Merry Crisis ya'll. Happy Holidays! Thanks so much for reading. This one actually continues from the last chapter, which can be rare, I know.
"Son of a bitch!" A thunderous roar rattled the greenery of the deep forest, quivering the trunks of even the oldest rooted trees. "That's a Lindworm?" He shouted, stumbling back over a mossy log.
"Uh, yeah?" Unfurling its tattered wings and digging its talons into the ground, the Lindworm's scales' glistened underneath the pale moon light. "Wh-what did you think it was?" Despite the peril, Sam really needed to know.
"Oh, I dunno." Dean sputtered angrily, "A WORM?"
A wall of flame blazed the forest floor, crackling and dancing with an intensity that forced them both to separate strategically. Grateful for still having both his eyebrows, Dean backed away from the inferno that licked at his clothing, and readied himself for offensive tactics.
The creature reared, preparing to charge, and the boys prepared to employ their favorite strategy. Throw whatever the hell they had at it, until something worked.
oOo oOo oOo
Slipping in and out of consciousness wouldn't have been so bad… if every awakening wasn't rudely initiated by a handful of hellfire punching into his chest. Crowley jolted awake, every bone in his vessel screaming as his back arched. He bit down, bidding the room to stop spinning.
"You're terrible at sneaking…"
"What?!" She sprang up from the side of the bed with a comically aghast expression. "That was perfect!" Perfect wasn't the right choice of wording, but now Nysza was just being defensive.
"You're back then." A mask of neutrality greeted her. He might as well have inspected his nails out of nonchalance. The woman crossed her arms, angling her body forward.
"Hmph. You're happy I'm back." She held up a small key, deduced to fit the lock to his chains. "Plus, I brought a peace offering." A click signaled his technical freedom from the restraint around his ankle.
"Terrible sneak. Excellent pickpocket." Definitely not a skill she was proud of, but he sure seemed to enjoy it.
oOo oOo oOo
"Sam. What the hell are we doing?"
"We're… hunting a Lindworm?" Frankly, he was getting frustrated with all the confusion.
"I mean, why?" Rephrasing his question, the Winchester peered into the waterway their prey had slithered into, molding to a compact size and well out of sight. "For Crowley?" Drawing out the vowels of the demon's name for his brother to absorb, Dean scanned the grassy floor, hoping for a few shed scales in the skirmish.
"We're not doing it for him, we're… doing it for Nysza." He justified. Crowley himself occasionally proved to be a valuable ally. Unstable and unpredictable, but that didn't stop them from calling.
"Sam, do you think maybe…" Wiping the sweat starting to irritate his eye, Dean lowered his voice, "He already accepted he was gonna die."
"What?!" Not quite understanding the question.
"He could've come to us. He knew where we were. And yet he chose to, I don't know, pop into her family home for muffins and tea?" Sam swallowed dryly.
"Maybe he panicked." Rowena, his own mother, had stabbed him. That must have come as such a shock that he simply sought out the nearest refuge.
"Or he went to say goodbye." He recognized that pattern of behavior, when all hope was lost and your mind could only hone in on one thing.
"We have to keep trying." Ending the conversation chain, Sam put his tracking ability to use. "How're you holding up?"
Dean grumbled, but followed behind, "Singed, but I'll live."
oOo oOo
"They'll be back soon. I mean, how hard can it be to get a Lindworm scale?"
"Nys." He exhaled carefully, "Exactly, what do you think a Lindworm is?"
"A… worm?" As she answered, there was heavy reason to suspect… it was not. Cautiously, she pulled the unbuttoned portion of his shirt to assess the spreading affliction.
"No need to be shy love." Black, torturous veins twisted along his collarbone—the color less prominent at the branch tips, "If this was all it took for you to undress me," Her fingers grazed across the tender flesh, infected by the mysterious poison, "I'd have gotten stabbed ages ago." His jest was sharply cut off by a pained cry. It caught in his throat, choking him until his muscles tensed to a trembling point.
"Crowley?" The branches spread, little tendrils creeping across his skin, while the existing black veins thickened in quality. They were now visible on his neck, just barely slicing a faded black thread over his chin. She saw his contorted expression, his hands clawed tightly around the edges of the bed, his mouth pulled taut in a rictus of quiet anguish. "It's okay, it's okay—it'll pass." She tried to reassure him, taking his hand in a squeeze to channel the discomfort. Leaning over him, Nysza pressed her forehead against his cheek, her lips near his ear. Whispering under her breath, "You'll be fine." But how many more waves could he withstand? Her free hand brushed the underside of his jawline, grazing his closely shaved beard as she caressed his cheek and finally brought her palm to rest lightly against his temple. The vessel he inhabited felt clammy.
