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Crowley sat in the big entry hall of the bunker, lounging in a big chair as he would in his throne back in hell. Or his former throne, he corrected himself bitterly. And his future throne, if his plan succeeded and he would make damn well sure that it would.
But for that, the inhabitants of the bunker had to arrive and he waited far too long for his taste already. He had exactly what the Winchesters wanted. They needed a weapon to kill Lucifer? Crowley would provide. And as much as he craved to kill Lucifer himself, he was more than willing to leave most of the dangerous work to them. Crowley had a score to settle with Lucifer after the incident after all. He could still feel the cheap fabric of that ugly Hawaii shirt on his meat suit's skin if he concentrated hard enough. He rubbed assuringly over the smooth fabric of his Armani. Lucifer would pay, no matter what.
So lost in his revenge fantasies, Crowley almost hadn't caught the sound of steps on the parquet floor. Only one pair, he noticed and he recognised them, too.
"Hello, Feathers." Not that Crowley could confuse him with any other inhabitant of the bunker. Castiel's presence alone set the creature inside Crowley's meat suit on edge. It could feel the low hum of grace before he could hear the footsteps. The angel's true form was pulsating inside the human vessel, alarmed at the demon's presence. It emitted the cold, blue light Crowley was far too familiar with. And it still burned in his eyes, almost blinding him. "Good to see you, too."
He fought off the first instinct to flee, to hide, to cower before the far more powerful being and concentrated on the disaster that was the trench coat and business suit combination. Despite his aversion to look at the angel directly, his vessel was still very pleasing to the eye. Crowley should visit more often, maybe he could enjoy the view without the trench coat in the way.
"What are you doing here?" Castiel asked in the raspy voice of his. Funny how he never really got the grasp of human speech after all these years. His baby blue eyes were looking around, searching, feeling for something Crowley couldn't see. "And how did you get in here?" Crowley smiled, satisfied with his work.
"Through the door," he teased unhelpfully.
"Doubtful."
"A magician never reveals his secrets, Castiel." Castiel's face became the picture of loud, intense thinking as he pondered over that.
"You are a demon." Brilliant. Crowley rolled his eyes. He should get to the point before he lost some brain cells.
"I have no time to chit chat with you. Where are dumb and dumber?"
"Sam and Dean aren't here. What do you want from them?"
"Finally getting to the point" he mumbled loud enough for Castiel to hear it. "I have an offer to make."
"No."
"Not to you, to the boys. You only do what they tell you to do anyway."
"Still no." Castiel stepped closer and the hairs in Crowley's neck raised as the hum intensified. He forced himself to look directly at Castiel, who stopped behind him, looming over him in an attempt to intimidate him. Cute. And also very dangerous, he thought with some excitement, that concentrated between his thighs. Crowley could feel Castiel's grace racing through him, pushing towards the demon to erase him. Crowley stood up before his trousers became too tight. If Castiel wanted a pissing contest, he could have one. If Castiel wanted something else, Crowley wouldn't refuse either. The table was quite roomy enough for two.
"Listen. Not sure if you've got the memo, but we have the same enemy for a change and it's not your closet." The intense thinking face had its comeback.
"I've never fought my closet."
"What I mean is: We both want Lucifer gone and that's why I'm here."
"We can't fight against my brother," Castiel interrupted quickly.
"Not with that attitude. I actually did something about it. We can't all waste hours staring at nice arses."
"No, we can't." Crowley blinked. Castiel blinked back, probably clueless. Crowley decided it would be better to just move on.
"I have found a weapon powerful enough to kill Lucifer." Castiel looked unconvinced. The bane of someone without imagination, Crowley thought. "Care for a demonstration?" Castiel mustered him a moment, nodded and stepped away to give Crowley room. He summoned his angel blade.
"That will not work," the peanut gallery commented.
"Really?" Crowley bit back. "Never would have guessed. Just keep quiet and watch, feathers. Indulge me for a change." He twirled the blade between his fingers like a drum stick, careful not to cut himself with it. "Looks like a normal angel blade, right?"
"Right."
"Quiet!"
"You asked." Crowley knew better than to think Castiel an absolute imbecile and the mirthful glint in those baby blues reminded him of that, even though the angel looked as serious as usual. He threw the knife into the wall nearest to Castiel, where it got stuck.
"Just. Watch." He ordered it back with a gesture of his hand and after some wiggling, it became free and flew towards him. But Castiel caught it mid-air in a swift motion that would have been impressive if it wouldn't interrupt Crowley's demonstration again.
"Enough," Castiel commanded in a way that Crowley would have liked to obey under less annoying circumstances. "What do you really want?"
