A cold and fierce expression settled across Mystery's brow as she aimed her weapon at me with an unwavering hand. I debated lying, telling her she was mistaken and that I wasn't a demon, but, judging by the fiery guise she expertly wore, lying would likely result in me getting shot. So I gave her a tiny smile and softly sighed.

"How'd you know?"

"You're wearing a jacket, dude," she pointed out my attire. "It's ninety fucking degrees outside."

"Nice observation," I gave her a sincere compliment as I warily eyed her gun.

"Get out," she said, moving her finger threateningly along the trigger. "And tell Crowley if he sends one more fucking demon down here, I'll assume he's broken our deal and I'm calling every hunter I know."

"I'll leave," I calmly assured her. "But before I do, you should know that I don't work for Crowley."

Mystery arched a brow as a roguish smile twitched at the right corner of her mouth. She pointed the shotgun away from me and discharged a single round that splattered the brick wall to my left in a spray of salt and flecks of red stone.

"You missed," I casually observed as she dramatically pumped the fore-end on her shotgun and returned its aim on me.

"Did I?" she said. She straightened her posture and gave me a confident smirk. At first I thought it had been a warning shot, a hostile way of telling me she didn't believe me. I thought this as I waited for her to say something, until a set of footsteps echoed down the hall and stopped short just outside the door behind me.

"Everything okay in there, mon amour?" a deep, French-accented voice rolled into the room. Mystery fixed her eyes on me so intensely, for a moment I couldn't tell what intimidated me more; the salt-loaded shotgun aimed at my chest or her. And then I realized what was going on; the voice beyond the door belonged to a demon.

My muscles tensed and my breath halted. I clenched my fingers into fists as I fought against instinct, screamed at myself not to reach for my Kurdish blade. Revealing that I was armed would, at best, get me shot, and at worst, it would get me shot and hauled off to Crowley.

"Fucking ghosts, Damien," Mystery barked a convincing lie, her irritated voice clashing with the pleased look that had settled on her face. "It's always fucking ghosts."

"Do you need help, ma chère?" Damien's voice called, and Mystery cringed at the notes of affection.

"No, Damien, the ghost hunter does not need help with a ghost," she called, never taking her eyes off of me. "Although, since you're here, does the name 'Maddox' mean anything to you?"

"Ahh... no, I cannot say it does," the voice said. "Why do you ask? Are you sure you do not need assistance?"

Mystery eyed me questioningly, wordlessly asking whether or not she should invite the demon inside. My jaw tightened and I slowly shook my head, silently begging her not to tell Damien I was there.

"Just wondering," Mystery called. "You can fuck off now."

"Are you sure?" Damien asked.

"I mean, I do have another round loaded up, so if you were planning on shitting margaritas later, by all means, come inside."

A long and horrible silence passed, and, for a minute, I thought Damien might actually let himself in. Not that I wouldn't be able to take him. But taking down Damien would make a lot of noise, and I would be forced to improvise my way to the grimoire and, inevitably, be seen by Crowley.

"I think that I will come back later," Damien decided at last and shuffled back down the hall. The tension in my muscles eased, and a long, inaudible breath of relief passed through my lips.

"You'd better fucking not!" Mystery yelled before letting loose a low, frustrated growl.

"Boyfriend?" I teased, and she shot me an icy glower.

"He wishes," she said as her face curved into a look of disgust. "So." Her posture relaxed, but she kept her weapon level with my chest. "You don't work for Crowley. Tell me, Maddox, why are you here?"

"I'm a hunter," I informed her, something that provoked her to raise a brow. "And I'm here to help you." I paused and glanced to the gun. "I think."

"How are you a hunter?" Mystery shot another question. "And why do you think I'm in trouble?" She paused as a light switched on behind her eyes and an annoyed realization formed across her face. "You've got to be shitting me," she said in a half whisper. "You work with that Sam guy, don't you?"

"It's… complicated," I said. "But yes, Sam sent me here to see if you were okay."

"And to debrief me, right?" she guessed, narrowing her eyes at me as she spoke. "You want me to tell you all about Crowley and where to find him."

I gave her a thin smile.

"It would save me some time," I calmly nodded.

"Well, friendo, you're out of luck," she said with a false sorrow behind her breath. "Because I'm not in trouble, and I'm not telling you shit. The deal I have with Crowley is I keep quiet about his operation, and he leaves me alone. So if you want to rescue me, for the love of fuck, get out before you get me killed."