"My parents are going to throttle me." Half jokingly, she heaved a sigh. Part of her statement was meant to distract him.
"A little memory wipe will fix that." He'd done it before, though it had a few physiological repercussions, the ends justified the means.
"Free of charge?" In his state, he could have been promised the world and maybe not live long enough to enjoy it.
"Of course." He hummed.
"Could you erase anything?" The demon always enjoyed when she questioned the extent of his ability.
"What? Embarrassing childhood trauma? I could erase that." If they were going to chat about memory, he might as well learn some of her past, juicy secrets.
"Can you… erase me?" His expression fell, souring at the endgame to her branch of questioning. "I mean it'll suck, but they won't remember me, so they have no reason to be upset if I'm ever gone." The horrid taste in his mouth thickened into a paste that seemed to glue his lips shut. "Billie said something to me. She said I was never supposed to exist." In another world, maybe she didn't, "If it helps, you could forget me too."
With the remaining demonic strength he possessed, laced with adrenaline and rage, Crowley sat up, balling the collar of her shirt and yanking her closer. She yelped, shuddering at the nails raking up the base of her neck, along her scalp, to snatch a fistful of her hair. Head locked into place, she had no choice but to stare into his eyes—feral, even for a demon.
One hard snap of his wrist and her spine would shatter, "You want to be erased?" He threw back her inquiry on a hissed breath. The infected black veins on his neck twitched and she could see the skin surface spasm from effort. She was doing it again. That soft look in her eyes that he hated. The one that she so boldly claimed was the only way she could look at him.
"I don't..." Nysza kept to a whisper, "But I just—Crowley?"
His eyes had widened, staring straight past her, jaw tensing. Hand falling away from her hair, the demon clawed at his side, turning away from the woman.
"It's… yours." He gasped softly, defeated.
"What?" Searching his eyes for clarification, she could only lean closer. "What's mine?"
"Your soul." Carried out on a wheeze and punctuated with a cough, the words held more weight than he realized. "I don't need it." The reason why her fate remained so uncertain, according to Castiel and Billie, was because of how her soul was split. A piece belonged to heaven when she died, while the other chunk remained firmly in his grasp. Neither was willing to relinquish their hold, leaving her damned to some eternal limbo—Purgatory, she believed—when her body eventually collapsed in on itself from the strain. "It's done." He tried to swallow, the thick cotton of his tongue making it impossible to speak anymore.
"Wait… what? Then that means…"
"You'll go to heaven," History with him aside, they'd take her with open arms. Otherwise, they would have cast the other piece of her soul over to him by now. "You're… whole again." No longer his. She wanted to be grateful—express to him how her heart soared at the thought of not being hurled into the unknown after dying. Tears stung the back of her eyes. Her happiness was stunted by one realization.
He was giving up.
If he was conceding in the form of freeing the one thing he swore he never yielded, what else could she call it? "Why would you do that?" The King of Hell tossing away a prize from his coveted collection was unusual.
"Don't get too excited, love, I'm in the business of making deals, remember?" He drawled; keen to jostle the leash on any notion that she was free of debt. "You'll have to do something for me." Barely easing out the last word before coughing violently, his entire peripheral vision ceased function. It was the sinister reminder of give and take, but Crowley saw her nod.
"Yeah, okay!" A bit eagerly, she shifted at the side of the bed, leaning closer to hear his request. "Anything you ask. Within reason. I can't exactly do cartwheels across a volcano." Patiently, she waited for him to recover enough to talk.
Crowley shifted his head on the pillow to look at her. Heart sinking at the parasitic cordyceps already building a network in the whites of his eyes, Nysza assessed the black veins on his neck, draining the color from his face. Lips dry and cracked to the point of bleed, the vessel he was trapped in closed its sunken eyes for a moment of reprieve.
The Winchesters would be back soon. At least that's what she had been chanting for some time now.
"Hey, Crowley?" Using the scarf she had given him earlier to dry his brow, "Stay with me. What is it? What did you need me to do?" The girl was way more than willing to comply, but he still hadn't voiced the price of his deed.
Finally, the demon opened his eyes and raised his chin to swallow down what must have been bile and blood. He opened his mouth, and then stopped, hesitating. If she didn't know any better, he appeared to be stalling.
