A/N: You guys are absolutely amazing! I'm loving all the comments and the follows as well as the favorites. I couldn't ask for better readers. So this one is for you. I was saving this big plot twist for a little later, but I was too excited to write it out. I hope you all enjoy. Oh, and here is the definition of the chapter title so you don't have to go searching for it:
Mamihlapinatapai- A look shared by two people, each wishing that the other will offer something that they both desire but are unwilling to suggest or offer themselves.
Crowley
It had been three weeks since the warehouse incident, where that bloody angel burned it down and rescued the few wenches that lived. The way he looked at that pile of corpses made the experience that much better. Currently, Pseudomonarchia Daemonum lies idle on my desk considering my mind is elsewhere.
Three weeks since I'd seen Sash. Haven't heard from her or checked in. This leave of absence was supposed to clear my head. The only positive is the visions; they've been gone. After killing Beleth, I'm more powerful than ever before. The Winchesters still want to skin me alive, but I wish them luck. Finding me will be a haul.
"You can't go in there." Grayson? Curious.
There's slight shuffling outside the door, a grunt, and slam. "So help me, I'll skin you alive, you demonic garbage." Sasha, here, in my mansion once again? Wonders never cease. I'm half tempted to make an appearance, to snap her in here, press her to the chair, and question how she found me. But I believe I know. That angel Balthazar has likely been snooping for her. I make myself invisible when she bolts through the door.
It's interesting, her reaction. Anger sets deep in her eyes, her chest heaving. The way her fingers clench around that demon blade makes me smirk. The door slams on her way out. I'm satisfied, and yet so…not.
Four days pass before I see her again, like last time it's not on my own accord. She's figured out how to summon me; to an abandoned shack, no less. When she sees me, I smirk at her but it's short-lived. A devil trap. She's painted a damn devil trap on the floor.
"Surely you could've just called."
"Tried that. Now, what gives?" that blade is in her hands again, and there's an intensity in her eyes. "Almost a full month and I don't hear from you. You're plotting something, but what?" I don't answer, "And what about that warehouse?" she's happy to see me, alive. I can tell in how she looks at me. As much anger that consumes her, there's a soft bit of relief.
"Good to see you, too."
And just like that, she's in the trap with me, staring up with those big hazel eyes and I can't look elsewhere. It's then: flashes of red and silver cover my vision, a headache sprouting up. Her lips are on mine. In warning, I nip at her lower lip. The knife touches my back and unlike last time she threatened me, I'm unsure if she'd actually use it. I can taste her anger.
"Where have you been?" she whispers against my mouth. My eyes drop and she leaves the trap, careful not to scrape the paint.
With her back turned, I take in her tight black leggings and oversized grey shirt. I know that underneath it all is a tone, tight body. Need overcomes me once again. Just a simple taste of 'love making' and I'm consumed with the lust of a hormonal teenager. Those women with similar features did a piss-poor job of conquering this. None of them were the same. Fear, that's what they all shared. Sasha rarely fears me. The thought of her makes me hard. She turns just as I'm trying to shove my hands in my pockets. She sees. Pupils dilate.
"There's that stunning look." I quip, "Just as I'm used to."
"Touch it."
"Beg pardon?"
Two steps, "Unzip your goddamn pants and masturbate."
I'm in a fog; lust and frustration, but I don't move. She flips the blade inches from my face in a threat, "As you wish." The cold air makes me suck breath between my teeth when I pull my length out. This dominating stand she's taken is, surprisingly, sexy.
"Like you did before." I'm reminded of the bathroom back at the old mansion. Door closed fingers wrapped around myself after she'd teased me. She must have heard me.
"Like what you heard, now want to see?" the glare she shoots me excites me more. There's a pause and I stroke a few times, running my thumb over the tip and sighing at the pre-cum that spreads on my fingers. How I wish she'd just…- It's almost as if she's read my mind. One moment she's standing before me, the next she's on her knees. Cold hands cover my warm ones. "Let's pull up a chair, we'll-"
"You'll stand." She commands. My eyes narrow but I watch her take me in her mouth. A talented tongue dances across my corona, swirling slightly. Fingers twitch to be buried in her hair, gripping it tightly and directing her myself. But I don't. Instead, I widen my stance to balance myself then shove my hands into my suit pockets. The sensations that shoot through me are more intense than I'd imagined. Her head bobs quickly, fingers tightening around my shaft, soft lips trailing over my skin. The moan I release was not planned. She hums, creating a pleasurable chill to cover my vessel. "Crowley?" she whispers and I find it quite seductive. She gingerly stands, pressing kisses upwards until they reach my neck. I don't duck down to meet her mouth. "I want you."
