Chapter Text
“How nice of you to grace us with your presence”.
And that was exactly why Crowley had not wished to come to the Coven meeting and wouldn’t have, if his mother and her familiar Abaddon hadn’t insisted on it.
“How could I possibly miss out on seeing my Supreme?” he snarled, despite knowing better.
Lucifer, in his not at all humble opinion, was the worst Supreme he’d ever seen, despite or maybe because Rowena fawning over him.
The Supreme raised an eyebrow.
“You might see even more of me when I finally go into politics”.
The assembled witches laughed, and Crowley wondered if he was the only one who’d realized that their leader was not joking about his ambitions. In the past few years he’d suspected more and more that Lucifer didn’t just want to rule the witches in their State, but regular humans as well. And the last thing he wished was for him to have even more power.
Most of that had to do with his familiar Michael, as Crowley well knew. Now and then – not often – a witch and a familiar fit together so well that their combined power put a nuclear reactor to shame, and sadly this was the case here.
Crowley shot the dog sitting at Lucifer’s feet a glare. If he had ever been tempted to find a familiar (which he was not and had never been) he wouldn’t have wanted a snivelling, obedient creature to bow to his every whim. What a boring existence.
It was impossible to say what breed Michael was even supposed to be. Bulldog? Terrier? Shepherd’s dog? All of the above?
In his head, Crowley called Michael a hell hound.
He’d have liked to know what his familiar was supposed to be before he bonded with them, thank you very much.
But then, he didn’t want a familiar. He didn’t need anyone in his life for a longer period of time than a night, thank you very much. And if he needed power, he could always ask Abaddon or Fiona, his son’s familiar. They might not have had the best relationship, but they were still blood.
Many had reminded him that not bonding with anyone not only reduced his magic, but his life span as well, but Crowley had never seen a point in living forever. The last three hundred years had been long enough. He was content with his existence, but giving it up wouldn’t mean much to him.
He let Lucifer drown on and on, wondering how the draught he was cooking was coming along. Creating elixirs didn’t require power, only skill, and he’d long been considered their coven’s best potion maker.
He’d been experimenting on protection potions for a while now, thanks to Lucifer. As one of the few witches who didn’t scream their approval at his every word, an attack was sure to come soon, especially if he wanted to follow his dreams of world domination.
Crowley really should have known he would act sooner rather than later.
And to his everlasting shame, he was lost in thought as he walked home, having hoped the walk would clear his head, and therefore not transporting to his house immediately.
It was a fatal mistake, or it would have been, if not for –
A small squeak that sounded surprisingly furious caught his attention and he turned around to see a –
Squirrel attack Michael, who’d been sneaking up on him.
A squirrel?
Crowley could tell it was a familiar, but to choose to attack one with a huge dog form –
It was hoping up and down his back, leaving little bites that couldn’t really hurt Michael, but enraged him.
He was already bound to be furious because he couldn’t sneak up on Crowley and devour his throat anymore.
Now was exactly the time for making an elegant exit, but –
The squirrel familiar – and Crowley knew no witch who was bonded with one – had saved his life by risking their own. He couldn’t just leave them.
An attack of altruism that he would never have suspected he was capable of.
Thank God familiars didn’t have very strong magical capabilities of their own. If Lucifer had been with him, Crowley never would have dared to interfere, but the Supreme was certainly trying to establish on alibi somewhere far away.
He got read to blast Michael to Canada – the mutt would need a while to come back, and he wouldn’t be harmed so Lucifer couldn’t blame him openly – when he succeeded in throwing the Squirrel off his back. The familiar flew through the air before landing on the pavement, giving another squeak before lying still, probably dead.
A twinge of regret and guilt reared its head, to Crowley’s surprise.
Maybe he threw a bit more power into the spell than he should have – Michael normally wouldn’t have disappeared in a big pile of smoke – but it felt good.
He walked over to the fallen familiar.
It would be the proper thing to do, finding out who he was and contacting his witch, who must already know they were dead due to the bond snapping.
To his astonishment, he realized quickly that the Squirrel was still alive. It was breathing and twitching, unconscious but in pain, and Crowley leaned down and picked it up carefully before he knew what he was doing.
Then again, he did always have healing potions in reserve.
He transported them both home.
He carefully placed the Squirrel on the sofa before hurrying towards his lab.
He didn’t even spare the bubbling kettle a glance as he got the potion.
Crowley had to administer the brew with a small syringe, and he wasn’t at all sure if the familiar was able to swallows in the state he was in, but he had to try.
Half an hour later, he knew he’d been successful.
The squirrel was breathing easier, and it was moving more, the pain receding.
There was nothing to do but to wait.
Crowley returned to his potion, which was coming along just fine; but despite knowing how good his work was and that the familiar would be fine in the morning, he still checked on him regularly for some reason.
He even carefully put a blanket over him when he retired for the night.
The next morning, the squirrel was still out, but obviously asleep. It had even curled up, suggesting that whatever inner injuries it had suffered from were gone.
