Chapter Text
Spring storm clouds gather over the South Downs and Aziraphale Fell is getting a wiggle on to be back at his cottage before it starts raining. It has been a sunny day so far and he hasn't thought to bring an umbrella along.
He so detests getting soaked in impromptu downpours.
As he hurries along the abandoned path through the village, a hubbub of jeers and shouting draws his attention.
It is caused by a group of children lingering in the small wayside meadow. Aziraphale is no fool to mistake the wild racket they are causing for cordial play among peers, but recognizes it for what it is. The smell of prepubescent bloodlust is in the air.
He makes no plans to interfere at first. He is not here to take over their parents' job and teach these creatures civility. However, these children aren't picking on each other as it would at first appear. They are rather hurling stones and wielding sticks against something smaller writhing in the grass.
It's a black snake, showing a red underbelly every time it tosses its body any which way to lessen the blows. It hisses wildly, coiling in terror and trying to make itself smaller and harder to hit. Escape is impossible through the tight ring the children form around it. The young beasts whoop and egg each other on.
Children brawling against one another is one thing in Aziraphale's opinion (he wonders if some people would object), but collectively tormenting a smaller creature is something he can't stand for.
His presence goes unnoticed right up until he is already looming over the group.
“You lot of hooligans!“ he bellows in rightful outrage.
The children startle somewhat terribly. They all know of Mr. Fell, as he comes on holidays to South Downs every spring and sometimes summer. A real pushover, they all agreed the first time they saw him. Nothing to be afraid of with this city pansy.
They retract their assessment now that Aziraphale is really up close and personal, standing tall, his face and eyes a stone mask of cold fury.
They scatter quicker than cockroaches exposed to daylight.
Aziraphale draws deep lungfuls of air to calm himself and smooths down his coat lapels. Oh dear, it's rare for him to lose composure like that.
He turns his attention to the snake, expecting it to slither on its merry way any moment now. He feels it's his duty to see it safely off. But the creature just lays flattened to the ground, unmoving.
Oh no, it's probably hurt.
Aziraphale is sympathetic enough to actually kneel onto the grass (which you would never see him do in normal circumstances, because grass stains on clothes are a nightmare), being brave enough to remain so even when the serpent releases a warning hiss and cracks its mouth wide open to show a few fine, tiny teeth.
He has no idea if the black reptile is a member of a poisonous species, but it seems frozen in fear and reluctant to actually attack, so he persists in his efforts.
“It's alright dear,“ he soothes as he leans further in, “I won't do you harm.“
The snake resigns to its fate and remains still. Its eyes, however, stare directly into Aziraphale's face. It's mildly unsettling. Can all snakes do that? Eyesight isn't exactly the primary sense they rely on.
Slow and steady, he reaches for it with his hands. The reptile's body goes rigid upon first contact, but Aziraphale merely strokes the scaled skin of its neck. Dry but pliable. Soft.
But the length of the body isn't entirely unscathed. There are a few patches of abraded scales, drops of blood pearling on the surface. What's worse is when the snake moves to stop Aziraphale from poking at the sore spots, some segments don't move as fluidly as others.
The observation makes the man's mood go right back to being thunderous. He privately swears that if those kids damaged this poor creature's spine in any way, he will personally make a visit to each of their homes and make the adults in charge realize what little monsters they are harbouring.
Despite his internal turmoil, he keeps his voice as gentle as can be. “Oh, they hurt you. No need to be afraid any longer, little one. I will…I will take care of you.“ Really now? He will take care of it? His tongue is skipping way ahead of his common sense. He isn't even sure of what temporary keeping a reptile requires.
But he can't leave this wounded, disadvantaged being to the natural elements. Especially now when the first cold drops of rain are already falling and it has no shelter.
He carefully gathers the stunned serpent into his hands, fully at peace with the possibility of getting bitten. It would be a natural fear response after all, and the animal is traumatised. Surprisingly enough, it allows him to manipulate its body against his chest and only twists the less battered coils around his wrists and fingers for support.
Secured, Aziraphale takes it back to his cottage at a safe pace. The displeasure of getting his clothes wet becomes irrelevant now. Yellow slitted eyes stare up at him the whole way. He chooses to ignore the bizarre behaviour, it's too strange to contemplate at the moment.
The cottage is pleasantly warm upon arrival. Aziraphale shifts his rescuee into one hand and rummages through the clutter of things under the stairs that lead to the bedroom. An old cardboard box is the most suitable thing he finds. A rather shabby accommodation, but it will have to do on such short notice.
He deposits the snake onto the bare bottom, quietly promising it to return quickly with items to make the housing more comfortable. The cottage isn't snake-proof, so he can't leave it free to wander (not that there was much wandering to be had in such a poor state, but still).
He divests of his wet coat, all the while hatching his next course of action. All the terrariums he has ever seen had the enclosures heated by infrared lamps. Reptiles are poikilotherms, after all. While he doesn't have such refined heating devices at hand, he definitely owns a thermophore. Filling it with hot water is no problem, but how hot is too hot?
Despite these previous indicators, it is only after he has the serpent settled on the improvised thermophore-and-soft-blankets nest that he truly realizes how out of his depths he is. How should he treat the wounds? Are band-aids on a snake too ridiculous to consider? Some places are looking a bit swollen. Should he ice them as he would on himself? No, it probably wouldn't appreciate that, being cold-blooded and all.
At least the little black creature looks mighty pleased with the bedding. It burrows into the heated folds of the blankets, leaving only the snout and the eyes completely free to follow Aziraphale's fretting. Upon being touched it still displays some wariness, but seems to be taking things in stride otherwise.
Aziraphale ultimately decides to withhold any drastic treatment in fear of killing the creature with his own good intentions. He will call a vet in the morning. Do regular vets even treat reptile patients? In the meanwhile, he still covers the worst of the abrasions, despite feeling stupid about it.
“Oh hush, you.“ He chastises his rescuee, who is definitely giving him looks while he sticks peach coloured band-aids all over it. He isn't imagining it. He isn't!
When he goes to bed, he takes the box with him upstairs and sets it onto the nightstand. He even wishes it goodnight.
“You have nothing to fear from me, little one. You are perfectly safe here. Rest now and we will get you better in no time at all, you'll see.“
The snake just stares right at him with those inscrutable eyes. Finally, it wiggles into a more comfortable position, retracting its head into the blanket as well.
Satisfied with the silent truce, Aziraphale turns off the light.