Illustrated Fic.
Title: Promoting Sin, Promoting Serpents
Rating: PG for implied violence.
Summary: There are always downsides to promotion, especially when a co-worker is out for revenge and your boss isn't good at paying attention to things.
Notes: I just wanted to write silly Lucifer. It kind of got away from me.
One of the more archaic laws of Hell (not that there are any laws in Hell that aren't archaic) is the "Law of Succession." It's rather simple and very rarely put into effect. In layman's terms, the law states that if a member of Hell's ruling nobility is killed, the demon that killed them takes their place in the hierarchy.
This didn’t happen often simply because demon lords are notoriously difficult to kill. It requires holy materials that other demons have neither the access to, nor the ability to even handle without being killed themselves.
It had only happened three times in all of history.
The first was an angel that happened to fall right as she slew a president of Hell. She had been having her way with a human and was unluckily found out right in the middle of a battle. She became Amy and was quite surprised and pleased to find nobody wanted to quibble over an angel becoming a ruler so quickly after falling. [1]
The second time, it had been a complete accident. One of the workers in the chemical department had been studying the ethereal composition of holy water and a careless duke had bumped the table and accidentally doused himself in it.
The third time was the chief reason that Hastur was throwing such a hissy-fit at the meeting of the Dark Council.
“You can’t just let that bloody, scheming snake in ‘ere!” Hastur shrieked, his voice echoing through the council hall.
“He murdered Ligur! And he completely fouled up his job at Armageddon!”
“Uh huh.” Said Lucifer.
The ruler of Hell was sprawled in his throne, no longer even pretending to be listening to Ligur. At the moment, he was too busy fiddling with his Gameboy to bother with any more complaining. [2]
“Lord…” Dagon started. Lucifer rolled his eyes and shut his game. Dagon was persistent about attention. “His incompetence is shocking. You-”
Lucifer held up a hand, silencing Dagon. “What did this…Crowley guy do, again? He’s did the apple thing, yeah?”
“Yes, he was responsible for Eden… Bur he also gave your son to the wrong parents, which is why the Apocalypse went awry. And he was going to actively fight against you.”
“Eh, I would have fought me too. Can’t really blame him for not wanting the world to end. I mean… it’s just a place to us. He lives there. And we would lose our major supplier of media and candy.”
He thought for a moment. “I thought he gave the baby to a nun and the nun gave the baby to the wrong couple.”
Dagon paused. “Well… Yes, I suppose that is what happened, technically.”
“Dagon, did you tell him specifically which nun to give the baby to?”
“Well, no, but…”
“Did he know there was one more baby than expected?”
Dagon was looking a little ashamed. “No…”
“Well then, near as I can tell it was an honest mistake and it’s already over with, no point in crying spilt...uh baby. Move on.”
All in all, this wasn’t entirely unexpected for some of the higher-up members of the Council. It was hard to imagine Lucifer putting much effort into being properly furious when there were so many bright and beeping things to be distracted by.
There was a giggle from one of the upper rows of the council hall. “Plus, it was pretty funny when you were opening up that portal to talk to Adam, but he closed it and you cracked your skull on the ceiling.” Amy said, grinning across the hall at Lucifer.
He scowled at her, but didn’t bother to threaten or attack her before he turned to Hastur, his voice turning cold and dangerous.
“Listen to me, Duke Hastur… I don’t want to hear any more of this. I know you’re all bent out of shape and huffy that you were outsmarted by a serpent, but get over it. He fried your slug-brained partner with what may actually be the oldest trick in the book; hey, it maybe even precedes the book and then tricked you into getting trapped on an ansaphone tape. I’m impressed with him. Let it go, do you understand? Or else we’ll have to find a replacement for you.”
Hastur wish he could stop shaking as Satan’s red eyes glared down at him. “Y-Yes, lord.” He said, bowing and backing away into the shadows.
Lucifer smiled wickedly. “Then it is settled. Anthony J. Crowley will replace Ligur in his position as a Duke of Hell.”
Silence rang throughout the hall in the aftermath of the decree. Then Lucifer leaned over to Murmur and whispered, “What does the J stand for, again?”
Murmur shrugged her spiked shoulders. “Uh… Anthony?”
“That’s his first name and it starts with an A...”
“Vincent?”
“That’s… That’s a V, Murmur.”
“Oh. I don’t know then.”
