It wasn't long before Dean found his way to the kitchen. The first thing he saw was Crowley, who was stepping around a bit of broken glass in the middle of the floor. Crowley looked to the hunter with a bit of a scowl as he stepped towards the table. He didn't look his best.

"None of these damned appliances make any sense. They're all, what, sixty years old?" He said as he reached for a half empty bottle of scotch. "I'm lucky to have found this. It's the only thing around here that's better with a little age on it."

Dean stopped himself. He took one look at the bottle and shook his head. He stood back and watched as Crowley poured himself a shot. The guy seemed to be pretty down in the dumps. And who wouldn't be? He had been immortal. He had been a King no less. And now all he had was a dusty room and a few people who were still debating on whether or not to keep him alive. Crowley downed the liquor in one go and set himself up for another shot as Dean began talking.

"How much have you had, man? And what are you doing to yourself? It's what, like, nine a.m?" Dean closed the distance between himself and the former demon carefully. "As much as I wish the human body could run on nothing but alcohol, it can't. It doesn't add up to much more than a rough week and a whole afternoon of not knowing your own name. And I found that out the hard way. Trust me."

Crowley didn't seem to care too much about what he was saying but Dean kept trying.

"I've been where you are." Dean said as he stepped over to the fridge.

"You haven't." Crowley grumbled over his next shot.

The conversation went on hold as Dean opened the fridge. A quick glance suggested that they needed to get more supplies soon. Between a days old bag of takeout from some Chinese place and a handful of eggs, there wasn't much to choose from. He grabbed the eggs and closed the door. Crowley was as cheerful as ever when he turned around.

"You don't know what it's like to fall from a throne." He rumbled. "To fall from such a position of power…"

Dean smirked as a memory came to mind but he brushed it aside just as quickly. If there was one thing he didn't want to do, it was brag to the former King of Hell. Now, Dean wouldn't say that the man was drunk but he was clearly on his way there. Crowley was buzzed and painfully contemplative. He watched as Dean set down the carton of eggs beside his scotch.

Crowley tipped the empty shot glass back and stared down into it as Dean searched for a frying pan and some utensils. His voice became somewhat distant. "You should've seen me in a crown, Dean. The Dark Ages were particularly kind to me.…Those were my true glory days."

"Are you going to continue being a friggin ray of sunshine or do you plan on helping?" Dean said after a moment. He put a hand around the bottle and pulled it out of Crowley's immediate reach. He frowned and that was all it took. "Get out of here, man. Go see what Sam's up to if you want. But I can't fix anything if I have to keep looking over my shoulder to make sure you don't drown."

"Fine, Squirrel. But keep your bloody hands off my scotch."

The glass was set down a little too roughly, but there was something in Crowley's expression which told Dean that it had been unintentional for the most part. He stood abruptly and left the kitchen without much more of a fuss. His return trip to the study was a little more confusing than he would've liked to admit, but he did find his way there. And Sam was waiting for him. He took one look at Crowley before his eyes narrowed.

"What happened?" Sam asked as the man sank into a nearby chair.

"I need a reason to visit now?" Crowley said as he looked around the room at all the empty chairs. He paused for a moment as he turned back to face Sam. "Your brother, the Master Chef, wouldn't lower his hourly rate for me."

Sam shook his head just the slightest bit and frowned. He could smell a bit of alcohol but Crowley seemed to be holding himself together pretty well. "You've been drinking."

"You should be dead. But you're not. And here we are." Crowley said, immediately appearing to sober up at the accusation. He watched Sam carefully and could see that something was still off about him. "Come on, Sam. I've done the whole song and dance of polite conversation. This is the part where you spill your guts."

His voice dropped just the slightest bit and Sam fully appreciated the irony of the comment. But he couldn't exactly bring himself to show it. The brief silence that followed was all it took for Crowley to tell that he had a bite. He went on.

"From what I overheard earlier there's still trouble in paradise." Crowley saw Sam's expression change. "Am I wrong?"

The hunter looked over to him with a sigh. Of course Crowley, of all people, had heard the argument he had with Dean earlier. Sam rolled his eyes. If there was one thing the Winchesters had all been good at, it was getting into shouting matches. Crowley continued on with a wave of his hand.

"We're in the same boat, you and I. Both shackled to base camp because Dean-o seems to have lost his faith. It's always been the same old song. Doubt, betrayal, fierce independence. And it's all well and good until one of you flies too close to the sun." He nodded over to Sam. "Then there's death after death after death... Pages and pages of it, in fact. I read your little series."

"You're wrong, Crowley." Sam had to stop him there; he shook his head. "Dean thinks that God is the one who saved me; brought me back. And I don't know if I believe in any of that any more, but he does. He's changed because of it. I can tell. But you haven't. You're trying to manipulate me like always."

"What was that you boys said earlier, 'people change'? I've noticed that something's off with you." He said with a glance down to Sam's still bandaged arm. "As taken as I am with not caring, quite recently your…well-being has become somewhat important to me."

