first off sorry it took me so long to post January was a super busy time for me at work and then my brother was in a car accident and I had to help take care of him. He is fine now. Secondly this chapter didn't really go as I planned I meant for Crowley's story to just take up part of this chapter, but it expanded to the entire chapter so I promise to add another chapter soon. hopefully this turn wont be too much for people

Crowley's brain was buzzing with the human blood. He could feel it coursing through him. The emotions they felt so unbearably sharp. A keening wail in the back of his brain demanding that he listen to its siren song. Longing, loneliness, a desire to be loved. He felt high the headiness of the emotions compared to the emptiness of his demonic soul. It bordered on sensory overload which was why he was so surprised when he entered his chamber and saw the little angel sitting in a chair in the center of the room.

He had forgotten that he had ordered little Alfie cleaned up and sent to his room. He wasn't sure for what purpose. Even as he'd asked the idea had seemed ludicrous. While he was attracted to the little angel that ship had sailed a long time ago. He enjoyed mind games as much as the next demon but he wasn't a rapist. A sexual sadist perhaps. He had on more than one occasion relished the erotic value of inflicting pain, but rape had little appeal when he was more than capable of getting what he wanted on his own. He looked over at the little angel. Torturing someone for years however wasn't conducive for desire. Still when he saw the boy looking up at him his grey eyes were soft and hopeful a strange vulnerable feeling overwhelmed him. The sad sap still thought that there was good in him. He wanted to prove him wrong he wanted to laugh and taunt the boy beat him senseless and prove to him that there was no such thing as a redeemable demon. He did none of those things. There was anxiety on his face as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His hands were gripping the seat of the chair tightly the boys knuckles were white with tension.

Crowley enjoyed luxury once he was in the position to afford it, he intended to keep it. His room was decorated in an array of rich dark masculine colors, deep cholates, midnight blacks, blood reds, but he added luxurious touches. He had a sensual side. While he liked causing pain, but he certainly enjoyed pleasure. The feel of black silk sheets. Leather cuffs. He had a custom made grand king bed and black frame where he could affix cuffs when needed. Perhaps it was a bit cliché but he was the king of hell and at least at one time he enjoyed playing the part. The angel's eyes traveled to the cuffs at the head of the bed following his own gaze. Crowley simply smirked. Let the angel think what he will, he had no intention of hurting him anymore at least not tonight. Perhaps later the human blood would be gone from his system, he could torture to his heart's content, yet he doubted it. He had grown weary with all the trappings of king of hell. In the past he had a study and kept his work and leisure separate, lately however he had a desk moved into the far corner of the room so that he could do business in private. that was what he intended.

He slowly approached the boy. He wore a navy blue long sleeved shirt and jeans, Crowley was grateful for the sleeves because it covered the once flawless skin that he had marred with a heated blade. Guilt was a new emotion for him. Even in his human life he had rarely been burdened with it.

"Is this a new form of torture? Samandriel asked hesitantly

Crowley wanted to say yes that he had somehow devised a way to literally kill someone with kindness and was testing it out, but the words were lodged in his throat.

"No" he replied. Rather than elaborate he simply stepped past the boy into the room. He went to the side bar. He would just ignore him go about his business.

"Did you want a drink?" he wondered quietly. That lasted long. He glanced over to see the angel looking at him strangely.

"No, I suppose not." He continued answering his own question. He poured himself a glass of scotch ignoring the angel. The burn of alcohol was always soothing to him. Especially after he shot up with human blood. It made sense in a way. Humans drank to kill their inner demons, he had more than his fair share.

"Mother's milk." He murmured after a drink. "Or at least my mothers." He quipped.

The angel didn't respond just continued to stare at him. He sighed, he wasn't sure why he bothered with this charade. Perhaps it was because he was lonely. He had hell and no one to share it with.

