Chapter Eight

Crowley transported them in what appeared to the middle of a cornfield. Murron, only now allowing herself to recognise what had happened, fell from Crowley's arms and collapsed onto the ground. Grief overwhelmed her: her everything had been snuffed out in a matter of seconds, all by her own hand. It had been necessary, she knew, especially if they were to get out of there alive. That didn't make it hurt any less, though.

As she knelt, sobbing into her hands, Crowley had vanished from her side briefly, reappearing a few moments later to take up Murron's arm and pull her to her feet. Wordlessly, he teleported them from the field, rematerializing in a cozy kitchen filled with warmth and light. He directed Murron to a chair at the table, then moved about the kitchen rummaging through the cabinets. Murron watched him numbly, only half-aware of what had happened.

"Where the hell is it? What little old couple doesn't have - ah-ha!" Crowley pulled out a small box of teabags and moved over to the stove. As he fussed over the old kettle and found a mug and spoon, Murron continued to stare blankly into space. It wasn't until a steaming cup of tea appeared before her that her eyes refocused. She brough the cup to her lips as Crowley continued moving about the house, an object Murron couldn't make out clutched in one of his hands.

The tea began to work its magic on Murron's nerves, though the knowledge she was homeless still burned in her heart. So, this is what it had been like for him. She doubted it had affected him in the same way: he didn't seem like someone who placed much sentiment in anything. Part of her wished she could be the same, but only part.

Crowley came back into the kitchen twenty minutes later, tossed what appeared to be a large magic marker onto the counter, and sat down beside Murron with a tired sigh. "I've put my own sigils up. It should keep us hidden for awhile."

"I'll do mine in a bit, I just need to -"

"Take your time. I'm not going anywhere for awhile," Crowley interjected quietly, resting his fingers on her arm in a steadying gesture. They sat in silence for awhile. Murron finished her tea, then cleared her throat, and asked:

"Is this what it felt like for you?"

"What's that?"

"When you lost your home."

"Of course it did. I lost a lot of hard-won possessions that night. I can't replace a lot of them." His response was flippant, almost avoidant. Murron considered leaving it at that, but her own need for solidarity pushed her forward.

"I'm serious, Crowley."

He sighed again, fidgeted for a second, then gave a slow, unwilling nod. "It's not fun, I can tell you that. You take a risk and it blows up in your face." He snorted softly. "I'm sure you know how that last bit feels, yeah?"

Murron considered that. It was true that she sometimes wondered at her deal, how sensible it had truly been, and never moreso than in these instances. True, if she'd never made the deal, this mess might never have touched her life so intimately. She might still be home now, miserable from the chemo, and wanting time to speed up so it could all be over. She could be continuing with the facade of good humor and hope-for-the-best attitude all terminally ill patients were encouraged to have. The Apocalypse could have raged around her and she'd be as ignorant as the next poor sap. But she would have been alone.

She worked her hand beneath Crowley's and linked their fingers, much to his surprise. She held his hand tightly, leaning towards him to rest her head on his shoulder. As she relaxed against him, she felt his cheek touch the top of her head. That was his answer: she didn't regret a damn thing about their deal. Whatever risk that had come with it, she'd gone into with eyes wide open. Her house was gone, whatever world she'd created for herself had been blown apart, but she wasn't alone. That truth she held onto with everything she had; it was the only thing that mattered. She'd made her deal to spend out the last year of her life with Crowley and spend it with him she would, no matter what was thrown her way. And in the end, she'd go to Hell willingly, for she possessed a great sense of integrity towards the deal. It was just good business to carry through with everything.

Just good business...

The house had two bedrooms on the second level; Crowley insisted Murron take the master bedroom as it had more creature comforts and he wasn't keen on sleeping for awhile. It was quickly becoming a luxury he couldn't indulge in. Murron wasn't even sure if she could. She lacked the supernatural ability to deny exhaustion, unfortunately. It wasn't long before she was deeply asleep, leaving Crowley to his own devices.

Secure in the sigils he'd put up, the Crossroads King vanished from the small country house. Reappearing in front of the smoldering ashes of Murron's home, he gave a sharp whistle into the night. Immediately, the shimmering body of Growley materialized and he trotted over to his master's side. Crowley gave the demon hound a brief pat on the head, then the pair vanished from the scene.

There were other loose ends left to tie up.

