Spencer wasn't surprised when he didn't hear much from Sam for the next few days. The case took up most of his time anyways and he didn't have time to press for anything more than the couple texts he got that were just basically them touching base with one another and Sam thanking Spencer for the use of his home. Otherwise, it was pretty radio silent. Honestly, Spencer was kind of glad about that. He didn't think he could handle any drama from that direction right now. Lately he'd been so caught up in the supernatural half of his life he'd forgotten just how bad things could get in the human half. Sure, he'd been on cases lately, and no case was ever easy, but cases like this one really brought home to him just how twisted and perverted human beings could be.

A little sore and a lot tired, he practically dragged himself off the jet. Derek insisted on taking him home and for once Spencer didn't even think to protest. He didn't want to even try finding himself a cab back home and he didn't want to fly if he didn't have to. This case had knocked him down, twisted his insides, and left him with that sick, slick feeling in his stomach that he'd never gotten when dealing with monsters. As Spencer curled up in the passenger's seat of Derek's car, he wondered how on earth anyone could claim that vampires or werewolves or banshees were the monsters. Closing his eyes, he rested his face on the cool glass. Clearly none of those people had ever seen what a human being was capable of. They'd never seen the things a man can do to fifteen year old boys. Never seen the mess he left behind. Never saw him laugh as he told each and every single gory detail while his cock grew blatantly hard in his pants.

Spencer fought to swallow down the bile that burned his throat.

He was grateful for the friends he had. Though they'd all been on this case, each and every one of them knew just how hard it'd been for Spencer. Not just because he'd been the one to actually capture the Unsub—and he hadn't done it alone, anyways, Derek had been right there behind him and he'd helped to pin the guy down so they could get the cuffs on him—but because the Unsub had willingly given them a confession, on the condition that it was Spencer he gave it to. He'd 'taken a liking to him', he'd said. Something simple like that, how could they refuse? It wasn't the first confession Spencer had ever heard and it wouldn't be the last. He'd willingly gone in there and listened as Royal McQuinn had listed off in excruciating detail every single thing he'd done to the teenage boys that he'd picked up in the city and taken back to his farm. He'd listened, watching the man laugh, watching that manic grin of his, watched even as the guy had started to rub at himself while talking about it, and he'd had to fight back the urge to throw up from the disgusting thoughts that screamed out from Royal even while he spoke. Mental illness always seemed to make a person's thoughts stronger and harder to ignore and this time had been no different. Spencer had heard, and seen, what Royal was thinking, loud and in Technicolor. Those were images he'd never be able to get rid of no matter how many times he showered.

"Hey, kid. We're here."

Derek's low voice brought Spencer's attention out of his head and back to the real world. He blinked and looked up to find that, wow, they really were at his apartment. How had they gotten here so fast? Spencer fumbled with his seatbelt for a moment until Derek reached out and silently pressed the button for him. Neither one mentioned it. Nor did they comment on the fact that Derek got out of the car with him and followed him inside. Spencer didn't even have to look at Derek's mind to know that his friend was worried about him and was following him because of that. Because he wanted to make sure Spencer was going to be okay—and that he wasn't going to use again. Spencer didn't care. Let him follow.

He fumbled for his keys in his pocket when they reached his door. Only, just as he found them and was starting to pull them out, his door swung open. It was a testament to how on edge this case had put them when both he and Derek took an immediate step back and reached for their weapons. Spencer had his gun in hand before he'd even had a chance to think.

When he saw the person standing in his doorway, he lowered his gun, gesturing at Derek to do the same. Gabriel just leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest, grinning broadly at him. "Damn, kiddo, your reflexes have gotten good."

"I could've shot you." Spencer said flatly. He sighed as he started to holster his gun.

Gabriel shrugged one shoulder negligently. "Not the first time I've been shot at."