I sighed.

"Believe me, I'd like to," I told her. "Unfortunately, I can't leave until I've retrieved something."

"Can't or won't?" Mystery challenged.

"Can't."

Mystery quietly considered what I had told her, and her expression relaxed into something slightly less bitter as she casually leaned back in her chair.

"Why can't you?" she wanted to know. "And don't give me the 'it's complicated' bullshit."

"Crowley doesn't know I'm topside," I gave her the vague and abridged version of my story. "My… friends threatened to tell Crowley if I don't help them get something he has."

"So they sent you into Crowley's lair?" Mystery scoffed, her expression somewhere between disbelief and boredom. "Some awesome friends you have." She paused. "Why even bother?"

"Why even bother with what?"

"I mean, you're pretty fucked either way, right?" she said with a shrug. "Why bother getting close to Crowley? Why not get the fuck outta dodge and hole up somewhere before your 'friends' tip him off?"

"I've run from a lot of things in my time," I admitted. "But a fight ain't one of them. This way, I've at least got a small chance of walking away somewhat unnoticed. Besides, it's for a." I paused and nearly choked on the words that pained me to say. "Good cause," I finished through clenched teeth.

Mystery pondered this for a moment as she adjusted her grip on her gun.

"What kind of 'good cause'?" she half asked, half demanded.

"It's for the angels," I explained without enthusiasm, unsuccessfully keeping the disdain from rising to my voice. Mystery gently lifted her brows in bewilderment as she quietly considered what I had told her. She studied the sincerity in my demeanor and let loose a long sigh when she determined I was telling the truth.

"In that case, I'm fucked either way too, aren't I?" she said with a sarcastic smile. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, visibly unsettled by the situation she had been sucked into simply by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. To a certain degree, I could empathize with her, and I offered her an encouraging smile.

"Listen," I spoke empathetically. "You tell me what I need to know, I'll keep you safe."

Mystery scowled in what appeared to be distrust.

"I promise," I solemnly vowed. It surprised me, the kind sincerity and protection I offered her. It was the kind of thing old me used to say to people, the kind of thing old me used to do. And it was nice to see that ray of light in the unfolding darkness. It was nice to know I wasn't a total monster.

Yet.

"Yeah, I doubt that," she grumbled in disbelief as she placed her gun on the desk, but kept her hand securely on the stock. "Despite what I know about demons and the fact that every instinct in my body is screaming at me to shoot you in the face…" Mystery paused and let out a heavy sigh. "I guess I'll help you. Seeing as how it's for good, and I'm already fucked, thank you very much."

I gave her an appreciative smile she returned with another frown.

"I'm looking for a grimoire," I said, prompting a look of recognition to flash across her face.

"Gnarly looking leather book?" she half asked, half stated. "Weird symbol burned on the cover?"

"You've seen it?" I asked, and she nodded.

"It was on Crowley's desk," she replied. "Up on the fourth floor. I don't think I was supposed to see it. He got a little weirded out about it and tried to cover it up with a handkerchief. Of course, this was a few weeks ago. Whether or not it's still there is anyone's guess."

"Crowley's keeping it close to him," I said. "As long as he's here, so's the grimoire."

"Well, he's not here all the time," Mystery said.

"Good," I said. "I just need the book, and I'd prefer if Crowley didn't see me take it."

Mystery's head tilted upwards suddenly as her eyes darted to the ceiling and her expression turned thoughtful.

"That could work," she muttered distractedly to herself.

"What?" I felt forced to ask when she didn't elaborate.

"Crowley usually takes off for a while after eleven," she stated. "I could give you my key to the building. Come back around 11:30. I'll blast some music so the other demons don't hear you coming."

"I would appreciate that," I told her. "But I think you'd be safer elsewhere."

"If I'm shooting my agreement with Crowley to hell, I might as well help as much as I can," Mystery said with a calm defensiveness. "Anyway, I'm usually here blasting music around then. It would probably seem more suspicious if I wasn't here blaring rock and roll."

"Fair enough," I replied.

With her left hand she pulled the top drawer of her desk open and extracted a heavy brass key. She hesitantly leaned forward to pass it to me, but stopped short before I could take it from her.

"You'd better not be fucking with me," she warned, jabbing a finger at me. "Because if you are, and you get me killed, I will haunt the fuck out of you."

"That's not how that works," I informed her something I was confidant she already knew.

"Yeah, we'll fucking see."