That's all I need. Her shirt is ripped from her quickly, but she pulls back. She scratches off the paint then backs away and pulls out a chair. I sit, yanking her on top of me and meeting her lips. She pulls her bra off, tosses it to the floor, then rips at my jacket, loosens my tie, and unbuttons my shirt. We hold a gaze when she sends those articles to the floor. The tie is kept on and I'm wondering why until the sound of chains jingling distracts me and my left hand is shackled to the chair. Glancing, I notice the cuffs from before; when we hunted Beleth. I'm in the same position as I was weeks ago. One glare. She smirks.
"You little…" she presses a finger to my mouth, but I grab her wrist with my free hand.
"Trust me, Crowl: less fighting, more pleasure."
"Quite the opposite in my experience." I mutter but release her arm so she can remove her leggings and thong.
"Oh, right, those girls." She knows. Gabriel must have told her, "You can make them look like me all you want," she removes my shoes then pants and boxers. Hands press to my knees while she pushes herself up, "But, baby, none of them can compare to the real thing." No preparation, she sits herself on my shaft, shifts, and presses my length inside of her. My head goes back, eyes lolling closed and she takes the opportunity to kiss and bite at the flesh on my neck.
"You're correct." I inform her then meet her lips again. Oh, how right she was. None of those women felt, breathed, smelled, or moved like her. Half of them were killed before I jutted into them. Their reactions were…off-putting.
She wasn't afraid to touch me or claw at my flesh. She met me – thrust for thrust – and even challenged me. What other woman or demon could match me in such a way? For Satan's sake, the first time was rough and bloody! Even now, with one arm chained, she forces my free hand to her lower back. I dig my fingers into her skin and she simply groans at the pain.
Her hands are all over me; rubbing imaginary patterns into my naked chest, touching my cheek, wrapping around my neck. Now her hand pushes mine between us, pressing one finger to her clit. I get the idea and nod against her mouth. Sasha's thumb cuts off my breathing momentarily and a jolt of pleasure consumes me. I rub harder and faster.
If possible, she gets tighter around me. I've memorized her reaction just before an orgasm and this is it: jagged breaths, closed eyes, choppy thrusting, and a tightening in her naughty bits. I slow purposefully and just when I feel her start, I pull my fingers back and sit still. Bad choice. Her movements grew harder, rough, and damn it, it gets better when she yanks my tie and I choke. When she's finished, she opens her eyes and glares.
"Crowley…" it's a half moan, half curse and I'm enticed. Red flecks fill my vision. Bollocks. Not. Now.
I cup her cheek with my free hand and pull her in. Best to ignore these moments. How else would I get by? Her wetness is dripping onto my thighs now. I'm almost at my peak. It's gone this far, might as well finish. But she pulls away. She's keen on my reaction and literally gets off of me. I'm bewildered and foggy-eyed. The key has been on her wrist this entire time. I must be losing my touch.
"What're you-"
"You tease me, why the fuck can't I tease you?" it's as if she's about to leave me, but she slides down on her knees before me. I'm in a haze. "You touch me at all, I stop. Got it?"
I nod, my head feeling heavy. My only thoughts are on my orgasm. I haven't felt pleased since last time. Just like that she's bobbing her head again, tasting her own juices and my precum. I twitch my fingers in eagerness and make a fist the moment before I explode in her mouth. There's a loud echo of a throaty moan and I realize too late that it's my own. How many times have I imagined this? I've lost count.
A 'thank you' is on my lips, but for what reason I'm unaware. This is not my modus operandi. Nonetheless, she unclasps my wrist and saunters off to dress. Chills cover my body, a sigh leaving my lips. I snap my clothes back on and fidget with my tie while Sasha collects her cuffs and blade then makes her way for the door.
"Where, exactly, do you think you're going?" my voice comes out gruff.
Her fingers twitch on the hilt of her blade, "You're telling me that you can up and walk out for a month, but I'm unable to do the same? Sounds like a double-standard."
"You could get killed."
"What about this past month? Couldn't I have gotten killed then?" she's fuming and it's somehow sexy, "but, oh, wait! I'm only an option when I fit into your schedule. Don't forget, Crowl, I'm a hunter."
