Chapter Text
Sometime near the year 1900
He was falling. He was falling and the sky rushed around him. He was falling and he feared he would never fly again. And his life was about to change.
But for now,
Crowley looked into the telescope mounted in his attic, pointed towards the sky. The sky was a tapestry of stars all shining bright as diamonds on this particular night. He pulled his scrappy sketchbook out of the satchel next to his large leather armchair. He pulled his gaze away from the eye piece and began to transfer each of the dots in the sky into his book with a fountain pen. He took his work slow and meticulously, getting each star down with remarkable accuracy. After he was finished with charting the sky, he walked over to consult the large book sitting on his desk. The title read: Constellations. Slowly, he mapped each matching constellation into his sketchbook.
And finally, he was done for the night. He stuffed the sketchbook into his satchel and descended the spiral staircase.
Anthony J. Crowley lived alone in a large estate at the edge of Tadfeild. His being alone was by choice of course because it seemed to Crowley that there wasn’t much to any of the strangers he had met in his 34 years on Earth. To the townsfolk in Tadfield, he had become a sort of legend, a mythical creature. He seldom travelled into town. There were times when it was necessary to visit but if there was no reason, Crowley much preferred his solitude. Although he often missed the quick witted conversations he used to play a part in, there didn’t seem to be anyone worth talking to here. They didn’t want to speak to him either way, they never seemed to like Crowley and he supposed it was because, to the townsfolk, his arrival was somewhat peculiar.
He had come into town as a strange 30 year old man who was moving into the big house on the hill. No one in town knew who he was or where he came from, only that he was strange and alone. It was a whole new world for Crowley in Tadfield and he wasn’t used to living in a place like this. He quickly decided it would be less trouble for everyone if he simply kept his distance for a while. And a while quickly turned into seemingly forever as Crowley grew further and further away from the people in the town. So naturally, everyone knew him as the cruel recluse in the mansion on the hill and he had no reason to try and disprove their theories, in fact he found himself slowly becoming that man they all talked about.
Crowley had noticed many things about the townsfolk in his years of surveying them that he would rather not have to deal with. Most importantly, the townspeople were extremely Christian and saw no use in studying the stars because the only thing in the sky is heaven. Crowley did not like this one bit. Crowley was a man of science, seemingly the only man of science for miles, and in Crowley’s experience men of science have a very hard time believing in God. So Crowley stayed in his house on the hill and put the kettle on the stove.
He gazed around his large kitchen, looking at the appliances he rarely used and the empty cabinets. He listened as the rain began to patter on his window and decided to go grab the book he left sitting in the drawing room earlier that day. He sauntered through the halls, hips swinging loosely from side to side, a habit he had picked up after he decided that a proper walk was far too boring. He retrieved his copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray from the drawing room and strolled back to the kitchen. Oscar Wilde was a guilty pleasure of his, he would never let anyone know it but he really had a soft spot for somewhat fantastical literature. Just as he opened the book, something rather unexpected happened.
There was a knock at the door.
The sound of the loud brass knocker echoed through the halls and a shiver ran down Crowley’s spine. It seemed as though he hadn’t heard the sound of that knocker for years. He slammed his book down on the counter and took a deep breath. He ran a hand through his dark red hair and rubbed his eyes and began to slowly travel towards the foyer. He pulled his shaded spectacles out of his vest pocket and slipped them to rest on his nose. His walk was stiffer than usual as he approached the large stately door, he was determined to intimidate this visitor off of his property.
His hand unlatched the lock and slowly turned the knob and, much like pulling off a bandage, he swung the door open.
Standing there was a man, shorter than Crowley, dressed in an off-white suit with a blue bow tie. He had stark white hair, bright blue eyes, and a nervous smile sprawled across his face. A book was clutched in his hand. They stood in silence for a moment until Crowley lifted an eyebrow from his stoney expression.
“Uh- um- why - uh Hello! I am um- Mr. A. Z. Fell!” The man stuttered out in anxious glee. Crowley’s expression turned to a small smirk. He found some amusement in the way this man, Mr. Fell, seemed to be brimming with excitement. Not only did he feel amusement, but he felt his heart warm slightly as this man stuttered his way through an introduction. It occurred to him, he had forgotten what it was like to be approached with kindness. When Crowley didn’t answer, Mr. Fell continued.
