THE SLOW WALK TOWARD HELL
The first thing Crowley wants to do is visit Dragoness in Purgatory, but there are some preparations needed first. He visits Ranni to have her transcribe an audio file. He visits his room to replace the souls he destroyed. He visits his house to make sure everything is being set up properly. Finally he visits Croney, the body maker.
Soon enough he is ready. The walk to the portal is short, but long enough for Crowley to go over every atom of my being to make sure I didn't leak any information to Dean. I had not. So he gives me a proverbial pat on the head, aka one last jolt of pain that's a bit lighter than usual. The usual actual pat on the Hellhounds' heads as we pass and head toward the gate is quicker than usual. The walls shine with anti demon runes, a new addition added by Crowley himself, just in case. The second guard Hellhound is given a pat and a warning as it sniffs the body and we pop into purgatory.
Dragoness is sitting with Bobby and the young werewolf Lily in the clearing but they are otherwise alone. As Crowley enters Bobby turns and sighs at the sight of the king walking toward him.
"Balls."
"No Robert, you played your part well. However, even though I planned this, you still betrayed me, so." There's a snap and a body that very much looks like one Robert Singer appears on the ground, dead and waiting for a catalyst. Crowley snaps again and Robert Singer vanishes into a white orb and flies quickly to the body. There is a brief moment where time stands still before Bobby gasps and the body comes to life. Crowley nods at the result, this wasn't always successful with a normal human. Rowena is a witch, I am contracted to be put in any body he wants, Bobby however is a human who has a deal with Dragoness, nothing more. Crowley stops holding Bobby by the jacket and trades it for a more painful grip on the arm. He drags the surprised hunter away and to the left.
"Crowley, what the Hell-"
"Shhh." Crowley spins Bobby around with a thought and walks a few steps away before speaking to the young werewolf cub. "Lily." The young werewolf looks out timidly from behind Dragonness's large tail. She sucks her thumb and looks up at the man she has come to know as 'alpha', when he's around. "Darling, I promised to not hurt you." There are a lot of left out ifs in that promise Crowley. He ignores me as Bobby angrily glares at him.
"You leave that girl alone, you hear me? She ain't a danger to anyone here. I-" Crowley snaps and Bobby is silent.
"Oh I disagree. Now Lily. Would you bite uncle Bobby for me? Just a quick bite." Dragoness purrs quietly as she joins me in watching the plan unfold. She knew about them all, the plans. I knew some but this one is fairly obvious.
"You sonuva-" Crowley snaps and Bobby's mouth shuts. The girl sucks her thumb and looks at uncle Bobby and Crowley. "Doesn't he smell good?" A quick flick and an invisible force nicks Bobby's arm, drawing blood. "I know you aren't hungry, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind. He smells good just for you."
The young girl's eyes flash as she inhales the scent of blood. Human blood. The first actual blood here since Dean Winchester. She sucks on her thumb harder and nods. "Good girl. Don't eat the heart, for now. Just nibble elsewhere and I might give you a treat later."
Crowley pushes Bobby forward and he stumbles a moment watching the young girl walk forward. She stands in front of him, still sucking her thumb as he shakes his head. She hesitates at his obvious distress but she is still sniffing the air. Bobby turns to run but there's a snap and he freezes.
"See. He isn't running, so it must be-" Crowley doesn't finish before the young girl jumps and with a growl takes a large bite out of Bobby's right arm. Bobby tenses, but cannot scream or move or even flinch. He can only stand and let the girl mutilate and gnaw on him. The young girl he had read stories to, the young girl with the yellow empire cut dress who wouldn't normally hurt a fly.
Crowley stands back and watches satisfied. "Good girl." I thought werewolves just ate hearts? "That's their favorite part, doesn't mean they don't use the whole buffalo." Crowley turns to the imposing queen of red death and fire, and nods. "Dragoness." She rumbles happily at his slight deference to her.
"King of Hell. How was your little fight?"
"You saw it. The only thing little about the fight were the opponents. Did you give them that sigil?"
"No. I believe they got it from a suumerian tablet. Quite an interesting one, is it not?"
"Very."
There is a slight tearing sound and a muffled cry for attention from the left, followed by chewing. Dragoness tuts the young girl as if she were eating an ice cream too quickly.
"Slowly dear. Remember to chew." Crowley doesn't even look up at Dragoness's comment. He just waits for her to return her gaze to him before continuing as if nothing had transpired at all.
"Now. I'd like to make this upcoming fight, which I'm sure you know about, a bit more interesting. I know how much you appreciate that." Dragoness nods, confirming everything he said before responding in her own booming voice.
"I do. I assume this means you wish to ask for my assistance?"
"Permission, actually. For the first time I am going to ask permission to possess someone. You." Silence. Then laughter shakes the clearing. Leaves fall in circling dances as the sound rumbles tree's branches.
"King of Hell. I'd thought you'd never ask. Of course I shall lend you my form and my soul, but you must do the same for me. I shall accompany you out of Purgatory, and gain use of your form, this one you currently wear, for twice as long as you control mine. Do we have an accord?"
There is a groan from the left and the background white noise of chewing and swallowing is broken for a moment. The muffled noises of pleading are consistent, and mean nothing to a young girl who barely understands death or cruelty, and the chewing starts once again. Crowley takes a breath and thinks.
"Can I not bring you another body? Would you really want to be in mine?
"I would in fact prefer another, but then we would not have an even trade of trust. So, do we have a deal?"
"Darling Dragoness, it isn't about trust in this case. I don't like anyone else controlling this body for a long time, it's… an eccentricity of mine." You let me. "You're mine Chew Toy. I can control you like I would my pinky finger, it's a bit different." Ok, that's a bit disturbing, I mean… it should be, but I'm kinda… too tired to be disturbed right now. Which is kinda weird, souls don't really get tired, not from just existing.
I'm ignored as usual.
"Then we must find something else to trade…Hmm. For however long you inhabit my body, I shall inhabit twice that of your house on earth, or the bunker where your little allies are. I shall freely talk to the survivors of the fight, if there are any, and...may do with them as I wish for a day." Oh...Oh no. Crowley doesn't even hesitate. If she kills them, well, their souls would still be here, she could only destroy souls with him after all.
