Dean sits outside the summoning circle in a chair, reading the Latin. Reading Latin is not his favorite thing to do, but desperate times. The lights flicker ominously after he finishes, snapping the book shut, and when they flicker back on, Crowley is in the middle of the summoning circle, looking vaguely disheveled.
“What in the blistering fuck,” he snaps.
“Yeah, well. Wanted to see you face to face.”
“Listen, as someone who invented FaceTime-“
“What are you doing that’s pissing Cas off so bad?”
Crowley pauses in dusting off his jacket. “What?”
“Any time you and Cas are alone together, Cas’ eyes are practically on fire. He won’t tell me why. So I’m asking you.”
Crowley looks close to grinning, which is a bad sign. Has to be. “Oh, is that so?”
“Don’t play games with me, Crowley, I’m not in the mood.”
“Life is a game, Dean. And, as in all games, information is-“
“Crowley,” Dean says, very clearly. “Tell me what you’re doing to piss off Cas, or I’m gonna leave you here, forever.”
Crowley rolls his eyes. “No, you won’t.”
Dean folds his arms. “Yeah? Try me.”
“For one thing, my mother-“
“Will leave you here to rot.”
Crowley tilts his head. Dean waits.
“Well,” Crowley says, reminiscently. “It was a cold winter night in the Ice Age, and the angel and I passionately consummated-“
Dean scowls. “Okay, fuck this.” He turns on his heel and closes the door to one of the Bunker’s infinite spare rooms/torture chambers, walks up the stairs, and heads for the kitchen.
For reasons Dean does not really have the capacity to understand, Cas loves washing dishes. Dean doesn’t get it all. Washing dishes is one of God’s funny repetitive little traps that makes you want to jump off a bridge. But Cas loves ‘em, so Dean knows this is where he’ll be. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, his hair disheveled, and Dean’s heart constricts for a moment before he remembers why he’s here.
“Hello, Dean.” Cas doesn’t look up from the dish he’s working on. “We need more sponges.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll… I’ll add ‘em to the list.” Dean pauses. “So, uh. So I have Crowley in the basement.”
Cas does look up at that. “What?”
“Crowley. He’s in the basement.”
“Why is Crowley in the basement?”
“Cause I, uh. I summoned him there.”
Cas’ brow furrows. “Why would you summon Crowley in the basement?”
“I didn’t want to do it in the war room.”
Cas closes his eyes, expression pained. “Why have you summoned Crowley at all?”
“Because you’re not talking to me.”
Cas’ brow creases further before it smooths out in annoyance. “Dean-“
Dean scowls. “Don’t Dean me.”
“Why is it so impossible for you to accept that Crowley prides himself on being very annoying?”
“Because he’s annoying you with something specific. So what is it? Is he hurting you?”
Cas’ eyes get a trace of that holy wrath in them. Dean tries not to be too into it. “Crowley is not remotely capable of harming me.”
“So what is it? Cause he’s just lying to me-“
Cas’ back stiffens, eyes flashing again. “What is he telling you?”
“He- well, he says- he says you and he-“ Dean makes a lewd gesture. “In the Ice Age.”
Cas snorts, turning back to the dishes. “Please. I have standards. Unlike some people,” he adds under his breath.
Dean frowns. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
The two of them glower at each other until something occurs to him.
“What’s he been telling you?”
“You know, for someone who’s been lying for a long time, you suck at it.” Dean steps deliberately into Cas’ personal space. “Cas. What has Crowley told you?”
Cas grits his teeth. “He has made intimations about the two of you.”
“Intimations,” Cas repeats, grinding his teeth. “About the two of you, when you were a demon. That you were fornicating.”
Whatever Dean was expecting, it wasn’t that. “What? He- I-“ Dean’s spluttering. He’s got to try and stop spluttering. “No! That- listen, that never happened.”
“He has,” Cas says through a clenched jaw. “A photograph.”
“Of. Of him and me in the sack?” Dean’s baffled. Did Crowley hire some guy who looked like him for sexy photos? That’s a bridge too far. He can’t be doing that.
“No. Of you… kissing. You were-“ Cas sighs. “Both wearing cowboy hats.”
Dean blinks, then leans back slightly with a groan.
“Texas has this 72 ounce steak at this restaurant,” he tells Cas. “If you finish it your meal’s free and they put your picture up on the wall. Crowley and I went on a road trip. I ate the whole thing and we went back to the hotel room and got hammered and stoned. We made out a little. Then I puked on him and that was the end of that. Nothing like it happened before, nothing like it happened since. I promise. I didn’t even know he’d taken a photo.” Cas squints at him. “Cas, man, I mean it. I puked, uh. I puked into his mouth a little, but even if I hadn’t, I don’t think I’d have fucked him.”
Cas’ eyes narrow a little. “Hm.”
The rest of this catches up with Dean. “Hang on, that’s what he’s been doing to stick the bug up your ass? He’s been waving a photo around and saying we boned down? Why is that pissing you off?”
Cas sharply turns back to the dishes. “It isn’t.”
“Bullshit.” Cas ignores him, picking up a dish and scrubbing it. “Cas, man, come on.” Cas scrubs harder. “Cas, you’re gonna break the damn thing-“
Cas drops the plate into the sink, scowling at the wall. Dean watches all the little ways his face moves. A little tic in his tight jaw, almost a twitch in his eye.
Dean sees the barest, glimmering hint of a chance, and takes it. “Would it, uh. Would it make you feel better if I told you the whole time I was wishing it was you?”
Cas jerks his head up to stare at Dean, who desperately tries to pretend he’s cooler than he is.
“That’s how you broach this conversation?” He demands.
Cas turns away from the sink. “I’m going to go kill Crowley.”
Dean grabs his hand, yanks him towards him, and hauls him into a kiss. It’s not his finest work. Cas collides with him a little clumsily, the angel blade he had already summoned clattering to the floor. Cas backs him up against the sink, lips moving ferociously against his and Dean tries to figure out what to do with his hands.
There’s a shutter sound, and Dean blinks, pulling back to see Cas looking at his phone, a satisfied expression on his face.
“Did you,” Dean says, trying to get his brain back online. “Did you take a picture of us making out to show Crowley?”
Dean stares, awed. “Dude. Holy shit. I think I’m in love with you.” Cas shoots him a look. “Which. I will say in a more romantic way, at some point. I, uh, I have to go let Crowley out of the basement, and then I think we should-“
“No, you don’t,” Cas says, dragging him back into another kiss. Dean figures he’s making salient points, and decides to promptly forget all about Crowley.
