Fanfic: Uncle Crowley's Adventures In Babysitting - Supernatural - 1/2
Title: Uncle Crowley's Adventures in Babysitting
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 10k
Summary: Gen. Humor. He's the King of Hell, not a bloody babysitter, but that doesn't stop Castiel from leaving two de-aged Winchesters with him. Oh, bollocks, what's he supposed to do with a toddler and a six-year-old? Set in season 6 canon.
Warnings: minor violence toward children, minor language, torture (of monsters)
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Written for fun, not profit.
A/N: Banner by me. Written for unofficial track of the Crowley_BigBang. I intended for this to be humorous so forgive me if the canon-plotline isn't terrible relevant. It's set during that short time in season 6 after Sam's soul has been returned and while the boys still believe Crowley to be dead.
Download: AO3
~*~
An Unfortunate Arrival
~*~
Torture, as he'd always known, was part of the job if one was planning to take the title of "King of Hell," but Crowley had always assumed that, now that he was a higher-up, his role in the act would be less…hands on. "Leave the mess to the minions and the gloating to me" had always been his motto-there was a reason he'd risen to power at the crossroads and not on the rack. He'd even revamped a portion of Hell to get away from the mess. Granted that was partly to seduce the angel into his clutches, but still… For Crowley, being a demon wasn't so much about getting it up over a bit of evisceration as it was about the sheer power.
Not to say the slicing and dicing wasn't growing on him.
He lifted his instrument into place, letting its music join the screams from the table beside him. The saw's small circular blade buzzed at a high pitch, drowning out all the rest, until he laid it against the restrained ghoul's sweaty brow. Bits of skin and skull fragments spattered against Crowley's plastic goggles, and the creature the gore belonged to shrieked in terror. It was enough to put a smile on the old demon's face.
Sitting down the tool, he carefully lifted the mop of stringy black hair and the skullcap loosened with a sick pop. He tossed it over his shoulder and clapped his gloved hands together once before removing his goggles.
"Now, where were we? Ah, yes…"
Despite his preferences, though, these days Crowley had adopted a more appropriate motto, one which admittedly went against his nature: "If you want something done right, do it yourself." With that in mind, he spread his fingers wide, gripping the ghoul's slimy gray matter and leaned in close enough to smell the bits of the monster's last rotted meal, still stuck in its teeth.
"That's right, we were discussing your dear old dad and how you're going to tell me what crypt he's calling home these days before I make a pate out of your organs and serve it up to your kin in the next cell over."
The stir of wings was mere background noise when contrasted with the sudden crash of a bowl from the entry to the torture chamber-ehem-laboratory. The sounds of a hushed struggle followed. Crowley startled, pulling up a bit too quickly, and the monster on the table suddenly stilled.
Bollocks. Crowley huffed, finding himself with a chunk of brain in his hand, minus its ghoul owner. What a waste.
"This had better be good, Feathers," Crowley hissed, dropping the now useless mass into the basin at his work station. When he looked up, though, the angel wasn't in the room with him but, instead, still standing where the noise had come from, in the small chamber beyond the splatter curtain.
"Crowley, I…require your… assistance."
The demon paused, raising a brow. Was it just him or did the angel sound strained? "A plea for aid, darling? You do know all my turn-ons," he replied, just a hint of suspicion coloring his voice.
With practiced ease, he discarded his bloodied gloves and once-white apron, pleased to see not a drop of that wretched creature showing on his finely tailored black suit, and took a step away from his current project.
"Hurry. Please."
"Begging?" Crowley smirked, pushing the curtain aside. "Now you're just going down my kink list-"
He stopped mid-sentence, confused by the sight in front of him.
The angel was standing at the entry to the other room and looking downright frazzled. His constantly askew tie was laying limp over one shoulder, his hair more of a mess than usual, and what looked to be fresh vomit ran down the shoulder of his coat. That last bit was no doubt due to the toddler currently imitating a mechanical bull rider as he pulled and pushed against Castiel's arm, trying to free himself from the angel's iron grip.
"Want down! Want down! Want down!" the child sputtered, pounding white fists against the raincoat.
Or perhaps Crowley was wrong about the vomit's tiny owner-when his eyes drifted further down, he saw another child, this one at least a few years older, standing at the angel's legs and wiping a string of bile off his mouth with the sleeve of his oversized T-shirt.
