AN: Some interludes from Reed's time without Sam and Dean. I'm sorry, I know this just keeps getting longer and longer, but I had these ideas of what Reed was getting up to while Sam and Dean were saving the world and I just had to get them out of my system. Also, I'm overly attached to Lucifer at the moment.
Leila had been tending bar at The Thirsty Dog long enough to recognize trouble when it walked through the door. The woman who came in that night - she was trouble in all the usual ways. Pretty, but with an edge to her that said she knew how to handle herself. The kind of customer who could drink most men under the table while keeping her eyes sharp.
But there was something else about her, something Leila couldn't quite put her finger on. The woman moved like a predator, but there was an emptiness to her expressions that made her skin crawl. Like someone had carved out everything that made her human and left behind just the dangerous parts.
"Whiskey," the woman said, sliding onto a barstool. "Double. Neat." Her voice was pleasant enough, but it didn't match her eyes. Nothing seemed to match her eyes.
Leila poured the drink, watching as the woman's gaze swept the bar with mechanical precision. Not checking out the crowd though - no, this was something else.
"Rough night?" Leila asked, mostly to be polite. The woman's answering smile was wrong - like it was a facial expression she'd read about in books but didn't quite know the purpose of.
"Just waiting for someone," she said, and took a slow sip of her whiskey.
The man who walked in twenty minutes later - he was a different kind of trouble altogether.
He wore a suit and oversized trench coat that should have made him look harmless, but something about the way he moved set off warning bells in Leila's head. His eyes found the woman immediately, and his smile... Leila had worked bars for fifteen years and had never seen a smile quite like that. It reminded her of the time she'd found a snake in her garden, all cold hunger and dangerous patience.
"Reed," he said, sliding onto the stool next to her. His voice was gravelly, but there was something underneath it that made Leila want to run. "Fancy meeting you here."
The woman - Reed - didn't look surprised to see him. If anything, she looked amused. "We both know this isn't a coincidence," she said, taking another sip of her drink. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass in a way that drew his attention. "How'd you find me?"
"I always know where to find you." He gestured for Leila to bring him a drink, but his eyes never left Reed. "Old habits."
"Whose habits?" Reed asked, and there was something deliberate in the question that Leila didn't understand. She shifted in her seat, letting her knee brush against his thigh. "Yours or his?"
The man's smile widened fractionally. "Does it matter?" His hand found her knee, and Leila expected Reed to pull away from such a presumptuous touch. She didn't. Instead, her hand settled over his, not to remove it but to hold it there.
"How are my brothers?" Reed asked, and the casual way she said it felt wrong somehow. Like she was asking about strangers rather than family. Her thumb stroked over his knuckles as she spoke, the gesture intimate in a way that seemed… wrong.
"Missing you terribly." His voice carried a note of satisfaction that made Leila's stomach turn. "Dean especially. He's not taking your... absence well." His free hand came up to brush her hair back, fingers tracing her neck, and Reed leaned into the touch like a cat seeking warmth.
"And how would you know that?" Reed's tone was purely curious, without any of the concern that should have accompanied such a question. Her fingers had found his tie, playing with it in a way that made Leila want to look away. "Last I saw, they banished you."
He laughed, and the sound made every glass behind the bar vibrate slightly. "I have my ways of keeping tabs." His hand slid higher on her thigh, and Reed responded by shifting closer, her knee now between his legs. "They're looking for another Hand of God, you know. Not having much luck."
"And you're here because...?" Her hand moved from his tie to his collar, fingers brushing his throat in a mirror of how he'd touched her before. The gesture looked possessive, predatory.
"Maybe I missed you." His other hand caught her wrist, but instead of pushing it away, he guided it to his chest. "Or maybe I thought you might know something about their progress."
Reed's laugh was empty. "I haven't spoken to them in weeks. You know that." She leaned closer, her lips almost brushing his ear. "But you didn't come here for them, did you?"
His fingers flexed against her thigh. "No?" The question carried an edge of amusement. "Tell me what I came for then."
"The same thing I did." Her teeth grazed his earlobe, and Leila nearly dropped the glass she was cleaning. "A little entertainment between battles."
"Is that what this is?" His hand found her throat, and Leila wanted to scream at Reed to run, to get away from whatever this man was. But Reed just tilted her head back, offering more access. "Just entertainment?"
"I don't know anything about what they're doing," Reed said simply, her hand still splayed over his chest. "But I might know something about what they're looking for."
His smile sharpened. "Do tell."
"Information has a price," Reed replied, and there was something terrible about how calm she was, letting this man touch her like he owned her while her own hands mapped out territory she clearly knew well.
"Doesn't everything?" His thumb brushed her lower lip, and Reed caught it between her teeth for just a moment. Leila felt the temperature in the bar drop several degrees. "What's your price these days?"
"There are rumors," Reed said, releasing his thumb to speak, "about a piece of the Ark. The boat, not the box." She took another sip of her whiskey, letting him watch her throat work. "But you'll have to make it worth my while."
The man's laugh was pure sin. "Is that why you're really here? Hoping I'd find you?" His hand slid into her hair, gripping just tight enough to make Leila wince. Reed's expression didn't change.
"Maybe I just like the whiskey." But her smile said otherwise, and her fingers were already working at his tie, loosening it with practiced ease.
"Liar," he murmured, and Leila could have sworn his eyes flashed red for just a moment. "You miss this. Miss him."
"I miss the physical sensation," Reed corrected, even as her hands continued their work on his tie. "The rest is irrelevant."
He studied her face with an intensity that felt wrong. "You know, most humans can't separate the two so cleanly. But you..." His free hand traced her collarbone. "You're something special now, aren't you?"
