Crowley had been looking for John for hours when he finally spotted a flash of blond hair through the doorway to the bar - a place he'd looked three times already.

"Fuck, John, where the hell have you been? I have to..." he stuttered to a halt, noticing that Kit was already there.

"Uh, hi." Shifting his weight from one foot to the other and feeling unusually awkward, Crowley grabbed a random bottle off the bar.

"I'm just bringing this..." the demon peered at the label, "Goldschläger back to the room." He made a face. "So, um, if you wanted any clear, cinnamon flavoured schnapps with flecks of gold floating in it for some reason, you know where to find me."

Unable to handle the two matching stupefied expressions, Crowley bolted again.