Sam narrowed his eyes. For the second time that day, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Crowley had a difficult time caring about anyone other than himself. The sentiment was moving to say the least, but when Crowley's expression hardened again Sam grounded himself. What exactly had the former demon meant?

"Don't get all dewy eyed on me, Moose." Crowley said after a moment; he fell back into his old vernacular without too much effort. Sam rolled his eyes. "I said 'recently', come on."

"You mean, since the church?"

The man nodded. "Do go on."

"What you said in there." Sam tilted his head to one side just the slightest bit as he prepared to elaborate. "That's empathy. At least, I think it was. It shows that you care about other people. You might even put someone else's needs before yours some day."

"It means that you're human."A third voice said; Sam turned in his chair to see that Kevin was finally out of his room.

Kevin stepped into the study quietly. He had changed his shirt but the prophet was no more awake than he had been earlier. Sam could tell from the way that he walked around the edge of the room that the kid was still wary of the former demon. As Kevin got a little closer he pulled out a chair to an adjacent table. It was close enough to hold a conversation. But he was also far enough away to have a decent amount of time to react should something happen. Kevin had found over the past year that caution was best. He had learned from a police training tape that distance was what kept a lot of bad situations from becoming worse. Distance kept a lot of people alive.

"Or close to human." The kid looked over to Crowley cautiously. It almost seemed like further explanation was necessary. "It's a good thing."

"It's sickening." Crowley muttered almost immediately; his face wrinkled in disgust. "Things were so much easier before. Now I have to traipse around and care about people? Try not to step on anyone's blasted toes? It's ridiculous."

The hunter's eyes went wide. His time without a soul was well-remembered. Crowley, on the other hand, appeared to be suffering under the weight of his newfound conscience. Like he told Sam in the church, he had lived for a long time. There were so many thingsthat he had done wrong. He watched as the man put a hand to his head in irritation. But Sam wasn't the only one keeping an eye on Crowley.

Kevin seemed to relax for a moment as the former demon closed his eyes. The kid still had a lot on his plate. It was something Sam could identify with, honestly. But he didn't think that anyone in the room could handle the added stress. Dean had advised the kid to keep away from Crowley the day before. To be more specific, he said the two were like something from the Cold War. They were nukes just sitting around and waiting to go off. For the most part, Sam had agreed with his brother's advice. The last thing the bunker needed was a brawl, especially when things outside were so bad.

They heard footsteps just as the room became uncomfortably quiet. Sam was the first to lay eyes on his brother as Dean rounded the corner with a handful of plates. He had something near a smile on his face as he approached the rag-tag group. "Order up."

Kevin watched as the hunter set down a plate in front of him. He could tell that Dean had put some effort into breakfast, but he didn't feel so hungry after all. The kid picked up his fork anyways. He needed energy if he was going to get anywhere with the tablets. They were his only priority now. Anything else would have to wait. Kevin slowly began eating but was careful to keep Crowley in his sights.

Dean placed the next plate in front of Sam before turning back towards the kitchen for the rest. Crowley hung his head as Sam dug in; the fallen King was still lost in his thoughts. What he had said to Sam in the church… How much of it had been him, the real him, talking? He couldn't be sure. Things had gotten fuzzy after round five.

Crowley was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he barely noticed as Dean reentered the room. He came back to himself as he heard the dull thud of a plate being placed in front of him. The man looked across the table to Moose, who already had a plate, and then turned to Dean who was standing nearby.

"What's this?" He looked down to the offering, confused.

Dean narrowed his eyes as he pulled out a chair. "They're eggs."

Kevin looked over to the next table quietly, listening as he ate. The former demon went on to roll his eyes at Dean. Of course he recognized that. What he didn't understand was what they were doing in front of him. There had to be some kind of mistake going on here. Crowley wasn't exactly starving to death. At least, he didn't think he was. The man had been quite content with his so-called breakfast of scotch.

"Sunny-side. They've been a top breakfast item since, well, ever." Dean sat as he explained further. "I figure you might as well get used to 'em. They're about the only thing in the fridge until we pick up more supplies. Eat. You'll feel better with something on your stomach."

Sam looked over to Crowley as the man hesitated. Before he could say anything Crowley had taken his first few bites. The man ate without saying anything else for some time. He appeared to be enjoying the meal, even though Sam knew his brother used way too much salt. Crowley turned to Dean only after his plate had been cleared. He hadn't realized it at the time, but he had been searching for something to say.

"It's not a problem." Dean said after a moment; he looked from his plate over to Sam. "I cooked for Sammy all the time when-"

He's interrupted when his phone goes off. Dean searched his jacket for a second as he rose from his seat. One glance at the screen tells him that it's a number he doesn't recognize. He sighed before answering; he was damn tired of telemarketers. Dean was pleasantly surprised to hear a voice that he recognized.

"Cas?"