K guys, so I updated the rating for this, it is M now. And I feel obliged to throw a VIOLENCE warning to you. So

WARNING : VIOLENCE

Chapter 24: Prisoner

From the Journal of Bobby Winchester

My worst days were spent in the Olympian prison. Dad, I want to tell you that I was okay, and that it wasn't too bad. I really want to tell you that everything was fine and I was there for a single frightening night and then in my Winchesterian resolve I discovered a way to not only escape but bring Olympus down around me. But if I'm just going to lie, then writing to you doesn't have any point at all.

I was destined to live and breathe for another 6000 years after this. Right until I followed you in your baby circa 2014. But my worst days were spent in Olympus.

Zeus left, that first day and I remained unscathed. I didn't sleep, I didn't have to anymore and I had nothing to lull me into any sort of meditation. The days strung together, night did not fall, the weather did not change. I was stranded without company or a gauge of time. I murmured in a low voice to the old ghosts of my childhood. But if Zeus thought that this would wound me, he was mistaken. If there is a soul residing on the earth, above it, or beneath it, who is more resilient to solitude than I am, I pity their upbringing. So those first days were not so bad. After all, I had the tools I needed to combat this. This was a familiar pain.

I occasionally, even, had a silent and solitary visitor, a woman, goddess, I suppose who came and stared at me with dark and brooding eyes. She was tall and straight backed, dark curling hair twisted elegantly. She wore a thin circlet about her head and I hazarded my guess at Hera. She never spoke, but her eyes blazed with anger when she looked at me. I was not sure why.

I wondered as I waited if Crowley was doing anything to rescue me or if I was going to have to rescue myself. I was happy to try, but I would have to kill that hundred eyed dog and I was entirely unarmed. I had started to watch the gods who walked passed me, trying to see which of them carried weapons that could be theoretically lifted off of them. As far as I could see my only viable target was Apollo, with a thin dagger that protruded from his left boot. Athena's spear was always clutched in her hand and Artemis kept her knives at her hips. Apollo's dagger I thought I could get. But he would have to get so close. I didn't want him so close.

I tried to plot and scheme ways to get him near enough me to get it. Crowley would have been good at this, but I couldn't think of a way to get him to me without it ending in serious personal damage. So I waited and envisioned hellhounds eating Zeus to stave off boredom.

The long tedium did not last into perpetuity. It was, I would guess six days after my capture, but it could have been two, or it could have been twenty, when my horizons darkened. Zeus came, anger was in his eyes and excitement. His echoic steps rung out and he mounted the platform, chest bare, hands flexing. I tried to leave as much of a space between us as I could. He would not really hurt me though, that would be part of the bargain. Crowley was so good at bargaining, he would have thought of that, right?

"I have word from your Lord Husband," he said a bit mockingly. I was afraid, he did not sound triumphant or defeated, I did not think this conversation would precipitate my going home. "You were right, little girl," he continued, "He isn't going to trade for you. He won't leave his underworld and he doesn't seem to care about you. I gave him my offer and do you know what he said?" He leaned close to me and his vitriolic breath burned me, "He told me to keep you."

My guts seized up. I tried desperately to say something sarcastic or mean or nonchalant, but it didn't come. My mouth opened but I only gasped. Was Crowley really not coming? I understood that he could run Hell now, entirely without me, he could probably track down and learn how to kill, or have killed, all of the Hellions. I understood that I was no longer a necessary part of his leadership. I did think he would want me to be part of his leadership. Real true fear was icicling through my blood. I had no protection, no master of negotiation was wheedling to keep me undamaged. I would be saved by Zeus' mercy alone, which seemed to be in scant supply.

I backed up as Zeus loomed toward me but as I reached the edge the many eyed dog snarled and snapped at me, its rancid breath coating my nose. I scrambled from the edge, to keep those teeth from me, bringing me unbearably close to Zeus. He bent and lifted me, holding me up by the arms, "Stupid little harlot," he said, voice unnervingly tender, as I kicked and squirmed.

I tried so hard not to shudder. I wanted to be strong and shrug him off and allow him to visit whatever upleasantries he had planned upon my body while I remained removed and stoic. Dad, I wanted to be like you in Hell, I know you survived for thirty years of torment, but his hands were on my bare shoulders and I could hardly do anything to keep myself from crying. Why wasn't Crowley here?

He had already had me stripped of my armor, long ago, the first day, and what remained was the tight fitting and not particularly opaque underclothing.

His face twisted and he growled at me, a voice low and menacing, hot breath intruding across my face. "You wounded my son, you murdered half of my men, if it weren't for you, I would already be on the Underworld's throne. You think you are so strong, I will show you. I will show you that you are nothing. A crying, frightened woman."

I was supposed to be the Queen of Hell. I was supposed to be dauntless and unbreakable. I was supposed to be a Winchester.

I did fight him. I kicked and spit and bit. He was so strong and the dog, he called him Argus, snarled behind me and I tried so hard to get away but he grip was unrelenting. And he could hold me down with only a single hand and fabric tore so easily beneath his fingers and I did cry.

