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Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Day of Christmas

It was a bloody good thing that Crowley had the ability to control the affect alcohol had on him the following day or he'd have woken with the worst hangover since...well possibly ever. And that was saying something. Damn but he'd drunk-well it was probably for the best that he couldn't quite remember just how much alcohol he'd consumed in his quest to blot out the question of just what would come in the mail or delivery the following day. Five golden rings. Rings. Aziraphale was going to be sending him FIVE rings and...AND...Rings.

They would be normal rings of course. No doubt the sort sold for a few pounds at some shop that catered to teenagers and-but no. No it wouldn't be. Not Aziraphale. Not his angel.

He angel would find the idea of those rings horribly gaudy and distasteful. Would likely go into a rant about how no one made anything to last anymore or respected the quality and workmanship of the great craftsmen of centuries passed. Aziraphale didn't do trendy or fashionable either. He did classic and tasteful.

But surely the angel wouldn't go out and spend hundreds of pounds on rings. Especially-well they'd just be ordinary rings that anyone might wear. No special meaning behind them. That you could practically take as gospel.

Right? Right.

But what if...what if they weren't normal, everyday rings? What if...

He needed more liquor. A lot more liquor.

Just not, not the wine Aziraphale had sent him, Crowley thought as his eyes landed on those particular bottles. He was saving those. For a special occasion. And who would ever be crazy enough to try and get drunk off of wine, anyway? That was silly. He hadn't been around as long as he had and not learned a thing or two about booze and what worked best when one wanted to get absolutely pissed.

Only...he should be sober, shouldn't he?

Damn.

Regardless it was for the best that he'd slept in so that he only spent about four hours obsessing over rings and alcohol before there came a knocking at his door.

"While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more."

Crowley muttered the lines from the famous Edgar Allan Poe poem to himself as he turned his head to look in the direction of the door in question. He was also possibly looking at it rather like it was the raven, come to bedevil him and mock his pain over the loss of his love.

Technically the poem was more popular at Halloween, but it took place in December so Crowley figured that it worked regardless. And fit his mood even though technically he had no lost Lenore to mourn even if he did know something about loving someone who was out of his reach.

Fuck.

The knocking came again.

Distracting himself by reciting the poem in his head-he enjoyed Poe's work-Crowley stalked over to the door and threw it open, slumping against the door frame as he stared at the blank space in front of him.

No one was there.

Stepping out into the hallway Crowley looked left and then right, eyes glowing behind his glasses as he flicked his tongue out, tasting the air and-ah. Yes. Aziraphale. Aziraphale had been here and now wasn't. Which meant...

Turning around Crowley spotted the bright red gift bag hanging off the handle of his door.

Warily poking at the bag for a minute Crowley finally used a single finger to slide under the bag's string and lift it up from its resting place. Then he glared at it for a couple of minutes more before he told himself to just get it over with and open it. Prolonging this would only make it worse. Somehow. Possibly.

He should probably go back inside first, though.

Of course once he was back inside Crowley found himself staring at the bag in silence like it might at any moment expel Holy Water all over him.

How long he stood there staring at it...well Crowley hoped never to know. He wasn't sure his pride could take it.

But eventually, after quite a lot of inner monologuing, Crowley forced himself to reach into the bag and pulled out a square, purplish blue box. One with a very well-known jeweler's mark stamped on the front of it. Fuck.

Pulling off the lid and tossing it to the floor in a fit of pique Crowley stared at the folded bit of paper that rested on top of whatever else the box held. A piece of paper he shoved in his pocket to read after as he stared down at the four rings that lay nestled in their satin bed.

Four?

Crowley's brows furrowed as he stared at the space where a fifth ring could have gone...but wasn't. Instead it served as a gap between the four rings, which were-pairs?

Walking over to his couch on autopilot Crowley sat down slash collapsed onto the piece of furniture, his hand actually shaking as he pulled the first ring out. The ring, he noted, that was engraved inside.

"Friends Forever." Crowley read outloud, the words bittersweet as he stared at the elegant lettering engraved on the simple gold ring. "Of course."

Shaking his head, he should have known, Crowley pulled out the next ring which proved to have the same words engraved within it, though the sizing-yes-upon comparison Crowley saw that the two rings were sized for different fingers. Had Aziraphale seriously bought him two of each design because he didn't know what-oh. Right. One for him and the other for his 'friend'.

But what of the other two rings? And the missing one.

Carefully setting the two rings back in their cushion Crowley picked up the next one, the design etched into the ring giving him pause. Two sets of wings. Their wings. The tips of those wings just touching on either side.

Very Aziraphale.

And also engraved.

"Forever and Always."

It was about two hours later that Crowley got around to reading the piece of paper that had come with the rings. Written in the same hand as the note from before was a promise that 'The Fifth Ring is Still to Come'.

