Yoooo. So. I have gained a beta reader for another story of mine and she has brought to my attention some baaad writing habits of mine. So. The writing style might change a tad. As in I'll actually be indenting new paragraphs where I should be so you can tell who is talking. Yaaaaay.
Two hours later he's situated himself and cleaned up the room, or more accurately burned it down. Despite the warmth of the settling coals nearby I'm shivering, overwhelmed by my failure that surrounds me. I'm bombarded on all sides by emotions that remind me of that past. Panic, fear, hate, anger, pity. All of them pointed towards me and they don't compare to a fraction of the guilt I feel. They don't know. These souls don't know what I've experienced… and done. They didn't live it. They didn't live it over and over and over for eons. How could I have let this happen? Why did I do those things as a demon!? I knew I'd get captured! I knew I'd feel this way in the future, I should have been- my anxiety. My anxiety was gone, muted! My emotions twisted, inhibitions, all the things that made me stop and think and double guess. Gone.
"Well, just goes to show you how entwined you are with your own failings." Says the demon as he walks down the street. I shiver more as his comment elicits another torrent of judgements and emotions from the people I've failed. People he's reconstituted from bits of white or pink. Bobby isn't among them. Nor is Christo. I try not to think about that. Crowley doesn't like it when I think that name either and I get a jolt of pain. This stops the berating from the other souls for a brief moment, but they return in full force all too soon.
Cunt!
Poor dear.
You deserve this!
I don't. I don't deserve this. I deserve something far worse.
"Too bad there isn't, at least not within the bounds of your contract. I'd have thought of it."
My contract. Something tugs at me at the mention of it. The faint remains of an idea. Or perhaps the start of one. I push it away. I can tell it's important, and I don't want it right now.
"Plotting against me darling? I thought I broke you of that."
It's in my contract. I can't plot against him.
"Please don't stop on my account, it's quite amusing. You can plot all you want, as long as you don't actually do anything."
I sigh. Normally I'd roll my nonexistent eyes, but I'm too tired.
"Souls don't get tired. Don't tell me you're turning already again, if Mother dearest failed me-"
Not that kind of tired. Emotionally. Morose. Depressed. Weighed down with so much self loathing that it could be an anchor for you without me.
Crowley frowns at that comment while taking one last look around the room. "Don't tell me you're depressed again? I thought I broke you of that too. You're boring when you're depressed."
I'm at my most destructively creative when I'm depressed too. Also, I'm pretty sure your methods of breaking me out of depression are what started turning me into a demon.
"Well, we will just have to see if your shiny new jewelry prevents both of those then. We'll explore it over dinner later. For now, we have work to do." He taps his wrist and the wrist tech flairs to life, ringing as he calls someone. I cringe as I hear who is on the other end.
"Crowley. What do you want? It's four AM here." Sam's tired voice sounds high and grating against the crackling of the fire nearby. The room is charred, most of the fire extinguished except for the oily rags and dense wooden stool. The acrid smell of burning acrylic and oil paint mixes with the sharp smell of turpentine and charcoal. It's unpleasant.
"And the fact that you answered so quickly means you were awake anyway Mooselette. Burning the midnight oil looking for my little run away demon. Well papa's solved yet another problem before you. I've got her. Meet me in Purgatory for our little duel tomorrow… ah I suppose for you it'd be today, at high noon. Pistols at twelve paces. Dean will be thrilled I'm sure."
"Wait what? You've got her? How?" Sam's voice is pained as he struggles with the loss of his revenge and the knowledge that I'm at least no longer hurting anyone else.
"Mother found her sigil."
"Where is Becca now? I-"
"Next to my spleen. Where do you think she is, you moron!? Floating around with all the other souls where I can keep an eye on her."
"Sou- But she's-"
"Hell you're slow in the uptake today! Did heaven addle your brains? I thought you were the smart one. I cured her! Same little party trick you tried on me. Unlike you, I followed through. I don't leave my friends at half mast unfulfilled! Now. Noon, don't be late. Bring the little snack with wings. I'm sure goldeneye, now that he finally got the license to kill, can get you to Purgatory easily enough. See you then."
The call is terminated before Sam can say anything, and the expected call back three seconds later is blocked with a flick of the wrist.
