Chapter One
You stand leaning against the hood of the Impala, your gun resting loosely in your palm; a simple pistol, but more powerful now that you know how to use it properly. You take a rag from your duffle bag on the ground and begin to polish the weapon you have become so fond of. It was a gift from the boys on your twenty-first birthday, and you haven't let it out of your sight ever since. While you buff a smudge off of the barrel, you hear the trunk slam shut behind you and see Dean come around the Impala out of the corner of your eye to lean against the hood next to you.
He nudges your shoulder with his. "You nervous, Princess?" he asks. He must know you are – you tend to fuss over your things when you're nervous. You put the rag away, tuck the pistol into your waistline, and turn to him with a shrug.
"No, I'm alright," you say with a convincing smile. If you are honest with yourself, you're scared to death, but you would never let him know that. What you and the Winchesters are about to go up against is bigger than anything else you've faced before, and if they weren't with you now, you don't think you'd have it in you to take this one on at all. The corner of his mouth twists up into a grin. This façade may work on Sam, but not him. Dean can see right through you.
"It's okay. Crowley's big game, and if you're scared, that's fine." He places a hand on your shoulder. "Say the word, and we can turn around right now. We'll find some motel and drop you off. Me and Sam can manage on our own."
You smile. He's always had a soft spot for you, but it was your lead that brought you to the King of Hell's trail, and you'd be damned if you didn't get a piece of the action. You shrug, "Crowley's not so big a deal. I think I can handle myself in there."
He grins wide. You love to see him smile. It's the only time you get to see his eyes truly shine.
Nowadays it's hard to keep him smiling.
Sam comes around the car and you load up on weapons, salt, iron, and anything you can think of to take on Crowley. Dean and Sam have been chasing him for months now and finally – with a little help from their favorite hunter – tracked him down to an old abandoned warehouse in Topeka, Kansas. After casing the perimeter, you find that he hasn't put any guards on the doors. Your first thought is that this is a stupid move, especially for Crowley. But then again, Crowley has always been smart enough to evade the Winchesters, so he is much smarter than you give him credit to be. This is a very bad sign . . . and you know it.
Dean walks slowly up to the door and wraps his fist around the handle. He turns to you and Sam with his gun up and ready. He mouths the words, one, two, three.
He jerks the door open and the three of you barge in, but the room isn't an old rundown abandoned warehouse, as you expected to see. The room you three stand in now is elegantly decorated with dark wooden tables and upholstered chairs and a sofa with ornate trim. The lavish sconces on the walls give a warm glow to this strange chamber. Placed in the center of the room is a large throne-like chair with dark red upholstery and enormous Corinthian pillars behind and on the sides of it that reach the ceiling. And sitting on this ornate throne rests the King of Hell himself.
"Well, well, well," Crowley says, his resonant voice filling the room. He brings his hands together and claps mockingly. "The Winchesters have finally found me. Took you long enough." He rolls his eyes and stands from his throne, sauntering towards the three of you with grace. He eyes each of you annoyingly. His gaze lingers longest on you. "Moose and Squirrel I expected, but you?" Crowley looks at Sam and Dean with a hint of genuine shock in his sinister grin. "You would bring along a hunter who is barely into her big girl panties to take on the King of Hell? You two are worse than I am." Crowley only smirks at him and snaps his fingers, making all of their guns and duffle bags disappear into thin air.
Crowley laughs and turns his gaze to the brothers. "Let's level the playing field, shall we?" he says and throws his palms up in front of him, sending Sam and Dean flying through the air and slamming against the walls. He speaks to you without taking his eyes off the other hunters. "Now you've got some time alone with the King, eh?"
You strike quickly. You twist your hand into a fist and punch upward with all you've got. With lightning speed, he grabs your wrist mid-swing and holds you from making contact with his face. He turns and grins, "Ooh, I like this one, boys. Feisty!" As quick as a flash, he jerks your wrist to the side, turning your arm outward at a sickening angle. The sound of bone breaking fills your ears and agonizing pain sears up your arm. You scream as hot tears blur your eyes and stream down your cheeks.
You hear Dean yell through the haze. "Let her go!" he shouts and stands, running a few paces towards Crowley. The demon instantly brings a hand up in front of his face and pulls it into a fist. Dean and Sam collapse to the ground, writhing in pain. Sam spits up blood and Dean doubles over in agony, both crying out so loud that it hurts your ears to hear it.
"Stop!" you shout at Crowley. "Stop it, you're hurting them! Please!"
"That's the idea, love. I don't suppose there's anything you can do about it." His mouth twists into a sadistic grin.
