Sick for the Cure
There used to be a time when I thought I had the answers
Answers to the questions that nobody knew
Used to be a time when I had some time
But when I had the time I didn't know what to do
- Cinderella

Devi yanked her dagger free from the vetala matriarch's back, prying the creature's jaw open with the blade, and grunted as she pushed the dead weight off of her. She pulled herself up against the cavern wall, staring dazedly down at the body as she tried to catch her breath. The corpse retained its monstrous, half-serpent shape, though it was now so desiccated it almost looked mummified. Devi poked at it with the toe of her shoe, and the skin crumbled like last autumn's leaves.

"Here," a gravelly voice said at her side, and she turned to see Crowley extending one of his gray silk handkerchiefs. He looked distinctly unruffled, and Devi concluded he had only participated in the fight as a spectator. She accepted the handkerchief and tried to staunch the blood flowing from her shoulder, ignoring Crowley's expression of distaste.

"Let me see," he said, stepping forward.

"Don't fuss," Devi shooed him off.

He arched an eyebrow in challenge. "You know these things are venomous, right?

"It's fine," Devi assured him. "I've fought vetala before and I seem to be mostly immune. Though this," she gestured to matriarch, or what was left of her, "this is definitely new." She hadn't known vetala of sufficient age and power could transform.

"Indeed," Crowley agreed. "Abbadon seems to have more creativity than I'd credited her."

"Why is she even working with them?" Devi asked, leaning against the near wall. "From what I've heard, I took her to be some kind of demon supremacist. Wouldn't she turn up her nose at working with creatures instead of 'real' demons?"

"Generally, you'd be right," Crowley allowed pensively.

"Should we take this as an act of desperation?" Devi offered.

"Perhaps," Crowley said slowly, "or perhaps she's just shopping for cannon-fodder. Normally, she wouldn't be bothered sending demons to their deaths, so either she's saving them up for something special, or..." He trailed off, frowning. Was it possible she was trying to gain favor by being more careful with the hordes of Hell? He hadn't expected the Knight's ego would let her take his advice seriously.

"Maybe it's for something she doesn't consider important enough for real demons?" Devi offered.

"We'll know more once we find what they were so very keen to keep secret," Crowley responded, easing away from the wall.

Devi moved to follow him, and immediately stumbled, barely catching herself.

Crowley looked back at her with a frown.

"Sorry, I just felt a little dizzy," she explained, trying to focus her eyes on the floor in front of her, puzzled when her vision persisted in shifting.

"Are you sure you're alright?"Crowley said, narrowing his eyes. "You look pale."

Devi waved a hand dismissively, but the action again unbalanced her, and only Crowley's outstretched arm kept her from pitching onto the stone floor of the cave. She hung to his shoulder, trying to steady herself, but her legs seemed indecisive about supporting her.

"Immune, are we?" the demon said acerbically, lowering her to a sitting position against the side of the cave. He pulled away her hand and the stained handkerchief to reveal that her wounds was already swelling and had turned a sullen red. "I don't suppose you considered that big, bad mama snake over there might be a bit more potent?"

"I don't understand," Devi said, looking down at the wounds. "Last vetala I tackled, I just got nauseous for a moment. Nothing like this! If it's the same venom, shouldn't I at least have the same symptoms?"

"Quit bobbing your head about and let me have a proper look!" Crowley chided, peering at the savaged flesh. His hyper-keen sense of smell indicated there was the beginnings of infection – hardly surprising – but it looked like something else was irritating the site, perhaps some corrosive element. Her skin around the bite was already flushed and warm to the touch. Whatever had been implanted in her wounds, her body did not care for it at all. She was only going to get worse.

His remaining demons were ransacking the nest, looking for whatever the vetala had been guarding. Crowley snapped his fingers at one and gestured to the fallen matriarch. "Bag the head and hands; we need to run tests on the venom," he instructed, before ordering another, "Get her back to the car." The attendant demon came and hauled the seer up, draping her uninjured arm across his shoulders and steering her towards the cave exit. "The rest of you lot," he said, "pick up the pace. What was important here? What were they hiding?"

