Fic: Supernatural - If the Shoe Fits
Title: If the Shoe Fits
Summary: Written for comment_fic. The prompt was, "Crowley, he's very protective of his new tailor".
Characters: Crowley, OMC, Team Free Will
Rating: PG
Warning(s): none
Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing Kripke's toys to play with in my sandbox for a while.
Taylor thinks Crowley might be on the verge of crying when he presents him with his brand new, custom made pin-striped suit that would--and he's being completely honest here--put Armani to shame. It's mostly black (and not just 'dark, dark blue' black, he made absolutely sure the fabric was the colour of charcoal before he started sewing it together) with thin, almost invisible midnight blue stripes that he painstakingly designed to glow like fucking stars if hit with even the tiniest rays of light.
Along with the matching Victorian-style cloak, black velvet vest (also the colour of charcoal), and deep sea blue tie, even Taylor has to admit this is probably his best creation yet. It's simple, but classic.
"Taylor," breathes Crowley, surveying the suit like a pirate who just found the ultimate treasure, "this is amazing. You are amazing."
Taylor shuffles his feet, not used to hearing such a high compliment. He knows he's good at what he does, that he's got skills that could rival Vivian Westwood's in design, but because he's so young and has only been in the business for three relatively short years compared to other big names, he doesn't get a lot of clients and the few he does get keep him for long.
"Thank you, sir. I don't hear that a lot," he replies.
Crowley stares at him like he'd just grown a third head. "My dear boy, surely that's a lie?" He cuts Taylor off when he opens his mouth to assure him that it isn't. "How much did you say this costs?"
Taylor is impressed when, after giving him the price, Crowley doesn't even flinch or mutter under his breath about 'cheap college kids' (if he had a penny for every time he heard that... ). Instead, he instantly reaches for his cheque book and writes nearly double the amount on it. "S-Sir!" Taylor cries, "This is too much!" Because that's easily more than anything he's ever made in a year, let alone in one commission, and while he may be desperate, he's not dishonest. His grandfather raised him better than that.
Crowley waves the topic away like writing up cheques roughly the size of Taylor's mortgage is a normal, every day occurrence. Then again, Taylor supposes his house is peanuts compared to Crowley's lavish villa.
Yeah, a villa.
"Taylor," says Crowley, signing the cheque with a flourish, "how would you like to be my new full-time tailor? You will have free board and room here in my home, and I will personally ensure that you will have everything you could possibly need and want. If not, I'm positive I can find it."
Taylor just stares. Because holy shit, this is... this is everything he ever dreamed of and more. "A-Are you sure?" The question comes out more as a squeak. "Because while I'm flattered you like my suit, it's not that--"
"Like it? I'm in love with it!" To emphasize his point, Crowley begins to dance with it, cementing Taylor's earlier suspicions that the man is, indeed, gayer than a maypole. Well, it's nothing he isn't used to, being admittedly bi-curious himself, and Crowley's certainly not the most flamboyant middle-aged man he's met. "Well? What do you think?"
It takes Taylor less than five seconds to decide. "Where do I sign?"
*
It's been six months since he started working for Crowley when he starts getting the feeling that there's something Not Quite Right about his employer. It's not just that Crowley's a surprisingly cool guy, you know, for being richer than God. He's sarcastic but doesn't treat Taylor like he's beneath him just because he works for him. In the first few weeks since he started working at the villa, Crowley had to stop him from taking his dinner to the kitchen every time they had a meal, reminding him time and again that he was welcome to eat in the dining room with him along with the only other live-in employee, a cute French chef called Pippa who just moved here from Paris and doesn't speak a lick of English, but seems to understand them well enough to make the most amazing food ever so it's all good.
But aside from being an incredibly nice employer (Taylor frequently wonders what the hell he did in his past life to deserve a salary that surpasses the pay from all the jobs he's ever had combined), there's something undeniably off about him. He spends most of his days lounging around the house, seemingly doing nothing productive for society but when he does go out, he doesn't take a car (now that Taylor thinks about it, he doesn't recall ever seeing a car anywhere near the villa) and comes back without Taylor ever knowing until hours after his return. Over the past few months, Taylor honestly can't remember if he's ever seen or heard Crowley use the front door. It makes a very loud, distinct creak when being opened and Taylor never remembers hearing it on days that Crowley goes out.
