It sucked having to leave Missouri. Hell, it sucked even worse having to leave Kansas. But I had to do it. I was a big girl and I could stand on my own. I'll always be grateful to Sam and Dean for everything they had done for me. Not many people would literally go to Hell and back for me, let alone take on Lucifer himself. But in the end, it was me who kicked Satan's ass with the power he was dumb enough to give me. Although, I kind of felt bad for him. All he wanted was someone to love and someone to pass his wisdom onto. However, that wouldn't be me.

I had made enough working at Vivian's diner to go back to my life of bus hopping and I got all the way to the east coast. Luckily, there was a local theatre that was looking for some stagehands in Baltimore that paid enough for me to live on, so I started working there. In a couple weeks, I managed to make enough to afford rent on an apartment that wasn't just some seedy motel room. A cozy little place to call home for the next year and a half. I didn't have much for furniture, but it's not like I was throwing ragers here anyway. All my friends were either in South Dakota, dead, or on the hunt for me. After our near run-in in Missouri, I needed a way to hide from the boys a little better. That required a name change. Especially for what happened last week.

There was an open casting call for the theatre who was putting on a small production of Chicago. When I was still at the orphanage in Hartford, I remember listening to the soundtrack time and time again. I knew the whole thing by heart. It was one of my favorite musicals. One night, when I was setting up the soundboard after the auditions for the day were done, Mike, the director, had approached me.

"Hey, Lizzie," he asked, "Are you busy tonight?"

"No...?" I gave him a look, a little sketched out, "Why?"

"You act like I don't hear you," Mike jabbed, "When you're humming the numbers to yourself when you're outside. You stand right outside the door when you're smoking."

"What do you mean?" I tried to hide my blushing, but my body had other plans. Dick.

"Here," he gave me one of the wireless mics, "Go down to the stage and serenade me."

"I don't perform," I pointed out, "I do tech."

"No, you don't," Mike dug deeper, "You think you can only do tech. Go down to the stage and sing me anything you want."

"I can't sing."

"Bull."

Dammit...I rolled my eyes, "Fine! I'm not doing anything major."

"That's for me to decide..." In all seriousness, Mike was a good dude. Anything I needed, he was usually there. And now, I had to repay the favor. I thought back through the various songs I knew and which one I wanted to hit acapella. A sweet, fuzzy memory came back to me. That time I had to go back to high school for some undercover work. I still owed Dean a smack for not letting me sleep in class. Another time.

Did I want to bust out Hallelujah, though? Mike might think I'm good enough to do more than a supporting or a background role if I do that. I wasn't in the mood to show off, so I kept thinking on my way down the ramp. When I was still riding in the Impala, it was a rarity that Dean ever switched it to something that wasn't classic rock. Not that I was complaining. It reminded me of some of the jams I'd hear in the bar when I was younger. That was it...

"I hope you realize how big of a deal this is, Mike," I groaned into the headset.

"And I love you for it," he smirked, "Now, dance, monkey, dance."

I casually raised my middle finger and finally picked something. This one in particular didn't bring back fuzzy memories. More like sad ones. The last time I was in Hartford to see my boys. Such a shame it had to be at my best friend's funeral. But the boys and I, with Sam and Dean in tow, did a nice tribute to our fallen the best way we knew how. We brought the band back together for one song and one only.

"Wake and pray," I began, "Work all day. I walk pass the places that I used to lay. Now, I'm paying my way. I'm paying my way. Some days are hard, some days are long. Some days I'm weak, some days I'm strong. I'm paying my way. I'm paying my way."

I continued to serenade him with the words of Dropkick Murphys until the song was done. That took a lot more out of me than I thought it would. A lot more than just the bar memories started flooding back. Every time I heard that song, not only did it make me think about my boys in Hartford, but it made me think of the closest thing I had to family. That whole song was basically Sam and Dean in a nutshell. And, in a way, me, too.

When I finished my song, I looked up to Mike, curious as to what he had to say about that. I didn't even try all that hard. Because if I did, I knew I'd end up in a main role and I didn't want that. I didn't even want to do this much, but I couldn't say no. Not to Mike. In that case...Why wasn't he saying anything?

"Mike?" I called up to him, "You're still there, right? The lights are kind of bright from this angle."