Sighing again, Spencer shook his head. He had no idea what Gabriel was doing here and right now he didn't really care. He wanted in his home and in his shower. Maybe after he boiled his skin off for at least twenty minutes he might feel human enough to actually talk to someone. He was just alert enough to remember to use their usual cover, at least. "Morgan, this is Ki, an old family friend who apparently decided to stop by and visit without warning me. Ki, this is Derek Morgan, my coworker and friend who is following me up here to make sure I don't get high." Spencer said bluntly. He hefted his bag up again and moved into his apartment and past Gabriel, who'd pulled back out of the way to let him pass. Dropping his bag by the closet, Spencer tossed out over his shoulder "I'm going to take a shower. Feel free to toss my apartment, Morgan. There's nothing here. Try to put all my socks back in place this time when you're done, please." And without another word, he went down the hall and straight into the bathroom. Maybe he'd been a little short back there, a little rude, but there was only so far a person could go and Spencer had reached his limit about three hours ago.

He stripped down, waving a hand to send his gun to the safe in his room, and then he cranked the shower on as hot as he could stand it and climbed underneath the spray with a whimper that would've been pitiful if anyone could've heard it.

He stayed under the shower spray for what was probably an obscene amount of time. Not once did the water start to cool on him though he knew his water heater wasn't that powerful. A benefit of having his father visiting, he figured. It'd been quite a while since Gabriel had stopped by here to visit him. Since before the apocalypse. Well, technically, since before Dean went to hell and the angels started to make regular forays down here to earth. Apparently coming out to the Winchesters meant that he was going to start visiting again. Any other time and Spencer might've given that the thought it deserved. For now, he was just sadly, pathetically grateful for it.

Leaning forward, he let the water run over his face and tried not to think about the kids who wouldn't be going home tonight, the parents who would never be able to see their kids again. They'd never be able to see them grow, come and visit them at home, nag them about eating or dressing warm or any of those thousand random things that parents worried about.

Before the thoughts could start to build too much he jerked back and wrenched the shower off. He pulled open the curtain and found a towel waiting there for him as well as a fresh pair of boxers and sweatpants. His dirty work clothes were gone. Spencer dried off silently and dressed himself. Rolling his shoulders, trying to work out the kinks in his back and the ache in his wings, he blew out a breath and then made his way out of the bathroom.

When he reached his living room he had to stop for a moment just to stare. Sometime during his shower his living room had been changed around. The couch was moved back, the coffee table was pushed to one side and stacked with food, there was a fireplace against the wall that definitely hadn't been there before, and his most comfortable chair had been moved close to the fire and the coffee table. Gabriel was comfortably ensconced in the wing backed chair, legs stretched out towards the fire and a book in his hands. Tolkien, Spencer saw. It was one of his favorite authors. He'd read the books to Spencer when he was younger.

Gabriel looked up at the soft sound of Spencer's footsteps. A snap of the fingers had the book vanishing and a giant cushion appearing on the ground at his feet. "Get on over here."

There was no need for him to explain. Spencer knew this routine well. It'd been a while since they'd done it, though. He had to admit he was probably in desperate need of it. Still, as he strolled forward, he felt obligated to remind him "I'll probably fall asleep."

That got him a snort and a smirk. "Probably?"

Okay, so 'probably' was the wrong word to use. It was pretty much a given that he'd end up going to sleep. He did every single time. Still, he didn't protest it as he folded himself down onto the cushion, noting as he did that their seats had been angled just right and things moved off to the sides. Even the coffee table was more in front of him than beside him, set up perfectly to work as a table for the dinner that sat on it. As soon as Spencer was settled onto his cushion, he felt a tap at his shoulder, the sign that let him know his father was ready. With a thought, Spencer blew out a breath and opened up the part of himself only family had ever truly seen. Two sets of wings unfurled from his bag and extended wide out to either side of him. He gave in to the urge and simply let them stretch out as best as he could. The size of his living room was one of the reasons that he'd picked this place. Still, it wasn't usually big enough to house his wings perfectly, not like this, and that told him that Gabriel was giving things a 'helping hand'. Ah, well, he wasn't going to complain. It felt good to stretch without worrying about knocking anything over.

