Just a random one-shot.

Crowley has had enough. He was a demon, the freaking King of Hell, and his mother thought that she could talk to him like he would still be that pathetic runt she had abandoned. And of course she kept calling him Fergus, just because she knew how much he hated it. His name was Crowley! Damn redheaded bitch… witch. No, bitch sounded about right.

"Fergus!" Rowena's voice called, she was knocking on his door. "Are you here?"

No, he most definitely wasn't going to be here, he was gone before the door opened. The woman was really making Hell… well, Hell to him. What he needed right now was a break. Where to go, where to go… He could use a drink. After a moment of consideration, he chose New Orleans; he had always liked the place. Plenty of dark history, witchcraft, voodoo, etc. Not to mention Mardi Gras. Feathers…. So much feathers… And glitter. Crowley appeared in the middle of the French Quarter, the place hadn't changed much since his last visit. Now he just needed to find a bar. Rousseau's… Why not. He marched inside and headed straight to the bar counter. It was early, so the place was almost empty, there was only one blonde guy sitting at the counter. Judging by the gloomy look in his eyes, the guy was having a bad day.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked. He was a middle-aged man who didn't seem very cheerful.

"Scotch," Crowley replied. "Make it a double."

"You got it."

"They don't have any good scotch," the blonde guy murmured, he had a British accent.

"What are you drinking?" Crowley asked.

"Bourbon, but it's not much better. I hate this place."

"Why are you here then?"

The guy let out a humorless chuckle.

"I was hoping to talk to someone, the other bartender, but she's not here. Oh well…"

He emptied his glass and ordered more. Crowley took a sip out of his own glass and noticed that the guy had been right, the scotch wasn't good. Not that it mattered; at this point he could drink anything that had alcohol in it. They both drank quietly until Crowley's phone rang.

"What?" he snapped.

"Your majesty," one of his demon lackeys said. "Your mother is looking for you…"

"Tell my mother that I'll be there when I feel like it and in the meantime she can go and jump in the nearest lake and hopefully drown!"

Crowley had a nasty headache when he hung up, couldn't the damn woman just leave him alone for a bloody moment?

"Problems with your mother?" the blonde guy stated.

"You could say that," Crowley murmured.

"Been there, mate."

"I doubt that," Crowley snorted. "Unless your mother has wanted you dead."

"Oh, she has," the blonde guy huffed. "She has tried to kill me more than once. Damn witch bitch…"

Crowley looked at him.

"Your mother is a witch too? And a bitch?"

"Yes, definitely. I really hate her."

Crowley smiled.

"I know what you mean. My mother was going to trade me for couple of pigs when I was a child. Then she abandoned me and now I'm pretty sure she's plotting to destroy me."

"Mine cursed me. And why, because she had been unfaithful to her husband and he found out that I wasn't his son."

"What a tramp," Crowley huffed. "So is mine, she doesn't even know who my father is, I was conceived in orgies."

"Ouch."

"Tell me about it." Crowley paused and raised his glass. "Here's to terrible mothers."

The blonde guy raised his glass.

"I'll drink to that. I'm Klaus by the way."

"Crowley. So, what is your witch bitch up to these days?"

"Plotting to kill me. Again. Honestly, how many times do I have to kill that bitch?"

Crowley raised his eyebrows.

"You have killed your mother?"

"Yes, once, but she just keeps coming back. It's bloody annoying."

"Well, you've done more than I have; it has been a long-term dream of mine to kill my mother. I salute you, mate."

"Thanks, but as I said, she just doesn't stay dead."

They both sighed and ordered another drinks.

"I'm sure we'll both succeed eventually," Crowley murmured. "Let's drink to that."

"Sure. Cheers."

They emptied their glasses with one gulp; the scotch didn't taste so bad anymore. In fact, Crowley was starting to feel much better. He had finally met someone who hated his own mother as much as Crowley did. This could just be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.