It happens on a Sunday morning, when Taylor is roused from his sleep by raised voices downstairs in the foyer. He creeps down the stairs and stops just at the top of the second-floor landing. There are three guys at the door, one of them a giant, the second tallest looking like he belongs to a bikers' gang with his MacGuyver jacket and ripped jeans, and the last of them looking like a flasher with the most hideous trench coat Taylor's ever seen in his life. "Crowley, you gotta help us," pleads the Giant.
"And I'm telling you 'no'. Haven't I already done enough for you morons?" Crowley hisses.
"But the Behemoth--"
"Can suck my dick as far as I'm concerned, good day." And with that, Crowley slams the door shut, locking it and drawing a weird sigil on the door that looks similar to a pentagram.
Well, Crowley may be a lot of things but Taylor never pegged him as a Satanist.
"Sir?" he ventures hesitantly.
Crowley jumps but doesn't look angry that Taylor had been spying on him. "Ah, morning, Taylor. Did I wake you?"
"Um, no,"
"You should go back to bed anyway. The day has barely started! Didn't you say you'd wanted to go out with your friends tonight? Here, I'll give you the number of a chauffeur who owes me a favor."
Taylor blinks and the surreal conversation between his employer and the three strange men at his door is instantly forgotten. "Sir," he says quietly, "not that I don't appreciate it but... why do you always... do things like this? If you want me to pay you back--"
But Crowley simply laughs, easy and carefree. "No, Taylor, you pay me back enough by making me wonderful suits. I just want to show you my appreciation, that's all."
"That's still more than I deserve."
Crowley levels him with a solemn look. "Of course you deserve it, Taylor. You have a talent that I will be a fool to dismiss. Of course I'll do everything in my power to keep you happy. You and Pippa."
*
Taylor awakes the next morning to a roar and Pippa's scream. He bolts out of his room and down into the games room (yes, a games room) and--
He'll deny it until the day he dies that he wet his pants at the sight that greets him. Pippa's lying on the floor, her legs bleeding profusely, and screaming like a banshee, but with good reason. In front of her is a creature not unlike a dragon. It's huge, terrifying, and it's the size of a rocket ship.
But Taylor's immediately snapped out of his fear by Pippa's screaming and he moves to the fireplace, picking up a poker before hurrying to stand in front of her. "Get away!" he screams, though he highly doubts the creature... thing can understand him. The dragon growls at him and takes a confident step forward. Taylor instinctively takes one back, gently moving Pippa further towards the doorway.
Then, without warning, the dragon lunges at him and Taylor takes a swipe at the thing. The iron poker slices right through the monster's face but it might as well have just tickled him for all the good it does. The dragon roars again, obviously pissed off. Taylor gulps but stands his ground. He may not be a soldier, but his grandfather taught him to fight for what was right no matter what. And if that means getting eaten by a fucking dragon in his bid to protect his co-worker, then so be it.
He just hopes that Pippa will be able to escape and find shelter. And that Crowley won't be too disappointed that he won't be getting that new winter coat after all.
But then Crowley storms in from out of nowhere, his face crimson red with rage. "How dare you!" he hisses at the dragon. He steps in front of Taylor, completely unarmed, and unafraid of the fucking dragon in front of him. "I do not forgive trespassers lightly, but to attack my own employees in my home? You will be lucky if I let you die a quick and painless death."
The dragon narrows its eyes at Crowley and growls. Crowley matches its glare with one of his own. "Leave," he spits out, his voice venomous, "or I'll show you the true meaning of pain."
For one brief, terrifying moment, the dragon seems to consider staying. But then it flies off, up through the ceiling from where it fell from and disappears into the sky.
Taylor alternates between staring at the gaping hole in the ceiling and at his employer. "I--that--what the hell was that?"
Crowley sighs. "I apologize for the damage that thing has caused, but I'll explain everything later. Right now, I need to make a few calls. In the meantime, could you take care of Pippa? She's looking far too pale there."
Taylor's torn between asking more questions and following Crowley's orders. In the end, he does as he's told and carries Pippa to her room, working on stopping the bleeding from her legs where the dragon thing clearly scratched her.