"Excluding telling them about me and my plans." Dragoness smiles.
"I am quite proud of you King of Hell, you would have made a good Dragon."
"You would have made a better demon. Now?"
"Of course I shall not tell them anything that might endanger your, or our, machinations."
"Then, we have a deal. Now. Is this ongoing? Or once the fight is over you collect this one time offer?"
"I shall collect then, but if you are asking if you may practice..." Dragoness doesn't speak, she leans down and opens her jaws in front of Crowley, light burning and flickering like a warning in the back of her throat. Crowley looks at the furnace for a moment before nodding.
"Keep it warm for me Chew Toy." He shoves me into his body and leaves me alone. Red smoke rushes into a red maw, spiraling down the long neck like it's a tunnel. I take a step back and watch, pointedly not looking to the left where I will see pleading eyes that know I am impotent here. I can only imagine the conflict going on. This little girl who is under his protection is literally eating him alive. The pain must be immense, the emotional and mental torment are probably worse. It's not like Bobby hadn't experienced worse though, being tortured in Hell. I push the thoughts away, and focus on the vanishing smoke.
The jaw shuts and the huge mass of scaled muscles stands still. A moment. Two moments pass. Then Dragoness's body thrashes where it stands. Her head whips back and forth, leaking smoke and fire as eyes flash from pupiless red to their more natural pigment. She increases in size and then shrinks only to grow again. The battle continues for a long moment and I back away, wary about being crushed and punished for being reckless with Crowley's body.
Finally the body stands still again, panting. I do not know who is in control. It straightens and raises its head and looks at its claws curiously.
Crowley.
"Well after the initial adjustment it feels...natural. Like my own true body. Everything is so…" The falsely one sided conversation stops for a moment. Smoke curls in ever larger clouds out of nostrils. "No. I am not- ….well. You. … Of course I noticed your 'hints'! How- My own suggestions!" Fire streaks into the sky in white flame. Claws rake the ground as Crowley tries to decide on body breathes in and he exhales calmly having reached a conclusion. "If it's true, I suppose we'll find out now mother." Fire reaches towards the heavens in a blast that singes tree tops and crackles and whooshes as it eats the air. The following roar is primal and shakes every leaf for miles. The leaves are disrupted further as they are blasted from their branches with the force of a maelstrom as Crowley takes off for the sky.
Soon there is silence. Soon after the chewing starts again. Soon after I sit and cover the meat suit's ears and start humming so I no longer have to hear it. Soon after I start to feel numb and finally can tell myself I no longer hear minute crunching sounds. Soon after I realize Crowley had called Dragoness... mother.
….
By the time Crowley returns Lily is curled around Bobby's leg asleep. Still in love and looking for protection from the man whose arm she had just devoured. She is small, and had not needed more than that and so fell asleep, sucking a bloody thumb, around her uncle's frozen form. Bobby's face is tear stained, his eyes closed and gritted in pain as his arm is slowly healing itself, his eyes yellow and full of hate, the change taking hold quickly in the eternal home of monsters. I am sitting on a nearby log trying to occupy my thoughts with satisfaction about my initial conclusions relating Crowley's red color to Dragoness's. There is a slight caveat, a breeze, then Crowley comes barreling home as familiar red smoke followed by flapping wings. He rams into the body and I am pushed down instantly and painfully as Crowley takes over. I twitch in shock and a bit of pain at the unusual show of force as he stretches and dusts off his suit as 'mother' lands. What did that mean? Crowley scowls at my silent question, he did not like the new information gifted him, or perhaps did not know what to do with it, which he would not like either.
"Yes Dragoness, tell Chew Toy and Robert why I called you mother." The work Crowley did on his suit is rendered pointless as dust fills the air with her landing. The thud shakes the ground as usual and Dragoness blows the dust away with one or two last flaps. She shakes her massive body and then settles into her favorite story telling position. She looks at the still deeply sleeping werewolf cub huddled around Robert and then at Crowley and at me. I shudder, unnerved by her ability to look at me despite my non existence in this plane. She blinks and smiles, regarding the group with glee.
"Eons ago, barely a decade after the first demons, I made a law, a rule. That the first soul to change into a demon far sooner than natural laws allowed, would be mine. They would have a gift. A bit of dragon that their needs would shape as they formed. I had no idea if it would ever happen, or how it would manifest, but I am very pleased with the result." Dragoness grins and looks at Crowley, smoke curling from her nostrils. The implications of what she said were immense. Crowley had mentioned he had turned into a demon faster than normal, but surely there were others whose lives had been far worse than his? Or did Rowena just break him that much, was he that desperate - Pain streaks through me, not only stopping my train of thought in its tracks, but throwing it off the rails. Dragoness smiles, her teeth white and as big as cars.
"Thus, red smoke. My color. My demon. His in his own right, but a touch of dragon somewhere inside. As I said, I am very pleased with the result." Crowley glowers, chewing the inside of his cheek, trying to figure out why her 'gift' turned into something that could devour souls. Trying to figure out if that was the only thing that was affected. Trying to figure out how he felt about this. Trying to figure out if those were his feelings or mine or some other soul's. I begin to spin ideas but he is not in the mood, and I am shut down in painful dismissal. This type of introspection required drink, and the ability to Get drunk, and now was not the time or place.
"Well, as lovely as this revelation was, I have a bit of business to attend to." Crowley looks at the still form of Bobby, glaring at him as the muscle on his arm is slowly covered in fresh skin. "Wanna go for walkies boy?" Crowley snaps and Bobby relaxes in that odd way when all the muscles of a body suddenly find themselves free of tension. He looks down at the young monster curled around his foot in love, completely conflicted, but draws his foot out slowly. The young girl curls tighter and sucks on her thumb, which is now clean of blood. Bobby takes a breath and steps away. The girl remains asleep. He steps away again and again as Crowley watches in faked boredom masking amusement and Dragoness hides none of hers. Finally Bobby turns and glares at Crowley. He walks with purpose over to us, Dragoness still watching with large draconian eyes showing her interest in the story unfolding before her.
"What was the point of that? All you did was give me a curse that don't matter here!"
