Opening Notes: Thanks for taking an interest, my short excerpt on the previous page must've been semi-interesting for you to open up this story. Since I like to know what I'm getting into at the beginning of any fanfic I'm going to give you a larger, slightly more detailed synopsis (but not spoiling anything): this fanfic starts in the beginning of season nine with the exception of flashbacks and will stay fairly canon except for my AU additional character that is Charlotte Winston who was orphaned as child and raised by a young priest, Father Walter Winston, who graciously took her in and raised her as his own. Father Winston, not only a Catholic priest but an experienced exorcist. Now, Charlotte will be the central protagonist throughout. Dean, Sam as well as other canon characters will also have their fair share of story time as well. Crowley, however, will be playing a very large role in this fanfiction and to forewarn everyone, yes, Charlotte and Crowley will have romantic involvement – Crowlette!

Just to forewarn, again, my stories take a while to progress and I try to keep the canon characters as canon as possible when it comes to AU characters. Does this mean, Crowley, a DEMON and KING OF HELL is going to fall madly in love with a human woman? No, it's not that simple and it wouldn't be a very good story if it was that way, would it? So, rest assured none of that. Also, for anyone who might be the least bit curious (as I always am) I picture Charlotte Winston being portrayed by Emmy Rossum. Readers, I hope you enjoy the story and I do hope I write Crowley (as well as the others) with justice.

Story Details:
Title: The Demon and the Sinner
Rating: Rated M for violence, language and sexual content as well as dark subject matter
Disclaimer: Supernatural doesn't belong to me! Doubt I'd be on fanfiction if it did… just saying.
Story/Character Details: Story begins in season nine, so therefore there will be spoilers for those who haven't watched the series thus far. There will be flashbacks (much of them AU). Story includes family drama, newfound friendship for Dean and Sam, exorcisms, character roller coaster with Crowley. My chapters aren't typically very long but I sometimes surprise myself.
Pairings: Crowley/OFC Charlotte Winston, (eventual other pairings)

The Demon and the Sinner
Chapter 1 / The Deal

"You give me the reason, you give me control, I gave you my purity... my purity you stole."

- Twenty-Eight Years Ago -
Early June 1985
Saratoga, New York

The weather outside was meek, fresh, cool summer rain drizzled down on the town of Saratoga, New York. When the sun shined the town's roads were filled with people bustling about visiting the various shops and men waging bets for OTB. At the very center of Saratoga was one of many Catholic churches; for they were abundant in the northeast, but this was the largest of them all: St. Dismas, led by Father Walter Winston.

He sat in his office, gripping his short glass filled only a quarter full with a brown liquid that burned pleasantly at the back of his throat. He wasn't in his usual black attire adorned with the famous white collar, but a pair of tan slacks and a long sleeved, light blue, ironed shirt. Walter Winston barely resembled what one would call a priest. He was extremely young (for priests, that is), only in his early thirties, tall with a slender build. His face was handsome which quite possibly made it hard for many of the female church goers to really pay attention to his sermons without noticing how handsome he was. All of his features were evenly placed, he had pink lips, well-shaped, straight, strong nose and dark brown eyes settled behind a pair of round spectacles which he adjusted constantly.

It was only ten in the morning and his body was aching for another late night of throwing holy water, his tongue sore from repeating Latin for what felt like hours. The whaling, the threats, the blood, the breaking of bones; exorcisms always took a lot out of him but it was something he specialized in, something he was good at. With his arm propped against the wall, he stared out his only office window and watched the grey skies drop rain onto the Earth, relishing in the bliss that another demon was sent back to Hell.

When an abrupt knock disrupted him, Walter set down his glass and opened his office door. A woman that was old enough to be his great-grandmother stood in the hallway, her hands crossed in her front of her, completely clad in dark blue, pointed shoes and a small, gold crucifix hanging around her neck, Mother Mary Fredericks was the head nun and principal of the St. Dismas Catholic School.

