#fluffycrowley

It all fell on you deliberately. It was not something you could throw off yourself or even try to ignore for anything more than a millisecond. Your sister, your flesh and blood--her blood pooled and had already began trailing itself down a crack to a sidewalk drain. Your knees weakened like the nerves in your face and dropped to the floor; staining your jeans with something you never planned on seeing. The thought was solid in your mind and synthesized itself into a whimper when your jaw dropped in a deep state of despair. You reached for her, picking her up in your arms as if they held the power to revive her. "No," your words did as before. "No, this wasn't supposed to happen to you."

As the eldest of the pair, your job was clear to you: responsibility. She was your responsibility; your little sister, the huntress in training. Your cheek trembled and you thought it was the run from where you where seconds ago to where she was but you then felt the strain in your eyes as they wept uncontrollably. "Baby, sweetie, c'mon. You ain't dying on me." 

"Let me go then." Her voice was a whisper, faint and breathy. Her chest moved against your shoulder, struggling for air and the chance to speak what she thought were her last words. A chain of coughs severed her structure, "Tha's…tha's your favor'eh…jacket." She spoke like you would mind the blood as much as you would a vamp's.

"Shut up," you choked back a sob as you set her down with what ever care you could process in the outrage that had consumed you. You stripped the jacket off, bundled it and pressed it to the raw opening the bullet left when it lodged itself in her side. She made her efforts to vocalize her discomfort at the newfound pressure. It was not so absorbent but it was all there was in such hurry, and god did you wish for it to suffice the trip to the hospital. Your arm was under hers again, looped around her back, hoisting her weight onto your side. "C'mon."

"You're never," you thought her going mute, but a cough erupted. "Never giving up, are ya?"

"I said shut up, didn't I?" You looked forward, eyes crossing the panorama before you in search of anything else set on either of you, lost in paranoia, delusion, and force. Your sister cawed and it caught your attention, her fingers fell onto your hand signaling you the hurt it brought. You loosened your hold, accommodation her, "No," you looked down on to her, "Not 'til the day I die and even then I'll crawl my way back to watch over you."

Only footsteps remained to the passenger door, you reached for the door handle and swung the door aside. You sat her down and propped her against the seat so that the jacket would keep the pressure it had been gifting. "Y'talk too much."

The irony of her words forced a snorted chuckle, she who was in dire need of medical assistance was rambling on leaving her breath shallow and rendering her merciless sooner than it needed to be. Both doors were slammed,  seat belts unbuckled (but when did you ever truly wear them?) and your knuckles turning white on the leather steering wheel and knob of the transmission.

Muffled voices surrounded your foggy mind as the stretcher-bearers rolled her numbing body through the door of the emergency room. Lights were clouding the corners of your eyes. Currently blinded by continuous tears, you gripped her hand and stumblingly trotted alongside the rolling stretcher. "Authorized personnel beyond here only, miss." 

It mimicked a blow to the stomach. Helplessly you picked up the bundle you and your sister's fingers had become. "Please."

"I'm sorry."

You looked up, teeth bearing down into your lip as you nodded somewhat understandingly; you would not be able to take the blame of delaying her recovery, so you sank down the side of the white hall, head hung low and face in the caress of your bloody palms.

  “______, I believe.” The tone of voice was sure and certain, but the chosen vocabulary showed otherwise, the accented charm was one you had never heard prior to that day. You wanted to ignore it but the use of your name lead you to opt out. Your true name was never disclosed for both you and your sister used aliases. You turned your head towards the new arrival, the intensity of the hospital lights making it so your eyes took a second before any recognition of features could be made. A man in a long black coat and beard towered above you where you sat on the floor, his smugness rid you of your remaining patience. You got up and rested your arms over your chest. “And you’d be?”

Surprise washed over his face, “Ah.” His arm extended in offering of a proper introduction. “To some Crowley, to others Your Highness.”

