Supernatural Omens

by CrowleyLives

Sam and Dean cross paths with a powerful supernatural entity that, prophecy has it, will either save the world or destroy it. What could possibly go wrong? Eventual Dean/OFC and Crowley/OFC. TW: Rape/attempted rape, attempted suicide. Also everybody swears, a lot. Non-canon compliant. Eventual smut.

19. Chapter 19: Aotearoa

It felt like she was moving backwards very fast. There was a rush of air and the scenery changed: Her eyes were just starting to focus on what looked like a home library when they blurred again, and she was falling, very slowly, without hitting the ground.

Marian woke up and had a brief moment of hope, wondering if the whole thing had been a nightmare. But she could still smell traces of sulfur, and she wasn't in a place she recognized, and her head was pounding like she'd been hit with a mallet. She was in a normal-looking bedroom, not so different from the one she had back home, only this one had a distinct lack of weapons and warding. Other than that, it bore a striking resemblance to her room—there was the same blanket she had, in fact, and the things on the dresser looked…Familiar…Hold on, was that her stuff?

She sat up slowly, holding one hand up to her head to combat the throbbing. Fuck. She'd just sold herself to a demon in exchange for the lives of 6000 people (some of which were more important to her than others, but they were all important). And he wanted to use her to create the Abomination, the thing that would help Lucifer destroy his father's Creation. That meant a lot of non-consensual demon sex, and she wasn't even allowed to fight back. But it wouldn't work: the witch who'd written the 'prophecy' had been very specific. Not that demons would listen to the fine print—if any of them had actually read the thing, which she doubted they had, they'd probably gloss over the details. 'Have sex with angel, produce weapon,' that's what they'd get from it. Bastards—they were just as bad as angels sometimes.

Oh crap; she was in a bed. Was Crowley going to come back and have sex with her right here, right now, or now-ish? She panicked; she needed to run. You can't run, she reminded herself, which only made her panic more. You're trapped, you have to do as he says, and there's no one on Heaven or Earth that can help you now.

Marian dealt with this realization by bursting into tears.

It was the bursting of the dam she'd built up hours ago in an attempt to protect her friends. Every tear she'd forced back at her parents' house was freed in the kind of soul-wracking sobs normally reserved for the sudden death of a very close family or friend. And in a way, that was the case for her: All of her family and friends were dead to her, though of course they were really alive and free, and would remain that way at least as far as Crowley was concerned. She cried so hard she pulled a muscle in her ribs and ruptured a blood vessel in her eye, but she couldn't stop. She was caught in an endless loop of self-pity and anxiety.

The loop was broken by the sudden appearance of Crowley. Startled, Marian sucked in her breath, choked on it, and launched into a coughing fit. The demon waited for her to catch her breath before he spoke, leaning casually against the dresser with his hands in his pockets.

"I'd forgotten how annoyingly emotional humans could be," he said, then shrugged. "Still, it's better than those feathered rats that think they're God's gift to the universe."

Had this been any other day, Marian would have said that angels are God's gift to the universe, even if she couldn't stand them herself. But she felt that arguing any point with Crowley now was unwise and potentially dangerous.

"Not many angels would've done what you did today," he continued. He looked immensely pleased with himself, enjoying having complete control over her even if he wasn't doing anything to her. "They're all self-serving bastards. Don't even care about humans now that Daddy's gone. Given the choice, I'd bet 99 out of 100 would've let everyone die."

He was right, of course; she only knew of one other angel that would have sacrificed himself for his comrades or six thousand humans, and Heaven had a nasty habit of drilling into his head every time he got too noble like that.

Crowley's smug smile faded and he cocked his head to the side. "Something wrong with your head?"

Realizing she'd have to speak, Marian swallowed the lump in her throat. "Just a headache."

"You get them often?"

She shook her head. He sauntered over to her, sitting down on the side of the bed closest to her. Marian tensed and started to scoot away from him.

Her movement backwards was halted suddenly, and she could feel the tingle of the demonic force that stopped her. Crowley motioned for her to come toward him and his power dragged her forward until she was within his reach.

"Stay," he commanded, reaching out to touch her forehead.

She flinched and hissed when she felt the burn of demonic energy trickle into her head.

"Hmm," said Crowley. He withdrew his hand and the feeling disappeared, along with her headache. "The bit of you that's angel is having a much stronger reaction to demonic energy than I'd thought it would. How's your head now?"

"Um. Better." She looked down at her hands, anything not to look directly at him. And, because she felt it was expected of her, she mumbled a soft "Thank you."

She felt his hand on her head again, like he was going to smooth her hair back, and pulled away reflexively. Suddenly he was gripping her hair in his fist and yanking her head back, forcing her to look at him.

"Don't," he growled. He released his grip and ran his hand through her hair again, and this time she held still, though she was shaking. Crowley smirked. "Your fear is flattering, but honestly you're lucky I found you first. I'm much more…Level-headed than most of my cohorts." He leaned closer, his hand on the back of her neck. "And as much as I love watching an ex-angel cower before me, I think we need to get something out in the open…"

The air burned around her and before she could even panic about it, she found herself flat on her back, naked, the demon on top of her. Her wrists were pinned over her head, stinging as he held them in place with his power alone. He had one hand lightly squeezing her throat, not enough to cut her airway off but just enough to remind her that he could.

Crowley spoke in a low growl, lips practically brushing her ear. "Normally, I wouldn't hesitate to make you my 'sex slave,' as your friends so eloquently said. I would rape you again and again and again, just because I could, because I own you." He ground his hips against her, once, for emphasis. "But I need a Nephilim, and fucking you alone isn't going to get me one, is it?" He pulled his head back to make eye contact with her.

Marian had no choice but to look back at him. She'd never felt this vulnerable in her entire life—never as a human, and certainly never as an angel. She was hoping her brain would dissociate, but she was painfully aware of everything: The cool blanket under her back, the overly warm and slightly scratchy fabric of Crowley's suit pressed against her front, the smell of sulfur and cologne, the sting of demonic energy, the heat from his breath, the pressure on her throat. Maybe if she held her breath long enough, she could get herself to pass out. The one thing she couldn't register was what he was saying to her: He was obviously going to rape her, why did he always insist on playing with his food first?

"Hell said not to worry about the footnotes. Do you believe that? They obviously don't have experience with witches. I do. Always read the footnotes. They can mean the difference between setting your enemy on fire and setting yourself on fire." He pushed himself upright, releasing his grip on her neck, so that he was kneeling between her legs and leering down at her. She turned her head to the side, looking away. She didn't need to watch him rake his eyes over her like a lion eyeing a baby zebra.

He hummed agreeably, then snapped his fingers. Marian felt the tingle of power around her, then looked up at him in surprise: She was back in her clothes.

Still looking pleased, Crowley moved to her side and laid down, propping himself up on an elbow. His free hand drifted lightly across her stomach and curled around her waist, pulling her against him. Her hands were still pinned above her head, and the rest of her was frozen in fear; all she could do was shiver.

"I've never had a challenge like you before, angel. You're the first problem that can't be solved solely through torture and smooth talking, though I'm sure I'll still get use out of them. I won't rape you, though; I just wanted you to see how easily I could." Her brow furrowed in confusion, and he smirked back at her. "I want you to like me, Marian. You will love me. It may take one year or twenty, but I've got time. When I do fuck you," he purred, lips gently pressing into her jawline, "It'll be because you begged me for it."

She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to punch his smug demon face. She wanted to yell, I will rot in Hell for a thousand years before I beg you for sex. You might as well go ahead and rape me, because I will never love a demon. You've killed people I cared about, tried to kill me, and the only reason I'm here is because you threatened to kill everyone. And while I can't stop you from doing what you want to me, I will never like it.

Instead, she snarled and turned her head away from him.

Crowley chuckled. "I like your spirit, kid."

Marian felt the bonds on her wrists release, and brought her arms down to rub the stinging sensation away.

Crowley grabbed one of her wrists and pulled it closer to him, inspecting it. His playful demeanor was gone, and he was all business. "They hurt?"

"Stings," Marian said quietly, whimpering when he moved the joint too far in one direction.

"Hmm." He released her arm. "That reminds me, you have a tear in your obliques behind your rib cage."

Marian whimpered again and started to wriggle away when it looked like he was going to grab her breast; she stilled when Crowley shot her a warning look, and he placed his hand gently over her ribs. She still jerked involuntarily when his power burnt into her, but when he removed his hand she was healed.

"Shh," he said softly, smoothing her hair back. "Better?"

She nodded.

"Good." He kissed her temple, then sat up. "Ready for a tour?"

Marian felt too light-headed to get up, but didn't think saying 'no' was an option. "Tour?"

Crowley was already on his feet. "Of the house. You can think of it as your prison, if that helps? Or not." He shrugged.

She sat up slowly, blinking away light and dark spots. She must have been hyperventilating.

"So this is your room, obviously," the demon went on. "Managed to get most of your things in, but if there's anything you need just let me know."

Marian tried to get her head to stop spinning as she focused on the objects around her. "My things?" Yes, they were definitely hers: Her books, her clothes, the teddy bear she'd had since she was born… "Our house is warded."

"Ah, yes. Against angels and demons. Very good, very professional. But I employ a number of people—you'd call them monsters—who aren't of the angelic or demonic persuasion…"

"You mean like…You had a vampire sneak into my house?"

Crowley spread his hands wide. "Equal opportunity, that's me."

"Oh." Somehow, she'd never considered that monsters could help each other. The ones she met tended to be every-man-for-himself types.

"There's a bathroom attached, of course," he continued. "Things have really come a long way since I was alive. I'm still constantly surprised by human ingenuity. A flask disguised as a tampon is, quite frankly, genius, but to fill it with holy water? Most demons wouldn't even think to check."

Marian's face flushed bright red. A vampire and a demon had sifted through her period stuff searching for contraband? She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood cautiously, leaning back against the mattress when her knees went wobbly. Crowley noticed and offered his arm to her, like a gentleman, doing a real 180 from just moments ago. Crowley being friendly was just as frightening as Crowley being mean, because she had no idea what he would do. But she knew she didn't have a choice, so she took his arm, and he easily supported her weight. The room spun, and the air around her stung.

