Sophia's Chronicles

Chapter 69: Leap of Faith

The Bunker, Lebanon, Kansas – 16 September 2012, 8.22am

"Home sweet home," Dean announced as he entered the kitchen, armed with grocery bags.

"You're back," Cas noticed, standing over a studious Kevin who looked like he hadn't moved an inch from his seat since the last time they'd seen each other. "I take it that your hunt was successful?"

"Yeah. More than," Dean confirmed. Then he exhaled, thoughts heavy on his lips. Castiel's eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, immediately conscious of the hesitation. Something was coming - he knew it. "Actually, uh, I have some news."

This time Kevin too looked up. His eyebags only seemed to grow with every meeting. "Where's Sam?" Cas asked, imagining the worst case scenario. "Is he alright?"

"Yeah, yeah he's alright. It's not him," Dean began. "We have… a new housemate."

"Okay…" Cas slowly nodded. Dean's hesitation only worried him more. "Who is it?"

That was when Sam walked in, with what looked to be a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. A bag that was clearly not his. And behind him, she followed, holding a guitar case. Castiel's blue irises appeared as full circles as recognition shot through him. Zara half-heartedly met his gaze, knowing full well the awkwardness of this situation. "Hiya Cas," she greeted meekly.

"Zara," he dared utter her name. A number of suggestions raced through his mind. No archangel. Wounds on upper body. In the same room as the Winchesters… so, not hostile? Despite reason telling him not to be alarmed, one memory pervaded his thoughts. Death. "What is she doing here?"

"Long story," Sam sighed. "But could you first… you know," he pointed fleetingly at his forehead and gestured towards her. Castiel truly saw past his surprise at this point as his healer instincts kicked in. He approached her, ready to touch a finger to her head.

"Of course."

"It's alright," Zara dismissed, leaning away. "I can handle my own scrapes."

The angel did it anyway and instantly, all her pain vanished. "I've learnt not to question it," Dean simply said. He was met with a challenging glare from Castiel but he simply shrugged.

"Thanks," she managed a soft smile at him. "And… sorry. That my hands were used to kill you."

His eyes softened at the confession. It occurred to him that it was ridiculous to blame her for Sophia's sins. And maybe on some level, he understood why he'd been killed. "I'm sorry that it ever came to that," he admitted too.

"Alright," Dean clapped his hands together once to get their attention, lest the situation get any more tense. "Oh and this is Kevin, by the way."

He signalled towards the kid, who'd only been watching in mild curiosity at the whole scene unfold. Cas and Sam parted so that she could see him. Kevin said an obligatory hello from his spot at the dining table. "Kevin, Zara," Sam introduced with the appropriate hand gestures. "Hunter, prophet."

"Prophet," she repeated, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Sounds important. You see things?"

"No, not that kind of prophet," Kevin corrected her. "Less That's So Raven, more Da Vinci Code."

Zara's eyes were eerily fixated in his direction. She wasn't saying anything in response so Castiel assumed simpler language was needed. He too got mystified at times by the pop culture references being thrown around. "He's decrypting the-"

"Angel tablet," Zara exhaled in shock. The boys all exchanged puzzled glances while she just treaded forward slowly towards the table. She extended her palms, making a sign to Kevin to hand over the tablet. Curious, he complied. She held the tablet in her hands, running her fingers over the writings. "Impossible…"

"You know about it?" Dean was the first to ask behind her.

"I remember…" A series of images flashed through her head so fast she had to shut her eyes. She'd also recalled Lucifer mentioning its loss, as well as a disgruntled rant about how Sophia was probably gonna school him about it when she got back.

"You okay there?" Sam placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," she blinked a few times to dispel the flashback. "How did you get this? Sophia made sure to hide it in…" she thought first that it would be unwise to reveal the location, but seeing as they already had the tablet, it seemed trivial to hide it. "…in Lucifer's crypt."

"Well we broke into Lucifer's crypt," Dean stated rather proudly. "With the help of a demon."

"Was it Meg?" Zara probed. "I bet it was Meg."

"It was," Sam confirmed.

"She called it," Zara huffed, chuckling to herself. "I can't believe she called it." Before anyone could ask, she elaborated, "Sophia knew this was going to happen. Did you know that she tried to kill every demon who knew about the crypt? But Lucifer stopped her before she could kill the only demon left and… they had a little argument. And guess who gets caught in the middle of their lovers' quarrel?"

"Sounds fun," Dean remarked dryly. That story sounded familiar. Meg had told them something along those lines. So Zara was telling the truth.

"So you have knowledge of where the tablets were hidden," Castiel pointed out. "You could help us find the demon tablet."

"Well, uh…" Zara paused. "This is the only tablet that I saw Sophia hide. I'm not much help beyond that. Sorry."

"But you have access to her repository," Castiel persisted. The boys picked up on that sudden revelation, looking between the former vessel and the angel. Though Castiel seemed rightly sceptical of her, he did find it odd that her confusion matched the Winchesters'.

"What are you talking about?" she questioned rather uncertainly.

"Sophia's repository," he clarified with a firm nod. "The one that contains everything that she knows, which will naturally include the location of all the tablets. You know where it is."

"I do?" her head tilted. "I've never heard of this repository before. Who told you this?"

"The angel Raziel. Sophia's confidante," he answered. "She told him about it before she left on some unnamed business." His eyes narrowed rather cynically at her, which made her uncomfortable. Suddenly it felt like she was put on the spot and Sam was increasingly aware of it.

"But if he's her confidante, shouldn't he know where it is? Why would she trust me, of all people, with information like that?" she calmly asserted. Silence fell over the room. To everyone else, it seemed rather obvious that Zara shouldn't be privy to such classified information, which was why his sudden scepticism surprised even Dean.

"Perhaps she doesn't doubt your loyalty to her," Castiel accused. Zara held his gaze with soft eyes, even shrinking back slightly. Her small size in comparison to the men around her lent support to her portrayed vulnerability.

"Cas, that's enough," Sam interjected in defence of her. "We've all had difficult pasts."

Cas simply nodded and stepped back as if to relent, though he still wore his doubts on his collar. His lips formed a tight line though he softened the blue steel a little. "My apologies."

"You've every right to ask your questions," she simply said, lips quivering into a concessionary smile.

"Okay Boris, time to settle down and find whatever works," Dean came between them. Castiel and Zara both crinkled their eyebrows slightly at that reference but for markedly different reasons.

Kevin decided to break the awkward tension in the room at this juncture. "Guys, uh, I think I may have found something," he began. He flipped through the disarray of unconnected pieces of paper to find the right one. "There's a section here… that talks about archangels. I haven't been able to piece together everything but it looks promising."

"Awesome," Dean praised. "Keep digging. We need everything we can get to ice Satan. Spells, archangel blade, the whole nine."

"Where would we find an archangel blade?" Castiel asked. Dean simply directed his gaze to Zara.

"Oh," she realised. "Yeah, I have Sophia's blade."

"Why?" This did not ease Castiel's suspicions at all.

"What do you mean 'why'? I just do," Zara challenged in turn.