Testing my luck, I pop up behind her. Her reflexes are on point. When I'm pushed into the wall, I'm shocked. The tip of her knife rests between my eyes.
"Don't think I'm oblivious. That angel, Balthazar, was in your corner. You were safe."
"No thanks to you! Sending demons after us, Crowley, really?"
"You were slumming it with Gabriel, don't think I don't know."
I watch a deep part of her flinch, fingers tempted to shift just the slightest bit; not a big enough wound to hurt, but just enough to prove a point. She doesn't.
"Actually, I denied him," She looks me dead in the eyes, "for you."
"Charming." I push her off me, tempted to zap out of there without her. "Now-" she interrupts me.
"I'm tired of this, you know." When I don't turn, she speaks up, "It's fucking ridiculous. I actually give a shit about you, and you try to control me like you're my boss. Sorry, but this time I'm not following orders. I won't come with you."
Such a frustrating little twat, always has been. "You'll follow me, if I have to drag you there myself." She's quick, but not enough so when she bolts out the door, I snap before her. A push and I stumble back, unprepared for her force. "Don't. Test. Me." I'm speaking against her neck when I wrap myself around her. The only way I know she'll stay is if I show her affection. Though I want nothing to do with this, I'm aware of the affect it will have. "Stay with me." Chills appear on her flesh.
"I can't." she runs her fingers down my arm and pulls away. "I'll see you when I see you."
"Why's that?" when she gets in her truck, I lean in the window and clasp my hands together.
She sighs after she starts the engine, "Crowley, what are you after?"
"Beg pardon?"
"What are you planning with Gamigin?" after she speaks, I stand back and slip my hands in my pockets. "I read that book, remember. You didn't answer me last time, but I'm sure it's something awful. If the Winchesters learned this, they'd be out for blood."
"So you're going to send them." It's a statement. I'm certain I know what she'll do.
"No. No. I just…I need to get my head on straight. I need to know if I'm gonna have your back on this one or not."
She speeds off before I get the chance to argue. Instead of zapping after her, my office fills my vision.
Sasha
The days pass me quickly once again. I'm constantly moving, as if staying in one place will cause some domino effect of evil and ugly. Getting back into the swing of things with hunting takes away my woes. Hours are spent in libraries, using wifi, researching hauntings and evil, killing the thing, and driving through the night.
Balthazar befriends me better. I call on him the moment I start worrying about Crowley, though I don't mention a thing about my suspicious. Crowley wants Purgatory, I can see it from the way his eyes glisten when I speak of it. Whatever it is the angels should not be informed; Balth included.
The two of us spend our time out at diners and the occasional movie. He tells me it's important to forget what I am frequently. Though it's a little dramatic, I can understand. Sometimes I feel the urge to cut all ties, from Crowley too. There are moments when I can't believe I've gone this far off the beaten path. Isn't it an unwritten rule that every hunter should despise demons?
Balthazar tells me time and time again that my life turned out the way it needed to, but I glare at him in envy. To own such simple faith is a concept I never knew. How I could put my faith in the hands of something I can't see – can't control – that's insanity. Sometimes I let my mind wander. What if he's right? What if I am exactly where I'm meant to be? He explains that he's very good friends with Fate, but I'm unsure if it's a literal or figurative statement.
When I'm alone, I distract my mind as much as possible. Balthazar stops coming around after a few weeks. Even when I pray to him, he doesn't show. So I eventually forget the movie nights and the laughs and surround myself with work. There are moments I'm desperate to contact Crowley, but my pride won't let me. I'm trying to prove a point that I can disappear just like he can. We both know it's untrue.
It's 9 at night when they show up. I'm sitting down to a wine cooler and some TV and the flapping of wings startles me. Two sets: Balthazar and Gabriel.
"What-"
"Surprisingly not my plan, sweetheart." Balthazar raises innocent hands. I nod and turn my attention to Gabriel. "He wants you to know why you're his job. We were originally instructed not to inform you of this, but apparently Gabriel finds these desperate times."
The shorter angel strides toward me, stops, then raises his hand to my forehead, "See."
I'm no longer in the room. One quick gaze around and I'm trapped in a nightmare. That blunt, wooden slab is stuck in my chest, blood trickling from wounds that tingle like ice on a summer afternoon. My vocal chords feel raw. Beyond all this, there is a sweaty hand in mine, fingers rubbing along my knuckles. I turn my head to look, just as I had before I'd woken last time. Now, it's different. My vision is clear along with my mind, and I'm in control unlike when I'm dreaming. Gabriel must have thrown me into my own nightmare. But why?