She lost her balance as they reappeared, and she fell back against the demon. He caught her in his arms, supernatural strength locking her in place, and she started to panic again.

"You really don't do well with that, do you," he said, gently nudging her upright. He stood behind her, hands on her waist to support her weight. He snapped his fingers and the lights flicked on, illuminating the kitchen. "I assume you have to eat like a normal human?" She nodded, so he went on: "There's not much in here that you'd find edible at the moment. There's mostly…Parts. For spells." He gestured and the fridge opened, showcasing a variety of what were, indeed, parts. Hearts, livers, half-cleaned skulls, jars of fluid, and other mystery substances were stacked in labeled Tupperware. Marian was used to finding the occasional organ or jar of blood in the fridge, but this was a bit much. The most disturbing part was that many of the bits looked suspiciously human.

"Anyway," he said, and the fridge shut itself, "There are a few things in the cupboards that you should find agreeable. Just write a list and leave it on the fridge, and I'll get you whatever you want. Ah…And you might want to clean out the oven before using it."

Before she had a chance to ask about the oven, he'd shifted her so that she was holding his arm again, and they were off to the next room. On foot, thankfully.

"Front door—do not go outside. You'll be safe as long as you stay inside, but I can't make that guarantee if you leave. You'll be visible to other demons and supernatural entities, and now that everything knows what you are, you're going to be very popular. They won't be as friendly as me if they catch you. Do you understand?"

Marian nodded. As far as she could tell from the windows, they were surrounded by woods. If anything caught her out there, she wouldn't stand a chance.

"Living room…Never had much use for it," he said, walking into a completely empty room. They carried on. "Sort of an office in here." They walked into the home library she'd seen briefly earlier. There was a large wooden desk overflowing with scrolls and papers. "I try to get my paperwork taken care of up here if I can. I spend enough time in Hell as it is."

"Are these…All yours?"

"No. They're the recent deals from all the crossroads demons. I review them, make sure everything's in order. Every now and then there'll be an issue—two demons making a deal with the same soul, trying to steal a contract, or working a conflict of interest—make a deal for someone's cheating wife to die, but before they kill them make a deal with the wife to have the husband die, for example. They think they can collect on both souls then, but the second contract negates the first, and it's…" He waved a hand in the air. "Complicated."

Marian looked around the room, taking in rows of filing cabinets and books with Latin and even Enochian titles. Was her contract here somewhere?

"If something happened to the paperwork, would that affect the actual deal?"

Crowley glanced down at her in surprise, then smiled. "You mean, would your contract disappear if you set the paper on fire?" Marian blanched and he chuckled. "No. The paper's just an easy way to track what everyone's doing. Otherwise I'd have to visit each individual soul to verify their deal, and even Hell doesn't have time to waste doing that."

The tour continued down in the basement, which had the usual devices homeowners should worry about like a furnace and circuit breakers. Things Marian might need to use when Crowley was away, and that would be quite a bit since he still had more than a full-time job managing crossroads deals. What was unusual about this basement was the rest of it.

It was a torture room. There was no other way to describe it. The cement floor was stained black with dried blood. There was a table that could have held Frankenstein's monster, with straps to hold down a person's neck, chest, arms, and legs. It was also stained. And there were shelves and hooks along the wall, full of various pointy things, many of which Marian had seen before and some that were new to her. One or two items, she was fairly certain, had been stolen from Heaven, which was just as big on torturing its enemies as Hell but less creative.

There was a rat underneath the table, chewing on a human finger.

"Don't mind the rats, they keep the place clean," Crowley said when he noticed her staring at it. "Anyway, you shouldn't have to come down here unless something goes wrong with the power." He raised an eyebrow suggestively. "Unless you're into that sort of thing."

She shook her head, one eye still on the rat. How fresh was the finger? And where was the rest of the body?

Crowley brought her back to her room. There was nothing else of interest upstairs, just a few empty bedrooms. Crowley had no use for a bedroom himself: he didn't have to sleep (he could if he wanted to, but that just made him vulnerable to other demons), and he never brought anyone, demon or human, back to his safehouses for sex. It just wasn't worth the risks.

"I have a few little errands to attend to," he told her, sitting her back down on her bed. "I should only be gone for a few hours, but you never know with Hell." He pulled an old coin from his pocket. There was a small hole punched in one end, and a thin leather cord was strung through it. "Are you familiar with this?"

She turned the coin over in her hand. "It's one of those coins that lets you spy on people, isn't it?"

"It can be used for that, yes. I have the other one here," he said, producing another. It looked the same, but without the hole. "It's like a little microphone; I can hear whatever you say when you have it. But you can use it like a telephone too: If you want to get my attention, tap it three times and it will make a little chiming sound. Otherwise, I'll likely just ignore it as background noise. Contact me if anything tries to get into the house. If a demon does get inside, there's a devil's trap in the spare room down the hall to the left."

Marian slipped the cord around her neck, nodding her understanding.

"Be a good little angel while I'm gone," Crowley purred, half mocking and half deadly serious. He grabbed the back of her neck before she could back away from him and kissed the top of her head, then vanished.

So this is your life now, Marian sighed, inspecting her new room. Instead of being bossed around by dozens of angels, she had to answer to one demon. At least with the angels, it wasn't personal. And it certainly was never sexual. This was entirely too personal and sexual and every other -al she didn't want to think about. But her friends and family were alive, along with six thousand other people, and no one else would be threatened because of her. So it was worth it.

It was worth it, right?

She turned on the TV that had been so graciously transferred from her old home, and was surprised to discover that Crowley got cable. Maybe he liked keeping tabs on all the celebrities he had deals with? There were probably a lot of sports stars that hadn't gotten to the top on their own, and she knew for a fact that several high-profile musicians and actors had visited a crossroads in the past. A lot of musicians did have drug and alcohol problems, for sure, but their "overdoses" were often coverups for a hellhound collecting on a deal. Marian flipped through the channels, finding nothing of interest, and left it tuned to Scooby Doo cartoons just to have something familiar in the background.

Her books had been arranged in the same order she'd left them, though she could tell from the way the pages were fluffed out that they'd been rifled through. All of the crosses were missing from her Bible collection, and the hollowed-out fake book entitled "Priests of Passion" was missing the fingerbone of a saint. Her hunter's journal was intact, as far as she could tell, though it seemed pointless to keep writing in it now. What was she going to say? 'Made deal with Crowley, now he owns me. Do not recommend.'

In addition to her reference collection, she had a few fiction books as well. The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings were her favorites (she'd tried to read The Silmarilian once and decided human life was too short to deal with that), as was every book written by Terry Pratchett. She pulled out The Hobbit and tossed it onto her bed; if she couldn't eat comfort food, she could at least comfort-read.

She opened her dresser drawers, and the first thing she noted was that all of the weapons she normally stowed under her shirts and socks were missing. She'd expected as much. All of her underwear was present and accounted for, which was a bit mortifying when she thought about a vampire and a demon pawing through it. There was the period-stain underwear, because bodily functions didn't always operate on schedule; the 'normal' underwear; and the 'sexy' underwear, which consisted of two thongs she'd bought back when she'd first become sexually active. She'd found the thongs uncomfortable and impractical for hunting, and hadn't worn them in years, but here they were anyway, folded neater than she'd ever done and tucked into her drawer like a couple of pervy supernatural beings hadn't just checked them out.

The bathroom was nice—no mold, which was a step up from the place she and her hunter friends had. There was no lock on the door, which was a bit unsettling until she remembered that Crowley could just port inside if he wanted to, so there was no such thing as privacy anymore, at all. Great. Well, since he was going to be out for a while, and she was covered in dried dirt and blood from her previous fight, she might as well take a shower.

The shower was nice: Tile walls, with a rain-type shower head. There was a separate whirlpool bathtub that looked big enough for two people. Please don't let it be for two people, Marian thought, and suddenly the bathroom didn't seem nearly as nice as it had before. Crowley might have said he wasn't going to have sex with her right now, but the implication was clear that he could, plus there were a hell of a lot of other things that could be done to a person that weren't, strictly speaking, sex, and demons took pride in knowing all of them.

With her mind now lodged firmly on how Crowley was going to make her life a literal Hell, she cried through her shower and cried her way back to bed. She didn't have the mental capacity left to read, so she hugged her book to her chest like it was a stuffed animal and tried to focus on what Scooby and the gang were up to. She was weeping openly until she remembered the spy-coin, and even though he had everything from her now she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was so upset. She tried to cry quietly, eventually becoming so exhausted that she fell asleep.

Marian woke, aware of movement nearby. Disoriented, she reached under her pillow for her gun, but it wasn't there. Something grabbed her shoulder and she twisted around, grabbing the only solid thing she could find to hit the intruder with, which happened to be a small book.

"You've got a hunter's reflexes, I'll give you that," Crowley said, grabbing her arm before she could hit him and plucking the book out of her hand. "But you're better off sleeping with a dictionary if that's going to be your weapon of choice."

Crowley. Right. She was not in Kansas anymore, Toto. She froze, wondering if he'd be mad that she tried to hit him, but he released her arm and patted her on the head like she was a dog that had done something stupid yet endearing. He set The Hobbit down on a nightstand and turned off the TV with a flick of his wrist.

Marian tried to see out the window: Was it still dark, or was the curtain just closed? How long had she been asleep?

"I've only been gone about…three hours, your time," Crowley said, picking up her train of thought. "I thought it might be hard on you, first night away from your little hunter friends and all that, so I didn't want you to be alone." A predatory smile spread across his face and there was a red glint in his eye as he slid into the bed next to her.

Marian scooted back, but it was a full-size bed and she didn't get very far before her back hit the wall. Crowley laid down on his side, propped up on an elbow.

"Am I really that frightening? Come here, angel." He motioned for her to come closer. "No forking tonight, just spooning. I promise."

