Chapter 4: Neither can Devil nor Hell now appall me

Well this was anticlimactic.

It had been four weeks; four weeks of worrying, fretting, hating herself for getting into this sordid mess. Regret can take time to develop, and by this point it was so deeply set in it reached her very soul. A run-in two weeks ago with the so-named "Meg Masters" demon and the Winchester brothers had reinjected her with the fear and mistrust she should have felt when dealing with a particular piece of demonic garbage. Crowley. She couldn't even think of him without cringing.

She went through the five stages of grief; denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Or, at least the first four; she was pretty sure she wasn't ready to leave her dark hole of depression and move towards acceptance. It was too soon, and this whole freaking situation too vile.

Still, four bloody weeks! At least get a move on; life as a hunter was worrying enough without having to deal with a less-than-charming gentleman caller who may or may not pop in at any given moment.

And everything was made worse, so much worse, by that second kiss. Oh dear God that second kiss! She didn't know if it was a play by him for a purpose more sinister, or her imagination running wild on her, or him genuinely showing passion, but it was amazing. It was hard to admit, but you can't deny the truth, especially if it's a preview of what's to come...

If she was going to be forced into the situation, she may as well enjoy herself.

She registered the dull thud that was her neighbour's music chiming in. 7am on the dot, and another sleepless night to add to the tally. These days no amount of Red Bull could chase away the dark circles under her eyes. A good night's sleep was a luxury she hadn't had the pleasure of experiencing...ever. Still, as she rose to apply a thin layer of concealing foundation to her lower eyelids, she figured it could be worse. Somehow.

At least Crowley wasn't-

There was a sharp bang on her bathroom window. Alarmed, she dropped the glass cylinder of makeup and heard it smash on the floor. Angrily, she shook the shards and splashes of brown liquid off her feet and threw open the bathroom curtains. Of course it was Crowley. She glare at him, eyebrow raised, and hesitantly brushed the salt obstructing the window away, allowing him entry.

'We really should work out some other arrangement for your wards. I find it a bit insulting,' came a voice from behind her.

'I prefer to have control over what vermin I allow into my home'

He looked mildly amused at her wit, and reached into his jacket pocket for a slip of paper, handing it to her. She accepted it with a confused expression. Opening it revealed a name and address.

Thomas Wrileburg

51 Woodale Drive. Minneapolis

'Nice penmanship, does it come in men's?' He ignored her, and she continued, 'so what is this a demon? I'm guessing the time has ... finally ... come for you to utilise my hunting expertise.'

'It warms my heart to hear you've been sitting, pining for me to return, but that's not a demon. Human.' Not even registering his first quip, she scrunched up the slip of folded paper and threw it at him. A HUMAN! No. No crime could fit that punishment, and this was most certainly not part of their arrangement.

'You actually think I'll kill a human? No. I'd rather off myself first. Go to hell,' she spat.

'You signed the deal-'

'-I signed nothing. If this is what you'll be having me do then I'm out. SO out. In fact, you can take that deal of yours,' she crept towards him pointing at his chest, 'and shove it up that pompous, pretentious English arse of yours.'

'Just because you didn't sign your name in ink doesn't mean you're not contracted to act as I demand. A verbal contract is just as binding as any other in my line of work.' She slapped him, hard.

'Go. To. Hell.' She repeated through gritted teeth.

'I expect him dead by nightfall. If not, then I'll be taking you directly to hell the next time I pay a visit. Good luck, Harvelle.' He was gone.

She grabbed her hair and growled in frustration. Looks like that's another day of work she'd be missing. Ass.

Luckily in the past month she'd been able to Winchester herself an old school '84 Ford Ranger. It was busted on the left and side and the exhaust needed to be replaced, but other than that the insides were in good nick, and the royal blue seemed to suit her in a way. Regardless, she felt comfortable in this car, despite the fact it wasn't hers and she had no intention of returning it to its original owners.

She didn't mind road trips. In fact she quite enjoyed them; they gave her time to think. Unfortunately, given her current circumstances, this two and a half hour drive brought to light the very worst of her thoughts and she felt an undesirable urge to get to Minneapolis as fast as possible. Although this wasn't possible considering her Ranger's inability to drive in excess of 65 mph without groaning under the unwanted strain.

Once Crowley left her apartment it took her about 30 seconds to realise she didn't even ask the bastard what this Thomas Wrileburg had done to warrant his death, and after 15 minutes of calling his name, making threats and screaming her voice hoarse she concluded he probably preferred it this way. Plausible deniability and all. The cowardly ass probably didn't want to be connected to the assassination and the lesser the information the better. She knew better not to rival it; there was indubitably some clause in her contract which ensured all jobs were completed quickly, quietly and anonymously. And besides, she'd rather imagine he'd been an utter shit in his life, killing babies and torturing small animals, than be enlightened on the truth, which knowing Crowley, could be something as insignificant as stealing a pencil from him as a child or something.

After what seemed a day and a half, she finally arrived. Thankfully the night of her accident she had left her GPS at home, and was able to locate the house with relative ease. However, considering the monstrous noise her illegally obtained car made when it finally grunted to a halt, she thought it best to park a good street away to avoid any premature alert of her presence.

The area was very straight laced. Or, as straight laced as Minneapolis can get. The house she was after was neat and organised, with little statues in the garden of fishing gnomes and naked cherubs. She never quite understood the desire to decorate a garden with such overt displays of senescence.

