#unicorngem

He tried to make a pointed turn away from him but he nearly fell over. Dean shook his head, hard. “No. No, Crowley, that’s not what’s goin’ on. I don’t wanna kill you, I don’t wanna put my hands on you like that, and I...I don’t wanna stay away anymore.”

“Why not? Worked splendidly before, didn’t it?” He challenged, eyes hard, words daggers intent on hurting. “You make a pretty decent coward, Dean, I’ve taught you well.” He poured another glass.

“You think you’ve had enough of that?” Dean asked, gesturing weakly to the bottle. Crowley glared at him.

“Don’t think you can tell me what to do. I was the nagging wife in this relationship anyway, and you know-you know I’m not going to be bossed around by someone whose entire wardrobe is a cotton-polyester blend so get fucked!” He waved his hand and the door burst open. Dean didn’t move. “Get out!”

“No!” Dean took a step toward him, staring at him. “What’s wrong with you, huh? What’s the matter, why you drinkin’ like that?”

“My good looks are such a burden I need a break now and then,” he simpered. Dean rolled his eyes.

Crowley’s shoulders were tensed, like relaxing them would hurt. His eyes were almost unfocused and far away, dancing back and forth between memory and Dean being here in front of him. He watched the King seat himself in a lavish leather chair, a throne away from throne, stiffly and unevenly. He was trying to look laid back and serene when he was anything but.

The room itself was a testament to the torment lying under the layers of tailored Armani and silk. From outside of it, it looked just fine, but inside was a terrible mess and Crowley was doing his best to pretend it wasn’t even there.

Dean stepped closer still, and Crowley’s tension grew. “I told you what’s wrong, now fuck off!” He spat. Dean shook his head again.

“No. No, not this time. I’m not gonna walk away from you again.” Once he was closer, Dean could see him a little better, see the sparkling green and brown in his eyes, and how bloodshot they were, the rawness of the outside, his dark circles. He’d been crying.

Crowley pressed himself back in the chair as far as he would go, Dean being just in front of him now. “What?” He demanded. “What’ll you do if I don’t talk to you? Get those fancy handcuffs and lock me up some more? Keep me like a pet to take out and play whenever you want?”

“That’s not what that was, and you know it,” Dean grunted, staring at him. His hands were clenched, jaw flexing repeatedly. “Can I just- Tell you what I wanna tell you?” He said stiffly, not looking at him.

Crowley waved his hand in some sort of approval. Dean swallowed.

“What I said to you before, it wasn’t true. I was scared and drunk on...on whatever the hell I was at that moment and I shouldn’t have done or said any of it. The time I spent with you, the solid, just us time this past summer was...was some of the greatest of my life. I’ve never felt more like myself, I’ve never felt more accepted and wanted...And I’ve never seen you smile so much.” Crowley scoffed and looked away.

“But that’s not the important part,” Dean assured. “Demon Me did, well, what a fuckin’ demon with this mark would do, it’s just how it is but… But I didn’t fix it after.” Crowley peered at him, slightly more interested. “I didn’t call you and tell you I was sorry. I didn’t say that, that I missed your voice, I just listened to a saved message on my phone like some morbid ex that can’t get over themselves. I didn’t grow the fuck up and take responsibility for what I did, or fight to keep you with me. I should’ve.

“You-you’re a pain in the ass, I gotta tell ya, but you’re...You’re kinda the best thing to happen to me, Crowley. And I fucked up,” his voice broke a little. “I fucked up and now you, you’ve been here all alone and taking your shit out on antiques instead of being able to talk to someone that supports you and that’s not fair.

“None of this was fair for me to do and I know I waited too long to come talk to you.” Crowley was looking at him head on now. “And I keep-” He laughed a little, running his hand over his face to keep himself together. “I keep wondering how your day is. What’s goin’ on, if you ever killed that assistant that always messes up your coffee like you said or what-what tie you were wearin’ or if you’d found someone else, if you even missed me at all-”

“I did,” Crowley whispered. Dean stared at him. “I...I missed you.” He swallowed. “You, uh, kept all this…” He gestured to the room. “Away. Or made it manageable. And then, you fucked up.” His eyes darkened a little. “So FUCK OFF!” He tried to stand quickly and throw him out, but he cried out in pain mid-roar and collapsed back down into the chair.

