WARNINGS: Um...a little dark? (Vague references to torture and death and some cultural insensitivity.)
SPOILERS: Set in some vague timeframe between the end of Season 5 and the end of Season 8.
Crowley tapped his lips with a finger as he contemplated the list in front of him of pros and cons between his two final vacation choices.
The jungle tribe, as yet untainted by “civilization,” offered a rare opportunity to be part of a human sacrifice, but the humidity would be murder on his suits, and he wouldn’t be caught undead in a tropical shirt and Bermuda shorts!
The military prison offered similar pain and torment but would require brainwashing guards.
“Sir,” an underling protested, “you can’t just up and leave!”
“Course I can!” Crowley smirked. “It’s good to be King.”
Summary: Vaguely 9ish - a little AU, established rivalry between Abaddon and Crowley, non-canon situation (gen).
Characters: Crowely, Castiel.
Rating: PG (language)
Crowley banged the hood closed and cursed. “Stupid bloody Winchesters and their stupid bloody cars," he moaned to himself. Human for one day. One day and he ends up stranded by the side of the road beside the clunker Dean had “borrowed” for this little venture. He was in the middle of the nowhere so it wasn’t like he could catch a taxi. He considered calling for roadside assistance, he’d observed humans doing that, but he didn't know the number. Then he considered calling Moose but his cell wasn’t getting service. Dial-a-demon was out because he wasn’t a demon right now and there wasn’t anyone around to supply the blood - if he had a bowl to put it in. This made him ponder briefly whether there was a way of improving telecommunications in the underworld but he set this thought aside to focus on his predicament.
A thought occurred to him. A horrible thought. A demeaning and embarrassing thought.
There was someone he could call without a phone, and without a bowl of blood. Though technically he wasn’t sure if it would work, his soul having been destroyed, but given his current situation it might just be possible.
“Castiel you pansy ass feather duster I could do with a hand here.” Did that count as a prayer? It better, because he wasn’t going to beg. “Cas if you can hear this I detest you as much as you detest me, but your precious Dean won't be happy if I don't make our appointment, so if you want to keep your pet human happy be a darl and give me a lift would you?”
Cas appeared before him, trench coat flapping and his eyes glowering. “You know other angels can hear your prayers.”
“Oh shucks Cas, did I embarrass you in front of your playmates?” Crowley grinned with satisfaction.
Cas sniggered. There were a lot of things he was willing to do for the Winchesters but this was pushing it. He sighed and placed a hand on Crowley’s shoulder to zap them to Dean and Sam who were working on a cure to break the curse Abaddon’s minions had put on Crowley. Again Cas questioned the wisdom of helping the King of Hell, but as the saying goes, better the devil you know.
Summary: Vaguely S9, in this instance Crowley and Dean are working together….
Characters: Crowley, Dean.
“This will have to do, you take the red one,” Dean instructed as he climbed onto a huge black Harley, indicating that Crowley should follow suit. They were the only two vehicles in the hotel parking lot. Luckily Dean could hot wire a bike just as fast as a car.
“You expect me to ride one of those things? It’s a goddamn mechanical horse.” Crowley didn’t move an inch towards the bike.
“It’s all we’ve got. Sorry if it’s not to your standard. But unless you want to wait for road-side assistance this is it.”
“You can’t be serious,” Crowley protested.
“Are you telling me you can’t ride a motorbike? And you call yourself a demon. What’s wrong princess, scared of the big bad bike?” Dean grinned. This was priceless.
“I may look young and attractive but they didn’t exactly have these when I was human and I don’t normally have to worry about transportation," Crowley defended.
Dean smirked but his face fell when the inevitable occurred to him, “Well we’ve got to go, so you’re going to either have to learn fast or we’re going to have to double.”
“I’m the King of Hell not a date, though the way your feathered friend carry-on I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m your type these days,” Crowley objected.
“You think I like this? I can think of about a million things I would rather be doing, but you decided to come along for the ride,” Dean fumed.
“To protect my investment, not to get my jollys feeling up Dean Winchester. I should have known better than to trust that rust bucket you call a car.”
“There will be no feeling of anything. Now quit complaining or I will leave you here in an instant, don’t tempt me Crowley," Dean threatened.
“All right, don’t get your knickers in a knot.” Crowley scowled and climbed onto the black Harley. If Abaddon heard about this his reputation was history.