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Before he knew it, he’d been back for six months.
His life in the parallel world almost seemed like a dream, now.
“Morning, Moose. Back from your run?” he asked when he opened his door.
“Yeah. Dean and Cas are up – they’re making breakfast”.
“Sounds good”.
“Look who’s finally up” Dean announced as he strolled into the kitchen.
It was true – the nightmares he’d grown used to were slowly tampering off, allowing him to sleep better.
“I need my beauty sleep”.
“I’m sure you do”.
He ignored Dean and accepted the cup of coffee Cas offered him.
It would turn out to be an extraordinary day.
Sam finding them a case was nothing remarkable, but it would lead to... interesting developments.
“Seriously” Dean said slowly, “A frog rain. Frogs fell out of the sky. And there was no tornado or hurricane responsible?”
“None. The frogs aren’t even naturally occurring to Northern America”.
“Alright, sounds like it could be our thing...”
“Frogs have been associated with witches, but back in my day some believed them to be demons, too” Crowley said.
“God please let it be demons”. Dean shuttered. “I hate witches.”
“That’s because of your OCD” Sam teased him.
“I just don’t like wadding through bodily fluids, there’s nothing wrong with that”.
Crowley, after having experienced the Apocalypse, could only agree.
So off they went.
“Wanna ride shotgun?” Dean asked him. “It is your half anniversary in a way, isn’t it?”
He nodded, surprised. Normally he rode in the back, if the others weren’t tired and he got to drive.
After they’d all said goodbye to Juliet (who was growing more playful by the day; there was little of the nasty temper hell hounds usually had left in her) they were on their way to Arizona.
“Thing is” Dean said, “even if this is a witch, that’s a pretty weird thing to do, just letting frogs fall on people. What can they possibly hope to accomplish?”
“If we could ask my mother, I am certain she would have come up with quite a few ideas”.
Despite everything they’d done to each other in their long life, it hadn’t taken him by surprise to identify the strange pang he’d felt as a demon upon learning that she was dead as grief once he’d woken up human.
He’d even discussed it with Mary.
“Emotions aren’t logical” she said quietly one night at the camp fire. “Even after I had read John’s journal and understood how the boys had grown up, it was easier for me to blame monsters and demons at large, when I knew many hunters who settled down and lived a regular life while hunting. My father did that”.
“I met your father” he reminded her. “I’d hardly consider him a good role model”.
She smiled sadly.
“And yet I even grieved for him. It’s just part of being human.”
She looked into the flames.
“Do you think the boys are alright?”
“Winchesters always are, in the end. And they have Cas to look after them” he assured, even though he was still struggling with the fact that he’d never see them again.
“Crowley? You alright?”
He blinked.
“Yes. I was just... thinking”.
Dean nodded, understanding in his eyes.
“Dean, the road!” Sam reminded him.
“Alright, alright”.
He turned his head to drive properly as he said, “Sure annoying with the kids in the back, huh?”
“I am older than all of you combined” Cas piped up.
“You forgot to buy pie the other day, you have no right to complain”.
“I told you they were sold out!”
He turned around to see Sam rolling his eyes.
He doubted anyone would have envied him, but he wouldn’t have traded the life he was leading for anything.
“Alright” Dean decided later in the day, “It has to be witches. Demons don’t spontaneously make all tulips in town bloom”.
“You would be surprised. I once had my minions create a rose garden for me so I could take my tea as Jane Austen intended.”
Dean stared at him for a moment before he chuckled.
“Good one. Almost believed you for a second. Seriously though, what is this witch’s endgame? Do they just really like frogs and tulips and want to make the town prettier?”
“There would be easier ways to accomplish that” Crowley said as they walked back to the Impala. They’d been investigating the tulip situation, while Sam and Cas were interviewing people about the frog train.
Something kept niggling at the back of his mind. One of the more frustrating aspects of being human was the reduced memory; both him and Cas had been struggling to keep the knowledge they’d had as supernatural beings.
Facts certainly weren’t as easy to retain eternally as they had been.
“Alright, tell me what you’re thinking”.
“I don’t know, that’s the problem”.
“Alright. So we’re dealing with witches. Is it something about witches in general?”
The nagging grew louder.
“Yes”.
“Okay, got it, we’re getting warmer. So... is it about their powers?”
They’d developed that little game early on with Cas, it seemed, and when he’d joined them in the bunker they had soon come to use the same tactic. It might have sounded childish, but it usually got the results they needed.
“Yes. Definitely about their... the power, the magic. It’s in overdrive!” he exclaimed, remembering.
“Overdrive?”
“Yes. Magic, as you know, isn’t inherently evil. It’s just a fact of life, like the Loch Ness monster. And when there is too much of it, when not even the witch can properly control the power she’s yielding...”
“Random stuff happens. That’s what you’re saying, right?”
“Exactly”.
“Great. So we have a witch with too much power on their hands”.
The truth turned out to be much more horrifying.