“Fantastic.” Lucifer sat back up again, waved his hand in dismissal of the council and resumed his game. [3]
---
Crowley slept in his flat again sometime around two weeks after the council meeting regarding his promotion that he hadn’t been invited to attend and wasn’t remotely aware of. He had been busy with minor acts of wickedness that mostly involved staying up all night and when he was finally able to relax, he was grateful that he hadn’t spared any expense in making his flat comfortable.
He woke up two days later, just before noon, a little earlier than he had intended, strangely feeling more tired than he did before he had gone to sleep. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in the blankets and doze off again. (It was too bad the twenty-first century was looking to be exciting. He almost felt like sleeping all the way through it.)
However, Crowley had things he should be doing, angels and people to annoy, so he chalked his tiredness up to winter’s approach and settled for gesturing making a vague gesture at the radiator, sending the flat’s temperature and humidity up to the approximate level of a sauna from the centre of the earth.
He slithered out the door of the bedroom when he realized three things: one, he had his wings out, two, his fingernails had been replaced with talons, and three, he was slithering instead of walking because his legs had been replaced by the lower half of a massive, black-scaled snake.
He barely had time to gape at himself when the clock radio burst to life with the alarm set for 12:00 and a radio DJ started ranting over some kind of call-in show about somebody’s “baby’s daddy.” Crowley stormed (quickly slithered, the heat was making him feel more energetic.) over to it, ready to rip it from the wall. He wasn’t in any mood for idle chatter, but as he grabbed it, the DJ’s nasal voice changed to something different entirely.
“Hey there, Crawleee...” Taunted the unmistakable voice of Haster from the radio.
“Hassssturrr!” Crowley said, unable to stop himself from neither hissing nor letting the name fade into a low, primal growl.
“Heh, all excited over yer promotion, eh?” The voice said, barely disguising his glee.
“Promotion?” Crowley snarled into the radio, sparks flying as his claws dug into the
speakers. “What did you do to me, Hassstur?!”
“I didn’t do nuffink. You was the one that dumped holy water on Ligur and that means you take his place as a Duke. All I did do was make some suggestions to the clerk at the body shop on what your new form would look like. I think it suits you jus’ perfectly, you bloody serpent bas-”
The rest of Hastur’s sentence was cut off by a crackle of static and the crunch of metal as Crowley crushed the radio in his hands and ripped it apart. Then, shaking the bits of metal and plastic of his hands (claws) he slithered into the living room, took a deep breath and swore very, very loudly in a language that had been virtually unheard of on Earth for the past 3000 years. Luckily, just as there are noises too high and too low for humans to hear, Crowley’s scream of rage was too loud to be heard by anybody, save for a man in a bookshop in Soho, who immediately began wondering when Crowley was going to drop by and complain in person. [4]
Sure enough, after Aziraphale’s ears had stopped ringing, the phone began to. Aziraphale took a deep breath and answered it, expecting to be beset by shouting. Instead, the voice on the other line was hoarse, hissing, growing and undeniably depressed.
“Asssiraphale?”
“Yes, Crowley?”
“I’ve lost my legsss.”
“… You what?”
“No legsss… Not really thrrrilled with these handsss, either…” the voice glumly admitted.
“Shall I come over, dear?”
There was a noncommittal hiss/grunt, which Aziraphale took as an affirmative.
“Is it too early for wine?”
“Not for me, angel...”
Aziraphale arrived some thirty minutes later and entered the flat, then nearly screamed in horror. Luckily, he caught himself in time and managed to avoid making the miserable demon even more depressed. [5]
What Aziraphale recognized as a bit more scaly-than-usual Crowley was lying listlessly on the sofa, wearing a long, half-unbuttoned black shirt, the back of which was ripped by the wings closed against him like a blanket. What had become of Crowley’s lower half was stretched out on the rest of the sofa and slumped on the floor.
“I appreciate you not ssscreaming out loud, Angel.”
Oh dear. Crowley had noticed.
“I… You know it... Erm… Hmm.” The angel dithered for a moment, before finally settling on a comforting phrase. “It’s not so bad.”
Crowley gave him a blank stare, hidden behind his sunglasses, though they seemed rather arbitrary at the moment.
“Asssiraphale, look at me. Not ssso bad?” he mimicked.
Under normal circumstances, Aziraphale might have been offended at Crowley’s mocking, but this was a unique situation, to say the least. He’d let Crowley off the hook this time. Aziraphale took a seat on the small sofa not occupied by snake tail.
“Er… Do you know what happened?” he asked, hoping to be able to help. If it was just some kind of allergic reaction, Aziraphale could probably find out how to fix it. Some kind of Occult Benadryl, perhaps.
