FIC: How Was I Supposed To Know, Chapter 15 / 16 (Crowley/OFC)
FIC: How Was I Supposed To Know, Chapter 15 / 16 (Crowley/OFC)
AUTHOR: anneelliot201
GENRE: Romance/Drama
PAIRING: Crowley/OFC
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: Season 8, references to Season 9
SUMMARY: Hazel is an ordinary woman--a blackjack dealer at a casino in the middle of the New Mexican desert--but her world gets turned upside down when a man in a black suit decides to take an interest in her. PLEASE NOTE THIS FIC WAS WRITTEN WHILE WATCHING SEASON 9 AND THEREFORE DOES NOT COMPLY WITH CURRENT CANON. I TOOK THINGS IN A DIFFERENT DIRECTION FOR STORYTELLING PURPOSES.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrote too much and now it's going to be 16 chapters. And it's almost done!
Hazel was showering after a long night at work, thinking of all the ways he had touched her body two nights before, thinking of how much she wished things were different and she didn’t feel this huge hole in her life without him. He was a demon and she didn’t need any more shit to deal with. Losing her mom, then losing her dad, and finally losing Hank was enough.
She turned her back to the spray and used her fingers to rinse the conditioner out of her hair. Maybe she’d get it cut, actually pay a stylist who charged more than twenty bucks to make her look like she wasn’t such a loser.
“Hello, love.”
Her stomach jumped into her throat when she heard his voice so near. Before she could wipe the water from her face, his hands were on her hips and he’d pushed her up against the side of the shower. His naked body was pinning hers and for a moment she almost opened her mouth and told him to get away from her She didn’t need him to pop into her life, fuck her, and then leave like she meant nothing. She should have never had sex with him the first time.
And then she felt his mouth on her neck as he scattered kisses up to her ear. “I’ve missed you, darling,” he whispered softly. It sounded so honest, so heartfelt. Her will power just drained right out of her body and in its place was lust and desire and need.
“Why did you leave?” she asked, grabbing his shoulders and pressing her wet, naked body against his. Hazel immediately wanted to take back the question. She sounded like a pathetic, love-lorn little girl.
“I’m not good at this, love.”
His hands were everywhere--sliding down her ribcage, cupping her breasts, tracing the curve of hers hips, dipping between her parted thighs. Setting her on fire. He kissed her, sweeping his tongue inside her mouth so she couldn’t speak. When he pulled back to let her breath, she said, “Good at what?”
“At you. At being with you.” He cupped one breast while the other hand pressed between her legs to slip two fingers inside her wet and willing sex.
What he was doing made it difficult to think. It had been so long since a man had held her this way. And none of them had ever shown this level of unbridled desire of her. It made her weak. “You haven’t been with me; that’s the problem.”
“I’m here with you now,” he said before kissing her hard and passionately. “And here is where I want to be. Isn’t that important, love?”
“Yes, but...”
“Don’t make it difficult. Don’t make it hard. Let’s just... have this.”
She gave up so easily as he reached both hands back to grab her ass. Hazel squealed as he pressed her back against the shower wall and lifted her, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist. As if she were made just for him and him just for her, he slipped himself deep inside her body.
Hazel arched her back, pressing into him, helping him go deeper, though he was already quite deep enough. She couldn’t breathe as he pulled out and pushed back in, making her mind go blank except for the pleasure he was providing. She was no longer upset with him for waltzing in and out of her bedroom She was just immersed in the heavenly feel of him holding her like she was a precious thing while he did his best to make her lose her mind in pleasure.
And she did, sooner rather than later. After she came, he grunted his release and eventually let her body slide down the wall until her feet were on the floor of the shower. She felt shaky and unsteady on her legs. She watched in a blissful, post-orgasmic state as he turned off the water and grabbed a towel from the bar on the wall. She nearly forgave him everything when he wrapped her in the towel and helped her step out of the shower.
He led her into her bedroom, holding onto one of her hands. In a dream-like state, she let him pull the towel from her to dry her hair and her body. With only a slight twinge of self-consciousness, she slipped under the covers and watched him dry himself off before getting in beside her.
She gravitated toward him, molding herself to his warm body. “I’ve missed you,” she admitted.
“You mean you’ve missed my cock,” he said, pulling her closer and wrapping his arms around her.
“Don’t,” she warned. “I meant what I said.”