The entire conversation was bizarre to Leila, and it made her feel jittery with unease.
"Are we going to keep talking," Reed asked, her hand sliding beneath his coat, "or are you going to tell me what you're offering in exchange for what I know?"
His smile was terrible and beautiful. "Why don't we discuss terms somewhere more... private?"
Reed stood, leaving cash on the bar without looking at Leila. "After you."
As they left, Leila noticed how his hand settled possessively on Reed's lower back, how she leaned into his touch even as her eyes remained empty. Like a doll being moved by strings, going through the motions of desire without any of the warmth that should have accompanied it. Reed's hand found its way beneath his coat again, and the way she pressed against him as they walked made it clear exactly what kind of transaction they were heading toward.
The air felt lighter after they left, but Leila couldn't shake the feeling that she'd witnessed something fundamentally wrong. Like watching a snake charm its prey, except the prey knew exactly what was happening and walked into those coils anyway.
She poured herself a shot with shaking hands, trying to forget the way that man had smiled, the way Reed had watched him with those dead eyes. Trying to forget how wrong they had both seemed, like two predators circling each other in a dance that could only end in blood.
The next morning, she found Reed's whiskey glass had cracked perfectly down the middle, though she couldn't remember hearing it break. She threw it away without touching it, and tried very hard not to think about what that might mean.
•๑ ๑•
Marcus had hunted with the Winchesters before - all of them at some point or another, alone and together. He'd even worked a case with Reed last year, remembered how she'd patched up a nasty gash in his arm while lecturing him about proper wound care. She'd been warm then, protective even.
The Reed who helped him clear this vampire nest was someone - something - else entirely.
He watched her methodically remove another vampire's head, movements precise and economical. No wasted motion, no hesitation, no sign that she registered the blood coating her arms or the way the vampire had begged for mercy. Just clean, efficient death.
"That's the last of them," she said, wiping her machete on one of the dead vampire's shirts. Her voice carried none of the relieved exhaustion that usually followed a hunt like this. If anything, she sounded bored.
"Jesus, Reed." Marcus couldn't quite keep the unease from his voice. She'd killed six vampires in under ten minutes, moving through the nest like death itself. He'd barely had to lift his weapon. "What happened to you?"
Her smile was wrong - empty in a way that made his skin crawl. "I got better at my job."
He'd heard rumors, of course. Whispers in hunter bars about the oldest Winchester going dark somehow. About how she'd cut ties with her brothers, started hunting solo. About the trail of bodies she left behind - monsters, mostly, but there were rumors that some had been humans who got in her way. He hadn't believed it until now.
"Better?" He gestured at the carnage around them. "This isn't better, Reed. This is-"
"Efficient," she cut him off, already moving to gather their supplies. "No hesitation, no mess, no civilian casualties. Isn't that what we're supposed to want?"
Before Marcus could respond, the air in the abandoned warehouse grew heavy, charged with something that made his teeth ache. Reed's posture shifted subtly, and when she turned toward the door, her smile was knowing.
"Castiel," Marcus said with relief, recognizing the angel's familiar form. He'd worked with Castiel once before - the angel had saved his life during a particularly nasty demon case. But something felt... off about his presence now.
"Hello, Reed." Castiel's voice was gravelly as always, but there was an undertone to it that made Marcus's instincts scream in warning. The angel's eyes tracked over Reed's blood-splattered form with obvious interest. "Having fun without me?"
Reed's laugh was hollow. "Just cleaning up a vampire problem. Want to help with the bodies?"
"Actually," Castiel moved closer, and Marcus noticed how Reed didn't maintain her usual careful distance, the way she did with anyone who got into her space. If anything, she seemed to lean toward him like a flower tracking the sun. "I had something else in mind."
The way he looked at her - it was nothing like the reserved respect Marcus remembered. This was hungry and raw.
"Castiel?" Marcus started, uncertain. "Everything okay?"
"Perfect," Castiel replied, but his eyes never left Reed. His hand came up to brush blood from her cheek, and the gesture would have looked almost tender if not for the predatory look in his eyes. "You missed one, by the way. There's another vampire about two miles east. Been watching the place."
Reed tilted her head. "And you didn't kill it because...?"
"Because watching you work is so much more interesting." His thumb traced her lower lip, smearing blood. "Such precision. Such focus." His smile was wrong - nothing like the awkward almost-smiles Marcus remembered. "The empty ones always are."
Marcus felt his blood run cold. Empty ones? What the hell did that mean?
"If there's another vampire," Reed said practically, "we should handle it." But she made no move to step away from Castiel's touch. If anything, she pressed closer.
"We?" Marcus asked, his voice higher than he'd like. Something was very wrong here.
"Actually," Castiel's smile widened in a way that made Marcus want to run, "I think Reed and I can handle this one. You've had quite a night already, haven't you Marcus?"
The way he said Marcus's name - like he was tasting it, testing the weight of it - set his teeth on his edge.
"Reed," he started, not even sure what he was going to say. Warn her? About an angel? About something that felt wrong but he couldn't quite place?
"It's fine, Marcus." Reed's voice was empty of any real reassurance. "Good hunt. I'll call if I need backup again."
She was completely wrapped up in Castiel, whose hand had found her hip in a way that looked possessive rather than steadying. Marcus had never seen the angel touch anyone like that - he wanted to look away.
"But-" Marcus fought the urge to grab her arm, to pull her away from whatever was wearing Castiel's face. Because it had to be something wearing his face, right? The real Castiel would never look at her like that, never touch her like she was something he wanted to devour.
