As soon as Cas had disappeared into the little bathroom to dress put his face on (or whatever) Crowley sagged back in the chair, letting his eyes close. His shoulder was throbbing unbearably, but it wasn't just the physical discomfort that was driving him up the wall. It was the fact that, despite all of his best efforts, he was feeling things. A lot of things.

He was, of course, very concerned for himself. He'd thought that Hell was back under his control, but he'd clearly misjudged the situation badly. He was in danger, and he hated being in danger. He was also in pain, which he hated. The demon who'd headed up the efforts to kill him—some bloke named Alphonso who'd used to work in soul accounting and as far as Crowley knew had no particular grudge against him—had actually shot him with something. Whatever it was (and he wasn't totally sure himself—all he knew was that it had the power to hurt him) had was lodged in good and he couldn't get it out. Nor was there anyone he could go to do it. He'd resigned himself to putting up with it circumstances…changed.

But that wasn't all. On top of his very reasonable fear and pity for himself, Crowley found that he was worried about Dean. Captured and outnumbered by unfriendly demons, he supposed the chances that they weren't torturing him for fun were probably pretty low. Occasionally, the worry morphed into a hollow, soul-sucking sensation that it took him a bit longer to place. Guilt. He was actually feeling bad about having gotten him into this situation. And then there was one more, which he had resolved never to admit to anyone or even think about if he could help it: he actually missed having Dean around. As frustrating as it had been waiting for his very own Knight of Hell to put down the beer and do something, well, Hell-ish, the last several months with Dean had been some of the best of Crowley's life, including all those years before he died and became a demon.

It was all the Winchesters' fault, of course. If they hadn't captured him and dosed him up with human blood, he'd never have lost his grip on Hell, and even if he had, he wouldn't have had to sit here wallowing in feelings.

The bathroom door popped open. Crowley forced himself to straighten as Cas walked out. The angel had put on his suit, at least, and he picked up the trench coat from his bed and started putting it on.

"We'll have to go in through a portal," Crowley said, as Cas walked around the room and collected his angel blade, and—absurd as it seemed—his wallet and keys, and stowed them all in his coat. He noted that the angel was moving stiffly, and that he looked unusually tired, but put the thought out of his mind. He didn't exactly have any better options, and he wasn't about to start worrying about bloody Castiel, the world's least trustworthy angel.

"Why?" Cas asked.

Crowley sighed. For a four billion-year-old being, Cas could be impressively dense. "Obviously, we can't go in through the front doors, seeing as Abbadon's best are undoubtedly at the gates." He really had to find out which demons in particular were behind the upset. "As for teleportation, you may have noticed that we don't just let angels in. How long did it take you to fight your way in to rescue Squirrel? Not to mention, we'll show up on Hell radar the second we do. Can't chance it."

"I suppose you have a point," Cas admitted grudgingly. "Where is the nearest portal?"

Crowley grabbed Cas's elbow with his good arm and concentrated a second. In a blink their surroundings had changed—they were in a wide, damp field, surrounded by several dozen grazing sheep.

He forced himself to crack a grin, though the trip had taken a bit more out of him than he was strictly comfortable with. "Home sweet home, actually."

"We're in Scotland?"

He'd be damned (again) if the angel didn't sound at least a little impressed. "Yeah," he said. "Little known portal. Never even been myself." He snapped his fingers and muttered an incantation. The portal came roaring to life, a mess of swirling, whirling interdimensional travel with a solid five foot diameter. It hovered in the air about chest level and made a rushing sound like a whirlpool.

Crowley stepped in front of it, folding his arms and letting his expression sober. The sudden loud bleating of a sheep diluted the moment a bit, but he carried on regardless. "Before we go in, though, angel, there are a few things we need to get straight."

The angel's eyebrow rose slowly, and Crowley could practically see the gears working in his mind. No doubt, the same gears that had led Castiel to betray him four years before. "What?" Cas asked. The angel's distrust of him came through clearly in his tone, which Crowley found wholly unwarranted. Crowley, after all, had never broken his word. He supposed the angel was still tetchy about him demonizing Dean, but it wasn't like he'd ever pretended to have done anything different.

"Number one," Crowley said sharply. "While we're in Hell, you do exactly as I say. You may be an angel, but your light there is flickering, and I won't have you going off and doing anything stupid and getting us both in trouble."

"I can handle myself, Crowley," Cas said dangerously.

"Number two," Crowley said, ignoring him. "You will not try to harm me in any way. Even after we've rescued Dean. This should go without saying, but, obviously knowing you…" he shrugged. "And that includes putting me in danger and leaving me there. If we're in this, we're in this together."

"Crowley…"

"Number three," Crowley said. "When we rescue Dean, you don't get him."

