Hell. Probably sometime around last December or so
Castiel looked down the length of the eternal line that now made up the entirety of damned souls' side of Hell and shook his head faintly.
"It simply doesn't seem properly . . . hellish."
Crowley folded his arms. "Oh, it's hellish enough. Trust me. The classics are not always the best, my friend."
Castiel twisted his head to look at the self-proclaimed King of Hell. "I'm not your friend."
"Business partner, then." Crowley was unphased. They'd had this conversation -- or at least one like it -- several times already. "Now, what brings you to my delightfully painful little realm today?"
"Raphael is closing in on my ranks again," Castiel said. "I'll require more power than I currently have to deter him."
"So you've come for a fix. I might have guessed." Crowley sighed. "You only love me for my souls."
Castiel frowned. "I don't love you at all."
Crowley let that one glide on by. "Tell me, sweet cheeks, where does it say in our deal that I'll just keep handing you souls?"
"You desire Purgatory as much as I do." Castiel was not willing to bend on this. "You won't get it without my assistance."
Whatever Crowley said in reply was drowned out by a prayer. Not from Dean or Chuck (neither of whom seemed terribly good at not getting themselves seriously injured), but from Sam.
Castiel, we need you. It's important.
Castiel was going to ignore it, but then he caught on to what Sam was describing.
Cas, we found something. It's this gold box. Apparently Nazis were after it back in the day, someone opened it and their face melted off. I think it's -- ready for this -- the Ark of the Covenant. Yeah. So. . . .
"Oh please," Crowley scoffed. "As though we wouldn't have seen --" He broke off as he noticed Castiel was gone, then sighed. "I really must stop brokering deals with morons."
[ooc: Come on, you totally know that's what was going on behind the scenes in 6x10. NFB and NFI, thankss.]
"It simply doesn't seem properly . . . hellish."
Crowley folded his arms. "Oh, it's hellish enough. Trust me. The classics are not always the best, my friend."
Castiel twisted his head to look at the self-proclaimed King of Hell. "I'm not your friend."
"Business partner, then." Crowley was unphased. They'd had this conversation -- or at least one like it -- several times already. "Now, what brings you to my delightfully painful little realm today?"
"Raphael is closing in on my ranks again," Castiel said. "I'll require more power than I currently have to deter him."
"So you've come for a fix. I might have guessed." Crowley sighed. "You only love me for my souls."
Castiel frowned. "I don't love you at all."
Crowley let that one glide on by. "Tell me, sweet cheeks, where does it say in our deal that I'll just keep handing you souls?"
"You desire Purgatory as much as I do." Castiel was not willing to bend on this. "You won't get it without my assistance."
Whatever Crowley said in reply was drowned out by a prayer. Not from Dean or Chuck (neither of whom seemed terribly good at not getting themselves seriously injured), but from Sam.
Castiel, we need you. It's important.
Castiel was going to ignore it, but then he caught on to what Sam was describing.
Cas, we found something. It's this gold box. Apparently Nazis were after it back in the day, someone opened it and their face melted off. I think it's -- ready for this -- the Ark of the Covenant. Yeah. So. . . .
"Oh please," Crowley scoffed. "As though we wouldn't have seen --" He broke off as he noticed Castiel was gone, then sighed. "I really must stop brokering deals with morons."
[ooc: Come on, you totally know that's what was going on behind the scenes in 6x10. NFB and NFI, thankss.]