Takes place before the end of Season One of Trollhunters. Season 4-5 of supernatural. Some canon changes.

Claire didn't normally spend a lot of time sitting in the park, but she had to get out. Sitting in the house, knowing that Enrique was in the Darklands, at the mercy of monsters that literally ate babies, and she couldn't do a thing about it was driving her insane with desperation. Mom and dad had let her take Enrique out for a stroll on Saturday, happy that she wasn't dealing with Jim and Toby. They didn't like them. They were talking about not letting her even see, them because of Jim's bad influence on her, and he was trying to get their real son back.

He might die trying to get her brother back. They all might die.

"Mainly because of you!" she hissed at the child in the stroller next to her. They were far enough from anyone else in the park that nobody could hear her.

"Hey, Sis, that ain't my fau—" Enrique had shifted to his troll form, shielded from the light by the shade on the stroller.

"I'm not your sis and—"

"Nice job, kid. The act, I mean."

Claire nearly jumped out of her skin at the casual words. She looked up and wondered how the man had gotten so close without her noticing. Not-Enrique was staring up at the man. Enrique, back in his human guise, promptly started cooing and giggling at the stranger. He was older, staring at her with amused eyes, a well-tailored suit telling her he wasn't just any tourist. He was wealthy.

"Who—" he raised a finger to silence her and then stared down at Not-Enrique.

"Doesn't playing that game get old? I mean, you're older than she is, and nobody here from your little play-order is going to be reporting back to Gunmar, so stop with the cooing. Never liked kids anyway."

Suddenly, his Scottish accent sounded ominous.

"You—you're a chang—" Claire put her hand on her purse, where the shadow staff was. He probably wouldn't attack her, not here not in public, but she didn't know who he was…or if he had friends.

"Don't," he said. Claire's mouth closed with a snap as the entire sunlit park seemed to chill. Not-Enrique was staring up at him, eyes wide. "I'm not interested in their little games…" He sat down next to Claire. "But I sometimes consider myself a… philanthropist. Hi. Name's Crowley. Want your little brother back?"

Enrique? Back? No. This has to be a trick.

"No trick. Say the word, and I can have him back in time for lunch. Might want to get the junior spy there out of sight first."

"Kid's in the Darklands. How are you going to get him out?" Not-Enrique had given up the masquerade and was staring at Crowley, suspicion on his face. Claire checked to make certain nobody else could see the changeling.

"Oh, I've gotten out of far worse places than the Darklands." Crowley smiled. "But really, what do you have to lose? I'm not talking betraying your troll friends, or telling me that James Lake Junior is the trollhunter, or showing off that little staff you stole off of Angor Rot…"

"You know…"

"Yep."

"Bring him back, please."

"Ah, now, first we have the matter of payment. I need to ask you. Once Enrique is delivered to you, will you pay my price?"

"What is it?"

"Well," Crowley smiled. "I can tell you what it won't be. It won't hurt your friends, it won't hurt your parents or Enrique—either one of them—and it won't help the Janus order or Gunmar." He chuckled. "It won't even cost you any money. None at all. Hell, most people don't even miss what I'm asking for, and it'll all be on you, no harm to anyone else—"

"What is i—" A ring tone interrupted Claire's question.

"Whups!" Crowley said. "Sorry." He pulled out a phone. "Looks like something came up. Sorry kid, I'm not going to be able to help you, times pass—"

"Wait!" Claire said, desperate. "If you can bring Enrique back, I'll pay, just do it!"

"Let's shake hands on it," Crowley said. Claire took his hand in hers, and for some reason shuddered at the touch. "Good job. Ah, get the fake undercover at your house, and I'll meet you there. I'll accept payment in oh, two weeks."

"Yes!" Claire said "Anything."

"Then I'm off. Your house, thirty minutes from now."

Moments later, Claire was pushing the stroller as fast as she could.

"This wasn't a good idea, kid." Enrique was pushed back far from the light, his eyes gleaming in the shade of the stroller.

"You just want to stay here and get fed!" Claire muttered.

"Yeah, but nobody can get into the Darklands, so he's playing you. I bet he's with the order and we're both gonna be ambushed."

"Then I'll portal out with the shadow staff and we'll get help, but if he can…"

Enrique… Home… Claire shook her head. "Besides, even if he doesn't come through, we're not any worse off."

When they got home, Claire took not-Enrique up to his room, and looked at him. "Well, turn back."

"I… I… Holy Shiskibob, I can't!" The changeling stared at his form.

"Of course not. I got Enrique. Here he is."

Claire had started at the words, but there was Crowley, right in her room. Holding Enrique. Holding Enrique. She didn't care how he'd gotten in there, didn't care about anything other than the fact that her brother was home. Her brother was home under the sun.

"Oh…" Claire felt the tears start to fall from her eyes. Her brother was cooing and smiling and she kissed his forehead before putting him in his crib, Not-Enrique looking amazed (and a little disgruntled).

"Thank you! Thank you!" Claire said.

"Now, about that matter of payment. You agree I've held up my side of the bargain?"

"Yes!" Claire didn't know what he wanted. A song? Creepy pictures? Worse? She didn't care. She would do anything for Enrique. No matter what he wanted, he'd saved Enrique—and Jim. Now they'd never have to go to the Darklands, never risk letting Gunmar out.

"Well, understand this. I never lied to you. Granted things were a bit unusual, most people summon me, but well, times are strange. But you could have asked me what I was at any point."

"Who?"

"Not precisely." Crowley's smile widened. "I'm a crossroads demon. Specifically, the King of the Crossroads. I make deals with people. Riches, revenge, their little brother back… for the price of their soul. A price which you agreed to. No lies on my part."

Claire stared with horror as Crowley's eyes… Changed, becoming reddish orbs.

"Now," he continued. "I'll be back in two weeks to collect my price. Don't run, I have hellhounds for that…" He cocked his head, staring at her. "And hey, I started out a damned soul and ended up here, wheeling and dealing. Only took me a few hundred years. You're a go-getter, you could do the same."

Then he was gone. No flash, no thunder, just gone.

Claire felt herself sliding down the wall, hitting the floor with a thump.

"He was making a joke, right Sis?" Not-Enrique asked. "I mean, you don't have to worry, right?"

"I… I…" Claire closed her eyes. "I don't know."

It was a lie. She did know. She could feel it. Everything Crowley said had been the truth.