Deepest Circles of Hell
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Summary: Klaus and Crowley have a lot more in common than enemies they can't seem to kill, and their history goes back further than anyone knows. SPN/TVD crossover.
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"Niklaus." First and foremost, Crowley likes to make an entrance. It's always been his style to appear without any prior warning at all. "It's been too long."
At this stage in the game, Klaus often forgets the world isn't just divided into vampires, werewolves and humans; demons, though entirely forgettable in his opinion, also seem to run amok on the giant chessboard that is reality, and he has a history with one who likes to frequently play hide-and-seek and never reveal where his hiding spot is.
"Crowley," he'll always coldly return. "How noble of you to grace me with your presence."
"I told you... I always make sure I have a damn good reason for darkening your doorstep."
"And the reason for this particular visit is...?"
"There's another doppelganger."
And instantly, his attention is piqued.
He certainly cannot deny Crowley undeniable flare when it comes to stating his business, but it irritates him that the smug look on the demon's face, not to mention the way his eyebrows join together so he looks reasonably formidable, means he isn't going to get the answers he wants without a price.
"And how do you know this?"
"King of Hell, darling," Crowley remarks, his smile crooked like his personality. "I'm privy to all the best information...and the worst, considering the nature of my homeland." He chuckles to himself, as if he's the king of humour not the king of a place which is the embodiment of human sin. "I like to keep an eye on the world upstairs. Anything supernatural that pops up on my radar, I make note of it."
"Fascinating," Klaus notes dryly.
He wants the power Crowley possesses; he needs to be omniscient, omnipresent, and still be able to disappear like a deity. But for now he'll settle for being invincible, so he tries to pry the information from his opponent's lips.
"Where is she, Crowley?"
"Ah, now that information has a price tag, I'm afraid."
Doesn't it always?
"What do you want?"
Crowley muses to himself for half a second before shrugging.
"Haven't decided yet. I'll let you know when I do."
And to Klaus' eternal fury, he leaves before divulging where the doppelganger even is.
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Klaus has a habit of ignoring Hell when it calls.
That's not to say Crowley doesn't find other means to contact him (such as randomly turning up when he's least expecting him to) but the fact he has the King of Hell on speed-dial is most disconcerting, as opposed to empowering.
He doesn't want to be Hell's little bitch, yet Crowley insists on making him work for the answers he wants.
He thinks Elijah would've liked him. There's something old world about them both, something that prevents them from adapting to modern times, at least in times of mannerisms and personality traits. Yet it's his door the demon darkens, each time promising something different. One moment it's a solution to becoming a hybrid without the need of a ritual, the next it's the location of a coven of witches with the same answers he promised to provide.
He plays Crowley's games because he's a desperate man. He isn't meant to be solely a vampire; duality is his game, both in terms of his nature and the characters he parades in front of people, often playing the nice guy so that when the bad guy emerges, it's a complete shock, paralysing people enough for him to end their lives without blinking. Being a hybrid, and surrounding himself with a hybrid army, is his dream, and the only way he's going to get the entire world to stop rejecting him as a man and as a threat.
Perhaps Crowley understands somewhat about people underestimating him.
There has to be more to his visits than meets the eye, but mystery is a cloak the demon wears – in more ways than one – and if Klaus is ever to understand his true objectives, he would be wise not to antagonise him.
But god does he envision the day he gets to wipe that smug grin off of his face for good.
In fact, right now it rivals his current dream of being surrounded by an army of loyal hybrids, while the world spills blood around him, his maniacal laugh ringing through the skies, and it's then it hits him that he and Crowley might not be so different after all.
But only one of them labels themselves as a demon.
The other just shies from the label, too arrogant, too proud, of his sins to share it with another.
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Twice, Crowley drops the names of places the doppelganger has been allegedly sighted.
Neither of them are right, which makes him think Crowley is just testing the waters, seeing what he can get away with.
This instinctively makes him think demons didn't just earn the reputation of being underhanded, cunning, vicious, manipulative bastards.
They damn well created that reputation for themselves.
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The price Crowley demands for the real location soon becomes apparent.
"If those denim wrapped nightmares even set a foot your way, I want you to kill 'em," he proclaims viciously. "Squash 'em like bugs. Torture them, if you like, but be warned – they have this nasty little habit of getting the upper-hand very, very quickly."
"Seems like demons aren't as invulnerable as they appear to be," Klaus cannot resist commenting, his grin as wide as the source of a river.
Crowley rolls his eyes.
"Did I ever tell you the joke about the hybrid and the demon walking into a bar?"
"The hybrid could actually get into the bar, considering the entrance concealed a devil's trap?"
"No. The demon devoured the hybrid for being a cocky little bastard."
Klaus just laughs.
Sometimes Crowley can be good company, if only for the reminder even the most feared creatures could be taken down a peg or two.
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In the end, Mystic Falls ends up being the answer to where the new doppelganger exists.
Elena Gilbert.
Her name rings as prettily as Katerina Petrovas' had.
"My part of the deal is done. I'm trusting you'll uphold your end should the Winchesters crawl your way."
"Absolutely. You have my word."
"How ironic that the two most double-crossing species in history – double-double crossing in your case, considering you're technically two species, or about to be anyway – have only each other's word to rely on in this deeply damaged world?" He gives Klaus a sidelong glance. "Funny ol' world isn't it?"
"The funniest," Klaus remarks, his voice flat, puncturing the very words which flutter from his lips.
But he doesn't trust Crowley one bit; he suspects the demon doesn't trust him either.
