to get out of sight. She usually grabs a quick snack before heading up to her room."

"Yeah, that's my point." Crowley pinched his chin, pulling his mouth open. "Something's up with her."

He tried his best to remain positive, knowing that girls her age tended to pull away from their parents around this time. "Well, I mean, it could be anything-"

Before Aziraphale could finish his sentence, a gutwrenching scream drew their attention upstairs. It echoed through the hallway and her fathers immediately leapt into action, racing up to the first-floor bathroom.

"Maren!" The demon clenched his hand into a tight fist and pounded on the door. "Maren, are you okay?"

"Do be careful -- it's mahogany." Aziraphale lightly rapped on the door, despite the urgency of the situation. "What's wrong, dear? Are you hurt?"

"I'm bleeding!" she sobbed.

It appeared the situation was worse than they thought. The angel narrowed his eyes. "Where from?"

"My butt! I think my butt's bleeding!" exclaimed Maren, her breathing shallow and quick.

Crowley's brows furrowed, his head jerking back. "Your butt?"

"Did you sit on anything sharp, perhaps?" It was unlikely considering they would have seen a noticeable wound or blood seeping through her school trousers.

"Of course not!" She released a pained screech. "Dad, make it stop!"

Aziraphale stepped away from the door, his gaze inward as a realisation came to mind. On the other hand, Crowley was more than desperate to help her. "Right -- don't worry, we're right here. We'll fix..."

"Crowley." He stopped him.

The demon grimaced. "What?"

"I don't think it's her..." the angel gulped, lowering his arms and gesturing to him, "... her behind."

"What do you me-?" His words caught in his throat. Crowley straightened up, his eyes bulging under his sunglasses. "Oh."

Aziraphale nodded, confirming his suspicions. "Oh."

"Oh!" He stepped away from the door, scraping a hand through his thick, red hair. "Shit, already?"

"It usually comes when a girl is entering adolescence." Aziraphale grew quiet, twisting his ring again. "She's growing up."

"Hello!" screamed Maren, making the pair flinch. "I am having a medical emergency -- it would be nice to have some help!"

"Maren, it's not..." Aziraphale didn't think he'd have to deal with this, especially now. "... You're not hurt, dear."

The girl stammered, her voice breaking. "What -- what do you mean? I'm bleeding and I have stomach pains!" She pleaded with them. "It's like something's trying to claw its way out of my body -- it hurts!"

He attempted to calm her down. "It isn't what you think it is, dear."

"Hold on." Crowley looked down at the floor and snapped his fingers. He crossed his legs and leaned against the door frame, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets. "Go to the cabinet, pet. There should be some pads in there."

They vaguely heard footsteps and metal creaking from inside before their daughter called out. "What do I need these for?"

The demon instructed her through the door. "Just stick them on your pants."

"What?"

"Look at the diagram on the packaging."

"How do you know so much about this?" Aziraphale wondered.

"I just do." He'd also seen too many advertisements about the subject, and they would usually feature a woman playing tennis for some odd reason. "Why don't you?"

"Feminine hygiene isn't really discussed in the books I read." And when there was, Aziraphale could tell the author had been misinformed about human anatomy and how women worked.

Equality was something humanity hadn't quite figured out yet. "Of course not."

They waited a little while, hearing a variety of plastic rips and tugs before she finally completed the task. "I've done it."

Crowley sniffed, turning his head towards the door. "Okay, you should be all right now."

"Is this gonna stop the bleeding?" she questioned.

He tilted his head, slightly. "Kind of," Crowley told her. "It's going stop the blood from staining your clothes, and it's only a temporary measure. You're gonna have to change it every few hours." 

The lock on the bathroom door clicked and it began to open. Maren stuck her head out, glaring at Crowley. "Why can't you just stop the bleeding?" she glanced at Aziraphale. "You've healed me before -- you can do it again."

"Oh, well..." The angel hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek as his gaze wandered to the demon standing before him. Crowley returned a look, begging him to be honest with her, "... we can't." He met her terrified eyes, sighing. "Not when it's a natural process."

Her jaw went slack, her lips parting in shock. She looked at Crowley, who nodded in response. Maren's eyes went cold and she snapped. "I don't see how my arse bleeding out is a natural process."

Aziraphale's mouth fell open, his body shuddering. "Language, young lady."

Crowley rubbed his chin, grinding his teeth. "Yeah, I think we need to have a talk, pet."

"We are talking." She retorted, glaring at him.

