Saved

Chapter 9: Ready, Team, Go

[[This is a short chapter, I'm sorry!]]

[[ "Killing Strangers" -Marilyn Manson ]]

[[Katherine P.O.V.]]

My eyes slowly creep open and I turn my head, looking around at my surroundings in total confusion.  My memory seems to be completely wiped, considering I have no clue how in the hell I got here.  I'm sitting in a huge wooden chair with thick metal chains holding my arms and legs tightly to the chair. 

I use my vamp strength to try and break out of them but I'm stopped by their surprising strength to hold me down.  "Dammit."  I cuss out loud to myself.  I'm inside of some kind of basement-looking room and I immediately notice a strong smell of rusty metal.  Water drips from the ceiling.

Where the hell am I? 

How am I supposed to get out of here?

I look around at my surroundings once again, in slight panic.

"You're finally up, good deal."  That familiar British accent that infuriates me suddenly says.  My head shoots around, turning my head around back toward the voice to see Crowley standing in front of me.  I narrow my eyes at him, glaring.  "What the hell am I doing here Crowley?"  I spit out nastily. 

I can feel myself begin to gag as he speaks again.  His voice irritates me to the point where I wouldn't mind cutting my ears off. "You're exactly where you belong, love." He says, a wide smirk spreading across his overly-confident face. He raises his short and stubby arm, snapping his fingers above his head.

As soon as he does this, two people dressed in all black quickly come into the room, pushing a rolling table up next to Crowley. Crowley looks over at the both of them and nods, as if they've fulfilled their duties or something. They look terrified, uncoordinated, and annoyingly awkward. "Who are these idiots?" I say with an annoyed tone, practically laughing at them. They're like his slaves. How pathetic, right?

Crowley begins to chuckle. The two people become angry with my comment and give me death glares, flashing cold, solid black eyes at me. My eyes widen and I'm a bit taken back.

Solid black eyes?

"What the..." My confused and startled thoughts accidentally leak from my lips. "Demons. You're in hell." One of them says coldly just before turning around, making their way out of the room. The both of them leave, shutting a heavy door behind them. The door shuts so loud that I slightly jump in my chair, the chains rattling. I narrow my brows, thinking for a moment. This has to be a joke. I can't be in hell, right?

Crowley picks up a glass from the table and pours bourbon into it. I pull at my chains harshly once I realize:

I really am in hell.

"Crowley, I can't be in hell!" I scream angrily. "Get me out of here. Now." I speak in a more threatening tone. Crowley walks toward me, taking a sip of his bourbon. "Shut it. You think I'm afraid of you? Pathetic." He says in his strong British accent.  "We need to have a little chat."  He says as he raises his hand, aiming his fingers at me.  He just barely moves his fingers and all of the chains that are holding me down suddenly loosen, completely falling off of me. 

I'm free.  Why did he do that for?

I look at him with confusion, slowly getting up from my chair.  I don't dare try and escape, I am in hell anyway, I have no idea how to get out.  I'm not that stupid. He picks up the second glass that is sitting on the small table and fills it with bourbon, handing it to me.  I take it in my hand, narrowing my brows.  "What the hell is this?"  I snarl. 

Crowley immediately rolls his eyes, "I can't give a pretty girl a drink?"  His sarcasm practically screams.  I rolls my eyes in return, making a small gagging noise.  I lift the glass up to my nose, sniffing it to make sure there isn't even just one trace of vervain.  "It's just a drink, love.  We've got a long conversation ahead of us."  He smirks evilly as he says this, and I can see that he's definitely got some kind of plan in that stupid little head of his.

I slowly take a sip of the drink, realizing it actually is just a drink. Damn, surprise surprise.

I swallow the first sip, reacting to the strong alcohol. Crowley takes another sip before speaking, clearing his throat. "So, I've got some ideas up my sleeve that I'd really love to try, but I need your help to fulfill them..." He begins. I tilt my head, looking at him with confusion. I think for a moment, trying to figure out what he's trying to say. Billions of ideas begin to float around inside my mind and I take another sip of my bourbon. He's definitely wanting to kill someone, that's loudly implied.

"Who's going to die?" I say confidently, raising a brow with a wide smirk. "There we go, you catch on fast. That's why I chose you for this task." Crowley says with a smile. 

I begin to slowly walk around the room, circling Crowley who's standing in the middle.  My heels click on the hard concrete floor loudly.  "So, you want me to help you kill someone.  Okay.  I can do that.  Who...exactly?"  I ask, stopping in my tracks for just a moment. 

My thin fingers hold my glass of bourbon close to my mouth, ready for the next sip.  "This has to be a slow process for it to work, because as soon as we start to go too fast he and his little team of supporters will know something is up and they'll do something about it.  They're smart, almost as smart as me.  They'll figure it out if we don't do this just right."  Crowley explains. 

I begin to walk again, taking another sip of bourbon before responding.  "What is it that we're doing that has to be just right?"  I ask.  Crowley sips his drink.  "We're slowly driving someone mad. Slowly..." He smirks. I stop once again, standing in front of him. "Who?" I ask, giving him a confused expression.

"Dean. Dean Winchester."

Crowley finally says, taking one last sip of his bourbon.  I tilt my head, "What do you mean by slowly driving him mad?"  Crowley sits his glass onto the table before looking back over at me.  "You'll see."  He grins widely, pure evil in his eyes.
I drink the last bit of my bourbon and look at him intently.  Every time I've been around the stupid Winchesters something bad has happened to me. Seems like they know what they're doing, and I'm sure as hell not going to die for Crowley. What makes him think I'll do anything he says? "You're sure going on dangerous ground.  What's in this for me?"  I ask.  Crowley raises a brow, "I won't kill you.  You get to live.  That's what's in it for you." 
I glare at him.  "Bastard."  I utter under my breath.