Chapter Text
It was late October when Aziraphale arrived at Jasmine Cottage in Tadfield. He didn't know the first thing about running a bed and breakfast, but amongst his bags and luggage, he also carried a manilla folder with instructions from his grandmother, Agnes Nutter, on how to run everything:
1) There's six rooms. Clean them at least once each week. Yes, even if no one else has occupied them that week.
2) Let your cousin Anathema handle the kitchen. She knows what she's doing.
3) Always make sure the grass is mowed and the hedges are trimmed.
4) All the spare keys are under the Nefertiti bust behind the till.
5) Make sure all the rooms are stocked with water and Hob Nobs. Guests love Hob Nobs. They also love hot chocolate in the winter.
6) Speaking of which, at the first frost, you'll be visited by a young man in black. He'll always want Room Six, with the forest view. He's not all that he seems, so be a good host to him.
The cottage itself sat along the edge of town, surrounded by hills and just a short walk from the downtown area and the shore, red brick and blue shutters and ivy climbing up the side trellis. Though it was once the family home, Agnes had stayed behind and converted it into a bed and breakfast after most of the family moved to London. She was a wayward soul, though Aziraphale had fond memories of spending his summers in Tadfield, playing hide and seek with his cousins, Anathema and Muriel, in the hills, as well as reading in the back garden and fishing in the nearby pond.
His cousins greeted him with hugs as he pulled up onto the property. His home - a cozy little bungalow with a thatched roof - was just across the road from the bed and breakfast, so they quickly helped him unpack his things and then showed him around the town and the B&B. Muriel and Anathema were like two peas in a pod, talking Aziraphale's ear off about the eccentric guests they've had at the B&B and all the happenings of the town.
"You should join the book club," Muriel told him as they drove Aziraphale and Anathema around in their old blue Beetle.
"Better yet, you should take over book club," Anathema said with an eyeroll. "God, if I have to listen to Mr. Brown rattle on about carpets instead of books…"
His two cousins cackled, while Aziraphale glanced out the window at the window, taking in the saltcliffs and the autumnal scents in the air.
He remembered the smell of the shore mixed with the fresh green grass of that surrounded the cottage, as well as the gardens that always seemed lush with flowers. However, with it being late October, everything had turned grey and chilly, the only color from the orange and yellow forest in the distance.
Back at the B&B, the dining and living areas were spacious yet full of character, from Agnes's bookcase filled with all matter of books, to all the witchy furniture and knickknacks and angelic figures that Anathema and Muriel kept around. The different six rooms at the top floor - the walls either rose pink, sky blue, maroon, yellow, mauve, and deep blue - reminded Aziraphale of the sky during different points of the day.
Room Six was the one reserved for this mysterious visitor Agnes had mentioned in her notes to him. It had a nighttime motif between the navy walls and the stars and moon decor and furniture throughout. In Aziraphale's opinion, Room Three was his favorite, with the yellow walls, touches of tartan and light blue, like a sunny afternoon. Still, Agnes's note had made him wary. The first frost hadn't arrived yet, but he knew that might change with the arrival of November.
"You know what would be fun for this town?" Anathema asked as she brought in the groceries they'd gotten in town. "Not this year, of course, since most of October's already passed, but… Halloween. I wish we did it how Americans do it. Not just for the kiddos to go guising and trick-or-treating, but also costume parties for us adults."
"Nothing's stopping us," Aziraphale winked as he helped her put groceries in the lazy Susan. "Perhaps we can have our own party, now that we're all together again."
He knew his family back in London would likely turn their noses up at him suggesting such a blasphemous tradition. They were all part of the clergy in some way, his father being a retired man of the cloth and his brother, Gabriel, taking over the congregation. Aziraphale had also studied the Scriptures and psalms, knew the Apostle's Creed before he could say the ABCs, even was a vicar throughout in his twenties and thirties, but he always yearned for more than that.
