Archive of Our Own

If there was one thing that Crowley could appreciate about time, it was that everyday got him further away from the fourteenth century. Sure, it was the century he was born in, but it was a dreadful time to be born, so musty and grim and filled with disease, no motorways or quaint little South Downs villages like Tadfield. Brilliant people created cars that eventually replaced horse and buggy, built motorways, even fancier churches and homey pubs like the one he was sitting in now.

Humanity marched on, while he stayed the same. At least he could enjoy the Valentine's Day decorations around the Dirty Donkey, all the red hearts and streamers, and tap his fingers to the love tunes the band was playing. It was tacky and gaudy, sure, but it was still better than the fourteenth century.

It was a blistering cold evening in Tadfield, the snow falling in large flakes that coated along the streets and trees, covering the little village in a blanket of sparkling sleet. Crowley never minded the cold, as most days all he felt was coldness and hunger. Even when he was mostly sated on blood or even fruit, there was still that nagging pit in his stomach that always wanted more. Even for how old a vampire Crowley was, he could never fully shake that feeling, though he did find that certain fruits stave it off temporarily when he wasn't in a biting mood.

"What'll you have, Crowley?" asked Anathema, the bartender. Crowley quickly glanced at the bottles of wine along the bar, the beers on tap, as well as the liquors, but then the chalkboard behind her announced that they were having a winter sangria special. Tempranillo, brandy, cranberries, pomegranates, apple juice, cinnamon sticks… now that did sound delicious.

"Sangria, please," Crowley said politely, chuckling to himself as he said it. "A vampire walked into a bar and ordered a sangria" sounded like a punchline to a joke.

"Comin' right up," she said, and turned to start mixing his drink. As she did so, Crowley did his best to cancel out all the other scents around him. With all the liquor, the body odor, the different perfumes and colognes people wore, it could all get overwhelming. Instead, he watched Anathema pour a glass of wine then toss in cranberries and pomegranate seeds and concentrated on the sweet, fragrant smells of the tempranillo and small fruit.

Then the door to the pub opened again, and he was greeted by another all too familiar scent. It was another human, but one that Crowley had grown fond of and made him want to venture out into the daylight even with the risk of being burnt by the sun.

Aziraphale Fell was the vicar in town but looked like an angel with his curly white blonde hair, blue-grey eyes, a cherubic smile and his soft, broad build that was usually hidden beneath vestment. Today he still had his collar, but had opted for a black shirt, tan coat, and a tartan scarf that made his eyes look even bluer.

Crowley didn't want to admit it, but he was a bit smitten for him. Or maybe he just liked the scent of his blood, or the light emitted around him like a halo, or even just the sweetness he exuded whenever he walked into a room. Maybe he simply liked to be in his presence despite being everything that Crowley was supposed to fear. Sure, he was a vicar, a man of the cloth, but he also had his bastard moments, such as showing up at the pub or being friends with Mrs. Sandwich. Her seamstress business was definitely a front for something else, right?

"Hello, hello," he mumbled shyly as he passed by the other patrons in the pub and then eventually found himself up at the bar with Crowley. "Hello, my good fellow," he smiled when he met the vampire's eye contact. Crowley suddenly worried if he had been staring at him to intensely.

"Good evening, vicar," Crowley said as Anathema set his sangria in front of him.

"Please, we talked about this, just Aziraphale," the blonde told him with a chuckle. His eyes glanced down at the vampire's drink and sparkled with interest. "Ooh, that looks scrumptious, what's that?"

Crowley motioned at the chalkboard. "The sangria," he said.

"Thank you. Ana, I'll have what Crowley's having." A group of patrons sitting at a table to the side snorted at him, and Aziraphale gave them a side eye. "Oh, don't give me that look," he scolded them lightly, though Crowley heard the smile in his voice. Aziraphale was a simple man who only allowed himself to go to the Dirty Donkey once a week, where he usually asked for either a glass of sherry or whisky, so Crowley was impressed to see him change it up with a sangria. "So, how are you today?" he asked.

"Oh y'know, avoided the church, slept in, had a nice stiff drink," Crowley shrugged. All that was mostly true, as he usually had to keep himself inside during daylight anyway. Aziraphale and the rest of the town probably thought he was a menace to society, though they'd probably shiver to know his true nature. The stiff drink was actually blood bags he'd confiscated from the local blood bank, something to keep that hunger at bay… for now, at least.

