A/N: Hey everyone, Happy New Year! Welcome to 2014. Hoard toilet paper. Watch out for Croatoan outbreaks.

Five more days until I'm officially an adult. That doesn't bode well for anyone.

As I was writing this chapter I finally realised why people used to review asking if this was going to be a Harry/Crowley story. My apologies. They seem to have developed a strange bromance while I wasn't watching.


Chapter 28 – Demons: In the flesh and of the heart:

Standing outside of the Winchester's motel room in the morning sun – however drab the weather may have been – Harry still wasn't sure if going inside was the best choice of action. He knew Dean was gone, having seen him hop into the Impala and drive off about half an hour ago from his own room – to see that woman again he guessed, and to see if that Ben kid was doing okay after being kidnapped by the real estate lady turned changeling.

It was just… yesterday had been awkward, and there had been no time to talk it out, or try and explain it, and he wasn't sure if he even wanted to bring it up again or just try and forget it had happened at all. It wasn't as though he'd managed to do anything except embarrass himself anyway, and it just wasn't productive to their whole 'breaking a demon deal' thing to have that sort of weirdness floating around between them.

In fact, it would probably be for the best if he turned around and went back to his own room to hide out until it was time for them to leave. It would leave no time for confrontations, and he could suss out a way to filter himself on his own to try and prevent it from happening again.

Good plan, he decided, nodding to himself. Now if only he could convince his feet to move.

The door swung open before he could get his body to obey him, revealing Sam's bemused face. He appeared half amused by Harry's predicament and half confused by it. Understandable, he supposed.

"You hover long enough and someone might just call the police," he joked, taking in the conflicted look on Harry's face and opening the door wider. "If you don't want to talk that's fine, but at least come inside."

Pulling his gaze away from studying the grain of the wooden door Harry allowed himself to be ushered inside, averting his eyes from Sam's face and once again taking a seat on Dean's bed. Sam locked the door behind him and dropped into one of the dining chairs, one situated between the bed and the table. He wrapped his fingers around the tall glass of water situated on the table, idly tapping on the cold clear surface. It was the tapping that eventually caught Harry's attention enough for him to look up and finally take a proper look at Sam.

"You look like shit," he mumbled, not sure whether or not he should be surprised about it. "Did you sleep at all last night?" One night without sleep wasn't necessarily detrimental to a hunter, but it was a continuation of a long string of days with extremely little sleep, and even one hour of sleep would have been a blessing at this point, both for Harry's state of mind and for Sam's body.

His only immediate response was a blank stare before Sam shook his head, taking a sip of water and gesturing to the room at large. It was only then that Harry noticed the scattered papers, the pictures, the scribbled notes and crumpled scraps. Apparently Sam had had a busy night while Dean slept.

"Sam…" All thoughts of yesterday's incident flew from the forefront of his mind as he really, really took in Sam's bedraggled appearance. "The case is closed, right? What were you doing?"

Sam frowned softly, tilting his head back against the chair. It was all very unnerving. Harry shifted hesitantly on the bed, kicking his shoes off and crossing his legs. He then uncrossed them, then knelt on the mattress, sitting on his feet. Finally he crossed his legs in front of him like a primary school kid sitting on the mat and leaned forward, hands resting on his knees.

"Sam."

"I had to check, okay? I wanted to, I don't know, prove her wrong. But she was right Harry. They're dead. Everyone."

The haunted look on his face made it difficult for Harry to process and actually understand what Sam was talking about. All he wanted was for him to stop looking so depressed, so put-out, but as much as it might have hurt seeing it he wasn't about to put himself out on the line, not yet, not now. It wasn't a good time.

"Strategic truths are a demon's best friend," Harry replied quietly. There was no point in platitudes. Yes, he could say he was sorry, but he'd learned a long time ago that those words were an empty, cold comfort. It would only mean something if it came from the person responsible, and even then it was too late to do anything about it. He could also tell Sam that the demon would have wanted to unnerve him, upset him – that he was playing into her hands – but he could understand the need to know, the need to be sure.

"What I want to know," Sam began, sitting up straighter, "Is how she knew about it."

On any given day Harry would generally make it his business to dissuade people from interacting with demons, especially on purpose, but today was not one of those days. Today it was probably necessary. Plus, if their lunchtime meeting was anything to go by, Sam was more likely to kill her than she was to kill him. She had seemed… interested in him, and though normally that was a bad thing, he'd let it slide for now. Just this once.