As the demons scurried to obey, Crowley cast his eyes about the cavern speculatively. Aside from the ruined splendor of the nest – pillaged rugs, cushions, and textiles, all stained and stinking of snake – there seemed to be nothing of value. If this is a wild goose chase... Crowley brooded, rolling his eyes at the thought. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of sheen on the roof of the cave. Peering into the darkness, he could see the outline of something. "Let's have some light in here!" he shouted, and a demon quickly brought him a flashlight.

Shining the beam upward, Crowley grinned at the sight of a long, twisting shape made of hammered copper and wedged among the stalactites. The vetalas' secret had been hidden in plain sight. Surrounding the copper image were numerous small pictures and symbols cut into the stone ceiling. Crowley tilted his head, taking a step back to consider the picture as a whole. His first guess was that it was some kind of astrograph, with the copper being the Milky Way, but the other symbols didn't line up for this region's night sky in any season. The design might be some sort of map, but there was no legend or writing of any kind.

"I want every inch of this documented," he demanded, gesturing to the tracery, "pictures on top of pictures. Then I want the whole piece taken down and cataloged. We'll piece back together at the asylum." He stayed long enough to be sure his instructions were followed to the letter, then turned and walked out of the cavern, hands in his coat pockets. "Bury this place when you're done," he shouted over his shoulder. He walked past the edge of the stave, then flitted back to the trailhead.

Despite their head start, the seer and her attendant demon were just reaching the car when he appeared in the lot. She looked even worse in daylight. "Feeling a bit peaky, are we?" he dug at her. She glared at him as she brushed by, clambering into the back and laying across the bench seat with her back to him. Crowley smirked to himself as he settled in and pulled out his phone, losing himself in odd ends of business and the occasional game of Tetris. Not being able to flit with the girl, and thus having to rely on more tedious forms of transportation, was troublesome, but it did give him a chance to catch up on busywork.

When they reached the airport, he glanced back at the seer. She was trembling. Frowning, he pulled at her elbow to roll her over. She immediately tried to curl back into the fetal position. Her eyes were tightly shut, and her teeth were clenched to stop them chattering. Sweat had dampened the hair around her face, which was flushed at the cheeks and forehead.

"God, you're in a right state," Crowley muttered. He gave her a shake, and she moaned softly as she continued to shiver. "Come on, girl," he urged, "Pull yourself together."

The seer cracked one eye in response.

"Listen to me," he instructed, speaking slowly and clearly. "We need to get you back to the asylum and figure out what's causing this."

"You can't zap me places," she objected, dry mouth slurring her words. "Demon powers don't work on me, 'member?"

"No, I can't 'zap' you there," he allowed, "not against your will, anyway. But I may be able to do it with your... consent, I suppose you'd call it."

The seer gave weak laugh. "You're asking my permission?" she asked. "Is a verbal 'yes' enough, or do you need a notarized document?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Just close your eyes, picture the library at the asylum. Fix that image in your mind."

Devi obliged and felt an unpleasant pulling sensation, like being sucked in by a strong current, followed by an unsettling weightlessness. When she opened her eyes, she found herself slumped against Crowley in a room that looked like a study. There was a pounding in her temples, and she felt even more nauseous than she had before.

"Well, that almost went to plan," Crowley observed. "Did your focus slip, darling, or..." He stopped mid-sentence as he noticed all of the seer was slipping rapidly towards the floor, her legs unequal to the task of holding her upright. "What a lot of trouble you are," he observed, catching her under the arms. "Are you going to be this difficult on all our projects?"

"You know me – always difficult," she murmured as they started toward the door, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

Grand, he thought, legs don't work, but her sense of humor is intact.

