"Davis!"
Crowley waited a beat, but no response came, so he roared, "DAVIS!"
He cocked his head, waiting for Davis's reply. What he heard, instead, was muffled sounds: thumps, soft curses. He tilted a quizzical eyebrow up and smiled slightly, listening, then he started strolling to the other end of the condo. As he moved, the sounds got louder, until he stopped at the doorway where the hall opened up into the foyer.
Three men dressed in black surrounded Davis. One, eyes gleaming beetle black, had him in a choke hold with one arm, the other hand gripping his wrist to hold his angel blade out of the way. One of the other two was pummeling him, but Davis was using his free leg to kick back, try to hold him off. The third man danced around the outside, impatiently waiting for an opening.
"Davis, you slacker! Where's my dinner!" He pulled his own angel blade from its sheath in his suit jacket.
The two men facing Davis whirled around. Davis took advantage of the distraction to slam his foot into the back of the one who had been punching him, and he went staggering to the floor.
"My...apologies...sir...I am...a bit...preoccupied...at the moment," he gasped around the arm barring his throat.
"You! Unhand my butler!" Crowley snarled. The man who had been waiting for a chance to get at Davis advanced slowly on him, another angel blade in hand. When he got close enough, he darted in, blade slashing out. Crowley swayed aside, easily eluding the knife, and pivoted, digging his own blade squarely in his attacker's back. He pulled the blade out and spun back, quickly stooping to pin the fallen man to the floor through his shoulder. Then he straightened, flaring crossroads demon red at the man holding Davis, and slowly tightened his fist, raising it in the air. The man gasped, choked, rose into the air in concert with Crowley's hand. Crowley punched the air, and the man slammed back against the wall, releasing Davis, who dropped to the floor.
Crowley regarded the man he had pinned to the wall with mild interest, then swore as the man opened his mouth and smoked out, the black demon cloud swiftly slithering through one of the air vents.
"Bloody hell!" Crowley snarled as he watched the tail end of the smoke disappearing. He opened his hand, and the empty meat suit fell to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. He strode forward and offered a hand to Davis to help him up. Davis rose slowly, rubbing his neck.
"Many thanks, sir. I was expecting a delivery, and when I opened the door, these three pushed their way in - "
"Yes, no doubt," Crowley responded absently, squinting thoughtfully at the air vent and chewing his lips. Davis dusted himself off and resettled his suit fussily. Crowley focused back on him, blew out a breath, and said, "Well. Seems our little excitement for the night is done with." He was interrupted by a groan from the man pinned to the floor, and he turned his attention to him.
He sauntered over to stand over him with a thin smile. "So. What - who - do we have here, do you think, Davis?"
"I believe it is Broyle, sir," Davis answered neutrally.
"Why, yes!" Crowley smirked. "Our old friend Broyle." He squatted down beside Broyle, yanked out the angel blade, and held it dangling nonchalantly between his knees as he peered at him. "Dear me. You weren't at the meeting the other day, darling. I wonder why that is...?" He sighed. "Loyalty is a sadly neglected virtue these days, Davis." He shook his head mournfully, tsking. Broyle bared his teeth defiantly, then paled and winced. Crowley watched with mild interest, then, as Broyle opened his mouth, tilting his head back in preparation to smoking out, he snarled, "Oh, no you don't, pet!"
He reached out, ripped Broyle's shirt open, and swiftly began carving a sigil on his chest. Broyle's demon smoke, which had begun sliding out, sullenly withdrew back into his body, and Broyle glared up at him silently, trapped.
"Sir. The floor...?" Davis nodded his head at the blood. Crowley gave him an exasperated look, and snapped his fingers. The blood pooling beneath Broyle's body vanished.
"Better?" he asked acidly.
"Thank you, sir," Davis murmured.
Crowley knotted his fist in Broyle's collar and stood up, effortlessly dragging him to his feet. "Well. Shall we find out who sent you, darling? Hmmm?"
"This one certainly sounds like demon signs," Cas said, turning the laptop to face Dean. "A freak lightning storm set a farmer's field ablaze two nights ago. During a snowstorm. Very localized; the farmer's neighbors all saw it, but nothing happened anywhere else." Dean leaned forward, scanning the story with interest.
"Hunh! It's definitely something, all right," he mused. "South of Bristol, off 80." He raised his head, looked at Cas significantly.
"We should go check...?" Cas half-stated, half-asked. He reached forward, placed his hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean jerked back, away from the hand. He knew what that meant.