Grossly oversized shirt. As a matter of fact, both of the brats were wearing men's shirts for nightgowns. How distasteful. Surely these weren't more of those disgusting shifter spawn-they at least tended to arrive better dressed. And smaller.
Crowley made a face. "And what, pray-tell, are these?"
"Children," Castiel replied. He cocked his head, studying the demon. "You do not recognize them." The statement seemed to aggravate the angel further. With a loud breath, he sat the toddler beside the child and pointed a finger at the eldest. "Do not move," he ordered, and stepped away.
Crowley followed him out of curiosity.
"Taken to abducting tiny ones, have we?" Crowley asked, amused. "Not that I'm judging."
"I would have met with you elsewhere, but I did not wish to transport them again. Dean purged on me twice already. It seems he did not prefer flight as a child either-"
Crowley blinked, raising a hand to cut him off. "You're missing a few pages there, darling. What on earth does this have to do with one of those overgrown baboons…Wait." He paused, Castiel's comment replaying through his head, and then leaned around the angel to stare at the pair still standing in the doorway, currently comparing the size of their spit bubbles. "Oh, for the love of Hell-those are Winchesters?"
Castiel sighed, exhausted. "I did not respond to their prayers until it was already too late. They are indeed Sam and Dean Winchester, but they seem to have lost several years of their lives."
"No, really? I hadn't noticed."
"Crowley, I have no time for your commentary!" Castiel snapped, sounding somewhat manic, but he quickly closed his mouth again, straightening. He lowered his voice. "From what I can tell, they appear to have aged backward over a night's time. I have forestalled any further regression, but I can't seem to set them right again. They are approximately two and six-years-old, and they have no memories of their adult lives. This is possibly the effects of a spell. The last I heard from the Winchesters, they were investigating a powerful witch."
Crowley raised a brow. "Feathers, I would recognize a spell from one of my own minions. That is not our kind of witchcraft."
"It is not," Castiel agreed. "I believe it might be the work of a fairy hag. Dean greatly angered the fay community recently, and this could be a form of revenge, but it is more likely simply-"
"Winchester good fortune at work?" Crowley snorted. "So the great lugs have themselves in a bit of a bind. Again. Lovely." His face darkened slightly. "Now, would you please explain why you brought them here?"
Castiel stiffened, glancing once over his shoulder as if to assure himself the pair was still in place. "I have told them that I am an angel of the Lord and that I was sent to aid their father by bringing them to their uncle while we pursued a dangerous creature. As children, they have never met the Campbell family, so Dean was easily convinced. You will assume the role of their mother's brother until I return."
Crowley blinked. "Excuse me? You told them what?"
"Crowley-"
The demon took a step closer, his face inches from the angel's as he growled out his reply. "And what is this 'you will assume the role' bit-you're giving me commands now? Naughty, naughty. That behavior doesn't make for a good working relationship, darling… Don't those sniveling meat sacks have an actual uncle-figure you could have left them with? Namely one Bobby Bloody Singer?"
Castiel's eyes narrowed. "If I involve other hunters, the fairy will be more likely killed than captured. I thought you'd prefer it this way."
Point taken-Crowley tilted his head slightly in agreement. It seemed something always went wrong when Winchester & Co. were involved in his hunts, and the angel wasn't wrong about the fairy. Purgatory was not the domain of the fay kind, but they were old and power, in many ways more knowledgeable than the elder gods who still roamed the world, and Crowley had been hoping for one to try his interrogation tactics on. Possibly his buzz saw as well.
"Then you play babysitter, and I'll send my boys out to find this pixie causing such a fuss."
"Your people have failed thus far in locating the fairies on their own," Castiel reminded. "Even I have trouble capturing their kind." His lip twitched. "Also, I… I don't believe I work very well with children. They require much…maintenance."
"And you think I'm who, exactly? Mary Poppins?" Crowley raised a brow when Castiel only blinked in confusion. "Surely you don't trust me to actually behave if given your two little pets to play with? They're so fragile in this state. Why," he smirked, "something tragic could happen to one of them."
Castiel's nostrils flared in annoyance, his mouth forming a tight line as he pushed up even closer to the demon. Crowley could feel waves of power rolling off the angel, threatening him as clearly as a physically blow, and his survival instinct was the only thing keeping his majesty from commenting on the sexual tension in the room.
