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The giant, gecko-like creature turned around, swinging its tail in a wide arc.
Crowley dived to the side, barely avoiding its spiked end. Dust clouds blinded him as he lay there, trying to make himself as small as possible. Based on the draught that passed above him, the tail barely missed him again. He heard Castiel running past him, and a heartbeat later the monster screamed: Crowley’s cue to finish his break and enter the fight, or they both would be dust. He got up, made sure he still had his angel blade secure in hand and mirrored Castiel’s movements until they closed in on the raging monster from two sides.
Dark blood dripped from a fresh wound in its side, leaving marks on the wooden floor. It focused on Castiel as the bigger threat, moving nervously on the spot.
Crowley’s eyes met Castiel’s, and like a well-oiled machine, both men went into action. Castiel attacked and kept the beast’s attention on him while giving Crowley an opening to end this fight with one well-placed strike.
When Castiel parried the creature’s large claws, Crowley struck. The beast had no plating, only slimy, leathery skin and the blade went smoothly into its body like butter. The creature's scream died halfway when the body hit the floor where it lay motionless.
"This," he gasped between breaths, "could have been over much earlier if you hadn’t hesitated the first time!" Damn his human body. Damn his old human body! Crowley noticed that Castiel wasn’t panting as heavily as him.
"We survived. What more do you want?" Castiel said, his eyes still fixed on the lifeless body of the monster as if it might be playing dead in hope of treats.
Crowley wiped the dust and dirt off his sweaty brow. "A hot bath, but a ride home would be second best."
Castiel grunted in agreement.
It took them longer to get out of the house than in, since they now had to half-step, half-climb over crashed furniture, broken walls, and the corpses of the former owners and guests.
The cold winter wind bit into Crowley's face when they exited through the front door that was hanging on by a single hinge. It clawed its way through his all-black Armani in an instant, and Crowley regretted declining to put on warmer clothes. A quick look at Castiel with his tucked-in head, high-held shoulders, and collar told a similar story. Not needing to regulate your body heat was another perk of being a demon he now realised he would miss. Good thing even Castiel's abomination of a car had a heater and unlike the shockers it actually did its job.
"You sure you can get us out of here safely?" Crowley pointed at the broken windshield that reminded him of a spider's web. He already knew this car to be a cockroach among vehicles, but even he was surprised by how intact it looked after a monster its own size had jumped on it.
Castiel nodded and entered the car.
"No need to sulk..." Crowley followed, speaking a short prayer to whoever might be willing to deliver his backside from evil, and watched as Castiel started the car.
Or tried to at least because when he turned the key... nothing happened. He tried again with the same result, then stared at the steering wheel as if it would give him an answer to his question. The same question Crowley had and yet... He remembered the sparks flying when all the bulbs burst, and cables burned. When all the electricity died at once.
"The car battery is dead," Crowley offered, since the wheel seemed reluctant to answer, and Castiel nodded.
"The monster fed on the car batteries." He looked outside towards the other parked cars, barely visible in the falling snow. "Should we try the other cars?"
"Their owners won't miss them. And unlike them, we need to leave." Unless we want to freeze to death, Crowley added inwardly as he rubbed his stiff hands together.
With the electricity fried, there would be no functioning heating inside the house. And without that... He, too, looked out the side window at the darkness creeping in, only highlighted by the falling snow that grew heavier and heavier by the minute.
Crowley heard the driver's door open. "Let's take a look. If they’re all dead..."
Of course, they had no luck. Since when had luck ever been on Crowley’s side? And so, they were forced to stay at the Bed & Breakfast. No service or Breakfast included. Unless they would make it themselves, like uncooked eggs and untoasted bread. Then again, Crowley was British. He had eaten worse.
They retreated to the main guest room, which was mostly intact and in possession of an old-fashioned fireplace. Crowley watched as Castiel tried to get reception with his phone to call the boys to pick them up. They'd sent them into this mess after all so they could damn well get them out of it. Crowley huffed after a minute of Castiel uselessly moving the phone around like a wand.
"Get on with it! There is no reception at that spot!" He felt the cold creep through his clothes into his bones as he stood there and watched and decided to do something against it. Then at least one of them could do something productive. "I'll get some clothes and something to start a fire," he grunted vaguely in Castiel’s direction and moved out of the main room to rummage through the baggage of the deceased.
The inn owners must have kept the fireplace more for ambience than actual warmth, since he could spot heaters in every room, but no logs. Surely, they would keep them somewhere, just in case of emergencies.
