Author's Note: Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? (Extra points if you understood that reference) Well, guess whose back? After what, like 7 months? Hahahah im so sorry ok well i'm back now, so I'm going to finish this fanfiction as quick as I can to make up for it. Thank you to anyone who stuck with me for so long, and I hope you enjoy the rest!

Chapter 9: Reminiscence part 1

And so, I started off my little tale of pain and torture from the moment I let them in.

I looked out the window and decided that I might as well let them in; Crowley and his cronies, that is. (Crowley and his Cronies; that would be a good band name for idiots like himself.) Why not? It wasn't as if I had anything to do anyway, and those 'big boys' always got antsy when they didn't get what they wanted.

Crowley came strutting in first, hands behind his back and smugness oozing off his features.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked slowly, crossing my arms and eyeing the scene unfurling before me suspiciously.

"Well, Meg," Crowley responded in his aggravatingly lofty drawl, "I just thought that I'd pay you a visit."

I tried to look past his shoulders to see what the idiots behind him were doing, but he kept on sidestepping so I wouldn't be able to. It was as if he wanted to dramatically and eloquently expose his purpose, rather than have me find out on the spot myself.

For some reason, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. But, I supposed I would have to ignore it, now that I was in the middle of... whatever it was that was happening. (Wow, three was in a sentence.)

"Yeah, but I think we've already talked about you popping by, didn't we?" I said.

"Oh? We have? And…what was the, ah, conclusion to that?"

"That you don't come in," I said firmly, actually moving myself from my spot to the side to see what Crowley had dragged in.

This time, Crowley made no move to blot out the scene. Two of my fellow Demons— (both of which I recognized as being the most easily manipulated) stood behind him with something draped carelessly over their shoulders.

I stopped short. No, that wasn't something. It was someone. Judging by his lolling head with a large, matted red stain dying a small portion of his hair, and his pitifully dragging body, he was most definitely unconscious, if not dead.

Then, I was completely confused.

"What the hell?" I said for the second time in our short meeting. "You're not a cat, Crowley, and either way I don't appreciate dead-things gifts from," I looked up at him defiantly, smiling slightly with narrowed eyes, "pussies."

"Hilarious, Meg," Crowley said, this comment not exactly having the burning affect on him as I had hoped. He motioned to the two idiots awkwardly pacing behind him, and they strutted into my house, much to my displeasure. Why were they were? What would they get out of it? Why were they listening to him?

Why did you listen to him? An angry voice hissed into my ear.

Because why not? A different voice responded. Lots of people listen to other assholes.

And then I shut out my thinking process, considering I was being hypocritical and I began to feel a slow discomfort spread through my body. That was not a sensation that I readily allowed.

"So, why are you here?" I asked, moving instinctively away from them. I was suddenly aware of the defensive pose I had instinctively adopted, with my arms hanging stiffly at my sides, spine arched forward somewhat, feet apart. Interesting. Crowley noticed. I could see it in his beady eyes, which narrowed in bemusement. My face grew hot and I forced myself to relax.

"What do you want?" I said, more loudly. Why was I getting nervous? And, more importantly, the question of the day still remained: what the hell was this dirtbag doing here?

The two cronies dumped the small boy to the ground, so that his head clunked sickeningly against the window ledge. Was it just me, or did the red spot on his head glow darker in color, and wider?

He looks like a mouse, I thought. A mouse after an eagle was done with it.

He was revolting, and I wanted them to leave.

Jo's face suddenly shifted to the front of my mind.

I made no move to get it out.

Neither Crowley nor the other demons responded to my question. They all had the same hungry look, with their cruel lips curled in mockery. It was as if I were the butt of a silent joke between them. I could not allow that.

"Either you tell me what's going on," I said slowly, "or get your meat-bag over there and hightail it out of here."

"Oh no," Crowley said, finally responding to me, shaking his head slowly. His grin was making me very uncomfortable. "Why, he's the very reason we're here. Well, perhaps not exclusively, but even so…"

"Ah, yes," I said bitterly, trying to keep the slowly growing alarm out of my voice, "I can certainly read your mind. Please, say no more, I understand everything now."

"Well, all we need you to do is kill him," Crowley said, "and we'll be on our way."

I froze.

I literally froze. I forgot how to breathe for a moment.

And slowly, realization hit me. It would have been more painful if Crowley had just gouged my eye out with a knife. The knowledge that he had ascertained my defeat more so than the latter could. I knew why they were here. I knew exactly why.

