Archive of Our Own

"No. Nonononono. I'm telling you buddy, ketchup is a vegetable."

Cas looked entirely unimpressed, but Dean just nodded wisely, as if imparting some ancient knowledge. He'd somehow ended up upside down in the past few minutes, feet dangling over the back of the couch, but he could still make out the exasperated look on the angel's face even from this angle.

"Its a condiment, Dean, your argument is invalid."

"You're still using long words" Dean pointed an accusatory finger up at him "that means you're not nearly sloshed enough. Come on man, I know angels have a high alcohol tolerance, but this shit is getting ridiculous."

"Well, what do you suggest? Beer doesn't seem to be doing the trick. Not on me at least."

"Well..." Dean considered, eyes scrunching up, and ignoring the slight. He wasn't drunk, just mildly tipsy. "Who knows what these Men Of Letters had stored, lets go raid their liquor cabinet."

"The one with the big padlock on it?" Cas looked unconvinced.

"That's the bastard. Cmon, gonna need your superhuman biceps."

Dean scrambled off the couch and upright, swaying only slightly, and began down the corridor to the basement. It was funny - given they were in an underground bunker - that this pace even had a basement, but that's what it said on the door, so Dean wasn't about to argue. Sam would probably have some nerdy explanation, but the younger Winchester had listened to Dean's idea for tonight and immediately decided to head off to Eileen's for the night. Coward.

A few minutes of rearranging old boxes full of all kinds of supernatural junk later, they had located the elusive cabinet. Sure enough, there was a large, iron, shiny padlock on the front, the kind that would take Dean a good twenty minutes to pick sober. Luckily, he didn't need to pick it.

"Cas, get rid of this. Mojo it or something." Cas looked like he wanted to argue, but seemed to decide it wasn't worth the effort. He stepped forward and placed a hand on the lock, and for just a second his eyes flashed that bright, electric blue. Some primal part of Dean's mind, (the part that recognised Cas as a much more powerful being) told him to back the fuck away, but he resisted the urge. He didn't want Cas to think he was afraid of him. A few seconds later, it was over, and the padlock had melted into a puddle of molten metal on the floor. Cas shook his hand, as you would to get rid of pins and needles, and a couple of sparks flew from his fingertips. Dean couldn't quite tell if he was showing off, but at any rate it was damn cool, and just a little bit hot.

"Uhh, good job. Lets see what we've got."

What they had, in fact, was not much. There was liquor, and plenty of it, but nothing that would have explained the security levels. Maybe whoever owned it had been protective over his booze? At any rate, Dean came out with five bottles of vodka, two beautiful aged Scottish whiskeys that he immediately put to one side for later use, and a couple of other strange bottles that he didn't recognise. They made their way back up the stairs, arms full and into the map room. Dean set his prizes down and grabbed the nearest mystery bottle, brushing away the dust on the label and squinting.

"Spirytus Rektyfikowany. The fuck kinda name is that? Hey, buddy, can you read Polish?"

"Can I- of course I can read Polish, Dean, I'm fluent in every language your species has ever produced." he could hear the eye roll in Cas' voice, but elected to ignore it, turning the bottle round and squinting at the tiny writing. He might not be able to make out any of the ingredients, but he didn't need to. The little number beneath the name was clear enough.

"Ninety six percent ABV?! Holy rocket fuel." Dean looked up and met Cas' confused gaze "Now we're in business."

"Dear, shall we go out tonight? I could make reservations." Aziraphale inquired, breaking the silence of several hours. It wasn't all that unusual for them to be quiet this long, immortal beings did not feel the need to fill their lives with pointless interactions. When you had all the time in the world, you learned to take it slowly. Crowley looked up from where he was tending to his plants (Read: making very pointed and very graphic hand gestures at them), to see Aziraphale staring at him with a carefully neutral expression. He knew that look. That was the patented Aziraphale 'I don't want to do anything but I'm going to suggest an activity, so it looks like your idea to stay at home' face. Crowley sighed.

"Actually, angel, I'd like to just have a quiet night in, if that's okay?"

"Oh, well, yes, I think that's a good idea."

