Sam and Crowley
Title: Sam and Crowley
Summary: Post Season 7.
[Spoiler for Season 7 (click to open)]
Sam struggles after losing Dean. He ends up calling one of the few people still living, almost by accident.
Characters: Sam, Crowley
Pairing: Sam/Crowley
Wordcount: 1967
Timeline: Post Season 7
Genre: Primarily Hurt/Comfort.
Warnings: -
Part 1 - Part 2
It was accidental, at first. Sam would have the phone in his hand before he’d really thought, would have dialed the number with a blank expression. He didn’t like Crowley. How could he? He certainly didn’t trust him. He wasn’t stupid enough for that, not after Ruby.
But who else was he going to call? Not Jodi. She deserved peace. And Garth was… Garth. Charlie had disappeared. So had Chuck. And everyone else was dead. Dean. Cas. Everyone left him. It was his fault, he knew. He was sorry. So sorry. He would give up everything if they could all live. He thought about it, for a time. But one, torn-up soul only went so far, and he doubted any demon would have the juice for it.
And he’d actually relaxed a little, hearing that deep, slightly hoarse voice at the other end of the line. But then… He’d got stuck. Hadn’t known what to say.
Crowley had known. The demon had mocked him, teased him.
Sam ended up calling again, the next night, but this time it was on purpose, when he found himself staring longingly at the handgun, loaded on the bedside table.
Crowley had just shown up after the first ring, this time, holding a bottle of Craig in one hand and two tumblers in the other. Sam had stared at him, wide-eyed and kind of… Well, terrified.
But Crowley had settled at his side, poured him a glass of the strong, amber liquid, and just started talking. Sam didn’t really take much of it in. The demon just spoke of Hell, how they were cleaning up the Levis, and other stuff that just didn’t register.
When Sam woke up, the next day, he was on the bed. Still dressed (though his boots were over by the door, he noticed) and atop the covers. His untouched glass of Craig held a note to the bedside table, next to the gun, written in a comfortable cursive Sam hadn’t seen before.
”I’ll be back tomorrow. Try to stay alive ‘til then.”
Rather than sign with a signature, or an “x” or something equally expected, Crowley left a well-inked sigil on the corner of the post-it note. Momentarily, Sam had an absurd visual of the demon keeping them in his jacket pocket, and chuckled to himself. Then he started thinking about Dean, and tried to go back to sleep.
Crowley did the same thing that night. Coaxed Sam to sleep with his voice, oddly melodic, the hunter thought. Well. Ex-hunter, considering how he’d sort of given up with hunting for the time being.
It went on like that, for a while. Sam wasn’t keeping track of days. He zoned out and missed hours, and suddenly weeks had passed and he hadn’t noticed. He didn’t surf the web, didn’t watch the news. He just stayed inside as much as he could and tried not to break apart. Crowley didn’t come back, for a time.
He found himself on a bridge, next. Somewhere in Idaho. It was cold, frosty. He was teetering on the edge. And then Crowley was there, and he was inside, and Sam was wrapped in a blanket. Warm, woolen. The demon was scolding him, maybe, something about Hell. Sam didn’t listen. Just slept.
--
Now, when Sam fell asleep to the sound of Crowley’s voice, he didn’t wake up atop the sheets of his motel bed. It wasn’t a motel bed, anymore. It was a well-furnished apartment, the bed comfortable, mattress firm and blankets soft. Sam was under the covers, half-naked, though his boots, unsurprisingly, still settled near the door.
It was getting a little easier, he thought, as he looked at the demon that was leaning against the doorframe, watching Sam with a glass of Craig in his hand. Just a little easier.
--
“We can’t keep doing this, Sam.” Crowley murmured, one of his hands going to Sam’s shoulder. The taller man didn’t move, still on the edge and looking down at the expanse of rock below.
“Why can’t I?” And his voice was cracked and hollow, and Sam thought he saw the demon wince. “Why won’t you let me?”
“Let’s go home, Sam.”
Sam turned back to look at Crowley, pressing his thumb hard into the palm of his other hand.
“My home was with Dean.”
“I know, Sam.” Crowley grasped his wrist in a strong grip, making them appear back at the apartment.
