(no subject)

[poetryforfish]

Castiel sat on a park bench in lower Tadfield, trying to find something to do with his right hand that wasn't "resting on the blade hilt Just In Case". Fingers tapped along the bars of the bench, adjusted and readjusted the edge of his coat, anything he could think of every time he caught himself trying to settle into "on-guard."

He really did want this to go well. Not just because they had no choice but to work together--thought that was certainly true--but because he didn't want to appear irrational in his family's eyes. They believed in him. He should as well. To be this militantly suspicious was giving his own Crowley power he didn't deserve, at least not in this world. So he sat and waited for this world's Crowley, another demon entirely. One it might not hurt to get on with, at least in this world.

Time to put his future behind him for good.
 

Comments

[saunterdownwards]

Truthfully, the one-time angel, now demon (and fairly rubbish at being either, really) known as Anthony J Crowley had wanted to meet the young Antichrist's reality displaced angel for some time now. However, every time he'd even so much as breathed at such an occurrence, Adam had either ignored him outright, changed the subject entirely or - at least on one occasion - had flat out refused. Then Above and Below decided to once again attempt to end the world and, well, next thing Crowley knew he was finally getting his wish.

And, of course, he was running late.

It really wasn't his fault. One of his plants had decided to spread its stubbornness to flourish to a few of its flatmates and, well, he couldn't very well just leave the bits of broken flower pots and dirt and leaves on the ground outside his flat. Okay. He could. But he hadn't. He'd assumed he could make up the lost time on the road.

He hadn't managed that either. Once again, through no fault of his own. He hadn't made the bridge collapse when he'd been halfway across. Nor had he caused the four trucks to smash into one another a few scant car lengths away from him, all traffic lights simultaneously turn red along the route, or any of the other half dozen blunders and obstacles he'd encountered along the way.

Needless to say, however, by the time he finally steered his beloved 1926 Bentley into the lot next to the park that was to be their meeting place, Crowley was definitely more than beginning to suspect that either Above, Below, or even both, were doing their best to keep the demon and angel from finally having a sit down. Which was all the more reason for it to happen.

So rather than turning his car around and heading back to his flat, or maybe popping by Aziraphale's bookshop and insisting Castiel come there to meet instead as at least the Principality would insist Above and Below show some decorum when meddling, or even phoning the Antichrist and asking the kid for some backup, Crowley simply sped his car into the nearest parking space and was already out of the vehicle and walking away before it had properly stopped.

Casually, looking not one bit as though everything in the universe had tried to keep him from arriving, the dark haired demon straightened his shades and pulled a cigarette from a crumpled pack in his pocket. With a quick flick of his hand, he lit the smoke (and it was anyone's guess if he'd even been holding a lighter) then calmly sauntered toward the angel waiting for him at the bench just ahead.

"Right," he said by way of greeting, "so you're rubbish at attempting to appear casual when not. Likely going to have to work on that, you realize." Coming to a stop a few feet from Castiel, Crowley tacked on casually, "I'd say I'm sorry for being late but you're not liable to believe me and I can't say I'm terribly sorry, either. Am a bit peeved it wasn't of my own doing but I suppose it's one of those ineffable things Aziraphale likes to prattle on about." With a slight wave of his hand as though pushing such things far from his mind, he took a drag of his cigarette.

"Oh. Right. Suppose an introduction would be fitting. Been a tick since neither side has known me on sight. Anthony J Crowley, at your service." He didn't extend a hand. He was partially afraid it might get chopped off.

[poetryforfish]

Castiel took a moment to respond. Not because of who the individual in front of him was, but because of what he looked like. He was staring at the wings. Like his, but black. Well taken care of.

He wasn't expecting wings.

"It's... never been a strength, I admit." He stared a moment longer, then blinked. "I am Castiel. I'm sorry, I had thought--I was under the impression that you were a demon, not a former recruit of Lucifer's."

[saunterdownwards]

Okay, Crowley had to admit. He hadn't been quite sure what sort of reaction he'd been expecting but it definitely hadn't been that. For a few seconds, he simply stood there, torn between being vaguely insulted Adam hadn't bothered to explain a single thing about him before this meeting, and amused that the kid had left some rather important bits out. It wasn't conductive to cutting past the pleasantries quickly but it certainly kept things interesting.

Finally settling for a bemused smirk of sorts, he gave a faint shake of his head. "Oh, I'm a demon all right. Just wasn't created that way t'start, is all." Slowly, he lowered his sunglasses to peer at Castiel with clearly serpentine like eyes. "And I'm certainly not a former recruit," he tacked on with a disdainful sniff as he straightened his glasses once more. "Just hung about with the wrong sort, is all."

He dropped his cigarette to the ground, crushing it out with the toe of what looked to be snakeskin boots. At the huff of a mother passing by with her young son, complete with a mutter about nasty litterers befouling their quaint little village, Crowley waved vaguely toward the cigarette and, at the instant it evaporated into thin air, turned toward the woman in question.

He then stuck out his forked tongue, smirked when she let out a yelp, and watched her scurry away with her giggling child in tow. "So," he drawled, glancing back to Castiel without missing a beat. "It would appear that we've an Apocalypse on the horizon. Twice in two years, no less. Young Adam says you've experience with these sorts of things. Do tell me he wasn't simply saying that so Aziraphale would stop fretting."