He gave a pleased hum at the warm burn of the stretch before relaxing back and letting them pull in close again. Only when he was settled did he feel warm, familiar hands touch them near the base, right by his spine. "Geeze, kiddo, when was the last time you did this? They're a mess!" Gabriel scolded. Those fingers lingered only for a second on tense muscles and then they slid up and into his feathers and Spencer was sighing again as his father started to groom his wings. The sensation was something that he doubted he could describe to anyone. It was pleasant, relaxing and soothing. Almost like having someone card their fingers through your hair, only more so, and yet not quite the same at all. He couldn't describe it.

Closing his eyes, he let his chin dip towards his chest and he gave a low hum in lieu of answering. Nothing relaxed him quicker or better than having his wings groomed.

Gabriel chuckled lowly. "Start eating something, Fox. I want food in you before you pass out on me here."

"'M not hungry." Spencer mumbled.

"I didn't ask if you were hungry."

An annoyed grumbled built in Spencer's throat. Still, he reached out and grabbed the first thing his hand fell on. It turned out to be a ham and cheese biscuit, a favorite of his. He peeked up through his bangs and eyed the food on the table. For the first time since he'd come out, he actually paid attention to what the food was and realized that his father had filled it not only with Spencer's favorites, but with the foods that fell into the category of 'comfort food'. Everything had the comfort vibe around it. The food, the drinks—if his nose was right, that smelled like hot white chocolate, and no one made hot white chocolate as good as Gabriel—the fireplace, the slightly softer lights, the grooming. All comfort things and all because Spencer had come home in one hell of a foul mood. This was the side of the archangel that no one else but his children got to see.

Spencer made his way through a bit of the food while listening as Gabriel launched into a story about his latest prank against Thor. Those stories were always worth a smile. Thor, despite what one might think was always good for a prank or two and had learned over the years to retaliate in kind. By the time Spencer gave up on food and moved to the cocoa, Gabriel had finished his story and finished with the bottom left wing and was moving to the primary one. Spencer sighed into his drink and let the touch relax him a little more.

He didn't really intend to start talking. Even if he had, he wouldn't have wanted to talk about this. What he wanted was to forget about this horrendous case. Apparently, his mind had other ideas. "I don't understand humans." He found himself saying as he stared down at the liquid in his favorite big mug. "I grew up mostly human, I've tried to be one, and I've taken all the college courses I could to understand the way humans feel and think, but I don't think I'll ever truly understand them."

"Not all humans are like the ones you hunt, kiddo. You know that." Gabriel reminded him gently.

A low sigh slid from Spencer. "I know. I just, cases like this, they—I don't understand them. I've worked at the BAU for years, hunted evil plenty of times, yet there are still cases like this one that remind me just how much I don't understand. Sometimes, I don't think I want to." His hands tightened around his mug and he had to fight to keep his strength in check so that he wouldn't crush the cup. "The things he did to those boys. They were just babies, Dad. They were teenagers, but they were just babies, and the things he did to them…" A shudder ran down Spencer's body and his wings trembled.

One of Gabriel's hands dropped out of his feathers to press flat in that patch of skin between the base of his wings. With a firm touch, he rubbed up and down, a gesture meant to soothe. It was the place that muscles tended to knot up from supporting the wings, or from working to keep them hidden, and the firm pressure was pushing those knots out and forcibly relaxing him until Spencer was almost melting underneath the touch.

"You caught him, Fox." The low hum of Gabriel's voice held that extra edge to it that Spencer had always associated with his grace. It wasn't a commanding voice, wasn't one that forced him to do anything. It was just edged with a little more of his true voice than his human voice in a way that gave his words that little extra punch. "I know it was hard, but you guys did a damn good job and he's gonna go away for a long time. An if he doesn't, I'll hunt him down myself. He'll learn his lesson one way or another."

"You can't hunt down every Unsub we catch that doesn't get convicted."

He heard a low snort behind him and that little push of power in Gabriel's voice is gone now. He's back to his usual, slightly snarky sounding self. "Says you."

Spencer was going to say something else to argue that but his words escaped him when a particular section of feathers were straightened back into place. He let out a low sigh that was almost a moan and his body slumped down.