I stopped counting by days and began counting by Zeus' visitations. Five. Eleven. Sixteen. I thought I would become hardened to him, but I did not. Dad, this is the only request I'm going to give you. If you ever get the chance to murder Zeus, take it. Take it and tell him that Persephone sent you.

Seventeen. Battered and perpetually bleeding I swore on my father's car that I would not die up here on this god rock. I would not. I lived on muttering to myself and my ghosts who offered so little protection. Eighteen. The dog needed to be killed. If Argus were killed an hour or so after Zeus had left. Nineteen. I would have time to flee, I could make it at least a little ways, perhaps hide. Twenty. Before I was caught. At the very least. Twenty One. Die on my own terms.

Twenty Two. Apollo kept a knife in his boot.

Twenty Three. I no longer cared how close he would be to me, the next time I saw him I was prepared for him and I cat called at him as he walked passed me, "How is your shoulder, baby?" I snarled, trying desperately to sound sultry and mocking and not at all desperate and unfixable.

He turned and regarded me, anger sparkling in those clear blue eyes. I had him I had him I had him. "Oh, still sore?" I asked jeeringly. "Maybe your sister can teach you to fight a bit better."

He stalked toward me and I did my best to look afraid, rather than triumphant. I didn't think the blade would kill him, he was a god. I needed him to leave without knowing that I had it. He stepped up onto the platform, boots clicking as he approached me.

"Are you trying to frighten me, Goldilocks?" I asked, he trembled in rage.

He leaned down and gripped my chin, "I will show you fear, whore." He snarled. His snarl was not particularly snarling, he couldn't really remove the musical quality of his voice and those little hands were not so frightening after Zeus' large and vicelike ones. But there was a uniquely intimidating quality to being attacked by something so beautiful. He struck me across the face and I let myself stumble, it was important he get a rush from defeating me. He had to enjoy this. He had to feel like it was a victory. He laughed his mellifluous laugh and rushed me, pushing me down onto the marble platform. I fought with half of my strength, I maybe could have even gotten him off of me, but that wasn't the object. I fought until he would feel giddy from keeping me down. He was wild and vengeful and caught up entirely in his victory, he never noticed his knife disappearing from his boot.

He left, humming beautifully. I wondered if I should count that.

I carefully held my body between Argus and the knife and threw myself down onto the tatters of my clothing that I had balled into something suitable to lay against. I tried to seem as if I was upset by the encounter, giving me a reason to hold the tatters so close. I couldn't use the knife now, I didn't know how far Zeus was from me and I needed time. I secreted it into my bundle and I waited.

My stomach twisted in a nasty shock. I had to go now. Apollo was going to realize his knife was missing. If I was discovered with it before I could leave it would be the end. I slid the knife back from the bundle and gripped it in my fingers. I rolled up, back to Argus, facing the edge of the platform. I scooted toward it.

Argus growled. I took a step closer and he began his approach, snarling and snapping. I swung my legs over the edge and he leapt, teeth leading.

I wanted to cry out in victory, but I remained silent, I spun onto my back and threw up my hands, catching him above me so he could not snap at my neck. I locked my elbow and pointed the dagger upwards, letting him impale himself down upon it. I sliced down his stomach, though his coating of eyes and his insides fell from his skin and down onto me. The knife bit through him like he was made of water. I was off the platform and gone before he had stopped twitching.

I fled from the dead dog in the direction opposite where Zeus went, willing it to lead me off the mountain. My feet were stinging. The ground was not immaculate and I didn't have any shoes. But I could see the edge of a cliff and the tantalizing breath of freedom. And then someone was in my way.

I stopped, bloody dagger held out. If it could not kill a god, it could cut out their throat and saw through their hamstrings, which would give me time. Facing me was a destructively beautiful woman. Goddess, I supposed. Her hair was caramel colored and caught the light like gemstones. I was struck breathless, unmovable.

"Get out of my way." I said, trying to be commanding, "Let me go. Please."

She laughed and shivers went up and down my body. "Not quite yet." She held out her arms, full of fabric, "Take it. Take it and go straight downwards, there is a field beyond, go through the field and cross the water. You will be safe there, across the water."

I snatched the cloth, a sun gold dress and pulled it over my head, delicate and too large in the bust for me, but so much better than nothing. "Why?" I asked, lost.

Her face took on animalistic lines, "You are not the only one to hate Zeus. Now go. I will give you more time."

I didn't need telling again and I hurled myself over the edge of the cliff and scrambled down the edge until I reached a steeper point that required real climbing. My feet were bleeding along with my fingers, but I was already gone. Even if I saw him coming I could drop to oblivion. Death on my own terms or freedom. The only part I feared was crossing the field, but I still had the knife, perhaps I could be fast enough to keep Zeus from dragging me back.

By the time I was down the mountainside my skin, nearly every inch of it was raw. I bled steadily from my feet, and blood still dripped down my thighs, but I could not pause to tear cloth from my dress to wrap them. Fear blossomed though me and the second my feet touched the ground I sprinted, not caring that I was so tired I felt moments from death or that my limbs ached. I could not go back. I could not go back. Death was better than that place.

