CHAPTER 13
Crowley set the glass of water down, nodding to his angel in greeting. "Issy," he begun. "Good to see you're looking no better or worse." He lowered himself into the armchair by her side and pulled out his phone. He had nearly two hundred new emails, only two of which he chose not to randomly delete. With a tap of his finger the messages shifted in his 'to be read' box and he switched to his texts.
An update on the Winchester's caught his attention, and he read through it quickly. Apparently they weren't searching for him. Crowley smirked. About time they realized Issy had chosen to work with him and not those two humans. Issy suddenly let out a long breath, and Crowley watched her carefully.
After waiting a moment, it was clear she wasn't waking up and so he went back to work.
Most of his time was spent signing off and approving deals. Tedious and sometimes uninteresting work, but ever since Issy had begun killing off his competition… well. Let's just say his profits had increased considerably.
A knock on the door roused him out of his contemplations. Jen peeked her head in, loose curls falling across her collarbone. "Your… other friend is growing impatient."
"They're the one in chains," Crowley countered. "They can wait."
Jen grinned. "Can I keep her entertained, then?"
"Only I get to play twenty questions."
"Of course." Jen glanced at the sleeping angel in the bed. "How long are you going to keep her here?" Her tone was impatient, annoyed, and Crowley blinked at her. "However long I want," he informed her tightly.
She simply bobbed her head and left, shutting the door behind her.
Crowley scoffed and turned back to Issy. "Disrespectful, vile things, aren't they?"
Issy didn't respond.
"Well I guess I had better attend to my other guest," Crowley said as he stood. "Sleep well."
X
She was on fire. Everything burned, boiled and melted. It felt like there was a mini sun inside her. Maybe there was. Flames everywhere, licking at her skin, racing her pulse. Her eyes snapped open and she drew in a breath. Not good. The air was cold, like ice, like liquid nitrogen pouring into her lungs. She gagged and shot upright, hating how it felt like her insides were ripping in half.
Everything was blurred around her, too dark and too bright at the same time. She felt around her, felt around the satin sheets that weren't damp with sweat. She flinched at the dry material, they should have been soaked in sweat, she was so hot. But at the same time, they shouldn't have been soaked in sweat. Why not? She asked herself blearily.
The world tilted at odd angles around her. She lay on something soft, something soft and big. Comfortable. She hated it.
With gritted teeth she swung her legs off the side of the bed. Too hot, burning from the inside out. Was she going to die? No. She couldn't die. Why couldn't she die? Her blood flowed through her slowly, like lava, the hottest magma from the deepest part of the Earth. Her skin itched, but she didn't scratch at it. What if it melted off? What if it stuck to her like something out of a horror movie?
Cool breeze blew in from a vent in the ceiling. Too cool. Freezing. The outside was at war with the inside. Hot and cold. Ice and fire. Lava and snow. Her knees wobbled as she tried to stand. She stumbled to her left, head spinning in dizzying circles. She opened her mouth to yell, to call for help, but no sound came out. Simply a dry rasp of air.
Her hands grasped out wildly, trying to find something to hold on to, something to steady her. She knocked over something hard. Liquid. Wet. It splashed against her skin, and she felt as though it sizzled against her. She flinched at the splash of water, shaking her legs to try and rid herself of the freezing droplets.
She looked around, eyes half lidded and mouth gaping. Freedom. A door. She stumbled to it and held her hand up. The fire calmed, narrowing straight through her veins to her outstretched palm. The flames bursted and the doors flew wide open with a bang.
Footsteps. The itching increased ten fold. Her head whipped around, taking sight of the quickly approaching threat. The flames burned within her, spinning and tumbling, an endless cycle. Her hand snapped up again, and she flicked it to the side.
The heat channeled in her palm once again, and the enemy went flying to the side. "Filth," she spat. Her legs carried her forward, head still swimming, overwhelmed by the fire inside of her. "Disgusting waste of Hell. I will not let you live."
