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At this very moment in the town of Lawrence, Kansas, Fergus Crowley was 45 year, four months, three weeks, two days and 23 minutes old. He was busy chasing down a burglar; not exactly the kind of case he liked the best, but he, like any other creature under the sun, had to pay his bills.
The man had made the mistake to try and escape over the roof; Crowley, agile and quick-thinking, had naturally followed him and would have caught him, if not for the unfortunate and yet inevitable laws of gravity.
Ellsworth Rading was forty-nine years, ten months, three weeks, two hours and forty-seven minutes old and had been burgling houses for most of his adult life. As he was running from the State’s best PI, he contemplated the choices that had brought him here, and decided that once this was over, he would have to rethink his life. Sadly, he wouldn’t be doing any more living after he missed a jump between buildings and fell down fifteen feet, after which his neck got acquainted with the edge of the dumpster standing in the small alleyway.
Crowley knew from the second he jumped that he wouldn’t make it, and that he wouldn’t reach him in time to save him. He only reached the ledge to look down, register the man with the bin who had just entered the alleyway and watch Ellsworth break his neck, wincing as he did so.
There was no doubt that the man was dead.
And then –
Through the force of impact, Ellsworth’s body bounced back from the dumpster and was thrown against the man with the bin.
And suddenly he stood up and started to run against if his neck wasn’t broken.
Crowley stared as the man hastened to follow him and –
Touch him, after which Ellsworth Rading dropped dead again.
The man’s shoulders slumped in relief before he looked up and realized Crowley had been watching the entire thing.
He couldn’t be entirely sure because he was too far away, but he thought he exclaimed “Son of a bitch!”
These were the facts: Dean Winchester was eight years, four months and thirteen hours old. His little brother Sam, four years, one month, eight days and 57 minutes old, had been gifted a puppy for his last birthday, a puppy he called Lancelot after the book Dean always read to him while their parents looked on proudly.
Lancelot the puppy was four months, three days, 2 hours and 11 minutes old, and he wasn’t destined to get older. Sam was taking a nap in the late afternoon, and Dean was reading a Batman comic while their mother was doing the laundry. It really was no one’s fault that Lancelot got away, the door just happened to be unlocked.
Because Dean’s room faced the street, he was the one to hear the accident, and he raced downstairs to find Lancelot dead on the pavement in front of their home.
Thinking only of how sad Sammy would be, he let himself sink down to his knees and reached out a hand to gently touch Lancelot, who sat up as if nothing had happened, barked and ran back into the house.
Dean Winchester wasn’t like the other little boys.
Dean Winchester had just learned that he could bring the dead back to life.
“Let me repeat that” Crowley said carefully. “Your touch brings the dead back to life, and yet you chose to become a pie maker and the owner of a slowly failing bakery.”
“Not so loud, for God’s sake!” Dean hissed. “We’re sitting right in the middle of my restaurant –“
“And it’s empty” he pointed out.
Dean glared at him. “No one asked you to be here ether, you know.”
“Oh, I know, but my chance at collecting the reward for Ellsworth’s arrest is currently lying in the morgue.”
“That’s not my fault! He fell off the roof!”
“Couldn’t you have kept him alive long enough for me to collect my fee?”
This was the moment where Dean should probably have lied, should have told the irritating yet handsome PI that it had been a reflex to touch the burglar again.
Instead, he told him the truth.
“If I had allowed him to live for longer than a minute, someone in close vicinity to him would have died. And that includes the possibility of you passing on, so –“
“I see” Crowley interrupted him. “So you can bring back the dead back to life for one minute or you kill someone else. You must be real fun at parties.”
Dean stiffened. “I don’t go to parties.”
“Or anywhere else, really” a cheerful voice interrupted them. “Or talk to anyone voluntarily, ever. So who are you, mister, and do I have to threaten you not to –“
“Charlie” he said tiredly to the red-haired waitress who had apparently shown up out of nowhere, “This is Crowley.”
The man had steadfastly refused to tell Dean his first name. Not that it mattered. The sooner he got him out of here, the better.
“Hi, I’m Charlie!” she grinned.
He nodded.
“Since you are here, and you’re obviously a friend of Dean’s, you have to try our pecan pie!”
With these words she all but bounced to the back, despite Crowley’s protest that he didn’t care much for sweets.
“Does she knows?” he asked as soon as she was out of earshot.
Dean shook his head. “No, and I want it to stay that way.”
“Don’t worry, I am not going to tell anyone I met a pie maker who happens to be Jesus.”
“I am not Jesus. Jesus had control over who he brought back.”
“So do you, you can choose who to touch –“
“Yes, and I choose not to touch anyone” Dean replied firmly.
Crowley raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“If someone has such strong principles, there’s normally a story behind it.”
“Which you will never hear.”
“I never said I wanted to, but it is certainly good to know there is one.”
Dean didn’t meet his eyes.
The story the Pie Maker didn’t want to tell and the PI believe he didn’t want to hear began two years, seven months, nine days and five hours after Dean had brought Lancelot back to live.
The puppy had grown and been in the best health since, even though Dean had noticed he never came to close to him anymore. But he was Sam’s dog anyway; there was no reason for Dean to touch him.
Mary Winchester had been grocery shopping, and had brought home a pie for her eldest son. But at the moment she unpacked it, an aneurism in her head burst, killing her instantly.
It was Dean who found his mother ten minutes later.
Some part of him knew that the dead were not supposed to come back to life. But what were he and Sammy and Dad supposed to do without Mom? And Lancelot was doing okay.
He reached out and touched her.
Her eyes blinked open and she sat up. “Oh, did I slip?” She smiled at him. “Who wants some pie?”
And so he sat down to have a cherry pie he wouldn’t eat.
Because in this moment, his father arrived home. Dean, as always, jumped up and rushed to greet him.
John Winchester smiled at his son for what would be the last time, opened his arms – and dropped dead to the floor.
Unknowingly, he had traded his mother’s life for his father’s.
He didn’t get to revive him because the tragic circumstances prevented him from doing so. His mother suddenly came running, tried to get to her husband – and brushed Dean on the way to him.
She died instantly, and despite Dean touching her, stayed dead.
And he knew that this would happen to Dad as well; and that, should he try and save him, someone else would have to die, and the only one in the house was Sammy.
He couldn’t harm Sammy.
So he called 911. His parents had taught him that.
Later that night, their Uncle Bobby came from Sioux Falls to take them away and look after them as best as he could.
Bobby believed that Dean’s withdrawn and taciturn demeanour in the weeks that followed was the natural reaction of a little boy who’d lost both his parents to undiagnosed heart conditions on the same day.
In truth, Dean was contemplating the gift – or, as he was inclined to think, the curse – that had been bestowed on him.
He couldn’t risk bringing anyone else back to live, only for someone else to die, and then for the first person to perish again when they touched him.
He needed to know the rules.
After a few experiments with houseflies, he figured it out: he couldn’t allow anything dead to return for more than a minute if he wanted to avoid the consequences.
The newly orphaned Dean swore to himself that he would never touch a dead thing again, and that he’d never grow too close to anyone unless he’d be tempted to break that solemn oath.
As the years went out, even his brother, after being constantly rebuffed, stopped trying to get close to him; the only one who ever did think he must have his reasons and should be treated with consideration turned out Charlie Bradbury, who he met in High School because she would introduce herself to the quiet boy who so often were Batman t-shirts. And even her he kept at a distance.
And so he became the lonely Pie Maker, owner of Pie Hole, until twenty-one years later, when a dead man fell from the roof.
“What I don’t understand” Crowley began, only to be interrupted by Charlie. “Here’s your pie! Enjoy!” She wandered off and he realized he would actually have to try.
He did.
It was… eatable for something sweet, and that was the highest compliment Crowley had ever bestowed on a pie.
“And?”
“It is not the worst thing I’ve ever eaten” he told Dean. “But really, I told you, I don’t like sweets. Do you –“
“Can’t. The ingredients would rot.”
He understood. “One way to save money, I guess. I still don’t understand why this place is failing, however.”
“If customers fail to –“
“Not what I meant. Like it or not, you have a gift. You might as well put it to good use. I am sure people would pay for the opportunity to say goodbye, even only for a minute –“
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Your loss then. But I do have to point out that quite often, if someone meets a violent end, their loved ones are willing to promise a reward to anyone who can catch the killer.”
“So?” Dean asked, only to realize he had made a mistake when Crowley grinned devilishly.
“So you can help me with that. It’s much easier to solve a murder if you can ask the murdered person who did it.”
“I said no –“
“Oh yes, dear reporters, there IS a man who can bring the dead to live –“
“No one would believe you.”
“Really? There are a lot of crazy people around.”
Dean stared at him. “Are you blackmailing me? You can’t be serious.”
“I assure you, I am always serious when it comes to money. And I will even be generous – we’ll share half and half.”
Dean didn’t have any choice. “Fine, but I don’t have to like it.”
“Oh, it’s quite enough for me that you’re at my back and call because you have to be.”
Crowley grinned again in that unsettling way of his.
That night at his apartment, Dean tried to watch TV, but he was still seething. How dare that guy just show up out of the blue, learn his secret and get away with it? It seem utterly unfair to him.
And, perhaps, in a corner of his mind, he considered it no less unfair that the PI was actually rather attractive when he smiled, even thought it looked devious as well.
Crowley, meanwhile, sitting in his office across town, had no such misgivings.
He also didn’t deny to himself that the Pie Maker was very handsome indeed.
The facts were these: Steven Shoemaker was forty-nine years, ten months, seven hours and 24 minutes old when he had the misfortune to drop dead in his own bathroom, his eyeballs all but exploding.
Mr. Shoemaker left three ex-wives and ten children, so naturally there were disagreements regarding the inheritance.
There was, however, one person in the world who hadn’t cared for his money; and this person was his secretary, who’d been a close friend of his for over twenty years.