"And made you watch as a child you tell bedtime stories to ate you alive?" Bobby's face is drawn thin, lines of anger written between small splatters of blood, one which looks disturbingly like a kiss from very small lips. God Crowley, you sadistic bastard, you could've just dropped him somewhere….oh...then they might have just eaten all of him. "Exactly Chew Toy, I needed him alive to-"
"To what Crowley?" Crowley slowly smiles at his newest toy's frowning face.
"Why Robert, to have a drink and describe in great detail how your boys failed. Don't worry, I'll get you a doggy bowl for your beer if you want."
….
We sit on the balcony, the fenced in bit of roof atop Crowley's new California house and office. We sit with drinks watching a sunset that is as radiant as the turmoil and tension between the two men watching it. The balcony looks out toward it; over a valley, past the hills, and to mountains that eat the sun as it sets behind them. Its rays reflect on the stone of the balcony as it vibrates. Nearby two demons are finishing filling in the metal of the new sigil.
Crowley sips his drink, something extremely flamboyant with an umbrella that tastes of strawberry, a daiquiri I believe. It's his fifth. Even through my soul, humanizing the body, it still takes quite a bit to get a demon drunk. Bobby is on his fourth beer, it takes a bit to get a werewolf drunk, it takes more for a veteran hunter and alcoholic drunk. I can't imagine the tolerance he has under his belt now.
The last bit of drilling stops and Bobby looks over to see Tally, one of the three architectural demons, stand and dust off her pants, this used to be Alexa. The other, Barnett, is pouring gold into one of the symbols in the center. The circle is over all 50 or 60 feet wide, filling the entirety of the porch, even the table we sit at is inside it. With the sound of the drill gone bird calls can be heard. No cars, no yelling of tourists, just birds. The house is secluded, no one for miles, and very expensive deals and perimeter patrols keep planes, tourists, and anything Crowley didn't want in, out. After his body was stolen, he'd doubled, tripled, then quadrupled security and then bought this house for more personal pursuits; leaving the one in San Fran for general business. He was in Ojai now; secluded, out of sight, surrounded by mountains and avocado trees. I have a feeling he got the idea of this location from my past.
"What even is that symbol?" We are broken out of introspection by Bobby's question.
"It's what your boys used to bring a little Hell to earth." Bobby pauses with the beer half way to his lips.
"They what?"
"They brought a little Hell up to earth so they could fight me au naturale. They thought it would keep me in one place long enough to use a puzzle box." Crowley takes a sip. Bobby stares.
"Those idjits."
"I couldn't agree more. Dean tastes like old cheeseburgers and sweat by the way. Sit Down. Don't get your flannel in a knot, I put him back together. Mostly." Bobby had stood up, anger in his eyes and ready to fight despite everything. He pauses, then sits back down; tense, angry, but currently impotent. I feel for him. Crowley sips his drink and watches as the last bit of gold is poured into the last bit of the last symbol. He snaps and the gold sets. He then nods to the two demons who nod in return and leave, taking their tools with them. "Have the others finished by the end of the week, the papers on my desk by Monday. If you manage not to fail that you may submit a request for some time off." There are murmured thank yous as they close the door to the house.
As Crowley finishes his drink he takes out his phone and texts someone, or activates some tech, and soft chanting music fills the air.
"You know, I believe I'm starting to feel the alcohol. It's been... nearly 900 years since I actually felt that."
"You gonna get all sappy on me Crowley? What typa drunk are ya?"
"The violent kind. At least, when I was alive. Why do you think I'm drinking? I'm curious."
"Oh joy."
"What, you don't enjoy being part of an experiment?"
"No!"
"Well… too bad." Crowley snaps and the Pappy Van Winkle appears. He pours himself some and passes the bottle and the second glass to Bobby. I sigh, and just watch the colors of the sunset as best I can through Crowley's shifting gaze. It's beautiful, that type of sunset with deep reds, dark shadows, and light playing on the curves of mountains. Bobby shoots his beer and pours himself some of the whiskey.
"So. What did the idjits do next?"
"When I showed up, or after I ate-"
"After you fucking souruītā." What does that mean?
"It means soul eater Chew Toy. So, they brought Jack." Bobby sighs and takes another drink.
"Those fucking idjits."
"It was a good idea, they just executed it poorly, and hundreds of years too late. So they brought him, he got angry, he attacked, opened up my stomach. I threatened some things. They ran. I almost ate Sam alive, they-"
"You what!?"
"Well he danced out of the circle in time." Crowley takes a sip of the whiskey and breathes in the smell of sulfur. He pauses and looks at Bobby out of the corner of his eyes briefly. Bobby is trying to stay calm and drink… but is failing, so he's leaning more on the drinking aspect of that attempt. I myself am feeling a tad heavy headed too just from being here. Fortunately I am not a stupid drunk… If it's even the alcohol. Crowley wasn't lying though. He is a violent drunk. Well Fergus was. Now that Fergus is Crowley, a demon, violence is a lot more cruel and complicated. I can feel it. I know what is coming and I can't warn Bobby, if that would even mean anything. Crowley is reveling in my confused and wilting self. He takes another sip and basks in the myriad of emotions he is feeling, savoring them a moment longer before he starts his next plan.
"You're right Robert, it really was a horrible idea putting me in that form. If I'd have gotten all three of them I'm not sure I would have been able to resist."
"Resist what, princess?" Crowley ignores Bobby and shoots the drink. He sets it down then stands and regards the gold inlay on the roof. The gold is beautifully shimmering in the sunset, completely betraying its purpose in the fiery red light.
"Let's test it out Robert."
"What?" Says Bobby, having been pointedly looking anywhere but the demon. Crowley gestures to the circle.
"My toy."
"You know, I think I'd prefer if we didn't." Crowley chuckles and watches as the sigils on the ground begin to glow. The smell of rotten eggs permeates the air as the ground turns red. The soft chanting music stops amidst sparks and the odor of sulfur as a bit of Hell comes to Crowley's balcony.
"Holy shit." Crowley shakes his head as the ground sparks.
"Unholy Robert." As Crowley opens his mouth the fading sulfur cuts through the flavors of lingering whiskey like a knife. It is as jarring and bitter as his exit. He flies out and circles the porch as red smoke. It has begun. The fun. The play. The horror. And nothing I can do will change the outcome. So I sit and 'enjoy' the play as if I am a precognitive Abe Lincoln.