“Whoa, Crowley, hey!” Dean knelt in front of him, right in front of this stand-in throne, and searched his face, tried to meet his eyes or at least find the source. He held his shoulders gently, and slowly, Crowley grabbed onto his. “What’s wrong, huh?” Dean asked gently. “What hurts?”

“Just go, it doesn’t m-matter,” he slurred. Dean could smell his cologne this close, mingled with sulfur and alcohol and his skin and he felt more at home than he had in months. “I said go!” That wasn’t an order, that was a plea.

“Not a chance. What’s wrong? Who hurt you, did you hurt you?” He asked, afraid of that answer. He moved his hands further down his arms and realized. They were wet.

He looked at them, at the pink over his palms. Blood. “Crowley, you’re bleeding! Lemme-”

~*~

Screams echoed through the unholy church, every part of it black and dripping with the evil that had been performed there. Candles everywhere, wax everywhere, blood stained so deeply into the walls it appeared they’d been painted with it.

The altar the Demon King was strapped tied down to was filthy, coated in centuries of flesh, marrow, blood and whatever squished bile that hadn’t been cleaned off. His chest throbbed where he’d already been branded and now he was chained to this thing, wrists straining as he fought against them.

This wasn’t what she said she wanted, she didn’t say this is what it was going to be. A blood sacrifice from your first born for a power a boost was not in the agenda.

She chanted and carved, sang Brahm’s lullaby in between the parts of the spell. He cried so hard, the energy she took from him draining his strength.

He’d trusted her.

He’d let himself be vulnerable to her.

This was his fault.

This ache in his heart, this twist and vice that made his stomach roll was his doing. He loathed his own pathetic screams and cries, the desperate way he still leaned into her hand when she touched his hair, god he hated himself so much for every fucking second of this.

He screamed again, arching back and trembling.

“Mother, please!” He sobbed, tearing at the cuffs. “PLEASE!”

~*~

Crowley jerked away from him with a grunt, keeping his eyes pointedly on the floor. “Leave me alone.”

“Cause that’s been workin’ out great so far,” he snorted, gesturing to the room around them. Crowley glared at him. Dean softened.

“Please, let me help,” he whispered. “You don’t gotta forgive me or anything but at least let me help.”

Reluctantly, Crowley shrugged out of his suit jacket, the blood much more obvious now that Dean could see his shoulders and where they were wet with it.

Dean gently slid the tie from his neck, a small, intimate gesture that had become habit since they started seeing each other. Crowley paused, staring down at him, watching his rough fingers make delicate movements he remembered thinking Dean wasn’t capable of.

Those same fingers worked open the silver buttons on his shirt, one by one until Crowley took it off as well, definitely not looking at him now.

They were sigils, Dean realized. And they weren’t just on his shoulders, they stretched all the way down his back and there was a big brand in the middle of his chest.

The carvings were deep, showing muscle and bone in certain places, his flesh covered in what no doubt must have been some ritual Crowley had participated in.

However, the welts on his wrists from being tied down told Dean it wasn’t a voluntary thing. He scowled, his bright eyes filled with anger so hot it rivaled Hellfire. He tensed, his jaw tightening.

“What happened?” He forced, his voice rough and strained. “Who touched you, who the fuck did this?!” He was sneering, his cheek twitching in rage and though it wasn’t the right moment Crowley was touched by the expression. That face was usually reserved for Sam and protecting Sam, but not right now. He shook his head to do away with his smugness and to answer Dean, who scowled harder.

“Crowley, I can’t help if you don’t talk to me, I can’t make someone pay for touching you if I don’t know who they are, tell-”

“You can’t kill her.” Not a bark, not a scoff, no cynicism in his tone, just Crowley pleading in a soft little rumble. “I can’t let you do that, Dean.”

