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[venatoris]

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[thesalesman]

You better hurry before some bum takes it.

[venatoris]

[ god let him…. Drag himself out of bed, splash water on his face before opening the door to get his snack.

Snack from a demon. God. ]

thank you

[thesalesman]

[He is, amazing, rather thoughtful by nature. There's donuts, too. The fancy kind.]

You're welcome. Don't say I never do anything for you.

[venatoris]

What’s the catch

[thesalesman]

the mystery makes it fun for me.

[venatoris]

I’m not owing you dude

[thesalesman]

I didn't say that. You don't know.

[venatoris]

just throwing it out there

[thesalesman]

Throw whatever you like Dean. There's no stopping you.

[venatoris]

fine I WILL

[thesalesman]

[Oh, this is going to be good, he can already tell. Crowley doesn't answer that. He's tagging alon on a supposed case while Sam is out of town doing another one but he's starting to think that Dean just wants some space from his pet moose. Can't blame him. ]

[venatoris]

[ Maybe he does. Maybe they both do. They're around each other 24/7, breathing down each others necks - in the car together, eating together, working together, sleeping together--

Not like that.

Anyway. It's exhausting, anyone would get sick of the other person after years of that. Yeah, they're codependent, but even codependent people need a little breathing room.

Sam's off hunting a rugaru somewhere in New Mexico, Dean thinks he's found a Wendigo somewhere out in Appalachia. He's not entirely sure where he is right now; Appalachia is a big area, spanning West Virginia all the way down into Alabama. He thinks maybe they're somewhere in Eastern Tennessee, closer to the Kentucky border - or in Kentucky, hell if he knows. His head hurts too badly to think, though the coffee is slowly bringing him back to life.

Working with Crowley is almost always a bad idea - it usually gets Dean either beat up or in serious trouble. The demons 'help' attracts drama, but for the most part, when Crowley decides not to be a flappy douchebag, he's usually pretty helpful. ]

where are you, anyway? off betraying me?

[thesalesman]

So spicy.

But no, not in these woods. I have some standards in who I'll deal with.

Are we working today? I can put my plans on hold.

[Said like he isn't sitting in a coffee shop with fuck all else to do.]

[venatoris]

course we are. hangovers don't stop winchesters from working.

[ A little coffee, some aspirin, - he'll be fine. ]

meet me at that diner in twenty. rosie's.

[thesalesman]

Aye aye

[Crowley leans back and sips his coffee before making a face. God.. disgusting. Americans and their burnt tar, he'll never understand it.

Rosie's is, however, conveniently across the street and he'll watch from the window until he sees Dean before sauntering over with a thin smile and his hands in his pockets.]

[venatoris]

He'll be there exactly twenty minutes later, because that's what he said. He's a little pale, dark circles under his eyes but honestly -- when doesn't he look rode hard and put up wet?

He orders another coffee from the waitress as he settles to wait, flashing her a wink before dropping his eyes to the demon who has settled across from him.

"You look chipper."

[thesalesman]

"Oh- sorry, are we only doing misery today?" He asks and slides into the booth across from Dean. He mimes his fingers pulling his mouth into a frown. Sad face it is.

Nah, he can't be bothered.

"Espresso, please love. Anything but that dishwater Americans call filter coffee." he says to the waitress who tries to smile through it because she needs this job and says she'll see what she can do. He wasn't expressly rude to her so she isn't mad but she has no idea how she's going to try to make espresso happen.

"Besides," back to Dean.

"I've had quite a pleasant twenty four hours."

[venatoris]

"You realize we're in a shitty diner, right. Who knows what she's gonna bring you."

Espresso, you bougie ass bitch. What a pain in the ass.

"Yeah, as you keep saying. Meanwhile, I'm trying to focus on the case. So can we?" He gestures at the file in front of him.

[thesalesman]

Crowley just shrugs and gives a gesture. Why by all means.

And.. on the coffee front, he kinda just wants to see what she'll do. So he can wait.

"Right, so. Remind me. What are we looking for again? A Winnebago?"

.. smile?

[venatoris]

“You’re hilarious.” Deadpan.

“A wendigo. You’ve heard of them. We got three missing campers, all the regular signs.”

[thesalesman]

Lighten up, Dean, have a little fun. Don't go all Sam on him.

Crowley nods like he cares and he's invested (sort of is, that's why he's here after all) and leans back against the booth a bit. Nice to have a spread out.

"Sounds fairly small fry. Those things give a royal- and I mean royal stink. It's disgusting.

[ruinously]

“Oh, I’m aware.”

Like, they’re fucking gross. Gross.

“Last time we hunted one, the thing had been taking them alive. Stowing them for later. You know how they are. But the woods are big, and they’re hard to track. Don’t suppose you’ve got a hellhound that’s eager to do some sniffing?”

[thesalesman]

"Boy do I ever, but would that be cheating? Aren't we supposed to be struggling? That's the authentic hunter experience, isn't it?"

[ruinously]

“No. We’re supposed to be helping people and saving lives, and that means utilizing what tools we have.”

Crowley gets a meaningful look.

“Like a hellhound.”

[thesalesman]

"Suddenly it all becomes clear," he says as their drinks are delivered. He squints at the cup laid down before him. There's very little liquid in it and it looks very thick. Hm.

"You, Dean Winchester," picking up his suspicious mug and sloshing it around in a circle. No. He does not like the syrupy coating it's leaving one bit.

"-just want me for my bitch."