#( dyn: murderdeals (crowley) 💀 jay z in the range. crazy and deranged )

[qapsiel]

@murderdeals ;; things said on discord (still accepting) Crowley said: "You know bullying is my love language and you’re still here, so…"

                                "CORRECTION," CASTIEL SAYS, "you're still here. This bunker is not your home." Well, neither is it Castiel's, strictly speaking, and he doesn't want to think about how Dean basically told him to leave when he was human (he had his reasons, of course, and Castiel knows this — which doesn't much help his feelings, though), but at least the brothers aren't bothered that Castiel is here. He even got his own room and Netflix account! Crowley's presence, however, gets nothing more than annoyed eye-rolls. "You have your palace. Funny how the king of hell doesn't want to spend time there."

[qapsiel]

Castiel's 'birthday': He'll find an envelope, red with a golden stamp on the back. On the front there's just his name in pretty handwriting and inside? A photo that shows Crowley with a rose between his teeth, where in the upper left corner is written "For my number one fan". In the bottom right, Crowley's signature. Congrats, you got an autograph from the biggest star in town!

Birthday Shenanigans!

                            THE ENVELOPE CATCHES HIS ATTENTION IMMEDIATELY. He's curious — he's never received a letter before, after all, and he thought writing someone in a non-digital way was out of fashion these days. So, with growing anticipation, Castiel carefully opens the letter and pulls out the photo. His befuddled mind needs a second to understand its content and to switch from excitement to annoyance. Fucking Crowley. The photo goes up in flames in his hands, but he keeps the envelope, if only because his name looks pretty in that handwriting. The King of Hell must never know.

[qapsiel]

@murderdeals ;; prompts for new intimacy (still accepting) "I dreamt about us kissing." Crowley, grimacing

                               SOMETHING AKIN TO HORROR CREEPS UPON HIS FACE. "You did what now?" It had been a nightmare for sure. Castiel is relieved that he's an angel and doesn't require sleep and thus would never have to live through such a terrible imaginary act. This raises the question of whether demons sleep? They were human once, it's true, but they're anything but now. "Please stop including me in your weird little daydreams. It's inappropriate. I'm not going to kiss you."

[qapsiel]

@murderdeals ;; 10 things I hate about you (still accepting) Crowley said: “Well, maybe you’re not afraid of me, but I’m sure you’ve thought about me naked.”

                           NOBODY WILL NOTICE IF CASTIEL SMITES THE KING OF HELL, RIGHT? Sure, the underworld will get into a little Civil War again about who will wear the crown next, but Castiel couldn't care less. Let the demons kill each other, really. "And why would I think about that?" he asks, not even bothering to look at Crowley. "I can see your true face. No matter what vessel you're using, your hideous demonic visage will always shine through."

[qapsiel]

@murderdeals ;; spending the night together (still accepting) Crowley said: "This could be fun! it's a sleepover!"

                               HAVING TO SPEND A NIGHT WITH THE KING OF HELL IS ALREADY A DAUNTING PROSPECT. His cheerful exclamation is just the annoying cherry on top, really. Castiel rubs at his eye, trying to find his inner calm that regularly leaves him whenever Crowley is around. "I don't need to sleep," he reminds the demon. "And I don't think you need to, either, do you?" Even though he'd have to admit that it would be fun to see the king of hell in hot dog pajama pants like the pair Dean owns. "Can't you just come back when Sam and Dean wake up again." It sounds more like an order than a question.

[qapsiel]

// me using Beyoncé lyrics for dynamic tags? more likely than you think

[qapsiel]

@murderdeals ;; The Mick sentence starters (still accepting) Crowley said: "Get outta here, the tv's mine."

                           HE SNATCHES THE REMOTE OFF THE COFFEE TABLE. "I don't think so," he says as he pointedly sits down in an armchair next to the couch. As an angel, Castiel doesn't really care about comfort and decoration and all that stuff, but even he has to admit that a proper 3-star hotel is nicer than the rundown motels the brothers usually stay in. Example number one: He doesn't have to squeeze right next to the king of hell on a ratty old sofa with questionable stains. And the TV is a flat-screen with better color definition. He points the remote at the television and flicks through the channels until he finds what he's looking for: "There's a rerun of the Jerry Springer Show I want to watch."