"Crowley," Castiel said, his guttural voice deepening with anger, "you will keep the Winchesters here. You will keep them safe. You will play the role I have set for you. If you do not, I will have to put an end to our 'working relationship' immediately."
"Nice use of the finger quotes, darling." Crowley refused to acknowledge that he was the least bit intimidated. Contempt clear in his eyes, he gave the angel a tight smile. "There's no need to ruffle your feathers. While I do so love it when you take charge, it won't do you a bit of good, because I'm not keeping your favorites while you enjoy a night on the town, sweetheart. I have work to do, as do you. In case you've forgotten, I'm the King of Hell, and the king does not babysit for anyone."
~*~
Introducing Uncle Crowley
~*~
Crowley: King of Hell, part-time nanny, full-time angel's bitch. He'd have to change his business cards soon.
Staring down at the sticky little bastards put a particularly bad taste in his mouth. Or perhaps that was the blood from the quick beating his 'partner' had dealt out during their negotiations behind the curtain. Honestly, he hadn't expected the angel to have that in him-the whole 'brute force' bit was begrudgingly impressive-but apparently the Winchesters simply brought out the best-and most annoying-in him. Which was just wonderful. And precisely how Crowley now found himself charged with keeping these two things safe and returning them with "not a scratch on them."
The things he did to keep a game piece on the board…
Crowley sneered down at them. "What are you staring at?"
The two only blinked up at him, eyes wide and mystified, as if he were somehow more fascinating than the angel who had just poof and disappeared right in front of them. Children, he remembered from years far, far in the past, didn't make a great deal of sense, so why would he expect more from these two?
And what a two they were-they were absolutely the rattiest looking pair he'd ever seen. Samuel Winchester, it appeared, had been sporting the overgrown mop since infancy, as well as his famed round-eyed gaze. In fact he looked very much like a shrunken version of his former self, swallowed up in a blue shirt that pooled at his feet and left him swaying like a drunkard under its weight. There was a drop of dried snot beneath one nostril that made Crowley's frown deepen even further.
Could the angel not even bother to clean up his little hunter spawn before dumping them here?
"Are you really our uncle?"
The voice was quiet, hardly more than a whisper, and each word was trailed by a barely-existent baby lisp that the boy seemed to be growing out of. Despite that, though, the delivery was serious enough, and Crowley turned his attention to the speaker, the eldest Winchester.
Crowley gave him a quick once-over. The boy was small for his age, but scrawny in the way that children outgrowing their baby fat so commonly were, so Crowley assumed Castiel's guess of six-years-old was correct. Dean, unlike his brother, didn't so obviously resemble the man Crowley despised. There was still golden blond in the boy's sloppily trimmed hair, forming slight curls against his brow, and his freckles were sprouting over his cheeks and nose. That narrow, suspicious gaze was decidedly familiar, though.
Crowley forced a smile onto his face, leaning down slightly. "Well, if an angel says so, it must be true."
Dean pursed his lips, as if he wasn't quite sure how to take the answer. Just as thick-headed and dim-witted as Crowley expected. The demon rolled his eyes.
"Dean, do you really think your father would let you be left with a dangerous, if admittedly well-dressed, stranger? Now, I could find a way to call him, but, in case you've forgotten, he has a mission from God to complete. Would he really want you to distract him right now?"
Dean frowned, shifting his weight nervously, and Crowley smirked. "That's what I thought."
So refreshing to see that Johnny boy had instilled a sense of foolish trust of family in his eldest at such a young age. Well, perhaps "trust" was pushing it-Dean's pouty lips and narrowed eyes said he wasn't quite committed to the idea of his new uncle.
"Why do you talk funny?"
Oh, because Castiel doesn't like to think plans through before acting on them, that's why. "You really shouldn't be criticizing anyone else's speech, dear," he replied, before rolling his eyes. "But, if you must know, I was educated abroad-travelled quite a bit further than my dear sister, Mary. In fact, I've just moved back recently. Which is why John's never brought you to see me before."
Crowley stood straight again, more than a bit pleased with his story. Humans were so easy to lie to.
"What does abroad mean?"
Correction: humans over the age of six were easy to lie to.
