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There is a good chance Dean might be insane.
Scratch that. He is insane. After everything they’ve seen and done, how can he be? How can any of them be, to be honest?
So, yes, Dean is aware that he’s crazy by most standards.
But still...
This won’t leave him alone.
A few months ago, a new player in the hunter world showed up. Alright, maybe “showed up” isn’t then right word; the guy would have to... actually be present for that to be true.
But there’s someone who’s been providing the community with spells or corrections of universally accepted lore for a while now.
And that’s fine. Hell, that’s even great, as far as Dean is concerned.
But...
But.
Thing is, during their “Summer of Love”, as Sam has come to call it, he learned a few things about Crowley he never thought could possibly be true.
And one of them was that calligraphy was one of his hobbies. Calligraphy.
Naturally, all of them are, or rather, were familiar with Crowley’s scrawl when he left them messages because sometimes his Highness couldn’t be bothered to just send a text.
But his other, fancy handwriting? Dean’s pretty sure he’s the only one who’s ever seen it. After all, calligraphy’s not exactly a past time the King of Hell is supposed to enjoy.
And that’s exactly Dean’s point: Helpful guy’s fancy handwriting looks way too much like Crowley’s. Way too much.
It’s crazy. He can’t possibly think that somehow, the demon survived, returned to their world and is now busy helping out hunters. And yet.
The reason Dean can’t let this go is that, in his own way, he even grieved for the guy. Yes, he was an evil son of a bitch when he wanted to be, but he also helped them on numerous occasions, and in the end, he died for them, so he figures he’s allowed to mourn.
Sam and Cas rarely mention him anyway.
So what if the guy’s handwritings looks like his. No one but Dean would even notice –
Huh, he realizes. That’s a good point. If Crowley wanted to live somewhere in hiding, unknown and uncared for, he would use handwriting that doesn’t look like his normal one. And he’d probably think that Dean either wouldn’t recognize the fancy letters or ignore them altogether even if he figured it out. And maybe, if things had turned out differently and they parted as enemies instead of – sort of – allies, he’d shrug and forget about it.
But he can’t, and he needs to know.
So he starts collecting information. Not quickly, and it’s not as if it’s the only thing he does, and maybe he neglects to mention to Sam and Cas what exactly he’s doing; but he figures there’s no harm done if he watches a little less Netflix and looks for some guy no one knows.
It’s small wonder, really, considering he only seems to identify himself as “Outis”. The first time Dean hears it at a hunter gathering, he rolls his eyes. Name yourself after Odysseus tricking a Cyclops, why don’t you. But it’s exactly the kind of thing Crowley would do, if he was still around, so he can’t help but keep looking.
Outis proves to be ridiculously difficult to find. Really, with all these cases Dean has under his belt, he should at least discover some clues, but Outis keeps evading his grasp.
All he’s got is a P.O. box in Maryland to which any question a hunter can have may be sent. Sure, Dean could stalk the box until he finds his answers, but the guy has done nothing wrong, and he has no idea how often he empties it, and how is he supposed to explain that he wants to take a few weeks off merely to stand guard at a goddamn P.O. box in the middle of nowhere?
The address is all he has, though.
Until they visit another hunter gathering and Jody shows them some information on basilisks Outis wrote down for her and sent in the mail, and damn it if this isn’t even more like Crowley than ever before, because who else would include an obscure Viennese legend to show off that he can read German?
Jody is able to provide him with envelope when he casually asks whether she knows where the guy is located (although she does give him a shrewd look so he probably didn’t hide his interest as well as he thought).
Pennsylvania. That’s all he can make out, but it’s a start.
Cas comes to his room that night. “Dean, can I ask you something?”
Normally these days, this involves inquiries about how to work the washing machine or something else, since being resurrected human doesn’t exactly involve a go-to manual, so he doesn’t think much of it until Cas continues, “Why are you interested in Outis?”
“Guy shows up out of the blue, no one knows what he looks like, and yet he seems to have all kinds of knowledge about lore. That doesn’t strike you suspicious?”
Cas shakes his head. “Not like that. Naturally you would be interested, but there is something else. It’s personal.”
Damn former angel knows him too well.
Dean sighs then shows him the copy of the letter to Jody he made. “See anything familiar?”
Cas squints. “It’s the information on basilisks Jody needed...”
“Not what I meant, sunshine. The handwriting.”
Cas tilts his head. “I don’t think it seems familiar –“
“It looks like Crowley’s” Dean forces out. After a pause, he adds, “Guy just had a thing for calligraphy, and this looks a lot like it. Bet it was even written using a quilt.”
“You think Crowley is still alive?”
Dean shrugs. “Still. Again. Does it matter?”
“I suppose not” Cas carefully replies. “But Dean, it does occur to me that if Crowley were alive and he wanted us to know –“
“I know. He would have told us. But still – if he’s out there, I need to know what he’s up to.”
It sounds better than “I need to know that he’s doing alright” or “I need to know that he’s not starving”, but of course Cas isn’t fooled. He just nods and accepts Dean’s excuse, but it’s pretty clear he knows exactly what’s up.