So, when he received Agnes's will and learned he'd inherited the B&B, he simply made up a small lie. Told them he had been offered a job at the congregation in Tadfield and would be living with Anathema and Muriel until he found his own place. That first part was a lie - he was going to hang up his cloth for now, just to go on his own spiritual journey.
Sometimes it felt like God was telling him to return here… he liked to think She did, or at least planted the idea in Agnes's head.
"We can think about Halloween costumes later," Muriel said as they scurried around the kitchen for potatoes and carrots. "I'm making soup."
Anathema and Aziraphale chuckled as they went to help their younger cousin with the soup, chopping the carrots and potatoes and adding some other herbs as well as garlic and onions for added flavor. They sauteed and stirred the vegetables before pouring in the broth, adding in salt, pepper, and herbs as they went. Soon enough, the three cousins were huddled around the fireplace in the living area, a soft fire cracking as they talked and laughed as they ate their soup and sourdough.
Eventually, Anathema and Muriel went to bed in the other home on the property adjacent to the B&B, though Aziraphale stayed up, sitting by the fire and getting lost in the books. If there was one thing he missed about the countryside, it was the sound of nature, of owls and nightingales and the wind whistling through the trees. London had a way of being too chaotic, too noisy, too garish with all the neon lights. Aziraphale could get used to the peace here.
He lost track of time, and before he knew it, it was getting close to midnight.
And there was a knock at the front door.
Aziraphale sat up in his armchair, confused. Were they expecting a guest? Or was there a guest coming back from a very late dinner in town? Anathema hadn't mentioned it, as this was one of the few weeks where they didn't have guests. He stared at the red front door with the horseshoe over it.
The knock came again, louder this time. Aziraphale shot to his feet and made his way to the door. As he did so, he glanced out the window and saw snow coming down in big white flakes against the dark countryside, and it clicked.
The guest. The one that Agnes had mentioned.
Aziraphale straightened out his bowtie, remembering what Agnes had told him. Be a good host. It sounded too much like the fae rules of hospitality.
He opened the door and the first thing he saw was a pair of golden eyes staring down at him. Then he made out the tall, slim figure in the darkness, wrapped in his own sparkling night, judging by the jacket and cloak he wore, black with touches of silver and gold, and tight black trousers. The man certainly looked like he was a member of the fae, with his pale skin that sparkled like the frost on the windows, sharp cheekbones and nose, and long flaming red hair.
The blonde man gulped as he stared back. He was quite possibly the most beautiful man Aziraphale had ever seen, which only seemed to prove Agnes's point that he wasn't completely human.
"Hello," Aziraphale said, finding his voice. "Welcome to Jasmine Cottage. I'm Aziraphale." He reached out his hand, shaking with anxiety and possibly the sudden chill in the air.
The man - was he a man? - looked at him, then looked at his extended hand, and reached out a hand himself and shook it. Aziraphale nearly had to pull his hand back from how shockingly cold it was, like sticking his hand into snow or icy water. However, he just offered a polite smile at this new guest.
"Crowley," the guest said. "Not my real name, just one that I use whenever I'm visiting here. Agnes liked it, said it was like… swirling at your feetish. Like snow."
"Charming," Aziraphale said, squeezing one hand with the other in an effort to warm it up again. "Would you like to come in?"
Crowley paused, eyes still studying Aziraphale, before he took a few slow steps inside the B&B. As he glanced around the entrance and living area, Aziraphale couldn't help but notice how he moved in such a peculiar way. It was strangely smooth but with a slight sway to it, as if he wasn't human but a being that had its own way of doing things and was doing its best impression of a human. Aziraphale was intrigued by the man, from his wiry features and build and red hair, and he couldn't tell if there was frost on his face, or if his freckles sparkled.
Thankfully, he snapped out of it and became a guest again. "Could I get you anything?" he asked, making his way to the kitchen. "We - myself, Anathema, and Muriel, they're my cousins - made soup earlier. I could warm some up for you."
The man turned to him, eyes still glowing in an otherworldly way, though a small smile softened his face. "That'd be nice," he said.