Crowley supressed the very strong urge to roll his eyes, and nodded in agreement. "Perfect, I'll order us food?" in this situation, 'us' just meant Aziraphale, Crowley still wasn't very partial to human food, although he wouldn't say no to the odd live mouse every now and then. The snake in him just couldn't resist their little wriggling bodies, but Aziraphale always felt sorry for them, soft angel that he was.

"Oh yes, that new sushi shop down the road is doing takeaways now, I've been meaning to suggest it." he said now, pronouncing 'takeaways' like it was some foreign word, which was horribly endearing to Crowley.

"Fine by me."

Sushi in the bookshop, with Aziraphale. No other angels or demons, not even any humans to disrupt them. Fire roaring in the grate, and maybe a bottle of that 1921 Chateauneuf du Pape that Aziraphale was so partial to. It sounded like the perfect evening to Crowley.

Shame it wouldn't pan out that way.

"Vindica Gohed, rex pan gahoel qaa nuquitius, olalore ca do da, ica zong omni od demanda."

Dean bounced on the balls of his feet, watching as Cas spoke the incantation. This was gonna be hilarious. It was like the grown up version of a prank call, but instead of calling the local Walmart or someone's grandma, they were calling the King of Hell, and he didn't have much choice about picking up the phone. He'd be trapped, at least for a little while, and they could do what they pleased. Dean was tossing up between face paints and and a tutu, or maybe they could just do both? God knows Crowley deserved it after all the shit he'd done to them through the years.

"in chis affa nihilia zacas, adao I conoz ca nama caosago"

Cas was waving his hands vaguely about in a way Dean was pretty sure wasn't required for the spell, but it did add to the ambiance. The angel was a picture, more relaxed than he'd ever seen him. Tatty trenchcoat and suit jacket off, white shirtsleeves rolled up surprisingly thick biceps, hair rumpled from all the times he'd run his hands through it this evening. They should really get wasted more often, if this was the result. 

"olalore ca do da, ica zong omni od demanda!"

Cas finished with an unnecessary flourish, and the sigils they'd drawn on the floor began to glow. They both scrambled back behind a bookshelf, giggling like teenagers, not a thirty-nine year old and a basically immortal guy, and pressed their backs to the wood, listening intently.

There was silence, then a very distinct pop, as something or someone appeared within the carefully drawn symbols a few feet away. Bingo.

Dean was tempted to wait a few more seconds for dramatic effect, but it would be kinda obvious to Crowley what had happened here, it wasn't like he was unfamiliar with the bunker or its occupants. So he winked at Cas, and popped his head round the bookshelf.

"Howdy Cro-"

See, a lot of things had to happen to bring everyone to this point. That particular ritual (the one scrawled on the back page of an ancient Enochian text by a madman many centuries ago) wasn't like any other that they'd used to call upon Crowley before. It was much more complicated, and if Cas had been sober, he wouldn't have touched it with a ten foot pole for fear of screwing it up. The mechanics were simple enough, but if it was misspoken, even a tiny bit, it could have unintended consequences. Then again, dragging a being across universes was usually impossible, it needed a whole lot of energy, more than even an angel would give accidentally. But Cas had only just got his grace back, it was a bit more unpredictable than usual, and, being drunk, he wasn't as measured as he usually was, so he poured a lot more grace into the spell than was wise (part of that was to impress Dean, although he would never admit it, even after). To cap it all, it was 1.04am December 21st, the Winter Solstice. The barriers between places were always a little thinner around times like this, when darkness crept in from every corner. That was why sightings of ghosts and such were so common on solstice night, and summonings could happen fairly easily. The boys had to run around the few days before Christmas every year, cleaning up winter solstice rituals turned nasty. They just hadn't banked on being the problem this time.

All of this, a whole pile of unlucky coincidences crammed together, resulted in Dean facing down a baffled red haired goth dude, who was sitting on their wood panelled floor and looking vaguely as if he'd been hit over the head. Dean, being completely smashed, couldn't find an adequate response to this truly ridiculous scenario, so he reached back behind the bookcase and tugged on Cas' shirt a couple times.

"Uhh, little help here?"

