Cataclysm
The pieces are falling into place in Frankie Pearce's life, and she is beginning to feel whole again. There is a possibility of friendship around the corner, aside from her doting protector Castiel, of course. For the first time since being pulled from the pit, she can really feel like she's healing.
And it all comes crashing down when an evil nightmare from her past breaks down the walls she so carefully built.
A/N: Hey there, friends! Thanks for sticking around! This is a chapter I was so excited to get to, and I bet you guys will hate me for this...😁 We're seeing some plot begin to further in this story, which means we're getting closer to the sequel! There's one more "oneshot" to go before Secret Life will turn into... *pause for dramatic effect*... The Taking of Frankie Pearce! Agh! So exciting!
I hope y'all enjoy this chapter, and I'll catch you in the next one!
Frankie leaned against the mop's handle as she wiped her brow with her sleeve. She glanced around the cement walls and tiled floor, blowing a relieved sigh through a satisfied smile.
The community center had advertised that they would be holding pottery classes in one of the rooms in the left wing of the building for the week. Several artsy folks had signed up to attend, and some schools had booked their art clubs, such as the school that had reserved the class for that day.
Well, as it turned out, that specific class had been a class of twelve-year-old troublemakers. Halfway through the lesson, the teacher had excused herself for a bathroom break, and they locked the door behind her. What followed was a clay-ammoed battle the likes of which Frankie would have loved to see with her own eyes.
The aftermath was a different story. She really underestimated how hard it was to scrape dried clay off a dozen ceiling tiles.
Hours later, Frankie speared the mop into its bucket and headed out of the room, glad to have filed that task away. Of course, she was now incredibly behind on the rest of her tasks for the day. She would have to put in overtime tomorrow if she hoped to get back on schedule. If the pottery class could avoid similar mishaps in the coming days, perhaps she'd keep her sanity intact.
She wheeled the bucket down the hallway, careful to not spill any of the water on the carpet. She reached the lobby on her way to the janitor's closet. There were a few people hanging around in front of the open double doors that lead into the theater's auditorium, none of which she really recognized.
Until she turned around.
Upon a second look, Frankie spotted the blonde girl; the one she had a troubling interaction with when she started working at the center. She had been absent for a while. Frankie had assumed that she stopped showing up to avoiding interacting with the cripple that embarrassed her.
The rational part of Frankie's brain reasoned that she simply wasn't a part of the last production, and that she was cast for a role in the play that had just begun rehearsals.
It had been too long since that day. It was way past due for Frankie to do the right thing.
She took a deep breath, gently setting aside the nerves that her guilt resurrected. She pushed the bucket forward. The squeaking of the wheels caught the attention of a few in the group, the blonde included. Her smile sank like a bottomless boat.
Frankie resorted her wince to a barely noticeable twitch in her eye.
The girl turned to follow her friends into the auditorium. Frankie left the mop bucket behind and picked up a jog, holding her hand out. "W-Wait, uh… girl!"
'Off to a great start. Nicely done, Frankie…'
The blonde halted her fleeing. Her shoulders drooped in a manner that could only display defeat. Frankie slowed her jog just as the remaining cast dispersed from the lobby, leaving the girl to fend off the cranky custodian by herself.
"Hey. Uh…," Frankie sighed out as she reached the girl.
The blonde turned around. Her eyes were just as wary as they were the last time she saw her. Now that she was finally looking at her with calm eyes, Frankie took in her full appearance.
Her naturally wavy hair was tied up in a ponytail. A few rebellious strands hung next to her cheeks. Her thick glasses magnified her dark brown eyes. She wore mascara and a thin line of blue eyeliner, but no other makeup. A small silver nose ring pierced her right nostril, and she wore earrings that dangled and swung with the slightest movement.
"Uh… hi," Frankie muttered.
'You already said that, Franks. Try again.'
"Hi…," the girl slowly said back.
Flashes of her face after Frankie's outburst slowed her brain's function. She made a horrible first impression. She probably ruined the girl's day… her week.
Frankie sighed, tucking her hair behind her left ear. "Look, uh… I wanna… I'm sorry. For that, y'know, that day. Back… gee, I'm not sure how long ago that was."
The girl crossed her arms. She remained quiet.
"I was, uh… I was…" Frankie swallowed. She buried her hand in her pocket, and she forced her eyes into the girl's. "I was really messed up. I guess I still am in some ways, but-but I'm trying to be better. Um…"
'Dang it, this is harder than I thought.'
She rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath. "What I said was really uncalled for. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that, in front of all those people. It's… heh, it's haunted me, believe it or not. See, I'm… I haven't been a good person in a while. Well, that doesn't help my case, does it…? Uh, I-I'm not trying to come off like a sob story, I wanna-… I'm trying to-"
"Stop."
Frankie shut her mouth. She swallowed, finding it harder to do so this time.
The girl shook her head and held up a hand. "Just stop."
Frankie masked her fearful gape behind a blank stare. She chewed the lining of her lip, readying a wince.
"Apology accepted." Frankie's breath stilled. "Apology more than accepted, really." The girl's lips flashed a brief amused smile. Frankie figured out why when she realized that her jaw was hung open like a fool. She closed it as the girl sighed. "You really didn't have to say sorry. Honestly."
"What- Of course I did! I-I embarrassed you in front of your friends."
The blonde uncrossed her arms to rest them on her hips. "You snapped at me, yes. Scared me, too." Frankie let her wince run free. "But looking back, I was the one at fault. You told me over and over again to leave you alone and I didn't."
"No. You wanted to help. You were trying to be kind! You didn't deserve being told to screw off."
"No, I really didn't," the girl deadpanned. Frankie chewed harder on her lips. "And I admit I didn't really wanna associate with you… pretty much ever." The girl's eyes flicked over Frankie's face before she gave a crooked smile. "But you changed my mind."
Frankie's eyes widened, shining a hopeful glint. "I did?"
"Well, yeah! I thought you were a bitter, hard-shelled, prick of a person. The kind that takes their struggles out on others. The kind that doesn't try to be a better person." She tucked her hands into her pockets as well, carrying herself in a more relaxed manner. "But here you are."
"Here I am?"
"Yeah. You apologized. When really I should be the one who apologizes to you." Her eyes fell to the end of Frankie's right arm. Her smiled faded. "Recent, huh?"
Frankie shoved down the burning that came with someone staring at her arm. She pointed her own eyes to the knot tied at the end of her sleeve. "Several months ago. I've lost count."
The blonde slowly nodded. "My aunt got Parkinson's last year. She was… frustrated a lot. It used to really upset her. My family and I gave her lots of help and support, and she didn't feel so bad so often anymore. At least in front of us. I guess… I don't know. When I saw you, I thought you could use some help and support, too. Well… I should have expected your reaction, truthfully."
Frankie's chest warmed. "I should've never snapped."
"It wasn't your fault." The blonde reached out and placed a hand on Frankie's shoulder. The brunette stiffened, frozen under the gentle contact. "I'm no doctor or therapist – far from it – but you must have been through something that really messed you up. And so recent, you… you don't need to feel sorry. I really shouldn't have avoided you, shouldn't have been afraid to be around you… I'm sorry. If I'd considered your situation… well, I didn't. And that was wrong of me."
Frankie nearly pinched herself. This was going better than she'd hoped.
She sheepishly grinned. "Do you think… maybe we could consider it water under the bridge?"
The blonde crookedly smiled and patted Frankie's shoulder. "Bygones. Let's just start over. Sound good?"
"Yes!" Frankie chuckled. She held out her hand, and the girl promptly took it in her own. "I'm Frankie."
The girl shook her hand. "Jules. Welcome to the Elijah Etheridge Theater, Frankie."
Frankie beamed. "Glad to be here."
A man called Jules from the stage in the theater. She gave Frankie an apologetic smile before releasing her hand and turning to the auditorium. "I'll see you around. And I won't run away this time."
"I'll hold you to that!" Frankie answered, and she immediately cringed at the awkward answer.
Frankie smiled to herself as she retrieved the mop bucket. It took a while to get there, but she was finally getting on good graces with those she had wronged. She was finally reshaping her image into a better person, and at the same time she was stepping into the right direction of having some real friends.
Human friends, at least. Cas was in a league of his own.
After months of flying under the radar, she finally felt like she was becoming whole again.
