I had the spn fic page open and was like "wow who has a picture of kermit as their story cover photo?" It's Me. it's kermit. I've said it once and i'm going to say it again, thank you to everyone for reading and supporting this fic where the timelines are made up and the continuity don't matter *bangs pots and pans together* every view is FREE SEROTONIN FOR ME HAAAHAHAAAA.
Also you know how i'm always saying "this chapter is so long!" for, like, the past five chapters? This one beats ALL OF THEM. And I will never say it again.
What exactly could "Let me make it up to you." coming out of a notoriously unpredictable demon's mouth possibly spell out for a poor human in bunny slippers and matching avocado-themed cotton pajamas? She could be hurled through a vortex or deposited in the middle of an ocean. The rush of air chilled the base of her neck, sending a shiver along her nerves. He had taken them somewhere, and it was always a reluctant game of guessing where, which lasted for approximately half a second. In her defense, a person could cycle through every stage of grief in half a second.
It wasn't dark when she opened her eyes. Illuminated by an unknown source, Nysza was able to work out stacks of boxes and shelves. The room they were in was dome-shaped, its walls painted black and speckled with light.
"You know, when you said you were going to make it up to me, I didn't really think…" On the bright side, there was no one immediately present to behold her chosen outfit. "Didn't really think we'd be in another underground warehouse that smells kind of like burnt rubber and sulfur La Croix." Squinting at the room-encompassing painting, all she could see was a black canvas with glittering jewels illuminating the expanse.
"Well, it's yours, burnt rubber and all."
"I mean I love crypts as much as the next gal." It wasn't a panoramic painting. It was a panoramic... window? Her hand hovered inches away from the glass.
"We're on the moon." No guessing games. Sometimes the hard truth hit sweeter when pitched first. "In it, technically."
"If I put—We're on the what?! You're giving me the what?!" How was she not imploding on herself like a cake with too much leavening agent? "I'm... breathing!" Staring out into the empty sea of space, she drew her arms around herself. He had glossed over demons having claimed the moon for their use. Though she hadn't fathomed proving that fact firsthand.
"And should continue to do so unless you try to leave the room." An enjoyable pastime, not including watching people bob for their own eyeballs in a tub of blood, was when he calmly watched her conniptions unfold. Hands buried in the pockets of his coat, he observed the faint trace of her reflection in the glass, hues of the galaxies mirrored in her eyes.
She started to laugh. Peculiar reaction to the gesture of being gifted the literal moon, but it wasn't the first time she'd caught him off guard, "I get it." She snapped her fingers and twirled with questionable grace, index finger and thumb shaped into a gun, to point at him. "The rabbit in the moon! Very ingenious." Crowley was surprised with himself for not picking up on the reference in the first place. "Do you like the story?"
"Yes, yes, you look up in the sky and see the rabbit's shape in the moon, blah blah blah. It's all very mythological." He wasn't much for silly fairy tales unless they benefited him in some way. Besides, through the years, different versions of every tale, popping up in various cultures, were twisted and modified.
"The one mom told me was about the Man of the Moon who visited the earth in the form of an old beggar." His disinterested gaze wandered elsewhere, but she knew he was listening. "He asked a Monkey, Fox, and Rabbit for some food." Nysza held up one finger for each character named, "Monkey scaled a tall tree and brought back the sweetest fruit." She swept her arm up, outstretched to the ceiling. "It was, uh, a children's story, I have to do the hand motions." She explained quickly before continuing. Muscle memory. "Fox went to a stream and caught a big, juicy fish." Swinging her arm across her body, the girl wiggled it in front of her to artfully depict the water, along with the fish swimming.
"And Rabbit?" Turning and touching her forehead to the cool glass, she silently congratulated herself for maintaining some interest.
"Rabbit didn't have anything to offer, except grass. So they asked the beggar to build up a fire." Her fingers tapped the glass gently, "Once the fire started, the rabbit jumped in, offering themselves as the food. The beggar immediately transformed back into the man of the moon and rescued the rabbit. For it's kindness, the rabbit was taken back to the moon." The end.
"Silly Rabbit. There's nothing to be gained by jumping into fire." It was made abundantly evident that he was addressing her and not the rabbit in the story. Sacrifice was overrated and not a feat he'd ever stand to commend.
"Silly Demon." She countered, "What am I supposed to do with the moon?" A wonderful question. "What was the plan? Trap me here until I agree to go with you?"
"Ooh." The demon's face lit, idly stroking his chin at the possibilities, "Don't tempt me."
