Chapter 19: An Empire in My Image

Dean punched Crowley in the jaw. Having just been poised in a crouch, he tipped over and sprawled across the floor.

"What the fuck did you do with my daughter!?"

Crowley pushed himself half upright, "That's what you stop to get upset about?"

"Yeah, you're damn right. I die and you think you can get all handsy on my kid?"

Crowley snorted, "Me? Get handsy? If you could read you would know she was the one who kissed me! Which I would like to remind you hasn't even happened yet. Besides," he stood and straightened his tie, and brushed dust from his lapel, "we're adorable together."

Dean stood imposingly and raised his fist again. Sam put out a hand, "Dean. I don't know if that's the thing to get upset about. I mean…we're both dead. Cas is some psychotic murdering monster who ate everybody in the whole world. I think we have bigger concerns that some girl who says she's your daughter shacking up with Crowley."

Dean looked indignant, "Sammy, you and me were always gonna go down bloody, and at Cas getting roped into some angel douchebag mojo ain't exactly new. But Crowley?"

"Well," said Crowley, putting on a hurt voice, still holding the journal, tucked it inside his jacket, "I intend to continue reading, do you boys care to join me someplace more comfortable?"

They glanced at each other, obviously they were going to continue reading, and Crowley had a point about finding someplace not filled with corpses.

Sam shrugged and looked down at the body, "Are we just going to leave her here?"

"No." said Dean and Crowley at the same time. Dean glowered at Crowley, "No, Sammy," he continued, "We aren't going to leave her."

"Dean, come on, we don't even know if she's really yours. I mean, she ate a heart and travelled through time? She survived alone for almost twenty years?"

Dean bent down and lifted her body tenderly, "Shut up, Sammy." He said under his breath. "Let's go, Crowley, we're finishing that journal."

Crowley shrugged and snapped his fingers.

XXXXX

A moment later they were in his office, Crowley sitting behind his desk, two overstuffed armchairs facing it. He snapped his fingers again and a long low table appeared against the wall. Dean laid the body down gingerly. Crowley took the journal out of his jacket. His hands shook slightly, he was intolerably breathless to start reading again. The scene on the river bank had ignited again the injustice of his position. This girl, Bobby, had been his, had loved him he suspected. And he had almost had her, but she was irrevocably lifeless, soulless.

He looked up at the Winchesters. Sam looked uncomfortable and unhappy, but Dean looked miserable, scowling down at his hands.

Crowley lifted the journal, "I'll read it aloud, shall I?"

XXXXX

From the Journal of Bobby Winchester

I slept that night with my head on Crowley's chest, safe in our well salted hut, his heartbeat thudding solidly in my ear. I was glad what we had done on the river bank hadn't seemed to have changed anything. I closed my eyes. His heartbeat sounded the same, felt the same against my cheek, as it had in the twenty first millennium. It was comforting. How far could I travel if I always like I was in the same place when I went to sleep. His arm was tighter around me than it had been before.

XXXXX

From the Journal of Bobby Winchester

We began work on Hell right away, the next morning. And I think, if a legion of angels had charged us and commanded us to sit still and not do that under penalty of death, Crowley would have done it anyway.

I was glad I had him to work with. As I had less than no idea how to start. We filled our bags with salt and provisions and headed out. He said we needed a deep cave. I had asked after that from my friend, Ashte. I sort of drew a picture in the sand and pointed in a direction. He pointed at himself also and looked at me questioningly. In a way, I had wanted to bring him with me. It would have been nice to have someone I knew could have my back in a real fight. I just shook my head, this wasn't a trip to be taking guests on.

So Crowley and I headed that direction, me armed well with a spear in my hand and another strapped across my back. There were other things to fear, of course, than ghosts.

The cave, when we reached it, had a thin opening, a crack running straight across the ground. Crowley stopped and considered it, peering through it with narrowed eyes. He paced around it, glaring and thinking. I sighed with impatience.

I immediately dropped through it, catching myself on the lip and, hanging down, looked up at him, "Come on, are you the King of Hell or the King of I'm-not-so-sure-about-this."

He scowled at me, "I only survived for four hundred years by not taking risks like this."

I scoffed, "You only survived the last three years because I leapt on a Hellion I didn't know how to kill on the off chance something would work out."

I laughed at his irritated frown and, glancing down to see how far the drop was, released my handhold and fell. I rolled when I hit the ground and came up a little jarred but undamaged. I looked around me. The cave was a curving, winding thing. The drop had been about twenty feet and had widened from its thin entrance to be about five feet across. It bent down, like a passageway into the earth. I looked up.

"Crowley, come on."

He had shimmied his way through the entrance and was trying desperately to find a way to climb down, rather than drop. I put my hand on my hip and sighed. "It's not that far, just let go and roll when you hit the ground so you don't break your ankles."