Once in the hall, Crowley bellowed for the nearest flunky, who came scurrying out of the shadows. "Get her to a room and put her in bed," he instructed, handing the seer off, "just a light dressing on those wounds. Then I want you to get to the nearest hospital and 'borrow' an ambulance. I've been meaning to stock up in first aid anyway." Crowley turned and strode down the hall, heading for his lab. "Make sure there's water on hand," he called over his shoulder. His minion raised an eyebrow at the King's retreating back, before mentally shrugging and shuffling down the hall with her burden.

Two hours later, Crowley returned upstairs with the fruit of his labors: an ointment composed of mugwort, betony, and the ashes of oleander, plus other, rarer, and less savory components. The result of his work, blending ingredients that purified poison and protected against evil spirits, would hopefully take care of the girl's more extreme symptoms. It was an added bonus, a stroke of luck really, that the mixture could be applied externally. The seer might not be coherent enough to ingest anything, and Crowley didn't want to think about the earful she'd give him if she caught him injecting her with another sorcerous serum.

His minion, showing characteristic lack of imagination, had put the seer in the bedroom directly across the hall from her own, heavily-warded room. He entered to find her curled up in the center of the bed, a pillow hugged to her chest. The covers were a tangled mess, no doubt the result of her kicking them off and pulling them back on repeatedly as fever and chills dictated. Crowley noted with a quirk of his lips that much of her clothing - shoes, socks, hoodie, and a long-sleeved running shirt - had been shed carelessly in a trail leading to the bed. She was still shivering intermittently, and sweat had dampened the pillow case under her head.

Gently prizing the pillow from her front, Crowley carefully lifted the bandages and inspected the wounds. The flesh around the gashes was puffy and red, seeping a fluid the color of stained teeth. The bite-wound was particularly bad; the vetala had clamped deeply into the meat of the shoulder, then kept its teeth locked during its death throes to wreak further damage. Crowley tsked softly to himself as he started applying the paste. Daft bird, jumping in feet first like that, he mused. Save me from these bloody heroes.

The subject of his grumbling shifted under his ministrations, murmuring an objection in her sleep. Crowley wasn't surprised – the ointment probably stung. The seer opened bleary eyes, taking a moment to bring Crowley's face into focus. Recognition flitted across her face, followed by panic, and she shot upright.

"Whoa, steady on, pet," Crowley admonished, laying a hand on her uninjured shoulder to push her back down.

The seer knocked his hand away and directed a hasty strike towards his face.

Crowley jerked back, evading the blow, and caught her wrist. "Wha- Calm down!" he ordered sternly. He was surprised how much strength he had to use to hold her, weakened though she was. She struggled against his grip, trying to twist out of it, and he unthinkingly grabbed her injured shoulder with his other hand. The seer cried out in pain, but continued to fight him.

Bollocks, thought Crowley as he suddenly realized what was causing her upset. The fever still had a hold on her mind, making her disoriented. She was in pain and possibly didn't remember where she was or how she got there. And here he was, holding her down and poking at open wounds – a situation sure to stir up unpleasant memories of their former partnership.

"Listen to me, Chaudhuri," Crowley urged, taking both her wrists. "You got injured in a fight, remember? You need to stop thrashing or you'll make it worse." He leaned back as much as he could without releasing her.

The girl snarled at him, still striving to get up. Whether she didn't understand what he said or simply didn't believe him, he couldn't be sure.

"Look, you were bitten by a vetala and had a bad reaction," Crowley continued. "Do you remember that?"

She stared at him with wild, questioning eyes, breathing hard. Telltale quivers in her arms suggested the effort of fighting against him was getting to be too much for her. At last, her eyes fluttered shut and she collapsed back on the mattress.

Crowley breathed a sigh of relief, and went back to carefully smoothing the ointment into the ravaged skin. When he moved to the claw marks on her side, he found the seer was still clinging to a vestige of consciousness. She cracked an eye at him and feebly tried to scoot away towards the middle of the bed.