That was…An interesting way of putting things. She scooted forward nervously, like he'd reach out and bite her if she got too close. The look in his eye said I'm amused by this now, but the instant you stop playing along there will be a problem, so she swallowed her pride along with a lump in her throat and closed the rest of the distance between them, laying down with her back to him. She fought down the urge to struggle away from him when he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him.

His hand strayed down to her hip, then up her side, and it took every ounce of will she had left not to elbow him in the gut and smack his evil demon face, but that will shattered when he grabbed her breast. She snarled like a werewolf, elbowing him as she twisted to face him, swatting his hand away as she moved, and drawing a fist back to strike.

"I wouldn't, if I were you," Crowley said calmly.

Her snarling disposition dissolved as she looked up at his face and saw the demon inside. She'd seen demons as an angel, and they were no more disturbing than finding gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe, but as a human—as a helpless human with no weapons that had to do as the demon said—demons were terrifying. She lowered her arm and turned away from him again, her back against his chest.

"Good girl," Crowley purred, gently squeezing one breast, then the other. Marian bit her lip so hard she drew blood and dug her nails into her palms. Crowley kissed the side of her neck and murmured into her ear: "Never forget that I own you, angel. All of you."

Marian nodded miserably and buried her face in her pillow. Screw six thousand people; she should have let them die.

Crowley stopped molesting her, moving his hand up to smooth her hair back. "Sorry, love. Torturing you is just too much fun." He was quiet for a moment, watching her curl into herself as he petted the top of her head. "Are you rethinking our deal already?"

Could he read her mind? Or did he just know he'd pushed her well beyond her comfort zone? She wasn't going to respond, but then she realized he would just harass her until she gave him an answer anyway, so she nodded.

He chuckled. "That didn't take long. I suppose I should back off, then, if I don't want to lose you."

He snapped his fingers and Marian's radio/cassette player turned on, quietly playing her favorite tape: An acapella group called The Diners that one of her hunter friends was in. She normally found the songs soothing, but now there was something bittersweet about them, knowing she'd never see any of those people again.

She tensed as Crowley wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her tighter against him. She felt him shift slightly, lowering his head onto the pillows. He relaxed his hold on her, but she had a feeling he would tighten his arm like a vice if she tried to move away.

"Sleep, angel."

Marian felt the slight sting of demonic power surround her, but it wasn't as bad this time. It even felt…Kind of relaxing. All of her nerves and anxiety began to melt away. Slowly, the tension in her muscles released and she drifted off to sleep.

When she woke in the morning, Crowley was gone. She didn't know if he was actually gone, off buying souls, or just lurking around the place, invisible. What if she took all her clothes off to change and he suddenly appeared right in front of her? It seemed like the kind of thing he'd do. On the other hand, she couldn't wear the same clothes forever, and he'd already demonstrated he could just make her clothes disappear if he wanted to. She opted to change as fast as humanly possible, like there was a hellhound on the other side of her door and it was gnawing its way through.

Adrenaline spiked already, she ventured downstairs, bringing The Hobbit with her as a security blanket. Bilbo snuck into a dragon's den, I can handle one demon, she told herself. He was caught by trolls, fought giant spiders, and sort of cheated Gollum at riddles, so…I can handle unwanted sexual advances that I'm not allowed to protest. Right. No big deal.

Crowley was in his office, looking bored as he read over a long scroll. There was a bowl of blood on his desk that he seemed to be arguing with as well.

"You left the wording open-ended, so just handle it and learn for the next one. Maybe you'll get lucky and he'll fall off the stage and break his neck before his time's up." He paused, listening. "No. We don't do that sort of thing. Even Hell has to have some integrity." He glanced up and saw Marian in the doorway. "I have to go. Look—help yourself out. Boost his intelligence and he may be able to stay afloat on his own." Pause. "You said you'd make him a rich and famous musician, it doesn't matter how. There's nothing in his contract about staying as dumb as a pile of bricks, so you might as well change it. I'm disconnecting." He waved a hand over the blood and set the scroll down, smiling up at Marian.

"I'm sorry, if you're working I can—"

Crowley stood up, crossing in front of his desk. "Work is dreadful. I'd much rather have your company." He motioned for her to come closer; she hesitated, and the mischievous glint in his eyes turned threatening; she stepped forward, her posture low and hunched.

"I do have to leave you again. I probably won't be back until late tonight; it's always a long day in the office when you work for Hell. Anyway," he said, putting his arm around her shoulders and steering her around to one side of the desk, "I have a job for you. It's not the most interesting thing in the world, but it's something you know how to do, and it should keep you busy for a while." He motioned to a stack of newspapers. "I want you to hunt. These papers are from all over the world; if you don't know a language, I can…Get you to know it. I don't need to know about every ghost haunting every small town in the Midwest, but I like to keep tabs on the big boys: Large groups of vampires, packs of werewolves, that sort of thing. And of course I like to know what other demons are up to. Someone's always looking to take my job or cheat the system. Keep your friends close and your enemies…Blah, blah, blah." He cocked his head. "Well, if I had friends…Anyway. You don't have to work all day. It's just a little project so you don't go insane all by yourself."

Crowley left to attend to business, and Marian was on her own again. Braving the fridge of mystery bits, she found some packaged bacon and a carton of eggs that clearly came from a chicken. There was a loaf of bread on the counter, and a jar of raspberry jam in the cabinet, so she was able to make herself a decent and perfectly normal breakfast. She even found a kettle and what she hoped to God was black tea (it was). She sat down with a stack of papers, pen, and scissors, and went to work.

It felt good to be doing what she normally did. Granted, she wouldn't be able to run out and hunt things, but she could at least keep an eye on what was out there and what it was doing. And it was kind of cool seeing papers from all over the world: Big American cities like New York, Los Angeles, and Boston; major international hubs like Paris, London, Sydney, and Tokyo; then there was news from small towns in Russia, Brazil, and India, places she'd never heard of but were evidently infested with supernatural beings judging from the headlines. One Indian town was at its wits end with the paranormal: "Council votes to hire Christian leaders to eradicate nuisance spirits after traditional means fail."

She found a few items that looked demonic, and there were 33 suspicious deaths in Manilla, Philippines, involving partial decapitation and missing spines (the victims were basically spatchcocked like turkeys) that had to be the work of some supernatural being she hadn't encountered yet.

Marian was half-asleep, curled up in bed and several chapters into The Hobbit when Crowley returned around 10 pm. She jolted awake when he slid into bed next to her, tensing immediately.

"Thanks to the utter incompetence of my compatriots, I got to kill a bloody angel today," he growled, setting her book aside. "I hope it wasn't a friend of yours."

Crowley lay down on his side, but something seemed off: His breathing was labored, and his jaw was clenched. He smelled…Coppery, like dried blood.

"What happened?"

"An utterly brainless demon tried to make a deal with a priest. I've done it before; it's a bit of a rush, I suppose. So many of them are corrupt, or pedophiles—anyway, this demon chose the wrong priest. Not one of the corrupt ones. The man prayed about it, an angel heard him, and they set a trap. What the priest didn't know was that this utter pillock was so damn proud of himself for bagging a priest, he bragged about his upcoming deal to a bunch of other demons, who all showed up to watch—some because they thought he'd fail, and some because they thought he wouldn't. And idiot that I am, thought I should be nearby, because this guy was either going to be competition or a liability and I like to keep track of both. Now, the priest couldn't see the other demons, but the angel sure as hell could. He took out all the other demons, which was a favor really, but I can't stand for angels taking out our own. I got him, and the priest, but not before he took a chunk out of me." He gestured to a wet spot on his black shirt, which Marian now realized was blood. The shirt had a tear right across his chest, revealing a gash about eight inches long.

"Can't you heal it?"

He shook his head. "Angel blade. If it had cut any deeper, it could've killed me." Then he shrugged, like it was no big deal.

And then she had to ask. "Do—do you know who the angel was?"

"The priest called him Tambriel." He cocked his head to the side. "You knew him?"

"I know who he was. We weren't close."

Crowley seemed to like her response; he smiled and petted her head.

"Should, uh…Do you want me to clean it for you? So you don't bleed on everything? Do you have bandages?"

He looked surprised at her offer, then smiled. "Of course I have bandages, love. What fun is torturing people if you can't patch them back up so you can torture them again?" He snapped his fingers and a rusty metal box appeared between them. He stretched out on his back, looking far too relaxed for someone with a wound of that caliber. For a demon, Marian supposed, anything short of decapitation was no more distressing than a paper cut after what they went through in Hell. This was a really bad paper cut.

"Never had anyone treat an injury on me before," he said, watching with amused interest as she sorted through the old first aid kit, putting aside the things she wanted.

"What about when you were human?" Marian asked, trying to find a roll of tape that was still sticky on one side.

"Hah. Not likely. When I was about…Twelve…I fell off a horse and dislocated my shoulder. I also broke the wooden box I was carrying, which was important to my mother. She was so cross at me for letting it break, she told me to shove my own shoulder back into place." His brow furrowed. "Not sure why I remember that now…"

Marian reached out to touch the buttons on his shirt, but hesitated. Undressing him, and on a bed, seemed too sexual. But she'd offered to help him. Why had she offered to help him? Oh, right—because otherwise he would have gotten blood all over her and the bed. She cleared her throat and shifted away from him. "I should get a washcloth…"

Before she could get off the bed, a bowl of hot water and a little stack of washcloths appeared.

"…Ah."

Crowley smiled. "Do hunters always pamper themselves like this?"

She started undoing the buttons on his dress shirt, her hands hardly shaking at all. "Well, we can't just 'magic' it away. And we have to worry about stuff like infections."

"Ah, yes. Had a mate die from an infected toenail…Lost his foot, but it was too late at that point. Humans really have come a long way since then." He seemed to notice Marian struggling with his shirt. "I appreciate the level of care, but you might as well just tear it—it's already ruined."

Marian hesitated, so Crowley tore it open the rest of the way himself, sending buttons flying. He then ripped his undershirt off like it was nothing.

