A/N: This chapter is during season 7, if you wanted to keep track. I didn't want to elongate this season, considering I didn't get much inspiration for plots so I'm moving rather quickly through season seven throughout this chapter. Enjoy!

The next few weeks are a blur. It's as if I'm born again and desperate for blood. I haven't been "home" with Crowley for over a month now. He's well aware of the changes I'm going through. I've spent a few nights with him, however, but I'm always out after we're dressed again. Crowley gives me that knowing looking and I wander down the hall until I'm free – still night (or morning or afternoon) air. I never know where I'll be. Her daddy's old truck is a piece of shit, but it's easier than finding new wheels every night, so I keep it.

I've lost count of the bodies. I'm in a state of constant rage and every person who gives me a sidelong glance, I think is a threat. So they die. The number is well into the thirties – and I can't stop. I keep seeing Purgatory everywhere. Monsters and things I hadn't known existed. All here, still, all lunging at me and tearing my flesh until my rage bubbles and they're bleeding at my feet. But these are humans. Some are monsters, but most are not.

Crowley leaves me messages whenever he sees fit to. He's worried, I know. The only kindness I've seen from him is when we're interacting and I wonder if it has something to do with him seeing the old Sasha – not me. He doesn't have to be soft anymore, but he even takes some coaxing in the bedroom. Give me rough; give me knives and ties – torture me until I'm a mess in your hands. Master.

Crowley's messages pertain to the Leviathans – which were, apparently, let out with the Purgatory deal. That Castiel has made a deal with Crowley and he's got him by the balls. So we'll play along. For now.

I'm cleaning off my blade when Crowley calls again. I'm tired of it ringing, so I answer.

"This is she."

A breath, "Sasha, I know you're out sticking things with knives and thoroughly enjoying yourself, but, darling, I could use your help."

"Go on."

Another sigh, "I was hoping to speak with you privately."

At this moment, I glance at the dead eyes of the man beside me, "And this isn't private?"

I can feel him fuming through the phone. I smirk until he speaks, "It seems the demons want nothing to do with my orders anymore. And I was hoping you'd give me some assistance."

Daddy's blade is being cleaned off before I shove it in my holster; phone pressed between my ear and shoulder while I make my way to the truck. "And you were assuming I'd play along like your little human toy did during your absence," His silence makes me well-aware that I'm right. "Yeah, Crowley, have you noticed I'm a bit testy at the moment? Think now is really the time to ask for my softer side?" I'm driving and realize that I'm going toward our hideout. "So, what do I get out of this?"

"Thought you'd ask," he mutters. "Tired of driving that truck around yet?"

I'm silent a beat. "You mean you'll teach me your little teleportation trick?"

"Take care of this little problem, and yes."

That's it. I hang up, push the pedal to the floor, and get there in 45 minutes. Crowley looks exhausted when I enter the study. His fingers rub at his temple.

"Well, my King, what needs done?"

"These three have been at my ankles all day – asking for you."

I stare over the faces of the demons. One flashes a memory – the little one – her name is Hailey. She's bouncing on her heels, batting her eyes up at me and honestly I'm irritated. The other two are glaring at me like no other. I don't ask, just wait it out until someone starts talking. And then I notice the blood on Hailey's neck; a wound is oozing. I'm intrigued.

"You killed one of our own," this man speaks.

I laugh. Of all the blokes I've murdered in the past month, I can't imagine who it is. "Really?" Clearly they hadn't mentioned this to Crowley because I notice that his interest is instantly piqued.

"His name was Jonce," the other speaks, her voice shaking. The man who spoke first elbows her. Blond. Green eyes. Burly. Jonce. I remember now. He was one of the first rebels I killed. With that angel Balthazar standing guard. The human in me has anger igniting in the pit of our stomach.

"You're demons?" I ask.

The female nods, "Yes. And we're blaming this little brat for telling you about the rebels." I watch with unflinching eyes as she slaps the child.

"Why are you so concerned with one little demon? Were you bedmates?" I raise a brow. Both of them blush and look away. "Ohhh, I see."

The man comes at me with some sort of shitty knife. I side-step him, raise my arm and grab at his shirt. He halts. My hands are quick when they snap his neck. The nameless man falls to the floor as I turn toward the woman. Hailey is wide-eyed and tear-stained. The other woman glares then comes after me. I let this one get a hit on me, just for giggles. After she lands a punch, I grab her wrist, twist it behind her back, reach for my knife, and trail the blade down her cheek.

