Rating: M for mild language, violence, sexual situations, and references to non-con- Not for anyone under 18

Author's Note: I started this fic over four years ago and the last update was about two and a half years ago. Wow! I always meant to write more and finish this fic. I am still quite the ardent Crowley/Naomi shipper. Real life gets in the way, though. Three years ago, I quit my career, packed two suitcases, left the southern east coast of the United States for the west coast of Canada to go to grad school, graduated, and now work as a librarian, my dream job. It's been a helluva ride, but now I'm ready to re-enter fandom and the world of fanfic. To all those faithful followers who kept reading and re-reading and sending me messages of encouragement and begging me to keep writing, this is for you.

Chapter title comes from the song Me and the Devil by Soap&Skin.

Chapter 11: Me and the Devil

The King of Hell and his charge arrived in an abandoned parking lot on the outskirts of a small Montana town long after the sun had set. The moon was shrouded in darkness and an icy wind blew from the east, casting a chill upon everyone in its path. Zoë didn't mind; it was exhilarating being outdoors again. Spending the better part of the past few months imprisoned by four walls, her over-protective mother, and a gaggle of demons had caused a rather severe case of cabin fever and left her feeling claustrophobic. She wasn't dealing with this new existence in the graceful way that her mother had hoped; she kicked and screamed the whole way. Naomi's world was exciting with possibility, but Zoë sensed her mother didn't want her participating in her world. Leaving school and her friends behind had grown increasingly hard as Zoë craved stability and the company of peers. The only person who seemed to understand her was Bartholomew. He took the time to ask her how she was doing and took an interest in her. He was even trying to find her father for her, something her mother had never ever offered to do.

Zoë felt her mother's blade in the inner pocket of her coat beating a soft, steady cadence against her with each step she took. She felt so close to her mother in that instant; as though the inanimate object was somehow able to connect the two. She missed Naomi when she was away, and she was beginning to wonder if things would ever go back to normal. She accepted that some things would never be quite the same: she now knew that her mother was a celestial being, that angels and demons do exist, and that unicorns definitely do not. With her overactive imagination, she tried picturing her mother using the blade. She had never seen the angel in battle, but she was certain that Naomi was brave, fearless, and always knew exactly what to do. It was simultaneously awe-inspiring and irritating.

Presently, the eleven-year old felt very significant; a feeling she hadn't felt in a long time. Usually, she felt like a burden and something to be cast aside while the adults around her did things they couldn't talk about in her vicinity. Crowley was taking her on an important mission. Well, she supposed it was important; it was important enough that he grappled with having her accompany him and actually gave her Naomi's angel blade to protect herself. Confidence was surging through her veins after doing her first correct spell. It didn't matter that it was a spell to correct a previously disastrous spell. She had sent two Sandmen back from whence they came mostly by herself. Crowley's very small contribution as an assistant aside, she was the one that actually performed the spell.

"Remember what I said: do everything I say and talk to no one," Crowley repeated emphatically as they approached two guys standing next to a black car.

"Mr. Crowley, I'm not stupid," she responded, more than a little annoyed.

"No, just intractable, willful, and unruly."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't meant as a compliment!" he shouted in exasperation. He was never babysitting again.

The pair approached the two guys, one of them a giant; Zoë gazed up at the tall one. "Wow, I bet you don't have problems dusting the high shelves," she said to him.

"What did I just tell you?" Crowley asked incredulously, having just given her instructions less than a minute ago.

"It's about time you showed up. Who's the shrimp?" Dean asked, carrying a blade that Zoë mentally rated as "sweet," quelling any ire she felt at being referred to as a "shrimp".

"Cool! Can I see your blade?" Zoë grinned.

The girl started to go over to Dean, but Crowley pulled her back by the hood of her coat. "None of your concern. Where's Agiel?"

"No, seriously, what are you doing with a kid?"

"Nothing! Just hand over the bastard so I can get going!" Crowley was getting perturbed. He really didn't want to explain to these idiots who Zoë was and he really didn't want to have to admit he was babysitting. His reputation had already taken a serious hit as of late. Besides, the less people that knew about Zoë the better, especially if Abaddon was looking for her.

"He's in the trunk," Sam said. He and Dean surveyed Zoë as Crowley popped the truck to have a look at the demon he had spent months trying to track down.

"What's your name?" Dean asked her.

"Don't answer that!" Crowley called.

"Zoë."

