Sam shook his head, crossing his arms. "Decide something, damnit," he snapped, as the Time Lord stood impassive, playing with his bowtie.
"I don't…alright, Sam. Alright. We will try this your way. On a condition—
I am there, every moment of it. This is not going to be on your shoulders-"
"Like it even counts," Sam muttered. "After so many years of everything."
"Everything has not been your fault," The Doctor reproached him, searching his face to try to pick up his gaze, but Sam deliberately avoided returning it.
"No, you don't get it, and you never will. For me it's not just a people, it's a whole freaking world, my family, and it's all because of me. I was Azazel's chosen. I was—" He broke off, biting back emotion, hard lines forming around his nose as he grimaced.
"What is it, Sam?" is tone was a strange mixture of urgency, concern and gentleness. So saying, the Doctor stepped to stand so that his forehead nearly touched Sam's, his hand pressing to his shoulder, yet for once, Sam didn't resist the approach.
"I broke it. And I have to fix it." Sam whispered, the admission hissing out his mouth as if all air was stolen from his longs. For a long moment, he felt as if he was suffocating, before a shuddering breath in burned its way back into his chest. "I have to fix this." He said again, his forehead creasing with resolve. "Nobody else is going to."
"Maybe no one in your world," The Doctor said. "But I am here. And I can help. So, please, if you'll just let me."
Sam frowned, before giving a quick nod. "Fine. But what do you propose we do, since you're opposed to the more mundane methods of persuasion?"
"We bargain," The Doctor said. "We bargain with the one thing a man like Crowley values."
Sam scoffed, his face twisting into a skeptical grimace. "He's not a man. And what's do you suppose that is?"
"Himself." The Doctor replied, flashing a clever smile as he clapped Sam on the back.
This earned another scoff, although this time it was more a chuckle, "You know, you might be on to something. That might just work…"
…
"I will never, ever tell you anything, am I clear? And torture—" Crowley snorted as he sat back in the chair they'd put him in. They were all three in another chamber off the console room, just the Doctor, Sam, and Crowley. "As I've told you before, there's nothing you can do to me that's more than I do to myself."
"Oh, that's fine," Sam said. "We can just leave you in here for a few eons, in binding cuffs, with etched binding bullets in your body, encase you in cement, like we did Abbaddon there for a while, let you sit and spin and see how you like it." He smirked as he spoke, surreptitiously moving a hand behind his back to gesture "No," as he sensed the Doctor's desire to interject. No, no, damnit. Just because you're opposed to torture doesn't mean I can't threaten it, he wanted to shout.
"Well, that's all fine and well since it's just talk," Crowley remarked smugly. "And with him around, that's all it will be. So, tell me. What do you really plan on doing to find out how to 'save' your oh-so-precious Squirrel?"
"Oh, you nasty little demon," The Doctor spoke up now, stepping forwards. "We weren't depending on such crude measures. Instead, I propose, a trade of sorts. A fair trade, or a bargain, if you will. We can sign a contract if you like. I hear you demons like contracts. Anyway, in exchange for the information we need, you get something in return."
"Oh, really?" Crowley asked. "And I would cooperate with the likes of you because, why exactly?"
"Because," Sam said, "If you don't do it his way, we can do it my way. And you can say what you like, but you don't want that."
"Fine. Say, the conditions of this contract… Freedom, absolute freedom for me, no strings attached, and a certain blade, for ah, safekeeping, you might say." Crowley said, shrugging demonstratively.
"Absolutely not—" Sam spat the words at the demon.
"Oh, absolutely not? Well, might I remind you, you aren't exactly the ones in charge of this exchange. I'm immortal. I've been tortured in Hell until I became a demon, after all. Do you think I'd cave so easily after a few measely weeks of it here? I'm not exactly as torture averse as you'd like to think. And best of all, you can't kill me, now can you? That would just ruin the chance you have of getting what you want out of me. "
"Sam—" The Doctor began, only to be cut off by the exclamation Sam hurled.
"No! Just—just shut up, for a minute. I have to think—" Sam paced about the floor of the room, the agitation he showed growing in his expression as he spoke.