[qapsiel]

@murderdeals in response to Crowley being a bitch

                          A DEMON TRYING TO SNEAK UP ON HIM? Maybe if he took a bath in a tub full of perfume — otherwise, Castiel would smell that sulfur stench everywhere. So: He doesn't even have to turn around to know that Crowley is, undoubtedly, trying something funny, and it's said with exasperation because Castiel doesn't have the nerve to deal with silly shenanigans today. Luckily, the king of hell seems to accept his defeat.

                          "No. Uriel was the funniest angel," he corrects because he does, in fact, not hear the sarcasm. "His jokes were hilarious." Unfortunately, it's not only telling the jokes, it's also the way you perform them — Castiel once recounted one of Uriel's stories but reaped nothing but silence, whereas everyone had been bursting with laughter after Uriel shared the joke. Castiel has yet to learn how to be intentionally funny. "What were you trying to achieve, anyway?" he adds with a frown, unaware of the note sticking to his back.

[qapsiel]

@murderdeals ;; 10 things I hate about you (still accepting) Crowley said: "Someone better call Chuck.  Looks like he’s missing his prettiest angel."

                          IF CROWLEY COULD SEE HIS TRUE FACE, he'd see all of Castiel's 393.5 eyes rolling in exasperation. This demon will be the death of him, but not because of an angel blade or something similar — no, because Castiel will implode of annoyance. "Do these lines typically work for you?" he asks with a tired expression. "I didn't think humanity could sink so far, but if that's what you need these days, well, then it's hardly a surprise that they're ruining the world around them."

[qapsiel]

                           IT'S LESS NEGOTIATING THAN COMMANDING CROWLEY TO DO SOMETHING, but if the king of hell feels better using that particular term, Castiel doesn't care as long as his demands are met swiftly. Daphne. Is she alright? Did they hurt her? Castiel knows how wicked and cruel demons can be, and while he can heal whatever physical injuries she might have sustained, it's a whole different story when it comes to her psychological trauma. Perhaps he has to wipe her memory from today, but something like that is always tricky. And what will she say when she finds out that the amnesiac she found during her weekly walk is an angel? Castiel feels sick just thinking about it. Why, oh why, did everything have to change?

                            "Since you asked so nicely," he responds coldly before letting go of Crowley's finger. His hand still hovers over the demon's, though, ready to grasp him again should he get the foolhardy idea to use whatever demons do to disappear (they don't have wings, after all). Castiel won't risk Daphne's life.

HIS JOINTS ARE ABOUT TO SNAP. Congrats, Cassie, you're successfully breaking a demon's finger. What a killer! Crowley should imagine a laughing audience at this thought, one he doesn't utter while snarling right back at the angel. This shite hurts. And for what? Straining to roll his eyes at Castiel's catfish retort, because of course this moron wouldn't get the reference, Crowley gives up on his attempts at pulling away. His glare? Not dimming. Got to make a point in spite of his current disadvantage— an angel blade could do the trick, sure. But won't help his plan.

" You're negotiating with me? " Cue a fleeting flicker of glee; he just loves it when they do that! It dies off a beat later. " Okay! If you insist, boy wonder. " Does subtle taunt swing along? Guaranteed. That's when he uses his free hand to gesture at the one Castiel's holding in his vice grip, expectation tugging at his brows. " Now, would you kindly... " Aaaand Crowley's voice turns into a hoarse bark: " Let go of my damn finger? " Don't worry, Castiel, he's taking you to the poor, unassuming girl in a blink.

[qapsiel]

                             AND HE'S GONE. Castiel doesn't even have the time to come up with a witty remark about giving Dean a kiss from the King of Hell. Since he can't think of any retort right now, he isn't bothered by Crowley's quick departure, quite the contrary. This is how you get rid of that annoying demon? That's really good to know. He'll remember that the next time Crowley pesters him with silly questions. Hey, Crowley, we didn't get to finish our conversation about your love life. You got time now?

                             Feeling rather smug, Castiel looks over the laminated menu on the table before he does, indeed, open a message to Dean. He's not in the habit of texting him redundant questions or pointless texts (he hasn't, after all, gotten the hang of this whole modern texting business yet), but he's here, and the phone's already in his hand. 