Not only grieving for her best friend, but also enraged at one of the comments of the ex-wives suggesting that her and the dead man’s relationship had been more intimate than it actually was, she decided to act by offering a reward.
And where money was, there was a good chance Fergus Crowley, P.I., wasn’t far away.
“Dude” Dean said slowly, closing his eyes, “His face.”
“What about it?” Crowley asked carelessly.
“His eyeballs all but melted” he hissed.
“And?”
“And!? I can barely stand to look at him and you want me to bring him back to life?”
“Oh, is this CNN?” Crowley said, holding his hand up to his ear and mimicking a phone call, “Just imagine what I found –“
“Yeah, yeah, I got it” Dean pressed out through gritted teeth, “But if he starts coughing blood it’s not my fault.”
“Duly noted. Now, if you’d be so kind…”
Dean activated the alarm on his cell phone, set for one minute, and touched Mr. Shoemaker’s hand.
He sat up. “I can’t see!”
“It takes a while to get used to the surroundings after you pass on” Crowley said smoothly. “Don’t worry.”
“Dead? I’m – oh, of course. She poisoned me. Put it in my Diet Coke, never could resist that stuff. Am I going to Heaven?”
“Yes” Dean said quickly, watching the seconds tick by. “Who poisoned you?”
“My ex-wife, of course –“
In this moment, the door opened and Dean quickly touched Mr. Shoemaker, returning him to the state he’d been in.
It was the coroner. “You got everything you need?”
Dean nodded, although that was a lie.
“That was absolutely useless” Crowley commented as they strolled out of the morgue.
“Not completely” Dean argued, “We know that one of his ex-wives killed him.”
“Exactly. There are three of them, and they were always the main suspects. So he told us nothing.”
“What was I supposed to do? Let the doctor see the dead man sitting up and talking to us?”
“You did what you had to do” Crowley acquiesced, surprising him. “But now we have to do this the hard way.”
“It’s your job, and… wait, we?”
“Of course we. You agreed to take on the case, remember?”
“I agreed to touch the corpse!”
An old lady walking by shot him a scandalized look and Dean lowered his voice. “You wanted to talk to him, we did.”
“Need I remind you that –“
“Yeah, yeah, you own me” Dean spat. “I get it.”
“I wouldn’t imply ownership. More… forced company.”
“If you say so. Let’s get this over with.”
Sadly, grieving widows, or would-have-been-if-still-married-widows, are not prone to let people who suspect them of murder into the crime scene.
Sometimes, as Crowley would have said if Dean would have given him the opportunity, you have to improvise.
“Did I mention I don’t like heights?”
“Is there anything you like aside from pies?”
“Let me rephrase that. I don’t like heights I can fall down from. And this definitely counts.”
“Whatever you say, now hurry, I want to search his office while it’s still night!”
Dean grunted and forced himself to climb up the last few branches to the window, Crowley at his heels. He managed to open it and pull himself into the office, sinking to the floor and gasping.
“Don’t be like that” Crowley said, jumping in as if they hadn’t just escaped certain death. “You looked pretty confident. A regular squirrel.”
“Whatever. Let’s get this over with. What are we looking for anyway?”
“Anything that proves he was at odds with one of his e-wives.”
“Didn’t he have to be in order for them to become his ex-wives in the first place?”
“That may be the case, but in my experience there tends to be an immediate stressor for murder.”
Dean shook his head. “Man, your life must be cheerful.”
“Says the baker with the life-returning touch.”
Dean grumbled something unintelligible but continued to search the room.
Eventually, Crowley found a concealed button on the desk and pressed it; almost immediately part of its surface slid back, revealing a hidden compartment. “Hah.”
“How did you know that was there?”
“I have been in this business for a while” he replied simply as he reached into the secret drawer and took out an envelope. “Now, what do we have here –“
“Are you supposed to open that?”
“Otherwise I wouldn’t know what was in it.” Crowley opened the envelope and read its contents.
“Well?” Dean finally asked when he didn’t say anything.
“I thought you didn’t want to know, your principles and all that…”
Dean reached for the letter. Crowley gave it to him.
“A will?”
“And” Crowley pointed out, “Frome a later date than any of the others. Only a day before his death, in fact.”
“The secretary gets everything?”
“With some provisions for the kids, of course” Crowley drawled. “I assume he want2ed to leave them well taken care of.”
“Small wonder you only talk about this theoretically” Dean muttered.
But the Pie Maker didn’t know that the PI’s knowledge regarding children was, in fact, far from theoretical.
Much to his astonishment, he found himself tempted to talk about himself to a near stranger for the first time, to tell him his secrets, to let him know the man beneath the Armani-clad facade.
He stomped the impulse.
“Crowley?”
“Just thinking” he said quickly. “We definitely have a motive there.”
“I’d say so. All those millions running through their fingers… But who even knew this will existed?”
“Excellent question. We’ll make a detective out of you yet.”
“Thanks, I’ll pass” Dean said, taking a calendar from the desk and leafing through it. “Hey, wasn’t ex-wife number 2 called Katerina?”
“Yes, why?”
“Because there is a meeting with “K” here the day before he died. If he mentioned something…”
Katerina née Tassel was thirty-nine years, two months, ten days and six hours old when she was arrested for murder, still feeling getting her husband’s money was her right since she’d “lived with him for ten miserable years.”
Sarah Forde went on to inherit the money and found a charity for the homeless – after she’d paid Crowley quite handsomely.
“Admit it” Crowley announced a few days later at the Pie Hole, having just stepped in to tell Dean everything had worked out perfectly, “You liked it.”
“I didn’t.”
“Come on, you got to solve a murder case, bring justice to the victim –“
“As if you care about that” Dean replied. “You only want your money.”
“Yes, but I don’t mind if justice is done while I get it.”
Dean snorted.
“So you got her?” Charlie asked excitedly. She’d loved to hear that Dean was “out there” making friends, although he could hardly tell her that aside from Crowley, the one he’d talked to the most had even the dead guy he’d brought back to life.
“That we did, Miss Bradbury.”
“Excellent, I’ll get you a pie!”
It seemed that Charlie had decided that she would get Crowley to like sweets eventually, for all of his protests didn’t help; she brought him a piece of apple pie.
“Charlie” Dean said, pulling her into the kitchen, “You can’t keep giving out free samples if we are to make any profit –“
“It’s just one piece of pie” Charlie said, “Plus you can’t lie to me, Mister. I have seen your face when you think he can’t see you. You like him.”
He blushed scarlet. “Do not!”
But, try as he might, the Pie Maker couldn’t deny that the PI could be funny and charming when he wanted to be – although he also happened to be quite selfish and greedy.
Little did he know that while he was pondering this, Crowley was eating the pie and admitting reluctantly to himself that for some reason, he suddenly found he might get used to the taste eventually and was growing rather fond of the Pie Hole as a whole, as well.
Their arrangement continued. Whenever there was news of a strange murder, Dean brazed himself for Crowley calling him, and he usually delivered. Soon enough, they’d developed a routine. Dean would usually be baking, or home alone, or hanging out with Charlie, who’d become more and more insistent that he “should have a life outside of the Pie Hole” when Crowley called him, and they’d meet up at the morgue. He never quite figured out why the coroner let them in at all times but suspected Crowley had something on him.
They’d take a minute – literally – to talk to the corpse, who usually but not always provided the direct resolution to their problem, and then Dean would leave Crowley to find the evidence he needed.
A few days later, he’d get the money and ask no questions.
He didn’t exactly feel clean doing all of this, but the Pie Hole was finally making profit – not due to his pies, but still – and he told himself that this curse he had been born with at least brought some good into this world.
And then there were the other cases, cases where it wasn’t so easy, and somehow, he found himself sticking around for them. After all, Charlie could hold down the fort, and he figured if Crowley ran into danger because of the information he’d provided, it was sort of his fault.
At least that was what he made himself believe.
But it wasn’t the truth. The truth was, as it often is, more complicated, stranger and a bit madder than that.
In truth he was slowly starting to enjoy working with Crowley a great deal.
Even if there were a few setbacks.
“I can’t believe we’re digging up an old corpse” he complained, “You do realize that his tongue will probably have fallen off by now, right?”
“Shut up and keep digging, Squirrel”. The nickname had stuck despite Dean’s many attempts to make him stop calling him that.
Dean’s shovel – he couldn’t quite recall the reasoning that had led to him being the one to do the actual digging – hit the coffin and they opened it to find Mr. Van Hutten’s actually rather well-preserved corpse. Thank God.
“Ask him where he hid the family jewels so we can get out of here and I can demand my payment.”
“It’s our payment, and when I think about it, I should be the only one to get paid since I do all the work.”
“You’d never do it if I hadn’t persuaded you to.”
“Persuaded” Dean mussed. “Yeah, right.”
He still reached out to touch Mr. Van Hutten’s hand.
And then things almost went awry. Mr. Van Hutten was so upset about his relations’ greediness that he started moving around in his coffin too much as he explained where he had hidden the family treasure, and the lid fell down and got stuck.
Dean cursed. “Quick, Crowley, help me to –“
He turned around and saw that Crowley had taken off. Of freaking course.
He managed to pry open the lid and touch Mr. Van Hutten again just in time.
Crowley was waiting in his car in front of the cemetery. Dean got in, fuming.
“Did you get the –“
“Yes, I did! What the hell were you thinking?”
“I didn’t want to die.”
“So you just left me there?”
“It seems logical to assume that you won’t be stricken down dead since these are your powers, so –“
“It could have been anyone else! You could have helped me!”
“I knew you would manage.”
“Knew I would – forget it; I’m walking myself home.”
Dean got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. What a jerk.
