***Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or the characters. What I do own is a desire to twist them in the most depressing ways I can find. Also. Yes, in this story Crowley's backstory is not canon. But a friend came up with this idea for his backstory and I thought it worked. Besides, never liked the one from the show anyway.
When You Were Young
Gabriel wasn't big on time travel. It took a lot of effort for very little; after all, everything had already happened. He only did it in special cases and the demon Crowley certainly counted as a special case. That was he was standing on the outskirts of Canisbay, Scotland in 1690. It hadn't been easy getting enough information out of Crowley to figure out where he had lived and who he had been when he was human. Mostly he had learned it by annoying Crowley so thoroughly that he had let something slip. On several occasions.
The seventh century wasn't exactly party central, Gabriel remembered that much. He had spent most of his time helping with the colonization of some place called America and dropping apples on people. Mostly the 17th century was a lot of horses, mud, and wars. Canisbay had plenty of the first two but it was pretty. Everything was fifty shades of green and even Gabriel, who had been around when most of them were created, couldn't help but be impressed. It smelled like the ocean and sweet grass and the underlying scent of manure that every place until the 19th century had. Despite being relatively late in the evening, there were signs of life from the village. Smoke from peat fires burning rose from the homes. People and livestock were moving in from the fields.
Gabriel started down the dirt road towards the center of the village. Being an angel he probably could've just popped right in on Crowley but he felt that might be a bad idea as most people didn't enjoy randomly appearing strangers. That left the old fashion way. (Technically it was the human way since the angel way had been around since the Beginning, capital intended.) Gabriel had fallen fairly easily into the human way of doing things, however. He did add his own flair to it but that was to be expected. A few people gave him side-glances. He probably should have changed his clothes to blend in better. Shrugging to himself, Gabriel headed to the one sure place in Scotland of any era to acquire information: the pub.
It was dimly lit by flickering oil lanterns and a large fire which filled the pub with the smell of peat and a little smoke. Every head in the place turned to look at him. Gabriel took it with aplomb and sauntered towards the bar.
"What can I get you?" At least that's what Gabriel assumed the man had said. He blinked a few times as he deciphered the accent.
"Just give me a scotch." When in Rome and all that.
The bartender narrowed his eyes at him, muttered something that didn't sound like a compliment or English and poured Gabriel his drink. Luckily, Gabriel had watched 'Back To The Future' enough times to come equipped with the currency of the time. He had prided himself on that forethought while forgetting things like clothes and the fact American accents didn't exist.
No one paid any attention to Gabriel. In fact, they seemed to be doing their best to ignore him completely. Gabriel sat watching the other patrons. What little knowledge of the time period he retained made him think that everyone might still be on edge because of the Battle of Killiecrankie. He didn't really know. History was so boring. It took about ten minutes for him to become bored enough to consider asking if anyone knew one Fergus Roderick MacLeod. He finished his drink and sighed dramatically. If this was a movie Gabriel would have glanced up at the door just as Crowley (it was hard to think of him as anything else) walked in while a cheesy love song played.
That was exactly what happened but without the love song.
Gabriel's mental soundtrack filled the gap with Nat King Cole and watched the man walk over to the bar. There was no doubt that it was him; Gabriel would have known him by his walk even if there hadn't been a striking resemblance to the meatsuit Crowley was currently wearing. The bartender greeted Crowley – Fergus – warmly and poured him a drink. Gabriel watched him as slyly as he could, noting the little mannerisms that had carried over. The way he would lick his lips or run his finger around the rim of the clay cup. These were little things that Gabriel had picked up on during his courting of Crowley. (Not that he called it that in front of the demon; he enjoyed watching him try to figure it out too much.) Finally the man noticed Gabriel watching him and cocked an eyebrow.
"Can I help you, min?" It took Gabriel a fraction of a second to figure out what was said.
"How about I buy you a drink?" offered Gabriel. Fergus looked slightly suspicious.
"Aye, you can do that."
Gabriel waved the bartender over to refill their cups and waited until he left to extend his hand. There was a pause before Fergus took his hand and shook it. Unlike Crowley's hand which always felt warmer than it should, his was typically human in temperature. He reluctantly let go.
"What's your name?"
"Richard," Gabriel said realizing that he might want to be just a touch more cautious.
"Fergus. Thank you for the drink."
"Not a problem, buddy," he said airily.
They sat in silence; Gabriel wondering how to continue the conversation and Fergus lost in thought, staring into his drink. The human who would become Crowley gave a sigh that Gabriel recognized as one of stress.
"Rough day?"
"Mate, you have no idea. Bairn at home gets into all manner of trouble and the wife isn't up to strength yet. Can't get a rest besides this." He tipped his glass towards Gabriel.
"Ah." He translated and processed the information. "You have a wife and son, then?"
"Aye. Ainsley and Gavin. He'll be six in the winter."
