Chapter title is from song by Imagine Dragons.
12
Demons – Imagine Dragons
If someone had told him, years ago, that come someday they'd be cruising down 81, headed south towards Witchita, on a hunt with Crowley, he would have laughed in their face. He wanted to laugh now, bitter and crazy, looking out through the Impala's windshield at the lightening crashing across the horizon, flash after flash, arcing across the plains. The wind ripped at the ground, stripping the last leaves off the trees and jostling the highway signs. Beside him in the passenger seat, Dean looked unconcerned, because what was a demonic omen or two, when you had a Knight of Hell riding shotgun and the King of Hell in your backseat?
"This," Sam twirled a testy finger at their little group, "isn't going to be the cause of massive crop failures and unexplained cattle mutilations from here to town, is it?"
"No!" Dean said, before he caught sight of Crowley looking sketchy in the rearview mirror. "Crowley?"
Crowley narrowed his eyes. "You know, we could have teleported. Half the time, fraction of the boredom and collateral damage."
Sam grit his teeth. He hadn't been about to let Dean run off with Crowley (again), on his own, doing who knew what, with Crowley pressing his advantage at every turn. It was fortunate that Dean had taken one look at the set of his face, and tossed him the Impala's keys. Like the way Dean sketched a glance at him now, and turned his head slightly, raising one imperious eyebrow.
Crowley pursed his lips petulantly. "Fine." He snapped his fingers once.
In the distance the lightening receded and the winds eased. Sam drew a breath, careful, if only because he wanted Bessie the cow to be okay, and because he didn't want to look too closely at what just happened.
Twenty minutes later, they passed a billboard with a buxom blond shilling the local TV station. Crowley's head turned in appreciation.
"Now that was a good deal." He murmured to himself.
Another whole ten minutes of winter browned fields rolled by before Crowley leaned forward again.
"Can't you go any faster?"
Dean looked over at the speedometer and looked back out the window again.
Sam's lips flattened.
"No."
"Small wonder you boys are always late to the party, Moose, plodding along at this pace."
"Shut up."
"You can't make me."
He glanced at Dean.
"Oooo, going crying to your big brother for help?"
Sam wound his hands tightly around the steering wheel at the ten and two position. He rotated them forward and back, flexing his wrists and gritting his teeth.
Dean threw another warning look over his shoulder.
"If you want to be that way about it." Came the snooty comment as Crowley settled back against the seat.
An eternity later, he pulled the Impala into a parking space on Main Street. He stopped just short of slamming the car door behind him. He hoped this wasn't going to be a regular deal, because he didn't know how much more he could take. It was Crowley. Just because Dean was reluctant to kill him didn't mean the reverse was true—in fact, Crowley would be far better off with Dean and his Knight of Hell powers out of the picture.
And there was no way Crowley wasn't looking for a way to do just that.
Still scowling, he turned his attention to where they were. The street before him was sparsely populated on the weekday afternoon, too early for the dinner crowd and too cold for a lot of casual strollers to be out window shopping. A few rays of sunshine peeked through the clouds. A food delivery truck was unloading in front of the cafe, and the mailman was on his afternoon mail route.
Dean got out of the car slowly, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders with a shrug. His gaze swept along the street casually, looking for things that did not belong. Looking with more than his eyes. Sam turned away, reminding himself it was still Dean. Still his brother, no matter what powers he may have gained.
Dean paused in the middle of his glance around with a frown, his attention snagging on something at the end of the street. Something, or someone. Sam looked. There were a few people down there at that far corner, coming and going from the little cluster of stores that included a mobile phone outlet and a florist's.
Dean's eyes narrowed and his frown puckered.
Crowley unfolded himself from the Impala's back seat, brushing at something on his suit and wrinkling his nose with distaste. Mid-motion, Crowley paused and looked up, his gaze going straight to a dark haired young woman standing in front of the tiny flower shop down the block.
Sam followed Crowley's glance. The girl looked human enough, but what would he know?
"Demon?" He was forced to ask, biting down on the frustration that he had been forced to ask.
They both ignored him. Sam blew out a huff. Crowley was squinting like he needed glasses. Sam looked again. What was Crowley's problem? He could see the girl just fine. She was turned away from them, her attention on a bucket of blood red roses. He was about to ask again, when abruptly Dean took off, striding down the street and making a beeline towards her, his right hand flexing and fisting absently, as if reaching for the First Blade.
Sam's heart lodged in his throat. The things Dean saw now, when he looked at people, seeing more than surface and skin…
"Is she human?" Sam barked at Crowley, demanding an answer.
Crowley pursed his lips, squinted again, and made a half-hearted shrug.
Dean disappeared mid-stride. Sam swore. He didn't have time for whatever game Crowley was playing.
