Chapter 4
Evie woke slowly, actively fighting to pull herself from the haze. She forced her eyes open. The lighting seemed dim; she couldn't tell if there wasn't enough light to see or if it had been too long since she used her eyes. She felt … cold, restrained. As her eyes started to adjust, she saw a short shadow enter the room. She also started to realize why she felt so cold: she was naked and strapped to a metal table.
She heard shuffling footsteps and rattling noises nearby, like tools were being selected, replaced, and finally chosen again. Her eyes desperately searched the fading darkness for the source of the sound, but all she managed to see were flickering fluorescent lights hanging above her and a portion of the leather strap across her chin. She could feel all the restraints, even if she couldn't see them: across her forehead and chin, breasts, both wrists, hips, and both ankles, holding her perfectly stationary. They were fastened very tightly and dug into her skin.
She struggled with sudden jolts of energy, hoping to break free, jump the unwitting shadow figure, and escape. The rattling noises suddenly stopped. Evie froze, her eyes darting around frantically.
"Oh, good," said a gruff male voice. "You're awake."
Crowley's leering face appeared in Evie's restricted field of vision. There were spatters of blood and who knows what other fluids covering his filthy once-white apron.
Evie's breath stopped short. She tried not to show him how afraid she was, but he knew. He could smell it. Fear become a delicacy for Crowley after years of honing his taste for torture. Each victim was different, unique in his or her own way, but there was always one thing Crowley could count on: fear. It was a subtle undercurrent, that je ne sais quoi that absolutely made a dish. It was always there, but it never lost its zing. One way or another, he always got it. Sometimes easier than others.
On this girl he smelled fear and something else mixed in … a stubborn will with a dash of sass. This might be more fun than he had originally thought.
"So, sweetheart," Crowley purred. "Where shall we begin?"
Evie glared at Crowley with fiery eyes and pursed lips.
"Really? The silent treatment?" he asked playfully. "Or are you just playing hard to get?"
Crowley ambled back into the shadows and removed a simple, sharp knife from the stainless steel table, which was covered with horrific blades, each worse than the last. He teasingly slid the tip of the blade along Evie's skin, starting at her left hip and tracing a trail across her tight stomach and between her breasts.
"Loosen up a little. I bet I can hit the sweet spot," Crowley teased.
"Who are you? What do you want?" asked Evie, breathless. Her eyes watered, and her skin flushed. She had been allergic to sulfur as long as she could remember. The allergy had become both a blessing and a curse when she started hunting; she always knew when demons were around, but her skills were hindered.
"Where are my manners? The name's Crowley … King of Hell," he said, grinning smugly. He got the reaction he wanted this time: pure fear.
"And, you are … under usual circumstances a bottom-dwelling, street-walking whore hunter I couldn't give two shits about. But, somehow, you have gained the good graces of an old associate, an angel I do happen to give a shit about. Well, not the angel, per se, but what he knows."
"I don't know anything," Evie said as flatly as she could manage.
"You know more than you think you know," said Crowley. His grin widened.
Crowley grabbed a small glass bottle from the table of horrors. The clear, unlabeled vial contained a thick, red liquid. Crowley raised his eyebrows playfully as he flaunted the bottle above Evie's troubled face. Evie's red, watery eyes darted between the bottle and Crowley's hazy form.
"What?" Evie asked with as much arrogance as she could pull off. "You need a truth serum to get it up?"
Crowley's smirk faltered, but only for a moment. It was enough to give Evie a little confidence, which Crowley immediately took away. Suddenly, he gripped Evie's cheeks with a force she didn't expect from this smarmy, little man. He squeezed his fingers tightly around her chin, letting them dig further into her cheeks with each frantic breath. He stared into Evie's eyes with an intense, unbreakable gaze.
He squeezed a final time, opening Evie's mouth against her will. Crowley flipped the cork from the bottle with a flick of his thumb and poured the liquid down Evie's reluctant throat. She tried to spit it out, but Crowley's unyielding hand covered her mouth and nose. She held out as long as she could, trying to stay calm and hold her breath, wait until he moved his hand away. She lasted for thirty seconds, each feeling like a month, but soon she gave in. The liquid coated her throat like paint coating a canvas. She could feel granules coursing past her uvula and following the trail to her stomach; they made her gag, but eventually, she swallowed. It was done.
Crowley removed his hand slowly, gingerly tracing the edges of her lips with the tip of his index finger.
"Hmm," Crowley grunted with satisfaction. "There's a good girl."
Coughing, Evie managed to choke out a barely comprehensible: "What was that?"
"That was a little concoction I whipped up," Crowley stated, feigning modesty, but his pride oozed from every part of him. He was obviously waiting for a dramatic response. Evie refused to give it to him, maintaining a visage of a relatively cool exterior, although on the inside it was utter panic. Her mind was all over the place: Was it truth serum? Was it poison?
"I cleared up that nasty allergy for you," Crowley grinned. "We're going to be spending a lot of time together, and I want every second to be unpleasant, of course … but only for you. That whole sneezing, watery-eyes bit would get in the way." He dangled the knife just above Evie's breasts. He was holding his breath, waiting for any sign of emotion from Evie – tears, prayer, groveling. When she didn't indulge him, he sighed loudly. "I gave you the gift of life … forever. My gift to you."
"I don't believe you!" Evie yelled, breathing heavily.
"No? How's the allergy?"
He was right. She had stopped sneezing, her eyes had stopped watering, and her head was clear.
"What did you mean you gave me life forever?" she asked warily.
"I meant just what I said, dear," he answered. "Cas doesn't like 'em too bright, does he?"
"Like the fountain of youth?"
"No, no, no," he said. "The fountain of youth is a myth. I created this just for you. Be grateful."
"You're a demon," she said, each word rolling spitefully off her tongue. "You don't give anything away."
Crowley chuckled. "Well, you got me," he admitted, spreading his hands wide.
"What do you want?"
"Not one for foreplay? Like to get right down to it, then?" Crowley's playful grin faded into an ugly sneer. "Have it your way." He thrust the knife into Evie's shoulder until the tip collided with the metal table. Evie's lungs let go a long, ear-piercing shriek: music to Crowley's ears.
Dean awoke with a heavy, groggy head, and it ached something fierce. He felt like he had drained a keg, then made a good dent in the after party. He sat up slowly, groaning, ears ringing.
"Dean!" Sam rushed to his brother's bedside.
"Hey," Dean replied weakly. He looked around the room through squinted eyes and spotted Cas standing awkwardly in the corner.
"I'm glad to see you're alright," Cas said.
"Wait a minute," Dean said. The last thing Dean remembered was an intense, high-pitched whine and blinding white light … and Crowley. "Where's Evie?"
"Crowley took her," Sam said.
"We have to find her," Dean said.
"I have already collected the ingredients for a tracking spell," Cas said. "But I had to bring you back first."
"Bring me back? … Wh- tracking spell?" Dean questioned.
"Yes," Cas said, looking at the floor.
"You were dead," Sam said quietly. "Cas brought you back."
"Dead?" Dean exclaimed. "Again!?" He rolled his eyes then closed them.
"Yeah, the whole block was levelled," Sam volunteered reluctantly.
Realizing what had happened, a fire lit in Dean's eyes. He shot it at Cas, who again turned his gaze to the floor.
"How'd you make it out?" Dean asked Sam.
"I woke up in a dumpster two miles from the motel," Sam said. "My guess is Crowley wanted me out of the way."
Dean's face contorted with hatred at the sound of his name.
"Why the tracking spell? Can't you zero in on Evie?" Dean asked.
"No. She's hidden from me," Cas said, looking like a sad puppy when his owner leaves for work.
"Hidden? How?" Dean asked.
"Dean," Sam nodded ever so slightly at the pouty, crushed angel. "What happened to shoot first, ask questions later?"
"I'll shoot anybody you want, let's just do this," Dean said.
Crowley's knife dug into Evie's side, piercing her kidney. She could feel every tear, every cut, every drop of blood pouring from her body. She could feel her heart pumping hard, pushing blood out faster and faster. She closed her eyes and screamed through gritted teeth.
She gasped for air. Crowley pulled the knife out and examined it thoughtfully, watching the blood dripping from the tip.
Her other senses were dulled. She was having trouble seeing or hearing anything, but for whatever reason she could smell: with every breath she inhaled sulfur and Scotch.
Evie relaxed for brief moment as the wound sealed itself; it burned a little less each time. Each and every wound Crowley had inflicted on her in the last five hours – shallow cuts, deep gashes, fire and acid burns –had healed within seconds. They may have healed quickly, but that didn't mean they didn't hurt like Hell.
"You haven't even asked me anything!" Evie yelled.
"I don't need to," Crowley grinned, menacingly. He plunged the knife into her left lung and twisted it. His charming facade never faltered.
Evie tried to scream, her mouth open wide, but all that came out was a hiss of air. The pain was excruciating.
