Words can never convey just how BADLY I wanted to get to this chapter. The feeling of Crowley and Bobby, the intense chemistry they had, the absolutely masterful feeling of both actors as both the lethal and playful teasing went on, it all makes me squirm every time I see them together even years and years later after their chemistry has left the show and been reduced to reruns. While not a power ship in its own right, destiel literally having roughly one hundred times the amount of stories, and usually as a side ship, Crowley and Bobby or Crobby has a special place in my heart. I adore both men separately, but I love them both together.

Chapter 25: Hell's Bells

The cell was dark and cold. That much had been expected. Bobby didn't consider himself an optimist, not really. Too much went wrong in the world from the big to the small to really believe things like hope was all you needed to get you through. On every level from the magical to the mundane, it seemed the world could just be out to get you sometimes. On the other hand, he also didn't consider himself a pessimist, unlike what some people who knew him might think. The fact of the matter was sometimes good endings could occur, and happy moments did exist.

No, he was a realist. You couldn't get by on just hope. You had to have that and hard work, determination to see things through and keep going. Sometimes you'd make it out okay, other times you'd end up a smear on the wall. It was just how things went, how the world worked. No reason to pay it more attention than that.

So when Bobby woke up in the cell, it didn't take him long to realize he had not made it upstairs like had been the plan. He was still dead, he knew that for sure. The last thing he remembered before he got here was the three Winchesters watching him fade away. There were nothing between that and waking up on the hard ground, the feeling of worn stone on his back. Something had happened between the two moments and he had no idea what, so he figured either such a thing was normal when someone died or that something or someone had jacked around with his memory.

He didn't expect comforts in Hell, a nice little bed with chocolates on the pillows, maybe some scents in the bathtub. The place being uncomfortable, yeah that was a given, an understatement really. No, was unexpected was the fact he was alone and had been for some time. Surely there should have been someone in sometime sooner or later to come and rip him to pieces, to hurt him in ways that he couldn't even imagine.

The cell was small, more like a box that he could barely pace around in, stone from floor to ceiling, and with a single door made of wood and iron but no handle, only a small window with bars in it with spaces so small only a rat could have squeezed through between them. It let only in the smallest traces of light, flickering an orange and red of fire, dancing against one spot of the cell at all times. Bobby had peered out once or twice to try and see what else was out there, but there was as little details outside as there was inside.

Something told him the window wasn't to allow him to see anything though. It seemed to have a different purpose. The scent of gore was not unfamiliar to the hunter. Both fresh blood and old, rotting flesh was something he'd long since gotten used to. He knew the smells and they wafted in constantly. The other thing was the sounds. Through the window he could hear it all, the screams and sobbing, begging for mercy, promises to do anything just to be released. The window was there to intimidate him.

Admittedly, it had made nervousness crawl up his spine a little at first. Even as stubborn as he was, he could feel fear just as much as any man. Now he was just getting impatient, the effect having long since worn on his nerves and leaving him to feel like whatever was going to happen should just happen already because the dread of what was to come had long since worn off.

There was no concept of time here, no amount of patience could let him try to keep track. He tried pacing, thinking things out while sitting down, making some kind of marks on the wall with his fingernails, but nothing really helped. He had nothing to really give him a definitive feeling of where he was in any sense of time. Nothing ever happened here, nothing changed. No one even walked by that he could yell at and demand answers from. Even someone being in front of him ignoring would be better than this.

Of course, those thoughts made him immediately want to smack himself. He'd heard what kind of horrors were in Hell. The haunted eyes Dean had possessed for so long after he had come back… well, they'd never truly left him. He remembered the boy from before, bright and carefree with a witty smile and the way he could throw his head back and laugh out loud at things that could make him happy. He'd been so bright and good, the life had never touched him in the way it had others. Oh yes, he'd known it was dangerous, but it had also been fun and rewarding to him because he knew what he did helped people.

Then he had seen his father die and it had shaken him.

Then he had seen his brother die and it had hurt him.

And then he had died… and it had broken him.

Coming back, there were horrors on his mind that would not leave him. They'd faded in time, to fresher moments in the real world, things that he had to focus on, people to save, jobs to do. Slowly over time, Dean became focused again because he had to, had even had moments when he was happy.