The next day, counting his money in his office, Crowley couldn’t help but notice that it didn’t feel as enjoyable as it usually did. After pondering the problem for a few moments, he realized that he felt something he hadn’t felt in quite some time – guilt for having left Dean at the cemetery when the time was running out, and that he had just allowed him to walk away into the cold night.
Really, it was rather disconcerting for him to realize how often his thoughts came straight back to the Pie Maker, even when there was no case he could call him in on.
It almost felt as if he – cared about Dean, and not just because he was useful.
What a strange feeling.
And yet he couldn’t help it. He decided he would do one good thing for Dean Winchester, to make him and Crowley himself feel better and get this… surge of humanity out of his system once and for all.
The problem with his solution to his other problem, Crowley reflected a few weeks later, was that it was damn difficult to get to know Dean well enough to learn what sort of things he liked. He only ever talked about their cases when they saw each other (and he mostly complained then). He barely mentioned his past or any personal details at all (not that Crowley was the poster child for that).
Still…
And for some reason it felt wrong to investigate Dean like he had so many others over the years.
But gossiping with Charlie… that could hardly be called investigating, now?
Plus she was bound to come over with a pie every time he entered Dean’s place.
She did exactly that the next time there was a corpse, and Dean hadn’t yet forgiven him, it seemed, since he let him wait.
“You do know this won’t ever change a thing, right?”
“And yet here I am, and I keep trying.”
“Like with Dean, when he doesn’t want to leave his kitchen?”
“Exactly” she said, her eyes sparkling. As he had expected, she sat down across from him, eager to make conversation since he allowed it for once. “Dean’s still young, just thirty-one, he should have fun now and then.”
“What makes you think he doesn’t?”
“When he’s with you, sure” she said, surprising him. He was rather certain that Dean had never really enjoyed their excursions.
And definitely not the last one, he thought ruefully.
“But other than that…” she continued. “I never got why he moved away from Sioux Falls so quickly after school. Can you believe he hasn’t visited his little brother and his uncle once since he graduated?”
“He has a brother?”
She nodded. “He talks about him a lot – only with me, of course, but he has no one else, really, and I already knew about Sam. He’s a lawyer now, but they don’t talk.”
“Why?” In truth, Crowley didn’t have to ask; it was easy enough to guess; Dean was terrified of what he might do if something happened to someone he was close to; and so he had distanced himself from 2everyone in his life.
Dean must be rather lonely, he thought.
But then, Dean probably didn’t know what Crowley knew.
Because he knew that, when push came to shove, Dean would do the right thing.
Dean Winchester was a good man – so good as to be even called righteous – and he would never purchase the life of a loved one with that of another. He was not capable of making such a decision, not when it had the potential to hurt others.
He wondered if Dean was ever tempted to reach out to his family. Probably.
Now how to get him to mention it so they could talk…
Dean Winchester didn’t quite know what to feel when he came out of the kitchen to find Crowley and Charlie conversing. Charlie Bradbury was the only friend he’d made in his lonely life, and that simply because she’d refused to let him go when he tried to; she also happened to know quite a few of his secrets, although she was naturally ignorant of the greatest of them all.
And Crowley…
Crowley knew he could bring the dead back to life, but nothing else about him, so between the two of them, he and Charlie knew Dean inside out.
Problem was that Charlie liked to talk, and talk about him too.
And he wasn’t quite sure he wanted Crowley to learn details about his life.
But some things, as the Pie Maker had learned at a very early age, can’t be helped.
“Crowley” he greeted him tiredly, sitting down next to him.
“Hello, Squirrel.”
He expected to be taunted about having run off the other night, but Crowley said nothing.
He narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”
“A case, of course. What did you think?”
Dean looked at Charlie. She raised her hands. “I know, I know. I’m gonna go do my job.”
“So what are the facts?” Dean asked as soon as she’d gotten up.
The facts were these.
Tommy Collins, twenty-one years, eleven months, thirteen days and ten hours old, self-sufficient caretaker of his family, had been found dead at his place of work, a construction site, in the middle of the night when he had no reason to be there.
The fact that the murder weapon – a hammer – found next to his body didn’t come from the scene of the crime, but was the hammer kept in the Collins family home, led suspicion to fall on Hailey Collins, Tommy’s sister, twenty years, two weeks and ten minutes old.
Their little brother Ben Collins, eighteen years, four months, fourteen weeks and twenty hours old, didn’t have the money to offer a reward, but the people in their neighbourhood, fond of the whole family, had collected money.
Which had naturally caught a certain PI’s eyes.
Hailey Collins looked pale but determined when they went to see her in custody.
“I would never hurt Tommy” she assured them. “Our parents died when we were young; we’re all we have.”
Crowley saw Dean swallow out of the corner of his eyes and noted that this might be what he needed to bring up his brother later; but for now, they had to work on the case.
“Ugh” Dean exclaimed in the morgue when he pulled the sheet back, “I was hoping for a bit more… skull. Not sure if he’ll even be able to talk.”
“We can only try.”
“Of course you would say that” he mumbled, but he still touched Tommy’s hand.
He said up and started talking immediately. “Are Hailey and Ben alright?”
“She’s going to be charged with your murder unless you tell us who did it.”
Even with his face smashed in, he looked shocked. “Hailey? She would never do something like this! We’re all we –“
“Yeah, we heard that already. So who did you in?”
“Is he always like that?” Tommy asked Dean.
“Unfortunately yes.”
He hummed. “It was my boss. Found out he was stealing stuff from the site, as a way to make more money. Wanted to get proof before i went over his head. Didn’t work out to well.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll see that justice is done” Dean said.
“Thank you. Hey, before I have to go, can I ask you to tell Hailey and Ben that I know they’ll be fine and do amazing things?”
Dean’s throat felt tight, and he nodded before touching him gently.
The boss broke down immediately when they confronted him with what they called their “suspicion.”
“Didn’t have enough blood in him for true villainy” Crowley remarked as they watched him being led away by the police.
Dean didn’t really listen. “We should tell his siblings. Or something like it, anyway.”
“You mean the thing about them doing their best?” Crowley asked, looking bored.
“Yes! It’s their brother’s last message!”
Crowley shrugged. “I couldn’t get away from my half-brother fast enough. We’re not in contact anymore.”
Dean turned to look at him, but he wasn’t really seeing him; no, he was seeing a small boy with a big smile and a book in his hands, “Dean, will you read to me?”
“Haven’t talked to Sammy in ages” he replied roughly.
“Who’s Sammy?”
He snapped out of it, but the damage was done.
“My brother” he said curtly, but sadly, that didn’t seem to deter Crowley.
“You’ve never mentioned him before.”
“There was no reason to. As I said, we haven’t talked in ages.”
“So you were never that close?”
When he was silent, Crowley sighed. “Come on. Can’t eb that bad.”
“It is” he snapped. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”
Well, that hadn’t gone well.
But at least Crowley had got an answer. Now he knew that yes, Dean definitely had a brother, and there was a history behind it. Had they had a fight? Must have been a bad one, in that case; or maybe they’d never really seen eye to eye… No, he couldn’t imagine that. Not with Dean. Now, him and Oskar, that had been something totally different.
Alright then. He’d laid the ground stock; now he had to slowly extract more information as time went on.
Shouldn’t be too difficult.
But, the PI learned over the course of that spring, it was rather difficult. The Pie Maker, angry at himself for allowing even so much to slip past his lips, was more determined than ever not to talk about his past; and so Crowley was doomed to wait and hope and pounce whenever there was a chance for information. Which meant that he went to the Pie hole at least two times a week, even if there was no case, much to Charlie’s delight, who was still trying to find a pie he liked.
“Everything, please, everything but strawberry again” he was pleading one day.
She huffed. “Strawberries are delicious.”
“That’s your job to say, you’re a waitress.”
Unimpressed, she threatened to stalk off until he casually said, “I think you’re right. Dean misses his brother.”
Her face softened. “I knew it. He used to talk about him all the time when we were kids, and then after graduation he just… disappeared.”
“You found him again, though.”
She looked away. “I might have… there was some trouble, you know. I am quite good with computers and I needed to lay low for a while, and when I came here… I saw the sign, and just went in. It reminded me of Dean. Small wonder, really.”
“And then you made him give you a job?”
“You really think – he offered. He saw I was a bit down on my luck. That’s just who he is.”
Crowley was inclined to agree.
But, Charlie agreeing with him or not, Dean still didn’t give him any information.
Until another case came along.
These were the facts.
Matthew Horner, thirty-eight years, four months and six hours old, was found dead in a local bar – according to the blood tests, he was completely sober at the time of his death.
That wasn’t what attracted Crowley to the case, however – apart from the usual reward, naturally.
No, it was that no one could discern the cause of death.
He had never been able to withstand a good puzzle.
Which might also have explained his fascination with Dean Winchester, Pie Maker and very lonely man.
Dean should have been relieved that the case, despite certain weird details, was an open and shut one, but he couldn’t.
Because it had been Matthew Horner’s brother, chemist, who had poisoned him with a difficult to trace and even more difficult to pronounce substance, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about Sammy.
Maybe it was weird that he’d dealt better about the siblings who actually loved each other than the ones who had hated one another, since he and Sam had been close until he drew away –
No. No that wasn’t strange at all.
Because ever since he had left home, one of his persistent fears had been that Sam had grown to hate him in their years of silence.
Hell, Sam almost didn’t go to his high school graduation, but Bobby insisted on it. Dean hadn’t been supposed to know, but he’d eavesdropped. Accidentally, of course.
“Hey”. A gentle touch on his arm. “Where did you just go, Squirrel?”
He blinked. Crowley sounded… almost worried? “Just thinking, that’s all.”
Crowley looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “You need a drink” he decided.
Dean Winchester was sixteen years, eight months, two weeks, four hours and thirty-four minutes old and had just woken up with the worst headache he had ever experienced when he made a very wise decision, given the circumstances that had shaped his life.
