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dowagerqueenofhell · 1 month ago

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17. Shocks & Waves pt. 1

Lebanon, Kansas

It started as a routine day in the bunker. Sam was sitting at the war table, sifting through files and doing his usual research. He’d been following up on a case involving a strange uptick in wealth among certain women in the area, and everything about it felt… off.

“Dean, check this out,” Sam said, pointing to his screen, where a series of articles were open about some wealthy women who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. “They’re all linked to some pretty shady stuff—money laundering, black market dealings, and… witchcraft.”

Dean walked over, squinting at the screen. “Witches? Now we’re talking. But why does it look like they’ve been around for a while, just staying off the radar?”

“That’s the problem,” Sam replied, rubbing his eyes. “I think it’s a crossroads deal, but something’s not adding up. These women didn’t get rich the usual way. I’m wondering if they’ve been involved in some kind of occult business—maybe a coven.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Should we call Crowley? He might know something about this kind of thing.”

But just as Sam was about to suggest reaching out to the King of Hell, his eyes caught something. He zoomed in on a group photo on one of the women’s websites, and his expression changed. “Wait a minute… Lane’s in this picture.”

Dean leaned over, squinting at the photo. “Lane’s what? Is she in a cult or something?”

Sam stared at the image for a long moment, brow furrowing. “I don’t know, but I need to ask her about this. If she’s involved in any of this, we need to find out.”

They called Lane, trying to be casual about it. Sam’s voice was even, but there was an edge of concern.

“Hey, Lane,” Sam started, trying not to sound accusatory. “We found something interesting during our research. It looks like the women you’ve been hanging out with—Meredith and Alicia, right? They’re connected to some shady stuff. Witchcraft, money laundering…”

Lane was quiet for a beat, and then she answered, a little too casually, “What are you talking about? They’re just a bunch of women who like to read books and brunch. Nothing more to it.”

Dean stepped in, not buying her explanation. “Yeah, well, one of those brunches looks an awful lot like a cult meeting. You’re telling us this is all just normal?”

Lane rolled her eyes but answers, “I’ve been doing fine, Dean. Nothing weird is going on. If you’re worried about me, I’m okay.” She hesitated. “Anyway, what’s this about Alicia and Meredith?”

Sam asked her to clarify what she knew about them, specifically whether they'd been acting strange or if they’d been talking about anything out of the ordinary lately. Lane brushed it off but decided to put them on speakerphone.

Crowley’s voice immediately cut in, almost interrupting her, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, this is rich. You’ve been going through my darling’s social calendar, haven’t you, boys?”

Lane’s face flushed as Crowley continued, clearly in one of his moods.

“Those women? Their brunch is more a bunch of pretentious fools playing at normal. Alicia spent half the time talking about her husband's 'next big business venture,' and Meredith keeps bringing up whether or not her children are gifted. As if we’re in a bloody Twilight Zone episode! It’s infuriating.”

Lane smirked, trying not to laugh. “It wasn’t that bad, Crowley.”

Sam and Dean exchanged looks, unsure of what they’d just heard. Sam held the phone up. “So, you’re not in any trouble, then?”

Crowley cut in before Lane could respond. “Not unless you count their lack of good taste. A proper brunch has standards, and those women are a disgrace to the concept of fine dining. If I didn’t have more pressing matters to deal with, I’d have already blasted them into next Tuesday.”

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle. “Sounds like the brunch was a real treat.”

Lane sighed in exasperation. “Okay, okay. I get it. But I promise, I’m not in any trouble. These women aren’t... dangerous.” Her voice softened, but it was clear she was trying to convince herself more than them.

Crowley, sensing an opportunity, stepped in with a sharp edge to his voice. “If it gets any worse, you know who to call, love. I’ll make sure they stay in their lane.”

After a brief pause, Lane offered a compromise, clearly eager to avoid more tension. “You know what? Why don’t you guys come over next time? You can see for yourselves. I’ll invite you to the brunch so you can check it out. You can go undercover, whatever, but I need some backup on this.”