Now that I'm in his body, I can watch his form coalesce. It's a very strange phenomenon. The smoke solidifies in parts with no specific order. An arm here, thigh, stomach, short tail, chitinous growths on the shoulders. The smoke coalesces in its entirety quickly and soon enough there is a demon on the roof. Crowley sits on the floor leaning against the house, his face mimicking the one he normally wears.
"You're still one ugly sonofabitch." The second mouth laughs and the sound of razors fills the air at the rude comment.
"My mother would disagree."
"Rowena, I doubt-"
"Dragoness. Who has agreed to lend me her body for my fight with Jack."
"Your Fight With Who?!" I sigh. I hate talking in this body. The voice doesn't sound right when I use it. But to skip to the point I'll talk. I don't want this to last overlong. The sooner we get to the horror he has planned, the sooner it will be over.
"They put Crowley in the box and took it to the bunker, where Crowley's hunter's are. They made Jack and Sam let Crowley out. There was discussion. It ended with Jack agreeing to fight Crowley, anteing himself up." Bobby sighs.
"Fucking Stupid Idjits. Why didn' they just put the box in concrete?"
"Because they wanted to get Dean out of the box first, Crowley brought him with." I say with a sigh as I sit back down.
"Idjits."
"No. I'm just smarter. Jack agreed to fight me in return for me limiting my personal soul kill streak to one hundred a year."
"Personal?" I shake my head at the question. They still can't think like him. I look at Crowley as I feel his eyes on me and he nods as his long arm reaches past me to grab the bottle of whiskey. Both Bobby and I watch as the bottle is sipped from with the second mouth in his chest. It's odd. Very odd. The bottle is so tiny in his hands and next to the mouth looks like a toy. The motions of the mouth are not slow, razor sharp teeth occasionally scrape an edge of the bottle, and the sound it makes is grating. Crowley stops his repast and looks at me again, waiting, knowing that talking in this body made me uncomfortable and therefore happy to force it on me. I shake my head and deflate, sink into the seat from the weight of knowledge on my shoulders.
"Nothing mentioned using Dragoness to destroy souls Bobby. Or turning souls into monsters. However he does mainly limit the ones from earth to a hundred. Any extras come from Hell's library." Bobby is silent, pondering these loopholes with anger and annoyance. They are secondary to the real danger. None of them had realized the flaw in their plan. The biggest flaw. A crisis that could, and probably would, ensue if they won, and Crowley lost. If he signed a contract that prevented him from eating souls, if they managed to cover all the loopholes that let him destroy the very essence of a person...he'd go through withdrawal. How many people would die from that? The king of hell, back on blood? Or if he didn't go that route, how many would die from him using them as a distraction as he detoxed? Even then, the Winchesters don't know what is happening to him, that he is feeling on his own. They could be stopping him short of being able to empathize. Or perhaps they would be stopping something far worse, a demon lord of hell capable of human feeling and therefore even better at manipulation.
Bobby doesn't know half of this, but concern still etches his face with deep lines as he looks around. He looks at Crowley, at the sigils, at the fading sunset, at his drink. He knows he is in for something terrible. He doesn't know the half of it. This short play Crowley had written was beautiful, worthy of a comic book supervillain of the worst caliber. The type they don't print because the hero loses, because they wouldn't sell due to the sheer amount of horror in the pages.
"I'm dyin tonight, ain't I?" I look toward the man next to me and can't meet his eyes. He looks past me to Crowley, who has emptied the bottle already.
"And why would you think that Robert?"
"Because you're tellin me this shit." Crowley sets the bottle down and stands, a slow process. A full 26 feet now, his head is just above the roof of the house. Those last few souls had put him past some threshold. A child drinking their milk would love this, instant growth spurts with no growing pains.
Crowley stands loosely, his form hunched over both of us, his chest mouth sporting a cruel smile.
"I did warn the boys what would happen if they messed with me Robert. And as you know…"
"He keeps his promises." I look at Robert, finally meeting his gaze. "Sorry."
"Don be Bec."
"It's kinda my fault."
"It woulda happened eventually." He says, and both of us know he is unsure of that, trying to comfort me in an unwinnable situation. My soul aches as a large hand reaches down to grab the hunter. The double edged nails shine black and cut into Bobby's own hand as he grabs at them. The hand only big enough to grab him due to the obscenely long fingers and the nails that near double their length.
"Well this is a fantasy I've had since that kiss." Before Bobby can respond he is lifted into the air until he is level with Crowley's face. He takes his drink with him, managing not to spill it. He stares at the face a moment then defiantly shoots the whiskey and throws the glass at Crowley's head. Crowley doesn't even flinch, he just laughs, blowing Bobby's hat off with the force of breath from two mouths.
"Get bent Crowley."
"I'm hurt Robert. But-"
"Not as much as you'll hurt me. Get past the cliche horror and let's get this over with."
"Robert. It may be cliche, but it won't be over. I have a week before I need to be anywhere and I intend to stay in this form so we feel every… single... second of each other. Because I'm not just a sadist, I'm a masochist. So… let's see which of us breaks first, in your case, literally."
The mouth in his chest is disturbingly human except for the teeth; the tongue no longer than average but a much darker red. It is surrounded by lighter gums that lead to skin with almost no lips. The mouth opens wide, still barely big enough to swallow the man dangling above it like a superhero above a pit of sharks. Crowley's back arches in an attempt to recreate a head tilted to drop a grape in.
And I watch, unable to be horrified any more, as Robert is dropped past razors that catch his clothes and flesh as he passes. I watch, too tired to know what to think or feel, as his form thrashes for a few moments, grabbing at teeth with hands that are quickly becoming slick with blood before a snap paralyzes them and they slip out of view. I watch, curious, as chest muscles bunch in an odd way, using the pectorals to swallow. I watch, understanding the plan far too easily, as Crowley cuts open his own stomach... to allow air in for his meal to breath. I watch, odd hunger permeating my every aspect, as Crowley laughs at the muffled curses and screams that grow louder as he cuts the small holes. I watch, bored, as he snaps and Robert is wracked with pain raising the screams to a whole new level, slowly so slowly tearing him apart. I watch trying to figure out if I'd rather be Crowley or Robert right now. The torturer or the one who knows that even though this is painful it will probably end, permanently, soon. I watch, feeling and remembering the darkest wants and desires I had forgotten from when I was alive. I watch and I feel my soul darken around the edges as the weight of what is happening latches on to my very being.