"Excuse me?" Cas said. He turned on Crowley, effectively towering over him.

Crowley shifted his weight slightly, tipping his chin up and narrowing his eyes. He hadn't anticipated a fight, but if it came to one he supposed Cas would find that, hurt or not, Crowley was still more than a match for him. "I said," he enunciated, "that when we free Dean, he's not automatically yours. I don't care what kind of a crush you've got on him."

"I will never agree to that," Cas said bluntly.

Crowley glared up at him, wishing that Cas was just a little bit less tall. He never seemed tall around the Winchesters, after all. "Look. I need Dean on my side if I'm going to have any chance to turn this bloody rebellion around. Once that's done…whatever. You can take him and put him through that torture you call a 'cure.'"

"No," Cas said.

"No?" Crowley echoed. "You do realize I'm your best and only chance to see your boy toy in one piece again. Do you know what they do to demons that fall out of favor Hell?"

They stared at each other for a few tense seconds, neither willing to budge. The only sound between whem was the whoosh of the swirling portal and another sudden, loud baaa. Followed by another. Then another, and another. All of a sudden, the sheep were going nuts.

"What the…?"

Crowley looked up in time to discover that despite being in the middle of absolutely nowhere in a sheep field, they were not alone. Approaching at a breakneck speed from all directions were roiling, purplish clouds of demon smoke. In the seconds it had taken Crowley to register what exactly was going on, the demons had crossed more than half the distance of the field. They had seconds at most.

Cas had apparently come to the same realization. He stared up at the approaching demons and inhaled sharply. "Come on."

"Come—" Crowley started to say, but was interrupted by a hundred and eighty pounds of angel flying right at him, hitting him squarely in the chest, and knocking straight back into the portal.

He cried out involuntarily in surprise and pain in his mangled shoulder, but the sound was swallowed by the otherworldly roar of the portal, before they both landed on the other side with a meaty thud. Cas extricated himself from Crowley quickly and stood, staring at the other side of the portal—through which a view of the field, sheep, and approaching demons was still visible, though distorted as if it were a view from underwater.

"How do I close it?" Cas snapped.

"Won't help. They'll just open it again," Crowley gritted from the floor, watching the smoke fly closer, closer, closer, and trying to think.

There was an incantation to not just close it but destroy it, but it had been decades since he'd glanced at the spell and it took a good deal of energy and his shoulder was still throbbing unbearably from his rough and sudden contact with the ground. He closed his eyes in concentration, muttering the words he recalled and channeling his own demonic power into them in a might effort.

The roaring ceased. When Crowley opened his eyes again, the portal was gone.

"What did you do?" Cas asked. The angel was standing above him with his hands on his hips.

Crowley sunk back a moment, mildly dizzy. Putting that much power into anything, even when he was in tip-top shape, was always good for a few minutes of wooziness. Then he started pushing himself up with a grimace, keeping his bad arm tucked against his stomach. Cas, the poor excuse for an angel, didn't even offer him a hand.

"Portal's toast now," Crowley said. He was sitting upright now and decided to take a breather. "Gone. If they want to come after us they'll have to come in another way, and that will mean finding us."

"They found us once," Cas points out.

"Well now, we're…" Crowley glanced around. They've landed in what looks like a deep cave room, lit only by an orange light emanating from something moldy-looking attached to the stalactites clinging to the ceiling and the stalagmites jutting up from the floor. Their jagged edges made them look like teeth, as if they were sitting in the closed mouth of some great beast. In the center of the room was a wide, dark pool, its waters placid. Crowley frowned. "I've no bloody idea where we are, actually. Somewhere in Hell, I presume. One of the weird parts."

There were plenty of weird parts. Most of them had been adapted into torture devices of various kinds—like the endless cavern with the ropes and the hooks. (A personal favorite.) A few remained untouched, though.

"How did they find us in the first place?" Cas asked, seemingly less interested in figuring out their immediate surroundings.

Crowley shook his head, and started climbing to his feet. His shoulder throbbed harder, but he clenched his teeth and ignored the pain. He'd showed enough weakness in front of the angel today. He needed him, but he trusted him about as far as he could throw the big Winchester. He was acutely aware that Cas had not agreed to listen to him, refrain from hurting him, or (though this had admittedly been a long shot) let him have Dean in the end.

"I don't know," he ground out once he was on his feet again.

"So, what now?" Cas asked.

"Patience," Crowley grumbled. Cas glared at him. "I have to get my bearings. Which I think will mean getting out of this place."

"How?"

They both looked around again. Then Crowley's eyes settled again on the pool. "Oh, you're bloody kidding me," he muttered.

Cas let out a breath beside him. "You think we have to swim?"

"You see any other way out?" Crowley asked.

"No," Cas said.

And together, they dove into the pool.