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“It's really coming down out there,” Crowley said, somewhat unnecessarily. They could both see perfectly well through the windows, although not much farther-- the promised flurries had suddenly turned into something that looked like it was settling in to stay for a while, and the air was so thick with falling snow that they could barely see to the end of the garden.
Aziraphale looked up from the stove. “Oh. Oh dear. That's heavier than it was even a few minutes ago,” he said. The baking pan clattered on the counter as the angel stepped over to the window.
“Aren't you going to test those?”
“In a moment. It's been quite a while since we've gotten a snow like this.” The little laugh was a reminder of so many days gone, when they hadn’t been able to have this. “Remember the first one?”
He whistled. “Right rager, that storm. Wasn't the first time you saved me from near discorporation, but it was memorable.”
“It was indeed.” Aziraphale peered out the window. “I say, is it just me? Or is it coming down even harder now?”
“Not just you. Been watching the plants at the back of the garden disappear one by one.” Crowley got up and stepped closer to the fire, turning his back to it and letting it toast him through his jeans until the denim was hot against his arse and thighs.
“Are you warm enough, dear heart?”
He looked up to see his angel peering at him, and smiled. “Snug as anything. Morning like this, though, no such thing as too much heat.”
Aziraphale stepped back to the kitchen to test his cakes. “Excellent. Mind you don't get too cold, serpent,” he said fondly.
“If I do, I'll just get you to warm me up.” Crowley grinned, watching. Steam and heat from the oven had already pinkened his angel's cheeks, but if he watched closely he could catch the blush-- a couple of years on since Armageddon, and Aziraphale had stopped even pretending not to get his jokes and innuendos. But he could still make the angel blush every time.
“And how would you suggest I do that, then?”
“Well if I’m frozen right through, I think these days they suggest stripping down and warming me via skin-to-skin contact.”
“Oh, that might take a while, we’d have to find something to do.” Aziraphale popped something into his mouth and made a delighted little wiggle. “I do think I’ve gotten them right this time, my dear! Would you like a taste?”
“Are they done, or are you eating them early because you don’t want to do all the decorating?”
Aziraphale was coming toward him now, a bit of cake in his hand. “I’m asking for your opinion on my cake before I go to the trouble of icing an inferior specimen,” he said, and when Crowley opened his mouth to tease back it was promptly stuffed full of cake.
“Bafftard,” he said, letting the cake dissolve on his tongue. He’d been tester, cheerleader, and accomplice to enough of his husband’s baking attempts to know how this went, and somehow he could still be surprised.
“How is it?”
“Good crumb, not too dry-- although you’ll bollocks that up if you don’t ice them!-- flavor is good. Is that almond in there?”
“Oh, you noticed!” Another happy wiggle.
Crowley’s heart, never that solid around his angel to begin with, started to melt along with the cake.
“Dunno. You might have to make more just to be sure.”
Whatever reply Aziraphale might have given was interrupted by a desperate scratching at their door. Aziraphale stepped over to open it, and a low black shape shot into the room and ran a frantic circle over the furniture.
“Mrs Norris?” Aziraphale said to the cat, catching her on her second circuit. The neighbor’s cat yowled, wriggling in his grasp until she sat on his shoulders, tail twitching furiously.
Crowley reluctantly abandoned his post by the fire to address the cat. “What’s got you in such a lather, anyway?”
She yowled at him again, Danger/help/boy/boy/boy/danger! along with pictures into his mind.
He stepped to the coat rack. “Get your coat, angel.”
“Oh, never tell me you can talk to cats,” Aziraphale said.
Crowley paused with his jacket half-on. “You can’t?”
“Not notably more than anyone else, no. Or at least, not without great effort.”
“Well, I can. Look at that, six thousand years and we’re still learning about each other. Get your coat; Ryan went out to play in the snow and he hasn’t come back.”
“What? It’s murder out there!”
“Yeah. Put your shoes on. We’re going out to look.”
“Of course, dear.” Aziraphale offered Mrs Norris a seat by the fire, winced when she dug her claws into his shoulders instead. “Oh, all right, you may come with us. But you mustn't get in the way.” His shoes found themselves becoming boots as he put them on.
