SOMETIME LATER THAN THE MIDDLE OF MAY
The sun was shining. The air was clear and crisp. Leaves floated to the ground, the last vestiges of autumn giving way to winter's chill. All in all, it was perfect, if only in this little bubble of space.
Crowley hated it. It was too… peaceful. After all, the world outside was in turmoil! Wars were being fought, people were dying (1), and British citizens were still driving on M25. Not to mention that some moron was trying to restart the apocalypse. Again. Well, not if he could help it. One he could stand, but the second one tried his patience, and to attempt a third? That was just an insult!
Which brought him to his point…
The recently appointed King of Hell watched a trenchcoated angel watch a Righteous Man rake leaves. He smirked. Apparently Castiel hadn't yet gotten out of his creepy stalker phase. Honestly, he didn't understand what it was about this particular angel. Claiming to leave a man alone and then spy on him doing yardwork? It didn't make sense. And then there were the personal space problems… (2)
Anyway... Crowley shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He couldn't afford to be distracted, not now. This could be the most important deal of his career. He needed to focus.
"Castiel," he stated, unmasking his presence. "Angel of Thursday." The angel turned around, and The King allowed a sneer to touch his lips. "Today's really not your day, is it?"
"What are you doing here?" Castiel snapped. If looks could kill, Crowley would've been discorporated within milliseconds. What was it with angels and their Ominous Glares Of Death™ (3)?
"I want to help you help me help ourselves," he stated with amusement, enjoying the momentary look of confusion on Castiel's face as he worked through that statement. But as the angel opened his mouth to reply, Crowley cut him off. There was a time and a place for banter, and he got the feeling that this wasn't it.. "Easy, Casanova. I want to discuss a simple business transaction. That's all." Castiel's glare intensified; his eyes almost seemed to glow blue. Crowley fought hard to keep from wincing- he was not in the mood to be smote. Not today.
"You want to make a deal? With me? I'm an Angel, you ass. I don't have a soul to sell," he growled.
"Whoever said I want your soul?" Crowley replied, silently laughing at the reaction that statement caused. Suspicion, confusion, a bit of horror… Oh, playing with this one was fun. If he had more time, he'd be busy tempting him into one thing or another, but unfortunately, not only was he the King of Hell, he was also incognito. So, minimal tempting, if he could avoid it. Deals, on the other hand...
"Speak plain. What do you want?" Castiel asked sharply (and was that panic?), bringing his attention back to the conversation.
"Five minutes. Just to talk," he answered. "I swear, King's honor." The angel's eyes narrowed, likely suspecting a trap of some kind. Any other time, he might have been right, but not today. The fate of the world was at stake, and that was something he didn't want to risk.
After all, he rather liked the world the way it was.
Castiel sucked in a breath, looking from Winchester to him and then back at the man again. Crowley lifted an eyebrow. "So, what's it going to be? Pull the Winchester out of his quiet, happy life? Or take a short walk with me? You won't regret it, Castiel."
Castiel hesitated. "Five minutes?" he questioned, and Crowley knew he had him. A grin spread across his face, an expression that would have terrified the living daylights out of any houseplants, had there been any nearby. With a click of his fingers, he and Castiel disappeared.
A cold wind blew through the space they had occupied, and Dean Winchester looked up from his leaf-raking, feeling an odd sense of loss.
xXx
"Where are we?"
Crowley smiled indulgently. He wasn't surprised that Castiel didn't recognize the place; he'd changed it quite a bit since he was last down here. "You don't recognize it? It's Hades, new and improved. I did it myself."
"This is Hell?"
"Give the boy a medal-" Castiel looked confused at this (4)- "See, it's much more efficient this way," he said, flapping his hand at the souls. "Even the murderous psychopaths don't like waiting in line. And once they're done, they go right back to the beginning. No paperwork!" So maybe he was bragging a bit, but most of the demons down here (coff coff Hastur coff) didn't really get the genius of it. Besides, he'd invented the concept of waiting in line in the first place, and the one he used to be able to talk to about it was long gone. The Trenchcoat Wonder was hardly a replacement, but maybe he would appreciate-
Castiel sighed. "You have four minutes left."
Maybe not. Crowley resigned himself to a boring, angsty conversation.
"Alright, alright. Down to business then. What do you plan to do about Raphael?"
"What can I do besides submit or die?"
Oh, for Go- Sa- Someone's sake! And the world was depending on him? Crowley was beginning to figure that he should have gone to another angel for this, whether Castiel was "Chosen" or not. Even Gabriel would probably be more helpful at this point (5)! "Submit or die? "What are you, French? How about resist?" He raised a finger to forestall the protests that were sure to come out. "Look, Raphael wants the Apocalypse, right?" He didn't wait for confirmation before continuing. "You say that you can submit or die, but either way, Raphael wins. You really want that?"
"Of course I don't!" the angel exploded. "But I can't hope to match the power that he has! If I fight, I will die, and you know that!"
"What if I told you that you didn't have to? Die, I mean."
Castiel stared at him. "I… If this is a trick, so help me, I-"
"It's no trick, Casanova," Crowley interrupted smoothly. Death threats got old after the first one. "Hear me out?"
A full five seconds passed before the angel made his reply. The souls shuffled forward one place. "You have one minute remaining."
Crowley took a step forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "Souls."
