ohmistercrowley: Unknown! Tell me so I can credit! (Default)
One of the nice things about Castiel deciding to play Velma and tag along with the Mystery Mobile, was that it meant he ended up alone in a hotel room while the boys slept through a thin wall.  Not much, but more than enough to keep Scooby, Scrappy, Fred and Daphne from charging in on his late night visit.  Of course, there was the chance that Cas might decide to have another sparring session with angelblades; but he was hoping they could save all the flash and runway dramatics for tomorrow.  Also, that would likely go differently than Cas imagined.  He'd been unprepared that time; he'd still been focused on finding a way to get Cas out of Purgatory.  Now, there were souls at his fingertips, the power of the King of Hell.

But, tonight, he just wanted to chat.  It wasn't as if Castiel would be sleeping, and he wanted to see his prize, his angel, almost fixed; back to him, but with the voice of stronger angels messing with his mind.  However, tomorrow, he'd reassemble the Tablet of Angels, complete the Compendium of Tablets, and that would no longer be a problem.  He wondered what would happen then, if Castiel would understand why he'd done it, the bodies on his hands to save one of the only things he cared about.  Possibly not; he had no hopes for the Winchesters in that regard, but their relationship had always been more about convenient sex, rather than roses and chocolate.

He'd have killed a hundred, a thousand more to fix Castiel if it had been needed, if it would have brought him back from Purgatory, and he wouldn't have blinked.  His hands looked clean; no blood-stained apron this time, just his charcoal dark suit with its fine-tailored lines and luxurious fabric (he'd found a new tailor, but he wasn't telling -- what people knew, they used to hurt you).  His arrival was silent, just that faint displacement of air, the curve of his smile and that faint smoky scent of expensive scotch, coriander, and a faint hint of vanilla.

"Hello, Castiel."
ohmistercrowley: Unknown! Tell me so I can credit! (Hello Darling)
Crowley wouldn't say that he was worried. It had little to do with any particular affection for Dean that he may or may not have, and was simply some added insurance on his investment. All his eggs were in their basket, after all. It was simply to ensure that while the Winchesters continued on with their inane, sentimental need to hurl themselves into harm's way, that it would be slightly more difficult for them to actually off themselves.

When Crowley appeared in the motel room, a smug curl of his lips, there was something small, dark and squirming in one of his hands. Sam had just left -- one might almost think that he planned these things; sometimes he did. He didn't expect Dean to take to this particularly well at first, but Crowley wasn't giving the man a choice.

"Hello, darling."


ohmistercrowley: Unknown! Tell me so I can credit! (Default)

December 2012

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