Chapter Text
Weeds kept sneaking into the garden. Popping out of the ground between Crowley’s neatly arranged flowers, peeking out from under his rosebushes, dotting the grassy area he’d left free for picnics.
With a bracing breath, Crowley wrapped his fingers around a dandelion stem. “What are you lot doing in my flowerbed?” he snarled, glaring at it. The nearby daffodils, alarmed by his tone, perked up. “This is supposed to be a perfect garden, you losers. Only the best for my angel.”
The weed in his grasp didn’t shiver at the sharp words, still looking just as enthusiastic about growing between the tulips. Crowley’s resolve faltered. But he couldn’t give in to every weed that looked happy, every weed that was just enjoying life.
Weeds didn’t belong in the garden. Didn’t deserve to be here. They weren’t good enough, perfect enough.
They were unworthy by virtue of being themselves.
“Ah, shit.” Crowley released the cheerful dandelion and rocked back to sit in the grass. This was ridiculous. He was a demon, for Somebody’s sake. What kind of a demon was too soft to rip weeds out of the ground?
Gardens needed weeding. Had to get rid of the bad stuff. But why were weeds bad, really? What had they done wrong beyond not being “the right kind” of plant? Why did they deserve to be cast out, rejected, abandoned?
Oh, great. Just what he needed. More questions.
Crowley shoved back onto his knees, grabbed the dandelion…and then let go again. It was getting dark, after all. He didn’t have time to do the whole flowerbed.
“Fine, you can stay for the night,” he said sharply, gesturing to all the thriving weeds. “But tomorrow, it’s gonna be a massacre.”
---
In some ways, Crowley preferred the tidiness of container gardening. He retreated to his indoor plant room with relief, to the certainty of things growing in buckets and pots, of bags of potting mix. It was like his old hobby rather than the unknown chaos of planting in actual ground.
“Now, this is a competition,” he said sternly as he placed tiny carrot seeds at precise intervals. “If you grow too close together, only the winner gets to survive. No slacking off, or I’ll rip you out of the ground and feed you to the ducks.”
“Having fun with your plants, my dear?” Aziraphale came up behind him and settled a hand on his mid back, then set a mug on Crowley’s work table. “I’ve brought you a spot of tea.”
Crowley didn’t smile—he tried not to smile in front of the plants, especially new ones that were just learning his expectations—but he leaned back into Aziraphale’s hand. “Thanks, angel. Getting some more carrots and radishes planted for you. D’ya want me to do another group of lettuce, too?”
“Oh yes, I’d like that very much. Your lettuce makes for the most marvelous salads.” Aziraphale gently patted the edge of the carrots’ container. “And I’m sure these fine fellows will be perfect.”
“Don’t praise the plants,” Crowley snapped, pushing Aziraphale’s hand away. “They’ve gotta be tough and strong to survive.”
A lot of the weeds were tough and strong too, just as vibrant and lively as the things he planted. How come they didn’t deserve a happy life in the garden, too? Why did they have to be cast out? Why didn’t they belong?
Aziraphale brushed a hand against Crowley’s cheek, a hint of worry creeping into his expression. “Is everything all right, Crowley? You seem a bit cranky. Well, crankier than usual.”
Crowley grunted. If he explained, Aziraphale would start fussing over either him or the weeds. And then it would be even harder to do what he needed to do tomorrow. “S’ fine. Just thinking about plans for the rest of the garden.”
“Mhm. I see.” With a sigh, Aziraphale patted the edge of the container again. “Well, I’m making some nice quiche for dinner, as well as a salad. Can I tempt you into perhaps joining me in the kitchen soon?”
That was also more familiar territory than the chaos of the garden, and Crowley allowed himself a small smile. “Yep. Lemme finish with these slackers and I’ll be in.”
“My dear, you’re only just planting the poor seeds. They haven’t had a chance to be slackers yet.” Aziraphale stretched to kiss his cheek. “See you in a bit.”
Crowley grunted again. He turned his attention back to the container garden, where at least he had a better chance at control. And a much lower chance of uncomfortable feelings.
---
Aziraphale sliced up radishes and carefully sprinkled them across the salad. He made Crowley’s salad much smaller, as usual. That silly old serpent still wasn’t particularly interested in food, but he did oblige Aziraphale by trying everything. And it was still so very exciting, eating food from their own garden.
At the moment, Crowley was frowning at his garden designs. He crumpled up a sheet of tracing paper and tossed it at the rubbish bin, missed, then spread out a fresh sheet across his graph paper. Hissing with annoyance, he slammed a ruler down and grabbed his pencil.
He truly was in a mood today. Aziraphale paused, radishes still in hand, and watched as Crowley sketched out a new design idea for the front yard. He scribbled in a few notes, hissed again, and crumpled that sheet as well.
“Are you stuck on the plan, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked. “I thought you’d more or less decided where everything was going.”
“M’ still working on it. Vegetables can’t go next to the cottage like I thought, too much shade. Gonna do some in containers and move the rest…” Crowley laid out another sheet of tracing paper, then sketched in a few ideas. “Is out front okay with you? I’m still gonna do the other flowerbeds and stuff, so we’ll have loads of scenery.”
“The vegetable plants are beautiful too, you know,” Aziraphale chided.
Crowley snorted. “No. They get to stay because they’re useful. Not like…”
Something odd crossed his face. Sighing, he set down his pencil and rubbed his neck.
Something truly was bothering him. Aziraphale checked on the quiche—still twenty minutes to go—then joined Crowley at the table. He sat down and gathered his demon’s hand, squeezing gently. “Crowley. Will you please tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nnnrng, it’s ridiculous.” Crowley raked a hand through his hair, expression full of irritation. “You’re gonna think I’m soft.”
