Work Text:
‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale whispered with quickly rising desperation, ‘wake up.’
‘S not Christmas morning yet, angel,’ Crowley muttered as he buried his head deeper into Aziraphale’s soft belly and returned to snoring snakey snores.
‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale repeated with soft urgency, tapping on Crowley’s shoulder, ‘there’s someone in the house.’
Someone in the… Shit. Crowley’s eyes snapped open. ‘Where?’
‘The living room,’ Aziraphale whispered, ‘maybe- maybe it’s just a burglar?’
Crowley knew Aziraphale didn’t really think that. He’d hardly have woken him for a burglar. A burglar Aziraphale could have taken care of with ease. Would’ve had a burglar out the door and on his merry way in no time. Laden with cakes, sure. But on his way.
Crowley reached out with his ethereal senses. Aziraphale was right. There was definitely someone in the house. There was definitely someone not human in the house. Shit. Shit. Shit and fuck it.
'You’re right,’ Crowley said, ‘Someone in the house and they’re definitely occult.’
‘A demon?’ Aziraphale said, hands twisting.
‘No, well, could be but just,’ Crowley waved his hands around, ‘I mean supernatural, you know. Could be an angel or a demon or some other supernatural thing.’
‘Angels are ethereal,’ Aziraphale replied haughtily.
‘Is now really the time?’ Crowley said, eyebrow quipped.
‘Perhaps not,’ Aziraphale said as they both slipped quietly out of bed and began creeping across the floor.
Crowley stopped. ‘Wait,’ he whispered, ‘we should take a weapon.’
‘Whatever for?’ Aziraphale replied, eyes wide, ‘I’m hardly going to beat Gabriel on the head with a cricket bat, am I?’
‘I’d be tempted,’ Crowley said, ‘wait, do you have a cricket bat?’
‘Of course not,’ Aziraphale said with a tut, ‘don’t be ridiculous.’
Crowley sighed. ‘Next time then.’
‘Let’s just see who it is,’ Aziraphale said with a shake of his head.
Crowley nodded and they continued to quietly creep across the floor of their bedroom, down the stairs to the living room. It was dark. The fire had long since burnt out. But, standing at the entrance way, they could make out a large figure moving about near the Christmas tree. It was definitely human-shaped.
Aziraphale clicked his fingers and every light in their cottage blinked on at once, a sudden blinding light.
Crowley blinked rapidly and wished he had thought to take his sunglasses. ‘Alright,’ he said, trying to still appear tough despite all the blinking, ‘who are you and what do you want?’
The figure turned and Crowley’s eyes adjusted. Wait. Wait. What?
Father Christmas smiled a warm smile and brushed the remaining crumbs out off his red suit. ‘Very nice mince pies, I must say,’ he said, ‘did you bake them yourself, Aziraphale?’
‘Um… yes…’ Aziraphale said, frowning in confusion. He looked across to Crowley, ‘Is that…?’
‘Looks like him,’ Crowley said carefully, ‘be on guard, angel.’ Should I have miracled up a cricket bat, Crowley thought to himself. Still could, actually.
‘Well, thank you,’ Father Christmas said with another ridiculously warm smile, ‘they were quite lovely. Very nice of you to leave them out for me and I’m sure the reindeer will appreciate the carrots.’
‘Wait,’ Crowley spluttered, turning to Aziraphale, ‘You left him pies?’
‘Yes, fruit mince pies and carrots for the reindeer,’ Aziraphale countered with a sniff, ‘It’s traditional.’
‘Well, it’s all your fault then,’ Crowley said with a dramatic wave, ‘you left out an offering and now whoever this is has come to claim it.’
‘Naturally, I didn’t expect Father Christmas to actually eat the pies, Crowley,’ Aziraphale replied impatiently. ‘He never has before.’
‘Well, of course not,’ Crowley scoffed, ‘He’s not real. But someone has showed up to accept the offering, haven’t they? Someone is having a jolly old time scoffing your pies, huh?’
‘Well, how was I supposed to know that would happen?’ Aziraphale snapped.
Crowley groaned and pinched the skin just above his eyes. ‘It’s basic occult stuff, Aziraphale,’ Crowley replied, ‘rudimentary in fact, and you’re an occult being.’
Aziraphale ruffled immediately. ‘Angels are ethereal,’ he retorted.
Father Christmas had watched the argument unfold up until now eyes flicking gleefully back and forth. But at this point he cleared his throat and jumped in. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘But I’m not an impostor, in fact. Aziraphale left out those pies for me.’
‘Oh,’ Crowley replied with a snort, ‘Well, naturally, you’re Father Christmas. Who else would you be?’ Crowley narrowed his eyes and stepped closer. The air tingled with ripples of power. ‘You’ve eaten our pies. Pies that were not left for you. I demand to know who you are, who you really are.’
Father Christmas spread his arms out wide. ‘Come now, Crowley. You know who I am. I am called Santa Claus, Kris Kringle, Der Wihnachtasmann and Pere Noel. And here, in this particular part of the world, I am known as Father Christmas.’
Crowley snorted and rolled his eyes.
‘Why so cynical?’ Father Christmas asked, head tilted to one side.
‘Apologies,’ Aziraphale jumped in, ‘But you’ll understand, it is a little difficult for us to believe. We’ve always been under the impression that you are, well, a loving embellishment on the life of a beloved Saint, a little story to that the humans tell their children.’
Father Christmas laughed a great hearty laugh, his belly shaking. ‘Now, I’ve heard everything,’ he said, ‘It isn’t everyday one gets to be told myth from reality by an angel and a demon.’
