A random drabble I came up with after having a pretty chaotic day. I own none of the characters!

A.J. Crowley belongs to Gaiman and Pratchett. (If you haven't read Good Omens or any of these authors works, I highly recommend it! They are awesome authors.)

Supernatural Crowley belongs to the C.W. and Eric Kripke.

Once he was well out of the way of Castiel's view, Crowley disappeared back to his house. He expected the angel to follow but he was a few milliseconds behind before Crowley blocked him. He stared out at the angel testing the boundary around his home and smiled a little at his frustrated expression. Crowley turned from the angel and settled into his chair with a heavy sigh. He held out his hand and a glass of vintage chardonnay filled it elegantly out of thin air. He brought it to his lips and sipped quietly. The taste soured in his mouth and he set the glass off to the side. Wine was never the same without Aziraphale, he thought as he glanced to the hellhound resting by the fireplace.

Invisible to everyone but him, there sat the large creature with unruly golden fur. Two piercing blue eyes looked at him as it raised its head off the floor. Sometimes Crowley thought that the hellhound had moments of recognition but they were few and far between. He gave a bitter smile to the hound before staring at his feet, he had accepted a long time ago that this was his punishment. He endured the stares from those blue eyes and watched the only person who had made him feel live life as a demented pet. Crowley grit his teeth as the hound padded over to him and rested his large head on Crowley's knee.

He raised a reluctant hand and scratched the hound's ears earning a pleased sigh from the creature. The emptiness in his chest disappeared for a full minute as he indulged his hound in pleasant affection.

"Was it really worth it Aziraphale?" he asked aloud.

"Was he really worth it?"

The only response he received was a snort and he watched the hound settle at his feet with a hearty yawn. He sighed again and relaxed back into his chair. One day soon he would have to endure the other half of their punishment. Watching and interacting with the fledgling that was taken from them and raised in the heavens. A moment of rage filled him and Crowley flung his arm out and knocked his glass and lamp off the end table. There was a pleasing shatter as he sat there glowering in the dark. The hellhound looked up at him with its blue eyes, the glaze lifting off the orbs as it seemed to sympathize with him before the glaze returned.

Crowley buried his face in his hands, he had tried so hard to block the pain away from his heart. He was a shell of what he used to be, Hell and Heaven had made sure of that. He wasn't the flash bastard, the serpent of Eden, or the angel that had sauntered downwards anymore. He was a fool, living out his days in a world that he could barely stand. Everything had hardened and darkened inside Crowley since he lost Aziraphale and their fledgling.

Sometimes he would travel to South Downs and stare at the decaying cottage with the golden hellhound standing next to him. Memories of good days gone with the crumbling architecture and the painful memory of watching Aziraphale carry the golden egg around their cottage. Crowley tangled his fingers in his hair and gave an empty sob to the air. He cursed God and Satan every day, hoping for either one to destroy each other. He couldn't remember when he had started wishing for the world to implode in on itself but when it was there, a nagging voice in his head whispered, "Really my dear, think of our little one."

Crowley pulled himself together and got up to pour a glass of scotch. He took a large swig of his glass and stared out the window. He would help the human brothers, play it off as something in his interest, if it would mean that he'd be able to save his child from the heartache. He had heard how the angel had made his way into Hell and taken the human's soul. He heard the tales about how obsessively he followed and aided the elder Winchester.

The hellhound rubbed his leg with its head with a mournful whine. Crowley pet it gently as he poured another glass of scotch. He heard the Winchesters moving in outside and he waved off the hellhound. The creature padded over to the couch and climbed onto it with an almost visible pout. Crowley pulled out the Colt and went into his study to wait for the boys. He sat leisurely in a chair and started his DVD. All he had to do was live this life a little longer and soon it would be over for one or both sides. He took another sip of his scotch and closed his eyes as the cool liquid seeped down in his stomach. He heard the back door open and smiled to himself. He was ready to meet the Winchesters now.