Though if Bobby had to admit, he didn't think he had ever seen the boy hope again. You don't talk about the world wanting to end and hiding the pills when you had honest thoughts that maybe things could be okay again.

Hell had taken a piece of Dean Winchester and consumed it in a feral frenzy of sadistic glee, and it had been happy to know he would never truly get it back. As much as Bobby felt pissed in here with no way of knowing when the hammer would fall, he knew he shouldn't think how he almost wanted it to happen if only to end the waiting. That was stupid beyond belief.

There was no ceremony when he finally heard the door unlocking, gears and rusted pieces moving with a soft groan. He'd been sitting in the corner, trying to dream of the last happy time he'd been with the boys alive. The good memories helped, along with little fantasies about if he'd been lucky not to be killed. He'd thought about still having his home, Dean suddenly on his doorstep with a teen girl by his side, explaining he needed Bobby to look after her and keep her safe. She'd have been sullen and moody at first, but with time and some bribes like ice cream she'd talk to him eventually. He thought about Sammy on his couch before he knew the truth about anything, watching cartoons with a bowl of sugary cereal in his lap, yawning and rubbing at his eyes as he tried to stay awake on that Saturday morning. He thought about Dean coming to him for advice because there was this girl who was really, really into him but he didn't have any idea what he was supposed to say to convince her that skinny dipping was fun.

Damn, he missed his kids.

He didn't stand up immediately when the door opened, spilling more light into the cell. Slowly he looked up and saw who was at the door, a man who looked like he had to be about his age, maybe older or younger though. His hair was much more white, drained almost completely of any color besides the last traces of gray still clinging stubbornly to the top of his head. He was much more clean-cut though, seemingly not touched by the years of hard living Bobby had experienced. In a crisp suit and the way he stood was downright dapper actually.

"The suit is going to be ruined by my blood, you know," he pointed out grumpily. He was sure he'd be screaming soon too, like all the voices that echoed down to his cell uninvited, now that someone had come for him. "Want to change before you start cutting me up?"

He was being bold in front of the inevitable, he knew, but what did it really matter? It's not like demons were going to stop cutting into him and give him breaks if he minded his manners. There was literally nothing he could do or say to make his situation better.

On the bright side, that also meant there was nothing he could do or say to make it worse.

"I was informed of your wit before I was sent to collect you. Apparently, it makes you feel rather the cavalier," he stated calmly. "Is that how you see yourself, a knight of some kind about to do battle with a dragon?"

"If I was, my armor would be pretty damn rusty at this point," he grumbled.

"Quite. Well, you at least didn't disappoint. However, as I stated before, I was sent here to collect you. Do you have more charm you feel the need to display or can we get going? I don't wish to drag you if I don't have to. As an honored guest, you deserve some sense of dignity, and you won't find it curled up on the floor as you are or dragged down the hall."

"Honored guest, huh? Fancy way of saying prisoner," he replied coldly. "Why should I just go along with this willingly?"

"Because I doubt you want to stain your new home with blood," the demon stated evenly. "His Majesty spent a good time working on it, and if you fight back it could cause him to be displeased."

That caught Bobby off guard, confused by the words. A new home meant a new cell, a place to be held, but he'd assumed it came with torture. That is what he'd been expecting the whole time, to finally be under the knife and claw, to be split in two or carved out from the inside while he screamed. The benign warning about getting blood anywhere didn't even seem threatening in a cruel ironic or sarcastic kind of way. It was like casual conversation, not a single hint of malice in it, and that did not fit with a demon.

He stood up slowly, eyeing the one in front of him warily.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"His Majesty has worked on something for you, a holding of sorts. You were to wait here until it was completed. Now it is, therefore you are to be moved. He has said he'd prefer it without harm coming to you, but that he also knows how stubborn you are. I can assure you, there is no running, no escape, no anything but for you to end up there. How bearable the trip from point A to point B is depends entirely on you at this point."

Bobby could believe him when he said there wasn't any escape for him. Like he said, he was a realist. He had a feeling if he ran off he wouldn't make it far, and he should save his strength for whatever was waiting for him. He could play it smart for now, figure out what was going on first before he tried to act.

