No one, not even Crowley, actually knows how he managed to end up basically babysitting you. It was a complete lapse of judgement from all parties involved: Sam, let alone Dean, let alone Castiel! Honestly, it was the worst decision to leave you and Crowley alone. Not because of you, no, you were the freshest, untainted angel probably on earth at that very moment. Which was awful when considering Crowley was the literal menace that he was.

He'd taken a liking to calling you bunny. Sam was moose, Dean was squirrel, so of course you had to get a nickname of your own. He thought it was fitting, bunnies are cute and soft and innocent. Like you. You don't mind the nickname, well, you don't mind really anything since you've never experienced much beside heaven before.

"Can't believe you've never had a good swig of brandy, bunny," he muses as he looks you up and down, glancing around the shitty steakhouse Sam, Dean and Castiel had basically abandoned you at. It wasn't very angelic nor holy to say the least. You looked like a fish out of water. Though you were simply an angel out of heaven. Like, literally.

"You do know what brandy is, don't you?" An incredulous look settles on his face, and he rises from where he's sat, laughing quietly at the confused look on your eyes. He taps your nose gently, patronisingly, "Don't you worry, my sweet bunny, give me just a moment," he goes to the bar, works a little magic which totally was not threatening, and he returns with an alcoholic beverage. Probably brandy.

He places it on the table, then nudges it towards you, the look in his eyes expectant. "I swear to it," he sits back down, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Really cures the soul, I'd say."

He'd corrupt you one way or another.