”In the Impala. It used to be just us, really. Dad was supposed to be there, but he never was, really. He was still with Mom.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Crowley nodded as he moved forward, undoing the zip on Sam’s jacket and pulling it off him, laying it across the back of a chair. He reached up to begin undoing Sam’s shirt buttons next, as the human shivered in front of him. Sam was soaked to the skin. Crowley was unsure how long he’d been out there, but it was certainly for longer than the demon would ever have liked.
“And- And we were OK, me and Dean.
“Dean and I.” Crowley corrected reflexively, laying the shirt over top the jacket. He gestured for Sam to remove his own undershirt, hands going to the buckle of the Winchester’s belt.
“Dean and I.” Sam repeated dutifully, still trembling as he threw his shirt to the ground. “We were OK. But then I left. And- And-“
“It’s alright.” Crowley said it quietly, in as soothing a tone as he could muster. “I’m here.” The boy looked like he was fit to sob.
“But you’re a demon though. I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t be here.” Sam’s boots were over by the door, had been since Crowley had brought Sam home. He stepped out of his jeans at Crowley’s indication, toeing off his socks and stepping out of his underwear.
“You’re safe here, Sam.” Crowley said, taking Sam’s hand and leading him to the bed, pulling back the covers and gently pushing Sam down.
“Can’t trust you.”
“Sleep, Sam. It’ll do you the world of good.”
Sam nodded, drowsily, and obeyed.
--
Sam came awake with a loud yell, sitting ramrod straight up in bed. Almost immediately Crowley was there, soothing him, stroking over his shoulders. “Hush, hush, you’re safe, you’re here, you’re alive, you’re fine.” He kept up a litany of words, just until Sam’s breathing slowed down and the ex-hunter relaxed.
“Now. What was it, love?” Crowley was wearing tartan pyjamas, Sam noticed. Momentarily, he thought maybe Bobby would find that funny.
But then he remembered that Bobby was gone.
“It- It was Jess. And she was in the Cage. Wi-with me and- and Lucifer.”
“Jess was your girlfriend. Before.” It didn’t really sound like a question, but Sam nodded anyway.
“Y-yeah. What he did to her, Crowley, I-” Sam trailed off, mind flooded with the images. Of Jess’ blood. Jess’ body. Jess. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He lay back down, still trying to calm.
“When I was a lad,” Crowley murmured, looking at the bigger man. “I grew up in a fairly little village. And my Ma- she was called Alva. She was a very intelligent woman.”
“Not like me dad. He wasn’t very bright at all. A tailor - I took on the same trade, of course, but I did so in the city; better business - and he knew his work well enough. But he was just a right pleb, you know?”
Sam really did relax then. It was easy to forget, when Crowley started talking, started telling him stories. He hadn’t heard anything about Crowley’s time as a human yet. He liked to think the other was opening up to him. Trusting him.
He couldn’t remember when they’d started sharing a bed.
But he liked it. He liked Crowley being close to him.
“But of course, at that point he was absolutely convinced that my brother was possessed - he wasn’t of course, it’s obvious now. And so he took us to church. Now, this church… I can still remember the carvings on the font.”
Sam liked Crowley, really. He liked his voice, and the lines of his face, and he liked his snark because it made him laugh, and he liked the way he wore tartan pyjamas even though it was really hot and- And Crowley was still talking. Now, with a fond smile on his face.
Crowley hadn’t smiled very often, before. Not like this. Sam watched the curve of his lips, watched them part and purse. Then he leaned forward, and kissed the demon.
Crowley emitted a muffled “Mmf”, but quickly carded a hand in Sam’s hair and pulled him closer, and Sam thought he heard the other mumble “Bloody finally.” against his lips.
This was another thing to like about Crowley though, Sam thought as Crowley forced the other to open his mouth a little.
He was a really awesome kisser.
--
Sam didn’t know how long they’d been kissing.
But Crowley had bitten hard on his lip and it felt so fucking good and he moaned into the smaller man’s mouth, leaning closer. Crowley tightened his grip a little on Sam’s hair, and somehow he felt that might have been intended as a reward because that was good too.
Sam whimpered. Crowley pulled away, giving a little chuckle as he took in Sam’s flushed cheeks and his heavy breathing. “Sleep now.”