The cut looked worse now that she could get a good look at it. If she looked at it just right, she thought she could see the red glow where the angel blade had injured the demon itself. She dipped a washcloth into the water, wrung it out, and carefully began to clean the dried blood from the perimeter of the wound. Crowley twitched at the initial contact, then relaxed, closing his eyes.

"Hmm," he purred, "This is nice. Like a day at the spa…" He smirked. "Do I get a happy ending, too?"

Marian froze, her breath caught in her throat.

"It was a joke, angel."

Marian sniffled and turned her head away, trying to hide the tears that were welling up in her eyes. It was so easy to forget that he could make her do anything, whenever he wanted, and she could say 'no' but it would cost her more than she was willing to pay. She had panicked at the thought of having to give him a blow job, but…He was kidding? And he was being…Nice? Was she being forced into sexual acts or not?

There was a lump in her throat and she couldn't form a reply, but she forced herself to keep cleaning his wound. First-aid was such a common part of her life that she could do it automatically, without much thought. Once she'd cleared the dried blood from his chest and made sure there was no debris inside the cut, she bandaged and taped it. As long as she focused on her work, she could maintain her composure…

As she smoothed the last piece of tape in place, she felt Crowley's hand on her cheek. For a second she thought he was going to push her head down toward his crotch and demand she give him a happy ending anyway. Instead, he brushed his thumb across her cheekbone, wiping away tears she didn't realize she'd shed. She sniffled again, wanting to move away from him but knowing it would make him angry if she did. It just made her feel so weak, crying in front of him. She'd thought she could at least act strong, the whole 'you can break me, but you can never break my spirit' thing, but evidently that wasn't happening. Apparently, he could break all of her.

With a wave of his free hand, Crowley removed the medical supplies from the bed. He gently manipulated her so that she was lying down facing him, and he was on his side facing her. She hid as much of her face as she could in her pillow, too ashamed of her own weakness to look at him.

"Shh. It's alright. You're alright." Crowley spoke softly, rubbing circles in her back. It felt…Nice. Comforting. Intimate. At the same time, it was confusing and frightening: Coming from a demon, a gentle touch felt like a ruse, to be replaced later with harsher punishment.

Right now, though, she needed comfort, and it wasn't like worrying about what came next would make it any easier for her. She rolled toward him slightly, so that her body was now at a 45-degree angle with the bed, drawing herself closer to him while exposing more of her back. Crowley hummed his approval, continuing the gentle massage. Marian gradually relaxed under his touch, eyes and nose dry at last. Had he been human, his arm would have gotten tired, but the demon seemed to have no issue with maintaining the motion for quite some time. He was being incredibly patient, she realized, which shouldn't even be possible.

He ran his hand all the way up her back and into her hair, massaging her head. It made her feel all tingly. "Mmm," she sighed, then realized she made a noise and blushed furiously.

Crowley chuckled and kissed the top of her head. "Not so bad for a demon, am I?" He thought the question over, and added "…At the moment." That, at least, earned a small smile from his captive.

She tensed when he grabbed her hip, but he just wanted her to roll onto her opposite side, so she could be the little spoon again. He slid his arm around her waist as he had the previous night, and she held her breath, expecting to be groped again. Thankfully, though, he didn't seem inclined to move this time, and she sighed in relief, her breathing returning to normal.

"You're so adorably uptight, angel," Crowley said, the heat from his breath hitting the back of her neck. "You may have been a great warrior back in the day, but without your mojo or your weapons you're just a frightened little rabbit. I love it." He drew a blanket up over her shoulders, then returned his arm to her waist. "But while I'll never tire of seeing an angel break down before me, it is a bit…Counter-productive. Such an easy target, though—if I so much as suggest ravaging you, you go into a complete panic—" He pulled her tighter against him and chuckled as she tensed automatically. "…But I want you to be happy," he said, relaxing his grip. "As…Difficult a concept as that is. If I can make you happy, you might decide you like me after all."

Marian didn't know what to say to that. Crowley certainly knew, in theory at least, how to make people happy: He'd been doing it for centuries (for a price). But he also knew how to make people miserable, and he took a lot more pleasure in the latter. He'd also hurt and even killed her fellow hunters in the past, so…Yeah, the whole 'falling in love and producing a world-ending nephilim' scheme still felt a little far-fetched. Saying any of that out loud would only anger him, so she stayed silent.

"I should take you out sometime. If you could go anywhere—anywhere in the world—where would you want to go?"

"…What?"

"If there's one thing more fun than torturing people, it's showing off, and I so rarely get to do that these days. You've been around the world, but you've been stuck in the trenches, darling. Where have you always wanted to go? Paris? Tokyo? Rome? I could take you to the Vatican; I know my way around."

She twisted her head around to look at him incredulously. "You have not done deals at the Vatican!"

"It's not just priests that are corrupted," he replied with a smug smile. "Despite what they tell people, more Catholics are in line for Hell than Heaven, and that goes all the way to the top."

That didn't surprise her as much as it should have. Humans were just as rotten as angels, and the more power they had, the more rotten they seemed to get.

"So?" the demon prompted, "Where would you like to go?"

She shifted so she was facing away from him again. "…I don't think you'd like it very much."

"I could vacation at the bloody North Pole and it would be fantastic compared to a day in Hell. Please, enlighten me."

Marian sighed. "New Zealand."

"Hmm. And what's the draw for you there?" He rested his chin on her shoulder.

"Everything. I went, back when…Well, I wasn't human. The first Polynesian settlers were just arriving, and the land was a lot different then. There were birds absolutely everywhere—they filled every ecological niche, since the only mammals before people arrived were bats. There were even these huge, ostrich-like birds, called Moa. The Maori hunted them to extinction, so they don't exist anymore, but they were big enough that a grown man could ride one. And there were these little lizards with three eyes—Tuatara. They're almost extinct now, and the third eye is covered up, but you can still see them in zoos sometimes. But the mountains—the mountains are amazing. It would be impossible to make a live-action Lord of the Rings movie and do the books any justice, but if someone tried, they would film it in New Zealand. I would love to go hiking…Or see the botanical gardens. It seems like every city has one now, and they're open year-round."

Crowley chuckled. "Someone's been reading travel magazines in her spare time."

"I should have something to dream about other than hunting."

"Mmm. All work and no play makes Jack a psychotic serial killer, sort of thing. Alright; New Zealand it is. I'll iron out the details over the next few days, and we'll take a little vacation." He kissed her shoulder and settled back into the mattress. "Satan knows I could use one after today."

Crowley wasn't around much over the next couple days: apparently having multiple crossroads agents smote by an angel produced an ungodly (un-devil-ly?) amount of paperwork, which was ironic given that Hell invented paperwork. He had to write up incident reports for each of them, take over all their contracts (which, on the plus side, meant more souls for him), and find less idiotic replacement demons for their respective sales areas. Well, he had to find replacements, at least, even if they weren't intelligent ones.

That left Marian to herself, which was fine with her. Crowley had gotten her all the supplies she requested for the kitchen, with the exception of salt, which she would have to ask him about later (could she really cause problems with one little box of table salt? Really? She just wanted to season her food). She could cook and bake and look for monsters in the news, and it all felt strangely normal, just like back home but without her friends as roommates. Crowley still showed up at night, but she was getting used to that too. She would ask him about his day, like he was a regular person just getting home from work, and he would complain about Hell and demons for a little while, then brag about his accomplishments. In turn, he would ask about her day, which was a lot less interesting and much less violent. She mentioned any oddities from the news that might be important (she always left a little pile on his desk, too, but it was nice having something to talk about after being alone all day) and anything just plain crazy she'd read, like the man who'd been arrested in Miami for bringing a ten-foot-long alligator onto the bus and trying to tell people it was a service animal. He was found by police to be intoxicated.

Marian also broached the subject of salt. "Just, like, half a box," she asked. "It really does make a difference. I couldn't do anything with half a box of salt, and if I did it would violate the contract anyway, so there's really nothing for you to worry about."

"Alright," Crowley sighed, rolling his eyes. "You can have your salt." He snapped his fingers. "It's in the kitchen, and it stays in the kitchen." His eyes darkened dangerously. "Use it responsibly."

She scooted closer to him and turned away, pressing her back into his chest. "Thank you."

The demon smiled; after only a few nights, she was already cuddling up to him on her own. Hunters might be notoriously pig-headed and stubborn, but angels were used to taking orders, and easy to train; even the more rebellious models. Everything was going according to his plan.

To prepare for her "vacation," Marian slept most of the day, to make up for the time change, and when Crowley came home at night from work they headed out. He ported them to the Wellington botanical gardens. It was summer in New Zealand, and everything was alive and blooming and absolutely fantastic. For Marian, it was the first time she'd been outdoors in over a week, and it was all a bit overwhelming.

Crowley offered her his arm and she took it.

"I can't believe I'm really here," she whispered. Other people were wandering by and she didn't want to make a scene in front of them. "This is amazing."

"Shall we explore?" Crowley said, looking oddly relaxed. Marian knew he must be on full alert for demons and other things, but he looked as cool as a cat basking in the sun. I guess he does like showing off, she thought.

He let her take the lead, and they wandered for hours. Marian was instantly in love with everything, from the flowers to the trees to all the different birds flitting around. Ducks waddled across the paths, little fuzzy ducklings in tow. Bellbirds and tui flitted around above their heads, and little finches hopped in between their feet and scratched at the mulch in the flowerbeds. She glanced at Crowley often, worried that he was bored and anticipating that he'd tell her they had to leave, but he would just give her a little smile and nod for her to keep having fun.

Her favorite place was the indoor garden. It was like a giant greenhouse, full of the more delicate plants that couldn't survive a Wellington winter. There were clusters of beautiful houseplants everywhere. Orchids and pitcher plants hung from the ceiling. There was even a little pond, with flowering waterlilies and enormous lily pads big enough to hold a human baby. She had no idea how long she'd been on her feet for, walking up and down the hilly gardens, but her feet were tired and she was hungry. She sat down on the edge of the pond and watched koi swimming over coins.

Crowley sat down next to her and rubbed the small of her back. "Hungry?"

Marian nodded. She felt the familiar tingly burn of demon energy and the world shifted around her.

