Warnings: Hints of torture, sexual situations, light torture depicted… more might be added later depending on how dark I want to take this. Rating may rise in later chapters.

Full Summary: AU Past Parts of SPN S8. Daphne Allen is a saint… and saints are rare creatures. Saints have many powers, useful to both angels… and to demons. Saints can hear the angels speak, their blood can be used for many things, and they have a sight for things that normal humans do not. And, more importantly, saints have the power to redeem a soul. In order to ensure her family's safety, Daphne makes a deal with Crowley—one year of usage of her saintly powers with no arguments, and no interferences.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any related characters. They belong to Kripke. No money made here.

Author's Notes: Thanks for the great reviews! Also, Slinky_And_The_BloodyWands has done some art for this. You'll be able to see it as I post this at Livejournal as well at (remove spaces) patriciatepes. Livejournal. Com. Sorry for the super-long wait on this. I've gotten woefully behind on everything. Work and life in general. I took an accidental year off of writing after my son was born, and now he's a year and a half, I'm back writing, and I'm expecting baby boy number two! This time will probably go a bit smoother, writing wise, though. Some situations have changed for the better.

Chapter Six

Daphne couldn't see the sun, but, somehow, she knew that a new day had risen. She opened her eyes lazily, blinking them once. A deep frown was already in place as her new surroundings greeted her. She sat up, looking around at the bed she had crawled into at some point in the night. She had no conscious memory of falling asleep—or wanting to. She didn't even remember crawling under the blankets. But she knew she must've… after all, she was sure that no demon in this manor cared enough for her to tuck her in. She glanced about the dim room a moment longer, before pursing her lips together. She threw off the heavy white comforter, putting her feet to the floor.

This situation… this was her only choice. And it wasn't like this would be the hardest thing she had ever done. Running and hiding from angels? That was hard. Granted, it wasn't like she would enjoy being used to open wide the gates of Hell… but if that's what it took to keep Elle safe…

Daphne entered the adjoining bathroom—an overly extravagant place with an oversized tub, a detached shower, and a triple sink with a long mirror stretching over it—after stopping by the dresser to pull out a fresh outfit for the day. She took a quick shower, eyeing the tub with a wrinkled nose. She would make it through today, she thought as she cleaned her hair. And not only today, but the one after that, and the one after that, and so on. She was a strong woman, and despite her foul run-ins with the angels, she was still a faithful woman. She just had to make it through these little moments of horrible truth. So she would pretend. She would pretend that today was a day like any other. Maybe this was a day off of work. Maybe she had woken up a bit earlier than Laura and Elle, deciding to beat the two girls to the bathroom.

Daphne stepped out of the black-framed shower, wrapping a fluffy white towel about her body as she fished through a drawer and found her hairdryer. She plugged it in, and continued with her make-believe. Maybe she was hoping that the noise from the dryer wouldn't wake her family up. Once her hair was dry, already curling back on its own, she dressed and put on a very light layer of make-up. Smiling, she stepped out of the bathroom.

Then, maybe, she would exit into the hall of her house, and Elle would be running—eyes still a bit sleepy—to greet her mother, glad to see her in the daylight, rather than just before going to work.

But exiting the bathroom, in reality, brought her made-up world crashing down around her. She wasn't at home. Elle and Laura weren't there. Instead, she was in a shadowed room that was a bit chilly despite being in the middle of a desert, and her stomach was twisted as her mind began to rove over what Crowley could possibly want from her today. After all, she had not forgotten the first detail shared with her about the opening up of Hell… a demon would have to feast on her blood… that alone made her skin crawl.

She shuffled her way toward the bed, idly making it up. After all, she was at a loss over what else to do. She really didn't feel comfortable exiting the room on her own. Who knew what—or who—would be waiting for her out there? Her stomach was growling softly, but not to the point of desperately wanting breakfast, so she could easily ignore it. Once the large bed was made-up, she ventured to stand at the foot of it. She glanced around the large space, biting lightly at her bottom lip. She honestly had no idea what to do with herself at this moment. But she was only granted a couple more moments of alone time before a knock sounded on her bedroom door.

"Come in," she called softly.

Crowley opened the door with a smile, dressed in his usual black attire—his tie a crimson red now, instead of gray. His long overcoat was missing, and instead of just swinging the door shut behind him, he waved a hand to close it with a loud snap. Daphne frowned at him, and he chuckled.

"You were expecting maybe the Easter bunny?" the King of Hell asked.

Daphne had to admit that that was a fair question, but she held her frown in place. She crossed her arms over her pale green blouse, cocking her head just a little to the right.

