SOME - YEARS - A G O

Gray, rolling clouds unleashed a downpour of rain upon the small town. The Crossroads demon hated being at the beck and call of the highest bidder, and was now fantasizing every opportunity to make them squirm. Deal exploitation wasn't uncommon, and he knew how to recognize a desperate soul when he saw one, so the solitary time only bred more ideas on how to ruin someone's life. His watch shifted with a calculated flick of his wrist, showing him a time of… 4:15 am. Late. There would be some tweaks to the contract, in his favor, for that.

An informal meeting without being summoned was most amateurish, but at the behest of his superiors, reeling in the soul of a crime boss would expand their reaches, creating an influx of souls. Sort of like a buffet, but for his benefit alone.

Probably should have mentioned that he'd knotted up the demon originally assigned to the deal like a pretzel, and tossed him in a nearby ditch, "It's strictly business. No hard feelings." A most sinister chuckle addressed the immobilized demon currently being buried in the sliding mud, surging forth like volcanic lava, layering itself in thick heaps over his vessel.

In his Sunday best—neatly pressed suit and matching tie, the Crossroads demon pivoted to check for his future contract. The demon's eyes, a fathomless black, shining like polished gemstones, scanned. Grunting in displeasure at the lack of any living creature, he figured he'd allow another thirty minutes before making a courtesy call. And that was where it would get real personal.

He waited. And waited.

"Good morning." Between the gentle percussion of water sprinkling from the sky, a voice sang out a greeting. Eliminating the startled look from his eyes, he smoothly spun, a signature mask of indifference as his only acknowledgment. It was another surprise for him that he had to drop his line of sight downward to the young girl standing before him, pushing the bright yellow hood of her raincoat back to sit on her shoulders. The material of her coat, slick with rainfall, shimmered in the glow beneath the single light of the bus stop.

This was definitely not a crime boss.

In fact, she was something else entirely. A dark aura surrounded her, which was no indication of her character. It simply meant she was not long for this world. Marked for discontinuation. Sickness, maybe? Victim or Accident? It was impossible to tell without pulling her file, but he could not emphasize how much he did not care. Regardless, he'd bet… four months, maximum. Well under the ten years he could offer.

"Guess I'm not the only one stuck outside in the rain at four." She paused, "Are you okay?" He must have appeared fidgety. One, from waiting for his contact. And two, that he'd psyched himself up so much, a human had snuck up on him.

"Just a bit nervous—Job interview." He answered hastily, scoping out a new location for the meeting, and at the same time debating if maybe ditch-demon wanted a friend down there, expedite her demise a little. No one would mind another pedestrian that slipped and broke their neck. He raised his hand to touch his ear. Just a nudge….

"Oh!" She laughed, smile widening. "Your tie!" He turned to her, freezing solid at how close she'd bounded. "It's a bit crooked and kind of came loose. May I?" Confused, but nodding his consent, he observed. Dismissing it as him running in the rain and forgetting to check, instead of the actual homicide he'd just committed, the woman enthusiastically redid the knot. "Can't have that for a job interview." Mouth ajar in mild horror and paralyzed on how to proceed, the demon almost stammered, switching his gaze from her hands to her face, repeatedly. Her russet hair was tied up in a ponytail, bangs pinned back with a silver clip. "You know, It's really hard to get a job these days, but don't be nervous, you'll do fine." The concentration in her brown eyes was tangible. He noticed the tint of red on the tip of her slightly upturned nose and frost exhaled past her delicate lips. "There we go!" Tucking the noose under his collar, she lifted to her tip-toes to make sure the back was in order.

".…Thank you, love." Not one to refuse a woman's touch, the demon cleared his throat, reaching up to check her handiwork. The brush of his hand against hers changed her expression entirely. She gasped, as if suddenly privy to his true nature, or maybe the body being preserved in sludge a few feet away. Who knew? Killing her wasn't off the table just yet.

"Your hands…they're freezing!"