I watch as two people I know slowly die. Bobby, and the person I was when I knew right from wrong.
….
It's been two days. Bobby is still alive, somehow. Still sane, unfortunately. Still being pulled apart by red smoke and acid.
I'm still sitting in the human meat suit. Still breathing. Still talking. Still confused. Sitting and feeling myself tip over a metaphorical lip toward Hell.
Crowley still lays back on the stone in his true form. Still happily taunting Robert. Still putting off the end. Still enjoying his 'meal.'
"I know you're tired, but keep trying to escape. You're almost there, well I am, and it feels quite nice." I turn away, not really interested in seeing what Crowley is going to do next. I'm too tired and hungry to watch.
I remember that I had once thought that I would make a good monster, if I wasn't so empathetic. I had a cruel streak, but no one ever seemed to deserve it. I could almost always understand where the other person was coming from. Now...I could feel the ability to empathize slipping away. I hear a scream and a happy moan and sigh. Right now I am finally numb from my inability to do anything and my confusing emotions, but how long before the confusion slips away too and all that is left is the monster? Would Crowley let that happen? Or would he attempt to keep me in this state forever. Too used to him to be horrified by anything other than my own inability to be horrified?
I look at the food in front of me, unable to eat the salad at the thought of other...food. How a human could even fit in...I shake my head trying to rid myself of the constant stream of correlations and questions that my mind pours at me. It doesn't work. A human stomach is a full twelve inches tall and six inches across. At 26 feet that would still only be four feet high and that doesn't leave much space for the other stomachs. Of course his belly is large, I could probably increase the size to four and half feet and… I shake my head. The answer is magic, demon physics, non euclidean geometry. It doesn't matter. I am sitting in a body not my own, next to a sunbathing demon who owns my soul, who is currently eating a man I consider a friend alive, and I don't know how I feel about it. So, no. Nothing matters. It's too much; it overwhelms me until it melts together and makes me numb. I'm done. I just need to feel nothing, or perhaps I need to feel something but feel nothing despite it? Am I numb or overwhelmed?
"Eat the food Chew Toy." I look at Crowley, his face blank, literally, the voice that is speaking filled with razors. I have no idea how he can see me. Still, magic probably. I push the plate away and look at Crowley.
"Make me." His whole body tenses at the comment. It's an obvious taunt, bait, but filled with so many implications that he actually pauses for a moment. I can feel his anger being tempered by curiosity and mild trepidation as he turns toward me. Have I snapped and gone insane? Have I finally given into that masochistic streak he's been trying to nurture? Am I suicidal again? What is going on? I can see the questions in his featureless face before he masks them with mild annoyed surprise.
"Pardon?"
"You heard me Crowley. Make me. I'm nauseous, hungry, and confused. I don't feel like eating a burger, a salad, or meal substitutes. You want me to eat because my discomfort amuses you? To keep the meat suit healthy while I inhabit it? Make me." He stares, as best a face with no eyes can, and rolls from his back onto his stomach. I can hear faint cursing as he does, his weight crushing the man beneath him. He pushes himself up and brings his face close to mine, my own features appearing on it. Older, scarred, bleeding.
"You know what I will do if-"
"I don't care. Kill whoever, torture whoever. I don't care." I look him in my eyes and just sit and wait for whatever will come.
The sound of nearby birds feels out of place but it fills the air nonetheless. Creating a break in my reality for half a second before the numbness returns. The bird's melodic tweets are interrupted by the percussion of a snap. I'm pulled from the body abruptly and float toward him at his will, a dog on a leash. He holds me in his hand and regards me, it is interesting being examined by my own face. I'm turned and twisted, held up in the light of the fading sun and put into shadows. I'm regarded every which way until my face grows dark and angry as he determines something.
"Bollocks."
Crowley reaches with one of his other hands towards his limp meat suit and pulls the phone from its pocket. The hologram glitches for a moment as it adjusts to the unnatural size of the hands holding it, but it stabilizes and Crowley places the call.
"Mother. My private house. Now. You have five minutes."
Crowley ends the call and continues regarding me, now with a face I don't recognize. It has orange hair and wild sideburns. They frame a face that starts round and ends in a pointed chin with a slight cleft. The nose is long but rounds to a red point that matches the cheeks. The eyes are blue and stand out below bushy brows.
Rowena arrives moments later in a rush and freezes at the face in front of her.
"Fergus!" The face vanishes and as it is replaced with Mark Sheppard's I realize I had just seen Fergus's visage. I suppose I might be interested if I had pencils to draw it, or hands, or emotion, but I don't and don't care.
"Mother. I have a problem I would like your assistance with." I'm brought round toward Rowena and she stares curiously at the soul her son is showing her.
"It's a soul that is turnin into a demon. About halfway there, probably more. I dinnae see the problem."
"It's Chew Toy. I'd prefer she didn't." Rowena gasps.
"Ye put her on the rack!"
"No, this is what happens when you spend 500 or so years with the King of Hell." Rowena pauses.
"I suppose that makes sense. Why do ye not just let her turn inta a demon then change her back?"
"Repeatedly? I do believe her soul might fall apart without my help if we do that." Rowena considers this then nods.
"Unlikely, but it could cause some damage."
He wants an everstone. No evolution for me. Crowley turns toward me at the thought. He examines my memories but isn't finding the answer fast enough. The Pokemon franchise is a Rather expansive bit of information to sift through.
"A what?" Pokémon, everstones keep pokémon from evolving into their next form. Crowley turns back to his mother and gestures to the seat where Bobby was two days ago. "Mother, is there any spell or item that can prevent a tortured soul from becoming a demon?" Rowena huffs and side eyes her son but goes to sit at the table. She is about to sit down when she notices a hat on the ground. Her eyes narrow as she picks it up.
"Fergus, is this nay Robert's hat? Where is he? He'll be missin it." I feel a chill of anticipation for the scene about to unfold. This will be beautiful. I pause, realizing I am once again 'feeling'. My numbness faded away without me noticing.
