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"Silly humans!" Crowley thought to himself as he wiped his stubby nose with his paw, trying to get the remnants of his lunch out of his fur.
It couldn't be that hard to arrange smaller portions of food, so he wouldn't get it all over his face.
"Tsk." With a wriggle of his butt and the attached curly tail, Crowley trotted out of the kitchen.
He took a look around to make sure that the two legger who technically owned the house wasn't around before Crowley made his way into the living room. Very quietly, not to wake anybody else.
Because today, Crowley was on a mission.
When Crowley had first set foot into the Shurley house, its oldest inhabitant had been waiting for him already - fluffy tail curling around the - well, equally "fluffy" body. When Chuck introduced the cat as Bobby, Crowley looked up at him and was surprised not to find his eyes narrowed. Actually, the cat had been radiating a lazy kind of acceptance, and for some reason it had made Crowley not want to chase him up the next tree.
Of course, Crowley's instincts were flawless, thank you very much, so his first impression of the old cat was right.
Bobby seemed to watch over the house and its inhabitants with a kind of lazy and yet comforting care, and was a steady presence in the house.
Which was also the reason why it had been particularly hard to keep his plan a secret from the cat. But of course, with his wits and stealth, the pug had managed that as well. Crowley proudly stuck up his nose, and promptly tumbled over a bump in the carpet. Shaking himself in surprise, he took a look around to make sure nobody saw, and then quickly hopped across the room to squeeze himself through the cat flap.
As Gabriel, the Shurley's corgi liked to stress day after day, Crowley was "fun sized". Though he'd prefer to call it his personal danger-design, since he could stealthily cause mayhem under other people's noses.
Anyway, he managed to get outside without being noticed - where he promptly felt a pair of eyes resting on him. Blue eyes, to be precise. Castiel, the black, young cat was nothing to worry about, though. He spent his days outside a lot, and regularly snuck out to meet up with a pair of strays. Crowley nodded at him, in silent understanding. They had a mutual agreement, and kept each other's secrets dutifully.
Castiel was also the one who had gotten him in contact with aforementioned strays, namely Sam and Dean, and shown him the hole in the fence he now exited the garden through. The two brown cats were already waiting for him, Sam's green eyes focused on him, while Dean's gaze was resting on the shimmering black fur that could be seen through the slits in the fence.
Crowley sat down, steadily holding Sam's gaze as they waited for Dean to come back to planet earth.
The pug didn't like strays. They were dirty, sneaky, annoying, and hard to kill. But for the sake of his mission, he would put up with them.
Dean, seemingly ripped out of his trance, narrowed his eyes at the pug. “So, you're Crowley,“ he hissed, disdain obvious in his whole body language. Unimpressed, Crowley held his head a little higher. “In the flesh. And you're the strays Castiel likes to associate with. Pleased to make your acquaintance.“
“Yeah, whatever, pug. You remember our agreement?“ Sam's voice was a steady purr, as deep as it was unsettling, and Crowley licked his nose. He didn't appreciate rudeness.
“Of course, stray. It's in the house, Castiel will be told the location as soon as we're back.“
As much as Castiel could provide Dean and Sam with the smaller luxuries such as expensive cat food, and several toys, the cats didn't have the privilege of going to the palace of fun things, as they liked to call it. Chuck went there at least once a week, and he usually took the dogs with him. Crowley had become known for sneaking his own items into the cage on wheels, and had agreed to bring them some of the crackly exploding things they sold everywhere when it got really warm. Even though cats usually fled as quickly as they could whenever humans lit any, Crowley didn't really bother to ask questions. It wasn't his war.
No, his mission was a different one. And after Castiel nodded at them, the Winchesters went ahead, expertly making their way along the wide highway, Crowley's desired destination already in sight after a short while of walking.
As soon as they arrived at the car den - which was what the strays called it; Crowley knew that the humans called it “jazz nation“, but educating those barbarians was hopeless - the tricky part would begin.
The old dalmatian who lived there was a particularly nasty specimen; Zachariah kept watch constantly, and seemed to wake up from naps whenever he felt threatened. And to the old buttlicker, every other animal seemed to be a threat.
But that's what Crowley had brought the cats for, and with a nod, they took off to one of the currently unoccupied monster cars.
The blaring honk was Crowley's signal, and he sprinted inside through the magically opening doors, finding what he'd been looking for immediately. Unseen by the humans, he tugged on one of the low-hanging hats until it fell off, then gently bit into the front until he securely held it between his teeth, and ran back outside.
He'd seen the items the last few times he'd been here with Chuck, but the human always made him wait in the car, so coming back by himself had been the only option to get one.
And, obviously, his plan had worked.
Turning his head, the cats were nowhere to be seen, only Zachariah's angry cussing was to be heard, so the pug sprinted away from the jazz nation, not looking back the whole way.
When he arrived back at the house, he found the hole in the fence rather quickly and made his way inside, hat still clutched between his teeth. Castiel's ears perked up at his arrival, and Crowley barked at him a few times, until Castiel's confused expression turned into understanding, and he left the pug to himself.
Making it back inside, Crowley let himself fall to the floor, panting heavily. He was a pure-bred, not made for such adventures and escapades.
But as he heard soft pawsteps after a few minutes, he knew it'd soon pay off. Hopefully.
Quickly gathering himself, Crowley sat down properly, hat still clutched between his teeth.
Bobby's gaze was fixed on the dark fabric, impression unreadable. They stayed silent for a little while, until Bobby trotted over to Crowley and looked straight at him.
“It looks like the one Chuck threw out. The one my-“
Bobby stopped himself, slight sadness hushing over his features.
“The one old singer left you, I know,“ Crowley said quietly, after putting the hat down in front of Bobby, presenting it as the gift it was.
More silence followed, but Crowley knew the old cat well enough to know that tension was seeping out of his bones, his fur visibly flattening, as his tail started swaying lightly.
Directing his gaze back up to the pug, Bobby gently picked up the hat and walked over to his bed on the windowsill, momentarily distracted once he looked out the window.
Now curious, Crowley struggled (gracefully) to join Bobby up on the windowsill. The picture that had caught the old cat's attention was Castiel carefully grooming Dean under a tree, the stray half-heartedly batting at the black paws trying to hold him still.
Crowley knew it was fondness in Bobby's eyes, so he held back his commentary. For now.
A light tingle in his fur made Crowley turn his head, and he saw that the cat had curled up in its bed, his head and paw resting on the hat.
For a moment, the pug was unsure what to do, but then Bobby opened one of his eyes, mouth curved up in amusement.
“You gonna sit there all day and watch those idjits?“
His voice was a low rumble, and Crowley quickly moved to join the cat on the soft cushions, one of Bobby's paws coming up to rest on one of his own.
Contently, Crowley closed his eyes as well, without a clue that he would be awoken by fireworks and panicked hissing in a few hours.
But what a peaceful few hours.