The name struck, “King of?” You made the effort to not show revelation and almost went for the silver blade in your jacket before detecting you were not wearing it.

“King of Hell, darling. I don’t suppose we’ve met, but surely you’ve heard o—oh, there’s no need for that.” Suddenly your hand froze uncontrollably while reaching for the small sac of rock salt sitting in your pocket. “Such a grand title doesn’t liberate me of my former duties.”

“Those would be?”

“Have you got anything but questions, love?”

“I have a sac of rock salt and blade, let me go and I’ll show you what else I got.” It was stretching the truth, but it was not completely uncalled for.

“I would be inclined to believe such petty insults if your mind was not elsewhere.” He stopped a moment, taking in the atmosphere the place yet with the bedlam inhabiting the halls and levels of the building remain himself. “I hear you’ve got a sister in critical conditions.”

You shifted, trying to stay calm, “Because of some son of a bitch, your kind, too.”

“A demon?” You nodded at his uncertainty. “I’m not surprised at what that lot is so idiotically capable of.”

“You think of yourself higher than them?” You scoffed.

“Of course,” he defended arrogantly, almost astounded you did not consider so as well. “You two were chasing them, were you not?”

“Hunting.”

“Whichever it is, we don’t take too kindly to silver or salt; but that’s not the case.” So there was a reason behind the ill-timed visit. “I’m here to offer you a deal.”

“I thought you were a king. Shouldn’t you leave the deal making to minionsor something.”

His eyes rolled annoyingly, but breathed in tolerably. He surely did not care so immensely for your pain, more for gaining a soul in hell; but he would put up the show. “Ten years,” he offered. “Ten years of being with your sister, playing the good guys, and whatever more you wish.”

You tensed with comprehension, “Ten years end, what happens?”

“My pup comes topside and you fend off for as long as you can before he drags you down under.”

“In other words, I go to hell.”

“It’s not so bad. It’s sunny year round and the humidity is at a negative,” Crowley retorts sarcastically.

You would have made the deal in a heartbeat if not for the contradiction working with a demon was. “I go, and she stays right? She doesn’t go when my time’s done.”

“I give you my word.” Your brow went up questioningly. “Oh, please. Part of the deal is me keeping my side of the bargain.”

You swallowed harshly, feeling your throat dry. You had to; you could not leave her to die and not have tried every option.

“I’ll do it,” you agreed almost too quickly, but compensated with a shot of arrogance.

“Don’t make me make you regret making this deal.”

Your nose picked up on the light scent of sulfur as Crowley kissed your lips, an acidic hint ghosting over them. You saw black, eyelids shutting somewhat instinctively. The quicker the better.

He wore a knowing grin, eyes flickering past you before they dropped back to you. “’Til next time, darling. I’ll consider coming along with my pup; but you know how unpredictable being king is.”

A zephyr swum towards you, the back of your hand wipe the awful taste off your mouth when you saw no one before you.

“Miss,” yet another voice came, calmer though, with more of an uplift. This one you knew for sure. “She’s had a turn for the best.” Your surprise was not as clear as it may have been if what had happened seconds ago had not. You did not hold even a drop of remorse, it needed to be done and you nearly hung your head again for doubting Crowley’s words. “She’s not in critical conditions and is being moved to a room or her to recover from the surgery.”

Words became minced when the nurse directed you to the room and remain the same when she allowed you to step in. Oh god, tube and needles, the whole nine yards. You smiled poorly, remembering how she would use the phrase so often. 

“The anesthesia needs to wear off, she won’t wake up until late. The doctor says it won’t be long before she can be signed off.”

You had already taken a seat on the cushioned chair by the hospital bed. The attentiveness broke when the nurse asked whether or not you were staying, to which you nodded simply. She offered a blanket, but you refused, explaining how you were surely not going to be able to sleep and were not planning on it either. The swoop of the door closing was drowned, your mind urging to spill into verbal thoughts.