"That doesn't surprise me, no. What with the two brain cells working overdrive as it is."
But there's no heat behind it. He's only playing. He knows how devastatingly clever you really are. Many, many people underestimate The Winchesters. Not Crowley. Not even once.
"For the record there are scores of fun things for us lot to play with and they're all shatteringly brilliant."
What do you want him to do Crowley, he can't friggin' magic up good coffee. Besides, you suggested this hole in the wall.
"Cute," he says, pointing his fork at Crowley before digging back in. "Real cute."
It's the reason Dean even thinks about working with him - he knows Crowley doesn't underestimate them, and to an extent, he knows that they have the demons respect, too. Trust, eh. Not so much. Dean's fully expecting to get backstabbed on this case, but knowing is half the battle.
Maybe. Maybe not. We'll see how the weather is once they're down there. Crowley isn't overly concerned about one little filthy wendigo. It's not like they're going into a nest of powerful demons.
What's a magic rat compared to a thing like Crowley.
"Oh.. ppf. Well one pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small," he teases with a coy smile.
"And the ones that mother gives you don't do anything at all."
"No, I imagine not. They are the least amount of fun. For what it's worth the real party is downstairs. As much as I'm sure yo're loathe to hear, it's true."
What a mighty mortal you are, Dean. Walking in the paths of gods.
It's such a shame you got out when you did. You would have been such a delightful demon but.. also.. perhaps it would have removed the spark which Crowley finds so attractive intriguing.
"Right.. right. I mean after parties too but.. of course."
A sigh.
"Well at least all that talent isn't completely wasted up here. Shall we?, lovey?" he gestures.
It's easy to talk. Easier to talk with dean without Sam there. And less likely that Dean tells him to shut the fuck up.
It's nice.
Rare.
He gets to sit in the front like a big boy, though Sam's butt groove doesn't go unnoticed and he absolutely hates it.
What he does love is the idea of replacing it with his own, if only to fuck with Sam a little.
They'll find the car soon enough. And while Crowley is more than capable of opening the door or just appearing inside, he far prefers watching Dean jimmy it open like a common criminal while he plays lookout.
Which he isn't very good at because he's just eating skittles and watching Dean's ass.
It's probably an hours worth of chatting they have to do, shooting the shit and arguing about everything from breakfast foods to what came first, the chicken or the egg?
It's...weirdly fun, it Dean's being honest with himself. Sam is rarely this much fun, and while Dean obviously doesn't trust Crowley and fully expects to get screwed, he still enjoys himself, enjoys the banter, the easy back and forth. It's an interesting rapport they have.
He's working on getting the car open, sliding the hook in and tipping it back and forth, before glancing over his shoulder.
"Which one? I have so many to offer," he says and slips off his perch to
come over and have a look, passing Dean the skittles as he does. Look,
there's even a few left. Lucky you.
They were Dean's to begin with but nevermind.
Crowley leans in and finds a sweater conveniently on the floor of the car
which he picks up with some small measure of disgust.
"Yeah, this'll work," he says and stands up.
"Back in a tick. Kisses."
Before he blinks out. But don't worry. He'll be back in a minute or two.
He's just gone to get his doggie.
That would be funny, wouldn't it. Eh, I'm bored. Bye, Dean.
He does think about it, but Crowley finds after a minute or two that he was
rather enjoying the mission. Maybe just the company. So much to his own
disgust (lies, he loves it), he will reappear holding the sweater with his
other hand resting high on the neck of a very large, very invisible
Hellhound.
And he starts to wonder if that’s what happened, and he’s searching the glove box for more information, anything that could help, when Crowley comes back.
The hair on the back of his neck rises and he tenses, muscles poising for flight. He knows there’s a hellhound there, he asked Crowley to bring it, but he doesn’t like it.
Crowley gets a middle finger when he turns around, though when he moves, he'll trail after, keeping a solid distance between himself and the demon and his pupper.
No thanks. He knows exactly what that things teeth can do.
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"Specialized blends?"
He takes a sip of his coffee, makes a face, then sets it on the edge of the table, a hint for the waitress to come by and top him off.
"What do you mean?"
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"You honestly haven't considered that the legions of the supernatural wouldn't invent their own party drugs? With all our power and years?"
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No, but it'll at least heat it up. Bad, cold coffee is gross, as a whole.
"I guess I just never put a lot of thought into it."
He's been too busy killing you guys, you know.
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"That doesn't surprise me, no. What with the two brain cells working overdrive as it is."
