Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/876997.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/
      Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Crowley/Alistair, Crowley/Meg_Masters, Crowley_&_Azazel, Crowley/Lilith,
      Crowley_&_Growly_(Supernatural)
  Character:
      Crowley_(Supernatural), Lilith_(Supernatural), Alistair_(Supernatural),
      Lucifer_(Supernatural), Lucifer_(Nick), Azazel_(Supernatural), Meg
      Masters, Meg_Masters_(Demon), Growly_(Supernatural), puppies_-_Character
  Additional Tags:
      non-con, Whipping, Violence, underage_lilith_vessel, suggestions_of
      relationships, King_of_Hell, Puppies, Hell, Fluff, heartwarming_end
  Series:
      Part 5 of Crowley_Collections
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-09 Chapters: 5/5 Words: 6174
****** Oh, I Just Can't WAIT to be King! ******
by AndeliaMaddock
Summary
     Crowley made it to the top over the bodies of his enemies and all
     potential rivals.
     But he wasn't always the top dog in Hell.
     So how did he get treated by superiors before he ascended to King of
     the whole damned thing? Not so well.
Notes
     Written to the prompt
     99. in the beginning
     of y-gallery's 100 sexual themes challenge.
     This chapter contains Alistair and implied Crowley/Alistair.
***** All things must Begin *****
He recalls it with vivid details every now and then. Of course, he never
intends to drift into that line of thought, but his control only lasts so long
and he slips back. He imagines that other demons have similar issues, but he
doesn't know. Pride, or maybe arrogance, keeps him from asking.
 
"You know, a clever man such as the one you were, you would think you'd have
given your soul for more than a few inches." The slender demon tapped along a
clean metal tray until he came upon a straight razor. He smiled and nodded.
Thin fingers lifted the instrument and examined it in the too-bright light. "I
think this will do nicely," the soft voice rasped. "Don't you?" He turned to
his victim.
Fergus MacLeod didn't understand it. Well, no, he did. But he couldn't
comprehend it. Hellfire and brimstone and so much more pain than he could ever
have understood as a human. Every day, every night, every instant, he felt so
much weight bearing down on his soul.
His torturer sighed and shook his head at a slow disappointed rate. "Fer-gus, I
did ask you a question. Please, pay more attention. Focus!"
Bony fingers pressed the sharp razor to his throat. This time, he knew that
wasn't a question meant unanswered. Fergus inhaled slowly, "Yes, it should do
nicely." His tattered soul didn’t need to breath, but he felt it calm him.
That smile punished and promised reward all at the same time.
So many things did, here in Hell. Behave poorly to a superior, be punished more
severely. Say what needed said, receive a slighter level of pain. Acquiescence
allowed descension into demonhood, which allowed ascension among the ranks if
you were clever. Fergus had seen that.
The razor slipped easily through the first few layers of skin along his
shoulder blade. Precise movement took off an exact amount of skin on each
stroke.
Though he screamed, he did not struggle. Fergus did not shift and did not truly
fight. He gave in. Pain he allowed. He accepted the sheer gripping agony.
Because he knew. He had seen others become demons, had followed the patterns of
how it worked. How they changed.
Fergus wasn't a quivering town idiot. He wanted that. Demons were treated,
oddly, better than the souls to be tortured. Souls were amusement. Demons had
roles.
The razor moved to the other shoulder now. Alistair liked symmetry. He liked to
make art with his souls. Between strokes, the blood was cleaned away with a wet
cloth.
"Do you know why I clean my blade so often?"
Fergus opened his eyes and took in the demon's calm demeanor. Always so calm.
"I haven't a clue, S-sir."
That brought another smile. "Well, as a tailor likes to make sure his work
looks neat, tidy, so do I. And you do know what they say, don't you?" The razor
continued on its path of evenness.
Fergus grit his teeth and keened. Please. He only dared not reply for the few
seconds it took to catch a deep breath. "I am quite sure I don't."
"Really now? Then you don't know cleanliness is next to Godliness?" The laugh
was soft and it trembled on the way out. Everything was so peculiar with his
torturer.
He couldn't force his cracked voice and dry throat to laugh, though that might
get him points with his torturer. Agreeing with him, not fighting, that all
helped.
