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Chapter Text

Crowley stands at his worktable, sunlight hot on his face. He cups a seedling in his hand, working to gently free it from the remains of its seedcase. He doesn’t remember picking the seedling up. The rest of his greenhouse stretches into misty distance.

He sets aside the seedcase and turns back to the seedling. It bursts into flame. Frozen, Crowley watches it burn down to his palm.

The worktable is burning. His plants are burning. The roof over his head is alive with flame. Suddenly he knows, and then he can see, that the forest is alight as far as the eye can see, an unending sea of flame.

Crowley bolted upright in bed, his heart hammering. He clutched his chest. His forehead was sweaty like the heat had been real. He collapsed back against the pillows, every curse he knew streaming from his lips.

Aziraphale sees a dark cloud cover the sun. The fields are shrouded in darkness. He watches with horror as grimy fog rolls down the hills and blankets everything in sight. His vision goes dark.

Aziraphale woke with a start, breathing heavily as though he had been running. He could hear the gentle breathing of the others sleeping nearby. The darkness around him suddenly seemed ominous and fear shot through him.

“Fuck,” he said quietly.

Deirdre clutched her son closer to her chest and peered over his tiny body so she could see every step she took. She slid each foot forward carefully, focusing on each board of the bridge instead of the plunging ravine below. The baby snuffled and buried his head in the blanket until only a tuft of curly hair was visible.

“That’s it! Almost there, Deirdre!” Mary called from the head of the line. Deirdre flushed to be singled out. The person in front of her turned to smile reassuringly at her over his shoulder.

Inch by inch passed beneath her feet until finally she reached the other side. Her shoulders dropped from her around her ears as she sighed with relief.

“There we go, darling,” she cooed to the sleeping infant. “That’s the worst over.”

“How’s the little one?” Mary sidled over, eyes wide with interest.

Deirdre bristled instinctively and forced herself to relax. Their little farming community had gone so long without a birth – nearly five years – it was natural that others would be interested in the baby. “He’s well,” she reassured her.

Mary cooed and gently patted the baby’s back. Again Deirdre began to curl protectively over him and worked to hold herself still, forcing a smile to her face.

It was only a few more miles to the cave system that Mary and her group had begun to make habitable for them. They had already cleared fields in the forest above the new settlement. In the afternoon Mary would return along the same route to collect the rest of their community who were still working to pack up the old village, including Deirdre’s husband, Arthur. They had exhausted the fields near their old village and needed to find new, fertile ground. 

The sun was nearly overhead when Mary waved an arm and pointed. Deirdre, sweating, gratefully paused and followed her pointing finger. 

A hill rose steeply before them. A triangular opening could be seen yawning open in the side of it. 

Mary lit a torch and beckoned everyone forward. 

After a short, slightly curving tunnel the space opened up into a wide chamber. Mary lit a fire already laid in the center so the group could see their new home better. 

As the dry branches caught and the fire flared to life, light bounced up to a rock ceiling far above. The chamber was vaguely oblong, with jagged edges. It was clear that Mary and her workers had cleared and swept the interior. 

“We’re planning for this to be the main eating and gathering chamber,” Mary explained. She gestured upward to a ledge about one third of the way up the wall. “We can add stairs and expand that ledge for a sleeping area. There are also a few smaller caves leading off from this one. Some are quite small, but with some work they’ll make for good storage.”

The little group surveyed the area, heads tilted back as they gazed at the ceiling and down along the walls, squinting for the tunnels Mary had mentioned. 

The firelight didn’t make much of a dent in the darkness and the chamber echoed strangely. But despite this, Deirdre felt a bit hopeful. It would be a lot of work, but she could see them living here. Raising children here. 

“We even have plans to add a rolling door over the entrance to guard against storms and predators,” Mary said. 

The group settled around the fire for a midday meal before getting to work. 

“How far have you mapped this side of the ravine?” Eric asked, mouth stuffed full.

Mary chewed pensively. “We’ve found a few lookout spots where we could see a fair distance,” she said. “Forest stretches for miles to the north. Nearly up to the glacier in the west. Not many routes down to the grassland though, it’s all cliffs and bluffs. The river will be our best bet.”

“Any sign of the…witch?” Theresa asked in a hushed tone. Deirdre went still, listening intently.

Mary swallowed, keeping her expression even. “No sign of smoke or any other buildings,” she said.

“Pssh,” Eric snorted. “He’d hardly be that easy to spot, would he?”

Mary’s lips thinned.

“Hush, now,” Deirdre said, bouncing her son anxiously. “It’s just a story. Something the herders made up to tease us.”

Eric glanced at her and relented, licking his fingers.

“No sign of anyone else, at any rate,” Mary said with finality.

Theresa smiled timidly at Deirdre. “I’m sure it’s good luck to be blessing our new home with a naming,” she said.

Deirdre took the peace offering. “Arthur and I have been looking forward to it for months,” she said enthusiastically. “We are so excited for the celebration.”

Aziraphale straightened his best tunic, preening a little as the iridescent beads along the collar and cuffs gleamed in the torchlight. He beamed at the new parents standing beside him. Deirdre beamed back, her face radiant. Arthur managed a grimace; he seemed extremely nervous, his hands tense as he and Deirdre held their son between them. Poor man. Aziraphale placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Ready?” he murmured to them. He got nods from both of them.

Aziraphale lifted his hands grandly into the air and waited until he was sure that every eye in the room was on him. The few hundred people that made up his community crowded into the main chamber, sitting close and gathering children into their laps so everyone could bear witness. They quieted as he prepared to speak, but a crowd of that size is never silent, and the air was thick with rustling and fidgeting and the press of bodies.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Little one,” he said, gaze softening as he looked at the baby. He squirmed in his parents’ arms, tossing his tiny fists. Deirdre smiled and smoothed the curls off his forehead so she could kiss it. “We are so glad that you are here. We welcome you into our family. We promise to look after you as you grow, to befriend you and care for you, and keep you until it is your time to return to the ground. Don’t we?” he said, and the crowd murmured back, a low rumble of mixed voices: “We promise.”

“Now,” Aziraphale said happily, “let’s help you take your first step, shall we?” He turned to one side and Mary stepped up beside him, a shallow dish cradled in her palms. She reverently passed it to him.

Arthur and Deirdre shifted until they were able to support the child while extending one of his tiny legs, each of them with a hand around his little ankle. Aziraphale extended the dish and they gently pressed the baby’s foot down into the ash piled evenly on its surface.

“As the fire makes way for the seed,” Aziraphale intoned, “we make a space for you among us. We welcome you –” he paused and nodded at Deirdre.

“Adam,” Deirdre said proudly, smiling with tears in her eyes down at her son’s face. Arthur sniffed, his own eyes red.

“Adam,” Aziraphale murmured along with the rest of the crowd. He stepped back and Adam kicked his dusty foot free, tiny limbs flailing. His parents fumbled to steady him, both laughing a little.

The torchlight flickered. The light guttered and then dimmed to an eerie dull orange glow. The crowd murmured and looked around in confusion.

Strange slithering shadows erupted from behind the torches and swarmed over the walls and ceiling like snakes, their movements jagged and frantic. The children shrieked and the crowd began to shift and rumble, fear beginning to spread. Aziraphale stepped forward, one hand raised in readiness, straining his senses. Something was approaching.

