Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Today was the day.

His boss had been alluding to some sort of secret and very important upcoming project for the past few months, though it wasn’t until about a month ago that he became particularly vocal. It took another two weeks for an unexpected meeting invite to appear in his inbox: “Joja Prospective Expansion Strategy Discussion.” With a few glances over shoulders and covert questions to other officials, he was quick to discover that others were unaware of this meeting. He was being selected to carry it out. And likely a promotion was to accompany it. 

And so, Anthony J. Crowley put his best foot forward that day. His hair was perfectly prepared with excessive pomade, his suit was black and spiffy with a commanding red silk tie and blue-grey undershirt, and his shoes were polished well enough to see his face in them.

He kept tugging at his collar, trying to air himself out so he wouldn’t sweat through his iron-pressed shirt out of pure nervousness. He’s dedicated a good couple of his years to the company now, keeping track of the quarterly finances and identifying trouble areas and branches that weren’t making quota. He even dabbled in looking over a few lawsuits and legal documents, and construction plans for expansions to existing warehouses. By this point he has seen everything and holds plenty of secrets. 

His boss wasn’t the easiest to talk to. Being around him always made his nerves stand on edge — despite the years of practice he is yet to really nail proper ‘corporate’ speak. This was going to be a test.

If he felt himself faltering though, there was one trick he’d occasionally relied on to get on his superior’s good sides — just say yes. Well, not always “yes” exactly, but agreeing and nodding along, praising the boss’s idea and showing enthusiasm, regardless of his actual feelings on the matter. 

He purposefully arrived at the conference room 3 minutes early—not too desperate, seeming as if he’d shown up at 5 minutes before, but not too tardy. Just enough time to prepare his things and himself. He was perfectly ready by the time the clock hand hit 11:00AM. 

As it did, the conference room door swung open, where a slightly frazzled but relatively prim receptionist held it open for the manager to walk through. They looked around the room and glanced at the attendees list in their hand before nodding and shutting the door. 

Everyone in the room sat up straight and looked attentively. Crowley felt his heart rate pick up in panic. 

The manager, or Beez as they’re called in a social setting, walked to the front of the large table and neatened their papers with a large emphasis. 

“Good afternoon, thank you all for showing up,” they started, their tone even and plain. “We’re hoping to make this a quick meeting, but I will start by clarifying that it is of the utmost importance that the information disclosed here is to be kept confidential. Both from coworkers and your relationships outside of work. If you can’t commit to that, please leave now.” 

Crowley remained still in his seat. Not a hint of movement. In fact, he felt more dialed in — who didn’t love a good secret? Though he didn’t notice that many of the people here, though there were very few privy to this meeting, were not in his bracket. In fact, there only seemed to be two other managers, one of their project managers, a lawyer, and a worker he saw in passing down in finances. 

Beez gave a polite moment, though they knew fully that no one would accept the offer. Instead, they nodded to their secretary who began to pass out a packet to each person. 

“We’re beginning a new initiative,” Beez began as they clasped their hands in front of them. “Something that may change our store strategy going forward. This is considerably experimental, but it could be big. And I need you all to collaborate.”

Crowley finally received his packet as it plopped before him. Across the top in a font just slightly larger than the rest, he spotted the words “Rural Reliance and Trust-Establishment Initiative”. 

“We need to expand into a new market,” Beez started. “We have numbers in Suburban towns and cities. We also have locations off of highways and near gas stations. But where could we grow our margins? Rural towns, small villages, and farms.”

There was quiet muttering amongst the people at the table to indicate their intrigue. 

“One of the biggest issues with the rural market is their loyalty,” they continued. “These are towns where everyone knows each other, their population is written fully on the welcome sign, and they’re run purely off of small businesses. They’re hard to sway out of their traditional ways. So how do we get them to buy our products?”

Beelzebub flipped their packet to the next page. Everyone else did the same, to reveal a collection of tables and figures. 

“As you can see,” Beez started without giving anyone a chance to actually analyze the data, “our initial lower prices approach was partially effective at creating a customer base. Next the implementation of coupons helped to drive up numbers further, but our market research shows that the mom and pop shops are still competing with us. Going forward, we aren’t looking to out-compete, but we instead want to be the only ones competing. That’s where you all come in, as a viability test run of sorts.”

They turned the page again, with everyone following. Below was all of their names listed out, almost like a movie cast announcement as their names were followed with their tasks. When Crowley looked closely, he saw that his name was simply followed by “Farmer”.

“We need to convince these shops to merge with our own, lest they end up losing their own profits in the process. In order to do this we need to build trust within the community and stake our claim in a ‘guerrilla’ style mission. And who better to gain the trust of hokey townspeople than a farmer? That’s where you come in, Anthony.”

All eyes suddenly flicked to him. Even people who he would’ve assumed didn’t know him looked instantly, perhaps they’d clocked him as the fish out of water. He needed to try harder. 

Without pause he stiffened his shoulders. “Yes zir?” he spoke calmly and clearly. 

“We’d like you to take on this role. Infiltrating the community and gaining their trust. This will be difficult, you’ll need to convince them you’re a man of the land. Do you think you can do that?”

No. No, he didn’t think he could.

“Yes zir,” Crowley nodded confidently. He was nervous. Admittedly and totally worried and unsure, but none of the physical symptoms hit him, instead gathering in his gut and being tied down with all his might. 

Beez looked at him, seeming to  judge the quality of his response before humming and turning the page again.

“We’re testing this out in a little township in Stardew Valley. Pelican town has a very limited population, though we’ve already set up a Joja Mart.

“We managed to get the rights to a plot west of the town. The previous owner passed some years ago, but he seems to have been very involved in the community. You’ll be posing as his grandson. We believe that a family connection will help to establish trust and relatability more quickly.

“You’ll work on the land and familiarize yourself with the townsfolk, shop at the local shops and join in the festivities. But don’t exclusively buy your supplies in the main town, always try to get something from the mart on the east side. Try to encourage the folks to shop there as well, provide advice to the mom and pop shops about expanding their business so that they can have a more stable income. Highlight all of the benefits this would provide them as a community, while simultaneously expanding our reach to even the most hick of individuals. This will not be easy, and it certainly won’t be quick. We have in our budget a full year, but depending on the progress we may add more funds as needed. This is asking a lot from you all, but we are confident in your abilities.”

A year…a full year of keeping up with lies. No more corporate computer, instead compost and carrots. Not only would leaving behind his big city lifestyle be hard, though adopting this quaint fancy aesthetic would be even harder.

“So. What do you say?”

Beez flipped the page. Everyone else followed suit to find a contract — a binding document covering the roles and rules for each person assisting. 

It’s not like he could say no and decline the offer. It would be preposterous. Ridiculous. He’d be scrutinized!

Crowley swallowed his pride and nodded. 

“Sounds great! When does the program start?” is what his mouth said. 

“Dear Yoba, I am not cut out for this,” is what his mind said.

For the first time the entire meeting, Beez smiled. Though again, it was more one of those polite things than truthful. “I’m glad to hear your enthusiasm. This is exactly why we picked you, Anthony. Loyal, hard-working, determined — all the qualities we needed here. And, if all goes well, we can certainly entertain a considerable promotion waiting for you upon your return,” they hummed as they returned their packet back to the first page and handed it off to their secretary again. “Pending clearance from the rest of the team, you’ll be set to arrive on the first of Spring.” 

Crowley gulped. The first of Spring?! That was only a week away! He certainly didn’t feel ready for this regardless, but 1 week seemed so minimal for preparation. 

“We’ve cleared for you to have the second half of the week off, half pay, so you can prepare your things and tie up any loose ends before you’re set to move into the farm. Pack what you think you’ll need and mentally prepare your backstory. There are extra details in the packet about the role you’ll be playing, use that as a frame of reference.”

Crowley gulped and nodded. “Yes zir.”

“And, Crowley?” Beez raised their voice ever so slightly, just enough to signal that the next bit was the only thing they hadn’t rehearsed. Crowley sat at attention.

“You’re everything we want here in an employee. Keep working hard.”

“Yes zir.”

Just like that, the meeting stopped. Beez and their secretary left first, and the other employees who’d be working behind the scenes to assist Crowley with finances gave him a few passing words before disappearing too. Even as Crowley returned to his desk and slumped down into the plain office chair, he hardly found the strength to breathe, at least deeply. With a nervous groan, his eyes roamed over his desk, noting each thing he’d have to live without for the next year. 

Goodbye tape dispenser. Goodbye Official Joja employee mug. Goodbye laptop charger that was always tangled. 

The only thing that kept him grounded in that moment was knowing it was for the good of the company. And so, he worked.

Chapter Text

After a week of agonizing and planning in his flat, packing what he was allowed to bring and researching how to be a good farmer, Crowley found himself sitting on a crowded bus wondering how he got into all of this mess. 

He’s supposed to be the grandkid of this old farmer guy that passed away nearly a decade ago. This guy was a very prominent member of the community and was loved by everyone. 

From pictures he saw his hair used to be a near identical color to his own. 

(He had a hunch that was one of the contributing factors to him getting this job in the first place.)

On Thursday, a moving truck appeared outside of his apartment building and he had to drop off what Beez cleared him to take. It honestly wasn’t a lot, mostly it was clothes, textiles, a few knickknacks and books, and one chair. No electronics, no nothing. There was nowhere for him to plug everything into anyway, apparently. He had begged for a landline at the very least, and he felt grateful that that was at least granted. 

The motor of the bus was loud and rattling, the heat was sticking to his skin, and his head already hurt.

The bus rumbled down the hill and valley roads quite sluggishly, stopping every hour or so to let off a handful of passengers. Crowley often watched them gather their things, step off the bus, and stretch their long cramped bodies once on the nearby sidewalk. He envied them. 

The bus reached a stop, and to Crowley's surprise, the rest of the remaining passengers exited. For a moment he feared he may have gotten on the wrong line, though his fears were eased, though his nervousness was no less diminished, when the small LED sign above the driver finally read “Next Stop: Pelican Town”

It took another 2 and a half hours for the bus to finally peter off until stopping and creaking groggily.

The jerk as the driver hit the brakes woke Crowley up in an instant, nearly hitting his head against the seat in front of him. With a groan, he scrambled to grab his bag of random junk (really it was the small things he was also able to get approved, the most notable being the Walkman he also convinced Beez to let him have under the guise of ‘mental health’), and slowly trudged out of the bus with every vertebrae in his back popping in annoyance. 

The sun was glaring in his face, there was a subtle light breeze that made the trees rattle, and there was a villager standing at the bus stop beaming at him.

A person. There was a person standing there. They were waving at him. Were they waving at him?

Perhaps it was one of the Joja movers sent to meet him there with his things? That’s what he believed, though as he made his way closer to the figure, it quickly became apparent that they were not affiliated. 

The woman waving seemed cool and sturdy with an air of folksy charm. Her bright red hair, though far more peachy than Crowley’s darker red locks, was pulled back in a ponytail, though the elastic lazed and a good portion of hair rested near her shoulders. She was bundled up with a cozy mustard sweater and a fur lined vest. The vast wear and scuffs on her muddied work boots spoke to her physical force, which she quickly demonstrated as, before saying a word to him, she snatched up the heavier of his bags as if it were tissue paper.

Crowley sputtered in surprise, trying to quickly protest that she didn’t need to do anything, but due to his lack of ability to form words was quickly beaten to the punch. 

“You must be Anthony!” the woman beamed with pure joy. She seemed to just radiate warmth and friendliness, it was so sweet he could practically taste it in the air. “Welcome to Pelican town! I’m sure you’re feeling quite beat after the long journey out of the city. You’re welcome to call me Robin, I run my own carpentry shop on the north side of town. The mayor asked if I could guide you over to your gramp’s old property once you got here so you can get settled.”

And with one harsh tilt of her head, she marched off. However, Crowley stilled behind, shocked and dazed. If someone grabbed your belongings in the city, you’d be preparing to file a police report. He knew about traditional small town values, but he didn’t expect it to go this far this fast. 

“Stones in your shoes?” Robin asked as she finally stopped to notice he hadn't moved yet. "Don't worry, the farm is nearby! You'll get to settle in quickly."

Crowley blinked as his mind once again caught up to him. Shit this wasn’t going great so far at all. He gathered his composure and willed himself to follow. 

“R-right, right, sorry,” he said with an awkward laugh. “Guess I’m more tired than I thought. I wasn’t expecting so much hospitality when I got here.”

“Awww, no worries! I get that it’s probably a big switch from the city,” she smiled as Crowley finally caught up and the two began to walk. “You know, your grandpa was the best at welcoming new people into town. He used to bake them a whole pink cake or blueberry tarts, whatever pastry he could make with his seasonal harvest. And in the dead of winter, he always had the most incredible jams.”

“You knew him?” Crowley blinked. He hadn’t quite known how long his false “grandfather” had been around for, but he’d hoped the man had been passed on long enough that only a few people remembered him. As terrible as it was to say, it was for his own cover, really. 

“I was just a baby, really,” Robin sighed. “Don’t remember him much, I’ve been told he held me a few times, down at the saloon. And even after he’d passed, he gave my parents a jar of peach jam for me to eat once I was old enough. It was incredible — please let me know if you get back into canning like your gramps! I will order cases of peach jam in seconds.”

Crowley nodded as he made a mental checklist of these details about his imaginary grandpa. At some point he’s going to have to write all of this stuff down so that he can have a proper catalog of information to help craft stories and other lies he may potentially have to tell. 

“I suppose I’ll keep that in mind then,” Crowley hummed. “If I ever get to trying to preserve things I’ll save you a jar.”

Robin threw him another smile, though kept her eyes forward for the rest of the trek. It was relatively short, just a quick stroll down a sandy dirt road until he finally spotted glimpses of fencing tucked behind trees and various brush. Each step closer revealed a bit more of the land — an uneven path starting at the property line, a large wooden bin near the entrance, a small tan farmhouse with a rust red roof, it seemed pretty standard until they finally breached the flora-encased perimeter and Crowley was able to get a good look at the property. 

His face instantly paled. When he’d learned he’d be working on a farm, he’d assumed maybe driving tractors or just harvesting fields of corn stalks. But here? There was nothing here! Well, no crops really. There were plenty of trees, stones, and shrubbery, all surrounded by tall grass and untilled soil. 

The place was an absolute mess — he was expected to work on this on his own and actually grow stuff??? This is insane!

“A moving truck came earlier this weekend and dropped off a few boxes, they should be inside for you to sort through,” Robin hummed as she placed Crowley’s bag near the front door. She took a moment and dug in her pocket, pulling out a ring of keys. She haphazardly tossed it over, causing Crowley yet another moment of panic as he struggled to catch it. “Take all the time you need to get settled, but I’d suggest heading down to the saloon when you’re free to meet a few folks.”

With a tired huff, Crowley finally had a chance to set down his remaining bags and stare up at the cottage. He admittedly wasn’t expecting much, but this place seemed more like a shed than a home. A quick scan of the outer walls revealed it to be quite small, and he saw very little evidence of multiple rooms. Before he got a chance to venture inside, however, the door swung open, and out walked an older gentleman in a green shirt that fit him poorly paired with a brown leather cap and slacks. Upon spying Robin and Crowley at the foot of the stairs leading up to the door, the man sniffed in a way that briefly cocked his mustache upwards before he grinned.

“Ah! I take it you’re the new farmer!” he smiled as he shuffled down the few steps. His confidence was misplaced, seemingly no sense of embarrassment for just getting caught inside someone else’s house. Crowley shivered. “The name’s Lewis, as mayor I am happy to welcome you to Pelican Town! It’s not everyday we get a new face added to our community.” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t mention being mayor until your second sentence,” Robin said sarcastically.

Lewis heartily laughed and grinned at her. “I sometimes make the attempt to be humble,” he hummed before turning back to the confused red head. “It’s been a while since we’ve had life on this farm, it’ll be a joy for the community to have a new active face! I talked with Pierre and prepared a sort of ‘welcoming’ gift to get you started, as I’m sure you’ll see. Don’t be afraid to come to me if you have any problems while living here.”

“Oh, um…sure. I’ll keep that in mind,” Crowley replied with a tight smile.

Lewis and Robin shared a quick glance with each other before both smiling again. 

“I mean that, son. Anything you need,” Lewis said again.

“Ditto!” Robin smiled, “Especially if that help you need involves making some farm buildings or renovating your…mhm…’rustic’ farmhouse.” 

“Robin!” Lewis gasped, “Don’t be rude!”

Robin put her hands up defensively. “I’m just telling him how it is! He’s welcome to talk to me about any modifications to make the place more comfortable.”

Lewis huffed but nodded in understanding. He was well aware of what the cottage was like — it’s not the most…renovated location in the whole town. Honestly it might be the last place that really needs it, at least with what Robin’s expertise could achieve. 

“Now, I’m sure Anthony here is tired from his trip and is being too nice to usher us to leave. We’ll leave you to get settled, and hopefully we’ll see you at the saloon later?” Robin offered. 

“If I don’t pass out first, maybe you’ll see me,” Crowley honestly smiled. He felt relieved that the woman was able to read some of his emotions and decide to finally leave him to cope with what his life has become.

With one last wave, Robin and Lewis sauntered off, back down the dirt path until they disappeared, leaving Crowley on his own. Carefully he trudged up the stairs and pushed the door open after Lewis had left it slightly unlocked. 

The inside was smaller than he thought — a one room space that seemed even more cramped with his few moving boxes shoved up against the far wall. Besides that, the room held a fireplace, a table with a single chair, a tv set, and a twin bed. Everything was coated with a layer of dust about an inch thick, aside from a single gift wrapped box sitting on the ground before him. 

“That must be the ‘welcome’ gift…” Crowley muttered under his breath. As he stepped further into the room, he dropped his bags near the bed and sat down on top of the duvet. As he did so, more dust puffed up into the air and surrounded him like a cloud of smog. 

This place was a complete wreck. It was smaller than most apartments in his old building, the one outlet has half of it used by a tv set he was undoubtedly never going to touch, and there doesn’t even seem to be a proper bathroom. 

He gave another glance around the cabin, taking in each cobweb and feeling the musty air fill his lungs with each breath. Instinctively he tried to hold it, though the growing discomfort and panic only served to elevate his breathing and he eventually outweighed the stale air with the desire to exercise onset worry.

It was safe to say he hated this. He hated being a farmer. But really, he wasn’t a farmer. He was a businessman, a Joja employee, goddammit! The sooner he did his job, the sooner he could go home. Hell! Maybe if he finished early, this hell would last less than a year. As such, he needed to be fully devoted to his work; in order to escape this hellhole, he’d have to pretend that he loved it.

With new determination, Crowley stood up from the bed and approached the gift that was patiently waiting for him on the ground. With a crouch, his knees popping and cracking in response, he squatted next to it and carefully undid the large bow and removed the top. 

Sitting inside the gift box was a large bag of seeds, and based off of the picture painted on the front (and what he could remember from his studying), they looked to be parsnip seeds. What would become the first crop to his farm. 

This is fine. He can start with this. He just had to keep the go-to attitude. It’s going to be easy! This should be easy!

Although Robin had mentioned something about a saloon, Crowley decided against it after the exhaustion brought on by the day. Instead he unwrapped an official Joja Meal Replacement Bar and started munching in between unpacking his things. 