They heard Crowley groan. "Do you ever listen to anything I tell you?"

"They just want to know my name!" she countered.

"Why all the secrecy?" Sam asked. He and his brother were now more than a little curious about this kid. Crowley had no interest in bite-sized humans and now he was running around with one.

"There's a difference between secrecy and something simply not being any of your business."

Dean's eyebrows lifted when something dawned on him. "Is this the kid Abaddon's trying to find?"

Appearing from behind the popped trunk, Crowley's eyes bore into him. "How do you know about that?" he demanded.

"We heard a few demons talking about it last week before we ganked them. Said they were looking for a kid, a girl; Abaddon has some kind of plan for her."

"Did they say what kind of plan?" he asked curiously.

"Abaddon has plans for me?" she asked Crowley. Normal children would have been a little worried upon hearing a bloodthirsty, demon-slaying maniac was after them; not Zoe. If anything, it made her feel important. "I'll take her out!" she declared, brandishing her mother's blade.

"Put that away!" Crowley hissed.

"Is that an angel blade? Where did you get that?" a bewildered Sam questioned her. Both he and Dean were uncertain what to make of the situation.

"No more questions! We'll be going now." Crowley dragged Agiel halfway out of the trunk, intent on vanishing with him and Zoë posthaste. That is, until he saw three demons plus Abaddon appear before them.

Crowley cursed loudly. Today was not his day at all, and if anything happened to Zoë, tomorrow wasn't looking good, either. He shoved Agiel back into the trunk, slamming it shut.

"Ah! Abadouche! It's so nice to see you, pet," he said smoothly with a nice touch of sarcasm as he sauntered over to her. "How's everyone's favourite ginger today?"

Zoë's confidence faltered a bit as she caught the Knight of Hell's evil gaze. She took a few steps back as Abaddon bore her flashing eyes into her. "So, this is the child?"

Crowley stepped between them, obstructing Abaddon's view. He pulled his blade from his jacket. "As much as I would love to hand the girl over to you, you will thank me later if I don't."

"You think that blade is going to hurt me? I'm going to give you one chance to move. I came for the girl and I'm not leaving without her."

"No, I don't think the blade will stop you. But it will slow you down long enough for Moose, Squirrel, and that little nightmare to get away."

Abaddon seethed. Her hand suddenly whipping out to grip Crowley's neck tightly, lifting him off the ground. He gasped for air as his windpipe was being crushed.

"Run!" Dean yelled at Zoë, who was rooted to the spot. She couldn't move; she was overwhelmed by feelings she hadn't prepared for. She saw a demon running toward her, a snarl on his face. She could feel her heart pounding harder and harder against its bony cage, hear her blood rushing through her ears faster and faster until it borne a high-pitched buzzing sound that drown out all the cacophony surrounding her.

The demon was a mere arms-length from her when Sam tackled him hard, knocking him to the ground with a thud. A struggle ensued. The thud brought her back to the present moment. With a firm grip on her mother's blade, she took off running to where the demon had Sam pinned against the concrete, punching him. After a moment's hesitation, she drove the angel blade into the back of the demon as hard as she could muster, tearing through muscle and sinew. He gave one final scream before collapsing on top of the younger Winchester brother. Sam regarded her dubiously for a scant few seconds before getting back on his feet.

"We need to get you out of here," Sam told her urgently.

"No! We can't leave Mr. Crowley!" Zoë started running towards Abaddon and Crowley with her blade out, but Sam managed to grab her by the hood of her jacket and pull her backward.

Dean killed another one of Abaddon's demons after a brief scuffle. He pulled Ruby's knife from the demon, blood still dripping from it, and ran over to join Sam and Zoë.

"Get her out of here!" Crowley managed between gasping and wheezing. Screaming in fury, Abaddon threw Crowley to the ground hard. She turned to Sam and Dean, who stepped in front of Zoë, shielding her.

Zoë tried not to shake. She gripped the blade so tightly that her sweaty hand turned white. Abaddon had plans for her. But why? Why her? Also, she was sure that whatever plans Abaddon had wouldn't be much fun.

"What do you want with her?" Dean barked at the menacing Knight of Hell.

Abaddon laughed; it was a laugh that made one's stomach drop, weighed down by dread and uncertainty. "Curious, aren't you? Why would I want a seemingly innocent, harmless little girl—"

"I'm not so harmless!" Zoë shouted defiantly on impulse, waving the angel blade in the air.

