One Word

"You're gonna tell me where to find the bloody Alpha whether you like it or not," Crowley said, "Really, kid, you might as well give it up now and spare yourself the agony." As he spoke, the former crossroads demon paced across the floor of his makeshift interrogation room. It pained him to see how dirty the once-white tiles had become, now stained with blood, and he narrowed his eyes at the silent werewolf. Even bound and starving, the monster refused to talk, staring blankly at the wall behind Crowley. "So, this is how it's gonna be."

Raising the silver knife in his hand, Crowley stepped forward. Just as the werewolf cringed away, the door to the chamber flung open and slammed against the wall with such force that Crowley paused for a split second before driving the blade into the werewolf's heart. Tied to a metal table a few feet away, another werewolf shut its eyes, and Crowley opened his mouth to threaten her as well. Before Crowley could speak, however, Castiel interrupted him. "Time is running out. You promised me souls."

Throwing up his hands in frustration, Crowley noticed with some pleasure that Castiel's jaw tightened when he flung the knife. "I thought angels were supposed to show a little more gratitude. You're sitting on fifty grand already. Stop interrupting my investigations and maybe you'll have your lily-white fingers holding even more in a couple days."

Castiel rolled his eyes. "Your irreverence aside, I don't have a couple of days to spare. Give me five thousand."

"Five thousand?" Huffing a sigh of disgust, Crowley placed his knife on the table next to the surviving werewolf, just out of reach of its claws. "We agreed to split them equally. My own battles aren't going to win themselves, you know. Maybe if you'd spend more time looking for Purgatory and less time cavorting with the Hardy Boys, you wouldn't have to beg."

When Castiel spoke again, he strode forward, apparently still unable to grasp the concept of personal space. His voice deepened in that way that Crowley mocked to no end. "I am not begging. And if you have been watching, you know that the Winchesters are helping both of us by hunting down your monsters."

"Please, Thursday, you've been holding Dean's hand ever since he left retirement. As for the moose, he's liable to end up in my neighborhood all over again if he doesn't learn caution." Despite the usual banter, Crowley softened his voice, sensing that the situation could open up a new opportunity. "Two thousand, and I get one of your friend Balthazar's weapons."

"I said five thousand," Castiel muttered, "and Balthazar has not given them to me. He certainly wouldn't offer them to the likes of you."

"Can't get something for nothing, buddy-boy. Good luck with the war, which, by the way, I hear is going quite splendidly." Crowley turned away and returned to the werewolf's side.

"Wait," said Castiel, just as Crowley laid his fingers on the knife. "One thousand. Please." His voice was tight, a desperate strain that Crowley loved to hear.

Without turning around, Crowley said, "Normally I would send you on your way, transaction over. But since you asked so nicely, maybe I'll reconsider." He behaved as though he could care less, but it was truly in Crowley's best interests to ensure that Raphael was preoccupied with the war and Heaven, and that Castiel's cohorts lived to fight another day. Facing Castiel, Crowley tapped his upper lip with a finger thoughtfully. "In fact, I'm feeling unusually generous. Three thousand, on the condition that you won't squander them for a few precious minutes with the Winchesters. I don't care how many tearful prayers they send your way. Leave your post during a battle, and you'll find that I'm not so generous when I'm bloody pissed that your infatuation may lose the war."

Castiel blinked, apparently taken aback, although Crowley couldn't imagine why. "That's not the word I would use to describe my relationship with—"

"Yes, I can think of several others myself, but I thought I'd spare your angelic ears. Bend over, will you?" When Castiel gazed at the demon incredulously, Crowley sighed, gesturing to the distance between the top of his head and Castiel. "Bit of a height difference, in case you've forgotten. I could seal the deal standing on my toes, but that seems needlessly uncomfortable, don't you think?"

"Couldn't you simply take my word for it?" said Castiel, now evidently all too aware of the small space between them as he backed a few inches away.

"Don't play coy with me, love; I'm not in the mood. You want a deal, you'll make it official."