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, clearly conflicted. “Alright, we’ll do it,” Sam said, after a moment. “But you’re coming with us on the hunt, Lane. If these women are really what we think they are, we need to get involved before this goes any further.”

Lane agreed, though she was still torn. She didn’t want to drag the Winchesters back into her problems, but she also knew they were her best chance of keeping things from spiraling further out of control.

¤¤¤¤¤

The day of the brunch came, and Sam and Dean showed up at Meredith’s house in their casual attire, pretending to be new members interested in joining the book club. Lane gave them a little pep talk before they walked into the well-manicured front door.

Inside, the group of suburban women greeted them with exaggerated politeness. "Oh, welcome, welcome! We’re so glad you could make it. It’s such a delight to have new faces!"

The conversation was initially superficial—small talk about books, children, and the weather. But Sam and Dean were keeping their ears peeled for anything that sounded suspicious. Lane tried to act normal, but every time one of the women leaned in a little too close or asked her too personal questions, she felt a flicker of discomfort.

Suddenly, one of the women snapped a picture of the group—Lane in the middle with a forced smile, the new members (Sam and Dean) on either side. The woman uploaded the photo almost immediately, and Lane felt a cold chill run down her spine.

“This is perfect! Let’s get a nice group shot! It’ll look great on the website!”

Lane felt the weight of the women’s glares as they all hovered too closely, their smiles unnaturally wide. She realized then just how much she’d stepped into something far darker than she originally imagined.

As they drove away, Crowley called Lane, his voice sharp as ever. “What did I tell you, pet? You’re still my property. Those women—if they try anything, I’ll make sure they regret it.”

Lane smirked, even though she’s uncomfortable. “I haven’t forgotten, Crowley. Don’t worry. You’ve got this one in the bag.”

Before they hung up, Crowley’s tone softened slightly. “You’re mine, Lane. Remember that.”

¤¤¤¤¤

Crowley had been pacing around the kitchen for the better part of an hour, his eyes narrowed in distaste as he watched Sam and Dean make themselves at home. The boys were completely oblivious to the damage they were doing to his carefully curated space. Lane was sitting at the counter, nursing a cup of tea, pretending to be involved in the research but clearly not as invested as the Winchesters. She could tell Crowley was on the edge, irritated, but she wasn’t about to entertain his tantrum.

“I really don’t see why you’ve got to keep using my kitchen like this,” Crowley muttered as he took another sip of Scotch. He leaned against the doorframe, eyeing Dean as he rummaged through the cabinets, clearly searching for anything that resembled a snack.

Dean shot him an unapologetic grin. “Well, considering your kitchen has every damn snack I could ever want, I’d say you’re just gonna have to get used to it.”

Lane chuckled softly, glancing over at Crowley. “He’s not wrong. You do have good snacks.”

Crowley shot her a look, though his eyes softened just a bit. “Oh, you, too, Lane? You’re not helping, darling. Between you and them, I’ll be cleaning my fridge for weeks.”

Dean snorted as he opened a bag of chips. “You’re lucky I haven’t raided your wine cellar.”

“Don’t you dare,” Crowley warned, his voice suddenly menacing. “My wine is sacred.”

Lane raised an eyebrow, not missing the subtle tension that had crept into Crowley’s voice. She couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him, but at the same time, she found his reactions amusing.

Sam was deep in his research, not bothering to look up from his laptop. “I don’t get what the issue is, Crowley. We’re just trying to figure out what these women are up to.”

Crowley huffed. “I’m sure you are, Sam. But you’ve turned my kitchen into your little war room. It’s not like I’m asking for much. Just a little peace—and maybe a bottle of something decent while you two run around like chickens with their heads cut off.”

Lane exchanged a glance with Dean before turning back to Crowley. “He does have a point, though. You’ve got a beautiful place, and we’re just—”

Crowley shot her a look. “You’re just using it as your base of operations, Lane. And I don’t appreciate it.”

Sam let out a frustrated sigh. “We’re just doing our job, Crowley. We’re here because of the coven.”