"Okay, cut it out," Dean interjected, again. "No point punching a gift horse in the hatch."

"But wait," she paused, looking between them. "Do we… do we have a plan? Do we even know what Lucifer wants?" she ventured a question.

"We have bits and pieces from the past year," Sam answered, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you, uh, get settled in first? You must be tired. We'll fill you in later."

The two of them exchanged a small smile. Sam offered to show her a room so she obliged, following him as they both left the kitchen. Once they were gone, Dean gave Cas a small shrug as if to passively accept the situation. "Dean, do you trust her?" Cas asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Honestly, I don't know. But she saved my life, Cas. And she seems straightened out," he admitted. "If there is even a snowball of a chance that she can help us take down Lucifer, I say we take it."

"You said the same thing during the apocalypse," Cas pointed out. Dean wasn't one to deny that. "Might I remind you that it did not end up well for her or for us?"

"But that wasn't her fault. It was my call. My fault. This time's gonna be different. She stays here. We'll take the blade and we'll finish the job," Dean vowed.


River City Casino, New Orleans, Louisiana – 6 months ago

Her jaw trembled. Despite the high maintenance of this place, it didn't seem like the heater was working well enough. Where'd she go? She was just here. Abaddon's sudden disappearance didn't sit right with Zara. But perhaps she was just worrying too much. After all, a Knight of Hell had no reason to fear a building full of humans. Zara had heard tales of Abaddon's vivacious siege of the British Men of Letters' temporary headquarters in Hell – about how gloriously and mercilessly Abaddon had led the attack. On some level, Zara was grateful that such a harsh fate had befallen her captors. It only seemed fair. Such an esteemed Knight, who was trusted by Lucifer himself, probably knew what she was doing. Which was why Zara hesitated at the idea of leaving the waiting room to check. Yet her thumbs fiddled uncomfortably. Without any line of communication, she wasn't sure how long to wait awkwardly where she was.

"Thought she'd never leave, huh?" a man's voice sounded beside her. She jerked to face him. It was him – the man who'd been sitting there the whole time. He'd set down his magazine and used a serviette to wipe his mouth clean. With his salt-and-pepper hair and square jaw, he looked like a discount George Clooney. "Shall we get down to business?"

"Uhm…" Zara froze with a wide-eyed glare. "Who are you?"

That took him by surprise. He tried to keep his cool, adjusting his fine suit. "Who I am doesn't matter. But who you are… hm…" he hummed with a malicious smile as he regarded her. "Satan sends his finest. That'll surprise 'em."

"Surprise wh-who?" her voice trembled. If it was possible for eyes to look like the alarmed question marks in the mind of a college student who didn't study for her finals, Zara's were the very portrait of them.

The man paused to study her facial features. He was but amused by her distress. "It's a good thing you're pretty," he finally said. "What are you, Lucifer's kitten?"

"What?" she consciously refrained from coughing in disgust. "Can- can we just clarify what the hell is going on? Please."

He sighed, giving her a bored look. "Lucifer's commitment is suspect if he's sending a clueless thing like you to us," he remarked. "This is an induction, dear. Your boss seeks to gain entry into our organisation, does he not?"

"Uh… sure…" Zara passively accepted. "What are you? Demon? Angel? Alien?"

The man let out a chuckle rumbling from his core. "None of the above," he shook his head. "I'm human, just like you."

"But I… I don't understand…"

"Here's the thing, sweetie. Our clients don't trust each other enough to meet directly. So they send people like us to do the talking for them," he summarised. "I'm here to represent Javelin, and you're here for Hell."

"Like… human ambassadors?" Zara inferred.

"Human shields, more like," he rebutted with a sceptical frown. "So tell me, what does the Devil want with us?"

"Listen, dude, I don't know what your deal is, but if I'm being honest, I don't know what the hell is going on. You're better off waiting for the redhead to get back," she deflected. Her heart pounded so fast it could tear a hole right through her chest. Her only relief was that the man was human.

"Cut the crap!" he pounded his fist on the table. Or not. Zara flinched at the same time the silver-ware clanked in their positions. "We all know that the angels have always despised the pagans, so why would Lucifer be any different? Why should we trust you people?"

"Uh… because… uhm…" Zara's mind raced to find a believable answer. "Lucifer's different. He hates the angels as much as you- your… clients. It would be in both of our best interests to fight the menace that's the uh- the angel presence on earth."

Silence. She congratulated herself on making it to the end of that sentence. "Oh," the man straightened up, contemplating her answer like it was the most interesting thing he'd ever heard. "Alright then. If that is the case, then what will your entry fee be?"

"Entry… fee…?"

"I swear to Zeus…" the man rolled his eyes. "To get into Javelin, everyone must pay a price. What does your boss intend to give us, um…?"

"Zara," she just spoke without thinking, not even considering that her identity was something that had to be protected. She regretted ever speaking the moment the name left her mouth. It's no wonder he keeps me locked up in Hell. Now look what I've done. A sick feeling took her by storm. A fast tempo, her breaths headed in and out so quickly she began to feel light-headed. What's happening? Her mind felt out of control, refusing to obey laws of normalcy. On the single occasion her darting eyes found the light brown irises of the strange man, he seemed to regard her with curiosity.

"What's it gonna be, Zara?" he persisted. She took a deep breath to ground herself. She didn't have an answer to that question. She couldn't make promises on behalf of Lucifer. She didn't even know how much Lucifer would be willing to give up for such a thing. This wasn't even supposed to be her job! Her silence only vexed the man in the fancy suit. "Look, my clients do not appreciate being made to look like fools. They took a chance with the Devil. So what am I supposed to make of this?"

"I'm… sure… a suitable fee can be discussed at a later time," she blabbered. "Maybe we should um… seal the deal first?"

"Is that a threat?" he accused sharply.

"What? N-"

"I should've known from the start," he sharply stood up, reaching a hand into his jacket. "First, he sends a clueless intern. Then he expects a membership to be handed on a silver platter. What is this, some kind of scam? Well, let me tell you something, sweetheart, this kind of behaviour is not tolerated by Javelin. Lucifer will pay us, whether he wants to or not." His hand reappeared, holding a capped syringe. The blood drained away from Zara's face, reminded brutally of the last time she'd been drugged. "Let's start with you."

"Stay away from me!" she rushed to back away but he grabbed her wrist with an iron grip. In her struggle for escape, the one thing her mind fixated on was the end of that needle. As his thumb worked to uncap it, the only thought the reverberated in her head was that she had to stop him. Her free hand bunched into a fist which she hurled at his face. It worked – he dropped the syringe. But now both his hands were free and scrambling to hold her down. Zara tried to pull away and get free from him but he was far too strong. Their little tussle was confined to that narrow space between the couch and the coffee table. Though it seemed hopeless, she didn't give up. She kicked him in the shins. He groaned, cussing at her. It gave her a little leeway to move.

