Sophia's Chronicles

Chapter 98: Mommy Dearest

Somewhere near Coal City, Illinois—1 August 2013, 3.03pm

The demon gave a firm knock on the side of the truck. "Good to go," he shouted. The one manning the gantry opened up the gate. The truck drove out of the compound with no trouble. The last truck came out from within the warehouse, loaded with sacks from the heavy shipping containers stacked inside, and went through the same inspection. Regular armed patrols manned the perimeter behind wired fences. The dark interior was typical for the demons, save for a few work lights that sparsely distributed illumination.

"I've already updated the water filtration guys," one demon told another as they stood between perpendicular containers. "They'll be unloading the good stuff into the pipes real soon and then, the humans become our bitches."

"It's just an experiment. We can't get hyped yet," the other one sighed.

"Stop being so uptight, Dax. This was the boss' idea. He knows what he's doing," the first one lightly pushed Dax's shoulder.

"You're right," Dax supposed. He gave his brother-in-arms a one-sided smirk. "At least we got this witch to pass the time."

"Yeah, a real bimbo," the demon chuckled. "You gotta be a special kinda stupid to just walk into a bar full of demons like that and start throwing your weight around."

"She really thought she was doin' something, huh?" Dax comically narrated. They shared a snicker over the incident. The gasoline huff of an engine greeted them from the outside. "Next round, right on time."

The two split up, with Dax leaving to check on the two incoming trucks. He knocked on the driver's side on the first vehicle. The window rolled down and a paper was handed over. He read the details and waved him through, watching as the trucks parked squarely within the hangar. He looked back at the paper to confirm the details. That's when he noticed the tiniest red splotch on its corner. His head jerked up to see the shutters slowly closing.

"Hey! What are they doing?" he yelled, arm reaching out as he made towards the building. From this distance, his cry was not heard. He turned back for the support of those stationed outside. Just then, a knife plunged deep into his abdomen. All around him, he heard and saw his co-workers being stabbed by those not too different from them. As blood spilled out of his mouth and the fire of death began to consume him, the malicious glint in his attacker's eye was all he could see. Crowley barely nursed a crease on his flawless black coat. Its smoothness was a rich complement to his neatly trimmed beard, peppered with but a few messy aged hairs.

The inside of the warehouse was host to a different kind of party. The back doors of the trucks swung open and out jumped a dozen or more men and women, all attired in black, unlabelled body armour from head to toe, including helmets. They wasted no time in engaging the demons in combat. A demon ran for cover and pulled out his phone. One of the assailants threw a small metal device to the ground, immediately causing the phone to fizz out. The demon turned back, eyes flipping to their furious obsidian, and charged the human. The man threw a brass punch and knocked him off his feet. Once the all-clear was given by another soldier in all black from the higher floors, the man pulled out what looked like a grenade and threw it in the air.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Air collapsed in on itself. Black smoke flew everywhere. Ghoulish screams sang an eerie acapella. And then, nothing. The air cleared. Bodies lay dead on the ground. The man who threw the grenade took off his helmet, savouring the touch of fresh air. Ketch took in much-needed breaths as he surveyed the area for any more hostiles. Once the dead were tallied, the shutter was opened.

"It's done," Crowley told him. A faint smile spread across his jaw as he admired the carnage inside the warehouse. "Looks a lot cleaner in here. You lot really held back, didn't you?"

"Couldn't risk anyone using blood to call for reinforcements," Ketch explained. "I must say, it's refreshing to work with someone who isn't afraid to get their hands dirty."

"You know what they say, teamwork makes dreamwork," Crowley replied.

Ketch gave him a slight huff through the nostrils. "And yet some just fail to act when it's necessary," he sighed. "Even when all the evidence is right in front of them."

"I take it you're talking about our boys in flannel," Crowley narrowed his eyes. "They've got all the jawlines and attitude but none of the foresight. One little pout from a girl and they're useful idiots."

Ketch briefly looked away. "And why is it that you let Zara Joshi play them like a fiddle this long?" he wondered.

