Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rain falls hard on the slick black pavement, nearly invisible under the cover of night. A dusty Honda Civic speeds down the highway leaving Ilchester, Maryland, the lone windshield wiper struggling against the dismal showers. 

In the driver’s seat is Sam Winchester, barely old enough to buy alcohol and full of enough rage to make a matador shy away. His grip on the cracked leather steering wheel turns his knuckles white. He keeps his eyes carefully trained on the dimly lit road, devoid of street lights or signs. The flickering headlights aren’t distracting him nearly enough, and Sam begins to feel an itch underneath his skin.

Someone is watching him.

He knows who it is, though he wishes he didn’t. He refuses to spare a glance to his right where his unwanted company is seated.

In the passenger’s seat, with a sheepish expression on his face, sits the devil. Although, any passerby might mistake him for a twenty-something surfer, with slightly too shabby dirty blond hair, a light patch of freckles across his cheeks, and breathtaking blue eyes.

No words are exchanged between the two, the silence only disrupted by the pitiful downpour. Lucifer reaches forward, hand going to the radio. 

Sam refuses to acknowledge the motion, biting his tongue. 

The knob turns and the low hum of static airwaves fills the car. Lucifer sighs.

“What’s with shitty rental cars always having broken radios?” he mumbles mostly to himself. Not a glance is spared his way.

He tries the glovebox - no CDs there.

Sam’s grip tightens. 

He tries the center console. No such luck. He slams it closed a little too roughly.

Sam winces.

Lucifer drums his fingers on his thighs, glancing out the window to his right. He taps a foot, bounces a leg, starts whistling -

“Can you just be quiet! ” Sam shouts, whipping his head to the right so sharply that the car jerks to the shoulder of the road. Lucifer’s body goes rigid, fingers paused above his thigh. He swallows hard, breath caught in his throat. He can’t meet Sam’s eyes.

“Can we please just drive, in silence, like two normal people who aren’t trying to outrun their murderous brothers hellbent on starting the apocalypse?” Sam rips his gaze back to the road, knuckles going slack on the wheel as he lets out a defeated sigh. “Please?”

“You’ve spoken to Michael?” Lucifer asks, hope toying with his tone.

“Dean had enough to say for the both of them, believe me.”

“But-”

“Can you just drop it, just for now, please?”

“I-” The words die on Lucifer’s tongue. His palm gently lowers onto his thigh, and he lets his gaze drift to the window. Trees blur together in the foggy night, water droplets sliding along the glass and helping obscure the forest enclosing them as they venture deeper into the wilderness.

Lucifer isn’t sure when he started holding his breath, but he knows better than to let it out any time soon. It bubbles up inside of his chest, a throbbing ache that pulsates just below his skin. He holds it in, not willing to risk the noise that exhaling will bring.

Silence stretches between the two, barely a foot apart yet a world away. 

After a few hours of satisfying silence, they pull into a motel parking lot. Without so much as a word, Sam leaves the car and heads inside.  

The little doorbell jingles as he approaches the counter. 

Sam slides two fifties to the poor sap behind the desk. He doesn’t even spare a glance at the bills before sliding a key across the counter. Sam nods in some convoluted form of an apology as if that could possibly make up for startling the guy awake at half past three in the morning and politely demanding a room.

They had crossed the West Virginia state border hours ago and stopped just outside of the Monongahela National Forest. The moon sat low on the horizon, but as they began winding through the mountains they lost sight of the bright beacon and found themselves caught up in the shadows that stretched deep into the woods. 

He leaves the office, parking the car a few doors down. He snatches a duffle bag from the backseat and walks up to the door.

Sam slides the key into the lock and struggles to turn it - for half a second he thinks it’s stuck. He lets out a sigh, ignoring the tap tap tap of Lucifer’s foot against the wet pavement, and gives one last forceful twist, finally feeling it click. 

He shoulders inside, not bothering to hold the door open for his companion. It swings loosely on its hinges, rattling the door frame as it slams shut.

“Hey-” Lucifer protests indignantly. Sam rolls his eyes, shrugging his backpack off and plopping down in a chair. 

“You can take the bed. We’ll head out at sunrise,” Sam says, digging through his pack for god knows what.

“What do you mean?” Lucifer starts, pulling the door open. He eyes the room: one full bed, two side tables with lamps on either side, a small circular table by the window with two chairs, and a mini-fridge. No counter space, and no TV,  just the absolute bare essentials for someone about to take a jaunt into the wilderness. Although, a TV would be helpful if only for a weather forecast to triple-check the conditions before hiking up a mountainside. “The bed’s big enough for-”

“Don’t.”

Lucifer glances down at Sam. His hands have stilled inside the bag, eyes remaining downcast. 

“Don’t what? Suggest the easiest solution?”

“We’re not doing this, Lucifer. Not tonight.”

“You-”

“I’m not in the mood.”

The rain is soaking through the back of Lucifer’s t-shirt and a chill begins creeping up his spine. He doesn’t shiver but rather welcomes the cold. It feels like home.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” Sam asks, still refusing to look up.

“But I’m not taking the bed.”

“Lucifer-” 

“You’re the one driving, shouldn’t you get the bed?”

“What does me being the driver have to do with-”

“You need the sleep so we don’t wreck. I’ll take the floor,” Lucifer replies as if it is the most obvious deduction in the world. “Besides, I’m a demon. Technically I don’t need sleep. I just enjoy it.”

The devil finally crosses the threshold, clicking the door shut and sliding the chain lock into place. He stands facing the door for a moment longer, closing his eyes and reigning in his breathing. He isn’t strong enough for this shit. He doesn’t have the patience. 