But as she broke away from his grasp, he only pounced forward to grab her shoulders more forcefully than before. This time, he flung her onto the floor. She let out a shriek as her back impacted the table before hitting the ground, clattering the silver ware with her on the floor. Before she could fully come to terms with the pain radiating from her back, he got on the ground and put his hands around her throat. All she saw was the manic lust for death in his grey eyes as he choked the breath out of her. She tried to push him away to no avail. "Stop struggling and it'll be over," he growled. One hand poised on her neck, the other reached for the syringe.

Panic flooded her bones like a levee torn apart by an earthquake. It was now or never. She had to act quickly. Her palm scrambled on the carpeted floor in search of anything that could help her. Surely enough, the extravagant butter knife found its way into her fingers. With a swift sweep of the arm, she drove it into his neck.

A choked gasp escaped his lips as his gaze slowly drifted to her. Now that she'd gained momentum, the only thing left to do was finish the job. His hand eased from her neck to his own and that was when she gripped the knife with both hands and dragged it across his skin. Blood showered her face in warm pearls, surprising her with its sudden impact. She panted heavily but soon felt only relief. A cool wave spread throughout her chest. It didn't just feel good; it felt great – to escape the man-hands of death, of course. With a laboured push, she shoved the limp man away.

"Lucifer's going to kill me," she muttered under her breath as she stood up next to the corpse.

"I heard something from in there," a distant voice said. Uh oh. Incoming. Hide! Zara took cover behind the bar. She blinked to activate her kohl. The green outlines of two figures entering with an investigative gait showed up. They seemed to be holding handguns. When they spotted the pool of blood they hurried towards it. One guy clicked a button on his radio while the other knelt down to inspect it. "We have a dead body up here. Possible hostile in the building. Requesting back-up."

This was bad. This was really bad. How the hell was she supposed to get out of here with the whole building on the lookout for her? And could anyone really fuck up a "diplomatic mission" any more than this? Luckily, the room was big enough to warrant the two men splitting up to cover more ground. She stayed low, cowering in the corner where the bar's counter had sides. Just then, one of the guards crept in a straight line past her. The other guy was nearer to the windows. It would be easier to sneak past them were it not for the fact that both doors were in their sights.

Zara slowly shifted her weight into a standing position. She now held the syringe that was meant for her. Chest tightened with the breath she didn't dare exhale, she jabbed the needle into his neck and squeezed. He jerked suddenly. "Hey!" he yelled. Before he could retaliate, she grabbed a liquor bottle and smashed it on his head. That rendered him unconscious. She barely sighed in relief when she realised the other guy had heard their little commotion. Instinctively, she ducked under the counter just as a bullet whizzed in her direction and shattered a neglected glass. She scurried to get the dead man's gun and time her movement with the guy who was now coming over to apprehend her. Just as he turned the same corner his friend did, Zara crept around the other end of the counter.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to hold her breaths. Lucifer wanted her alive and if she made the wrong move, she could die and it was highly unlikely that he would give her any more chances. Okay. 1… 2… 3… Zara shot up and aimed the gun where the silhouette showed up in her vision. She pulled the trigger. Blood spattered on the row of bottles behind him. Another man down. She went back behind the counter to make sure he was dead. His body convulsed like a fish out of water before suddenly going still. Yup. He's definitely dead. Then her eyes drifted to the first guy, whose chest still rhythmically moved up and down in his unconscious state. She shot him too.

A strange mixture of calmness and despair fell over her. "What have I done?" she rued. Her eyebrow twitched, as undecided about her emotions as she was. Now what? A shaky breath left her lips. She knelt down, fixated on the growing radius of blood. It was a deep red. A deep, strong red. The colour was alluring. It reminded her of that divine connection she felt once to her archangel. Her fingers reached out to touch it. If she thought the colour fascinated her while she was possessed, it was something entirely new to see it with full control of her eyes. Destruction of my own making. The blood was sticky on her fingertips so she wiped it on a dead guy's shirt.

Deciding that it was probably time she called for help or something, she stood up again. That's when she noticed the camera on the wall, its single eye targeting her. Her senses, attuned by the archangel's cosmetic, picked up on an alarmed disarray elsewhere on the same floor. Footsteps thudded in a disorganised chorus. They were coming for her. Quickly, Zara picked up the other gun lying on the floor and headed out in search of an escape. The hallway was empty but not for long.

She slid into a supply closet and moments later, she watched the green silhouettes of the other men rushing past her into the large room she was in. "She couldn't have gotten far!" she heard someone yell. "Spread out and search the area!"

Sweat dripped from her forehead in beads. Every moment that passed seemed less hopeful than the previous one. She cursed herself for not making a break for it when she could. Now the henchmen were fanning out and on high alert. She watched one after the other pass the supply closet… until one guy chose to stop in front of it. Her breaths grew shallower. She held the gun up, aimed straight at his head. The knob twisted. Light filtered in. And boom. He fell backwards.

No time to waste, Zara dashed out the door, searching for another room to hide in. Unfortunately, she ran into another one of them. They were all wearing black suits – they all worked for Javelin, she realised. So these weren't innocent security guards. Did that unburden her conscience a little? Maybe. Maybe it stopped mattering. Aim. Pull. Bang. Two more came behind her and she shot them too.

She ran into another room and heard a gasp. Her eyes met those of a woman in a golden dress and a balding middle-aged man seated at a table. They appeared relatively harmless, seeing as neither of them were aiming a gun in her face. But they were witnesses. She pointed the gun at them and they immediately raised their hands in surrender.

"Please!" the woman begged, cowering in her seat. "Don't…"

That gave her pause, though her arm did not ease. "You work for Javelin," she deduced emotionlessly. And from their lack of denial, she guessed she was right. She stepped closer to them.

"Wait, wait!" the man pleaded this time. "We can- we can be useful!"

Zara's interest was piqued. If she got something out of this messy situation, she could beg Lucifer to go easy on her. "I'm waiting."

"Let us go and we'll tell the men to let you leave," the man promised, nodding his head vigorously to convince her of his merits.

"Or I could just shoot you and walk away," she hissed.

"You'll live to regret that," the woman whimpered. "You don't know who you're messing with!"

"Yes, yes, our bosses will retaliate if you kill us now!" the man agreed. "You work for Lucifer, right? He'll never get another chance to join Javelin if you kill us. Let us go, and we'll… we'll convince the higher-ups to let you in."

Zara silently considered his argument. "You see, there's something… I don't understand…" she relaxed her posture. Seeing her ease up, the two of them mirrored her composure. "You and the other guy kept talking about letting Lucifer in but… why would Lucifer want to be part of your stupid posse anyway? What can you possibly offer him?"

Through her peripheral, she spotted another silhouette approaching the door rapidly. Just as he appeared at the doorway, she jerked her arm to shoot him. The woman let out a shriek, covering her mouth in shock, while her companion was retreating his arm under the table. Zara quickly returned the gun's aim to them.

"Hands where I can see them!" she ordered. They both obliged again. This was a strange feeling – being in control. Yet things had escalated so fast that it was difficult to truly be consoled by the fact that she controlled this negotiation. Where were all the demons? Why wasn't anyone coming to her help? Something had to be off.

"We have something!" the woman blurted out.

