Taking the gun out of his pocket Crowley shot Abaddon six more times. No sense in taking chances. Walking closer Crowley inspected his handiwork. Abaddon tried to wave her hand but nothing happened.

"Devil's trap bullets," he informed her. "You're not going anywhere. We're going to be spending some quality time together."

Grabbing the axe nearby Crowley grinned. "Now where shall we start?"

Sure it would have easier with an actual bone saw but where was the fun in that? He brought the axe down and chopped the head off first. Methodically he worked his way down the body. After each arm moved to the elbows and then the wrists. By the time he finished there wouldn't be and joint left intact. After he finished dismembering her he would bury each piece under concrete scattered across the planet.

"I have to do this Dean. If he needs me I have to find him."

"Okay but you can search from here. There's no reason to run off without a destination."

"We've done everything possible to find him from the bunker. Nothing worked," Sam argued.

"That's because he doesn't want to be found, he told you that."

"Too bad. I made him a promise and I intend to keep it."

"Sam," Cass said entering the room.

"What," Sam huffed.

"I was doing laundry and I found this."

Cass held up a small square of paper. Taking it Sam inspected it; ticket stub from the movies. Stepping sideways Sam slid down into the nearest chair. Crowley's ticket stub. As everything came crashing back Sam gripped the ticket tighter. If Crowley had left the ticket...

"He's really not coming back is he," Sam asked quietly.

"If he stayed you would have been targeted by every demon looking for him," Cass whispered. "If it helps, he really did love you."

"Would that help you if it were Dean?"

A hand rested on his shoulder and Sam looked up into Dean's eyes.

"I miss him," Sam whispered.

"I know," Dean answered. "I can't tell you it'll get easier."

Sam nodded. Suddenly a sharp pain flared through his index finger. Hissing in pain Sam raised his hand. Blood oozed from a deep cut. What the hell? Wrapping his finger in the corner of his shirt he applied pressure trying to stop the bleeding. After a minute he unwrapped the finger and stared at the red mark where the cut had been.

"What the hell," Dean asked.

"Not a clue," Sam replied confused. "Cass?"

"I'm not sure. I'd like to look into a few things before I venture a guess."

Bollocks, Crowley thought as he inspected the cut on his finger. At least with his powers back he could heal the finger instantly. Honestly, how had he survived not being able to use his powers for so long. With a sigh he picked the knife back up and returned to dicing the tomatoes. He should be getting back to hell but that could wait. Everyone deserved a vacation didn't they?

With his powers back he didn't actually have to eat. With his powers he also could have snapped up any food he chose. That thought didn't seem very appealing though. Something about actually making the food was calming. Smiling to himself Crowley walked back to the counter and checked the recipe.

The buzzer that signified someone at the front door filled the bunker. The three men turned and looked at eachother. The only other person knew where the bunker was that Sam could think of was Crowley. Jumping out of the chair Sam rushed to the door. When he opened it he was shocked to see Hannah instead of Crowley.

"What do you want," he growled more angry at himself than her.

"I wish to speak with Castiel," she answered.

"Hannah," Cass asked from behind Sam.

Sam moved to allow Hannah room to enter. With a nod Hannah stepped into the bunker and Sam shut the door behind her. Running a hand through his hair Sam shook his head. It was his own fault for getting his hopes up. He had no reason to be angry at Hannah; especially not after she had helped heal Crowley.

"What are you doing here," Dean asked walking up behind Cass.

"The angels are splitting into factions," Hannah informed them.

"We've heard," Dean answered stiffly.

"So far none of the factions have enough power to take out Metatron and if they continue to fight each other none will."

"I don't understand why you are telling us this," Cass replied.

"Because if we ever hope to return to heaven we need a leader worthy of being followed. Someone strong enough to take out Metatron and who has our best interests at heart."

"Agreed, but I still don't understand why you're telling us this," Cass said slowly.

"There is a faction that wants that angel to be you."