"If you would give me back my blade, I could show you." Crowley talked slow and very pronounced like he was talking to an idiot. He just needed the blade and an unwilling sacrifice to use it on and it didn't cost him much effort to summon a demon in here. And he would have done so already if the angel wouldn't interrupt him at every step just to annoy him. His patience was running out and he couldn't use Castiel for his demonstration. He needed the boys in good spirits.
To his surprise, Castiel turned the hilt towards him and what Crowley saw let his heart drop into his shoes.
"Show me your hand!"
"What?"
"Your hand you bloody moron!" Crowley grabbed it himself after Castiel made no effort to move on his own. The sword landed clattering on the floor. Jolts of electricity went through Crowley's arm, setting his nerves on fire with a very pleasing sort of pain that went straight downward. His skin prickled where Crowley touched the angel and he wondered for a split second how it would feel to get touched by him in other places. He turned Castiel's hand and there it was; a cut in the palm where he had caught the weapon. Crowley gulped heavily. That's not what he meant with an unwilling sacrifice.
"Well, shit."
"It's just a cut," Castiel said, oblivious to the reason for all the fuss. Crowley let go.
"A cut from a poisoned blade." Castiel's confusion intensified visibly. "The weapon I was talking about. I didn't mean my blade, you fool, but the one it's coated with. I've searched long and hard to find something strong enough to kill Lucifer and found this."
"You can't poison angels."
"And you can't just shut up and listen, can you?" Crowley took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Castiel had already a film of sweat covering his brow. He had no time to waste. "Not under normal circumstances, that's true." Crowley took out a small vial, filled with a pitch-black liquid. Despite its dark colour, it radiated off a nauseating aura and Crowley could swear he felt his skin decay where it touched the glass.
"The venom of the snake in the garden of Eden," he whispered, mesmerized by the radiance of pure evil. Something heavy hitting the floor beside him let Crowley jump. Castiel lay to his feet. Usually, he would welcome the sight, but usually, he didn't imagine the angel laying on his back, his whole body spasm uncontrollably while desperately gasping for air. That ruined the mood a little bit.
Crowley put away the vial and kneeled next to the angel. With small hand gestures, he pushed the surrounding furniture away and waited until the first seizures subsided. Castiel panted heavily, his face and lips had taken on a blue tinge.
"H-how long do I have?" Castiel rasped weakly. Crowley bit his lip. Castiel wouldn't like the answer.
"I don't know." Every breath made a sickly gurgling sound and streaks of saliva were running down his chin. Crowley took out his handkerchief and cleaned it up. Castiel should die with a little bit of his dignity intact, he supposed. He was already dying like an idiot, that was the least bit Crowley could do.
"The antidote."
"There is no antidote, you dolt! That's the whole fucking point!" Crowley inhaled a shaky breath. "You will die, kitten." But now he had his proof that the poison worked on angels, a small opportunistic voice in his head told him. He smothered it instantly.
Crowley didn't know where Castiel drew the strength from, but he grabbed him by the tie and dragged him down until their noses touched. He could smell the rot working its way through Castiel's vessel. His true form was writhing underneath it. Dark tendrils clawed at his grace, slowly suffocating the light. "Make an antidote then."
"I'm touched by your trust in my abilities, but even I cannot cure something so potent like this." Castiel's hand started to shake again and he had to let go.
They remained there. Castiel's laboured breathing broke through the silence while Crowley watched him die.
Finally, he had enough and Crowley moved to pick up the blade from the floor. He sat in Castiel's lap, straddling him in the process. Sadly, he could not find the enjoyment in that.
"I can make it quick," he whispered and positioned the tip of his blade on Castiel's chest. Crowley looked at him expectantly. "I won't even make you beg."
"Don't. Wait. I want to say goodbye," Castiel interjected. Crowley nodded.
"They can do it themselves then."
"No. Better you than them." Crowley smiled bleakly and rose to his feet. Castiel preferred his blood on his hands. Of course.
Hours went by and Castiel's condition worsened by the minute. No Winchester insight. Crowley had teleported them both to Castiel's room. Or what he called his room. Crowley would describe it in less flattering terms. Not that it mattered anymore.
They had settled easily into a routine. Crowley was sitting next to the bed, reading a book, changing the wet cooling cloth on Castiel's brow in regular intervals. He gave Castiel water when he asked for it and played with the angel blade to remind him that this was still an option.
Castiel on the other hand lay in his bed, spasm from time to time and died slowly. His injured hand had swollen to twice its normal size and beamed in bright red where the skin hadn't already rotten away into black, dead tissue. Skin rashes had appeared all over Castiel's visible body parts and he shivered weakly between the seizures. But nothing of the vessel's decay was as fascinating and frightening as what was happening underneath it. Castiel's grace had retreated to a small spot inside the vessel. Its blue light was dimmed down to the equivalent of a night light. It also spasmed, which manifested in sudden strikes of blinding light, that left Crowley disoriented for a moment. The dark tendrils around it mirrored the lines of dead tissues on Castiel's skin.
