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Castiel scans the area as he climbs out of his truck in Chicago at the address Claire sent him. The ground is wet, and the smell of rotting trash and motor oil hangs heavy in the air. The sight of the dingy motel makes his heart clench. It’s a rotting reminder of how he has failed Claire and her parents. Sometimes, life was easier when he didn’t think about things like vessels having lives and concerns and family. He’s left his vessel’s child alone and uncared for so long that this place must seem like a palace. Castiel deserves this guilt in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t have time for this detour, but Claire is important. Still, he needs to get back to Dean. Killing Cain with the First Blade has surely taken its toll on him, and Castiel needs to be there to keep Dean safe from himself. Castiel pulls out his phone, dialing Claire’s number. He looks towards the motel, checking for windows or doors opening. He turns towards the sound of the ring to find Crowley standing in front of him.
Crowley smirks as he lowers his phone. He looks perfectly at home in this decaying property. “Where’s the blade, Feathers?” He drops his phone into his pocket as he waits for Castiel’s answer. Crowley rolls his eyes and steps forward in a way that would be menacing if Castiel was a lesser being. Castiel has faced bigger threats than Crowley could ever be, even if he is the king of hell these days.
“It’s safe,” Castiel advances on Crowley, shoes touching as he stops in front of the demon. “It’s also not your concern.” Castiel would like nothing more than to grab him and slam him into the wall, but it wouldn’t help anything. “Where’s Claire?” Castiel growls.
“No idea,” Crowley shrugs. He’s the picture of nonchalance, but it’s all an act. Something is boiling under his expensive suit, but as long as it doesn’t have anything to do with Claire or the Winchesters, it isn’t Castiel’s concern. “You didn’t really think I had her, did you? Cloned her cell.” Crowley waves his phone playfully at Castiel. “Your little delinquent is fine. Wherever she is.”
“If you’ve hurt her-“ Castiel grips Crowley’s jacket, lifting him off his heels. It pleases a small part of Castiel to know that Crowley will have to make someone iron his suit. Perhaps Castiel has grown a touch petty during his time on Earth.
“Oh, calm down,” Crowley snorts, completely unbothered by being lifted off his heels. “I don’t have any interest in anger management Barbie. I want that blade. Had to catch you before you ran back to the Winchesters.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Castiel rolls his eyes, dropping Crowley back on his feet and stepping away. “If Claire is not here, I need to get back. Dean needs-“
“I need!” Crowley yells. His voice so loud it echoes in the buildings around them. “You irritating, chivalrous, badly dressed gits make demands, threaten, torture, and lie to me. So now, Castiel,” Crowley pushes the angel hard, sending him crashing to the ground, “you are going to give me that blade because I need it.” Crowley kicks Castiel in the stomach as he tries to stand up. “I recharged your batteries. You owe me.”
Castiel glares and climbs to his feet. “I’m allowing you to leave with your life.” His eyes flare blue with grace as he stares down Crowley. Crowley can be a useful weapon in his arsenal, but Castiel won’t be intimidated by a demon with an inflated sense of importance. “Consider my debt paid.” He turns his back, ready to get back on the road, when he feels a hand on his bicep and turns to punch Crowley. Castiel smashes the demon’s nose and then shakes the feeling out of his hand.
“Fucking twat!” Crowley yells as he stumbles back, shaking his head, drops of blood landing on the sidewalk. Crowley advances on Castiel, wrapping his fists in the lapels of his trench coat and dragging Castiel close to his face. “You are going to give me that blade, or so help me, I will rain down destruction on you and those flannel-wearing, pretty boys!”
“Do you ever stop talking?” Castiel’s voice drips with irritation as he slaps Crowley’s hands away and rubs his brow. He tosses his hands up in frustration, coat flapping at the movement. “I’m not giving you the blade, and there isn’t anything you can say or do to convince me.” Castiel has reached the end of his patience. “Go whine to your minions.”
“They are all irritating, whimpering sycophants,” Crowley mutters. He kicks at a piece of grit on the sidewalk.
“Then make a friend!” Castiel snaps. “I don’t have time for this. In case you forgot, I don’t have my wings, and I need to get back to Dean.”