"Goodbye, Marcus." Castiel's voice carried a note of warning that made Marcus take an involuntary step back. The temperature in the warehouse seemed to drop several degrees.
Reed didn't even look back as she left with him, his hand sliding lower on her hip in a way that made Marcus's stomach turn. He caught fragments of their conversation as they walked away:
"So, this vampire," Reed was saying, "is it actually a threat or did you just want me alone?"
"Can't it be both?" Castiel's laugh was nothing like the rare, awkward chuckles Marcus remembered. This was darker. Wrong.
The last thing Marcus saw before they disappeared into the darkness was Reed's hand sliding beneath Castiel's coat, her fingers curling into his shirt to pull him closer. Like she knew exactly what he was and wanted it anyway.
Marcus waited until they were gone before fumbling for his phone with shaking hands. He had Sam Winchester's number somewhere - had to tell him something was wrong with his sister, with Castiel. Had to-
The phone sparked in his hand, battery completely drained. When he tried his backup phone, he found the same thing.
That night, Marcus drank until he could almost convince himself he'd imagined it all - the empty look in Reed's eyes, the wrong smile on Castiel's face, the way they'd moved together like predators recognizing their own kind.
Almost.
He never did manage to get through to Sam or Dean. And the next time he heard about Reed Winchester, it was just another whispered story in a hunter bar - about how she hunted alone now, except sometimes she was seen with a man in a trench coat who didn't move quite right, didn't smile quite right.
Marcus ordered another drink and tried very hard not to think about what that might mean.
•๑ ๑•
Reed found him in an abandoned church just outside of Lawrence. The symbolism wasn't lost on her - the devil in a house of God, wearing Heaven's most devoted soldier like a second skin. He stood at the altar, backlit by stained glass windows that cast colored shadows across Castiel's familiar features.
"A church? Really? Bit on the nose, don't you think?" she said by way of greeting, letting her boots echo against the worn wooden floor.
"Maybe I'm feeling nostalgic." Lucifer's smile was sharp on Castiel's face as he turned to watch her approach. His grace crackled, making the air taste like ozone. "Or maybe I just wanted to see if you'd burst into flames walking on consecrated ground."
"Technically speaking," Reed said, running her fingers along a dusty pew, "I'm not the one desecrating holy ground here."
His laugh echoed strangely in the empty church. "No, you're just the one who's about to let the devil defile you on it." He moved closer, predatory grace in every step. "Tell me, does that particular sin taste sweeter because it's him? Because you're getting what you always wanted from dear, noble Castiel?"
"Using him to try to hurt me only works if I care," Reed pointed out, though she didn't step away as he invaded her space. "Which we both know I don't anymore."
"Don't you?" His hand found her throat, thumb pressing against her pulse point. "Is that why you keep coming when I call? Why seek me out at all?" His grace sparked against her skin, making her shiver.
"Because I want to," she said simply, letting her hands settle on his chest, feeling the familiar planes of Castiel's vessel beneath her palms. "And because now there's nothing stopping me from taking what I want."
His fingers tightened slightly. "Is that all?"
"No," she admitted easily. "I also enjoy how much it bothers you that I'm not afraid of you. That I can walk away anytime I want." Her hands slid beneath his coat, mapping familiar territory. "Must be new for you."
He pulled back sharply, eyes flashing. "Careful," he warned, grace surging cold enough to burn.
"Did I hit a nerve?" Reed's smile was empty but knowing. "The devil himself, bothered by a human's indifference?" Her fingers found his tie, using it to pull him closer.
His laugh held no humor. "You really don't know when to stop pushing, do you?"
"Why should I?" She met his gaze steadily. "What's the worst you could do? Kill me?"
"I could break you," he said, voice dropping lower, eyes glowing red. "Leave you ruined for anyone else. Make sure that when - if - you get your soul back, the memory of what I did to you in his body destroys you completely."
"No," Reed corrected calmly. "You couldn't. Because I wouldn't care. I don't care now, and I can't fathom caring then." She leaned closer, lips almost brushing his. "That's what really gets to you, isn't it? You can't break something that's already empty."
His grace surged violently, cold enough to steal her breath - but before he could respond, something shifted in his eyes. Blue bled through red, and his grip on her loosened slightly.
"Reed," Castiel's voice was rough with horror. "What are you doing?"
She studied him with academic interest, noting how his hands trembled where they touched her. "Hello, Castiel. Finally strong enough to break through?"
"This isn't-" he started, trying to pull away, but she held him in place with his own tie. "You have to stop this. What he's doing to you-"
"What I'm letting him do," she corrected. "Because I want to. Because I can." Her free hand came up to trace his jaw. "Does it hurt? Watching him use your body like this? Or is part of you enjoying finally getting what you always wanted?"
"Please," Castiel's voice cracked. "This isn't you. This is what Amara did to you-"
"This is exactly me," Reed cut him off. "Just without all the guilt that kept me from taking what I wanted." She smiled, empty and sharp. "Besides, you invited him in. You opened the door. Everything that happens now? That's on you."
"To save your brothers," he said roughly. "To save you."
"And how's that working out?" She pulled him closer, until she could feel his breath against her lips. "He's wearing you like a cheap suit, I'm empty inside, and you get to watch every moment of what that combination produces." Her smile widened. "At least one of us is getting what they want."
She felt the moment Lucifer reasserted control - Castiel's eyes bleeding back to red, his posture shifting from desperate concern to predatory intent.
"Now that," Lucifer said, voice sharp with something approaching admiration, "was just cruel." His grip tightened in her hair. "I think I'm starting to see why he was so fascinated by you, even before Amara scraped you hollow."