"I'm assuming you and Castiel have been … intimate," he stated as he slowly pulled the knife out. He pulled it out so slowly that the skin nearly healed around the blade. Evie caught her breath as her lung reformed.
"I'll take your silence as confirmation. Getting it on with an angel connects you to said angel in ways you puny humans couldn't even possibly begin to understand," he grinned at her. "So, you see, I don't need you to talk …"
"Then, why do you need me?" Evie asked, concerned. If he didn't need her for information, what was all this for? "Why do you keep stabbing me?"
If her body still scarred, there would be hundreds of tiny ones along her ribcage forming Enochian symbols—the same pattern that Sam and Dean sported on their ribs. Crowley just stared at Evie and chuckled. Things were going swimmingly.
"He's within a 20-mile radius of Cheyenne, Wyoming," Cas said, standing over a bowl of smoldering ash.
"Let's go," Dean said, grabbing his jacket and rushing toward the car.
Evie fell asleep for two seconds, the two seconds that Crowley wanted her to sleep. A shuffling by the door woke her. She was exhausted. Her red, puffy eyes squinted through the tears, struggling to see through the darkness.
Cas' voice called to her from the doorway. "Evie?" he whispered.
"Cas? Is that you?" Evie asked with a hoarse but hopeful groan.
"Yes."
He approached the table warily. Evie started to cry tears of joy as Cas stroked her face … until his thumb pressed into her cheek just a little too hard. Cas was almost glaring down his nose at her. She breathed in heavily. Scotch. Sulfur. Loathing. Perverse pleasure. This wasn't her angel.
A hideous leer spread across the imposter's face, turning Castiel's chiseled features into something demonic. As the leer changed into a toothy smile, Cas morphed into Crowley before her eyes. Evie held her breath and the tears continued to flow—no longer tears of joy, but now tears of frustration and pain. She had tried with all her might not to let Crowley see her cry, but this torture was too much. She'd rather the constant slicing and dicing.
"Keep those hopes up, sweetheart," Crowley baited. He dabbed at her tears with a mean, playful finger. She tried to pull away but her head was held in place by the leather strap. "I do enjoy tearing them down."
Dean stopped the Impala five hundred feet from the dark warehouse and killed the ignition.
"Those vagrants …" Cas said, eyeballing a pack of men patrolling the perimeter of the warehouse. "They're demons. I'll take care of it."
Flutter.
Cas disappeared. Flashes of light blazed outside the warehouse as Cas killed each demon, one after the other.
"Damn it, Cas!" Dean exclaimed.
Sam and Dean opened and closed their car doors quickly in unison, hurrying to follow.
Cas strode through the dark hallways past a seemingly infinite number of doors. He didn't need to look inside; he could feel Evie now. She was down the next corridor to the left, first door to the right. He walked in, confident, shoulders back, head up. He was here to save his woman and nothing could stop him.
He saw Evie strapped to a stainless steel table. Something about this was familiar. He had seen this set up before, when one of Crowley's minions had captured and tortured Meg. He stopped just short of her feet. His eyes met Evie's; they were red, bloodshot, terrified. This time, though, it didn't take a second for Evie to know that this wasn't another one of Crowley's tortures. This was her angel, and he was in trouble.
"Cas! No! Get out of here now!" Evie screamed.
Cas' confidence left him. He turned toward the doorframe and saw what he had feared: Crowley stood to the left of the door, knife slicing his right palm. Blood poured out. Then, Cas noticed the banishing sigil painted on the wall.
"As much as I'd love to watch you squirm as I smoke rape your girlfriend …" Crowley said as he smashed his bloody hand into the sigil.
"No!" Cas and Evie screamed in unison as first the angel then the entire room was enveloped in white light. In a flash Cas was gone.
Sam and Dean heard the screaming and the tell-tale high-pitched whine of the angel banishing spell. They spared a quick glance at each other, then ran full speed in that direction. The boys rushed into the torture room, guns drawn, and ready to use them. Evie stood at the table, her back to them, staring at the unlatched straps and puddles of blood on the table. There was more blood covering the floor.
"Evie?" Dean asked, cautiously.
Evie rotated on her heels, turning around slowly in a flashy display.
"Hallo, boys," she said in a deep, dusky, British accent.
Sam was the first to break out of the trance. He raised his gun at what looked like Evie. Dean was still frozen, unable to react.
The Evie thing held out her hands, palms upward. Effortlessly, she raised her palms toward the ceiling, and Sam and Dean both began to levitate. She flicked both wrists outward, and the boys flew in opposite directions. She looked like she was conducting a symphony. They slammed into the walls on either side of the room, their backs cracking drywall. Evie's hands relaxed, and the boys crumpled to the ground.
She held out her hands, and the guns flew to her.
Dean propped himself up on one elbow, crunching broken wall. He peered at Evie. She was brazenly posing with the brothers' guns like a Wild West sharpshooter. She pursed her lips and blew non-existent smoke from the barrel of Dean's gun.
She smiled wide with satisfaction at Dean's confusion.
"Evie," Dean started.
"Mmm mmm," Evie playfully shook her head 'no.'
"Crowley," Sam said, sitting up slowly.
The Evie thing grinned, and her eyes flashed red. "I suppose you two want to hear the whole story. We do have the time … now." Her eyes returned to the typical Evie brown, and she turned an obvious gaze toward the banishing sigil on the wall.
"Why?!" Dean demanded.
"Because I wanted to look pretty," Crowley sarcastically answered Dean's question through Evie's larynx. Evie could see, hear, smell, and feel everything, but she had control over nothing. It was as if she were perched behind Crowley's eyes, looking through her eyes: Being John Malkovich, demon version.
Evie rolled her eyes. "Because she had something I needed. … And now, I have it. Too little, too late, boys."
"But, why possess her?" Sam inquired. "I mean, you obviously tortured her. A lot. … And you said you got what you wanted, so why possess her?"
"Because he's a demon dick," Dean retorted.
Evie kicked Dean's arm out from under him with a slight flick of her wrist. Dean's face hit the floor. He said up quickly, gasping.
"I am breathtaking, aren't I?" Evie said, admiring the host body. "And I thought I looked good before."
"Get the hell out of her, you son of a bitch!" Dean yelled, rising to his knees.
"Soon enough," she stated. "I want to watch you squirm for just a little bit longer … while I do things to your girlfriend's head … and maybe other bits."
Dean's fury made Crowley laugh. Dean cringed at the sound of Evie's voice.
"Quite the love triangle you've got going," Evie said to Dean. "She still has feelings for you, you know. But, she loves Cas. Truly loves him. So deeply. Deeper than she ever felt for you. … Crazy bird. Poor taste in men."
"Take me!" Dean offered. He was sure Crowley would revel at the chance to tear him apart. He quickly met Sam's gaze. Sam immediately understood: Get Evie out.
"No," Evie stated flatly.
"No?" Dean asked, flabbergasted.
Evie sauntered around the table's perimeter, tracing a playful finger along its cold surface. "She is exquisite." She smiled. "All the right curves in all the right places." Evie's eyes ran back and forth across her C-cups.
Dean moved to charge at Evie, but Sam held him back.
Evie cackled.
"Let's get this over with!" yelled Sam. "Do something if you're gonna do it, otherwise let us go!"
"How about I kill you? Or, better yet, I leave you alive and get creative with Evie while you watch."
Just then, they heard approaching footsteps. They were moving fast. Cas entered the room, fists clenched, barreling toward Evie. He stopped just short of running into her head on.
Crowley's confidence wavered, and the host fell back slightly. "How did you get back so fast?"
Cas glared at her, eyes blazing white. He was furious, but he wasn't smiting. Evie stood up a little straighter.
"What are you going to do, Cas? Smite me?" Evie grinned. "You can't do anything to me without risking Evie's well-being. And, we all know you wouldn't want anything to happen to your lady friend."
"I would rather have the only woman I've ever loved die by my hand than spend another second as your puppet," said Cas. The light in Cas' eyes intensified. The glow began to emanate from his entire body.
Evie cowered.
"Fine," Evie sneered. "Have it your way."
It was only a matter of seconds before Evie's mouth was forced open and red smoke poured out as Crowley fled. Cas swooped in just as Evie's body, now all hers again, fell limp. He caught her before she hit the floor.
Evie awoke to the sounds of voices, a car engine, and … was that Asia? It was dark. She felt strong arms around her.
"Evie!" Cas exclaimed.
Her eyes adjusted, and she saw she was lying across the backseat of the Impala, cradled in Cas' arms. She looked up into his big blue eyes.
"Cas!" she cried, hugging him tightly.
"Hey, there, Sunshine!" Dean's voice called from the driver's seat.
"Evie," said Sam. "How are you feeling?"
Sitting upright, Evie closed her eyes. "I was tortured by the King of Hell, then ridden like a sock puppet."
Sam and Dean got abruptly quiet.
"What did you expect me to say?"
Cas couldn't think of any comforting words, so he simply grasped Evie's hand. She held it firmly.
