Chapter 7:

She hadn't woken for more than three days. She alternated between heavy sweats and shaking chills. She murmured in her sleep, terrible things, wonderful things. And Crowley tended her. He had never so much tended anything. Even when he had been a human, he hadn't cared so closely for someone. Most of it had not been too uncomfortable, moving blankets, putting cold compresses on her forehead, tending the wound. But some of it had been awful. For hours she had sobbed, her whole body had seized, and the pain in her choking voice had been unbearable.

Thank the fires below she wasn't sobbing anymore, just shivering in her blankets. Crowley sat next to her, carefully wrapping the blankets tight around her. Then suddenly her eyes flew open, Crowley jumped slightly.

"You're awake."

She pushed herself up, looking dizzy and bleary. "Yeah…where are we?"

"Your dirty motel room," he answered shortly.

"Dirty…oh…" her face hardened, her eyes got a bit clearer, "What are you doing here?" Her voice was more harsh than it had been.

He sneered at her, "I saved you. I burned your wound shut, you were bleeding out your soul and I healed you, stayed with you for three days. You would have died in the doorway if I weren't here, you ungrateful twit."

She sat back, looking almost abashed, "Oh. You saved me?"

"Yes, that's what I've been saying."

"Why?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, "you don't get to interrogate me." He said evenly, he had not labored over her unconscious form for three days so that he could answer uncomfortable questions, he had labored over her unconscious form for three days so that she could answer uncomfortable questions. Unreasonably enraged he stalked toward the door, she could heal herself. Damn her.

"Wait."

He stopped and turned. "You can stay," she said softly, "If you want."

He did want to. He kept his distance, leaning against the chest of drawers. "Why did you kill those people? At that store."

She laughed darkly, "Death was better than what they could have gotten, if I hadn't been there."

He raised an eyebrow, "The Winchesters don't see it like that, you know, you're number one on their list."

She flinched like he had struck her, "Do they know? What the creature does? The real one?"

"They have their suspicions."

This was easier, talking about monsters and Winchesters, he didn't say things like I don't want to be alone. He tried not to flinch.

"Do you know what he does?"

"He? And no, not really. The souls, what does he do with them?"

"Eats them."

"…eats them? So they don't go anywhere they're just-"

"-gone." She finished for him.

He laughed, "So you're a hunter. Saving people."

She looked at him, straightening her back and jutting her jaw proudly, "Yes."

He shook his head, "You'll have a hard time convincing Moose and Squirrel not to murder you, regardless."

She furrowed her brow, "Moose and Squirrel?" she seemed to grasp his meaning and smiled, almost as quickly her smile hitched, "Which one is Squirrel?"

"Dean. The short one."

She smiled softly, nostalgically to herself. Then she caught herself and straightened her expression, "What do you know about them? The Winchesters."

"Well I saw that you had been doing your homework on them. And you took a motel room right next to theirs, I saw you listening to them. To Dean." He had planned to say more, really interrogate her. But she was flagging, she needed rest. He cut himself off. "Look, you need to rest. Sleep."

She shook her head, "Nah, I hate sleeping while I'm still healing, I get…the worst dreams."

Crowley rolled his eyes, "Fine, stay awake."

Nevertheless she lay back down, keeping flat on her back to not hurt her shoulder, she closed her eyes and let out a pained sort of moan. "Would you….read to me?"

"You want me to read those silly Supernatural books to you? Outloud?" he sneered.

She nodded, looking cozy and, he despaired, very cute.

He removed his shoes, sat on the opposite side of the bed, back resting against the headboard "Fine."

He clicked his fingers and there appeared a supernatural book his hand, the one she been so keenly working on before.

She smiled sleepily at him, "Skip the racy parts, will you?"

He made a face, "You wound me."

XXXXX

Her healing continued as such for three further days. She was still bedridden. He brought her food, kept her relatively clean, and read to keep her from sleep for as possible. For when she nodded off, she would scream out, sob, and thrash. She would also, on occasion, smile and laugh and sigh. But these didn't seem to weigh out the screaming, sobbing and thrashing.

