Author's Note: Thank you for viewing. I love writing, and I try my best at it. This is for fun, so I will write as long as it's fun. I love you guys. I own no supernatural characters. Enjoy!
Crowley looks at her dumbfounded. He assumed it would be stress-free for him to lure her in and acquire her. Now, she has him under fire, so he has to tell. "Crowley, you tell me what you've been doing right now. I don't care who you think you are or how big and bad you think you are, I will kill you right here and leave you bloody in your own office," Catt warns.
"Alright, alright, I'll tell you. Please just release the death grip you have on my tie," Crowley finds himself pleading for someone else to do something. The insecurity makes him feel weak, vulnerable. It's an unpleasant feeling. Catt leans back and sighs waiting for Crowley to talk. The fire burns in Crowley. He let someone take advantage of him. Crowley stands up and slams his fists on the table. Catt jumps back frightened. Crowley smiles evilly as he realizes she is weakening. Her tough persona is coming down. "You know you are a very good little actress. You made me believe that you weren't scared of anything. I started to believe maybe I couldn't play my mind games with you, but you let down your guard right there. I've got you now," Crowley tells her chuckling to himself.
With one motion Catt goes flying into the mansion wall. Crowley steps on her chest with one foot, pinning her down. She begins to couch up blood. "Please, stop," Catt pleads with Crowley who sadistically watches with a gleeful expression. "Crowley, I'll do anything," Catt chokes.
"Hum, for a while I thought you were like Sara. Hell, maybe you were Sara, but you're not. You are nothing like her!" Crowley moves his foot to her neck. "Give me one reason not to kill you right here on the spot!" Crowley demands.
She looks up with warm tears running down her pale cheeks. Softly, Catt says, "Because you know on the inside you can't. Because on the inside you know who I am. You know everything about me. I know everything about you. I am Sara, Crowley. We met back in 1781. I was young and out at a bar alone. We talked and talked and talked for days. Days turned to months and months to years. On our second anniversary you told me what you really were. I didn't run. I wasn't scared. I accepted it. Then I died. Tuberculosis got me. You spent years trying to resurrect me, but you couldn't fine me, I was hidden. Crowley, they thought I got in the way of you becoming everything they needed you, too. I got out. I am like you now." Her eyes turn all black and then back to normal.
In shock Crowley steps backwards. Carefully, Sara stands and hugs him. "Sara, you can't be real," Crowley says in a hushed whisper. Then, it clicks. Crowley angrily pushes her away and yells, "You aren't Sara I would be able to tell!" The door breaks down and the Winchesters plus Castiel stand guns ready to shoot.
The demon realizing the fatal flaw escapes its host body. Sam is the first to run over and help Catt sit up. "Crowley, you almost killed her! You were supposed to get information about the demon to help find the missing people! You failed!" Dean shouts revealing the agreement they had previously made. Sam wipes the blood from Catt's face.
Furious, Catt pushes Crowley. She screams, "What the Hell was that! I get possessed and all of a sudden any human in me gets punished further! You tried to kill me! NOT THE DEMON, ME!" Castiel pulls her backwards.
Castiel takes Catt to the shined black, 1967 Chevrolet Impala. Inside the mansion still, Dean lectures Crowley, "Next time we are not calling you!" Dean leaves followed closely by Sam. Crowley sighs in defeat and plops down in his chair.
Mournfully, Crowley stares at a picture on his desk. To himself he whispers, "Sara, I miss you so much. I wish you could just be here, but maybe this is all for the best." Crowley drinks the rest of the scotch in his glass.
Somewhere is the background, Crowley hears a cat screech. He becomes alarmed and sprints up the stairs. Gilbert lays in the floor ripped to shreds. The young servant boy stands covered in the cat's blood.
"S-sir, I was h-hungry. Please don't hurt me," he pleads looking horrified. Crowley draws out a long machete. With one quick slice, the pale head goes rolling across the floor as the body crumbles behind it.
"That was my favorite cat," Crowley says to himself and the dead body in the hallway. With a snap the hallway is cleared of any and all corpses. "Next time, no monster tailors," he tells himself as a mental note.
Brushing off his suit Crowley walks back down the grand staircase. He grabs the keys to his black, 2014 Ford Taurus. Making sure he locks the door behind him, Crowley leaves his mansion home. Crowley hops into his Taurus and starts it up.
"If we're going to blend in then we need to take the car," Crowley reminds himself of vehicular travel. He guns the gas sending dust in a cloud behind him. He chuckles to himself at the sight. "I've got my guns, check. I've got my I.D., check. I've got my sunglasses," he pauses feeling around the console for them, "check. Okay, so make a left on this street," he cuts the corner sharply making the tires squeal, "and I've got the baby car seat."