Across Time

An LLS production

Egypt was one of the places to be sometime in the first two millennia leading up to the First Coming, Crowley decided. Even the prostitutes put up a free show on the holy days. Sure, they might not worship the Lord or whatever, which put them in a big no-no with Upstairs, but that was what made it all the more attractive to your average demon working with Temptation.

To Crowley, Egypt somewhere circa BC was a study in how humans never needed temptations whatsoever; the seven sins were rife there.

As the snake opened his eyes to reveal those of his reptilian brethren behind human eyelids, he really had to pause to see the white-haired youth for what the human truly was. White hair was uncommon no matter the time-line, and that scar lent a debonair air to the man instead of disfiguring him. The eyes, though, particularly drew Crowley's attention. It was said that the eyes were the window to the soul, and if that were through, then this one human soul was a barren wasteland.

Crowley shivered. It was eerily like looking at a demon in human form, cloaked in the aura of darkness not seen since the War. It wasn't one of Below, though; Crowley couldn't call himself a demon if he couldn't smell the human off this kid.

"I thought you'd be more demonic," the boy growled, something threatening that reminded Crowley of Below's torture department. Oh yeah, the Serpent could smell a future colleague from him. Definitely going into the torture department, this one.

"Never mind," the summoner decided before Crowley could rebut. "I summon you for revenge. I need to carry out my revenge against the Pharaoh of this Two Lands, and I summon you for this purpose. In exchange, I will give you whatever price you request, within reasonable means. How does that sound, Crowley?"

The demon winced. "Jeez, don't bandy about names like that, you're playing with fire there. Look, let's start off with introductions. What do I call you?"

"I am not going to give you my name," the summoner shortly replied. "And I fail to see the need for introductions when I just need power for my revenge against the royal line."

Revolutionary, Crowley pegged him. "Ah, there's a story behind all that, care to share?"

"Not really," the summoner shortly replied. "So tell me if you can kill the Pharaoh immediately, or some method of yours can, or refer me to someone who can do so."

Crowley looked down, roughly gauging his chances of lying with the warded circle complete with hieroglyph reinforcement. Not very likely. "Right... that's not cricket, you know. I'm a demon, what makes you think I'll do this for free? 'Course, your soul as payment."

"Answer the question," the boy shot back. "Screw me over, and I will find a way to get back at you."

Crowley looked down again. The reinforcing was done really, really well...

"Not my business," he finally admitted. "I'll refer you to–" he said a word that would give him nightmares comparable with the First of the Fallen. "Got it?"

Russet eyes gleamed again as the boy murmured the word to himself. "I see. Who is he?"

"High on the hierarchy," Crowley shrugged. He didn't want to give away free information. "Right, so can you let me go now?"

The summoner would proceed to give him a grin that gave him nightmares for the rest of the millennium and banish him.

Back to he– Below.

The jerk.

Fast-forward a few millennia, past the coming of the Christ to the tail-end of the century, a decade or so after the apocalypse that couldn't and Crowley found himself summoned again, now stupidly blinking at the summoner that really seemed like the one that gave him nightmares so many millennia ago.

"Eek!" Granted, squealing at the probably completely unrelated summoner was undignified, but Crowley was nothing if not completely lacking shame. Shame was to him something humans hung up on, not him.

Then he saw the ring on the rope around the boy's neck. And the cold russet eyes.

Crap.

"We meet again," the boy smiled. "Let's make a deal."

It was undignified, but he didn't care. Crowley swallowed.

Another summoning, another being dragged from whatever business he was doing, and he found himself in front of the same white-haired summoner again. Only this time, eyes like chocolate met his reptilian gaze.

"I'm going to guess you're the host then," Crowley grimaced. The spirit, the first summoner, had been seriously protective of this host, for some reason Crowley hadn't managed to figure out. How the guy managed to electrocute a demon even when he was in a circle Crowley still couldn't figure out. The half-soul thing was troublesome to overcome at the moment, but he was getting to it.

"A pleasure to meet you too, Mr Demon," the summoner greeted politely, lifting up a saucer, complete with the refreshing leaf. "Tea?"

This one was automatically nicer than the other, Crowley decided, taking the cup.

"In exchange, I'll have the terms of the contract between you and Bakura," the white-haired youth continued.

Crowley decided that the youth reminded him of the angel almost immediately; both hid a conniving bastard under their smiling polite façades.

The tea was Assam. Delicious, delicious Assam. That made it all forgiveable if the human could make tea like a certain angel.

The last time, Crowley was summoned again, this time landing in a cage of black iron, chains of shadow wrapping around the circle to lash out only to meet the semi-protective barrier that wouldn't be protective any longer if he tried anything. The white-haired summoner was there as well, russet eyes gleaming like old blood.

Crowley immediately recognised the aura of a man with only half a soul. In short, a human without impulses, Upstairs' idea of a joke being to create a human so amoral that even demons took them warily.

"You told," the man hissed. "I should throw you to the Church of your White God, you know."

Crowley swallowed, not liking that look. Down went the eyes again. Apparently the man was going to drag this out for as long as possible.

Crowley had the sudden feeling of Azrael coming for him.

"Any last words?" the white-haired one growled, holding up what Crowley identified to be a bread knife.

"Bakura, are you there?" the soft lilting voice of the nicer summoner drifted from behind the thin walls. "Koe?"

Crowley gave the now-named Bakura a look as the human-but-not-really-human scowled. "Che, that brat." Aloud, the summoner yelled: "What now?"

"Bakura~" the door to the dark room to show the other white-haired one Crowley knew from previous visits to be Ryou Bakura, in a state of drunk dishabille, cheeks tinted red and half-undressed, shirt open to show pale skin.

Bakura growled. Crowley, from six thousand years of experience, very quickly identified the completely amoral and feral possessiveness that was probably the closest emotion Bakura could show to love and swallowed nervously. Lust-driven people were really difficult to predict sometimes.

"Hic, Bakura~" those chocolate eyes were fever-bright, and if possible, the sight would probably be enough to turn straight men gay and make playboys bat for the other team in a heartbeat. "I missed you~"

Sweet relief coursed through Crowley as the summoner scowled at him. "I set you free. Leave. Never darken my door again."

This time, the demon was only too glad to comply.

Yeah, I wanted to do this as a study of Tender-shippng, but I really couldn't get the vibe reading the archive and the thing sort of got away from me.

As a fangirl, one day i will write smut! Until then, please read.

Please review!