"No? Mmm. Perhaps that joke was a bit ahead of its time. Ah well." He took
another wet rag from a tub near the metal instrument tray. “I’m certainly not
one for comedy. My artform is much sweeter I think.”
Fergus heard the sloshing about of the old rag going into the dirty water bin.
"You know what makes me different from other demons?"
"You have white eyes?" He did have a guess on that. He'd seen those eyes flash.
Unfortunately, that was usually not a good sign.
"Well, yes. In addition to that." A gentle cloth wiped blood away from Fergus'
nude body. "Do you know the secret?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Oh, don't be afraid of ignorance or questions. They lead on step closer to
knowledge, after all." Alistair beamed down. "You're clever. You like to learn.
You'll go far with that attitude. But I digress. Fergus, what makes me
different, is, well. I don't hate. Not you, not those beneath me, not those
above. This isn't about hate. It's about art. I'm an artist, and you are my
gorgeous canvas. Someday, perhaps, you'll even be a pupil." The face, with taut
skin and skeletal lines so clear under it, moved right above Fergus'.
"Perhaps someday soon?"
"Ahaha. Soon? But I rather enjoy making you beautiful beneath the blade. I
suppose you are in a hurry to become the artist that suits your talents though,
aren't you?"
Truth be told, no. He didn't see it as an art. Not even remotely. But this was
that offer, or close enough, that he'd heard made to the others before they
turned. "I am. I think I could really make a difference down here."
"Oh, I have no doubt." Alistair pressed an almost chaste kiss to Fergus' lips,
then stroked down his bare chest. "I've been ignoring here. That just won't
do."
Damn. He shut his eyes and nodded. No, it wouldn't do. Lord only knew Alistair
couldn't leave his chest alone during this torture session. That would be
uncouth, or some such nonsense. No doubt, he’d go lower. No mercy for the
wicked.
He grit his teeth again when the cuts started, but he couldn't help it. The
flaying got the better of him most of the time and this was no different.
"Please! Alistair! Please!" He couldn't. He couldn't pretend it didn't hurt,
couldn't not fight, he was breaking here! Why couldn't he do it right? He'd
seen the ways they did it, how come he couldn't?
"Please?"
"I don't want to be like this."
"Are you letting go? So soon? I must say, that both pleases and surprises. You
want to change?"
"I want to."
"It's a goal?"
"It's a goal."
"You'll be my pupil?"
"I'll do it. I'll do it all. Just please. Alistair. Teach me, I can't take it."
"That's a shame. I can't be the one to turn you. You do that yourself. And I
don't think you've learned enough under the blade yet to be skilled above it."
He sobbed. Openly. Blindly. The bright light and tears made Alistair's figure
so blurry, but he saw the form moving. Watched it clean and take care of
instruments, before making another selection. "And as much as I have hopes for
taking you on as a pupil, bright as you are..."
Another reason he couldn't. Another reason he was a failure in this one goal he
had. Just like he’d been a failure in life. A no one. Nothing.
"I'm afraid you never would find torture an artform. I like you, but I know
you. And I am an artist. It's not just a tool, Fergus. It's beauty in pain.
No... I'm afraid another occupation would be more suited for you."
"What, a servant?" Those pathetic no-mind demons? He didn't want to be nothing
but fodder. He had plans, damn it! He had aspirations! If he couldn't be much
in life, by Lucifer, he would be in death!
"Of course not! Not the regular sort anyway. I wouldn't take an interest if you
weren't exquisite. I thought you knew that. No, Fergus, you mustn't see my
torture as without meaning."
What meaning? He shut his eyes again. He dared not look at the tool those hands
selected this time.
"You see, during our sessions, our talks, I get to know you more intimately
than anyone ever will again. Ever. I know you. I feel everything you feel."
That was highly doubtful.
"I'd like to keep you and train you further, but you're so much better suited
talking. Working with others. I've seen it, when you get put in your cell. You
can charm everyone. I like that, but it's not for this line of work, not if you
don't find yourself suited to it to begin with."
He would scream his organs out if Alistair didn't get on with it. "Please, just
tell me. Tell me how."
"I'm thinking... Sales."
