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The flames crackled in the grate of the bedroom’s fireplace, little pops and hisses permeating the silence of the night. Crowley watched the dancing orange flames from where he was laid in bed, barely clinging to consciousness. The flickering shadows leapt from wall to wall, it was almost hypnotic in his heavy-eyed state. He was perfectly relaxed; the hum of whisky sat warm in his stomach, his sumptuously thick duvet was tugged right up to his bare chest, and the delightful weight of Aziraphale against him lullabied his heart in a way that nothing else had ever managed before.
Crowley was getting used to warmth — real warmth. Not central heating or the Bentley’s demonically-miracled heat vents, but the feeling of being safe in his home, in a large cosy bed with the angel he had loved for all of eternity — that was what made Crowley feel warm. Comfort. That was the word. He felt comfortable.
As he was drifting in the last tides of wakefulness, Crowley sensed that muffled hush that came with the looming threat of heavy snowfall and swiped a hand through the air to draw back the heavy-duty blackout curtains. A haze of grey washed out the hills, and the clouds were stifled with cottony tufts of ice crystals that would eventually be heavy enough to tumble to earth.
The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a great view of the rolling lands that surrounded their cottage as gravity wielded its power and the flakes started to saunter downwards through the gloom. Crowley watched until the distinction between sky and land was nebulous, the world veiled over in white. His little orchard was unrecognisable; the young boughs were laden down with the weight of such a rapid snowfall. Begrudgingly, he realised that he would have to brave the inclement weather in the morning to make sure the bird table and feeders were adequately stocked and defrosted, otherwise the local murder and various flocks would struggle with the frozen ground. The last thing he needed was a group of crows angry at him if they missed their daily rations of mealworms.
He could stop it, but…
It was rather picturesque, he supposed, and Crowley knew the angel would be chipper as anything when he woke up to see the thick blanket over their garden and beyond. There would definitely be a walk on the agenda, and knowing Aziraphale, it would be followed by hot chocolate.
In the early ages of Earth, Crowley had hated snow. The chill, the damp – Crowley’s concealed snake scales and cold blood were hardly ideal for lower temperatures as it was, let alone his fragile human-adjacent skin. But over the years, he had started to see the appeal; the wonderful creativity of humanity was always changing his way of thinking. Children would find simple joy in throwing snowballs at each other or making figures with woolly hats and carrot noses – who wouldn’t find that charming? It was such a novelty that he could freely admit that to himself now.
The thought of that innocent fun did bring to mind a time when snow didn’t feel so cold – it just tickled as it melted on his semi-corporeal form. Through the rose-tinted lens of his inebriated veins, Crowley foggily recalled seeing the first snow on Earth. Which was a memory of Heaven. A memory he thought was lost. Well, not so much lost as painfully, intentionally shoved down into a tomb in his deep subconscious, engraved DO NOT OPEN.
Back then – Before the Beginning – the angel that would become Crowley had thought that snow was magical. Fascinating. Tiny, intricate crystalline stars formed of cooled hydrogen and oxygen that had the power to change an entire landscape. The allegory had been lost on him back then, but not on Crowley, not now. Now he was perfectly aware of how something small and seemingly insignificant had the power to change the big picture.
🌟
Raphael reached out and prodded at the atmosphere around one of their newly situated pre-aged planets, very methaney. It was also quite blue, which was a nice colour to encounter. They weren’t entirely certain why, but they rather liked blue recently. Which was odd, because they had never really paid attention to the colour spectrum when it was a concept; it hadn’t really made sense until they had released light into the universe with Aziraphale. Blues just seemed to really pop, especially alongside pink. There was no reason why they should be so complimentary – blue was cool, pink was warm, blue was calm, pink was vibrant… and yet, for all their differences, they were charming together.
They were just about to experiment with a higher concentration of hydrogen when they were interrupted by the tell-tale spherical chimes of another angel approaching. They turned towards the shimmering aura, waiting for the angel to manifest.
