Ever since Sam accidentally freed Lucifer from his cage, life has gone a whole new kind of crazy for the Winchester boys. And that has to say something, as their usual routine consisted of haunting ghosts, werewolves, demons and every other nasty son-of-a-bitch that went bump in the night and decided to have itself a little human snack.

After all they had witnessed, it took a lot to surprise the two brothers. Getting an angel of the Lord to disobey, dragging him slowly downwards with them.

Convincing a runaway archangel to stand up to his family even though he has not a chance in hell to defy the devil and live.

After all that, they really shouldn't have been all that surprised to see a demon pray. Praying for a fallen warrior, a fallen friend, a fallen lover.

Praying for a dead archangel.

It had been weeks since Gabriel had died by the hands of his fallen brother Lucifer. The local authorities investigated his death briefly but came to the strange conclusion it must have been an accident and released the body shortly afterwards.

They found a note in the deceased's pockets, with an address in Sioux Falls as an emergency contact. After the investigations were closed, they contacted a man named Bobby Singer to take care of the funeral and forward Gabriel's belongings to him.

Soon enough a box arrived at the Singer Salvage Yard.

It contained everything the Archangel had owned when he made his final stand against his fallen brother Lucifer – the devil himself.

"Hmmm...", grumbled Dean sceptically, "that is all he owned? Always thought he'd have more fancy stuff. You know, he is... was a friggin' archangel. Archangels should have.. I dunno just more. This is pathetic, even we have more belongings."

"Dean", Sam lectured his big brother, "that's all the things he had with him when he died. They didn't go and send us his inventory. They probably don't even know were he lived! If he had a place at all. He's an archangel, he can conjure everything he needs up."

"Then why, pray tell, does he even carry things around with him? Smartass", countered Dean snippy.

"Dean he.."

"Stop it ya idijits", bellowed Bobby, starting to unpack Gabriel's belongings. "Real question is: Why did he send it to me?"

"Maybe 'cos you're his best friend?" joked Dean. Even Sam couldn't help but chuckle at the comment.

Bobby just glared at them.

"'Cos you, old man, are the only one with a stable mailing address", came Crowley's sudden voice from behind. The lights in the entire house flickered and Bobby would be damned if he didn't hear a faint humming accompanying the demons arrival.

Damn demon!

His coming and goings were nearly as bad as Castiel's, except that Cass couldn't teleport anymore. Looks like loosing your angel-mojo has its advantages after all.

"What", hissed Bobby through gritted teeth "is the demon doing in my house again?"

"Don't worry. I'm not here for you, sweetheart. Your precious little soul is quite safe with me." Crowley threw his most devilish grin and sauntered over to the table scattered with Gabriel's belongings.

It wasn't much to speak of. There was his blood soaked clothes, a wallet, some pictures, sweets and a chain that looked suspiciously like a charm-bracelet.

Bobby picked up the photos, looking at each of them in turn, before placing them back on the table. They seemed to portray Gabriel's or rather Loki's friends.

There were some of him with Kali and the entire norse-demi-god-club. A really old and battered one of his time in heaven, with friends and family, but one stood out amongst them all.

It wasn't as old as the rest but a lot more worn out. It showed Gabriel up front with someone behind him, his arms wrapped lovingly around the archangel's waist, their fingers intertwined over Gabriel's stomach. The angels was leaning back, his head resting on the other man's shoulder. They looked happy, smiling lazily at the camera. They were too content for Bobby's comfort, as the other person in the picture was no one other then their all hated King of the Crossroads – Crowley.

But before he could show it to the idijis, currently going through the rest of Gabriel's belongings, he noticed Castiel walking over to them and put the photos back down for the moment. They could later try to make sense of them.

Cass, who managed to silently appear in the room even without his super-powers, picked the small silver chain up. It contained various ordinary and weird looking charms. There was a book, a strange sigil Cass couldn't name, a heart with wings and a lot more objects, symbols and sigils. Looking at it from every angle he held it up in front of him.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"A charm-bracelet?", wondered Sam aloud. Why would an angel wear a charm-bracelet?

"Looks like our dear archangel had really bad taste in fashion as well as food", commented Dean sarcastically.

"Shut it, Winchester!", growled Crowley, taking the chain carefully out of Castiel's hands. The shadow of a sad smile washed over the demons features, tears glistening at the corner of his eyes, as he ran a feeble finger over each charm in turn.

"They are", he indicated the dangling charms, "to remember all the significant events in our life", he informed the irritated hunters, "we aren't immortal but live for so long. It gets hard to remember what's important. We use them, so we won't forget."

"We?" Cass inquired intrigued.

Pulling the sleeve of his long black coat up, Crowley revealed his own matching bracelet with several bizarre charms.

"We", he repeated softly, his eyes misting over.

Sam, Dean, Bobby and Cass could do nothing then observe quietly, as Crowley pulled a little silver cross out of his pocket and clipped it onto the bracelet, murmuring a silent prayer under his breath.

"If tears could build a stairway and memories were a lane, I would walk right up to purgatory, and bring you back again. No farewell words were spoken, no time to say goodbye. You were gone before we knew it, and only God knows why. My hearts still ache in sadness and secret tears still flow. What it meant to lose you, no one will ever know. But now I know you want me to mourn for you no more. To remember all the happy times, life still has much in store. Since you'll never be forgotten, I pledge to you today. A cherished place within my heart is where you'll always stay."*

He placed a tender kiss on the little cross, laying the bracelet back on the table, right on top of their picture and turning away in silent grief.

"Farewell my friend."

Just moments before the demon left, Sam could have sworn he saw the little charms on the table quiver and rattle on their own accord. He blinked and it they lay still once more, as if nothing had happened. Must have been a trick of the light he thought, forgetting all about it.

Many decades ago:

"Hey there sweet-pie", called Loki, as he appeared in Crowley's private rooms, stuffing the rest of a candy bar in his mouth and munching blissfully.

Smiling, the demon put an arm around his lover's waist, pulling him closer. He stole a quick kiss, before looking deep into those hazel eyes.

"What brings you here handsome?"

They kissed again, Loki tasting like chocolate and caramel mingled with a touch of sugar. After they separated Loki answer ominously, his voice sweet like honey and milk, sending out waves of comfort and security.

"Close your eyes darling", he whispered softly in Crowley's ear, nibbling sensually on the soft flesh.

It made Crowley moan but he obeyed without hesitation, closing his eyes, giving himself completely over to the mercy of his precious demi-god. He trusted him and knew that Loki wouldn't hurt him, not unless Crowley wanted him to and actually begged for it.

Loki took his hand and fumbled on his wrist for a short while. After a brief moment he kissed the demon, telling him he could open his eyes again.

Crowley inspected what his lover had done, only to find a small silver bracelet with a book charm adorning his left wrist.

"What's this then?" he asked baffled.

"It's a charm bracelet, silly", explained Loki, like he was talking to an idiot.

"Haha", the demon replied without humour, "why?"

Snuggling closer, Loki breathed in his ear, "so you won't forget me. Whatever happens, you'll always have something to remind you. We might not be immortals but lives go on for such a looooooong time. It gets hard to remember what is important after enough time."

He then showed him his own bracelet with the dangling charm of a book.

"It's the symbol for our story", he explained, taking the demons hand in his. "The start, the end. Whatever happens, we will keep track of the good times and remind us with these charms."

"Love the idea", replied Crowley, capturing Loki's mouth. Taking the god's hand he let a heart with wings appear and fastened it to Loki's bracelet, ghosting a kiss over the back of Loki's hand.

"You will understand it late, darling." When seeing the uncertain looks on the demi-god's face, Crowley placed a gentle kiss on his lover's lips. "Soon, but not yet. It's not the right time yet, have a bit of patience."

"Huh?" was all the surprised demi-god could come up with. Very witty indeed.

"I love you." Whispered Crowley against Loki's lips. "Remember, whatever happens, you're important to me and I'll always care for you my love."

Mournfully, Loki cast his eyes to the ground. Right at this moment he couldn't bear to face the demon. He knew he would be better off not saying what he was about to say, but knew at the same time that it had to be done.

"Demons can't love", he whispered hoarsely, waiting for the gravity of these simple and yet so devastating words to sink in. But whatever Loki expected to come, it never did. Instead Crowley place two delicate fingers under his chin, forcing his face gently back up and locking their eyes in a fierce stare, before replying as sincere and honestly as he could without any trace of sarcasm or humour.

"We will see, my love. You'd be surprised what I am capable of."

Before hugging him close and leading them both to the freshly made bed.

A few days later:

The police had released the body into the care of Bobby Singer. He had insisted on taking care of the deceased himself, rather then have it buried or incinerated by a large company. The authorities complied reluctantly after a long and weird story Bobby made up.

Together they took Gabriel to a solitary clearing in the woods, intent on burning the remains, as it was customary amongst hunters to prevent the spirits remaining, clinging on to the remains and lingering on this plane of existence after their death.

For this was the way a ghost haunting developed. A spirit refusing to move on, believing it has unresolved affairs to take care of and getting angry or frustrated when it realises that it is intangible. Invisible to everyone and unable to communicate with their loved ones. Better to burn the body immediately and be on the safe side. That might save a lot of people's lives, who might get caught up and hurt in a haunting. Because if a spirits stays for too long it becomes frustrated, lashing out at whomever it can.

They assembled a funeral pyre in the midst of the clearing, placing Gabriel's dead body upon it. It was nothing special, just your run-of-the-mill body burning and yet it felt wrong to just set it on fire without saying a few parting words.

If someone had known anything about him, it must have been his little brother Castiel, but even he knew nothing more to say than: "He was an honourable soldier. His death will be mourned gravely."

Igniting his Zippo, Dean made to set fire to the funeral pyre when a hand appeared out of thin air, clutching his wrist in an iron like grip, stopping it mere inches from its target.

"Stop", snarled Crowley menacingly, "he deserves better than this," waving a hand in the general direction of the settings.

Dean glanced at the pile of wood they had thrown together, with branches and trunks sticking out at odd angles all around. It might look a bit rag-tack, but it surely couldn't be that bad. Perplexed, he looked at Crowley and every snarky comment he had on his tongue vanished from his mind, when he gave at the bothersome demon a proper once over.

Only one thought remained.

What the fuck!

Crowley stood there tall and proud, dressed all in brilliant white and golden clothes.

A long sleeved shirt, with golden pattern adorning his chest and back, covered his torso. It hung loosely on his frame and billowed in the light breeze around him, like a pair of wings beating in time with the wind.

His trousers, too, were a shining white colour, with shimmering golden symbols running in circles up his legs, mingling perfectly with the ones on his shirt.

His feet were bare but for a pair of light sandals protecting his feet, carefully designed with swirling patters. The strange symbols were everywhere, shifting with his every move, making them seem alive and throbbing with power.

A small brown leather cord was bound around his waist, half concealed by the cloak around his neck. Sheathed in it, flashed the faintest hint of a plain silver dagger. At a first glance it looked very similar in its shape and design to an angel's blade.

If Dean hadn't lost his mind in the whole apocalypse madness, he would have sworn glitter covered the demons cheeks and face, shimmering in the same weird sigils he wore all over his clothes.

Behind Dean the others gaped as well, staring at the unusual sight before them. It was Castiel who broke the silence first. "Dean", he said warmly, some kind of understanding softening his features and voice. He waved Dean and the others over, "come here."

After a few more moments, they followed his instructions reluctantly, their gaze still fixed on the weirdly dressed demon.

"What the hell, Cass?" hissed Dean, coming to a hold besides the angel, watching Crowley move around the pyre, rearranging the wood and adding strange and none descriptive things to it.

"You know what's going on here?" asked Sam, but Castiel shushed him.

"Yes", he replied in a hushed tone, "be silent and let him say his last goodbyes. This is neither the time nor the place for explanations. Later."