That was definitely a dagger gliding over his stomach, which fluttered rapidly
for a few moments before he willed it to relax. Relaxing meant the pain was
less and the knife didn't usually cut as deep with this demon to guide it.
"Have you considered that field?"
"I didn't realize I could."
"Oh, yes. Why, if you did happen to turn, and soon, I happen to know of a very
intelligent trainer I could send you to. She's looking for a good salesman. I
think you could be the demon for the job."
Fergus blinked tears away and finally managed to look up and see the other. "Is
that so?"
"Oh, very much so." White eyes flashed. “Though, it’s quite a painful process.
Quite. The painful process.”
“Please.”
“If you,” Alistair sliced against Fergus’ flaccid length, “insist.”
~~--~~
He didn't hate Alistair. He never had. Even on his worst days and nights,
Alistair wasn't malicious. Not to him, at least. Certainly, he'd heard other
souls screeching obscenities, begging with fear and pain. Not talking, just
fighting. Even with those ones, Alistair was always calm.
Crowley never had hated Alistair, and Alistair had never hated him. In fact, if
he were to thank any one demon, any demon at all, he'd thank Alistair. Often,
actually, he had. The position didn't have to go to Crowley, and the white-eyed
demon didn't have to reveal a quicker way to get to his goal. He could be a
grunt right now, barely thinking, eyes unblinking and inky black.
No, in fact, quite the opposite of hate, of all the demons he had a bit of
fondness for his torturer from way back. Even the times he'd slipped up and not
quite made sales, Alistair had been the one to... correct him. He actually
appreciated it. The demon taught him so many things he might not otherwise ever
learn.
It was more than a shame, really, that Sam had blown him to bits.
But he wouldn't mourn. Just another demon out of the way in his ascension
through the ranks. Azazel. Alistair. Someday Lilith. And he hoped, he really
hoped, that Lucifer never made it onto the table. But that would be taken care
of too, should the time come.
Being King of Crossroads was high, certainly, but he was a demon with goals.
With aspirations. Nobody and nothing would stop him from getting there.
Eventually Alistair would have had to die anyway, just so Crowley could be
certain he wouldn't try to fight the new world order planned.
He glanced in the mirror and straightened his tie. Another day, another soul to
acquire. Crowley showed his most charming smile, nodded to the mirror, and
answered the Crossroads Call.
***** Rivalry *****
Chapter Summary
     Azazel and his daughter (soon to be in Meg Masters) don't believe
     that Crowley's heart is really in the right place.
     So they are going to put it there.
Chapter Notes
     Written to the prompt
     85. Rivalry
     of y-gallery's 100 sexual themes challenge.
His superiors notice him more now. Promotions come for him as quickly as the
souls do. He’s come a long way from being a low-ranking salesman.
Being that he’s not a fool, he doesn't confess as to how he has knowledge of
certain spells, certain sigils, and a certain Enochian language that most
demons could never even come close to understanding the finer intricacies of.
Then again, they are generally pleased with his work, and don't care much where
the knowledge comes from, as long as he doesn't get angels cracking down on
him.
He got angels going down on him in other ways, truth be told. It’s the
innocent, the incorruptible, the high and mighty ones he enjoys bringing down
the most. Nothing’s better.
But she notices him, even though he hasn’t made any mistakes. She always just
looks at him.
Crowley would even say she hates him, from the souls he collects, to the way he
chooses to spend his free-time not destroying every mortal he comes in contact
with. He could be doing nothing, and that would be one thing too much for her.
Today the black-eyed bitch glared a bit too long. He moved directly beside her
and pinned her roughly to the stony wall. "I wish you'd tell me what your
problem is."
"My problem is you. You're not true to our cause."
"Whatever do you mean by that?"
"You don't really believe in Lucifer, do you? That he's our savior. I see the
way you are, the way you roll your filthy eyes. You're only in this for
yourself. There are roaches I’d rather work with."
"I do my job, sweetheart, that's all anybody can ask of me. And no one makes
you work with me. We’re in different departments."
"Father could ask a whole lot more. You know it and I do."
"What, are you going to tell on me to Daddy?” He snickered and ground against
her body. “You have no proof I don't believe. Because, obviously, I do. You
can't get as high up as I have without believing."