)

Sixth Day of Christmas

Crowley was in full demon mode the following morning. He was ready to dissect, dismember and disembowel anyone that crossed him. Or came to his door with a delivery. Definitely then. He felt like an animal with its leg caught in a trap, unable to get free and stuck lurking in his flat while he paced and waited for the knock to come. Knowing it would come and that when it did...well when it did the pain would only become worse and drive him further and further into feral madness.

He was sleep deprived, hungover, hungry, and...and aching. Every bone, every muscle, every fiber of his being ached. Especially his head as he'd spent hours upon hours speculating about what Aziraphale had meant by the inscription in the second pair of rings and the reason behind the missing fifth ring. Not to mention the question of why the angel was sending him these presents in the first place and what...what was he supposed to think. To do?

Why was Aziraphale doing this to him? What had he done to deserve this? Okay. Scratch that last part. He was a demon after all.

Scrubbing his hands over his face Crowley froze at the sound of a knock at the door.

A truly evil smile curled Crowley's lips.

"Finally."

Marching over to the door Crowley unlocked it with rough gestures, the locks clicking and giving way with ease. Then he jerked the door open and Crowley opened his own mouth with the intention of ripping into the unfortunate person waiting there.

So of course there was a small child standing there wearing a Santa hat.

"HAPPY CHRISTMAS, SIR!"

"Uh...hi."

Crowley slowly turned his head to look in the direction of the teenage boy standing beside the little girl. The teenager who'd spoken and apparently had finely honed self-preservation instincts given the way his voice had shook a little as he carefully moved to put himself between Crowley and the child who looked enough like the boy that odds were they were related.

"I-ah-I have your delivery. If you're Mr. Crowley. To save on shipping fees I deliver my stuff here in London myself and someone-I have a package for you."

"I'm helping." The little girl chirped, showing absolutely no self-preservation instinct at all as she leaned to the side so that she was visible. "You'll really like it. My brother made it himself."

Well damn.

Taking a deep breath-naturally he couldn't pray for strength-Crowley reined in his desire to maim and worked up a very strained smile that probably looked worse than it felt.

"Thank you."

Still visibly wary the brother murmured to his sister that he'd give Mr. Crowley his package, the sister hissing back that she wanted to do it.

Double damn.

"It's fine. I won't bite. Bad morning."

"Well this will cheer you up." The girl announced, successfully skirting around her brother who made a grab for her arm and missed. "Here you go."

Taking the candy cane stripped giftbag from her Crowley managed a rough thank you.

"Right. Bye, then." And so saying the teenager latching onto his sister's hand and tugged/dragged her down the hallway as fast as her legs could carry her. And all the while she waved wildly at him and again wished him a Happy Christmas and New Year.

Crowley wiggled his fingers in her direction. Reluctantly and with a sense of doom.

And once both children were in the lift and out of sight Crowley tilted his head back to glare up at the ceiling towards Heaven.

He didn't curse out God, what was the point after all, but he called Her a lot of not nice names in his mind before stomping back into his place and slamming his door hard enough that he broke it off its hinges.

"Fuck me."

Snapping his fingers to fix the damage and lock it back up Crowley shoved his hand into the bag, yanked out the useless tissue paper, and tossed it onto the floor before diving his hand back in to pull out whatever else was in the fecking bag and-cotton. Clothing of some sort?

Letting the bag go so that it dropped to the floor as well Crowley brought his fisted hand up to stare at as the folded piece of clothing unfolded and hung there limply in his grasp.

Glaring at it for a minute or so Crowley took another breath and then slowly shifted his grip, using both hands to hold the black T-shirt up and facing him so that he could see what was printed on the front of it.

"Well damn."

The majority of the shirt was a framed picture of a cartoon version of Veruca Salt from the nineteen seventies version of 'Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory'. She was depicted as covered with garbage and the frame around her featured golden eggs...and geese. Six geese a laying.

Above the frame in capital letters were the words, 'SHE HAD IT COMING.'

"It's my side that's not supposed to fight fair, Dammit!"

)

Seventh Day of Christmas

Crowley was in a foul mood the next day even before he returned to his flat to find that Aziraphale had called and left him a message. A message. Which had come in while Crowley was at McDonalds for his weekly lunch there. And given that he always went to the same one, at the same time so that he missed the brats from the nearby school when they came to feed...it had to be deliberate. Aziraphale had deliberately avoided having to talk to him and had in fact not so much as made a peep in Crowley's direction in nearly twelve days.

Not that he was counting.

So really it would serve the angel right if Crowley ignored the contents of the message or pretended that he hadn't seen that he had a message until it was too late. Really that was exactly what Aziraphale deserved.