“You used to be my friend,” Crowley says softly.
Castiel stops. He searches his brain, trying to figure out what possible con Crowley could be trying to pull. “We were never friends,” Castiel argues. And they weren’t. Not really. They were co-workers and occasionally bedfellows, but they were never friends. Is he trying to play on Castiel’s sympathy? He doesn’t have much left for Crowley, considering everything he’s done to land Dean in his current, barely human position.
“Partners then,” Crowley insists. “Before you betrayed me.” He crosses his arms, wrinkles moving up the sleeves of his designer coat. He looks like a petulant child. Castiel is surprised to realize Crowley just wants to talk.
Castiel squints, and he stares at Crowley. He doesn’t understand the king of hell’s reluctance to let him leave. Maybe his brush with humanity affected Crowley as much as Castiel’s affected him. Castiel wants to get back to Dean, but it might be nice not to worry for a few moments. “If I have a drink with you, will you leave me alone?”
“Don’t do me any favors, Feathers.” Crowley’s voice is dripping with sarcasm, but there’s no heat behind it. A smile plays on the demon’s lips, and Castiel remembers that smile. They did have a few good times together, even if he would never admit it to Dean.
“Come on.” With a wave of his fingers, Castiel unlocks the door to an empty motel room and walks inside. It’s exactly the same and completely different from every other motel room he’s been in. Two beds with various body fluids he doesn’t like to think about, a leaky faucet in the bathroom, and a small fridge. Castiel’s favorite perk of checking into a hotel room was always going through Dean’s things, helping him unpack for their brief stay. Pushing thoughts of Dean out of his head, Castiel pulls a small bottle of rum out of the mini fridge and tosses it at Crowley. “There’s your drink.”
“You are spending too much time with Dean if you think this is a proper place to get a drink,” Crowley grumbles as he unscrews the bottle and takes a sip. “At least the whiskey is strong.”
“I’m sorry, by the way,” Castiel opens a beer, taking a long pull, trying not to taste the molecules. “About betraying you. That was in poor taste. I know that’s not how you are supposed to treat... co-workers?” Castiel closes the gap between them, his hands hovering over the demon’s face. Crowley reaches up, grasping Castiel’s hand and leaning into Castiel’s open right hand. Blinking away bloody tears, Crowley closes his eyes and sighs.
“Honestly?” Crowley smirks, “I was impressed. A little disappointed that I didn’t think of it first.” Crowley takes another drink of his whiskey. “I didn’t realize being king would be so lonely, Feathers.”
Castiel allows a trickle of grace to heal the damage he caused to Crowley’s vessel. “I also found it lonely. Being God.” Castiel studies Crowley’s face, remembering stolen touches when they worked to break into purgatory. “Of course, I killed most of my kind, so I suppose that makes sense.” Castiel runs his thumb along the edge of Crowley’s beard. “Now I just feel guilty. Sometimes, I think it was easier, being the lapdog.”
“Isn’t that what you are now?” Crowley chuckles. “Just have a different master.”
Cas pulls his hands away. He looks down, swirling the beer in his hand that makes him think of Dean. “Perhaps. Isn’t that what everyone is to Dean and Sam?”
“That was shitty of me to say.” Crowley sighs and sits on the lumpy bed. He finishes the bottle of whiskey, screwing on the cap and tossing it at the garbage can. “Everyone in hell is constantly plotting, scheming, and it used to be fun, but now it’s about me and I just...” Crowley takes another drink from the tiny rum bottle. “I miss having a friend. And Dean wasn’t a great friend, but at least-“
“At least you weren’t alone.” Cas sits down on the bench across from Crowley. “That’s why I can’t give you the blade. I need to keep us safe from Dean until we can find a way to remove the Mark.”
“You have no idea how good you have it. Those idiot Winchesters, your vessel’s hellspawn, your angel girlfriend-“
“Hannah left, actually,” Cas takes another drink of his beer. “She’s in Heaven. She doesn’t like what we do to the vessels, so...” Castiel shrugs. “And Jimmy’s daughter believes I am the monster that killed her father. It’s a valid argument. Sam is so focused on Dean and Dean is... trying to hold on.” Castiel finishes his beer quickly. “Neither of them know. About the stolen grace.”
