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yamisnuffles · 5 years

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Cosmic Love

Not long after the Great Flood, Gabriel comes to lay down a few ground rules for Crowley and tries to set Aziraphale on a better path.

This is the fourth part in my Too Much of a Good Things series, where both Crowley and Aziraphale are angels. It won’t make sense if you haven’t read the other parts.

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While of course no angel was exactly alike, there were a few things about the Seraphim generally considered rules amongst the other angels. For one, they burned with a fiery passion in all they did, both figuratively and quite literally. For another, they had very lovely voices. If they were to be found anywhere other than deep in the cosmos, it was at the Almighty’s side, singing Her praises. Finally, they were weird. This last point was generally considered a byproduct of the prior two.

Of course, because the Seraphim tended to work at a distance from many other angels, this opinion was likely little more than gossip. How many of the Host could say they spent enough time with even a single Seraph to sum them up? That was Aziraphale’s opinion on the matter. Or, at least, it had been until he had spent enough time with a certain Seraph to form a distinct impression.

Aziraphale had started to wonder if Crowley himself was the reason the Seraphim had developed such a reputation. He was certainly dramatic and what was that if not a sort of passion. Aziraphale hadn’t ever heard him sing but Crowley also had a lovely speaking voice. As to the last bit, well…

There were plenty of ways that Crowley was different from anyone else Aziraphale knew. Crowley went by Crowley instead of his God given name, for one. It was certainly his choice and one Aziraphale respected but he couldn’t say he understood the impulse. For another, Crowley was often using nonsensical turns of phrase, talking about lead balloons and zoos and the like. He said them in ways that implied what he was saying made perfect sense but always made Aziraphale feel an awful lot like something had gone wrong with his hearing. And then there was the way he was always calling Aziraphale “angel” as though they weren’t both angels. As though Aziraphale was something special, singular to Crowley. It made Aziraphale’s heart flutter in a way that definitely wasn’t normal, not for him.

Which was to say nothing of the way Crowley walked since he’d regained his legs. The way his hips and his legs seemed to have a rhythm all their own that defied logic and the laws of gravity while they were at it. It was peculiar. Outlandish. Altogether too much in a way that awakened parts of Aziraphale he’d rather forgotten he’d had and if that wasn’t strange, he didn’t know what was.

Crowley was doing it at that very moment, sauntering about like he wasn’t bound by any of the rules of his corporeal form. Aziraphale had been content to quietly watch him at it until the Seraph started to do something else odd. Crowley had been replanting the fertile but devastated landscape. Lush greenery sprang up in his wake was he walked, arms outstretched. It was a beautiful sort of dance with the way he moved. Or would have been, had Crowley not made frequent stops to grumble at whatever he’d just grown.

“My dear, are you… talking to the plants?” Aziraphale asked. Talking seemed the kindest way to describe what Crowley was doing. Hissing was far more accurate but Crowley got a bit tetchy when his lingering serpentine features were pointed out.

Crowley gave a low lying shrub a parting glare. When it raised its limbs further up toward the sun, he nodded and then looked at Aziraphale. “Just giving them a few reminders.”

“Of?”

“Of the flood. Of the fact that I am graciously giving them all a second chance.” Golden eyes became molten and turned on the plants once more. Their leaves quivered under his glare. “That this all could be taken away in a moment if they’re not careful and so they need to grow better.”

Aziraphale’s heart squeezed uncomfortably at the implications. He tried to think of a way to respond gently to that but a sudden flash of lightning brought his brain to a halt. Gabriel appeared before them in what had been a pristine new field of poppies.

“Greetings, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said in that booming voice of his. He fixed a bright, white smile on Aziraphale and then turned it on Crowley. “And just the angel I was looking for. Hello, Sala-”

“Nope,” Crowley interjected.

Gabriel kept his smile in place, though it tightened noticeably. “Excuse me?”

Crowley crossed his arms. “That’s not my name anymore. It’s Crowley.”

Though Crowley might not be phased in the slightest by the Archangel’s clear displeasure at being both interrupted and corrected, Aziraphale couldn’t help but squirm. “Yes I, ah, I mentioned it in my memo to you?” It wasn’t a question. He knew he had but his voice rose all the same. He twisted the ring on his pinky finger. “In the report about the ark and everything.”

“I thought that was a joke,” Gabriel replied. “We all had a good laugh about it. Well, whatever.” He shrugged and turned his violet eyes down at the flowers crushed beneath his sandaled feet. He either couldn’t see or didn’t care about the way Crowley was glaring at him. “What is this?” he asked, wrinkling his nose and peeling a petal from his sole. “There isn’t supposed to be anything growing here yet.”

“Yeah, well,” Crowley shrugged. Despite his feigned nonchalance, his fingers twitched in clear desire to heal the crushed flowers. Instead he swept his arm to his side and tall grass sprouted in a clump. “Now there is.”

Gabriel frowned. “I see that. Why?”

Crowley bared his teeth in a sharp smile. “Dunno if you noticed, but there was a really big flood recently. That big boat full of humans and animals need more than a whole mess of mud to get on with things. Soooo-” An aggressive arm sweep and more poppies grew up around Gabriel for every one he’d trod on. “I’m helping them out. S’what we’re supposed to do, isn’t it?”

“We aren’t supposed to interfere directly with the affairs of the humans unless ordered. And you aren’t supposed to interfere at all with them.” Gabriel’s frown was traded for his widest, most mirthless smile. “You’ve done more than enough of that, wouldn’t you say?”

Aziraphale nearly stumbled in his haste to get between the two angels. He rather felt like doing so might cause him to be ill. He’d rather not. He’d seen it happen to humans and it looked dreadfully unpleasant. However, he couldn’t let this escalate any further. His own smile fluttered about the edges.

“Gabriel, is there a reason you’re here?”

“To see this, of course,” Grabriel replied, gesturing to Crowley. As though the Seraph was a thing, a spectacle, and not a fellow member of the Host. Aziraphale knew the Archangel couldn’t possibly mean it in that way but it did make his stomach turn again. “When you said in your report that our errant angel, Crowley, had regained his original corporation, I just had to see it for myself. And what do you know, that wasn’t a joke either.”

Crowley’s only response was to bare his teeth further. Snakes weren’t capable of smiling, but Aziraphale had the distinct impression that it would look something like that if they could, a sickle sharp slice of venom. It made the too human hairs on the back of Aziraphale’s neck rise up. Danger, it said.

“No, not a joke,” he said. “Why- why would I lie in my report? I try my best not to embellish.”

Gabriel waved his hand. “Yes, yes. You were quite thorough, Aziraphale. But who would believe this? Not me. Not Michael. Sandalphon was taking bets on whether it would ever happen at all. No hard feelings or anything. You just gotta admit, this came as a surprise.”

Aziraphale couldn’t even think of what to say to that. His mouth worked around a response that wouldn’t come. Before he could find the words, Crowley stepped forward.

“Right, well, here I am. So if you’d just-” Crowley flapped his hand dismissively.

Annoyance flickered through Gabriel’s otherwise impassive features. “That’s not all I’m here for.

You may have your original form back but, sorry to say, that’s not the end of it. It’s been decided that it would be best for everyone if you stay down here to live amongst the humans, as one of them. You’ll still have your miracles, of course. We’re not monsters. Though, in the future, do be less wasteful,” he said, gesturing at the lush greenery around them. “But that means no trips to Heaven.”

“Good riddance,” Crowley muttered.

“And no going off into the stars,” Gabriel continued brightly, as though he hadn’t heard Crowley’s aside.

Aziraphale gasped. He put a hand on Crowley as much to steady himself as to keep the Seraph back. But Crowley was no longer on the offensive. He was trembling. Aziraphale turned to look at him and saw his mouth was hanging wide.

“You can’t.”

Gabriel laughed. “I can’t? The Almighty may have decided in Her infinite goodness to let you stop crawling around but it’s up to Heaven to decide everything else. The humans are still suffering because of what you did, so it’s only fair, don’t you think?”

Crowley’s mouth thinned and a shadow passed over his golden eyes. It should have been easier for Aziraphale to read him now but he’d gotten so used to the body language of a snake. He needed to relearn everything about how Crowley expressed himself. All he knew at the moment was that his emotive friend was all too still and quiet for his liking.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Gabriel, could I perhaps speak to you for a moment? Er, privately.” Gabriel raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest when Aziraphale led him out of Crowley’s earshot. “You’ll have to excuse Crowley’s behavior. He’s been rather moody since the flood, what with the almost dying and being left out of plans. I don’t think he quite understands the… the ineffability of it.”

“Aziraphale, buddy, if it was up to me, I’d say getting his body back was the end of it. This is nothing personal. But you’ve got to consider appearances.” Gabriel wrapped one arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders and used the other to gesture at the sky. “Think about it. He already skipped out of his duty during the War and then there’s Eden. How do you think the other angels would feel if he got off so easy? Not to mention those mucking about in Hell. We let Salath- Crowley off after a mere thousand years and before you know it, we have demons demanding they be let back into heaven.”

Aziraphale squirmed uncomfortably. “Yes. Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I am. As long he’s under Heaven’s care, we’re responsible for him. You wouldn’t rather he not be under our care, would you?”

Aziraphale’s throat went suddenly dry. He couldn’t help but look back at Crowley. The Seraph was barely visible crouching amongst the poppies, a shock of red hair amongst even redder blooms. Nearly everything Crowley had done since coming to Earth seemed designed to make Aziraphale fret on his behalf. He was always pushing at the bounds and asking too many questions instead of trusting in the Plan. Was Gabriel’s goodwill all that had kept Crowley from Falling? If so, what if he ever found out about the things that Aziraphale had left out of his reports, like why Crowley had nearly died during the flood?

Aziraphale shivered. “Crowley really does care for the humans. He sometimes shows it in an unusual way but he is trying. Perhaps if he had duties to keep him occupied?”

“I don’t think so, Aziraphale. It might seem nice to give him some busy work, but think about it from the other side. After what he did in the Garden, which souls are we supposed to trust to his care?” Gabriel shook his head. “I told you bud, gotta keep your eyes on the big picture. Good. Evil. We don’t need rogue agents messing things up.” He clapped Aziraphale on the back hard enough to wind him. “Big picture. Something you should keep in mind yourself when you consider what company you keep.”

As quickly as he’d arrived, Gabriel was gone, leaving only the tang of ozone and disapproval in his wake. Aziraphale let out a long, shaky breath. He knew what the Archangel was getting at- that he would be better off without Crowley around. It might be true but he wasn’t worried about himself. Well, not entirely. In truth, ever since he’d given away his sword he’d worried that he wasn’t doing the right thing. But he worried more about Crowley. If Gabriel was concerned about the influence Crowley might be on him, he was far more concerned about the effect he had on Crowley. Maybe they’d both be better off without each other.

With a heavy heart, Aziraphale turned to discuss the matter with his friend. However, Crowley was nowhere to be found. Aziraphale turned his head this way and that, hoping to catch a flash of copper hair or yellow eyes. Nothing. Wind rattled through the grass and dislodged a single white feather from its depths. Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath. He could feel his heart pound and stopped himself before he got too worked up. There was no reason to believe Crowley was in danger. There had been those demons for a time but… No, no. It was fine. Crowley was hardly defenseless. He wasn’t human.

Nor was Aziraphale, for that matter. He extended all his senses. He wasn’t limited to anything so mundane as sight. Crowley had been difficult to find when he’d been a serpent, muted in a way. Since that day on the ark, though, he’d been like a beacon. He must have loved the world fiercely indeed for as bright as he burned. He was so full of love it was hard for Aziraphale to sense much else around him.

“There you are,” Aziraphale sighed, letting out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding.

With a snap, he appeared in the upper atmosphere. He had to yank his wings quickly into this dimension to keep from falling. Once he’d steadied himself, he examined his surroundings. Above the clouds and everything else, it was easy to find Crowley. With his wings extended and his long hair trailing behind him, Crowley looked like a comet that was defying gravity to shoot upward. He went high enough that he was just one more shining point amongst many when something violently rebuffed him and he went crashing earthward.

Aziraphale shot forward with a yelp. He needed to tuck his wings in and propel himself faster with a miracle to surpass the speed of Crowley’s disastrous descent. He swept the Seraph into his arms and unfurled his wings again in time to stop them from crashing. Crowley looked dazed. He stared owlishly at Aziraphale as the Principality did his best to settle them in for a comfortable landing. He tried to place Crowley back on his feet but the other angel seemed liable to topple over if Aziraphale loosened his embrace.

“Crowley, are you alright? What were you thinking?”

Pink colored pale skin and obscured the freckles that dusted over Crowley’s high cheekbones. He found his feet at last and staggered back a step. “Just wanted to test,” he mumbled. He threw his head back to look up. His eyes were intense as he stared up at the clouds that dotted the blue sky, as if he could see beyond all of that to the cosmos. His eyes were wet when he looked down at Aziraphale. “How did you find me?”

“Simple. You positively radiate love, my dear.”

“I… ngk… wuh?”

Crowley’s face was positively scarlet now, though Aziraphale couldn’t fathom what he had to be embarrassed about. Best to reassure him after all that he’d just been through.

Aziraphale smiled softly. “Yes, I don’t know why I didn’t notice it in Eden but I suppose you hadn’t had time yet to really appreciate creation. Now, well my dear boy, I’m really in awe of how fiercely you love this world. But I’ve always heard how passionate the Seraphim could be.”

He meant it as a slightly teasing compliment but it didn’t seem like he’d hit the right mark. Crowley was still sputtering and the red of his face had seeped up to his ears. “Course you can sense… don’t know why I didn’t think…” All that nervous energy spread and caused Crowley’s wings to flutter. “Yeah, the world’s great. Just love it. Never known anything like it.”

Aziraphale smiled wider over the way Crowley’s voice broke around the word love, as though it was too much to even say. He put a gentle hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “I know you want to go back to the stars but perhaps you can remember that until you’re able to return. It can’t be so unbearable to be trapped with something you love so much can it?”

A small, broken noise escaped Crowley’s throat. “No, s’fine, I guess. Nice. Great.”

Aziraphale thought of what Gabriel had said. Aziraphale couldn’t imagine it was possibly that bad to be around any angel who knew how to love so wholly but he often felt there was a lot he didn’t understand about how to be a good angel. He certainly didn’t know what was best in this case- for him, for Crowley, for anything. Maybe he didn’t need to decide that just yet. It felt cruel to abandon Crowley when he was reacclimating to the world after a millennia as a serpent, especially when he no longer had the comfort of the stars.

“Shall we get back? I know Gabriel said you oughtn’t miracle the plants back but I do think the humans will be rather confused if they come across things unfinished like that.”

Crowley beamed. “Anywhere you want to go, you know I’ll follow. So lead the way.”

#good omens #good omens au #go au: tmgt #fic #my writing #crowley #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #good omens gabriel #and now I can get back to the other fic people voted on #no one wanted this lol but WEV I DID

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spn-ficfanatic · 5 years

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F*ck Cancer- Ch 8: The End (Final)

SERIES MASTERLIST - CHAPTER ONE - CHAPTER TWO - CHAPTER THREE - CHAPTER FOUR - CHAPTER FIVE - CHAPTER SIX - CHAPTER SEVEN

A/N: This is it guys, the final chapter. No summary, the title speaks for itself. Let me know if you laughed, let me know if you cried, let me know if you decide to unfollow me after this cuz I’m scum (but please don’t?). Second A/N at the bottom.

Genre: Angst all the way

Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean x Platonic!Reader* *For the Dean ladies/lads: it may not be romantic between him and the reader, but it’s a very close brotherly/sisterly relationship and I still think y’all will really enjoy it :)

Words: 2412

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You thought a lot about death. You wondered if it would hurt, or if you might just fall asleep... if you would even remember who you were when the time came. Would you go to heaven, or hell? If it was hell, would Crowley cut you some slack? If it was heaven, well… what even WAS heaven? Would your parents be there? Would you have an imaginary Sam to keep you company, until the real one could join you?

Sam thought a lot about what came after death. Not being able to wake up every morning and spoon you until you opened your eyes and kissed his neck. Not sitting with you in the garden anymore, watching the family of foxes behind your house as they grew up and had cubs. Not being able to follow the foxes and have babies of your own. Moreso, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what he would do next. You wanted him to sell the house and go back to hunting, but he couldn’t see a life after you.

Dean mostly thought about ways to save you. Sure, you’d had this conversation with them before and they’d promised not to look. But he did anyway, while you slept he hid away in his room and scoured as many books and websites as he could. Columns of printed paper highlighted in various colours filled his wardrobe to the brim, hidden from view. Suddenly the man who loathed research found himself living and breathing the pages of any ancient book he could get his hands on. Bobby had brought some with him when he came for the wedding, and continued to look on his own back at his house. But time was drawing nearer, the inevitable just around the corner, and hope was running out.

The day you heard loud crashes coming from Dean’s room was the day you knew... If there ever WAS hope, it was now gone. Of course you knew he was still looking for ways to save you, you weren’t stupid. And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t slightly optimistic that he might come through with some miracle, despite what you told them. Sam looked at you with concern and you gave him a small sad smile.

“He’s been trying to find ways to save me,” you whispered to him, too tired to speak at a regular volume anymore. You saw a flash of anger cross his eyes, and brushed your palm over his cheek affectionately. “Don’t be angry with him, he needed a distraction from watching me die. You need to help him now though, because I think his world just crumbled.”

You smiled sadly, and leaned over to kiss him lightly on the lips. He nodded, and sniffled as he stood up and tread carefully to his older brother’s room while the noise continued. You listened to the exchange from the lounge room, unable to do anything but sit helplessly.

Sam opened the door and his eyes widened to find hundred of pages floating through the air. Feathers too, and he spotted a torn pillow on the floor. Books and papers were littered across the carpet, and Dean’s laptop lay on top with a broken screen. The older brother hadn’t even noticed Sam had walked in, he was too busy swearing and shredding the hundreds of papers he’d collected over the last few months.

“Dean!” Sam shouted, stepping forward and grabbing his arm. Dean thrust his arm away and didn’t respond, continuing to destroy whatever he could lay his hands on. When he reached for one of Bobby’s ancient books Sam yelled with alarm and grabbed him harder, pushing him onto the bed. “Snap out of it man, Bobby will kill you if you wreck tha-”

“Shut it Sam, get out of here,” Dean responded, moving to stand on his feet again before Sam pushed him back down. Dean glared at him, seeing red. In one fell swoop he leapt up and pushed him back, sending him into the desk.

“I’m not leaving Dean,” he growled, standing tall in front of his big brother.

“Fine, then I will,” he replied, making for the door. Sam rushed to block his way, and Dean shook his head with a humourless laugh before punching him in the jaw. Sam staggered back slightly, but quickly recovered before pushing Dean back into the room. He hit the wall and fell to the floor.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he told him angrily, “not like this. You’re not gonna go out and get blind stinking drunk and pick a fight with a guy who probably doesn’t deserve it. You wanna punch someone? Punch me. I’m the one who brought us here. I’m the one who fell in love with a dying woman. I’m the one who’s forced you to watch Y/N die.”

Tears were filling his eyes at this point, but Dean didn’t notice through his own. He stood up, using the now broken and unstable desk for support. It creaked under his weight, its legs cracking.

“Fuck off Sam, this isn’t on you OK? This is all on me. I’m supposed to be the big brother, I’m supposed to get you guys out of trouble, that’s my damn job. Always has been, always will be,” he growled, kicking a nearby wastebasket in frustration. He paused, bringing his hands up and rubbing his face, resting them behind his head as he looked away with tears in his eyes.

“That’s not on you Dean,” Sam told him, calmer now as he watched his brother’s wall collapse. He slowly approached him, careful not to step on anything in the process. “You’re not here because you’re just some guy we’d hired to save her life, you’re here because we’re a family. And sometimes part of that is accepting that family doesn’t end with death.”

Sam voice shuddered as he spoke that word. He generally tried to avoid it when it came to speaking about you but lately had been trying to be more open to the idea, which meant not shying away from it. He cleared his throat before continuing.

“Y/N doesn’t blame you for not finding a cure. I don’t blame you. I’m a little pissed that you kept it from me truth be known, but that’s a whole other thing.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth raised slightly in a half-hearted smirk, and he nodded slightly. He sniffed, and brought his hands down and rested them on his hips.

“How’s she doing?” he asked quietly. “Really?”

Sam sighed and ran his hand through his hair, sitting down on Dean’s bed.

“She’s sleeping a lot, not eating much. Her memory is just getting worse, along with the headaches and the nosebleeds. So, everything you’d expect I guess.”

Dean frowned and leaned back against the wall he stood in front of. As he opened his mouth to respond he heard a crash coming from the lounge-room, and as he and Sam shared an alarmed glance they both bolted from the room shouting your name.

They found you on the ground where Sam had left you in your wheelchair, shaking as a seizure wracked your body. Sam fell to the floor next to you and rolled you to your side.

“Dean!” he cried in a panic. “Wha-what do I do?”

“You’re doing it man, just sit with her,” he responded, trying to stay calm for his little brother as he pulled his mobile out and called for an ambulance. He patted him on the shoulder in reassurance, “just hang on Sammy, I’m getting help.”

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As Dr Wheeler approached them, they could see on her face that the news wasn’t good. They didn’t wait for her to reach them, standing from their chairs and meeting her halfway instead.

“How is she?” Sam asked desperately. They’d been waiting anxiously for 3 hours while they examined you and called in your doctor for a second opinion. Dr Wheeler sighed, and gestured for them to take a seat with her.

“No, please Doc, we’ve been sitting for hours,” Dean told her firmly. “Just tell us.”

Sally nodded in understanding, and cleared her throat. “Y/N is comfortable for now, but the tumour has increased in size significantly since I last saw her. If nothing else, it’s confirmation that any further treatment would have merely caused her unnecessary suffering,” she explained, trying to soften the blow. “I’m afraid other than making her comfortable, we can’t do anything more for her.”

Dean nodded, looking at the ground. “How long?”

Sally looked at the two men sadly. The older brother couldn’t bear to look her in the eyes, and the younger stood staring into space, hearing but not seeing. She’d seen it hundreds of times before and it never got any easier, but something about these men made it harder than most.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t expect she’ll make it through the night.”

Sam lifted his eyes to hers, tears pooling but not falling. Behind her he could see the sun rising through the window, turning a beautiful shade of purple that he knew you would have loved. The idea that you might not see it set nearly broke him, but some inner strength he didn’t know he had kept him standing.

“Can we take her home please?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“Of course,” she told him with a sad smile. “I can arrange for a nurse to join you and administer pain relief, and an ambulance to take her home and connect her to a drip. It should be enough to get her through relatively pain-free and, hopefully, conscious enough to allow you to say goodbye.”

Against his better judgement a small sob escaped Dean’s throat, but he quickly cleared it and avoided his brothers gaze.

“Sam, why don’t you go sit with Y/N? I can do the paperwork,” he offered, looking at Sally for the first time. She nodded with a small smile, indicating this would be fine, and led the boys to your room.

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You were asleep for most of the day but this wasn’t unusual for you anymore. You woke up for an hour around lunchtime, sitting on Sam’s lap while he and Dean shared a beer on your porch. You were wrapped snugly in your quilt, and coupled with Sam’s body warmth you were very toasty. You were grateful when they didn’t make a fuss when you opened your eyes; Dean offered you a beer and you enjoyed a small sip as they continued talking about whatever topic they could think of to fill the silence. Dean told you Bobby was on his way and you gave a small nod, resting your head against your husband’s chest and looking out over your garden.

“Will you guys be ok?” you asked quietly, and silence fell.

Sam’s grip on you tightened as you heard Dean’s footsteps approach you. As he knelt down to face you, you noted sadly that his eyes were red and puffy.

“Not really,” he told you honestly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “But we know that you’ll be safe wherever you are.”

“Do hunters, do hunters go to heaven? Do you think?” you asked, already running out of breath.

“Yes,” Sam answered, not missing a beat. “And even if they don’t, Crowley is going to make sure you do.”

You wrinkled your brow in confusion. “You didn’t-”

“Make a deal?” Dean finished for you with a reassuring smile. “No, no deal. Just a favour, he owed me one.”

Dean didn’t miss the sparkle in your eyes at that news. “So my mom…”

“You’ll see her again,” Dean promised solemnly. “She’ll look after you.”

A tear slid down your cheek and you nodded slightly. Sam leaned over and planted a kiss on your cheek, and you turned your head slowly to look at him.

“Until we’re together again,” you told him simply. He had held it together before this, but couldn’t stop the dam from breaking at that moment. Unable to answer he simply nodded, and kissed you on the lips. You let your head fall to his chest again to look at Dean, who was unable to stop his own tears, and gave him a small smile.

“I know,” you whispered, before letting your eyes close for what would be the last time.

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EPILOGUE

As Dean pulled Baby up to the sand he cut the engine. They had been driving for 2 days waiting for something, anything, to speak to them. To say they were looking for a sign was corny; perhaps it was more guidance that they sought. Neither had spoken much since your death. They wordlessly picked out an urn to collect as many of your ashes as they could and, with Bobby in tow, drove you to a remote location in the woods to give you the hunter’s funeral you deserved.

And now here they were, thousands of miles away from Austin and standing on a beach a few hours out of Seattle, the first they’d come across since heading west. They took off their shoes as they looked over the horizon, the sun setting, and as Dean headed towards the water Sam followed behind carrying your urn.

The water felt warmer than it should have been, inviting almost, and they walked in until the water lapped at their knees.

“She’ll like it here,” Sam commented, watching the children play further down the beach and a family of ducks floating nearby. Dean nodded in silent agreement as Sam removed the lid with a trembling hand. He waited until the breeze came, and gently tipped your ashes out of the urn. The breeze took you easily, and you danced in the air gracefully before landing on the water. A small wave enveloped you, and soon you were scattered amongst the fish and coral underneath the surface.

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A/N 2: OK, so, in my defense nearly every fic I write the Reader makes some miraculous recovery. I felt it was time to branch out from this. I hope I did it justice, and I hope everyone still liked the ending even though I saw many of you hoping she’d make it.

If you like my stuff please be sure to ask to be on one of my taglists! I’ve been thinking for a while that I’d like to do another Buffy episode rewrite... if anyone has a request for an episode send me an ask!

Thanks for joining me on this journey... love y’all!

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SERIES MASTERLIST - CHAPTER ONE - CHAPTER TWO - CHAPTER THREE - CHAPTER FOUR - CHAPTER FIVE - CHAPTER SIX - CHAPTER SEVEN

MY MASTERLIST

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hekate1308 · 7 years

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God Bless This Mess, A Season 13 Drowley AU

Read it on AO3

Summary: Cas is back, and everything feels wrong. Dean desperately tries to understand what’s happening, but it's to no avail. It takes a surprising visit from an archangel and a resurrected King of Hell for him to make sense of this mess he's been left with. Drowley, Season 13 AU, standalone one-shot.

Length: 15301 words

Enjoy!

Cas is back, and everything’s still wrong.

Dean can’t explain it.

He was a wreck during the last few weeks. Drinking, snapping at Sam and Jack, hardly paying attention to cases.

For the record, he still feels that they should be more wary of the guy who has powers he can’t control and acts a little too innocently for his liking.

But Sam? Oh no, Sam saw himself in Jack, and immediately jumped unto the parent role. Dean refused to, Dean still refuses.

There’s just something off about the kid and the way Sam seems to trust him implicitly. Oh, he’s perfectly nice, but Dean’s goddamn wary of all-powerful creatures and he has every right to be. Only Sam makes him doubt that, and that’s more than he can live with, these days.

But then...

There’s just something so freaking creepy about it. He can’t help it. Sam is acting like everything’s right in the world, like they haven’t lost Cas –

No, no, that’s not right.

Cas and has been recast in Sam’s narrative all of a sudden, he’s Jack’s father now, chose the role and somehow he died so he could live, and in Dean’s opinion, that’s so utterly screwed up he doesn’t even want to think about it, because he remembers, he remembers Cas stealing the Colt and being determined to kill the mother of Satan’s child until his eyes glowed and he became a stranger, but it’s all nice and good and how things are supposed to be when you listen to Sam, and that’s not the way his brother works. He knows Sam, he raised Sam, and this is so unlike Sam he would consider possession or a shapeshifter, only he’s hurting too much or too tired to check these days.

Same thing that’s been happening with Cas is happening to Kelly too. Because Dean doesn’t remember a loving mother, and until he heard Sam’s and Jack’s version, he wouldn’t even have considered that wrong in any way, on the contrary, because this was a woman, a young woman who didn’t deserve any of this, and she didn’t want any of this until her eyes glowed too, and then she acted all crazy, so why is she suddenly supposed to be the element of good in Jack? She was a victim, she’ll always be a victim, because Lucifer is evil, was evil, whatever, and Dean is left behind, trying to understand what Sam is doing –

No, what both of them are doing.

Because Cas came back a week ago and immediately threw himself into parenting Jack, apparently being happy after being promised Paradise despite rebelling against it when they first met.

It doesn’t make any sense.

At first he was so freaking happy he couldn’t breathe. His best friend was back, he would make sense of everything, Dean would be able to think clearly again, and –

Cas came back, and he only took the time to hug Dean and Sam once before he started fussing over Lucifer’s son too.

Nothing more, no explanation except that he escaped the Empty, no, it was all about Jack, when Dean still thinks, perhaps undeservedly, that he deserves a little bit of attention too, because his mind seems to be all in a jumble these days –

Everything’s just wrong.

Even now, as he watches Sam and Cas explain to Jack how to cook. They tried to get him involved, but everything feels wrong, and he can’t pretend that it doesn’t.

It’s just... Sam seems so sure that they’ll get Mom back, when they have no evidence that she’s alive, and worse...

No matter how often he talks about the rift, he never once mentions Crowley.

Neither he nor Cas do, Sam even explained to Jack that Sam, Dean and Cas closed the rift while Dean was sitting there, a scream stuck in his throat because that’s not what happened.

The demon offed himself for them, and no one mentions him.

Dean doesn’t either, because obviously they don’t want to talk about him, so he pretends that grief still isn’t eating up some part of himself, a part who got way too used to having him on speed dial.

He goes to his room to drink Craig and be miserable. He’s been feeling worse and worse physically as well, and neither Sam nor Cas have paid attention to that. Oh God, he’s starting to sound so whiny too.

The next morning, he decides it’s time for a case. Just him and Baby and something evil to kill –

Well, something that he’s allowed to consider evil and kill.

The others barely bat an eyelash. Sam and Cas are apparently more than happy to have him leave and fight against evil, it seems to barely even register with them that there’s still stuff pout there to fight, and Jack –

Jack smiles at him and makes him a sandwich and waves as he drives off, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that the grins on his protectors’ faces are too bright, and their eyes too empty.

Everything’s so wrong.

Dean drives to the small town in Kentucky all by himself. He doesn’t turn on the radio. He doesn’t feel like listening to music. He doesn’t feel like doing anything. Even hunting is more an automatic response than anything else, because he knows how to hunt, it’s familiar and should eb comforting, but it’s not because his world has just titled on its axe several times and he doesn’t know how to find the equilibrium, nut at least he knows how to do this –

Even before he can hunt down the ghoul that’s snacking on corpses around here though, he grows ill and feverish, but he can’t call because no one will pick up because they are too busy with –

Everything’s jumbled up in his brain, he’s not sure if that’s a new thing or if that happened before he left for the hunt, but he can’t leave like this, he’s of no use like this, and really, if he can’t kill one single ghoul, what is he even good for? He has to get out there, he has to work, he has to do what he was raised to –

He tries to pray, tries to call Cas after all, because surely he has to care, because anyone has to care –

“Deano, what the Hell is going on? I can feel your longing from here, and now that Cas is back from the Empty – “

“Gabriel?” he asks, rather confused, because surely the archangel’s supposed to be dead? Trouble is, he can’t really tell because he’s too confused –

“Oh dear, no, thank you, I’m really not good with mental breakdowns, they always get me down. Let me just see right into your noggin who could possibly –“

A conscience intrudes into Dean’s own, but he can’t, he can’t understand, he can barely even pay attention when it’s almost too hard to breathe –

“Sam is out because of obvious reasons, Cas too I’m afraid, but certainly – oh God, not exactly to nurturing there Mommy, let me see – Really? Him? Wouldn’t have – alright, alright, won’t question it, this definitely needs to be dealt with.”

The conscience – Gabirel’s? Retrates but that doesn’t make it easier to think –

A snap of fingers. “Hello. You’re back, you’re human and Dean’s having a bit of a psychotic episode, look after him, Gabriel out, oh, and you’re welcome, by the way.”

The last thing Dean hears before his mind devolves into utter chaos is a breathless “Squirrel?”

When he comes to, he doesn’t remember where he is. He doesn’t remember much at all, and that’s maybe for the best. He thinks there’s a presence near him, someone calling out his name, touching his forehead, but he’s too tired to bother. He falls back asleep.

The next time he wakes up, his head feels clearer than it has been in weeks. Which unfortunately brings their current dilemma right to the fore front of his mind.

He groans.

Immediately, there’s movement in the room.

“Dean?”

He’d rather keep his eyes closed a little while longer, but this voice –

“Come on Squirrel, time to bat your eyelashes at your saviour.”

He knows this voice.

He forces his eyes open. “Crowley?”

The former King of Hell, looking somewhat more tired than Dean can ever remember him being, actually smiles at him. There’s something different about him, that’s for sure.

“Take it easy. You had what we would have called “brain fever” when I was human the last time around.”

“The last time – “

And then her remembers the last moments before he sank completely into his fever dreams.

“You’re human?”

Crowley nods.

“Dear God, it’s actually good to see you” he breathes.

Crowley blinks. “Clearly the fever has rattled your brain even more than it already was.”

Dean laughs for the first time in what feels like an eternity. Then her realizes how thirsty he is. Before he can say anything, Crowley has given him a bottle of water. Thankfully he can hold it. He feels pretty weak.

“Now” Crowley begins, “what’s up with Cassie and Moose? I had everything set up to use your voice mails to trick them into thinking they were talking to you, but instead texts were enough for a whole week? That’s not like them.”

Dean smiled weakly as he remembers and everything just hits him like a freight train.

“Jack.”

“The devil’s spawn? He was born?”

Dean can only nod.

“That’s not what I died for, you know” Crowley declares dramatically, and Dean snorts.

“Believe me, I know. Thing is – “ he takes another huge gulp of water. “This – Jack, he’s acting like an innocent kid. And Sam and Cas – they eat it up. Or rather... I can’t explain it, I just know when I’m looking at them that something is wrong.”

Crowley surprised him by saying, “You can usually tell when it comes to your family.”

Dean nods. “And that’s why... Jack, he just gives me the creeps, same thing with Sam and Cas trying to parent him like he’s an actual kid. And they barely...” he trails off because it feels stupid to complain that he didn’t get any attention in the last few weeks. He’s the adult in this situation.

Crowley nods, as if he knows what he wanted to say. “And you ran yourself ragged trying to cope with it all.”

Dean shrugs. “I was hunting.”

“A wise decision, the state you were in.”

Dean decides to ignore his sarcasm (he just woke up from brain fever, for crying out loud) and looks around the room. That’s sure as hell not the motel he passed out in.

“Crowley, where are we?”

“You were basically squatting in that motel, and you know it. That was no place to recuperate. I found us a nice cosy B&B run by a very sweet little old lady called Hedwig.”

“You’re kidding.”

Silence.

“You’re not kidding.”

“Someone had to look after you when I went to get us some money.”

“How – “

“Do you really think you’re the only one who can hustle? I was a demon. King of the crossroads, remember?”

Dean nods. He really wishes he could get up, but he still feels rather weak.

He could point out that Crowley could have dropped him off at a hospital and left, no one the wiser that he’s back among the living.

“What about you? The demons – “

Crowley pulls down his collar to show an anti-possession tattoo. “Again. King of the crossroads. You’re not exactly talking to a greenhorn here.”

Before Dean can reply, there’s a knock at the door and an old lady shuffles in almost immediately afterwards.

“Hello Crowley, how’s our – oh my, you’re awake! We’ve been very worried about you dear, your sweetheart there barely left your side.”

It’s a weird thing to see Crowley blush, but of course he doesn’t have the same control over his feelings he had back when he was a demon. “We’re bro-“

“Oh, I know what you told me. And I am very aware we’re in the Bible belt. But I do recognize love birds when I see them. You really don’t have to pretend for me.”

She moves up to Dean’s bed and starts fussing over his pillow and blanket in a motherly gesture Dean either has never experienced before or can’t remember. “I’m sure you’ll soon be able to get up, now.”

He swallows. “Thank you – Hedwig, was it?”

She nods, smiling at him. “Yes, dear. I better leave you two alone – you certainly have a lot to talk about. I’ll bring you some dinner later.”

And with that, she shuffles out the way she came.

Dean blinks. “She’s... a bit much to take in.” He decides to ignore that she thinks they’re a couple for the moment. It’s better for both of them.

“You get used to it.”

“Did you really tell her we are brothers?”

Crowley looks away. “I was under a bit of stress. It was the first thing that came to mind.”

Not father or uncle? Alright, then.

Suddenly, Dean remembers. “My car – “

“Don’t worry, your precious Baby is safely parked outside. I do know how to drive, you know.”

Dean remembers a time when he would have thrown a fit at the thought of Crowley anywhere near Baby.

Now, he’s just glad he took care of her while he wasn’t able to.

“Thank you. For – for everything, really.”

Crowley stares at him for a second, clearly taken aback, clears his throat. “Whatever. I just realized I could do better than any of these doctors – we did have a few remedies back then, and they worked quite well enough, you know.”

He steps up to Dean and presses his palm against his forehead in a well-practiced motion. Dean’s surprised until he realizes Crowley must have gotten thoroughly used to taking his temperature this past week.

“Still no fever” he says with satisfaction. But because they’re closer now, Dean can clearly see the shadows under his eyes.

Man, those dark circles have dark circles, and he should know. He’s well used to that look from his own mirror.

“Crowley, how long have you been up?”

Of course he doesn’t give him a straight answer. “I had to look after a certain someone who decided to fall ill, procure money... you know some things just fall under the rug when one’s busy.”

“Do you even have a place to sleep?” Dean asks. The queen he’s lying in is the only bed in the room.

“Of course, I have a small room next door, although – “ Crowley abruptly stops talking, and Dean recognizes that expression too. The Oh-no-my-exhaustion-made-me-reveal-something-I-didn’t-mean-to-look.

“What is it?”

“Hedwig refuses to let me pay for it, since I “barely use it”” he admits, looking anywhere but Dean’s face.

He sighs. He could think about this, but he’s tired, he just recovered from an illness, Crowley is unexpectedly back from the dead and human, and it’s all a bit too much to take in. “Get in.”

Crowley raises his head. “What do you mean?”

“You’re clearly not ready to leave me alone, and you look like you’re going to drop any second now. This bed is quite large enough. Get in.”

Crowley looks sceptical, but also... longing for rest? Dean’s way too exhausted for this kind of thing.

Thankfully, the ex-demon just nods and gets in.

He’s out as soon as his head hits the pillow. Man it must have been a stressful week.

Dean, although he’ll deny this to himself later when his head’s completely clear again, watches him for a few minutes until he himself drifts off, amazed at how human Crowley looks when he’s dead to the world.

Neither of them ever learns that a few minutes later Hedwig checks up on them. She was actually going to ask them what they want for dinner, but immediately decides to let them sleep. Poor dears. Crowley was frantic about Dean all week.

Dean moves closer to his companion in his sleep and she smiles to herself as she walks back to the kitchen.

This time when he wakes up, he can tell that it’s morning from the sunlight filtering through the window. Not early morning, but still.

Crowley’s up, eating breakfast at the small table near the door. There are a few moments where Dean just takes in the sight of him. Yesterday he was still pretty out of it, but today he can readily admit that he’s rarely seen anything weirder than Crowley actually wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Armani is probably a bit too expensive for him, now.

“Good morning” Crowley says suddenly, “Feeling better?”

“Yes. You sleep well?”

“Yes.”

After a few beats of silence Dean says, “I see Hedwig delivered.”

“She was just about to – “

While he speaks, Hedwig comes in with a tablet in her hands. “There. You shouldn’t be eating anything too taxing for your stomach yet, so I’m afraid it’s just oat meal.”

“It’s fine” he assures her, “Right now, I’d eat anything.” He didn’t realize how hungry he was before.

She chuckles. “You’re probably right. Crowley, you look much better. I’m relieved.”

He mumbles something inaudible as an answer.

“Well, call me if you need anything, Dean.”

Don’t worry, I will” he promises her, and then she’s gone.

“Seriously, how did you find her?”

“Knowledge of the human nature and luck” Crowley shrugs.

He really does look much better than yesterday, Dean notices with satisfaction as he carefully eats his breakfast.

And then he realizes something else.

He’s actually so goddamn glad that Crowley is back he’s almost glad he’s still restricted to the bed because he might actually end up hugging him.

He chuckles into his oat meal.

“You alright, Squirrel?”

Of course Crowley’s still honed in on whatever sound he makes. Guy watched over him for a week.

“Yes, thank you. I just – I meant it, yesterday, you know? I’m glad you’re back.”

Again he doesn’t get an answer. At least not a real one.

Instead, Crowley says, “I assume you want my help with Satan Junior?”

“I would appreciate it but...” he trails off.

“I get it. Former King of Hell.”

“No” he denies so vehemently it even takes Dean himself by surprise. “It’s more... Jack’s influence.”

“Yes, you managed something like that...”

Crowley, who’s finished his breakfast, brings the chair over so he can sit next to the bed. “Tell me more.”

And Dean does. About both Sam and Cas being so freaking passionate about their new nurturing project, how their devotion seems less normal and more cult-like, on how sometimes when Jack smirks, he can see Lucifer underneath.

“There’s also this whole thing with Kelly.”

“Kelly?” Crowley frowns. “She wanted – “

“It’s – alright, let me try to explain. You know how she was basically Rosemary?”

Crowley nods. “And then the foetus influenced her, showed her something so she wanted to have him born with his powers.”

“Yes. And now – when they talk about her – she’s being hailed as this epitome of goodness. I’m not saying she wasn’t a nice person, or that she deserved what was coming to her, because she didn’t. But it’s...”

“Creepy.”

“As Hell. And Jack watching that USB she prepared for him – she wasn’t even herself at that point. I saw it. One minute, she understood what we wanted to do, extract his Grace and his powers, and then suddenly, she was all taken over how that would ruin everything that made him “special” as if her life was completely deposable. And then of course he did the same to Cas.”

Crowley nods. “So there is some element of mind control?”

“Either that, or they all have both gone crazy, or this... isn’t Cas after all.”

“You don’t know that” he replies lightly. “You don’t know if this is me either, for example, not for sure – “

“Of course I do. You yourself said I always do.”

“Yeah – well –“ Crowley looks almost upset now. “Whatever. You were barely conscious.”

Dean hums.

He doesn’t really have an idea who he’s talking to, and not because he thinks this is some alternate reality Crowley Gabriel made up. No, it’s because with the old demon, he knew exactly what to expect. But now that he’s human all bets are off.

For example, he still thinks the King of Hell would have brought him to a hospital and left him there, although that in itself tells him a lot because – well, even as a demon, he would have made sure Dean was looked after.

“What happened?” he asks suddenly, the thought occurring to him for the first time. “You know... after you...”

“Died for you chuckleheads?”

Crowley looks away, his expression puzzled. “I’m not sure. I think I... slept.”

“You slept? That is all?”

He must have gone to the Empty then, like Cas.

Only he wasn’t – he didn’t wake up because –

Dean remembers how much Crowley lost in the last year and how none of theme ever wondered how he felt about it and something heavy settles in his stomach.

Crowley was content with it being over. He didn’t want to go back.

“Yes. That’s all. If I could remember, I bet it would have been more boring than this.”

Dean chuckles. “Than playing nurse? Probably.”

Crowley actually grants him a genuine smile, that makes him look far more benign than he has any right to be.

Dean swallows and wonders why he suddenly feels lighter.

“Thing is, I don’t know if I want you anywhere near Jack” he admits. “Somehow I seem to be immune, but you’re human now, and...”

“Believe me, I get it. I’m not that into getting mind-whammied either. But there are other things I can do. Research.”

Dean nods.

“Og course you’ll need a few more days to get back on your feet” Crowley smoothly continues, “and who would I be to leave you alone? Gabriel might return, and then I’d have a problem since he put me here to look after you in your time of need...”

“There is something like too much sarcasm” Dean points out.

“Not for the likes of me, Squirrel.”

And for the time being, Dean’s fine with that.

He spends another week recuperating. Crowley off-handedly mentions one evening that he took “care you your little ghoul problem” and Dean is surprised how easily he believes him.

Two days after he’s woken up, he’s finally allowed out of bed, and Crowley takes him on a sarcastic tour of the town.

“And there’s the bar with the best beer in town – “

“Let me guess, it’s the only one?”

“Of course. Gabriel couldn’t bring me back in Vegas or los Angeles – “

“Next time I’ll try to break down somewhere more convenient, your Highness.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see Crowley grimace. He’s noticed that; whenever he makes a quip about Hell, Crowley looks supremely uncomfortable.

Not that Dean’s surprised. He remembers his own problems, coming back from hell; how must it be for someone who was a demon for hundreds of years to suddenly awake to all the guilt and shame that come with it?

He determines not to mention it anymore, but then, another two days later, Crowley does.

“Do you have any idea who’s taken over hell?”

“Another Prince... Calls himself Asmodeus.”

Crowley shakes his head. “They are never going to learn. Hell can’t be run by one of those stupid self-serving bastards.”

“Well their own fault for not realizing what they had” Dean says firmly.

When Crowley looks away, he asks, “How are you? And for real this time. No sarcasm, please.”

“Have you met me?”

Silence falls. Dean has already despaired of getting an answer when Crowley says, “I think I’m doing as well as can be expected. When I was a demon, the things I’d done – I either remembered them fondly, or I didn’t think about them at all. Everything’s more complicated when one’s human.”

Isn’t that the truth.

“Should have seen me when they turned me back. Couldn’t admit it at the time, but I was more or less disappointed. Things are just... so much further away when you’re a demon. And less complicated.”

“You can say that again” Crowley replies.

“But still – you may be human, but you’re alive. That’s a definite plus, if you ask me.”

Crowley looks somewhat sceptical.

“Don’t give me that look. Cas assured us he’d seen no one else but himself in the Empty, so I assumed that was it. Do you really think I wouldn’t have done anything if I had known it was possible to get you back?”

During the next few seconds, a few things become startingly clear. One, Crowley can’t keep his poker face as well as when he was a demon, two, he never even considered the possibility, and three, he is at an utter loss of what to say for the first time since Dean met him.

He looks away so the former demon can compose himself.

Finally Crowley says, “I assume you’ll be heading back to the bunker soon?”

Dean nods. “I can’t let them alone for too long; even if Jack doesn’t know what he’s doing – and I think that’s actually the case, no one could pretend to be that clueless for so long – I have to see what they get up to. Got a phone yet?”

“What for?”

“I can hardly summon you now” Dean reminds him.

“I’m human” Crowley says, as if that answer makes any sense whatsoever.

“I’ve noticed.”

“It means I have no powers anymore” Crowley says slowly, as he used to when he explained something complicated to them, as if they were too dumb to get it.

“Noted.”

After a pause, Crowley says, “You want to stay in contact with me.”

“Yes. You’re pretty damn clever, and you know a lot about lore.”

“I see.”

“Plus, you know most of my friends tend to end up dead. Might as well cling to the ones I have.”

Crowley doesn’t reply, and they finish their beers in silence.

Two days later, Dean considers it best to return to the bunker. God knows what Sam and Cas have been up to with the devil’s kid, and it seems that he’s the only sane one around to check. Crowley at least thinks he hasn’t lost his marbles completely, and he clings to that because it’s the only thing he can cling to.

When they say goodbye to Hedwig, she surprises both of them with hugs, and it’s not until he sees Crowley’s face that Dean realizes it’s the first time since Gwen that someone has dared to touch him like that.

“You two take care of one another now, you hear?” Hedwig says. “I mean, I know you will, just stay healthy this time around, alright?”

“I’ll do my best” Dean promises.

She nods. “And don’t stay strangers.”

“Never” he says, although he knows the safest place is probably far away from him, especially for little old ladies who’ve never done anything wrong in their life.

“At least drop by when you’re in the neighbourhood. I’ll always be glad to see you two.”

And then Dean and Crowley are standing in front of the Impala, and he has no idea what to say to the guy who might have saved his life by staying at his side even though he really had every reason to run.

“Well, Crowley... See you around then.”

“I guess” he replies lightly, and Dean suddenly becomes aware he’s about to watch him walk away with nothing but the clothes on his back.

“Do you have enough money? I think I have a few credit cards – “

“Relax, Squirrel, I always have a plan.”

Except for when he comes rushing to help them. But Dean doesn’t mention it.

“Look, Crowley” he says, reaching out, having no idea what to do and finally settling on squeezing in shoulder. “I meant what I said. Stay in contact, alright? I’ll let you know whenever something new happens. We’ll figure this out.”

“You and Team Free Will” he replies carelessly, but that’s not what his eyes tell Dean. It’s more difficult to hide your emotions when you’re turned human, he’s well aware of that.

He chuckles humourlessly. “Two fourths are currently down for the count; thank God Gabriel brought you back.”

Crowley blinks. It takes a second for the old self-assured smirk Dean knows so much (and he refuses to admit he missed) to return. “Indeed. Imagine you three being left on your own. The world would explode.”

Dean doesn’t point out that he said the opposite when he threw in his lot with them once and for all shortly before his death.

“See you around” he says instead.

Crowley watches him as he drives away, standing still for as long as Dean can see him in the rearview mirror.

When he returns home, he immediately notices that things ahev gotten worse, or as Sam and Cas would have it, better. They don’t even notice he’s lost some weight during his illness. They only see what’s good in the world, and Jack is their beacon of hope. It makes Dean feel slightly ill.

It’s the guy himself who notices. “Dean, are you alright?”

“Fine as a peach. Case took a while, that’s all.”

“You look pale and thin.”

He snorts. “You and Cas need to talk about what’s considered appropriate for small talk again.”

“But are you sure...”

“Yeah, yeah – caught a cold, is all.”

“But on the other hand, you look better than you did before” Jack observes. “You smile more. That’s nice. I like it when people smile.”

Dean looks after him as he walks back to his room. Not a bad kid, he will admit that, even though he thought so at the beginning when all he knew was pain and panic. But his powers are all out of whack, and what’s worse, he doesn’t even seem to be aware of it.

At least that’s the conclusion that Dean comes to over the next few weeks.

He doesn’t know he’s doing it, he writes Crowley two days after his return.

Are you sure about that? C.

Yes.

Why did Gabriel bring me back? C.

Dean stares at his phone for a moment until he recognizes the text as the test it is.

Because I had brain fever and someone needed to nurture me back to health.

For a second I thought you’d fallen under his spell too. C.

Dean is rather convinced he was more worried than he lets on, but there are more important things to worry about, so he lets it slide.

He sees Crowley again just a month later. It’s an accident; another hunt presented itself, and since Sam and Cas continue to be blissfully unaware and Jack just goes along with it, Dean decoded the rugaru needed to be dealt with.

What he didn’t expect was Crowley, wearing a suit once more and claiming to be a FBI agent.

Dean quickly introduces himself as his partner so the witness won’t get suspicious, but as soon as they’re alone, he asks, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Crowley shrugs. “I found the case, decided I might as well do something about it.”

“For your karma or something?”

“Well, tell me what else I’m supposed to do” Crowley snaps.

Dean’s silent, but not because there are too few options; in fact there are too many.

You already did what Gabriel brought you back for, he could say. You got me back on my feet, and you’re goddamn clever – you have no problem getting money or a fake ID; so why this one? Why are you here fighting the good fight when you don’t have to? You could have lost my number as soon as I turned around the corner.

He doesn’t voice his thoughts, of course, because it always feels better to have backup while hunting.

They deal with the rugaru, only to realize that he munched on his wife and unborn child way before they ever heard of the case.

Dean hates being too late.

At least Crowley has found them a motel – a few grades over what Dean and Sam prefer, but hey, room service for once.

He doesn’t even think it weird to share a room with the guy who used to be the King of Hell, because that’s what his life has become, apparently.

“What’s this?” he asks when he sees a freaking quill on the desk and Crowley looks away, actually flustered.

Dean steps up to the desk – Crowley certainly has never respected their property, so he feels more than entitled to look – and asks, “You’ve been practicing calligraphy?”

It’s certainly no attempt to conceal or change his handwriting; no, that’s definitely different types of handwriting he’s been working on.

“It’s a hobby. It helps – it helps at night.”

Huh. Well, Dean supposes it’s healthier than a bottle of Jack.

“Looks nice” he finally offers. “Never had the best handwriting myself... my teachers used to complain.”

“You play the guitar though, don’t you?” Crowley says. “I remember when Lucifer decided he wanted to be a pathetic has been rock star instead of a pathetic has been angel.”

Dean could have sworn none of the guys paid particular attention at the moment. “Yeah, I was once put in a boys’ home, learned it a bit there. I wasn’t that good, though.”

“You never know until you try” Crowley says.

It’s such a freaking normal conversation to have, except for all of that being about as far from normal as it can possible get.

Dean understands what Crowley is offering, though. An evening off. No monsters, no baby devil, no mind controlled friends and brothers, just a normal talk between two – friends?

He guesses they are, now.

“How do you even make some of the lines so thin?” he asks, and when Crowley moves closer to him to show, he can feel that he’s relieved too.

And this time, when they say goodbye, Dean knows exactly they’ll see each other on the next case.

Somehow, they become each other’s link to sanity. When Sam, and Cas are gushing about how good and pure and important Jack is, when Crowley gets hit by another flashback to Hell, when it’s night and neither of them can sleep, haunted by memories of blood running over their hands, they call each other and talk about the most inane things just to be able to let go.

One night soon after his return, which still barely registered on brother’s and best friend’s radar, Dean feels like he can’t breathe. Jack acts all innocent, and he, Sam and Cas play happy family, but there’s something wrong, something so utterly – they are ignoring everything that’s wrong with the world, and he’s about to –

He calls Crowley.

“I can’t do this” he breathes as soon as he picks up. “I have no idea why everyone is so happy to forget what came before this, but I can’t, and I’m going to start screaming any moment now – “

“The French Revolution wasn’t all it was cracked up to be” Crowley says suddenly. “This Robespierre didn’t even know how to make a good deal, or he’d have got ten years out of it.”

“Robespierre had a deal? Really?”

“Of course. How do you think a nobody like him got big so suddenly?”

“What about Louis XVI and the Austrian cake lover? And before you ask, I know she didn’t actually say that.”

“I am very aware you only like to pretend to be dumb. And please, the French royal family? Have you seen those churches in France? They’d never have condemned their souls to Hell – although in fairness, with the state of their finances by the time of the revolution, they probably felt they were already there.”

Dean laughs, and it’s enough.

At another time, Crowley wakes him in the middle of the night.

“Do you remember looking at the clock when your deal was up?” he asks, his voice shaking, and Dean knows.

“Thinking about when you were dragged to Hell?”

According to his own experience, it’s better to be direct. Being matter-of-fact about it helps.

“The hell hounds... They didn’t just tear me apart. They played a bit with me before that. I think the demon who made my deal didn’t like me every much.”

Dean winces as he imagines the scene. “Did I ever tell you about that time Gabriel killed me using a totally normal dog to teach Sam a lesson?”

“No. You keep surprising me. Just when I thought I’d heard it all...”

And Dean tells him about a diner with pretty good eye, Sam freaking out, and some things he vaguely remembers when he tries, like being electrocuted by his razor.

“Always know Gabriel was rather dramatic.”

“You can say that again” Dean says. “Sammy was so worried I thought he’d – “

He trails off because he remembers that Sam’s not worried about anything now, not even him.

“Relax, Squirrel. We’ll get Moose and Feathers back, and then you can ride off into the sunset.” But Crowley sounds strangely subdued.

“You wanna ride in the backseat or in the trunk again?”

The stunned silence on the other end tells him Crowley never considered himself part of their happy ending.

Neither of them knows what to say, so they stay up, listening to each other breathing.

For some reason, it helps.

Hunting with Crowley becomes his routine. Sam and Cas barely pay attention when he leaves anymore, even though jack keeps asking where he’s going.

Really, it’s more than just having a friend – slowly, Crowley becomes his home away from home, the place he can run to when everything becomes too much.

It’s only a matter of time before they run into other hunters. Dean’s just glad it turns out to be Jesse and Cesare, brought back from retirement one more time by a case near their hometown, instead of a more suspicious one.

And cleaning out the vampire nest is easier with four hunters instead of two.

One of them comes a bit too close to Dean’s jugular for Crowley’s liking. Dean’s fine – of course he is – and in fact just about to take care of the problem himself when he descends on the vamp with all the wrath he can muster.

“You do know decapitating them is enough, right?” Dean asks.

Crowley grins at him and he remembers how his true face used to look, back when they were howling at the moon.

That night at dinner, Jesse grins. “So now you know.”

“Know what?”

“What it’s like to settle down with a hunter. You’re pretty well matched, I’d say.”

Dean’s about to answer when Crowley says, “Thank you. Our arrangement is very satisfactory.”

And Dean is unable to say why he lets matter rest at that.

The Men of Letters try to set foot on American soil again, and it’s only thanks to Crowley that nothing happens.

He calls Dean after the fact as if it’s no big deal.

“Crowley, how many of them were there?”

“Five. Two attacked me when I tried to explain why I was there, so Really it’s not my fault; and the other three were more than glad to listen to me and disappear once they saw what I had done to the others.”

Dean knows he shouldn’t find that reassuring in the least, but he can’t help it.

“Thanks”.

“You’re welcome. What are your plans for the next few days? Babysitting?”

Dean knows that tone. “What’s up?”

“Apparent ghost activity in Virginia.”

He doesn’t even think about it. “Meet you there.”

He thinks of the Men of Letters during the whole drive, and after he’s greeted Crowley, already in his fed suit (he does seem to prefer it to his other clothing anyway; probably out of habit) he says, “I think we should approach other hunters. We need to be better connected in case the Brits attack.”

“You should.”

“Crowley, I’m not doing this without you.”

“I ran Hell and I had a contract with Hess. They won’t listen to me.”

“Then I’ll make them” Dean promises. “Jesse and Cesare got along with you just fine.”

“They also thought we were dating, Squirrel” Crowley reminds him.

“Yeah, well, no accounting for taste.”

Crowley gives him an unimpressed looks and Dean winks at him.

It’s not easy, in the beginning. Most hunters are understandably wary of Crowley and rather suspicious that Sam and Cas aren’t with them. But slowly, through a lot of hard work and many cases, they come to trust Crowley; in fact there comes the day someone asks after him when Dean arrives alone for once because the ex-demon is busy finishing up a hunt in New Orleans.

Somehow, they build up their own group of hunters, and the Winchesters everyone calls become instead Dean and Crowley, broken and mental and weary, but they still work.

Even Jody invites them to her place after a while, Dean finally having confessed to her that he has a new hunting partner after she asked for the hundredth time if there’s a reason he’s looking so much better nowadays.

Part of the reason might be Crowley insisting that he won’t become a drunk in this life as well, so Dean’s been scaling his own intake of alcohol drastically to show his support, and his friend’s insistence that they treat themselves to proper food on a regular basis.

Jody took the truth better than he expected but nonetheless insisted on seeing Crowley herself when she called them in on another case.

“Could be a ruse” Crowley tells him when they park in front of him.

“You think she’s about to storm out and shoot you?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Dean chuckles. “You know what? Me either, but she called us in on a case, so let’s go.”

Jody does indeed open the door for them and lead them to the living room before taking a deep breath. “Alright. Let me make one thing perfectly straight. I was about to either shout at you, or punch you if I ever saw you again, or at least that’s what I thought when Dean first told me he had a new hunting partner. But you” she points dramatically at Crowley “put the light back in his” she points at Dean “eyes. And as long as it stays that way, we don’t have a problem. Capiche?”

Crowley nods. Jody studies him and smirks. “No more Armani suit, hm?”

It’s true; since they decided to build up their network, and as a consequence spend more time together than ever, Crowley has been dressing down more and more often.

“They’re rather too expensive for the hunter lifestyle, I’m afraid.”

In fact –

“Wait a second, is that my Led Zeppelin t-shirt?”

“You have way too many to keep track of, anyway.”

Jody stares at them for a moment, a suspicious gleam in her eyes, before she smirks. “Too bad about the suit, you looked pretty hot.”

Dean, annoyed for a reason he can’t name, asks, “So what about the case?”

Jody shoots him a look he can’t read. “Vampire nest two towns over, I think.”

They deal with it soon enough, and that evening, they’re sharing drinks in Jody’s kitchen.

“I have to say” she admits after Crowley excuses himself because he “needs some air” – Dean’s pretty sure he just wants to give them some time alone – “I was rather worried when you first told me. But then other hunters who met you two told me Crowley was pretty decent. Is that because he’s human now?”

Dean shrugs. “To be honest, he was far from the worst of the bunch, even as a demon. Sure, he was an evil bastard, but you could always try and talk to him, and he helped us so often I lost count. When he died...” He swallows. “It wasn’t exactly easy on us.”

“On you, you mean. Sam’s freaking me out. Every time we talk, he sounds less like himself and more like some brainwashed cult member.”

“We’re working on it. Right now, we’re trying to figure out why Jack has no influence over me. Quite frankly, it would probably be easier if we could bring in others, but I’m not risking his influence being spread out.”

And at this point he’s terrified of losing Crowley like he lost Sam and Cas, but he doesn’t say it.

Jody seems to understand. “Whenever I can help, you’ll call me, alright?”

“Sure thing” he says just as Crowley returns.

She turns to him. “You got my number too, right?”

Crowley is obviously surprised. “Yes, Sheriff.”

“Excellent. And it’s Jody.”

“That went better than I thought it would” Crowley finally admits to Dean when they’re back in the Impala.

The thought occurs to him that he’s still unused to being trusted.

“That’s what happens when you ride around with a Winchester” he says. “People tend to think you’re one of the good guys.”

“Never saw that coming.”

“To be honest? Me neither.”

But he’s damn glad it happened, otherwise he’d have gone insane months ago.

Especially when he arrives at the bunker to Jack enthusiastically gushing over cats, and Sam and Cas all but ready to get him a kitten.

“Sorry kiddo, I’m allergic” Dean says pointedly. Jack’s face falls.

“That means you can ever hold a kitten?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it, I start sneezing like you wouldn’t believe.”

“That’s awful!”

Dean realizes that he’s actually sorry for him.

Again, not a bad kid, just unfortunately an X-man who has no control over his mind-whammy powers.

“That’s fine, I don’t like them that much anyway” he says, “and I don’t think a pet would be happy in the bunker, to be honest.”

Jack nods. “They’d miss the sun, probably.”

Dean nods, glad he could at least keep that from happening, even though Sam glares at him throughout dinner because “you’re being selfish, Dean.”

As he’s cleaning the dishes, Jack touches his elbow. Dean jumps. He never even heard him enter the kitchen.

“I’m sorry Sam said that to you. You’re not selfish.”

Dean shakes his head. By now, he’s so used to Sam’s and Cas’ super happy and occasionally rude selves he didn’t even bat an eyelid. And every time he gets too frustrated, he can always call Crowley. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I just want us all to get along” he frets. “You’re gone more and more often.”

“The monsters won’t kill themselves, I’ve told you before.”

“Then why do Cas and Sam act like they don’t exist in the first place?”

Dean swallows. If he acts up, God knows what Jack’s powers will do to him. “Life’s complicated.”

It’s the best answer he can give him.

He retires to his room and a text from Crowley.

Not nearly as cute as you. C.

It’s a picture of a squirrel running up a tree. Dean rolls his eyes.

One of these days I will find an animal to compare you too.

Oh there are several I can think of right now. C.

Of course he can. Dean grins, as always choosing not to realize their messages have taken on a decidedly flirty tone lately.

There comes the day where he has to pay attention, however.

Because everything changes on Christmas, and isn’t that wonderfully cliché.

Point is, there wasn’t nothing between Dean and Crowley back when he was a demon, but there wasn’t something, either. And they carried that tension around with them when he was turned back human, and now...

It all doesn’t make any kind of sense, but it’s the closest he comes to feeling sane these days, hunting with him and actually laughing and relaxing for once, so he’s not going to wonder about it.

He can’t get away from the bunker on either Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. Sam, Cas and Jack subject him to creepiest family Christmas he can remember, complete with carols and watching family classics, every single one of them proclaiming how happy they are, and Dean thinks back to a tree decorated with cheap car-freshners and eggnogg almost too strong to drink and decides he’d rather have that, because it felt real at least.

Real is being aware that there are bad things out there, and still being happy despite of that. Real is knowing that everything can be snatched from you at a moment’s notice, and possibly will, and still celebrating. Real is what Crowley sends him that night.

Jody let me know in no uncertain terms that I should be wishing you merry Christmas, so consider this it. C.

He was glad when he heard Jody offered Crowley a place to stay for the holidays. No man should be quite alone at this time of the year, even Dean agrees to that.

Mission accomplished. Right back at you.

He instantly feels better.

A few days later, they have their own celebration in a shitty motel somewhere between the bunker and Massachusetts, because that’s where their next case takes them.

Stupid as it is, Dean has brought Crowley a present – a gun not unlike his own, because he knows how a weapon can ground someone, and it just seems unbelievable Crowley never quite got a signature one over all these years.

He gets a first edition of Slaughterhouse-Five.

“Crowley...”

“You quoted him all the time when you were a demon, it wasn’t difficult to figure out” he shrugs.

They’re both stone cold sober. In fact, Dean didn’t even have one drink during the forced Christmas cheer at the bunker because he’s careful to always keep his wits about jack. It’s been probably a week since he had a single beer.

All of that is important because at least alcohol would have given him a reason to do what he does.

He drags Crowley into a kiss, and why he thinks now that is a good idea when even his demon self knew it would complicate matters beyond repair is anyone’s guess.

Crowley draws back and studies his face. An apology lies heavy on Dean’s tongue, but in the next moment he’s lying on the bed, Crowley grinning down from above. “I was wondering how long you could keep resisting, Squirrel”.

“I bet” he mutters and rolls them around, accepting another kiss.

And just like that, it becomes another feature during their hunts.

It’s funny because it feels like nothing and everything had changed at the same time. Sure, the sex is good, but Dean still goes home to the bunker at the end of the day, leaving Crowley to do whatever it is he does when he’s not around (He pointedly doesn’t think about who he might be – no, he’s not going there. he’s a grown man, he can deal).

But they also text way more often now. And if hunts are drawn out a day or two while the “recuperate” just to spend some more time with each other... no one has to know.

They start spending more time at Jody’s too, since her place has kind of become a hunter refuge and it’s time they build up their own network.

“Hey” she says as she lets them in. “Always glad to see Dean and my would-be murderer.”

“I apologized.”

“And I will continue to make you do so on a regular basis.”

“Sheriff, I’m certain you could make me do quite some other things if you put your mind to it.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Dean feels uncomfortable because their flirting freaks him out – not because he is – certainly not because he is –

“You know what?” Jody says suddenly. “I think Dean’s got you covered pretty well.”

“Yes” Crowley says, and if it weren’t Crowley, Dean would call the look on his face gentle. “Yes, he has.”

Dean swallows.

Later, Jody catches him alone. “I sure hope he makes you happy, because I don’t feel like kicking anyone’s ass today. That wendigo last week banged me up a bit.”

“Are you okay?” he asks immediately, but she waves him off.

“I’ve had worse. So, you and Crowley? Can’t say I didn’t see it coming.”

“You did?”

“Had him here for Christmas, didn’t I? He moped right until he got your reply to his text. He’s so gone on you I couldn’t even bring myself to tease him about it.”

Dean almost laughs because the thought is so ridiculous. “Yeah, right. Crowley brooding and starring at his phone.”

“You may find it funny, Dean, but take care. Both of you should.”

He can’t decide if that’s supposed to be a warning or not. Just how much have Jody and Crowley been talking when he’s not there?

In the end, he shrugs and forgets about it.

Instead, he kind of... settles down with Crowley when he’s not checking in at the bunker. He spends much more time on the road than at home now, and only Jack ever seems unsettled by it. Sam and Cas are actually glad he’s not around much – maybe it’s the mind control, but for some reason they seem more and more intent on keeping Jack for themselves.

It’s profoundly unsettling to hearing Cas basically squeal with glee when Dean announces he’s leaving, but thank God there’s always Crowley waiting for him. Now and then they don’t find a new case immediately and instead spend a few days in the country side together; Hedwig is always glad to see them.

It’s just easy being with Crowley. With Lisa and Cassie, it was difficult. He had strong feelings for them, maybe he even loved them, but he always kept a part of himself hidden. With Crowley, that’s not necessary. He knows everything there is to know about his ugly past, and when he wakes up screaming from a nightmare or is a little too brutal on a hunt, he says nothing, just buys him pie or, when he’s in a mood, helps slaughter the monster of the week in a borderline sadistic manner, and he never judges him for it.

Because when he’s around Crowley, Dean’s not the only one who’s been hit and hit and hit until his very soul feels fracture.

And somehow, they complement one another, feel more whole together than apart.

Dean doesn’t pout a name to it. It’s probably better this way.

Then again... there are some things he hasn’t considered. That he might have some influence over Crowley, for example.

Given all that’s happening, it’s probably understandable that Dean doesn’t notice certain changes – to tread an old cliché, he’s simply too close.

And so it’s Donna who asks one day on a hunter gathering he’s managed to persuade Sam and Cas not to attend because “the kid isn’t ready yet”. She’s watching Crowley entertain the round with a story of their last hunt. “And that’s the same King of Hell you guys and Jody told me about? I get that he’s human now, but he’s downright jolly.”

Dean manages not to spit his drink. Because Crowley jolly?

Sardonic? Sure. Cruel? Bingo. Savage? Certainly.

But jolly?

Yet, to his surprise, it’s as if Donna has opened the floodgates because suddenly he notices the changes in his – hunting partner too.

Sure, now that he’s found his footing as a human, Crowley is Crowley still – sarcastic, confident, with a certain streak of cruelty that sometimes shines through but these days never goes overboard. But beside that, he’s polite, friendly, and, yes – a regular sunshine compared to Sam and Cas even when they’re in their right minds, or Dean, for that matter. He’s constantly laughing and making jokes when he’s in a good mood. He’s more than once dispelled any ill-humour or suspicions other hunters may have about him with well-timed pun.

Crowley, is in fact, a very jolly man.

He wonders if he should talk to him about it, but doesn’t have to. That night in their motel room, when he’s almost asleep, Crowley asks, “What’s on your mind? I’m not your brother, you know. I can tell.”

“Thank God you’re not my brother, not even I am that much of a pervert” he murmurs.

Crowley nudges him. “Come on.”

Ah yes, the former King of hell. Excellent hunter, apparently jolly guy and a damn nuisance when Dean just wants to get some sleep.

He gives in because he knows it’ll be the easiest way to shut him up.”

“Nothing. Donna just mentioned that you’re generally a pretty happy guy. I was just wondering why.”

Crowley’s silent, and Dean thinks he’s about to get some sleep after all when he suddenly says into the darkness, “We’re screwed.”

Dean snorts. “Yes.”

“Lucifer’s child is alive and appears to use some sort of subconscious mind control.”

“Correct.”

“I was the King of hell and now I’m a hunter with enough issues for more or less all of us who can’t even afford decent room service.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“And when I die I’ll just return to Hell and it’ll all start over again. This is as good as it’s going to get. I decided I might as well enjoy it.”

That’s... actually pretty healthy when Dean thinks about it.

“And?” he asks, somewhat awake again, “Does it work?”

“Mostly. I take it one day at a time.”

It’s the only way for them to do it. It’s the only way for any hunter to do it.

They go to sleep.

Something changes between them after that night. They still don’t talk about it, but Dean stops flirting with the waitresses, bartenders and witnesses they encounter, and even Crowley dials his usual innuendos back except when it comes to Dean himself. It’s a bit weird at first but they make it work.

One day, they have just saved a family from a demon terrorizing them, Dean looks at Crowley comforting a little girl and realizes just how good a man the former King of Hell is becoming. It feels good to imagine that he has played some part in that.

“Thank you!” Elli, the girl, calls out just as they’re about to get in the car.

“You’re super nice!”

Dean sniggers at him for about an hour after that, but it’s true. Crowley can be rather nice when he wants to.

He’s also rather attractive whether he tries to or not, not that Dean is jealous when others hit on him. It’s not like they ever said anything about being exclusive, flirting with other or no flirting with others.

Dean just... happens to not have hooked up with anyone else since they became... whatever they are. He could, of course; he just hasn’t had occasion.

That’s what he likes to tell himself until he is on another solo hunt near the bunker that’s pretty much just a simple salt and burn. He doesn’t need backup, which is why he decided against calling Crowley in (alright, so maybe it was a bit too close to home for Dean; he’d rather keep Crowley away from this mess than risk him being involved) but another hunter, Rick, as he introduces himself, lights up on the case as well, so they work together.

After they have done what they needed to, they go to a bar. Dean limits himself to one or two drinks, these days, but Rick happily downs whiskey and chats up the bartender.

“Didn’t you say you had a girlfriend?” Dean asks eventually.

Rick grins. “Sure, but we both know we’re having a little fun on the side.”

Dean nods. It’s not his place to judge. As long as they’re happy...

“What about you?”

“I’m taken” he replies.

“Ah well. Nothing wrong with monogamy, as long as both agree on it.”

That’s just the problem, Dean reflects that night in his room. Are they exclusive? How does he know Crowley’s not having fun with someone else right now?

His text alert rings out.

Hope it all went well. C.

Alright, maybe not right now. But still. Crowley’s not bound to him, he could easily...

Dean’s very tempted to get a bottle of Jack and forget about everything but then he remembers a night at the bunker when he called Crowley half-drunk and the ex-demon told him You’re better than this and doesn’t.

Still, his and Crowley’s next hunt can’t come soon enough, and a week later, they’re driving towards Iowa.

Dean tells him all about his last case – well, everything he hasn’t told him already, anyway – and Crowley listens in the way Sam and Cas never really bother to anymore.

When Dean arrives at Rick and his girlfriend’s philosophy of love, Crowley says, “I see the appeal.”

Dean keeps looking at the road and tries to convince himself the truth doesn’t hurt, just a little.

“On the other hand... I think that there are exceptions to every rule.” And suddenly there’s Crowley’s hand on his thigh, warm and comforting, and Dean swallows.

“I agree with you there.”

When he casts him a furtive glance, Crowley looks pleased.

“You got a tattoo?” he asks sleepily against Crowley’s shoulder that night.

“Yes. I liked the idea, so – “

“Looks good on you.”

And Crowley moves a little, and all of a sudden they’re more or less lying in each other’s arms and he’s way too comfortable and tired to move.

After that, it becomes rather difficult to pretend they are just hunting partners who do they do occasionally.

Dean misses Crowley when he’s back at the bunker.

Things are just easier when he’s around.

So maybe it’s just predictable that eventually his tongue slips.

“Dean Winchester” he introduces himself to another pair of hunters, “and my boyfriend, Crowley.”

“Boyfriend?” the guy asks and Dean wants to take it back immediately.

“Trust me” Crowley says smoothly, laying his hand on the small of Dean’s back, “I tried to make him call me manfriend, but he didn’t like it.”

The guy laughs and Dean realizes Crowley has raised no objection.

When they’re alone in their motel room later, the former demon asks, “So, boyfriend?”

“If you want” Dean replies as casually as he can. “We have to introduce you as something.”

“Oh, I am clearly something” Crowley says, raising an eyebrow.

“Agreed” he says, grabbing his tie (thank God for those rare suit days) and dragging him into a kiss.

After that, they refer to each other as partners, because boyfriend just sounds a bit juvenile for their liking.

They soon have other problems.

It’s only a matter of time before Asmodeus comes for Crowely. They knew that from the beginning. But it doesn’t make it any less terrifying for Dean when Jesse calls and tells him about signs of heavy demon activity in North Dakota. The kind of activity that’s strong enough to open a portal to Hell, if they want.

“The Lance” Crowley says as soon as Dean hangs up, “Michael’s Lance. Do you still have it?”

“Yeah, but your broke it, remember? It’s back in the bunker.”

“I’m sure we can repair the runes. I’m clever, and you’re good with your hands.”

Dean smirks. “Fine, your Highness, got it. I’ll go and find it.”

Crowley doesn’t even flinch anymore when he calls him that.

He does indeed find it in the storage room he put it in, but no other work is required of him because Jack, apparently genuinely happy that he’s home, if only for a short while, comes looking for him.

“What’s this?”

“The new King of hell has been about. If I can find a way to repair this...”

Suddenly, there’s a flash of light. It knocks Dean right out.

When he comes to moments later, Jack is frantically apologizing – “I didn’t know what was going on, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to!” – and the Lance is repaired. He assures him it’s really good news and leaves.

Kid would be a real asset on hunts, if he could just control those damn powers.

Dean would like to say that he and Crowley find and get rid of Asmodeus; unfortunately, he finds them in their motel room, and seconds later they’re standing in an open field, demons holding them at bay.

“Ah, the formerly-know-as-Great-One” Asmodeus drawls as he steps up to them. Dean rolls his eyes.

“Wait a moment” Crowley says, and Dean already knows what he’s about to do. “I know you want both me and the Lance, but here’s the thing: I can give you Lucifer’s son and all of the Winchester, if you’ll only let me live.”

And in one quick move, he’s punched Dean in the face and taken the Lance from him.

Asmodeus laughs. “And to think my spies told me he actually meant something to you.”

“Oh, your spies were utterly mistaken.” Crowley plunges the Lance into his chest almost casually. “As always they didn’t see the bigger picture.”

The demons flee as soon as he goes up in smoke.

Dean laughs as he wipes the blood from his face. “Look, I know you were putting on a show, but didn’t you have to hit me that hard?”

Crowley lets the Lance drop and proceeds to clean his face, something like guilt in his eyes.

“Hey” Dean says when he won’t look him in the eyes, “I knew you were acting, alright?”

“You did?”

“Please. As if you’d ever betray me again.” Only as he says the words does he realize he means them. He trusts Crowley. Utterly and completely.

His partner stares at him, then drags him into a hard and somewhat bloody kiss. The stay on the field longer than advisable, but it’s fun nonetheless. The clothes Asmodeus wore are still there for everyone to see, Hell is in an uproar, Jack has control of the bunker without even wanting it, and yet all Dean can think is God bless this mess, God bless this crazy, unpredictable, wonderful mess his life’s become.

Crowley and he have been doing... whatever the hell this new existence they’ve cut out for themselves in between meeting up on cases, making sure Sam and Cas are paranoid enough to want to keep Jack for themselves and building up their own network is even supposed to be called for a whole year already when they light up on a case in Vegas.

People have been dying during their shotgun weddings all over town. All signs point to ghost activity – a ghost who clearly hates weddings and spontaneous gestures of affection, apparently.

“Which means we are probably looking for a bride or a groom who was left at the altar” Dean says.

“Or things soured rather soon after the wedding” Crowley adds. “And then met a violent end.”

“Wonderful. I’m sure there’s only ever been a handful of cases of that happening in Vegas.”

“I will admit it seems rather pointless to research the specific ghost. There is, of course, another possibility.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Playing bait and helping the ghost move on when it attacks?”

“You read my mind” Crowley replied, smirking.

That’s what they eventually end up doing. By calculating the most likely place the ghost will strike next and purchasing two cheap rings, they’re on their way to become Mister and Mister Sheppard when the man performing the ceremony is knocked out, and they have to act quickly.

It all turns out fine in the end, and for some reason, when they say goodbye the next morning, the low-cost ugly rings are still firmly sitting on their fingers.

Dean keeps his on – after all, he wore Mom’s for years, so it’s not as big a giveaway as it normally would be.

Sam and Cas don’t even comment. It’s Jack.

“Dean, why are you wearing a ring?”

He shrugs. “Picked it up on the latest hunt.”

“It looks a bit like Mom’s” Sam says gently, finally paying attention.

“Yeah” he says, and it’s promptly forgotten.

At least he thinks so at first, but Jack’s fascination with it has unabated the next day.

“They mean to symbolize love for all eternity, did you know that?”

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes. He can’t help but think that despite months of Sam and Cas looking after him, he’s still pretty naive.

“Yes, but this just happens to be a plain old ring I picked up” he answers, even though the lie feels wrong, despite the fact that he and Crowley can hardly get married for real and it’s not like it’s tempting at all –

“I just think it must be nice when two people love each other” he says innocently and for a moment, Dean wants to give in, to comfort him and let his powers take control, before he reminds himself that the only reason he’s even here is that his mother was raped by the devil and he has to live with that.

If only he didn’t have such creepy mind-control powers he doesn’t even seem to be aware of; he’d be more comfortable comforting him then.

“I – I suppose so” he says, thinking of Crowley. He is not ready to openly acknowledge what the former king means to him – isn’t that freaking ironic, now that’s wearing a fake wedding ring on his finger.

Thank God Jack leaves him alone after that. Dean knows he should probably remove the ring, but can’t bring himself to.

Maybe it’s for the best, considering he gets a text saying Claire is a meddling menace of magnanimous proportions and she has no business knowing things which means that Crowley dropped by Jody’s and they got a fair portion of alcohol into him, by the looks of the selfie accompanying the text.

Why?

She was annoying me about my ring, and then Jody tried to threaten me again. That wasn’t very entertaining.

Dean swallows even as his hearts starts beating wildly in his chest.

Crowley hasn’t taken his ring off either.

He’s starting to think they do everything backward.

Could you stop giving Crowley free drinks? He’s already three sheets to the wind, he texts Jody instead, only for his boyfriend to call him and complain because he’s “thirsty”.

And yes, he’s hammered alright.

But as he derails into complaining how he just sleeps better when Dean’s around, he doesn’t find himself minding much.

Maybe they’ve never been each other’s grip on sanity. Maybe they’re just driving the crazy train together.

He’s surprisingly fine with it.

Other hunters get used to them, to having Crowley around, ex-king of hell or not. Eventually Garth joins them on one of their gatherings.

“Hi guys!” he draws Dean into a hug. “Heard through the grape vine that you took the plunge! Congrats! I assume that’s the happy hubby?”

And before anyone can do anything about it Crowley’s treated to an enthusiastic hug as well.

Dean’s too busy wondering why the hunting community considers them married now to really pay attention. Maybe the rings they haven’t talked about since Crowley called him drunk from Jody’s.

Come to think of it, probably.

They still don’t mention it between them.

A few weeks later, Dean is doing laundry in the bunker when Crowley facetimes him. Surprised – usually he prefers good old-fashioned phone calls – he picks up.

All he sees is Crowley’s empty bed in yet another motel.

“What’s – “

“Come on, say hello to Dean.”

Dean doesn’t understand until he hears barking.

“Crowley, is there a hellhound in your room?”

“Of course. You know her. Juliet.”

“Juliet!? Crowley, I get that she was your favourite but you’re human now, and – “

“She has grown so much” Crowley marvels.

“You can’t see her!”

More excited barking.

“Shh, sweetheart, Papa is talking to Daddy.”

Daddy? No. Hell no.

“Now wait a moment, pretty sure I made my stance on spontaneously having to parent anything quite clear.”

“As my husband by common consensus, you’re supposed to be on my side here, and she’s been neglected for so long – “

Crowley falls silent while Dean still stares at the dog he can’t see.

Husband. Crowley just said it out loud.

Dean’s still looking at Juliet as if that will give him the answer he’s looking for.

Eventually, he clears his throat. “You’re not allowed in the Impala, no matter what you do, so don’t even think about it.”

An excited bark is all the reply he gets.

“I expected that” Crowley says smoothly, but his voice is trembling slightly.

Dean knows the feeling.

“At least you got something to cuddle with now” he teases him.

“Wouldn’t have to if you weren’t on child-minding duty” he grumbles. It’s probably the closest he’ll ever get to admitting that he misses him, but he’s already called Dean his husband, and he won’t pry.

“I’d rather be with you two” he admits. “Pat her from me, would you?”

They hang up soon afterwards.

“You are really happy” Jack tells him at dinner.

He shrugs. Yeah, it’s kind of nice to think that Juliet’s back and that someone’s with Crowley right now, just in case anything happens. “No, I mean it. It’s so real.”

He has no idea how to answer, if that’s a subject that comes up a lot with them. Dean stopped paying attention to anything the three talk about in their own surreal little world where hunting monsters is no longer important and everything’s perfect quite some time ago, which is probably for the best.

It’s another two weeks before he can get away again. Crowley’s picked a nice hotel this time around; must have made quite some money by hustling.

As soon as he enters the room, he’s jumped upon by at least thirty pounds of slobbering invisible hellhound.

“Hell to you too” he mutters, trying to figure out how to scratch her behind the ears or something. “Where’s your... owner?”

He hears the shower running and smiles.

He’s got to wash the drool off anyway.

Later, he’s watching Crowley feed Juliet some snacks. “Why is she so happy to see me, anyway? Didn’t think she’d like me much.”

Crowley shrugs. “She was always the most attuned to my emotions of all my hellhounds.”

“Please don’t start licking me.”

“Fine, if you don’t want to...”

Dean shakes his head and moves to pat her. “She’ll be a great asset on hunts. Don’t know how other hunters will react, though.”

Crowley shrugs. “My girl knows to behave.”

And then taking an invisible killer machine on walks becomes routine, too.

“Dean!” Claire, who was pretty pissed at Crowley when she first met him but is now more than happy to get them to join her on hunts, calls out while they’re fighting their way through a vampire nest. He reels around.

“Crowley got locked in with the rest of them!” she pants, wide-eyed and alarmed, and later he’ll probably laugh that she’s worried about the guy she knows very well once tried to kill Jody on a date.

“That’s unfair. There’s only, what, five of them left?” he asks as he de-capitulates the one remaining in the room with him.

Claire blinks. “Seriously? That’s all you have to say about your husband – “

The door Crowley’s locked behind bursts open under a kick of his and he strolls out, cleaning his blade. “That was unpleasant.”

“You okay?”

“Why shouldn’t I be, Squirrel?”

Claire throws her hands in the air. “Clinically insane. Both of you. In-sane.”

“You’re absolutely correct” Dean tells her before he drags Crowley into a kiss they probably shouldn’t subject a teenager to.

Dean gets them burgers because despite Crowley being sure to complain, he loves them as much as Dean does.

Out of habit, he lets his gaze wander across the motel parking room when he returns to their home for the night, and it is then that everything come crashing down.

Because right there is Cas’ Lincoln.

Which means Sam and Cas are here – they never go anywhere alone these days.

And they also always, always bring Jack along.

So by now they must have found Crowley. Either they immediately attacked him and Jack blew him to smithereens, or Cas stabbed him, or Sam shot him, or he’s under the influence too –

Dean can’t breathe. All of a sudden, it’s like back right before Gabriel resurrected Crowley.

Because Crowley is gone. Dean lost him. Again.

And Dean never even told him that –

That he –

The ring feels heavy on his finger as he forces himself to breathe. He has to stay strong. He and Crowley had a plan, and whether or not he’s there to see Dean fulfil it, he owes him. He would have lost his last tentative grip on his sanity if not for him.

He can deal with this because he has to. He won’t go gently into that good night. Dean Winchester will fight until he does down; and perhaps more importantly he’ll tear anyone who dared touch his husband apart with both of his hands.

Not the healthiest coping mechanism, but there you go.

His plans, however, change dramatically when he opens the door.

Because sure enough, Crowley is telling Jack all about Juliet, the same smile he’s got used to on Sam and Cas on his face, but –

He’s acting. He’s not actually mind-whammied. Dean has no idea how he can tell, but that’s his man alright.

Juliet’s another giveaway. Crowley was right, she always picks up on his feelings towards others, and she’s whining reluctantly as Jack pats her, only to jump excitedly at Dean and bark with relief.

“Good girl” he mumbles, scratching her behind the ears, “Don’t worry.”

“Dean, you could have told us Crowley’s back” Sam says gently, and man, the nephilim powers have really done a number on him. Normally, he’d be pretty angry that Dean lied to him for over a year, but now he’s relaxed and doesn’t even seem to remember that Crowley used to be a demon. He also doesn’t make a single allusion to the rings on their fingers.

Neither does Cas. “I am surprised to see you. Did you fight the Empty too?”

Crowley shakes his head. “Gabriel saved me.”

There’s not even a hint of surprise that Gabriel’s back, because Sam and Cas live in Jack’s wonderful world now where of course everything is going perfectly fine, and there’s nothing they can do about it. Yet.

“No offense, but why are you here? Told you I could handle this hunt.”

“I was curious what made you so happy” Jack replies. “You smile on your phone a lot, and Cas tells me that’s because you like the one who’s texting you.”

Despite acting like he’s under mind control, Crowley still manages to throw him a smug look.

Annoying bastard, Dean thinks fondly. “Yeah, well – feels good to have a hunting partner, is all.”

Jack nods. “It’s super nice you too are wearing matching rings! That’s like friendship bracelets, right?”

“Yeah” he forces out because he is not going to give the devil’s kid the birds and bees talk. “Something like it.”

“Dean insisted on them.”

That’s it, he’ll strangle Crowley once they are alone.

Or find some other form of punishment. Perhaps a more... enjoyable one.

Juliet whines and Dean quickly pats her. Sam doesn’t even bat an eyelid, despite him knowing how much Dean has hated dogs ever since they dragged him to Hell. Is that even still his brother in there?

“Crowley and Juliet can come live with us at the bunker” Jack says happily. He probably only really wants to play around with her, but Dean won’t object. He’s rather looking forward to having Crowley around all the time, if he’s being honest.

As soon as the door closes behind the three on the search for a room of their own, Crowley drags him into a borderline painful kiss. Dean’s unsure what’s going on, but allows it.

“What is it?” he asks eventually, drawing back. Juliet’s jumped on their bed (and how Sam missed the fact that there’s only one, he’ll never be able to say).

“I figured it out. Jack’s powers... they are about devotion, as you probably guessed. But there’s something else there, too. I don’t think he means to, but... Jack promises you whatever you desire. Now you – at a time when the mind control should have been taking effect, you were too shattered to really want anything. The others – For Cas, it’s Paradise on earth. No more pain, no more hunger – “

“No more free will” Dean spits.

“Yes, but he doesn’t realize that. Jack’s powers make sure of that. And Sam? He’s living a life where he’s forgotten anything bad that ever happened in your family. He basically got a blank slate where you two are as tight as you can be, Cas is brother number three and even Satan’s kid is good because everyone deserves a chance.”

Dean sighs, then raises an eyebrow. “What about you? What did he – or rather they – show you?”

“That’s just the point. There was nothing to bribe me with.”

“What do you – “

Crowley cradles his face in his hands. They don’t often indulge in such gentle touches and Dean leans into it. “I have what I want. I have everything I could ever want.”

“Crowley – “ Dean breathes. “I love you.”

He smirks as he lets his hands drop. “I kind of figured.”

“Bastard” he says, but with no heat in it.

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Of course I love you too. Have for far longer than I knew, I think.”

Dean underestimated what these words said out loud would do to him. “Send Juliet to the others.”

“She doesn’t like Jack, and I don’t see – “

“Crowley” he forces out through gritted teeth, “I am this close to just tearing your clothes off right here, and I’m not doing it with her watching.”

Crowley hurries her out.

Dean’s gotten so sued to having Crowley ride shotgun that he’s surprised every time he turns his head to talk to him and instead she’s Jack, who is ecstatic at finally being allowed in the Impala. Dean couldn’t argue against it without blowing his cover, so here they are. They’re alone; Juliet got nervous about riding in the Lincoln without Crowley, so he’s joined Sam and Cas, not without trying to see how far the mind control goes, of course.

“You have been spending a lot of time with Crowley” Jack observes.

“It’s what happens when you’re hunters.”

“I don’t understand. He was the King of Hell. Sam and Cas seem to have forgotten about it, but I remember you yelling about him.”

Dean grimaces. “That was before he was back. I was grieving.”

“You were angry.”

“Sometimes that’s just the reaction you have. I was hurt, and I lashed out.”

A pause follows.

Eventually, Jack says, “i like talking to you. You’re different.”

Dean tightens his hold on the steering wheel and hopes he hasn’t realized. “How?”

“I don’t quite understand” jack says innocently, “But Sam and Cas talk as if there’s nothing bad in the world. As if there are no monster who could get to me. You though – you go out and slay them. It all seems a bit more... realistic.”

Because it’s the truth, kid, Dean wants to say. Because this world is unfair and dangerous and bloody, and this is as good as it gets. It doesn’t work the way your powers want everyone to believe it does. Right now, I’m as close to happiness I have ever been, and it’s because I married the former king of Hell and know all of it could be snatched away in a second. That’s life. That’s real.

He doesn’t.

When they arrive at the bunker, Juliet’s already happily running around, familiarizing herself with her new home. Crowley looks incredibly relieved to see him. “Squirrel, how about you show me my new room?”

Meaning, of course, Dean’s room, although he will be given another one for show.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Crowley pushes him against it, kissing him passionately. “Thank God you’re here. You were right about the creepiness; I barely recognize Moose and Feathers under all that happy-go-lucky attitude anymore.”

“There was a reason I almost lost my mind. Can’t say I’m too angry about it these days, though.”

Juliet scratches at the door. Dean sighs. “We should let her in. She’s probably freaking out because of Jack being close all the time.”

Crowley nods and complies, although he’s holding Dean’s hand while he does so.

They settle down in the bunker. Sam and Cas act confused and downright dizzy the first few days while whatever kind of spell they’re under tries to incorporate Crowley into their little world.

Finally they seem to settle on seeing Crowley as just another hunter, without speaking of the rings or that he and Dean always sit close together on the couch.

Again, it’s Lucifer’s kid himself who comes to talk to them.

They were absolutely sure every occupant of the bunker was asleep – Cas has liked to rest at night ever since he came back from the Empty – and so Crowley snuck into Dean’s room. They’re not even fooling around, but reading next to each other when there’s a knock on the door.

“Dean, Crowley?”

They look at one another, but Jack obviously knows they’re in bed together, so why bother to pretend?

He enters the room and looks at them. “You’re in love” he finally says. “You’re in love with one another.”

“What gave it away?” Crowley asks. “It was the wedding rings, wasn’t it.”

Jack frowns. “You’re very sarcastic”.

When Dean wants to interfere, he continues, “But you’re real. You are exactly what you seem to be. But Sam and Cas are not. Cas isn’t my father. And Sam’s not my friend. Not really. They just tell me what I want to hear.”

“Jack – “ Dean says as both him and Crowley get out of the bed.

“No. Don’t lie to me. They lie to me all the time, but I don’t think they mean to. It’s my powers, isn’t it.”

“Yes” Crowley says before Dean can stop him. “Dean” his husband turns to him, “He wants the truth.”

Jack nods. “Thank you”. There are tears in his eyes. “I want what you have. I want people to like me for who I am.”

“Jack – I don’t think that’s possible unless you get your powers under control” Dean says carefully.

“I know. They killed Mom. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to.”

“We know that, Jack.”

There are real tears running down his face now, and Dean wants to reach out but isn’t sure he’d welcome the touch.

“You said God left. And the Darkness, too.”

Dean nods.

“I think i could too” Jack says. “I think I ought to. See the universe. Learn more about me.”

“Only if you want.”

“Yeah” he says slowly, “Yeah I think I want a chance at finding something real.”

Dean takes Crowley’s hand.

Jack smiles. “You two keep holding onto one another, yeah?”

“I am never letting this one go, I’m a tad possessive” Crowley tells him. Dean squeezes his hand.

They allow Jack to say his farewell to Sam and Cas on his own. They grew close – as far as the mind control allows it – and he’s doing the right thing.

It takes less than five minutes after he’s gone (Dean and Crowley thought it prudent to put their clothes back on – their t-shirts and boxers would have been a dead giveaway) Sam and Cas come to them, looking like they just woke up from a long sleep.

He takes his brother in his arms and squeezes him for all it’s worth. Same with Cas.

Now that Sam and Cas are back to normal and Jack has left, they have a lot more questions about Crowley’s presence than before.

And about other things in general.

Namely, it takes Sam no time at all to point out that the ring Dean wears matches Crowley’s.

And so he draws him away from the others and into a corner. “Dude, I think Crowley’s still got a thing for you.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “What gave it away?”

“Wait – you know?”

“Yeah, Sammy, I’m not an idiot. Kind of figured it out back when – “

“Dean” Crowley calls out, “help me out here. I’m trying to get Cassie up to speed. Did we first take care of the shifter in Nevada or the wraith in Colorado?”

They really have been hunting quite a lot over the past year. “The wraith I think.”

“Thanks, Squirrel.”

“Oh, you can thank me all you want later” he replies automatically.

“Dean” Sam hisses, “You just flirted with him.”

“Yes.”

“Yes? What do you mean, yes?”

“Can’t a man flirt with his partner without – “

“Partner?”

“Fine, you can say husband too, that’s what most of our friends think anyway – “

“Husband?”

And that’s how Dean learns Sam and Cas were so far under they didn’t even realize when they saw them together. It takes dinner and quite a few explanations for them to understand everything’s that gone down.

Sam is about to ask another question when Crowley’s phone rings.

“It’s Jody.”

“Greet her from me” Dean says as he gets up.

He touches his shoulder on his way out to answer.

“Wait, Jody is calling Crowley?”

“Told you we’ve got a pretty wide network by now.”

“He tried to kill her once.”

“He tried to kill everyone he knew at some point or another.”

“Dean is right” Cas says. “And Crowley is human now.”

“I know that, it’s just a bit much to wrap my head around.”

Dean shrugs. “You get used to it. I did.”

“Dean, it just – it all sounds a bit crazy.”

“Probably because it is” he concedes, “but I – I’m happy.”

He hasn’t realized just how much until he says it aloud. But considering everything? Jack decided to do the right thing and take himself out of the equation, they actually have a full support network when it comes to hunts, his brother and best friend are back to normal, and he has Crowley.

Yes, he’s pretty damn jubilant.

When Crowley returns, Juliet’s at his heels, and she wastes no time in jumping on Dean’s lap.

He sighs. “At least you get your dog now, Sammy.”

“I guess” he says somewhat weakly.

Sam and Cas go to their rooms soon after that; they both look like they need the rest. As it turns out, they crash for about a week. Dean and Crowley don’t mind so much as long as they can keep an eye on them. They spend their time turning the bunker into their network’s whirring brain – amongst other things.

On the evening Sam and Cas wake up, Crowley has just surprised him with a guitar. He’d love to play it, but they’re both busy with the phones.

“I know Walt, I know. I’m an abomination yada yada yada. But some djinns still feed off fear and not dreams, so you better get on that.”

He hangs up. When he turns around, Sam and Cas are looking at him and Crowley, who’s fielding a call from Jesse.

Sam takes the guitar from the table, runs his hand over it. “Dean, don’t get me wrong... but you realize this is all rather insane?”

“I don’t think I was ever going to have a normal life, Sammy. But this? I’ll tell you one thing, it ain’t bad.”

