I needed to pass some time in this story to get to the next big storyline. So, basically, I needed a storyline montage. So here we have 7 snippets of Jo's life in relation to Crowley

Chapter 7: In the Currents of Life

The days became weeks; the weeks became months. Life had sort of settled into a constantly changing routine, and as the days multiplied, she was getting more and more used to its ups and downs. January passed, then February. Soon it would be her birthday.

She got up from the bed and turned to face him, tying her hair up as she spoke; 'I know we agreed to meet tomorrow night, but I'm going to have to take a rain-check.'

'Oh, alright. Fair enough. I'm already pretty set with my plans to catch unicorns and vomit sunshine tomorrow night, because, you know, my weekend itinerary is just as likely to happen as yours.' He said, not moving from the bed, though thankfully he had the sheet pulled to his waist. His face bore the unmistakable sign of a distinct lack of amusement despite his retort.

'You can't keep holing me up you know. I feel like I spend every waking minute with you, or following some creature on a goose chase you assigned to me.' He stared up to the ceiling, and she wasn't sure if he was actually listening. 'I had friends before you came along, and they're curious as to- hey HEY! Are you even listening?'

'What?' He turned to her, and sat up against the pillow, picking up the very overdue copy of Faust she left next to the bed.

'I honestly feel like I'm speaking to a child sometimes.' She replied exasperatedly, shaking her head.

'You can see your friends before we meet. I have never missed an appointment with you, and I don't plan on starting now.'

'No, you wouldn't want to show any sign of lenience, would you…?' She said to herself, picking up her jacket.

'What was that?'

'Nothing, don't worry. ' She stood there, waiting to leave, but he made no move to dismiss her. She threw her hands up to alert him to her impatience, but he continued to read, clearly ignoring her.

'Aren't you going to send me home?'

'No,' he said, turning a page in the book she knew he didn't read, 'I think you can walk.'

'You're kidding?' She knew where they were, but it was about a dozen miles from home. Did he really expect her to take that journey on foot? She had to open the bar at 8, and it was already 3am! Dirty, rotten asshole!

'Well then, I'm taking this,' she snatched the book from his hands, 'with me.' And with a last sarcastic smile, she left the room.

'Cheers Sam, I'll keep my ears open.'

She hung up the phone, thinking about the conversation. Sam was ringing around, trying to find any leads possible about the whereabouts of the Yellow-eyed demon. Of course she had no time to do the proper research, but she did have a very valuable acquaintance higher up in the food chain. But was it really worth facing the bastard? It's not like he would willingly surrender any overly valuable information to her.

But, the boys were like family…

'Crowley?' She called into the empty air in her apartment. She waited for a few seconds, but no response. Typical Crowley move, he would probably rather wait for her to get together a summoning ritual – which can take over an hour – than do her the service of coming when called.

'Come on Crowley, stop being an ass and just show!' Again, nothing. Fine, she said to herself, making for the chest of drawers in the living area where she held her ritualistic paraphernalia.

'Bloody hell woman, you've got no bloody patience!'

'Well I would have more if you didn't take your sweet ass time to get here when I call you!'

'I have work you know. I'm not a dog you can whistle for.'

'Funny, because you have no problem treating me as one!' He made to say something, but bit his tongue. Thankfully too, because any affirmation of her comment would have resulted in physical violence, and he knew it. He wasn't her dog, but she was starting to train him.

'So what do I owe the pleasure? He asked.

'Tell me about the Yellow-Eyed demon.'

He laughed out loud. 'No.'

'Come on, you never tell me anything!'

'I told you about Lucifer, that about fills your quota for a while.

'No, you told me some fairytale about angels and heaven. I don't ask for much, you know it.'

At her look of genuine longing, he sighed.

'Fine. None of us know a whole lot though, but I know he's the big man on campus, the big cheese. We all answer to him; though thankfully, deal-making's a separate department, so I don't have to very often.' He paused for a beat 'That's all you're getting for a year!' He finished, pointing purposefully at her.

'Not even a current whereabouts?' She asked skeptically.

He gave her a "are you serious?' look and vanished. She expected as much.

Goddamnit!

She was getting her ass thoroughly kicked by a high ranking demon Crowley send her after. Blow after blow to the stomach, limbs, back, skull, chest and about every other body part she could think of. There was a devil's trap on a sheet of cardboard hidden under a pile of grass somewhere to her left, but she didn't have a hope in hell of getting him to it without some kind of help.

