His Favorite Plaything~ (Crowley x Reader)

Chapter 25: How?

   I stare at the binds that are melting from my wrists and ankles in open-mouthed shock. How is this happening? I thought that Rowena hexed them!

   Not that I'm complaining or anything. Crowley may have a shot at continuing to thrive now.

The sadness evaporates from my body at the thought, urge filling its place. I stand up as soon as I'm able.

Rowena looks just as shocked as I did. "What the bloody—" she begins, and I cut her off with a wave my hand, which makes her fly across the room. She's pinned to the wall, unable to talk or move.

I wave my hand once more, and the hex bag that was in Crowley's pocket flies towards me. I catch it, snapping my fingers afterward.

The bag catches on fire, burning it into nothingness.

Since the immobilizing spell on the Winchesters hasn't worn off, I snap my fingers again, making them fall to the ground with a soft plop.

After doing that, I rush to Crowley, who is curled up in a fetal position on the floor. The blood has stopped flowing from his eyes, and the wet-sounding coughs have stopped wracking his body, which is good. However, he's shaking, definitely not feeling one hundred percent better yet.

A large crack runs down the Devil's Trap on the ceiling with a snap of my fingers. I kneel down next to Crowley. "Oh, God, Crowley... Are you okay?"

I know it's a stupid question, and I shake my head to myself at that realization.

Crowley pushes himself into a sitting position as I rest a hand on his knee comfortingly. He gives me a weak smile, wiping off some of the blood that stains his cheeks. "As okay as someone can be, considering the circumstances."

My nervous expression breaks into a smile. Without thinking about the issue of Rowena still breathing, I dive into his lap and wrap my arms around him, happy tears mixing with the sad ones that already stain my face.

   Crowley immediately returns the embrace, one arm around my waist and the other cradling my head. He whispers sweet nothings to me as all of my relief comes pouring out through my (e/c) eyes.

   A huff of aggravation can be heard from Dean, and Sam responds with a low "shut up, dude."

   I sigh, remembering that I'll have to face the Winchesters soon.

   But that doesn't matter right now. What matters is me in Crowley's arms.

   I inhale his scent, which is weirdly amazing to one's nose. Whiskey mixed with cologne, a small hint of flowers in the concoction as well.

   My crying has slowed a little, and Crowley begins shushing me to stop me completely. "Shh, love. It's okay. I'm okay," he murmurs again and again.

And, eventually, I do stop. He gently removes me from his lap once he sees that my blubbering has halted, standing up and glaring at Rowena.

   It's then that I remember that something needs to be done involving her, me, and an explosion of blood.

   A confused expression crosses my face as I wonder why the Winchesters didn't just pick up their guns and fire at her while I was with Crowley. I stand up and turn around to face the men in question, and they're looking at Crowley, their eyebrows raised. It's almost as if they're asking a question without saying anything.

   It then hits me.

   Sure, Rowena's a total bitch, but she's still Crowley's mother. Watching your mother get slain isn't exactly the best experience a person can have, regardless of the type of person the mother was.