The sound of Spencer's phone going off interrupted the silence that had fallen over them. Spencer didn't even entertain the thought of getting up and going to his messenger bag where his phone was at. He just gave a small flick of the wrist and his phone appeared in his hand. He unlocked it and opened up the message. When he read it, he couldn't help it, he let out a laugh.

SW: You won't believe this, the message read. Dean and I are at a convention. A SUPERNATURAL convention.

SW: What do you think the punishment is for strangling a prophet? I won't kill him, I promise!

Amused, Spencer read the message out loud, enjoying the laugh that Gabriel let out. "A Supernatural convention?" Gabriel asked, his voice full of undisguised glee. "There's a convention for this and I didn't know about it?"

"I don't think those poor people are equipped to handle you, Dad." Spencer murmured as he replied to Sam's message.

"Hey!" Gabriel protested. "I'll have you know there are plenty of Trickster fans! They love me."

The only reply Spencer gave to that was a snort. It earned him a light tug on his feathers that had him turning to glare over his shoulder. Gabriel just smirked. Rolling his eyes, Spencer turned back to his phone.

SR: Heaven tends to frown on prophet abuse

SW: Think we could sic your Dad on him?

Another laugh bubbled up from Spencer. This one was a mixture of amusement and relief. If Sam was making jokes like that, things couldn't be too bad in their little group. In that random, saying-it-without-saying-it way the Winchesters worked, he was basically telling Spencer that he was okay with things. Or, at the least, accepting of them. Learning to speak Winchester was hard but he was slowly getting the hang of it. It was kind of like picking up on a new and strange language without the benefit of a translator.

SR: Wow, you must really dislike this guy

SW: He's selling books about our life. SELLING THEM.

"I don't think the boys are fans of the books." Spencer said, arching one wing up to put it in better reach. He sighed happily when Gabriel's fingers found and fixed a particularly tender spot.

SR: One day, the W Gospels will be very important.

SR: Respect the fandom, S. Respect it.

SW: I hate you.

That last message just made Spencer laugh once more. He sent out one final reply, a 'Don't have too much fun' and then set his phone back on the coffee table. As amusing as the conversation was, he could feel his eyes getting heavy the longer that Gabriel worked. It always happened to him. The soothing ministrations never failed to put him to sleep.

By the time Gabriel switched to the right hand side, Spencer was slumped forward, knees up to his chest and arms folded over them to make a pillow. He was out only moments later.

He woke only briefly when his wings were done, just long enough to sleepily follow his Dad's directions to tuck his wings back in, and then he was drifting away once more while familiar arms picked him up. He was asleep again before they even made it to his bedroom.


It wasn't until after work the next day that Spencer finally had enough free time to do more than send a quick text Sam's way. He got off work and sent out a message, getting a quick response that let him know where the brothers were. Moments later, Spencer was landing in the living room of his safe house. The brothers were both there, looking perfectly at home as they cleaned and prepared their weapons. Spencer watched them for just a moment as Sam set aside the shotgun he'd just finished with and moved on to the next. Dean was pouring what Spencer guessed was Holy water from a jug into smaller containers. Their other weapons were spread out around them on sheets that covered part of the couch and another one that covered the coffee table.

"You know," Spencer said, startling Dean and drawing both brothers' attention. "I find it a little worrisome that I can't quite tell whether you guys are just having a relaxing evening in, or if you're preparing to go to war."

"Kind of a little bit of both, actually." Dean answered. His voice wasn't as relaxed as it had been getting around Spencer before, but it didn't have the anger that had been there the last time Spencer had seen him. Spencer hoped it meant that Dean wasn't that angry with him anymore. Then again, he'd learned watching these boys that Dean could hold one hell of a grudge when he wanted. It was going to take more than sharing a safe house with them to get Dean to start to like him again. He'd have to settle for grudging acceptance for the moment.

"We're relaxing right now." Sam explained when he saw Spencer was a bit confused by Dean's remark. "But we've got plans to head out tonight." He looked up at Spencer and there was a bit of hope in his eyes. "We found out who has the Colt."

