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You broke the seal with your own blood. You knew what that meant. Not metaphorically. Not in some poetic, romantic sense. Your own Literal blood. From your palm. From the same hand he used to kiss before vanishing without a trace.
The circle was drawn in salt and grave dirt, precise in theory—but emotion made your hands shake. You whispered the Enochian incantation over and over until it bled between your teeth like copper. There were candles—blackened stubs from the last time he came when you called—and the scent of burning flesh thick in the air like a funeral pyre.
Your vision blurred. Heat danced in the corners of the room like mirages.
You forced the incantation past a dry throat. “I call thee, Fergus Roderick Crowley. King of Hell. Crossroads Lord. Come to me.”
The flame flickered blue.
Then black.
Then nothing.
You stood in the silence, skin crawling. You’d done everything right. You know you did. But he wasn’t coming. He never came anymore. You took a trembling step forward, heart racing. “Crowley—please…”
That’s when the room exhaled. No wind. No movement. Just… pressure. Like the space between your ribs was being filled by something foreign.
Heavy. Hot. Curious.
The candle flared—then went out. Every light followed, swallowed in an unnatural hush.
From behind you came a voice. “Careful, darling.” Velvet. Familiar. Soothing. But wrong.
You turned slowly.
He stood just beyond the circle’s edge, shadowed, red eyes glowing faintly like coals beneath ash. His suit hung scorched at the cuffs. His skin looked greyer than you remembered—cracked in places. Almost burned. Like he’d clawed his way here. Like the ritual hadn’t summoned him, it had ripped him through.
“Crowley…?” you breathed.
He smiled. Slowly. Without warmth.
“You really shouldn’t have done that.”
You swallowed hard, pulse hammering against your ribs. “I called you before. You didn’t answer.”
“I was occupied.” His voice echoed oddly, as though another version of him whispered the same words a second too late. “You don’t know what it took to crawl back.”
“I thought something happened to you.” Your voice cracked. “I thought you were gone.”
His jaw ticked. “I was.”
And suddenly, he was closer. Not walking. Not teleporting. Just—there. Inches from the line. Something hissed at his heels in the shadows, unseen but angry. The salt sparked, reacting to his presence.
You stepped forward on instinct—crossed the broken line.
That’s when everything shifted. Your stomach twisted like gravity tilted sideways. The floor screamed beneath your boots, though it made no sound. The walls rippled. And Crowley’s expression shattered into panic.
“Get back in the circle!” he barked.
You froze. “But—”
“You smeared the edge—look!”
You followed his gaze. A thin, bloody streak had carved through the salt at your heel. One misstep. One drop too many.
The summoning was open. Not to him. To everything. The shadows behind him moved—not with him, without him. Something with too many limbs slithered along the ceiling. A whisper that wasn’t language crawled up your spine.
“Gods below,” Crowley muttered, clenching his jaw. “They hitched a ride. You tore a hole through. You didn’t summon me, sweetheart—you summoned everything I’ve been holding back.”
The thing in the ceiling dropped. He caught it mid-air with a flick of his fingers, turned it to smoke and bone dust. But his arm trembled.
He was weakening.
You ran to him. “Let me fix it—I can close the circle—”
“No.” He caught you, grip bruising your wrist, eyes flaming. “You do that, and I stay stuck. And if I’m stuck—they stay, too.”
You shook your head, breathing fast. “I don’t care about them. I care about you—”
“You think I’m still me?” he growled, teeth bared. “You think this face is all that’s left? You called me out of torment. You pulled me halfway between Hell and something worse.”
A sound like teeth chattering filled the room, except no one was moving.
Your heart broke. “I had to try.”
His expression flickered—just for a second. Something soft. Something familiar. “I know,” he whispered.
Then he kissed you. Hard. Desperate. Like it was the only thing still tethering him to this plane. His lips were hot—too hot—and his touch burned where he cupped your face. The air howled.
“Next time you miss me,” he rasped, “light a bloody candle. Don’t carve your name into the veils.”
“I’ll find you,” you swore. “I’ll fix it—”
“No,” he said, quiet and final. “You’ll forget me.”
And then, he shoved you. Back through the shattered circle, just as the veil split open behind him like torn skin. You saw things in the dark. Eyes like lanterns. Antlers. Wings made of shadow. And something that wore your face, grinning.
Then the entire summoning inverted, crashing inward in a shriek of soundless agony. Crowley vanished in a spiral of black flame.
---
You woke up hours later. Alone. Circle scorched. Salt dissolved. The air still smelled like blood and bourbon. And written in the soot on the floor, in Crowley’s handwriting: Tell no one. I’m not gone. Just deeper. If you try again, I won't be the one who answers.