"How did you get back?" she asked Cas. "That blood spell he did. He sent you back to Heaven."
"I had what humans call insurance," Cas stated matter-of-factly.
"We paid a wide-eyed choir boy to sit in the car with a bowl of Cas-summoning ingredients and instructions to add the last one if he saw a white light," Dean said proudly.
"Huh," Evie said, actually impressed. "And he was willing?"
"Oh, yeah!" Dean said. "You'd think Cas was a movie star the way the kid gushed."
"He was devout, and I am in his debt," Cas said.
Evie looked around the car. "Where is he?"
"We bought him his first drink, then his second, and his third … and carried his drunk ass home to sleep it off," said Dean. "You've been out for like 15 hours."
"Well, you get kidnapped, tortured, and possessed, you miss all the fun," Evie joked.
Silence.
"Evie, do you know what Crowley wanted?" Dean asked softly.
"No," she answered, head hanging. Her eyes stared ahead, unfocused. "He talked about Cas … and he said he didn't need to ask me any questions."
"That's weird," Sam said. "Do you know what Crowley meant, Cas?"
Evie's curls hid her troubled face, but she started shaking at the mention of Crowley's name. Cas put a comforting arm around her hunched shoulders and looked at Sam. His eyes said, "Later."
Sam and Dean both let up. They made the rest of the trip with only the sounds of classic rock on the radio.
The car pulled off the main road and onto a nameless dirt road. They drove for maybe another mile where the road ended in a turnaround; Dean parked the Impala.
He pulled the key from the ignition, and the brothers exited the car. Cas waited for Evie. When she finally stood, Sam and Dean were already grabbing the bags from the trunk. She tried to take her bag, but Dean wouldn't let her.
"I got it."
"Where are we?" Evie asked.
"You'll be safe here," Cas assured Evie, stroking her arm. She shot him a questioning gaze.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"I can only assume Crowley knows about the tablet. I have to make sure he doesn't find it," Cas stated.
Dean turned. He was halfway to the bunker door; Sam was already inside. "The what?"
Cas looked at the ground. "There is another tablet."
Dean sighed sharply and rolled his eyes. "Oh, great! What bottom-feeding Hell spawn of creation is it this time?"
"Human," Cas said with severity.
Dean's eyes widened to the size of grapefruits. "Human?! You're kidding! And, you knew about this? Why didn't you tell us?!"
"Dean," Cas shook his head. "It's just as dangerous as the other tablets."
"Wait." Realization crept over Dean's face. "Like, wipe out all humans?"
"Yes," Cas stated. "ALL of you."
"What are you guys talking about?" Evie asked, worried.
"Dean can explain," Cas said apologetically. "I have to go."
Evie wanted to beg him to stay, but she knew it would do no good. Besides, this sounded serious. She gripped the nape of Cas' neck and pulled him into her. She kissed him deeply; he returned it.
"Go," Evie said. "Just be careful, Cas."
"Keep her safe, Dean," Cas said. "For some reason I can't sense her until I'm close to her."
"She won't leave my sight," Dean assured.
Flutter.
"What's this crap about a tablet?" Evie asked.
"Let's talk about it inside," Dean said, guiding Evie into the bunker.
After several beers and a lengthy explanation of their adventures over the last few years, followed by several more beers, Sam and Dean leaned back in their chairs, satisfied.
Evie exhaled deeply. "So you're saying there are prehistoric genocide instruction manuals floating around?"
"They're not floating," Dean said.
"We took care of some previous tablet-related issues," Sam defended himself and his brother. "… Wait a minute. If there's a tablet, that means there's a new prophet."
Dean's face appeared to age five years as realization and dread passed over it.
"This all sounds really bad," Evie said.
"Nothing we can't handle," Dean reassured.
"My hero," Evie said blankly.
Sam and Evie intently poured over thick, leather-bound tomes while Dean carried a leaning tower of lore books to the table. He plopped the books on down heavily and sat. The loud boom made Evie jump, but the brothers didn't notice. Her eyes caught shadows playing across the room, and fright began to well up inside her. She heard a noise behind her. She started.
She swallowed hard, then cleared her throat. She looked down at the words on the page, pretending to read. She breathed in deeply: Scotch. She sniffed franticly. The scent was there and then gone. Her eyes darted around the room.
"Anybody find anything?" Dean asked, taking a swig of a longneck beer.
Evie jumped so high at the sound of Dean's voice that, this time, the brothers did notice. She closed her eyes tightly, and clenched her fists. When she opened her eyes, Sam and Dean were both staring at her.
"What's wrong?" Sam asked with concern.
Dean raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"Nothing …" Evie started unconvincingly. Her eyes widened as, again, she was overwhelmed by the odor of Scotch. She clenched her jaw and looked away, avoiding eye contact as if her life depended on it.
"Evie," Dean demanded in his usual detached tone.
Evie's fingers dug into the cover of the book sitting in front of her as she stared a hole into the table.
"I know," Sam said with a level of understanding that only someone who had been through the same ordeal could muster. Sam's compassionate eyes met Evie's deeply pained ones, and there was an instant connection. They had both been taken over by pure evil and then haunted after they thought it was all over.
"Oh," Dean said suddenly. "This is about you and Crowley."
"Dean," Sam warned.
"Look, we've all been there, Evie," Dean lectured. "But, sometimes you've just got to stow it and man up."
Evie shot a look at Dean that could have withered any man. Then, the façade broke, her eyes began to well with tears, and she abruptly left the room.
"Real smooth," Sam said.
Two hours and a few more beers later, Sam and Dean were still flipping through tomes. Dean fell asleep briefly, his head falling a bit before he caught himself. He blinked a few times and rubbed his weary eyes.
"Dude, I gotta take a break," Dean told Sam.
"OK," Sam replied. "Good idea."
"I could use a burger. How about the usual?" Dean asked, referring to a dive they frequented. Sam and Dean had eaten there at least twenty times. Dean always ordered the bacon cheeseburger. Sam, of course, ordered a healthier option: either a salad or a wrap, depending on his mood.
"Sure," Sam said.
"I'll go get Evie," Dean said, pushing his chair away from the table.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Dean," Sam said.
Dean stopped with his hands on his thighs, poised to stand. He rolled his eyes, and with a sigh said, "Because of earlier."
"You were really insensitive … worse than insensitive, actually," Sam said.
"Dude, I get it. I've been to Hell, remember?" Dean said.
"Yeah, but, Dean, you didn't have the same experience she did," Sam said.
"So?" Dean asked, exasperated. "I think going to Hell was worse than being possessed by a demon."
"It wasn't just a demon," Sam said. "It was Crowley. And, he didn't just possess her, he tortured her for nearly a day. I mean, could you be just a little empathetic for two seconds and imagine how horrifying that must've been for her?"
"I was tortured by Alastair!" Dean said.
Sam was taken aback, and he showed it physically. "Is this a competition to you?"
Dean's face scrunched. "No!"
"I can't even …" Sam trailed off. He pushed his chair from the table and stood. He started to walk away, then turned around. "You know, I, of all people know you've been through a lot of crap, but that doesn't mean that other people's crap doesn't hold a candle to yours! I was ridden by Lucifer. I had to watch everything he did while he wore my skin, including killing Bobby and Cas and a ton of other people, and nearly killing you with my bare hands. And, then, when he was gone … he wasn't. The after effects haunted me, and you saw what happened. … Evie was tortured and ridden by the King of Hell, and now she's dealing with what comes next," Sam finished. "Show her a little compassion."
As Sam walked down the hall to Evie's room, Dean hung his head in shame.
Sam returned shortly. Alone.
"She's not coming," Sam said. "I don't think I am either."
"Oh, come on, Sam," said Dean. "You gotta eat."
"I think we have some cereal in the pantry," Sam said. He headed toward the kitchen but stopped in the doorway. He turned to look at Dean, who was gazing down the hallway that led to Evie's room.
"Dean," said Sam. "Give her some time."
Evie sat, blankly staring at a full cup of lukewarm coffee. The hand loosely holding the cup had been resting in the same spot for thirty minutes.
Dean sighed and sat in the chair across the table. "Evie."
She didn't look up.
"Evie!" Dean said, more forcefully.
She met his gaze briefly, then looked at the far wall.
"You've been moping around here for a week," he stated flatly. "Look, we all know it was hard … and that it wasn't you." Pause. "So, it's water under the bridge."
Evie's eyes suddenly focused and stared directly at Dean.
"That's what you think? That I'm guilty?" she questioned accusingly.
Dean's head cocked slightly, as if he was confused. Evie spoke before he could ask what she meant.
"It's not all about you!" she yelled. She turned a cold shoulder toward him and with the sudden motion accidently spilled the coffee. She jumped up reflexively, knocking the chair to the floor as she stumbled backward. Tears filled her eyes. She stood, breathing heavily and staring blankly at the puddle accumulating on the floor.
Dean stood and approached her, palms outstretched to show her everything was OK.