Cas came willingly, still giggling a little, but stopped when he saw the guy that was definitely not Crowley. Cas was no better off than him, Dean had seen to that after the fourth bottle of suspicious Polish Liquid Fire (as they had taken to calling it), but he at least seemed to grasp that something had gone horribly wrong. The guy in the sigil ring was quickly regaining lucidity, far faster than them.

Dean looked over at Cas again for some advice, just in time to get poked none too gently in the forehead by a glowing finger. However, the sensation that barrelled over him a second later was far more unpleasant.

Sobriety hit Dean like a particularly bitchy train, icy cold, washing away all the confusion, and leaving pounding a headache in its wake. He groaned, folding in on himself like a shitty lawnchair and remaining there for several seconds whilst the pain subsided. Superspeed hangover, he hadn't known Cas could do that. Once he could open his eyes without being blinded by the overhead lights, he found that Cas was sporting an identical look of pain, except his was also tinged with a fair amount of irritation.

"If you ever, ever, suggest I get drunk again, I will smite you." were the first words out of his best friends mouth, and they were even lower and more gravelly than his usual voice. Dean had to supress a grin, because now wasn't the right time, but hungover Cas was funny.

"Oh, we are so doing that again, you get used to it. Since when can you mojo people out of being drunk?"

"I've done it to you at least five times."

"When the fuck was that?!"

"Well, you wouldn't remember, you were unconscious. I had to make sure you didn't get alcohol poisoning."

Apparently hungover Cas was also brutally honest. Good to know. Dean was sure he was overreacting, he'd probably have been fine. But, well, it was nice to know someone outside his family cared enough about him to keep an eye out when he went on a bender. "Oh." 

"Yes, oh."

"If you two have quite finished." a bored (British?) voice cut across the silence that had fallen between Dean and Cas, and Dean jumped a little. How the fuck had he forgotten about the other guy? In unison, they turned to face him, and Goth Dude raised one neat eyebrow, as if to say really?

"Uhh, sorry. Wrong number." Dean hazarded, earning himself a cold stare from Goth Dude. At least, he assumed so, the guy was wearing sunglasses inside, like a douchebag.

"Wrong number. Is that the best you could come up with? Good lord, how two dipshits like you got a hold of my summoning I will never understand. Every time."

Dean got over the initial shock fast. So this was still a demon, clearly. Not a problem, Cas would burn its eyeballs out and they could all go out for ice cream and strippers, once they figured out how it had got here. "Hey. Okay, quit with the insults, you're the one that's trapped."

"Trapped?" again, the eyebrow was raised, but this time Goth Dude took a step forward, right out of the circle. Didn't even break his stride. That was impossible. Cas drew his angle blade instantly, and Dean did the same with Ruby's knife. Whatever this thing was, it had to be powerful. It didn't seem too pushed about the weapons either, but it made a show of stopping a few feet away and holding its hands up in supplication.

"Now, lads, that doesn't seem wise. They aren't going to do much damage."

"Oh really? Because this thing has killed every one of you black eyed motherfuckers I've ever met. Want to test it?" Dean tried to sound sure, but the demon just looked mildly perplexed.

"Killed? That pig sticker wouldn't discorporate me on a good day. And as for black eyes..." the demon raised a hand to its face and casually pulled off the sunglasses, and Dean felt his stomach lurch. Yellow eyes, with jet black slits for pupils. No, but it couldn't be. He was dead, he was-

"Azazel?"

"What? No, my names Crowley."

"…say that again?"

The sushi had just turned up when Crowley first felt the tugging on his consciousness. Aziraphale was bustling around the kitchen grabbing plates and wine glasses, and Crowley was in the living room, setting the table, when the pulling started. He swore, colourfully, and set the knives down with a clatter.

"Angel?"

"Yes, dear?" Aziraphale popped his head out, holding four different wine glasses with a precarious grip "What do you think, the Zinfandel glasses or the Viognier?"

"Sorry, we're going to have to do a rain check. Someone's summoning me."

"Summoning you? They can do that?" Aziraphale looked concerned, coming forward to take a hold of his arm. 

"With enough power, yes, and there's no refusing this one, its got a bit of a kick to it." Crowley groaned and gripped the table a little harder, trying to remain present whilst a dark, wood panelled room began swirling before his eyes. "I should be back soon, come looking for me if I'm not back in two hours, eh?"