"I don't have my powers anymore. Even if I wanted to-"

Cass stopped speaking as Hannah removed a vial from her jacket. Inside was something that glowed and swirled suspiciously like Grace. It was more silver in color instead the normal blue. Walking forward Cass ran his fingers over the vial.

"What did you do?"

"I did not do it," she stated calmly. "Rebecca did this of her own free will, as have the others. As I am the only one who knows your location I was chosen to deliver these."

Giving the vial to Cass, Hannah removed three more vials handed them to him.

"I am to be the last to donate my grace freely."

Flicking her wrist an angel blade suddenly appeared in her hand.

"No," Cass ordered instantly.

Reaching for Hannah Cass stared at the vials. With his hands full he couldn't stop her in time. Turning he intended to shove the vials at Dean. Dean was pushing past Cass trying to get to Hannah in time. Sam reached out and placed a hand on Hannah's wrist. Hannah gave a flick of the wrist with her other hand instantly pinning the three against the wall. Without his power he wouldn't be able to break her hold on them.

"I, Hannah, Angel of the Lord donate my Grace to Castiel, Angel of the Lord by my own hand and of my own free will."

With a quick motion she sliced across her throat. A silvery light shined through briefly before it began to ebb out of the cut. Unable to break free Cass ordered the brothers to close their eyes before too much of the Grace escaped the body. Closing his own eyes against the brightness Cass could do nothing but wait. The three of them fell to the ground as the lights finally flared and were gone.

Blinking rapidly Cass refocused his vision. Miraculously the four vials were still in his hands and unbroken. Turning Cass checked on Sam and Dean. Both seemed to be alright but Dean looked pissed as he stood.

"Okay what the hell was that, and don't tell me you don't know," Dean growled.

Sam stood and rolled his shoulders a few times.

"An old legend," Cass answered.

"Well that's helpful. Want to share what the legend is?"

Cass glanced back to the vials. The color of the Grace, the feeling of Hannah's Grace within him... Handing two of them to Dean Cass finally stood.

"No one thought it was really true," Cass whispered.

"Cass," Dean growled trailing off.

"The lore says Grace from one angel can be gifted to another to be used as their own. It has to be given freely and with the intentions of…" Cass trailed off trying to find a good translation for the word. "'Doing good'," he finally stated.

"Doing good," Sam asked.

Cass shrugged. "That's the closest translation I could find. You try translating Enochian."

"So wait. If you absorb enough Grace do you get stronger? Like turn into an archangel or something?"

Cass shook his head. "It doesn't work that way. Archangels are a different rank, a different type of angel."

"But you'll be stronger than Metatron, right?"

"Theoretically, yes."

"What do you mean theoretically," Dean asked.

"There is a rather significant probability I might implode trying to absorb that much energy."

Crowley drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. Nothing ruined a perfectly good day faster than politics in hell. He sighed as the latest demon rambled on about… Actually what was this demon going on about? Truthfully he hadn't been paying any attention since the demon had opened his mouth. Maybe he could just snap the demon into nonexistence and have done with the whole matter.

The majority of the Abaddon followers had been found and killed. There were still a few in hiding but he would route them out eventually. He also killed a few of the 'free-lance' demons when he took back his throne. Better to reduce the number of dissidents after his extended time away. Abaddon was no longer a threat and he ruled hell once again. All was as it should be. So why did he still feel so apathetic?

"Sire?"

Suppressing a groan Crowley looked at the demon standing before him. Tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair once more Crowley thought about how to proceed. Honestly he was sick of all the political bull he had dealt with for the past several hours. He decided he needed a break. Standing he held up a hand to the demon.

"We'll pick this back up later. I'm calling a recess for now."

"But sire-"

Crowley held up a finger to stop the demon from speaking. He seriously reconsidered incinerating the demon. With a mental sigh he decided he couldn't destroy all of his subjects that annoyed him or he wouldn't have any left.

"We will pick this up again later," Crowley said with deliberate care. "Unless you wish to argue with your king?"

