CHAPTER 3

"I don't know what you're talking about, boys," Crowley said, smiling at his two least favorite humans. They were nothing but trouble and now they had him by the proverbial balls.

"We should just give him to Abbadon in exchange for her getting off our asses." Dean spit the words out before pushing himself out of the chair that he was sitting in.

The thought of being surrendered to Abbadon like he was-shackled and powerless-was horrifying. Crowley had been around the block more than once, even lived through an apocalypse or three, but he had no intention of crossing paths with Abbadon until he was back to full strength with his supporters in Hell at his back. Without that, he'd never win.

The blood Moose had injected him with weeks before in the abandoned church had done a number on him. He could still feel that heaviness of humanity as it tried to pull him under every now and then when his mind wandered. It was the most distressing thing he'd felt in ages, perhaps even more than when his soul had been twisted into its current form. And yet, there was something so bittersweet about feeling human again. Like coming home after centuries of traveling. He wanted to feel disgusted with his weakness, but he felt more disgusted with his past.

The blood had worn off some by the time the Winchesters had pulled him out of the Impala's trunk. Thankfully, his bouts of tears and hysterics had subsided during his time restrained in that dark box that stank of oil and steel. Now he just had periods of maudlin guilt and grief in the more tedious moments chained up in their bunker, or whatever it was. All he could see were the stone walls surrounding him and the shelves of boxes in the room beyond. Of course, he'd picked up little clues here and there in their conversations with him or in front of him, but it was still somewhat of a mystery.

"Dean, we can't deal with her. She's..."

"Insane," Crowley said, finishing Sam's sentence. "She'll never give you anything."

"Like you have," Dean snapped back.

"Boys, let's not forget the Colt and the myriad of helpful pieces of information I've provided. The situation with the Leviathan. Most recently, I kindly translated your little angels-fall-from-heaven spell."

"Yeah, well, a lot of good that did," Dean replied.

"And we paid you for that. You made a call," Sam added. "And you know you never help us unless there is something in it for you."

Crowley held his hands out. "What can I say? I'm an businessman."

"A salesman," Sam corrected.

"I like businessman better," Crowley said, trying to keep his tone smooth and level. He still remembered the way Abbadon had called him a salesman like it was a bad thing. Hell had prospered during his reign while she was out of the picture. Fuck her.

"Look," Sam sat down in Dean's abandoned chair across the table from Crowley. "Word on the street is that Abbadon is locked out of the inner sanctum of Hell. She can plan all she wants, but can't actually rule without the power there."

Crowley smiled, and while he did feel pleasure over Abbadon's frustration, he also felt his fear. The smile felt more like a grimace. If only everyone knew how tenuous his hold on Hell was. If she found the key, then he'd be hunted down and killed. Not even the Winchesters and their little demon-proof bunker could save him.

"I don't know what key you're referring to," he told Moose.

"I think you do," Sam replied.

"And if I do, why would I tell you and Squirrel about it? Perhaps if you let me out of these shackles, my memory might clear up."

"No," Dean snapped. "No deals."

Crowley swallowed. He felt that familiar wave of nausea that was about to crest. He attributed it to the blood-some sort of addition to the human blood that Sam injected him with. The nausea was typically followed by overwhelming emotion. There was a Portuguese word-saudade-that Crowley thought was the best choice to explain how he felt in these times. Saudade couldn't be translated into any one word in English, but it meant an overpowering and melancholy longing for what is lost and will likely never been regained. After so many years existing in the absence of messy emotions, Crowley found these moments of saudade to be crippling.

He needed more blood. The blood stopped the nausea. Living in the in-between just made him feel like he was adrift in a sea, thrown here and there by the feelings the blood had started. The fucking blood was something to tie his boat to. No, it didn't make it any less distressful and hurtful, but it gave him some bearing some solid ground to stand on while the sea raged around him.

And he needed the key because without it, he was no one, nothing. Just a crossroads demon who had lost his mojo, who had started feeling remorse. It was really only a matter of time before Abbadon asked the right questions to the right demons and ended up discovering where he had hidden it.

The walls were closing it and the escape routes were fewer and fewer. The key wasn't safe out there. It wasn't really safe with the Winchesters either, but there was something to be said about choosing the lesser evil. And Moose and Squirrel did have a tendency to want to save people. Having the key close to him, even if it was in their hands had to be better than hoping the key would stay out of Abbadon's hands in the wide world outside these blasted stone walls.

"Take the collar off and I'll tell you where to find the key."

Moose and Squirrel both looked over at him. "Tell us where to find the key and then we'll take the collar off," Dean said.

"Boys, boys, really. Collar first, then the key."

