Chapter 5: Yonder dark abyss

Jo Harvelle had never been a saint in her life; no hunter ever is. They each enjoy a certain level of casual promiscuity, a causal effect of living on the road or forever in the path of imminent danger. Still, no hunter would decree what she was preparing for that evening; sex was always for pleasure, reminiscence, tension release, or for whatever other reason. But in reparation for a deal with a demon? Not so much; all intimate contact between the client and demon ceased after sealing the deal in question. However Joe Harvelle was the exception; her life depended on her ability to suck it up, avoid prejudice, and get the job done.

If only her mother could see how far she'd fallen.

No, we mustn't think things like that, she scolded to herself. If only we were born without a conscience, how much easier life would be. Still, she'd devised in her head a list of restrictions for the events of the coming evening to allow herself to get through it without nausea, and without feeling as though she'd bathed in mud. Before she went to work she bought some extra strength, harsh, one-step-from-being-bleach soap to shower with afterward. At least then she'd be able to scrub the shit off her body, even if it would only cleanse the surface.

She knew one day she'd probably have to come clean about the whole situation to her mother and brother. One day she'd have to return to the Roadhouse and face up to everything, not only for the guilt she would face keeping this secret alone, but for her mother's distinctly unnerving ability to detect even the slightest change in her daughter. Not that this trait would be necessary by the time she was able to fess up; even for a stranger to observe Jo between six weeks ago and now would find a completely different person. Same body, different face. She couldn't imagine the shell of a woman she'd be the next time she went home. If she went home. If she had the courage. If she could survive Crowley.

Life is full of Ifs and What Ifs. Such small words; not even words, sounds, but they packed so much connotative meaning. But, her mother always taught her that life isn't about words, or sounds, or philosophies, but about getting up and doing what you've got to do, and if you survive the day you do it all again.

She wasn't rostered on to work today, but she called up the bar and requested a day shift anyway; she'd missed a huge amount of work and rent was due. Besides, it acted as a distraction. Keeping busy is always preferable to sitting at home waiting for the worst to occur.

She was interrupted from her thoughts by a voice behind her, 'You've been polishing that same glass for twenty minutes, who is he?' Her name was Juanita; a Kiwi exchange student who she had gotten quite close with, despite only working at the bar for a few weeks.

'No one,' she returned, putting away the over-polished rocks glass and picking up another.

'Listen. You've been missing work, your eyes get darker every day. You never talk anymore. I'm just concerned, that's all.'

'I know, cheers. But I'm stuck in a bad situation is all, one of my own doing.' Juanita's look of concern deepened.

'You know, I've been in bad relationships before. If you're getting hurt-'

'No,' she answered defensively, 'it's not like that at all.' Weighing up the consequences of revealing parts of her life she strictly beguiled to no one, she finally continued, 'I have a sort of, agreement, with an acquaintance who's been rather difficult to deal with.'

'One of those who didn't reveal they were crazy until after you agreed to help them?' She suggested, smiling slightly. Jo nodded and laughed, 'absolutely.'

'Everyone has their demons Jo.' She replied, picking up a tray of glasses and placing them out the back.

'You're not wrong,' Jo answered under her breath.

It was actually ironic, that after their second deal was sealed she was strangely anticipating this portion of the agreement. That second kiss was for her at the time, surprising, but with more than a month to ponder how much she despised the man bound to her pushed any romantic feelings well and truly out of her thoughts. Now she was dreading it; in spades.

Time was ticking away faster than she would have liked. 5.30 became 6, and 6 was quickly followed by 7. Crowley never gave her a specific ETA, and she was growing restless. This was so like him; giving as little information as humanly possible and expecting full returns. Well, that certainly wasn't going to be happening tonight.

After her day shift had ended, thoughts raced in her mind like fire flares on how she would approach the situation. For the most part she decided complete incongruity; if he wanted her to wear black, she'd don white. Though this was difficult, everything she had was black or red.

Luckily, through the year, she'd welcomed enough gentlemen callers into her apartment to build up a collection of men's attire. Her most recent visitor had been wearing a long-sleeved white business shirt, and despite the visit being over 7 weeks ago, she was yet to dry-clean it. She never planned on returning the shirts left from her one night stands, but she'd clean them in case a situation arose in which one would be needed. Distractions had meant this particular one missed that ritual, but she decided it was better. Though the shirt wasn't dirty, there was still a lingering hint of male on the shirt which she doubted Crowley would appreciate. Anything to make the bastard more uncomfortable.