"Father," her tone surprised Walter, usually she is very kind and sweet but concern and, was that judgment, passed her lips? She looked him up and down, narrowed her eyes and continued, "There are two police officers waiting at the front of the parish, they wish to speak to you."

This couldn't possibly be about the exorcism, could it?

Walter shook his head, "Whatever for?"

Mother Fredericks pursed her lips, causing the wrinkles around her mouth to deepen, "As if you don't know… you should be ashamed of yourself."

Even as a priest, Walter still feared nuns, they had a power that even priests could never harness. He'd rather be in a room with a demon that Mother Fredericks. He didn't know what she was talking about only that she knew exactly what the police knew and wasn't telling him. Walter rushed from his office and at a quick pace, walked down the aisle, pacing the old, wooden pews, his shoes hitting the cold, hard floor, causing both police officers to turn to face him. Walter recognized the men, they came to Sunday mass every week with their wives and children, he had baptized one of their youngest just last year.

"Officers," Walter says, and stops, seeing that the other nuns were being led in by Mother Fredericks, all curiously awaiting to see what had happened. "How can I help you?"

Both police officers appeared uncomfortable at what they were about to say but Walter just stared at both of them, waiting eagerly.

"Well?" Walter asks again.

One of the officers step forward, Carlo Graziolo, that's his name, Walter remembers to himself, "Are you familiar with a woman by the name of Joanne Flynn?"

Why on Earth are they asking me this? Walter pictures him in his mind as clear as day, thick, full dark brown hair and a pale, beautiful face. She was an avid church-goer, a sweet, young woman. His breathing quickens but he tries to keep his cool, suddenly unnerved that the nuns were all standing behind him, hearing every word.

"Yes, she is a member of this parish, why?"

Carlo Graziolo nods his head and clears his throat, "Uh, how familiar are you to her?"

The second officer speaks up, Mickey O'Connell, yes, that's his name. "She sounded like you two were pretty familiar."

Walter glanced over his shoulder, he could feel the fire in Mother Fredericks eyes and looked back at the two officers, "Yes, yes, we were very familiar. She had family problems, father was a drunk, mother eventually became one, far too many siblings to feed. The church, I, helped her through a lot of it, with charities and-"

"And emotional support?" Graziola asks, quirking his eyebrow.

Walter swallows a burning lump in his throat, "W-Well, yes, I-"

O'Connell nods, "We're sorry to inform you, Father, but she passed away early this morning."

Walter nearly falls over, runs a hand over his face. The sounds of the nuns behind him rattle through his brain, he shakes his head and looks back at them, "How? She was so- so young?"

"Doctors say it was pneumonia, rare for someone her age to die from it but it happens," Graziola says, "… Were you aware that she moved out of Saratoga a little less than a year ago?"

Walter nodded slowly, "Yes, she had expressed to me that she needed to leave, I asked why but she said it was better if she kept it to herself. I trusted her and said the parish would miss her, we hadn't heard from her since… well, until this…"

"So…" O'Connell said, "You didn't know she was pregnant?"

Walter nearly choked and did, he stopped himself short and regained his composure, "P-Pregnant… n-no, she never said anything."

Graziola sighed, "I'm sorry to have to present this so publicly, Father, but, when Miss Flynn was in the hospital they asked who could take care of her child, who the father was, and the only name she wrote down was yours… said you were the father."

Walter could've sworn he felt the church walls start to crack and crumble around him, surely the ceiling would fall on him, Heaven would descend and he would be forced through Earth and down into Hell. The disapproving whispers of the nuns burned at his back but he was so numb to it all. He never thought his sin would come back to haunt him, not while still living.

"Father?" O'Connell asked, "Are you… the father?"

Walter wouldn't lie? How could he? He'd already done enough, but now he was going to deny the very child he fostered, the timing was right, the child would be two months old if it was his.

"How old is the child?"

Graziola nodded, "Two months, to the day actually. She was born April third."

