Crowley shifted in his chair and leaned his forearms on the table when he heard the sound of someone enter the storage room. The doors swung open to reveal the two Winchester brothers.

"Boys," he said in greeting. "Did you find my key?" How long had it been since they'd left? A day? Two? Three? Being locked in this room inside a Devil's Trap made it difficult to distinguish the passing of time.

"She didn't have it on her," Dean said.

"Where is she?" Crowley asked as his anxiety kicked up a notch. Why was he anxious? This human emotion was useless, a detriment to his ability to navigate a deal.

"Upstairs," Sam replied. "She has no idea what you dragged her into. She thought she'd lost her mind and we were crazy people to until we hit Delhi, Colorado. It took us three hundred miles to convince her that this was real."

"And Abbadon?" Crowley asked.

"She found her. We got there just as two soldiers had your girl pinned." Dean leaned against the far wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Hazel doesn't know what the key is. We searched her and couldn't find it," Sam said.

"Hazel IS the key, you moron," Crowley snapped.

"She's human," Sam replied. "She's not some key to the inner sanctum of hell."

Dean snorted. "He's full of shit, Sammy."

"Let me see her and I'll explain."

"No," both the boys told him. "Not a chance in hell," Dean continued.

"I'm IN a Devil's Trap. I have enchanted chains on my wrists. I can't hurt her, darlings. And even when I wasn't shackled, I didn't. So, bring her here."

"Yeah, and what if whatever you planted on her gives you some power to escape?"

"It's the key to Hell, not to this blasted room." Crowley hit the table with his fist. His emotions were running high. He'd spent hours, days thinking about HER. About the way she looked at him with those eyes, seeing everything and nothing at all. He'd tried to clue her into his true nature, but she didn't accept the knowledge. Strange how he was still drawn to her when she chose ignorance. Or perhaps she'd chosen innocence.

He need more blood. His twisted soul was adrift in a sea of human emotions, unfamiliar and overwhelming. The blood would anchor him to the ground, let him ride them out like a simpering human.

"She doesn't want to see you," Dean said, pushing himself off the wall and walking over to stand beside his brother.

"What?" Crowley asked. He hadn't expected to be hit with that.

"She's afraid," Sam said.

"I believe I owe her an explanation," Crowley replied, trying to keep his composure. There came that sweeping nausea. He couldn't think straight.

Dean leaned in and whispered something to Sam. The two of them left. The only consolation was that they'd left the doors opened. Crowley hoped against hope they were going to fetch her and bring her downstairs. Not that he was in any shape to receive her with his unkempt hair and disheveled clothes, never mind the shackles and the prison vibe.

Minutes ticked by. Maybe they were hours. The guilt was crushing him at the moment. Some days it was worse than others.

And then the door opened and Dean stepped into the storage room. When he moved aside, Crowley held his breath. Hazel walked inside the dusty room, her hands folded in front of her. A quick survey of her revealed a rip in her hose and a bloody knee, fingertip bruises blossoming on her porcelain neck, and spatters of blood on her white blouse. Oh, the fucking guilt.

When she finally looked forward and through the cabinet doors to where he sat in his little prison, she gasped.

"Hello, love," he said softly.

It took hours in the car with Dean and Sam before she didn't want to bolt out the door when they stopped at a gas station. At first she had denied, denied, denied. She'd refused to believe the grand stories they were telling her about demons and monsters and angels. It was too fantastical, even more so than her beloved science fiction stories. But the two brothers seemed matter-of-fact about it and very grounded in their own reality that included demon possession and apocalypses on the regular.

They swore up and down that they were there to protect her. They searched her pockets for a key. They made her roll the sleeves of her shirt up to prove that she wasn't hiding a key somewhere. Dean had even asked her to remove her shoes so he could look beneath the sole. And while it was all very over-the-top, something about it seemed genuine. There had to be a point where she stopped making excuses for the black smoke that had taken over the bodies of her co-workers and accepted the Winchester's assertions that demons had possessed those poor guys in order to get information from her.

