For helosthisshoe

[soulkink]

"Really.  You hunters get so bent out of shape over one little soul."

All of a sudden there was a demon leaning against the wall of Sam's motel room, an arched eyebrow and a quirk of his lips; the words were almost teasing.  Dean, however, seemed to have considered this a battle won, and was traipsing off to sample the alcohol- and no doubt, the

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[helosthisshoe]

"It wasn't just any soul!" He growled, glowering as the demon stood too close. How fitting was that anyway? Dean had Cas and Sam... had Crowley. An angel and a demon

[soulkink]

Crowley sighed and gave Sam a look as if he was slightly disappointed in him. He didn't owe him an explanation, but, Sam he thought was at least smart enough to put the pieces together. He didn't step back as Sam closed that gap even further, and he seemed disconcertingly unconcerned about the talk of his bones.

"Oh, right. You wanted the demon that's currently ahead in the squabble over Lucifer's annoyingly vacant throne to just hand over your lovely Mister Singer's soul with hardly a pleasure doing business with you."

There was a lift of an eyebrow, a twitch of a corner of his lips as if he was waiting- hopefully- for Sam to catch on here. Not that he was altruistic here, by any means, but demons noticed things like souls that got traded back. If he'd handed it back without a fuss, things would have become complicated. Inevitably, it would have come down to someone getting killed by a demon, or Sam using his freaky ESP stuff as Dean had once dubbed it

[helosthisshoe]

Reluctantly, Sam had to admit that Crowley might have had a fairly good point there. As irritating as the demon could be to deal with sometimes, he was the lesser of a lot of different types of evils. If they had torched him, there wasn't any telling who'd take over after him or what they'd do with Lucifer. The Devil, unfortunately, had a lot of loyalists.

"You couldn't have let us in on it at least? Come on, a hint..." But probably not, not if he was being watched or whatever.

Whatever, he did start to relax a little. Sam knew when to be practical after all, though he didn't enjoy being caught up in a game he had no idea he was participating in exactly. The touch to his chest was enough of a distraction from more bitching though. His eyes trailed down to linger on them, body swaying into the touch.

How was he doing? "It's been awhile," he murmured finally. "But not too bad, I guess. Not as bad as before."

He didn't have to get locked up in the panic room to detox, if that's what Crowley wanted to know.

[soulkink]

"I could have, but I'm not that nice."

It wasn't quite that he was being watched. It was that souls were currency and when you handed one back, people tended to notice. Making Bobby and the boys scrape and scramble and threaten for it was at least good press. And really, the Winchesters might be good at a very wide array of things, but Crowley didn't trust their talent as thespians.

And then after a moment, Sam was looking at his hands, and they weren't having to quibble over Crowley's methods, which was just fine as far as the demon was concerned. He could feel Sam's gaze, feel the way that he leaned into it, and it made Crowley's lips quirk. He nodded, murmured softly in agreement. He was trying to keep the moose so he was functional; there was just one not-quite-small complication