A harsh, unfamiliar voice rang out. “What in the seven hells do we have here?”

The crowd yelped and lurched back as a figure strode into the main chamber. A couple of people screamed. The intruder was clad all in black: a rich black tunic and black boots that made it hard to see him standing just outside the flickering torchlight. In contrast, his close-cropped hair burned like fire, lighting up brilliant copper as the light touched it.

He stopped with his hands on his hips, surveying the room. “Where did you lot come from? Do you make a regular habit of turning up on other people’s land?”

Every face in the room turned toward him, speechless. Aziraphale eyed him warily. It was clear he had power, but what degree and nature remained to be revealed.

“All right then,” the figure said, stepping toward the crowd and waving his arms in a shooing motion. “Time to leave. Pack it up. Get out of here.” He bent to pull someone to their feet and everyone in the vicinity flinched back, putting up their hands in self-defense. The figure stepped back, throwing up his hands. “Okay, okay, I won’t touch you there.” He exhaled heavily. “Sheesh.”

Aziraphale tentatively stepped forward. “Might I inquire as to your name, my good fellow?” he said.

The witch, for that was surely who it must be, turned brilliant yellow eyes on him. Aziraphale stopped, arrested by the sight. The figure grinned sharply, flashing dangerous white canines. “Wasn’t planning on introducing myself.”

“It’s only polite,” Aziraphale protested, a bit airless.

The witch’s eyebrows rose. “Polite? Polite? No one’s accused me of being polite before.”

The witch strode toward him and Aziraphale instinctively stepped to one side, shielding Theresa and what she was carrying from sight. The figure stopped just in front of him, looking him up and down consideringly. Despite himself, the back of Aziraphale’s neck flushed. The witch lifted his head, and they locked eyes.

“Perhaps I haven’t been clear.” The figure’s voice was as dry as a drought.

He threw up his arms. All of the torches in the cavern went out. The crowd shrieked.

The only illumination in the cave came from Aziraphale, who glowed faintly, casting a warm white light on those closest to him. It was a comforting light, but in it the figure’s shadow twisted, enormous and awful, against the cavern wall.

“Get. Gone.” The witch’s voice boomed through the cavern, echoing disturbingly and reverberating in every ear. “I won’t ask again.”

Aziraphale could hear whimpering and crying as his people cowered, hiding their faces from this awful sight. His own heart thumped loudly in his chest. But from his position he could see that the witch was standing up on his tiptoes to make himself look bigger. Despite himself, his lips twitched.

Aziraphale waved a hand and the torches reignited themselves. The crowd blinked warily in the sudden light, looking around.

“We don’t have anywhere to go,” Aziraphale explained, looking at the figure earnestly.

He was met with cold metal eyes. “Not my problem.”

At that moment Adam began squalling, the noise and the lights too much for him. Deirdre and Arthur tried to hush him frantically, but his wails filled the cave.

“What do we have here?” the witch said with delight, bounding toward the little family. Aziraphale kept pace, anxiety spiking in his throat.

“Is that why you’re all lumped together in here? To welcome this little one?” The witch said, wiggling his fingers at the baby. Arthur and Deirdre shrank back, tucking Adam tightly against their bodies.

The figure dropped his hand. “Well. I’ll make it easy for you, shall I?”

He reared back, puffing out his chest and shifting his weight like a runner about to take off. He threw up his arms and pointed one bony finger at Adam.

“I curse this child,” he rumbled.

Aziraphale went cold.

The frantic parents covered the babe with their arms, trying to shield him as they stumbled back.

“I curse this child,” the witch repeated. The torches guttered and dimmed again, the shadows gathering against the ceiling.

“Unless you leave. when he is eleven years old, he will prick his finger on a rose and die.” The last word scratched through the air like an angry animal. The air was thick and oppressive. The cave was cast in a dim twilight that turned everyone’s faces into pale twisted versions of themselves, nearly unrecognizable.

With dread, Aziraphale felt the curse take hold, twining itself around Adam’s tiny form until it was a part of him, inseparable. But something wasn’t quite right. The nature of the curse wasn’t exactly what the figure had made it out to be. Aziraphale frowned, trying to make sense of this.

The witch clapped and suddenly the light flared back into the cavern.

“Well then!” he said cheerfully. “Nothing for it, then, eh? If you want to protect the little one ” - he nodded at the fussing child – “best make yourselves scarce.”

He flashed a brilliant, cocky grin to the room and strode out as easily as he came in.

The crowd stayed frozen, stunned by what they had just witnessed. Muffled crying could be heard from a few corners.

Aziraphale turned to the distraught parents. Both were weeping. Adam squirmed; their arms were too tight around him.

Aziraphale clasped their elbows.

“I swear to you I will do everything in my power to keep him safe,” he said, meeting each of their eyes. Deirdre clung to his arm desperately. Guilt twisted through him. He should have acted more quickly to prevent this, he had failed in his responsibilities –

Deirdre turned to Theresa, sitting on the floor behind them. “Is he alright?” she croaked.

Theresa blinked, coming back to herself a little. She quickly scrambled to her feet, a little ungainly with her arms full.

“He’s all right,” Aziraphale reassured them. “The witch didn’t see him.”

Theresa brought the babe in her arms to rest alongside his twin brother. Deirdre’s and Arthur’s arms immediately reached out to touch him and reassure themselves that he was safe.

“My babies,” Deirdre sobbed, kissing each of their foreheads.

“Poor thing,” Arthur murmured, his cheeks wet. “Not even named yet.”

“He’s Warlock,” Deirdre said fiercely, brushing black hair off the baby’s forehead. “Adam and Warlock.”

She met her husband’s gaze, her eyes enormous with grief and fear, but deep in them was a spark of determination and something growing.

Arthur saw it and drew closer. They held each other’s gaze for a long time, their arms tight around their children.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale crouched in the bushes, trying to make sense of the strange building before him. One half was made of stone, expertly laid together into a little cottage with a thatched roof. The other half was – Aziraphale realized with astonishment it was made of glass. He had seen it being blown into vessels in the city on the coast in his younger days, but he had never seen a structure made of it before. The very idea made him a little nervous and a little excited at the same time.

He carefully shifted closer, trusting his disguise to hide him. He had bravely dyed one of his tunics black and smudged earth onto his face. The perfect outfit for spying.

It was imperative that he learn more about the witch. It had taken a little searching, but his powers had let him sense a magical presence deep in the forest and led him here. If there was even the slightest chance that the curse on little Adam could be broken – he had to do everything in his power. And then there was that strange discrepancy he had felt when the curse was being cast…

Creeping closer, he contorted his body to step softly, avoiding the twigs and branches that may have snapped and given him away. He mentally congratulated himself as he moved quietly to the edge of the forest, on the verge of emerging into the open space around the cottage. He didn’t see any smoke emerging from the chimney, and the house looked dark. He resolved to sneak inside.

Bent double, he scurried across the yard, thinking quiet thoughts. There was a door in the glass wall in front of him. Holding his breath, heart thrumming with excitement, he gently pushed it open.

The air inside was warm and humid. He smelled damp earth. He stopped just inside the doorway, gazing around him in awe.

The room was teeming with plants.

