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At some point one evening there is a flutter at Aziraphale’s wrist, that quickly turns into a gentle tug on his sleeve.
“Hm?” Aziraphale looks up from his book. After some time with his new children he has shirked the instinct to brush at such small touches; often, as now, it is one of the little snakelets trying to get their deaf father’s attention.
It’s Scarlet this time, with a mouthful of sleeve and a look in her eye that implies she would be crying for dramatic effect if she could.
“Oh?” Aziraphale removes his reading glasses. “What’s the matter, dear?”
Scarlet lets go of his sleeve and turns her head to look at something. Aziraphale follows her gaze, and there—sitting sadly on the floor, not far from the desk, is a small, red pompom.
“Oh dear! Here, let me get that for you.”
Aziraphale bends down, picks up the pompom, and offers it back to Scarlet. She eagerly slithers forward to take it from him, setting it down briefly on the desk so she can give his index finger a full-body hug before zooming off to rejoin her siblings.
“You’re welcome, my dear,” he calls warmly after her, and places his glasses back on his nose.
It isn’t long before there’s another tug on his sleeve. This time it’s Joshua, who points at the floor with his tail—at a small blue pompom.
Aziraphale smiles, stooping to retrieve it for him. He gets about two seconds of warm satisfaction at Joshua’s obvious gratitude and delight before Joshua takes the pompom and tosses it on the floor again.
He blinks. “Why did you do that?”
Joshua’s tongue flicks out. Aziraphale feels a wave of adoration from him.
With a bemused expression Aziraphale picks up the pompom again, offers it to him again—and watches with bafflement as he happily takes it and drops it off the edge of the desk once more.
Aziraphale tuts. “What are you doing, my dear? Oh no, I’m not angry!” he says quickly when Joshua wilts. “I’m just confused. Don’t you want your toy back?”
Joshua looks down at the pompom, then back up at Aziraphale. He can feel a strange little wisp of eager hope from his noodly son.
Coco comes to his rescue; she slithers up to them both, looks directly at Aziraphale to make certain he is watching, and flings her brown pompom off the desk with as much strength as her tiny body can muster.
Aziraphale slowly reaches out to pick up both the pompoms, dropping them on the desk. Both Coco and Joshua happily approach to give his hand full-body hugs, and then suddenly there are five little shoelaces with pompoms gathered before him on the desk.
“Er—”
Too late. Now there are five pompoms on the ground, and five snakes looking happily, eagerly up at him.
Aziraphale looks helplessly between them. They don’t have eyelids, of course, so their eyes always look wide, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling just how much adoration there is in those gazes. And he isn’t entirely sure what he’s done to deserve it this time. He’d rather thought they’d already figured out object permanence…
“Erm. I’m...” He clears his throat. “I’m not certain what exactly it is you darlings are doing, but… well, if you just want me to… pick things up for you...”
Five snakes bob up and down excitedly. Aziraphale softens.
“I will always be here to help you,” he vows. Even if that means being a dog and playing fetch for a day. Or every day. “No matter how many times you drop your toys.”
Five little ribbons scoot forward to hug his hand, or climb onto it and lay down. Something tickles Aziraphale’s eyes: oh, how he wishes he could understand them, speak to them properly! But for now all he can do is listen, and look for the ways they have of telling him what they need.
He scoops the remaining children up off the desk and cradles them close to his chest. “I love you, darlings. I’ll prove it to you in any way I can. Except extra mice for dinner. Part of loving you means keeping you safe and healthy, and your father knows more about your diet than I do.”
Three snakes grumpily lay their heads down on his palms, but two flick their tongues out in acceptance. Aziraphale smiles.
“There’s a word for the game we’re playing, you know,” he tells them, getting out of his chair. “Let’s go, then; catch is better played on the floor.”