They were standing in front of a café in a small business district. The district was so small that she could look both ways and see the beginning and end of it: this was not Wellington anymore.

"Stewart Island," Crowley explained. "Just off the south of the South Island—but I'm sure you've read all about it."

She had. The island was mostly undeveloped, with a few multiday bushwalking trails for hikers who didn't mind getting mud up to their thighs and sandflies in their ears. Introduced predators, like housecats and Australian possums, hadn't invaded here like they had on the mainlands, so native wildlife was able to thrive. As a waitress showed them to a table, Marian caught sight of birds she hadn't even read about. A pigeon almost the size of a chicken sat perched on a railing, taking off as they walked past. Crowley and Marian were seated outside on a deck that faced the ocean, and they were surrounded by birds. Some were fearless enough to come right up to them, even landing on Marian's arm (they kept their distance from Crowley, which just proves that not even birds are that stupid). They stole sandwich crumbs from the ground and French fries right off their plates.

Another tourist couple got up to leave, and the flock of birds that had been pestering them decided to come over and bother Marian. There was a Paradise duck in among the little finches, and a strange little bird that she had only seen thousands of years ago.

"It's a Weka," she said, keeping her voice down so as not to frighten all the birds off. "They're flightless like kiwis, but they're diurnal and their beaks are shorter. And they raise their young, which is why they aren't almost extinct. They're still easy prey, though." She broke a fry in half, tossing one piece to the duck and the other to the Weka. Then she remembered who she was talking to. "I'm sorry, I keep talking about stupid stuff…"

The demon waved away her concern. "By all means, talk away. I enjoy seeing you so…Animated."

She blushed and looked back down at the birds. The Weka was trying to steal the zipper-pull on her purse. "Hey, you! That is attached!" She grabbed her purse and dug to the bottom, fishing out a new penny. "You want something shiny, steal this."

She held her hand out, palm flat, and the little brown bird strutted forward, eyed her for a moment, then snatched the penny out of her hand and ran away before any of the other birds could get a chance to take its prize. Marian laughed.

Crowley smiled. "He's smarter than half my employees, and twice as ambitious, I'll give him that."

After lunch, he took her to an island that was literally just birds, then to a kiwi sanctuary where she got to see a two-day-old kiwi as well as a few injured adults that were unable to return to the wild. There was also a tuatara, the ancient lizard with the covered third eye.

"They really haven't changed," she whispered, looking at the dinosaur-aged creature. "Just the extra eye is gone, but they can still see changes in light through the skin, so they can sense predators overhead."

"Would you call that 'intelligent design?'" Crowley smirked, and she had to smile.

They spent the late afternoon touring Te Papa, the national museum, back in Wellington. Marian loved learning about what the Maori had been up to since she'd been there last, as well as the natural history of volcanoes, earthquakes, and other large-scale events that had shaped the country. There were models of extinct birds: Eagles the size of the ones in The Hobbit that could have picked up a grown man, and penguins as tall as her. Everything had been bigger, it seemed.

Crowley was amusing himself by pointing out all the famous explorers and politicians that had sold their souls or otherwise done something very bad to wind up in Hell. He also enjoyed the section on Maori weapons and warfare, which included videos of a few traditional hakas.

"Beats the hell out of bloody bagpipes and a kilt," he grumbled. "It's no wonder Scotland hasn't done much for itself in the last few hundred years."

Dinner was a quick blink to Auckland, which also involved a magical wardrobe change into a little black dress. Now she at least matched the formality of Crowley's suit, but she felt more self-conscious and vulnerable. They had a reservation at the Auckland Sky Tower, the gaudy centerpiece of the city that locals hated to look at but always brought their out-of-town friends to. Like the Seattle space needle, it was a narrow tower with a flying saucer on top. The restaurant revolved around the widest part, slowly letting diners experience a 360-degree view of the city.

Now it felt like a real date, and Marian's anxiety returned. There were no birds to distract her, and she was forced to actually focus on Crowley if she didn't want to be completely rude and stare out the window all night, which she had a feeling would get her in trouble later if she did.

He was in full-on 'charm the soul off a saint' mode, acting the part of a complete gentleman. It was a bit unnerving seeing him in his element, like watching a lion hunt while sitting on a sick zebra. The only soul he wanted to charm at the moment was hers, though, so it was more like being the sick zebra and watching the lion come closer.

But Crowley didn't get to be King of the Crossroads without being the best, and soon Marian was falling under his spell, the sick zebra lying down in the grass because the lion was just so friendly, surely it wasn't going to hurt her.

He entertained her with stories about celebrities: Olympic athletes, musicians, actors and politicians he'd "worked with" over the years; and if anyone else was listening, the only thing they would have found odd was that some of the subjects had passed away a long time ago.

As the restaurant rotated, they were able to see one of Sky Tower's other attractions: the Sky Drop. It was a controlled bungee jump, which kept the jumper in line so as to not smack into the side of the tower. A few daredevils were taking the plunge at night, with only the building's spotlights and a headlamp to illuminate their jump. Marian had been in a few high places on hunts, and she was not a fan, but she knew a few hunters who would have loved the experience.

She watched a tall young man get strapped into a harness and walk over to the jump-off point. He had a few friends watching him from behind a glass viewing station, and though she couldn't hear them she could tell they were shouting words of encouragement. They looked more nervous than he did. His instructor, harnessed as well now that they were on the outside of the building, motioned for him to step to the edge of a platform. He gave a countdown, and the man leapt, seeming to hover in midair for a moment before plummeting out of sight. Marian watched the bungees go taut for what seemed like forever, then loosen as he rebounded. After a few bounces, the man was reeled in like a fish, the biggest grin on his face. He returned to the viewing window, and one of his buddies took his place.

"Not your cup of tea?" Crowley asked.

She shook her head. "Not without wings." A sudden thought occurred to her, and all the color drained from her face. "You weren't planning to—you're not making me—"

"As entertaining as that would be, no, it's not on the agenda," he smiled.

Marian laughed nervously. "Oh. Thank Go—uh, thank you." She watched the next man get suited up. The harness had a lot of pieces to it that got threaded all up and through and around him; she wondered if anyone had ever done it wrong and lost a customer. "Though it would be fun to come back here someday with Michael—he loves this stuff." She realized what she'd just said, and her mood plummeted faster than the bungee jumper. "…I mean…I'm sure he'd like to come here with his friends." Of course, she'd never get to see him jump off the tower, or do anything else, for that matter. There was no 'coming back with friends' for her, ever. The finality of the thought was sobering. She slumped back in her seat, watching as the bungee station slowly rotated out of view, hands fidgeting idly on the table. Stop it, Marian. You're not going to cry again. Not now. Not here. Words like 'forever' and 'never' kept swirling around in her brain, spiking her anxiety. You made the deal. If you hadn't, none of them would be alive today. Just be grateful that Michael even has the chance to do something like this without you.

She jumped when she felt a hand on hers. She took a few deep, calming breaths and swallowed back the lump in her throat. Crowley squeezed her hand and gave her a look that she couldn't quite place. He didn't look angry, but…Frustrated? Upset? His features twitched like they were trying to form a new expression they weren't familiar with. Was she in trouble for what she said? She hadn't meant anything by it; it just slipped out.

The waitress appeared with the check; Crowley paid, and they headed out. Crowley ushered her into an empty elevator, but didn't press any of the buttons. Instead, he grabbed her shoulder and she braced herself for the odd sensation of porting.

She shook off the odd demonic tingly feeling and looked at where they'd ended up: It looked like a rustic cabin. It was basically just a nicer version of the motels she'd stayed at over the years: King-size bed with actual clean blankets instead of the grime-crusted full-size beds she was used to; a kitchenette with a toaster that wouldn't catch fire the moment it was plugged in and a sink that didn't drip; a bathroom with a tile shower; and a couch that faced a real fireplace.

"Where are we?"

"Queenstown. Hotel." He sat down on the couch, pulling her down next to him. The fireplace lit itself and a glass of Scotch appeared in his hand. He leaned back in his seat and put his arm around her shoulders, basically forcing her to snuggle up to him. Marian rested her head in the crook of his shoulder and put her feet up on the cushion next to her.

"Thank you for today," she said quietly.

Crowley kissed the top of her head. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, love." He took a sip from his drink and set it down so that he could pet her head. "…Even if you would have enjoyed it more with someone else."

Marian felt her face flush; she ducked her head and hunched her shoulders. He was upset about that comment, then. "I—I didn't—"

"It's alright, Marian. You're allowed to miss your friends. I never said you had to forget about them."

Homesick and scared and thoroughly confused as to what she felt about everything, Marian couldn't stop crying in front of the demon again. At least she wasn't blubbering like a baby, though she did have the occasional sniffle.

"It's really hard to hate you when you're nice to me," she mumbled, little more than a whisper. The words were barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

Crowley laughed. "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me," he joked, ruffling her hair affectionately. "There's one more nice thing I can do for you tonight."

Marian tensed, assuming he was talking about something sexual. He snapped his fingers and the cordless phone, which was sitting in the kitchenette, appeared in his hand. Without bothering to enter any numbers, he hit the 'call' button and handed it to her. Surprised, she just stared at it and listened to it ring. There was a click, and someone answered.

"Hello?"

It was her best friend.

Marion brought the phone up to her ear. "Erica?"

The line went silent. She wondered if she'd been disconnected. Then: "Marian?"

She choked up immediately. Tears pouring out of her eyes, nose running, she struggled to talk around the lump in her throat. "Hey. Holy shit, I can't believe I'm talking to you!"

Crowley stood and walked over to the kitchenette, leaving her with about fifteen feet worth of fake privacy and a box of tissues.

"Where are you? Are you okay? Did…Did you kill Crowley?" Erica spoke rapidly, not leaving Marian time to answer. "No, you can't have, or I'd be dead. Did…Holy shit. He's possessing you, isn't he, the sick bastard. Prank calling her friends at 7 am? Real sophisticated, Crowley. Why don't you go back to hell, asshat?"