"I told you to be quiet and watch," Crowley murmured more to himself than to anybody else in the room. He could have sent his demons to search for an antidote if he were still the king of hell. He even contemplated asking his mother for help. Maybe she would know a spell. A spell to neutralise a venom of that origin. That sounded stupid even unspoken. And where the hell were Dean and Sam? Crowley wanted it to be done. He couldn't stand that sentimental suffering any longer.
He looked up from the page he was staring at for some minutes. Castiel's blue eyes had lost all focus and stared dully into nothingness. A pang of guilt hit him in the chest. It was the idiot's fault, he reminded himself. Crowley had told him!
"Crowley..." Castiel's voice was unrecognisable. He always sounded like he had forgotten to oil his vocal cords, but now they sounded like they had collapsed or were rigid from not using them in ages. He sounded... broken.
"What?" Crowley snapped, still angry at the amount of stupidity. Castiel's hand patted weakly over the bedsheets in search of something. Crowley followed his urge and grabbed it to make that pathetic display stop. No jolt went through him this time, not even a light prickling. Crowley swallowed hard.
"Water..." He repeated the same motions as last time Castiel had asked for it.
"Never thought I would be nursing anyone, least of all an angel," he started to complain to say at least something and before he had put the glass at Castiel's lips the light went out, leaving.
"Kitten?" Nothing. Crowley let go of Castiel's lifeless hand. It felt strangely cold. So did Crowley's chest. He put away the angel blade, that lay on the nightstand. He wouldn't need it anymore.
Crowley sat back in his chair, wondering how he should explain that to the Winchesters when an explosion of blue light and divine energy knocked him to the ground. Castiel set up in his bed, his grace shining brighter than ever. No traces of black were left, only the beautiful blue of Castiel remained. Crowley forced himself to lie down where he was. It demanded everything of him not to run away or to crawl on his knees towards Castiel and lay himself to his feet in awe. He would pray and cry in fear and adoration if he'd let himself. Castiel turned his head towards him. His eyes were sharp and piercing, his inner light was shining through, setting them ablaze. Crowley could make out the dark shapes of Castiel's mangled wings, who filled the room and a small part of him warned him not to get in contact with them. What would happen if a demon touched them in this state?
Slowly, the light dimmed down, the wings vanished back into their invisible state and Castiel's eyes were just baby blue again. He watched Crowley with curiosity. Crowley hurried to his feet.
"I forgot how bad you are at dying," he quipped to end the unnerving silence and sat down in his chair again: He took his time picking up the book from the floor.
"I doubt the venom will kill my brother," Castiel stated, his voice rough as usual.
"Thank you for stating the obvious." But that didn't mean the poison was completely useless, estimated by the way it had weakened Castiel. But it would not be able to kill an archangel, much less the Devil. Crowley would need to adjust his plans.
"Can I see the vial?" Castiel sounded tired. Now that his state had normalised, Crowley could see the toll it had taken on him. His face was pale, he had dark rings under his eyes and Crowley could see a bright red scar on Castiel's hand, where the cut had been. Crowley gave the vial to him.
"Don't drink it." The suspicion that he had been duped gnawed on his mind. Crowley would look into that and someone would pay for that colossal disappointment.
Castiel threw the vial against the wall, where it burst instantly, splattering its contents all over the wall and floor. Wallpaper and carpet began to peel off and de-solve immediately where the black liquid touched it.
"What on-"
"I didn't like it. It could be used to hurt angels." The simplicity in Castiel's answer drove the heat up Crowley's neck.
"We could still make use of it, you overgrown feather duster!" he yelled, not caring how hysterical he must have looked.
"It wouldn't have worked against Lucifer." He stared Crowley straight in the eyes, his baby blues cold as ice. "No need to leave something like that with you." Crowley drew his angel blade and pointed it at Castiel. He didn't even flinch at the poison coated weapon.
"Do you know what I had to go through to get it?" Crowley hissed through his teeth.
"No," was Castiel's final answer in the matter and the cold in his gaze was gone. He seemed to be done with it. Instead, the glint reappeared, setting Crowley on edge in a different way.
"Your bedside manner is lacking."
"Oh, shut up or next time I will use you as a guinea pig on purpose." He lowered his weapon. The hostile tension in the room had vanished. Crowley could hear footsteps from the entrance hall. "The next time, Lucifer will do something, it'll be on you." With that, Crowley snapped his fingers and was gone.