Enter Sandman
And never mind that noise you heard
It's just the beasts under your bed
In your closet, in your head
– Metallica

Devishi's eyes snapped open, her breathing ragged as she blinked at the darkness. She could still feel the tug of sleep – if she lay her head down, she be out again in a second – but she would rather do anything than succumb after the dream she'd had. It was one of those nightmares that sounds innocuous, even boring, when retold, but carries a haunting terror as it happens that it makes sleep something to be dreaded. Outside, a high wind howled and moaned around the old building. Devi sat up straighter, frowning. That's not only the wind...

She kicked the covers off and pulled a hooded sweatshirt off a chair, shrugging it on. Stalking down the hall, she paused now and then to listen more closely, but she was following more than just sound. Something was off, a vague but definite sense of wrongness that was as easy to follow as a scent trail. It lead her down three flights of stairs, to the basement level of the asylum. By now, the sound she was following was clear; it was a child crying.

Finding the room by sound, she slammed open the metal door. Beyond was one of the old bathing rooms, a long, low chamber. The rows of tubs had been ripped out, disconnected pipes dangling awkwardly from the walls like broken limbs. Fluorescent bulbs in their wire cages cast a garish light over the scene, making Devi squint. As her eyes adjusted, she saw Crowley, wearing a spotless white apron over his suit, and two other demons standing around a child bound to a chair. The boy couldn't have been more than ten.

Crowley turned towards the door, knife in hand. "Evening, darling," he greeted her calmly. "Did we wake you?"

"You haraami kutte ka awlat!" Devi spat lowly as she strode the length of the room. "I should have seen this coming. I knew I couldn't trust you as far as I could throw you, but you have the unmitigated gall to do this when I'm right upsta-" Her rant dropped off abruptly as she looked more closely at the boy. Something was wrong.

The boy's expression shifted from honest fear to something sinister, the corners of his mouth twisting into an ugly parody of a smile that was made all the more obscene by its youthful setting.

"Oh, dear," he chimed mockingly, "Seems you've gone and offended your little pet." The boy spoke with a slight lisp, highlighting his youth.

"He's possessed," Devi realized, her shoulders slumping. She felt deflated, and a more than a little sick.

"Well of course, he is," Crowley said, acting surprised. "He's working for Abaddon. Why else would we have him down here?"

"Oh, pardon me," she snapped, "I must have mistaken you for that other guy who likes to cut people up for fun."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Things are a bit hectic right now for that kind of indulgence," he said, turning back to his captive.

"Why is Abaddon having her demons possess children?" Devi asked as she came to stand next to him. "I thought she wanted soldiers." She could see now that the straps binding the child to the chair had sigils tooled into the leather, like those that had bound Bathym when she first arrived.

"Excellent question – why don't we ask him?" Crowley replied, leaning down to look his prisoner in the eye.

"No, no, please don't let the bad man hurt me!" the bound boy cried out, struggling against his restraints and looking to Devi appealingly. A look of dismay must have crossed her face, because the demon-boy laughed gleefully. "Aw, doesn't it just break your heart?" He smiled at her winsomely, "You won't let him cut me up, will you, lady?"

Devi swallowed back bile and looked away.

Seeing her distress, Crowley gently turned her towards the door. "You won't want to see this, darling," he advised, shepherding her out.

"Wait," she said, putting out an arm, "You can suppress the demon, right? Take away its control so we can talk to the host?"

He frowned, "How do you know about that?"

"Kevin told me," she answered hastily. "Can't you do that now? Whoever that kid is, he has no reason to keep Abbadon's secrets, especially if we offer to yank out the demon possessing him."

He leaned back and stroked his beard thoughtfully. "The boy will only know about things that have happened since he's been possessed, if he's conscious of what's happening at all," he said dubiously

"That's something!" she pressed, "At least try it! If I'm wrong, it will cost you less than a minute to find out."

Crowley frowned pensively at the ceiling, then shrugged and turned back to the captive. He dismissed his attending minions with a nod, and waved Devi forward. "It might be more effective for you to speak with him," he said, stepping back from the chair into a shadowed corner of the room. "I'm afraid he's already formed a rather negative opinion of me."

