Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. Duh. A.N. Happy Birthday, my dear OldPingHai! Many, many, many happy returns. Hope you will like this. I tried to tuck most of the angst out of sight instead of giving it front and center 90% of the time, but I'm not sure I managed. Trigger warning: Suicide attempt, we don't delve in the mindset of the person trying and he doesn't succeed, but take care of yourself.
Sam hit a dog
"You got what you wanted – Dick's dead, saved the world. So I want one little prophet. Sorry, moose. Wish I could help. You certainly got a lot on your plate right now. It looks like you are well and truly... on your own. Well, for work, that is. I have my own to attend to. For pleasure... You know how to contact me," Crowley said, disappearing with a last wink.
Sam did. And he'd even had a taste of what Crowley could offer. It had been a very on-off...well, not relationship. Entertainment? But while he'd been soulless, and working for Crowley...if they were both in the mood (honestly, it was more of a 'when weren't they'), their schedules aligned, and there wasn't any hindrance (like a certain brother around), they'd play.
It had all petered out after Sam was back to himself. Crowley wasn't sure if it was because he'd forgotten, because he'd deemed it an indiscretion better disregarded, or some other reason. He'd joined in the lack of acknowledgement, because if he did, that'd officially make him an ex. And while he couldn't feel a legit curse on the man...reminding the universe that he'd fucked Sam Winchester seemed like a bad move. Because the universe would be the next to fuck you over, and – 9 out of ten times – make sure you didn't live long enough to boast about it. Maybe that was why moose was so big. Direct tie to the whole bloody universe. Might be something to investigate... when he had free time.
In the meantime... Yes, yes, there was the prophet to handle (that could be its own kind of fun), and the ordinary hell management (so damned dull) and all the other chances of fun up and downstairs. But if he – covertly, of course – kept an eye on Sam, well. That was just common sense. You never knew what the Winchesters would come up with at any given time. Just because they mostly put things right, it didn't mean that you could assume they wouldn't, once again, mess them up in the first place.
Of all the stupid things... What was Sam thinking? And what was Crowley doing, rushing to the rescue? Fine, he'd checked on the situation in the middle of a bureaucratic meeting, hoping for any excuse to get out of it. He still maintained that there was nothing worse than being bored out of one's skull. Being quartered at least let you bet on which horse would get you first.
One'd think that the man wouldn't do this...or at least not like that, if only for the car. Because if the other one managed to ever come back (and you could never put anything past a Winchester) being already dead might not be protection enough against Dean's ire over it being wrecked.
Literally throwing oneself off a cliff, car and all? Crowley shook his head. As if he didn't have other options. Well, whatever the reason, Crowley wouldn't let it happen. (Both for Sam and, you know, just in case the other one popped round and blamed him. Or at least that's what he'd tell himself later.)
Crowley's first instinct was to try and stop it. Only the car was demon-proofed (he should have known, really) and didn't seem to react to his will. Crowley hadn't even done it on purpose, but he'd never happier for Juliet following him along. His best girl had been napping at his feet, no doubt hoping that someone would annoy him enough to be demoted to the rank of snack, and he'd been so shocked he didn't tell her to stay.
Whether she sensed his distress, or just because, hey, something was running, which meant giving chase, he didn't know. But she bounded towards the car, and then hit it with her whole weight, powerful shoulders managing to derail the speeding car's course. The Impala swerved, almost pointing in the opposite direction, and Juliet yelped in pain. The car stopped with a loud screeching from the brakes, and a pale moose got out.
"What the..." Before he could end that sentence, Juliet whined again. The (currently) pitiful thing had a paw run over, and some blood was darkening the asphalt. He might not be able to see her, but he saw that.
Crowley huffed, "Don't worry for the car. I have the best insurance. Whatever damage Juliet might have done, I'm gonna get it fixed. By humans."
"No, no, that's not, I didn't mean to – to hurt anyone..." He might not get around to the 'else', but it wasn't like it wasn't loud and clear anyway.
Crowley scratched behind her ear, and told himself that doing the same to him, no matter how tempting, was not (yet) a good idea. "Don't worry about her. She's had worse. An extra meal or three, and she'll be like new. Go find Guthrie, baby girl." The man would get her the tastiest treat they had at hand, and fuss over her to boot. In private, because it wouldn't do to be seen. Crowley wouldn't admit it, but she'd picked his personal valet for him. Why not get double the attention? She disappeared obediently, in a puff of sulfur and tail wags.