“I wasss promoted.” Crowley spat, lips curling and revealing dagger-sharp teeth. “I got sssuckered in to being a Duke when I melted Ligurrr all over my offisss rug. And thissssss,” he glared at his hands for a moment. “Is Hasssturrr’ssss idea of a joke.”
“Oh!” Aziraphale said, trying desperately to brighten the mood, “You’re a Duke of Hell now? That’s very impressive.”
Crowley gave him another stare.
“Oh… you’re not going to be called Below, are you?” Aziraphale asked, nervousness seeping into his voice.
“Not for anything permanent, luckily. I was watching the newsss and Belial interrupted to congratulate me.” Crowley said, “They’re content to leave me be. I’ll probably only be called down for important meetingsss.”
“Ah. Well, that’s not so… It could be worse.” Aziraphale corrected himself.
“Hsss.” Said Crowley.
After a few minutes of nothing but the rattling of an overworked radiator and the occasional thump of Crowley’s tail tapping the floor, Aziraphale again started to try and cheer Crowley up.
“Let’s open up the wine.” Aziraphale said as he miracled two glasses and starting to pour. “It’s a…”
“I don’t care if you’ve just brought a bottle of pure ethanol at this point.” Crowley said, taking a glass and downing in a single swallow, then holding out the glass again.
“Seems a bit hot in here, doesn’t it?” Fill the glass.
“It’sss fine to me.” Drink.
“It’s a lovely day out. Nice and brisk, lovely autumn colours. Maybe we should go and feed the ducks.” Fill the glass.
“I am not going outside like this. I’m worried I’d try and eat a baby or something.” Drink.
“The hissing seems to be getting better.” Aziraphale said as he simply handed Crowley the bottle.
“Sssort of.” He answered and took another drink.
Aziraphale kept madly searching for subjects that would distract Crowley, who had taken to staring at his hands and glaring at them. Sometimes, they would change back to looking like they were before, but they would turn back into claws again when he stopped concentrating.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, finally, snatching on to a straw after dismissing another in his search for ideas for conversation.
“Yesss?”
“Have you ever eaten any rodents?”
Crowley sat up a little. “What?”
“I’m only asking because there’s a bit of an infestation of mice in the shop and I was hoping that you could take care of it. I’m not exactly comfortable with hiring an exterminator and you’d get a decent meal out of it.”
Crowley let out a snarl that was very nearly laughter. “Angel, did you just asssk me to kill and eat a bunch of harmlessss mice?”
“They are not harmless; they get into everything, including the books! I think that it’s a perfectly reasonable favour to ask of a friend who has been turned into a giant, demonic serpent.”
“I am not going to eat your infestation, who knowsss where they’ve been. Get rid of them on your own!”
“I don’t think you’re being very reasonable, dear boy. I know you’re a regular in that pet shop down the road from the bookshop and you don’t have any pets or even carnivorous plants.”
Crowley gaped at Aziraphale, furiously and hissed. “I am not a regular at that pet sssshop and I do not eat anything that comesss from it.”
“Don’t try and fib to me, dear boy.” Said Aziraphale in a light tone. “I’ve seen you come out with air-holed cardboard boxes and yet I never see you purchase anything to house the creatures in, so I can only assume…”
Crowley crossed his arms sulkily and hissed. “It wasss only once!”
“I see your car there at least once a month.”
“It’sss only once a month, then.”
Aziraphale smiled. “Then I’m only asking you to perform a service and you reap the rewards that you would normally pay for! You know, maybe Hastur thought he was being helpful and that this…” He gestured at Crowley “would make it easier for you to catch them on your own.”
Aziraphale ducked and narrowly avoided getting a face full of demon talons. Perhaps he had gone too far.
“Come now, dear boy. Let’s go for a walk and you can clear your head. I promise I will make sure you don’t do anything unsavory.”
“I am not going out like thisss, Angel.”
“Nobody has to see you.”
“I can sssee me.”
Aziraphale was beginning to get frustrated. It was understandable for Crowley to be upset, but now he was just feeling sorry for himself. He conjured another bottle of wine.
“Crowley, I think…”
There was a sudden flare of fire and Crowley was gone, leaving nothing but waves of heat obscuring the living room.
“Crowley?”
The flat was silent and empty, save for the hushed rustling of houseplants that were almost worried about what happened to their demonic dictator. They needed him if they were ever going to sort out that prick of a bottlebrush across the road.