"You're sneaky. You could."
Crowley had to smirk at that. Yes. He could. He pressed both wrists above her
head and leaned in to bite at her. A moment later, he shifted just a bit to
whisper in her ear. "I'm injured. Really. I thought we understood each other
better than this." He shifted one leg up between hers and rubbed hard. "I
suppose not though. Perhaps I'll have to make it clear to you, Whore."
The look of satisfaction in her eyes, coupled with the increase in temperature
behind him, clued him in. Bitch set him up.
He licked his lips and glanced over his shoulder to the general. "Azazel. Fancy
seeing you down here. I thought you were on a mission. Big stuff happening.
Exciting stuff, isn't it?"
Yellow eyes focused on him.
Crowley sighed, pulled from the general's daughter, and brushed himself off.
Nothing about this would be pleasant, but he had no choice but submit. Someday
though... "I suppose you heard all that?"
"I kind of hope it's not true. Personally, I don't want to upset Lilith and
destroy her highest ranking salesman, but it's just incredibly disheartening.
You. Not being true to the cause? I never saw it coming." He grinned and
pressed Crowley against the wall. "But I'm sure I can help you see the error in
your ways."
The bitch smirked.
Crowley eyed her, then returned a slightly meek gaze to Azazel's. "Of course,
Sir. Whatever you think is best. Though, I can assure you, I do believe. I just
don't focus so strongly on the cause because I'm working so hard to help build
your army's ranks. After all. You do need the black-eyed grunts in your plans,
don't you? "
She grunted. "Racist."
"I hardly meant it that way."
Azazel laughed. "Children, children, settle down." Fingers turned to claws and
dug into his flesh and bones. "Why don't you come with me, Crowley? Lots of
things to discuss. Like your part in all this." White teeth flashed a grin that
Crowley never liked to see from the tyrant king.
Crowley pushed back the fear and composed himself with a heavy swallow and nod.
"Yes, of course."
The daughter turned to follow, but Azazel removed one hand from Crowley and
waved for her to move back. "Just us boys, dear. Don't worry, I'm sure you two
will have all the alone time you need soon enough. But I've got plans."
Insulting, humiliating, and threatening with a smile. Azazel really was the
full demon package. Dead shame those attentions were set on him at the moment.
Azazel lead him to his private office, smiling all the way in that smug bastard
self-satisfied way he had.
Crowley wasn't a simpering idiot. He was going to be broken into at least a
little, probably a lot, by their unholy leader. Probably he’d find himself
demoted, despite his excellent sales and abilities. Loyalists were the only
ones who made it very far. Well, if , he was racist, the rest of them? They
were bigoted against his religious affiliations! Not that he could say it. That
would only tighten the metaphorical noose.
The general nodded at a leather chair situated across from his desk, then moved
to seat himself at his leather throne. "Now, Crowley, my daughter has become
very concerned that you're not true to the cause. My cause. The real deal. I
can't help but think, bright young fellow like you, with a thinking cap tight
on his noggin, that you'd just need proof. I could just beat it into you. Make
an example out of a non-believer. But where would that get us?"
"Nowhere, I imagine."
"Exactly! See, there's that thinking cap. Really, genius the way you've been
climbing. Lots of demons are jealous. So here's the deal, and I know you're
fond of those, I'm going to give you a chance to see proof. See reasons for
this great big plan Lucifer cooked up for us all. For me and mine. And you're
going to give your best to the cause."
"I'm sensing and ‘or’ there..."
"Or, I make just the biggest example out of your non-believing filthy dirty
soul and every demon around either turns into a believer just like that, or
they pretend because they're afraid. Fear is a powerful motivator, don't you
think?"
"Of course. It really is."
"So, have I made a believer out of you? Do you feel the proof?" Azazel tilted
his eyes and grinned wide. "Come on, let's hear a Hallelujah for Daddy rising
from the pit."
"Hallelujah. May he rise quick and bring us all to glory." He tried. He really
tried to keep the sarcasm out. But even though he kept his tone even, he knew
it betrayed him when it came right down to it.