“Right. The coven,” Crowley muttered, glancing at the counter where Lane’s research materials were scattered. “Let’s see how this investigation goes while I’m stuck in here with the two of you, tearing my kingdom apart.”

Dean, with his mouth full, grinned. “Ah, come on, Crowley. It’s not that bad. You’re just upset because we’ve interrupted your nice quiet routine. I get it.”

Lane leaned back in her chair, taking another sip of tea. “If you really want peace, you should try not being around us so much. Ever think of that?”

Crowley’s face softened briefly, and he tilted his head. “If I didn’t keep an eye on the two of you, I’d have to deal with even worse consequences. At least I’m still in control.”

“You think we’re out of control?” Dean asked, pausing in his snack search.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “No, but this”—he waved his hand over the cluttered counter—“isn’t exactly helping my temperament, either.”

Sam clicked his tongue in exasperation. “We’ll be out of here soon enough, Crowley. Just give us a little space.”

Crowley sighed dramatically, glancing at Lane as though seeking her opinion. Lane just shrugged, then took a final sip from her cup. “Maybe you need to let us work. Not everything’s an insult.”

Crowley shot a quick, almost regretful glance at Lane but didn’t respond. Instead, he set his glass down with a sharp clink and turned to leave.

“I’m off to bed,” he said in a tone that implied he was done with the conversation for the night. “Join me when you’re finished. And don’t even think about keeping me waiting.”

Lane tilted her head, watching him leave. “I’ll be right there,” she said absently, but when she saw him disappear down the hall, she couldn’t help but smirk at his usual self-importance.

Dean, catching her eye, raised an eyebrow. “He seems… tense.”

Lane just sighed. “He’s always tense. But he’ll be fine.”

Sam eyed Lane carefully. “Is everything okay with you two?”

Lane looked at them both, clearly annoyed by the question. “I’m fine, Sam. Really. It’s just... Crowley being Crowley.”

Dean exchanged a look with Sam. “Okay, then.”

¤¤¤¤¤

Lane walked into Crowley’s bedroom with a sigh, closing the door behind her. Crowley was already lounging on the bed, propped up with a pillow, waiting for her.

“You’re late,” he muttered, though there was no real malice in his voice.

Lane didn’t respond, walking over to the bed and sitting on the edge. She was exhausted after everything—between the investigation, the tension in the kitcen, and her own growing confusion about her feelings toward Crowley. But she knew one thing: Crowley wasn’t exactly innocent in all of this either.

He glanced at her, eyes softening, though his usual bravado didn’t completely fade. “Are you going to sit there all night or...?”

Lane gave a small smile before lying next to him, feeling the warmth of his body as she shifted under the covers. “I’m here now.”

Crowley didn’t say anything for a few moments. Then, quietly, “I could have done with a little less intrusion today, but... it’s over now.”

Lane tilted her head toward him. “You sure about that?”

He chuckled dryly, his fingers tracing the edge of her arm. “It’s fine. I suppose I can handle it. As long as you’re here, I can put up with them.”

Lane shifted a little, resting her head on his chest. “I don’t mind,” she said quietly. “But I’m going to need a little space too, you know?”

Crowley’s fingers paused, and he looked down at her with a small, almost unreadable expression. He didn’t say anything more. Instead, he kissed the top of her head and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer.

For once, they both just lay there in silence. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.

¤¤¤¤¤

Lane stood in front of her full-length mirror, eyeing the dresses spread out on her bed. Each one was gorgeous in its own right, but none felt quite right for the night ahead. There was the classic black dress, sleek and safe, the emerald green gown that screamed "statement," and the midnight blue number that felt a little too sophisticated. She reached for the emerald one, running her fingers over the fabric as she stared at her reflection. It was daring, but she could pull it off.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She turned, barely glancing at the door before it creaked open, and Crowley stepped in, his eyes scanning the room.

"Something with a bit more flair, darling?" he teased, his gaze flicking over the dresses. "You’ll blend right in with the wallflowers in that one."

Lane raised an eyebrow, stifling a smile. She put the emerald gown down on the bed and glanced back at him. "It’s about balance, Crowley. We can’t both steal the spotlight."

