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Really, with all the friends and family members the boys had lost over the years, it was probably no great surprise that they simply took Cas‘ resurrection as a blessing.
Even if it meant they had to greet Crowley, too.
Feathers got hugs, of course; Crowley was lucky that Dean even glanced in his direction. Sam was ignoring him, but he hadn’t expected anything different.
“Alright” he drawled, “Bye, boys.”
He must have imagined Dean’s light flinch, but in the next moment –
He was still standing in front of them even though he’d meant to go to a bar so he could have a drink.
Feeling more and more off as the seconds ticked by, he realized that whoever had brought him back, may it have been God or Amara, had toned down his powers considerably.
He couldn’t even beam himself two feet away, for crying out loud.
“Crowley?” Dean asked. “No offense, but you were being all dramatic and exit-y, and yet you’re still here.”
“That’s because my powers don’t seem to be working so well” he spat out. Really? He stepped down from the throne, he sacrificed himself for the denim-clad nightmares he’d never been able to get rid of, and this was what he got?
“Cas?”
“I can’t hear the angel radio” he confirmed, “It seems Crowley and I share our… predicament.”
The difference being that Sam and Dean would do everything in their power to help Cas, as Crowley well knew, while he would be left here on a field in the middle of nowhere –
“Alright” Dean decided. “First things first. Best if we get you home.”
Now he wasn’t even talking to Crowley anymore. Joy.
He was contemplating how to best proceed when Dean called out, “Come on, your former Highness.” Somewhat confused as to what he was about to do, he walked up to them. “There we go. Shouldn’t have to power down the wardings now, at least.”
“Dean…” Sam said slowly. “What are you –“
“You’ve seen the new King, Sammy. We can’t let Crowley run around on his own until we know what exactly is going on.”
“I am perfectly capable of –“ he began, but the brothers were bickering about Asmodeus, and he turned to Cas.
“I agree with Dean” he told him.
It wasn’t as if he had anywhere else to go.
During the ride back to the bunker, they mostly kept silent. Sam occasionally threw him suspicious glances through the rear view mirror, and Crowley couldn’t help but think that he deserved somewhat better for trying to save them.
At least Lucifer was locked away in the parallel universe.
“How are you two?” Dean asked eventually. “Your powers returning?”
“No, Squirrel” he replied tiredly. He had hoped that would be the case, but instead he felt…”Feathers, are you hungry too?”
Sam groaned. “Oh great, now we have to feed the –“
“Sammy” Dean interrupted him.
“I could eat as well, yes” Cas confirmed.
Dean made them burgers after they had arrived at the bunker.
Crowley didn’t tell him, but they were quite tasty.
Somehow, they found a new routine.
Crowley, since they had yet to form a plan against Asmodeus and whatever he was up to, stayed in the bunker and accompanied the others on hunts. By now, not even Sam looked annoyed anymore when he came into the kitchen in the morning.
Just like Dean had suspected, the wardings of the Men of Letters held no power over Crowley anymore; and he soon learned that he could even walk over devil’s traps feeling but a small resistance.
Add to this his new-found need to eat every couple of days, mirrored by Cas, and he couldn’t help the suspicion that not only were his powers in no way growing stronger, but weaker, as if –
As if whoever brought them back wanted them to get slowly used to being human.
Crowley did what he usually did when someone made decisions for him – he rebelled (his mother, damn her soul, could have said a lot about the topic).
He had no desire to become human – especially because the second he stopped being useful in any way, shape or form, as he of now still was, despite his weaker powers, the boys would kick him out of the bunker and he’d have nothing.
And so he started doing research. He looked into the ritual Sam had once put him through, in the hope that there might be a way to reverse it. He went through the Archives of the Men of Letters (and occasionally corrected a few glaring mistakes). And when the need for sleep he hadn’t felt in hundreds of years resurfaced, he timed his naps so that none of the boys ever found out (served him right for insisting he didn’t need a room with a bed when he first arrived, he sometimes thought tiredly as he woke up on the couch yet again).
There were only two things he had overlooked.
One was that Dean Winchester, despite what some people thought, was actually rather clever.
The second was that he knew Crowley better than anyone.
“Alright, Peaches. Are we ready to stop being childish and actually talk about this?”
Crowley blinked. Dean was standing in front of the couch. The last thing he remembered was sitting down for a movie night with the hunter – a too normal occurrence to suspect anything amiss; yet maybe, if he hadn’t been so exhausted, he would have realized something was off when Dean decided to watch a documentary on pottery.
But between a few hectic days, and him not having been able to catch enough naps –
“You were out for five hours.”
Of course he had fallen asleep; dear God, please tell him he hadn’t actually fallen asleep on Dean.
He sat up, begrudgingly admitting that he felt better after having slept. A blanket slipped from his shoulders, and he realized with surprised that Dean had actually tucked him in.
“Cas told me he was… not exactly falling, but that the sensation was the same. Figured it must be the same for you. You do realize you’ve lost weight, right?”