"Knock it off!" Dean snapped. "Do you want to be turned into kibble? Because she ain't playing, kid!"

"Rude." Zoë rolled her eyes.

"I'm giving you one chance to get out of my way. In return, I might even be merciful and kill you instantly rather than draw out your torture. I'm feeling rather generous today."

"Why don't you tell us why you want the kid so bad?" Dean said, trying to buy time until he and Sam could think of a way to get out of this very sticky situation. There weren't a lot of options that would allow the brothers to get out of the situation alive. In fact, the total number of scenarios that went through Dean's head that allowed for even a small chance of survival were exactly zero.

"Do you think I'd actually tell you?" she laughed as though that were the funniest thing she'd ever heard. "Zoë? Come here, you brat, or I'm coming to get you."

Abaddon disappeared and reappeared behind Sam and Dean—but Zoë was gone. The brothers glanced at one another trying to figure out if the other one knew something he didn't. They were standing in the middle of an abandoned parking lot next to the Impala; the girl couldn't have gone far. A high-pitched scream emitted from Abaddon, her wrath having reached an all-time high. It caused the ground to quake and lightning to zig-zag through the dark sky.

Without warning, a blade tore through the Knight of Hell's abdomen from back to front, causing her to scream in pain. She turned around and grabbed Zoë roughly by her long, dark hair. "You will pay for that!" She yanked the hair until Zoë's face was next to hers. She whispered, each syllable cutting through the air like a knife, "Your mother never wanted you; you are an abomination, something that never should have seen the light of day. As for your father—"

"You're lying!" Zoë screamed.

"Am I? I bet you sit in that house every day wondering if your mother ever notices you're there. She's always too busy for you, though. You know I'm right."

"You're wrong. My mother loves me," the girl declared, even though her conviction was betrayed by her quivering lip and hesitance.

"Come with me. You'll have everything you'll ever want."

Naomi's daughter stared at the pretty, silver-tongued demon who hit on Zoë's greatest fears. She didn't know what "abomination" meant, but the way Abaddon said it, it didn't sound pleasant.

"Hey, Abaddon!"

Abaddon looked up in time to see Sam throw a water bottle containing holy water in her face. Roaring as the water sizzled and burned her skin, Zoë leapt into action and wrenched the angel blade from Abaddon's gut. The Knight of Hell fell onto the pavement in an angry, screaming mess. She raised her hand to inflict damage on the three humans and the demon in her path when Castiel appeared, newly empowered with grace stolen from another angel.

"You will not hurt them, Abaddon," Castiel commanded her as he stepped between her and the others.

She lowered her hand and looked up at him absolutely incensed; then her eyes found the girl. In a tone that would send shivers up the worst demon's spine, she hissed, "You will never be safe. I will get you one way or another. I'm coming for you."

In a flash, a wounded, but still very much alive and furious Abaddon was gone.

"Thanks for waiting until the last minute, Cas," Dean said, annoyed.

"I was busy," Cas replied.

"So were we! Busy trying not to get killed by that maniac!"

"Things are volatile with the angels right now. More angels have been killed."

"Well, right now, we are trying not to get killed."

Castiel looked over at Zoë, focusing on the angel blade in her hand. "Abaddon wants her. Why?"

"We were hoping you could tell us why," Sam answered.

"Yes, I would like to know that myself," Crowley said as he lifted himself off the ground, dusting himself off. "But right now, we need to get going."

Cas stepped in front of him, blocking his path to his young charge. Narrowing his eyes at the King of Hell, he demanded, "Who is the girl, Crowley?"

"I don't answer to you."

Tempers threatened to flare when Zoë tugged the sleeve of Crowley's overcoat. "I want to go home, Mr. Crowley," she requested quietly, a tone he wasn't used to hearing.

"You heard her, kitten." He arrogantly stepped around Cas to the Impala where he dragged a bound and gagged Agiel out of the trunk.

"Just a little advice: the next time you boys want to do business, make sure you're not being followed by a BLOODY KNIGHT OF HELL!"

And then Dean, Sam, and Cas were alone.

Back at the house, once Agiel was subdued in the basement, Crowley popped into Zoë's bedroom. He was actually bursting with pride after seeing the angel spawn in action. She was a bit rough around the edges where combat was concerned, but could definitely hold her own. She had gumption. Crowley liked gumption.

But there was still the little matter of her room, which currently resembled a landfill.