"So what is it today?" she asked, already sounding a bit weary. "Another demon deal?"

"Well, we do have a busy day ahead of us, but not quite like that. In fact, if you work hard enough, this day could be rather short for you. Very light work," Crowley said, stepping closer to her.

Daphne's eyes narrowed. "That sounds a bit like an oxymoron to me. Hard work that's light?"

Crowley chuckled again. "Let me explain. You see, we have all year to work on opening up Hell. And frankly, as you stand right now, m'dear, you don't have the… oomph to cut it. And it also seems that you are relatively uneducated on your own powers. I can't even dream of using you until you realize your full potential."

She shook her head, her arms falling slack. "What do you mean?"

The smile on the demon's face was way too bright to be the creature that he was, and it made Daphne take a half-step back. He opened his arms wide, as if about to introduce a grand show.

"My tablet lists a whole slew of powers that you should have, kitten. And I intend to teach you to use them all."

She couldn't help it. Daphne laughed. Almost to the point of bending double. The smile on Crowley's face was turning just a shade dangerous, so she made quick work of reining her humor in. She shook her head.

"I'm sorry, but… how is a demon going to teach me to be a saint? Isn't that… sort of opposite?"

Crowley shrugged. "Well, it's not my fault that you haven't been using your powers…or even trying to find out what they are, for that matter. Honestly, what have you been doing with yourself these past few years?"

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Trying to live a normal life."

"Heh. Well. That's over now. But, never fear, I intend to take baby steps with you."

With that, Crowley whistled once, short and sharp. The next instant, there was a puff of the wettest, most God-awful dog breath in her face. She let out a little squeak of a shriek and backed up, partially landing atop the bed. The smell and sound of a dog was there… but she could see nothing. Crowley was now laughing hard as he stepped forward. He lifted his hand and patted something that stood at least as tall as he did, and was very solid.

"What the hell…?" Daphne gasped.

The noise of a soft growl filled the air, and Daphne curled her hands in the comforter.

"A very appropriate question. This, Daphne, is my pup," Crowley said, continuing to pat the invisible hound. "A hellhound."

A dog. And not only a dog, but a dog clearly attached to Hell. Daphne had never been fond of dogs. She didn't hate them, per se… she had just always been more of a cat person. And now here was a giant, invisible, hound of Hell breathing down her throat. And Crowley was finding her obvious anxiety—and fear—all too funny.

"Crowley! Please!" Daphne managed as it just felt to her that the dog was inching closer.

The King of Hell finally ceased his laughter, shaking his head.

"No, no, darling. I'm afraid that my pup is spending some time with us today. You see, you have a unique ability to see things that other humans can't see… like reapers and hellhounds. So, your first lesson is learning to see my pup. So… describe him to me."

Daphne's mouth gaped open just a tad. "What?"

"Focus, princess. Tell me what my pup looks like."

The feel and smell of hot dog breath hit Daphne square in the chest. Yes, the dog was definitely inching closer. Daphne scooted back farther on the bed. She swallowed hard, staring at the spot where she knew the hound to be. Her lips pulled down into a deep frown, she shifted her gaze to Crowley.

"I c-can't. I can't see him."

Crowley sighed, shaking his head. "You've got to try harder than that, darling. Tell me what he looks like."

"Don't you know?" Daphne snapped.

The demon held up a single finger and wagged it at her. Patting his dog, he sighed once more.

"Now play nice, dear. I don't deal well with attitude."

Daphne let her eyes slide shut for a moment, mentally counting to ten, before she looked back at the King of Hell. She shook her head.

"I just mean… I am trying. I can't see the hound. Now please… can't you just send him away? I promise I'll be ready to try again later," she tried to reason.

Crowley shrugged. He whistled softly, and Daphne felt the invisible creature retreat. Instantly, her body relaxed. That was, until, she watched Crowley pat the hellhound once more.

"Like I said, he'll be spending some time with us today. Meanwhile, you're to keep trying to see him. Come along now, you two," the demon said, turning. "Hell never sleeps."

It took every fiber of her being to talk herself into getting off that bed and following after Crowley. But she knew that this was part of the deal—no arguments. So, falling into step way behind the demon and his pet, she exited the bedroom. Crowley led her—them—into a study several rooms and hallways away, motioning for Daphne to have a seat in a red cushioned, round-backed chair that set just off to the left of a large, mahogany desk. Of course, Crowley took a seat behind the desk. Daphne glanced nervously about the room, trying her best to actually do what Crowley had requested of her—to see where the hellhound had gotten to in this room. A smirk appeared on Crowley's face as he pulled a sheet of paper that had been lying atop his desk closer to him. Lifting it closer, and without taking his eyes off of it, he addressed Daphne.

