Chapter Text
In the end, Hastur killed Crowley.
He tracked him down in a fit of rage and before anyone could do anything to stop it, he attacked, and the serpent was gone—irrevocably, not only removed from his physical form, but banished from this plane of existence. There was no path of return.
It was horrible. I could mention Aziraphale’s grief, but I won’t dwell on it.
Crowley had fought tooth and claw until the end, with all the blind optimism and desperation for life he had always had. He died with teeth bared and tears in his eyes. It was truly terrible.
But I’ll spare you all the emotional details. Who would want to read about a thing like that?*
*That’s right, I’m looking at YOU.
This story isn’t about all of that. It’s about what happened next.
Next, Crowley woke up.
What Crowley was aware of first was a haziness that he couldn’t place, whether it was around him or within him. What he noticed next was that he had an awareness of anything at all. There was something left then. Something still existed, he still existed, which meant maybe he wasn’t dead after all. After about thirty seconds, it occurred to him that he should open his eyes.
As soon as he had the thought, he could see. Something felt off about the whole thing, but he was distracted from the weird feeling when he realized that he was still in the place where Hastur had attacked. The same room, in g—somebody knows where, where the duke had lured him and sprung on him with that bloody knife. Everything was grey and dim. There was a lot of something dark on the floor.
Terror sprung up within him at the thought that Hastur might still be there. The fight might still be going on. He’d thought he’d been done for, maybe he still was, but maybe he hadn’t been out for as long as he thought, maybe he had only blacked out for a few seconds and the duke was still circling him, waiting for him to wake up so he could see the light die in his eyes when he ended him for real.
Crowley spun around, looking for him frantically. Where was he? Why was everything so dark? His vision was fuzzy and he seemed to be spinning far faster than possible. It made him dizzy, less in the blood-loss-in-your-brain kind of way, and more because it was too fast for him to process. Empty room. Grey stuff on the floor—blood—his blood. A large path of it led to the door. Hastur must have tracked it that way when he left, possibly thinking Crowley was dead—but no. There was no way Duke Pyromania would leave him there unattended. He would probably be back any second.
Crowley made for the door like lightning, miraculously able to move faster than he ever had despite his wounds, probably because of sheer fright. The door slammed open and Crowley was out it in a second. Out into the world. He went whichever way was in front of him, and he didn’t stop for a long, long time.
It was only when he did stop that Crowley realized he had no idea where he was, and that something was very wrong with his eyes. The world still looked fuzzy, and it kept blurring, the edges disappearing, or everything fading away so that all he was aware of was himself, afraid, trying to move but not able to remember what running was supposed to feel like. He thought about rubbing his eyes but he couldn’t find his hands. He wondered how much brain damage Hastur had inflicted, and how he was going to get a new corporation when one of the dukes of Hell was after him. He tried to bring back the world around him. He seemed to be in the middle of a field. Yes, there were blades of grass and wildflowers, tilting in the breeze that he could see but not feel. How far from London had he run? He stood still for a moment and tried to let everything come back to itself. Things had to fall into place—he had to still be here—he couldn’t be dead. Couldn’t be dying. Things couldn’t be over, not all of them, not yet.
He stood very still until, gradually, his vision cleared and he was able to see himself again.
Yes, there he still was, demon in human clothes, all black and white. He stretched out his fingers, but they were still numb. He wondered how hurt he was. At least he couldn’t feel the pain.
Maybe he could heal himself with a miracle. Hastur had used some pretty vicious weapons against him, but he had to try. He looked down at himself to see where the worst damage was done.
That was when he realized that he had forgotten to imagine himself covered in blood.
And that was when he realized that he was only seeing what he expected, and he had only imagined himself into existence at all.
He blinked—not really, but he tried to and it felt like he did—and the world of gently waving grass vanished, and he was floating in nothingness.
In that nothingness there was a small, distant ringing sound.
Crowley felt like hyperventilating. The only problem was, he didn’t need to breathe. He never had, but at least before it had felt more possible. He could still see himself because he wanted to see himself, he wanted it so badly that he had apparently willed a visual form of himself into existence, but he could tell it wasn’t really real. He clung to the image as firmly as he could, holding his hands out in front of him, wiggling his fingers, trying to feel his face, managing to frown. He even imagined a floor, so at least he was standing on something instead of floating in the middle of an endless void. At least this was an endless plane, which was, apparently, a little bit better.
“I’m dead,” he thought. He said the words out loud. He could hear them. “I’m not dead,” he said. He was filled with doubt. “This isn’t what usually happens. This isn’t where you go when you’re waiting to be given a new body. Hastur didn’t just discorporate me.” He put his hands to his head, and he could feel them—and then he couldn’t. It was all in his head. Or rather, it wasn’t, because his head wasn’t really there. His body was gone, his demonic form was gone too, but somehow, he was here. “He destroyed me,” Crowley said. “But I’m still here. Where? Humans, they can dream of an afterlife. Demons don’t have a heaven.”