"Yes, of course, love, just be careful."

"Oh, you know me. When am I not careful?"

Aziraphale had just begun to reply with something that sounded suspiciously like 'speed limit' when the line went taut, and Crowley was dragged unceremoniously into darkness.

And now he was here, in front of a man holding a very big knife, and one who seemed scared shitless by his eyes. This wasn't an uncommon reaction, but there was something off. There was recognition in his gaze, a fear that comes not from the unknown, but the known. And yet Crowley had never met him.

"Azazel?"

Uhh. Crowley had underestimated these two, clearly, if they knew one of the princes by name. Crowley had only ever met the slimy bastard once, and it wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat. Azazel was of the more sadistic breed of demon, spent a lot of time finding new and interesting ways to remove peoples skins, when he wasn't plotting world domination. Him, and the other princes - Dagon and Asmodeus - were the type even a seasoned demon would cross the street to avoid, but thanks to Crowley's above ground work he rarely came into contact with anyone that unholy. However, judging by the all out terror in this man's eyes, he clearly knew him well.

"What? No, my names Crowley." he said, in an attempt to calm the situation down a bit, but if anything that seemed to make it worse. Both men froze, and exchanged a look full of meaning. 

"...say that again?" asked the one who seemed to be doing all the talking, the one wearing the Led Zeppelin t-shirt under his plaid. Crowley had to give credit where it was due, at least one of his would-be captors had style. Strange that they thought those little symbols would hold him though.

"Crowley" He repeated, slowly. "Britain and the Republic of Ireland's representative of Hell on Earth. Well, former representative, but that's a whole thing."

"Dean, he's telling the truth, I can sense it. This is Crowley, or some version of him anyway." the other one finally spoke, but he was pronouncing his name wrong. Rude.

"So, what, we summoned the wrong one? Since when do we have more than one? I was quite happy with one Crowley."

"There are no other Crowleys." Crowley himself cut in, making sure to enunciate his name properly. Bloody Americans.

"Sorry dude, pretty sure there are. He's an acquaintance of ours. Short, angry, beard, king of Hell, etc etc" responded Dean, as was his name apparently, and Crowley was completely baffled once more. King of Hell? What kind of place was this? He was starting to feel very far from the bookshop.

The one that wasn't Dean spoke up again. "I think I know what's going on here." He fixed Crowley with a piercing look that seemed to see into his very soul, and made him very much want to look away. He resisted the urge however, and glowered right back. But in doing so, Crowley noticed a pulsing, shimmering aura about the man. Light blue and nearly transparent, weaving itself into whorls and patterns that never seemed to stop moving. As they danced and spun, Crowley was reminded forcibly of Aziraphale, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. What was this man? Not a human for sure.

"You're giving off different energy." the as yet unlabelled creature continued as he turned back to Dean. "He's not from this universe. Wherever he's from, he's that world's Crowley, we must have brought him here by mistake."

"You're kidding. " responded Dean, eyeing Crowley suspiciously, who was barely paying attention. Universes? Multiple? However this had happened, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum over here had somehow yanked him clear out of his own reality. Would Aziraphale be able to find him? Probably, he had a sneaking suspicion that the barriers of alternate universes would hold little challenge for his angel, if he set his mind to it. Even so, this was going to be a long night. 

Or not, apparently, as the next words out of Dean's mouth were: "Okay, now we know how he got here. Lets kill him then."

"Kill me? What have I done to you?" he said indignantly, but Dean only scoffed. This could go sideways. New universe meant new rules, who knows? Maybe those knives would actually hurt him. Maybe not. But either way, he wasn't in the mood to find out. 

"You're a demon, we don't need a reason. Cas, get him." Crowley mentally prepared himself for the first had to hand combat he'd done in the last couple centuries (there had been that time outside a bar in new Mexico in the nineties, but Crowley was pretty sure it didn't count if half the aggressors were suddenly convinced they were tropical fish).

However, 'Cas' didn't move, just looked over at Dean apologetically. "I don't think we can kill him. Alternate realities, who knows what could happen?"

"Like Doctor Who. We gonna disrupt the space time continuum or something?" Cas nodded sagely. Dean looked highly disappointed, but seemed to accept Cas' explanation without much complaint, and Crowley breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Glad that's over with. Can we all be civil about all this? I don't want to be here any more than you want me here, trust me."