Crowley squeezed his shoulder. “Do you… do you mind? Sending up a beacon, like you did for the first one?”
“Oh! Oh, of course, why didn’t I think--” Aziraphale closed his eyes briefly, and then he was more there, shining out on every level, bright to every one of Crowley’s senses except his mortal eyes. “Let’s go, my dear.”
For the middle of what was practically a blizzard the cat seemed quite comfortable on Aziraphale's shoulders. She blinked at Crowley when he caught her eye, a long slow trusting look.
"We haven't found him yet," said Crowley, voice raised over the wind. "And don't get any ideas. You have a home, you're not moving in with us."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Not you, angel. The cat's getting ideas. But you are my basking rock, not hers!"
"Perhaps you two could argue about whose property I am after we find the boy?" Aziraphale said tartly. "I can't sense him, I'm too far out of practice. Can you get anything?"
Oh, right. He'd been so concerned about Aziraphale sending up his metaphysical flare that he hadn't been working on casting out himself.
He opened up now, extending his senses into the storm. Their cottage, beacon of love that it was to him, blazed brightly behind them; his Angel blazed brighter still beside him. He could almost feel other cottages closer to the village, gleaming in the distance, but not what he needed yet. He needed to look closer.
Crowley put a hand on Aziraphale's arm, letting his eyes drift closed. The snow was disorienting, making it hard to reach out for what people wanted. He walked with Aziraphale through the snow, trusting the angel to guide his steps as he focused on the desire for home, the desire for heat, the desire for safety.
“Pulling toward the left, dearest?” Aziraphale said after a moment, just loud enough to be heard over the storm.
He stopped, listening to those other senses. Yes, it was a little stronger to the left-- desire for home, for warmth, for parents. Fear. Guilt. Edging into despair, stronger now as he moved toward it. He wasn’t sure when his feet had started moving again, but he was now confident that he was going the right direction at least.
Aziraphale was following him now, tugged along by that same grip, occasionally directing him around some obstacle or another that he couldn’t see unless he opened his eyes, and if he opened his eyes he’d be blinded by the storm again….
It was more powerful now, pulling at him. Hope and hopelessness echoing through him in a dance he knew well.
Aziraphale suddenly blazed brighter behind him, nearly overwhelming that thread. But it was fine, he didn’t need it anymore; it was moving toward him, slipping and sliding but--
“Ooof!” he said, as a small body rocketed into his. He lost his grip on Aziraphale’s arm, instinctively reaching out to grab that child-missile and steady them.
“Oh, dear children!” Aziraphale said behind him, and Crowley suspected that someone hadn’t properly braked before running into the angel, as well. “Is this all of you? Is there anyone we’re missing?”
“Mister Crowley,” someone said unsteadily into his jacket, clinging on for dear life. He looked down--he could open his eyes, now, no longer having to trace that fragile thread. Ryan was plastered to him, face buried into his midsection. “We were lost and we just wanted to play in the snow and we got lost and we couldn’t see and how can there be this much snow I’m so cold!”
Three of the other village children were clustered around Aziraphale, crying and shivering and sniffling. “Mister Fell!” “How did you find us?” “I just want to go home!” “Why are you wearing Mrs Norris?”
“Mrs Norris helped us find you, my dears. Is this all of you?” Divij nodded. “We must get you back into the warm, and let your parents know we’ve found you!”
“Cottage is still closest by far,” Crowley said to his angel, who nodded back--he’d already begun gently chivvying them in the direction of their home.
“All right, my darlings, can you walk? Does anyone need to be carried?”
“I can’t feel my feet!” wailed Lya, stumbling in the snow and not seeming to know how she’d started moving.
“Come on then. The rest of you, get along!” Aziraphale picked Lya up and she snuggled in directly; Crowley would bet that Aziraphale had already started tending to her feet, sending warmth to the tiny toes and healing any damage.
By the time they saw the cottage lights blazing against the snow Crowley felt half-frozen through himself and all the children except Leigh were being carried--Ryan had refused to be parted from Crowley, and Aziraphale now had a child balanced on each hip.
