"Did I not just say I wasn't 'into' this?" Magneto didn't want someone weak. What he was facing at home wasn't weak. He didn't actually know if Crowley was even in the same league, but he suspected so. And Crowley was all he had.

"I simply don't need you to use your hands." Or his voice. But if Crowley could take this and not blink, there was no reason to remove his ability to talk. He picked up a length of iron chain - he didn't want to use metal cloth too much, too easy to trace back to him, so chain - and flipped it out, winding around Crowley's shoulders and arms, binding them into place.

For all his face was carefully schooled to calm, his eyes weren't. They were calculating. Like a tiger, plotting his pounce, his kill.