“Perhaps,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
***************************************
Hazel was a fucking liability. Abbadon was still on the run, her supporters few and far between. Most of Hell had bent the knee to him without a second thought. He brought order and the promise of plenty of souls to torture. Less fighting amongst demons and more torture than Abbadon could provide. It was almost too easy. Actually catching her was proving to be more difficult. But instead he was sitting at his desk thinking about HER. The sweetest little blonde blackjack dealer in the world.
He wasn’t a fool. He didn’t have blind support from every single demon. While she was at work he’d performed a few spells on her house and her car, even around the outside of the casino, that would ward off anything that had taken an interest in her. He didn’t want her to be used as a tool against him. Abbadon knew very well what kind of things he would do for lovely Hazel. Sacrifice himself like a lovesick idiot was one of those things.
It was two in the morning. She was probably done with her shift. She’d be driving home in a few minutes. And then she’d be showering, her little hands all over that smooth, creamy skin. Crowley’s hand tightened on the glass of whiskey. It shattered into pieces, the amber liquid soaking the contract on his desk.
“Fuck,” he muttered, picking a couple shards of glass out of his hand. A small amount of blood pooled in his palm before he soaked it up with the handkerchief in his lapel. It had been two days since he’d seen her. Since he fucked her in the shower and then buried his face in her wet hair while she fell asleep in his arms. Crowley had found it extremely distressing when he’d realized he didn’t know which he’d enjoyed more--the sex or the intimacy afterward.
He yearned for her. Two days appeared to be his limit. Forty-eight hours and he needed her again. Needed to hear her voice, to inhale the delicate smell at the hollow of her throat, to touch her silky skin, to sheath himself in the velvet glove of her sex, to press his lips fully against her pink ones, to let down his guard as he held her while resting in her bed. Nothing compared. Not torture or power or violence. Nothing came close to that feeling of acceptance and contentment. It had been something he’d chased all his life and death, eventually replacing with other lesser pursuits. And now that it was within his grasp, it scared the shit out of him.
Crowley sighed as he watched the slices on his palm heal themselves. He’d told himself he wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t keep going back to her. The second time was supposed to be the last. But he couldn’t stop. He closed his eyes and when he opened them he was standing in her bedroom. She was unhooking her skirt in front of the closet door and she looked startled when he appeared out of thin air.
“Hello, love,” he said softly, running his eyes over her figure. Lingering on the fullness of her breasts and hips. She was beautiful and she was his. He’d had her twice and in that moment he knew what he was up to. He’d keep coming back every night or every other night. She’d be his secret. It was dangerous, but she was intoxicating and he wouldn’t give that up. Couldn’t give her up.
“No,” she said, holding her hands out and taking a step back.
Crowley felt his eyebrows furrow in confusion. “No?” he asked.
“No,” she told him again. “You’re not going to do this to me. You can’t just...” She trailed off, pushing her blonde hair back out of her face with a hand. “You can’t just come in here every other night and then leave. This isn’t fair.”
“Life isn’t fair, love.”
“Well, I have a say and I say no. Get out. What you’re doing to me is... it’s toxic. I can’t stop thinking about you and I only get to see you when you show up. That’s not right.”
He felt his heart constrict. He hadn’t had human blood in months. After he’d escaped he had gone off the rails temporarily. He’d had too much blood and nearly ruined his chances of winning in any campaign against Abbadon. But he’d been clean for months and the instances in which he felt those twinges of humanity had become few and far between. It appeared he hadn’t been able to bury that terrible organ that caused him so much pain, though. It still called to her, beat for her, longed for her love and affection.
“This is complicated, darling,” he said, trying to console her.
“No. It’s not.” She fastened the skirt so it wouldn’t fall and put her hands on her hips. She looked defiant and gorgeous, everything he wanted. “You are using me and giving me nothing.”
“I gave you two orgasms on Thursday night,” he shot back.
“Don’t be obtuse,” she snapped back. “I want a relationship and you can’t give me one. Won’t give me one.”
“I’m a demon; what do you expect?”
“Too much, obviously. You need to leave now.”
Crowley stepped forward to take her in his arms. If he could just touch her then she’d change her mind. He could unzip her skirt and unbutton the blouse. They could fall into her bed and he could bury his face between her thighs and relish the way her short nails dragged along his scalp while he pleasured her.
He took another step, reaching out an arm, and then he hit a wall. It was the familiar, invisible wall of a Devil’s Trap. “Darling,” he said. His heart was heavy, sinking into his stomach. “I won’t hurt you. Ever.”
