Chapter Text
In his 6000 years on Earth, not once had Aziraphale felt as if time moved more slowly.
From his point of view, fifty years is not a long time. Most would probably disagree with him, and they were right to do so; in fact, countries were erased from the map, nations formed, people born and forgotten, all in the span of that dreadful number. Time on earth was already far too limited; fifty years was not a time anyone could afford to waste.
Aziraphale could acknowledge this, of course, but he had never before felt as if he was able to understand this very human struggle. Time was something he had a lot of, and he had always found meaningful ways to spend it, so it seemed to pass swiftly.
But now, it had been fifty years since he last saw Crowley.
It was for the better, Aziraphale knows that, but it somehow wasn’t enough to get that new feeling off his chest. It was the first time he ever felt as if time moved painfully slow; it was almost as if his life had suddenly been put on hold. It was irritating, all the other half-centuries went by in the blink of an eye, why not this one?
Without Crowley’s help, taking care of the children's home had become quite a difficult task, Aziraphale had to admit. When the angel had decided to create 'The Young Writers' League of Miracles', a care home for children located in the same building as his bookshop, Crowley was the only support he had. He kept Aziraphale company; company the angel wouldn’t have realised he liked having before he didn’t anymore.
“Look what I found!” Aziraphale exclaimed on one of their car rides together, “The dust on the boxes was a real problem to get rid of.”
“You’ve kept that all these years?” Crowley replied, looking at the passenger seat of the Bentley, realising what Aziraphale was holding.
It was a small red notebook. The cover was degraded, but you could still read the yellow ink letters spelling "Beatrice".
“Of course I did, how could I not!? What did you want me to do with it? It has meaning.”
“Nothing, I just didn't know you held on to it like that. I never saw you carry around the other kids' notebooks.”
“That’s because you haven’t seen me doing it, not because I haven’t done it”, Aziraphale answered, gently patting the slightly damaged cover of the notebook. “I made a promise to her, Crowley. I care for these kids, sometimes even more than I care for myself.”
The demon nodded back. Aziraphale wouldn’t let Crowley see it, but his eyes were slightly watering. Beatrice had been an important person in Aziraphale’s course on earth; it was because of her that he created the care home, a place to help all children in need of a fresh start.
It was the early 1900s, and heaven had told Aziraphale to go to Clover Hill, a small farming town, to perform a miracle. A farmer boy had prayed for a good harvest, and the angel was there to grant his prayers.
On his way, he noticed a girl making flower crowns out of daisies she pulled from the ground. Next to her was an upside-down wooden box, on which it said she was selling apples. The angel decided to stop, smiling at the girl. She had long blonde hair, and her skin was tan from the sun.
“10 pennies, sir!” The girl said, holding out her hand, “Five apples for it.”
“Oh, I wish I could take them with me, but I have no coins to pay for them.” Aziraphale replied, “But, if I ever pass by again, I’ll make sure to remember to bring money with me.
“Or, we can make a better deal than that”, she pointed towards Aziraphale’s bag, in which you could see the outline of a small rectangle, “The apples for the book.”
“More interested in literature than waiting for payment?”
“Something my father can’t know about.”
“Is he not a big fan of reading?”, Aziraphale asked.
“Oh, he is! My father is a writer. One day, he'll be very famous and buy a mansion for our family! I think it's why he needs to be away from my siblings, or else he won’t have inspiration for his novel.”
“Why can’t he know you’re exchanging apples for books?”
“He doesn’t like the idea of me reading. He says I should be more focused on managing the household, especially now that mom is gone.”
“What happened to your mother?” Aziraphale sat on the grass next to her
“She passed away from a fever," the girl replied with ease. "Now it’s my job to take care of my siblings. I have three younger brothers; my father has told them to do the farm work while he’s gone.” She pointed towards the field behind her, where three small boys were working the ground with tools.
They’re too small to be doing that sort of work, Aziraphale thought; one of them might get hurt. God knows they do not need more misfortunes in their lives.
“To be fair, I think it’s my father’s fault for my liking of reading, he was the one who taught me how to read after all. Now he says I need to care for the family.”
“And what has he done so far to care for the family?” Aziraphale muttered as he kept worryingly looking out for the boys in the field.
“I’m sure my father is working hard for us in London.” She clasped her hands together. “Besides, once he finishes his novel, he’ll be back. He said he would.”
Aziraphale wasn’t very convinced of that idea. He didn’t know how long they had been left unattended for, but judging by the age and look of the kids, it must have already been far too much time. He looked at the sky. Sunset already, he ought to get going; there was still heaven’s task left to attend to.
“What’s your name, darling?” Aziraphale asked, getting up from the grass.
“Beatrice.”
“Beatrice, I’m Aziraphale.” He handed her the book, “It’s a notebook, not a book, but if you want, you can try and write your own novels.”
“Thank you so much, um, Mr… Phale, but haven’t you been using the notebook already? Don’t you need it?” Beatrice replied, surprised that Aziraphale had actually agreed to the deal.
Aziraphale touched the hard cover of the notebook and performed a small miracle. The book's pages were now empty again.
“Need it? I hadn’t even used it! Now, I have some errands to do, but if you were so kind as to wait for me here, tomorrow, I’ll bring actual books for you to read.” The girl's eyes were shining with the idea of it.
“We’ll be seeing each other again then?” She asked, hopeful.
Aziraphale looked at the field one last time, and then, at Beatrice.
“Definitely.” There seemed to be more work to be done on Clover Hill than he expected; there was no way he would not do his best to help the family.