He picked her up and threw her against a telephone pole. She could feel her entire body crack under the pressure; fantastic, more injuries for the Chiropractor. For the first time since moving away from the roadhouse she felt as though she was honestly going to die. At least she would be away from the son of a bitch who sent her here. Always a silver lining…

The demon suddenly punched a spot on her pelvic bone where a plastic hip flask held a body of holy water. It burst open, saturating his arm and torso and forcing him to the ground. In the moment of weakness, she kneed him in the face and he was flung backward. Using the remaining holy water, she sprayed his face, forcing him to retreat closer and closer to the hidden trap. Finally, he got there.

'Thank bloody God,' she said, bending over to catch her breath. The wind had been completely knocked out of her, and she was dubious as to whether it would ever return.

She felt to her back pocket to pull out her trusty exorcism ritual she took everywhere with her. It an instant, her heart sank; it wasn't there.

Shit shit shit shit shit!

She'd left it in the back pocket of the unwashed pair she had been wearing earlier, which was an inconvenient 100 bloody miles away! The demon in front of her started laughing.

'What are you gonna do now? You've got nothing bitch!'

'Shut it assface. You're "all powerful" one trapped behind chalk lines!'

'Assface? Really?' The voice was Crowley's. He held to her the familiar piece of paper she'd left at home.

'Apparently,' he said, pausing to look at the demon who seemed thoroughly unsurprised to see him there, 'you'd forgotten you were a hunter.'

'You're helping me?'

'Just protecting my investment.' After a last look at the mark he was gone.

'So you're Crowley's new bitch?' He mocked. She said nothing in response as she opened the folded note and began to read.

The two girls were laughing hysterically.

'…and that's when,' forced Juanita through fits of laughter, 'he said… don't worry… it wouldn't fit in the boot anyway!' They were both crying at the anecdote, barely breathing. All of a sudden a very drunk Jo fell backward over her bar stool, pulling several empty beer bottles with her. The gales of laughter intensified.

The two of them had just closed up shop, and were spending some much needed girl-time together. Whereas before Jo made the deal, nights like this with bar staff occurred weekly; now they were too sparse to be classified as a monthly occurrence. She missed them, she missed her friends. These days the person she was closest to is Crowley, and he brought a pit of dread to her stomach every time she thought of their next scheduled meeting. That's not friendship.

'Okay okay,' said Juanita, swaying slightly and slurring her words incomprehensibly, 'we've spent aaaaaaall night talking about my man-friend-thing. Now it's your turn. Come on. Who's the guy who's been stealing you away from us for the past ages? We never see you anymore! We miss you!' She finished.

'It's no one. Just a ahh.. a ahh… friend. That's right, a friend…'

'Ooo. Friends with benefits! How naughty.' She said. They both started laughing again.

'No no. See you'd think that. But in reality,' she said, picking up a whiskey bottle from behind the counter, 'he's the only one who benefits!' This time it was Juanita's turn to fall off her chair in merriment. But, unlike Jo, she didn't return to her seat. Rather, Jo heard a distinct snore from the unwashed bar floor.

'Oh no… someone's going to have to clean that up.' She slurred. Without really acknowledging her friend on the floor, Jo grabbed her coat and stumbled home.

It was 10pm and the bar was dead. The only patron she'd received in the past hour was the drunken hick who claimed to be Johnny Knocksville. No, that's not a spelling error, he was just that deluded. She was considering shutting up shop a few hours early to save money, but then again… she considered work her free time, given her other job was so desperately taxing. And she didn't even get paid for it; in fact, she was the one paying for it.

'Hey Jo, we're closing,' came tired voice from the fridges. It was Michael, the only full time member of the bar staff; it was almost like he lived here.

'Come on, just another half an hour,' she pleaded.

'Not wanting to leave?' He asked, eyebrows raised. 'You used to be the first one out the door.'

'Yeah well, things change,' she answered.

'Fine, but only because I love you,' he chimed back, walking out of the refrigerator. Ironically she got the sense he actually did have feelings for her. It got awkward sometimes, but she learnt to ignore it.

