Brothers Keep Her

“What do you mean, she blacked out on you?” Sam asks Dean.

You feel sick. Your shaking hand makes its way over your mouth. Oh god, it was real. You can’t look at either of them.

“Well, I mean... we... she...” Dean sounds as uncomfortable as you feel. “It was her third glass, Sam. I should have cut her off at two. We were just having a couple of drinks. You know. Unwind.”

He regrets it. It was the alcohol. That’s what it was, you think to yourself. Heat creeps into your cheeks and you realize you still need air. Part of you is relieved that Dean doesn’t think that kiss means anything and that the way he looked right into your heart was nothing but three glasses of whiskey, neat. Why, then, does it burn at you to remember the fluttery sensation in your belly when he pulled you into his arms? He’d melted you when he sang,‘I feel wonderful because I see the love light in your eyes...’

You can’t believe you fell for that. You should have known; Dean’s a player. A manwhore. You knew that. Sam’s joked about it before. And Dean knew - KNEW! - that Sam was falling for you. His own brother!! He told you so in the hospital when he thought you were asleep. Ohhhh. You don’t know who you’re angrier with - Dean or yourself. Outside. Fresh air, now.

Your feet carry you up the winding stairs to the door of the bunker. Neither of the brothers calls after you, and you hear no footsteps fall in pursuit - they’re giving you a bit of space. That, or they’re momentarily stunned.

You burst through the door and break into a run. The air is crisp in the early morning, and even though the sun is hidden behind a layer of clouds, your eyes have to adjust to the brightness. It’s much darker down in the bunker. You think briefly about trying to get away in the Impala, but there’s no chance that Dean left the keys and you can’t hot-wire a car to save your life. Mental note: learn how to hot-wire a car. Secondly, you want to get away from the boys right now and the fastest way to be tracked down is by stealing Dean’s Baby.

“Going somewhere, love?” The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you skid to a stop in the gravel, turn around face-to-face with Crowley. He stands there wrapped in his stupid black trench coat with that stupid grin on his stupid smug face.

“What do you want?”

He’s the last person - thing - you want to see.

“To help you, that’s all,” he says.

You hear Dean and Sam shouting at each other from inside the bunker. They must be coming up the stairs.

“Need a lift?” Crowley asks and snaps his fingers. Now you’re sitting at a booth in a little diner, and he’s sitting directly across from you.

“Uh... What just happened?”

He smiles. “I do what I want. I’m Crowley.” He reaches for the sugar as the waitress stops at the table. She turns the coffee mugs over and pours a steaming cup for each of you. “Thanks, love. Be a dear and bring us a menu, would you?”

You stare at him, then scan your surroundings through the window.

“Don’t worry. We’re hours away from them. Actually, scratch that. Days. Welcome to California.”

No way. You scan the streets and sure enough: every single car has a California license plate. But instead of mile-high palm trees and long stretches of light sand beaches, you see conifers and cypress trees, and spiny looking bushes that look like they could have come from another planet.

“Yes way,” he says as his spoon clinks inside the mug. “I take it you’ve started to put the pieces together?”

“What pieces?” You sit rigid with your fists clenched at your sides.

“Your part in all of this. Who you are.”

“And what would that be?”

He shakes his head and carefully places the spoon on the saucer. He lifts up the mug and takes a sip without minding the heat. “Oh, come now. You have to come to it on your own. If I tell you, it’ll ruin everything.”

“Ruin what?” You’re losing patience with this jerk-face. Your cell phone rings in your back pocket.

The fun. “It’s Sam. You should get that.” Crowley looks up at the waitress as she drops the menus by.

You pull out your phone. Your heart races. “Sam?” you answer, though a lot of good he can do you now. You’re all the way in California with Crowley. Alone, with Crowley.

“Are you okay? Where are you?” he asks, breathless. You hear the distinct throaty hum of the Impala in the background. They’re out looking for you.

“I’m - I don’t know. California,” you say, eyeing Crowley.