[poetryforfish]

"That is an interesting trick," Castiel said, unable to help noticing the tongue and trying to also take the comment about needing to work on appearing casual to heart.

He sighed. "No, it's true. In my world, we had an attempted Apocalypse. We stopped it, but through extreme measures and at considerable cost. We lost a lot of good people, and I myself died twice before it was over. I don't think Adam knows but in my world, shortly before the House--which I'm sure he's told you about--the Archangels were about to restart mine as well. I arrived in that place unsure what I would do to stop it again, but I will say that where I come from we did not have such a formidable ally as him, nor any angels besides myself. We are ahead of the game here, in that respect."

[saunterdownwards]

Taking in for a moment what was being said, Crowley didn't immediately respond. Instead he moved to take a seat beside Castiel on the bench. Once settled into an elegant slump of sorts, his gaze continued to move from person to person as they ambled past; his head stayed perfectly still not to be obvious, of course, but he had to admit despite his casual demeanor he was a little uneasy.

It wasn't because of the angel he was speaking with, ironically enough. More he couldn't shake the feeling that whatever had wanted to stop their meeting wasn't finished meddling. However, nothing looked circumspect and, after a few moments he decided to reply.

"He's a human incarnate," the demon murmured, almost to himself. He'd coined the phrase shortly after meeting the boy and personally felt it described Adam quite well. Not good. Not evil. Just human. It was so ironic, it was almost painful. With a slight snicker, he turned his head to look at Castiel. "Did you know he actually told the whole lot that he didn't want to rule the world because it was too much like tidying up someone else's bedroom? Thought the Metatron was going to have a rightful conniption."

With a bemused shake of his head, he once more turned his gaze to the people milling about. "Aziraphale and I initially set out to kill him, you know." His voice was aloof. Distant. He wasn't proud of what he was about to say but he figured it should probably come out now, rather than later. Last thing he wanted was Castiel hearing some rumor down the line and deciding it to still be a possibility.

"Of course, we thought we were going to be facing an all powerful being determined to destroy the world," he explained. "Once we realized that wasn't the case, that the Destroyer of Worlds was instead determined to be its Savior, we rather quickly aligned ourselves with him." He stopped there. Specifics weren't necessary unless asked. The basics were known and that would have to be enough.

"Right. Enough reminiscing. Tell me. What are the ways to dispose of demons in your reality?" he asked curiously. "Comparing notes seems only prudent. Can't imagine Adam agreed to our meeting simply to chitchat with idle prattle."

[poetryforfish]

Castiel had developed a familial attachment to Adam, yes, but he understood Crowley and Aziraphale's initial mission as well, and held no judgement for it--nor any intention to repeat it.

"Something similar happened in our case," he said. "Our Antichrist..." How had Sam put it? "Jesse was more of an 'an' than a 'the.' Not Lucifer's son, just a demon's, made more powerful for the time he was born in. If we hadn't stopped it, more may have surfaced. But I thought we should kill him. Sam and Dean thought we should tell him what he was and ask him to stay out of it. And when given the chance, he did."

He barely stopped himself from pulling out his blade to illustrate one of the few answers to Crowley's question. They were in public. Best not to have people calling the police. "Aside from our weapons--angels, I mean, not... not my family--the only real ways to kill or exorcise demons come from demons themselves. Certain people whose bloodlines are touched can gain power over demons by drinking their blood. But it is addictive and has harsh consequences for the drinker. There are also enchanted blades that will kill them. However, due to the nature of the weapon, it kills the host at the time as well."

It was kind of what happened when you stabbed someone, whatever your intentions.

[saunterdownwards]

Demons having kids, people drinking demon blood, demons killing demons... well, alright, the last one wasn't unusual in likely any reality, Crowley was willing to wager. He had a few tally marks in his own column, in fact. Demons weren't precisely known for talking out their differences. But the rest?

"I'd ask if you're having me on, Castiel, but I'd bet my plants that's not in your particular bag of tricks," he said with a disbelieving shake of his head. "Demons running about, spawning offspring and whatnot. No wonder you were so bloody surprised when you noticed my wings." With another shake of his head, he sighed then refocused.

"Right. Well, fortunately for all involved, the most difficult being for any demon to kill is a fellow demon. However, it isn't terribly difficult for anyone else, particularly those from Above, provided they aren't so obvious we spot them coming in the distance." Crowley cast another glance about, casually, to ensure they weren't being noticed before continuing. What he was about to say next, while likely something Castiel would learn soon enough on his own, would very much get every high ranking demon Below after his head even more than they already were, if they learned of it.

However, they were not his allies. Never had been, really, but especially not any longer. Castiel, on the other hand, was. Like it or not, their connection to Adam Young had named them brothers in arms in the upcoming war. Best to ensure the angel knew at least the basics, going in.

"Any celestial weapon, obviously, can do the trick. Not too many of those left, however. Something about Above having a bit of a clean-up not too long after that drunk Noah took his boat for a cruise. Didn't ask for specifics, doesn't matter. Point is, there aren't many in existence and Aziraphale is currently in possession of the most powerful." He paused, drew a breath, then continued. "But the most effective, by far, is holy water."

