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castielscaplan · 1 month ago

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In the Lonely Shadows (3/?)

Summary: Crowely's always there to help convince you everything's going to be okay after Dean leaves with Lisa & Ben. But when Dean returns, will everything remain the same as it once was?

Requested by my beloved wife @midnight-moonlight-and-mars sometime back in March 2024.

Request: I've got a Crowley request! It can be platonic or romantic. It takes place the year Sam is resurrected and dean is living with Lisa. The reader was close with the Winchesters but after the fight with Lucifer dean abandoned the reader to be with Lisa and cas never answers ( unrequited love maybe?) so the reader teams up with Crowley and becomes like a bounty hunter for him for Lucifer loyalists.

A/N: It's technically not Crowley x reader (yet) since she's pining for Dean. Oops, but I hope you enjoy this all the same, my love.

A/N #2: this wasn't meant to be a series AT ALL. But so many people have been wanting more parts of this. So i'm writing at least 4-5 parts possibly more if people want to be tagged in the future!

WC: 2.1K

Warnings: mentions of loneliness, and blood, the reader feels abandoned and unloved, crowley’s nice, mentions of loneliness, and blood, the reader feels abandoned and unloved, sassy & protective Crowley

thank you to me beta reader @mermaidxatxheart ilysm <3

Read on AO3!

[Part One] [Part Two]

The morning sun bled through the cheap motel blinds in fragile beams, casting soft, golden light across tangled sheets and the man asleep beside you.

Dean.

You watched the rise and fall of his chest, your arms folded tight across your ribs like they were the only thing keeping you from breaking again. There was something brutal in the silence that followed a storm—especially one you’d been surviving alone for over a year. And now he was here, in your bed, like time hadn’t carved a canyon between what was and what would never be again.

You slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him. The mattress groaned softly under your weight, but he only shifted, exhaling in a restless kind of way. The air was cold against your skin. Or maybe that was just the ache in your chest again.

You were halfway to pulling your jacket on when the low hum of sulfur filled the room. You didn’t jump. You were used to his entrances by now. You were used to his presence in your life.

“Not even a hello this time?” Crowley drawled from the far corner, standing partly in the shadows. He looked sharp as ever, his dark suit immaculate, but his eyes... his eyes were thunder.

You didn't turn.

“I figured you’d show,” you said softly, staring down at your worn boots. “Didn’t expect the judgment to come this early, though. I thought you’d wait a moment for it. Allow me the dignity of happiness.”

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s never too early for disappointment.” He stepped forward, tone clipped and cruel in the way only someone who cared too much could manage. “So. That’s it? He shows up at your door like a stray mutt, all sad eyes and leather, and you roll over like the good girl you used to be?”

You tensed. “Don’t.”

“No, I think I will.” Crowley’s voice dropped, now razor-sharp, eyes burning ever so slightly. “Because I was there, remember? Picking up the pieces. The pieces he left behind. The brokenness that you felt for months. Healing bits and pieces of you.”

You turned then, slowly, meeting his eyes. “You think I don’t remember that?”

“I think you’re pretending none of it mattered.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “You’re one to talk about pretending.”

Crowley’s face twitched—just a flicker of something raw. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” you whispered, “it isn’t. None of this is.”

He stepped closer. “You’re better than this, Y/N. Stronger. And I didn’t drag you out of the dirt just to watch him drag you back under. I can't watch him do that to you again.”

“Then don’t watch,” you snapped, voice low and shaking. “I never asked you to.”

He stilled at that.

But before either of you could react, your phone rung out. The shrill sound pierced the tension like a bullet. You grabbed it off the nightstand before it could wake Dean. The screen said: Bobby. He hasn't called in months, knowing Crowley was your babysitter. So for him to call now, it felt urgent.

Your finger quivered as you hit the green button to answer the call. "Bobby?"

“Y/N?” Bobby’s gravelly voice came through the speaker, rushed and strained. “You’re not gonna believe this. You sittin’ down?”