Tomorrow was the first of Spring, so he needed to be as ready as possible. But today, today was the last day as Anthony, Sales Associate II. At least for a long while.

Chapter Text

Crowley, oddly enough, found himself waking up at exactly 6 am on the first day of spring, the sun brightly shining through the windows and birds chirping and singing with joy. 

He loudly groaned in annoyance and rubbed his hands up and down his face. Today was the first day of Anthony, the farmer of…

What the fuck is this farm called?

That’s something he’ll worry about later, he supposed. 

Pushing himself out of bed, Crowley begrudgingly rifled through his clothes, pulling out what he hoped was appropriate clothing for farm work. He had no idea what the temperature was, if it was windy, but if he knew his body — he was going to get over heated very quickly.

His fingers worked quickly as he did up a light grey button up shirt patterned with faint white diamonds and black slacks. He’d hoped the patterning would help appeal to his…”folksy” charm, though he pointedly added to the vibe by leaving the top button undone and cuffing his sleeves and pants. 

Finally he turned towards the front door, spying a collection of tools he had unearthed during his cleaning the previous night: a hoe, a pickaxe, a two-handed axe,  a watering can, and a scythe, which he originally mistook for an old Halloween prop. All looked grimy and slightly rusted, even after wiping them down, though he certainly wasn’t going to plant these seeds with his hands, now was he?

He snatched up the seed bag, hoe, and watering can before slipping out the door, ready to plant before quickly remembering the overgrown state of the farm and snatching the other tools as well to begin clearing an area. 

30 minutes in and Crowley was drenched.

He hasn’t even planted a single seed yet, so far all he’s done is cut down weeds, chop pieces of wood out of the way, and break various rocks. He originally wanted to clear up enough space both for his own sanity and to give the crops plenty of space. 

Clearly he was way over his head. Despite it being early spring, the sun was beating down on him with its blazing heat, and swear kept dripping into his eyes. 

He was currently sitting on the dirt in defeat, leaned up against one of the larger rocks with his elbow propped up. He feels gross, sticky, and exhausted.

“Why couldn’t Joja prepare the land first,” he whined as he desperately tried wiping at his forehead with his sleeve. He’d even popped another button to try and get some more air, thank Yoba no one else was around, but it did little to help him cool off. 

Not only that, but why didn’t they give him any more tools? New ones, nice ones. Then maybe he could at least spend less time and energy just trying to break rocks. He was already dreading the many trees making a pseudo-forest along the property. 

…although maybe Joja could help. They hadn’t given him tools upon arrival, sure, but there was a Joja Mart in town! Joja catered to everyone, surely they had something. Maybe even something automatic!

With a huff, he tossed aside his tools and rebuttoned the top of his shirt before taking off down the path Robin had led him down the previous day. He spotted the bus stop on his trek to town, this time going past it and instead arriving at the entrance of the quaint community. The square was paved with colored bricks and surrounded by businesses and homes. 

It seemed fairly busy for the afternoon, with various townsfolk he was yet to properly meet milling about doing their business. There were kids running around laughing, some young women sitting on a bench chatting as they enjoyed the sun, and one of the shopkeepers was outside fussing with his display of produce. 

Actually seeing the inhabitants was a little intimidating. Just at a glance, this seemed to be most of the entire population here, all of the people who he was going to see day after day. No doubt, in a place like this, word travels fast and secrets aren’t kept. 

The Joja Mart didn’t seem to be placed in the town square, as he couldn’t see the recognizable blue anywhere on these properties. He unfortunately wasn’t given a map, which meant wandering around aimlessly until he found it. Which meant more chances for the townsfolk to watch his every mood. 

Was he being paranoid? Maybe he was being a bit paranoid.

It didn’t help that the longer he traveled, the more he caught people’s eyes. Mainly the attention of a young boy in a striped shirt, staring at him unabashedly before tugging on the arm of a woman nearby and pointing at him. She seemed to follow his direction for a moment before quickly grabbing his hand and lowering it down. Although Crowley couldn’t hear what she was saying, he assumed it was the standard parental lecture on the impoliteness of pointing and used the opportunity to slip away before drawing more attention to himself, ducking behind a house and trying to get a better view of his surroundings. 

Suddenly, his eyes caught the beautiful branded blue synonymous with Joja Mart, not on any kind of signage but instead coloring the jacket of a person who was walking just a ways ahead of him. 

At least it seemed like some of the villagers were already warming up to convenience! Maybe he could even recruit this villager to help acclimate the others. 

He quickly sped walked after the man, catching up and confirming the hoodie had the embroidered Joja “J” before smiling. 

“Hello ther-“

“What do you want? Leave me alone,” the man grumbled. His voice was gravely, and every time he spoke, the slight stench of liquor seeped from his breath.

“Err, I’m just trying to find my way around town, and-“

“Whatever,” the man grumbled before walking off, not even giving Crowley the opportunity a chance to explain himself. He blinked in surprise and stood frozen, dumbfounded. That encounter felt a lot more familiar to what he was used to back at home while on public transport — brief and to the point, and with a hint of annoyance of even daring to try to communicate with another human being. 

“Oh, don’t mind Shane,” a warm voice hummed from behind, catching the red head by surprise. “He isn't really much of a conversationalist, especially during the weekdays. Don’t let him give you a bad first impression.”

He turned to find a young woman standing behind him, looking calm but cooly. “Haven’t seen you around before. And I’m guessing you haven’t been here given how lost you look. Need some help?” 

Crowley relaxed. The girl had a relaxed air to her, helpful but not caring too much. “Ah- yes, yes please,” he nodded, “help would be very much appreciated…” he trailed off and gestured his chin towards her slightly.

“Abigail,” she answered. 

“Crowley” he answered before clearing his throat, “I’m looking for the Joja Mart.”

Reflexively her face fell slightly, though she was quick to straighten herself, “Ah, yes,” she nodded before Crowley caught her glancing, looking up and down his attire quickly before looking away again. “It’s just over that bridge down east there, at the end of this road. Keep going and you’ll find it.” 

“Thank you,” Crowley smiled before immediately turning and walking off. He only managed a few steps however before she piped up. 

“Wait!” She said before catching up to him, “But just, well…just letting you know, my father is also the local grocer. So. Uh. If you don’t find what you’re looking for at Joja, you can check him out too. He’s in that building north of town square. Next to the clinic—can’t miss it. Just…wanted to plug my dad’s business and…Eugh. Now that I’m saying it out loud I’m realizing how stupid it is.” She suddenly slapped her hands over her face and groaned before throwing up a haphazard wave, “Have a good shopping trip,” she called through her fingers before quickly walking off. 

Huh.

Without dwelling, Crowley turned and went on his way, following his original path. As Abigail had said, the Joja Mart was just over the nearby bridge. As he made his way inside, he caught a glance of the rude villager he’d attempted talking to on the way, now sporting a Joja cap and stocking shelves. 

Rather than waste his time looking through shelves, Crowley quickly spotted the customer service desk and proudly walked over. He stood before a man with tiny spectacles and a large bow tie.

He seemed a little preoccupied looking through miscellaneous paperwork and occasionally typing on a rather large (and old looking) computer, before he blinked and looked surprised at Crowley’s presence behind the desk. 

“Ah, hello! My apologies, I didn’t see you there,” the man laughed as he turned to give the new farmer his full attention. “Welcome to Joja Mart! Is there anything I can help you with, sir?”

“Uh, yeah, uh…”

“Morris, general manager.”

“Morris, right. I’m new here, I’ve moved into the farm on the west side of town?” Crowley started, his voice going up an octave as he added the peculiar detail, hoping that this manager was in the loop with his assigned job. “I was wondering if you had any farming supplies. You know, tools and seeds and whatnot — a lot of what I’ve got currently ain’t cutting it.”

Morris grinned and typed something up on his computer again before turning back to Crowley, “But of course, Joja has everything you’d need. If you’d just follow me to our gardening section-“ he hummed as he slid out from behind the counter and immediately began walking confidently. Crowley followed behind him, and after a quick trip around the aisles, the two stopped in front of a small section of hanging tools.

The first batch was…less than satisfactory. They seemed to be made purely out of colored plastic. Beside them was a metal toolset, though a quick glance called into question their actual quality. The metal lacked a certain luster and seemed considerably cloudy. Not to mention there was already a shovel of the same brand tossed beside the display with an obvious dent and folded head, and the axe didn’t even have a guard for what should’ve been a sharp edge.

Crowley looked between the two options, then up and down the aisle again.

“Is there…anything else?” he asked. Morris seemed to startle before smiling again.

“I assure you these products are of the exceptional quality Joja is known for! Though if they aren’t to your liking, we have many more options online with pick up in store. Just two days shipping,” Morris hummed.

“Ah, um…well, I suppose I could go home and check online I guess,” Crowley said with a tight smile, thinking back to the shack that most definitely did not have an internet connection set up. 

“Wonderful! I hope you find what you need there. If there’s anything else you may need assistance with, you’re welcome to talk to me or ask any of our employees on the shop floor,” the manager smiled. 

Crowley hummed and gave a polite nod as the shorter man quickly shuffled off back to his desk to continue with his paperwork. He glanced back at all of the tools, mentally comparing them to what he was using prior. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, it would honestly be a downgrade to purchase and try to use these. The image of him taking the weak axe and attempting to attack one of the larger pine trees made him chuckle to himself. If he was working on a home garden with flowers, or getting a cheap and quick gift for a family member who had the hobby, these would probably be perfect choices. But as a full-fledged farmer…definitely not. 

As Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets, sulking out of the store, he dug in his memory from the conversation not even 20 minutes earlier. Abigail, was it? She said her dad ran the local shop. Maybe he knew a thing or two about tools, or possibly sold some himself. That could make his life way easier. At least for now, until he managed to order something better, it wouldn’t hurt to check. With nothing to lose, he traced his steps back through town, this time finding the tall general store and slipping inside through the glass double doors. 

It was considerably small, only a few shelves. In fact, although the building looked large from the outside, it seemed most of it was walled off. Still, there seemed to be an adequate selection from crates of fruit and veg to various products stacked carefully on each shelf. 

The store itself was relatively quiet — there seemed to be an older woman looking at bird seed and a portly man with a mustache rifling through the barrel of tomatoes. The store’s one and only counter stood opposite the entrance with a lone man at the post.  He looked Crowley up and down upon entry, but quickly shifted his demeanor to match standard customer service approachability. 

After taking a moment to center himself, Crowley sighed before moving forward, confidently and coolly, before stopping at the desk. 

“Good morning, I…I had a bit of a strange question. Do you happen to sell any tools here?” Crowley asked. 

“Tools eh?” the man hummed as he sat back slightly. “I can’t say that we do, though I suppose it depends on the tool. What are you looking for?”

“Well, quite a few actually. See I just moved here, I’m taking over my grandfather's farm and-“

The man’s eyes widened in an instant. In his excitement, he cut Crowley off, “You’re the new farmer! My bad, didn’t realize from your attire. I’m Pierre,” he smiled as he held out his hand. Crowley carefully reached out to grab, quickly reviving a hearty shake in turn. 

“Nice to meet you. Crowley,” he said once Pierre finally released his grasp. 

“Crowley! It’s nice to have another farmer here again. Please, feel free to stop by and take a look at our seed selection. Oh! And I may be happy to take some of your produce off your hands and sell to the community,” Pierre smiled before shaking his head. “But I’m getting ahead of myself, you said you’re looking for farming tools? I’m sorry to say, but we haven’t got much around here.”

Crowley nodded, “I understand. The ones…’gramps’ left behind are pretty tattered. Seems like he used them for a while so I could imagine they aren’t easy to come by.”

“Oh! You’ve got some already do you?” Pierre perked up. “Clint may be able to help then.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Really, how so?”

“Well, excuse me as I advertise for him for a bit, Clint can repair and improve any old tools you’ve got with some cash and materials, he’s the resident blacksmith you see,” Pierre warmly smiled. “It’s his family’s business, if you get him talking about the lineage he’d be going on for hours. He mainly does repairs for the adventurers guild up north, and the occasional jewelry request for the ladies if they ask. He’s open until 4, if you’d like to stop by and talk to him about your current toolset.”

Crowley whistled as he leaned back on his heels while listening. That sounded leagues better than getting something online, right? At least that way he could guarantee that the scythe is at least sharp enough to cut grass and wheat. 

“I suppose I’ll head down later then,” Crowley hummed. “Is he near the town square?”

“Lower east side near the library,” Pierre corrected. “If you don’t catch him by closing he goes to the saloon at night, you can possibly chat then as well. In the meantime, is there anything else I can help you with here? I’ve got all of the in-season crops and flower seeds you can ask for!”

He snapped out of his thoughts. “Oh! Hadn’t even-let me take a look at your stock actually.” The comment was more reflexive and polite than actual interest, though as Pierre pointed out in his catalogue, Crowley noticed a peculiar trend. 

The seeds here seemed to be cheaper than Joja Mart’s. Sure he’d only gotten a brief glance at the seed packets while walking down the gardening aisle, but he could’ve sworn the other seeds were cheaper. Not only that but they had another difference; at Joja, each seed came from the same brand. Though Pierre’s selection seemed to be a mish mash of different suppliers. 

“Not to your liking?” Pierre asked after a slightly too-prolonged silence. 

“No no, not that. It’s just, they’re different from the ones at Joja,” Crowley remarked. Pierre’s expression immediately soured, and his shoulders slumped with a huff. 

“Well I’d certainly hope so! I pick out my seeds from different growers based on their product's quality. Just because someone can breed a spectacular tomato, doesn’t mean I trust them to produce good cauliflower. I can guarantee you, these are the best of their kind. None of that Joja mass-produced generic junk.”

“Ohhh, I see,” Crowley hummed. “That…that sounds nice, actually. Back in the city the mart was really one of the only close places I could afford for groceries and stuff, so I’m just used to defaulting to going there. I wish I came over here sooner,” he said honestly. 

While he never really thought about it too much, reflecting upon it a lot of his life did revolve around the corporation. He worked there, they had shops all over the city blocks and ads on transportation, and with his rent prices he just found it easier to shop at their corner store than to go to the proper grocer a couple blocks away. A lot of it was out of convenience and desire to use his money for other things. Seems the same lifestyle won’t transfer over as easily. 

“I want to plant those parsnip seeds,” Crowley recalled out loud, “but I suppose I should try out some of these other crops as well. I’m leaning towards flowers, but what would you recommend?”

At this point, he was more asking out of pure curiosity rather than with (at least with the reason he’s actually in this town) the intent of building up trust with the locals. He did a lot of studying online but never actually gave any of the details much thought, and there was something in him that just…wanted to actually try. He’s cultivated small plants over the years, green things that would sit in his windowsill that he got because ‘they improved mental health’ and ‘made your apartment air cleaner’, but other than spraying them with water and lamenting his frustrations at them he never got much farther than that. Actually growing something useful might be…fun actually? Plus, it could get him some good practice before moving onto other crops. Once he felt ready for that, and had more substantial tools, he could expand his operation and really establish himself as a farmer. And once that credibility was built, he could really start pushing Joja as a good resource. 

“10 tulip bulbs then!” Pierre hummed as he took the seed packs from Crowley and began to hit the clunky buttons on his old register. With a comical ‘brrring!’ of the bell, a small “sale!” popped up above the front panel. “That’ll be 200g.”

Crowley fished into his pocket and retrieved the coins before Pierre wrapped up the bulbs in a paper bag and held it out to him. He took it with a happy “thanks!” Before turning around and walking out. As he passed by, he noticed the glances and small smiles from the mustached-man and older woman, though somehow he’d calmed considerably and didn’t feel as worried this time. 

He just bought something at the local shop! That’ll surely look a lot better in the eyes of all the townsfolk, right? Especially after that blunder with the Joja Mart thing earlier, lots of people probably saw. 

Checking the time on his watch, it seemed to be just a little after 2:30, which left plenty of sunlight left in the day, and possibly a little bit of time to check out the blacksmith.

Quickly reciting Pierre’s directions in his head, Crowley started trying to make his way towards the blacksmith’s.

Chapter Text

“2000g?!” Crowley gawked.

“And 5 copper bars. Per tool,” the blacksmith, who Crowley had quickly learned was named Clint, said casually as he polished a set of tools beside a well-loved anvil. 

“But…where would I even get those?” Crowley moaned. 

“Well, you could buy raw ore from me and smelt it. That would be about another 2000g. Other than that you could give a hand at mining…if there wasn’t a boulder currently blocking the path there,” he grumbled. “Joja Mart’s drilling operation caused a bit of a landslide and now the way is blocked. So my stock is all that’s available at the moment,”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. Clint already gave off not so great vibes, but the additional pushing of his own supplies as well as the Joja mart slander made him sour further.

“They reported that the area should be cleared in about a week, so if you can wait that amount of time you should be able to go off mining on your own,” Clint remarked. “That is if they keep their word. I would hold your breath on that, honestly, because at least from my experience it tends to take twice as long. If you really need your tools upgraded now I at least have the stock,” he shrugged. 

Crowley huffed as he slumped his shoulders. Unfortunately it did not seem like he was going to get the easy way out of this. Due to the blacksmith’s attitude, he wasn’t exactly keen on buying the supplies directly from him, mainly out of spite. He had some faith within him that the team would clear up the rock slide sooner rather than later, but the thought of mining ore himself made him gawk. Even more work. Great. Wonderful. Brilliant even. 

“I’ll keep my eye on it then, I suppose,” Crowley sighed. “Thanks anyway, though. If I have the supplies I guess you’ll see me back here.”

“You know where to find me then,” Clint shrugged.

He shut the wooden door of the blacksmith’s slightly harder than normal before grumbling to himself. If he wanted tools, he needed money. And if he wanted money, he’d need to sell crops — crops cultivated with rusted and worn tools. 

“The sooner I get these in the ground, the sooner they’ll grow,” he moaned under his breath as he patted the lump of tulip bulbs at his side. At this point, he may have cleared just enough land to fit the parsnips and tulips, after it had been properly hoed and watered, of course. As much as his bones ached already, he did still have a bit of energy to finish out the day. 

It’ll get easier the more he does this, he repeated to himself. It’s going to be fine. It’s only the first day. The only direction this mess could go was down. It certainly can’t get any worse than this. 

Once he was able to get the seeds in the ground, in his first week Crowley formed a sort of routine to try and scrounge up more funds in order to keep the train moving. He would wake up early, water and check on all of the crops (and angrily express at them how annoyed he was that they were taking so long, they really should be appreciative that he buried them in the ground and gave them sunlight in the first place) and then head down south to the forest to gather more supplies and anything he could possibly sell for some cash. After the third day, once he received a fishing pole out of generosity from the local fisherman Willy (who was good friends with his ‘gramps’ apparently), he would spend the remaining time at the lake in the forest catching fish to sell and eat. 

Was it the most social routine on the planet?

Not particularly. 

In his routes he rarely ran into any of the villagers, and honestly he was a bit grateful for that. The isolation allowed him time to think and properly process what his life has become, and plot the backstory he’s supposed to present whenever he’s asked about his family. It was one stress he didn’t have to worry about, at least for now. Just him, his water can, fishing rod, and bushel of ungrateful plants that refuse to grow efficiently for him like stubborn children.

