Summary: The Snart siblings finally won. The devil has been sealed back in the cage, Michael has slunk back up to Heaven to sulk, and the hunters can go back to their regularly scheduled monsters of the week. Or at least they should be able to go back to their regularly scheduled monsters of the week. Except a certain set of angel and demon allies keep coming to them for advice.

It really needs to stop. They aren't love gurus. They're hunters. (Meanwhile, Mick is so glad he got out of the game. There are something things about angels and demons he really never wanted to know...)

Notes: Written for Barry Allen Week day 3 - Heaven/Hell
Also for the Olivarry Bingo 2020 - Free Space

Dedicated to anyone who's ever watched Supernatural, but especially to those who stuck it out until the end. You all deserved better, as I hear the series finale was pretty crappy. (I think I stopped watching around season 7 or 8... so all the references are from memory or learned from fanfics that take place later in the show than I actually saw.)

(This is set vaguely 2011-ish since that's when the sixth season of Supernatural started airing.)

At a Crossroads

Leonard Snart didn't used to believe in angels. Demons, sure. He'd seen them, fought them, seen people make deals with them. Even made his own deal with a demon to keep his baby sister alive at the cost of his own life and soul. But angels had seemed like a bit much. Until, down in the depths of hell where his own father-turned-demon sought to corrupt Len into one too, an angel appeared to 'grip Leonard tight and drag his soul from the depths of perdition'. Or whatever, that was how Barry put it anyway.

Bartholomew was an Angel of Lord. Upper case letters insisted on. Len called him Barry to be obnoxious.

He'd turned out to be one of only angels who could be counted on to be on humanity's side and not gunning for a Lucifer vs. Michael showdown that would've torched the planet, so Len will admit to even having a soft spot for the guy. But this... this is pushing it.

"Barry," Len said in a dry tone, eyes glittering in a way that would've sent any human in existence running for the hills. "What have I told you about staring at me while I'm sleeping?"

"It's rude," Barry replied absently. "I wasn't staring. I was waking you up. So that we can talk."

"About what?" Len sighed and sat up, accepting that sleep was a lost cause for now.

"Oliver Queen wants to make a deal with me."

"The Queen of the Crossroads," technically King, but Len was never letting that choice of last names go, "wants to make a deal with you. Over what?"

"I'm not sure. He didn't seem to be sure either. He said he just wanted an excuse to kiss me." Barry frowned even deeper than normal. "Why would he want to kiss me?"

"To brag about having done so? Because your vessel is particularly sexy? Hell if I know." Len grimaced slightly at his own word choice, but at least Barry was used to the way he talked these days. "Please tell me you didn't wake me up because you're having a gay crisis over a demon."

"..." Barry hummed thoughtfully. "I think it's more like a demon is having a gay crisis over me."

Len couldn't help it. He laughed. How the hell was this even his life?

The Angel Bartholomew was not incorrect. The King of the Crossroads, known as Oliver Queen, was indeed having a gay crisis over an angel.

And he was trying very hard not to.

Oliver hadn't exactly been thrilled by the concept of the apocalypse to begin with. But he'd done his part to help get the whole thing started. Felt shitty about it because he didn't want the Earth to change. Maybe have few demons and a power vacuum he could fill, but... he'd never really thought he'd be able to pull off becoming King of Hell. And when push came to shove he ended up throwing in his lot with the Snarts and their oblivious angel because why not? Lucifer was going to wipe out all the demons anyway, so 'Team Free Will' winning was actually the best outcome for him.

And then suddenly he really was King of Hell. And Oliver had no idea what to do with that. Which was proving to be a theme with him. Because he was now lusting after an angel, actually dared Barry to kiss him.

What if he had? What the hell would Oliver do then? Could he be smote by just a kiss or would that take sex?

He was an idiot. And judging by the smug expression on his second-in-command Nyssa's face, she was well aware of it too.

"I'm gonna go run around top side," Oliver told her. "Hell's all yours while I'm away."

"Pretty sure it's mine when you're here too," she muttered, giving him an arch look.

"If I'm a figurehead then at least I'm a sexy one," Oliver shot back and left Hell for Earth without daring to look back.

The last time he'd gone topside, Oliver had run into some trouble with angels lingering on Earth and in a fit of desperation summoned the Angel Bartholomew. Or, rather, Barry as he seemed to prefer these days. Oliver certainly liked calling him Barry. Rolled off the tongue quite nicely.

Barry shooed off his siblings and politely asked Oliver how the soul contract business was doing lately. Probably didn't actually care. Or maybe he did, given that Heaven would all human souls went to them instead of some going to hell. But if it was an attempt at 'industrial espionage' it was a particularly terrible one.