Walter ran his hands over his face and nodded, relinquishing more sounds from the nuns, "Yes… the child is mine, I'm sure of it…"

"She is outside with another officer, we'll bring her to you then?"

But, the words didn't make it to Walter. He already had his back on the officers and walked nauseously down the church aisle to his office where he slammed the door shut and poured himself more him of his amber gold liquid. How could he have let himself be so foolish? Why hadn't he questioned Joanne more before she mysteriously moved away? Walter is a religious man, he believe in sin, Heaven and Hell, the whole nine yards, he knows for a fact demons are real but he chose to be priest so his influence as an exorcist was greater, so he could cover more ground. His intentions of priesthood were never as pure as they should have been and he knew he was a sinner but, now what would he do? Surely, he would have his priesthood ripped from him and be excommunicated. He would never be able to show his face in New York, it would be all over the local news, then the state news, surely.

An abrupt knock disrupted his thoughts and he instantly knew it to be Mother Fredericks. Sighing, preparing for the on slaughter, permitted her inside.

"Come in!"

The door opened and Walter looked over his shoulder, old, Mother Fredericks was standing just a step over the threshold and was holding a pink bundle in her arms. Her face was pinched, severe and disappointed.

"Couldn't stay long enough to collect your child, Father?" she sighed, "An even more appropriate term for you now, isn't it?"

"I don't want to here is, sister-"

"Well, you shall, for a long time coming," she hissed, "I had hope for you, there aren't many young priests and they are never taken seriously, they nearly always ending up messing up, just as you had. I'm calling the Bishop immediately; this will spread like wildfire all over Saratoga and eventually the entire state of New York."

Walter chuckled to himself, he wasn't sure if it was alcohol talking or not but he didn't care, "I'm sure you've been waiting a long time to do that, Mother."

Her light eyes saddened, "I have always been hard on you, Walter, even when you were a boy. You always danced on the line between light and dark. Everyone makes mistakes but you were trusted and chosen over many older, more experienced priests to take on this parish and this happens," she shakes her head, "And this child… she will surely always be known as the daughter of a priest… such a terrible thing." Mother Fredericks crosses the room and sighs, "Thank God she is healthy and beautiful, that much we can be thankful for."

Walter looks around the room, at the various books lining the shelves, to the drawers of his desk where he knew various tools and trinkets laid for exorcisms. What if he could make this all go away? What if there was a way to save him so he could continue his work of exorcisms and help this child of his have a better life? A life without judgment?

"Mother… can I ask one favor of you… before I leave this parish?" Walter asks, knowing full well he was lying. If everything went like he imagined it would, he wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.

Mother Fredericks nods, holding the infant tightly in her arms, "Of course, Walter."

"Watch after the child, I must collect all of things and get a train ticket to leave, it will take me nearly all afternoon."

She nods, "Yes, I can watch after her."

Walter quickly grabs his jacket as soon as Mother Fredericks leaves and begin collecting various tools and placing them in his briefcase, along with a very old, brown tattered book and he stops, bending over his desk, gripping the corners of it, his knuckles turn white and his heart pounds furiously in his chest. He knows what he must do but could he really permit himself to such a sinful, eternal damnation to Hell? He has exorcized so many demons for their terrible doings and now he was going to dance in the fire with them?

Why was I so reckless? Why didn't I think before I went against my purpose? Now here I am, desperate.

- One Hour Later -
Somewhere outside of Saratoga

In an abandoned building that was once an old textile factory, on the third floor, Walter Winston was rubbing various spices and herbs between his fingers and palms, allowing the fine grains to hit the bottom of the bowl. Sweat beaded at the back of his neck and the hair stood up on his arms, he was sweating and cold and then pulling at his collar, suddenly hot. Nausea would overcome him and he would swallow it back. He has faced demons before, spoken with them, stared deep into their soulless, dark pitted eyes, watch them tear families and homes apart. He's seen the dark side of faith, the only side he's really ever known, so why was he shaking? Why was this sudden revelation that he was going to summon a demon shaking him to his very core? Because he would have to owe them, they would be doing him and favor and he was a priest, would they even bother? Only chance would tell.