Even the mention of the word chilled him to the bone and he suppressed a slight shiver of horror. He knew it likely sounded a bit obvious, but he really couldn't express how dangerous the substance was to his sort. He needed to try, though, if only to ensure Castiel never brought the stuff around him. Lighting a cigarette, he did just that.

"A few drops and the weaker demons are done for. The more powerful ones, takes more of a spritz, but it'll get the job done quickly and efficiently," he explained, before adding a word of caution. "However, do keep in mind that we do not possess humans." He paused, tilted his head, and reconsidered. "Well, it's happened a handful of times, particularly during the Dark Ages, but every demon walking about isn't taking some poor sap's body for a joyride." This time he did shiver, in revulsion.

"What I'm attempting to explain, and not terribly well," he finished, "is that we design our own forms, while on Earth. We can change shape, at will, and we most certainly do not have to be human-looking... although most tend to follow that lead as it makes it far more easy to blend in." Right. Getting sidetracked. He took a long drag off his cigarette. "I've raced," Chased. Whatever. Semantics. "Halfway 'round the world via telephone lines, as nothing more than a current on a wire. Intangible and, therefore, immune to most any assassination attempt while in that state. As an example. Typically, however, we stick with the form we've chosen as there is a bit of dealing with Below if they catch wind you're wasting energy changing your form rather than wreaking havoc and the like."

He paused then, almost as an afterthought added, "In short, make certain you've destroyed the body properly or risk them returning as soon as they've sorted out how to reassemble themselves once more." It was a bit more complex than that, of course, but not nearly as difficult to obtain a new form as it was in Heaven. Less paperwork, at any rate, and far less limitations.

[poetryforfish]

"Fascinating." Castiel frowned. "I'm glad we don't have the same concerns about collateral damage here that we did in my world. It isn't just demons who must take human hosts, we are obliged to do the same. Of course with us, it's entirely consensual, but our lives are still bound to theirs while we inhabit them... and their having been with us can place them in danger even when we are not there." That last item was still a concern, of course, but they had other things going for them. "Back home, holy water causes severe discomfort at worst. To think there would be a world where it actually killed... do you even have hunters, here? It seems any local priest could take care of an inf--troublesome situation, if it arose."

He hadn't met any, even when he worked nights. He'd attributed it to being in a small town, but maybe there was just no need. Adam may have to start pulling people from other universes after all. When he and the Winchesters had reached out for additional help in their time, all their volunteers had been other hunters.

"Thankfully our swords are not in such short supply. I have mine, and my goddaughter has one that belonged to a Grigori she killed. She is quite skilled with it. Her name is Claire, I'm sure you will meet her in the course of this. If this Aziraphale has your Michael's blade and holy weapons are as hard to come by as you seem to be implying, we are at least at an advantage there."

[saunterdownwards]

"Ah, yes, the infamous Grigori sword from another reality, being utilized by someone with blessed blood running through her veins," Crowley replied, faintly bemused. He flicked his cigarette away. As it disappeared in mid-fall, he looked to Castiel and commented idly, "Word from Aziraphale is that little relic has Above simply beside themselves. Nobody seems quite certain how dangerous it may be, as it wasn't created in this reality. Different rules, different capabilities, all the above. Uncertainty always did make the lot of them nervous." He grinned toothily, clearly pleased that his former brethren in the Heavens weren't having the best of times with the newest additions to the Antichrist's side of things.

"Below really isn't concerned, for the record. It can kill us, to be certain, but so can all of Above's diminished arsenal. Certainly can't kill us worse. Dead is dead." Without even taking a breath, he abruptly changed the subject. Or, rather, returned back to something previously asked.

"Also, in regards to hunters, provided I'm understanding your meaning of the word and you aren't inquiring how to go about finding some fresh venison, in short the answer is no." He paused then elaborated. "The long answer is that there have been some who have taken personal affront to certain individuals over the ages, particularly during the Crusades, as well as the occasional vendetta and grudge and the like, and mobs were once a possibility back in the torch carrying days if a demon wasn't cunning enough and did something viewed by the intolerable masses as magic of some sort, and of course there's the Witchfinders Army. Time was, they were a necessary asset in keeping those meddlesome hags from accidentally tipping the scales too far in either direction. They stopped being a necessity a few centuries back, really, and there are only two left now. One of them is absolutely nutters. But no, definitely no one identifying as a hunter of demons."

Leaning back into a slouch, Crowley stretched out his long legs and crossed one ankle over the other. "Below has a saying. 'If you don't corrupt them first, you might as well walk them to the Gates of Paradise personally.' They've always kept one eye on the endgame, and always knew their numbers needed to be as high as possible if they wanted to win, and that was when they thought the foretelling of the Antichrist actually held any sort of water. We create chaos, sow discourse, and do what we can to make life just miserable enough that, eventually, only the truly devout keep seeing blessings about them and the rest fall like dominoes to our side. Mass murder, public hysteria, and news worthy disasters have the opposite affect on most ever person on this planet. Blow up a building and everyone flocks to church in prayer for those lost. Blow out someone's tire on their way to an important business meeting, thereby costing them their new promotion, which in turn leads to marital strife and financial issues..." He looked to Castiel and lowered his glasses, giving the angel a knowing look. "Well, then that person begins to question if there is even anyone out there, watching over them. Cause and effect and all of that."