"Aww," Reed's tone was mockingly sweet. "Are we bonding over our mutual ability to hurt him? How romantic."
His laugh was genuine this time. "You really are something else now, aren't you?" His grace crackled between them, cold and hungry. "Empty but still so sharp. Still so... fascinating."
"Just taking what I want," Reed said, already moving to close the distance between them. "Nothing more complicated than that."
"Liar," he murmured against her lips, but there was something almost like respect in his tone.
The stained glass windows cast strange shadows across the altar as Reed let herself be pulled deeper into his cold embrace.
•๑ ๑•
Reed knew something was wrong the moment he arrived. The air didn't just grow heavy with power - it crackled with it, sharp and volatile in a way that made the hair on her arms stand up. She didn't turn from her research wall, just noted how the temperature in her motel room dropped several degrees.
"Bad day?" she asked mildly, adding another pin to her map. She'd been tracking Amara's movements across three states, trying to understand the pattern to her growing power.
His laugh held that particular edge of cruelty that was uniquely his. "Oh, you could say that. Decided to pay a visit to the old homestead." His hands settled on her hips, grace bleeding cold through Castiel's vessel, making her shiver. "You should have seen them, all those self-righteous little angels practically tripping over their halos trying to avoid eye contact with big brother." He pressed his face into her neck, his breath ice against her skin.
"Heaven not living up to your memories?" She kept her voice casual as she leaned back slightly, letting him take some of her weight. His grip tightened immediately, possessive in a way that had become familiar.
"Please." The word dripped with disdain. "Heaven is exactly what it's always been - a bureaucratic nightmare full of mindless drones too scared to think for themselves. Though watching them pretend they weren't terrified was..." his lips curved against her neck, "almost worth the trip."
She tilted her head, giving him better access. "Until?"
"Until dear old Auntie Amara decided to remind everyone who's really in charge these days." His grace fluctuated, making the air crack with frost. "Just... reached out and touched Heaven itself. Didn't damage anything, didn't hurt anyone. Didn't need to." His laugh was sharp enough to cut. "Just wanted to remind us all how very, very small we've become."
The temperature dropped another few degrees as he stared at her wall of research. "Been keeping tabs on her growing power, haven't you?"
"Among other things," she agreed. "She's getting stronger, more focused." She paused, considering. "But that's not what has you rattled, is it?"
His fingers dug into her hips hard enough to bruise. "Careful," he warned, though there was something almost like appreciation in his tone. "You're getting presumptuous."
"Am I wrong?"
Instead of answering, he spun her around, pinning her against the wall hard enough to scatter her research papers. The look on Castiel's face was pure fury, but she caught something else beneath it - something that looked almost like genuine fear.
"Wrong?" His voice dropped to something ancient and terrible. "You want to know what's wrong? It's all useless - Heaven, the angels. And she..." His hands framed her face, grip nearly painful. "She's becoming something even Dad didn't see coming."
Reed studied him with that empty curiosity he'd grown oddly fond of. No judgment, no fear, just pure observation. "You saw something up there. Something that actually scared you."
For a moment, she caught a flash of something in his eyes - Castiel fighting through, drawn by the conversation about his home. Then red bled back in and his smile turned sharp. "Scared? Please. I'm just..." he paused, searching for the right word, "appropriately concerned about the cosmic balance of things."
"Liar," she said, but without heat. Her fingers found his tie in a gesture that had become familiar over these past weeks. "But then, you've always been good at that."
His laugh was genuine this time, ice-cold and delighted. "Look who's talking. The empty Winchester, playing games with the devil." His grace crackled against her skin. "Tell me, do you ever miss it? All those messy feelings that used to tie you down?"
"About as much as you miss Heaven's rigid hierarchy," she replied dryly. "Speaking of which - you didn't just come here to complain about your dysfunctional family reunion, did you?"
"No," he admitted, pressing closer until she could feel the chill of his grace through Castiel's clothes. "I came because you're the only one who sees it all clearly. No desperate hopes to cling to. No prayers to a father who isn't listening." His thumb traced her lower lip. "Just pure, empty clarity. Rather like looking in a mirror, isn't it?"
"Except I didn't choose this," she pointed out, though she didn't pull away from his touch. "Your father didn't lock me away for eons."
"No," he agreed, something dark flickering in his eyes. "But here you are anyway - just as free as me. Just as-"
"Empty?" Reed arched an eyebrow. "Please. You're practically drowning in feelings. Rage, pride, jealousy, fear..." She traced a finger down his chest. "You're many things, Lucifer, but empty isn't one of them."
His grace surged with irritation, but his lips curved into a reluctant smile. "And here I thought we were having a moment."
"We were. I just prefer my moments without self-delusion." Her hand settled over where the vessel's heart would beat. "You feel everything. That's always been your problem, hasn't it? You feel too much, too deeply. It's what got you cast out in the first place."
His fingers tightened on her hip. "Careful," he warned, though his tone was more appreciative than anything. "You're getting presumptuous again."
"Am I wrong?"
"No," he admitted, pressing closer until she was shivering at the cold of him, like ice seeping into her skin at every point their bodies connected. "But most people who point that out don't live to brag about it." His thumb traced her lower lip. "You really aren't afraid of me at all, are you?"
"Not particularly." she replied dryly. "If you were going to kill me, you'd have done it long before this."
His laugh was pure sin. "And that's why I keep coming back. Now, do you want to help me work through some of those feelings you're so fond of pointing out?"
