Who: Crowley (and a few Everdale NPC farmers) What: Lucifer's in town. So Crowley is getting his groove back. And harming nary a head in the process. When: Wednesday evening. Where: Everdale Warnings: Some dark imagery.
While he knew that Michael was keeping Lucifer well and truly distracted (and Crowley didn't envy him at all, wasn't sure what that entailed, whether Michael had somehow handcuffed the two of them together or whether he had put his brother in a headlock or some other archangel-type submission maneuver) he still felt the icy chill of paranoia crawling like spider's legs up his neck. He'd spent so many years on the run from Lucifer, back when he'd given the Winchesters the Colt, back when he was gallivanting around in Castiel, and so on. It was like a game of cat and mouse, and Crowley hated being the mouse.
Preya. He loved and hated this place with a fiery passion. While he loved that he could leave the shackles of his old life behind, he hated how he was stripped from so much of his true power, his true self, his true form. It was one of the reasons why he chose a shorter vessel, he liked the thrill of people looking down at him, thinking they could squash him like a bug, before he looked them in his blood red eyes and they saw him for what he truly was beyond the smoke and the mirrors, saw his true Hellish form towering, infernal, roaring, vicious and glorious.
The rub back in the home world was that he could never shift into his true form on Earth, only in Hell, and even then nobody recognised him at all, nobody knew that the tall, towering monstrosity that seemed to span the entire realm was Crowley, nobody dared dream the infernal beast with gnashing teeth, curved horns, hellfire burning white-orange hotter than the sun from within was him.
Since he'd come to Preya, since he'd been closed off access to Hell, he'd been weakened. Normally he was always warm, blood always running with hellfire in his veins. That blizzard, he would have been safe walking around in it without fear of running into a chill. But he'd had to rug up since he got to Preya, feeling strangely cold, strangely chilled. He knew the limits, he could use his powers, his telekinesis, he could teleport, he could set things on fire, do all the regular things he could do back home, except his powers were somewhat muted. As it was back home, he could bring out his towering dragon wings if he wanted to, but it was something he only did selectively as they were a personal part to himself. He smoked out regularly, as it was the closest thing he got to getting to his true form.
But after talking to Michael, and after doing some research, he knew he had to make steps. Lucifer was in town, he didn't know how long he was going to be here, and there was always a chance that Lucifer could come after him and Crowley had to be prepared just in case. So he headed to Everdale to follow up on Michael's lead.
He greeted the farmer warmly, a grizzled white-haired man leaning heavily on a cane. He had been exchanging correspondence with the farmer and some of his friends on the networks, getting more information about the rogue hellhounds. They had been attacking the cattle and had retreated into the nearby forest, most likely riled up and frightened by the latest uprising of activity related to the Antichrist and Lucifer.
"I'm sorry about your animals," Crowley told the farmer sincerely. He didn't look like a demon, he didn't even look like an undercover FBI agent or any Winchester related cover or anything. He just looked like a man trying to help, he was wearing black jeans, a brown button-up shirt and a leather jacket. The farmer and his friends knew he was a demon, and didn't seem to judge him at all, which was something Crowley appreciated. "I know hellhounds. They're most likely frightened, due to the anomalous magic that ties this realm together. You know how it is." He offered the man a smile. "I can't bring your animals back, but I can reimburse you for their loss. If there are any further injuries or wounds inflicted, let me know and I will be able to help you out."
"Thank you sir," the farmer said gratefully, silver-grey eyes brimming with gratitude. "I won't forget your number that quickly."
Crowley chuckled. That was the other thing. Hell might have been off-limits, but his number was still 666. That was pretty satisfying.
He headed into the forest, not bothering with a torch and just seeing with his red demon eyes. He could always see better that way, enhanced vision and hearing and scent and all that. "Come on," he said softly, "I know you're here somewhere."
He listened to nothing but his crunching footsteps, before he stopped in the middle of a clearing, hearing nothing but dead silence. He felt the hairs stand up at the back of his neck and heard a soft growl behind him, before there was more around him.
Crowley saw them appear from the trees, first one, then three more, then three more after that. There had to be at least twenty of them clustered around them, staring at him with the same blood red eyes. They stood around him in a ring, growling softly.
In the dim light, Crowley's red demon eyes seemed to glow brighter, the crimson aura trails bleeding out into the darkness. He shifted his feet slightly, feeling his red smoke coiling inside him like a serpent. A dragon. He knew that the tattoos on his skin would be glimmering. There was a reason he had those particular tattoos, after all.
The largest hellhound moved closer to him, the Alpha of the pack. Crowley stared at it as it drew closer, slowly lifted his arm and held out his hand. The pup moved closer, lifted its snout towards Crowley's hand and sniffed once, before brushing its sandpaper tongue against Crowley's knuckles. Crowley slowly smiled as the pup let out a soft whine of submission, moving to sit on its haunches. The other hellhounds moved closer now that the Alpha had submitted, curiously moving towards the demon.
"That's it," he said softly, his hand moving up to pet over the Alpha's head gently, "Come to papa."
As Crowley stroked over the invisible flaming fur of the hellhound, his eyes seemed to momentarily flash brighter. The flaming essence of the hellhound started to transfer over to Crowley as he siphoned the infernal energy harmlessly. His other hand traveled up to another hellhound that was close, doing the same to it.
After a while, the Alpha seemed to become less invisible and became more canine, more normal. It looked like a chocolate labrador, because that was all it was-- Crowley had siphoned the hell out of it and it was now a regular hound. The pup sneezed once, before stepping back to allow one of its companions to take its place.
Hellhound lore was few and far between, and siphoning a hellhound's energy in a way such as this was extremely rare, and something that involved a bond of true trust between hellhound and owner. It also involved someone with an open heart, but at the same time someone who had been touched by Hell. And of course, it required someone who was inherently good with animals, and Hellhounds. Crowley fit all those demands and so much more that weren't even covered in the lore.
As Crowley continued to harmlessly siphon the energy, he gasped, in his mind's eye he saw his true form towering in Hell, he could feel the flaming sword that was his weapon. He could see his red smoke, could see the towering red skies, the red storm brought on by his smoke, he could feel Hell in him, he could feel his power. Hellfire once again ran through his veins.
He didn't realise his eyes had closed until he opened them and saw that the former hellhounds were waiting, their energy all siphoned and gone. He must have gone through about thirty of them, he knew that if there were any more that they weren't as troublesome as these had been. These had been the ones that had attacked the villages, the cattle. But now they were harmless dogs of various species, they could be adopted and put into homes harmlessly, they had no memories of their lives in Hell, there wasn't a drop of hellfire in them.
Crowley looked down at his hand and realised he held the flaming sword in his hand. He wasn't sure how it would work against Lucifer, but this was his weapon. He was the King of the Crossroads, King of Hell, the weapon was a manifestation of his true form, a representation of his power being restored. He wasn't sure if it could kill Lucifer, but it would seriously bring him some hurt.
The smoke dissolved into red smoke, dematerialising, Crowley knew he could bring it forward again if needed. Looking at the dogs, he smiled at them.
"Let's get you to some loving families." He smiled softly. He felt relieved, satisfied. Lucifer was still in Preya but he wasn't running around undefended-- his power was back, he was back. The King was back.