He’d be very careful how much he drank in the future.
However, as good a decision as it was, it left him with little to no resistance to hard drinks, especially Craig that had aged for thirty years.
“Dude” Dean said, his eyes widening, ”You have a mansion.”
“And?”
“And what? You have a mansion.”
“I like to have space.”
“He likes – why am I not surprised?” Dean muttered. “Could freaking well feed an army, but stays on his own.”
“You prefer your own company as well.”
“So I don’t make any stupid mistakes and wake the dead, there’s a difference – why are we here anyway, and not in a bar? I was under the impression you’d buy me a drink. Should have known better –“
“Do you really think I don’t have better taste in alcohol?”
That shut Dean up.
Still, the pit bull who came to greet them as soon as Crowley unlocked the door was somewhat of a surprise.
“Did you miss Papa?” Crowley cooed – actually cooed – at her. “This is Dean. Dean, this is Juliet.”
“Hello… Juliet” he said, somewhat lamely, but how else was he supposed to react?
He decided he’d had enough for the day. “Where did you say the alcohol was?”
Crowley would never have guessed that Dean Winchester was the type to get drunk after only two glasses of Craig, but here they were.
Dean giggled. Actually giggled, and normally Crowley would have been disgusted, but instead he couldn’t take his eyes off of him. “You know I normally never drink this stuff because I’m afraid I might do something stupid like try to dig up Dad”.
At least that was what Crowley thought he said; his pronunciation wasn’t exactly the clearest anymore. “Your father? Why not your mother?”
“Because I didn’t kill her and anyway, already did that” Dean laughed again and then, without a pause, he started to sob.
Crowley really had no idea what to do.
Thankfully, Dean saved him the trouble of finding out by leaning against him and crying himself to sleep after telling him his life’s story, while the P.I. did his best to try and stay calm.
That night, a drunk and very sad Pie Maker fast asleep in his lap, as he made his tenth attempt to make them both comfortable because he didn’t want Dean to wake up alone, Fergus Crowley made a discovery he’d much rather not have.
Despite years of trying to prove to the world that he didn’t, he still had a heart.
And it beat suspiciously faster ever since Dean had touched him for the first time.
When he woke up, he almost felt like he was sixteen and hung-over in his bedroom at Bobby’s house again.
Mostly because he had never felt that sick quite again.
At least he’d made it home, thought; he was lying in bed, and –
He heard a faint noise of clattering from what must have been the kitchen. He pried his eyes open –
And realized he wasn’t in his bed, but still lying on Crowley’s couch, actually tucked in.
The thought of Crowley doing this for him caused him to – feel – something.
He was too hung over for this.
Hell, Crowley had even left a glass of water and some painkillers on the table in front of him.
Dear God, what had happened last night?
He was dressed at least, so not.. that, Thank God; but everything else was on the table…
Problem was, because he had all but stopped drinking when he was sixteen, he had no idea what kind of drunk he was.
When he entered the kitchen, Crowley was making breakfast, and he frowned.
“Trust me, you’ll want some soon enough.”
“You seem to know more about being hang over than I.”
“The wisdom of experience, my friend.”
“More like the experience of old age.”
Crowley shot him a dirty look. Dean grinned. At least he could annoy the P.I. while he was waiting to feel better.
He was right, too; once he sat down and the pain meds kicked in, the smell of the bacon Crowley was making caused his stomach to remember that food was actually good for him.
They were quiet as they ate; Dean was thankful to Crowley for not –
“So” he said cheerfully, “Want to tell me about how you killed your father when you were ten?”
Dean almost choked on a piece of bacon.
When he was done coughing, he stared at Crowley in horror. “What the –“
“You mentioned it yesterday – as far as I could make out what you were rambling on about. Just so you know, you’re a weepy drunk.”
Dean pushed his plate away, not feeling hungry anymore in the slightest.
“Come on. It was just a question.”
“How – how is that just a question?”
“It is because you were a child, and I know about your powers. You didn’t want to.”
“You’ve figured it out, haven’t you.”
Not that Dean was surprised; he couldn’t remember his drunken ramblings, but Crowley was clever.
“Let’s just say, I assume you were young, you knew you could bring the dead back to live, but you had no idea about the terms and conditions?”
He nodded, and then suddenly, he started talking.
He’d never told anyone; he’d never revealed this one, this terrible secret, had indeed sworn that he never would after he’d tried to explain it to Uncle Bobby and he’d simply ruffled his hair and hugged him, thinking he was just a traumatized kid.
When he was done, he looked away.
As the Pie Maker unburdened himself, Crowley found himself not only listening attentively, but also experiencing another emotion he had no longer considered himself capable of.
He wanted to comfort him.
He was surprised when Crowley gently squeezed his shoulder. “That… cannot have been easy.”
He sounded as astonished at his own compassion as Dean felt. He looked at him. “It wasn’t. Never really touched someone else after that.”
“And your brother?”
“He doesn’t know, of course. “Hey Sammy, it’s me, remember the big brother who more or less abandoned you as soon as he turned eighteen? I also killed our parents. How’s life?””
“You didn’t kill your parents.”
Dean huffed.
“You didn’t kill your parents” he said firmly, still surprised at himself. “Your mother died of natural causes, and you didn’t know your father had to died so she could live on.”
“I could have brought him back.”
“And killed your brother? I don’t think so.”
“Do you have to be so damn logical about it?” Dean argued, but the corners of his lips lifted up slightly. “I am trying to blame myself for everything that’s gone wrong in my life here.”
“And I’m not going to allow it.” After a pause, Crowley added, “Your talent does bring home the money, after all.”
Dean snorted. “Yes, am I glad that I can make sure you can buy more of these needlessly expensive suits.”
“Some of us like to be well-dressed, thank you” Crowley replied.
Hangover and all, Dean felt much better than he had expected to when he left the P.I.’s place that morning.
If only things could go smoothly for a few days…
Things did not go smoothly.
Competition is fact of life in the business world, and when a new sweets store opened on the opposite side of the street, Dean didn’t think much of it.
Until suddenly, fewer people than before came to eat his pies and he found out through a faithful old client that Dick Roman, owner of Bitter Sweets, had been spreading rumours about his ingredients.
It would have been much worse if he had known the truth – that Dean used formerly rotten fruits brought to life again after a touch in many of his pies – but still.
Crowley had been busy with a fraud case and didn’t know what was going on, and anyway, the Pie Maker decided he could very well deal with that on his own.
Sadly, when he went to confront Dick Roman, he found him dead in his office; he’s just woken him up to question him when the police burst in and he could only touch him again to keep his secret.
Sadly, this meant that he was found with his hands on the corpse of a recently murdered man.
“Run that by me again, Squirrel. You were dumb enough not only to go there alone, but when you found him your first instinct was to bring him back to life? I thought you didn’t like to do that:”
“I thought while I was there I could make myself useful” Dean hissed, “And you know whose fault it is that I’m used to it –“
“I’m not the one in the jail cell, am I”.
“Are you going to help me or not?” Dean asked through gritted teeth. “I have money saved from all our cases, and –“
“Do you really think I’d ask you for money?” Crowley interrupted him, staring at him.
Dean stared right back.
What followed was the most awkward minute of their entire acquaintance, with Crowley suddenly remembering that he was a heartless bastard and clearing his throat. “I meant to say that you are an asset I can’t afford to lose.”
“Yes. Yes of course.”
Crowley said goodbye soon after that.
Unbeknownst to the Pie Maker, the P.I. had a plan.
“Charlie” Crowley said, bursting through the doors of Pie Hole.
“Crowley. How is he?”
“What?”
“I know you went to see Dean. What else would you do? So. How. Is. He.”
“He’s… holding up” he supplied.
Charlie nodded. “I’ll visit him myself later, of course, but still. Now – you have a plan. I can tell from the twinkle in your eye.”
“Dean told me you were good with computers” he replied without beating around the bush. “Illegallygood.”
“Traitor” she muttered. “What do you need?”
“Dean is going to need a very good lawyer. Now, I was wondering if his brother’s interest in law had caused him to…”
“What makes you think I would know?”
He shot her an unimpressed look.
“Alright, maybe I did my research. So what?”
“Don’t you think this would be a good opportunity to reunite two estranged brothers and get Dean the legal aid he needs?”
Two days later, Crowley was in Florida.
So this was where the younger Winchester worked. Crowley studied the law firm from across the street. According to his research, they were the up and coming stars of the branch; that certainly told him something about Sam’s ambitions.
It also meant he had to be good at what he did, and Dean needed an excellent lawyer if he was supposed to get out of the scrape he had gotten himself in.
Feeling that he probably wouldn’t like being ambushed in his office, Crowley waited until he went out to lunch.
Hm. Interesting. Apparently he preferred his own company. Well, it just made it easier.
To Crowley’s surprise, Sam Winchester didn’t get lunch, but instead walked to a nearby park where he sat down on a bench.
“Clearing your head, MR. Winchester?” he asked.
Sam jumped up and turned to face him. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Crowley, I’m a P.I. from Lawrence, Kansas.”
Something like comprehension flashed across the younger man’s face before it settled into a blank mask. “And?”
“And your brother is the only suspect in a murder case and needs help” he replied. Better to rip off the band-aid immediately.
“Dean is what?”
“He is –“
“No, I heard you. But what do you want me to do about it?”
“You’re the lawyer” he reminded him.
“And Dean hasn’t talked to me in years. Do you expect me to jump to his rescue?”
Crowley shrugged. “i assumed some kind of brotherly feeling still lingered in your chest. Not my fault if I was wrong. I thought it couldn’t hurt to try.”
He could have spend more time trying to convince him to help, but frankly, he had better things to do. Like getting Dean out of jail himself, if this hot-shot lawyer didn’t want to help.