"Oh, you know how it is, so many CEO's who already have more money than god wanting to double it, screw over the poor, and divorce their wives for a model so young it's barely not ephebophilia," Oliver had replied with a shrug. "And so many more who'd love to join their ranks. And we got the last President in the bag. Putin too, if he'll ever croak."

Barry nodded. "Many whom would likely not have merited Heaven in the first place," he concluded. "Do they not bore you?"

"Honestly? I prefer making deals with them than the abused kids we get too." Which was the truth. Oliver had restricted those kinds of deals when he took over as King of the Crossroads. But he couldn't put a total stop to them. Quite frankly, destroying the lives of abusive assholes ought to be a privilege, not a bargaining chip. But that was life and Oliver didn't get where he was today by being a nice guy.

"It's a shame you cannot put an end to them entirely without risking revolt," Barry mused. He got it.

An Angel actually understood Hell's politics. Clearly didn't like it, but... he got it.

Oliver grinned, because you know what'd really cement his power base? Making a deal with an angel. "We should make a deal," Oliver said, not realizing he'd said it aloud until Barry cocked his head to side, birdlike, and asked, "what kind of deal?"

Naturally, Oliver's mind blanked entirely. "No clue. I'll think of something. Just need an excuse to kiss you, darling." And then he'd run away. Like a coward.

Now he was headed back to Earth to get advice from the only person he could think of who wouldn't kill him for confessing a weakness for a certain angel. She'd just as soon laugh at him as stab him, anyway.

Lisa scowled at the demon. The demon smirked at her.

She considered the demon killing knife at her hip and then decided, for now, to leave him alone. They were at a public diner, after all. It wouldn't do for her to cause a scene with a bloody, messy stabbing.

"What do you want, Oliver?"

"Just wondering how you convinced an angel of all people to fall in love with you," Oliver shook his head. "I just don't see it."

A slow smirk curved its way on to Lisa's face. "Ooooh, this is about Barry." Len had been whining the other day about his sleep being interrupted by the pretty angel. The story had been quite amusing - Barry wasn't quite as world savvy as Lisa's lovely Cisco was.

Francisco was an angel, but he made pop culture jokes all the time and was an avid fan of all things science fiction. Her very own little nerd angel. Barry was still a little... disconnected.

"Well, if you need advice on wooing an angel, I'm really not sure I'm the right one to give it to you. I mean... Cisco was the one who flirted with me first. That was when he was still human and still terrified of my brother. As for later when he regained his grace, well... he kept right on flirting, but he wasn't afraid of Len anymore which was nice." Lisa shrugged. "I admit, I didn't really feel worthy of him. Still all afraid I'd been irrevocably tainted by the demon blood Azazel fed me as a baby and dear old dad force fed me to break the final seal." She looked away; she hadn't meant to be that honest with the King of the Crossroads.

"Let me guess. He made you feel like you were worthy to be loved because, at the end of the day, your choices matter more than things other people forced on you?" Oliver sounded both mocking and understanding all at the same time.

"Yeah. Something like that," she agreed dryly.

"My father sold my soul before I was even born. Once someone's born, no one can sell their soul but themselves. But you promise your firstborn for power and prestige, well..." Oliver laughed, bitterly. "The worst part is, he actually wasn't a bad father. He tried to fix things when he realized the deal was real. Obviously, that was a total bust. Twenty-first birthday and hell hounds came knocking at my door."

Lisa wondered if he was telling the truth or not. Not that it mattered, she supposed. Better he was saying this to her than to Len, though. He knew what those hell hounds sounded like. She could only guess.

"Didn't take me long to become a monster anyway. Torturing people on the rack... my choice. Same with making deals with humans for their souls."

"So, what, you're what I could've become if I'd made bad choices?"

Oliver shrugged and flagged down a waitress, ordering some pie and coffee. "If you die again, no one will make any deals with your brother. He shows up in Hell somehow anyway? Immediately throwing him out. Don't care if he goes to Heaven or lingers on Earth, we are not having Apocalypse 2.0."

"Thanks." That was actually weirdly comforting. "You should tell Barry how you feel." In her head she said a little prayer about how Bartholomew and Francisco better get their feathery butts to the diner.

"This isn't about Barry."

"Bullshit."

"It's about the pecan pie," Oliver insisted, cheerfully accepting the pie and coffee and handing the waitress a twenty in return. "Keep the change," he drawled charmingly.

"Th-thank you." She smiled, clearly startled, and went to the register.

"She didn't just sell her soul for fifteen bucks, did she?" Lisa asked, narrowing her eyes.

"So suspicious. No. She didn't." He dug into the pie.

"Oliver."

Lisa looked up to see two angels standing beside the table. She slid out, leaving her own money on the table for her meal and gesturing to Barry to take a seat. She latched onto Cisco's arm. "Hey, babe. What was that movie you wanted to go see? I think we should let those two kids flirt it out."