By the time his parsnips grew, he’d sold 10 of them and kept 2 for himself. (The other 3 had unfortunately been tainted by weeds or ravaged by crows plucking them up.) After he’d harvested the vegetables, Crowley was fast to fashion a scarecrow in hopes of preserving the tulips. That morning, he tried to eat one of the parsnips as a way to savor the spoils of his hard work, before quickly learning that he, in fact, did not care for the taste and texture of parsnips. The other he’d saved went into storage as a sort of memento for his first successful crop yield before walking into town with a canvas bag full of parsnips.

Pierre smiled as he rifled through them. True it wasn’t a whole lot of product, but still, results were results and he was very much interested in partnering with the new farmer in town to create high quality organic stock without pesky delivery and ordering he’d dealt with from standard suppliers. 

“These are very nice…how’s about 383g?” The shopkeeper smiled. 

“I think that sounds reasonable,” Crowley hummed as his eyes scanned over the packets of new seeds. “Actually, to make your life easier, just take out the price for five potatoes and cauliflower, might as well get started on something new.”

“Sounds great! Let me just calculate your change and you can get your seeds,” Pierre smiled. 

“Brilliant. Let me know what the folks think of the parsnips if you get to sell them,” Crowley returned with a toothy grin. With the go ahead, he sauntered over to the display and grabbed what he needed, choosing a bag a bit from the back of the row. It was a bit of a superstitious thing he’d do back in the city, it just didn’t feel right taking the first one in the row. 

Lewis had told Crowley he could sell things through the shipping bin on his farm. And while he did utilize it sometimes, he’d also taken to slowly getting closer to shopkeepers in town by seeking wares directly to them. He enjoyed making small talk about fish with Willy, who seemed to try hiding his joy at a new fisherman to share his passion with. Meanwhile Pierre’s acquaintance was especially strategic — those townspeople who hadn’t yet switched to Joja mart would likely be talking to Pierre and seeing these parsnips, all brought to them by the new local, trustworthy farmer. The dots were connecting slowly but surely. 

“I should have some more forage in for you soon too,” Crowley said idly as he held up the seed packets to show he’d taken the agreed upon amount. 

“Looking forward to it,” Pierre nodded before waving as Crowley left, trotting back to his farm and mentally preparing to start his new crops. As he made the trek home however, he spotted a flash of gold from his periphery as he passed the bus stop. Curiously he slowed before turning back and walking past the wooden fences surrounding the small area, only to see a brilliant daffodil sprung up from the grass nearby. He grinned and plucked it, admiring the quality before noticing something else in the dirt nearby. He bent down again and leaned forward, using his palm to dust away a bit of dirt to reveal what laid beneath — a blue book. 

He furrowed his eyebrows as he picked the book up carefully and examined it. 

It seemed to be a very well loved novel, one written by Charles Dickens that he wasn’t necessarily familiar with. The title was written in beautiful gold lettering, the text swirly and shining in the sun. The dirt seemed to be trapped in little nooks and crannies of the cover and between the pages, but other than that it seemed to be in good condition. 

Humming to himself, he gently lifted the cover and peeked at the front page. Stamped on the paper in worn black ink, the page read: “Property of the Pelican Town Public Library''. Besides it was an old fashioned check-out sheet with names and dates written on it. It seemed only one name was consistently checking this book out, but Crowley couldn’t read the cursive handwriting. Due to the damp grass the ink on the page had bled a little.

Crowley blew off the excess dirt one last time before turning back towards town. Frankly he wouldn’t mind a brief distraction before having to get back to planting his cauliflower and potatoes. Not to mention returning a lost library book could be another perfect chance to get in the good graces of a townsperson. Although it had been a few days, he’d remembered spotting the library nearby Clint’s shop, and so he followed the stone path down through the town square and over a cobble bridge until he found the quaint structure with warm green outer walls and a purple tiled roof. 

It seemed very comfy and cozy, carefully tucked away in a quiet corner of the town. It was practically the perfect spot for a library. It was picturesque against the forest backdrop and the sun shining from above. 

Humming to himself, Crowley carefully pushed the door open and entered inside. The quaint charm continued within the interior – the space was bathed in lovely natural light that brought out the natural grooves in the plank flooring. Tall bookcases covered most of the walls, bar the occasional window, and also composed a sort of artificial nook and work area in the center of the main room. There were a few desks with accounting lamps and beanbags, though surprisingly, or maybe unsurprisingly in a hick town like this, no computers. 

There seemed to be more space past the reading area, though Crowley halted at the front, hoping to speak to a worker. However, the front desk was empty. He frowned as he looked around. He expected a book drop or at least somewhere for him to put the thing, as he felt it would be a bit rude to just drop the dirty book on the desk and leave. The front desk seemed to have scattered papers all over it, each either filled with notes or covered in scratchy drawings, and multiple mugs half filled with tea. 

Clearing his throat, Crowley loudly called, “Uh…hello? Is anyone here? I’m here to return something?”

The silence of the library seemed to answer him, the dust swirling in the air. Curiously, Crowley craned his neck and glanced down the stacks, trying to identify any sign of life within the building. Was this place haunted or something? While he still has to meet the rest of the villagers of this town, if the door was unlocked then surely there must be someone in here who could at least know where to put the damned thing. 

“Hello?” he called out again, slightly louder this time as he started to stalk down one of the rows.

This time he got somewhat of a response, or at least a soft clamor and shuffling. After a moment and a soft clearing of a throat, a gentle voice called, “One moment!”

Finally someone rounded the corner of the narrow passage formed by the bookshelves. It was an older man, likely around Crowley's age, with soft blonde hair and small gold spectacles balanced on his nose, though they were supported by an additional glasses chain around his neck. Even from a distance he seemed quite frumpy, adorned with a robin's egg button up, brown trousers, and a suspenders and bow tie combo that really drove home his old fashioned aesthetic. 

“Oh, I am so terribly sorry to have kept you waiting,” the man rambled as he approached. “You see I was in the middle of one of my novels, and Penny and the kids usually don’t turn up to do some reading and maths until 4:30 or so, so I wasn’t expecting anyone to show up.”

The man seemed to laugh to himself at the prospect. 

“We’ve all got our routines around here, and the library isn’t a frequent visit for many. Again I so deeply apologize, wouldn’t want you to think I left the old girl unattended. Is there anything in particular I could help you with, sir?”

There seemed to be a nervous air surrounding the man, but he kept up the front of a smiley and welcoming customer service persona. The way he managed to embrace his mannerisms was oddly charming in a way that Crowley would normally never entertain, but he strangely seemed to enjoy it from this man in particular. 

“I’ve found this book, figured, book, you know, belonged in a library,” Crowley shrugged coolly as he held out the book. He looked away as he slumped his shoulders. However, the man didn’t seem to care to match his low enthusiasm at all. In fact, the librarian’s tripled.

“Oh-Oh! Oh my goodness! You’ve-I haven’t seen this in ages!” he gasped as his eyes sprang wide and starry. 

Crowley’s eyebrows raised in surprise as he held the book out more, allowing the man to take it with glee. 

“Really? I found it half covered in dirt near the bus stop, seemed pretty out in the open to me,” Crowley shrugged. “Unless one of the folk happened to have kept it captive and just dropped it there earlier today or something.”

“Oh, no no, this isn’t a copy that get lent out to others,” the man explained as he gazed down at the novel, running his hand across the worn cover. “I checked it out quite frequently when I was young, and it has since been a part of my personal collection. I misplaced it back when I went out last summer for a picnic. Once the storms came I thought it was a lost cause.”

Crowley cocked his head slightly. 

“You were picnicking near the bus stop?” he asked, “Sounds…romantic” he added sarcastically. The man gave a small laugh and blushed before his gaze shifted.

“It’s silly I suppose. I knew the fellow who managed the farm a little ways off from the bus stop, so I picnic near the property to remember him,” the librarian shrugged. 

Crowley smiled. It was the perfect chance to practice his backstory. “Ah, you knew my gramps then?”

The man couldn’t look any more surprised. He eyed Crowley up and down for a moment, seemingly processing the information and trying to validate it to himself. 

“Oh! I had no idea he had any direct grandchildren,” he laughed. “Though he did lament about his sister every now and then to me. I was curious when I heard that someone moved into his old property after so many years. I don’t recall there being any sort of discussion revolving about what would happen to it once he passed, though it’s probably a family secret,” he shrugged. “I’m glad it’s staying in the family!”

“I could explain it to you, if you’d like,” Crowley offered. “I’ve already done my fair share of talking to everyone around here about it, so it’s not a chip off my shoulder.”

“That would be splendid, dear boy,” the man hummed. “Let’s go over to the front desk, I can brew you some tea if you’d like?”

This was the perfect test, it’s practically ground zero. The only other people who had such strong feelings about his ‘family’ were really Willy and Lewis, but even then he could probably tell any lie and it would work around them. This was the opportunity to get it right. Not to mention, he didn’t mind getting the opportunity to warm up to the librarian. Something about him drew Crowley in such a way he couldn’t quite understand. And for some reason, he did want to get called “dear boy” again. 

“I promise I’m listening,” the man said as he began to fuss with cups and teapots as the two passed over a doorway behind the desk into a sort of small living quarters, “is green alright? How do you take your tea?”

“Green is wonderful, thank you,” Crowley hummed. “Just a splash of cream and two sugars as well.”

“Wonderful,” the librarian smiled. “Let yourself get comfortable, though I do apologize for the mess around here, I’ve been meaning to get to it but it’s simply slipped my mind. I’m assuming you moved in at the beginning of the season, no?”

“Yep. Mayor Lewis was kind enough to leave me a bag of parsnip seeds to get started. I just used my grandpa’s old tools from there,” he said as he found a seat to cozy up on, “they’re a bit worn though, so I tried getting them refreshed at Clint’s. Still trying to work up the cash to do it first though. And the materials, granted the mines will reopen soon.”

The librarian hummed as he put the water on. “My, you’ve already done a lot it seems! Be careful in those mines though, they certainly can be treacherous.”

“Oh? Did you used to do some cave diving?” Crowley asked. 

“My folks used to venture into the mines back in the day, at least every now and then,” he hummed quietly. He seemed to quietly hesitate for a moment as he prepared a few cups and gathered the fix-ins. “And I’ve been there a few times myself in the quest for artifacts. This old place used to be a museum, but the displays had to be sold to other local conservatories because we desperately needed the money for repairs. There’s a lot of spooky things hiding in those mines, so you best prepare yourself.”

The librarian didn’t necessarily seem like the type to use the word ‘spooky’, Crowley mused to himself. It was mostly likely a word he picked up from the local kids.

“I’ll manage,” he said.

“Well if you don’t, I hope you’ve met Harvey, he’s our local doctor” the man sighed as he finally fixed two saucers and cups and brought them over. As he took his own seat, the librarian enjoyed a nice long sniff of the steam and aroma of his tea before taking a nice long sip. It was almost exaggerated, in a way that would’ve been acting for a normal person, though the way he did it really made it seem simultaneously extra yet genuine. “I hope I’m not rude in asking this, but why did you only come to the property now? It sat vacant for quite a long time, some of the local teens even began breaking onto the grounds now and then.”

“Well….” Crowley started as he tugged at one of his ears in ‘anxiousness’. “You see, I grew up in the city my whole life. Went through school, got a couple of advanced degrees, that sort of thing. I’ve been working a high profile job for quite a while, I’d like to say I was pretty good at it. Before gramps passed, I got a letter in the mail explaining that the property here would always be open for us, if we happen to need the escape and chance at a new life. Things got…tricky at my job, that much I’ll say. So when given the opportunity to start over, I guess this was the year I decided to take it.”

The librarian lifted the cup to his face again, though didn’t drink immediately. Crowley didn’t know why at first, though he could’ve sworn he saw a dusty blush creep across the man’s cheeks, mostly obscured by the cup but still there for sure. 

“Well, that’s…lovely. I really hope you find you enjoy it here in the valley. I know it’s less fast-paced than the city, though I assure you there is plenty to love if you know where to look” he said before finally taking a sip. 

Crowley smiled as he joined him in enjoying the warm tea. It seemed that the story went over well enough, as it seemed to properly convince the man. In the spare conversations he’s had with the townsfolk recently, they all seemed to fall into this pattern. Warm and hospitable acceptance, a brief conversation about why Crowley moved here in the first place, and then a casual end to it all. He seemed to be getting the hang of this sort of thing. 

“You know…” Crowley said carefully as he lowered his own cup. “I’ve met everyone around town at least once so far, even that writer who lives down on the beach and Robin’s son, but I haven’t seen you around town much at all.”

“Ah well,” the man started like he was about to talk, though his initial voice trailed off and he instead looked over at the bookshelves, “someone’s gotta watch the books, right?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “All day everyday?”

“Quite”

“Boy, the books seem pretty needy then.”

“Pardon?”

“Well, if they need to be babysat around the clock.”

The librarian seemed a flush in embarrassment, though at the same time his eyebrow seemed to twitch in annoyance. “Well, yes, then I suppose that they do,” he huffed, his voice a bit snippy. “Someone needs to keep watch and I suppose I’m the one to do so.”

Crowley frowned as he raised his free hand up in defense. “Look, uh…”

“Aziraphale.”

“Crowley. Look, I don’t mean to offend you. I guess, nnnnh, I guess it’s just, hoping maybe I may run into you more? I’m not one to come down to a library too often?”

Aziraphale stalled. He still seemed to be on the defense, but something about him also looked…nervous? Scared? And perhaps the smallest bit of longing. 

“Well…I do get out every so often. Every time Gus makes his fresh maki rolls,” he seemed to lose himself for a moment as he recalled the taste before snapping back. “Maybe…next time they turn up as his dish of the day, you’ll find me at the saloon after closing the library for the day”

Crowley immediately added that to his mental checklist of “important things to remember” without second guessing as to why he desperately wanted to make note of this information. He nodded to himself and gave a small smile, acting as sort of an apology. 

“Got it. Well, maybe I’ll see you around the saloon sometime in the future. For now though, I’ll enjoy my time now with this tea.”

“You may certainly enjoy it,” Aziraphale said as he set down his cup, revealing it to be empty, “but I’m afraid I need to tend to-“ 

“Hellooooooo!! Mister Fell!!!,” a small but mighty voice suddenly called. Aziraphale sighed and carefully stood from his seat.

“I’ll be seeing you, Crowley,” he hummed as he moved towards the door. 

“Vincent! Don’t yell!” Crowley heard a voice he recognized as Jas. He’d met the young girl a day or two ago when he’d taken a trip to her aunt Marnie’s shop to introduce himself. 

“But I want to show him my new toy!” Vincent whined. 

“Shhhh!” Jas hushed. 

“Now now you two, remember to use your indoor voices when you’re at the library,” Penny carefully spoke up, her voice soft and meek. Crowley noticed she had a sort of ‘motherly’ tone when addressing the children. 

“But it was Vincent who was being loud!” Jas whined in annoyance. 

“You’re being loud too!” Vincent playfully jabbed back at the young girl. 

As the scene started to devolve into light bickering between the two children, Aziraphale slipped out of the room that was behind his desk and into the main area of the library. 

“You two know that you must listen to Miss Penny,” he lightly scolded. “Your desks are cleared up so you can do your maths lesson for the evening. Vincent, you can show me your toy once you’re done, okay?”

“Okay…” the young kid whined. 

“Oh, I am so sorry Mister Fell,” Penny fretted. “It’s been a bit of a long day, and I’m afraid they’re both still a bit over excited.”

“It’s not a worry at all my dear,” Aziraphale hummed. “I understand perfectly, mistakes will happen and kids will be rambunctious. I’ll turn on a calm record while you teach, that may help with the nerves and energy.”

“That would be lovely!”

Crowley crept around the back room to watch as Aziraphale fetched an old gramophone atop a small drawer filled with worn record jackets. He carefully pulled one out, slipped the vinyl out from within, and set it up on the turntable before letting it play. After a moment of crackling, soft music began to fill the air. 

“Yay! The grandpa music!” Vincent smiled. 

“Vincent!” Penny gasped, “That’s not-oh, don’t be rude now please,” she frowned.

“It’s quite alright, dear,” Aziraphale assured, “just as long as Vincent knows when, ahem, ‘grandpa’ music is playing he needs to be doing his work. Right?”

“Right!” Vincent exclaimed before quickly shutting his mouth and repeating his affirmation in a whisper. 

Aziraphale gave the boy a smile and ushered the two to the center of the library with the old writing desks, allowing Penny to set up her work and prepare for their lesson. The young woman seemed grateful of the other man’s patience and assistance, as she offered him a warm smile before sitting down with the two young kids and pulling out a few books from her canvas bag. 

It was like watching a quiet, personal moment. Just another element of the ‘routine’, as the librarian said. A quiet village life filled with small moments that spoke volumes. The longer he watched though, the more Crowley found himself feeling like an outsider looking in, an observer really. And really, that’s what he was, right? He wasn’t here for any of the townspeople or even himself — he was here for Joja. 

Carefully Crowley set the cup back on its saucer before slipping out from the library quietly and unseen. He began to make his way back towards the farm, though part way through his trek he paused, right in front of the Stardrop Saloon. Soon enough he found himself inside without much of a second thought, leaning up against the counter and holding out the daffodil he’d plucked near the bus stop.

“So? Think you’d consider serving maki rolls tomorrow?” Crowley smirked. Gus eyed the flower carefully. He’d remembered the saloon chef mentioning having a particular affinity for them. “One of my favorite parts of Spring!” he said. 

“I’d love to,” Gus said before deflating, “though it takes a few days to get my ingredients in, you see. I’m afraid I don’t have any fish or seaweed on hand.”

Crowley slumped, the daffodil bending along with him, before he perked up, “What if I brought you those?”

“I mean, if you were able to bring me enough to cook a decent amount of meals for the day, then I suppose that wouldn’t be an issue,” Gus shrugged nonchalantly. “Is there a reason my friend? It’s rare to get a specific request unless someone has a birthday coming up.” He paused and pursed his lips. “Is your birthday coming up?”

“No no, that isn’t until late summer,” Crowley waved off. “But I appreciate the thought. I just heard through the grapevine that you’re particularly good at them, and I’m curious. I don’t necessarily have the equipment back at home to try my own botched attempt, so…”

“Ah, a craving I see,” Gus grinned. There was a particular twinkle in his eyes, a knowing sort of look. “I don’t have many folks raving for that dish, but I can promise you’ve heard well. I just need around 8 of each at minimum, the fish and seaweed, to make what I’d usually sell. Any sort of fish would do, so I suppose it’d be your pick of what would particularly be on the menu.”

“I’ll have them for you tomorrow,” Crowley nodded as he delicately placed the daffodil on the bar and gave a quick two finger salute before heading out. He was already slightly dreading the smell of bait, but he felt oddly determined.

Chapter Text

“You don’t say,” Aziraphale blinked as he held the old rotary phone to his ear. 

“Yep! Fresh maki rolls, and with largemouth bass no less. I know you usually like ‘em with the tuna or albacore, but I think you’ll be interested to try these.”

“Thank you Gus,” Aziraphale hummed. His finger found itself curling around the coily phone cord, “I’ll definitely come by for an order tonight. Thank you for the heads up as always.”

“My pleasure! It’s always great to see you Mr. Fell,” Gus said, his voice taking on a strange quietness near the end.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” Azi answered.