The man who holds my hand is strung up just as I am, chains dangling, cuffs on his wrist. He's thin, dark hair, dark eyes, soot covering his face, a reddened slap mark on his cheek, tears in his clothes where wounds adorn his body. Dried blood is caked across multiple stab and bullet wounds. A new cut rests beside his temple. What a mess; an awful, bloody mess, but I imagine he looks better than I. His reaching has cut the skin on his wrist, the cuff digging into a raw scab which makes me believe his reaching must happen often. When his eyebrows knit together and he looks me in the eyes, I understand. I'd know him anywhere.
"Crowley?"
Different vessel, different aura, but it's still him.
"Sasha. It's Fergus. Don't tell me they're abusing your mind, too." His accent is Scottish. Fergus. That was his name, his real name.
"Well, isn't this adorable? Love birds during mating season." Another man's voice booms. Fergus pulls his hand from mine. My insides are screaming. I'm scared, but I'm not. "Wouldn't mind watching that, actually. How 'bout it, kids?" he snaps and I'm falling far and fast. My eyes struggle to focus but there are many like us; strung up on chains digging into their shoulders, blood everywhere. The endless sky is red, steam rising from below us. This is Hell. "Well, let's get you two strapped in, hm?" I land painfully, the wooden slab being pulled from me by the man with the lisp. Something inside my mind tells me his name is Alistair and that I need to be afraid.
Fergus lies beside me, staring up defiantly at the man. My eyes wander to the millions of people strung up above us. Some so far, they look like stars. Blood drips around us, all from their wounds. I want to vomit.
"What do you want from us now, Alistair?"
"Real-live porno. Right here, right now! And…go." He sits in a sodden chair. We look at each other, "Oh, come on! We know all about it! You two chain-neighbors befriending one-another. Laughing, picking each other up after your separate sessions with me. I know it all. So, sexual tension or something more? This is your chance to have each other. Go."
My mind reels. So, this is it? Crowley and I met in Hell? What was I doing here? How long ago was this? Why do I have no memory of it?
Breathing hurts. This wound is throbbing but I try to slow my gasping down. That fall should have given me a heart attack. Fergus pulls himself toward me, touching gingerly at my wounded chest.
"Sasha, it'll be ok." He mumbles to me before planting a kiss to my lips.
I'm feeling skittish, frightened. The words leave my mouth before I think of them, my own voice holding a vague accent, "I will not touch you while he watches."
Alistair becomes enraged. "Your defiance is unbecoming. One too many slips of the tongue, young lady. You don't have another chance!" I'm pulled to my feet, dragged down a corridor, and strapped onto a lab table, the leather fastenings tightened around my breasts and my hips. The metal is burning from heat, my now-bare body stinging. Alistair raises a blade with a smirk and I scream out when he begins cutting off my fingers one by one.
Just as soon as it started, it ends. I'm returned to the motel room, Gabriel and Balthazar watching me intently. Both share similar fearful expressions.
"What the fuck was that?"
"Those nightmares you've been having? They're memories." Gabriel settles me on my bed. I hadn't realized until he views my hands that I'm shaking. "You were in Hell long ago, the same time Crowley was. Then, he was still human by the name of Fergus McLeod. He made a crossroad's deal and was taken ten years later."
"What about me?"
He sighs, "You were defending family. Your brother from that life had debts that he couldn't pay. The guys beat his ass and you couldn't stand it. Ya went out one night, found the one who went five rounds with your brother, and shot him point-blank. Cold blood. You hid the body for the next day. Cut him up into little pieces and burned him in the fireplace. No one suspected it was you. The next day you'd burn the clothes, but the others your brother owed broke in and killed you as a reminder to your brother that they meant business. You went to Hell."
"Not good enough for Heaven?" I don't believe a word of it.
"You were supposed to go to Heaven, but temptation of defending your brother got the best of you. This was not meant to be." He ran a hand through his hair, "You and Fergus met, clung to each other because you needed the companionship, and so began this whole thing." My brain is once again spinning, "Your torture began. You held up for years, but soon you had it. They used a leverage you hadn't expected and you gave yourself to them for twice the torture. Sasha, they carved out your humanity on the rack."
"If this is true, how am I here now?"
