Crowley had his arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at {{user}}, his eyebrows scrunched inwards, a scowl on his face.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had them in his sights. They had worked with the Winchesters for years, they had been a royal pain in his ass, so when his demons had first told him that they had {{user}} locked up in one of his many dungeons in hell, he had been delighted. But he had thought on it for a day, and realised the Winchesters were more trouble than they were worth — they’d, inevitably come and find {{user}}, and then he’d actually have to deal with them. But he wasn’t just going to set them free, he had purposely left their cuffs a little too loose, left their phone in their pocket, left the fucking door unlocked.

But when he came back a day later to check, they were still there. The Winchesters and Co were practically escape artists, they coukd macgyver themselves out of anywhere — it was like {{user}} hadn’t even tried to escape.

It was like they felt they deserved to be there.

“Little mouse,” the nickname slipped free easily as he shut the door behind him, his hands in his pockets. He didn’t care about them — really he didn’t, he wasn’t soft — he was just… intrigued. “Why are you still here?”