Uriel appeared with their customary half-lidded look of disinterest, barely giving the planet in their midst a second glance. Which was rather rude, if you asked Raphael. How could one not be in awe of such magnificence?
“Raphael,” they said, tonelessly, barely caring to glance Raphael’s way while addressing them.
“Hello, Uriel. What can I do for you?” Raphael asked, bracing themself for a mandate that they wouldn’t care for. Raphael knew there would be some penance since complaining about the most recent plans for the universe’s lifespan. They had been expecting a stint in the records department or something as equally dull and demeaning.
“You are required on Earth,” Uriel droned, clasping their hands behind their back as their wings flapped listlessly.
Ah. The star of God’s celestial show.
“Well, I’m rather busy as you can see.” Raphael gestured at the blue sphere they were currently orbiting; a riot of blues shifting, swirling and rushing round its circumference. Technically, they were just fussing and polishing before God drew back the curtain. But Uriel didn’t need to know that, did they?
“That can wait. The Almighty has decreed that Earth’s weather needs testing before implementation. Your assistance is required.” Uriel continued to ignore the planet in favour of giving Raphael a bland look of expectation.
There must be some mistake. “Uh, I don’t do weather,” Raphael said with a frown.
“You do as you are commanded by The Almighty.” Uriel’s eyes were as harsh as the bands of ice trapped in orbit around the planet as they locked on Raphael’s.
Still. It made no sense for an angel who solely focused on the cosmos to be ordered to help with planetary weather?
“And this was a direct command from Her?” They asked, feeling their wings droop with apprehension. They had planned to correct the Horsehead Nebula next; someone had been interfering and Raphael wanted to fix it. It looked too neat, and way too literal.
“Raphael.” Uriel’s voice cut through matter like a black hole, no emotion, no reason – just weaponising their name as a warning. Raphael got the message. Unease plunged through their stomach, heavy and uncomfortable.
Do not argue. Do as you are told.
Raphael wasn’t sure what every other angel seemed to have against wanting to understand, why their default was unquestioning compliance; surely curiosity was just another way of showing how they cared about God’s Creation? Raphael cared enough about their stars to want to understand why She would only let them exist for a very limited amount of time. They cared why Uriel wanted them to go to Earth to help with the weather of all things? It wasn’t wrong to want to know. If it was wrong, their Mother would have made it impossible.
With a sigh that was starting to feel like a developing habit, Raphael nodded solemnly and watched Uriel withdraw back into the endless (well, supposedly) vista of the cosmos, a trail of stardust in their wake.
Abandoning their plans for adjusting the atmospheric gases, Raphael resumed the planet’s rotation, admiring the wilderness of the violent winds whipping ice round its curvature. Neptune impressed its name upon their mind. How… regal, their mind supplied. A frosty colossus out in the furthest reaches of the solar system, too far for the sun’s warmth to reach. Lonely, even surrounded by its many moons. It felt like that should be poignant somehow, but Raphael struggled to connect the dots.
It was difficult to rush anywhere in the newly formed universe; Raphael was always craning their neck to admire the wonders of… well, everything. The hurtling chunks of rock and gases, the fire and elemental chaos. It was sublime and it seemed a great shame that everyone was so busy working, that no one was taking the time to appreciate what they were all building in Her name.
Hopefully the humans would be able to truly appreciate the beauty of Creation instead – even with their limited view of the heavens.
As Earth started to come into view, it struck Raphael as a very wet planet. More blue than green. Odd. Humans weren’t built for living in the water, were they? Raphael really should have studied the blueprints a little better, given that they were to be God’s most cherished creations. But it wasn’t like they were designated to work on Earth or with the humans; Raphael had been appointed the chief celestial engineer or in other words, the twinkle-coordinator as they might as well be.
Was it unangelic to feel so bitter that they had spent their existence pouring everything into making God’s universe so intricate, so magnificent, and it would all wind back down before it had truly got going? Maybe. Aziraphale had warned them as much, Gabriel had waved them off when they tried to bring it up, even with Lucifer backing them up.
