In which the angel Crowley gives the demon Aziraphale a predatory plant as a joke, and immediately regrets everything:

Soho, 1968

It was meant to be a joke. The angel known on earth for a large number of years now as Anthony J. Crowley--and A.J. Crowley Jr., etc, etc as the years passed--was very, very fond of plants. And the demon Aziraphale, as far as Crowley had been able to determine, didn’t really think much of them one way or the other. So when Crowley came across the small venus fly trap at the greenhouse, he couldn’t resist. Maybe a plant that caught its own food would at least amuse Aziraphale, who’d been inexplicably grumpy the last couple of centuries. Someday I’m going to learn not to listen to my impulses. “It, uh… you just water it.” Crowley said to the demon, who was holding the little potted plant as though it might explode. Or worse, get dirt all over his neat suit. Now that the angel was here in the demon’s shop (Mr. Fell’s Curious and Carnal Antiquities), it didn’t seem like all that good of an idea after all, but it was rather too late to take the thing back. “It’ll feed itself. It eats flies.” “Ooooooooh.” A complete change came over Aziraphale, his expression brightening as he poked curiously at the nearest bud, watching as it closed in response to what it hoped was prey. “You mean, it’s carnivorous?!” Crowley began to doubt every choice he’d ever made. “Well, yeah. I guess. Technically.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Crowley debated his chances of grabbing the thing and making a run for the door. Not good, since Aziraphale was now practically cooing to the tiny plant, holding its pot close without even worrying about his clothes for once. “It’s not like it could eat anything much bigger than a fly, after all.” These things didn’t grow much, did they? Crowley didn’t think so. It should have been a comfort, but he knew as well as any celestial being that when something got exposed to Divine or Infernal energies for extended periods of time, ‘normal’ tended to go out the window. Especially energies with intent--like the devious gleam he saw in Aziraphale’s eyes now.

“Well. We all have to start somewhere, now don’t we?” Aziraphale said, cheerfully, talking to the plant as though Crowley had already left. He looked around, finally deciding to put the little pot on his huge, ancient desk. “And flies. Hmm. You know, I think I’ll call you Bub. Lord Beelzebub can’t be too displeased with my naming you after them, with you being such an adorable little hunter. Even if you do help get rid of all the little pests they leave behind every time they visit.”

“...” None of this was going as planned. Crowley had expected Aziraphale to give the plant back to him. Possibly by throwing it at his head, considering the demon’s recent moods. Certainly the most positive outcome he’d imagined was Aziraphale being faintly interested or amused before telling the angel to take the thing away. This strange, almost paternal response was, quite frankly, terrifying. 

“I shall have to go out and find a book on proper care tomorrow,” Aziraphale was still fussing over the plant, oblivious to anything else. Crowley cleared his throat, and the demon looked up. “Ah, oh yes. Crowley. Thank you for the unexpected gift, my dear Angel. I’ll take such good care of it.”

That’s what I’m afraid of. Crowley managed a thin smile, and shook his head mutely when Aziraphale asked him if he’d dropped by for anything else. He needed to get away from… whatever this was. Seeing Aziraphale acting like someone with a new baby over a plant was definitely one of the oddest things he’d ever seen the demon do. Crowley fled. Climbing up the outside steps from Aziraphale’s dark basement shop, Crowley couldn’t shake the feeling that the joke was on him.

Soho, Present Day

The plant had disappeared from Aziraphale’s desk a few months after Crowley had brought it to him, and a while after that, the angel had honestly forgotten about it. Life resumed as normal, the two coming into contact regularly, either for company or to discuss something that fell under the Arrangement. Tonight was one of the former, Crowley happily sprawled on a chair in the demon’s shop and sipping wine. He could feel that Aziraphale had something he wanted to spring on him, but he was too pleasantly drunk to be apprehensive.

The shoe dropped sometime around their third glass of wine, and it took Crowley’s stomach with it.

“Crowley, my dear, all of these years and you’ve never once asked how Bub is doing. Why is that, I wonder?”.

“When I didn’t see it on your desk anymore I figured--” Hoped. “--that you’d gotten tired of it and gotten rid of it. Or that it died or something.” “Oh, my, no. He just needed a bit more space. Would you like to come see him?”

“Him?”

“Well, it turns out that Dionaea muscipula aren’t gender specific plants, so I just picked at random. Besides, he seems like a he.” Aziraphale’s pale blue eyes sparkled wickedly.

“Right. Of course he does.” Crowley’s legs felt like they were made of lead, and it was all he could do to get up and follow his longtime friend. Over the years his nightmares had been periodically visited by various imaginings of a predatory plant under extended demonic influences. Reality, for once, didn’t disappoint. Of course not. Not when I want it to.

Bub, or ‘the thing’ as it would forever after be known as in Crowley’s head, had his own room. He had to. The plant barely fit as it was, brushing the ceiling as though looking for more space to expand. It had at least three times as many mouths as when Crowley had last seen it, and each one was more than large enough to fit an entire person in. In fact, one of them was closed around a large lump that Crowley absolutely refused to look more closely at. He might actually see what was in it.

This is it. This is the thing that gets me kicked out of Heaven. If there’s anything left to kick after Gabriel gets done with me, anyway. ‘How did you Fall, Crowley?’ ‘Oh, I gave a demon a man-eating plant. You know. Just for a laugh.’ “Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice cut into Crowley’s horrified internal monologue. The demon was standing right next to Bub, patting the outside of one of its mouths. The angel wasn’t sure if it was that or the fact that the plant actually lowered its head to be ‘petted’ that disturbed him more. “Aren’t you going to say hello?”

“Hello… Bub…” Crowley’s mouth was currently working without any help from his brain. So was his body, because when the entire assemblage of leaves, vines and gaping maws actually turned in his direction, the angel took an involuntary step backward. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Bub. Uncle Crowley’s just impressed with how much you’ve grown.” Aziraphale gave the plant another reassuring pat, then looked up and smiled. “Crowley. You’re not scared, are you?”

“Aziraphale…” Crowley cleared his throat, continued almost a full octave lower. Uncle Crowley? Really? “You can’t. That thing is…” 

“Oh, nonsense. Bub has never had a meal that wasn’t already firmly destined for Hell,” Aziraphale tsks. “In fact, he’s probably helped you out indirectly by getting rid of some of the worst--” “Nope.” Crowley shushed the demon with a gesture. Plausible deniability. That’s what I need. The less I hear, the less I have to pretend doesn’t exist. The only alternative was to destroy Bub, and probably a six thousand year old friendship with it. Call him selfish, but Crowley wasn’t ready to do that. “I don’t want to know. I was never in here. I never saw this. If you mention Bub again, I’m going to imagine you’re talking about a cute, fluffy little kitten.”

“Ah. Ah, right. Yes.” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “I suppose I wasn’t thinking about that side of things. Very well. Back to the wine, then?” “Yes. Wine. Wine is good. Wine is nice.” As if there was enough wine in the world to make the angel forget he saw this. Crowley sighed. “Better open a few extra bottles.”

((Now also on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/21076571 ))