[poetryforfish]

"Maybe... not make such an explicit point of that to her father," Castiel said with a slight wince. "For reasons that are mostly though not entirely my fault, he has a good deal of anxiety about their special status and its potential to bring all the worst sort of attention. This will be hard enough without digging up... all that."

He scowled. "To be honest, I am irritated that no one saw fit to approach me--or any of us--on the matter before jumping right into a declaration of war. I could have told them it wasn't a fatal concern. Adam could have told them. Claire probably would have threatened them in the same breath, but she knows better than to start fights unnecessarily, now. For the most part. And prior to this debacle, it would have even been true! Of course now it's not even a question."

But back to their current options. What-ifs did no good at this point. "Adam will not like it, but if there are no hunters here, no one accustomed to the idea of taking on 'Below' at minimum, he will have to summon volunteers from worlds where such people can be found with some regularity. Especially if both sides feel justified in doing so themselves now, without limitation."

[saunterdownwards]

Crowley considered Castiel's point about Adam bringing in reinforcements from other realities. "Could be tricky," he mused, but there was consideration in his tone. "It's a sound idea, I'll grant you that, however we should always keep in mind that everything young Adam thinks, sees, and does is from the perspective of an adolescent. Before, when his abilities surfaced without him being any wiser or prepared, the world went a bit topsy-turvy for a little while."

He paused, solely for emphasis, then finished his point. "The boy brought back a few extinct animals, had monks popping up from sewer grates all about London, and the city of Atlantis reappeared in the bloody Pacific. Those were things he thought ought to exist, or did, and that's just a few examples. If he's going to do this, he's going to need counsel. He knows how to play, not prepare for a war."

With that said, Crowley returned to something Castiel had said a moment before. "As for Above or Below not approaching anyone before declaring war," he shook his head, "they've been itching for a rematch since the boy turned them down the first time. Waiting for their chance. You lot, you're nothing more than an excuse. Means to an end, that's..." He trailed off, his gaze sweeping across the park slowly, methodically. Surreptitiously, he straightened from his casually slouched pose.

"Right," he said in an unusually calm, even tone, "so it would appear we're no longer alone." Best he could see, from his very casual glancing, there were two party crashers, both from Below. Whether they were working together or rivals trying to gather information to report back, Crowley couldn't be certain. He didn't know either of their names, truth be told, although he'd once exchanged a few notes with one of them, back during the days of the Black Plague.

"Castiel," he continued, "I do believe it's time we made our exit. While normally I'm quite fond of violence," no, he wasn't, but it sounded good, "I'd rather we not draw unnecessary attention to ourselves and would rather not put any of your abilities on display before absolutely necessary. Therefore, as casually as you can possibly manage, we're going to stand up and make our way to my car. In the unlikely event we are approached, kindly allow me to handle the situation and do not draw focus to your blade."

And, not waiting for the angel to disagree, he casually stood up and began heading in his typical saunter toward his waiting Bentley. As he walked, he lit another cigarette. It helped hide the slight tremors in his hands.

[poetryforfish]

"Understood." Castiel had little skill with "casual," but "non-emergency" was something that was definitely within his reach. And it was also potentially an opportunity to get better at casual...ness. He forced his hands to his sides and got up to follow Crowley.

"You also have a preserved--wait--classic car, I see," he observed, almost missing the appropriate terminology. Cars were one of the only things he could even start to make small talk about. "Sam and Dean have an Impala. It's a kind of Chevrolet. Very old for a car, but they can apparently be kept running for some time. I learned about spark plugs when during our stay in the house--that one was a Mustang--but I haven't had occasion or incentive to study further, in their absence."

It was more a selection of loosely connected information than a well-considered discussion, but from what he could tell that was more or less what small talk amounted to.

"I have to say we have better transportation all round in this world--or this part of it, at least. I had to take buses toward the end of my first Apocalypse. It had none of the routine simplicity of this place."

[saunterdownwards]

Crowley had to admit, Castiel wasn't doing such a bad job with simply moving along to the car. Keeping the conversation flowing was key, so he didn't miss a beat in responding when the angel finished.

"A bus across the pond?" he questioned, clear horror and disgust in his tone. With a melodramatic shiver, he shook his head. "I'd rather walk." They reached his car and the doors opened of their own accord. As soon as they were seated, they would also shut of their own accord. "And my car's far more classic than those muscle cars. From back when they truly knew how to make them."

Of course, the trick was keeping it pristine. Crowley was no mechanic so, much like Aziraphale and his bookshop, the demon took certain liberties with keeping his vehicle up to par. As he started the engine and began to back out of his space, Queen's Flat Bottomed Girls began to play on the radio. He quickly ejected the tape - clearly labelled Mozart's Fifth Sonata and not Queen in the slightest - tossed it over his shoulder, and allowed the radio to fall silent.