Crowley rolled his eyes. ‘Look, whoever you are,’ Crowley said with a wave of his hands, ‘Santa isn’t real. So, just tell us who you really are or better yet just piss off.’
Father Christmas grinned. His eyes lit up in delight. ‘Well, well, the Serpent of Eden thinks I’m made up. The Guardian of the Eastern Gate thinks that I’m just a story the humans tell their children to learn right from wrong.’
Crowley choked. ‘I- I- but I’m real,’ Crowley said with whine, ‘We’re real. I was there!’
Father Christmas laughed again and shook his head, his belly shaking joyfully.
Aziraphale frowned, a little crease appearing in the middle of his forehead.
‘Look,’ Father Christmas said carefully, ‘You both met the anthropomorphic representations of War and Famine and Pollution not too long ago. Is it really any great stretch to understand that they brought me into being, too?’
‘He does have a point,’ Aziraphale said, looking to Crowley.
‘Fine,’ Crowley said throwing his hands up in the air. ‘You’re the anthropomorphic representation of the spirit of Christmas. Good for you.’
‘Father Christmas is fine, thanks,’ Father Christmas interrupted.
‘Father Christmas then,’ Crowley said, ‘What are you here for anyway? You’ve had your pies, why haven’t you left?’
Father Christmas beamed like Crowley had been the very pinnacle of hospitality. ‘Why,’ he said, ‘I came to bring you presents, of course.’
Aziraphale cleared his throat. ‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,’ he said carefully, ‘but you’ve never included me in your rounds before.’
‘Well, no,’ Father Christmas said, stroking his beard, ‘you’ve never been a human child, have you? You aren’t exactly my core demographic. But I’m awfully fond of the world, you see, and since you had a hand in sparing it, well, I thought I’d include you both on the nice list.’
‘Well, now,’ Aziraphale said with a little grin, ‘that’s jolly decent of you, isn’t it, Crowley?’
‘I suppose it is,’ Crowley said, eyes narrowed.
‘Well,’ Father Christmas said, ‘I can’t stand around chatting all evening. It’s my big night, don’t you know?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Aziraphale said brightly, ‘don’t let us keep you.’
‘Little tip before you go,’ Crowley said, with a mocking shake of his head and a scrunched-up nose, ‘no one actually likes the satsumas.’
Father Christmas laughed heartily.
‘It’s the tradition, Crowley,’ Aziraphale said with an eye roll.
‘Quite right,’ Father Christmas said, ‘Quite right. Whether they like the taste of satsumas or not, they like the memory of them. It keeps them grounded. The world spins so very fast for them, you see, so very fast, each year brings so much change. But I am here for them. Year after year, they can depend on me. Doesn’t matter if it is satsumas or gingerbread houses or panettone. Doesn’t matter if it is decorating a tree or Christmas carols or building a snowman or having a Christmas swim. The point is it has to be the thing that links the years for them, the thing that that cuts through and sews them together like the thread on a beaded necklace. I bring the past back to life, I make what was truly important light up and, in doing so, I make the future something they can face. And so, if it was satsumas last year, it must be satsumas this year, whether they like the taste or not.’ He paused and sighed. Then he grinned a cheeky grin, mischief dancing in his eyes. ‘But, you know, I left something a little different for you, Crowley,’ he said with a wink.
‘Wonderful,’ Crowley replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.
‘Well, best be off,’ Father Christmas said. He spread his arms out wide and added, ‘Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!’ Then Father Christmas clicked his fingers and disappeared in a twinkle of lights. In the distance, sleigh bells rang out.
‘Was that really Father Christmas?’ Crowley asked.
Aziraphale sighed. ‘You know, I think, in a way, it was.’ He wiggled in excitement. ‘I’m going to look in my stocking.’
Aziraphale bounced over to the chimney where there were now two stockings: one of the crispest white and one black with a little red trim.
Aziraphale passed the black stocking to Crowley. Crowley simply held his while he watched as Aziraphale excitedly dug into his own.
Aziraphale drew out more books than should have been able to fit into the small stocking, chocolates, shortbread, and—argh, typical— several satsumas. Aziraphale wiggled in delight at his gifts and Crowley smiled affectionately.
‘What did you get?’ Aziraphale bubbled.
Crowley shook his head at the ridiculousness of it and dug his hand in, pulling out a bottle of merlot, a glossy book on astronomy—‘I thought you didn’t like books?’ ‘It’s just pictures, angel, doesn’t count.’ —new pair of designer sunglasses, and right at the very bottom, a crisp red apple.
Crowley snorted. He threw the apple in the air and caught it again. And, just like that he was taken back to a garden and a choice to slither up a high rocky wall and talk to a strangely intriguing angel. They’d come so far since then. So very far, indeed. And here they were, at last, together, with a cottage and garden of their own.
‘Oh,’ Aziraphale gasped.
Crowley looked at him and saw, at once, the full force of his love reflected back to him. Aziraphale smiled fondly and tears welled in his eyes. ‘I’m so glad we made it here, Crowley.’
‘Me too, angel,’ Crowley said, hoarsely, ‘me too.’
Aziraphale closed the distance between them quickly, kissing Crowley softly on the lips. Crowley pushed his serpentine tongue in and drew out a long, delicious moan.
‘He was right, wasn’t he?’ Aziraphale said hoarsely when their lips parted at last, ‘Father Christmas, I mean.’
‘Yeah,’ Crowley said, still staring at Aziraphale, still in awe of how far they’d come. ‘Yeah, I suppose he was. Let’s get back to bed, angel.’