When Crowley came back, Castiel was sitting on a windowsill, his body bent into a shape that would put a contortion artist to shame, holding his phone to his ear. "Get us! Yes! What?"
Crowley hoped Dean would get something more coherent out of that than Castiel put into it.
"Dean?" Castiel listened, his brow furrowed in concentration and layered with... sweat? He lowered his phone and corrected his posture to a normal sitting position. Even from the door Crowley could see Castiel panting heavily. Something was off.
"I found some clothes and kindling.” He waved the fruits of his labours like a trophy.
Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. “We don’t have any firewood.”
“Thought that leaving the house to search for firewood would be a wasted effort, since we basically chopped our own." He pointed at the remnants of the furniture around them and dropped the clothes he eye-measured to fit Castiel at the former angel’s feet.
He then stepped back and pretended to be occupied with putting on his own ridiculous Frankensteinian outfit of gloves, scarf, bonnet, and a thick jacket, while he kept an eye on Castiel’s struggles. How he eyed the clothes on the floor as if arguing with himself. How Castiel’s knee buckled in under his weight when he bent down to reach his clothes. And how he had to steady himself on the ground and push himself up because his leg was too weak to lift his weight. Suspicion crawled under Crowley’s skin like ants, and he stared at a dark patch soiling Castiel’s trouser leg as the trench coat parted. Just a short glimpse before Castiel hid it again was enough before his suspicion turned into ashes, when anger burst into flames.
"Bloody idiot!" Crowley yelled, his voice cracking. Both men dropped their clothes on the floor. Crowley’s next curse went unsaid, when Castiel dashed forward, grabbed him by his scarf and pressed the ice-cold steel of his angle blade against Crowley’s throat.
Crowley gulped as a shiver went down his spine. "All right… Seems time to overreact, I guess, but could we please do it without anything pointy and phallic until you’ve bought me dinner, at least?" He barely dared preening at the blade because felt its edge moving against his skin in the rhythm of Castiel’s heavy panting.
Castiel sneered in disgust, a truly ugly expression on such a pretty face. “You won't catch me off-guard.”
"What are you talking about? You are hurt and you didn’t tell me, you bastard!" he spit and then, it clicked. "You think I would take advantage!" Of course, Castiel would. Centuries of experience in doing so proved Castiel right, and yet Crowley couldn't ignore the sting inside his chest at the realisation. "Who on earth gave you that stupid idea? Dean? The moose?"
"You will betray us at the first opportunity."
"Does this look like an 'opportunity' to you!?" Crowley growled, pricking his skin. He felt the warm stream of blood running down his neck into his scarf. "Sure! Let me kill you! And then I will snap my fingers and teleport away! Oh, wait! I can't do that anymore because I am a bloody human!"
Castiel stopped his tirade by grabbing him by the lapels and pinning him against the wall with such force that it pressed the air out of Crowley’s lungs. Castiel’s hot breath grazed his frostbitten cheek, setting it on fire. A shadow of the angel’s grace burning his corrupt demonic essence. Crowley expected eyes to glow for a moment, before the present caught up with his instincts. But the ecstasy running under his skin from anticipating such power made his hands shake.
"And back to this..." he mumbled, forcing his voice to keep steady. His head hit the wooden wall with full force when Castiel slammed him into it again.
"Don't play games!"
Stars danced across his vision as Crowley fought to focus despite his throbbing head. "Alright! I won't. Would you be so kind to explain the current rules, because I seem to have missed them somewhere? Must have been on a smoking break."
"You want revenge for becoming human", Castiel snarled close to Crowley's face. "And you're biding your time until you've found an opening to get to us. You're only helping us because no one else would be willing to even let you into their house or company. Or wouldn't try to kill you on sight!"
Crowley blinked. "Ouch." He tried pushing Castiel’s arm away but felt the tip of the Castiel's blade against his gut and thought better of it. "I'm not going to do a soul striptease for you." He snorted. That he could even do that annoyed him to no end. "Or discuss deep issues of trust and betrayal."
Crowley raised his hands slowly to avoid getting a bonus hole and clapped as mockingly as possible in his position. "But Bravo! You proved again that you are currently in possession of the one brain cell you all share with one another. Like the Graeae, but uglier. I mean, it’s rubbish... but it's also a nice revenge plan. Shame, I didn't think of it." It could have been shame that felt like a nervous twitch inside his gut and left a bitter taste in his mouth. But for that to be true, Crowley would have to be ashamed of thinking about a lot of scenarios to pay them back for what they did to him. The truly worst part was... he hadn't thought about revenge for a while, topped by actively avoiding the theme altogether. Good thing Castiel picked up that job for him. "Now, let. Me. GO!"