Leaning down so that Crowley could reach him, Castiel's breath hitched when Crowley placed a hand on Castiel's cheek, holding him in place, thumb stroking over his cheekbone. Castiel's lack of experience allowed Crowley to flick his tongue into Castiel's mouth and brush the tip of the his tongue before he could resist, and Crowley growled in the back of his throat, determined to provoke the same reaction from the angel. For all Castiel's attempts to appear cold and distant, his skin surprised Crowley with its warmth, and Crowley smiled as Castiel started to pull away. At once, Crowley did the same, but not before he had managed to kiss Castiel's lips one last time just as they closed.

Satisfied, Crowley noted the flush spreading through Castiel's cheeks, no doubt from pleasure or anger, or both. "What say we do this again sometime?"

"I, uh—" Castiel coughed, clearing his throat, so that his voice would not be so hoarse. "You disgust me, Crowley."

Raising an eyebrow, Crowley said, "Really? Your pulse and your inability to breathe properly tell me otherwise." Before Castiel could think of a response, Crowley tilted his head up so their mouths nearly touched again, laying a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "I'll make you forget all about the Winchesters."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Castiel said, straightening his posture and looking in any direction that was decidedly not Crowley's. "Get your hands off me, demon."

Strolling back to the side of the captured werewolf, Crowley said, "Rule number one of working with demons—don't bother trying to hide your past affairs. It's pathetic, and utterly useless. Now get out of here so I can find Purgatory."

"Nice of you to drop in when you did, after I'd already gotten the upper hand. Oh, and while I'm at it, I suppose thanks are in order for leading them right to my door." Crowley kicked at the pile of charred bones that lay near his feet, bones that thankfully didn't belong to him. "Why couldn't you send them into some other appropriately gruesome hideout and claim there was some sort of mix-up?"

Castiel snorted. "Unbelievable. You were barely holding your own until Meg hesitated with the knife."

"At which point I wrested said knife from her hands, and the little Winchesters found themselves at the mercy of yours truly. Speaking of Meg, by the way…."

Although Crowley didn't finish, Castiel furrowed his forehead, perhaps in concentration as he tried to keep pretend he didn't know what Crowley was talking about. Finally he muttered, "You are referring to the kiss."

"So you admit it, eh?" The angel stared at his shoes like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and Crowley laughed. "Normally I'd be cheering you on, if it weren't for the very genuine threat of contracting one or several fatal diseases. What on earth possessed you to risk yourself like that? The whore's a walking health hazard."

To emphasize his point, Crowley mock-shuddered, but Castiel narrowed his eyes in confusion. "I am unable to infer whether you are using sarcasm."

"Well, at least you're catching on. But seriously, I've hardly come to expect that sort of nerve from you. I thought you had sworn to vows of celibacy or whatever it is that gets angels all riled up about a little fun, your friend Balthazar excluded."

With a shrug, Castiel replied, "Traditional rules do not exist anymore with no one to enforce them. The war has been a long one, and my trepidation over deceiving the Winchesters required a distraction. At the time, I said to myself…what is the aphorism that humans use? 'What the hell.' "

"You learn fast for an angel." Crowley slapped Castiel on the back, and he squared his shoulders stiffly. "If you recall, I've offered a similar prospect. No more fretting, for at least the immediate future. Meg's rates are too steep anyway, and despite whatever she may have told you, I taught her everything she knows."

"No thanks," said Castiel, not that Crowley really anticipated anything else.

"In due time, then." When Castiel tightened his jaw, Crowley grinned. Within a couple of seconds, Castiel had disappeared.

In killing his first prisoner, Crowley hoped that it might persuade the other one to confess the location of the Alpha werewolf. But even after days of depriving the monster of food, water and sleep, while of course inflicting the maximum amount of pain as long as it didn't threaten her life, Crowley was unable to get any more than a few screamed oaths and futile howls. The walls of his monster prison had been designed to trap noise, but sometimes, ears ringing and temples throbbing, Crowley wondered how much of that bloody howling could really be kept from reaching the outside.