"What?" They'd found it? Spencer gaped at them a bit. "You found it? And you didn't call me?"

Sam gave him a slightly sheepish look. "I was going to, but we got caught up in things and then you messaged me, so I figured I'd just tell you once you were here."

"Besides," Dean interrupted, brows drawn down in a hard stare. "We've hunted fine on our own for years. We don't need to call you in for everything."

Choosing to ignore that for the moment, and the older hunter, Spencer focused on Sam. "Where is it?"

"A demon has it. Cas followed him for us, so we've got a location, and we've got a plan to get in there, too. I was kind of hoping you'd be our backup."

Dean shook his head. "He can't, Sammy." Turning to Spencer, he added "You can't. Cas said the place is covered in Enochian warding sigils. Angels can't get in."

"I'm not an angel." Spencer reminded him, smirking just a little. "Warding sigils tend to be very specific. I highly doubt it's going to be warded against a nephilim. Now, do you know the name of the demon?"

"He goes by Crowley." Sam said.

Well that hadn't been what Spencer was expecting. He startled visibly and his eyes went a little wide. Crowley? Crowley had the gun? That was simultaneously better and worse than he'd hoped for. He was the type that would be willing to deal, for the right price, and Spencer's presence would help make sure that the price didn't go too high. At the same time, he was an expert at making a deal, and he was fussy about certain things. Them coming in after him wouldn't make him all that happy. "Crowley's more of a businessman than a troublemaker, but he's ambitious and devious. My presence should throw him off enough to work in your favor."

"Wait, you know Crowley?" Sam asked, surprised. Dean, however, looked suspicious. "How do you know Crowley?"

"Well…" A hint of a blush touched Spencer's cheeks. He tried to hide it, to turn his head away just enough, but it was too late. They'd both seen it and he knew by the disgusted look that covered Dean's face that he, at least, understood, even if Sam still looked a little confused.

"Oh, this is great." Dean said sarcastically. His lip curled up in a sneer. "No wonder you and Sammy get along so well. You've got the same taste in bed partners."

Spencer would've taken an insult about himself, but when he saw Sam flinch back from his brother's words and sharp tone, he didn't bother holding his tongue. "You really wanna talk to me about bed partners, Winchester?" Spencer asked, arching one eyebrow. "What about that barmaid down in New Orleans. What was her name? Tilly? Timmy?"

It was extremely satisfying to watch the color bleed out of Dean's face before it all rushed back, right into his cheeks. His attempt to glare was completely offset by the deep blush. "You shut your cake hole."

Spencer's smirk grew. "That's what I thought. Don't be so quick to judge. Besides, Crowley and I mostly have a working relationship. That…it was just one time. Trust me, I learned my lesson." Turning to Sam, he flashed a smile. "Never, ever drink the punch at one of Kali's parties. You never know who or what you might wake up with. Or where."

"Kali?" Sam said, surprise on his face,

Holding out a hand towards his brother to quiet him, Dean pulled them back to the topic at hand by snapping "Can we get back on track here? You know, the Colt, Crowley, killing the devil? Any of that ring a bell?"

Dean's sharp reminder had Spencer straightening back up. Right. Important things now, stories later. He cleared his throat and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Right. Sorry." Moving forward, he perched himself on the arm of the couch furthest from Dean and settled in, folding his hands in his lap.
"So, what's the plan?"


Their plan was a simple one. With the help of Jo, a Hunter friend of theirs, they got in through the front gates of Crowley's place. Spencer didn't point out that he could've just flown them in. He assumed they'd thought of that and, for some reason or another, had decided against it. Probably because of Dean's aversion to flying of any form. From what he'd seen the older Winchester didn't even like it when Castiel flew him someplace. Since Dean didn't like it, naturally Sam didn't even suggest using it, because there was no one who knew Dean better and he knew the futility of trying to force his older brother into doing something he didn't like to do. Plus, as he'd once quietly told Spencer when they'd been talking outside one night, "He won't admit it, but he can whine like nobody's business when he doesn't get his way."

