He lifted his head, his face shrouded in darkness. "Hello, love," he said softly.

"I don't..."

"I know," he said, interrupting her. "I'm not here for that. Well, I am here for that, but..." He heaved a huge sigh, his shoulders drooping like he was defeated. She ran her eyes over the expensive black suit. His usual attire. "Are you moving?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"None of your business."

She saw the flash of white from his teeth when he smiled. "Fair enough. I've missed you."

Hazel shook her head. "No. No, no, no. This isn't a real relationship. You can't just show up here and expect for me to talk to you or..."

"Fuck me?" he asked.

"Yeah," she agreed.

"I'm expecting even more than that, love. I'm here to ask for a favor."

Hazel laughed. It sounded shrill and forced, filled with anxiety. "I'm not taking the key again."

"I'm asking for a bigger favor than that."

"Well, I don't think I can help you."

"Will you hear me out?" he asked.

Hazel crossed her arms over her chest. "I suppose."

He dropped his head to look at the floor again and heaved another sigh. "I need you to help me with a spell."

"No," she said immediately. Hazel felt proud of herself for being able to put such steel behind her voice when she still felt soft over him.

"Please, love. Please." There was something in his voice. Some catch, some desperation that made her think twice.

"What does the spell do?"

Crowley lifted his head again. "Nothing harmful. It's good magic. Clean magic."

"Yeah, I don't know about that."

"I swear to you. It won't hurt a soul. And it will help me immensely."

"Help you how?"

"It will just help me."

"And what do I have to do?" Hazel asked, shifting her weight from one foot to another.

"Make love to me."

You could have heard a penny drop it was so quiet. She stood there, her mouth hanging open, waiting for him to laugh his careless laugh and tell her that he was joking. But he didn't. He seemed sick with anxiety, his shoulders hunched over and tense. "Excuse me?" she asked.

"You heard me, darling. What did you think all the candles were for?"

"Oh, I don't know. Magic spells? Demon incantations? Whatever all this hocus pocus stuff is that you do so you can pop in an out of my house without ever coming in through the door."

"If I came in through the door, then I'd be caught in the Devil's Trap in the living room or the one at the foot of this bed. Like last time."

"Can you blame me?"

He shook his head and smiled again. "Certainly not, love. I've caused nothing but turmoil in your lovely life."

"It's hardly lovely and you know it," she snapped.

"Yes, well, let me make it up to you."

"And sex with you will make it all up to me? Been there, done that. And I got burned."

"I shouldn't have treated you that way," Crowley admitted. He sounded like it was a difficult thing to say. She could tell that he wasn't used to taking the blame or admitting his mistakes. And she wasn't even sure why he thought of it as a mistake. He'd gotten what he wanted: sex. At the time, he'd been quite willing to maintain the status quo by stopping by every other night for a roll in the hay.

"Why?" she asked him. "Why shouldn't you have treated me that way?"

He shifted his gaze away from hers. The room was dark, but it looked like he was staring at the wall to her right. "Because you've treated me better than anyone ever has. And you don't deserve to feel discarded. I know all too well how that feels."

"Oh, the great King of Hell has feelings?" Hazel was immediately ashamed of the venom in her voice and the way it made him flinch.

"I suppose I deserved that," Crowley conceded.

"I'm sorry all the same. I... I'm just hurt," she said.

"You had feelings for me?" His voice was cautious, like he wasn't completely sure it was a valid question.

"Of course I did. Of course I do. And I guess it isn't fair for me to be upset with you when this is just the way the cookie crumbles. Demons aren't allowed to date humans, right?"

"Yes, well. That's what I'm trying to fix. Come here," he said, reaching out a hand. He could stand up, but if he took more than a step, he'd be in the Devil's Trap. And he knew it.

She moved forward and stopped two feet from him. "What you are here to fix?"

"This," he answered. She wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but now that she was closer she could see his face better. He looked riddled with anxiety and fear. The hand he'd reached out to her with was trembling.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, her throat closing up in fear for him. "Did Abbadon hurt you?"

"No."

"Why are you shaking then?"

"I'm terrified that you'll help me. And I'm terrified you won't."

Hazel shook her head. "You're not making any sense."

"I'm admittedly a bit jumbled up, love. But, you see, I fear I may harbor some feelings for you. Feelings that, try as I might, have not gone away. And have, fortunately or unfortunately, led me to make some very rash decisions which have in turn led me to this very moment." He paused and looked up at her, his eyes filled with pleading. "So please take my hand before I have a nervous breakdown. Have you ever seen a demon have a nervous breakdown? It's not very pretty."