"Okay then," Harry easily acquiesced. "We'll ask her." How, he wasn't sure. They didn't have a name with which to summon her, and no name meant he couldn't ask Crowley to track her down either. They'd just have to hope she showed up on her own.

"No Harry, we need to- Wait, what? You're okay with it?" Sam was staring at him with that special sort of 'are you crazy' disbelief he generally saved for Dean. Considering that whole tense 'I made a deal with a demon' talk several weeks back it wasn't surprising that his compliance would come as a shock.

Nodding his head Harry leaned back a little on the bed as Sam leaned forward in his chair.

"I can understand why you'd want to talk to her."

He tapped his fingers on his knee, drumming out nonsense messages in the modified morse-code he and Hermione had developed for discussing sensitive topics around Ron.

"I just don't know how we're going to talk to her."

Sam had no answer for him, and they elapsed into silence again.

"Hey," Sam said suddenly, maybe five minutes later, when Harry had started humming awkwardly to himself again. "You never did explain the whole Peverell/Potter thing."

"Oh." Harry stopped humming, flexing his fingers and observing Sam. It was honest curiosity, and perhaps a desperate bid for a topic of conversation that wasn't the demon or Dean or the changeling. "It's not a very interesting story." But he didn't refuse to explain either. He probably should have made a note to do it sooner, after the Auror situation, but it had slipped his mind with everything else that was happening.

Harry straightened his legs, hanging them off the edge of the bed so his feet were on the floor.

"Harry James Potter. That's my birth name. Officially now it's Potter-Black, because my god-father made me his heir before he died. Peverell is a name I remember reading on a gravestone in the cemetery where my parents are buried. I needed a new name. A new identity. It didn't have to be drastically different – I didn't bother changing my appearance. All I did was associate myself with a name that wasn't Harry Potter. As long as I think of myself as Harry Peverell, and not Harry Potter, then I'm in the clear. It was enough to trick the tracking spells at any rate, because here I am, safe and sound from the British Ministry. I didn't want to take the chance of being found and dragged back to England, to be used as some puppet. I don't want hero worship for doing my damned job."

It was weird, talking about this sort of thing. Sam didn't know the whole of it, the enormity of what was being said, what he was admitting. He was a Lord twice over, though thankfully only in the Magical Community, and he wasn't ashamed to admit that he was perhaps running away from his duties as well as everything else back in Britain.

"Don't you miss it there sometimes though?" Sam asked curiously, resting his chin on his interlocked fingers as he listened.

"I had – have, I suppose – a rather complicated relationship with Britain." Harry smiled wryly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm honestly better off without them, and the greater public is better off without worrying about me all the time. There are a few people I miss from time to time – Hermione and Ron, they were my best friends at school; Fred and George, or Gred and Forge, Ron's older twin brothers. I miss my god-father most, but as I've said, he's dead now, so it doesn't matter where I am, I still wouldn't be able to see him. His best friend though, I feel bad for abandoning him sometimes. I was all he had left of my dad, who was one of his only friends.

On the other hand, there are people I certainly don't miss. The Minister for Magic, for one. He was a cowardly bastard if I ever met one. Staying in power was more important to him than fighting the threat that was right in front of his nose. There were bullies at school, but they were… inconsequential. A small irritant. Then in the summer there was my Aunt and Uncle. They were by no means good guardians, but I don't blame them so much for it any more. They knew what I was – the magic – from the moment I was unceremoniously dumped on their front doorstep one morning in early November, and they were scared of it. I wouldn't be surprised if they took my mysterious disappearance to completely erase me from their lives. I also wouldn't blame them if they did."

Sighing heavily he tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling. It was a strange and confusing feeling, talking about his life after so many years of more or less ignoring it. Ellen didn't know anything about his Aunt and Uncle, in fact she didn't even know his parents were dead. It wasn't something you just threw into casual conversation after all. Sam now knew more about him than anyone this side of the Atlantic. The knowledge was a heavy one.

The mattress dipped beside him as Sam moved, coming to sit with him on the bed. Their arms pressed together, but neither made to shift away.

"Life sucks," Sam proclaimed, as though he were announcing the cure for cancer. Startled, Harry laughed, and once he started he couldn't stop. At some point during his laughing fit Sam joined him, the complete absurdity of the situation bringing him along for the ride. They collapsed back on the bed, still laughing, although they were beginning to get breathless. It was just so ridiculously refreshing to have someone make light of all the crap in his life like that, and someone who had been through their fair share of their own crap at that.

They stared at each other, basking in the warm glow for as long as it would let them, pretending for a moment that maybe their lives didn't suck.

