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Eleventh Time's the Charm >> Crowley X Reader

Title: Eleventh Time's the Charm

Paring: Crowley X Reader

Warnings: about soulmates, contains time travel, Fergus MacLeod, character death & murder, TFW (and fluff too)

Spoilers: nop! I'm still on Season 10, please don't comment any spoilers for other readers!!!

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Everyone has someone. Your someone, was perhaps, preoccupied. Soulmates were a thing, and while it was good for the 99% of people who had their shit together, you did not have yours together, and lived out your days working days at the diner, nights working on your online education. Poor as hell, living out of a caravan in a nobody town's trailer park, you rarely saw anyone new who wasn't a regular at Bean There, Donut That. Apparently, when people met their One, everything sort of clicks. Comes into focus. You'd never had that happen with Joe who loved maple syrup more than life, or the coffee addicts with their stamp-cards.

One night, it might have happened. You're not sure, because you were quite out of it. There was an essay due for your online university, and you'd left the only copy of it on your USB that was attached to your spare set of keys at work. You were rushing around, practically screeching for Zach the busboy to toss them to you. Zach was never good at throwing things, especially projectiles that weren't footballs. Thus, a strange bearded patron was hit on the back of his head with your Punisher USB and keys.

"Bloody –," he mutters.

But before he can blink, you scoop up your keys from behind his chair where he's sipping pink milk, and give a wan, apologetic smile and dash out. "Sorry, man!" You call out over your shoulder, and dash out to your beat-up pickup truck.

You didn't notice the clarity of the night until you'd uploaded the final essay for your exams and hit send. With the laptop shut, the lamplight inside the caravan low, stars littering the night sky outside the window brighter than ever before, you sit there, breathless. You don't think it's to do with Zach smacking your keys into that bloke until you're dunking a camomile teabag into your Sherlock cup an hour later. Checking your watch, you see the diner has a few minutes before it's closed for business, and with your old phone, call them up.

"Hello, Bean There, Donut That, it's Keith." Another co-worker, works the grill.

You sigh. "Hey, Keith, it's __________." You scratch your nose, and add, "Sorry it's late, I was just wondering if you know who that guy was who came in today. Emr, earlier. When I was in."

You hear Keith make a noise, and then, "Oli? He's one of your regulars."

Oli? No. "No, no, not one of my regulars...the other guy. Uh, beard? Older? I don't know, I was in a rush. Zach hit him with my keys."

The phone rustles, "__________, hey, did you submit that paper?" You hear Ned, the owner of the diner on the phone. He's the type of guy who'd make you feel like absolute shit if you were late to work, but would be all Suburban Dad if someone was out to wrong you. "I heard what you and Keith were saying. Yes, we had a new patron come in, I didn't catch his name."

You sigh, nowhere closer to finding out if he was the guy. "Did he say he'd stick around town?"

"Didn't get that either. But you're working the morning shift anyway, so you can see for yourself." Ned reminds you, and clicks his tongue into the phone. "Okay, diner's closed. See you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, __________."

You hung up. Brushed your teeth, straightened the picture frame above the bed of Vincent van Gough's sunflowers, switched off the lamp. Your head was still spinning. For once in your life when you needed the clouded thoughts, all you could think about was the flash of dark green eyes as you ran out of the diner.