"There are more of us," she hisses. "They'll come for me when I don't return."

"I. Don't. Care." My blade crashes into her neck. "Hailey," I straighten and sheath my weapon, "is there going to be a problem between the two of us?"

"N-no, ma'am."

"You no longer work for me. I have my power back. You're of no use to me." A part of me is considering hurting her, but she runs from the office before I begin thinking of things to do to her.

"Well," Crowley comes up behind me, "it seems you won't be coming across as 'Good Cop' any longer."

I like that.

Crowley assumes that Hailey will spread the sadistic news about me and my demonic juice, so he spends the rest of the night teaching me how to teleport. It's like riding a bike – at first it seems impossible, but then it comes to you every time you try it. In a matter of minutes, I flash from Scotland to Greece to Honolulu, and back.

When I look at Crowley, wide-eyed and astonished, he looks bemused.

"Thank you," I manage.

He nods, "For my Queen." A man enters the study now, alerting Crowley of an uprising. My King looks exhausted as he strays toward the door. "Please, relax, I'll-"

But I'm fuming. Before he can continue, I'm storming to the door, after Crowley's new second hand man. Crowley follows us and watches as I enter the balcony to see a war practically starting between demonkind.

I meet eyes with the guards, nod once at them and watch as they shackle the leaders of this rebellion. With them pinned, I close my eyes and focus my energy. When I look back, all of them are beheaded.

"Anyone else want to start any shit tonight?" I call over the crowd. Silence soon follows. Crowley stands beside me, chin raised. "We cannot afford rebellions at this time. This is when we need to come together to defeat our enemies. We have common goals. You're all better than this – act like it!" I turn and leave then, storming toward my quarters. A few of Crowley's men watch me go. "Tell him I want Grayson back – he is still alive, isn't he?" one of the men nods. "Good. Find him. Now."

There's a knock on my door within the hour. Grayson peeks his head in and gently smiles at me. He's about to greet me kindly when he stops dead. "Your presence feels different, miss."

"You're quite perceptive. This is exactly why I want you back."

"But, Crowley…"

I hold up my hand, "I don't care what Crowley did. I should get to pick my own first mates, true?"

"True," the voice was not Grayson's, but Crowley's himself. "And this is your first choice, yes? This sniveling, soft oaf?"

The truth? No. My first choice would be my right-hand man from Purgatory, but alas he isn't here. The old Sasha knew Grayson, I do not. But he's the best I've got right now, so I'll take it.

"Grayson is working for us again," I say between clenched teeth.

Crowley narrows his eyes, "Grayson, you are excused." Before I can argue, Grayson flees the room and I'm left alone with Crowley.

I can't describe this feeling very well. I've had it in the pit of my stomach since the day after my rising. I feel nauseous; like something is clawing at me from the inside. I've had bloodlust before, but this is unbelievable. I feel shaky if I don't get violent, enraged when I do – I'm never level no matter what I try.

"Will this ever go away?" I'm staring blankly at the wall and speaking so low that I'm surprised Crowley hears me. But he does.

He leans against the wall and crosses his arms. "Eventually," I look at him. "You're getting comfortable in your new skin. Needed to take it for a test drive. It's been how long since you've been topside?" I don't answer. "You'll plateau…eventually."

This doesn't comfort me. "It's been almost a month and a half, Crowley. I can't imagine this going away."

"The anger? Use it," he says. "Leviathan are running rampant. They're not on our side. I'm inching my way closer to killing Dick Roman, but I'm going to need your help."

"You're getting soft," I complain with a shake of my head.

Just like that, he's got his hands around my throat and he's pressing me to the wall.

"Don't think that I haven't toyed with the idea of pulling you out of that human," His voice is laced with malice. "The human was much more agreeable – moldable. You're just a mouthy, violent, cocky little thing. Pathetic."

"I'll kill her," I whisper. He blinks and I nod. "I will. Try pulling me out of her then; I'll be the only thing keeping her alive."

One simple press to my throat and he drops me. I'm gasping and laughing on the ground as he walks away.

Crowley

It wasn't at all surprising to me when Sasha left shortly after her resurrection. It was, however, surprising that she would return to me a time or two for a romp and then leave again. No, I wasn't getting soft. This was just such a drastic change that I needed time to wrap my head around it.

