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The storm roared outside, wind howling against the windows of the cottage. Rain hammered the roof in a relentless rhythm. Aziraphale had only meant to check on the garden–the storm made him fret over the delicate herbs he’d planted just last week, and he hated the thought of them being damaged so soon–But when he opened the door, he froze, blue eyes going wide.
A tiny, sodden creature huddled against the porch railing, shivering so violently it seemed to vibrate. Its fur was plastered to its frail body, water dripping in uneven streams off its tiny nose. Aziraphale was certain the little thing was only skin and bones, its light grey tabby fur darkened to charcoal where it clung to the tiny frame.
“Oh, you poor dear,” Aziraphale whispered, his voice breaking with pity. Without hesitation, he crouched down, his umbrella forgotten on the porch. He scooped the kitten into his arms, cradling it against his chest as the storm sprayed cold rain across his back.
“Come now, let’s get you warm,” he murmured. Water soaked into the front of his clothes almost immediately, and he shivered from the chill, unable to imagine how cold the poor creature must have been. Quickly, he miracled a soft towel with a snap of his fingers and removed the little thing from his chest for only a moment to wrap the white cloth around its body. The kitten let out tiny mewls of protest at the loss of warmth. Aziraphale cooed gently, his hand scratching at its tiny head, which was rewarded with a low rumbling purr. He couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face as he murmured soft, comforting words to the little creature.
Aziraphale walked confidently back into the house, already thinking of ways he could convince Crowley to let him keep the poor dear–though he knew it wouldn’t take much. Crowley was softer than he let on, with a gentle heart for a demon. Aziraphale was sure it would only take a tiny, warm body purring on Crowley’s chest for him to fold.
He tucked the little creature tighter against his chest as he made his way into the living area. Crowley sat curled up on the sofa, red hair tied in a loose bun, nursing a glass of wine while scrolling through his phone. At the sound of footsteps, Crowley looked up, a half-hearted snarky remark about the plants being fine already forming on his lips. But the sight of the huddled cat made his head snap so sharply to the side that Aziraphale was surprised it didn’t come clean off. Without his glasses, Crowley’s sulfur-yellow eyes widened before he rolled them so dramatically it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck.
“We’re not running a rescue center, angel.”
Aziraphale paused before responding, looking down at the purring feline. With a quick snap of his fingers, he left himself and the kitten dry. His hand continued soothing the tiny creature, stroking its neck and back, feeling every rib beneath the pads of his fingers. His lips twitched into a frown at how skinny it was.
“Well, I couldn’t very well leave it out there to freeze, my dear,” Aziraphale said with a quiet huff. He met Crowley’s gaze briefly before moving to the couch and sitting gingerly, careful not to disturb his precious cargo. The kitten immediately wriggled out of his hold to butt its head against his chin and perch on his shoulder.
Aziraphale beamed at the scrawny thing as its soft fur brushed against his cheek. Gently, he cradled her tiny body and set her down on the floor. With a snap of his fingers, two white ceramic bowls appeared–one filled with wet food, the other with fresh water.
He watched in contentment as she immediately began lapping up the chicken, licking the bowl clean in moments. Aziraphale scratched behind her ears, and she mewled up at him once the bowl was empty, her tail flicking with annoyance, already demanding and she hadn't even been inside for more than five minutes, it reminded Aziraphale of a certain red-headed demon, he grinned at the thought, but kept it private.
“I know, I know, but you’ll make yourself sick eating so fast,” Aziraphale murmured. The little thing mewled again, rubbing against his pant leg before trotting over to Crowley. Crowley raised a questioning brow as amber eyes blinked lazily up at him. Aziraphale couldn’t help but turn his head, hiding the smile already forming.
After a second round of chicken gravy and a bowl of goat’s milk–“Not cow’s milk; you can’t give her cow’s milk, it’ll make her sick,” Crowley had huffed
"I thought you didn't care about the cat?"
"I don't, but even I know that."—Aziraphale watched her settle in for a nap.
The kitten, now full and content, explored the cottage, darting from corner to corner. Aziraphale set up a litter box and scattered a few toys for her. She returned a few minutes later, slow and sleepy, clearly ready for a nap. Without hesitation, she leapt onto Crowley’s lap, curling into a ball.
Crowley blinked in surprise, then looked at Aziraphale with a raised brow. He glanced back at the kitten nestled into a perfect little ball. “Bloody thing’s got nerve,” he muttered, though his slender hand came to rest on her soft fur anyway. The loud purr that vibrated through her tiny body was so unexpected that even Aziraphale could hear it. He tried, once again, to hide the smile that bloomed on his face.
Crowley’s fingers gently stroked the kitten’s fur, his mouth set in an unamused line, but something about the way his hand lingered made Aziraphale’s heart flutter.
“I think she likes you,” Aziraphale said, his voice light and teasing.
Crowley grunted, his eyes flicking up to meet his husband’s before settling back on the feline.
“She’s a cat, Aziraphale,” he replied as if that explained everything, though his fingers didn’t stop their soothing rhythm. Aziraphale grinned again.
“This does not mean she’s staying,” Crowley huffed.
“Oh, I know.”
“I’m serious.”
“Mhm.”
. . . .
The cottage was quiet in the early morning. While Aziraphale and Crowley did not need to sleep, they cherished the nights curled up together. The golden light of dawn filtered softly through the curtains like liquid gold, giving the room a warm, homely feel. Aziraphale reveled in it.