"Where's my pup, Daphne? Come on… I know you can do this, darling."

Daphne pursed her lips, shaking her head. "I can't see him. I'm trying."

Crowley lowered the paper and arched a brow at her. "And I recommend that you keep doing so."

And so the day continued on, doing just as Crowley said they would be doing. They weren't stationary in the study for very long before they—all, Daphne assumed—were up and moving. A day in the life of a demon… the idea had had Daphne's stomach tied in knots… and rightfully so.

It started out slowly enough, with Crowley shouting orders at a couple of his minions. Each demon he barked at scrambled away, eager to please… or to keep from being killed. Possibly both. From there, it was more demon deals, of which Daphne still could not understand. It just seemed like a waste of time for the King of Hell to respond, personally, to these calls. All in all, it was not very surprising, the basic contents of Crowley's day. And it was rather amusing to have Crowley stop, every so often, and ask her, "Where's my pup, Daphne? Point him out to me."

However, later in the day, things took a sharp turn for the worst. They arrived back in the manor, and Crowley led her down a hall that was much less decorated than the rest of the home. He passed by several doors that looked steel reinforced—even to her eyes, which were very uneducated on such a subject. Eventually, however, he brought them—because at least now Daphne could hear the hound breathing—to a stop in front of the last door on the right. Lifting a hand, he gestured toward it.

"Every so often, despite the power I've gained, I have these teensy little rebellions crop up down in Hell. Someone who thinks they've got the bigger cajones to do what I do, and tries to take me down to prove it. It never works, of course."

Daphne narrowed her eyes. "Okay. So… what…?"

Crowley smiled. "As to what we're doing here… this is my 'me time.'"

With that, he shoved the door open and ushered Daphne inside. Her eyes widened to see the space before her. It was utterly undecorated. Instead, the walls and floors were dirty and solid concrete. There was very little furniture in the room. A rusted-out sink that looked like the faucet could barely be turned on set against the far left wall, while a hospital—or perhaps even dental—tray full of assorted, silver tools lay right next to the only chair in the room. And the chair, Daphne quickly realized, was occupied.

A demon—as his eyes were solid black—was strapped into a chair that looked like someone had snatched it right out of the Middle Ages. Markings that Daphne didn't recognize were etched into the leather of the arm, leg, and chest straps, as well as the metal collar that clasped over the demon's neck. The demon—or rather, the man that the demon was possessing—was average-looking enough. His brown hair was short and slightly spiked, and there was something dark matted into it. His skin was tanned, but not beach-tanned, just more of an olive tone. He was trim, but not skinny, and a weak but dark grin lit up his squarish-face.

"More tickling time for me, tailor?" he spat.

Crowley had edged into the room, several steps ahead of Daphne. Without turning, he waved her inside. It took several small moments before she could get her feet to respond, finally making it a total of four steps inside. With another wave, the door slammed shut behind her, making her jump and squeak a little. The demon strapped to the chair laughed.

"She looks a little old for you. Or did you finally upgrade to the Big Girl section of the dating catalog?"

Daphne wrapped her arms about herself and tried very hard not to think about what this demon could possibly mean. Crowley, meanwhile, shook his head. He removed his jacket, hanging it on a hook that had been bolted onto a nearby beam. And from the hook next to it, he removed a white apron, putting it on and tying it behind his back.

"And you brought your dog with you?" the demon said, glancing off to Daphne's right. "To what do I owe the honor of such an audience, a sniveling bitch and your dog?"

Daphne's lips pursed into a thin line as she hugged herself a little tighter. Crowley tsked at the demon.

"Oh, Raymond, don't you know it's not polite to greet a guest that way? And never you mind why she's here. You should be much more focused on why I'm here."

The demon—Raymond, apparently—tried to look up and over his shoulder at the King of Hell. Crowley stepped around the chair, making the view a lot easier to attain, and rolled the tray of tools over to his side.

"You see, I've had a pretty good day, Raymond, save for one itsy-bitsy little thing. My lady friend there needs to complete a certain task for me, and while I do believe she's trying… I don't think she's trying hard enough. So I thought, why not entertain her? I mean, a good show can refresh an overworked mind, and maybe I'll finally get what I want."

Daphne's whole body stiffened. Crowley was going to torture this demon. He was going to torture him in horrible ways, and make her watch. And it was all because she couldn't describe his stupid hellhound to him. Raymond chuckled at Crowley's words, titling his head as far as possible to gaze at Daphne.

