You still here?" I croak when I wake, wondering if it's morning or night. My eyes are still covered, but I sense someone beside me. Hunter's senses, I guess.

"Of course, I am. I'm a demon of my word."

"Salesman," I mutter.

"King," he insists.

"Why are you here, King?"

"Your voice is awful, lovely. Have some water," he offers, and I hear him pouring a cup himself.

"Crowley."

"Mouse." He places the cup in my hand.

I do drink some. He's right, after all. My throat is killing me, so scratchy and bruised from a claw or fist. I can't remember.

"How are your eyes?"

"They burn less. Why do you care?"

"I don't. Only curious of their color. Didn't notice before. Brown, yes? Never blue, not with that brown hair and olive skin. Italian? Or French?"

"Tell me or leave!" I snap in frustration.

"Can't leave now, love. I think I'm very near to closing a very beneficial deal with the night charge nurse. She's quite got her heart set on her Yorkie winning the local dog show. Got her priorities straight, that one."

Struggling to get any answer at all, I ask desperately, "Am I your prisoner? Why? What can I possibly offer you that you couldn't just take? What is your reason, Crowley?"

"Dean."

"I told you-"

"I don't care what you told me. There's something there. You have some hold on him. On Dean Winchester. I saw it, little Mouse. And that is certainly out of the ordinary. That makes you extraordinary, I'd venture to say."

"I am so far from exraordinary."

"Squirrel disagrees."

"No, he doesn't," I admit quietly both to Crowley and to myself.

"I want to know what makes you so special. You . . . intrigue me. That doesn't happen often. Take the compliment, girl."

"You're so wrong. I can't deliver him to you, you know."

"Beside the point, Mouse."

"What happens to me when I'm better, when I can see and they say I can leave?"

"I've not yet decided."

"Not comforting."

"What's your name, Mouse? The name Mummy used when she caught you being naughty. The name Daddy called you when he tucked you in at night."

"I don't have a name like that."

"What's that?"

"I'm a twenty-four year old Hunter, Crowley. Do you really think my life ever included being tucked in at night, surrounded by a loving nuclear family?"

"I'm sorry."

"You should be."

"Your name," he demands. The King is losing his patience with my stalling and defiance. He is, after all, accustomed to being obeyed.

Deciding it is probably safer to keep him happily on my side, I tell him a name I've all but forgotten. "Nina. My name was Nina."

"Was?"

"There was once a girl who didn't carry a knife, didn't sleep with a gun under her pillow. That girl didn't sleep with men who forgot her once she got dressed. She didn't need to be able to slip into buildings under the door. Only Mouse is left. Nina died a long time ago."

"No, darling. No, I think Nina might be why I'm here."

A/N: Don't own SPN. This story is mine, though. Drop a line and let me know if it sucks or not. What doesn't suck is "Road Trip" by Whackadoo. Check it out!