Green leaves cascaded from the ceiling on plump vines. Leaves of all shapes and sizes fought for space, lifting up towards the light. Brilliant flowers peeked shyly from among the greenery, catching the eye and glowing like jewels. A sweet, heady scent filled the air. Aziraphale lifted his head and inhaled deeply, instinctively turning toward the strange and intoxicating smell.

Against one wall was a wooden trellis covered in thick vines. Sharp thorns warned the curious away, but large flowers in brilliant colors gathered thickly between them. The scent seemed to be coming from them. Aziraphale unconsciously drew closer, fascinated.

All at once all of the plants stretched their leaves into the air as high as they could reach, straining, and shook themselves violently. A strange whispering rattle filled the room. Aziraphale stopped, alarmed.

A door on the inner stone wall banged open.

“What the fuck?” The witch stood in the doorway leading to the stone portion of the cottage. He wore an apron and a hot pad on one hand. “Are you – are you trying to break into my house?”

Aziraphale straightened and smoothed a hand primly down his spy tunic. “I think you’ll find I have broken in.”

The witch’s jaw hung open slightly as he took in Aziraphale’s appearance. He blinked, visibly trying to regain his composure. “Barely,” he managed. “You’re like two feet from the door.”

Aziraphale sniffed. “I didn’t expect you’d have guard plants,” he said. He turned to a nearby fern with delight. “They’re very clever, aren’t they?” He gently stroked a leaf. “So beautiful and healthy too.”

The fern quaked; with happiness or fear it was hard to tell. The witch scowled.

“Don’t encourage them,” he complained. “You’ll put ideas in their heads; undo all my hard work.”

“And these,” Aziraphale said, enraptured as he moved toward the trellis, “they are absolutely gorgeous. Say,” he said, leaning closer, “are these ro-ses?” He overpronounced the first syllable, trying out the unfamiliar word.

The witch hesitated and then moved to stand beside Aziraphale, seemingly despite himself. “It wouldn’t be very prudent of me to say, would it?” But his golden eyes softened as he looked at the flowers.

Aziraphale leaned closer, closing his eyes to inhale. “Whatever they are, they are incredibly beautiful,” he said. “Did you create them?”

The witch grunted. “No. They are from far away. I cultivate them.” He glanced at Aziraphale out of the corner of his eye. “I really think you should be a lot more afraid of me.”

Aziraphale gently touched a yellow blossom, marveling at the velvety softness of the petals. “Yes, you put on quite a show, didn’t you? The lights and the shadows were very dramatic.”

The witch’s expression turned stony. He turned to Aziraphale, his mouth a thin line and his eyes cold. “Be careful, little spy,” he hissed. “I have been exceedingly patient so far, but I find it’s running out.”

Aziraphale turned and met his gaze evenly, his eyes equally hard. “They were effective, too,” he said calmly. “My people were terrified.”

The witch looked away first, turning to look at the roses again. “Should be simple to leave, then,” he muttered.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows lowered. “It’s not simple,” he said scathingly. “It takes years for us to prepare the fields we rely on for food. We planned our move to this ridge for nearly a decade. We have nowhere to go that would sustain us. We’d starve.”

The witch’s hands tightened where they were clasped behind his back, the flesh turning white where his fingers dug in.

“You should have planned more carefully,” he said, voice hard. “And avoided moving onto a witch’s land.”

“Hmm,” Aziraphale said, eyeing him consideringly. “The land of a witch who put on a big show about cursing a child to death, but merely cursed him to sleep instead.”

A muscle worked in the witch’s jaw, his entire body stiff as he stared at his plants. Finally he whirled on Aziraphale, his eyes burning.

“What of it?” he hissed. “Whether he dies or sleeps for a hundred years it’s the same; he and his family will lose each other forever.”

His furious face was too close, his breath hot on Aziraphale’s face, but he didn’t flinch or step back. He watched the other man calmly.

“I think you wanted to scare us, not actually hurt us.” His face lit up as he beamed. “Which makes you considerably less scary.”

The witch groaned with frustration. “No, no, no, I am not kind, I am not merciful, you are playing with fire –”

He was vibrating with rage, but he didn’t lift a hand against Aziraphale. He summoned no spells or weapons. He didn’t even take another step forward to crowd Aziraphale further.

Aziraphale smiled and gently patted his shoulder. “Yes, yes. You’re very scary, my dear.”

He turned and wandered further into the room to examine a gorgeous plant with striped leaves, leaving the witch with his jaw hanging open behind him.

It took him several minutes to recover. Eventually he rejoined Aziraphale, his expression sour.

“Are you always this much of a bastard?” he complained.

Aziraphale’s smile was badly suppressed. “It is a bit refreshing,” he admitted. “I usually assume  more of a mentorship role.”

The witch’s eyebrows lowered as he took this in.

“Now,” Aziraphale said briskly. “What is this truly about? Are you worried about us encroaching on your home, or altering the forest significantly? We can agree to only stay in certain areas, or only use a certain portion of the land.”

The witch was silent for an extended moment, just watching him. He was so lost in thought he didn’t even object when Aziraphale pet a nearby leaf affectionately.

“You’re a godfairy?” he asked finally. “Their godfairy?”

“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale said. He eyed the witch. “You are one who has abandoned their duties, I assume?”

The witch scowled. “Forgive me if I’m not keen on indentured servitude.”

“Now, that’s an unfair characterization,” Aziraphale protested. “They’re my family. I’m glad to take care of them.”

The witch eyed him skeptically. “They’re good to you?” he asked suspiciously. “They treat you right? Like a person?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, scandalized. “I’m part of them, and they’re part of me.”

The witch eyed him doubtfully and finally relented, sighing and scrubbing his face with his hands.

“If you care about them, you’d best get them out of here,” he said, muffled.

Aziraphale scoffed. “I think we’ve established that your threats are rather hollow, my dear.”

“No.” The witch looked up, his face lined with exhaustion. “It’s not safe. Something’s going to happen. I had a premonition.”

Fear shivered through Aziraphale. He was suddenly on high alert. He turned to face the witch more fully. “What did you see?”

“This. Burning.” The witch lifted his chin and surveyed the room sadly. “The entire forest burned.” He levelled a glare at Aziraphale. “So. Even if your people escape the fire, they’ll still starve anyway.”

Aziraphale watched him, dread building in his chest. “I saw – something too,” he admitted quietly. The witch’s eyebrows rose.

“I didn’t see fire. I saw an enormous poisonous cloud. It covered the lowlands.”

The witch frowned. “Like, smoke? Could the fire have spread that far?”

Aziraphale hesitated. “It didn’t seem like a forest fire to me. I didn’t see any flames.”

The witch scowled. “Then what was it? Did we see two different things?”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to frown doubtfully. “Two different catastrophic events, powerful enough to cause prophetic dreams? That’s unlikely, yes?”

The witch was clearly growing exasperated. “Look, either way the safest thing would be for your people to get as far away from here as they can.”

Aziraphale shook his head insistently. “If it’s reaching all the way to the lowlands we may not be able to get far enough. The caves could protect them from a storm like the one I saw.”

The witch growled in frustration and began pacing. “We don’t have enough information! What is the point of a premonition we can’t act on?”

Aziraphale felt a little thread of uncertainty but decided to leap. “Maybe we can find out more.”

