Chapter Text
“Mr. Crowley! Mr. Crowley!” A young man in large round glasses ran up to Crowley as he started the walk from his office to the backstage area, holding out a clipboard and a pen.
Crowley looked at him but didn’t slow down his pace. “Make it quick, Albert, I’ve got to announce the next act.”
“Yessir!” Albert grinned. “It’s just the rehearsal schedule, Mr. Crowley - you need to approve it before we put it on the bulletin board!”
Crowley took the clipboard from Albert and read over the schedule, then held out his hand for the pen, quickly squiggling on the page and handing it back. “When are the auditions for the trumpet section leader?” he asked, smoothly making his way through the backstage chaos of showgirls and stagehands as Albert struggled to keep up.
“Mr. Crowley,” a showgirl sidled up next to him. “What do you think of my new costume? Is it too tight?”
Crowley stopped to look up and down at the leggy woman in the sequined leotard, that, yes, was a little too tight. “It’s just fine love,” he said, cocking an eyebrow and looking right into her eyes. “Olivia, isn’t it? You’re part of the second number- after the boys, yeah?”
“Yes,” she answered, a wicked gleam in her eye and her cheeks a little redder than they had been before they started talking.
“Come find me when the show’s over,” Crowley responded, a ghost of a smile on his face, and he started walking again without waiting for an answer. “Albert,” he said, not looking to see if the young man was nearby. “When are the auditions?”
“Tomorrow morning at 11, sir,” Albert said as they arrived behind the curtain, walking past the members of the big band who cheerfully waved with cries of “Evening, sir!” And “How’s it going, Mr. Crowley?” as they tweaked their instruments here and there, getting them ready for the upcoming performance.
Crowley nodded coolly. “That’s just fine. That’s it for now.”
Albert nodded and hurried offstage.
Crowley adjusted his cufflinks and turned to the singers about to go onstage. “Time for another enchanting evening, eh boys?”
Sam grinned and raised his eyebrows in agreement with a chuckle, as Dean gave Crowley a little salute. “You know it, boss.”
Crowley nodded with a small smirk, then lifted his chin in signal to the stagehand to lift the curtain. He stepped out to the microphone, the applause almost deafening, then raised a hand. The crowd went absolutely silent.
He could only see the spotlight; everything beyond it was just darkness. But there was a feeling of anticipation, of… hunger… that filled the room, pulling at the stage - and only Crowley could fill it. He allowed himself a moment to relish the feeling, then gave a confident smirk to the audience. “And now, Ladies and Gentleman,” he purred. “The Fairy Ring proudly presents… The Winchester Brothers.”
A Few Days Earlier…
The grand Tudor-inspired house on the outskirts of Albuquerque had belonged to a low-level architect, in stark contrast to the cheap cookie-cutter condos she had designed in the city that enabled her to build such a lavish home. Little did she know those terrible designs would have brought her all the fortune she currently had, even without selling her soul, but the Crowley of ten years ago, of course, didn’t tell her that.
Now Crowley sat in the study of the recently available house, sipping some of the former owner’s somewhat decent scotch, reading a book by the fireplace as he listened to the first press vinyl of Robert Johnson’s Crossroads Blues in the background.
For someone who designed such terrible buildings and made such a stupid decision, she had surprisingly good taste.
Crowley tried to concentrate on the book, on the music, on the scotch, anything, but there was a nagging feeling of… emptiness… surrounding him. A few months ago he had been in Los Angeles, the culmination of weeks spent hunting down the devil with Castiel and the Winchesters. Although he had assisted them several times before, this really had been the first time he had done the actual leg work with them, even to the point of putting himself in harm’s way. It all culminated in one of the worst beatings of his afterlife, but he supposed it was worth it because they had finally, finally banished Lucifer. Once and for all.
But after that, the Winchesters and Castiel went their separate ways from Crowley, as usual, and remained separate. It had been months, and… nothing. Instead of working towards a common goal with others he had begrudgingly begun to respect, instead of the constant companionship of a colleague (as obnoxious as it could be), Crowley was left alone.
Just Crowley and his thoughts. Thoughts he didn’t particularly want to deal with, especially the one he seemed stuck on tonight. It was something he had said back in Los Angeles.