Hazel heart was beating so hard she could feel it against her ribcage. Her chest was tight and her brain fried from his admission of feelings for her. She lifted a hand and placed it in his, stepping forward to stand between his knees. "What kind of feelings?" she asked.

"The troublesome kind, love," he replied with a smile.

His hands were holding hers and he was looking up at her like he had no other place to be. It felt nice. "What do you want from me?" she asked softly.

"I told you. I want your help with a spell."

"Am I going to end up with a key stuck to the back of my neck?"

He chuckled. "No, darling. No harm will come to you. This spell is for me. To give me what I want."

"What do you want?"

"I'll tell you afterward. You have my word." He let go of her hands and settled his hands on her hips before he moved them up to her waist. "It's very ridiculous how badly I've missed you."

"Sure didn't seem like it," she said, letting him pull her a half step closer to his body.

"I play my cards close to my vest. It's a hard habit to break, but a habit one must have to survive in Hell."

"So, what? You're here for one last..."

"Oh, no," he said, interrupting her. "Not one last anything, love."

"You're still not making any sense."

"Yes, I know." He pulled a large syringe out of his jacket pocket.

Hazel tried to step back as she looked at the thing in shock. His arm wrapped around her so his palm was pressed into the small of her back. "Let me go," she insisted.

"I will," he agreed. "But hear me out first." He held the syringe up to her face, showing her that it was empty. "I need your blood. It's part of the spell."

"Why?"

"Trust me."

"Why?" she asked again.

"Because I find that against all the odds and against everything I have known, I may be in love with you, you silly girl."

Hazel felt weak in the knees. "What?" Her voice sounded so far away.

"I won't repeat it again. Once was enough."

She didn't need him to repeat it again. She'd heard him very clearly when he'd admitted to being in love with her. And he sounded so damn sincere. She reached down and took the syringe from him, deciding in that moment to take a leap of faith. Faith in him and his honesty in the darkness of her bedroom.

"What do I do?" she asked.

"Four syringes of your blood, once every five minutes." He let go of it and let her have it.

"And then?"

"An incantation and..."

"Sex?"

He nodded once. "It has to be with someone who knows my nature, but is accepting enough of it to still be willing."

"Not a long list of people to choose from, then?" she asked, looking at the needle dubiously.

Crowley smiled, but it looked so sad. "Only one, love."

She sat down beside him and unbuttoned the cuff of her dress shirt and rolled the sleeve up enough to display the inside of elbow. "I don't know how to do this," Hazel admitted, looking over at him.

"May I?" he asked. She relinquished the syringe to him and watched as he deftly slid the needle beneath her skin. She felt a pinch of pain, but nothing after that. She had to look away when he pulled the plunger back and her blood filled the tube. "Here," he whispered, giving the syringe back to her.

"Where do I...?" Hazel knew she probably looked frightened.

"Anywhere. My neck," he said, leaning his head to the side and offering his neck to her.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. I'm a big boy." He was being so gentle with her, treating her like she might break or leave him at any moment.

Hazel held her breath as she pushed the needle into his neck and pressed the plunger back in. Her dark red blood disappeared into him.

"Two fifty-one," Crowley said, looking at the clock on her nightstand behind them.

They sat in silence for five minutes before she injected him again. And then another five minutes passed before the third. One more and then he'd be undressing her. She'd be a liar if she said she didn't want it, want him. She did very much. Those times they had been together were seared in her memory so deep that she could almost feel the ghost of his touch when she was especially lonely and using those memories to feed her fantasies.

"May I undress you, love?" His hands were undoing the buttons of her shirt. She looked down and watched him calmly undo each one until he got to the waist of her skirt. She stood and watched as he unzipped the skirt and pulled it down her hips so he could finish undoing the buttons of her shirt. She stood before him in underwear and a shirt only now.

"Why can't I undress you?" Hazel asked, looking down at him. He looked the same, but he wasn't quite acting the same. He seemed scared or sad. Maybe both.

"You can," he replied. She watched as if from outside her own body as her hands reached out and loosened his tie before pulling it off. And then she unbuttoned his shirt as he'd done for her. He stood up next to her and unzipped his pants so she could pull the shirt out and finish what she'd started. It felt like a dream. Everything was so quiet and so surreal. The candlelight made it seem like nothing existed but them in that little circle of flickering warmth.

