"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.
It is tempting but this isn't exactly shaping up to be a rendition of Brokeback Mountain and that movie is depressing enough as it is.
So.. no. No, he follows his dog dutifully who catches the scent soon enough and brings them deep, deep into the woods, down a steep ravine to a large pipe big enough for a short man to stand in. It was placed there decades ago to help with runoff of the melting spring snow and slow subsidence of the earth. It smells foul with detritus but more than that is the scent of blood.
Crowley whistles low and stops about ten feet in, signaling for Dean to come here and stay close. You wanted your beastie, he's in here. But it would have taken you days or weeks of searching to find this place if you ever found it at all.
There's a drag on blood on the side of the tunnel where someone tried desperately to grip and save themselves. Definitely the right place.
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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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So.. no. No, he follows his dog dutifully who catches the scent soon enough and brings them deep, deep into the woods, down a steep ravine to a large pipe big enough for a short man to stand in. It was placed there decades ago to help with runoff of the melting spring snow and slow subsidence of the earth. It smells foul with detritus but more than that is the scent of blood.
Crowley whistles low and stops about ten feet in, signaling for Dean to come here and stay close. You wanted your beastie, he's in here. But it would have taken you days or weeks of searching to find this place if you ever found it at all.
There's a drag on blood on the side of the tunnel where someone tried desperately to grip and save themselves. Definitely the right place.