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The First, Second, Third and Fourth Days of Christmas

First Day of Christmas

The demon known as Crowley was stretched out in his desk chair, his arms rising above his head as he absently considered his next bit of fun. He had narrowed down his choices to three when his attention was caught by a knock at his door. A very unexpected knock as the demon was not expecting anyone and that was most definitely not Aziraphale's overly cheerful, happy knock. No, this was decidedly businesslike and rather commanding. Crowley did not take well to being commanded to do anything. Especially by mere mortals stupid enough to come to his door. If his unexpected guest was in fact mortal of course. That remained to be seen.

Snake eyes flashing as he pushed back his chair Crowley got to his feet and sauntered over to his front door, waiting until the second knock came before asking who it was.

"I have a delivery here for Mr. Anthony Crowley. Are you he?"

"I didn't order anything."

"Well given the date and what it is-I'm guessing it's a gift or someone's idea of a good joke. We all got a good laugh over it back at the shop."

Curious now, and trusting his instincts, Crowley unlocked the door and opened it, gaze skimming over the middle aged human on his doorstep for a moment before his attention was drawn to the item the man had apparently come to deliver to him.

A tree? With a...

"What is that?" Moving in Crowley attempted to pull the item off the top of the tree, vaguely annoyed when it proved to be tied firmly in place. Who in their right mind would send him a baby tree with a stuffed animal shaped like a bird on it?

"It's a partridge in a pear tree." The man blurted out, like he'd been waiting hours for the chance to tell him that. "Like in the song. It's twelve days till Christmas."

Straightening up to his full height Crowley took a moment to consider this. A pear tree. With a stuffed bird on it. Meant to parody that incredibly annoying Christmas song that somehow his side wasn't responsible for. Or at least no demon had taken credit for it as far as Crawley was aware. Unlike many other earworm Christmas carols.

What the Hell?

"Who's it from?"

"I'm afraid I don't know, Sir. That wasn't in the paperwork I was given. I need your signature."

Taking the offered clipboard Crowley absently scrawled something and handed it back, his eyes never leaving the tree.

"Right. Happy Christmas. I hope you get the other eleven. Wouldn't that be brilliant?"

Crowley leveled the man with a look that even through his tinted lens had the man's smile freezing on his pudgy face.

Moving snake quick Crowley wrapped his right hand around the trunk of the tree, lifted it up, and carried it into his place, kicking his door shut behind him.

Then holding it up so that he could look at it more closely Crowley scowled at it.

"I don't know who thought it was funny to send you to me...but you damn well better start growing, you worthless pear tree. I don't even like pears that much, so if you don't grow a good foot very soon...well then I'll make an example of you, you fruity bastard. You'll never see New Years."

And so saying Crowley headed off to place his newest acquisition with his other plants.

)

Second Day of Christmas

Shaking the slush like rain off his umbrella while aiming the spray directly onto the fancy woolen coat of a businessman marching down the street like he owned it, Crowley took a moment to admire the splatter pattern before turning to let himself into the post office. Excellent. Imagining the man's reaction when he noticed the stained coat almost made up for the horror Crowley had just experienced at his 'favorite' tea shop. Ugh. He hated people when they were suffering from the infamous 'Christmas spirit'. They were so much more annoying than usual. Not to mention the fact that they couldn't seem to help themselves, pushing peppermint this or gingerbread that on unsuspecting people who just wanted their bloody tea and chocolate biscuit as per usual, damn you very much.

Muttering under his breath Crowley turned his attention to navigating through the crowd to get to his postal box so that he could get this over with.

Aziraphale had rung him last night, gushing over the Christmas card he'd received from Warlock and the boy's family. Naturally he'd wanted to make sure Crowley had gotten his, like it really mattered. Crowley had helped raise the boy after all, and had no delusions whatsoever that the boy knew what the card looked like, much less had signed it. It would be the standard card they received every year since the first. The only difference would be the family photo inside, which Crowley knew Aziraphale kept for some inexplicable, no doubt angelic reason.

Pulling out his key Crowley opened his box up, eyebrows rising at how full the thing was. When was the last time he'd picked up his mail, anyway? Oh well. Didn't matter.

Grabbing it all-he'd make those who'd sent him junk mail sorry-Crowley was surprised to find a package mixed in with the envelopes. A package? What the Hell? Especially after yesterday when he'd got the...

Mind immediately casting around for what was given on the second day of Christmas Crowley bit back a snarl when the answer came to him. Turtledoves. Doves. A symbol of You Know Who.

It was tempting to throw the package in the rubbish bin right then and there. Of course said bin was already overflowing with discarded envelopes and such. The majority of it all recyclable. But who cared about ending the planet? Certainly not the human race.

Hmmm. No, he'd hold onto the package until he got home. Breaking the figurine or whatever it was would be more satisfying.