The witch stopped. Slowly he turned to face Aziraphale. “We?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, trying to project confidence. He noticed he was wringing his hands and forced himself to stop, spreading them hopefully instead. “We’re both powerful. I’m sure we can figure it out. And the sooner we have answers the sooner we can get out of your hair.”

The witch stared at him for an extended moment, arms dangling slack with shock. Eventually he sighed. “Let’s get on it with it,” he griped.

Aziraphale beamed, fists clenching compulsively with excitement.

“If we’re going to be working together –” the witch groaned – “I think we should introduce ourselves properly, don’t you? I’m Aziraphale.”

The witch eyed him with resignation. “Crowley.”

Chapter Text

Pepper’s legs were starting to hurt, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. As the grassland gave way to rolling hills she started to feel a little uneasy at the land beginning to surround her and cut off parts of the sky. But she grit her teeth and kept going, doggedly keeping up with the leader at the head of the group. Her eyes strained as she kept searching the sky.

Finally she spotted it. It took her a moment to suck in a lungful of air as excitement flooded her small body. “SMOKE!” she shrieked.

Those nearby stopped chatting and followed the path of her little finger. Sure enough, a thin smudge of grey could be seen trailing into the sky over the next rise. The leader pointed the group in that direction, her staff swinging.

“Well done, Pepper,” Muriel said fondly. “That was really hard to see.”

Pepper puffed out her chest importantly.

The group reached the top of the hill, some of the older children racing with the dogs to keep some of the more empty-headed cattle from wandering off down the side, and saw a river winding through the landscape below. Boats were pulled up on the shore of a lush meadow, and a group of people milled around a fire, laying out blankets in the grass. Pepper stared at them in fascination. Her mother said that they came up into the foothills every year, to let the cattle graze in the cooler temperatures and meet with the people who lived in the mountains, but Pepper didn’t remember it. This year she would make sure to look at everything as hard as she could so she would remember absolutely everything.

Someone below spotted them and shouted a greeting. Several people waved up at them and their group leader waved back, hollering out a response.

It took a little time to corral the cattle down the slope, but soon they were contentedly munching on the meadow grass, their huge brown eyes vacant as they absently flicked flies from their rumps. Everyone was already beginning to mill together, friends finding each other or little groups standing to one side to brag about the goods they had brought to trade. Pepper looked around eagerly, but she didn’t see anyone her own age. Everyone seemed to be at least twice as big as her. She started to feel a little nervous, and that made her irritated.

Grumbling, she found her mother and grabbed her hand, hiding her face partially in her sleeve. Her mother didn’t even look down, holding her hand tight as she talked to another woman about currents or rocks or something boring like that.

She felt a slight tug on her hood. Something dry and a little raspy brushed against her neck. Frowning, she straightened up and lifted a hand to feel for whatever it was.

Something long and thin slipped over her shoulder. She caught the snake as it nosed the air, confused about where it was. Her face lit up with a grin when she saw what it was.

“Hello!” she greeted it, gently pulling it safely into her hands. It wove and curled over itself, not sure where to go. “Wow, you’re pretty!”

“Snakes aren’t pretty!” a voice behind her complained.

Pepper turned to see a boy with dark hair standing behind her with a scowl on his face. She was a little taller than him. She held the snake a little closer to her chest defensively.

“She is too,” she insisted.

The boy threw up his hands. “He’s not a girl!”

Another boy emerged from the grass nearby, his expression curious under his mop of curly hair. “You’re not scared?” he asked her.

Pepper scoffed. “It’s just a snake. There’s tons of them in the grasslands. Why would I be scared? Besides, I’m not scared of anything!”

“Everyone’s scared of something,” the first boy argued.

“What’re you scared of, then?” Pepper challenged.

He glowered, folding his arms. The other boy came up beside him.

“Spiders,” he said helpfully.

The first boy screeched at the betrayal and tried to stomp on his foot. The other dodged, laughing.

“Just when they’re in the torchlight! The shadows are so big, and all the legs – ugh!” He swung for the other boy and they tussled.

“Sometimes the shadows on the tent walls are a little scary,” Pepper offered as an olive branch.

The second boy squinted at her, his head clamped beneath the other boy’s arm. “I thought you said you didn’t get scared?”

“I said a little,” Pepper said defensively.

“That’s okay,” the second boy said cheerfully. “I’m scared of loud noises.” He extracted himself and adjusted his mussed clothes with grimy hands. “I’m Warlock. That’s Adam.”

Adam grunted.

“Pepper,” she responded, looking back and forth between the pair. “Are you two brothers?”

“Twins, actually,” Warlock said, slinging his arms around Adam’s neck. Adam grumbled and tried to shove him off.

Pepper frowned. “You don’t look that much alike.”

Warlock shrugged. “Mum says that happens sometimes.”

“I’m the oldest,” Adam bragged.

Warlock rolled his eyes. “That’s why you got all cursed and stuff.”

Adam puffed out his chest. “I’m not scared. I’ll show that witch; first I’ll kick him in the crotch, and then in the face –”

Pepper watched him flail around, swinging his arms and legs wildly as he demonstrated. “What are you guys talking about?” she said blankly.

Adam stopped. “You don’t know about the witch?”

Pepper shook her head.

Both boys looked around suspiciously and then crouched down as they leaned in, gesturing for Pepper to come closer. She warily leaned forward, ducking her head to hear them.

“There’s an evil witch in the woods,” Warlock whispered in a tone that definitely carried.

“Mum says he wears all black and he’s all spindly and twisted,” Adam said, curling and jerking his arms in demonstration.

“Like a spider?” Pepper asked, connecting the dots.

Adam scowled. “No! Nothing like that.”

“He’s mad that we’re here,” Warlock said solemnly, his blue eyes huge. “When we were babies he cursed Adam to sleep forever if we didn’t leave.”

“He cursed me to die,” Adam said angrily.

“Aziraphale said he didn’t mean that.”

Adam crossed his arms. He didn’t look convinced.

“Who’s Aziraphale?” Pepper asked.

“He’s our godfairy,” Warlock said.

Pepper’s face cleared. “Oh! Like Muriel!”

“Is that your godfairy?”

Pepper nodded. “Yeah. They’re nice. Sometimes when I eat my cake too fast they give me some of theirs.”

“Nice.” Warlock nodded approvingly.

“That’s them over there.” Pepper pointed to where Muriel was agog over a little stone carving one of the farming people was showing them, their hands clapped over their face in delight.

“They look nice,” Warlock said.

“That’s Aziraphale,” Adam said, pointing in the other direction.

Pepper followed his finger and saw a round man in a long white tunic standing at the edge of the crowd. As the kids watched he looked around furtively and moved off hastily into the underbrush.

“Hold up,” Warlock said. “What’s he doing?”

“Maybe he has to pee,” Adam said.

They all stared at the spot he disappeared for a second.

“Let’s follow him,” Warlock said decisively, and strode forward.

The other two crowded close behind him as they left the meadow and entered the forest. The midday sun lit everything with bright yellow light; the trees practically seemed to glow. In the distance they could see Aziraphale hurrying among the trunks.

The trio broke into a shambling run, trying to stay quiet even as they panicked about losing him, short legs pumping madly as they frantically worked to catch up.