I returned later that night with Freya and, thanks to Mystery, a good idea of what to expect. The outside of the building was lit in a faint yellow glow that contrasted with the darkness inside and intensified the eerie feel the place retained. Deep shadows cut through the white light of the nearly full moon that hung in the sky over head, carving a path for Freya and me to slink through unnoticed. I should have been at least a little nervous, sneaking around the building that housed around two dozen demons, including their king. I should have felt some kind of fear to a certain degree. But I didn't. I was calm. Too calm.

The calm before the storm.

Then again, perhaps I did feel a bit of fear. I wouldn't have told Sam and Dean to hang back if I was completely lacking in it. Only, I couldn't tell if I was trying to protect them from the twenty-something demons that lurked inside, or if I was trying to shield them from what I knew I was about to do. Even if they never found out who I was, they didn't need to see the thing I tried to pretend I wasn't.

I wondered, as I quietly unlocked the back door and slipped inside the building behind Freya, if killing a few dozen demons would quench my thirst for revenge, or if it would only fuel it. Would it put me at ease, or would it make me more of a demon? Was helping Sam and Dean obtain a stupid book worth the potential fallout?

They're demons, I reminded myself as my fingers wrapped themselves around the bone hilt of my Kurdish blade. Killing demons is never a bad thing.

Killing people is, I mentally argued with myself, cautiously treading the dark and empty halls.

The people are probably already dead, I tried to make myself feel better about the sins I had yet to commit. Sam and Dean need that book, and you need to keep your face hidden. There's no other way around it.

I could just not kill them.

That's not going to get you far.

I silently toed my way up the open staircase to the second floor. Freya walked beside me, her body rigid and crouched low to the ground, softly treading across the linoleum floors as quietly as possible. We tiptoed through patches of moonlight that spilled through giant windowpanes and past office doors until we reached the second set of stairs at the end of the hall.

My heart began to race as we gradually ascended the staircase to the third floor. It wasn't the slew of demons I knew were patrolling the wide hallway that caused my heart rate to spike. Rather, it was the adrenaline building in my veins and hammering against my chest. I wasn't just ready for a fight; I craved it.

That's a bad, bad sign.

As planned, the loud sound of music cued up and flooded the third floor hallway with electric guitars and a fast beat — Iggy Pop's Lust For Life – and a giddy, wolfish grin spread across my lips.

Why are you smiling?

Because this next part's gonna be fun.

I shoved the guilt down as quickly as it arose. I didn't have time to dwell on the things I was about to do, or get philosophical about right versus wrong or how I felt. I had a book to grab and some chains to break.

I stepped boldly into the dim light of the third floor corridor, brandishing my blade for everyone to see. There were eight of them there in the hallway, each standing guard in a casual manner, all men wearing black suits and matching ties. Their eyes quickly found me and they stared with open mouths, flabbergasted by my unexpected presence. Shock and confusion filled their expressions as they looked between me, Freya, and my knife.

"Which one of you son's of bitches is gonna tell me where I can find that goddamn grimoire?" I asked with a loud growl and a savage smile. I could feel my eyes flash black, an act I couldn't stop, not even if I wanted to.

"Mon Dieu!" a dark haired demon said as his eyes grew wide, and I recognized his voice as Damien's. The way he pointed at me, it was if I were a ghost. "I know who you are!"

"Do you?" I asked with an air that teetered on the edge of amusement. "You know what that means?"

Damien shook his head and the others watched with unease as I took a tenacious step forward.

"It means you're first." I paused to watch the demons spin around and glance between each other with looks of wild uncertainty. I had clearly surprised them, just as Dean was confident I would. I could feel a savage grin pull at my lips and I yelled a simple command;

"Get 'em, girl!"

Freya tore off down the hall, straight for the demon closest to us. I watched her pounce upon the brown haired demon, who let out a horrible shriek as she took him down and sunk her teeth into his neck.

"Here comes Johnny Yen again," the lyrics belted as I marched forward with an unwavering confidence and a hot rush, the kind of rush a junkie might get before scoring a much needed fix. I directed my gaze on Damien, who was still so shocked he did little to fight against me as I drove my blade into his chest. The orange light exploded within him and I swiftly removed my blade from his flesh before he could crumple to the ground. I swirled around to see the six remaining demons had found their courage, and were advancing upon me with a bold fury. Freya leapt away from the first demon she had taken down, and charged at two more, successfully taking them both down in a heap of flailing limbs and gnashing teeth. I fought the other four alone, easily ducking fists and blocking kicks. The song was barely half over by the time I'd slain all four of them, and my attention turned to the demons that lay quivering in agony on the floor.

