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He was convinced he had given up when he raised the blade to kill himself. After all, his son is dead (and that still hurts much more than he’d thought it would, since they hated each other when he’d been human), his mother is dead (he still stands by the fact that he’d have ended up killing her eventually, but it hurts nonetheless), and probably the only people he’d ever call his friends hate him, Dean punching him in the face the second he appeared in the bunker.
So, yes, suicide in a noble act of self-sacrifice to rid the world of the devil seemed a good way to go. Certainly not a shabby end to his story.
Crowley only forgot to take one thing into account, and that’ the fact that he’s a stubborn bastard, always has been, always will be, and so he wakes up in the Empty.
It doesn’t make any sense. He always assumed angels and demons simply stopped to exist when they were killed, but no, here he is in the never-ending darkness, walking because he has nothing else to do.
Can’t the Empty at least have a one decent bar? Considering he just rid his universe of Lucifer, he is of the opinion that he is entitled to more than this big.... nothing in his afterlife.
“No, I refuse. Not another one.”
He stands still. He knows that voice.
He turns around and sees... himself. Or at least the meat suit he’s been wearing for so long now that he considers it part of his identity.
“Another one?” he asks because frankly, any company in this place that doesn’t study him like they want to kill him all over again is good enough for him at this point.
The thing with his face rolls his eyes. “I had to send that annoying angel back to earth after he started whining about these Winchesters...”
There’s only one angel who would face an ancient entity to get back to the boys.
Castiel.
Crowley’s heart sinks even as he realizes this means Cas is back on earth because it also means he died. How? Why? This was exactly the sort of thing his own death was supposed to prevent.
“You know what” it decides, “If you don’t go back to sleep on your own you can stay here I have my methods to keep far away from you vermin at least”.
In the next moment it’s gone.
There’s nothing but darkness around him again. Crowley sighs. The least this thing could do is to give him some more answers.
At least Cas made it back to earth. He’ll look after the boys.
He could just go back to sleep, but the idea seems so... pathetic for someone who ruled Hell and faced Satan, God, God’s sister, Death, and whatever else the Winchester fought in the years since they met.
It’s almost a matter of pride to keep walking.
And maybe, if he finds the entity again, he will get the answers he’s looking for.
So he starts searching.
Crowley soon realizes the Empty is not solid. Despite the fact he can see and hear nothing, the darkness around him keeps changing, swirling around. It’s all bloody confusing.
But he’s got work to do.
Really, if this pathetic wannabe has nothing to tell him after all, he might just take over. The powers of millions of dead angels and demons must linger here somewhere.
What he could do with that...
“Jesus, you have literally been moving around here for months” the Empty version of himself complains, appearing in front of him. “Aren’t you tired?”
He is. Mentally, at least – he highly doubts a non-physical body can be exhausted. Furthermore, he knows that any tiredness he experiences is part of the Empty, trying to lull him back to rest. But he refuses to give in. He’s come too far.
“I assure you, I have no intention of stopping.”
“First the angel, now you – what is it about the Winchesters?”
“They are denim-wrapped nightmares, but they’re very efficient” he answers.
It grins. Crowley can’t help but think that if that is the expression he usually wears when he goes after his victims, he’s a rather unsettling sight.
“But that’s not all, is it?” It steps up to him, but he refuses to move away. “You’re just like the angel. You care about them. You think they’re your friends. And perhaps... there is even more.”
He chooses not to answer. He’s not here to play infantile games.
“Oh, just go back to sleep” it says. “There’s nothing for you anywhere, either here or back there. I have been in your head; I have seen every pathetic piece of your demon mind. He doesn’t care about you. He’s glad you’re dead.”
Crowley refuses to think about the older Winchester. That is all in the past, and furthermore it’s complicated.
He’d rather think of a way out. Because it has become rather clear to him that whatever stubborn streak refuses to allow him to give up is not going anywhere.
“I don’t think so” he says casually.
Its eyes narrow. “What do you think – “
“Listen to me. The one thing I can say you have is good taste, but that won’t save you. Because I’m here, and I’m not going to sleep. In fact, I’m going nowhere –“
“Well then, enjoy it! I already made one exception – I am not going to make another.”
And Crowley’s flung all across the Empty.
It’s only the second time he’s picked himself up from what he would have called the floor here, and he already had enough of it.
But now he’s furious as well. How dare this little scumbag.
He’s definitely going to get out of here.
Time to get active. Just walking will do him no good. What about those powers?
All these demons and angels, fast asleep. He can’t see them; they might as well be on another plane of existence all together, but if so, there has to be a way to get to them. After all, he woke up.
Not that he wants that. He’d rather not meet any of the angels and demons he ganked again. But he needs the power.
He doesn’t know how long it takes him. Time is of no essence here in the Empty, and at least it doesn’t show up to annoy him anymore.