Not that Aziraphale made resisting temptation any easier for him. The man exuded such brightness and softness, like a plush peach that Crowley wanted to sink his teeth into. He always wore some sort of cologne, something woodsy and like sea salt that reminded the vampire of the salt cliffs that sat on the edge of town, but his natural scent was even more divine. Subtly fruity, like a golden delicious apple…

The vicar giggled. "No pressure, but my door is always open," he said, which left Crowley waiting for the "for you" at the end but alas, no such invitation. "I spent the day writing my next sermon. All about the different types of love. I thought it was fitting, seeing it's almost Valentine's Day, but it's mostly on agape, the selfless type of love, as well as the love we all should have for each other. 'Be kind to each other' and all that."

His eyes sparkled as he talked his sermon, and Crowley simply rested his chin on his fist and listened. He was supposed to turn his face from the garish light of God, and yet here he was, listening to a vicar talk about just that as they sipped their winter sangria. It somehow sounded like another punchline to a joke.

Eventually, their glasses were empty, and so they asked Anathema for more sangria and Crowley tempted Aziraphale to a game of darts. Another lovely invention from humans, making a casual competition out of throwing little projectiles at a board. Crowley had about a hundred years of practice, though Aziraphale was quite a shot himself, each dart of his inching closer to the center. The vampire leaned against the wall as he watched the vicar, condensation forming along his glass as he sipped the sweet, spicy concoction and nibbled on the apples.

He could admit Aziraphale was a good shot, but Crowley had also let himself lose, missing the board once or twice and watching as Aziraphale's last dart hit the center. The vicar threw his arms up in triumph and hooted and hollered, that action making his little belly jiggle. Crowley wondered how warm that spot would be for Crowley to rest on, especially with how cold it was.

"Thank you for the company, my dear," Aziraphale sighed as he gulped down the last of his sangria and collected his coat and scarf. "I should be on my way. Are you okay to walk home on your own?"

Crowley dazed out for a moment to watch Aziraphale pay for his drinks. The vicar's hands were surprisingly well kept, his fingernails lightly manicured, the skin on his hands smooth like something out of a fancy lotion advertisement, dexterous and strong like he did a lot with his hands when he wasn't being a vicar.

"Oh. 'Course, angel," Crowley finally blurted out when he realized Aziraphale was waiting for a response. Crowley lived in a small cottage just up the hill, surrounded by trees that shrouded him and his home from sunlight.

"Tickety boo," Aziraphale said as he wrapped his scarf around his neck. Hopefully, he didn't catch Crowley staring at the pale skin along his neck and the jiggle of his Adam's apple. The vicar smiled and waved as he left, walking out into the snowy night.

Crowley eventually finished his own sangria and paid Anathema in cash, some of the old-fashioned habits he refused to let go. As he turned to leave, he saw something resting on the bar beside him.

A golden crucifix necklace. He raised an eyebrow and carefully picked it up by the string, careful not to touch the cross pendant. It was clearly Aziraphale's, as it sat in the same place where Aziraphale had stood, and he didn't know anyone else who wore a cross necklace.

Perhaps he could give it back when he next saw him? No, that would require Crowley to take it back to his own place, and who knew what effects something so holy would have on him if it was in his possession for too long. His houseplants would probably think he'd turned a new leaf. Couldn't start giving them the wrong idea, they needed to stay in fear of Crowley.

He walked outside where it was still snowing and glanced around. Although the scent of freshly fallen snow was all around him - water and metal - he could still make out the vicar's own scent, that fragrant, delicate apple scent and his cologne. Aziraphale couldn't be far at this point.

Crowley darted out, following that scent of the vicar down the street, riding the wind as he did so. It was another one of his vampire abilities that came in handy, especially when he needed to get from one place to another without others detecting him.

Finally, he reached a small stone bridge that was linked into Aziraphale's neighborhood. Sure enough, Aziraphale was on that bridge, a beige speck in a flurry of white, halfway across. Crowley smiled, then strolled casually onto the bridge, still considerably faster than the average human in an effort to catch up to the vicar.

Perhaps the vicar sensed that he wasn't alone, as he stopped and turned around to face the vampire. His eyes squinted at first, as if trying to make out the dark shape in the snow, but then blinked when he saw who it was.

He let Crowley catch up to him, and then Crowley dangled the crucifix from his fingers and smirked at the vicar. "Think you dropped thisssss, vicar," he said, reaching out and scratching a long, black nail under the vicar's chin. Aziraphale's skin was soft and warm to the touch, shockingly so, and he could even feel his pulse quicken slightly.

Aziraphale looked at the vampire, then at his crucifix, and then snatched it from him. "Thank you," he said cautiously and slipped it into his coat pocket. He glanced around at the snowfall around him, little flakes gathering in his curly blonde hair and on his shoulders. "Say, why don't you come to my place for a nightcap?" he asked. "I don't live too far from you. And I'm going to be making something for the church's bake sale tomorrow and could use some assistance."