And thus they stood tacitly on the edge of the clearing, in the middle of the forest, watching a demon perform his funeral rites.

Having rearranged everything to his liking, Crowley started chanting in a foreign tongue. Neither the Winchesters nor Bobby could understand a single syllable of the language and they knew a lot of old and ancient ones. This one must have been even more forgotten that the ones the usually dealt with.

But Castiel translated it easily for them, without even being asked to. For some reason seemed to know they wouldn't understand the foreign words spilling out of Crowley's mouth.

"Shape without form, shade without colour,

Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed

With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom

Remember us - if at all - not as lost

Violent souls, but only

As the hollow men

The stuffed men."

Crowley pulled out a pouch that was hidden underneath his garment, emptying it's contends over Gabriel's still form. It shimmered as it sauntered down, covering the angel in a coating of tiny golden dust specks, reflecting the light in an utterly stunning way. It looked like he was glowing from the inside out, pulsing with the movement of the leaves overhead.

"This is the dead land

This is cactus land

Here the stone images

Are raised, here they receive

The supplication of a dead man's hand

Under the twinkle of a fading star."

The demon kept walking around him in circles, adding more and more of the strange powder. With every portion he threw, the wind seemed to pick up, distributing the powder in equal measures across the entire funeral pyre. It was mesmerising to watch the spectacle. Demon and nature in perfect harmony, working together to create the most awe-inspiring funeral they had ever witnessed.

"Is it like this

In death's other kingdom

Waking alone

At the hour when we are

Trembling with tenderness

Lips that would kiss

Form prayers to broken stone.

In this last of meeting places

We grope together

And avoid speech

Gathered on this beach of the tumid river"

Laying a single rose on Gabriel's chest, he crossed the angel's limb arms over it, while all around the body more flowers appeared, outlining his entire form and cradling the dead body in a bed of sweet smells and colours. The perfect resting place for the fallen warrior.

"Between the idea

And the reality

Between the motion

And the act

Falls the Shadow

For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception

And the creation

Between the emotion

And the response

Falls the Shadow

Life is very long"

A flask with blessed oil appeared in the demons hand. He poured the amber liquid over the archangels' face, binding the shimmering dusk to a solid coating that glittered and gleamed in the muted sunlight.

"Between the desire

And the spasm

Between the potency

And the existence

Between the essence

And the descent

Falls the Shadow

For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is

Life is

For Thine is the"

Affectionately he place a light kiss on the dead archangels forehead, running his left hand over the others face and closing the angels eyelids for good.

"This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper." **

Crowley locked eyes with Castiel and the angel nodded in silent understanding. Walking over gracefully he stood besides Crowley, beckoning the others to join them at the funeral pyre.

Looking down at the still form, they had to admit that whatever Crowley had done, it made the funeral look serene. The angels face seemed to glow under the constant sunbeams, ruptured by the leaves in the canopy. Flowers all around him, bedding him in a peaceful resting place.

It looked a lot more dignifying than they could ever have made it.

There was a silent graceful aura surrounding him.

Crowley handed each a mixture of herbs and earth.

"Gabriel, archangel of the Lord ", began the halfway fallen brother of the deceased in a grave tone, "he was a warrior and a hero. A long lost friend. A brother. He will be missed. His perish will ring throughout His divine creations and his death will be mourned."

Castiel threw his mixture over Gabriel's corpse.

"Farewell."

He looked expectantly at the other humans. Bobby was the first one to catch on.

Clearing his throat he said: "I never met this guy, but boy that angel had balls!" He emptied his hands over the archangel.

"Farewell."

"He was a winged douchbag." It was Dean's turn now. "But he stood up for what's right. Not gonna miss him much but I wouldn't have wished his death either." He, too, threw his herb mixture over the deceased.

"Farewell."

Sam did the same. "He caused a lot of mayhem but his heart was in the right place. Farewell."

"He was", croaked Crowley, his voice betraying him, "he was a good friend, an honourable solider and a faithful lover. It wasn't easy living with him, but it will be harder without him. Goodbye my love."

Pouring the herbs over Gabriel's body, he ignited a torch by the shear power of his will. "Farewell."

And he set fire to the pyre.

They stood there sombrely, watching the body burn.

Soft breezes ruffling their hair, enveloping them like the arms of an angel, hugging them close and whispering sweet nonsense in their ears. Trying to carry away their sorrows, playing with their hair, in an endless effort to cheer them up.

Night broke, but they kept standing, kept watching, until the last ember had died down, leaving only a coat of thick white ashes behind.

After everyone had left, the wind picked up and carried the ashes away, scattering Gabriel's remains throughout the world, leaving nothing but memories behind.

Silence surrounded them on their way back. They all needed some quiet and peace to come to terms with what they had witnessed earlier. It wasn't before they settled down, back at Bobby's, beer and other alcoholic beverages in hand, that Dean's patience finally snapped.

"Okay Cass, what the hell was that all about? Care to share with the rest of the class? Or do we have to take lucky guesses!" He glowered at his maybe-friend.

"It was a funeral", stated Castiel blankly. Yeah right, leave it to the stick-in-the-ass angel to point out the obvious.

"No shit Sherlock", Dean glowered. The hunter's bad mood wasn't the angel's fault. All the weirdness of the past few days had made Dean angry and short-tempered.

"Why all the hurly-burly, weird clothing and chanting? Has that punk-ass crossroads demon finally lost it? What language was that anyway? I've never heard it before and I have heard a lot of strange ones over the years."

Shaking his head, Castiel gave Dean a grave look. "Of course, you wouldn't have heard it before. It is rarely spoken anymore. It is not dead, but nearly forgotten. A miracle the demon even knows it. As for the clothing, they were of ceremonial nature."

"What?" Shaking his head incredulously, Dean kept glaring daggers at Cass. "Come on man; don't make me pull everything out of you, word by word. Talk. Explain it to us. Now!"

"Dean!" Sam yelled at his brother's impatient and rude tone.

"No, Samuel", interrupted Castiel the oncoming lecture on how to respectfully address an angel without insulting them, their family of winged-douchbags or the absent Lord himself. "He is right. I promised you an explanation and I will keep my word, but this is a delicate matter. Let me collect myself first."

They sat in silence for a moment, drinking beer and waiting expectantly for the angel to continue.

"All the hurly-burly", he pronounced the words as if they were something foreign, testing them, rolling them to get a better grip, "the hurly-burly as Dean called it, was an angelic ceremonial warrior burial. The demon's clothing was crafted in accordance to the ancient rites with specific pattern, symbols and tribals only the old ones knew. I would have given Gabriel such a burial if it had been within my abilities, but the knowledge of those funeral rites have been lost for a long time. There has been no need for them in ages. Angels do not die of natural causes and we had not gone to war since Lucifer was cast out of heaven. The knowledge was simply lost over the millennia."

"Then how can a demon know them?" Bobby spoke out loud what everyone else was thinking. The "and why" hung potently in the air, but no one dared asking it, for fear of what the answer might be.

By god they had enough clues, but connecting them and voicing their thoughts out loud, was more then they could bear.

Not yet.

Not ever.

"Maybe he took a lucky guess or invented something fancy looking?" speculated Sam.

"No Samuel, I might not know how it is done properly", admitted Castiel, "but I have witnessed one of these ceremonies before. It has been performed in accordance with the old burial rites. Still, it escapes my knowledge how Crowley might have acquired such delicate information. No one in possession of such knowledge would voluntarily share it, even less with a demon."

"We could ask the dick!" Of course Dean had to make a sarcastic comment once again. Leave it to the older brother to make a joke out of the most serious conversation they had in quite some time. "You know. Summon that son-of-a-bitch, trap him in a devils-trap and leave him to rot until he tells us who he sold out to get that ritual."

"You're not gonna summon a demon into my house, you idijits!" Bobby threatened Dean. And while hi was on it his brother as well, for good measure. "Sadly he will appear in his own time. Trust me. Unfortunately, he never stays away for too long."

They knew that Bobby was right. So far it hadn't passed a single day without having Crowley pop in every now and then, to check on their apocalypse stopping progress, to offer his help, expertise or plainly annoy them.

All they had to do was waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

Three days had passed without a single word from the demon. They didn't start to worry, of course not. Why should they? Crowley was a big demon. He could take care of himself and if he decided not to stop by for a while it was more than fine with team free will.

After four days, when he still hadn't visited, Bobby agreed reluctantly that it was time to get some answers and yes they may summon that low life scum, but only this once. And the Winchesters and their damned angel companion had to promise that they would clean up the mess afterwards.

That was how Bobby found his house, yet again, demon proofed with a giant devils-trap on the ceiling and several invisible ones scattered all across the floor. The boys moved to and fro, preparing everything for the summoning. Apparently you could summon a crossroads demon without the crossroads, that made no sense to Bobby but he trusted Castiel's information.

With a few strange ingredients, some careful drawing, a few drips of blood and a lot of crazy chanting, the boys set out to summon the demon. What is the world coming to when you summoned a demon without the intention of killing, hurting or otherwise doing nasty unspeakable things to them in some form another? It's a damn weird word that's what it is.

After finishing the summoning they expected a man in a black suit with a black coat and a grey tie to appear in a glorious flash of lightning and yell at the muttonheads for summoning him.

What they didn't expect was for a silent figure to materialise in a darkened corner, hiding in the shadows, silent and unmoving.

If Castiel hadn't nodded his head in the demons direction, it may have taken several days for anyone to take notice of the lone figure hiding in the dark.

"Crowley", Sam greeted the newcomer in a teasing tone. "Long time no see. Too busy stealing some poor souls to come by and help stopping the apocalypse?"

Crowley just looked at them, still and silent.

"You gonna stay there all day or actually get your lazy ass over here to give us a hand, as you promised," muttered Bobby in the demon's general direction without looking up from his book.

Hesitantly, not at all like his usual cocky self, Crowley left the shades, stepping out into view.

And here Bobby thought after summoning a demon the world couldn't get any stranger. Oh how wrong he had been.

Just when you thought you had seen it all.

Standing in front of them was Crowley, dressed in a similar outfit he wore to the funeral but this one was all black. The previously golden marks were shining blue swirling patterns, running all over his body without any apparent rule for direction.

His feet were bare, no shoes or sandals covering them, not even socks.

Silently, the demon looked at his summoners, facing them solemnly.

"That's it", burst Dean out, "what the hell is it with you and your new wardrobe? Those swirly-whirly things on them make my eyes hurt!"

Crowley just stared at him.

Dean took that as cue to rant on about his crazy behaviour, his choice of clothing, the fact that he was a demon and should by definition not help humans or work against the devil, much less bury an archangel.

Dean went on and on what felt like hours, until Sam interrupted him pointedly, telling him that, in fact, the subject of his anger had left five minutes ago.

And that has been how those idijits spend the rest of the day. Summoning the demon, asking questions, only to have Crowley disappear on them without uttering a single word.

Castiel tried to intervene but of course those two idijit-heads didn't pay any attention to their angel buddy. Fortunately for them, Bobby did.

Come the next day, Crowley got tired of the game, glanced at the devils-trap on the ceiling, moved underneath it and sat down. The Winchesters could only gape at him. Too stunned to say anything more, all they were able to do was opening and closing their mouth, giving one hell of a good impression of a fish.

Once again they firmly believed Crowley had lost his marbles and maybe they would do everyone a favour by killing that sorry sonofabitch.

That was the time that Bobby finally decided he had enough of this nonsense and put to good use, what Castiel had been trying to tell the brothers all day. At least one of them appreciated the angel's presence.

Glancing over at the bored looking crossroads demon, he put his book aside. "How long?", he asked neutral, trying to gain Crowley's trust. If what Castiel had been telling him was correct, there was no immediate danger from their prisoner. Or any danger at all.