“Why?!” He exclaimed, looking at the horrible marks on Crowley’s skin. They were in a damned language he’d been able to read as a demon but the meanings were lost to him now. Not that it mattered, he knew it was fucking horrible at least.

Crowley’s lips shook, taking all the rage from Dean in a second. “B-because she’s my mother.”

Dean stared at him, eyes wide, shaking his head a little. “You’re…? I don’t understand, I thought-”

“She went to Hell, she became a demon and now she’s out and…” He shifted a little, curling into himself.

Still on his knees, Dean turned his chin, looking at him steadily. “It’s okay,” he whispered. Crowley shook his head.

“No. No, I’m…I’m a bloody fool. I’m weak and I should have known she’d do this. She didn’t mean anything she said! She doesn’t want me, she never wanted me! She wanted me to die in a ditch covered in my own sick, and I did! She wanted me to fall for all the shit she was feeding me about family and love so I’d do what she asked and I did!” He stared at Dean, voice breaking just a little. “I don’t want a family anymore, Dean. I don’t.”

Dean sat up a little, taking his face between his hands. “Crowley, this ain’t what a family is. Families don’t do shit like this to each other, not good ones! You think Bobby ever told Sam or me if we couldn’t do somethin’ we were worthless and he wouldn’t love us anymore? Hell no, but you can be damn sure my Dad did. And if, if your mom did this to you, then she ain’t your family either.”

“I don’t need one,” Crowley hissed, trying to convince himself, not Dean. “I don’t need anyone, I’m the king of fucking Hell, I don’t need anyone to care for me!”

He broke down, covering his face and bending over to hide a little more, the injuries on his back that much worse for it. His wounded shoulders trembled and Dean’s chest ached.

The hunter swallowed and lifted Crowley’s face, eyes pained, voice soft and kind. “But you deserve it. You deserve to be loved, Crowley.” The demon king was shaking, looking at him with such disbelief.

“You don’t mean that-”

“I do,” Dean pressed, taking one of his hands. “I mean...I love you, so there’s your proof right there.”

“You don’t. You don’t love me, don’t say that, don’t- Don’t hurt me like that, I know you don’t! Don’t fucking lie to me!” He accused. God, he was so broken and it tore Dean’s heart just to hear his wavering tone and know he truly didn’t believe it.

“I love you,” he repeated, holding Crowley’s face and kissing him very gently. “And I’m so sorry I left you.”

Crowley gripped his shoulders in tight hands, shaking all over, trying to find the lie in the elder Winchester’s face.

He crumpled against him, clinging to him and ignoring the pain he felt when he did. He cried into his shoulder, arms wrapped around him tight as they could go. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, if this is a lie, if you’re lying just to get something from me, tell me now. I don’t want to pretend, Dean, I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

Tears burning in his eyes Dean hugged him closer, holding the back of his head and looking down at the carnage on Crowley’s body. “I’m not lyin’,” he promised. “I’m not. I love you. I’m not enough, I’m not what you deserve, but I do love you.”

“Oh, shut up, you needy shit,” Crowley teased, not letting him go.

They cried together for awhile, Dean’s tears silent while Crowley’s body shook with the pain that radiated from the inside out.

When he’d calmed down enough, Dean started to patch him up.

Callused fingers were soft and caring on Crowley’s skin, bandages placed over each mark with tenderness and caution. Crowley muttered several times that they’d go away soon enough, all of his injuries, and they didn’t even hurt that much. Dean knew what hidden pain looked like and knew he was full of shit but he didn’t say anything about that.

They were lying down soon enough, Dean cradling him against his chest and holding him through the night, whispering apologies and praises over and over again. He didn’t stop all night, and Crowley didn’t tell him to.

Just as the sun was peeking through the windows, the demon pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“I’m trying to see my boyfriend on Christmas, is that okay with you?” He grunted. Crowley’s expression smoothed.

“Sorry?”

Dean looked around to the tree, which had presents underneath it. “I wanted to spend some time with you, it’s Christmas.” He bent and picked up one of the clumsily wrapped boxes and offered it to him.