Crowley plucks the hat from his mother's hands.
"You're right. I'll give it to him." And he drops it down his second mouth, his chest tightening as he swallows. Rowena stares in confusion for a moment before her eyes widen.
"Fergus! Nay! Dinnae tell me you killed him!"
"Oh no, he's alive, body and soul, for now." Bye body, then bye soul. I watch as Rowena recoils a bit at Crowley's statement. She holds his gaze but casts a quick glance to his stomach which has a few small holes in it.
"Fergus... What did he do to deserve this?"
"Him? Nothing mother. The Winchester's interfered. I told them what would happen, I was no happier than you about it." She raises her head and swallows at this, noticing a word that may have a deeper meaning.
"Was?"
"Well, he feels rather nice... well he did. He stopped the struggling that was working out my knots about 30 minutes ago. Holding the entirety of Hell's souls can cause a bit of tension. So unless you want to join him, I suggest you find a solution to my problem." Rowena takes a breath and a step back. This form is harder to control, she knows it. Crowley probably has more control than most but...
"I'll try Fergus. I'd suggest to start by puttin' her back in the body and doin' the curin ritual."
"Obviously."
Crowley flicks me back into the body dismissively. I come to life and gasp as he snaps and gives me control. I lean back and laugh, ignoring Crowley's displeasure at seeing his body act so uncouth. This is insane, they are going to try to put me in a stasis! A half demonized soul. No wonder I feel odd!
Crowley looks back at his mother who is staring at me, concern etched on her face.
"Hurry mother, before I get annoyed and eat her. If I do, and lose my body, I will consider you responsible."
…
It's odd. This half numb state I keep flipping in and out of. I'd been depressed before. For some people it is only numbness. For others it's sadness. Or self loathing. I had feelings when I was depressed, I think. It was so long ago. I couldn't slip into it with Crowley. He wouldn't let me. I think I had felt depressed for around a year with him before he pulled me out of that and into horror. During my life it was an odd on and off for a good 20 some years. Since grade school till I got my meds right in college. It still slipped in occasionally. I wouldn't change that for the world, it was horrible but I think that's what gave me my ability to empathize. Although, I empathized too much some times.
I need that more than ever. The ability to understand. With this numbness, this filter over everything making it hard to care, I have to work hard to relate to other people. I feel some things. I can look at Crowley and imagine the screaming I should be hearing from Bobby. That I should be emitting myself. All I can wonder is when the darker urges twisting what remaining emotion I have will replace this numbness. Do I want that? I want to draw, to create, but all I can see are gray and black memories. I feel like if I put pen to paper all I will get is an endless series of cubes. I always draw cubes when I can't figure out what to draw or need to escape. Perhaps if I am dark and broken I could at least draw something. That might be nice.
I watch Crowley pace, waiting for something. He had placed a call or two earlier and was growing impatient. I have a feeling I know what they were for. The purifying ritual required consecrated ground and purified blood. If he didn't want his body pumped full of it he'd need another body to shunt me in. That could be interesting.
Suddenly it breaks. The numbness. And I laugh. A near 900 year old demon frustrated because his toy is broken. Because it is difficult to fix. I'm glared at and I grin.
"I'm your teddy bear Crowley. Are you sad because your teddy bear broke? Got a stain? Poor demon king."
I am rammed up against the side of the house. Claws inches deep into the wood and stucco and whatever the fuck the house is made of.
"Are you really taunting me?" I grin.
"Oh yes. Because this is a situation you can't win. If you kill me, I win. I am quite happy to die. Long and painful, short and quick. Either way, I win. Keep me alive and torture me, punish me. Until you find a solution, all you'll do is break your toy more. Purify me, make me feel again, well, this won't be me anymore. It'll just start over. Unless you find a way to keep me humanish, well... Even then I win because I'll be able to create with my own mind again. So, kill me, vent your anger. Please. I'm getting...bored." The numbness has started to return. I'm at the precipice. This numbness is my safe space as my emotions are being...warped. As soon as this stops I'll feel again, those twisted emotions and urges demons have...will be more intense, they will engulf me.
But for now, I'm numb.
"I guess I'm living on a razor ...now."
Crowley drops me, but I can see the ideas flickering across his featureless face.
"Chew Toy. I want you to figure out a way to keep you human."
Ah. He wants me to create for him. He thinks in this numb state I won't be able to. It's true, I can't create for myself in this state, create without stimulus. For others though? I can always do something for other people, even if I shouldn't. Even if it hurts me. In this case though...
"I would need more information. But one solution is put me in a crystal and just carry that. You won't be able to put me in your meat suit, but I won't be dying." I know I should feel satisfied that I thwarted his plan to make me void my contract. I think I needed another idea though to satisfy the contract. "Another would be to let me create more things. That would probably keep me human." Crowley huffs in annoyance and sits back down. I watch him, his red grey skin stretched over spindly bones and thick muscle. It's taut everywhere except his stomach, which bleeds sluggishly from the wounds he made as air holes for his 'pet' who will die in a day at the least. I swear I can hear breathing.
I wonder if I can taunt him into eating me. If I can, in this body I could kill Bobby. At best it will put him out of his misery and piss off Crowley. At worst it'd be interesting to finally kill someone myself. Or be killed. Bobby could withstand this pain of course. I believe I thought at one point he shouldn't have to go through this. He is a smart, good man. Selfless. I remember that that means something. I think.
Anyway, it'd be a way to pass the time. I'm about to start when I realize I don't know how to. In my numb state I can't think of how to taunt, tease, or tempt him. I'd have to wait for another lapse in the numbness or for the treatments to start. That could be interesting. If I could get him to eat this body while it is filled with purified blood. Hmmm I think I'm supposed to care about what that might cause for others but honestly now I'm just curious.
However I'm also here now. With nothing to do. Numb. Hmmm. Numb. I wonder if I can use that. I look at the food to my right. There is a knife, thankfully, that I can use. It looks like I can still have ideas for myself in this form, this state. They just take a really long time.
I pick up the knife and sink it into the flesh of the wrist. It hurts, but I can't bring myself to care. I wonder which will piss him off more, damaging the body or the suit? I start working on the flesh of the bicep, through the coat.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Pissing you off I think."
