video/fail private :| :|
[The video starts shaky, camera trembling and rattling around on a blurry picture of the city in Darkness. The only sound is a background of harsh, unsteady breathing that sounds like crying, punctuated with hitching almost-sobs and hiccups. The stars, a rusted trash can, a shot of the ground before the camera sweeps over something horrible- Dean
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Salt and burn the body. I would happily offer my assistance, but I would rather not.
[There is no spark of laughter or mockery in his tone. Crowley is, for once in his illustrious afterlife, absurdly calm and neutral, and his tone is cold and quiet.
Dean Winchester is dead. Whatever. He could care less. The idiot probably asked for it.
But the very last thing he needs is his only actual ally within the Port losing it at the sight of his best friend dead as a doornail.]
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[Merry Christmas, Crowley, you get a Mary profanity. They're rare and beautiful snowflakes.]
I didn't mean to fucking- damn it.
[But what he says gets through, somehow. It's not mocking, it's not cruel. It's a cold, harsh, logical suggestion that calls at the hunter deep in her that comes out during times of crisis. She stares coldly at the NV and nods once, then again and again and stands up, wiping her hands on her black pants and taking out the box of ammo in her pocket.
As she speaks, she starts breaking down salt rounds and sprinkling the salt over his body.]
I know how to filter a message. My hands must have been shaking too much.
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[But there is the tiniest note of approval, right in the back of his throat, at the woman listening to sense and reason. Crowley had little idea of what happened when one dies in Siren's Port, but it was dark, and he knew it wasn't going to be good. Destroying any chance of Dean's spirit lingering in this world was going to be their best bet at maintaining any semblance of sanity their ragtag group of patrons from their world had.
But Crowley pauses, mentally calculating something, and the feed flickers slightly as Crowley sends a message, before the demon refocuses his attentions on the woman.]
He was killed. How? By the Darkness? Or was he assassinated?
[Every detail is crucial.]
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Darkness. Gutted by a rope-faced dog.
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[He's been off in his own little world, deep in thought for the past few minutes. He hasn't noticed what she's been doing until he caught it out the corner of his eye.]
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[Because it's been in the news. Because John is a hunter, she accepts coldly, and they do their research.
It's only because of Crowley that her voice barely breaks.]
He needs to be put to rest. [He deserves it, but Crowley doesn't get to hear that.]
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[He places a hand over hers, and takes the shells.]
Not yet. We still have options.
[Options that require Dean being whole.]
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[Blandly.
Doesn't give a fuck.]
And the answer is no.
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-but she stops herself. And calmly starts salting him again.]
You heard the man, John. [Such a don't-even-fuck-with-me tone.] He said no. So sorry he isn't letting you do something suicidally stupid.
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[Almost conversationally.
There's the Crowley we know and love.]
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[John's finally snapped. He's resorting to ordering around his wife like he did Sam and Dean. He doesn't think about that right now, though. There are more important things at stake.
He turns his attention back to Crowley.]
Look. I know you want the Colt. Hell, have me too, but I know you can fix this.
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John. You should really stop talking.
[Whipping around to look at the NV.] I know you're a man of principle, but I just want you to understand that no matter what he offers you, you're not getting your hands on it. You wouldn't make a bad deal.
[Looking back at John and definitely not stopping what she's doing. At all. Breaking down one salt round after another, past the point of necessity, even, simply because he told her to stop.
She does have the courtesy to cover the speaker of the NV with one hand when she answers him, though, so if Crowley can hear the next thing she says at all, it's muffled.]
You're not giving him the Colt. Or you. Or anything.
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First of all, lovebirds.
[Curtly.]
I have little interest in your soul. It's disgustingly filthy and Azazel touched it. Spare me the lectures and the panic, because I never buy anything second-hand, especially the soul of a Winchester.
Secondly, there is no Hell here, which means that however much it would please me to send you there, I would have no purpose for owning your soul.
And third, reviving Dean Winchester is worth far more than your soul and the Colt. I would revive a squirrel for that much, much less the chosen vessel of someone I would much rather see spread on the ground with the ashes of wings decorating my rug, so -- in short --
[He narrows his eyes.]
I'm the King of Hell, not your damn stableboy, you arrogant prick.
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[You know what? Fuck it, he's done. He throws his NV to the ground, hard. It doesn't do a damn thing, but it helps him feel a little better.
Also, the video is still on. Enjoy the following, Crowley.]
And you!
[He rounds on Mary now, pissed beyond all belief that she's still salting the body. It's like she doesn't want him back...]
What the hell is wrong with you, Mary? Our son is dead and you don't even want to fucking try to get him back? Do you- [He knows he's going to regret the next words out of his mouth, but screw everything. He doesn't even care anymore.] Do you care more about some goddamn stranger that looks like him more than you do your own son? Is that it?
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Mary stops dead, hands balling into white-knuckled fists as she gives John a betrayed, incredulous look of absolute fury.]
Me? What the hell's wrong with you? How d- how dare you talk to me that way?!
[She advances on him, foot connecting with the NV and sending it flying. Just as she bares her teeth to snarl at him it bursts into white-blue flames some ten feet away, but in her rage she doesn't notice. It's anybody's guess if the damn thing is still broadcasting, or if Crowley just got a full-face view of Mary's yet-undiscovered powers.]
Of course I care about him, John, I just don't think that trying to bargain your soul away is the best way to handle this! Excuse me for not wanting to watch you sell yourself like a- [She stops short, pressing a hand to her mouth for a second. No. No, she can't just say anything she wants, no matter what John's doing. No matter how hard he's trying to sell himself on a stupid whim and make ( ... )
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[And Crowley is leaning against the wall, one finger raised on a hand, the other hand in his pocket, as he stares down the parents Winchester.]
While your Jerry Springer romance is fascinating, I do believe you're both missing something incredibly crucial.
[And Crowley is quiet for a moment before his tone dips into something positively teeming with rage.]
You're both bloody hunters and the Darkness is going to devour that moron and are you honestly willing to risk a psychotic evil version of Dean Winchester running about on a death wish?!
[And Crowley steps forward, past Mary, eyes locked on John.]
Burn the damn body and stop being a selfish idiot for once in your miserable life.
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