Crowley sighed; his exhaustion had clearly made him forget a few details (mainly that Dean had eyes).
“Maybe it was all those late-night study sessions” Dean continued, raising an eyebrow.
Of course. Dean and his regularly returning insomnia.
“Figured the documentary would put you right out.”
Crowley got up from the sofa.
“So? You got nothing to say?”
“You have obviously figured it all out, Squirrel, so why don’t you tell me –“
“I haven’t, for example, I’d like to know why you didn’t just tell us.”
He didn’t find an answer quickly enough, but that didn’t deter Dean.
“Of course. Alas, we were the King of Hell, now we’re a lowly human, boo hoo, get over it, there are more important things to be done.” Before Crowley could inquire whether these important things included kicking him out, he continued, “Now come on. It’s time you get a bed.”
Sometimes, he thought that Dean Winchester was the only being in the world capable of surprising him.
He slept late. That was hardly surprising; he hadn’t allowed himself a full night of sleep in… a few hundred years, now that he considered it.
He’d thought he was done with surprises for a while, but there was a note from Dean pinned to his door.
Got a case, Sam and I are checking it out. You and Cas better stay in and get some rest and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do (heavily underlined). D.
Cas was making coffee when he entered the kitchen. “Did you find Dean’s note?”
He nodded.
It was the first time he’d been alone with the – former? – angel since they had been resurrected.
One thing he certainly hadn’t missed as a demon were awkward silences. “So” he finally began, “Any idea how close to human we are, these days?”
A shrug was all the answer he got. “Not very helpful there, Feathers.”
“I can’t be helpful if I don’t know what’s going on exactly” Cas pointed out and Crowley sighed. He was right, of course, but couldn’t whoever decided to slowly turn them human have given them a rule book of some kind?
“Suppose not.”
“You could have warned me before you went snitching to Dean” he said lightly.
“I wasn’t snitching. Dean had his own suspicions.”
Of course he had, and if Crowley hadn’t been busy with working himself to exhaustion and trying to sort through his new, all too human feelings, he might have noticed.
“Squirrel’s getting too observant.”
Cas frowned. “Dean has always been…”
“I know. I was being my usual incredibly funny self here.”
A pause followed. They drank their coffee and avoided each other’s eyes.
Finally, Cas asked, “Were you really trying to become a demon again?”
“Don’t you think that – anything, really – would be preferable to turn into a meat sack with a life expectancy of eighty years at the most?”
“No” he replied vehemently, surprising Crowley, “I don’t.”
He chose not to answer.
Mostly because he was rather worried he would find that he agreed with Cas.
The truth came back to haunt him in a spectacular fashion.
He and Cas were basically human by now, and no one had mentioned anything about Crowley moving out, so he was careful not to.
He was well aware that it was only a matter of time until they stumbled across the new king of Hell in their line of work.
This time, it happened in the form of several cases of people being gnawed to death by “invisible dogs.”
Hellhounds.
As always, it was Dean who found him, deep in one of the bunker’s storage rooms. “Crowley, we were about to – did you fix Michael’s Lance?”
He nodded, holding it up for Dean to see. “I figured we could use it if we are to go up against another Prince. Plus, isn’t it sort of yours?”
He snorted. “If you want to put it that way.”
Crowley threw it his way; Dean caught it effortlessly. “Oh yes, I definitely do.”
In the end, it wasn’t Dean was used the Lance of Asmodeus.
Like so many other demons (admittedly, even Crowley himself hadn’t been able to resist the temptation from time to time) he had to be dramatic and attack them with everything and everyone at his disposal.
Really, Crowley couldn’t help but think, it was disgusting how many demons so easily followed him simply because he was a Prince of Hell. One would think they’d recognize good leadership when they saw it, but no.
During battle, the Lance had been kicked out of Dean’s hands; up to this point, he’d done a good job wielding it, and Crowley scrambled after the best weapon they had.
Only to grab the Lance and find himself in front of Asmodeos.
He smiled at him. “Great one. That’s what you made them call you, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I do like to be addressed accurately.”
“But there’s not much greatness about you these days, is there? The demons tell me you were a good business man. How about we make a deal? I get the Lance, and you become a demon again – with no repercussions from the others, I guarantee it.”
For a second, Crowley was tempted, even though Asmodeus definitely had a plan, and it would not be a good idea to let the Lance get into the wrong hands; but then he thought of crappy motels, greasy burgers, getting thrown against walls and all the other inconveniences he’d had to put up with since he started to turn human and it was the easiest decision he’d ever made in his life.
He plunged the Lance into Asmodeus’ chest. “Thanks, no deal.”
The King went poof and the other demons couldn’t get away fast enough.
“Hey.”
Dean’s hand on his shoulder. “Good call.”
He nodded. “I might have to agree there, Squirrel.”
And, as Dean grinned at him, Crowley couldn’t help but feel that, human or not, things were going his way for once.