𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 [ˢᵘᵖᵉʳⁿᵃᵗᵘʳᵃˡ]✔

chapter twenty - six

 "You know, I've...I've been here for a very long time. And I remember many things.I remember being at a shoreline, watching a little grey fish heave itself up on the beach and an older brother saying, "don't step on that fish, Castiel. Big plans for that fish." I remember the Tower of Babel...All 37 feet of it, which I suppose was impressive at the time. And when it fell, they howled 'divine wrath'. But come on - dried dung can only be stacked so high. I remember Cain and Abel...David and Goliath...Sodom and Gomorrah. And, of course, I remember the most remarkable event - remarkable because it never came to pass. It was averted by two boys, an old drunk and a fallen angel. The grand story. And we ripped up the ending and the rules...And destiny...leaving nothing but freedom and choice. Which is all well and good, except... Well, what if I've made the wrong choice? How am I supposed to know? I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you my story. Let me tell you everything."

****

When Monica opened her eyes it was dark. She strained to see into the darkness as her eyes adjusted to the dimness. Soon she realised she was alone and relaxed slightly. Her wrists ached dully, the metal cuffs cool against her bruised and inflamed skin. Her hair fell across her face and she tried moving her head to push it out of the way but her neck was too stiff. Monica had no idea how long she had fallen unconscious only that Crowley had wanted her to read something.

Crowley. She clenched her fists in anger at the thought of him. He had brought her here days ago and she had no idea why he wanted her powers so badly, or what for. He'd only told her to read strange texts and spells. When she refused he'd only.....the numerous angel blade wounds finished the mental sentence she couldn't complete herself. To tell the truth, Monica hadn't been as surprised. Atropos had warned her of many things, so had the blonde's sister. Both had said she was in danger, both were dead and now she would join them.

Monica ran her tongue across her lips, the skin stinging painfully. They were chapped and torn, from biting down on them in pain. Her throat was dry and hoarse, her head was throbbing in pain and spinning and she wanted to die. Her stomach felt like it was eating itself, a gaping empty feeling and her heart was tired. Tired because she loved Sam, tired because her being here was hurting him, tired because she had killed off her entire family, tired because she was scared Monica wasn't there any more. That she was just....nothing.

She was snapped out of her thoughts as a door opened. Monica's hand curled into fists as Crowley stopped in front of her. He sighed before opening a bottle of water.
"Open up," he said. She didn't at first but her dehydration got the better of her. The water felt cool and acidic against her dry throat. After she had finished drinking Crowley drew a chair and sat in front of her.
"I didn't really want to have to do this; I mean, we were good friends, right. Then again, it was inevitable. You becoming someones dissected rat" he said.

"Dissection?" she said, shivers running down her spine. He looked at her sympathetically.
"I know Castiel lied to all of you, not telling that I was alive...and well for that matter. Its not his fault really, well it is but he ho its not your problem right now. What is your problem is that we have to get you to the theatre without letting you out of these shackles." Crowley said. She tried yet again to break free, frantically tugging at the bonds. Crowley grabbed her head, moving it to the side.
"Please, Crowley listen...Please!" she pleaded before he plunged the syringe into her neck. The acidic liquid filled her veins, choking her, burning her. She couldn't scream because her throat was burning inside out. She only fell into darkness.

"Wakey wakey darling" someone said. Slowly blinking Monica opened her eyes to see a white tiled ceiling. For a moment she thought she was in a hospital. Instead it was a makeshift operating theatre. Monica craned her neck to see a surgical table laden with all sorts of instruments and swallowed nervously.
"Crowley?" she said. Someone entered, the door closing. She heard the familiar click of the lock and then the chair was being raised into an almost sitting position. Crowley didn't look at her as he swept the instruments to the floor.