"Having her out in the open like that? It's better bait than we ever get," Crowley answered.

"Yet you failed to capture her," Ketch tilted his head ever so slightly.

A little pause fell between them as Crowley's casual eyebrow raise somehow bore deep into his eyes. "You, of all people, should know that a little bit of bondage can't hold her," he said. "Besides, having her crippled by the Winchesters was far more preferable."

"So everyone says…" Ketch remarked, trailing off. He looked around himself at all the shipping containers.

The containers were searched and the sacks of white powder were inspected. Several others uncovered documents which the Men of Letters would acquire. One particular container piqued Crowley's interest. He wasn't sure why, but he thought he had to open it. He sent a demon to check it out.

"What are you lookin at? Fancy this some kind of zoo?" A rough Scottish voice tore its way out, muffled by the metal. "Let me tell ya, I ain't scared of ya little head o' horns! If you really think yer all that then unshackle me, boy! Bring in your King if he really dares!"

The demon came back out with a scowl. Crowley shushed him before he could even speak, drawn to that uncanny voice. He stepped into the container. The dim surroundings were no obstacle for her copper head. Her sharp, upturned eyes rooted him to the spot then as they had done all those years ago. Once her sight caught him, she had a new scowl fresh off the stove for him.

"Is it you, then, the King?" her voice grew lower, ready to launch into an all new tirade. "King of what, Lilliput? I mean, I thought you'd be short, but…" she chuckled. Even that haggish smile—it was all the same. Crowley couldn't peel his eyes away. "Well? Get to it. Time for the coup de grace. Wee boy, is something the matter with you? Cat got your tongue, hmm?"

A little pinch got the better of his brows. "Mother?"


Crowley's Manor-two nights later

Fiery liquor gushed down Crowley's throat, not before stealing kisses from the ice cubes in the glass. "She was a horrible mother," he said to his companion—a tall, dark demon—in a less than generous tone. "Did I tell you the time she almost traded me for three pigs? Three! I was an attractive child. I could juggle. I was worth five pigs, at least."

The other demon simply nodded in agreement. "My ma used to burn me with cigarettes."

Crowley turned away from the view on his balcony, a vast greenery with trees standing high—but not high enough to stop him from seeing the nearest town in the distance—just to give the demon a bored look. "Nobody cares, Gerald," he sharply said. "And don't get me started about the name. Fergus. It sounds like a venereal disease, and not the fun kind."

"Look, Boss. If you hate this Betty so much… why not end her?" Gerald so keenly suggested.

Crowley gave it some thought, as he let the flavours of his next sip swirl on his tongue. "I have my reasons."

"Well, I killed my old lady. Because of the cigarettes. I have no problem doing yours," Gerald offered.

The former King stared emptily into his whiskey, as if to look a victim in the eye before ending their life. He gave orders to Gerald and waltzed down the spiralling marble stairs to the large living room where he had his own throne. It was set atop a couple of steps on a floor decorated with only the finest rugs. In times when his possessed skin felt as numb as it did then, the ornate black chair was always there to offer him comfort. It always felt snug when he sat on it. On a small table next to him was a framed photograph that tugged at his heart, depicting Esther's suggestive smile. She could've commanded any man with such a perfect cosine curve and clinching dress that passed her elbows and knees but supported her bosom intuitively. The fire that consumed her shot through his mind like it was just yesterday. Soon enough, the sound of shackles clanking faded into earshot.

"Mother."

Rowena unhanded herself from the demon, suddenly conscious of all the pairs of tar-eyes on high alert all over the mansion. Most curious of all was the one staring at her from the wannabe throne. "Fergus."

"Crowley," he corrected.

"Fergus," she insisted.

Crowley let out a sardonic huff, amused. "So you haven't changed."

"But you certainly have," she surveyed the sparkling marble and gold pillars which connected the rails on every floor. From what she'd been allowed to hear before the demons took her away, the old warehouse was ignited in a grand fire. It wasn't much of a debate for Crowley to keep the prisoner. "Big mansion for a demon, bravo. Always knew my boy was meant for great things."