It was then rudely interrupted by an amused throat-clearing cough.

Sam leapt off the bed as though burnt, spinning to face their uninvited guest. If the subtle nausea wasn't enough to tell Harry who it was, the oddly smug laughter and Sam's stiff posture was information enough. Their little demon friend was back.

"That was cute. Really heartfelt. Mr Racist over there is pretty infatuated with you Sammy, isn't it just the most pitiful thing you've ever seen?" She laughed again, and it turned Harry's stomach. This was not how he had envisioned his day going when he left his motel room that morning. Sam threw a quick glance over his shoulder at Harry, eyes full of hopeless confusion, before they hardened as he turned back to her.

"How did you know about all those people?" Sam demanded, fists clenched at his sides. There was nothing Harry could do, he had no right to interfere, so he sat silently on the bed, wondering if it would be better if he just left.

"It's common knowledge in certain circles." She pushed her blonde hair behind her ear and stared them down. She wouldn't have been so direct, he could see it in her eyes, but whatever cover she had planned to use had already been blown, so she didn't have much to work with anymore.

"And what circles would those be?"

She rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Certain circles of Hell, alright? Happy?"

"Why did they have to die?"

Sam wasn't giving her any space, the moment she stopped being useful she was gone, he could see it in the way he stood.

"I don't know exactly, okay? All I know, is that they were cleaning up all the loose ends caused by whatever the Yellow Eyed Demon did to you." She folded her arms aggressively across her chest. If Harry wasn't feeling so tense he might have laughed. She didn't know anything, not really. She was pushing for things, hoping for an in that she wouldn't be able to procure.

"Sam, she doesn't know anything. She's grasping at straws."

"I know."

It was only once they voiced their thoughts that she began showing her own apprehension. Her jaw clenched and her fingers tightened on her sleeve.

"I think you should leave, before Mr Racist over here gets it in his head to kill you," Sam warned, jerking his head in Harry's direction. She followed the motion, sneering at Harry, her disgust and disbelief clear as day.

Shaking his head Harry stared at her, face entirely blank of all emotion. "I'm Crowley's pet, remember? Do you really want to test me?"

It would seem she didn't, because suddenly she was gone.

He never had figured out the logistics of demon travel.

Except with the demon gone, it was just the two of them again, and it looked like they were going to have to have that conversation now.

Running a shaking hand through his hair Sam turned and sat down on his own bed, facing Harry.

"Strategic truths. That's what you said. So does that mean you really are… you know…"

"Infatuated?" Blushing Harry looked away, thinking it over. "I wouldn't know. And before you go asking how I could possibly not know, remember what I said before. My Aunt and Uncle weren't exactly great people. I lived with them for fifteen years of my life. So while I might know, intellectually, what the word means, I don't know what infatuation is, not really."

"Damn, you're just as bad as Dean. I swear I'm surrounded by emotionally stunted people."

"Hey! I object to that. At least I'm not afraid to talk about it. Dean would just tell you to piss off."

"That's true." Sam tapped Harry's knee and he turned back to face him. "I'm not exactly sure what to do about this though."

"Neither do I. But listen, Sam. I trust you, more than I've trusted anyone in a long while, and that's not likely to change anytime soon. Whatever happens, happens. Whatever has happened, it's in the past. Just don't kick me curb-side, because I don't think that would be good for my health."

"Yeah… Yeah, alright man. We'll see."

Sam stood up, moving over to the kitchenette and grabbing a beer, popping the top before retaking his original seat at the table. Glancing over at the clock on the wall Harry repositioned himself on the bed, stretching out his legs and willing feeling back into his feet.

"How much longer do you think Dean will be out for?"

"Hmm? Dean? I wouldn't have a clue. Depends what he's doing I guess."

"Right..."

Harry frowned at the ceiling. He wanted to talk with Crowley, had been meaning to for a while now, but he didn't want Dean to see Crowley. It would be a sort of last-straw scenario, walking in on that sort of thing, and Dean would probably lash out at him again.

"There's someone I need to talk to, but I think it would be safer to do it in my room. I don't mind if you come with me, it's just Dean I'm worried about."

Sam glanced at him over the top of his beer, eyebrows furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"Crowley."

His previous words echoed silently between them.

I'm Crowley's pet, remember? Do you really want to test me?

"Crowley's a demon." It wasn't a question, and Harry knew Sam didn't need an answer. All the tension came rushing back tenfold. Harry was putting himself on the line here, letting Sam know that he was still in contact with his contractor demon.

"I've been meaning to talk to him about the intricacies of crossroads deals."

