You can't write a supernatural fic without the Winchester boyos. Here it is!
There was no instruction manual for harboring two souls or… whatever it was that was occupying space inside of her earthly being. However, over the course of a year or two, Nysza learned that her life truly did progress normally. She headed into work for her shifts, entertained her friends, and hosted her parents whenever they decided to visit once or twice a month. Unfortunately, whenever she nearly forgot of her situation, a grim reminder reared its ugly, deformed head in an often messy occurrence.
Just two weeks ago, a common thief had broken her kitchen window, managing to only make it past the sink before they were torn apart and splattered all over the furniture. The first time had left her in a petrified state, especially after cleaning for five hours to rid her small home of the blood. Crowley had taken care of the body with efficiency… at least that's what he'd said.
She'd put up a beware of dog sign as a precautionary understatement of the century. Also, she had tried feeding it, completely uncertain what its dietary requirements were. All items had failed except for some chunks of raw meat that she thought might work on a bloodthirsty entity such as a hellhound.
Pulling a mitten over her hand, the brunette grasped the oven handle to check on the cookies inside. She had nothing for the potluck and the girl was rather prideful about her cooking. Six individual Ziploc bags were packed before rewarding herself with a cool glass of water. The liquid slid down her throat, replenishing every droplet of energy expended in the last few hours.
A loud crash, followed by inhuman snarling caused her heart to drop. More than once had she tried to stop it, but unless she answered the door herself and kindly greeted the guest in front of the hellhound, it simply determined the scent as hostile, free game. The wounds were also always too severe to treat if she were ever successful. Most mauling tended to occur when she was absent. It was a dramatic stretch from the upbeat cat that brought home dead rodent catches as a gift for their beloved owner. Small, dead animals littered across her bed were a notch better than gratuitously splayed human limbs … Right?
Mild concern pinched her brow at hearing a distinct gun shot, followed by a snarling whimper. Nysza gasped, nearly dropping her water glass as two men ran into the kitchen, instantly placing a thick line of salt along the door. One ran for the windows to do the same, while the other promptly splashed liquid from a vial on her.
"Wh—" Shocked and fairly offended, the woman retaliated by jerking her arm forward, sending whatever remaining liquid in her cup onto the startled male.
"Whoah, hold up…" Wiping the water from his face as well as parts of his flannel, and breaking away from his impressively practiced run, the stranger took a step back to scrutinize her. "You're not a demon." His voice was deep, skeptically so, but louder to combat the frenzied growling and barking from beyond the threshold. "The hell are you doing here?" Scowling past the confusion, the man turned to his companion, then back to her.
"I live here." Wiping her hands on her apron, Nysza glanced from one stranger to the other, finding that neither of them knew how to respond instantly. They were hunters. All that remained was whether they regarded her an enemy.
"So, uh, what are you, an informant? Contact?" The taller of the two hazarded, slowly turning his head with a slight shrug of his shoulders. Her mouth opened, only to find another voice respond.
"An intimate investment—consensual, of course." Both hunters whirled around with an urgency and readiness that suggested they recognized the voice too. "Hello boys." Crowley nearly purred, letting the greeting rumble out at a leisurely pace. Slowly angling his head to acknowledge her, "Rabbit." The two men had drawn their weapons—a strange silvery dagger far more intricate than a regular blade.
"You guys are the Winchesters aren't you?" She chimed. Nysza could count on two hands how many times Crowley had checked in on her. And eighty percent of the time, rants about the two brothers were imminent. "Your nicknames now make sense." Since she was able to finally put faces to the names.
"Thank you." It was clear he took pride on that platform. Instinctively, the dark-haired girl picked up a cookie bag and dropped it in the demon's hands as he sauntered by. "Love these." She also learned that he enjoyed making people uncomfortable, and ironically indulging in human pleasures that did nothing for him. Food and water were not a necessity, and yet here he was stockpiling cookies.
"Let her go, asshole." The one she assumed to be Dean scowled, clenching his jaw and readying his weapon. Crowley clicked his tongue in irritation.
"That's King Asshole to you." His thick accent lilted, adding another block to his pride. Nysza glanced off to the side, remembering him relaying to her the story of Lucifer's fall and his strategic rise to power. She had kept quite clear of that, much to the demon's intent and her own convenience. It was impressive to be sure, but involving herself in any supernatural chaos was not on the agenda, despite her current association.
