Crowley, current King of Hell, dusted off his suit coat as he appeared outside the room of one Sam Winchester. The demon had been keeping tabs on the Winchesters ever since their pet Angel had coughed up a whole belly full of the oldest evil known to man. When the Leviathan's decided not to play ball, Crowley had made it his personal goal to keep the only people who seemed capable of killing the things firmly in his sights.
The dark eyed demon apparently hadn't been looking in on the two hunters often enough, he hadn't realized how badly the taller man had been deteriorating. His goal coming here had been to torment the big lummox a little, maybe warn him to stop messing around with little fish and get on with fighting the big bad.
Seeing him now however, Crowley didn't have it in him. Being a demon meant he'd seen the very worst and lowest point a person could be at, and Sam seemed to be pretty firmly at rock bottom. He looked so scared and tired, he looked so defeated that even the King of Hell couldn't stop himself from walking into the little cell and kneeling down to be eye level with the crazed hunter.
"Oh Samantha, I knew you were lacking in fashion sense" the demon king kept his voice low and very deliberately moved the others face to look him in the eyes. "This however, how very gauche."
|