The smell of fresh coffee and sizzling butter filled the air as Crowley stood at the stove, barefoot and dressed in his usual all-black attire, though his shirt hung loose and untucked. His hair was messy, tied in a haphazard knot from the night before, and he grumbled under his breath as he flipped another pancake with a practiced flick of his wrist.
The kitten perched nearby on the countertop, her tail flicking in apparent curiosity. Crowley cast her a sharp glance, narrowing his yellow eyes.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, pointing the spatula at her.
The kitten blinked lazily, tilting her head as if weighing her options. Crowley snorted and turned back to the stove, sliding a fresh pancake onto the growing stack. He reached for the plate again but froze when a blur of grey fur darted across the counter.
“Oi!” Crowley barked, spinning around–but it was too late. The kitten had snatched a pancake nearly twice her size and leapt onto the floor, scampering away with her prize, tail held high with her apparent successful hunt.
Crowley stood there, stunned, the spatula still in his hand. His lips twitched into what could have been an incredulous smile before he muttered under his breath, “Menace.” He stalked after her into the sitting room, spatula in hand, finding her gleefully dragging the pancake under the sofa.
At that exact moment, Aziraphale entered the room, tying his robe loosely at the waist. His gaze swept over the scene: Crowley crouched on the floor, muttering at the kitten, who meowed defiantly from her hiding spot. Aziraphale blinked, then broke into a wide smile.
“Good morning, dear,” he said lightly, trying to suppress a laugh. His blue eyes twinkled with delight as he took in the sight.
Crowley froze, turning his head to look at him with an expression that could only be described as guilty annoyance.
“Angel,” he began, his voice low and measured, “control your damn cat.”
Aziraphale crossed his arms, clearly amused. He cocked his head to the side. “She’s already yours, my dear. You’re the one letting her steal your breakfast.”
Crowley opened his mouth to argue but stopped short, muttering something under his breath as he finally reached under the sofa and retrieved the pancake. It bore several tiny, unmistakable bite marks.
“She’s a thief,” Crowley grumbled, holding up the ruined pancake like evidence in a trial. "I did not let her have anything." He added with a huff.
Aziraphale laughed gleefully, leaning down to scoop the kitten into his arms. She squirmed slightly but eventually settled, blinking up at him with wide eyes.
“Naughty girl,” Aziraphale chided gently, though there was no real heat in his voice. “You can’t have human food.”
The kitten let out a soft mewl, rubbing her head against his chin in an attempt to charm her way out of trouble. Aziraphale chuckled, scratching her back as he padded into the kitchen. He opened a can of wet food, the soft metallic click causing the kitten to perk up instantly. After depositing the food into her bowl, Aziraphale leaned down to scratch her ears once more.
“You’ll need a name, hmm, dear?” Aziraphale murmured thoughtfully, his voice soft as he straightened.
When he turned, Crowley was leaning against the entryway, spatula still in hand. His eyes flicked up to meet Aziraphale’s, his expression unreadable.
“We’re not keeping her,” Crowley said again, though the conviction in his voice was thinner than before.
Aziraphale hummed, looking down at the kitten now devouring her breakfast with gusto. “But I do like her so, Crowley. And she seems to like you, too.”
Crowley rolled his eyes and shook his head lightly, pushing off the doorframe and meandering closer. He stood behind Aziraphale, wrapping his arms around the shorter man’s waist and pressing a soft kiss into his white hair.
He didn’t say anything more, and Aziraphale smiled to himself, knowing the ‘fight’ was already over. The kitten wouldn’t be going anywhere–Crowley was far too attached. He just needed time to admit it.
Evening settled gently over the cottage, the fire in the living room casting warm, flickering shadows on the walls. The day had passed much like any other–Crowley tended the garden while Aziraphale reorganized the books for the umpteenth time –“How many times can you organize those things?” Crowley had asked, exasperated, from his spot by the window.
“But they’d look so much better like this, my dear,” Aziraphale had replied, humming to himself as he shifted yet another stack of leather-bound volumes.–Now, as the fire crackled softly, Aziraphale sat curled in his favorite armchair, a book resting in his lap. He wasn’t reading, though–his attention kept drifting to the sofa across the room.
Crowley was sprawled out, his long legs stretched across the cushions, his head resting lazily against the armrest. A glass of red wine sat forgotten on the end table beside him. Nestled on his chest was the kitten–now freshly named “Pancake” after her morning antics.
She purred loudly, her tiny body rising and falling with Crowley’s steady breaths. Crowley absentmindedly scratched behind her ears, his lips pressed into a thin line. Yet, Aziraphale didn’t miss the way his hand lingered over her soft tabby fur.
“You’re ridiculous, you know,” Crowley muttered without looking up. His voice carried that familiar blend of grumpiness and poorly-hidden affection. “Naming her after a food.”
Aziraphale chuckled, he rose from his chair. “Well, she earned it, didn’t she? And I think it suits her so.” He crossed the room and settled himself at Crowley’s feet, lifting the demon’s legs to drape them over his own lap. “You’re rather fond of her already, aren’t you?”
Crowley clicked his tongue, his hand still stroking the kitten. “I said she’s not staying, angel.”
“Mhm.” Aziraphale’s smile was soft, knowing. He didn’t need to argue. He knew the kitten was staying the moment Crowley let her sleep in bed with them. Crowley had fallen in love with the little creature long before he was willing to admit it.
“Whatever you say, my dear,” Aziraphale replied, picking up his book once again.
Pancake let out a contented mewl, stretching her tiny paws before curling up tighter on Crowley’s chest. Crowley sighed in defeat, but his hand never stopped its gentle motion over her fur.
Aziraphale’s grin grew as he returned to his reading. He adored their life together, and their new feline companion.