"The last time I…" Exaggerating the air quotes around "went out" to illustrate her point, "with you, you punched a hole through a Shapeshifters chest." And held a still beating heart in his grip. She could go on, "And the last time you tried to be agreeable with your mother, you got stabbed, and I had to play Operation: Excalibur edition on you."
"Never a dull moment, eh?" It was her turn to roll her eyes. "Everyone's insides will stay… inside, unaltered and untampered with, until further notice or otherwise stated by the present company. Is that adequate?" That would have been a miracle.
"Can I get that in writing?" Don't push it. "How can I trust you? You won't even tell me how I ended up in your bed!" The allegations against her of impassioned love- making were a dramatization, and they both knew it. "What happened?"
"Nothing." He said hollowly, keen on putting it behind them. A misdirection was his best bet right now, "Since you're so persistent, I didn't touch you, if that's what you're inconsolably sulky about." His accent lilted, eyes narrowing to gauge her reaction.
"You didn't?" Her brown eyes dropped to the floor.
"You sound deliciously disappointed." Points for alliteration in his speech.
"Tastelessly disappointed." She corrected under her breath, displeased with herself for providing such an easy read.
"Fine, I admit. I might have indulged a little." Pinching his fingers together, vouchsafing a roguish smirk, Crowley shifted his focus to her mouth. "Couldn't resist a little touch." This time, he only raised one finger.
"What? Where?" Adjusting the angle of his wrist, he indicated to her lips.
"Your lips." The strong curve of her cupid's bow naturally sloped upward at the edges. Fun to trace. He tapped his finger against the air.
"My lips? That's it?" She stepped closer, dubious.
"Mmhm." An affirmative hum.
Her eyebrows lifted, frown screwing the left side of her mouth in visible deliberation.
Crowley's vessel went rigid. He had expected meager retaliation in her turn, but the gentle press of her index finger against his lips sent every retort on his tongue skittering down and shrinking into his vocal chords from whence they came.
Lightly dragging her slender digit across his lips before breaking contact to inspect her handiwork as if she'd applied lipstick, Nysza chirped, commending him for not biting her, "Okay. We're even on that." Which meant there were other items. "I will go with you, on one condition, not counting the one before." Planting her hands on her hips with a self-satisfied grin, Nysza took a step away from the demon.
"Oh? You have more conditions now?" He played along, resisting the compulsion to lick his lips.
"Please. You love negotiating. Don't act coy." Usually, it was more thrilling when he presented the terms to the other party, but her way was amusing. "Make me a dress. And if I like it, I'll go."
Crowley fixed her with a sour glare, "I was a tailor, not a fashion designer." His apprenticeship really only covered the fundamentals. "I have people for that sort of thing." Even as a demon, he had a personal tailor—deceased—to handle his fittings.
That smug smirk on anyone else's features might have compelled him to snap it right off their neck, but Nysza—at the very least—wore it quite well.
"Those are my terms. You're talented, you'll figure it out." Finalizing the deal, complimenting him, and leaving the outcome to his innovation alone was clever. He seemed to think about it for a moment, running his tongue over his lower lip.
"Deal. I'll need your measurements." If he accepted the terms, he was going to derive his own entertainment from it.
"I can tell y—" He was behind her; she could feel it.
Thumb pressing against the tip of one shoulder, the demon wound—what looked like—measuring tape, around her until it met back at the same shoulder. His thumb traveled down her mid back, applying deliberate pressure to disperse a tension spot and make her jump. "No hopping, Rabbit." The tape pulling taut around her bust made it exceedingly difficult to oblige, increasingly so as his hand stroked down the smallest part of her waist, sloping to her hips.
"I know my measurements, I can just tell you!" She said quickly before losing her voice.
"So do I. Just by looking at you, believe me, they aren't remarkable by any means." Flattening the tape with a drag of his fingers simultaneously around either side of her waist, the demon noted Nysza leaning back, inclining her head to glare at him.
"Then why are you still measuring me?"
"Accuracy. I'm a professional, mind you, and won't tolerate shoddy workmanship." And definitely not from him.
oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo
The next evening, Nysza had expected to be shown a form-constricting black dress that left very little to the imagination in terms of her proportions.
Her surprise was palpable when an elegant gown hugged her curves, bloodred delicate lacework woven into a field of flowers covering her body. Beneath the tightly knit floral pattern, visible at the thinner spreads of thread, one could glimpse the ivory shade of her skin. A slit was cut from her mid thigh to the bottom of the dress, providing mobility and a gratuitous view of her leg. Sheer fabric fluttered around her upper arms, below her bare shoulders. Nysza blinked at the reflection squinting in return as she ensured every hair ringlet in the bunch was draped over her right shoulder. The scarlet chiffon layering on the lower half of the dress fluttered, airy, with every movement.