He'll demand answers later, one way or another.
*
"We did warn you." Even though Leather Jacket Guy looks concerned, Taylor can still sense the smug "I told you so" in his voice.
Crowley seems to have sensed it as well, because he's glowering at him and looking like he's a breath away from striking him down. "Can we please just get back on how to seal this damn thing once and for all?"
"What, you mad that your tailor got eaten again?"
Wait, again?
"Taylor's fine--thank goodness. I would've cried if he did get eaten. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a good tailor like him?"
The Giant blinks. "Wait, you have a tailor called Taylor?"
Taylor rolls his eyes as Leather Jacket Guy guffaws. He's well aware of the irony surrounding his name and profession, thank you very much. He doesn't need to be constantly reminded of it.
Creepy Trench Coat Guy cuts in before Crowley and Leather Jacket Guy can start throwing punches. "Alright, this is what we have to do... "
*
When the dragon--sorry, Behemoth returns, they're ready for it. Well, Crowley and his friends are. Taylor and Pippa just hide behind the couch... along with a pile of guns and knives from the car belonging to Leather Jacket Guy.
Crowley takes it down in less than two minutes and Taylor makes a note to never piss his employer off. Ever.
*
"So, you're a demon."
"Yes."
"And you take people's souls?"
"Only if they want me too. I can give them wonderful things in return."
"So... "
"Don't even think about it."
"But it's your profession!"
"How does an eternity in Hell sound?"
"... Never mind then."
"Good man."
*
It takes a long time for the villa to be rebuilt, but in the meantime, Crowley whisks them off to a cottage he has somewhere up north, where they continue their jobs like they'd never gotten attacked by a Biblical monster at all.
While the prospect of something like that ever happening again still scares the shit out of Taylor, he can't bring himself to leave. It's not just that the pay is good (Crowley actually doubled it after the incident with the Behemoth, which is ridiculous but not unwelcome) but, well...
Taylor would be lying if he said Crowley hadn't grown on him. And if he was bold enough, he'd dare say he's grown on Crowley, too, and not just because he's a fucking awesome tailor.
All in all, his job rocks.
Summary: Written for comment_fic. The prompt was, "Crowley, he's very protective of his new tailor".
Characters: Crowley, OMC, Team Free Will
Rating: PG
Warning(s): none
Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing Kripke's toys to play with in my sandbox for a while.
Taylor thinks Crowley might be on the verge of crying when he presents him with his brand new, custom made pin-striped suit that would--and he's being completely honest here--put Armani to shame. It's mostly black (and not just 'dark, dark blue' black, he made absolutely sure the fabric was the colour of charcoal before he started sewing it together) with thin, almost invisible midnight blue stripes that he painstakingly designed to glow like fucking stars if hit with even the tiniest rays of light.
Along with the matching Victorian-style cloak, black velvet vest (also the colour of charcoal), and deep sea blue tie, even Taylor has to admit this is probably his best creation yet. It's simple, but classic.
"Taylor," breathes Crowley, surveying the suit like a pirate who just found the ultimate treasure, "this is amazing. You are amazing."
Taylor shuffles his feet, not used to hearing such a high compliment. He knows he's good at what he does, that he's got skills that could rival Vivian Westwood's in design, but because he's so young and has only been in the business for three relatively short years compared to other big names, he doesn't get a lot of clients and the few he does get keep him for long.
"Thank you, sir. I don't hear that a lot," he replies.
Crowley stares at him like he'd just grown a third head. "My dear boy, surely that's a lie?" He cuts Taylor off when he opens his mouth to assure him that it isn't. "How much did you say this costs?"
Taylor is impressed when, after giving him the price, Crowley doesn't even flinch or mutter under his breath about 'cheap college kids' (if he had a penny for every time he heard that... ). Instead, he instantly reaches for his cheque book and writes nearly double the amount on it. "S-Sir!" Taylor cries, "This is too much!" Because that's easily more than anything he's ever made in a year, let alone in one commission, and while he may be desperate, he's not dishonest. His grandfather raised him better than that.
Crowley waves the topic away like writing up cheques roughly the size of Taylor's mortgage is a normal, every day occurrence. Then again, Taylor supposes his house is peanuts compared to Crowley's lavish villa.