But there's no heat behind it. He's only playing. He knows how devastatingly clever you really are. Many, many people underestimate The Winchesters. Not Crowley. Not even once.
"For the record there are scores of fun things for us lot to play with and they're all shatteringly brilliant."
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"Cute," he says, pointing his fork at Crowley before digging back in. "Real cute."
It's the reason Dean even thinks about working with him - he knows Crowley doesn't underestimate them, and to an extent, he knows that they have the demons respect, too. Trust, eh. Not so much. Dean's fully expecting to get backstabbed on this case, but knowing is half the battle.
"Like what?"
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What's a magic rat compared to a thing like Crowley.
"Oh.. ppf. Well one pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small," he teases with a coy smile.
"And the ones that mother gives you don't do anything at all."
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"Funny, Jefferson. But alright. You keep your secrets."
If you insist.
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"Maybe someday if you're a good boy. Besides, most of it would kill you."
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"Well, that sounds boring. I've been to heaven, it wasn't that much fun."
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He shrugs.
"I dunno. We were being chased by angels, so. Less than fun."
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"Oh, I've been there. I know exactly what kind of party you've got going on."
He takes a sip of his coffee, grimacing a little.
"I'll pass."
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He'd forgotten for a moment.
What a mighty mortal you are, Dean. Walking in the paths of gods.
It's such a shame you got out when you did. You would have been such a delightful demon but.. also.. perhaps it would have removed the spark which Crowley finds so
attractiveintriguing."Right.. right. I mean after parties too but.. of course."
A sigh.
"Well at least all that talent isn't completely wasted up here. Shall we?, lovey?" he gestures.
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"Mmmhm, probably time to go." They've lingered and chatter long enough, they have a drive up the Parkway to keep chatting, so.
Let Dean go pee, and they'll be off.
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It's nice.
Rare.
He gets to sit in the front like a big boy, though Sam's butt groove doesn't go unnoticed and he absolutely hates it.
What he does love is the idea of replacing it with his own, if only to fuck with Sam a little.
They'll find the car soon enough. And while Crowley is more than capable of opening the door or just appearing inside, he far prefers watching Dean jimmy it open like a common criminal while he plays lookout.
Which he isn't very good at because he's just eating skittles and watching Dean's ass.
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It's...weirdly fun, it Dean's being honest with himself. Sam is rarely this much fun, and while Dean obviously doesn't trust Crowley and fully expects to get screwed, he still enjoys himself, enjoys the banter, the easy back and forth. It's an interesting rapport they have.
He's working on getting the car open, sliding the hook in and tipping it back and forth, before glancing over his shoulder.
"You could help with this, you know."
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"Believe me, I'm doing both of us a favor. I'mm all thumbs with that sort of thing."
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"There we go."
He opens the door and pokes his head in, squinting a little, before pulling out and glancing at Crowley.
"Think it's time for your party trick."
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"Which one? I have so many to offer," he says and slips off his perch to come over and have a look, passing Dean the skittles as he does. Look, there's even a few left. Lucky you.
They were Dean's to begin with but nevermind.
Crowley leans in and finds a sweater conveniently on the floor of the car which he picks up with some small measure of disgust.
"Yeah, this'll work," he says and stands up.
"Back in a tick. Kisses."
Before he blinks out. But don't worry. He'll be back in a minute or two. He's just gone to get his doggie.
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All he can do is lean against the car and wait, popping skittles into his mouth.
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That would be funny, wouldn't it. Eh, I'm bored. Bye, Dean.
He does think about it, but Crowley finds after a minute or two that he was rather enjoying the mission. Maybe just the company. So much to his own disgust (lies, he loves it), he will reappear holding the sweater with his other hand resting high on the neck of a very large, very invisible Hellhound.
"Did you miss me?"
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That would be a dick move, definitely.
And he starts to wonder if that’s what happened, and he’s searching the glove box for more information, anything that could help, when Crowley comes back.
The hair on the back of his neck rises and he tenses, muscles poising for flight. He knows there’s a hellhound there, he asked Crowley to bring it, but he doesn’t like it.
“Always. You bring your critter?”
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"No I'm just holding my hand like this for fun," he answers dryly and pets his pup whilst giving Dean a look. You dumb fuck.
But nevermind. He holds the sweater to be sniffed and smiles.
"Alright then, go find her."
And off they go, Crowley following his dog, Dean following Crowley, far and away into the wilderness like the world's worst hikers.
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No thanks. He knows exactly what that things teeth can do.
God, you better not leave him out here.
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