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Dean’s been suspecting the bunker is magical for a while now. And no, not in that “We’ve finally found a home“ way Sam would probably think if he explained himself. No, in the literal sense. Some hallways seem shorter or longer than they actually are, or the room Dean is walking to is suddenly nearer than he thought it would be.
Must be a relict of the Men of Letters and their magical experiments.
Now and then, he has wondered if he should pursue his theory; would be pretty cool to have the power at his fingerprints just in case some psychotic Brits show up.
The truth of the matter is, Dean has always been more... attuned to their home than Sam, maybe because it’s the only one he’s ever truly known since their first went up in flames, and Cas hasn’t been living with them for very long; and since he decided to fall once and for all, he can’t pick up anything with his angel senses anymore anyway.
So when things go awry, Dean doesn’t know whether they really do or he’s finally snapped.
But he could have sworn he got two loaves of bread instead of one from the store the other day. And why is there so little butter anyway?
In the end, he decides he must be getting old, starting to forget things. Maybe he should do one of Sam’s nerdy crossword puzzles now and then.
At least that’s the explanation until he’s walking to the library and could swear he hears the tell-tale rushing of water in the old pipes meaning someone is taking a shower, only to find both Sam and Cas buried in old books.
What the hell?
He returns to the hallway, but it has fallen silent.
Is he going nuts now?
Dean starts paying closer attention to the noises in the bunker, especially at night. He even loses sleep over it – which doesn’t matter much because he sleeps much better these days, except for when he thinks of their losses, one in particular he shouldn’t even be thinking about because neither Cas nor Sam have mentioned him, will mention him, and he’s the only one who’ll mourn him.
Dean continues to believe that until one of his bad nights, when he’s sitting in the war room drinking Craig because the thought of any other beverage turns his stomach.
Cas finds him and quietly sits down next to him.
After a few minutes of silence, he says “He did a hero, in the end.”
“Yes he did.”
“Remembering him is not shameful. You were something like friends.”
Dean snorts. “Doubt he would have said the same.”
“That doesn’t matter. I still mourn for my fallen brethren, even if they wanted to fulfil God’s work and start the Apocalypse.”
Dean nods; that makes sense.
And then Cas, who doesn’t like anything harder than beer, pours himself a glass to and they toast the late King of Hell.
Dean has no more nightmares that night.
But meanwhile, weird stuff continues to happen. He’s beginning to wonder if there’s something the matter with his ears, because he keeps hearing the water running when no one is in the bathroom, and he could swear that sometimes books dis- and reappear from the library.
From time to time, he even perceives footsteps, but when her ushers to the room he thinks they emit from, no one’s there.
It’s all rather confusing because he’s basically living through a haunting in a movie. All the classic signs are there, only that real haunting don’t work like this, as he well knows. So what is going on?
He tries to explain one day at dinner but ends up getting lecture by Sam about drinking less and “auditory hallucinations connected to alcohol” as if he’s a freshman out on his first binder, Cas just shrugging and calmly explaining that he hasn’t heard anything, which makes no sense to Dean whatsoever because if anything, the noises are growing more and more prominent.
One night, he wakes up to hear the shower louder than ever, and he tries to ignore it, but then the footsteps return as well, and he gets up. He’ll find out what’s behind this once and for all.
Following the footsteps, he arrives at one of the store rooms, the door of which is – glowing? Whatever, he’s dealt with much weirder.
“So” Dean declares, bursting the door open, “Finally – “
The words die on his tongue.
Because right there in front of him, as always impeccable clad in a suit, is –
“Crowley?”
To say the former king has some explaining to do is an understatement. The second Dean registers that yes, that is indeed Crowley in front of him, and more – he’s raising his hands, probably in order to do some magic – he acts.
Once he has Crowley in an arm lock against the wall, he says calmly, “Not so fast.”
“Let me go, Squirrel” he hisses while vainly struggling against his grasp.
Whoever this is – Dean has not yet ruled out a spell or a shapeshifter – they’re not a demon. Crowley would already have thrown him to the ground and disappeared.
“No, first we’ll make a few tests.”
