Work Text:
When the door to the shop opened, even the bell sounded disconsolate. Aziraphale’s footsteps were a shuffle: slow, weary, downright depressed.
“Angel?” Crowley asked. “Are you okay?”
Aziraphale sat down at his desk and shook his head sadly. “No, I don’t believe I am, my dearest. Still, I’ll be tip-top soon enough, I expect. I’ll get over it.”
“What happened?”
“My sushi restaurant is closing. Well, it happens, doesn’t it?”
“Remember that one in France? After the Revolution?”
“The crepes! ” He paused for a second, then said, “I think I’m sadder now, Crowley.”
“Tea!” Crowley declared. “You love a good cup of tea!” He snapped his fingers and handed Aziraphale a mug of tea.
Aziraphale sniffled into it. “Miracle tea is just never as good as made tea.”
“I’ll make you a cup of tea, then,” Crowley said determinedly. He went to Aziraphale’s little kitchen and hunted for tea. He found a tin labeled tea leaves . He took down Aziraphale’s favorite mug, with the angel wings, and scooped tea into it. He looked critically into the mug and scooped more tea in. Then a bit more. Then he added another dash for good measure. The mug was nearly ¾ full with tea leaves. He didn’t add more; it seemed like plenty to him.
He waited. The tea leaves sat in the mug, mocking him, not becoming anything helpful like a cup of tea.
He thought about it. Tea was liquid, these tea leaves were not. He must need to add liquid. As he went to the sink with the mug, he spotted Aziraphale’s kettle on his little stove.
“Right!” he said to himself. “People always talk about kettles when it comes to tea.” Crowley grabbed the kettle and filled it with water, placing it on the stove.
He waited four minutes exactly and took the kettle off the stove. He poured water into the mug and picked it up, ready to take to Aziraphale.
“The mug is cold,” Crowley muttered to himself. “Tea is hot. Blast.” He pondered where he might have gotten wrong, but came up short handed. In his world, food and liquid just happened - either humans brought it to him or he snapped his fingers and made it so. He looked at the mug guiltily and decided it didn’t count as miracle tea if he miracled the liquid hot.
With the now steaming cup in his hand, he risked a peek in. It didn’t look anything like what Aziraphale made, but it had to be tea.
He brought it out to Aziraphale and presented it to him proudly.
Aziraphale looked at the mug suspiciously. The tea leaves, swollen with water, were almost spilling out of the mug, and the hot liquid was lapping at the rim. It was dark, murky, almost pudding-like in thickness. “Goodness, Crowley, what is this?”
Crowley scratched the back of his neck. “Tea?” he asked.
“Erm… maybe not quite,” Aziraphale responded gently. He bravely took a sip and managed to smother his grimace. “It was very kind of you, though, my dearest.”
Crowley tried to take the mug back, but Aziraphale pulled it away. “No, no, dear, I do appreciate it.”
Crowley miracled it to his hand. “Nonsense, angel, I’ll try again.” He vanished the mess in the mug and sauntered back to the kitchen. He took his phone out surreptitiously and googled “How to make a cup of tea.” The first result was a how-to list and he read it.
- Fill up the kettle with water.
He emptied the kettle and filled it again with water. This was going to be easy this way, he thought to himself.
2. Boil the kettle.
He scrolled down in case the phone wanted to tell him how to do that step, but no, it was frustratingly unhelpful. He looked at the stove it was sitting on, but he’d never actually used one. It was a gas stove, though, room for open flame, so instead of playing around with the knobs, he shot a small amount of hellfire under the kettle and waited for the water to boil.
3. Place a teabag in your favourite mug.
Well, he had Aziraphale’s favorite mug, but a quick search of the kitchen failed to turn up anything like a teabag. He studied the tea leaves. Well, it was a missing step, but clearly he was supposed to put them in a bag. He found a small, plastic bag – possibly the one he’d brought Aziraphale a pastry in several days ago – and scooped less tea into it. A few spoonfuls. He tied it tightly and placed the teabag in the mug.
4. Pour boiling water in your favourite mug.
Crowley put his hand on the side of the kettle – hot, very hot, and the kettle was making a strange noise – so he decided it was boiling and poured water into the mug. The teabag made an effort to float to the top and bobbed close to the surface.
5. Brew the tea for a few moments.
Frustratingly unhelpful again. How many moments? He decided 2 minutes sounded good and waited. The water changed color slightly – the plastic bag had had a small hole – but not very much.
6. Remove and dispose of the teabag.
Crowley knew that’s what the instructions said, but honestly, the water wasn’t as dark as Aziraphale’s tea usually was. He’d leave it longer and just let Aziraphale remove it when he decided he was ready.
7. Add milk.
“How much?!” Crowley asked. “Fine, a splash, I’ll add a splash.”
8. Add sugar.
“How much?!” Crowley asked again. “Hm, Aziraphale likes sugar. I’ll add a lot.” He added a good 8 or 9 spoonfuls.
9. Stir the tea.
“Easy,” Crowley said confidently, and stirred the tea.
10. Enjoy the hot beverage.
He carefully took the mug to Aziraphale. “There you go, angel, tea,” he said proudly. “I think it might need to brew a bit longer.”
Aziraphale looked in and noticed it was honey-coloured, not tea-colored. He peered at the liquid and fished out the plastic bag. “Crowley, what’s this?”
“The teabag,” Crowley said proudly. “Instructions weren’t clear on that bit, but I think I got it.”
Aziraphale took a cautious sip and went, “Mmph! Well, that’s certainly sweet, thank you dear.”
“Nothing to it, angel, easy-peasy cup of tea.”
“You know, Crowley, my favourite tea shop hasn’t closed yet. Why don’t we stop by and get a cream tea?”