"No! Wait-" The demon tried to stop her, but she simply pressed her palm against its forehead. In a bright explosion, the flames inside of her evaporated the smoke inside the demon and she pulled back. The empty vessel fell to the ground, limbs skewed sideways and upwards. She squinted her nose in disgust at having touched such filth.
Her skin itched again, tingling, buzzing. She turned to face the newly arrived foe. "Pest," she hissed through bared teeth. She shoved forward with both hands, sending a pulse outwards. The force sent the demon flying, and she stalked forward with a raised palm.
It only took her a moment to smite this demon and its body fell in a satisfying heap.
She stepped over the body, drawn ahead by something. It was flickering at the edge of her subconscious. A crawling, an itching, it called to her. Something powerful, something alluring. She continued onward, her feet dragging slightly as her body began to adjust to the heat. It was still too much- too much fire, too much warmth. It felt like she might burst, split, divide.
The flickering turned into a full on flashing as she came upon a set of stairs downwards. She could see clearly through the darkness that settled deep into the basement. Her steps echoed in the small hall as she climbed down the stairs, taking a left as she came across an intersection.
"Are you going to talk now?" She hears a low, gruff voice in the distance. The sound carries to her from a room at the end of the tunnel and she continues forward. There's a metal door, heavy and daunting. She shoves it open some more, so she can see inside. There's an angel in there, tied to a chair, bound by silver handcuffs that were carved with enochian.
A man stands over the angel, pressing an angel blade against her throat. She watches, intrigued, wondering what the man planned to do to her. "Sorry? What was that?" He said as he dug the blade into the angel's throat. Cuts and gouges marred the angel's skin, and the man made sure to pick at an untouched span of her skin.
"Fuck you Crowley," the angel hissed, spitting blood into the man's face.
Crowley clicked his tongue and shook his head in disappointment. "I'll tell you what," he poked the blade deep into the angel's skin, just under her collar bone. She cried out through her teeth, blood pouring down her chest. "You tell me how to completely extract an angel's grace, and how to store it, and I'll kill you quickly."
Something flares deep inside of her, and she bursts into the room. Crowley turns, eyes wide and startled. The angel had passed out in the chair, head flopping forward. "You bastard. Repugnant, sleezy, noxious creature. Free her at once."
"Woah," Crowley blinked. "I see you're awake."
"I will not talk to horrid beasts like you," she raised her hand and flicked, sending Crowley flying and crashing into a cart containing various torture tools. Ignoring the peice of shit she'd just flung away, she stalks forward and makes a gesture with her hand. The cuffs disintegrate and the ropes fall off and land in a puddle at the angel's feet.
"You are free," she told the angel. With deliberate movements she presses to fingers to the angel's forehead. Her heat swims into the other angel's, and she wakes with a start. "Leave, sister. You are free."
With an immense surge of satisfaction, she sees the angel spread her wings and fly off.
"Why'd you go and do that?" Crowley was suddenly standing far too close for her liking, and she glares at him in warning. His power is apparent, so she thinks it unwise to try and kill him in such an unfamiliar environment. "What's wrong with you?"
She doesn't answer him, and his eyes narrow. "Lena?" He asked quietly.
She bristled. "If it weren't for the warding sigils I can feel suppressing my power, I would end you right now. Cleanse the Earth of yet another maggot."
"Harsh words," he said, feigning offence. "Would you like a cup of tea then, perhaps? Before you go and 'cleanse the Earth'."
The itching is almost overwhelming now, and she staggers on her feet. Ignoring the man at her side, she spread her wings and flew away before she could be trapped like the other angel had.
X
Sam and Dean. Both were working on their latest case. The latter with a beer in his hand, the former munching on a salad. Dean glanced up at his brother, once again looking for a distraction from his thoughts. "Anything?"
"Dean, you only just asked me that ten minutes ago."
"So that's a no then," Dean runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Why the hell does everything go quiet when we're actually looking for a case? It's not fair."
Sam scoffed. His brother was sounding like a whiny two year old in a tantrum… again.