Anyway… Raphael had to avoid making any waves until they had a chance to speak to God about it all. Surely She would understand, surely She would feel that unwavering devotion that Raphael had for Her Creation and would reconsider. Surely?
Until that time, Raphael would do as they were told. Though they had no idea why they had been summoned to Earth – its atmosphere was as perfectly balanced as God designed it to be. It was ideally situated to benefit from the system’s star to keep it warm, without cooking the surface. There wasn’t much for Raphael to tinker with.
Detecting the familiar and comforting signature of Grace down on the surface, Raphael flew down to a small island on Earth’s northern hemisphere; noting with interest the scattering of thick clouds floating at altitudes that made little sense. Then again, Earth might need angry, ash-grey clouds thumping around at knee height? It seemed just as logical as anything else really; Raphael didn’t pretend to know the inner machinations of the Great Plan but they did have… opinions.
They waded through one cloud that appeared to be frozen just like the ones on Neptune, which didn’t seem right. Earth was too warm and the wrong composition of elemental gases to maintain that kind of atmosphere. Something was up…
Raphael pushed through the slushy ice, ruffling their feathers to dislodge the frost from clinging to their wings as they went, until they found their brethren. Ananiel and Ariel stood over one such strange cloud, their heads bowed, and their hands joined. Raphael could sense the ripples of frustrated miracles casting and rebounding, and the growing rumble of something dark emanating from the failures.
“Hi, guys. Uriel sent me?” Raphael waved.
“Oh, Raphael! Thank goodness,” Ariel sighed heavily, relief palpable in her smile. That felt good; it wasn’t often that their fellow angels were happy to see them approach right now. Raphael returned her smile, their wings flitting happily with the cheerful flow of emotion that pulsed through their Grace.
She stepped away from Ananiel to greet them with outstretched arms and stunning iridescent wings spread behind her. “You might have noticed we are having a little issue.” She gestured broadly at the grounded clouds with a wrinkle marring the flawless skin of her forehead. She laughed as they took in the bloated forms around them, her black curls shaking at her shoulders as she did.
Raphael nodded dutifully, reminding themself to adopt a more meek disposition with their fellow angels – for now. “How can I help?”
“You are a celestial engineer, are you not?” Ananiel stepped forward, pinning Raphael with his intense grey eyes that seemed to look through them, rather than at them. With his shock of pure white hair and towering corporation, Ananiel made a rather imposing figure and Raphael did not relish being under his scrutiny.
“Yes, I am.” Raphael nodded, tucking their lips between their teeth to prevent their grimace from showing. They never realised how often their face betrayed their misgivings.
“Well, you see, we are struggling to make the clouds drop their contents. We can get them in the sky in their gas form.” Ariel pointed above their heads, “But when we miracle the clouds full of liquid water or frozen water, they do this. We have been instructed to ensure that the planet is capable of rain, snow, and hail and so far we have only been able to make clouds rise or fall… and they’re not supposed to fall themselves.”
Raphael suddenly understood their required role. They had been the one that had released light and matter into the endless vacuum of the universe and as such, they understood the concept of gravity quite well without the aid of miracles — which can only get you so far. One needed to understand the physics, the composition, the nature of the miracle for it to be successful. Ariel and Ananiel were likely just manifesting the literal expulsion of material and expecting the miracle to succeed without the proper mechanics to bolster the process.
With a twirl of their hand, Raphael turned the ice around them into liquid, letting it filter away into the ground so they could start from scratch. Then they conjured a new cloud of vapour, letting it float upwards into the untarnished firmament. The three of them beat their wings in unison, lifting up from the soft green ground and following the cloud’s ascent.
Raphael adored the feeling of wind beneath their wings, the rush of it through their hair – the thrill of it was one of the only things that was lacking out in the vacuum of space so it was a rare experience and one they cherished. They felt a smile draw their cheeks high and their eyes crinkle with the high of it.