Frankie sifted through the keys on their ring before she caught hold of her apartment's. She stepped up to her door and held the blade to the lock.
A crash from inside froze her hand.
Panic flared in Frankie's head, her mind immediately jumping to the most horrific of origins. She jammed the key into the lock and hurriedly opened the door. She rushed in, throwing her eyes around for the danger that lay inside the apartment.
She locked eyes with Castiel. He was standing in the kitchen, a guilty look in his eye. Frankie searched the room, seeking danger, when she spotted a mess on the floor.
A bowl was toppled over on the linoleum, water splashed everywhere.
"Oh god, Cas," she groaned, placing her hand over her chest. "I thought you were being jumped." She kicked the door behind her and walked forward to assess the large puddle. "What are you doing?"
Cas bent down and picked up the fallen bowl, examining it in his hands. "Cleaning."
Frankie's gaze lifted along with her brows. "Typically, if you want something clean, you keep it off the floor." She stepped over the spill and grabbed the mop that was propped against the fridge. "Why the sudden urge to tidy up? Is it spring already?"
"Um… no. It's November."
Frankie snorted as she swabbed up the puddle. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the irony.
Frankie whipped the hair from her face and looked at the angel. Her eyes, however, caught sight of his sleeves, darkened with water and dripping wet. Her brows furrowed. She glanced at the sink. The faucet was turned on, soaking several dishes under it.
"Doing the dishes, huh?" She shook her head. "Why?"
Castiel switched his eyes from the bowl in his hands to the sink to the puddle on the floor, but he never met her gaze. He seemed to be avoiding it as well as her question.
It dawned on Frankie that he must have been doing this for her. Angels didn't care about a full sink. Cas must have been trying to do something to help around the apartment. That little book he carried around must have clued him into doing something like this, but the poor dear appeared to be struggling. With a simple glance to the dishes on the counter, she could tell he wasn't using soap.
Frankie kept her tickled grin to a minimum and finished mopping. "Let me help you."
Castiel finally looked at her, wearing a stern face. "That's not necessary."
"Well, I wasn't askin', was I?" Frankie opened a drawer and took out a dish cloth. "You do the washing and I'll do the drying. Sound good?" After a beat, Cas nodded. "But, uh, you might wanna roll up your sleeves."
Cas looked down at his soaked arms. He tilted his head, appearing momentarily confused. Frankie nearly laughed, but she kept it hidden behind a smile.
Cas finally shrugged off his trench coat and placed it beside the sink. Frankie flicked her eyes over his black suit, as wrinkled as his tie was unkempt. She'd never get used to seeing him without his tan shroud of a coat. He simply didn't look like Cas without it.
But a brisk surge flared in her brain when he removed the black jacket from his shoulders. He stood only in a white button up and tie – practically naked – and it was then when she realized why it felt so wrong to see him like that.
The less layers he wore, the more human he appeared.
The more like Jimmy he appeared.
She forced her gaze away as he began rolling up his sleeves. She hurried to dry off the dishes that seemed the least filthy, forcing her eyes onto anything but him.
It had been a long, long time since she thought of that man. It ached to think about him. Locked inside his own body, sharing it with another being, one that probably regarded him less than it regarded a worm on the sidewalk.
Was he conscious? Was he even still alive? Could he see her, hear her, when she was with Cas? Had he seen and heard everything since Castiel retook him as his vessel? Everything?
To draw her mind away from Jimmy, Frankie forced a chipper tone to her words and instructed Castiel on the proper way to wash dishes. He picked up a sponge, having only used his hands before, apparently. She could practically see the lightbulb ignite across his face when the grime melted away from each glass, fork, and dish into a bed of suds.
Among the many things she expected out of her short life, teaching an angel how to dishwash was not on the list.
"So, Cas, do anything cool today?" Frankie asked as she dried off a plastic tray.
The angel was quiet for a moment. "A pair of decorously appareled individuals knocked on the door. They had scriptures and leaflets protruding from their person. They asked me if I had found God."
Frankie bit her lip to keep her smirk at bay.
"I managed to force one against the wall. He was unresponsive to my interrogation. I ordered him to tell me who sent them, but he merely babbled like an infant. I let them flee, but I followed them to their residences. If they report to any angels or demons, I will know."
Frankie couldn't hold it in. She braced herself against the counter and chortled like a tickled pig.
"I don't understand the humor you find in this situation. Someone is ordering reconnoiterers to our door."
Frankie dabbed the dishcloth under her eyes, and she coughed up lingering laugher as she spoke. "Cas, uh, I think you threatened a couple of Jehovah's Witnesses." The confoundedly pondering expression on the angel's face threw her back into a giggling fit. "Well, heh, at least they won't be coming back. Ever."
"How could they have known of my mission to locate God?"
Frankie's shoulders shook as she tossed the cloth onto the counter. She clutched Cas's arm and looked him in the eye. "Cas, to them, everybody is trying to find God. Or at least they hope they are. They're not spies, you big goof." She lightly shoved him and returned to drying.
After a long pause, Cas continued scrubbing the sponge against a glass. "We cannot afford to let our guard down for anyone."
"You've got a point," Frankie affirmed with a playful roll of her eyes. "But, y'know, I think you've been cramped up in this apartment for too long. I mean, when was the last time you went out on a search for Him?"
The sponge slowed. "It has been… a while."
"Well, as much as I love having you here, maybe you should get back at it. I can go a night without you."
Cas's hand stopped altogether. Frankie noticed it after a beat, and she looked over to the angel, meeting averse eyes. Frankie tightened her lips and sighed through her nostrils.
"Well, I should be trying to, at least. I have been doing better lately… I can't expect to depend on you twenty-four seven." She forced her attention to the cloth in her hand. "I'm gunna work late tomorrow. We're having these important guys come in on Saturday to do some tour, I dunno. I'm already behind, so I'll need to stay a few hours more. Why not give God another go while I'm gone? Spend some time on your stuff. N-Not that I'm ungrateful for you cleaning! I appreciate it more than you could comprehend… but y'know… you do you, when you can, at least."
Frankie dried in silence. She rubbed the damp cloth against the cups and forks, hoping he would take the suggestion. He worked himself so hard to keep her safe, to keep her mind level. He deserved Cas Time. God-searching, potentially dangerous Cas Time.
"I will only be a prayer away."
Frankie smiled silently. It was best for the both of them. It would do wonders for them to have one night of consensual separation.
The last glimmers of the evening sun beamed through the lobby's glass doors. Frankie swallowed a tired sigh. She pushed the cleaning cart through the large room just as rehearsals had ended. The cast of the latest show pushed through the doors to the auditorium, chatting to each other as they cut through the lobby. Frankie slowed the cart to allow the group to pass in front of her. There would be no smushed toes on her watch.
While she waited, she took off her headband and combed her stringy hair back into submission. It had been a long day, and now she had an even longer night to make the theater presentable for morning.
"Hey, Frankie!"
Her head whipped over to the front doors. Jules was standing there with a small group. While the others either looked at her with hesitance or ignored her completely, Jules smiled brightly at Frankie, and she cocked her head towards the doors.
"We're catching a bite for dinner. Wanna tag along?"
Frankie's face warmed. There was no way the group didn't pick up on her pinkening cheeks.
Her heart was near to bursting with joy. The one thing that could make her feel more normal than a night to herself was a night with others who wanted her company. It would be a huge step into becoming complete again.
But, alas, duty called.
"Thank you for the offer. Dinner sounds fantastic… but I have so much work left to do."
"We'll wait up." Jules had spoken with finality and warmth. The folks behind her, though, had paused and shared dumbfounded glances.
Frankie softly laughed under her breath.
"That's very generous of you, really, but I'm gunna be held up here all night. Sorry."
Jules pointed a long-nailed finger her way. "Raincheck."
Frankie pointed back and smiled. "You bet."
Jules left the building, her entourage following her out. A few gave her curious looks, wondering why she was suddenly all buddy-buddy with the crabby custodian.
Frankie couldn't wipe the grin from her cheeks all the way back to the janitor's closet. Things seemed to be aligning in just the right way to finally granting Frankie with a friend – one she didn't have to punch and lie and be tethered by an oath to get. She couldn't wait for that raincheck to fall through!
An hour later – what felt like two – and Frankie's feet were taking her back to the lobby. She wheeled a vacuum cleaner around a corner into the larger room.
She cut too close.