"I'm still here," he promised, "It's been a long day. Why don't we call it quits and we'll talk in the morning?"

"Alright," I took my headset off and brought it back to the sound booth. The thought of going home sounded like a hell of a plan.

I got back to my cozy little one-bedroom apartment on the west side of Baltimore and curled up in bed. Going legit had turned me soft. I had a real job, a real apartment, and I hadn't gone ghostbusting in a long time. Uncle Bobby told me. Sam and Dean told me. There was no out once somebody becomes a hunter. Yet, here I was. I had a bad habit of checking the closets and the windows and the doors for anything sketchy before I went to sleep. I might not be hunting, but I'm not stupid.

The next day, I got up to go to work and found a cast list on the door. I knew Mike was going to cast me after last night. We needed to talk anyway. He said last night that we could talk in the morning. Just for laughs, I thought I'd see where Mike decided to put me. On the plus side, it'd be more money. The talent got paid more than the crew. That wasn't a secret. Even being in the chorus, I'd get a nice little raise.

Once I looked at the list, I started at the bottom with the chorus. No me. That's either a good thing or a very, very bad thing. Either way, I kept making my way up. Supporting cast...Didn't see my name anywhere there either. Some theatre regular as Velma Kelly. Another as Amos Hart. And another as Billy Flynn. But then, I froze. Dammit, Mike...In big, bold letters, the cast list said Lizzie Blackstone as Roxie Hart. Son of a bitch...

"Mike!" I stormed into the theatre.

"Hi there, Lizzie," he smiled, "How are you?"

"I think there's a misprint on the cast list," I kept my fingers crossed, "It says Lizzie Blackstone as Roxie Hart. Are you mixing the cast with the crew?"

"No," Mike's grin only grew, "There are no misprints. You were holding back on me last night, young lady. You better get over that by opening night."

"Why?" I asked, "Why did you cast me as Roxie?"

"Because I think you'd be a good Roxie," he admitted, "Look, Lizzie, I know there's a performer in you. You were way too natural on that stage. When most people step up there for the first time, they're more jittery than a pack of Mexican jumping beans. You? You were so level, so calm. You were my Roxie right then and there. I know you're going to make me proud."

"I hate you."

"I love you, too," Mike threw an arm around me, "Now, go get a script, so we can do the first read through."

"Hey, Mike," I stopped him, "One more thing..."

"You get paid $50 per show."

"And how many shows are we doing?" I wondered, a little more compliant.

"Three a day for two weeks, plus an extra show on the weekends."

Hell yeah! An extra $2300 in my pocket? Not complaining in the least, "And do I still get paid for working crew?"

"You're not going to be crew," Mike pointed out, "You're going to be leading. Now, go on. Get a script and get to learning your lines, Roxie Hart. You're going to be the biggest thing this town has ever seen."

And that led me to now. Opening night. Weeks of hard, long practices that made me want to shoot myself by the end. Choreographers working me to the bone. A vocal coach twice a week outside of rehearsal. And the costume fittings...Oh, the costume fittings. Chicago had bright, sparkly, glitter encrusted costumes. It's the roaring twenties. Of course they're going to be able to be seen from space. But being yanked on by rough seamstresses was my own private Hell. Actual Hell wasn't even as bad!

Although, I must admit. I did improve big time from day one. My movements were much more on point. My vocals were killer to begin with, but now, I could probably shatter glass. And it showed on stage. I got up, killed a man, went to prison, made friends, didn't stab anyone in the yard, and became a star. Just an average day for Roxie Hart.

I remember when that was an average day for Lena Winchester...Getting up, killing monsters, saving people, going to bed. And sometimes, I'd even make friends along the way. Sometimes, those friends would end up family...I missed them. After the final show of the night, my feet were killing me. I just wanted to kick my feet up backstage, take a drink of celebratory champagne, and go home. Only to do it all again tomorrow night. At least Mike was good enough to give the actors the morning off. However, I was kind of liking the alone time in the dressing room.

"Hey, Lizzie," one of the stagehands called for me, "You got a visitor."

"I do?" I sat up, radars going off, "Did they say who they were?"

"No."

"One person or were there two?" I bit my tongue.

"Just one."