"Anything?" Crowley confirmed.
"Anything!" Of course, it was always suspicious when he wanted explicit permission.
"Hold me…?"
What?" Nysza was taken aback, processing the request. Maybe she'd heard him wrong, and was about to seek verification.
"Please?"
Her breath caught and she exhaled a short, soft sound. The furrow in her brow disappeared. Disbelief. "Okay, scoot over."
The warmth of her frame pressing against his side relaxed his muscles. Arms carefully wrapped around him, avoiding the dagger. He didn't need any extra prompting when she pulled him closer, helping him upright to rest against the front of her shoulder like a pillow. Crowley turned slightly, his forehead pressing into the curve of her neck and shoulder, elbows tucked close to him, no different than a scared child.
"For the record," Nysza reached down, drawing the blanket up and over their shoulders, "You could have just asked." Fingers grazed up and down the tender veins along the side of his neck. A steady heartbeat drumming against him was more soothing than he could have anticipated.
oOo oOo oOOo
Socks soggy, Dean picked up his foot and sloshed it back into the water. There was no point in being delicate. His pant leg was soaked all the way to his knees and the sword in his hand hummed so loudly, his eardrums vibrated. How else would you slay a dragon? Of all the the fun things they had in the trunk of their car, a sword forged of dragon fire was a more exotic pick.
Leaping to dry ground, the Winchester braced himself as the leathery flutter of powerful wings sent a gale rushing toward him. Ignoring the dust in his eyes, Dean ran forward. With a yell, he delivered a strong spinning heel kick to the center of the creature's chest. It bellowed, pitching sideways, stunned by the assault.
"Dean!" Sam shouted, hovering a hand over his ear to block the screeching. "Use the sword!" They didn't possess an enchanted blade for his brother to kick the Lindworm. Rarely, if ever, did they get to see a dragon in its true form. Most had the ability to shapeshift into a humanoid form to easily blend with society, scouting prey and kidnapping virgins from a close vantage point.
Readjusting his grip on the sword, the older Winchester side-stepped, eyes focused on his opponent. With a swing that would have made a professional baseball player swoon, he slammed the blade into the Lindworm with a loud CLANG!. A loud crack resounded as the flat end of the blade made contact with the creature's forelimb.
"D-Dean!" The man shouted again, "Use the sword... like a sword!" Not like a batter gunning for a homerun!
"I got it!" Dean-don't-tell-me-what-to-do-Winchester sprinted and slid across the grass, picking up an iridescent shard that was the size of a conch shell. Once again, the creature snarled and shifted its body, snaking into a sewage opening. "Ugh, Let's go!"
oOo oOo oOo
The body against hers flinched harshly, stiffening. "Nysza…" He strained to call her name as the tendrils constricted over his chest, spreading an icy frigidity to his fingertips. Fear welled in her chest and she held his writhing form tighter, as if that would keep him with her. She hadn't been keeping track of time, but the tick of the clock had never been so deafening.
"I'm here." Could he feel her arms around him? Did he register the warmth of her forehead against his temple?
"...You always are." Not all the consonants came out the way he intended. His chest heaved, feeling her move away and lower his head onto the pillow. Disregarding the buttons of his shirt that she had been so kindly redoing each time she'd unbuttoned them, Nysza practically ripped off the fabric covering his chest. He didn't move, and as much as he wanted to comment on the willful destruction of his clothing, he couldn't. Limbs freezing in place by an invisible force, the demon choked in silence. She called him.
No response.
Forgetting the fragility of his state, she took hold of his shoulders and shook him. Her cheeks burned, coupled with her racing heartbeat as she slapped him across the face.
Nothing.
"Wait!" The entirety of his chest was covered with swollen black veins, originating from the dagger's entry point, tying him down like rope. They spread and encircled where his heart should have been. Slithering inward, the veins coiled like a serpent, closing the circle, blackening whatever flesh remained, "Wait! No!" It was unclear who she was pleading with, whether it was the demon, or the unseen powers that be. Against all her wishes, she swung a leg over him in a straddle— hand outstretched—and did what she'd screamed at everyone not to. With one purposeful motion, she grasped the hilt of the blade and pulled with all her might.
Her battle cry quickly transitioned into a yelp of surprise, "Wh—" Nearly falling off the bed, Nysza had to brace herself with her free hand. Maybe she hadn't actually taken hold of the hilt?
No. It was gripped tight her hand and no longer embedded in the demon.
HAPPY HOLIDAYS! THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING!