Status: in progress
You've Got to Be Kidding.
Cupcake.
“Cheerleading practice after school today! Have to get ready for this weekend!” Courtney reminds me as she passes by me in the hall later. I have no idea what this weekend was, but I can almost guarantee that I wasn’t going. Although, being here after hours might be a good opportunity to snoop around a bit.
“You WHAT?” Dean spits at me, his hands suddenly on his hips. I roll back on my heels, looking around aimlessly, trying to muster up an acceptable answer. With Dean, though, there isn’t one.
“I uh… talked to Orias. Alone…” I sigh, preparing myself for the lecture. Dean looks out the door, clucking his tongue, and lets out a deep breath.
“You know to call us whenever something like this happens. You could have seriously gotten hurt, Em.” He shakes his head, looking down at me.
“What was I supposed to do?” I reason, shaking my hands about. “’Oh wait, lemme go get my boys so that you can’t actually hurt me…’ I mean, he told me his plan, Dean.” I watch his jaw tense, knowing that I’m right and that there isn’t any use to argue with me.
“What if he hurt you?” he murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest.
“But he didn’t.”
“Wait until Sammy hears about this.” He says sternly, complete with narrowed eyes, before kissing my temple and heading back out to his class.
“You what?” Sam hisses that night when we’re in the motel. I just shrug, grabbing a beer from the fridge and popping it open.
“Dean already gave me the lecture.” I take a swig.
“Come on, baby.” Sam groans, running his hands over his face and then back through his hair. He leans forward in the chair angled away from the table, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know you’re not supposed to do that shit alone.”
“Sorry, Dad.” Another swig.
He watches me from the corner of his eye as I move to the doorway, leaning against it. Dean’s laugh spills from the bathroom, along with some steam from his shower. Sam bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh.
“Well,” he says, leaning back in the chair. “What is his plan?” Another swig, this time emptying the bottle. I throw it in the trash, moving toward the fridge to get another.
“He’s trying to become the king of hell.” I tell him, grabbing two bottles and then swinging the door shut. “To do that, he needs an army. That’s why he made us.” I walk over and sit across the table from him, sliding the beer across the surface. He looks at me for a moment, trying to process what I just told him, then pops the bottle open and takes a long drink.
“Crowley’s not going to be happy.” He sighs. “Does Orias know how strong we are?” I shake my head.
“But who knows if you’re strong enough to take Orias down,” Dean hollers from the bathroom. I take another drink of my beer, a million thoughts running through my head.
“What in the bloody hell is this about someone trying to steal my job?” A voice comes from the beds. I turn and find Crowley poised on one, legs crossed, and arms crossed. “That’s not going to happen.”
“According to Orias, it is.” Dean shouts.
“This vermin has been trying to bring me down for decades now.” Crowley says bitterly, getting up and parades into the kitchen, grabbing for the whiskey bottle. “To be blunt, I’m quite sick of it.” He pours himself a glass just as Dean walks out of the shower, catching him in the act.
“Don’t drink it all,” he grumbles, holding up a glass for Crowley to fill as well.
“So,” Sam clears his throat, bringing us back to the problem. “What are we going to do about it?”
“I’m glad you asked that, Moose.” Crowley smirks, motioning to him with his glass. “Since you are my favorite musketeers, I’ll make a deal with you.” We look at each other suspiciously, waiting for him to go on.
“I will give my blood to you both,” He nods. “In which you’ll be stronger than you ever have before, so that you can kill Orias.”
“Woah woah woah,” Dean says, waving his hands in the air. “They… they don’t have to… anymore…”
Sam glances at me, biting his lip.
“Well, we don’t have to drink blood anymore,” Sam mentions.
“But it does help and we become stronger.” I finish, anticipating Dean’s reaction. He looks at the three of us, before letting out a breath and clenching his jaw.
"The cupcake is right," Crowley nods to me.
“Son of a bitch,” he curses, shaking his head and downing the rest of his drink. “Fine. Fucking fine.”
“You WHAT?” Dean spits at me, his hands suddenly on his hips. I roll back on my heels, looking around aimlessly, trying to muster up an acceptable answer. With Dean, though, there isn’t one.
“I uh… talked to Orias. Alone…” I sigh, preparing myself for the lecture. Dean looks out the door, clucking his tongue, and lets out a deep breath.
“You know to call us whenever something like this happens. You could have seriously gotten hurt, Em.” He shakes his head, looking down at me.
“What was I supposed to do?” I reason, shaking my hands about. “’Oh wait, lemme go get my boys so that you can’t actually hurt me…’ I mean, he told me his plan, Dean.” I watch his jaw tense, knowing that I’m right and that there isn’t any use to argue with me.
“What if he hurt you?” he murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest.
“But he didn’t.”
“Wait until Sammy hears about this.” He says sternly, complete with narrowed eyes, before kissing my temple and heading back out to his class.
“You what?” Sam hisses that night when we’re in the motel. I just shrug, grabbing a beer from the fridge and popping it open.
“Dean already gave me the lecture.” I take a swig.
“Come on, baby.” Sam groans, running his hands over his face and then back through his hair. He leans forward in the chair angled away from the table, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know you’re not supposed to do that shit alone.”
“Sorry, Dad.” Another swig.
He watches me from the corner of his eye as I move to the doorway, leaning against it. Dean’s laugh spills from the bathroom, along with some steam from his shower. Sam bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh.
“Well,” he says, leaning back in the chair. “What is his plan?” Another swig, this time emptying the bottle. I throw it in the trash, moving toward the fridge to get another.
“He’s trying to become the king of hell.” I tell him, grabbing two bottles and then swinging the door shut. “To do that, he needs an army. That’s why he made us.” I walk over and sit across the table from him, sliding the beer across the surface. He looks at me for a moment, trying to process what I just told him, then pops the bottle open and takes a long drink.
“Crowley’s not going to be happy.” He sighs. “Does Orias know how strong we are?” I shake my head.
“But who knows if you’re strong enough to take Orias down,” Dean hollers from the bathroom. I take another drink of my beer, a million thoughts running through my head.
“What in the bloody hell is this about someone trying to steal my job?” A voice comes from the beds. I turn and find Crowley poised on one, legs crossed, and arms crossed. “That’s not going to happen.”
“According to Orias, it is.” Dean shouts.
“This vermin has been trying to bring me down for decades now.” Crowley says bitterly, getting up and parades into the kitchen, grabbing for the whiskey bottle. “To be blunt, I’m quite sick of it.” He pours himself a glass just as Dean walks out of the shower, catching him in the act.
“Don’t drink it all,” he grumbles, holding up a glass for Crowley to fill as well.
“So,” Sam clears his throat, bringing us back to the problem. “What are we going to do about it?”
“I’m glad you asked that, Moose.” Crowley smirks, motioning to him with his glass. “Since you are my favorite musketeers, I’ll make a deal with you.” We look at each other suspiciously, waiting for him to go on.
“I will give my blood to you both,” He nods. “In which you’ll be stronger than you ever have before, so that you can kill Orias.”
“Woah woah woah,” Dean says, waving his hands in the air. “They… they don’t have to… anymore…”
Sam glances at me, biting his lip.
“Well, we don’t have to drink blood anymore,” Sam mentions.
“But it does help and we become stronger.” I finish, anticipating Dean’s reaction. He looks at the three of us, before letting out a breath and clenching his jaw.
"The cupcake is right," Crowley nods to me.
“Son of a bitch,” he curses, shaking his head and downing the rest of his drink. “Fine. Fucking fine.”