"No, like..." he bowed his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as a soft groan escaped his throat. "... Angel, make her a hot chocolate." Aziraphale stood there, shooting Crowley a look of confusion. "Oh, and a hot water bottle. That might help with the muscle contractions."

Muscle contractions? Maren couldn't see how her muscles had anything to do with the excruciating pain.

Aziraphale's shoulders loosened, tension ebbing away as he exhaled. "Shall I pour us a drink while I'm at it?"

He knew the demon far too well, and if this was going to be a long talk, then he was gonna need it. "Actually, yeah, do you mind?"

"Not at all." He turned around, heading back downstairs. "I will fetch us the good wine."

Maren wrapped her arms around her lower abdomen, hugging herself as shivers ran through her body. "Can I have some?"

"No." He responded.

Her mouth fell open, a slight groan falling out. "But alcohol's meant to sterilise wounds."

"Again, this isn't what you think it is," reiterated Crowley, "and alcohol's definitely not gonna help." If anything, it would burn her insides like holy water, only causing the pain to worsen.

Crowley guided her downstairs, settling her down in one of Aziraphale's comfy armchairs. He placed a woollen blanket over her, ensuring she could relax. Aggie, her growing cat, nestled by her feet, always finding comfort with her. Once she was given a hot chocolate and water bottle, she started to calm down, and her parents began to explain the process. 

Of course, she was more than just disgusted. "Why is it called a period?"

"Because it's a period of time where you..." Aziraphale clenched his jaw. There was no putting it lightly, it wasn't a fun topic to discuss, "... bleed."

She took a long sip of her drink, the liquid chocolate warming her insides. "How long is this meant to last?"

He sucked in his cheeks, looking off to the side. "Around five to seven days, I presume."

Maren choked, hot chocolate dripping from her lips. She wiped her mouth, putting the mug down with her other hand. "A whole week?!"

"That's not even the worst part," Crowley added. "This is a monthly thing."

"What -- I have to have this every month?" If this agonising pain was something she had to get used to, then she wanted to rip out her uterus and sell it on the black market.

"Yeah," the demon awkwardly gulped, scratching his pointed nose, "sorry."

A searing ache ripped through her lower back, making her groan. "Is this what Hell feels like?"

"More or less." Crowley leaned back, twisting a loose, red lock of hair between his fingers. "I know one heinous gent who was punished with constant childbirth," he told them, "but instead of babies, he was giving birth to spiders." Both Aziraphale and Maren grimaced, the latter's stomach heaving. Her father's stories wouldn't usually sicken her, but she wasn't exactly feeling her best today. Unfortunately, Crowley continued. "Then the babies would eat him, defecate his remains and allow him to reform before starting the whole process all over again-"

"Crowley," the angel cleared his throat, putting on a smile, "she doesn't need to hear about that nonsense."

He retained a calm exterior. "I'm just saying Hell has very creative punishments-"

"Disgusting, more like." He interrupted before turning his attention back to his daughter. "My dear, you're growing up." Aziraphale could feel time slipping away from them; it was almost hard to believe. It had been over ten years since they had found her as an infant, but it didn't feel that long ago to him. "It's just what happens, I'm afraid."

"Can you make it stop?" her lips quivered. She didn't want this constant ache, and the anxiety leading up to it would be even worse.

"We would if we could." He took her hand, delicately stroking it. "But that's not how it works, Maren."

Crowley felt a pang of guilt, knowing this was partially his fault. Not directly, of course -- but he was the one who tempted Eve with the apple. Because of that, God cursed her and Adam with mortality, thus bringing forth the pain of menstruation and childbirth. 

"But you don't age," she pointed out, "so why can't I stay the same? Why can't I be like you?"

"Because I'm not sure you'd like to be a child forever." It's a tedious circumstance at best, feeling your age in a physical body that looks too young. "And I know you'll enjoy being an adult."

"I won't," insisted Maren, raising the octave of her voice, "not if it means I'll bleed out every month!"

"Well, it's not just blood, I don't think -- it's muscle tissue, as well." The demon informed her. "It's your body telling you that if you want this stop, carry a baby for nine months and then endure severe pain that could possibly kill you." It was horrific but true. At least he was being honest about the process. "Keep doing that until your body can't take it anymore, and it shuts the baby-making factory for good."

Her brows drew together, becoming flustered. "Do I have to have a baby now?"

"No, you don't. You don't have to do anything, okay?" Aziraphale assured her with a light pat on her back. "It's just something you have to go through from time to time. You'll get used to it, I promise."

