Disclaimer: I don't own, obviously. A.N. So, I know I promised Sam/Crowley, but that boy isn't cooperating. I'll get them there if it's the last thing I do, but it'll take as long as it takes. I'm no Chuck, he can't escape my plans. ;D By the way, sorry for the random Latin, studying it for 10 years will do that to you. ^^''' Die albo signanda lapillo means 'a day to mark with a white pebble', meaning it's a lucky one.
The next time Crowley was summoned, Sam was on his own.
The king of hell rolled his eyes. "I swear, Moose, if you lost him this round, I'm going to have the both of you chipped."
That earned him a bitchface, as expected, but Sam replied, "No, Dean is...actually, I'm not entirely sure. But undoubtedly in someone's bed at the moment, and he'd be rightfully furious if either of us dared to intrude."
"What's the matter then?" This just became interesting. If Moose was keeping secrets from his brother, things could swiftly become disastrous. Or delightful. Or possibly both at the same time, at least for him.
"I have a few questions," the boy said, earnest in a way that was both adorable and concerning. Sam thought this was important,clearly. It didn't really help reassure him.
"Ask away." Crowley smiled up at him. Interrogation was more his specialty than Moose's anyway. He could stop things from going wrong if he wanted to.
"When you...helped me, last time." Admitting it made Sam just a little flustered. This was tipping into too cute for the man's age with every passing second. Not that Crowley would tell him that...for now. "Dean didn't make a deal, technically. You could have told him you didn't find me. You could have killed me, or" Moose visibly swallowed, "worse."
It wasn't a question yet, but Crowley admitted, "The thought did flit though my mind. Well, not murder, oddly. One could argue whether my ideas would actually be worse than that, or more pleasant."
"Worse," Sam declared. He didn't even ask for any details. Hunter's prejudices. Or...point of view, maybe. The man had a right to be fond of his brain. "Why didn't you go through with it?"
"Because I'm smarter than that, obviously." Crowley shrugged.
Sam scoffed a little. "Because you were scared, you mean?"
"Because I'm more civilized than the both of you put together, and know that sometimes indulging a whim is not the way to actually fulfill it."
The boy gave him an outraged look, but a second later curiosity was on its heels, as expected.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm a late seventeenth century man, Moose. The main activity at the time was going to war with the immediate neighbour that annoyed you, or finding any other excuse to murder him. I can appreciate that as much as anyone else. But I've been around long enough to see that change to going to war with a slightly farther neighbour. Eventually, at least when people aren't trying to literally turn back the clock, people decided to channel all that into sport events. Rugby, football, it doesn't matter. You still get to destroy your annoying neighbours - immediate or otherwise - only they're still alive, so you can do it all over next week, and next year. In the meantime, you can have fun, and if something actually dangerous happens, they help out. Wouldn't want to miss next year's championship, would we? The two of you? Still thinking it's all-out war most of the time. Completely missing all the chances for fun."
Sam snorted. "What are you suggesting? Monsters' Six Nations? Demons, Hunters...Let's add shifters, vampires, and then what? Djinns? Ghouls? Or do you have a plan already set?"
"Not exactly. Way too many people involved, and while I'm all for it, usually, sometimes it's nice to be able to focus. It can make things that you wouldn't expect worth it. Besides, most of these folks already understand the game as it is...or don't have the right resources to ever be a true annoyance. You, now...You know you're special, Moose." Crowley let his eyes openly indulge.
"Flattery will get you nowhere," Sam warned him.
"Fine. What will?"
Sam laughed. "Is that how you became the best crossroads demon?"
"No, but I'm not aiming to close a deal."
"What are you planning to do, exactly?" Moose really didn't have to sound so suspicious. With his track record, though, maybe he did.
"You called me to reach an understanding, didn't you? I'm all for it." He smiled.
"Let me understand, then. You could have done anything, and didn't. Because you thought that - what? That we'd eventually be civil to each other and have regular - sports matches of some sort? Other matches? Be friends, maybe?" The man shouldn't look that incredulous. Sure, there had been a few twists along the way, but people who followed him got what they wanted. At his expense, sometimes, but even with all that, he was still here, alive and with enough power to be an associate they sought out. Why not listen to him again? Everyone would have been happy. He wasn't the one who disappointed.
"Anything you wanted, Moose. You can pick how deeply you wish to be involved. I'm open - very much so. Do I have to remind you that you were the one to express interest, during our last meeting?"
Sam flushed. Very prettily, even if Crowley wouldn't dare to pinpoint the reason. "That doesn't count," he bit out, scowling.
"Of course. Not until you decide it does. If you ever change your mind, you have my number." Crowley waved at him.