"Do you think he knows something?"

"Perhaps. He's a businessman though. I'm not sure what he'll say."

Silence.

Harry remained seated where he was, watching the cogs turn in Sam's brain.

"I want to hear what he says."

Agreement then. Harry could work with that. He hoped.


Sam stood with his back against the door to Harry's motel room, arms folded across his chest, expression unreadable. Harry sat on the spare bed, cellphone in hand.

"There are more exciting ways to get him here, but I'm not really in the mood for pomp and rituals," he explained, dialling 666 and waiting for it to connect.

"Well hello pet, I thought you'd gone and forgotten all about little old me. You off gallivanting about with the Winchesters. Did they get bored of you? Throw you to the hounds?"

Yeah, Harry was really regretting putting his phone on speaker, though the look on Sam's face was priceless. He kind of wished he had a camera.

"No, no, I'm still in one piece, believe it or not. We need to talk. Meet me in my room at Cicero Pines Motel, now."

"How now darling, no need to be bossy."

The line went dead. Rolling his eyes Harry chucked his phone onto the mattress behind him and waited, tapping out the seconds on his leg.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eig-

"Well this is a surprise."

And there he was.

"If you're trying to have me killed then I'm offended. I thought we were on better terms than that."

It was playful, joking, but the strange thing was there was an undertone of true hurt to the statement. Stranger still was Harry could understand why. They weren't friends by any means, but it wasn't as though they were constantly trying to kill one another, and, believe it or not, he had learnt a thing or two from the old demon. The hurt was justified.

"Sam's just here to listen and observe, no one's going to be killing anyone." Harry stared pointedly at Sam until he nodded in agreement, purely for Crowley's benefit. Being that it wasn't a summoning he had no true obligation to be there at all. Best not to make him leave before they had some answers.

"It's not a social call then? Shame. I was thinking of introducing you to some of the hellhounds."

Okay… Harry pushed that to the back of his mind and made a note to dwell on it later.

"I know you're not the King you claim to be," Harry told him straight out, not pulling any punches. "I want to know who the real ruler is."

Crowley's carefree demeanour dropped immediately, scowl darkening his features.

"How'd you figure it out?"

"Observation mostly. I've encountered my fair share of demons, after all. Some fear you, others despise you. The demon we dealt with for Sam's soul? She downright mocked you. If you were truly their King she wouldn't dare. But you don't really care about that. The fact that you're confident enough to call yourself King means that whoever the true top dog is is either indifferent or reclusive, exclusive. They don't care enough to stop you claiming their title. Who is it?"

Crowley glared at him and Harry sighed, pointing towards the small fridge. He always carried one bottle of hard liquor with him wherever he went, just in case of this sort of thing. Crowley sure took his sweet time about it too. It was making Sam antsy.

"Lilith holds the contracts," he said eventually, standing by the counter and holding a glass of scotch.

"All of the contracts?" Harry asked curiously, because if this Lilith character had all of them then how on Earth had Crowley gone about rewriting all the rules in his?

"Well, 99% of them, about. I try and hold on to the really interesting ones." The implications there were heavy, but already known. Crowley hadn't exactly been quiet about making his interest known all those years ago when they first met. In fact, Harry broke the Statute quite often during their little meetings, working with the demon to figure out how the Wizards had hidden themselves from demon lore.

It was a weird working relationship.

"But this Lilith, she has Dean's contract?"

"It's the only other place it could be, because I'd remember handling a Winchester's deal, and I'm afraid I haven't yet had the pleasure."

"Okay… Well, thank you."

And now Sam was looking at him like he was insane, because yes, he had just thanked a demon for its help. As twisted as it was, and as much as he often hated him, Harry did owe Crowley quite a bit. The least he could do was keep a civil tongue when speaking with him.

"Pleasure. Shall I go now, before I get in the middle of your little domestic dispute?"

One of Harry's shoes hit the wall where Crowley's head had been, but the demon was already gone.

Why did he have to have such a weird demon contact? It couldn't have been someone more cut and dry, like the bloodthirsty thing that had possessed Dragomir?

Businessmen. A perfect way to develop a migraine.

"Research Lilith. That's first priority for now. Dean will probably be back soon, you should go back to your room."

Harry was no longer interested in talking, at all. It was a dismissal, and a blatant one. Sam didn't say a word, slipping out the door and shutting it heavily behind him.

Fuck.

Harry had been hoping he was wrong, that Crowley really was the King, and then he could just convince the man to change the contract.

Of course it wasn't that simple.