"I see you still haven't cleaned your room. Your mother is going to be livid." He kicked a candy bar wrapper away from his very nice, very expensive shoes.

"I shanked a demon, I shanked a demon! I stabbed Abaddon!" she grinned at him, proud of her first kill. She was nearly dancing in place.

"Well, aren't you a little killing machine."

"I want to kill more demons!" she said with excitement in her voice.

"I'm a demon!"

"Yeah but he was a bad demon," she argued as she plopped onto her unmade bed. "He deserved to be killed."

"Pardon me, but I'm a very bad demon."

"No, you're not."

"I am, too!" The notion that he was anything but the King of Hell who inspired terror and fear wherever he walked beleaguered him greatly. Did other beings think similarly?

"Whatever." Abruptly, she changed gears. "Mr. Crowley, do you think I'm an—an abominabation?"

"Abomination?" He raised his eyebrows as his curiosity had been piqued. "Why do you ask?" he probed.

"No reason." She shrugged nonchalantly.

"That angry ginger called you an abomination, did she not?" He carefully sits on the edge of her bed, making sure he wasn't sitting in anything that could leave a stain.

"Maybe." She was being incredibly evasive. Crowley wished her mother would just tell him who Zoë's father was so he knew what he was dealing with.

He was going to answer truthfully, that angels weren't supposed to have children and that's why she'd not been informed of her mother's secret life prior to this whole kerfuffle where Metatron had tried to kill Naomi. However, seeing the worry on Zoë's face, he simply told her, "I wouldn't listen to anything that Abaddon has to say. She conflates fact and fiction and obfuscates reality for anyone that has the joy of being in her presence."

"What is an abom—an abom…ination?"

"Haven't you heard of a dictionary?" he groaned. He really didn't want to get into such a precarious conversation at this late hour with this particular kid.

"If you know what it is, then why do I need to look it up?"

Crowley swore to himself that he would never babysit again. He had envisioned this day being easy: full of research, a few glasses of Craig, and torturing demons. He yearned for the day in which his life would return to its normal ebb and flow, uninterrupted by the likes of eleven-year olds with a penchant for trouble.

Which reminded him, if he was going to continue to live at all, he needed to find Naomi's grace and quickly. Oh yes, and the First Blade. Abaddon needed to be stopped before she could send him to the big Empty.

"Mr. Crowley?"

"Ah, yes. An abomination is something that is terrible. Very, very terrible."

"Why would I be very, very terrible?"

"Maybe because she caught a glimpse of your bedroom?"

She rolled her eyes again; the signature move of the Tween crowd, apparently, as Crowley had seen her roll her eyes no less than a dozen times in just the last week alone.

"I'm being serious."

"So am I!" Crowley protested. "Filth helped the spread of the Plague, you know. Dark times."

"Fine!" she raised her voice. "I'll clean my room!" Zoë began tossing everything haphazardly into a pile that was steadily growing taller and wider in the far corner of her room.

"Good girl. Now your mother won't shank me."

Zoë gathered an armful of various things—clothing, wrappers, comic books, toys—and dumped them all together in the pile. "My mother probably doesn't even notice you're around. She doesn't notice much anymore. She doesn't have time to shank anyone."

"What brought that on?" he examined her face closely for clues to her sudden mood change.

"Nothing."

"She is very important—"

"Yes, I know. She's important to everyone in the whole wide universe," she responded in an impatient tone.

"I wouldn't go that far, Look, whatever Abaddon said back there, it's not true. She often says things to confuse you and to make you doubt. Divide and conquer—that's her motto. That's why we don't listen to angry gingers."

"You don't seem to like red hair very much. Why?"

He suppresses a shudder. "No reason."

When most of her belongings have been thrown into the pile, she throws herself onto her bed. "I'm done."

"If you say so…" The room looked slightly better; at least one could see the floor now. Crowley was pretty sure that a cluster of one-celled organisms had established a colony under her bed, but he wasn't going to make a fuss about it. Naomi had only given vague instructions to clean the room, she hadn't specified the level of cleanliness she required, nor a technique. As far as he was concerned, the room was clean. Now if only Zoe would fall into a deep sleep and not wake up until sometime tomorrow morning, letting him reclaim a small sliver of peace and quiet he'd planned for himself.

"By the way, it's best we don't tell your mother about our field trip this evening, or about your magic lesson…"

Immediately, she sat up and smirked. "Are you telling me to lie to my own mother?"

"Yes."

