2 – Don't Tell Us What We're Doing, We Don't Want To Know

They drove into a town so dead, Crowley thought maybe they'd stumbled upon a hidden ghost town. A surprise for sad, desperate tourists who somehow thought Wyoming was a vacation spot.

In the center of the town square was a strange rig that almost looked like old torture device, a metal X on a stand with some loose chains dangling from the arms. "Kinky," Crowley said. "I think I'm changing my mind about this place."

"Where is everyone?" Dean asked. "Is this a town full of vamps or some shit?"

Crowley scanned the town layout, looking for some clues. Beyond the public torture post, it could have been any shitty place in the middle of nowhere. "You wouldn't think so. They prefer more urban areas." Dean brought the car to a stop, and Crowley got out, seeing if he could pick up any other clues.

There was a scent in the air, buried beneath the dry, dusty air, that nagged at his memory. What was that? It was like a combination of old blood and parchment. A door opened and closed, and a middle aged woman came out of a nearby business. She had short auburn hair, and wore the blue jeans and plaid shirt combo that could have come straight from Dean's wardrobe, although he wore it slightly better. She didn't look familiar, but she had an aura of energy about her that did jog Crowley's memory a bit. Proving he was not mistaken, she asked, "Crowley, is that you?"

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

She smiled, and her eyes slid past him to Dean, as he'd gotten out of the car. She stopped dead. "What is he?"

"What kind of greeting is that?" Dean replied. It was his idea of a joke, as only ensouled Dean gave a shit about that petty nonsense.

Crowley guessed she was picking up the god weapon energy around him. He'd learned to ignore it. "He has the Mark of Cain."

She frowned. "That's unfortunate."

Dean smirked. "I dunno. I like it myself."

She eyed him like a dangerous dog off his leash, and Crowley couldn't blame her. That was the appropriate response, and she had no idea how dangerous Dean was without the bloody thing. "Is there a reason you travel with an attack dog, Crowley?"

Crowley grinned. "I've always had a fondness for hounds. Which you would know if you actually knew me. Who are you?"

"Leave your dog out here. We'll talk in private."

"No. We talk now. Whatever you say to me you can say to him."

Dean snapped at the air in front of him, just like a dog might, and grinned maniacally at the woman, who continued to frown at him in disgust. The amount of enjoyment Dean took in her disdain verged on obscene, and Crowley enjoyed it immensely. Sadistic Dean was fun Dean. "No I cannot. He's a lesser."

It was that term that gave him a hint of what he was dealing with. "You're a god." Now technically Crowley wasn't god level, but being the King of Hell kind of gave you honorary status.

She tilted her chin up, affecting a haughty air. "Of course I am. I'm Aericura."

Crowley nodded, even though the name wasn't at all familiar to him. "Did you lose a bet?"

Now she looked puzzled. "What?"

"To end up here, in this tacky wasteland. Did you lose a bet?"

Dean snickered, and she gave him the evilest look. "I see the years haven't tempered your arrogance any."

Crowley shook his head. "I have no memory of ever having met you before. Was I drunk, or ..?"

Her eyes narrowed, and Crowley just picked up the slightest pulse of energy in them. "The Culloden Battlefield?"

"Oh. That was you?" Crowley actually didn't remember anything about that, but playing along was probably the fastest way to get out of this conversation.

"I was in a male body at the time. Back then, you really didn't have a choice, not if you wanted people listening to you."

Crowley was shocked anyone ever listened to her, no matter the era, but he wasn't sure what her power set was and if she could hurt him, so he kept it to himself. For now. "Is there something I can do for you?"

She jerked her head back towards the building she'd just vacated. "Why don't you come in for a drink? We'll discuss it."

Crowley glanced back at Dean, who was still giving her a wolfish grin. It was literally wolfish. Like the second Crowley left them alone, Dean was going to rip her throat out with his teeth. He wouldn't put it past him either. His sense of humor had taken a particularly savage bent as of late. "We'd be delighted."

She scowled, probably because she only technically invited Crowley, but he wasn't going to leave Dean out of this, "lesser" or not. She didn't even have a dog run out here.

They headed into what might once have been a salon, but was had been repurposed into some bizarre personal residence, which was both austere and tacky at the same time, an almost impossible combination to pull off. It must have been done on purpose, because Crowley couldn't see how anyone could arrive there accidentally.

There was a small table in the center of the room, with armless chairs with stuffed teal cushions on them that almost matched the aqua blue walls. Ghastly. "Cecil, could you bring us some tea?" Aericura called out. There was no answer, but there was a rattling of dishes in the back room, which must have been the kitchen.

Dean raised his head and sniffed. "What's that smell?"

Mainly, Crowley just smelled god energy, dust, and paint. "What's it smell like?"

Dean frowned and thought about it a moment. "Cold."

Crowley rolled his eyes. That was less than helpful. A lot of Dean had changed for the better, but his occasional need to be a complete asshole had not. Apparently that was just ingrained in him at the molecular level. Assholism was a mystic trait, beyond science.

Crowley had a seat in one of the shockingly ugly chairs, as Aericura had already taken one, and Dean remained standing, preferring to lean against the wall behind Crowley, arms crossed over his chest. Paranoia was apparently beyond mysticism.

"I hear you're the King of Hell now. Congratulations. Or should I say I'm sorry."

Crowley cocked his head. "Pardon?"

"That's a little over the head of a crossroads demon like you, yes? It seems like a lot of responsibility. It can't be easy. I've heard rumors that Hell's in disarray."

He bristled at a god, especially a washed up one, criticizing him. "The rumors are false."