Please don't be Sam and Dean. Please don't be Cas. Please don't be Chuck. Please don't be anyone I know. Be an agent or a talent scout or something along those lines, but please. For the love of God, don't let it be anyone I know, "Ok. Send them back here."

"Right this way, sir," the stagehand escorted.

"Hello, darling..." a familiar voice greeted me.

"Crap," I groaned to myself. So much for having nice things.

"Musicals?" he judged, "You? I never expected you to be the type."

"It's paying really well, so I'm not complaining," I threw myself on the couch, "What do you want, Crowley? I'm exhausted and I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now."

"Lena, I'm hurt," Crowley shut the door behind him.

"Seriously, though," I buried my face in the cushions, "What do you want? How'd you even find me?"

"You didn't exactly make it easy," he sat with me.

"I try," I shrugged, "If I don't want to be found, I won't be found."

"Where have I heard that one before?" Crowley thought, "It's on the tip of my tongue...By the way, if you want to hide even better, you might want to stay away from muscle cars."

"Sticking with what I know." And I couldn't leave my baby in good conscience in a storage locker in Lebanon anymore. I had my friend Luke bring her back to me. Brendon would've done it, but he had the kids to keep an eye on and Luke wanted a road trip. Besides, I knew he wouldn't tell Sam and Dean where I was, "Why are you here, Crowley? Why can't you just leave well enough alone?"

"This is what you call well enough alone?" he winced. Wow. You know it's bad when you got the King of Hell cringing, "Oh, Lena, I'm disappointed."

"Don't remember asking for your approval."

"You really are a Winchester, aren't you?" Crowley sighed, "And that's another thing. What's with people calling you Lizzie? I thought your name was Lena."

"My middle name is Elizabeth," I clarified, "The boys are looking for Lena. It's my name on the credits."

"And as Roxie Hart, too," he gave me a nudge, "I stayed through the whole show. Nicely done. I didn't think you had that in you."

"Not by choice," I assured, "The director forced me."

"How about this?" Crowley suggested, "You finish up here and I'll buy you a drink. We need to talk anyway."

"Why...?" I whined.

"It's free booze, Lena. You're not going to turn that down."

"Not necessarily," I argued, "I've been on the pretty straight and narrow lately other than cigarettes. I haven't had a drink in a few months."

"Shall we break that streak then?" Crowley insisted.

I got up from the couch and threw my hoody on, "You really are a demon, aren't you?"

"Last I checked."

I grabbed my stuff and headed out, fighting the crowd. Trying to go unrecognized after being Roxie Hart wasn't exactly easy. Especially when I have the King of Hell saying he's my agent escorting me out. Crowley never could fly under the radar. There was a bar down the street from the theatre that reminded me a lot of home. A little hole in the wall in downtown Baltimore that only had enough business to stay open. And that's what I loved about it the most.

When we walked in, the place looked like a ghost town. Lucky us. Usually, when one is best pals with a demon, that's not exactly something that should be advertised. The fewer people around, the better. The two of us got a booth and I threw a five in the jukebox. Call me nostalgic, but I put on some Bob Segar and waited for Crowley to bring me a drink. I wonder if he remembered what to get me. Same thing I've always drank. Jack and Coke, half and half. Thank you, Castiel.

"Here you are, darling," Crowley set my glass down, "You still drink whiskey, do you not?"

"What else would I drink?" I took my first sip of alcohol in months and felt it warm the inside of my belly, "What did you say my last name was?"

"It's Winchester, as far as I'm concerned," he sat down with a big ass piña colada in hand. I never took Crowley to be one for the fruity drinks, "Yet you say it's Blackstone."

"It is Blackstone," I confirmed, "Legally speaking anyway. The boys never formally adopted me."

"Now, onto more pressing matters," Crowley switched tangents.

"You're right," I nodded, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Keeping an eye on you," he played with the little umbrella in his glass, "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," I kept drinking on my whiskey. Damn, that's good...

"Why'd you leave?" Crowley wondered, "After we took down Lucifer, which, nicely done."

"Thank you."

"You took off out of the blue," he went on, "Why...?"

"Why are you following me around?" I retaliated.