Aziraphale looked around, then opened the new bottle and poured himself a drink.
~
The bottle was very nearly empty when Crowley suddenly reappeared on the sofa, looking no worse, but no better and slightly dazed.
“Well?” Aziraphale asked.
“Ngkssss.” Crowley grunted as he collapsed back on to the cushions. “Apparently, that’sss how I’m going to be called for Council Meetings. Jussst ‘poof!’ and I’m there.”
Aziraphale stood and sat on the floor next to where Crowley was sprawled and gave him an awkward pat on the back.
“Did anything exciting happen?” he asked.
“During the meeting? No. I only had to go because it was my firssst. It was just imps complaining about wagess and unions. Nobody was paying attention and HE just sat around playing his video game until he got too annoyed and turned the leader into a pillar of sssalt. After the meeting, though…” Crowley’s voice became gleeful, “I think Hassstur might be regretting getting me ssstuck with thisss body.”
Crowley turned to Aziraphale with a sharp, monstrous grin.
Aziraphale was almost afraid to ask. Almost.
“Why? What did you do?”
“Carefully, and with sssurgical precision I might add, I removed his face. Turns out that these clawsss are good for sssomething,” Crowley reached into his tattered shirt and pulled out a slightly bloody stretch of demon skin.
If angels could get sick, Aziraphale would have looked slightly green.
“Relax, Angel.” Crowley said before Aziraphale could start nauseously reprimanding him over turning the other cheek and so on and vanishing the skin into thin air. “I told him that he could have it back as sssoon as I figured out how to change into a less unssssubtle form.”
“And how long do you think that will be?”
Crowley shrugged, staring at one of his hands again and making the claws shrink down into fingers. They stayed that way.
A serpentine sigh. “Not exactly sssoon, but I’m sure I’ll manage, Angel.”
Aziraphale nodded and looked at the green-glowing clock that sat on top of the television.
“Hmm…”
Crowley sat up slightly, “What isss it now?”
“Oh, nothing… There’s a book auction and they have some early editions of Milton going for a very reasonable price and…”
“Go ahead.” Crowley said, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you away from Milton.”
Aziraphale stood for an awkward moment before deciding. “You’re quite sure you’ll be all right?”
“Yeah, yeah, Angel. Just go do whatever it is you do to those booksss.” Crowley said, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, as long as you avoid the temptation to do whatever it is that you do to those poor plants.” Aziraphale said with a smile before he disappeared out the door.
~
A few days later, there was a loud screech of tyres outside the bookshop and Aziraphale was happy to see Crowley stride and not slither into the shop.
“Feeling better, dear?”
“Mmhmm.” Crowley muttered, leaning up against the desk. “Can’t quite get the fangs completely gone yet, but I’ll either get used to them like I did the eyes and the tongue or I’ll figure it out eventually.”
Aziraphale nodded. “I don’t suppose you feel like having dinner at the Ritz tonight.”
“Why not? It’s not like -” Crowley suddenly snarled and leapt over the desk, slamming a hand down on the floor next to where Aziraphale had fallen in an attempt to not be crushed by a mad demon.
Crowley stood up and grinned at whatever was clamped in his fist, breathing predatorily.
Aziraphale stared at him and dusted himself off as he rose. “Crowley, what just happened? What are you holding?” He asked, peering at Crowley’s hand, then jerking back. “Ugh! Oh dear…”
Crowley’s grin faded as he realized what he had just done. He looked up at Aziraphale and tried to hold on to a shred of dignity.
“… Catch!”
Aziraphale yelped and cowered from the tiny mouse Crowley had thrown at him.
[1] He was playing Phoenix Wright and wished the meeting was over so he could play the game properly and yell “Objection!” into the microphone.
[2] Lucifer had not been as angry as some might think over the sudden non-Apocalypse. He lacked the attention-span to stay angry very long and two of the things he hadn’t been looking forward to were an eternity of reruns and no new Harvest Moon games.
[3] Lucifer also tended to be nicer to the few females that were in the council, despite the occasional complete lack of understanding the English alphabet. Many thought it was because he was trying to “get into their pants.” And that was true.
[4] Technically, there was a second person to hear it, a young woman whose grandmother was one of the nephilim. She sensed the language being spoken and suddenly developed a minor nosebleed, then called her mother to ask exactly what her great-grandmother had been up to.
[5] Aziraphale also resisted the urge to turn the bottle of wine into a flaming, holy bottle of wine and then to attack Crowley with it. Angels tend to have an instinct to attack any arch demon they come across and Crowley certainly qualified as one now.