"I'll require a bribe. I don't lie for free."

"Fine. What do you want?"

"My iPad."

"Done. But only until your mother comes home."

"Fine."

They shake on it.

Snapping his fingers, the iPad appeared on the nightstand next to the girl's bed and he disappeared only to reappear in his office to pour himself a generous helping of Craig and to savour the victory of having Agiel in the basement. After cleaning and replacing Naomi's angel blade in her desk drawer, of course. His focus on the First Blade was renewed threefold after the night's events.

It was a little after ten o'clock when Zoë settled into bed. She'd brushed her teeth and changed into her pyjamas and was now listening to a Taylor Swift song through her headphones. She felt unsettled after Abaddon's threat, but was trying not to think about it. Having the iPad helped. She kept her mind off Knight of Hell by scrolling through the latest issue of Tiger Beat magazine looking for news of her favourite celebrities. Her mother had disabled most other functions, saying they weren't appropriate for her; if her mother only knew what she'd gotten up to that evening… There were a few apps she was allowed to use—games and some magazines—but she also had access to email, thanks to Mr. Bartholomew. He'd somehow bypassed her mother's parental controls to put Gmail on her tablet. He said it was necessary for them to communicate when he wasn't able to visit. She wasn't supposed to tell her mother; Naomi would only get mad and take the iPad away permanently, Bartholomew had told the girl. He was the only person paying her much attention these days. Mr. Crowley told her repeatedly how much of a pain she was and her mother was constantly occupied. Zoë felt isolated; there were no kids her age around, no visits to the cinema or to the mall, no walks outside. She hated to admit it, but she even missed school. Her world consisted of angels, demons, and the Winchesters. It was nice to have someone to talk to, who acknowledged her as a sentient being with feelings rather than something to "be seen and not heard" (and preferably not seen, either).

As she was reading the latest news about Selena Gomez, she received a notification: a new email from Mr. Bartholomew. It was a welcome way to end a day that saw her do her first successful magic spell and kill her first demon. Excitedly, she tapped the notification and was taken to the angel's message. She read over it once, then twice, then three times. The email sent her into a downward spiral, unable to properly process what she'd just read. Was it true? How could it be true? Why didn't her mother tell her?

Hello, Zoë,

I hope you've had a good day. Your mother did a lot of good work today. We tried to get her to leave after a couple of hours, but she insisted on staying a little longer until suddenly it was late. She should be on her way home now.

I have good news. As you know, I told you that I would help you find the identity of your father. I know how important it is for you to know who he is. What I am about to tell you may be very shocking to you, but I need you to keep it just between us. If your mother finds out that you know, she would be very upset.

Zoë, I'm your father. I would tell you in person, but it is dangerous for me to travel right now. Keep this information to yourself and we will talk soon. I promise.

Sincerely,

Bartholomew (Father)

She felt as though the carpet had been pulled out from beneath her. Her eyes were pulled to each and every word to make sure she saw them correctly. Her surroundings suddenly became background noise. Everything else happening in the world was so unimportant compared to the assortment of little black letters on the screen of her iPad that spelled out her parentage, her history, and her life.

Zoë, I'm your father.

Her life stopped, marking the enormity of the moment her eyes first scanned that sentence. The delivery of this particularly powerful statement in such an extraordinarily ordinary way muddled the paramount impact the statement should have had. It caused Zoë difficulty in forming an emotional response appropriate enough to capture the intense feelings swirling around in her gut. She should have felt cheated that such a precious statement was communicated by something as impersonal as an email, but all she could focus on was that she now knew who her father was. She had a father.

Zoë, I'm your father.

Finally, she had an answer to her question; since she was a small girl, she'd asked her mother about her father, and never gotten an answer. She couldn't believe that her mother would keep her away from Mr. Bartholomew! He was nice, always giving her presents, and taking the time to talk to her. He treated her like a grown-up, not a little girl. She wondered if Mr. Crowley knew. Did everyone know except her?

She read the email again and again until she became overwhelmed and broke down sobbing into her pillow.

Naomi entered her house a few minutes before eleven o'clock. Life was taking its toll on her. She walked inside and shut the door, leaning against it as she removed her shoes. She shuddered violently just then, remembering Bartholomew's fingers on her skin, remembering him touching her as only a lover should. She wanted to vomit.