The trick to any hunt was to know what you were up against first. You had to find out what you were hunting, what you needed to do to take it down. Hunters that went in half-cocked did not live long. Find out the danger first, figure out what you had to do to beat it second.

So he walked out behind the demon without any trouble, following him. He'd expected to see other cells, other prisoners down the hallway they traveled down but there wasn't anything else. The walls were as blank as his cell had been, nothing but a few more locked doors that the demon just waved his hand at to unlock them, no opening for keys or handles.

After the final door, Bobby took one more step, but the feel of stone didn't meet his boot. It felt soft underneath of his feet and he looked down to see grass and dead leaves. Baffled, his head jerked back up to the sight before him.

He'd been expecting a lot of different kinds of things waiting for him in Hell. Standing in the lot of his salvage yard was not one of them.

"Ah, Guthrie! I see you brought him," Crowley called out as he stepped out from behind one of the cars, looking as pleased with himself as someone who'd just won the sweepstakes. "Tell me, he wasn't too much trouble, was he?"

"No, he wasn't."

Bobby felt the itch of irritation that usually came with being talked about even when you're right in front of the people doing the talking. He wasn't about to put up with Crowley's attitude without dishing out some of his own.

"Excuse me, but what the hell is going on here?" he snapped out.

"I'd point out the irony of such a curse, but it's almost redundant at this point," the king stated before turning to the other demon. "Thank you, Guthrie. You can go now."

He nodded his head and was gone in an instant, leaving the two of them alone.

"What was that? Evil butler or something?"

"My personal attendant. Proud that I'm high enough in the world to rank such luxuries now?" he asked. Yeah, he sure was pleased with himself. Even for Crowley, who was self-satisfied beyond belief at all times, this was a new high for him.

"Wouldn't think I would be someone worth showing off to," he said before he looked around. At a quick glance it looked exactly how he remembered it, every car in place, the sign overhead, the slightly faded paint on his house that he'd told himself multiple times he needed to freshen up but never found time to get around to. He knew it wasn't real though, that it couldn't be.

He could feel the breeze drifting by was too hot, dragging over his skin like claws scratching him, the clouds in the sky not moving at all as if stuck in place, and the screams were more muffled than before but they were still there like whispers of a conversation he could hear through a wall but not make out what was actually being said.

"Oh Robert, you're the only one in this place I want to impress," Crowley purred. "Do you like it? A lot of time went into creating it."

Bobby wasn't the type to be flattered and more often than not when someone was being nice to him it was because they wanted something. The demon could at least be polite enough to just lay out what he was after instead of pretending like any of this had any chance of tricking Bobby or putting him into a false sense of security.

"I can tell it's not real," he stated bluntly. "What are you after?"

The demon shot him a look, his smile dropping a little bit before he turned around making his way to the house.

"You want the tour or not?" he asked with a call over his shoulder.

The old hunter had to figure it was better than getting tortured, at least for the meantime. Yeah, he was still waiting for that proverbial hammer to drop and fling him into an endless abyss of blood and insanity, but since it wasn't happening at the moment it seemed he might as well follow after him.

The inside was a true mess, books everywhere and a bit dusty. Curiously, he pulled a book off the television, flipping it open.

It was blank.

"You're kidding," he grumbled.

"Well, didn't want to go and give you any kind of lore that could give you bad ideas about making a nuisance of yourself to us," the demon said with a shrug and a smile. "Some of the things in here are decent though. Fiction is still in the books, too bad you didn't have much in the ways of just stories in your tomes so there isn't a lot. There is food in the fridge though, and plenty of that swill in dingy bottles that you like to call spirits. Television and radio work, but they're all going to be reruns. Even those last century antiques you call phones are set up, though considering the fact that there's no one to call I suppose they're just props."

"Seems half-assed, really."

Bobby watched the demon's expression carefully, looking for a change. Sure enough, Crowley seemed almost insulted at the words. Good, he could work with that.

"Your attendant or whatever mentioned you'd worked on this. You did what, took a piece of Hell and shaped it to look like some copy of the home that I know was burned down and got destroyed? It can't have been to trick me into thinking I was still alive," he pointed out.

