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Crowley didn’t really want things to end up this way. Maybe he doesn’t mind if one or both of the Winchesters off the board but he didn’t want to be so directly linked to it. He likes pulling strings more than he likes getting his hands anywhere close to the dirt. But still, here he is, stilling in this ugly chair, staring at that ugly blanket, and Dean’s broken body. He liked Dean. Well, as well as he could like a thorn in his side. The man did have a nice ass though. No time to focus on that. He’s here to witness something rare, beautiful, valuable, epic.
He plants himself in the uncomfortable chair at the desk and gathers his thoughts.
“Your brother, bless his soul, is summoning me as I speak,” Crowley explains to Dean’s corpse. “Make a deal. Bring you back. It’s exactly what I was talking about, isn’t it? It’s all become so… expected.”
For a moment Crowley feels the weariness in the blackened remains of his soul. He sighs. “You have to believe me. When I suggested you take on the Mark of Cain, I didn’t know this would happen,” Crowley says shaking his head. Not really,” he looks away from Dean. It’s easier to be vulnerable without anyone seeing him, even if it’s just a corpse. “I mean, I might not have told you the entire truth. But I never lied. I never lied, Dean. That’s important. It’s fundamental,” Crowley explains. That little bit of fondness he has for The Winchester brothers makes him feel guilty. Crowley doesn’t like feeling guilty.
“But… there’s one story about Cain that I might have… forgotten to tell you. Apparently he too was willing to accept death rather than becoming the killer the Mark wanted him to be.” Crowley feels something akin to pride. He’s proud of finding the right person to brand with the Mark. He’s proud of his ability to pull the right strings in just the right manner. Even if it meant he lost one of the few people who still amused him.
“So he took his own life with the Blade,” Crowley says softly. “He died.” Crowley may be the only one alive in the room but he’s still a showman. He’s never one to pass up the opportunity to add some flair to a story. “Except rumor has it, the Mark never quite let go.”
Crowley could imagine the shocked look of realization that would be dawning on Dean’s face if he wasn’t currently experiencing rigor mortis. He pulls the First Blade out of his coat, examining it as he fortifies his nerves. Just holding the bloody thing makes me feel queasy.
“You can understand why I never spoke of this. Why set hearts aflutter with mere speculation?”
Crowley rises from the chair, holding the Blade carefully, reverently, even if the thing gave him full body shivers. “It wasn’t until you summoned me, no it wasn’t truly ‘til you left the cheeseburger uneaten…” Crowley wraps Dean’s cold fingers around the handle of the Blade, “That I began to let myself believe.” He moves Dean’s hand, clutching the Blade to his still chest. “Maybe miracles do come true.”
Crowley leans forward. “Listen to me Dean Winchester, what you’re feeling right now is not death. It’s life. A new life. Open your eyes, Dean,” Crowley commands. This is it. The moment where he will have an equal, a companion, a friend. “See what I see, feel what I feel. And Let’s go take a howl at that moon.”
Dean opens his black eyes. Crowley smiles. This really will work out for the best. Both Winchesters still on the board only one of them is his to control.
And it’s not even his birthday.