"Fiona!" the man whispered sharply at her. Zara looked between them. There was clearly a disagreement there. But also an opportunity. "What're you doing?"

"I'm saving us," she returned the silent but harsh tone. Fiona turned back to Zara. "There's a safe at the end of the hallway. It contains a document that you might be interested in."

"What document?" Zara probed.

"I- I d-don't know," she answered, visibly trembling. "I only know that it was bought from the demon Crowley."

Okay. Sounds… relevant.

"I can give you the passcode," she offered.

"No," Zara firmly said. "You'll open it for me. Get up, both of you." She gestured with a gun for them to head towards the door. They complied. "No detours. And if either of you make a sound, both of you die."

Two guns pointed at two heads. They led her down the hallway, as promised. It certainly helped that Zara could see the roving guards before they came into view. She took them down swiftly and remorselessly, adding to the fear she saw grow in the woman's eyes. There was something empowering about it even though every instinct in her body seemed to tell her that she should feel guilty. She knew she felt bad. She didn't want to ever be in this situation again. But survival came first.

They entered the promised room. It was simple in comparison to the others, probably with the intention to mask its importance. A large safe stood against the far wall. "You," she looked at the man. "Stand in that corner." She pointed a gun at a corner on the far wall. "And you," this time addressing the lady. "Get crackin'." This way, she could keep her eye on both of them. The older man glared at her with his owl eyes. She didn't like the way he looked at her. He just gave off a bad vibe.

"Y-you're new at this, aren't you?" he inferred. Zara refused to answer, instead focusing on the woman's trembling fingers as she spun the combination lock. "You're young. You have your whole life ahead of you. Do you understand how dangerous it is to mess with gods?"

"I understand that if you open your cake hole again, I'm gonna empty a clip into your face," she threatened. Jeez, where did that come from?

A 'click' sounded. Fiona pulled open the safe door and pulled out a folder. "This… this is it," she stated as she turned around to face Zara with the document. But she also had something else in her hand. A gun. Zara's eyes widened. She reacted as naturally as an inhale, clocking the woman in the head before she could aim the gun at her. Another person down. When she looked back at the man, she noticed that he had his phone out. I take my eyes off you for a single second…

"Stop!" Zara yelled. He froze in his position.

"It's too late…" he shook his head. The footsteps of several people approaching dinned soon enough, ominously getting louder. "You should surr-"

Dead. Zara bolted out of the room with the document, retracing her steps. To her misfortune, three men came up the stairs, intercepting her path. She aimed to shoot but as she pulled the trigger, nothing came out. Shit. Out of ammo. She dropped the gun but it didn't seem like they would reciprocate the gesture. Now she was truly trapped. Her feet were rooted to the spot as their guns pointed at her. Time seemed to slow down. Every millisecond was amplified with the feeling of impending death. This is how it ends. Yet her last fighting instinct kicked in. Sophia help me. She extended her palm towards them and she felt it. She felt the hawk. Her head buzzed and before she knew it, she felt its power shooting from her hand and flinging the men backwards.

Zara exhaled sharply. It worked. For the first time in months, it worked. She was just stunned at the boost of adrenaline it gave her. It was exhilarating. But seeing as the men were still conscious and writhing on the ground, a voice yelled inside her head to move. She picked up one of their guns and ended them. Then she cut through the room where she found Fiona and the unnamed man to reach the other hallway and proceeded back to the waiting room. Hopefully, it would be the last place the incoming henchmen would check.

She cherished the silence she found there. She returned to her seat on the couch next to the dead man, who was still laying there. Now she could breathe as noisily as she wanted. "What am I doing?" she groaned, setting down the gun and folder to just bury her face in her palms for a moment. "This is such… a mess…"

She didn't know whether she should cry or scream. She groaned audibly, muffling the sound with her hands as she shook her head like a little child. She pulled them away only to see the sticky blood stains on them. Great. I've been looking like American Psycho this whole time.

"Oh. My. Dad!" A voice exclaimed beside her. Zara shot up to her feet and faced the familiar voice.

"Lucifer," she recognised. He stood over the body of the first man she'd killed, one palm rested against his face while the other supported the elbow of that arm. Zara thought she saw glee on his face when it switched to a curious frown. His mouth made an 'O' as he studied the brutal gash on the man's neck. "I know I messed up. I'm so sorry. I'm so…"

"Messed up?" he chuckled. "I couldn't have done it better myself!" Zara frowned so deeply she felt a mild headache beginning to set in. This was not the reaction she expected. He seemed… thrilled. "I saw everything. It. Was. Brilliant!"

She watched as he bellowed in laughter, almost doubling over. He was so loud that the reinforcements found them in no time, piling into the room all at once. There was a choir of guns rattling to target them which made Zara flinch. Lucifer quietened his laughter but the maniacal glee never left his face. With a wave of his fingers, clouds of black filled the room, strangling the men and breaking their bones. Within mere moments, the demons stood victorious. And then she appeared – Abaddon, taking Lucifer's side. She wore a proud smile.

"I take it she's passed?" the Knight pondered.

"With flying colours," Lucifer declared. He extended both his arms to his sides, beckoning the demons to applaud. And they did. Zara felt tingles erupting on her skin. What on earth is this? She repressed a shudder and took a step backwards. Lucifer noticed her apprehension and crinkled his eyebrows slightly.

"I don't get it. I- I thought th-this was supposed to be… a meet-up," Zara stammered. She looked to Abaddon for an explanation. "Where did you go? Why'd you disappear?!"

"It was my idea," Lucifer confessed, a playful glint shining in his eyes. "I was… curious what you would do."

"What?!" her chest suddenly felt so tight. "You mean… you set this up?!"

"Yes… and no," he answered. He gestured for her to come closer but seeing as she was hesitant, he decided to move to her, nonchalantly stepping on the corpse as he did so. Blood spurted out from the man's neck like a freshly-sliced lava cake. "I arranged this meeting… I got Abaddon to stand down… but all these people? Servants of Javelin? You can't make this shit up!"

Zara didn't know how to react. She only knew that she didn't like it. Only one question remained. "Why?"

"Like I said. Trust," he swaggered over to her like he was bringing the message of God. "I needed to know I could trust you. So I put you in an unfamiliar situation to see how you'd react."

"You put me in danger for an experiment," she summarised, every word quivering as it left her mouth. It almost hurt to think about it – that she'd faced all that fear, all that panic, and killed a bunch of people. For his amusement. She felt used.

"You were never in any real danger, Zara," his voice softened, almost to the point of sounding like he cared. Even his eyes – they looked at her the way Nick looked at her. It made her feel sick. As if to rub salt in the wound, he caressed her cheek, holding her face affectionately in his palm. "We were all watching. If your life was in any serious threat, we would have intervened. But you didn't need any of that!" he broke into a pleased grin. "You were perfect. I'll be honest – I did not expect that bit when you took hostages and defended my honour. I'm so proud of you."

Zara grimaced a little.

"You've shown me – and everyone else here – that I can trust you," he succinctly put it.