"Being the king does come with advantages. Redecorating is one of them I suppose. It's something that I've played with time to time," he explained, his tone even.

"Of all the things you could be doing at the time?"

"Bobby, Bobby, what good is being in charge if I can't delegate tasks to my underlings while I work on a passion project of my own once in a while?"

"Passion project? Is that what you're calling it?"

"What can I say? It was something I felt like doing."

He wanted to push the question of just why but he didn't see Crowley answering. He'd be ignored or the conversation would just be segued to another topic brought up just to distract him.

"How long did it take?" he asked instead, trying to piece together some kind of answer to all of this with less direct and obvious questions. "Even incomplete it still looks like it would have taken a good long time to handle all of these little details."

"Oh… on and off between other things… I'd say about… maybe ten years," the demon informed him.

That surprised him.

"What?"

"Well, a month actually, topside," he admitted. "I can't get down to Hell just to make a comfy little home for you, Bobby. I do have other things I have to take care of that even I can't give to others to handle. Some things just require a personal touch."

"I've been down here for ten years?" he asked. "How did… I didn't..."

It hadn't felt that long, but trying to think about it was making his head hurt. He'd been in that cell so long, so maybe thoughts had come to him and passed, but he couldn't imagine it would have been such a long time for him and he hadn't really felt it.

"Things down here are difficult to explain at the best of the times," Crowley said. "Time flows-"

"You did something to me," Bobby accused immediately. "You did something to my head. It's why I can't remember."

The king tapped his foot on the floor for a moment or two, glancing around before he finally shrugged his shoulders.

"The look of the place wasn't what really took that much of the time," he admitted. "It was the shielding."

"Shielding?"

"Well, nothing I could block out completely of course. Hell is Hell. It was designed by the big man himself, the missing father who started a lot of the issues that plague us now. A place of punishment to contain his disappointing son. The horrors aren't something easy to block out, never have been, never will be. Even I can't make it go away. It's just how it is, mate."

"But you tried to keep it out of here?" Bobby asked.

"Eh, if you want to block it out further I'd suggest opening the fridge door. The fan on that thing can drown out almost anything."

"Why?" he asked, not willing to allow the demon to dodge out so easily.

"Why not?"

Yeah, no. The hunter was not going to accept that. It was too easy, no way would Crowley do something for him out of the kindness of his heart. That wasn't his style. Nothing, not a damn thing came free from him. This guy wouldn't drop a penny into a homeless man's hat without demanding a quarter in return.

"Why do this? There's nothing to get out of me now. At best I could be used as leverage against the boys, and even if they knew I was down here they'd sooner stab you than work with you to help me out."

"Oh yeah? I doubt that. They've got an obsession with saving others, especially hopeless cases," Crowley snorted. "Sure I can't use you as an investment against them?"

"No. No, if that were it you'd have been bragging about it by now. Things don't add up here. I'm not remembering time here, you set up a place for me and talk about how safe you tried to make it from the influence of Hell, and there's no price tag attached to it? What do you want from me, Crowley?"

The king gave him a long look, silence hanging between the two of them as Bobby wondered if any of the guns that should be in the house might have ammo and work.

"Honestly?" the demon eventually replied. "I'd like to know as well."

The confusing answer made no sense at all, but he didn't have a chance to say that before the damn bastard was just gone.

Okay, he'd have to figure this out on his own then. First things first, find out just what he was dealing with. Time to see if he could find out how this place worked.

Dar wouldn't stop fidgeting by the large desk, and despite the soft spot Crowley had for her, as soft as any demon could have anyway, he was starting to get irritated by it.

"What?" he growled out, knowing she was too smart to speak out of turn without being given permission first, but also clearly had something on her mind that she was just aching to bring up. She wasn't one who got involved in politics or the running of things often, clearly just preferring to being left alone to handle her sales pitches. It seemed that was changing though, just a smidgen from the way she seemed like there was something that just needed to be said and that she ought to be the one to say it.

In a couple hundred years he wouldn't mind giving her the position of King of the Crossroads once she'd had a chance to mature a bit into such a role, but for now she clearly wasn't up to it. Still, baby steps were progress. More than her lack of talent to lead anything, he'd just like someone that he knew he could trust in charge of more things around here. In the long run it just made everything all the much easier for himself after all. Still, it's not like she was jumping at any kind of chance to get herself involved in the affairs of running this place.