“You are hurting me. You’re using me. I’m starting to feel like a girl in your harem. And I refuse.”
His throat was closing up. He was hurting her? He’d been so careful to not do so. She was the only one he never wanted to hurt. “What can I do to make it better, love?”
“Nothing. You need to leave. I can’t do this; it’s destroying me.” There were tears in her eyes. She blinked and they slipped down her face. “I’ll break the trap, but you have to leave. I don’t want you to touch me.”
“Please, darling,” he said. Panic and fear was rising up, overtaking him. What would happen if he didn’t have her? He’d stayed away from her before because it was his choice. But what if it was hers that he stay away? What if she wouldn’t allow him to see her, touch her, feel her body next to his in her little bed?
“Don’t,” Hazel warned him. “Just go, okay. Thank you for my brother. Thank you for saving me. But you can’t do this to me. I’ll never have a life if you do. And then you’ll get tired of me and I’ll miss you more than I already do.”
Crowley swallowed. “Break the trap and I’ll leave.”
“Promise me,” she said, edging forward.
“I promise, love,” he whispered. She was right. Why not rip the band-aid off now? Finish this charade before it became harder to end. She had always been too good for him. He would just find someone who looked like her or whom he could make to look like her and use that someone to get her out of his system.
Hazel flipped the edge of her bedroom area rug up and rubbed her shoe against the white, chalky substance beneath it. After a few passes about an inch of the outer circle was smudged enough to break the trap. “Behave yourself, please,” she said. There was fear in her eyes, trepidation and anxiety.
“For you, darling,” he agreed. And then he snapped his fingers and sent himself back to his study. The bottle of whiskey he’d been drinking was sitting on the desk. Crowley reached over and grabbed the neck of it. He took a generous swig before hurling it against he wall. It shattered into hundreds of pieces on the hardwood floor, but the destruction didn’t make him feel better at all.
*************************************
Hazel was making a list in her head while she drove home. It was a short list of things she needed to take with her to Kansas. A suitcase of clothes and toiletries, her Kindle, a small grocery bag of her favorite books, her computer and her cell phone, and the tote bag of things the Winchesters had given her when they’d dropped her off. It contained bottles of holy water, a cross, salt, a machete, a revolver, a book with important symbols, and borax. She still wasn’t sure why borax was so important. She’d been in shock when they’d rattled off what to use it for since a scant three days before she’d almost died before watching Crowley be killed.
Except he hadn’t been killed. He was alive and well. So well that he’d managed to get in her pants twice before she’d had the fortitude to tell him no. Scratch that. It hadn’t been fortitude or strength. It had been sheer pain and desperation. She wanted him too much, cared for him too much. And he obviously didn’t reciprocate if he could pop in and out of her bedroom every other night for sex before slipping out while she was asleep. It made her feel sad and cheap and disposable.
She thought back to almost three weeks ago when she’d trapped him within the circle in her bedroom and asked him to leave. He’d looked so hurt, devastated almost. But he was a demon and all the books and websites said demons are bad. The Winchesters said Crowley was especially bad. And while she didn’t completely believe them, she understood that being involved with him was a bad idea. She’d end up heartbroken and used up; it was just a matter of time.
A week ago she’d called Dean and asked if he and Sam needed her help. She couldn’t fight like they could, but she could sit on her ass and look up stuff in books. They had resisted at first, telling her that she didn’t want to live the life of a hunter. When she stuck to her guns, they agreed to think about it. She didn’t give them much time to think it over when she called them the next day from her car before she walked into work. They had reluctantly agreed to a trial period. She could have her old bedroom back if she did research for them. Hazel got the impression that they were overwhelmed with the size of the library available to them. Fortunately, she’d always been comfortable with a card catalog system.
Hazel didn’t have much. After putting in her two week notice, she began giving away or selling all the things she didn’t intend to take with her. All that was left now were the larger pieces of furniture like the bed and the sofa and the things she wanted to bring with her. It felt freeing to rid herself of things. And that feeling was familiar. Whenever she’d experienced a loss in her life, she’d reacted by purging her life of things she didn’t need. Dad died and she’d sold most of her CD collection and half her book collection. Hank killed himself and she whittled her wardrobe down to two drawers and twenty hangers. Breaking up with a boyfriend? Sure, she happily cleaned out the kitchen cabinets and toted boxes of glasses, plates, and silverware to the thrift store. Purging made her feel better, made her feel in control of her life.
