Itinerary: Impossible

Crowley let out a low whistle as they walked out onto the tarmac, escorted by two members of the charter jet company. They each had names tags with 'Concierge' written on them – Sean and Annabelle, respectively. Castiel looked over and raised an eyebrow.

"That, my Angelic friend," Crowley rasped, pointing, "is a true slice of Heaven itself."

"That's our Gulf Stream G650," Annabelle chirped enthusiastically, her teeth shining a bit too brightly in the afternoon sun." It's called The Shepherd!"

"You don't say," Crowley replied with a too-wide grin, turning partly towards her while walking, hands clasped in front of him. "I wouldn't have guessed that, what with the ten-foot high letters stenciled in plaid on the side." He paused. "No, my real question was..."

"It's one of the most luxurious aircraft flying in the entire world, " Annabelle continued, undaunted, her smile now accented by beaming eyes. "World leaders and heads of industry have requested rides in it. If you would like, I can tell you about it's many features..."

Crowley held up a hand, interrupting her. He stopped on the pavement and closed his eyes almost reverently, turning his head towards the parked jet.

"Long range cruise speed -Mach .85, that's 562 mph to you and me - can take up to eighteen passengers, can handle a payload of up to three tons, has wire-to-wire state of the art guidance systems, a private stateroom, and about a sixty-five million dollar price-tag." He opened his eyes and winked at Annabelle, who had stopped talking mid-word, leaving her jaw open, still wearing a blank half-smile. "I say 'about', darling, because I only paid fifty-five million for my last one. They gave me a discount for ordering them in bulk."

Annabelle closed her mouth with an audible click, and Crowley grinned evilly at her. "Sorry dear. Did I steal your thunder? What's more important to me, however, is the payload, did you manage to get all of our luggage loaded without any problems?"

Sean cleared his throat. "Of course, sir. Might I ask...?"

"No, you may not," Crowley said, cutting him off and staring him down. "Just follow my instructions. No one is to go near the larger of my trunks without a forklift, and it to be kept well ventilated. Failure to comply can be rather...messy."

Sean hesitated and nodded. "Whatever you wish, sir. But once we've landed in Scotland, it might be difficult to move that particular...er...item to the castle itself."

Crowley patted Castiel on the shoulder firmly. "That's what I brought him for," he smiled jovially. Sean looked at Castiel dubiously.

"He's stronger than he looks," Crowley sad, shrugging. "So, shall we inspect that spacious fifty-four foot long cabin, and more importantly, the wet bar therein?" With that, he strode forward and walked up the steps to the plane's entrance.

Castiel looked back at Sean and Annabelle, who looked rather unhappy at the moment and shrugged apologetically.

"You'll have to excuse my partner...he gets nervous when he flies...it makes him...um... snarky."

Sean and Annabelle nodded at Castiel slowly in tandem. He smiled tightly and turned back to the plane, eying it warily.

"Very, very nervous...", he muttered to himself as he took a deep breath and steadied his nerves before following Crowley in.

"That wasn't very nice of you, you know," Castiel said to Crowley a little while after they had taken off. Crowley had already made himself perfectly at home, leaning back with his eyes closed in a plush beige leather seat with his feet up on the small table in front of him, a drink held in one hand.

"What's that now?", Crowley asked, opening one eye and squinting at Castiel.

"You. Interrupting that woman back there. She was just doing her job."

Crowley sighed, opening up both eyes and swinging his feet down, leaning forward.

"Oh, was I supposed to play 'nice' now, Castiel?"

Castiel eyed him and then glanced out the window. "It couldn't hurt."

"Castiel, did you completely forget the part about all of this being a trap? Which, by association, makes her an opponent of ours." Crowley huffed and leaned back. "Look, I'm rarely polite to start with, let alone for anyone that is actively trying to hurt or kill me...I hope you can understand."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "I don't think she's a part of this."

Crowley, getting more frustrated, snapped his eyes back to Castiel. "I'm sorry, but why does that even matter?"

Castiel sighed, considering. "You do that all of the time, Crowley. You lump people and groups into these ever-expanding and general categories, without ever considering the individual," he answered finally.

"And?"