"And what about me?" she asked, her voice caught between a sob and a whisper. She felt kind of silly asking that question, which probably spoke volumes. That self-awareness ached in her heart, touching a nerve so deep that her eyes began to sting.

"I was ready to step in when you needed it the most. And I did, didn't I?" His thumb wiped away a stray tear. "This. This is what I want, Zara. I want you to believe in me. I'll never let anyone hurt you. Not really. Do you understand?"

What could she do but nod, even when the words passed right through her? Everyone was watching. The demons, with their unshakeable faith. Abaddon, with her undying loyalty. Zara, with her gratitude to him for saving her. It was expected.

"I want you to trust me."


The Bunker, Lebanon, Kansas – 16 September 2012, 12.13pm

"Vince Vincente? Are you serious?" Zara gaped. They were all seated at the dining table, digging into lunch. Zara had even offered to cook, saying that she just 'wasn't feeling that pre-packaged stuff'. Within no time, she whipped up some eggs and grilled chicken. Sam and Dean had insisted against it at first, but once they inhaled the aroma of meat, they both quietened down, with Dean even eagerly looking over her shoulder. He savoured the fresh feel of his food. Suddenly he was much happier that she'd shown up, trustworthy or not. "That's sad…"

"I'd say hair metal lived," Dean shrugged.

"Dean," Sam berated. "A man died."

"I know, alright. Just trying to lighten things up. God forbid I have a sense of humour," Dean argued.

"Unpopular opinion, but I kinda liked Ladyheart," Zara confessed. She held her hands up in surrender as Dean shot her an incredulous look. "What? Metal comes in many forms and I find that there's something to like in all of them. Even hair metal."

"Okay but what's so good about hair metal anyway? It's just a buncha twinks with out-of-control hairspray," Dean grumbled. Zara narrowed her eyes in boredom.

"Out-of-control hairspray? The hair's the best part, my dude. And have you heard their vocal ranges? It's insane," she explained. Dean shook his head passively.

"Name one hair metal band that's actually good and we'll talk," he challenged her. "Not Ladyheart. That ship's already sunk."

"Okay. There's Dokken. That's a good one. Really loved them as a teenager," she pointed out. Dean shook his head again. "Def Leppard?"

"Debatable," he responded curtly. "Don't know if that counts as hair metal."

"Van Halen," she stated. He shrugged in a half-assent. "KISS?" Again, no undeniable agreement. "Whitesnake. Come on. Everybody loves Whitesnake."

"Yeah. So? It's too pop. It doesn't count," Dean rejected.

"You're impossible," Zara accused with an amused grin. This time Sam interjected.

"But you see, Zara, Dean's the kinda guy who hugs his old Metallica vinyls to sleep," Sam teased. "If he likes it, it ain't hair metal. If he doesn't, it probably is."

"We should invent a new sub-genre, then," Zara smirked. "Dean metal."

Dean couldn't help but chuckle at that suggestion. "Dean metal," he repeated, huffing a smile as he cut into his meat.

"Sorry, what were we talking about again?" she asked. "Lucifer possessing Vince Vincente?"

"Yeah, so apparently Crowley had some kind of witch help him with a spell that blasted that SOB to Atlantis," Dean summarised. "Then there was that whole fiasco with the tablets." He explained that in short, the angels were in some kind of competition to find the tablets and that Raziel and Castiel became agreeable on what should happen to them.

"Since when did you become drinking buddies with Raziel?" she picked up.

"Strange, I know. But the guy's gotten us out of the mud so many times you can't help but love that Van Dyke beard," Dean explained. "He's one of the good ones."

Zara nodded attentively. Interesting.

"Then suddenly we hear from Crowley, of all people, that Satan's back in town. We brace ourselves, trying to prepare for the worst. And then, guess what? There hasn't been so much as a Jesus-shaped nacho on the news," Dean recounted.

"You haven't heard anything?" she clarified.

"Maybe once or twice someone's said something," Dean answered. "There was that time Raz mentioned that he might have been after you. And then there was the time Crowley baited us into trapping a demon who had intel on Lucifer before he Houdini-ed with our hunt." His eyebrow jumped in cynicism as he recalled the experience. "Fun times."

"Lucifer's laying low," Sam added. "We don't know why. We don't know what he has planned. But it can't be anything good. It just doesn't make sense that he'd be so quiet the past few months."

"I don't know if 'quiet' is the word for it," Zara doubted. It's show-time. "With the number of demons he's been sending after me, I'd say the message is quite clear: 'Get back in Hell or get fucked'."

She sighed, shoulders tensing. "But there's one thing that's… unclear," Sam recalled. "When we first heard that he was free, he was leaving a trail of bodies. Vessel after vessel, burned out after what little time they contained him. But now… nothing. We thought we could find a way to track him using the vessels but not a single body showed up. You think he's found one for good?"

Zara steadily swallowed her mouthful. Her eyes despondently roved over the table. Now there was one emotion she couldn't mask. "He always finds a way," she sombrely said. "If you really wanted to get him in your sights, it would only take a prayer from me."

"We're not using you as bait," Dean declared as a matter of fact. "We'll find another way. And until we actually figure out what he's been up to, we're sitting ducks."

The next few days were delightfully uneventful. The three of them just relaxed, with Zara taking an interest in the large bookshelves in the bunker's study. Sam pointed out some of his favourite books, paraphrasing little things he remembered from those he'd read before. Zara nodded intently, taking some of his recommendations to her room for some light reading. Sometimes they'd read together in the study, just sitting in silence with cups of coffee between them. There were so many things he wanted to ask her about everything – about the moment she realised Luc was gone, in particular. He couldn't help but feel an attachment to the kid, even though he'd only known him for a brief moment. What exactly happened? he ached to know. But he realised that it probably hurt her to talk about it. It would have to take time.

She fit in with them so seamlessly that no one suspected anything. The way to Dean's heart was his stomach and Zara's cooking was such a great change of pace that he didn't even mind all that health nonsense that she spouted at times – "salmon is good for the heart", "have a fruit, Dean", "avocados are great" and more. Sam generally agreed with her and though Dean outwardly grumbled, he enjoyed his food nonetheless. Sometimes, she couldn't help but think back to the times Lucifer had mocked her for practising such things in her free time. She hadn't always been so good at cooking. "Jee, what did that innocent cheesecake ever do to you, Zara?" he'd said, as she'd coughed to dispel the smoke. Soon after, she'd pulled out a distinctly discoloured abomination with a mitten-gloved hand and a disappointed scowl. "What were you trying to do, birth a demon in a microwave?"

Zara shook her head to get rid of the bitterness. She tried to make conversation with Kevin at times but the kid was so absorbed in his work that he only gave her short answers. So she didn't push much, though she would occasionally glance over his shoulder to glimpse his work.