"My, my," Crowley grinned, "So defensive. You haven't changed a bit. And as much as I detest your brothers, I like you. And you know you're not Blackstone..."

"I know," I rolled my eyes, "I'm more Winchester than anything."

"That's entirely up to you, Roxie Hart," he nudged me under the table, "They're scouring the country for you, Lena...You do know that, right?"

"Yeah..." I'd wake up to three or four missed calls from them on a regular basis. Hey, Lena. We're working a job here. We could probably use another pair of hands. If you're in the area, you should come hunt with us. Hey, Lena. We'll be passing through this town. If you're anywhere near there, you should come say hi. We miss you. Each one more heartbreaking than the last. Even after all this time, they were still calling. They still worried.

I didn't have to worry about them. My boys could get through anything. They've been through the literal apocalypse and survived. I've seen them kill many a monster over our time together. I've seen them take on demons and angels and archangels and vampires and werewolves and djinn and wraiths and anything trying to kill humankind. They were fine. Even though sometimes they needed couples therapy, but other than that...They were fine...Right?

"You should pick up once in a while," Crowley had a seldom heard mom voice, but when it came out...

"Have you told them anything about me?" I asked, "Where I am? What I've been doing?"

"No," he promised, "I have more than just you to worry about. I have an empire to run. And not just any empire."

"And it's going to stay that way?" I hoped, "I don't think I'm ready for that quite yet."

"Well..." Crowley hummed, "If you're still wanting to stay off the radar, I think I can help you with that."

"What do you mean...?" I grew skeptical. Or paranoid.

"You're wanting to hide from your brothers, right?" he assumed, a glint in his eye.

"Right…" I kept my guard up. He and I might be buddies, but Crowley's still Crowley. A tricky creature and he had a look about him. The ulterior motive look.

"I have a proposition for you," Crowley ordered us another round, "I'll keep your secret identity a secret from Rocky and Bullwinkle. In the meantime, you and I can go play for a while. It's been so long since I've seen that cute little face of yours. We are besties, are we not?"

"I don't know if I'd go as far as besties," I put him in check, "But we do have a good working relationship."

"Come on, Lena," he begged, "I promise it'll be fun. Just the two of us. No monsters, no demons on your back. Most importantly, I can keep the boys out of the picture as long as you want me to. Good old-fashioned fun. It'll be great."

Again, this could just be my paranoia acting up, but Crowley paints too pretty a picture. And the way he called this a proposition put a weird knot in my stomach. I knew exactly what was going on here. I may have been on the bench for a while, but Uncle Bobby didn't raise no idiot. I knew what Crowley was trying to get out of me.

"So, what?" I spoke softly, "I say yes, we hang out and pal around for the next ten years, and then, you take my soul back to hell for a much less pleasant experience than my first time around?"

"This isn't a dean," Crowley promised, "No strings. You get to keep your soul."

"Forgive me if I'm skeptical," I gave him a look, "Crowley, I adore the hell out of you, but with you, there are always strings."

"Not this time," he swore, "Lena, I like you. All the other demons are merely pawns to me. Your brothers would rather me dead. Angels are out of the question. Do you really expect me to go out and find some other human to have the same connection I already have with you?"

"So, you pick me because you can't make a friend?" I figured.

"It gets lonely, being me," Crowley vented, kicking his foot up on my leg, "Making enemies has always come as easy as breathing to me. Making friends, though…Business associates, I guess, but none of them are like you. They all have a stick up their asses. I promise you. No strings. Just us taking a howl at the moon together."

Something still didn't feel right. I wasn't entirely buying his sob story. Then again, it did make sense. Despite his power, I could see Crowley not being the world's most likeable guy. But I liked him. Was I really the only other person across the whole cosmos he could consider a friend? Wow, Crowley…You need to learn to branch out, my guy.

On the other hand, Crowley did say he could keep me off the radar. Even though the boys were looking for me, I still didn't want to be found. I wasn't near ready for something like that. Not only was Crowley offering his friendship, but his protecting, too. If this life has taught me anything, it's that having a demon on hand isn't always exactly a bad thing. And I wasn't on the good side of just any demon.