The house was thankfully quiet, not a luxury generally afforded to her; it was the price she paid for sharing a space with the King of Hell, his entourage of demons, and her eleven-year old daughter. She didn't want to see anyone tonight; Zoë included. She didn't even want to do any work. Surrendering to the physical and mental pain, she wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for days. She wanted her grace back; she wanted her old existence back. Heaven was where she belonged and where she longed to be. She needed agency over her own vessel. Each time Bartholomew touched her, he proved to her how weak and subservient she truly was. She could fight as hard as she wanted, but she was trapped: trapped by Bartholomew, trapped by Crowley, trapped by Abaddon, and trapped by Zoë.

Zoë's disheveled room was long forgotten, replaced by her mind forcing her to relive that day's humiliation and degradation over and over again. Perhaps this was some kind of cosmic retribution for her treatment of Castiel, Dean Winchester, and the countless others whose essence she penetrated with her instruments. As an angel of God, she shouldn't believe in things like syzygy, but her mind scrambled to make sense of her situation. The celestial bodies in the universe all seemed to be aligned against her. She'd wanted to do good; her mission was to do God's work as a righteous being of his creation. Along the way, however, it had become so damn complicated. She had been charged with making sure rebellious angels got back in line with their original God-given mission. She had been a force to be reckoned with for thousands of years; angels used to tremble at hearing Naomi's name.

And yet here she was, a mere human, devoid of grace and the right to call Heaven home. If it was anyone's fault for her current state, it was her own. She let Crowley cut her grace right from her neck. In trying to help her brethren and in attempting to keep her secrets, she sacrificed her self-respect and her freedom. She sacrificed the essence of who she was, chipping away at the layers of her being until she was the mess of nothingness presently staring back at her in the bathroom mirror. She felt like a golem: form without substance.

She hated this. She tried walking the line. She tried selflessness. She tried altruism.

Her only claim to dignity was finding the practices of both Malachi and Bartholomew abhorrent and abstaining from the violent power plays that had resulted in the deaths of over a hundred of her brothers and sisters. But the side of morality wasn't necessarily the winning side; she had understood this at one point. When she had awoken after Metatron had tried to kill her, she was resolute on being on the side of right this time, something she had tried to do after learning of Metatron's plan to expel the angels from Heaven. She'd gone to Dean with this information intent on changing her tactics and righting her wrongs. Any division amongst the angels would be costly to her and her brethren.

And here they were violently divided. Her efforts had made no difference. Taking the high road had garnered her no major achievements in uniting the opposing factions. It was hard to give a damn about any of them anymore.

Turning the light off in the bathroom, she silently padded to her office and removed her angel blade from her desk drawer. She hesitated. Its silver blade glittered in the moonlight streaming through the window. The handle felt heavy in her hand.

Her last fuck had run out.

She'd given reason over to emotion, her humanity getting the best of her. She felt like a cornered animal. Eschewing the proclivity to think carefully about her actions and all the possible consequences resulting from those actions, she summoned one of Bartholomew's lowly assistants over angel radio, an angel by the name of Lemuel. Lemuel was the quiet, naïve sort, and not too bright. Bartholomew had tasked him with watching Naomi's every move during her visits to Buddy Boyle Ministries.

Lemuel appeared almost immediately, curious as to why he was being summoned by Naomi, of all angels.

"Naomi?" he said, a bit surprised to see her so soon after her departure from headquarters.

"I need you to do something for me." She took a step toward him, her blade a heavy weight in her hand.

"I'm not sure if Bartholomew would approve of—of me taking orders from you," he replied hesitantly. He was well aware of what Bartholomew did to angels who went against his wishes.

"You don't have a choice."

His eyes went wide as she raised her blade in the air, and before he could say anything, Naomi slit his throat and hungrily devoured his grace as it seeped from a gaping wound in his neck. She felt its warmth flood her; her limbs were on fire with power. A bright white light consumed her vessel, and her wings, albeit broken and tattered, sprung forth. A small earthquake rattled the home where she stood.

From the basement, Crowley felt the floor tremble beneath him. He knew it couldn't mean anything good and wasted no time in appearing in Naomi's office. Immediately, he saw her wings standing proudly open and golden light radiating from where her eyes were supposed to be.

An "oh shit" left his mouth, which was wide open in disbelief.

Lemuel's vessel fell to the floor with a thud after she stabbed him through the gut. Jerking her blade from his body, his bright red blood trickled down to the hilt. She then turned to Crowley, her eyes back to normal, and sneered vengefully.

"I'm back."