“What is it?” you asked warily, stepping further away, into the narrow motel kitchen, away from Dean and Crowley, although you could feel Crowley’s presence shift to face you as you moved..

“It’s Sam,” he said. “He’s back. Just… walked up to my damn door like he hadn’t been dead for months. Said he didn’t remember anything about the Cage. But he’s looking for you and Dean.”

You stopped breathing. Crowley’s head lifted sharply at the name.

Dean stirred in the bed behind you.

“I haven’t told him yet,” Bobby added. “Didn’t want to until I was sure. But he’s real. I checked. Hell if I know how or why, but your boy’s got his brother back.”

You gripped the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you from collapsing. “Thanks for telling me first.”

“You alright, kid?”

You swallowed. “Yeah. I think I am.”

You hung up the phone before he could question you again.

Crowley didn’t speak for a long moment.

“Sam’s back?” he said eventually, voice quieter.

You nodded, licking your lips and beginning to chew on your bottom lip.

“Then it begins again,” he murmured. “The Winchesters—rising from ash like bloody phoenixes while the rest of us burn. Miracles walking, I suppose.”

Behind you, Dean sat up slowly, blinking against the slightly darkened room, eyes wary on Crowley’s presence. “What’s going on?”

You turned.

You couldn’t keep the tears from your voice. “It’s Sam. He’s back.”

Dean froze. “What?”

“Bobby just called. He’s alive, Dean. He’s back, and he’s okay.”

You saw the colour drain from Dean’s face. His whole body stilled, like he didn’t trust the hope clawing into his chest. “You’re serious?”

You nodded, voice thick. “Dead serious.”

Dean looked down, hands clenched. “I—I don’t understand. How? That's impossible. Y/N, you were there when he fell into the pit with Michael and Adam.”

“I don’t know,” you said softly. “But we’re not alone anymore.”

The silence after that was deafening. Crowley didn’t speak. Dean didn’t move. And you, caught between two men who’d both saved you in very different ways, stood in the quiet, heart split down the middle.

You walked to Dean, slowly, and sat beside him. He didn’t look at you. Just stared at the floor, jaw tight, eyes rimmed red.

“I should’ve been there,” he rasped. “For him. For you.”

You laid your hand on his knee. “Then be here now.”

Behind you, Crowley scoffed, soft but sharp. “Touching. Truly. Shall I knit you all a bloody reunion quilt?”

You turned to face him, eyes red but steady. “I told you, I’m not choosing. Not yet. But I need to see this through.”

Crowley’s jaw ticked. “And if he lets you fall again?”

You didn’t flinch. “Then I’ll know. And I’ll get back up. Like I always do.”

There was nothing left for him to say.

He disappeared without a word.

And this time, you let him go. You didn't chase after Crowley. You couldn't.

As the door to the motel room swung shut behind him, Crowley’s boots clicked against the creaky floor in deliberate rhythm. He hadn’t said a word to either of you when he disappeared, but his mind was racing, boiling with thoughts he didn’t know how to speak aloud.

He wasn’t used to feeling like this. This… uncertain.

You—Y/N—had always been a complication, but he had learned to manage you. You were sharp, witty, and undeniably strong, a fire that had burned away most of the demons he dealt with in his kingdom. Hell, you were the closest thing to a friend he had, and for a while, that had been enough. You were the exception. You were his exception.

But now?

Now, Dean Winchester was back, and the whole damn room had shifted on its axis. Crowley had seen it—the way you looked at him, the way your hand hovered near him, the warmth in your eyes that, until that moment, had been reserved for him. He could see the way you softened in his presence, how his mere return made the walls you’d built up crumble. It sickened him.

Because what did it mean for him? For them?

He shoved open the door to his private quarters—a space he had kept untouched for the last year. The stone walls were cold, and the fire he’d started in the hearth earlier still crackled in the corner. He didn’t care about the heat. It was all about the quiet. The silence.

The silence was easier to swallow.