Still, one last shot –
“I’ll be going” he said, “By the way, did you ever notice something strange about your childhood dog? Lancelot, was it?”
With these words, he left him there.
Or would have.
Because after he’d made a few steps Sam ran after him and grabbed his arm. “How do you know about Lancelot?”
These were the facts.
Sam Winchester was by no means an exceptional boy; he was smart, but he also loved playing with his big brother, both of his parents, and the dog they had gotten him for his birthday very much.
Losing one’s parents at the age of six years, three months, ten weeks, three days and nine minutes was not easy; but Uncle Bobby’s carer and love soon made him Sam smile again, and of course he still had Lancelot.
Who over time became more important than ever because Dean refused to speak to him, even months after they had moved to Sioux Falls.
By the time Dean turned eighteen and left, Sam believed himself to be thoroughly indifferent. He’d lost his big brother the day he’d lost his parents, and he had to live with it.
What he didn’t expect was how much he would miss him, regardless.
And then there was something else.
By the time he himself became eighteen and went on to study pre-law, it had become clear that Lancelot hadn’t aged ever since he had reached adulthood.
“I have my ways” Crowley said simply.
“I –“ Sam swallowed. “But Dean can’t know, Dean moved out –“
“You’d be surprised.”
Sam swallowed again. “Fine. You’re buying me lunch.”
Normally Crowley wouldn’t have been too keen on spending money on anyone but himself, but Sam suddenly seemed a lot more amenable, and he had to try, as long as there was a chance.
He told himself he only cared about Sam being a good enough lawyer to get Dean out, and that he wasn’t thinking about the night a drunken Pie Maker had cried to him about his brother.
“But Dean can’t have told you” Sam argued once they’d found a small restaurant and sat down. “I only noticed myself after he’d left.”
“How old is Lancelot?” Crowley asked carefully.
“Twenty-two; and the last vet I took him to thought he was about five” Sam admitted.
“I assume you no longer take him to the vet.”
“It’s better that way.” Sam hesitated. “Did Dean – no, he was just a kid himself. He can’t have –“
“You’d be surprised what you don’t know about your brother.”
“He’s in jail on his birthday too” Sam mumbled, and it was only then that Crowley learned what day it was.
So Dean had been born in January. Instinctively, he wondered how old he was, exactly – only to tell himself that it was of no importance.
“Did he hire you to prove he’s innocent?” Sam asked. Dean, Crowley thought, would at least take some comfort from knowing that his little brother had automatically assumed he was innocent, no matter how their little chat ended.
“No. We’re… business partners” he said carefully.
Sam frowned. “Last thing I heard, Dean had become a baker.”
“Pie maker” he corrected him automatically. “Yes, but he also helps me out on cases now and then.”
“Is this how he got in trouble?”
“Kind of.”
Sam nodded. “Dean always had a talent to do just that.”
“He has been very… helpful to me” Crowley continued. “And since he wouldn’t be in this predicament if we had never made our deal, I considered it only fair that…”
He trailed off when he saw the look Sam gave him. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just.-.. if you’re more than partners, you can tell me. I’m not a homophobe.”
“We aren’t-. We’re just… friends.”
He had never called anyone his friend in his entire life.
Sam didn’t look convinced, but thankfully he changed the topic. “What exactly do they think Dean did?”
Crowley told him.
Dean was getting nervous. This had been the second day in a row without a call or a visit from Crowley. Charlie, of course, came to see him daily, but she couldn’t tell him anything about what he was up to, either, and he was getting the impression that he as being left behind since he was no longer useful.
Not that he’d expected anything else. Crowley had only ever been i9n it for his own gain, and Dean had known that. One drunken night of him crying about how his curse had ruined his life before it had even really begun wouldn’t change anything.
It only felt like it had fro Dean.
He tried to tell himself that he didn’t care that Crowley had indeed only been in it for the money, but then…
Crowley might not have been the nicest guy around, but he had been around. They had spent so much time together that Dean would probably have called him a friend if he had to.
It also didn’t help that Charlie was decidedly nervous on this day.
“What’s wrong, Bradbury?” he finally asked.
She bit her lip. “Remember how I am the best friend you ever had and that I’ve always been loyal to you?”
He frowned. “Yes?”
“Good. I want you to remember that for a second longer.”
“Charlie, what the –“
The door opened and the guard showed two more people in. “Fifteen minutes.”
Dean barely heard him.
Because standing next to Crowley was –
“Sammy?”
“Dean” he said neutrally. “I wish I could say it’s good to see you.”
He winced. He deserved that, for what he had done, of course, but still –
He looked at Charlie. “You helped Crowley find him, didn’t you.”
“As a matter of fact, I would have found him on my own, but Miss Bradbury happened to already know where he lives and works” Crowley supplied.
Dean looked at her, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Of course she had known. Of course she had.
“We’ll talk about this when I’m out of here” he said flatly.
“Alright, first of all, why are you in a cell to begin with?” Sam asked.
So that was it, then. Simply a client-lawyer meeting. And what else could have been expecting, even if he had known Sam was coming? He’d cut him out of his life deliberately to protect them both.
Charlie was frowning at Sam. “That’s all? You see your brother for the first time in years and that is your reaction?”
“Charlie” he said, throwing Crowley a glance.-
He understood immediately.
“Alright, red, let’s get out of here and allow them to talk.”
Charlie understood when arguing was useless.
After the door had closed behind them, Sam asked, “Didn’t you know a Charlie at school? You mentioned her from time to time – when I could get you to talk.”
“That’s her. She found me – ran into my place, really.”
Crowley told me you were a Pie Maker.” After a pause, Sam added, “Would have been nice to be given the option to learn that from yourself, just saying.”
Dean sighed. “Look, Sammy, I can’t give you an explanation. If you can’t live with that, you should leave.”
“But why?” he asked. “Dean, you and Uncle Bobby were all I had, except for Lancelot. And you just… you lived with us, but it was as if you weren’t really there anymore. Why can’t you just tell me –“
“trust me” he said tiredly, “Even if I did, you wouldn’t believe me.”
Sam hesitated, then swallowed. “Does it have something to do with Lancelot?”
“Lancelot? Why?”
“Because Crowley mentioned him and… and…” Sam looked around the empty room as if to make extra sure no one was listening. “Dean. I know how this will sound, but I think my dog is immortal.”
“Lancelot’s still alive?” Dean asked, surprised. Weren’t dogs supposed to die when they were about twenty?
“Yes. He just… stopped aging when he stopped growing. When someone asks, I just act as if I called him the same name.”
“Smart.”
HE didn’t acknowledge the compliment. “Dean… do you know something about this? Crowley made it seem like you did. And if you – does it – is there a reason you just walked out on us as if we’d been nothing but your roommates? Bobby still asks if I’ve heard from you occasionally.”
Dean swallowed, his heart beating fast. He couldn’t tell him, he couldn’t let his brother know that he’d killed their parents… and anyway, he couldn’t prove anything, and why should Sam believe him?
He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. “Sam, yes, there is a reason. But it’s pretty incredible, and I can’t prove anything while I’m in here. If I get out and you still want to hear the truth, I will show you. I promise.”
Sam turned his head, suddenly looking like the little boy Dean recalled playing with Lancelot.” You promised we’d always be friends, once” he said quietly.
“And I meant it, then. All of this… happened later. But I will keep this promise.”
Sam looked at him, then gave a short, sharp nod. “Alright. Let’s get you out of here.”
There are no boundaries for what a few clever minds, once they put their heads together, can do; and Sam Winchester was indeed, as Crowley had imagined, an excellent, albeit young, lawyer.
“My brother is innocent” Sam insisted. “The autopsy report says Mr. Roman must have been killed one to two hours before the police found him. Do you really think he stayed near the body of the man he’d murdered for an hour?”
“Maybe your brother was looking for something” the police man insisted.
Crowley sighed and dragged both Charlie and Sam out of the place. When Sam tried to protest, he shook his head. “I know the type. We won’t get him out unless we present the murderer to him on a silver platter.”
“Thank God you’re good at your job” Charlie said.
“I am.”
Still, Crowley thought, someone like Dick Roman was bound to have made a few enemies along the way.
This proved to be true later that day, when they broke into his office, Sam quietly complaining. “Is this what you drag my brother into on a regular basis? Small wonder he’s in jail –“
“Would you stop nagging at me for one second? I’m trying to get him out, for Christ’s sake –“
“Nothing so far in here” Charlie, who had happily agreed to breaking and entering and had immediately hacked into Roman’s computer as soon as they entered the room, reported.
“Good, now let’s see –“
Crowley went through the desk while Sam automatically searched through the files in the drawer.
“I can’t believe it” he breathed two minutes later.
“What is it, Moose?”
He stared at Crowley.
“Squirrel is already in use.”
“Yeah, right… anyway, the guy has a binder labelled “death threats.””
“That’s useful” Charlie said.
“Yes, but don’t you think this is… weird?” Sam asked.
“You clearly haven’t talked to your brother yet” Crowley mumbled as he took the file out of his hands.
“What is that supposed to mean –“
“Let’s see” Crowley said, “We can discount the extremely angry ones – they usually just bark. But the subtle ones…”
“How do you know that?” Sam demanded. “You can’t just –“
“I’ve been in this business for quite a while.”
Sam shook his head, clearly disapproving, but there was nothing he could do but hope that Crowley was right.
They returned to the Pie Hole with the binder tucked firmly under Crowley’s arm.
“This is depressing” Charlie decided half an hour later, “I don’t think anyone liked this guy – this one’s from his own mother.”
“That’s what happens during a family feud” Crowley said pleasantly.- “My own mother wanted to kill me.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Trust me I do.”
Sam looked at them, then apparently decided he wasn’t touching that one with a ten-foot pole and just shook his head.
Eventually, he said, “Wait… this one sounds about right.”
