Crowley returned to the bunker chuckling. His food run had been even easier than expected. He had momentarily possessed a stock boy so that he could walk out of the store with an excessively full cart of food but no suspicion. Once outside, he simply sent the food to the bunker. Then, he went back to his preferred body and disappeared back to bunker himself. Really, Crowley knew he was good, but this was almost too easy. Perhaps he should do simple jobs like this more often. It felt good to win so easily.
Whistling an old Scottish tune, Crowley walked back to the kitchen to check that everything was properly stowed away. He could only hope until he got there that Castiel had known where to put everything as it appeared in the kitchen. Granted, he had been human for some months after his grace was stolen, but Crowley doubted he knew how to stock a kitchen.
Astonishingly, Crowley's far-fetched hope was fulfilled – all of the meat was in the freezer, the milk and eggs were in the refrigerator, the potatoes were in the cupboard, and the fruit was even in the sink halfway through being incorrectly washed. The only thing missing was whoever did all of it. Seeing it almost perfect, Crowley half- assumed that Dean had woken up and taken over.
"Feathers is probably napping," Crowley decided, "or watching Dean sleep again."
"Very close," Dean's voice said from behind. Crowley spun around to face him. "I suppose I should thank you, huh?"
The new demon was leaning on a doorframe, aiming for nonchalance but falling short and appearing suspicious. It did not help, of course, that he was holding Castiel in front of him with the partial First Blade at his throat. The hand with the Blade was shaking furiously, and the Mark of Cain glowing so brightly on his arm that it was reflected on his face and in his eyes, which looked dead even for the depraved black orbs of a demon. His skin was pale, and he was swatting profusely. It was incredible how sickly and… human he appeared.
Crowley actually pitied him.
"Thank me for what?" Crowley asked calmly, fixing a steady gaze on Dean.
"Well, I'm guessing you got all this food, right? You even remembered a pie. Sammy never remembers the pie," Dean praised. "Also for, you know, bringing me back after this one tried to kill me. I really didn't appreciate that, Cas. I thought we were such great friends."
"Dean," Crowley said in a placating voice, "you need to calm down."
Dean narrowed his eyes angrily and dropped his conversational stance. "He tried to killed me," he argued with just a hint of insanity in his voice.
"No, he was trying to save you. He was an idiot about it, but he was," Crowley insisted.
"Save me from what?" Dean asked in disbelief. "I'm fine!"
"I know you are," Crowley promised, "but he thinks you're some especially horrible demon. I've sorted him out already though. There's no need to kill him."
"Why not? He's an angel. He'll just try to kill me again," Dean persisted.
Crowley paused. He couldn't keep this charade going. He was practically allergic to being compassionate unless it directly benefited him. Besides, Dean was still that Winchester underneath this maniacal demon. He wasn't going to kill Castiel, and it was obvious. Focusing on the Blade under Castiel's chin, Crowley realized that blood was dripping on it and briefly considered the possibility that Dean wasn't bluffing; then, he realized that the blood was from Dean's palm. Directly gripping the Blade was hurting him.
Castiel cleared his throat anxiously, and Crowley realized that a few silent seconds had passed. "You won't kill him," he answered as if it was obvious. "Castiel is a friend, yeah? Of yours, at least. Even if he wasn't, he's important to the other angels and what I like to call a bargaining chip to us."
"You wouldn't dare," Castiel managed to protest uncertainly.
"I've got to sell it, calm down," Crowley hissed, making no attempt to subtle in front of Dean. Castiel watched Crowley suspiciously but otherwise did not say anything and stayed still in Dean's hold.
Dean hummed as if debating everything and slowly decided, "Fine. Yeah, alright. Besides, I need him anyway." He shoved Castiel away from him and moved with a limp toward a chair to fall on heavily and sit indecently. From his place still in the doorway massaging his throat, Castiel grunted and looked away in disgust. Dean smirked at his reaction, but Crowley only rolled his eyes at both of them. If this was Dean saving face after failing to make an intimidating display, he was making everything even more pathetic than it already was.
"Are you done?" Crowley asked exasperated. "I don't have time for this." Not that he actually had anywhere to be.
Dean frowned at Crowley and held his Blade in a quietly threatening position, though Crowley was still finding it very difficult to consider him menacing. "We need to talk about our arrangement."
Infuriated, Castiel spun to face Crowley. "You made a deal with him?" he thundered.