Holding up three fingers, Crowley indicated them and then made a zipping-his-mouth gesture. Bobby nodded and went back to his book.

"Interesting", muttered Castiel ominously by his side, "and unexpected."

"What?" Dean blinked in bewilderment. "Care to explain what the hell's going on? Anyone?" Sam shook his head, clearly as confused as his brother, just not yelling as much as him.

"If you two idijits, hadn't been so damn focused on annoying our dear demonic house guest and listened to our angelic friend instead, you would already know what's going on." Bobby sight defeated at their stupidity. Sometime those two didn't see the answers even if you hit them with it.

Glancing from Bobby to Castiel and back again, it was Sam who finally gestured for Cass to tell them.

"As I have told Robert and have been trying to tell you unsuccessfully since yesterday", Cass told them patiently but slightly annoyed, "Crowley will not answer you, as he may not speak for a certain amount of days after the funeral, depending on how close he was to the deceased."

Crowley nodded in agreement, holding up seven fingers and waving the angel to continue.

"The ancient rites demanded of a close friend to mourn for 3 days. A family member 5 days." Castiel's voice softened a nuance. "One week is the maximal mourning requirement, the burden of the deceased's lover or soul-mate. Judging by the design of Crowley's garment, I would say he and Gabriel had been bonded before his death."

Seeing the blank looks on everyone's faces he added, "it is similar to a wedding but more intense. Not only will their bodies be joined in this holy bond but their very essence."

Nodding again, Crowley pulled up the selves, reviling tattoos around his wrist - bonding tattoos. If they had cared to check the body before burning it, they would have found the same tattoos on the archangel's wrist.

While understanding slowly started to dawn on the stupid Winchesters, Crowley indicated the devils-trap, tilting his head slightly to one side in a questioning gesture. Comprehending what Crowley was asking, Castiel destroyed the trap, freeing the demon.

He stayed with them over the next couple of days at Bobby's, helping as much as he could while being silent but spending the nights in the panic-room. While they were willing to accept Crowley's help in these desperate times, there was no chance in hell they would trust the wannabe demonic dick. There had been the slight problem of Crowley actually getting in and later getting out of the panic room again but if the Winchesters were one thing – they were creative.

On the 8th day after Gabriel's funeral, they opened the panic-room doors to find Crowley in his usual attire again. Black suit, back coat and a silver-grey tie.

Later that day Crowley sat down with them, drinking beer and telling them his story. The grand story of how a demon and an archangel of the Lord met so many years ago and became lovers

Even further back in time:

The demon Crowley sat at his new desk, in his new furnished home, enjoying the first month as a newly appointed crossroads demon. He wasn't just any low scum demon anymore. No! He was one of the elite.

A crossroads demon.

And the job came with some nice additions, like a permanent home on earth as his base and all the Craig he might ever want. There was nothing he couldn't have.

He could literally do whatever he pleased.

Needing a new suit? One thought and it was there.

A new car? One wave of the hand and there it sat in all it's glory. Shiny and new, with every fancy technology knick-knack he needed or just wanted to have or that was just looking nice.

Been a crossroads demon was like a get out of jail free card.

He had to answer to no one. As long as he handed his superiors enough souls by the end of the month, they would look the other way no matter what he did.

He could destroy the world and piece it back together in his own image for all they cared. He was a demon after all; abusing his powers came with the job description.

"Oh look at you."

The unexpected voice made Crowley jump out of his comfortable office chair, spilling Craig all over the expensive newly laid carpet.

"My, my already feeling at home in our new job, aren't we?"

Without a seconds hesitation Crowley spun around to face the stranger, sending him flying into the next wall with the shear force of his will and pinning him there, several inches above the ground.

"Who the hell are you? And how did you get in here? This place it supposed to be protected!", demanded Crowley warily. Advancing cautiously on the other person, he picked up a knife on his way over, making sure the other person got who was in charge here.

But he didn't act threatened at all. The man-shaped creature blinked calmly at the agitated demon and with a flick of his wrist the stranger loosened Crowley's hold on him, landing gracefully in a crouch on the soft carpet.

"Now, now", he tusked, dusting himself down and making Crowley's knife disappear as an afterthought, "that's no way to greet a potential customer, is it? Well then, keep your manners up like that sweetie and you'll be out of that job in no time. And that means bye, bye peace on earth and hello torture in hell."

"Manners? I'm a demon, darling. I don't do manners", protested Crowley vehement but half-heatedly. He had to admit this stranger was right. If he threatened to kill everyone who called upon him, he would never get a promotion.

Too much time spend in the pit makes you wary of others. Not a good trait for a salesman.

Time to loose old habits and become a new and improved demon.

Crossroads demon 1.2 or the King of the Crossroads.

The man-shaped creature looked at him sceptically. "Alright. If you don't wanna make a deal, I can find another... a more civilised demon. I don't need you."

He made to leave but before he could reach the door, Crowley sighed in defeat. The other was right. Whether he liked it or not, he actually needed this job and if that meant playing nice with whatever crazy ass customer he had, he had better play the part and go along with whatever game they played.

"Fine", he hissed through gritted teeth in annoyance. "The name's Crowley." He introduced himself. "Would you care for a drink while we discuss the terms of my service?"

Smiling, the man-like creature turned around. Crowley took the opportunity of not threaten or being threatened to take a proper look at the handsome stranger currently standing in his living-room.

The entity's vessel was average height.

A bit shorter than Crowley himself but an aura of confidence radiated from him that Crowley did not seem to possess. Not yet anyway. His clothes were comfortable, but well fitting. He didn't care too overly much about his appearance but neither was he scruff looking. His middle length, light brown hair should have been falling in his face by the shear law of gravity and obscuring his view but instead it seemed to be held back by an invisible force.

Keen hazel eyes inspected him just as carefully as he eyed Mr. Handsome Stranger.

"Crowley." Saying it like that, Handsome's voice low and vibrant, it made Crowley's skin crawl, sending shivers down his spine. There was something intriguingly special about this man, but he would be blessed if he could put his finger on it.

He was like a riddle, wrapped into an enigma and sealed tightly into a Pandora's Box.

Stepping closer, Handsome ran a finger across Crowley's chest, coming to rest at the tip of his tie and fiddling with it. "You'd better be as good as I've heard you are, at you 'service'." The way he said it, you could literally hear the quotation marks and there was no mistaking the implied innuendo in his seductive tone.

"No one is as good as I am. I've got certain skills the others simply lack. No imagination in the young demons these days", Crowley assured him, flashing a suggestive grin. He laid his fingers lightly over the other's hands to stop them from fumbling around. This guy was either very nervous, or hyper-active. Judging by his attitude Crowley would go with the latter one.

"Now tell me, handsome stranger, what brings a good looking bloke like yourself, to a shady demon like me? Want me to take care of you little problem for you?"

"I assure you it's not that little, you can check it out yourself if you like." He flashed the demon his most disarming smile and winked. "But yes your help would be... pleasing."

His never resting hands, began travelling downward of there own accord, coming to rest on the demons hips and pulling him forwards until they stood flushed together.

Leaning in even closer, Crowley rested his chin on the nape of the stranger's neck, rumbling in a deep and gruffly voice in this ear.

"Go on then, darling. Tell me your offer."

Crowley angled his face a little, so he could place small kisses on Handsome's ear and cheek.

"I can taste you have no soul. So what else do you have to offer that I might be interested in?"

"The best night of your life?" Handsome offered, leaning in to the touch.

"Ha, aren't you full of yourself", chuckled Crowley, turning away and taking a few steps back. "You are hot," the demon told him soberly, turning his back on him, "but not that hot. Sorry pet, but I could loose my job for this. Find something better or leave and find a more willing demon."

Handsome's face turned cold, the playful and teasing attitude all but vanished, his voice dropping low and sombre as he said the only word Crowley wanted to hear: "Power."

That got Crowley's instant and undivided attention.

"Go on then," he urged, facing him again but still keeping his distance. The lightness and mocking tone returned slowly to his voice. His features softened somewhat and he inched a bit closer but still out of touching distance.

"You", he purred seductively, snatching Crowley tie to pull him closer again, "will hide me from certain parties and I'll give you some of my powers."

Fingers ghosted over Crowley's chest and upper body. Those skilled hands like hot iron scorching his body and leaving everything they touched on fire. The overwhelming sensations fogged his mind, leaving him light-headed, in a constant state of bliss. He couldn't think straight. All his mind was able to grasp was 'more', 'want', 'need' and 'mine'.

He wanted nothing more than to claim the annoying little bastard, shut his mouth and put those constantly shifting fingers to a better use than simply playing with his tie. There was so much more Crowley would like them to play with.

It took all his willpower to separate from his opponent. He looked dishevelled, as desperate for any kind of touch as Crowley did. A hot fiery passion was burning in his eyes, making it hard to look away.

"What makes you think you are more powerful than I am?", croaked Crowley out in a low and husky voice. It was laced with want and need and so many more emotions neither of them could identify. Not that they wanted to identify them, they were too absorbed in the moment to notice. And even if they had, they would have ignored them out of fear what this might mean.

Already they stood nose to nose again, mere inches separating their bodies, warm breath mingling between them in a silent promise of so much more.

"You my, dear Crowley, are a demon." Not an accusation, just a statement. Only the utter truth, without judgement or care. "I. Am. A. God."

"Alright then", agreed Crowley,"you just got yourself a deal."

Angling his head slightly for better access, Crowley's eyes travelled to the other's lips for a brief moment before he leaned in for the sealing kiss.

But right before their lips could meet, Mr. Flirty and Handsome pulled just out of reach. Holding up one finger, he pressed it against the demon's lips to hold him at bay.

"Woah! Whatch ya think you're doing?" Crowley could tell the other wanted this as much as he did but didn't want to come over as too cheap. But the demon was beyond caring how he might look like or what the other will think of him. He needed this now. In one swift movement, Crowley took the other's finger in his mouth, sucking lightly on its tip, mumbling around it.

"A kiss. It's how we seal the deal."

The other's eyes had fluttered shut, completely absorbed by the feeling of Crowley's mouth doing miraculous work with his skilled tongue. "You want this or not?", he breathed mischievously.

"Yeah", the other whispered back in a husky voice, " I want this", before slamming their lips together in a feverish kiss.

They kept on kissing for what felt like an eternity, not needing to breath had this glorious advantages. Their hands were everywhere at once, pulling, pushing and tearing at the fabric in an endless effort to gain access to more skin. More, more, all the time more.

They both were instantly addicted to the feeling of the other's hands; body thriving besides their own, ebbing and flowing in the same frantic rhythm.

When they finally separated, they were both panting hard. Lips swollen red, faces flushed and their cloth a mess from too much fumbling. They looked utterly dishevelled and sexed-up.

"Heaven you are good." Handsome managed to croak out once he got a bit of breath back into his lungs. Not that he needed it but it felt good to get some oxygen back into his body.

"It's hell", Crowley replied smugly, " and I told you: I'm the best."

The other's smile could only be described as wicked. "Care to prove it?"

"Sure, darling." He sneaked a hand around Handsome's waist, pulling him still closer until there was no room left for air between them. "I aim to please."

"That you do." He chuckled quietly, leaning in to place a light kiss on the demons lips.

"Loki" he mumbled against Crowley's soft mouth.

Pulling away slightly, Crowley raised one questioning eyebrow. "Come again?"

"The name's Loki", Loki told him, his sweet smile turning predatorily, "just in case you want to know what name to scream when you come."

In a flourish of power and something that might have been wings the two left Crowley's study, instantly reappearing in his master-bedroom within nano-seconds.

They didn't mess around.

They were like fire and rain and the centre of a storm, coming together as if thunder and lightning finally met, clashing together and setting fire to the world. Watching it slowly turn to ashes while making sweet love amidst the glowing embers.