Devi took a deep breath, nodded, and knelt in front of the boy's chair. Crowley snapped his fingers, and the boy froze, then shook his head and looked around the room fearfully.

"Where am I?" he asked, his voice very small. "Who are you? Where's my mom?"

"It's okay" Devi held up a hand reassuringly, "We're – I'm not going to hurt you."

"Why am I tied up? What do you want?" The boy's voice was louder now, with a definite note of panic.

"Something bad happened to you," Devi explained, trying to keep her own voice calm. "Do you remember that?"

The boy frowned, then looked frightened. "Black smoke – I was choking, and, and... it went inside me..." Suddenly, he jerked in his seat, pulling violently at his bonds. "No! No, let me go! Leave me alone!" he shouted, tears starting in his eyes.

"It's okay! It's okay, we can get rid of the black smoke," Devi urged, putting her hands on his thin shoulders. "We can keep it away from you, keep you safe, but you need to tell us what happened."

The terrified boy stared at her with wide eyes, sniffled, and then began to sob quietly. Devi swallowed hard, crouching next to him. After a moment's hesitation, she started to stroke his hair gently, something her mother used to do for her when she was sad, or sick, or upset. "I'm sorry," she said soothingly, "I'm so, so sorry. I know you're scared. I know this looks bad."

"Please, let me go," he begged softly.

She bit her lip, then began undoing the buckle on the nearest strap.

"Don't." Crowley's voice came from the corner, and Devi glared at him over her shoulder. "The demon's still in there, pet," he admonished. "You undo those straps, and it'll smoke right out."

"Can't you hold it?" she argued, "Keep it from flying off?"

"I don't have the proper wards in place," Crowley replied evenly.

Devi turned back to the boy, tears in her own eyes now. The child had turned to look when Crowley had spoken, and was regarding the demon king with a kind of horrified fascination. Finally, his gaze shifted back to Devi, pleading silently.

"I'm sorry," she choked out. "It's still in you – the black smoke. You need to be brave, okay? Please, can you tell us what happened after..." she stopped, trying to think of another term for "possession" that wouldn't frighten the boy further. She couldn't.

"It... it was dark," the boy began haltingly. "I was walking through the woods, and it was all dark, and there were sounds." He sniffed and went on, "Bad sounds, and there were glow-y eyes in the bushes."

Devi raised an eyebrow quizzically, but didn't say anything.

"Then, I came out of the trees and there was this big fort," the boy went on. "It was made of rock, and there was a big moat around it, and there were alligators in it."

"Alligators?" Devi asked, and the boy nodded earnestly. "And then these giant spiders came out of the woods and chased me inside," he added, "but there were lots of Moblins inside, and I had to hide in a closet, and..."

"I was afraid of this," Crowley sighed, easing out of his corner. Devi shot him a confused look and he elaborated, "A child's mind is flexible, but so very fragile."

"Is this something the demon made him see, to cover its tracks?" she asked.

"More likely, the boy made it up himself, as a place to hide from what was actually happening to him," Crowley reasoned. "Not on purpose of course, but, if there's something a child doesn't want to remember, can't bear to remember, the mind offers an alternative."

"He's hiding in a nightmare?" Devi was incredulous.

"Imagine how bad the truth must be."

The seer clenched her fist. "Get it out of him," she ordered, "Now."

"Can't – exorcism is a 'return to sender' sort of deal," Crowley explained calmly. "We'd be sending it to Hell, right back to Abaddon."

"Then stuff it in someone else!" she snapped, standing up and glaring at him.

"Lovely, so it's a game of 'musical meatsuits,' then," he arched an eyebrow at her. "And who would you like me to subject to demonic possession, hmm? Ex-boyfriend, academic rival, someone who doesn't return their library books on time, perhaps?"