She made a sort of humming noise, agreement that still didn't seem like total agreement. "Still, I think we can make a deal."

"I don't do deal with gods. They screw you, and not in a good way."

"What's that smell?" Dean asked again.

Crowley picked up the scent of a stove burner with a bit too much dust on it, and some annoying herbal tea, but … no, wait. They were covering up something else, weren't they?

Aericura gave Dean a withering glance. "Must be odd, having all these senses. You see now how limited and confining humanity is, yes?"

"Still better than being a god no one gives a rat's ass about anymore."

Ooh, ouch. Score one for Dean.

She gave him that pissy look once more, but currently it was barely worth a mention. Dean certainly didn't care about it.

"I'll just put all my cards on the table. A regime change is necessary for both Heaven and Hell, but Heaven is beyond access right now. So we're going to start with Hell, and work our way towards Heaven." A man came in from the back room, and he was a rather large slab of meat, six foot six if he was an inch, and maybe three hundred pounds, mostly muscle, with shoulders the width of an industrial refrigerator. In other words, a Frankenstein's monster of a man, but he was hiding something even worse in his humongous meat suit. Now Crowley understood what Dean meant when he said he smelled cold.

He smelled angel.

Dean came off the wall, pulling out the First Blade, but he'd hardly moved a single step before Frankenstein raised his hand, and blue energy welled in his palm. "I wouldn't, abomination."

"If you don't want your dog fried to a crisp, call him off," Aericura said.

Dean couldn't die. Even an angel would be hard pressed to take him off the board. (An archangel could, if there were even any of those left.) But he'd need time to heal from being blasted by angel energy, especially if he was fully toasted. Even the Mark of Cain had limits. He might need Dean sooner rather than later, so he didn't need him getting his muscular ass deep fried. "Save it, Dean. I want to see where they're going with this."

Dean gave him a disbelieving look, like he knew he was just saying that to spare him some pain, and something hard and dangerous glittered in his eyes, like he was thinking of doing it anyway. Crowley didn't think human Dean was into S&M – he was way too vanilla and super repressed about his bisexual leanings too - but Deanmon seemed give even less of a shit about pain. He almost welcomed the damage. He took no pleasure from it, he just seemed to think it was funny. That savage sense of humor again.

Still, sense triumphed, or maybe he honestly wanted to see where this was going too, because he stepped back, and lowered the blade. He didn't stow it, though.

Crowley turned to Aericura. "This angel works for you now?"

"Cecil is unhappy with how Heaven is being run, and who can blame him?"

"Cecil?" Dean repeated, snickering at his name.

Cecil gave Dean a stink eye that was just this side of lethal.

Crowley was trying to work out the math of this in his head, but he felt like he didn't have all the parts to this puzzle yet. "Wait. Are you nominating yourself to take over Hell?"

Aericura nodded. "I am a goddess of the underworld. It's well within my dominion."

"Why would I give up my throne?"

She smiled. It was sickly, and more than a little patronizing. "Do you really think it was simply chance that you came here? I was aware you were out there with your little pet, and I made sure that you ended up here. You're now within my dominion."

"Excuse me?" Crowley usually didn't open up all his senses, because he could get overwhelmed with minutia and other crap that only annoyed him. But he did now, and the fine network of energy that made up this place, this town, was crystal clear. "You've trapped us in a dimensional bubble?"

"What?" Dean asked. He looked around, but he wouldn't be able to see it.

Crowley was almost impressed that she could be such an obscure god and still have this kind of juice. "You are aware this won't hold me, right?"

She smiled even wider. "That's what the others are for."

Dean stepped up until he was directly behind Crowley. Cecil hadn't moved, but raised his hand like he was prepared to smite Dean at any second. There was way too much hate in his eyes for Cecil to simply despise Dean as a demon. He knew who Dean was specifically, and wasn't a fan. Was it because of his association with Castiel, or how Castiel's love for Dean destroyed the angel? Crowley would have to ask him later. "What others?" Dean demanded.

She gestured towards the door. "Go look for yourselves."

Dean headed for the door, as Crowley stood, still not sure how she thought she could pull this off. He had to give her points for egotism and sheer gall, but that wasn't enough to make him cede his throne to some random underworld god. They were a dime a dozen, and she wasn't even one of the better ones.

"Son of a bitch," Dean cursed, before Crowley could join him.

At first, Crowley couldn't see what Dean was upset about. There were maybe two dozen people out there, standing in the middle of the street like they were waiting for a signal from their god wannabe to line dance or play dead for a biscuit. But the energy auras on them was flat, weird … and distressing familiar. Then one of the Hee Haw rejects in the front of the group reverted to form, his entire head opening up to a cavernous, toothy mouth full of sharp teeth, and he saw what had bothered Dean.

They were all Leviathans.

"Didn't you and your people clear them out?" Dean asked.

Crowley shrugged. "We got most of them." Without a leader, Leviathans were still tough, sure, but they were rather aimless, and one Leviathan was easily taken out. It was the whole grouping thing that made them a problem. But virtuously stupid human Dean, with an assist from his lovelorn guardian angel, took out Dick Roman. There was no Leviathan leader anymore.

Suddenly Crowley got a very bad feeling, and looked back at Aericura, who was now grinning like a madwoman. "You really should have made a deal, Crowley. 'Cause I think you're fucked."

Nobody ever said the leader of the Leviathans had to be a Leviathan. He assumed that, everyone assumed that … but it was a loophole, and as a crossroads demon, he should have recognized that right away.

"What do we do?" Dean asked.

That was a great question. Crowley wished he had an answer for him.