And now here she was, getting rid of almost everything in her life because she’d developed feelings for the baddest of bad boys. How ironic that she’d always steered clear of them. She would have never guessed that once she did fall for one he would be the worst--a demon who seemed content to use her for sex. Hazel knew that deep down she would have put up with the arrangement if he’d been willing to let her into his life more. Booty calls at 3am were okay if she knew what he was doing and where he was, if she knew his past and present. But Crowley was a mystery. She never really knew what he was thinking and she certainly didn’t know what he spent his days and nights doing. And the only things she knew about him were things she’d read second hand in the Men of Letters library. He had deftly avoided answering almost every one of her questions. It just wasn’t fair and it wasn’t healthy. And she needed to hit the breaks before she got her heart broken even more than it already was.
The dome light in her car cast a yellow glow over the interior as she pushed the door open and grabbed her purse from the passenger seat. It was cold tonight--a forecasted low of twenty--with light snow. The stuff never really stuck in Albuquerque, but it made for a more tense drive home.
Hazel shivered as she locked up her car and hurried to the front door, fumbling for her keys in the dark. She’d forgotten to leave the little porch light by the door on when she’d left for work. After a struggle to find the keyhole, she let herself in and tossed the purse in the floor. The little house felt so empty. No coffee table, no kitchen chairs, no pictures on the walls, no pantry filled with food. She had one week left before she was due to drive off to Kansas for good.
She shrugged off her coat and tossed it on the couch as she made her way into the bedroom. A shower would be nice, she thought. A hot shower to warm her chilly bones. Just as she turned the corner to enter her bedroom, the hair on the back of her neck raised.
While the rest of the house was dark, illuminated only by a nightlight in the living room and a small light over the kitchen sink, the bedroom was warm with candlelight. She stepped into the room before she fully comprehended that she could be in danger. Surely if someone had broken in, they would have met her at the door and killed her there. Why wait in her bedroom?
He was sitting on the foot of her bed, his forearms resting on his knees and his head bowed, eyes staring at the floor. “Crowley,” she said, shocked to see him. Weeks ago when she’d asked him to leave, he’d left without argument and she hadn’t heard from him since. She’d assumed he had moved on and forgotten about her.
He lifted his head, his face shrouded in darkness. “Hello, love,” he said softly.
AUTHOR: anneelliot201
GENRE: Romance/Drama
PAIRING: Crowley/OFC
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: Season 8, references to Season 9
SUMMARY: Hazel is an ordinary woman--a blackjack dealer at a casino in the middle of the New Mexican desert--but her world gets turned upside down when a man in a black suit decides to take an interest in her. PLEASE NOTE THIS FIC WAS WRITTEN WHILE WATCHING SEASON 9 AND THEREFORE DOES NOT COMPLY WITH CURRENT CANON. I TOOK THINGS IN A DIFFERENT DIRECTION FOR STORYTELLING PURPOSES.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrote too much and now it's going to be 16 chapters. And it's almost done!
Hazel was showering after a long night at work, thinking of all the ways he had touched her body two nights before, thinking of how much she wished things were different and she didn’t feel this huge hole in her life without him. He was a demon and she didn’t need any more shit to deal with. Losing her mom, then losing her dad, and finally losing Hank was enough.
She turned her back to the spray and used her fingers to rinse the conditioner out of her hair. Maybe she’d get it cut, actually pay a stylist who charged more than twenty bucks to make her look like she wasn’t such a loser.
“Hello, love.”
Her stomach jumped into her throat when she heard his voice so near. Before she could wipe the water from her face, his hands were on her hips and he’d pushed her up against the side of the shower. His naked body was pinning hers and for a moment she almost opened her mouth and told him to get away from her She didn’t need him to pop into her life, fuck her, and then leave like she meant nothing. She should have never had sex with him the first time.
And then she felt his mouth on her neck as he scattered kisses up to her ear. “I’ve missed you, darling,” he whispered softly. It sounded so honest, so heartfelt. Her will power just drained right out of her body and in its place was lust and desire and need.
“Why did you leave?” she asked, grabbing his shoulders and pressing her wet, naked body against his. Hazel immediately wanted to take back the question. She sounded like a pathetic, love-lorn little girl.
“I’m not good at this, love.”
His hands were everywhere--sliding down her ribcage, cupping her breasts, tracing the curve of hers hips, dipping between her parted thighs. Setting her on fire. He kissed her, sweeping his tongue inside her mouth so she couldn’t speak. When he pulled back to let her breath, she said, “Good at what?”