Which is why he had to wonder just why she'd asked to come in, working herself up to clearly say what was bothering her.

"None of the plan seems to make sense," she blurted out, causing him to sigh and rub at his temples. "With the risk of sounding impertinent, this isn't like you. I know you, was trained by you personally. If there is anything I could admire about anyone, it would be the fact that you do not take risks that aren't required, and you always know what it is that you're doing. So, knowing all of that about you, I just can not keep myself from wondering… just why are we doing this?"

This, of course, was referring to the arrangements made for one Robert Singer. The plans for him were tentative at best, not something Crowley liked either. Dar was right obviously. He was good with sureties, solid details that he could rely on when it came to making his moves. He had a talent at capitalizing moments of opportunity, but to truly be great one had to think things out in advance and make contingencies for 'just in case' possibilities. It did not guarantee that it would all work out to his favor at the end, but it did hedge the bets much more strongly in a way that would pay off handsomely for him.

This however, all of this was one big blank for him, and he had no idea what he was doing. Very few were aware of that, but he had a feeling he was going to be getting such questions like what he was getting from Dar very shortly. Even facts kept strictly secret had a way of spreading, and if those didn't then rumors happily took the place of reality. Gossip was a strong force in this place, especially for those that were not allowed to leave. When there was nothing else to do but talk, they grabbed a hold of it and refused to let go of the little bit of distraction and respite they had.

When, not if because he was not that hopeful, the demons found out that Bobby was not being raked over the coals like many would love to do to him then there was going to be a very big question on just why not. Whatever the answer was, Crowley wanted to know what it was that he would have to say to keep them placated. Even if the answer was something he couldn't let get out, at least he would be able to devise a lie to feed them. However, with no answer himself, there was nothing that he could risk giving tongue to.

"I know this has been rather unexpected, especially for you," he told her. "Believe me, it's certainly been quite an unknown for me as well."

"Then you know what we're going to do?" she asked.

"Nah, haven't the foggiest," he told her, watching her deflate a bit.

She'd been rattled since one of the Fates had arrived. Demons liked to be in charge, to be the biggest and baddest thing in the room, and when something came along that knocked them off the number one spot then flight was always the preferred response. Immortals were rather in love with their own unending lives after all, and that could not be more true of anyone else but their ilk. Since it was clear Dar could not run from whatever it was that was happening, it was making her very uncomfortable.

For a demon that liked to be left alone just to do her work in the first place, he could imagine this was fraying her nerves quite a bit. Especially seeing as she was the one who had inadvertently let Clotho in without meaning to. If this ended up blowing up in their faces it would be her that would face the consequences.

And while he did have a soft spot for her, she had a right to be worried about her own neck on the chopping block.

The biggest issue was, of course, the little sort of prophecy he'd gotten. It seemed like those things always came in two forms, either vague poetry that you had no idea what it could mean until right before the event was supposed to happen, or direct and to the point that on such and such day something was going to happen and you'd better be prepared for it or else.

This one… kind of seemed to be a mix between both of them and was the worst of both worlds.

"There is one other thing. Then we can seal the deal. It concerns a soul you're after, one you've wanted very much for a long time, Bobby Singer. Be kind to him, and you will never truly fall from your seat of power."

As prophecies went, yes, it was rather straight forward. However, it was also terribly undefined at the same time. Just what did it mean to be kind to the man, and what exactly was it going to get him? It was pesky for Bobby to have demanded to know so much just what Crowley was after because he didn't actually know himself. It was clear he had to use Bobby in some way, but the exact details had yet to make themselves clear to him. There was something he should be catching, but he had no idea what. To say that it was vexing was rather the understatement.

Blocking out Bobby's mind and perception while Crowley got ready had seemed smart. He didn't remember getting brought to Hell by Ajay, hadn't remembered most of his time in the pit. Nothing had been done to him of course, but even just the exposure to the place unfiltered could be harmful to a soul freshly freed from its body. Keeping him completely unaware had been the only way to truly protect him, awakened early enough so he would be disoriented and feeling stuck so that when he ended up in his new 'home' he would feel grateful for the change.