"Easy, easy," Crowley soothed. He continued his work, murmuring reassurances as he went. At one point, he realized he'd slipped into Gaelic unawares. He hadn't had to do this much cajoling since setting Juliet on that sangoma in KwaZulu-Natal. The man had sold his soul for access to real, infernal power – not just his sad little bone and herb tricks – then proved remarkably reluctant to pay his dues when the time came. The old witch had transformed himself into a crested porcupine in hopes of throwing the Hellhounds off his scent. It hadn't fooled Juliet, who'd dug him out from under a termite mound and torn him to bits. The poor thing had gotten a snout full of quills, though, and it had taken Crowley nearly an hour to get them all out, coaxing all the while.

When he had finally finished and placed clean bandages over the wounds, Crowley leaned back, stretching and circling his neck as it popped with tension. The seer seemed to have fallen asleep properly, though it was an uneasy rest; she kept twitching, letting out little murmurs of distress. Poor kitten, he thought, almost resting a hand on her head before he realized what he was doing. He snatched his hand away as if scalded. Must have been reminiscing about Juliet, he rationalized.

Crowley hadn't felt anything remotely akin to compassion for anyone except his hounds in centuries, and his fondness for them was largely down to the fact that they, unlike so many of his underlings, could be depended on to do a job right. He wasn't about to start indulging in that weakness now, especially with such a potentially dangerous subject at hand. He straightened his coat as he left the room, ruthlessly reordering his mind. He didn't have time for this.

The next day, Crowley was glancing around the now-empty room where he'd left the seer, mildly perplexed, until he heard a coughing sound, followed by a groan, coming from the bathroom. Noting the light was on and the door ajar, he ambled over and eased the door open to see the seer kneeling in front of the toilet, her arm laid across the seat and her head resting on it. She was pale and damp with sweat, but at least she was up, if not quite on her feet.

"Good to see you're feeling better," Crowley quipped, slouching comfortably against the doorway.

Devishi groaned again and spat into bowl. "This must just... thrill you," she growled, scowling at him out of the corner of her eye.

Crowley tilted his head at her, smiling sympathetically, or as near to it as he could get. "As unpleasant as this is for you," he offered, "it's actually a good sign."

Devi gave him a sidelong glare that would have silenced a lesser creature.

Crowley went on carelessly. "It shows your body is starting to process out some of the toxins on its own," he explained. "I'd wager your fever has gone down."

Devi gave a little shake of her head, and instantly regretted the movement. "Ugh, don't know, haven't checked."

Crowley looked thoughtful, then leaned forward to rest the back of his hand on her forehead. "Huh, about 101 Fahrenheit," he reckoned.

Devi looked at him skeptically, pushing his hand aside. "You made that up."

"I predate thermometers, darling," Crowley claimed, "and the metric system for that matter. How do you think people used to diagnose a fever back in 'ye olden days?'"

"I always assumed Europeans just waited until someone collapsed, then threw leeches at them," Devi said flatly. Crowley raised an challenging eyebrow, but Devi ignored him. She started to rise, swayed, and doubled over clutching her stomach before sinking down to sit on the side of the tub.

Crowley looked thoughtful, then took the glass sitting by the sink and filled it with water. He conjured a packet of seltzer tablets, tore it open and emptied it into the water, giving the glass a little swirl. He made sure the seer could clearly see the whole process. "All the usual amenities included," he said, offering the fizzing glass to Devi, who accepted it warily and took a tentative swallow.

Devi sighed in relief as she felt the seltzer sooth down her throat and settle in her belly, and took another, larger gulp. Her stomach had been empty when this started, and she had felt like her system was going to start throwing up organs out of sheer frustration. She rested her head against the wall beside her, studying Crowley.

"Why am I always sick around you?" she asked morosely.

"Must be my infectious personality," he quipped.

Devi glared at him, "If you weren't already damned, you'd be going to Hell for that joke alone." Crowley only smirked, and she shook her head, rising on shaky legs and hauling herself over to the sink to rinse her mouth. "You figure out what caused this?"

"Yes, I believe so" Crowley replied. "Before Mama Snake tried to munch on you, she was chewing up one of mine – you recall that?"

