"Ah, I understand, the key to your psyche is scotch. Well, not a bad key to have." And hey, for her it was the best scotch. So really, win win. Or something like that. "You," he emphasized with a gesture. "Were all the more frustrating for it. So much potential in you, all wrapped up with that yellow eyed sod. What did Sam have that I never did, huh? Oh wait, was it the height? If I'd just been taller, I could have swayed you over to my side?" He pretended to pout. "Knew I should have taken a bigger meat suit." But he'd become weirdly attached to this one. Go figure.
"We win because frankly, I don't accept an alternative," he stated, no hint of sarcasm. "I don't plan on being eviscerated any time soon. Putting my neck on the line here, placing my bets with your boy." One he really hoped he didn't regret. But hey, the Winchesters had taken down Azazel, and Lilith. "There's always a way to contact Death, but hey, those pesky morals of theirs will get in the way. So we'll just have to wait for timing to be on our side."
Ah, the redhead. Crowley had to smile fondly at the memory. "Wonder what she's up to these days." Hmm, idle thoughts. "I'm no hero, love. But then never claimed to be. I want things to be my way, end of." And if that meant destroying a country, then so be it. Better that than being found out. And really? Better for the Winchesters too. They needed someone with his connections on their side. "But, after drinks, remind me to fill you in on all the really fun gossip. A few heads up for you and yours." Gesture of good will and all.
"To the status quo," he raised his glass in return, toasted and then drank. "So, love, what's been going on around here since I left?"