"It means I went to school in a different country," Crowley answered. "Now, why don't we-"
"-'Cause Daddy said sometimes on old TV shows a woman is a called abroad. Was your teacher a woman. My teacher is. Did your teacher speak funny like you speak?"
"No-" Crowley winced. "I mean, yes, of course she did, but I don't 'speak funny'. Now, it's late and-"
"You sound like Higgins," Dean mused.
Crowley made a face. "Who?"
"On Magnum P.I. Our last room had a TV and Daddy said it was okay to watch when he's asleep if I don't turn up the volume." Dean cocked his head, deep in thought. "I like Magnum more than Higgins because he's funnier, and he has a cool car and girlfriends and a gun. Do they not have TV abroad?"
"Yes, of course there's television, and I've seen the damn-" Crowley cut himself off, shaking his head once to clear his thoughts. Admit nothing, he reminded himself. "Nevermind. As I was saying before you so rudely-"
"Do you watch Thundercats?"
"No, but-"
"Can I watch Thundercats on your TV?"
"Never."
"Can I watch He-Man on your TV?"
Crowley's nostrils flared. This what-ever-it-was was Castiel's doing. That or the eldest Winchester had consumed large amounts of sugar before being shrunken into his current form. "No, you may not, and you watch entirely too much television as it is."
"Nuh-uh-you're just saying that cause you're abroad. Is that blood?"
Crowley blinked, taken aback. He glimpsed down. On the toe of his shiny black shoe was smeared a sticky red stain. How the child had managed to spot that, he wasn't sure. "Yes. It's from the last insufferable little boy who refused to quit asking silly questions."
"Are you evil?"
"Enough!" Crowley thrust a finger at Dean, quieting him. "Not another word from you, toy soldier," he hissed. "It's far past your bedtime, and I've had enough of playing twenty questions."
"But-"
Crowley raised a brow. "Do you want me to tell your father you disobeyed me?"
Dean's eyes widened slightly, and his lips tightened into a line. He shook his head. "No, sir," he said, suddenly as quiet as a church mouse.
Crowley bit down his grin. Now, that he could get used to hearing. Perhaps, despite the annoyance, he could find some entertainment in this yet. It was always nice to see one's enemy humiliate themselves.
"Cowy?"
Crowley blinked, realizing the toddler had spoken and that one of the boy's hands was currently fisted in the knee of his slacks, tugging at them to get his attention. Crowley had actually forgotten the miniature moose could speak. A moment later, the demon realized he was the one being addressed by the tiny beast.
"Crowley," he swiftly corrected.
"Cowy," Sam tried again, head held back so he could stare straight up at the demon.
"No-Samuel, I'm your Uncle Crowley."
"His name is Sammy," Dean said, at a whisper. One glimpse from the demon, and he was quiet once more.
Sammy nodded, smiling in awe at his brother before his saucer eyes moved back to the man. "Unk-elle Cowy?"
"Crow-ley. How is that possibly difficult?"
Sammy's grin widened. "Cow-wee!"
Dean giggled. It was a thoroughly upsetting sound.
Crowley gave up. "Yes, Sammy?"
"Uncle Cowy…" Sammy's mouth opened and closed, as if he were trying to suss out the correct words. Finally he took a shallow breath, formulating the proper approach, and nodded to himself in confirmation: "I pee peed."
Bollocks.
~*~
The No Good, Very Bad Nanny
~*~
For once, Crowley was actually quite pleased that he was currently in hiding after his apparent demise at the hands of a flying monkey, because if he was actually out in the world, proclaiming his rule, this would be an even more compromising position. One for which his pride would not allow.
"No-not those! You'll need the cloth training pants, not pull-ups."
"-No, no-he shouldn't be training at all yet. I wouldn't recommend training until he's three, at least-"
"Well, now, my Jillian was potty trained by fourteen months-"
"Yes, but she's a girl-boys are different."
"Exactly. My Cody wore diapers until he was seven-"
"Seven? Let me guess, you had him breastfeeding until first grade?"
"My pediatrician said every child is different, and they shouldn't be forced to train before they're ready or they'll suffer developmental-"
Holy mother of sin.
"Yes, I'm sure all your little bundles of joy are special snowflakes," Crowley interrupted, silencing the gaggle of women forming a semi-circle around him.