By the time they reached the end of the parking lot, his car was pushing 65kph. There was the distant sound of screeching tires and locked brakes as he skid out into traffic, paying not the least bit of attention to any of the vehicles swerving to and fro in an effort to get out of his way. "Best to make certain they're not following," he said casually by way of explanation. He took the first right turn they came to on two wheels, without braking, only to rather abruptly come across a traffic jam just ahead.

"Ngh," Crowley grunted in irritation. Rather than slam on his brakes, or make any attempt to slow down, he simply took to the sidewalk. His speedometer was now pushing 90kph and, as he took the next turn with only one finger on one hand grasping the wheel, the car seemed to almost bend with the brick walled corner of the building beside it. It snapped back into shape once it straightened, speeding toward the outer edges of Lower Tadfield with a large cloud of black exhaust trailing behind.

After a second or two, he cast a quick glance toward Castiel and said simply, "Prefer the big cities, myself. Lower Tadfield's a bit picturesque for my taste. Not precisely my style." And definitely not good for his already sullied reputation. The entire town looked as though it had yet to get the memo that decades had passed. Finally, he steered his car off the paved road and onto a dirt one; the tires bounced and the vehicle clanked, while the engine screamed in protest. The speedometer was buried into the dashboard and now trees were flying past at such a blur they seemed to blend together into a solid wall around them.

Then, just as a large quarry began to come into view, the vehicle came to a complete stop. The occupants inside should have been tossed through the windshield from the sudden force. There should have been skidding and the smell of burnt rubber and brake pads. There was none of that. In fact, nothing within the vehicle itself was jostled whatsoever.

Crowley glanced at Castiel and the doors swung open as the car turned off.

"Now, if they choose to show up here, by all means, use your blade until your little angelic heart is content. At least this way we won't wind up on the telly during the nightly news." And, with that, he climbed from his car and lit another cigarette. His other one had flown out the window somewhere during the drive over. It didn't matter the window wasn't actually open. Those sorts of things just happened, sometimes.

[poetryforfish]

With Sam traditionally riding shotgun, Castiel had only occupied the front seat in exigent circumstances, and virtually never at what an ordinary person would consider high speed driving, let alone this. Crowley was making new and alarming decisions about their course faster than he could attempt to discourage them.

"Is it really necessary to-

Shouldn't you have-

Is that--is that legal?

This doesn't seem--WALL!"

It was a testament to Castiel's willingness to trust Adam's judgement regarding Crowley that it was only that last exclamation (and brief apparent emergency) that sent him grabbing for mother-in-law handles that weren't there.

He kept the rest of what occurred to him could be said about the drive to himself, and simply climbed out of the car once they had stopped, teeth still set on edge, standing and looking around them silently for any sign of pursuit.

[saunterdownwards]

The fallen angel couldn't help but smirk a bit; it was rather obvious Castiel was just as nervous with his driving as Aziraphale. Leaning against the side of the car, Crowley took a long drag from his cigarette before casting a glance in the angel's direction.

"If it makes any difference one way or the other, Aziraphale isn't precisely a fan of my driving either. Blesses himself and everything we cross paths with, each and every time," he commented, his tone an odd mixture of prideful and exasperation. He glanced about for a moment before looking back to him once more.

"Isn't really like Below to give pursuit, so you know," he said casually. "Not in this particular instance, at least. Everyone's likely waiting for the word things have begun to make a move that would be viewed as aggressive." He took another drag, exhaled, then grinned through the smoke. "Of course, there are always the ones trying to climb through the ranks, so it's always possible, but I doubt they'll be very successful so long as young Adam has use for us. Likely he's already decided we're to survive this encounter unscathed in case either of us should lose our temper with the other."

He crushed out his smoke beneath his foot then stepped away from his Bentley and took in the large quarry spread out before them. "The original altercation, when it all almost came to an end, happened not far from here, you know," he stated suddenly. He pointed out into the distance. "Just past that edge of town was where I watched that boy's three very human friends defeated War, Famine, and Pollution, with nothing more than sticks and the belief they could." He shook his head and turned to Castiel once again.

"I've seen a great many things since coming topside some eons ago, and I can truly say I've never seen anything quite like it." Slowly, his typical smirk returned. "And, for the record, he's rather fond of my driving," he couldn't help but tease ever so slightly. He was a bit of a bastard that way.

[poetryforfish]

"I think Aziraphale and I will not be lacking common ground when we meet, then,"
Castiel grumbled. Then he looked out in the direction Crowley had indicated.

All three...

Death being in a league of his own, of course.

He remembered facing off with his own Horsemen. Nearly powerless, and then nearly dead, before that moment of vindication when he looked the Horseman in his sunken eyes as cut the ring from his hand. It had taken every last shred of strength he'd had, had taken the height of Winchester ingenuity and grit to take War's. It was hard to imagine anyone beating them back with such humble instruments.

"With sticks?" It sounded a little like disbelief, but only because he was at the limit of his imagination in trying to conceive how that was possible. Maybe there was more to it. There had to be more to it. They were blessed in some way. Part of some primal tree that... He couldn't even think of what.

