It took Sam two weeks to convince Dean to go back.
For the first few days he was too weak and feverish to do little more than mutter a plea that Dean could barely make out. By the fifth day he was more coherent with his demands but Dean ignored him. When he was finally well enough to stand and walk on his own he insisted on returning to the church.
"I can't believe you just left him there, Dean. You never went back?"
"Well, excuse me for worrying about you trying cough up a lung," Dean snapped back. "Why the hell would care about that douchebag?"
"I wasn't asking you to," Sam grumbled. "But he was human … well, almost human. Maybe human enough to need food and water."
Dean rolled his eyes. "And we should care because …"
Sam scowled. "I wasn't expecting you to but I spent eight hours pumping my blood into him so pardon me for wondering what happened."
It was Dean's turn to scowl but he said nothing more and Sam resumed staring out of the car window. A part of him knew Crowley was no longer at the church. He wasn't sure how he knew; he just knew.
Dean rolled the Impala to a stop outside the church. It looked differently in the daytime; more decrepit but less scary. Gathering up the demon-killing knife, a bottle of holy water and a flashlight, Sam reached for the door.
"Coming?" he asked his brother, getting his answer from the glare Dean sent him. "Fine. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Don't forget the chains," Dean muttered.
"Yeah, yeah, sure," Sam closed the door firmly and walked toward the church. He eased open the door.
"Crowley?" he called softly, not really expecting an answer.
He didn't get one.
Turning on the flashlight, he flipped it around the room, finally centering on the empty chair still inside the devil's trap. He looked at it for a long moment then walked around the trap, eyeing it intently. Nope, no breaks. Walking into the trap he examined the chair, lifting the chains and collar and looking at them closely.
The left cuff was still closed but caked thickly with dried blood and scraped-off skin. There was blood on the other cuff as well but it was open. A closer look revealed scratches around the lock. Reaching for the collar, he saw scratches there as well.
He stared at them thoughtfully, scenarios running through his mind. Finally he rose, walking over to grab a box and tossing everything they had brought to the church two weeks ago into it. Dropping the restraints on the top, he gathered up the box and walked out, dropping it into the trunk, which Dean already had open.
"He's gone. Maybe a week ago or more. Good thing or he probably would have starved to death by now."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm pretty sure he's human or close to it. The devil's trap is still intact and look." Sam showed him the left cuff. "He must have managed to pull his hand through the cuff then picked the locks of the other cuff and the collar. Don't think he could have done that if he were still a demon."
"Or someone did it for him."
Sam looked at the cuff he still held then his bandaged arm, at the as yet unhealed bite. "No. He did this," he said, no doubt in his voice. Ignoring the look Dean gave him, Sam looked up and around. He knew Crowley was long gone and yet — yet he could still feel him.