He snarled over his shoulder at me, "I can get down a ravine without the help of a foolhardy child."

I shrugged, "Ok, then I won't help you."

All in all, it took him twenty minutes of angling and shimmying and grasping for handholds before he just gave up and dropped, rolling as I had told him to. He hadn't managed to spring up to his feet as I had and came to a halt, mostly unhurt, sitting disheveled on the ground.

I turned my head and regarded him, "You good?"

He gave me his dirtiest sneer and stood up. "I'm fine."

I laughed, "Ok, lead on, where do we start?"

Still looking ruffled, he pushed passed me and continued down through the cave, I followed him, holding back laughter. He continued down a short ways until we came to a passage with a long flat wall. By this time, it had become dark enough that I had lit a torch.

He gazed for a long time at the wall then nodded shortly.

"I will need to draw the sigils here. It's going to take awhile. I'll need some human blood."

I let the silence sit for awhile then asked, "You want my old underpants?"

He rolled his eyes, and said smartly, "it wouldn't be enough."

"Oh, it'd be enough."

"For Hell's sake, just roll up your sleeve and open a vein."

"Sure, but if I ever announce that I need demon blood you're going to have to be just as compliant."

"Whatever."

I stopped, a knife poised over my arm, "I'm sorry, is that the way you make deals?"

"You want this to be a formal deal?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, I do."

He snarled and shoved me against the wall, mouth pressing aggressively against mine. I shoved him off by the shoulder and laughed, "You're just mad I saw you fall on your ass."

He stared irately at me.

I tousled his hair, "Cheer up, Crow, we are literally building you an empire right now. And you're snotting around because you fell over?"

He rolled his eyes and turned back to the wall, but looked a little less toothy.

I resumed cutting open my flesh. He handed me a jar and caught my blood in it, filling it to the rim before handing it back to him and pressing a cloth over my wound.

He dipped his fingers in the blood and starting drawing sigils and symbols across the wall. It was all a little boring to me. Watching him paint, every once in awhile needing more of my blood. It was a little worse every time, filling that jar. It all made me a little dizzy.

The sixth time he absently handed me the jar, I filled it with blood and nearly dropped it. My hands were shaking and I was light headed. The cold that had been creeping up on me swept up. He took the jar and I sat down, trying to clamp my already saturated cloth against my wound. A lot of blood had leaked out from the cloth.

He started painting again, filling the wall with his symbols. I closed my eyes.

He barked and I wrenched them open again, "One more, Bobby."

"Huh?" I said from the ground. The cave was spinning a little. I looked up at him disoriented. My heart was beating so fast.

"Bobby I need – oh…Bobby."

He crouched down next to me and pushed my now sweaty hair off my forehead, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah.." I said trying to push my way to my feet, "Yeah, give me the jar."

He handed it to me, which sort of irritated me, since I felt like it should have been more of a fight, but I pulled off the excuse for a bandage and let the jar fill one more time. He took it carefully and set it behind him, then turned back to me and pulled something out of his bag. My vision wasn't exactly one hundred percent, but I thought it was a tie. He wrapped it around the crux of my elbow and pulled it painfully tight. Then he took fresh cloth and bound the wound.

He stood and, picking up the jar, continued his work. I lay there, shaking and cold while he did.

"I'm finished." He said finally, stepping back to look at his work.

He didn't need to say it. I already knew. The sigils were glowing dark. There was a rushing in my ears and electricity lit through my nerves. I arched up and yelled. My bleating heart pumped harder, rocketing my blood through my veins. My vision cleared and took on a sharpness I had never known. Every line and every curve in front of my was clear and bright. I could feel energy rippling through me. I was standing, without realizing I had stood up.

Crowley was staring at me, looking awed and frightened.

Dark smoke curled from the sigils and wrapped itself around my chest. I felt tendrils leak down my arms and my skin knit itself back together. The smoke pushed its way through my flesh and I hummed with power.

I lifted my hands and pressed them solidly against the wall. Cracks formed under them and spiked up the wall and crackled around my fingers. The cracks opened and spread, curling and transforming.

They wrapped inwards around themselves. I twisted my hands and dug my fingers into the vertical crevice. I pulled hard, it bent beneath me, growing and animating. I pushed it until it gaped, a hole as wide as my armspan, then it stopped and the power did not so much fade and lie down.

I looked at Crowley. His eyes were wide and he had backed up until he was against the wall. I looked through the gaping hole and grinned, "You coming or what?"

Without waiting for his response, I stepped through the doorway into nothing.

This time, Crowley followed after me immediately. He stood slightly behind me. I felt the same feelings I had when we had travelled in time. The pressing nothingness. But my skin didn't burn or peel. I was resilient.

