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"Castiel." Crowley looks up.
The angel stands in the doorway, watching the scene between mother and son. Castiel glances at Rowena first, her hands on Crowley's shoulders. Then, at Crowley.
"Yes," Castiel says.
Crowley isn't usually one to entertain the angel. But this intrusion must be for something important. Or, at least, amusing enough to be worth a few minutes of Crowley's time. "Return to my room, mother," Crowley says. "Lock the door. Sit on the bed. Do nothing, touch nothing."
"My wee Fergus," Rowena sighs. "Always lacking in imagination." Her nonchalance slips with the glare she aims at her son before departing. She admitted too much. The witch is vulnerable, and she will never forgive him.
It's better this way, Crowley assures himself. But then, nothing is 'better' where his mother is concerned.
Crowley stands and rolls his shoulders. "What do you want?" he asks.
Castiel frowns. "Your eyes... Are you crying?"
Crowley pinches the bridge of his nose. "What, Castiel?"
"I came to see you."
"Cookie for you. You've seen me." Crowley crosses his arms. "Is that all?"
Castiel adjust a cuff of his silly trench coat. An excuse to break eye contact, Crowley assumes. "The warehouse is the last time I saw you."
Bloody eyes, foam at the mouth. Crowley huffs at the memory. "Yes, well. I survived. Good on me, I suppose."
"I did not want to kill you-"
"Not the first time you've stabbed me in the back, sparkles." Crowley shrugs. "It'll take more than that to be rid of me."
Castiel's mouth tightens, a wrinkle of tension at the corners. He says nothing, of course.
Crowley waves him off. "Truce over, Castiel. Run on back to your boys. Good versus Evil again. The way things should be."
"I..."
Crowley arches a brow. "You - what?"
Castiel stuffs his hands in his pockets. "I don't want that."
"You don't want what?"
"Good versus Evil. I don't want that," Castiel says. "What is Good or Evil anymore? Do you know?"
Crowley wiggles his fingers in mock greeting. "Hello, King of Hell. I should hope I know what Evil is."
"Do you?" Castiel turns on him. "You just saved an angel and two Winchesters from the Devil. You...for better or worse, you've kept Lucifer in his cage. It was never fool-proof, Crowley. Especially when Purgatory was not-"
"Don't bring up those days, Castiel," Crowley cuts in. He loathes memories of their partnership more than anything in this universe.
When Castiel proceeds, his voice is quieter. "You've done good things."
"Good things that benefit me," Crowley corrects. This conversation is beginning to make him uneasy.
Castiel shakes his head. "That's not true, is it? It isn't always to benefit you."
Crowley scowls. "Did you really barge back into Hell to have a heart-to-heart with the King-"
"I came to talk to you," Castiel replies. "I've come to see a difference, I suppose."
"There is no difference," Crowley growls.
Castiel nods. "Maybe. I'm not sure anymore. I'm only the expendable one-"
"You're what?"
"The Winchesters are my mission," Castiel explains. "I spoke with someone earlier, she helped me to see the bravery in it. I still exist solely to serve. Not as an angel, but-"
"I'm not doing this with you," Crowley snaps.
Castiel lifts his head, caught off-guard. "Doing what?"
"Kissing your emotional boo-boos, you gnat." Crowley folds his arms with added emphasis. "Those days are over, Castiel. Find some other cloud hopper to cry with over your tarnished self-worth."
"I'm not asking for sympathy." Castiel's eyes narrow.
Crowley snorts. "Right. The expendable one. Sure. You want to be expendable? You're expendable. Congratulations. Know what I wanted to be? A bloody king," he grits. "I fought, I bled, I crawled over everyone. Built my kingdom on the bones of anyone who stood in my way. On Lucifer himself! That's what I am, Castiel."
He expects those lovely blue eyes to burn. Or at least a trademark Castiel 'pout and glower.'
Instead, Castiel tilts his head and...thinks. He worries his bottom lip, parsing over the words with a slow, considering blink. "I came to apologize," he says at last.
Crowley frowns. "What on earth for?"
"Tonight, when I arrived, you were here fixing things. Like at the warehouse. Fixing things. And with Cain. And with Dean, when you helped me... For the wrong reasons, sure-"
"Get to the point, Castiel."
Castiel lets his hands drop, a defeated turn of his head. "You should be acknowledged for what you've done. Acknowledgment is good. It's important."
Crowley smirks, a plastered expression to cover his discomfort. "Lucky for us, I'm not 'good,' or 'important' to your Father's eternal punchline, so..." His smugness slips to a grimace at Castiel's pained look.
Crowley was not prepared to do this...well, ever. But certainly not today of all days. Lucifer was one step away from emerging from the cage. Everything Crowley is, everything he's made himself, flashed before his eyes.
As did Dean's future. And that idiot Moose's. And, yes, Castiel's future. If they hadn't succeeded...
