17.
The bunker was quiet. Dana was sitting at the large table with a sketchbook in front of her, her tongue sticking out slightly as she concentrated on coloring a picture. Sam was in the kitchen preparing something simple, while Dean was going through the supplies list with a beer bottle in his hand.
Just as Dean was about to say they needed more chips, the lights flickered. Dana looked up. “Sam? Is that normal?” Dean’s eyes narrowed, and he set his bottle down on the table with a thump. “No.”
The air in the bunker seemed to grow colder, and with a sudden flash, Crowley appeared in the middle of the room, his trademark black suit perfectly straightened and his usual confident grin on his face. “Well, well, guys,” Crowley said with a hint of sarcasm. “I thought I’d drop in and say hello.”
Dana let out a small sound of alarm and jumped back. Her eyes widened, her heart pounding in her chest. Without realizing it, she felt her magic coursing through her body—wild, untrained.
A split second later, Crowley’s hair turned a bright blue. Dean froze. Sam turned slowly, a look of surprise on his face. Crowley, who had still been grinning confidently, froze as a strand of blue fell in front of his eyes. He blinked slowly, reached out, and grabbed a few of the blue strands.
“Blue,” he finally said, his voice flat. “My hair… is blue.” Dana covered her mouth with her hands. “O-oh no! I… I didn’t mean to!”
Dean tried to keep a straight face, but a chuckle escaped him. “Well, Crowley. It suits you. Maybe you should keep it that way.” Sam took a deep breath, clearly suppressing his laughter. “A new look.”
Crowley turned slowly to Dana, his eyes sharp but not angry. On the contrary—there was curiosity in his gaze. He crouched down so that he was at eye level with her and looked at her searchingly. Dean came closer, hand on the demon knife.
“Well, well,” he said with a weak smile. “And who might you be?” Dana swallowed and looked shyly at Sam and Dean. “I… I’m Dana.” Crowley’s smile widened. “Ah. Dana Potter. The girl I’ve heard so much about but never met.”
Dana’s gaze settled on his bright blue hair. “I… I’m sorry about your hair.” Crowley shook his head and chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. There are worse things in this world than a bad hair day.” He winked. “Besides, blue is totally in.”
Dean stepped between them, his gaze warning. “Okay, that’s enough. What are you doing here, Crowley?”
***
Dana sat quietly at the large table in the bunker. In front of her lay a sketchbook in which she drew intently, her small hand clutching a pencil. Beside her was an empty mug of hot chocolate. She swayed her legs gently under the table, oblivious to the tension in the room.
Dean and Sam stood on the other side of the table, both with their arms crossed. Their gazes were fixed on Crowley, who was pacing the room in his usual confident manner. His blue hair—a remnant of Dana’s accidentally cast magic—fell in soft waves over his forehead, but he seemed unconcerned.
“Now, boys,” Crowley began with a wide grin, “do you want to hear what makes that little girl over there so special? Or would you rather stand there for hours and stare at each other without learning anything?” Dean growled. “Get to the point, Crowley. Why are you here? What do you know that we don’t?”
Crowley stopped and turned to face the brothers. His face grew serious. “I know you think Dana is just a girl with magic. But it’s more than that. Much more.” Sam’s gaze sharpened. “Explain.”
Crowley pulled out a chair and sat down, seeming completely at ease here. He folded his hands together and let his gaze drift briefly to Dana before turning back to the brothers.
“Do you know the story of the Deathly Hallows?” he asked quietly. Dean frowned. “No. What are they?”
Sam looked thoughtful. “I’ve read the name in one of those old books here in the bunker. When we just moved in here I have read it. It’s sort of a fairy tale. It talks about three objects, right? A wand, a stone, and a cloak?”
Crowley nodded. “Exactly. The Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Invisibility Cloak. Together, they are the Hallows—the most powerful magical objects ever created. And whoever possesses them all becomes the Master of Death.”
Dean snorted. “Sounds like a fairy tale.” Crowley’s eyes glinted dangerously. “Oh, you’d think so, wouldn’t you? But fairy tales often have a grain of truth to them. These objects are real. And more than that — they’re connected to one family: the Peverell’s.”
Sam nodded slowly. “The three brothers in the story.”
“Exactly,” Crowley confirmed. “And here’s the interesting part, boys. The Peverell bloodline split centuries ago. The eldest brother, Antioch, is the ancestor of many dark wizards, including a certain Tom Riddle.” Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Voldemort.”
“Correct,” Crowley said with a grin. “But Dana? She’s descended from the youngest brother, Ignotus Peverell. The man who wore the Invisibility Cloak and evaded death with it.”
Dean glanced briefly at Dana, who was still drawing, oblivious to the conversation. “And that makes her special?” Crowley nodded slowly. “More than special. She’s a direct descendant of one of the most powerful magical bloodlines in existence. The magic that runs through her veins is older and stronger than most wizards.”
Sam remained silent, considering what this meant. Dean, on the other hand, was less impressed.
“So what?” Dean said shortly. “What does that mean? She’s just a child.”
Crowley leaned forward slightly, his voice softer and more serious. “What it means, Dean, is that she’s a target. People who know what the Hallows are would do anything to find her. And if they find out she’s descended from the Peverell’s…” He paused. “You’ve got a war on your hands.”
Dean’s jaw tightened. “We’re protecting her.” Crowley grinned faintly. “Oh, I don’t doubt that. But know this: she won’t always be a child. The longer she lives, the more powerful she’ll become. And the more people will seek her out.”
Dana looked up at that moment, her gaze focused curiously on Crowley. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked softly. Crowley’s gaze softened a fraction, something that rarely happened. “Because you, honey, are very important.”
Dana smiled weakly. “I just want to draw.” Crowley winked. “Keep doing that, honey. Let the grown-ups worry about the rest.”
He stood up and turned to Dean and Sam. “That’s all I wanted to tell you. But remember my words, boys. This story is far from over.” With a flash of black smoke, Crowley disappeared, and the lights in the bunker flickered for a moment before steadying again.
Dana looked at her drawing and calmly resumed coloring. “What did he mean?” she asked softly. Dean walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
Sam nodded in agreement. “We're making sure you're safe, Dana. That's all that matters.”