Castiel didn't, the sword moved back up to his neck and Crowley was done with this nonsense. If that excuse for a plucked chicken wanted to make a paranoia horror show out of this... fine. He could do it without him.
Crowley used the blade-free space to ram his knee where he could make out the dark spot of red. Castiel grunted, he didn’t even scream. What a shame. Next time, Crowley would try harder. But he got what he wanted when Castiel’s leg gave out under him. He sank to his knees, and the blade clattered on the ground. "There. And if you try to kill me, 'because you want to kill me first' or 'because you want revenge for sending Moose to hell after of the ritual' or such bullocks..." He kicked the blade across the floor. "Don't. I know your weakness now."
With that, he stepped over some rubble to find the best room to barricade himself inside. After all, trusting people was never a good idea, especially when you were Crowley.
It was in the middle of the night amidst Crowley’s restless shivering and turning, when noises an almost abandoned Bed & Breakfast shouldn't make, reached his room. He threw his blankets to the side and drew his sword before leaving his bed and listening for trouble, his ear pressed against the door. The crashing and clanking drew closer, a hurtful screeching, belonging to something far bigger than a human, blasted through the door. For a second, he thought about running. Until a very familiar grunt reached his ears.
Crowley slammed the door open and ran towards the fighting noises. Castiel barely dodged the tail, just as Crowley reached both combatants.
"Interesting way to keep warm." Crowley jumped to the side to evade long claws.
"It almost got me in the main hall."
"You slept?" Crowley asked doubtfully.
"No. That's why it didn't get me."
Both moved in opposite directions to circle the beast, which was looking back and forth between them, obviously deciding who to attack next.
Crowley, always a fan of deciding for himself, jumped forward, his blade ready to strike. A curse hang on his lips as the monster evaded his sword, but it was drowned out by the monster’s scream of pain.
Castiel's blade stuck hilt deep inside the monster's leg and stayed there when it took a far leap to the side, where it stuck to the wall.
"Oh. Great. It doesn't just look like a gecko, it moves like one, too!” Crowley took a few steps back to keep it in view as it crawled up the wall until it dangled off the ceiling. He wasn't sure if he should be grateful the ceilings were so low that they could reach it with their weapons or not, since that meant it could also reach them.
Castiel, now minus one weapon, moves to his side. "Distract him, so I can get the blade back."
"Ah... Accusing me of wanting to kill you just to use me as bait, a moment later. Love that about you."
Castiel stared at him, his blue eyes piercing through him. If Crowley had cared, this might have done something more than reminding Crowley of how pretty he was. "Do you want to live or not!"
"Oh no... don't get mad... What more could you do to me the monster isn't already trying? At least it's open about its intentions."
"You're one to talk."
"Very well and quite a lot!"
"Never would have guessed. The sword, Crowley!"
"I-" Crowley's protest got cut short, when a gust of wind blew past Crowley's temple. Wooden panel splattered everywhere and the smell of burned wood filled the room.
They jumped apart and ran in opposite directions from the point of impact. Crowley followed the projectile's path back to its origin and almost stopped in his tracks when he stared at the open mouth of the monster. The beast used its tongue like a frog! But the smell in the air promised something far more painful than just a sticky tongue, and Crowley wasn't willing to find out.
"Want to try again?" he yelled at the ceiling and ducked to pick up something to throw at the monster to gain its attention. "Maybe try the one with the shorter legs!"
And it did. Its tongue darted out, barely visible to Crowley's eyes, and wood behind cracked. He could feel the cool air on the back of his neck, giving him goosebumps from the cold. Crowley swore he could smell burnt hair. More reason to not stop running. And Castiel was frozen on the spot, like an idiot. "Move! What are you waiting for!"
Castiel stared at him, a look in his eyes, Crowley couldn't read, before he did move. Slower than Crowley wanted, though.
"Bloody hell! He does want me dead…" the thought hit him like punch to the gut. Maybe... maybe Castiel did! Maybe he waited for Crowley to get hit. Maybe he let go of his blade willingly to force Crowley to play the bait!
The floor in front of him split open at the next attack, making Crowley fumble and lose his footing on the already mangled ground. He hit the floor hard, profusely cursing his own stupidity. Never distract yourself during a fight!