She stared forward, her grip on the hot water bottle tightening. Her face twisted into a harsh scowl. "I don't want a stupid baby."

***

TWO YEARS AND SEVENTY-EIGHT DAYS LATER...

"Aggie, don't scratch the woodwork. We got you a scratching post for a reason." Aziraphale pulled the cat away from the bannister, carrying her over to her bed in the corner of the shop. He sighed as he put her down, though Aggie did not settle like he'd hoped, immediately escaping his grasp. He didn't bother chasing after her -- she had free rein in their home. All he could do was shake his head and say. "I swear this cat..."

Aziraphale closed up the shop for the day, wanting to celebrate his daughter's birthday in private. He returned to the centre of the bookshop, having moved his many shelves to accommodate Maren and her many presents.

Crowley lounged on a large armchair, one leg hanging over the seat as he drank red wine straight from the bottle. On the floor, Maren sat on her knees, tearing at wrapping paper. A few feet in front of her sat some of her opened gifts, waiting for her to use them. For now, she was more intrigued by the next thing.

Her thirteenth birthday was a quiet celebration since Maren had grown out of childish parties. The transition from eccentric birthdays to all-night raves was something she was having trouble adjusting to.

But that didn't matter. As long as she had her fathers with her, she was content. "YES!" she exclaimed after unwrapping a large set of hardcover books. Maren squealed, looking up at Aziraphale. "You got me the Percy Jackson series!"

"Well, you've been begging for those books for months. Why should I deny you of good literature?" He'd probably get around to reading it himself, someday. It was wrong of him to try and resist a good book.

"Thanks, Dad! I love it!" She gently put it aside, admiring it from a short distance. Her grin widened, glancing back and forth between her father and the books. "Now I just need the Heroes of Olympus series next."

"Oh, lovely," Aziraphale uttered, his smile faltering.

Sure, he was a bit a of book hoarder himself, considering that many of his books were first editions and were bought immediately after they were published, but he did not want that habit to pass down to his daughter. It's not that he didn't want her to read -- it's just that she was very bad at organising. She could barely clean her room, and when he'd ask politely, she would just scowl and roll her eyes.

"What are those books even about?" Though his interest didn't lie in books, Crowley desired to know what was so special about them.

"It's about this demigod Percy Jackson who goes to this camp and fights evil creatures." She summarised.

He pursed his lips, his brows furrowing. "So, he's, like, Jesus then?"

"No, this is based on Greek Mythology." Maren corrected him, removing the first book from the set and showing it to him. "Percy's the son of Poseidon."

"Ah, the Greeks were fun, weren't they?" Crowley tilted his head back, laughing. "I loved when they would run around butt-naked with spears. It was so weird."

"Oh, yes." His angelic friend chimed in, settling in an armchair opposite him. "I believe the Romans rewrote most of their mythology."

"Stole it, more like." He remarked, thinking back to those old times. "All they did was rename the Gods, and now they've got planets and star systems named after them."

"They also didn't like Christians," Aziraphale recalled.

"Oh, they did not!" Crowley put down his bottle of wine. "Remember what they did to Jesus?"

"How could I forget?" The memory of it was seared into his brain. The whole ordeal was quite horrific, and Aziraphale was shocked to learn that Hell had nothing to do with it. Humanity was coming into its own -- Heaven and Hell were yet to grasp that.

The demon's focus returned to his daughter, recognising that she had swiftly grown distracted by her phone. He registered this odd look on her face; a mixture of emotions she shouldn't be feeling on her birthday. Her gaze darted across the screen, its blue light illuminating her anxiety.

Crowley narrowed his eyes behind the dark shades of his glasses. "You okay, pet?"

Her smile returned faster than light, appearing more forced than before. She shook her head, softly chuckling. "Yeah, I'm fine. I should turn this off."

Aziraphale didn't seem to notice her discontent, smiling plainly as he always did. But the demon could sense something was amiss, though he knew that if he were to question it, Maren would deny her true thoughts. So, he moved past it, taking another swig of alcohol and letting the liquid mess with his reality.

She held her thumb against the power button, her phone dimming. With her free hand, she lightly swiped her finger across her screen, and the phone went black. She put it aside, leaving it out of reach. 

"I think that's everything unwrapped." Maren patted her knees, looking back at her parents. "Is it time for cake?"

"Wait!" Crowley leapt from his seat, kicking his legs into the air. He clicked his fingers, the bottle of wine vanishing into oblivion. "Ah, I left it in the car!"

Adrenaline pumped through his blackened veins and he released a serpentined hiss, running off. He clicked his fingers again, opening the front doors and letting himself out.