"I'm scared," she admitted. It was not something she had stated out loud in years. Actually, the last time she had said those words was to Dean – over a decade ago.
"Listen, I understand…" Dean tried.
"No, you don't understand!" she yelled. "I was possessed by the King of Hell! We didn't exactly have a picnic inside my head."
They were both silent. Evie licked her lips, then said, "He's just been a nuisance to you, a pain in your ass." Her eyes met Dean's. In that moment Dean saw something he had never seen in those eyes: defeat. "You've never seen the real Crowley. He's pure evil, Dean. And no matter how hard I try, I can't wash off his stench." She choked out the last part. Her eyes were full of tears, but they refused to fall.
Dean rubbed Evie's arms. "OK," he said with decisiveness. "Come on."
"'Come on' where? Where are we going?" she asked suspiciously.
"We're going to make sure you never have to go through that again," Dean said reassuringly.
The Impala pulled up to the curb and came to a rolling stop. Evie looked at the storefronts: a Chinese restaurant and a tattoo parlor.
"Spring rolls?"
"We're gonna get you one of these," Dean said, pulling down the collar of his shirt to expose his tattoo. "It's an anti-possession symbol. Keeps demons out. All demons."
He could see the questions in her eyes. "Look, it's a long story. Just trust me … it comes in handy."
She hated the feeling of losing control, but she trusted Dean almost more than she trusted Cas. Dean had left her, true, but he hadn't lied to her. Ever. And there were worse things than getting ink. Things like paralyzing fear – the fear that Crowley could be waiting around every corner, the fear she felt when he was inside her, the fear that she would never be herself again.
"OK," she agreed. She opened the passenger door and started to exit the car.
"I'm not gonna lie," Dean stated like he was imparting great knowledge. "It hurts," he said, referring to the tattooing process. "But it'll be worth it."
"What are you, a girl?" Evie mocked as she stood on the curb and closed the door.
Dean stood with his elbows across the roof of the Impala. He raised his eyebrows at Evie.
"This is not my first time," she grinned playfully. She hadn't even thought about smiling since the incident with Crowley. Leave it to Dean Winchester.
Dean had to think for a minute. He hadn't noticed a tattoo when he busted in on her in the shower, but he had probably missed it when she busted his lip and sent him to the floor to wrestle with the shower curtain.
"Hot!" he thought, following her into the small tattoo parlor.
Evie and Dean sat in the Chinese restaurant next to the tattoo parlor. Dean watched in stunned silence as Evie shoveled down lo mein like a she had a bottomless pit for a stomach. He was impressed, and honestly, a little turned on. He had watched as she had her hip tattooed just ten minutes ago. She had to pull her pants down, revealing black satin panties lined with a little black lace. He had thoroughly enjoyed the forty five minutes he spent pretending to read a Variety magazine.
"Hey," Evie said through a mouthful of noodles. "You not hungry?"
Dean snapped back to reality. His plate of fried rice and beef remained mostly untouched, as did his eggroll. Evie's had disappeared nearly as soon as the waiter set the plate down. Dean was glad to see her eating. She had hardly eaten a thing since they rescued her from Crowley.
"Oh, no, yeah," Dean stumbled over his words. "Yep." He picked up his eggroll and devoured half of it with one bite. A piece of cabbage fell from his mouth and landed on the table. He grinned goofily. To his surprise Evie grinned back. This may have been the first pleasant interaction they had had in more than ten years. It was nice.
Sam returned to the bunker after a relaxing five-mile jog. Sam enjoyed his jogs, his only alone time aside from bathroom time—a cumulative seven minutes a day, including shower. He could be free when running, he could think, breathe, and just be Sam. There were no cases, no monsters, no demons, no angels … there was no guilt and no worries. He loved hunting, and he loved his brother, but sometimes Dean could be tiring.
Sam walked in, feeling refreshed, and found a surprising scene: Dean and Evie busy, working together, actively discussing the human tablet situation.
Sam found himself very confused. He turned around and looked at the closed bunker door as if it were a portal to a parallel universe. "Wouldn't be the first time," he thought.
Evie noticed him standing stupidly at the top of the stairs.
"Hey, Sam!" she called, smiling.
"Hey!" he replied, pleasantly surprised.
"Lance Armstrong finally decides to join us," Dean teased.
"Dean …" Sam shook his head, bemused, yet again.
"Sam has a bike?" Evie asked.
"What?" Dean asked. "He went running. Like he's freaking Lance Armstrong."
Sam grinned quietly.
"Lance Armstrong is biking."
Dean half-smiled at her, pretending he understood.
Evie glanced at Sam for help. He shook his head as if to say "Don't even try," so Evie let it go.
"So, Sam, while you were out being Lance Armstrong …" Evie started with a grin, "we switched gears. Instead of trying to find lore about this human tablet—which we can't find—we thought we might make more progress finding someone else who's looking for the tablet."
"Crowley?" Sam asked with hesitation. "Are you sure you want to do that?"
"It may be our best shot," Evie said.
"What about Cas?" Sam asked.
Evie sighed and looked away sadly. "I've been praying every night."
"Me, too," Dean admitted.
Sam sighed heavily. "Yeah, me, too."
Taking a deep breath, Sam agreed, "OK. So, how do we find Crowley?"
"There are demon signs in Lincoln, Nebraska. We can be there in just under three hours," Dean said.
"OK, so, we're going to kidnap a demon and, what? Torture him?" Sam asked.
"Well, yeah," Dean replied.
"What makes you think the demon or demons in Lincoln know where Crowley is?" Sam asked.
"It's all we've got at this point," Evie said. "Look, we start with this asshole in Lincoln and we don't stop until we find the king."
"And when we find King Douche Bag?" Sam asked.
Evie's gaze took on a scary intensity, her eyes slightly unfocused as if her mind was somewhere else. "Then, I make that little limey bastard my bitch."
The hunters arrived in Lincoln two hours and forty five minutes later. Dean looked at his watch and grinned at his time.
Sam had conducted research during the drive and found newspaper articles about possible demon victims: two people who had won the lottery in Lincoln in the last two months; a chef whose failing restaurant was suddenly five-star dining; and an overweight man living in his mom's basement who wed a famous actress after writing a fan letter. Sam found police reports, addresses, loan records, marriage records, and college transcripts. By the time they reached Lincoln, they were ready to put on their fed hats.
They arrived at the home of Shirley Carr, one of the lottery winners, just before 5 PM. The house was a modest 30-year-old ranch-style. There was a "For Sale" sign in the yard and a Mercedes-Benz in the cracked driveway. Dean parallel parked on the street.
"Shirley Carr, age 44," Sam said. "She and her husband owned a crappy diner for twenty five years. Then, a week ago, she won the lottery."
"How much?" Dean asked.
"Sixty-five million dollars," Sam said with more than a little envy.
"Wow," Evie said.
"Ten years to spend $65-mill. … Eternity to burn in the pit," Dean said.
"OK, I'll take her," Sam offered. "You two wanna take super fan 99?"
Evie judgmentally eyed every brick in the modern loft as they approached its solid mahogany door.
"Bet you twenty bucks dungeon master here made a deal and his favorite actress moved out from L.A., bought this loft, and now they're playing house," she said showing Dean Harold Royce's photograph.
Dean did a double-take. Harold was an overweight 34-year-old man whose face was covered in acne and who rarely bathed. He hadn't brushed his hair in weeks. His wardrobe included flannel shirts, ripped jeans, and three T-shirts. He changed once a week. Not all of that was apparent from the photograph—a two-year-old portrait he had submitted for an online MMO RPG guild application, which showed him in a dirty black T-shirt and flannel shirt, his hair greasy and uncombed, and a five-o'clock shadow growing on his pizza face.
"Who'd he sell his soul for?" Dean asked.
"Parker Amber," Evie read. She shuffled more papers and found a photograph of the actress.
"Whoa," Dean exhaled. He brandished a huge, toothy grin.
"Face lift and fake boobs," Evie said shortly. She put her papers back in the folder and knocked firmly three times on the door. The door opened slowly, revealing an elderly woman.
"Um, hi," Dean said with uncertainty. "We're looking for Harold Royce."
Dean and Evie flashed badges.
"Oh," the woman said with surprise, trying to read the badges over her thick glasses.
"Harold!" she called over her shoulder.
"Not now, Ma!" a male voice called from inside the loft.
Dean pushed open the door. "May we?" Dean and Evie passed Harold's mom.
"Harold!" Dean called. "IRS. We need to speak with you."
They walked through a well-appointed foyer and came into an open living room. The décor was minimalist, but the room featured a mini grand piano and built-in bookshelves. The far wall was covered with floor-to-ceiling windows.
Parker Amber sat in a white leather chair near the windows, texting furiously, thumbs flying over the keys expertly. She looked like she had just come from the salon: her makeup was perfect—and heavily painted on, like she was going to a photo shoot or a red carpet event—and her long, brown hair was shiny with every strand in its place.