Aziraphale moved confidently through the forest, lifting a hand to ward off low branches and picking up the hem of his tunic so it wouldn’t get muddy. The kids scrambled over logs and crammed behind trees, watching to make sure they hadn’t been seen.

After a time the land suddenly buckled and an enormous mossy cliff blocked the path. The kids crouched behind a large tree, fingers digging into the soft and shredding bark, wondering what Aziraphale was going to do next.

Aziraphale stepped up to the cliff and pressed a hand firmly against it. Small slabs of stone slid out of the wall, making stairs that led upward. Without hesitation Aziraphale stepped on the first stair and headed up, footing sure even on the narrow steps. He disappeared above the canopy.

The children all craned their necks upward to watch.

“Maybe we should stop,” Adam said, but Warlock was already moving forward. Pepper followed without hesitation.

Warlock scrambled up onto the first step, holding on to the next with his hands. Looking up at the route, he began scrambling upward, still bent double and using his hands and feet to ferry himself along.

Pepper put one foot on the first stair and tested it, leaning her weight on it. It didn’t budge. A bit slower than Warlock but upright, she began making her way up, one hand on the cliff to steady herself.

Halfway up she looked down. Adam was standing at the bottom of the cliff, looking up at the two of them miserably.

“Are you scared of heights, too?” Pepper called down to him.

He scowled.

He ran for the stairs and, with one deep breath, began climbing.

He was practically running up the stairs, his eyes wide, and he soon caught up with Pepper.

“Hurry up,” he complained, crowding against her.

“Don’t push me,” Pepper snapped, shoving him back.

“You two. Cut it out,” Warlock butted in from the top of the cliff.

Glowering, Pepper redoubled her efforts and was soon at the top of the cliff. Warlock helped her over the edge. Adam was just behind her.

“Did you see where he went?” Pepper asked Warlock.

“He’s moving fast, but pretty much in a straight line – that way,” Warlock pointed. “I think we can catch up.”

They took off right away, dodging ferns and bushes. Even though Warlock was slightly shorter than both of the others, he raced out ahead, his legs a blur. Pepper was hot on his heels.

In only a few minutes they spotted Aziraphale’s white hair bobbing through the trees and slowed down, darting from tree to tree as they stalked their prey.

Pepper frowned. “Do you smell that?”

Warlock sniffed the air. “Smoke,” he said. “Like a cooking fire.”

“I thought Mum said no one lived out here?” Adam said.

“Except the witch, right?” Pepper said. The trio all stared at each other in shock.

Adam took a step back. “Maybe we should get out of here.”

Warlock was staring after Aziraphale, unmistakable curiosity flooding his face. “Or…” he said.

“No,” Adam shook his head with frustration. “I know that look.”

Pepper was overcome with excitement and fear until she couldn’t tell one from the other. There was so much it felt like it was overflowing out the top of her head and the tips of her fingers. “Or?” she prompted.

Warlock turned to the others. “This is our chance to see if he’s really as scary as Mum says.”

“Why would she lie?” Adam argued.

Warlock shrugged. “I don’t know! Grown-ups lie all the time. I don’t think they can help it.”

Pepper nodded sagely in agreement. “This is the only way to know for sure.”

Warlock flashed an enormous white grin. “Let’s go then.” He turned away then turned back. “Quietly.”

Much more slowly, the kids crept forward, eyes wide for any sign of the witch. Their knees started to hurt from crouching, but they bravely moved forward. The smell of smoke grew stronger.

Suddenly they could hear voices.

Warlock waved his arm frantically and scurried behind a tree, the others crowding close behind. Holding their breath, they peered cautiously around the trunk.

“…ing you today,” a voice said.

“I happened to be nearby and I thought I would call on you,” Aziraphale responded, striding toward a figure standing in the center of a clearing. The figure was bent over a large stone planter, up to his elbows in dirt. Behind the figure was a sturdy stone cottage.

The figure snorted. “Well, make yourself at home,” he said.

“Don’t be like that,” Aziraphale chided. He stopped near the figure and bent to examine the planter with interest. “Are these roses?”

The figure, who was presumably the witch, stood and jabbed his hands into his hips. “Yeah,” he said. “Had this bright idea to have roses climbing the cottage, but the soil here is the wrong acidity. So, I’d need to do it manually.”

The trio of children behind the tree stared at the terrifying creature from ghost stories now standing before them. His brassy red hair was shoved messily beneath a headband and his yellow eyes were squinted in thought. His tunic was too short. There was a dirt smudge on his forehead.

“He looks…” Adam started.

“Kind of silly?” Pepper finished.

They all stared for a moment more and then ducked behind the trunk to clap hands over their mouths to muffle their laughter.

“What would happen if you planted it directly?” Aziraphale was asking.

“They would sicken and eventually die,” the witch responded.

Aziraphale bent to examine the soil in the planter. It looked the same as any other soil. “But you can change the acidity of the soil?”

“Yes.” The witch narrowed his eyes at him. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Aziraphale stared up at him with eyes that were far too wide and blue. “Whatever do you mean?”

The witch scoffed. “Don’t act all innocent.”

“Crowley, I’m offended you think I’d be digging for info on how to hurt your roses,” Aziraphale protested, hand over his heart.

For a moment Crowley looked abashed.

Aziraphale admired the tightly closed buds of the rose bush to be transplanted. “It would be far simpler to just chop them down,” he said, suppressing a smile.

Crowley’s eyes widened, scandalized. “I knew you were a bastard the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“Strange. All my first impressions of you were charitable.”

“Do you have something you want to tell me, or are you just here to harass me?” Crowley complained.

Aziraphale sobered. “I heard back from my friend – the one from the city I mentioned?”

Crowley went still. “And?”

“She said she also had a dream the same night we did. Hers was all fire.”

“So I’m right then,” Crowley said.

“Not necessarily,” Aziraphale countered.

Crowley groaned. “Aziraphale, come on. Our time is half gone already. Your people need to find somewhere safe.”

“This is the safe place,” Aziraphale argued. “Why would my friend have a dream about something happening so far away? The disaster must be out there.”

“Or it’s because of her connection to you,” Crowley argued. “You’re close; she saw something that would affect you.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were pleading. “If you’re so sure it’s going to happen here, why aren’t you making plans to leave?”

Crowley sighed. “This again.”

Aziraphale crossed his arms. “You’re not invincible.”

“Oh, didn’t I mention? I made an invincibility potion. Unkillable, me.”

“Magnificent. Share it with me and my people; problem solved.”

“Can’t. Only made one dose. Guess you’ll just have to take your people somewhere safe.”

Aziraphale threw up his hands. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this!”

“I’m always like this!” Crowley shouted at his retreating back.

“Out of the mouth of babes!”

Crowley stared after him in fury. “See you next week!” he shouted angrily.

“Lovely! I’m looking forward to it!” Aziraphale hollered back irritably.

Crowley stood for a moment glaring after him. Eventually his shoulders slumped and he sighed. He turned back and kneeled beside the planter again, scooping out a hollow in the center. He lifted the bush into the air and examined it, gently combing the roots straight.

Adam leaned too far around the tree, squinting as he stared at the plant.

“Doesn’t look like much, huh?” Warlock murmured.

“That’s what’s going to kill me?” Adam said with disgust.

“Put you to sleep.”

“Shut up, Warlock.”

“What are you guys talking about,” Pepper hissed.