The heat inside was almost painful after the cold and wind. There was a flurry of movement while the children were stripped out of wet coats and shoes.
“Dearest,” Aziraphale said, “We need to let their people know. Do you want to call, or would you prefer hair-towelling duty?”
“I’ll call. Ryan’s first, do you think?”
“Start there, then they can spread the word-- and make sure they tell us if anyone else is stuck out there!”
Crowley stepped to the side (closest the fire, naturally) and pulled out his mobile to call, while Aziraphale distracted the children into not noticing as he magicked a stack of warm towels behind them.
Ryan’s parents were of course frantic and had teamed up with other families to search. None of the parents had really seen a storm like this before, and watching the snow get heavier while their children failed to come home had driven them near mad with worry. Crowley explained that they had the four children, the kids had said that was all, but they were safe and warming up.
“...and Aziraphale is looking forward to stuffing them with cake and cocoa, so I can’t promise we won’t return them to you sugared up… Yeah, you can come get them if you want, but the snow hasn’t slacked off. Really,” he glanced at Aziraphale, who nodded, “they’re welcome to stay here til people can move around safely. We’ve got plenty of couches near the fire, they’ll be warm and settled in. And I’m not kidding about the cake...”
He listened to the voice on the other end for a moment more, then sighed and handed his mobile over. “They want to talk to you, angel, and the kids.”
Aziraphale stopped his energetic towel-rubbing of Leigh’s hair to take the phone. “Of course! Hello? Oh, tosh, we just heard something outside and went to investigate. It turned out to be Mrs Norris, she led us straight to them… yes, she’s here too, curled up by the fire and very self-satisfied she is!”
Mrs Norris blinked at him from the fire again, long and slow. Crowley snarled back, and got the distinct impression she was laughing at him.
Aziraphale was in full good-neighbor mode. “Of course you can come get them if you wish to, but I beg you to make sure the other children’s parents are notified-- oh, someone’s already calling them? Splendid! --and all the searchers accounted for before we allow anyone else out into this. They’ll be quite alright here for the day, and I suspect may even want a nap in the warm before long.”
“Mr. Crowley?” Crowley’s sleeve was tugged, and he looked down to see Ryan again.
“I’ve told you, kid, it’s just Crowley.”
“Did Mrs Norris really show you how to find us?”
“...And please do let us know when everyone is back inside! Crowley and I have been through storms like this-- you know we used to travel quite extensively!-- and there’s always a risk of searchers getting lost themselves,” Aziraphale went on. “Much better that everyone stays right where they are until it passes.”
Crowley smiled. “Mrs Norris came and got us, kid. We didn’t even know you were out there.” He was sure they’d have been called eventually to join the search, but by then it might have been so much worse. “I don’t think your folks ever thought to look this far out.”
“We thought it was the best hill for sledding--” Ryan started, and was interrupted when Aziraphale handed him the phone. “Your mother would like to speak to you, dear boy.”
“Mom?” he said, and his voice broke in a way that showed just how brave he’d been up til now. He took the mobile and they stepped away to give him some space.
Aziraphale draped a fresh towel over Crowley’s head and shoulders. “You’re also a bit damp, love. I believe you’ll find some blankets in the cupboard behind the fireplace, they should be plenty warm to wrap around some frozen children.”
“Do we have a cupboard behind the fireplace?”
“We do now.”
“And what are you going to do, then?”
“I believe the best thing I can do right now is get some hot chocolate started for these poor dears,” Aziraphale said, and laughed when two of the children behind him cheered “Hot chocolate!”
Crowley sighed, leaning in just briefly to rest his forehead against his husband’s. “Go. Feed the kids. Long way from a wineskin and stale bread.” He shifted just a bit, until he could drop a kiss onto those beloved lips, and smiled again at the sudden chorus of gagging noises behind him. “So much better than the first time,” he breathed, for Aziraphale’s ears alone.
“Better, indeed,” Aziraphale said. “All right, my dears, Crowley is going to get you some warm blankets. And if you’re very very good, he might bring out the visual games.”