She threw on the white t-shirt over a plain white bra and panties. The length of material reached half way down her thigh given her petit frame, however this too was too much skin, far too much. She donned the hideous pair of white running shorts she only wore when laundered clothing was scarce, and clasped a thick elasticized belt around her waist. Scanning her appearance in the mirror she was shocked at how ordinary she looked. All makeup removed and hair unwashed, she would have repelled any warm-blooded male the minute they laid eyes on her. If only she'd thought to not shave her legs this morning, that truly would have been the sordid icing on the cake.

Going to the fridge, she grabbed the first of the six beers she'd nicked from work in a vain attempt to render her at least somewhat inebriated by the time he arrived. It was 8pm, more than likely he wouldn't appear until well after dark; around midnight. Regardless, she collapsed onto the velvet settee and downed the beer as fast as possible just in case her theory proved incorrect.

She was right. Within thirty seconds of that very thought leaving her head, there he appeared before her, looking no different to the last time she saw him. Assessing her attire, he gave her a look of distinct contempt.

'It's funny. I could have sworn I left strict sartorial instructions with you last night,' he sneered.

'Turns out I have a very short memory,' she quipped back, not moving from the lounge or lowering her second beer.

'Oh don't worry. I didn't think you'd remember. I brought backup.' He pulled a bag from behind him and threw it at her. She opened it tentatively, and pulled a black lace bra and slip. She scoffed and threw the bag right back at him. 'I'm not wearing that.' Looking thoroughly unperturbed, Crowley snapped his fingers sharply. Looming down, she saw the hideous outfit of white had been replaced with the hooker underwear he'd brought with him. Okay, so it was somewhat tasteful.

'I sincerely hope this hasn't been worn before,' she said, examining her new outfit.

'Don't worry love, I picked it up on the way over. But, if you'd prefer to be out of it by all means, strip away.' She stood up, facing him directly.

'I have a few ground rules for this evening.'

'I don't think you're in the pos-'

'Rule number one,' she interrupted emphatically, 'no kissing.'

'Oh but I enjoyed it so much last time,' she raised an eyebrow at him, 'and I based on my own recollection, I know you did as well.' She did not speak, but continued glaring at him. 'Fine,' he answered. 'Now-'

'Rule number two,' she interrupted again, 'strictly no foreplay.'

'Now that, love, I know you'll come to regret,' he teased, licking his lips. At her unamused expression he added, 'What? And here I thought you'd want to get all the possible pleasure you could out of a bad situation'.

'Rule number three; you don't stay the night.'

'Wasn't planning to.'

'Rule number four; we make as little eye contact as possible. And rule number five; you use protection.' She finished, glaring at him with a look not to be rivaled.

'Well, darling, contraception,' he clicked his fingers, 'already taken care of. As for the rest, I will adhere. But we move house; I'm most definitely not planning on spending any coital time in this sad little den.'

Before she could reply, he clicked his fingers again, and they appeared in a scantily lit bedroom suite, doused in red velvet and mahogany furniture. The bed was four poster, with soft silken curtains tied to the hilt. If she didn't have every urge to flee the room immediately, she might have actually enjoyed her surroundings.

The next thing she knew she was being dragged closer to the bed, a hungry look in Crowley's eyes. Jo suddenly wished she had come more prepared for this; had more drinks, maybe invested in aphrodisiac pharmaceuticals, picked up "Rape for Dummies" from the local library. However she corrected that last gauche thought in her head immediately; this couldn't really be classified as rape. Or, at least she couldn't think of it as such. Just breathe Jo.

These less than wholesome thoughts were interrupted by a soft hand stroking down her back, making her shiver. She felt hit lips caress the back of her neck, and his hands moved to her hips, pulling her closer to him. She, however, could sense where this particular path was heading, and turned to face him, letting out a groan.

'I'm pretty sure I said no foreplay,' she said, arms crossed in front of her.

'Well fine. If you don't want to take even a little enjoyment from the situation, suit yourself,' he answered, and proceeded to push her onto the bed. He made to take off what little clothes she had on, and she stopped him.

'I'll do it.'

'Grumpy guts.'

Far too quickly for her liking, both of them sat naked before each other, and without another word, he entered.

She was confused.

What was he playing at? She would never have thought that this demon, who by all counts should be damned to hell fourteen times over; this hellacious being who sought no comfort in joy or love; the man who had made her fear the darkness and despise herself, could possibly at put so much effort into showing a girl a good time. She expected physical aggression, verbal abuse, or at the very least a complete and utter disregard of her own personal pleasure. Her body betrayed her as, time after time it responded eagerly to his every advance. She did not expect this, and she was not comfortable with it.