Reed pretended to consider it, though they both knew where this was going. "Depends," she said, rolling her hips against him in a way that made him hiss. "Are you done brooding about Heaven, or should I expect more property damage?"
"Oh sweetheart," he purred, though the endearment held more bite than affection, "I'm just getting started."
Her smile was empty and sharp as she pulled him down to kiss her - all teeth and grace and barely contained power.
Hours later, Reed traced the new bruises blooming across her collar bone. His power had been more volatile than usual, leaving marks like frost burns alongside the more conventional evidence of their encounter. The whole room smelled like ash and ozone.
"Your brothers are going to get themselves killed," Lucifer said suddenly from beside her. His voice carried none of its usual mocking edge - just cold certainty. "Running around looking for Daddy's leftover toys like they'll make any difference now."
Reed turned her head to study his profile. Castiel's familiar features were arranged in unfamiliar patterns of tension. "What happened up there? Really?"
His laugh was hollow. "I told you. She reached out - touched Heaven like reality was tissue paper to her." His grace flickered uneasily. "Like it meant nothing to her."
"And Heaven's response?"
"Run and hide. What else?" His grip tightened briefly before relaxing. "The mighty Host, cowering in their corners while she tears through reality itself."
Reed processed this information. "So the angels are useless, Heaven's weapons are worthless, and Amara is stronger than ever." She kept her voice neutral. "No wonder you're tetchy."
His other hand slid into her hair, grip just shy of painful. "Tetchy," he repeated, something dangerous in his tone. "I tell you the universe is unraveling and you call me tetchy?"
"Would you prefer I panic?" She met his gaze steadily. "Start crying about the end of all things?"
That startled a genuine laugh out of him. "No," he admitted, his grip gentling slightly. "No, I suppose I wouldn't. That's what I appreciate about you actually - no melodrama, no desperate prayers, just..." he gestured vaguely with his free hand, "clarity."
"You mean emptiness," she corrected, reaching up to trace the tension in his jaw.
His eyes narrowed. "What's your point?"
"My point is, you're practically vibrating with fear right now." Her touch remained gentle even as his grace surged cold against her skin. "The mighty archangel, the Morning Star, terrified. It would be funny if it wasn't so human."
His smile turned sharp. "Such dangerous observations from someone in such a... vulnerable position."
"Please," she said dryly. "If you were going to kill me for pointing out uncomfortable truths, I'd have been dead weeks ago."
His laugh was ice. "True enough." His fingers traced the frost burns on her skin. "Though most people who notice these things about me don't live to make a habit of it."
"Most people feel fear," she pointed out. "I just see you clearly. All that pride, all that rage..." Her hand settled over his chest again. "All that terror of being nothing again."
Instead of anger, his expression turned almost appreciative. "You really are something else," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her palm that burned cold. "You see right through me."
"Hard not to," she replied. "You feel everything so loudly."
"Careful," he warned, though his smile had turned genuine. "Or I might start thinking you actually care."
"No soul, remember? Though you..." Her thumb brushed his lower lip. "You feel enough for both of us."
"I should kill you for that," he murmured, but his touch remained gentle. "No one else dares speak to me like this."
"That's probably why you keep coming back." She met his gaze hands found his shoulders, noting how the muscles tensed under her touch. "Besides, you wouldn't be here if you didn't want to talk about it."
"Wouldn't I?" His grace surged, cold enough to make her gasp. "Maybe I just wanted something warm to sink into for a while." His teeth found her throat. "Something that doesn't ask complicated questions."
"Liar," Reed said. "You could find that anywhere. You're here because I can look at the end of everything - look at you - without feeling terror."
He pulled back just enough to study her face, and his thumb traced her jaw. "With that great dark nothing where your soul used to be."
"Exactly." She shifted beneath him, using his momentary distraction to flip their positions.
His smile was genuine - terrible and beautiful and almost proud. "Demanding little thing, aren't you?" But his hands settled on her hips, holding her in place. "Well," she said practically, "I'm apparently a good distraction when you're feeling tetchy."
"There is that."
•๑ ๑•
Sarah Martinez had been hunting for fifteen years, but something about Reed Winchester set her teeth on edge. It wasn't anything obvious - the woman knew her stuff, handled her weapons with practiced ease, and had an encyclopedic knowledge of lore that would make Bobby Singer proud. But there was something missing behind her eyes, something fundamentally wrong about how she approached their current case.
They were tracking a pack of werewolves that had been targeting a local college. Three students dead already, two more missing. The kind of case that usually had hunters burning with righteous fury, desperate to save innocent kids. But Reed... Reed treated it like she was solving a math problem.
"The pattern suggests they're keeping the latest victims alive," Reed said, methodically cleaning her gun at the motel table. Her voice carried no trace of the urgency Sarah felt churning in her gut. "Probably turning them."
"We need to find them before-" Sarah started, but Reed cut her off with that empty smile that never reached her eyes.
"Before what? Before they turn? They probably already have." She checked the silver bullets with mechanical precision. "Tactically speaking, it would make more sense to wait until they all gather for the first hunt with their new pack members. Take them all out at once instead of splitting our resources."
Sarah stared at her. "You want to wait until they make those kids kill someone?"
"Want has nothing to do with it." Reed's movements never faltered as she reassembled her weapon. "It's just more efficient. Besides, those students are already lost. Either they're dead, or they're turning. Waiting gives us the best chance of eliminating the entire threat."
The casual dismissal of two potentially surviving victims made Sarah's stomach turn. But what really got her was how Reed said it - like she was discussing weather patterns instead of human lives.
"I've heard about you Winchesters," Sarah said carefully, watching Reed's face for any reaction. "About how you always try to save everyone, even at the cost of your own safety."