And so, it began. Heaven’s task completed, Aziraphale had no further reason to return to the sunny countryside, but still, he did. Every day, he would bring a new book for Beatrice, some money, and he would help the boys out in the field. After dinner was served and Beatrice’s younger siblings were sleeping, Aziraphale would light a candle and teach the girl new vocabulary and correct grammar.
“I’ve been taking care of the house, the boys, and I’ve still been able to write!” She exclaimed one night as she and Aziraphale were washing plates, “Do you reckon I’ll become a published author one day? Get married? Earn enough to get out of this place?”
Aziraphale smiled back. As the girl’s excitement grew, so did his worries. A month had passed since he met Beatrice, and there had been no sign of the children’s father. The man hadn’t even had the decency to write his daughter a letter to let her know of his current state. And the girl wondered about him, about the great achievements she was sure her father had accomplished in London. She was certain he had plenty of good reasons for not being back yet.
In the morning, when Aziraphale came back to London, he would tell Crowley everything about his trips to Clover Hill. The demon would listen to him, nodding along to the angel’s words, with a full glass of wine in his hand.
“I’m telling ya, angel, you’ve got yourself into big trouble, messing with that sort of family.” Crowley drunkenly told him one night.
“What’s wrong with wanting to help?”
“Problem with helping? For someone like you, on the side of heaven? There’s no problem at all if you look at it that way!” Crowley set his glass on the floor and got up from his spot on Aziraphale’s couch, “But let’s face it, angel, the father ain’t going back home, and when the kids find that out, you’re going to be the only one they'll have to rely on.”
“If that ever happens, then I will take care of them.”
“Where are you going to keep them? In the bookshop? Put them inside the supply closet?" Crowley laughed at his own joke, sticking out his canines.
“I don't find this funny, Crowley… I was actually wondering whether you wanted to come with me. Y'know, to see them.”
“Go to Clover Hill? With you?”
“Yeah, it'll be good for you, get you out of the house. Get you drinking something that isn't wine.” Aziraphale picked Crowley's glass off the floor as he said the last sentence.
“Yeah, I don't know about this angel…”
“You said things with Hell were going great; a little break would do you well.”
“I guess…”
“Because you've been working hard.”
“Yeah”
“Because things with Hell are going great… aren't they, Crowley?"
“Yeah, yes; of course they are…” He paused for a moment, “I'll go with you then, to Clover Hill.”
“You will?!”
“Yes, angel. But I'm warning you, I’m not doing any farm work. And also, don't do the writing thing with the girl, at least for one day? I already tolerate enough of your book addiction in London, I don’t want-”
Crowley was cut off by Aziraphale’s arms wrapping around his neck.
The following day, an angel and a demon could have been seen together on the station, taking their seats side by side on the train. They talked, ate snacks, and, later in the trip, the angel read some poems from an old book he found in the bookshop.
When they arrived in the countryside, Crowley was surprised. Compared to the loud and dark streets of London, Clover Hill was quiet and sunny. There weren’t many shops, only a small bakery and a few stands where the farmers sold their goods.
When they stopped outside the children’s house, the demon felt strange. For once, he was safe despite being sober. But the feeling wouldn’t last long.
Beatrice came running from the house with tears in her eyes. “Blood”, she cried, “There is so much blood- I can’t take it-”, she tried to breathe, but instead painful gasps came out. Aziraphale ran inside. He saw the remaining brothers surrounding George, the youngest of the boys. As he bolted towards them, Aziraphale saw patches of blood on the ground.
“I’m here, I’m here, someone tell me what happened!” Aziraphale shouted. He looked at the youngest boy in shock. His hand was completely covered in blood, and it was starting to drip onto his arm. There were other cuts on his pale face where the tears were washing away the running blood.
“It- it was an accident-” sputtered the brother George was holding on to, “We were always careful with him, I- I promise”
The boy kept stuttering, and Aziraphale was having trouble understanding what happened. George kept losing blood; they were running out of time, Aziraphale knew that.
“Good thing you had an accident while I was here, eh?”
Everyone looked back to see Crowley at the entrance of the house.
“Crowley, what are you doi-”
“I’m um- a doctor. From London, Mr Phale can tell you about it”, Crowley lied. “Now, someone bring your brother outside where I can… heal him.” Crowley looked at Aziraphale, raising his eyebrows to try to get him to understand his plan.
“I’ll bring you the boy; the rest of you stay inside,” Aziraphale commanded.
They were all so shocked that no one objected to his order. George was brought outside. His blood started dripping onto Aziraphale’s shirt.
“Close your eyes, darling. You’re going to be okay.” Aziraphale whispered.
It was one of the most beautiful miracles Aziraphale had seen Crowley perform. One thing about angels and demons is that their magic is not as different as some believe. At the end of the day, a demon is just a fallen angel; they have different goals, different sides, but the same bodies. When performing magic, fine patterns appear on their skin, golden and pure.
Crowley’s arms, the back of his hands, and his forehead were now glowing due to these swirly patterns. Aziraphale’s hands started to glow as well. When feeling life weaken, the patterns appear as well. In the angel’s arms, George was slowly letting go.
“Faster, Crowley, please.” Aziraphale’s eyes were welling with tears as he felt George's weight grow heavier in his arms.
The patterns spread out until they reached Crowley’s shoulder. George’s blood stopped dripping from his hand, and his wounds started to close. His face regained its colour. When the demon finished, George fell into a light sleep. The patterns on Aziraphale’s hands disappeared; his life was no longer in danger.
There would be a day when it would be George’s soul's turn to go, but it would not be that day. Aziraphale sighed with relief.