"Wait! Are you going?" Suddenly, Sam was leaning towards him.
"Do you have other questions?" he shot back. "Or...wishes?"
"I thought you weren't looking for a deal." And here was another glare, but he was enjoying having it much closer than usual.
"I'm a king. I don't need to strike deals anymore. I can concede favours, though. You should know that already."
"I'll pass on hell's favors," Moose snapped.
Crowley shrugged. "Suit yourself. But they wouldn't be hell's. They'd be mine."
"And the difference is?"
"Hell's favours are flytraps. The goal is always to get you stuck. I, on the other hand, don't want you down there. Not even close, in fact. For one thing, you're too cumbersome." That made Moose laugh. Suddenly, he seemed much younger. "For another, why lose a perfect excuse to leave? If I stay too long downstairs, I will die. I'm positive."
"What?" Sam frowned. Hey, he wasn't toasting to it. It was progress.
"Boredom, Moose. I thought that being king would be fun, but having to handle twats all day? It'll be lethal. I can't exactly ask anyone to find me demons with a decent brain, so I'm making do. At least you make for a lovely distraction."
And there was another bitchface. Really, what did the man want? As if there was something wrong with Crowley's proposal. Or evil. Sure, there was plenty of evil in him, but he could vent it whenever he wanted. He didn't need to subject Moose to it. Not when he had other options. If the man had bothered using that reinstated brain of his (and Crowley still hadn't got a thanks for that, by the way) it would have been obvious to him.
"You've never answered me, you know. What do you want? Free of charge."
"You're being kind. It's spooky."
It was Crowley's turn to laugh. "Wasn't I kind to you already? On that beach, most recently? Are you admitting that this meeting was set up because you were the one scared?"
"Just. Confused," Moose snapped.
"Well, you can take my word for it. Or not. Would I lie? Sure. Can you actually come up with a different explanation that makes my actions reasonable? I'm many things, but not a complete loony."
"Not a madman, no. Still, the king of hell wanting to be friends, with or without benefits? Dean would have a coronary, and he might have a point." Sam shrugged.
"So it's not me you're scared of. It's your brother." Crowley smirked.
This time, the glare was worse than any of the previous ones. Still, he might be getting closer to what he wanted. Moose was temptation on miles-long legs, after all. Crowley was feeling reckless enough not to want to resist.
Moose's scowl softened, taking on a mischievous edge. "Really, Crowley? Projecting? Shouldn't you know better?"
"If I was scared of Squirrel, I wouldn't be here, would I? You and I, having our little secret meeting...I've known people who died for less." He grinned.
"We're not doing anything wrong." Sam straightened back up, which was a little annoying, but it was a little funny seeing him go immediately on the defensive.
"We're not doing anything at all. So much talking, and I didn't get one glass out of it, much less anything else worth it. Why exactly do you want me to stay?"
He hadn't thought he would ever see Moose mumble "Sorry", with that embarrassed flush. A moment later, a glass of whiskey was being handed to him. Not even near the quality he was used to, but he'd listened. Die albo signanda lapillo already.
"Trying to decide how big a mistake I can afford."
"Frankly, with what you've already done...Even if accepting my offer should prove the wrong choice in the end, it shouldn't even ping on your scale. Or your brother's, should he know. If someone has any reason to be worried, it's me."
"Then why offer in the first place?" Sam poured himself a finger of whiskey too.
"Pride comes before the fall. Or maybe after, in my case. I think I can survive it. Why not go along with what we both want?"
"That we both want it should be a red flag bright enough to blind anyone." Moose bit his lower lip, and for someone who was insisting this was a bad idea, he was sending pretty mixed messages.
"Well, if that's what rocks your boat, I can always pretend to be unwilling." Crowley smirked. By far not the weirdest fantasy he'd indulged in his love life.
"Misunderstanding on purpose isn't helping your case," Sam snapped.
"Good to know I have one."
Before Moose could retort against that, too, Crowley continued, "Don't deny it. You're good at lying, I'll give you that. But you're not quite at my level yet."
"Hard-earned boasting, I'm sure, but not exactly an argument in your favor."
"We're starting to run in circles, Moose. I'd hate for you to join the ranks of the boring and lose your chance. Tell me what you want, take it if you prefer, or let me go. Whenever you actually have something to ask for, you know how to find me."
"I won't." Sam turned his back on him. A dismissal if he ever saw one.
Crowley wasn't convinced, but it wasn't him Moose was lying to, so he didn't call him out on it again. "Your loss." He wasn't a patient man, by any definition of the word...But he could appreciate the chase, sometimes. When the prize was big enough.