Rating: PG for implied violence.
Summary: There are always downsides to promotion, especially when a co-worker is out for revenge and your boss isn't good at paying attention to things.
Notes: I just wanted to write silly Lucifer. It kind of got away from me.
One of the more archaic laws of Hell (not that there are any laws in Hell that aren't archaic) is the "Law of Succession." It's rather simple and very rarely put into effect. In layman's terms, the law states that if a member of Hell's ruling nobility is killed, the demon that killed them takes their place in the hierarchy.
This didn’t happen often simply because demon lords are notoriously difficult to kill. It requires holy materials that other demons have neither the access to, nor the ability to even handle without being killed themselves.
It had only happened three times in all of history.
The first was an angel that happened to fall right as she slew a president of Hell. She had been having her way with a human and was unluckily found out right in the middle of a battle. She became Amy and was quite surprised and pleased to find nobody wanted to quibble over an angel becoming a ruler so quickly after falling. [1]
The second time, it had been a complete accident. One of the workers in the chemical department had been studying the ethereal composition of holy water and a careless duke had bumped the table and accidentally doused himself in it.
The third time was the chief reason that Hastur was throwing such a hissy-fit at the meeting of the Dark Council.
“You can’t just let that bloody, scheming snake in ‘ere!” Hastur shrieked, his voice echoing through the council hall.
“He murdered Ligur! And he completely fouled up his job at Armageddon!”
“Uh huh.” Said Lucifer.
The ruler of Hell was sprawled in his throne, no longer even pretending to be listening to Ligur. At the moment, he was too busy fiddling with his Gameboy to bother with any more complaining. [2]
“Lord…” Dagon started. Lucifer rolled his eyes and shut his game. Dagon was persistent about attention. “His incompetence is shocking. You-”
Lucifer held up a hand, silencing Dagon. “What did this…Crowley guy do, again? He’s did the apple thing, yeah?”
“Yes, he was responsible for Eden… Bur he also gave your son to the wrong parents, which is why the Apocalypse went awry. And he was going to actively fight against you.”
“Eh, I would have fought me too. Can’t really blame him for not wanting the world to end. I mean… it’s just a place to us. He lives there. And we would lose our major supplier of media and candy.”
He thought for a moment. “I thought he gave the baby to a nun and the nun gave the baby to the wrong couple.”
Dagon paused. “Well… Yes, I suppose that is what happened, technically.”
“Dagon, did you tell him specifically which nun to give the baby to?”
“Well, no, but…”
“Did he know there was one more baby than expected?”
Dagon was looking a little ashamed. “No…”
“Well then, near as I can tell it was an honest mistake and it’s already over with, no point in crying spilt...uh baby. Move on.”
All in all, this wasn’t entirely unexpected for some of the higher-up members of the Council. It was hard to imagine Lucifer putting much effort into being properly furious when there were so many bright and beeping things to be distracted by.
There was a giggle from one of the upper rows of the council hall. “Plus, it was pretty funny when you were opening up that portal to talk to Adam, but he closed it and you cracked your skull on the ceiling.” Amy said, grinning across the hall at Lucifer.
He scowled at her, but didn’t bother to threaten or attack her before he turned to Hastur, his voice turning cold and dangerous.
“Listen to me, Duke Hastur… I don’t want to hear any more of this. I know you’re all bent out of shape and huffy that you were outsmarted by a serpent, but get over it. He fried your slug-brained partner with what may actually be the oldest trick in the book; hey, it maybe even precedes the book and then tricked you into getting trapped on an ansaphone tape. I’m impressed with him. Let it go, do you understand? Or else we’ll have to find a replacement for you.”
Hastur wish he could stop shaking as Satan’s red eyes glared down at him. “Y-Yes, lord.” He said, bowing and backing away into the shadows.
Lucifer smiled wickedly. “Then it is settled. Anthony J. Crowley will replace Ligur in his position as a Duke of Hell.”
Silence rang throughout the hall in the aftermath of the decree. Then Lucifer leaned over to Murmur and whispered, “What does the J stand for, again?”
Murmur shrugged her spiked shoulders. “Uh… Anthony?”
“That’s his first name and it starts with an A...”
“Vincent?”
“That’s… That’s a V, Murmur.”
“Oh. I don’t know then.”