"Trust you? Unlikely. Just sit there and shut up whilst we figure out a way to send you back." Dean snapped, then tugged Cas around to begin a hasty whispered conversation which Crowley could hear all of, but he pretended he couldn't to be polite, and settled into an indicated chair to wait quietly. The room really was spectacular, it was the kind of place Aziraphale would have just drooled over. Rows and rows of bookshelves, interesting looking artefacts on spindle legged tables, glorious architecture. The skill and time that had gone into construction alone was brilliant, and he ached for a closer look around. But that was unlikely with Aldi Texan Ranger shooting him murderous glances every few seconds behind Cas' back.

After several minutes of back and forth about where they were going to get the power to open a door through realities however, Crowley was getting bored. "You know," he began lazily, "I think I've got my ride home sorted, if you don't mind."

Dean raised an incredulous eyebrow "Excuse you? What, you got an angel on standby to just zap you home?"

"Something like that" Crowley replied evasively "but he won't be around to pick me up for a couple hours yet."

"Great. That's just fan-friggin-tastic that is. What are we meant to do with you until then?" demanded Dean, then he glanced over at Cas and mouthed something that looked suspiciously like dungeon?

"Don't even think about it" Crowley snapped. "I haven't been in a dungeon since the French revolution and you're not about to throw me in one." they eyed one another for a few moments, and Crowley could tell these were not men who were used to being bossed around by anyone. He didn't give two shits, however. Eventually, Cas sighed and placed a placating hand on Dean's shoulder.

"I'll watch him, Dean. Make sure he doesn't go anywhere or do anything."

"That's better. Brainy, listen to Brawny. I'll just sit here, good as gold." Dean looked quite like he wanted to throw something, preferably Crowley, across the room, but he relented with a dissatisfied huff.

"Fine. I'm getting a beer. And if he moves, angel, you kill him, multidimensional collapse be damned." Cas nodded, and Dean stormed off down a side corridor. Crowley raised an eyebrow at Cas, smirking.

"Well, isn't this pleasant?"

Cas scowled.

Getting Dean away from this situation had been the best thing Cas could think of in the short term. The demon's yellow eyes had unsettled him, and Cas could understand why. The bearer of those eyes had killed Dean's mother, set his father on an obsessive mission for revenge, torn apart his family and any hope of a normal life for him or Sam when they were too young to have any choice in the matter. And he had to admit, he was a little unnerved by the demon as well, although for different reasons. The way it had so casually stepped out of the circle of sigils, the way it seemed unconcerned by their weapons or their threats. But, above all, how human it seemed, lounging with its feet up on the map table and watching Cas with an assessing gaze. Neither had said a word in the long minutes since Dean had gone, but Cas was tempted to start asking questions. A whole new universe, how could he not be curious? He didn't get an opportunity, however, as the demon spoke.

"Cas. What's that short for?"

Cas stared at him, wary. "why would it be short for anything?"

"He called you 'angel' just then. Either that's a cute little nickname, or you're an actual biblical angel. Or both. I'm hedging on both."

He chose to ignore that little slight, although Crowley did have a point. Dean had started calling him that a while ago, around the time he'd chosen to stay at the bunker instead of returning to heaven when he regained his grace, and it did feel more like a nickname than a description, especially the way Dean said it, with a little half smile curling the corner of his mouth. The demon didn't need to know any of this though, so to steer the conversation away Cas relented. "It's short for Castiel."

"The angel of Thursday?"

Cas frowned. "Yes. How do you know that?"

"We have a version of you in our universe too, back when I was an angel I knew him. Not a bad guy, bit bitter though, he always said he should have got Sunday but Uriel filched it."

"Back when you were a what?"

"...an angel? Before the fall, before I got thrown down the Holy Staircase to Hell. Is that not how it works here?"

"No." Cas said, feeling mildly blindsided. That might explain the strange vibe he'd been getting from the demon all this time, a sense of familiarity. No demon he'd ever come into contact with had made him curious like this before. "Our demons are humans, or they once were. All the goodness in them gets warped and twisted when they die, turns them evil."