[saunterdownwards]

Crowley gave a snort of bemusement but his tone was laced with understanding as he tipped his head. "Sticks," he repeated. "Ones just lying about on the ground. I'd wager he thought of it on the spot." Then he paused, studying Castiel for a long moment before a bit of realization struck.

"Right," he said by way of re-centering himself. Best to get with the explanation. "First thing you have to do, in regards to anything dealing with our young leader, is to remember that he possesses the ingenuity of a prepubescent human boy and power rivaled only by the Almighty Himself, with just the right amount of Lucifer's stubbornness. He doesn't simply think outside the box; he throws out the box and creates a sphere instead."

It was important Castiel understand. Crowley studied him a moment longer before adding, "The only limitations that boy truly possesses are the ones he places upon himself and he tends to make them up as he goes along. If you don't want to drive yourself quite mental dwelling upon such things, I'd advise you to follow one simple guideline both Aziraphale and I have become quite fond of keeping in mind since this all began."

He pulled out another cigarette and, lighting it, finished with a flourish, "When it comes to Adam Young, even the impossible is quite possible."

[poetryforfish]

Impossible things...

"What about more than impossible?" he asked. "What about unknowable? You said that the weapons of Heaven, such as there are, are in short supply and uncertain locations. What would happen if Adam were to..." It was an insane idea, but from what Crowley was saying he needed to get used to having those on a regular basis. "Could he decide to know where they are? How to find them?"

It was nearly the only thing he could think of that would be a game changer without necessarily being immediately apparent to their adversaries. And on the subject of knowledge...

"I need to know everything you can tell me about Lucifer here. The conditions and details of his imprisonment, his objectives within a theoretical Apocalypse, how he prefers to fight. If he can be expected to seek alliances, and with whom."

[saunterdownwards]

"That," Crowley said after a thoughtful pause, "is rather a good idea, actually." He paused. "Well, the first bit, about Adam knowing where the weapons might be located. The latter..." He hissed slightly. He almost looked uncomfortable despite his casual stance as he shifted a bit.

Logically speaking, he knew that he had Adam's protection, even when it came to the likes of Lucifer. He also knew that the son far outweighed the father, power-wise, as well. However, if there was one being capable of putting fear into him in a way no other could manage it was the Devil himself.

It was something he'd been trying to work on but it wasn't easy to let go of eons of survival skills learned the hard way. Placing his faith (of all wretched things) in the hands of a young boy prone to flights of fancy and whimsy was much easier done in the heat of the moment, when he didn't have time to dwell on just how creative Lucifer could be when it came to those who betrayed him.

Fortunately, there was something that Castiel had said that stuck with Crowley. It made for an easy enough way to delve into the topic, he figured. Better than obviously stalling for any longer than he already had.

"First off, what do you mean, details of his imprisonment?" he questioned. "Fairly certain the Good Book itself spells it out rather clearly." Then, it occurred to him that perhaps things had somehow gone differently in Castiel's reality. Maybe the Bible didn't cover Lucifer's Fall from Grace. Or maybe it happened in a different way. With a shrug, he kept his tone almost deadpan as he retold a tale that was almost as old as time itself. "Got himself worked up a bit when God wanted all of Heaven to bow to humanity and decided he could do things better. Tried to take on the Throne, wound up cast out, and set up shop Below. Stop me if any of this doesn't sound familiar..."

[poetryforfish]

"Set up shop doesn't sound familiar," Castiel spoke up quickly. Crowley had asked him to. "Wasn't he caged? Why would the Archangels be content to let him walk free, just so long as he didn't do so in Heaven? What point is there in that? Weren't they at all concerned for humanity--particularly given that vessels don't exist here as they do in my world? Why leave him free to act when there isn't even a small segment of the population he would be compelled to not slaughter? If not humanity, then the schedule at least! What would prevent him starting the End early?"

None of which Crowley might have an answer for, he realized shortly after. He hadn't exactly been on that side of things, from the sound of it. Castiel stopped, took a breath, let it out.

"I suppose I should have established a point of departure first, before asking. But I hadn't expected the differences to be this great." He looked at Crowley, though his hand didn't leave the pommel of the blade. They may be having a relatively relaxed conversation now, but they'd come out here to do it with good reason. "Back home, he was locked away. Sealed in a cage for hundreds of thousands of years, until he became little more than legend, even in Hell. Demons regarded him the way we did Father. Virtually none of them could recall the last time they'd seen him but they trusted that he was somewhere, that he would come back and fight for them. Support them in their destructive efforts. Only in their case, there was some merit to the belief."

It wasn't a particularly necessary barb, but though they had reconciled his Father's conspicuous absence during that time still stung.

"The demon Lilith ruled Hell, not him, and when the time came she started breaking the Seals that held the Cage shut. I was told--many of us were told--at the time that we were trying to stop her. But it was really an effort to distract those of us who would have been unable to reconcile ending the world with protecting it, until it was too late to argue the point. While we chased her mayhem all over the globe, the Archangels were making sure she succeeded wherever we weren't. The breaking of the Seals opened the Cage. We won by pushing Lucifer back in, Michael with him. The key was the combined rings of the Horsemen--I was expecting a similar artifact to be necessary here as well."