The vacuum bumped into a decorative pedestal, knocking it into a violent wobble. It wasn't hitting the short column that caused Frankie to let out a shrill gasp, but the sight of a stubby vase on top, now tilting too far to the side.
Frankie practically threw the vacuum to the floor to grab the vase before it tipped over the edge. Her fingers grappled the top and held it, freezing it mid fall. She held her breath in burning lungs as she slowly tipped it back into place, blowing out a guttural sigh once all was still.
She twisted the vase so that the most decorative side faced out. There were letters etched into the vase. The elegant writing spelled out "ELIJAH ETHERIDGE" in bold letters.
Frankie's eyes widened as the realization slowly seeped in.
She carefully withdrew her hand from the urn and backed up. "S-Sorry, sir…" Frankie quickly turned and picked up the vacuum, trying not to disturb the man any further.
She wheeled to the nearest wall outlet and unhooked the plug from the appliance. She kneeled with a grunt and plugged it into the crusty socket, reached over to the vacuum's switch, and flipped it on.
Nothing happened. She flipped the switch again, and again, and again, all with the same result. She lazily raspberried as she pulled the plug, a bit of spittle landing on her chin, and stuck it into the outlet below the first one. Just as before, the vacuum remained silent.
Frankie's petulant groan echoed through the lobby, as did a thud when she dropped her head against the wall.
"Well!"
She flinched. A brisk gasp burned her throat. Her eyes snapped open, the filthy carpet all she saw.
She was supposed to lock up. She was supposed to be alone all night.
She was alone with an intruder.
With only a vacuum cleaner to defend herself with.
"Aren't we living lavishly."
Her lips tore open as her jaw fell.
The words… were spoken with a husky British accent.
In a voice too familiar.
She forced her mouth closed and swallowed. Her head warily turned, and she glanced over her shoulder, terror glimmering in her eyes.
He was a vision straight from the past, a memory alive. His ebony suit was the same as that night, and his coat, shining like a raven's feathers, identical to their last encounters. His tie, still displayed in its ornate silver motif, illuminated as brightly as his eyes, set in a wicked smirk in harmony with his curled lips.
"Hello, love."
Frankie charily rose to her feet. Her hand slithered up the wall, steadying her trembling body. "You stay away from me."
Crowley removed a hand from his pocket and placed it on his chest, mocking hurt. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"
Frankie snaked along the wall, inching away from him. "I-I don't know why you've come slithering up in here, but you better get out before I do something you're gunna regret."
"Oh, now you've got my attention," Crowley practically purred. With every step Frankie took, he mirrored it. "Such as?"
"Summon an angel to crush you into a ball."
A dark chuckle reverberated around the room. The dangerous sound – like a tiger's growl – froze her feet in place. She forced as much hostility into her glower as possible to hide the overbearing fear.
Crowley fixed her with a wide-grinned scowl. "Well, where was this Frankie five months ago?" His eyes shamelessly roamed over her entire body, scrutinizing every detail in her shaking form. "I'm well aware of the dutiful protectors keeping you in their reach." His eyes locked into her own. "They don't faze me."
"They should."
"Really?" he answered with arched brows. "The latest newsletter prattles that your trench-coated manservant has barely enough juice to topple over those bins. And as for those 'guardian angels' implausibly justifying your new existence, well…" Crowley's eyes lifted to the ceiling, his voice harboring a simper. "They've been rather quiet, haven't they?"
"Enough, Crowley." Frankie winced at the bite in her tone. Proud as she was for putting up a tough front, she was dealing with the King of the Crossroads here. "What do you want?"
With a leisurely blink, Crowley's gaze linked with hers. The corner of his mouth lifted as if pulled by fishing line. He may have been smiling, but his eyes were void of humor.
"Do I need a reason to drop in on my favourite client? I wanted to check on you. See how you're fairing after waltzing out of Hell."
"Fine," she spat.
"Impressive. No nightmares? No visions, residual agony – just 'fine'?" His brows quirked, and he arrogantly cocked his head. "Truly remarkable."
"Welp. You know me."
It was Crowley's move, but he chose not to take it. He kept his hollow gaze and threatening sneer glued to Frankie. There was no doubt in her mind that he was doing it to milk every drop of discomfort out of her, and dammit, it was working.
Her chest felt clouded. His eyes were penetrating, gleaming with such anger and hatred that it hindered her breath. The less air she was able to take in his presence, the quicker her heart rate rose, creating an unholy mixture of stress and fear.
He pivoted on his heel in a single, quick move, and made a beeline for the concession stand. Free of his hampering glare, Frankie sank against the wall and swallowed a deep breath.
"Oh, and congratulations on your newly formed connections to those haloed cretins fluttering about the planet." He snatched a bottle of gin from under the counter, gave it a grimace, and poured himself a glass. His voice lowered to a jeering murmur. "It must bring you great comfort knowing they're watching your every move."
Frankie gritted her teeth tight against each other. Hatred for the creature lured her lips into an incensed snarl. "It brings me more comfort in knowing they're watching your every move."
"Careful, Frankie. You're blindly following a higher power again."
"My show's about to come on. I don't have all night."
She was surprised at the snark that flew off her tongue, but being cornered by the demon she hated the most – more than Gamigin – caused her fear to step in line behind her loathing.
The demon's eyes flicked up, catching her own. The revulsion that had filled them had morphed into amusement. His arched brows sank in time with his stretching smirk.
Crowley seemed… satisfied. The idea grew a lump in Frankie's throat.
Drink set firmly in his hand, Crowley rounded the concession counter and stepped towards the middle of the room. He glanced around the lobby.
"You've created a fine life for yourself, haven't you? A job, cozy apartment, friends…"
He sipped the gin in his glass. His face froze, expressionless. He licked his lips once and then tilted the glass over, spilling the drink on the carpet in one quick flick of his wrist. Frankie sighed, gathering his attention. He impishly sneered and spread his fingers apart, dropping the glass on top of the new stain.
He tucked his hands into his pockets. "Glad to see that you've put my kidneys to good use."
"Your kidneys?"
"Well, you are using them on loan from me."
"I was. Before I died."
"And you're not now?"
"No. I went to Hell, remember? Did you forget that little detail?"
Crowley pursed his lips, his gaze running around the room. "I remember."
"Mazel tov," Frankie deadpanned. She pushed off the wall and made a careful move towards the front doors.
"I also remember the terms of our deal." He pulled a small notepad from his coat's inner pocket and held it out in front of him, tilting his head back slightly as if he were nearsighted. "'I want health. I want my kidneys to be healed, and for them to never be an issue again.'"
Frankie's pupils darted over his face, his words rippling in her skull over and over and over again.
Crowley lowered the notepad. He flashed a wicked grin and waited for her to catch up.
She was already there.
"No," she grunted. Her hatred was wrenched back, her fear now taking the controls. "N-No that doesn't mean-"
"Words of wisdom, love: avoid absolutes. The deal was that your kidneys were to never be a problem, so they won't. No sudden yanking from Hell will change that."
No.
This wasn't happening.
Not now.
Not fucking now.
"B-B-But the angels- the angels are in charge of me now! They-They would never allow-"
"What we have, darling, is a contract. More so, over the terms of a human soul." Crowley linked his hands in front of him, shaking his head with mock sympathy. "Not so easily broken."
"But there's gotta be-… that can't-…"
This wasn't right, it couldn't be! An angel saved her from Hell, healed all of her, minus a hand. They needed her and her soul. They would have done something about his name.
They would have done something about his name!
… Could they have?
Cas tried. He couldn't. But he was weak. Surely a more powerful angel-…
'What we have, darling, is a contract.'
Maybe the deal was too airtight. Maybe her wording screwed up the system. She used an absolute…
'Not so easily broken.'
Fuck… this was her fault…
Her head lifted on its own volition. It found him.
His brows arched and he held out a hand. "Oh, don't let me interrupt your panic attack."
Him. That bastard. That fucking monster!
"You are some piece of work," she growled, closing the distance between them. "You come up here when I'm finally feeling back to normal just to break me down again! You're here just to flaunt the fact that I still belong to you!"
His head nodded in the most infuriating manner. "That does sound like me." He slightly leaned his head back and lazily stared at her. "I'm not here to flaunt."
"Don't let me interrupt your explanation," Frankie grumbled.
