Crowley opened his eyes. He was back among the stars. He didn't even realise how he missed them, but he did. The demon looked around him, to try to see every one of them. He made that one, that was put inside another solar system. And the one on the right, she was put into a dual star system. And those in the back, that later formed Gemini star constellation, and Leo constellation, and…
Crowley chuckled. Afterall he did most of the stars. At first, he was only helping the God, but soon he was trusted to do them alone. Alone. His shoulder's slumped.
"Raphael," he heard soft voice behind him.
Crowley turned.
And there She was. Smiling and warm like always, with hint of sadness.
"M-Mo…" Crowley tried to say something, but his throat was closing up.
"Raphael," She repeated.
"That… that's not my name," said Crowley, but then he noticed, his clothes changed, to the ones, he was wearing when he was creating the stars. He raised his hands and even his hair was long again.
"Raphael," God her hands on the sides of Crowley's face in a soothing gesture, "I have to cast them out. They will Fall and become Demons."
God smiled sadly at him, and Crowley knew what she was going to say next. He already knew what She will ask him to do. This was a memory. One he relived so many times, he couldn't even count them anymore. There was a time he pondered what would have happened if he stayed… but not anymore.
"I still don't know what you wanted me to do," he said quietly, "But if you wanted me to bring your Great Plan to the end… I guess I will disappoint you."
She just smiled, "I trust your decisions."
Crowley took her hands and pulled them away from his face, then he launched himself forward, embracing God in tight hug.
"I just… can't let the Earth be destroyed," he whispered.
After that he stepped back. He leaned backwards, made a step back, it almost seemed as if he was jumping from a cliff.
And then he was falling.
Crowley could feel the burning again. All he could feel was pain pain pain. And he screamed.
- GO - GO- GO –
Crowley sat up in his bed, gasping for air, he didn't really need, sweating cold sweat in bullets.
He ran his shaking hands through his hair, "That memory again."
He looked down on his hands, willing them to stop that embarrassing reaction.
"I wonder… if it's really okay," he whispered to no one.
"You could have given me more directions," he turned to the ceiling, which obviously didn't answer.
Crowley quickly grabbed his pillow only to bury his face into it and screamed in frustration. Then he jumped out of the bed, snapping his fingers to change from his pyjama to his day clothes.
He walked to his study, or what was close enough to be considered study. Crowley grabbed his phone, hesitated for a second, but then he dialled the number of Shadwell, whom he once again wanted to help him.
As soon as he heard the click of phone being picked up, he said, "The usual place Sergeant."
And with that he immediately ended the call.
Crowley was sitting at a café, with a newspaper he bought on the way here.
It didn't take long before Shadwell walked into the café. He immediately walked towards Crowley.
"Sergeant Shadwell," greeted Crowley, not looking up from his newspaper.
Shadwell nodded, "Mr. Crowley you looking well."
Crowley allowed himself to glance at his guest, but when he saw much older Shadwell looked compared to his self from 1967, he looked back to his newspaper. He hated being reminded that humans only last few decades.
"Clean living," he said, trying to sound disinterested.
Shadwell sat down opposite of Crowley.
"And your father? How is he? You resemble him very much," he said, his face softening, remembering his friend, if you could call Crowley senior that.
Crowley gripped his newspaper harder.
He wondered how much longer this lie will last, "So they tell me. He is well."
Shadwell rummaged through his bag unaware of Crowley's dilemma, "I have prepared the ledger. The men need paying, Your Honor. It's hard times for witchfinders in today's degenerate age."
Crowley sighed, "That won't be necessary. Two hundred fifty pounds. I'll drop the money off for you on Saturday."
He really didn't need Shadwell's notes. He needed him to send everyone to look for the antichrist as soon as possible.
Shadwell chuckled and tried to joke, "Only in cash, in an envelope. Don't take plastic."
"You astonish me," said Crowley, not really interested.
Shadwell's shoulders slumped, "So…"
Crowley swiftly folded his newspaper and leaned closer to Shadwell, "There's a village called Tadfield, in Oxfordshire. Send your best people down there. I'm looking for a boy. He is about 11. I don't have anything ore than that. But look for anything… strange."
Shadwell looked around and then at the demon.
"This boy… he is a witch?" the older man asked whispering.
Crowley raised an eyebrow. Of course, Shadwell would ask such ridiculous question. But he couldn't tell him the truth.
"Possibly," said the demon, "We'll have to find him first, won't we?"
"Aye," Shadwell agreed chuckling, "Well, my best operatives, that would be Witchfinder Lieutenant Table…"
Crowley rolled his eyes, although Shadwell couldn't see him. He was done with this conversation.
"Call me if you find anything," he stood up and walked out.
"And Witchfinder Sergeant Pepper," murmured Shadwell as he looked after Crowley, then he just sighed.
As much as he would like to chat and ask the redhead more about his father, Crowley junior always seemed busy. So, he just sighed again and left too, he had to find that boy after all.
- GO - GO- GO –
Crowley had pulled out a large map of the United Kingdom, looking at it helplessly. He tried to sense the aura of Satan's son, but nothing came up. He hated that he was right about the defence thingy.
"Why didn't I check when I had the chance?!" Crowley muttered angrily.
If he did, he would have noticed earlier, that they were watching the wrong boy, found him and undid the defence put on him.
"Damnit!" Crowley angrily pushed the map from the table, "How did Lucifer even convince her to do this?! She didn't seem to be a person to just give up her child for someone else to raise him!"
The demon started to pace. What more could he do? Any spiritual trace was long gone, but he didn't want to just sit on his ass, waiting for Shadwell to find any clue. Maybe Aziraphale and his agents found something.
Crowley picked up his phone and quickly dialled Aziraphale's number. He didn't have to wait for long. Aziraphale picked up after one ring.
"It's me, meet me at the third alternative rendezvous," Crowley said, already ready to disconnect, when he heard Aziraphale's confused stuttering.
"Uh, is that the old bandstand, the number 19 bus or the British Museum café?" the angel nervously asked.
"The bandstand," Crowley drawled in frustration, "I will be there in fifteen minutes."
And he quickly put the phone down.