Crowley took a half-step toward him. “Is this a trick?” He asked, always cautious, always careful with his own heart and emotions. After being lied to and used so many times Dean would never blame him for his suspicions, especially after they had ended things.

The hunter shook his head. “No. No tricks. No lies, no deceit, no nothing. Just a present. And me.”

Crowley scowled again. “I haven’t forgiven you,” he reminded petulantly. Dean smiled a little. Crowley was cute when he pouted.

“I’m not askin’ you to forgive me, babe. I’m askin’ you to open your presents.”

Crowley would never turn down gifts if that was what they really were, and carefully took the box from him.

He sat on the bed and opened it carefully. He blushed immediately, picking up the thick, rich leather collar with a big leather C carved elegantly into the side, a silver ring to be tugged around by on the front. He stared at it, running his fingers over it, swallowing.

“Oh…” He breathed, looking at him. “Really? For me?” Dean grinned.

“Of course it’s for you. Just for you,” he assured. “C’mon, you got more.”

A warm, thick black sweater was in the next one, knitted and elegant and lush and all the things he craved. He put it on without saying a word  and hugged himself a little.

The next was a set of new handkerchiefs engraved with his initials, red and black this time.

“Dean,” he whispered, looking up at him. “You… you did all of this? For me?”

Dean shrugged. “I made some dinner too.” There were tupperware containers on the dresser. “If you were hungry?”

Crowley stared at him. “I thought....I thought we weren’t...I just didn’t-”

“I’ve been trying to call you for months,” he explained. “I...my feelings for you didn’t go away. And what I said to you, how I treated you, was horrible. And I’m...sorry, Crowley. I’m so sorry.”

Crowley shifted a little again, looking up at him. “I got you a present too,” he whispered.

A package appeared in his hands and he pushed it into Dean’s.

It was a picture of them. Framed and everything for his room. The frame was rich, the picture of them wonderful.

They were hugging, cheeks pressed together with Crowley looking smug that Dean was so close and Dean was just happy as could be to be near him. “It was either that or the cowboy hat one.”

Dean laughed, touching it carefully. “It’s great, Crowley. Really. I know right where I’ll put it okay?”

“Even if...if Sam could see?” He asked gently. Dean smiled.

“Sam knows. He’s known.”

Crowley looked at him, wrapping his arms around him gently and clinging to him. His. Dean was his, entirely his and he wasn’t going to share him anymore. “I still haven’t forgiven you,” he grunted.

Dean nodded. “I didn’t ask you to,” he assured. “Take your time with it, okay?”

Crowley leaned his face into Dean’s chest while Dean hugged him close, feeling the soft and warm sweater on Crowley’s body.

“If you wanted, you could come to the bunker with me for Christmas dinner? Sam wouldn’t mind. He’s there with Charlie and Cas-”

“That’s for your family,” Crowley said immediately. “Not somewhere for me.”

Dean frowned. “Crowley, what do you are?”

“What?” He asked, confused. Dean sighed.

“Crowley, you are family.”

Crowley stared at him, touching his shoulder still. “I...am?” He asked, whispering as if he didn’t believe it. Dean laughed.

“All the shit we’ve been through, all the times you saved my ass without even knowing, what you’ve done for Sam and Cas, I… how could you not be family, sweetheart?” He asked, cupping his face.

Crowley had that distanced look on his face, the pained one, and he was thinking about something terrible that Dean had missed or hadn’t realized yet. He kissed him gently.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You belong with me. With us. I promise you do.”

Crowley kissed him again, harder, and clung to him.

Dean hadn’t said it, but he loved him. And Crowley knew that now, he knew Dean loved him. Even after all those things he said. Crowley loved him too, but he might not ever say it.

Oh well.

He had a family, of sorts, and he had somewhere to fit in. Right beside Dean at the big table in the bunker with the rest of them.

No yelling, no accusing, no chains, no devil’s traps, just laughing and eating and everything nice. And Dean.

There was Dean.

Crowley turned his head and kissed Dean’s cheek right there in front of everyone. Dean just smiled and everything carried on so well. It was perfect.