"The word on the floor is that you're peddling your tarnished little soul. Again."
Crowley's roguish British voice sounded exasperated and a tiny bit intrigued. It gave Dean hope that this might just work.
"The very idea was so perplexing that … well, here I am." He took his hands from his suit pockets to gesture at the dark crossroad. "Frankly, I don't think there is a bargepole long enough for anyone to even consider poking your soul with."
"Enough with poking my soul. It sounds wrong. I'm not actually selling it. That was just to get you up here."
Crowley smiled genially. "Fine. Here I am. To business then." He rubbed his hands together. "What do you want? And how does it benefit me?"
-oOo-
Something wasn't right. Castiel was feeling weaker and his balance felt worse. His wrists ached behind his back from the handcuffs, which he couldn't break. He had stayed alert for any opportunity of escape, but while he was in the ring of fire, and so weak, there was none.
The thin, older angel noticed Castiel's fidgeting. "I shouldn't bother if I were you. The cuffs are fashioned from an angel blade. You are powerless in them." That explained his weakness and the aching. Cas felt a niggling desire to annoy him in return. "You consider me anathema, yet what are you, who works with a demon to destroy a fellow angel? What is your name brother?"
The skinny angel sneered, but didn't answer.
Cas smiled. "I shall name you … Peskiel."
'Peskiel' continued to sneer, but Cas thought he detected annoyance in the eyes. If there was one thing he'd learned from Dean, it was how to be frustrating and contrary. And to never give in. Castiel's hope rose a little. He had learned two things then.
-oOo-
Dean rushed through the museum door, Crowley sauntering in many seconds later, much to Dean's annoyance. It was Cas' time they were wasting.
Sam and Balthazar both sat on the same bench in the foyer with their hands folded in their laps, in the universal manner of strangers resigned to waiting awkwardly whilst making small talk. Sam stood, looking relieved, the moment Dean came through the door. Balthazar stood abruptly the moment Crowley entered.
"Well, now we can start the party," Crowley said, clapping his hands together. "I like you boys. I really do. Sam, doing all the wrong things for all the right reasons. Dean, almost doing the right things, for all the wrong reasons. Together you almost make a set. But this - this even I didn't see coming."
When he felt he could get a word in Balthazar added "Yes. The abomination is right. You are quite ineffable. Although I have a theory that at least one of you is quite … 'eff-able'", he said raising an eyebrow at Dean. Dean scowled.
Crowley smirked and pointed at Balthazar. "I like you."
Sam thought that maybe there were things worse than starting a war.
-oOo-
"So, let me get this straight: an angel/demon tag team steals your heavenly concubine, and your solution is to draft your own team and join the league?" Crowley took one sip from the whiskey bottle Dean had brought from the car and handed it back grimacing. "Thank you, but I'd rather die of thirst."
"He's not-" Dean paused, "…what you said." Dean put the bottle on the floor and folded his arms. Yes, this was by far one of his worst ideas.
"Yes," Balthazar added, "I also feel duty-bound to… oh, really! I can't do it! You witless poltroon. You're hopeless co-dependents." He shook his head mournfully at Dean
"Save it." Sam informed him "We've already heard it from Zachariah."
"Not you two, you shaved wookiee! I meant your brother…and mine."
Crowley unsuccessfully tried to stifle a snort of laughter.
"Regardless", Balthazar continued, "they're right. I can't sense Castiel anywhere. I can't hear him. This would imply the use of some kind of angel-blocking."
Dean looked scared. "We'd know if he was dead… right?"
Balthazar enjoyed leaving Dean in suspense for a few more seconds. "Well, you would, Mr 'Profound Bond'."
Crowley interrupted Dean's embarrassed frowning. "Putting aside the heavenly gossip circle, the angel-blocking thing is possible. I know there were certain … items… that I had been expecting to be delivered to me, that never showed up. And I have not been able to locate the miscreant to gently point out the error of his ways."
It was Crowley's turn to scowl. "It's like he was shielded." He glanced at Balthazar.
Balthazar nodded. "It is possible, that an angel could shield your lackey from you."