His presence cut an imposing figure, identifiable by his molten gold eyes in the shadows, glimpsed in the mirror's reflection. "Alright, I admit it. I'm impressed, and surprised you chose red." The heart-shape of the neckline was indescribably comfortable.
"Customarily, we are supposed to match." Slipping a thumb under his vibrant red tie, the demon kept his gaze still when she glided toward him.
You never wear red, vibrant ties. What if you have a nice demon-date one night?
What a bright, quaint memory it seemed.
Taking the dress for a test drive, Nysza twirled on the balls of her feet.
"We're on a schedule. And as I like to say, if it isn't tight, it isn't right, so we're behind." He watched the human begin to say her piece, resigning a slow nod instead. Never one to try and snag the spotlight, she shook her head over a trivial, self-inflicted anxiety. It wasn't necessary to rifle around in her head to know the girl wanted an opinion on her outfit and it was per a certain formula that he should have said something by now, snarky or not. His input, or lack thereof, shouldn't have put her off.
There are a lot of things on his mind, Nysza! Curb your vanity. Look at him! Look! Look at his posture—that's the posture of a demon distracted and worried about something!
Goaded into fixing his posture, the demon straightened his shoulders, not wanting to be the one to remind her that he could hear her thoughts. That was a lie. He loved reminding her. Introspection was racing and overlapping as per usual. And while he didn't invade her headspace often, her internal dialogue was practically being screamed into the mouthpiece of a megaphone funnel smothering his face.
The delicate jewel nestled near her collarbone shone against her smooth skin, reflections glinting in her eyes. Candidly, though unsaid, she was stunningly, breathtakingly beautiful—graceful and exquisite, every tiny movement unintentionally designed to draw his attention.
Hooking her arm with his, she closed her eyes and, for once, braced herself for teleport. Nysza's eyes suddenly snapped open, widening.
"You look stunning." The contact of his lips against the shell of her ear distracted her long enough to negate the effects teleportation induced.
oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo
The darkness was cold, humidity sitting in her lungs when she took that first breath from her new surroundings. There was a strange delay in the formation of the landscape, which took shape into a lush forest. Details peppered in once her eyes adjusted to the lighting, although she didn't see anything beyond a thick forest. She had been on abandoned hiking trails overrun by greenery, but this was enveloped deep in wilderness. Surely he wasn't planning to take her hiking while wearing a formal gown. One wrong step and her heels would spear into a soft patch of mud and the meticulously crafted components of her evening-wear would be for naught.
"How does it look?" He asked distantly, as if he'd just conjured the forest from scratch. Threw it together at the last minute from memory and presented to her the final product for a passing grade.
"Like... no one will ever hear me scream." Nysza sang flatly without a sprinkle of fear.
A chuckle crept up on him before his better judgement could kick in. Tilting his head back as a kind suggestion for her to look again, the demon cast a sidelong glance at her.
Nysza could have sworn that the foliage layout wasn't there before. Ancient ivory hued weeping willows, grabbing for the heavens, mired the woods in a dense fog. Two trees bent into one another, intertwining into an archway that was as foreboding as it was inviting. He was leading her straight under it.
They walked arm in arm through the gateway; beyond lay a carefully tended garden. Here, the moon's full light beamed bright into the center, accenting the stone pathway. Patterns of white and blue laid out the shape of an enormous blooming rose. The carpeted emerald grass and aquamarine shade of the water pool, overlooked by a massive white tree, seemed too fantastical to exist. Tufts of moss clung to the white stone steps leading into the shimmering pond, and Nysza could not take her eyes from it. Thick vines, smeared with a bioluminescent bloom crept up old, broken doric columns; the very same structures in ancient roman history.
There wasn't a single soul around aside from them.
He heard them before he saw them. High-pitched giggles arose from the overgrown vines that wound themselves into a tight nest. Something flitted past them, fluttering her dress. Crowley heard Nysza gasp, but he didn't relent, locking his sights on the ethereal aura of orbs whirling about. A trail of bubbles filled the air, succeeding another child-like giggle. Sharp, raspy whispers echoed around them, coming from each and every direction.
"We know who you are." The voices were disembodied, spoken as if multiple were harmonizing at once. Nysza didn't think a voice, alone, could have the ability to make her feel so inconsequentially small. "Crowley—King of Demons. Purveyor of all things wretched and vile." They announced from an unknown, omniscient origin, beyond what the naked eye could see. "We are aware of your transgressions within the House of Greed." Greed? It bowed to him. His slave to manipulate.
Sometimes a female intonation was stronger out of the voices. Other declarations, the lambent male voice dominated.