"Now," I spoke above the music as I looked between them. "Which one of you ate up mother fuckers is going to tell me where I can find that goddamn grimoire?"

At first they said nothing as the music reverberated against the walls and pulsed against their skulls.

"Upstairs," croaked the brown haired demon, the demon Freya had taken down first. He was sprawled out in a pool of his own blood, writhing in a pain so intense he couldn't focus on smoking out. "Crowley has it upstairs on a bookshelf," he sputtered through a mouthful of blood.

The other demons — two twenty-somethings with dark blond hair, propped in a slouching position against the brick wall — shot him a dirty look and hissed in disapproval.

"Fuck you," the brown haired demon spat. "I'm not dying for this bullshit."

"Thank you," I said as I inched towards him. I crouched down beside him, and sunk the Kurdish blade into his stomach. "But I didn't say I was going to spare you," I whispered, watching with a sense of satisfaction as the light within him flickered and faded away.

A horrible sound emitted from behind me, resonating like a hundred souls screaming into a violent gale. I twisted my head around in time to watch the thick black smoke as it fled the blond men they had been possessing. I stood abruptly, clutching my weapon as Freya snapped up at the smoky mess, but there was nothing we could do. They were gone, off to find new bodies. Whether or not they would return, I didn't know, but I was foolishly confident they wouldn't be able to find bodies close enough to Crowley to tell him I was there. I was also confident they had not recognized me, but not enough to prevent me from cursing my luck that they had gotten away.

What happened next came in a blur, like a red dream in fast forward. And, like a dream, I don't remember much of what happened. I recalled Iggy Pop gradually fading and another upbeat, punk rock song that cued up as I met a large group of demons guarding the stairwell that led up to the fourth floor. I would like to think the distortion in memory can be blamed on the surge of adrenaline that washed throughout my very being, but I know, deep down, it wasn't that. It was a blind rage, a rabid hunger for the carnage I delighted myself in. The carnage that got me drunker with each drop of blood I spilled.

Fucking demons.

I do remember vaguely the gist of what I had done. I had made my way through the demons on the stairs, and a few more at the door marked Crossroads Agency in fine gold and black lettering. I cleared out the vast and elegant but eerie office suite, and Freya chased the few who fled down the hall.

Everything came back into focus when I found the grimoire. Just as the brown haired demon had promised, the old leather-bound spellbook was tucked between a collection of ancient books in a wide, black bookcase that stood behind a lavish, black oak desk. It was easy to spot, even in the dim candlelight that faintly illuminated the room. It's spine was weathered terribly, and it's pages deeply yellowed. When I pulled it free from its neat little place between two green-covered books, I studied the cover to see that it bore the archaic symbol – a triangular shape that overlapped with something that could have possibly been a crescent sun and an arrow. A deep breath of relief prematurely worked its way from my lungs and out my lips.

And then I turned around.

A man with dark hair and matching eyes stood with a daunting air in the shadows between a pair of brick columns. His posture was straight and proud, yet somehow casual, his black suit sharp and immaculate. He wore a tiny, insincere smile as his eyes narrowed slightly, and a disappointed but entertained expression creased across his forehead.

"You," he spoke as he eyed me with interest. "Are not who I was expecting."

I warily stared at him through narrowed eyes and my grip on the bloodied blade I held in my right hand tightened. I clutched the grimoire with my left, forgetting it was no longer important to me. Not now that Crowley had seen me.

"I was expecting the Winchesters, but this…" He trailed off momentarily, his eyes locked on me, the real me, the thing that was piloting Max's skeleton. The right corner of his lip curved in an insincere half smile. "This is quite a surprise." He squinted, searching for a hint of recollection in my true face. "I don't know you. How do I not know you?" He paused and he stared into me, ravenously trying to put a name to my blackened, smoky face. "Then again, you do look familiar, don't you? Not from Hell. No. Someplace else. But where, and when?"

I didn't respond, and I didn't move. I stood frozen before Crowley, praying to the god that had long since forsaken me that he wouldn't recognize my face. And just when I felt myself relax, just when I thought my true identity was safe, a spark of recognition flashed across Crowley's eyes. His lips curved into a wide, nefarious smile.

"Well, well," he said with a note of heinous delight. "If it isn't John Winchester."