"Really? As I remember it, you said I would die in a gutter, covered in my own sick," he spat out caustically.

"I was motivating you to do better, aim higher. And clearly, it worked," she said smugly. "How did you die?"

Crowley remembered and chose to forget. "The point is…" he leaned forward. "You hated me."

"Oh, please," she denied, dropping her head back.

His every word grew more forceful. "You said you'd be back in a flash. Then you disappeared. I was eight years old. Eight!" he hissed fervently.

"Oh, now you're being dramatic," she shot back immediately.

"I didn't even have a father!"

"Of course you had a father! You were just conceived during a winter solstice orgy, and it's not like I was taking names!" she cordially explained. It almost looked like she had the audacity to be confused. "What do you want me to say? I… I had a disagreement with the locals and when they set their hounds on me, I had to leave!"

"And never come back? For hundreds of years?" he questioned, cross-examining her like a prosecutor.

"But I'm here now! We have a second chance," she insisted, with desperation dragging out her voice. Not to mention that self-satisfied grin on her face which just didn't sit right with him. His round eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Softly, with the gentleness of every mother, she uttered, "We can be a real family again, Fergus."

"Crowley. And I have a family," he shot back coldly.

"Who? The demons? Any one of them would stab you in the back if they thought they could get away with it," she argued, carefully watching out for any stray looks.

"And you wouldn't?" he challenged.

"No, because we're family- we're blood! You can trust me. I can help you," she firmly stated. Crowley almost chuckled at that, but he just watched on instead, like one would watch an animal fall off a tree. "I understand you're angry," she sauntered towards him, looking all sullen. "I understand you… hate me. And if you want to keep me locked away, then so be it. But understand that I'll always be your mother," she reached out to caress his cheek. Naturally, he averted her touch. "And I'll always love you."

She leaned over to plant a kiss on his forehead. He stared dead ahead, wondering how the stars had aligned so terribly.

Not long after, a piece of the fine china set was kissed by her lips as she sipped tea from it.

"Look at you. Living in a palace fit for a king. Some promotion you musta had," she looked out at the sea of trees.

"I was a King," Crowley uttered bitterly, leaning on the railing. "A demon who ruled demons, as it should be."

"You usurped from the Devil himself?" Rowena wondered with rightful concern. Even shock coursed through her body like a light breeze on a curtain.

"I had him on a leash. Literally," he straightened up. "There was no way he could've escaped. That is, until an external interference showed up. So now we're here."

"Hm. I was almost proud of you for a second," she released a silent huff through her nose. He raised an eyebrow at her and immediately, a wide grin swept over her face. "But it doesn't matter, so long as we're together."

"Let's not get too cozy just yet," he brushed past her in stiff steps.


Somewhere at a Crossroads

The intersection was as salt-of-the-earth as it could be—specks of minerals were interspersed amidst the dirt where mortals often came to bargain with their souls, arriving with ideations of power but leaving as slaves. Crowley could taste it in the air. Abject desperation. How he'd loved his job. He'd loved it so much, he couldn't help but play poker with higher powers. Wings fluttered.

"Thanks for coming," he said to his guest.

"You have some spunk, summoning me at a time like this," Naomi crossed her arms. Sunlight reflected the shine of her silver suit into her light blue eyes.

"Actually, this couldn't be a better time," he said, unbothered, as he dug his hands into his pockets. "In times of such uncertainty, we must hold our allies more intimately than ever. Rekindle what may be forgotten. I hope you'll recall how delicate I can be."

His suggestive delivery was met with a cold stare. "I don't have time for your trifling. Unlike you, I do have pending business," she snapped at him.

"Yes, I've heard," Crowley tilted his head back. "Congratulations, by the way. I never had any doubts that you'd be able to pull the angel's nest out of something so dire. So dire, in fact, that such recovery is simply… miraculous. It's all anyone can talk about."

