So, I'd love to hear about what you're thinking. Like the story? Don't? Would you prefer having the whole (insert your name here) for every dialogue and the your eye color hair color, all that stuff? I'd love to know. It really helps when it comes to my future writing and even what I write right now. Don't feel shy about dropping a review, they're very much appreciated. :)

P.S. Dean's "sauce-maker" is my absolute favorite. ;) Pun intended. You have no idea how bad it was. I had to literally pause my writing and try and stop laughing.

-LF


The smell of hash browns in the morning is God's way of telling us hungry creatures it's time to get up. The scent was intoxicating, and lured me up and out of bed in a heartbeat. I has smiled on the walk upstairs, thinking to myself how thoughtful it had been of Dean to make breakfast, and hash browns as well. I wondered vaguely if he knew they were my favorite, or if he'd just guessed. My questions were answered moments later when I actually entered the kitchen.

"Well good morning." Greeted a rough voice.

Crowley was standing by the stove, spatula in one hand, oven mitt on the other, staring at a griddle full of hash. My tired happiness flew out the window in a heartbeat and became skeptical. "Why are you here?" I paused, freezing in the doorway of my kitchen.

"Obviously cooking some delightful breakfast, darling."

"Sure, but why."

He smiled in a way that only intensified my suspicions, "Just checking in again."

"I told you," I huffed, pulling the blanket tighter around me, "I don't need to be checked up on."

"And if I said I found you interesting?"

I glared suspiciously at him for a moment, "I'd say you wanted something from me."

He grinned and scraped the food off the griddle and onto a plate, "Come on love, why the skepticism? It doesn't make you any less interesting."

"Why such annoying conversation so early in the morning, oh, lustrous king of hell?"

The demon flinched for a moment, then returned to his cooking, "Not the actual king of hell, darling." he began, catching me off guard, "You think fearless leader looks like this? The lustrous part was right." he winked, "But other than that, I'm just a humble crossroads demon." his head bowed before he lifted it again with a smirk, flipping the spatula in his palm.

"I'm not sure humble is the right word for it." I muttered submissively sitting down at the kitchen table as the aroma of delicious food filled the air.

I covered my lap with the blanket, fingering the soft, fuzzy material while I waited for the food to be done. It was quiet for a little while, save for the unsubtly, off-key whistling Crowley was doing by the stove. I wanted to ask him about Dean's sense of realism, but I wasn't sure how to bring it up. Not to mention, Dean could walk in at almost any time. It felt like it needed to be a private conversation. I let my head droop a little as I thought. Maybe ask for a time to meet? But where would Dean be during that time?

"So," Crowley spoke, smugly lifting a plate of pancakes over my head and plopping them down in front of me, "How's the Dean doing?"

Did this guy read minds?

"You had a chance to try out any of his equipment yet?" he continued, grabbing his own plate from off the counter before coming back to the table, "I don't mean to brag, but I put him together myself. Bonus points for the lack of impregnating semen. He actually spurts your choice of honey, jam, or barbeque sauce."

I cringed, "Well, that was more than I needed to know before breakfast. Thanks. It is funny you should ask though..." I started, mumbling as he sat himself down next to me, "I wanted to talk with you about-"

"God that smells good!" Dean's voice rang through my kitchen as he entered, sniffing the air, "What'cha make?" His cheery voice stilled when he saw Crowley sitting next to me at the table.

"Morning squirrel." he greeted, a pleased and snarky look on his face.

"What are you doing here?"

He gestured to the plates of food in front of us, "Eating breakfast."

Dean glared and took a look around the counters, crossing his arms, "What, none for me?"

"I only serve ladies."

"She's a kid."

"I'm not a kid!"


Crowley's fork clanked against my mom's favorite plate as he smiled with glee, wiping the corners of his mouth with a cloth, "Well, that was a simply delightful meal! I don't think I've ever been so full of such delicious food in my entire life!"

Dean growled as he pulled another unsatisfying bite of Fruity Pebbles into his mouth, scowling into his cereal as Crowley dragged on about the five star restaurant quality of the eggs, the crispy crunch of the hash browns and how the cinnamon rolls just melted in your mouth. I slapped his arm with a warning and offered Dean what I couldn't finish, but though he just growled again. Apparently his pride kept him from taking hand outs.

Crowley really had gotten the character spot-on.

"What do you say I pop by for dinner as well?" Crowley offered cheerily, "I could whip us all up an absolutely divine rack of ribs." A shit eating grin crossed his features as he continued, "Barbeque sauce courtesy of our very own Dean Winchester's sauce maker."

Dean's eyes widened as he leaned over the table, with a rather traumatized expression, pointing his spoon at Crowley, "Are YOU responsible for that?!"

I rolled my eyes and hid my face in my palms. What a start to the day.