“Keeping secrets from your boyfriend never works out for you, Feathers.” Crowley tuts.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Castiel rolls his eyes. He won’t admit to the amount of time he’s wasted dreaming of Dean cuddled close to his chest, fingers in his short hair, whispering kindnesses Dean won’t let himself hear outside of the darkness of that imagined moment. “Sounds like you wanted him to be your boyfriend.”
Crowley smirks, staring up at the ceiling. “Wouldn’t have said no. He was a beautiful demon. And those legs? Stunning. Even if he is a repressed, overly emotional pain in the ass.”
“He absolutely was not,” Castiel argues. “His demon form paled in comparison to the brightness of his soul.” Castiel smiles softly as he remembers Dean’s soul shining in the darkness of hell. “Doesn’t matter,” Castiel shakes his head, pushing the memories back down to the safe place inside of him where he hides the rest of his feelings. “If we don’t find a way to remove the Mark, Dean isn’t long for this world.”
“He’ll pull through,” Crowley takes another drink. “Those Winchesters always do.” Crowley pats Castiel’s knee in a way that almost seems friendly. “Those muppets are practically immortal. Every time one of them dies, some all-powerful being brings them back. Like we’re on a bloody sitcom.”
“Well,” Castiel replies, taking a long pull of his beer. “This has been, uh,” Castiel holds up his hands, making finger quotes, “‘fine,’ but I need to go.” Castiel stands up and rolls his shoulders as he prepares for the long, confining car ride back to the bunker to check on Dean.
Crowley’s fingers are warm around his wrist. “Stay.” It’s not a demand or a question. It’s as close to a plea as Castiel has ever heard from a demon who wasn’t begging for his life.
“Crowley-“
“Just do it,” Crowley whispers. Castiel rolls his eyes as he sits down. He fiddles with his coat, a nervous habit he picked up when he was human. There’s a comfort in it. “I miss...” Crowley reaches his hand out, resting it on Castiel’s knee before sliding it up, the back of his hand touching Castiel’s.
“I thought you weren’t sentimental,” Castiel stares down at their hands. He makes no move towards or away. Moments like this are where Castiel exists. Moments where hope surrounds him, and he can’t move because if he does, he’ll know for sure that he’s as worthless as he feels.
“I’m a liar,” Crowley huffs. “You know that. Everyone knows that. Demon, remember? Sort of comes with the territory.” Crowley’s pointer finger slides across Castiel’s. “Castiel?”
Castiel pushes him back on the bed, pulling Crowley’s tie to bring the demon to meet his lips. “This doesn’t mean anything. I’m not giving you the-“
Crowley cuts Castiel off, pushing their lips together. His hands sliding under Castiel’s coat. Castiel gasps in surprise, Crowley taking the opening to lick inside of the angel’s mouth. Castiel struggles out of his jacket, unwilling to break the kiss, Crowley following his movements. He wraps his legs around Castiel, pulling their crotches together and humping lightly.
Castiel pulls back, his hands on Crowley’s shoulders, pushing him into the worn bedspread. “Same deal as last time. You breathe a word of this to anyone, and I’ll smite you.”
“Keep talking dirty to me, Feathers,” Crowley chuckles. “Turns me on when you get all butch.” Crowley’s hands are roaming up and down Castiel’s back under his coat. His hands move down to Castiel’s ass, squeezing lightly.
Castiel feels Crowley chuckle against his lips as he grabs Crowley’s tie. Working the knot loose as they breathe each other's air more than kiss. Castiel pulls the tie from Crowley’s neck and shoves it in the demon’s smirking mouth. “You talk too much.” Crowley always enjoyed it when Castiel was rough in their times before this. Castiel is good at being what others need him to be. Crowley clearly needs some kind of intimacy, and Castiel can give him what he needs.