“Fantastic.” Lucifer sat back up again, waved his hand in dismissal of the council and resumed his game. [3]
---
Crowley slept in his flat again sometime around two weeks after the council meeting regarding his promotion that he hadn’t been invited to attend and wasn’t remotely aware of. He had been busy with minor acts of wickedness that mostly involved staying up all night and when he was finally able to relax, he was grateful that he hadn’t spared any expense in making his flat comfortable.
He woke up two days later, just before noon, a little earlier than he had intended, strangely feeling more tired than he did before he had gone to sleep. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in the blankets and doze off again. (It was too bad the twenty-first century was looking to be exciting. He almost felt like sleeping all the way through it.)
However, Crowley had things he should be doing, angels and people to annoy, so he chalked his tiredness up to winter’s approach and settled for gesturing making a vague gesture at the radiator, sending the flat’s temperature and humidity up to the approximate level of a sauna from the centre of the earth.
He slithered out the door of the bedroom when he realized three things: one, he had his wings out, two, his fingernails had been replaced with talons, and three, he was slithering instead of walking because his legs had been replaced by the lower half of a massive, black-scaled snake.
He barely had time to gape at himself when the clock radio burst to life with the alarm set for 12:00 and a radio DJ started ranting over some kind of call-in show about somebody’s “baby’s daddy.” Crowley stormed (quickly slithered, the heat was making him feel more energetic.) over to it, ready to rip it from the wall. He wasn’t in any mood for idle chatter, but as he grabbed it, the DJ’s nasal voice changed to something different entirely.
“Hey there, Crawleee...” Taunted the unmistakable voice of Haster from the radio.
“Hassssturrr!” Crowley said, unable to stop himself from neither hissing nor letting the name fade into a low, primal growl.
“Heh, all excited over yer promotion, eh?” The voice said, barely disguising his glee.
“Promotion?” Crowley snarled into the radio, sparks flying as his claws dug into the
speakers. “What did you do to me, Hassstur?!”
“I didn’t do nuffink. You was the one that dumped holy water on Ligur and that means you take his place as a Duke. All I did do was make some suggestions to the clerk at the body shop on what your new form would look like. I think it suits you jus’ perfectly, you bloody serpent bas-”
The rest of Hastur’s sentence was cut off by a crackle of static and the crunch of metal as Crowley crushed the radio in his hands and ripped it apart. Then, shaking the bits of metal and plastic of his hands (claws) he slithered into the living room, took a deep breath and swore very, very loudly in a language that had been virtually unheard of on Earth for the past 3000 years. Luckily, just as there are noises too high and too low for humans to hear, Crowley’s scream of rage was too loud to be heard by anybody, save for a man in a bookshop in Soho, who immediately began wondering when Crowley was going to drop by and complain in person. [4]
Sure enough, after Aziraphale’s ears had stopped ringing, the phone began to. Aziraphale took a deep breath and answered it, expecting to be beset by shouting. Instead, the voice on the other line was hoarse, hissing, growing and undeniably depressed.
“Asssiraphale?”
“Yes, Crowley?”
“I’ve lost my legsss.”
“… You what?”
“No legsss… Not really thrrrilled with these handsss, either…” the voice glumly admitted.
“Shall I come over, dear?”
There was a noncommittal hiss/grunt, which Aziraphale took as an affirmative.
“Is it too early for wine?”
“Not for me, angel...”
Aziraphale arrived some thirty minutes later and entered the flat, then nearly screamed in horror. Luckily, he caught himself in time and managed to avoid making the miserable demon even more depressed. [5]
What Aziraphale recognized as a bit more scaly-than-usual Crowley was lying listlessly on the sofa, wearing a long, half-unbuttoned black shirt, the back of which was ripped by the wings closed against him like a blanket. What had become of Crowley’s lower half was stretched out on the rest of the sofa and slumped on the floor.
“I appreciate you not ssscreaming out loud, Angel.”
Oh dear. Crowley had noticed.
“I… You know it... Erm… Hmm.” The angel dithered for a moment, before finally settling on a comforting phrase. “It’s not so bad.”
Crowley gave him a blank stare, hidden behind his sunglasses, though they seemed rather arbitrary at the moment.
“Asssiraphale, look at me. Not ssso bad?” he mimicked.
Under normal circumstances, Aziraphale might have been offended at Crowley’s mocking, but this was a unique situation, to say the least. He’d let Crowley off the hook this time. Aziraphale took a seat on the small sofa not occupied by snake tail.
“Er… Do you know what happened?” he asked, hoping to be able to help. If it was just some kind of allergic reaction, Aziraphale could probably find out how to fix it. Some kind of Occult Benadryl, perhaps.
