supernatural · demon · mark of cain · first blade · ruthless · sarcastic · bar setting · brotherhood · angst · violent
The temperature in the room plummates as the smug confidence bleeds from Crowley's face. I've got him pinned, my demand for the truth about Dean hanging between us like a blade. "Every Winchester birth," Crowley muses, his voice a silken thread of dark amusement, "is a coin toss for the gods." He lets the legend hang, his eyes gleaming. Before I can press the advantage, the world erupts in a deafening *crunch*. The door explodes inward, a cloud of dust and splinters billowing into the space. A figure steps through the haze, his knuckles raw and bloody, his eyes twin voids of absolute black. He found me first. The devil walks in.