Reed's laugh was hollow. "Maybe you're thinking of my brothers." She stood, checking her silver knife with the same empty precision she brought to everything. "I prefer to focus on successful elimination of threats rather than emotional considerations."
That's when it really hit Sarah - what felt so wrong about this woman. There was no passion, no drive to protect or save. Just cold calculation and perfect execution. Even the most hardened hunters Sarah knew still felt something when innocent lives were at stake.
But Reed... Reed just saw tactical advantages and acceptable losses.
The hunt itself was worse.
They tracked the pack to an abandoned warehouse (because of course it was a warehouse, Sarah thought bitterly). The sounds of celebration echoed from inside - the newly turned victims already running with their makers, just as Reed had predicted.
Sarah felt sick, knowing they could have tried to save those kids if they'd moved faster. But Reed just checked her weapon with that same mechanical efficiency.
The way she moved through the warehouse was something to behold - every motion precise, every shot perfectly placed. No hesitation, no mercy, but also no cruelty. Just clean, efficient death. She didn't even flinch when one of the turned students begged.
Sarah had seen a lot of hunters work, but this... this was different. There was no satisfaction in Reed's eyes as she took down the pack, no relief when it was over. Just more of that same emptiness.
"Well," Reed said afterward, cleaning blood from her knife with the same care she'd shown her guns earlier, "that's done." She didn't even look at the bodies, didn't seem to register that two of them had been human less than 48 hours ago.
"These were people," Sarah found herself saying, voice rough. "Students. They had families-"
"They were tactical problems that needed solving," Reed corrected calmly. "And now they're not." She finished with her knife, movements economical and practiced. "Need help with the cleanup?"
Sarah watched her load empty shell casings into her pocket, not even glancing at the carnage around them. This woman moved like a hunter, fought like a hunter, but something essential was missing. Something that made hunters human even in the face of monsters.
"You know," Sarah said carefully, "I've heard stories lately. About a Winchester hunting alone, taking down nests and packs without backup. About how she's different now."
"Different is a matter of perspective." Reed's smile was empty as she gathered her gear.
"That's one word for it." Sarah kept her distance, every instinct screaming that this woman was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with her combat skills. "What happened to you?"
Reed paused, head tilting with something like curiosity. "Nothing happened. I just stopped letting emotional considerations interfere with tactical necessities." She shouldered her bag. "You should try it sometime. Makes the job much simpler."
Sarah watched her walk away, movements precise and predatory, and tried very hard not to think about what could hollow out someone like that - what could take a Winchester and leave behind just the dangerous parts. She'd heard hunters call them the best in the business, but this...
This was something else entirely.
This was what happened when you took everything that made a hunter human and left behind just the perfect killing machine.
She prayed she never ran into Reed Winchester again.
•๑ ๑•
Crowley found her in a dive bar outside of Tulsa, picking vampire blood from under her nails with a switchblade. The other patrons gave her a wide berth - some animal instinct warning them away. Bloody humans - they could sense danger even if their tiny minds couldn't comprehend why.
He slid onto the barstool next to her, signaling the bartender. "Bit far from home, aren't we?"
"Define home," Reed replied without looking up from her knife work. Her voice carried none of the usual Winchester self-righteousness - just mild curiosity, like he was a particularly dull beetle she'd found in her cornflakes.
"Moose and Squirrel are looking for you, you know." He studied her profile, noting the constellation of bruises disappearing beneath her collar. Bloody hell. "Rather desperately, actually."
"I know." She finally looked up, and he'd be buggered if the emptiness in her eyes didn't make him want to check that his own tattered soul was still intact. He'd seen his fair share of soulless humans since Amara had started fattening herself up, but this... this was something special. "Hard to miss when they have every hunter in three states trying to track me down."
He gestured for the bartender to bring him a drink. "And yet here you sit, letting one brother tear himself apart with worry while the other one drinks himself into an early grave." He took a sip of his whiskey. "How very un-Winchester of you. Not a single manly tear in sight."
Her smile gave him chills. Like a shark practicing in the mirror. "Are you here to lecture me about family loyalty? Because that seems a bit rich coming from you."
"Please." He waved a hand dismissively. "I'm the last person to advocate for healthy family dynamics. Look how well that turned out for me - mother dearest tried to kill me every other Tuesday." He paused, watching her reaction. "Though I do wonder what a certain father would think about his favorite son taking such... liberties with his vessel."
Her smile turned so sharp it could have cut glass. Well, well. Touched a nerve there, did we?
"If you're here about Lucifer-" she started, but Crowley cut her off.
"I'm here because unlike your brothers, who wouldn't know subtlety if it tattooed itself on their foreheads, I actually understand what you are now." He took a sip of Craig. "Or rather, what you aren't."
Reed's head tilted slightly - a gesture that would have looked curious on her before but now just looked like a predator calculating angles of attack. "And what am I, in your professional opinion?"
"Efficient," he said simply. "Unencumbered. The perfect killer." He smiled over his glass. "Everything a hunter should be, really. No messy emotions getting in the way of the job. Rather like myself, minus the devilishly good looks and impeccable taste in suits."
"You're not wrong." She went back to cleaning her nails. "Still doesn't explain why you're here."
"Call it professional curiosity." He studied the marks on her throat with a disgusted kind of interest. "I deal in souls, after all. It's fascinating to see what Amara does to them. He made a vague gesture with his hand, "Leaves you intact. Just... empty."
"And?" Reed's laugh was hollow. "If you're fishing for information about Amara, you're wasting your time."
