@muse--menagerie // feels as plotted :3
[text:squirrel] you need to have a look at something.
[text:squirrel] presidential suite, hilton, chicago.
[text:squirrel] better hurry, squirrel.
he was grasping for straws really, so desperate for company he was willing to spend time with dean after all he did, but crowley’s number of friends had gradually been decimated & with lola ... he didn’t know who he could trust anymore. at least with dean winchester he knew his chances, no surprises. even if he rushed, he’d been in the car for hours, which meant crowley had time to go out & replenish his reserves. lola’s found human blood bags for him, but crowley was all but eager to follow in her foot steps. he could call in a favor or two.
shaky demon on quaky legs, he managed to dress & slip outside the door. every step was torture, but it would only get worse if he stopped now. he needed more. now. the high was inexplicable, it felt like nothing else mattered in the world. like all he’d experienced in the past fifty years meant nothing, because he didn’t feel. he refused to. now he was a slave, humanity had caught up with him after all & it was relentless in its chase. he couldn’t hide. the way back was hard, but the demon made it into his room & he collapsed into his chair.
blood bags weren’t his preferred source, but they’d do just fine. syringe cold in pale, trembling fingers -- the rush he felt once his own blood mixed with the recently acquired human blood made him hiss & moan at the same time, utterly content only a few seconds after. why did he ask dean to come again?
