Aziraphale had only ever met one other angel as inventive as himself and that was in the year 1491, abroad a ship bound for the Atlantic, where a rotten apple core left in the bottom of a sack was being carried to a bright new world. (The other most inventive creature being non other than the demon Crowley, who was technically no longer an angel, but Crowley thought it was all just office politics really.) Aziraphale flew on the winds and made sure the all important seed fell into a soil caked crevice of the hull and sprouted. All it took was a little kick in the right direction. To his surprise a panel of the decking crumpled in a sudden gale and a stream of sunlight beamed in right over the tiny plant. Aziraphale looked up to find another angel, in a tan coat flaring out fetchingly at the waist, staring at him with startled blue eyes.
"Hello," he said a little awkwardly.
Aziraphale cast about for something to say. The importation of the genius prunus, the common apple, was very important to the development of American cuisine and culture. Without which there would be no apple sauce, or Applejack, nor Johnny Appleseed. No apple bobbing on All Hallow's even. All of those things were critical but none more important than the invention of the Waldorf salad. Walnuts, watercress, blue cheese and of course green apple. It was going to be one of Crowley's favourites. As a principality, Aziraphale had some ability in premonitions. Impractically, all his foretellings were centred around food and the demon Crowley always starred in them. As if they were going to become close friends or something.
"Are you here to oversee the cultivation of ..." Aziraphale began to say.
"My name is Castiel," said the other angel, a Seraphim, no less. "And this is personal business."
Aziraphale could not be more intrigued. A warrior angel on a mission of self-interest? That would be like a demon helping to save the world. Aziraphale coughed, he shouldn't dabble in prophetic meddling so much, it always gave him heartburn.
"Which Principality are you?" Castiel asked after a moment of gazing at the small seedling which was growing miraculously fast. It would be a young sapling by the time the ship reached harbour, just mature enough for planting out in the frosty ground.
"The East," Aziraphale said. "I was the Angel of the Eastern gates. I uh, haven't heard of an angel called Castiel."
"You wouldn't," Castiel said. "I've been stationed on earth, with the humans."
"As have I," Aziraphale echoed.
"I am undercover," Castiel reiterated a little wearyly.
Aziraphale opened his mouth to say that of course, so was he, except the steely look on Castiel's face made him shut his mouth mutely. Perhaps he had been less competent than Castiel at maintaining a low profile. Honestly, sometimes Aziraphale thought all the angels in heaven and on earth gossiped about the ramshackle state of disorganised chaos his very existence had become. It was difficult getting all your miracles done and all your intervening intervened while trying to enjoy all that humanity had to offer by way of aesthetic, gastronomic and hedonistic experience. Truth be told.
"This variety will grow wild in Maine," Castiel said with a small smile that made Aziraphale's heart a little lighter. "One of its sports will be especially tart and holds its shape when cooked."
Aziraphale wondered why an assassin of god would have an interest in stewed apples just as Castiel stretched out his four wings and took flight. Could have saved himself a trip, thought Aziraphale. Really, Crowley's orders must have been mixed up somehow, even without Aziraphale carrying out this favour for his demon ally, the cider apple would have proliferated America.
Three hundred years passed and Aziraphale had few occasion to return to America. Though after a particularly booze filled lunch with Crowley in the deep South exploring this new soul food business, Aziraphale did get turned around and had to make a stop in the midwest. The ground he landed upon was dusty and barren. The wind blew the dirt about and clearly there was nowhere for a decent drink or afternoon tea. Wishing he had stayed behind for the first mardi gras with Crowley, and getting a little indigestion at the thought of what Crowley was up to at that moment, Aziraphale found himself sitting down in the midst of a cactus patch lonesome and down.
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Invention
FanfictionAziraphale encounters a fellow angelic inventor. Castiel is a fearsome seraphim carrying out a mysterious personal mission. Crowley and Aziraphale attempt to track Castiel's movements through time and learn to invent a few new things along the way.