Remembering that had Spencer smiling slightly to himself. He was staying back in the shadows, watching as Sam and Dean rushed forward to take out the two demons that were coming for Jo. Backup, Sam had called him, and backup he would be. No point in revealing his presence too soon. He kept out of the way and kept his shields up tight so as not to be sensed. He'd been right on the wards; they didn't keep him out. However, he'd failed to mention to the boys the strain that it put on him. While he wasn't full angel, he was part, and that was enough for them to at least weaken him.

He moved quietly and stealthily behind the boys. It kind of amused him to do it. Wouldn't the team be surprised to see how silently he could move? They'd seen him trip over his own two feet walking across a flat surface before. Oh, man, that had been something he hadn't lived down for weeks.

It really was easy for them to get inside and lay out their trap. The power was out, they'd laid out a carp with a devil's trap on the other side of it, they were all prepared for just about anything. So, of course, none of it went according to plan. Spencer kept hidden and watched as Crowley appeared at the end of the hall and things got started.

"It's Crowley, right?" Sam called out.

Crowley stopped, a slight smile ghosting across his face. "So…the Hardy Boys finally found me." He smiled a little. "Took you long enough."

When he strolled towards them, blatantly ignoring the guns pointed his way, Spencer took advantage of the moment to look him over and he had to admit that the demon looked just the same as he had last time he'd seen him, and just as good. Maybe it was bad but he'd always been unable to help admiring him in his suit. He always did look good in a suit.

He was almost on the carpet they'd laid out, the one with the devil's trap hidden on it, when he stopped. One look told Spencer what mistake they'd made. There was a wrinkle at the end of it. Bending down, Crowley flipped the edge just enough to see underneath. He shook his head as he straightened back up. "Do you have any idea how much this rug costs?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, two demons appeared and Spencer jerked in his hiding place as he watched them grab the boys from behind. His first instinct was to dart forward and smite the two bastards who dared to touch the Winchesters. But he held his tongue, waiting just a moment, a few things in here not adding up quite right. He watched as Crowley pulled out the Colt, holding it up and pulling back the hammer. "This is it, right? This is what it's all about?" He leveled the gun at the brothers and Spencer watched, his brain already having caught on to what was going on, as Crowley shot first one demon and then the other before calmly telling them "We need to talk. Privately."

The group headed down the hall to what looked to be Crowley's office. Spencer flew ahead and, just for amusement's sake, sat himself on the desk to wait for them. In dark jeans and a black shirt that said 'Come to the Nerd side – We have Pi', and with his hair up into a messy ponytail, he was in a look he knew would irritate the hell out of the demon, who for some reason was always personally offended by what he referred to as a 'lack of sensible fashion'. It had become a bit of a thing any time they met. Spencer made sure to dress just to annoy him.

The office door opened and Spencer leaned back on his hands, one leg crossed over the other and foot bouncing, the items on the desk carelessly shoved to the side in another deliberate attempt to annoy him. Here, he wasn't going to be Spencer, not in the way the boys knew. He was Loki's son and that was a persona that didn't often come out to play. There was a part of him that was very much the Trickster's son and that part enjoyed it immensely when Crowley stepped into the room and startled at the sight of him. Amused, Spencer let his lips curl up into a smirk. "Hello, Crowley."

"Fox. I wasn't expecting to see you here." The only thing that gave away his true surprise was the slight arch of an eyebrow. Otherwise, he kept his composure, walking over to the small bar and serving himself a drink. "As you can see, now's not the best time. I'm in the middle of some business."

"Oh, I know." Pushing up, Spencer leaned forward, uncrossing his legs and curling his hands over the edge of the desk.

It only took a second for realization to hit. Amusement danced in the demon's eyes as they traveled over Spencer and to the Winchesters. "Well, well, things have changed in these desperate times. Who would've imagined the infamous Winchesters working with the pagans?" His eyes came back to Spencer again. "I thought you had better taste than that, darling."

Spencer arched a brow at him and deliberately looked him over from head to toe. He brought his eyes back to Crowley's face and let his smirk grow. "I've always considered myself possessed of rather good taste."