“Why?” Crowley asked, taking the letter. “Hm… business-like, so he means it… Okay, that does sound nasty… Oh, and it’s Arthur Ketch! I should have known.”
“Known what?”
“To call Arthur Ketch a asshole of a coyote would be an insult to the baby snatchers.”
Sam blinked. “Alright. I am going to ignore about fifty percent of what you’re saying from now on.”
“My mother always fared well with that technique” he conceded, anticipating the meeting with Ketch already; he always felt like this when he knew he was getting close, and of course this time something was at stake, Dean was at stake. “We need to go see Arthur ketch. Now.”
Charlie was already getting up when Sam said, “Wait. You think this guy has committed murder… and you’re going to accuse him to his face? Did I get that right?”
“Of course, Moose. What else are we supposed to do?”
“You…” Sam sighed. “What did my brother get himself into?”
“Don’t worry, we’re getting him out” Charlie said cheerfully.
Sam didn’t answer, but he still accompanied them.
Arthur Ketch welcomed them into his office.
Crowley had made a few deals with him over the years – although none since he had met Dean, he realized – and had come to thoroughly dislike the man. He could have lived with his cold and conniving nature – after all, both were insults that were routinely thrown at Crowley himself – but there was something slimy in his attitude, something begging for approval, and that he could not abide.
“Mr Crowley! Long time no see.”
“Indeed” he answered, rolling his eyes; as always, Ketch had made sure his accent sounded even more British than it had to. Compared to him, Crowley himself sounded almost American.
“What can I do for you – and your friends?” he asked, his eyes sliding over Sam and Charlie with equal hunger.
Now, Crowley had never condemned any sexuality – one of the few things he wasn’t was a hypocrite – but he’d never liked the way Ketch looked at people he found attractive.
Thankfully, the disdain between them was mutual.
“Did you hear of Dick Roman’s death?” he asked.
“Oh yes. A tragic loss to the business world” he answered, but his eyes were laughing.
He didn’t think they could prove anything.
“What do you say to this”? Crowley asked, holding out a copy of Ketch’s letter.
He waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Oh, I am sure Mr. Roman got a lot of those. It would have been far more suspicious if there hadn’t been one of mine, don’t you think?”
Crowley had to admit he was right, but then he’d always thought Ketch was clever.
“He definitely did it” Charlie decided as soon as they left the building. “Did you see that murderous gleam in his eyes? Haven’t seen that since Khan decided to hurt Kirk by –“
“Are you using –“ Sam began, but Crowley interrupted him.
“Yes, he definitely did it, the problem is we need proof.”
“Do we have to break into the morgue?” Charlie asked, her eyes sparkling.
She was enjoying herself a bit too much, Crowley decided. “No need to break in, I have my methods.”
“Of course you do” Sam muttered, if only to himself.
Soon enough, they were at the morgue.
“He was strangled alright” Crowley said calmly.
Even if Dean hadn’t been disturbed, Roman probably wouldn’t have been able to talk.
“So do you think the killer left DNA?” Charlie asked while Sam just eyed the corpse.
“He was definitely strangled with some kind of cord, so good luck with that”.
“There has to be something… what about his personal effects?”
Charlie was remarkably efficient, Crowley reflected as she went through everything that had been found on the body (once again, it hadn’t been difficult to get there, thanks to his contacts within law enforcement). They should bring her along more often.
“I knew it! Someone like this guy wouldn’t walk around without protecting himself – or rather, without making sure he got proof of people threatening him” Charlie announced with a flourish as he held up –
“His tie?” Sam asked. “What –“
“A small recording device sown in, I presume?” Crowley asked calmly, even though he was angry at himself that he hadn’t been the one to find it.
He’d been too worried about Dean.
He should probably spend some time alone after this, he decided. The Pie Maker was taking up way too much of his thoughts, these past few weeks.
That same evening, the doors of the jail opened for the Pie Maker as they closed behind Mr. Ketch for good.
But he couldn’t feel quite as happy about that as he should have been.
Because he knew his brother would ask him a question, and that he would have to give the dreaded answer this time.
Charlie had immediately drawn him into an enthusiastic hug. Dean’s eyes met Crowley’s as she was still trying to squeeze all the jail air out of his lungs, and they nodded at one another.
After she’d let go, he turned to his brother, who seemed conflicted whether to hug him as well.
He’d clear that up, at least.
“It’s time to keep my promise, isn’t it” Dean sighed, sure that Sam would run for the hills – if not because of his powers, then because of what he’d only ever told Crowley – that their parents’ deaths were his fault.
But still –
It was only fair Sam should get to hear the story from Dean.
And then there was someone else –
He turned to Charlie.
She’d been his friend long enough; if he was being honest, she had grounded him, given him a reason to get up in the morning, always cheerful, always friendly, even on the darkest of days.
“Charlie… I think you’ll want to hear this too.”
“Here” Crowley said dramatically as he put two cages on the table, one containing a dead rat, and one another who was very much alive.
“Dude, that’s my kitchen – wait did you –“
“Relax, Juliet caught them. She was a bit overenthusiastic –“
“Juliet?” Sam asked.
“His dog” Dean answered. “She and Lancelot would get along great, I bet.”
Sam looked sceptical.
“So what are you trying to prove here?” Charlie asked. “I fully expected you to blow a fuse, but seriously – only one comment? What are the rats –“
“Because this makes it easy” Dean sighed. “Thanks, Crowley. Although I could have done with insects or something –“
“Juliet is rather big for her breed, how is she supposed to –“
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Let’s get this over with.”
Dean sat down and looked at the cages. This was it. In a minute, he’d either have lost his brother and his best friend in one swoop, or…
Or…
He had no idea.
He almost jumped when Crowley squeezed his shoulder – in support, as he realized, feeling Sam’s eyes on them.
He cleared his throat. “Sammy, I promised you I’d tell you the truth and here I am. Would you please make sure the rat is truly dead?”
“What is this, some crazy magic trick`?” he asked.
“Please, Sam. It’s important.”
With obvious confusion, Sam made certain that the animal was dead. Juliet had done a thorough job.
“Now what –“
Dean reached through the bars and touched the rat.
IT jumped up immediately.
Sam sprang up too, his eyes wide. “What…”
“Please, wait a minute” Dean begged, “Just a minute”.
Since he was telling Sam the truth, he was determined to tell him the whole truth.
He didn’t look at him, instead he watched the seconds tick by on his cell phone.
A minute passed.
He didn’t have to see it to know the other rat had just died.
When he raised his head, Sam was staring at the two cages, his mouth hanging open. “But… how…”
“This is what I did to Lancelot” Dean explained, suddenly feeling very tired. “I was a child, and I didn’t know. I suppose an animal from around our neighbourhood died.”
Sam was still staring at the rats. “But then… Lancelot already died once” he said slowly, “And you brought him back.”
“Yes. There are only two rules: I touch something I brought back, it dies again and forever this time; and if that something stays alive for more than a minute, well…” he gestured towards the now-dead rat before finally meeting Sam’s eyes again.
And what he saw in them was a suspicion, almost knowledge –
“When – when Mom and Dad – did you?” He couldn’t finish the question.
Dean laughed, sharp and bitter; Crowley’s hand came to rest at the small of his back and he barely even noticed. “Yes. Yes I did. Why do you think they both died on the same day? Mom just – collapsed and I didn’t know. I didn’t know what would happen. Dad came back at that moment, and – she touched me when she tried to get to him…”
He stopped talking. He wasn’t entirely sure what he had said made any sense, but his brother seemed to have understood.
Sam looked at him.
Then, without a word, he got up and left.
Only when a drop landed on his hand did Dean realize he’d started to cry.
How freaking embarrassing, that was the second time he bawled in front of Crowley, plus his best friend –
Charlie had yet to say anything. He wondered if she’d leave to, closing his eyes.
He heard her indeed get up, but the next moment, she gathered him in her arms. “It wasn’t your fault” she muttered into his hair, “You were just a kid. Like you said. It wasn’t your fault.”
Dean heard Crowley mumble something about “Taking care of those” and understood he was carrying the rats away.
“He’s never going to forgive me, is he” he mumbled into Charlie’s shoulder.
He thought Crowley had already left, but from the direction of the door he still heard his reply, “It would be his loss if he didn’t.”
Dean didn’t know how long he cried for, but when he was done, he drew back and sniffled. “Sorry, Charlie. I’ll pay for the shirt.”
“Don’t be overdramatic, it’s nothing. Are you feeling better?”
He nodded. At least his secret was out, now. At least that burden was gone.
“You know” she grinned, “It’s actually kind of cool to have a boss with superpowers.”
“Not that cool to have them” he answered simply.
She immediately grew serious again. “Of course. Is that why you don’t like touching people?”
“Yes. If I get used – if I get too attached – God knows what I might do:”
“You’d do the right thing. You always do.”
He snorted. “Pretty sure my parents would disagree.”
2Dean, look at me. You were a child, and you didn’t know. This isn’t your fault.”
“But what if – “
“No what ifs. You were a kid, you were scared, and you didn’t know what to do. I am certain Sam will see it that way eventually.”
“Or not and he’s calling CNN right now to talk about his brother’s magical touch.”
“He won’t do that, Dean. Trust me-“
“I am trying my best” he promised.
At least when they came to drag him into the spotlight he’d have his best friend by his side.
“I’m sorry” Dean finally said after he had calmed down. “I didn’t mean to –“
“Hey, it’s alright. We all need a shoulder to cry on sometimes… Although I’m not sure Crowley didn’t want to be that particular shoulder today.”
“He’s probably glad you provided him with an out” he said.
“Oh, hush. Don’t think I haven’t see the eye sex.”
Dean shook his head. “What if Sam never comes back?”
“Then I agree with Crowley. It would be his loss.”
