Chapter Text
So much for being left alone, Crowley thought bitterly.
He flexed his wrists around the restraints, wincing as the leather cut into his skin. They were embroidered with sigils and runes, and Crowley growled in frustration. If it wasn’t for the intricate little patterns, Crowley would have easily been able to slip into his snake form and slithered away. Snakes didn’t have wrists and ankles to bind, after all. But alas, whoever had captured him knew him very well…
He knew who it was, of course. He could smell him. Hastur was the only demon to Crowley’s knowledge that knew where he lived. He and Ligur, but Crowley no longer had to worry about the latter. Crowley had always tried to keep a distance from the other demons in Hell, which wasn’t exactly hard. Hastur was the only one who knew he could turn into a serpent, except perhaps Beelzebub, but the prince surely had more pressing matters at hand than capturing a demon whose only crime was adverting the apocalypse.
His hunch was confirmed when the door at the other end of the room dramatically creaked open. In fact, the whole set up was a little over the top. The room was dark and smelt of mould, the plaster peeling off the walls. It was cold. It was like Hell in a lot of ways, but turning his head to the side, Crowley could look out of a window onto the skyscrapers of central London. He wasn’t too far from home. To add to the flair, he was strapped to a hard, cold operating table, tilted upwards.
Hastur smiled, his face twisted with mirth. “Crowley!” He said, looking positively delighted. “Enjoyed your nap?”
“I’ve had better.” Crowley replied, “I much prefer naps when I decide to take them, mind. But still.”
The back of his head still throbbed from where Hastur had hit it was something very heavy and dull. He had just returned from lunch with Aziraphale. At the Ritz, of course. They had become regulars in the months following the Apocalypse that Wasn’t. Crowley had been considering a little three day nap before Hastur had done the honours of knocking him out for him.
Hatsur just growled, deep and low in his throat. The smile didn’t once falter, which was more than a little unnerving. Crowley steeled his expression, determined not to show any sign of weakness.
“Tell me,” Crowley continued, “What do I owe the honour?”
“I think you know.” Hastur said, turning away from him, toward a metal medical cart that Crowley hadn’t spotted in the low light. They had really pulled out all the stops, huh?
“I don’t.” Crowley said innocently. “Care to enlighten me?”
The room filled with the sound of a sharp slap, and Crowley flinched despite himself. Hastur had pulled on a long, black pair of rubber gloves, much like the one’s Crowley had used to handle the holy water back at his flat. Actually, they were identical. This wasn’t going to be fun.
“You humiliated me.” Hastur said. His body had blocked the view of the cart, so Crowley couldn’t see what horrors the other demon was preparing. “Armageddon was my gig. I was supposed to be there when our Lord’s son officially started it all. But no. I was with the wrong boy in the wrong place.” He snarled. “All because you had mislaid our masters’ true son!”
“In my defence, that wasn’t exactly my fault.” Crowley said.
“But you didn’t stop there, oh no.” Hastur turned to face him, holding a vial of clear liquid that smelt suspiciously holy. Crowley tensed. “You stopped the bloody thing! All the preparations Hell had made, that I had made.”
“So they sent you, huh?” Crowley asked. “Getting you to do their dirty work.”
“Oh no.” Hastur chuckled, his eyes wide with mania. “Hell may have believed the little stunt you pulled with your boyfriend, but I saw you. I saw you change back.”
Shit. Crowley thought. He had been sure they were alone.
“This is my revenge, and my revenge alone.” He held the vial up high. “You know what this is, don’t you?”
“Holy water. Obviously. It stinks.” Crowley wrinkled his nose for emphasis. “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with.” It almost hurt to say the words. He didn’t want to die, not really, but he didn’t want Hastur to know that.
“Oh, I’m not going to kill you. Not just yet.” Hastur unscrewed the lid and tilted the bottle downward, a foot above Crowley’s bare shoulder. He flinched. “See, this may be holy water, and mind you, it’s holy water from the very top. You can’t get better than this.” He grinned, a droplet of water teetering very dangerously at the edge of the vial. “But it’s diluted.”
Crowley froze, his mouth fell open despite himself. Pure holy water could vaporize a demon in seconds, but diluted holy water? That was just one step below certain death on the punishment scale; diluted holy water couldn’t kill a demon, but it was the equivalent of a human spilling toxic acid on their bare skin, or boiling water, but a thousand times worse. It was the worst form of torture for a demon.
Crowley frowned. “What do you want?” He hissed.
Hastur chuckled. “Not much.” He leaned closer so he was whispering in Crowley’s ear. “I just want to watch you burn.”
The drop spilled over the edge, and Crowley screamed.