Hello, lovely readers! :) It's been a while. I haven't felt inspired to write anything for much too long now, although this idea has been there since the first time I watched the scene where Crowley gets pulled into Hell. Whump must be written! ;)

Warning for graphic description of violence and a little swearing! Enjoy the hurt, there isn't that much comfort to follow, haha...

Chapter 1:

Somewhere below Edinburgh, 1827:

Crowley was falling.

Falling so fast.

Again.

Rough earth moved past him way too quickly. Sharp stones and roots were cutting his face, sobering him up from his Laudanum intoxication. There was no use fighting the pull; he knew he couldn't do anything to stop it.

And yet, he was trying. Grasping in the darkness that pressed against his body all around. Fingers hoping to find hold to slow his fall down, but the earth was slippery and gave way whenever he closed his hands around it.

He opened his mouth, wanting to scream but it immediately filled with dirt, suffocating him. The demon didn't need to breathe, but after hundreds and hundreds of years he was used to the inner workings of his human form. Not being able to fill his lungs with air struck him with panic and fear. Making his hands grasp at nothing more desperately. Making his heart beat faster.

Crowley lost sense of direction. There was just this swirling, endless nothingness. The empty darkness of loud, shifting earth. But deep down he knew where he was going. Where he always ended up going.

Down.

Always down.

The fear of falling was unreasonable now; there was no greater fall than the fall from Heaven. But Crowley couldn't help it. The complete loss of control was what scared him.

Although, he knew what waited for him at the end of his fall should probably make him more afraid.

And there it was. Suddenly.

After what felt like an eternity but were actually only a few seconds, Crowley landed on the cold, hard ground. The bottom of all existence.

Hell.

Groaning, Crowley supported himself on his trembling arms, lifting his face from the sulphur-reeking floor. Thin yellow smoke swirled around him. Disturbed by the force of his fall. His bones were aching. A mere human wouldn't have survived. But even though his eternal demonic soul was able to contain the damage, it wouldn't protect him against Hell's wrath.

Not if they were making a real effort.

A dark, menacing snarl hummed and echoed close around him. Crowley ignored his aching muscles and immediately jumped to his feet. It was bad enough to be called back for his behaviour on Earth, but whatever was awaiting him now, Crowley swore he wouldn't take it lying down.

He cowered with his fists raised, ready to jump. Fangs bared, his snake-like hiss meeting the vicious snarl in the dark.

"Croowleyy…" A deep voice growled devilishly.

He recognized him even before he stepped out of the lightless corners.

Hastur.

And with him a whole group of foul-smelling demons with a recognizable hunger for blood in their eyes. Hastur's right-hand demon, Ligur, stepped out from behind him and began circling around Crowley in an unhurried, measured way, eyeing him from head to toe.

Crowley's black frock coat was ripped in a few places and covered in dust and earth. He had lost his top hat and dark glasses, but he was grateful for it. Next to Hell's demons he looked ridiculous enough in Earth's regency style clothing; he could tell by the teeth-baring grins and the spiteful snickering among the demons.

"Crowley," Hastur repeated once more. "What have you done?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." murmured Crowley, trying not to lose the pacing Ligur from his sight.

"Really?" Hastur challenged.

"No." Crowley was gradually regaining his wits and took care to sound completely laid-back and unworried. Trickery and seducing words were his forte so he might as well use it against those demons who were more used to brute force and violence. "I was just minding my own business when you lot suddenly decided to summon me down via the back door. Very rude, by the way. You could've just asked."

"Minding your own business?" Hastur repeated pointedly and the on-looking demons growled as one. "We were waiting for a damned soul. She could've been a saint but her choices led her to a path of self-destruction and pain. She was ours!" Hastur's voice swelled and with it the cries of agreement and menace all around. Then he went very quiet and his black eyes gleamed. "Until you decided to interfere."