Castiel was the wariest. He roamed the bunker sometimes, invisible, to watch over the humans. More importantly, he kept an eye on Zara when she was alone in her room. He stared at her for long hours while she brushed her hair, listened to music, read books and meditated. Perhaps he felt a tinge of disappointment that there was nothing out of the ordinary about her. He listened in on her conversations sometimes when she shared information about herself. She seemed so genuine that he couldn't find any reason for doubt. He wished to speak with Raziel about her, but the Keeper of Knowledge had gone on another mission with his team and was unreachable at the moment. So it would be all on him to protect Team Free Will and the angel tablet.

One day, the three of them left on a hunt together. It was their first time working a case together. People disappearing in Lenexa, Kansas. The bodies turned up in dismembered form, like some kind of sick exhibition. The cops thought it was a serial killer who drained the blood out of his victims, even naming him the Ice Truck Killer after the one in the TV show, Dexter. And indeed, the killings bore a stunning resemblance to those of the fictional serial killer. But the autopsy revealed a different story.

Zara kept her eyes on the cadaver, which had its dismembered parts sown together on the table to recreate the image of the young woman it used to be. Meanwhile, Agents Holt and Bostaph were questioning the coroner.

"The stiffness we see here points to some kind of refrigeration," the coroner pointed to various points on the skin. He seemed like a composed man, with his ivory white hair which contrasted his youthful complexion. While the Winchesters were eagerly gathering the coroner's opinion, she maintained a disinterested surveillance on the autopsy table. "And the way the cuts are so… clean… the blood had to have been drained before the body was mutilated."

"Drained?" Dean pressed with his typical double-eyebrow-raise, reserved for when a case was just a little over the threshold of 'normal' weird.

"Exsanguination," the coroner stated. "A cut made at the carotid artery to let the blood flow out. Our killer must be some kind of butcher or something because there are absolutely no visible blood stains on the skin apart from the neck, which points to gravitationally-facilitated draining. It's so clean. He's clearly an expert in this."

"So you're saying a butcher did this?" Sam inferred.

"The officers are searching every meat shop in town. They'll be on the lookout for large pools of human blood. I mean, all that blood has to go somewhere, right?" the coroner guessed, looking between the 'agents' for validation.

"No," Zara suddenly interjected, bending to get a closer look at the head region.

"No?" the coroner frowned.

"The blood wasn't drained. It was sucked," she deduced. Meeting their puzzled looks, she straightened up to elaborate further. "Look at the bruising around the neck."

"Sucked? Th- the discolouration is caused by the first incision made to draw blood," the coroner explained with a tinge of befuddlement in his voice. "This region was exposed to foreign bacteria first, hence it is decomposed first."

"It's not just rot there," Zara insisted, picking up a probe to further inspect the side of the neck in question. She gently pressed the end of the probe against where the incision was said to be and its adjacent regions. "See how soft it is? Her blood leaked into the surrounding tissue and with quite some force, it looks like. There appears to be some swelling from extensive hematoma, which suggests that the blood flowed out at quite a high pressure. That has to mean something else."

"The process of draining is expected to cause some leakage," he countered with narrow eyes. "I'm sorry, miss, but I thought I was the coroner."

Dean slowly turned to her, asking her what she was doing with nothing but a look. But her doe eyes seemed to suggest a genuine concern. "I've come across my fair share of dead bodies too," she challenged. "And this does not seem very typical."

"This young woman was cut up and arranged into an effigy of sorts. There is nothing typical about this case," the coroner answered with a subtle sternness. "If you'd let me do my job-"

"But-"

"Okay, thank you, Agent Pesch," Dean interjected before Zara could say anything else, not wanting to make a scene lest their fake credentials be called into question.

"Will that be all?" the medical examiner sighed. Sam uttered a quick thanks before the three of them exited.

"Is it just me or was that guy a little too pale?" Zara muttered, struggling to keep pace with the two large Winchesters.

"Okay what the hell was that?" Dean kept his voice low, but the bafflement was clear.

"That corpse has something more to it," Zara declared. "I was just helping him do his job, Dean."

"What are you, some kind of forensics expert all of a sudden?" he challenged.

"Well, I do have a Masters in Biology," she casually stated. Dean raised both his eyebrows in surprise. "I know it doesn't make me an expert but I read things too. I think he's missing something about the corpse."

"Yeah, I think so too," Sam agreed. "Did you see how the neck was cut? Everything else was cut cleanly through but the neck had some messier slices."

"Like a decoration? I mean, our Dexter fanboy does like theatrics," Dean speculated. "Hey, maybe he's adding his own twist to it. Like when you're copying homework answers and trying to make it look different."

"You did homework?" Sam teased.

Dean huffed and shook his head.

"I don't know. Maybe the cuts are hiding something. We need to look at that corpse again," Zara suggested as they all piled into the Impala.

"That'll have to wait till closing hours," Sam announced. Sure enough, the trio returned after dark. Zara had gotten a new leather jacket by then – with a hoodie, as she preferred it. The boys were intrigued by her choice of wearing a mask to obscure her jaw and nose, but respected her choice.

"Excuse me for wanting to stay out of the FBI's watch list," she'd said. A reasonable demand, they'd thought. Just as they were about to get down from the car, they spotted movement. The coroner was just leaving the building. They were close to heaving a sigh of relief. And then, a van came, out of the blue, and snatched him up. That certainly got their attention.

"The hell?" Sam puzzled.

"Guessing that's our cue," Dean stepped on it, tracking the vehicle.

It was a surprisingly short night. Turns out the three hunters had stumbled upon a bit of family drama. They followed the suspicious van all the way to the hideout – a cabin in the woods. Of course… Zara internally groaned. How original. Abandonment issues, starring Brian Moser as Vamp Number 1 and Dexter Morgan as the coroner. The damsel in distress would be Deborah Morgan, in this case. Reached the season finale before we could even solve the mystery. Her bored internal rant was the background to their quick clearing out of the nest. Turns out 'Brian Moser' wasn't working alone. The whole nest shared the same sentiment towards their strayed coroner, who committed the sin of refusing to hunt innocent humans.

Syringes containing dead man's blood were emptied. Heads were sent rolling. At some point, Zara was cornered by three vampires, who were particularly faster and stronger than her. In that moment, instinct flared up and she aimed a palm at them, channelling archangel magic to send them flying away. She quickly took the opportunity to swing the archangel blade across their necks. Looking up, she met the Winchesters' awed gazes. Evidently, explanation was needed. But there was still one matter to attend to.

"Wait, wait!" the coroner explained from his seat. He'd been tied up by his own kind – they wanted to force him to feed on the blood of their newest victim. Now he was close to tears, shaken by the awful turns taken by the night. "Please! I don't hurt anyone. I… I- I feed on cattle!"

"Just doin' my job," Dean quipped before mercilessly slicing his head off. He admired the silence for a moment to catch his breath. Then he turned to Zara. "You have superpowers now?"

"You learn something new about me every day," she smiled wryly. In the dim yellow light of the cabin, the shadows of her round cheekbones were distinct. Dean didn't think he'd seen her dimples before. Then again, he hadn't seen genuine happiness on her face many times before either. "Well, it's not so new. Remember that time I accidentally whammied Cas? Before I was… you know."

"You had that thing. That uh…fancy paperweight?" Sam recalled, eyebrows furrowing to recreate the memory in his head. "Cas said it harnessed angel magic, right?"

