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Why did I agree to this?" Aziraphale found himself asking Crowley apropos to nothing, tugging along a wheelbarrow heavied by Crowley himself. If you had told Aziraphale six-thousand-something-years-ago that he'd be here in a pumpkin patch, forty minutes south-west of Soho, with the love of his everlasting life, digging up some old gourd from the earth, he would've laughed at you like you've never been laughed at before.
Realistically, he probably would've drawn his flaming sword on you (in light of certain circumstances, he may have instead run away swordless before indefinitely smiting you.), seeing as he didn't have a clue what any of those things meant whatsoever. If you told him that now, though, he would've thrown a book at you and told you it was past closing hours.
There was no good outcome in reality and despite the severity of his actions, there was a rather simple reason for his bitterness. Aziraphale was a fairly elementary man, even if he were a bit hedonistic, he wanted, liked, and appreciated very simple things. That being said, he preferred to celebrate the season a specific way, a specific way that really wasn't that hard to grasp -- a nice cup of hot apple cider, a good book that he didn't care about spilling that cider on, an itchy beige cardigan, and the inevitability of staying in all fall. It kept things warm and uncomplicated and he could try tons of new muffin recipes, all pumpkin, and if not pumpkin then pumpkin adjacent. It was boring to some (Crowley) but he wouldn't have it any other way.
Now he had a boyfriend, a boyfriend who positively adored the autumn and almost everything that came with it, uncharacteristically so. A boyfriend who adored running off to do things other than buying Aziraphale an extra can of pumpkin puree. Polar opposites you could call them. They still got along swimmingly as boyfriend and boyfriend usually do, but this year Aziraphale wasn't feeling very festive. Crowley didn't appreciate the "sanctity" of this yearly ritual, clearly, and proposed something utterly outlandish. Leaving the house. He'd left the house multiple times beforehand to gather boring necessities and even that was kind of sticking his neck out.
He remembered being shocked and then suddenly he was in the polished-to-perfection Bentley going seventy if he had to guess, and now he was here, wearing some sort of timberland boot he hadn't worn in years, freezing his ass off. When it got cold out there, it got 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙙. It was around 6:00 in the evening so that didn't help. The angel could see his breath in shallow pants filtering out into the crisp air and the frigidness nipped at the tip of his nose and made it all rosy pink and sniffy.
The whole climbing up cornfields while dragging Crowley in a barrow meant for pumpkins thing really did wonders in keeping him warm though, he broke a sweat about a mile ago. Crowley sat splayed out in the green plastic cart he was being transported in like a lazy bastard, a shit-eating grin plastering his features and a dead piece of grass stuck between two surprisingly sharp teeth.
He managed to convince Aziraphale to haul him after he stubbed his toe on a crate full of gourds and accidentally exploded it in a fit of rage. Aziraphale didn't know about the explod-y part and it was best if it stayed that way. The nerve he had and the patience Aziraphale put into it made them perfect. Crowley promised him a good time and so far he was not living up to his words. There were some (not many) things that he was looking forward to if he wanted to admit it or not. For example, the entire patch smelled of grilled corn and sunflower seeds being sold at specific kiosks and it made his mouth water, whereas Crowley was too busy gawking about the "view" he had like the comedian he wasn't.
"You don't get this kind of thing back at home, hm? I mean, a real sight to see, seriously."
"Would you quit gazing at my butt and tell me where my destination is? I've been walking forever, Crowley. What's so special about this place anyway? It's all hay and not only that, it's getting stuck in my socks!"
Aziraphale fussed at him impatiently, stopping momentarily to catch that breath he never got and to shake out his too-tight boots. "Calm down, think we're here, turn around," Crowley stated coolly. He was scolded for looking too much and now he didn't have anything to do. Aziraphale grumbled something about calming down and turned to face the open fields of pumpkins. Each pumpkin was unique to itself -- some were misshapen, some were small, some were massive, and some resembled rather phallic imagery if you squinted, Crowley snorted at that.
Kids gleefully picked out the biggest ones they could lift with their grubby little hands and ran over to their parents with it in one of the many rows. Aziraphale blinked, he was puzzled. He turned to Crowley who was trying his best to squirm out without toppling the entire thing over.
"What's this? We have enough pumpkin at home, dear, you've said that yourself. Multiple times, actually."
"S' pumpkins for carving, angel, this has nothing to do with your unhealthy obsession with hoarding ingredients."
"I'm not hoarding my ingredients, Crowley. I'm merely waiting until I have an appropriate time to use them."
"Dunno, you said that the last time and you still bought more," Crowley grunted as he stumbled out of the wheelbarrow and onto his feet, walking it off casually. Aziraphale adjusted his suspenders, "If you must know, they were on sale. I couldn't pass that up!" They stood side by side and Crowley quirked a knowing eyebrow at him. He sighed, defeated. "So what are we to do? Do I just grab one...? That seems suspiciously easy."