Hazel watched as he shrugged out of the shirt and jacket, leaving him in a black undershirt and an unbuttoned pair of pants. Instead of letting her continue to undress him, though, he reached out and pushed her shirt off her shoulders. It fell to the floor as he pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her lips. Hazel sighed in relief and kissed him back, afraid that her longing for him was leaking into her desperate kiss a bit too much.

Even if he was a liar and it was one last time, that would be okay. She needed one last time with him. She needed a goodbye. She needed his hands on her and the way he looked at her like nothing else mattered.

Crowley pulled back from her, bracing his hands on her shoulders. "The final syringe," he whispered. She fumbled to grab the implement off the bed and hand it to him. He helped her gather the last of the blood and turned his head to the side so she could inject him. He didn't flinch or give any outward appearance of the blood changing him. She wondered if her blood would even work.

"What now?" she asked, her voice soft.

He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her closer for another lingering kiss. She felt weak in the knees when he swept his tongue into her mouth like he was claiming her. She couldn't help but melt into him, allowing her body to mold to him, leaving no space between them. He was so warm, almost hot.

"Now for the fun part," he whispered when he pulled his mouth off hers.

Crowley deftly unhooked her bra with one hand. She hadn't even realized what he'd done until the pressure of her bra wrapped around her ribcage lessened and the garment fell off. She slipped her hands underneath the hem of his undershirt and pushed it up his stomach and chest, letting her fingertips move over the contours of his chest. He stepped out of his shoes and let his pants drop while she kissed him again.

"You make me crazy," she admitted, running her hands over his chest and stomach once he'd pulled his shirt over his head.

He pulled her up against him again, his hands pressed into her lower back, and he trailed open-mouthed kisses along the column of her neck. "Not nearly as crazy as you make me, love," he whispered. She could feel his erection like steel beneath the cotton of his black boxer-briefs. The knowledge that he was hard for her, ready to give her pleasure that been missing since she'd shown him the door, was almost overwhelming. She couldn't get him out of his clothes fast enough.

Crowley let her go and sat down on the foot of the bed. Slowly, he slid her panties over her hips and down her thighs, letting them land on the floor at her feet. She stepped out of them and let his hands on her hips pulled her onto the bed. He scooted back and urged her to climb on top of him. Hazel should have been self conscious, but instead she just felt like she was on fire and he needed to put her out.

A snap of his fingers and his boxer-briefs were gone and he using his skillful hands to urge her to straddle his waist, not just his thigh. Hazel adjusted her body and relished the press of his erection against her core once she had herself in place. Crowley bent his knees to give support behind her as she fumbled with his cock, trying to do anything she could to get him inside her. His hands that were currently fondling her nipples and stroking her hips and thighs were driving her to distraction.

Finally, she felt him slide inside as she lowered herself onto his shaft. She couldn't stop her head from falling back and a lusty moan from escaping her parted lips. Experimentally, she rocked her hips. Crowley dug his fingertips into her ass cheeks, urging her to move.

"I'm going to say an incantation. I need you to repeat it," he said, his voice husky and breathless.

Hazel wasn't sure she would be able to concentrate on the feeling of him buried inside her and his words. "Okay," she said, taking one of his hands and lacing her fingers with his, using it as leverage to rock back and forth and up and down on him. She was too lost in lust to care what he thought of her or to be nervous about how she looked.

He said a line of gibberish. It sounded latin. And it sounded old and scary and powerful. She hesitated and he repeated it. When she didn't respond, he said, "I promise you that this won't hurt you. Trust me."

Hazel nodded and then gasped as he lifted his hips up to meet her downward stroke. After she regained some of her composure, she repeated the line.

Crowley said another and she parroted it back to him. It was followed by a third and a fourth and a fifth. By then she was concerned that she wasn't doing it right because she couldn't feel a damn thing other than the heavenly fullness of having him deep inside her.

He said a sixth line which she repeated like all the others. As soon as the last word left her mouth, she could sense the tension in his body. She felt nothing other than the pleasure she was taking from him, but he was obviously feeling something much more. Crowley reached up and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down until her breasts were pressed into his chest. The position left her open, allowing him to lift his hips and pump into her, hard and fast. She kissed him and he kissed her back, desperation and maybe even a little fear evident in the tightness of his lips and the way his teeth hit against her own.