"Dude. Car, not angel-hopping, dammit. Y'know what that does to my digestive system," he grumbled.
Cas sighed and closed his eyes in resignation. "It would be much faster."
"No. Car. It'll take less than two hours."
Cas folded his lips mulishly, then finally nodded agreement. "Very well. Since there is no urgency. But you are the one who wanted to locate Sam quickly..." He let his voice trail off.
Dean glared back for a moment, then shook his head, smile breaking out. "How about a compromise? I drive, you angel-hop...? Though..." He sighed theatrically, and made a dramatically sad face. "It would be nice to have company..."
Cas rolled his eyes and stood up. "Very well. Car it is."
Dean beamed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Good man!"
"Hmmm. So what is this interesting little mark, eh?" Crowley muttered, leaning in to peer at the small brand on Broyle's naked shoulder. Broyle just gritted his teeth and looked away. Crowley seized his chin in strong fingers, forcefully turning his head back to face him. He shook him gently. "No? Not going to say? Don't know? Which is it? Hmph." He snorted, pulled out his phone, and snapped a picture, then composed a message, attached the photo, and thumbed the "send" button. Then he waited, whistling tunelessly and rocking back and forth on his feet, watching Broyle.
His phone rang.
"Hello, Dani-girl...anything?" His voice was noticeably warmer than before, and he stepped away from the trussed-up demon.
"Aw, that was too easy! It's a very small, limited binding spell. Nothing like that thing you and Sam Winchester had. Lasts about a day. Allows the caster to specify one or two goals," she added.
"Hmmm," he murmured thoughtfully, turning around to eye Broyle. "And there I was thinking my sweetheart here did it all on his lonesome. Any way of knowing who cast it?"
"Um. No. Sorry, don't think so. The spell can be done from a distance, so the target won't know. And when it ends, the target's memories are erased. What's going on?" Her voice was concerned.
He chewed his lips. "We had some visitors. Roughed up my poor Davis."
"Davis?! Is he okay?!" She was alarmed. She was very fond of him.
He tilted up an amused eyebrow. "Davis is just fine, pet. You'll still be able to enjoy his culinary delights. He was a tad miffed about the blood on the floor, though."
"So...what? These 'visitors' just wanted to...what?" she asked.
"Well. I think I'll just have to ask my friend here, eh?" He smiled toothily at Broyle, who paled and looked away again.
"Um." She paused, then continued, slowly, "Please be careful...?"
"Tch. I always am, pet. I value myself too highly to be careless," he smirked.
The motel room smelled stale.
They always did, so it was nothing new. He merely added to the smell with the whiff of wet jeans and sodden jacket.
Sam slumped wearily on the bed, toweling his hair dry from the melting snow. He stretched out his long legs and glared at the work boots, then untied the laces and cautiously eased first one, then the other, off, pulled off the soggy socks, and wiggled his toes. No frostbite, just chilled enough so they were stiff and white. There was a series of blisters to add to his joy.
It had taken him hours of trudging through the slush and snow by the side of the highway, and two rides part of the way, to get here. It was nothing special, just your typical Midwestern small town, with a mix of classic older Victorian and Craftsman houses and newer, boring ranch-style neighborhoods. They did do it up right for Christmas, though - his second lift had rattled on about "Christmas City", and the cheery array of Christmas lights that greeted them as they drove into town had been welcoming.
Marion was just the right size, though, to find cheap longer-term lodging, get some kind of job, and figure out how to conquer the need for Crowley's blood and find some way to get back at him...without having to deal with Dean's irrational bias against his now-permanent powers.
Speaking of which...
He sighed and pulled out his phone. That incident - the lightning storm he had started just by playing around - made him nervous and wary. No matter how much it tempted him, he could do no playing with his power after he had some of the blood. That much was obvious. And he needed...
Training.
Someone to help him know the limits of his power. Someone with experience.
Unfortunately, there was only one person he knew like that. He didn't trust her at all, even though they had at least one goal in common. But. She had power, she knew how to use it, she might be able to teach him how to control his.
He bit his lip, narrowed his eyes, looked down at the phone. Then, with a long sigh, he started keying in the message:
"This is Sam Winchester. I need help. Can we meet?"
After a long moment, he hit "send".