"Well. Ah." Give him an excuse. Any excuse to exterminate her. "I've just naturally—"

"Hold on!" With a bounce that put any rabbit to shame, the human searched her pocket, pulling out a little pouch. "I have a heat pack!" Intrigued with how his morning was going, and deeming the girl to be 110% harmless, he stared down at the warm pack in his hand, designed with cartoon stars and stuffed with multiple tiny beads . Clasping both of her hands over his, she sandwiched the heat pack between his hands. He was primarily unaffected—at least not fatally—by the cold, but he couldn't say the warmth was unwelcome. "It's so cold, you could have at least worn an undershirt…. or a heavier coat." Murmured the girl. "I'm Nysza, by the way. I… figure this qualifies as a handshake." Giving his hands a quick pat before pulling away, she waited expectantly.

The warm cloth pack made a crunching noise in his hand, the heat from the beans inside redistributing. "Crowley." He answered.

"It's stopped raining." Relief, and no more need for shelter, floated from her in a sigh. "You brought the sun back. That's good luck!" She waved. Drawing her hood up and jogging away, the sound of her footfalls against fresh puddles faded into the morning.

"Good luck, eh?"

BACK - I N - T H E - BUNKER

The blade in her hand, coated in thick, black liquid, dripped onto the sheets of the bed. Breath quickening, she threw it to the floor, or as far away from him as she could, as If the sight of it would kill him. It clanged loudly, spinning and sliding in an unknown direction. Palms facing upward, she stared at her hands in disbelief, wondering if they were imbued with a mysterious power.

"How did you-?" Crowley choked, feeling the poison recede with the removal of the dagger from his chest.

"I don't know! I didn't even pull that hard." Her father, Dean, and Crowley had tried to force the dagger out. "It… slipped out." He sat up with ease, the pain subsiding until a weight replaced it. Nysza had thrown her arms around him in a hug, unbelievably tight, despite her earlier gentleness. One arm wrapped around her, partially to stabilize himself.

"Are you crying?" Sensing another prime opportunity, Crowley felt her face shift against his neck.

"No." She snapped. Curling against him in a measly effort to conceal her face, wet with tears, Nysza felt his hand move up her back to card through her hair. He held her close, wincing as he opened his free hand to test his range.

"You sure?" She drew back, meeting with his eyes.

"Seriously, Crowley?!" Dean skidded to a halt at the foot of the bed. "You're on your death bed, with a dagger in your chest, and you've got time to bone?" Nysza yelped, but there wasn't much explanation she could give for straddling a man on a bed.

"Oh, Dean, don't be jealous. You know you're welcome to join."

"Where's the dagger?" He scanned the room, seeing the trail of black blood smeared across the floor. At the end of it was the dagger. "Hold up, what do you mean you just pulled it out?" Because he had tried, and that thing was not budging an inch. "Are you saying you could have pulled it out at any time?" Nysza didn't know when Sam barreled in after his brother, but he had a similarly perplexed furrow in his brow.

"N-No. I didn't…"

"Elbow grease, boys. Get some." Admonishing their lack of strength probably wasn't the best way to proceed.

"S-So we didn't even need this?" Sam held up a vial of unknown liquid, emanating a faint luminescence from its composition. The true sting. Dean winced, picking the dagger up from the floor. "I mean… I guess…" It was a good thing, right? Albeit inexplicable.

"I chased around a goddamn dragon in a forest for hours…." The older WInchester began slowly, "My socks are wet. Hell, my everything is wet."

"Dean, not in front of the kids." Crowley chided, power growing with each new breath he took.

"What's going on?" Charlie, the final bunker inhabitant, bounded into the room, eyes wide as dinner plates. "Did you guys get the Lindworm scale? Is he alive?" Not that she'd fall to the floor in despair were it to not work. "Ohhh…" Freezing in place at the scene before her, she took in the small woman she'd met earlier sitting atop the demon. "Well, this is spicy. Gross spicy, but spicy." The nature of their relationship was becoming clearer.

"Turns out we didn't need it." Sam explained to her, pressing his lips together. "Nysza just…." Opening his hand and shrugging, "pulled it out?"