They stopped a few feet into the room. Evie waited a few seconds for Dean to take the lead. The only sounds were Harold's mom slowly closing the heavy door and the tapping of Parker's thumbs on her phone's keyboard. After several seconds passed and Dean didn't say anything, Evie looked over; he was gazing stupidly at the actress, his mouth slightly ajar.
Evie stuck her tongue out at Dean like a child would to spite her older brother, knowing he wouldn't notice.
"Excuse us, Ms. Amber," she started.
"It's Mrs. Royce," the actress replied without breaking her texting stride.
"Mrs. Royce," Evie continued. "Could we ask you a few questions?"
"What is this about?" Parker asked impetuously in a high-pitched, California-girl voice.
"Shoot me, shoot me now. Or her. Whoever," Evie thought.
"It's about your new husband," Dean said.
"Harold!" Parker exclaimed and set her phone down on the arm of her chair. "Please, sit!"
"Thank you," Dean said. He and Evie sat in matching white leather chairs across from Parker.
"So, you want to talk about Harold?" Parker asked, excited. "I love talking about Harold."
"How did you two lovebirds meet?" Evie asked.
"Oh, I love this story," Parker replied. "I was living in Hollywood, and Harold wrote me a letter and signed it with his address. I always ignored fan letters, but there was just something special about his. I couldn't stop thinking about him. He was such a poet."
She stood and crossed the room to a framed letter. "Actually, I loved it so much that I framed it."
Evie and Dean walked over to read the letter out of obligation. The letter detailed the mesmerizing beauty of Parker's bosom, lips, and eyes, and compared each of them to a variety of nerdy-sounding things. It made Dean want to puke. It made Evie want to experience some testosterone driven fun, like shooting someone.
"Doesn't the beauty of it just make you want to cry?" Parker asked.
"It really does!" Evie enthusiastically agreed.
"Baby doll, you don't have to show everybody the letter," Harold exclaimed, obviously embarrassed, barreling into the room from a hallway that presumably led to bedrooms.
"Oh, but, it was so … um, special," Dean said.
"Special," Evie agreed.
Parker beamed and gripped her new husband's arm. She appeared to be truly smitten. Harold, however, appeared nervous. His fake smile matched his uneasy stance, shifting from left foot to right foot.
"So, um, where did you guys say you were from?" he asked breathily.
Sam sat in Shirley Carr's kitchen, nursing a mug of instant chai tea. Shirley, a tubby, middle-aged red-head, sat across the cheap kitchen table with her own mug of tea and a huge smile. Sam had been listening to her blab about all the things that had come with her newfound fortune and all the new friends that had come with her newfound popularity. He had been sitting in the same spot for thirty minutes and couldn't get a word in. All he had been able to relay to Shirley was that he was a newspaper reporter. That was enough to wind her up, and she was still going.
"Oh, I never thought I could win," she said. "I mean, the most I've ever won is a dollar or two on a scratch-off. But, when that nice man at the mini mart told me I looked lucky, I decided to play, and look!"
"What man?" Sam interjected.
"Well … he was very handsome and flirty," Shirley said, smiling coyly. "We talked about the $65 million pot, and he said I looked like a winner and that I should buy a ticket, so I did."
"Can you tell me more about this man?"
"I guess," Shirley replied, looking confused. "He was dressed in a really nice suit. And … I guess he was thirty-something. And … he had an accent like he wasn't from around here. Very well-spoken. Sophisticated. The kind of man every woman wants. Just like you …." She winked.
"Uh … " Sam quickly redirected the subject to the man. "So this man told you to play the lottery?"
"Yes."
"Did he ask for anything in return?"
She paused. "Well …" she said, avoiding eye contact. "He wanted … my soul."
Sam's face dropped.
"I thought that was ridiculous, but, I agreed," she said. "I mean, it's $65 million! And, I'm not really religious. It's not like he could've been serious!" She giggled nervously.
"What was the name of that mini mart?"
Dean sat, elbows on his knees, facing Harold in one of those soft, white leather chairs.
"So, Harold, level with me, man," Dean said, conspiratorially. "How did you score a hot piece like that?"
Harold's tense demeanor relaxed slightly. He grinned.
"I'm just blessed, that's all," Harold replied.
"Oh, come on," Dean said.
The two locked eyes for an uncomfortably long silence. The twittering of the ladies' laughter wafted from across the apartment. Evie was touring the place with Parker. Dean was sure Evie was slowly dying inside. Figuratively speaking. Mostly.
The uncomfortable silence continued. Dean was about to say something to further endear himself to his new buddy when Harold spoke.
"Guys like you never believe that I could score a woman like Parker," he said. His lower lip whimpered through a scowl. He looked pitiful. "Why can't you just believe that she loves me?" Harold asked.
Dean's mouth opened as he tried to think of something to say to excuse himself.
"That jerk didn't believe I could get her, either," Harold said. "But I showed him."
"What jerk?" Dean asked, his attention piqued.
"A pretty boy … like you," he accused. "Met him at Tommy's Place, the bar across the street from the place I play Magic. It's a wicked store, Lore Master's Den. They got everything."
"Wait. Magic?" Dean asked, genuinely confused.
"The Gathering," Harold informed, with a frustrated sigh. "It's a game."
"Ah," Dean said, not completely understanding.
"Anyway," Harold continued, "My friend, David, and I went out for a beer after a Magic tournament, and there was this pretty boy asshole sitting at the bar. I guess he heard me tell David I was gonna write a fan letter to Parker. The jerk comes over and tells me I'll never get her because I'm a loser."
Harold looked at the floor, embarrassed. Then, suddenly, he lifted his head and stared Dean in the eyes.
"I'm the guy the jocks gave wedgies and then stuffed into his locker," Harold admitted. "I'm sure you know the type. I'm tired of being that guy! So, I told that ass wipe I'd show him, I'd get her. And he said, 'Wanna bet?' So, I bet."
"What did you bet, Harold?" Dean asked, seriously.
Harold didn't answer. He looked anywhere but Dean's eyes.
"Harold?"
"I mean, I didn't think it was real," Harold said, guiltily. "Until she showed up, like, at my door." Tears welled up in Harold's eyes.
"That ass wipe wanted your soul, didn't he, Harold?" Dean insisted.
Harold just shook his head 'yes.'"
Dean sighed. "If I wanted to find him …"
"Why would you want to find him?" Harold panicked. "You don't want what he's selling! I mean, don't get me wrong, being with Parker is a dream come true, but … all I can think about is what's gonna happen to me in ten years."
"Oh, I'm not buying," Dean said assuredly. "I'm here to put him out of business."
Dean and Evie met Sam outside Shirley Carr's house fifteen minutes later.
"Definitely a demon," Sam asserted, closing the door. The car pulled away from the curb.
"No question," Dean replied. "But our guy wasn't the standard deal. This demon challenged the poor loser into selling his soul."
"Huh," Sam muttered. "He flirted Shirley Carr into buying her winning lottery ticket."
"Where did Mr. Charm convince her to buy the ticket?" Evie asked.
"Marsden's Mini Mart," Sam said.
"Harold Royce met the demon at a bar, Tommy's Place," Dean said. "Near some gamer store called Lore Master's Den."
"Well, where do we look first?" Sam asked.
Evie rolled her eyes. She saw the look in Dean's eye in the rearview, and she knew the answer.
"The bar," Dean said with a grin.
"The bar. Let's hope they have good burgers," Evie said.
Dean stopped to take a breath, then continued chewing the delicious beef bomb in his mouth. Tommy's Place made a damn tasty burger.
They were looking for an unusually handsome, charming man in a sharp suit. That wouldn't be difficult to spot in this dive. The three hunters stuck out like sore thumbs in their suits, even without the jackets and ties.
"Well, so far, everyone here screams 'regular,'" Sam said.
"We're not even through dinner," Evie said. "Be patient. I'm sure he has to make the rounds."
Four drinks and three hours later, all but two other small groups had left the bar. No one was choosing music from the juke box anymore. The bar tender had been polishing the same glasses for the last hour.
"OK, ladies and gents, I don't think he's gonna show," Dean said. "I'm calling it."
"Let me finish my drink," Evie said. She swirled the whiskey in her glass, sniffed it, and upturned the glass, taking the last of it in one swig. "OK, let's go."
Just as they started shuffling off their stools, the door opened, and a strikingly handsome man in a sharp suit entered the near-empty tavern. He took a seat at the bar, and quietly ordered a drink.
"Speak of the devil," Evie said.
"Finally!" Dean said. "Let's get this ass hat." Dean started to stand up.
"Wait, Dean," Evie whispered. "Have a little finesse."
Dean looked confused.
"Follow my lead," she whispered. Much louder, she called out, "Guys, just give me the chance to show you what I can do. I promise I'll have the report finished by Monday!"
Sam caught on to Evie's ploy. "No! Look, I don't mean to be politically incorrect, but there's just no other way to say it: This isn't a job for a woman." He stood, glancing slyly at Dean, who followed suite.
