She stood in front of the full-length mirror, admiring her reflection as she pulled the lapels of the white leather jacket closer to her form. Accentuating every curve of her body and more importantly, her supple breasts, which were framed beautifully in the black camisole underneath the new Chanel coat. She couldn't help the mischievous smile that was curving her mouth into a contented expression.
"How rude," she turned suddenly, her brown locks whipping around and over her cleavage as she stared playfully at the man – or rather Demon behind her.
"Luckily for you I don't have the Colt on me anymore."
"Well I saw to that."
The right side of Bela's mouth curved up, she crossed her arms and then raised an eyebrow. "And my payment?"
"You look snuggly in your new million door jacket. Doesn't look like you'll be needing my payment to much, will you?"
"Crowley," she said slowly her English accent making her seem in complete control of the situation, her gaze unwavering, like her smile. "You owe me 55 Billion dollars, do you honestly think I'm just going to walk away from that? Oh and I want American currency."
"You know," his raspy voice drawled out as he stepped closer towards her, hands clasped firmly behind his black Armani suit, his large black orbed eyes seemed to be staring straight into her soul. "I could as easily call my hounds now, take back our previous deal." She seemed unperturbed by this statement.
Bela had supposedly died a few years back, due to a deal she'd made with Lilth when she was still in primary school. But in her last minutes she had contacted the sprit world and found the exact Demon she'd need to enlist for her own survival. She'd made a deal with the King of the Crossroads Demons, the Colt for her Soul. And here she was.
"But you won't, now give me my bloody money. I plan to be out of this city in less than an hour and out of the country by sundown." She then turned back around and grabbed her purse off a chair.
Crowley glanced over at her bed; the Louis-Vitton suitcase was open, filled to the rim in designer clothing and various artifacts, which no doubt held some sort of magical significance.
"Right, Well consider it already wired to your account in London."
"Bela Lugosi?"
"What other name would you place it under?"
She smiled as she zipped up her bag, pulling it onto the ground, Crowley could've left by now but instead he watched her. It's not like he was in a hurry or his life was in danger…
"You know Crowley, You never told me why you wanted me to do what I did…" Bela's curiosity had peaked, that or either she was just bored so she decided to ask – Bela normally never asks about anything unless it benefits her.
"Let's just say I don't have to retreat to Canada to receive amnesty." He was curt, and with that he was gone. Bela stood in her doorway for a moment thinking about what he'd said. But then decided that what happened to the Winchesters didn't matter to her. She'd be in London in less than twenty-four hours and she'd be disgustingly rich, laying naked, in silk sheets – rolling in money.
"Fuck me, I'm richer than the Queen." She whispered to herself as she closed the hotel door.
Crowley had been a huge target for Lucifer and any demon as of recently, after his feelings towards Lucifer's rise to power got out he'd had a price on his head, with the reward of high-ranking demon status on it. Ironically the King of the Crossroads demon, the deal demon of demons made a deal with Lucifer himself, his life for a vessel to buzzlebub himself. He'd instantly know who could con the Winchesters easiest, Bela…Bela who knew the boys more intimately than most, a mind ninja in the strictest sense with a PH.D in emotional terrorism. Bela had used the internationally known weakness the brothers had on them, each other – family – love. She was also betting on the fact that regardless of which one she spoke to first it wouldn't matter since they're both so co-dependently self-sacrificing for each other. It's like they enjoy jumping off cliffs to their deaths to save the other, like they got off on this morbid sense of salvation.
DETROIT, MICHIGAN"Dean!" Sam yelled again from his strangled position on the floor, his arms bent uncomfortably beneath him, Dean still wasn't moving and Sam was bleeding profusely.
Time was running out and unfortunately from the way Sam was laying he couldn't reach his phone, now that he thought about it…he might not even be able to use it, it would've broken when he rammed into whatever he'd slammed into earlier. Sam's long brown locks in his eyes, he huffed attempting to blow them away so he could see again, since the hair – at this awkward angle he was laying in did impair his eyesight.
…
Sam didn't know how long he and Dean laid there, how long he'd waited for Dean to wake up – he didn't want to consider the alternative to a motionless body other than sleeping…
He then found himself thinking about the past few months and beating himself up again for kicking Dean to the road, alone.
"The way I see it, we got one shot at surviving this."
"What's that?"
"Maybe I am on deck for the Devil. Maybe the same with you and Michael. And maybe there's no changing that."
"Well, that's encouraging."
"But we can stop wringing our hands over it. We gotta just –" he huffed slightly between words. "-Grab on to, whatever's in front of us and kick it's ass, and go down fighting."
"I can get on board with that." One of his signature sideways cocky grins curved onto his face. "Here!" he tossed Sam something in his hand. Some opened his hands and stared for a moment, both eyebrows inclined upward in disbelief. "Really?"
