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Contrary to what a lot of people would have you believe, Hell isn’t other people. It is, at least in Beezlebub’s experience, about ninety percent paperwork and arguments with underlings.
Case in point, the very long document currently resting on the desk and Shax pacing around the office.
‘Are you sure about this, Lord?’ Shax asks and it stops just short of being direct insubordination.
‘Yes.’
The flies buzz, angrily, and without answer. Beezelbub continues studying the document, which is becoming increasingly concerned about the scrutiny and with the dim sentience a lot of things in Hell develop, is twisting around to try and show mostly bare paper. It gets a slap against the table for its trouble and the words stay still after that.
Some of the ink is bleeding off to the sides. Probably best to believe that’s a metaphor.
‘Crowley won’t like it.’
‘Crowley is the damned reason for it! He’s not meant to like it.’
Shax nods and backs out the room. The door oozes shut and the lights flicker in a way that suggest there’s something going badly wrong with the eyes of anyone watching.
Beezelbub initials a few more points on the contract and then grins. The walls might not be watertight, but the paperwork is.
Finding Crowley topside is never a problem. Sometimes it’s easier to search for the angel and then find Crowley close by, although that always runs the risk of alerting Aziraphale. Beelzebub knows a few too many demons who have returned to Hell minus their bodies after trying that trick to want to do it regularly though.
But Crowley’s never bothered to hide his presence and doesn’t move around a lot anyway. There’s always a faint undercurrent of ‘this is my territory, fuck off,’ around the edges of his miracles, and that works just as well as a beacon as a deterrent.
London’s shivering under grey rain clouds today, the buildings drawing themselves up against the weather. Crowley’s in the middle of it, his aura soft and quiet in the way that suggests he’s laid up at home.
As if demons should have homes. The door opens to a click of fingers, the fabric of the place knowing damn well who’s been paying the rent for the past few centuries.
Imagine a landlord arriving to do an inspection, except with more malignant powers. No, you’re still thinking about a human landlord.
It was exactly like that, and Crowley got the full force of it. Scrambled to his feet and came hurrying out into the hallway, eyes wide and golden and for once not hidden behind those infernal sunglasses.
‘Is a door knocker too fucking complicated for you?’ He snarls and then catches himself. ‘My Lord.’
A pause. A long consideration of the place. It’s been shaped by Crowley over the centuries and probably shaped him in turn, but it seems easy enough to imagine Shax in here. A changing of the guard, as it were.
‘You’re being evicted, Crowley. I’m here to serve the paperwork.’
For a moment, it looks like there’ll be a fight. Crowley’s standing there forcing eye contact, battling to hold onto his human form as wings and fangs threaten to break through. But Crowley hasn’t survived this long by being stupid, however well he plays the role.
‘What do I get in return for leaving quietly?’
‘You get to walk out of here in one piece, Crowley. That’s the deal.’
‘And if I wanted to change it?’ He’s thinking and too quickly for comfort. There’s something uncanny in the way he’s smiling now.
‘The number of body pieces would go up.’ Steel to the voice. Millenia of talking demons down when they’d rather fight.
In return, a defiant stare. You don’t get a lot of those in Hell; there’s always a few decades of close-open shifts waiting for any demon who feels like challenging their superiors.
‘I think you’ll find you’ll need a hand with the place. Several.’
It almost hurts, making eye contact with Crowley. There’s steel there in his expression; the same sort of steel that might get dropped in front of a train and send everything crashing. And he’s got form for that anyway.
But contracts have weight, even the ones that don’t include the souls of the damned as payment.
He takes the paper as though expecting it to burn him. It won’t, that’s a beginner’s trick, but it might get him just a little off balance.
‘This looks very formal.’
‘I prefer legally binding.’
‘Ha. As if you’ve got anyone down there who could hold a candle to the lawyers up here. Bet your lot haven’t even seen an average house sale chain’s worth of paperwork.’
‘Crowley. Stop talking. You are no longer welcome here.’
‘And if you want my replacement to be able to live here, you’d better bloody listen to me.’
A pause, where a few heartbeats would have passed if either of them had needed them.
‘What do you mean?’
‘House is demon-proofed, look.’ He waves a hand at the lobby, at a lot of things Beezelbub can’t see or doesn’t understand the significance of.
‘You know as much as I do I’m not flavour of the month down there. Not even flavour of the century. Seemed like a bit of protection might be in order, right? This place… this place will make short work out of any other demon that comes in here.’
He pauses, stares down at the contract again.
‘The deal is, you give me a week to get out and I’m allowed to take anything I want, and your lot don’t fucking watch me do it. In return, you’ll have a place that’s livable for whatever poor sod you’re sending here.’
More eye contact. Hell’s got out the habit of that, thankfully.
‘A day.’
‘I won’t even be able to disconnect the Holy Water in that time. I mean, up to you if you fancy gambling on it. My Lord.’
Is that real or imagined, the sudden tingle of holiness in the air? Something almost angelic?
‘Three days.’
Crowley spins on his heel, goes to walk back inside. ‘Good luck with the security system, then.’
‘Six days?’ It comes out sounding like a question, knocked off balance and almost doubtful.
‘Ok, ok.’ He turns back. Nods with something that might almost be a smile. ‘Six days and I won’t let your precious minion get killed when they move in. But no watching, right?’
They shake hands. Reluctantly, cringing away from it. But a deal’s a deal.
Hell probably won’t like it anymore than Beezlebub does. The long way back home suddenly seems like a good choice; waste a couple of days.
Crowley’s laughter hangs in the distance for too long.