"Come on, then, you're not really so angry about her," Crowley scoffs, waving a dismissive hand toward the bleeding corpse cooling on the floor where Dean left her, moments after pulling her out of Crowley's bed. "Not after all your dalliances, sometimes when I'm right in the same room."

Dean smiles, but the twist of his lips is cruel, frightening, and his eyes shine black over his smile as he closes in.

"You're mine," he snarls softly, affectionate and menacing at once, before grabbing the hair at the back of Crowley's neck and dragging him into a fierce kiss that leaves his chest aching for breath, and Dean's lips smeared with his blood. "Never forget that."