"Needy little thing isn't he. Now. The director and star has to be there to set the stage for this spaghetti western."
Another snap and we are in Hell. The room seems to be a lounge of sorts, if anything could be said to resemble such in Hell. Still, there are demons lounging on uncomfortable stone chairs, or relaxing in boiling lava. Crowley is standing before one demon in particular that looks up as we bamf in. All the other demons quickly stand and bow, except the one Crowley has obviously come to see.
I can tell he isn't insulted in the least by the lack of respect, an oddity that immediately captures my attention. She looks like Baba Yaga, or a black Annie from D&D more than a demon.
"Who do you think those are based on Chew Toy? Croney! Good to see you."
The demon smiles, her mouth full of jagged teeth. "Crowley. You little shit. What have you been up to? Still on top, or has someone stolen your crown again?" The hag seems completely unconcerned with the fact that the demon in front of her could tear her to shreds and devour each bit like he was picking cotton candy out of the air. The other demons turn back to their tasks, unconcerned. This was obviously a normal exchange between these two.
"Now now Croney. I think I deserve at least a little respect."
"The day I respect you is the day you eat me little one! And you know I'll go down chewy and tasting of bile!" The cackle after the statement is so classically witchy that for a moment I forget my self loathing in my amusement. "No one sews spells as well as me, I know I'm not going anywhere. Now, tell me what you want before I grow bored and decide to use that lovely skin you're wearing for a new project."
The infamous Croney. How wonderful to finally put a face to the name.
Crowley ignores me as he takes a deep breath and then exhales. A dark smoke leaves his mouth, racing around the room startling quite a few demons before slamming into the ground and reconstituting into a spindly legged form with a mantis's head on top of a female body encased in carapace. Mantis arms and claws sprout from the back like wings. The demon seems confused, and shakes its head as it tries to get its bearings.
Crowley gestures to it while Croney grins.
"Ranni here needs a new meatsuit. I'm having one brought down for her. Once she's situated I'd like her to bring something up to Rowena for me. I need another hand made meatsuit, number five."
Ranni. Shit. Ranni! He…he reconstituted her. Just…just with a thought. He did it to the human souls, but I had no idea that could be done with a demon. That technically isn't a soul anymore… I think. Soul adjacent?
I am ignored. The clamor of souls around me is ignored as well, by both of us. Their confusion as to why this is impressive quiets as they pursue my very existence, my horror and sorrow at my lot hurts all the more after the fate I've condemned them to, so I pay them as little mind as I can. Crowley is savoring my pain absentmindedly, ignoring the questions in the back of my head about Bobby. We both know that any answer he gives without proof will be suspect, and as such, only add to my anxiety. There is no proof of a negative.
"Number five? Again? What happened to the last two?" Croney waggles her fingers in a teasing motion.
"A puppy and I shared one, and the other got destroyed far too long ago for me to care about remembering."
"My art is not made to be eaten, Crowley." The hag says with false annoyance, but her eyes twinkle with amusement. I'm just trying to figure out who the meatsuit is for. Do I know of anyone who had a meatsuit and was eaten by a hellhound and Crowley? I can't think of one. This had to have happened while I was a demon.
"Then stop making it deliciously sinful." Crowley comments with a raised brow.
"Stop putting souls you're planning on eating in them, then."
"That's half the fun. Tah. Plans to kill, people to make."
With a thought and a snap we are walking towards the hidden entrance of Purgatory. I start to ponder my situation, and immediately stop. The voices around me have gone silent as they watch the king go about his business. Revisiting my faults and self loathing might get them started again. I focus on different things. At least I try. My thoughts immediately go to Bobby.
"Tsk tsk darling. Only good girls get information, and you have decidedly been a pain in my arse for a good long while."
It's not like you could prove he's gone anyway. Even shifting me between all the stomachs does nothing, you could just move Bobby in tandem with me. Or have him in a jar somewhere.
"True. Guess you won't get to know unless you behave. Just assume he's gone for now, it'll hurt less in the long run."
I try to ignore the comment, and somewhat succeed by asking about something I had discovered on a lazy afternoon out. I had a chance to do some reading in law. That amendment to the contract we did years ago should be called an addendum, it's an addition.
