Prologue

In a warehouse, in lower Manhattan, the sun streams through dirt flecked window panes; its rays highlight two figures unfortunately surrounded by twenty. Even with their revisited deal with Death — clean up your mess — the Winchester brothers once again find themselves waist deep in supernatural crap.

"What are you gonna do? Kill us?" Dean boasts, just a tad too stupid in Sam's mind since they are, you know, facing down the King of Hell himself who is now a comrade-once-removed. The smell of sulfur lingering in the air leaves a bitter aftertaste for Sam as he gives suggestive eyes to his brother in an effort to remind the idiot that, although Death will no doubt bring them back (when he feels like it), they can still die. Painfully. It's a fact that Crowley is well aware.

"Kill you? Dean-Dean-Dean, why would I ever want to kill you when you and your brother won't ever do me the kindness of staying dead? Really, one would think an eternity without a Winchester-sized headache was asking too much."

"Uh, sorry," Sam replies, not meaning his words at all, "but dying's not on my to-do list today. Besides, someone's gotta stop you. Might as well be us."

And stop Crowley they must because Death is seriously pissed that Crowley turned out to be even worse than Abaddon in the whole stealing souls department. Oh, yeah, and the Supreme Being is seriously pissed at the two of them for allowing Crowley to live in the first place. Speaking of angry, Sam would still be seriously P.O'd about the whole Mark of Cain debacle as well, but, in the end, they managed to get the damn thing off Dean although Castiel had to willingly take the mark and implode himself (along with the knife) to do so. But Sam tries not to think of the gone-but-not-forgotten angel as Crowley replies to his previous statement.

"As if you could," Crowley sniffs, derisively. "Oh, but there's that hero mentality I've come to treasure about you brothers so. Always trying to save other people's asses when deep down inside you know you'd never do the same for yourselves. Aren't you tired of this game? I know I am."

Changing the subject, Dean quickly asks as his eyes scan the circle of demon henchmen surrounding them, "If you aren't going to kill us, what do you plan to do with us?"

"Now there's the rub, isn't it?" Crowley pauses in a play at stroking his chin in thought. "Can't kill you. Made sure of that bit, didn't you? Having old Death as your master and all. Oh, but slave driver that one. Really, I don't know who has it worse. My mindless minions or you two rosy cheeked cherubs. So ... what do I do with you?"

"You could let us go," is Sam's spoken thought.

"Sorry."

"You could let us gank you," is Dean's.

"Uh, no."

"Hm... Endless living torture?" Crowley shakes his head at his words. "Too old hat. No... Locking you two in a room for all eternity?" The King of Hell rolls his eyes with knowing. "You'd kill each other within the hour and not just to have Death zap you back. No... I need... Yes, I think I need something different, something ... special."

After a moment longer of watching their nemesis quietly pondering their fate, Sam suddenly doesn't like the smile that spreads, warm and revoltingly suggestive, across Crowley's face.

"Oh, yes, indeed," Crowley smoothly croons. "I think I have just the thing for you boys."

Before Dean can even get the word "shi-!" out, Sam and his brother are gone in a puff of smoke.