Somewhat long delay on this one. Sorry! Since this is part two of the last chapter and because I'm lazy, I'm skipping the anagram.
- hire a navy! -
Part II
"Sam? Where are you?" Dean asked roughly into the phone.
"Dean, why is Crowley in the Impala?"
Dean scowled. "He's- he's- look, I don't have time to explain. Where are you?" he repeated, miffed that Sam hadn't answered him the first time.
"In the pet store, by the window."
Crowley, who had apparently been listening in on the conversation, followed the directions and gave Sam a little wave with his glass. "Shall I bring him over here?" he offered casually.
"No!" Dean snapped. "No, just- let him walk," he added, adjusting his tone. Returning his attention to Sam, he spoke into the phone. "Did you get that?"
"Uh-huh. I'm on my way over." There was a pause. "Should I bring the salt?"
Crowley clicked his tongue distastefully. "No, that's okay," Dean sighed. "Just get over here." He flipped the phone shut and put it back in his pocket.
"Rude little cretin," Crowley grumbled. Dean shot him a long look. "What?"
It took Sam less than a minute to jog over to the Impala and climb into the back seat, one hand on his jacket and the other in his pocket. Dean knew that he had Ruby's knife, and hoped Sam wasn't going to do anything stupid.
"Alright, Dean, I'm here." Like that wasn't obvious. "Now can someone tell me what's going on?"
ooo
After Sam clambered into the car, Dean forcefully demanded that they return to their motel room. There was a soccer mom in the minivan parked across from them who kept giving them disturbed looks, like two brothers and a classy drunk all meeting in a '67 Impala was suspicious or something. After they arrived and settled down at the motel, Sam still caressing the knife, Dean holding the beer bottle that had become his third arm, and Crowley gazing forlornly at the bottom of the now-empty shot glass, the demon reiterated everything that he had told Dean. Sam seemed much more interested than Dean had been, which wasn't necessarily unusual, but in the context, Dean figured he might have at least tried to contain his fascination.
"So who's benefiting from this anyway?" Dean griped. "I mean, who are the people who are escaping the deals?"
"Well I'm not the one making the deals," Crowley bit back. "Do you really think I have time to get to know each of them by name?" Dean raised his proverbial hackles, but Sam stepped in before he could retort.
"Of course not, Crowley," he said soothingly. "But it was a good question. What about the demons who did make the deals? Do they know?"
"There's only one who hasn't disappeared, and she's confirmed deceased. A few idiots thought they'd bring the information rather than the offender to me directly, but they ended up killing her instead."
"How convenient," Dean interjected cynically.
Crowley threw him a look before continuing, this time addressing only Sam. "There's only one lead- a name, or rather a place, the dead demon managed to spit out before she got her vocal cords torn out." Sam nodded eagerly, and that look came back into his eyes- the same one he had sported when he watched that vampire force feed Dean his blood. "Cerebral, Indiana."