The sarcasm was lost on his audience, and they each grinned fondly, and with some small amount of pity, at the demon. Perhaps feeding them his "I've just adopted my poor orphaned nephews" line in hopes that the army of mothers would do his shopping for him was not his most masterful plan ever. Releasing a calming breath, he reached out, sweeping a box of pullups into his cart. With some restraint, he managed a tight grin.
"Thank you, but I believe that's all I require." It was like watching a herd of cattle gape at an opening in the fence. They stared blankly at him, one slowly raising her hand to question his food selections. "Shoo," he added, with a flick of his wrist.
After a moment, they began to disperse, whispering amongst themselves. Crowley frowned at their backsides but took a moment to memorize little Jillian's mother's face. He had no doubt he'd see her on contract in a decade or so, putting her overachieving tot through law school for a standard ten-year.
He maneuvered his cart down the aisle quickly in hopes that none of the mothers would return-if he heard one more tip about healthy snacks, he'd be forced to paint this department store red. Actually, if he could schedule it in after this 'wee-chester' ordeal, he might just slaughter the lot of them for kicks.
Alas, he had no time for fun these days. It was one of the drawbacks of being King.
He absentmindedly tossed a stack of sippy cups into the cart, sneering at the diaper rash ointment hanging from the end-cap. He would absolutely not be pampering any Winchester's ass today.
Not that he knew if the children would still be there by the time he returned. Hopefully, that winged nuisance would be back with his fairy before he had to put any diapers to use. There was a reason why he'd had his minions deal with the shifter spawn, after all. Though, now, sadly, he had most of those demons sent away, as to not draw attention to his laboratory. He did still have a few held close by. Someone had to pick up his dry cleaning.
By all rights, he could have sent one of them on this shopping errand. Only, that would have required explaining why he needed them to buy proper supplies in the first place. No, it had been much simpler to just tell Spindle, the brainless baboon that he was-not exactly Hell's finest-that the two sleeping mini-hunters were monsters who needed to be watched over. And, of course, he ordered they be left unharmed until they could be questioned-no need to get Castiel's panties in a bunch over an accident involving the help.
Crowley paused, struck by the moment, and he shivered at the reality of the situation: he was the King of Hell and he was babysitting his enemy. Meanwhile his current plans relied entirely on waiting for his new business partner and would-be ruler of Heaven, an angel, to bring him another possible dead-end to question…
Perhaps the Apocalypse had actually come to a head. The merry band of free-will fighters had lost, and Lucifer had captured him, deciding to have bit of fun with his punishment. Perhaps this was all just a figment of Satan's imagination, a fresh new nightmare for the demon who's seen everything, a creative spin on his own personal Hell.
Crowley let out a breath, comforted by that possibility, then eased his way into the mass of clothing racks, casually pushing one over and out of his path-he'd already been through this section and found it severely lacking in casual-formal. Though he'd made a few selections, they simply wouldn't do if he was going to be stuck with those snot-nosed brats for more than a day. No, he'd have to call his new tailor in right away.
Not bothering to so much as check for witnesses, Crowley strolled past the check-out lane with his buggy and out the front door. Sometimes it did actually pay to be king-though, generally, he didn't care to waste his power on a bit of shop-lifting. Certainly not on child care products.
In the blink of an eye, he, and his haul, were gone, the abandoned and now empty, and visible, shopping buggy left to roll out across the parking lot and into the side panel of a mini-van.
Now, one might assume his laboratory was no place for two small children, however, Crowley had decided, after approximately ten seconds of deliberation, that the Winchesters were already so mentally scarred that the setting of their little trip to Uncle Crowley's wouldn't make much of a difference. So, he arrived back to the top-side property he was currently calling home, stepping into his private quarters, a lavish bedroom…Which-he sighed-he'd been forced to surrender to the annoying tots since Castiel hadn't arrived back before naptime. Not that Crowley actually needed a bed, but he kept one made for, well, purposes which had absolutely nothing to do with sleeping.
Crowley paused, raising a brow as he noticed that said-bed was currently empty, its covers a mess on the floor. "Huh." Dumping his haul of training pants and sippy cups onto the bed with a snap of his fingers, he turned on his heel and smirked at the empty room. Perhaps Feathers had arrived back already and this mess was over.
