I was so thrilled to see that people remember this story. I can't express what that means to me. This story has been pecking at the inside of my head for so long, but I was sure everyone else had forgotten it.

Thank you all so much for reading and commenting. You all inspire me.

psyche b.

11. Sorry Not Sorry

Thick blood was splattered everywhere. The wall where Crowley's head rested. The floor where he sat. It made his skin feel tight where it dripped down his face. Left patches of his hair stuck to his scalp. The demon who was the focus of his rage that day was trussed up on the other side of the room beyond screaming. Well, at least until his vocal cords were restored. As soon as he could be bothered to get up, he would see to that.

It never helped. Not really. It made him tired. Kept him more focused when he needed to be. Kept him from checking his phone every five minutes. Kept him from popping in on Sara.

He'd given her a week to calm down, then he sent her a text. Feeling better? She never answered. That was a week ago.

He told himself that he didn't need her. She was an interesting distraction, nothing more. It wasn't true. He knew it wasn't true, but what was he going to do? Go begging to some human girl?

This was what he was. A demon. A king that had no qualms about tearing apart someone who displeased him piece by bloody piece. And then doing it again if he wanted to. He only thought he was marked by the blood he'd pumped into himself. That little place she occupied didn't exist. Not really. And if it didn't exist, then there couldn't be an empty ache without her. He'd only wanted her soul anyway.

Maybe they were lies. But demons lie, right?

His phone chimed.

Crowley didn't open his eyes. It would be Guthrie, reminding him that he was due to be…somewhere. Whatever it was could wait. He let the gurgling rattle of breath and the heavy scent of blood comfort him.

The tone came again.

Where had he left it? The counter? A tray? His jacket? It hadn't seemed important at the time. It probably wasn't important now, but the noise was grating. He waited for the tone to come again. A moment later, it did. The echo in the room made it hard to pin down, but it sounded more like it was coming from the direction of his jacket. He sighed and stood, the fabric of his trousers sticking to the drying blood on the tiles. He didn't care what someone thought was so important, he just wanted to silence the bloody thing.

He fished it out of his pocket, leaving smudges of gore across the screen. He read her message through the red smear.

Why didn't you just ask me?

X

Sara told herself that she wasn't going to contact him again. It simplified things if he were out of her life. No King of Hell. No demons. She could go back to ordinary life.

Ordinary, dull life. Reading about saints. Skulking around campus, hoping to avoid conversation with nuns. Laying in bed staring at the ceiling when her shoulder throbbed too much to sleep. A laugh a minute.

When she got his text she almost answered. Almost. Feeling better? As if she had a cold. As if he hadn't carved something - he hadn't been specific about what - into her skeleton. She forced herself to put the phone aside. No matter who she started to call or what message she went to answer, she always looked at his message first. Every time her fingers hovered over the screen, intending to reply with everything from anger to contrition. Every time she forced herself not to type a single character.

She had been fine before him, she would be fine after him. Repeat that phrase often enough and with enough sincerity, she might even come to believe it.

Had she really been alright though? Sure, life was less complicated. But it was hard to deny that something in her was drawn to him, otherwise she would have said no when he arrived on her rooftop that night. She had no intention of making a deal, so why had she said yes? She still couldn't explain it to herself.

In the quietest parts of the night, when she was tired and her defenses were down, she sometimes admitted to herself that she missed him in a way she had never missed anyone. Maybe wondering why wasn't so important. Knowing wouldn't have made that ache any easier to bear.

Maybe it might have been easier if Leah hadn't disappeared again too.

She'd texted, left voicemails. Radio silence.

Crowley had said that demons liked to gossip. Maybe they knew she and Crowley hadn't talked in a while. Maybe she wasn't useful to Leah anymore.

In all the time she spent trying not to think about it - trying not to think about him - a thousand ideas of what she wanted to say tumbled over themselves in her mind. She always came back to one thing.

Sara told herself that if she could make it a week after the text he would be out of her system. As soon as that week was up, she picked up her phone with the intention to delete his contact. Instead she sent the question almost before she could think about it.

Why didn't you just ask me?

As soon as she hit send Sara wished she could take it back. And she wondered why she hadn't sent it sooner. None of it made any sense. What if he answered? What if he didn't? If she stayed here, she would just watch the screen all day and put ever-more catastrophic interpretations on the silence.