“How are you not freaking out about this?” he asked. “I just proved to you that I can bring the dead back to live, my brother ran away, and yet you’re still here –“
“Dean, I’ve spent my whole life playing D&D and wishing magic was real. I won’t freak out because I learn it is.”
“That’s… actually pretty good” Deans aid carefully. He wasn’t used to good things happening to him.
“Exactly, good things do happen. Sam will return, you just have to give him time.”
He wanted to believe her, but he still wasn’t quite sure he could.
Fergus Crowley knew that it had been the right thing to leave Charlie and Dean alone. She had known him far longer than Crowley, and she would know how to calm him down.
After all, the one time Dean cried in front of him, he’d been drunk.
Still, what worried him far more was that feeling that had once more settled in his gut.
He wanted to be the one to comfort the Pie Maker, to make him feel better.
He was not used to such emotions, and he didn’t want to get used to them.
The problem was that he suspected he would have to, if he and Dean Winchester continued their… association.
Charlie had finally left him alone at his own insistence. Dean had wanted to be alone with his thoughts, only for a while.
As he watched darkness descend over the city through his living room window, he thought of Sam. Was he safe? Had he found a hotel? If not, where was he staying?
All his old sense of protection had returned the second he’d set eyes on Sam, but what could he do? He’d probably never see him again. If only he hadn’t demanded answers…
For a second, he was almost angry at Crowley for bringing his brother into this. But he’d only wanted his best. In the end, it wasn’t his fault.
No, it was Dean’s fault. Dean’s and his powers.
Quite strangely, he found himself wishing Crowley was here. True, he’d looked after him when he was drunk, but that didn’t mean Dean enjoyed his company.
At least that was what he was busy telling himself when there was a knock on the door.
Theoretically, the P.I. knew there was very little he could do about the situation with Dean’s brother, and that he shouldn’t interfere.
And yet he found himself in front of his door, wondering what he was doing. He’d never really felt the need to comfort or be there for anyone, so why now? Why him?
He had not yet found the answers to these questions when the Pie Maker opened the door.
“Crowley?”
“Squirrel. I was nearby and thought I’d check how the family reunion is going…”
It was the wrong thing to say, he could read it in Dean’s face.
“Wonderful. When even you are feeling sorry for me –“
“I’m not feeling sorry for you. I assure you I got rid of such emotions a long time ago.”
At least Dean laughed at that. “Might as well come in. I’ve been experimenting on a few new flavours; you can tell me if you like them.”
He frowned. “Pie, I assume.”
“Yes, pie, Mr. Not Sweet Tooth. Come on.”
Although the P.I. would never have admitted it, at this point he would have done anything to make the Pie Maker feel better; and so he decided to taste the sweets he normally would have scorned.
After three pies, it became clear that Crowley wouldn’t be as easily won over as Charlie had always assumed he would.
Dean still didn’t give up. It gave him something else to think about than Sammy out there.
“And this” he announced with a flourish, “Is a peach pie. You’ll love it.”
“That’s what you said about the other three” Crowley complained.
“Never give up, that’s what I say. There’s the right sort of pie out there for everyone if one just knows how to make them right. Now, come on; try the peach pie.”
Crowley sighed but did as he was told.
And then, on this day, in the kitchen of the man who baked pies and woke the dead, a miracle occurred.
Fergus Crowley found that he liked it.
“There it is” Dean said with satisfaction.
“i haven’t said anything.”
“Do you really think an old pie professional like me doesn’t know immediately?”
He had to concede the point. “It is good.”
“Charlie will be angry that she wasn’t here, Peaches.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why? It was the peaches who made the miracle happen, wasn’t it?”
Crowley grumbled a bit about it, but there was nothing he could do now that he had admitted the impossible was indeed possible.
Crowley knew that he was probably outstaying his welcome, but Dean seemed to feel better and better as time went on and for some reason he still couldn’t name that made him feel good, in turn.
They were currently watching some awful medical drama that Dean was riveted by and Crowley was rather sure had been created directly in Hell to torment him.
“And why is he wearing cowboy boots, that’s hardly appropriate – “
“Crowley, this isn’t supposed to be accurate.”
“But why should I carte then –“
“For God’s sake you’re just supposed to have fun and lust after Doctor Sexy. So why don’t you do that.”
“Because I do not find Doctor Sexy particularly sexy.”
“Excuse you, he wears cowboy boots.”
“In that case perhaps I should invest in some hideous footwear” he drawled.
Dean looked at him and – was that a blush?
Yes, he was definitely blushing.
How … interesting.
Dean’s gaze wandered down to his lips. Without meaning to, he licked them.
Dean’s eyes snapped back to his.
They leaned forward –
A knock on the door.
As the Pie Maker hastened to open the door, the P.I. couldn’t help but wonder what exactly that knock had interrupted – and what they should do about it, if anything at all.
He opened it to find Sam.
“Sammy?”
Without another word, Sam drew him into a hug. Dean stiffened.
“I’m sorry for storming off” his giant of a brother mumbled.
“You had every right to –“
“No I didn’t” he said, letting go of Dean. “I’m sorry, I just – needed some time to take it all in. But you were ten. You weren’t even in high school yet! How were you supposed to know what to do?”
Dean hugged him back, holding on tight.
Crowley cleared his throat behind them. “Well, then, now that the brothers are reunited… exit stage Crowley. Squirrel, I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah” he managed to say, turning away from Sam to watch him walk out the door.
Dear God, what had he been about to do when Sam had intervened? He and Crowley were business partners, and to be precise, he’d blackmailed him into that in the first place.
He didn’t even like Crowley, let alone this way.
He didn’t.
“Say” Sam began, drawing back, “That was weird even for Crowley. Did something happen?”
What was he supposed to say? No but almost and I kind of would have wanted it to happen only for the part where I shouldn’t?
“Found a pie he likes. Peach.”
“And that’s strange?”
“For Crowley, yeah. Guy doesn’t like sweets much.”
Sam seemed to accept the explanation. “Can we talk?”
Dean nodded.
The brothers talked until late into the night, slowly learning more about each other. After twenty years of silence, they finally told each other the truth.
“Always knew you’d make it as a lawyer, Sam” Dean said.
“It was as much being stubborn as actually being any good, I’d say”.
“Come off it, you always wanted to go for law, even when we were kids.”
He nodded. “Speaking of when we were kids… So you touched Lancelot?”
Dean winced, but still told him the truth. About how he hadn’t paid attention, the car, Lancelot’s dead body.
“Any idea how long he will…”
“None. I’ve brought no one else back. It’s why I kept my distance.”
Sam nodded. “I can understand, finally. I just thought… I just thought you didn’t care.”
“That’s not true. I cared too much.”
He still feared something would happen to Sam, Bobby, Charlie, Hell, even Crowley, and he’d be faced with the choice to bring them back but know it would mean killing someone else, and that he wouldn’t –
He swallowed and tried to focus on Sam being back in his life. It was more than he’d ever have dared asked for.
“Dean” Sam said slowly, “I was angry at you for years. I won’t deny that. But… I always assumed there had to be a reason. That’s why I came here the second Crowley told me you were in trouble. I knew you couldn’t have done what they said you had.”
“Sammy…”
“It’s true. I mean, Dean – you have superpowers, and yet you still decided to bake pies instead of profiting from them. If that doesn’t tell people what kind of man you are…”
“I do help Crowley” he said sheepishly, because even though most of the time he felt annoyed that the P.I. had blackmailed him into working with him…
The truth was that he enjoyed it, enjoyed solving cases and seeking justice, helping families to heal after a tragedy.
And Crowley wasn’t bad company, either.
He only had to remember what had almost happened to prove that.
He sighed.
“Dean? I did interrupt you and Crowley, didn’t I.”
“Sammy, do me the favour and don’t ask.”
While the brothers were busy forging a new bond, the P.I., who had quickly returned to his own apartment after being interrupted, was busy trying to stomp all traces of a new-forged bond in his heart before it could become a problem.
Being completely unaccustomed to wanting someone more than in a physical manner, he was sadly not up to the task.
Normally when a day hadn’t gone the way he wanted, he would have visited the Pie Hole to see Dean, and that realization told him all he needed to know.
He was already half-way to… having feelings for the younger man, and he hadn’t even realized he’d begun to go down the slippery slope.
Crowley had always been careful not to grow attached to anyone. People simply didn’t seem to fit into his life.
And yet Dean Winchester had somehow managed to find a place for himself in Crowley’s existence.
It didn’t make any sense.
He’d best keep his distance for a few weeks, he decided, and solve a few cases on his own, just until those… feelings went away.
“Don’t look so glum, boss. I’m sure he’ll show up any minute now” Charlie said a few weeks later, but he could tell even her cheerfulness was forced.
There had been no calls or visits from Crowley since the night they had almost kissed, and Dean had early on decided that he had got the message.
That didn’t mean he didn’t at least want to know the guy was okay. Just… a little text or something saying that he was alright would have been quite enough.
Alright, that was a lie, but still, was it too much to ask to at least wanting to be told goodbye after over a year of them solving cases together?
Dean only now realised how much time he had actually spent with Crowley, how many late night stake outs they had had, how often he’d met him in the morgue to wake someone up.
How often they had hung out even after they had solved a case for no other reason than they could.
And Dean only now admitted to himself just how used he’d gotten to the status quo, and that he really wouldn’t have had anything against Crowley kissing him that night.
Of course he’d only know after the P.I. had already fled once and for all. Of course he would.
The one good thing that have come out of all this was that Sam was back in his life. He was even making plans to move back to Kansas, and Dean had talked to Uncle Bobby for the first time in years last week. Only on the phone, but still.
He hadn’t yet confessed the whole truth – was uncertain if he would – but it was a new beginning.
And if Crowley didn’t want to share that with him – that wasn’t Dean’s problem, except where it was.
He sighed.
“Excuse me” a young man interrupted his thoughts, “Are you called Dean, by any chance?”