Crowley works Castiel’s belt open, the cheap leather rubbing against the buttons of Crowley’s jacket. Crowley pulls roughly on Castiel’s pants, the button ripping free and the zipper opening into a wide sideways yell. Castiel slowly unbuttons his suit jacket as he rolls his hips, grinding against Crowley. He slides off of Crowley, hanging his suit jacket from the wooden hanger attached to the rod in the closet. Castiel hangs his pants next, then his dress shirt. Crowley pulls the tie out of his mouth, and Castiel growls. “I didn’t tell you to take that out.”
“It’s silk,” Crowley protests.
“Ask me if I care,” Castiel watches him from the side of the bed, his oversized, boring white boxers hiding the curves and contours of Castiel’s impressive thighs. “Put the tie back in your mouth. You have to earn the right to speak.”
Crowley loosens his tie, pulling it from around his neck and shoving it back in his mouth. He mockingly bows from his place on the bed and rolls his eyes at Castiel. Castiel smirks down at him as he rips open Crowley’s shirt, ignoring the demon’s muffled grunts of protest. Castiel unbuckles Crowley’s pants, pulling Crowley’s hard cock from his underwear. “Is this what you want? What you need?” Crowley starts to speak around the tie in his mouth, Castiel quickly covering his mouth. “I don’t give you permission to speak. We are having a rhetorical conversation.”
Castiel climbs off of Crowley, pulling his expensive pants off and throwing them in a heap on the floor. Crowley pulls the tie out of his mouth. “Do you have any idea how much that bloody suit costs? Your cheap Macy’s suit gets folded while mine-“ Castiel shoved the tie back in Crowley’s mouth.
“I don’t remember you talking quite this much the last time.” Castiel pulls down Crowley’s silk boxers and jerks his cock a couple of times. “Now keep your mouth shut until I pull that tie out of your mouth, or I’ll leave you here with blue balls.”
Crowley pulls the tie out of his mouth, tossing it on the bed. “Okay, stop it,” Crowley snaps. “If I wanted someone to torture me, I would have stayed in hell!”
Castiel stills, head tilting in confusion. “I thought...”
“I know,” Crowley grumbles. He sits up and crosses his legs, his arms wrapped protectively around himself. “It’s fine. I’ll just-“
“No,” Castiel puts his hand on Crowley’s knee. The air conditioner kicks on, the flow of air making the already cold room colder. “Why did you come to see me if it was not for sexual intercourse?”
“Get me another drink, will you?” Castiel grabs another bottle from the fridge, opening it before handing it to Crowley. The demon sips the bottle, sighing deeply before he holds his hand out for the cap. “I wanted something I can’t find in hell.”
“You wanted kindness,” Castiel supplies. It makes sense. The few moments of kindness Castiel has experienced are deeply cherished. The memories of drinking with Dean, Sam, Jo, Ellen, and Bobby or Dean taking him to a den of iniquity, bring him more joy than anything he ever experienced in Heaven. He can only assume it’s worse in Hell.
“If you tell anyone, Feathers, I swear I will strangle you with Squirrel’s intestines.” Crowley growls.
“That wouldn’t kill me,” Castiel mutters.
“Not physically no, but it would kill you nonetheless. Now shut up and just hold me.” Crowley pushes Castiel back and lays his head on his chest. “Wrap your arms around me.” Castiel smirks and wraps his arms around Crowley. Castiel wills his heart to beat, hoping it will provide some kind of comfort to Crowley. He runs his fingers up and down the demon’s back. They stay on the bed, arms wrapped around each other, words on both their lips that they don’t dare say aloud.
Neither of them actually needs sleep, but something about the closeness and warmth of another body lulls Castiel, his eyes slowly closing for longer and longer each time. Crowley hums contentedly as Castiel’s scratches lightly up and down his back. His beard hair catches in his chest hair as Crowley turns his head and cuddles back into Castiel’s chest. There’s so much Castiel wants to say, so many things he knows he should be dealing with, so many people who would be disappointed in him if they could see him, but Crowley’s warm breath on his chest pushes all of his thoughts away. This will be another one of those moments he thinks about when he doesn’t want to keep going. This is one of those moments that proves that the world isn’t as broken as it seems to be. A demon and an angel, taking comfort in each other before they go back to war, is a rare and beautiful thing.