Aziraphale decided he would have some more too, so he got out some bowls from the cabinets and heated some soup up in the microwave. As he did so, he glanced over his shoulder at the man in the B&B, who was simply wandering slowly around, observing the art on the walls and the trickets and books on the bookcases. He'd remembered Agnes telling him stories of the fae when he was a boy, and he had a feeling that Crowley was a member of them. The fact that he didn't give Aziraphale his real name, the aura that suggested that he wasn't human… he had to be.
He shook the thought away as the microwave beeped to let him know the soup was warmed up. The blonde carefully put the hot bowls on a serving tray and carried them over by the fireplace, where the man was sitting, staring curiously at the flames.
"Here we go," Aziraphale said, placing the tray onto the coffee table.
"Thank you," Crowley smiled, revealing straight white teeth with a pronounced canine. He took one of the hot bowls, somehow not flinching as he held it and the spoon in his hands. In fact, Aziraphale couldn't help but notice how the steam coming from the soup seemed to dull and wither, as if the man's touch had cooled the soup. Aziraphale ignored it, blew on the soup and took a spoonful, once again enjoying the hearty vegetable stew.
"Ssssso, you're the grandson I'd heard about?" Crowley said as he lounged back in the armchair. Aziraphale nodded nervously as he swallowed that bit of soup. "Can't believe I never met you in all the years I've come to this B&B."
"Well, that's because I've lived in London most of my life," Aziraphale explained. "My father is a vicar, mostly retired, though he still likes to call the shots with things. His travel opportunities are limited because of his work, but he did allow me to visit Agnes, Anathema, and Muriel in the summers." He took another spoonful of soup. "I'm also a vicar, followed in the family business I suppose, like my brother and father."
Aziraphale smiled nervously, feeling like those golden eyes were studying him. "So, are you leading a… what's it called… congregation here?" Crowley asked.
"Not yet," Aziraphale said, stirring the soup with the spoon. He decided he could use some crackers, and got up to get a box of them. He offered some to Crowley quietly, but Crowley shook his head. "I mostly came here to help with the bed and breakfast. I'm not planning to start a church of my own." He folded some bits of soup crackers into the stew as he talked. "But enough about me…"
Crowley blinked slowly, as if he had to remind himself to blink to seem more human. "Oh um," he said, sitting up straight and shaking some snowflakes from his hair. "I, uh… I have a lot of names. Crowley is one of them," he explained. "But there's also the North Wind, Old Man Winter, Jack Frost. My main job is bringing the first fragments of winter to humans."
Aziraphale just listened to him intently. This man wasn't just a fae; he was a force of nature. All the more reason to be a good host to him. "Sounds like quite a job."
Crowley shrugged. "Humans need winter, at least I've been told," he said. "Some of them don't like it, don't like the snow or having to shovel it or the constant cold and darkness. Kids love it, though, especially the first snow. I've been known for starting a few snowball fights with kids, and they will tire themselves out until the sun goes down. Adults, not so much." He glanced out the window at the falling snow and smiled. "Don't understand that, though," and he stood up to walk towards the window and watch it closer, eyes glowing with a certain wonder and gentleness that wasn't there before. "Look at you, you're gorgeous," he said fondly to the snowflakes lightly pattering on the windows.
"It really is," Aziraphale agreed. "It's not that fun in cities. Too much slush and sliding around when you're trying to get around London. It's why the Underground is your best friend… er, human's best friend in winter or in bad weather."
The fae chuckled. "Oh, humans and your inventions to get around," he said in an affectionate tone. "Guess not all of us have wings."
"Wings?" Aziraphale echoed, confused.
Crowley carefully balanced his soup bowl down on the windowsill and took a few steps back, Aziraphale watching him with a curious expression. Then he realized why as a pair of great wings manifested on his back, inky black and iridescent like a raven's, but also seemed to sparkle like falling snow against a dark night.
"Oh," uttered Aziraphale as he gazed at them.
