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His papa had hung the stars for him when he was small. He had stuck the plastic tiles to the ceiling in a precise order and told him what all the constellations were and all the stories behind them. Crowley never really saw the animals they supposedly were, but he learned and loved the stories anyway. They were all he had left after his papa died. His father wasn’t one for bedtime stories, and he had no patience for Crowley’s childish curiosity, yelling at him to stop asking so many questions. At least he hadn’t taken the stars away. Crowley would look up at them and retell the stories, hearing his papa’s voice in his mind.
When Crowley presented as an omega, he’d look up at his ceiling stars again for comfort as the painful overwhelming need of his first heats overtook him. He wanted his papa back, or really anyone who wasn’t his bigoted alpha father, who resented his only son for not being an alpha like he had hoped, to help him through this, but at least he had his stars and the stories behind them. He dreamed about escaping, running away to live in the stars and slay great beasts like the mythical heroes in the constellations.
He didn’t have his stars in the flat he’d shared with Lucian. He’d wanted to add some to his nest, but his alpha had forbidden them, saying that he was too old for such childish things. He still held them in his memory, could see them in phosphenes when he closed his eyes shut tight. Sometimes, he’d look at his bruises and compare them to constellations. Again, he dreamed of escaping.
In his new home, he has his stars, but more importantly, he has Aziraphale. It had been a long and hard journey to escape Lucian, and he hadn’t planned on subjecting himself to an alpha again, but the kind and patient blond angelic man had proven impossible to resist. When Crowley moved in, he’d asked about putting stars up in the den, then immediately took it back, saying it was stupid and he was sorry and he wouldn’t mention it again.
“Darling, it’s our den now. If you want stars, we’ll have stars.”
And so their den’s ceiling was covered in plastic stars. Crowley still likes looking at them, but they’re not his lifeline anymore. He no longer has to dream about escaping.
Now, his normally flat stomach is round, preparing to bring a new life into the world. Crowley is both excited to start a family with his angel and anxious about becoming a parent. Aziraphale has done everything he can to reassure him, but Crowley isn’t sure the anxiety will ever go away. Day by day, his alpha has been setting up the nursery, bringing in touches from both of their aesthetics into the decor. After dinner tonight, Aziraphale shows Crowley his newest addition: a star projector displaying astronomically accurate projections of the night sky for their little one’s entertainment and education. Crowley can’t imagine the baby will care about scientific accuracy, but given that they’ll have Aziraphale’s genes, they just might. He sits in the rocking chair and pictures himself rocking their child to sleep, telling him or her the stories of the constellations as his own papa did.
Crowley was certain his child would grow to love the stars. He was also certain his child wouldn’t need them to escape reality like he had.