"It's easy, Crawly" snarled Azazel, exasperated. "Just a quick strike."

But Crawly just stood there, holding the whip. He was looking at the soul he was suppose to torture. There were only a few hundred of them in Hell so far and they were still something of a novelty.

"What did he do?" he asked.

"Who cares what he did? Your job is just to flay him when you're told to flay him."

"I still want to know," Crawly said, stubbornly.

Azazel sighed and consulted the clipboard in his hand. "Stole a goat, apparently."

Crawly turned his eyes on his fellow demon and stared. In a flat voice, he repeated, "Stole a goat."

"That's what it says."

"And for that he's to have all his skin whipped off and re-grown every day for all eternity?" Crawly felt faintly nauseous.

"Yeah. So get to it."

Crawly raised his arm and the man in front of him cringed. He held it there a moment and lowered it again.

"Oh, for Satan's sake," said Azazel, who snatched the whip from Crowley's hand and began to flay the damned. "This," he said, flicking the whip, "is how," he snapped it again, "you do it," and he hit the man a third time. The man was screaming and bleeding as Azazel continued to talk calmly. "If you snap your wrist just right, you can get the skin off in one long sheet, rather than a bunch of little rolls. It takes a while to master the technique, but talk about craftsmanship. Watch." He did snap his wrist a certain way and suddenly all the muscles and bones of the man's back were exposed. His skin lay in folds around his knees, as blood dribbled out of his open mouth.

Horrified, Crawly squeezed his eyes shut, but the gruesome image seemed burned onto his eyelids and he could still hear the agonized screams. He sank to his knees and started retching. Had there ever been anything in his stomach, it would have come out then.

Azazel stopped what he was doing to stare at Crawly and to give him a swift kick to the ribs. "You're pathetic. Go back to Belial and stay the fuck away from me."

Not much later, Crawly found himself sitting in Belial's office while the Crown read through his file… again.

"Five hundred years, Crawly," Belial began. "Five hundred years and we've tried you in every position Hell has. You left the desk unattended in Admissions, you bollocksed up the paperwork in Processing, the hounds stampeded when you were in Animal Care, the imps stampeded when you were in Training, half of Dis burned down when we put you into Middle Management and now," he referred to the file, "Azazel says that you get physically ill whenever you're put on the Torture roster. You're pathetic. You've done one decent day's work in half a millennia. What the here am I supposed to do with you?"

Crawly stared at the desk. "The only thing I'm good at is temptation."

"But we only needed temptation once. You tried it a second time and when you came back, you said there was nothing you could do."

Crawly looked up, eyes flashing. "I said there was nothing I could do then. There's thousands of humans now. I could get all kinds of souls for Hell if you let me go back."

Belial stared at him and made a dismissive noise. "Fine. Whatever keeps you out of my hair. I'll requisition you a body. Don't fuck up again or you'll answer to Him..."

He made a notation on Crawly's file and dismissed him curtly.

Not long afterward, Crawly found himself taking his first tentative steps on Earth, tottering unsteadily beneath the bright sun. His center of gravity was off in this ridiculously fragile body that had no wings for counterbalancing and it took him some time just to figure out how to walk without falling over or looking stupid.

Once he felt that he'd mastered walking, he examined his new body as best he could. He was slender and muscular with light brown skin and seemed to have long, wavy black hair. Feeling vulnerable without his scales, claws, fangs, or wings, Crawly set off for the nearest human settlement.

Approaching cautiously, Crawly got his first glimpse of living human beings since Adam and Eve. There were dozens of them in the square, wearing not garments made of leaves or animal skins, but some kind of flexible, colorful material, and they seemed to be tending to goat corpses over fires and crushing grains between rocks. Fascinated by their industry, he moved closer.