"I'd work on the battlecry, champ." Azazel stood and slowly strode back to
Crowley. He pat Crowley on a shoulder and shook him just a bit. Fingers dug
into flesh once more, and the demon leaned in. Hushed, he said, "Because if I
don't believe that you believe, the next time I summon you here, I'll show you
things Alistair never would. Got it?"
"You're quite clear, Sir."
"Perfect. Now go on and get 'em. We do need those souls, after all. Big fights
coming up. Big wins." The general pushed him lightly towards the door. "I'm
counting on you."
"I won't let you down."
"I hope, for your sake. I like you. But even your hot sales won’t keep you safe
next time. I’d rather believers with less sales than non-believers who get
their pretty picture up on the Employee of the Month wall each month It’s about
synergy! A common goal. Don’t slow the group down.” There were those sharp
teeth, flashing in the firelight.
He didn't even try to get the last word in. Crowley nodded solemnly to the
general on his way out, then stalked down the hall.
Bitch set him up, and her bastard father would knock him down if he didn't play
better. Well fine. Crowley hadn't advanced this far without being clever. He'd
act, and they would believe it. They would have the perfect little Loyalist
King of the Crossroads. He'd even get a devil's trident. Start wearing that
sometimes.
To Azazel, the daughter, and his Special Little Nitwit children he said, to
Hell with them.
But he'd be Loyal. He'd be strong and smart and see the proof. Proof that
Azazel was a tyrant and lunatic, but that was enough proof to keep him in line
for now.
***** Whip *****
Chapter Summary
     Lilith likes to play.
     Crowley is her game.
     He better play nice.
Chapter Notes
     Written to the prompt
     9. Whip
     Of Y-gallery's 100 sexual themes challenge
     There is implied non-con/dub-con against Crowley in the end, as well
     as implied underage sex (Lilith likes to be in little girls.) read at
     own risk.
Lilith wasn't pleased with him.
Had he even done anything? Crowley would say no, no he hadn't.
Then again, it turned out that was the reason. Apparently he was to stop the
Winchesters (and risk his own precious neck) from advancing things along as
quickly as they were.
So here they were. A little girl with white eyes and a smile that didn't betray
what she had planned as much as past experience with her did. She sat down on
his lap and reached up. One pale hand stroked at his face and she chuckled,
deep, like a truly happy little child.
Unpleasant. It would all be unpleasant.
"Crowley, the Winchesters are ruining plans. You're letting them ruin them.
Haven't we talked about this?"
"Yes, I suppose we have." He leaned back in the chair and looked straight
ahead.
The bitch liked being a little girl, and he hated it when the form of a little
fricking girl punished him. But he would be a good right-hand man, and he'd
take it and strive to do better. Until the bitch was ultimately dead.
"Then how come you're letting me down?"
He sucked in just a tiny amount of bottom lip, then released and let out a
drawled, "Because I just haven't learned better yet." Here it was. The bottom
line. She liked honesty, and she liked humbleness. It was humiliating. But that
was the point.
She wouldn't kill him. Not here. Not yet.
"Someone should teach you then, shouldn't they?"
"Yes, I believe they should." He didn't dare look at those eyes directly. He
knew where they would be focused and that would make him falter. But he caught
a glimpse of them.
She looked from his face, where her hand still stroked one cheek, to the
wardrobe nearby. Then back to him. An easy smile spread over her pale features
and she leaned up. "And who should teach you the lesson to not disappoint me so
very very much, Crowley?"
He was going to dance over her bones. Sing a jolly tune, yes, he'd do it all
when she died. "I believe that should be you." Crowley smiled down at her. So
small, but so much higher than him, and frankly? That was insulting.
"Mmmm. I think you're right!" Chipper, she scooted off his lap and moved to the
wardrobe. "But what should I do with you?"
Not the whip. He hated the whip. Pick the bloody knife, he took that a lot
better. At least he could tell where the marks were going most of the time,
even blindfolded.
"I think I'll use this!" She pulled out the whip.
Well alright then. Crowley nodded. "Excellent choice, Lilith."
She smirked at him and snapped it in the air above them. The sharp crack
brought a full on grin. "Undress. I know how you like to keep your clothes nice
and not in tatters."
He'd prefer to keep his skin nice and not in tatters, but he stood and began to
unbutton for her. His wishes weren't important. She wanted to get off. She
wanted to punish. Obviously he was the scapegoat for the problems their kind
faced today.