He straightens, "The angels were sent to rescue you. We were aware of what the next step was. Fergus was losing faith every time you came back a little less human. He saw it and gave up, too. By the time we got there, we were too late. Your demonic soul had been created. We fought for days and finally got to you. Taking out that soul and trying to replace it was difficult but doable. We were performing God's work, after all. My father was foolish. He thought that you would be able to return to Earth or go to Heaven, but your soul was broken. We sent you back to Earth, creating you in your mother's womb. Your demonic soul was sent out of Hell and Heaven." His eyes gaze lazily over at Balthazar and I know he's hiding something. "We found a family who was trying to conceive. Put the idea in their head of keeping your same name from your previous life. You had similar features and we made sure your parents were hunters so you would be raised to be on the good side. When you were born, we wiped all memory of your past life, to be sure. This was one of my last missions before I cut away from my family."
"So my parents aren't really my parents?"
"Your mother did give birth to you. They raised you and all the memories of this life are absolutely true." Balthazar assures.
"And Fergus was," I search for the right words, "cut and turned into Crowley?"
"Yes."
"What was my demonic name?"
"You were at the young stages and hadn't been given a name yet. We got there just in time to pull you from that."
"Technically I was the reason he turned then. If I hadn't broken, we'd still be in Hell now."
Balth interjects, "He would have broken eventually. You just sped up that process. Without a thing in the world keeping him together, he fell apart."
"Don't you dare take the blame for him. Fergus knew what he was getting himself into the moment he made that deal." I lose eye contact to gaze at the demon warding on the windows.
"But I am the one who drove him to do that. It's my job to take whatever steps need to be done from here."
"This is why you need to stay away from him. We aren't aware if he knows any of this. If he does, this was his whole game plan."
"What?"
"A king needs a queen. This has been his plan all along." Gabriel's voice is firm and agitated.
"So you assume. Crowley could be as oblivious as I was. He was human at the time still, correct? He wouldn't have many memories anyway."
"Come with us. We can take you someplace safe and locked up." I take note on how he hadn't answered me.
"Like a caged animal." I state, "I'm not a zoo exhibit."
"You can have whatever you like." His eyes are pleading; Balthazar just stands idle, eyes faded.
"Yeah, chocolate cake the size of an oven and a muscled man every once in a while to fulfill the needs Crowley did. You think that's what this is about, huh? Something pure physical is what you're assuming."
"And you're suggesting otherwise?"
"It's so much more than that. Crowley saved my life. Crowley had been here more than you have. You left me alone in a hotel room to leave passed women in formal gowns, mink coats." We've needed to discuss this for far too long.
"My wings came out!"
"Oh, yeah, that's right. If you would have just showed me then, things might be different now. It's like that children's story of the boy who cried wolf. You make these alternate realities constantly, throw the boys and I into them, make me believe you're dead, and now expect me to trust that I have a demonic soul that's MIA. How can I believe you? It seems a little too perfect that Crowley is the bad guy, so you're trying to inform me. You know what, I'm leaving."
"Where to? Right back to him?"
"And if I do? This is my choice. You were brought here to drag me up to heaven, huh? What gives you the right?"
"Crowley isn't good for you."
"So you've said."
"How do you know the night you claim he saved your life he wasn't planning for this? How do you know that he just stumbled across you? Has it crossed your mind that he's known this whole time and had you pegged from the get-go?"
"I would have known. We don't hide things from each other."
"You never told him about your nightmares."
I pause and take a breath, "Did you ever notice that every conversation we have consists of fighting? I have." I again make my way for the door and this time succeed with my bag slung over my shoulder, my things packed early this afternoon.
By the time I check out and leave, they're gone as well. A hex bag won't help against Gabriel, but I use one anyway. The nearest grassy field, I stop and call for Crowley. He doesn't come. When I manage to pit stop again I try summoning him in the gas station bathroom. This should work every time. He has to come when someone summons him. But he doesn't. Suddenly I'm aware that he wouldn't come if someone else got to him first.
So I race to my truck. The last mansion he was in is about three hours from where I am. I make it in two and a half.
My feet carry me up the stairs and to the door. I'm tempted to break a window, but a demon stands guard at the door instead.
"Sasha, what a pleasant surprise." I don't know his name, but it sure as hell isn't pleasant to see him. He's a foot and a half taller than me.
"I need to see Crowley. Is he here?" I'm surprised when I catch myself holding my breath.
"Yes, but he's just been with another guest. I'll see to it he's aware his whore stopped by too." Another guest?
Maybe it's his insult or the fact that I desperately need to know the angels didn't get to him, but I knee him in the crotch and press the knife to his neck.