"Huh," Aziraphale wore an incredulous stare, "I assumed he didn't bother this year."

"You have to stop assuming things about him," Maren commented, pulling herself onto her feet.

His form stiffened, his muscles rigid. His hand snapped towards his daughter. "What do you mean?"

"Just because he's a demon," she dusted her light-blue jeans before straightening up, "it doesn't mean that he's that evil." Maren walked past him, stating. "You've known him too long to continue judging him like that."

"It's..." His sentence fell away, Maren strolling out of earshot. His eyes followed her all the way to the main entrance, watching her exit the shop. The angel's head slanted back to its natural centre, and he stared forward, sighing. "... I'm meant to."

He couldn't help it. Their relationship was an illicit affair, and Aziraphale was too afraid to end it. Because the truth was he enjoyed the rapport he had with Crowley; his demonic influence acting as a potent drug for the angel -- it was a temperamental high. He's been ruining himself for centuries, but a part of him relished in it.

And with his curiosity heightened, Aziraphale bolted from his chair and wandered outside. Both he and Maren stood by the entrance, observing Crowley from afar as he rummaged through the back of his car.

Eventually, he retreated, removing a large black case from inside. Maren's eyes bulging, her mouth falling open. The specifically shaped case swung by Crowley's legs as he strolled back over. "Here we go."

"No way." She clasped a hand over her mouth, hiding an ecstatic grin.

Crowley nodded with much enthusiasm. "Yes, way."

"No fricking way!" squealed Maren, her heels bouncing off the ground as the rest of her body shook.

"Language." Aziraphale reprimanded her, though she promptly ignored him.

She took the case from his hands and crouched to the floor, laying it down. Maren tugged at the zip, unfurling it to reveal a striking red and black fender. Her face lit up, her smile widening. "You actually got me a Fender."

"Yeah!" exclaimed Crowley, rocking on the balls of his feet. "And it's custom-made -- one of a kind!" The demon's expression softened, admiring her. "Just like my wonderful daughter."

Maren grazed her thumb against the guitar's strings, stirring vibrations. The sound it made was barely audible in the busy street and it most likely wasn't in tune. But strumming her fingers against the metallic wires sparked an irresistible thrill within her. She was made to play this guitar.

"Oh my God!" She jumped up, sprinting over to Crowley and embracing him in a tight hug. "I love you so much!" Maren said. "This is the best gift ever!"

Aziraphale huffed, rolling his eyes. "Of course, Crowley gets all the praise."

She broke away from Crowley, giggling like a child. "Oh, shut up. Come here." Maren wrapped a loose arm around Aziraphale, pulling him in for a hug. She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. "I love you both." She declared, grinning ear to ear. "This is by far the greatest birthday ever."

***

ONE MONTH AND TWELVE DAYS LATER...

She only came to the party because she told her to. Maren didn't even know who it was for, or how thirteen-year-olds got a hold of vodka. Why did she ever trust her? Why did she even consider her as...? Shit, she fucked up.

Maren shivered in the cold, standing at a bus stop across the street from the party. It was still in full swing, music blaring and practically reverberating through the brick walls. She couldn't stand it anymore, and she knew there weren't any buses coming at this late hour.

Her phone was held against her ear, the dialling tone keeping her alert. She brushed her wet cheekbone with her hand, mascara and foundation smudging the back of her knuckles.

Finally, there came an answer and a familiar sigh -- that's all she needed. "I'm afraid we're quite definitely closed-"

"Dad?" her shaky voice mumbled, stopping him from hanging up.

Aziraphale paused for a moment. "Maren, is that you?"

"I need you to come get me." She requested.

The angel stammered, surprised she was calling him. "But you're staying with Crowley this week -- why can't he come and get you?"

"Because if I call him," she pulled her free arm across her torso, clutching her fitted shirt, "he'll kill everyone in that house."

"He does have the car." Guilt lingered in his reluctant tone, but she knew it was in his nature to do the right thing.

"I know, but..." her breath trembled, trying to retain her composure, "... Look, I don't know what else to do."

"Okay." Her father agreed. Maren exhaled in relief, closing her eyes momentarily. "Is anyone looking?"

Her eyelids snapped open, bewildered by his question. "No? Why-?"

But as she glanced back, a sudden yellow light flashed above her head. Maren raised her other hand, blocking it out. As her eyes adjusted and she began to acclimate to her surroundings, she realised that she was back in the bookshop; the blinding light coming from a hanging bulb. This time, relief didn't come to her as swiftly as she hoped.

