Chapter Twenty-Five
David Proll stared at the man opposite him. "Dafuq?" he managed eventually.
"Think about it," Crowley said seriously, "You're clearly Damned – there's no need for you to make a deal – and I think you could be the one. I don't mean to sound callous, well, no, really, I don't care if I sound callous, but I just cannot wait for you to die and head Downstairs..."
"The one?" David repeated, "What do you mean, the one?"
Crowley gave him a tired but understanding smile. "I got to thinking about what you said last night, about taking over Hell," he said. "And to start with, I was really angry, I thought, hey, who does this young buck think he is, thinks he's going to walk in and take over? But the thing is, Dave, the thing is, I think you could be the one to do it. And I find that I rather like the idea."
He poured himself another drink. "I've been at the top of the heap for a very long time," he confided confidentially, "And I have to tell you, Dave, I find myself surrounded by fools, morons, idiots and unreconstructed imbeciles. They have no idea about exactly what it takes to run a large enterprise. And believe me, Hell Inc. is as large as it gets, and still expanding." He leaned forward. "But you, Davey, you understand. You can look at the small details – what's in it for me today? – and also the large outlines – what's in it for me next week, next year, next century?'. You can see the big picture. You know what it's like," he spread his hands expansively, "So many people, they're all talk, but they don't want to get their hands dirty, they squeal when there might be a little bit of mud between them and the objective. They're wimps. All of them. I'm surrounded by big-talking pathetic wimps. They tell each other that they'd like to stab me as soon as look at me, but none of them even have the guts to fart in my presence, let alone say it to my face. There's nobody I could trust with a running a temperature, let alone running the enterprise. And then… along comes you."
David gave Crowley a long look. "Are you… is this succession planning?" he asked eventually.
"Yes!" Crowley beamed at his understanding. "That's what I'm looking for! I've been thinking of down-shifting, maybe retiring to a crossroads somewhere in the country. But that would require somebody to take over where I left off, take Hell to bigger, badder, worse, more decadent, more sinful, more perverse things! Look, why don't you finish your drink, and I'll take you for a quick tour of the place, let you see what it offers, then we can talk..."
As he spoke, there was another searing flash of light of the type that had preceded the arrival of 'Crowliel' the previous evening. When it faded, there was a man, stern of face and tousled of hair, wearing a suit of armour and an expression of righteous anger. Strangely enough, nobody else in the club seemed to notice him.
"Scheming demonic filth," intoned the stranger in a gravelly voice redolent with disdain, "You dare to trespass upon the realm of my Father's mortal children." A pair of dark grey wings. glowing with ethereal luminescence, sprang into view behind him, and he brandished a wicked-looking short blade. "I will smite you for this outrage."
"Whoops time to go!" trilled Crowley, his eyes glowing red as he reached across the table to grab David with one hand, and the bottle of cognac with the other. Then David felt a peculiar sensation similar to that of using a lift that's descending just a bit too fast…
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"What…" David gulped at the nausea he felt, and looked around. "What… just happened?"
"Phew!" Crowley gave him a conspiratorial grin. "Just in time, eh? Oh, don't worry," he waved a hand dismissively. "Just one of the hazards of the job. That, Dave, was a real Angel of the Lord. A Warrior of Heaven. Did you notice his wings? Short and angled, for agile flight. You can tell a lot about an angel by looking at the wings. Of course, it's not really a good idea to hang around long enough, they prefer to smite first and ask questions later when they catch us Topside."
"Angels?" echoed David.
"Oh, yes," Crowley nodded, "It's their job to find us and kill us whenever a demon finds its way out of Hell, back to the earthly realm, as CEO of Hell, you'll be a constant target. It's not an insurmountable problem, so long as you never let your guard down, and remain prepared to translocate away at a moment's notice. Frankly," he leaned in, "It's one of the things I won't miss when I retire to somewhere obscure. If you can dodge them long enough to stay intact for, say, the first century or two, though, it gets easier."
David looked around at the tastefully furnished room, which was unoccupied except for them and a sideboard of alcohol and snacks. "Where… are we?"
"It's a little place in South Dakota," Crowley waggled the bottle, "A private club. Here, have some more brandy. I find that it's important to cultivate little hideaways where you can get a bit of peace just for a while…"
The door burst open, and an older man, bearded and wearing a trucker's hat, burst in. "There you are, you asshat!" he snarled, raising a shotgun, "Thought I smelled demon!"