Crowley looked at Aziraphale like he was insane. To think his own partner didn't know how to do one of his favorite things seemed so wrong, and the lack of enthusiasm was bringing him down. He supposed the angel did drag them both up there so he was allowed to be tired. A little bit. "Yeah, I guess it's kinda like that. Choose a pumpkin that calls to you, angel. You've gotta make sure it's the perfect one." The serpent seemed intent and quite serious about it as he went on the prowl for one of his liking. Aziraphale, wanting to at least attempt to enjoy his hellish time there, went looking for his own.
It didn't take long for Crowley to find his, it was perfectly round at all angles and there were no imperfections to be seen, he toughed up and lugged it into the cart. Aziraphale wasn't seeing many lookers in this lot, they all just looked pretty pumpkin-y to him. The wind rocked the tall brown grass into a particular pumpkin and he took that as a sign. It wasn't a very obvious sign, but it caught his eye, and that's all that mattered. Aziraphale too lugged it into the cart. Side by side, it was clear which one was which. Satisfied with the liminal effort it took to do this, he turned to Crowley to congratulate a job well done but they stood there staring at each other for what felt like minutes.
They were both covered head to toe in dirt from their pumpkin lifting. Crowley, personally, could care less about the nice red flannel he had worn today, he could always make himself a new one that looked identical, life was easy when you had miracles to do everything for you. Aziraphale, on the other hand, was petrified. How? He'd just gotten this yesterday! He didn't want to go to the laundromat already! He made an audible noise of frustration, squinched his nose up, and stomped off to the wagon to roll it down the hill so they could leave already.
Crowley frowned and turned back to the setting sun. The clouds had turned a regrettable shade of pink (he knew if regret had a color, it would be pink) and the sun around faded everything a bitter orange color, even the birds looked orange from where he stood. The air somehow grew colder through the time they spent there. When Aziraphale was upset, you knew damn well Crowley was upset too. Emotional connection and shit. He felt bad about dragging him out here to pull up some pumpkin that would rot on their porch not even a few days away from Halloween with the promise of fun.
If he could apologize, he would. But he couldn't. They walked carefully down the steep together so as to not trip over things and Crowley tenderly ushered Aziraphale's hand into his own. "Before we leave, do you want to go fetch some corn or something?" Crowley crossed his fingers. The angel gave him a gentle squeeze and his heart lazily skipped a beat. He beamed at Crowley, turned the cart in the direction of the kiosk, and felt the warmth in his cheeks begin to flood. Food wouldn't save his shirt but maybe it would save the damned pit in his stomach.
---
The wind rattled the thin windowpanes inside the book-"shop" and sent a considerable breeze passing through it, it created a vague whistling sound. It was still incredibly warm inside the shop despite the cracked windows, there was a fire going in the ancient fireplace that looked new but it was probably fifty-something years old at the least, and it crackled throughout the building until you could taste the warm earthiness at the tip of your tongue. There was the faint sound of running water from above the first floor but unless you were partially up the stairwell, you wouldn't hear it well.
Aziraphale could smell the tea he was brewing from his seat on the couch where Crowley had told him to stay put until the upstairs was "ready", whatever that meant. The food helped his attitude minimally and everything would've gone smoothly if it weren't for Crowley lining the seat of the Bentley with paper towels so he didn't get it dirty, it was a belittling drive home.
Though it was completely improbable that an ethereal being could get a cold, he was sniffly nonetheless. He sipped sparingly from a boiling cup of earl grey. Crowley hopped down the stairs and grinned toothily at Aziraphale and he could already feel his stomach drop, "What did you do, Crowley?" Crowley appeared genuinely hurt by that, "Whaddaya mean? Why would I have done something wrong, angel? Matter of fact, I think you'll quite like what I've done,"
"So you did do something?" Aziraphale stood and followed closely behind Crowley, eyeing him down and Crowley was sure he'd melt under his gaze. "Er, well, It's a surprise. 'S kind of the whole point," He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and took Aziraphale's hand with the other one. Aziraphale suspiciously held it, yet he still kept hanging onto it all the way up the stairs. It smelled mildly of jasmine and even more mildly of some cheap bubble bath he bought a while ago, but he very rarely got the chance to use it, too busy with books and whatnot, he could recount when the last time he had a bath was. Through the hallway, through the bedroom, Aziraphale was met with quite a sight. Little red tea candles scattered the bathroom counters and windowsills, an entire record player had been set up and something he couldn't quite make out over the grain was playing, and the tub was already full of bubbles.
