Chrys was certain that Bobby wouldn't fuck with them, not like this, not in this kind of situation. She knew he'd heard how angry (upset) she was on the phone, and she knew he'd already intuited how affected Dean was. So, surely, he wouldn't fuck with them now?

Right?

As she stared at the skinny hunter across the table, though, she wasn't so sure. The tenseness radiating from Dean next to her told her that he felt the same.

Chrys was still furious at Sam for what he'd said to Dean. Oh, sure, she was pretty pissed on her own behalf, but she suspected his actions were a result of a spell, or a demon deal, or something. No matter what had happened, though, it didn't excuse his words.

It wasn't that Chrys didn't like this new guy, although she didn't. Hell, half the time she didn't like either of the Winchesters, and they all worked fine together. She just had a deep mistrust of people who were so… Cheerful, optimistic, happy. What kind of bullshit had to be going on in one's head to make a person so goddamn upbeat all the time? It was suspicious.

The hunter in front of them, Garth Fitzgerald the fourth, turned the page of the newspaper he was reading and laughed out loud. "Oh, Marmaduke," he said affectionately, "you're crazy."

Chrys scowled. "What the shit?"


Dean wasn't sure what was going on in his head as he sat in the waiting room to talk to who they thought was the next victim. On one side of him, Garth sat, radiating sunshine and happiness or what the fuck ever. On the other side sat Chrys, who was the picture of resentment and "don't fucking touch me."

It was tense.

The victim's wife was bitching at his secretary. "Are you trying to humiliate me? It's Marsha with an 's-h-a,' not a 'c-i-a,'" she snarled before turning on her heel and walking away.

"She's a delight," Chrys grumbled, and Dean nodded in agreement.

Before they could get up to go talk to the guy, Sam and Becky walked out of the main office. Becky was furiously scribbling notes, and Sam was smiling and thanking the secretary.

Garth brightened. "Hey, is that your-"

"Becky!" Chrys said in a too-bright, brittle voice as she stood and stalked toward the couple. The girl's head whipped around to stare wide-eyed at Chrys, who was stalking toward them.

"Awkward," Garth said sympathetically. Dean ignored him to follow Chrys, anticipating bloodshed.

Sam, apparently, was thinking along the same lines, because he stepped between the two women. "Hi, guys," he said with a smile.

Dean waved awkwardly. "Heya."

There was a beat of tense silence, then Sam spoke again. "Well, there's, uh, no point in going in. That guy's clean."

"Is that so?" Chrys grit out.

Sam beamed. "Positive. Becky grilled him like a pro. She's a real natural."

Dean could feel Chrys' eye start to twitch from where he stood. "That's great," he said tightly.

"We're doing very well," Becky snipped.

Dean lunged at the same time that Chrys did. He managed to snag her around her waist and haul her back against him. Again, she was smaller than him, but she was much, much crazier, so it was a bit of a struggle to hold her. He jerked his head to indicate the door. "You guys, uh, you should go."

"Dean Winchester, I swear to Christ-"

Sam was eyeing Chrys warily. "Yeah, I, uh-"

Chrys did a little twist with her hips and almost got free. Dean cursed and readjusted his grip and pressed his lips to her ear. "Get your shit together, Summers, or I will knock your ass out and leave you in the room," he hissed. She stilled, but she was still tense, and if looks could have killed, Becky would have been dead on the spot.

Garth came to stand next to them, and he patted Chrys' arm before Dean could warn him. She did not, however, tear Garth's hand off and make him eat it like Dean thought she would. She didn't relax, but she didn't hurt anyone, so he counted it as a win.

"Chrys has been going through some stuff," Garth said gently.

"I'll bet," Becky sneered.

"Watch it, bitch," Dean snapped, his patience absolutely gone. "I'm about two goddamn minutes from letting her go and tear you apart."

"Dean," Sam said severely.

"Maybe it's best if y'all hit the road," Garth said amiably. "Don't want any trouble here, now, and Chrys is having trouble controlling her emotions. Heartbreak can do funny things to a person."

Sam nodded and led a tight-lipped Becky away. The sight made Dean's heart ache, but he stowed his own shit and turned to Chrys, who sighed heavily and met his gaze.

"Sorry," she muttered, her eyes dropping down from his.

He ran a hand down his face. "We gotta work this case, C."

"I know."

"We're not gonna get him back if we don't keep a goddamn level head."

"I know."

Dean pointed to Garth. "That's why Bobby sent him. 'Cause he knew we wouldn't be able to do it."