Adam flapped a hand. “The curse starts when I prick myself on a rose, whatever that is.”

“I think it’s that,” Pepper said, nodding toward the bush.

“I figured that out, thanks a bunch.”

“Do you all want to come out from behind there and talk to me or are you just going to keep whispering to yourselves?” Crowley said without looking up.

The children all went still.

They huddled together, meeting each other’s round eyes.

“I think if we run we can get away,” Adam said. “He looks old.”

Pepper considered this, but Warlock set his jaw. “He’s not scary,” he said. “Mom must have lied. I bet there’s more we can learn.”

Before either of the other two could react, he turned and leapt out from behind the tree.

Pepper and Adam tried to grab him but missed and quickly retreated behind the trunk, their hearts pounding. They peered out with horror; at this moment they would have admitted their fear to absolutely anyone.

Warlock lifted his chin. Crowley still didn’t look up.

“Are those poisonous?” Warlock demanded, his high voice cracking.

Crowley gently packed soil around the rose’s roots. “No,” he said. “They’re whiny bastards, but the only harm they do is how much sleep I lose over them.”

Pepper and Adam’s jaws dropped at the swear.

Warlock stepped forward boldly. “Don’t lie to me,” he said. “They look evil.”

Crowley snorted. “That’s because they’re basically sticks. Come back in a little while and you can see the flowers.”

Warlock blinked. “They’re…flowers?”

“Yep.”

Warlock had drifted up to the edge of the planter. Now he leaned down cautiously, examining the plant.

“Watch the thorns,” Crowley said. “I lied; they do two types of harm. Sleep loss and stabbing.”

Pepper craned her neck further, trying to see, but Warlock was standing in the way. Making up her mind, she stepped out from behind the tree too. She hurried to stand beside Warlock, ignoring Adam hissing behind her.

What the witch said was right; roses did look like a bunch of sticks. Twisted dark branches studded with little thorns pushed out knobbly little fingers in all directions. Pepper frowned at it.

“It looks dead,” she said.

There was the crunch of footsteps and Adam arrived beside her, scowling. He eyed the bush suspiciously, hanging back slightly.

Crowley sighed. “Kids these days. No imagination.” He stood up and brushed off his hands, dirt flying. “Do you want to see one of the flowers? Would you believe me then?”

The trio nodded in unison.

“Alright, come over here then. I don’t trust you alone with this poor innocent rose bush.”

The kids clustered outside the cottage door and peered after Crowley as he disappeared inside. He soon reappeared, something cupped in his palm. He held it out to them.

Thin green leaves wrapped tightly around delicate satiny pink petals closed tightly together. The children leaned closer, staring at the bud with fascination.

Adam blinked with astonishment. “It smells good,” he said.

Crowley snorted. “Well spotted. Here, keep it,” he said, depositing it in Warlock’s palm. “Now get out of here, I hate children.”

He shut the door in their faces.

The children raced away, Warlock in the lead with the bud held over his head in his fist like a trophy.

Once they were out of breath they stumbled to a halt, spinning around a clearing and collapsing into the ferns.

“Lemme see it again,” Pepper demanded, rolling over in the leaves.

Warlock opened his palm and revealed the slightly crushed bud. Pepper cocked her head.

“That’s what’s going to put you to sleep?” she said doubtfully to Adam.

Warlock flung an arm around Adam’s neck. “All of us, actually,” he said cheerfully. “Aziraphale made it so we would all sleep so Adam wouldn’t be lonely.”

“Get off me,” Adam grumbled, squirming out from under him.

“Maybe he can make it so you can sleep too!” Warlock said enthusiastically as Adam wiggled free and he collapsed to the forest floor.

Pepper wrinkled her nose. That didn’t sound very nice.

“What were they saying about a disaster?” she asked.

Warlock shrugged. Adam shook his head.

Pepper hesitated.

“Muriel said they had a dream about a disaster too,” she said quietly. “They talk about it sometimes.”

Frowning, Adam and Warlock lay down in the bark and moss, staring up at the sky. Pepper slowly lay down beside them.

“You guys live in the grasslands, right?” Adam asked.

Pepper nodded, dead leaves catching in her hair. “Except for the summer when we’re up here, yeah.”

“So…if your fairy had a dream too…” Warlock began. “Maybe that means…that the disaster will be everywhere.”

Adam frowned. “Everywhere?”

Warlock lifted a hand and spread his fingers against the sky. “The whole world,” he said. “Nowhere will be safe.”

Chapter Text

Aziraphale curled his arm and the hulking shadow on the wall lumbered forward. The crowd of gathered children gasped. “Then, the giant ogre picked up our hero, and -” Aziraphale continued, struggling to keep his voice serious and menacing through his own delight. A grin tugged at his lips.

“Aziraphale. A word?” Deirdre appeared at the edge of the circle.

Aziraphale hesitated. “Can it wait?”

She shook her head firmly.

Aziraphale reluctantly dropped his arms. “Brian. You remember the rest of it, don’t you?”

Brian, a gangly teenager, took up his stance with enthusiasm, arcing his arms over his head. “Then, the ogre picked up the hero and bit his head off!”

The children squealed and Aziraphale ducked his head to Deirdre as they walked away. “Brian’s version differs from mine a bit.”

She smiled tightly back at him and for the first time Aziraphale felt a pang of discomfort.

She led him outside where a small group of adults waited together under the moonlight. They all looked at him with wary faces. Their expressions didn’t change when he smiled in greeting.

Aziraphale spread his hands awkwardly. “You wanted to discuss something?”

Deirdre got right to the point. “We know you’ve been visiting the witch.”

Aziraphale blinked, a bit thrown. “You know I’ve been trying to learn more about the curse and the roses,” he said slowly.

Arthur scowled. “Yeah, that’s what you’ve been saying,” he said. “But you’ve been a bit vague about the whole thing.”

Aziraphale threw up his hands. “If you had doubts all you needed to do was –”

“All we’re saying,” Mary interrupted, “is we thought you were spying on him. We didn’t think you’d walk right up and ask him.”

Aziraphale thought wistfully of his spying outfit. He’d never gotten another chance to use it. A shame. It had done its job so skillfully. “Roses are a strange and rare plant,” he admitted. “I have no source of knowledge on them except for their caretaker. I need to know what’s in his mind.”

“He hasn’t bewitched you?” Deirdre said skeptically.

Aziraphale scoffed. “Absolutely not, my dear lady! Please trust I have the power to withstand him. Honestly, the very idea.”

Deirdre’s face softened a bit, although she still looked worried.

“So, what have you learned?” Arthur asked gruffly.

Aziraphale hesitated. “I’m still building my knowledge,” he answered finally. “I need to be sure my information is accurate. He’s a slippery one.” He didn’t want to frighten the others by telling them about the disaster until he had more information about how to avoid it. And privately, deep down, he didn’t want to examine how frequently he visited Crowley and what that indicated about how he felt about his company. 

Deirdre looked at him beseechingly. Her expression was echoed in all the shaded faces standing behind her. “But you’ll let us know the moment you have something we can act on?”

Aziraphale nodded firmly. “Of course.” He ignored the pang of guilt that echoed in his heart.

Crowley held his breath as he gently brought the shorn edge of the branch to the bare spot on the host trunk and gently began to tie them together. He felt a little thrill of excitement. He was certain it was going to work this time.