“You little people don’t understand, but I’ve been a king.”
The words seemed to go unnoticed; after all, they had much bigger problems at hand. However, these past few months when everything was quiet, they did nothing but nag at him.
I’ve been a king. Present perfect tense, grammatically speaking, meaning that there was a journey… and now it was completed. He was a king in the past, but now he was no longer.
What did he mean by that? As far as he knew, politics in Hell hadn’t changed. Lucifer was gone, Crowley still held the power, the… keys to the kingdom, as it were. As much as the demons hated him, he had set up rivalries long ago to ensure they would always squabble amongst themselves to find his successor before they would spend any time planning his actual overthrow. He was quite safe on his throne.
So why did he not consider himself a king anymore?
And if he wasn’t a king, what was he?
Something in the air changed for a split second, and Crowley immediately recognized the familiar presence suddenly in the room.
“Castiel. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Crowley asked without turning around. He made sure his voice stayed even, despite the relief of the distraction. Then he frowned and moved so he could meet the eyes of the intruder. “How did you get past my wards?”
Castiel ignored the question, and instead gave Crowley an intense stare. “Sam and Dean are on a hunting trip. And they haven’t been home in a few days.”
“Ah.” Crowley said, still expressionless. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“I need your help to find them.” Castiel continued.
Crowley felt a surge of excitement and... something else he couldn’t quite place, which made him somewhat angry at himself. “My help?” he asked uninterestedly.
“We worked well together hunting Lucifer, and I thought-”
“We barely prevented ourselves from killing each other; I would hardly call that ‘working well together,’” Crowley returned to his scotch, the excitement quickly fading as he remembered how annoyed Castiel seemed with him the whole time. Usually Crowley lived to get under people’s skin, but after being alone for so long, he was starting to think that maybe that wasn’t a goal worth pursuing.
Castiel gave Crowley a confused look. “Well, yes. We were successful, so we worked well together. We hated each other, bantered back and forth, and achieved our objective. That’s how it works in all the buddy cop movies.”
Crowley almost choked on his drink with laughter. Sometimes he had forgotten the angel was still very much in the dark about so many things. “So you were just pretending to be annoyed with me because you think that’s how partnerships work?”
Castiel sighed and rolled his eyes- the most expression Crowley had seen on him all evening. “No, you are very annoying. But it works. You challenge me, I challenge you, I see things you do not, you see things I do not. Do you understand?”
“Of course I do. You only reach out when you need my help.” He leaned back in his chair, a smug look on his face, a direct contrast to the hurt he found himself feeling inside. “We’re not friends, Castiel. So from now on, if you need me to do something, I expect to be paid.” He smirked. “My therapist has told me I need to set up boundaries.”
Castiel frowned. “Why would a demon need a therapist?”
“I don’t actually have a therapist,” Crowley answered, irritated. “Why do you have to take things so literally?”
Castiel’s face returned to its neutral state. “I’m an angel. I never got a real chance to be human like you.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow. He honestly had never thought of that. “Fair point,” he conceded. “But I still don’t see why I should take the next who-knows-how-many days away from my comfortable study here to get into that trash heap you call a car with you, when the best outcome I can hope for is to be ignored again.”
He immediately snapped his mouth shut. He couldn’t believe he had said that last part out loud.
But luckily Castiel didn’t seem to notice. Probably because he was thinking of a response instead of really listening.
“Because you like the challenge.” Castiel stared at him with his cold blue eyes. “Two hunters, who have defeated angels, demons, and other assorted entities more than anyone else, suddenly disappear during a routine case? Tell me that doesn’t pique your interest.”
“Somebody got themselves a word-a-day calendar,” Crowley commented.
“So instead of wasting time working at cross purposes, then meeting up in the future and deciding to work together,” Castiel continued, once more ignoring Crowley’s little jab. “We should just skip all of that and start with the strength we have.”
Crowley sighed and put down his scotch. “You’re going to owe me an awfully large favor, Castiel.” He said, standing up.
Castiel calmly met Crowley’s gaze once more, and Crowley felt oddly… exposed. Then he gave the slightest of nods, and stepped back. “Let’s go.”
Even in the dark, the old brown truck looked horrible.
