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Unholy Devotion	By : FemmeBono Category: Supernatural > Het - Male/Female Views: 1749 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or it's characters, nor am I making money from this.

Chapter List
- 1-Unholy Devotion
- 2-Cht 2
- 3-Cht 3
- 4-Cht 4
- 5-Cht 5
- 6-Cht 6
- 7-Cht 7
- 8-Cht 8
- 9-Cht 9
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Cht 2
As he was wont to do, Sam Winchester dove into research, hunting for some small mention in the Men of Letters texts that may help save Dean. Weeks prior, Dean had risen from his bed and without speaking, had shouldered his way past a speechless Sam in the doorway, with Crowley sitting aghast nearby, and promptly disappeared. There was almost immediately a swath of dead across the middle states—people decapitated by a mysterious hitchhiker. The authorities at first thought it was an animal attack due to the ridges and tears on the victim’s wounds, but soon realized that it was done by a strange blade with teeth, thanks to surveillance videos.
Sam had tracked all of this once he finally emerged from a three-day drunk where he cleared the bunker of all its booze. Never had he felt so unmoored before he stood numbly disbelieving in that doorway, clutching the frame as Crowley silently mused over the development of a demon Dean who did not, as it turned out, want to play. Crowley had left shortly thereafter, and between that afternoon where Sam sat helpless on the edge of Dean’s bed and the marathon binge session that followed, Sam had lost valuable time that he could have been using to get his very inhuman brother back. Questions surfaced in his mind like swirls of silt from the murky depths of worry and grief. How could he pinpoint Dean’s location, and if he could, could Dean be reasoned with? What of Crowley? He had been shunned just as surely as Sam. Could he help in any way? Would he, even if he could? And then if he could find Dean, whether reasoning with him was possible or not, how would he change him back?
Sam rubbed a hand over his face and groaned as he tossed one book aside and picked up another.

Castiel, meanwhile, lurched through an alleyway. The diminishing grace he had inside him left him weak and disoriented. He knew there was a hunter or hunters nearby who could possibly get him back to Sam and Dean, but he could not teleport and his angel radio was getting sketchier by the day. He felt hollowed out inside and feverish at the same time. He stumbled over a trash can, tipping its contents across the alley and landing roughly to the side of it. He looked up slowly at a pair of scuffed boots that led upwards to a skylark blue fringe suit.
“Wow, Cas, ole buddy…you’re not lookin so good fella,” said a familiar young man who crouched down beside him.
“Garth,” sighed Castiel, “you’ve got to help me.”

Grainne emerged from the sporting room sweaty and drained, but jubilant. She treaded lightly down the hall glowing with the news she had extracted and the surety that this would garner a rare compliment from His Highness. Normally she would have showered and changed before meeting her King—he detested anything untidy—but this occasion she felt required promptness. She neared his quarters and eased the door open, knowing that she was expected to be as unobtrusive as possible. The King also detested slovenliness and cacophony, unless it was the tortured screams of his enemies. As Grainne slid silently through the doorway, she spotted Adrina and curled her lip in a silent snarl. The latest whore in a string of trollops, this one was angled away from the door murmuring over a chalice of blood.
“Yes, well an ambitious salesman against a Knight of Hell didn’t go so well last time, did it,” Adrina said to whoever was listening. “But last time he had Winchesters in his corner and now there’s a Winchester in the other corner. This King is scared—and he wants to offer up a deal to the Knight. Gambian, if we can set up a ‘meeting’ with the two, the Knight can take him out easily.”
When she paused to listen, Grainne jabbed a blade between her ribs, effectively cutting off any screams and collapsing the traitor’s lung. When it came to his massages, the King was all too likely to relax and say something he should not trust anyone with—especially a whore. Between Lola and Meg, he really should have learned.
“Well done,” he said from the opposite doorway, already impeccably dressed in a bespoke suit. “I appreciate you not killing the traitor of course.”
Grainne jolted at his words, not realizing he had been there for at least part of the time.
“Sir, I—“
“Get this one trussed up as well, then heal her so I can break her again. I shall start the interrogation myself, but stand by.”
“Yes sir, of course.” With that, she started for the door before remember her original purpose. “Sir, about the other prisoner.”
Crowley stopped, half-turned in the doorway. “Yes, how did that go?”
“He’s holed up somewhere in Livonia, Michigan. A place called Devil’s Path.”
“Sir—you’re not…actually trying to meet him,” she stammered, not wanting to criticize her king.
“No,” he replied, sizing her up. “That was a ruse for her to feed them misinformation. I have other plans.”
Grainne nodded, returning his steady gaze for a moment until she could no longer maintain it. Then she shifted uncomfortably, missing the way a corner of his mouth quirked up.
“Get her ready,” he said. “We’ll start the interrogation in ten.”
“Yes of course,” she said softly, still not meeting his eye, and stepped quietly out the door.
There we are, he thought, one respectably intelligent yet dutiful lackey. Not sycophantic and yet eager to please. Perfect. He heard her pause just outside the door, but thought nothing of it as he kicked Adrina over on her back and studied her face.
“See what your disloyalty gets you, whore,” he said gravely. “This could take years.”
Grainne, just on the other side of the door, leaned against the frame to steady herself. The look that passed between them had sent the butterflies shimmying through her belly, and she took a moment in the empty hallway to pull herself back together. Grainne took a deep breath and mentally ticked off every spell item she needed to heal the traitorous whore. I’m going to really enjoy inflicting damage on that two-faced trick, she thought. Her normally brown eyes flicked to black at the thought of shedding more of Adrina’s blood. Buoyed by the thought of taking out her vengeance on the shifty bitch, Grainne straightened and made her way down the hall to a storeroom, ready to do some damage.
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Unholy Devotion