Title: Consultation

Author: Joon

Rating: R for language

Spoilers: Mild spoilers for "The Devil You Know" by Mike Carey and "Good Omens" by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.

Timeline: pre-events of "Good Omens" and "The Devil You Know."

Disclaimer: Crowley belongs to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. Felix Castor, Rafi and this particular version of Asmodeus belong to Mike Carey. I'm just borrowing them to write something that's been on my mind.

Summary: Crowley is called on to do a favor.

Author's Notes: For those of you who haven't already, run out and get yourself a copy of Mike Carey's "The Devil You Know." Carey of the Lucifer and Constantine fame has written a lovely book about occults, demons and ghosts and the guy caught in the middle of it all. I'm still in the dark about Felix and Rafi's complete history, but from what I do know, this little short story was born.

Part One of Two

Crowley wasn't in the habit of giving out his number to very many people. He'd tried to establish some sort of mobile phone system between himself and his Hellish superiors, but they'd seem more content to just use whatever vaguely electronic device he happened to be near. So in truth, Crowley had only voluntarily given his number over to two persons and seeing as that he'd just parted with Aziraphale after their lunch at the Ritz, the one ringing him at this very moment could only be Felix Castor.

"Does your little Exorcists Union ever frown upon you just ringing me on a mobile instead of doing a candles and incense summoning, Castor?" asked Crowley as a way of answering.

"Crowley….is that you?" Crowley could hear the scratchy quality of Castor's voice as if the exorcist hadn't slept all night or had been screaming all night. Possibly both.

"You're the one calling me."

"I need to talk to you. It's very important. Can we meet?"

There was now definitely a shade of desperation that was creeping in on the earlier rasping quality. While Crowley hadn't seen him in the last year or so, the demon knew it took a lot to frighten someone like Castor.

The demon mulled over his plans for the day. He had a face to TV screen meeting with his boss later in the afternoon that he absolutely couldn't be late for. But he supposed he could spare a couple of hours.

"Where are you?"

The first time Crowley met Felix Castor, the latter had been dangerously close to falling off his seat in a drunken stupor. The demon had observed the University student out with his mates, having a drink or ten. No doubt later he'd stumble back, throw up, fall asleep and not necessarily in that order. All in all, Crowley hadn't thought Castor looked like much of an exorcist. But appearances had proved to be deceiving.

Crowley had nothing personal against exorcists. In fact, he'd looked upon them as useful dog catchers of a sort for any stray demons who'd managed to scurry up to Earth without proper authorization. But against any demon who was completely sanctioned to be on Earth, they didn't stand a chance. More than once Crowley had been in close proximity to a supposedly well-seasoned exorcist who hadn't even been able to register that Crowley was a demon, let alone the first demon to set foot on Earth.

So it had surprised him a great deal when a drunken Felix Castor, a mere student, had attempted a rather sloppy exorcism upon seeing him. Even if Castor had not had the disadvantage of having had six shots of tequila or having just vomited his dinner before spotting Crowley in the alley behind the bar where the aforementioned vomiting had taken place, the incantation still would have done him little good. The words had barely made Crowley twitch as he observed Castor with a newly perked interest. So after calming Castor down and cleaning him up with a waved hand, Crowley had offered to get him a coffee. That had been six years ago. Seeing Castor now, waiting for him outside a rundown deli, it looked like the exorcist had aged about 15 years.

The hunched figure straightened a little in anticipation when he saw the Bentley approach the sidewalk. A window rolled down and a pale face sporting the all too familiar sunglasses peered out.

"You look bloody awful, Castor," commented Crowley. There was no usual pithy reply while Castor rounded the other side and got in the car. Closer up, Crowley got a better look at him and saw the other man's eyes were bloodshot, his hair a tangled mess. The clothes he wore were wrinkled beyond the help of any iron. "Fun night?"

"No," Castor finally replied. "Crowley, I need your help. I think...I think I really fucked up. Really, really badly." The man sounded nearly close to tears and Crowley suddenly felt rather uncomfortable at the uncharacteristic show of emotion. Especially considering it looked like Castor was looking for comfort from him. "A friend of mine…I need you to look at him. He's been possessed by something."

Dark eyebrows rose on Crowley's face from behind the shades. "You couldn't pull it out with a tune on that whistle of yours?"

A pained look crossed Castor's face. "I tried. But it's not a spirit. I thought it was but it's something else. Some kind of demon. Something big."

Castor's hand was now clenching the hem of his trench coat, adding another set of wrinkles to match the ones already on it. He was also noticeably trembling.

"How'd this something big demon get in your friend, anyway?" the demon asked.

"Rafi was doing an incantation and it went wrong."

"Why was he doing one in the first place?"

"I'm not sure." Castor rubbed his tired face with a hand. "I'd talked to him about a week ago. He'd been talking about big plans. Something about gaining powers by calling up a spirit to join with his corporeal body."

Crowley snorted derisively. "And it went wrong, did it?" Shaking his head, the demon ordered the Bentley to drive forward. Humans were remarkably arrogant. Not that Crowley looked upon that as a bad thing for him. It made his job a lot easier, actually. But once in awhile even he had to marvel at the depths of stupidity they sank to thanks to their unwavering idea that they were masters of their own fate. "So you want me to help you sort out your achingly stupid friend? Is that it?" he asked.

Giving his face one last rub, Castor fixed Crowley with a morose stare. There was naked begging in the pale eyes, but an ironic twisted smile graced the exorcist's lips. "I know it's a bit unusual."

"Unusual is one word for it."

"Look, yeah, it's unorthodox. Considering my line of work."

"My line of work, Castor. In case it slipped your mind, I'm here to bring about misery to your lot. Not clean up a mess made by some ponce who was too thick to understand that allowing a demon to take over his body falls under the Bad Idea List."

"It's not like he was thick about it, Crowley! He didn't know that's what was going to happen!" Castor protested, loyally.

"Oh, he just did a summoning spell not knowing what was going to happen. My mistake. He's not thick at all," sneered Crowley.

"He thought it was going to allow him access to greater powers," Castor grounded out, getting a defiant look that Crowley knew so well.

"You know Castor, if you're trying to convince me to help you, you're doing a rather crap job," Crowley advised, dryly.

The defiant look soon sagged and dissipated. Now Castor just looked plain sad and much to Crowley's dismay, he looked close to crying again.

"Crowley, please. I need your help. If you could just look at Rafi and maybe at least identify what's in him, I can figure out what to do."

The demon continued to drive, his expression unreadable behind the shades. "And what would you do? If I figured out what was inside your friend?" he asked.

"I'd exorcise it out of him, of course," Castor snapped.

"Back to hell."

"Yes, back….to hell," Castor finished, softly, realizing where Crowley was going with his questioning.

"So basically you're asking me to help you betray one of my own. To aide you in casting one of my own brethren back to that place we all work so hard to stay out of."

Defeat licked Castor's features. "Yes, basically."

A grin suddenly split Crowley's features as he shifted gears and the Bentley lurched forward with greater anticipation. "Say no more. Backstabbery happens to be a fun past time for us," he said, cheerily as if betrayal was synonymous with grabbing a pint. "Where to?"

TBC