"You're letting things slip, Crowley." She moved behind him when he let the
shirt and pants drop to the floor.
Crowley glanced back at her and swallowed heavily. "Apologies, Lilith."
"Apologies don't fix anything." A pout and a stomp. "Now, bend over. Spare the
rod, spoil the Crowley, after all!"
Crowley nodded and acquiesced to the little bitch. Fingers gripped the posts at
the foot of the bed, half to help keep himself steady, half so he didn’t
strangle the demon’s vessel. Some fantasies he just couldn’t enjoy right then.
Such a tiny body. Lilith couldn't get the best angle up further on his back, so
he could discount-- Shit! Bloody hell! Crowley inhaled deeply through his nose
and let the breath back out through his mouth. Too quick though, she hit again,
again, again. He didn't have time to calm down, didn't have time to make
himself keep the tears of pain in. The screams tore from his throat and burned
his ears.
She slowed down, took her time now. Picked spot after spot, with a minute or so
in between with the childlike form and a soft voice that reverberated around
him with sharp scolds.
He would pick apart her vessel's body when she was finally dead. He'd ruin her.
But for now, he behaved like a good little toy soldier and counted the bloody
marks.
"Twenty!" But no, she did three more, or was it four, just as quick as he
caught his breath to say that number. By the time he was at "twenty-three!" She
had hit him at least three more times.
"Start over!"
The count was apparently incorrect when he went to "twenty-eight!" or perhaps
she was just in a more vicious mood than usual.
Crowley shut his eyes, gripped the posts until his fingers were whiter, and
started the count once more. He'd be without skin on his entire back of his
body by the end of this. Already, blood streamed down in crimson rivulets down
his body. But he kept counting, he took it like a damn man.
He lost count, or was lied to on it, a total of five times. Or was it six? He
couldn't even keep track of the big ones anymore, his mind stayed on the one
track. Count. Each. Hit. Out loud!
"Have you learned your lesson?"
"Yes! Yes, yes, yes I have, oh I have." He felt his sweaty grip on the bedposts
slipping, but he knew from seeing examples that you never collapsed before she
was finished. He had managed to become her right-hand man by learning from the
mistakes of others.
"Do you want me to forgive you?"
"Yes, please, yes."
"Alright. Lay down and we'll talk it all over." She cleaned the whip off on the
bedspread, then turned back to the wardrobe to put it away.
Crowley shut his eyes and crawled into bed, on his stomach.
"You're like a snake. A pathetic little writhing snake. But you know, He caught
them all as a snake, so maybe that's forgivable. You're a bit pudgy to be a
very good evil snake though." She moved beside him on the bed and leaned over
to pat his backside.
He would find a pretty and perfect little girl who looked just like this
vessel, and soon. That girl would learn the power of the whip and how quickly
it could make even the most hardened demon quiver and tremble. She would likely
only be able to count to a few.
"Crowley?"
"Yes, Lilith?" The shake in his voice had almost left, thank Hell.
"What are you thinking about?"
He'd tie her down and take her over and over again. He wasn't one for torture
most of the time, but there were always exceptions. There were always things he
wanted to do to those who crossed him, or who happened to look like those who
had crossed him, or who were convenient when he was displeased.
"I'm thinking about how to best please you and keep the Winchesters from
ruining your plans."
"Very good. Keep thinking about that, and you might even stay my favorite pudgy
little demon." She leaned in and hugged him tight. Blood spread over her white
dress and the cotton ground into his bloody back. Lilith smooshed her face
against Crowley’s and pressed a kiss to him. Tiny fingers stroked along his
sides.
"I'd like that ." And he'd call the girl Lilith. He didn't care the name, or
how quickly she passed on, he'd call her Lilith and make her pay. Because
Heaven and Hell knew he wouldn't be able to personally do that to Lilith and
last very long.
But there were always substitutions to be made when you couldn't quite have
what you wanted. Crowley would be satisfied.
Lilith kissed him more insistently and rolled him onto his back. Small hands
ripped her dress up over her head and tossed it away with a little smirk. “You
were punished. Now it’s playtime again.”