"Well, this place has gone downhill," sniffed Crowley with disapproval, grabbing David and the cognac once more. David let out a little shriek as shot of some sort whistled overhead, and Crowley transported them again.
"Who the fuck was that?" screeched David, looking around the field in which they stood. He let out another yelp as a goat approached him, ears pricked and tail flipping in curiosity. "Don't tell me that guy was an angel?"
"A Hunter," sighed Crowley, "A human who makes it their business to chase down and dispatch unnatural creatures. Demons, unfortunately, are at the top of their shit list. They can't always kill us, but they can make life, or undeadness at least, haha, terribly painful. And of course, their manners are usually a lot worse than angels'."
"Where are we?" David asked, looking slightly dazed as the goat nuzzled at his hand.
"Wyoming," Crowley replied cheerfully, reaching down to pat another goat that approached them.
"Why are we… why are we petting goats?" asked David.
"You know, I've wondered about that for a long time," Crowley mused, absently stroking the animal's head as it bleated a greeting, "It's something about being a demon. You'll find that, wherever you go, there seems to be goat involvement. I'm not sure if it's because goatlike features – you know, the horns, the tail, the cloven hooves – have historically been attributed to demons in general, and to the Devil in particular. Or it could be to do with the sheep and the goats thing, you know, the left hand path, and all that. You come Upstairs, goats just seem to be attracted to you, wherever you are. It's led to some fairly amusing conversations in some very swank clubs, I can tell you."
"Aaaargh!" David slapped at another goat that approached, bleating, and began to nibble gently on his jacket. "It's eating me!"
"No it's not," Crowley answered, "It just wants to taste your suit. They'll chew on anything."
"Well, get rid of them!" snapped David impatiently, as more goats converged on them. "If you're such a powerful demon, CEO of Hell, can't you, I dunno, smite them or something?"
"It's angels who do the smiting," Crowley informed him, "I did spend the first hundred years or so tearing their heads off, but there's always more goats, and to be honest, I've become rather fond of them." He patted another goat. "They're a lot more intelligent than they get credit for, you know. Affectionate, too. You'll find you don't have any friends at all once you're a demon, and sometimes, it's just nice to have somebody who's just willing to listen to you,not trying to blast you out of existence, and not ask for any more than a bit of a pat, and maybe a handkerchief or two to snack on. I did try to take one back to The Pit as a pet, once, but of course the poor thing wasn't designed to exist outside of mortal dimensions. Still, it made a spectacular spit roast, stuffed with lemon and rosemary and human entrails. Speaking of which, I should really take you for a quick tour, show you the facilities."
"Anywhere," yelped David, swatting at another goat that was trying to taste his trousers, "Anywhere where there's no angels, or Hunters, or frigging goats!"
"Oh, I can promise you that," grinned Crowley, "Now, if you'll just hang on to your glass, I think we should start at the very beginning…"
There was that stomach-turning falling-lift feeling again…
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"Sorry about the nausea thing," Crowley told him cheerfully, "But it gets better once you're an actual demon."
The only sound David Proll made was a small horrified squeak. "What… what is this place?" he whispered, peering down at the stark blasted landscape of reds and oranges below them. In a vast expanse of sluggishly bubbling stuff, small figures were writhing and screaming.
"Oh, this is the Lake of Fire," Crowley told him. "Of course, what you're seeing is just what your human mind can cope with and interpret, because at this point you have no experience of existing beyond physical reality – it's a lot more spectacular once you're actually diabolical, because for souls, it's much worse than just being boiled alive for decades at a time. It's brimstone – sulphur – although it used to be lava, molten rock, until I took over modernised it, because you get the same effect for about half the energy expenditure, and the bonus is, the stench of sulphur overwhelms that smell of goat…"
"Are those… people?" asked David in a shaking voice.
"Not any more," chuckled Crowley, "They're souls Damned by their own conduct. It's a bit like an airline boarding lounge, it's where sinners start off until we can sort out where to seat them, so to speak. I'll be wanting you fast-tracked, of course, you won't spend more than a few decades here, I'll want you on the racks as soon as possible – I've always wanted to try a bit of blatant favouritism, but I've never had anybody worth favouring. This lookout is quite a popular place to come and have lunch, I'm told. The fiends often pack a bucket of intestines and come down here on their breaks…"
"The… racks?" stammered David, his eyes fixed in horror on the figures struggling in the boiling expanse.