"Come for me, love. Please. Please," he whispered against her mouth. And she did. It was like all she needed was his command and the tension that had been building between her legs just snapped and flooded through her entire body. As she came down, she could feel his body stiffen as he climaxed. A wordless, animalistic cry fell from his lips, rending the air.

Hazel ran her hands up his arms and over his shoulders before gently massaging the back of his neck. His eyes were closed and his chest was heaving up and down with labored breaths. She shifted, worried that lying on him would make him uncomfortable, and felt him slip out of her. As she sat up to move off him, he opened his eyes. They were an oily black. Her breath caught in her throat at the unnatural sight. She watched as he blinked once, then twice. The black pooled above his lower lash line and at the outside corners of his eyes. On the third blink, the oily black substance tipped out of his eyes like tears, tracing dirty paths down his temples and marring her white pillowcase.

"Are you okay?" she asked, unable to look away. Now that she could see his eyes beneath the black film, she could see that he looked fearful.

"I don't know," Crowley answered, his voice soft.

"What did the spell do?" she asked, feeling her stomach knot up.

Crowley shook his head. He looked shell-shocked.

Hazel rolled off him and adjusted herself so she was lying on her side, facing him. "Tell me," she whispered.

"I think it worked," he said, turning his head to look at her. "Part of me thought it wouldn't."

"What did it do to you?"

He rubbed at the black tear tracks on his face, pulling his hand back to look at the residue. "Made me human." His voice was soft and filled with awe.

Hazel sat up, too shocked to even care that she was naked in bed with a man. Normally, she liked to be more demure, covering herself with a sheet after sex. "What?" she asked, her voice just a bit shrill.

"Made me human. Like you."

"But... why?"

"Because it was the only way I can have you," he responded easily, like she should have known the reason all along.

"Me?"

"You. I've thought of nothing but you since... since the day I was stabbed." He squinted his eyes, as if dredging up an old memory. "No," he said, "since you walked into the dungeon in the WInchester's bunker."

"I... didn't know you could do that. Change back to human."

Crowley shifted onto his side, wincing at the feeling of human exertion, minor aches and pains. "The Winchesters threatened me with it. And when you kicked me out, I went searching for a way to do it myself. The only alternative I found that wouldn't involve a willing sacrifice was this method."

"Which worked?" It was halfway between a statement and a question.

"Yes, it certainly worked. Are you going to make me leave?" He looked terrified of her answer.

Hazel shook her head. "Never. Although, my lease is up at the end of the month. So, we can't stay here."

"Where are you moving and can I move with you?" That nervous anticipation of her answer again.

She reached up a hand to stroke his stubbly cheek. "Of course. But I'm not sure if you're on such good terms with the people who own the place I am going."

"And where would that be?"

"The Winchester's bunker."

His eyes darkened, a lick of jealousy and anxiety kindling in his core.

"I offered my help with research," Hazel clarified. "No funny business."

"Would you reconsider for me?"

She shook her head once, scooting her body closer to his so she could slide one of her legs between his. Crowley's arms easily slide around her. "This is something I have to do for me," she whispered. "I need to help. I need to do something meaningful with my life."

He nodded twice and then buried his face in her neck, inhaling her. She ran her fingers through his hair, holding him close, hoping he'd come with her and afraid that she'd spit in the face of someone who had taken the biggest risk she'd ever seen for her. HER of all people.

Finally, his gruff voice murmured. "Where is your phone?"

"In my purse. By the front door."

Without another word, he pushed himself up and out of her bed. Her heart ached with the loss of him and she almost took it all back. Almost told him that they could move to the Key West or Puerta Vallarta or some other tropical paradise and forget all the bad shit that had ever happened to either of them. Fresh start, clean slate. But she knew it wasn't practical and knew that neither of them would be satisfied.

He returned, his naked body moving through the dim candlelight with just the slightest bit of awkwardness. Being human after hundreds of years was probably an adjustment. He slipped into the bed, touching her legs with his cold feet and making her muffle a squeal of protest.

His lips brushed over hers and then across her forehead. "Let's see here," he said softly, flipping through her contacts before pressing the phone to his ear. She could barely hear the phone on the other end ring once, twice, three times. And then a male voice answered.

"Squirrel!" Crowley said, startling Hazel. "I hear you're looking for a reference librarian with a working knowledge of spells, demons, and all things creepy-crawly. Have I got just the guy for you."

Hazel tried to smother the smile that spread across her face, but she couldn't seem to keep it in check. Dean and Sam were good guys. They'd come around. And with the four of them working against the bad guys, nothing could stop them.

THE END