“I mean that, really. You're welcome at the saloon any time, and if you ever, well, want to talk about anything, I’m here,” Gus said. Aziraphale didn’t speak, though the barman on the other side heard his exhale through the phone before Aziraphale finally responded, “Best be going. I'm excited for the maki. Toodle-loo,” before hanging up the phone. 

It wasn’t often that the old rotary phone got any calls — most often it was from Gus, inviting him over for the one meal he can be persuaded to have. Occasionally it was a spam caller, talking about his car insurance or some other claim that didn’t exist. Or it would be Penny, apologizing for her lack of appearance for maths lessons or warning him about any extra visits that week. Other than that, it sat silently and collected dust. 

The two townsfolk sometimes wondered if anyone else happened to have the librarian’s phone number, it wasn’t really something you could ask a person. He had given it to them on a slide of parchment, only in the case of ‘important updates’, which they quickly understood meant one of the three reasons. 

As the librarian puttered around, reshelving books the kids moved around and dusting the odd lamp cover, he couldn’t help but wonder what an odd coincidence it was. Maybe it was just simply a stroke of luck that the day after he met the new farmer that Gus happened to be serving the rolls. A strange part of Yoba’s plan, a small bit of fate. It made him so dreadfully curious, but also so dreadfully worried. He kept bouncing between his final decision: whether he should truly go out tonight or not. He was used to the loneliness, sitting at one of the small tables with his meal and a glass of wine, humming while listening to the jukebox while the others all surrounded him, forgoing to acknowledge his presence like a ghost. But there was that promise, that smile, that guarantee that said that he would be there if the time allowed.

It was one thing to be okay with being alone. 

It was another thing to be forgotten and left to the side.

Though…he had promised the new farmer to see him next time the saloon served Maki rolls. Well, maybe not ‘promise’ but heavy implication. Assuming this mattered though also assumed that the farmer had remembered. 

His cheeks flared up at the thought — the idea of someone recalling one of his idiosyncrasies. He was primarily scared of disappointment, but a small portion of him buried deep down in his heart flared with hope and curiosity like a single turn of a lighter’s wheel. Amidst the whirlwind of feelings and doubts, one thing suddenly cut through it all.

growwl

His hand moved to his grumbling stomach and he sighed. 

“Maki rolls it is, then.”

With a quick glance at the clock, the librarian mentally prepared himself to wait and not psych himself out for the next hour and twenty five minutes. While, sure, there was no one else in the building at this time, he felt that he had to attempt to honor his routine and business hours and keep things regular. For the longest time it wasn’t — he would open the library at random hours of the day, for various different lengths of time with no prior warning. Often he had found himself sleeping in, stuck in a half-depressed stupor and low mental and social energy. It had pinballed like this for years, before he finally took the proactive step to keep things consistent. 

Or more, it was Penny's request to use the library more, especially as a classroom for the children, that encouraged him to pretend that he was acting like a proper businessman. He didn’t want to disappoint the young girl, and wanted nothing more than to encourage the people of the town to get an education. It’s the very least he could do within his four comfortable walls. 

Lost in his rambling thoughts and mindless organizing of the shelves, the one and a half hour wait turned into nearly 3 as time seemed to slip out of his fingers like sand. There was nothing left for him to neaten, no person he had to push out of the premises — just a quiet, calm, and empty library and the ghost that lived within. Taking a quick glance at himself in his bathroom, Aziraphale fixed up his hair and straightened his bow tie in an attempt to look more “alive” and “welcoming”. It was always a gamble who would be at the saloon, especially if it wasn’t the weekend. Aziraphale hates surprises like that. With one last internal pep talk, Aziraphale headed out and walked confidently to the saloon, just in time for the dinner rush. 

The saloon was bustling as usual, or at least, a small town’s version of “bustling.” At the very least, there weren’t any tables for him to take up as they’d already been occupied by other residents, leaving the barstools. He quietly shuffled up and got comfortable on one of the plush stools, carefully shifting to make sure he wouldn’t fall and make a fool of himself. 

“Mr. Fell!” Gus smiled as he came over instantly, despite being in the middle of drying a cleaned stein, “Glad to see you, a dish of the day I presume?”

“It would be most appreciated,” Aziraphale smiled. 

“You got it, anything to drink?”

Aziraphale hummed. It was always nice to see Gus in person and get to talk to him. He’s one of the few people left around his age that still made the attempt at pleasantries, it was that sense of comfort that he really appreciated. He’s settled down a lot as they aged, but it was always a joy watching the other man beam as he talked about his cooking and new recipes. 

“A glass of wine to pair with it, if you still have any bottles left,” Aziraphale regarded. “I know that’s it’s been a while and there hasn’t exactly been a consistent stock.”

“I still have a few bottles saved, don’t you worry,” Gus smiled. “I know just what’ll go with the choice of fish. It’ll be out in a moment.”

“I’ll be right here.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Satisfied, the bartender shuffled back towards the kitchen, leaving Emily to gather orders from the others at the bar and keep everything relatively clean. By the time Gus returned, he had a beautiful plate of sushi in one hand and a wine glass and bottle in the other. He set the dishes down and retrieved a set of disposable chopsticks from his apron before setting them out for the librarian. One uncorked bottle of wine later with a generous pour into his glass and Aziraphale was set to dine. 

“Thank you,” he smiled as he split the two wooden sticks apart.

“‘Course!” Gus smiled, just before a slightly tipsy Pam called to him from the end of the bar. He left without another word to tend to her, leaving Aziraphale to enjoy his sushi. He popped the first piece into his mouth and soon melted at the lovely taste and texture. Gus was truly a wizard in the kitchen, and Aziraphale even wiggled his shoulders and let out a happy hum in satisfaction. 

It didn’t really matter when no one listened. But it mattered today.

“That good? Well, that’s more than enough endorsement for the quality of the maki rolls, I’ll have to order one,” Crowley smiled from behind him. 

Aziraphale squeaked in surprise and immediately sat up straight, his face turning a bit red. So it seems the farmer showed up after all, which pleasantly surprised the librarian but unfortunately left him a bit speechless. Crowley had slipped past the “crowd” and settled himself on the stool right next to him, a wide toothy grin on his face as he waved Gus down to put in an order. Once he noticed Aziraphale’s silence, however, both to his pleasure and slight dismay he turned slightly to possibly face him, his expression slightly apologetic.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” he waved off, his expression a bit hard to read with the sunglasses he was now wearing despite being indoors. His cheeks seemed to be a bit flush and red, most likely from working outdoors all day. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

In truth, it would be very easy to pretend Crowley wasn’t there. That’s what Aziraphale did for everyone else, really. Though while it was easy in theory, a sort of feeling made him quite difficult to ignore. 

“…well that’s hardly gentlemanly,” Aziraphale hummed as he ever so slightly shifted his body to face the farmer. “We’re sharing a table after all.”

Crowley turned back to him again. An eyebrow cocked up over the rims of his glasses before he smirked, “I’d hardly call the bar a table. By that logic you’re breaking bread with Shane and Pam too.”

“Well,” Aziraphale started with a shrug, “it’s not like the two are unpleasant company. Pam only occasionally gets a bit loud, and I hardly fault her for it.”

Crowley snorted in amusement. “I guess when you put it that way, it ain’t so bad. I don’t hear much coming from Shane either, he tends to just walk or sit or exist with a grumpy expression on his face. Did you know he was one of the first people I chose to try to talk to someone around here? Quickly learned my mistake.”

Aziraphale lightly chuckled at the thought as he carefully picked up another roll with his chopsticks with practice precision. He recalled hearing in a few of his grocery trips the light gossip that spread around town when Shane moved in with Marnie, apparently he needed to get away from something. By the looks of things, he still needs some time. 

“I’m sure that he’ll be a doll to talk with if you get to know him,” Aziraphale mused. “That’s how it seems to be around here, at least in my limited experience.”

“You don’t say,” Crowley smirked. He rested his shoulder on the counter and leaned his chin against his palm as he watched Aziraphale take another bite. Once the librarian's eyes flicked back over and noticed his pose, however, he quickly rebounded. “Say, what are you drinking?” 

“Ah, wild plum wine!” Aziraphale said as he picked up the glass and took a sip. “Some people find the taste a bit strange, pretty ‘punchy,’ but I think it’s lovely! And the aroma is just wonderful, here-“ he held the glass out. Crowley grabbed it carefully and held it up to his nose. His mouth quirked up at the corners.

“Not the typical smell, but it is intriguing,” Crowley hummed.

“Would…you like to try it?” Aziraphale asked. He was hesitant, not because he didn’t enjoy sharing (although that was slightly true as much as he hated to admit it), but more from the whiplash of dining with a companion. 

“I’ll give it a shot,'' Crowley shrugged. Aziraphale’s initial instinct was to call Gus over with an extra glass and pour Crowley some from the bottle the barman had left. However, Crowley's interpretation was much more straightforward, immediately taking a sip from the same glass. Aziraphale sputtered in surprise, his face becoming a light red once more. The farmer hummed as he let the flavor sit, swirling the glass gently around in his hand. 

“Mmm, I see what you mean…” Crowley mused as he smacked his lips. He brought the glass up and took another whiff of the scent before placing the glass back on the bar between them. “The flavor is a bit punchy, a little bit of an earthy undertone to it. But it is just sweet enough that it isn’t too overpowering. It pairs very well with the bass.”

“Ah, um,” Aziraphale stumbled as he tried to gather his words, “Gus likes to pair specific wines with his dishes if I happen to request a bottle, you see, he doesn’t like the flavor getting muddied.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll have to try some different specials with their own wine pairings then. Wonder what he’d put with the vegetable medley," Crowley mused just as Gus came back around and set a fresh plate of maki down for him, along with a set of chopsticks and, strangely, a wine glass, even though Aziraphale didn’t actually get a chance to ask for one. Gus was an amazing cook, but it seemed he also had the perfect opportunity to observe the townspeople with his position behind the bar. At least he wasn’t a gossip, and kept the secrets to himself. 

Crowley had thought himself to be quite cool up to this point, in hopes of winning over the librarian’s favors. However, as he looked at his plate he became acutely aware of a fact that plagued him for years and had most recently haunted him when Joja had a company outing to a fancy hibachi restaurant — he was a mess with chopsticks. He picked up the pair and held them between his fingers in the way that he was at least familiar with. However, there was something whispering in the back of his mind that even his first step was a glaring mistake. Crowley gulped and decided to just go for it, taking a haphazard attempt to pick up a piece with shaking hands. 

He held a piece between the two chopsticks fairly securely. If only for just a moment.

With a splat, the slice fell unceremoniously into his lap before bouncing onto the floor. Crowley mumbled a quick curse before grabbing a napkin and slipping out of the stool to retrieve the dropped sushi. It was only after he wadded up the piece in the napkin and set it on the edge of his plate that he noticed Aziraphale staring. Before he could get too embarrassed, the man held out his own set of chopsticks. 

“Do you need some help, dear boy? I can show you how I hold them, if you’d like.”

“Ngk, I, uh-yeah, yeah, sure,” Crowley sputtered. “If you don’t mind, um…I’ve always tried to use these, but I can never seem to get the hang of it.”

“It is a skill after all,” Aziraphale softly smiled. “It certainly took me a couple of times, just allow me.”

Aziraphale carefully walked through the steps, doing the motions he described at the same time to provide a visual aid. “So pick them up and try to situate the sticks at this point. Then pinch with your middle finger and thumb like so to create a point for the chopsticks to pivot. Once you’ve got it, you can use your index finger to open and close them, and voilà!” Once he finished, he looked over to Crowley and gestured it was his turn. He tried to follow, remembering the steps and grasping the sticks before tilting them to show. 

“Like this?”

“Close! Very close, you just need to…” Aziraphale trailed off and instead reached out to take Crowley's hand and carefully repositioned his fingers and the sticks.

“Ah, uh, okay…” Crowley muttered under his breath. He was sure that his face was turning a deep red, which was only slightly embarrassing. After a little bit of adjustment, Aziraphale helped him get the grip correct and hold it comfortably. 

“There, just like that,” the librarian smiled as he pulled away. “Now try again.”

The pressure was on, and Crowley carefully maneuvered. It was true the different position Aziraphale had showed him made him more dexterous, and while he still could feel the piece of the maki roll slipping, he managed to hold it long enough to make it into his mouth. 

“There you go,” Aziraphale smiled as he grabbed another piece of himself.

“Whu cuhn oiuh suay,” Crowley said through a mouthful of fish and rice before gulping it down in one big swallow, “I’m a fast learner.”

Aziraphale lightly laughed and smiled at him, before continuing to indulge in his meal. 

It was an unusual sight to see in the saloon, the smile and laughter of a new member of the town and the resident ghost. The sound of the ghost’s laughter was like a choir of ringing bells chiming in perfect unison. This sort of joy hasn’t been seen within these walls in a while, especially not from a particular resident. 

With the ice broken, Crowley was quick to find out that despite being an apparent hermit, Aziraphale loved to talk. He enjoyed going on anecdotes about books he’d enjoyed, and he even told a few stories about Crowley's “grandpa.” 

In turn, he also liked to listen, or at least seemed intrigued about Crowley himself once the initial hesitance was gone and his barriers were broken by a bit of alcohol. 

Crowley ate slowly, and Aziraphale took the opportunity to relish in another plate. However, by the time the dishes were cleared and the two realized they had no excuse to be at the saloon any longer, they simultaneously realized that they enjoyed each other’s company. However, they also realized that that was dangerous, for their own unique reasons. 

“Well…I suppose I should head home for the night. Crops need watering tomorrow so I shouldn’t sleep in," Crowley sighed as he slid off his stool. 

“Ah, well, I see,” Aziraphale hummed as he followed in tow. “I shouldn’t stay out too late either, otherwise I’d never get any sleep to begin with. Last thing I need is an accidental all-nighter, I won't get anything done tomorrow.”

Neither of them made any attempt to keep moving, both awkwardly standing a few feet apart. At this point, the saloon was practically empty — the jukebox was playing a slow, quiet tune, Shane was sitting at one of the tables in the corner, and Gus stood near the sink carefully cleaning the used glasses and plates from the evening. 

Aziraphale did feel anxious, his mind urging him to quickly leave before things got worse. But it wasn’t anxiousness as a result of him being out of the house, but rather a new and rather surprising manner — he was comfortable with the new farmer. A fresh face with no prior expectations of him, someone who was kind and patient, was something that was so incredibly alluring. He wasn’t looking at him with judgmental eyes and quiet pity, but rather with pure interest and enjoyment. It was something he so desperately wanted to keep. 

“Thank you for the company. Be seeing you, Crowley,” Aziraphale smiled tiredly.

“Be seeing me? Sooo you’d be open to seeing me again?” Crowley hummed with a certain cheekiness. 

“I suppose I should, purely out of politeness, nothing else,” Aziraphale joked back, “after all, I need to thank you for supplying Gus with that largemouth bass.”

“Ngk-“ Crowley paused, “how did you-“

“Willy hardly ever does fresh water fishing. Plus, you still slightly smell like bait.”

Crowley shifted in his boots, falling back so that he was leaning slightly against the edge of the bar. As he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, his shades fell slightly down his nose, revealing that he was looking off to the side in embarrassment to avoid eye contact. 

“Crap…” he muttered under his breath, “I thought I got that smell covered up…”

“It’s one of those wily beasts,” Aziraphale hummed, “I think you gave it your best shot. The gesture was very sweet of you, my dear. Do see yourself getting home safely.”

With a light “ciao!” and a wave, the librarian slipped out of the saloon like a whisper into the air, leaving the flustered, buzzed, and alone at the bar. Crowley couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol making his heart pound, or something else he’d rather die than admit out loud to himself. 

“You just had a craving then, eh?” a familiar deep voice purred in amusement. 

Crowley yelped in surprise and flung himself away from the bar, holding his hand against his chest as he tried to catch his breath. As he whirled his head around to glare at the offender, Crowley cried out in disbelief, “Gus! Yoba, give a man a heart attack whydontcha!”

Gus smiled under his bushy mustache and let out a quick hearty laugh before turning away. There was a cheeky glint in his eye that Crowley couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed about.  “Pretend I’m not even here, I didn’t see a thing.”

Crowley rolled his eyes before sighing. Guess he is going to have to put his trust in him, at least for now. He was far too tired and slightly tipsy to really worry about any potential consequences of this. “Thanks again, Gus…night!”

The barkeeper threw up one last wave goodbye as Crowley shuffled out, back to the farm and collapsing onto his bed in an exhausted, but oddly satisfied, heap.

Chapter Text

“Anthony,

As part of our expansion plan, one of the things we want to implement within the community is a local warehouse to store company products. It saves on the cost of shipping and allows for a quicker delivery service to the customers. 

The local store was given the floor plans of an abandoned building above the town square, which was provided upon request from the mayor. Due to the struggling economic status of the community, a deal was made that this building would be sold to us if another membership with the store is purchased, therefore proving the incentive to forgo the smaller business in favor of the economic boom that would follow our full settlement. 

We request that you investigate this building and provide a report on its physical status. Any necessary repairs to the building need to be considered in the final cost in its complete acquisition. Send this report by the end of the week. 

Best,

Beez.”

A few days following his encounter with the librarian, Crowley woke up to find a pale blue letter from his employer in his mailbox. He felt a sense of dread as he saw it sitting within the small metal walls, and that feeling grew even heavier as he sat inside of his shack and begrudgingly read its contents. It was odd seeing a formal written note from his boss, but considering the lack of any way to easily contact him, this was clearly the easiest way. He oddly found himself mentally hoping that the mailman wasn’t anyone local and would rat him out to the rest of town. He’s barely week or two into this…job, and he can’t afford to fuck it up now because the company cannot be bothered to use plain stationary.

He slipped the letter under his mattress, as if there was someone around to hide it from, before snagging a few supplies to note down the details of the abandoned building as heading off. 

Crowley had actually first spotted the structure a day or two ago after Demetrius showed him an alternative route to the carpentry shop. There wasn’t much on the cliff side overlooking the town, other than a small playground, a quaint fountain, and the old dilapidated building. 

As he approached, Crowley retrieved his pickaxe, preparing to swing at the lock if needed. However, the door opened with the slightest push. As the door creaked open, Crowley was met with a distinct musty smell from the inside. The air was dusty and thick, like it was collecting and stewing like a broth for a very long time. The dustiness of the building was also prevalent through the swirling particles that could be seen through the beams of light that poured through the broken ceiling and windows. 

As Crowley crept inside, he carefully stepped over large puddles that consisted of a liquid that he hoped to Yoba was just water. The wood seemed to bend underneath him, almost like he was sinking into the fibers. The building itself seemed like it was just left alone one day, like all of the villagers just decided to never return for some indiscriminate reason. Furniture was scattered all over the room, most certainly covered in mold and would crumble if he was to even touch it. A dilapidated fish tank sat in a corner, filled to the brim with dead remnants of seaweed and possibly a few bones buried underneath some sand and dirt. Nestled in one of the windowsills was a pile of books and a pair of small sneakers, like a kid was just nestled up with a blanket and was reading just the night before. Rusting pipes, broken glass, scattered pieces of trash, this building was filled to the brim with ominous rooms and various health hazards that greatly concerned him. 