This had been my idea, after all. It'd become almost an obsession for the two of us – researching until we hit walls and then starting at it again. Close to two months had passed, so much had changed in the world, and yet Sasha was still blood thirsty. I'm beginning to wonder if this was how she'd remain. The high should have worn off by now. These are Purgatory-dealings, however. I may be rushing things. She became one of those vicious demons that gets off on violence. Where she is vehement, I am tactful.

Truth be told, yes, I am enjoying the rougher sex and the knife-play in bed, but somewhere I need my Sasha – the one who cleaned my wounds and fought beside me when things went south (an event that seems like centuries ago). It's like starting our relationship from the beginning, speaking with the demonic side. Jekyll and Hyde, I remember her reading it in the study a time ago and never realized how relevant it would be.

Another month passes us; we are no longer sleeping – there is no need for it anymore. We start drifting. I busy myself with paperwork and the occasional Winchester sighting or Leviathan-dealing. She runs the show keeping the demons off the Winchesters so they can fend off the Leviathans for the time being. We barely speak about anything but work. Her eyes stop taking me in, I'm no longer an interest.

We fuck other people.

Well, she does. Or, so I imagine. She's always so busy, locked away in the study with music playing. What else could she be up to? She's not shacking up with me, so it must be some other bloke who gets her goodies going. The thought makes my skin crawl.

Tonight, I've had it. I've returned from giving the Winchesters my blood for their little ritual. They've succeeded in killing Dick, and Kevin Tran is my prize. That whore Meg is being locked up as I make my way down the hall. I'm reminded of Sam's lackluster, lost-puppy dog look when he discovered he was alone – no Dean, no Cas. The blast from killing Dick sent them to Purgatory, I'm aware. I'd succeeded. And all I want now is to see my Queen. Annoyance is pumping through me like a drug. My veins feel heavy. She's in that stupid study again.

My knocking for the past few weeks merited no avail, so tonight I kick down the door. I feel powerful – unstoppable. Sasha gasps, jumping from her chair.

"What have you been up to in here, dear?" I speak between clenched teeth.

She sighs, stepping away from the desk. "Crowley…" my eyes are on the sheets of paper and books, but something about her voice draws me back. It sounds almost normal. "I've been researching." Those big eyes are dull.

Purgatory. All of these spells and information are for Purgatory.

"You want to go back?" I narrow my eyes, ready to yell at her and light these things aflame.

"No!" she raises her hands in front of her, steps closer. I step back with a raise of my chin. Her eyes soften. "My King," she pauses, "I'm merely trying to bring a friend back."

I sink into the seat she rested in earlier and brush my hand over my mouth. "So you aren't…with another."

I can't even look at her. Maybe I am going soft. Maybe I am becoming some weak-spined pencil-pushing demon with an ego. Surely, my mind has been playing worst-case-scenarios over and over of my girl riding someone else. It's driven me mad.

Sasha sits on my lap, spreads her fingers through my hair. "No. Of course not," she hums with a kiss to my forehead. I'm getting whiplash from how different she is from the last time we've been alone and spoken – when she called me soft and I strangled her. We're silent a few beats. "Remember in Hell, way back when? You cut up your wrist every time you reached for me. I may have been human then, but I still remember that image. I can't shake it. Not in Purgatory and not now." She's ghosting her fingers over my neck. "I wanted to tell you that I've calmed down, but you still needed a ruthless killer for the demons who go rogue."

"How long have you been back to normal?" I'm looking at her pale face now.

"Three weeks ago," Time is ticking away. I haven't held my Sasha for so long now. Months have flown by in a whirlwind, but this is the closest I've felt to her human form since we said our goodbyes. "No more senseless killings, no more outbursts. You're right – I've plateaued. This is what you get." She raises her arms, slaps her hands down on her thighs. "You want her back, don't you?"

"No, Sash-"

She's looking at me now; seeing right through me. "It's going to be different. I want to work for this." I'm brought right back. To Fergus, cutting my skin on those shackles just to have a moment's rush to touch her. To meeting her in that field during her hunt. To that sniveling Gabriel character taking her from me. To knowing she ditched the Winchesters because she cared for me. To Purgatory. Now, this.

I kiss her for the first time since the night of her return and those romantic romps. The other times, it was just sex. She never kissed me. I never tried.

She lets me take her – right there in the study. She's snapped off my clothes and hers, and I slide into her with a curse of Hallelujah. We are skin and sweat, bumping uglies in front of the burning fire. Round two, three, four.

She falls asleep in my arms on the couch, my burgundy shirt halfway buttoned and covering that body of hers, her hair a royal mess. This is the first time since she was human that we allow ourselves to sleep.