He suspects it has to do with him having sat down and closed his eyes. It probably thinks he went back to sleep.
It couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s slowly working through the layers that surround him, searching, biding his time...
He stumbles across the solution quite unexpectedly. He was following a pattern hoping it would lead him to something like a door or a hint where he should be focusing his attention, but instead, some unknown power touched his.
And then it wasn’t unknown anymore.
“You may rule Hell, but don’t interfere with Heaven. Otherwise I will smite you.”
“I understood the first ten times you explained it. So, do we have a deal or don’t we? Clock’s ticking.”
Raphael.
Thankfully there does appear to be no consciousness attached to the powers. The archangel is as deeply asleep as everyone else in this place except for Crowley.
It is tempting to try and draw the power to himself, but the risk of ending up like Cassie when he absorbed the souls from Purgatory is too back. Much as he doesn’t want to admit it, an archangel simply has too much mojo for a demon.
No, he needs other demons, normal ones, whose powers he can channel for as long as he needs to get out of here.
Crowley decides to be especially careful and ignore any demon he knows or even killed. Chances are they would wake up and still have a bone to pick with him.
He chooses the low-key powers of many simple, black-eyed demons, knowing he can take them any day; but put together...
He can feel himself growing stronger and grins into the Darkness.
Realizing he’s not alone anymore, he opens his eyes. The mockery of himself is standing in front of him, fuming. “What are you doing? This is not – you aren’t – this shouldn’t be possible!”
But it doesn’t attack. That can only mean he’s already strong enough to take it, or it’s unsure how powerful he is. Either way, he has to take his chance.
He gets up, swaying a little. His newfound capabilities are making him feel a little giddy and uncertain on his feet, almost as he remembers being drunk was like so long ago, but he still strolls up to the Empty confidently.
“Hello again.”
It’s glaring at him. “Look at what you’ve done! You’ve made a mess out of everything, and once you have gone back to sleep I’ll have to fix – “
“You still didn’t get the memo, I see. So I will tell you once again: I am not going back to sleep. Ever.”
He raises his hand and punches himself in the face with all his might. It feels better than he’d like it to. The Empty flies across the waste space, coming down with a loud thud. “That hurt.”
“Oh yes it did. You bet it did. And this is just the beginning.”
He slowly makes his way over to the whiny ancient entity. “I am going to build this place up according to my tastes, not yours. Don’t worry, you can stay. I’ll need something to torture in order to relax...”
He could actually do it, he’s aware, but what would be the point? He’s technically dead, for God’s sake, he night as well admit to himself that just like Feathers he has been hopelessly winchestered and will always end up near the boys again, no matter what he does.
No. Better to annoy this thing until it sends him away.
To prove a point, he punches it again, smiling as it sails through the air. He really could have used those powers when he was still trying to cling unto his throne.
That’s the moment the Empty finally snaps however, getting up and throwing his hands in the air. “I am not dealing with this. You won’t change a thing! You want to have a world so badly, take your old one, you horned menace!”
And with that, Crowley is thrown back to earth rather violently.
He wakes up at night in a field in the middle of nowhere. But at least it is earth, and he soon finds that it’s America, too. Jackpot.
It’s not too difficult to figure out where the boys are. Just find the nearest supernatural occurrence and they’re sure to look into it.
Soon enough, he’s standing in a small town that’s currently being prayed on by a lamia, if he’s correct, and why shouldn’t he be. It’s still night – not yet one am – and he could look for the motel the boys are sure to use or –
Seems like there’s only one bar in town.
Well then.
Sure enough, Dean’s right there, nursing a beer.
He could of course take a subtle approach, but he has just escaped the Empty, he is still brimming with the unfamiliar demon powers, and quite frankly, he needs a drink.
So in the end, he simply strolls up to the hunter and sits down next to him. “Squirrel.”
Dean, to his credit, doesn’t even jump. He simply turns to look at him, his eyes narrowing the only sign that he’s processing the sight in front of him. “Crowley?”
“In the flesh.”
Dean shifts a little in his seat, allowing him to bump into Crowley. “Hm. Not a hallucination or a ghost, at least.”
“Correct. The Empty...”
“Let me guess: you annoyed it into letting you go, too?”
“Sort of.”
Dean nods, then turns to the bartender. “One glass of Craig for my friend here, please.”
“That’s it?” he asks, a little surprised. After all the last time they met, Dean immediately went in for the punch.
“If you want. I mean – wait, just to be clear, you’re still glad you’re not king anymore, and you’re on our side for now, right?”
“I – I guess so” he says slowly. Look at that. Crowley on the good side. And with no real reason for it, this time.
“Well then.”
His glass of Craig arrives and Dean raises his beer. “Here’s to another win, I say.”
Crowley chooses to take a sip instead of answering.
Because Dean just made it clear that he’s glad he’s back, and for tonight, it is enough.