"Who's anyone?" Naomi squinted.

Crowley shrugged. "No one. Word just travels down the grapevine," he shook his head. "Some of those words seem to say that you're making a stunning discovery in the earth's strata. Mining for treasure, Naomi?"

"That's none of your concern," she confidently said, almost amused.

"Oh, but I think it is," he stated. "You see, the timeline is a little dubious…" he sauntered past her in contemplation. "Lucifer shows up in Heaven. Few weeks later, Heaven goes into remission. And then you make a bold attempt at unearthing the demon tablet. Almost seems like you're getting a little helping hand from a special someone. I wonder how the angels would react to their trusted leader getting low and dirty with the Devil."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she casually dismissed.

"Sure you do," he refuted in much the same manner. "It isn't going to take long for people to put two and two together. Even less so with a little help from yours truly."

"Thanks for the heads up," a blade dropped out of her sleeve.

"Not so fast. We had a deal once, remember?" he pulled out the scroll. It rolled generously past her feet. "You promised me the demon tablet, Naomi."

"And in return, you were supposed to kill Raziel. Why is he still walking and talking then?" she challenged.

"A slight mishap. He can be a slippery one, as you know. But that doesn't mean the deal's off," Crowley explained. He pointed to two highlighted points in the contract. "After all, I did deliver you Castiel's location at the time, as well as two of your missing angels. A deal, once begun, can only be ended."

"As if any of that matters anymore," Naomi huffed. "In your hands, that's just a piece of paper. You aren't a King anymore, Crowley. Not of Hell, not of the Crossroads. You aren't even a demon as wicked as they come, or you'd have Lucifer's might powering that contract of yours. No offer you make has any value."

"Is that what you think?" he hissed, shoulders growing taut. "You really think I need Lucifer? Me? I'm Crowley. You need me. You really think that Lucifer could offer you a price as good as mine? You'll be under his heel forever." Despite her scowl, Crowley could see gears shifting behind her murderous glare. "This time, there'll be no tease. The angel of secrets will be gone, once and for all, and you'll deliver the demon tablet as promised."

"Hm," Naomi smirked. "Never thought I'd see the day when Crowley's the last person to get with the times. You really have fallen. Raziel isn't a threat to me anymore. At this point, not a single person, not even Raziel, can stop the wheels from turning. Order is inevitable. Would I forfeit that to hand you God's Word?" she chuckled. "As they say, 'Hell no'. Good riddance, Crowley."

With barely a second's notice, she was gone. He stared emptily at the air, wishing his clenched fist could find a hard surface.


A car ruthlessly sped past a puddle on the damp night street, sending a spray onto the pavement. The reflection of the convenience store was disrupted for a second but restored just as the witch's heels clanked along the path. Rowena pulled her coat closer to her body. She couldn't help but feel exposed with her eccentric hair being uncovered, but she'd be damned if she let a hat ruin her outfit. Nervously, her eyes darted about the sparsely-populated street. Her perfectly manicured fingers were at the ready, but who'd be the target—if there was any—was painfully uncertain.

When she finally entered the establishment, a homeless shelter in a less-than-friendly neighbourhood, she put on her best faux smile. There was a small cluster of men in ragged clothes and scraggly beards standing around a barrel fire who seemed to guard the gated entrance. "Are ya lost?" one of the men asked.

"This is Canal Street, isn't it dear?" she asked. "I'm looking for a fella named Jack Pierce."

The guys huffed. "Then get in line, missy," he gestured with his head to the queue that had formed outside the neighbouring building, which had a dimly-lit interior looking like it led into an eternity of nothing. The line had about a dozen people on the sidewalk.

"I need to see him immediately," she demanded, chin raised. "It's urgent business."

"We all got urgent business, lady," he grumbled. "See that woman over there? Single mom. She got a seven year-old who needs chemo and a minimum wage salary that don't pay for shit. That kid in the blue hoodie? His brother got arrested for someone else's crime. Everybody waits their turn for Jack."