"My reputation precedes me." The demon murmured with a hint of pride, prepared to summon one of multiple backup plans.
"And we will not permit you, or your kind, to wreak the very same chaos in our domain." Ephemeral whispers repeated the collective judgement "Demon King who revels in deception at the expense of those around it-" While Nysza subdued a grimace at the litany of accusations, Crowley seemed to take each one as a compliment of the highest praise. "Your cheap tricks hold no sway over us, and will not guarantee your survival through The Rift." One of the several voices giggled while its siblings continued their speech. "Begone."
You didn't keep secrets from The Rift. It knew all, and if it did not know, it would find out. The magic of knowing hung heavily in the air, cloying with the haze of florals, masked by perfume wafting through the garden.
The demon opened his mouth, though another was already speaking, respectful, "Actually, he's my guest." Something moved in her vision and while her skills of observation were passable, it was too fast to register. She caught golden chains, so fine they seemed like thread, dripping from a silken wisp, and then it was gone.
"Who are you?" One of the voices, or perhaps two, cut by her ear as if a hawk dove past her. A lower, wheezy one tittered beneath the question.
"A human." There was no use lying to the Fae. However, revealing too much would only bring punishment. These creatures could rip the voice from her, drain her life for their own, ensure that no trace of her memory lingered in the mortal realm for all time.
"Do you have a name?" No names.
"I have an invitation." The human opened her hand to reveal a single jade bloom, petals curved like talons of a phoenix. Its luminescence in the darkness glowed bright near the stamen. She presented it, supplicantly raising her palm. The delicate whorls became vibrant in the moonbeam caressing it at all the perfect angles.
Amber eyes behind gold powder smeared eyelids flashed for an instant. She looked down at the grass, avoidant of the gaze per deference. Could she look? Was she supposed to? Several more eyes were on her, fighting to scrutinize the human presence. A shiny new bauble.
Crowley could hardly tolerate the incessant laughter. Hiding in a veil of mystery he personally dubbed as cowardice, The Court's close association to witches had to be what irked him. Malevolence in the Seelie Court was not unheard of, though they were more partial to human affiliation than their counterparts.
The flower in her hand vanished and a rush of warm air washed over them. Verdant grasslands melted away like an oil painting. They could hardly tell it was a low hill, for it was dominated by a set of golden stairs, leading to a vast walled palace. "You're all clear." No longer in the company of anyone else but him, Nysza nodded as if she had been engaged in negotiations for hours. They could have held her prisoner for centuries and no one would be the wiser. In the blink of an eye, cocooned in time, the Hosts had extracted what they needed. All of which resulted in their dual entry being granted.
"I had it handled." He remarked, indifferent to her intervention.
"Oh, come on, don't try to tell me this wasn't your plan the whole time. Invite me along to vouch for you, so they're all buttered up—strategically lubricated—by the time you slide right in." She was on a roll until she made an inserting motion with her hand. "Into the auction. To be clear, I mean into the auction. You're not… sliding into anything else." The chiffon of her gown rippled around her until the breeze nipped at her ankles when she traversed the staircase.
"First of all, I guess we'll never find out because you're so eager to jump into the flames." Crowley eyed her out of his peripherals, "Secondly, how did you come across an invitation?" He had to bottle his reactions and cap it tight during the presentation of the jade flower on her behalf. "And last, but not least, I will slide whatever I want into whatever I please."
"Mm, I might have… ssstolen it." Her voice trailed. This wasn't the first time her pickpocketing ability had been used to his advantage. "But I answered all of their questions honestly." They ascended the steps, pausing at the top, "Also mentioned what a valuable asset you are. How you're the life of the party, and will absolutely be doing body shots later this evening." The gradient of her lipstick, concentrated red at the middle, fading out a pink hue to the edges was pursed in amusement.
"Careful what you wish for." A deep, luxurious purr slipped past. "Did they ask you to pass severe judgement on my character? Dissect my corpse in a grand anatomical theater, while they peer down from their private box, clapping or booing every so often?" Of course they did, the judgy little bitches.
"There was a lot of rotten fruit being thrown, yeah." Passing beneath the archway, their steps met with soft carpet lining the long, opulent corridor.
"Ungrateful." He decreed.
"Un-grape-ful."
"Please stop talking."
She laughed instead.
Entering the main ballroom past two pillars interrupted the rhythm of her heartbeat. Nysza was easily impressed to begin with, but once she laid eyes on the multi-tiered chandelier, crystalline—alive—sprawling across the vaulted ceiling in a lotus blossom that filled her entire vision, she nearly fainted. The flurry of crisp white, pristine uniforms drew her attention. Glittering amongst the garish outfits were flashes of gold epaulettes or heavy braids, enormous rank plaques and polished armor-like boots. Formal security was always relieving to have around.