As he drew nearer, he realized that all the people in the clearing were women and a few of them were deformed like Eve had been. A village of all women? Was that possible? If that were the case, the male body he'd been given (1) wouldn't work and he'd have to apply for another, which would not make Belial happy at all. Nervously, he tried using his innate powers to clothe himself like the others and was vaguely surprised to discover that they worked on Earth. Comforted by that fact, he drew his courage around himself and walked proudly into the square.

Crawly didn't quite know what to expect from his arrival, but a number of women pointing and laughing at him had not previously featured on his mental list. He stopped, confused, embarrassed and angry and looked around. Everywhere women and children had stopped what they were doing to stare at him and snigger. Some laughed behind their hands, trying to conceal their amusement. Others did not bother. Crawly felt his cheeks flush.

Salvation came in the form of a pretty but serious looking young woman, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old, who walked to where he was standing and greeted him.

"Welcome, stranger, to our town. I hope you will forgive my sisters. They have never seen a man in women's clothing before."

Shit, thought Crawly. Different kinds of clothes based on gender? What a stupid system.

"My apologies," he replied in her tongue, though he gave himself a bit of an accent in order to sound foreign. "I did not mean to offend. My people do not wear clothes such as this and I did not want to frighten anyone with my appearance."

A smile curled at the corners of her mouth. "I see. Only a simple misunderstanding, then. I will gladly…" But she stopped suddenly, staring into his eyes. "Tell me, do all your people have eyes like a staff held out to the sun?"

A staff held out to the sun? Yellow? … Fuck. Snake eyes. What the hell were they thinking Down There? He had to play it cool.

"Yes," he lied smoothly. "Our tribe was founded by a powerful snake creature who lay with Bettina, the mother of us all."

The girl nodded. "Yes, we know of Salmascu, the snake god. It is his brother-nephew, Dambu the wolf, who watches over my people."

Crawly tried not to look as though this information came as a complete surprise and memorized the names she'd said. At least she'd bought his ridiculous story.

"What is your name, stranger?" she asked.

"Crawly."

"Crau-lee?"

"Close enough."

"Is that all? Do you not give your father's name along with your own? I am Zabitha, daughter of Zanod."

He thought quickly. "Crawly, son of Antun."

"Very well, Antun Crau-lee," said Zabitha, if you'd care to come with me, I believe my father has some spare clothes he might lend you. I would not wish you to have a poor opinion of my people's hospitality."

She led him to a modest hut and handed him some clothes that were made of similar fabrics, but not as brightly coloured or as concealing as what he was wearing. The brown garment covered him only from waist to knee, leaving his chest and legs bare. As he stepped back out into the sun, she gaped at his fine form and he caught a flare of… desire? He smiled. This was more what he'd expected.

"This is like what I am used to," he said. "But seeing your clothes, I was afraid it would be too immodest. All your men wear this?"

"Yes. You can see for yourself." She pointed to a group of men returning to the village who were indeed all wearing similar garments.

There was a feast that night in the newcomer's honor. As preparations were underway, word got around that Crawly had arrived wearing women's clothing and after a great deal of teasing and laughter, he was accepted. He learned his first lesson in human psychology that night – if you make people laugh, they'll accept you. Over time, this concept was refined as he learned about people's needs to feel superior to other people and the benefits of being underestimated, but for now, it was enough to be part of the group.

He was seated that evening between Zabitha and her father, Zanod. Though Zanod plied him with questions about the snake people and Crawly made up some nonsense about them being skilled hunters, he did learn a lot about the wolf tribe in return, specifically that they were largely goat herders and wheat farmers. In the meantime, Zabitha took it upon herself to prepare a plate for him of roast goat, vegetables, and some kind of bread that she'd made herself. Crawly stared at it when she'd handed it to him, missing the besotted look in her eye and the benevolent one in her father's.

