nightlogs | [Open] The only thing that you absolutely have to know...

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[Open] The only thing that you absolutely have to know...

Who: Sam Winchester and you!
What: Sam's found his home away from home
Where: The library at the North Pole
When: Relatively soon after arrival, probably post-Branch
Warnings/Notes: Winchester mouth. Updated as needed.

Once Dean was back on his feet, Sam started exploring the North Pole. And, honestly, nobody who knew him would be surprised to find that once he found the library, he kept drifting back there.

Not that it was that easy to find things there. That North has a filing system is undeniable. What's also undeniable, though, is that whatever filing system he has is archaic and likely all in his own head. Which doesn't mean that Sam doesn't enjoy the looking.

Which is why he can be found at one of the tables near the middle of the room, piles of books and scrolls around him and a leather-bound notebook open to his right, pen set in the crease between pages as he bends over another book, head bowed and hand on cheek as he reads.

He glances up as somebody approaches, then leans back with a stretch. "Hey. Any idea how long I've been here?"

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"Mmm. Probably." Sam sits again, picking up his pen to write a couple things down before closing the notebook. "I'm sure I'll get back in the habit. But there's just so many books and so much to learn here. Makes it a lot easier to ignore signals if I'm not paying attention."

"Was it some sort of prerequisite for being dragged here that you had to be a bloody nerd?" Not that he's including himself in that number (despite the fact he's absolutely a nerd), but he's run into so many people who are interested in things like research. It's disgusting.

He kind of undermines himself by also asking, "Found anything interesting?"

That gets an eyebrow raise. "I mean, everybody has things that they like. For a couple of us, that's books. My brother tends to prefer working with his hands. I'm sure it's the same with others as well. But my guess is that...kids pull people who make them feel safe. And the kinds of kids with the strongest belief are their own style of nerd, too."

That... is actually a very good deduction; it gives Crowley a second of pause as he considers it. "I suppose that makes sense. The kids running about in the woods playing their own made up games, or spending all their time playing sports aren't about to be watching TV or reading a bunch of books."

Whether or not this is a useful insight, Crowley isn't sure, but it is interesting.

And kind of annoying. "Can't believe I'm stuck in this place 'cause of some nerdy kids."

Sam grins. "Even worse. You're stuck here because you make them feel safe. Or, at least, are somebody they feel can protect them from the things that go bump in the night."

It may not be a useful insight. But it might be.

He offers his hand. "Sorry. Sam Winchester." Who HAD commented on Crowley's post, but got distracted by books immediately afterward and hadn't replied.

There are so many things he could say to that, but while he's not hiding that he isn't human, it would be stupid to be too open about being a demon, when that comes with a significant amount of baggage. "I used to be a nanny."

That's a slightly safer answer, and he gives Sam a look as if he's daring him to say something disparaging about it.

But he does lean forward to shake the offered hand. "Anthony Crowley, hi."

Sam's handshake is strong, but not the kind where he's trying to crush somebody else's hand. Just like somebody who is a little stronger than he always realizes. With calluses from various kinds of weapons. And pens.

"Any relation to Aleister?" He couldn't remember off the top of his head if the man had ever had kids, though he'd slept around enough that he might not have known. And he didn't think he'd been an only child. "That's a weird coincidence, though. I know a guy back home named Crowley, too."

Crowley has had a million handshakes in his existence, and it's always a relief when men don't feel the need for stupid posturing about it. His own handshake is just like, normal. Normal amount of strength, nothing weird about it.

"Aleister was a piece of shit charlatan." There's enough annoyance in his voice that it seems personal, not just someone cranky about being stuck with the same name as a slightly famous asshole. "Plenty of Crowley's in the world, I've probably had my name longer than most of them, though."

Sam's would have been more normal if he hadn't received myth-based strength as well. Still learning how to deal with that.

Sam's laugh is true as he draws his hand back. "That's why Yeats kicked him down a staircase," he agrees. "Well, the piece of shit part. The charlatan was just icing on the cake." He shakes his head and leans back. "Yeah, there probably are. Though I'm pretty sure the one I know took the name just to prove he could wear it better."

"Yeats wasn't much better himself, Aleister should've taken him down with him." Partial jealousy over the fact that Aziraphale likes Yeats' poetry, partially just disliking the man because he was kind of a fascist.

The fact this other Crowley took the name, too, earns a slight wrinkle of Crowley's nose. "Setting the bar real low if it was about Aleister, a rat could wear the name better." There are plenty of lovely rats in the world.

Sam shrugs slightly. "Oh, no fight from me. It's still kind of hilarious, though.

"That said, I never asked our Crowley why he took the name, other than it probably sounds better than 'Fergus', which was his name when he was alive. I'd probably have changed names, too."