"Human? Well that explains your animosity to me I suppose. I wouldn't want me to be human either, and I certainly wouldnt want to be evil, its too much hard work." Crowley said simply, resting back on his chair as if it were the most simple thing in the world. As if demons could just choose not to be evil and go on with their lives. Cas had seen a lot in his time, had his faith shaken and disproved so many times that it shouldn't surprise him anymore when his closest held beliefs crumbled before his eyes. But, what do you know, it still did. 

After that, Cas couldn't help but ask questions, and Crowley seemed more than happy to oblige, in return for a few answered queries of his own of course. The demon apparently spent the majority of his time in a bookshop in Soho, and Cas got the feeling he wasn't alone there, although Crowley clammed up every time he got to close to saying anything about it. Cas told him of the wars, the apocalypse, Lucifer rising and falling and rising again, and none of it seemed to shock Crowley all that much. Similar things had taken place, and he'd managed to see them off because they would have 'disrupted his routine', along with some help from a couple of friends that he was being very shady about. In fact, the thing that seemed to horrify Crowley the most was Cas' father. More specifically, the fact that he was a man. What an odd universe this demon came from.

Over an hour later, they had migrated to the chairs behind a couple of bookshelves so Cas could settle in more comfortably, and Crowley could examine their shared record collection. The majority of it was Dean's, and Cas was trying very hard not to think about what Dean might say if he knew Cas had allowed the demon to get his hands on it. Crowley seemed to be enjoying it though, he was making small, vaguely snake-like sounds of joy every time he unveiled a new album.

"A Night at the Opera? A Day at the Races?? Oh, I'm beginning to like you more and more Castiel."

"Again, Dean's, not mine."

"Well, Squirrel will receive my praise when he finally finishes his sulk." Crowley caught the confusion in the sharp look Cas had just given him "What?"

"Nothing, just... maybe you're not as different from our Crowley as I thought."

"Satan I hope not, guy has far too much responsibility for my liking." Crowley scoffed and turned back to the records. "Anyway, if its Dean's, its yours, couples share and all that jazz. Hell, Aziraphale has started adding bebop to my collection, the evil bastard."

"Me and Dean aren't a couple." Cas said firmly, ignoring the heat rising in his cheeks, but Crowley looked unconvinced.

"Maybe not yet you're not, but its in the post. All those longing looks, the nicknames? There's enough sexual tension in this bunker to boil an egg."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Trust me, I do, I lived it for six thousand years."

"With Aziraphale?" challenged Cas, and was pleased to see the colour drain slightly from Crowley's face. "That's an angel name, isn't it? Now, what would a demon like you be doing with an angel I wonder..."

"You're changing the subject." Crowley pointed an accusatory finger at Cas, but it was the angel's turn to smirk this time.

"Maybe, doesn't change the question."

Crowley seemed to be debating what to say, but eventually gave in and sighed "My partner, Aziraphale, is technically an angel of the lord, yes."

"And the angels approve of this relationship?"

"Approve?" Crowley scoffed "They hate my guts, and his. Heaven and Hell tried to have both of us executed for it, but we got around them. Both sides are too scared if us these days to do much though, it always helps to have an antichrist in your back pocket."

Cas felt a surge of respect for the demon, not something he would have expected. But he did truly respect Crowley, and what he'd fought for. Everything the demon had done, however he'd dressed it up to make it seem selfish and immoral, had been basically good. Cas could understand doing the right thing, even when it wasn't the easiest thing to do, and rebelling against your people to achieve it. They were both outcasts in a way, for their beliefs.

The little smile Crowley gave him said he'd read some of Cas' thoughts on his face, and the next second two crystal glasses full of amber liquid had materialised in the demons hands. He handed one over to Cas, and raised the other high.

"To rebellion."

"To rebellion." Cas echoed, and the glasses clinked. He took a little sip before remembering he wasn't drinking for the foreseeable ever, and set it down.

They remained that way for a few minutes before the sound of footsteps down the corridor alerted them to the return of Dean. 

"Cas?"

"Back here." he called, and he came round the corner and took in the little scene. Cas winced a little. Dean had left him on guard duty, and here he was, drinking whiskey and looking and records with a denizen of hell. It didn't look good. Said denizen had no such concerns, he waved jovially.