“At you. At being with you.” He cupped one breast while the other hand pressed between her legs to slip two fingers inside her wet and willing sex.
What he was doing made it difficult to think. It had been so long since a man had held her this way. And none of them had ever shown this level of unbridled desire of her. It made her weak. “You haven’t been with me; that’s the problem.”
“I’m here with you now,” he said before kissing her hard and passionately. “And here is where I want to be. Isn’t that important, love?”
“Yes, but...”
“Don’t make it difficult. Don’t make it hard. Let’s just... have this.”
She gave up so easily as he reached both hands back to grab her ass. Hazel squealed as he pressed her back against the shower wall and lifted her, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist. As if she were made just for him and him just for her, he slipped himself deep inside her body.
Hazel arched her back, pressing into him, helping him go deeper, though he was already quite deep enough. She couldn’t breathe as he pulled out and pushed back in, making her mind go blank except for the pleasure he was providing. She was no longer upset with him for waltzing in and out of her bedroom She was just immersed in the heavenly feel of him holding her like she was a precious thing while he did his best to make her lose her mind in pleasure.
And she did, sooner rather than later. After she came, he grunted his release and eventually let her body slide down the wall until her feet were on the floor of the shower. She felt shaky and unsteady on her legs. She watched in a blissful, post-orgasmic state as he turned off the water and grabbed a towel from the bar on the wall. She nearly forgave him everything when he wrapped her in the towel and helped her step out of the shower.
He led her into her bedroom, holding onto one of her hands. In a dream-like state, she let him pull the towel from her to dry her hair and her body. With only a slight twinge of self-consciousness, she slipped under the covers and watched him dry himself off before getting in beside her.
She gravitated toward him, molding herself to his warm body. “I’ve missed you,” she admitted.
“You mean you’ve missed my cock,” he said, pulling her closer and wrapping his arms around her.
“Don’t,” she warned. “I meant what I said.”
“Perhaps,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
***************************************
Hazel was a fucking liability. Abbadon was still on the run, her supporters few and far between. Most of Hell had bent the knee to him without a second thought. He brought order and the promise of plenty of souls to torture. Less fighting amongst demons and more torture than Abbadon could provide. It was almost too easy. Actually catching her was proving to be more difficult. But instead he was sitting at his desk thinking about HER. The sweetest little blonde blackjack dealer in the world.
He wasn’t a fool. He didn’t have blind support from every single demon. While she was at work he’d performed a few spells on her house and her car, even around the outside of the casino, that would ward off anything that had taken an interest in her. He didn’t want her to be used as a tool against him. Abbadon knew very well what kind of things he would do for lovely Hazel. Sacrifice himself like a lovesick idiot was one of those things.
It was two in the morning. She was probably done with her shift. She’d be driving home in a few minutes. And then she’d be showering, her little hands all over that smooth, creamy skin. Crowley’s hand tightened on the glass of whiskey. It shattered into pieces, the amber liquid soaking the contract on his desk.
“Fuck,” he muttered, picking a couple shards of glass out of his hand. A small amount of blood pooled in his palm before he soaked it up with the handkerchief in his lapel. It had been two days since he’d seen her. Since he fucked her in the shower and then buried his face in her wet hair while she fell asleep in his arms. Crowley had found it extremely distressing when he’d realized he didn’t know which he’d enjoyed more--the sex or the intimacy afterward.
He yearned for her. Two days appeared to be his limit. Forty-eight hours and he needed her again. Needed to hear her voice, to inhale the delicate smell at the hollow of her throat, to touch her silky skin, to sheath himself in the velvet glove of her sex, to press his lips fully against her pink ones, to let down his guard as he held her while resting in her bed. Nothing compared. Not torture or power or violence. Nothing came close to that feeling of acceptance and contentment. It had been something he’d chased all his life and death, eventually replacing with other lesser pursuits. And now that it was within his grasp, it scared the shit out of him.
Crowley sighed as he watched the slices on his palm heal themselves. He’d told himself he wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t keep going back to her. The second time was supposed to be the last. But he couldn’t stop. He closed his eyes and when he opened them he was standing in her bedroom. She was unhooking her skirt in front of the closet door and she looked startled when he appeared out of thin air.