"Oh, yes, torture on the racks is an essential part of the process of turning a Damned soul into a demon," nodded Crowley in an instructional tone. "We should swing by The Pit, and have a look, introduce you to the Rackmaster if he's there – you'll be working closely with him, after all."
He turned and walked away from the rocky outcrop, with David stumbling after him. There was a strange effect, like walking through an underwater tunnel that ran perilously close to an undersea volcano, and then…
To David's human eyes, it looked like a cavern, a long, wide, craggy cavern, lit dimly by some unseen source of sickly red lighting. The echoing space was filled, crammed, with hundreds of structures, and figures swarmed around them like ants. As they drew closer, the sounds of uncountable voices wailing in despair clogged the air, along with the stench of fulminating corruption.
"Here we are then," Crowley chirped brightly, as David's mouth worked in soundless horror, "The engine-house of Hell! This is where we turn souls into demons – Heaven and the angels forsake 'em, then we take 'em, break 'em, shake 'em and remake 'em! Well, when I say 'we', I don't personally do this very often, although it's good to keep your hand in, come down and show yourself, from time to time, good for morale, and… ah, Orgle!" Crowley reached out and grabbed at a carpeted pillar, "How's things?"
The carpeted pillar turned around, and David let out a scream as he saw that it was actually a being of some sort. It was near fifteen feet tall, covered in a thick pelt of matted hair, and had several multi-jointed arms and multiple mouths full of terrifying teeth. All of them smiled, which just made the whole thing even more horrific.
"Hello, Mr Crowley!" rumbled the monstrosity, wiping some of its huge paws on its pelt. "Are you here to check on the new viscera sorting system?"
"Not at all," Crowley grinned up at it, "I have complete faith in you to make decisions about your work, and carry them out." He turned to David, who was shaking from head to foot. "I think it's important to empower employees to have a say in how their workplace is run. It often turns up good ideas, and heads off all sorts of industrial unrest." He turned back to the monster. "I am here to show Mr David Proll around; I am hoping that, before the end of the millennium, he will be the next CEO of Hell. Dave, this is Orgle, one of our hardest-working fiends Down Here."
The fiend wiped a paw on his pelt, which just spread the congealed goo around a bit, and held it out carefully. "How do you do, Mr Proll," he said seriously. Out of habit, David took hold of a couple of the talons, and the fiend delicately shook hands. "I am pleased to meet you. I hope you will like what you see of our business model here in Hell, and I look forward to working for you, although of course I will miss Mr Crowley." Orgle the fiend did the terrifying smile thing again.
"I… I… " David's mouth flapped a few times.
"I can see you're just so excited by the potential here!" chattered Crowley, "Come on, I do believe I can see… yes, I thought so." He took hold of David's elbow, and steered him past rows of racks, on which screaming souls were being slowly dissected by snarling, twisted creatures.
"What… who…" David managed.
"New demons," explained Crowley, "Once they're off the racks, we get them to do some work in The Pit. It's a bit like an internship. Can't let them go wandering around with no experience whatsoever. Mind you, it was different in my day, we didn't have these ergonomic racks, and RSI-prevention instruments, these youngsters don't know how good they have it. Aha!"
Crowley was homing in on a rack which was tended by a completely different figure. It was a man, a real human man. A very handsome human man, in fact, with scruffy blonde hair, and a devil-may-care smile on his face, even as he worked.
"Oi!" Crowley called, "Does your brother know you're down here?"
The man looked up, and gave them a smile that would make women swoon. "Crowley, my man!" the other grinned, and held out a hand. "Course he does. He got sick of me, and sent me down here, you know how prissy he gets about the floor."
"Did you forget to put a tarp down again?" Crowley tutted.
"How can the Lord of Hell be so OCD about a little bit of demon goo on the floor?" complained the younger man. "I mean, he burns them out there all the time. Orgle is forever scrubbing off the scorch marks. "Hi!" he chirped at David.
"Uh… hi," David stuttered, trying not to look at the writhing thing on the rack.
"Dave, this is Dean, Rackmaster, brother and personal bodyguard to His Majesty," Crowley made the introductions as Dean wiped a hand on his shirt and stuck it out, providing a handshake that was just as sticky as the fiend's had been. "Dean, this is Dave, who will be understudying me when he comes Downstairs, with a view to taking over my job."
"Awesome!" smiled Dean, "Hey, you wanna have a try while you're here?" He proffered what looked like a long thin scalpel and gestured carelessly to the keening thing on the rack, and his green eyes faded to inky black.