"I'm sorry, Angela," Dean said loudly. "Have the files I asked for on my desk first thing Monday morning. Keep up the good work as my secretary and maybe in a few months, we'll talk again about a promotion."
Evie looked down at the table and whispered "Meet you outside." She fidgeted a little to sell the act as Sam and Dean left the bar. She looked up, fake tears sparkling in her downtrodden eyes, just as the door closed. The demon looked her way. Good. The ploy worked.
She overplayed a sigh and headed to the bar with her empty glass.
"Can I get another?" she asked quietly, plopping down two stools down from the handsome demon. He didn't waste any time in shifting seats to sit next to her.
"It's none of my business, but I thought their behavior was appalling," he said suavely. "A smart, independent woman like you should be in a high position in the company, don't you agree?"
"Wow, this guy gets right to the point," Evie thought.
She faked a hopeful look.
"I don't mean to be too bold, but I know I can help you," he said.
"How?" Evie asked, shooting her whiskey refill.
He leaned in and whispered, "We trade."
Evie looked around, then leaned in conspiratorially. "Wait." She motioned to the bartender with her eyes. "Can we talk outside, alone?"
He hesitated for just a second, then agreed. "After you."
Evie stood and led her mark outside the bar. She hoped the boys were watching as she led the demon a block down the street. She walked quickly, head down. She heard the tell-tale rumble of the Impala stalking from behind. She slowed her gait.
The car approached quickly and stopped with a screech of rubber. Sam and Dean popped out. Sam opened the trunk while Dean and Evie surrounded the unsuspecting demon. Dean slapped on the handcuffs etched with demon binding magic, and they shoved him into the trunk, complete with devil's trap, before he could smoke out of his meat suit.
Sam, Dean, and Evie stood over the demon.
"You wanna … ?" Dean offered Evie.
Evie lifted the demon out of the trunk by his fancy collared shirt.
"What could Winchesters possibly want with me?" he asked over his shoulder as Evie pushed him into the abandoned warehouse where the walls were covered in sigils. A lonely chair sat atop a red spray-painted devil's trap. Near the chair was a stainless steel table covered with a variety of tools—a hammer, a wrench, a scalpel, various instruments that looked like they belonged to a nightmare dentist, and a bottle of clear liquid.
Evie gave the demon one final shove in the back, then she walked to the table, rolling her sleeves to her elbows. Dean guided the demon to the chair and roughly sat him down. The demon looked nervously back and forth from Dean to Sam to Evie. None of the hunters spoke a word.
Evie teasingly ran her finger along one tool then another. The demon tensely eyed her every move. She finally chose a knife, Ruby's knife, sauntered over to the captive demon, and stood before him. She stared him in the eyes but still didn't say a word.
The demon laughed nervously and said, "I'm usually pretty open-minded, honey, but I don't think a three-man foursome is my bag."
Evie still did not speak. Neither did Sam nor Dean, who lurked in the shadows.
The demon licked his lips. "Look, just tell me what you want and I'll see what I can do for you …"
Evie plunged the knife into the demon's thigh. He screamed in agony, gasping for air. Smoke billowed from the wound.
Evie bent down to the demon's level. "Crowley," she growled through clenched teeth.
"What?" the demon yelped desperately.
"Crowley," she repeated slowly, as if she were pronouncing it for a 3-year-old. "I want Crowley."
She yanked the knife out. The demon breathed a sigh of relief.
"Hey! Pay attention!" Evie yelled. She poked under the demon's chin with the tip of the knife. "Crowley. Where is he?"
"No, no, no," the demon rattled. "I don't even know. I mean, why would I know where the king is? I mean, even if I did …"
Evie sliced his right cheek. He shrieked in pain.
"This isn't demon foreplay or happy playtime!" Evie emphasized. "Let me clarify this situation: We trade. You tell me where Crowley is and I don't kill you slowly."
"I don't know where Crowley is!" the demon yelled.
"Sucks for you," Evie said, roughly replacing the knife in the open thigh wound. The demon howled. She returned to the tool table and chose one of the dental instruments, dipped it in the bottle of liquid—holy water—and brought it back to her subject.
"Where's Crowley?" she asked, holding the pointy instrument to the demon's eye.
"I don't know! I don't know!" the demon insisted. "But, I talked to my boss two weeks ago! He knows where Crowley is! Please, take the knife out! Please!"
Evie pulled the knife out slowly, never breaking eye contact as the demon shrieked. Now, she held a weapon in each hand.
"I'm listening," she said.
"You have to promise …" the demon started.
Evie sliced his other cheek with the knife.
"Try again," she said, emotionless.
"She's better at this than you are," Sam whispered to Dean.
"OK!" the demon yelled. "My boss … Denholm, he's my boss, but we've become friends. He tells me things."
Evie motioned with the knife for him to continue.
"I reported in two weeks ago. After we talked about my deals, he started bitching about this job the king had him working on," the demon said. "I was impressed. I mean, the king. I've never even met him."
"I have," Evie said, clearly unimpressed.
"You've met the king?!" the demon exclaimed, star-struck. "What is he like?"
"You'd better give me something or you'll find out," Evie threatened. "What was the job?"
"Crowley wanted Denholm to find a vampire for him," the demon said. "Denholm thought that was beneath him."
"Did he find the vamp?" Dean asked, leaving his hiding place in the shadows.
"Of course!" the demon said impetuously. "Crowley could have done it himself! You two monkeys could have found him," he said indicating Sam and Dean with a nod of his head. "And, you, such a deft, beautiful, competent woman …"
"Where's the vamp?" Evie interrupted.
The demon hesitated. He was thinking. "I can't …" he said.
Evie became furious.
"Listen, you douche bag …" Dean started in.
Evie jammed the holy water-laced tool into the demon's right eye. Sam and Dean both winced.
"You can't … 'see'?" Evie sarcastically filled in the blank. "Yeah, you have a tooth cleaner thingy in your eye."
"Take it out!" the demon screeched at the top of his human lungs.
Evie pulled the tool out, leaving the demon's face a bloody mess.
"New York! He frequents a goth club there!" the demon spilled. "I swear!"
Sam pulled out a small notepad. "You got an address?"
"We're just gonna leave him there like that?" Sam asked as the three hunters made their final trip to the car.
"Yep," Evie said finally.
"Wouldn't be safer to kill him?"
Evie stopped short of opening the back door of the Impala. "Yes, it would be, Sam," she answered shortly. "But I want him to be available when word spreads that he helped us find Crowley."
She got into the car and closed the door.
"You're right. She's really good at this," Dean said over the roof of the Impala.
"So, what does one wear to a goth club?" Dean asked with more than a little distaste.
He, Sam, and Evie sat in a motel a few blocks from the club.
"Black?" Sam replied.
"I got this, boys," Evie said, "but, we need to go shopping." She eyeballed Sam and Dean's casual flannel and denim fashion.
"I hate shopping," Dean said.
They walked down the street to Lady Eden's Consignments. Dean stopped short and gazed warily at the mannequin in the display window—a male figure donning a black leather number featuring a spiked choker and cap.
"What?" Evie asked.
"No," Dean stated.
"Why not?" she asked.
"I'm not dressing like Judas Priest," Dean said.
"Give it a shot before you knock it. Besides, you can't even get into the club wearing that," Evie said, referring his jeans, T-shirt, and flannel shirt.
"Yes, I – Why not?" Dean asked. "What's wrong with my clothes?"
"You have to fit in," Evie said.
"I don't know that we'll fit in," Sam added, "even dressed like Judas Priest."
"Just follow my lead, boys." Evie grinned impishly.
Evie stepped out in black, leather, over-the-knee boots with buckles and straps looping around her calf, a black asymmetrical skirt whose hem skimmed Evie's bum on one side and stretched nearly to the floor on the other, a black, strapless corset, and laced-up, elbow-length, black gloves. Her eyes were painted black and smoky.
She yanked on the chains in her hand, and giggled to herself as Sam and Dean both tripped forward. The chains connected to the collars around their necks. Both wore black leather pants and boots. Sam donned a black T-shirt and a black leather jacket, while Dean showed off his biceps in a black leather vest with multiple zippers. Both looked terribly uncomfortable.
"Rules," Evie whispered. "You're playing slaves. Don't speak unless spoken to or I give you permission to speak. Walk behind me. Look meek. Got it?"
Dean looked taken aback, his eyes round like saucers.
"Oooookay," Sam agreed.
"Sam, I feel dirty," Dean whispered.
As they approached the club, Evie held the chains casually at her side and let her hips sway saucily from side to side. A long line had already formed outside; it was packed with twenty-year-old vampire wannabes in black hoodies and pleather skirts. A big, burly bouncer eagerly watched their approach, a plethora of erotic comic book images flashing through his dirty mind. Evie bypassed the line, moving straight to the bearded man with all the authority.
"Uh, Evie," Sam whispered. "The line's back ..."
"Shhh."