She tossed the phone on her bed and picked up a small day pack. She needed to be out. Away. Sara drove the familiar route to Slumbering Bear mountain on autopilot. There were a few other cars in the parking lot. All were near the entrance of the scenic overlook trail. She started down that wide, well-groomed path, but took the hidden cutoff a third of a mile in.

In the waning days of the previous summer, Sara had found the entrance hidden by a large rock and a couple of saplings planted on either side. Over the years the forest had begun to encroach once again to heal the scar that had been carved into it so long ago. That first day, Sara had explored it from the entrance to the place where it petered out about two miles in. Since that first exploration, she never went to the end though. About a mile in, there was a grassy clearing with just enough shade to make spending an afternoon there comfortable. Even better, her peace had never been interrupted by anyone else.

She'd only been on the trail for five minutes when the susurrus of the wind blended with the whispers that filled her mind. She swore they were a language, but how could a language she didn't know originate from within her? The feeling that he was closeby cut through her musings and the whispers faded into the background. She hesitated. He couldn't be there. And why would he be? She was just letting the text play on her mind. She hitched the pack up on her right shoulder and forced herself to keep going. Around the next bend she found Crowley standing on the trail ten feet in front of her, his hands in his pockets. It was a carefully arranged casual pose.

Sara stopped and just stared. His perfect dark suit looked out of place surrounded by dappled sunlight and green leaves. She was about to speak when he did.

"Do you want the answer?" He asked.

Sara swallowed hard, and held his eyes. "Yes."

He spread his hands. "Because I'm Crowley. The first thing I ever learned was to take what I needed because there was no other way to get it. If I hadn't done the same thing when I was in the pit, I'd still be there. Being flayed, or minced or whatever the torture of the day was. And then I was at the beginning again, begging for scraps, relying on my wits. So I did what I knew, and took what I wanted until I got to where I am now." He turned to pace the couple of steps from one side of the trail to the other. "If I had hesitated, just once, I would be nothing. Less than nothing. I don't apologize and won't say that I won't do it again because I will. So go ahead, yell at me, tell me I'm a bastard. Tell me that you're going to find a way to make me suffer or kill me or whatever."

Sara stayed silent. He turned and looked at her, his eyebrows raised with anticipation.

"Are you finished?" Sara asked, her arms crossed.

"For the moment."

"I have had to fight for every scrap of autonomy I've ever had. I learned to pick locks when I was ten, and to see the right places to scale walls, just so that I could prove to myself that I had an out. It was the only way to keep my sanity. And all the rest of the time I dressed how I was told to and prayed how I was told to and walked in line with everyone else. I learned how to hide just about everything real and authentic about myself because just about none of it fits into the only narrow space I've been given. A few months ago, just before I started college, was the first time I was able to leave campus on my own without sneaking away, or being with one of the nuns or one of the two approved people on my list. So yes, every single choice matters to me. Maybe some matter more than they should, but this is not one of those. You marked my skeleton. I won't apologize for being angry about that." Her heart was pounding.

He tilted his head. "And what would you have said? If I had begged for your permission."

"I would never expect you to beg, but you're the one who talks about free will. All I expect is to be given the chance to make an informed choice." Sara took a deep breath. "As to what I would have said,I like the idea of being hidden. That's been sculpted into me too. If I had known what you were going to do and what it was for, I would have said yes. I just wanted to be asked."

For a moment they just stared at each other. Then Crowley stepped forward and held out his hand. "Pizza in Burlington?"

Sara stayed where she was. "I want to make an addition to our deal first."

He dropped his hand. "I'm listening."

"If you want to do something like that again, I want to be asked. I want enough time to give an answer and I want that answer to be respected." she said.

His eyes narrowed. "And if you're wrong?"

"Then convince me."

He thought for a moment. "One change. In an emergency, I decide."

"This," She pointed at her clavicle. "Was not an emergency."

He gave a grudging nod. "Agreed."

"What kind of emergency?" Sara asked.

"Being king, it affords me certain benefits and protections. It also places a target on my back, should anyone think they've got the juice to make a move."

Sara lowered her eyes and then looked up at him again. "I'll agree to your change, if you tell me what you did and why as soon as the emergency is over. And if I want you to reverse it, you will."

"If It can be reversed."

She knew that left him room to claim exceptions where there may not be any, but she had to hope that he really did honor his deals. "Agreed."