A quick look upwards showed the monster readying another attack, when something hit its head, distracting it from its current prey.
"Over here!" Castiel rasped, making himself into a target to buy Crowley enough time to get on his feet again.
"Change of plan, kitten..." he mumbled as he fastened the grip around his blade hilt. He would use Castiel as bait to end this fight. Much easier than trying to get the sword back and getting killed in the process. That's what they should have done in the first place.
He ran towards the monster while it attacked Castiel, who dodged sluggishly. His motions were stiff and slow, very unlike his usual fluent style. What was that moron doing? This was child's play!
"Run!" he yelled at the former angel, who didn't seem to hear him at all.
He raised his sword. Almost. He was almost close enough to cut the ugly head off that monster's overly long neck, when he saw Castiel drop to his knees when his leg gave out under him. The realisation washed over Crowley like lava. The injury! How could he have forgotten? But... he looked at the monster, which took aim again. A second longer, and he could get rid of it and Castiel. That way, the monster would kill the former angel for him, and he'd survive the Winchester’s wrath.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion: Castiel, struggling back to his feet, the monster, aiming at its defenceless prey, Crowley's sword, ready to kill with one well-placed cut.
The tongue shot out; Crowley felt the impact before he saw it. The hit smashed him to the ground, while pain ran through his whole body. He screamed. He forgot to do anything else as everything was set on fire. Crowley's scream got cut short, when his teeth smashed onto one another, grinding and pressing until his jaw burned like hell, but he couldn't relax! He couldn't move! He couldn't control his body!
Dark spots danced in front of his eyes and a lifetime later... as suddenly as it had started, it was over. Crowley felt sluggish, his muscles burned from overexertion, and he began to shiver from exhaustion.
Castiel appeared above him, covered in dark blood. "It's dead."
Only a whimper escaped Crowley's lips. His face and right side were blessedly numb.
Castiel kneeled. He patted out the last smouldering spots from Crowley's clothes, then picked his upper body from the ground and supported it with his leg.
"I didn't expect you to do that." His voice sounded matter of fact, but Castiel's eyes glistened with amusement.
"I tripped. And if you tell any of that to the Hardy boys, I will kill you!" Crowley finally managed to spit between his teeth, making Castiel snort. "Not. Funny."
"No... Thank you." Castiel's fingers moved quickly as he inspected Crowley's wounds. "Good news: you won't bleed out. The heat already cauterized the wound. Bad news: You look like lightning struck you, and the burns stretch from your shoulder down your arm and up your neck. There is a chance it will impact the movement of your shoulder, too."
Castiel was right. Crowley dared to look, and Lichtenberg figures spread across his skin, raw and red and, if his were honest: far too pretty for something so painful.
"I need to make sure your heart is working properly."
"What heart?"
Castiel looked at him, a much softer emotion in his eyes. "The one that decided to save my life."
"Just get me off this floor, my arse is freezing off."
Crowley stared at the pitch-black fireplace, dozing on and off. Whether from the cold or the pain, he couldn't tell. What he could tell was that Castiel was taking far too bloody long to put some wood into the fireplace and light it.
Instead of doing that, Castiel had insisted on caring for Crowley's wounds first. Disinfection, bandaging, and all. At least they didn't have to do more rummaging because Castiel had needed it for his leg already and so it had been ready for use to treat Crowley's burns. Now he was sitting in front of the fireplace, holding his right arm close to him in the slim hopes of minimizing the pain. It was almost impressive how much things could hurt when you are a mere human. It wasn't even the pain itself. It was the slow, agonising pace at which wounds would heal and the endless amount of time the pain would be just bad enough to be annoying, that made it almost unbearable. Being human blew soap bubbles because it clearly didn't deserve to blow other things.
The sound of limping steps announced Castiel's arrival. "I would give you an A for effort, but sadly I don't see any!" Crowley hissed, his nose barely rising above the rim of the flannel blanket he was tucked into despite all protests.
"I brought untreated wood, to make sure we won't inhale toxic fumes."
"Another perk of being human," Crowley chirped sarcastically, and Castiel nodded with all seriousness.
"It blows."
Crowley raised his eyebrows up to his hairline. And based on his hairline, this was a feat. Castiel had never uttered a negative word about his… situation before.
He watched as Castiel threw the wood into the fireplace and started a fire. After he was convinced, the fire was strong enough, he looked quizzically at Crowley. Instead of answering this unspoken question, Crowley shuffled closer, feeling like a fat larva. Castiel let himself fall beside him; his injured leg extended to take all pressure off it while getting the warmth from the hearth.