She picked up the emerald dress again, slipping into the bathroom to change. She knew he was watching her, but she pretended not to notice. A few minutes later, she emerged, the gown hugging her curves perfectly. She could feel Crowley's eyes on her as she adjusted the straps, glancing into the mirror.

"Not bad," Crowley commented, though his usual cocky smirk softened a little. "I suppose that’s true. We wouldn’t want to look too stunning. After all, we’ve got a job to do."

Lane met his eyes in the mirror, her expression unreadable. "You do know I’m here to gather intel, right? No distractions."

Crowley’s gaze flickered for a moment, as though he was about to respond but then decided against it. Instead, he adjusted his cufflinks with a quiet, unspoken approval.

"You’ll do fine," he said, though his voice was softer than usual. "Let’s just make sure we leave them thinking we belong."

Lane paused for a moment, staring at her reflection. There was a brief hesitation, and then she spoke, quieter than she’d intended.

"Let’s hope we don’t end up being the ones who don’t belong."

Crowley raised an eyebrow, his amusement returning. "We’ll make sure of it. Let’s go."

¤¤¤¤¤

The charity ball was everything Lane expected—and nothing like what she'd wanted. The ballroom was packed with the city’s elite, all dressed in designer gowns and tuxedos, their laughter and chatter a polite mask over the true intentions of most in the room. The faint strains of a string quartet filled the air, blending into the conversations that swirled around her. Lane, standing beside Crowley, could feel the weight of the place, every high-society type giving off an air of calm superiority. She could already sense the cracks in their polished facades. It wouldn’t take much to exploit them.

Crowley, ever the king of the room, walked beside her with a natural ease, but Lane could see the tension in his shoulders, the wariness in his eyes as he scanned the crowd. He looked out of place, but that made him stand out even more. He thrived in this world of masks and smiles.

"You see the way they look at us?" he muttered under his breath. "That’s how you get rich. Not through charity balls—through manipulation, darling."

Lane shot him a glance, one corner of her mouth lifting in a half-smile. "I thought that was your specialty."

Crowley’s smirk widened. "It’s everyone’s specialty. Tonight’s just about getting close enough to see their cracks. Keep your eyes open."

They moved through the crowd, engaging in polite small talk with various guests, exchanging pleasantries and vague compliments. But underneath it all, Lane’s mind was sharp, her gaze flicking from one guest to another, always scanning for any signs of vulnerability. These people were too perfect. No one was that flawless without a secret.

Crowley had his usual air of superiority, but his eyes were sharper than ever, never missing a detail. He was playing the game, and Lane was more than willing to join him.

As they mingled, the chatter around them faded into the background, the sound of clinking glasses and the hum of quiet conversation filling the air. But Lane’s focus never wavered. She was here for one reason: to find the cracks, the hidden truths, and maybe, just maybe, expose them.

They danced, each step a calculated move, each laugh an opportunity to gather intel. The more she mingled, the more she realized just how out of place she felt. The women around her were all smiles and easy conversation, but there was something unnerving about the way they interacted, the forced familiarity. It was as if they were all part of something larger, something secret. Lane felt it, deep in her gut. But she wasn’t ready to admit it—not yet.

As the night wore on, she stayed close to Crowley, the waltz becoming a metaphor for their relationship. A delicate balance between control and chaos. Neither of them was quite ready to give up the game.

But soon, she’d have to decide where she truly stood—among the elite, or somewhere in between.

Meredith’s House

Sam crouched low, his eyes scanning the living room of Meredith's house. The place was exactly what he expected from a high-society front: pristine, expensive decor, everything meticulously placed like a museum exhibit. No one here was living the life they portrayed—they were all pretending. Sam’s eyes flicked to the bookshelf lined with old leather-bound tomes. This wasn’t the first time they’d found a coven trying to disguise themselves in plain sight, but it always made him uneasy to see the lengths they would go to.