Watching where he stepped, Crowley carefully paced around the building and recorded everything he could see in his notepad. He made sure to include specific details where necessary, such as the type of wood or the size of the window — he didn’t want to leave any stones unturned. It was admittedly harder to scope out the building with such limited light, and some of the finer details faded into the ashy walls behind them. That’s exactly why Crowley failed to notice a small structure at the far end of the central room upon first glance. 

It was a small sort of tent cobbled together with sticks, mud and leaves. Despite the lackluster supplies, it was surprisingly put together well. It would’ve had to have been put together by someone good with their hands and well tuned with natural materials. Maybe Robin, or Leah, and even Linus? Though on second thought, it seemed to make less sense. After all, why would they build the fort inside the abandoned building to begin with?

He also considered that it may have been a sort of fort for children to play in when the building was more popular, but even that seemed unlikely. The hut itself was dirty by principle of its materials, but it wasn’t “dirty'' dirty. It was made of mud, but still seemed to have a freshness that only things that are loved and upkept attain. Crouching down near the entrance of the strange tent, Crowley frowned and reached out, lightly poking the mud surface with his pen. It at least seemed to be physically real, much to his relief. It also seemed to be physically sound, so getting a closer look wouldn’t result in the whole thing completely falling apart. 

Placing the notepad and pen besides him on the floor, Crowley fully crouched down and peered into the entrance of the tent. It was a little dark, so it was hard to really see what was inside. After nudging his way a bit in, he honestly was a bit impressed at how spacious it was on the inside. But it most certainly smelled like dirt and wet wood. 

As the farmer adjusted himself so he could inch out of the hut, when he turned his head to the other side he was met with something he was most certainly hallucinating. 

Right up against his nose, Crowley was met with two beady black eyes. 

He blinked in shock.

The eyes blinked back. 

In a moment Crowley tumbled backwards, awkwardly trying to scramble out of the hut. The upper and lower halves of his body were moving out of sync in their panic, and even when he managed to regain enough clarity to attempt standing, a slippery puddle or the sliding of dirt of the floor sent him right back to the floor. 

He finally stopped a good 15 feet away from the hut as he tried to catch his breath and rationalize what he’d even seen. Or, if he’d even seen it. Potentially this could’ve all been a strange vision, or stress getting to his head. Maybe the mold spores riddling the building was making him hallucinate. However, his poor justification was interrupted by a small noise, a sort of chirp that came from the hut that sounded like a short, high pitched “pew!”.

Quickly emerging from the little hut was an…apple? A small little green apple with eyes and limbs that resembled sticks. Jingles seemed to echo in the air with every step it took. Whenever its…feet…made contact with the wood, small little sprouts would push through the grains and sway with its movement. Crowley sat frozen as he stared in disbelief, watching as the creature ran over to him and started to jump up and down. 

“Pew! Pew! Pew!” the apple creature cried out. 

At least, that’s what it initially sounded like in Crowley’s shock. The more it kept crying, and the more his heart finally slowed down from its near attempt at leaping out of his chest, the farmer started to hear something else overlap the creature’s squeaks. 

“Hi! Hi! Hallo!”

“H…hello?” Crowley said back, though he was still admittedly in disbelief. Perhaps he’d heard wrong. Or perhaps his brain was currently being eaten by mold spores or something. 

”Hallo! You see!”

The creature stopped bouncing for a moment and stared up at him expectantly. The farmer sat up more properly, keeping his stance a bit defensive as he glared down at the apple…thing. Why he wasn’t running for the hills, he wasn’t entirely sure. Half of his brain was still desperately grasping at straws to try and rationalize what he was looking at. 

“Errr…uh…yeah, I see,” Crowley hesitantly responded. “Unfortunately…” he added under his breath. 

The creature emitted another high pitched “pew!” before it ran closer to him. 

”Finally, you see! Hello! Welcome!”

He flinched back again, though the creature didn’t seem to react and instead waddled directly up to him before reaching out with two small, thin arms. They reached out and touched his shin, and although the pressure was feather-light and almost nonexistent, he still registered it enough to realize this was real. 

Suddenly the creature leaned forward and pressed its body into Crowley's leg in something of a strange hug. It let out another chirping sound, only for another collection of quiet chirps to grab the creature's attention. It looked up and back past the corner of a wall leading to a hallway, and once Crowley followed its gaze, he too saw the source — a jumbled pile of the apple creatures stacked on top of each other. Although they were in such a haphazard formation, they moved almost gracefully and weightlessly, constantly floating and squeezing past each other like bubbles. They were watching them with curiosity. 

Crowley finally looked back down to the being near his leg, only to find it had begun to scurry away. It only made it a few steps before it disappeared entirely. Crowley blinked in surprise and looked back towards the previous location of the hoard, only to find it had similarly vanished and no more chirps filled the room. 

“…..well I think that’s my cue to go home,” Crowley muttered to himself as he continued to gaze at the now empty space. He felt a bit dazed, maybe a bit numb from trying to process what he just witnessed. Despite that a part of him was still crying, claiming that the musty air was making him delusional, the farmer knew deep down that it was in vain. 

It was real. That was real. He physically felt it, that much he cannot deny. There are apple creatures hidden inside of this building, they make high pitched squeaking noises and can apparently disappear at will. They were also pretty cute, he couldn’t help but admit. 

“Should…should I write this down…?” he asked himself. 

Glancing down at his discarded notepad and pen…no. Best if he doesn’t. The last thing he needs is a letter of recommendation to a psychiatrist from his boss of all people. Instead he noted down a few details regarding the decay and implying vague evidence of “potential wild animal occupation” before going home, hoping to forget about what he’d seen.

That night, Crowley wrote up a formal response letter, something a bit more detailed to give the building planners at Joja an idea of what they were working with. He waited until the next morning to slip the discrete letter into his mailbox, though upon opening the door he found another letter addressed to him. This one wasn’t from Joja; the packaging was not the trademarked blue but rather dark grey with an elegant purple seal. 

“Hm…strange…” Crowley muttered under his breath. While he was aware that some of the townspeople had his address (or really could just manually drop off letters whenever they felt like, which he did find to be a bit odd), they all usually defaulted to the plain stationary they could get from Pierre’s. This looked way too formal and professional for it to be something…normal. Biting his lip, the farmer sat down on the front steps to his home and carefully broke the seal. 

Inside was a beautiful dark blue letter — it was surrounded with a lighter blue border, and a faded drawing of pyramids at the bottom. 

“My sources tell me you’ve been poking around inside the old community center recently. My fellow colleague encouraged me to contact you so that we may discuss your… ‘rat problem’. I may know a thing or two. 

My chambers are west of the first lake, in the tall stone tower. Visit me during the day at your earliest convenience.

- M. Rasmodius, Wizard”

Flabbergasted, Crowley read the letter again. It seemed like nonsense, perhaps it wasn’t meant for him? Though upon closer inspection, the letter was addressed to him by name. Still though, the only real part of the letter that made sense was the mention of the community center, and even then…the fact he was receiving this now, right after poking around the building, meant that someone had seen him. And they potentially knew about his intentions as a result. The bushes had eyes and the trees had ears. 

If that was the case, this Rasmodeus may be looking to blackmail him. And while going to the meeting point meant potentially walking into the trap, he was already ensnared really depending on what the sender knew of his intentions. No matter what he was going to do, he was going to walk directly into the lion's den. If he didn’t respond, the word would get out that he’s actually a fraud and is here with Joja. If he does go, he’s going to be trapped in a whole other complicated situation that threatens his job and possibly his life. It was a sick and twisted trap. 

It seems the longer he stays in this valley, the more strange things seem to happen in his life. He would’ve thought that things would be…relatively normal outside of this city, but this was like a whole  new world with a new set of rules that he simply couldn’t navigate. At least he couldn’t say it was boring. 

Reluctantly Crowley tucked the letter away and made his way down to Cindersnap forest. He hadn’t investigated it much other than finding Marnie and Leah’s homes, though he had noticed the stone tower in the distance curling around the lake. It wasn’t long before he reached the cobblestone steps leading up to the tower and knocked on the old wooden door with the back of his knuckle. 

It was safe to say that he totally wasn’t nervous at all. Nope. Not scared out of his fucking mind. Not at all. He’s totally cool about this. 

With a slow and meticulous creak, the large, thick wooden door slid open, revealing that no one was standing behind it. Instead he was met with a wide open room, a giant metal cauldron, and the world's most bright obnoxious round purple rug. The rest of the room was dimmer as the only light came from candles and the fire stoked under the pot. Still, he was able to make out vague shapes of things like bookshelves or more abstract shapes that seemed to be odd lecterns. 

“Ah, come in.”

Crowley jumped at the sudden voice. Even though it was low and soft, the unexpected noise made him stiffened and shiver, though he kept his composure. 

From across the room, a figure slowly rose up from the floor. He was previously before an odd pattern on the ground that Crowley struggled to decipher from his view, though it was surely arcane. 

“I am quite surprised you decided to arrive,” the figure hummed. “My fortunes foretold some hesitancy towards the manner. But please, let yourself get comfortable. We have much to discuss.”

It was hard to decipher from the man’s tone what his true intent was. He seemed to be welcoming, his speaking tone fairly even and calm. But there was this underlying rage beneath his voice. The farmer was hesitant to immediately badger the figure with questions, but his stubbornness and curiosity overran his self preservation. 

“Who…are you?” Crowley asked hesitantly as he walked further into the tower. “How’d you know my name?”

“The spirits whispered it into my ear,” the man said plainly, as if it were a completely reasonable thing to say. Though his mannerisms were far from the only strange thing about him, considering his vibrant purple hair and beard, long cape, and “eccentric” hat.

“As for me, I am Rasmodius…Seeker of the arcane truths, mediary between physical and ethereal, master of the seven elements, keeper of the sacred cha- well, you get the point,” the man finished with a sigh before his gaze fixed on Crowley quite harshly. “I invited you here because I’ve been informed you are aware of…this!” 

With a flourish and a whip of his cape, the man spun towards the symbol on the floor and snapped his fingers. In an instant, the lines began to glow a brilliant white before converging in the center. The center of the circle was engulfed in a bright white ball of light that seemed to shimmer and wobble for a moment. Crowley winced as the light nearly hurt to look at, severely regretting not choosing to wear his glasses in this current moment. 

The ball of light burst, and in a flash, a familiar shape was now trapped in the center of the arcane circle. The black beady eyes seemed to sparkle, the little apple jumping up and down. 

”Hallo! Hi! Hi! Two friends!”

The farmer startled, though more from surprise at seeing the creature again after trying to justify a hallucination from the previous day. 

“You again?” He gasped as he crouched down slightly. The creature chirped and squirmed, though it seemed held in place.

“No move! Stuck!” it whined as it jumped in place. 

“Ehhh…I don’t think I can ‘unstuck’ you from there,” Crowley frowned. “Sorry.”

“It cannot move from the circle as long as the circle has those specific inscriptions. That spell should keep it locked in place,” Rasmodius hummed. “I see you can understand it. Do you know what that is?”

“A clear indication that I am losing my mind?” Crowley responded with a sarcastic clip in his tone. “Ain’t got a clue, looks like one of those fake wax apples at open houses.”

Rasmodius did not seem to react to the comment, either because he was not amused by the quip or because he truly didn’t understand what Crowley was talking about. 

“They call themselves the Junimos…mysterious spirits, these ones. For some reason, they refuse to speak with me…” Rasmodious said. Crowley wanted to grumble something about “wishing he’d have done the same,” though it didn’t seem like a great idea to anger someone with magic powers. As if today couldn’t get stranger. 

The man raised his hand again and snapped. With a lightning-like flash, the junimo disappeared and the sigil’s light snuffed. 

“The only time they do talk with me is to share gossip it seems,” the wizard huffed in mild annoyance. “It’s been a long time since there’s been anyone else around here who is able to see them.”

“Is…that a good thing?” Crowley asked hesitantly. 

“They are benevolent spirits, they will not harm you,” the wizard said simply. “Based on their…eagerness to tell me about your presence, they seem to have an affinity.”

“Well they weren’t exactly quiet about it.”

Rasmodius smirked, though his expression shifted more serious soon after. “I have reason to believe they have motives for showing themselves to you. Perhaps your arrival to this valley was fated.” He sighed and tilted his head down. “I trust the spirits, though I needed to be sure for myself.”

“Sure of what?” Crowley blinked.

“That you have good intentions, a pure heart,” the man answered before looking back up at Crowley from beneath the brim of his hat, “do you?”

The farmer gulped at the question. That question was subjective in theory, right? If he’s here simply to do his job, then surely that must be a good intention? Doing what he is told and doing it right? He’s had his spells in the past, his fumbles and trials through keeping jobs and staying out of trouble, but he’s been with this company for a while now. They trusted him, they gave him this task. Surely it must be good to keep it that way?

“I, uh…I would like to think so, I guess…” Crowley mumbled as he backed away, refusing to meet the wizard’s gaze.

He could feel the wizard's eyes continuing to stare him down, though it felt strange. Almost like the man wasn’t looking “at him” but still observing him, picking him apart not like a judgemental mother in law but more like an engineer pulling apart an old watch and memorizing its parts. 

“Crowley,” Rasmodius finally said, “I need you to be honest with me. There is no shame in the truth, no matter what it is. If someone asked for your help, would you give it to them?”

As the last bit of sound left the wizard's tongue, the world shifted from Crowley's view. Everything surrounding him, other than the wizard and the floor leading to him, faded to dark. The world had a strange sort of empty edges, closing in but lonely.

“Wh…I…”

The farmer was thrown off by the question. It felt so simple, in theory. Who wouldn’t help someone when asked? Who doesn’t have the heart to be a decent human being?

But life isn’t always that simple, isn’t it? He certainly should be the one to know the answer — one doesn’t go through life asking the questions that should never be answered, and not see the true reality of human nature. The selfishness and greed that permeates through the air, that which corrupts and chokes and poisons. How easy it is to fall within the rhythm of pessimism and anger, angry at authority, at god, at fate, the truth. Why can’t people, deep down, have a bit more heart?

Regardless of the truth, of the mask, deep down, he was always if not an optimist. 

“…why wouldn’t I?”

The wizard blinked before softening slightly. “I see,” he mumbled before shuffling over to his bookshelf and pulling out a small piece of glimmering parchment and holding it out to Crowley, “Take this.” 

The farmer gulped. It certainly looked important and drew an air of curious mysticism. Plus after the last question, the stage had certainly been set for the scroll to be highly important. With careful hands he unrolled the message. 

“…is this a grocery list?” Crowley asked.

“Huh?”

“The things written down here. It’s just…random stuff. Horseradish, daffodil, leak…don’t tell me this is all an elaborate scheme for me to shop for you.”

“You…you can read that…?” the wizard muttered under his breath in awe. He stroked his beard as he hummed to himself in thought. “Interesting…no, it is not a grocery list. The junimos can help you with tasks, repairing things and such like, but it’s not exactly a free service. Think of it like a recipe, a list of ingredients needed to cast a spell. The energy from it will provide the junimos with what they need in order to help. They have a deep love for the forest and this community, but they cannot do things to help those communities alone. It’s very simple magic, in theory.”

Crowley blinked and scanned over the list again. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “…magic? Like, ‘magic’ magic, like in books and movies…? Are you absolutely sure this isn’t just stuff for your pantry, because this isn’t exactly stuff like ‘eye of newt’ or snake venom or whatever.”

“That’s propaganda,” Rasmodious sighed with a shake of his head. “There is magic in all things. This valley is brimming with it, you need to realize that every stone to every diamond is touched with its own beauty.” 

No sarcastic rebuttal came. In all honesty, deep down, Crowley wanted to believe him — believe that everything was special. It was a hope that had been worn out of him with time and fatigue, but that didn't stop him from wanting to believe it was true. 

He had long since accepted that wonder was crushed under heels, but no matter how pessimistic he became, he couldn’t bring himself to step on it as well. 

“…I have some extra supplies back at the farm. Guess I wouldn’t mind sharing,"Crowley shrugged. The wizard grinned and clasped his hands together. 

“I’m sure the junimos will appreciate your generosity. I have a feeling they’d like to accept these tokens back at the community center where you first saw them,” he said as he strode forward and carefully led Crowley towards the door, “Off you are. I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Mr. Crowley.”

“Ah, uh, thanks?” the farmer awkwardly returned as he was haphazardly shoved out the door which was slammed behind him. 

Well. 

That was a thing that certainly happened. 

Crowley frowned and glanced back down at the spell — it seemed that there were many different ones listed on this parchment, all needing wildly different items in order to cast it. From restoring energy, reversing the physical state of an object back to a previous one, various different teleportation based spells, there were so many things that are outside of Crowley’s understanding of how the world works that it was making his head spin. What didn’t add to the headache was that, whenever he had to squint to get a better look at the page, the words would look less like English and more like strange hieroglyphics. Everything about this was way too fantasy for his taste. 

Maybe this was all just a weird dream and this day hasn’t even started yet! But even if it wasn’t a dream, it may as well have been. 

When Crowley returned back to the farm, he slid the parchment between a few of his books for safe keeping, and made sure to send his report to Joja in the post lest he forget and deal with the repercussions later. 

Chapter Text

As his routine had become for most of these past few mornings, aside from the rare cases of rain, Crowley rolled out of bed with a grumble before pulling on his outfit, snagging his tools, and heading outside. At least he was done hoeing for now — swinging the heavy end of the tool did a number on his back. It wasn’t like breaking up the rocks and stumps was that different though. The one chore he didn’t quite mind was watering. It gave him a chance to get personal with the progressing plants. Maybe give them a stern talking to and threaten to withhold precious water if they dared be anything below top quality. But today, as he prepared to bring his can, he was greeted by a brightly colored field.

The area he’d prepared and sewn wasn’t large, but to Crowley it looked to be a sprawling garden of pastel. It seemed his tulips had decided to bloom, and bloom they did. 

When Crowley was told that he was going to have to manage a farm for the next year, in his mind this is exactly what he wanted it to look like. A sprawling field of beautiful colors, fresh flowers as far as the eye could see. The simple beauty of these plants is something he has always found within himself to appreciate, and the intricate meanings behind the colors and types of flowers in arrangements was a secret language he felt some pride in being able to understand. Crowley found himself smiling as he walked down to the field, gazing at the field in awe of his work. These he grew on his own, all from scratch, these were his flowers. Crouching down beside the first row, the farmer gently caressed the petal of the tulip — it was soft to the touch, perfectly plump and free from any spots or rot. They were all absolutely perfect. As he continued to examine the blooms, he even saw a few bumble bees buzzing about, tucking into the cups of the petals and emerging covered in the golden pollen. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who enjoyed them. Crowley had loved planting flowers as a young boy. His mother cycled the contents of her garden every year: marigolds, daisies, hyacinths. He would excitedly hop up and down every time he saw the snow melt, knowing the reemergence of dirt meant a coming planting season. This family eventually moved to the city though — no more gardens. They’d tried having a garden box hanging from the window of their flat, though one rainstorm later and the box landed on someone’s car. After some angry huffing about having to pay damages and insurance, they didn’t get another box. From then, the closest Crowley got to flowers was the florist he would sometimes pass on his way to work. But now, not only was he holding a flower, he had grown it. He felt so much more pride over these small flowers than he did for his first batch of parsnips. This is what he wanted his farm to look like. 