"He's more of a goon than a lackey."
"Okay! So the angel and the demon can cloak each other. Can you two focus?" Sam dragged their attention back from their creepy banter. He knew Dean was close to losing his cool, then bad things would happen. Well, worse things.
Balthazar smiled charmingly, "Of course. I do have an idea we might try." He paused to get their full attention. The words 'narcissistic personality disorder' crossed Sam's mind. Dean made impatient 'get on with it' motions with his hands, but didn't interrupt. Crowley folded his arms and leaned against a wall, enjoying the show.
"Normally angelic communication is like -how can I put it so you'll understand? It's like speed of light communication. But Castiel is 'offline'. This time we have to use a kind of childish tin can phone," he looked Dean in the eyes, "and you're the string."
Dean squared his shoulders. "Fine. Lets do it."
"Dean!"
Dean turned away from Balthazar to glare at Sam.
"Got a better idea? Got any ideas? No? Then we do this."
"Wait!" Sam had a few questions before he'd let them use Dean as some kind of angel string. "This is safe, right?"
Crowley rolled his eyes.
Balthazar scoffed "No, of course it's not safe."
"If I might interject?" Crowley waited until all eyes were on him. This took a few seconds because Sam and Dean were busy pursing lips and lowering eyebrows at each other in some kind of non-verbal argument.
"The item that went missing has a specific use. It was stolen from a cohort of angels, with enormous depletion of my resources. A sacrifice I gladly made." He smiled coldly at Balthazar who shrugged. It was war. These things happened, people died. "Its purpose is to harness angelic grace and tether it to a weapon, which normally would only be of danger to demons, hence my interest. However, if I am not mistaken," he glanced at Dean, "this angel is not 'average'. It's that whole," Crowley dropped his voice to a gravelly Castiel imitation which offended Dean's ears, "'peace or freedom', free-will schtick he has going. Makes him, quite literally, a loose cannon. Once harnessed, his grace could destroy anyone or anything without limitation."
Dean ran a hand over his weary face. "Just once, I'd like it to be simple," he mumbled.
"Just one more thing," Crowley continued, "Harnessing his kinky grace will kill him."
Dean sighed resignedly, but soon straightened his slumped shoulders.
"No. No it won't. There must be something…" The look he gave Balthazar was imploring.
"Maybe," Balthazar thought, "the begging eyes are what keep Castiel coming back to do his bidding. But," Balthazar told himself, "I am not a soft touch like Cas."
"I am doing this for Castiel, not for you. The ritual -"
"There's always a freaking ritual," Sam growled. "Let me guess? Full moon? Midnight? Warehouse? Blood of innocents?"
"If I might continue?" Balthazar looked momentarily amused. "The ritual will need to be performed tonight, during the new moon, a time of utter darkness. If we can substitute another soul for his at the right moment in the proceedings, he can be saved and the weapon will remain inert." He looked at Dean "A human soul."
"Great-"
"What happens to the human?" Sam interrupted, holding up a demanding 'stop now' hand in front of Dean's face, before he could agree to more lunacy.
"Well, he…or she," Balthazar smiled, "potentially dies in Castiel's place."
"Potentially?" Dean's eyebrows rose with hope. "Good enough odds for me. How do we find him?"
Sam sighed loudly and hung his shaggy head in despair.
"Ah, that's where you come in, little string. When was the last time you had a nap?" Dean looked puzzled.
"Does it matter? Cas is about to have a grace-ectomy and you want me to nap?"
Balthazar waited a few moments until Dean's face slowly lit up with understanding. He grinned and gave Balthazar a huge thump between the shoulder blades. A second later Dean was shaking his stinging hand. Slapping the angel's back was like slapping a marble statue. The momentary pain failed to remove the grin from his face.
"They've got angel-to-angel communications jammed, but not human-to-angel or angel-to-human!"
"Give the boy a prize," Crowley intoned sarcastically.
Dean was already taking his jacket off and looking for a place to lie down.
Sam felt like he was watching a movie he'd seen a hundred times already. This was vintage Dean. Always playing the long odds.