“Dean,” Sam whispered, motioning to a file on the coffee table. It was neatly stacked with photos and papers, too neatly, which made him suspicious. He carefully slid it open, flipping through the documents. There were contracts—ones that smelled like crossroads deals. This was bigger than just a few witches playing at dark magic.

Dean gave a quiet grunt from the kitchen, no doubt searching for more clues. He never could stay quiet for long. “Found anything interesting?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “They’re crossing paths with crossroads demons. This isn’t just witchcraft; they’ve made some deals. We need to figure out who’s running the show.”

Dean walked into the living room, leaning over Sam’s shoulder. “Meredith? The ball’s gotta be the cover for this witch coven operation. There’s gotta be something here that ties all this together.”

Sam nodded, still absorbed in the file. “I think we’re on the right track. But we need to get deeper into the house before Meredith comes back. No telling what else they’ve hidden.”

Dean’s eyes flickered around the room, narrowing. “You think they’ll be back soon?”

Sam didn’t respond immediately, his fingers tightening around the papers. He could feel it—something was off. A whisper in the back of his mind. This wasn’t just a normal case. There was something personal about this, about Lane being involved. The way Crowley was too, pulling the strings behind the scenes. Sam didn’t want to admit it, but he was starting to feel a little too close to this hunt. It wasn’t just business anymore.

Dean didn’t wait for him to answer, moving toward a cabinet and prying it open. “I’ll keep checking. You keep digging.”

Dean scanned the room as Sam worked, half-listening to the sound of his brother's voice muttering under his breath as he flipped through files. Normally, Dean didn’t give a damn about paperwork, but this case was different. Crowley was involved. Lane was involved. And Dean didn’t like it.

"Not sure I trust her," he muttered to himself. But he knew it wasn’t just Lane. It was the whole mess of it. Lane wasn’t just a civilian caught up in something bigger than her. She was tangled in Crowley’s world now, whether she realized it or not. And that pissed him off.

He grabbed a bottle of whiskey from a sideboard, tossing the cork aside and taking a swig. The house smelled too much like stale luxury. It was too damn clean. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stomach this charade.

But then, he froze. His eyes darted toward the staircase, hearing the muffled sounds of footsteps.

“You hear that?” Dean whispered, his voice tense.

Sam glanced up from the file. “Yeah.”

They both froze. Then, quick as a whip, they snapped into motion, splitting up and searching for the nearest exit. They didn’t need to stick around for an awkward conversation. They had what they needed. The rest could be handled with a little finesse and a whole lot of firepower.

¤¤¤¤¤

Back at the ball, Crowley felt the weight of every eye in the room, but he wore it like a crown. The women, all dressed in elegant gowns, fluttered around him like moths to a flame, trying their best to get a rise out of the King of Hell. He was used to it, of course. There was always a game with these sorts, but none of them intrigued him. None except one.

Meredith and Alicia, however, seemed persistent. Meredith was the first to make her move, sidling up to him with a flirtatious smile that could melt steel.

“Crowley,” she cooed, her voice syrupy sweet. “I didn’t expect you to be quite so... charming in person.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. “I’m full of surprises, darling.”

Alicia, the more forward of the two, leaned in closer, offering him a glass of champagne. “We’ve heard so much about you,” she said, the insinuation hanging in the air. “Perhaps you could tell us a little more... about yourself.”

Crowley looked between the two of them, a glint of amusement in his eyes. He took the glass with a polite nod but didn’t indulge them any further. He wasn’t here for their games. Not tonight. He was here to keep an eye on Lane. The last thing he needed was a distraction from these... foolish women.

Just as he was about to make an excuse to step away, Lane appeared at his side, her dress catching the light. She looked absolutely stunning, but there was a sharpness in her eyes. The kind that reminded him that she didn’t need to be coddled or played with.

“Crowley,” she said, her voice low but direct, “I think it’s time for a little refreshment.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement. He gave a polite smile to the two women still hovering nearby and motioned for Lane to lead the way.

As they walked away, Meredith and Alicia watched them go, their conversation turning from flirtation to something far more calculating.

“You think she’s the one keeping his attention?” Meredith asked, her voice a touch more serious now.

