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Set in Season 5, in the run-up to episode 10.
Crowley’s fingers traced the fine lines of a fresh soul agreement, pleased with a particular turn of phrase. With a well-practiced flick of his wrist, he signed the parchment, the ink darkening into permanence. Another soul added to his growing empire.
He leaned back in his plush leather chair and poured himself a drink, savoring the warm burn as the amber liquid slid down his throat. A soft knock echoed through the room before a demon underling entered, looking slightly out of sorts.
"My lord," the demon began, hesitating as Crowley raised an eyebrow, silently urging him to continue.
“What is it?”
“There’s been... a complication with one of your contracts. The politician, the one from the Senate,” the demon said, still looking at the ground. “He’s been checked into a mental ward.”
Crowley’s lip curled slightly. “Should’ve read the fine print,” he muttered. “It doesn’t cover assassinations, foreign nations, or nervous breakdowns, does it?”
The demon hesitated, then continued with a touch more urgency. “That’s just it, my lord. It’s... different. There’s been interference. From...Lucifer.”
Crowley paused, the glass halfway to his lips. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing with interest. “Do tell.”
“His chosen vessel’s denied him,” the demon said, the words coming out in a near whisper. “He’s been searching for another who can hold him. The politician was...insufficient, it appears.”
Crowley set his glass down with a soft clink. His brow furrowed, the hint of a smirk fading from his face. “Did he realize it was a contracted soul?”
The demon shrugged, helpless. Crowley scowled, standing up, his fingers resting on the back of his chair. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
###
The hospital was cold. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the white walls. Crowley stood in the hallway, his fingers idly adjusting the lapels of his tweed jacket. The disguise—perfect, if he did say so himself—was a bit of a stretch, but he’d made it work. A visiting psychologist. It had the right combination of authority and condescension to get him through the door.
His steps echoed softly on the tile as he approached the security desk. The nurse didn’t even look up as he flashed his ID, then signed in with practiced ease.
“Room 302,” she muttered, still flipping through her files.
“Thank you,” Crowley said, his voice smooth, almost bored, as he made his way past her.
The hallway seemed endless as he walked down the fluorescent-lit corridor, his shoes clicking softly against the tile. At last, he reached the door to the room that had been marked for his “patient.”
He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and pushed the door open.
Inside, the man lay strapped to the bed, his eyes wide and twitching. He looked up as Crowley entered, an expression of wild confusion crossing his face.
“Who... who are you?” the man asked, his voice thick with the remnants of fear.
Crowley smiled, stepping into the room. “Just a doctor. Here to check on you.”
He couldn’t help but examine the man more closely now, the same feeling of dissatisfaction creeping over him. This soul had been a satisfied customer—now ruined in the wake of Lucifer’s hunger. That stupid angel twit was going to destroy their consumer confidence.
Crowley raised his hand, fingers hovering over the man’s forehead as he whispered an incantation. The magic crackled, swirling around the man’s fragile mind, before Crowley’s senses began to sift through the chaos of his soul.
Lucifer’s fingerprints were everywhere.
The vessel was shot. Crowley could feel the raw, burned-out energy, the remains of a soul that had once been his. The man’s mind was fractured, too damaged to hold Lucifer’s essence for long, with the sheer force of the angel’s power. And he’d been left alive—Lucifer hadn’t even taken the time to clean up after himself.
Crowley clenched his fists.
With a flick of his wrist, he left the room, his mind already racing toward his next move. Lilith would need to be involved. That raging psycho-bitch.
###
The heat in Hell pressed against Crowley like a furnace, suffocating and relentless through his suit as he approached Lilith. The vast, dark throne room smelled of sulfur. Lilith sat in her usual position—high on a stone throne, draped in shadow, her eyes gleaming with a cold, otherworldly fire. To her, Lucifer was a god, and anyone who questioned his right to rule Hell was seeking death.
“Ah, Crowley,” she purred. “I thought I’d be graced with your presence today. What could possibly bring you here, other than to rejoice at Lucifer’s return?”
Crowley swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat. Lilith’s love for Lucifer was more than just loyalty—it was an obsession. Now that Lucifer was free, she and her allies expected every demon to fall in line, no questions asked.
“I’ve come to speak of something... unusual, Lilith,” Crowley began, keeping his voice measured, careful. “A soul contract I’ve been managing... has gone awry.”
Lilith raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
He stepped closer, keeping his eyes trained on her but feeling the heat of the room pressing against him. “A politician, you see. A soul contract I arranged. But it seems—” He paused, choosing his words with deliberate slowness, “—that Lucifer’s tampered with it. The soul’s vessel was meant to last ten years, but Lucifer’s... involvement has caused it to deteriorate. The vessel burned out entirely.”
Lilith’s eyes flashed with a dangerous gleam. “Lucifer,” she repeated, her voice dripping with reverence. “He bides his time as he prepares for the end of all things.” She stood from her throne, her presence overwhelming. “Is this not a joyous time, Crowley?”
Crowley nodded, forcing his outward calm even as his thoughts raced. “Quite. It’s just that...Lucifer’s choice of vessel here was strange. He’s interfered—I’m sure unintentionally—with a valid soul contract.” He let the words sink in, watching her carefully.
Lilith’s lips parted slightly, a small smirk forming. “You think he cares for the venial exchanges of the crossroads? Lucifer is the one who stands above us all, and all will bow to him.” Her eyes narrowed, and there was no mistaking the fanaticism behind her gaze. “Your deals are nothing to him.”