Sam stood and carefully walked behind him to unlocked the steel collar engraved with entrapping symbols. The thing irritated his skin and caused a constant headache with such powerful magic carved into it. When you piled that on the nausea from the blood withdrawal and the occasional beating from his two least favorite humans, Crowley was beginning to feel like shit. And that wasn't even taking into account the stress over his position in Hell being in such peril.

When the collar fell off, he took a deep breath and cracked his neck, leaning his head from one side to the other. "Fabulous, boys. Now the cuffs and we'll go get that key."

"Not a chance," Dean said, hands on his hips. "Put the collar back on, Sammy."

"Wait," Crowley said. "If you leave the collar off, I'll tell you where you can find it." It was the best he was likely to get from them.

"No," Sam said, walking back around the table to stand beside Dean.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "My hands are chained and I'm in a Devil's Trap. As much as I'd love to tell you two to fuck off and snap my fingers to get out of here, I can't. The collar is overkill, don't you think?"

They turned their backs on him and walked out of the room. Crowley bent his head down and tried to stifle the second wave of nausea. He needed blood, but he couldn't ask them for it. That would be admitting he wanted to be human again. And he didn't. He just wanted this roiling sea of emotions to stop and let him off. He tried to think of something to get them to stay, but nothing was coming to mind. It was all he could do to keep himself from falling on the floor and weeping.

After several long moments, he looked up to see them conferring just outside his cell. Their voices were hushed and he couldn't make out much. Finally, Sam stepped back inside the room and said, "Tell us where the key is and we'll leave the collar off."

Crowley swallowed the saliva in his mouth, hoping that would quell the feeling of being seasick. "Route 66 Casino just west of Albuquerque, New Mexico."

"What room?" Dean insisted.

"You mean who," Crowley corrected. "Her name is Hazel. She works the blackjack tables."

They took off immediately in search of the girl. Crowley stood up and stretched his arms above his head, straining his body from the tips of his fingers all the way to his feet. It felt good to move. And it felt bad to feel. He collapsed back into the chair and sighed. The room was dark with the exception of the faint light leaking between the edges of the cabinet doors that separated this room from the storage area beyond. Wearily, he rested the side of his face on the cool metal of the table.

She roused emotions in him. Not that he cared for her. Well, maybe he did care for her a little. Before the blood it was a passing interest. She intrigued him with her classic beauty, her naïveté, and her sense of humor. She tried to hide the sense of humor, though. Perhaps he intimidated her enough that it rarely came out to play.

She was one of those rare people who didn't waiver. Not that he couldn't tempt her-he had talked her into a kiss after all-but that she had a firm grasp of who she was. She might not think that, but he dealt in human souls; he could easily see it. Most people vacillated back and forth like some sort of fidgety, nervous creature, trying to find their way through life. She was still, static, conscious. It was something to behold and rarer than anyone would think. People like her didn't make deals with demons like him.

She's too good for me, he thought. The fucking blood. The blood gave him these horrible thoughts, the pathetic moments of self-pity and desperate longing. Crowley groaned and road another wave of nausea. How would he face her when the Winchesters finally got her here? She knew him as a powerful man who tempted her with lustful thoughts. Now he was tied up like an animal for the Winchesters to poke at and question, pump for information and bully into answers.

Crowley closed his eyes and pictured Hazel. She had light blonde hair that parted to the side. It swept over her left eye sometimes when she leaned forward and she'd push it back behind her ear absently. He'd felt how soft her hair was the night he'd kissed her. The memory made him lick his lips, remembering her sweet taste. Strength and desire laced with innocence. It was intoxicating, especially for someone like him.

Her eyes were a light green and striking with the way she painted on that black liner above them. Long lashes and a taupe-colored shimmery paint on her eyelids that paired well with the blush on her cheeks and the soft red of her lips. Porcelain skin made her full lips a wonder to behold. With lush curves, which were the height of beauty in his day, he wondered at why she seemed to shrink herself around people. It was like she wanted to be invisible. If she'd been born in the sixteen hundreds like him, she'd have been worshipped by every man alive. And she couldn't have possibly flown under the radar like she was trying to do now.

His intentions with her had been only passing interest at first. He'd watched her for weeks before laying on the charm and asking her upstairs. Her refusal shouldn't have shocked him as much as it did. She was so still with those wise eyes. She could see he was trouble, even if she was as intrigued as he was. When she crushed his plans for a night of passion, he pulled out his old crossroads tricks by offering a deal. Again, he should have known it wouldn't work. Her balance was unshakable.

What if Moose and Squirrel brought her back here and kept her to themselves? What if they found her as irresistible as he had? Desiring him, a demon, had gone against her nature, but she might like two heroic men her age who wanted to protect her. Hot jealousy spread through his body and he had to lift his head and work his jaw back and forth to keep from clenching his teeth together. He wouldn't tell them anything else until they brought her to him. Letting her see him like this wasn't ideal, but it was better than not seeing her and knowing she was with them.