"Crowley!" Sam demanded roughly.
"Can't tell." Came the alarmingly vague answer.
Sam glared at Crowley and moved to go after Dean. It wouldn't be the first time he had to remind Dean of where he was, what he was doing. That people were sometimes just people. He threw a sharp look over his shoulder at Crowley, who was slowly edging backwards, that puzzled frown still creasing his face. Whatever it was, Crowley wanted no part of it.
And the bastard was backing up around the Impala, putting the car between himself and the girl down the street. Sam looked at the girl again. His brain was slow catching up to him.
She wasn't dressed for winter.
Sam swore. If she was a danger to Crowley, she was a danger to Dean.
And if she was human, Dean was a danger to her.
He broke into a run.
There was something not quite right in the air. It fizzed against his skin, and buzzed at a level almost too low for him to hear.
Her.
She had her back to him. There was a red rose in her hand, and he had an impression of brown hair, but everything else about her was somehow …fuzzy.
He shut out Sam's demanding questions and concentrated, trying to see.
He took one step, then two, the First Blade dropping down into the palm of his hand in reaction, the Mark on his arm flaring. In the blink of an eye he was at the edge of the sidewalk behind her, as soundless as death, but she spun around on her heel anyway, the rose in her hand dropping back into the bucket with a deceptively precise flick of her wrist. Eyes the color of amber looked at him, calm, too calm, their unusual color half-veiled by long dark lashes. The white tank top she wore left her shoulders bare, vulnerable, but there was something about the muscle definition of her arms and the way she held herself, balanced on the balls of her feet beneath that long red skirt, that made Dean pull up short, just out of arm's reach. He couldn't see anywhere on her she could be hiding a weapon, but he would bet money she knew how to use one.
"What are you?" He barked without preamble.
A hint of amusement touched her lips at his words. Those amber eyes, almost gold in the slanting sunlight, studied the ferocity of his scowl without a trace of fear.
What the hell?
He gripped the First Blade tighter in his hand, needing to see. He took a menacing step forward, crowding her into the alley besides the shop and asked again, his voice vibrating with suppressed anger, "What are you?"
She backed up when he pressed forward, that clear amber gaze never moving from his face. She really should have been afraid. A normal person would have screamed. The top of her head only came up to his chin and he knew his eyes were demon black. He out-weighed and out-muscled her, never mind he was brandishing a crazy person's weapon, a low snarl forming in his throat from the unnerving steadiness of her gaze. He could hear Sam trying to get to where they were from down the street, running flat out, afraid for her.
"Dean." The word was soft and husky in her voice, breathed out in a whisper.
She took two steps ... towards him.
He felt as if time slowed, as if he should have reacted, should have brought the blade forward between her ribs, should have parried, dodged, or just moved because no one had gotten the drop on him since he'd been a demon with the combined power of the Mark and the Blade. No one human should have been able to. Yet he felt her fingers skim his jaw, her touch feather light, as the last breath of his human name sighed across his lips. Her hand curved gently around the back of his neck, tugging his head down, then her lips touched his ever so softly as she leaned up into him. She traced the seam of his lips with the tip of her tongue, her other hand resting on the tensely bunched muscle of his arm, lightly, lightly, like a delicate butterfly seeking refuge on a lion's tooth mid-yawn.
He froze for an incredulous second, unbelieving.
She took that second to lean into him, into the kiss, her fingertips skimming the nape of his neck, her lips soft against his. Her eyes closed trustingly.
The rage and anger vibrating up his arm came to a standstill, quivering like an arrow drawn too tightly on a bow.
With a growl, he bent. Slanted his head into the kiss, slickly tasting. His free hand curled around her nape as he stole her breath. His fingers wove themselves into the thick silk of her hair, cradling her head as he brushed over the curve of her lip with his tongue, feeling the heady rush of blood hammer his heart. An electric pulse shot down his nerves, lighting up his skin until he fizzed. How could he have forgotten?
This.
Her breath hitched sharply as he closed the distance between them. She slid both arms around his neck, going up on her tiptoes, pressing against him and rising into the kiss without hesitation.
It wasn't enough.
The rough brick of the wall scraped the back of the hand he had around her head. She made a low sound in her throat, a sound that lit his nerves like lightening.
He drew a rough breath and then another. Physical pleasure was something he had been good at. Worked at. It was something he knew, and knew well. He deepened the kiss, feeling the part of her lips beneath his, the hitch in her breath, the need in the tightening of her hand on his neck.
He wanted more.
He shifted, trying to find a position to soothe the heated clamoring in his blood. His skin felt hot, hot like it needed to be cooled with rapid breaths, and that was insufficient. He needed something else, something to bring down this fever that was burning him alive, making him blind to where he was, blind to everything but the flame in his arm. Arms. That was it. He needed both hands.