"What… is that?" asked David, eyeing the not-quite-there body that wavered and rippled as he tried to look at it without looking; it struck him as a cross between a screaming man, and a rat splayed open for dissection.
"Just a demon," Crowley humphed. "Dean only tortures demons – souls are a bit infra dig for the Rackmaster – you should come down here and watch him work, it's pure poetry."
"Hey, remember that time I fed you your own liver?" grinned Dean. "I thought Sam was gonna be sick, he laughed so hard!"
Crowley rolled his eyes. "Oh, and you kept making jokes about pâté for weeks," chortled the incumbent CEO of Hell.
"And then," Dean turned to David, still laughing, "And then, Crowley only had to go 'honk honk!', and it would set him off again!"
"Well, it wouldn't be much of a place to work if we couldn't have a laugh with it from time to time," shrugged Crowley as David let out another little shriek. "One day, once you've been demonified, I'll have to tell you about the time he gouged my eyeballs out, and shoved them down his pants, then went to have a liaison with a lady demon on the bouncy castle. Oh, the look on her face…"
"I could do it for you, too!" grinned Dean. David jumped backwards, eyes bugging.
"Look, as much as we'd love to stay and chat, we really should be going," Crowley said with regret, "I want to introduce Dave here to His Majesty."
"I'll come with ya," decided Dean, wiping his hands again and picking up a small bucket containing red congealed stuff, "I got some treats for the dogs." He set off back the way they'd come, and there was the underwater-tunnel effect again…
This time it opened into a large, tastefully appointed room that put David in mind of a gigantic formal dining room. The carpet was thick and springy. A bright yellow bouncy castle sat incongruously to one side. And at the other end of the room, there was a tall chair with crimson upholstery. Sitting in that chair was a man.
As they approached more closely, David saw that the guy on the chair – it was a throne, a chair like that could only be a throne – was slouching somewhat carelessly, reading a book.
Crowley approached the man on the throne, and bowed, whist Dean slouched past them and draped himself over the back of the throne. "Crowley's found a friend who aint a goat!" he chirped cheerfully.
"My Lord," Crowley intoned, "I hope that he will be more than a friend; I believe that I have found a successor."
The young man on the throne's face creased into an expression of regret. "It will be a blow to lose you, Crowley," he said sadly, looking like a puppy who's just had his favourite toy taken away, "And I know that Dean will miss you, too."
"You got the most interesting kidneys I've ever seen," Dean confirmed.
"They are quite thought-provoking, aren't they?" chuckled Crowley. "He's shown me my own kidneys on a number of occasions," he murmured to David, "It's just one of his little habits, I'm afraid, but you get used to it. My Lord," he turned back to the throne, "I beg leave to introduce you to a seasoned sinner, David Proll, whom I hope will take up my position. I believe you will find him more than worthy."
The young man stood up, and David gulped, not just because he was very tall, but because he radiated malevolent power in the megawatt range. He smiled a shy, dimpled smile. Everything about him said gentle giant, and everything about him screamed that this was the most dangerous person David had ever laid eyes on.
"David," Crowley went on, "This is Lord Samuel, the Boy King, Younger Who Is Greater, Ruler of Dis, King of Hell."
"Welcome, David," the overgrown boy held out a hand, which David shook vacantly, "I hope you won't be so formal when you get here. Call me Sam. Everybody else does."
"She doesn't," giggled Dean.
The King of Hell rolled his eyes. "Well, we have to make allowances," he intoned indulgently, "When she uses an actual language at all, we should be encouraging it, not quibbling." He stared hard at David, who felt as though the stare was going right through him. "Oh, hey, that's a hell of a CV," Sam grinned, "I think you might be onto a winner here, Crowley. Provided he makes it through."
"Through what?" yipped David.
"Oh, the whole demonification process," Crowley scoffed, "Don't worry, though. The likelihood of you suffering unbearable agony for centuries before finally disintegrating and ceasing to exist and having your very essence of being diverted to power Hell's reactors is smaller than it would be for anybody else. I'll see to it, myself."
His Infernal Majesty raised an amused eyebrow. "Favouritism, Crowley?"
"Absolutely!" smiled Crowley, and they all laughed, except for David, who made a wobbly little 'eeeeeeee' noise.
"Hey, Crowley," Dean interjected, "Why don't you tell him about the eyeballs thing?"