He blinked to his room instead of walking to avoid meeting any other demons along the way. What the hell was wrong with him? He used to enjoy ruling hell. Well, mostly. He never had liked the endless petitioning. Why did most demons have to be so needy? Taking off his suit jacket Crowley hung it over a chair and promptly sat in the chair. Leaning forward he placed his elbows on the desk and dropped his head into his hands.

What was he missing? Abaddon was out of the picture and hell was his. He had loyal subjects, well as loyal as demons ever were. He had everything that made him happy before. Pausing at that thought Crowley frowned. That wasn't exactly right. He had never been truly 'happy' until... Not until Sam, Crowley realized as his frown deepened. Raising his head he lowered his brows as he thought about it. Had he really been happy with Sam?

He thought back to the night he left. Crowley pictured himself watching as Sam slept. He remembered brushing Sam's hair away from his face and the weight of Sam's arm laying over him. Just thinking about it cause Crowley to smile. Yes, Sam had made him happy. Suddenly the smile disappeared. Horrified Crowley realized he had loved the Moose. Still loved the Moose in fact. Holy mother of sin! What the hell?

A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts. Growling Crowley stood and grabbed his jacket. Slipping the jacket on he buttoned it as he strode to the door. Yanking the door open he glared at the demon standing in front of him. It was the same demon who had been petitioning him earlier. As the demon opened his mouth Crowley snapped and the demon exploded. Closing the door Crowley moved back to the chair.

Glancing up Dean watched as Sam entered the kitchen and sat down next to him. He had been too distracted lately to check on Sam as often as he should have. Sam looked almost as bad as he felt Dean noted. Rubbing a hand over his face Dean rested his chin in his palm. What a pair they made; him pining for Cass and Sam pining for Crowley.

Cass had decided he had to try to absorb the Grace and Dean hadn't been able to talk him out of it. Using the Grace he had gained from Hannah Cass had ported somewhere safe in case it did backfire. While he understood the reasons why Cass felt he had to do this Dean didn't much like the idea.

"How are you feeling," he asked Sam.

"Probably better than you," Sam answered. "At least I know Crowley's probably safe."

"He'll be fine Sammy."

"Cass will be fine too Dean. You have to have faith."

"Faith, huh? Didn't we already have this conversation? I thought you were the one that had the faith and I was the one that got to doubt everything."

"You don't get to doubt about Cass coming back. He will always come back."

"I wish I had your faith right about now. God, when did I turn into such a girl?"

"You're not being a girl Dean. You're just worried because you can't be there to protect him."

"Now I know how you felt."

"Yep."

"Does this get any easier?"

"Nope."

Dean shook his head. "I made dinner if you're hungry."

"Not really," Sam replied.

"You really should eat something Sam."

"Did you eat?"

"Wasn't hungry. I just needed something to do."

"I'll eat if you eat."

"You're really going to be like that?"

"Yep."

"Fine," Dean answered as he stood.

Staring at the paper Crowley wondered if he could actually manage to finish this time. He had always gotten angry and destroyed the letter before. Maybe this time he could finally write what he needed to write. This shouldn't be that hard. It's not like he was ever going to send the thing. As he stared at the paper Crowley finally picked up the pen. The letter wasn't going to write itself.

Sam,

I've written and rewritten this letter more times than I would care to admit. I realize I will never send this, however that knowledge does little to lessen the difficulty of this task. There is so much I want to say to you that it is difficult to know where to begin. Starting from the beginning would make this letter impossibly long and delve into subject matter best left in the past. Better to let sleeping dogs lie, as they say.

I suppose we could start at a different beginning. Our story may not have begun in that church but perhaps that is where our journey truly began. I still remember everything about that day; the uncomfortable chair, the prick of the needle... Mostly I remember the anger. I was angry at Dean for the cuffs, angry at you for making me the third trial, angry at everything. Mainly though I was angry at myself. I let my guard down, got taken against my will and was powerless to do anything to stop it.

I'm not sure I can adequately describe how it felt. I'm sure you think you understand, a human caught in the world of the supernatural. Don't forget, I used to be human once. (Well twice, I suppose.) It's different when you've spent centuries with almost unlimited power at your finger tips. Becoming human again was terrifying. (And damned if that wasn't difficult to admit, even if only to myself.)

