I've recently been re-watching all of Supernatural from the very start and it has made me want to write something and after reading probably every Crowley/Naomi story I have found (which was sadly not enough to satisfy my craving), this idea began to take shape.

This story will be set after the season 8 finale and its main focus will be on Crowley and Naomi (with a little Dean/Cas thrown in because I just couldn't resist it) and Naomi did not die after being stabbed by Metatron. This will have little references to season 9 (Because I haven't actually seen it yet *hides face in shame*) and so I'm making my own version of events.

After all the angels have been cast out and fallen from heaven, and Abbadon threatens to take over hell, the Winchesters and the newly human Castiel reluctantly join forces with Crowley and Naomi in order to save the world once again. This time they seek out the help of one of the most powerful forces in existence, that not even the Fates or Death would dare to cross. Time itself.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters (If I did none of my favourite characters would have died and Ellen and Bobby would be married) I'm just borrowing them for a while for my amusement.

Trapped. Bloody. Dirty. Powerless. This was not how Crowley expected to spend his evening, tied up in the Winchester's basement and feeling worse than he had since he was a human soul being tortured in Hell. He had so many things he could be doing. There were several disobedient demons he was looking forward to torturing and then decorating the wall of his kingdom with their insides. Mind you, if things carried on the way they were and Abbadon got her way then his kingdom would no longer be his, as he would no longer be King of Hell. Or alive. Everything he worked so hard to build would simply crumble into a bloodthirsty chaos. Not that it wasn't bloodthirsty, but at least it had some order.

It wasn't just work that consumed his attention. He got a glimpse, before he was shoved unceremoniously into the trunk of the Impala, of hundreds (maybe even thousands) of fiery orbs illuminating the sky and plummeting towards the earth. The angels had fallen. He had hoped to grab a bottle of his favourite drink, Craig, and sit back and watch the show. Then maybe he would search out a particular bureaucratic angel and he'd…

The sound of shuffling, a loud crash and then an equally loud curse brought Crowley from his musing. He grinned sarcastically, "The boys are back!" He muttered to no one in particular.

After making sure that he was secure in his bonds, and Sam was placed into one of the bedrooms, Dean had left to presumably go and find his angel boyfriend. Judging by the sounds and the dulled presence Crowley could feel, his search had been successful. Boredom and curiosity lead Crowley to listen in on their conversation, thankful that his supernatural hearing had not been affected by the predicament in which he found himself.

"There you go, easy Cas." Came Dean's gruff voice, concern making it deeper. There was then the sound of a chair scrapping across the concrete floor, and a creak as he presumed Castiel sat in it. "Jesus Cas, what happened?"

"The angels have fallen." Castiel sounded, if it was possible, remorseful, "Metatron managed to complete the trials and cast us all out of Heaven."

"So Naomi was right. About Metatron. About you." Dean's voice began to become hysterical with rage.

Cas paused before answering. "It would appear she was correct about Metatron's plan to banish us all from our home as we did him." He took a breath then added, "And she was correct about me being…"

"His bitch?"

"I was going to say being used."

"Dammit Cas." There was a loud thump. Squirrel throwing a tantrum. "How is it that you get screwed over every time by these dicks? God, so what, you're fallen now?"

Crowley waited for Castiel reply as eagerly as he was sure Dean was. "The final trial required an angels grace and he took mine. Dean by the time I realised what was happening…" He left the sentence.

"Where was Naomi in all this? Why didn't you ask her for help or something?" When Cas didn't reply, Dean snapped "Cas!"

Again Castiel didn't reply immediately, and Crowley began to fell dread rising from a deep forgotten place. "She would not have been able to help me. Not anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"She is dead. Metatron killed her by impaling her drill into her skull." Castiel's voice was void of any emotion.

"Well I suppose it's ironic." Dean gave a humourless laugh, his voice laced with shock. "All the heads she screwed up and then she gets her's cracked open. With her own drill."

Crowley zoned out at that point. He was vaguely aware of the hum of their conversation, and of Sam joining shortly after, but the words fell on deaf ears. She was dead. After everything it was the fucking scribe of God that killed her. He wasn't sure what he felt at that moment. Emotions long forgotten ripped through his chest like a demon knife. What were they? Anger? Regret? Sorrow? Either way they made him uncomfortable and he did not like it.

He felt moisture on his face and could taste a metallic salt in his mouth, and briefly wondered if his face was bleeding again. He heard the door creak open and a snap, as the switch was flicked and illuminated the whole room, banishing the shadows to the corners. Standing in the door way was none other than 'Team Free will' Crowley thought sarcastically. Dean was stone faced and pissed off, and both Castiel and Sam looked a little worse for wear, but you can't be picky now days.

Dean stepped forward and grinned, clapping his hands together. "Hey Crow-…" He stopped and took a step closer looking carefully at Crowley's face. "Man, are you crying?"

"No!" Stupid human emotions…

"Well then you got a leakage around the eye area…"

"Shut up!"

Dean backed off, with his hands raised in surrender, chuckling in amusement. Sam stepped forward with a concerned look. Honestly it's amazing how he can still look concerned whilst grimacing. "Crowley are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine" Crowley cried indignantly, "Anyway why are you worried about me? I mean have you caught a glimpse of yourself recently?"

Sam frowned slightly and Dean stepped forward again, all previous traces of amusement gone. "Listen Crowley, if you know anything about…" He began threateningly.

"Let me tell you before we start dishing out the macho threats," Crowley interrupted. He really wasn't in the mood to trade barbs with these nit wits. He just wanted to be left alone with his…grief? "I. Don't. Know. How. To. Heal. Moose. I don't even know what's wrong with him! These trials were created by big Daddy himself, and since he has taken an indefinite vacation, it seems you're on your own."

Dean growled and shot forward, slamming his fist into Crowley's jaw and pleased to see a fresh pool of blood trickle from the demon's lip. Crowley sighed and gave Dean a mock sympathetic glance. "Feel better now squirrel?"

"Enough." Sam intervened before Dean could take another swing. "We're going to see a couple of hunter's a couple of miles out of town, who might be able to help us with the fallen angels."

"And you're coming with us." Dean smirked.

"What?"

"Well the thing is Crowley," Sam began gently.

"We don't trust you not to pull some 'Great Escape', 'call on one of your bitches' crap." Dean was positively smug at calling the shots over the King of Hell.

Crowley glared at the two and gritted his teeth. "Who do you expect me to call on? And how? I'm trapped her with no communication and unless you've been too wound up in your own problems to notice, Abbadon has all but taken over Hell, and I'm stuck here and can't do anything about it!" His calm façade cracked and he all but screamed the last part at them

Castiel, who had remained silent the whole time, approached Crowley and said, "At the moment the main concern would be to open the gates of Heaven and return the angels. No doubt that they will see Abbadon as a threat and be willing to find a way to get rid of her as quickly as possible."

Crowley would have liked nothing more than to make a snarky remark about how it was Castiel's fault that the angels had fallen and that if he had listened to what other's had said then all the angels would still be sitting in their cloudy home, and not wandering the earth completely powerless, but he held his tongue knowing that it would be more beneficial to him to get the angels back to Heaven, not only to help sort his power struggle with Abbadon, but because the angels would be weak and divided making it easier to manipulate them. Should the need ever arise of course. He turned to the Winchester's and gave them his most devilishly charming smile. "All right then, boys. Shall we get this show on the road?"

Well what did you guys think? Please let me know what you think and any thoughts or suggestions you'd like to make.