"N—no, I'm not possessed—" Her emotions were running so wild that she nearly burst out giggling at Erica's sudden and angry conclusion. It also took her brain a moment to remember that, back home, it was the next morning already. "I'm—" She had to pause when her throat closed up again, "I'm okay. I'm in New Zealand. Just for right now—I won't be for long—and he let me talk to you."

There was another pause as Erica thought things through. "Is he right there with you?"

"Yeah."

"Let me hear him, then. To prove he's not possessing you."

Marian sighed. She would have done the same thing, had roles been reversed, but now it felt like overkill. She held the phone up, and suddenly Crowley was right there next to her.

"Hello, darling. I see you're still my number-one fan."

"Go back to Hell, you pompous—"

"Okay, so we've proven I'm me," Marian said, bringing the phone back to her ear hurriedly. Crowley wandered away again, smirking. "How are you? How are things, you know…In the land of the living?"

"We're all fine. Getting ready to head out on a hunt right now. Something's been ripping people's heads off and draining their blood; have you ever heard of anything like that?"

"No. Have you called Rufus?"

"He doesn't know either. But we'll figure it out. Everything dies somehow."

"Where?" said Crowley from right beside her.

Marian jumped. "What?"

"Where are the attacks happening?"

"What the fuck, he can't let us have one second of—"

"Just answer, Erica," she sighed.

"…Salem, Oregon."

"It's a Gashadokuro," Crowley replied. "A Japanese skeleton spirit." He gave Marian a smug smile when she looked at him in surprise. "I told you, I like to keep track. Everyone's competition."

"Japanese," Erica repeated. "So let me guess—I need to find a Shinto priest to bless a sword?"

"That should do the trick."

"Not like I can trust him anyway, but I'll do it."

Marian glanced sideways at the demon. "I don't think he would give you the wrong answer on purpose. That's part of our deal." She didn't sound 100% sure of herself.

"We'll be careful."

"Your ears will ring when it's nearby," Crowley added.

"…Thanks. That's…Helpful, actually."

"Contrary to popular opinion, I don't exist just to make your short little lives miserable."

Marian heard a horn honk in the background over the phone. "Shit. Marian, I gotta go or they'll leave without me."

"Go. Stay safe. Tell everyone they're not allowed to die or I'll kick their asses." It was something they always said when one of them stayed behind on a hunt.

"Yeah, you too."

The line clicked and she set the phone down. She wasn't sure if she felt better now that she'd talked to her friend, or just more homesick knowing that she couldn't be there with her.

Crowley sat down next to her and rubbed her back. "Your friends will be fine. Gashadokuro are notoriously hard to kill…I might be able to spare a few demons to keep an eye on them."

She looked up at him in surprise. "But that's…Not part of the deal."

"No. But you're only with me to keep them alive, yes? If they all die of…Unnatural causes, that doesn't give you much incentive to stay, does it? I'm just covering all my bases."

It was either incredibly devious or generous, and coming from a demon she was leaning towards 'devious,' but she appreciated it nonetheless. He'd let her speak to her friend, and now he was offering to protect them? Marian leaned into him, resting her head against his chest, and wrapped her arms around him in what was possibly the world's first angel-to-demon hug.

Crowley was momentarily perplexed by the motion—was she trying to grab his angel blade? But then he registered the concept of 'hug,' something that he'd watched other people do frequently but hadn't understood the appeal in himself. It was a display of affection, not aggression, he knew that much. It felt…Good, he decided. Like she cared about him. Had anyone ever cared about him? He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her back: that felt even better.

"Mmm," he purred, "I could get used to this."

Marian let go of him, pulling away from him like he'd just caught fire. She'd just hugged him. What the Hell was she thinking? What if he thought she loved him now, and made her have sex with him?

Crowley didn't act phased by the sudden change; he stood up and pulled Marian to her feet after him. "Why don't you get changed up? You have another big day ahead of you tomorrow." He nudged her toward the bathroom.

"What are we doing tomorrow?"

His mischievous smile returned. "You'll see."

When she emerged from the bathroom, Crowley was sitting in bed reading The Fellowship of the Ring where Marian had left her bookmark.

"Did you ever think Tom Bombadil was a bit of an asshole for not just taking the Ring to Mordor himself?"

Marian stopped at the edge of the bed and stared at him for a moment.

"Yes," she said at last. "He could have taken an eagle and ended the whole thing in a week." She slid under the covers and rolled onto her side. "But it wasn't his war. Which I still don't really get, because he was in Middle Earth; if Sauron took over, he'd be affected too—"

Crowley set the book aside and laid down, wrapping his arm around her waist like he always did. "I'm sure Tolkien had his reasons. Something about free will, maybe."

"Ugh. I had that once, and look how well that worked out for me."

"Would you rather be fighting a war you don't believe in with angels you disagree with?"

Marian hesitated. "They wanted us to wipe out all the forces of Hell, but we would wipe out half of humanity in the process. 'Casualties of war,' Raphael said." She huffed angrily. "But God never told us to go to war with demons. He said we had our purpose and they had theirs. He told us to protect humanity. Just because he runs off on—on some millennia-long vacation or whatever, that shouldn't change that. So I…Brought up my concerns..."

"And let me guess: He says, 'if you like humans so much, why don't you try being one?'"

"Pretty much, yeah. But other angels listened to me—enough of them that Raphael's war never happened. Otherwise, all of this…Well, everything…Wouldn't be here."

"Mmm. How very noble of you."

"I wasn't noble, I was pissed. Raph thought he could play God, but he was no better than Lucifer. They're all a bunch of assholes up there."

Crowley chuckled. "Worse than demons, are they?"

"Oh, demons are assholes too. But they know what they are. Angels think they're God's freaking gift to the universe."

"Hmm. You're not so bad, angel." His arm tightened around her waist and he nuzzled the back of her neck with his nose, his breath ghosting over her skin. She shivered. "Get some rest. Tomorrow is another big day."

They were up first thing in the morning and off to a local café for breakfast, then Crowley ported them to their first adventure. Marian didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't a farm.

"I assume you know how to ride?" Crowley asked.

Marian stared at a field full of horses. They were fat from grazing on grass all winter—most hadn't been on a long trail ride since the fall. "I've…Been on a horse. Years ago."

"You'll pick it back up. It's like falling off a bicycle, or however that goes. Weren't you one of those angels that rode into battle on a celestial horse? The ones that spawned the legend of the Valkyrie?"

She blushed. "How did you—Anyway, that was thousands of years ago." She followed him up to the office inside a little farmhouse. "And I'm not an angel anymore."

A cheerful, athletic woman led a black horse up to them. It was larger than most of the others, and its hooves had long tufts of fur growing over them. Somewhere in its lineage, a Clydesdale must have been bred into the mix. It was the sort of horse that the Devil would be proud to ride into the Apocalypse on: Marian half-expected steam to come out its nose when it breathed.

"This is Binky," the woman said, patting his thick neck. "He's a big sweetheart, but he can be a little stubborn sometimes."

Binky got one whiff of Crowley and started to backtrack. Crowley gave him a Look, and the horse went still, whinnying in displeasure.

Marian glanced from one to the other. "We're…Sharing?"

Crowley grinned and helped her onto the horse's back. "It's a win-win, love. You get to see your favorite country on horseback, and I get you in my lap for a few hours."

She grimaced. Of course he'd found a way to turn something fun into another excuse to get handsy with her.

Then again, he could have just kept her at home and gotten handsy with her. At least the scenery was better here.

Crowley sat behind her and hooked an arm loosely around her waist. She supposed a demon didn't have to worry much about falling off a horse. Binky's handler waved them off in the direction of a trail, and Marian took the reins, heading down toward a river.

"How long has it been since you were on a horse?" Marian asked.

"I was human at the time, so…300 years, give or take."

Despite the long hiatus, Crowley seemed more comfortable on the horse than Marian. Perhaps it was because he didn't have a demon that owned his soul sitting behind him, like she did. His proximity was starting to make her skin crawl.

He directed her to follow the river bank toward the trees that surrounded the farmland. As soon as they were out of view of any prying human eyes, they vanished and reappeared on top of a mountain range, on a lush green tableland.

Binky did not appreciate being ported. He staggered backward, tossing his head and whinnying, and Marian's knuckles went white clinging to the reins, afraid he was about to buck her off. But Crowley said something to him in a strange language—it wasn't English, and it wasn't Enochian—and the horse settled, eyeing the demon warily.

The view was spectacular. They were almost completely surrounded by mountains, green with snow-capped tops, unmarred by humanity. It was like being transported to Middle Earth. Out in the open air, surrounded by the most beautiful country in the world, it was easy to forget that she wasn't a celestial being anymore, and that she was, in fact, a completely powerless mostly-human who was owned by a very powerful demon that wanted to use her to produce a baby that would someday help the devil destroy the world. Binky started to relax, and so did Marian, trying her best to ignore the arm around her waist that was attached to the demon pressed against her back. She imagined she was Frodo, riding the pony Bill on a quest to destroy the One Ring. Maybe Sam was riding with her, or Aragorn—or she was on Shadowfax with Gandalf. Whoever was behind her, though, it definitely wasn't Crowley.

They returned to the farm around midday. Evidently, riding took a lot more effort as a human than an angel: Marian's legs were already sore, and she walked like she'd had one too many drinks. Thankfully the afternoon's activity was more stationary: A cruise around Milford Sound, one of the country's greatest treasures.

Marian stood along the ship's railing, holding onto it in case her legs decided to fail her under the gentle rocking of the boat. Crowley came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. To anyone else on board, they must have looked like a regular couple.

She could have pushed him away. She could have shouted to everyone else that he'd abducted her, and—and then what? He would just kill all of them, and she'd still be stuck with him, except now he'd be angry. So there was really no point.

A docent spoke through a speaker system about how the Sound was formed, the wildlife they could see, and more of its local history. Seabirds flew around them, occasionally resting on the rails. Seals played in the boat's wake. Inside on the lower level, they could watch fish through a glass floor.

Some of the other tourists started up conversations with them, and at first Marian was afraid that Crowley would be annoyed or that she'd say the wrong thing; but he seemed perfectly at ease with everything. It was too easy to forget that part of his occupation required him to blend in with humanity, and he did it well.