In my minds eye, I still saw Jo's face. I traced her bleeding face with my thumb in my thoughts, scanned her pain-filled eyes with my own.

And I realized that I could never go through with Crowley's request.

Not anymore.

Could I ever? It was too risky in itself anyway. Too much of a hassle.

"We…" I wanted to force amusement into my voice, the lighthearted tone that I always could use. But, this time, my voice came out scratchy and nervous.

What are you doing? Just kill him! My mind screamed.

I couldn't.

"We don't have to do this," I laughed, but there was more hysteria in my voice than amusement. What was happening to me?

"Well, it's either him…" Crowley said in a slow voice; a dangerous voice. His eyes darkened suddenly. The cruel grin turned into the leer of a lion. "Or you."

Well, I had been expecting that.

"What the hell are you going on about?" I asked, crossing my arms and forcing my eyes to roll, even though my heart felt like it would explode.

"Well, we've been…watching you closely," Crowley said, beginning a slow, deliberate walk towards the broken TV in the corner of the living room. He wasn't looking at me. He didn't have to. My shallow breath gave everything away.

"My, my," I said shakily, "if you're looking for a cheep hooker, than—"

"You know exactly what I mean." There was anger in Crowley's voice. I felt myself grow pale. How do people breathe, again?

Why are you afraid? My mind screamed at me.

"I saw you with Castiel, Meg," Crowley said. "And—"

I closed my eyes.

And then, I had it. An excuse. It was instantly at my lips. "Oh, that," I said shrilly. "Well, I was using that as a distraction, you perverted bastard. You've seen me do it before, and even more than simple kissing. He just…didn't have his gun with him that day."

"That's not what he told Dean," Crowley replied.

Just how long had that sick bastard been watching me? I could not let him know what had actually happened. I couldn't lose my gang. I couldn't lose my purpose.

I couldn't lose my life.

"Well, he must have lied, then," I said with a shrug, but my shoulders were shaking too much for me to make an accurate one. I was so pathetic. How could I be so weak?

"Well," Crowley said, clapping his hands together with a taunting joviality. "Then it'll be no problem for you to kill that friend of the moose and his squirrely brother, right?"

"F…" I said. I took a deep, shuddering breath. What could I do? I had to…cancel him. It was me or him, that was all. There was no other way. Self defense. Survival of the fittest. Every man on his own. "Fine."

And why not? I thought savagely. I will be able to exact my revenge on the world perfectly like that. I'll be able to show them…to show them all what I'm capable of…to show them my pain…to show them…my loyalty…to show them…

To show them what, exactly? None of those justifications filled the hole of guilt that had suddenly appeared in my chest. Yes, guilt. The thing that I fought so hard against. The thing that I kept at bay for as long as I could remember.

What did Castiel do to me?

"So, go ahead," Crowley said viciously. Oh god, I wanted to slice his head open. I wanted to cut his throat and lay him on the floor and stab him in the balls. Cut them off. But, it was three against one, and Crowley fought better for me. There was no use denying it.

I had no choice.

I walked towards the boy.

I reached into my pocket. I felt the handle of my switchblade. It was cold. It was no longer comforting. I pulled it out.

Why is this so hard!? My mind shrieked at me. Kill him! Kill him!

I flipped it open. The metal blade glinted menacingly in the moonlight. I looked at it. My eyes stared back from the reflection. They were trapped eyes. They were scared eyes. I was scared. Oh my god, I was so fucking scared.

KILL HIM.

I stepped closer. The boy's head was down, so I couldn't even see his face. It was for the best. Maybe his facelessness would make it easier to end him. Maybe it would make it hurt less.

Maiming was one thing.

Killing was another.

Killing was permanent. You can never go back from that. Never. You can never take it back.

I bent down.

KILL HIM KILL HIM KILLHIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL THE BOY

I didn't even know his name.

I cupped the boy's chin in my hand. His skin was soft. He was young. He was so young.

KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIM

And Jo's face once again flashed in my mind.

I pressed the knife against the boy's neck, marking the spot where he would die. My bent legs were throbbing. This was an uncomfortable position.

KILL HIM.

I raised the knife. And slashed it forward.

And at that moment I realized exactly what I was capable of. It was relieving. I felt as if a great weight had lifted off my shoulder, excuse the cliché. I'm using a lot of cliché's, aren't I?

And then, it was all over.

The knife impaled itself in Crowley's shoulder.

End of Chapter 9