Castiel rolled his eyes. "And, you should really try to consider the feelings and emotions of the people that you deal with. That's all."

Crowley blinked, incredulous, and then slowly leaned forward.

"Castiel, how long have you known me exactly?"

Castiel met his eyes. "Why?"

Crowley's mood darkened visibly. "Why? Why?! Because in the many, many years that we've been acquainted, Castiel, how many times would you say that I've gone out of my way to be quote-on-quote 'nice'...to anyone?!"

Castiel frowned. "Never."

Crowley threw his hand up in the air, letting it fall back down again with a smack. "Exactly, never! So, what in all of creation would possess you to think that I'd give it a go now, of all bloody times?"

Castiel squinted at him. "I really don't understand you sometimes."

"Obviously," Crowley snorted, bringing his drink to his lips.

"Actually, on second though, it's really you that doesn't understand," Castiel continued. "Ever since the Winchesters cleansed your blood, you've gone on and on about forming bonds, finding friends, even love."

Crowley paused before drinking, watching Castiel over the rim of his glass.

"So, my question is: which is it? Is it the same old kill-or-be-killed Crowley who's out for himself and no-one else? Or were you serious about trying to understand your newly activated, more human side?"

Crowley continued to watch him, his drink still frozen in his hands.

Castiel leaned forward. "Because, while I might not be a great scholar regarding human interactions, I am good about trying to consider how they are feeling. And it seems that if you actually were serious about it, you could do a lot worse than listening to what I'm trying to tell you."

Crowley stared at him for a few more seconds and then drained his drink. He coughed slightly and leaned back in his chair solemnly, looking out of the window.

"So," he finally said in a low voice. "We friends now? Is that it? You want to help me?"

Castiel sighed. "'Just because we're forced to be working together doesn't mean we have to like it', is what I believe you said when we started this mission together; " Castiel recited in a fake Scottish accent. "Well, my take on it is this; it doesn't mean I have to hate it either." The plane hit a spot of turbulence and the cabin rocked a little. Castiel sat down heavily and groaned. "Flying, on the other hand..."

Crowley glanced at Castiel out of the corner of his eye and then grumbled incoherently to himself. He put his empty glass down and went to the small refrigerator in the cabin. He opened it and nodded appreciatively. "Good, I thought that I had seen Sushi listed on the menu..."

Castiel looked at him, puzzled. "You're hungry?"

Crowley took the lid off of the plate and removed the pickled ginger from the tray, piling the little strips onto a smaller plate and walking over to Castiel.

"No, but you are. At least for this. Here – eat it."

Castiel eyed the ginger warily. "Um..." he started to say.

"It helps with air-sickness," Crowley said, cutting him off. He left the plate on the small table in front of Castiel and sat back down in his chair.

Castiel ate a piece and swallowed. He looked back up at Crowley, who was staring out of the window again.

"Thank you, Crowley," he said.

Crowley looked back at him, his face casting stark shadows from the sun in the sky. "Least I could do," he said, smiling. "Besides, this is a new suit. Wont do having you getting sick all over it."

Castiel smiled back, eating another piece of ginger and closing his eyes.

They landed a few hours later, and after procuring a truck large enough to carry their luggage, and Crowley's large shipping crate, their assigned driver headed down the highway and then onto some side roads into the Scottish Highlands, winding around scenic foothills and mountains for a few hours. Castiel watched the countryside in wonder, Crowley with a kind of disinterested reverie. They had to stop for a time as a large flock of sheep was herded over the road, the tender ignoring the harsh words from their lorry driver.

"Rush-hour in the Highlands," Crowley grumbled. "Still hasn't changed, even after a few hundred years have gone by."

"Didn't you grow up around here...um...I mean, originally?", Castiel asked.

Crowley nodded. "Rather would like to forget about it, thank you very much."

"I imagine it was hard growing up here, especially with Rowena as a mother."

Crowley sighed in exasperation. "No, Castiel, I ended up in Hell because of my well-rounded and fully satisfying childhood...imbuing me a sense of self-worth and value." He snorted and shook his head. "Seriously?", he asked looking at Castiel.
Castiel shrugged. "Sorry...I thought that maybe coming back here would bring back something worth remembering." Crowley grunted and looked away.