Yeah, a villa.
"Taylor," says Crowley, signing the cheque with a flourish, "how would you like to be my new full-time tailor? You will have free board and room here in my home, and I will personally ensure that you will have everything you could possibly need and want. If not, I'm positive I can find it."
Taylor just stares. Because holy shit, this is... this is everything he ever dreamed of and more. "A-Are you sure?" The question comes out more as a squeak. "Because while I'm flattered you like my suit, it's not that--"
"Like it? I'm in love with it!" To emphasize his point, Crowley begins to dance with it, cementing Taylor's earlier suspicions that the man is, indeed, gayer than a maypole. Well, it's nothing he isn't used to, being admittedly bi-curious himself, and Crowley's certainly not the most flamboyant middle-aged man he's met. "Well? What do you think?"
It takes Taylor less than five seconds to decide. "Where do I sign?"
*
It's been six months since he started working for Crowley when he starts getting the feeling that there's something Not Quite Right about his employer. It's not just that Crowley's a surprisingly cool guy, you know, for being richer than God. He's sarcastic but doesn't treat Taylor like he's beneath him just because he works for him. In the first few weeks since he started working at the villa, Crowley had to stop him from taking his dinner to the kitchen every time they had a meal, reminding him time and again that he was welcome to eat in the dining room with him along with the only other live-in employee, a cute French chef called Pippa who just moved here from Paris and doesn't speak a lick of English, but seems to understand them well enough to make the most amazing food ever so it's all good.
But aside from being an incredibly nice employer (Taylor frequently wonders what the hell he did in his past life to deserve a salary that surpasses the pay from all the jobs he's ever had combined), there's something undeniably off about him. He spends most of his days lounging around the house, seemingly doing nothing productive for society but when he does go out, he doesn't take a car (now that Taylor thinks about it, he doesn't recall ever seeing a car anywhere near the villa) and comes back without Taylor ever knowing until hours after his return. Over the past few months, Taylor honestly can't remember if he's ever seen or heard Crowley use the front door. It makes a very loud, distinct creak when being opened and Taylor never remembers hearing it on days that Crowley goes out.
It happens on a Sunday morning, when Taylor is roused from his sleep by raised voices downstairs in the foyer. He creeps down the stairs and stops just at the top of the second-floor landing. There are three guys at the door, one of them a giant, the second tallest looking like he belongs to a bikers' gang with his MacGuyver jacket and ripped jeans, and the last of them looking like a flasher with the most hideous trench coat Taylor's ever seen in his life. "Crowley, you gotta help us," pleads the Giant.
"And I'm telling you 'no'. Haven't I already done enough for you morons?" Crowley hisses.
"But the Behemoth--"
"Can suck my dick as far as I'm concerned, good day." And with that, Crowley slams the door shut, locking it and drawing a weird sigil on the door that looks similar to a pentagram.
Well, Crowley may be a lot of things but Taylor never pegged him as a Satanist.
"Sir?" he ventures hesitantly.
Crowley jumps but doesn't look angry that Taylor had been spying on him. "Ah, morning, Taylor. Did I wake you?"
"Um, no,"
"You should go back to bed anyway. The day has barely started! Didn't you say you'd wanted to go out with your friends tonight? Here, I'll give you the number of a chauffeur who owes me a favor."
Taylor blinks and the surreal conversation between his employer and the three strange men at his door is instantly forgotten. "Sir," he says quietly, "not that I don't appreciate it but... why do you always... do things like this? If you want me to pay you back--"
But Crowley simply laughs, easy and carefree. "No, Taylor, you pay me back enough by making me wonderful suits. I just want to show you my appreciation, that's all."
"That's still more than I deserve."
Crowley levels him with a solemn look. "Of course you deserve it, Taylor. You have a talent that I will be a fool to dismiss. Of course I'll do everything in my power to keep you happy. You and Pippa."
*
Taylor awakes the next morning to a roar and Pippa's scream. He bolts out of his room and down into the games room (yes, a games room) and--
He'll deny it until the day he dies that he wet his pants at the sight that greets him. Pippa's lying on the floor, her legs bleeding profusely, and screaming like a banshee, but with good reason. In front of her is a creature not unlike a dragon. It's huge, terrifying, and it's the size of a rocket ship.