He frowned. “But, Crowley, I want-“
“To fuck?” and Crowley made this weird inflection and the “k”, drawing it out. Sam looked away, embarrassed. He’d known he’d never been, say, fully straight, but Crowley was a demon, and…
“Why?”
“I like you.” Sam mumbled, immediately. “I really do. You’re wonderful and you’re so nice to me and you’re attractive and-“
“I’m King of Hell.” Sam blinked, unsure where Crowley was going. “This wouldn’t be a few nights of hot sex, Sam. Lots of demons already know that I’ve taken you under my wing. I had to say something. Make sure they didn’t try and… Well. Mess about.”
Sam tilted his head slightly. “Now, they all expect me to fuck you. I mean, they all think I’m training you now, making sure you know how to a be a proper pet.” Crowley said the word “pet” with something that sounded a bit like disgust.
“But if we do - and oh, I’d love to - there is no going back.” Sam furrowed his brow. “You would be mine.” And Sam thought maybe he should be ashamed of the way his stomach did a little flip at that. “No girls. No boys. Just me.”
The ex-hunter nodded. “Until the end of your days.” Crowley paused. “And after, probably.”
“I want that.” Sam broke in. “I want you.” Crowley made a frustrated growl, pulling Sam close with a rough hold in his hair.
“You don’t understand, you stupid, little boy.” Crowley hissed. “I will ownyou. I will be able to do whatever I please with you and your body, don’t you see that? If I wanted to I could send you down to the racks, make you the other demons’ whore.”
“You wouldn’t do that.” Sam mumbled, unsure as to why he believed it, but he did.
“No,” Crowley agreed. “I’m a possessive bastard. But I’ll still hurt you myself. I’ll take my frustrations out on you, use you as a toy.”
“I want you.” Sam said again.
“Arrogant boy. Stupid.” Crowley growled. “I will not be gentle with you.”
“But you won’t kill me. You like me.” Sam said, trying hard not to sound desperate.
Crowley paused, taken aback.
“That- that I do.” The demon admitted. “Not yet.” Was all he said, finally. Then, he let Sam go and rolled over, facing the other way.
Sam went to sleep.
He was safe.
Summary: Post Season 7.
[Spoiler for Season 7 (click to open)]
Sam struggles after losing Dean. He ends up calling one of the few people still living, almost by accident.
Characters: Sam, Crowley
Pairing: Sam/Crowley
Wordcount: 1967
Timeline: Post Season 7
Genre: Primarily Hurt/Comfort.
Warnings: -
Part 1 - Part 2
It was accidental, at first. Sam would have the phone in his hand before he’d really thought, would have dialed the number with a blank expression. He didn’t like Crowley. How could he? He certainly didn’t trust him. He wasn’t stupid enough for that, not after Ruby.
But who else was he going to call? Not Jodi. She deserved peace. And Garth was… Garth. Charlie had disappeared. So had Chuck. And everyone else was dead. Dean. Cas. Everyone left him. It was his fault, he knew. He was sorry. So sorry. He would give up everything if they could all live. He thought about it, for a time. But one, torn-up soul only went so far, and he doubted any demon would have the juice for it.
And he’d actually relaxed a little, hearing that deep, slightly hoarse voice at the other end of the line. But then… He’d got stuck. Hadn’t known what to say.
Crowley had known. The demon had mocked him, teased him.
Sam ended up calling again, the next night, but this time it was on purpose, when he found himself staring longingly at the handgun, loaded on the bedside table.
Crowley had just shown up after the first ring, this time, holding a bottle of Craig in one hand and two tumblers in the other. Sam had stared at him, wide-eyed and kind of… Well, terrified.
But Crowley had settled at his side, poured him a glass of the strong, amber liquid, and just started talking. Sam didn’t really take much of it in. The demon just spoke of Hell, how they were cleaning up the Levis, and other stuff that just didn’t register.
When Sam woke up, the next day, he was on the bed. Still dressed (though his boots were over by the door, he noticed) and atop the covers. His untouched glass of Craig held a note to the bedside table, next to the gun, written in a comfortable cursive Sam hadn’t seen before.
”I’ll be back tomorrow. Try to stay alive ‘til then.”