Again the demons snarled and hissed, judging Crowley in disbelief over his not at all demonic actions. Crowley's heart was beating faster again and he swallowed, trying not to let his fear show. "Oh, you mean Elspeth?" He forced out a laugh, as if he'd just made a joke they were too dim to understand. Hoping to create some confusion. "Yeah, she, err… she wasn't one for Hell, really. Much too good. She only would've caused trouble."

"Trouble is what she is supposed to cause." Ligur suddenly spoke up and Crowley whirled around, startled by the deep, rattling voice.

"Weell," stressed Crowley; his heart was beating in his throat now. "Not that kind of trouble. Trust me, I know humans."

"So you claim to know better which souls are for Heaven and which are for Hell? Better than our Master?!" bristled Hastur.

"N-No, but-"

"Your job," Hastur cut him off with growing anger. "Is to secure souls for Hell. Souls that would otherwise go to help Heaven's cause. It's not your place to make decisions of your own or question our Master's will. You just... get the job done."

The lower demons murmured in agreement. A rolling wave of danger and chaos ready to break upon Hastur's word. They were clenching their fists, baring their sharp teeth at Crowley. Full of hatred.

This was new to him. Crowley was under the impression that the lower demons looked up to him. Were they envious instead? His position on Earth was important and interesting. The boss trusted him so he was never watched too closely. He never thought he'd be found out.

Aziraphale.

A sharp pain stabbed his chest as he thought of the angel. Unwise in this situation, but it couldn't be helped. What if they were watching Aziraphale, too?

Distracted by his worry, Crowley stumbled back as Hastur stepped towards him, shivering with barely contained rage. "How dare you inspire souls towards the light!" The duke of Hell hissed. A black oily substance appeared on his grey-green skin like drops of sweat. If it touched Crowley, the sticky black pearls would burn and consume him. "You will be punished for this, Crowley!" he shrieked. "Yes… severely punished."

Crowley hissed back, assuming his fighting stance once more. His snake will eat the toad on Hastur's head if he must!

But then the tables fatefully turned and the fight went out of him all at once, as Ligur struck Crowley over the head from behind.

Damn it... forgot about him, were Crowley's last thoughts before his body folded and his head hit the ground. He saw the demons stepping towards him, laughing viciously, before his vision faded to black.

As Crowley came back to his senses his mind was still swimming. He lifted his head with a groan and tried to focus on the figure that was standing nearby. The blurry shapes came together to form a satisfied looking Hastur and Crowley flinched, trying to scramble to his feet.

Pain immediately shot up his arms and legs and nearly had him tumble down again. He risked a glance at his wrists and ankles and found them shackled tightly. The heavy chains were secured to the iron bars of a cage and he stood in the middle of it, unable to move more than a few steps in each direction before the chains tugged and burned his flesh agonizingly.

He still tried, though. Breathing in and lunging forward with all his power to where Hastur was standing behind the bars.

The chains followed him for a second, then pulled him back and brought him to his knees with a throat-ripping scream. Oh, Satan, that burn! It was like fire only hotter and it seared down to his bones, tearing him apart like… like…

"Holy water." supplied Hastur, knowing exactly what Crowley was thinking. "We forged the chains in it. Quite tricky without burning any of us, but… we only want the best for you." He grinned devilishly.

Crowley breathed through the pain, willing it to lessen, but it was only not agony when he wasn't moving at all. He tried to figure out what to do. How to escape. There must be a way, right? Hell never completely managed to outsmart him before. He was a wily, old serpent; he could find a way out!

A small gasp escaped him as he listened to himself think. Yes, of course, that was it! His gaze fell upon a smattering of black scales at the inside of his arm, normally hidden by clothes but now exposed since they apparently took away all of his earthly fabrics.

If he transformed himself, he could slither out of his prison easily. Crowley concentrated and the scales began to ripple over his body, covering him in black and red. But just before he could change, he was pulled back into the soft, lanky human form with something between a violent hiss and a scream.