For the final ingredient for the spell, Walter slid the knife over his open palm and allowed the blood to drip into the bowl, red sparks shot out, the building shook ever so slightly and he turned around, realizing he wasn't alone.

The demon who had appeared before him was smirking, his rich, brown eyes were lit with anticipation and humor. The young man realized he reminded him more of a business man than some inhuman abomination. His complete attire was as black as coal and possibly belonged to a man on Wall Street.

"A priest?" the demon asked, his thick, Scottish brogue accent reverberated off the holy man. "That's certainly a game changer…" he shrugged, "Well, sort of. Priests aren't always nice," he smirked, "The name's Crowley."

The young priest nodded and fixed the round glasses that were sitting on his straight, nearly perfect shaped nose, "Father Walter Winston…"

The demon named Crowley snickered, shoving his hands in his long, black coat pockets, "You're really going to use that title when dealing with me… the big man upstairs won't appreciate it."

Walter shook his head, his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared, "It doesn't matter, I hardly consider myself a priest therefore I doubt God does."

"Oh? Now you're just turning me on," Crowley said, grinning. "What is it you want, Walt?" he held out his hand, "I can call you Walt?"

"A deal," he says, swallowing the burning lump down his throat that tasted of holy betrayal. "I believe that is what your kind makes, is deals."

Crowley nods, "Yes, and I feel I must inform you because I am standing before such a holy beacon of light," he rolls his eyes, "but, there is always a price tag attached to deals."

Walter scoffs, "I am quite aware there is a price. I am a priest, I know a thing or two about demons."

Crowley cocks his head, "Are you one of those special priests? Do you make people feel all better when they're possessed? Poke and prod your rosary beaded fingers around?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if I've exorcized you before, though you don't sound familiar," he scowled, "I'm sure I'd recognize that calloused, petty sense of humor."

"Oh," Crowley placed his hand over where his heart was, "You're breaking my heart, Walt, and I thought we had something special."

"All you demons do is dance around and make jokes," Walter shook his head, "I recently discovered I have a daughter… I'm sure nearly all of Saratoga knows by now."

Crowley's eyebrows rise in curiosity, "Oh, this just keeps getting juicer." He shrugs, "At least you weren't touching little boys, I consider touching a woman far more acceptable… enjoyable rather, that is why you did it, Walt, isn't it?"

Walter ignores him, he knows the games demons play and today he wasn't in the mood to dance, "This will not only ruin me and my practice, my reputation but my daughter's life as well. I want you to make it so no one knows about my daughter, that she is simply an orphan and I took her in."

Crowley nods, "Big order, pops," he says, shrugging, "Glad to see you're taking responsibility for you actions, but, hey," he grins, "Who am I to judge?"

"If you won't help me, I will summon another abomination who will!" Walter yells, the vein in his temple was throbbing, his dark eyes were mere slits, his fists were balled so tight, that the blood from one was dripping, make a puddle at his feet.

Crowley held up his hand, furrowing his brow, "Woah, never said I wouldn't help you. I make your little mistake vanish for your soul."

"My soul?!" Walter screams out, his handsome, young face suddenly devastated.

"What do you think I collect? Marbles?" Crowley asks, "You get ten more years being a priest and I collect your soul at the end of those ten, capishe?"

The priest shook his head, "Ten?" he laughs, "You must be joking, I'm one of the best exorcists out there, I deserve far more time than ten years…" Walter suddenly notices the pool of ruby, red blood soaking onto his shoes and sighs, "And I want to raise my daughter, at least so she is protected from creatures like you. She will only be ten when I am taken, that is far too young."

"Fine," Crowley hisses, evidence of his impatience, "Twenty years," he points at the priest, "You're getting a Hell of a deal, Walt. It's only because you're a priest and you're so pretty," he smirks, "Shake on it?" he asks, holding out his hand.