"You don't understand," she sounded like a stern teacher. "I have to see him now. If you'd just let him know that-"

"Listen, I don't know what trouble you and your shiny earrings got, but I'll bet good money that Jack would rather see those people who've been waiting for hours before you," the man argued, while his grinning buddies in the back stroked the fire with a stray stick.

"Oh, so you're just going to be rude then," her voice grew almost sympathetic. She reached into her pocket. "Maybe you'd do well with a lesson in manners."

Just as she was about to hand him the hex bag, a woman from behind the gate interrupted them. "Hey, Paul, let her in," the woman, also dressed in whatever the dumpster offered, called out. The one who'd been talking to her gave Rowena a disgruntled look before unlocking the gate and dragging it open.

"Well, I'll be damned," he said with a forced smile, which dissipated as soon as Rowena passed him. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

"Fine gentleman, isn't he?" Rowena mumbled to the lady who escorted her inside. It was about as renovated as it looked from the outside. Paint peeling off the walls, floorboards creaking under her feet, and—worst of all—little critters scurrying around when they thought no one was looking. As they went up the stairs, Rowena feared her heels would get lodged in one of the many cracks. The inside was illuminated but it did not help ease the slimy feeling of a dark alley dripping on one's skin. They had, by now, passed the cafeteria as well as the large hall where several beds were lined up to the small office with someone else's name on it.

"Jack will see you now," she opened the door for the witch and left. Inside, there was but a lamp switched on. A constant wind from the open window shut the door behind Rowena. And there he was, with his back to her as he gazed out of the window. He pulled away the Backwoods roll from his lips and released a warm puff.

"You wanted to see me?" Jack turned to see her. He was in his regular combination of a beanie, leather jacket and jeans. As he leaned against the side of the table, he put out the joint on an ash tray which now had enough ash to be a sandbox.

She declined his invitation to sit once she saw the ripped cushion on the seat. "I do, but I expected to find you somewhere a little more… seemly," she struggled to hide her disdain. Even with him sitting on the edge of table, she had to crane her head up to speak to him. It certainly didn't help that his eyes were trained on her with dead intensity. "Some unfortunate things have happened."

"I heard," he nodded his head back, briefly glancing down as he shifted more comfortably onto the desk.

"You did?"

"Must've been terrifying, for you to get hauled away like that by those demons," he remarked as he studied his nails.

Her very exhale was measured, along with that doleful fluttering of her eyes. "It was horrible. I fear to think what would've happened if I'd remained there longer than I did," she pressed the back of her palm to her head dramatically.

"How did you escape?"

"Oh well, a witch is never without her tricks," she waved it off. "I just wanted to let you know, I am grateful for that little cottage you set me up with. Reminded me of the old hut where I had my first Sabbath. But if there is something I could ask…" she angled herself away slightly. "…a wee bit of a security detail couldn't hurt. After all, I have the Grand Coven after me and now, this. A girl's gotta sleep at night."

"See, here's the thing," Jack sat upright. "I can't keep you there anymore. You've exposed the house. All the tenants in the area have been relocated."

"Oh, even better. You're moving me to a safer location, then," she inferred, shoulders bouncing to contain her excitement.

"Uh, no," Jack curtly said.

"W-what's that supposed to mean, then?"

"It means I can't cover you," he stood up this time. His neat brows arched up in perfect unison. Shadows fell on his eyes sockets and the hollows of his cheeks. "I only asked for one thing, Rowena. You didn't hide your tracks and worst of all, you jumped headfirst into the lion's den."

"I made a mistake," she implored him. "It won't happen again."

"Those demons you tried to one-up? They're all over town on high alert. What do you think they do to people who don't fit in, like you?" he grew stiff. "You really think I should give you another chance?"

"But what about the Grand Coven? Don't you want my help to take them down?" she pointed out desperately.

"Take them down? That's not part of the deal," Jack affirmed with a condescending head tilt. "You think I go around helping everyone get revenge? I give people what they need, not what they want."

