Chapter Text
Dean Winchester knew something was off the second he woke up. He blinked up at the ceiling. First of all, how the hell was he even awake? He remembered being stabbed and dying...by freaking Metatron of all people...er, angel? God? Whatever. Point was - he freaking died. In his brother’s arms. He died and now he was awake. In Heaven? Dean groaned and slowly sat up. His body ached. He looked down at himself and realized he was still in the same clothes, bloody red stained plaid shirt and jeans - everything. So maybe not heaven then.
He lifted his shirt up. No stab wound though. Clean skin. Huh. That was weird. He was sure Metatron stabbed him. He felt up his chest and let his hand rest over his heart. No scratches, no scars. Nothing. Like the fight never happened. Dean was starting to feel panic crawl up from the pit of his stomach. What the fuck was going on? And where was he? He looked around him, noting the stone walls of the room. The floor was cold. For the first time since he woke up, he noticed how oddly cold his feet were. Dean looked down at his bare feet. He stretched, slowly got up. The room was dark. He vaguely recognized this place before it dawned on him.
No way. No fucking way. He was in…
“Welcome to hell, squirrel,” a familiar voice said, accent and all.
Dean groaned internally and turned around. Of course it’d be Crowley. Dean tensed, backed into the wall. Just great. So he did die and instead of going up to heaven, his soul took a nosedive under, damned for all eternity. With the fucking king of hell. Winchester luck, right? Dean wanted to roll his eyes. He crossed his arms and glared at the demon.
“Crowley,” Dean said in way of acknowledgement. What else was he supposed to say?
The demon took a step toward him. There was a grin on Crowley’s face. Dean didn’t like it. He wanted to step back, almost did purely on reflex. He caught himself and stood still, arms still crossed. Still tense. Dean exhaled a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
“So this is it,” Dean finally said, the silence weighing too heavily. He saw the demon pause, one eyebrow going up as if to ask, ‘elaborate’. Dean wanted to laugh, his lips quirking up into a half grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “End of the line for me. My soul’s been damned to hell. To you. I died, Crowley. So you get me. Ain’t that right?” He slowly uncrossed his arms. Extended them out to the demon. Watched as the demon looked at him in something like amusement. Dean didn’t find his damnation particularly amusing however. “What’s so funny, you son of a bitch?”
“Dean, Dean, Dean.” Crowley shook his head but didn’t move. Dean let his hands drift down slowly. The demon’s smirk was infuriating. “I’m not here for your soul.” He paused, let the words sink in.
Dean couldn’t keep the surprise off his face. “What?”
“You’re right, half right. You did die,” Crowley said. “But you’re quite alive now.”
“I, uh, I don’t understand,” Dean mumbled peering down at himself again. He looked back up, a mix of confusion and relief in his eyes. Then anger. “Did you bring me back? Why?”
“Moi?” Crowley gestured to himself. “You’re giving me far too much credit, squirrel. I don’t have that kind of juice. At least not without a little bargaining.”
“Then who? Or what?” Dean asked, suspicion in his voice.
Crowley’s smirk widened, like that was what he was waiting to hear. He gestured to Dean’s arm. “See for yourself, darling.”
Dean almost groaned. Of course. He looked down, slowly rolling up his sleeve. Part of him dreaded what he was going to see. Part of him almost forgot about it. The mark. His breath hitched as he saw the pulsing mark given to him by Cain. The damn thing was still on him. There like something awful. Something evil. Dean pushed his sleeve back down to cover it. The mark prevented death, or revived him. Dean was almost nervous as another thought jumped into the forefront of his mind. What was he now? Unkillable? Was he still human? Could he still be stopped somehow?
As if reading his mind, Crowley took another step forward and suddenly he was just a foot away. Dean could reach out and grab him if he really wanted to. He could punch him til he was black and blue. The mark seemed to pulse and Dean unconsciously gripped his arm. Crowley’s smirk slipped a little. Damn. The demon must have noticed. Surprisingly the demon didn’t move.
“So what am I now?” Dean asked, voice strained. “Am I, uh...you know, still human?”
Crowley pulled out a small mirror so that Dean could see his own reflection staring back at him. Dark short hair, green eyes, slightly paler than normal. Seemed everything was in order. Then he blinked. And black eyes looked back at him curiously. Crowley grinned, “What do you think? I must say, black does suit you.”
Dean jumped back in surprise and on reflex, swiped at the mirror. It was just out of reach but flew out of Crowley’s hands anyways and shattered against the wall. He exhaled a sharp breath, looking dumbfounded at Crowley as he muttered, “Holy shit.”
Crowley merely looked at him curiously. Then towards the shattered remains of the mirror. “Interesting.”
Dean couldn’t believe his luck. Seriously. As if it wasn’t bad enough being in hell. Then it got worse when Crowley had to show his ugly, smug face. Then of course Dean learned that not only was he alive, but he somehow turned into a demon thanks to the mark. Fucking great. What else could go wrong?
“So,” Dean said, drumming his fingers on the table. He still couldn’t believe he was having a civil conversation with Crowley in hell. He tried not to dwell on it too much. Looked around the room instead. He saw the throne centered against the back wall. Couldn’t help the snort. Figures they were in Crowley’s throne room. Dean turned back to the demon across from him. Crowley was relaxed in his chair. And wasn’t that something. They worked together so much, the king of hell and a Winchester, they both became so comfortable with each other.