Initially thinking herself to be overdressed, Nysza glimpsed the ensembles adorned by the attendees of the auction. She didn't know when she grabbed the demon's arm in awe, but he was prying her off before her nails ripped clean through to his skin. A guest ferried by, cradling the flute of bubbly drink, which had an unearthly fizzle to it. Her dress was intricately wrapped gold silk, thin black lines of embroidery running across it. A golden crown dipped below just the bridge of her nose, dangling small onyxes above her eyebrow arches.
Another patron, jeweled claws sheathed over every one of his fingers idly mingled with the company around him. Silver powder coated his eyelids, swirling down his cheekbones akin to frost on a glass pane. The entire palace was like a beautiful crystal carved from a titan's hand.
"Are you kidding me?" Catching her admiration toward the patrons, he leaned close, nodding to the slender man swathed in a neat suit, lapels ribbed to match the upward facing cummerbund pleats. "Cultural attaché." He sneered, "Cultural attaché, my ass. Do you have any idea whose horn that little trollop is blowing?" Nothing quite like a pitcher full of gossip to douse the embers of budding veneration. "I'll give you a hint. Starts with an A. Rhymes with Nubis." Casting a punitive glance over the room, another target aligned in his crosshairs, "Don't even get me started on that over-glorified choir boy stepping up to plate right there." There was a hand against his elbow, staying him from spilling every scandal within the shell of the palace walls.
She was neither smiling nor laughing, but the symmetrical dimples indented to both of her pink-dusted cheeks gave her away.
He probably had truckloads of dirt on every guest in the room, including her. "Okay…" She shook her head, putting aside the exquisite looking-glass and how Crowley had just smashed the glamour to bits. "Where's the auction room? Back there?" Attempting to make a beeline for her destination, her advance was halted by a scoff from her "date".
"You've never attended an auction, have you?" Rhetorical. He knew she attended Book Club on Fridays to weep over convoluted storylines.
Nysza gave a shrug of her bare shoulders.
"Then again, you never were very skilled at foreplay." There was a choked sound from his company, "This room is meant for attendees to peruse the lots, see if there's anything they fancy and confirm its authenticity. It's also a chance for opportunity, a bit of posturing and stance, to win The Court's favor, which will help with nudging them up the ranks in society. Corner the right person with the right amount of wine, and the rest is gravy." He was right. Various artifacts were displayed upon pedestals, covered by a shimmering dome ward for protection. The creepy skull they were after, in all its shriveled glory, was amongst the lots. "It's a time to-"
"To brownnose." She put in bluntly, "I understand, I've just never been any good at it." Having her own target in her sights, Nysza plucked two canapés from the tray being carted by, and passed one to the demon.
Motes of iridescent dust drifted through the air, twirling slowly in the beams of moonlight that streamed down from the stained glass over the ballroom.
A thought jabbed at her, "What currency do they use for the auction?" It was a question she should have thought to ask prior to entering the fold, but she wanted to believe he had it handled.
"Nothing you could offer, unless you aren't fond of your teeth." Her hand flew to cover her mouth. "Lunaria is an option. It's a pearlescent disk of flower anatomy that would be most desirable amongst the Faerie folk." The way that he spoke of different currencies led her to surmise that he'd settled on an abundance of one.
"I'm assuming you have a lot of it?" When was it ever safe to assume?
"Not a one."
"Then how did you plan on winning the skull for your mom in this auction?" Nysza polished off the mushroom topped appetizer. And while she was aware Crowley did not eat, she saw him follow suit. The savory juices elicited a soft moan from her, barely audible past the exhale.
"We're going to steal it, obviously." It only took a full minute staredown, where she mostly spent it parrying his mental lunges, for the casual delivery to sink in.
"You're not serious…" She searched his dark eyes, blinking rapidly herself, "Ohhh, ohhh my sweet biscuits—you are serious! I just vouched for you less than ten minutes ago." Hissed the human, "I basically claimed all responsibility for your behavior tonight. And you're going to steal." Way to tarnish her reputation before she even had one.
"That last tidbit sounds a whole lot more like your problem than it is mine." Pinching his fingers lightly over her chin, he saw a frown. "Don't get all preachy on me, you used thievery to get us in here, and now I get the paddle for taking a page out of your playbook?" Nysza was under the distinct impression that he would have liked the paddle. She was right. "You think I'd rope you into a half-baked heist without a few aces up my sleeve?"
