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If you die of feels, can I have your car?

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Jan. 10th, 2012 | 06:44 pm
location: Baker Street
mood: deviousdevious

Title: Death's Other Kingdom (5/?)
Pairing: eventual Destiel, implied Crowliel if you squint
Rating: PG

“Fancy seeing you here,” Crowley says, and backhands Castiel hard enough that he tastes the burnt ozone of spent Grace on his tongue like blood.

Castiel finds himself sprawled on the floor of one of Hell’s tidy hallways, rather abruptly, the King of Hell peering down at him with a snarl that could shatter glass twisting his face. Crowley is not looking his best; the manifestation of his vessel wears a layer of stubble and dark circles under his eyes, and his true self, underneath, is worn far too thin. Even so far removed from his angelic nature, Castiel can see this.

He can also see that even such a weakened Crowley holds infinitely more power than he does, here.

"That," Crowley roars, "was for reneging on our contract!"

And then, miraculously, instead of flaying Castiel, the demon visibly composes himself.

“Walk with me,” he says, offhandedly, with all the surety of an order.

And so Castiel does.

“It's the damnedest thing, but I've recently come into a surplus of angels. Up to my eyes in them. If I'm being honest, which I almost always am, more or less, I haven’t got the room to keep all of them.” The King of Hell casts a significant look across to the angel, strolling through the tidy corridors of his revised Hell. "And the feathers do tend to get everywhere, you know. Terrible hassle."

Castiel is, as ever, not sure he understands Crowley’s prattling. He can hear the hidden agenda woven through it, but an angel, even one dead and damned, cannot know the mind of a demon.

“What is it you’re getting at?”

Crowley sighs, “Still not much for subtleties, are we? Tsk, tsk.”

“It was a simple question,” Castiel growls, as if he still has any power to back himself up.

Crowley, quite diplomatically, chooses to very deliberately ignore Castiel's misstep, “I suppose I'll have to spell it out for you, as usual. What I’m getting at is this: I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for you, angel. Or, rather, a hard spot,” he offers the slightest waggle of his eyebrows and a completely unsubtle lear, “And I'm not overfond of these Leviathans. Particularly Dick. He does live up to the name.”

"I don't understand that reference," Castiel intones, frowning.

Crowley sighs witheringly. "Of course you don't. Point is, I want rid of the Leviathans much as anyone, and you've got a habit of making the impossible possible, you and your two favorite morons. I'm offering you a trip topside."

Castiel stops mid-stride, his expression torn between distrust and a sudden flash of hope. 

"How?"

Crowley's tone is almost sympathetic. "Unfortunately, I only know the one way to get a corpse out of the Pit, baring Angelic intervention, so unless your got any friends left up there, which I'm doubting, there's only one way to go. I'm sure you'll make quite the black eyed beauty, darling, once we're through with you."

Castiel sucks in a harsh breath, and Crowley takes it as indication to plow on.

"I can put you on the fast track, at least, but it isn't going to be pleasant. And that's saying something, coming from me."

"How long?"

Crowley looks him over appraisingly. "Haven't the faintest. I can't say anyone's tried converting straight from Angel to demon before. If I put my best man on it, though, which I will, I'd say weeks, months. That's Earth time, of course. We have a deal?"

Castiel forces a smile, the way he has learned from Dean. "Just don't tell me we have to seal it with a kiss."

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