A/N: Well, here it is. I've been chipping away at this fic since 2010 and so much has changed in that time. Thank you for all the reviews, favorites, subscriptions - you guys are honestly the only reason I pushed to finish this story. Enjoy the final chapter. I hope it finds you well.

Crowley

Sasha's name scrawls across my phone and I glance down, bored. A day full of meetings has gotten tiresome and I'm tempted to grab at the stash of syringes and human blood that sits just inches away from my fingers. But I don't. Instead I check the voicemail she's left.

"Crowley, I'm calling to let you know that this is over. I can't keep making you fight for me – you're losing so much of Hell because you're trying to protect me. So, this is it; don't blame the Winchesters – I asked them to do it…" I hear her pause, sniffle. "Crowl, I don't know if it was me pushing at this, or if the demon felt it too, but know that no matter what form I was in, I have always loved you…"

My hand is over my mouth, tears prickling in my eyes as I feel the slightest tinge of humanity shifting in me. The line goes dead.

I toss my phone across the office, knock down my paperwork, toss out the syringes and the human blood. Then I pause, let the ache settle itself in my ribs, and reach for the leather-bound holder. Staring at the last syringe, I pocket it.

The Winchesters. I've known the whereabouts of their little bunker for weeks now but I haven't had a reason to go visit. Now I do. To get my girl back.

"I need to see her." Dean and Sam look a little rough as they take in my bloodshot eyes. Sam casts his eyes down and breathes sharply through his nose. "You didn't." I snap, on the verge of something horrendous and desperate. I'm clenched fists and shaky knees when they let me in.

I don't remember walking in, or the way the bunker looked. I don't calculate every step in search of a devil's trap. I just stare that cell they'd had me in for days. And then a heap on the floor. I clench my jaw so tight my head throbs. "No…" the whisper leaves me before I remember myself. And I see her face; she looks so peaceful, like finally all of the weight of the world has lifted from her. I drop to my knees then, barely aware of Sam and Dean behind me, yet again watching me fall apart.

I reach for her shoulders, pull her into me. "I loved you!" My sobs come out as coughing and I press my forehead to hers, folding myself into her cold body. I don't know how long I'm there, but the brothers are gone when I pull my head up; stiff neck and back. Tearstains are drying on my cheeks. My eyes take in the tears I've left on Sasha's neck. I push the hair from her eyes then kiss her one more time.

I take her with me when I leave the room, her lifeless body drooping in my arms.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What are you doing?" Dean stands from the table.

"There's no way around this, is there?"

"No, Crowley. Not Purgatory, not Hell, not Heaven." Sam speaks. "I'm sorry."

I want to make a snide remark about how I don't need his pity, but then I am reminded of his little Jessica and the look in his eyes tells me he knows exactly what I'm feeling.

"Th-thank you." I stumble.

"Crowley, we have to burn her." Dean is, typically, the one to speak what both boys are thinking. And didn't I know it? As soon as I walked in and saw that slump of a body? Didn't I know? Because if we don't do this, every demon will want to use this vessel as a puppet. And I can't, I just…I can't take that.

So I breathe a shaky breath and look away until the feeling of overwhelming grief passes me. And then the anger comes like a geyser.

"How in the Hell did you pull this off?" I narrow my eyes.

The silence is maddening. I'm about to put Sasha down and inflict so much pain on the Winchesters.

"A spell. We found a spell," Sam speaks slowly and I'm aware it's the Men of Letters bullshit.

"How could you…-" my voice breaks just the slightest bit and Sam sees. Dean glances at his brother, nodding once and grabbing a bottle of whiskey.

Sam nods once, "Grab a drink, Crowley."

I pause. Consider. What I need to be doing is find a reversal spell. There has to be one, right? Somewhere? But I let them convince me to stop. Just us boys, my girl's body in the corner of the room. Roll up my sleeves, have a drink. Silence for a while until Dean speaks up.

"She was miserable, man." He sighs. "I know you don't wanna hear it and honestly I don't wanna level with the King of Hell. But she was not in it anymore. Unhappy like nothing else."

I don't speak, just down another glass and feel the burn in my throat. Sam's staring at me, but my mind's elsewhere. Tracing through all the lore and information I have in my repertoire. Until Sam's hand is grabbing my wrist and I'm brought out of my thoughts.

"You using still?" Sam accuses, finger pressing directly on the recent needle mark.

I'm silent, not even bothering pulling away. Not even trying to talk my way out of this one. I'm at their mercy. And I need help.

"Maybe this is the reason Sasha did what she did. Ever think she was tired of all this junkie shit?" Dean droned.

I send a glance toward her body.

"We need you sharp, you jackass." Sam slams his hands on the table, letting my wrist go. "It's us against everyone else, you get that!? And now we've got one less player in on this. And Heaven is gonna be pissed that their weapon is dead." Add that to the list of aggravating events and I'm doomed.

I nod numbly, watching Dean toss out my syringes. The word 'dead' rings in my ears for minutes. And then I feel cuffs on my wrists and Sam drags me back toward that cell but I cuss and yell and beg them to wait.

"Let me see her. Let us burn her. And then…" I breathe. "And then I'll get clean."

The brothers look at each other once again and I hold my breath because this could honestly go either way. But there's a trust between us that I need to regain. What if they do something with her? What if this is just a trick?

But it isn't and the brothers keep me in cuffs while they take her body out back and gather wood for the fire. I'm next to her corpse for a few minutes alone and I find myself talking to her. Apologizing, mostly. Telling her that I was wrong, that I should have agreed to her suggestion of falling off the face other Earth – just her and I. No Heaven, no Hell. No Abaddon or big bads. Just us.

And the brothers are back soon, hoisting her on the pyre and silent and sad faced.

There have been many deaths along this path. Many friends, many many enemies. But this rocks me to the core. This is different. Things are different now. I'm suddenly furious, with myself mostly, but I'm going to use that anger to claw my way back on top. Defeat Abaddon. Win this war. For her. For us. Because I can still remember that time in Hell when I reached for her through my cuffs and cut my wrists raw.

Now in cuffs again, I feel things falling into place. The wake-up call I needed to get clean. She's gone and she isn't coming back and I need to let that burn low and long in my belly to get me through.

I watch the flames take her and then the Winchesters grab me to let me detox in that cold cell once again. I'm numb and tired and so bloody lost, but I stare at the chipping cement and play through our greatest hits.

Loss can be one's greatest impairment or strongest asset.

Long live the King.