Crowley was both the easiest and most difficult part of the puzzle to believe. He'd told her what he was, after all. He'd given her the card with his actual title. Or at least what Dean and Sam believed to be his actual title-King of Hell. And, oddly enough, believing that he was an otherworldly demon with powers beyond her comprehension made so much sense. The only thing that didn't make sense was why he had taken any interest in her.

Most of the drive to Kansas was spent listening to them give her the abridged version of the real state of the world. She'd asked her fair share of questions, though. And they had an answer that made sense for every single one, too. That was what made her decide to stop plotting her escape from their car and agree to go to their bunker. There was no hesitation, no disagreement, and no discrepancies between them when they answered her questions. They weren't making this up; it was their life. And their explanations were the only ones that fit what she'd seen in the past twelve hours.

"She was exhausted when they arrived at the bunker. She hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours and the only food she'd had was a burger at a fast food joint in Colorado. Their bunker was nicely appointed and spacious, even if it was a bit dated. She immediately collapsed into one of the chairs at the main table that seemed to be situated in the heart of the bunker.

"Beer?" Dean asked, walking past her.

"No, thanks. Can I have a glass of water?" she asked.

"Sure," he replied, continuing on to what was probably the kitchen.

"You okay?" Sam asked, standing across the table from her. "You look a little beat." He was carrying her small duffle bag that contained a few clothes and toiletries that she'd tossed inside before Dean and Sam had whisked her out of Albuquerque.

Hazel laughed softly under her breath. "I feel a little beat. I, uh, need to call into work. I'm supposed to be there in..." She checked her watch. "In, like, three hours."

"Yeah, sure." Sam handed her his cell phone. She dialed the casino's main number and asked for the floor manager. She didn't know if Charles would be there after what happened. Fortunately, he was, but he was very confused, asking Hazel if she knew what had happened to him the previous night.

"I, uh, I don't know, Charles." She looked up at Sam and he shook his head emphatically. "It was probably a bug," she offered.

"The police say they think it was a leak or something. Carbon monoxide, maybe. Made me and a couple other guys go crazy. Did I try to choke you?"

"Uh, yeah. But don't worry. It's no big thing."

"Shit, Hazel. I'm sorry." He paused before lowering his voice and saying, "Did you hear what happened to Phillip and Mike?"

She swallowed hard. "No, no I didn't. I ran out to the street and a couple guys picked me up right on the road, took me home. I thought you guys had lost it."

"They stabbed each other or themselves or something. They found their bodies out there by the road, too."

"Oh. Wow." She was a shit liar. "Why?"

"They think the leak made us go crazy. Nobody else was hurt, though. Were-were you hurt? The police are looking for you. They said to tell you to call them."

"No, I'm fine. I just hitched a ride home. Except a family thing came up. An emergency. I had to leave town and I'm not sure when I'll be back." Hazel cringed. She didn't even have any family beyond some distant relatives she never spoke to.

"Oh. I hope everyone is okay," Charles said. "Do you know when you'll be back?"

"Umm, no. A few days, I hope. Maybe a week?"

"Okay, keep me posted. We can hold your place here for a couple weeks, but then we'll need to look for a replacement. Remember to call the police station."

Hazel pulled in a deep breath. "Yeah, okay." She said her goodbyes and hung up.

"Am I going to be done in two weeks so I don't lose my job?" she asked Sam.

"Welcome to the turning point in your life. Nothing will be the same from now on," Dean said. He'd swept back into the room and sat a glass of water down in front of Hazel.

"Dean," Sam warned. "Give her a break."

"Just telling it like it is, Sammy. It's tough to go back to the day-to-day when you know what's actually going on."

"But I don't WANT to know."

"Don't you?" Dean asked.

She paused and really thought about it. She DID want to know. She couldn't just hide her head in the sand and pretend everything was hunky dory. She'd never been the type of person who fooled herself into thinking reality wasn't actually reality. "It's a lot to take in," she told him.