[saunterdownwards]

At first, listening to the differences had almost been amusing. Interesting, to be sure, but even humorous in a twisted, looking at life through a skewed lens, kind of way. However, the more Castiel spoke, the faster Crowley's mood shifted. By the time it was all said and done, in fact, he was equal parts horrified and disgusted.

"Hang on a tic," he muttered, crushing out his cigarette before focusing completely, and fully, upon the angel beside him. "Lilith? The bloody slag is running things?" The thought of it was absolutely baffling. With a slow shake of his head because no, he definitely couldn't make sense of any of it, he exhaled slowly.

"Right. Well, there aren't any bloody Seals, first off." He paused. "Well, that isn't entirely true. There were Seals, but they foretold the coming of young Adam, not some sort of tools to assist in breaking his father out of some sort of bloody cage... and what do you mean, why wouldn't Lucifer simply wipe out all of humanity? That's your Lucifer's play, then? Just wipe out the whole lot and start over? Never even gave the thought mayhaps they'd make rather good fodder for the battle of Everything if they were simply corrupted?"

Yeah. No. Crowley couldn't wrap his mind around such a thing. He paused, focused on the unnecessary act of breathing for a few seconds, and tried to get his now-racing thoughts in semblance of order. It was only then that it occurred to him that Castiel kept mentioning Archangels but never God himself. And that's when the biggest change between their two realities became absolutely crystal clear to the fallen angel.

"It's God."

Realizing the two words sounded rather odd, especially coming from the likes of him, he continued quickly. "Never once have you mentioned the Lord being involved where you're from, yet here that isn't the case. He tends to take a backseat these days, to hear Aziraphale speak of it, but he's there. Here, Lucifer went Below and began to rule it, slowly and methodically plotting the day he would return to Above and overthrow the Almighty personally, all the while knowing the Almighty was waiting for any chance to smite him should he show his hand too early."

It made sense, in an extremely twisted sort of way. Crowley shook his head and let out a puff of air. "Do hope you aren't insulted as it might peeve Adam a bit, but I must say I'm rather suddenly glad to be from this reality. Yours sounds rather awful even by Below standards. Lucifer might be bloody terrible but at least I've been about him since the beginning. Actual corrupted human souls running the joint? I shudder at the horror of it all."

[poetryforfish]

"Well, we did manage to kill Lilith," Castiel amended, as if this new piece of information was going to make anything better. "After Lucifer was caged again, a crossroads demon named Crowley took over the throne. I didn't pay close attention or even care much at the time, because during the Apocalypse, he'd been helpful. He had realized that the eradication of humanity would leave him and his kind with little to do and no way to expand their numbers. And had enough foresight to understand that humans were the only things standing between demons and their own Lord's inevitable wrath and boredom."

He shook his head briefly at Crowley's question. "Lucifer preferred the mindless undead to the corrupted. The virus--humans called it Croatoan--gave him the human cannon fodder he needed. Free will is generally frowned upon in our society, and whatever else may be said of him, Lucifer is still an angel. In his mind he didn't have time to win humans over."

"As for God..." Castiel scowled. "No one knows where He is. I spent months searching for him when I rebelled. I never found any trace. Oh, He brought me back to life when I died for the cause. Did it twice--remotely. But that was as involved as He ever got in any of it. I can barely remember the last time I saw Him, back home." The next part was hard to say, and harder to say without emotion. That was the last thing he wanted to do in front of a demon, but... Crowley had wings. He'd been part of the old family too, once. "I... I don't think He lives there anymore. Anywhere in my world. I think He left after we'd won."

He snorted. "Though I understand your sentiment completely. I'm sure young Adam would be relieved to hear we are accustomed to much thornier problems than was apparently anticipated."

[saunterdownwards]

When Crowley had first learned about the Antichrist bringing an angel in from another reality, he hadn't been certain what to think. He hadn't really been nervous, namely because he knew Adam wouldn't stand for any in-fighting among those he considered "his", but he'd definitely thought it a bit odd. Aziraphale had been an exception, not the rule. However, as Castiel began to speak about his Father's absence in his reality, it began to make sense. Crowley certainly wasn't any fan of the Almighty - particularly considering he'd gotten the short end of the proverbial stick from the deity when he hadn't really done anything to truly deserve it - but even for him the thought of God simply not being there. Just... gone. It was a truly horrible thing to consider. Far worse than anything he could come up with to do to someone, much less all of Creation.

Of course, he didn't know Castiel nearly well enough to feel comfortable fully voicing such things. He didn't even allow the aghast expression he wore to linger for more than a few seconds before he was once again fully composed. His stomach, however, continued to churn even as his voice held steady. He spoke sincerely, though. It was the closest to compassion that he'd allow.

"I suppose bringing you back a few times says something. The rest, however..." Then he employed a tactic of Aziraphale's whenever the Principality learned of something he didn't particularly like or wish to discuss. He gave a disdainful sniff and didn't comment on it further.