He continued to tap away at his laptop, reading through news report after news report. Dean was going with the old fashion way. Newspapers and other Hunter contacts. Jack might've had something, but it was a thirty hour drive if traffic was good. Dean told him a simple 'thanks, but no' and moved along.
With an impatient sigh Dean jumped out of the chair and went to lean over his brother, eyes flickering over the article on a murder up North. "No," he said to his brother. "Just a psycho."
Sam made an agreeable noise and exited out of that tab with a quick click. Dean watched as his brother opened up another article before walking over to the minibar. He pulled out a half empty whisky he'd hidden in the fridge earlier and poured himself a tall glass.
Bless him, Sam looked up, concern clouding his eyes. "Dean-" He began, tone disapproving, before huffing. "Pour me a glass too, thanks."
Both brothers took their drinks, swirling them with a flick of their wrists before downing half each with one gulp. Dean sat back, looking out the window whilst Sam went back to his research. "Maybe Bobby's got something?"
Sam quirked a brow. "You really wanna call Bobby right now? Tell him how we lost an angel to the King of Crossroads when she is more than likely being targeted by Lena."
"We don't have to tell 'im that."
"Fine," Sam relented. Huh. Guess he was as bored as Dean was. "Right, I'll call him on my way to pick up some pie."
Sam shook his head with an amused scoff as Dean grabbed up his wallet and phone. He tucked his pistol into his waistband and headed out the door. "You'll let me in when I get back, right?" Dean felt obliged to ask.
"Sure."
Dean narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but pushed the door open and stalked out. there was a bakery across the street, and he patted Baby apologetically when he passed her. "Sorry, don't need you just yet."
He pulled out his phone and flicked it open, pressing the second speed dial and waiting for the call to connect. He held it to his ear, and swept his head from left to right to check for oncoming traffic. When the coast was clear he stepped onto the road, straight for the bakery.
"Hello?"
"Yeah, hey Bobby. It's Dean."
"Who?"
"Dean winchester," He glared at the phone. "Look don't be an ass Bobby."
"Yeah, yeah. 'Course not you Idjit." There was a pause and some scuffling in the background. "Right then. What trouble did you boys get into this time?"
"Nothing Boby. We're just running low on cases. You got anything?"
Silence again. Dean opened the door to the bakery, nodding with his charming smile to the lady working the counter. He peered at the display case, easily picking out the apple pie he wanted. He pointed to it with a nod, "That one, thanks."
"Alright Dean? You anywhere near Vegas?"
"Nah."
"Okay… How about Wisconsin?"
Dean nodded thoughtfully, accepting his pie and handing over some cash as he did. "Yeah that's good. Something troubling you up there?"
"No. Nah nothing like that ya idjit. There's been a couple of scared brats, nothing too harmful but enough to stir up some interest. I'm thinking a haunting, so you boys'd best get down there before too many kids start checking it out."
"Awesome," Dean crossed the road again. "Thanks for this Bobby."
"Now hold up," Bobby stopped Dean from hanging up like he'd wanted to. Dean stifles a sigh and waits for Bobby to continue. "How are you boys?"
Dean clenched his jaw. Should he lie, or tell the truth? "Fine," he bit out eventually. "Yeah Sammy and I just got done with a case actually. What about you? How're things on your end?"
"Good actually," Bobby admitted. "Rufus just got done with a vamp nest and as far as I've heard everyone's doing well. Now… Dean… You'd tell me if something was wrong? If you idjits had gotten yourselves into some mighty deep water?"
He swallowed, gulping down his guilt at lying to Bobby. "Yeah. Of course."
"Right," Bobby let out a sceptical noise before continuing. "Let me know when you're done with Wisconsin, I'll message you the details."
"Thanks, again."
Bobby simply huffed and hung up. Dean examined the phone for a few moments before shutting it against his thigh and sliding it back into his pocket. He turned his attention back to the motel room he'd made his way back to.
"Sammy! I'm back, open up."
Dean glanced at his pie. It sat looking delicious in the plastic bag, and Dean couldn't wait to eat it. If his brother asked nicely, maybe he'd let him have some too.