Exactly 29 minutes later she very much regretted her decision. He decided to come in for a drink. Or a random bout of torture, depending on how you looked at things. Though he was always careful to never be seen with her in public, and the blunt appearance made her curious.

At this point, she was behind the wall near the dry stores, and he had thankfully not seen her yet. Michael was polishing glasses behind the counter, and took the customer.

'What're you after mate?' He asked.

'I'm looking to be served by Harvelle. I know she's here.' Michael, sensing trouble, did not make any physical or verbal suggestion of her presence.

'Sorry sunshine, I'm all you've got.' Nice and all as it was to have him get up on his back about her protection, it was frivolous; Crowley knew she was there, and she needed to know what was so urgent.

'It's alright.' She said, giving him a look to confirm it, 'I know him.' He made no move to give them privacy.

'What do you want?' She asked.

'Tsk tsk. Manners. I'm just here for a drink,' he said sternly.

'Come off it. You can drink anywhere,' she whispered furiously. 'Leave. Now.'

'Scotch, please,' he said loudly, 'and make it vintage, I have no use for drinks younger than you are, even though I love how young you are.'

'Alright, that's enough.' Michael had obviously heard everything.

'Michael please. Give us a minute alright?' Fair call he was being protective, but right now it would not do for him to listen to this conversation. He gave her a look she couldn't quite register, and stormed off.

'Got a bit of a temper that one.' She turned and pulled from the top shelf an unopened bottle. This bar did not usually cater for those with expensive taste.

'Johnny Gold,' she said, placing the bottle on the counter with slightly more force than necessary, '18 years. It's all we got.'

'I'll pass, thanks.' He said with a look of disgust.

'Apologies. This bar doesn't cater to pretension.' She replied, placing the bottle back.

'I have a birthday present for you,' he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small golden box. Her skeptical look did not coincide with her feeling of mingled glee in her stomach. What girl doesn't like presents in small boxes?

'My birthday isn't until next week,' she said, taking the box from him. A pit of hate boiled in her stomach as she saw what was inside; a small post-it note with the name and address of her next mark.

'GET OUT!' She screamed, furiously.

His cruel laughter stung the crisp air for hours after he vanished.

Two days ago, a stray kitten jumped through Jo's window and nestled itself on her couch. By the time she'd gotten home from work later that night, it was close to dying.

She'd been thinking of getting a pet of some form, but avoided it due to her tumultuous lifestyle. Things like pets always got the raw end of the stick when they live with hunters, and it wasn't fair. However, she decided on this one lenience. She wouldn't keep it; rather she'd nurse it back to health and drop it down to the local pet store to be sold to a more loving, less perilous family. Maybe she'd pick up a fish while she was there; buy it a tank; get some awesome scenery for it; call it Richard.

Richard.

Richard Fish.

Dick Fish.

Haha.

Yep, she was for sure going crazy.

Over the next 48 hours, she never left it alone; constantly making sure it was well fed, warm and healthy. About an hour before she was planning on parting with it, Crowley appeared.

'I have a job.'

'Can it wait? I'm just about to take this kitten to the pet store,' she replied, pointing to the cat snoozing on the windowsill, taking in what little warm sunlight Duluth received in March.

He gave her an exasperated look, pointed to a pillow, and telekinetically hurtled it across the room directly at the sleeping cat. The next thing Jo heard was the cat's elongated screech as it was thrown down five storeys of building to its death.

'Are you kidding?'

'I hate cats,' was all he said, handing her an instructional post-it note.

'You are such a shit.'

Guess she wouldn't be getting Richard Fish after all.

It was the beginning of May, and summer had started to drift along. She'd lost count of how many people she had killed on his orders, but she had kept a thorough count of how many times she'd let him … touch …. her. It was a true testament to how messed up her life was; she would sooner keep tally over how many time she'd had sex with someone rather than how many lives she had taken. Though whenever she caught herself dwelling on her life choices, she'd make a solid effort to snap out of it. Thoughts like that just cause headaches.

But tonight she was nervous, unusually so. She and Crowley had not planned on seeing each other tonight, but he always dropped in after a job to make sure she'd been successful. It just so happened that she'd rushed this particular one so she could get ready.

For a date.

With Michael.

Oh God.