Crowley forced himself to stay still, keeping his composure. “Surely it’s in Hell’s interest to collect as many souls as possible,” he said, keeping his voice mild.
Lilith’s voice cut through his words like a blade. “He is beyond such petty concerns,” she sneered.
Crowley’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to smile. “Of course.”
“You should worry more about your own position.” Her voice was a growl now, low and menacing. “I stand with Lucifer. I always have, and I always will. You should be careful, Crowley. I know you think you’re clever—manipulating your way through the ranks—but Lucifer is not one to play games with.”
Crowley stepped back slightly, his mind working rapidly. He needed something more than just her cooing about Lucifer. He needed information.
“Apologies. I await Lucifer’s return as rightful king with all due impatience,” Crowley said, his voice a little softer now. “But I was hoping you could enlighten me about our Lord. I understand that Lucifer’s war against Heaven is personal, yes?” He pressed, watching her closely for a reaction.
Lilith’s eyes flared, and Crowley could see the flicker of something darker behind them. “Lucifer will destroy everything that stands in his way. He doesn’t just want Hell. He doesn’t want to rule Heaven. He wants to kill God. You understand that, don’t you, Crowley?” Her voice was quieter now, but the fury was evident. “He’ll burn everything down just to get a piece of that power.”
The air in the room grew heavier, the tension almost palpable. Crowley’s breath caught in his chest as Lilith’s words hung in the air.
“Of course.” Crowley inclined his head. “And you, his loyal servant.”
Lilith’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I am his first disciple,” she hissed. “The one who will see his will carried out, no matter the cost.” She took a step closer to him, her heels clicking sharply on the stone floor. “And you—” She paused, her gaze hardening. “You will fall in line, Crowley. Because when Lucifer rises, you won’t have any choice.”
Crowley kept his face neutral, but his mind was reeling. This was the moment—the moment he realized that Lilith was blind to the dangers of Lucifer’s plans. To her, it was all about power, all about being with Lucifer, no matter the cost.
Crowley wasn’t about to get swallowed up in his madness.
“Thank you for your time, majesty,” Crowley said smoothly, bowing slightly. “And for an enlightening conversation.”
Lilith’s nodded, and waved her hand lazily at him in dismissal.
Crowley walked out of her chamber, his mind whirling, the sound of her voice still ringing in his ears. He wasn’t going to let Lucifer tear Hell apart without a fight.
###
Crowley sat behind his desk, the flickering light of candles casting long shadows on the stone walls of his chamber. The room was nearly silent, save for the quiet shuffle of his lackeys as they stood around him, awaiting his next move.
For a moment, Crowley let the quiet hang, tapping his fingers on the desk in thought.
"Well, then," Crowley began, breaking the silence with a voice low and dangerous, "Hell’s once and future king is proving himself to be quite a nuisance.”
“But sir,” said one of the demons.
“Sire,” corrected another one in an undertone. Guthrie, Crowley thought his name was.
“Sire,” amended the first demon, with a fearful look. “Surely Lucifer’s own vessel is more important than a crossroads deal.”
“JUST BECAUSE HIS TART ISN’T IN THE MOOD DOESN’T MEAN HE CAN START PAWING AT MINE,” raged Crowley, throwing his glass at the wall to shatter. The shards sprinkled the floor, expensive scotch dripping along the stone.
The other demons in the room shifted uncomfortably, save one—Guthrie remained impassive. Crowley glanced at him, almost as if daring him to react. But Guthrie merely raised an eyebrow, offering no response. Crowley, satisfied with the lack of protest, continued.
"Lucifer is a problem I don’t need right now," Crowley continued, his voice quiet and dangerous.
After a long moment, one of the lackeys spoke up. “What do you suggest, Sir?”
Crowley glanced at him, his eyes sharp. “I think that word might leak of a certain delivery to me by Bela Talbot.”
The demon frowned. “You mean the Colt, sir?”
Crowley rolled his eyes. Good help was so hard to find. “Yes, idiot, of course I meant the Colt.” It was the only thing that could truly kill Lucifer. “I think it’s time to stir the pot a little. But no one can know it came from me.”
There was a brief pause in the room as his lackeys processed the idea. Crowley looked up, his eyes gleaming with cold amusement. “I’ll leak the information. Make sure they think it’s all their own idea.”
He looked over at Guthrie, who had stayed silent through it all, observing from the side. Crowley’s gaze softened ever so slightly. “But this is between us. No one else gets to know. You understand?”
Guthrie gave a subtle nod, and spoke for the room. “Understood, Sire.”
Crowley leaned back in his chair, allowing a moment of silence to pass.
"And, now that I think of it..." Crowley began, his voice darkening, "two men can keep a secret when one of them is in the Empty.”
The lackeys’ faces grew confused, and Crowley raised a hand. With a wave, three of the lackeys exploded into fiery oblivion, screaming as they did so.
Guthrie remained, looking slightly nonplussed.
“Sire,” he said.
Crowley nodded at him. “You know what to do.”
Guthrie nodded, his expression unreadable. “As you wish, Sire.”
As the door closed behind him, Crowley’s mind already drifted toward the next steps. Lucifer’s little war was just beginning, and Crowley intended to get ahead of it before anyone realized what was truly at stake.
He waved a hand, and conjured another drink. “Let’s see which hound catches the scent first.”