“I wasss promoted.” Crowley spat, lips curling and revealing dagger-sharp teeth. “I got sssuckered in to being a Duke when I melted Ligurrr all over my offisss rug. And thissssss,” he glared at his hands for a moment. “Is Hasssturrr’ssss idea of a joke.”
“Oh!” Aziraphale said, trying desperately to brighten the mood, “You’re a Duke of Hell now? That’s very impressive.”
Crowley gave him another stare.
“Oh… you’re not going to be called Below, are you?” Aziraphale asked, nervousness seeping into his voice.
“Not for anything permanent, luckily. I was watching the newsss and Belial interrupted to congratulate me.” Crowley said, “They’re content to leave me be. I’ll probably only be called down for important meetingsss.”
“Ah. Well, that’s not so… It could be worse.” Aziraphale corrected himself.
“Hsss.” Said Crowley.
After a few minutes of nothing but the rattling of an overworked radiator and the occasional thump of Crowley’s tail tapping the floor, Aziraphale again started to try and cheer Crowley up.
“Let’s open up the wine.” Aziraphale said as he miracled two glasses and starting to pour. “It’s a…”
“I don’t care if you’ve just brought a bottle of pure ethanol at this point.” Crowley said, taking a glass and downing in a single swallow, then holding out the glass again.
“Seems a bit hot in here, doesn’t it?” Fill the glass.
“It’sss fine to me.” Drink.
“It’s a lovely day out. Nice and brisk, lovely autumn colours. Maybe we should go and feed the ducks.” Fill the glass.
“I am not going outside like this. I’m worried I’d try and eat a baby or something.” Drink.
“The hissing seems to be getting better.” Aziraphale said as he simply handed Crowley the bottle.
“Sssort of.” He answered and took another drink.
Aziraphale kept madly searching for subjects that would distract Crowley, who had taken to staring at his hands and glaring at them. Sometimes, they would change back to looking like they were before, but they would turn back into claws again when he stopped concentrating.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, finally, snatching on to a straw after dismissing another in his search for ideas for conversation.
“Yesss?”
“Have you ever eaten any rodents?”
Crowley sat up a little. “What?”
“I’m only asking because there’s a bit of an infestation of mice in the shop and I was hoping that you could take care of it. I’m not exactly comfortable with hiring an exterminator and you’d get a decent meal out of it.”
Crowley let out a snarl that was very nearly laughter. “Angel, did you just asssk me to kill and eat a bunch of harmlessss mice?”
“They are not harmless; they get into everything, including the books! I think that it’s a perfectly reasonable favour to ask of a friend who has been turned into a giant, demonic serpent.”
“I am not going to eat your infestation, who knowsss where they’ve been. Get rid of them on your own!”
“I don’t think you’re being very reasonable, dear boy. I know you’re a regular in that pet shop down the road from the bookshop and you don’t have any pets or even carnivorous plants.”
Crowley gaped at Aziraphale, furiously and hissed. “I am not a regular at that pet sssshop and I do not eat anything that comesss from it.”
“Don’t try and fib to me, dear boy.” Said Aziraphale in a light tone. “I’ve seen you come out with air-holed cardboard boxes and yet I never see you purchase anything to house the creatures in, so I can only assume…”
Crowley crossed his arms sulkily and hissed. “It wasss only once!”
“I see your car there at least once a month.”
“It’sss only once a month, then.”
Aziraphale smiled. “Then I’m only asking you to perform a service and you reap the rewards that you would normally pay for! You know, maybe Hastur thought he was being helpful and that this…” He gestured at Crowley “would make it easier for you to catch them on your own.”
Aziraphale ducked and narrowly avoided getting a face full of demon talons. Perhaps he had gone too far.
“Come now, dear boy. Let’s go for a walk and you can clear your head. I promise I will make sure you don’t do anything unsavory.”
“I am not going out like thisss, Angel.”
“Nobody has to see you.”
“I can sssee me.”
Aziraphale was beginning to get frustrated. It was understandable for Crowley to be upset, but now he was just feeling sorry for himself. He conjured another bottle of wine.
“Crowley, I think…”
There was a sudden flare of fire and Crowley was gone, leaving nothing but waves of heat obscuring the living room.
“Crowley?”
The flat was silent and empty, save for the hushed rustling of houseplants that were almost worried about what happened to their demonic dictator. They needed him if they were ever going to sort out that prick of a bottlebrush across the road.
Aziraphale looked around, then opened the new bottle and poured himself a drink.