Despite the obvious weariness there was a tone of affection in his voice when he spoke of his family. Gabriel let him talk, listening to Fergus tell stories about his job as a tailor and his family. There were similarities and differences between the human and demon. Gabriel found himself wondering how exactly this family man would become King of the Crossroads some three hundred years later. He couldn't help but be intrigued.
"I think it's time for me to get home. Don't want to keep the wife waiting."
"Course not. She'd probably give you hell."
Fergus chuckled and gave Gabriel a smile.
"She'd knock me head in, that one would," he said standing up. "Thank you for again for the drink."
"My pleasure."
Gabriel watched him go. He finished his drink and followed shortly after. But not before acquiring a bottle of the scotch Crowley had mentioned he was fond of.
"Oh for crying –! Can you at least not appear right on top of me?" Crowley said glaring at the angel who was standing less than six inches from him. They really needed to discuss personal space. Again.
"You know you love it, sweet cheeks. Besides, I brought you a gift."
Crowley's face was torn between suspicion and curiosity. He settled on the latter.
"And that would be?"
"This." He held out the bottle with a flourish that would have rivaled any French waiter in the movies. Crowley raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth trying to twitch into a smile.
"Care for a drink, sugar?"
"More pouring, less talking," he said, handing Gabriel a couple of glasses. Gabriel couldn't keep the look of triumph off his face. Crowley noticed but said nothing and proceeded to get completely smashed.
Later, when Gabriel fell asleep with his head on Crowley's lap, Crowley blamed the alcohol for the fact he didn't object. He wasn't even going to mention the sloppy kiss that Gabriel had planted on his cheek. Instead, he just leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes. He was asleep almost instantly.
Gabriel woke up to about a hundred and seventy pounds of demon flesh laying half on top of him. The couch really wasn't made to be slept on which probably accounted for the fact he was hanging off it. It was harder to dislodge himself from Crowley than he thought it would be. Finally he slid out and landed on the floor with a thud.
"Mmph," he said into the Oriental rug. (Which cost $20,000 as Crowley had reminded him countless times.)
Anyone else would have had a killer hangover. One of the perks of being an angel, Gabriel thought as he kicked the empty bottle of scotch under the coffee table and made his way into the kitchen. Humming, Gabriel set about making coffee and toast. He was feeling awfully domestic. Not that he minded. He arranged everything on a tray and, still humming, carried it out to the living room. Crowley was sitting up with his head in his hands.
"Good morning," chirped Gabriel.
"Hn." Crowley didn't look up.
"Want some coffee, buttercup?"
"Stop that," Crowley said rubbing a hand across his face. He looked up at Gabriel. "Just stop with the pet names and the getting me drunk. Why are you even here?"
Gabriel set a mug of coffee in front of him, his face pulled into a look of disbelief.
"You're joking, right? Come on, Crowley."
Crowley wasn't stupid. He knew the angel was flirting with him. What he didn't know was why. Living in Hell, you learn that everyone had a hidden agenda. Crowley was no exception. The only reason he hadn't moved or at least put up some angel-proofing was because he saw how Gabriel could be a useful ally in the coming months. There certainly wasn't any other reason. It wasn't as if he enjoyed the angel breaking into his home and harassing him all the time.
Crowley sighed dejectedly and picked up the coffee cup. No sense in letting it get cold.
"Just try not to break anything else."
"When did I…?"
Crowley glared at him.
"Oh."
"Exactly."
There really wasn't a reason for Gabriel to return to Canisbay. He had met Fergus Roderick MacLeod. That had been the whole point of his jaunt into history. Except he really did want to know exactly how this transformation had occurred. Crowley himself had refused to talk about it. So Gabriel was sitting in the pub waiting for a familiar walk to come through the door. It didn't take long. When Fergus saw the person he knew as Richard, he took a seat next to him and held out his hand.
"I didn't think I'd see you again. Outsiders don't stay long around here."
"I thought I'd hang around for a bit."
Fergus narrowed his eyes slightly.
"You're a bit of a strange one, aren't you?"
Laughing as he waved the bartender over, Gabriel answered, "You have no idea." Then to the bartender, "Two scotches, good sir."
"I owe you quite a few drinks."
"Don't sweat it. So how's the family?"
He took a long drink and then rubbed a hand across his face. Gabriel had to remind himself that this wasn't Crowley, not yet.
"Not good, to be honest. Ainsley is ill. Her sister is looking after her now. Had to close the shop for a couple of days to look after her meself but she was better today. Gavin doesn't understand what's happening." He gave Gabriel a look as if he was embarrassed for talking so much and muttered an apology into his cup.
Gabriel, who was always a lot more calculating than his brothers had given him credit for (except for Lucifer but that was a whole other can of worms), felt the gears grinding in his head. He had the distinct impression that things were not going to end well.
"I'm sorry to hear that." And he truly was.
"Thank you."
The silence was heavy and Gabriel found himself wondering if there was any way he could help without completely blowing his cover.
"I would do anything for her. I'd die for her," he said after draining the rest of the alcohol.
Gabriel's mouth started working before his brain could catch up.
"You could sell your soul."
