Grace looked at him, realizing how bad what she said was going to sound to them. Even Sam wasn't going to let this one go.

"Blood and a body pillow," She said quickly, hoping to move things along quickly.

"Blood?" Dean held a hand out and leaned in slightly, looking at her through narrowed eyes. He looked like it was so absurd he couldn't comprehend what she'd said.

"What did he want with your blood?" Sam asked, taking on about the same expression and looking just as ready to pounce as Dean.

Grace shrugged. "He drew my blood with a syringe. He keeps it in the night stand," Grace pointed and Sam ran into the bedroom, taking out the kit just to see that it was there. "And then he injected it into himself," Surprisingly, the room was silent.

Grace curled up, hugging her arms around her knees. She nudged her nose against her shoulder, the scent of Crowley still lingering. She suddenly felt tired and empty, like a piece of her had been ripped out.

"What does he need your blood for?" Sam asked, seeming to trail off as a realization dawned on him.

"Human blood. The...the trials. Crowley was..." Sam swallowed hard, his eyes suddenly wide and befuddled.

"What trials?" Grace asked, only looking moderately interested. The sudden presence of Crowley's scent had dulled her senses. All she could do with focus was ache for Crowley in his absence. She rubbed the center of her chest, almost feeling a physical absence there.

"That doesn't matter," Dean insisted.

"Are we really going to let Crowley use some poor idiot as his blood slave? When it is far enough, Sammy?" Pain lanced through Grace's heard and she was on her feet before she even knew why.

"You will not touch him," She said slowly. Every muscle in her body was tensed. She'd never laid a violent hand on a single human being, but she was more than willing to do it then. It didn't require consideration.

Dean's spine straightened and something in his face changed. It wasn't fear and it wasn't surprise, but it was something. Like someone had flipped a switch, Grace felt herself relax. A hand touched her shoulder.

"Crowley," She breathed, not even having to look to know it was him.

"Curious," He took her chin, turning her head and tipping it up so that he could look into her face. "You can sense my presence. And the attack dog bit," His eyebrows rose. "Impressive," Until that moment, Grace hadn't realized the full extent of the tole his absence had taken on her. She quickly came to the conclusion that from now on being alone wasn't going to be particularly tolerable.

"The two of you can leave now. Daddy's home," He stepped away, leaving Grace to get a hold of herself.

"Why are you shooting human blood like a damn junkie?" Dean demanded, taking a step closer to Crowley, who was pouring himself a drink.

"I don't suppose that's any of your business, now is it?" His voice was tight, all the sly mirth seeming to have slipped out of it. He poured a second glass and sauntered back to Grace's side, extending a glass to her. She took it. The taste of whiskey wasn't something she was in any way fond of. The effects, however, were a different story.

"Wait, wait," Crowley lowered her arm before she could take a sip, producing a syringe from his jacket. "It's better when it's pure," Grace blanched a bit, clenching and unclenching her fist. Was she afraid of the King of Hell, no. But needles? Those she would rather avoid.

"Don't fuss, love," He set both of their glasses aside. "It doesn't hurt does it? Just a little prick, yeah" Grace nodded and offered her arm.

"Oh for the love of god. Not in front of us!"Dean exclaimed.