#The emotiveness and weight of the dynamics belong to this story. The author could extend on the second part more on idk

[longagoitwastuesday]

While I loved that interaction, that is all we got about something that could be taken as two of the most important (alive) people in Gojo's life mentioning him, thinking of him with fondness, or coming anywhere close to mourning him.

Then we got two pages of resolution of whatever emotional turmoil these two have going on

[demonologist-in-denim]

About “At The Crossroads”

I didn’t want to post a whole long author’s note on AO3 for this fic, and I didn’t want to muddle the fic by posting a second chapter. So instead, here are just some random ramblings I wrote up as I was working on At The Crossroads.

Another Long-Ass Author’s Note (That You Should Not Feel Obliged To Read)

How The Hell Did We Get Here?

I don’t actually know where this fic diverged from the canon, what events transpired that Crowley opens a pub, of all things. It feels like whatever happened, happened in late-season 10, and this fic picks up in season 13-14? Here’s what I do know for sure: Something very bad happened.

While he’s grateful for it after the fact, Crowley likely didn’t consent to the cure the second time any more than he did to the first. I’m not sure what circumstances would arise that the Winchesters forced the cure on Crowley a second time, and then unkindly prodded him along in his humanity. “You bloody well beat it into me, didn’t you?” Likely Crowley wasn’t very far along in his new life, still struggling with the crushing weight of his actions, but beginning to find purchase in a friendship with Dean, when they lost Dean to whatever happened. Dean somehow became a demon, and abandoned the others to wreak havoc in the world. He’s been gone for some time, and their failing to save Dean did some serious damage to the others. Dark days all around, is all I can imagine. And that’s all I have for you.

The Besotted Wandered & The Resigned Enabler

It was unintentional, but Cas’ and Crowley’s relationship became the heart of this fic.

I originally just kind of wrote Cas in as slumped across the end of the bar, occasionally visiting, being this emotionally distant connection Crowley has to his past with the Winchesters and demonhood. But in the initial draft, I typed out that the cure would take some time, and the only thing Gus needed was to keep everyone else – the pub regulars, hunters, the extended Winchester network – from complicating things by learning he’s captured the demonic Dean. And then the next sentence just had Cas stumbling into the pub. So there they were, the two of them, and suddenly a fic that had been about Crowley getting to be some other version of himself became about Crowley making due as some other version of himself, and all of them leaning on one another, stumbling their way towards their shared humanity.

And as I wrote it, I loved the new dynamic between Cas and Crowley. “…their previous roles as divine retribution and smarmy toad” when they were an angel and a demon, their more recent roles, not so much reversed as juxtaposed, as “besotted wandered and resigned enabler.” Just that image of Crowley as the resigned enabler defined everything about his relationships and his identity in this fic.

And ultimately, Crowley would not really have succeeded alone. He would have cured Dean, eventually, but I’m not sure Crowley alone could really pull Dean out of the darkness that would have lingered even after his humanity had been fully restored. I don’t think Cas could have done it on his own either, too forgiving, too loving to deal out the necessary “tough love” that comes from Crowley’s own experience. In this fic, Crowley is the one who does not need saving – it’s Cas and Dean that need to be saved, but they had to do it together.

And Don’t Call Me “Gus”

At the Crossroads is one of those fics that germinates from a small concept into something much larger. I was thinking about whether or not Crowley, after completing the cure and joining the Winchesters, would need to go by a maligned alias when around the demon-hunting portion of the supernatural community.

We know from canon that Crowley hates the name Fergus, and Rowena’s mocking use of the name certainly didn’t help endear it to him again three hundred years later. But the matter remains that had Crowley closed the Gates of Hell, completed the cure, or in any other way joined the Winchesters, being known by the name “Crowley” could have put him in a bit of hot water in the supernatural community. There might have been hunters or witches or whoever who heard the name and recognized it from when he was doing dark, demonic deeds. For his own safety, as well as to earn the trust of others, he might have needed to go by a different name.

Do I want him to go by another name? Absolutely not. Do I think he would have actually chosen to go by Gus? Absolutely not. I imagine he started going by Fergus MacLeod again – when around other hunters and working in the supernatural community – and being Americans, they shortened it to Gus, and it stuck. To his annoyance, and eventual resignation.

