"Oh, come on!" Dean growled, slamming his palm against the TV. All he needed in a motel was a bed to sleep on and something to get his mind off of how fucked his life was. And this room only had sorry excuse for a bed and a TV that wouldn't work, no matter what he did. He supposed that was his luck.

"Trouble?"

He spun around in alarm, his hand flying to his gun before he registered who was sitting on the bed, wearing the same black suit he had been wearing when they had met. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse.

"What do you want?" Dean growled.

The demon's eyes narrowed. "First, for you to mind your manners and remember who you're talking to." He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Dean ground his teeth together in frustration. "Sorry," he spat.

"I suppose that'll have to do for now." He glanced around the room with distaste. "Where's your darling brother?"

"He's done – left the life."

"And you let him?"

Dean hesitated. This guy was the last person he wanted to talk to about this, but he had to get it off his chest. "Things are different now. I'm too worried about him to focus on anything else."

"And so, of course, instead of being there for him, the best solution is to kick him to the curb."

It took all of Dean's willpower not to punch the smirk right off the bastard's face. "You have no right to say that."

He held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. "You're right. Hell, you did every demon in existence a favor, so I suppose I shouldn't complain."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Dean snapped.

"Well, you're not near as much of a threat on your own. And as for little Sammy…"

"You know what? You may own me, but I don't have to listen to this. So just fuck me and get out. I'm assuming that's why you're here, after all."

"Actually, I'm here for your own wellbeing."

"Really?" Dean asked skeptically.

"You're living off of cheap beer and fast food, sleeping in a room that is hardly fit for the cockroaches in its walls. It's not good for you."

"Yeah, well hunting isn't exactly a well-paying job. This is the best I can afford."

The demon rose to his feet, taking a few steps towards Dean. "Lucky for you, I can afford anything you could ever wish for."

"How is that lucky for me?"

"Have you always been this thick? You are mine, I like for my things to be taken care of. So, take this." He handed Dean a black credit card. "And go get the nicest room at the nicest hotel you can find – there is no limit. I'll worry about stocking your fridge."

Dean's wide eyes rose from the card to the demon's eyes. "Are you serious?" he asked slowly, without any of the usual snark.

"Of course." He pressed his lips briefly to Dean's. "See you soon." Before Dean could say another word, he disappeared.

So half an hour later found Dean in the penthouse of a ritzy hotel, sipping on some expensive scotch.

"It's not bad," he admitted.

"It's the best."

Dean looked at the demon curiously over the top of his glass. "Why are you doing this?" he eventually asked.

"I told you. I like my things to be taken care of."

"Yeah, but… isn't this a bit over the top for your sex slave?" As much as he didn't like that title, it was awfully accurate.

"Not when that sex slave is you. I like you, Dean. I think you have potential, and I want to feed that potential."

"Potential for what?"

"That remains to be seen. At the moment, though, I am a bit ashamed to admit that you are the best sex I have ever had. I think that deserves special treatment."

Dean blushed slightly. "Well, I guess I can't complain."

"Good. I hate complaining."

Dean chuckled, shaking his head slightly. Honestly, this deal really wasn't that bad, and that worried him. Surely there had to be some sort of catch, right? Aside from just sex. And admittedly, waking up the next morning with a demon's arms wrapped around him was a bit disconcerting, but at least he knew he wasn't going to hurt him. And it was completely worth it when he got out of the shower to see a complete breakfast prepared for him, a note sitting beside his plate that simply said, 'See you soon.'

As time went on it got harder not to admit that he did enjoy the sex. It had gotten to the point that at times he found himself wishing he could call the demon and ask him to come over.

"Dean?" Sam's voice brought him from his thoughts. They had started hunting together again, which meant that Dean had to give up the nice hotels – after all, there was no way he was ever admitting to Sam what he had done. He was still able to make life a bit better for them, though; he just couldn't make him too suspicious.

"What?"

"Ellen and Jo said they'd help us get into Crowley's." Right, Crowley, the demon who had the colt, who he was supposed to be thinking about right now.

