A/N: Keep in mind Abaddon doesn't exist in my 'verse. The last time Dean saw Crowley was back at the church in the S8 finale.


"Dean, what are you doing?" Cas asked, following the Hunter down a set a stairs that led even farther underground. They headed past the Weapons room and past the Computer room until Dean threw open the door to the one of the storerooms, flipping on the light before digging into a bundle of supplies.

"I need to talk to Crowley," he said, voice muffled as his head was halfway in a burlap bag and then pulled himself out, holding several candles. He shoved them in Cas's hands.

"I do not think that is wise," Cas warned but Dean wasn't listening. He was too busy grabbing a deep bowl and the rest of the ingredients to summon the King of Hell. "The last time you saw him he was mostly human." Dean stopped to look Cas in the eye.

"Is he not the King of Hell?"

"He is," Cas said. "But-."

"But nothing. I need to talk to the King of Hell."

"Dean, I don't-."

"I don't need your approval," the Hunter snapped, taking the candles back and throwing them into the bowl before storming out of the storeroom. Against his better judgment, Castiel followed. Dean took them down another flight of stairs until they were standing in the middle of the dungeon.

"You don't know what's been going on," Cas reminded him. As if Dean needed reminding. No shit he didn't know what had been going on. Neither did he care about that right now; his top priority was talking to that Scottish prick he left in a church all those years ago. Two minutes later, a pentagram was drawn in white chalk and the candles had been lit.

"I can't lose them," Dean said, more to himself than Cas, as he cut into his forearm, holding the pocketknife extra tight to keep it steady. The blossom of pain centered him and he became hyper-aware of everything around him. The dankness of the walls, which had always been slightly damp. The way Cas was watching him from only a few feet away, looking at Dean as if he were a disobedient dog. The feeling of Dean's own thundering heart pounding in his chest.

Castiel said nothing; it was not his place anymore to interfere in the actions of humans. Why he was even still here was a mystery. Well, not such a difficult one that he couldn't figure out the answer a second after he pondered the question. He owed Dean Winchester, would always owe Dean Winchester. That was why he was here. But he didn't have to be happy about it.

"Et ad congregandum...eos coram me."

At first nothing happened and Dean started going over the ingredient list in his head but he had done this more than once, even if it had been years. Summoning rituals were etched into his brain even more solidly than the multiplication tables Sam used to quiz him on when they were children. Footsteps came from overhead and Dean hoped that it was Kevin walking around and not Rebecca but he couldn't exactly go check because at that moment, a cloud of dark smoke appeared and Crowley stepped out of it.

The King of Hell looked a little worse for wear. His black suit was dirty; there were obvious stains on the front and dripping to the sleeves. The seam near one of the shoulders was ripped; a black undershirt was peeking through. Never did Dean think he would have been subject to the King of Hell's undershirt preference. Most astonishing was the purple and black bruise on Crowley's cheek, the one that sat just above his fat lip. He stared at Dean for a solid minute before opening his mouth.

"Squirrel," he said somewhat pleasantly, the words slightly slurred by his injuries. "Long time no see. Very long time, if I'm remembering correctly."

"I need to know what's going on," Dean said. Crowley blinked.

"No need to be rude. We haven't seen each other in a good…how many years is it now?" Dean didn't know and he wasn't going to waste the time doing the math. Crowley did it for him.

"Almost nine I think. Next year will be ten. Shall we have a reunion then too?"

"I don't have time for small talk," Dean growled. He could still hear his daughter's voice over the phone, small and frightened. They had kidnapped his little girl and then taken her from her mother. Taken Liz God knows where. Someone had to pay and soon or else Dean was going to flip at the nearest living thing. Or dead thing. He didn't really care.

"I'm sorry about Moose," Crowley went on, ignoring Dean's demand. "I didn't even get a chance to pay my respects before your angel whisked him out from under my nose. I trust he's doing well?"

"He's dead," Dean said blankly, thrown off guard for a second. Crowley narrowed his eyes and smiled.

"That doesn't mean you two haven't been having a chat, does it?" Dean couldn't help it; he glanced behind him to Cas. But the angel was staring hard at the other end of the room, purposefully ignoring what was going on in front of him.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do. You've got little Sammy locked away in that thick skull of yours, haven't you? No need to be shy about it. Go on then and tell me how you did it."

"Did what?" Crowley gave a dramatic sigh.

"Fine. Don't tell me your secrets. But darling, next time you talk to him, tell him to take it down a notch or else every demon you walk in front of is going to be able to tell you're hosting a spirit in your head. And that's not going to end well for you." Dean glared at the demon, who brushed at the dirt on his suit, looking more than slightly peeved when he discovered the tear.

"Bollocks. This was a new jacket too."

"Call off your demons!" Dean's voice rose so that his words echoed around the dungeon and Crowley looked up.

"What demons?"

"You know which ones."

"Ah, yes, those ones. I do know them. But I can't call them off."

"Why not?"

"They're not mine."

"What do you mean? You run Hell. Every demon is yours."

"Wrong," Crowley said, switching his gaze to Cas for the first time. "Cas buddy, have you not told him?"

"Told me what?" Dean asked, looking between the angel and demon.

"I tried," Cas said, sounding bored. "He didn't listen." Then the angel shrugged. Not my problem, he seemed to insinuate.

"Hmm," Crowley said. "This is going to be fun then. Because I know you something you do not, Squirrel."

Obviously, Dean thought, but didn't say anything. The way with Crowley was to let him talk himself out, although Dean could be here all night if it went that route.

"Things have changed a bit since you've been around."

"So what?" Dean couldn't resist asking. The anger was building in him again, drenching him in a hot feeling that spread through his veins. He wanted to do something. No, he wanted to kill something. Now.