"Darling, that isn't necessary." At his voice, I straighten and sheath the knife, "Please, come in."
The décor hasn't changed since I was last here, but more and more demons are working here now. They eye me suspiciously, but I step closer to Crowley. He notices my unease and presses a hand into my back, leading me to the study.
When the doors are closed I speak, "There's something I need to tell you."
"And I, you." He grabs two glasses, sets them on the desk, and grabs two different bottles. "I've taken the liberty of buying your brand. Hope you don't mind." He pours his Craig and my Root, swirls the glasses, then hands mine to me, "Now-"
"Who was your visitor earlier?" when he leans against his desk, he motions for me to sit. I do.
"Meg," takes a drink, "wanted to trade information for a hellhound."
"You do that?"
"I can. Especially when said information involves yours truly." He avoids my eyes, "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"That's funny, I was told something about myself today, too." I smell the wine then sip it.
"I know." We meet gazes but he looks at my glass, "Meg informed me of talk on angel radio. Apparently she's captured one of the flying rats. Tortured him until he told her juicy deats. You're all the rage up there, ducky. Gabriel decided to tell you things only the angels and few demons knew." He drinks again, "Apparently our memories were erased, and you've been through – well – Hell."
"So you know."
"Just informed. Believe me, you'd have been aware had I known. Something to this extreme should never have been hidden from you."
"And you turned demon after…"
"After they used creative leverage on you."
"What was it? They didn't say."
"Your grandfather. He was there. Tortured him in front of you unless you agreed to twice the time on the rack. And you did."
"Do you remember this? They sent me into my nightmares." I swallowed down my wine and Crowley stood for the bottle.
As he poured he told me, "It was your eyes that triggered me. The memories wanted to seep in but I distracted myself every time. After I'd been informed, I let the splotches of red in the corners of my vision take over and saw everything." He sets the bottle down and sits in his chair across from me. "For some reason your eyes were extremely hopeful. Even after the torture. To this day, I haven't seen that. I've tortured and they always leave in pain, not defiance as you had." He paused, "Hell tore away every memory of Fergus. I'd just known the name and the reason I sold my soul. Now, I see my time in Hell. Torture, burning flesh, feeling less human every day, and you." Now he meets my eyes, "Heaven assumed all was well until I came to power. Now, they know I'm a threat. So they sent Gabriel. You know, you're meant to fall in love with him." My cheeks heat up.
"If I choose him, Heaven will win." I mumble but Crowley hears it. He scoffs then finishes off his Craig. "So what made you turn?"
Surprised by my question, he collects himself then speaks, "I was human still, waiting for your return every day. Torture once a day we laughed off. We talked. We were friends. The two-a-days started. Every time you were strung back up beside me, your eyes lost a little of their light. You spoke a little less. I'd hear your screaming from below. We all could. The others would stare at me, they knew what was coming next. One day, your eyes were brown, the following, black. You started laughing at their slicing."
"And you couldn't take it." It's interesting to hear Crowley talk like this. It's been ages since we've had a chat over alcohol.
"Hardly. You were all I held on to. So I caved. Why live a lifetime of torture if I could be powerful and admired?"
I finish my second glass and raise glazed eyes to him. He's biting his lip, deep in thought. My head aches. It's been a long day, a long life. Everything seems so unreal. There's so much more to me than I ever knew. Gabriel was telling the truth. This isn't just some dream or an alternate universe. It's real and it's terrifying. What am I supposed to do? Do I sit down and off myself then hope for the best?
"C'mere." His words startle me, but I follow orders. He pulls me on his lap, trails finger down my spine, and then kisses me gently. "It's been a long day. There's a bed made up for you down the hall if you prefer to be alone. Nothing will be set in stone yet, love."
"Do you know where my demonic soul is?" I whisper near his ear.
"I've a hunch." He searches for any kind of reaction, but I give him none.
My initial instinct is to run. I don't. I wish to rest my head on his shoulder and stop my breathing. A sick part of me wants none of this. If I choose the angel's side, I'll lose Crowley forever. If I follow Crowley into whatever corridor he searches, it's likely I'll turn into something I never dreamed of. The Winchesters would want my head on a pike.
"If any demon besides you comes in my room, I'm killing them." I announce when standing. Sadly, I resort to coping mechanisms from my younger years: humor, anger, and avoidance.
"Wouldn't want it any other way."
"Goodnight, Crowley."
He doesn't answer, but we share a silent stare that clears my mind, even for the slightest moment.