Gabriel was just as disgusted the second time he heard Crowley call Michael 'love' as he had been the first time. The only difference was that this time, he couldn't express his revulsion. Fortunately, Lucifer did it for him.

"Alright, I'm gonna stop you right there. Your little pet names are already annoying enough, but there is no way you are gonna call Michael any of them. Got it?" Her posture was rigid and she stared at Crowley with the built-up hatred of centuries.

The demon, however, appeared to be unaffected by her. "I'll call him whatever I want," he said with a little shrug. "He's my angel. And seeing how much 'love' bothers you, well…Love it is." He said the word with an important air, as if it was a proper name.

"I could kill you without batting an eye," Lucifer growled through clenched teeth.

"You could," Crowley agreed. "But you'd have to go through your brother to do it. That," he snapped his fingers, "is an order."

Michael felt a little jolt at the back of his head, signifying that the order was in place. He knew he would have to follow it if he wanted his brothers to stay safe. The angel wasn't exactly sure how Crowley had rigged it, but he was sure that the demon had guaranteed the spell would be reversed, even if he died. "Please don't, Lucifer," he said quietly, "I have no desire to use force."

Lucifer balled her fists and ground her teeth, but there was nothing she could do. She glanced quickly at Gabriel and then grabbed Michael by the arm, dragging him to the kitchen. "I need to talk to you," she muttered. Michael let himself be led away, but looked to Crowley in alarm to see if the demon would allow it. He didn't, offering no rebuke and turning instead to Danielle.

"So you're the legendary Danielle Winchester," he mused. "We never properly met when I crashed your little party before. My, my. You look just like your mother."

It was true. Though Danielle occupied her own form, she looked almost exactly like Mary; her hair only a shade lighter and she was a little shorter. "Yes, I'm Danielle," she said with no hint of fear. "And you're Crowley. King of Hell." She was much better prepared to speak to him this time; he had taken her by surprise before and she had barely been able to get a word in edgewise.

"Guilty." The nod he gave her was one step away from a mockingly shallow bow.

Danielle was pensive for a moment. "I have some questions about your deal." An idea had formed in the back of her mind and she thought maybe she could use it to save Michael.

"Always happy to talk about work," he said politely, making a sweeping gesture with his hand. "Ask away."

She pursed her lips, trying to figure out how to phrase her question. "Michael's service to you…only starts when he kills Zachariah, right?"

Crowley chuckled. This Winchester seemed to be a thinker, more so than the other two, though admittedly, they didn't set the bar very high. He gave her a nod of admiration for even attempting this conversation and pulled the contract from his jacket. He had anticipated someone trying to weasel Michael out of their arrangement, but he figured it would have been Lucifer. He read a section aloud, turning it slightly into her view so there was no doubt it was ad verbatim. "'The service of Party B, Michael, to Party A, Crowley, shall begin upon the death of Party C, Zachariah,'" he stated triumphantly.

"But Party B, Michael, didn't kill nor inflict any injuries upon Party C, Zachariah. He simply neutralized him," Danielle shot back. She thought for sure this would nullify the contract, as there was no longer a Zachariah around for Michael to kill, this indefinitely postponing the beginning of his service to the demon. She dared to hope she had found a loophole with the infamously clever King of Hell.

"See here," Crowley's finger grazed a clause underneath one of the statements. "'Party B, Michael, shall work to ensure the death of Party C, Zachariah.' Not, 'Party B, Michael, shall be directly responsible for the death of Party C, Zachariah.' Besides, the original statement says simply that Michael works for me after Zach's death, not his murder by Michael." He grinned. "And let's not forget, 'Failure by Party B, Michael, to comply with the orders of Party A, Crowley, shall result in the immediate reversal of the spell used to separate Party E, Lucifer, from Party D, Gabriel." He said this last bit as a warning, advising her not to try anything funny. "So, are we done here?"

Danielle sighed in defeat. She glanced at the parchment being held in front of her, though she already knew Crowley was right. "Yes, alright."

"Thank you." The demon gave a terse nod and looked to the doorway, through which Michael and Lucifer were returning. He approached them, his best semblance of a friendly smile on his face. Turning to Michael, he asked, "Shall we?"

Lucifer answered in Michael's place. "I will kill you, Crowley. Mark my words."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," said Crowley absently, not even favouring the fallen angel with a look. He had eyes only for Michael, admiring the defeated slump of his shoulders and the broken look in his eyes.

Michael, for whom the words were just registering, nodded slightly. "Yes, we shall," he sighed, giving Danielle one last apologetic look. He couldn't even meet Lucifer's eyes.

Danielle opened her mouth to say something, but Michael and Crowley had disappeared. They rematerialized in a decent-sized room dominated by a solid wooden desk at one end. The wood was stained dark, almost black, and the front panel was artfully carved in a pentagram in the midst of demonic symbols and which surrounded an intricately detailed goat's skull. A fire was burning in the hearth behind the desk, and bottles of expensive alcohol stood along the mantelpiece, the many-faceted glass reflecting the firelight. Bookshelves lined the other walls, dark leather bound covers facing outwards. A round red rug took up most of the hardwood floor, matching the colour of the upholstery adorning the King's chair, a high-backed piece tucked neatly behind the desk.

Crowley made his way immediately over to the fireplace and poured a glass of scotch. Michael stood before the desk, head bowed and wings drooping, completely silent. He had already decided he would not speak unless spoken to, so the demon would have less opportunity to deride him, but it didn't take long for him to be addressed.

"So, Michael," said Crowley, sitting in the plush red chair.

"What do you require of me?" the angel asked dejectedly. He dared to look up, but Crowley seemed to be studying his glass, completely uninterested in making eye contact.