Barely two minutes after he had finished, she rose to put her clothes on. Time spent here was time wasted, and she longed to scrub away the past hour before reality sank in. She just had sex with a demon, and worse, she enjoyed it.

But maybe she was approaching this erroneously; perhaps he had within him the potential to be compassionate and caring. Perhaps there was some human left in him still.

'Leaving so soon? Here i thought you'd had a change of heart,' came the smarmy English voice.

Maybe not.

'I need to shower. I suggest you do the same,' she stated, her voice completely devoid of emotion. It'd be better if her face remained stony; she would not bequeath to him the satisfaction.

'I don't shower, love.' She grimaced; it was beastly, yet oddly unsurprising.

She was so looking forward to seeing the back of this room; to see the back of him. However it dawned on her the fleeting nature of any relief she would feel after leaving the bedroom. This, of course would not be the last time she'd see him; intimately or not. There would always be another mark, and always another pork sword to exhaust. She needed a break from this; seeing Crowley two consecutive days in a row was too much.

'If I'm going to be okay with this I'm going to need time.' she stated, now fully dressed - albeit in the slip he bestowed upon her.

He look mildly confused, a look juxtaposed interestingly against his entirely naked body. 'Take all the time you need'. She got the feeling he'd misunderstood her.

'As in. I need some time from you. I think I've more than filled my Crowley quota for the week. I don't know if my stomach can hack it.' He sighed, and adopted a look of someone explaining a simple concept to a child of limited intelligence. He sat up and donned the suit, perhaps to emphasize his next seemingly well-chosen words.

'Let's recap,' he said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, 'you entered a deal three years ago to save your mother's life.' She said nothing, anticipating where this argument was heading.

'So to get out of it, you ask for my help.' He was standing now. 'I, out of the goodness of my heart, and at great personal risk, happily obliged; saving your life and allowing you entrance to Heaven in return for a few personal favors. And then when you failed to word your agreement properly, I even consented to amend said agreement. Again, out of the goodness of my own heart. I'm not going to go through this rubbish with you again, Har-velle, and I'll call upon you anytime I bloody well please!'

Her eyes stung with hot tears, but she fought them back before he noticed. She couldn't live like this, no one could. Constantly in fear, killing in cold blood, sleeping with hell-damned demons. Damnit, she thought to herself, I will not let him see me cry again.

'But now, if you had have asked nicely instead of demanding, I may have been more accommodating.' He said, pouring himself a scotch. He didn't offer her one, nor did she expect him to.

'Fine. May I please have some time off?' She asked through teeth gritted so tight she thought they might crumble. He considered her question through the bottom of his glass, his reply as patronizing as her question was forced;

'No.'

She blinked, and found herself back in her apartment, completely alone.

'Bastard!'

He always has to have the last word.

A/N - Yaaaaaaay for me actually updating! Apologies of course. I always say I'm almost done!... but then the perfectionist in me makes me wait to ensure it's near perfect. And I now that I'm moving back across the country for work, life has eaten up all my spare time. BUT! I love this story and I will finish it. YOU HAVE TO MAKE ME FINISH IT. Pester me! I've written a crap ton FF in the past, especially for HP, but of everything I've written, this is by FAR my favourite. Really REALLY don't want to lose motivation.

Okay, enough rambling

-Title is an abbreviation of the 369th line of Faust "To shudder not at yonder dark abyss". If you don't understand the correlation, look up the word "yonder", then you should be right ;-).

-I also feel as though I owe readers an apology regarding the lack of smut I know you were all expecting in this chapter. There're a few reasons I didn't include it: a) I thought it would be detrimental to the tone of the story; b) I don't think I would have been able to keep them in character (I'm really not that talented). Already I found myself straying from Crowley's character a touch (but then I brought him back, so its all good). Safe to say I really don't want to make him a completely selfish bastard, so I granted him this one lenience. In bed (*wink*). COME ON GUYS THIS IS MY CROWLEY! Okay. Craziness over. But rest assured, there will be smut. Ohhhh there will be smut. But for now, the storyline is more important.

-Okay, seriously, thankyou for all your comments. They're so encouraging. It makes me keep writing, it truly does. And you know I'm not kidding when I don't use italics in the A/N section. Seriously - you guys are amazing.

-Oh, and I'm sorry for breaking the melancholy in the story briefly with the use of the word "pork sword". I just seriously love that double entendre so much it makes my insides hurt.

-thesolitaryone-

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