“Hello, love,” he said softly, running his eyes over her figure. Lingering on the fullness of her breasts and hips. She was beautiful and she was his. He’d had her twice and in that moment he knew what he was up to. He’d keep coming back every night or every other night. She’d be his secret. It was dangerous, but she was intoxicating and he wouldn’t give that up. Couldn’t give her up.
“No,” she said, holding her hands out and taking a step back.
Crowley felt his eyebrows furrow in confusion. “No?” he asked.
“No,” she told him again. “You’re not going to do this to me. You can’t just...” She trailed off, pushing her blonde hair back out of her face with a hand. “You can’t just come in here every other night and then leave. This isn’t fair.”
“Life isn’t fair, love.”
“Well, I have a say and I say no. Get out. What you’re doing to me is... it’s toxic. I can’t stop thinking about you and I only get to see you when you show up. That’s not right.”
He felt his heart constrict. He hadn’t had human blood in months. After he’d escaped he had gone off the rails temporarily. He’d had too much blood and nearly ruined his chances of winning in any campaign against Abbadon. But he’d been clean for months and the instances in which he felt those twinges of humanity had become few and far between. It appeared he hadn’t been able to bury that terrible organ that caused him so much pain, though. It still called to her, beat for her, longed for her love and affection.
“This is complicated, darling,” he said, trying to console her.
“No. It’s not.” She fastened the skirt so it wouldn’t fall and put her hands on her hips. She looked defiant and gorgeous, everything he wanted. “You are using me and giving me nothing.”
“I gave you two orgasms on Thursday night,” he shot back.
“Don’t be obtuse,” she snapped back. “I want a relationship and you can’t give me one. Won’t give me one.”
“I’m a demon; what do you expect?”
“Too much, obviously. You need to leave now.”
Crowley stepped forward to take her in his arms. If he could just touch her then she’d change her mind. He could unzip her skirt and unbutton the blouse. They could fall into her bed and he could bury his face between her thighs and relish the way her short nails dragged along his scalp while he pleasured her.
He took another step, reaching out an arm, and then he hit a wall. It was the familiar, invisible wall of a Devil’s Trap. “Darling,” he said. His heart was heavy, sinking into his stomach. “I won’t hurt you. Ever.”
“You are hurting me. You’re using me. I’m starting to feel like a girl in your harem. And I refuse.”
His throat was closing up. He was hurting her? He’d been so careful to not do so. She was the only one he never wanted to hurt. “What can I do to make it better, love?”
“Nothing. You need to leave. I can’t do this; it’s destroying me.” There were tears in her eyes. She blinked and they slipped down her face. “I’ll break the trap, but you have to leave. I don’t want you to touch me.”
“Please, darling,” he said. Panic and fear was rising up, overtaking him. What would happen if he didn’t have her? He’d stayed away from her before because it was his choice. But what if it was hers that he stay away? What if she wouldn’t allow him to see her, touch her, feel her body next to his in her little bed?
“Don’t,” Hazel warned him. “Just go, okay. Thank you for my brother. Thank you for saving me. But you can’t do this to me. I’ll never have a life if you do. And then you’ll get tired of me and I’ll miss you more than I already do.”
Crowley swallowed. “Break the trap and I’ll leave.”
“Promise me,” she said, edging forward.
“I promise, love,” he whispered. She was right. Why not rip the band-aid off now? Finish this charade before it became harder to end. She had always been too good for him. He would just find someone who looked like her or whom he could make to look like her and use that someone to get her out of his system.
Hazel flipped the edge of her bedroom area rug up and rubbed her shoe against the white, chalky substance beneath it. After a few passes about an inch of the outer circle was smudged enough to break the trap. “Behave yourself, please,” she said. There was fear in her eyes, trepidation and anxiety.
“For you, darling,” he agreed. And then he snapped his fingers and sent himself back to his study. The bottle of whiskey he’d been drinking was sitting on the desk. Crowley reached over and grabbed the neck of it. He took a generous swig before hurling it against he wall. It shattered into hundreds of pieces on the hardwood floor, but the destruction didn’t make him feel better at all.
*************************************
Hazel was making a list in her head while she drove home. It was a short list of things she needed to take with her to Kansas. A suitcase of clothes and toiletries, her Kindle, a small grocery bag of her favorite books, her computer and her cell phone, and the tote bag of things the Winchesters had given her when they’d dropped her off. It contained bottles of holy water, a cross, salt, a machete, a revolver, a book with important symbols, and borax. She still wasn’t sure why borax was so important. She’d been in shock when they’d rattled off what to use it for since a scant three days before she’d almost died before watching Crowley be killed.