"Ah, Dean. Fabulous taste in records by the way. I retract my earlier statement about Castiel here being the brains of the outfit. You're clearly an intellectual."

There was a moment where Cas thought he would either start shouting, or just go at Crowley with Ruby's blade, which he knew Dean always kept in his jacket pocket, even in the bunker. It wouldn't have been so out of character, even these days Dean could be a loose cannon if something had dredged up old memories, and the demon now smiling lazily up at him with those bright yellow eyes was certainly doing that. But something held him back, maybe Cas' pleading look, or Crowley's relaxed grin, or some hunting instinct, honed through many years, that told him this creature was no threat. Whatever it was, it gave him pause, and eventually he rolled his eyes and said "well, if you're staying, I'll have a glass of whatever that is too."

As Dean was pulling up a chair and Cas was silently thanking whatever deity was smiling down in them, Crowley conjured up another glass and handed it over. "I'll have you know this is Mortlach Speyside, 1938. Good year, shame about Germany invading Austria and all that."

"You were there?" asked Cas.

"Oh yes, I was there. Took a holiday to see the Alps and nearly got caught in the crossfire. I got to take credit for it in Hell though, which is always a plus. I tell you, nothing demons have ever come up with has been as bad as what humans do to themselves."

"Amen to that." Dean agreed, raising his glass. "should we get some music on?"

"Oh, definitely." Crowley said, and Dean went rifling through the record stack. Cas peered over to see what he had selected, but Dean poked his shoulder jovially, hiding the record under his shirt as he went round the corner to the record player.

"Not yet, angel. Its a surprise."

Angel! Crowley mouthed, eyebrows wiggling suggestively, and Cas tried to ignored him. But soon the first few notes of a melody pierced the silence, a rising and falling solo piano, and the voice joined it.

mama, just killed a man...

It had been nearly two hours, and Crowley still hadn't returned. Aziraphale refrained from pacing with difficulty, but his fingers tapped on the hardwood table as he tried to stop looking at the clock. What if something had happened? What if Crowley was hurt? The thing that worried Aziraphale the most was that he couldn't sense his partner, not like he usually could. Wherever Crowley was on Earth, Aziraphale could always feel him, a little pinprick of light, normally pulsing with Crowley flavoured sarcasm. But now there was nothing, not a blip.

The only explanation was, he wasn't on Earth at all.

But then where was he?

"Oh, waiting be damned" he muttered to himself, and stood, now focusing fully on locating the demon, straining every particle of his angelic being. the lightbulb above his head flickered and popped, but for once Aziraphale was not paying attention to his beloved bookshop. Something far more important was at stake.

Nothing.

But then... what was that? Yes, there was a feeling, just not from Earth. It seemed foggy, as if separated by a veil, and Aziraphale suddenly had a sneaking suspicion of what had happened.

"Oh, my love, how do you end up in these situations?"

This was going to take some energy.

Opening a door to another universe is a fine art, one that takes practice and a boatload of power to do with precision. Cas managed it accidentally, and look how that had gone. Aziraphale had no practice whatsoever, but what he did have was a signal to home in on, and a fair bit of luck. The threads that held Aziraphale and Crowley together were strong, far stronger than any had ever been between a demon and an angel. Their six thousand years of friendship had built a connection which could be recognised even across space and time. Some people would call it true love, and those people would be correct. but it was this connection that Aziraphale clung to as he opened the door, and stepped through into the darkness.

The darkness only lasted a few seconds, soon it resolved itself into a high ceilinged room, a table with a map embedded into it in the centre, bookshelves lining the concrete walls. Light shone from lamps along the sides of the room, and the clear tones of Freddie Mercury rang out from a little record player.

We are the champions, my friends...

Aziraphale smiled. Anywhere Crowley went, there would be Queen. Speak of the demon, his head popped out from behind a bookshelf, and his face split into a wide grin.

"Angel! So glad you could make it."

"Crowley, are you quite alright?"

"Just fine, thanks. Come and meet my new friends."

