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[venatoris]

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[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."

[ruinously]

Dean is smirking at that coffee. That’s what you get for asking for fancy shit at a diner.

“Well, yeah.”

Duh.

“Why else are you here? It isn’t for fun.”

[thesalesman]

Crowley snorts and looks for a moment like he might pour his cup out all over the table. He is, fact, testing to see if it is so thick that it would stay in the cup.

The answer to its viscosity is answered when he does very nearly spill a drop and he sets it back down.

"It's like observing a monkey in its natural habitat. Filthy but captivating all the same. So you are in luck," the demons says, ignoring the eyeroll he is sure that has generated a d forging ahead. Because he is giving Dean what he wants, after all.

"My boy is better for fighting but my girl.. now she loves a good game of chase."

[ruinously]

Yeah, Dean is gearing up to snap about that comment, but before he can, he’s hesitating and wavering.

“How many do you have

The answer is answered how poetic, Andi

[thesalesman]

"Just the two but I'm hoping for puppies this year if I'm lucky."

[ruinously]

“Lovely. Anyway - can you bring em out or what?”

[thesalesman]

He gives a little verbal frown. Puppies are adorable why would you hate that. Who hates puppies.

"You say that like she hasn't been sitting at my feet this whole time." He gestures to the floor at the side of the booth

[ruinously]

Dean. Dean hates puppies.

He visibly stiffens at the news, pulling back, away from… wherever the damned thing (literally) may be sitting.

“Okay so can we use it or not.”

[thesalesman]

"Obviously, Marcia." Not bothering to hide his amusement at Dean's reaction.

"You lead, we'll follow."

[ruinously]

Fuck you, Crowley. It isn’t funny. You know why he doesn’t like hell hounds especially. He’s tense and rigid, leaning back when the waitress drops his pancakes off.

“After breakfast. Can you make it go away for now. Please.”

[thesalesman]

Crowley accepts the request and waves his hand.

In actual fact his dog was never there (can you imagine having a hellhound in a diner like that, how irresponsible) but Dean doesn't need to know.

"No sooner said than done."

He has his own breakfast to contend with. Far less suspect than his coffee.

"Though I'm surprised you'd ask at all given your love of them."

[ruinously]

:| God, you're a douche.

"It doesn't have anything to do with me."

He's gonna dig into his chocolate chip pancakes now, thanks very much.

"It's to help save people. So I'll do whatever needs to be done."

[thesalesman]

"Such a simple moral guideline, I love it."

A bite.

"Genuinely, though. It's flexible. That's what I like about it. You'll do anything. I admire that about you, kitten, I really do."

[ruinously]

"I can never tell if you're making fun of me or not."

All Dean wants to do is help people. It's all he knows how to do, all he was brought up to do.

"Anyway. I'm just saying, if there's a tool we can use to make it easier, save those campers, we should use it, regardless of if I like it."

[thesalesman]

"Well I find that very admirable of you. It's an excellent quality."

He also enjoys the fact they're having a leisurely breakfast before heading off. As if they have a life saving appointment at 11 and don't want to be early.

Dean walks such a deliciously grey line in his pursuit of good, it is fascinating.

[ruinously]

...He's hungry. What do you want from him? He can't operate hungover and on an empty tum.

"You should eat."

He pauses, frowns.

"Do you need to eat?" He's used to barking at Sam to have something.

[thesalesman]

"No, but it is one of life's greatest pleasures and I'll be damned if I lose that."

[ruinously]

Snort.

"Well. There you go. Have a pancake."

He offers his plate, cause he's a good guy like that.

[thesalesman]

Oh. That is. So nice. Wah.

He accepts, cheerful and very chuffed. Crowley rolls it into a cigar to eat with his fingers. Fuck it.

"I love pancakes. You know, take it from someone who's been around the block, the meaning to life really is good food, good drink, and good company."

[ruinously]

Snort. That's one way to do it - a way Dean's done it himself over the years.

"That's what I've always said. Course, doubt my heart thinks that," he says, flashing a little smirk, because he knows how he eats, and he knows a heart attack is coming for him at 70.

[thesalesman]

"well would you rather die young, well pleasured and sasay or slightly less young and regretful? No one gets out of the game alive."