Her eyes grew sharp. Everything soft about her faded into vitriol. "So you won't help me?" she asked in a low voice.

"You put yourself in danger. You put other people in danger. I won't let this become a pattern."

Her jaw tightened. Her head twitched a little, but it was all part of an effort to remain calm. "You're losing more than a client, Mr Pierce. You're losing a powerful witch," she hissed.

"I know, and it's a damn shame that you couldn't keep to yourself," he scowled. "But I don't owe anyone trust, no matter who they are. Especially after what you pulled. Now if you don't mind, there are people who need me."

"What a reminder you are, that there are no dependable men in this world. To think of all the good things I'd heard about you," she wistfully ruminated. She opened the door. Gently resting a hand on it, she turned back to him one last time with the grace of a swan. "You will regret this."

The return journey was as tumultuous at first. She cast wary glances all around. Somehow the shadows always danced in her periphery but froze when she looked close. Eventually, she did make it back to the mansion. There was no better entrance than the front. He was right there when she came in. Sitting on his throne, he was eerily fixated on her. Putting on her best damsel expression, she neared Crowley.

"Fergus, what's the matter?" she furrowed her brows at the sight of him. "You look stiff as a corpse! Haven't seen that since the plague days. What can I do?"

"Nothing, you evil bitch," he answered monotonously.

"'Nothing, you evil bitch, Mother'," she corrected. Once the silence went on long enough, she reached out her arms to hold him. "My dear son, I'm sure you're wondering where I went."

He reclined away, which made her abandon her attempt. "I know where you went. I wouldn't leave you to do anything unsupervised," he stated outright.

"Worried about yer old lady now, are ya?" her thin lips widened into a grin.

"Worried about you screwing something up, more like," he got up to fix himself a drink at the marble bar. Couple ice cubes and two fingers of single malt always did the job. "Did you pull the same act with Jack Pierce?"

"Oh him? He's nothing to me, lad," she dismissed.

"Then pray do tell—what were you doing in the shoddy part of town with such holy company?"

Rowena sighed. "It's true, I had sought him. I needed protection. But it's all over now," a solemn pause fell over her. "He refused to keep his end of the bargain because those demons had captured me. A small matter, really, but the lad chose to blow it out of proportion."

"Protection?" Crowley looked askance at her. "From what?"

She briefly glanced at him but her eyes scattered. "I've been on the run, Fergus. The Grand Coven's kicked me out. Have you any idea what they do to exiled witches?"

"Burn them at the stake," Crowley answered without hesitation as he took a sip. "Fitting end for someone like you."

She narrowed her eyes. "I wonder if Satan has the same sense of humour. Guess I'll find out," she remarked. His lips grew thin. "Until then, forgive me for not wanting to light up like a firework."

"So that punk-rock Jesus denied you refuge," he deduced with dramatic narration. "I could've told you that. He has one of those saviour complexes. No way a self-centred wretch like you could have lasted around him."

"Luckily, my son is better company," she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I bet you could run down that sad little peasant dwelling with barely a sweat."

"And risk a fight with Jack Pierce? Bargain with your own horses." He gave her a side-eye, though she seemed to be matching him with disappointment. "Off to the gallows now, is it?" he took another sip.

"Is that all you have to say to the woman who gave you life?" she became exasperated. "To the one who gave you this dark gift you have burning inside you?" she blinked rapidly and took shallow breaths. "To think I was so relieved at the sight of my own son. What could make a mother prouder than to see her child as no ordinary demon, but one who refused to take orders from anyone? But alas, I must be heartbroken so, to be faced with such disdain." She turned away in a smooth motion. "I'll bother you no more, Fergus."

"Wait," Crowley called out, eyes already shutting tight as if in regret.

A gleeful smile erupted on her face, but she quelled it before facing him again with that same longingness. "Yes, my dear?"

Hand in his pocket, a frown had overtaken his expression. He refused to even look at her. "What if… we could help each other?"


A/N:

This chapter contains scenes from S10E7, S10E9 and S10E10