He observed Castiel, who hadn't brought a blanket for himself. "Aren't you freezing?"
"I am." Suddenly, the lines in his face were dark and hard, giving him a haggard look. "I made the mistake to sit down," he explained, and his voice sounded as tired as he looked.
They went quiet for a while, both staring into the fire. Crowley crouched even closer, not caring that he would end up smelling like a roasted ham.
Crowley fought with himself. A very small and very short fight, since he felt the bone-deep exhaustion fall over him the moment he observed it in Castiel. A shudder went through his tired body. His wounds pulsated in the rhythm of his heart. With his uninjured arm, he raised his blankets. More symbolically than actually, since he couldn't raise them high enough for Castiel to get under the cover, too.
"Hurry! It’s bloody cold!"
"You want to cuddle?"
"Huddle! Feathers. Small but important difference."
Now it was on Castiel to snort, half annoyed, half amused. But he got himself under the blankets without further comment.
Instead of just pressing himself awkwardly against Crowley's body, he shuffled and moved so long until he sat behind Crowley, both his legs to either side of him. He put his arms around Crowley's midsection and rested his head on Crowley's shoulder.
"For someone, who didn't even trust to breathe the same air as me just mere hours ago, you're quite clingy now." Despite his words, Crowley let himself fall back against Castiel's chest and the warmth of the other's body against his.
Castiel hummed, seemingly happy with their arrangement, too. Crowley could get used to it. He definitely shouldn't.
He heard Castiel inhale deeply. "Thank y-"
"Don't mention it. And I mean it! Don't! To nobody."
Castiel cocked his head. "I don’t know anyone by that name."
Crowley snorted. "Funny... I am surprised you even know that one."
"I read the classics to understand what it means to be human."
"Well. That's easy. Be miserable. All the time. And then die because of your own stupidity."
"Do you think that way about your first life?"
"You don't know how I died, and I'm inclined to leave it that way", Crowley mumbled, half asleep.
The crackling of the fire, the even sound of Castiel's breathing, and the constant warmth did the rest to overwhelm Crowley's foggy mind and let himself fall into a deep slumber.
Something at the edge of his consciousness cut Crowley’s sleep short and he awoke surrounded by a cocoon made of soft fabric, warmth and the rhythm of slow and steady breathing gracing the skin of his neck. The outside world was calling him, but Crowley refused to answer it, to leave this unfamiliar shelter and open his eyes. He snuggled closer to the source of warmth behind him and the arms around him tightened in response, equally unwilling to let go of him.
The slamming of car doors shattered Crowley’s illusion. He was wide awake in an instant and elbowed Castiel, who jumped up.
"The Hardy Boys!" Crowley hissed and began to untangle himself from the former angel. Not so easy with only one functional arm and wrapped in two blankets.
Drowsy, Castiel sprang into action just in time for the half-smashed door to open. Both men sat side by side, each wrapped in his own single blanket, and they definitely hadn't been snuggling just a second before.
Dean was the first to enter, his shotgun ready to shoot whatever needed to be shot. He observed the two in front of the almost-dead fire and lowered his weapon.
Crowley audibly exhaled. It was a good thing he hadn't been shot. Those times were over. Probably. Until Crowley had a change of mind regarding being part of this hunting business.
"Are you alright?" Dean grunted in Castiel’s direction and Crowley nodded. He shivered, missing Castiel's touch and warmth. He could swear he was sweating despite shivering from the cold.
"Crowley?" Castiel asked next to him, and he turned around to look into a pair of concerned blue eyes. The world began to sway.
"Yes?" Crowley croaked, his voice hoarser than usual. His tongue felt sluggish and heavy.
"He's feverish," Sam, who had just entered, commented matter-of factly.
"Yeah... Are you hurt?"
Castiel dropped his blanket and got up. His own movements were stiff, and he avoided putting weight on his leg. Crowley expected him to join the Winchesters, but he bent down to help Crowley to his feet instead. When they both stood, Castiel added his blanket to Crowley’s, who wrapped both closer around him, fighting his shivers. Castiel kept his hand on Crowley’s uninjured shoulder, using him as a crutch to steady himself. Crowley didn’t fight him off, just made sure to keep close to Castiel.
"We both are," Castiel explained.
Crowley felt like he could barely think enough to grasp a thought. But he managed to sneer at the boys.
"Thanks to you being too bloody late!"