“Why are you still driving this pile of junk?” Crowley asked, grimacing as he walked around the truck. “You know, there are a couple of nicer cars in the garage over there-”
“The truck stays,” Castiel quickly interrupted.
Crowley was taken aback by the rejection. Of course, he shouldn’t really have been surprised. Castiel was most likely not interested in any of Crowley’s opinions- he was just here to find the Winchesters, nothing else.
“So quick to defend,” Crowley said with a condescending smirk. “I see you’ve picked up Dean’s habit of catching feelings for a hunk of machinery.”
Castiel glared at him. “Here’s your press badge for our cover story,” He handed him a plastic identification card as he walked over to the driver’s side of the truck.
“Lance Bass?” Crowley read it aloud, then scoffed. “Please, Castiel. I’m much more of a-”
“Justin Timberlake?” Castiel held up a badge with his own photo on it. “The name is already taken.” He climbed into the truck and started the engine.
“Well played,” Crowley grumbled, and hauled himself into the truck.
“Sam and Dean were investigating the disappearances of college students in Montana. I haven’t heard from them in four days, and they always check in every two. I have a list of the names of the students who have disappeared. We can start there.”
“Did they have any idea of what they were hunting?” Crowley asked.
“No.”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “Figures,”
Castiel snorted, surprising Crowley. “I know.” He said. “I know they have much more experience than I do, but sometimes I don’t understand how they can be so foolish.”
Crowley allowed himself a small chuckle. “I feel like I’m babysitting children whenever I’m with you lot,” he commented.
Castiel glanced at him for a split second before returning his eyes to the road. “Well, they are children… compared to us.”
“Good point,” Crowley agreed, and settled in the seat a little more. “Of course, you’re the oldest of all of us and still the most naïve.”
Castiel was silent for a few moments, and Crowley worried that he had gone too far. Then he chided himself for worrying; why should he care? Insulting Castiel was practically a personality trait at this point.
“That’s very true,” Castiel said finally. “But there are many things you don’t seem to understand as well.”
“And there’s more proof of what you don’t know,” Crowley answered with a smirk, and shifted so he could look out the window. “I understand everything.”
The ensuing silence wasn’t necessarily comfortable, but it was familiar. Crowley once more thought back to a few months ago, when it was just himself and the angel on the road. He allowed his thoughts to drift as he watched the empty countryside go by, hour after hour, slightly surprised to not be plagued by the spiraling thoughts that wouldn’t let him rest earlier. It was as if the presence of another person who wanted him there- not as a friend, Crowley quickly reminded himself, just because he was needed- was enough to let his mind relax.
“You’re right,” Castiel’s voice suddenly came through the silence.
“I often am,” Crowley immediately answered back. He turned from the window to look over at Castiel. “So please do us a favor and narrow it down.”
“I am attached to this truck- not in the way you implied,” Castiel said.
“That was a joke, Feathers,” Crowley rolled his eyes.
“Sometimes it’s hard to tell with you,” was the mild response. There was another pause. “This truck… it’s mine. I found it, I’ve driven it all over the country to hunt Lucifer, to help people… it’s almost like a home.” He momentarily moved his eyes from the road to look at his companion. “You understand, don’t you?”
For once Crowley didn’t have a snappy comeback. “Yes.” He said simply. Was he really so transparent? After all that time in this truck with Castiel, he understood. Because as soon as he sat himself in the passenger seat, he felt it too. A familiarity he didn’t know he had missed.
“I thought you would,” Castiel nodded.
“Aren’t we insightful?” Crowley couldn’t help but snark, but his heart wasn’t really in it.
“I am trying to be. I’ve found it helps when talking to others to solve mysteries.”
Crowley stared at him, wondering if Castiel was actually still having trouble with sarcasm after all this time, or if he was just messing with Crowley.
“What?” Castiel asked.
“Nothing.” Crowley responded, deciding the question wasn’t worth pursuing. If Castiel knew that he was confusing Crowley, he would have the power in the balance of this… partnership, and that was not a position Crowley wanted to give to anyone.
He turned back to looking out the window, and a few moments later heard the click of Castiel turning on the radio, Pete Townsend’s voice asking “Whoooooo are you?” breaking the silence and making Crowley even more annoyed.