First try at a Supernatural story!
I love this series so much, and have been wanting to write something. I tossed around ideas of stories featuring Castiel, but figured that that might be overdone- then I thought, you know who doesn't get enough attention?
Crowley.
And here we are.
I own nothing.
Enjoy!
-Bella
Crowley sat in the darkness, his body numb.
The burning sensation of the demonic shackles settled into his skin like salt into boiling water. He dissolved into the pain, enjoyed it even. Crowley had to admit that the Winchester boys were smarter than the credit he gave them. Torture like this, so subtle, so finessed- the slow, agonizing pain of being left with oneself.
Clever.
This proved to the King of Hell that those bumbling, bratty buffoons either knew what they were doing- or knew him well enough to provide this cozy little slice of Hell on Earth.
Fantastic.
The voices began again- the poignant banter, the sardonic snarks, and the anguished cries.
I DESERVE TO BE LOVED!
"Oh, shut up!" Crowley told the darkness.
How long had he been in this pit? 2 weeks? 2 months? Not that it mattered. When you rule Hell the concept of time is never anything of consequence. How laughable to think that the Winchesters believed that he would break under these conditions. That he would simply give away all of his children because he was put in time out.
How cute, how quaint, how...
The sound of the large metal door groaning pulled the salesman from his thoughts.
"Is that you, Moose? I thought you'd forgotten about me- and after the lovely time we spent together," Crowley instigated, hoping for a rise out of the baby Winchester. Crowley would have his fun- prisoner or not.
The bookcases that concealed Crowley's play pin swung open to reveal a panel of angry eyes. Dean stood with his arms crossed, face tense, and Holy water visible. To his left stood Castiel, eyebrows furrowed and lips slightly apart, as if he carried with him the constant burden of disbelief. Sam stood to Dean's right, his natural position. His hand twitching, aching to remove Crowley's tongue from his ever smirking mouth.
"Well isn't this a delightful family reunion. You should have warned me, I would have made tea," chided Crowley.
"Shut up, dickhead," replied the elder Winchester, "We have a special surprise for you…and after we give it to you, you are going to tell us everything you know. Everything."
"Oh, really? And what is it that I'm supposed to know?"
"The location of every demon topside," Sam answered, anger etched into the thin line of his lips, "How to kill Abaddon… oh, and how to kill you while you're at it."
Crowley scolded the boys.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, boys. You really think traditional torture or leaving me alone with myself, who by the way is the best company I can imagine, will really break me?"
"No," the steady voice of Castiel stated, "but we brought someone who will."
Crowley furrowed his brow and tilted his head. As he bit his lower lip he quickly rummaged through his mental palace for anyone who could possibly hold intel, power, or anything else that could break him.
Dean gave a short laugh at Crowley's confusion and looked to his partners as he addressed them.
"We should have realized earlier- you don't send three men to do a woman's job," they each took a step to their respective sides with one last knowing and spiteful look at their prisoner.
As the trio parted, a figure appeared from the darkness behind them. If Crowley had a heart, it would sink into the deepest pits of Hell as the outline became clear. A woman stood before him, terse and unmoving. She had wild, disobedient, brown tendrils that cascaded down to her lower back. One could say that she resembled a lioness- sturdy, fierce, and protective. Her figure was robust, and defined. She had unapologetic curves that no man could mistake. Her eyes the color of a copper penny- bright and changing with the light, almost gold to some. Though she appeared young, those eyes appeared to hold the wisdom and burden of many years of existence. Her complexion was pale and soft, as if one touch could make her disappear. She wore dark jeans that hugged her hips and flared at her calves. Her shirt was an emerald silk, which barely caressed her form. Her appearance gave the impression that she would attend a dinner party. Enochian symbols peaked curiously at the man in the chair from the corner of her shirt, disappearing coyly into her collar bone. The woman took a few steps forward and stopped an inch away from the red Devil's trap.
She stared, devoid of emotion.
He stared, filled with unwarranted emotion.
Finally composing himself, somewhat clumsier than usual, he started,
"Well, well, well, the Winchesters are certainly broadening their horizons of what Hell really is," Crowley offered the boys a pointed look, "seems like you've finally got mine pegged. Good on you- to figure out that my Hell isn't so much a what or where as much as …who… You know I…"
"Crowley." The woman interrupted. The name on her lips came out tentatively, as if she feared saying it would incite world suffering. Her voice sounded young, much the way she looked. To humans she could be no more than twenty-five, but Crowley knew better.
"Delilah." Crowley countered, "I see you were expelled from Daddy's School for Drones with the rest of the lot."
"So, now that we've allowed for your lovely reunion, would either of you two be so kind as to tell us how you know each other. You know, so we can start getting to the 'rip-the-information-out-of-the-bastard' part?" Dean asserted, gesturing to the man on trial.
"Oh, now that," Crowley said, looking at Delilah with seething resentment, "is quite a story."
Sam sighed his signature sigh and ran his hand through his hair, "I'm going to get some chairs. Looks like this will take a while."
Sam came back moments later and the four other occupants took a seat. Delilah had not spoken one word since she uttered the King's name. She sat, perfectly erect, hands folded on her lap- she was a fortress.
"Well?" said Castiel, who was growing tired of the suspense, it seemed so tedious- so human. Although he had grown to appreciate much that is humanity, he will never appreciate wasted time.
"Let's see….now where to begin, love?" Crowley's question directed toward Delilah, "Oh, yes. I know. What was that little thing you Americans had with us British? That silly fight? Oh yes….the Revolutionary War."
Keep going? Yeah? Eh?
Review, please!