Crowley heard the beginning of the summoning ritual, as he always did, but he knew he had time. He liked to let the summoner finish their little chant for three reasons. One: it was amusing to listen to them stumble over the foreign words; two: he made sure they used up their materials, which was inconvenient for them; and three: the dramatic entrance in the ensuing puff of smoke was always worth it.
Because time passed much slower up there than it did in Hell, Crowley poured himself a drink and downed it, savouring the taste of centuries-old scotch. Setting the crystalline glass back down, he stood, straightening his jacket and brushing imaginary dust from his shoulders. As the summoner finished the incantation and presumably ignited the materials, Crowley felt that lovely tugging feeling in the pit of his stomach and smiled, letting the magic whisk him away.
"Well, hello," Crowley called out cheerfully, though the words lost a bit of their gusto when he realized to whom he was speaking. A man stood in front of him: short dark hair, young, lean, wearing a leather jacket—John Winchester, a man out of his time. Looking at his face, Crowley saw the angelic glow issuing from his aura, but he had already known he was meeting with Michael, the sword of Heaven.
Normally faced with this situation, or anything like it, the demon would have immediately teleported away. However, the angel reached out a steadying hand. "Wait," he said in a voice much softer than the one John Winchester had used in life.
"What, so you can smite me?" Crowley asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.
"No," said Michael steadily. Everything he did had always been infuriatingly steady. "I wish to make a deal."
Crossing his arms, Crowley said simply, "I'm listening." He wondered what an angel could possibly need with the King of Hell. As a general rule, angels were more powerful than demons.
"As you must know, Lucifer and Gabriel occupy the same vessel."
"Bunk buddies," Crowley agreed, pulling a phrase from Lucifer's vocabulary; he had always gotten the impression that the fallen angel was oddly proud of his colloquialisms.
Michael ignored the slang, dismissing it with a slight frown. "Because they are in such close proximity, each is subject to the others' thoughts and feelings. I fear they will tear each other apart."
"What do you want me to do about it?" the demon asked in irritation.
"Can you separate them? I know demons have access to spells that angels cannot even fathom.
Crowley thought for a moment. "Yes, I believe I've got just the thing." He smiled wickedly.
Michael nodded, steeling himself for what came next. "What do you want in return?'
"I've heard that the big quest for this year is to kill Zachariah." He had more than heard.
When Mary Winchester died, she had been pregnant with a baby girl. While Mary's soul was put to rest, her daughter had been raised and trained by the angels: particularly Zachariah, who had taken a disturbing fancy to Mary. Now an adult, the daughter, Danielle, had been sent to Earth to carry out the angels' will, though this put her out of Zachariah's immediate reach. Mostly. She had attempted to strike a deal with Gabeifer for help to kill the archangel, a meeting which Crowley had interrupted with his own proposition. Unfortunately, he had been chased off by the double angel before he could solidify anything.
"My terms are: I separate Luci and Gabe and make sure they both stay alive," Crowley continued. "And you make sure that Zachariah gets killed—"
"You don't want my soul?" Michael interrupted, confused.
"I'm not finished!" Crowley snapped, holding up a finger, which he then tipped toward Michael. "You make sure Zachariah gets killed," he repeated softly, "and after that, you're mine. You do my bidding. No questions asked." It was a bold move, even for him. He wouldn't have even let it cross his mind if he didn't know how much Michael cared for his family.
The angel hesitated, and then sighed. "I…fine. Whatever it takes to save my brothers. But I must ask…why? Why not just take my soul?"
"Aside from the unpleasant burning sensation it would give me?" Crowley asked with a raised eyebrow, surprised at Michael's compliance. He figured he would have had to push a little. "Because I wouldn't know what to do with it. What's the use in riding a dragon, my dear, if you've not had someone tame it? I could seriously hurt myself. Besides, this way you get to stay alive for longer than ten years. Sound like a plan?"
Michael sighed again. Lucifer and Gabriel would be furious, he knew—Lucifer especially. But he had to do this. His brothers were his responsibility, and he would save them. "What do you need?" He wouldn't give the demon the satisfaction of verbally agreeing with him.