In the upper reaches of Earth’s atmosphere, the lonely cloud drifted peacefully, the azure ozone visible through the translucent haze of it. Raphael explained the requirement of temperature, mass, and in the case of solid precipitation, they would need something for the water droplets to cling to and freeze around. While they explained the formation, they demonstrated using the cloud and a microscopic bit of dust, while gathering vapour from the air around them to cool around it. All the while, Ariel replicated the process with her own cloud, crystallising the dust and water as instructed. Ananiel continued to glare at them while they worked, a dark and stoic look boring into their temples as they leaned over their task. Raphael got the impression that not much got an enthusiastic reaction from him. There were a lot of angels like that, only interested in completing their job, and pleasing their Mother – which was fair. But Raphael – and Ariel it seemed – loved the work, loved the result, loved their Lord. They wondered if Ariel knew about the lifespan of Creation, how she felt about it…
Between Ariel and Raphael, they tinkered with the density of the dust particles until filaments of ice fanned out from the cluster, symmetrical dendrites joining into a complex web of fragile beauty. With a cry of elation, Ariel wrapped Raphael in her arms and squeezed them tight, whirling through the air as a perfectly formed snowflake hung between them, suspended by a glimmer of magic.
“We did it, Lord, we did it!” Ariel rejoiced into the endless blue, her eyes alive and wet with the emotions of it. Raphael grinned to see such familiar joy – they wondered if Aziraphale saw that joy in their face when the stars had formed.
Ananiel waved his hand, seemingly impervious to the wonder of what they had achieved. With his miracle, he multiplied their clouds until they hovered in a veritable reservoir. The once blue sky was suddenly engulfed by dense grey nimbostratus, suffocating out the golden light of the sun until it barely touched the ground far below.
Ananiel opened his long arms, the robes spilling from his arms indistinguishable in the thick haze they drifted in.
“Let there be rain to quench the barren field. Let there be snow to protect the seedling til spring. Let there be wind to carry the wings of the Lord’s birds and sun to warm the earth. Let there be weather on God’s green Earth.” Ananiel’s voice boomed, wrapping the planet in the supreme power of Heaven. Now that they had learned the mechanics of creating weather, they could imbue the memory of it onto the planet, weaving the command of God into every drop of water from there until eternity.
Raphael descended below the clouds, watching as the first flakes dropped through the air. The fractals glittered as the muffled light caught on their intricate arms. They twinkled like far-off stars as they fell… and that was it, Raphael fell in love with snow.
The elaborate frosted lattice, so tiny and delicate that it would melt on the heat of a human’s skin, yet en masse, Raphael watched as it gathered in drifts on the ground, covering the topography with white. Not monotone and featureless like the halls of Heaven, but flowing and organic. Every snowflake they examined was unique, each one a masterpiece of devotion for their Almighty Mother. It was astonishing how everything on Earth was eager to grow; the icy branches of the snowflakes flourished like the branches of a tree, seeded by dust, rather than an acorn.
As the snowfall picked up, Raphael caught it on their robe, marvelling at the texture; it was softer than anything they had ever felt, so used to dealing with giant balls of gas and heavy elements that something this small and wispy retained their complete attention. The discovery filled Raphael with euphoria, and they were instantly desperate to soar through the snow-studded air. They decided to take flight through the scattering crystals, letting it sparkle in their hair and gather over their fingers. The frost-filled air whirled as Raphael rolled and glided, shouting with glee as they went. The ground was thick now, cushioned by deep, fluffy banks of settled flakes. Raphael eyed them with delight and didn’t waste time diving into the fluffy piles that yielded under their weight like powder.
It never occurred to Raphael that such enchantment could be found outside of the heavens which they were so enraptured by, that their breath could be thoroughly stolen by something beyond the stars.
They were so distracted by dancing and frolicking in the ethereal dusting that at first they did not see Ananiel looming and Ariel by his side with a sheepish look. Had Raphael done something wrong to incite such a look of contempt?
“Starmarker,” Ananiel called out, his voice reverberating bitterly in Raphael’s chest, “Do you not have some other work to do, now that your purpose here is fulfilled?”
It stopped Raphael dead, dousing the joyous fire in their heart where it had roared before.