"Not that people can see them," Crowley said as he drew them back in. "I usually just make myself invisible in case they see me while I'm spreading the first snow."
Aziraphale watched him as Crowley picked up his bowl again and continued to glance out the window. "Like I said, it's quite a job," he said. "And you do an excellent job."
"Thanks," Crowley said as he finished his soup. "Not sure how I got it, exactly, just… sauntered vaguely into it. My kind has their way of deciding things, not that I'm always informed on those decisions. There's a fae of the night, of the dawn, of summer and spring and autumn, though we can sort of overlap with each other. Sometimes I arrive early, like this year, or sometimes I pop up when it's almost spring, as I did a few years ago. I spend part of the year in the Southern Hemisphere, then the other half here in the north."
"Fascinating," Aziraphale nodded as he watched the snowfall. "I like the starry looking ones," as he waved at some of the flakes outside, though he also yawned, realizing that it was getting late. "Umm, do you need anything else? Hot cocoa? More soup, perhaps?"
"Nah, thanks," Crowley said as he stood up, all long limbs and an icy aura. "Room Six available by chance?"
"Always," Aziraphale told him, and he hurriedly walked over to the front desk and looked around in the drawers until he found the keys. "Have a good night," he said as he handed him the key to Room Six.
"You as well," Crowley smiled, and Aziraphale watched as he ascended the stairs, his cloak trailing behind him as he did so.
Aziraphale hadn't realized his heart had quickened until he felt it slow again. He took a deep breath and placed the empty bowls in the sink. After checking around the main entrance area - made sure the doors were locked, the windows closed, the fire was out - he headed back to his new home across from the B&B so he could sleep as well. It was a cozy little place, but one that he could tell Agnes lived in, if the flowery, frilling drapes and the doilies as well as the midcentury decor and appliances was anything to go by.
He changed into his long nightshirt and brushed his teeth before he went to bed, though he was sure he was already asleep before his head hit the pillow.
The sun streamed in through Aziraphale's window, making him groan and shift beneath the duvet over his head. He'd almost forgotten where he was as he blinked his eyes open, the room shabby and rustic between the rosy wallpaper and the furniture that seemed to be made of driftwood, but he knew it was Agnes's guest room in her old home.
He sat up and stretched, though leapt out of bed when he saw the time on the old grandfather clock. Eleven o'clock. Right, he had a B&B to look after now, guests and cousins to tend to. On top of that, he had a rather… supernatural guest last night. The herald of winter, he supposed Crowley was called… or at least the first signs of winter when it was still technically autumn. Outside, the hills and trees were coated with a layer of glistening white snow, a truly late-autumn snowy wonderland.
Aziraphale quickly showered and dressed in tan trousers and layered a buttoned shirt with a blue jumper over it. He headed across the road to Jasmine Cottage, snow crunching under his feet as he did so. It was apparently already a busy morning at the B&B, Anathema at the front desk, helping guests check in and get their luggage into their rooms, while Muriel ate eggs and sausage by the fireplace.
"Hi, Aziraphale," they smiled as Aziraphale sat down. They handed him a fresh, hot cup of coffee. "I heard the water upstairs and figured you'd want this once you came around."
"Thanks, Muriel," Aziraphale wiggled as he took a sip. "A lot going on this morning? I promise to get better at waking up early."
"You could say that," Muriel nodded as they glanced around. "Don't worry, Anathema's got it covered. Just two families passing through for the weekend."
Aziraphale chuckled. "Is Crowley still around?" he asked.
Muriel's dark eyes brightened. "Oh, that's right, you would've met Crowley with the first snow! Serious charmer, isn't he?" they asked. "But no, he never sticks around for long. Bet he's in London by now, then somewhere in Wales by later today."
"Just another quirk about Agnes Nutter's bed and breakfast," Aziraphale said somberly, looking out the windows to the beautiful, freshly fallen snow. The snow that Crowley had left behind.
"Exactly," Muriel giggled as they finished their eggs. "C'mon, we should shovel the snow, get it out of the way for the guests."