I stared into the end of my whiskey, seeing all of my life choices in its reflection. He's a demon, Lena. That's not a good thing, no matter how you try to justify it. But it's not some demon. It's Crowley. I'm sure he'd do anything in his power to keep me safe. He might be a dick, but he's a dick with a heart of gold. And he's never done anything to screw me over…I threw the rest of my whiskey back, "No strings?"

"No strings?"

"Swear?"

"On my life."

"Alright," I agreed, "I'm in."

"Wonderful," Crowley finished his drink, "As much of a delight Baltimore is, when can we leave?"

"Let me finish my run with Chicago," I told him, "Then, I'll grab my last paycheck, I can take care of a few loose ends, and then, we can get the hell out of here."

"Fine by me," he helped me up from my spot in our booth, "Shall we then?"

"Yeah," I grabbed my bag, "I'm exhausted. Sleep sounds like a damn good idea."

"Are you still staying at the first motel in the phonebook?" Crowley guessed.

"I thought I'd stay in my apartment," I shrugged, "But I'm not going to stop you."

"Your what?" he gasped.

"I know," I lit up a cigarette as soon as we stepped outside, "Shut up."

"No, no," Crowley went on, "You have a legitimate job, a permanent residence that isn't underground, and you can keep food in your stomach and clothes on your back?"

"Yep," a small cloud of smoke rolled off my lips.

"Look at you," he gushed, throwing an arm around me, "My little girl is growing up so fast. Is this what it feels like to be a proud parent?"

"I wouldn't know," I rolled my eyes.

"I think I like it," Crowley awed, "What else has my strong, independent woman done with her life that I can be proud of her for?"

"Exhibited an insane amount of self-control to keep herself from punching a demon," I admitted, stomping out the end of my cigarette, "You want to crash on my couch or do you have a room?"

"I thought we'd be leaving sooner rather than later…"

Damn demons…Pains in my ass, "Fine. Since we have a little time left in Baltimore, you can stay with me. So help me, though, Crowley. One little peep…"

"I'll be as quiet as a church mouse," Crowley assured, "Pinky promise."

Great. I trade having two of the best hunters to ever exist for the King of Hell as a roommate. And for the next two weeks, too. What could possibly go wrong? As long as he keeps his mouth shut about me and stays out of my Pop Tarts and my big ass jar of Red Vines, we should be ok. It was hard enough keeping Dean out of them when I was still in the bunker. I could be petty and set some devil's traps under them. But I'm not that bad.

After what felt like an eternity of Crowley's hand being a dolphin out my car window, we pulled up to my building and went into my apartment. Home sweet home. I've been running late practice for the past few months, so my apartment wasn't exactly spotless. Oh well. When I get a spare moment, I'll think about tidying up. Until then, I needed sleep.

"That's it?" Crowley followed me into my bedroom, "No pillow talk?"

"I wanted to go to bed when I was in my dressing room," I pointed out, falling into the loving embrace of my bed, "Going out was nowhere in my plans."

"Well then," he covered me up, "Good night, Lena…"

"Good night," I nestled in a little better. Just when I think I'm out, I get dragged back in. Crowley killed the light on his way out and I took one last look at my phone. One new voicemail. Gee. Who could it be?

"Hey, kiddo," a deep, rumbly voice barely spoke above a whisper, "Just thought I'd…I'm sounding like a broken record here, Lena. It wouldn't kill you to answer one of these damn things once in a while! You got Sam and me worried sick! Just pick up your phone! Ahem…Look. We got a job in Boston in case you care. An extra pair of hands wouldn't hurt. I just want…I just want some answers, Lena. I miss you."

Hell of a way to end the day. Me feeling like the bitch of the week. I'm sorry, Dean. I just need to be on my own for a while. I love you…And I hope you understand.

A/N: So, our pal Lena is going to be hanging around that demon again. And she's gone Broadway! Well…Off Broadway…She's doing theatre! Let's go with that one. And despite the fact that her boys miss her, we got Crowley! So, we got that going for us. Another thing we got going for us is that WE'RE BACK, BITCHES! Back here, you and me, every Thursday like the good old days. I missed you. I mean, we had the prologue back in November, but that was merely a teaser. Now, we got actual story! Now, if you have any questions, comments, or concerns, you are more than welcome to voice them in the review section. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go read Death Note manga to my dog. See you next chapter! xx