He pushed away the very un-demonic thought. Sharing power with someone was a weakness. He learned at a very young age it was those closest to you that betrayed you, after all his own mother sold him for three pigs and left him when he was eight years old. Love was a weakness. He had loved his mother once, but she never loved him, in fact she likely hated him. Life had been difficult after that. He had to fight hard for every base need. Even harder for respect. It likely didn't help that in life he became an abusive alcoholic two-bit tailor. His mother spewed venom and hate towards him and he in turn did the same to his own son. He beat and starved Gavin repeatedly during his childhood, worked him harder than their own horse, and refused to let him attend school. He couldn't even say that it was tough love, he abused the boy because his mother abused him and in some twisted way he wanted to make the boy as damaged as he was. Love was a vulnerability he didn't need. While he loved Gavin he never treated him as if he did he hardened the boy till he despised him. His mother had claimed on multiple occasions that he was unlovable. He was never sure if it was just an innate quality about him or something forced upon him.

"We shared a foxhole of sorts you and I" Crowley continued the angel looked up at him obviously puzzled.

"Live with a man forty years." He begun pacing before him. "Share his house, his meals, speak on every subject." He paused thoughtfully after each point before turning to meet Samandriel's eyes.

"Then tie him up and hold him over the volcano's edge, and on that day, you will finally meet the man." Crowley continued.

"What are you saying?" he asked his voice cautious and wary.

Crowely shrugged. What was he saying? That he felt like he knew the angel intimately because he tortured him. It was a strange thought, yet one that felt accurate. He did know the angel. As well as he knew anyone, more really. In retrospect the angel likely knew him better than anyone else as well. He had pushed the man to the breaking point you can't do that without learning something about them, or revealing something about yourself.

"Did you know your father?" Crowley asked leaning casually against the bed. Samandriel still clutched the seat of the chair his arms resting between his legs as he leaned forward to better hear his soft words.

His expressive face pulled together in a frown. He was trying to decide if this was another way to question him. If he would be revealing anything by admitting the truth. He came to the same conclusion Crowley had long ago. He had already told him everything he knew. Crowley kept torturing him almost out of habit rather than necessity. Samandriel was not a high level angel. He was an errand boy. He wasn't privy to the secrets.

"No," he replied quietly staring at his feet.

"Neither did I, but since he had the poor sense to sleep with my harpy of a mother I doubt I would have liked him much." The angel was still watching him curiously but he was no longer gripping the bottom of the chair like he thought it was going to be ripped away from him at any moment.

"What about your brother's?" he wondered drinking again leaning back on the bed.

"I met Michael once." He replied sheepishly. Crowley met the angel's eyes. There was a certain pride there and some kind of yearning. He had never really thought about angels having sex, with each other. Technically they were only brothers in as much as humanity was a brotherhood. The archangels were siblings but the rest were not. He glanced down and noticed that his glass was empty and teleported to the side table to refill it. As he did there was a loud crash he turned indolently back to see that Samandriel had leapt from his chair and was backing away from the bed his back facing him unknowingly walking towards him.

"Ahem" Samandriel whirled towards him his eyes blown wide with fear. His hands fisted uselessly at his sides.

He was breathing hard. His jaw clenched.

"A bit jumpy aren't we?" Crowley continued refilling his glass. He held his hands up one cradled around his scotch as he very purposefully walked the length of the room back towards the bed. Samandriel frozen in place tracked his movement with his eyes and body turning slightly with his shoulders his feet remaining in place.

His breathing was beginning to even out. He remained standing.

"Take a seat." Crowley gestured he didn't move. Crowley sighed heavily. "This is going to keep happening?" Samandriel said nothing but it was obvious he wasn't relaxed.

Crowley stood. "Let's make a deal." How many times had he said those words? Numerous times Countless really. How many times had he said them without a greater goal in mind? He couldn't think of one. Still the words came out without thought. "I won't hurt you for twenty four hours." He watched the angel's eyes widened "Unless I am defending myself." He added. "In exchange for what?" Samandriel he asked. Crowley sighed again "Nothing, this one free of charge."

The angel frowned perplexed. "Why?" He asked.

Why indeed? He thought to himself. Nothing was forthcoming.

"Why not?" he replied. Perhaps he was becoming drunk? He did feel like he wasn't in full control of his faculties.

"Why not?" Samandriel echoed his words hollow sounding and wooden

Crowley stood feeling confident "Yes why not? What have I got to lose? You would still be my prisoner, there isn't anything you can do about that." He continued. A blood spell. He had locked Samandriel into his vessel, and done a blood spell to bind the human body here. The human Alfie was long dead.

It was obvious he didn't trust him and really why should he?