"Really, though, as if that's so much to ask in exchange for the purity of your precious Squirrel's immortal soul. Which, by the way, wasn't my fault. He chose to take the Mark. It's what's created the demon he is now. It won't let him go. Not even death can stop it. Anyway, if you want him back, you might should decide soon. You have thought of it, though, haven't you? The longer he's a demon, the more completely he becomes one, whatever human weakness there's left just slowly leaching away? I mean, really, he is your brother, and this is his soul."
"Fine! Damnit, we'll take the deal." Sam scowled bitterly, wishing more than anything he had a better way forwards.
"Sam," The Doctor said placatingly,"Please do try and relax. Your agitation will do nothing for your brother."
"Yes, Moose, why don't you relax and listen to the Time Monkey a little?" Crowley cracked, a smirk twisting his features.
"Now that's quite enough out of you," The Doctor reproached. "The need to calm down goes for you as well. Or, in your case, bring the ego down a few thousand notches. You're quite infuriating, you know, although I suppose you rather like that."
Crowley didn't reply verbally but instead gave the Doctor a harsh look.
"So, contract," The Doctor said. "I suppose I shall supply that…"
"Contract? Yes, paper is all well, but that's not the sort of signature I require to seal a contract," Crowley said, raising his eyebrows.
"What?" Sam said, exasperation twisting his face. "No—"
"Oh, too bad then," Crowley tsked. "You do this my way or the deal's off."
Sam was shaking with anger now. The Doctor cautiously put a hand on his shoulder, inquiring in a low voice, "What is it? What is he going on about now?"
"He thinks he can do whatever he wants," Sam sputtered, "Like he hasn't done more than enough. Now if I did this my way, he wouldn't be pulling this crap."
"And that is—"
"He usually seals deals with a kiss. Now if he thinks he has that much wiggle room, to insist on petty crap like that, he's wrong. If you just let me alone with him for a few minutes with an angel blade, this would be over-" He broke off, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, his scowl deepening as he shook his head.
"And what, exactly, Sam, is so horrific about that past the insult to your own pride?" The Doctor probed quietly.
"It's that he gets the satisfaction. Sick freaks like him have been running my life since before I was born. And I am ready to end that." Sam shook his head, moving away from the Doctor as he spoke.
"And what is his satisfaction, to you, Sam, after, as you've said, a lifetime of it? Isn't tollerating it just this once more worth the direct route to saving your brother?"
"Fine." He shook his head, relenting. "All I have to say is you better come through, you son of a bitch. If you don't, I will hunt you down, personally, and I will kill you. And you better believe I will be glad to do it." Sam hissed.
"As I've said before, my word is my bond, and the kiss is the signature to the contract. Alright then, Moose," Crowley grinned, about to continue when Sam cut him off.
"No. Just shut up and do it." Sam nearly shouted, coming to stand so close to Crowley he had no choice but stare into his face.
"Very well," Crowley said, smiling smugly as Sam reluctantly leaned in to the kiss.
Sam began to pull away after a moment, but Crowley nudged him with his shoulder, insistent to continue it for several nearly intolerable seconds.
After what seemed forever, Sam pulled away again, this time Crowley not protesting.
"See there, Moose? Deal on my terms, and you'll get what you want. Now, the cuffs," Crowley said.
"Fine," Sam hissed, the keys to them jangling as he took them from the Doctor who supplied them, unlocking them.
The demon smiled sardonically as he lifted the heavy bands from his wrists, stretching his arms. "Yes, and now the First Blade?" he pressed, holding out a hand as The Doctor stepped forwards to give it to him. He took it, turning it over before sticking it inside his coat, smiling to himself.
"Very good. Now, what you want you can find in a book. I can take you there, even, if you wish—" Crowley's expression grew even more satisfied at the look of outrage Sam gave off.
"No. Just the coordinates," he snapped.
"Fine, fine…" Crowley said, "A321-566-000-8291, B. Now, hate not to stick around and watch the drama, it's so very entertaining, even better than Real Housewives of Miami, but I really have to run—"
With that he disappeared, leaving Sam staring at the now-empty chair the King of Hell had occupied moments ago.
"So, off we go, then," The Doctor called as he walked to the doorway to the console room.
"Yeah," Sam nodded grimly as he followed. "It had better be there…"