"Well, first off…" Crowley snapped his fingers, transporting them both to an empty warehouse he sometimes used as a garrison. "We do this on my turf. Second, I need your blood. It's the only thing powerful enough to contain those two. This wouldn't work if you weren't the…top dog." He produced a wooden bowl and a ceremonial knife, seemingly from nowhere, and handed them to Michael. The angel took them wordlessly, made an incision in his forearm, and began to bleed.
"You're certain they'll be safe?" Michael asked, his eyes on the task at hand.
Crowley dismissed the gesture with a wave of his hand: Michael could interpret that however he wanted. "Making a deal with an angel is a tricky thing. Takes a little extra…umph. After all, what's to stop you from killing me once I've performed my bit?" He opened his jacket, producing one of his customary nine-foot contracts and unrolling it with a flourish. He laid the bottom on the table between them, discarding the rest of the parchment over his shoulder. "Your blood. Your feather. Sign."
Michael retracted his arm and willed his vessel to heal immediately. Plucking a snow-white feather from his wing, he dipped it in the dark red liquid and scribbled his name in Enochian along the dotted line. "It is done."
Crowley nodded once, waiting a moment for the blood to dry before rolling up the parchment and making it disappear. "You know that's not how you seal a deal…" He shook his head at Michael with a disappointed tsking noise. "That was just insurance."
The archangel grimaced. He knew exactly what was coming. Crowley was staring at him bemusedly, forcing him to have to initiate it. Reluctantly, Michael stepped forward, placed his hands on the demon's shoulders, and pressed their lips together.
Crowley kissed back forcefully, lingering for longer than necessary; he enjoyed Michael's discomfort. After a few moments he pulled away, one corner of his mouth quirking upward. "Not bad, for an angel. It's been a while since I've kissed one."
"The deal is made; get on with it." Michael let go of the demon's shoulders, stepping away in disgust. Crowley shrugged, reaching for the bowl sitting on the table. He dipped his fingers into the warm blood, drawing a circle of binding runes on the floor in the centre of the room. They were much more complex than a Devil's Trap, and they would not render the angels powerless, only keep them from crossing. For his purposes, however, they were much more effective than Holy Oil. Once finished, he turned back to Michael. "Bring 'em in," he ordered, quickly sketching a banishing sigil in the same blood on the tabletop.
Michael closed his eyes, trying to ignore the demon now cleaning his hands with a silken handkerchief. Lucifer…Gabriel. Whichever one of you is in control…please. I need you. When he opened his eyes, Gabriel's vessel was standing before him in the middle of the freshly drawn circle.
Gabriel, who had been in favour of blowing off Michael's summons, hissed at Lucifer in his head. What the Hell is this? I told you we should have stayed away.
Be quiet, Lucifer ordered. He locked eyes with his brother. "What is this, Michael?" He spied Crowley standing a few feet back. "What did you do?"
Michael looked down, ashamed. "You are going to kill each other, Lucifer. I am simply protecting you."
Lucifer narrowed his eyes. "You made a demon deal?" he hissed. "What are you thinking, Michael?"
"What sort of vessel would you like, Luci?" Crowley asked with mock politeness, stepping forward. "Male? Female? Young? Old?" He snapped his fingers and a man appeared through a doorway at one end of the room. He was tall and middle-aged with dark hair and a neatly trimmed goatee, dressed smartly in a pinstriped suit. With a blank look in his eyes, he stepped into the circle and stood at attention. Crowley smiled. "Classic devil, isn't he?"
Lucifer, don't listen to him! Michael! Gabriel called desperately, hoping to drag his brothers' attention away from each other. Michael, please. We don't need this! Michael!
Ignoring Gabriel's frantic screams, Lucifer raised his hand to consume the man beside him in flames. "I think you're forgetting who I am, Crowley," he sneered. He had always hated this upstart, even more so now that he had taken over Hell. "I cannot be held by a mere human vessel."
"I know that, you arse," the King of Hell snarled. "You really think I've gotten to where I am without knowing that Satan can't be stored in an arbitrary meat suit? That was a vampire vessel, dear. A perfect paradox. His regeneration keep you from blowing him apart, and your presence keeps him from having to drink blood."