But Taylor's immediately snapped out of his fear by Pippa's screaming and he moves to the fireplace, picking up a poker before hurrying to stand in front of her. "Get away!" he screams, though he highly doubts the creature... thing can understand him. The dragon growls at him and takes a confident step forward. Taylor instinctively takes one back, gently moving Pippa further towards the doorway.
Then, without warning, the dragon lunges at him and Taylor takes a swipe at the thing. The iron poker slices right through the monster's face but it might as well have just tickled him for all the good it does. The dragon roars again, obviously pissed off. Taylor gulps but stands his ground. He may not be a soldier, but his grandfather taught him to fight for what was right no matter what. And if that means getting eaten by a fucking dragon in his bid to protect his co-worker, then so be it.
He just hopes that Pippa will be able to escape and find shelter. And that Crowley won't be too disappointed that he won't be getting that new winter coat after all.
But then Crowley storms in from out of nowhere, his face crimson red with rage. "How dare you!" he hisses at the dragon. He steps in front of Taylor, completely unarmed, and unafraid of the fucking dragon in front of him. "I do not forgive trespassers lightly, but to attack my own employees in my home? You will be lucky if I let you die a quick and painless death."
The dragon narrows its eyes at Crowley and growls. Crowley matches its glare with one of his own. "Leave," he spits out, his voice venomous, "or I'll show you the true meaning of pain."
For one brief, terrifying moment, the dragon seems to consider staying. But then it flies off, up through the ceiling from where it fell from and disappears into the sky.
Taylor alternates between staring at the gaping hole in the ceiling and at his employer. "I--that--what the hell was that?"
Crowley sighs. "I apologize for the damage that thing has caused, but I'll explain everything later. Right now, I need to make a few calls. In the meantime, could you take care of Pippa? She's looking far too pale there."
Taylor's torn between asking more questions and following Crowley's orders. In the end, he does as he's told and carries Pippa to her room, working on stopping the bleeding from her legs where the dragon thing clearly scratched her.
He'll demand answers later, one way or another.
*
"We did warn you." Even though Leather Jacket Guy looks concerned, Taylor can still sense the smug "I told you so" in his voice.
Crowley seems to have sensed it as well, because he's glowering at him and looking like he's a breath away from striking him down. "Can we please just get back on how to seal this damn thing once and for all?"
"What, you mad that your tailor got eaten again?"
Wait, again?
"Taylor's fine--thank goodness. I would've cried if he did get eaten. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a good tailor like him?"
The Giant blinks. "Wait, you have a tailor called Taylor?"
Taylor rolls his eyes as Leather Jacket Guy guffaws. He's well aware of the irony surrounding his name and profession, thank you very much. He doesn't need to be constantly reminded of it.
Creepy Trench Coat Guy cuts in before Crowley and Leather Jacket Guy can start throwing punches. "Alright, this is what we have to do... "
*
When the dragon--sorry, Behemoth returns, they're ready for it. Well, Crowley and his friends are. Taylor and Pippa just hide behind the couch... along with a pile of guns and knives from the car belonging to Leather Jacket Guy.
Crowley takes it down in less than two minutes and Taylor makes a note to never piss his employer off. Ever.
*
"So, you're a demon."
"Yes."
"And you take people's souls?"
"Only if they want me too. I can give them wonderful things in return."
"So... "
"Don't even think about it."
"But it's your profession!"
"How does an eternity in Hell sound?"
"... Never mind then."
"Good man."
*
It takes a long time for the villa to be rebuilt, but in the meantime, Crowley whisks them off to a cottage he has somewhere up north, where they continue their jobs like they'd never gotten attacked by a Biblical monster at all.
While the prospect of something like that ever happening again still scares the shit out of Taylor, he can't bring himself to leave. It's not just that the pay is good (Crowley actually doubled it after the incident with the Behemoth, which is ridiculous but not unwelcome) but, well...
Taylor would be lying if he said Crowley hadn't grown on him. And if he was bold enough, he'd dare say he's grown on Crowley, too, and not just because he's a fucking awesome tailor.
All in all, his job rocks.