Instead, he simply said, "Well, He's certainly here, as is Lucifer. Although, at least in the latter's case, he isn't capable of physically coming to Lower Tadfield. His son decided that much, the first time around. Doubt he's keen on changing his mind on the subject, now." He paused then pointed out, "Which means, eventually, if Adam doesn't go after his Father on his own terms, Lucifer will force his hand... and, right, now all I can think is let's only hope he doesn't take a page out of your Lucifer's book and turn a town into bloody zombies to get some attention. Give me a moment, if you will." Because really, he'd thought he could ignore his own reaction to the things he'd just been told but even he had his limits.

He pulled off his sunglasses after a second, and pinched the bridge of his nose. His mind was still spinning with the odd differences and changes in Castiel's reality. Some corrupt human soul - a Crossroads Demon - was using his name and sullying his reputation, Lucifer was locked in a cage of some sort, and the Creator of All was MIA. It sounded like some sort of book series that had started out one way and strayed another entirely halfway through. There. That last thought helped. Not to mention, it wasn't his reality. Wasn't much more than a terrible story he'd just been told.

Opening his eyes, Crowley refocused on Castiel. He slid his sunglasses back into place before flashing his trademark smirk. "Right. Apologies and all that wretchedness; the gravity of the situation you'd described in your, ah, previous home, suddenly decided to make itself fully felt. Now, as I was saying. I do believe it would be best if we considered having Adam be the one to approach Lucifer rather than wait for a rather obvious, likely deadly for any bystanders, trap of some sort to be laid."

And yes, he was absolutely suggesting they send the boy in to do the heavy lifting. He might have been willing to face the Devil before, with Aziraphale by his side, but that was before he'd truly understood what Adam Young could do when he set his mind to it. Now that he knew, though, he saw no shame in not choosing suicide over utilizing the best weapon they had in their arsenal. The fact that he was just a boy was merely semantics.

[poetryforfish]

Castiel gave Crowley a hard look at the suggestion. "As someone who has attempted to make decisions about an Antichrist's options in the face of the Apocalypse without consulting the child first, I would advise you to let Adam be the one to make that call."

There was a voice in the back of his mind saying You see? He isn't such a different Crowley at all. He has no loyalty to anyone. He shoved it into a corner. He should wait. Rei would tell him to wait. That not everything that looked like misery waiting to happen actually was. It wasn't outright betrayal, it was just self preservation. Second nature to a demon. It would be unreasonable to expect otherwise.

But it didn't mean he wouldn't keep an eye on him.

"Just be careful how you phrase that to Claire," he warned. "She's very attached. Besides, what would you propose he do on meeting Lucifer? Compel him to listen to reason? Propose an armistice to buy us time to get to the weapons? Make a cage and force him into it?"

It was less the fact that Adam was an innocent child than that he was a diplomatically inexperienced child who might easily be tricked or otherwise taken advantage of that had Castiel worried. He was in large part still a pragmatist himself in emergencies. While he found it nearly impossible to refuse if family asked something unwise or unlikely of him in the name of innocents etcetera when it came to world-saving, everyone did what they could to the utmost extent that it could be done.

No war was without its casualties. People getting hurt, dead, or worse-than-dead would always be a possibility. The question was whether they were too screwed enough at the moment for it to be worth trying to find and alternate solution. And as a visitor, he really wasn't the best judge of that. He would rather hear from the resident Free Will adherent of this world's angelic society first, of course.

"And what do you suggest we do about the Almighty, as you call Him? My ministry may have grown considerably but converting Him to universal Free will would test the limits of my skill as an evangelical counselor."

[saunterdownwards]

There it was. The proverbial ruffling of an angel's feathers. Righteous indignation always served as a good balm to his ego when he felt he was becoming a bit too much like his former self. Crowley did a rather good job of hiding his smirk of satisfaction even as he held his hands up in front of himself in a sign of surrender. His expression was one of schooled indifference. "It was just a suggestion," he said smoothly as he dropped his hands back to his sides and gave a shrug. "If you lot want to wait around for Lucifer to make the first move, be my guest. That should go over swimmingly, I imagine. I'm certain he'll extend a proper invitation and won't simply lay waste to all of London or capture and murder all of us, to get the boy's attention." He couldn't sound any more sardonic if he tried.

He thought for a moment, then, not sure if he should bother to respond about how they were going to deal with God, of all things. Finally, he simply said, "As for whatever you want to call the being responsible for every bloody thing, and how we're to deal with Him, I do think that's a topic best saved for when Aziraphale is about." It was the closest he was going to get to admitting he hadn't the foggiest idea and was hoping the Principality might have a suggestion or two worth mentioning. Or maybe someone else would come up with an idea. It wasn't likely to be him, though.

"At any rate," he pressed on, "as compelling as this conversation as been, I do believe it's run its course. We can't very well plan the whole war ourselves. Too many others to take into account and, frankly, none of it matters if young Adam decides to go another route." He began to cross around his car toward the driver's side. The door swung open of its own accord and he paused, resting his forearms on the roof while looking across it to Castiel.

"I have to say, this went far better than I'd first imagined," he admitted with a teasing smirk. "I suppose I can keep my bias in check, if you can, long enough for us to help save the bloody world." He tipped his head slightly before climbing into his car and slamming the door shut. Within a few seconds, the engine was on and he was peeling away, bits of gravel and dust filling the air in his wake.