Gabriel struggled to take control of the vessel. "What're the terms of the deal? What'd you make Mikey do?"
"Oh, nothing," said Crowley with a wicked grin. "Just…made him succumb to my will for the next…forever." He brought forth another vampire vessel, this one a woman with long dark hair, garbed in a red evening dress. Her lips were full, her skin dusky, her eyes a smoky grey. "The seductress," Crowley announced proudly. "Another devilish disguise, I think."
Gabriel could hardly hear Crowley's gloating; a rage not entirely his own was mounting in the back of his head, causing a buzzing in his ears. He felt Lucifer push past him once again.
"You enslaved my brother?" he asked with deadly quiet. He was furious with Crowley, to be sure, but he felt a certain irritation towards Michael as well. This wasn't his problem, yet he had allowed himself to be serviced to a demon to solve it.
"Struck, signed, and sealed with a kiss," Crowley confirmed with a nod. Michael refused to look at his brothers, his Grace shrinking away in shame. He was beginning to regret his decision.
Ugh, Gabriel remarked to Lucifer. Did not wanna picture that. In case Lucifer hadn't gotten the image, Gabriel projected to through his whole head, determined to share his suffering with someone.
Lucifer fixed Crowley with a menacing glare, but there was nothing he could do. Michael had effectively tied all three of their hands and empowered the enemy. Crowley held the fallen angel's gaze, daring him to look away. Lucifer refused to back down: Crowley may have beaten him, but he hadn't broken him.
The demon finally broke the eye contact by looking to Michael. "Step into the circle please, love. Unless you'd like to be sent straight to Home, do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars, when I blow these two apart."
Lucifer pursed his lips. "You're going to banish us?" Gabriel made a noise in the back of his head. He just called Michael 'love.' That's disgusting. I mean, 'dear' or 'darling' is one thing, but 'love'—
"There's nowhere for us to go," continued Lucifer, still ignoring his irritating younger brother.
"That's the point," said Crowley dryly, quickly becoming bored with the whole conversation. "It's like trying to summon a demon that's already in a Devil's Trap. Lucky for us, the blast'll be enough to eject you from poor Gabe's noggin and into this lovely lady."
Michael, who hadn't responded to anything else, dejectedly stepped into the circle at Crowley's earlier request. He looked only at the King of Hell, not deserving to meet his brothers' eyes.
"Thank you," said Crowley gruffly, slamming his hand into the banishing sigil behind him. He averted his gaze as a blinding light filled the room.
The slam of flesh against wood filled Gabriel's head and grew to a deafening shriek. He felt a burning pain in his head and his chest; his Grace felt as though it was being ripped in half. He closed his eyes to shut out the light and felt his brother being dragged away from him.
Lucifer screamed as he was ejected from Gabriel's vessel. He floated free for a moment, unable to break the circle, then was slammed with jarring impact into the new body; the force knocked the vessel prone.
Michael felt an incredible pressure all over, squeezing his Grace. There was nowhere for him to go, however, and as the light dimmed, the pressure decreased. Michael blinked and looked around. Gabriel was prone at the edge of the circle and Lucifer was sitting up slowly, rubbing an aching head.
"It worked," said Crowley, throwing a triumphant smile at the angels. His gaze slid over Gabriel's unconscious form and he chose not to comment on that little bug.
"You said he would be safe," said Michael sadly, looking from his brother to the demon. He would never forgive himself if he was responsible for Gabriel's death. He was supposed to take care of him, of all of them.
"I said he's stay alive," Crowley corrected him. "And he's obviously very much alive," he added, noting Gabriel's even breathing.
"Let us out of here: we're done," spoke Lucifer from the other side of the circle. She had stood, and her voice came out low and sultry, yet with imposing authority.
"Michael can let you out," the demon replied flippantly. "It's his blood, he can break the circle. Besides, I'd like to get a head start away from your unholy wrath. Michael dear, I'll come pick you up when Zachariah is dead. Hasta la vista." He disappeared with a little wave, taking the bowl of Michael's blood with him.