But that is just for this fic. I honestly think that if Crowley had become one of the boys, he would have kept on using his chosen name, and dealt with the consequences. Because that’s one of the many things spn is (supposed to be) all about, isn’t it? Self-determination and consequences? Crowley chose that name for himself, it’s who he is now, not Fergus. And yes, he is still responsible for all the “horrible, evil, messy things” he did. And when encountering someone who recognizes that name as belonging to the King of Hell or a demon they had dealings with, Crowley would have needed to deal with the emotional and relationship consequences of that.

For this fic, I just enjoyed the thought experiment of him going by a nickname, having grown into it over the years. With the Winchesters gone from his life, and Cas only an occasional visitor, it would have allowed him to explore who he is now entirely removed from his past. (I also wrote a little ficlet here about how he comes by that nickname through Eileen in my other works, and hates it, but puts up with it for her sake. He doesn’t so much grow fond of it as sees it the same way as Dean and Sam eventually accept “Moose” and “Squirrel” as terms of endearment.)

Why Didn’t The Cure Just Work?

For this fic to really work, the cure needed to take time. And because I really enjoyed the idea that neither Crowley nor Castiel’s blood is human enough or “pure” enough to cure a demon. In the show, it’s never made clear how the process of repentance “purifies” someone enough to make their blood suitable for the cure. The show writers just cobbled it together from more obscure Judeo-Christian conceptions about prayer and forgiveness and omnipotent moral judgement. How much penance is enough? What if the “greatest sin” you confess isn’t what that obscure, divine moral judge (ugh) believes or knows to be your greatest sin? So forth and so on in the questions and uncertainties.

So I really like the idea that Crowley, even being human, with everything he’s done can never quite be pure enough to just perform the cure in one 8-hour session. He’s got to keep delving back into the black pit of his own atrocities that he had thought he’d left behind him, face what he’s done, bear the weight of that, repent it, and then is clean enough to administer another dose. Really dragging out the whole process for both him and demon!Dean. And Cas? I just really liked the idea that whoever he is now, whatever he’s become after losing Dean and becoming human, it hasn’t been good. He’s got a lot to make up for as well. None of them are clean, none of them are innocent, and all of them – even the two that are currently human – are all on this road towards humanity together.

Chekhov’s Gun Never Went Off

I broke a cardinal rule of storytelling in this fic, and I’ll be honest, it’s not sitting well with me. The principle of Chekhov’s Gun, if you’re not familiar with it, is that if there is a gun present in the first act of a play, it must go off by the third act. In essence, a good storyteller does not make false promises. In At The Crossroads, I present and never fire the gun that is the British Men of Letters and their unwelcome dominion over American hunters. Making as many references to that situation as I did, the reader would be right to expect that the British Men of Letters would play at least some part in the later events of the story. And the fact that they do not is something of a narrative let down.

I intended to write the British Men of Letters into the story, I really did. They became relevant through a smaller story arc of one of three pub regulars, each one a fully developed character who served to demonstrate to the reader the ways Gus was involved in the supernatural community, and how his and Cas’ broadening partnership in the later half of the fic changed the atmosphere of the pub. But those smaller arcs cluttered up the story, so I sadly felt like it was necessary to cut them out. (Maybe I can write a separate little fic based off this one, where we get to meet them? After all, they’re not actually OCs.) The references to the British Men of Letters stayed, because they are very much a part of the background of the world in which Gus was living and in which this story takes place. So while it doesn’t sit well with me that this particular Chekhov’s gun never went off, I hope it’s understandable why that happened.

Where Are The Chips/Steak Fries To Go With This Pint?

Recently, I’ve written a lot of fics about Crowley making food in some form or another. And since The Crossroads is a pub, and pubs (unlike most bars) typically serve some food, why didn’t I write Crowley making and serving food in this fic?

Because the Crowley in At The Crossroads is not a happy Crowley. He is making the best of a bad situation. The people he cares for are either lost to him, or are in a mad spiral of self-destruction and do not want to be saved from it. As much as The Crossroads is a communal space for the supernatural community, it is not communal for Crowley in the way that the bunker is in my other fics. In this fic, he’s found other, less personally demanding ways to care for people. He’s emotionally drained, and doesn’t have it in him. And that’s why there is very little mention of “cooking with Crowley” in this fic, other than towards the end as things begin to improve.