[text: Dean] Pecan, strawberry-rhubarb, or pumpkin pie?

                             Crowley's bothersome nature makes at least one person happy today.

Don't feed the troll; a saying that must've been invented as some sort of Crowley-repellant. Sure, it initially wasn't, but Castiel makes good use of it and renders the demon at loss for witty remarks to counter with. If said demon finds himself disappointed, it doesn't show in the way he keeps smugly simpering at the angel— in truth, he feels rather victorious. No more digging into his nonexistent love life. Barely existent. There is some spark between himself and Dean, can't deny that.

" So considerate of you, my dearest Cassie ", Crowley fakes gratitude, slow-blinking. " But don't worry. My face will be just fine. Ah, and give him a kiss from me. " That said, one blink later Castiel sits all by himself. Who got dumped during a date gone wrong now? R.I.P., Jimmy's handsome face.

[qapsiel]

                                 CASTIEL KEEPS HIS GRIP ON CROWLEY'S FINGER, if only because it's satisfying to see him struggle like that, hear him rasp in pain, and glare at Castiel because he doesn't dare to do anything else. Good. Now, they established the power balance here; Crowley is nothing more than an annoying little demon, and he should be glad Castiel is generous enough not to smite him right here and now. The King of Hell should have left him alone and forgotten; Castiel might have never regained his memories without Crowley's little help.

                                  "I did not catch any catfish for her, nor do I think she's particularly interested in fish, anyway," he points out, unaware of what catfish have to do with their current situation and Daphne. Crowley's talking nonsense again, it seems, but Castiel is used to that. "Take me to her now," he repeats his command, eyes blazing a little brighter now, and his grip around Crowley's finger getting even firmer. "And after I ensure her safety, we may talk more." Because as unwilling as Castiel is to admit it, Crowley could be of help.

CASTIEL ADMITTING THAT THEY'VE BEEN PARTNERS BEFORE WOULD USUALLY BE REASON FOR CROWLEY TO DROP SOME WITTY REMARK. Keyword would. Because the air tightening around them and that menacing, shiny pair of eyes on him? Isn't really motivating. Does the angel have to get that dramatic? Crowley refuses to back away in spite of what nervousness crawls underneath his designer suit, expectation arching a solitary brow. " Plans go wrong, sometimes. That's life ", is all he mutters. No nickname, nothing like that.

Just when he means to let his hand drop, Castiel's vice grip around that raised finger stops him. Face twisting into a pained grimace, his attempt at stifling a quiet rasp is crowned with failure. Sure, he could make a joke on how his finger isn't another part of Dean, no matter how much Castiel might miss the latter.

But does he really want that to be the last thing he says before this completely mental angel smites him? Trying to pull out of Castiel's grip, he snarls. Glares up at him. " I told you she's doing just fine! " Cue a beat or two of hesitation which result in an eyeroll. " You really want to show up to her? Imagine how crushed she'll be when she figures out that you were catfishing her. "

[qapsiel]

                          CASTIEL NARROWS HIS EYES AT CROWLEY. He doesn't step back when the demon comes closer, even though the air immediately fills with the stench of sulfur — no, quite the contrary, he takes a step himself and bridges the last couple of inches until they're chest to chest and Castiel can loom menacingly, eyes burning a bright blue as he looks down at the King of Hell. "We've been partners before," he bites out, "and look where that go us." Castiel should have never listened to Crowley and his foolish plan to find Purgatory. He should have asked Dean for help, even if he'd wanted nothing more than to give Dean the ending he deserved, the family he'd always wanted. Because in the end? Look where he is now: without Lisa and Ben, trying to stop another apocalypse. And it's all Castiel's fault.

                           He grabs Crowley's raised finger and squeezes hard. A little more, and bones will break. "You will tell me where Daphne is, and if there is one hair out of place, I will show you that Hell isn't the worst place to be." Daphne. She's innocent in all this, an ordinary human who took pity on a helpless stranger without memories. Castiel will not let them harm her. She deserves so much better.