"Just give yourself some time," Sam said. He held up her bag. "I'm going to put this in one of the bedrooms down the hall. "You can crash here until we figure out what is going on."

"Yeah, it's too dangerous for you to be out there. Abbadon will be looking for you," Dean agreed.

Hazel tried to still the slight tremble in her hand as she reached for the glass of water. "This is crazy," she told Dean.

He shrugged. "Welcome to my world."

Sam came back in and pulled Dean to the side. They conferred in low tones, nothing audible to Hazel. She wasn't sure why she trusted the two of them, but she did. They seemed capable and competent and like they actually wanted to make sure she was safe. And if those black clouds of smoke were after her then she needed all the help she could get.

"Hazel," Sam said. "We have to go check on something. It'll just take a minute. We'll be right back."

"Okay," she replied, taking another sip of water. Once she was alone, she surveyed her surroundings a bit more intently, eventually wandering down the hall to find the bedroom they had stowed her duffle in. It was a small room, but comfortable with a bed, desk, plush chair, and an armoire. She unzipped the bag and placed her small case of toiletries and her brush on the desk.

Hazel took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, finally relaxing. She'd been tense since everything had happened at the casino-running away, fleeing with Dean and Sam, rushing to pack a bag, and then riding to Kansas while listening to them ruin the reality of her carefully constructed world.

She sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at her ripped black hose and the smeared blood on her less-than-fresh white dress shirt. She'd long ago untied the bowtie and let it hang loosely around her neck. Maybe when they returned she could have them direct her to the shower and then she could get some rest. It wasn't like she was able to help or provide information.

"Hey," Sam said, entering the room with Dean. "We need to ask you something."

He seemed worried and so did Dean. "What?" she asked.

"We captured Crowley a while back and we're holding him in a Devil's Trap in another room here," Dean said.

Hazel felt her eyes widen. "What?"

"He's in cuffs and he can't escape."

"You-you abducted him? Like me?"

"He's a demon. We trapped him and shackled him," Dean replied.

"You have him tied up in this bunker?"

"Chained up," Dean corrected.

"Oh my god, this is crazy," Hazel whispered, putting a hand on her forehead.

"Hey, he's a bad guy. A demon," Sam said, squatting down beside her. "He's responsible for what happened to you and why Abbadon is trying to hunt you down."

"But he didn't give me anything at all. I don't know why everyone thinks I have a key."

"Which is why we need him to tell us how you're involved," Dean said.

"And he won't tell us until he talks to you," Sam added.

Hazel shook her head. "Why does he want to talk to me?"

"It's a power play," Dean said. "But you'll be fine. He can't leave the Devil's Trap and he can't hurt you. Just remember not to let him bait you or get you upset."

"I don't know what to say to him," she replied.

"We'll be there," Sam replied. "Are you okay with going in there with us and asking him where the key is?"

"Do I get my life back if we find out where the key is?"

"Probably not the way it was," Dean said.

Hazel scrunched her nose up. "Will Abba-whatever stop trying to kill me?"

"Maybe."

She sighed. "Okay. Fine. I'll do it."

As they led her further into the bunker, she tried to calm her nerves. As much as she didn't want to confront Crowley, part of her had an overpowering urge to see him. That old attraction was hard to shake and she couldn't quite reconcile who they said Crowley was with the person who had flirted with her on more than one occasion.

She was expecting him to look different-scary with horns and red skin or maybe black eyes like the demons who had attacked her at the casino. Instead, when Dean stepped aside to let her enter the storage room behind him, she looked up and saw HIM. The same old Crowley, sitting in a small dark room in a metal chair with a metal table in front of him.

"Hello, love." His tone was exact, just as she'd remembered it every single time he'd said it n the past.

"Hi," she mumbled, walking past shelves of boxes and into the room Crowley was occupying. She kept her eyes down so he couldn't catch her gaze.

"My sincerest apologies for the incident at the casino." He knew everything to say to make her feel like he was a nice guy, not a demon.

