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Crowley strode into the back entrance of Heaven's Embassy. The doors were quite industrial-looking, with two sets of doors leading to the main stairwell, and long metal push bars that needed quite a lot of pressure on them to force the doors open.
Crowley stopped at the bottom of the stairs, staring at the blank, white walls, the grey, metal stair-railing, the white staircase that went up. He strode over to thee wall, noticing the yellow lines painted onto the white floor, like they were warning any passing Angel of something. There were signs taped to all the walls, advertising the threat stray demons may pose.
Crowley began climbing up the stairs. Each floor was separated into sections— Archangel's specialities all had their own areas, many sharing two or three to a floor.
The Justice Suite was right by the Medical Suite, on their own floor together. Crowley tried not to wonder about the implications of that, if Heaven's idea of justice was still I retributive they needed Raphael near by just in case
He pushed open the wide set of doors, stepping out into the corridor, and followed it along.
He kept his eyes open for Room JS36, as he walked past room JS38, and then onto JS67, and then the next room along was MC04, and Crowley soon realised there was no rhyme or reason as to where any of the rooms where.
It took him a few minutes to locate the courtroom.
He pushed the door open, heart pounding.
Crowley took a deep breath, scanning the courtroom.
The defendant's dock was at the back of the room, but Crowley made no attempt to head towards it. There was a door out the back of it anyway, and no access through the way he'd come in, and although he was fairly sure Michael would have preferred him to be there, he had no desire to.
The public viewing gallery was empty.
As were the seats for barristers and jury and witnesses…
He looked up, over to where Raguel should have been seated.
There were only two angels there— Michael, and Aziraphale.
Crowley's heart stopped.
"I was quite surprised when I found out you were the new Prince Regent," Michael spoke, forcing Crowley from his thoughts, "I was under the impression Satan would have chosen a more appropriate replacement."
"Well, the heir apparent is still off playing with Lego and watching cartoons," Crowley hissed. "And the rest of Hell are imbeciles."
"Mm." Michael glared, "well. I'm a busy Angel, your grace. So, if you could quite get to the point."
"You've been slaughtering demon's by the masses," Crowley leaned forward, purposefully staring at Aziraphale. "And whilst Beelzebub may have allowed this… I won't. Not anymore. As the new Prince Regent of Hell, I want a new discussion of this."
"W-what?" The supreme archangel's eyes widened.
"As I was saying," Crowley drawled, glaring daggers at the one Angel he'd truly believed was different from the rest, "following Beelzebub's abdication, the Dark Council and I have been conversing, and we're in agreement. This genocide will not continue."
"Genocide?" Aziraphale yelped, "Crowley. Crowley, what on earth am I missing?"
Crowley narrowed his eyes, knowing full well he was being far crueller to Aziraphale than he needed to be about this.
Then again… it was his people being murdered.
"You didn't know?" He mocked, lowering his sunglasses, and finally meeting Aziraphale's eyes.
"Didn't know what?" Aziraphale huffed, but he was starting to look a little paler than usual.
"Do I really need to state it out loud?" Crowley drawled, letting his London accent slip, a little more of the Glaswegian cutting in, "do you want all the juicy, gory details, is that it, Aziraphale? You want the full, pornographic picture of what happens every time the angels come by on their bi-yearly cullings? Want to hear how they humanely euthanize the demons, because heaven forbid our population ever grow greater than yours…"
"You…" Aziraphale trailed off, turning to face Michael, his voice shaking, "you knew about this?"
"Of course I knew!" Michael hissed, "I ordered the cullings. It's necessary, Aziraphale, you don't understand."
"What I'm hearing…" Aziraphale looked positively stricken.
"Did you really, genuinely still expect them to heed the morals they purvey?" Crowley snapped. "Come on, Aziraphale. How many times did I tell you about the atrocities they committed against our people during the first war? The times I mentioned, oh so serious, exactly what happened, and you brushed me off, completely failing to hear what I said? How naive can you be? Take off these rose-tinted glasses, and get a fucking grip!"
"Don't listen to that snake," Michael commanded, and Aziraphale froze, looking between them.
"I…" He started.
"Quite the people's voice, aren't you," Michael snarled, leaning across the desk, "what's in it for you? The Prince Regent is exempt from euthanisation, that was the deal Prince Beelzebub deigned acceptable— you have nothing to fear from us."
"It's not about what I gain," Crowley stared at her, blank-faced, "I knew you lacked empathy, Michael, but somehow, I still expected more."
Michael merely smiled.
"It's still my decision on this, and my decision is clear. It's a no from me." Michael replied, glaring down at him.
"That isn't quite what my people said," Crowley replied, forcing levity it's his voice, "I've heard Raguel got quite pissy when she found out."
"It falls under war," Michael shrugged, "international citizens do not fall under her jurisdiction. That was not her decision to make— it was mine."
"How haven't the people of Heaven protested this?" Aziraphale cut in, eyes wide. "Surely someone must be against this?"
"If they don’t ask, then how would they know?" Michael rolled her eyes.
Crowley crossed his arms over his chest, and raised an eyebrow.
"Michael," he stated, "you digress from the matter at hand. Heaven must be prepared to sign a peace treaty, or there will be consequences."
"That will never happen," Michael hissed. "I cannot allow the demons to outnumber us."
Crowley took a step back, carefully considering his next words.
"And what about the Supreme Archangel? Does he concede?" he asked.
"No!" Aziraphale yelped, "no! I protest! this can't be right!"
"You know your role is merely constitutional," Michael hissed in his direction, "you have no power here, Supreme Archangel. The decision is mine, and mine alone. I do not seek the guidance of a mere principality, even if he is one that holds a ceremonial title."
"Let me make my position extremely clear," Crowley repeated, "any refusal to renegotiate will be considered a direct breach of all internal peace-time conventions between us, and, as such, will be met as a declaration of war."
"If that is the case," Michael replied, eyebrow arched, "then that is how it shall be."
XXXX
Five years later
It was the dawn of a new regime, and all Crowley could hear was the blood pounding in his ears.
His sword was heavy in his hand, an the bodies of the fallen— angels, and demons, alike in death— lay all around him.
He stared down at Michael, her head bowed, kneeling before him.
"You know, it didn't have to be this way," he murmured.
All around him, the blood of the angels and demons ran red, staining the soil.
But Crowley could already taste success in the air, and as he raised his sword, vengeance had never once tasted sweeter.