“Right-o.”
Crowley froze at the sound of the other voice. His mind, or spirit, or whatever you could call it, searched for some familiar way to frame how he was feeling, and in a moment he was remembering the sensation of ice-cold water dripping down your spine. He heard footsteps approaching on the floor he had just created. He turned around.
“Well, well,” said the despicable voice, wearing a too-familiar grin. “If it isn’t the man who murdered me.”
Crowley tried to take a step back, but Ligur appeared before him, as if space no longer meant anything to him. The once-demon leered at him. He looked just the same as before—ten minutes before he had last seen him, anyway—except there was an even more ruthless gleam in his eye. He grinned at Crowley with teeth clenched and arm raised, and Crowley realized there was a knife in his hand.
“L—Ligur—er—what the Heaven—”
“What’re you stammering about, Crowley?” Ligur practically sang. “Didn’t expect to see me non-liquefied? Hasn’t death been treating me well? I tell ya, it’ll do wonders for your holy-water drenched, burnt and disintegrated skin.”
“L-l-listen,” Crowley stammered. “Jussst—just listen. I didn’t—”
“Oh, you had to, didn’t you, Crowley?” Ligur’s voice had become a giddy sort of snarl. “Had to kill me, or else I’d go and end the world, right? Couldn’t let that happen. Nooo. Couldn’t just do what you’re bloody told! Had to go and commit a murder!” The duke pouted theatrically. “Against me. A fellow demon.”
“Oh, come off it, Ligur—” Crowley began, but the other demon’s face darkened so dramatically that he was silenced.
“No,” Ligur murmured. “You killed me. Without a second thought, without warning, like a coward. Well, what goes around comes around, eh? You got your little world, but only for a while. Now you’re here with me. And you’re right, Crowley.” He grinned again, eyebrows pulled together, his face all menace and shadows. “There is no Heaven for our kind. Welcome to demon Hell!”
Crowley tried to fall backwards, but Ligur was faster. He brandished the knife and stabbed Crowley right through his chest. Crowley let out a scream and grabbed for the handle, but the wound was already inflicted.
It just didn’t hurt at all.
Ligur was cackling. Crowley, in a panic, tried to grab the knife’s handle, but his hands kept passing through it. It took him several seconds to realize that he couldn’t feel the knife, he didn’t seem to be bleeding, he felt perfectly fine, and Ligur was giggling and snorting at him.
“You—should’ve—seen—your—face!” the duke choked out. He was doubled over, hand slapping his knee in time with his words. Tears of laughter streamed down his face. “And that scream! Ah, best scream I’ve heard in ages. Bloody hell, I’ve missed those.”
“What is going on?” Crowley wailed. He still couldn’t get a grip on the knife.
“Ahhh,” Ligur sighed. He wiped a tear from his eye. “I’ve been waiting ages to do that.”
“What do you mean? What is this place? How did I get here? How did you know I’d get here? And what is with this bloody knife?”
“Looks real funny sticking out of you like that,” Ligur said proudly. He put his hands on his hips. “I oughta just leave it there.”
“Ligur!”
“All right, all right.” The demon walked back over and pulled the knife out of Crowley’s chest. “It takes a while to learn how to hold things,” he said. “I’ve been carryin’ that round with me since I saw you dead with it sticking out of your chest.”
“Hold on,” Crowley said. He looked closer at the blade. “That’s what he attacked me with.”
“So someone finally stabbed you, eh?” Ligur looked elated. “And who was it, hmm? Who was it what murdered you, Crowley?”
Ligur was wiggling his lopsided eyebrows at him. Crowley rolled his eyes and sighed.
“Hastur.”
“I knew it!” Ligur leaped around. “I knew he’d get you back! Good ol’ Hastur. Er, or I should say, Bad Ol’ Hastur. It’s just a stupid phrase I picked up from watching humans too long, you know how it is. I wouldn’t actually call him ‘good’. Not after he did a great thing like killing you.” Ligur tossed the knife up and down. “Yep. Good against demons. Blessed, and all that. Course, dunt work here.”
“But how did you get it?” Crowley asked. “Where is ‘here?’”
“Huh.” Ligur crossed his arms and gave him a satisfied look. “I should just let you squirm, shouldn’t I?”
“You’re—we’re—dead.” Crowley ran his hands across his face. “This is—an afterlife? But for demons? But where is it? And why is it so—empty? But also connected to Earth somehow. Where are we?”
Ligur raised his eyebrows. He beckoned towards himself, and when Crowley involuntarily leaned forward, Ligur’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth. Then he leaned away and shrugged. “Nope. Not tellin’.”