Alicia didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she narrowed her eyes, watching Lane and Crowley disappear into the crowd. “We’ll see about that.”

Meredith’s House

The boys were deep in their search, unaware of the tension back at the ball. Sam’s phone buzzed with a message from Lane.

They found a body. Take care of it.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Lane says they found a body. They’re onto us.”

Dean barely looked up from the cabinet, muttering, “Great. Just great.”

The hunt was on. The coven’s carefully constructed facade was starting to crack.

¤¤¤¤¤

The ballroom had been lit with candlelight and whispers of expensive perfume, the kind of place where smiles were as polished as the polished glass of champagne. Crowley and Lane had just danced their way through another waltz, the witches still clinging to Crowley with their overly friendly, desperate attempts at charm.

Meredith and Alicia, still hovering near him like moths to a flame, exchanged glances as they subtly maneuvered to get closer, their flirtations no longer even attempting to be discreet.

Lane could feel the possessiveness brewing inside her as she exchanged a forced smile with Meredith, all the while acutely aware of how Alicia kept touching Crowley’s arm, leaning in a little too close as she laughed at something that wasn’t even a joke. She gritted her teeth, but kept her outward demeanor neutral. After all, they were here for a reason.

But Crowley? Crowley, though cool and collected on the surface, was starting to show hints of annoyance. The witches' advances were becoming too much, too obvious—too irritating for someone who liked to be in control of everything around him. He played along, of course, as was his nature, but Lane could see his jaw tighten with each passing second.

“You seem so... distant tonight, darling,” Meredith said with a coy smile, placing a hand on Crowley’s arm again. “It’s almost as if you’re here but not really here.”

Crowley smiled, but it was a thin thing, stretched too tight. “Oh, I’m here. Believe me. Just trying to enjoy the lovely company,” he said, flashing a glance at Lane, who was standing a few feet away, purposefully observing them.

Lane’s heart skipped a beat. He was looking at her—but only for a fleeting moment. It was enough, though. Enough for her to see the faintest crack in his usually impenetrable exterior. She would never be able to pin him down completely, not after everything, but in that brief glance, something swirled—a flicker of acknowledgment. Of ownership. Of something that felt too much like possessiveness to be entirely comfortable.

Meredith, undeterred by the brief exchange, leaned in further. “We could make your evening even more... memorable, Crowley,” she whispered in a way that sent a chill down Lane’s spine.

Crowley, still with that polite smile, placed his hand gently but firmly on Meredith’s shoulder, pushing her back just enough to create some space. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me, Meredith,” he said, his voice low and pleasant, but something in his eyes betrayed a dangerous edge. “I’m already quite occupied. And I’d hate to leave anyone disappointed.”

The sting in his words was barely masked, but Meredith didn’t seem to mind. She simply laughed it off, too eager to be in his favor to read the subtle warning in his tone.

Lane couldn’t hold back any longer. She made a deliberate move to his side, slipping her hand into his arm. It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. It was... something else. She wasn’t entirely sure, but the need to remind herself—and everyone else—that she was his, had a sharp clarity to it.

Crowley looked down at her, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He could sense the simmering heat between them, but he didn’t comment on it. He simply nodded to her as if silently acknowledging their unspoken bond.

Without saying another word, he led her toward the bar. “I think we need a drink,” he muttered, almost to himself, as they moved away from the witches.

The sound of Meredith’s voice calling out a faint, “You’ll come back, won’t you?” fell flat in the air, but Crowley ignored it with practiced ease.

When they reached the bar, Crowley leaned against the counter, eyes scanning the room. “You seem particularly invested in tonight's proceedings,” he said casually, his back turned to the witches, who were still eyeing him from the dance floor.

Lane shrugged, trying to appear unaffected. “Just watching the show.”

Crowley met her gaze, his expression softening just a fraction. “Mm-hmm. You always were good at that. Keeping your emotions under wraps.”

But Lane’s heart was thumping in her chest. What was this? What was this thing they had now? Was it more than just a game to him? Or was it still about power? About control?

She didn’t get a chance

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