Knowing the key was there with them, he corrected himself. Fuck the blood. The longing for her was just a symptom of the addiction. Just another thing to be repressed until it subsided and dissipated. But what would her blood feel like as it entered him? He moaned and pressed his forehead to the table.

Hazel had watched the door for weeks, but he never showed. He'd kissed her senseless, gave her some bullshit roleplay card with a fake number, and then disappeared from her life. Not that he'd ever really been IN her life, but still... She had been able to oogle him once or twice every couple weeks and that had been something at least. Something to keep her libido occupied since without him she was beginning to feel like a dried up old maid who would never be touch by another man again. And she wanted-needed-that feeling he'd given her, pushed up against the door of her car, surrounded by him, engulfed by his body and his mouth as he made her knees weak and brain scrambled.

She'd written a nearly pornographic short story that would have given any of that lame Fifty Shades knock-off literature a run for it's money, but that was about the extent of her accomplishments since Crowley had successfully left her sexually frustrated. Where was he now when she was inclined to accept his offer of a night in his penthouse suite? Gone, obviously. Like every other man in her life.

Charles, the floor manager, escorted her across the room with her bank so she could cash out and leave for the night. Hazel had resolved to go home and work on a short story that had nothing to do with HIM. Good intentions sometimes went awry, though.

She sat the box down on the table by the cage and stretched while Charles signed off on the chips. Just as she opened her mouth to wish him a good evening, Hazel felt a gust of air. It was either freezing cold or blazing hot; she couldn't tell which. Right after she felt it, she saw a stream of black smoke move with purpose through the hallway that led to the locker rooms. It was heading straight for her and Charles.

Before she could open her mouth to call out a warning, the black smoke narrowed and streamed right into Charles' open mouth. The power of it knocked her back against the wall. And just as soon as it began, it ended. "Charles, are you okay?" she asked when he turned around to face her. "What the hell was..." She trailed off when she saw his eyes. They were completely black, inky darkness that sent a chill down her spine. "Charles?" she whispered.

"Where's the key?" he said.

"What?" His eyes were still black, no white to them at all. It looked unnerving, unnatural. She found herself edging down the hall away from him.

"The key!" he screamed, stepping toward her. The fingers of his outstretched hand slipped around her throat, cutting off her scream.

Hazel flailed, panic setting in. There was something wrong with him, something bad. It was like he'd been possessed with the soulless eyes and the drastic change in demeanor. His grip wasn't easy to break; she only managed to do so by kicking at him and landing a hit to his groin. Hazel tumbled backward and landed on her ass. Using her hands and her heels she pushed herself down the hall, back toward the door that led to the casino floor. Another cloud of black smoke shot down the hallway headed straight for her face. She braced herself, throwing an arm up over her eyes, but no impact came. She peeked around her forearm to see the smoke spread out before her, as if she had an invisible wall around her body, protecting her.

After a long moment, the smoke shot off to the left and through the bars that protected the cage. Phillip, who worked in the cage, shouted in surprise and was overtaken by the smoke. It filtered in through his nose and mouth. Meanwhile, Charles had found his feet and was running toward her.

Hazel screamed and scrambled to get up off the floor. Just as she managed to push herself up, he hit her full force and they both tumbled to the ground. "Where is the key?" he demanded, pinning her down.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" she screamed, trying to free herself. "Stop, Charles, stop!"

In an act of utter desperation, she opened her mouth and sank her teeth into his forearm. "Fucking bitch," he hissed, bring a hand back and striking her on the side of her face. Hazel felt her teeth rattle and her cheek sting with the force of the impact. She was acting on pure survival instinct when she grabbed a fistful of his hair and jammed her knee up into his crotch again. When he reared back, she lifted her elbow up and smashed it into his nose. He sat back on his heels, holding his bleeding nose.

"What's all the commotion back here?"

Hazel look up to see a security guard in the doorway that led to the casino floor. "Help!" she yelled. "He attacked me." She pushed herself up to her feet and backed toward the security guard. "He's possessed," she said without thinking. The rational part of her brain knew possession was hocus pocus, but there was no other explanation for what had just happened.

The door to the cage opened and Phillip emerged with black eyes and a look of gleeful rage.

"What the fuck, Phillip," the guard said. "Your eyes..."

"Get her," Phillip growled at Charles.

Suddenly black, oily smoke poured out of Charles' eyes, nose, and mouth and streamed over to the security guard.