Cisco beamed. "Super 8. It's supposed to be about aliens in a small town or something like that. You really want to go see it with me?"

"Of course. I mean, you'll have to watch it again later 'cause we're going to be making out in the cheap seats half the time, but..." she fluttered her eyelashes at him, "you'll get to see some of it."

"Alright! Let's go. This is gonna be awesome!" Cisco grinned and flew them to the theater in his excitement.

Lisa sighed and fished out her phone to let Len know what she was up to. Just in case he went looking for her at the diner and found her decidedly not there. Super 8 didn't really sound much like her sort of thing, but she liked the way it made Cisco happy. So it'd definitely be worth sitting through. And she had been serious about making out with him.

Barry settled at the table across from Oliver and ordered a cup of tea when the waitress stopped by.

"I have been thinking about what you asked, last we spoke," Barry said, once they were no longer being listened to by human ears.

"Oh?"

"If you want to kiss me, you don't need an excuse." Barry hoped he'd delivered the line correctly the way Len had advised. Given the way the demon just choked, Barry couldn't really be sure. "However, if you feel the need to prevaricate and make excuses, then I have an idea of what sort of deal we could make that would be most satisfactory for both of us."

"You're such a bastard," Oliver breathed out, pushing the last few bites of his pie away and coughing again.

Barry stole the plate and ate a bite. That was a kind of... indirect kiss, right? That was what Len had called it when listing out the 'ridiculous romance tropes Lisa pretends she doesn't love.' Barry was fairly certain she wasn't the only Snart pretending not to like those tropes.

The pie tasted of its constituent atoms, which was always a little odd. But he was getting better at following Cisco's directions on 'pulling back and not micromanaging his taste buds'. The sweetness of the flavor was... adequate.

"Well I certainly didn't become King of Hell by ignoring interesting offers for a deal. Lay it on me, angel, and lets see if we get that kiss."

Barry smiled. "Traditionally these sorts of deals are made at a crossroads, yes? And I believe we are at a metaphorical crossroads, so perhaps..."

"Oh, fine. Pay for the tea and lets go." Oliver rolled his eyes while Barry got his tea turned into a to go order. Minutes later they were at the nearest crossroads in the middle of nowhere.

To be truly traditional, Barry would've buried something and summoned Oliver first, but this was certainly more efficient.

"You mentioned disliking aspects of Hell that you cannot change without being unceremoniously deposed. What if you had a... contracted angelic enforcer?"

"Now that," Oliver said smoothly, a spark of hellfire lighting his eyes in a way that shouldn't be lovely... but rather was. "That would change things."

Nyssa rolled her eyes. "You want to stop accepting contracts with abused children."

"No. I want to stop bargaining for their souls. There's a difference." Oliver glanced back at his pet angel. "With Barry backing me up, how likely would I be to make the change stick?"

Oh. He was serious. Well then. Even evil bastards should have lines they don't cross. She'd always known this was one of Oliver's, given the restrictions he'd laid down against trading for unborn souls. And it was one she was partial towards as well. A lot of the hardliners in Hell had died out over the last century. Between the Men of Letters wiping out the last of the Knights of Hell and the Apocalypse itself leading to the death of pretty much everyone involved in starting the Apocalypse... if the Snarts and their posse hadn't gotten them, Lucifer had out of sheer boredom.

They... could actually do this. Oliver Queen was a lucky son of a bitch, because the bastards powerful enough to stop them were all dead. "Incremental changes. We change things all at once, they'll smell weakness and revolt. So first we say no soul bartering for children under the age of twelve. Either we kill off the dissenters or the angel smites them for us. Let them get used to the change. Then the next improvement. And, no, we can't go higher than twelve right now or they'll revolt anyway." She gave the demon and angel pouting at her an arch look. "And we're not going to turn this place into a mill for improving the souls of the dead. We torture and maim and kill and we like it that way."

"She's not wrong," Oliver admitted, giving the angel a shrug.

"I'm well aware of who and what you are," Barry replied. "I have no desire to force either of you to change. This is merely a mutually beneficial arrangement. The guidelines Oliver wishes to introduce should help prevent another round of the Apocalypse and stymie the creation of such demons that would support it. As both Heaven and Hell would prefer not to have a repeat of the Cage opening early, having an Angel help enforce your laws is to both sides benefit."

"It also allows Heaven to ensure Hell never becomes a threat to them again," Nyssa pointed out.

Barry tilted his head to the side, almost birdlike.

"Husband," Nyssa ground out.

"We're not actually married, it was a joke," Oliver said in a rush to Barry.

"It was legally binding and we've yet to divorce," Nyssa corrected. "It's political. I don't care if you fuck the angel, Oliver."

"As long as the open relationship is consented to by all of us, I have no objection to being your metamour," Barry added. "Besides, I was already aware of your political partnership. Miss Laurel Lance told me. Apparently you hold a contract on her soul?"