I'd spent centuries (longer in hell's time) having the humanity tortured out of me. When you restored even a fraction of my humanity I had no idea how to cope. It should come as no surprise I wasn't the best example of morality when I was a human. I was, however, more than capable of taking care of myself. Becoming a demon changed that. As a fledgling demon my life was hell, pun intended. I made a promise, I swore to myself, I would never be weak again. And then I met you. I think if I had known how things would play out I probably would have killed you on the spot. Perhaps it was better that I didn't know.

With each injection in that church I felt myself slipping, becoming more human. To say I was scared would be an understatement. I could feel my powers ebbing away. Everything I had worked so hard for, used to protect myself, to keep from being hurt or used or taken advantage of, gone. There aren't words to express the amount of fear that I felt. Not surprisingly that fear manifested itself as anger.

I would like to say the actions I took in the church as it crumbled around us were entirely selfless. Truthfully the main reason I protected you at the time was because I knew Dean would kill me if you had died. There were other reasons but self preservation was definitely among the most prevalent at the time. Later, Lucifer only knows how long, other things began to sink in. What happened during the time between getting from the church to the bunker is mostly irrelevant. The only important part was Dean opening the trunk and me finally getting to see you were truly alright.

Ah, finally we get to the difficult part. I would like to point out this is the part where I usually rip the letter into shreds and burn the pieces into ashes. You'd think it would be easy to write this considering you aren't ever going to read it. I guess there are some things that are just that hard to admit, even if it's only to yourself. Here's to hoping I will actually finish it this time around.

In the dungeon Dean's attitude was so cliche it hard to take him too seriously. No, what really got to me was you. I didn't know how hard it hit me at the time. Dean was brash, loud, and generally annoying. In other words, himself. You, on the other hand were quiet, soft spoken. Kind. Where Dean ordered me to provide the list you quietly reminded me of why I should. I think if I had to point to an exact moment I started to fall that would be the moment. I'm getting ahead of myself.

I probably wouldn't have consented to provide the list if it hadn't been for you. I sat there berating myself for being weak. Don't misunderstand. I didn't consider myself weak for wanting to give in and make the list. I considered myself weak because I wanted to do whatever you wanted. I wanted to do something for you that would fix things. I wanted to do something to atone for the things I had done to you in the past. Being seen as weak can get you killed. I desperately hated myself for feeling so weak on the other hand I needed to make things right between us.

Dean coming back later and forcibly reminding me to get started on the list wasn't too much of a surprise. I was actually surprised it took him that long to resort to a more physical form of persuasion. In retrospect, 'bite me' might not have been the wisest thing I could have said to him. When I heard movement in the outer room a second time I assumed it was Dean back for more. You can imagine my surprise when I looked up and saw you instead of your brother. The look on your face... How to explain it? There was so much concern and compassion there I couldn't bear to look at it.

And then you apologized. After everything I had done it was you who was apologizing to me. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry." Being the King of Hell I'm used to those I deal with apologizing for everything. What I'm not used to is the apology being sincere. I dealt with the confusion the only way I could at the time. I retreated behind a wall of indifference. If I didn't care about anyone then they couldn't hurt me. With our past I figured it would be easy to shove you away. I underestimated you. Before I understood what was happening you were loosening the shackles at my wrists. I still didn't comprehend what I was feeling at the time. It was hard to view you as Sam. You were still 'just a Winchester'.

The next time I saw you I had given up on everything including any form of redemption. Dean came down for the list and I hadn't had enough paper to finish. I couldn't even do that one thing right. I remember the touch of your hand on my shoulder vividly. There was something about it that was soothing. Again, I couldn't have told you why at the time. Looking back I'm surprised it took me as long as it did to realize what I was feeling. I suppose I just didn't want to admit to it at the time. Couldn't.