After he has established the man in front of him doesn’t react to holy water, salt or silver, he steps away from him.
“Crowley?”
“How did you guess?” he drawls, rubbing the wrist Dean grasped.
He swallows, telling himself it’s ridiculous to feel guilty. “What did I call you when I asked for help during our hunt after the first hellhound?”
“Peaches”.
The answer is prompt and, much more importantly, true.
Dean shakes his head. “I can’t believe it. Who brought you back?”
“I don’t know. I just woke up in front of your little man cave here.”
“So you decided to play around a bit?”
It doesn’t make sense. Why would he hide out in the bunker and tell no one?
Crowley shrugs. “This was the safest place for me to be.”
“I agree. No demon gets in here unless we want him to” Dean says simply.
Crowley looks – surprised? “Yes. Well, so I decided to – “
“Crowley, I get why you are here, I don’t get why you didn’t tell us. At least I could have bought more bread.”
“You could have – “ Crowley begins, only to shake his head. When he looks at Dean again, his face is blank. “You do not have to pretend because I am human. We both know you want me to go.”
“Why would I want that? Asmodeus will come after you the second you step out” Dean points out, starting to feel like there’s something he’s not getting. How long will Crowley need to understand that its just not safe for him to leave?
Also, to be honest, he’s a bit angry at not having been told Crowley’s alive.
“The last time we saw each other you punched me in the face” Crowley points out and the penny drops.
“You didn’t think we’d want you here?”
Crowley snorts. “What gave it away? That I just told you?”
“Crowley...”
“Look, I’ll be gone in the morning, no reason to call Moose and Feathers...”
“Crowley... look at least let’s have a drink before you pack up.”
He still has the bottle of Craig he and Cas drank from the other night, thankfully.
“So how did you do it? Stay hidden, I mean” he asks.
“This bunker has lots of magical potential. I learned a thing for two from my mother.”
“Sorry about that, by the way” Dean says, wincing.
“Oh, you mean Rowena’s death?” Crowley shrugs. “Like I said, I would have ended up killing her anyway.”
Dean knows it’s more complicated than that – if he goes from his own experience, mother stuff often is – but he lets it slide. Crowley is back from the dead, and that’s enough for the moment.
“Alright. So you can do magic; what did you do exactly?”
Crowley looks thankful that he doesn’t bring Rowena up again.
And he has to admit: Checking out all the rooms he never knew existed because, as his – friend explains, they are “in the same space but not the same plane as the others” is – fun.
“Is that a Claymore?” he asks in a room containing nothing but swords.
“Yes.”
“You ever used that?” Dean continues excitedly before he remembers and finishes lamely “For sewing and stuff?”
“I was tempted more than once to hack a client to pieces. Does that count?” Crowley asks innocently.
Dean snorts. “Too bad, would have loved to have seen that.”
“I bet you would.”
They get caught up in yet another library where Crowley throws him a first edition of Slaughterhouse-Five. “Don’t look so spooked, Moose doesn’t have to know.”
Point is, they quite forget the time and stumble upon Sam as he prepares for his morning run.
“Dean, how the Hell did you get in – Crowley?”
“Yeah, he’s back” Dean says, walking past him towards the coffee maker. “Crowley, coffee?”
“Milk and sugar, please.”
“Dean – “
“I already did the tests, don’t worry.”
“I – “ Sam swallows, then nods. “Fine enough. We have enough rooms.”
Dean sees Crowley throw his brother a surprised glance. “And hey, at least he and Cas can talk about being newly human or whatever.”
“Who can – oh, Crowley.”
Naturally Cas isn’t that surprised. He himself got resurrected (again) not that long ago.
“Feathers. Long time no see.”
“You are going to enjoy this, Sammy” Dean says, “Crowley hacked the bunker’s magic.”
“How?”
“Experience. Just a couple of hundred years of experience.”
Sam rolls his eyes but smiles.
Crowley nudges Dean to the side. “Let me. Now that I can finally use the stove, I’ll take advantage of it.”
Of course he can’t just admit that he just wants to make them breakfast.
Dean smiles. At least he knows now he’s not going crazy.
Not crazier than he already is, anyway.