Crowley was still for a long moment, but once the moment ended, his face contorted with the smug smirk of one up to no good. While his previous grins oozed arrogance and animosity, this one promised mischief.
"Frankie…"
He made a slow stride towards the girl. Her entire body bristled as he got closer. Electricity surged in her legs, aching to move. Red flags hoisted in her head, alerting her to run like hell.
His lips stretched as the gap between them dwindled. She was, unfavorably, drawn to his eyes, set in not a scowl, but an impish gleam. He smiled with those eyes. He was excited, and for what Frankie was afraid to know.
Just as in their previous meetings, he came to a stop much too close to her body. Her worn, black work sneakers were reflected in the leather of his polished Balmorals. He practically towered over her despite only being a few inches taller, but it was his threateningly confident aura that forced her to lean back. The pungent spice of his cologne fluttered up her nose without consent, nearly watering her eyes, dizzying her senses. She did not hide her gulp well.
"How would you like to be free of your contract?"
Frankie blinked, and then blinked again. She huffed out a short breath in his face and rolled her eyes. So that was his game.
"Fine, Crowley, fine. I'll play ball. You want me to grovel? I'll grovel."
Frankie lowered onto her knees, nearly brushing her forehead against his chest on the way down. A single brow of his rose at her stooped position. The interested look in his eye disgusted her. She spread her arms out and spoke with half-assed gusto.
"Oh, pretty please, Crowley. Free me of my indenture if you heed me worthy." She half-bowed. When her face lifted to him again, a nasty glower resided in it. "There. Got what you wanted?"
"Why don't you kiss my feet? Really sell it." He stuck out his shoe, wiggling it. Frankie quirked her lip in revulsion, but a huff of reluctant compliance revved up in her throat. Before she could begin to bend down, Crowley spoke again with a sigh in his voice. "Stand up. I want to negotiate."
Frankie stood to her feet, dusting off her purple uniform. "That bodes well for me."
"You argue a decent point. You have been to Hell, you believe you've more than paid your dues. I am willing to revoke your contract."
"How kind of you," Frankie groused.
Crowley's eyes dropped, landing somewhere around Frankie's chest. His mouth opened with a tsk. "It doesn't come without consequence, however."
Frankie rolled her eyes. "No, why would it?"
"Our deal is the only thing keeping you off the IVs." He gestured around her torso. "You'll be reverted to your cyst-riddled self once more."
Frankie pinched the fabric of her uniform to keep from rubbing her abdomen. The memory of lying in the hospital bed, slowly wasting away, had not been a pleasant one. It would be even worse a second time knowing exactly what to expect.
"Unless you'd be willing to comply to a favor," Crowley intoned.
"A favor? For you?" Frankie incredulously spat. If she could cross her arms, she would have.
"More of an errand, really. And if you run this errand for me, I will annul your contract, no strings attached." He flashed a dazzling salesman's grin. "You keep your soul and your health."
He made it sound like the deal of the century. And it sure sounded like it to Frankie. But she wouldn't be fooled by luxurious illusions.
"So, what is it, huh? Need me to murder people? Open a portal to Hell, spy on my brothers, what? Lay it on me."
His head cocked, eyes narrowed and calculating as if searching for something in her expression. "You expect the worst. Tell me, do you demand the best in return?"
"Cut to the chase, Crowley. I still know my exorcism."
"I'll cut out your tongue if you try," he said, tossing his jaded gaze around the room.
Frankie bristled at the offhand threat and rolled her tongue around her mouth. "What errand?"
In an instant, his pupils flicked into hers. The wicked flame within them dulled. In its place, a stone-cold seriousness. This time, a smile did not make it to his lips, but it appeared in his voice.
"I need you to say 'yes' to Lucifer."
Frankie flinched, too late to catch it.
The green of his shirt, speckled with her blood, flashed like headlights in her mind. Her heart leaped in her throat, creating a dull throb there that muffled her ears with each pulse.
She kept her gaze in Crowley's, watching him close. She waited for him to realize his mistake.
She waited.
"Lucifer's dead," she muttered, low and vacant.
"And who told you that?"
"I watched him die."
"You watched him get shot."
Frankie's jaw was numb, slacking on its own accord. She tried to speak. She tried and failed.
He pulled the trigger. The woods echoed the crack of the gun as a bullet sank into the forehead of the Devil.
The world moving like molasses, Frankie watched as Lucifer's feet fell from under him, blood spurting from his head like a whale's blowhole. He slumped to the ground, sprawling out in front of her brothers. Lifeless.
Dead.
Dead. He was dead. She saw it. Dean shot him and he was dead.
She wouldn't believe it. She refused. There was no way he was still kicking. The Colt could kill anything, and he was anything! Sam and Dean beat him. It was that simple.
And yet…
Breaking news had not been pretty. The TV showed horrible natural disasters, shocking mass murders, and international calamities that would make one wonder if it was the end of the world. Frankie knew it had to be the aftermath of the Apocalypse being stopped. Angels and demons throwing hissy fits because they didn't get their way.
But such widespread events so close together… It seemed unlikely that the angels would cause that caliber of destruction, and the demons wouldn't be powerful enough to wreak such havoc…
The only option left would be…
'Oh no… no, no, no, no…'
"Oh, yes." Crowley stepped back from the panicking girl before sardonically strutting over to the bay window beside the front doors. "That winged addlepate of yours has kept that small detail 'hush-hush,' hasn't he? You know what they say about relationships built on lies…"
"The Apocalypse…"
"Is still nigh," Crowley remarked, squinting into the dark. "Lucifer lives, angels are antsy, and omens are ravaging the planet. Which under any other circumstances I would revel in, but not when it's a sign of the Devil winning."
"How…" Frankie squeezed her eyes shut. She straightened her back and took a deep breath. "… do you know Lucifer wanted me as a vessel?"
Crowley twisted around, facing her with a daring smirk and puckish tone. "You haven't forgotten who I am?"
With each deep breath, Frankie inflated her body with resentment, pushing the overwhelming fear aside. "It's not gunna happen. I will never be his vessel! I refused Satan to his face! You can't sway me."
She challenged his vacant stare with a heated glower. Shoulders rigid, she held her ground. He thought that his threats would work on her, but he failed to recall that she was mutilated by Lucifer and still refused. He would have to try a lot harder to change her mind.
Crowley shrugged, pursing his lips. "Suit yourself." He shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled to the front doors.
Frankie quietly sputtered, caught off guard. She could only blink in surprise as Crowley seemed to… be leaving.
He pulled a cellphone from his coat and scrolled through it as he approached the exit.
Frankie shook her head and turned away from him. Oh, he was good. He was trying to get in her head. He thought that by acting like coming there wasn't a big deal, it would make her more curious as to why he thought of her in the first place. Like that would ever work.
Not a chance.
He was outta his mind!
She cut her eyes to him. He was opening the door, lazily strolling into the outside world.
She rolled her eyes and groaned.
"Why?"
"Hm?" he replied, holding the door open with a clueless look fabricated on his smug face.
"Why do you want me to say 'yes'?"
He had a special dark smirk ready for the question. "Frankie," he cooed. He let the door shut. "Frankie, Frankie, Frankie. The most charming trait of yours is your humbleness." He stepped purposefully to his left. Frankie stepped to his right in response. With every pace he took, she moved in the opposite direction, soon circling each other like cats in a turf war. "Do you have any idea how many devout Bible thumpers would kill to be in your shoes? Favored by God, protected by angels?"
Frankie dipped her head and arched her brows. "My shoes? Fresh from Hell? Tortured by nightmares? My way of life judged by angels?"
"Your pessimism is such a turn off," Crowley grumbled with a roll of his eyes.
"Why does my 'humbleness' matter to being Lucifer's condom?"
Crowley wiggled his brow and slowed his stepping to a blithe strut. "Do you realize just how significant your resurrection is? Do you think souls are ripped from Hell every other Thursday?"
Frankie dramatically groaned. "Yeah, I know. I'm 'important' and all. Don't know why, no one will tell me."
"That part doesn't matter. What matters is that they will go to extreme measures to ensure your heart is beating. Far enough to not stand for Lucifer taking you under his wing."
Frankie froze. Crowley reflected her and ceased his stride, pivoting on his heels to fully face her.
Frankie frowned at the demon. She rewound his words in her head, making sure she heard him correctly. "Wait. Y-You want me to say 'yes' just to piss off the guys trying to keep me safe?! That's your plan?!"