"No Castiel, there's are plenty of bloody good reasons that I don't come back to Scotland. At least if I can help it."

They rode in silence the rest of the way before a bumpy and winding side road took them into a rather large valley, the center of which had an old, towering castle in the middle of it, matching the pictures in Charlie's brochures. Even though it was mid-afternoon on a relatively sunny day, a dark grey formation of clouds hung around the area, eerily situated over the castle itself. It lurked there like a predator; a spot on the otherwise pristine green countryside.

The truck pulled into the pebbly service drive and they got out and began to unload it. No hotel staff came out to greet them. The clouds continued to gather and merge, the threat of rain filling the air.

"I'll let 'em know yer here," the driver grunted to them as the last of the luggage was off-loaded. "Don't go wanderin' off now."

Crowley gave him a small salute, which the driver returned with a withering gaze. Crowley smiled and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Wow, can't wait to see what the rooms look like," he said, a false cheer in his tone. "It's just so...hospitable here, isn't it, Castiel?"

Castiel was frowning up at the clouds and then looked at Crowley. He looked down at this hands and his frown deepened.

"Castiel?"

"Crowley, we have to get out of here..."

Crowley tilted his head and frowned in return. "What? But we just got here..."

"Now...", Castiel grunted, walking off at a brisk pace into the open field. Crowley watched him wander off, dumbfounded.

"Castiel? Castiel!" Crowley shouted, running after him. Breathless, he caught up to him after a hundred feet or so. Castiel did not acknowledge him, he simply kept moving away from the castle into the field, jaw set and determined.

"Castiel...mind explaining what you're doing?"

"I'm cut off..." Castiel murmured, his thoughts seemingly very far away. He glanced at Crowley as if only just noticing him, then suddenly spun and grabbed his shoulders.

"Crowley! Can you teleport us? Your demonic ability...it's on a completely different frequency...can you teleport us out of here?" He had an almost panicked look in his eyes, and Crowley found himself shrinking back instinctively.

"What's this all about, Castiel? As I just said, we've only just arrived, now you want to leave...? What about Sam? And Dean?"

"Can you do it?!", Castiel roared.

Crowley took a step back. He frowned and reached for his power. "Fine, Castiel, but you owe me one hell of an explanation after all of..."

He paused... a chill going through him. Castiel was staring at him. Then he nodded.

"You can't, can you?", Castiel asked, turning and walking further into the field. "You're cut off from your power as well...this place..."

Crowley shook his head to clear it. "What's going on Castiel? You said you were 'cut-off' as well? From your powers?"

"From...everything, Crowley. The Angels, Crowley, Heaven...I can't hear them anymore...they're gone...I'm...I'm..." He hit something invisible in the field that knocked him onto his backside. He grunted and pulled himself out of the soft Scottish dirt and felt up tentatively. His hand rested against an unseen barrier.

"Alone...alone and trapped...", he whispered.

Crowley walked up slowly next to him and held his hand up as well. It came into contact with a physical, but completely invisible wall, cold and as hard as a stone.

"Well, bugger me..." he whispered, turning his head slowly back to the castle. It was now at least two hundred yards away, and still looming, now made all the more ominous by the roiling dark clouds overhead.

"No bets being taken that the entire area is walled in," he grumbled."Bloody good trap...no powers, no way out...only way to go is...inside."

As if in response, a crashing bolt of lightning struck somewhere high in the castle's ramparts, shaking the air around them, rumbling like a beast as the sound of the thunder drained away.

"Nice touch..." Crowley muttered, cocking an eyebrow. He looked at Castiel, who continued to stand, hand against the barrier, staring at nothing. "C'mon Castiel. Nothing for it. We have to fight on, it appears. How on earth we're going to do that, however, remains to be seen..." He turned and plodded his way back to the castle as a slow, steady rain began to fall.

"How on earth..." Castiel muttered, blinking as the rain began to run down his face in steady streams. He turned towards the castle and then turned his head back to the sky, eyes searching desperately. "I don't think that we're even there anymore..." he whispered, before hunching his shoulders and hurrying to catch up to Crowley.