"That's not what I-" Devi cut herself off. She folded her lips together tightly. She wasn't sure what she'd meant. Perhaps she'd been hoping Crowley kept a list of odious people in the vicinity that could be possessed without arousing suspicion, without hurting anybody – well, anybody who didn't deserve it. Other than running out to the nearest graveyard and hoping to find a corpse that hadn't started to decompose, there wasn't really an alternative.

"You know how this works, darling," he went on smoothly. "Demons need a suit to work topside. I can hold him in or pull him out, but I can't hold a demon outside of its suit, not without extensive wards."

"Then what damn good are you?" Devi snarled.

Crowley had the good sense not to escalate. He turned away from her, refocusing on his captive, considering the tools he had on hand. He'd just selected a knife when the seer spoke up again.

"Wait. You don't have to..." she began haltingly. "There's another way." Crowley tilted his head invitingly, and she went on. "I know how to get him to talk without..." she gestured to the tray of tools.

"And what might that be, darling?" Crowley asked, then added, "Wouldn't happen to involve a nice cup of tea, would it?"

The seer stared at him open-mouthed for a moment, finally choking out, "You found out." When she had offered Crowley tea in the bunker, she had been so sure he hadn't known her true motive for doing so, or found her truth-compelling sigil etched on the bottom of the pot.

Crowley peeked at her from under his brows, smiling coyly.

Devi's mouth thinned. "Fine, yes, that's one way to use it," she said grudgingly. "It seems to work best if it's administered unawares; maybe leave him alone for a bit..."

"There's the more direct method," Crowley pointed out, "One you used to be quite fond of, as I recall, and far more effective too."

"You can't expect me to-" Devi began, but Crowley put out a hand.

"No, I don't," he replied simply. "Write it down."

"It would never work for you," she objected. "The whole body of magic behind it is expressly anti-demon."

"But nothing specifically anti-witch," he suggested, and nodded toward the door.

Devi turned to see Fletcher standing there. He at least had the decency to look guilty. "Nate, you can't be serious about this," she said before turning back to Crowley. "I don't even know if someone else can do the spell; I've never let anyone try."

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," Crowley shrugged. "Or would you prefer I use my own methods?" He gestured to the tray of instruments.

"I'm not going to let you cut into that kid!" she snapped.

"If you don't have the stomach for this sort of thing, pet, I suggest you find a new line of work," Crowley said coolly. "You've killed plenty of demons while they were wearing humans. Why should it matter now?" He gave her an evaluative look, "Because it's a kid, or because he reminds you of your brothers?"

"Don't." Devi glared at him venomously.

"Now's no time to be getting sentimental on me, Chaudhuri," he told her.

Devi turned from him with a soft snarl, pacing a tight circuit and running a hand distractedly through her hair. "And I suppose once you get what you want, you're just going to kill him," she spat.

Crowley said nothing for a moment, hands in his pockets. "It has to be done, love," he finally answered softly. "We can't let it return to Hell, or to Abaddon." The seer gave a sharp, negative jerk of her head, and Crowley was vividly reminded of a horse trying to evade being bridled. Got to get the bit between your teeth sometime.

He walked between her and the bound child, turning his back on the boy. The seer wouldn't meet his eye until he ran a finger under her chin to lift her face. She looked truly miserable. "This is war," he said firmly. "In war, people get hurt. People die. Nothing can change that."

She pressed her eyes shut at his words, and he gently chucked her under the chin to regain her attention. "He's just a kid," she hissed, blinking back angry tears.

"Yes, and if Abaddon wins this war, what happened to this kid is going to happen to every single human on the planet," Crowley went on. "All those not treated to a prolonged, excruciating death, anyway." As brutal as his words were, his tone was as apologetic as he ever got.

"Killing the demon," Devi asked hopelessly, "Is there any way to do it without killing the host?"

Crowley tilted his head thoughtfully. "Possibly," he said finally, "if the host is strong enough. If it's done quickly enough. If the demon doesn't realize what's happening and kill the vessel out of spite."

"Will you try?" she asked. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, but her tone was as close to pleading as Crowley had heard since their previous partnership.

"Yes," he answered simply.

The seer gave a jerky nod, "Do you have paper?"