As much as he at first enjoyed the sight of monsters writhing under his administrations, he started to dread the daily sessions, expecting each to be as frustrating as the last. At times, especially when the Winchesters seemed to have a good lead on some Alpha or another, the ongoing fight to secure his dominance in Hell provided an excuse for Crowley to avoid the whole mess altogether. But none of the brothers' efforts had succeeded, and now Crowley didn't even have them to work for him now that they assumed he was dead. Morons, he thought, shaking his head. I'm the only one holding things together. If I'd really been so stupid as to die by Castiel's hand, all Hell would have broken loose by now, in the most literal sense possible. But the souls were wearing thin, and soon enough, he had no choice but to return to where the werewolf languished underground.

He shoved the metal doors aside and stormed through, gritting his teeth as he prepared to face the monster's relentless cries and absolute stubbornness. Then he stopped in his tracks, before he had even crossed the floor to reach the werewolf, at the sight of Castiel. Bleeding from his lip and eyes half-lidded, he sat on the floor by the wall, propping himself up against it. At the sight of Crowley, the angel raised his head, but didn't say a word. Unable to resist, Crowley pointed a finger at Castiel and prompted, "So, did it hurt?"

"What are you talking about?" said Castiel, frowning. Dried blood stained a few spots on that ridiculous coat, and Crowley wished more than anything that Castiel would at least let take it by the cleaners. "Of course I'm—"

"When you fell from Heaven," added Crowley, raising his eyebrows as he awaited some reaction. When Castiel titled his head and stared in silence, Crowley grimaced. "Wonders never cease. I mean, how the hell do you even screw that up?

"I still have no idea what you're talking about."

"Has anybody ever told you that you ruin bloody everything?" Heaving a sigh, Crowley walked closer to Castiel, relishing the opportunity to look down on the angel for once. "Glad to see you're putting my souls to good use."

"It was beyond my control," Castiel muttered. "Raphael's army outnumbers ours, and I was forced to retreat. My soldiers continue the fight while I seek respite here."

"And this is where you chose to run for cover? It's a bloody House of Horror here most days, not that I mind the company, but surely—"

Finally looking directly into Crowley's eyes, Castiel said, "I had nowhere else to go, thanks to you."

With a half-hidden smirk, Crowley remembered that he had forbidden Castiel from seeing the Winchesters during a battle. Otherwise, Castiel would no doubt be in their care. "Better in the long run, my fine feathered fool. Imagine the inevitable line of questions from the boys when their favorite angel stumbles through their door. If you'll recall, it wouldn't be the first time."

"They know I'm fighting a war…" The confidence in his voice faltered as he trailed off. Crowley's smile widened as he watched doubt flit across Castiel's face, or maybe even despair. Last time, Castiel had sought refuge in the Impala while the boys were in transit on a hunt, and the reception hadn't been overly welcoming. Dean had said, with unmistakable suspicion, I figured that new and improved mojo of yours could heal just about anything. Before Castiel could explain the import of conserving every morsel of power, Sam turned to Dean and added, Yeah, just like we figured those were Crowley's bones. Even after Castiel defended himself, and although he spoke the truth, he hesitated and tripped over his own words. Not surprisingly, they weren't convinced, and Castiel fled as soon as possible.

"Ah, you're finally starting to understand." Forcing the solemnest expression he could muster, Crowley knelt down to Castiel's level, resting a hand on Castiel's knee. As expected, while his whole leg tensed under the black trousers that Crowley despised so much, Castiel's emotional and physical exhaustion overwhelmed the desire to shove the demon away. "They may not be the enemy, my personal misgivings aside, and they don't want to revisit the Apocalypse any more than we do. But that's exactly what will happen if they know any more than they do already. What they don't know won't hurt them, but it will save their lives. Unless, of course, they find out, and that's precisely why you can't allow that to happen."