Walter stares at the hand, looks back up at Crowley and grasps his hand, shaking firmly. Crowley smirks and says, "See you around, Walt."

And just like that the demon named Crowley disappears and Walter Winston was left standing in his sins and blood, alone, afraid and wracked with endless amounts of guilt.

Present Day
The Bunker

"I get one phone call, and I want his blood, tiny's over there," Crowley says, nodding to a nervous Kevin Tran who was standing in the corner of Crowley's cell.

Sam Winchester had a knife pressed firmly against his skin, ready to give Crowley his phone call, in return for translations of the tablet. "What does it matter? Blood is blood."

Crowley leans back in his chair, eying Sam carefully and folds his hands in his lap, "I want his blood. No Tran blood, no translations."

"No way!" Kevin yelled out, "You're not getting any of my blood!"

Crowley shrugged, "Then get a cracking on that tablet, boy!" he scowled, angrily.

Sam's shoulders fell; he couldn't make Kevin give up his blood. But, he knew if they held out a little longer, Crowley would crack again, he always does.

"I'll do it," Kevin says, stepping forward.

"Are you sure, Kevin?" Sam asks, suddenly becoming nervous at the idea of handing the knife to Kevin.

He nods, "Yeah, we need those translations, we're wasting time," he takes the knife and cuts himself, squeezing the blood into the bowl before Crowley.

Crowley smirks, "Thank you, boys," he leans forward and whispers words of Latin origin into the bowl and it begins to bubble, "Connect me to Abbaddon." The usual smug look leaves his face and is replaced by shock.

"What's the matter?" Sam asks.

"I'm on hold," Crowley says, leaning back in his chair.

Sam's lip quivers into a small smirk and he leans forward, "Hold? Aren't you the King of Hell?"

Crowley looks up at him, squinting his dark eyes as though envisioning slapping Sam through a wall but holds his tongue when the bowl of bubbling blood finally connects.

"Crowley," the sensuous, dangerous voice of Abbadon rings clear as a church bell throughout the room, his name trickles at the edge of the bowl with disgust as well as inhuman curiosity.

At the mention of his name, he sits up, pondering on the bowl of blood, "Abaddon, I demand you find your King and-"

She laughs, "You can't demand anything of me Crowley," she sounds joyous as schoolgirl as she rants and raves, "You're the Winchester's bitch, there is a new leader in Hell-"

"I have loyalty, Abbadon! You have nothing in Hell except a dusty piece on a chessboard with a new King!"

"Save it, Crowley," she spits, causing one of the blood bubbles in the bowl to pop loudly, "You know you have no power! You neatly locked away somewhere," she laughs, "I bet you had to beg the Winchester's to let you connect."

"I'll kill you," he says, glowering for only a second, expressing his true fit of rage. Abbadon made his blood boil, she always had. Chauvinistic and so prideful it put Lucifer to shame.

"I highly doubt that," she hums, getting bore with the confrontation quickly, "But, just encase…" And she whispers words that neither Sam nor Kevin had ever recognized before. Even Crowley appeared shocked, why, they would never know, as the blood in the bowl began to boil like hot lava.

"Go, Kevin!" Sam yells, pushing Kevin out of the room with him, slamming the metal bookcases behind him, catching one last glance at Crowley as the blood shot from the small bowl like water gushing from a heavy, broken damn. It hits the ceiling and coats the entire room, including Crowley, who is left screaming in such an unrecognizable pain, a pain that Sam had never heard issue from any demon he'd ever encountered in all his years of hunting.

"What's happening?" Kevin yells, clasping his hands over his ears. "What the hell was that?"

Sam shakes his head, "No idea," he yells, "We need to stop it!"

Kevin shakes his head, "I would disagree 'cause it's causing him pain but, I think it's causing me more."

They both nod and enter the hidden cell where Crowley's head in thrown back, his last breath of screaming and torture ends as his head flops forward and he doesn't move. Not a breath, not a witty retort, nothing.