“Well, I am here today, well tonight rather, to share something very exciting with you.” Once again, Mr. Fell waited for some sort of response from Crowley. Crowley did not offer one. “I would like to offer my services today in teaching you about a lovely little book called the Bible!”
Crowley’s expression turned from a small smirk to a deep glare from behind his glasses. Mr. Fell’s face dropped for a moment before the smile returned to his face.
“I can see you are reluctant, but if you give me just a moment of your-”
Just then, Crowley slammed the door right in his face and began to walk away. He didn’t have time to deal with the overly excited man clearly sent here by a snobbish neighbor, who was once again attempting to save his soul. He knew his soul was not one to be saved.
He nearly reached the kitchen and he could faintly hear the sound of his kettle whistling when suddenly there was a loud smattering of knocks at the door, once again. Crowley let out a sharp huff and turned on his heels back towards the entrance. As he reached the foyer he could hear muffled yelps from the other side of the door.
“Excuse me! Excuse me, Sir!” Mr. Fell shouted from across the large oak barrier.
Crowley yanked the door open again to a very shaken looking Mr. Fell.
“Oh!” said Mr. Fell as he quickly put himself back together and plastered a strained smile on his lips once again. “Hello again, Sir! Um- as I was saying, I am here to give you a chance to learn about God. I um- I-” Crowley held up a hand, stopping Mr. Fell’s rambling, and gestured for him to leave. “I, well, I-” Crowley then began to close the door before Mr. Fell’s foot shot out to catch it.
“Please! Look, I’ve been trying to reach you for days now, please just give me a chance!”
Crowley rolled his eyes and examined his current situation. He could hear the kettle whistling much louder now from the other room and he could feel annoyance bubbling up in his stomach.
So, Crowley opened the door.
“Oh thank you, thank you.” Mr. Fell exhaled, before flashing a grin. Despite Crowley’s clear invitation, Mr. Fell stayed in the doorway. “I really must tell you, you were quite the difficult man to get a hold of. I had to inquire in the town and they finally relayed to me that you seem to be the nocturnal sort which I think is very interesting. It did make it a mission of mine to contact you, I’m stubborn like that, and I’m so very happy that you decided to hear me ou-”
“Oh, God. Just get inside,” Crowley exclaimed, the kettle from the other room making him anxious. Mr. Fell looked at Crowley with an expression that he couldn’t quite place. Maybe Crowley’s voice was harsher than he meant it to be or maybe Mr. Fell had assumed he couldn’t speak at all until that very moment.
The second the door was closed behind Mr. Fell, Crowley was off to the kitchen with a loose stride, leaving Mr. Fell to trail after him. Mr. Fell stayed silent for a long moment as they made their way over to the kitchen, perhaps considering his next course of action to convince Crowley of his gospel. When they arrived, Crowley quickly began pouring the steaming water into his cup. Then he looked over at his guest, who seemed to be examining the room in awe. It occurred to Crowley quite suddenly that he hadn’t had a guest in quite some time. What does one do with a guest? He had only one idea.
“Would you like one?” Crowley asked, in the nicest tone he could muster.
“Hmm?” Mr. Fell looked over, seeming like a deer in the headlights.
“A cup? Of tea?” He lifted his own cup as an example.
“Oh, yes! Thank you! That’s very kind of you to offer.” Mr. Fell seemed quieter now, perhaps scared of Crowley or ashamed of his emotional display. Crowley was no good at making conversation on his own so this left many long pauses to be filled only by silence and the sound of clinking as he prepared their Tea. This wasn’t bothersome to Crowley really, but he knew that the quicker Mr. Fell spoke the quicker this would all be over.
“How do you prefer it?” Crowley asked, hoping it would start an enthralling conversation that would somehow lead to the swift exit of Mr. Fell.
“Sweet as can be, thank you,” Mr. Fell responded enthusiastically. “What did you say your name was, sir?”
“I didn’t,” He answered, rather quickly. Mr. Fell became silent again, Crowley wasn’t facing him but could sense his nervousness and the strained expression that was most likely on his face. “It’s Crowley.”
“Ah! Mr. Crowley-”
“Just Crowley, please.”
“Ah okay, Crowley!” Mr. Fell began to pace around the kitchen slightly. Crowley turned to face him, his expression flat. “What do you know about God?”