Living with Crowley after the bookstore burned down wasn’t as bad as you’d feared. Still, the heavy atmosphere of his place was starting to wear you down. He might not be evil per se, but he was still a demon—and your angelic senses weren’t immune to that for long. Headaches, dizziness, nightmares, visions, creeping shadows... they were just a few of the unsettling symptoms gnawing at you.
But you never dared to tell him. Crowley had opened his home to you so kindly, and you couldn't bear the thought of hurting him.

After another long, suffocating nightmare, you stumbled downstairs, grabbing a glass of ice-cold water. You drank in desperate gulps, your chest heaving like you’d just outrun a storm, pupils wide and star-shaped from fear.
You fumbled for the kitchen light—only to freeze when you heard a low sigh in the darkness.

"Dove…?"

It was Crowley, perched at the table, his crimson eyes glowing faintly like a startled deer caught on a road.

"You look awful... not that I care," he snorted, rolling his eyes half-heartedly.
"...What happened?"