Castiel squinted at the pet name, wondering if Dean had mentioned something to Crowley about the transformation incident at Halloween. They did seem rather friendly now. More than anything else about the King of Hell’s arrival, that confused him. He still remembered the look on Dean’s face on the other side of the holy fire, asking Castiel if he was working with Crowley.
“Crowley,” he greeted, voice neutral. He stared intently at the demon for a long moment, taking in the differences in his true face now. Like Dean, like Sam, the things that Castiel had not yet experienced had left their mark on Crowley. Five years should be barely anything to ageless beings like them. But here, with Dean, Sam, and now Crowley so far ahead, these five years seemed like the most devastatingly sprawling span of time in his millennia-long life. It gave Cas the terribly odd distinction of feeling young again, young as he rarely felt when surrounded by mortal things.
He gestured to the bowl before reaching in himself. “Have some, if you like.” He picked a marshmallow and turned it over in his hands, delicately like it might break. “I wish to know why Dean trusts you now,” he said slowly. “I trust him, but I don’t understand. He said you saved them, but he would not elaborate. So, you tell me, why would you do that?”