Crowley snorts at my attempt at distracting conversation, but answers nonetheless as we walk towards the door, stopping to pet the hellhounds as always.
"Darling. Demons rarely admit they forgot something. Or want to fix something. Or were less than perfect. If you couldn't see the gesture of an olive branch in the word amendment, it's not my fault. Besides, we aren't allowed to add to contracts, only make new ones. It'd have to be an amendment if it's already signed."
Speaking of, I have a question…. back to the pro-Bono case work I suggested so long ago to fix the environmental problems… you had to make deals, but they were supposed to be catch free. If Dragoness was speaking the truth and all deals must require a soul-
I'm cut off nonchalantly. I can feel his amusement at my attempt at understanding law, demonic or otherwise. "They require one party to have a soul, not a soul being transferred, at least permanently. So I took them, for a day, and asked for a percent of the company instead. Now shut up. I'm thinking."
The rest of the short walk is silent, only a nod to Dan who responds with a grunt as he steps away from the entrance marring the silence. We step through to the gray shades of purgatory and come to a scene that might be considered homey. The French Vampire LaBlanc is letting the little werewolf pup braid his dreads while a few other wolves and Dragoness look on in amusement.
"It is quite fetching little vampire, you should keep it that way. Ah Crowley, you have returned, and with your little artist once more whole. I assume this means it is time for the fight?" The words are filled with fiery humor and delight as Dragoness blows smoke from her nose.
"It does. Well, noon tomorrow, but one must set the stage for the play and all."
"I assume this means you wish me to clear some trees?"
"More like find a safe place for the rabble to stay so they don't get obliterated by a trigger happy nephilim."
"Yer concern is touchin' Crowley." Drawls LaBlanc standing up and turning around. He glares at the demon, ignoring the disgruntled sounds from the little girl as the dreads are suddenly out of her reach.
"If you want to stay and become a halftime snack, I have no problem with it."
The comment doesn't seem to phase the vampire. "Will Dean be here?"
"Yes. And if the nephilim loses the fight, I'm most likely going to kill all of them, permanently."
Dragoness snorts at the proclamation and shakes her large head. "Crowley, everyone knows that is a lie by this point."
"Maybe I've finally grown tired of their incessant interference, rigid inability to accept alternatives, and complete lack of follow through on multiple accounts. They've left me high and dry, low and wet, and unsatisfied on many occasions."
"And yet they still exist." Counters Dragoness with an unnervingly toothy smile.
"I've been saving them for a special occasion, it's arrived."
"Like a fine wine then? I shall believe such when I see it. It will be quite amusing to see you gain Samuel's memories of Lucifer and Dean's perspective on that one nigh-"
"Yes yes. Hooks and hookers. I know." He says waving her off. "I want all of them out of here, including the vampire. I don't want interference."
"Now see 'ere! Ah am stayin'! If Dean is gonna be in some stupid fight-"
"He's not. He's just betting on one." Says Crowley, cutting off the vampire. The comment doesn't slow him down in the least though.
"Well, if Ah know you, then they lose either way! So Ah'm stayin!" He says, arms crossed in front of him like a petulant child. At that moment the real child jumps up and grabs one of the braids she had been working on. The vampire's head is yanked down and he lets out a yell before pulling himself free and roaring at the child. She tears up, still silent, and runs to another pack member who growls at the unrepentant vampire.
Dragoness stands up and arches a scaled brow at Crowley, who merely nods. She is large today, her jaws the size of a car and as she collects herself and stretches the ground shakes a bit, and shakes more as she sits in her haunches.
"So, little vampire. You know the penalty for disobeying the leader of the pack, false though the idea of the alpha might be." As she speaks LeBlanc turns and glares. Dragoness remains unconcerned. "Would you prefer I roast you? Or swallow you whole?"
"Ah'll fight yeh the whole way down yeh giant overgrown lizard!"
"That sounds quite pleasant. Very well then." And before the vampire can react the long neck snaps out and jaws clamp around his shoulders. It's obvious the dragon is far more practiced than Crowley as she deftly raises him up into the air and flicks her neck backward and forward a few times, effectively shaking him down into her throat. The King of Hell watches with detached amusement while the others slowly back away. Everyone can see the outline of the vampire move downward, the occasional fist or foot punching out accompanied by a slight thumping sound and fading yells. Suddenly, there is eerie quiet.