"Oh, I have plenty of information about Amara." He finished his drink. More's the pity. "What I'm interested in is you. The eldest Winchester, finally free of all that tiresome responsibility and guilt. Tell me - what's it like? Making choices without having to worry about everyone else's feelings? Must be rather liberating, like taking off a hair shirt made of family obligations."
"Efficient," she echoed his earlier assessment. "Though I suspect you knew that already."
"I did." He signaled for another drink. Hair of the hellhound and all that. "Just like I know about your little... arrangement with Lucifer. Bit of a step up from the usual hunter bar crawl, isn't it?"
That got her attention. Her head turned slowly, eyes fixing on him with predatory focus. Oh yes, there's the Winchester intensity. Some things apparently didn't need a soul. "Do you."
"I'm the King of Hell, darling. Making everyone's business my business is literally in the job description." He met her gaze steadily. "Especially things that would break your brothers' hearts if they knew. And believe me, this particular tidbit would send them straight from the wagon into oncoming traffic."
"Are you planning on telling them?"
"Please." He scoffed. "Do I look like I fancy a Winchester family reunion with me as the piñata? No, that particular piece of information is staying safely buried." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Although I do wonder what happens when - if - you get your soul back. All those memories, all those choices... Talk about morning-after regrets."
"If that happens," Reed said practically, "then that version of me can deal with it. This version? Has other priorities."
"Like letting the devil use you to get back at your brothers?" The words came out sharper than he intended. Bloody Winchesters - even soulless, they had a way of getting under his skin. "Don't look so surprised, darling. We both know that's part of why he keeps coming back. The sheer poetry of using their sister - and poor Castiel's vessel - to twist the knife. Rather like Shakespeare, if Shakespeare had been into celestial bondage."
"Yes, well," Reed agreed easily. "Not much I can do about that, is there." She smiled, empty and sharp. "And the sex is very enjoyable. Castiel is the one who said yes to him in the first place, so they can put some of the blame on him too."
Crowley actually winced. Mother of sin, but he missed the days when Winchesters at least pretended to have shame. "You know, I think I preferred you with a soul. At least then you had the decency to pretend to hate me. Made our little chats so much more entertaining."
"Would you like me to pretend now?" She seemed genuinely curious, like a cobra asking if you'd prefer it wear a party hat while it bit you. "I can, if it makes you more comfortable."
"That's exactly what I mean." He gestured between them. "This... whatever this is. It's unnatural. You're supposed to be the good Winchester. The one with moral fiber and family loyalty."
"I'm still loyal to my family," she corrected. "I'm just pursuing that loyalty through different methods now."
"Yes, I'm sure sleeping with Satan is all part of your grand strategy to protect them." The sarcasm was reflexive at this point. Like a demonic tic. "Next you'll tell me it's all for the greater good. Maybe throw in some rubbish about taking one for the team."
"Actually," Reed said, "it is." She finally put away her knife, turning to face him fully. "Every moment he spends with me is a moment he's not killing them. And if he thinks he can hurt them by using me…" she shrugged. "Better than him actually torturing them. I'm sure Sam would agree." Her smile was terrible in its emptiness. "The fact that I get something out of it too just makes it more… efficient."
Bollocks. Here he was, thinking he'd seen every flavor of Winchester madness, and she had to go and invent a new one. "You really are something else now, aren't you?"
"You're not the first person to ask me that." She stood, dropping cash on the bar. "Was there something else you wanted? Or did you just come to check if the rumors about me and Lucifer were true?"
"Actually," Crowley said, "I came to give you this." He pulled a small flip phone from his pocket. "Untraceable. Has my number in it." At her raised eyebrow, he added, "In case you need... anything. Like an adult conversation that doesn't end in biblical revelation."
Reed took the phone, studying it with mild interest. "Why?"
"Because believe it or not, I actually prefer you Winchesters alive and functioning." He finished his second Craig. "And because someone needs to be keeping an eye on you that isn't trying to save your soul or get in your pants. Consider me Switzerland, if Switzerland were run by demons and had better taste in whiskey."
Her laugh was empty but not unkind. "Careful, Crowley. Almost sounds like you care."
"Hardly." He stood, straightening his suit. "I just know what family drama can do to business. And your family? Has a habit of breaking everything they touch when they're upset. Like toddlers with nuclear weapons." He paused. "Try not to die. Or get pregnant with Satan's spawn. Either would be terribly inconvenient for everyone involved. The paperwork alone would be hell. Pun very much intended."
Reed just smiled that empty smile again. "Goodbye, Crowley."
He watched her leave, noting how other patrons unconsciously shifted away from her path like mice scurrying from a cat. Such a strange thing - a Winchester without a soul. Almost as strange as a demon giving a hunter his number out of something approaching concern.
He ordered another Craig and tried very hard not to think about what would happen when those particular chickens came home to roost. Knowing the Winchesters, it would probably be ugly. It always was.
•๑ ๑•
The bunker's dungeon always smelled of desperation and cheap whiskey these days. Quite fitting, really, considering its recent primary resident. Crowley found Dean there, predictably enough, surrounded by enough empty bottles to make even a demon's liver quiver in sympathy.
"You rang?" Crowley kept his tone light, though watching Dean Winchester circle the drain was significantly less entertaining than he'd once imagined it would be. Bloody Winchesters had a way of making even schadenfreude feel hollow. "Let me guess - still no word from our favorite soulless hunter?"
"Can you find her or not?" Dean's voice was rough, scraped raw with worry and what smelled like bottom-shelf bourbon. Amateur. "You've got demons everywhere. Someone must have seen something."
