I'm The Monster You Made Me

If Crowley was to embody one of the seven deadly sins, it would be pride. Not for the reasons most would assume; his arrogance and condescension towards anyone he felt unworthy which happened to be almost the entire world. Those things certainly helped. But pride isn’t solely about thinking you’re better than everyone who crosses your path. It’s about the things you are willing to do to keep whatever face you present intact.

 Crowley knew this well.

They talked about John Winchester being the righteous man who wouldn’t break. They talked about his son, Dean, the righteous man who did break.

And Crowley the sinner who refused to give in.

“You don’t know torture.”

Hell had many ways of breaking you. Physical, mental, and so many others. They would peel you down to the raw nerve and twist until your mind was searing with pain. It was a game and Crowley wouldn’t – couldn’t – let them win. There was no righteousness. No unwillingness to damn others his fate. Only the pride that refused to let anyone break him.

“You’ll beg me to stop before I’m done.”

Pride kept him from begging but not from screaming. Pride kept him on the rack until all that was left was hate and determination even at the end. And the end hadn’t come for Crowley until a very, very long time.

He remembered that moment. How could he not? When there was no one who would let him forget? The moment when he did break, lying there and just wishing it would all be over, as Alastair stood over him.

Except if Alastair had seen that glint in Crowley’s eye, he probably wouldn’t have counted it as a win. Because in the end that pride would drive him and consume him and make him the King.

They could never, would never, break him again.

“You don’t know torture, you little insect.”