Crowley simply ignored the angel. "Oh, really?" he laughed at Dean.
"Yes," Dean said through gritted teeth.
"If you insist," Crowley laughed with a gesture to continue.
Dean was becoming more and more frustrated by the second as he realized that his control was utterly gone. Crowley was not the least bit afraid or intimidated by him anymore. He had lost all of the ground he stood on and needed to reclaim it somehow, fast. There was only one thing he could think of doing to fix his situation, but it was a risky stretch that he would have to try: narrowing his eyes and focusing all of his anger on the older demon, Dean pictured Crowley's throat closing again, and this time it worked. Crowley began to choke and splutter. He grabbed at his throat, hacked out coughs, and gasped for breath. His eyes rolled back slightly, and Dean could practically see the spots for him.
"You little bastard!" he choked out.
"I know," Dean grinned. He let Crowley breathe again and laughed at his floundering breaths.
"I'll kill you!" Crowley gasped.
"No, you won't," Dean said mimicking Crowley's earlier obvious tone, satisfied with his display and the ground it regained for him. "We're friends, remember? You need me."
"Crowley, what did you promise him, and what was the price?" Castiel asked in a non-tolerating voice.
"Oh, calm down!" Crowley exclaimed angrily. "He doesn't have a soul to sell, so it was just an old-fashioned agreement. I'm supposed to teach him how to be a demon, though he seems to have that figured it out himself. What did you dream about Demon Academy?" He made a mocking face at Dean, and Dean laughed humorlessly in response.
"In return for what?" Castiel pressed, ignoring them both.
Dean answered, "That I be the threatening force behind his shiny, brand-spanking-new kingdom. You know: make a few appearances, pretend to be allies – what you did during the first half of the apocalypse." He turned to the angel and tilted his head in a very Castiel manner.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Castiel asked icily, his eyes narrowing to slits.
"Ooh, I love watching couples fight," Crowley interjected, summoning a bag of popcorn he just bought.
"What?" Dean asked with feigned innocence. "You were a useless ass during t apocalypse for a while until you decided to forget about God," he stated. "I thought you'd know what it was like then to make appearances and be otherwise useless."
Castiel advanced toward Dean, but Crowley put a hand on his chest and gave him a warning look, "Castiel, stop. Not now. Not again. You know he's only winding you up."
"Yes, because it's working," Castiel hissed.
"That's the point, big guy." Dean winked at him.
"Now, Dean," Crowley said, trying to redirect the conversation again toward something meaningful, "what about our arrangement did you want to discuss?"
"How stupid it is," Dean said. "I shouldn't have to make a deal with you to learn how to do all those fancy demon tricks, right? And, hey, we're best buddies aren't we? So, I should just offer to help you with your kingdom-thing that no one cares about anyway–" Crowley rolled his eyes "–and you should just help me with my," Dean searched for the right words, "demonic abilities," he finished, seemingly satisfied.
Crowley rolled his eyes but listened carefully. "What are you proposing then?" he asked.
"Nothing really," Dean shrugged, "just that we should all be friends. After all, how many times have we helped each other in the past?"
"And how do you want us to help you now?" Castiel asked through narrowed, untrusting eyes, cutting through Dean's small talk.
"Let's start small." Dean's head swiveled toward the interrupting angel again. "I do think that it's high time that you healed me," he suggested with a lazy smile.
"In return for what?" Crowley asked.
"Well," Dean answered, "if he needs grace to heal me, I figured I'd give him grace."
"How do you expect to get grace?" Crowley asked incredulously. "You can't leave the bunker!"
"But you can," Dean reminded him.
"Oh, yes, that's right," Crowley said as if suddenly remembering before shouting, "but how do you expect me to get an angel's grace?"
"The how is up to you," Dean said, "but I know who you'll take it from." He winked at Castiel conspiratorially and continued, "He doesn't deserve to keep it anyway. Cas knows exactly where he is. The rest is as simple as pie." Both angel and demon stared at Dean shocked and bewildered. "Ooh, pie! You bought that, didn't you? That shouldn't have any salt in it. Good ole pie – can always count on my pie."
Dean stood on shaky legs but walked confidently to the refrigerator to look for some. Crowley and Castiel watched him from behind, trying to determine how serious he was. They shared an uneasy look as he found a pie and a fork and hesitantly ate. After the first satisfactory bite, Dean shoveled the pie into his mouth reverently and watched the other men expectantly.