He'd never eaten before and to be suddenly presented with a plate of charred, dead animal that he was supposed to swallow seemed the most revolting thing in the world. He couldn't afford to offend his hosts, though, so after a quick glance around to see how others were doing it, he picked up a slightly oily piece of goat with his fingers and dropped it into his mouth. It was the kind of experience that one realizes even at the time that it will stick in the memory forever. The meat was warm, firm, and juicy with a pleasantly smoky, spicy flavour and Crawly swallowed it whole, eyes wide at the revelation. Zabitha stared at him and he figured he'd done something wrong. Another quick glance around proved that people were chewing everything first. Well, damn.

"Hot!" was his excuse and her worry turned to a smile. He made a production of blowing on the next piece before biting into it and chewing carefully. This emphasized the taste and texture and he smiled back, amazed at his own reactions and the humans' ingenuity. Crawly tried the vegetables next. They weren't as heady as the meat, but had a lighter, cleaner taste. He finished with the bread, sopping up the meat drippings as the others did and enjoying its mild chewiness.

After dinner, he sat in place under the multitude of stars and listened to the tales of the gods. He heard the tales of Salmascu and Dambu, their sister-wives Cenra and Pilanka, and all the other animal spirits in the pantheon. They were good stories and told well and he learned something else that night – people will believe anything if told with enough confidence. The young man who was speaking, Hanator, was a spiritual guide-in-training, and clearly believed every word he was saying. He was especially fervent when talking of the duties that wives held towards their husbands and inevitably his eyes slid to Zabitha when he spoke on the matter, but Zabitha could look at no one but Crawly. He smiled at her. This was going to be all too easy.

He was invited to stay in Zanod's house that night and they put up frames covered in goat skins to give him and the other family members, including a wife and three younger children, a modicum of privacy. He looked at the soft palette behind the screens bemusedly, wondering what he'd be expected to do now, all hidden away in a corner of the house. He sat down, keeping his ears open to pick up any conversation, but he heard only muted sounds and after a while, nothing but soft breathing. Bored and curious, he peeked out to see the family lying on their palettes, eyes closed, not moving. For one shining, horrified second, he thought they were all dead, but then the second youngest boy kicked a little and he calmed down enough to see that they were breathing. Sleep then. And from the looks of things, it seemed they could be at it for hours. Not interested in waiting for them to wake up and mentally weary from having to learn so much in one day, Crawly lay down, too, closed his eyes, and wondered how to trigger the sleep thing.

The next thing he knew, Zanod was calling his name and he opened his eyes again to see bright sunlight streaming into the house. Pupils contracting to a mere line and feeling disoriented and fuzzy headed he looked up to see the man of the house smiling at him. He was invited to go off with the men for the day and work with the goats and the grain. Nodding, Crawly stood, filing that experience as something to think about later, and followed Zanod and the other men out of the village after a quick breakfast of stale leftover bread.

Crawly's second day as a human being did not go quite as well as the first. The goats were terrified of him and ran away if he went anywhere near them. It made the men nervous. And, unfortunately, his efforts in the fields were laughable despite how hard he was trying and they stopped him before he destroyed the harvest.

"What do you do, then?" asked Hanator rudely. He had not missed the glances the evening before.

"I told Zanod. My people are warriors. I am a guard," Crawly decided. It sounded like a lot less work. "Leave me in the village and let me protect the women and children. I assume raiders come by sometimes? I can stop them."

The men gathered together and argued this idea out. None of them wanted to leave a strikingly handsome young man alone in the village all day with the women, but he was worthless in the fields and they did indeed have a problem with raiding parties taking their goats, food, and women. If Crawly could stop them, that was well. If he died in the attempt, well, it was no real loss. Though he was a couple of hundred feet away, Crawly had excellent hearing and was privy to the full conversation. He smirked.

Their decision made, they all returned to the village and Zanod told him the news. The older man did not mention that two or three of the eldest boy children would be assigned to watch him and make sure that nothing improper went on. It didn't matter. He knew anyway.