It was terrifying to watch for their strength and might but mesmerising in its beauty. Two natural opposites, meeting in the oldest of dances while defining every law of nature. Like darkness and lightening, putting fear in the bravest of warriors, enchanting kings and queens and enflaming something old and forbidden in the chastest of saints.

Together, mingled in a mess of flesh, limps and bones they wrote the first sweat-filled chapter in the book of commitment, filling it slowly but steadily with their passion and love.

A book written over millennia, to be told for all eternity.

Afterwards when they lay contentedly side by side in Crowley's huge bed, arms lazily thrown around each other, Loki propped his chin up on Crowley's chest, smiling fondly.

"That was fantastic. You do that with all your clients then?" Loki inquired blissfully, placing sloppy kisses on Crowley's upper body and humming quietly.

"Only the handsome ones, mate", he replied, running smooth fingers through the demi-god's tangled hair, messing it up even more.

"There're many of them then?" He grinned childishly but Crowley could detect a hint of hurt underneath his mask of playfulness. Loki did a good job of clouding his real intentions but Crowley could read them none the less, like they had known each other for centuries. And Loki was definitely disappointed and hurt.

Surely this guy couldn't already be falling for him. And surly it was not a pang of regret that made him cradle Loki's face, look him square in the eyes and whisper in a hushed tone: "Only one so far. Only ever one." Before kissing Loki like the world was ending, clashing their teeth violently together, conveying his feelings and fears in one simple kiss. Loki seemed to understand the silent communication, as he kissed back just as desperate.

Back in the present time:

Dean snorted. "Yeah right. Nice story but you forgot one little detail. Demons can't love."

"No", admitted Crowley, "but a long time back there were some who could." He made sure everyone in the room was looking at him and could see his eyes, before changing them to their natural colour. They did not, as one might have expected, turn pitch black, they rather clouded over with a film of sickening yellow.

Azazel.

That was the first that sprang to everyone's mind.

"Son of a bitch", Dean yelled, diving for his gun. Suddenly the whole room shook, sending the pistol skidding across the room. Everyone, humans, angels and demons alike were thrown off balance, tumbling to the ground in a mess of bodies and limbs.

Dean was the first to regain his balance, scrambling over to the gun, grabbing it and aiming in the demons direction. If Castiel had not laid a calming hand on the hunters forearm, forcing his aim downwards, he would have shot Crowley on the spot without bashing an eyelid.

Strangely enough, these things seemed to happen a lot lately.

Castiel helping or defending the demon, as well as weird occurrences like flickering lights, billowing wind, earth tremors or random objects moving on their own accord. It was almost like the house was haunted, or one of its current residents.

"He his not Azazel", stated the angel flatly, glaring bitterly at Dean and his gun. But curiosity got the better of him and he ignored the over-reacting demon-phobic hunter. He stated circling Crowley inspecting his appearance from ever angle possible. "Magnificent", he breathed in awe, "You must be very powerful as I have not been able to detect what you really are. I have never met one of your kind before."

"Good for you mate. If you had you wouldn't be alive anymore to tell the tale. They would have incinerated you on the spot. Be glad it's me you found and not one of the others", Crowley shot back, eyeing the angel weary. Castiel was a smart one, if someone from Team Free Will would realize who or rather what he really was it must have be him. And of course there was the fact that the angel was the only one who could actually see the real him. Not just his vessel but his demonic presence occupying this poor human's vessel.

"Bet you haven't seen something like this then either", he smirked.

The light dimmed down, plunging the room into semi-darkness. Lightning struck outside but without the accompanying thunder or rain. The air ceased moving entirely. When the light came back on, two huge black wings protruded from Crowley's back. They were pitch black, darker than the deepest of night and stretching out over the entire length of the room. They were enormous.

"Imagine what they looked like, before they burned on as I sauntered downwards", he whispered reverently, his gaze faraway, like remembering the old days before his fall.

"Wow", breathed Sam, who had never before seen any wings – angel or fallen angel's.

"Yeah", agreed Dean, "great but you could have cut down on the special effect lightening-show. Way over the top, even for you."

Sighing in defeat Crowley admitted in a slightly alarmed tone, "that wasn't me. All this weird stuff happening around here lately, that isn't me. Someone or something is doing this. I don't know why, but it's happening all the time, no matter where I am. Of course I tried to stop it at first but nothing is helping so I decided to ignore it. Maybe it'll go away if the thing gets bored enough 'cos I don't play along and get my knickers in a twist."

"Back up?", Dean nearly fell over shacking with laughter. The others weren't off any better. "What you are saying is that you say you're haunted?" Dean couldn't help taunting the demon. "The King of the Crossroads is haunted. Awww that's hilarious."

"Sod of", scowled Crowley.

"Wait... uhh..", stammered Sam uncertainly having had a weird thought, "if you were an angel... why is holy water, salt or a devils-trap working on you? Shouldn't your grace-residue or whatever you have protect you from it?"

A bitter laughter escaped the demons lips. "No, 'cos I'm not one of daddy's favourite kids anymore. He kicked me out of the house and I shut the door behind me. Things changed, I'm cut off from home. I was an angel. Past tense. Now I'm a demon, one of the bad guys, damned for all eternity. Just like Lucifer."

"You are nothing like Lucifer", assured Castiel him, "you still care about humanity, despite your evil nature."

"Yeah." A little smile ghosted over his features. "That's just what he said."

Not quite so many decades ago:

The morning lights first sunray beams shone in trough the curtains, filling the room with dim amber lightening.

With no choirs to take care of, Crowley and Loki decided to have a quiet day in. Crowley refused to move out of bed at all, snuggled deep under the bedcovers, while Loki nearly bounced of the walls in excitement, like a feaking child.

"Come back to bed love", a sleepy voice toned from under the sheets.

"But it's a new dawn, it's a new day", came Loki's sing-song from the adorned room. "There is sooooo much to do", Loki called, sticking his head back in the room.

No one is supposed to run around the house this early in the morning in such an utter cheerful manner. That is pure torture.

"Early", Crowley mumbled in what might have been supposed to be a growl but came out in a pitiful whine, "sleep."

"Hmmmmm... fine." Loki targeted the bed like a whirlwind, jumping on it and missing Crowley by mere inches.

"Hit me like this once", he threatened, "and you can sleep on the couch." Crowley was, by all definitions, not a morning person. He slung a lazy arm around his lover, pulling him closer to snuggle. Who would have thought demons were such clingy monsters.

"You wouldn't kick me out of bed, sweety", joked Loki lightly, "I am too much fun for that."

The demon made none committal sounds, nuzzling Loki's neck. "Nah, couldn't stand seeing you all sad on the empty couch. The poor couch. It will commit suicide having spending the night with you."

Loki smacked him lightly on the head in response.

"Fine! I won't kick you out 'cos I love you too much."

"Stop it", Loki all but snapped, siting up and throwing a defeated look at the lying figure beside him, "You keep saying that and while I appreciate the effort, we both know that it's not true! Is it? Demons can't love! Can they, hon?"

"No", Crowley replied gravely but with a tinge of humour in it. He, too, sat up in bed, tangled in sheets and halfway asleep, his short cropped hair a mess, sticking out in all directions.

Yawning, he rubbed the sleep out of his halfway closed eyes, blinking rapidly against the bright morning light.

"You love me Loki, right? And no matter what happens, promise me you won't think any less of me?"

"Of course not, darling. I promise", Loki assured him, pecking a light kiss on the demons nose, giggling softly, "you are a demon, Crowls. I don't think you can sink any lower than that." He placed another kiss on the demons lips, "don't worry. I love you and nothing can change that. Whatever secret you've hidden away in your closed – hit me." After a beat, "I mean hit me with the secret, not literally... unless the secret is a baseball-bat, than please don't hit me with it either."

"Alright", Crowley said, smiling warmly, "close you eyes."

"Why", inquired Loki, his confusion written all over his handsome face. Was Crowley getting out the secret baseball-bat?

"Trust me my love. Close your eves."

He pushed lightly against Loki's chest, guiding him to lay flat on the mattress, but not forcing him. Loki complied without hesitation, closing his eyes and letting himself be pushed in the right position. He knew deep down that it was a mistake to put that much trust in a hell spawn, an evil demonic presence that dealt with human-souls for a living. Crowley was a demon; evil by nature but despite all that knowledge Loki couldn't help himself but trust the man-shaped creature.

Trust him with his life – but not his true identity.

He felt Crowley shift on the bed, before a weight pressed down on him. He didn't need to open his eyes to know that Crowley was sitting on top of him, straddling his waist. Loki's hands shot automatically up, coming to rest on Crowley's hips.

The air around them shifted. An unnatural force pushing the air around them away, as if something solidified that wasn't there before. But it had to be something huge judging by the amount of air that was forced out of its place.

"You can open them again, whispered Crowley ominously.

So he did.

And what he saw was breath taking.

Crowley sat above him half-naked and from his back perturbed two magnificent wings. They were raven black, darker that the night itself, swallowing every light that fell upon them, absorbing it into its endless depth. The feathers shifted slightly so that their rustling was the only audible sound for a long time.

Loki was shell-shocked.

"Wow... what... but... an angel… how? That's Impossible", he stammered, "you... you?"

"I fell", Crowley told the demi-god sadly, "fell so deep. Fallen from grace, fallen in love." His wings, in response to his feeling, bend downwards at the tips, giving him the look of a lost and beaten puppy. "Fallen just like Lucifer."

"You are nothing like that megalomaniac excuse for an angelic being", snarled Loki in a feverish tone, his hands gripping tighter under the on slaughter of feelings, leaving angry red handprints behind. "You are way better then him. You are better then any of those pricks. None of them gives a shit about people, about family. All they care about is blind obedience and wrath. You're above all those so called holy messengers of God."

A blush tinged the tip of Crowley nose and cheeks in a blossoming red. "Thank you", he said gravely, clearly moved by the god's speech. That was the first time anyone ever took his side and defended him. No accusation, no reproach just the honest truth. It moved Crowley to bits.

"Can I touch them?" Came the demi-god's hesitant request underneath him, while a tentative hand reached out towards them. Never before in all his live had Loki touched another angel's wings, let alone a fallen one's. It was a thrilling thought to grab them, bury his hands in them and make Crowley scream. But he knew they were a sensible subject. It took a lot of trust on both parts to offer up their wings like that. If you could touch them, you had the other literally at your mercy.

"Yes please", begged Crowley hushed, his wings hovering right above Loki's hand as offering. "But careful they are seeeeeeeeensitive."

His warning came too late, as Loki's hands immediately shot out, taking hold of the soft feathers, pulling, pushing, smoothing them out and fondling them as if his life depended on it.

Loki was mesmerised by their soft feathers and feeling.

Crowley purred at the unfamiliar sensation, giving in to the touch and encouraging Loki to touch more of them. They keep going on like this forever. Rocking together in the sheet-tangled bed, under the glittering morning sun until they exploded from the shear overwhelming sensations.

"I love you", whispered Crowley later, when they were huddled together in a fortress of blankets and soft pillows.

"Yes, you do", replied Loki, smiling fondly and sincere.

Five seconds after we left off:

"Wait here", Bobby told them sternly, storming out of the room while mumbling something about idijit demons that can't take care of a none-violent haunting themselves. Well, if that evil super powered demon wasn't able take care of this simple salt-and-burn job, he would gladly do it. No spirit, evil or not, was gonna haunt anyone as long as they stayed under his roof.

But as they had no clues whatsoever about who or what was having their merry ways with Crowley, Bobby did the only thing any sensible person should have done right from the start. He called Pamela Barnes – the psychic.

It took no more than a few hours after that call and a car pulled into the Singer's driveway. Pamela exited the vehicle and with a smile and a few kind words she ordered her driver to wait in the car for her return before walking up to Bobby.