Playtime. Like a little bloody Raggedy doll. But then, she didn’t think much
more of him than that, did she?
“Of course, Mistress. Let’s play.”
***** Blood *****
Chapter Summary
     Lucifer doesn't appreciate Crowley's efforts to overthrow the current
     demonic hierarchy.
     Crowley is one hundred percent done being every Meg, Azazel, and
     Lilith's bitch. Not that he would ever be able to defeat Lucifer.
Chapter Notes
     Written (loosely) to the prompt
     81. Blood
     of y-gallery's 100 sexual challenges theme
He isn't one to show fear. When he does admit, perhaps someone has one over
him, he presents it as simple facts. Sometimes, if another lives, those they
oppose die. So if anyone in power opposes him, they must die. That was all it
was about, really. Survival. It wasn’t fear.
This is what he explains it as when he speaks to the Winchesters about Lucifer.
He does not show fear, he does not tremble. If anything, he gets angry at their
usual stupidity and arrogance and sends them on their way.
But Crowley does feel fear.. It goes right deep down to his guilty filthy soul.
He is not as cowardly and spineless as a great many of his demon peers and
underlings are, but he does know that sensation. It drips down his spine and
fills in all the cracks and holes where his soul has long been shriveled and
all but dead. He feels it in the darkness and in the light. Lucifer knows. Like
Azazel and Lilith knew, so does the great angel.
Though he warned them not to miss, it did not matter. It didn't even come close
to mattering, because apparently Lucifer is one of the five creatures in all of
creation that doesn't die with a bullet from the damn colt.
The fear solidifies in his stomach and he turns from his chair to face it. Face
the fear.
Lucifer smiles at him. What this vessel's name again? Nick? Yes, Nick. Nick is
peeling and burning up from the inside, and that only adds to the twisted fear
in Crowley.
But always one to be composed, or so he likes to pretend, he simply nods.
"Would you care for a drink? Craig, aged 45 years. Very good quality." He lifts
the nearly full bottle and thrusts it a bit towards his guest.
The smile haunts like hundreds of years of torture in Hell could never begin
to. He doesn’t say anything, though Crowley waits several seconds.
Crowley nods again. "Well, if you change your mind, don't hesitate to--"
"I would take a drink, yes." Lucifer smiles wider and moves to sit on the desk
beside Crowley's leather chair. He shrugs and takes a sip when it is offered.
"You know, for a treacherous demon who is on the run, trying to hide from all
of my many, many forces, you still manage to find nice places to live. Though,
for someone used to what you're used to, the comfort's you're used to, I don't
think that this is very nice for you. You're used to cushier, aren't you?"
Afraid and insulted, though Lucifer isn't wrong. Crowley smiles slightly and
offers another drink. "No, I'm not quite living in a hovel, but it's not what I
prefer."
Lucifer accepts it and hums a soft little haunting tune while tracing the rim
of the glass. "It burns going down. You know, I was trapped in the pit for so
long, and I come back and there are all these magnificent things, I mean
really. Humanity has so many ugly glaring flaws, you all do, but this?" He
glanced back to Crowley and downed the rest of it. "Well, it really warms my
heart. You know, it's a little known fact, but I actually am quite cold.
Everyone thinks it's Hellfire and Brimstone, but the facts are, I'm not hot at
all."
Crowley shrugged. "Misinformation and time, it's funny how that contributes to
rumors."
"Yes, it is. Though, it's not misinformation that Bella gave you the Colt in
that trade before, is it?"
Crowley took a sip of his own very slowly draining glass. "Hardly
misinformation."
"Mm. Then, you gave Sam and Dean the Colt, or they stole it? Either you're a
treacherous traitor, a trait that would be quite damning for you, or you're an
incompetent demon and still very much so going to regret meeting me."
"Is that so? Just one or the other?"
"Pick one."
Icy cracks form on the crystal glass Lucifer holds. They spread slowly, but
they form all over the entire thing. Crowley can’t look away.
"Well, I suppose if I'm to pick one," Crowley furrowed his brows and took a
slow sip of his own glass, then rolled the last few drops around in the bottom
and studied them. "I suppose I would say I'm a traitor."