~
The bottle was very nearly empty when Crowley suddenly reappeared on the sofa, looking no worse, but no better and slightly dazed.
“Well?” Aziraphale asked.
“Ngkssss.” Crowley grunted as he collapsed back on to the cushions. “Apparently, that’sss how I’m going to be called for Council Meetings. Jussst ‘poof!’ and I’m there.”
Aziraphale stood and sat on the floor next to where Crowley was sprawled and gave him an awkward pat on the back.
“Did anything exciting happen?” he asked.
“During the meeting? No. I only had to go because it was my firssst. It was just imps complaining about wagess and unions. Nobody was paying attention and HE just sat around playing his video game until he got too annoyed and turned the leader into a pillar of sssalt. After the meeting, though…” Crowley’s voice became gleeful, “I think Hassstur might be regretting getting me ssstuck with thisss body.”
Crowley turned to Aziraphale with a sharp, monstrous grin.
Aziraphale was almost afraid to ask. Almost.
“Why? What did you do?”
“Carefully, and with sssurgical precision I might add, I removed his face. Turns out that these clawsss are good for sssomething,” Crowley reached into his tattered shirt and pulled out a slightly bloody stretch of demon skin.
If angels could get sick, Aziraphale would have looked slightly green.
“Relax, Angel.” Crowley said before Aziraphale could start nauseously reprimanding him over turning the other cheek and so on and vanishing the skin into thin air. “I told him that he could have it back as sssoon as I figured out how to change into a less unssssubtle form.”
“And how long do you think that will be?”
Crowley shrugged, staring at one of his hands again and making the claws shrink down into fingers. They stayed that way.
A serpentine sigh. “Not exactly sssoon, but I’m sure I’ll manage, Angel.”
Aziraphale nodded and looked at the green-glowing clock that sat on top of the television.
“Hmm…”
Crowley sat up slightly, “What isss it now?”
“Oh, nothing… There’s a book auction and they have some early editions of Milton going for a very reasonable price and…”
“Go ahead.” Crowley said, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you away from Milton.”
Aziraphale stood for an awkward moment before deciding. “You’re quite sure you’ll be all right?”
“Yeah, yeah, Angel. Just go do whatever it is you do to those booksss.” Crowley said, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, as long as you avoid the temptation to do whatever it is that you do to those poor plants.” Aziraphale said with a smile before he disappeared out the door.
~
A few days later, there was a loud screech of tyres outside the bookshop and Aziraphale was happy to see Crowley stride and not slither into the shop.
“Feeling better, dear?”
“Mmhmm.” Crowley muttered, leaning up against the desk. “Can’t quite get the fangs completely gone yet, but I’ll either get used to them like I did the eyes and the tongue or I’ll figure it out eventually.”
Aziraphale nodded. “I don’t suppose you feel like having dinner at the Ritz tonight.”
“Why not? It’s not like -” Crowley suddenly snarled and leapt over the desk, slamming a hand down on the floor next to where Aziraphale had fallen in an attempt to not be crushed by a mad demon.
Crowley stood up and grinned at whatever was clamped in his fist, breathing predatorily.
Aziraphale stared at him and dusted himself off as he rose. “Crowley, what just happened? What are you holding?” He asked, peering at Crowley’s hand, then jerking back. “Ugh! Oh dear…”
Crowley’s grin faded as he realized what he had just done. He looked up at Aziraphale and tried to hold on to a shred of dignity.
“… Catch!”
Aziraphale yelped and cowered from the tiny mouse Crowley had thrown at him.
[1] He was playing Phoenix Wright and wished the meeting was over so he could play the game properly and yell “Objection!” into the microphone.
[2] Lucifer had not been as angry as some might think over the sudden non-Apocalypse. He lacked the attention-span to stay angry very long and two of the things he hadn’t been looking forward to were an eternity of reruns and no new Harvest Moon games.
[3] Lucifer also tended to be nicer to the few females that were in the council, despite the occasional complete lack of understanding the English alphabet. Many thought it was because he was trying to “get into their pants.” And that was true.
[4] Technically, there was a second person to hear it, a young woman whose grandmother was one of the nephilim. She sensed the language being spoken and suddenly developed a minor nosebleed, then called her mother to ask exactly what her great-grandmother had been up to.
[5] Aziraphale also resisted the urge to turn the bottle of wine into a flaming, holy bottle of wine and then to attack Crowley with it. Angels tend to have an instinct to attack any arch demon they come across and Crowley certainly qualified as one now.