And from then on, he helps Dean in his research.
Pennsylvania isn’t much to go on, but it’s a start. Slowly, through other envelopes and small hints Outis has been dropping throughout his correspondence with the outside world (that Dean isn’t even sure he meant to drop in the first place) he comes to understand that Outis apparently lives near Centralia, and of course he’d pick a place near an almost abandoned town.
Once Dean ahs figured it out, the thought of going there doesn’t leave him alone, and so, after another successful case, he only stays long enough in the bunker to get a good night of (well, four hours of) sleep and pack some fresh clothes before he says goodbye to Sam and Cas.
Sammy, of course, is rather confused. “Dean, where are you going?”
“Centralia.”
“That town with the fire beneath it in Pennsylvania? Do we have a case? And why would you go there by yourself –“
“Sam” Cas says, “Dean has his reasons.”
The talked it through when they were still on the case, and the both agreed that Dean should first of all check the lead out by himself since he was probably the closest thing Crowley had to a friend (even though he hit him on his last day on earth, a memory he usually flinches at, but how was he to know Crowley of all people would do the selfless thing?)
“But –“
“Sammy, please, trust me. The second I’m sure, I’ll tell you.”
“Alright”. Sam still looks sceptical but doesn’t say another word. Cas follows Dean to the garage.
“What are you going to do if it is him?” he asks quietly and Dean has no answer. Until now, he’s been focused on finding the guy and learning whether or not he’s seeing ghosts in letters now or not.
“I have no idea” he admits.
“If he wants you could bring him home” Cas replies and man, does it feel good to hear him call the bunker home.
“I’ll think about it.” Dean doesn’t wonder why the thought of Crowley in the bunker is so damn satisfying. At some point, he became another member of their strange little team, and if there’s a chance he’s alive he has to find him.
Centralia, he decides after the first day of searching, is damn depressing. Not the town in itself – it looks rather nice, all things considered, actually, and the inhabitants are thrilled at any visitor – but because it’s so empty.
But then, he didn’t expect Crowley to love in the town directly.
No, Crowley would live far enough away that the fire underneath can’t affect his abode, and that no one would accidentally stumble across it.
Good thing then that Dean is actually looking for it.
Even so, he’s not prepared for the sight that greets him.
Seriously, a small – quaint – little house in the middle of nowhere? There are goddamn flowers planted in the pots under the windows. Flowers.
It doesn’t look like Crowley at all. It looks more like the house Dean used to dream of as a kid, when Dad left them alone in yet another motel.
He still knocks. He has to know, one way or the other.
When he opens the door, it becomes clear that Crowley came back as human as Cas. Dean never saw him in t-shirt and jeans before, although both are clearly designer products because why wouldn’t they be.
“Mr. Outis, I presume” he says, careful to keep his voice neutral.
“Squirrel. What gives me the pleasure?”
And isn’t that a difficult one to answer. “Looked for you because you couldn’t pick up a phone.”
“Would you have wanted me to?”
Dean only nods.
Crowley studies him, then steps aside. “You might as well get in.”
“I assume you got some good stuff to drink?”
“But of course.”
The house is comfortably furnished, light and airy. Dean doesn’t quite know how to voice his approval.
“Here”. Crowley passes him a glass of Craig.
“So you’ve been working as a factotum, I hear.”
Crowley shrugs. “It pays the bills.”
Dean highly doubts that – mostly because Outis’ work has always been pretty affordable for hunters, a point he at times felt was enough to disprove his theory that Crowley was behind it.
“How did you find me anyway?”
“It’s sort of my job” he reminds him. “I recognized your handwriting, and –“
“I had no idea you would...” Crowley interrupts him and then they fall silent because the wild months they spent living it up in shitty bars when they were both demons are still a thing that’s very difficult to talk about.
Eventually, he says, “Mostly I just wanted to make sure –“
“That I haven’t gone back to my evil ways. Don’t worry I –“
“That you’re alright.”
A miracle. He has actually managed to make Crowley shut up. He’s staring at him, completely flabbergasted. “I actually assumed” he finally replies coolly “That you’d look for me to punch me again if you ever found out –“
“Look, man, you kind of set Lucifer free. And I know we’re not the ones to talk there but at that point it was pretty fresh.”
“That is true” he concedes.
“So how you’re holding up? At least you have a roof under your head and a job, so...”
“Yes” Crowley drawls, “Because that’s all I could want.”
He looks away as Dean is reminded that humans have other needs besides the basic ones, and that one of them is companionship.
Dean has often enough been lonely to recognize the feeling. He clears his throat. “Well, in case you ever need anything, feel free to drop by. You know where we are.”
Crowley looks at him.
Dean doesn’t know yet, because he’s not and never has been a psychic, but eventually, Crowley will show up at the bunker, and he and Sam will argue about it for a while, and other hunters are going to notice they now and then accept the help of the former King of Hell, and that’s going to be a bit of a situation but they’ll pull through, and then will come the day when getting up and finding Crowley in the kitchen won’t surprise him anymore in the least.
For now, without knowing any of that, Crowley’s nod is good enough.