"Friends is a bit of a strong word, Crowley." retorted a gruff voice, and seconds later two more men had come out from behind the shelves. The speaker was a tall sandy haired man, wearing a blue plaid shirt and a band tee of some description (Aziraphale was never one for new music, he preferred classical), who was eyeing Aziraphale with the guarded look of a man who had seen far too much to trust something that wasn't human. Crowley had met a hunter and not managed to get himself discorporated, that was something. He glanced over at the other man, and did a double take. Massive wings were tucked neatly behind him, as casually as a backpack, and the hint of a halo glimmered faintly around his head. An angel. But what had happened to his wings? So dark, charred around the edges as if they'd been burned in some terrible fire.

"Brother. I'm Castiel, and that's Dean." the angel nodded respectfully.

"Erm, hello?" Aziraphale waved awkwardly, still focused on his wings, not his face, and Castiel seemed to notice.

"You can see them?" he nodded, unsure of what to say, but Castiel didn't seem offended. "Hellfire. They don't hurt, they're not even damaged, but just being down there changed them."

"I... see" he said, even though he didn't really. Both Crowley and Dean were shooting them confused glances now, so he cleared his throt and went on. "You said two hours dear, so I'm here. Are we going?"

"Oh yes, I think so." replied Crowley, turning back to the other two. "Lovely to meet you lads, perhaps we shall see each other again some day."

"No offence dude, but I really hope not." retorted Dean, and shook Crowley's proffered hand only after a second's hesitation. The demon turned to Castiel next, and leaned in to mutter something in his ear before pulling away, leaving him frowning. Crowley smirked.

"Just think about it, okay? Come on angel." He walked over and took Aziraphale's hand, squeezing it gently. "Take us home."

A flash of light, a blaze of colour, and the scent and warmth of the bookshop retuned.

"Still think that sushi place will be open?" Aziraphale asked hopefully, and his partner smiled.

It was four o'clock in the morning, yes, but there were certain upsides to not having to sleep. Dean, not so much, he was a human after all, but he'd elected to stave of sleep a little longer so they could talk over the night's events. Cas was sitting on one of the stools at the kitchen island, watching Dean bustle around making them both middle of the night coffee, a human tradition in which he'd never partaken in up to this point. The only sound was the machine whirring and Dean humming under his breath, something that sounded a little like 'We Will Rock You'. After a minute, the coffees were done, and Dean slid onto the stool beside him.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"What made you change your mind? About Crowley I mean."

Dean shrugged. "You did. You seemed to trust the guy, and I trust you, so..."

"Oh. Right."

more silence. the steam from the coffee cup Cas held between two hands made patters in the air before his unfocused eyes. Dean had stopped humming at some point.

"Hey, Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"What did Crowley say to you, right before he left?"

Cas considered. What could he say? The truth was that Crowley's final words had been a piece of advice that Cas was still turning over in his mind.

I waited six thousand years to tell him I loved him, don't make the same mistake.

And he did love Dean, there was no question about that. Angels rarely experience emotion, but Cas had been around long enough to identify this one, the one that flared in his chest every time Dean entered a room, made a stupid comment, smiled like Cas actually meant something. But he'd never been good at sensing human social cues, he could be misinterpreting the way Dean kept close to him, made plans with him, looked after him even though he didn't need it. He could be reading too far into the movie nights and supply runs turned burger joint lunches. He could even be overcomplicating it right now, as Dean sat so close their legs were pressed together and he watched him through sleepy eyes. 

"Cas?" Dean prompted.

Don't make the same mistake.

It was a small thing, to turn his head, lean in just a little, and their lips met. It could have happened may times over their shared years together. Hot and needy in the dead of night, just this once, never again. Angry and harsh after a hunt gone wrong, you could have got yourself killed. Tearful and broken when one truly was gone, if only for a little while, I thought you were properly dead this time. But it happened there, in the bunker that had become their home, the world quiet like they were the only two in it.

After a while, Dean pulled back, if only to catch his breath, but he was smiling from ear to ear. "What was that for then?"

"Its been a long time coming, Dean."

"Yeah, s'pose it has. Sammy's gonna be so smug, I can already picture the bastards face."

Cas chuckled "lets worry about that tomorrow."

"Oh yeah? So what are your plans for tonight?" Dean raised a provocative eyebrow. Cas smirked, and leaned in once more.