AN: There is some torture in this, the beginning and ending line is bolded for your convenience.

I own nothing.

Guardian Not-So-Angel
anonniemoose
Word Count: 1, 088

Being a hunter wasn't an easy thing. It's easy to make enemies in this line of work, there as nowhere safe for you to set up camp for a few days, six at most. It didn't help that you know had every demon, angel and hunter after your arse thanks to your hunting knowledge and knowledge of where the Winchesters were at any point in time. So, you were constantly on the move, strictly sticking to exorcizing demons and simple hunts, contacting Sam and Dean with anything that was too big to do in under a week, occasionally dropping in to see Bobby to make sure he knew you were alive, reminding him that you rarely made mistakes.

The key word being rarely.

You still made mistakes, took risks. Spending a month in your hometown to visit friends and family, staying for your newly arrived cousin's christening left you to make sloppy mistakes. Staying in the same motel for longer than your usual three to six days, letting a crossroads demon get free because you saw someone you knew and you didn't want them to think find out that you were a murderer, calling Bobby on an unsecure line, and did you mention you let a crossroads demon run free? Which leads you to where you are now, tied to a chair with your Y/H/C coloured locks by your feet, three demons taking turns to burn, cut, brand, rip nails out of you and break several bones, stopping only to ask you the same question. Where are the Winchesters?

You would spit at their feet; originally clear liquid quickly turned into a murky red colour as the coppery taste of blood assault your tastebuds. This seemed just to entertain them and to encourage them to continue. Now, they seem to be getting some form of funnel ready, along with a scalpel. The funnel you recognised for water torture, but the scalpel? Besides creating more cuts in your flesh, you couldn't think of another possible reason for them having it. The woman struts forward, her two male companions waiting by the crates in the corner of the warehouse.

"Oh, YN/N!" The female demon taunts. "Stay with us, YN/N, we don't want to lose you yet." She runs the scalpel blade against your skin, splitting it in several different places. "Where are the Winchesters?"

"'uck oo." Was all you could say around a painfully sore mouth after being sewn together, ripped apart, sewn together once more and the right half of the stitches ripped out, leaving your left side a terrible mess. The blade makes it's way to the webbing of your fingers, slicing it neatly.

"Where are the Winchesters?"

"'o 'uck 'ock." Your words are difficult to form, but the message is clear as the she-demon smirks at your weak retort.

"Oh honey, I already have." You roll your eyes.

'Bloody demons.'

"Well then, sixteen hours of this and you still haven't given up." She sighs, running the blade now across your fingers. "Let's see how well you hunt when I remove some of these, hmm?" You try not to panic as the blade starts to cut deeper-

"And what is going on here?" A familiar voice rings out through the warehouse, the cocky, British demon standing in between two dead male demons.

"Sir, I-" The female stutters. "She knows the location of the Winchesters sir."

"I know she knows where the Winchesters are." It is apparent that his fuse is quickly burning out. "But that doesn't mean you torture her, especially without direct orders!"

"But sir-"

"No! You listen to me, you skanky little whore, you had direct instructions to stay away from her and you disobeyed and nearly killed her!"

"She's just human!"

"No. She is a very important human. And she is under my protection." His voice growls before whistling. "Sic her Juliet." There is a growl, a scream and the sound of flesh being torn apart as the King of Hell makes his way over to your bloody, broken and bruised body, his fingertips brushing over your forehead.

"I am so sorry that they did this to you pet." His voice is uncharacteristically kind as you slowly start to drowse off. "Go to sleep, luv. You'll be better when you wake up."

()()()()()

You struggle to sit up, blinking a few times before your vision is clear. You groan as you see the man clad in his usual black suit sitting at the foot of the bed, his usual tumbler of Craig clasped lightly in his hand. "Hello darling." He greets as you shift, moaning in pain as the ache grows from dull to excruciating, as if your major wounds have healed into almost nothing but the lack of movement has seemed to make the pain worse. "You've been asleep for the better part of six weeks. Well, I say asleep, more like comatose."

"Make it quick then." You say after a moment's silence, eyes closed as you sink further into the amazing feeling sheets, silk maybe?

"Who said I was going to kill you?" You scoff at his question.

"Yeah, the King of Hell brought me here just to have a chat." You snark, your muscles screaming in protest as you try to move.

"I just saved your life, you ungrateful little chit." You roll your eyes.

"I had it under control."

"I did not save you from those pathetic little black eyed bastards simply just to kill you, Y/N." He states after a beat of silence, him trying to pull his already shortened temper back.

"I'm not spilling the beans on Sam or Dean either."

"Moose and Squirrel?" He smirks. "I don't need you for information either, dove."

"Don't call me that." Is all you can retort with as you lock your Y/E/C eyes into his, trying your best not to swallow as his irises flash a crimson red from what you gather as from amusement, either that or he is trying to frighten you. "So, why do you want me then Crowlers?" His eyes narrow at the nickname but continuing nether the less.

"I've been watching over you for sometime, Y/N," he starts, "giving you information, protecting you. And I think it's high time we make it official."

"You make it sound like we're dating."

"I wouldn't mind that, pet." You roll your eyes.

"To make what official?"

"For me to become your guardian demon, as it were. Think about it, Y/N. You wouldn't have to move around as often, less demon work, more hunting involved. Saving people, hunting things, the family business." He waves his hand in your general direction, standing up to move to the bedside, placing the tumbler down on the bedside table. Your breathing quickens involuntarily, whether it was from pain or fear you couldn't tell. "Am I making you hot and flustered, pet?" You scoff.

"You wish." He sits down on the edge of the bed and you scoot yourself further away from him, ignoring screaming muscles and recently healed bones as you move yourself into a sitting position. "I didn't think demons were very protective over humans."

"Ah, yes, well." He shrugs with a charming grin. "I see you differently." You look at him closely.

"If I say yes, I'm not selling my soul or anything, am I?" You ask. "And would we have to seal the deal?"

"No and yes. It's simple demon etiquette, nothing is official unless there is at least some lip-lock involved." You nearly laugh aloud at that sentence.

"I didn't think demons had etiquette." You mumble before thinking this over. Crowley as your guardian ang- demon? You would be protected from almost everything, save for, ya know, God. And the Winchester's wrath if they ever found out. But not having to hide all the time and, yes, you did prefer working with families to save them from spirits and shapeshifters than the simple exorcism. But more than that, it would mean that demons, hellhounds and any other spawn from hell couldn't touch you ever again. No more torture. No fear of the mutts ripping you to shreds one day, simply for shits and giggles. Making up your mind, you turn to Crowley and nod. "Deal."

He smirks before pulling you in for a gentle kiss as you force yourself to keep your breathing normal because, bloody hell, he's a good kisser. After a few seconds, but what feels like an eternity, he pulls back with a smile. "What makes you think we can get away with this?"

"Because I'm the bloody King of Hell, luv."