The door to the greenhouse burst open. Crowley flinched but managed to hold his hands still. He closed his eyes and dragged a mote of patience kicking and screaming up from deep in his soul.

“Aziraphale,” he said in a strangled voice. “What have I said about knocking?”

He opened his eyes to see a cherubic nose millimeters away from his grafting project as Aziraphale stared in fascination. “What are you doing?”

Crowley scowled. “Back up, would you? This is very delicate work. Don’t want you sneezing or breathing wrong or -”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows lifted. “Breathing wrong?”

The lines on Crowley’s face deepened. “You know what I mean.”

“I certainly do not, but I shall do as you ask,” Aziraphale said, straightening and pulling a stool over so he could sit at the table. “Will that take long? I have something I want to discuss with you.”

Crowley grit his teeth. “So I gathered,” he said, “but if you insist on dropping by with no warning, you may find that I am occupied.”

Aziraphale did not appear in the least fazed by this. He watched with delight as Crowley carefully attached the graft, blue eyes shining, and despite himself Crowley felt a bit gratified.

Finally finished, he carefully set the new plant in the planned space and turned back to his visitor, wiping the dirt from his hands. “What was it you wanted to talk about?” he asked gruffly.

Aziraphale lit up, his shining face competing with the sunlight streaming in through the glass. Crowley’s heart missed a beat and he thumped his chest irritably. Must have stood up too fast.

“I wanted to get your opinion on this,” he said, pulling something from inside his tunic. He unrolled a length of sheepskin on the table. There were markings all over it. Crowley drifted closer, interested despite himself.

“I thought, based on our dreams and the accounts we’re getting from others, we might try to outline the boundaries of the disaster,” Aziraphale said, smoothing the skin nervously.

Crowley leaned over the skin, eyes tracing the details. Thick lines, gentle curls, and sharp spikes laid out the forest, the grassland, and the river leading through the mountains to the sea.

“You made a map?” Crowley said, impressed.

Aziraphale smiled happily. “That’s our main point of contention, yes? What exactly is in the danger zone? I thought it would help if we could mark off areas whenever we found a Clue.”

Crowley slowly sat down, still examining the map. “Could help,” he admitted.

Aziraphale beamed, knocking his hands together with excitement. “Right-o! So, in your dream, you were here, right?”

“Right here in this room,” Crowley confirmed.

Aziraphale bent his head and made a neat little x on the skin. Crowley ducked his head to check his positioning.

“Aziraphale,” he said slowly, “what are those puffy curly things?”

Aziraphale extracted a pair of round spectacles from his tunic and settled them at the end of his nose. Entirely distracted by this development, Crowley stared at him openly.

Aziraphale leaned forward and peered at the spot Crowley’s finger indicated. “Why, those are trees of course,” he said, chuckling. “To represent the forest.”

Crowley blinked and came back to himself. “Do they...er...have smiley faces?” he said like he couldn’t believe his own eyes.

“Yes!” Aziraphale said happily, brushing his fingers over the lines. “I thought it would brighten things up a bit.”

Crowley’s eyebrows nearly levitated off his head. “Brighten...things...up?” he echoed faintly. The brows plummeted into a scowl. “Aziraphale, this is a dark, enchanted wood! There shouldn’t be smiley faces!”

Aziraphale shrugged. “It doesn’t seem that scary to me,” he said.

A strangled noise died in Crowley’s throat. “An evil witch lives here!”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed slightly, but his eyes were twinkling. “Who?”

Crowley flung his arms in the air, a stream of unintelligible noises falling from his lips.

“Ah, yes,” Aziraphale said like he just remembered. “Don’t worry, everyone else still thinks you’re very scary, my dear.”

Crowley slumped, thoroughly chastened. “You are such a bastard,” he managed.

“Mm,” Aziraphale agreed absently. “Did you see anything else in your dream? More of the forest, or of the mountains?”

Crowley tried to pull himself together and concentrate. “The forest was burning too,” he remembered.

“Where in the forest? Which parts?”

Crowley shrugged helplessly. “Just. All around. Everywhere I could see from here.”

Aziraphale nodded and shaded in a circle around the x that marked Crowley’s cottage. “Let’s mark this for now,” he said. “Now, in my dream, I could see some of the grasslands, but some of the hills as well.”

Crowley followed his fingers as they traced over the map. He spotted something and he froze, one eyebrow twitching.

“Aziraphale,” he began, wondering if he should even bother bringing it up even as he spoke. “Is that...glitter?”

Aziraphale didn’t even look up from the circle he was inscribing. “Helps delineate the water,” he explained.

Crowley buried his face in his hands.

“Leaving aside the fact that neither of us are children,” he said, “that stuff, like, multiplies – I’m going to be finding it around here for months, in the soil, in my tools -”

“It’ll add a bit of sparkle,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley glared at him over his hands. “I don’t want a bit of sparkle,” he growled.

“Oh dear, will it interfere with this dark broody sorcerer thing you’ve got going on, I’m terribly sorry –”

“Shut up,” Crowley wailed, entirely beset. He dropped his head to the table with a thunk.

Aziraphale patted his hand consolingly. “Don’t worry; my people are still very afraid of you. They’re quite cross with me for meeting with you.”

Crowley peered up at him. “They are?”

Aziraphale nodded, the spectacles barely clinging to his nose.

“Huh.” Crowley slowly sat up, a bit mollified. He studied his companion. “But you’re still...meeting with me anyway?”

Aziraphale sniffed. “It’s not their fault they don’t understand,” he said. He shot Crowley a sharp look. “In no small part thanks to you.” Crowley lifted his hands innocently. “This work is important,” Aziraphale finished.

Despite himself, a smile tugged at the corners of Crowley’s mouth. “It is,” he agreed.

Crowley had just settled in for a rest and put his feet up when there was a banging at his door. He sighed deeply.

As he shuffled toward the door, a corner of his mind doubted that Aziraphale had suddenly decided to respect his requests to knock. Thus, he wasn’t entirely surprised when he flung back the door and saw the three brats he’d met a little while ago - a few years ago? The way Crowley experienced time was a bit wonky.

“What do you want?” he grunted.

The blonde curly one stared up at him with starry, beseeching eyes. He certainly got a lot of use out of those; he knew exactly how to deploy them. Somehow knowing that didn’t lessen its effectiveness on Crowley.

“The bud you gave us got all mushy and fell apart,” the kid said. “Can we have another one?”

Crowley stared at him.

“That was always going to happen,” he said. “If I give you another one it’ll just happen again.”

“Yeah, but I’ll actually get a turn this time,” the girl said crossly.

“You let us borrow it,” the dark-haired one cut in.

“You didn’t say you were going to dissect it,” the girl snapped back.

“We wanted to see how all the parts fit together,” the blonde one explained to Crowley, like he was somehow a participant in this conversation.

Crowley dragged a hand down his face. “This is the last one I’ll give you,” he warned them. “No more after this.”

The trio nodded eagerly, absolutely no comprehension of this agreement on their faces. Crowley sighed again.

“Come in.”

He led them through into the greenhouse, mentally running through the available options. “You’re a bit late for buds; they’re all in bloom now,” he said as the kids stampeded into the room.