You have no weapons and no way to fight him. He is too powerful, and you weren't ready. You have no ideas. No choice. "Don't. Take me," you say.
He doesn't move, but strengthens his magical hold on the boys. Their screams fill the room and you can't take it anymore. Your boys; he's hurting your boys.
You shout as loud as you can, leaping forward to grab hold of his arm with your good hand, "Crowley, stop it! Take me!"
He wrenches his arm free from your grasp, momentarily breaking his hold on Sam and Dean to turn and slap you hard across the face. "You insolent maggot!" he shouts down at you, "What makes you think you are worth anything to me?"
You turn to face him, keeping your fists clenched tight so he can't see them shake. "Take me instead. I won't fight you, just – please leave them alone."
Sam and Dean cry out to you from across the room. "No! Don't do this!"
Crowley looks at you, sizing you up. His expression stays unwaveringly blank as he stares down at you. He asks, "You would sell your soul to me for the likes of them? The ones who inevitably brought you here to die at my hand? Are you that devoted to their ridiculous suicide mission?"
You take a deep breath to settle yourself and take one look at the two men bleeding onto the ground. You led them here. This is your fault, and you have to make it right.
You sigh, closing your eyes and accepting this fate. "I would give you my soul, no strings attached, if you promise not to hurt them," you say faintly. You know what you're signing away, and a large part of you doesn't care so long as the Winchesters can continue their work. They've saved the world time and again, and any part you can play to keep them alive – not to mention for your own selfish needs, because you need to know that they are alive – you will gladly pay any price for them.
Crowley watches you. He smirks and glances at the other two before turning back to you. "What are your terms, love?"
"Leave them alone. Promise to never lay a hand on either of them or hurt them in any way ever again and my soul is yours."
"You do understand what you're asking, don't you? You'll be mine. My own little slave, punching bag, prisoner . . ." His fingers wrap around a strand of your hair and pull lightly. "My own personal play-thing."
His hand slides down the strand to slither around your neck, holding it with a firm grip so you can't pull away. You taste bile as he strokes your jawline with his thumb.
His eyebrows rise slightly, waiting for your response. You breathe in faintly, willing to say 'Yes, take me with you,' but the words just won't come. You can't help but look down and nod as a single tear trickles down your cheek.
The two of you look to Sam and Dean – his face beaming with victory over them, yours cloaked in sorrow at the thought of never seeing them again.
Crowley raises his hand in the air, his fingers poised and ready to snap you away. "Right. Then let's be off, shall we?" he chimes.
"Wait!" you cry out. His hand freezes in the air above your head, the look on his face questioning. You pray for mercy before you speak. "C-Can I at least say goodbye?" you sputter through the thickness in your voice. For a moment, he is silent as he stares down at you. And just as you think he will refuse, as if a gift from God, he nods his head slightly and shoves his hands into his pockets.
You sigh with relief and turn to your boys. They look weak from Crowley's attack, but they stand tall for you. Sam attempts to cross the room towards you with great effort to hide his pain and you run into his arms, colliding into him and clinging to his chest, burying your face into his faded flannel shirt. Sam folds his gigantic arms around you and pulls you into his embrace. He tilts his head down to yours and places a small comforting kiss on the top of your head. "Don't do this, please. We can find another way to handle him," he whispers into your hair. Your eyes sting at the torture in his voice.
"Sam, don't. This is what I need to do. If I can keep both of you safe, then I will." You look up to his face expecting to meet his deep green eyes, but instead his are trained to Crowley's, watching him maliciously.
"We won't let him get away with this." Now, he looks down into your tear-clouded eyes. "We won't leave you. We're coming for you." He gives you one final squeeze, as if he's afraid to let go, and you kiss him once on the cheek.
You try to smile, but it falls just as soon as it is formed. "Goodbye, Sam." You can't say much more as your voice quakes. You turn from him with the intention to go to Dean, but he is already there in front of you. You stare up at him, his bright green eyes flashing with anger and sadness. You suddenly find yourself at a loss for words. What could you say in the brief moments you have left that would suffice for all that you wish you could say to him? For so long, you have admired him, cherished him, cared for him. He is your hero; he's saved your life more times than you can count and just the thought of not having him by your side causes a pain to leap to your chest. You stumble forward and wrap your arms around his neck, ignoring the sharp burning pain in your arm and pressing yourself as close to his broad chest as you can. He wraps himself around you and holds you just as tightly. He smells like leather and sweat and entirely masculine. 'Remember him,' you tell yourself, 'you'll never see him again.' A sob rips from your throat and Dean rubs his hand along your back to comfort you.