But what if all this secrecy and such was wearing on the angel? What if he wanted to confess to Crowley that he'd been the one to send him all these ridiculous gifts? God and her minions were big on confessing their sins after all. Not that Aziraphale probably even realized all the torment he was causing him. Would probably be appalled if he did know.

He really should tell him, Crowley told himself. Even though he knew he wouldn't. Couldn't.

And what if...just what if...Aziraphale wanted to give him the fifth ring? In person.

"God, I really am pathetic."

He needed to go out and eat more seriously unhealthy food in front of people exercising. Or send some rich people pictures of themselves and their spouses before they'd used their money to change their faces. Remind them that they'd still be stuck with ugly children before their offspring were old enough to go under the knife too. Or hey, speaking of children, maybe he could go buy some BB guns and give them to children to shoot their eyes out with.

Now that was a demon's idea of getting into the holiday spirit.

Just imagining Aziraphale's reaction if he were to ring him up and tell him he was too busy buying guns for minors to meet him at their bench this afternoon...Fuck. Aziraphale would be so sad and disappointed. And that was before he realized Crowley was serious about the guns.

Also dammit, normally he was the one to arrange their meetings. He had always been the one who had always made sure that they bumped into each other as often as they did. If he said no today...would Aziraphale hesitate to ask next time?

Dammit.

He was going.

And so three hours later Crowley found himself stomping over to their bench where Aziraphale sat waiting for him, the angel wearing a red, white and green striped scarf and a poinsettia pin on the lapel of his elegant white winter coat.

The smile the angel beamed in his direction left Crowley damn near breathless as he actually stumbled for a moment before catching himself.

Aziraphale's smile immediately fell away as he hastily got to his feet. "Oh dear! Are you all right? Did you step on some ice? You didn't twist your ankle, did you?"

"I'm fine, Angel." Waving away Aziraphale's concern Crowley took his habitable seat, which had already been cleared off for him of course. "So what's up?"

Wiggling with glee, because of course he was, Aziraphale pulled out a simple paper bag from his coat pocket with a completely unnecessary flourish. "Ta da. Roasted chestnuts!"

Okay...

"Not following you, Angel."

"Roasted chestnuts. Christmas. The old 'Chestnuts roasting on an open fire.'"

"'Jack Frost nipping at your nose." Crowley stated, not singing the words the way Aziraphale had. "I know."

"It's not cold enough for us to get frostbite even if we weren't-well-us. And I haven't seen you in a while and I thought...oh look!"

With a sinking sense of dread Crowley slowly turned his head in the direction of the water where seven swans had appeared and were currently swimming. Or to be more accurate they were performing a synchronized swimming routine that soon had everyone with a phone nearby, which was everyone over the age of three, rushing in to record the unusual behavior.

And blocking their view of the swans in the process.

"But...but..."

Looking over at his sputtering angel Crowley couldn't stand the disappointment written all over Aziraphale's face even as he fought back a chuckle.

"Give me a chestnut."

Still looking very put out Aziraphale held out the bag so that Crowley could help himself.

"For the best, really. Swans are bloody vicious creatures, you know. If they decide to attack, we'll have plenty of time to get away."

"But they're such beautiful creatures." Aziraphale protested.

"Well I'd rather sit here with you and eat chestnut than watch birds any day."

"Oh."

Now looking both embarrassed and pleased Aziraphale gave him a shy smile and then helped himself to a chestnut of his own.

"So...anything new with you?"

"As a matter of fact. Seems I've picked up a secret admirer. Or someone trying and failing to play a rather expensive joke on me."

"Oh? Do tell."

"Well someone's been sending me gifts the last six days. All related to that '12 Days of Christmas' song. I assume you know it."

"I see. How strange that they would be sending you the gifts already. After all, technically speaking the 'first' day of Christmas is technically December twenty-fifth. Christmas Day. Though I suppose most people these days wouldn't know that. Just us old timers."

As Aziraphale nudged him teasingly with his elbow Crowley took a moment to search his memory, coming up blank. He'd probably had known that at some point but when one had been around for over six thousand years...well you did forget some things. Especially stupid human customs that were as silly as the fact that Christians stubbornly refused to acknowledge the fact that they were celebrating Jesus's birth on the wrong day. And month, for that matter.

Of course with the amount of things humans got wrong every single day of their short lives...Nevermind.

Either way it was obvious that Aziraphale had started the gift delivery early as a red herring. One that Crowley hadn't even picked on because, again, it was glaringly obvious that Aziraphale was the one sending him the presents in the first place.

But he couldn't say that, so instead Crowley allowed himself one sigh before stating that he had no idea who his mysterious gift giver was.

"Well I'm sure you'll figure it out."

"I'm sure I will."