They exchanged a brief hug before going inside, Bobby leading the blind psychic by the arm. She didn't need his help but Bobby was a gentleman underneath his ruff exterior and Pamela knew it, so she complied and accepted his help.

"Thank you for agreeing to help us", he told her, as they walked across the driveway, "this is a really delicate matter and I would appreciate it if no one will hear of this. Other hunters might not take too kindly to the... circumstances of our meeting. Or the subject we need we need to discuss."

"Of course, Bobby", she assured the older hunter, "I won't talk about this to anyone, your secret is save with me", she smiled kindly, "you mentioned an acquaintance on the phone who needs my help. One I might not be very fond of. Are you taking about another hunter? One I have crossed path with the past, who didn't take too kindly to what I had to say?"

"Not exactly", replied Bobby nervously, beating around the bush.

"We have a haunted demon on our hands." He blurred out once they entered his study an came face to face with the evil demonic presence in question.

Pamela had no time to process the new pieces of information before Crowley took a fleeting look at her and snorted in disgust.

"She is blind", he pointed out unnecessarily. "Oh please, you can't seriously expect a blind women to help me get this blasted ghost of my back!"

Turning around, he ignored the impaired psychic and pretended to be occupied by reading one of Bobby's books – it would have looked a whole lot more convincing if you couldn't see its upside down spine sitting in the hand of the demon.

"Your aren't a demon", the psychic pointed out, without taking any offence at the hurtful words, "you are one of the fallen ones – a fallen angel." There was an edge to her voice, like she wasn't sure what was worse. A demon that could not help his evil nature or a pure angelic being, that went against its very nature and was kicked out of heaven for its outrageous deeds. "I can't say it is a pleasure to meet you, but it's definitely interesting to see one of your likings to work against Lucifer. He was your leader once after all."

Crowley blinked at her, the book falling out of his hands in surprise, tumbling to the floor in a heap of loose pages and empty spine. Bobby probably would have lynched him for dropping one of his precious books and making it fall apart. Oh well if he had too much of a tantrum, Crowley had still his soul as leverage.

"Good for you lady", he admired her skills. Maybe she could help him after all. He had never encountered a psychic as good as her, none that immediately knew the exact nature of his demonic essence. "You are sensitive that's a good start. Think you can help me?"

All of a sudden Crowley was nice to her. There had to be a catch, thought Pamela. What reason did she have to trust this creature than the words of Bobby and the Winchesters, who didn't actually say he was to be trusted. For a woman with no eyesight she did a bang up job at eyeing the demon warily.

"Why", she wanted to know first, "should I help an evil demonic presence like yourself?"

"Out of the goodness of your heart?" joked Crowley.

He saw no reason to play nice with that crippled women. She might be talented when it came to the precise nature of supernatural forces but he doubted she could be of much assistance against this haunting spirit, if even he, the King of the Crossroads, couldn't get rid of it. What chance of success did a mortal women have that he didn't.

"Why does a demon work together with hunters?" Pamela wouldn't back down. Damned noisy women! She could ask all she wanted, he wasn't about to spill all his delicate secrets to a women he barely knew and trusted even less.

"Out of the goodness of my heart?" The demon asked, still mocking the psychic women.

"Don't play coy with me boy", advised the psychic flatly. "You don't answer, I don't help. Now tell me, or I'll leave your sorry ass to rot in hell. Why?"

As a threatening afterthought she added: "And remember: I am psychic. If you lie to me or I don't like what you say, you can kiss my ass goodbye and be haunted for the rest of your pathetic life."

Oh well, Crowley thought, what did he have to loose. It's not like had a whole lot of dignity left given the entire Winchester debacle after the funeral.

A few months ago:

"Leave!" bellowed Crowley at the top of his lungs, as soon as he felt a slight shift in the air, the telltale signs of Loki's arrival. Yeah right Loki. He mentally spat the word. If felt sour in his mind, like something foul and rotten like the owner himself.

When he had planted the listening device in the Winchesters 1967 Chevrolet Impala he had expected to hear a lot of juicy and delicate secrets from the two. But this? No, he had never expected hear this - not even in his wildest and most cruel some dreams.

It was worse than any nightmare could ever attempt to be.

"Nice to see you too sweety", greeted Loki the demon in his usually cheerful manner, not even noticing that Crowley's temper was worse than usual. While Crowley tended to be in a bad mood all the time, he never shouted at his lover for no reason at all let alone before he even entered properly. But Loki didn't notice any of this, making himself comfortable on the couch. That guy had a worse attention span that a 4 year old with an ice-cream and a Gameboy.

"Don't sweetie me, darling!" he growled impatiently, giving him his worst glare of death, "you can drop that act now, pumpkin. Stop pretending to be someone you are definitely not. I know who you are." After a beat: "I know what you are!"

"I'm a very handsome guy, never pretended otherwise", replied the accused still is a mega happy mood, flashing him his most radiant smile while propping his feet up on the little coffee table in front to the couch.

"Don't be cute with me", advised Crowley bitterly, slapping the other's feet of the table again in annoyance, "it doesn't suit you Gabriel!"

This small word was the single most devastating thing that ever came out of Crowley's mouth. The demon might say thing he regretted later, or insult Loki just because he had a bad day and needed to blow of some steam, but he never hurt him like this. Loki's stomach turned upside down and flipped summersaults, leaving a bitter taste of bile and sickness behind. A tight knot build up in his chest, the pressure growing and making him nauseated with dread and fear.

How?

How could Crowley possibly have managed to find out? He had tried so hard to keep a low profile, leaving everything of his old life behind. Not contact to anyone of his old buddies, his old friends. He had cut himself off from everyone he ever knew and even made a deal with a crossroads demon to play dead, vanish from the earth, heaven and hell alike.

No one was supposed to know.

No one should have been able to see beyond his tightly woven web of secrets and lies.

He was a trickster, the master of deception and fakes, so where did he screw up this time. Fist the Winchesters, now Crowley. He must be getting sloppy in his old age.

"Oh surprised I found out about your dirty little secret, angel", drawled Crowley sickeningly sweet, "now be so kind as to piss off! You lying piece of shit."

"Come again?" Gabriel put on his most innocent face, "I think you got the wrong pagan, hon. Try the fella next door. I'm not an angel", his voice dropped an octave deeper, to a sensual low hum, "you saw me in bed, sweet-cheeks. Hardly angelic, now is it?"

"Ohhhh really", questioned Crowley, all sweet and flirty. "Hummmm… well in that case", he stepped closer sneaking his hands under Loki's jacket, leaning as if to kiss his handsome face, "this isn't your angel blade then?"

Inches from Gabriel's face he stopped, leaning back and pulling Gabriel's angel-blade out of one of his hidden inner jacket-pockets.

"What?", squealed Loki indignantly, "no... course not!"

"Right." Spinning the blade lazily around in his hands, the demon pointed its tip at Gabriel's chest, "then you don't have to fear anything, right darling?"

Glancing at the silver knife, he ran its tip across the angel's cheek, forcing him to turn his head if he wanted to avoid being cut. Crowley used deliberately just enough force to make the angel feel the danger but not enough to pierce his skin. If Gabriel wanted to play, then Crowley would obey this once. He ran the knife's tip across his other cheek, forcing Gabriel to look back at him.

"Then you won't mind a little cut", suggested Crowley, winking at hi and placing the blade right atop the angel's heart. "Just a little prove, aye? This may hurt a little but it won't kill you… as you are not an angel."

"Alright! Stop!" begged Gabriel, "fine! Congratulation, demon, you got me."

Pulling the dangerous object away, Crowley took a step backwards. "Thought so. Lying bastard."

"What? No! That's not right. I haven't... I never..."

Gabriel stammered nonsense, his brain for once too slow to catch up and supply him with a sensible or witty response. But even before he could finish his stammering and find the perfect reason, Crowley rudely interrupted him, talking right over the archangel's bad excuses.

"Yes you never!" Crowley all but shouted in his new enflamed anger, "you never thought, you never cared. All you did was have a little fun at my expense. Watch the demon make a fool of himself. Tell me Gabriel", he spat the name like bitter acid, "was it worth it? All the lying and pretending and acting as if you cared, just to see me fall. To fall, for you." He let out a mirthless chuckle. "Oh yeah, let's see if we can't mess with the stupid demon until he falls in love, despite his evil nature. Are you happy now? You succeeded. I loved you! Your little pet project is over! You can leave now. And don't ever come back or I'll rip your throat out and feed it to the hellhounds."

"Please Crowls listen...", begged Gabriel.

"The name is Crowley, only my friends may call me Crowls. And you are certainly not one of them. I may consort with evil lying scumbags for a living but I'm certainly not friends with them", the demon spat venomously, "and listen? To you? Are you kidding me? Why should I? So you can feed me more of your lies. I've had just about enough of them for a lifetime."

"I never lied to you", shouted Gabriel back, the first hints of a tear glistening at the corner of his eyes.

Crowley just looked at him, raising a single questioning eyebrow.

"Okay fine", admitted Gabriel sheepishly, "I might have bended the truth a tiny little bit or left some minor details out but I never outright lied to you. You've got to believe me, my feelings are real. I couldn't fake something like that. I do love you. Crowls please!"

Desperation hinted at the edge of his voice and tears were now streaming down his face. He couldn't care less what Crowley thought of him right at this moment.

Let him make fun of him, call him a whiny nancy-boy or laugh at his weakness, but he couldn't hide his emotions anymore. Crowley wanted something real, so let him have something real.

He had spent decades pushing it all away, hiding his true self and worries so deep inside, they finally erupted like an active volcano, spilling tears and lava everywhere, leaving nothing but hurt and destruction in it wake.

"More lies", spat the demon, fighting to hold his own tears back. He would be damned... blessed if he let himself cry in front of this bloody angel. He did have some pride left after all.

"Crowley please." Gabriel all but pleaded but had the good sense to call him by his full name. He didn't care what it took; all he knew was that he couldn't lose the only person who ever accepted him for who he was. Crowley never expected him to act a certain way or do things the right way. All Crowley ever did was taking him for who he was and he didn't want to miss that for the world. Not now, not ever.

There must have been something in the angels eyes, voice or demeanour that conveyed how seriously sorry he was, as Crowley's anger slowly ebbed away. Turning the angel blade in this hand, he offered it hilt first back to Gabriel. The archangel took it cautiously, pocketing it in the safety of his jacket.

"Just...", Crowley sight sadly, "just leave. Please? Give me some space, would you? We'll talk later."

He needed some time alone, to think and to sort his head out. Loki... no Gabriel might have lied about his true identity but Crowley wasn't sure anymore if he wasn't honest about the rest. Maybe he did have feelings for Crowley.

Surely no one could act that well.

"Yeah sure, hon." Gabriel pecked a light kiss on Crowley's cheek, getting ready to take off.

"Gabriel?", he held the angel back before he could leave by grabbing his hands as he passes. "Whatever happens, I still got your back in this whole apocalypse disaster. I might be mad at you but your big brother really pisses me off. He deserves a good slapping around."

This made Gabriel actually giggle again. "Remember, he is your brother, too."

"Oh sod off", demanded Crowley lightly, a slight smile playing on the edge of his mouth.

And Gabriel complied this time. He vanished immediately without complain, in a flourish of huge brilliant white wings.

A sign that he still trusted the demon, even if the trust only ran one way at the moment.

Present day:

Pamela watched him with beady eyes while he told his tale, with every sense in her body alert, to detect any kind of untruth or holding back on Crowley's part. All she could get from the demon story was honesty and regret.

A deep bone chilling sadness radiates for his words, cutting through every mistrust the psychic still held against the demon and engulfing her in a blanked of pity and understanding. This demon was truly special. He didn't care about power or wealth, he didn't want to rule hell or torture innocent human beings.

