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The last of the demons arrived and the doors echoed shut. Abaddon circled to the front of her throne-like chair, her arms hanging casually at her sides. She slowly scanned the crowd, pinning them with her gaze. The silence stretched for several long moments, and several demons shifted uncomfortably beneath her wicked stare.
“It has come to my attention,” she began without preamble, “that there is doubt among our ranks. Some of you,” she hissed dangerously, “have entertained the notion that Crowley would make a better leader than myself.” An icy chill rippled through the assembly, though Abaddon’s tone was deceptively level.
“Apparently,” she continued, “some of you need a reminder of who’s really in charge.” She signaled a nod at a demon at the back of the room, who swung the creaky double doors wide open.
A second demon pushed a large, wheeled cage into the room down the middle aisle to where Abaddon stood, her eyes alight with suppressed glee. Within the cage knelt the figure of a man, his long hair falling into his eyes and a muzzle engulfing the entire lower half of his face. He was shirtless and barefoot, with only a pair of worn blue jeans protecting his knees from the rough floor of the cage. Heavy manacles pinned his hands to the floor in front of him, and a third chain led from the floor of the cage behind him to a heavy iron collar on his neck.
“Everyone,” announced Abaddon, smirking, “say hello to Sam Winchester.”
Sam raised his head, glaring daggers at her as he rolled past the other demons. “I acquired him myself outside of a motel in Reno. Some of you are familiar with his reputation, along with his alliance with Crowley. But now,” her voice dropped as she stared hungrily back into Sam’s fiery eyes, “now he is my trophy.”
Every demon in the room seemed unable to take their eyes off of the lair’s newest guest. One demon in particular, currently occupying the meatsuit of a short but husky nurse named Steve, was especially captivated. He had heard the stories, of course, about Sam and Dean Winchester. These two notorious hunters always left a bloody trail of dead demons in their wake. Azazel. Alistair. Lilith. They had even taken on the Devil and won. Steve wasn’t sure if even half the stories about the Winchesters were true (as if anyone could kill demons with their mind), but he had heard enough to be wary of Abaddon’s confidence.
As the cage was rolled past Steve’s position near the front of the crowd, he got a good look through the bars at the captured Winchester. He had a tattoo of an anti-possession sigil on his chest, and surprisingly few scars for a hunter, especially one who had literally been to Hell and back. However, it was his eyes that really held Steve’s attention. They were bright hazel, lit from within with such fury that Steve could swear they were glowing. Sam Winchester wasn’t even looking at the demon, but those eyes pierced his core and made Steve feel like he was staring into the caldera of a volcano. Or a star going supernova. Or his own impending doom. He was utterly petrified by whatever lay behind those awful, terrible eyes.
After a few seconds that felt like an eternity to Steve, the cage finally reached the front of the room. With his back straight, Sam was at exactly Abaddon’s level, not dropping his eyes from Abaddon’s possessive stare.
“Oh pet,” she cooed with mock sympathy as she reached through the bars and stroked Sam’s muzzled face. Sam turned his head sharply away from her invading hand, but made no other attempt at escaping her grasp. Undeterred, Abaddon began stroking his hair instead. “You had no idea what you were getting into when you decided to cross me, did you?”
Her eyes roved over his entire body, contemplating the many possibilities. “Perhaps,” she continued, “once I’ve had my fun with you…I’ll take your brother as well.”
The change in the hunter’s demeanor was instantaneous. He lunged forward as far as the chains would allow, growling dangerously. His fists were clenched, every muscle tense and poised to attack. His eyes were those of a wild animal, a predator poised to attack. It wasn’t the helpless thrashing of a desperate man; it was a promise of certain death.
Abaddon chuckled, disregarding Sam’s ire. “Don’t worry, pet,” she said. “You and I still have plenty of quality time to look forward to. When I’m through with you, no one will ever again question who holds the power here.”
Steve the demon nurse, having not moved an inch since Sam Winchester entered the room, was willing to admit to himself that when the meeting had started, he had indeed been among the doubters. But now, Steve was absolutely certain that he was watching a staring contest between the scariest monster he had ever seen, and a doomed enemy. Abaddon had certainly removed all of Steve’s doubt about who was the better leader.
Crowley would never do something this absurdly suicidal.
It was nearly midnight when Abaddon returned to her hideout, teleporting directly into her throne room to enjoy some time with her new pet. Her black eyes snapped open, anticipating the familiar threadbare furniture and the promise of some quality time with her subdued enemy. As she scanned the room, however, her stomach dropped; the cage was empty.
The door of the cage hung wide open, and the chains and muzzle lay unlocked and discarded on the cage floor. Now on high alert, Abaddon turned to the room’s only entrance and saw the bodies of two demons sprawled across the broad doorway, their throats slit. She stepped out into the long, winding hallway, where she found more bodies, lining the hall like a bloody trail of breadcrumbs. One of the taller ones was missing his shirt and shoes.
She snarled as her pace quickened. If that Neanderthal of a hunter had done this…
Abaddon followed the macabre trail all the way to the front gate, the entire fortress still silent as the grave. An entire squadron of her demons had been slaughtered, and the hunter she thought she had cornered was in the wind. She let out a roar of fury that exploded outward from her like a shockwave. Streetlamps blew out. A mini-tornado whipped her hair around her like a fiery halo.
“Looking for something?” said a familiar voice behind her.
Abaddon whipped around to face the newcomer.
“Crowley?”
“Hello, love,” he replied casually. His smug grin shone in the dim starlight.
“You let him out?” she snarled.
“Now, why would a Winchester need me to do anything?” said Crowley. “Maybe he had a hidden bobby pin. Maybe his brother came and rescued him.” He circled Abaddon nonchalantly. “Or maybe,” he continued, “one of your saner, smarter demons took some very good advice and slipped him a key.”
“How dare you—”
“By all means,” interrupted Crowley, “feel free to blame whomever or whatever you want. Just remember you brought this on yourself.”
Abaddon quirked her eyebrow questioningly.
“Rule number one of this century, darling,” said Crowley. “Never underestimate a Winchester.”