Corrine stood at her basement altar, a summoning glyph drawn on its surface before her. She'd just finished adding her blood to the bowl of herbs in the center and was aiming to set the whole thing ablaze. She winced slightly as the match head flared to life, still somewhat uneasy around fire thanks to Murron's little spells. Where the hell had she learned that? Ever since her demon deal, Murron's skills had advanced in so short a time, Corrine couldn't help but wonder how much Murron had asked for. What was more, why was she associated with the Crossroads King in the first place?

Well, Corrine smiled to herself as the herbs and blood caught flame, he'd just have to explain it himself.

Crowley appeared across the cellar, hands in his overcoat pockets. He stared over at Corrine mildly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Funny," he said, "I was just on my way over. Thanks for making this easier."

"I wouldn't be so cocky if I were you, Crowley," Corrine replied, her eyes lifting to the beamed ceiling. Crowley didn't bother following her gaze.

"Felt that the moment I came in. You don't really think you're the first to do that to me, do you?"

"And yet you demons keep falling for it. I would have thought you'd have figured out a way around it by now."

Crowley chuckled, a humorless sound. "Who says I haven't?"

"If you have, prove it."

"You certainly are a dumb one, aren't you?"

"I'm just giving you the chance to show off. That's what you like, isn't it? To always one-up whoever it is you're dealing with?"

"Oh, we're dealing, are we? Last I heard you hadn't a soul left to sell. How is that working out for you, by the way?"

Here Corrine's jaw twitched. Crowley's smile was triumphant. "Consider this making up for my first mistake," she replied tightly. "I couldn't find you before, even with the summoning spell. Tell me: how did you manage that?"

"If there's one thing I excel at, it's keeping myself alive. That's how."

"Then I hope whatever you have up your sleeve this time keeps that up."

Crowley shrugged. "I think it will," he assured her, then gave a sharp whistle. Corrine felt a gust of hot breath hit the back of her neck and she froze. "There it is. My insurance."

Corrine turned slowly, eyes searching the area immediately behind her. "You can't kill me, Crowley. You'd be breaking your own rules."

"In your case, darling, I'll make an exception," Crowley assured her coldly. He nodded, giving Growley the signal. Within seconds, the hound had Corrine on the ground and was tearing her apart brutally. Crowley watched the carnage, his gaze hard. It wasn't often he exacted revenge on someone else's behalf. Of course, he benefitted from Corrine's death as well: the fewer people on his tail, the better. He considered Murron's part in it a bonus.

Growley polished off whatever was left of Corrine, then bounded into the rafters. He slashed at the Devil's Trap's circle, setting his master free. Crowley gave his pup a grateful pat on the head, then the pair disappeared from the cellar, content to return to Murron.

Murron was still down for the count when Crowley walked in, Growley at his heels. The hound went into the basement where the bodies of the owners lay, eager for another snack. Crowley, in the meantime, went upstairs to the master bedroom. Murron lay curled on her side beneath the patchwork quilt, the moonlight flooding the room with a bluish hue. Crowley approached the bed and sat beside her to peer into her face.

The sensation of his sitting down roused Murron and she opened her eyes groggily. For a second, she didn't seem to remember where she was or what had happened. Crowley's shadowed face brought her back to the present and her brow furrowed. "Kinda hoped it would've been a bad dream," she muttered. "But it wasn't, was it?"

"Afraid not, love."

"Have you been here the whole time?"

"Not quite. Just got back. I had to take care of a few things."

"And if I ask, you won't tell me, right?"

Crowley smiled faintly. "Maybe when you've had some time to adjust. I can bounce back from anything, but not you. Take your time. No one will find us here."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because it's me. I'm always sure," was the nonchalant response. This made Murron relax a bit more and she returned the quiet smile. At least one of them was sure about something. With how things had been going the past few days, Murron couldn't be certain of anything.

She rolled over onto her back and sighed. "The hell do we do now?"

Crowley shrugged his brows. "Keep laying low, I suppose. It can't be much longer now."

"Say whatever you think is going to stop the Apocalypse works and everything goes back to normal, what happens then? I can't stay here forever."

"Cross that bridge when we come to it. Until then, I suggest you enjoy the relative peace and quiet."