Mendocino was a pleasant spot to meet with friends for coffee. There were artworks on the walls; bookcases scattered around filled with a diverse mix of thrillers, mysteries, science fiction, and natural history books; behind the bar were chalkboard signs ablaze with colorful drawings, wacky quotes, and weirdly named coffee drinks, draped with Tibetan prayer flags. An assortment of low tables was scattered across the floor, with an equally motley assortment of chairs, two or three to a table. A fire was crackling in the fireplace. It was all very comfortable, if a bit counter-culture cliche.
Dani and Charlie had easily grabbed two low armchairs at a wicker drum table for two off in a corner; it was mid-morning, and the cafe was almost deserted. Dani had a double espresso and macaroons; Charlie was sipping a chai latte. Their winter coats were slung over the backs of the chairs.
Charlie huddled forward, turning her cup thoughtfully in her hands, her short dark red curls drooping down and shadowing her face. "So you haven't had a chance to do any real digging yet?"
Dani slouched down a bit further in her seat, feeling obscurely guilty. "No. I'm sorry, Chaz - "
Charlie peered up at her through the veil of hair, eyes sparkling and a wide grin flickering across her lips. "Chaz? I like it! It's kind of...edgy!"
Dani folded her lips and glared fiercely. "Girl. I'm trying to apologize here. Crowley has me busy working on some things. Look. He gets priority, you know that. But I have been looking into your questions, in and around his, and I've found some mentions of the Book of the Saved." Charlie glanced up eagerly. "It's nothing solid, mind you. But every mention of it says it's been placed in safekeeping. And two mentions say, 'ask the Reaper'."
Charlie sat up straight, brushed her hair back behind her ears with one hand, and looked at Dani with interest. "'The Reaper'? Which Reaper? Aren't there oodles of them?"
Dani sighed and nibbled on a macaroon.
~~hellooooo...gonna let me at that cookie?~~
Gimme a moment.
"They don't say. Just to ask him. Or her."
Charlie frowned. "Well. That's just great. They're invisible, right - they only show up to people who are dying?" Her eyes lit up. "Ahah! I can pretend to be dying, and - "
Dani snickered. "Girl. You can't fool Reapers. You're either really dying, in which case they show up, or you're faking, and they don't. But! You can summon a Reaper. I think. They seem to be some kind of angel, and we know how to summon and trap angels, so maybe we could try that..." She trailed off and began picking at her lips thoughtfully. "'Scuse me; I'm going to let Innie-Me out while I think a bit - I promised her this cookie."
With that, she dove down, letting Danielle take over.
Just long enough for that macaroon. I want to keep talking with Charlie.
Danielle reached out, grabbed the cookie, looked at it like a drowning man looks at a life preserver, and began slowly eating it, savoring every bite with little moans of pleasure. Charlie watched with interest.
"So Dani can still hear me, right?"
"Mmm hmmm," Danielle replied around a mouth full of coconut-y goodness.
"Well, I do have another possibility that I haven't mentioned yet, I just don't know, but I did want to talk with Dani about crossroads demons and how that whole thing works out - "
Danielle froze, eyes wide. "Um. Charlie - "
" - y'know, like, is it totally binding, or is there a way out of the agreement. And if it's as much like a genie's wish as it always sounded like - "
What?! Is she saying what I think she's saying? Dammit, Innie-Me, sorry girl, I've gotta interrupt your cookie orgasm and take over again.
~~yeah, i think she is, and, yeah, i think you do need to handle this...~~
Danielle quickly finished the last bite of macaroon and relinquished control back to Dani.
"No."
Charlie frowned at her. "'No', what? No, it doesn't work like a genie's wish or, no, you can't waffle out, or - "
"Just no, Charlie. Don't even think of it." Dani's voice was firm.
Charlie tossed her head. "Don't even think of what? I'm just interested - "
Dani rolled her eyes. "Don't kid a kidder, girl. And do not, under any circumstances, make a crossroads demon deal."
"Why not?!" Charlie grumbled mutinously. "You did! We could get Sam cured, boom, just like that! And it doesn't seem all that bad - look at you! Look at all the other demons! You're all doing fine!"
Dani closed her eyes, frustrated, then opened them again, leaned forward, and took Charlie's arm in a hard grip. "Listen to me," she hissed, flashing her beetle blacks. "You have no idea what it takes, what we're really like." She closed her eyes again, paling, remembering. "Girl. You're good - "
Charlie glared and folded her lips. "No, I'm not! I know what the dark side of me is like, remember? When I got split up by that Oz spell? I've got plenty of dark - "
Dani ground her teeth, and was about to continue to school this - this innocent! - on what a crossroads demon deal really entailed, when a hand came to rest on her shoulder. Startled, she looked around, to see Crowley standing behind her. He gave Charlie a fleeting, polite smile. "Miss Bradbury," he greeted her, then he looked back down at Dani with a serious face. "Dani. A word, if you please?" He jerked his head towards another table.