"Okay, I think I'm gonna be sick." Dean grumbled. "Can we get down to business here? I'd rather not watch the two of you flirt."

Crowley shook his head as he brought two drinks over to the desk, holding one out towards Spencer, an amused look on his face. "I think we've made him uncomfortable."

"I can't imagine why." Spencer said mockingly. He carefully extended a small tendril of grace to test the drink he held, just to be cautious. When he was sure that it was clear he lifted it and took a small sip, humming happily at the flavor. Crowley always did have good taste in alcohol. "However, he's right. Let's get down to business. You know why we're here, Crowley. Dare I say, you led these boys here."

"Led us here?" Sam asked.

Crowley nodded. "Rumors, innuendo…sent out on the grapevine."

The two brothers exchanged a look. "Why? Why tell us anything?" Sam asked.

Taking another drink from his glass, Spencer carefully watched the faces around him as he answered Sam's question. "He wants you to kill Lucifer for him."

That hadn't been what they'd expected. They were good, though. They only showed their surprise for a moment and they recovered pretty quickly. These random moments, the little things that Spencer saw, showed him how the two had earned such a reputation in the hunting community. For all the trouble that had come their way, or the trouble they'd caused, they were good at their job. They didn't beat around the bush with dumb questions; Dean got right to the point in his usual, straightforward way. "Okay. And why exactly would you want the devil dead?"

It was a good question. Not that Crowley apparently thought so. The look he gave them was pitying, leaning heavily towards condescending. "It's called survival. But I forgot you two, at best, are functioning morons."

And then, for every moment that showed Spencer what good hunters these two were, how quick their minds were, there were moments such as this where he secretly wondered if one or the other had taken one too many blows to the head over the years. "Hey, you're functioning…morons." Dean grumbled, trailing off and flushing ever so slightly as he failed to think up an appropriate insult. Sam and Spencer shared a look and Spencer had to smile at the purely little brother eye roll that Sam gave.

This could easily degenerate into a pissing match between the trio if they weren't careful. To try and keep it from getting there, Spencer took over the conversation, bringing all eyes to him. "Think about it, boys. Lucifer, at heart, is still an angel, and he's known for his hatred of humans. Can you really see him being all that fond of demons? He may have created them, but that doesn't mean he loves them. He made them to serve and that's what he'll use them for. He'll send them to their deaths in his war." With his glass, he gestured to the demon beside him. "Now, Crowley here is, if nothing else, a survivalist. He has an amazingly strong sense of self-preservation and would think nothing of switching to the side most likely to guarantee his own survival, no matter which side that is."

"Too true, darling." Crowley agreed, lifting his glass in a toast. In a move that Spencer knew was meant to irritate Dean a little more, the demon leaned in a little closer and gave Spencer a smirk. "You know me so well."

Pulling the gun out from his jacket, he tossed it towards Dean, who caught it quickly. The older Winchester checked the gun over as if trying to make sure that it was all there, that nothing was missing or damaged. When he looked back up, he fixed his glare on Crowley. "You better not be screwing with us."

The demon scoffed. "Did you not hear the little brat over here? I look out for myself. The last thing I want to do is mess with your little group and incur the wrath of Loki. I like my life, thank you very much."

There was a small gathering of power in the air, that little warning that Spencer had learned to recognize meant a demon was preparing to leave or arrive, and there was just one last thing he wanted to say before that happened. To catch his attention, the young nephilim called out "Crowley?" Spencer waited until the demon turned towards him and then he let his smile change into something sharp and dangerous, watching with satisfaction as Crowley took a small step back. Pleased, Spencer leaned forward a little, his voice dropping just a bit lower. "If you screw us over with this, you won't have to worry about Loki, because I'll hunt you down and take care of you myself."

"Duly noted." Crowley said dryly. He flicked his eyes over to the Winchesters and then back to Spencer. "Bullets are in the desk." With no more warning than that, he was gone.


So there was going to be more to this, but the chapter started getting long so I decided to go ahead and post what I have so far. That just means there'll be one more chapter than I'd originally planned. I didn't think you guys would mind ;)