A minute later, she handed over her sketch of the mandala to Fletcher, not meeting his eye as she did so, and brushed by Crowley wordlessly on her way to the door. As she started to leave, the captive demon let out a wail in its stolen voice, "No, don't leave me! Don't let him get me!"

She flinched visibly, and Crowley quickly snapped his fingers, silencing the prisoner. "That's quite enough of that," he ordered sharply, before turning to the retreating seer as she hovered in the doorway, fighting the instinct to rush back in and protect the thing in the chair. "It wasn't him, love," he reassured.

Devi finally turned to go, forcing herself to walk calmly down the hall. As she climbed the stairs, she knew she'd get no more sleep that night. She didn't even go to her room, instead wandering the empty corridors of the asylum as if sleepwalking through a half-waking nightmare. She had no fixed destination in mind, but some instinct or impulse led her to keep going up.

Eventually, she found herself in front of a rickety door off a spartan hallway on the top floor, the whisper of wind slithering through the cracked seals around the frame. She turned the tarnished handle, and the door opened. Devi didn't even have the presence of mind to be surprised it was unlocked.

She passed through to find herself on a small, flat open area on the roof; a number of narrow, metal chimneys emerged from the shingles nearby, and she reasoned the space was likely an access point for utilities or repairs. The wind was high and sharp up here, the air still holding on to a hint of the earlier spring's chill. Devi pulled her hoodie tighter around her, stepping away from the door and walking up the shallow pitch of the roof toward its peak. Sitting down to get out of the wind, she lay back with her head towards the ridge of the roofline, staring up at the sky.

Wind-whipped lines of clouds slid rapidly across her view, blocking out stars to reveal them again moments later. Their speed made it look like the starfield itself was moving and shifting, like clips of time-lapse video showing the progression of a full night in a few seconds. Time and space seemed to run away from her.

Devi closed her eyes, taking a deep breath of the cool, damp air. She was just beginning to really savor the sense of how lonely and miserable she felt when she heard the door creak open and a faint light swept across her. Glaring in that direction, she saw Fletcher standing in the doorway, using his cellphone as a flashlight. She closed her eyes again in irritation; she really didn't want to talk to him right now.

"Please go away," she said, in what just barely passed for a civil tone.

The young witch hovered indecisively in the open door, "I wanted to be sure you're ok."

"I'm not, now please leave," she told him, civility definitely on its way out.

He glanced back over his shoulder thoughtfully, but instead of going back inside, he stepped out, closed the door behind him, and sat down with his back to it, pulling his heavy wool coat closer around him and looking out over the darkened landscape silently.

Devi suppressed a growl of annoyance, and fixed her eyes upward, pointedly ignoring him. She expected he would start talking soon, polluting the cool silence with empty words more suited to easing his own discomfort than actually addressing what was wrong. She sat on pins and needles in anticipation of this for several minutes before realizing that Fletcher intended to do nothing of the sort. That was a surprise: he hadn't struck her as the kind of person that bore with quiet well. Perversely, she felt herself getting irritated that he wasn't saying anything.

"Well?" she said abruptly.

The witch startled when she spoke, as if he'd been lost in his own thoughts and had forgotten about her. He turned to her with an expectant expression, and though it was too dark to see, Devi could imagine the clear innocence in his eyes. "I didn't think you wanted to talk about it," he said softly.

"I don't," she snapped, "but if you're going to just sit there, you might as well tell me what happened."

"I didn't… he, Crowley was still questioning him when I left," he told her. "The symbol you gave me seemed to work, if that's what you mean."

"It isn't."

He nodded, looking down at his hands. After a moment's silence, he murmured, barely audible, "I tried to be careful, to not go too deep." There was a hollowness to his voice, and Devi felt an additional touch of guilt for having left the task to him.

He didn't have to do it, she argued to herself. He could have refused.

But where would that have gotten them? If they had both just washed their hands of the whole thing, there would still be a ten year-old tied up in Crowley's basement, subject to questioning by the King of Hell himself. Could she have done something else, something more? Maybe insisted Crowley find another body, one already deceased, but then how would they lure the demon into the corpse? Valac had been forced out of his old host by pain, and had taken up the body they gave him due to having no other options. Devi didn't know if even Crowley was able to force demons to possess bodies against their will.