Crowley was used to being in control. He had a kingdom, a reputation, and a steady hand on every situation. But this? This was different. You had always been a wildcard, but Dean’s return, Sam’s resurrection—it had tilted the balance. He’d watched how you’d looked at Dean. And it hurt, sharper than he’d like to admit.

It wasn’t that Crowley was jealous. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—admit that. But he couldn’t ignore the sharp pang in his chest when you let Dean in, when you all but pushed him away without a second thought. Did you think Crowley didn’t notice that? Didn’t feel that?

But that was the thing, wasn’t it?

Dean had always been the “good guy.” The hero. The man who could pull you back from the brink and make you believe in hope again, no matter how broken the world was. Crowley—Crowley was not that man. He wasn’t a hero. He didn’t care about redemption, and he certainly didn’t care about playing nice.

No, he was a King, and Kings didn’t beg.

But that was what it felt like now, wasn’t it?

It felt like he was begging.

He had spent months with you—quietly, almost possessively at times—and now he found himself trying to find his footing in this strange new world where you were no longer just his to look after. You were slipping through his fingers, and no matter how many sarcastic jabs he made, no matter how many times he reminded you that you were better off without Dean’s baggage, he knew.

He knew you were still in love with him.

Crowley shook his head. “What the hell is wrong with you, Crowley?” he muttered to himself as he paced the room. “You’ve had the best thing that’s ever happened to you right here, and you let her slip away.”

He stopped in front of the mirror, glaring at his own reflection. The King of Hell, the one who had manipulated, deceived, and controlled—yet here he was, like a fool, torn over a human. A woman who wasn’t even his to begin with.

And Dean?

Dean didn’t deserve you. Not after what he did to you. After what he put you through. But Crowley also knew—deep down—that it wasn’t about deserving. It was about how you felt. And right now, he knew what you felt. The vulnerability in your eyes when Dean walked in, the way you seemed to crumble under the weight of it all. You didn’t know it yet, but you were still tethered to him. To Dean.

And it ate at Crowley.

The faint sound of a door creaking open reached his ears. His eyes flicked to the hallway. He froze as he saw Dean standing there, a sheepish look on his face.

“You really think you can just come back and pretend like nothing happened?” Crowley’s voice was low, a warning. But his words were empty.

Dean smirked, but there was no real humour in it. “Look, I don’t need your lecture, Crowley.”

“You will listen to me,” Crowley hissed, his voice laced with venom. “You don’t get to waltz back into her life after you—after you abandoned her. After you left her to rot while I was the one patching her up. The one keeping her alive. The one making sure she didn’t go off the deep end. How do you think they made me feel? Do you know how broken you’d left her?”

Dean’s jaw tightened, and he stepped forward, his eyes burning with a mixture of regret and defensiveness. “I don’t need your approval, Crowley. I don’t need anyone’s, but I’m not letting you talk about her like that.”

Crowley laughed bitterly. “What do you think this is, Dean? A reunion? I spent months—MONTHS—getting her to trust me, getting her to survive, to breathe after you left. And now you think you can come waltzing back into her life, all charm and no remorse? You don’t get to play hero here. Not anymore.”

Dean was quiet for a moment before his voice came out low, regret dripping off every syllable. “I know what I did. I know it. But I’m not the same guy I was then. I wasn’t even the same guy when I left. I left because I didn’t know how to deal with the loss of Sam. You—You don’t get to judge me for that.”

“I’m not judging you, Dean.” Crowley’s words were clipped, and his eyes narrowed as he approached him. “I’m warning you. You have one chance, just one, to prove you’re not the same coward you were. Because if you hurt her again? If you walk away this time? I’ll be the one picking up the pieces again, and I won’t be so damn gentle about it.”

Dean didn’t back down, but the air between them was thick with unspoken truths and simmering tension.

Crowley turned to walk away, his voice cold. “Consider yourself warned.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Dean standing in the silence of the motel room. But in that silence, there was no peace. No comfort. Only the harsh reality that everything had changed—and for the first time in a long time, Crowley didn’t know how to move forward.

[PART FOUR]

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