The moment of contentment didn't last. A high pitched cry echoed from the hallway, and Crowley scowled at the door.
"Oh, how the mighty have fallen," he muttered, not entirely sure if he was addressing himself or the shrunken hunters who, apparently, were in some grave danger-pfft, probably found a pile of corpses knowing the Winchesters.
Though… Crowley realized the demon he'd left to watch over the mutts was decidedly absent as well. That couldn't be good.
After all, Castiel had made it very clear what he was going to do to Crowley if something happened to the terrible tikes. Crowley reached up, adjusting his tie as he swallowed down his nerves. He refused to show his sudden anxiousness when he stepped through his doorway, strolling out into the hallway and following the sounds of a struggle.
One turn later and he was facing his problem. That is to say, he was facing Dean Winchester, the miniature model. The boy was pressed against the wall at the end of the hall, dangling four feet off the floor, a trickle of blood dripping down his nose. And there, standing in front of him, his back to his master, was Spindle, whose current form, a looming mass of muscle, tan, and bleached locks, almost blocked out the sight entirely.
Crowley rolled his eyes. What part of "don't touch the midget monsters until I return" didn't the bastard understand?
"Lemme go! Put my brother down!" Dean screeched. The child struggled against the invisible force holding him still until his eyes caught Crowley's and widened with hope. "My uncle's gonna kick your ass," he added.
Already such a cocky bastard. Crowley raised a brow, and then suddenly remembered his role. As the human uncle. He was a second away from tapping his minion on the shoulder and telling him to let the boy down, when he realized that the squirming form in the other demon's arm was a two-year-old.
Unaware of his boss, Spindle chuckled at his catch, then held his meaty arm out, lifting the toddler a bit higher by the back of his shirt. Sammy struggled inside the fabric, fat tears rolling down his cheek.
"Aww-want me to put baby brother down?" Spindle taunted. "Well, you asked for it, kid…"
Crowley lurched forward, catching the toddler just as the other demon released him. Sam let out a short cry, tiny fists clinging to Crowley's jacket as soon as the demon pulled him closer. Spindle spun around in surprise and did a double take when he saw his master mere inches behind him.
"I, I wasn't going to-" Spindle sputtered.
Crowley raised a finger to stop him and felt heat flood his face as he found himself unexpectedly angry with the demon's disobedience. "Congratulations," he hissed, a cruel smile at his lips, "you just earned yourself a trip downstairs."
"But, b-"
Crowley didn't let the demon finish. With a snap of his fingers, a ring of fire lit the rug at the demon's feet. Spindle's jaw dropped in shock, but in a flash of light, the demon, host and all, disappeared with the flames.
"Good help and all that," Crowley muttered, shifting the toddler's weight to one side.
A thud sounded as Dean dropped to the floor-ah, yes, Dean Winchester, torture-magnet. Crowley took a step forward, staring down at him. "Anything broken?" he asked. It wasn't necessary to feign concern; the last thing he needed was to return his angel's favorite pet bruised and swollen.
But Dean simply blinked up at Crowley, eyes wide, and reached up, swiping the droplet of blood off of his nose. "You're…you do what my dad does?"
Crowley smirked back. Of course, why didn't he think of that? If he wanted a mini-Winchester to trust and obey him, all he had to do was be a hunter. "Why, yes, actually. I do hunt monsters. I just dress better while I'm on the job."
Dean's face brightened, and he pushed himself up off the floor. "What was that monster? His eyes turned black… What did you do to him? It was awesome!"
Sam bounced against Crowley's side, clapping his palms together. "C-cowy gave da baddie a boo-boo!" he squealed, delighted.
Crowley blinked, taken aback by the sinister grin on the toddler's face-he was far too excited about boo-boos. "Scary," he mumbled, impressed, then he arched a brow at Dean. "Well, if you must know, it was a demon. Most of them are the decidedly nasty, stupid sort, but a few of their number are rather attractive, intelligent, well dressed…And practically unbeatable."
Crowley trailed off and reached out, patting Dean on the head, suddenly seeing a bit of potential in the two children-he'd forgotten how violent little ones could be. He could work with that. "Be a good boy, and I'll teach you how to kill all sorts of bad things. How's that sound?"
Dean straightened a bit, looking decidedly less shy as he grinned up. "I'll be good, Uncle Crowley."
PART 2