Rather than sign with a signature, or an “x” or something equally expected, Crowley left a well-inked sigil on the corner of the post-it note. Momentarily, Sam had an absurd visual of the demon keeping them in his jacket pocket, and chuckled to himself. Then he started thinking about Dean, and tried to go back to sleep.
Crowley did the same thing that night. Coaxed Sam to sleep with his voice, oddly melodic, the hunter thought. Well. Ex-hunter, considering how he’d sort of given up with hunting for the time being.
It went on like that, for a while. Sam wasn’t keeping track of days. He zoned out and missed hours, and suddenly weeks had passed and he hadn’t noticed. He didn’t surf the web, didn’t watch the news. He just stayed inside as much as he could and tried not to break apart. Crowley didn’t come back, for a time.
He found himself on a bridge, next. Somewhere in Idaho. It was cold, frosty. He was teetering on the edge. And then Crowley was there, and he was inside, and Sam was wrapped in a blanket. Warm, woolen. The demon was scolding him, maybe, something about Hell. Sam didn’t listen. Just slept.
--
Now, when Sam fell asleep to the sound of Crowley’s voice, he didn’t wake up atop the sheets of his motel bed. It wasn’t a motel bed, anymore. It was a well-furnished apartment, the bed comfortable, mattress firm and blankets soft. Sam was under the covers, half-naked, though his boots, unsurprisingly, still settled near the door.
It was getting a little easier, he thought, as he looked at the demon that was leaning against the doorframe, watching Sam with a glass of Craig in his hand. Just a little easier.
--
“We can’t keep doing this, Sam.” Crowley murmured, one of his hands going to Sam’s shoulder. The taller man didn’t move, still on the edge and looking down at the expanse of rock below.
“Why can’t I?” And his voice was cracked and hollow, and Sam thought he saw the demon wince. “Why won’t you let me?”
“Let’s go home, Sam.”
Sam turned back to look at Crowley, pressing his thumb hard into the palm of his other hand.
“My home was with Dean.”
“I know, Sam.” Crowley grasped his wrist in a strong grip, making them appear back at the apartment.
”In the Impala. It used to be just us, really. Dad was supposed to be there, but he never was, really. He was still with Mom.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Crowley nodded as he moved forward, undoing the zip on Sam’s jacket and pulling it off him, laying it across the back of a chair. He reached up to begin undoing Sam’s shirt buttons next, as the human shivered in front of him. Sam was soaked to the skin. Crowley was unsure how long he’d been out there, but it was certainly for longer than the demon would ever have liked.
“And- And we were OK, me and Dean.
“Dean and I.” Crowley corrected reflexively, laying the shirt over top the jacket. He gestured for Sam to remove his own undershirt, hands going to the buckle of the Winchester’s belt.
“Dean and I.” Sam repeated dutifully, still trembling as he threw his shirt to the ground. “We were OK. But then I left. And- And-“
“It’s alright.” Crowley said it quietly, in as soothing a tone as he could muster. “I’m here.” The boy looked like he was fit to sob.
“But you’re a demon though. I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t be here.” Sam’s boots were over by the door, had been since Crowley had brought Sam home. He stepped out of his jeans at Crowley’s indication, toeing off his socks and stepping out of his underwear.
“You’re safe here, Sam.” Crowley said, taking Sam’s hand and leading him to the bed, pulling back the covers and gently pushing Sam down.
“Can’t trust you.”
“Sleep, Sam. It’ll do you the world of good.”
Sam nodded, drowsily, and obeyed.
--
Sam came awake with a loud yell, sitting ramrod straight up in bed. Almost immediately Crowley was there, soothing him, stroking over his shoulders. “Hush, hush, you’re safe, you’re here, you’re alive, you’re fine.” He kept up a litany of words, just until Sam’s breathing slowed down and the ex-hunter relaxed.
“Now. What was it, love?” Crowley was wearing tartan pyjamas, Sam noticed. Momentarily, he thought maybe Bobby would find that funny.
But then he remembered that Bobby was gone.
“It- It was Jess. And she was in the Cage. Wi-with me and- and Lucifer.”
“Jess was your girlfriend. Before.” It didn’t really sound like a question, but Sam nodded anyway.