Zara nodded, her shoulder-length hair bobbing with her head. "It's like some kind of battery. Comes in handy when I'm in a tight spot," she explained.

"So you… carry it with you everywhere?" Dean clarified. At this point, he realised there was probably no end to the mysteries surrounding this woman. But at least he would get some answers this time. They again received the affirmative nod. "Could- could we take a look?"

"Oh. About that," she began rather uncertainly. "That's gonna be a lil difficult." She parted her leather jacket to reveal the shirt she wore underneath and pointed a finger at her solar plexus. "It's kind of… in me." Then her lips contorted into a grimace. "Okay, that came out weird."

Zara promised to tell them all about it only if they were en route to a bar. After the rather quick hunt, Dean thought they deserved celebratory drinks anyway. From their seats in the front of the Impala, her strange story raised eyebrows as it did questions. Dean found himself pulling deeper and deeper frowns as the story progressed and Sam couldn't say he was any less intrigued.

"Wait," Sam paused her to get it straight. "So it… sank into your chest?"

"Yup," Zara huffed, almost chuckling at their expressions. She knew it was definitely weird but to see their reactions? That was entertaining by itself. "Not what I expected either."

"Eugh. I can't imagine what that feels like," Dean commented with his eyes staring straight ahead at the road.

"At first, it kinda felt like being impaled," she said casually, which again furrowed eyebrows. "And then it just sort of… disappeared, you know? I know it's there, but I just don't feel it anymore."

"And you can't get it out?" Sam inquired, his elbow poised on the seat to face her.

"Not that I know of… unless one of you knows how to reach into my soul," she guessed. "But I guess the good thing about it is that I can control it better? Won't be accidentally hurting Cas anytime soon so that's great, right?" When she didn't get any response in return, her grin faded. Sam looked expectantly to his brother, as if anticipating what was to come. "What?"

"Hm? Nothing, it's just…" Dean glimpsed at her in the rear-view mirror. "You don't seem to be too concerned about this."

"Am I supposed to be?" Zara looked between the two brothers.

"What he means is that… from our experience, these kinds of things… usually come at a price," Sam elaborated more calmly.

"What do you mean?" Now she sat there with a face like a child getting lectured by two parents – sullen and sorry.

"We mean like…" Sam hesitated. A slice of streetlight scanned his concern-ridden face, casting ominous shadows under his cheekbones and around his eyes. "Demon blood."

"Oh," she finally understood. She took in a deep breath, having never considered the parallel before. "Oh my God. You're right. I've never thought of it like that." She averted her wide eyes, as if stunned by the realisation that using these powers could somehow be poisoning her. "See, this is why I make so many bad decisions. I don't have a rational voice in my head to tell me what's right."

She threw up her hands in angst and shook her head, 'disappointed' in herself. "Hey, calm down. We'll figure it out together, alright?" Sam reassured her. "You're not alone anymore."

"Yeah, we'll get Cas to give you a once-over, see if he can shimmy the mojo rock out of you," Dean agreed.

"That's a relief," she exhaled. Great… another thing to worry about. Can't let Cas get it out of me. Her thoughts were hidden under a wide cherry smile. Sam felt something change inside of him to see that – it became more obvious when her umber irises bore into his. His own mouth curved into a smile against his will and he quickly turned back to face the front, as if holding her gaze would make him think or do things he shouldn't. But he had to admit, it was nice to have her here. It was… something new.

Later, the boys waited in the hallway of their motel after dumping their soiled clothes and hunting materials. Soon enough a clanking of heels turned their heads and out she came, dressed in a really tight black dress. Her simple but obvious make-up made her look – for the first time – like someone her age. She grinned shyly at their wide-eyed looks, colour rising to her cheeks.

"You clean up nice," Dean complimented, unable to get over the fact that she actually looked kinda normal. She appeared like the kind of girl who should be getting a dead-end job, breaking men's hearts and gossiping with her best friends about the mediocre diamond on the engagement ring she'd gotten from her rich fiancé. Instead, she was here hunting vamps with them.

"Aww, you guys! I don't always have friends to look good for," she chirped excitedly, hooking her arms in both their elbows as they went off in the direction of the pub. I don't always have friends either.

Needless to say, she was dressed a little too well for a small-town pub, not that it mattered to her. Her energy was unseemly of her companions, considering that the two boys never were so… bouncy. She'd downed a shot before the two of them could even make up their minds on what to get.

"So this must be a normal thing for you guys, huh? Roll into town, kill the bad guy and hit the bar," she began, stood between them at a round table while the Top 40 wafted in the background. It was moderately crowded for a small-town locale, which gave it a cozy feel.

"It's the only life we know," Dean nodded, sipping on a beer.

"'Nother round," Sam gestured towards the bartender. Zara sifted through her wallet to check for cash. "Hey, it's alright. It's on us."

"Come on guys, you've paid for pretty much everything since we've met," Zara refused.

"No, really. You deserve it," Dean clinked the neck of his bottle with hers. "After that CSI action? You did good, kid." For the first time, Zara thought she'd seen a proper smile on his face, full with the crinkles at his eyes. "Who else coulda pulled that off?"

"Who else but someone who was getting a PhD," Sam added, beaming.

"Really?" Dean was amazed. Sam nodded to confirm his surprise.

"Oh you guys, stop it!" she blushed, shifting her weight to lean on the table in case she giggled enough to fall over. "Enough about me. Tell me about you."

"What's there to tell? You've read 'the books'," Dean sighed. "It's basically an autopsy of our lives."

"Those were Carver Edlund's words. I want to know yours. What was it like to live on the road your whole life?" she pondered.

"Well, uh, everything changes pretty quickly," Sam replied, expressive with his hands. "Before you get settled in one place, you're off again – new town, new school, new people. It got pretty exhausting as a kid but, you know, it was the best we could do."

"Yeah, and it ain't so bad. Stick around long enough and people start asking questions," Dean chimed in. "This life… it's not so good for making friends. But at least…" his eyes followed a young blonde woman who seemed to be gazing at him from across the room. "…you get to know a lot of people."

"Uh huh," Zara noticed his line of sight. She gave him some time, taking a swig of her drink in the meantime.

"What about you? Must've been a decent home if you were gettin' a PhD," he remarked, though his mind was clearly not at the table.

"Uh… not exactly. I… ran away from home to go to college," she confessed. Both Winchesters turned heads at that.

"That sounds familiar," Dean said, briefly glancing at his brother with an intrigued twinkle in his eye. "What's your story?"

"It's… my mom," she let out a heavy sigh. "She always treated me like there was something wrong with me and… she's not wrong." Those last three words were the hardest to utter, though she managed with a voice laced with sardonicism. "I ended up filing my own applications and waiting by the mailbox to get the admission letter before she could. Fun times."

"You did what you had to do," Sam sympathised.

"Yeah, and then life comes at you fast," Zara continued in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Before I know it, I'm just in it with the both of you. Strange, huh?"