"I'm fine. Really. It's okay." By all means, the young woman was positive that her reactions to things should have been more horrified or hysterical, but it-couldn't-get-any-worse was a constant, detrimental, mindset she had. She offered a smile, "You're both welcome to fresh cookies." Sam didn't falter, wrinkling his nose at the prospect. However, she caught the older brother flicker his gaze towards the table with the bags, packed with sweets. Walking over, Nysza slid one across the table for easier access. The business transaction was completed as Dean slipped the bag into his back pocket.
Without skipping a beat, the two charged forward, only to be thrown back with a simple hand gesture. The brunette exhaled sharply. "Don't break my things!" A noise within her throat hummed in displeasure. She honestly could not care for their conflict, given that she had no hand in it to begin with.
"You'll live." One of the brothers had missed a window, leaving one region unguarded by their salt line.
"Famous last words…" Her eyes widened as he lifted his hand, thumb and middle finger pressed together. The teleportation took place before she could properly even protest.
oOo
More than once had she been accused of being talkative by the demon constantly transferring her about as a means of keeping her hidden. However, most of the time, it was him who prattled on nonstop whenever they were in each other's company.
Sporting blue pajamas and a very soft blanket over her shoulders, Nysza sat cross-legged on her couch, watching the demon. He was leaning back in the recliner just slightly to the left of her vision, a glass of craig scotch being gingerly cradled in his hand. It was likely that the drink did not give him any sort of buzz either. Perhaps he just liked the taste.
"Uh. Continue." He had resigned to staring blankly ahead of him for a moment.
"Right. Self-righteous Cas—follows the Winchesters around like a lovesick angel puppy." She had to admit, the more she heard about Castiel, the more endeared she had become by the Angel. "He hasn't come to terms with how alike we are, nor the fact that it was me he ultimately turned to for assistance. We're working together; it doesn't get much better than that. Compadre." There was a malicious gleam in his eye. Occasionally she wondered what he was capable of. The demon was doing a particularly stellar job of keeping her separated from his affairs, which was why she indulged these wildly fantastical exchanges. Perhaps because it had not affected her life too negatively. "I'd love to choke him with his own bloody halo."
"You're working together." The glass was pressed to his lips momentarily before he drank. Apparently, she had missed the apocalypse too… among other things.
"Oh yeah. Set me ablaze and everything, literally. It was very dramatic. Standing ovation worthy really." Crowley watched an odd smile curve the girl's features before a laugh knelled. Dimples accented as she kept a smile, Nysza rolled her eyes. Either she was tickled by the joke or fancied the idea of him on fire.
"A sizzling performance." She finally added, observing him as he crossed one leg over the other and absentmindedly scratched his clean-shaven chin. "So how are things… with running," Every now and then the conversation topic would hit her and apprehension would resurface, "Hell."
"Hellish." All in all, the demon seemed genuinely exasperated by it. "D'you have any idea what shortsighted, stupid prats demons are?" The rest of the drink was finished off within that one rhetorical question. "Good for making examples out of though, the little jackasses."
"Oh, so you're not being fed grapes on plush cushions, with silk sheets swathing your naked body." Leaning forward, Nysza picked up the neck of a half full bottle, tipping it to refill his glass just a quarter of the way. He was smirking at her, aware that she was more than comfortable with combating his comments without fear of repercussions. Given, if she died, so did he.
"I didn't say I wasn't." Raising his eyebrows, he angled his head slightly. "But I'll make a note of the silk." There was a pause before he stood up. "And another thing. Pack your bags. We're going on an extended …. Field trip."
"What? Now?" With the Winchesters growing ever suspicious of the girl's existence and Eve roaming around freshly freed from Purgatory, there were measures he had to take. She was so curious about what he did? Well, she was going to find out firsthand.
"Yes." He answered simply, gesturing for her to hurry it along.
"Is it because I'm your Horcrux?" Anything he did for her benefit was, in all actuality, for his survival. He blinked, taken aback by that phrasing.
"Quite forward tonight, aren't we? I wouldn't call you my whore, per se…"
"Oh n-no I meant the book where he splits his—nevermind." After reasoning over a heap of theories about her situation, the best synoptic coping mechanism she could relate to was one she had read in a fictional novel. Close enough.
"Splits his...what—legs?" What combination of words could have completed that sentence? "Your smutty literature aside, we have things to do, chop-chop." It was amazing that he gave an early indication to pack without snapping his fingers again like a Broadway musical showdown.
"Are you not telling me where we're going?" Crowley regarded the girl as she got up from her seat, shedding the blanket that had been around her shoulders.
"A lovely and cozy venue. Temporary. But you'll love it." By the tone shift, Nysza had a feeling that she definitely would not.
thank you !