"So, what do you do for work?" someone asked.

"I'm in sales," Crowley answered smoothly, "And she's my assistant."

"Is it awkward, working for someone you're dating?" a woman asked Marian.

She blinked slowly, like a reptile. "…My friends didn't think it was a good idea," she said, because she wasn't clever enough to come up with an acceptable lie off the top of her head with Crowley right there. "But we…Haven't had any problems yet."

The woman launched off on a story about a friend who'd dated her boss and it had ruined her career and her personal life, but Marian could barely listen over the sound of her pulse in her ears. She kept glancing over at the demon, worried she was going to upset him in front of other humans. Eventually, Crowley managed to excuse them both from the conversation, and they retreated back to the solitude of the deck.

Marian started to relax again, in spite of Crowley's proximity. By the time the cruise returned to land, she was in a relatively good mood and looking forward to their next destination, whatever that might be.

He took her to see the Waitomo glow worm caves on the North Island. They ended up on a little boat along with a few other tourists and a local guide. He steered the little vessel through the network of caves, showing off incredible view after incredible view. It was like the whole galaxy had been condensed and shoved underground, and now all the stars were shining at once. The guide helpfully explained that it was the glowworm's secretions that were bioluminescent, which made everything a bit less romantic, especially when some of the goo dripped onto one of the ladies on board. She had been acting a little obnoxious, talking a little too loudly to her boyfriend, and Marian suspected that a certain demon may have been responsible for the large wad of what was basically worm poop that fell onto her hair.

Next up was dinner at a restaurant that, while not especially fancy, was a good deal nicer than the truck-stops Marian was used to. As much as Crowley enjoyed showing off, he seemed to understand that truly fine dining would not be appreciated by his fallen angel. She needed a place where it was socially acceptable to keep one's elbows on the table, and there was only one kind of fork.

"I have to go back to work tomorrow," Crowley said as they finished their meal.

"I figured you would," Marian said with a shrug.

"We can do this again. Every few weeks I should be able to get a day or two off. Any longer than that, and everything falls apart, or someone tries to take my job." He stood and offered her his hand. "We have one more stop before I take you home, though."

They blinked onto a beach that ended abruptly in a rocky shoreline; it was a bit like New England, Marian thought. Crowley helped her up onto a boulder and motioned for her to watch the water.

The sun was barely a sliver of fire on the horizon as it finished setting. Little movements where the waves met the sand caught her attention, and she squinted into the darkness. There were…Little black blobs.

"What are they?" she whispered.

Crowley touched her forehead, and suddenly her vision was much clearer, almost as if the sun was high in the sky. She turned her attention back to the little blobs, and now she could see they were little blue penguins. They had some in an aquarium back in Massachusetts: They were small and chattery and had that perpetual-baby look to them. And now they were here in the wild, returning to their nests for the night. One by one, they disappeared into the rocks. Marian was so close, she could almost reach out and touch one.

When the march of the penguins ended, Crowley blinked them back to his house in the States (at least, Marian assumed they were in the States—they got the same TV channels, and the trees looked the same). She was sore all over now; not just her legs; so she sat down on the floor to stretch while she watched the news. It was already the next day here, and the weather man said it was going to snow, which was depressing after her two days of summer. Not like she was allowed to go outside here, anyway, but still.

"Are you alright?" Crowley asked, looking up from a deal he was proof-reading.

"Fine. Just sore." She was hugging one knee to her chest while simultaneously trying to work a knot out of her shoulder. "I haven't been very active since I got here. Guess I'm not used to it anymore."

She switched legs, not bothering to look up at the demon. He eyed her thoughtfully, trying to ignore the feeling that something inside him was off. The feeling that he was feeling. It was happening, more and more, whenever he was around her. After all the horrible, wicked things he'd done as a demon, feeling anything other than anger and contempt was…Unpleasant, to put it mildly. It was its own kind of torture.

He was starting to like it.

"Come here," he said, setting his work aside.

Marian went from feeling relatively relaxed to Full Demonic Molestation Alert as she stood and moved to stand by the bed where he sat. She gave him a wary look, staying just out of grabbing range.

Crowley grinned. The best part of this arrangement was that he didn't have to choose between being nice to her and torturing her: Being nice was the torture. "Take your shirt off and lie down. Face down."

She narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to argue, but remembered she couldn't. She looked away from him as she pulled her shirt over her head, thankful she was still wearing a bra, and lay down next to him on her stomach. Now that her chest was hidden from view, she turned her head to give him a look that said, 'happy now?'

He still had that awful, smug grin. Marian shivered, though whether it was due to Crowley or being cold, she wasn't sure. His hands were hot, at least, as he ran them up her back to her shoulders, casually undoing her bra strap as he moved. She had to turn away from him when he began to rub the base of her neck, resting her forehead on her arms to keep her face from smooshing into her mattress.

She tried to remain calm. She tried not to let him get to her. But she was half-naked on a bed, and a demon (who owned her body and soul, lest she forget for one moment) was running his hands all over her. This was the same demon—because it was so easy to forget-who was determined to knock her up with the next Antichrist. And he was giving her a back massage.

To be fair, he was very good at it. Since she'd had nothing to do in captivity but be anxious about being held captive, her muscles had become a massive network of knots; her neck, shoulders, and back fused together in a seamless sheet of tension. Crowley worked methodically to break them all up, and though he didn't cause her excruciating pain, he certainly wasn't afraid to hurt her in order to break up the larger knots.

"No offense," Marian said, "But how does a demon get to be good at massage? I can't imagine you do this very often."

Crowley chuckled. "I have…A solid understanding of anatomy. That's Torture 101: Know where muscles connect to tendon and bone; which way the fibers run, and how much pressure to exert on any given point to produce maximum discomfort." He traced his hand along one of her lats to illustrate, moving from origin point to insertion point. Then he went back to dissolving the knots in her back.

Against her better judgement, Marian started to relax. It wasn't like remaining anxious would help her—all her anxiety was doing was making her more miserable. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing? Crowley had been nice to her, and wasn't that the worst part of all this? It was easy to hate a demon who abducted her and locked her away and groped her. It was…Harder to hate him when he took her to the most beautiful country she'd ever seen and let her explore it like a perfectly ordinary human. It was hard to hate him when he was being nice.

'Nice Crowley' wasn't real, though. She wouldn't let herself forget that. Crowley was good at charming people: He'd made a career out of it, for Hell's sake. He knew what people wanted, and he gave it to them. That's all he was doing now: Giving her what she wanted. But what the demon didn't understand—what demons couldn't understand—was that you couldn't make someone love you by giving them what they wanted. An asshole who gave you a box of chocolate was still an asshole.

"So, what did you think? Not bad for a first date? Or do I need to show you all the kingdoms of the world?"

Marian cringed at the Biblical reference; she didn't need to be reminded of how far she'd fallen from her heavenly Father. "New Zealand was amazing," she said. "And you were…Very human."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Crowley purred. He continued to massage down her back, working out all the stress kinks.

There was a tiny 'shoof' sound, and Marian could feel fresh air on her legs. Had Crowley just pantsed her with his mojo? She snapped her head up and around to glare at him. "Wha-? Crowley!"

"Relax; I left your knickers on." He pressed the heel of his palm into her hamstrings, which were always a problem for her, and she cursed under her breath. He copied the movement on her other leg, and her knee bent involuntarily. "You really should stretch more."

"I was trying—Christ!" she hissed as he dug into her I-band, the tight tendon that ran along the side of her thigh.

"Language," Crowley scolded, pressing harder.

"Mother fucker!"

He chuckled. "Better." He continued to run his hands down her legs, entertaining himself by making her curse and twitch. It wasn't as much fun as torture, but he did love tormenting his little angel.

When he'd finished ironing out her thighs, he moved on to her calves and then her feet.

Marian shrieked and jerked her leg back when he touched the bottom of her foot.

"What on Earth?"

"Sorry, I'm ticklish!"

Crowley blinked owlishly. "You're what?"

"Ticklish."

He ran a finger lightly across her sole, watching her curiously as she giggled and moved her foot away. He grabbed her ankle and repeated the motion: Again, she giggled and tried to break free.

"Does it hurt?"

"What? No, it's…It tickles." She turned onto her side, clamping her arms at her sides in an attempt to keep her unclasped bra in place. "It's like…It makes you laugh, but not in fun way. Have you not…? I mean, I suppose demons can't be ticklish, but I assumed you know what it meant…?" She twisted her leg more: Crowley was still petting her foot, and she wished she could kick him in the face.

He stopped touching her foot, but held on to her ankle absent-mindedly. "I've never heard the term used un-ironically." Marian gave him a confused look, so he clarified: "Demons say it all the time when they're trying to be dicks. Stab 'em in the kidneys and they'll say, 'ha, that tickles' like you're not hurting them at all."

"Oh. Right." Crowley let go of her foot at last, and she pulled her legs in toward her chest, hoping that 'tickle torture' was not about to become a thing. She looked longingly at her shirt, and wondered if asking to get dressed would produce the opposite affect (him telling her she had to stay in her underwear, just because it made her uncomfortable). She decided not to say anything.

Crowley saw the look, though. "Yes, I suppose you can get dressed," he sighed. "Though I should really keep you like this; it's a much better view."

Marian's mood dropped instantly. Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Here," he said, handing her shirt over. "Don't say I never did anything for you."

He let her escape to the bathroom so she could brush her teeth and do all the other human things she needed to do. It felt weird getting ready for bed when it was light outside, but she'd just had a long day on the other side of the planet and needed, at minimum, a long nap. Preferably one without a demon in the bed, but she couldn't have everything.

Crowley was focused on his paperwork when Marian came back to bed. She slid under the covers and turned onto her side, facing away from him. She doubted he would leave her alone for very long, but it was nice to pretend that he didn't exist for a minute.