The stricken look was still on Sam's face, and while it wasn't for Juliet, Crowley wouldn't discount that she'd compounded it. He would wonder why Lucifer ever thought he'd fit within such a bleeding heart, if he didn't know that the fallen angel was the first breeder. Juliet was a gal with a pedigree. "Anyway, why didn't you call me?" he said, instead.
"Why would I?"
"Well, you're very much not working. So. If you need a holiday...What made you think you are the only one?"
That was very much not what the boy had in mind. But he wasn't about to admit it to Crowley, of all people. As if it'd make a difference in the demon king's ability to use what he'd learned.
"Shut up." It was half growled, and it should be his cue to go back. But that would mean being faced with bureaucracy, again, so thanks but no thanks. Besides, the good thing about being a demon was that you didn't need anyone's permission for a thing anymore. It was a bit more reckless than Crowley would usually be, but if he bowed now, he had a feeling Sam would just find another way. And he might end up out of Crowley's clutches forever. Like hell he was going to let that happen.
So, instead, he walked up to Sam – keeping an eye out, in case he has the demon knife at hand, and a bad enough mood to use it – grabbed him by the wrist, and teleported them away.
They reappeared in a little cove by the sea. The air was heavy with the smell of the nearby cedar forest mixed with iodine and salt; it annoyed him, a bit, but no more than too much spice might a person, and there were other benefits he was looking forward to. The white, fine sand cracked gently under their shoes, and the waves' breathing was welcoming.
They were out of sight of anyone else who might be around, and he hoped it'd be enough for them to pretend they were alone. He had a feeling that disappearing all the other beach-goers, or even just striking them with the sudden urge to disappear, would not endear him to his companion.
"Where are we?"
"Take a guess, moose." Crowley grinned up at him.
"...Hawaii?"
"Nope. Naxos, Cyclades. The Mediterranean is lovely, don't you think? Even if – we're definitely overdressed." Perk number one. A moment, and Crowley was in designer swimwear. Sure, he might not have the beach body people aim for these days, but he wasn't too worried about it. It might have taken him a few centuries, but he'd learned that it's not the body, it's the genius that counts. And he was creative.
"Greece?" Sam sounded incredulous.
"Well, if you prefer Japan, or New Zealand, or somewhere else, let me know. But I wanted to show you somewhere you haven't seen yet, which means the States were mostly out. Might as well exploit one's abilities. Self-restraint is not for holidays. "
The hunter shook his head. No need to move, then. Crowley wondered if he got the allusion, or if he was still too upset to bother. Ariadne, Minoan princess, helped Theseus hunt down a monster. He brought her along, then dumped her in this island. According to one version of the myth, she hung herself. The one that Crowley preferred (not that he'd ever asked the god in question) had Dionysus passing through, seeing the absolute waste of a fine, clever woman, and making her his beloved. Undoubtedly getting her royally drunk in the process, because he was Dionysus, and anyway that'd help her forget that asshole Theseus. True, technically the monster was her (half-) brother, but Crowley still had to curb a permanent smirk. He'd look crazy.
"Heatstroke isn't a vacation activity I'd recommend, moose. I can provide a bathing suit for you, too...or, I've picked a nudist-friendly shore, if you prefer. If I get a vote, that'd be my preference."
Sam rolled his eyes, but did start undressing. He couldn't argue against reality. Crowley sat on the sand and didn't even pretend he wasn't admiring the show.
Of course, Sam wouldn't pick any of the options provided. Soon, he was in his boxers, but a glare stopped Crowley from changing them for a more stylish pair. He wanted the man not to make kicking his arse his next goal, ta so much, and there was only so far he would prod a moody moose. Who lay down on the sand, and for a moment the demon thought he'd just get the cold shoulder treatment. Not that he complained. He quite liked the sight, even if damn, touching would be a temptation hard to resist.
But then, mumbled against an arm, he heard a soft, "Why?"
"Because I'm Scottish, obviously." That earned him a sullen but puzzled look. Good. Curiosity would always reel Sam in. "Throwing away resources - or letting them squander themselves - is simply not in my blood."
"I'm not a resource," the hunter spat out.
Crowley shrugged. "Not now, for sure. But nobody knows the future. Wouldn't be the first time we teamed up."
That elicited only a vague grumble. Not having a good objection rankled, undoubtedly. Time to sweeten things up. "But let's forget past and future for now. Why think when we can have such a lovely present? You know me, moose. I won't give you reasons to regret."
"How do you know I don't already?" Sam turned around. Well. Progress.
