"So dare I ask the purpose of this impromptu meeting?" I asked, straining stiff muscles over my head, bones popping from fatigue, in an effort to shake off my anxiety. It was rare to be seen by the Devil himself - much less without an appointment - and I couldn't help but worry about the exact nature of the 'gift' I had coming.
Alastair glanced back at me, rolling his eyes with a sneer. "You Winchesters - you never stop complaining, do you?"
My family name brought a brief pang to my chest, flooding me with grief for the institution that I was once a part of, before we were scattered to the winds; my father was God-knows-where, my mother had died when I was a child, and Sam…
I shook my head firmly to clear it, watching Alastair rap his knuckles on the heavy wooden door where we'd come to a stop. After all this time, my eyes were still sharp - I saw the hesitation in his movements, the tense set of his jaw, betraying his own anxieties.
A rough voice encouraged us in as the door opened of its own accord. "Dean Winchester for you, Sire," Alastair introduced me in his nasally voice, offering me a last look of withering hatred before bowing from the room - even a worm like Alastair was subservient to the King of Hell.
"Winchester. Delightful to see you again."
I met Crowley's eyes uncertainly, unable to suppress a low shudder as I recalled the many hours I'd spent on his own rack. No matter how long I'd been free - or as free as I could be, while still bound to serve - I'd never be comfortable in the presence of this particular demon.
The newly-appointed Devil sat in prime place on his throne, black eyes fixed down on me, waiting patiently for my response. Panicked, I dropped to a knee, feeling my soul recoil at the motion.
Never thought I'd find myself scraping to a dick like Crowley, I grumbled internally, barely repressing a wince.
"Apologies for the delay, Sire. Alastair said you wanted to speak with me?" My voice cracked, unbidden, as I fought to contain my disdain, making me freeze when Crowley got to his feet.
A gentle hand on a shoulder, and I rose my head, surprised. "I have a gift for you, my dear boy."
"A gift?" I echoed, still uncertain as the King helped me up, his fingertips light on my elbow. He nodded and clapped his hands - actually clapped his hands - with glee.
"A reward. You've begun to settle into your role; perhaps you'll even rival your dear brother soon." I flinched at that, still unused to Sam's success in this world of agony and blood. "And what better way to celebrate your fall from grace than with an angel?"
The hand on my arm turned me, and a side door opened, sending a figure skittering out to kneel before us.
It was… Horrible.
I'd seen countless terrible things in my time in Hell - things that couldn't be put into words. But nothing ever made me so breathlessly horrified, so disenchanted with the universe, and with God himself.
To see something so beautiful, so pure, ripped into shreds made me sure, at last, that God could not exist.
The form before me was trembling under our gaze, the bare, pale skin of his back marred with violent scars and tattered open wounds, giving macabre visibility to the muscles underneath as they shifted.
But this was Hell - shit like this was our bread and butter, and I was relatively unmoved - until Crowley reached forward and yanked the man's head back roughly by his unruly mop of dark, matted hair.
His eyes were shockingly blue, shining reluctantly from a face that was likely well-sculpted under all of the damage. His skin here, too, was a myriad of cuts and scuffs, the sparse space between showing a rainbow of bruises in various stages of healing. My heart jackhammered as our gaze met, and I could imagine, somewhere in the ghosts that haunted the taut skin stretched across his cheekbones, what he would have been like before all this. He would have been flawless, his bodies perfect and untouched - unmarked. He would have been beautiful.
But those eyes were still staring into my soul, instantly haunting. He could see straight through me, piercing me deeper than any knife, revealing every sin committed, every injustice received. But somehow, they were also empty. So devoid of any emotion than wasn't all-encompassing fear, and so overwhelmingly resigned to his fate that I had difficulty swallowing around lump in my throat.
"You know what to do," Crowley prompted, a sharp edge to his voice. The man nodded weakly, and half a second later, smoke-like tendrils extended from his body, spreading six foot either side of his frail body. Crowley growled, kicking out, his foot connecting heavily with the man's ribs and eliciting a quiet whimper. "All the way. Or I'll pull them out myself."I opened my mouth, panicked, but any words I'd been about to offer on this poor creature's behalf died unspoken as I was surrounded by an ethereal cocoon of emerald feathers. Instead, a stunned gasp fell from my parted lips without my control, and I blinked owlishly.
"Oh," I muttered, too shocked to think clearly. "You really meant… An angel."
Crowley grinned wolfishly, and waved a hand. "That's enough, pet." The wings vanished in an instant, melting seamlessly back into their owner, who had once more dropped his gaze away from the pair of us. "I acquired him in a trade a few months ago - in Earth time, that is. Quite a clever bit of bargaining on my part, I must say," he added, looking away with false modesty. "I thought you'd like a turn. He's a very obedient pet - always very eager to please. Aren't you, pet?" Crowley directed this last part back at the man - the angel - who nodded quickly.
"Yes, Sir," he whispered in response, and I took another sharp intake of breath. His voice, though cracked and damaged - likely from screaming, if my experiences both on and off the rack had taught me anything - was lyrical and soothing as honey, and I instantly wanted to hear him say more.
And, come on, 'Sir'? In any other situation, I'd have been drooling - but there was nothing sensual about the man before me now.
"Does he have a name?" I asked reluctantly, unable to tear my eyes away from the crown of the angel's head. Crowley laughed, and shrugged.
"Call him what you like. He's yours now. I just stuck to 'pet'… When I was feeling nice." He released another predatory grin, and reached out to tousle the man's hair, making him curl further into himself. "I must warn you - I think I've broken the spirit from him, so he might not put up much of a fight. But if it's fight you want, I'm sure I can-"
"No!" I interrupted quickly, switching the cold focus of the King's eyes to me instead and making me duck my head hurriedly. "I-I mean… No, thank you. He's… Amazing. A gift I don't deserve. Thank you, Sire."
Crowley watched me a moment longer, silently calculating, before nodding once. "Keep up the good work, Winchester. Take the rest of the day off… And enjoy your reward."
Without another glance at the trembling angel before him, he turned on his heel, retreating to his throne and leaving me scrambling for a coherent thought.
"So… I guess you're coming with me now?" I offered hesitatingly. As if on cue, the man rose to his feet, his gaze still downcast, and allowed me to lead him wordlessly from the throne room of the King of Hell, and personal tormentor to us both.