With a joyful hum and smile on his face, Crowley rolled up his sleeves and started to carefully pick a few of the tulips to create bunches. He was delicate with each tug and pull, holding them gently in the crook of his arm. Soon enough he had a full bouquet with a mosaic of colors. While he did leave some flowers behind to decorate the otherwise brown fields, the rest were ready to sell. However, as he made his way over to his shipping bin, he only placed a few inside before pausing. Sure, he did need some more money for things like upgrading his tools. Though that didn’t mean every tulip needed to be used for that. In fact…What’s the harm in keeping a few of the things he grows? He’s allowed to indulge in his work. 

The first few of the flowers he kept were placed in a water filled vase in his room, right on the nightstand next to his bed. With the remaining, he kept them carefully tucked in his satchel as he wandered into town to buy some more seeds. As he walked into Pierre’s, the shop keeper lit up and raised his hand with a smile. 

“Ah, farmer Crowley! I’m happy to report your parsnips have been selling like hot cakes,” he hummed.

“Glad to hear it,” Crowley smiled back. “Not sure if my next crop will sell as well though, it’s a bit strange to go from veggies to tulips.”

“Tulips you say?” Pierre blinked before seeming to think for a moment. “Not usually, though perhaps they’ll be popular for the flower dance that’s approaching real soon.”

“…flower dance? What’s the flower dance?” Crowley asked as he started rifling through the display of seeds near the register. The shopkeeper seemed to have an amused expression on his face. The farmer’s naivety towards the town and its traditions was still fairly amusing to him.

“It’s an annual tradition of ours,” Pierre hummed. “Once a year we all gather to join in a dance — couples follow a routine and dance amongst nature. It’s a chance for the community to get together and celebrate the season.”

Crowley smirked. They really were driving home the small folksy town with strange, niche traditions thing here in Pelican Town. Not that he entirely hated the idea, it was just so intensely pedestrian. Quaint. Maybe even charming. 

“The dance isn’t too hard to learn actually. Caroline and I used to participate,” Pierre reminisced, more to himself really. “She looked darling in white. Eventually she taught Abigail the dance as well. You know, there are actually a few practices before the dance itself if you’d like to learn. Sometimes we host them in our main living room, my dear Caroline loves to take the opportunity to teach.”

Crowley blinked. Even though he lived here, for the moment, he didn’t figure he’d be welcomed into the community truly and fully. Maybe just enough to gain the trust of locals, though certainly not enough to get invited to participate in their rituals. 

“Though at the end of the day it is a two-person dance. You would have to find a partner,” Pierre reminded him. 

“I have to have a partner?” Crowley frowned. 

“It is really the only requirement,” Pierre shrugged. “Though don’t worry, you’re still welcome to watch and enjoy the festivities anyway. Gus always makes sure to cater with some of his best, so it is still worth it to check it out.”

Now that piqued his interest. Not because he was particularly fond of food, though that may have been enough of a draw to entice a certain someone…Crowley looked down at the tulips still sitting carefully in his satchel and smiled. 

“Sorry Pierre, I’ll come back for my seeds in a bit, I have to run a quick errand,” he said with a wave, speed walking out before the shopkeeper could argue. Before he knew it, he found himself at the front door of the local museum and library. He had no doubt that the librarian was going to be in there — ever since the meeting at the bar, he hasn’t seen him around town at all. Based on what little he knew of his…schedule, there wasn’t really much of one.

Carefully, he slipped inside. The library was much quieter today as it seemed Penny and the kids hadn’t come in for their usual lesson. It wasn’t long until Crowley found the mild-mannered librarian; he had indeed been at the front desk as usual, though you wouldn’t notice him at first glance due to his poor posture, as he was slumped over to read a book. He looked entirely engrossed, so much so that he didn’t notice Crowley come in until he went to flip the page and suddenly noticed the change in colors from the corner of his eye.

“Oh!” Aziraphale blinked as he quickly put a bookmark between the pages and tucked the story away in one of the desk shelves. “Forgive me, how are you doing Crowley?”

“I’ve been doing well,” the farmer hummed as he leaned against the desk. “The days have been gradually getting warmer as we get closer to summer, it’s taking a bit for me to adjust. Though I have been successful with my crop yields recently.”

“Oh really?”

“Mhm,” Crowley nodded as he unbuckled his satchel, “I grew some parsnips after Mayor Lewis left me the seeds, though a lot of them got eaten by crows — plus because they were a gift, I didn’t really count them. So these-“ he carefully drew out the bouquet, a combination of yellow, orange, blue and purple petals, “-are my first crop I grew on my own.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he stared at the blooms. The longer it took him to respond, the more anxious Crowley became, worried that maybe Aziraphale thought him silly or impractical. “I know it may seem strange to grow flowers…” he mumbled. 

“Well, I think they look lovely my dear,” Aziraphale said, his eyes soft and his smile warm. It was clear then that his pause was not from judgement but rather appreciation and awe — his words were not only kind, but they were true. He stood up from his desk and leaned forward to get a closer look at the bunch. “Oh, they’re so wonderful and vibrant. These are perfect for a first crop, my dear,” Aziraphale hummed. 

Crowley flushed in embarrassment at his truthful praise. He couldn’t help but admit that he wasn’t honestly expecting such a genuine reaction from the man — for a farmer looking to make a proper profit, flowers would probably be the last thing he would try. He sheepishly looked off to the side, hoping the other man wasn’t noticing that he was becoming a bit red. 

“Ah, uh-thanks,” Crowley mumbled. “I do have some potatoes growing still, but, you know, these are nice to look at and I thought I’d show you…”

Aziraphale let out a quiet, humming laugh from nose, “I appreciate you showing me, dear boy. Thank you.”

Crowley shifted from one foot to another. Before he could even comprehend the potential consequences of his actions, he suddenly thrust the bouquet out further and looked away fully as he mumbled “You can have them if you like…”

The librarian blinked in surprise as his ears turned a bit pink. “O-oh! Oh, well how very kind of you. I think I know just where to put them,” he answered hastily.

“‘M not kind…” the other mumbled in embarrassment. 

“Well, it is a nice gesture my dear, and I thank you.”

As the bouquet was carefully exchanged, their hands brushed ever since slightly. The two lingered for a moment, but were then quick to pull away as they both refused to make eye contact. 

“I, uh…I know it’s a little bit away, uh, a few weeks I think…” Crowley awkwardly stumbled as he pulled at his sleeve, “but, I guess, ah, well…using these as an invitation, couldIseeyouattheflowerdance ?”

The farmer practically croaked out those last words, his whole mind racing with many emotions he was refusing to properly process. Aziraphale paused, stupefied. It had been a good while since he’d even thought about the town’s yearly flower dance, and participating was a notion that felt lifetimes away already. But now, all of a sudden the grandson of his previous mentor was here, propositioning him in a way that was admittedly awkward yet endearing with a bouquet of homegrown tulips like a shy teen asking a crush to prom. He lifted the flowers to cover the dusty rose of his cheeks. 

“Oh, Crowley, I…” his words faded into the petals in a tone neither one of them really understood. His eyes flicked between the flowers, then the farmer, then his books, then somewhere distant before he shut them tight, ”I…need some time.”

Crowley’s shoulders slouched, though his expression remained soft and understanding. 

“Of course, there’s no pressure to- ngk, you don’t have to-“

“I didn’t say ‘no,’ dear boy,” Aziraphale cut in, “I just need time to think about it is all…I understand if you want the flowers back-“

“No way!” Crowley said, “Gifts are gifts, I want you to enjoy ‘em.”

Aziraphale let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He took a moment to compose himself, breathing in the scent of the flowers and let them waft over him. The sweetness calmed his nerves and quelled his heart. He lowered the bouquet and met Crowley’s eyes with a gentle smile. 

“Well, I’ll make sure to take proper care of them. They’ll bring a new light to my place, thank you.”

“Y-yeah, yeah, of course,” Crowley smiled. “I mean, I will probably, uh, grow more flowers so…”

“Oh? That’s good to hear, it seems that you have a real talent for it,” Aziraphale hummed. “These came out so lovely, I have faith that you’ll be able to grow beautiful fields of flora.”

“I…Huh…” Crowley mumbled under his breath, trailing off as he fell into his thoughts. That was the first time he’d ever actually thought about farming as a proper skill — something that he particularly was good at. “Thank you. Maybe I’ll bring you another bouquet from the next batch. Or you could come around and see them in the farm while they’re growing, if you’d like.”

“I think both sound lovely,” Aziraphale smiled. “I look forward to it.”

Crowley felt relieved, in a way. He couldn’t help but admit that he was glad it wasn’t a flat out rejection from the librarian. If he thought about it, he wouldn’t have minded either way — just seeing his smile towards the flowers made this stint more than worth it.

“Well, I've gotta buy and plant my next round of seedlings” Crowley said, his arms instantly feeling a phantom fatigue in anticipation for the copious watering ahead of him. “See you, Aziraphale.”

“Mind how you go,” Azi hummed as he hugged the tulips closer to him, watching the farmer slip out of his library with a new pep in his step.

Chapter Text

After days of taking care of his crops, waiting for the potatoes to finish growing with only a mild amount of annoyance, Crowley finally dug the sheet of parchment from the wizard back out and read over the strange script. The lists for each of the “spells”, at a glance, seemed to be a bit complicated to acquire and a bit of a headache. But his mild curiosity made the farmer desperately want to see at least one of these be cast by the…junimos, was it? And when looking over, it seemed that at least one of the spells was feasible, though it provided no description of what would occur. 

”The Fruits of Spring

- One wild horseradish

- One daffodil

- One leek

- One dandelion flower”

The collection seemed simple enough — on his various walks through the nearby paths and forests, Crowley had spotted these pieces of forage scattered amongst the greenery. Before he sold the parsnips he even shoved some in his pockets to make a quick couple of gold to hold him over. Completing this spell should be quick enough to quell his curiosity and provide him some peace of mind. He dug around his chest to retrieve the items, only to find he was short just one—the daffodil.

Right…he’d given it to Gus. Since then he’d seen a few more scattered in patches of grass, though it seemed he hadn’t bothered to pick them. No matter, he could find another, right?

Wrong. 

After checking the mountain path, the fields around the community center, and even Cindersap forest, Crowley was completely empty handed. Oh sure there was plenty of wild horseradish and dandelions, even a few spring onions. But daffodils? They seemed to taunt him. But at this point, where else was he supposed to check?

On his third lap around Cindersap forest, Crowley kept grumbling to himself out of annoyance. He got himself into this mess, and his luck was preventing him from even getting this simple task done! It was frankly ridiculous. In his frantic pacing around the forest, however, the farmer found himself in the upper west corner near the wizard’s tower, where he finally noticed something odd — there was a gap in the wall of trees. A decently wide gap, blocked by a fallen log. At said closed gap, there seemed to be a path extending past the log itself. 

Breaking through his annoyed haze, Crowley marched over towards the log and peeked over the top. The path seemed to extend deep into the darkness. It seemed that he didn’t check every square inch of this town after all — there looked to be a bit more forest to investigate. Smirking to himself, Crowley hastily hoisted himself over on top of the log, wincing as the wood cut into his hand. He desperately needed to invest in some gardening gloves or something at some point, he was getting tired of pulling out splinters.

Still so stubborn, and egged on by the irritation of the splinters wedging themselves j to his skin, Crowley continued trying to scale the log, at first fruitless but finally managing to hook his boot on a particularly deep crevice in the wood. He pushed in with his toes and with a fierce huff, he hoisted himself up, rolling and wiggling until he made it on top of the log. Despite being musty and rotting, the trunk was quite sturdy. And any surface seemed comfortable right now after his struggle. As such, Crowley took a moment to lay there, catching his breath and staring upwards through the leafy canopy that was beginning to twist and weave a thick blanket overhead. Only small peaks of sunlight were able to penetrate through the surface, it seemed.

Finally Crowley rolled over and scooted towards the other edge of the log. Before properly considering the potential trouble he could be in if he was unable to scale the other side, he slid off and landed on the moss below. 

“There better be a daffodil after all of that,” Crowley grumbled under his breath as he brushed his hands against his pants. With a huff, he marched directly into the darkness, into the heart of the unknown hidden corner of the forest. 

At first, it was difficult to see much of anything — without proper sunlight the farmer was stumbling across the “path”. However, the further and further he ventured into the forest, the more the canopy seemed to ease, allowing glimmers of light to shine down in tight beams. The path finally seemed to expand, opening up into a grand clearing. The light seemed to shimmer and glisten, as if there were crystals floating in the air. Just a bit further in, the farmer noticed a small, bright blue pond, the water rippling at the slight breeze in the air. The place felt different somehow. Crowley was never one to believe in auras or magic, though the tiny talking apples had defied that barrier already, and here felt like almost an entirely different plane of existence, one of those places that are a little too perfect to be real. 

The tranquility was swiftly broken by a quiet noise, something that sounded like a sort of squelch. He initially assumed he’d stepped in a particularly wet patch of mud, though to Crowley's surprise, his boots were (relatively) clean of mud and stood atop firm ground. As he stood in place, the sound rang out again. This time it was louder, closer. His gaze shifted to a vague motion in the darkness before all of a sudden, a globular shape sprang forward towards him. Crowley yelped in a way he would surely be embarrassed by later thinking back to it as a slime-like creature launched itself towards him, causing the farmer to stumble back in panic. 

“Shit! What in Yoba’s name-Fuck!”

The creature seemed to persistently try to jump towards him, landing on the grass with a loud and wet “slap”. Its two beady black eyes seemed to stare directly into his soul. The creature kept forward again, this time springing onto his leg and causing a shrill, tingling pain. It didn’t pierce the skin, though the contact still hurt enough for Crowley to squeal and stumble away. In a flurry of panic, he frantically pulled at the various tool handles attached to his back, first tossing away his watering can and hoe before finally drawing his scythe. He usually only used it for tall grass and shrubs, though it seemed sharp enough to defend himself. 

With a grunt, Crowley rushed forward and slashed at the slime, throwing it backwards. A thin slice formed across the skin of the area with the slime had been cut, like disturbing the film on a pudding left out overnight. The area around it wrinkled and the interior folded and gushed out awkwardly. It wasn’t particularly grotesque, but it did seem to show the creature was not made of any substantial organs but really and truly composed of malleable jelly. However, it seemed that the simple cut barely phased the creature, as it shook itself out and started to jump forward towards him again. In his panic, the farmer continued to swipe at the slime thing with his scythe, occasionally making contact and cutting its surface. Nevertheless, no matter how many times he seemed to have cut it, the creature persisted. 

Dear Yoba, this was a complete nightmare. It felt like he was hallucinating — first the junimo apple creatures, then strange magic, now this? While Crowley did sign up to become a farmer, he did not sign up to be thrusted into a fantasy world.

The sludge monster continued to strike him, though he continued to fight back, finally getting a good hit enough to make it slow down, though it persisted and prepared to strike again. In response, Crowley readied his scythe with a growl and prepared to swing. Just as the two were about to rush forward, a voice pierced from the brush.

“Hey! Both of you, stop it!” 

Crowley jumped at the sudden sound but lowered his defenses, watching the slime divert its attention as well to the source of the sound. A patch of nearby trees rustled and shifted until a figure emerged. A woman with large round glasses and a deep jewel-toned dress stumbled out of the brush and sharply looked at the two. If the slime creature could emote, Crowley swore it would look embarrassed and ashamed. 

“Now stop with this fighting,” she hissed between her teeth before her eyes turned down to the slime. “Craig, I know you know better than this. Come over here.”

With the wave of her hand, the slime creature jumped up and hopped over to her, sitting right in front of her dark, leather boots. Crowley blinked in surprise as he lowered the scythe, the metal scraping against the ground. 

“Wait…Craig?” the farmer muttered to himself.

“Quit being so spicy,” she huffed as she gave the slime a small bap on the head. It wasn’t very hard and only caused the surface of the slime to jiggle, though “Craig” looked down, ashamed from the scolding. The woman then turned her attention to Crowley, though her expression was more hard and huffy, “And you-“ she growled, “What are you doing here! This is private property!”

“Well I-“ Crowley stammered as his stature deflated, “I was searching the forest for daffodils so-“

“It looked a lot more like you were attacking my pet than flower picking, sir,” she spat before her eyes flickered around, scanning his form. She pursed her lip, crossed her arms, and cocked her hip to the side. “Not even fighting that well, at that. What is that, a scythe? Do you have a grim reaper thing going on? You know those aren’t actually as effective as the media would make you think.”

“Wh-I-Uh-“ Crowley sputtered and stumbled over his words. That thing was a pet? How was he supposed to know? “Look, I’m sorry, I couldn’t exactly tell that this was, uh, private property when this is just a darker part of the main forest I was just in, if the path from said forest is anything to go by. I have never seen a…slime creature thing before, it hurt me, and I panicked.”

“So you swiped at him with a scythe?” the woman asked as she raised her eyebrow in suspicion. 

“Do I look like I would have an actual weapon on me??”

The woman looked him up and down again before humming. “Fair enough. Not even sure you could lift a sword if you had one.”

“Hey-“

“But why do you have a scythe then? You’re not…are you a farmer?” She asked, putting a particular emphasis on “you” which Crowley didn’t appreciate. Should he feel offended? He felt like he should feel offended. 

“I am a farmer, actually,” Crowley huffed in annoyance. “I moved into the farm north of the forest just a few weeks back, it belonged to my grandpa.”

The woman let out a quick laugh as she scanned him up and down again, this time with more emphasis as her hand followed her eyes. “Dressed like that?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Crowley frowned.

“I mean…fancy trousers and a designer button up? Not very practical. You look more like a douchey businessman on a weekend trip than a salt of the land farmer,” she shrugged. Crowley’s teeth clenched tightly and his jaw tightened sharply. Perhaps his disguise wasn’t as solid as he had hoped…

He quickly attempted to deflect the comment, “Well-ngk-says the girl living in the forest wearing dresses that don’t even seem like they're from this century!”

The girl returned a hefty eye roll that traced the outline of her wide-lens, circular glasses. Before she could retort, she instead exhaled her frustration with a low noise, “Whatever…just- you need to leave.”

“But I haven’t gotten a daffodil yet,” Crowley said. The woman’s eyes narrowed curiously. 

“…why does that matter so much to you anyways? They’re just plain old forage.”

“I-nnnn-I just need it for a thing, okay? An important sort of thing, it’s an ingredient, and, just, I have everything else but that and I haven’t seen any recently. I just want to grab one, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

The woman hummed as she started to slowly circle around the farmer, the slime awkwardly hopping behind her. Crowley held his breath as she seemed to thoroughly examine him. 

“What sort of recipe used a daffodil as an ingredient?” she huffed. 

“A secret one,” he snapped back.

Her eyes narrowed and her head eased forward. She looked to be concentrating hard as she studied him, still circling. However, Crowley kept moving uncomfortably, giving her a hard time to get a full view of him. 

“So you’re planning to spew from both ends of purpose?” she asked suddenly. 

“Excuse me?!” Crowley stiffened. She smirked and quickly whirled around him, finishing her examination. 

“Daffodils are high in lycorine. If you’re planning on putting that into a dish, you’ll mess up your stomach pretty badly,” she said before a wide grin crept onto her cheeks. “But that’s not the kind of ‘ingredient’ you were referring to, is it?”