Manipulative, but it was the business that the demon was in.

The only thing was, he had no idea what the end goal was. Oh yes, keeping in his seat of power, blah blah, yadda yadda, but how exactly?

Getting rid of Lucifer had only been manageable because he'd taken those mortal idiots and put them on a plan, given them direction. When they'd been floundering around being the poster children for a PSA on daddy issues, he'd been the one keeping the trains running on time. Details and plans were everything, and he did not like being left in the dark.

So what to do?

Glam had promised him a prophecy, and he'd yet to receive it. Dick Roman was dead, though he hadn't really had time to collect. Clearly he should be asking about that. Wrestling some more details out of them was the only way he was going to get anywhere.

"Dar, I have a job for you," he said. "You're going to play messenger for me for a bit."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Find the one who summoned you, Clotho. It's time for her and her two sisters to hold up their end of the little bargain we struck up," he stated. "When you've gotten something arranged, come back and let me know the details."

"Sounds easy enough," she admitted. "If they don't want to meet though?"

"Ah, properly paranoid, like you should be. Smart, Dar. I don't think they'll break the deal, but in case something goes wrong then just come back and tell me what they said exactly. I don't expect you to be able to intimidate the Fates into doing anything they don't want to do."

She seemed to be relieved at that and nodded her head.

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"Good. Until then, I feel like blowing off some steam. I'll be down in the hobby room. If I'm still in there by the time you get back just wait for me."

Instructions given, he left his office and made his way off to a more fulfilling destination. He hadn't been lying to Bobby. There had been other things that had been getting his attention lately, not able to dedicate all of his time just to play nice for one mortal soul.

The two guards at the room he ended up at, he waved off without a second thought. They pulled the door open and he strolled casually up to the one held in this cell. It was much bigger than what had been used to house Bobby, several lines of chains hanging from the ceiling to hold the one on the very middle still, tied in spots, cuffed in others and hooks dug deeply into skin. Off in the corner, far out of reach was a tray of toys, but Crowley didn't go to it just yet, just drinking in the sight.

"The last of the old dynasty at my feet. I have to admit, you ended up being much less trouble than I thought you would be. How's it feel that at the very worst you were an annoyance to me and nothing else?" he asked.

"Oh, screw off. You going to get on with it or just talk this whole time?"

"That eager to get it started, little whore?"

Meg lifted her head, her face covered in cuts and bruises, a chunk of her forehead peeled away to reveal skull. Despite the damage, the hatred in her eyes had not dimmed, just as fiery as it had always been. He hadn't broken her yet, but there was plenty of time to work her over. He had known from the very start it was going to take some time to get what he wanted out of her, but he would in the end.

The last of the pathetic line of fanatics, serving willingly to an archangel that had planned to kill everyone, including the demons themselves. Azazel had once commanded so much respect that all of Hell had given themselves up to his lead, whether they'd agreed with him or not. He'd had the power as a Prince to command armies and order belief as deep as his, and while the loyalty was faked, it had still been very solid. His two little children, one killed without a second thought by a Winchester, and the now his second trussed up like a turkey that was helpless in Hell.

She had clung to her father's plan, her loyalties clear as day. She was also strong, much stronger than most, and she'd never been shy about letting anyone know it. That raw power, combined with no shame about using Azazel's name to throw her weight around, had made many down here fear her. It was an imposing figure she'd always cut and no one, not one damned soul, had not at least heard of her and known what she could do to them if she wanted to.

It made for an impressive symbol, one that he planned to take full advantage of.

Perhaps he didn't know how he was going to use Bobby yet, but his ideas for Meg were very clear cut. His hold on Hell would be secure. He'd have his empire, and this thing before him was going to help him do it. She was strong now, but no one could hold out forever. Once she begged, once she was a mewling little whelp desperate to be put out of her misery, he'd tote her out in front of everyone.

The last line, broken and shattered by his strength. No one would dare even whisper that he did not deserve to rule Hell ever again.

He went off to the cart, picking up one of the knives. Even in the low light it gleamed wickedly, his smile reflected in the metal.