All he cared about was a dead friend.

A dead lover.

A dead archangel.

"Yes" she mumbled softly as Crowley had finished his tale, "you spoke the truth, fallen one. I will help you."

Crowley nodded his thanks.

Closing her eyes, the psychic extended her senses, trying to get a grip on the unnatural source behind the haunting. She could feel something nudging on the edge of her perception. It was faint but it was there as clear as day. There was no mistaking it, the presence tried to shy away as soon as it felt Pamela's abilities flaring up and testing around.

Without her eyesight it was harder to make out the true nature of this entity but easier to concentrate on its energy.

And there was a lot of that. It was stronger and different from any ghost she had ever encountered. There was something kind and pure and caring about its presence, like it wanted to assure her that it meant no harm to her or anyone else.

Like a mother giving a lost child a reassuring smile, a big brother giving the younger a warm smile when he is hurt to take his pain away or a lover cheering up his depressed better half.

"Yes", she whispered serenely, "I can sense something. There is definitely a supernatural presence in this room but I don't recognise it. It's shielding itself from me. I need some assistance to get a proper fix on it."

Setting up a séance table, seating themselves around it and joining hands, no one felt particularly at ease. Everyone expected the other party to pull out a knife in a futile attempt to kill the others. But for the greater good they overcame their deep set paranoia for a short period of time and actually held on to their neighbour's hands.

"I invoke conjure and command you! Step closer. Come to me before this circle. Reveal yourself." Pamela started to chant in a low voice but raising it steadily the further she got, "I invoke, conjure and command you, come to me before this circle!"

She screwed up her face in concentration, straining to hear a sound only she could perceive. "I can hear it – it's talking in a foreign tongue… I cannot understand it." She turned to the ghost, "please I can not understand you, make yourself known. We mean you no harm, I plead you, reveal yourself."

Pulling his hands back, Crowley broke the circle in frustration. "That is rubbish! This blind wannabe psychic can't help us. How do you communicate with a ghost if you can't understand or see it?"

Walking over to the psychic, he covered her eyes with his hands. She did not flinch nor try to escape his touch. It was almost as if she felt him come over and knew he had no intention to harm her.

A comforting warmth washed over her senses, setting them on fire in a mind numbing buzz of static and when Crowley pulled his hand away, her eyes were restored to their former healed selves. The damage Castiel once did was gone.

"See?" Crowley joked, "much better." He seated himself again and grabbed a hold of Castiel's and Dean's hand. "Now get that damned ghost of my back."

"Come" she urged the entity once everyone had joined hands again. "Come closer. I wish you no harm."

And there it was in all its glory, standing right in front of her. A shining bright figure in a brilliant white garment, radiating light and warmth all around it in a huge arch. If it had been just a tiny bit brighter it might have hurt her eyes and burning them once more, but this thing was careful. It had just the right frequency to blur its image but not bright enough to harm her. All she could make out was a male figure clothed in golden lightening.

She still couldn't understand the words it spoke, but now that she could see him, or at least his outlines, it was clear that it was miming her the meaning of his words, urging her to understand him and doing everything in his powers to convey his message.

It was gesturing to his mouth, then to Crowley and lastly to its ears. It repeated the gesture, over and over again, all the while talking in that strange foreign language. It was begging her to understand and deliver its message to the demon.

And so she did.

"He wants you to listen", relied Pamela the message to Crowley.

"I am here", shouted Crowley turning in circles trying to see the ghost, "stop playing games with me and show yourself you prick."

But nothing happened.

"What?" Pamela asked the empty air at the far end of the room, where they assumed the ghost must have been standing, "I don't understand. What are you saying? What do you want me to tell him?"

"What is it saying?" His curiosity got the better of him and Sam was nearly bouncing in his seat, a huge grin plastered on his face. He was exited to find something that could actually haunt and scare a demon. And it seemed to be nice or at least not evil and malevolent.

They just might have a new asset on their hands.

"I… am not sure."

She couldn't make any sense off the ghost's gestures, so she repeated the signs to her mortal companions.

And Crowley burst out laughing. "You are joking right?"

"Why?" everyone wondered, "what did it say?" They were taking over one another is excitement and confusion and expectation.

"It wants me to listen", informed Crowley them sternly, "but not with my head. It says I should use my heart!" Addressing the general direction of the ghost he shouted: "I'm a bloody demon! I don't have a bleeding heart. Morron!"

"But that's not quite true, is it?" asked Pamela softly, her gaze far away as if in trance. Crowley nearly fell out of his chair in shock. She had no right to know this!

"Listen, listen, listen", she repeated over and over again in an urgent whisper.

"Listen, listen, listen."

"ALRIGHT", bellowed Crowley in an angry voice, snatching his hands away and thus breaking the seance circle and with it Pamela's connection.

He seated himself cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed in concentration and with his arms loosely draped over this knees. Crowley waited and listened.

A minute passed, before he opened one careful eye, looking around suspiciously but not seeing anything out of the ordinary. "It's not working", he complaint to Pamela, "the ghost talked a lot of bullshit. Can I go now?"

"Try again", she suggested kindly, "you can't just try it; you have to want it! Expect it to happen with every fibre of your being." She smiled knowingly at him. "Have faith."

"I'm a demon", Crowley shot back in annoyance, "I don't do faith."

"And yet you said the same about love and manners."

How the hell could this blasted woman know so much about his past? She wasn't even born when he said those things to his lover. It was over 300 years ago and there were only two people present at that time. Only he and Gabriel. These were their secrets, their lives, their memories...

Realisation hit him like a sledgehammer. How could he have been so stupid to not see it sooner?

There was only one person that could have whispered these things into Pamela's ear, told her about their past.

A person, which had died recently.

Someone who had vowed to him they would meet again.

Bloody archangels.

Closing his eyes again and concentrating deeper and harder then ever before, Crowley summoned up all his will power while opening his mind, his heart and his mangled excuse for grace at the same time, to the entity. If he was wrong and it was a malevolent spirit out to hurt him, this would be its best opportunity.

He sat there on the ground with all his defences down, straining to feel his archangels loving presence. He ached to see him again, feel the warmth, love and peace Gabriel seemed to spread throughout the universe. In his presence the world could be torn to shreds and he wouldn't care. Neither man, nor immortal entity could harm him, as long as Gabriel was there.

Gabriel was his save heaven in a dark storm, his light and his upraise – and yet at the same time the archangel was his downfall.

When he opened his eyes again he could finally see him. Sitting on one of Bobby's chairs, his feet propped up on the table and smiling warmly at him.

"Took you long enough sweety", Gabriel greeted his lover, "was going nuts that you ignored me."

"Gabriel", the demon croaked out, his voice trembling under the strain. If he wasn't already seated on the floor, his legs would have chosen this moment to give out under him and send him crashing to the ground.

He moved over on shaky legs. A trembling hand reaching out for the archangel's but right before he could touch him, Gabriel pulled his hand away. "Don't", he whispered troubled, "I'm a ghost. You can't touch me. I'm sorry."

"Don't care", breathed Crowley back, laying his hand over the ghostly apparition of Gabriel's. His hand hovered right above the other one's, not quite touching but not moving through it either. He could feel a slight tingling sensation whenever he brushed over the spot where Gabriel's hand lay and their fingers occupied the same space together. It felt weird but good, like a strange kind of prove that this was real and it wasn't just his imagination playing tricks on him.

Judging by everyone's questioning expressions, he was the only one who could see and hear Gabriel. Pamela might still be able to perceive the archangel's presence but he doubted that she could understand him, as he spoke in ancient Enochian.

"Why?"

He needed to know.

So many questions, in a single word. Why did he refuse to move on? Why become a ghost in the full knowledge that he might never be seen or heard by anyone. Why haunt him. Why risk an eternity of pain and grieve? Why walk into hell on earth for him? Why, why, why.

"Because I promised", replied Gabriel cocky, "I'm an angel of my word. When I say this isn't goodbye, then I keep my promise and come back to you sweet-cheeks. You won't get rid of me that easily."

A few hours before Gabriel faced down Lucifer:

Crowley and Gabriel weren't quite sure where stood with each other yet. Did they break up? Make up? Or just had their first massive row and it didn't mean anything?

Every good couple is fighting once in a while. It's better to get it all out of your system instead of bottling it all up until you explode. But was that what it was?

Having never before been in an actual relationship, none of them knew. It's not like there is guidebook about how to react when your boyfriend has lived with a fake name for over 300 years and you recently found out but he didn't tell you. That wouldn't be best-seller but they could really use one right now.

But it was kind of okay, they were back on speaking terms and that was all that mattered at the moment. They had come this far, so they wouldn't give up now.

"Hey Crowley", greeted Gabriel cheerful as usually, seating himself on Crowley's couch.

Both of them were treading on eggshells around each other, not knowing what was okay and what not anymore.

Should he give Crowley a hello-kiss on the cheek? Hug him? Shake his hand? Devour Crowley's mouth and run his finger through the demon's short hair, messing them up completely?

Better be on the safe side and just sit down.

Crowley sat down next to his maybe or maybe not ex-lover, their legs not quite touching but close enough to feel the heat radiating from the other's body.

"Gabriel."

It would take Crowley a lot longer to get used to the new name. It wasn't that he didn't like the name or loathed it, but after so long associating this face with the name Loki, it was hard remembering to use his real name.

Gabriel did tell him that he could keep calling him Loki if he wanted to. He didn't mind, as he had got used to that name after so many centuries hiding from his brethren. But Crowley insisted on calling him by his real name. If they were going to start over again, this time they would do it properly – without secrets and lies.

"I never really apologised", blurted Gabriel out, turning to face the demon.

Crowley wanted to protest, but Gabriel didn't let him finish.

"I know you know that I'm sorry, but I never explained why I did what I did. If we want this", he gestured between them, "to work out, I have give you an explanation, okay? I owe you that much."

Crowley smiled fondly at his archangel. Yeah, that sounded god; working things out between them. His archangel wanted them to start over again and make things right.

His archangel. He took Gabriel's hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Alright then. Explain. I'll listen."

Taking a deep breath, Gabriel gathered his thought, looking for the right place to begin.

"I suppose it all began with the conflicts in heaven", he said, his gaze far away, like remembering the ancient past, "they were always fighting, tearing at each other's throats for no apparent reason and dad didn't do anything to stop them", anger crept into the angel's voice but he didn't notice, he just kept talking and talking.

"All I could do was watching them fight and kill each other! Until I couldn't take it anymore, so I left. I tried to hide but Michael and Raphael… they found me and dragged my sorry ass back upstairs. So I left again. And they came after me again. It went like that for a while and I made it a game to find better and safer hiding-places but no matter where I went or what I did, they found me. They could detect my grace, so I had to cloud it. The only way to get enough juice to get away undetected from the archangels was to make a deal with the devil. When I came to you, I thought you were easy prey. Just a freshling, new in the job, not asking too many questions. I... I don't know what it was but the moment I saw you... you were diffenent… you looked so beautiful. I couldn't keep my eyes off of you. Now, I know it were the last twisted shreds of your grace I saw flickering to life the moment you decided you had some manners left inside."

He cracked a weak smile.

"I never planed what happened next. I thought at the time it was a one time thingy. Just one night and I'd be gone… but I couldn't stay away from you. One touch and I got addicted. I needed more, I had to keep coming back, but at that time I already gave you my new name. If I'd given you my real name then, you'd have asked questions… demanded explanations I couldn't give. In all that time we knew each other I never once used my real name, I thought if I forget who I really was then it wouldn't matter who I were. So I ceased being the archangel Gabriel and became Loki the Norse demi-trickster god, with every fibre of my being. Later, when you told me you were an angel, I wanted to tell you, shout out that yes, I used to be one to... I ache to touch your wings with mine but I couldn't. I was so damn afraid. Afraid that if I said my name out loud, my brothers could hear it and take me away. I didn't want to loose you. I couldn't loose you..."