The demon nods at you. “Tell him we’re in a little town called Pacific Grove. Go ahead. It won’t hurt.”

“Is that Crowley?!” Sam yells into the phone so loudly it pierces your ear drum.

“Yes. He... I don’t know how we got here.”

The phone shuffles and you hear Dean’s voice on the line. “[Y/N], put Crowley on the phone. Now.”

You gladly oblige. Crowley rolls his eyes as he takes the phone from you. “Hello, dearest.”

You study his face as he listens to Dean. You can’t hear that end of the conversation, but you know Dean is threatening him, even though that kiss meant nothing. There’s a funny tinge in your belly as you think about the way he looked at you last night. Then the tip of your nose suddenly feels ice cold as you replay the gentle nudge in your mind. Ugh, stop! You scold yourself. Stop thinking about him!

“I’ll bring her back in one piece, I give you my word,” Crowley continues. “Just as soon as we’ve had our breakfast.”

You look around the diner. Most of the booths are occupied, but nobody seems to have any idea that they’re dining with the King of Hell. It’s probably best they never find out.

“I wouldn’t,” Crowley warns into the phone. “By the time you’re halfway across Kansas, we’ll be right back in Lebanon. So just sit tight and be patient!” Crowley ends the call and sets your phone on the table, face down. “Now, where were we? Oh yes. Your destiny.”

You manage a few pieces of toast as your stomach feels like it may start chewing on itself. When is the last time you’ve eaten something? You don’t remember, honestly. Crowley orders himself a large breakfast combo platter with a short stack of pancakes on the side, and squirts ketchup over the eggs, bacon, sausage, and home-fried potatoes. “I don’t get out much,” he says. Devil’s gotta eat.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?” Talk inside your head, like this?

You stare at him. Yes, that.

We’re bound. Sort of. More like an open line of communication. We will, after all, be working very closely together.

I’m... I’m a demon?

No, no, I never said that.

Then what?

You should probably pick up your toast and take a nibble, else people are going to wonder why we’re having a staring contest.

You shake your eyes free of his face and grab your last piece of toast. A quick glance around the room reveals that an old man has, in fact, started to take notice of you.

“I told you. I can’t tell you. That’s not how this works. You’ve got to figure it out on your own.” He stabs a sausage with his fork and holds it up. “But don’t worry. You’ve already taken the first step.”

“Which is what?”

“You opened the door.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Why aren’t I afraid of this man?

You’re not afraid of me because you have no reason to be. You’ll understand soon enough.

“What door?”

Crowley looks at you over his short stack of pancakes as he slices into them with his knife and fork.

“Fine, then, who’s coming after me?”

“Oh,” he answers, puffing air through his lips. “Who isn’t? You’re a rather big player in the game.”

Crowley’s dancing around the subject is working on your nerves. “What’s in it for you?”

“If you must know,” he begins, wiping his mouth with the paper napkin and pushing his plate aside. “My old boss seems to think he can take his job back.”

“Your old boss?” Your eyes widen as you realize he means Lucifer. The. Lucifer.

“The one and only. Thing is, he doesn’t deserve it. He drove it into the ground once and he’ll do it again. Ironically, I don’t mean that literally. I’m a business man. I’m the best fit for the job. I intend to take it back.” He clears his throat, reading your thoughts. “Your friend was unlucky. And the demon that killed him was a traitor. There are armies of demons who think Lucy should be back in the game, but that’s only because he’s out of the cage, and they’re cowards. He thought he could keep me in chains, and look at me now.”

“You want me to help you get rid of...”

“No, no. Not like that at all. It just wouldn’t hurt to have someone of your rapport on my team when the time comes. Well, not necessarily on my team, but in my corner. Your lot doesn’t really take sides.”

My rapport? My lot?

“What do you remember from the kiss?”

Your cheeks burn. “None of your business, pervert.”

He shakes his head. “Not the kiss. What did you see?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Because you haven’t stopped thinking about it. You’re afraid to look at the memories again, but they’re there, tucked away in the back of your mind. So, tell me what you saw. Or show me, if you’d rather.”

