Stupid Mistakes

The dark creatures swarmed all around Cherry, eyes gleaming, razor claws slashing and tearing. Horrible sounds that shouldn't have been made by any living being poured ceaselessly from the black holes that were their mouths. Jagged spikes snagged in her wing feathers and tore themselves free with abrupt force, ripping the entire wing down the middle. Blood made a fine spray in the air, and before she could even react, a set of claws gashed her side open.

Cherry managed a gasp and a weak swipe in the direction of her attacker before pain and fatigue sent her collapsing. Cool grass, slick with her blood, lay beneath her. She almost felt like she could relax into it and go to sleep.

A peculiar calm that she would normally never feel settled over her. She was going to die; that was absolutely no part of her that doubted it. Alone, defenceless, injured, and surrounded by enemies, this was the end of her story. The end of the diary.

Had it been worthwhile, she thought? Is my story something other people would want to read, or is it too horrible - too corrupted by all the terrible things I've done in the past?

She briefly wondered if there was any such thing as an afterlife.

'Back off, scum!'

Oh. There was a voice. Somebody was shouting from far away, as though from the end of a long tunnel. All around her, the dark creatures paused in their ruthless attacks and turned to look, their motions suddenly wary. And that voice... the voice like fire and fierce joy...

Why was that voice so damn familiar?

Desperate to know what had happened to interrupt her very brave death, Cherry tried to lift her head. Blood loss made the whole world spin, night sky following ground following sky - but even as the stars tipped lazily onto their sides, she saw him.

The dark creatures howled and scattered in different directions as Crowley appeared in their midst. He twisted as he came in to land, his body contorting into a position that didn't look physically possible as his talons caught a monster right under its jaw, slicing its throat open, a perfect death-blow.

Another creature leapt at him from the side, obviously trying to gain an advantage by sneaking up, but Crowley had seen it coming. He spun about in a lightning-fast movement and laid open the creature's hideous face with his front claws, decorating the air with its blood.

Laughing wildly with the sheer excitement of the fight, Crowley put the remaining monsters to a swift death.

Once he had finished, the meadow was drenched in scarlet. Glancing around quickly to ensure that he'd missed nothing, the crowdragon snorted contempteously before making his sedate way over to Cherry's crumpled form.

She stared up at him, feeling sick from the thick coppery scent of blood that coated him, and her, and the very ground she was lying on. Wincing in pain, fighting for a firm hold on consciousness, she scrambled to her feet, never taking her eyes off him the whole time.

He stood utterly still. Gore dripped from his teeth and claws and wings, but there wasn't so much as a scratch on him. His face was devoid of expression.

'Why did you help me?' Cherry whispered. 'You hate me...'

He didn't deny it. 'You have your uses,' he said.

His voice was always so eerie and cold right after he had made a kill. If she hadn't been halfway to unconsciousness from blood loss, she might have run from it. It was like a whisper from a horror movie, or a voice from a child's nightmares.

'If you really didn't like me... If you only kept me around to be your assistant...' Cherry was struggling to form coherent words. 'You wouldn't have bothered saving me. Crowley... could there be a part of you that keeps me around for other reasons? Because... you WANT me here?'

He thrust his face close to hers, and she nearly choked at the rank stench of blood, meat and beer on his breath. His scales, cool and smooth as a snake's, pressed hard into the side of her face. Fear solidified in her chest. There was never any telling what he might do; no way of knowing what twisted thoughts might be running through his head.

'Don't get any ideas.' It was a whisper like a January breeze. 'I'd kill you myself if I had a good enough reason. And don't you ever forget that, you weirdo.'

She couldn't breathe as he drew back. Something deep in her mind thought that it might've been better for her if the monsters had killed her after all. Out of the frying pan and into the fire - was that how the saying went? Crowley was just another evil - and he didn't just want her dead; he wanted to play with her, to make her suffer.

He'd make her stay with him forever, taking her life away until she was old, crippled and insane, and cursing herself for the stupid mistakes of her youth.

She was a fool to have ever believed that Crowley might change.