AN IMPASSIVE BLINK ALONG THE LINES OF "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" IS ALL CASTIEL REAPS FOR HIS COMMENT. Can't expect flappy boy over there to understand Crowley's business, which is, in fact, going to die if Dick and his minions take over. More souls for heaven would that make. Because no chance to tempt them into bargains for good times, obscene wealth, yada yada, before the Leviathans eat them up like hot dogs. They spread like wildfire. Crowley's so not going to bother and explain, besides he lacks the time to even consider as much ere Castiel pops up in front of him and just— his hand still open while no longer occupied by the phone, the demon shoots that feathered prick a glare.

" Bloody hell, Rambo ", he barks, now looking down at those shambles. " What happened to communication? " Rest in pieces, good device. But Crowley isn't good, he's Crowley; of course he's got another. Doesn't mean he'll pull it up just for rabid Cassie to grind that one, too. Alas, the angel blade is useless when he needs ex-Emmanuel right here alive. A disgruntled sigh later, he lets that same blade disappear and squints up at Castiel, expectant albeit brimming with doubt.

" So? " Hang on for a beat or two. Slightly, he dips his chin whereas his brows arch upward in the meantime. " Where do we start looking for the mysterious would-be-solution? " Cue a crooked simper. " Before you run your mouth in the bitchy way: Yes, I said we. If they get you so far as to stand here spotting your wit's end, you need a partner, for starters. Secondly... " He inches a tad closer then, scanning the angel's attire that's still his now dead Alter Ego's. " You just handed me leverage on a silver platter. And! " Obligatory finger raised. " I have an insurance, should I, say, suffer an acute case of smiting. "

Dirty little secret. If the lackeys still keeping an eye on Daphne don't hear from Crowley every other hour? Bye bye, girl.

[qapsiel]

                            LUCK (AND STRATEGY) SEEM TO BE ON CASTIEL'S SIDE. He seems momentarily gleeful when Crowley has to put his sunken ship on his small but growing pile of already sunken ships before he schools his expression again. No need to get cocky; fate can change just as quickly. Unfortunately, the King of Hell wants to keep blabbering instead of focusing on their game, and it's really distracting.

                             "He has been on his knees in front of me," he corrects as he puts his pen away. It had been a very reverent position, almost as if in prayer, his hand outstretched. Of course, due to Naomi's brainwashing, Castiel had almost killed him at that time, but still. Dean's position and words had managed to get through to Castiel. "That's a miss. A2."

ONE SHIP DOWN! It's... something, at least. And lookit, Crowley is smiling from one ear to another like a wee lass! Not even that much bothered about Castiel's lack of reaction to his previous comment regarding Dean eye-diddling him. Which wasn't said in mockery. Although there is a certain strategy behind mentioning it just now— It's the angel's question that conjures a huffed laugh from the demon, who again has to sacrifice one of his own miniature ships. Oh well. Bye bye, thought with a heavy heart as he plucks it out and puts it aside.

" Sunk. " Now back to the matter at hand. " Can't lie, there was a time where I would've been jealous. Raging, even. " No, Crowley keeps his chin resting in one palm to act super bored. That game is boring. But the prize? Priceless. Worth it. " I know that look, Cassie. The fact he hasn't gotten on his knees in front of you, yet? Borders a miracle. C9. "

[qapsiel]

                                "I'M SURE THERE ARE ENOUGH SOULS IN HELL TO TORTURE FOR ALL ETERNITY." And besides, if the Leviathans wipe out all of humanity, there will be an influx of souls to Heaven and Hell, anyway — more than both realms could handle at such short notice, probably. So really: why aren't the other angels helping? (At least the ones still alive because they didn't get in Castiel's way and weren't slaughtered like innocent lambs at the butcher's. Oh, where was his Father when all this happened, where was God when half his children were killed by their own brother? He punished His favorite son for leading humanity astray and not bowing down to the new creation, but when His firstborns butchered each other in a civil war, He turned a blind eye. Oh, Castiel is overcome with grief and also anger at God and himself for ever wandering so far astray.)

