"…thanks for your call. Unfortunately, I cannot / don't want / are not interested to answer right now, pick your favorite. You can leave a message after the scream. Kisses~!"

Dean snarled with rage and threw the cell on the ground.

"You still have no luck at contacting Crowley?" Sam asked from the table, where he frantically keyed the computer.

"NO! I swear that if I have to hear his voice message once more, so help me God I'll-!"

Bobby raised his head in books and shot an annoyed look to the older Winchester. "Should I remind you that it's exactly the God that's our problem here? Is it already time to stop this preciosity and simply summon him up here? Idjit."

"And then listen to his whining again? No thanks."

Sam sighed heavily. "Dean, we're running out of time. We need this spell, and we don't know anyone other than Crowley whom we can even expect to know it."

"I know!" Dean snarled, and then continued more calmly as Sam looked at him disapproving. "I know Sam. I'm just… disgusted even by the idea of begging for favors from that smirking son of b-"

Bobby smiled. "So are all of us, boy. However, in this case, there are human lives at risk, so we have better just swallow our pride and let the clown snark at us for a few minutes." He stood up and stretched his aching muscles a little. "Draw the demon trap ready, I'll get the necessary materials."

In less than fifteen minutes the three hunters got everything ready for summoning Crowley. Bobby started spelling, and brothers stood by his side, demon knives in their hands just in case; with Crowley you could never be quite sure…

Crowley appeared inside demon trap as impeccably dressed as always, but in his hand he had a delicate, porcelain teacup, with blue flowers painted on its rim. He looked a little surprised at first, but the expression quickly turned into a furious one when he realized just who had dared to call him.

"This can't be happening!" Crowley snarled. "Can't I take even one day off without you Winchesters starting an apocalypse or something, can I?!"

Dean chuckled. "Cute cup. Were you playing tea parties?"

Crowley glared daggers at him. "None of your business. Best that you open this trap – RIGHT NOW - and I MAY forget that this ever happened."

Sam smiled grimly. "No way, Crowley. We have got a job for you. You will help us to clean up a little mess that you started."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Your talking about Castiel's new groove? Surprise, surprise… Well, as happy as I always am to help you out of your own messes, I'm. At. Vacation. That is, not today, moose. Now, open this Trap, RIGHT NOW. Thank you."

Dean grinned. "Yeah, no. Now how about behaving as a good little King of Damned and do what we command."

"Are you all deaf?! I said that I'm HAVING A DAY OFF. Let's return to your problem at tomorrow, the usual office time."

The brothers opened their mouths to argue back, but then Bobby stepped forward. "Crowley, we need only one spell. Then you can go back to… whatever it was you were doing anyway."

Crowley let out a loud groan somewhere between and roar. "Why is it always the same thing with you people? Do not I get even a moment of private time? But no! Either the Winchesters go and put up yet another apocalypse, or their pet-angel goes and becomes new God! And all of you just want to make me your errand boy! I'm KING! What's next? Bobby here decides to become president, or something…?"

Bobby frowned. Crowley had never been particularly skilled at co-operation – at least if there wasn't an clear advantage for himself in it - but this time the demon seemed really frustrated. It made him feel little guilty, which in turn made him feel very stupid. He cleared his throat a little bit in order to draw the demon's attention back at him. "Crowley. Search this spell for us, and I promise we won't come and bother you again about your little scheming's with Castiel. Heck, I can promise that you won't need to hear about us again in – let's say, a month. I can even tie these to morons into their chairs to make sure about that." Bobby left the brothers loud objections out of account and focused instead to stare Crowley straight in the eyes. "I'm being serious here, Crowley. Just a little favor, and you do not need to see any of us for at lest a month."

For Bobby's relief Crowley seemed to genuinely think about his offer. Then the demon grinned. "None of you? Oh, Robert, you know very well I wouldn't classify you at the same group among these two monkeys," Crowley said smoothly and winked playfully his eye at the older hunter.

Bobby coughed a little to hide his momentary confusion, and hoped that he hadn't flushed. He knew that for Crowley, the flirting came as natural as breathing for most mortals, but it didn't stop him from feeling a small shiver of pleasure every time when Crowley let him understand that he considered him at least somewhat appealing. The aging man did not often come around moments like that.

"Agreed, then?" he asked.

"Are we going to seal that with a kiss?" Crowley suggested in turn, being again the smugly bastard whom they all well knew and loved to hate. Bobby shook his head with amusement and scratched a small gap on the devil trap with his shoe.