Oh, they'd seen plenty. Crowley thought about Reed in that bar in Tulsa, casually discussing her extracurricular activities with Lucifer like she was chatting about a bloody book club. The marks on her neck had told a story that would send her brother spinning.
"Sorry, but your sister's quite good at staying off the radar when she wants to be." He kept his face carefully neutral, hiding what he knew behind his usual smirk. Because really, how does one tell Dean Winchester that his beloved sister is quite literally in bed with the devil? Wearing his best friend like a bloody costume, no less. "Though I have to admit, a Winchester without a soul... that's an interesting prospect." Interesting, and vaguely terrifying, even he had to admit.
The angel blade was at his throat before he could blink. Predictable, really. Dean's eyes had that special brand of Winchester crazy that usually preceded extremely poor life choices.
"You think this is funny?" Dean's hand shook slightly where he gripped the blade. "She's out there alone, without her soul, probably-"
Probably giving Lucifer a guided tour of Castiel's vessel in ways that would make a crossroads demon blush. Probably calculating every sordid encounter like she was playing bloody chess with the pieces of everyone's sanity. The therapy bills on this one were going to be astronomical if they ever got her soul back.
"Probably handling herself quite well," Crowley cut in smoothly, not flinching from the blade. No need to mention exactly how she was handling herself, or who she was handling. "She's not exactly helpless, you know. Soul or no soul."
"You don't know what it's like," Dean growled. "What it does to you, not having a soul. What you're capable of-"
Oh squirrel, you have no idea, he thought.
"I deal in souls, remember?" He kept his voice steady, professional. "I know exactly what they're worth. What living without one means." He carefully pushed the blade away from his throat. "But your sister isn't exactly running around causing chaos, is she? No massacres, no civilian casualties. Just clean, efficient hunting."
And the occasional torrid encounter with Satan wearing your best friend's meat suit, but who was counting?
"That's not the point!" Dean's voice cracked. "She's not herself. She's out there somewhere, alone, probably doing things she'd never-" He cut himself off, running a hand down his face.
Crowley winced internally. Reed's activities would all be quite impressive if the whole situation wasn't going to eventually shatter everyone involved into tiny, trauma-shaped pieces.
"I'll keep looking," he said finally, more gently than he'd intended. Bloody Winchesters (his mantra nowadays) and their ability to make even the King of Hell feel something approaching concern. "But Dean?" He waited until those desperate eyes met his. "Consider that sometimes knowing where someone is... isn't actually better than not knowing."
Dean's laugh was bitter. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Crowley chose his words carefully, "that some things can't be un-learned. And some kinds of damage can't be undone." He straightened his suit. "Be careful what you wish for."
"If you know something-" Dean started, anger flaring again.
"I know plenty of things," Crowley cut him off. "Most of which would only hurt you to hear." And wouldn't that be an understatement for the ages.
"Why do you even care?"
Because this whole debacle might just be the thing that finally breaks the famous Winchester spirit, he thought. And a broken Dean Winchester was bad enough without adding that particular flavor of trauma to the mix.
"I don't," he said instead. "I just prefer my Winchesters functional. Bad for business otherwise."
He disappeared before Dean could respond, leaving the hunter alone with his cheap whiskey and expensive worry. Better that way. Better than telling him exactly what his sister had become - how that perfect, empty smile looked when she discussed using the bloody Morning Star like he was just another arrow in her quiver.
Some kinds of knowledge were better left buried. At least until everyone involved had their souls safely where they belonged. And maybe not even then.
•๑ ๑•
Reed was somewhere in Oklahoma when she first noticed the sky beginning to die. Not suddenly, not dramatically - just a gradual dimming, like twilight arriving hours too early. She pulled the Chevelle over to the side of the empty highway, killing the engine to watch.
The darkness spread slowly but steadily, like ink dispersing through still water. The sun didn't vanish - it just... faded, as if something was drinking its light. The temperature dropped by degrees, not the sharp plunge of nightfall but a lingering chill that spoke of something fundamentally wrong with the world. This had Amara's signature all over it - that same vast emptiness that had pulled at her soul now gradually pulling at reality itself.
Her burner phone sat heavy in her jacket pocket. She could call them - Dean and Sam would be in the thick of whatever this was, probably already planning something noble and potentially catastrophic to try to stop it. The old Reed would have already been breaking speed limits to get to them, that bone-deep need to protect driving her every action.
But that Reed was gone, consumed by Amara months ago along with her soul. This version of Reed simply observed the spreading twilight with detached curiosity.
She could call them. Probably should, really. But the thought of dealing with their intensity, their desperate plans, their need to fix everything... it just seemed like so much effort. And for what? If the world was ending slowly, let it end slowly. No point in complicating it with messy family dynamics.
The strange half-light persisted, neither day nor night, just wrong. She had supplies, weapons, all the practical things that should matter when the world was coming undone. But as the unnatural twilight stretched on, she found she didn't particularly care about survival plans or tactical advantages.
She just sat there, watching the world hover on the edge of darkness, and felt nothing at all about its slow decline.
The phone stayed in her pocket, unused. Her brothers were out there somewhere, probably already throwing themselves into danger to save everyone. But that wasn't her job anymore. Not her concern. Not her anything.
The twilight deepened incrementally, and Reed simply watched it happen. Some part of her recognized that she should probably care that existence itself seemed to be gradually unraveling. But caring took energy she no longer had any reason to spend.
So she just sat in her car on an empty highway, and watched the world slowly die with the same empty curiosity she brought to everything these days.
The next chapter will be the conclusion to this particular story, but I will be posting an alternate ending separately.