He looked up to find a young dark-haired man starting at him. “Depends on who’s asking?”
“I’m sorry. It’s just – my father’s in the hospital, he’s hurt rather badly, and when he woke up for a short while, he mumbled something about “peach pie” and someone named “Dean”, and I didn’t think much of it until I saw this place and thought I might as well ask –“
Dean’s throat felt suddenly dry. He swallowed. “You aren’t – he isn’t – your father’s not a P.I., is he?”
The man’s face told Dean everything.
Ten minutes later, after a hasty explanation to Charlie, who immediately agreed that she would stay behind and look after the Pie Hole, Dean was sitting in a taxi with – Crowley’s son.
“I didn’t know Crowley had a son” were the first words out of his mouth. He winced. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”
All his years of staying away from human contact certainly hadn’t helped his social skills.
“It’s fine. Father and I never really got along. Mom raised me on her own, and after she was gone… I didn’t even know he had me listed as his emergency contact.”
“They probably told him he had to have one and he didn’t think he’d need it” Dean said.
“Sounds like him” Gavin said bitterly and he winced.
“I didn’t mean to say – he’s actually a good friend of mine. He –“
“It’s alright, you don’t have to pretend.”
He frowned. “What?”
“I know my father, and he wouldn’t just ask for any friend upon waking up. Never imagined he’d care enough for anyone to be that important to him, but still…”
“Did he realize you were there?” Dean asked, wondering if Gavin was feeling understandably jealous that his father had asked for someone else instead for him.
“Yes. Even squeezed my hand when I talked to him. The doctors say it’s a good sign.” He fell silent.
After a few moments, Dean asked, “What happened?”
Gavin told him.
The facts were these.
Fergus Crowley, P.I. and at the moment very frustrated man who would have liked to be someone’s lover except he was unable to admit that simple fact to himself, was once more chasing a man over a rooftop.
Except that this time, he was chasing a young man in his prime. Tobias Kemp, twenty-eight years, eleven months, one week, three days and seventy-two minutes old had no intention of falling to his death; and so he managed the jump between two high buildings.
Crowley, to his shame and unwelcome surprise, miscalculated the distance.
As he fell down from almost as high a building as Ellsworth had one the day he had first met Dean, he found he had only two regrets:
Firstly, that he had never tried to build a better relationship with his son.
And second, that he hadn’t kissed Dean that night.
So, when he became semi-conscious and realized one of his regrets might already be on its way to fixed, he uttered the other name that meant the world to him.
Dean didn’t really know what to do. Gavin had introduced him to the nurse’s as his father’s boyfriend – this time he hadn’t protested son he would be allowed in to visit – and gone off in search of the doctor, leaving Dean in Crowley’s room.
Of course he had enough money to get that.
It didn’t seem right to see him all wrapped up in bandages, pale and hurt in a hospital bed. Crowley was always on top of things. Crowley always came through.
“Hey Peaches” he managed to say, “Have to say, you always know how to surprise me. But this one’s not exactly the surprise I wanted.”
He stood at his bed, unsure whether or not to take his hand, then decided to go for it. “I met Gavin. Seems like a good man. By the way, mister, you’ll hear about this when you wake up. Charlie’s going to have your hide for not telling us you had a kid.”
He stuttered when he arrived at the word “when” and hated himself for it. Of course Crowley would wake up. He had to.
Whether or not he had to, he was destined to take his time to decide one way or another. Three weeks later, there had been no changes.
Dean didn’t know what he would have done without Charlie and Sam helping him support Gavin, or talking to Bobby on the phone.
But even with them – at this point, it had become pretty obvious that they knew about his feelings for the guy who had selfishly blackmailed him into solving crimes, and were remarkably relaxed about it – Dean couldn’t deny that sometimes – sometimes he thought…
“Do you think” he asked quietly one day, them having left Gavin at Crowley’s side to go back to the Pie Hole to rest, “if he doesn’t wake up, he’d still like to… wake up for a minute? To say goodbye to Gavin?”
Sam and Charlie traded a glance.
“I think” his brother finally said carefully, “Gavin wouldn’t be the only one he’d wish farewell.”
Dean looked away. His unspoken fear that he wouldn’t be able to –
“If it comes to that” Charlie said suddenly, “And I mean if it comes to that, I’ll be there, and I’ll push you two against one another if need be, so neither you nor Gavin have to feel guilty.”
His throat constricted. “Charlie –“
“It’s the least I can do” she said softly, taking his hand. “Dean, you could have thrown me out when I came here and told you I was being searched for, but you looked after me.”
“And vice versa” he replied.
She nodded. “So what’s one more little favour between friends?”
He laughed for the first time in days.
But there would be no miracle performed by the Pie Maker in order to bestow life upon Crowley for one more tearful minute.
Instead, he’d learn that sometimes miracles simply occur on their own.
For lack of a better thing to do, Dean was reading to Crowley while Gavin took a much-needed nap.
“With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs –“
“Frankenstein, Squirrel, really?”
The book dropped out of his hands. “Crowley?”
“Yes.” He looked at Dean and groaned. “Oh God. Am I alive?”
“Yes” he said, getting up.
“Will I be alive for longer than –“
“I didn’t touch you to bring you back, if that’s what you mean. You’ve been alive this whole time, and if I’ve got any say in the matter, you will be for some years to come!”
He rang for the doctors.
What followed was a flurry of Gavin sto9rming in as well as the professionals, people rejoicing, tests being performed.
It should take another three days for Dean Winchester and Fergus Crowley to be alone in his room together again.
More than enough time for a hardened P.I. to decide exactly what he was going to do.
Gavin had sent Dean in today, claiming that he needed to rest; but Dean had seen the looks he, Charlie and Sam were giving him.
He just didn’t know what they expected to happen. IF Crowley were interested, he’d have come around instead of falling of buildings.
“Hey, Crowley.”
“Dean. Would you please come here?”
He didn’t know what awaited him, but he did sit down on the chair next to Crowley’s bed.
He rolled his eyes. “I meant here” he said, patting the bedding with his right hand that miraculously wasn’t broken.
Dean obeyed, considering he’d almost died a month ago.
“What –“
Crowley gestured impatiently, then grimaced. “Help me out here. I can’t move that well yet.”
“What do you mean –“
“In case you haven’t noticed Squirrel, I take what I want. And right now, you’re slightly out of reach so…”
“Crowley…”
“May I kiss you, Dean?”
His heart started beating wildly. “That… would make everything complicated” he said slowly.
“Yes” Crowley confirmed.
“And I mean, your son is outside. You two will have to figure out where to go from here.”
“Yes” Crowley repeated.
“And then there’s Sammy, and Charlie’s still somewhat of a criminal if you ask the police, and did I mention my brother has an undead immortal dog…”
“How much longer are you going to talk, I’d really like to get to the –“
“My point is” Dean said carefully, “This sounds awfully like an adventure. IF we decide to go for it, that is. And you know how I feel about those.”
Crowley was silent.
“On the other hand, my life is already so crazy, why not?”
And Dean leaned forward and kissed Crowley.
It might have been a somewhat strange way for happily ever after to begin, but Dean Winchester and Crowley found they didn’t care.
Fifty years later
He didn’t wake up as he usually did unless there was an emergency – calmly, relaxed and ready to face the day; no, it was a sudden jolting into consciousness; and as he registered the mixture of love and grief on his husband’s face and the distance between them, as if Dean was careful not to touch him, he understood.
“One more minute?”
“More like fifty-five seconds” he said, his voice gentle. “When I woke up – you were already cold. I…” he trailed off.
Died in his sleep then, at the ripe old age of ninety-seven, next to his still dashing husband. Not a bad way to go by any stretch of the imagination.
They had talked about this, of course they had, a few years ago, briefly. He’d explained to his family he’d rather only have Dean at his side, as it had all begun, half a century ago.
“This is it, then. I have to say, it has been thoroughly entertaining. Give the others my love, would you?”
Now and then he’d thought about what he’d say to him during the last minute of his life. Now, after he’d told him this, he found himself simply looking at Dean, cherishing the sight while he still could. There was nothing to say, he realized, because they’d never left anything unsaid during their time together.
Dean smiled; there were tears gathering in his eyes, and Crowley ached to wipe them off but forced himself not to. “It was quite the wild ride, wasn’t it.”
He nodded.
Dean swallowed. “You better wait for me, mister, wherever you end up because I am going to find you.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
They looked at one another; the seconds ticked by; and Crowley knew it was time to go. “You were the first kiss in my life that truly mattered. Want to be my last?”
Dean smiled through his tears. “I love you, Peaches.”
“And I love you, Squirrel.”
Dean leaned in and Crowley closed his eyes, accepting his kiss.
Sometime later
He’d got used enough to the memories of Dean that he shared his Heaven with that he knew immediately this was different. He’d just woken up from what he still stubbornly called “A good night’s sleep” and opened his eyes to find Dean watching him.
“You could have woken me up” he said as he reached out and confirmed that his husband was, indeed, here with him.
“You’ve been waiting long enough, figured I could do a little waiting myself” Dean answered, leaning into his touch.
“I missed you” he confessed.
“Right back at you.”
“How did you –“
“Same as you, in my sleep. Emma woke me up to say goodbye to them all.”
Dean had been hesitant at first to father a child, since he’d been scared she’d inherit his abilities; Crowley had assured him again and again that they’d deal with it when it came to it, and they had, admirably, if he said so himself.
“Gavin told me to look after you so you don’t get into trouble in the afterlife” Dean added with a fond smile on his lips.
“Ready for eternity, Squirrel?”
“With you, Peaches? Always.”
Dean rolled over him so he lay on top, grinned, and leaned down to kiss him.
At this very moment in their own personal Heaven, Dean Winchester and Fergus Crowley no longer cared about how old they both were.
They had all the time in the world.