Crowley smiled. "So then, about this spell…"

They told him, and it was clear that Crowley didn't like it at all…

It didn't take long from Crowley to disappear and appear again, this time with the parchments, which he gave to Bobby without his usual snide comments. "This should be what you are looking for; the spell for binding the Death. I Still think that you're all crazy for even wanting to try this, but… Well, it's your funeral." Well, make that almost without snide comments.

Bobby rolled the scroll open and Sam leaned over his shoulder to examine it with interest. Dean sent Crowley a look that promised several consequences if the spell wouldn't work, but the king of Hell passed him with a complacent smile. He picked up his teacup from Bobby's desk, having left it there after warning them that it was really old and really fragile and that the sanctions could follow if there happened to be any accidental breakdowns… and they would find those sanctions being both long-term and very painful.

"If you had nothing else…" Crowley started tersely.

Bobby looked up from the parchment and frowned. "Were you not supposed to be gone already?"

Crowley sighed with feigned frustration. "Not an ounce of gratitude!"

"Be grateful that we haven't threw any holy water at your face, bastard", Dean growled. Crowley threw a murderous glance at him before turning back to Bobby.

"Just remember our agreement, then!"

Bobby waved his hand at him without even bothering to raise his eyes from the parchment. "Yeah yeah. Get going about it, princess. "

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Not even an ounce of gratitude," he repeated, and was gone.

"Oh, you're back! You got us really worried here, disappearing just like that!"

Crowley sighed and set his teacup on a table, taking up a chair for himself. The person who was sitting opposite of him at the table flashed an understanding smile while his partner continued to fuss.

"Well, I have to say I'm pleased you returned the cup intact! I probably would never find another… At the auctions you would have to pay a small fortune for those even in poor condition… And in addition, they were a gift - the value of feeling, you know…" The blond man who looked like a librarian and sounded very British without being any of the above, gazed Crowley's companion with adoring eyes. The person in question - who for some reason was wearing sunglasses while indoors - seemed to be embarrassed, which in turn drove Crowley to chuckle. Man-shaped person who was wearing the sunglasses - let's call him Anthony – threw Crowley a look, which probably would have been disapproving, had he been able to see it.

"You were summoned, right?" Anthony asked.

Crowley shrugged. "Winchesters needed something again… The two don't know how to tie their shoelaces without someone either dying, or losing their mind, or starting a new apocalypse as a result."

Anthony laughed, but his partner seemed to be little disapproving. "That really was not very kindly said, Fergus - and Anthony dear, stop laughing, you're only encouraging him!"

"But you have to admit that that was an apt description, angel!" Anthony pointed out and took off his sunglasses to wipe the tears of laughter from his eyes. His eyes were golden yellow and their pupils were vertical like those of a reptile.

Blond man straightened his shoulders. "I do not in any case have to do anything of the sort!" he declared.

"Oh, Aziraphale, do not be so humorless!" Anthony whined and gave the best imitation puppy-dog look of what he could muster. There were precisely two persons in the whole world it would have had any affect, but fortunately one of those people happened to be in the room, so Aziraphale just smiled kindly and patted his hand in a sign of reconciliation.

"Let bygones be bygones… But you really should show a better example for your son!"

Anthony looked surprised. "But I am! Fergus has grown up to be quite an exemplary demon!"

Aziraphale smiled at him lovingly. "Of course, my dear… Does anyone want more tea?"

Crowley leaned back in his chair and relaxed while watching his father and his angel friend /boyfriend. What would have happened, had he not once in Scotland, while already hearing the distant barking of the helhounds, fallen on his knees and made his first and last prayer? Instead of an angel – who was busy at somewhere else – his prayer had been answered by his fill-in, demon who had not so much fallen but sauntered vaguely downwards, and he had instantly recognized Crowley, back then known as Fergus McLeod, as his own flesh and blood. What followed were screaming and angsting and plenty of other stuff that would have left Winchesters in shame, but afterwards he was pleased with the way things had sorted out - Anthony J. Crowley was the best father what Fergus McLeod could have hoped, and many times better than what he knew he deserved.

Sometimes Crowley felt the bitterness grasping him at the thought of how a different kind of life he might have headed had his mother not been hiding his existence from his father; surely the witch would had known how to contact Anthony, or at least Rowena could had told her son the truth before abandoning him at the tender age of eight. Feeling little guilty, he wondered whether he would had been a better father, if he himself had felt his father's guidance and affection, even love…? Maybe then Gavin's life would have been easier… well, if the boy had still been born.

However, thinking about it was in vain; it was the best just keep going and hang on the happiness he had found with tooth and nail. This small bookstore in Soho was Crowley's safe haven, the place where he was always welcome, and this small slice of a lost paradise he was ready to protect to the ends of the world and beyond.

After all, he was his father's son; preventing Apocalypses was like a family tradition.