Author's Note: Just so we have it clear, this is an AU of Season 9. It was plotted BEFORE Season 9 started up, so any resemblance someone finds to the current running is coincidence. Updates are coming a bit slower because school is getting more intense in these last few weeks. But I will be updating as regularly as possible. Thanks!

This was not his normal choice of meal, however, the strange looking young man who is serving us said there were no buns or cheese…so I suppose he must have settled for that. It cannot be worse than anyone else's dinner. Castiel watched as Dean shoved another mouthful of pasta between his teeth, and chewed. A large bruise over his eye showed where he had hit the steering wheel when Castiel had released Jimmy's soul. The power had sent the Impala into a complete 360, and the occupants had gotten knocked around a little. Castiel gave a minute smile, and apologized again. "I am glad your injuries were not serious."

"Yes, because the walking bomb doesn't need to tell people about his lethal blast radius." Crowley responded, and picked at the bland diner food. Castiel wasn't sure why the man had ordered pancakes, but they didn't seem to be appealing to either of them.

Castiel shook his head, nudging up the sunglasses he was wearing to hide his eyes, and he chewed on the pulled pork sandwich he had ordered. It was poor at best. The meat was chewy, and the sauce was too maple-y. I have developed an opinion of foods. I never would have imagined that I could do so… beyond burgers. And tacos. And distaste for grape jelly. And Jimmy's carry-over gag response to black olives.

"Just me, or this stuff taste like they forgot what seasoning is? How do you screw up spaghetti? Huh? Even I couldn't screw up spaghetti. Did they just open a can and slop it on, warm through some frozen meatballs? I mean, come on!" Dean complained, finally saying what they all had seemed to be thinking about their own dishes.

A tiny man with a pale blue mohawk came over, and asked as he yawned, "Everything okay here?"

Castiel shook his head and pointed at his plate. "The food… sucks." He nodded gravely, and with his palm down, motioned over the other men's plates. "All of it. A lot."

The waiter blinked at him, as if trying to comprehend what had been said.

"You can't just—you can't say that!" Sam chastised, giving a nervous and apologetic smile to the fellow that seemed to be a little slow on the uptake.

"Someone bloody well should." Flicking his fork back and forth through his fingers, Crowley wrinkled his nose a little, and stared at the waiter. "This shouldn't be news to you. You have eaten the food you serve paying customers, haven't you, lad?"

The man wiped his glasses off on his greasy apron and put the newly smeared lenses back on his face. They slid down his long oily nose. "I-I-I..." He appeared almost ready to bolt. "Would you like some dessert on the house?"

Dean gave a cold smile, and shook his head as he pushed his food aside. "Know what? We're gonna have to pass on that."

A full minute of silence passed, before the Waiter hustled away in an awkward run. The four men turned back to their meals, and Castiel took another un-anticipatory bite of his food.

"So...can you hear Jimmy now?" With curious eyes, Sam seemed to be ignoring the state of his wilted Caesar salad, and instead focusing in on Castiel's story. He's become more… cerebral. Much of his muscle has atrophied, I can see it in his arms and neck. Was he so affected by the trails… or by negligence of the body?

Shaking his head, Castiel crammed the food into his cheek so he could speak. "No." His chest was beginning to feel warm again, and he wondered if the soul was still not sitting right in there. It has only been a few hours-

"But you two were taking shifts?" Sam inquired, interrupting Castiel's thoughts. The younger Winchester took a drink of his water, and made a face as he swallowed. "Ugh. This is super sulfer-y."

Dean straightened up in his seat, and looked around the Diner. After a few moments, Castiel noticed he slid back into his seat a little. "Just crappy water. Doesn't look like there're any signs of ghost… just one more thing to leave a bad taste in your mouth."

Taking a long drink from his cup of coffee, the former demon wrinkled his eyes and nose slightly. "Putting one star on TripAdvisor when we get settled into our one-star."

Castiel turned slowly to look at Crowley. "I don't understand most of what you said."

"A man has to have non-torturing hobbies when he's tip-toe-ing the straight and saintly." Suddenly deciding that his pancakes were worth eating, Crowley glared at Castiel and took a big bite. "I keep these twitchy digits busy with regularly reviewing the rat-infested holes we eat in, and warning people of the moldy carpets we spend our nights on."

Dean looked between the two of them, and Castiel caught his eye. "Yes?"

"Nothin'. I just honestly expected you to out-and-out gank one another. But you're all Benedick and Beatrice." Raising his eyebrows, shaking his head, and looking back down at his plate, Dean rubbed at his forehead as Castiel frowned. I don't know who those people are. "Anyways, back to what Sammy was saying, your plan is to get this other soul—"

"Jimmy." Castiel reminded softly around a wad of chewed meat.

"Right. Jimmy. You're gonna try to get him to…?"

Putting his sandwich down, Castiel wiped his mouth on one of the coarse paper napkins. "He's just energy, without restraint. I believe he is just aware enough to recognize his family is in danger, and so he refuses to separate fully. If—and this is a guess—if we take him to his family, I exorcise the Angel from his daughter, I believe that he will see they are safe, and feel free to-" Is there a proper word for it? "—pass on. Or, he might begin to heal and to reemerge as a personality." Attempting to ignore the man listening next to him, Castiel shifted further away from Crowley. "…Or I could explode and die at any point, taking a mile-wide radius with me as both souls are released."

More silence.

"Sweet. Sounds good." Dean slapped his palms against the table and then reached for his wallet. "Let's get back on the road." He tossed twenty dollars and ten cents on the table, which was not the total bill, and stood up, signaling it was time for everyone to be finished eating.

Castiel crammed some of the soggy fries into his mouth, in the desperate attempt to fill his stomach, and waited for Crowley to move so he could sidle out of the booth. Sam and Dean walked past, and Castiel picked up the jacket that Dean had given for him to wear off the cracked red seat he had been sitting on. Castiel realized it was taking Crowley too long. Castiel looked up, and the man was just standing there. Observing. "Move."

Crowley's eyes narrowed, and he closed much of the gap between their faces, their noses almost touched as he breathed out, "You listen to me, Feathers. I've been running around being the hero for half a year. So, you can take your ridiculously outdated bigotry and-"

Eyes slits, Castiel tilted his head to the right, and his hands became fists at his side. Everything Crowley was saying floated past him for a moment, as he tried to refrain from punching the man's nose.

"-shed blood. I've skewered some monsters, sent my own kind back to hell, even killed myself an angel or ten. I think you should trust your precious Winchesters, I'm not the baddie in the room, mate." Crowley stepped back, and left enough room for Castiel to walk past. He motioned with his hand for him to go first. Crowley adjusted his suit to sit on his shoulders in a more flattering way. He looked Castiel up and down. "You decide to make a wardrobe change, and you get the grey sweat suit. No sense of class, you angels." He slapped Castiel on the shoulder, which brought the angel to a halt with the little twinge of pain from the wound he had received that morning. Crowley walked in front of him, and continued out the door, tossing over his shoulder, "The backseat isn't going to stay warm all by itself!"