He held out his hand again.

Sara stepped forward and put her hand in his. A little smile on her lips. "Bit early for dinner, isn't it?"

"We'll just have to find some way to fill the time."

Sara let him draw her close. She rested her head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around her waist before they disappeared.

In the split second before they appeared in the suite, searing pain consumed her shoulder again. It had been slowly getting better, but now it was as if those two weeks had never happened. He turned away to get a drink and Sara dropped her pack, cradled her arm and tried not to cry.

"You're in pain." It came out as an accusation as he stared at her, glass in hand.

"I'm fine." Sara tried not to speak through clenched teeth.

"Don't lie to a liar, Pet."

Sara shook her head. "Whenever we travel like that, my joints, everything really, feels a little off for a few minutes. As if I've been newly assembled and things need a minute to settle into the right places. Until that happens, everything aches like I have a bad flu." She clenched her teeth for a moment. "My shoulder was healing before, it just needs a minute to calm down."

He rolled his eyes and put the glass down. "Or I could heal it."

Sara shot him a look. He stopped, his hands spread in front of him.

"If you let me." He said.

The pain was not subsiding. She bit the inside of her cheek and hoped she didn't look as desperate as she felt.

"Come on, Pet. No tricks, no hidden fees."

Sara looked away and gave a reluctant nod. "I didn't know you could do this."

"Healing? Please. Demons and angels sometimes have different motivations, but it's not such a special skill." He moved behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. He slid his other hand into the neckline of her pink and white St. Augustin's Fun Run tee shirt and covered her clavicle. As soon as his skin touched hers the throbbing began to ease. She closed her eyes and felt the pain leaching out of the bone beginning at the tip closest to her shoulder. She rested her head against him, her eyes closed.

"Better?" his voice was a soft murmur..

She took a deep breath and moved her arm experimentally. "Much. Thank you."

"You could have told me you were still in pain. I always intended to heal it." He hadn't let her go. She hadn't moved.

"Crowley, I told you to get out and not come back. Even if I had known you could heal it, I couldn't just call you up the next day and say, oh, by the way, my shoulder still hurts so I need you to fix that."

"Why not? That describes my relationship with, well, everyone." His fingers teased her skin.

Sara turned to face him, intending to give him some sort of reassurance. Before she could say anything his lips captured hers, his hand moving up under the back of her shirt. Sara couldn't hold back the little moan or the tremor that chased through her as his fingers traced the outline of her spine.

"About that way to pass the time." His lips teased over hers as he spoke.

Sara held onto him a little tighter. Her own heartbeat sounded in her ears. When she looked up at him, she got lost in his endless eyes. A little smile teased her lips. "Whatever do you have in mind, Your Majesty?"

His mouth was on hers and the give and take they'd had only a moment before was gone and he was in control. Surrender felt like the most natural thing in the world. Heat pooled low in her tummy. The feeling of his hands on her skin and the flavor of his mouth had almost consumed her uncertainty when his phone rang. He pulled away and rested his forehead against hers. "Bollocks."

Sara brushed her lips over his. "Go be the king you are. I'm not going anywhere."

X

Crowley sat in one of the bedroom chairs, his phone still in his hand, right ankle resting on his left knee. Guthrie had gone on for what seemed like an age about the minutiae of his schedule and where today's meetings could be pushed back to and what that would displace. His butler seemed to take pleasure in all the small details that he'd never really cared for. Contracts, negotiations, those were interesting. There was give and take. The rush of digging out an advantage and exploiting it. Meeting with the court to listen to them try to cast blame on each other for flagging numbers or some other almighty cockup? Not so much.

At the end of the conversation, the butler had said "Barton has located the Winchesters in Oregon."

"Good place for them, across the bloody country. Doing what?" He was only half listening.

"Apparently trying to get into a convent school library."

That caught his attention. "What school?"

"He neglected to say. I can press him and relay the information to Your Majesty."

"Did they get in?"

"Barton says not. They attempted to gain entry dressed as priests, but they were turned away at the gate. Barton believes they will try breaking and entering next."

The king thought about this for a moment. "He can keep you informed until I get back. If anything seems urgent about what they're doing, let me know. Other than that, I don't want to be disturbed."

Before he knew it, forty-five minutes had passed. He could hear the television from the sitting room. It sounded like the score of an old movie. He hesitated. Maybe the moment had passed. With anyone else he would have gone back out and expected to pick up where he'd left off. Simple. And he couldn't clearly recall a single one of those encounters.