Crowley was about to give up go find something else diverting when the angel replied.

"Yes."

Crowley grinned stepping up to him. He could tell that the angel wanted to back away but stood his ground.

"You know how demons seal a deal?" the boy jutted his chin up at him defiantly implying that yes his knew but it made no difference.

Crowley leaned in and lightly brushed his lips against Samandriel's he was stiff holding stock still. Crowley had no intention of pressing the kiss, this was simply about letting the angel relax. Why he wanted him to relax he couldn't explain, he wanted to talk to him. He tilted his head back slightly and Crowley pushed himself not to peruse him, he was just drunk he told himself.

The power of the deal filled him if he broke his deal he would lose that power. It was the magic of the deal. Temporary increased power, unless the deal was broken.

The angel stepped back quietly. Before picking up the chair and sitting down.

"Now can we be…" he been intent on saying civil when his words were interrupted by what likely amounted to a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet of enraged angel. He screamed inarticulately as he charged. The boy tackled him knocking the glass of Craig from his hand, it shattered as it hit the floor. He fell on to the bed. Surprised and slightly impressed the angel punched him straight in the jaw as he pinned him to the bed with the slight weight of his body. He continued punching him about the head and torso screaming as he did so years of repressed anger coming through. After a moment breathing heavily he stopped. He was visibly shaking from where he straddled his waist. He was waiting to see if Crowley would retaliate. Crowley grabbed the angel about the shoulders shoving him gently aside so that he fell besides him on the king sized bed. The angel hit the bed flat on his back the air knocked out of him but otherwise unharmed. They both lay the width of the bed versus the length. He could hear the heavy breathing as Samandriel gasped for air.

Crowley swiped at his bloodied nose and lip with the back of his hand tasting the blood in his mouth. Samandriel lay stock still beside him not looking at him, staring at the ceiling.

"Was that really necessary?" he demand irately "Now that you've gotten that out of your system, can we be civil?"

He didn't respond immediately. So Crowley continued.

"You own me a drink by the way, it's over 300 dollars a bottle."

Suddenly he realized that the angel was laughing. A strange bitter world weary laugh that didn't quite fit what he knew of the man.

His dark chuckling continued and Crowley rolled on his side to get a better view of him. He lay hand over his face as his expression was drawn up in a grimace of a smile as his chest convulsed with forced laughter. After a moment he turned towards him.

"What is wrong with you?" The words effected him stronger than the angel's attack.

He sat up stiffly. A great many things if he was being honest, and he had no intention of doing that. The hollow emptiness of his human heart was driving him insane. It yearned to be accepted to be loved, he was a demon not a human and yet he couldn't deny the building need inside himself.

"The angels never came for you." He said quietly staring down at the shattered remains of his scotch. Perhaps if he lashed out he wouldn't feel so empty.

Samandriel stopped laughing by the silence Crowley knew his missile had hit its mark.

"Not one of them tried to save you, why do you think that is?"

He could feel the tension condense in the room.

"I…" he began obviously forcing the words out. His voice sounded thick.

"Because you are expendable." Crowley continued viciously "a pawn, a peon, a patsy, god's messenger's messenger boy."

He chanced a glance at the angel. The stiff resignation on his face was telling.

Crowley took pity on him instantly regretting the venom he had unleashed on him just moments before. He stood and crossed the room towards his liquor cabinet. He grabbed two glasses and the bottle He sat up and tracked his movements apparently he still wasn't sure about his intentions, but then again neither was he.

"You're right." He whispered avoiding eye contact.

Samandriel frowned as Crowley pressed the glass into his hand. Did the boy ever smile? He had a nice mouth. He should have reasons to smile.

"I have never been an asset to heaven."

Crowely scoffed rudely.

"What is the old saying? It is better to rule in hell than serve in heaven? Why would you want to serve anyone? You serve someone you lose your needs." He could tell he was beginning to ramble. His head was spinning, the human blood was fully in his system now, and he was high with it. In moments like these he usually preferred to be alone and allow himself to vent these emotions in peace, usually with a touching film; however he didn't want to be alone.

"If you ask me your brothers are wrong about you." The words fell out against his control

Samandriel looked up him a confused expression across his expressive eyes.