You’re not comfortable with letting Crowley have free reign of your mind, so you opt to just tell him. “I saw... Dean. And a man. An old man. Really thin, and sort of ashen-colored skin. He gave Dean a ring, and Dean had this mark on his arm... I don’t know. It was all jumbled together, you know?” There’s one memory in particular that both baffles and unsettles you...

Crowley picks up on your train of thought. “You’re so close. Oooh, right there, love. Of course, you don’t think it makes sense, but it does. You have to allow yourself to think the unthinkable.”

You search his face.

With a sharp inhale, he laces his fingers on the table. “Okay. One hint, but that’s all you get. About a year ago, you and your coworker ran into someone behind the coffee shop as you were leaving. It was late at night, after closing. You didn’t see him - he made sure you wouldn’t. But you knew he was there. She never did, but she believed you. You felt his presence. He wasn’t there to hurt you, but rather, to choose you.”

The pale man with the sunken cheeks... Your phone starts vibrating around in a circle on the smooth table top. One by one the pieces fall into place. The ashen-skinned man and a never-ending list... You start to see them. Some of them. The faces of the people he brought to the other side: an overweight man who suffered a heart attack on a city bench, a young girl who lost her long-fought battle with an autoimmune disease, a middle aged single mother who died trying to save a crash victim from his burning car. He was there for each of them, ending their suffering so they could cross over, because it was their time - it said so on his list. There were more - multitudes more - each one guided by a gentle Reaper.

When you look up, you see them. The old man at the bar has turned to face you, now; he’s no mere old man. A woman with a thick head of curly hair stands by the booth with her hands folded behind her back, waiting for you to acknowledge her first, a warm glow on her beautiful face. Outside the window, three more have appeared on the sidewalk in front of the diner, looking in at you. Though you can’t explain how you know who they are and why they’re here. “Reapers,” you whisper. You nod at the three outside and they nod back, offering warm, respectful smiles.

They work for you, Crowley says inside your head. And they’ve been waiting patiently.

“It’s good to have you back, boss,” the curly-haired woman says to you. “You’ll remember all of us in time. It’s going to take a little while for things to really sink in. We’ve been holding down the fort ever since Dean...” She stops at the look of pain on your face. “I’m Billie. When you’re ready, just call for me.”

Billie and the old man quietly leave the diner without any of the human patrons having the slightest idea they were even there. But you know, suddenly, somehow, that each of these people still has time left. Some of them have years, some have only a few weeks. It makes you a little sad for them.

“See? Isn’t this fun?” Crowley jests. “It’ll be like riding a bike, I’m sure.”

You’re still staring at the door of the diner when your phone vibrates for the second - or maybe third - time.

Crowley sighs heavily. “They’ll be calling every hunter on the West Coast to track us down, and that could end badly for me.”

With another clean snap of his fingers, you’re standing a few yards away from the Impala just outside the bunker. A slight breeze blows past as you steady yourself on your feet. “We didn’t pay,” you say absently because you don’t know what else to say. You’re numb, like your heart is caught between beats. There aren’t words for what you just found out. Not yet.

Crowley guffaws. “Is that what you’re worried about just now? I’ve just told you you’re going to live for eternity and you’re worried about paying a diner tab?”

You glare at him. You didn’t tell me anything. He’s right; you’ve got no reason to fear the (former) King of Hell.

“Alright, alright,” he says, his hands in the air. “I’ll make sure the lovely waitress is paid. Worry not, dear friend.”

“[Y/N]!” Dean and Sam yell at the same time. Your heart sinks as you turn to see them racing toward you from up the road. They must have been searching for you on foot. How are you going to tell them?

Sam’s longer legs carry him faster than Dean can run. He hooks your arm and sweeps you toward the bunker door, leaving Crowley with his hands in his pockets to wait for Dean. You can’t find your voice. As you glance back over your shoulder, Crowley says something to Dean, draining the color from his face.