The field was long and filled with flowers dappled in sunshine. But it provided no cover and the sun beamed on my back. I feared Apollo could see me. I should have. I ran, leaving bloody tracks in the field. A hundred yards from the bank of the water, I didn't quite know what it was yet, but it looked perhaps like a sea, lightning crackled inches from my ear, striking down near my feet and blackening the grass. I sobbed and looked over my shoulder, Zeus, in his chariot was coming down the mountain, his flying horses galloping across the air to me. I was not going to make it to the water. I stumbled on, tears escaping. I was going to go back. I could not I could not. I pulled the knife from where I had tethered it against my leg and thought that this black end was better than Olympus.

The thunder that quaked from his horses hooves echoed through the field and overtook my perception. The knife began to bite my flesh. I wondered how fast I could make myself bleed out. Did I have enough time? Then the ground opened. Triumphal black horses erupted from the chasm, pulling behind them a dark and smoking chariot. A man in sleek black armor stood, wide stanced in the chariot's bed. The horses charged around me and, standing between me and Zeus. They slowed to a stop and I was scooped up into its safety, shaking and hardly able to stand I fell into the chariot and clung. The horses snorted and stamped. The chariot turned, returning into its black rift. Zeus' lighting striking around them, his furious yell echoing.

The rift closed behind the chariot but it did not stop until we were at the palace. I didn't speak. I could smell him through his new armor. Crowley. He had come. Crowley, my Crowley. I could not see his face but it was my Crowley. Unable to stand I clung to his legs.

The chariot slowed and stopped and its rider lifted me, only then did I feel how much I hurt and carried me up the palace steps and through its corridors. The bedroom door opened of its own accord, and closed behind us. He set me down softly on the edge of the bed and took off his helm. It was my Crowley. I looked at him and he touched my hair and I shattered. I released a horrible sob and my whole body shook. He took almost no time releasing himself from the rest of his armor and he pulled me against him.

I pressed my face into his shirt and wailed desperately, "I can't go back. I can't. I can't .I can't" I could not believe I was safe in Hell. Could not believe he was really here. Could Zeus do this? Was this sort of trick within his power? I continued my sobbing mantra, "I can't go back. I can't go back."

He pet my torn hair and held me firmly, "You don't have to, kitten. I've got you. We're home. You don't have to go back. You never have to go back." He seemed surprise. Perhaps he had expected me to return as I was. Did he expect me to slug him in the arm and give him a perfunctory thank you?

I crushed myself to him, "Don't leave. You're here. You're here. Crowley, my Crowley. Don't leave. I don't want to go back. I can't go back. Don't leave."

His grip tightened and I could hear his heart pounding in his chest, the most soothing sound the world had ever made. He kissed the top of my head and I breathed what he smelled like. It was sulfuric and spicy and entirely different from Zeus ozonic smell. I breathed in all of it and listened to his heart.

"I have you, Bobs," he murmured in my hair. "I'm not going to leave."

He held me for a long time then softly, he extricated himself from me and began to bandage my hands and feet. His fingers stealing moments to touch my knuckles tenderly. I reveled in the touch that didn't wound. When their blood flow was suitably staunched he looked at me carefully and touched my hair, "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

The tears almost started again, my throat was painful and my lips trebled. I nodded. I freed myself from Aphrodite's perfumed dress. The bruises across my body stood out boldly like tattoos, purple and black on my pale skin. I His hands were so strong that he left marks shaped like them where he gripped. I almost hyperventilated, seeing those handprints that hadn't left, as though I could be seized again and taken back at Zeus whim. Long and old blood crusted across my legs. Zeus' handprints on my hips and around my shoulders, across my clavicle. Down my thighs.

The smell of sulfur intensified and I looked at Crowley. He shook. His eyes lingered on each of the handprints in turn and his entire body quaked with wrath. His eyes turned a glowing red and smoke curled from his fingers. I had not anticipated how comforting the wrath of hell could be.

He lifted a hand, the smoke wrapping around his fingers and touched one of Zeus' handprints. The smoke, as if brought to life by the contact, darted out and spread across my skin, sinking into it. It burned as warmly as Hell. He laid his entire hand over the print and my flesh devoured the hell smoke. He lifted his hand and the print was washed away. I cried out in relief.

He did this to each of the wounds until my body was whole and, eyes still red, he wetted a rag and washed me clean of the blood and dirt and sweat. I had not realized until I was clean that I too had smelled like Zeus. Then, with more delicate care than I could have dreamed lived within him, he wrapped me in a shirt he must have saved from the old days. A dark button down that smelled like cigars and Scotch.

For the first time since the battle, clean and unmarred, tucked warmly into clothes that radiated Crowley's smell, he sat against the headboard and pulled me to him, I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my ear to his chest.

"I was besieging Olympus, for you, Bobby," he said, "I did not abandon you. I never abandoned you."

I slept.

AN: So that got dark. Hope you guys…enjoyed it?