"The strangest," Dean downed his drink with his head thrown back. A satisfied exhale left his lungs. "Alright, excuse me while I uh- get at that."

He proceeded towards the girl whose eyes seemed to glimmer even from where they'd been standing. "Looks like he knows what he wants," she followed his gait with a look before turning back to Sam, who merely regarded his drink. She also noticed a couple guys who'd been staring at her like she was a meal for a while now, but paid no heed to them. "Hey, I couldn't help but notice that you were reading a book on the Italian Risorgimento earlier."

"Yeah," he tilted his head, pleasantly surprised. Those dimples made a welcome appearance too. "I'm a little bit of a history buff. And you?"

"I wouldn't say I'm a 'buff' but it interests me from time to time," she told him, stepping closer to him, if only slightly, as necessitated by the sound of people talking around them. "So tell me, what's the most interesting thing about the unification?"

"Oh, where would I begin?" Sam stroked his stubble as he searched for an answer. He seemed lost in his head as he described various things the book had to offer, namely its support of Revisionist historiography. Zara listened intently, nodding at times and resting her chin on her palms as he went on.

"Really? It says that?" she picked out.

"Uh… I'm not sure if I'm remembering this correctly. If I had the book right now, I could show you," he enthused.

"Great, let's go," she picked up her things, eliciting an amused look from him.

"You wanna go back right now?" he asked to make sure. "The night's still young."

"Come on, Sam, I'm bored. I mean, would you rather be here chugging shots or in bed with a good book?" she prompted. "Let's go back and you can tell me more about the Risorgimento. I mean, you'll have to read it to me cuz I'm too buzzed to make out words."

He huffed a smile, pleasantly taken by her decision to engage with him despite the choices she clearly had. With the number of heads she turned, she could have a field day just getting free drinks. Yet here they were, inside a motel room and sat next to each other at the window-side table. Zara had shed her jacket on the spine of a chair, leading Sam to inevitably notice the smooth curvature of her waist in the dim light of the table lamp as she did so. He gulped to dispel the thought as she settled beside him.

Sam held the book stiffly in his palms, sat up straight in a proper posture while Zara had her legs pulled up somewhat underneath her as she leaned closer to get a good look. Slightly dazed, she swayed a little as her head neared his shoulder. He noticed her position and shifted his right arm to the spine of her chair so that he wouldn't impede her view of the book. In response, she only moved closer to him. Now they were so close, almost without a gap between them. Seeing how deeply her eyebrows were furrowed in effort, Sam began reciting a paragraph and she reciprocated interest, nodding and… nodding. He couldn't tell if it was the drink or genuine interest but it was an amusing sight on its own so he let it pass.

When the time to flip a page came, Sam attempted to move his arm but halted when Zara offered to do it. Her finger clumsily dotted the page in an attempt to force it upwards and with some effort, successfully achieved her goal. Satisfied, she leaned back to her initial position but being as tipsy as she was, fell back onto Sam's shoulder. He waited to see if she'd retreat but no trial was underway for such a thing. He exhaled. Their bodies fit together naturally like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. The proximity was distracting – the view of her body seemed tempting, like it awaited his very caress. The steady up-and-down of her body with her rhythmic breaths was strangely calming. When he realised that he hadn't said anything in a while, it became clear that she wasn't too bothered by it either.

He took a chance. He lowered his right hand to the small of her back. A satisfied exhale left her lips just as an enraptured inhale entered his. His left thumb fiddled the book to a close and he leaned forward slowly to set it on the table, careful not to disrupt the growing heat between them. When he leaned back into the chair, she had lifted her head up to face him, arms now wrapped around his waist. The distance between their lips, her yearning eyes that bore into his soul – it was just right. He knew for certain that there was pain underneath her irises. The kind that he could understand. Something about knowing that was magical, like an invisible bond that didn't have to be mentioned.

His jaw tightened with every millisecond from pure anticipation. Unable to bear it no longer, he sunk his lips into hers. A delighted whimper erupted from her throat as her hand grabbed the back of his head. His eager palms scrambled around her torso, tracing every inch. It seemed to tickle her, evoking little chuckles that only seemed to drive him deeper into the madness of her lust. He tugged on her waist and she gave in, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull herself closer to him. Before he knew it, she was on his lap, unbuttoning his shirt while he lurched to subdue her vodka tongue.

His name was a whisper in the wind. His musk the aroma of comfort. His body a sea in which Zara drowned. With every moment, she lost herself more and more, unable to hold onto a single scaffold of her façade. The only thing Sam saw was the dance of the crucifix on her bare chest as he rammed into her over and over again, as he finally admitted to himself that he'd wanted to do that ever since he saw her haunting face again.


New York – 6 months ago

"Just leave me be," Zara instructed the two demons as she sat at a table in the open-air balcony. The cold air bit into her skin like a thousand piranhas but not a single care lingered in her mind. When the demons didn't move, she rolled her eyes. "Keep watch at the doors or something. Make sure no one bothers me."

Reluctantly, the demons left her eyeshot, leaving her to her solitude. She hugged her bare arms to her body as she struggled to view the cityscape clearly. Half a wine bottle later, she felt too numb to move to retrieve the coat which she'd discarded in the living room. I'll just have to suffer silently here, then. At least the air was crisp here, compared to the monotonous warmth of Hell. This moment was a gift to her from Lucifer, for a job well done with Javelin and retrieving the document. He'd been so elated that he directly asked her for what she wanted. He'd give her anything, he'd said. "How about that basket of kittens?" he'd asked, rubbing her shoulder as if he really cared about comforting her.

Though tempting, the afternoon of murder and near-death wasn't very conducive for being a loving parent to some innocent kittens. She humbly refused, opting instead for a night alone with the scenic view of New York City from a high floor. Frankly, she'd have felt gross about accepting a gift that she truly wanted from him. After that trauma he'd put her through, to just turn around and act as if anything could really fix that – even a basket of fluffy mewling kittens – felt physically nauseating.

The vehicles below appeared like tiny dots migrating along the road. It was truly something to see civilisation again after a long time trapped in Hell. Some things about the human race we take for granted, she thought. These sky-high buildings were no exception. And the apartment she was currently in belonged to an expired collector whose precious possessions all lay hidden under blankets and spider webs. Lucifer had gotten it specially procured for her. Zara suppressed a gag at the thought. Here she was, trying to resist his attempt at charming her into submission and then he goes out of his way to secure the best spot in town for her annoyingly simple request.

"I want you to trust me," he'd said. She replayed it over and over in her mind.

"You want me to trust you, Lucifer?" she muttered out loud. She exhaled, her breath forming a white cloud, as she dragged a chair to the ledge. Throwing her head back, she swallowed the last gulp of wine in her glass. She stumbled a little in putting a foot on the seat of the chair and getting up, all while holding onto that precious glass. She stood like a conqueror, one foot triumphantly placed on the ledge while the other stood on the chair as she regarded the city. The whole city was clearer now, not just the top of the buildings but also a considerable portion of the street came into view. "Well here's me, trusting you."

She shifted her weight forward and lifted her back leg.

Zara jumped.