By now tears were rolling down his face but still he didn't notice nor did he care. This was too important to hide or hold back. Crowley needed to know he was honestly sorry for what happened.

"And I was afraid how you'd react." By now his voice was nothing more but a shallow breath. If it wasn't for Crowley's supernatural hearing, he couldn't have heard Gabriel speak at all.

"Then the apocalypse started and I though, 'well it worked just fine for all this time, why risk it all now? I can tell him tomorrow'. And another day went by… and another. I'm a coward. I always have been and I'm sorry for that. Sorry for hurting you. Sorry for lying to you. If I could, I would take it all back, start over again as Gabriel, but I can't. I don't ask for your forgiveness, all I ask for is your understanding. What would you have done in my position? Would you've risk what we had for the sake of a name?"

Cradling Gabriel's face in his hands, Crowley softly forced him to look at him, so he could capture the angel's eyes. "I forgive you Gabriel." And kissed him hot and fierce like they use to, all teeth and tongue, slamming together in desperation.

"Thank you, Crowley", whispered Gabriel, not trusting his own voice not to shake.

"Call me Crowls", mumbled Crowley, wrapping his arm around the archangel, placing light kisses all over his face. Kissing away the tears and the sorrow.

Gabriel entangled himself from the demon once he had calmed down a bit, looking at him gravely. "But that's not the only thing I came to talk about."

"What else", questioned Crowley raising one intrigued eyebrow.

"There is this... thing... I've got to do", he coughed in embarrassment, "you might have heard my little conversation with Dean not so long ago… and... well he was right you know. I ran my whole life. Ran away from my family, from my identity, my life. But I have to stop… and I have to stop Lucifer. If he raises he will destroy my brothers, humanity and worst of all; he will destroy you. And I can't let that happen."

He took Crowley's han, placing a kiss on each finger. "But I promise I'll come back to you, my love."

"You can't win", stated Crowley flatly, not daring to move.

"I know", whispered Gabriel his eyes cast downwards, "but I have to try. Awwww don't look at me like that. I'll be fine."

Gabriel forced a lopsided smiley but Crowley could see through his false cheer none the less.

"Liar."

There was no bitterness in the demon's word. He simply stated what they both knew, Gabriel couldn't win against his big brother and there was no chance of survival.

"You want me to say be goodbye instead?" Again, there were no emotions in the statement. For once in their entire relationship there was no joking or teasing or annoying, just utter honesty. Only he heart shattering truth.

And it hurt.

Hurt more than any lie ever could.

"No angel", begged Crowley indignantly in desperation, "lie to me. I just got you back; I can't face losing you again. Tell me it will be fine. Tell me I won't ever lose you."

"Crowls?" Gabriel keeled down before his demon lover, "tell you what."

He forced himself to smile the sweetest smile he could muster. "How about we get bonded? We will be joined forever and when I come back we have our honeymoons, seeing the world and celebrating the first days of the rest of our lives. What do you say? Sounds like a plan?"

Crowley couldn't answer. His throat was too tight and he couldn't breathe. His emotions threatened to overwhelm him so he did the only thing he knew Gabriel would understand: talking without saying actual words.

They were good at that. Always have been and always will be.

Their own secret language.

He kissed Gabriel. Kissed him and kissed until the knot in his chest eased away so he could breathe and talk again.

"Yes!"

Present day:

Days went by and some kind of strange habit developed between them. Sam, Dean and Castiel would occasionally go on a hunt close by, while Crowley helped Bobby doing the research. And since Gabriel had ceased haunting and annoying them, they could also use his expertise of the supernatural or occult as well. At first, it had been irritating to see the demon talk to thin air but Bobby was fast in figuring out when he was talking to him and when to the ghost.

Crowley was having a hushed conversation with his dead lover, as the phone rang and a nearly panicking Dean demanded the pathetic excuse for a demonic being should get his ass in gear, pop over and get them back to Bobby's.

Being one of the good guys for once, Crowley did as he was asked and popped over to find a devastating scene. All around the Impala lay dead empty demon vessels. Sam leaned against the car, bleeding from several severe wounds and Dean, slightly hurt too, held an unconscious Castiel in his arms, whispering soothing words into his ear.

"What happened?", demanded Crowley exasperated, as soon as he took in his surroundings, "can't we leave you morons for one minute alone without you getting yourself beaten to a bloody pulp?"

"Shut it", growled Dean from the ground, "swing your ass in the car and get us back to Bobby's. And hurry!"

Crowley took the hunter by his word; driving the Impala down the road like a berserk. Sam passed out early on but woke up every other minute, blinking in confusion at the demon behind the wheel driving like a maniac, while Dean sat with Cass in the backseats, cradling the unconscious angel in his arm.

He was visibly concerned for the poor creature. Sam gave a small smile before settling back to pass out once again.

They drove for about 15 minutes straight at an insanely dangerous tempo, when the engine started to act up. Dean's first instinct was to slow down and have a look but Crowley convinced him that yes, his precious car might be off bad but if they didn't get Sam to Bobby's soon he might bleed to death. Well, actually he knew that Sam's wounds weren't that bad but Dean didn't need to know that because Crowley wanted to keep driving.

He might be a demon and could mojo himself wherever he wanted to go but actually driving, feeling the road and asphalt pass underneath the wheels – it was a glorious feeling Crowley didn't experience quite as much as he would like to. He wanted to make the most of this opportunity.

So they drove on. Or rather, they sped down the highway - faster than any Impala should be able to drive.

Smoke started to rise from the engine, but Crowley kept driving.

It got hotter and hotter in the car, until suddenly the entire vehicle burst into flames.

Dean yelled at the top of his lunges for Crowley to stop, but the demon simply ignored him.

"We will roast to death!"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist", shouted Crowley over the noise of the flames, "I got it under control. No one's gonna get hurt."

They kept on driving, Dean close to hysteria in the backseat, all but weeping in devastation.

Sam chose that moment to gain conscious again, have a look around and point out stupefied, "uhhh... guys the car is on fire."

Dean's wailing picked up; he made a sound every banshee in existence would be proud of but Crowley just shrugged. "Get some rest moose."

They sped down the highway in a flaming ball... or rather car of fire, leaving scorch-marks on the asphalt and smouldered trees behind. In the driver's seat Crowley grinned like the secret lunatic he was.

Throwing pebbles in all directions Crowley got the Impala finally to a screeching hold in Bobby's driveway, yelling for the old man to come out and help.

Dean immediately leapt out of the car, jumping at the demon and trying to tear him apart with his bare hands.

Crowley barely managed to get the infuriated hunter of off him without breaking every bone in his body.

"Dean", croaked Sam, hobbling over to the house, "leave the damned car. Cass needs help."

"Screw Cass", yelled Dean back, "he is an angel, he will be fine. That sonofabitch set fire to my baby!"

"Oh whatever", mumbled Crowley on his way inside, snapping his fingers. When Dean turned back to his burned down wreckage of a car, the Impala stood there gleaming in the sunlight, completely fixed up and without a single scratch or burn mark.

"What did you idijits do now", asked Bobby, giving Dean a helping hand with the angel.

"It was a trap", told Sam him, tending to his own wounds. But in all the hectic, no one noticed the small silver angelic blade that fell out of the Castiel's trenchcoat… no one but Gabriel, who couldn't do anything to help his hurt brother but watch. As soon as the commotion had died down a little he pointed the blade out to Crowley, who picked it up and pocketed it for the time being.

Castiel lay currently patched up on Bobby's bed getting some rest. Sam and Dean sat with Bobby in the kitchen, each a beer in hand and reporting what had happened. "It's been a trap all along. They knew we were coming and ambushed us on our way there. They were like mad raving ninja demons", reported Dean, "Cass took quite a beating. They attacked him with some kind of strange weapon and he dropped like a hot potato."

"Maybe that's 'cos he is cut off from heaven", speculated Bobby.

"Yeah", agreed Dean, "hopefully." He didn't want to imagine what else might be the reason for Castiel's unconscious state.

When he didn't wake up in the next couple of weeks they really started to worry.

"Come on", demanded Dean, "there has to be something we can do for him."

"Dean, he's in a coma", reasoned Sam. "How do you wake an angel from a coma?"

"I don't know", sight Dean, "come on Crowley your ghost buddy has to know something."

"His name is Gabriel you pathetic human", snarled Crowley, "and he can't help him while being a ghost! Can he now?"

"Then ask again! There has to be something!", demanded Dean, only a few seconds away from strangling the arrogant demon an the spot.

"Whatever", mumbled Crowley, turning to Gabriel. "Well?"

"Hmmmm...", replied Gabriel, "I think he'd been poisoned. If I had a solid body I might be able to heal Cassy-boy but in this state… there is nothing I can do."

"Anything I can do?", inquired Crowley already guessing the answer.

"No. Unless you want to utterly corrupt his grace and sent him straight to hell." The corners of Crowley's mouth shot up in an evil smirk. "Forget it Crowls. Only over my dead body."

"Gabe", Crowley told his friend, "that's not a good threat to make while being a bloody incorporeal ghost!"

"Alright, alright", Gabriel threw his hand up in defeat, "but you're not damning my little brother to hell."

"Anything else I can do than damming him?" Dean's eyebrows shot at that comment, eyeing the demon warily, but holding his peace.

"No", Gabriel told him, "unless..."

"Unless what?" Bloody archangels! They never stop talking, running their mouths of and thinking out loud unless they had something seriously important to say.

"Unless...", he continued thoughtfully, "tell me Crowls, how much of your grace do you have left."

"Not much", thought Crowley, "I can summon up a bit if I concentrate hard enough. Why?"

"If you have grace in you", explained Gabriel exited, nearly jumping up and down on the spot, "I can channel some of my power through you and you can heal the Cassy."

"Sounds like a plan", agreed Crowley eager to get Dean off his back and get Cass up on his feet again, "tell me what to do."

Barely five minutes later, Crowley sat beside Cass on the bed, his hands hovering over the hurt angels stomach. Gabriel's ghost stood right beside him, his hand passing through Crowley's hand and staying there, filling the space with two pairs of hand at the same time while channelling his own power through the demons hands.

It didn't exactly hurt Crowley to channel that much pure grace but it tingled unpleasantly, like a sleeping foot that's slowly waking up. Uncomfortable but not truly painful.

White light erupted from their overlaid hands and filled Castiel's vessel. Cass's body, completely engulfed in the bright light flowing from the demon's hands, flowed for a moment above the bed before slowly settling down again. Crowley nearly collapsed from the effort of holding on to that much grace at once. Sweat trickled down is spine and his hands were actually shacking.

On the bed beneath him, Castiel's eyes fluttered open. "What's happened?", he croaked, his voice raw from the lack of use.

Glad to see him awake again, Dean and the others rushed over, hugging him and filling him in on the events of the past couple of days.

When he finally felt a little better and dared to sit up in bed, Crowley sauntered over to him, holding the angel knife out to him. "Here you lost that."

"I... thank you", Cass reclaimed his angelic knife, staring at Crowley dumbfounded, "but you should not have been able to hold on to this. It is angelic in nature, pure and holy. Touching it should have burned the skin from your flesh and fried you alive."

"Yeah", replied Crowley smugly, "but I am just that special." He touched one finger to the angelic blade and blue sparks erupted from Crowley's finger, swivelling around and protecting his skin from disintegrating. A light bluish white orb glowed warmly under the demons shirt.

"And of course I have my own blade."

He pulled another identical blade out of his pocket. "A gift from Gabe when we bonded", he explained.

Something about that statement let a bell ring in Castiel head. Bonding... bonding... what had he forgotten.