Crowley had meant to make breakfast, but instead he stood there, looking down at the familiar until their eyes blinked open.
Green eyes.
“Morning, Squirrel”.
It blinked, then frowned – as much as a squirrel was able to.
“If you want me to greet you by name, you should probably tell me”.
Another blink, and it changed form.
Crowley would freely admit to himself that he had in no way suspected that the small animal was one of the most gorgeous men he’d ever seen. And he’d seen a few, in his time.
“Hey. You bring me here?”
“You were injured. I poured a healing potion down your throat. You’re welcome”.
He nodded.
“Fergus Crowley, right?”
He was taken aback.
Narrowing his eyes he said, “I don’t recall meeting you before”.
And someone like this he would undoubtedly have remembered, but that thought went unspoken.
“We haven’t. But we’ve collected information about your coven, and – “
“Who is “we”? And who are you, just to begin with?”
“You could be a bit politer. I saved your life, you know”.
“And I saved yours too, so we’re even. Now who are you?”
“Dean. Dean Winchester”.
He had heard the name Winchester before; they were an old family of familiars. But he’d never known that one of them had a squirrel form.
“And where’s your witch?”
He blinked, looking remarkably like the squirrel he’d been only a short while ago.
“Dude, I’m not bonded. Can’t you tell?”
If he concentrated on it, but he’d never paid particular attention to others.
Dean snorted.
“Of course. I find the one witch who doesn’t care about familiars”.
“And why should that concern you? I carried you here, didn’t I?”
“Fair enough” Dean relented.
“Do you have food in the house? I’m starving. I’ll explain everything at breakfast”.
Crowley had no recollection of agreeing to invite him when they sat down at the kitchen table.
“You have a stove and a microwave? Your power running dry?”
He wasn’t as strong as he had been a few decades ago, but his magic hadn’t grown that weak yet.
“I prefer to use my powers in other ways, that is all”.
Dean nodded.
“I get that. This one time, a witch asked me to channel her magic so she could clean her windows. How lazy can some people be?”
It sounded like his mother, but Crowley didn’t comment on it.
“So” Dean said after they had eaten (even though Crowley remembered distinctly that he’d said they would talk at breakfast, not after breakfast) “You have a problem”.
“Do I?”
“Please. I’ve read up on you. People say you’re a bastard, but one thing you’re surely not, and that’s dumb. You know what Lucifer Pellegrino wants to do”.
“And how do you know about it?”
“Friend of ours” again that mysterious “we”; Crowley was beginning to wonder who Dean could mean, considering he didn’t have a witch “went through town a few months back. You might remember her – Charlie Bradbury?”
“Red hair?” he asked, recalling the bubbly, happy-go-lucky witch immediately. She specialised in electronics and combining them with magic, if he was right.
She and her familiar Gilda had been annoyingly cute together during the whole coven meeting.
But that had apparently not stopped her from observing them closely, as Dean nodded and said, “She said Pellegrino wants to take over the world, and that most of you guys seem into it. Mentioned you as a possible detractor. We collected information and then decided one of us should check it out”.
Check him out, Dean meant.
Interesting.
“But when I came upon you, I saw the familiar trying to attack you – “
“It was Lucifer’s”.
“I thought so. Anyway, I couldn’t do much but alert you and hope to distract him a bit”.
It was certainly distracting. I haven’t been as entertained as I was when I watched Michael jump helplessly up and down in a while”.
Dean smirked.
“Yeah, he was quite pathetic, wasn’t he? Just a bit strong in his familiar form. Their bond must be---“
“Strong as iron” Crowley interrupted him. “Believe me, enough witches have coveted Michael for themselves and have tried to break it”.
“I assume they’re no longer among us”.
Crowley nodded.
Dean sighed.
“This is bad news. We all know why it’s important humans are kept out of this. And of course I’ve never been a fan of dictators, period. I was hoping Lucifer wasn’t as powerful as Charlie thought. But his familiar alone is troubling enough. Normally I can take on anyone, no problem – “
“You’re a squirrel!”
“And from an old family. Usually I can force someone back into their human form, easy as pie, and I’m an excellent fighter. “
They were indeed ancient, then. That quality of familiars was mostly considered lost nowadays.
“Anyway, thank God you were there”.
If he hadn’t been, Dena wouldn’t have been fighting Michael in the first place, but Crowley didn’t mention it.
“So what now?” he asked.
“Now we put our heads together and ensure your Supreme doesn’t rise to higher places”.
“And what do I get in return?”
Dean shrugged.
“Aside from not being the victim of future assassination attempts? We know many familiars...”
“I don’t want one”.
“Didn’t say you did. I am just saying, if you ever need your powers channelled by someone strong, you can always count on us. Plus, you know, it’s not a bad thing to have a Winchester at your side when things go badly”.
If the stories he’d heard about the magical crisis the family had managed over the centuries were true, that was correct.
“Alright then” he said, “We have a deal”.