Except he hadn’t been killed. He was alive and well. So well that he’d managed to get in her pants twice before she’d had the fortitude to tell him no. Scratch that. It hadn’t been fortitude or strength. It had been sheer pain and desperation. She wanted him too much, cared for him too much. And he obviously didn’t reciprocate if he could pop in and out of her bedroom every other night for sex before slipping out while she was asleep. It made her feel sad and cheap and disposable.
She thought back to almost three weeks ago when she’d trapped him within the circle in her bedroom and asked him to leave. He’d looked so hurt, devastated almost. But he was a demon and all the books and websites said demons are bad. The Winchesters said Crowley was especially bad. And while she didn’t completely believe them, she understood that being involved with him was a bad idea. She’d end up heartbroken and used up; it was just a matter of time.
A week ago she’d called Dean and asked if he and Sam needed her help. She couldn’t fight like they could, but she could sit on her ass and look up stuff in books. They had resisted at first, telling her that she didn’t want to live the life of a hunter. When she stuck to her guns, they agreed to think about it. She didn’t give them much time to think it over when she called them the next day from her car before she walked into work. They had reluctantly agreed to a trial period. She could have her old bedroom back if she did research for them. Hazel got the impression that they were overwhelmed with the size of the library available to them. Fortunately, she’d always been comfortable with a card catalog system.
Hazel didn’t have much. After putting in her two week notice, she began giving away or selling all the things she didn’t intend to take with her. All that was left now were the larger pieces of furniture like the bed and the sofa and the things she wanted to bring with her. It felt freeing to rid herself of things. And that feeling was familiar. Whenever she’d experienced a loss in her life, she’d reacted by purging her life of things she didn’t need. Dad died and she’d sold most of her CD collection and half her book collection. Hank killed himself and she whittled her wardrobe down to two drawers and twenty hangers. Breaking up with a boyfriend? Sure, she happily cleaned out the kitchen cabinets and toted boxes of glasses, plates, and silverware to the thrift store. Purging made her feel better, made her feel in control of her life.
And now here she was, getting rid of almost everything in her life because she’d developed feelings for the baddest of bad boys. How ironic that she’d always steered clear of them. She would have never guessed that once she did fall for one he would be the worst--a demon who seemed content to use her for sex. Hazel knew that deep down she would have put up with the arrangement if he’d been willing to let her into his life more. Booty calls at 3am were okay if she knew what he was doing and where he was, if she knew his past and present. But Crowley was a mystery. She never really knew what he was thinking and she certainly didn’t know what he spent his days and nights doing. And the only things she knew about him were things she’d read second hand in the Men of Letters library. He had deftly avoided answering almost every one of her questions. It just wasn’t fair and it wasn’t healthy. And she needed to hit the breaks before she got her heart broken even more than it already was.
The dome light in her car cast a yellow glow over the interior as she pushed the door open and grabbed her purse from the passenger seat. It was cold tonight--a forecasted low of twenty--with light snow. The stuff never really stuck in Albuquerque, but it made for a more tense drive home.
Hazel shivered as she locked up her car and hurried to the front door, fumbling for her keys in the dark. She’d forgotten to leave the little porch light by the door on when she’d left for work. After a struggle to find the keyhole, she let herself in and tossed the purse in the floor. The little house felt so empty. No coffee table, no kitchen chairs, no pictures on the walls, no pantry filled with food. She had one week left before she was due to drive off to Kansas for good.
She shrugged off her coat and tossed it on the couch as she made her way into the bedroom. A shower would be nice, she thought. A hot shower to warm her chilly bones. Just as she turned the corner to enter her bedroom, the hair on the back of her neck raised.
While the rest of the house was dark, illuminated only by a nightlight in the living room and a small light over the kitchen sink, the bedroom was warm with candlelight. She stepped into the room before she fully comprehended that she could be in danger. Surely if someone had broken in, they would have met her at the door and killed her there. Why wait in her bedroom?
He was sitting on the foot of her bed, his forearms resting on his knees and his head bowed, eyes staring at the floor. “Crowley,” she said, shocked to see him. Weeks ago when she’d asked him to leave, he’d left without argument and she hadn’t heard from him since. She’d assumed he had moved on and forgotten about her.
He lifted his head, his face shrouded in darkness. “Hello, love,” he said softly.