That startles a bark of laughter out of Crowley. "And I thought my old name was rubbish, at least it wasn't Fergus, that's downright embarrassing, the poor man."

This is one of those situations where the rest of Sam's statement finally catches up with him, and an eyebrow goes up. "Hold on, when he was alive? The poor bastard's a ghost?"

That's his first assumption when it comes to dead things. It could be vampires or something, but ghosts are simpler.

Honestly, Sam shouldn't KNOW about the Fergus name. That came later. But he'd gotten curious and looked himself up online and came across it.

Sam does grin, reaching out for a glass of water that he'd kept close by when reading. Mostly because he didn't have to keep reheating the water. "Not so much. He apparently sold his soul for a bigger dick. In my world, that means a deal with a demon. At the end of your time, the demon comes back and takes your soul and you become one yourself. He...kinda ended up middle management in charge of crossroad deals."

It's probably for the best that Sam clarifies that he's talking about his own world; Crowley knows that the rules are different, but he tends to forget on occasion and the ridiculousness of everything that's being said would not have helped with that.

"That's the most stupid thing I've ever fucking heard." Not at Sam himself, just the rest of it. "Turning humans into demons would've tipped the scales much too far in Hell's direction, unless humans can become angels as well?"

That sounds even worse, honestly, and he can't imagine any human wouldn't lose their mind at the monotony and loneliness of Heaven.

That gets a dry, humorless laugh from Sam. Nowhere near the true laugh of earlier. "Humans? Become angels? There's no way most of those dicks would ever allow it. It's bad enough they need to use humans to even do anything on Earth."

Which is how the balance is maintained. Sort of.

"Well, I'll certainly not argue that point." Most angels are absolute dicks, that's true, and he wonders what Sam's situation is that he knows all this stuff, and knows enough about angels to ping them as arseholes. He's not a demon, Crowley is fairly sure of that.

"Are they not worried about losing the war, though? Things were evenly balanced, that was the whole point, but if demons are allowed to induct humans..." It tips the scales significantly and not just in numbers. Humans are far better at war and violence than demons have ever been.

Sam doesn't mind talking about this stuff. He's had conversations with Dan about it, after all. Dan's another hunter. And the fact that this Crowley is asking the right sort of questions means he's probably in the know in his own world.

"Because it's a different sort of balance, mostly. Neither side can do anything without using human bodies. Demons don't require consent, but they also have relatively fewer powers. But they're also subtle. Because most of them were human, they know how to hide among humans." Sam settles back, closing his eyes for a moment. "Angels, generally, aren't good at subtle. Lots of power, lots of flash, but generally very literal. Most angels don't get out much."

"They should workshop that, having a corporation's so much easier than possession." It really is unfortunate that Crowley's main weakness (aside from Aziraphale) is his curiosity; he had every intention of being subtle about the demon thing, but he's too caught up in wanting answers from Sam to think about exactly how much he's giving away.

"Right, I get that, but —" That thought is lost to another one, as he squints at Sam, his brow furrowed above the glasses. "Where'd the first demons come from?"

Did the Morningstar still fall? What about Beelzebub? Was there a version of Crawly, in Sam's world?

Honestly, Sam's starting to get an inkling that this isn't just professional curiosity. There's definitely something there, even if he's not entirely certain what Crowley's "profession" is, per se. Though the focus on demons may well be a clue.

"Corporations wouldn't work in place of possession. They'd still need to take human bodies to get anything done. Demons on their own are..." He pauses, head tilted in thought. "Well, some of them are different. But most are like smoke. It might be different colored smoke, but they don't have a form of their own."

He glances to Crowley, letting out a breath after a moment. Because he has the information. It's just not pretty how he got it. "Back home, when God created humans, He told the angels to bow to them and love them more than Him." He waves his hand slightly. "I'm assuming God, like the angels, doesn't really have a gender, but all of the angels we've met call God Father, so I'm sticking with Him for now." Especially when talking about groups like humans at the same time. "Lucifer didn't like that. He thought humans were unworthy in general and wanted God to see it the same way. So he appeared to Lilith and...tempted her. Changed her. Twisted her into a tool of his own. She became the first demon, endowed with some of Lucifer's own power, I think.

Sam folds his hands, rubbing his right thumb against the palm of his left hand. "For that, God cast Lucifer down, ordering Michael to place him in a cage strong enough to hold even an archangel's power. Hell grew around that. And Lilith used her power to create other demons to serve him."

"That's why they've got to workshop it, they're idiots if they can't manage to control a body without having a human in there to help." Absolutely disparaging comment about the demons in Sam's world, because clearly they're all useless if they can't manage something as simple as a corporation. The smoke part is irrelevant, in Crowley's opinion, since he's not exactly solid without his corporation and it's never stopped him from inhabiting one.