It's broken by Dragoness' laughter. "Well, he kept his promise. Pity he barely had any flavor, and what remained tasted like rotting meat and old shoe leather. He'll reform in a few days or so."
"I thought it was usually a day." Queried Crowley looking at Dragoness with a raised brow.
"Yes, once something dies my dear king. He's a vampire, he doesn't need air and heals quite well. It will be some time before he passes I believe."
I feel crushed suddenly. The souls around me are not used to such horror, were not even slightly accustomed with such darkness during their lives. Their terror and disgust is overwhelming, I'm sure if I had a body I would be throwing up. I feel myself sinking, being pulled down by their overwhelming disgust and fear. All I can think is that LaBlanc is lucky he was eaten by Dragoness, and not the tarrasque.
I wish Bobby or Castiel were here. They would be affronted, sure, but this overwhelming reaction that threatened to consume me would be tempered by years of exposure to dark things.
"Castiel gets his own bedroom darling." Crowley answers noncommittally before looking at the remaining monsters on the ground. As he talks they tear their horrified gazes away from Dragoness toward the King of Hell. "Now, the rest of you?" Crowley says as he turns to the rest of the pack. "Follow the dragon with the chewy vampire center, unless you want to join him."
Within moments, we are left alone. Crowley claps his hands together and looks around.
"Lovely. Let's set the stage, shall we?"
With a few snaps the logs and trees in the area have been piled up, the grass burned away for about 5 acres, and two logs set side by side and another across the way, all stripped of bark for sitting. The wind picks up and ash from the grass flies into the air, swirling in dull red and black as it's blown away. Crowley stands surveying his work for a moment before checking his watch. Seven AM. Five more hours until the showdown.
"Perfect. Now, we just need the actors and I need my costume. Take good care of my meatsuit chew toy, or I'll explode a few more souls next to you."
I'm buffeted by the wind of a million lives as I'm pushed into the body of a dead man. I revel in it, rejoice, laugh as he leaves me alone in that familiar face.
I'm alone again.
I watch the red smoke barrel through the sky, black white and pink specs whirling in it, around it, trailing behind it like a comet's tail. I watch and laugh as it fades. Tears are streaming down my cheeks before I realize the laugh has turned to great gasping sobs. The sounds are so similar, I hadn't noticed.
I want to fall to the ground and cry, flail about, but I can't. I don't dare. I'd get his suit dirty. He could clean it in an instant, but I'd be punished, and I don't really want to risk him returning right now. I have thinking to do, after all.
So, I take a breath, and go sit on one of the logs, careful to make sure there are no loose bits of wood that might ruin the suit. I look out at the empty field of dirt and dust before me and cry as I hold a face not my own, but one I'm more familiar with. I can cry for a bit longer, before I think.
My mind is in turmoil. My soul aches. I can't repair the damage I've done. So many souls, destroyed. So many lives cut short, obliterated. Bobby and Christo…
"Christo…." I can say the name now. It feels heavy on my tongue, rotten, ashen… wrong. I have no right to say it. I feel like I could split in two. Scream at the ever gray sky and plead for… redemption? Impossible. Oblivion? Do I still fear that? To be numb again? Crowley removed that escape.
"Fuck. I… I don't even fucking know what to ask for. How do I fix this?" I can't. I fucking can't! But… Crowley is coming here to fight Jack. I have no idea if he will win. The show ended differently than the journals, I'm sure of that. The need for ever bigger villains brought gods down to the earth, I doubt that ever happened. So I doubt Jack is That powerful. I kind of hope he is. The Winchester's might get a hold of me and might find Something to punish me with that might actually be… new? Equivalent to my crimes?
Unlikely.
I stand up and pace.
Let's say Crowley wins, he is going to force a contract on them, I know this. He doesn't want Jack's grace, as much as he'd have them believe he does. Jack as a free agent keeping the world together is too valuable. Crowley can't be everywhere at once, and his powers aren't exactly meant for healing. If he absorbs the grace it Will be corrupted. Jack as he is can go about and heal, fix things without contracts in a way Crowley can't. That's valuable.