They speak of trust like it's not the fragile line which holds people together, or what he's had and lost with his own family over the centuries, or how he wants it to be real with someone because his entire life is nothing but a novel displaying the mistakes trusting anyone can get you to make.
How ironic then that the one person he almost trusts is exactly the person he shouldn't, and that the people he should trust either lie in coffins or are scattered across the world somewhere.
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"So these people constantly harassing you...I'm not going to lie, they sound like the Scooby Gang. Always fumbling into mysteries they cannot help but try to solve, yet I fail to see how they best a hybrid time after time. It's laughable really."
Klaus smiles at this.
So accurate, and he doesn't even know them like I do.
But he cannot have Crowley undermining his problems, even if he partly agrees with him.
"So these Winchester boys constantly harassing you," he parrots, letting the mockery seep into every syllable. "Sounds like they are nothing but cheap imitations of the Hardy Boys. Hardly a matter for the King of Hell to worry himself about."
"If only you knew," Crowley mutters darkly, sinking into his own troubled thoughts. "They give my wrinkles wrinkles, that's how serious a problem they are. If they didn't have that washed up angel on their side, I would've crushed them a long time ago."
They share a drink, wasting most of the night bickering over which one has the most persistent (and most irritating) cluster of enemies. Crowley drags up every muddied situation he's collided with these so-called Winchesters in, while Klaus bemoans the existence of the Petrova line, and all the company the individual females of that line seem to attract.
It's an irritating fact that they have too much in common. Besides this survivalist instinct which helps them outlive every threat crossing their paths, they have a tendency to also underestimate people (ironic really, given how much they detest being underestimated themselves) which comes at the price of their pride as they watch plan after plan fall apart before their eyes. Occasionally, the odd victory will fall onto their lap, but all they really have is the ability to survive anything, and the benefit of thousands of year's worth of history at their disposal.
In one thing, however, they will always differ.
Crowley can drop in out of Hell all he wants, while Klaus seems to remain buried in his, constantly suffocated by flames which linger close enough to the skin to burn, but not too close that his very body alights with fire. He suffocates in the pollution his very existence has blotted on the world like ink spillages on a very delicate stretch of parchment.
He pretends that he has it all figured out, but his life just consists of surviving. There's no game to it anymore.
Time to change the rules.
...
Soon, Crowley comes up with an endearing nickname for him.
Hydick.
Like he's not heard that one before.
He comes up with his own.
Fouley.
Neither nickname sticks.
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"So, Princess, any closer to destroying the souls of your enemies?"
Klaus shoots him a look deigned to kill.
"Any closer to destroying yours?"
Crowley looks tight-lipped, immediately regretting the taunt.
"As long as Castiel has googly eyes for Dean and his moose brother Sam, I fear retribution may just be a pipe dream. But at least I know my limits. You seem to constantly test yours. I've watched you chase away every last member of your family. The girl, the one whose blood you needed for your hybrids, is a vampire. Her blood is useless. And this so-called cure? How utterly unsurprising that there's only enough for one vampire. Oh, and that it's currently in the hands of a powerful being with the intent of destroying the supernatural veil between the living and the dead, also known as purgatory."
"Your point being?"
"You keep failing," Crowley all but shouts. "You're a pathetic hybrid. The Winchesters could've done a better job than you, and they have this habit of screwing up every plan – and, on occasion, the fate of the world – they ever come up with!"
Klaus bares his teeth, launching himself at Crowley, who disappears, reappearing behind him, and having the sheer nerve to tut at him.
"Now, now, Nicky. No need to flash me with your pearl whites." He looks at his watch, as if he has some other appointment he needs to get to. "I think it's best we stop these little chats. I think we rub each other up the wrong way." He grins. "And I didn't mean that to come out all kinky and stuff."
"Demons... such bitchy little bloodhounds," Klaus snarls. "Always looking for trouble."
"Ah, hybrids... such temperamental morons without a brain cell," Crowley sighs. "Always looking for immortality like better men before them."
"Newsflash, I am immortal."
"Newsflash, I don't give a rat's ass."
And with that, Crowley is gone.
Klaus doesn't know why they even bothered meeting. Occasionally, Crowley would feed him the odd bit of information, but he would never ask for a price, except of course for the promise to kill the Winchesters should he run into them.
It doesn't take him long to figure out Crowley's ulterior motive, and it had nothing to do with dominating the world so much as trying to forge alliances with most of the supernatural. Why, he's not quite sure, but demons are dodgy creatures, who make even the most promising of deals sound shady when considered under harsher light.
He makes the mental note of congratulating the Winchesters, if he ever runs into them, for managing to outfox - and annoy to the point of giving him an aneurysm - the most irritatingly persistent of all demons for so long.
You know, right before he sinks his teeth into their necks.
And with that, he feels the urge for blood swell up inside him, and decides he's in the mood to rip apart an entire village.
Or maybe he could make one last stop in Mystic Falls, see if he can't tempt the ripper back into play.
It's a lost cause, he knows, but hell his entire life has been chasing down lost causes, and he's occasionally reaped the odd success from doing so.
At least he can hold that over Crowley the Self-Righteous.
Any victory he can hold over the King of Hell has to be a victory worth savoring, right?
A/n: Consider this very AU because a) it's a crossover fic and b) not sure if the two timelines of both shows match, so stretch your imaginations a bit and just ignore the inaccuracies. How cool would it be for Crowley and Klaus to meet though? Definitely fun for me to write.