"Precisely."
"You're outta your goddamn mind!"
"Ah, watch it. You're supposed to cut back on the swearing, right?"
Frankie reeled in a breath to spit it into a million rebuttals, but the best her voice could muster was a frenzied series of babbles. The nerve! It took him how long to come up with this plan?!
"I-I don't even know why they're protecting me, and you want me to start waving the red flag?!"
"Must I repeat myself?" Crowley sighed, rolling his head along with his eyes.
"How is pissing off my protectors supposed to help me? I say 'yes' to the Devil, I'm stuck with him! He'll wear me down from the inside out!"
Crowley extended a pointed finger. "Unless an entire garrison of angels gangs up on him to take him down."
Frankie's head jerked back, her faced scrunched in a confused scowl. Her eyes flicked up and down his body, searching for the sense that was missing in his logic.
Crowley quietly huffed. He dropped his finger, then his hand. "Look. Lucifer is a powerful archangel, yes. Michael alone will give him a tough fight. But Michael and your dutiful sentinels, well…" He briefly tugged his shoulders into a half-shrug. His salesman grin made a reappearance. "They'll give him a run for his money."
Frankie faintly shook her head, struggling to wrap her mind around his plan. "I… I don't understand. That just means they'll beat me up, too."
"No, no. You're not to be harmed. While you're incapacitated by Lucifer, you're in danger. They will have to break tradition to save you, and breaking tradition is the key to stopping the Apocalypse." He dipped his head forward, flashing bright eyes into her narrowed ones. "You are the key to stopping the Apocalypse."
Frankie's breath quietly hitched. She swallowed before she forgot how to.
She was thrust back to the weeks before her death, the days when she would stay awake at night wondering how they were going to stop the Apocalypse. It all seemed so impossible back then. With Cas having told her about the brand but neither of them knowing the reason for its existence, she humored herself with the idea that her situation could be the key to stopping Michael and Lucifer.
This was not exactly what she had in mind… but Lucifer was still walking. She couldn't be so judgmental.
'Wait, wait! No! Becoming his vessel is not the answer! That's what he wants! There's no way I'm considering this, there's so many problems!'
'… Well… it's not like the angels are really telling me what their plan is…'
She huffed. An inner turmoil was the last thing she needed in that moment. Crowley was still pinning her with a suffocating gaze. She didn't need him reading into her hesitation.
She averted her eyes and slowly paced around her side of the lobby.
'The angels aren't clueing me into their plan, yes, but that gives me no right to turn my back on them. They rescued me from Hell, gave me purpose again, gave me something to strive for… who am I to question them?'
'And yet what is it they have me doing in the meantime? Go to church, clean my mouth out with soap? Hardly the stuff of legends. Mickey woulda been an idiot to train Rocky like that.'
'Well, it's not looking badass that I want now, is it? I want the world the stop being on the verge of destruction. I want Lucifer to lose.'
'Jehoel has given me no indication that my purpose will help the world. At least Crowley is giving me the option.'
'Wha- no! No, no! We're not considering this! My place is with my rescuer! He's who I owe my life to!'
'My life that Crowley owns. My life that goes back to Hell unless I do this.'
Frankie raked her bangs off her sweaty forehead.
"Hashing it out with our inner demons, eh?" Crowley remarked. Frankie cut her eyes to him.
She rested her hand on the concession counter, leaning against it in thought. "What if they don't fight for me? Saying 'yes' will make it look like I'm cheering for his side."
She heard his feet thud heavily on the carpet. She turned her head as he reached her side, towering over her once again. His cologne was somehow stronger than before, as if it flared up at his command. This time, she tried not to shrink in on herself.
"Not if you're forced to say it."
Frankie would have scoffed if the lump in her throat would have allowed it. "And you're gunna force me?"
"Only if you refuse."
She bit her lip, keeping her frown in line. Her eyes focused on anything that wasn't him as she retraced his ludicrous plan.
"But how will they kill him if-"
"Frankie."
His hands grasped her shoulders. She gasped, her eyes snapping into his against her will. He leaned in closer, his face all she could see. Noses merely inches apart, they had not been this close since the night of their deal. Since they had to kiss to seal it. Free will gone, her eyes flicked down to his lips. She could not hide the shake under his hands. As he spoke – quiet, a near whisper – his breath brushed her own lips and cheeks. She could still smell the gin.
"It took a massive amount of power and resources to raise you from Hell. Several angels had to break through before your rescuer could touch you." His fingers squeezed her shoulders. "It doesn't matter what you did or what you'll do, they need you. No one else. That's why you're the perfect candidate for his vessel."
It had to have been the mixture of gin and spices swirling into her head that made her dizzy, because she was beginning to see his point.
She wasn't an idiot. There were so many holes in his plan that it wasn't even funny. How would the angels get her out of Lucifer without harming her? Or worse, without Lucifer harming her? What if he didn't release her without a fight, resulting in her death?
At least she wouldn't go to Hell, assuming Crowley held up his end of the deal.
What could go wrong if she became his vessel? The thought sent a cold chill up her spine and wrapped around her throat, tightening the more she thought of the possibilities. A demon was a bad enough ride, but an archangel… the Devil… it could be as bad as Hell.
It could be worse.
She shut her eyes with a wince.
"No. I swore I would never be another creature's vessel. And I can't afford to risk my position in Heaven. I'm sorry, but you'll just have to find someone else to be your inside leg."
He was quiet. Surely burning into her with a deadly glare. She sighed and opened her eyes.
He clutched the back of her neck and forced her head down onto the counter. She shrilly gasped as her temple collided with the wooden surface. The pain was delayed, appearing after her sight unblurred.
He gripped her wrist and jammed it against her back. He jerked it higher, forcing a squeaky cry from her gaping mouth. She tried to elbow him with her right arm, but her blows were mere pats as he forced his body against hers, pinning her to the counter with little room to even squirm.
His lips, curled in a sneer, brushed her ear. The pressure of him leaning on her body, chest flush against her back, hindered her breath. She could barely groan, let alone yell.
"We're running out of time, and I am running out of patience." His breath was fire against her skin. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Do not forget that I own you, not them. You will do what I order you to, or I will drag you to the deepest abyss of Hell, so far that it'll take a millennium for a single angel to find you, and that's in Earth years, ducky."
He twisted her wrist, clenching it tighter. His nails dug into her skin through the thin fabric of her uniform, feeling like hot iron on her flesh. She jailed her whimpers behind her teeth.
"How does that sound? You and Gamigin alone in the dark for the rest of eternity? Better yet, I'll do the job myself. And I'll tell you this, love, he doesn't possess a fraction of my creativity. We are at war with the Devil, and I will exhaust any resource I must to ensure he loses. You will say 'yes' to Lucifer. Am I clear?"
She shimmied as wildly as she could. The heft of his body reverted them to slight jerks. He silenced her movements by stabbing his nails deeper into her skin. Her pained gasp was muted by his weight.
"Say it."
Her teeth bared, seeping in a long breath. "Yes," she hissed.
"There's a good girl."
He released her. The instant she was free of his body, she sucked in a deep breath, extinguishing the burn in her lungs. She scrambled off the counter and hurried to distance herself from the demon. She rubbed the spot on her back that his nails cut up.
"Aw, did I hurt the lass?" he scornfully cooed. Frankie whipped a foul glower his way. "I wasn't going to use force, but you've grown significantly in your nether region since our last rendezvous, hm? But I am a gentleman. To make it up to you, darling, I've got a gift for you."
He held out his hands. A black cloud swirled over his palms and quickly vanished, leaving behind a shiny, black briefcase. He stepped forward, and Frankie stepped back. Crowley frowned, annoyed, and rolled his eyes. He walked over to the counter and set the case on top of it. He backed away with his hands held up.
"Open it."
Frankie hardened her glare. Crowley got the hint and huffed. He backed away even further. Once he was a sizeable distance away, Frankie moved forward. She flipped the snaps and opened the case.
Her brows fell over her eyes. Inside a bed of dark green velvet were twelve vials of burgundy liquid. It looked like…
Her fingers slid off the case, slowly distancing from the vials. "What're these?"
"Crème de la Crowley."