He drew in as he spoke so that by the time he finished, his face hovered inches away from Castiel's, although Crowley did wonder if Castiel even noticed. He waited a moment for Castiel to respond, and when he didn't, Crowley pressed on. "You can't rely on them now, Cas, not anymore. It's not their fault, and it isn't ours, but it's the truth."

Eyes lowering beneath Crowley's gaze, Castiel wiped the blood off his lip and finally replied. "All of a sudden, I am not so reluctant to return to the battlefield."

Caught by surprise, Crowley threw his head back and barked a laugh. "That's what I'm here for, mate, to get you back on your feet. Here, let me give you a hand." He stood up and stretched out a hand, careful to offer without initiating the touch this time. When Castiel grabbed his hand and climbed to his unsteady feet, Crowley realized with wide-eyed delight that the corner of the angel's mouth curled up in what Crowley could only describe as a smile. Nothing pleased him more than that small but hard-won victory.

Out of habit, Castiel brushed off his coat, the smile already fading. "I should check on them as soon as the battle ends, even if I cannot make them aware of my presence. Heaven knows when I'll have another chance."

"Hey, don't let me worry about you getting sloppy out there. Neither of us can afford that." Softening his voice, Crowley said, "Remember what I said. Forget all about them, not another worry."

"I don't want to forget," Castiel said, walking past Crowley until he vanished with a flutter of wings.

Even with the majority of his experiments failed, Crowley could practically taste the flames of purgatory. Any day now, he estimated, billions of souls would await his command. But he feared more than ever that the Winchesters would reach him, now aware of his continued existence, and more determined to hunt him down than ever. Unfortunately, he had already been threatened rather forcefully when he attempted to remove them from the equation. Soon, he decided, he would have to take more drastic measures to protect himself, although he still didn't know quite what he could get away with that wouldn't provoke Castiel into killing him.

His attempts to seduce Castiel, mainly out of sheer amusement and to prove that he could, didn't last long once self-preservation called for Crowley to lash out against the Winchesters. Once, he found himself staggering away from the cracks in the wall into which Castiel had thrust him, and another time, the angel grabbed him by the lapels of his suit. That angered him at first, and he snapped back reflexively, even if it took him a moment to regain his bearings. But no matter how much dirt Crowley had to sweep off his clothes, it encouraged him to think that perhaps Castiel had finally grown a backbone. And that would certainly contribute towards defeating Raphael.

In the dead of night, Crowley sat in his laboratory, pouring over an ancient tome that was rumored to hold the location to purgatory. Likely it was all legends and no substance, but he refused to leave any stone unturned. Then, as he licked his thumb and started to turn a weathered page, a breeze swept several of the pages and Castiel materialized a few feet away.

"Back so soon," Crowley said, his voice flat with scorn. "To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?" Hours before, the Winchesters had trapped Castiel and unraveled his entire deception, so Crowley had to step in and play rescuer. Needless to say, Castiel directed the ensuing emotional trauma at Crowley, a move that he thought was particularly undeserved since he truly had wished for the brothers to never suspect Castiel in the first place.

Now, standing before Crowley, Castiel glanced around the room as if lost. "Why are you even here at this hour?" His hands were shaking by his side, the blood drained from his face.

This was not the picture of fury that Crowley had seen earlier, and this new Castiel startled Crowley even more. When he sniffed the air in search of a clue, the stench of Bobby Singer's house and Dean Winchester flooded his senses. "Tell me you didn't go back."

"I hardly had a choice. I had to believe I could make him understand." Were those red streaks, Crowley wondered, on Castiel's face? And just when Crowley was beginning to think that Castiel could grow a backbone.

Before he could think to restrain himself, Crowley was slamming the book shut and shouting up at the angel. "Dammit, Castiel, are you trying to get us both killed? You went back after he trapped you in a bloodyring of fire! Does your idiocy know no bounds?"

Without warning, Castiel grabbed Crowley's neck between his hands and lifted Crowley to his feet. "I lost everything tonight, you piece of filth. You could never understand."