Aziraphale glanced up at Crowley who was standing with his hands stuffed in his pockets indifferently. A stupid smile overcame him as he reached up and kissed him on the cheek. The smile was infectious and spread over Crowleys face too. Dating for almost a year now and the tiniest kiss still seemed to make him all giddy, and he knew that would never change. "What's this all about?" Aziraphale knew, but he wanted to hear it from Crowley himself. "I dunno, you didn't seem as lively as you usually were, felt bad, knew something was up. I didn't mean to pull you into anything you didn't want to do."
"It's alright, dearest. If I were completely appalled by the idea I wouldn't have gone. After all, I wouldn't turn down a chance to spend time with you," Their hands slipped from each other and left a cold feeling in Crowley's palm. Aziraphale had assured him that nothing was wrong and had taken his "apology" with open arms, but he still couldn't help but feel bad. "Don't dwell on it, Crowley. This is a most flattering display you've put on."
The angel cooed at him and left Crowley weak in the knees. His heart did a little flip as he looked the opposite way to offer Aziraphale some privacy as he got changed from his dirtied attire. He could hear the gentle noise of someone climbing into the tub and he was stopped from walking off by an even gentler voice. "Well? Aren't you going to join me?"
Crowley felt himself stiffen in his stance, hands gripping desperately at the sides of his own dirtied jeans to strip them from himself quickly. His flannel and shoelace tie flung off with his pants soon after. He made his way into the bath hastily and sat in front of the angel, who couldn't stifle a laugh at his eagerness. Aziraphale snorted at him, "You were really planning on leaving me in here?" Crowley flustered up and hugged his knees to his chest, "Well, yea, kinda assumed you'd want some quiet or something, away from me or whatever." Crowley hadn't meant self-pity, but it was clear that he hadn't let go of the previous situation. Aziraphale had noticed well before Crowley had and he wasn't about to let him get to his head, not when they could have a good evening of their own. He watched Crowley sink into the water on the other side of the bath, only from his nose up he could be seen and he blew little bubbles in the pale pink water.
Aziraphale waded over to Crowley who seemed just about ready to slip underwater completely, pulling him up and taking his practically weightless body into his arms. It wasn't visible under the mountain of bubbles but he held him close and comfy. Crowley tucked his head underneath Aziraphale's chin and sighed heavily into the porcelain side of the tub. "You do know I wouldn't have it any other way, right? I'm not mad at you. I was only in a sour mood, dear, it's nothing against your idea, I know you were only trying to include me." Crowley didn't like being babied, he wasn't some child who needed his emotions handled for him, but this was different.
"I didn't know angels could have bad moods," If that was said with sarcastic intent, Aziraphale was unsure. "Of course we do, but I'm not upset anymore. I'm more than happy to be here, right now. Thanks to you, may I add, credit where credit is due, after all."
"Ya' mean it?"
"Would I lie to you, my love?"
Crowley speedily summed up the answer that no, Aziraphale would never and he ultimately ran with that. It was so quick, in fact, that he had gone completely turned around before the angel had finished his sentence. His arms wrapped snuggly around Aziraphale's neck to hold himself upright, all the movement in the water made a current. They held each other up by the neck, the waist, the hips, whatever they could get ahold of. They smiled so stupidly together, chest against chest, rhythmic breaths syncing up perfectly.
They kissed so fervently that their teeth bumped against impact and they giggled about it until they could bear to it attempt again. Their kisses were chaste and affectionate and they were in no rush to get anywhere so they took their time. Any reasonable place they could kiss, they did. It had gone quiet except for the grain of the record player, soothing a methodical rendition of Clair de Lune, and if he could've heard it, Aziraphale would've commented on the obscurity of finding such an old vinyl in such good quality. If he'd stopped for a second to admire, he'd hear the familiarity and know it was his own that Crowley "borrowed" twenty years ago. But he didn't, he was far too enraptured, he knew what was more important right now. They kissed and grabbed until the water ran cold.
---
Dressed in a thin chemise, late 1870s material from somewhere in France, wrapped in an extra robe to keep warm, was Aziraphale. For the third time in a row that day he was roped into something else, pulled along like a mindless ragdoll to whatever seemed interesting enough. This time he'd gone willingly, tempted to a cold and dark fate by the excitement in Crowley's yellow serpentine eyes when he agreed. It wasn't actually fate per se, just extremely cold. That's why he'd been smart enough to drape a robe over his chemise.
Other than the bitter cold, it was also a 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚. It left nothing to the imagination whatsoever and if he were to be out of the house, he didn't want to be seen practically nude. Crowley didn't care, he wore a whole ass nightgown (which originally belonged to Aziraphale but anything he doesn't wear immediately, Crowley normally takes and wears for multiple years on end, no matter how often Aziraphale bickered with him about wanting it back. It was a mutual-ish agreement) and obviously didn't care how cold or messy things got. They were driving down to some field Crowley swore was some kind of dissipated farm, told him he'd been there a million times, and that it would be perfect to carve pumpkins there. He'd trustingly taken his word for it and he didn't take a lantern either, per Crowley's exact request, along with no spoon. Only a knife, their pumpkins, and a blanket.