"So what's your plan?"
Crowley veered course, tilting her chin up with a push of his finger. "Ask me for a dance." Light music drifted through the ballroom, a few guests already taking to the floor to enjoy its melodies. Beautifully blended robust strings rang a siren's call.
"You… want me to ask you to dance?" Nysza was baffled, as to be expected, but felt a familiar memory spark at the request.
"Like that night, you asked if I'd ever be able to forget." The human took a slow and steady breath. He was referring to when she took advantage of his human-blood spiked veins, struck up an invisible band with a wave of her hand, and led him in an impromptu dance beneath milky twilight. Without a single note of song for accompaniment, he'd held her close and danced. Every detail ingrained into his mind with stunning clarity, steeped in humanity.
"I remember." She had kissed him of her own volition, stealing his cellphone in the haze of emotion. "I know this is payback. You know I hate dancing." All he offered was a lift of his brow, his gaze sharp and steady when she looked to him. "...Dance with me." Replicating the exact random outburst as the first time, she grabbed his hands and tugged him to the center of the fray, weaving past the flurrying yellows and blues. The moon's sparkling light bathed the floor as she stepped around a long dress train. This time was different. More factors and spectators than the two of them beneath a single lamplight. "No dipping me like a chicken nugget. No lifting me above your head. And if you try to spin me too much—too fast—I will throw up on you." Warning him sincerely beneath the orchestra's swell, the human felt him pull away and face her.
"Aren't you a delight?" Sliding his leg back and bending forward in an elegant bow, one arm tucked behind him, rising with a flourish, the demon wanted so badly to make fun of her terms, "Milady."
Crossing a heeled shoe smoothly behind the other, Nysza flared the skirt of her dress with both hands as she pliéd into a deep curtsy. Rising to meet him. "Milord." Hearing the three beat count and sweeping accompaniment characteristic of a viennese waltz, she was almost relieved. In her head, when her imagination took over, she had really only ever seen Crowley being partial to an aggressively tempoed song, such as the tango or rumba. Perhaps she could handle a basic waltz.
A sensation akin to electricity spiking his bloodstream jolted his spine straight when the woman placed her hand along the curve of his shoulder and neck. Each time she idly tapped the rhythm with her fingers sent another tremor rippling through his form. Her deep red dress swept along the floor, the skirt's layers moving like fiery waves atop each other as they began to glide in coordinated unison.
"Everyone is ...staring." All creatures craved attention's sweet center and a ray of the spotlight occasionally. Those who said they didn't were liars, or were full up on their daily recommended dose of validation. But of course, there was a threshold to how much center stage one could take and Nysza was starting to search for hiding spots.
"At you? I sure hope so. That dress is the finest couture I've ever crafted." Sidestepping to stand behind her in a shadow position, he looped an arm around her waist, palm open for her to take. Following the cue, she glanced down to see his open hand, gingerly grabbing it, allowing him to twirl her until she faced him again. "All the rage in Hell." Nysza swept her arm out in a fluid arc before falling in step with him.
"No," Her bare shoulder tingled as he traced two fingers down the angles of her arm, under her wrist to the tips of her fingers. Torn between chiding him for adding too much flair to this choreography and correcting his answer, she settled for a grumble once they began to sway. "Why would anyone be looking at me?" Using the momentum from her footwork, she pressed her hand to his chest and circled him. The predatory gaze lingered on her person until she was out of view. A turn of his head over his other shoulder brought her back in his sights, "You're the King of Hell, you probably win scariest person in the room."
"That title's yours." Seizing her wrist firmly, and guiding it behind his neck, the demon moved his opposite hand to her upper back.
Nysza stiffened, "Mine? Hey! I said no dipping—!" The universal signal of his hand positioning, having strategically let her arm rest atop his, and slow tilt could only mean a dip.
"You specified not being treated like a food item." A chicken nugget, actually. "Never said anything about a paintbrush on a canvas." So he was changing up her words so the action would be permissible. Exploiting whatever loophole-riddled technicality that tried to deny him was a specialty and she would be remiss to forget it.
Dipping was dipping, but nevertheless, she flexed her foot and tilted her head back into the support, the russet ringlets of her hair cascading at gravity's desire. A slight arch to her spine gave an artistic form to her posture. The face hovering over hers was wrought with an emotion she couldn't quite place. How did he reason that she was the scariest person in the room?
When the ballroom's sweeping arches were flipped right side up, "How can that title be mine if you never even listen to me?" She joked, "I should win least likely to be a threat" Her neighbor's tiny, angry dog wasn't even scared of her. "There's no permanent damage I could do to anyone."