Inside my flesh I crackled.

"Make it a fortress, darling." Crowley murmured in my ear.

I thought of the Hellions, swooping in and storming it. I pulled my hands upward and, like wrenching something from the ground, rocketed them above my head. Great thick stones burst from the ground that was creeping out under our feet and towered into the sky. Tall, asymmetrical and imposing.

Crowley whispered darkly in my ear, "How about a palace, love?"

I grinned and twisted my hand and in the distance elegant walls carved their way upwards, curling in on themselves to form twisting corridors and secret rooms. Black earth was spreading in a cataclysm around me. Hell being born under my feet.

He whispered something else, but a thought had taken over my mind. I looked out over the dark wastelands I had made, dark rocks and spindling towers and thought of the innocent dead driving themselves mad on Earth. I thought of the leagues of dead children and dead lovers and I thought of Ethan. I had been ready to condemn them to this dark pit.

I let my arms fall briefly and reimagined it. It did not have to be the Hell of nightmares. "A haven." I said softly. I, with utmost care, turned my palms upward and let them glide above my head. The vast, lifeless ground sprouted, living grass erupted around us, flecked with golden flowers. Trees grew up, heavy with fruit.

The walls grew taller around it, more menacing. Thick dark water churned at the base of the walls, a deathly moat curving its protection around my realms. Sweet, clear ponds filled before us.

Having guided its growth, I bent down and let energy flow unrestrained into it. It spread out like a child, happily out of my control. I felt partially drained of the power I had just taken, it was outside of me, multiplying and modifying. I grinned proudly.

"How's that, Crow?"

"Maybe not how I would have done it."

I laughed, "You didn't do it."

"This isn't how it's supposed to look."

I glanced back at him, "We decide how it's supposed to be."

"You're magnificent."

I slung my arm around him and let my tired head fall on his shoulder.

He looked out over the green fields and let his eyes stop at the palace looming in the distance, he looked down at me, "Bobby, will you be my Queen of Hell?" he said it with the utmost sincerity, his voice gentle and low.

I took a step back, "Why do you get to ask that?"

He stopped and furrowed his brow, "What?"

"I just made this place, this is my place. Why do you get to ask if I want to rule it with you?"

"I'm the King of Hell."

I grinned darkly at him, "You were the King of Hell, this isn't your kingdom."

He looked angry and unsure. I smirked and shoved his shoulder with mine, "So, will you be my King of Hell?"

He looked at me with this dark sort of crazed look on his face.

I laughed. I laughed so hard my stomach started hurting. The corner of Crowley's mouth turned up and then he started laughing too. We shook with laughter. I fell over, unable to keep myself upright. Tears were leaking down his cheeks.

I reigned myself in and leapt up. Energy was still buzzing through me. "Let's let'em in yeah?" I asked.

I didn't wait for his reply, I wasn't going to kick of this equal party leadership by waiting for permission. I ran off, my feet light on the ground, the sweet air whipping passed me. I darted through the doorway, which, having been shut tight, opened wide as I approached. I ran as though I had wings on my feet. Soaring up the passage. I leapt high at the rough wall of the crevice and climbed, each toe hold finding me.

I launched myself into the darkness above me, it was night and I was glad. I hooted happily into the night. I fled through the night, light and aware, into the village.

The ghosts beset them, banging against doors, howling at salt lines. They turned in unison when I entered, stopping their howling and looking upon me. I raised my hands.

I tensed my shoulders and pushed my hands toward the dark sky. Behind me a door rose, tall and imposing. It smashed open, wind blowing my hair forward.

I didn't need to say a word. The ghosts rushed me, pouring passed and into my Hell. As each entered I felt a spark of power rush into me, thundering in my blood.

The door was still open but the ghost multitude had gone through, I turned to follow them home. A call made me turn back.

Ashte stood, eyes wide and afraid, holding his spear weakly. He asked something, I knew enough of his tongue by then, it was something like, "What are you?"

I opened my mouth to announce my name, scream 'Bobby Winchester' at the ancient world. But the words died in my throat. How could I call myself a Winchester? How could I allow what I was to be the world's first taste of what it meant to be a Winchester? I couldn't just say 'Bobby.' I suddenly desperately wanted my dad to be here. To look at me proudly and introduce me himself. 'This is my kid,' he'd say with a little grin, 'Bobby. Bobby Winchester.'

But he wasn't here. And if he were, he would probably put a knife in my chest before he would do that. So I looked at Ashte and, broadening my shoulders, lifting my chin, I said the only name which was fitting.

"Persephone."

AN: There is it you lovelies who waited so patiently! Toss me a review and tell me what you think!