Nothing with Sara was simple, but everything was memorable. The feeling of her skin under his hands. The way she met his eyes, the way she smiled at him, yielded at just the right moment. The way she believed absolutely in her own power, even if she didn't realize it quite yet. Bloody intoxicating.

He got up and opened the door. He could see her head resting on a pillow propped against the arm of the sofa. He moved closer, the sound of his steps swallowed by the thick carpet. She couldn't be sleeping, could she? He moved closer. She was curled tightly on her side, her breathing deep and rhythmic.

Frustration was displaced by the realization that he had an opportunity here. Whatever made that red diamond sparkle might be less guarded while she was asleep. A predatory smile tugged the corners of his lips. He wasn't going to harm her, or do anything permanent. He was just going to take a closer look.

Crowley held his hand a few inches over her head. He extended his energy slowly, letting it insinuate itself between the layers of her aura and then deeper until he was stopped. What he could feel was human, but what pulsed beyond that barrier was different. The barrier was too strong for him to determine exactly what kind of power lay beyond it, but the flavor was different than anything he'd experienced before.

"Someone's hidden your light under a bushel, haven't they, Love?" His voice was barely a whisper. He explored the barrier, envisioning it as a smooth sphere under his fingertips. A sphere that swirled with energy that he could feel vibrating. Crowley glanced down at her face. She was still sleeping, but her eyebrows were drawn together now. He drew back from the barrier and she relaxed again. "And they've done a bloody good job of it, too."

The king was just as careful when he withdrew. He could be patient. Well, he could when he didn't have a choice.

A shiver went through her and she curled a little tighter. He studied her face and realized that she looked as though she hadn't slept well since the last time they'd been together. He sighed, took off his jacket, and laid it over her shoulders. She mumbled something and then relaxed.

He sat at the other end of the sofa. A stack of projections and reports appeared in his hands and he began the task of catching up on the last couple of weeks.

X

The first thing Sara noticed was his scent surrounding her. She let it ease her awake. The TV was still on although the show didn't sound the same. He was closeby, probably sitting at the other end of the sofa. Sara sat up, catching his jacket before it slid to the floor. He seemed absorbed enough in whatever he was reading that he didn't look up at her. That suited Sara.

She walked behind the sofa and hung the jacket in the small closet by the door. Next she went into the bathroom and tried to put her hair back in some kind of order. A loose french braid seemed like the easiest option.

He was still reading when she came out so she sat cross-legged next to him. He looked different without the jacket. It was like seeing him without a piece of his armor.

"Refreshed?" he asked without lifting his eyes.

"Very. Though I didn't mean to fall asleep." Her eyes fell on the graph in the document he was reading.

"Curious?"

"Yes. Why do you have what looks like a logarithmic growth graph labeled with an exponential decay function?"

He looked up at her. "What?"

"I mean, it looks logarithmic. I suppose it could be a cube root function. That image only shows quadrant one and the shapes are similar. Doesn't matter I guess. That equation doesn't match the picture."

He was still staring at her. "Pretend I've spent my time studying things like contracts, negotiation techniques, spellwork and ancient languages. What does this draw?" He tapped the equation.

Sara grabbed the notepad and a ballpoint pen from the coffee table. She turned to face him. "It's a downhill curve. The initial drop is fairly steep, but then it comes down at a shallower angle toward a value that it approaches but doesn't reach." She drew a quick sketch with x and y axes labeled and a curve that sloped downward and handed it to him. "If you want to see exactly what it looks like I'll need a laptop or graphing calculator. And I don't know if the picture is accurate to the data or if the equation is."

He studied the sketch, then shuffled through a stack of reports and opened three of them to a page with a graph. "What about these?"

Sara glanced at them. "They don't match."

The anger that swirled around him was palpable.

He held up one of the reports. "You're not curious what these are?" Suspicion threaded through the words like bright ribbons.

Sara held his eyes. "I can read the label at the top. It has something to do with acquiring souls. Beyond that, I haven't read and don't intend to. The mismatch struck me because I have a strange eye for detail."

He nodded and looked down at the report. "If I provide you with a laptop, can you show me what these should look like?"

"Yes, but if I do, I want to see the mark you put in my shoulder."

