May 2000, London England, More Specifically Soho:
Nothing about the dingy little bookstore seemed to fit the neighborhood it was located in, which was all the more puzzling since it had been there for decades despite the number of times that people had tried to relocate it, sometimes forcefully. The proprietor and his "friend" who often hung around looked to fit right in, which was why people didn't wonder why the hell the little shop which was tucked in an out of the way corner was even there in the first place. Ever since the adult bookstore which had been next door had gone out of business, business (which had been largely from from visitors who had mostly dropped by by mistake while trying to get to the purveyors of erotica in printed format) had mostly dried up. This was how the proprietor wanted it though. It meant that he didn't have to put out as much effort in keeping people from buying parts of his book collection. That was what the shop's inventory was. The shop was just an excuse for the proprietor to keep said collection without being questioned by his siblings. It was quite amazing the lengths the shop's owner would go through to prevent a sale, up to and including pretending to be sick and sneezing on his customers.
The proprietor of said rare/used book store, one Ezra Fell who most believed to be the nephew of the book store's previous owner who was believed to be the cousin of the owner before that, was a slightly pudgy blond haired, blue eyed man who had been described by people who had met him as, smart, British, and gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide. He was also the man that Hunters across the United Kingdom went to for help, sort of like the British version of Bobby Singer, but with less alcohol, fewer junked cars outside, and a habit of calling people "dear" rather than "idjits". Incidentally, someone else manned the bank of phones that was discreetly hidden in his small office, someone with a quick and silver tongue who wasn't unaccustomed to lying. The man who owned the shop was incidentally not a man, but an angel of the Lord who had been hanging around on Earth for so long that he practically understood modern pop culture, which was quite a feat for an angel for whom such things were extremely transitory.
The proprietor's friend who constantly hung around the shop these days, a sleek and handsome dark haired man who was in fact a True Demon - which meant that he'd never been human, but was instead of the formerly angelic breed who'd taken the plunge with Lucifer - who had a tendency towards wearing black, and wearing dark shades even at night, who had been named Crawly, but preferred the name Crowley, had been on the phone with his Lesser Demon protegee when the bell on the shop door gave a particular chime which was his cue to become scarce. With a snap of his fingers, he turned invisible and hung up on his friend Fergus who had also taken the name Crowley, partially because he liked the way it sounded, and partially in tribute to him. While he liked the little guy, and thought he had style, the soon to be King of the Crossroads scared him at times. Fergus had ambition.
As the proprietor of the shop sorted through some new arrivals in the back room, and the member of a demonic species that was rarely if ever seen outside of Hell as they tended to keep to their little capitol and leave the general day to day crap to the Lesser Demons invisibly watched, three people entered the shop. They were young, and tall, with the tallest of the three practically towering over the other two. For some strange reason, the Winchester boys were on the wrong side of the pond. He didn't recognize the girl that was with them, but he recognized an opportunity when he saw one, and the girl was one, a once-in-a-lifetime, you only get one shot at this, so make it count opportunity.
"Why are we here again Sam?" the oldest member of the group asked.
"Dad needs information, and the guy who owns this place is apparently the go to guy. Besides, I want to have a look around." the tallest member of the group replied.
What followed afterward wasn't very interesting considering the fact that Sam and Dean Winchester were part of the Apocalypse Plan B. Plan B had been running concurrent to Plan A just in case something happened to derail the Apocalypse, something such as say an angel and a demon teaming up and interfering, and say the Antichrist deciding that it was more fun to be human, reversing everything, and erasing just about everyone's memories of Plan A. Heaven and Hell both knew that there had been a Plan A, and that something had somehow gone wrong. Because of that, he and Aziraphale were being more closely watched by their respective sides. Paradoxically, this had allowed him to spend more time with the angel, as he'd come up with the excuse that he was trying to tempt his equal opposite into betraying Heaven as he was reasonably certain that Aziraphale had had something to do with the failing of the Apocalypse, and Aziraphale had given a similar line to his garrison. Being watched also meant that he couldn't do any blatant interfering in regards to the Winchesters however.
The Winchesters' visit to the shop during which Sam had managed to commit the ultimate sin of buying a book was mostly ignored by Crowley as soon as he realized that it didn't have world-ending implications. It was the girl that held most of Crowley's attention that day.
"Do we have a deal?" Crowley asked the girl several hours later after whispering in her ear for nearly ten minutes straight.
"Yes." the girl replied.
"Good." Crowley said with a smile before giving her a light peck on the lips as per protocol before going into another room in his apartment to fetch a tray of needles and inks that he'd prepared earlier for this little eventuality.