She was pacing again, waiting for him to arrive. Their deal wasn't monogamous, but she had a sinking feeling he wouldn't react well to the news of her seeing other people. He was a demon, a disgusting excuse for a being that has more than likely slept with dozens of people while seeing her, but he was possessive and vengeful. She had considered not telling him at all, but he would know. He always knows. She has no privacy anymore.

'Going somewhere?' Came his voice from behind her. 'You're looking especially delicious tonight.' It was true, she was wearing her go-to LBD, and her golden hair was up.

'We had no arrangements to meet tonight, so I made some arrangements of my own,' she said, looking away from him. Greatest. Euphemism. Ever.

He chuckled. 'This has been torturing you, hasn't it; the idea that I might not let you see other people.' She let out a sigh of relief. 'Oh thank God, I thought you would crack the shits.' She made to walk out the door.

'Where do you think you're going?' He asked, still looking amused.

'Out…?' She answered, turning to him.

'Of course you're bloody well not allowed!' He said, half laughing.

'What?' She asked. Had she misheard him?

'You're not going out. I forbid it.' He said simply. She slammed the door.

'There was nothing in our contract to forbid seeing other people!' She screamed. 'You can't do this to me! I need to get out! See other people! Be NORMAL!'

He walked up to her, grabbing her by the arms and pushing her against the recently closed door, the amusement very much gone from his face. 'It appears you misunderstand our arrangement. You. Are. Mine. I own you. And no one is ever allowed to lay a finger on you. Get it?'

'So what,' she yelled, shaking him off her, 'I'm never allowed a relationship, to get married, to have kids. All so you can keep me prisoner!'

'Yes,' was all he said. Then something clicked in her mind, changing her attitude completely.

'You're…. jealous,' she said in a smaller voice. It wasn't a question.

'Don't be ridiculous,' he said, turning away from her.

'So you mean to tell me, that despite the fact you've been messing around with other people; despite the fact it was never written into my contract; despite the fact I have full control over my actions as per our negotiation, you still can't let me go out? No really Crowley, tell me why? I'm dying to know.' She said, arms crossed, glaring at him.

'No.'

'No to what?'

'I don't mess around.' She was white hot with anger.

'Oh, so that automatically makes it okay to forbid me to see other people? For Christ's sake Crowley, it has taken me months to compartmentalize my life enough to be able to face the idea of dating.

'So no, I don't accept your argument. I'm going out.' She finished, walking to the door.

'Leave and I kill the boy.'

She stood for a second, staring at the door, he eyes filling up with tears. 'Damnit.' She cried, resting her head against the door. This wasn't fair; none of this was fair. The bastard was incapable of love, of compassion, of empathy, but he was sure as hell capable of being possessive, obsessive, jealous and cruel. How much more could one person handle before they cracked? She knew he was still behind her, waiting for a response to further torture her.

In a fit of rage she grabbed the flower vase next to the door and hurtled it at him. But he was gone and she knew…

Everything was going to be different now.

A/N

Yaaay! I actually wrote a chapter. Well, sort of. I wrote a bunch of tiny chapters and threw them together. I needed to pass some time int he story, so this seemed the best option.

Sorry about the cliffhanger! Sucks I know, but the next chapter will be intense. As in, I'm going to be tying it into canon, and therefore it basically means shit gets real for Jo. I have it all planned out, I just need time to write it. I'm entering my final year of college, and I don't really have much time on my hands to do anything. But if I can get enough support, I can set aside my Australian Political Lobbying class and write some meaningless fanfiction.

Some of the comments left have been absolutely amazing, and I thank all of you for reading. I'm sorry updates are few and far between! I hope to get better soon. I'd say we're about 1/3rd the way through the story. So there's plenty more to write.

And also, for those who are expecting smut. Please be patient. I don't want to ruin the story with it just yet. Evolution, not revolution. I need these characters to grow first.

Hip hip...HOORAY for Goethe for the title.

I really want a fish called Richard Fish. But I move around the country too much and it would be impractical. So, he can live forever in my story :-).

The term "Crack the shits" I am just realising is an Australian term. So some people may not understand it. Basically it means to get annoyed/angry at someone else. I would change it but...meh. I've already spent ages writing this chapter.

Also, I'm searching for a beta reader. If anyone wants to volunteer, that would be AMAZING! I suck at the spelling and such and I often miss any mistakes I make. A second opinion always helps.

LOVE YOU GUYS FOREVER!

-thesolitaryone-