Crowley was preparing a new bandage for was brushing her fingers over her wound. They physical would had healed fast, already scabbing over. She flinched when she touched it. Then she jumped, "I'm wearing a different shirt. I'm wearing your shirt. Is this your shirt?"

She was indeed. Her shirt had been all but destroyed and he had had to cut it off to tend to her wound. She hadn't had any button front shirts, so he had given her one of his, so he could easily undress and dress the wound.

"Yes," he responded, "That's one of mine, so I could tend your wound. Don't worry, I did nothing untoward."

She touched the shirt softly and looked up at him. In a tender voice, much more tender than she had used toward him before she spoke, "Thank you, Crowley."

"You're welcome. But this does bring up a question I've been meaning to ask. What is your name?"

She grimaced, "I said before, Mary."

He laughed coldly, "No it isn't." He leaned forward, insistent, "You're lying, and there is no reason to, unless, as I'm beginning to suspect, you know me. And you can't deny it now, while you were hurt, you spoke to me like a companion, told me how to tend your wound, trusted me to care for you. While you were unconscious you called out to me. Now tell me, Mary, how do you know me?"

"You're more than three hundred years old, you've probably known a lot of people you don't remember."

He frowned, "Stop lying to my, girl, tell me what I need to know."

Her voice grew harsh again, rushed, "I've never known you," she gave him a cold, twisting sneer, "But it worked didn't it, you fixed me up, watched me for three days, all because I gave you sweet sad eyes!"

He gripped her wrist and twisted it, "You dare to –" then he stopped, staring at that sneer. He knew that sneer. Had perfected that sneer. "….are you…conning me?"

She looked taken aback, "No…I…Crowley…you seem to think that we have some bond…but you're wrong. Why would it even matter if I knew you…you don't know me."

"It matters."

"Why?" her voice was growing desperate, "Why could I possible interest you? Go kill angels, go collect magical artifacts, make deals, steal souls, GO RULE HELL." Her voice had risen to a fury, "Don't you have something better to do that track me around, heal me up, ask me questions. DON'T YOU HAVE EVERYTHING YOU WANT?!"

His voice rose with hers, "JUST TELL ME IF I AM SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHO YOU ARE! You forgot where you were, what you knew when your soul was leaking out of you, did that creature attack me? Did I forget who I am? Did I forget you? TELL ME WHAT YOU ARE TO ME!"

"I can't Crowley, why do you have to ask for that? For that, out of anything, why do you have to ask me the one thing I can't give you? Why do you have to know if you know me? Why does it matter to you if you knew me? Why is it so important?"

His voice, sharp and desperate, lashed from his lips before he could consider it, "BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO BE ALONE!"

She looked at him, muddy nearly green eyes cutting into his, they looked ravaged, he could not truthfully say if his looked any better.

She raised a quaking hand to his face and held it to his cheek softly. There was no saving his dignity now, so instead of attempting to he gave in to his impulse and leaned his face against her hand. She caressed him with her thumb and he closed his eyes to the sensation. He leaned toward her, her eyes, like his, were lidded and not looking away.

A fraction of an inch from her, he turned his head slightly, letting his lips touch hers, he did not dare to speak. She didn't move. He waited a few breaths then, pressed his lips softly against hers. Her hand tightened on his face and she returned his kiss with desperation. Her fingers curled in his hair, like he liked. Just like he liked. Her hand tugged at the absolute perfect spot, neither too roughly nor too soft. Her lips moved against his in such perfect ways. She kissed him as though she had been specially designed for kissing him. It was electricity.

She pulled her head back, suddenly and fiercely, "I can't"

He felt like the world was tilting beneath him, he growled, "Why not?" When she moved away from him he felt like his orbit was changing.

She breathed harshly, "Look at the scar this wound will leave, you've seen the others, I'm sure. Leaking soul leaves marks, marks you don't have. You have never known me."

AN: I hope you liked it! The next installment might be up tomorrow! And thank you to all my beautiful reviewers, I got such a downpour of affection from them for the last chapter, it made me so bright and cheery, so thank you all VERY MUCH. It makes my heart all warm that you guys like my story!