"Done." He held out his hand and a laptop appeared. He handed it to her.

Sara opened the cover and found she didn't need a password. She went to the desmos website and started creating graphs. She could hear his pen scratching against the pad.

"I didn't know you had a mathematical mind." He said. The anger was still there, but it was more tightly controlled and not directed at her.

"Other than an affinity for percentages and fractions I don't." Sara opened a document and pasted an image of the correct graph along with the formula. "But you've seen where I live. I have choir practice and mass a few hours a week, a few hours of volunteer work and then what am I going to do the rest of the time? Sometimes I draw, sometimes I sew, but mostly I study."

He traced a pattern onto her knee. Sara jumped a little and looked up at him. "Why did you tell me?"

His fingertip was still tracing her kneecap. Sara suddenly wished she'd worn shorts instead of yoga pants. "I don't know. I just felt like I needed to." She looked down at his perfectly manicured hand tracing patterns on the black fabric. "I know it's not a good answer." She took a deep breath and looked up at him. "Is there somewhere you want me to email this?"

"Let me see."

Sara handed it over to him. He stared at it for a moment, closed the lid and set it aside. He picked up the page he'd written on. Sara moved a little closer to him and took the sheet. There were four lines of symbols written in his bold hand.

"What language is this?" Sara asked.

"Enochian. The language of angels."

She looked up at him. "Angels have a language?"

"They do. Everybody and their brother came up with ways to ward against demons. Some are effective, others" He shrugged "More of a beacon really. To ward against angels you have to use what they understand best."

"Do demons have a language?"

"Angels rolled off the assembly line as a job lot, so they have all the same software. Demons are more bespoke."

Sara studied the page, tracing the curves and cusps of the symbols with her eyes while her right hand drifted up to trace her fingertips along her clavicle. "This section." She pointed at the top line and the third line. "It repeats."

"The top section makes you invisible to demons. The repeat does the same except for angels." He pointed to another set of symbols on the top line. "This means that a demon can't possess you."

"This has similar symbols but some are different." She pointed at the bottom line.

"Angels need permission, but they don't care how they get it. This keeps them out, even if they wear you down enough to say yes."

She studied the page. "Why is the demon section longer?"

"My demons can't find you, but I always can."

Sara chewed on the inside of her cheek and tried to adjust to the new tilt of her world.

"What are you thinking?" His voice was soft, his finger traced her hand.

She shook her head a little and forced her hand to stay away from the locket. "I don't know. It just feels like a lot to take in."

"You're sure, Pet?"

Sara nodded and forced a smile.

He traced her jaw. "Dinner?"

"Dinner."

X

Crowley sat alone in the empty throne room, his eyes half closed. The smell of candles, stone and just a whiff of fear-laden sweat hung in the air, but he was still recalling the scent of sweet freesias that always surrounded Sara. She'd been subdued for the rest of the evening. Not distant. Not angry anymore. Just quiet.

"Majesty?" Guthrie stepped out of the shadows. "Is there anything you require?"

"A drink." he said.

The butler placed the cut glass tumbler in his outstretched hand. With the other Crowley handed over the laptop. "You'll find a file on here. The equations correspond to the equations listed on page two of the last four acquisition reports. Create a document with the graphs from the file and the ones from the report on the same page."

"Just one copy, Majesty?"

"Make enough for the court. Leave the cover page blank."

"Shall I summon them?"

"Not until the documents are printed and ready for distribution."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

It wouldn't take more than fifteen minutes. A scream filtered up from somewhere else in the palace. Then another. He closed his eyes and pushed away the scent of freesias, the taste of her mouth and the way she smiled at him. This was not Sara's world. It was his. The next scream took on a sweeter note. When he opened his eyes again the glow of the candles caught the edges of the stone and the benches arrayed in front of the dais. The room glowed with the same anticipation that was building in him.

Guthrie appeared a moment later with the stack of documents in neat plastic covers. Crowley took one.

"Summon them." He sat up straighter.

One by one they filtered in. Some looked disheveled. Some looked like they were a millimeter away from grumbling. He waited until everyone had arrived and was seated, then he gestured to Guthrie to distribute the documents.

"Shall we begin with page one?" He opened the cover, but his eyes were on the suited demons in front of him. Some looked confused, some amused, and four looked bloody terrified.

A little smile played on his lips. He kept his tone conversational. "So, who wants to start?"