“Video games, angel,” Crowley groaned, to the amusement of the children.
Before the snow stopped in late afternoon, they received more frantic calls on both the cottage line and Crowley’s mobile (Aziraphale having continued to insist he didn’t require ‘one of those infernal devices’ despite years of Crowley’s urging). All of the kids got to talk to their parents-- or more precisely the very worried parents got to talk to their children-- and finally all of them had been talked out of trying to trudge nearly a mile down the lane in blinding snow when they could call again later if they needed to reassure themselves of their childrens’ safety.
Cocoa had been made and consumed, cake had been hurriedly frosted and eaten, popcorn had been frankly magicked into existence as Crowley was quite certain that there had been none in the cottage before. Games of MarioKart had been played (and very carefully won by the kids-- Crowley was not above setting them against each other, but he declined to demolish them on his own). Soup had been made, argued over, and dispatched, and the predicted naps had been taken.
Aziraphale had definitely helped with that. Seeing the worn out kids fighting their drooping eyes, he had brought them each another warm blanket and encouraged them to settle into the couches, reading Winnie the Pooh to them with a voice full of sleep until their eyes all fluttered closed.
“You’re still a big cheater, too,” Crowley told him, fighting that soppy feeling in his heart that made him feel deeply undemonic.
“They’re exhausted, poor dears. That much fear and excitement…”
“They’re good, though. They got their rescue, and stories to tell, and an afternoon of fun. And they probably won’t just ignore how much it’s snowing again.”
“I never…” Aziraphale started, and then sighed. “Mara. How did she get on? I checked back a few times while she was small, and then I was called away and by the time I got back she’d grown up. Tamin didn’t say where she’d gone.”
Crowley laughed, a little, feeling like he’d just been punched in the heart but in a warm way, which made no sense. But then, he felt like that a lot these days, like whenever he looked over to his right and saw his angel in a space that was theirs. “She was good. Grew up strong. I wasn’t able to see her as often as I wanted-- you were right, I hate it when you’re right, but it wasn’t long after that that Hastur started popping up everywhere. Still not sure what he thought he was going to catch me doing.”
“She had a good life?”
“She had a good life.” Crowley reached out, pulled his husband back against him and rested a chin on his shoulder. “Not perfect, of course. But a good one. She let me dance with her at her wedding--married a good man, she did--and I got to meet all her kids when they were young.”
“I’m so glad.” Aziraphale leaned back farther into him, and it was good. “You saved her. You saved the kids today.”
“Don’t rub it in, people will know I’m a lousy demon.”
“You’re the best demon, my dear.” The angel turned for a kiss, but broke it off too soon. “Oh.”
“What?”
“Can’t you feel them? The snow has stopped. They’re coming for the kids.”
Now he was looking, yes; there were several people approaching their cottage along the lane, talking excitedly as they plowed through snow. They were soon close enough to hear, and even sooner at the door, where Aziraphale met them with a sunny smile and an invitation. “Come on in, the children are napping but I’ve some cider on the stove, can I get you some? You must warm up before you go back out!”
The kids woke up anyway as their parents went straight to them. Hugs were dispensed and cider was had, tears were shed and boots were found (“How on EARTH did Divij manage to lose one of his boots in the last four hours, I swear it was here with the other when we brought them in!”). Lya’s coat was eventually located under the couch, Leigh’s mittens under Mrs Norris, and generally there was a vastly relieved hubbub all around.
Watching the reunited families trudge back down the lane, though, Crowley sighed again. “Didn’t you ever want to keep them?”
“Oh, so many times, love. But I still think I made the right decisions, then.”
Crowley took a deep breath, let it out slowly. This wasn’t how he’d been thinking of doing this, but… “What about now?”
“Now? Oh, now I… wait. Are you thinking of children, my dear?”
“Lots of kids that need homes, aren’t there?”
“Hmm. I should have known this would be on your mind.” Aziraphale’s smile was brilliant and sweet, just for him. “But perhaps we should clean up the whirlwind these children have made of our space, before we decide to keep one of our own.”