Evie stopped right in front of the bouncer without saying a word. He checked her out from head to toe, then nodded slightly in approval and moved aside. She walked ahead, pulling Sam and Dean behind her, leaving the "boos" and disappointed gasps of those stuck in line.
"Damn," Dean said. Sam smirked.
Evie led them straight to the bar, where she ordered whiskey, neat. Dean spoke up before the bartender could leave. "Hey, uh, I'll have a beer," he said.
Evie turned around and slapped Dean in the face before he knew what had happened. He stared at her, mouth wide open. She gingerly placed her finger across his lips, then turned back to the bartender. "Sammy will have a beer, and Dean here will have water with lemon," she said, motioning to Dean with the slightest nod of her head.
The bartender grinned and went about getting the drinks.
"What the hell was that?" Dean asked, flabbergasted.
"That was me staying in character and putting you back in your place," Evie answered.
Sam couldn't hide his smile.
"Jerk!" Dean said.
"Bitch!" Sam laughed.
The bartender delivered their drinks. "One whiskey, one beer, and one water with lemon."
"Drink up, boys," Evie said, looking straight at Dean. She and Sam shared an amused grin. Evie sipped her whiskey and looked around the dark, loud club. And, suddenly, she smelled it. Scotch and sulfur. She almost dropped her glass. She turned quickly to place it on the bar.
"What?" Dean asked, concerned. The boys surrounded her.
Her breathing quickened, and with each breath, she was overwhelmed with the stench of aged scotch and pure evil. She could sense his path through the club, where he had been and where he was, as if a malevolent cloud hung over everything he had touched.
"He's here," she said.
Dean's eyes darted around. It was too dark, too crowded. And, that little limey was too damn short, anyway. They'd never be able to pick him out of a crowd.
"Where?"
Evie carefully turned. Her gaze cut through the crowd on the dance floor, directly to Crowley, who sat in a booth with a dark figure she couldn't quite see.
"That must be the vamp," she said.
"Where?" Dean asked again.
"The booth straight ahead," she said.
"I see him," Sam said. "It's not the Alpha. Must be another high-level."
"OK, so, we found 'em," Dean said, reaching into Sam's jacket for the guns. "Let's get 'em."
"Hold on," Sam said, closing his jacket. "We can't go in guns blazing."
"Why not?"
"Look at where we are, genius," Evie said. "Too many people. And, it's not just Crowley."
"Which is why we brought dead man's blood," Dean said. "We talked about this."
"Yeah, but, Dean, what are we supposed to do?" Evie asked. "Just walk over there, jab the vamp full of dead man's blood, slap the chains on Crowley, and carry them both out the front door?"
"Well, yeah," Dean said.
While they were talking, none of them had noticed that the occupants of the booth had gone their separate ways, and that one of those ways had been a beeline to the hunters at the bar.
"Well, well, well," said Crowley. "If it isn't Moose, Squirrel, and my new favorite meat gown."
Sam, Dean, and Evie all froze. The first to react was Evie. Pulling the demon knife from her boot, she jabbed at Crowley's midsection with all her strength, but he caught her by the wrist just before the knife's point touched his lapel. Evie's arm was shaking, still pushing toward the demon, but Crowley's arm was steady.
"You managed to find me, I'll give you that," he said calmly. "But did you really think you'd just waltz in here and sweep me off my feet?" He grinned wickedly. "Evie, dear, you know I like it kinky." They followed his gaze over their shoulders. They vampire loomed ominously.
"Damn it," Dean said.
"I thought I'd bring a friend," Crowley said. "Hope you're ready to party, boys, but first things first."
Crowley overpowered Evie's wrist, and took the knife. "This is mine," he stated, placing the knife in an inside pocket of his suit.
The vamp flashed his pointy teeth. "I want the girl," he said lustily.
"No, absolutely not," Crowley said firmly. "The girl is mine. Hands and teeth off. Understand?"
"But she's the most tender," the vamp said, sniffing the air.
Crowley grabbed Evie's bicep protectively.
"Listen here, you—"
Flutter of wings.
Castiel appeared behind Crowley. He placed a warning hand on Cowley's shoulder. "Take your filthy hand off her."
Crowley barely reacted. "Ah, Castiel."
The vampire's face dropped. "You're an—"
"Yes, an angel, oh my," Crowley said, rolling his eyes.
The vampire turned to run, but Castiel blocked his path. "I'll meet you out back," he said to his friends. In a flutter, he, the vamp, and Crowley were all gone.
Sam, Dean, and Evie approached Castiel and Crowley. The vamp was already dead, corpse laying haphazardly on the ground near Castiel's feet.
Evie handed Sam the keys she had kept safe in her corset. He proceeded to unlock his and Dean's collars and replace them on Crowley's neck. Cas was able to relax. He turned to Evie, and she abruptly slapped him across the face.
"Where the Hell have you been?!" she yelled. She glared at Cas through squinted eyes, then suddenly grabbed the back of his neck, pulling his face toward her. She kissed him hard, and he returned it.
Crowley whistled.
"I'm sorry, Evie," Cas said.
"You're sorry?! I prayed to you!"
"I know," Cas said guiltily.
Surprise crossed Evie's face. "You KNOW? You heard me?"
"Trouble in paradise?" Crowley asked.
"We'll take care of this …" Dean said.
"Yeah," Sam said uncomfortably. He and Dean hastily headed to the car with Crowley in tow.
Evie continued to stare a hole in Castiel, who was nearly squirming.
"I was trying to track down the human tablet, to keep it safe, to keep you safe," Cas appealed.
"We're doing the same thing, Cas! We could work together! You don't have to run off and be some kind of …" Evie struggled for words.
"Superman?" Cas offered.
Cas reached out and stroked Evie's cheek with his fingers. She plucked his hand from her face and held it tightly. "If I pray to you, you answer," she said. "Got it?"
He nodded.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
"Hey!" a muffled scream.
"Three more days of this crap, huh?" Evie asked, unamused.
"It's not the first time we've driven cross-country with the king of Hell in the trunk," Dean said with a smirk.
"Why would Crowley meet with a vampire?" Cas asked.
"Why does Crowley do anything he does?" Sam responded.
"He must have been making a deal," Dean said. "That's what he does, right?"
"The Alpha wouldn't deal with him, not after he had Samuel capture him so he could torture him," Sam said.
"He must have had something to offer," Cas said.
"I think I know what he was dealing," Evie said. "When he tortured me, he made me drink this nasty stuff. It's like it healed everything he did to me."
"What do you mean 'healed'?" Dean asked.
"He'd slice, it'd hurt like hell, then the wound was gone. Like it never happened," Evie said. "I don't know how. My sulfur allergy's gone, too."
"Holy hell," Dean said.
"Damn it," said Sam.
"Maybe he was planning to trade this healing potion for the location of the tablet," Cas suggested. "We need to question him to find out what he knows."
"Wouldn't you like to know?!" Crowley yelled from the trunk.
"Let's look for somewhere to stop," Evie said.
"Do you really think you can make me talk?" Crowley asked. "I mean, Squirrel's the only one here with any experience, and he's useless."
"You haven't shut up since we threw you in the trunk," Evie said.
"Touché," Crowley responded.
"We need information," Cas said.
"Obviously, or we wouldn't be having this pleasant conversation," Crowley said.
"Well, if you want to keep it pleasant …" Dean said.
"You know I don't," Crowley teased.
"Oh, I was hoping you'd say that," Evie said, with a dark grin.
Crowley revealed a satisfied smile. "That's it, young one," he said. "Let the hate flow through you."
Evie abruptly grabbed Ruby's knife from Sam's hand and plunged it into Crowley's left shoulder blade. Crowley howled with pain and rage. Evie leaned in close to his ear, hands poised on her knees, and whispered, "What were you trading that potion for?"
Crowley laughed between gasps for air. "You'll have to do better than that, sweetheart."
"Oh, this isn't even foreplay … sweetheart," Evie said. She removed the knife. "I know what the potion could do for vampires," she said. "What I need to know is what you were going to get in return."
Evie and Crowley shared thirty seconds of silence, comparing poker faces and wills.
"This is pointless," Sam said. "He won't tell us."
"He doesn't know where the tablet is," Evie said with certainty.
Crowley blinked nervously.
"How do you know that?" Sam asked.
"I just know," she said, never taking her eyes off Crowley. He wouldn't meet her gaze.
"She's right," Dean said. "He thinks the vamps know where it is. He was gonna trade this potion for the location of the tablet."
"The alpha vampire is ancient," Cas said. "It is possible he could have information about the tablet's whereabouts."
"Look, fellas … and lady," Crowley said. "We need to get ahead of the vampires on this."
"Oh, now he wants to cooperate," Sam said.
"It would behoove all of us to work together on this one, Moose," Crowley said. "You don't want the vampires to have the tablet. The things they could do to the human race …"
"I hate to agree, but he's right," Cas said.
Evie's face grew tighter and tighter. Finally, she exploded. She stormed out of the little shed they had commandeered.