"You've succeeded. Stop."
"Bite me."
"Really? You're going for that phrase?" I smile. I can feel the numbness fading again.
"C'mon Fergus. You know you're curious. What will it feel like? Wouldn't I feel nice? And what emotions-"
"Really. Shut. Up." I'm pushed against the wall by force as he stands and his face twists into my features once again. I'll admit it's unnerving, but also fascinating. You only ever get to see your face on a screen or mirror or photo. Seeing it in flesh is a surreal experience.
Crowley runs a hand over the wounds and rips on my current body and they vanish. He drops me and leans back against the wall, checking the phone for updates. I'll have to try harder to get to him, he knows I'm angling for something, probably exactly what in fact.
"Fergus. Aren't you curious what a half demon soul would taste like?" He ignores me and continues fiddling haphazardly with the phone, his too large fingers occasionally causing the holo screen to glitch.
"Suicidal again, after all these years."
"Takes one to know one." Crowley's hand flies out again and crushes the throat I'm using. I had hit a nerve apparently. If I can get him to destroy his favorite suits, meat or otherwise, that's a bonus.
"What?"
"Hey. Death by bottle is still suicide. Perhaps you figured you'd be better as a demon than a pisspoor tailor." I grin inwardly as I feel his grip tighten. I'm grasping at straws here, but perhaps I'm right. Either way I'm getting on his nerves. "C'mon. You don't let people talk to you like this. You're king. You-"
"Your attempts at temptation are laudable but laughable. I might give in but I require you at the fight."
"Really? I doubt I'm of use to you there."
"You need to pretend to be me, for five minutes."
"Jack will know."
"Not if I leave a bit of demon in you. He may even grow overconfident if he senses how weak you are and thinks it is me."
"Maybe. But why do you need me to be you? Why does that mean I need to be fixed?"
"Because you are a horrible actress right now, even more than normal. And I need you to negotiate the rules."
"Why not get Rowena to read and negotiate? She's probably better at it. Kill me now."
"I'll kill you after, rest assured."
"Promises promises. King Fergus, we have a pretty fun situation. I'm already dead, I just happen to be possessing a body you like. Get me another one, wouldn't I feel good sliding down your throat? If you're in control, you have nothing to worry about-"
"Darling. Stop trying. You're very bad at this." I look up at the twenty some foot monstrosity holding me against the wall and smile.
"Your drooling mouth says otherwise." A single claw pricks the chin I am currently wearing, forcing my gaze up at his face and his only.
"Let me tell you a secret. A story. Once upon a time a little self absorbed angel was cast into Hell. He wanted to rule, but he kept messing with daddy's toys even from below, so he was locked up. Hell needed a new ruler. Daddy and the angel at least agreed on that. They also agreed that whoever ruled needed power, but not too much. So a crown was crafted that gave the wearer power over the souls in Hell, power to reshape it, and a bit of power to impress other demons, but not much more than that. However, if the self absorbed angel escaped he didn't want the ruler to rival him. So he put two small little tiny curses on the crown when daddy wasn't looking. One that was entwined with how the king controlled the souls. To control the souls, the king needed to hold them...A demon can only hold so many souls, the king needs to hold an infinite number. So, everything inside the ruler becomes infinite. Whoever wears the crown, can never be full. Not by flesh, not sin, not souls sitting in a prison. Always hungry. The other curse was that the crown couldn't be passed on freely or taken once donned except after the wearer died, except by him. To drive demons to distraction, to fight amongst themselves, try to free him to be rid of the hunger." I look at him and feel the numbness start to return. I hope this switching between dark emotion and absence of ends soon. In the meantime it'd be best to keep myself occupied, and an attempt at a false rescue is as good a goal as any.
"So why did you take it, if you knew the curse? Are you stupid or just your normal masochist?"
Crowley drops me.
"Only plebeians and boring people have sex with the same goal every time. As they say, it's about the journey… Same with all sin." He pauses as he stands and his second mouth smiles. "And I believe a friend of yours journey just ended." He runs a hand over the wound in his stomach and it changes into solid flesh. I sigh. I am too late. Too late for Bobby. Oh well, I could stand staring at his skull for a couple days while I melt. "You really thought I wouldn't figure out why you wanted a kiss? You're trying to manipulate me. Me! I manipulate master manipulators."
"Sounds kinky."
There is a cough and a man in priest's robes brings himself to our attention as he walks in surrounded by four demons. One carries a rather limp form, a makeshift version of my own body. The body is that of me at...35 or so. It also is bound and trussed up like a chicken. Crowley turns and mimics the priest's face, smiling in a cruel parody of happiness.
"Father Winster. I need you to cure this...person." The priest swallows and nods, not saying anything or looking overlong at the demon in front of him. He doesn't ask questions, or talk, or waste time. He wants to be out of here as quickly as possible. He nods to me and holds out his hand.
"Come, we shall cleanse you with the Lord's will."
"I-" I am stopped from speaking as with a snap I am thrust out of the body and into 'my own'. I struggle immediately, I try to speak but a gag is quickly shoved into my mouth. I do not want to be in this body. While I am comfortable in it, Crowley is also much more comfortable Doing things to it… Actually...that could be an advantage… I'm used to fearing him, or more accurately what he might do to me. Right now anything he does pushes me closer to becoming a demon or to him killing me; my goals. If this cure doesn't work… But if it does... I look back and see the sneering face of the priest atop Crowley's body, a hand waving goodbye as his form vanishes from view.
I'm taken down to a smaller room to the left of Crowley's office. The room is sparse. A single chair bolted to the floor sits in the center of a circle. Light from bay windows flows in through heavy shutters that are there just in case the ritual had to be performed while there was company present. The room is white, Heaven white, with a cement floor.
I'm pushed roughly into the chair in the center of the room and tied down. Two of the demons are here to watch; one stands at the door and the other ties me to the chair. The priest circles and looks at me.
"Who is she?" The demons remain silent. The priest sighs and opens his robe, he removes a line of syringes and sets them on the ground. "Is the room already consecrated?" The demons look at the circle and nod towards it, standing carefully away from it. Father Winster sighs and removes one of the syringes from the bandolier. He flicks it and looks up at me before sighing again. Without speaking he walks forward and jams the needle into my neck without care.