"Well, he was kinda right," Garth said evenly.

"Shut it, Fitzgerald."

Chrys heaved a sigh. "Dean, I know, I know. I'm sorry. I'll… Keep it together." Her eyes narrowed. "I just hate her, and I hate knowing that she's got him so fucking twisted around that he thinks he wants whatever it is they're doing together."

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Gross."

"Yeah."

"Well," Garth said cheerfully, clapping his hands together. "Best way to save Sam is to solve the case, so let's get to work!"

Dean didn't trust the little dude, but his optimism was at least keeping them afloat, so he shut his mouth and led the way out.


Chrys approached Marsha Burrows, trying to keep her game face on. Forget Becky. Focus on solving the case, on saving Sam.

"Mrs. Burrows?" The woman turned around and Chrys smiled. "Hi."

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, we're doing a story on your husband's promotion, and I wanted to ask you a few questions?"

Marsha's face was closed off and suspicious as she began to turn away. "I'm sorry, I can't today. If you schedule it with his secretary-"

Chrys grabbed her arm to stop her. "Okay, you know what? I'm trying to save your ass."

Marsha's eyebrows rose. "Are you threatening me?"

"No," Dean said soothingly. "No, she's pointing out a pattern. Look, we know that something… Weird… Happened to get him promoted. And we know that you had something to do with it."

Her face closed off. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Now leave me alone, or do I have to call security?"


Sam stood in his new apartment (new apartment!) looking through Becky's research, frowning. "No, no, no, something's not adding up."

He felt his wife's hand run up and down his back soothingly. "I'm sure we'll get a break."

He heard her turn away to start typing on her phone and he smiled, still looking down at the research. Far from vexing, her habit of updating her six Twitter followers on their every move was… Endearing. He hadn't realized before, how passionate Becky was. He was disgusted with himself for ever having thought of her as obsessive or strange.

I'll just have to make it up to her, he thought to himself fiercely.

Before he could think of a good plan to do that, a sharp, piercing pain shot through his head. He grunted and bent over. "Ah, shit."

It was like a fog was lifting. He looked around at a shockingly brightly colored apartment, frowning at the overly flowery decoration. What the fuck? He turned to look for Chrys or Dean, and was greeted with the infinitely less comforting sight of Becky.

"Becky? What… What's happening?"

She smiled nervously. "Aw, don't you remember? We're married!"

That information made absolutely no sense to Sam. "I'm… I'm gonna call Dean." He turned back to the desk to look for his phone. A sudden, explosive pain flared off in the back of his head, and everything went dark before he found it.


When Sam woke up, it took him a moment to realize that he was restrained. He was tied spread-eagle on a strange bed, in a strange bedroom, a blanket covering him up to his chest. When he looked around, Becky was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking anxious.

Chrys is going to kill her, was his first real, rational thought.

"Sam?" Becky asked. "Do you feel concussion-y? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Sam just glared at her. "Where am I?" He yanked at the restraints on his wrists. "What the fuck is going on?"

Becky looked nervous again. "Sam, just… Calm down."

"Calm down? You hogtied me to…" He blanched. "Becky… Why…" He swallowed. "Why am I not wearing any pants?"

"They're very constricting?" It sounded like a question.

Sam groaned in defeat.

She held her hands up defensively. "Don't worry! I didn't do anything weird! I was… Helping."

"Let me go," he snapped. "Now!"

She blatantly ignored him. "Are you thirsty? Or do you need a bottle to… You know, tinkle? It's okay if you do," she assured, "I can help."

She's bonkers, Sam marveled. Completely insane.

He was interrupted by a beeping from the other room. Becky jumped to her feet, her facing lighting up. "Finally!" She hurried out of the room, ignoring Sam's calls for her to stay in the room.

She didn't close the door, so he heard everything.

"Where have you been?"

"I got your messages. Problem?"

"Big problem. I'm at my parents' cabin. I've got Sam tied to a bed. I'm out of elixir! I need a refill, okay? This isn't the honeymoon I had in mind. Well, some of it is, but not in this context." Sam's blood ran cold, but Becky wasn't done talking. "And is it just me, or is this stuff wearing off faster and faster?"

"Becky… Breathe."

"Do you know we haven't even consummated our marriage?" she hissed. "We were taking it slow, 'cause true love is forever, but everything just feels… Weird now."

"All right. Meet me in an hour."

There was the beep of a video call ending, and then Becky came back into the room. Sam glared at her. "So you dosed me with a love potion."