The children crowded around a nearby rose, their eyes round. “Our little bud would have become this?” The blonde one, Warlock, said with disbelief.

“I haven’t seen a flower this big before,” Pepper said. “All the flowers in the grassland are tiny.”

“It’s all the petals,” Adam said wisely. “It makes it all – puffy.”

Warlock squinted. “I don’t think our bud had this many petals.”

“No?” Crowley responded.

Adam darted a glance at Warlock. “We did shred it a bit.” Neither of them noticed Pepper’s scowl.

“Here.” Crowley turned to stand beside the flower and extended his hand out over it, long bony fingers spread. The flower froze, no longer bobbing in the ambient air like its fellows. It almost looked like a drawing. After a breath, its petals all began to fold and twist together. It closed down tight and shrank until it was a tiny bud, just like the one they had left with the last time they were here.

The children watched, jaws hanging. “How did you do that?” Warlock demanded.

“Just showed you what it used to look like.” Crowley tilted his hand and the bud swelled and burst open again, rapidly reversing the process they had just witnessed. Crowley dropped his arm and shook out his hand.

“Wow,” the kids breathed.

“If you can move it around in time,” Pepper said, excitement building as she warmed to her idea, “can you freeze it in time so that it never fades or dies?”

“Nope,” Crowley said. He stooped to retrieve a pair of shears. “That would take too much energy to maintain.” He snipped the stem of the rose.

Pepper stared as he held it out to her. “Everything dies,” he said. “That’s just how it is.” The rose was yellow, just like his eyes.

Pepper gingerly took the flower from him.

“Lemme see it,” Warlock said, plucking it from her.

Adam backed away as Warlock swung the rose around, making it dance through the air. “Keep it away from me,” he grumbled.

Pepper clenched her fists, helpless rage rising in her as she watched Warlock careen around with her rose. “Give it back,” she demanded. Her voice wavered a little with anger and she cursed herself internally.

“Just a minute,” Warlock said. “Don’t get all shrill.”

Fury and humiliation flushed Pepper’s cheeks a dark red. She opened her mouth to argue.

Crowley smacked the back of Warlock’s head and snatched the rose from him.

“This is hers,” he declared. “Nobody else touches it. If you do, I’ll curse you to have nightmares forever.”

He stared Warlock down. “Okay, okay, yeesh,” Warlock said. He darted off to poke Adam, who yelped. They began to tussle.

Crowley handed the rose back to Pepper. She cradled it gently, mollified.

“I would have told him off,” she said, not wanting him to think she wouldn’t have.

“I don’t doubt it,” he said. “But sometimes that’s the adults’ job, yeah?”

She shrugged, examining her rose.

“Great talk,” Crowley. “Everybody get out of my house now.”

Children safely deposited on his doorstep, he shut the door in their faces.

“Now what?” Adam asked.

“Lemme see the rose,” Warlock said, crowding up against Pepper and extending a hand.

Pepper glared. “I will kick your knees in,” she threatened.

Warlock threw his arms up. “Okay fine! We’ll play with something else!”

He charged off into the trees, Adam wheeling around to follow him. Pepper took off after them, rolling her eyes.

The kids began a rambling game of hide-and-seek that lazily led them back in the direction of the caves. It was afternoon and they wouldn’t be missed for hours yet.

Pepper was crouched in the space between two boulders, listening to Adam call, when she heard footsteps crunching through the undergrowth. She craned her neck carefully, trying to see the newcomer without giving away her position.

“Adam! What are you doing this far into the woods?” came a cheerful voice. Pepper tilted farther and managed to catch a glimpse of Aziraphale’s white tunic and pale hair.

“Er...just playing, sir.”

“Alone?” Aziraphale asked, surprised. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your brother nearby. Practically attached at the hip – oh, there he is.”

Warlock groaned. “You gave me away!”

“Oh dear, I’m sorry, have I interrupted a game?”

“It’s okay,” Warlock groused, emerging from behind a tree. “He was never going to find us anyway.”

“Was too.”

“Were not.”

Since the game was apparently paused, Pepper decided to join the group. She slid out from under the gap and brushed off her clothes as she walked toward the others.

“Ah! Another friend!” Aziraphale beamed at her. “Pepper, was it?”

Pepper bobbed her head. “That’s right.”

“Well.” Aziraphale gazed around at them happily. “Aren’t you a fine group! I’m sorry to interrupt, I was just passing through.”

Adam stretched. “We were running out of hiding places anyway. I saw Warlock ages ago, I just didn’t want to end the game too quickly.”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Well, soon the leaves will fall and you can build piles to hide in,” Aziraphale said, smiling at them. “That should give you endless new places!”

Warlock tilted his head straight back, staring up at the trees. “Are all these leaves going to fall?”

“Eventually, yes.”

“That’s kind of sad. All those dead leaves everywhere.”

“Everything dies,” Pepper echoed Crowley.

Aziraphale studied their solemn faces. “It is a bit sad,” he said. “But, the trees will still live through winter and make new leaves. The dead leaves will even help them make new ones, by rotting and turning into mulch to feed the roots.”

He put a hand on Warlock’s shoulder. “In fact, that’s how we feed ourselves,” he explained. “We burn bits of the forest and let the nutrients soak into the ground so we can plant our food.”

“Really?” Pepper asked, astonished.

Aziraphale smiled at her. “Really. It’s all part of a big cycle, round and round.”

“Forever?” Warlock wondered.

“Forever,” Aziraphale confirmed. He squeezed Warlock’s shoulder. “Don’t stray too deep into the woods now. You’ll want to be able to get back in time for supper.”

“Yes, sir,” the kids chorused as Aziraphale began to move off.

“You think he’s going to visit Crowley?” Pepper hissed.

“Definitely,” Warlock hissed back. “They’re like, friends or something.”

“That’s nice,” Pepper said.

“I think it’s weird,” Adam said.

That evening, Pepper hesitantly approached Muriel as they sat chatting with a few other people beside a campfire.

“Can you keep a secret?” she hissed to them.

Muriel blinked their big dark eyes at her with surprise. “Of course,” they promised.

Pepper took them by the hand and pulled them to their tent. Since godfairy was a very special job, Muriel got their own tent and didn’t have to share or anything. This was extremely impressive to Pepper.

Once the flap fell shut behind them, Pepper took a deep breath and pulled the rose out of her tunic.

Muriel’s eyes softened as they looked at it. “That’s very beautiful,” they said.

Pepper nodded. “It’s...special,” she said, not sure how to explain. Muriel just nodded seriously. “I want to keep it. I don’t want it to go all droopy and squishy. Can you help?”

Muriel tilted their head thoughtfully. “My magic can’t help with this,” they admitted. “But – we can try drying it. That should let you hold onto it a bit longer.”

“Like drying meat,” Pepper realized, warming to the idea.

Muriel smiled. “Yes, like that. It will last longer. Not forever though.”

“No, I know,” Pepper said forlornly, still disappointed despite her words.

“Here.” Muriel gently took the flower from her. “I’ll hang it here in my tent until it’s dried and then I’ll return it to you for safekeeping. Sound good?”

Pepper nodded, watching them gently tie a string around the end of the rose and let it dangle from the roof of the tent. “You won’t tell anyone? It’s mine,” she tried to explain.

Muriel smiled understandingly. “I won’t tell.”