Her eyes widened. She stumbled away from the case. "Your blood?! No! How-How can you even ask me to-to-"
"Your body needs to be strong to handle his power. Drinking these will make you less likely to… well, burst into a thousand gooey bits. We need you to last until the showdown."
This motherfucker was really ordering her to drink demon blood. Demon blood. The very stuff that sent Sam into a downward spiral into evil. The stuff that made him scream in agony for days when he went dry. The stuff that made him start the Apocalypse!
Crowley expected her to guzzle his blood without a fuss?! After what she saw?!
She whipped around.
He was standing right in front of her, having crossed the room without a sound. She stepped back only to find a wall. She swallowed, gaze drawn to his eyes. They were void of… anything. Anger, hatred, joy, humor, there was nothing. He was unreadable, but she didn't need to be clairvoyant to know that he was just waiting for her to refuse. He was just waiting for her to say no so he could pounce and take her other hand.
What if she called someone? Cas. Crowley wouldn't dare put a hand on her if he were here.
"I bet you're considering calling one of your feathered friends." She shut her mouth, glaring in response. "By all means, go for it. Of course, Castiel is already so weak. Becoming more human each day. Let's make a bet. One enfeebled angel versus the King of the Crossroads. Your soul says I win."
Frankie's eyes scampered around the room as if a counterargument were hiding in the shadows.
"Or you can call your 'angel in reeking benevolence', but I'm curious. How do you summon him if you don't even know his name? Hm…"
She made her face stony, refusing to satisfy him with how stumped she was. The bastard made points that she could not deny were fair. Cas was acting less 'angelic' lately, and she didn't know where to start with praying to her rescuer. Maybe Jehoel was a gateway.
But then the stark realization of his knowledge of these points hit her. How the hell did he know so much about her personal life? Did he have spies within her walls?
It was only a matter of fucking time, wasn't it?
Well, that settled it. She had nothing to hold up as a shield against him. He knew about the inner workings of her new life. He knew all her weaknesses and how to exploit them. And he would exploit them. More abruptly than the angels would.
She was trapped. No exit. No key. No arm to chew off.
She slumped against the wall, leaning her head back.
"There's my compliant little pet." Crowley backed away and fetched the briefcase before returning. "Drink it sparingly, but don't wait too long between doses. Could have an unsavory effect, just a little side thing." He shoved it into Frankie's chest, forcing her to hold it. "When you run dry, give Daddy a call."
She burned a fiery glower into him with a grimace. "You got a number or something?"
His brows swiftly rose. "Oh, yes, of course." He withdrew his fist from his coat pocket and flicked a small, silver object into the air.
In small panic, Frankie held the briefcase out to catch the trinket. It bounced once on the leather case before stilling on its surface. She lifted the case to closely scrutinize the token.
"An old nickel?"
She was staring at a thick, silver coin depicting the profile of an unrecognizable figure haloed by strange lettering.
"A communicator. A listening device of sorts. An exact copy of the one I stashed away in your apartment several weeks ago." Her glare reformed and beamed into his lethargic smile. "And my, the things I've heard." Frankie's fingernails scratched against the leather of the briefcase. He shrugged unapologetically. "Hold it and say my name. I'll be there in a flash."
Oh fucking hell, was she really doing this? Making plans to work with a demon? The very demon that she pawned ownership of her soul to?
No. She couldn't. She wouldn't. She was still loyal to Heaven. If they wanted her to stop Lucifer, they'd make it so. Crowley was here to test her, and damn, he was a tough test.
She'd agree to work with him and then report to the angels. They'll help her.
"Oh, and one more thing."
"What?" Frankie hissed.
Crowley pawed his coat for something. His face flashed a brief satisfied gleam before he held a vial of blood of his own in front of her.
"I need to see you drink."
Frankie's lips fell open. She eyed the glass vial as the demon lightly wiggled it, the blood within sloshing.
It took a minute to find her voice. "W-What?"
"I know you, Frankie. Deny it if you wish." He gestured to the hallway with the vial. "You will pour my blood straight down the drain the moment I turn my back. Drink one. Now."
Frankie's own blood was pumping fervently through her heart. She wouldn't let a single drop touch her tongue. It would be the last thing she did! She couldn't end up like Sam, all crazy and evil!
She quietly sputtered and pressed herself into the wall. "I don't see why-"
"Drink."
She flinched. His voice had taken up a gravelly snarl, one that chilled her spine.
She kept her eyes on the vial, but she measured the distance to the front doors in her peripheral. If she made a break for it, he'd definitely catch her, but she could pray to Cas to get there instantly. He may be weak, but he might have just enough juice to grab her and beam them both away before Crowley so much as blinked.
He grasped her cheeks, fingers squeezing until her skin slipped between her teeth, forcing her lips open. She shrieked a gasp and violently flailed as Crowley jammed the open vial into her mouth. He shoved her head back and poured the blood into her mouth.
The revolting copper flavor spread over her tongue like a virus, infecting every tastebud. The cold sludge was heated by the saliva she revved up to spit in his face.
Before she could rear her tongue back to fire, the last drop slid off the vial and Crowley flattened his palm over her mouth. The force of shutting her jaw caused her teeth to bite down on her cheeks, mixing their blood together in an unholy concoction.
'Cas!'
"Swallow. Take it like a man."
Frankie thrashed her head from side to side, trying desperately to pry his hand off her mouth. Crowley pinched her nose, blocking her last hope for air. Her eyes popped open, flicking around the room in a panic.
"Swallow, or I'm going to do something you'll regret." Fear pumped through Frankie too fast to meet his close glare. "I may be a demon, but I can get a message to the right ears. And I can name a few angels that would love to turn your beau into a six-piece, deep-fried combo."
Frankie's pupils dilated with excess fear. She locked her gaze with his, flicking between his eyes.
"No. I'm not bluffing."
Frankie's brows sloped. Her vision was blurring at the edges. Her head swirled from depleting oxygen. The idea of passing out right there under his hand was the preferable way to go. She wouldn't get that shit into her system, and he'd be forced to leave her there. There was no way he'd take her unconscious body. Not when he knew the risks.
But his threat wasn't just a ruse. While she lied on the floor passed out, he would go straight to his chambers to compile a message for Michael and Raphael of Cas's location.
He knew her ultimate weakness. She had nothing left to defend herself with.
She squeezed her eyes closed.
'It-It's okay! I'm sorry, Cas. I overreacted. I just… tripped. Don't worry. Everything's fine…'
The goop traveled down her throat like molasses. The vile metallic taste choked her tastebuds as it spread across the walls of her gullet. She gagged and heaved against Crowley's hand. His brows lifted. She pinned him with the sourest scowl that she could muster and swallowed again, the last of the blood draining down her throat.
"That's my girl."
He removed his hands and backed away. Frankie keeled over, sucking in deep, airy breaths. She clutched her knee as she drank in the lost oxygen.
"I take it you can handle the rest," Crowley jadedly said as he straightened his coat. He strutted to the front door, pulling his phone out again. "Pleasure doing business."
"Crowley…," Frankie gasped. The demon twirled around, arching an uninterested brow in her direction. Frankie lifted her head. Tears fell from her eyes and a tiny stream of his blood slithered down her chin. "Please… Please don't make me do this. I've… I've suffered enough."
Crowley snorted just loud enough for Frankie to hear. "You haven't suffered. Not yet." His lips peeled back into a tight smirk, his eyes void of emotion. "Cheers, darling."
He disappeared, leaving behind only the lingering smell of expensive, spicy cologne.
Frankie's eyes burned into the front doors. Her sight blurred and cleared over and over from building and spilling tears. Her heartbeat never slowed, only quickened. Her breaths puffed in an unsteady rhythm, one that became shallower with each passing second.
Her fingers grabbed her hair and tugged. A fiery scream ripped up her throat from her lungs, burning like hot coals in a furnace. She yanked her fingers from her hair and gripped them into a fist. She reared back and twisted around, punching the wall.
She immediately felt the sting that prickled across her knuckles. She felt the split in her skin. She flattened her palm against the wall and dropped her forehead beside it. Her hampered breaths ricocheted against the wall, blowing back onto her slick cheeks.
Her eyes cracked open, pointing to the floor. Crowley's briefcase lay on its side next to her feet, discarded from their tussle.
Her teeth bared.
She marched down the hallway, the case clutched tightly in her hand. Each rapid inhale of her nose built up her nausea. She could smell his blood on her lips.