Crowley clears his throat somewhere behind you. There's no time; if there is anything that needs to be said, it has to be now or never. You turn your face slightly so your mouth hovers just over his ear. You whisper words you've only ever spoken in your mind, your voice little more than a breath on his skin. "I love you. I think I always have."
He pulls away to gaze down into your face, his eyes searching yours. A long moment passes where no one says anything. Not a single sound echoes in the ornate hall. Dean brings one hand up to caress your cheek, his thumb wiping the tears puddling under your lashes. Suddenly, his lips come down onto yours and he kisses you slow and sweet, cautiously. Your hand cups his face as you return the kiss. His lips are coarse and weatherworn, but his kiss is soft and loving as he holds you close, as if he never intends to let go. Never have you felt such tenderness and sorrow in the same miraculous moment. Your first and last kiss.
Crowley grabs your bad arm by the wrist and tears you and Dean apart; you grit your teeth to keep from screaming. "Alright, that's enough. As lovely as this little moment has been, we really must be going," he spits impatiently. "But first…" He twirls you around to face him and raises his eyebrows expectantly. When he doesn't speak, but stares down at you knowingly, your own apprehension gets the better of you.
"What?" you say cautiously. He only smirks and leans in close to you, so much that your noses almost touch.
He laughs lightly. "Whether you are selling your soul to me or not, this is – in fact – a deal, and therefore requires some form of . . . remuneration." He grins wickedly. You cringe as his hand slides around your neck again and Dean moves toward you, but Sam holds him back with an arm. He understands what Crowley means just as you do.
"Well?" the Demon King asks you. You turn your head, your face clearly showing your disgust for what you are about to do, and nod. Before you have time to react, his mouth comes crashing down on top of yours. His kiss – so unlike Dean's – is powerful, clearly a sign of his dominion over you. His tongue passes your lips and probes your teeth for entrance, but you clench them as tight as you can to deny him that.. You squirm in protest under his grasp, but he holds firm and even slowly moves his hands around to press against your lower back, pulling you closer than you ever wish to be. Crowley smiles down into your mouth and looks over at Dean, who is seething. Sam can't hold him back as Dean leaps forward with ferocity; but Crowley's fingers are faster, snapping you and him away to a different dark room that smells strongly of sulfur. Crowley releases you and you tumble to the ground, wiping the taste of him from your lips as much as you can and still sobbing from the loss of your boys. From Sam and Dean. You'll never see them both again.
"Oh for fucks sake, would you stop? You know you enjoyed it." You ignore him, and you feel him drag you up as he sits you on something soft. A fiery pain in your arm reminds you that it is broken and will probably never heal right after all the abuse it's endured tonight. He notices you grabbing it to dull the pain. "Here," he says plainly and snaps his fingers. Your arm cracks and shifts in an instant – a brief moment of intense pain and then nothing at all. You wiggle your fingers to regain feeling in the arm.
You wipe your eyes and look around at your new prison. Shockingly, it is nothing like you thought it would be. You expected dark, damp dungeons and chains shackling you to a wall with no hope to ever know comfort again. Instead, you sit on a plush blue quilt draped over a bed with a wooden frame that has carvings of intricate demonic symbols imprinted on the bedposts. You recognize some as warding spells, but most look foreign to you. At the edge of the room is a small wooden table and chair with a blue padded seat matching the quilt. In the corner is a dresser and mirror mounted above that. The whole room is bathed in warm light from a small lamp on the bedside table but there are no windows resting on the cold stone walls.
Crowley moves in front of you, taking a seat in the blue padded chair. "This," he motions to the room around you, "this is your new home. This chamber is yours for you to do with what you will." He stares at you, trying to find some emotional response. The truth is you just don't have anything left in you to care. You sigh and fold your hands in your lap.
He leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice is low and gruff. "Look, you've gotten yourself in a real mess here. What you did, you did for those dimwitted buffoons; and though I may not agree with your motive, that's something that even I can understand and appreciate. I acknowledge your sacrifice, is what I am trying to say. So this is how it is going to have to be: I will make sure you are taken care of," his voice dips lower and his indifferent stare becomes very serious, "but when I call you, you will come. I will not be made a fool of. Do we understand each other?"
You look down at your hands, which haven't stopped fidgeting since he started talking. His demands are reasonable, you guess, but you know better than to think that this arrangement has a happy ending for you. You nod, refusing to look at him, and it feels like you are accepting your own death sentence.
He stands. "Fair enough. Tonight, I will require no more from you. I'll send someone to tend to you in the morning." He turns and, just before he shuts the door on your fate and your bed chamber, he quirks a smile at you. "Sweet dreams, darling."