Dani's eyebrows twitched together, and she was about to ask him what was on his mind, when Charlie interrupted.
"See?! It's serendipity! Crowley, it's nice to see you; I have a proposition - "
Dani surged up out of her chair, leaned over, and placed an urgent hand over Charlie's mouth, stopping her. She frowned at Crowley and flapped her other hand at him to leave, hissing, "Go! Now! She's about to do something seriously stupid!" Crowley blinked, and, at the same time, Charlie managed to pull Dani's hand away.
"What, pray tell - " Crowley began, cocking an interested eyebrow.
At the same time, Charlie said loudly, stubbornly, "I know what I'm doing, darn it, Dani! I've thought about this a lot lately, and - "
"You haven't got a clue!" Dani shouted, frantic.
Crowley blinked again, and said, plaintively, "Will one of you two please tell me what's going on?"
Dani whirled on him angrily. "She's about to try to make a crossroads deal with you, that's what! So will you just go, before she ruins her life for eternity?!" To her dismay, instead of leaving, he peered at Charlie with sharp interest, then grabbed a chair from the next table over, spun it around, took off his black overcoat, and settled himself comfortably in the chair, crossing his legs. He tilted his head, smiled welcomingly, and spread his hands in invitation.
"Charlie! Darling! Speak to me!" he smirked.
Dani opened her mouth, closed it, dropped back down into her own chair, and glared at him. Finally, she choked out, "No. Do not do this."
He glanced at her, eyes dancing wickedly. "Why ever not, pet? This is so entertaining! Please, Miss Bradbury, let's hear your proposal."
Charlie bit her lip, nervously tucked her hair behind her ears again, shot a look at Dani, and then started, "Well. Sam. For some reason - probably just to mess with him, that seems to be something he would do! - Lucifer got him - re-awakened his demon blood addiction - well! Anyway. Sam's addicted to demon blood again." Dani leaned back in her chair, covering her face with a hand and shaking her head. Crowley just listened with polite interest and a slight smile. "So I asked Dani for help, to find a spell, something that would break the addiction, but she's been busy with your stuff - which is okay! I get it! - anyway - " She paused to catch her breath. "So while I was waiting for her to come up with something, I got to thinking, and remembered how you were able to get Death's location by Bobby Singer making a demon deal, and so I thought - "
Dani snorted softly, glared at Charlie again, and growled sarcastically, "You thought..."
Charlie frowned back at her. "I thought I might be able to do a deal myself, get the addiction stopped." She sat back, drew a deep breath, and added, "So there you go!"
Crowley's expression hadn't changed during her recital, but now he looked at Dani, tilting an eyebrow up. "So. Dani-girl. I take it you do not want this to happen?" She blinked at him, and said slowly, cautiously, "Nooo. I don't. She hasn't the vaguest idea of what it really means, and has some hare-brained plan to weasel out of it - "
At that, Crowley turned to look at Charlie with a slow, toothy smile, eyelids drooping. He said evenly, "Oh, no, darling. It doesn't work like that. The deal, once it's made, is binding. Totally. No exit, pet."
Charlie flinched a bit. One tended to forget, with his playful snarkiness and elegant suits and charm, that he was the King of Hell. Okay, former King of Hell. But right now, what he exuded was sheer danger.
Then he turned back to Dani and the moment passed. Charlie shivered and rubbed her arms.
He took Dani's hand, held it, ran a thumb across her palm. "If you don't want me to do this, Dani-girl, then I won't," he murmured softly.
Dani slumped in relief, smiling back at him. Charlie looked mulish. "If you won't do it, I'll find someone who will," she said stubbornly.
Crowley looked at her again, raising his eyebrows. "No, you won't. I am the King of the Crossroads. What I say, goes, so if I won't do it, no other crossroads demon will." He shrugged. "Sorry, pet."
Charlie frowned. "That is so - so - darn it! That's just unfair!"
"Life," Crowley said lightly, "is unfair, pet. Deal." He stood up, picked up his overcoat, and pulled Dani up by the hand he was still holding. "Now. As I was saying, I'd like to have a word with you. Privately. Cheers, Miss Bradbury!" He nodded politely, Dani grabbed her own coat, and he led her out of the cafe. Charlie sat and watched them go, still frowning.