Dar considered herself to be rather shrewd. You had to be to get anywhere in Hell. Very few things would protect you the pit and she'd learned that fast when she'd gotten there. In her old life, she'd been an assistant to a bookstore owner, an old man who gathered rare books and secrets and who favored the cane when she didn't move fast enough in her work. She'd learned plenty under his employ, both in the written word in books that she'd sneak away to read at times, and that it was a good habit to learn when it was best to be seen in order to be helpful and when it was best to remain from out underfoot so as to avoid the wrath of those in charge.

She'd surely been good enough at it, considering she had been brought along with him to see the new world. When the ship had sunk though, she'd paddled away as for from his corpse floating in the waters and did her best to recall the words and symbols she'd seen in his books, looking for whatever salvation she could find. Biting her hand open to get the blood, drawing the symbol on the wet plank of wood she clung to, and praying with chattering teeth as her body went numb from the cold water, it had been a desperate plea of a girl no older than 15, scared and alone, that refused to die in such a horrible way.

To say Crowley had been her savior would be too generous. It had been a deal, ten years longer alive for her eternal soul. For him it had just been a transaction, but she'd clung to him when he pulled her out of the water and cradled her close. Her teeth had still been chattering when she'd found herself on the streets of a city, what few possessions she'd owned in a chest right next to her. It might have been foolish to give up forever in exchange for a decade, but given the books she'd read, she had never thought back then that the good Lord would have welcomed her into his kingdom anyway.

Then the hell hounds had come, and her life ended with her screaming. The screaming didn't stop, not for a long time. Not for countless years, on the rack as she was torn apart and debased in every way until the pain began to stop and the numbness started to creep in, and finally when she changed Crowley was there for her again to scoop her up as she trembled in his wicked embrace.

He was the kindest face there, which was terribly ironic, but he was all she knew. Following him seemed wisest, and he liked pragmatism. He was cruel, but only when you deserved it, and good to those who did as they were told. Like her old employer, a man she no longer even remembered the name of, she knew it was better to just do what you were told and stay out of the way otherwise. You got hit less that way.

Dar would never settle for being the bottom of the barrel, some stupid low-level grunt that was only used for base possessions and fighting, but she didn't want to be at the top either. Everyone loved to take a shot at the man in charge, sure they could do it better, and if given the chance were willing to tear him down to prove it. Middle management was much more her speed, enough pull to avoid intimidation, but not so high as to put a target on her back. She was much, much too paranoid of a woman to ever think the risks were worth the reward. The little girl who made such gambles was long since dead, and she was wiser now for it.

Still, she was worried at the moment, if not for her own sake but Crowley's. Loyalty was rare for demons, and only went so far. She'd prefer him in charge of course, since his position solidified her own, but if he lost the title she imagined she'd bow just as easily to a new King of Hell. Still, she didn't really want to, not if she didn't have to. Just a transaction or not, she was what she was now thanks to him. Even if her due had long since been paid… well, maybe she was more loyal than she wanted to admit.

This though… all of this, it was scaring her, and she didn't like it. Crowley's position was still a little shaky and there were whispers about his decisions of late even with his recent shows of strength like punishing Guy for his backstabbing deal stupidity. Angels betraying him, Leviathans let loose, and now a Fate itself bursting right into Hell to make a deal? If there ever was a bad omen, she was sure that last one would qualify.

What could she do though? She'd been given an order to get his little prophecy and she didn't have a choice in the matter.

Keeping track of someone who'd made a deal with a crossroads demon was easy enough. Imperative even to keep contracts in check when they were supposed to come due. Even if the deal had been made with Crowley, she'd still been the one summoned. It made it easier to tap into a location. Of course, that was with a human soul. She didn't know how well it would work for someone like this, but she figured she had to at least try.

The summoning circle was reversed, her name and Clotho's engraved into the ground. Just as she was about to start chanting though, a hand snatched out and grabbed her wrist.

"Your movements are unwise."

Dar found herself looking in the eyes of a woman only a little shorter than her, in a knee-length white dress covered in thick, black lace that gave the outfit an overall dark gray look. With black hair styled in a bobbed cut, she looked like someone about to head out to prom and shouldn't be standing out in the middle of nowhere on a loose gravel road.

Which told the demon that this was not someone she wanted to mess with. The more someone looked out of place, usually the more you needed to be careful around them.