"What-"
"You heard me." He narrowed his eyes. "You say that you don't have the power to stand up to Raphael, and you're right. You don't. You're a Seraph." He paused, simply for effect. "But what if you had souls to sustain you, each one their own miniature nuclear reactor. That would even the odds, don't you think?"
"But where would-"
"Not only that," he continued, "but if you didn't have followers before, you certainly would now! Angels need a leader, Castiel, and some already want to follow you. With the power of thousands of souls at your disposal, they'd come flocking to you!" His voice softened. "Angels need a leader, Castiel. So go and lead. Show them Free Will and Choice and all that crap." He smirked. "After all, your Father brought you back for a reason, didn't he?"
Castiel just stared at him, blue eyes wide. In that moment, he reminded Crowley of another angel, very different, and yet very alike in the astounding innocence they could show. Then, the eyes hardened, and the resemblance was gone. "Where would I get these souls, Crowley? Answer me that."
In another world, things would turn out differently. In another world, Crowley would turn to his borders and tempt the angel into arrogance and deceit. In another world, he would say, "Purgatory," and the angel would agree. Then there would be Leviathans, and death, and one thing after another, happy endings always in sight but just out of reach.
In another world, things would turn out differently. But in this one, the Boss decided to take a slightly more active role. One twisted event here, a thought pattern slightly altered there, and Crowley found himself saying:
"From me, of course. Hell has no shortage of the damned."
"And what would be my side of this arrangement, demon?"
Crowley's face twisted into a scowl, and he glared at Castiel. "This is not an Arrangement, Castiel. Let me make that perfectly clear. I don't make Arrangementsss. They alwaysss end in-" Crowley cut himself off and tried to get a hold himself, tried to push back the memories of tartan and spectacles and books and… No. Stop it.
"Did you… were you hissing at me?" Castiel asked, completely confounded.
Crowley's glower deepened, if that were possible (6). Bugger it, he had not established a new identity for himself for it to get ruined by a slip of the tongue! "No, I didn't," he stated, as evenly as he could. "You may want to get your ears checked."
"But there is nothing wrong with my-"
"As I was saying, this is not an Arrangement, this is just a deal. Unless you have any objections." Crowley studied the angel for a moment, to see if he did, indeed, have anything he wanted to add. But he remained silent, and if he was still thinking about what had happened, he didn't show it (7). "Now then, I am prepared to loan you… oh, let's say… 200,000 for your war effort." This may have seemed like a generous amount, but relatively speaking, it really wasn't.
"In return for what?"
"Two conditions. One, you give them back when you're done with them."
"And the other?"
"Getting to that. Quite simply, kick Raphael's arse in to the next millenium."
"I don't think that's po-"
Crowley sighed. Castiel had to be the most clueless angel he'd ever met. "That was a figure of speech." He sighed again, looking the angel up and down. "Do we have a deal, Castiel?"
Castiel hesitated, indecision the prominent emotion in his eyes. Crowley waited patiently as he thought through everything, looking for the traps and finding none. "Why do you even care, Crowley?"
He lifted his eyebrows. "And here I thought that was obvious. Raphael wants Apocalypse Mark Three." At this, Castiel cocked his head, but said nothing. "I don't. It's bad for business, and besides, I happen to like the world the way it is." He inwardly rolled his eyes at the look the angel gave him. "Oh, come on. This is the best deal you're going to get, Castiel. I'd accept it if I were you."
There was another moment of silence, then: "I'm not kissing you."
Crowley let his features fall into his customary smirk. "If you insist. You're not really my type, I suppose, though I'm sure you could use the practice."
"Are we done?"
"200,000 souls, coming up."
After Castiel left, Crowley sat in his throne room, (not) listening to one of his lackeys read out some sort of land distribution agreement paper thing. His mind was somewhere else. He just hoped that The-Little-Angel-That-Could would be able to pull it off.
He'd be damned (or blessed, whichever) before he let Raphael start another apocalypse. It was a slap in the face to all he once held dear, and the King of Hell wouldn't stand for it.
xXx
(1)- Not that he cared very much. He viewed the general populace pretty much in the same way he viewed pedestrians.
(2)- Because despite what most people (and by most people, he meant the Winchesters) thought, the majority of angels understand the fact that humans, for some odd reason, like to live in their own personal bubbles. Demons generally felt the same way, though there had once been an angel who Crowley really didn't mind encroaching on his privacy.
(3)- Surprisingly enough, it was Samandriel that came up with the thing. While looking after one of the Words of God, some monster or another had come after it, but upon seeing the look on the angels face, it apologized profusely and went to go find a PTSD counselor.
(4)- Because he really needed to get out more (though Crowley wasn't sure if even that would help).
(5)- And not only was he a dick, he was dead too, so that was saying something!
(6)- Any of the aforementioned imaginary houseplants would, at this point, be simultaneously growing as tall as possible and begging for mercy.
(7)- He was actually, trying to figure out what exactly Crowley had against arrangements. This was not something he'd find out until later, though, and while he was smarter than some people gave him credit for, he did not figure out that Crowley was saying it with a capital letter.
A/N: Well, this turned out slightly more serious than I was aiming for, but I think the footnotes (also more than I was anticipating) balanced that out, don't you think.
Next chapter: We see exactly what happened to our favorite bibliophile, and Soulless Sam meets up with someone unexpected.