                                 Then Crowley pulls out his mobile device and threatens to call Sam and Dean, and in a knee-jerk reaction, Castiel pops up right in front of him and yanks the phone out of the demon's hands, crumbling it in his fist. Bits of plastic, glass, and metal rain to the ground, along with a couple of drops of blood where sharp pieces tore Castiel's palm open. The wounds close immediately. "No," he says, ignoring that Crowley's still holding the angel blade. The very idea of Crowley telling Sam and Dean that Castiel is still alive –– it would make everything worse. If at all, Castiel has to do it personally. But how? It might be better to reveal himself with a solution to the Leviathan problem. That would be the proverbial oil on troubled waters. "You will not tell them about me until I've found a way to deal with the Leviathans."

ANGRY ANGELS AREN'T EXACTLY FUN COMPANY. Hear it from a demon who constantly teeters on the verge of getting his ass busted by some of those shiny guys. So, naturally, Crowley keeps his distance. With a sudden upward flick of his gaze toward the shattering light bulb flinches, reflex lifting one of his arms to shield his face from glass rain. Castiel gets 10/10 points on the drama scale! It's an annoyed quasi-deadpan stare Crowley pins the angel, who's balls deep in his self-pity era, with. Well, can't completely blame him. The situation is almost hopeless.

" Why I care? Hm, let's see. " That counterquestion gets flung back as a scoff, followed by pointed gesticulating to emphasize on his own dilemma: " No humanity. Means no soul trade. Means my business is bloody dead! " Crowley rounds his performance off by opening his arms in a languid shrug, ere letting them drop back.

" So, am I getting that right ", he trails off, brows knitting into a scowl. Give him a second, or two. And he points in Castiel's general direction with that blade in his hand. " You'd rather let your loverboys down —now that they, according to your heartfelt speech, need you more than ever— and cast your rebellion against daddy for the greater good legacy out of the frigging window... " Cue a fleeting upturn of brows now, although frustration keeps grating and gradually raising his voice.

" Than put your adult pants back on and at least try to finish what you started?! " Shaking his head with sheer disbelief, Crowley lowers the angel blade again and finally sighs. " I mean, given the chances here, you'll die either way. Nothing to lose. But you do you, I guess. " So much for soldier. Dying in battle. Honor and all that blah blah. " Hey, let's check how Moose and Squirrel are going to take the news. Shall we? " Now he draws his phone to go through the contacts list, muttering. " Katniss opting out of her own rebellion. What a plot twist. "

[qapsiel]

                             CASTIEL DOESN'T GRANT CROWLEY'S DRAMATIC ANTICS ANY REACTION. Lucifer made him lick the floor clean; calling his sex life nasty business is sure as Hell less severe compared to that humiliation. Also, he sees it for what it is: a diversion tactic to buy him time because, apparently, talking about your love life is not easy for the king of Hell. Maybe it's like Castiel's sex life: nonexistent. But where the angel can freely admit to that, Crowley seems unwilling to share this information.

                             As predicted, the answer that comes is another jab at Castiel. "You know," he says, and then artfully uses the teenager slang he heard on the streets once: "Same." Going on a date with Crowley? As much as Castiel would love to experience a rendezvous just to see what all the fuss is about for humans, he'd rather eat his own wings than go with the king of Hell. "I'm going to text Dean to call me with a fake emergency so I can leave without you losing your face," he adds, pulling out his phone. Yes, he watched one too many romcoms.

Nasty business? Crowley tucks in his chin, fake shock snapping his eyes wide open as he slowly brings a palm to his own chest. When he elects to add verbal emphasis, it starts with a gasp: " You hurt my feelings! " And of course he goes on, a bit more edge to his voice: " That tongue is a weapon. Poetry can't romanticize that level of cruelty which inhabits this poor vessel. Lucifer is a saint in comparison. " Dramatics. It's Crowley, what do you expect? Mostly in order to buy time to think, because he set the bar high and Castiel is none to back off— give him a moment to brace himself.

The demon's faux outrage wanes from his mien to make room for nonchalance, whereas his hand slithers off his chest to accompany its counterpart atop the table. A twitch of brows, Crowley's attention moves to the angel's hands.

" Well, I don't have to tell you anything about my worst date, Sparkles. " He pauses, slow-blinking up at Castiel and gradually curves his mouth into a smile. " It's happening right now. " He imagines everyone who dates that angel deserves sincere condolences for going through loads of wise-ass corrections for every second sentence. Lessons nobody needs. And weird, soul-stabbing stares on top.