It was meant as a joke. It was what he would have said to Crowley in this situation. He would've meant it to lighten the mood or, failing that, to piss off Crowley enough to change the subject because sometimes Gabriel didn't know what to say.
The problem was Fergus was not Crowley. The moment the words were out of his mouth, Gabriel knew it was a mistake.
"Can you really do that?"
Gabriel wanted to tell him no, that he just needed to forget the whole thing and go home to his family. He never got the chance because a young girl of about twelve burst into the pub looking frantic. The moment Fergus saw her he stood so quickly that he knocked the stool over.
"Uncle, uncle! Ma says you need to come quick," the girl said, her voice shrill from panic. He was at her side in an instant leading her out, Gabriel completely forgotten. Gabriel stood listening to the stool roll to a stop. The affection he held for the demon bled over to the man he once was and Gabriel hurried after them.
The home was really just a small building attached to the side of the tailor's shop. There was a group of people standing outside in what little light poured through the open door. Gabriel knew immediately that the small boy clutching woman's leg was his son, Gavin. He tried to smile at him but the boy just hid his face in the woman's skirt. It was the same atmosphere found in any hospital ICU waiting room. The silence that wasn't really silent but broken by quiet sobbing. He shifted uneasily on his feet. A cry pierced the through the night, a woman's and full of sorrow. Even Gavin seemed to understand what it signaled and buried his face farther into the cloth, small shoulders shaking.
Fergus emerged from the house in a daze. Gabriel started forward but stopped himself as the man went to his son and picked him up. The woman placed a hand on his shoulder that went unnoticed and hurried inside the home. Fergus' eyes finally focused on Gabriel and he felt a pain in his chest that most angels would have trouble identifying but Gabriel had come to know better than he'd like.
"I don't understand," he said in a hollow voice. "She was better…smiling…"
Gabriel didn't know what to say so he stayed quiet.
"What am I going to do?"
Shaking his head, Gabriel said the only thing he could, "I don't know. I'm sorry."
Absent mindedly he stroked his son's hair. "I'll find a way, boy."
There was a sinking feeling in Gabriel's stomach when he heard the determination in Fergus' voice. He took a few steps forward and put his hand on the man's arm. Golden-brown eyes met blood-shot ones and held them.
"Don't do anything stupid," warned Gabriel.
"You don't understand. I love her." The desperation was palatable.
"Fergus."
His plea was echoed by another man. They both turned towards the sound. Two men were approaching, one obviously a priest. Fergus turned back to Gabriel.
"I'm sorry, min. I have to do something." Then he went to greet the men.
Gabriel stood there like an unseen observer. He had never been good at fixing things; each time he had tried in the past it had only made it worse. One of the things he was good at was knowing how something would end. Gabriel had already seen how this story would end and he had enough information to fill in the missing pieces. He decided to do the other thing he was good at: running away.
It did not sit well with him as he walked away. He would pick up another bottle of scotch before he left. This time it would be out of guilt.
Crowley knew something was wrong with the angel. It wasn't because he paid attention to Gabriel's moods or anything. But when Gabriel failed to call him any sort of pet name or act with his usual jollity, Crowley couldn't help but pick up on it. Instead of asking what exactly was wrong, Crowley had just accepted the liquor and went about getting drunk with Gabriel once again.
It was becoming a habit.
Gabriel was a lot more wasted than Crowley and happened to be a very clingy drunk. At the moment, he was practically wrapped around Crowley. The demon sighed then started to take a drink only to find his glass was empty. He sighed again.
"I'm sorry," Gabriel mumbled into his neck.
"Mmhm. Wait." Crowley tried to straighten but couldn't under the dead weight of the angel. He settled for glaring at the ceiling. "What did you break?"
Gabriel squeezed him.
"You."
Crowley frowned and mentally did a quick check of his extremities.
"I'm fine, darling." He patted Gabriel on the head.
"No, no."
"What did you do?" he asked, vaguely wondering if he had missed something.
"Why did you sell your soul?" The words were slurred together.
"I-," Crowley was caught off guard. If he hadn't have been pretty well smashed he would have told Gabriel to bugger off and mind his business. Except there was something about Gabriel's tone that had him answering. "I don't remember a lot, just enough. My wife. I know I loved her. Loved my son. She got sick and died."
Crowley paused, trying to sort through the haze of alcohol and centuries of torture in Hell.
"I couldn't do without her, foolish thought now, but I sold my soul to get her back. Except I was naïve. She – she wasn't the same. I can't remember now but my son hated me for it." He snorted. "Learned the hard way that's what happens when you work with demons."
Gabriel's arms tightened around him even more.
"I'm so sorry."
"Don't be. It's just memories now," he said, kissing the top of the angel's head. He didn't know why but he did.
Gabriel pressed his face into Crowley's shoulder. His words were almost completely muffled but Crowley could make them out.
In the morning he wouldn't tell Gabriel that he had drunkenly told Crowley he loved him or what Crowley had said in response once Gabriel was softly snoring.