"Thanks to that stint with Singer, the Winchester boys know who I used to be," said Crowley with a grimace. "And the only way those idiots could have found out was because the information is clearly readily available. Now, I really don't need anyone else gaining leverage over me—can't be too careful—so what you're going to do is erase every mention of Fergus MacLeod in existence. Got it?"

Michael nodded with a small frown. Surely he was not needed for such a mundane task; the King of Hell had scores of demons each capable of doing it.

As if reading his mind, the demon spoke up again. "And I don't just mean on Earth. I'm sure there are records in Heaven as well." Truth be told, he couldn't really care less about the record of his name. His bones were safe, and no one would bother confronting him on who he used to be. This was a test of three things: how readily Michael followed orders, his speed in carrying said orders out, and how willing he was to betray Heaven. Crowley expected some reluctance, of course: it would be more fun that way.

Michael nodded again, surprising the demon. "Of course. It will not take me long." Crowley had mentioned that the Winchesters also held this information. "Shall I kill Sam and Dean as well?"

"No." Crowley waved his hand as if brushing off a fly. He was actually quite fond of the Winchester boys after working a few cases with them—albeit cases of global importance—but the angel didn't need to know that. "I'll kill them later. They may still be of use to me."

"I will return when I am finished," said Michael, and promptly disappeared. He figured he would take care of Heaven first, getting the Terrestrial archives on the way back down. No one stood in his way; he was still the Sword of Heaven, and no one yet knew of his deal. If Metatron had been there to protect the records he had written, Michael might have had more difficulty, but he didn't have to worry about the dead scribe. Once he was in, it was easy to erase any information about the Fergus MacLeod Crowley had been. On his way back down, all it took was a snap of the fingers for Earth records to disappear, and Michael considered stopping at the Hut to inform Lucifer and Danielle of his relative safety, but that same click in the back of his head warned him against it: no doubt Crowley had rigged the contract so that Michael would have to carry out orders immediately.* He kept an ear out as he passed, however, but he was gone too quickly to pick up on Lucifer and Danielle's hushed conversation.

"This is a mess," Lucifer was saying, the rage around her almost palpable.

"Which part of it are you talking about?" asked Danielle with a sigh. This whole thing was crazy, from Lucifer and Gabriel joining in the first place right up to killing Zachariah. Danielle was sure she would be going crazy at this point if she even took a second to sit down and really think about the situation.

"I was actually talking about my vessel," said Lucifer with distaste. "Leave it to Crowley to pick out a disaster."

"What do you mean?" Danielle was genuinely curious.

"I mean, not only is this vampire filthy," explained Lucifer, examining herself disgustedly, "she didn't want me in here in the first place, which means I'm having a very hard time keeping hold of her." The extra bit of Grace was helping, though.

"I thought angels always needed permission," said Danielle thoughtfully, then looked sharply at Lucifer. "You're not filthy," she protested, "just a little…disheveled."

"Usually, they do," Lucifer grunted, trying to tug the knots out of her hair. She wasn't really helping the cause, merely jerking her head uncomfortably as her fingers got stuck on the same spot over and over. "But I guess because I was slammed into the vessel…" Lucifer didn't really understand how Crowley's spell had worked and that just made her all the more frustrated—she hated not knowing.

Danielle, who had been frowning at Lucifer's efforts, approached the fallen angel and laid a hand on her arm. "Do you want some help?"

"No," Lucifer grumbled, but let her hands fall to her lap.

"Hang on, I'll be right back." Danielle darted to the bathroom and re-emerged with a hairbrush, at which Lucifer rolled her eyes. "No."

Danielle ignored the angel, instead slowly working the brush through her vessel's tangled hair. Lucifer had her lips pressed together, but said nothing. The tug of the brush through her hair caused some discomfort, but it wasn't really painful. She was more embarrassed than anything else, though she had swallowed her pride enough not to protest.

"Maybe Michael can find out how the spell worked," Danielle suggested, returning to their previous conversation.

"Michael's a lost cause," Lucifer scoffed. "Crowley's got a tight hold on him, and Michael's fantastic at following orders, so…he's not gonna help us."

Danielle wasn't really a pessimist, so Lucifer's statement triggered a troubled frown. "Well…maybe Crowley will tell you himself?"

"The next time I see that son of a bitch, I'm going to smite him," Lucifer spat vehemently. "And that's a promise."

Michael, of course, did not hear any of this, speeding past much too quickly to pick anything up. He returned to Hell before Crowley had even finished his drink.

The demon was pleasantly surprised. "That was quick," he commented, setting the glass down and leaning forward with his elbows on the desk and his fingers intertwined.

"Of course. I am an archangel of the Lord. Simple record removal is nothing difficult for me." Michael stood before Crowley's desk, arms crossed resolutely.

"Indubitably," said the demon dryly. "But that has no bearing on my comment, or the truth of it. I was merely making a remark."

Michael said nothing, not finding the comment worth answering. He simply looked down at the King, a dissatisfied grimace on his face. "What else do you require of me?" This was going to be a long eternity.

"Have a seat," Crowley offered. A chair appeared opposite him, similar to his own but in blue. He reached for the decanter on the mantle behind him and raised his eyebrows inquiringly at Michael. "Drink?"

Michael was about to decline, but reconsidered; he might need it. The angel nodded almost imperceptibly and sat, accepting the proffered glass and draining it in one swallow.

The demon laughed lightly at Michael's volition—he was clearly already in a bad place, and this would just get more amusing as time went on—and the corner of his mouth quirked up. "So. What's your story?"

*"Subject B, Michael, shall carry out the orders of Subject A, Crowley, as soon as physically possible, without detours or dalliances."