She rammed into the women's room, the door stridently slamming against the wall as she hurried in. Her breaths became shriller, hissing through the restroom.
She pushed into a stall and slid across the tiled floor on her knees. She dropped the briefcase behind her. The toilet seat was already lifted from when she had cleaned it an hour ago. She jammed her fingers into her mouth, tickling the back of her throat.
Her stomach quivered and lurched. Her throat tightened and saliva oozed throughout her mouth before the bile clawed its way out her mouth and into the toilet. Rust-colored sludge filled the bowl until her heaves went dry.
Her lips quivered with a pitiful sob that echoed across the tiled floor. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She peered through her eyelashes into the toilet. She could only pray she got all the poison out.
Frankie leaned back and slid the briefcase up next to the toilet. She opened it and snatched the first vial her eyes landed on. Her throat released a livid snarl as she uncorked the glass tube with her teeth. She held the vial over the toilet and tilted it.
The blood sat at the very edge of the vial's mouth. Her fingers shook, jiggling the thick liquid, but no matter how much her hand trembled, the blood never spilled. Not a drop trickled off the glass.
She focused on the crimson substance until all behind it was a blur. Her lip was quirked in an incensed grimace, her eyes wide and wild with revulsion. Her brain sent signal after signal to her hand to dip just a centimeter more, but her hand disobeyed.
'Do it, Frankie. Get it over with. Do it now!'
Her strained breath bounced off the stall's dividers. Her body refused to refuse her mind's hesitation.
If she didn't drain those vials of Crowley's blood, she'd never be rid of them. They would be hidden somewhere, and the angels were sure to find it. "Explain this," they would command. "Why didn't you destroy these immediately?" they would demand. No answer could pacify them, not even the truth.
And the truth fared worse for her than the angels' wrath.
Lucifer was alive. He was alive and no one told her. Heaven seemed unlikely to ever reveal the truth in risk of her doing something stupid. Cas probably wanted to protect her from the panic and fear it would bring on her – not to mention the excess nightmares. Sam and Dean wouldn't have told her even if she had never died and saw the Devil stand up with her own eyes.
But now that she knew… there was no way she could keep on pretending that she didn't. This wasn't like hiding her machete's abilities or selling her soul; she couldn't keep it inside her. This was the end of the world… something she thought was far behind her and the ones she loved.
Now that she knew… she couldn't stand by while the Apocalypse raged on.
She needed to fully think things through and check all possibilities before she made a solid decision. She needed to talk to Cas and her brothers, but if it turned out that they had no plan to stop Lucifer…
An exhale stuttered through her nostrils as another, softer, sob rattled from her. She tilted the vial back and recorked it. She slowly set it back into the briefcase.
Dammit. God-motherfucking-dammit. She was finally starting to feel like a person again. A better person than she was before. Take out the nightmares and pressing fingers of Heaven, she had a good life going. A place of her own, the best friend one could ask for, the rekindling of a relationship with her brother, social acceptance…
It was over.
If she refused Crowley, he would assign an angelic airstrike to her apartment. Cas would be killed, and she would go back to Hell, this time to stay.
If she sided with Crowley and drank his blood, it would change her, just like it changed Sam. She would lose herself. And then she would say 'yes' to Lucifer, become his vessel.
Crowley gave no hint at what would happen to her after the angels – supposedly – got Lucifer out of her. It seemed that no matter what choice she made, it would end unfavorably for her. There was no better decision. There was no third option.
She had a choice to make, and it was the same one she had to make on that night in Carthage. Lose her life, or lose her soul.
The walk back to the apartment was longer than ever before. The sky broke open into a frigid drizzle, but she made no move to tug up her jacket's hood.
She had hoped to be stopped by a mugger. Maybe shot and killed so she wouldn't have to deal with decisions on how to carry the fate of the cosmos. Alas, the streets proved to be the safest place she could possibly be.
She reached her door and took out her keys. She fiddled with them under the buzzing yellow light on the wall, tracing the blades with her thumb. A million thoughts sped through her mind, so fast that they droned into an incomprehensible murmur. Her mind was an endless loop of raving anger and despair, and it wasn't until the distant hum of thunder brought her back onto the vestibule that she forced the apartment's key into the lock and trudged inside.
"Are you alright?"
Frankie flinched. The door hadn't even shut yet before she was rushed by Castiel. The angel stood before her, brows firmly set above abrasive eyes. His pupils were still, unwaveringly burning into her own.
She couldn't look at him. At least, she couldn't bear to. To know that he was here meant that she would get no time to process the night. To see him standing before her, not knowing the travesty that her life had now become, weaved a blanket of desolation that offered her no amount of comfort or relief the deeper she sank into it.
She turned away from Cas, locking the door and hanging up her backpack. "I thought you'd be gone all night."
"I heard your prayer."
"I told you everything was fine."
"I don't believe you."
Frankie's head drew back in surprise. She turned back to her friend, brows furrowed and lips parted. Cas stood stiffer and averted his gaze, his eyes finally appearing like normal after a few blinks.
"Forgive me. You sounded distressed, more than a fall would provide. I first arrived here, but by the time I realized your danger was at your place of employment, you attempted to alleviate my concerns." He lifted his gaze only for it to catch onto her bleeding knuckles. "Are you alright?"
No. She fucking wasn't. And as much as she wanted to save him from worrying about her even more, she couldn't contain it for a second more. This was a battle she couldn't afford to fight alone. This was a secret that would never be.
She sighed heavily. Her eyes dragged around the apartment. It no longer felt like her new home. It felt like a cage. She felt like the star of a reality show, its sole audience an assemblage of beasts that vied for her soul.
These walls had ears. Not all of them demonic.
A rough gulp traveled down her throat as she met Cas's eyes. At his first glance, he picked up the distress that colored her irises. He saw that she was troubled.
"Yeah, of course I'm alright."
'Cas, I need you to listen very carefully.'
His head cocked. He narrowed his eyes, staring at her with an apprehensive frown.
"It was just a tumble down the stairs. Nothing really."
'Something bad happened at the theater. Something real bad.'
"I guess in the moment, it was a reflex to call out for my friendly neighborhood angel."
'We can't let anyone listening know what's going on. Please act like everything is okay. Please.'
Castiel held her pleading look in his tense one for a longer moment than Frankie would have preferred, but he finally spoke, and when he did it was without moving a muscle.
"Okay."
Frankie tightly nodded. Her fear caught up with her, immediately attaching to the back of her neck. Her hairs stood on end, stippling her arms, as she turned to the couch. "S-Should we watch TV? Little late for Lucy, but maybe we can catch something almost as good."
She was already sitting herself down onto a cushion when Cas broke from his rigid stance by the door. He made his way to her side and slowly sat down next to her.
Frankie deeply inhaled. Seconds ticked by in silence. The fear injecting itself into her body hampered her movements, but she finally pushed through enough to turn on the TV. She let the first channel that appeared run free without awarding it any attention from the couch's occupants.
'Frankie, what is going on?'
Cas's stern tone didn't do any favors for her fretting brain.
'I need you to be honest with me, okay?' she asked the angel.
'Yes.'
Frankie's breath stuttered on its way in.
'Do Sam and Dean have a plan to stop Lucifer?'
The air in the room tensed. Though he hadn't moved a finger, she felt Castiel's shock.
She turned her head just as he had, meeting each other's eyes. He was stunned. His eyes were coarse, and his lips pressed into a dismayed frown. Frankie cringed at the look of failure on her friend's face.
'I'm not mad, Cas. I understand why you held this back from me, but I'm caught up now. I just need to know where to go from here.'
His disbelief was clear in his sloped brows, but that disbelief quickly turned into subdued anger – an anger she imagined was felt towards himself. He turned his head away, eyes pointing to the TV, but seeing nothing.
'How did you find out?'
'It wasn't falling down the stairs that made me call out to you. It was Crowley.'
His head jerked towards her, but never fully turned. 'The demon?!'
'The very one.'
Castiel's hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly on top of his thighs. Frankie tried to keep her eyes on the television screen.
'How could I have let him anywhere near you?!'
'You didn't know-'
'I should have come the moment you called. No matter the possibility of triviality. He could have-'
'He did.' The urge to rub the scratches on her back flared. She adjusted against the cushions. 'But you couldn't have stopped it. The guy probably warded the place against angels. He's crafty.'