"Don't even bother. Those shackles are blocking all sorts of miracles." noted Hastur casually.

No, Crowley yelled inside of his mind. He wouldn't accept that. He tried again.

And again.

And again.

The result was the same. Like an electric shock the burn of holy water punished him for every attempt. Maybe, he thought, he could get used to the pain and follow through, but it wasn't getting any easier. Just more painful.

He yelled and hissed in frustration, collapsing back in the middle of his cage wearing the weak, fair-skinned shell. He was trapped. His demonic soul imprisoned by his own body.

Crowley tried something different. Willing the chains to snap open on their own, willing himself to be as small as a mouse so he could slip through and willing the pain to just stop because it was getting harder to stay conscious.

"By all means. Tire yourself out." said Hastur. "Makes it easier for our professional torturers to break you."

Crowley looked up, finally staying perfectly still. His golden eyes widening in fear. "More torture?"

Hastur scoffed, stalking closer to the cage. "What do you think? That we let you off the hook with a few slaps on the wrist? What you did, saving a soul, borderlines on treason. If it were only up to me, you'd be destroyed for that."

Hastur was standing right in front of the bars now, a little more than an arm's length away from Crowley. A puddle formed to Hastur's feet, steaming and slowly crawling over the ground and into the cell. Hurriedly, Crowley scrambled backwards, but it wasn't far until he strained the chains and he had to watch how the oily, black stuff licked at his legs, burning and eating at his soul without mercy. Only by sheer, stubborn willpower he managed not to scream. He wouldn't give Hastur that satisfaction.

"But…" said the higher-ranking demon. "The Dark Council decided that you're still worth something. Up until that point you claimed to have collected more souls than any of us ever managed and even though I know you like to play fast and loose with the rules down here, I couldn't convince the others."

The acid black tendrils that had slung themselves steadily higher up Crowley's legs slowly retreated now, leaving the snake, gasping and shivering, rolled up in a protective ball. "So, until we've found someone suitable to replace you… you," Hastur closed his hands around the iron bars, rattling them. "Are staying exactly where you are!" He grinned. "And maybe… you could… pray for a miracle."

Hastur started wheezing. But only as he turned away, leaving whatever corner of Hell Crowley found himself in, the wheezing turned into full manic laughter.

Crowley stayed in this protective position, with his knees and forehead touching the ground and his arms covering his head, for what seemed like forever. At least he wasn't moving and the burn of the shackles was only a dull throbbing pulse that he tried his best to ignore.

He knew the waiting was part of the torture. It had been in fact his idea, his inspiration as he watched humans torture each other. Fascinated, he had told Hell all about it, never for a second believing that he would one day find himself at the end of this warfare.

Psychological torture.

Much too complex for Hell to come up with on their own, but a little nudging and convincing on his part and they were all ears.

Stupid demon, Crowley chastised himself. This is all your own fault! Why do I always have to meddle in things that should be left alone!?

He thought of Elspeth and Wee Morag and what they were willing to do for each other. Then he thought of Aziraphale and the look of absolute and utter shock on his face as he realized how much pain his meddling had caused those two humans. Crowley couldn't do anything to save Wee Morag, but he could alter Elspeth's faith to ease Aziraphale's conscience.

So he did.

Crowley buried his fingers tightly in his flaming-red hair, clenching his teeth and cursing whatever miraculous power the angel had over him that he endangered himself as recklessly as that.

Of course they were going to find out eventually. He had been pushing his luck more and more over the centuries, but this… this overzealous display of demonic energy was just plain stupid. He couldn't even blame it on the Laudanum; Crowley knew full well what he was doing.

And now he was paying the price.

Unintentionally, Crowley's thoughts wandered towards Aziraphale once more. He had drawn attention towards them both. Heaven and Hell weren't talking to each other as far as he knew, but what if Heaven made its own inquiries?