"Damn it, Castiel," Crowley grouses, kicking at the ground.
"I always thought I had to be the foundation. I had to stand against what you are. But it's not what you are, it's who you are-"
"Damn it, Castiel, we're not doing this," Crowley seethes.
But they are. The look Castiel gives him, that uncertain look... Crowley has not seen it since Hell - the old Hell, around the corner from the eternal waiting line. Years ago, when they sealed their deal with a kiss.
"I would have cared if you died in that warehouse," Castiel says. "I don't know what that means, but I would have cared."
"You didn't kill me," Crowley spits. "You couldn't kill me, so it's moot. None of this matters." He's grasping. "You don't matter. Expendable, like you said. You've never bloody mattered!"
Castiel chuckles under his breath. This isn't the reaction Crowley wants. It isn't what he needs.
He steps back when Castiel moves towards him. But not far enough, and not with the flare of power that may have kept the angel at bay. With Castiel's grace healed, a showdown between them would have 50/50 odds. Within Crowley's kingdom, Crowley likes his chances.
But he does not puff out his chest, or pull himself away when Castiel places hands on his arms. A touch that should not feel so familiar, but it does. Mother of sin, it feels like yesterday...
"You matter to me," Castiel says.
"No, I don't." Crowley can only marvel as Castiel lowers to him. Their lips brush together, sweet nostalgia. "Castiel-"
"You matter to me." Castiel kisses him again. A hand on his cheek. Sweet, honest.
Perfect.
Too perfect. It's...all too perfect.
"Get out," Crowley says.
Castiel tilts back, a warm question in his eyes.
"Get out of my head," Crowley mutters, louder.
Castiel smiles. "Crowley-"
"Get out of my head. Get out!"
***
"Get out...get..." Shackles. Neck collared like a mutt, cuffs around his ankles and wrists, pinning him to his knees. The cage is too small for standing, built for wayward hell hounds in need of a time out.
"Took you longer that time."
Crowley's platform juts out. The cage door lifts and propels him out to the throne room. The archangel sits on Crowley's throne. The Devil himself, wearing Castiel as a meat suit. His expression twists in a knowing smile.
This is not the first time Lucifer has been in Crowley's head. Each time, it's been harder to break himself out. The Devil's power has weakened him. Crowley feels himself draining, the demon inside bending under the warded chains.
"Practice makes perfect," Lucifer reasons with a shrug. "Castiel is a tough one. Poor brother. He never did get human nature down, did he? Always a little off. But hey," he winks. "You like him, there's something."
"If you intend to kill me, get it over with."
Lucifer laughs, loud and false in the voice of the vessel. "Come on, I'm enjoying this chance to get to know each other! You've been my little acolyte this whole time, haven't you? Carrying my torch, isn't that what you told me?" When he grins, his eyes gleam. "I'm never going to kill you, Crowley. Where's the fun in that?"
Crowley snarls in his confines.
Lucifer tsks and rises from the throne. He takes his time strolling before his captive. Lazily, he scrubs a hand across Crowley's hair. "If you're good, next time I'll give you a better memory to play with. Something, oh...from back when you and my bro hunted Purgatory? More tongue in those, I've gathered."
Crowley tears away from his hand. "How dare you?" he seethes.
"How dare I?" Lucifer wags a teasing finger. "Are you surprised I got out, Crowley? You really thought you'd get to play king forever?" He winces, fake sympathy. "...Man, what are we going to do about your clothes?"
Crowley scowls when Lucifer wrenches his head up. The Devil gives his tie a playful tug. "Not feeling it," Lucifer says. "We'll find you something a little more comfortable. After all, cramped quarters! I'd hate for you to get that pretty suit all dirty."
Crowley glares at him. But not at him. Past him. To the angel who might still be inside. Might be dead, for all Crowley knows. Might have been expelled to Heaven or Hell knows where.
But if Castiel is still here, let him see what a mess he's made of everything. Again. By not trusting anyone, not trusting Crowley! Deciding to play God. Same old song and dance. He never learns, never friggen learns...
Crowley never learns either, does he?
Lucifer pats his cheek. "Don't you worry. I'll give him the message, doggy. Now, go on. I'll fetch you when we've got your new threads." He flicks a careless hand. Crowley's platform shoots back into the cage, and the door slams shut.
Crowley hunches alone in the dark. The only light glows between the cell's bars. "Bollocks," Crowley mutters. He curls up as much as his chains will allow.
It's not fair. But then, this demon ordeal was never supposed to be fair, was it? Kind of the point. Eternal misery and whatnot.
But Crowley worked so hard. He worked so damn hard!
There has to be a way out. Crowley stares at the light shining from the cage door.
There has to be a way. As long as Crowley exists, there's a way, and he'll find it. He always has. He always will.
* The End *