'That didn't stop me with the demon Meg. Or against Gabriel.'
Frankie's brows faintly rose. She could have used a car smashing into the front door when Crowley forced his vile blood into her mouth.
'No. But certain things weren't at stake back then.'
Cas's head turned the rest of the way. 'What do you mean?'
Frankie heaved a deep breath. She swallowed down her impossibly dry throat. 'Crowley didn't just come sashaying into my life for the hell of it. It turns out that he still owns my soul. He found a loophole, I'd rather not go into detail.'
Cas flattened his hands on top of his legs, leaning back into the couch with a sigh. 'He intends to blackmail you.'
'You're on the money, pal. He offered to break off the contract. Not for free, of course.'
'What does he want in exchange?'
A dense ache spread from the depths of her chest up to her frontal lobe. Her eyes shut and her lips tightened with a troubled sigh through her nostrils.
'For me to become Lucifer's vessel.'
Her body slightly jostled as Cas quickly shifted on the couch, no doubt glaring confused daggers into her.
'Why in the hell would he want that?'
Frankie would have to wait for another time to giggle at the angel's rare use of profanity.
'There's, uh… I-I never told you why Lucifer saved me from the explosion in the first place. He was fed up with Sam's reluctance and went for the next best thing. And that thing was yours truly.'
He was quiet for a long time. Her curiosity lured her eyes open to see that his disbelief had returned.
'Then why did he kill you?'
'Well… he never did. I did. And he had every intention of bringing me back after I 'learned my lesson' or whatever.'
Retracing the memory helped little in her efforts to drown out the theory of Lucifer being her rescuer from Hell. She nervously bounced her leg to ground her to the current conversation.
'And now Crowley thinks exploiting Lucifer's desire to vessel me up is the key to putting his reign to an end. And he's not making an offer either. He's threatening everything if I don't do this – my soul, my life, my afterlife, you…'
Cas's hands clenched into fists again, but they stayed that way.
'When I find him-'
'You're not gunna touch him.'
He nodded. 'You want the first strike.'
'I wanna disintegrate that dick off the face of this universe… but I can't. Neither of us can.'
Castiel inched his head towards Frankie, a defensive glint in his eye. 'I may be weakened by my absence from Heaven, but I can still-'
'I don't want you to touch him.' A squeeze from her anxious heart forced a shaky sigh from her lips. She drew up her legs onto the couch and crossed them under her. 'I'm thinking about going through with it.'
His head slowly turned the rest of the way, and she met his gaze. She quickly wished she hadn't. The bellicose glower that he wore so rarely bled across his face. His eyes, icy cold with frigid rage, burned into her to the point of heating her cheeks.
'You are not making it easy for me to contain my anger.'
Frankie flinched at the voice in her head. It was louder and created a denser pressure behind her eyes. It practically slammed around the walls of her skull. She made a note to never get him angry in prayer after tonight.
'How could you think of acting on such an idiotic move?'
'I'm just considering it. But only as a last resort,' she consoled.
'It's not an option, Frankie.'
'It is if we have no other choice! Lucifer can't win, Cas! If it takes welcoming him into my body so that Heaven fights alongside Michael, then so fucking be it!'
'What are you talking about?'
Frankie shut her eyes and huffed, balling her hand into a fist. 'If I let Lucifer in, I'm putting myself in danger. The angels watching over me now will have no choice but to fight him to save me. That's one archangel against a slew of angels. Much better odds than just Michael.'
'Frankie-'
'Look, I know it's a long shot. I don't wanna do this, Cas, but if… if there's no other option then…'
A hand gently pressed against her forearm. Her throat squeezed out a quiet whimper. She opened her eyes to his outstretched hand.
'I am not letting that happen.'
She helplessly shook her head. 'The only way to prevent this is to find another way to stop him. If we can't… then we've gotta take a chance on this. Either way, I'm dead. It's just a matter of if I go to Heaven or Hell.'
'I'd rather you live a long and fulfilling life.'
Frankie sighed from the depths of her damned soul. She leaned her shoulder into his and caught his hand in her trembling one. 'Me, too. But that's too rich for my blood.'
'I forbid you to say 'yes' to Lucifer.'
Frankie cinched her brows and snorted. 'You forbid me?'
'Yes.'
'You forbid me.'
'I do.'
'Then you're sentencing the planet to death by Devil.'
'Surely there is another way. If we can't kill him, perhaps we can contain him somehow.'
'Well, I'll cut you a deal, Cas. You find out how we can ice him – alive or dead – and I won't consider swallowing him. Sound good?'
Castiel's head dipped. Their eyes met. Though they had conflicting strategies, they at least shared each other's apprehension. Something they could both agree on was that their settled, imperfect life together was over. Everything would change from that point on. They had to watch their every single move, living as if Crowley was in that very room.
In a sense, he truly was.
Cas straightened his head, staring at the wall behind the TV. 'I am going to kill Crowley.'
Frankie couldn't help the small smile on her lips. 'Okay, tiger. Can you wait 'til we stop Armageddon?'
'That is a promise I cannot make.'
Frankie pressed her lips and looked over her friend's riled expression. She lightly shook his hand. 'Look, Cas. Don't get me wrong, I hate him, but… he is shooting for the same goal as us. He wants Lucifer to fail as much as we do. At least he's giving us a way to do that.'
'By giving the Devil what he wants?'
'It's either me or Sam. Least with me we have a better chance of winning.'
Cas shook his head and whispered a long sigh. 'I wish you Winchesters would cease your infallible desire to consider suicide as a means to an end.'
Frankie's eyes fell. She released his hand to wrap her arm around his, tightly hugging it. 'It's not healthy to wish for something you can't have. You call it suicide, I call it selflessness.'
'It sounds more like ignorance.'
'That, too.'
He blinked down to the girl against his arm. 'Do you understand how hard it is to keep you safe?' There was a somber sound to his voice.
'I don't mean to sound immature, but it's not my fault. It's the angels and demons that seem to believe I'm some kinda secret weapon in their war against each other. All I want outta life is to be an Average Joe. Is that too much to ask?'
'When your brothers are Sam and Dean Winchester? Yes.'
Frankie bit her lip and looked off to the side. 'You know, it's funny… When I lived in Hollis County, all I ever wanted was to be anything other than what I was. I was so tired of going under everybody's radars, so tired of the mundane. Then I met them.' Her sigh carried throughout the apartment. 'If I could go back…'
'Would you?'
Her head craned to look Cas in the eye. His gaze was firm, unyielding.
'If you could go back and tell your past self to stay, would you?'
Frankie blinked at the angel.
Now that was a heavy question. If she had the ability to go back to that fateful day – the day of her mother's funeral – to grab her past self by the shoulders, shake her, and scream into her face to stay in Hollis County… would she?
She would never meet Adam, Sam and Dean. She would never meet Bobby. She would never know that she had a real family out there. She would never know that monsters, angels, or demons existed and she'd never know that her mother was a no-good coward that laid out the runway for her to make the same mistakes.
She would never know that her soul was valued over others. She would never be a prize for Heaven and Hell to battle over. She would never go to Hell. She would never be a catalyst for destruction and pain.
And she would never meet Cas. That, she believed, was the worst of all. Cas was the one true friend she ever had. Loyal, understanding, comforting, amusing… people like him were hard to come by. She could manage living without him, but her quality of life would barely pass the bar.
So, if she could change the past, would she?
She flicked between Cas's eyes, weighing her thoughts, before her gaze landed on the clock behind him. She tightened her lips together and lengthily sighed through her nose. Her arm slinked off his.
"It's getting late."
She could feel in the air that Cas had more to discuss, even as she was standing and flicking off the TV, but so much had already been unveiled that night. Cas might not have been capable of it, but Frankie sure as hell was emotionally drained. And she was harboring a dull headache from the pitter-patter of his words rattling around in her skull.
It would do their situation good to sleep on it – or rather, Frankie sleep on it and Cas lay next to her. Such a difficult decision had to be well thought out, but Frankie didn't see much light at the end of the tunnel.
The end of the Apocalypse could play out in an innumerable number of ways, but she didn't sense a happy ending for good ol' Frankie Pearce-Winchester in any of them. Death, vessel, torture, she could feel it coming, crawling like ants across her skin.
There was a great battle ahead, and, for once, she knew with certainty that she wasn't on the winning side.