It took a while to connect the dots but he finally understood. A miracle that Crowley didn't think of it before, but then the demon was too occupied with Gabriel to think too overly much at the moment.

"If you two bonded", he asked the demon at last, "you must have gained one of his feathers in the process. Am I correct?"

"Yes." He pulled a slim white feather out of his suit to show it to Castiel. The angel nodded satisfied.

"Then there might be a away to get Gabriel back after all", he told ominously, "his ghost is not here by the shear force of his will. He is clinging on to the feather. If it was destroyed his essence would perish with it, but as your essences are connected you might be able to revive his spirit."

"How?" wondered the dumbfounded demon. Why didn't he think of this?

"I am not certain", the angel admitted, "perhaps you might be able to use your bond..."

Mere hours before facing down the devil:

They sat together in a darkened warehouse. The entire walls covered in ancient runes, sigils and protective symbols. Every sensible human stumbling upon this place would scream Satanists or sects. Surly the only one using this kind of set up must be a Wiccan, a misguided mind, a devil-worshiper or worst.

If they only knew the truth.

But maybe I it is better this way, as the truth would have shattered their distorted view of the world. Sometimes you were better of not knowing everything.

Not knowing about the supernatural word amidst one's own, hidden in the shadows, only coming out at night while you lay sleeping in your bed, dreaming of the impossible, with power so much more potent than anyone could ever imagine. Where symbols weren't just random lines of paint but ancient and powerful runes, capable of unspeakable things. They could heal and destroy, banish and summon, keeping things apart or bond them forever.

The only illumination in the entire blackened room came from a set of candles on the ground. There were five of them arranged in a circle, each at the tip of a blood red five pointed star.

Around the blood red drawing were two rings with ceremonial stones in-between the lines - holding, binding and channelling the unnatural forces flowing freely throughout the room.

Between the outer circle and the tips of the pentacle were bowls containing various ingredient, herbs, myrrh and dried leaves.

In the middle of it all stood a single pure white candle and sitting in front of it were an angel and a demon, each on one side of the candle, facing one another, with their fingers interlaced besides the flickering piece of wax.

Gabriel pulled three objects out of his pockets, laying them down in front of the demon.

"I Gabriel, archangel of the Lord give thee Crowley, demon of the bottomless pit, everything I am. Mine body, mine aid arest thou in need and mine very essence."

He laid the symbolic objects between Crowley and the candle. A white feather as symbol for his body, his angelic blade as symbol for his aid and strength and a little flask with shining and pulsing blue grace pulsing through it.

"Will thee accept mine gifts and take me as thy beloved soulmate?"

"I do", said Crowley, pulling three more objects from his own pockets and laying them in front of the angel. A single raven black feather for his body, a lithic plate with his summoning sigil engraved upon it for his aid and a small cloth, made out of swivelling blackened smoke. The very essence of a demon.

"I Crowley, fallen angel and King of the Crossroads give thee Gabriel, hidden archangel and part time demi-god, everything I am. Mine body, mine aid arest thou in need and mine very essence."

"Will thee accept my gifts and take me as thy beloved soulmate?"

"I do", replied Gabriel.

They started chanting together in hushed tones, their voices like a constant song, rising and falling in pitch, in perfect harmony with the other and their surroundings.

With every syllables spilling from their mouths, the candles flickered, raising and falling in unison with their melodic words.

As soon as their chant had ended, the entire room was plunged into an impenetrable darkness. Fire shot out of the outer candles, illuminating the empty room in flickering fiery red hot light.

The candles on the pentacle shot their flames out parallel to the ground, connecting with the others in the outer circle and thus forming a brightly burning ring of fire around the two creatures.

The pure white candle between them send its light straight upwards before turning back on itself and spiralling back downwards, towards their joined hands that hovered clutched together besides the flaming candle. It surrounded them, creating two palpable rings around their interlaced hands, branding bonding sigils onto their wrists and joining their grace and essence together in an indestructible bond, never to be broken. Not by mortals, nor supernatural entities nor death himself.

When the binding was finished and the magic bound between them forged the candles and every light in the warehouse vanished, leaving the two newlywed creatures behind in darkness to celebrate their joining.

Present day:

Crowley thought as hard as he could but he couldn't find a way to use their bond in any way to get the archangel back to a solid state.

"Bugger", he growled in frustration.

"Maybe if he moved on", speculated Cass, "maybe Father will resurrect him like he did with me, as Gabriel died for humanity… fighting for His creation."

"Maybe", he gave it some thought when Gabriel interrupted him.

"Naaaaaah won't work", he said as cheerful as ever, "tell our little feathered friend here, that dad didn't save his smitten ass. Dad doesn't care, in contrast to some other of his family members."

Crowley forwarded the message to Castiel, whose face scrunched up in confusion. "If it was not our Father that brought me back to live, who else holds such power to resurrect an angel?"

Gabriel actually blushed at that. This time he was glad only Crowley could see him. Blushing in front of his baby-brother would ruin his uncaring attitude he is working so hard on to sustain. Not to mention that Dean would never let him live it down.

"Uhhhh Crowls", stammered Gabriel in embarrassment. He hated admitting he has a soft spot for little Cassy-boy. "You remember the deal we made? About one of my family members who got hurt and I wanted you to save them?"

"Yes...?"

"That was Cassy-boy you resurrected." Gabriel announced shyly.

"You are a genius", exclaimed Crowley suddenly, leaping forward to place a kiss on the angels forehead. But as said archangel was a ghost and couldn't be touched, he fell right through he angel hitting the ground hard.

Exactly 20 minutes after Raphale smouldered Cass to ashes:

It was nearly midday but Loki was still in bed, huddling close to Crowley and purring like a content cat. On any other normal day Loki would have been up with the sun, running around and causing mayhem or plainly annoy Crowley who refused to get up early, as sleep was one of the luxurious of being out of the pit and amongst mortals.

There is no night in hell which equals no sleep. That is also how the saying "No rest for the wicked" developed, which in not entirely true, unless the wicked in question are in fact residing in hell at that moment. Something the wicked don't tend to do as only the downright evil reside in hell. The wicked are usually on earth, getting their much beloved sleep and planning their wicked schemes.

That was why Crowley enjoyed sleeping so much, nearly as much as scaring his houseplants.

People say it helps plants to grow when you talk to them. Crowley does that, too but he threatens them more than actually encouraging them to grow.

Without a doubt, his houseplants were the most terrified on the entire planet.

But this day wasn't any normal day. Loki was in need of some assistance.

And he had a plan…

Kissing Crowley, he woke his demon slowly and pleasantly up.

Demon happy and awake: phase 1 succeeded.

"Hey", he greeted him smiling warmly, "can I get you something?"

"How 'bout 'nother kiss?" mumbled Crowley sleepily. Loki complied, pulling the happy demon out of bed, seating him on the couch and bringing him his favourite breakfast.

Demon happy and content: phase 2 succeeded.

"Want to watch a movie?", asked Loki cheerfully sorting through their extensive DVD collection.

"No", replied Crowley a beat too fast."

"But", stammered Loki incredulously, "you don't even know what kind of movie."

"The answer is NO!", stated Crowley, taking another bit of his pancake. "We will NOT watch Titanic again."

"Well how about..."

"NO!", grumbled Crowley, "not Titanic, not Rome and Juliet or any other sappy chick-flick love-story!"

"Alright!" Loki threw his hand up in defeat. "Shawn of the Dead? Saw? My Bloody Valentine? Or..." he kept going on through all their slasher and horror movies.

Eyeing him suspiciously Crowley immediately jumped to the right conclusion. "What do you want?", he inquired carefully.

"What makes you say that?" Loki exclaimed indignantly, "can't I just wanting to have a lovely evening with and watch a movie?"

"Nope", replied Crowley lightly. "So what's up darling?"

Lulling the demon into agreeing to help him without knowing the reason: phase 3 failed miserably.

"I miiiiiiight need some help", he fiddled nervously around, sorting randomly through the stacks of DVD's, picking some up, turning them around and putting them back again. His brilliant plan had already failed so he tried the no nonsense approach. Closing his eyes he blurred out, "someone of my family got hurt and I need to make a deal with you to save his live."

"Okay", agreed Crowley instantly.

"What?" Loki didn't believe his ears, "no questions asked?"

"No", confirmed Crowley, "I trust you. If you say he needs help, I'll help you."

"But... but", stammered the demi-god, "I can't give you anything in return, more power and they will start noticing it." With "they" he meant Crowley's superiors, who were already suspicious Crowley might keeps some souls from his deals for himself. But nothing was ever proven as it was Loki's power he had kept for himself and this one was very different from soul-mojo. It was all but undetectable from the higher ranking demons.

"Fine", the demon thought out loud, "I'll get a favour in return. Anything I ask and you'll have to comply, no hesitation, no questions and no welshing out."

Loki knew that it was irresponsible to give the demon that much leverage over him. He could ask him to kill God and he would have to do it but strangely he trusted Crowley enough to know that Crowley would never ask the impossible of him or anything that might hurt or endanger him or someone he cared for. There was only one answer he could give him.

"Deal."

And he leaned in for the kiss.

After Crowley picked himself off of the floor:

"You alright?", Gabriel seemed to worry about the demons state of mind. Maybe he has finally snapped and gone completely of the wagon.

"I demand you get a solid body again", Crowley told him urgently a manic glimmer in his eyes.

"Yes", replied Gabriel carefully, his voice the same tone you would use when talking to a mentally ill person, "I would love to but I can't."

"No", exclaimed Crowley passionately, everyone else took at step backwards. Yes Crowley had clearly gone mad. Not a big surprise after spending millennia with Gabriel as company. That guy was on a constant sugar high and would even beat up the cookie monster to get his sweets. Not a good choice for company if you wanted to stay sane.

"You", he babbled mindlessly in excitement, "you! Solid! Now! Open deal! Favour! Shoooooo!"

He couldn't string more than two words together, his mind bouncing and jumping around in glee.

"Wooooaaaahhhh." It was Dean who finally stepped in. "Calm down man and start from the top. You're making less sense then usually."

Taking a deep breath, counting to ten and getting calmer, Crowley tried to explain his brilliant idea.

"Gabriel", he turned to the spooked ghost, "remember when we made the deal to resurrect Cass? You promised me a favour and I could choose whatever I want, you had to deliver. Well this is it. I demand that you get a solid body again as payment that I pulled your precious brother from purgatory. No hesitation, no questions and no welshing out."

"Oh", was all Gabriel's mind could come up with. Stepping closer to Crowley he tilted his head forwards.

"Deal."

Crowley laid the feather on the ground, standing a bit apart from it. Gabriel's ghost stood right atop of it. He tipped his head carefully forwards toward the demon's lips.

Crowley did the same trying to kiss the tingling ghostly apparition of Gabriel.

At first there was noting but air and a weird sensation whenever he came in contact with the ghost.

Slowly but gradually a bright beam of white light slithered out of the angel's feather in Crowley's possession, engulfing them in a blinding brightness.

The brighter the light grew the more tangible Gabriel's ghost became, until Crowley could feel solid fingers cradling his cheeks and his own arm sneaked around the archangel's newly formed body, holding him close.

When the light had dissipated they stood there, for everyone to see arm in arm, kissing like the world depended on it. Gabriel and Crowley together again, opening a new book and filling it with the first chapter of the rest of their lives.

No man could ever stop true love, nor death separate them. They fought together for what was right, for His creation, humanity and everything that was worth living for, defying everything along their way.

The demon who rose from perdition and the archangel, fallen but not from grace, meeting halfway along their path - on earth.

The place between good and evil, light and darkness. The shadow world of choice and free will.

The place in between.

* Irish funeral prayer

** Taken from: "The Hollow Man" by T.S. Eliot