FLAGSTAFF - NIGHT
Back at the majestic airstream trailer of the Widow Volva, Crowley was white-knuckling it through hour five of his reading. He and Volva had gone through two pitchers of Hemo and rum, and the whole thing was starting to get weird.
"Where were we?" Volva asked, trying not to laugh.
"My fate and how to change it," Crowley said.
"Really?" she asked. "I could've sworn we were just out of the War of the Sixth Coalition."
"Nope," Crowley said, "you just keep confusing me with Napoleon. I'm trying to be flattered."
"Oh, take the compliment," Volva said. "All the seers liked him best! It was so refreshing, not knowing which way the wind blew with that one. Cute, too. But he had these creepy, little doll-hands."
Volva giggled to herself, not yet noticing the way Crowley glared at her, drumming his fingers on the table. Once she had, she cleared her throat and rubbed her hands together.
"Okay, let's get going with that fate of yours," Volva said. "Sam Winchester kills you."
Volva and Crowley sat staring at each other for a moment.
"That's it?" Crowley said. "Just like that?"
"Exactly like that," Volva said. "Should I back up a little?"
"No!" Crowley said, unable to keep his voice down. "I mean, let's concentrate on the part where I can change it."
"You can't," Volva said. "But thanks for playing."
"What about the Hanged Man's rope?" Crowley asked. "Are you saying the Vate was just shining me?"
"Oh, that," Volva said. "No, he was right. There is a way to change it. But not for you."
Crowley took a breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth, trying to hold his rum. "Why not?" he asked.
"Well," Volva said, "the fact that you even have a destiny is because you've tangled your thread up with a couple of heroes. One of them has the power to take your life, and the other - the one with the tiny head - has the power to spare it."
"You're talking about Dean, aren't you?" Crowley sighed. "He's the Hanged Man, or whatever? That's just... perfect."
"Or the Pope," Volva said, and held her head. Too much Hemo. "You ever make a pact with the Pope?"
"That would be Napoleon," Crowley said.
"Are you sure?" Volva asked. "The Pope, or... an angel. You both wanted the world, wanted the souls-. Want. Past or present tense? ...It's so damn confusing. But the Hanged Man is Dean Winchester. Years ago, he made a choice - a little, insignificant one. And it snowballed, like a hero's choice is wont to do. He and that big, Patrick Swayze-looking bastard were meant to die, and you were meant to live. But you just had to throw your wash in with theirs, and now, they're the only ones who can put it right. Nice knowin' ya."
"Wait a minute," Crowley said. "Are you saying the Winchesters could change it back?"
"If that's what you're hoping for," Volva said, "then I can guess how you got in this mess in the first place. It's a pipe-dream, honey. No villain with half a brain makes deals with angels and heroes."
"You're right," Crowley said bitterly. "It's a good thing I'm not a villain, then."
"I'm serious," Volva said. "There are two roads to nowhere in front of you, kid. If you don't wanna end up back here again, begging like a chump for some lead to pull your ass out of the fire, then-."
"Screw it," Crowley said. "I know I can't kill you. You wouldn't have let me in here if I could. But I do have something you want." He took a took a folded-up paper out of his pocket and opened it. It had a rubbing of some runic engraving in the middle. "This look familiar to you? It should, it's from the marker of your life-debt."
The color drained from Volva's face. "Where did you get that?" she asked, her voice gone hoarse.
Crowley clucked his tongue at her. "Tragic," he said. "The way Odin screwed you out of your life to save a man who, it just so happens, can't be killed. A man who wouldn't touch you with a Bat'leth, from what I hear. Sad. Of course, you have no one but yourself to blame. I mean, no seer with half a brain makes deals with gods."
"That little turd," Volva muttered to herself.
"All-Daddy Odin," Crowley said. "What a mensch, practically a crossroads demon himself. You know, he and I had something special back in the day? He even gave me your life-debt. For nothing."
Volva's breath started to quicken. "He just gave it to you?" she snapped. "My life? Just like that?"
"Exactly like that," Crowley said, getting his happy back. "Now you know how it feels to have your fate in the hands of someone who can't wait to crush you. And when I say 'can't wait,' I'm underplaying it. I would've been here sooner to collect on your debt, but that would mean having to listen to your asinine monkey-chatter all day, so you can see why I took my time. Now. You and I are going to talk creative solutions..."