“So?” Crowley echoed, raised an eyebrow to prompt Dean back to the topic at hand. He jerked out of his thoughts. Right.
“So...if I’m alive, what exactly am I doing here?” Dean asked. He tilted back in his chair, staring back at the demon, trying to get a read on him. He soon gave up and sighed. “What do you want?”
Crowley seemed to ponder. Dean tensed. Finally after a moment, the demon quirked his lips into a smile and said, “What do you want, Dean?”
“What?” Dean hadn’t thought about that. He had only woken up a couple hours ago. He thought he was dead. Metatron killed him. Then suddenly he was pulled from the dead against his will and turned into a demon. So of course he didn’t know what he wanted, hadn’t had time to even think about that question. He needed more time to think about it.
“What do you want, Dean?” Crowley repeated. Looked like he was enjoying this game he was playing with Dean. Enjoying watching the hunter battling internally with himself. Because Dean had no idea and Crowley knew that. He leaned over the table, elbows pressing against the top. Still relaxed. “I may have a little proposition for you.”
“Proposition?” Dean asked, more interested than he wanted to let on. “What kind of proposition?” He was just going to hear him out. Dean was too curious for his own good.
“A kind of partnership. Now hear me out, squirrel. You need me,” Crowley said. It was a bold statement and Dean couldn’t help but stare at the demon, wondering if he actually said that. Still Crowley hurried on. “We need each other,” he corrected. “The mark is going to want to be kept...satiated, and I may need some help ruling hell. Look. You don’t have to give your answer now.” Before Dean could open his mouth and answer, Crowley leaned back and stood up. “I’ll let you take the day to think it over. See you in the morning.” Then he was gone. Just like that.
Dean was alone in the throne room, just his thoughts for company. He paced, wondering how he fell so low to even consider a partnership with a demon. And not just any demon. He wanted to laugh. This was Crowley. The demon who double crossed him time and time again. The demon who worked together with Cas, his friend and angel, behind the brothers’ backs. Who lied to Sam about resurrecting him from the cage and threatened him with his soul time and time again so they would do his dirty work in collecting alphas.
Dean blinked. Sam. Cas. He hadn’t thought about them all day. His mouth twitched. How had he nearly forgotten about Sam and Cas? He looked down at himself. That wasn’t the only strange thing. He just now registered he hadn’t been hungry either. Crowley didn’t offer him food. Dean sighed. This whole being a demon was going to take a while for him to get used to. He walked back to the table. Sat back down. Tapped his fingers.
There was some excess amount of energy swirling in him, trapped, trying to get out. It was menacing. Dark. The mark started to hum lightly. He could feel it. Dean looked at the door, the only exit. It was shut. Probably locked. Crowley wouldn’t want him to escape until he said yes to the proposition. Dean didn’t care about it though. Not really. He laid a hand on the table. Concentrated on the door. For almost a full minute nothing happened. Dean was about to give up.
But then...the door started to shake. The ground trembled. Like an earthquake. Then suddenly the door flung open, slamming against the wall. Dean stood up. The ground stopped trembling and the door hung just barely on its hinges. He walked over, slowly, on shaking legs. Did he do that? The mark seemed to respond to the power he released. The hum became a dull ache and Dean could almost ignore it.
Then suddenly he doubled over in unexpected pain. He fell to his knees. The mark pulsed even more. His hand went immediately to clutch the mark. What the hell?
“Going somewhere?”
Son of a bitch. Gritting his teeth, Dean looked up to glare at Crowley. His eyes widened when he noticed what the smug bastard had in one hand. It was a small box but both Dean and Crowley knew what was in it. Before Dean knew what he was doing, he was reaching out for the box. He needed it. The mark needed it.
Searing pain shot through him before he could register was lying on his side. Crowley’s leg extended like he’d kicked him. “You, bitch,” Dean spat. He tried to get up but Crowley kicked in his stomach again. “Give me the damn blade!”
Crowley crouched down beside him. Dean badly wanted to wipe the smug look off his face but he couldn’t summon the energy to do so. Huh. That was weird. “Isn’t it interesting, squirrel? The one thing that makes you an unstoppable monster is also your Achilles' heel?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t have the strength to take me on. At least not yet. You don’t feed, you’ll remain weak,” Crowley said. He stood back up, looking down at Dean with something akin to pity. Dean hated that look. He tried to get up again but it was hard to concentrate when the mark was trying to call to the blade. And if Crowley could also shut up too...that’d be nice. “See? You need me, Dean. And you need this blade.” Dean tried not to let Crowley’s taunt get to him. But everything was too noisy. He launched up, snarling, trying to grab the box.
Crowley flung him back against the nearest wall. Dean’s head hit the wall hard. The room was spinning. Dean groaned, gripped his head. He spat out blood. “Fuck you,” Dean murmured.
“Come now, Dean,” Crowley said, walking over to him. He crouched back down in front of Dean, gripped his chin tightly in one hand. Dean glared back defiantly. “We’re practically besties.”
Dean just spat in his face. He flashed the demon a grin that was all teeth and blood. “Give me the blade and we’ll see about that.”