"And that's where you're wrong, love." He said with a wry smile. The power she had was infinite, "Because I'm terrified of you." Forget about holding all the cards, he was essentially tossing all the cards at her.
"That's r—AH! I said no lifting!" Her stomach flipped. It wasn't an advanced lift by any definition; just a simple departure from the ground and half pivot, before setting her back down. Heels lightly tapping the marble after stabilizing herself on the balls of her feet, Nysza held tighter, which, she realized, might have been his intention all along.
"Terms were that I didn't lift you above my head."
"Okay, okay, i'll be more specific next time." His gaze trained on her and she held it unflinchingly.
"Oh? So there's a next time?" A rabbit snared in a trap. The piano's slowing, dulcet tones ended the song, each note striking harmonics in the chord scales of her heart. Neither of them moved from the floor. Her hand sank from his shoulder to the front of his chest.
"Crowley…" She ran her fingers over the red thread lacework of his tie, a tactile distraction from her own question. "How long have you been possessing me?"
"Possessing you? I'd say you've been mine for quite some time."
"That's not what I asked." Nysza circumvented his jape, reiterating her point. She followed the turn of his head with a tilt of her own.
"I've no idea what you mean." Trying to turn the tables on her might have worked if he hadn't allowed the silence to stretch before giving his answer. "Lest we forget, there's still a job to be done."
"That's how it works, right?" Touching the soft curls of her brown hair, she watched him shrug off the question with a puzzled look. "When you possess someone, you give them a kind of illusion world to keep them from noticing and taking back control." Although, from what she'd been told, people under possession were trapped in a little room in their minds while the new tenant ran amuck. This was… elaborate.
"You're confused, love. Must have been the chocolate fountain." He stepped closer the same time she did. Instead of relenting as she normally would, Nysza closed the gap and traced her fingers lightly down the contour of his cheekbone, painted nails scratching against his facial hair.
"Are you even you? Or did I make you up too?" She guessed Crowley—the real one—would have been flattered that her subconscious included him as a reoccurring character. Swallowing with an audible click in her throat, the human laughed sadly and pulled away. "You're not him, are you?" All that time she spent relishing in the happiness an ideal world could provide, everything was fake—fabricated. "You're not even my Crowley."
"I am!" A light rumble vibrated the walls, jarring the foundation he had so carefully built, further proving her point. "It's me." Catching her hand before she took it away, he squeezed so tightly, her joints creaked. "I swear." Everything froze.
There was no more music. No loud conversations, chorus of laughter, din of debates conspiring within the illusion.
"How long?" She asked again. The ballroom patrons crystallized, encased in glacier, all at once, cracking and dispersing in a flurry of glowing fragments. They drifted like fireflies to the moonlit floor. Emanating a bright, intermittent light, a few pieces settled on her curled hair and dress. Dust in an old ballroom.
Crowley stiffened, letting her go and turning away to face the stained glass window to the north. "A week or two. Since you woke up in my chambers." This explained the gaps in her memory. Waking up in another person's bed. Breathing on the moon. Surviving an encounter with the Fae, unscathed. Executing ballroom dances when half of her limbs didn't function. Not a single ounce of pain.
"You don't have a bed!" She pressed her fingers to her forehead, dismayed with herself. The light dimmed further, candles snuffing out, splendor dulling, until only the moon bore witness. "You don't sleep! We weren't actually on the moon. Dancing? I can barely walk." It was borderline embarrassing how she didn't line up the pieces earlier, "Why? I'm not angry with you or anything. Are you using my human suit for something?" To adopt an inconspicuous form or march into an area undetected, her appearance would have been ideal. She rolled her eyes at his methods. But he didn't reply or give a suggestive use for the body he was puppeting.
The demon and human stood in a vast, empty room.
"You haven't woken up. I can hardly possess your body traditionally." No matter how hard he tried, she did not puppet to his whims, literally. He couldn't even wiggle her fingers from the control center inside her head. "I can't even manipulate your vessel to move." Physically, she was sleeping, stone-still atop a hospital bed her parents had admitted her to. Entirely unresponsive to his commands. She had been asleep this whole time. Vegetative from how he described it.
"So you've just been stuck in here with me?" In truth, he was hoping to find a workaround from the inside—a switch that would fix everything. "You have to leave." Only those being possessed by Angels could have permissions revoked, but Nysza was counting on merit alone.