Shoving the package into his coat pocket Crowley turned his attention to flipping through the rest of his mail, mentally rolling his eyes over the various begging letters meant to solicit money from him for various charities and causes. Ah, Christmas. One of the few times a year people actually gave money to these people. Turning Scrooges into Cratchits. For a few days at least.

The expected letter from America also went into Crowley's pocket, the rest he delightedly added to the overflowing rubbish bin on the way out.

Returning home without incident Crowley tossed his umbrella to the side, hung up his coat, and then retrieved the letter and package before walking into his 'office' area.

Dropping down into his chair Crowley opened the card first, mentally rolling his eyes over the generic Christmas scene on the front of it and the message inside. He did rather like the malice gleam in Warlock's eyes in the photo though. It suggested that people were going to be made to pay for forcing him to be in that photo. Lovely.

He might actually keep that photo.

Setting it aside Crowley turned his attention to the package, ripping it open with a dark, anticipatory gleam in his eyes. Inside was a small box, which when opened revealed a folded piece of paper resting on top of whatever was underneath it. Picking up the paper Crowley found himself looking at a message written with a fountain pen, the lettering very formal and rather awkward looking. Like the writer has labored over each letter.

'As Long as Each of You Have Your Turtledoves, You'll be Friends Forever.'

Why did that sound familiar...

HOME ALONE II! His favorite Christmas movies ever! The ONLY Christmas movies he could stand to watch!

Well except for the whole stepping on the nail scene. Crowley would admit, if only to himself, that that always turned his stomach a bit.

And looking down Crowley saw that there were indeed two white turtledove figurines left in the box, identical to the ones from the movie.

"Who would..."

Aziraphale. This was so Aziraphale. If not for how badly the angel felt for the plants in Crowley's care he would have figured it out the day before.

"Well Hell. I'm going to have to keep you now."

)

Third Day of Christmas

Staring at his laptop the next day as he researched pear trees-he'd never owned or cared for one before-Crowley was about to scroll down a little further when there came a knocking at his door. Again. Not the same person though, this knock a great deal lighter and delivered by someone shorter. But not Aziraphale either. Hmmm. It was also, after a quick glance at the time, approximately the same time as his previous at home delivery. Interesting. Very interesting. Though possibly a trap as well. Someone trying to lure him into complacency so he didn't expect some ill thought trap from the bastards' downstairs. Or upstairs for that matter.

He was pretty sure his angel was behind all of this, but he wasn't one hundred percent sure. And he had a LOT of mortal AND immortal enemies.

Again walking over to the door Crowley found himself forced to repeat his inquiry from the day before as he demanded to know who it was.

"I have a delivery here for a Mr. Crowley. From 'Delicacies and Delights'."

Delicacies and Delights? Where had he heard that name before? It sounded familiar. Like he'd heard the name before somewhere. Perhaps it was situated somewhere close by? Or near Aziraphale's bookshop. Heaven help his angel if it was the latter. The man would be in the place every day with his sweet tooth.

Right. Aziraphale. What was his angel thinking?

Unlocking and then opened the door Crowley found himself looking at a beaming, alarmingly perky looking woman in her early twenties. She obviously worked for the shop in question, her shirt advertised that fact, and in her hands she held a white bakery box decorated with mistletoe and holly, wrapped up in a red bow.

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Crowley!"

"I don't celebrate it." Which he didn't. "What's in the box?"

"Oh." Smiling dimming a little the woman looked down at the box. "I don't know, actually. I'm holiday help, you see. But I'm sure whatever it is will put a smile on your face. I heard that Gemma made this, and she's utterly brilliant, Sir. Really."

"Fine. Hand it over."

"Here you go." Bouncing back with an even bigger smile than before-how did her mouth not split open like she had a 'Glasgow Smile'?-the girl handed over the box. "I hope you enjoy your Christmas treat and Happy Holidays!"

And demonstrating that her self-preservation instincts were strong despite her perkiness the girl flashed him one last smile before running off with a cheerful wave over her shoulder.

"Bah Humbug!" Crowley called after her, hating for her to have the last word.

No response came, and satisfied with that Crowley went back inside his place, nimbly balancing the bakery box in one hand while closing his door and locking it up with the other. That done Crowley shook the box a little, his ears picking up things shifting inside of it. Three French hens? Though really, how was that possible?

Just a little eager to find out Crowley carried the box over to his desk, set it down, and then removed the bow with impatient fingers. That done he very carefully opened the box so that the lid was facing him. Just in case something was going to spray out at him. Like Holy Water.

But nothing happened and fairly sure that it was safe Crowley rounded the desk and leaned over to get a look at his 'Hens'.

And promptly broke out into delighted laughter at what he saw.

Cancan dancers. Gingerbread biscuits shaped like chickens doing the bloody cancan!

Well not chickens, hens. Of all the...

"Clever. Very clever, Angel."

And grinning like an idiot Crowley retrieved his phone from his pocket so that he could get a picture of them before he ate one.