I scream, it hurts like hell. I'm used to it of course, that didn't mean it didn't hurt, and leaning into the pain a bit here could be an advantage, after all, a demon wouldn't act like this. Admit to pain, at least most wouldn't unless they were trying to garner sympathy. The priest staggers back, surprised.
"What...what is going on here?" He looks at the demons, who still say nothing. He shakes his head and takes a breath, returning to push the plunger of the syringe in. The pressure is immense and I cringe, trying to pull away. I can feel the priest's eyes on me, confused and curious. I do not want to go back to being human, not completely. I don't feel guilt here, for the first time in hundreds of years I feel... unburdened. Whether I'm numb, or emotional but empathetically stunted...I feel free. I don't want to give that up. Not yet. So if I can upset the priest, let him find out that he is doing this procedure on a normal human, perhaps I can get him to stop. Perhaps I can get him to fail… Perhaps I can get Crowley to get angry enough to just kill him. Or perhaps I can so obviously try to get him killed that I can deny Crowley that pleasure because I will have 'won'. Of course if he figures out that's my game, the priest will die anyway.
I wince as the needle is pulled out and look at the priest, but he has already turned his back, not eager to see my expression perhaps. He looks at the two demons and nods, and leaves the room.
This is going to be a long, difficult eight hours.
Two more hours have passed before I finally catch the priest's eyes. I look quickly between him and his waist repeatedly. Hanging on it is an aspergillum. He glances down too and his eyes narrow, no demon would ask for that. He looks back at the demons as he withdraws the needle from my neck.
"Are you sure…" He doesn't finish the sentence but takes a deep breath. Perhaps realizing they won't answer, perhaps realizing asking the question could get him in trouble. He returns his gaze to me again and then looks at the demons. "I will return in an hour." He leaves, but I am hopeful.
Those hopes are dashed when three more hours pass. I wince as the needle is once again pulled from my neck, a welt is beginning to form there, the skin irritated from repeated penetration. The priest goes to remove my gag and both demons shift. The priest raises his hands at the sound.
"I need to test the efficacy of the procedure so far. There is another way, but I was not sure if you'd prefer that." He picks up the aspergillum and shows it to the demons, who both nod but tense and step back.
Father Winster takes a breath and leaves the room. He returns moments later holding the aspergillum, which is heavier than before, and both demons flinch as he passes but they are not the object of his interest. The aspergillum is shaken over me and the holy water hits my skin, cold and fresh. I sigh, there is no burning, no sizzling, a mild sting perhaps, but it was only another reason Crowley wanted me human again. I can't protect him from holy water if it hurts me as well. Of course, I'm not sure he even needs me for that anymore. He might, he's still a demon.
The priest looks at me with concerned eyes, there should have been some mild reaction at least. He turns to the demons.
"There is a problem, I need to talk with the King." The demons look at each other and one nods. I grin as the priest's back turns. The other demon sees it as Father Winster and the escorting demon leave. He frowns, his thin round face filled with boredom moments before, now filled with concern. His hair is buzzed and he reminds me mildly of Curly from the Stooges and I wonder briefly if the host and I are related. Then I wonder if people even know who the Stooges are these days. I am pondering the evolution of comedy when there is a crash from directly above us and then silence. Father Winster returns moments later; alone, shaking and pale. I grin through the gag. I already know what happened upstairs. The other demon is dead, probably with a snapped neck, maybe eaten, or set up in smoke for allowing the priest to test holy water on me and distract him. Father Winster stares at me.
"You're human." I nod. "You're...turning into a demon." I nod again. "And he doesn't want that." I nod. "And you...don't want to be human?" Before I can respond we are interrupted by two more demons coming in. These ones are lanky compared to the previous two, neither are in suits or look like professional bodyguards. In fact I recognize one. Ranni. Still in that private school girl outfit and glasses. She taps the demon on on the shoulder
"The king wants to see you." The demon freezes, and then turns to run, smart enough to realize that he had failed. Two demons outside catch him. He struggles and screams but is overpowered as another demon comes in. His protests are muffled suddenly by a whole apple. I throw back my head and laugh as best I can through the gag. If Crowley had ordered that he was being cliche beyond belief, but the insult to the demon is clear. He had failed and is now being demoted to a simple meal. If a demon had thought of this, well, they might either get added to the meal for the cliche joke or a pat on the back for the humor.
Crowley is greatly amusing in this form when you aren't the object of his attention.
Father Winster looks from Ranni to me as we stare at each other.
"I-"
"Leave." Father Winster nods and quickly acquiesces. Ranni walks up and circles me, regarding me from every angle. "Well, he obviously doesn't keep you for your looks." I roll my eyes at her and raise my brows in incredulity. Is this really the best insult she can come up with? My physical appearance? I haven't been in my own body for at least 300 years, I barely remember my face on occasion. She stops in front of me and leans against the wall. "Why you?" I shrug. Luck of the draw, then my own talent. Just like show biz. She sighs and pauses before her next question as a scream loudly slices through the air and then is silenced. She looks back at me. "Been causing trouble?" I just smile. "I thought so. He'll be angry. He's lost two demons because of you." My smile grows. No, he hadn't lost two demons, he'd Gained an excuse to Eat two demons. He didn't like to kill his workers without reason but when he got one, well he Happily went to town. It's a chance to vent his anger at hundreds of years of disappointment and betrayal by Hell's previous denizens. So he would definitely punish me, but not because he lost two demons. It will be because I had manipulated His demons and plans. Because I had the audacity to show him I could still play this game, still wanted to play this game.
Ranni see's something in my eyes apparently, or perhaps my smile, and her face goes blank.
"You'd have made a good demon. A very good demon. But would you still be able to do what you do for him now?" I shrug, but tilt my head. I didn't know, neither did Crowley. Whatever my vices or obsessions turn into could mess with my ability to create, definitely make it harder for me to think outside the box. Humans can be good, evil, in between. Demons and angels may not be pure good and evil, but both are confined by rules that make it hard for them to see the grass on the other side of the fence. Sure they can peek between the cracks, but to get a full view they need a human to stand on the shoulders of.
Ranni watches me in silence for a moment, then shakes her head and gets out her phone, ready to wait this out.