She blanched. "How-"

"Thin walls."

She was starting to look shifty again. "Look… Yes, I used a social lubricant to-"

"You roofied me!"

"What? A roofie? I'd never! We had a great time together," she insisted. "You were happy!"

"Oh, yeah," he sneered, yanking at his restrained wrist again. "I'm thrilled."

She stood, resolute. "I have to go."

Sam raised his eyebrows, wracking his brain. "You know your pal Guy is the one icing all those people, right?"

She gasped. "No, he's not!"

"Oh, so he's not a witch?"

"No! He's just a Wiccan. Wiccans are good, like Glinda of Oz."

Sam sighed. "Becky," he said gently. "You're not this stupid."

"Whatever is killing people… It's something else," she insisted.

Sam scoffed. "It's never something else. When are there ever two crazy things in town at the same time? Guy's the creep, and you're on his list."

She shook her head. "He's my friend."

"No, he's your dealer. Look, I don't know how much he's charging you for that Spanish Fly-"

"Nothing! He gives it to me," she insisted triumphantly. "And he said it wouldn't even work unless you already loved me, deep down. It just activates it."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "So… You think I love you?"

"Deep, deep down?"

"Then untie me."

She actually seemed to think about it for a moment, and Sam felt a surge of hope, only to have it dashed when she grabbed a handkerchief off of the nightstand next to the bed and shove it forcefully into his mouth.

"Listen, you're still working through your emotions," she said earnestly. "You're still under that whole… 'Soulmate' thing that Lucifer put you under. You just need some time." She sounded perfectly all right with herself as she walked out of the room.

Sam's muffled cries did nothing but get him an, "I love you, too!"


Chrys, as it turned out, was not willing to forgive. This didn't really surprise Sam in the least.

As Becky dropped the match that trapped Guy in a circle of fire, Sam found himself willing to give her a little bit of leeway. Sure, she was crazy, but she was here helping them now, wasn't she?

Garth was holding up a bottle cheerfully. "Blueberry vodka. The answer to all of life's problems."

Garth weirded Sam out a little.

Becky looked up, beaming. "You see that, Sam? I did it just like we said! I am-"

"You are shutting up now, Becky," Chrys interrupted sharply, moving to stand in front of Sam.

"I'll… Just be over here."

Guy was looking over at Dean. "Dean Winchester. This is really thrilling. Hey, can I have your autograph?"

Dean pulled his knife out slowly. "Sure, yeah. I'll carve it into your spleen. How are you running this little scam?"

Gus put a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Why, whatever do you mean, Dean?"

"Snuffing out ten-year deals before they're done," Chrys answered coldly.

"Well, I would never. No, no, rules of the road. Can't lay a hand on any of my clients."

"Right," Dean agreed. "So how you cheating it?"

"I'm not a cheater." The demon was smirking. "I'm an innovator. It's called a loophole, you fucking morons. Yes, when a person bargains away his soul, he gets a decade… Technically. But accidents happen."

"You're arranging accidents and collecting early," Chrys concluded.

"Oh, please." Guy waved his hands. "White gloves. I don't get my hands dirty. That's why it's important to have a capable... Intern."

Another demon appeared behind Guy with his arm raised. Sam felt himself shoved backward, and saw the rest of the hunters go, too. Becky was nowhere in sight. He felt a bright, shattering pain explode in his temple, and the world went dark.


When Sam came to, it was to Chrys and Garth having been tossed across the room, the latter unconscious and the former starting to stand again. Dean was hanging in the air, throat in Guy's hand, struggling.

And the other demon, Guy's "intern," was coming right for Sam.

Even if she was a goddamn nutbag, Sam's first thought was to save the only civilian around. "Becky! Run!"

The "intern" put his hand in the air and twisted, and Sam felt his airway close off completely. He struggled, and he heard Chrys shouting for him, but his vision was starting to dance when a knife burst through the center of the demon's chest. The pressure on his throat relaxed immediately and he gasped for air. The demon dropped to the ground to reveal Becky, her eyes wide.

"Woah," she breathed.

Sam got to his feet and yanked the knife from the demon's torso. He tossed it to Dean, who caught it midair and held it to Guy's throat. As the demon reluctantly put Dean back on his feet, Sam went to check on Chrys and Garth.

"Hey, you okay, beautiful?" he asked, helping Chrys to her feet.

She groaned and leaned into him for a moment. "I've been better," she muttered. She turned to Garth. "What's the word, Garth?"