"Clotho? Is that you?" she asked warily, but the one who'd grabbed her only shook her head.

"We ride our own skin. Her skin is already known to you."

"Uh huh. Then, you are?"

"Lachesis."

"Good enough," Dar said, figuring if anyone was going to know in advance they were about to be contacted it would be ladies who could see the future. "The king wants to know when you can delivery his prophecy."

Lachesis tilted her head for a second as if listening for something before closed her eyes and shook her head.

"The late hour. We will arrive then."

Dar didn't have any idea what that was supposed to mean, but honestly she didn't feel like asking. Something about this one was off, in more ways than one. A sense of gloom seemed to hang about her, and Dar was happy to get out while the getting was good. At least she would, if the other woman would let her go.

"Ahem. My arm," she said, waving a bit to it with her free hand. Lachesis didn't reply at first, not seeming to understand, before her fingers slowly uncurled from Dar's borrowed flesh.

"Depart," Lachesis said, and the demon was all too happy to do so.

Whenever the late hour was supposed to be, eventually the three arrived and were escorted to Crowley's office, where the king, Guthrie and Dar waited. An itch crawled up her neck at the sight of them, all dressed in muted colors and grays, standing in Hell with a confidence that she did not like. Still, she held her tongue as Clotho stepped forward to talk, clearly the one to handle the transaction with the king.

"I hear you were looking for us," she said conversationally. "Ready for your payment then?"

"It would be appreciated. I think I've kept my end of the deal fairly well," he replied.

"Too true. We don't have any complaints," she admitted as she planted her hands on her hips. "Well, we're ready for this little jam session if you are. Be forewarned though, this stuff always comes out a bit cryptic. We offer more road maps than checklists to follow, just so you're aware."

"If you could dispense with the rhyming poetry and just give it as straight as possible, that would be appreciated," Crowley replied.

"Aww, too bad. I love batting on those little bongo drums when I deliver my prophecies. Let me tell you, I can rock those black berets and sunglasses as well as any beatnik," Clotho laughed before getting elbowed in the side by Atropos. "Fine, fine. Whenever you're ready."

The three Fates formed a circle, putting their hands together as the tips of their fingers touched. For a moment they closed their eyes, and when they opened them again they'd dulled to a smokey gray. As they spoke their voices warped into one, echoing faintly against the walls.

The one who should have fallen is Risen, embraced by the one who should have rose only to be Fallen

Lost daughters, one of the blood, one of the spirit, shall strike out at the Risen. The Fallen must be his shield

One daughter will drink from the other, creating a well of poison that the damned will drown in

From that well shall the poisoned be drug, chained to serve the sisters, to batter at the walls of the frozen death

Unless the Risen offers forth the antidote, and reclaims that which was cut away

The One that Hides, her machinations and her kingdom were as one, and they fell together but her enemies will feast of her larder, and make her precious things as theirs

And thus shall the Hidden One offer up her power to strengthen the realms of the dead, a boon upon his crown

From this the Risen shall never have to fear his crown being lost

His power shall last even beyond the snuffing of the sun, in which he will watch the mightiest of Heaven fall

Crowley sat there, his fingers steepled as the Fates vanished, their prophecy given. The two demons on either side of him eyed each other, neither sure exactly what to say. Dar could only guess the hasty exit was either for dramatic emphasis or to avoid follow up questions. It was probably both. Not helping the matter was the fact she wasn't sure if all of that sounded like good or bad news, and from the look from Guthrie, he wasn't either.

When Crowley finally spoke, his voice was dangerously low.

"Anyone want to explain to me what any of that rubbish meant, and just why I paid for it?" he snarled.

Oh, there was the answer. It was bad, because anything that pissed their king off usually didn't go well for them.

Dar would have sighed if it had seemed safe to. Times like this, she almost missed the old man with the cane.

End of Chapter 25

Ah, at last all three sisters of fate are here. Woohoo. Since it was only Atropos in the show, I had to make the other two completely out of whole cloth, but I think I made them distinct and interesting in their own right.

On more pressing matters, I hope you guys are into court intrigue, politics and odd romances. Cause Crowley is going to find himself up to his ears in it.