“At least it’s not the Apocalypse” Cas tries his best to stay optimistic.

Dean grins. “Yeah. I’d actually argue we’re pretty far from Paradise... but who cares?”

Crowley has finished his phone call and draws him close. “Not me, Squirrel. You can be sure of that.”

Dean laughs before leaning down to kiss his husband.

#my writings #drowley #dean winchester #crowley #season 13 au #human!crowley #sam winchester #castiel #jack kline

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elizabethrobertajones · 7 years

Text

I just want to say, and I haven't had any coffee yet, so I hope this makes sense/doesn't sound rude, but I don't *like*, at all, being someone whose opinion is somehow more important, final, or intimidating than anyone else's. My blog is literally just *my blog*, which I have been talking on for years about Supernatural and people enjoy talking back to me. Sometimes we agree, sometimes we don't, sometimes I grudgingly reblog 100 pieces of meta on a subject I kinda hate or am disinterested in (like Amara after season 10 or Jack after season 12 for "disinterested" examples although I'm not gonna spill what I hate :P) because I have weird principles about at least trying to collect meta that makes sense to me or something...

But yeah, my meta is one thing, my opinions, as I said last night but I'll repeat here in another post, are entirely my own thing and your opinions are entirely your own thing, and they do NOT cancel each other out because I gob on all the time about mine on a blog which has a fair number of followers and a large collection of meta to trick people into thinking I know what I'm talking about all the time. All I've done is survive multiple mass-exoduses of fans who got fed up with the show and its ways before it ended, and left, leaving me in a weird position of being kinda prominent and well-established by sheer attrition that much smarter or more talented people up and left to greener pastures. I don't feel like any part of this process makes me somehow better and scarier than everyone else. In real life I'm an awkwardly laughing nerd who falls asleep in the corner at parties and has been keeping an intense fandom blog for like 4 years, to whatever detriment to the personality that causes in polite company. :P

Anyway I weighed in on a debate last night as I usually do when I talk about something here by explaining a huge chunk of meta for where I saw this thing coming from textually (see also: nerd), and threw in my opinion on the end, and now I have a bunch of replies where people sound like they're dying of horror to even dare disagree with me, despite me trying to cram in multiple disclaimers that I'd reached the opinion part of the discussion, that I knew people had different opinions, and this was literally the part of my discussion that was my own bias for why I want to see things go a certain way.

The textual analysis was not meant to scare anyone into thinking I can't be argued with, I just wanted to sound the whole thing out and explain in detail why this was even a thing back to the roots as far as I knew about them. As I said to the first reply that sounded like I was going to literally murder them for disagreeing, everything that anyone's disagreeing with here is the second part, my opinion on it all, which I have tried SO HARD to convey is the bit which is mine, my own, my precious. And you can't take it from me, you CAN agree with me, and I am not going to go around taking other people's preciouses when I'm already sitting in my dank cave with THIS one. All I can do to disagree is clarify to the best of my ability what I meant and where I think our opinions differ. I mean the replies on that post are now deeply upsetting to me because it sounds like people think that the louder, chattier people in this fandom have *any* special power to be agreed with other than "talked louder; inevitably someone either pays you money to shut up, or people start listening".

So okay apparently people listen to me and I have an intimidating opinion. Here's my intimidating opinion of the day: my opinion, nor anyone else's, is worth ANY more than yours, whoever you are reading this.

Meta is just a discussion of the show, and the meta I've generally written and reblogged has been textual analysis where opinion is mostly in the spec at the end, but most of the post is trying to say "what does this mean if the show put this in"... It also causes problems where people think the meta is authoritative, trying to dictate the show, whatever, by being phrased as saying what we think the show is saying usually without disclaimers about personal investment or degree of credulity we're lending it all... but there's a difference between trying to work out the message and writing down what we think it is (even when we don't like it, even when the message is something like telling us we take it too seriously :P) and having an opinion on it.

So I can think the show has put in some pretty heavy subtext that Dean and Crowley hooked up. I didn't particularly *like* it at the time, and that was my opinion, but I still reblogged bunches and bunches of meta about it (and eventually warmed up to the concept once we were out of several different danger zones that really put me off what the show's message seemed to be at first), because it was something I saw in the show and it was so obvious it was hard at times to talk about anything else. I know there are people out there who are still clinging on that it didn't happen at all and that is also an analysis and an opinion, and probably an easier one for them to deal with on the subject. There's people who grudgingly give the show that they had that subtext, let it have happened, but refuse to engage in it because they think it sucks and they don't like Crowley. That's also their right. There's people who love it to bits and immediately shipped it and it's really important to them. That's ALSO their right and still not exactly where I am with it although since I kinda got into the middle of all that by reblogging so much meta about it we seem to be on the best terms of all these different options :P There's myriad other opinions on it all, including probably that meta writers are being ridiculous for even daring to look for any kind of subtext in the first place. (A refusal to engage with the text is, ironically, also engaging with the text at least for discussion purposes, hence like, MOST fandom drama between people who just want to spread hate and think they have a definitive reading of it all >.>)

I read a lot of posts here from more than just the specific bits of opinion I agree with, and I see a lot of opinions flowing by in all different camps of the show that I think are fine that people have. And as people have got disillusioned with the show I used to agree with on every point I learned their opinion was still just their opinion and that it still didn't affect what I wanted to feel, and so I carried on mouthing off my opinion as people I once agreed with left or fell out of love with the things we used to have an equal love in. And all these opinions are based in things people read in the show and they can offer up their evidence for it, and if it's well argued, I'll read the whole thing, and even agree with every point they argue, and still walk out of there with my original opinion intact if I can be absolutely sure that I have my own footing for why I think what I think. And that's that. I read a 70k long meta about why Sam is a horrible person and I still love him and will defend him for these things, but the meta I read made some awfully good and intelligent points about the writing of the show that at the very least I will from now on take deep into my understanding of the writing in the bit it was talking about, while still not feeling like Sam as an emotional construct is something I now have to hate or that I can't find his side and feel empathetic towards it as well. (Also I am the sort of person who reads a 70k meta on why a fave is awful if it's well-argued, without raising my own blood pressure or changing my mind on the important parts, so I suppose there's that to know about me... :P)

Anyway. As usual a lot of words to say something simple. I'm not an authority. I'm glad people enjoy my meta and look to me to talk about the show in my own rambly way, but when I have an opinion on something you're allowed to disagree. I knew that debate was sensitive but I wanted to explain my own side properly because I thought that would be *more* sensitive than just saying my opinion, as if it were fact, and people are treating it like they're having to fight the system now and I am way too anarchic for that. Please don't turn me into a pillar of authority, I'm a dweeb in sheepie pyjamas. I should not be dictating people's opinion on a TV show, just offering textual arguments and my own opinions for people who are too lazy to type it out and agree with it themselves, and if they don't agree with me, to be able to make their own posts about their own opinions.

If the reason you want to disagree with me is the opinion part of my posts, then that's okay, you can do that. You can make your own posts, you can reply to my post although I'm not going to have a clue what to say. Your opinions are your opinions, and YOU CAN'T ARGUE WITH OPINIONS. I am NOT going to go reply to people who have a deep investment in an opinion who are disagreeing with MY OPINION and say "You can't have that opinion, your subjective emotional stake in a thing is WRONG".

I think we have a slight misunderstanding going around between meta and opinion. Meta is analysis. Opinion is how we feel about it. Me laying out a bunch of analysis is not disagreeing or throwing a pile of quotes around to try and prove I have some higher ground on my opinion (in fact in this case I thought there was a broad agreement on the textual reading and a vast gulf on the opinion, of which I was asked mine >.>), it's an attempt to explain and lay down the facts I think are at work to inform opinions, and the narratives I see that have already been put into the show on something. My opinion is what I think should happen with that with an emotional stake of what makes me feel good or bad about it. Nothing is going to change what I feel good or bad about here except for the show doing more with it.

I felt bad about Dean and Crowley after 10x04 because Dean said he was "embarrassed". I felt good about Dean and Crowley after 10x17 where they were philosophical and friendly. I felt horrified about Dean and Crowley after 11x02 when Crowley made the "choirboy" comment that seemed to go waaay over the bounds of implying the dub con I was worried about all along. I felt conflicted about Dean and Crowley after 11x06 where Dean turned out to have kept Crowley's messages on his phone. I started to feel better after 11x22 and 23 where they had the dynamic from 10x17 which put me at ease. In 12x15 I was actively nostalgic along with Crowley because they'd moved to such a good place and the narrative showing Crowley to the door wanted to make a final comment on how this relationship had been for them. My OPINION and what made me feel good or bad kept changing. My READING that the show's subtext was telling us pretty much directly that they'd hooked up, had not changed since 10x01 and the comment about how they'd "Had a room" that I think was even in a promo before the episode, never mind once we got the actual episode and we learned about the triplets :P This is the difference between meta and opinion to me. In the early part of season 11 I was actively upset about this dynamic because I thought it had gone too far. The writing made me feel better and now it's all over I'm genuinely fond of it as the way they managed to leave off, which is an impressive feat for a ship that once made me laugh in hysterical confusion, and at another point actively squicked me out.

Anyway current canon has left me at a point on the other thing where I see a pattern that has emotionally meant pretty much the same thing to me the entire time it's been unfolding on my screen and I've been watching along with fandom and reading all the meta explaining the stuff I see on screen. I feel like there's not a great deal of wiggle room on interpretation of some instances for the basic message the show is trying to convey about where it's going or why it's doing certain things, and it's usually just the weight you give them that your opinion can affect the reading. A lot of these things are fairly black and white meaning to me because the context was so heavily laden with that overflowing Carver era symbolism that I learned to read from meta writers past (and a few thankfully still present). I'm going to assume and act like it's a prevailing opinion because when I was fandom new it was a loud and often-repeated idea and everyone I saw talking about it seemed to be excited and excitement is infectious. The excitement was the feeling, the opinion, the bias rolling off of all this. The meta underneath was what was making them excited and debating it as a concept a thousand miles an hour. My opinion that it's a good thing probably comes from this season 9 era happy acceptance of the idea, and nothing's really happened to change my opinion or make me feel differently. So the meta I call on is mostly of the era I remember it being discussed the most in the text and therefore by the fandom, and the feeling I have about it hasn't much changed. If that makes me sound like I know what I'm talking about, it's because this is an extremely well-worn groove to me, always leading to the same conclusions and generally being soaked in positive feeling.

I'm sorry there are people who are upset by the concept but I'm not sorry for my opinion and feelings and I feel like this whole thing is a really weird mess where people are using my post to debate my opinion with their own opinions, and feelings will always be at cross purposes and I can't help that. I can't meta away feelings. I can't meta up new feelings. The only thing that will change my opinion is the show producing new context which makes me feel weird and uncertain about my previous opinion, which I am liable and happy to change. And we're at a really weird and upsetting for everyone cross purposes where opinions are being given the debatable value of meta and treated as if they're the main statement, the main idea, the main reason anything is happening. When a subject's debatable issue is entire in what everyone FEELS about it, everyone is always going to be upset, and someone who writes long wordy posts and then attaches an opinion at the end is going to seem, apparently, like they're some sort of undebatable pillar when in fact their opinion is meaningless to yours and they just like talking a lot about the show and explaining where their opinion even comes from in the first place.

The debatable part to me would be anywhere I mention something that happened in an episode and then explain my reading of what it meant in fairly straightforward terms of parallels and symbolism or contrasts and seeming statements on character feeling and intent. My opinion attached to the end is not something I am going to let go of, NOR do I expect YOU to let go of YOUR opinion to engage me on the subject.

And that goes for basically everything.

So I will not be replying to that post and its replies because they're all opinion based on what makes people feel good or bad, and I see it as completely futile because *ALL I CAN DO* in this case is hurt people by doubling down on my opinion of what makes me feel good and bad about that speculation.

So all I can say is that I am NOT an authority and opinions are NOT META (which is still just a reading that can be argued in different ways, but for the sake of opinion posts, the basis on where that opinion comes from and the ~authority~ you're using to feel that way, even if the authority you get that opinion from is your own interpretation), not mine, not yours. They're a discussion about how we feel about the show and carry little weight in analysis, so we need to stop arguing with each other on entirely theoretical speculative subjects where people have high emotions about it, without recognising what we are doing and how people will get hurt when posing the idea that opinions can ever be objective or a way to force people to agree with you. I'm sorry only that my disclaimers last night were not enough to make it clear I was worried about this exact thing happening, and that this lead to people expressing that I'm somehow a master opinion you can't argue with.

By all means collect up people who share an opinion and make friends and feel better about it. It's OKAY to disagree with people who you see as otherwise apparently making a lot of sense and being worth listening to. No one agrees on everything all the time and it's weird if you do. There's a couple of meta writers I agree with on just about everything except one particular topic where I was quite amused to see those two disagreeing on every point and then though I didn't reply I had my own, different and wildly conflicting, opinion, from the BOTH of them, on every single example they gave. So we'll just... not discuss those sort of things with each other I suppose :D And we get on and on every other point, it seems, continue to reblog from each other and agree loudly. And I hope people disagreeing with my opinion and each other's opinion on these things don't just cut off ties from each other despite agreeing on many other topics, because of this one thing.

TL;DR - I am not interested in starting an opinion or personality cult where I'm always right. I'm really really not interested in smacking down people's opinions who disagree with me. I'm completely chill with other people's opinions existing out there, and I really really hate that opinions upset people because they're taken as fact, and I think rather than saying opinions are inarguable, I kinda think we should just be allowed to HAVE them and go about our business. And I'm hereby releasing my opinions on everything people disagree with into the void to say they are utterly meaningless if you disagree with them, and hold absolutely no weight on what you're allowed to think or publicly express.

(PS: pls talk more all the time about the ideas you have and don't feel like there's some sort of meta authority. I am so socially anxious I used to sweat and shake and triple-read my replies to people I thought were meta authorities until I realised I was always going to admire them, but we were all basically doing the same thing, shooting the breeze about the show, and no one was more important or authoritative than the others. If there's some sort of wall between communicating because there's a perceived meta ivory tower, please know that everyone you think is at the top of the tower is someone who still sees themselves as standing in the ground floor lobby of said tower, confused about how they were even let in the door, and seeing someone else above them on the higher floors.)

#long post for ts #not wank but I'll tag in case people just hate long rants in general #wank for ts #fandom problems #I'ma airplane this to a couple of people as a personal apology now >.>

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