You have no idea how hard it is to ignore YouTube. It's CALLING my name, but I must RESIST! Ugh! It's practically painful!
Disclaimer: I tried to entice them all with chocolate, but only some tall kid named Jared showed up.
Then:
"Lovely, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumber."
"Who are you calling Tweedle Dee? Do I look like a fat kid in a striped jumpsuit to you?"
"Dean, I'm not positive, but I'm not sure this qualifies as playing nice."
"Shut it, Sam."
Now:
"Wait. There's something not right here." Crowley lifted an index finger for quiet and surprisingly the hunters all became quiet. He cast his eyes about the room, listening for something unheard. Dean subconsciously began to mimic Crowley's movements, wide eyes looking, sharp ears listening for the unseen danger that the demon was hunting for and then jumped when Crowley spoke again. "No devils trap? Are you bumpkins losing your touch? Or have you all just got a death wish?"
"No death wish," Bobby stated brusquely with a confident smile. "We're callin' a business meeting and we'd like you to join us. Have a seat," indicating towards the kitchen, he was followed by Dean and Sam. With nowhere else to go and his interest piqued, Crowley was quick to follow.
"You do know that I am a busy man?"
"We're aware. We'll make it worth your while." Bobby took four glasses down out of the cupboard, eyeing them for cleanliness before setting them on the kitchen table. "Sam?"
"Right." Sam pulled a paper bag off the counter and presented it to Crowley as he entered the room.
"What's this?" He took the bag cautiously and peered inside. There was a moment's hesitation felt throughout the room and then Crowley's eyes lit up in delight. He reached into the brown paper and pulled a shiny new bottle of Craig brand Scotch from within. "Aw, Love. You remembered," he gushed. "Does this mean we're going steady?"
Bobby rolled his eyes and smacked Dean across the chest when the younger man openly bit back a laugh.
"Shall we call this meeting to order?" Crowley took a seat at the table, cracking open the bottle label and spinning the cap loose. He poured himself a dram and lifted the glass to his nose, eyes closing in bliss and then pressed the glass to his lips. "Mmm, nicely aged," he purred. "This set you back a few quid, so what is it that you want, Gentlemen?"
Sam came to the table, sitting opposite of Crowley. "May I?" he asked indicating the bottle. Crowley nodded his agreement and watched as Sam also poured two fingers into a glass. He set the bottle down and lifted his drink, following Crowley's lead in his first taste of the pale golden whiskey.
"Out with it, Longlegs," Crowley said after a moment. "What is it that you want? I've got a lower dimension to run. Things tend to, excuse the pun, go to Hell quickly without me there."
Sam set his glass down and straightened into his full seated height, all business. "Fine. I'll be quick. We'd like to discuss my soul." Dean was quick to notice Sam's choice of words; 'we' rather than 'I' and he frowned at his brother's back. He's still just going through the motions.
"I only make deals now on Mondays and every other Friday. Sorry, chum."
"Not looking for a deal." Sam rested his arms on the table, hands clasped quietly together. His eyes suddenly dark with intent and his voice was deathly still. A lesser man might have trembled beneath the weight of all that silence. Crowley however leaned forward in curiosity, interested to find out where the young hunter was taking this 'meeting'. "Besides, you already know that I have nothing left to deal with. Right?"
Crowley gave a knowing leer. He leaned back in his chair, amused. "Tell me if I've got this right." He looked first to Dean who was leaning against the kitchen sink. "Wasn't you that figured this out, because he's," pointing back to Sam, "the brains of this operation. Wasn't Sam because as educated as he might be, there's no one home to tell him there is a problem. Sure wasn't Bobby. Bobby's had his own soul problems to deal with. Thank you very much for that, by the way. I've been meaning to go back home for a while, visit my old stomping grounds. So that just leaves the missing member of this sad little quartet. How is your pet angel, Dean? I hear there's a bit of discord up there that he's having to attend to. I can certainly relate…in my own way."
Bobby put a steadying hand in the crook of Dean's arm to reign in the boy's anger. No use blowing this 'mission' in the first five minutes. A sideways glance from Dean found Bobby conveying silent orders to 'calm down and play nice'. Dean closed his eyes, took a few contemplative breaths and then moved into action. He grabbed a chair, spun it around before straddling it backwards to sit between his brother and the crossroads demon. Without asking permission, he helped himself to a glass of Scotch, threw it back in one large gulp to the horror and disgust of Crowley. Then wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve, forever sealing the demon's bad opinion of him.
"Fergus. Can I call you Fergus?"
"Must you?"
"Fergus, let's pretend we're friends." He crossed his arms around the back of the chair and leveled a serious look of concern at his new friend. "I understand that things have been a tense downstairs and I feel your pain. It can't be easy, taking all that responsibility on by yourself. I'd like to help. We'd like to help," Dean's hand making a circling motion to include both Bobby and Sam. Crowley was uncertain whether he should feel amused or annoyed. He drained his glass and reached for a refill and decided to be amused. He even refreshed both Sam and Dean's drinks and served up a healthy dram for Bobby, offering it with a slight nod.
"What exactly are you proposing?"
Sam watched his brother, curiously. Wondering why he was taking such left handed turn away from the issue of Sam's soul. Dean had always been the straight shooter and was more likely to knock you sideways with truth than to handle you with kid gloves. So why the soft touch now? Then it occurred to Sam. Dean was over compensating for Sam's loss. Doing a miserable job at it, but trying all the same. Sam's eyes softened just a bit as he watched Dean heartily negotiate the terms of his proposition, but was suddenly brought back to the present by those same negotiations.
"We'll handle your topside issues for you. Like…'Hunters for Hire'."