Night settled quietly over Bela's apartment in Queens while rain tapped softly against the windows.
Henry sat at the small dining table staring down at the plate Bela had placed in front of him a few minutes earlier.
The problem was—
he genuinely couldn't identify parts of it anymore.
What had originally been chicken now looked heavily overcooked on one side and suspiciously undercooked on the other, covered in a dark sauce that somehow made the entire thing look even less trustworthy.
Henry slowly lowered the fork back onto the plate.
"…Ummm, Bela," he said carefully, "do you honestly think this is something I can safely eat?"
Bela stood beside the counter holding a wine glass, looking personally offended by the criticism.
"Oh, you've hurt my feelings," she replied smoothly. "I poured my heart into making that."
Henry looked back down at the food for another second before lifting his eyes toward her again.
"Is this symbolically meant to show your heart is black?" he asked.
Bela narrowed her eyes slightly. "You are extraordinarily rude for someone eating free food."
Henry poked the chicken once with visible distrust. "I'm not entirely convinced this qualifies as food."
"It's roasted chicken."
"It looks like the chicken fought back."
That made Bela laugh despite herself.
She walked over and leaned lightly against the table near him, completely unbothered by the insults. "You know," she said, "most people would simply appreciate the effort."
"Most people probably don't value survival as much as I do."
Bela took a sip from her wine while watching him continue examining the plate like it was cursed.
"You hunt monsters," she pointed out. "Yet somehow my cooking is what frightens you."
Henry glanced at her deadpan. "Monsters usually don't pretend to be dinner first." He pushed the plate slightly away from himself. "And I'm kinda not interested in putting nasty things into my mouth."
Bela rolled her eyes lightly. "You're exaggerating."
"Trust me," Henry replied, "I've already tasted enough unhealthy things in life."
Bela studied him quietly for a moment before sitting beside him.
"So you really aren't eating it?" she asked.
Henry looked back at the dish again with visible doubt.
"That thing is one step away from moving on its own."
A small laugh escaped Bela despite herself.
Then she leaned slightly toward him. "What if I fed you?" she asked casually.
Henry immediately looked at her with suspicion. "Do you think this is some kind of fairy tale?"
Bela sighed softly after hearing that before standing back up.
Without arguing further, she picked up the plate and carried it into the kitchen before throwing the ruined dish away.
The apartment became quieter afterward.
She had not made the food because she enjoyed cooking.
This was her attempt at showing gratitude.
Or maybe proving she could be trusted.
When she came back from the kitchen, she stayed standing near the counter for a few moments before speaking again.
"You know," she said quietly, "most people would be curious."
Henry looked toward her. "About what?"
"My deal," Bela replied. "What I asked for. What exactly I got in return?"
Henry stayed silent.
Bela frowned slightly. "But you never asked."
"Hmm." Henry looked at her quietly for a few seconds.
Then he spoke.
"Do you really want to know why?"
Bela folded her arms loosely. "Obviously," she said. "I always feel somehow exposed around you. Like you're constantly one step ahead of me."
Henry leaned back slightly against the couch.
"I know why you made the deal," he said calmly. "I know what your childhood was like. I know what forced you into it."
The moment the words left his mouth—
Bela stopped smiling.
Completely.
Because almost nobody knew that part of her life.
The contract hadn't been about greed originally.
Or luxury.
Or money.
It had started because of her mother and stepfather. Because of what happened inside that house for years. Because eventually a terrified girl had reached the point where selling her soul felt easier than continuing to live with them.
And the demon answered.
Bela looked at Henry differently now.
"So," she asked after a long pause, "even knowing what kind of human I am… you still decided to help me?"
Henry didn't even hesitate.
"Ummm…" he muttered thoughtfully, "I honestly don't see anything wrong with it."
Bela blinked once.
Henry shrugged lightly. "What exactly is tragic about some pieces of shit dying?" he asked. "The planet's full of terrible people already. It's not like removing a few of them damages humanity."
Bela stared at him for a moment, almost trying to decide whether he was serious.
The strange part was—
he sounded completely sincere.
A faint smile appeared on Bela's face again.
Henry Winchester was honestly one of the strangest people she had ever met. He could sound completely insane one moment and oddly sincere the next, all while wearing the same permanently irritated expression.
And somehow—
that annoying expression had started growing on her.
"Wow," a voice suddenly said from near the entrance. "Did I interrupt something?"
The warmth in the room vanished immediately.
Henry turned toward the voice without any visible surprise while Bela straightened slightly near the counter.
A man stood casually by the apartment door holding a glass of amber liquor in one hand like he had simply walked into a social gathering instead of appearing uninvited inside someone's home.
Expensive suit.
Perfect posture.
Calm smile that never quite reached his eyes.
Crowley.
King of the Crossroads.
"Well," Crowley said smoothly while glancing between them, "this is a much cozier arrangement than I was expecting." His attention lingered briefly on Henry before returning toward Bela. "You neglected to mention your little partnership had become domestic."
*****
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