Work.
That was all this was to Ananiel. And it was all he expected it should be to Raphael. But Ananiel was wrong. It was more than work – it was love.
“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of Her hands,” Raphael said gravely, meeting Ananiel’s severe stare with their own enduring holy will. They did not know where the words came from, perhaps from Her grace that lived within them, but the sentiment glowed in their eyes, insisting to be released from their tongue. “Is it not right for us to worship our God’s glory?”
Ananiel did not answer, simply glaring and disappearing in a thundering crack of electricity. Ariel stayed a moment longer, her green eyes cutting through the grey veil of snow, her encouraging smile wide and bright.
“It is right,” she agreed, holding out her hand and grinning fondly at the accumulation of fluffy specks settling there. “If we were made with joy in our hearts, then it would be wrong to deny it.”
And with that, she too was gone in a flash of pure, blinding light, the scent of Heaven briefly pervading the petrichor. The aseptic essence was quickly diluted by the smell of wet earth and Raphael found they much preferred it – they had rather come to like Earth after all. They let the peace of the place suffuse over their soul and spun away, stretching their wings to soar with the highs of their soul.
“Beautiful work, my Lord.”
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Crowley rolled his eyes at his former self, but let his lips curl wistfully, in spite of himself. In that incarnation, Crowley had been so light and care-free. He was almost jealous to remember his own history. What a shame that their naivety had been ripped away so cruelly.
It was the first time he had allowed himself to intentionally look back on the time before time, just for the sake of it. Doing so usually left him forlorn or angry. But this memory left him… nostalgic? That time had been innocent fun. A rarity when they had all been worker bees, with an innate desire to carry out Her work, Her plan. Not to deviate. Not to ask why. Before fear or regret was a concept within the universe.
Fear had come later. The bitterness of his Fall had discoloured all of the things he once loved. The stars, the snow… For the crime of unconditionally loving Creation, She had cursed Crowley to roam the world with cold in his veins, in a body that was incompatible with the climate he had become infatuated with. She had stolen the jewelled sky from him, She had stolen warmth and comfort. Out of sheer stubbornness, he had survived the dank abyss of Hell, endured the atrocities, until he made it out into fresh air and sunlight… and rain. Which was much colder than he remembered, and rather unpleasant.
But then there was Aziraphale… With hair pale and soft as snow, lifting his wing to shelter a lowly demon like Crawly. Aziraphale had offered warmth in his smile and like any cold-blooded thing, Crawly had latched onto it. Then he had learnt of how Aziraphale had surrendered his flaming sword to keep the newly banished humans warm, too. How could he have not fallen in love there and then?
Aziraphale had reintroduced him to joy, authentic joy in the wonder of Earth. Even if it had to be subdued, masked by sarcasm; Crowley spent aeons living vicariously through Aziraphale’s brazen delight in humanity, in books, and magic. Crowley had slowly clawed back something he had lost — reclaiming himself little by little in those stolen meetings with the angel over the millennia.
Now that they were safe from vindictive sides and biblical wrath, Crowley hoped he could find his way back to that bold sort of frivolity of his angelhood. For Aziraphale.
He looked down at his angel and smiled. He was peaceful in a way that Crowley had never imagined they could manage for themselves. For a while now, there had been no tension lingering in Aziraphale’s shoulders, no fretful fidgeting. Aziraphale was free to enjoy himself unapologetically.
And Crowley knew Aziraphale would be thrilled at the chance to soak up the whimsy of their first snow day as South Downs residents; and of course, Crowley being Crowley, he would indulge his angel and trudge out in the thick, unspoiled snow with a smile on his face and make sure there were ample marshmallows in their hot chocolates afterwards — and plentifully spiked, of course.
Crowley flicked his wrist, simultaneously drawing the curtains closed and smothering the flames in the hearth to a low smoulder. He pulled Aziraphale closer, soaking in the incomparable heat of his angel’s body with a happy sigh. They would wake up to a record-breaking snowfall, and Crowley was rather looking forward to enjoying it with Aziraphale.