"Excuse me, what now?" Oliver's eyes narrowed.

"She's to bypass the racks entirely and immediately become my dark consort," Nyssa muttered, blushing brightly. "It's specified in her contract that upon her natural death she is to join me in hell as my consort."

Oliver snickered. Laurel probably already explained all this to Barry; the angel was just being petty.

Nyssa just might grow to like that about him, actually.

"If you fall, Oliver is the one who cleans up the mess," Nyssa finally said. Leaving unspoken that she'd cheerfully backstab them if she had to. Ra's al Ghul, the yellow eyed demon who'd orchestrated the first stages of the opening of the cage, had been her... father of sorts. The demon who'd broken her on the rack and then welcomed her into his sadistic family. She'd betrayed him easily enough to Oliver and, though she liked working with Oliver far more than she ever had working for her father, she would betray Oliver if that was what needed being done to keep Hell under control.

At the moment, however, the gamble on their scheme was one worth taking.

"Now if you'll excuse me," Nyssa said, "I have a rendezvous with my future dark consort to attend to."

"Never thought you'd be the one to settle down first, Mick," Len drawled, settling at the bar.

Mick rolled his eyes. "I get free booze this way." It was not, by any stretch of the imagination, free booze. But Len didn't contradict him, so Mick supposed he was being allowed to keep his illusions. For now.

After Rip Hunter's death, Gideon hadn't felt comfortable running the Waverider on her own. Mick had stepped in, intending it to be a short term gig until someone better qualified came along. He'd always hated Rip, but Gideon was good people.

And, well, eventually 'better' did come along. Sarah Lance and Ava Sharpe joined them, with Ava taking over the business aspect - balancing the books, ordering out of stock alcohol, keeping the business taxes in order, and making sure everyone actually got paid - while Sara joined Gideon in running an information service and call center for Hunters. Mick could've handed over the bar to Sara... but he'd gotten attached by that point. So he kept up the bartending and quietly stopped insinuating his stay there was only temporary.

Not to mention, since he was practically retired now, he had time to write those books he'd always daydreamed about making. Hell, if that god-awful prophet, Henry Allen, could make a living writing gospel in the form of trashy romance, then Mick ought to be able to do it too. Right?

He was going to use a pseudonym, though. Last thing he wanted was Len or Lisa mocking him for his purple prose.

"What brings you two assholes to my bar this time," Mick grumbled.

"I helped Barry get into a sexual relationship with a demon," Len said, casually.

Mick choked. "The fuck?"

"I'm pretty sure they are now," Lisa responded innocently. "Can I get a margarita?"

"Sometimes I miss Hunting," Mick grumbled, gathering the ingredients for the margarita and blending it up. "Today I am reminded of why I fucking stopped. The damn angel who keeps trying to get me to teach him bartending is annoying enough. I don't need to hear about the sexual escapades of Len's angel buddy. Ever."

"If I must suffer," Len drawled, "you must suffer. Whisky neat," he added.

"Which angel wants to be a bartender?" Lisa asked, leaning forward curiously.

"Calls himself Ray. Nice haircut. Making him start waiting tables in the evenings. He's gotta work his way up to bartending." Mick served the two orders and grabbed himself a beer from under the bar.

"Mick. Did you employ an angel and not tell us?" Len asked, smirking.

"Technically we ain't paying him. So I don't think that counts," Mick protested. And they, technically, really weren't paying him. Only because Ray insisted that he didn't need the money. Ava had thrown a fit, however, and eventually they agreed to send the contents of what would have been his paycheck straight to some charity instead.

"It counts," the Snart siblings chorused.

They were annoying, obnoxious, and prone to oversharing... and Mick was damn glad to see them as he took a swig of his beer.

The door chimed as two more customers came in. Each as familiar as the Snarts... but less welcome.

"Oh, darling," purred the King of Hell, "you take me to the swankiest joints."

"I think you and I have very different definitions of swanky," Barry replied, deadpan.

"No." Mick scowled at them.

"Are you refusing us service?" Oliver asked, looking affronted. Definitely an act.

"I am refusing to let the Waverider become your date night place," Mick said. "Also, you're standing under a devil's trap."

Oliver Queen looked up. "Aw fuck."

"You should have enough lingering grace in your system to walk out of it fine," Barry announced and the King of Hell did exactly that.

How did a demon get lingering... weren't angel's made up of... and, no. No, no, no. Mick was not going there.

He really needed to learn how to unhear this kind of shit...

Notes: I think when I put in for the Olivarry bingo card I was very much not interested in supernatural creature fics at the time. So naturally by the time I get to actually writing for the prompts, Supernatural fans mocking the show's series finale has put me in the mood for writing creature fics (angels and demons anyway). Truly, past self should never have tried to predict future self's writing desires...