"Kind of hard to miss," Devi answered as she moved slowly back into the bedroom and began gathering her scattered clothes. "He was screaming loud enough…"

Crowley followed her, continuing his explanation. "Now, the venom she was using was the same stuff as an ordinary vetala, just more juice per bite, you were right about that. However, it seems that the mix of her venom and the demon's blood still in her mouth was what set you off."

Devi lifted her head sharply, "The demon she savaged – his blood got in me too?"

"Small amounts, but yes," Crowley informed her.

"Has he been tested?" she pressed.

"Who, Kelson?" Crowley waved a dismissive hand. "He's fine – got him a new meatsuit."

"Never mind that!" Devi snapped. "Do you know how many diseases are bloodborne?"

"Oh, that's what has you in a tizzy," he realized. "Don't fret, darling, demons don't get STDs. I believe you called it our 'infernal immune system.'"

"But do they carry them?" Devi disputed angrily. "I bet none of you sons of bitches ever even bothered to check!" She leaned heavily against the doorframe, head bowed and eyes tightly shut. The nausea hadn't fully lifted, and the thought of having contaminated blood in her system wasn't helping. "If I caught anything off that weasel..." she trailed off.

"If you want," Crowley offered slowly, "we can draw a few vials of your blood and send them out for testing, make sure you're clean."

Devi considered this a moment. "If I have contracted anything serious, there's not much that can be done," she said gloomily, scooping up her shoes and heading out the door. She looked left and right down the hall to get her bearings before noticing that her own room was just across the way.

"Remember who you're talking to, darling," Crowley's voice went soft, alluring – tempting.

"I'm not making a deal with you!" Devi snarled, turning aggressively to face him as he hovered in the doorway.

"Temper, temper," he soothed, holding up his hands placatingly. "No deal necessary. Consider it fair payment for services rendered." The seer still looked highly suspicious, so he added, "It's to my own advantage, Chaudhuri – I need you at the top of your game."

Devi tossed her clothes on the bed moodily, shoulders slumped and head bowed in contemplation. Finally, she leaned back with a sigh. "I suppose it's all we can do," she said resignedly. Stretching her good arm, she groaned, "Ugh, I need a shower."

"Indeed you do," Crowley agreed heartily, "though a bath would be better – best to keep the bandages dry."

"Either way," Devi cut in irritably, "you need to leave."

"You don't want me to come in and scrub your back?" he suggested, wagging his eyebrows roguishly.

Devi gave him a look that would have frozen water mid-July and pointed over his shoulder. "Out."

Crowley adopted an expression of feigned injury, placing a hand over his chest as if wounded by her caustic tone, before smirking and stepping back. The seer shut the door resoundingly in his face, causing the bell to jangle wildly. Turning to take his leave, Crowley could only shake his head as he heard the sound of the shower running.

It was several hours later before Devi worked herself up to going downstairs. She wouldn't have gone at all except she was utterly ravenous. Keeping one hand on the wall in case of dizzy spells, she headed for the ground floor, hoping to find Andrews. On the way, she came to a set of opened double-doors leading to what looked like a science lab, and shuffled hurriedly past, hoping to evade notice.

"Tea, darling?" a gravelly voice offered from inside.

Devi stopped, eyes closed in exasperation, but ultimately sighed and backtracked a few steps to glare at the demon leaning against the workbench.

Crowley had re-purposed the long corridor of the infirmary for alchemical experiments and research. There were two rows of raised workbenches down the center of the room, separated by double-sided shelves lined with glass vials, bottles, and beakers in every shape and size. Some held unsavory items of questionable origin, suspended in embalming fluid, but most contained liquids of varying color and clarity.

Crowley himself was seated on a stool, gazing into a microscope with an expression of mild interest. He hadn't spared a glance at Devi, but held out a teacup and saucer towards her.

Devi slowly entered the laboratory and considered the steaming cup warily. She finally accepted it in a resigned sort of way. "So, what have we got?" she asked.

"Have a look," Crowley replied, scooting over to the next stool and turning the microscope towards her.