So… What will this new contract say? Most likely that he won't destroy Bobby, if he's alive, or Castiel, or Jack, but only if Dean, Sam and Jack stop interfering. He might even throw in that he won't gather more than a hundred human souls for himself a year as a bonus. I however know the loophole in that, turning souls into monsters in Purgatory makes them fair game.
But if I tell them, that might constitute purposeful negative interference in his plans. … Did the contract say Hell's plans… or Crowley's? It would come down to if Crowley Is Hell or not. If as the leader his plans are synonymous with Hell's plans. Fuck I wish I could read my contract.
I stop. My contract. That… would be punishment indeed. And leverage. The only thing I have left honestly.
I allow myself a small smile and sit back down… and wait.
Wait to damn myself again.
Maybe this time, it will actually do some good.
Crowley returns two hours later. Him and Dragoness. Him in Dragoness.
The red scales glint mutely in the false sun as dust and bits of rock kick up from the landing and when it clears two large eyes regard me with amusement. As long as I behave and he doesn't come back I have a chance, I have a plan that he doesn't know about yet. If I'll need to use it for someone else's benefit remains to be seen. I'll wait for now.
"Alright Chew Toy, here's what's gonna happen. Velma, Freddy and Scrappy Doo are going to arrive shortly. They are going to yell and cajole you, aka the inferior false Crowley, and you are going to do your best to mimic my mannerisms. I'm sure you've gotten to know me in the past couple hundred years or so. You're going to explain the deal again, and then tell wing boy that the fight will be on the field and that the King of Hell will join him shortly. Do anything outside of the script and I'll toast what's left of Castiel before tearing apart Chris Toe."
I blink. How… "Christo? How-"
Crowley flinches and then cuts me off. "Use your brain, it's pronounced differently. Chris and Toe. T O E or T O W. And Chris instead of Chrees. You really couldn't figure out an alternate pronunciation? I'm having doubts about you filling my shoes even if it's just for a five minute play."
"Ah, word play and intent. Lovely. Now, it's been a year. What's the bet?"
"I win, I get to eat angel boy, he wins, I only take 100 souls, or it's equal in population growth, from Earth a year."
"And what's the contract you Really want?"
Crowley huff's through Dragoness's mouth at that and the grin which accompanies it is unnerving. "I want them to stop Fucking interfering with my plans. I'd be equally nice to not be attacked when I've done nothing to provoke it!"
I merely raise a brow at that.
The guttural growl of annoyed admittance sends shivers down my spine. "Fine, when I don't attack them first. Otherwise they can go about their life or afterlives however the Hell they want. I'll even throw in my losing condition if they sign that. The bet contract is in the right jacket pocket. Make sure angel boy signs it."
I take the contract out and skim it. It's basic and oddly straightforward.
"And if Sam w-"
"Moose, call him moose darling."
I roll my eyes but he's correct that I should call Sam that if I'm pretending to be Crowley. "If Moose wants to read it, can I let him?"
"Yes. I don't want fights messing up either suit you're wearing."
"So you're ok with him seeing that if he and Squirrel interfere the match is forfeit?"
"Completely fine."
"And the definition of interfere? It's not on here, Sa- Moose won't like that."
Two large scaled fingers snap and the contract updates to say 'physical interference'.
"That should clear it up. They can yell obscenities as much as they want as long as they don't throw sticks and stones. Not that they'd actually break my… anything, but it's the principle of the matter."
"And you need me here because?"
"Well, a few hours isn't enough time to figure out how to shift this form into something that won't pulverize a piece of paper by trying to pick it up."
"Uh huh. And the real reason?"
Crowley rolls his new eyes but the rumble in Dragoness's chest betrays his amusement. "So that if they fail to see reason I can salvage the situation."
"You mean kill Jack."
I'm not dignified with a response. Crowley just snorts some smoke into the air and with another upheaval of dust flies once again off into the distance. His voice carries like thunder across the sky.
"I'll be back when I hear my cue. Dust off my suit and practice your lines mini-me. You should have even more hands-on experience to draw from now."
With that last needling reminder he goes to wait for the curtain to raise, and I sit down to 'practice my lines' as well as my own damning improvisations.
