Entry tags:

crowley

WHO: Crowley
WHAT: Recovering after the worst father/son time ever
WHEN: Thanksgiving, afternoon
WHERE: His house. Well, his second house. Stupid burning down of his main one.
RATING: Rated for mentions of torture
STATUS: Narrative: COMPLETE
[Cut text lyrics: ‘Dance with the Devil’ Breaking Benjamin]

Nine days.

That was how long he had been held for. Nine very long days, of being cut into over and over again. The bloody annoying thing about being a demon was even though the host was human, the power of the possession would keep them alive. And Lucifer had held him in place, kept him from smoking out and jumping to another body. He had been trapped in the literary agent he had been wearing for decades and forced to endure the torture, sharp pain interspersed with honeyed words, trying to seduce him back into a loyalty he’d never truly had in the first place.

Crowley had assumed no one was going to come for him. It was a reasonable assumption really, after all he had specifically told Kol not to come after him if Lucifer did take him, and while the demon had wondered for the first couple of days if the vampire was going to be stubborn, by the time the third day rolled around, he figured that actually this was it. He’d rolled the dice, played his cards and he had lost.

Well. Fuck.

He’d been wrong though, and the cavalry had come swooping in, very dramatic like, and if Crowley had been able to actually keep his head up and eyes open for any length of time, he would have been impressed. As it was, he focused on using his power to keep his insides from falling out too much, as he was seemingly flown and then deposited at the Winchesters house.

Which had a weird atmosphere in it. Unsurprisingly, the instant he felt enough of his power returned to teleport, he did so, blinking out of existence there and reappearing at his own house. Well, his second house. It really was a shame about his favorite place being burned to the ground, he had developed something of a collection of interesting things in there. All lost to the flames now, which was oddly fitting since a few chunks of his flesh had gone the same way.

Pup had nearly bowled him over when he had arrived, showing a remarkable amount of affection for a hellhound, seeming to have missed his master. Crowley petted the invisible animal tiredly, before collapsing on his couch, tensely waiting to find out just what in the name of fucking hell had actually happened. Kol had appeared not long after that, and Crowley had felt an intense relief at seeing him in one piece, gripping onto him as he yanked the vampire down for a fierce kiss. It wore him out, admittedly, but was worth it.

Eventually, he had the energy to get his computer, to read through what he had missed. Moriarty was dead. Well, at least that part had worked. One less irritant to annoy him. Lucifer was taunting on the boards, and people were getting cocky, which was utterly foolish of course. He was Lucifer, he would make those who annoyed him suffer. Crowley was proof of that. He couldn’t deny the stab of fear at the idea of defeating Lucifer somehow sending Kol back to his death. That just wasn’t allowed to happen, not now. Not when he had grown far too attached to the other man, and had even been rescued by him.

And he saw what Winchester said about him. That he wasn’t worth getting, no good reason to put any of them at risk for him. Crowley was actually surprised at the flash of hot anger he felt when he read that. Obviously, he had known that there was no chance of the Moose actually coming to help him, it was have been stupidity of the highest order. But actively telling others not to go? Wanting to leave him there to rot? That was just cold. And after Crowley had saved the kid from Maleficent and everything.

Still, there was a Thanksgiving dinner to prepare for, because apparently the Mikaelsons in all their crazy still wanted him to go. The family who had actually come to rescue him, well, it would just be bad form not to attend. It took him an embarrassingly long time, but he eventually made it up the stairs, stripping off and all but pouring himself into the shower. He turned the water up hot, not quite fires of Hell hot, but enough to make the steam fill the bathroom remarkably quickly. For a long while he just stood there, braced against the stream of water, letting the blood wash away from him. Some of the wounds were starting to heal over, others needed to be cleaned before the flesh could repair. The heat of the water was helping to wash out the remnants of Holy Water still burning at his insides. The hard bit would be the grains of rock salt. He could feel them still scratching at his flesh, against his organs. No other way to get them out, and they would grate at him unless he did. So he gritted his teeth and started to dig his fingers into the open wounds, feeling around for all the grains still in there. Even with the bracing himself, he couldn’t quite stop the hiss turned snarl of pain as the wounds began to bleed again and the rock salt felt like fire as he pulled them out, one by one. Finally, it was done, and he could feel the wounds preparing to close up. It would take several hours yet, maybe even days, but at least now they’d be able to close without leaving the toxic poisons inside. A few more minutes under the hot water, feeling the last of the blood wash away, before he turned off the shower, shakily climbing out, wrapping a towel around his waist, and making his way to his bed.

It was irritating how much even that simple act had drained him of so much energy. Crowley laid out on the bed, trying to regain enough strength to even think about clothes. At least if he made it as far as the Mikaelsons, there would be Craig. Glencraig, aged 30 years. Caroline had promised him some, and the blonde was a vampire of her word. And champagne. And possibly rum and brandy, and any other alcohol he could get his demonic hands on, since he most strongly suspected that for the next few nights, he would be needing to drink himself to some kind of stupor. The wounds still ached too much.