Reckless [Dean Winchester]

46. Midnight

46. Midnight

I knew he'd find me, one way or another. I didn't think he'd have the audacity to just drop in and steal me right before the brothers' eyes. That was a ballsy move. I guess when you're a demon you can get away with stuff like that.

I have no idea where I am. I know I'm not in the woods anymore, I don't smell the outdoors. Instead I smell...mold. I'm not buried alive, am I? I do a mental face-palm. Why would I be buried alive when Crowley's got a Hellhound coming for me?

Feeling a slight headache, I open my eyes to slight darkness. The room is foreign to me. This room gives me a library sort of feel, with the high shelves of dusty books. There's an empty desk, and judging by the light I see on the floor, I've got a large window behind me. Where am I? Crowley could have taken me anywhere.

Speaking of the King of Hell, he's nowhere to be found. But that doesn't mean he's not around here somewhere. Consistent ticking turns my attention to a grandfather clock in the room. I swallow as I read the time: 11:55.

The doorway is open, begging me to take the chance and flee. But what's the point if Crowley will find me? What's the point when I know I can't outrun this? I chose this, stupidly, almost a decade ago. And now, thanks to an ambush, I'm out of time.

A storm rolls overhead: high winds howling; rain pounding; lightning streaking behind me, briefly illuminating the room I'm in. It's the perfect setting for a horror movie: an abandoned house, a storm above my head.

Each heartbeat feels like a second going away.

I'm not entirely sure what Sam and Dean are doing. They could be looking for me right now. Or they could be like Crowley said, they got their demon and they're undergoing completing the final trial as I stand here now. Sam might be holding Dean back from searching. Or, neither of them are bothering at all, because they know they won't be able to reach me in time.

"I could've lived without the theatrics!" I shout in the room.

"Where's the fun in that?"

He appears out of thin air. I want to find something close by, something heavy enough to throw at him and do some damage. My brain is torn: stay here and take it like I'm supposed to, or let myself fight pointlessly until my heart stops?

Crowley smiles impishly. "Hello, poppet."

I cringe at the nickname. "Crowley. You're pretty brave to abduct me like you did."

"But isn't that what you want?" He steps into the room. "To face this alone, without any witnesses other than myself?"

I don't remember telling him that, ever. Can he somehow read minds?

"I read your face, not your mind," he clarifies. "I feel it's personal this way. Me as the sole witness." He looks at me thoughtfully. "What? No begging?"

"Why try when I'll die anyway?" A loud clap of thunder shakes the floor under our feet. "Besides, the first attempt failed."

"Ooh, so we're taking this like a warrior." He laughs. "Pretty bold of you."

"I'm not afraid."

"Of dying? No, you're right, you're not. You're just afraid of what happens after. Like I said, your face is easy to read."

Wait a second. The hexbag. I search for it in my pockets, but I come up empty.

"Oh, right, that little trinket," says Crowley. "I left it behind, a little parting gift for the boys. It wouldn't matter anyway, I'd point the Hounds in the right direction of you anyway."