But the rest of what Sam says is far more interesting, if... weird, from Crowley's perspective, when he's so used to his own world. "Yeah, God doesn't give a shite about gender or pronouns."

That doesn't really matter, but it's something to fill the silence while he mulls over the rest of it, his brows drawn together. "I suppose it tracks that Lucifer is a cunt in every universe. I've not got much room to talk, but fucking with Lilith just to piss off God is cruel. Can't actually blame God for casting him down for that."

The war, the one that he was dragged into, was never really fair, so few of them understood the repercussions. But this is just Lucifer being a dick, and the humans being stupid when they got dragged into being demons.

Yeah. Sam's expression sharpens a bit, putting a few things together. There's half a moment where he's obviously trying to figure out what to do with that before he sighs, rubbing at his eyes. "Sure. Another demon named Crowley. Why not?"

Which is, maybe, a more low-key response than Crowley is expecting, but the Crowley in his world is on his own side. So it's less him being evil and more him being...opportunistic.

He lets his hand drop, though, going back to the conversation at hand. "That's probably one reason why God back home made it a rule that angels and demons had to possess humans in order to get much done on Earth. Which caused its own problems, of course." The Nephilim pogroms, for example. "Though it's still a little tilted to the side of the demons. Since they were once human themselves, demons can inhabit any human they find useful. Angels, because they need a vessel that can handle the sheer amount of power they carry with them, can only use humans from specific bloodlines that were created to do so. Archangels have even fewer bloodlines available."

Atta boy. Crowley tips his head in a gesture that's part acknowledgement and almost part apology, as if he feels a little guilty for not being honest from the start. He doesn't, but he can pretend.

"In my defense, I've been going by Crowley since before Yeshua was born." So the other Crowley is the one that stole his name, nevermind that they're from entirely different universes and have never met.

"That —" He has to pause to wave a hand at Sam, wishing he had a drink to gesture with. "Is tremendously fucking stupid. But I suppose that's God for you, She never did make much sense to me." Which makes a perfect segue into his next point, since he feels he should clarify lest Sam think that he's one of these bargain bin demons from his world. Satan forbid he be mistaken for someone who used to be human.

"Back home, we were all angels, until the war. A lot more of us than just Lucifer were cast out." He manages to sound perfectly neutral about this, as it isn't a trauma that he's carried for his entire existence. It's cool, he can be cool. "I've no interest in fucking with humans, here or at home, if that's a concern."

Important to clarify that one, just in case.

"The war happened back home, too. Lucifer didn't go quietly." Because of course he wouldn't have. That wasn't the way of the Morningstar, after all. "From everything I know, the war was terrible. A lot of angels were..." He pauses, left hand flexing slightly. "Dead. Killed by their brothers and sisters. When the rebels were defeated, Lucifer was cast down and the other angels had their wings cut off and were exiled to Earth, to live among the humans. Though I'm pretty sure that some of the rebels killed themselves before that happened, too."

Lucifer hadn't seen that part. And hadn't really cared, either.

The assurance gets a grin out of Sam. Wan, a little thin. But real enough. "Because of the reasons we're here, I wasn't actually worried about that. We're all here for the same reason, after all."

That is a lot to unpack; there weren't really many deaths during the war, how could there be when the main things that can destroy an angel are God Herself or hellfire, and the latter hadn't been created yet, to be used against each other. It had been possible to kill another angel, to permanently destroy them, but it took far more than just celestial weapons, and as far as he knows, no one was going to the effort for that.

There is, however, a visible flinch when Sam mentions the wings, a hitch in Crowley's shoulders as he draws his own wings in tighter, a sense of sheer horror running through him at the idea of having them cut off. It was one thing for them to burn, he'd take that pain any day over losing his wings permanently.

"Right." He has to say something, to acknowledge that he heard Sam, but his voice is tight and he isn't sure how to follow that up. Now he really wishes he had a drink. "Suppose I ought to be grateful I was only thrown into a pit of sulphur. That's a walk in the park over being dead." Obviously it's the being dead that's a problem, not everything else.

"Anyway, kids are stupid. They could've wanted me here 'cause I'm scarier than the big bad." That's mostly posturing for the sake of it, he just needs to put up a minimal argument with the idea that he's nice or helpful or that kids might find him reassuring.

Sam grimaces sympathetically. "Sorry," he replies, shaking his head. "I should have thought, with the demons having been former angels in your world..."

But he's been too busy digging through memories that aren't entirely his own. Lucifer shared everything when he had Sam for so long. To make Sam sympathize with his side of things at first. Later was...harder.

The insistence that he's scarier than the big bad makes Sam's eyebrow raise, though. A long, long pause before he offers, "I suppose that could be a reason."

[Open] The only thing that you absolutely have to know...

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