“Y-yeah. What he did to her, Crowley, I-” Sam trailed off, mind flooded with the images. Of Jess’ blood. Jess’ body. Jess. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He lay back down, still trying to calm.
“When I was a lad,” Crowley murmured, looking at the bigger man. “I grew up in a fairly little village. And my Ma- she was called Alva. She was a very intelligent woman.”
“Not like me dad. He wasn’t very bright at all. A tailor - I took on the same trade, of course, but I did so in the city; better business - and he knew his work well enough. But he was just a right pleb, you know?”
Sam really did relax then. It was easy to forget, when Crowley started talking, started telling him stories. He hadn’t heard anything about Crowley’s time as a human yet. He liked to think the other was opening up to him. Trusting him.
He couldn’t remember when they’d started sharing a bed.
But he liked it. He liked Crowley being close to him.
“But of course, at that point he was absolutely convinced that my brother was possessed - he wasn’t of course, it’s obvious now. And so he took us to church. Now, this church… I can still remember the carvings on the font.”
Sam liked Crowley, really. He liked his voice, and the lines of his face, and he liked his snark because it made him laugh, and he liked the way he wore tartan pyjamas even though it was really hot and- And Crowley was still talking. Now, with a fond smile on his face.
Crowley hadn’t smiled very often, before. Not like this. Sam watched the curve of his lips, watched them part and purse. Then he leaned forward, and kissed the demon.
Crowley emitted a muffled “Mmf”, but quickly carded a hand in Sam’s hair and pulled him closer, and Sam thought he heard the other mumble “Bloody finally.” against his lips.
This was another thing to like about Crowley though, Sam thought as Crowley forced the other to open his mouth a little.
He was a really awesome kisser.
--
Sam didn’t know how long they’d been kissing.
But Crowley had bitten hard on his lip and it felt so fucking good and he moaned into the smaller man’s mouth, leaning closer. Crowley tightened his grip a little on Sam’s hair, and somehow he felt that might have been intended as a reward because that was good too.
Sam whimpered. Crowley pulled away, giving a little chuckle as he took in Sam’s flushed cheeks and his heavy breathing. “Sleep now.”
He frowned. “But, Crowley, I want-“
“To fuck?” and Crowley made this weird inflection and the “k”, drawing it out. Sam looked away, embarrassed. He’d known he’d never been, say, fully straight, but Crowley was a demon, and…
“Why?”
“I like you.” Sam mumbled, immediately. “I really do. You’re wonderful and you’re so nice to me and you’re attractive and-“
“I’m King of Hell.” Sam blinked, unsure where Crowley was going. “This wouldn’t be a few nights of hot sex, Sam. Lots of demons already know that I’ve taken you under my wing. I had to say something. Make sure they didn’t try and… Well. Mess about.”
Sam tilted his head slightly. “Now, they all expect me to fuck you. I mean, they all think I’m training you now, making sure you know how to a be a proper pet.” Crowley said the word “pet” with something that sounded a bit like disgust.
“But if we do - and oh, I’d love to - there is no going back.” Sam furrowed his brow. “You would be mine.” And Sam thought maybe he should be ashamed of the way his stomach did a little flip at that. “No girls. No boys. Just me.”
The ex-hunter nodded. “Until the end of your days.” Crowley paused. “And after, probably.”
“I want that.” Sam broke in. “I want you.” Crowley made a frustrated growl, pulling Sam close with a rough hold in his hair.
“You don’t understand, you stupid, little boy.” Crowley hissed. “I will ownyou. I will be able to do whatever I please with you and your body, don’t you see that? If I wanted to I could send you down to the racks, make you the other demons’ whore.”
“You wouldn’t do that.” Sam mumbled, unsure as to why he believed it, but he did.
“No,” Crowley agreed. “I’m a possessive bastard. But I’ll still hurt you myself. I’ll take my frustrations out on you, use you as a toy.”
“I want you.” Sam said again.
“Arrogant boy. Stupid.” Crowley growled. “I will not be gentle with you.”
“But you won’t kill me. You like me.” Sam said, trying hard not to sound desperate.
Crowley paused, taken aback.
“That- that I do.” The demon admitted. “Not yet.” Was all he said, finally. Then, he let Sam go and rolled over, facing the other way.
Sam went to sleep.
He was safe.