The months went on. Crawly and Zabitha became good friends, which made Hanator seethe with jealousy. It would have been enough of a reason to befriend the girl, but time proved that she was sensible and clever as well as beautiful and it was no chore to be in her company. He didn't need his demonic senses to tell him that what she most desired in the world was a husband and she'd set her sights on him. There was no chance that he would marry her, of course, but he never let her know that.

As for work, he proved his worth about three weeks into his stay when a party of two dozen or so raiders arrived, intending to kidnap brides for themselves. Through a combination of physical fighting and judicious use of his powers, Crawly frightened them off and saved the village, which he rationalized as being necessary to preserve his cover. As he'd done nothing improper in the meantime, that event cemented his position as town guard. He'd also become something of a maternity expert, being the only man present at several births. None of them were any less disgusting than the first time, but he was able to miraculously reduce their pain.

These acts of kindness and mercy, always dutifully explained away as preventing personal annoyance or some such, were overshadowed by acts of demonic cruelty. Though he didn't kill any of the raiders, many of them were severely injured and the others were tormented with terrible nightmares, the concept of which Crawly found endlessly fascinating, despite the fact that he hadn't had any dreams himself yet. He put down 24 souls damned on his first report to Belial. The Crown had been impressed – that was a quarter of the town, after all.

He was much more subtle with the people of the village, though. He had to be if he didn't want to be forced to leave. But there was a noticeable upswing in adultery, theft, envy and arguments, which Crawly stayed well away from. All in all, he'd done a good job while learning to be human and after a time, there was little else he could accomplish there. After telling Zabitha and her father that he needed to return home for a while but would return soon, he was given some food and water and sent on his way, tears and smiles warring for dominance on the girl's face.

Crawly wandered for a time, investigating other villages, insinuating himself into daily life and sowing discord everywhere he went. For hundreds of miles around, towns became familiar with the curse of the nonexistent snake people and he secured many souls. After nearly a year, though, he began to miss his comfortable life with the wolf tribe and the company of Zabitha, so he returned.

He was expecting a warm welcome from her and her father, not an angry man with a strong staff pointed aggressively at him or pained cries coming from the house behind him.

"How dare you return, snake, after what you've done to Zabitha?"

"I… what?" asked Crawly. "I've done nothing to Zabitha."

"Then how is she having your child?" demanded Zanod, his crook swinging very near to Crawly's head. "You've ruined my daughter."

The demon's mouth dropped open in shock. "My… child? That's not possible. We have never lain together. Did she tell you the child was mine?"

Still suspicious, Zanod slowly lowered his weapon, but it was obvious that he'd be ready to lift it again at a moment's notice. "She will not tell us who the father is. And you left at the same time."

"A coincidence, I assure you." He thought quickly. "Zanod, all of my people have snake eyes. If the child were mine, he or she would have the same eyes. I swear to you on the gods that the child is not and you will see for yourself." He paused, then continued quietly. "Let me in to see her. I may be able to help."

Wordlessly, the worried father moved to allow Crawly access to the house. He went in quickly to see the lovely girl, frightened and pained, writhing on her bed, mother by her side. Her eyes went wide as she caught side of him and her already flushed face went redder still.

"Crau-lee," she said, smiling weakly before wincing. He moved swiftly to her head and touched her soft, dark hair, sending her some pain relief. She smiled.

"I wanted to wait for you," she began urgently. "I never stopped hoping you'd return and claim me for your wife."

Her words felt like a knife to the heart.

"But then he came to me." And her eyes went misty and soft. "One of the gods, Crau-lee! On wings of purest white. He told me you'd never return and that he wanted me to be his bride instead.

"Can I describe how beautiful and kind he was? You are as beautiful as a human can be, but believe me when I say that his hair was the colour of ripe wheat and his eyes the sky at midday. Like nothing I've ever seen. His skin was so pale it shone. All that and he called me lovely. I am nothing compared to his beauty. He told me that our child would be the strongest and most fair of any in the village and I know it will be true."