"So what?" Crowley repeated incredulously. "So what is that you've missed a bloody lot."

"Clue me in or I'm dousing your ass in holy water," Dean said.

"There's a bit of a war going on at the present moment," Crowley said, sweeping a hand over his stout figure. "As you can see, I was in the middle of it before you dragged me topside."

"A war in Hell? What is there to fight over? Everyone's already dead." Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Have you gotten even more stupid? Ah, I forgot you're a house-husband now. That would dumb anyone down."

"What war? Whose fighting?"

"Well, me. Would you like a button to wear? I just had made them up."

"Crowley, I swear if you don't start talking…" The look on Dean's face was so serious and fierce that Crowley actually reconsidered his taunting and held up his hands in defense. He'd forgotten how dangerous a Winchester could be. Stupid, but dangerous all the same.

"Alright, alright. There's a certain someone – or someones – who think it would be good fun to unseat me from Hell."

"Who?" barked Dean.

"Most of them are non-players," Crowley said. "Small, insignificant demons. Except for one."

"Don't make me ask again," Dean threatened.

"His name is Beelzebub," Crowley said and nodded his head when he saw recognition in Dean's eyes. "So you've heard of him?"

"He has something to do with Lucifer, right?" Crowley considered this and then slowly nodded again.

"You could think of that way. Think of him as Lucifer's older brother."

"That's Michael."

"Lucifer has more than one brother," Crowley said, exasperated. "Stay with me, Squirrel."

"So Lucifer's older brother is trying to steal Hell from you."

"That sums it up rather nicely."

"And those are his demons that have my wife and daughter?"

"I believe so." Dean thought for a moment, pacing the room. Cas had backed himself into a corner and was still looking overly bored. Dean half-expected the angel to start picking at his fingernails the way Rebecca did when she was deliberately ignoring Dean. The two of them made quite the pair. "Can I go now?" Crowley said after a couple minutes of silence. "As we have discussed, I am indeed in the middle of a war."

"No," Dean spat. More footsteps came from upstairs and he wanted to gouge the demon's eyes out when his gaze flickered to the ceiling. Crowley cocked his head.

"You've got another little one up there, haven't you? I can smell her."

"Shut up." But Crowley had struck a nerve and he knew it; it delighted him to see Dean Winchester squirm and oh was he squirming. For some reason, the Hunter had grown attached to this particular human.

"Can I meet her? We could have a cup of tea." A spray of holy water hit Crowley in the face but he smiled as his skin bubbled and then healed. The pain was worth it; antagonizing Dean had always been a favorite game of Crowley's and now he had a whole new level of leverage. There really was no reason for helping the Hunter out at all…except that Crowley wasn't doing so great downstairs and to have a Winchester on his side… Not only a Winchester but the Winchester, the only one left, the previous vessel to Michael. That might come in handy. So Crowley was playing along, for the most part.

"Did you know about this?" Dean asked the angel in the corner. Cas lifted his head and sighed.

"I tried to tell you."

"What? Ten minutes ago? You could have told me sooner. What is going on with you, Cas?"

"I'm not your toy," Castiel snapped and Dean reared back on his heels. The angel gave him a glaring look and vanished, taking with him any sense of solidarity Dean had previously felt. What was that about? Since when did Dean treat Cas like a toy? He hadn't seen the guy in ages, hadn't seen him for more than a few minutes in years.

"Ahem," Crowley gave a polite cough and Dean spun around, the flask of holy water raised. "Let's play a game," Crowley said. "I'll give you a hint about Beelzebub."

"Why would you do that?"

"I'm not on great terms with the guy. If there is a chance you could help knock him down a peg that would be most helpful. Of course, you'll probably die in the process but it can't hurt to try. Right?" Dean glowered. He didn't like the idea of helping Crowley; there wasn't a single molecule in Dean's body that trusted the demon standing before him. For all he knew, Crowley could be deliberately feeding him to this Beelzebub. Then again, what else did Dean have to go on? Nothing.

"Dean?" Rebecca's voice came from above and Dean's whole body tensed. He was not letting her anywhere near Crowley.

"What do you want from me?" Dean asked because he knew there was always a price when it came to making a deal.

"Nothing. Yet." Dean shook his head.

"No. I'm not making some blind deal with you."

"Then I guess we're in a stalemate, are we not?"

"Dean!" She was closer this time; Dean had to make a decision. His jaw clenched as his teeth ground together. What would Sam do? Sam would never trust Crowley. God, he wished his brother was standing next to him; these choices had been so much easier to make when there were two of them. Hunting without Sam felt so off, like Dean was missing a limb or vital organ. It would take a while to regain a new sense of balance.

The door to the dungeon opened.

"Dean? Are you down there?"

"Stay put, Rebecca," he shouted. "I'll be right up."

"What's it going to be?" Crowley said softly, he himself watching the stairs.

"Fine," Dean said. "Give me the hint."

"We have a deal?"

"Yes, we have a deal." Crowley spent a second eyeing him up and down but then he smiled again, one that had chills creeping up Dean's spine.

"Flies."

"What?"

"That's your hint. Flies."

"As in wings?" Crowley shook his head.

"I told you the hint, now let me out. A deal is a deal."

"I'm coming down!"

"Rebecca, no!" Dean rubbed at the chalk line on the floor with his shoe and Crowley stepped forward, leaning uncomfortably close, stretching onto his tiptoes to place his lips next to Dean's ear.

"Right back in the thick of it, aren't you?" Crowley said quietly to Dean. "You've got a dead brother in your head, a family being held hostage, and your pet angel has turned feral. I'd get yourself under control before you fall apart, Dean Winchester. Because it won't be long."


A/N: Thoughts?