"Aren't we all Damaged?"
Being a Hybrid has its perks, but it also has its disadvantages. Abigael had been on both ends of those sticks, she's been on them for a while. But there was a fraction in the Demon world that would want her dead and another...
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My days were filled with aimlessly wandering around my apartment, feeling sorry for myself. Still holding onto the anger I felt for Dean, even now, I can't get the image of him killing me out of my head. It was just a matter of time before the call came in, and they asked for my help in opening the cage, and throwing Lucifer's ass back in.
I was also nose deep in books, trying to think of ways to find Pestilence. But every spell I decided to cast, backfired in my face. I nearly set my apartment aflame twice. Pestilence was a powerful being, and I was simply not powerful enough to track him down without any help.
The fire roared, allowing heat to spread across the apartment, as my eyes danced along with the flames. I was leaning against the fireplace, a hand above the hath, and a glass of whiskey in the other, taking sips now and then. A slight breeze came from behind me, and a feeling of being watched lingered through the air.
"Crowley," his name rang freely from my lips, not bothering to turn to face him.
"What a nice apartment you have," his British voice echoed in the room, as I imagined he gandered his gaze around the elegance of my apartment. "Did you kill the previous owner?" I hear him take a seat on the couch, as I lift my hand up from the fireplace, and turn my body to face him.
"Killed the owner," a smirk danced across my lips, as I flashed the eyebrows up. "What do you want Crowley? Come to kidnap me again?" I swayed my hips towards the couch, stopping a few inches away from him. He crossed his leg over the other, and learned back into the couch.
"A drink for your guest for a start," he replied with a smug look on his face, but I narrowed my eyes at him as I wasn't in the mood to play games. "No, ok," in a blink of an eye, he had vanished from the couch, and reappeared over at the bar which was in the living room. I could hear the expensive bottle of whiskey opening, and he poured himself one. "Our first date back at the house was short, and we didn't really get to know one another," he turned around with the glass in his hand. "How about we have a girl chat? One-on-one. Trade secrets?" He was enjoying this way too much.
"Only secret you're getting out of me is how to remove blood stains from the floor. Especially yours," it was a calm but meaningful threat. Crowley let out a 'oo' sound, not taking my threat seriously.
"Feisty one, aren't you," Crowley mocks, bringing the glass to his lips. However, before he could have the sweet bitter taste of the whiskey, the glass smashes magically. Allowing the glass and liquid to scatter the floor. "Rude," his eyes wondered me, throwing the rim of the glass he was left holding to the floor.
"You better start talking or the next thing I'll explode will be harder to recover," my eyes lowered to his private area, indicating I would blow his balls to kingdom-come. He just chuckles, trying to pass it over, and not cringing on the inside. But he gave up on this game of his.
"Fine, I would like your assistance," he came a few inches away from me, now getting down to business.
"Like your assistance with the Colt - which I might add didn't bloody kill the Devil!" My voice raised, not enough to be shouting at him, but enough to portray my frustration with his false information.