Knowing what was coming now, Hazel pushed past the stunned security guard and onto the casino floor. She didn't even think of what she must look like, stumbling across room in torn hose with blood on her white shirt. The only thought in her brain was that she needed to get OUT. Get out of the casino and away from whatever was in the black smoke.

She hit the front door at a run and nearly tripped when she stepped off the curb into the parking lot. Her keys were inside in her purse in the locker room. She couldn't get there without going through them. And there was no way she could go through them.

The parking lot had a few cars that belonged to hotel guests, but no one was out there to ask for help. And she didn't have a phone to call the police. The door banged open and she took off at a run, not even looking back to see who was in pursuit. Probably the security guard who had been taken over by the smoke. Or Phillip who seemed to be in charge.

"Oh my god," she muttered, running blindly across the nearly empty lot toward the road, hoping she could flag down a car before they reached her. "Help! Help!"

There were headlights ahead on the frontage road for the interstate. They were coming toward her, but she could hear the slaps of foot falls behind her and they were close. Too close for her to make it.

"Help!" she screamed, throwing her arms in the air and waving at the car before she looked over her shoulder and saw the guard and Phillip a few yards from her. Unfortunately, taking that peek allowed them to catch up with her. The guard grabbed her arm and whipped her around to face Phillip.

"I don't know what you want," she said, overwhelming panic in every single one of her words. "I don't have any key."

"Crowley spoke to you the last night he was here. He gave you the key," Phillip bit of each word like he was spitting them at her.

Crowley? What about him? "I-he didn't give me anything. I swear," she said. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Those black eyes had murder in them. "I swear," she repeated.

Before Phillip could reply, the sound of the far-away engine became overwhelming and the bright headlights illuminated his body. The front corner of a car hood slammed into his body, throwing him several yard away.

"What the hell," he guard said, throwing her to the ground and advancing on the car.

She pushed herself up to a seated position and watched two men emerge. One of them punched the guard before pulling a knife and shoving it in his stomach. There was a brilliant flash of white and then he crumpled to the ground. Phillip was back on his feet and grappling with the second man. The first, who had just stabbed the guard, ran over and shoved the knife in Phillip's back. Another burst of white light shown from around the knife before the body fell to the pavement.

Hazel got to her feet again and backed away from the two men approaching her. "I don't know where the key is!" she called out to them, her hands up in surrender.

"We're looking for Hazel. Are you Hazel?" the man closest to her said. In the light of the car's beams, she could see that he was around her age with hair that brushed the collar of his jacket.

"I-I don't know where the key is," she repeated, backing away again. "I swear."

"Hey, hey, hey," he said softly. "We're here to help. Are you Hazel?"

"Why?"

"I'm Sam. This is my brother Dean." He nodded over to the second man. Dean was slightly shorter than his brother with shorter hair as well. They were both drop-dead gorgeous. "Hazel, right?" Sam tried again.

"Um, yeah," she whispered.

"We're hear to help," Dean said. "We just didn't realize Abbadon had found you already."

"Abba-what?"

"Abbadon," Sam clarified. "She's the demon who sent those two."

"Demon?" Her head was spinning. "Wait, did-did you kill those guys? You-you stabbed them!"

"Woah, woah," Sam said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. "They were demons; they were going to kill you."

"Oh my god. What is happening?" She threw his hand off her shoulder and folded her arms over her chest. "I-I can't deal with this. We need to call the police." As soon as she said it, she heard the sirens in the distance. "Oh thank you, thank you," she mumbled to the sky.

"Look, we have to get out of here," Dean said. When he reached out for her upper arm, she twisted away. "Come on, lady!" he yelled.

"What does this have to do with Crowley?" she asked, remembering that Phillip had mentioned him before these two guys showed up.

"You know Crowley?" Sam asked.

"Uh, no. Not really. He used to come in here a while back. I-I talked to him a couple times, but... no, I didn't know him."

"Hazel, we need to get out of here before Abbadon realizes her soldiers are gone," Sam said.

"But..." she whispered, letting him take her arm and lead her toward the car. It was hard to comprehend all that had happened.

The wind was picking up and the hair was standing up on the back of her neck. "She's coming," Dean called out, pulling open the back door of the car. "Get in fast. She'll kill you."

"Who?" Hazel asked Sam as he pushed her toward the car.

"Abbadon. She's a Knight of Hell."

"Hell doesn't exist," she told him.

"Unfortunately, it does," Sam muttered. As soon as she had slipped into the back seat, he ran around the front of the car and jumped into the passenger side. Dean was already behind the wheel and hitting the gas. For a moment, the tires spun on the asphalt before the car jumped forward.

"What is happening?" she asked once they were on the interstate again.

"Sit back. We've got a lot of 'splaining to do, Lucy," Dean said, his eyes glancing back at her in the rearview mirror.