She dropped her head back against the slope of the roof, staring into the darkness. It was an impossible situation, but she couldn't quite settle with the idea that the ends justify the means. That mindset had always rubbed her the wrong way; it seemed to her people just used it as a convenient excuse when doing the right thing was too much trouble. But now, no matter how hard she looked, she couldn't see what the right thing actually was, which was terrifying. She'd always been so sure, so determined, and the rational, moral thing to do had seemed so clear…

Right up to the point she'd met Crowley, and didn't he just have a knack for muddying the waters, for making black and white into every possible shade of gray? It wasn't that he made his way seem like the right one so much as the only one possible, inviting her to walk a knife's edge between what she thought she was supposed to do and what it seemed she needed to do.

Devi squeezed her eyes shut against the tears welling in them. She hated this. Give her a clean fight, a clear objective, a definitive true or false, and she'd never give in, but the minute doubt set in, that echoing hollowness at the center of her soul, it felt like everything was falling apart. Turning her head to the side, she could see the slim line of lighter gray near the horizon, the first whisper of dawn. The wind blew straight in her face from that direction, scouring away any trace of tears.

She was startled out of her brooding when a soft weight dropped over her. Looking up, she saw Fletcher had come up and draped his coat over her. "I don't need…" she began, starting to sit up.

"Take it, it's freezing," he told her, returning to his spot by the door.

"What about you?" she argued.

"I'm not in the wind so much here," he said, even as he huddled closer against the door, pulling his knees up towards his chest.

Devi snorted softly, standing and walking down the roof to where Fletcher sat, settling down next to him and throwing the coat over the front of both of them. "You're an idiot," she told him, but there was no malice in her tone.

"You're the one who decided to sit out on a roof at half-four in the morning," he replied. "And wit' more bad weather coming in too."

"How do you know there's bad weather on the way?" Devi asked.

Fletcher nodded sagely, "The wind's shifted 'round to the east, and the air's cold and damp, meaning rain's comin'." She frowned at him skeptically, and he laughed softly, shrugging, "I also checked the app on my phone before bed last night."

Devi almost managed a smile before remembering why she had come up here in the first place. She looked out at the starlit sky again, unable to stifle a discontented sigh. Fletcher caught the sound, and likewise sobered.

"This whole mess sucks," he said with a surprising heat in his voice. "I mean, I know Crowley's methods aren't anything like what you'd call clean, but using a kid as a spy like that…" Devi looked him sidelong, and he continued, "I didn't stay for the whole thing ‒ they were still talkin' when I left ‒ but from what I did hear, Abbadon's man chose that body on purpose, hoping to slip through Crowley's watch by lookin' harmless."

"What?"

"Yeah, apparently they finally realized they were generally fitting a He-Man type, and that we'd started lookin' out for that, so they're changing it up: taking kids, little old ladies, and so forth." He shook his head, "Feckin' bastards…"

Devi huddled into a tighter ball, resting the side of her head against her knee as she stared out into the dark. Blaming Abbadon's side was convenient, but it didn't make what she'd done right, didn't fully assuage the guilt she felt. She was still mulling this over when doorknob above her head rattled and the door behind them opened a crack only to thump against her and Fletcher's backs. She heard a "tsk" of annoyance, the door closed, and then Crowley appeared in front of them. Speak of the devil.

He gave them an exasperated look, "Daft, the pair of you, sitting out here in the dark like a couple of wet hens."

"What do you want, Crowley?" Devi demanded shortly, aggravation shooting up again. Of all the people she didn't want to talk to right now, he was top of the list by a clear mile.

Surprisingly, Crowley didn't snap back immediately, instead looking down at her with that old, evaluating expression. Devi didn't keep his gaze, turning away to stare off fixedly past the edge of the roof, curling tighter in on herself. She didn't have any inclination to play his games right now.