"What will you do? I imagine when Lucifer is out of the picture, you won't have to hide like this. You might be able to go back to Hell or start making deals again, right?" Murron propped herself up on her elbows and looked intently into his face. She really wanted to ask if he'd leave right away or at least wait a little while. She knew he'd always come and go whenever he pleased; it had been part of the original agreement. But that small part of her that was still selfish wanted to hold onto this a bit longer. Just a bit. If he sensed that, he kept it to himself. Or maybe he didn't even know, himself. Maybe it really was just a matter of waiting and seeing what came next. So much uncertainty! It was almost too much for Murron to process. She did need time, however much that would be.

When Crowley didn't respond, Murron sighed again. "I know. Cross that bridge when we come to it. I'm not really used to this."

"To be honest, neither am I. Before this Apocalypse nonsense, I had a very stable life. Make a deal here, influence someone there, maybe visit Hawaii on my time off. Frankly, I'm just as lost as you are. Before this, you at least had a place to go to. A home. Now we're both in the lurch. If I really wanted to, I could acquire real estate the usual way, but you'd probably have to go through proper channels, that sort of thing."

"I can't very well stay here," Murron observed, looking around. "I don't even know where this is."

"Middle of Kansas," Crowley replied. "I didn't exactly aim when we left."

"No. I don't even know anyone in Kansas," Murron remarked absently. "I suppose if I had to, I could start over here, when this is over." She blinked as something occurred to her. "What about Corrine? Or Beth or Angela? Won't they still have it out for me?"

"No," Crowley said, his voice absolute. Murron eyed him curiously. "I took care of it."

"Is that where you went?"

"She summoned me, actually. I was on my way there, but she saved me the trouble. Rather courteous of her, really," he added casually.

"Why'd you go back?"

"Like I said, had to take care of a few things."

"You killed her, didn't you."

"No, not me specifically," Crowley amended. "Growley did it. In my defense, he hadn't eaten in awhile. I wasn't going to deny him fresh meat, was I?"

Murron overlooked the fact it had been murder; demons, and hellhounds apparently, functioned under very different rules than humans. Also, one less thing after them was preferrable. "Don't ask, don't tell," Murron said, resigned. "She would've been killed by Lucifer, anyway, right? For failing?" Crowley nodded. "So, you almost did her a favor. Good. I can stomach that."

"Didn't do it for you, darling. I don't take kindly to those who seek to trap me twice. She had it coming."

"No arguments here."

"One less thing is still one less thing, however it was handled."

"You don't have to justify yourself to me, Crowley. I never once stopped being aware of what you are," Murron reminded him. "I don't think the others will jump at the chance to pick up where she left off, so there's that. I do feel bad about Rose, though. She was never in the Lucifer corner, either, but I think she was always too cowed by Corrine to speak up. I hope whatever fallout hits Beth and Angela, it'll bypass Rose."

"I wouldn't count on it. Exceptions aren't something we demons consider when wronged."

Murron couldn't disagree with that. "Do you think we need the other sigils?"

"Probably not."

"Are you sure?"

"It's coming to a head. Can't you tell?"

"Evidently not."

"I give it another day or so, then it'll be over. And then we'll decide what happens."

Murron sat further up in bed and clicked on the light. Crowley blinked at the sudden glare, smirking. "Sorry," she apologised. "Anyway, I'm guessing if those Winchesters win, we'll be free from Lucifer's followers, right?"

"That's the plan."

"I'm going to need a place to live," she murmured, half to herself. "I doubt I could stay here. I don't know if I'd want to, to be honest."

"There are ways around those problems," Crowley said. "Trust me."

"Surprisingly enough, I do," Murron smiled, her tone teasing. "Even with demons after me and being forced to burn my own house down in order to save your meat-suit, I still trust you to get me out of scrapes. Trusting a demon has to be a pretty stupid idea, right?"

"Other demons, certainly," Crowley allowed with a careless shrug. "I try to keep my business promises. How do you think I keep getting customers?"

"You are a shrewd one, I'll give you that."

"Thank you, darling."

"So," Murron clapped her hands together once and laid them in her lap. "Hiding in our foxhole until this all blows over?" Crowley nodded. "Then I'd better make sure there's enough tea in the cupboard." She threw the blankets off and slid out of bed. Crowley watched her go back downstairs, that satisfied smile he'd become known for appearing on his face.

"She's a trooper, that one," he remarked appreciatively to himself. With a mild chuckle, Crowley vanished from the bed, blinking out to join Murron in the kitchen.