Chapter Text
The bell of the shop door tinged, a relatively unwelcome sound to Crowley’s ears when not combined with his Angel’s voice of greeting. The demon huffed a sigh and set down his watering can with a bit more force than required.
“And who did you invite, hm?” he muttered to his fern, “Trying to get someone else to mist you?”
He slinked out of the kitchen, where Aziraphale had insisted he put his plants while they waited for things to blow over, and rounded into the shop proper with a glare sure to wither the determination of any customers, no matter how stubborn. But no determined customers met his gaze. Their luck was rotten, naturally, he thought as his stomach settled into the pit of resignation. The moment Aziraphale popped out for an interesting estate sale with Crowley insisting he could handle the bookstore alone, Hastur reared his vengeful head.
“Didn’t take you much as one to read, Hastur,” he chirped before the maggot could say anything, “what business do you have in a bookstore?” Rather than replying as Crowley expected, Hastur lunged. Crowley didn't back away in time.
With a foul smelling crack they landed on the floor of Hastur's office, a place Crowley liked to avoid nearly as much as the demon who inhabited it. On the way down the back of his head slammed the edge of the metal desk, giving Hastur the upper hand as he blinked away stars. He tried to wiggle away but his boss was unfortunately wise to his tricks, and, rather than hold him down by his arms, the demon clamped his hand around Crowley's neck.
"You've caused me a lot of trouble down here," Hastur growled. Crowley would respond, but words are difficult to make when one's trachea being thoroughly crushed into their spinal column. Hastur continued to lament about what has happened since the failed apocalypse, but another noise distracted Crowley's ears. A sharp, repetitive vibration through the floor, and a warm buzzing in the back of his head that he doubted was from its recent collisions.
The door creaked open and he was met with a pair of deep yellow stilettos and the sound of an even deeper voice.
"What is it you think you're doing, Hastur?"
The demon froze, dumbfounded, until manicured but ever soil-encrusted nails took him by the collar and lifted him into the air.
"H-how are you-" Hastur sputtered as Crowley rolled over wheezing.
"Ah-ah-ah, questions do not get answered by questions," She tutted, turning and setting him down. "Really, Hastur, I didn't make you yesterday."
Instead of answering Hastur took his chances and bolted down the hallway yelling something about security. Crowley scrambled to his feet and knocked a pile of manilla folders to the floor as God watched the demon run from her with a look of mild disdain.
He wasn't sure what his emotions were, seeing her again. He felt light headed and perhaps a bit weaker due to her Holiness, but those weren't emotions. He decided not to dwell on those, and take in facts instead.
God was in Hell, for some reason. She wore a leaf green pinstripe suit with a dress shirt to match her shoes, and her tightly coiled hair was tied slightly back with stylishly patterned red fabric. She turned her golden eyes on him and he wished he could bolt just as Hastur had. He fixed his glasses instead.
"Hello Crowley." Her voice was soft and sweet, as if she was showing him the emptiness and asking him what he wanted to create.
"Hello Mother."
She opened her mouth to say something else but closed it again with a frown. Roughly a dozen demons ran into the hallway outside of the office and froze at the sight of God. She stared at them over her shoulder before returning her gaze to Crowley and kicking the door closed behind her with her heel.
“I’m not sure what he expected them to do about me being here, but oh well.” The ground began to rumble, causing her to yell over it. “I have some long overdue business-” she got out, before Lucifer interrupted her with a disembodied voice.
“ Yahweh, what are you doing here in My Domain ?!”
God sent a withering glare his direction, and Crowley was certain Lucifer would feel it regardless of the distance.
“I created this place as I did all others,” she stated with a chilling calmness, “peg yourself lucky that I don’t make you pay rent .”
Hell shook angrily. She rolled her eyes and held her hand out to Crowley as he stabilized himself on the desk.
“I don’t have time for your brother’s dramatics. Let’s talk somewhere else.” Not keen on finding out what would happen if he didn't, Crowley took her hand.
After another bout of transportation that left him feeling vaguely ill, Crowley found himself at a large bay window left open to the heat and noise of an old city street. He could see ferns growing out of worn down brick buildings, and hear about five Jazz bands playing at different parties outdoors.
"New Orleans?"
"For now." She sensed Crowley's misunderstanding and continued. "I don't stay in one city long."
"Ah. Where to next?" He asked idly, trying to maintain his facade in front of God, of all beings.
"I was thinking Las Vegas." The demon frowned, finally looking back at her.
"The City of Sin?"
She shrugged, her old eyes giving him a knowing look.
"Sometimes it's the sinners who have the most faith."
Crowley looked back out the window, silently grateful for it's distractions. He thought he saw a golden eye shimmer into his periferal. When he turned his head it was gone.
“You’ve done well, dear,” She said finally.
“Interesting thing to say to a demon , mother.”
The air rustled. If he had looked closer, he would have seen how her canopy of wings watched him.
“But you’ve never been a very good demon, have you?” He bristled, his scales crawling up his back beneath his shirt. “Too full of love, even after what I did to you.”
Crowley huffed a small laugh through his nose.
“What, you regret it?” he chuckled mirthlessly.
“Yes,” she admitted, “I do.”
It was the first time anyone had heard sorrow in the voice of God.