This story has not been beta read. If you would like to beta this series, please let me know.

Crowley floated in a haze of pain and despair, barely registering the sound of Dean dragging his younger brother from the ruined church. It took him a long moment to realize that the chanting had stopped and he was alone. With difficulty, he raised his head and looked around, finally realizing that he was alone in the church.

"Moo … Sam?" He tried to twist around, hampered by the sigil-inscribed leather collar. "Sam?" He heard the pleading in his voice and hated himself for it. "Don't … don't leave me like this." There was no response and he slumped in the chair, hands gripping the chair arms tightly.

Something must had happened to get Sam to stop the ritual and he tried to work out what. Dimly he remembered Dean rushing into the church and he worked at the memory. Dean, saying something about Sam dying if he completed the ritual.

Crowley laughed raggedly. "Trust the Winchesters not to finish what they started," he muttered to himself. He looked around numbly. "But where does that leave me?"

Alone, bound to a chair in an abandoned church, easy prey for anyone it seemed.

He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the turmoil inside him. For the first time since his death Crowley could feel emotions and he hated it. They tore at him; regret, fear, sorrow. Everything he left behind when he stepped off the rack. Everything he'd willingly left behind. He'd made his choice and resigned himself to it. Who were the Winchesters to decide he was to be cured?

He heard a sound and turned hopefully toward the door but there as no one there. No Sam to finish the ritual, no Dean to put him out of his misery. Had they forgotten about him? That wouldn't surprise him at all. Well, not from Dean. Sam would probably come back for him, if he were able.

So what should he do now?

He couldn't free himself, not as he was. He was still demon enough that the sigils and devil's trap kept him captive, even if he could wiggle free of the bonds. It was only a matter of time before Abaddon acquired a new body and came back for him. If he was lucky she'll just kill him; if he wasn't lucky, she'd drag him back to Hell.

Crowley gave a choked laugh. That would amuse more then a few of his former subjects. Crowley, former King of Hell; now some freakish demon with a soul. Abaddon would be happy to make him her new pet.

But if he were able to regain his power? The number of souls he held gave him more than enough power to trounce even a Knight of Hell. But ….

But was that what he wanted? Unlike most demons, he remembered his human life. He'd fought to remember his human life even as Alastair and his favored apprentices tortured his humanity away; even as he stepped from the rack and picked up a knife himself. He'd remembered his human life but as a demon had no emotions to go with the memories and so had no real meaning to him. But now he did feel and he remembered.

He remembered his human life and why he sold his soul. He remembered how he had died and the centuries on the rack. Memory of that pain tore at him and he twisted against the restraints. Memories of what he'd done as a demon raced through his mind and for the first time in centuries he felt remorse and guilt for things he had done.

There should have been a better way.

A crash drew his attention and he jerked, looking around wildly. Fear tore at him. Was Abaddon back? But no, there was no sign of her.

"What's going on?" he muttered to himself, looking toward the ceiling. He could feel … feel grace? "Castiel?"

No, not Castiel. It didn't feel right. And there was too much of it. His eyes were drawn to a hole in the roof and through it he could see falling stars. Hundreds of falling stars.

Only they weren't stars.

"Angels," he muttered to himself. "The angels are falling."

So Hell was still opened and the angels were falling. The Winchesters had fucked up again. Big surprise.

The demonic side of him kicked in. If the angels were falling and Hell still open … well, that left Earth wide open. And maybe Heaven as well. The things a clever demon could do with all that raw material. The problem was … he wasn't exactly a demon any longer.

But he could be. He could feel demon essence twisting within him but he could feel a human soul as well. Sam had taken him to the very edge but was stopped before bringing him over completely. Was it possible for him to do so, to tip himself over the edge himself? Not to human but back to demon. Away from the raw unwanted emotions that tore at him and back to the emotional numbness of a demon. He could own not only Hell but Purgatory, Earth and, dare he think it, Heaven.

But was that what he truly wanted?

Crowley watched the falling angels, watched as their wings were burnt away and was surprised to feel sorrow. Was Castiel among them? Was he falling, his wings shriveling away in fire?

Images ran through his mind. The young prophet with his missing finger, shooting Castiel and dig the angel tablet from his guts, the snapping of a young girl's neck, torture, rape, murder … the things he had done. As a human, he'd have to deal with what he'd done and all the emotions associated with them. But as a demon, well, he wouldn't care.

He had a chance to rule the world. Hell, Earth, Heaven. He knew he was strong enough, clever enough, no matter what Abaddon may think.

Watching as the last of the angels fell, Crowley made his decision.