"Sorry, I didn't want you walking home in the dark," Aziraphale spoke, glimpsing her in a shadowed area of the shop. "Technically, I shouldn't use miracles for selfish reasons, but is it selfish to ensure your daughter gets home safely?" Maren slipped her phone into her back pocket. She stepped into the light, lowering her arm. "I dread to think what could've..." his face fell once he met her sorrowful gaze. Stained mascara painted her cheeks, her tears black as the night itself. "... Maren?" She choked on a sob, the back of her hand meeting her ruined cherry-red lips. "Oh, dear -- what is it? What's wrong?"

She didn't answer; the words caught in her throat. All she could do was run into Aziraphale's arms, burying her head into his chest. Her fingers tugged on his cream jacket, keeping him close. Maren didn't want to ruin his jacket, but she had to hide her face somehow.

He complied, of course. His daughter was a wreck and she required comfort. It would be wrong of him to deny her of that. Aziraphale held her there as she wailed, letting it all out. He could care less for the state of his jacket; it's not like this one was his favourite anyway. His most beloved was tucked away in his wardrobe, only to be worn when he felt like it.

It was late into the night by the time Maren's tears had subsided, and the angel guided her to their sofa. He draped a blanket over her shoulders, hardly bothering to adjust it before heading into the kitchen to make her something to drink.

Maren held a blank stare, taking slow, deep breaths. She could still hear the chants, echoing from the back of her skull. The memory was too fresh for her to forget. She had to remind herself she wasn't there anymore -- that the ordeal was over.

"There we go." He returned, handing her a mug of hot chocolate; the perfect temperature, of course. Aziraphale settled beside her on the sofa, using a handkerchief to dab at her damp cheek. "No more tears."

Her mouth twitched into a brief smile. "Thanks, Dad."

"You don't have to tell me what happened." He assured her, not wanting to pressure her. "I just want to help the best I can."

She bowed her head, watching the hot chocolate ripple in her cup. Maren swallowed, her throat dry. "Dad?"

"Yes?" he asked.

Her eyes went vacant as she angled her head towards Aziraphale. "Am I supposed to love boys? Is that what God wanted?"

God's plan was vague at best, so he was unsure how to answer her question. "Well," his lips pressed together, "Adam and Eve had to be together to create the human race. It's all about reproduction -- we did tell you about this-"

"Yeah, I know." Maren stopped him before he could go any further. "I'm only asking because you were there. You knew them." She pulled a piece of her hair behind her ear. "So, they really didn't get a choice in the matter?"

Well, there weren't many people around at the time. It's not like they had other options -- they only had each other. "Fraid not."

"What if Eve liked girls?" she stared off to the side, her knees hitching. "What then?"

He considered the thought, briefly. "Well, since there were no other girls, then she wouldn't have been able to do much."

She met his eyes, her voice thick. "Is it wrong then?"

His posture loosened, stuttering. "What do you mean?"

"For humans to like the same sex." Her cheeks burned, the muscles in her neck tensing. "Is that why Eve was forced to love a man instead?"

Did the same correspond to angels and demons, too? Was that why her fathers weren't together?

"No, it's not..." A realisation came to mind, causing Aziraphale to hesitate, "... Maren, that's not-"

"Was I born wrong?" Tears built in the whites of her eyes, her voice cracking. "Is that -- is that why..." she lowered her chin towards her chest, "... why my mum didn't want me?"

"No." With a gentle touch, he grabbed her arm. "No, don't you ever think that." In his eyes, his daughter was perfect. He wouldn't change a single thing about her. Sure, she did some things that peeved him a little, but that didn't stop him from loving her unconditionally. "You are loved, Maren," Azriaphale told her. "Never forget that."

"Mum didn't love me, did she?" She set her mug aside, releasing herself from Aziraphale's grip and standing up. "She'd be here if she did." Maren walked a few feet away from the angel, hugging herself. "What if she knew I was gonna become this...?" Her chest ached as if her heart was aflame, burning her from the inside. "A stupid lesbian."

That's what they called her. That and what seemed like a hundred different slurs. She resented herself for being different from everyone else. Why couldn't she be like them? Where did she belong if she wasn't meant for this world?

Her vision blurred, and she could feel her lungs growing sore. It felt like the weight of the world was on her shoulders, pulling her down. She knew the world was cruel -- she should have expected this would happen somewhere along the line.

Heavy feet creaked against the ageing wooden floorboards as her father approached from behind. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she tilted her head towards him.