Crowley licked his lips. What a perfectly pleasant surprise.

"Sure, angel," he said as he walked by Aziraphale's side. He could've sworn he saw Azirphale wiggle beside him.

They reached Aziraphale's home, a brick cottage with a thatched roof and red front door and window shutters, a small garden and white fence surrounding it. Crowley smiled at he gazed up at the home. He'd never been there before, but he could easily imagine Aziraphale coming here after church service, making himself a cuppa and biscuits and lighting a candle in the windows. Maybe he'd turn on "The Bishop's Wife" or another old movie about religion or faith. "The Ten Commandments" if he wanted to watch something grand.

He was able to pass through the front fence with Aziraphale, but felt that supernatural resistance as they approached the door. Damn. Here he thought the prior invitation was enough, but apparently Aziraphale needed to actually let him in as well. This part always got awkward with his prior conquests, standing outside like a dolt until the human invited him in, even though they probably didn't see the need for it until it was too late. Sometimes the reality dawned on them and they'd turn him away, or they were simply fascinated by his true nature and invited him in to learn more. Sometimes it went down like a lead balloon, sometimes it didn't.

Aziraphale unlocked his front door, and Crowley was immediately greeted with warmth and light from his front foyer, with the chestnut wood staircase and floors, the touches of red and gold, the antique table and wall art and even a small reading nook tucked beside the staircase. The vicar stepped in, while Crowley stood there in the cold, nibbling on his lower lip nervously. As much as he didn't want to freak out this angel of a man, there were certain rules he had to follow, and that gravitational pull kept him from entering this cozy little cottage.

Then Aziraphale turned to him again, puzzled, then quietly scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Oh, right, forgot this little quirk about your kind. Would you like to come in, dear?" he asked.

Crowley's jaw dropped. "Wait, you knew?" he asked.

"Of course I did, you silly vampire," Aziraphale chuckled. "I'm a holyman, but I'm no fool. You're far too pale to be a simple human, not to mention the fangs and your resistance to attend church." He motioned Crowley in, and Crowley, now with nothing keeping him out, slowly stepped into the vicar's cottage. "Plus I've never seen you eat anything other than fruit. Read all about your kind and demons in my ordination."

Crowley managed to snort at that. "Me, a demon?" he teased as he followed Aziraphale through the foyer and into his living area. Just past the cozy settee, desk, and bookshelves sat a kitchen, the drapes and tablecloth tartan and yellow like the touches in the foyer.

"Or whatever you call yourself," Aziraphale said. "But you haven't posed yourself as a threat around here, yes?"

"Too old for that," Crowley snorted. "I'd rather just have some peace and quiet. And the occasional fruit to keep the cravings at bay."

"Well, if that's all you want, you've come to the right place," Aziraphale giggled as he led them into the kitchen. "You ever had apple turnovers? I'm making them for the bake sale tomorrow."

The vampire smirked. The forbidden fruit. "Of course I have, angel," he said.

"I like it when you call me that," Aziraphale admitted.

Aziraphale had Crowley peel and dice the apples as he made the filling, stirring the sugar, cinnamon and vanilla into a bowl and then setting them on the stove. Crowley attempted to eat a few bits of apple, but the vicar shot him a look that caused him to set the apple bits down again and then let Aziraphale add the apples with the rest of the filling.

"So," Aziraphale asked as he checked to see if the puff pastry was thawed, "did you ever meet St. Valentine?"

Crowley huffed. This man was a bit of a bastard without even trying. "Of course not," he said. "He was from the third century. I was born more than a thousand years after his time." He leaned against the kitchen island and bit into one of the leftover apples. "Are you one of those vicars that hunt vampires and demons?"

"Unfortunately, no," Aziraphale laughed, which made his little belly jiggle. "Occult creatures are simply one of my special interests." He nodded to the bookcases in the living area. "I have a whole section in there about vampires and demons and angels."

The vampire smiled. It wasn't everyday he ran into a human interested in creatures like him who wasn't a vampire slayer or a teenager. With the filling done, they started cutting up the puff pastry and placing dollaps of apples, sugar, and cinnamon into them. They used a fork to crimp the edges and seal the filling.

Aziraphale slid the turnovers into the oven and set a timer. As he took off his oven mitt - tartan, of course - he reached into the fridge and took out some lemon juice and ice. "How about whisky sours?" he asked.

A few minutes later, they were sitting by the fireplace with their whisky sours as the turnovers baked in the oven. The cottage filled with the scent of cinnamon apples as they chatted and watched it continue to snow. Aziraphale even showed him the aforementioned bookcase of occult books, which seemed to also include some demon-human romance novels. This vicar really was full of surprises.

