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Well After The Beginning
Jul. 31st, 2023 07:09 pmThe demon had driven off, fury streaming behind him. It poisoned everyone the Bentley passed. Bitterness, betrayal, feelings Crowley hadn't felt since he'd fallen. Oh, but betrayal tasted all the worse when he was the one who'd gotten fucked over.
Stop number one was a bar where Crowley drank enough that the barkeep told him to leave before he died, because he might not be drunk but that much liquor wasn't good.
It wasn't good. It was great.
He trusted the Bentley to take him home, ignoring the scent of the angel on the upholstery near his shoulder...
* * *
Tempting and such was so much worse when there was no one around to do any thwarting. In a truly childish fit of pique, Crowley went to work ten times as hard, all but daring Aziraphale to come down here and tell him he was smitten-
Smote. The word was smote.
"Why did he say smi-" the demon said, cutting off at vowel as he appeared in the hands of an old wizard who looked at him and popped him into a basket with a strange symbol scorched into the lid.
A grass basket.
And he couldn't change.
Crowley curled up for a nap, content to sleep as the years passed by, as the old man died before he ever figure out how to use what he'd trapped, as the son took over the house and filled the basement with junk, then died himself.
* * *
"Just take it all out, Mike. All of it," the short, plump woman told the burly man in coveralls. "Everything down here was grandad's. It's all going."
The basket sat in the circle, snake cozy and snoozing in the bottom.
Stop number one was a bar where Crowley drank enough that the barkeep told him to leave before he died, because he might not be drunk but that much liquor wasn't good.
It wasn't good. It was great.
He trusted the Bentley to take him home, ignoring the scent of the angel on the upholstery near his shoulder...
* * *
Tempting and such was so much worse when there was no one around to do any thwarting. In a truly childish fit of pique, Crowley went to work ten times as hard, all but daring Aziraphale to come down here and tell him he was smitten-
Smote. The word was smote.
"Why did he say smi-" the demon said, cutting off at vowel as he appeared in the hands of an old wizard who looked at him and popped him into a basket with a strange symbol scorched into the lid.
A grass basket.
And he couldn't change.
Crowley curled up for a nap, content to sleep as the years passed by, as the old man died before he ever figure out how to use what he'd trapped, as the son took over the house and filled the basement with junk, then died himself.
* * *
"Just take it all out, Mike. All of it," the short, plump woman told the burly man in coveralls. "Everything down here was grandad's. It's all going."
The basket sat in the circle, snake cozy and snoozing in the bottom.
