A/N: Just a little story about our favorite King. Short chapters as they come to me. Trying to finish up some other stories, but the words were tasting stale in my mouth. So here's a new flavor.

"Ah, you're awake."

Upon hearing the newly familiar voice, my skin tightens into goosebumps and my nerves thrum. It can't be. Maybe it isn't. Who else, though? I know this voice, and it's not the guys. Neither Sam nor Dean nor their half-crazy angel pal have a British accent. So it has to be him. And where are they, the boys? Where am I?

"Where am I?" I figure the best way to get answers is to ask.

"Hospital, love. So many fractures, blood all over, flash burn to the eyes. Nasty business."

"Flash burns?"

"Someone had a welding torch. Very inventive."

"Which hospital?"

"An uncomfortable one. My delicate ass has fallen asleep more than once this evening."

"You're not going to tell me where, are you?"

"No. Too much information will not help me, and I'm not interested in helping you."

"What are you interested in, Crowley?"

"You knew me even though you can't see me?"

"You made an impression."

"Oh, a good one, I hope."

"A lasting one."

"You aren't scared, are you? Not nervous at all. So brave, little mouse. Isn't that what he called you? Dean did? Mouse."

"Yeah, he calls me Mouse. I can get into any place."

"Cute. Mouse, Moose, and Squirrel. It's a fairytale forest."

"I'm no fairy princess, Crowley. Why are you here? What do you want?"

"Ah ah ah, you first. Why aren't you scared?"

I sigh. We could banter and be glib, or I can just fucking answer him. I'm too tired and in too much pain to stay funny. That shit's hard.

"Mouse, I'm waiting."

"If you were going to kill me, I'd be dead. If you were going to torture me, we wouldn't be in this hospital. If you were holding something or someone over my head, you wouldn't wait to tell me. I'm not scared of you, Crowley, because I have no reason to be at the momnet."

"Smart girl."

"But I am nervous about why you could possibly be sitting in that chair next to my bed like a concerned uncle. Am I bait?"

"You really are a smart girl."

"And?"

"And, yes. That's part of it. I want to see if if those denim wrapped nightmares will rush to your bedside."

"They won't."

"They won't, eh?"

"No, " I say, and the thought makes me laugh. "I'm not all that important to them."

"Really?" He shifts in his plastic chair, angles closer to me.

"Really."

"I thought I detected a hint of a special bond between you and the short Winchester."

"I'm going to tell him you said he's short."

"Deflecting, Mouse."

"We fuck, Crowley. Every now and then, we scratch a mutual itch."

"He comes back?"

"Yeah. Thanks," I snap. The king of Hell just offended me.

"And you go back for more? Even with all of the trouble he tows along with him wherever he goes."

"Yeah." I never really thought about it.

"He's that good?" he asks me with a devilish smile.

"Yeah."

"Ever give Moose a ride?"

"What's the other part, Crowley?" I ask, choosing to ignore the touchy question. Never admitting that out loud to anyone.

"What?"

"You said my being bait was part of why you're here. What's the other part?"

"Sharp and persistent. Annoying."

"Speak fast. I'm so tired."

"It's the painkillers. Sleep, little Mouse. I'll be here when you wake."

I close my eyes, knowing he's telling the truth.