Because when they entered the house of the witch that night – the local librarian, of all people, Cas had found out when he realized all the books on magic in the town library had mysteriously vanished and she hadn’t managed to convince him that she hadn’t known about it – they immediately knew something was wrong.
No one kept a padlock on the door to their basement if they didn’t have anything to hide.
And what she was trying to hide...
Turned out she had been collecting other witches to strive off their magic, too. And many witches were so bound to the powers they had that they were slowly wasting away.
Crowley was checking an emaciated form on a bed, failing to find a pulse, when Sam gasped his name.
Thinking he was being attacked, he wheeled around, gun at the ready, only to see Sam stand by another bed –
With a red-haired occupant.
He managed not to drop his gun but only just.
“Mother!?”
Sam nodded.
“She’s unconscious, but alive”.
Dear God.
She’d beaten death yet again.
He stumbled over to the bed.
“Hey, hey” Dean and Cas showed up.
“Six of them are still alive... unless...”
“No, the one I was checking is dead” he forced himself to say.
“Okay”. Dean squeezed his shoulder.
“Look, Cas is gonna help you carry her to the car and we’ll deal with the witch, alright?”
“Thank you”.
They carefully carried her to the Impala.
Once they’d made her (hopefully) comfortable in the backseat, Crowley said, “We have to get back”.
“You don’t have to – “
“She managed to catch all these witches, Cas. I’m not keen on seeing Sam and Dean like this or worse”.
Cas nodded and they stormed back in.
Luckily, Dean got her with a shot between the eyes just as they arrived back in the basement.
“That should do it. We better call the police and get out of here... They need medical care”.
Crowley feared it might be too late for some of them, but agreed.
His mother appeared to be in a stable condition at least; he figured a lot of rest and time to allow her magic to replenish itself would do the trick.
To get back to the bunker, they had to hotwire another car, since she was occupying the back seat; Sam and Dean decided to drive together while handing Cas the keys to the Impala.
“Cas knows more about magic than we do, and he’s a good driver. No offense, but I don’t want to see you behind a wheel now”.
“That is probably for the best”.
The sight of her had shaken him to his core. He’d made his peace with her death, and he’d moved on, and now...
He appreciated it all the more that the boys had taken him in, no questions asked. Then again, they were probably used to people coming back to life.
He’d never seen it happen as a human.
He turned around to check on her once more.
“She’ll be fine” Cas assured him. “I am sorry I can’t heal her”.
“Not your fault you haven’t got wings anymore”.
“I know. Sometimes I still wish...”
He stopped.
“I understand. You can’t imagine how often I tried to teleport at camp before I got it through my head that I couldn’t anymore”.
“And don’t get me started on sleep” Cas replied.
“Right? The need’s just so annoying...”
They filled the silence punctuated by his mother’s breathing with this inane chatter until they arrived.
“Cas and I’ll clean out a room” Dean said, jumping out of the stolen car. “Sam’s gonna dump this in the meantime. Where – “
“I’ll put her in my bed, won’t be long” he decided.
She looked so small as he lay her down.
He remembered being sick in Scotland as a kid. She could so easily have let him die then, the infant mortality rate had been high anyway; but no, she’d sat by his bedside and nursed him, saving his life.
He swallowed and went to help the boys.
“So you both agree magic should do the trick on its own?” Dean asked when they were done and they had laid down Rowena in her new bed.
He nodded.
“She probably shouldn’t be left alone, though”.
“Six hour shift, then.”
“You don’t have to –“
“Of course we will”.
And thus this discussion ended.
It took three days for her to regain semi-consciousness; and even then, she was only coherent when Crowley happened to be in the room.
Cas saw it as a good sign.
“She’s feeling you’re near” he argued, “which means she knows who she is, at least subconsciously”.
Crowley wasn’t so sure. She never seemed repulsed by his presence, and that didn’t seem like his mother at all.
A week after they’d brought her to the bunker, he was checking her pulse when she suddenly whispered, “I knew you couldn’t be dead. My beautiful son.”
She must be thinking he was Oskar. It was the only explanation.
But then she patted his hand and whispered “Knew she was lying, Fergus” before passing out again.
He stumbled out of the room.
The others were in the library.
“Is Rowena – “ Sam began as soon as he caught sight of him.
“She’s as fine as she can be under the circumstances” he answered.
Cas and Sam traded a glance before leaving him alone with Dean under the pretence of checking up on her together.
“What happened?”
He told him.
“Let me guess, and you have no idea what to think”.
“None”.
After a pause, Dean admitted, “I wouldn’t have either if it was my Mom in there”.
Crowley started to laugh.
“What – “
Dean reached out to him, apparently concerned for his mental state.
“No, I just – I realized – I would know exactly what to do if Mary was in the same position”.
“You mean – oh God you’re right you know her better than anyone of us”.
And then they were both laughing. It was no merry moment; their laughter was born out of pain and bitterness, but it helped.
And four days later, when his mother’s eyes finally cleared, he knew exactly how to greet her.
“Fergus?”
“Yes, but it’s Crowley Winchester now, Mother”.