If they found out that due to Aziraphale's interference a young girl had found her death and another one nearly damned herself to Hell for taking her own life… what would they do to him?

Heaven wouldn't torture its angels, that was dirty work they left to Hell, right? Aziraphale wouldn't be cast down, either, those days were over, Crowley assumed. But they could demote him. Remove him from his position on Earth. Maybe he would never be allowed to return. Maybe Crowley was never allowed to return, either!

The demon started to tremble. He felt his heart pound beneath his skin as an entirely different kind of terror overtook him.

What if he would never see the angel again? They had never even said a proper goodbye. Maybe they would be forced to stand opposite each other when Armageddon would come, but then… one of them – one side of creation – would be destroyed forever. That was the Great Plan. It was written. So they said.

And Crowley would be alone once again. Alone on his own side. Too curious for Heaven and too damn clever for Hell.

Alone in the universe.

The whip cracked, suddenly, like thunder, and came down on his back in a flash, brutally ripping him from his thoughts. Crowley screamed after the initial shock ebbed away and pain began.

"Wakey, wakey, little demon." a gravelling, dark voice hummed behind him.

Crowley was struck by the whip again. So forceful, he felt like he was ripped in two. Arching his back, the serpent tried to crawl away from the pain but the chains wouldn't let him. In the silent second between one lash and the next, Crowley looked back over his shoulder.

A hulk-like figure, all muscle and flesh, dressed in rags was flexing his giant arm back to prepare for another strike. Crowley recognized him as the demon Brut, head-torturer of Hell. Next to him, lean and much smaller, stood a quite young torture demon called Mazikeen, who seemed to be Brut's newest apprentice. The huge grin on Mazikeen's half-rotting face suggested that she must enjoy what she was seeing very much.

Then the whip flung forward again and Brut's raw power easily sliced Crowley's back open, making his heart stutter and his scream catch in his throat. Crowley hadn't even realized that they obviously must have opened the cage from behind while he was reflecting upon the possibility of never returning to Earth.

"Hastur said not to be too gentle with you." grumbled Brut with an almost bored-sounding slowness. "He said you deserve the worst, because you're a traitor."

Crowley tried to make his throat work. The pain was like a wall that had crashed upon him. Heavy and oppressing. He struggled to get his hands under his body to hold himself up. Arms shivering. Back screaming. The burn of the shackles was almost non-existent compared to the new agony he found himself in. "S' n-not… t-tr-true." he managed to argue, biting back tears of pain. "Just o'erreacting, s'all. Believe me, I c-can prove it. Jus' listen to m-me."

"He also said you would do that, you snake." spat Brut. "Trying to tempt me into listening to you. Hastur told me if you were doing that I was to hurt you until you couldn't talk anymore."

"N-No…" winced Crowley, breathing in to prepare more words, but the whip cracked again, knocking the air straight out of his lungs. His arms buckled and he collapsed under the force of it. Red demon tears were leaking from his squeezed shut eyes, waiting for the wave of pain to subside and simultaneously preparing for the next.

"Ughh," growled Brut in annoyance. "I can't hit you when you're lying on your side. Pull him up, Mazikeen."

"At once, sir." the younger demon hissed eagerly.

She did something to the chains at one side of the cage and suddenly Crowley's leash reeled in and he was pulled up by his wrists until he was forced to stand with wobbly knees. Gasping for air, his head lolled forward. He could feel how the blood trickled down now. Wet and cold down his back and onto the floor, leaving dark spots of black demonic blood.

Crowley couldn't feel his legs and with the next lash of the whip, they were knocked out from under him and he hung from his wrists. The metal burning and biting into his skin. Crowley didn't really notice this. His world was pain and his screams echoed through Hell like those of so many other tortured souls.

I kinda stole Mazikeen from Neil Gaiman's Sandman/Lucifer universe. But she is younger here. ;)

I'll probably update weekly. Please leave a review and let me know what you think...