"I'm going to make every drop of blood in your body turn to acid. And keep you
alive forever, or until I tire of your presence in this universe." Lucifer
stood now and clapped an almost gentle hand on Crowley's thick shoulder. "I
hope you understand, I really don't want to do this. But it's quite necessary
to make examples out of dissenters."
"Yes, I believe that's what happened to you, isn't it?" Crowley leaned into the
touch. "Dissented from Heaven, tossed into the pit. Not so different, you and
I. And just as you don't kill so easily, I think you'll find I'm much the
same."
"Oh?" That smile was back.
Crowley tightened his resolve. "I can't kill you myself, oh no. But you know
what I am in addition to being a traitor to your agenda?"
"What's that?"
"I'm pyrokinetic."
"And I suppose you'll burn me?" There was a flicker of amusement behind the
contempt.
Crowley laughed. "Well, as you say, it burns going down. Especially with Holy
Oil added to the whole bottle." He tugged Lucifer down into a fiery kiss. He
withdrew a moment later with a smirk.
Lucifer's screams and promises of bleeding him dry, well, they were gone soon
enough. The fear they reignited in the formerly composed Crowley? Just enough
to keep him still a few seconds before he fled to another hiding place.
He only hoped the bloody Winchesters managed to put the damned angel back in
The Pit before Lucifer found him again, because he had every doubt in God's
Green Earth that the angel would have any sort of mercy. Then again, the brats
had managed to kill all his other enemies and competition, so why should he
assume they wouldn't now?
He knew which team he cheered for right then, and it wasn't the damn Loyalist
side.
***** Alone *****
Chapter Summary
     Crowley's top dog.
     Pretty much literally. Growly and pups don't mind though. They just
     like to have his bed.
Chapter Notes
     Written to the prompt
     41. Alone
     of Y-gallery's 100 sexual themes challenge
     Not sexual, just, you know, inspired by the word.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
41. Alone
Then there was one. He laughed and shook his head at it all. If he wasn’t the
one who’d made it in the end, he wouldn’t believe the whole thing.
Crowley lay back in his bed and idly pet through Growly’s soft fur. He stroked
along her flank and just stared up at the French molding. “Should send the
bloody idiots a thank you card. Nothing brought me up so quick as their
shenanigans in this whole mess. Then again,” he glanced down at Growly, “I’m
probably next on their list.”
Which was more than a little bit of the reason he wouldn’t give back Bobby’s
soul. Where would that put him in the whole grand scheme of things? Dead. Worse
than at the bottom.
No, no, he had to keep that soul. “They have their hands full with other things
anyway. We’ll just keep it that way. Really work them over. That’s the
difference between me and them. I know the Winchesters have it in them to do
anything. So I just have to always have the bigger threat to them someone who
isn’t me. That’s all.”
Eventually he’d take them out too. Soon, probably. He personally didn’t have
many threats, with all of Hell following his orders and most demons far less
powerful than he was.
Growly nuzzled closer and nipped at his neck.
He snorted and pat her a bit harder. “Now now. Daddy doesn’t want to have too
kick you out of bed.”
Three little puppies bounded in and jumped up onto the bed and piled up over
his chest and neck. Their yips brought more puppies on through the door and
they just had to follow suit.
He would never get the thick fur out of his Turkish robe.
Crowley laughed and tossed them to the side a bit, then rolled over them, “Oh,
you’re in a playful mood is it? Ohhh, don’t you get me started!”
They gnashed teeth and jumped up. Tiny barks sounded with each jump and attempt
to bite at his robe.
He pulled them all up into his arms and pressed them against their mother.
“Thought I told you to keep them off the bed. This isn’t a hotel. This is my
room, and my bed.”
Growly huffed and rolled onto her side. The pups immediately moved to start
nursing.
Maybe he wasn’t as alone as all that. Growly and hers weren’t competition. Yes.
He would keep these companions. Because as nice as it was to be alone most of
the time, he quite dreaded being lonely.
Crowley reached out and pet the rambunctious little ones. “We’re going to rule
the whole lot of it, Growly. You, me, and the kids.”
Chapter End Notes
     I tried to stay away from more fluff and Growly, but you know what?
     Screw that. Growly and pups are adorable and she sasses him non-
     verbally and he lets her in my mind and I love it.
     <3
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