Hazel stopped just inside the door. "You don't seem like one of them," she told him.

"I'm much more civilized, love." His placed his hands on the table and she could see the silver cuffs glint in the low light.

She turned, looking for support from Sam or Dean. "Are you sure he's a..."

"Yeah, he's definitely a demon," Dean said. "Show her."

"Whatever do you mean, Squirrel?"

"Show her your eyes. Your real eyes."

"These are my real eyes."

Dean took Hazel's upper arm in his had. "Okay, let's go."

"No!" Crowley's voice cut across the room. When Hazel glanced up at him in shock, his eyes flickered to red. No white, no iris, no pupil. Just solid, blood red that sent a chill down her spine.

"Holy shit," Hazel mumbled, backing out of the room. Sam stopped her with his hands outstretched in front of him. "He's-his eyes..."

"He's a crossroads demon," Sam explained from behind her. "They usually have red eyes. The run-of-the-mill demons have black eyes."

"You were serious with me when you told me you could give me a bestseller," Hazel said, finally meeting Crowley's gaze.

Crowley's eyes reverted to normal. "Of course I was. Are you reconsidering?"

"No," she said immediately. "Why me?"

"Why not you?"

She took a few steps forward, stopping just inside the door of the dungeon. "I'm nothing special. Why drag me into this?"

Crowley shrugged. "Honestly, I didn't intend to. You were just an insurance plan in case these two," he nodded at Dean and Sam, "decided to pull a fast one on me. And, as expected, they did."

"Why even talk to me, though? I told you no."

"Are you referring to my asking you to have sex with me or offering the deal for your soul?"

"What?" Dean and Sam both said at the same time.

Hazel felt the blush spread across her cheeks. "Both."

"You're my type."

"And what type is that?"

"Beautiful and strong-willed."

She opened her mouth, but had no response. It wasn't everyday that someone hit her with a complement like that. But he was a demon and he was probably trying to do anything he could to get out of the room.

"Cut it out," Dean said. "Stop hitting on her and tell us where the key is."

"I told you, moron, she IS the key."

"I'm not a key," Hazel said, trying to still her fluttering nerves. She felt frightened and anxious, yet still had that unnerving attraction to him as he sat there calmly. His eyes were trained on her and they didn't waver.

"I'm afraid you are, darling. You're the only thing securing my position at the moment with that bitch Abbadon running about."

"Well, take it away," she demanded.

"Too dangerous for me," he replied.

"And it's too dangerous for her, Crowley," Sam said, walking into the room and around to the side of the table. "We'll keep the key safe here without her being involved."

"Too risky," Crowley said, shifting his gaze from Hazel to Sam and then back again. "Besides, I could use a little company besides you two. I like that we have a houseguest."

"Fine, we'll torture it out of him." Dean's voice was a growl.

"Torture?" Hazel asked just as Crowley said, "You think you can do anything to me I haven't done myself?"

"Let's look at the Men of Letters' library and see if we can find out how to remove it," Sam offered. "Come on, Hazel. Let's go."

"And leave me all alone, love? Pull up a chair and catch me up." Crowley's voice was deep with a velvety quality to it. Just enough growl on top of all that smooth silk to arouse.

It was hard to shift gears in her head and think of him as a demon-which she hadn't believed existed until a few hours ago-and not a successful businessman who liked to flirt with the hired help. She wished she could go back to the days when he was human and she could indulge in fantasies that involved them having passionate sex on a king size bed. Now he was in chains with red eyes and had cursed her with some key that put a price on her head.

"No," she told him. "I don't have anything to say to you."

"You're breaking my heart, love."

"You don't have one, asshole," Dean snapped. "Come on, let's go."

Hazel took two steps back, unable to break eye contact with Crowley. There was something magnetic about him. And for a moment she saw a flash of something in his eyes. He looked desperate, broken, scared. It almost made her reconsider. But then Dean was in front of her, sliding the shelves that acted as doors into place. There was a thin crack where they met, but all she could see in the other room was darkness.