"I'm cool," he said, smiling as he stumbled up to standing. "I'm cool."

"Hello, boys."

Crowley's words made Sam's blood run cold, and he spun on his heel to stare at the demon. Chrys came to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, and Garth was on her other side. Dean shifted so that Guy was in front of him, acting as a shield.

Crowley looked over at Sam. "Mazel tov, Moose. Chrys is a lucky lady." At Chrys' snort, Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Not you then, pet?"

Becky gasped. "You're Crowley!"

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "And you're… Well, I'm sure you have a wonderful personality, dear."

He stepped forward, and Dean yanked Guy's head back further, his knife at the demon's throat. "Ah, ah, another step and I'll Colombian necktie your little friend here."

Crowley actually did look a bit upset. "Please don't let him get off that easy."

Guy twisted in Dean's hold. "Sir, I don't think that you-"

"I know exactly what you've been doing," Crowley interrupted nastily. He tilted his head to indicate the other demon. "A little birdie named Jackson sold you out, emailed all the juicy deets to my suggestion box." He tilted his head at the demon's body. "Shame. That's my whistleblower, I assume? He had a future." He looked back at Guy. "Unfortunately, you don't."

"I was just-"

"There's only one rule. We make a deal, we keep it."

"Well, technically, I didn't-"

"There is a reason we don't call our chits in early," Crowley snapped, "Customer confidence. This isn't Wall Street, this is hell! We have a little something called integrity. This gets out, who'll deal with us? Nobody! Then where are we?"

Guy was silent for a moment, then admitted in a small voice, "I don't know."

"That's right. You don't. Because you're a stupid, short-sighted little prat. Now, hand the jackass over. I'll cancel every deal he's made."

"What are you gonna do with him?" Chrys asked.

Crowley shrugged. "Make an example of him. Fair trade, right? We all go our separate ways. No harm done."

Sam frowned. "What, out of the goodness of your heart?"

"He's keeping the demons under wraps," Chrys said suddenly. "We haven't seen a demon in months." She hit Crowley with an intense look. "You're keeping the way clear for us to get to the Leviathans. Why?"

He scoffed. "Have you met that dick yet? Smuggest tub of goo since Mussolini. I hate the bastards. Squash 'em all. I'll stay clear."

"Rip up the contracts first," Dean insisted.

Crowley snapped his fingers. "Done and done. Your turn."


Chrys watched as Becky and Sam signed the annulment for their "wedding" with barely contained rage. She listened as Sam gave Becky a little pep talk, and then watched as the Winchesters walked out.

Before she followed, she turned, grabbed the collar of Becky's shirt in her fist and hauled the smaller woman up next to her.

"Sam forgave me!" she squeaked. "Sam forgave me!"

"Yeah, well, here's the thing about Sam," Chrys said, her voice low and angry. "Sam's a good person." She smiled. "I'm not. And you aren't either, Becky. You might get by on this, 'I'm lonely, and I was unpopular in high school' schtick with the guys, but I can see right through you." Chrys shook the girl. "You're not sad, you're insane. You took a man against his will, and no matter what happened, that makes you one sick puppy."

Becky's eyes were wide and frightened, and Chrys felt a mean sort of pleasure in it. "I didn't-"

"So let me be clear," Chrys said loudly. "If you come near any of us again, and I mean any of us, Garth included, Becky? Becky, I will fucking kill you. This isn't a joke, or cute, or hyperbole. If you come near us again, as friend or foe, I will kill you." Chrys raised her eyebrows. "Capische?"

Becky nodded weakly. "Capische."

"Good."


When they got back to Bobby's that night, Chrys was pulling Sam to their bedroom, which was normally a good thing. The glint in her eye, however, was more dangerous than normal, and it made Sam nervous as hell.

"Uh, Chrys?"

"Hmm?" She was walking backward, pulling him along with a hand fisted in his flannel.

"You know that I, uh, none of that was me, right?"

"Mhmm," she agreed, still smirking.

"And that… Whatever version of me, that wasn't real? That I want you? Only you?"

She smiled wide now, and he felt his heart skip several beats. "Oh, Sammy," she purred. "Keep kissing ass, baby. It's not gonna help, but it's fun to watch."

He swallowed hard. "Not gonna help?"

She shook her head. "Oh, no, Sammy. I am going to spend the rest of this night reminding you, and I do mean every version of you, exactly who you belong to."

Sam didn't fight very hard when she yanked him into the bedroom and closed the door behind them.


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