I've been wanting to do a fic like this for a while now, because as unique as Crowley is as a demon, he's still a demon and I think that comes with a huge ton of angst and turmoil that Crowley is very good at hiding. Holy water burns him just as much as any other demon. A darker exploration of the less pleasant side of Crowley's job description. Rated T just to be safe.

Or, this is what comes from me reading too much C.S. Lewis and G. K. Chesterton of late.

The Gentle Slope

"Indeed the safest road to hell is the gradual one - the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts." - C. S. Lewis, 'The Screwtape Letters'

Crowley waved a hand, shutting the telly off so he wouldn't have to look at Hastur's smirking face any longer. He was behind on his annual quota of damned souls, the Duke had gleefully informed Crowley, and unless he caught up he'd be answering to Lord Beelzebub. Personally.

And now here he was, prowling about the dark, dank streets of the seedier side of London. Like all demons Crowley could pinpoint souls that were in a state of mortal sin, and this one was no exception. He followed his target like the predator he was, unnoticed and unseen by the few people who were out so late.

He watched as the man exchanged heated words with another man, witnessed the brief exchange of gunfire and the second man flee into the night. Crowley knew it would be several minutes before the police arrived, especially in this part of London.

That was fine. He only needed a few moments to accomplish his task.

Crowley watched as the man's life slowly drained out of the bullet wound in his chest. Both demons and angels were forbidden from directly interfering in the lives of humans – snatching a life from Azrael's grasp was something that not even Gabriel or Michael would dare attempt.

Death was Azrael's domain, and interfering in mortals' free will was forbidden – that had been the first and one rule that both Heaven and Hell had followed from the Beginning. Angels and demons could try to sway humans towards good or evil, but ultimately the choice was theirs alone.

He was just the clean-up crew, Crowley thought grimly as he stepped into the harsh yellow light of a half-broken street lamp.

The man's rapidly dulling eyes widened slightly as Crowley stepped forward and knelt down next to him. Humans who were near the moment of death could recognise both demons and angels' supernatural forms despite their mortal disguises.

"D-didn't mean for things t'get so bad," the man gurgled. "J-just...got out of control..."

Crowley already knew the man's story. Career detective inspector who had started off with a promising career, but had quickly become jaded and disillusioned. A few bribes here and there, a few drug deals where he had looked the other way, and then he had panicked when one of his street contacts had threatened to rat him out. He had shot the man but not before his victim had managed to get off his own shot.

"Neither did I," said Crowley. "But here we both are."

The man's bloodied lips gurgled as he struggled to speak.

"I...j-just...slipped...down...d-didn't realise how b-bad..."

"It's a gentle slope, isn't it?" said Crowley, slipping his sunglasses off and tucking them into his coat pocket. His eyes burned like two miniature suns against the darkness though there was no warmth in them.

"You don't realise that you've fallen until you look up and see the abyss staring back at you," the demon continued.

"Y-you're taking me...?"

"Yes."

"B-but...I..I'm n-not...m'sorry..."

Crowley shook his head, his thin, angular face impassive. "Sorry, not my area. I don't do redemption. You humans have free will and this is the consequence."

The man didn't answer. He was already dead, sightless eyes still open.

Crowley reached out and made a gesture with his long, pale hand, drawing the man's soul out of his body. It was reluctant to leave, twisting and writhing in a column of silver light, but Crowley's grip was inescapable.

The demon clenched his hand into a fist and the soul glowed brighter, shining like a star, before the light was abruptly snuffed out. One more soul for the accountants Downstairs, he thought.

It was funny, really, Crowley mused as he stared down at the dead body. It was actually quite easy to fall – he had tried to explain the concept to Aziraphale once but the angel hadn't understood. Not because Aziraphale was stupid or naïve; he just didn't see certain things the way Crowley did.

Aziraphale viewed the world in black and white, not only because it was part of his angelic nature but because he was just, well…Aziraphale. "If there is no ultimate good then nothing has any meaning; nothing really matters," the angel had told Crowley once, with that same smile and blasted tone of mingled confidence and faith that made the demon cringe even as a tiny part of Crowley hoped Aziraphale never lost that faith.

For Crowley, everything was relative – there was no black or white, just shades of grey. He hadn't realised he was Falling until it was too late. Aziraphale could not understand that but that was fine with Crowley; he somehow felt that if he tried too hard to make the angel understand, he'd just drag Aziraphale down with him.

Aziraphale was a bit of a bastard, and not a very angelic angel, but he was a good angel. That was Crowley's closest measure of objective morality he had these days.

The distant sound of sirens growing louder interrupted his thoughts. He vanished into the shadows just before an ambulance skidded to a stop in front of the alley Crowley had been standing in moments ago.

The night was long, and he had more souls to collect.