As the two Crowleys walked out of the back door of the abandoned warehouse (well, different degrees of walking; the King of Hell strolled confidently with an air of drama, whereas Anthony hobbled awkwardly, stooping over slightly), the conversation died down a little, mostly due to Crowley's outburst. Anthony had no clue as to where on earth (or Hell) they were going, however Crowley soon answered his unspoken inquiry.
"You need to get back to your own time, I need to get on with my… research… and we're both clearly irritating the high Hell out of each other, so I'm sending you back tout suite. Not that I have to explain myself to the likes of you. It'll just make this easier."
"You seem to keep repeatedly forgetting that I am you-"
"Exhibit A of 'Reasons Why I'm Right About You Being Irritating.'" The King of Hell blatantly claimed, refusing to mutter under his breath and be subtle like his past self. "Anyway, I need to accumulate a few items in order to make a spell. So you need to stay out of my way for a few moments. Are we clear?" The demons were now in a small paved space outside that appeared to be an ex-parking lot, and Crowley turned to face his (hopefully) temporary companion head-on. Anthony instinctively ducked, but Crowley didn't harm him, surprisingly. He simply sighed at his incompetence, clicked his fingers and disappeared.
"Well that's rather rude!" Speaking to thin air, the remaining confused and infuriated demon spun around, huffing about his unwilling helper's abrupt departure. However, a mere couple of seconds later, the King of Hell reappeared, his suit jacket newly adorned with a few rips and tears, bearing some odd-looking herbs and spices.
"These were a bugger to gather, so you'd better appreciate it." Crowley stated, still appearing to be particularly annoyed as he advanced suspiciously on his younger self. Anthony, just as wary, stepped a few paces back and raised his eyebrows in question. Sighing (again) and rolling his eyes, Crowley justified his actions.
"Look, I'm not going to hurt you – mostly because I have no wish to harm my own awesome self – but either we can walk back to the warehouse with you chattering in my earholes the whole way, or I can zap us back and you get home quicker. So what's it gonna be?" Anthony reluctantly sighed in response (honestly, there'd be no oxygen left in the air after they'd done being… done with each other), and moved slightly back towards the half-smiling demon.
"Thought so. Shall we?" The King of Hell placed a hand (not too rough yet not too gentle either) on Anthony's shoulder and clicked his fingers. A moment later, they were back in the warehouse, and Crowley was preparing the ingredients of the spell, which consisted of basically mixing the herbs together in a Satanic-looking bowl, complaining while he did it.
"Honestly, you have to everything yourself these days." The King of Hell muttered, not aiming his snide comments at Anthony directly, but inferring he did, in fact, blame him. He continued to talk to himself while he carried on concocting the potion. "Okay… got that, got that… Just one more thing-" Promptly, Anthony felt a hand rapidly grab his own hand and slice through his palm with a previously concealed short blade.
"Ow!" The younger demon exclaimed, more out of irritation rather than pain, as he clutched his arm close to his chest, glaring at Crowley.
"What? Oh, come on – what's a demonic spell without some sort of blood?" The King replied innocently, staring with raised eyebrows at Anthony, as if that would get him off the hook. "Did you really think it would be three taps of your shoes and a reiteration of 'there's no place like home?' Please."
"Fine. Whatever you say. Just, get on with it, if you will." Anthony snapped back, a little more aggressively than was intended. And that he did.