Crowley fidgeted on his feet, thinking. He didn't know what it was about this little plan of Dean's, but something had to give, and it was making him uncomfortable. The Winchester was asking him to walk into an angelic facility and murder one of the angels. Sure, he'd enjoy murdering the angel – he was a demon, of course he would – but he didn't like being used as a mercenary. He glanced uneasily at Castiel beside him and realized that maybe he was actually slightly uncomfortable with the idea after all, which was stupid because Castiel was a special case – both in relationship and in the head. No matter what he was to Crowley, killing an angel and stealing his grace would delight Crowley if only it wasn't so dangerous. This was a simple heist like his food run, but not nearly as simple, Crowley realized, cursing his earlier wish.
Castiel felt Crowley's quick gaze, and looked at the demon for a moment as well. The demon looked to be debating something, but what was he was debating was unclear to the angel, who was debating some things himself. For example, how of much demon-Dean was talking right now and how much of scorned-human-Dean was breaking through? The human part of Dean may have resurfaced while the Blade and its hold of Dean were out of commission. Therefore, this request could be coming as a demon's version of a human's revenge. That is, if Dean was discussing the same angel Castiel was thinking of. As much as the idea repulsed him, Castiel also could not help but admit that he liked the idea of killing Metatron and taking his grace. The Scribe had done so much against him; it would be nice to have some revenge.
Castiel frowned deeply and shook the idea out of his head. He should not be thinking of exacting revenge. Angels did not take revenge, especially not to this degree. His fallen state was becoming more human, and he had to be careful not to truly become one. Contrary to popular belief, Castiel was not a killer. If they went through with this, he would have to go with Crowley to steal Metatron's grace without killing him.
Noticing Castiel's aggressive thinking, Dean asked, "Debating the value of his grand angelic life, Cas? We both know he's not worth it. He's only a means to an end."
"What end would that be? Squandering more grace on your behalf?" Castiel spat.
Dean flinched at the words, unable to repress the sting his old human emotions felt. To hide it as best he could, he took a much larger bite of pie and forced a smile. "Getting your real grace back."
"And how do you intend to do that?" Castiel asked impatiently.
"Well, I wasn't planning on killing Metatron," Dean explained. "Only, you know, taking him prisoner and torturing him for information. Kinda like we did Crowley, only less humanly and more demonic…ally. I can't tell you how many new torture ideas are in my head now!" Dean laughed. "And I thought you brought back some horrible part of me when you made me torture Alistair? No, this whole being a demon thing is bringing back great memories of torturing angels down in the pit."
Castiel felt like the air was punched out of his chest. He whispered, "You tortured angels?"
"If it makes you feel any better," Dean offered, "it wasn't my idea."
Castiel tried to say something, then closed his mouth and walked away.
"And it was before I even met you!" Dean shouted after him. The demon felt vindicated for Castiel's insult, but the human felt worse for insulting his best friend. When a door slammed down the hall, Dean only outwardly laughed with glee while Crowley stared after Castiel, just as astonished as the angel.
He looked at Dean with new eyes and asked, "Did Alistair make you do that?"
Dean swallowed his laughter and took another accomplished bite of pie. "Of course, who else would have?"
"Right," Crowley said thoughtfully. "Did you know they were angels?" he asked.
"Not at the time," Dean shrugged. "I didn't believe in angels back then anyway. When Alistair called them that, I just thought he was exaggerating how good of a person they'd been and didn't ask questions." After a moment, he added viciously, "I was a good student."
"So, you've been in the Vault, then." Crowley's statement sounded more like a question.
"The what?" Dean asked, annoyed by Crowley's intense interest.
"The Vault!" Crowley repeated. "Where all of the weapons and high-profile souls are specially secured."
"Well, when you put it like that," Dean said arrogantly, "I never left it." Suddenly without an appetite, he put away half of his pie and threw his fork in the sink, without a care to the fruit in it. "Why do you care?" he asked, turning again to Crowley with a hard, apprehensive stare.
"Oh, no reason," Crowley brushed it off quickly. He looked down the hallway again and said, "I think I'll go make sure Cas isn't sobbing too hard into his pillow and try to get some details about Metatron out of him." With that, he disappeared, and Dean was left alone with annoyingly conflicted thoughts.