"Leave?" This time he did turn, eyes veiled crimson with visceral rage. "If I leave, you won't survive! What do you think I've been doing in here—knitting a bloody quilt?" His voice reverberated throughout the chamber, swirling through the air and surrounding her from all angles, echoing within her skull. "I am the last thing standing between you and oblivion!" Grasping at invisible threads that kept her whole existence intact, "You have no idea the things I've done—everything I've done for you!" She was watching him with that same look—he loathed it. The urge to remove it flooded his system. The tightening of his jaw and sharp, stuttering inhale through his nose steeled him once more. "You're free to beg, scream, and fight me, for all I care." Composure regained, he intoned coldly. "Bare whatever's left of your soul. Fall to your knees—crawl—plead with the last vestiges of your breath." Crowley's indifference was replaced by a sneer, revealing a flash of his sharp canines. Once he had gotten his point across, "I won't be leaving." The demon didn't inhabit a vessel with colossal stature by any means, but he currently towered over her, looming so greatly it cast a heavy shadow over her face.
And then he did something that Nysza had never really seen him do before. He faced away and simply sat on the floor, collapsing as if exhausted from a task carried out for an eternity, breaching the end of his sanity. Propping one arm up on a bent knee, he straightened his other leg. His eyes pressed into his hand until his vision blotted, fingers digging into the ridges of his brow.
A weight pressed against the plane of his back, leaning against him until he bent forward slightly. Her arms wrapped loosely around his neck and the soft brush of lips behind his ear informed the demon that she was still here.
The knell of her voice—a bare whisper—was a disarming melody. "You're just going to live in my head forever?" Patching leaks here and there so the ship didn't plummet to the depths? Nysza wished she could say she bravely demanded the demon relinquish the possession immediately. She wished she could say she instantly did the right thing, fighting him tooth and nail to expel him from the confines of her mind. In truth, the girl had never been happier to keep him all to herself. Selfish, selfish girl. "Your kingdom?" Could he stand another demon sitting on the seat of power? "Your enemies? How long will it take for them to find my body and stab it with a demon knife because you're being careless?" Possessing a vessel that couldn't even open their eyes was a great way to die where you slept.
The solution was easy enough. He'd relocate her body just like old times. To the moon if he had to.
Crowley didn't answer.
"I won't be there, but that's okay, you have to know won't be alone, and that I believe in you." The demon didn't acknowledge her or spare a glance, but could actively feel her tears on his neck. A wave of his pain rose and broke against her. "You have to go." She said again, weakly, breath hitching on a sob.
"And who's going to make me?" Padding his query with endlessly supplied condescension, "You?" He spat. The demon closed his eyes in exasperated, silent imploration to shield an onslaught of sentiment. Walls within him rose, cementing her insignificance in the grand scheme of things and blocking out the rest.
"Yes." To say he was insulted was an understatement.
"You think you're special? You think you can challenge me?" He hadn't moved, but Nysza could feel him quiver with resentment. "Wrong. Let me dispel any delusions of grandeur you have. It takes immense willpower to expel a demon—bottom feeders, at the very least—or a proper exorcism from the outside, and last I checked, you're lacking in both." The warmth on his back melted away and he was now standing behind her, watching her fall to the floor without his support. She made no motion to get up, palms pressed flat, dress piled in a ring of fire under her.
"You miscalculated..." Her fingers curl over her own heartbeat instead.
A bark of derisive laughter escaped him, "I miscalculated?" Something cold froze his arrogance and wrenched, piercing into his hold and unraveling it with one pull. He recognized the sensation. He was being cast out. The force was unprecedented. His only warning was a sharp, hot ozone smell burning his throat. A bolt of striking white lightning broke the world in half as it dropped down and struck Crowley where he stood, paralyzing him.
Impossible.
The universe muted. All sound ripped from the air. No rush of wind. No yelling. No breathing.
Nysza straightened, but didn't stand. Finally, she looked at the immobilized demon, his features twitching helplessly. "I love you more than I fear my fate."
And then there was a faint pulse that depressed the ground around her, flashing out of the human in an invisible wave. The very composition of reality warped as the wave washed over it, deconstructing anything it touched.
His claws, rooted deep into her vessel, lost their vice grip when it crashed into him. The rug yanked out from under his feet. For a moment he thought he would be torn asunder, but the force threw him back like a ragdoll. Everything fell away, including her.
"No! NO! NYSZA!" He remembered screaming. He remembered reaching for her past a thorned wreath of anguish. He remembered his form dissipating into a frantic, tempestuous plume of crimson smoke. He remembered being expelled from her vessel in the worst way possible.
Most of all, he remembered, as his form billowed around the hospital room—swirling around her comatose form, denied reentry—the cruelest thing anyone had ever said to him.
You know when a character you see for ten minutes TOTAL in a season gets almost a whole episode, then it officially becomes Danger Time For That Character. This would have been the episode.