“Whatever I am going to do with it is not your business,” Crowley spat. 

“It is my business if it’s from my forest. This is my domain. Everything here is connected, they fuel each other, an interconnecting force that brings the power of life. It is something I’ve been cultivating and taking care of for as long as I’ve lived. How would I know you wouldn’t use it for evil?”

“Evil?!” Crowley sputtered. “What on earth-how could I possibly do that?!”

The more this weird woman spoke, the more anger built up within Crowley’s stomach. He so desperately just wanted to give up and flee, try searching another day, or hell, give up on this mess entirely. The way that she was looking directly into his soul made his whole body feel cold and clammy in a way he couldn’t properly describe. The woman held a hard gaze for a moment before sighing again and straightening her posture.

“Perhaps…let’s stop dancing around the subject,” she said as she clasped her hands, “You’re a witch, aren’t you? Or some other kind of being in tune with magic, maybe even you haven’t put a label on it yet.”

Crowley’s instinct was to argue, call her crazy and run away as fast as possible. But, well, as much as he still hadn’t yet acknowledged it, a part of him deep in his body knew she wasn’t wrong. 

“Regardless, your aura is very strange. I can usually get a read on people so easily but yours…it’s almost ‘off.’ The edges were blurry and hard to focus on. And there seemed to be a map of blips, stronger and weaker in different areas. It reminded me of the aura of a magic user, strong and vibrant, though worn down and battered, uncared for. And…uncertain. That’s not particularly rare, many people have great potential for many paths of fate. But with how you’re going right now, there is a clear path of evil that you have every ability to pursue.”

Crowley gulped as a shiver went up his spine. The witch’s words seemed to cut right through his soul, making it bled with a deep rooted fear he’s kept contained. 

“I’ve been working blindly, no direction,” he said stiffly. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but whatever it is, I feel it’s right. How can that be evil.”

“Ah, so you admit it, having that power,” the witch hummed to herself with a smile. 

“I didn’t say anything directly!” Crowley snapped. “I’ve lived many lives. This is my new one, and I’m trying to figure it out, I’m trying to do what’s right. Who cares if what’s ‘right’ is apparently ‘evil’?”

“My, someone is getting defensive,” the witch laughed to herself. “Perhaps I’ve pressed the wrong buttons.”

Buttons? What buttons? He didn’t even have buttons. Nope. Crowley much preferred zippers and clasps. 

“Whatever, I’m not planning to put up with this,” Crowley huffed as he began to march away. He had more important things to do than talk to more crazy people. He’d find another daffodil before the end of the season. Or hell! He didn’t need to give into the requests of random creatures anyway. He had a job to do, and even if he did believe in all of this crazy garbage, he had no real reason to spend his time and resources on something so-

“Wait.”

Despite his best efforts, Crowley stopped at the command. He only turned partially to look back at the woman, though saw clear as day as she seemed to drag her fingers down through the air, but as she lifted them back upwards, a daffodil appeared from her palm.

“I can’t begin to understand fate, no matter if I can see it,” she said plainly. “It is something I cannot control, nor do I have the desire to do so. You say you’re doing what you think is right, and the least I can do is trust that. If the spirits can, I can too.”

She took a step forward, looking Crowley directly in the eye. She held the daffodil out to him, like an offering. 

“Take it.”

Crowley stared back at her — this felt like some sort of test, and he despises tests. There’s always only one right answer, which he can never seem to properly find. He always preferred to be the one to ask the questions. With a scoff, he took the weed and held it tightly between his fingers. 

“Whatever you say, witch girl.”

“Anathema.”

“Gesundheit,” he said before pinching the stem between his fingers and humming quietly, “…thanks. I’ll get out of your hair. And Craig's," Crowley said as he turned and threw up a quick hand. 

Anathema watched him go, eyes still struggling to focus on the odd aura emanating from the strange man. She never really got involved in the villagers' business, though perhaps it wasn’t a bad idea to keep an eye on the new farmer. Once he’d made his way back to the exit, gathering up the tools he haphazardly threw aside, and struggling to scale the large log once again, she carefully turned and disappeared into the foliage, the obedient green slime in tow. 

“One leak…one horseradish…one dandelion, aaaaaand one daffodil,” Crowley whispered under his breath as he carefully laid out the 4 plants. 

He was currently awkwardly splayed on the floor of the old community center, right in front of the strange hut where he met the junimo creatures. The moonlight was shining through the windows, making the dust sparkle like dancing starlight. The plants were laid out in a perfect line, in the order from the spell list. Glancing down at the paper in his hands and back at the plants, Crowley bit his lip. Thank Yoba no one else was around to witness what he was about to do. 

“Look, I uh…I don’t know what else you want me to do with these,” the farmer spoke into the empty air, like he was expecting an answer. “There isn’t any sort of incantation or something on these instructions you gave me. But these are ‘The Fruits of Spring’ just like you asked.”

For the longest time, nothing seemed to happen. The loud silence echoed throughout the dilapidated building and each moment without answers left Crowley feeling more stupid. Just as he pulled back and balanced atop his bent knees, there was a sudden, quiet chirp. 

A junimo appeared at the edge of the shack doorway. It peaked out hesitantly before emerging fully, excitedly hopping and cheering. Three more junimos soon peaked out as well before joining their friend, approaching the forage and each picking one up. Crowley could almost swear when he heard one say “thank you!” before the beings bounced back into their fort. Crowley couldn’t see them more than a few steps in, though it seemed like the opening was veiled with a sort of darkness that hid the actual inner contents and true size of the chamber. 

The chirping stopped, and soon the building grew quiet again. Crowley continued to wait, hoping for something else but…nothing. 

“Welp…” he sighed as he leaned back and shifted to stand on his legs. “Can’t say I’m surprised-“

Just as he spoke, Crowley turned around, only to find something sitting on the floor behind him — a small, pink packet with a strawberry printed on it. Frowning to himself, and to the dismay of his knees, the farmer crouched back down and picked up the packet, turning it over in his hands. As he shifted the package, the distinct sound of shifting seeds hit his ears. It seemed the little creatures gave an offering in return for his ‘gift’. Crowley huffed out a laugh and smirked to himself — it seemed that this wasn’t completely for nothing after all. Even if he didn’t know what these were, sure beat buying seeds himself. 

Putting the seeds in his pocket and awkwardly standing back straight, his knees popping in protest, Crowley gave a haphazard wave. “Thanks, uh, I guess,” he spoke into the air once more.

As the sound of his boots echoed into nothing, the hut inside of the community center seemed to chirp to life once more. It was an excited sort of chatter that spread throughout the air and into the forest leaves — a song of hope.

Chapter Text

Through all of the interactions with townsfolk and…strange interactions with the apparent realm of magic, one thing stayed consistent for Crowley — the daily chore of tending to his crops. His fields were still considerably puny. 

There was another round of tulips working towards bloom. He’d planted a few more parsnips, though cut down the numbers after realizing the taste wasn’t quite his favorite. He’d also seen a few cauliflower and potatoes, though the brassica took its time and the tubers were hard to keep an eye on. At Pierre’s suggestion, Crowley had even tried growing some green beans, though after going through the trouble of setting up a single trellis, he felt too exhausted to prepare more. That finally left the area he had cleared for the strange seeds the junimos left him after dropping off his forage at their request. He didn’t recognize what the seeds were, though they did still seem to be growing. He just hoped they wouldn't turn into weird magic plants. No man-eating venus fly traps or towering beanstalks, please. 

And so, each morning Crowley began his day watering his field and tending to harvests and weeding as needed. On this day his potatoes finally appeared to be ready, much to his delight. After pulling the first and seeing a large and healthy specimen, Crowley happily collected the remaining crop, put a few in his personal storage, and dumped the remaining spuds in his storage bin to sell later. 

With the spot in the field that they previously occupied now empty, he was off to Pierre's to purchase a fresh round of seeds to replace them. He was already formulating a list in his head of what he wanted to grow for this cycle. 

• Tulips most definitely, they were one of his favorite crops. 
• Blue jazz was another he wanted to try, adding another flower to his collection. 
• Kale was also something he was looking to try, maybe see if Gus could use them in a soup
• More potatoes. Many more potatoes. 

He had done all of the math and set aside the proper amount of gold to buy everything he needed, along with some fertilizer to try. It was standard practice to use the stuff for crops, as it apparently makes them higher quality. Maybe higher quality parsnips would taste better?

The farmer hummed to himself as he passed by the bus stop and walked into the vibrant town square. Since it was early in the morning, he was expecting a few of the usual stragglers, maybe catching Sam or Shane on their way to work, however instead he was met with a much more unusual sight. 

The entire square was decorated with vibrating colors and flowers. Tables lined the sides of the paths, filled to the brim with Gus’s cooking, the smell of which was traveling through the air. The townspeople were clustered, chatting happily and occasionally stopping by a table to grab punch, candy, or colorfully dyed eggs. 

“Crowley! Glad to see you made it!” Mayor Lewis smiled as he approached the farmer.

“Made it? Is this…the flower dance?” Crowley asked as his eyes continued to scan the crowd, seeing very little flowers or dancing. 

“Oh no no, did you not read the letter I sent? This is the town’s yearly egg festival,” Lewis explained. “It’s a lot of fun, we’ve dyed and hid a lot of eggs around town, courtesy of Miss Marnie’s chickens. We have a bit of a contest to find them, we should be starting soon though you still have time to mingle.”

“…you sent a letter?” Crowley hesitantly asked. 

Crap. When was the last time he checked that blasted thing. A few days ago? Yoba, he hoped that there wasn’t anything from Beez in there that he’s been ignoring. 

“Ah, uh, thanks! It’s been a while since I’ve seen everyone,” Crowley said through clenched teeth. Satisfied with his response, the mayor trailed off and joined in a nearby conversation, leaving the farmer alone to quietly panic. This whole event was shoving a wrench between his plans — at least this time he was going to attempt to grow stuff for a proper profit, now he won’t be able to fit in enough cycles to earn a decent amount by the end of the season! A small part of him hoped Pierre would’ve stayed open through the commotion, though he soon spotted a rustic market stall with the shopkeeper standing behind. Maybe he was still selling after all.

The farmer took off ahead of Lewis’s departure and found himself at the front of the kiosk.

“Ahhh, farmer Crowley! Happy Egg Festival,” Pierre said as he reached down for a moment before pulling up an awkward pink bird statuette. “Can I offer you a commemorative lawn flamingo? Only 400g.”

“Oh uh, no flamingos for me,” Crowley said, “I was actually wondering if I could still get some seeds from you today?”

“Ahhh, unfortunately the shop’s closed,” Pierre shrugged. He looked over towards the building in question and sighed. “Normally I’d go and get you the seeds but Caroline gets on me for being too wrapped up in my work. If she sees me man my usual register I think I’ll be in the doghouse tonight. Though I do have something…” Pierre trailed off as he rummaged around more under the booth before finally producing a wooden box filled with seed packets. “How’s strawberries?”

“Wait, you’ve had strawberries this whole time?” Crowley blinked in surprise. 

“You see, I usually keep my stock of these seeds with the supplies I bring out for the egg festival specifically. Buying the amount of seeds I would usually have in the store can get a bit expensive with the strawberries, so it’s just mainly out of convenience that I have them for the festival,” Pierre shrugged. “Many of the townsfolk do love strawberries, however. Sometimes Evelyn would buy a few packets to grow herself, usually the amount the bush produces for the season would be enough for her to make some jam.”

Crowley bit his lip as he looked at the collection. While not exactly on his game plan, based off of what Pierre said these seem to be a crop he can harvest more than once. That seemed to be a little bit more worth it, in the end. 

“Hmm…I guess I’ll try out a few, if that’s alright?”

“Take as many as you want!” Pierre smiled.

Just as Crowley began to reach out, the shopkeeper added a quick “100g per packet, of course”.

“100g?? Why so much?” Crowley gawked.

“Well a good strawberry sells well, and these crops will keep producing until the end of the season,” Pierre said.

“Would’ve been nice if you’d offered them at the start then…” Crowley muttered under her breath before groaning. “Fine, fine. Here,” he huffed as he snatched a few packets and reluctantly handed over a hefty bit of gold. It was more than he wanted to spend, and would certainly change his previous crop plans, though he was admittedly curious to get some berries. The shopkeeper smiled in satisfaction as he pocketed the change and waved the farmer off as he sulked away from the stand.

As Crowley moved further into the town square, he spotted a familiar figure that he hadn’t expected to attend something like this. 

“Aziraphale? Crowley blinked as he wandered up to the librarian currently standing beside the punch bowl and peeling a purple and yellow hard boiled egg. 

This seemed to have caught the man by surprise, as he jumped up a little and turned towards him, placing a hand on his chest as he quickly composed himself. “Crowley! Goodness, you startled me!”

The farmer lightly laughed and offered him a smile. “Sorry, I’ll try to walk louder next time,” he mused. “Didn’t expect to see you out here today.”

“Ah, well…” the librarian hesitated, the tips of his ears turning a bit red in embarrassment. He looked off to the side, breaking their brief eye contact. “Can’t miss a town tradition, now can’t I?”

Crowley hummed skeptically, “Ah yes, you seem like such a social butterfly.”

Aziraphale frowned in turn before rolling his eyes, “Well…if you must know, the children invited me specifically. Vincent and Jas love the egg hunt so I try to cheer them on. They never win really, the older kids usually find the most eggs.” Aziraphale suddenly leaned closer and lifted his hand to cover his mouth as he whispered, “It’s a good thing, too. One year Vincent won and he wouldn’t stop taunting about it for four months straight. I’m all for those kids feeling like winners, though they’ve still got a lot to learn in the ways of humbleness.”

Crowley shot a glance back at the two tykes chasing each other excitedly across the town square. He could definitely see their personalities pending themselves to becoming quite the braggarts. Plus with so few kids in town, it was important to encourage Vincent and Jas to get along. Though Aziraphale’s comment made Crowley question something. 

“Older kids?” he parroted. 

“Have you not met them yet?” Aziraphale blinked in surprise. “I haven’t seen them around the square today, though you’ll see them once the games start. Lovely group of children, very passionate and imaginative. They like to call themselves ‘The Them’, you might see more of them around the summer. Unlike Vincent and Jas, they do go to secondary school in the next town over during the spring, fall, and winter seasons.”

“Oh, they’re not homeschooled?” Crowley asked with a tilt of his head.

“Young Penny can only teach so far,” Aziraphale hummed. “That and they are a bit of a handful. You’ll see, especially if Adam, their ringleader, is feeling especially competitive today.”

Just as Aziraphale finished speaking, a flock of preteen faces came barreling out from around the other side of the saloon, running and chasing after a small and quick terrier. It yapped and jumped as it bobbed and weaved through the crowd, followed less elegantly by the kids who recklessly barreled through, accidentally knocking trash cans and tables as they did so. 

“Adam Young!” George loudly yelled in annoyance from his chair. “Pick up this mess this instant!”

“Sorry Old George! I have to catch Dog first before he eats the eggs!” the boy with the dusty brown hair in the front called out. 

“Expecting a girl to clean up is simply misogynistic,” the girl with the twin buns added, her nose in the air. 

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” said the boy in the stained striped shirt. 

“You don’t think anything is messy!” the last boy on the glasses sniffed. 

Crowley blinked as he watched the group, his eyebrows raised in surprises. He doesn’t often see such rowdy energy from anyone else in the town.

“This isn’t the best first impression,” Aziraphale said with a sigh, picking up on Crowley's observation. “They do bring a good bit of energy when they visit. Though they nearly give me a heart attack when they come into the library with sticky fingers after having ice cream.”

Crowley smirked at the thought of the librarian exasperated — trying to stay polite but also managing his particularities. 

“They’re funny kids it seems,” Crowley smiled. “I bet the fast one at the front of the pack will win the egg hunt.”

“Or perhaps you will, dear boy,” Aziraphale seemed to say without a second thought before blushing. What was in that punch?

Crowley turned to him and blinked. “Huh? Isn’t it, ya know, for kids?”

“Oh yes, typically,” Aziraphale nodded. “Though there’s a particular clause. Anyone can choose to participate, but new residents are heavily encouraged to do so, regardless of age, as a way to integrate more into the community. Plus it’s just more exciting because you aren’t used to the usual hiding spots. You wouldn’t be the only older one either, Abigail likes to participate. At this point her and Adam seem to have a bit of a rivalry over who gets the most. So you don’t need to worry if you choose to join, no one would think it as strange.”

Crowley hummed to himself as he poured a glass of the punch for him to casually sip on. Perhaps participating may be good for his image with the town, especially if it’s encouraged. Free brownie points will always be a win. 

“I suppose I’ll think about it,” the farmer mused. “Might be a good way to let out some pent up energy.”

Aziraphale smirked before swirling his cup, “A word of advice though,” he said, “Don’t go easy on the kids. Knowing Adam and his lot, they’d want you to give it your all.”

“Heh, I’ll see what I can do,” Crowley nodded.

Just then, Mayor Lewis approached the town square and gave a few loud claps of his hands as he loudly called out, “Those participating in the egg hunt, gather round!” Seems the timing of their conversation was a bit convenient. Crowley quickly downed all of his cup and gave Aziraphale a small wave before gathering around the mayor. Time to put on a show!

As suspected, the kids were all part of the crowd, along with a few of the young adults as well. To his relief, no one questioned why he decided to join the game. 

“I’m sure that by now that we all know the rules, but just as a general reminder — you all have two minutes to run around the square and gather as many eggs as possible. All eggs are outside and are within this area, not in the forest or at the beach. Please do not act aggressive towards any of the other players. Once the two minutes are up, we will count all of the eggs!” Mayor Lewis announced. “And again, no rough housing or using any pets for an advantage!”

“We’ll overcome species stigma someday, Dog,” Adam hummed as he gave the mutt a nice head scratching before pointing off towards the tables. The dog let out an excited yap before it immediately took off and stopped next to Aziraphale. It seemed the pet was selectively obedient. 

The mayor looked over at the crowd, smiling at himself as he took in the eager faces of the participants. 

“Right then, on your marks, get set…go!” Lewis called, punctuated by a small whistle. 

The kids instantly shot off in different directions. Crowley had a brief moment of panic, before choosing a random direction and breaking out into a light jog. He had to at least find some of the eggs, otherwise it would be very embarrassing for him to lose terribly. Especially with all of the townspeople watching him. 

It wasn’t super difficult to seek out the eggs. Thankfully they were brightly colored and clashed with anything they were placed against, making them easy to spot even behind the tint of his glasses. Still, they were hidden quite creatively — tucked behind fences and bushes and even a few in the old graveyard he’d spotted a few times on his walk to the beach. 

The two minutes ended faster than they seemed, with another shrill whistle from Mayor Lewis beckoning everyone back to town square. 

“Alright alright! Let’s see everyone’s haul,” he hummed as everyone presented their eggs proudly. 

At first glance, it definitely seemed like Abigail and Adam both had a significant amount of eggs in their collection. It would definitely be a tight competition for who won between the two. Jas and Vincent only had a few, probably around 8 or 9 total when combined, but they both seemed to be very excited with their haul regardless. The tykes were whispering in excitement over the designs on the eggs. Glancing down at his pile of eggs, Crowley mentally counted around 10, which in retrospect didn’t seem like a lot. However, it thankfully seemed to be within the same range as the others, meaning he definitely didn’t make a complete fool of himself.