She frowned into the sights, her head tilted inquisitively.

"That is a few drops of your blood in a measure of demon blood," Crowley explained, "going at it like a fox in the henhouse. Seems your 'secret ingredient' has the same result inside you as it does inside us: bedlam."

"Could what happened to me have been some sort of allergic reaction to getting demon blood in my system?" Devi theorized.

"That was my initial thought, but the symptoms weren't quite right," Crowley responded. "I kept digging, and found that your cells' reaction to vetala venom and blood was similar – more than adequate immune response. But together..." He substituted another slide and Devi looked again.

The second sample showed a number of burst red blood cells, and more white blood cells there were present than the first slide. As Devi watched, two lymphocytes converged on a red blood cell, surrounding it as if it were infected. "Autoimmunity," Devi murmured, half to herself.

"How's that?" Crowley asked, cocking his head.

"When the immune system, or some part of it, starts attacking the body's own cells," Devi explained automatically. "Sometimes it's antigens that mimic host cell characteristics to the point that antibodies attach to either. Other times..." She stopped, looking at Crowley shrewdly. "Are you patronizing me?"

"A little," he chuckled, "but that was my assessment as well. Demons start out as human – that could be similarity enough to confuse the immune system when it's already compromised."

"Is it merely a matter of having any additional toxin besides demon blood," Devi mused, "or something particular to vetala venom?"

"That we don't know yet," Crowley answered. "This is as far as I got with the sample I had."

"Where did you get that, anyway?" Devi asked, suddenly suspicious. "Did you tap me in my sleep?"

"No need – you were still bleeding quite freely when we got here," Crowley replied, "but I'll need more if I'm to run any further tests. Plus a few vials to send out for... that other concern."

"Hmm, and some for your private collection while we're at it?" Devi said coldly. "I don't think so." She thought for a moment. "I'll go to the clinic in town to have those tests done. I don't need anyone holding my hand for that."

She stared at the microscope for a long moment, as if considering the issue it represented. Crowley knew she wouldn't want him meddling in this matter - any weakness he knew about was one more that he could use against her - but she needed to know more if she was going to be able to combat it. Unfortunately for her, she couldn't know whether finding out what had made her sick would be more helpful to him or herself in the long run, not until she discovered the exact reasons for her illness.

Crowley watched her as she pensively worked her bottom lip between her teeth. He could practically hear the gears turning in her head. He kept himself still, calm, and relaxed, careful not to give any sign of impatience. If he made any attempt to nudge her into a decision, she could react strongly in the opposite direction. Quite the contrary thing, he considered. Reverse psychology had worked once or twice before, but a more complex matter like this required subtlety.

"Well, the lab here is at your disposal, should you need it," he carelessly offered. "Quantities of vetala venom and the blood from the matriarch are on hand."

Devi gave him a look of surprise. By giving her the opportunity to study her blood's reactions on her own, Crowley was effectively removing himself from the equation. The only remaining question is why he would concede the advantage.

As she processed this unexpected turn, her stomach rumbled, reminding her of her original purpose in coming downstairs. She flushed faintly as the demon at the next bench over looked at her askance.

"Ah, but first things first," Crowley chortled lightly. "Hierarchy of needs and all that. Let me see about those bandages, though, since someone went and got them wet." He gave a her look of mock severity.

"They needed changing anyway," Devi grumbled. She glanced around at the few demons working in the lab, hugging her arms across her chest. "Can we do this somewhere more private?" she asked, trying to keep her tone casual.

Crowley tilted his head to treat her to a distressingly discerning gaze, but shrugged and gestured to the door. Devi headed out of the lab and made for the kitchen, shoulders hunched slightly as Crowley followed her. She didn't like having him behind her.

The kitchen was one of the many rooms in the asylum that didn't seem fit with the rest of the building. For not actually needing to eat, Crowley had gone to a lot of trouble to bring it up to world-class standards. There was a six-burner gas range atop an oven that looked wide enough to accommodate a whole suckling pig. The enormous refrigerator had french doors, and two deep drawers on the bottom half, one of which housed a wine chiller. Countertops of dark, polished granite contrasted grandly with the stainless steel appliances, set off against minimalist ebony cabinets.