His next words were the only thing he could have possibly said to change her mind: "I know where Abbadon is."

Devi's head snapped up. One look at his face confirmed he wasn't kidding. "What?" she asked, her mouth suddenly dry.

"Well, where she will be," Crowley elaborated. "It seems the sly little minx has been attempting to go behind my back and rally some of my most dependable colleagues to her side. In two weeks, she'll be meeting with them at a hotel in Cleveland."

Fletcher piped up, "What are we going to do about it?"

"Let it happen," Crowley smiled grimly. "Let her have her way. My council will meet at the Humboldt in a week. And just before she gets to make her grand offer to them, Abbadon will suffer a terminal case of death. Rolling her head down the conference table should take care of any lingering doubts within my court, don't you think?"

"So, you're planning on ambushing her before makes her pitch?" Devi asked, "When your courtiers are already wavering? That sounds risky – we won't be able to count on their help."

"I wouldn't have expected it anyway," Crowley said dismissively. "But they won't be of any help to her either. The lot of them haven't lasted this long and climbed this far by sticking their oar in before it's certain who's steering the ship." He looked earnestly at her, "Yes, it's risky – we're setting out to axe a Knight of Hell – but it's worth it. This cold war between us can only drag out for so long before things get ugly. It's already started, as you saw downstairs. It will only get worse."

Fletcher stood, shaking out his stiff legs, "If we're going to be making our move soon, we'll want to make sure everything is secure here first. There's still a lot of prep that needs doing."

"Yes," Crowley agreed, "Fierro and LeRoux are taking care of defenses across the grounds,so I want you to focus on the main building. Anything not warded needs to be on a hair trigger: I want this place to bite back."

"On it, boss," Fletcher gave a wry salute, opening the door behind Devi and squeezing through.

"As for you..." Crowley looked back to the seer, but she wasn't paying attention to him. Instead, she was staring out across the darkened gardens. "Hello? Something on your mind that you'd like to share with the rest of us, or would you care to participate in the planning of this endeavour?"

"What happened to the boy?" she asked quietly, with deceptive calm. The pause that followed her question went on just a hair too long, which was enough to provide her the answer.

"He didn't make it," Crowley said at last. "I'm sorry, darling. The body was too damaged, even before we'd gotten a hold of him. The possessing demon had not been gentle."

She stood, brushing aside Nate's coat, and walked past the edge of the doorway, taking in the blurred shadows of the hedges below, the sweep of the hill, and the shape of the trees beyond, etched black against the graying sky.

"Is there any point to this?" she found herself asking. "If there's not… I get that it's useless to run, and I'd rather go down fighting anyway, but I'd prefer to know the odds." She looked up at him, "Do we have any chance of pulling this off? Of actually killing her?" Is there any hope, Gandalf? Just a fool's hope. The thought crossed her mind and she shook it away. Gandalf wasn't here, though things were about as black as Mordor might make them.

"Hardly any," Crowley said, in an unusual display of candor, and she looked at him sharply. "I for one would be extraordinarily surprised if your poison, even as it is now, was enough to kill Abbadon outright."

Devi nodded, numb except for the bitterness rising in her throat.

"But maybe," he went on, "Maybe you do wound her, weaken her to the point that I may be able to put her down decisively. Maybe Hell falls in line upon seeing their new Queen in a cage or maybe she dies of her wounds, wasting away slowly… Maybe." He glanced sidelong at her, "I'm sorry I can't offer you better. But 'maybe' might just be enough to get it done." He gave a soft, brittle laugh, "Anyway, it's the best we've got."

"Then we take it and run with it," she replied decisively, turning away from the roof's edge and striding back to the door. Crowley reached it first, holding it open for her. She gave him a spurious look, but picked up Fletcher's coat and went in.

Crowley lingered in the doorway, giving one last sweeping glance over the slowly brightening landscape. Once all of Hell at his feet, and now he was all but confined to these few dozen acres. But that would all change soon. He'd come back from worse. He had his plans, his pawns were moving, everything was falling into place. Two weeks would tell. Just two more weeks.