"You are more than a throwaway angel"

His brows scrunched together confused. Crowley waved him off and gulped down his scotch. He was starting to sound like Dean Winchester. The man was a confusing mix on human sensibilities and demonic urges.

There was silence for several moments as they sipped scotch together.

"Do you know what Michael said to me?" Samandriel finally asked quietly as he sipped the scotch surprisingly he did not react to the alcohol's burn.

"I was in awe of him." he continued musingly "I offered him everything I was."

Crowley couldn't tell if that was a sexual reference or not since angel's tended to speak with poetry, as if to prove his point Samandriel continued.

"He said no. I am thy fellow servant, and of thy brethren: worship God." As he spoke he downed the scotch. Crowley poured him another.

"What a jerk" he muttered mostly to himself but Samandriel turned towards him. He must be drunker than he thought because he was misinterpreting the look that he was giving him as something akin to comradery

Crowley shrugged trying to think of the best way to defend himself.

"I'd deny it if you ever quote me but you did good." He finally admitted. As he poured two glasses.

"What?" he asked

"Taking me by surprise like that."

"Thank you?" the angel continued unsurely sipping the scotch. A thought begun to infect him. One he knew was pure human insanity, but still it festered in his mind unable to escape until he asked.

"Would it be possible," Crowley began paused and looked away knowing this foolishness would only betray his human insecurities "...I'd like...to ask you a-a favor, Sam." He continued

Samandriel frowned. There it was again that frown. The angel was perpetually solemn and he knew part of it was his fault.

"Given our history...it raises the question... Where do I start...to even look for your forgiveness?"

"What?" he asked standing up quickly. He was obviously distressed.

"I mean... Don't we all - you, me - we deserve to be loved." He continued unsurely he was losing control of his artificial human emotions. The combination of the human blood and the alcohol was leading his brain into a spiral of self-doubt and desire for acceptance it was pathetic.

"I deserve to be loved!" he shouted before continuing hesitantly "I just want to be loved."

He expected scorn, if someone showed such weakness before him he would have gone for the kill. Ripped out their throat with his teeth, perhaps that was what he want someone to end his suffering. Still he was surprised that wasn't what he received.

"God is forgiving," the angel began. His tone soft and merciful.

"I am not." He finished. Crowley looked away from him but just because he would not meet his eyes did not mean he could un-hear his words.

"You tortured me. Perhaps what you say is true and you do deserve to be loved, but you do not deserve my forgiveness."

Crowley nodded he knew he was worthless, had been told as such from birth to the point that he had fought his entire life until he had worth, he was the bloody king of hell and still people constantly found him wanting.

", but you can earn it." The words gave him pause. He wasn't sure what game the angel played surely there wasn't something he could do to undo the harm.

"I won't let you go…I can't afford to." He admitted. His position as king wasn't as recognizable as it once was. His iron grip was becoming tenuous, with his forces split defending hell on the chance of Lucifer's return and fighting Abaddon he could not risk looking weak.

"Humble yourself; it's your first step toward being forgiven" the angel continued.

"I am the king of hell, humble is not in my nature." He continued stepping away from the boy.

"If you want forgiveness you need to understand the amount of pain you have caused, and accept responsibility for it."

"This is asinine, you aren't going to forgive me and I will not be made a fool of."

The angel turned away from him before pulling his shirt off.

His ribs were bruised, there were several healed cuts and burns across his body, the ones he just inflicted were still raw and red. Crowley had to admit he found some of it appealing. He was a sadist that part was true. The consent was what had been lacking between a scene and torture, still he wasn't delusional he knew what he did to Samandriel and that it wasn't the same thing. He wasn't Lucifer, While he dabbled with others in the past Lilith, Naomi, Brady, he had never found someone with parallel desires as himself. Part of him hoped that someday he might, but he knew it was a stretch.

"You carved into me looking for my brothers, knowing that they didn't give a damn about me." The angel's intensity and vulgarity surprised him, then again it seemed that he was full of surprises. "They are gone, and you have all you want from me I will likely die soon and by your hand and yet now you ask for my forgiveness? What does that say about you?"

"I don't know." He admitted. Awash with strange emotions "But they are not as gone as I implied." he confessed. Part of him wanted to sooth the angel tell him that while they were few in numbers his brothers existed, some closer than he thought.