Devi settled on a stool next to the island counter, pulling her sweatshirt off her injured shoulder. Crowley leaned against the counter next to her, a knowing smile on his face.

"What?" Devi snapped irritably.

Crowley held his hands up innocently, then carefully began peeling back the bandages on her shoulder. Devi startled at the vivid green smeared on the inside of the gauze.

"Relax, it's not yours," Crowley reassured her, not looking up from his task. Beneath the smudges of ointment still on her arm, the wounds looked better. The skin around the marks was less red and inflamed, the edges less ragged. He experimentally probed at the deeper punctures, causing Devi to jump in her seat and scowl at him.

"Just checking for infection," Crowley said mildly, and Devi suppressed a growl. He lifted her arm gently, slowly rotated her shoulder, testing the range of motion. When he went to move the strap of her tank top out of his way, she pulled away sharply.

"Watch it," she snapped, eyes hard.

"Darling, I am trying to help here," Crowley sighed, as if aggrieved.

Devi continued to stare him down, trying to read his intentions, one hand defensively on her shoulder.

The demon took a respectful step back. "Look, I get it," he went on, "You don't trust me. I probably deserve that."

"There's an understatement," Devi said emphatically, with a curt nod.

"Regardless," Crowley cut in, "either you let me fix this, or your arm falls off, which would be troublesome for the both of us."

Devi continued to glare at him, but slowly, reluctantly moved the strap to the side. Crowley took up his work again, unmindful of her icy gaze as he took the pot of ointment from his coat pocket and opened it.

Devi was immediately suspicious, "What's that?"

"Bengay," Crowley said, straight-faced. When the seer gave him a look, he rolled his eyes. "Really, pet, aren't we past this? It's something to take care of all that nastiness in your blood."

"How's it work?" Devi pressed.

"Magic," he replied shortly.

"I figured," she snorted. "How's the magic work?"

"Questions," Crowley tutted at her, "Always questions with you."

Devi didn't reply, but raised her eyebrows at him expectantly.

Crowley sighed. "Short version: this acts as an antidote for the vetala venom," he explained. "Get that out of the way, and your own system can deal with the traces of demon blood."

"Hmm, makes sense," Devi murmured, lifting her chin as Crowley dabbed the ointment on the gashes the matriarch's claws had left at the base of her throat. She tensed as he worked downward, though he was careful to only go as far as strictly necessary. Her mouth thinned, but she remained still.

"You didn't have to snap me back here," Devi said suddenly. Crowley looked at her, and she continued. "From the car, I mean. You could have easily gotten back here yourself and started working on a cure while I slept on the plane."

"It was safer to have you back here, in case you took a turn for the worse," Crowley answered.

"Safer," Devi echoed, studying his face. His expression spoke of nothing but reason and efficiency. "It was also a chance for you to feel out the limits of my resistance to demonic powers, find out if there was an exception to it," she pointed out.

Crowley looked at her, his eyes like shuttered windows. "The thought hadn't occurred to me," he said easily.

Devi narrowed her eyes at him. Crowley was excellent at spotting opportunities to dissect his opponents; it would be out of character for him to let a chance go unmet. She didn't press the issue.

"Done," Crowley drawled upon finishing, drawing his hands back. The seer's shoulders dropped, her relief palpable. One would think I had a knife at her throat, he thought ruefully. He handed her the gauze pad for her side, contenting himself to bandage the less sensitive area of her arm.

Once the bandages were in place, Crowley stepped back, again giving the seer her space. As he turned to go, leaving the pot of ointment on the counter, he gestured over his shoulder. "Tea's in the cupboard to the left of the sink, cups on the right," he offered. "I'm sure you can figure the rest out yourself." Heading back to the lab, he wondered idly if their interactions would ever get past feeling like a bomb disposal.