She paused then to strain as hard as she could and tears ran down her face as something inside broke. Crawly didn't notice because the baby was beginning to emerge. It was easily the biggest the demon had ever seen and Zabitha was so petite. Finally, though, between her mother's help and what assistance he was able to give, the little boy was born. He was huge and when he opened his eyes, Crawly went rigid with anger. They were blue. Celestial blue.

Zabitha touched his arm. "I love my husband, Crau-lee and our child… but I love you, too." And with that jagged whisper, she was gone, her body unable to survive the rigours of producing a child. An angel's child.

Crawly went deathly still himself, forgetting to breathe or make his heart beat as he stared at the dead girl, her arm still outstretched towards him. Then, in a burst of sudden energy, he turned and stormed out of the house in a towering rage, unthinkingly let his night black wings burst from his human back for the first time, and flew off.

For centuries after, the wolf people would tell the story of how Salmascu, the snake god, lived with them for a time as equals, eating their bread and protecting their village. Once a year, they'd paint apologetic scales on their bodies in remembrance of the day that he left in anger, in the hopes that he'd see their sorrow and return. He never did.

There was only one angelic presence in the general vicinity of the village and Crawly made straight for him. When he arrived, the angel was sitting on a rock, watching over a flock of sheep with a mildly bored expression on his sickeningly holy face. The expression made him angry as he remembered what constituted amusement for this particular angel.

Then he recognized the face. It was the angel who'd been assigned to the Garden and then to Adam and Eve. The demon had never gotten his name, but apparently his priorities had changed over the last five hundred years if he'd gone from protecting humans to defiling them. Crawly was astonished that he hadn't Fallen, but then again he wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that God played favourites. (3) At least he wouldn't have to worry about the angel pulling a sword on him.

Moving quickly to avoid giving away his presence, Crawly attacked from behind, toppling the bored creature from his perch and ripping into his back with fierce claws.

"Thisss is for Zabitha" he hissed as they rolled across the ground. Aziraphale landed with his scored back pressed painfully into the dust, looking up wide-eyed at the furious demon straddling him. He struggled, using his arms to fight off further attacks to his face, but they were deeply gouged in the process.

"Who?" gasped Aziraphale when he could. "Who is Zabitha?"

Crawly snarled. "You fucking bastard. You didn't even bother to ask her name before you lied to her and raped her in some field?" He seized Azriaphale's hands and held them above his head before twisting up and planting a knee in the angel's perfect face.

Aziraphale tried to fight back but he was in a bad position, pinned under the demon and bleeding profusely from his back, arms, and nose. It was difficult to counter that kind of irrational, angry passion physically, so he tried to keep Crawly talking long enough for him to heal himself and escape.

"I haven't raped anyone!" He insisted. "I'm an angel. We don't do that."

Laughing bitterly, Crawly said, "Tell that to the baby with blue fucking eyes and his dead mother." He emphasized his point with a knee to the stomach.

The breath was knocked out of him both literally and metaphorically and Aziraphale forgot to heal himself. "…A baby. With blue eyes? Are you… are you certain? But all the humans have brown…" He shut his eyes against the pain.

"I saw them, angel. Your little bastard had your eyes."

Angel? thought Aziraphale. I've only been called that once… He opened his eyes again to peer intensely at the demon and thought he caught a flash of livid yellow. "… Crawly?"

"Crowley," he corrected in the cold, hard tones of true wrath and broke the angel's neck.

Months later, as he roamed the desert tempting and wiling, but never staying too long in one place, never getting attached, Crowley received a commendation for killing an angel.

It didn't make him feel any better.

(1) Crawly had insisted on being male. He told his superiors that this was because men had all the power and strength. The real reason was because he remembered Eve and her pain all too well. Besides, something about "male" just seemed right. (2)

(2) And for any curious fangirls, yes, he was fully male. All that effort stuff came later.

(3) He will, however, be completely flabbergasted to learn, about 5,500 years later, that he is one of those favourites.