Short Stories and Oneshots

Deal

Type: A Supernatural/Thunderbirds Oneshot

Jeff Tracey calls on Crowley after the death of his wife. A conversation ensues, no real need to know both fandoms for this as one kind of explains the other.

~

Jeff Tracey, astronaut, father, husband, businessman, CEO and widower does not know what to do. A week ago his wife died in an accident. A week ago his youngest son was born. Ten hours ago he buried Lucille. Two hours ago he started drinking. Four days ago she told him a way that he might get her back. An hour ago he decided to try it and three minutes ago he buried a box at a crossroads and recited an incantation. Now he stares up at the stars and wonders when God abandoned him and his family. Now he stares into darkness and wonders how he will ever be able to continue without her even though he has his five sons to think of.

"Well, now, don't you just stink of righteousness.

The voice is that of a man Jeff has never met, the twang of a Cockney accent colours the words and he turns to find the owner of the voice. The man in question is wearing a well-tailored black suit and white shirt, clean shaven and clear eyed, he regards Jeff with half a smirk and a dark kind of mischief.

"Who are you?" He demands, disturbed to hear the slur of alcohol in his voice.

"Crowley, King of Hell," the words are delivered straight faced, total and utter belief in the voice and stance of this man. "And you are Jeff Tracey. Wish I could say this was a surprise."

"I've been told you have a way to bring my wife back," he says, staring at the stranger and Crowley nods.

"I have," the man confirms, "but I'm not going to. Call this a professional courtesy, one businessman to another. I've heard about your persistence and the answer is no. There's nothing that you have that I want."

"Not even money?" Jeff asks and Crowley laughs, the sound dark and raucous and terrible.

"What does a demon need with money?" He asks. "No, this is one instance where your money is worthless and your soul, well, your soul belongs to the sort of man I don't want anywhere near my little corner of the universe."

"I don't understand," Jeff admits, his mind still clouded with grief, alcohol, and confusion. "Is my soul so worthless, isn't there anything I can do to get her back?"

"Your soul isn't worthless, exactly," Crowley shakes his head, "the price of that thing is simply too high. I've had enough angels march into Hell to last me even my long life. Believe me, as long as Tracey men remain as righteous as you they won't be coming anywhere near my blackened gates. You want my advice?" In reality Jeff does not want to know what this man, this demon, is going to say. He also knows that he is going to hear it anyway. "Go out, get drunk, find yourself a nice whore and then go home and raise those five boys of yours. Don't bother me and mine again. You won't get another response. If you're lucky you'll meet her again when you get upstairs. If you're not then that's your problem and not mine."

"If you're not going to help me then why did you come?" Jeff demands.

"I told you, it's a courtesy call," Crowley smiles. "And a warning. I don't want any Traceys in Hell, but if you persist I will have each and everyone of you killed. I'm including your boys in that. Trust me, your family isn't worth the bother that making a deal with you would cause me. Go home, Jeff, take the warning for what it is."

Crowley disappears between one heartbeat and the next, leaving Jeff Tracey alone in the moonlight.

In later years the Tracey patriarch will look back on this encounter and offer silent thanks to the demon. Crowley may not have intended it but his stubborn refusal to accept Jeff's offer becomes a catalyst in the creation of one of the greatest rescue services in history: International Rescue.