It was still daytime, and she decided it best to wait until nightfall. Likely no one was home, and it would not do to be caught breaking and entering. Marking the house, she went back to the truck to find a roadhouse to wait out the last hours of daylight.

Nighttime rolled around far too quickly. As an act of caution, she waited until almost midnight before returning to the marked house. Thankfully as well, seeing as the moment she peered into the lit living room of the Wrileburg's she saw a woman getting up, kissing her husband on the forehead, and retiring upstairs. He was alone, thank God, however she would need to be silent enough to not attract the attention of the wife.

She ventured to the back of the house, and noticed an open window leading to a darkened room adjacent to the occupied living area. Slender as she is, it was simple for her to twist her body through with little sound or frustration. However, as soon as she dropped to the floor, she felt sick. What little light was seeping into the room illuminated crosses on the wall, doilies on the table and a bible on the cabinet. These people were obviously religious. He rapes children, he rapes children, she repeated to herself in attempt to prevent her conscience getting the better of the situation.

Peering into the slightly ajar door, she looked at the man. He was in his 40s, with greying hair and a solid physique. His face was passive, perhaps permanently so, making this even harder. Looking closer she realised his entire outfit was black, from the shoes right up to the neck. Wait, no, except for a white slip...

She gasped to herself. That was an Amice! A fucking Amice! The man was a goddamn priest! Now it all started to make sense. Of course Crowley wanted him dead, why would a demon not want a priest dead? Still, why this one?

He rapes alter boys, he rapes alter boys.

She closed her eyes, praying for the courage to go through with it. Then it dawned on her she was praying to God, for the courage to kill one if his chosen people. Wow. She settled with just not thinking, and pulled out her silenced handgun.

30 seconds later she was making for the truck at lightning speed, thankful it was over but disgusted with herself. His wife would realise in an hour, perhaps, that her husband's usual presence in their bed was absent and investigate. It would be best if Jo was halfway back to Duluth by then.

The side of the road whipped past her groaning car; 60, 65, 75 miles per hour; far more than the old girl could handle. It started to groan at her in frustration, but she did not notice. Every inch of her body was on fire; guilt licked her insides in a darkly perfidious way, and she could not handle even looking at her reflection in the car's rear view mirror. She felt used, broken.

Sooner then she would have liked, she saw the familiar glass artistry of her apartment windows and knew she was home. She found it difficult to exit the car, and force her way back up the stairs, back to reality. Still, courage from a seemingly spent conscience somehow pushed her out of the car seat and onto the concrete. As she fidgeted with the lock to open her old, tricky door, she was surprised at how thoroughly unsurprised she was to find Crowley waiting for her, whiskey in hand.

'Well done. And it only took you to what, midnight?' So painstakingly bored of his hilariously unfunny facade, she reached for her flask of holy water attached to her belt, hurling its contents at him. He vanished before it hit, saturating the settee in the exact spot the bastard had just vacated. She didn't really expect it to hit, but her anger at least felt partially satiated.

'Do that again and you'll find yourself missing a few layers of your skin.' He warned from behind her.

'You had me kill a priest.' She stated through gritted teeth. Her even tone did not disguise her soul-deep anger.

'Excuse me, I had every right to set this bounty. I believe as part of our contract, if I required your hunting skills, I damn well got them.'

'Yes, for killing the occasional vampire or demon who pissed you off, but he was a good man, with a good family. I didn't sign up for is.'

'I grow weary of contradiction, love. Are we going to have this argument every time I send you after a mark, or are you going to shut your mouth and do the job you've been hired to do! You do realise this isn't your average deal? You do realise what I have put on the line for you? Now, you either keep your morals and opinions to yourself, or I sent your soul straight to hell right now.' She pursed her lips, but did not counter his argument.

'So why? Why the priest hmm? And why me of aaallll your little cronies? What, couldn't find someone game enough? Surely I'm not the only one you've bound to this sort of contract.'

'First, mind your damn business, I'm not going to tell you. Second, refer to the first, and third,' he paused, choosing his words carefully, 'you are, in fact, the only person I have ever held in this form of contract.'

'You mean to tell me, that I'm the first human you've ever made your little demon bitch?' She asked, disbelievingly.

'Don't flatter yourself sweetheart. You're the first deal-damned soul I've been able to extract hunting services from. Hunters as willing as you aren't easy to come by.' She again felt disgusted at herself. So she was the first hunter to sell their soul to be a demon slave? Doesn't surprise her.

'Well, if there's nothing else, I best be on my way. Expect company tomorrow night.' At her worried look, he continued, 'don't worry sunshine, no priest or any other being killing required.' At her continuing look of worry, he smirked.

'Until tomorrow evening then. Wear black.'

And he was gone.

Even the thumping music next door could not mask her scream of frustration.

A/N

-If you were expecting smut, apologies, but it is on the way.

-Again, hip hip hoorrray! to Goethe for the title.

-Did you catch the reference to her part in Season 2's "Born Under a Bad Sign"? I'm trying to make the continuity as honest as possible.

-Also, a lesson in "Possession" linguistics; Winchester: To act in a way befitting of the Winchester brothers. In this instance, stealing shit that isn't yours (as referenced when Jo "Winchestered" her car).

-Also, this story is AU for sure, but it still ties in very closely with the original plotline.

-Finally, apologies for the late addition. It took FOREVER to find out where this story was going, but I've pretty much got it all planned out now. Expect more additions! Yaaaay!

-thesolitaryone-