Sterling
Sterling struggled for ages, wrestling with the dark presence that had overtaken him. Crowley, amused by the sheer determination of this newer soul, smugly held him off like a bully's palm to a weakling's forehead. Frustrated, James Sterling gave in, and retreated to a corner of his own mind to regroup and regain his strength. While he waited, he watched.
The demon, for he grimly realized what it was, transported them both back to his apparent residence and opened a box tucked into the back of a wardrobe's shelf. He picked up a piece of paper out of it with Sterling's own contact information—his own business card, in fact. The card ignited between his fingers and the demon looked around. There was no one else in the place, and it looked as though there had been a great struggle. He wondered why the place had been deserted and just what the demon was up to. Crowley. He sensed his name, somehow just knew it, as though it simply surfaced in his mind. He wondered if he watched and waited long enough, what else about the demon would come to mind. And if he could garner enough information to eject it from his person and get on with his life.
He tried to think of how he might be able to get help. Who would help? Would Nate believe him, if Sterling came to him with this? How could he get control to make contact with Nate? There had to be a way…
Halfway across the country, the impala streaked down a wooded highway, covering as much ground as it could without any problems from the local law. Sam gazed thoughtfully out the window, bracing a hand against his forehead, elbow propped on the door. Dean stared grimly ahead, head bobbing slightly to the sketchy strains of Metallica playing from the decades old tape in the deck. Sam glanced over, not wanting to say what had to be said, but knowing it needed pointing out.
"Dean," he began, the stopped and grimaced trying to find the right way to start. Dean glanced over, eyebrows raised, waiting. "Sammy."
"Dean, we don't have the first idea who to do this," he threw out.
"How to do what? Gank a demon? I assure you, Sammy, we've got plenty of practice under our belts."
Sam hissed out a breath, exasperated. "You know what I mean. We've had to bring down big shots before, but never like this."
"Two words, Sam. Dick. Roman."
"This isn't Dick Roman, Dean! It's an international law enforcement agent."
"I'm well aware of what Interpol is."
"Well, you know we can't just waltz right in and take him out. Not only would we be criminals, but we'd be internationally known. There would be nowhere we could hide on the planet. We can't take him out."
"Ohhhh I promise we can. What other option do we have, Sam? We know who he is, we know where he is, and we have the element of surprise."
"Not necessarily," Sam sighed. "If what Canton told us is accurate, Crowley probably knows he told us and is already trying to cover his trail. Plus, we don't have any indications that Crowley would stay there. He may be back in hell right now and skipped town with the meat suit."
"And he may not have. But we can't just assume anything. This is Crowley! And now that we know about his meat suit, if we can get something of his this time, we can off him finally by summoning him the same way we did Canton. With all the information we have, there's no way we shouldn't at least check it out."
"Fine."
"Fine?"
"Fine. You're absolutely right. We at least have to check it out. But we can't go in guns blazing on this or he may spook out if he is still around. If he isn't, then we summon him with something of Canton's and do what we have to. If he's there…we'll have to figure out a plan."
"Fair enough."