Mayor Lewis counted quietly to himself, his finger moving slowly in the air before smiling. 

“It was a very tight race, but it seems like the winner this year is our new face! Farmer Crowley!”

Crowley blinked in surprise as the villagers around clapped or cheered, not particularly energetically but more sweet and calm. From the corner of his eye he could see the librarian was the most energetic out of the crowd, brightly smiling as he clapped.

“I think our prize this year is perfect for you then,” Marnie smiled as she came up beside Lewis. Her hands were tucked behind her back, but she quickly thrust the prize forward, revealing a quaint but perfectly woven straw hat. 

“Oh wow…it’s beautiful,” Crowley said in quiet awe as he carefully took the hat from Marnie. 

“Hand wove it myself, with a little help from Leah,” Marnie hummed. “I like to make them when I’ve got the time, you see. Keeps the sun off your face when you’re out working on the crops or with some animals.”

“I’ll be sure to put it to good use then,” he smiled. “Thank you.”

“You better enjoy it,” Abigail suddenly piped up, “because that’s the last time I’m letting you win the egg hunt.”

“Oh, don’t be salty,” Adam said with an eye roll. “There’s no need to act like you ‘let him win’ or anything. Besides, they say he’s the farmer, right? All farmers need stray hats. That’s like, the rules. So the reward was best suited for him.”

“I could’ve used the hat too,” Brian piped up, “I made a pea pod grow in a Dixie cup.”

“Okay, you’d be second most deserving then,” Adam seemed to decide, as if he were picking and choosing the universe meticulously to his own will, though through the eyes of a child that liked to assume how things were supposed to be. 

“If you kids would really like a hat, maybe I can teach y’all how to weave your own some time over the weekend, how does that sound?” Marnie hummed. 

“Well I do like arts and crafts,” Wensleydale sniffed. 

“I don’t have to cover mine in flowers or anything, right?” Pepper asked. 

“You can do whatever you’d like with it,” Marnie smiled. “Sometimes I decorate mine with flowers, other times I like to weave in loose straw to make it a bit fluffy! It’s all about artistic expression.”

As Marnie continued to prattle about straw hat crafting, Crowley carefully felt the texture of the woven straw between his fingers. Every motion was by hand, crafted carefully yet with the full intention of giving it away just based on gathering eggs? It seemed wrong for something so beautiful to be his in the manner he’d gotten it.

“Thank you again, Marnie,” he said gently.

“None needed! It’s yours, fair and square! You’re part of this community now, after all,” she beamed. 

He offered back a gentle smile to her as he placed the straw hat on his head. It was a bit awkward, with the product in his hair making it sit a bit strangely and requiring a bit of force to squish the strands down, but once on it felt nice to have the sun properly off of his face. As Marnie continued to amuse the children with her descriptions of her crafting process, the farmer took the opportunity to slip away and pick back up his glass of punch. 

“I think the hat suits you,” Aziraphale hummed as he stepped a bit closer to the man. “Even if it isn’t your usual color scheme.”

“You think so?” Crowley said as he flicked the brim of the hat to move it slightly further out of his face. 

“Oh yes, plus it helps shield your face from the sun. It looks like you’re already getting sun kissed, though it could help prevent burning. Though I do hope it doesn’t stop more of your freckles from coming out,” Aziraphale hummed. 

Crowley’s instant blush was luckily hidden by the sunburn, though he was still surprised. It was true a few small bit of freckles had begun appearing on his cheeks. He’d been incredibly freckled as a child, though as he grew older and spent less time in the sun, they stopped appearing so much. 

And Aziraphale had noticed them. 

Before he could reply, Pam quickly strode up to them from a spot nearby where she’d apparently been eavesdropping. She had a familiar glint in her eyes. As she stepped up besides them, her eyebrows raised in surprise as she scanned over the glasses on the table. “Whoa there, Azi, how many cups of punch have you had?”

“Oh, hello Pam!” the librarian smiled as he turned to the woman. He seemed oddly at ease as he faced her. “I have lost track just a bit, but possibly around…4, 5 cups? I’ve always enjoyed the punch Gus whips up at parties, it’s a delectable combination of fruits.”

Pam barked out a laugh as she slapped her hand against his shoulder. “I was wondering why you seemed like you’ve loosened up! Always as stiff as a board, eh?” she grinned. “Last time I saw ya drink like that was back at Maru’s graduation party!”

“I assure you dear, I stay quite hydra-“ Aziraphale was interrupted by a sudden hiccup and quickly reached up to cover his mouth as he mumbled a quiet, “oh dear…”

“That punch has gotten a bit boozier since Gus set it out, hon,” Pam said. “You’re pounding them faster than I am, even. Maybe it’s time to cut you off.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow and smirked in amusement. He was holding his tongue, but he couldn’t help but mentally snicker at the idea of Pam telling the librarian to stop drinking, considering what he knows about the woman. If one of the local alcoholics is telling you to stop, then surely you’ve dug yourself into a terrible hole. 

“Oh goodness…I suppose you’re right,” Aziraphale sighed. As he hiccuped again, his face turned flush and he looked away from her in embarrassment.

“‘Atta boy,” Pam said as she gave him a hearty slap on the back. “Festival’s about to end anyway, head on back to the library, book boy.” 

“Ah, ahem, yes, quite, well,” Aziraphale murmured for a moment before huffing and turning to Crowley. “Congratulations again, dear boy.”

Before the farmer could will himself to respond, the librarian gave him a brief smile, before turning and throwing up a small wave as he trudged back towards the library. It seemed he was walking only slightly sideways, however Crowley lingered and watched him make his way across the river bridge, just to make sure he could make it home alright. Once the man had disappeared behind the large wooden doors, the farmer gave some quick goodbyes to the remaining villagers before heading back home. He had to make sure to plant these strawberries before nightfall, especially if he wanted to have at least two crop yields before the season ended.

Chapter Text

Crowley was a heavy sleeper. It proved quite useful when he had to suffer through living in a railroad apartment in the city, conveniently next to the tracks of the late train. He’d even slept through a fire alarm once, though his restfulness was aided by exhaustion brought on by a word deadline and a hefty dose of melatonin. 

However, there was the odd occasion where something small would rouse him. Once he woke up randomly at 4 in the morning, an hour or so before his usual alarm, for seemingly no reason. He didn’t go back to bed though, and after a moment heard a small yelp from outside his window. He peered over the ledge to find a young man being mugged. With no one else around, the poor man was cornered and in trouble. Crowley snatched his phone in an instant to call the police before starting to video the incident, calling out that he had the crooks on camera and even shouting a bit about law degrees and testifying. 

The criminals were apprehended not long after, and the victim actually took Crowley out for drinks to say thank you. When he’d mentioned his odd sleeping habit that day, the stranger shrugged and said: “I bet your body could tell something important was happening and woke you up. Like spidey-senses.”

“Spider-what now?”

“Don’t worry too much about it.”

That’s why, when Crowley woke up 30 minutes before his alarm that morning on the farm, he was on his toes. And sure enough, not a minute later there was a quiet rapping on his door. 

“Probably just a raccoon or something…” the farmer grumbled under his breath as he haphazardly pulled the covers off of his bed and shuffled his feet into his slippers. If it was a wild animal, it would probably be wise to chase it away so that it wouldn’t attack his crops. There was the slim chance that it could be one of the townsfolk lightly knocking in an attempt to be polite, but he really hoped that wasn’t the case. It was way too early for any sort of social interaction, especially now that he has been going without his daily coffee for a while.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Crowley padded over to the front door and carefully pulled it open. Thankfully, it seemed like there wasn’t any human standing on the other side, as his bleary and slightly blurry eyesight didn’t see a figure blocking his view of the rest of the farm. However, that satisfaction was immediately cut off.

“Mrrrooow!”

It was hard to see in the remaining dark of the early morning, but at his feet a dark black cat sat. However, it was still only for a moment before beginning to poke around, sniffing at the door frame, then his pajama pants, then poking its head into the farmhouse as if it owned the place.

Crowley, still tired, simply watched for a moment before finally yawning out a quiet “Excuse you.”

The small cat looked up at him, its bright yellow eyes staring directly into his soul as it meowed back, as if responding to him. It nudged its head against the back of his calf, letting out small chirps before squeezing between his legs and padding into the house.

“Wh-wait-hold on just a second,” Crowley sputtered as he turned around and glared down at the offending creature. “You can’t just waltz in here!”

“Mrrow?”

”Why not?”   it seemed to ask.

Crowley pursued his lips before following after the little creature and reaching down to pick it up. However, the second he tried to grab it, the thing effortlessly shifted out of his hands like a ziploc bag of water and continued to pad around the house. It meandered up to the fireplace and sniffed, getting a touch of spot on its nose before letting out a small sneeze. 

“Bless you,” Crowley said out of habit. The cat seemed to respond with a “murr” of thanks before it approached the fireplace again. It rubbed its cheek against the brick, loudly purring as it seemed to scratch itself with the rough texture. Small tufts of black fur seemed to lodge itself into the stone and float aimlessly through the air.

Crowley huffed in mild annoyance as he marched back over towards the animal, glaring down at it. 

“Okay, look, you can’t get too comfortable here buddy. For all I know you’re somebody else’s cat, and I don’t want to be labeled as a thief.”

The cat stared at him, blinked twice, and then confidently sauntered up to his bed post. It rubbed its cheek against the frame with a cheeky, taunting gaze before looking back up at the quilt.

“Don’t you dare,” Crowley frowned as he stepped forward, though upon moving closer, the cat’s pupils widened and it moved back onto its haunches, preparing to pounce up. 

“Oh you little shit…that is my bed, it is not for wild animals,” Crowley growled. 

He tried moving forward again, though the cat wiggled its butt in anticipation to leap. Crowley narrowed his eyes, trying his best to focus on the cat. He carefully watched its movements, waiting for just the right moment to lunge and grab it before it could jump on his sheets. The cat seemed to pause in its preparation, before quickly ducking down close to the ground. Seeing his opportunity, without giving it a second thought, the farmer threw himself forward with his arms out in preparation to grab. The cat jumped up right before Crowley made contact, softly landing on his sheets with a proud smile on its face. Due to his lack of future planning, Crowley’s forehead collided directly against the wooden bed frame, leaving him slump against the ground without his target.

He stayed there for a moment, admittedly wallowing in defeat after being bested by a cat , though after a moment he heard a soft thud from beside him as four paws landed on the floor next to him. 

“Mrrp?” the cat meowed before leaning forward and rubbing its face against Crowley’s hair, purring as it did so. 

“Alright, alright, you win…” Crowley grumbled into the floorboards. The purring seemed to get louder as the cat nudged against the spot behind his ears, nuzzling into him gently. The farmer heavily sighed and plopped a hand onto the cat’s body in an awkward attempt to pet it. For being an outdoor cat, its fur was quite soft and silky to the touch.

“You’re an odd little thing,” he said as he sat up and crossed his legs in his lap. The cat was soon to see the area as a comfy new sitting spot and hopped in without a second thought. 

“And certainly friendly…I doubt you’re a stray, though maybe returning you to your rightful owner will get me some nice points with the townspeople,” Crowley shrugged as he itched under its chin. 

Maybe Marnie knew if it belonged to anyone in town, she seemed to know a lot about animals. At least of the farm variety. And if that Adam kid has a pet dog, then surely someone else around here must have a cat that they accidentally left outside. Unfortunately, the ranch wouldn’t be open for a couple of more hours, so for now he’s stuck with keeping an eye on the creature in case it decides to run off again.

“Listen, I’ve gotta tend to my crops for a bit. We’ll find your owner soon, though in the meantime I am allowing you to use my bed. Got it?”

The cat didn't wait a moment before hopping back up onto the covers and stretching out, immediately beginning to get quite comfortable and groom itself, despite its fur already looking quite clean and sleek. Crowley tried his best to hold back a smirk as he watched the cat get comfortable. Well, this could be worse in retrospect — when he opened his door he could’ve been facing a whole murder of crows destroying all of his crops. That would’ve completely ruined his whole mood, so when reflecting on it, this was the better outcome. 

After one quick stretch to release all of the knots in his back, Crowley shuffled over to his drawers to rifle through his clothes to get ready for the day. As usual he trotted out to the fields, watering can in hand, and began to nourish his crops one by one, taking the time to inspect them as well. If he found that any of them were out of line, then they’d receive a proper scolding.

Working through each crop one by one, he made sure all were doing well and growing on schedule. The strawberries were the last he checked, and admittedly he knew the least about them, though the plants had become much bigger and the leaves much larger than the day prior. 

All of a sudden, as he made his way down the rows, Crowley spotted one of the plants “twitch”. 

This made the farmer pause, his boot scraping against the dry dirt at his suddenness. As he stood still, he licked one of his fingers on his free hand and held it up next to his head. He couldn’t feel any wind or slight breeze in the air. Maybe he was just seeing things…

While wiping his hand off on his jeans, another plant also twitched, this time with the rustle of the leaves hitting his ears.

“Oh great…” he thought, “those scarecrows actually helped with pesky birds, but it looks like other pests want to help themselves to my plants.”

The problem was, no matter what he found lurking near his bushes, he really did have no idea what to do with it. Hell, he hardly knew how to handle a stray cat!

…

Light-bulb!

Crowley quickly trotted back to the house, throwing open the door and finding the feline curled up on the bed. It raised its head in confusion at the sudden disturbance. 

“Sorry to disturb your nap, but I could really use your help right now,” Crowley quickly said as he scooped the cat up into his arms. He received annoyed meows in protest as he carried the cat out to his field and towards the offending plants. Shifting the cat awkwardly in his arms, he brought up its little face so he could look it in the eyes. 

“This is really important, okay? I need you to catch something for me. Think of it like a morning snack, yeah?” he grinned. 

“Mrrow?”

“That’s the spirit!” Crowley grinned as he plopped the cat down on the ground. It seemed confused for a moment before the leaves rustled again. Instantly its ears went flat against its head, and its posture became much more alert. Low to the ground, it shifted forward silently, creeping away from Crowley and towards its target. 

Slowly, quietly, precisely…

The cat kept forward and pounced down hard. A piercing squeak rang out, barely loud enough for Crowley to hear. 

While making sure to stay relatively still, Crowley leaned a bit forward to try to get a better look at the scene. Amongst all of the leaves, he saw the black furry body of the cat crouched down, standing on top of a different furry mass. With a deep and low growl, the cat jerked its head before it started to back up towards the farmer. Trapped in its mouth seemed to be a mole, from what Crowley could dredge up from his knowledge on forest animals. It seemed to squirm a bit under the cat’s tight grip, but it ultimately admitted defeat to the beast.

“Nicely done there!” Crowley smiled as he leaned down and gave it a nice pat on the head before standing back. “I’ll leave you to that, its a well deserved reward.” The cat yowled again as Crowley turned to finish tending to the strawberries. By the time he finished, the cat was still wandering nearby. It seemed to march up and down the farm rows, patrolling for more vermin. 

“At ease,” Crowley said before whistling a quick, high noise to get the cat's attention. “We gotta get to Marnie’s, can I trust you to walk with me without bolting off?”

“Mmmrow!”

The farmer grinned as he gave the cat another quick rub between its ears before he started walking down towards the south exit of his farm. The cat padded quickly behind him, keeping up with the pace of his relatively long strides. Crossing the threshold into Cindersap forest, Crowley made a beeline straight towards the ranch.

“Farmer Crowley! So nice to see you, dearie!” Marine smiled as she folded her hands in the till and watched him come in. However, her demeanor changed when she saw the little black shadow trailing him. 

“Lord, my goodness!” she cried before rushing over to get a better look at the cat. It seemed to preen at the sudden attention, rubbing up against Marnie as she crouched down to examine it. She lightly laughed as she scratched behind its ears.

“Oh, aren’t you a social butterfly?” she hummed. “Did you know this fella was following behind you dear?”

“Uhh, that’s actually the reason I stopped by, actually,” Crowley said sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Found the rascal on my porch this morning, figured it might belong to someone in town. Do you know if anyone is missing a cat? Particularly one that is pretty good at hunting?”

Marnie hummed as she bent down and inspected the cat again. She examined it thoroughly, and thankfully the cat seemed relatively unbothered from the intrusive inspection. 

“I don’t recall ever seeing this cutie before, but just on a basic look I do think it’s a stray. No chip or collar, and although it seems acclimated to people, the lack of meat on its bones would imply it’s not got a constant source of food,” she hummed before standing upright. “Sounds to me like this one came to you with its resume asking for a job — formal farm mouser.”

Crowley blinked and looked down at the feline. Its wide yellow eyes stared unblinking back at him. If he was quite honest, it wouldn’t be a terrible addition to the farm. It would protect his crops and catch any small varmints that wanted to try and get a nibble on the leaves. And he does not like spotty and holey leaves. 

“Think you’re up to snuff bud?” Crowley smirked.

“Mrow,” the cat responded confidently in a gravely sort of chirp. Marnie clasped her hands together excitedly before suddenly dashing out of the room. She soon returned with a collar in her hand; it was small and made of worn leather with a nice silver tag. 

“I think your new employee needs a uniform. It’s been quite a bit since I sold a pet collar, but if you’d like I can engrave the tag for you,” she suggested. 

“Oh, wait, you mean name the guy?” Crowley blinked. 

“Well, lady, but yes! If you feel like it, that is,” Marnie smiled. 

Crowley hummed as the cat rubbed up against his leg in a loving gesture. He never really put much thought towards the things he’s named over the years. The occasional cactus would be named “Steve” or “Marcus”, and he did angrily yell at his work laptop which he called “Debra” a few times at work. These names just came in his moments of frustration or mindless rants and rambles to that which can’t scoff at any of his opinions. 

“Hmm…how about Bentley?”

“Awwww Bentley!!” Marnie cooed. She was an older woman of course, but her sudden jubilation over the cat made her act like an over excited teenager. It was honestly heartwarming to watch her excitement bring forth peaks of youth and energy. 

“Right then! I’ll get to punching that right away,” Marnie nodded before reaching down and giving the cat one last head scratch before sneaking off to a back room. It only took about 5 minutes before she returned, proudly holding up the collar with its newly engraved tag. “Now you take good care of her, Mr. Crowley. And I’m sure she’ll take good care of you too.”

Crowley smiled as he carefully took the collar and briefly examined it. The punched letters were a bit crooked and certainly not perfectly centered, but the name was cleanly printed and gave off a rustic charm. It was absolutely perfect. 

“I promise I’ll take good care of her,” he firmly said with a nod. 

Satisfied, Marnie shuffled behind the front counter, rustling between her stock. While the woman was occupied, Crowley crouched down to get closer to the cat, letting her approach and meet his hand. After giving a scratch behind her ear, he swiftly reached the collar around her neck and firmly secured it. 

“There, perfect,” he grinned.

With another soft meow, Bentley nudged her head against Crowley’s arm, causing the farmer to smile and carefully scoop her up in his arms. She seemed to settle nicely, wiggling a bit until she was in a comfortable position. With a small black blob purring as loud as an engine, Crowley marched out of the ranch with a new companion to join in his farming home life.