As if Aziraphale had any illusions about Crowley being the big bad demon he pretended to be. “Well, no matter what it is, you’ll never be as soft as me!”
That drew an slight smile, fondness gleaming in Crowley’s golden eyes. “Nh, guess you’re right. My soft angel.” He sighed and set his pencil in perfect alignment with the ruler. “Gah, s’ still ridiculous. It’s the weeds.”
The weeds? Aziraphale tilted his head, confused. “Are they overtaking the new plants?”
“No! Well, yeah. Kinda. But it’s my own fault.” Crowley’s frown deepened. He tapped his pad of graph paper into line with the pencil, then fussed with the tracing paper. At this rate, he’d plunge into a bout of stress cleaning and organizing rather than enjoying their nice dinner. “Some of ‘em are so tough and vibrant that…I dunno. It feels wrong to throw them out.”
There was a certain tautness to his voice, as if this statement carried a much deeper meaning. “Then why do it?”
Crowley gave him an irritated glare and grabbed his glass of scotch. “Cuz weeds don’t belong in the garden. Not good enough, are they? They’re not the right sort of thing, deserve to be cast out.”
His voice faltered slightly on the last few words, and he downed the scotch in a single gulp. Oh, the poor dear. Heart aching, Aziraphale laid a hand on his arm. “I don’t believe that anything deserves to be cast out sheerly for its nature. And I don’t think you believe that either, Crowley. I think the whole concept of “the right sort” is what’s troubling you.”
With a sharp exhale, Crowley traced a finger along the lines of his obsessively neat garden plans. “Nnh. Still. S’ not like I really have a choice.”
Aziraphale smiled fondly at his demon. “My dear, you’re the one who helped me see that there’s always a choice. We don’t have to live by old rules anymore, and I think that rather extends to the garden. If it troubles you to pull the weeds, why not just leave them alone?”
That drew another irritated glare. “What, so they can choke out all the flowers and vegetables?”
“You wouldn’t have to leave all of them.” Aziraphale leaned forward, the right approach coming to him. It was a temptation of sorts, understanding what angle to take. “It’s like what you were saying to your vegetables earlier. It’s a competition, hmm? If they grow too close together, none of them will thrive. So we still cultivate our lovely garden and keep it healthy. We just don’t judge which plants are the ‘right sort’.”
“Huh.” Crowley slid his fingers between Aziraphale’s, gently rolling their joined hands from side to side as he thought. “I dunno, angel. That sounds…chaotic. Messy. I know it’s not very demonic of me, but I really don’t like messy.”
Aziraphale smiled fondly at him. “Well, it wouldn’t need to be messy. We wouldn’t let it get overgrown or out of control.”
Crowley just grunted, and Aziraphale let the matter drop for now. The seeds were sown—sooner or later, Crowley would make a choice.
---
"Oh, do wait up!"
“Eep?” Crowley paused at the front door, bewildered. Aziraphale rushed up, holding a straw hat on his head with one hand and clutching a book in the other. “Angel, what’re you doing?”
Aziraphale beamed at him, cheeks flushed from the dash through the cottage. “Oh, I simply thought I’d come read in the garden while you’re working.”
Suspicious, Crowley slipped his sunglasses on and glared at Aziraphale over them. “Why?”
Aziraphale gave a wide-eyed, innocent expression. “Do I need a reason to want to spend a spot of extra time with my best friend?”
Grunting, Crowley opened the door and stomped outside. Aziraphale skipped alongside him, still with that blasted innocent expression. “You know gardening involves water, right? S’ not exactly the safest place for books.”
“Oh, don’t be silly.” Smiling, Aziraphale plopped down on the ground in the grassy picnic area and opened his book. “I trust you not to spray me with the hose.”
Crowley grunted again, making a mental note to set up some of the sitting areas next. Aziraphale should have somewhere more comfortable to read.
“All right, you invaders,” he said in as scathing a tone as possible, dropping to his knees by the flowerbed that had defeated him yesterday. No softness today. No mercy. Had to be ruthless. “I won’t have any weeds growing in my garden. You don’t deserve to be here, you…you worthless…”
Gosh, but they really were thriving. Thriving more than the latest bunch of annuals he’d transplanted to the adjoining flowerbed last week, actually. The weeds waved their leaves proudly in the light breeze, as if showing off how well they were growing. Like a kid yelling “look at me, look at me!”
Shit.
“Everything all right, dear boy?” Aziraphale asked from his spot of grass and weeds. And damn if he didn’t look beautiful there, sitting among the wild growth. Ringed by dandelions as fluffy as the hair peeking out from under his hat, blue germander speedwell flowers spilling around him and coordinating perfectly with his shirt.
Shitshitshit.
Swallowing hard, Crowley looked down at the enthusiastic little daisies and dandelions. Then back at his angel and the weeds, stunning enough to be the subject of a Renaissance painting. When the weeds were with Aziraphale…they looked like they belonged in the garden. Like they were accepted, valued.
Like despite their inherent nature, they were good enough to belong here.
“Shit,” Crowley said, this time out loud. He shoved off the ground and moved to sit beside Aziraphale, careful not to crush any of the dandelions or speedwell. He let out a heavy sigh, leaned into the welcoming arm that Aziraphale immediately wrapped around him. “So. How about we take the day off maintenance and instead figure out how the Heaven this new garden idea is supposed to work?”
He turned to gaze into gentle eyes, eyes reflecting both the greenery and the soft blue sky. Aziraphale smiled and pressed a tender kiss to his brow. “I think that’s a marvelous idea.”