"I'm still alive. When you needed my blood, if you really regretted us, you would have made sure to have plenty of extra." That got him a smile. Well, more like a twisted attempt at one, but, all things considered, Crowley felt rather proud of himself,
"Will you let me help you relax?"
"Do you think you can?" Half-challenge, and half...oh, but Sam wanted to. The demon could practically taste it in the air. Anything to stop his mind from rushing through a self-destructive loop...or at least that was the excuse he'd use with anyone who learned about them.
"Don't underestimate me, moose." He might not be the most ferocious of demons (he was a king: he shouldn't need to be) or the most greedy (the crown kind of plopped into his lap, really) but pleasure? He knew pleasure. And he could deliver enough to distract the gorgeous man at his side.
Besides, it wouldn't do to let his partner burn. Summoning sun cream was a moment's thing. He wasn't just a client of the finest masseuses, he was a clever student in that and many other fields since demonization had stripped him of his addiction. His own deal was the best he'd ever made, really.
He worked slowly and methodically, the plan, for once, actually to relax his partner. He would not argue if his companion found it arousing - far from it! But he didn't want Sam to demand to be sent back for breach of promise. That just wasn't him, he might be a demon, but he had ethics! Especially against bait-and-switch. He didn't scam, never had to. It was all in black and white. Now, if someone was too used to clicking 'accept' and didn't read the contract, that wasn't his fault, obviously.
Besides, he read the books. Including the new ones, cheers to Becky. Soulless Sam was plenty of fun, and Crowley remembered exactly how much, but this one would want a bit longer to wallow before tumbling into anyone's bed. Or dune. Or any available surface. Crowley could enjoy the occasional long game, when the prize was worthy.
A soft sigh escaped Sam's lips, and then another one. "You've missed your true vocation," he murmured.
"Nah. I wouldn't do it for just anyone, moose. You're special."
"Keep at it, and I'll actually fall asleep, though."
Crowley shrugged. A nap might actually do the man some good. Besides, the time difference between hell and earth meant that twenty minutes here should give him a chance to get back on top of at least some of the duties that he'd been shirking. Or maybe he'd just spend all the time cuddling Juliet himself. Whoever invented bureaucracy was the evilest being who'd ever lived, no doubt.
"Don't feel like you have to entertain me. If I'm too bored, I can always enjoy..." he let the sentence fade and stopped a second for a sweeping gesture, encompassing the cedar trees in the distance on one side and...were these actually dolphins frolicking in the sea? And of course, there was Sam in the middle. If he decided to stay, well, Feathers might have rubbed off on him a little, but he could see the appeal. Just like with art. A few thousands years ago, when they were more proactive, he'd have to stay to beat the Greek gods off his Winchester with a stick, if only because waking up kidnapped would piss Sam off, not unreasonably.
He thought he could settle and watch (maybe just a couple of minutes), but when he tried to move away from him, his wrist was suddenly caught by his companion's hand.
"Will you be here when I wake up?" Sam was barely glancing (up, for once in the history of the universe) at him. The man knew him, then. For all the beauty of the scenery, it was unlikely that he'd stay long, if only to make sure his impulse control didn't break.
"Of course, moose. " Maybe Sam justified it as making sure he wasn't left stranded abroad.
...Or maybe not. A sharp tug, and Crowley couldn't help it. He was unbalanced, and fell ungracefully on Sam. But their lips met. It was quick, and awkward, and just when the demon was planning to get more comfortable and give him some different endorphins, he was lightly pushed away, and Sam turned his head away. And said, "Now I'm sure you will."
"Tease," he replied, but he didn't even try to wipe the smile from his face. How could you not love someone like that?
He stepped away, leaving the man to his kip, and swallowing a laugh. It'd been silly of him to ever let him out of his sight, really. He should have known. Sam didn't deal well with being alone. And when he'd needed support, hell had stepped up. Azazel's gang, mostly, sure. But now, Crowley was more than willing to claim the role for himself. With the apocalypse out of the way (no small thanks to himself, even if of course Sam did the heavy lifting...and fine, the rest of the team pitched in, too), the former prince of hell's machinations disintegrated. It was time for a king. And maybe, some day in the future, a consort.
A. N. Just a little tidbit of Italian trivia if anyone's curious. An idiom to say "to be abandoned somewhere" is "essere piantato in asso". It should have been "piantato in Nasso," like poor Ariadne, but...well, say it enough times and tell me you wouldn't drop one of the two n there too.