"Cas, go get her," Dean said.
Castiel turned to follow her outside.
"Yes, Cas, go retrieve your better half," Crowley teased. "I may have ninety-nine problems, but … well …"
Cas, who caught the reference, sped toward Crowley. He reared back and punched Crowley so hard that the demon, and the chair he was chained to, flew backward, crashing into the wall of the shed. Crowley slowly turned his head back, cracking his neck and spitting blood.
Cas didn't wait to see this reaction; he was already out the door. He found Evie leaning against a tree. Every few seconds, she pulled back and punched it while muttering to herself. Cas rushed to her. He gently grasped her hand; the knuckles were bloody but the wounds had already healed. He kissed them, and the blood disappeared.
Evie took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I can't," she said, her voice shaking.
"I know how hard it must be for you," Cas said.
"No, Cas, I can't work with Crowley," she said.
"I said the same thing once," Cas said, looking down at their intertwined fingers as they held hands in the dark. "And, then, well … you know the rest, I guess."
"Yeah, and look how that worked out for you," she said.
Cas closed his eyes and nodded in agreement.
"I understand if you don't want to go any further," Cas said, "but I have to, to save the human race. Crowley is the closest thing to a lead I have found. He may be the only way to the tablet, and we have to find it before anyone else does."
Evie clenched her teeth. "Shit!" she muttered and stomped the ground with her boot.
"Will you be with me?" Evie asked, revealing the uncertainty she felt.
"Yes," Cas reassured her. He leaned his head down and kissed her.
Cas wrapped his strong arm around her shoulders, and they walked toward the door. Dean met them just outside.
"So, we have a little problem," Dean said.
"Since when is a Winchester problem ever little?" Evie responded.
"Crowley gave a sample of the potion to a vamp nest," Dean said.
"It's out?!" Evie exclaimed.
"He said he only gave them one vial, which, he says, should work on two humans," Dean said. "How much did he give you?"
"A whole vial," Evie said.
"What's in it, anyway?" Dean asked.
"I have no idea," Evie responded. "I just know it cured my sulfur allergy, my knees don't hurt when I run anymore, and …" She pulled a knife from her boot and sliced her forearm. An opening appeared for one second, then disappeared. It wasn't open long enough for blood to drip out.
"Whoa," Dean said. "So, those poor bastards are being sucked dry, only they never dry up."
"They're cattle," Cas said. "I have to stop it. Where's the nest?"
"He won't tell us," Dean said. "Sam and I are putting out an APB."
Sam brushed through the door, phone to his ear. "Yeah, yeah," Sam said into the phone. "I can be there … soon." He looked up at Cas. "OK, I'll call you when I get in town. Thanks, Roger."
"Got a bite," Sam said to the others.
"Roger?" Dean asked. "Like, Carroll, Iowa, '98, Roger?"
"Yeah," Sam said.
"That idiot almost got Dad killed!" Dean exclaimed.
"I know, Dean, but he saw a vamp suck on a human and the wound healed right before his eyes," Sam said. "It might be the nest we're looking for. Cas, you can get us there now, right?" Sam asked.
"Yes," Cas answered.
"We can't leave Crowley," Evie said.
"You must stay," Cas told Evie
"No, no, no, me stay and you go?" she exclaimed. "Cas!"
"Evie, I have to go," he said. "I have to stop this as quickly as possible, but Sam and Dean will stay with you."
"Cas, I think I should go with you," Sam said. "Roger's my contact, and he's not the most stable, from what I recall. If an angel teleports in there …"
"OK, good," Dean said eagerly. "You two go take care of that. Evie and I'll hold down the fort."
Evie stood before Cas, gently touching his lapel and looking up into his steely blue eyes. "When I pray, you answer. K?" she said.
He smiled at her and nodded. Behind Evie's back Dean pantomimed a whipping noise and motion. Cas' smile faded as his eyes focused on Dean. Evie turned and shot a disapproving glance at Dean, who looked at the ground like a student caught throwing a spitball when the teacher turns around.
"OK, let's take care of this," Sam said.
Cas placed two fingers on Sam's forehead, and the two of them disappeared.
"Hey! Are you bloody morons just going to leave me here?!" Crowley's voice called from inside the shed.
"OK, well, let's take care of that," Dean said.
A knock on the door.
Evie wearily crossed the cheap motel room. They had driven for several more hours with Crowley tied up in the trunk before deciding to stop, not only to sleep but to get a break from Crowley's constant bitching. She opened the door to find Dean, complete with his duffle bag.
"They, uh, kicked me out of my room," Dean said.
"What?" Evie asked. She made it obvious that she didn't believe him.
"Well, they didn't kick me out," Dean admitted, waltzing into the room, hands in his pockets. "I offered. An elderly couple needed a room."
"Since when are you a charity?" she asked.
"They were like ninety!" Dean exclaimed.
"Well, then, it sounds like you're sleeping in the car," Evie said.
"With chatter box in the trunk?" he asked.
Evie sighed, knowing this was a losing battle. She was too tired to have this fight right now. "Fine!" she gave in. "But, you're sleeping on the floor."
Dean wordlessly motioned to the king size bed. He pouted, then just dropped his bag next to the bed in defeat.
Sometime in the night, Dean had climbed into the bed unbeknownst to either of them. He ungracefully rolled over, his left knee and hand pressing against Evie's hip and waist, jostling her awake. He breathed heavily, nearly snoring. He was obviously in a deep sleep and unaware of his actions, but Evie was still not pleased. Somehow he was doing this on purpose. She just knew it. She looked to her right: three-fourths of an inch between her right side and the edge of the bed. She looked to her left: Dean's cocky, handsome, sleeping form pressed against her and half the bed empty on the other side. It was too much.
She shoved him away from her; it became easier as he woke and pulled away.
"Dean, if you're not going to stay on the floor, at least stay on your side of the bed," she said.
Dean wiped a dribble of drool from the side of his mouth. He blinked a few times. "Ok, ok," he said. "Geez."
He rolled over, turning his back to his mattress partner. Evie did the same. After a few minutes, she felt the mattress dip ever so slightly. Dean moved slowly, very, very slowly; he thought she was asleep. Evie also moved slowly, very, very slowly. Her hand caressed the knife she had stashed under her pillow. She felt Dean's hand brush gingerly against her bare shoulder. She nimbly brought the knife's blade to his knuckles so swiftly that his arrogant smile hadn't even had time to fade.
"Take your fingers off me, or I will take them off for you," she stated matter-of-factly, without looking back.
"What's your problem?" Dean mumbled under his breath.
"What is your problem?" Evie yelled, sitting up and stabbing the knife into the headboard.
Dean rolled over and propped himself up on an elbow. "I asked you first."
"My problem is your jealousy!" Evie said.
Dean's face scrunched, and his eyes rolled.
"Huh," Evie snorted. "Or is it ego?"
"What are you talking about?" Dean asked, as if that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.
"Cas," she replied. "You can't stand it."
"Can't stand what?"
"That the soft-spoken angel in the dorky clothes gets the girl in his bed while God's-gift-to-womankind Dean Winchester gets to bunk with his brother every night."
"Me, jealous of Cas?" Dean snorted. "Oh, please! If I wanted y—" He stopped short. He knew he had said the wrong thing.
"Get out!" Evie said. "You're bunking with the garbage in the trunk!"
"Evie," Dean said softly.
"No! Don't even try it," Evie said. "What did you think, Dean? That I'd be that same, pathetic girl who doted on your every move?"
"No, but, come on," Dean said. "I mean, Cas is—"
"Cas is there!"
"I was there!"
"Oh, yeah," Evie said with sarcasm. "You were there until I woke up one morning to the weight of killing horrible monsters I didn't even know existed … alone … and 'I'm sorry' taped to the mirror!"
Dean hung his head in shame.
"What's the matter, Dean?" Evie asked. "No brilliant one-liners?"
"Look, Evie, I was in over my head," Dean said quietly.
"Really? Because you seemed right at home to me," Evie said. "It was a walk in the park for you: Just vamps, and shifters, and demons. Business as usual."
"No, I mean, with you," Dean said.
"Huh," Evie snorted, rolling her eyes.
"Really," Dean said. "My feelings got too deep and I … I ran."
Evie's face softened a bit as she closed her eyes and thought carefully about what to say next. "Dean, I will always care about you," she started. "Maybe even love you."
Dean perked up.
"But … I love Cas," she finished.
Dean thought of a thousand things to say, but he knew none of them would matter. "You really love him?" Dean finally asked.
"Yeah," she answered. "I really love him."
"OK," he responded. "I'm sorry. I want you to be happy." It took everything in him to suppress his feelings, but he truly wanted her to be happy. He still loved her.
"Thank you," she said. She leaned over and kissed his cheek softly. They lingered cheek to cheek for several seconds. Neither of them knew it, but they both closed their eyes and savored the moment. What they had had all those years ago had been something special, and they both knew it.