Crowley knew this was a misstep on his part but he still couldn't deny the surge of something ineffable that filled him.

"Lucifer." Samandriel whispered with dread. He had told the boy that much. Crowley nodded somehow dedicated to this course of action.

"And Michael."

The angel straightened to the point where he thought he might splinter into a thousand little stiff pieces.

"Michael is alive?"

"Only just." Crowley replied dispassionately.

"How is that possible?" he gasped astounded.

"We made a deal." Crowley admitted. "Lucifer had his rightful vessel while Michael did not,"

"And rather than give him Dean Winchester you what kept him alive?" he asked aghast.

"Don't be so crass, I couldn't give him Dean even if I wanted to company policy and all we don't exactly let souls out of hell. And since you lot can't possess a corpse without permission my hands were tied there. No, I found him on the battlefield, and offered him a deal."

"Take me to him." he ordered. It was actually rather cute, and if Crowley had been another mood he might have had a different reaction, but he couldn't allow disrespect.

Crowley walked towards him. "Just because I can't hurt you currently doesn't mean you can talk to me like that. Twenty-four hours is a blip in the amount of time we have together pet and I have a very long memory."

"Take me to him." he asked again this time a small quaver in his voice.

"You won't like it." Crowley admitted.

The boy's resolve didn't waver, and Crowley was feeling generous.

Samandriel looked over at his brother and his heart ached. He looked small in his current vessel. He lay in a hospital bed in what looked like the remnants of a study. Bookshelves filled to the brim with a variety of books surrounded the room. The head of the bed rested again the far wall where a desk would have stood. The demon stood beside him, he was feeling ambivalent towards him. He was sure this change over him was temporary, but at the moment he intended to take advantage. He knew what he was a warped human soul, and while he tried to remember than no one is beyond saving he had never seen any good in the man till now.

There were several machines next to the bed, the soft whir of one of them was what allowed Michael's physical body to breath. The clear plastic tube was attached to his mouth and down his throat inflating and deflating his lungs. Other machines monitored his heartbeat and still others administrated drugs.

"Why hasn't he healed?" he asked he could see the empty space on one side of his body. He was missing his right leg and arm.

"His grace is depleted." Crowley replied impassively simply imparting information.

"How do we know he isn't…?"

"Adam?" Crowley asked as if reading his mind.

"Trust me darling. If this poor bastard was Adam Milligan he would have been dead a long time ago. You should have seen him when I found him. Four years have done a lot to clean up the mess Lucifer made of him."

Samandriel moved towards Michael with the intention of healing him. The tiny spark of his grace flowing forward.

"You're wasting your time precious, you are cut off from heaven just as he is. It won't work."

Samandriel ignored him and laid a hand along Michael's bare chest. He ignored the tiny thrill that came from touching him. This was not meant for him this was for Michael and for humanity. His skin was not as warm as he had imagined likely from the lack of circulation. Nothing happened. His arm had been separated at the shoulder, so Samandriel moved his hand there. Still his small bit of grace was not enough to heal him.

"Why is he unconscious?" he asked thinking that maybe the drugs were fogging the recovery of his grace.

"Mostly because he is an archangel and he is in bloody hell, but also he's off his rocker."

"What?" Samandriel asked perplexed.

"When I made the deal with him I didn't realize that Lucifer did a number on more than his body."

"So not only are you saying my brother is damaged physically you are saying he is insane."

"More like shell shocked, he doesn't exactly remember what happened or who he is and he tends to get a bit violent because of it."

"Wake him up." Samandriel ordered.

"Aren't you bossy today, under different circumstances seeing you wearing the pants might be sexy but I'm afraid I can't abide it now."

"I need to speak to him." he insisted pleadingly

"No, still means no pet."

He dropped to his knees his hands clasped together. Something sparked in the demon's eyes. This position appealed to him.

"While you do look pretty on your knees, I'm assuming your question is the same still and so is my answer."

"He can fix it, the world, set it right."

"And what makes you think I want the world changed?"

"Don't you?" he asked earnestly at least in that respect he knew he was right. Crowley wasn't happy.

Crowley looked away. Samandriel couldn't read the expression on his face.

"It will take at least twelve hours for the medication to leave his system." He informed him softly his tone downhearted.

"Maybe before then I will have come to my senses"