Lord Samuel turned a truly terrifying bitchy scowl on his brother. "Nobody is to tell that story in my presence," he ordered, "I swear, either of you even starts to tell it, I'll hand you over to herself to use as a chew toy."
Dean pouted like a teenage girl threatened with grounding. "You wouldn't," he huffed.
"I would," Sam confirmed, "And I'd roll you in chocolate first."
Dean's eyebrows performed an astonishingly lewd gymnastics routine as he put his arms around his brother. "You kinky asshole," he purred.
Sam smiled and shrugged him off. "Hey, Lord of Hell, remember?" he said. "Now, David, while you're here, why don't I…"
He was interrupted when the large doors they'd come through suddenly slammed back with an ominous boom. Sam turned, and smiled. "Ah, how fortunate," he said, "David, let me introduce you."
The figure that approached was… hideous was the only word that David could come up with. It was heavily muscled, had a scarred face, and was dressed like somebody who couldn't decide whether they were doing cosplay for Mad Max or The Rocky Horror Show. As it drew closer, David realised with a shudder that it was nominally female, but the long yellowed canines protruding over the lower lip precluded it from looking at all human.
The approaching figure was not alone; a cluster of three… well, their forms wavered as David watched them, one moment they looked like Rottweilers, the next they looked far too hideous to describe. And bringing up the rear was an unwavering monster. It was a gigantic wolf, walking on its hind legs, with enormous arms, enormous fangs, enormous claws, and a clear desire to tear something to pieces.
The female strode past them, pausing only to snarl at Crowley and cuff him hard before going to kneel before Sam, and rumble something incomprehensible.
"Rise, madam," Sam smiled, putting out a hand to lift her to her feet. She grinned adoringly up at the King of Hell, and he turned her to face the others. "This is the Dominicana, Lady of the Hounds, and handler of the Infernal Pack."
"He-hellhounds?" David squeaked, looking at the dogs, which looked back as if watching a particularly tasty steak dance. "They're Hellhounds?"
"Well, those three are," Crowley explained, "The big one is her mate."
"He's the jealous type," warned Dean, sidling up to the dog-woman, the Dominicana, and resting his chin on her shoulder, "So it's a good thing you weren't here to listen to what Sam was threatening to do before – he said he was going to roll me in chocolate, and…"
The enormous monster wolf roared, and took a swipe at Dean, who jumped backwards out of the way. The huge wolf missed, but Ronnie managed to land a solid punch as she snarled at him.
"My mate will bring me your heart," she growled.
"You can have it, I aint used it in years," the elder Winchester grinned unrepentantly. "If you want the use of my most talented organ, all you gotta do is say, and if you pull your claws in we can use the bouncy castle…"
"Will you two stop that?" sighed Sam, "We have a visitor!"
"It's cool," Dean shrugged, "This one's a keeper, Sam. He's practically one of us already. Hey, Dave, you wanna watch?"
"Ronnie," Sam went on, "This is David. When he dies, he's going to take over from Crowley."
"Don't worry," Crowley nudged the horrified man reassuringly, "You'll have to work with her, but she hates everybody except Sam, so you'll be perfectly safe from Fido there."
The woman called Ronnie turned to regard him curiously, then approached him, her nose twitching. "Sin," she rumbled, "He reeks of sin."
"He does indeed," agreed Crowley cheerfully, "He will make a wonderful CEO. I can feel my stress levels dropping, just knowing that somebody will be here to take over."
The Dominicana walked slowly around David, who froze on the spot, then she leaned in to sniff deeply at his neck… and smiled. "Sin," she said, in a voice that was nearly a purr, "Wonderful. Strong." He let out a small squeak as she trailed a claw up his arm. "Yesssss."
"Oh dear," murmured Crowley, as the large male wolf-monster started to snarl and slaver like an angry chainsaw idling. "She likes you."
"Uh, okay, so, so, that's good, right?" yipped David, yanking his arm away as the scarred face leaned in to sniff him again.
"Well, it means she won't try to hit you very often," Crowley explained, "But, er, well, himself," he jerked a thumb at the male monster, "Look, you'll just have to watch your back, think of him as like an angel, or a Hunter, and don't ever meet her without Sam to be chaperone, and don't wear red in case it makes you look like a side of beef…"
"This bodes well, David," Sam offered that terrifyingly boyish dimpled smile again, "My brother approves of you, and the Lady of the Hounds does, too. Perhaps this was just meant to be." He put out a hand. "I look forward to having you on board once you die, and become fully demonic."