"Good. So we get in, trap him, and torture him until he gives up the colt. Piece of cake."

"You really think he still has it?"

"Let's hope so."

Getting in went as well as they could have hoped, they even had plenty of time to draw the devil's trap on the underside of the rug before Crowley found them. Sam stood with the knife ready, and Dean with his gun, then a figure rounded the corner and Dean's eyes grew wide. Shit.

"It's Crowley, right?" Sam asked as Dean was still processing. He was Crowley, his demon, he'd had the colt all along. What was he playing at?

"So," Crowley spoke, his gaze flickering over Dean with a trace of amusement in his eyes. "The Hardy Boys finally found me. Took you long enough." He glanced down at the rug and picked up the corner, glancing at the trap underneath before glaring up at them. "Do you have any idea how much this rug cost?"

Dean was already lowing his gun slightly when he was suddenly grabbed from behind by another demon. A glance to his side showed that Sam had been grabbed to. He turned his gaze back to Crowley in time to see him pull out the colt.

"This is it, right? This is what it's all about." He aimed the gun at Dean, and for a second he thought that he really was going to shoot him – punishment for coming after him, even though he had had no idea that it was him. But then he shifted his aim slightly and shot the demon holding him, and then the one that had Sam. "We need to talk. Privately."

Dean's mind was still spinning as he and Sam followed Crowley into another room. "What the hell is this?" he demanded.

"Do you know how deep I could have buried this thing?" He held up the colt as he waved a hand to shut the door. "There's no reason you or anyone should know this even exists, except that I told you."

"You told us," Sam said skeptically.

"Rumors, innuendo, sent out on the grapevine."

"Why? Why tell us anything?"

Crowley once again aimed the colt at Dean's head, amusement still sparkling in his eyes, and this time Dean knew that he was safe. "I want you to take this thing to Lucifer and empty it into his face."

Well, that was unexpected. Dean remembered Crowley saying that he wasn't a loyalist, but he still had never thought that he wanted Lucifer dead. "Uh-huh, okay, and why exactly would you want the devil dead?"

"It's called survival," Crowley said as he set the gun down on his desk. "Well, I forgot you two at best are functioning morons-"

Dean bristled at the insult, somehow feeling that it was more directed at him. "You're functioning… morons-on…" Okay, maybe he should just stop talking.

Crowley threw him a withering look before continuing. "Lucifer isn't a demon, remember? He's an angel. An angel famous for his hatred of humankind. To him, you're just filthy bags of pus. If that's the way he feels about you, what can he think about us?"

"But he created you," Sam pointed out.

"To him, we're just servants. Cannon fodder. If Lucifer manages to exterminate humankind, we're next. So, help me, huh? Let's all go back to simpler, better times, back to when we could all follow our natures. I'm in sales, dammit! So what do you say if I give you this thing, and you go kill the devil?" He picked up the colt again and held it out to Sam.

Sam hesitated, then took it. "Great."

"Great."

"You wouldn't happen to know where the devil is, by chance, would you?"

"Thursday, birdies tell me, there's an appointment in Carthage, Missouri."

"Great." Sam raised the gun to Crowley's head, and before Dean could stop him, pulled the trigger. But there was nothing, Crowley just stared impassively at Sam.

"Oh, yeah, right, you'll probably need some more ammunition." He walked around behind his desk and pulled open a drawer.

Dean really hated how much he admired him sometimes. "Oh, uh, excuse me for asking, but aren't you kind of signing your own death warrant? I mean, what happens to you if we go up against the devil and lose?" And more importantly, why was he worried about that?

"Number one, he's going to wipe us all out anyway. Two, after you leave here, I go on an extended vacation to all points nowhere. And three, how about you don't miss, okay! Morons!"

He threw Dean the ammunition and then disappeared.

"Well… that was unexpected," Sam muttered.

"Yeah…" Crowley…. Well, at least he had a name now. He tried to suppress a grin as he turned to go.