"Let me show you something." Aziraphale took her hand and guided her into his office, a place she didn't explore much. Once inside, he began his search, releasing her from his grasp. "Now, I know I put it here somewhere." He was usually so organised, but he had recently thought about redecorating the space, so he'd shuffled a few things about to see what would fit. "I wasn't sure what to do with it, so I just stored it. You know, for potential storage purposes, but I don't think..." He peered up to a high shelf, his jaw dropping "Ah!"

It was still empty; he thought so. He'd spent years thinking about what to put in there, but he never felt like it belonged to him.

"It's a box." She stated.

She was old enough now -- Maren had a right to know. "It's not just any box," Aziraphale informed her, spinning back to face her. "It's your box." He corrected her. "Well, when I say yours, it's the box you arrived in." He gazed inside, remembering the sweet infant they discovered. The angel simpered, proud of his actions that day. "This is the beginning of your story."

"I arrived," she paused, her brows squishing together, "in a box?"

"Mm-hm." He nodded.

"Like a..." her lip curled upwards, scoffing, "... Like a package?" 

Did they order her off the Internet or something? No, Aziraphale hated the Internet; he thought it a vile place. Then again, this sounded a lot like something Crowley would do for shits and giggles.

"Well, not exactly." He lowered it onto his desk, gesturing. "You were left in it, wrapped in your swaddle."

"Don't tell me you just found me on your doorstep." As Maren folded her arms, Aziraphale stared back at her with a solemn yet somewhat awkward expression. "Are you serious? That's so..." God, that was so fucking cliche. It was like something out of a movie -- it made her skin crawl. "... So you really don't know who my mother is," she started, "or my biological father?"

Aziraphale shook his head, wringing his fingers together. "Fraid not."

Her expression dulled, and though the tears stopped flowing, her chest retained its burning mass. "She really didn't want me then."

"Don't assume that." He wandered over to a wooden cabinet and opened the top drawer. "If she didn't care," he reached inside, retrieving a folded piece of paper, "she wouldn't have bothered to leave a note."

Aziraphale walked back over to her, presenting Maren with it. With some hesitance, his daughter took the paper from his fingers and slowly unfolded it. The second she saw the scrawled handwriting, her heart skipped a beat. "Please take care of her." She read aloud. 

It wasn't much -- but it was worth something to her.

The angel took hold of her wrists as Maren looked up, meeting his gaze. "I don't think she would have used "please" when abandoning a child." His comment sparked a slight giggle, though it seemed to be stuck in her throat. "And she left you in-"

"- The best hands." She finished. "That's what Dad said when I was little." A light chuckle followed suit as she remembered her childhood; a wonderful time for her. "I mean," she sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, "I couldn't ask for better parents." Despite the tears, Maren found herself genuinely smiling. "Even though one of them's a demon."

He raised his arms, cupping her head in his palms. "I love you, dear." Aziraphale tilted her head downwards, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Always remember that."

"I love you too, Dad." Her voice cracked, looking up. Maren's smile grew, her eyes gleaming with tears. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"You are very welcome." Aziraphale wrapped his arms around her, embracing his daughter. "I will always keep you safe, my darling."

Maren returned the sentiment, melting into his comforting hug and nuzzling her head against his shoulder. She closed her eyes and imagined his white, feathery wings wrapping around her. Maren wished it was true because in the arms of an angel -- she felt at peace.

***

So, yeah, Maren went through a lot during this chapter. This shit's heavy, and the next chapter's still gonna be depressing, so apologies.

The reason this took so long was because I wasn't sure about the first part. But I wanted to discuss periods because it's a natural yet painful thing people go through and you know I wanted to shed some light on that. I mean when I got my first period (despite knowing what periods were), I assumed my butt was bleeding. 

God, I'm making this sound like a self-insert, aren't I? Bleugh! 

Anyway, I absolutely hate getting my period because it actually hinders my ability to work or have fun. I get really sick and my cramps are basically unbearable. Like, it just hurts so much and it feels like my body's killing me. I just needed to express that in writing, and I thought where else than in a coming-of-age story.

I wanted to explore more of Aziraphale's relationship with Maren because we've had hardly any moments with him. I love Crowley, but we all know Aziraphale is just the sweetest thing.

Also, I wanted to get this out now because WE'RE GETTING GOOD OMENS 3!!!! I'M SO EXCITED!!!

Anyway, thanks for reading. Please leave a vote or a comment because I love hearing your responses. Honestly, they make my day. Thank you for 7k reads xx

- Alice.