"Not putting out, huh? Not that I can blame you. You're kind of cute, and I think you can do a lot better than our wee man here."

In a flash, a scalpel was in Crowley's hands, and embedded in Raymond's stomach. Daphne was quick to stifle the scream wanting to break free from her lips, covering her mouth with both hands. She closed her eyes as tightly as they would go, but a second later, she felt a hand tighten on her shoulder, the grip just short of being really painful.

"Keep your eyes peeled, darling," Crowley growled into her ear. "After all, your day isn't finished yet, and it won't be until you can tell me what my dog looks like!"

Daphne's eyes flashed open in time to see Crowley yank the scalpel from the groaning demon's gut. He pressed the thin blade down on Raymond's left pinkie finger, putting all of his demonic strength into the move until the digit was severed and falling to the floor. Daphne felt sick. Her stomach rolled as she desperately kept her eyes off of the severed finger. Raymond screamed, and it was everything Daphne could do not to scream along with him.

Crowley, meanwhile, laughed, dropping the scalpel and pulling up something that closely resembled a corkscrew. He tapped it once against Raymond's cheek while Daphne thought she had a horrible idea of what Crowley had planned.

"Please keep in mind, Raymond, that while this little show is to inspire my dearest Daphne here to perform, it is also to remind you not to try and screw over the King of Hell!"

He was very gentle with his next move, deliberately so. Daphne was shaking as she watched the King of Hell place the sharp tip of the corkscrew against Raymond's left eye. She feel herself gagging, trying everything she could not to fully retch as slowly, agonizingly so, Crowley began to screw in the instrument. Raymond screamed as the corkscrew penetrated. And as the eye is mostly just air, it squished, followed by a stream of blood rolling down the tortured demon's face.

Daphne's eyes darted about the room now. She couldn't watch anymore. Working in a hospital, she had seen a lot of things—even though she was just a lab tech, more or less—but it was nothing compared to this. To watching Crowley torture this man, and see the clear joy on his face at the pain he caused. She couldn't watch this. It just wasn't in her. So she searched the room, almost straining to focus on something, anything else. And in her frantic state, she almost forgot what she was supposed to be doing. The hellhound.

She forced a few calm breaths, listening instead of watching as Crowley continued his torture. But she wasn't trying to focus on that. Instead, she listened for the sound of the hellhound's heavy panting. The creature had moved from the right side of the room, something deep in the pit of her stomach told her that. So she turned her gaze once more, careful not to settle on the torture right in front of her, and stopped when she heard it. The heavy, wet pants of the hellhound were now coming from her left, a little less than five feet away. Her eyes focused on the spot that she was sure the sound was coming from, and she simply stared. She stared harder than she had ever stared at anything before in her life, all the while a chorus of screams emanated from Raymond as Crowley continued poking and prodding him in the worst, bloodiest ways.

And then, it happened. At first, Daphne thought her eyes had crossed, and she was just imagining things. But the more she made herself focus, even to the point where the screams seemed distant, things grew a bit clearer. The hound was taking shape right in front of her. It was black, and just as large as Crowley's pettings of it had indicated. It sat back on tight, muscled haunches, a tongue lolled out as its yellow-and-black eyes were trained on his master. It looked more or less like a dog, maybe mixed with a panther and some other creature that Daphne had no name for.

"I see him!" Daphne cried just as Raymond let out an ungodly scream.

"Hmm?" Crowley said, turning toward her. "What did you say, my pet?"

Daphne glanced to the King of Hell, her shaking a bit more noticeable than she had thought as she held up a hand and pointed.

"He's there. He's large, and black. And muscular and almost looks like… like liquid smoke, maybe? His eyes are yellow and red… and he's staring at me now," she said, ending her description with a hard swallow as the hound was doing just as she said.

Crowley was grinning. He dropped his—used—tools onto the tray, clapping his hands together once, and loudly.

"Well done! I knew you had it in you, my dear. Now, I think you've earned a rest. Run along now, Daphne. We'll continue our fun tomorrow."

She didn't need to be told twice. Whirling on heel, she yanked at the door with all her might, only managing to get it open enough to slip through. She pulled it shut behind her, and had forced herself to walk at a normal pace until she reached the end of the hall. From there, she ran all the way back to her room within the manor, slamming her own door shut behind her. Panting and near tears, she pressed her back against it, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor.

The only thought playing and replaying through her mind was that this year with Crowley had only just begun.