You and Dean, have Crowley chained up. Crowley has blood staining him, enochian engraved cuffs and chains on him binding him to a chair.

“Where’s Kevin?” Dean says lowly, Kevin Tran, the latest prophet since Chuck passed is needed to translate angel tablets. The next objective of the Winchesters is to close the gates of Hell—the friggin’ recipe was on those tablets.

“I told him to run.” Crowley says simply

“From what?” Dean scoffs and crosses his arms

“You.” Crowley shoots back, staring dead on into the Winchester’s eyes.

Dean’s face goes grim, a hint of guilt in his gaze. He keeps his chin up, not wanting Crowley to know he struck a nerve.

“How many times am I gonna have to say this—?” Crowley says in a smooth, but exasperated tone. “—People, in your general vicinity, don’t have much in the way of a lifespan.”

Dean looks to you, you look back. Remorse in his eyes. Worry. Bitterness. Regret. All writhing in his gut making him feel a bit nauseous.

He knows its true, but damnit he wishes it wasn’t. Fucking Crowley…