While looking up the bloody song so that he would have some idea what was-

"Well fuck me."

He might not remember the song that well, but Crowley was fairly sure that the following day he would be sent 'Four calling birds'. And that the day after that...well the day after that was 'Five Golden Rings', wasn't it?

"I need to sit down."

)

Fourth Day of Christmas

For hours the previous day, not to mention all bloody, fucking morning today since he'd woken up, Crowley had debated ringing Aziraphale up and demanding to know just what the angel was up to with these presents. Like, just for starters, why he was doing this in the first place. Because they did not do this. They had never, ever, given each other presents or celebrated Christmas together. Never once. About the only thing that Aziraphale had ever given him that wasn't to be consumed was the bloody Holy Water. Holy Water!

Things had been different since they'd saved the world together, yes. They'd been spending more time together and Aziraphale had even called him his friend a few times. Without stuttering and only the minimum of blushing, even.

Did friends go to this much trouble, though? And why was Aziraphale doing this all anonymously? Why not just send Crowley a single present like any normal person would?

No, scratch that part. Aziraphale would never be normal and probably thought this was all quite delightful and clever of him. Like it wouldn't be glaringly obvious who was sending the presents seeing as Aziraphale was literally the ONLY friend Crowley had.

Shaking his head over how stupid his mostly clever angel could be Crowley had no idea what he was supposed to do about any of this. Especially since he didn't want to ruin Aziraphale's enjoyment of all this by clueing the angel in to the fact that it was blatantly obvious he was Crowley's true-

Cheeks flushing at the thought, Crowley reminded himself very strongly that no, he was not Aziraphale's true love. That wasn't why the angel was sending him these things. Aziraphale probably just liked the stupid song or poem or whatever you wanted to call it. That was it. That was it and to think-hope-otherwise would be more foolish than...

A knock on the door.

"Oh, fuck!"

Cursing under his breath the entire way to his front door Crowley didn't even bother to ask who it was. He just unlocked the door and whipping it open stuck his head out and snarled, "WHAT?!' at the man who stood outside his door.

And scowled right back at him.

"Look, I'm just doing my job, Mate. Do you want your friggin delivery or not?"

Blinking in surprise, the burly looking man's glare was actually rather impressive, Crowley found himself shifting gears. Not enough to apologize of course, but still...

"You're sick of deliveries too?"

"You have no idea." Was the man's growly response. "Everyone complaining, thinking they're the bloody queen of England or something. Getting all miffed if so much as a drop of rain gets on their box. In fucking winter. Have you seen what it's like out there today? And the more money they've got the more tight fisted they are about the tip. If they tip. Every damn one of them. Acting like you'll steal something if you step foot in their fuck ugly mausoleums. Ugh. Though the worst are the perky ones. All hyped up on the season and not respecting a bloke's God given right to be surely when he's made to work day and night making deliveries to Hell and back. Cause no one can be bothered to go to a shop and buy things in person no more. Lazy bastards."

"You can't go anywhere at all, the whole of December." Crowley stated with a grimace of his own. "It's like everyone in the Western World loses what little sense they had to begin with. Spending ten minutes in a shop is bloody torture, what with the carols and no one capable of keeping their mouths shut for two minutes. And believe me, I know torture!"

The two of them shared such a look of total agreement that Crowley almost, almost felt bad about not apologizing.

"Well at least you can drink your pain away. I can't touch the stuff till Christmas. Can't drive under the influence after all. That's all I need. Going home to the missus to tell her I've gone and lost my license." The deliveryman shook his head. "Right. Where do you want them?"

Having forgotten all about the purpose of the man's visit Crowley looked around and spotted the cooler like container. Like a cross between a cooler and the bag delivery people used for takeaway, actually.

"I don't suppose you know what's in there, do you?"

"You don't?"

"No. A-a good friend of mine decided to send me presents representing the twelve days of Christmas. Like the song. Today should be four calling birds."

The man frowned as he asked what calling birds were, anyway.

"It's another way of saying songbirds." He'd looked it up.

"Huh." The delivery guy scratched the back of his head for a moment, looking at the container in confusion. "Well there are four of em but I don't see how..." Trailing off the man's face blanked for a moment, brows furrowing, and then his face literally lit up with understanding. "Oh that's brilliant, that is. I get it now."

"Get what?"

"I'll show ya."

Crouching down the man unzipped the top of the container and pushed it back to reveal the fact that there were four-were those wine bottles? What the hell did wine have to do with birds?

Removing the foamy thing that divided the bottles the deliveryman pulled one out, turned it around in his hand, and then straightened back up to his full height.

Beaming like a kid the man held the bottle out so that Crowley could see the wine bottle's label.

"The labels all have birds on em. Birds that sing."

Taking the bottle Crowley stared at the image of a bird for a minute, then had to shake his head in loving affection.

"Well done, Angel. Well done."