"Sammy!" He called again, when the door didn't budge.
Suddenly, a very loud and very worrying crash sounded from inside the room. Dean immediately dropped his pie- sadly enough- and kicked the door open with a yelled, "Sam!"
The door swung open, revealing Dean's brother being held by the throat against the motel wall. Who was holding him though, had Dean frozen in his spot.
"Issy?" He asked in a breath.
When she turned, eyes filled with rage and disgust, Dean looked to his duffel. He shoulda brought the angel blade with him. "Dean!" Sam shouted, voice barely more than a croak.
"It's alright Sammy," Dean said, not taking his eyes off of Issy. "I'll take care of it."
Dean carefully raised his hands in a calming gesture, taking a step forward. He looked into her eyes, trying to get an exact read on what the hell was going on. She stood tall, confident, only one hand needed to hold Sam up with inhuman strength.
"Issy?" He asked, louder this time.
Something faltered in her gaze, anger dissipating to confusion. Her grip dropped from Sam, hands twitching at her side. "Dean?"
"Issy, it's okay," Dean moved even closer, aiming to try and disable her somehow. He spied his duffel again… if he could get to the blade… "Whatever's wrong, let's talk it out?"
Issy shook her head, hands clenching into fists. "No. It's not-" Suddenly, she falls to her knees, gripping her stomach with a pained cry. Dean flinched at the sound, it was almost as bad as the ones he had heard in Hell. "Fuck!" Issy swears, voice loud and echoing in the small room.
Sam, still trying to regain his composure, glances at Dean. His eyes are full of worry and confusion and just a general 'what the fuck?'. Dean takes his opportunity, diving for his duffel and grabbing out the angel blade.
When he turns back, Issy is unconscious on the ground, face pale and beaded with sweat. But… another Issy stands over that one. This one is barely more than rotting flesh on bone, hair a wispy silver and eyes a clouded grey. Dean recognises that stare, it's from long ago, but unforgettable.
"Lena," he spits, hand tightening around the blade.
Lena tilts her chin high, eyes looking down at him. "Drop the blade."
Dean shakes his head defiantly.
With a hiss she holds out her open palm, and the blade flies from Dean's hand and lands flat in her own. She glances at it, a fond look entering her eyes before she clamps her hand shut around it and turning to Sam, who's looking up at her with fearful eyes.
"You," Lena spits vehemently. "I will be back for you."
And then she's gone, and Dean doesn't waste a moment to rush to his brother. "Sam," he breathes in relief. His hands glide over his brother, checking over every inch. There's a few scrapes and bruises from when he was thrown around, but the worst is the horrible red mark around his neck.
"I'm okay Dean," Sam croaks.
Dean doesn't stop though, continuing to check him over. It's not until Sam clamps his hands around Dean's wrists that he finally stops long enough to meet his brother's gaze. "I'm fine."
The older Winchester wilts into his brother's grip, accepting the weak hug that Sam offers. "You were- She had you by the throat Sammy. You weren't breathing."
"It's okay," Sam reassures Dean. "Dean, really. I've been worse."
Dean lets out an amused snort, despite himself, and pulls back to look at his brother. "I lost the pie," is all he can say.
Sam smiles sadly, his eyes flickering from Dean's face to look at the unconscious girl laying on their floor. Issy is sprawled in a heap, as still as death itself. "I think we've lost more than that, Dean."
Short chapter, I know. I'm sorry! But yeah, a lot of stuff happened in this plot wise so... forgive me?
Also! HOLIDAYS NOW! YAY!
Now: Crowley and angel grace's? Oh dear.
AND WOAH GUYS! We're nearly at 70 dedicated readers now! Incredible! We nearly have enough to fill TWO WHOLE CLASSROOMS! Not to mention you guys hit 7 reviews last chapter, thank you all so much! I know last chapter wasn't the best, so I wasn't expecting too many reviews :3 YOU'RE THE BEST!
You guys are unbelievably wonderful people, really.
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