"Huh? I thought that was the whole issue to begin with?" If she'd tried yanking it out earlier, would it have worked? "Didn't you all take a turn at Excalibur?" Charlie nodded to the dagger in question.

"Oh. Ha. ha." Lack of amusement toward the arthurian reference was apparent from Crowley. The human in his lap stealthily attempted to slide off midst the conversational chaos, only to be stopped by his arm wrapping around her waist, roughly pulling her hips back to his. "Well, as always, its been fun."

Hearing what sounded like a classic farewell line, Dean stepped forward, "WHoah. Oh, we're not done here."

The bed was empty.

O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O

"Oh good you're back!" Without an ounce of hesitation, Crowley spun and savored the sweet sound of his mother start to gag. He would have snapped her neck too, but the need to satiate his curiosity came first. With Nysza safely tucked away in her room, it was time to have a little chat.

"Happy to see me?" He heard the flesh of her neck stretch under the strain of the invisible force squeezing it. Both hands in his pockets, he watched her writhe, heeled shoes lifting from the ground to dangle uselessly in the air. One tiny increase of his power application and he could reduce her trachea to the size of a stirring straw or throw her with enough force to bespatter. Nonchalantly shrugging, "All things considered, I feel pretty good… bearing in mind," Leaning forward into the proclamation "You tried to kill me!"

"I's tr—In—ha –ye—"

Tapping his index finger to the shell of his ear as a taunt for her to speak up, he let the wave of joy in hearing her struggle crash into him.

"I was tryin—" Before her air supply vanished completely, she had to make her case. "Trying to help you!"

"Help me?!" How in the name of all things sane was she going to present that to the court? Help him to the grave.

"She pulled it out…?" She asked frantically, her throat burning. "The girl. Your girl! She removed the dagger, yes?" The grip loosened, but she refrained from heaving a preemptive sigh of relief. From his reaction, it was safe to assume that her statement was true. "You asked for my help, an' this is the thanks I get?!" The demon snarled, tightening his hold once more. "She loves you!"

"What?!"

"Ever hear of true love's kiss? Fairy tales?" Was his mom seriously trying to compare the dagger to that? "You asked me to find a way to help you preserve her. The last ingredient is the blood of a soul bound to the caster by love!"

"You've got to be joking…."

Her heels met with the floor, but could not stabilize. Knees buckling, Rowena fell to the concrete, blinking through her lightheadedness. The demon had fallen into pensive silence. Stupefied by the explanation, along with sparing his mother, Crowley idly stroked his chin. He had to think of what to say next, as several different thoughts and queries were fighting for a chance in the spotlight.

"The blood of a soul bound to the caster by love." He repeated her proclamation. "And what if she didn't pull it out, huh?" As his body rotted into the ground and his mother lounged on his throne, what then?

Placing a hand on her chest, she stood up slow and declared, "Oh Fergus. Then I would've taken the dagger out for you myself!" In the most honeyed lilt, she nodded triumphantly.

"You'll have to forgive me for not believing that." he muttered, still stuck on the various sackfuls of information beating him in the face. First of all, she'd actually gone through the process of helping him. Ignoring the fact that she'd driven a blade into him, she'd… helped. Secondly, there was a way to save Nysza? The prospect silenced him for a minute, reminding him that the stakes were even higher now that he'd given her back the entirety of her soul. Were she to die, there would be no getting her back. Their tether was… relinquished. Third of all, she.. loved him. Tightening his grasp on whatever composure he had, "Why didn't you just tell me?" He hissed, baring his teeth.

"I would've!" She scoffed, "IF y' hadn't poofed out of here within half a second without a word!" Rowena had a point.

"What next then?" Even she couldn't imagine what he was capable of doing.

"Patience dearie." Not a hair out of place, the witch rolled her shoulders back, "So, are y' done with your little tantrum?"

Crowley raised his eyebrows in contemplation, before tilting his head "No." One snap, and Rowena found her wrists clasped in iron, "Not quite."

Darkness swallowed any complaints she attempted to spit out.