The grip tightened, and Crowley's eyes widened to the size of saucers as he struggled to force out words. He tried to kick his legs out from underneath him, but Castiel held him at arm's length, and that only increased the pressure. "You do this—Raphael wins—" Fingers dug into the side of his throat with such inhuman strength that his head spun, spots of color appearing before his eyes. Panic surged, and he choked out the first argument that he could think of. "—you'll lose them again—and this time—no one's bringing them back—"

Then Crowley collapsed on the floor, released from Castiel's grasp, panting as air filled his lungs. Instinctively, one of his hands reached to feel his throat as he coughed. Castiel walked away, and Crowley feared that if he allowed Castiel to go, he might do something else equally foolish where Crowley could not stop him. "Castiel?"

He hoped that Castiel preferred to hear his full name spoken, since so few did. Either way, Castiel stopped moving, though he did not face Crowley. "Speak."

Rising to his feet, Crowley said, "Help a poor demon understand. Why are the Winchesters are still breathing? They're the cause of all your pain, so why not eliminate them?"

"I have done everything for their sake alone. If they ceased to be, so would the purpose of my entire mission."

Crowley wrinkled his nose and stepped a few feet closer to Castiel, though he didn't dare touch him. "You have other friends, older friends. What about Balthazar? Charming fellow, he is."

This time, Castiel did turn around, and Crowley shrunk back. "Balthazar and I are companions, yes, but it is not the same. Sam and Dean have called out to me, prayed that I come to their side. God created angels with the instinctive desire to be needed in such a way. You can't imagine what that feels like."

"No, I suppose I can't," Crowley admitted, wondering if the satisfaction that such prayers gave Castiel was truly different to that of demons. Nothing thrilled a demon more than watching a human pray for protection against them, rather than from them, as they would pray to an angel. One word away, you and I.

He couldn't think of anything more pathetic than Castiel and his failed attempts at replacing the love of a missing father with that of the Winchesters, but in some way, they were all trying to fill the gaping hole with anything they could find, even Meg as she dreamt of Lucifer and Raphael as he sought power. No substitute would last forever, but Castiel had to be desperate to ease his pain. "You must understand that they may not be so inclined to call your name again if you tear the whole thing down now. Hold on a bit longer, just until we reach the souls, and they'll be groveling at your feet in no time."

Castiel nodded, and he moved his lips a bit, but no sound came out of his mouth. "Just a bit longer," Crowley repeated, staring until Castiel's gaze finally stopped darting around and returned his own. "It's pretty obvious that you're in agony, Castiel. Hell, if I was in your position, I might be too." But not bloody likely. Not daring to blink, Crowley leaned in until he inhaled the scent of the sweat that matted Castiel's face and hair and then his breath. Skin prickling with the sensation, Crowley's heightened senses could nearly taste it. Crowley was glad he didn't need to breathe, because now he couldn't tell if he still was.

Then Castiel's own ragged breathing paused for a second when the tips of Crowley's fingers graced the back of the angel's neck, and Crowley stroked his fingers over the soft skin that had broken out into tiny goosebumps, no doubt never touched in such a way. Every hair stood on end as Crowley low voice whispered in his ear, "Let me help you forget." The muscles in Castiel's neck tensed and Crowley added, "Not forever, mind, just long enough. What the hell, right?"

Standing on his toes, Crowley pressed his lips to Castiel's for a brief moment before drawing back, though he could barely compel himself to. Even cracked from the recent injury, Castiel still tasted pure, a perfection that Crowley had never savored more. No pleasure rivaled the sweetness of a vulnerable angel.

Castiel did not return the kiss, but neither did he resist. With the tip of his tongue, Crowley traced the top of his own lips, watching as Castiel's eyes trailed after each movement. "Just say the word, love."

Castiel reached one hand around Crowey's head, running his hand through the dark hair for a moment before he pulled the demon's mouth against his own, and Crowley decided that was good enough.