It was a short minute. She felt the blanket lift off her feet, and something brushed against her heel. She ignored it at first, but then it brushed along the bridge of her foot, multiple times, until it really tickled. She laughed the annoyed, slightly angry laugh of the tickled and sat up, trying to hide her foot farther in the blanket. Crowley had a look of intense concentration, holding the edge of a contract up to her foot.

"What…?"

"Interesting," the demon said. "You're laughing, but you don't enjoy it." He set the paper aside and grabbed her ankle, hauling her foot out from under the covers. "Are you ticklish anywhere else?"

"Yes, but I don't want to tell y—Stop it!" she snapped as he tickled her foot again.

He ignored her. "I'm not hurting you. Is it really that unpleasant?"

"Yes! No. I don't know. Normally, people tickle little kids. And their girlfriends, when they want to be obnoxious," she added, thinking of her past relationships.

Crowley grinned wickedly. "Ah. Well then, I need to learn. Where are you ticklish? Or should I just…Start trying places, until I find one that works?"

"Joints!" Marian squeaked as the demon started to slide his hand up her leg. "Backs of knees, armpits, neck. And under my ribs." Nowhere sexual, she wanted to add. Tickle me all you want, just stay away from those bits.

"Really?" He released her leg and was suddenly much closer to her, his fingers brushing the side of her neck. She turned her head away from him so she wasn't face-to-face with him, and for a moment he experimented with how lightly he needed to touch her. When he got it right, she giggled and shrugged her shoulder up to protect herself. Not phased, he switched his focus to her side, then her underarm, until she became a giggling ball of hatred, powerless against both his demonic strength and his strangely light and ticklish touch. And the more she was tickled, the more ticklish she became.

Crowley was still trying to figure out the allure of this not-quite-torture. He did like making her squirm, even if she wasn't really in distress. At the same time, it was like she was having fun (even if she claimed she wasn't). The best part, he decided, was when she fell against him while flailing about, and he trapped her in his arms. It felt like a very human thing, and for a reason he couldn't explain, he enjoyed it. He liked holding his little angel, even when he wasn't just doing it to torture her.

"Alright, I'll stop torturing you," Crowley said as Marian continued to struggle in his arms. Her nerves were so frayed that it took her a moment to realize he'd stopped. She finally settled down, breathing hard, her heart pounding. "You should get some sleep."

Her eyes narrowed. "I was trying to," she grumbled.

He released her so that she could lie down, curling up on her side again facing away from him. Instead of going back to his work, he laid down behind her and put his arm around her. When he'd first acquired her, he'd done this purely because she hated it; but now, she'd started to get used to it, and so had he. Snuggling up to her, it was easy to imagine that he was cared for; that he was…Loved.

The thought hadn't crossed his mind in three hundred years. But it was a nice thought.

Marian yawned. "You're going back to work?"

"Yes. I might be gone for a few days. Things pile up."

"Kay." She stretched her legs out, then pulled them in toward her chest. It was very cat-like, Crowley thought. And sort of…Endearing.

Endearing. Really, Crowley? Maybe it was for the best that he had a few days away from her. He was feeling far too human.

The next week passed without incident. Crowley wasn't around much, and Marian was getting comfortable with her new living arrangement. Missing the level of physical activity she was used to with hunting, she ventured down to the basement to improvise. She cleaned the blood and bits of person off some of the torture implements, and managed to come up with a pullup bar, some TRX-like ropes, a mace that she could use for upper body and core work, and a short platform she could use for box jumps and single-legged squats. When Crowley discovered what she was doing, he got her a treadmill, and it became even harder not to like him just a little.

It was almost Christmas (not that she'd be celebrating this year, but she made sure to watch all the cheesy TV specials anyway) when she received devastating news. According to her hometown paper (that Crowley had graciously added to the piles of papers she already sifted through), local resident (and one of the hunters who had been with her when Crowley and his demons took over her town) Michael Phillips had been in a fatal car accident. It had been snowing hard, with gusting winds, and a semi had crossed over the center line and struck him head-on.

Marian had never expected to live long as a hunter, and though she loved all her friends dearly she knew that all their days were numbered as well; that's just how life as a hunter went. But she'd always expected they'd go down on a hunt, doing what they lived for. You start out hunting one vampire and it turns out there are six; they take you out, and there's no shame in that. It's a decent, albeit bloody, way to go. Or you trip on a tree root and a wendigo gets you. What's not supposed to happen is perfectly ordinary but horrible deaths, like being killed by a vehicle that isn't even possessed by a spirit. There was just a man in his 40's who couldn't see the road for a second.

When Crowley returned that evening, he found her curled up at the foot of her bed with a half-empty box of tissues in front of her and the newspaper at her feet. Her lip looked bloody, like she'd been chewing on it too hard. She'd fallen asleep listening to a mix tape Michael had made for a group hunt years ago ("because we need to get pumped") and left in her car, and she was hugging her journal to her chest, having re-read just about every hunt she'd gone on with her friend.

Crowley picked up the paper and read the article. Ah. That complicates things, he thought. He set the paper down on her dresser along with the tissues and, after a careful extraction, the journal, and gently moved Marian to her regular spot on the bed.

She woke as soon as he pulled the covers over her, feeling momentarily disoriented. She sat up quickly and her head spun; she blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision.

"It's alright, love, it's just me," Crowley said softly.

Marian yawned and wiped dried tear tracks off her cheeks. "Crowley?" She'd just been having a terrible dream where she was driving in a snowstorm and huge trucks kept trying to hit her. And before that…Before that, she'd had this awful dream that her friend had died.

No. That part wasn't a dream.

The demon sat down next to her and put his arm around her. "I read about your friend."

Marian was all cried out, but she was still feeling down. She leaned her head on his shoulder and curled into him. "I was trying to keep him safe. I thought I could keep them safe. If they're all going to die on me anyway, what's the point?"

"The point is, there are still over 6000 people that owe their lives to you," Crowley replied. He couldn't have her reconsidering their deal, not after he'd come this far. And if she did leave, he knew, it would only be a matter of time before another demon found her, and if anyone else created this Abomination…Well, it would not end well for Crowley. He had to convince her to stay so that she could fall in love with him. "Your parents-your human parents, at least—are still alive, as are the other hunters. Accidents happen, but that doesn't mean they're going to happen to everyone you know."

Marian sighed. "I know. I just…I wish…" She shook her head. "I don't know. I can't think right now. Never mind."

Crowley moved with her so that they were lying down and ran his hand through her hair. "See, this is why human emotion is overrated. Sadness, depression…" He made a face. "Just get angry. Anyone can deal with anger; you go and torture something until you feel better."

It wasn't funny, not really, but with her emotions all fucked up she laughed anyway.

Crowley smiled. "I could get you an under-performing demon, or maybe a vampire, if you want to try it yourself?" He brightened even more. "The lorry driver lived. I could get him for you."

She shook her head. "No, that's…That's sweet of you, but I don't want to kill a human. And that man didn't kill Michael on purpose; I don't want to torture someone for doing something by accident."

"I do it all the time," Crowley shrugged.

He squeezed her shoulder gently, rolling her forward so that he could rub her back. She tensed, then slowly began to relax under his touch.

She was starting to fall asleep when she heard him say: "You could go to the funeral."

"Hmm?" she replied, thinking she'd been dreaming.

"Michael's funeral. That's a big thing for people, isn't it? Pay your respects, or whatever it is you have to do to come to terms with your tiny mortal lives?"

Marian twisted around to glare at him.

"What?" he said. "I was human once. And back then, all anyone did was die."

She deflated. "Do you know if he…I mean, which way he went?"

"You mean if he's in his own personal Heaven or being ripped apart by demons?" Crowley said with a grin. "No, but I can find out." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Would you really want to know, though? Do you really want to know for certain that he's rotting away in Hell, when you could imagine him being at peace for eternity?"

She shifted again, pressing her back against his chest. "…I guess not."

He slid his arm around her waist. "The service is tomorrow at 2. I'll drop you off a block away from the church, and pick you up eight hours later. That should give you plenty of time to catch up with your friends."

"Wh—really?" She twisted her neck so that she could gauge his mood. "You would really let me see them?"

"There's nothing in our deal that forbids you from seeing your friends or family. While it is in my best interest to isolate you from them, I see no harm in you seeing them this once. I can't have you moping around all the time, wondering whether you've made the right choice."

He had her full attention; she slid onto her back, staring up at him. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. Just play by the rules." He pulled on the cord around her neck, fishing the special coin out from under her shirt. "I'll be able to hear everything you say and know where you are. If you take it off, I'll know that too." He dropped the coin and let his hand rest on her stomach. "Do you have a 'go' word? Like when a hunt goes wrong?"

Marian glanced away from him. "You're gonna think it's stupid."

"As long as 'stupid' keeps you alive, I don't care."

"…Tequila."

Crowley smiled, then chuckled at the thought of hunters screaming 'tequila' at the top of their lungs while being overrun by monsters. "Alright. Tequila it is." He kissed her cheek, then made a little trail of kisses down to her neck. Marian froze and held her breath. "Just don't forget that at the end of the day, I own you."

He bit down on her neck and sucked like a damn vampire but never broke her skin. She whined and squirmed, but knew she couldn't outright try to push him away—not that she could have, anyway, since he was so much stronger. She gritted her teeth when he swirled his tongue over the bite, then licked a little farther over and bit down again. That's going to leave a mark, she thought. Oh—that was the point, wasn't it? He was leaving her with hickeys as a physical reminder to her and everyone who looked at her that he owned her. He gets any more territorial, he'll be peeing on you next. Now that she understood what he was doing, she was less panicked about it and forced herself to lie still.

When he was satisfied that the marks were showy enough, he placed soft kisses over them and leaned back to admire his work. Marian kept her head turned to the side, refusing to make eye contact with him. Still, she couldn't miss the devilish smirk on his face.

"Someday, you'll enjoy that," he said. "Don't try to cover them up; I want everyone to see."

Great, she thought. That wouldn't make them worry about her at all.Still, at least she'd get to see them. She rolled onto her side and curled her legs up toward her chest. You're doing this for them. You're doing this for them. You're doing this for them.

I don't know if I can do this.