"I… I..." David's voice failed him as he dazedly shook hands.
"Don't thank me," Sam laughed, "You have truly earned this! Keep up the good work!"
"It's all you, dude," grinned Dean, clapping him on the shoulder.
"I look forward to it," murmured the Dominicana, giving him another monstrous smile.
"Well, it's, er, maybe we should be running along now," Crowley chirped brightly as the wolf-monster began to growl angrily once more, "Let's end it on a high note, before the star recruit gets his head torn off, ha ha ha!"
He grabbed hold of David, who let out another shriek, and they vanished just as the monster lunged, and massive jaws snapped shut through empty air…
When they were gone, there was a moment of silence.
"You can come on out, now," called Sam.
Castiel and Bobby appeared in the room.
"Well, done," the Angel of the Lord intoned seriously, "You were very convincing as the Ruler of Hell."
"That's what concerns me," replied Sam worryingly. "Do you think it worked?"
Castiel's face became unfocused. "I believe it may have," he intoned, "But we will have to wait and see. It should not take long."
"You guys did great," Bobby patted the heads of Jimi Junior, Janis and Joni as they clustered around him, tails wagging. "You made wonderful Hellhounds. Nice CGI, Feathers."
"Chocolate, huh," sniffed Dean dismissively, "As if the Living Sex God could possibly be made more attractive to women than he already is."
"Don't flatter yourself," muttered Ronnie, retracting her claws and her teeth. "An entire truckload of TimTams would not induce me to join you on the bouncy castle." Behind her, Andrew made a decidedly amused panting noise. "Whose idea was this outfit, anyway?" she went on, hitching at the bustier. "It's about as practical as a chocolate teapot."
"But just as lickable," Dean smiled sunnily.
"I'm afraid that it was very short notice," explained Castiel, "I had to take inspiration from an idea that was floating around in Dean's head."
"You do look good in leather," Dean continued, "But it was Cas's idea to substitute jeans for the crotchless panties."
Andrew let out a doggy chuckle, and moved to put his long arms around Ronnie as she let out a shriek of horror.
"Are you going to let him talk to me like that?" she demanded. Her pair-bond just let out a whuffing chuckle. "Et tu, dear," she sighed. "Don't just stand there, make yourself human. Well, as human as you ever get."
Blowing her a quick raspberry, Andrew stepped back, shook himself, concentrated, and…
… conspicuously failed to shapeshift back to human. His ears drooped, and he whined.
"Oh, crud, stuck again," Ronnie groaned, "Well, we'll just have to administer beer, and hope for the best."
"That's not bad for a life philosophy," suggested Dean, "Administer beer, and hope for the best. I'm gonna put that on a shirt."
"Well, I think we should get back," stated Bobby, "See what his Hellside Majesty – the real one – has to say. Hopefully, it's mission accomplished."
"I shall return you to your homes immediately," said Castiel.
"Would you put your armour on again?" grinned Dean, eyebrows waggling.
Castiel cocked his head at Sam. Will you, or shall I?
Sam shrugged. Be my guest.
The angel slapped Dean upside the head again.
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It took a couple of days for them to discover that Crowley had succeeded in scaring his target straight.
The business media went into overdrive with the news that David Proll had suddenly announced that he was getting out of big eco, big pharma and big industry, and would be breaking up his company. Coincidentally, enormous sums of money started turning up in charities dedicated to helping people of the developing world out of poverty, habitat remediation, rainforest preservation and establishment of schools in remote areas. Amnesty International received a large donation. There was a trust established to assist single mothers without support networks to keep and raise their children in a safe home environment. A Rottweiler rescue and rehabilitation organisation also found itself with enough to build and maintain a large new kennelling and fostering facility.
Twenty or so years later, Melissa Proll would end up doing her medical training in one of the hospitals that her father's had founded, before going on to work for Medecins Sans Frontieres for many years. She made a point of visiting him when she got a chance. He stayed compos mentis almost to the end of his life, where he was considered to be a very mild case of dementia, because his only symptom really was repeatedly asking the local minister to deliver a sermon on the sinfulness of chocolate.
Gosh, what a long one (as Amelia Novak said on her wedding night… ahem), but I thought that the whole episode would work best as a single chapter. So, two Trials down, one to go. What does Crowley have to do to finalise Dean's de-demonification? Feed Fergus the plot bunny reviews, and let's see if we can get the little sod to tell us!