Another reason he wore a robe. He couldn't afford to get this dirty, if he was forced to launder the thing it would probably disintegrate. It had gotten so dark that even the speed bumps Crowley sped over couldn't knock the exhaustion out of him. It took a while for them to reach the destination away from the busy bustling city, but it was worth it. Tall grass to lurk around in until they found a perfect place to sit. More than that, Crowley thought. "You grab the pumpkins and the blanket, I'll light the way." He held out his palm and let a flickering flame edge off of it until it was a warm ball of fire in his grasp. Aziraphale got out of the car and stared at him, "Both? You want me to grab both pumpkins?"
"Yes, now c'mon, It won't stay dark forever."
"How am I supposed to grab both pumpkins?"
"You'll figure it out, angel."
He did figure it out after some heavy lifting, a pumpkin in either arm, a blanket laid over them, and a knife placed lovingly between his teeth by Crowley. He followed the shallow light of Crowley's palm down into a bush of grass, overgrown and probably full of critters. They laid out their orange knit blanket as smoothly as possible and Aziraphale rested his aching arms to set their pumpkins down.
The knife fell to the blanket as well. "You do understand that we could just as easily miracle ourselves a pre-carved pumpkin, correct?" Crowley shrugged, "M' indifferent about the whole 'miracle stuff whenever you want' spiel, it's so much better to do things by hand. Makes you feel human, live a little." Aziraphale grinned, "That sounds an awful lot like something I would say."
"Something about the night makes me feel sentimental, I guess." Crowley focused on sawing his pumpkin open as Aziraphale stared at his own. He knew better than to comment on the way Crowley acted, he'd be dead meat if he said the things he wanted to. He managed to remove the top from his own as well and he stayed for the most part focused on keeping the guts as far away from himself as possible.
As they worked tirelessly in the darkness Crowley would occasionally check over to make sure Aziraphale was focused, completely devoted to his work as he should be. Time passed gradually and slowly and the fire in Crowley's palm began to ache. Luckily, Aziraphale was proud and done with his carving. He grabbed his pumpkin and turned it toward Crowley in a show-offish manner, "I didn't exactly know what you normally put on a carving, so I made something that reminded me of Hallows Eve."
It was a simple snake, coiled around the pumpkin menacingly. Crowley couldn't say he was that surprised, but he was marginally flattered. "How spooky of you," He turned his own around and it was a little pair of wings. They could be anyone's, it depends on who you ask. Crowley, however, worked off of his muse, so to him, they were the blinding outstretched wings of an angel. It could be studied down to an intellectual level of deepness but he wasn't going to get into that. "I think we've both done splendid jobs, what about you?" Crowley hummed to himself, "I think so too." Suddenly, his palms light went out.
"Er, Crowley?"
"Look up, angel."
The angel did look up and he saw glowing bluish lights every which way. The stars seemed so much prettier from where they sat. Aziraphale stared up with his mouth agape in awe, it had been so unbelievably long since he'd taken a good look at the sky, and it was the perfect night for gazing. A shuffle indicated that Crowley had laid down and Aziraphale followed closely behind his lead.
"I made that one, and that one. That one over there is my least favorite real pain in the ass to make," The serpent began mindlessly rambling about every glowing orb in the sky like he knew each one personally, "We should visit that one sometime, real friendly people occupying it right now." And as he continued on his happy little rants, Aziraphale found it harder and harder to pay attention to anything other than him. The shining blue casts a mesmerizing glow over everything he did and he couldn't stop himself from shimmying closer.
Crowley never stopped, never faltered in his speaking, just wrapped one arm around Aziraphale and kept talking the way he knew the angel wanted him to. And he listened and listened until he was too exhausted to keep his eyes open. "I had a good time today." He slurred his words, but they were still intelligible to Crowley. His heart felt tight, "I did too, I'm glad I got to do this with you." He rested his head on Aziraphale's and felt his eyes start to close lazily too.
"I love you, Crowley, no matter what."
"Love you too, Aziraphale."
The quiet chirping of the farm's crickets and the soft breathing of the entities lulled them both into a deep sleep, and the stars acted as a night light that watched over them. Neither of them had ever been so tired before to fall asleep like this. There were promises of other fall activities in their future, like baking those muffins or explaining to the farmer why there were two men cuddling in his field, but none would really quite compare to the day they had today even if Aziraphale knew in the very back of his mind that he was never doing this again.