Crowley, in spite of his recent terror and having been murdered twice within the past—well, however long it had been—had just enough sanity left to be thoroughly annoyed. He huffed and turned away, then started, through great concentration, walking. “Fine. I’ll figure it out by myself.”
“Yep. Have fun in the endless void.”
“’S’not a void,” Crowley grumbled. “It’s a plane.”
“Yeah, congrats on having found the floor.” Ligur was yelling after him now. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble at all finding all the answers.”
Crowley grumbled nothing in particular in response, just trying to keep his mind off of his situation, which was difficult when you were trying to figure out what your situation was, and kept walking.
He walked for a long time. It was almost starting to feel like it had on Earth. Maybe Crowley wasn’t dead dead. Maybe he was just being kept somewhere, until Hell found him and gave him a corporation again. Of course, Ligur was also here, and had been for a while. Nobody had come looking for him. Everyone knew that demons, and angels, technically, could die. They didn’t go to Heaven or Hell like humans did. They were just—gone.
Or they were here. Wherever here was.
Crowley was starting to get really worried.
Oh, hello, anxiety, he thought bitterly. Bout time you showed up.
But then what’s the point? said a nasty little voice. What is there to be anxious about? You’re dead. You’re not in Hell, you’re just gone. It’s over.
And hello despair. Crowley scowled. Couldn’t you both just piss off for a moment?
He was trying to concentrate. Every time he came close to comprehending his situation, he would realize that the visual world he had created had vanished again, which startled him so much that he had to pause for several minutes until the floor and his body reappeared and he could calm down. Maybe this is all just happening inside my head? If it is, then can I make whatever I want happen? Could I bring—say—a plant here? He tried. Nothing happened. He thought about something simpler—a pencil. He imagined holding it in his hand. Again, nothing happened.
He thought about a way out.
After a few more agonizing moments of nothing happening, he heard footsteps behind him.
I definitely wouldn’t voluntarily imagine that, he thought with a grimace, and he turned around.
It was Ligur. His face fell when he saw that he had been spotted.
“Rats.”
“Are you following me?”
“How’d you know?”
“I heard footsteps.”
“That’s weird,” Ligur said, scratching his head. “Nobody else makes footsteps.”
“Nobody—wait. There are other people here?”
Ligur made yet another exaggeratedly unhappy face. He seemed to have a plethora of those. “Ah, shit.”
“Why are you following me?” Crowley was relieved to find that he could still throw his arms up in the air in frustration. “If you’re not going to tell me anything. Are you just going to stab me again?”
Ligur gave a wicked grin, another thing he had in ready supply. “Maybe.” When Crowley started walking away again, he said, “No. Look.” He hurried after him and cried, “I’m bored, all right? Been here for so long I’d do anything for fun. Even follow you around.” He hunched his shoulders and walked over to him. “Besides. At least this way I can see your face when you find out what’s going on.”
“And what is going on?” Crowley asked, rather sourly.
“It is my great pleasure to inform you that you are, in fact, dead.”
“Yeah, I’d figured that one out, thanks,” Crowley said, even though he hadn’t. Not for sure. It felt like crap.
“Welcome to the afterlife. It’s boring as—well, not Hell,” Ligur said, with a hint of nostalgia, “—but you get the point. The place is mostly empty, but we’re not the only ones here. The others who are here are infuriating. They don’t tell us nuthin’ except what they think we ‘need to know’, then they buzz off doing their own thing and we can’t follow them wherever it is they go.”
Crowley had the uncomfortable feeling that all of this was rather familiar, although not to his own particular species.
“They’ll talk to you, though,” Ligur said. “At least for a second. You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Good. Then they can let me out.”
“Ha. Not likely. I’m not supposed to be here either. Doesn’t mean we’re allowed to leave.”
Crowley groaned. Ligur smacked him on the back.
“There, there,” he said. Then he stabbed him.
Crowley glared daggers right back at him.
“You dint scream that time,” Ligur said, disappointed.
“That’s because I know you can’t hurt me, you outright dunce.” Crowley gestured at his chest impatiently.
Ligur begrudgingly removed the knife. He shrugged. “Anyway, now it’s even. You kill me, I kill you.”
“That’s twice you’ve killed me now!”
“Yeah, well, you killed me first, so it’s only fair. And nothing happened to you when I murdered you anyway. At least your murder of me made a big writhing mess. I bet I looked pretty cool, huh?”
Crowley sighed. “And you’re sure you’re my only hope of getting out of here?”
“Yep.” Ligur started walking in the direction they’d come from and gestured for him to follow. “The others are more in the Mediterranean area. You were walking out towards the ocean. Pretty soon you’d’ve been headed for Iceland.”