With a careless flick he cast aside the obstacle he had clenched in his right hand, and used that now free hand to boost her so she fit against him, shoulder to hip. God, yes. It didn't matter there were like sixteen layers of cloth between them, or that she was hampered by the restrictive confines of that slim skirt. He felt her tight sweet movements, trying to get closer to him, trying to find the thing he was looking for, until all sensation and thought focused on seeking that thing that would free him in an explosive burst.
Reluctantly he broke away on a gasp, needing to find oxygen so he could keep the fire going. He was leaning in for more when he felt her drawing back, just a tiny bit, like the edge of pain and something else, bright and burning and unnamed. He wouldn't have noticed except for that part of him that was screaming that breaking the kiss was an irrevocable mistake; that part of his senses finely tuned to years of dealing with unholy random shit.
It was in her eyes.
Goodbye.
Feeling like a hot blade dug into his innards.
The soft sound of her breathing shifted the inches of air between them.
He had forgotten he didn't need air.
He went dead still. The cool clarity that was the gift of the brand on his arm never seemed like a better idea. He needed to know what she was. He needed to see. But he couldn't look away, afraid to break that point of contact, foreboding twisting in his gut. His arms closed tighter around her. He was holding her as if he would never let go, and she him. They stayed that way a moment; then that moment shivered and sighed. He felt her pour all her willpower into her next words; still they came out as no more than a sigh of sound.
"Find me."
She let go with one arm, trusting his grip to hold her. She reached up, ran her thumb against the hard line of his jaw. She smiled at him then, an impossible smile, breathtaking with future promise.
Before he could react, she tensed up, as if bracing for some unimaginable pain or impact. A blinding flash-not-flash seared across his demon senses, burned down to his human self and knocked his brain about with the force of a stun grenade. His physical body staggered forward into the wall, stepping into the space where she had been. He found his hands still gripping but met with nothing but air. He felt whammied, because he didn't remember letting go, but she had vanished all the same. He looked left, looked right and caught sight of Sam staring intently at him, looking as shocked as he felt.
"Where'd she go?" Dean bellowed, the pure raw fury in his voice causing several heads to turn in his direction. He moved in Sam's direction, retrieving the First Blade from where he had flicked it without thought. He saw Sam take a pause at that, but that was just tough.
"You didn't see that?" Sam asked, looking at him intently.
"See what? That she was actually a two-headed monster? A succubus? Another frikkin' Greek God?" None of these would have surprised him particularly, though he much preferred the succubus option.
"Dean. You didn't see that?" Sam repeated.
"No, Sam. Obviously. What was she?" He looked over at where Crowley was blinking furiously as if he too had been blinded. Peculiar. "Where'd she go? She do that phase thing the gods do or what?"
Sam was looking at him funny. The kind of funny that usually preceded Sam telling him something that was not going to go over well.
"I know she looked human, Dean. Then she sort of shimmered and…" Sam made a fisting and exploding gesture, splaying out his fingers to explain. "Poof. Maybe it was a glamour or something and she was never really there."
"Oh, she was real, Sam."
"Yeah, maybe. I didn't feel anything, but you and Crowley looked like you got knocked back for a loop. The only thing I know of with enough mojo to get you and the King of Hell is a human soul."
"One minute she's flesh and blood, next minute she's an energy bomb? That doesn't sound too human to me, Sam. Anyway, what's her point? We're still standing."
Sam cast one of his Significant Looks at the First Blade, and Dean shifted uneasily. He slid the Blade back in its holster, then nodded towards Crowley. "What's up with him?"
Sam grit his teeth and said between them, "I told you. Flash bang, exploding soul. Are you seriously not going to talk about this?"
He could still taste that kiss, lingering like whiskey lightening on his lips. He shot Sam a shuttered look and moved away, heading back towards the Impala. Trust Sam to want to pick at a scab, though this felt less a scab and more like a great gaping hole. He clenched his jaw to avoid reacting.
"I kissed a girl, Sam. It's happened before. What are you, 12?"
Crowley was still blinking when they got back to him.
"What was that?"
"What was what?"
Trust Crowley to be obtuse when it suited him.
"That." Sam gestured behind him at the florist's, making a ka-boom gesture with his hand.
"Not sure."
"Really." Dean's voice dripped pure skepticism.
"Never seen anything like it." Crowley blinked several times more. "Never want to again, actually."
Sam was still staring suspiciously at Crowley. "What did it do?"
Crowley turned away. "Nothing permanent, I'm sure."
"That wasn't why you brought us here?" Sam was not past the idea of this whole setup being a trap.
Crowley had the nerve to look offended. "Time of day, boys. Not everything I do revolves around you two. Matter of fact, tick tock. Do you want to hunt some demons or not?"