Once their glasses were empty, the oven dinged to let them know the turnovers were done. Aziraphale opened the oven, and the sweet scent from the turnovers filling the kitchen. Crowley plucked up a turnover and popped it into his mouth, much to Aziraphale's shock. "You should let those cool," he said.

"Doesn't bother me," Crowley said as he licked the cinnamon from his fingers. Aziraphale snorted, and used a spatula to get the turnovers off the cooking sheet. "Well," he sighed as he glanced around, realizing it was now pitch black out even with the snow, "I might've overstayed my welcome."

Aziraphale blinked. "You sure? Don't feel as though you need to rush out now."

"I'm sure, angel," Crowley said. He picked up a turnover and offered it to Aziraphale, now cool in his hand. Aziraphale looked at it, then at the vampire, then opened his mouth, allowing Crowley to feed it to him. The vicar exhaled a low hum, and a part of Crowley yearned to hear him make that type of noise more often. "G'night, Aziraphale. After all, you humans need sleep too, and you don't want me giving you a little nibble in the night."

The vicar laughed, obviously not believing the vampire's idle threats. "See you soon, dear," Aziraphale said as he walked him to the door, "and be safe getting back."

Crowley smiled as he opened the door, the snow still falling in thick flakes, and he walked out and turned to his angel. He let the wind take him away, waving to his angel as he flew off. Five seconds later, he was back at his own home, surrounded by its snow-covered trees and shrubs. As he made his way back to his own front door, he realized his old, undead heart felt lighter than it had in years.

The bake sale turned out to be a success, the other churchgoers bringing an assortment of Valentine's Day biscuits and cupcakes. Nina, the owner of the local coffee shop, even brought chocolate covered strawberries, which always seemed to be best-sellers at these sales.

However, as villagers came through and bought some of his turnovers, Aziraphale caught his mind wandering to the night before with Crowley. Aziraphale considered himself a man of God, a shepherd to his people, a beacon in his community. He was supposed to deliver them from evil and temptation, guide them through their trials, give them advice on their spiritual paths.

And yet, he welcomed that vampire into his home where they'd made turnovers and shared a nightcap, and before that, they played a game of darts in the Dirty Donkey. He'd suspected the man had been a vampire for a while, just had a hunch and an educated guess, and yet it felt the same as chatting and catching up with an old friend.

The vicar reached into the pocket of his cardigan and pulled out the small notebook he carried around for when he wrote his sermons. He flipped to the page where he was writing his next sermon, about love and agape, love for mankind. At the end of his notes for this sermon, he carefully wrote with his blue ink pen:

Remember to show love to the outcasts as well, as you were once a stranger in a strange land.

He smiled and slipped his notebook back into his pocket.

"Ahh, look at that snow," the record shop owner Maggie sighed as she glanced through the windows of the chapel. The bake sale was wrapping up, so she was packing up the last of her strawberry cupcakes into a box. "How about we continue this bake at the Dirty Donkey? Have ourselves a little treat exchange?"

"I'm game!" Nina called as she packed her chocolate-covered strawberries. "Maybe now we can talk about the holiday lights, with Christmas being ten months away." She tapped on Aziraphale's shoulder as he started putting chairs away. "You coming with, Aziraphale? By the way, think I saw you walking home with Crowley last night. Real dark horse, you are," she added with a cheeky half-smile.

"Oh, we just had a nightcap and he helped me with the turnovers," Aziraphale chuckled nervously.

Crowley… he certainly still fascinated him.

He was the first out of the church once they had everything put away. The snow had stopped the night before, leaving Tadfield as a sparkling winter wonderland. In the distance, the sun had already set, painting the evening skies indigo and pink.

Crowley stood just beyond the church grounds, pale skin glowing like gossamer in the dim evening light and dressed in his typical dark clothes and thin silver scarf. Aziraphale's heart skipped a beat when he saw him. Had he been waiting there this whole time? No, the sun had been out all day and had just set a little while ago.

"Hi, angel," he purred when he saw him.

"Hello," Aziraphale said, reaching out and taking his hand. Behind him, he heard the other churchgoers walking and whispering to each other when they saw them. "How about a drink at the Dirty Donkey? I have some leftover turnovers, and I think Nina still has some chocolate-covered strawberries."

The vampire grin, his pronounced canines glinted between pale lips, and Aziraphale could've even sworn he saw some pink in his cheeks. "I'd like that," he said. "And then I could take you back to my place and we can make some chocolate-covered strawberries of our own. If you like."

Aziraphale smiled back. Perhaps this was the beginning of something.