Despite everything I was still too worried to face you. You had tasked me with one simple job and I hadn't been able to complete it. I felt... Regret? Guilt? Remorse? Perhaps all of them. When I finally did face you I wasn't sure what to expect. More kindness wasn't anything I did expect. It was hard to fathom why you would want to help me. When you insisted on treating my wounds all I could think of was how I failed. I failed to keep from being captured. I failed to keep things from getting to me emotionally. I failed to provide you with the only thing you had requested of me.

How could I accept your assistance? On the other hand, how could I deny you anything in that moment? I tried to deny you though. Oh Lucifer, did I try. You see, I wasn't worthy of your help then and I'm not worthy of it now Sam. I meant what I said. I'm not the one you save. I'm what you destroy to save others. I wanted so badly to be saved. You made me want that more than anything I'd ever wanted before. I would have given anything in that moment to be exactly whatever you wanted me to be.

I never thought it would be so hard to lose some thing I never really had. I'm so much more than myself when I'm with you. (And doesn't that just sound pathetic?) I'm sorry I can't return the shirt, I need it too much. It's the last piece of you I have left. I wish I could be whatever you need, whatever you want, but I can't and I'm sorry. Life is a delicate balance of holding on and letting go. You deserve to be with someone who makes you happy, someone who doesn't complicate your life. Someone who won't hurt you. I can't promise that.

Yours Forever in Heart,
Crowley

As he signed the letter Crowley stared at it until his eyes stung with tears he refused to let fall. Reaching forward he grabbed Sam's shirt off the desk and held it to his chest. The last piece of Sam he had left. No, he definitely could not return the shirt. As painful as the emotions were and as difficult it was to pry them through the defenses his demonic nature erected Crowley clung to them. Stubbornly he refused to allow the demonic nature to steal them from him. He had gone through too much, sacrificed too many things, to let that happen.

He couldn't have Sam but he could keep the hard won humanity Sam had sacrificed so much to give him. With the emotions came weakness. He knew that but he couldn't let the love he felt for Sam be stolen from him again. Hell had taken everything else from him, this was his and he was going to keep it.

Still holding the shirt Crowley stood and picked the letter up off of the desk. For a while he stood transfixed just staring at the it. He read through it once more to be sure it said everything he need it to say. Finally he forced his feet to move and walked to the fireplace. Lowering his hand slowly he carefully dropped the paper in the fireplace and turned away.

A figure keeping itself just outside of the material dimension eyed the papers curiously. With a thought he willed the papers unburnt and into his hands. As he read through the letter he shook his head slowly. He turned back to the demon and watched him curl up on the bed while clutching the shirt tightly.

Would they never learn? He did everything he could to help his children but he wouldn't take them by the hand and lead them all the way. They had to figure some of it out themselves. Walking over he touched the demon's head lightly and sent him to sleep. With another thought he willed the demon to have pleasant dreams for once. Sighing he pocketed the letter and ported out of hell.

Porting directly to Sam's room in the Men of Letters bunker he stared into the trash bin near the desk. Snapping his fingers the ticket stub moved to the back corner of the desk's center drawer; the tie moved to hang on the same hanger as a suit Sam rarely wore. Pleased he finally made his way to the room next door.

Walking in he watched the two brothers sleeping fitfully. The sheets and blankets had become twisted over and around various limbs. Shaking his head he extended one finger and waved it from the bottom of the bed upward. Instantly the bedding righted itself over the brothers. Much better he thought as he made his way to the desk.

Placing the papers on the desk he put one finger on the letter and thought for Sam Winchester's eyes only unless or until he so chooses to share before lifting the finger. Knowing Sam there were a few people he might choose to share with sooner or later. Turning he went back to watching the brothers sleep. Sam twisted and cried out softly. Still sleeping Dean pulled his brother closer and mumbled to him softly.

The two had been through so much. Perhaps he should grant them one small kindness before leaving. Walking over to the bed he reached down and placed a finger gently on the forehead of both of the brothers. Be at peace, he ordered. Standing he watched as the tension eased from both of the brothers. Finally they were both sleeping peacefully. Nodding to himself he finally ported out of the bunker.

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A/N: Please don't throw things... I am working on a sequel.
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