Work Text:
Hastor inspected his surroundings, annoyed. He was sure that this time he managed to do everything right, just like the instructions ordered.
Open the door, put the items inside, add the proper quantity of powder 1, close the door, make sure it's closed properly 2, press the proper buttons, wait patiently, and when it's completed, open the door again.
What the hell had he done wrong this time? Where did it go?
He kept going back over and over the events in his memory, hoping to recall who he saw during the procedure. The hellhound was lurking around, searching for (not) innocent victims, but that wasn't his style. Eric the disposable demon passed by, but he didn't have any reason to do that.
Perhaps Dagon? That’s something they would like to do. They were so repugnant. Sure, being a demon, they had to be repugnant, but that was too far. Hastor stormed furiously into their office, shouting: "why would you do such a thing to me? How could you take the only item that was left from him?"
The look he received was surprised, not gloating as he had expected. "I don't know what you are talking about, but you're disrupting an important task. The office will soon launch a new version, but it already has so many bugs that it will be hard to find places for new ones. So please, Hastor, take your drama elsewhere."
He left the office, frustrated and hopeless. With sadness that he hadn't felt since the 14th century 3, he had to admit he failed. He would never find the missing piece, and it's all his fault.
The washing machine swallowed one of his socks, again. Even though he followed the instructions so carefully! Why, he asked in despair, it's always one sock? Is that a cruel joke? God can't be so mean, can't she?
Crowley, on the other hand, entered the bookshop with a devilish smirk. Aziraphale looked at him with (justified) suspicions: "What have you done now, my dear? And what are you holding in your hand?"
"Oh, that ugly thing?" Asked Crowley in a fake indifference, "just a single sock, nothing too important. Just the sock that LIgor gave Hastor for a well-done mission. It's his favorite, with skulls and glitter, and the last gift he will ever receive from that demon, thank you very much, and from now on, every time he will look at the lonely sock he has, he will blame himself.
And the best thing is that he believes God is responsible for it! Being the demon of the lost socks is the most satisfying job in the world".
Besides, of course, watching his angel eating. Or drinking. Or speaking. Or doing those ridiculous yet charming hand gestures when he is flustered and attempts to disguise it. Or anything else, to be honest. But, Crowley will be probably surprised to find out, apparently, he and Hastor had one thing in commence – they both had things they were trying to repress.
- Until the first line, not the second, as he discovered the hard way the first time he tried that. The result was full of foam and shame, and he tried to repress the entire fortunate event.
- Another event he tried to repress.
- Another event to the don't-think-about-list. Hastor started to think that might be a pattern, and then decided not to think about that.