"Knock yourself out." Dean slapped Sammy on the shoulder and then made his way over to the passenger's side of the car. "Plus, I could go for a little nap. Heh Heh."
Sam stood there at the Driver's side door after Dean had already slid into his own seat; finally Sam just cracked a smile and laughed, then joined Dean in the Impala.
All was right in the world.
Sam clenched his jaw and shook the water from his eyes as he regained focus in reality. "Dean…" he said quietly, more to himself than his lifeless bro-
Where was Dean?
Sam's brown eyes darted around the entire span of his sight and Dean were…was…was just…gone.
"Look'n for me Buttercup?" Sam looked up, Dean was staring down at him, sam narrowed his eyes, and something was different. That smile…Dean had never smiled like that before…ever.
That grin-
It was so contented and smug-
It was pitying and dark-
The eyes where-
Hollow and distant-
Sam clenched his jaw again in frustration trying to push the only solution from his mind.
"Yes, Sam." He spoke slowly and his voice was measured – not Dean's voice at all.
"Oh god," Sam Moaned turning his gaze from this abomination before him, refusing to look at it, wanting to stay in denial so badly.
"Lucifer." Sam said, out loud – he needed verification, and he was hoping in his heart of hearts that he'd hear a stifle of laughter and then that arrogant voice that belonged to his brother saying he was messin with him. "I'm only mess'n with ya, Sammy. Heh Heh, man you are too easy to fool." Sam heard himself choke back a sob, because he knew even as his heart demanded this response – he knew he wouldn't get it, his brother was now an echo.
"Yes Sam?" He said his name with his brother's voice but it sound so foreign on that tongue, as if saying that name was a first time experience.
"Sam…Come on now." His head tilted to the side, he was kneeling now, glancing over Sam's form. Sam's nostrils flared and he tried hard to remain calm. "What're you doing?" He then shh-ed Sam, it turned into more of a coo-ing noise, he then out stretched an arm towards Sam's back. Sam tensed up, ready for impact.
At first he felt like his back was lit on fire and then it was cold, his whole back tingled, like little bugs where scurrying over his back like a freeway and then…there was nothing. No pain.
Lucifer-Dean then stood up.
"I'll be seeing you around, Sam." He then began to walk away, then stopped. He pulled the old brown leather lapel to his noise, recoiling from the smell he then took the jacket off and threw it onto the ground, along with the undershirt and the necklace, Sam watched – still in his strangled position, having yet to realize he was healed and could move normally now.
The necklace, Dean's necklace, and the one he'd given to Dean at Christmas all those years ago…
"It's perfect Sammy, I love it…"And Sam watched as it fell onto the discarded fabric, the very material that made Dean, Dean. The iconography that was his brother, Sam could feel the water pooling in his eyes again and his mouth frowned. The space between his eyes crinkled and he pressed the cheek with the mole on it into the concrete as he pulled his arms out from under himself, getting up and walking towards the pile of items.
Then he stopped, fists clenched, hanging below his green cargo jacket – his eyes narrowed.
"HEY, Ass-hat!" He said what Dean would've said, and damn it felt good to let go a little. Lucifer –Dean had his hand resting on the door handle; he let his hand drop and turned back around to Sam.
"This isn't over! Give me back my brother." Sam's was breathing hard and glaring, ready to fight.
"Sam…It's…over." He raised his shoulders slightly; he was in a black t-shirt and jeans. "I have my Vessel."
"I thought I was your vessel!"
He chuckled a little into his hand, and then looked back up at Sam. "It's all in the blood, Sam. It's what makes brothers…so why would you think that I couldn't as easily wear Dean to the prom as you?"
Then he was gone.
Sam stood there silently for a moment, mouth hanging open slightly and eyes shifting around the room…then he fell onto his knees and pressed his hands onto Dean's jacket and shirt, he then stared at the old leather jacket and the white cracks forming in the shoulders and elbows of it. He picked it up and brought it to his nose, and then dropped it instantly.
Sam's bottom lip began to quiver and turn up, his eyes squeezed so tight the tears blinded his sight and then he flopped onto the small pile of clothes and cried. He just cried. He'd failed Dean.
"As long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you, Sammy."
He could hear his brother's voice in his head and then that only made him cry harder, he felt so ridiculous and childlike, but he couldn't help it. His chest began to fell like there was a brace on it, and he stopped breathing and then his sobs turned into a fit of coughing, due to oxygen deprivation. But when his lips went pink again he just started to tear up, he gripped onto the leather jacket, worn and loved fabric that was so much more than a way to be more, it was the only thing left of his brother, he'd failed. Failed Dean. Failed Dean. Failed Dean. Failed Dean. Failed Dean. Failed Dean….
"Honestly, I think the world's gunna end bloody. But it doesn't mean we shouldn't fight. We do have choices. And I choose to go down swingin'."