But he’s trying, for Sam. 

Sam is worth it.

He strides over to the bed, snatching a pillow and a throw blanket and tossing them onto the floor. Wordlessly, he toes off his shoes and tugs his wet shirt over his head, flopping onto the ground in an ungraceful heap. 

Sam finishes fiddling with whatever had been holding his rapt attention in his bag and tosses it aside with a frustrated sigh. He finally stands from his seat at the table, stretching his arms overhead as a yawn overtakes his body. The chair scrapes against the floor as he steps away, a dull screech echoing through the small room. 

Lucifer closes his eyes, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain on the windowpane and the rustling of the sheets as Sam climbs into bed. 

The sky flashes, then everything is drowned out by a roll of thunder, and the dim light from the sky fades from Lucifer’s vision. 

He can hear Sam’s breathing, still too fast, too focused, clearly nowhere near drowsy enough to get any sleep. He doesn’t think pointing it out will help the other relax - probably the opposite. He tries to bite his tongue. 

“How long have you known?” The devil whispers cautiously. He knows Sam hears him, the way his breathing stutters tips Lucifer off. He blinks back the beginnings of sleep and struggles to listen. “How long have you known I was the devil?”

Silence meets his words like a greedy friend, swallowing up the last few moments of Lucifer’s conscious thoughts. He tries to remember he isn’t alone, but as he drifts to sleep the isolation slowly suffocates him until nothing is left in his lungs but the hollow ache of an empty chest.

Sunlight filters through the curtains, birds singing and bees buzzing. It would be a picturesque summer morning for anyone else, but to Lucifer, it’s too lively. 

He lazily drags a hand across his face, eyes bleary and mouth full of cotton. He tries to chase away the last tendrils of sleep clawing at the back of his mind, to no avail. He sighs, expecting to hear the sound of snoring coming from the bed, but is met with silence. 

Complete silence. 

Not even steady breathing.

He sits up abruptly, causing his head to spin as he cranes to see over the edge of the mattress.

The bed is empty.

Lucifer scrambles up and hastily scans the room. The bed is made, not a single crease out of place to even suggest that someone had touched it since housekeeping came the day before. He turns sharply towards the table by the window and lets out a sigh of relief - Sam’s bag is still there. He hasn’t left without him, he’s - coming out of the bathroom right now.

With a towel thrown over his shoulders and a toothbrush hanging from his mouth, Sam steps into the main room. His hair is damp, water trickling down onto the towel that’s doing a rather poor job of keeping his fresh shirt dry around the collar. His eyes flick over to the demon, sizing him up.

Lucifer chooses not to comment on the way Sam’s gaze lingers on his bare chest, the satisfaction he feels from garnering any of Sam’s attention is reward enough. The other man, however, seems to suddenly realize what he‘s doing and now has a steady flush creeping up his neck. 

Without a word, he spins on his heel and closes the bathroom door behind him with just a little too much force. Lucifer tries very hard not to chuckle. 

He stands, stretching his arms above his head and making no move to grab his shirt. Instead, he picks his way across the room to the table and snoops in Sam’s bag. The water in the bathroom is running, Sam still preoccupied.

Lucifer reaches for the bag and lightly tugs on the opening just enough to allow himself to peer inside. Sitting near the top is a flip phone - a burner, presumably. 

With one last glance to the bathroom, Lucifer snatches the phone and clicks it on. 

I know nothing I can say will change your mind, but I’ve found a way to prevent the apocalypse. It doesn’t have to happen, the world can still survive. I don’t know what Michael has told you, but the end of the world is not the solution to Heaven’s problems. Whether or not you believe me, I simply ask for time. Three months. All I need is three months. I can sort everything out. Nobody else needs to be hurt, nobody else needs to die. I can fix this, fix everything, I promise. I just need until the end of September to-

The message cuts off mid-sentence. The number has no contact information, although Lucifer could bet his life on to who it was addressed. 

The hinges of the bathroom door squeak and Lucifer drops the phone back into the bag as Sam exits. 

“Where to next, Sammy?” The name slips from his mouth before he thinks better of it. He wishes he would have. Sam’s body goes rigid, the flush that had crept up his neck fades entirely and his eyes harden.

“Don’t call me that.”

Lucifer nods, smiling weakly. He pretends the knot in his chest didn’t twist itself tighter and snaps his gaze to the window.

“Got a fun nature hike planned for today, do we?”

“Not quite,” Sam replies, making his way over to the already packed-up duffle bag and tossing in his toothbrush. “We have a stop to make before our little trek in the woods.”

Lucifer nods. 

“Then let’s get a move on,” the devil says with a grin.

The sun is nearly blinding and Lucifer has never been more thankful for overcast skies. Clouds billow by, scraping the mountain tops and tempting a light fog to settle around the trees.

“Do you actually know where we’re going, or are you just taking roads at random and hoping for the best?” Lucifer asks with only a smidge of sarcasm coloring his tone. 

“I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise,” Sam replies dryly.

“If the surprise is getting lost in the woods, I think I’ll pass.”

It’s half past noon by the time Sam finally stops the car.

“We’re here.”

Lucifer pulls his gaze away from the fog that is thickening around them by the second just in time to see a wheelchair-bound Bobby Singer emerge from what can only be described as a cottage in the woods.

Just behind him, with two hands pushing the wheelchair, is a demon in an impeccable suit and ruby red tie.

Chapter Text

The first time Bobby Singer summoned a demon he was thirteen years old. It was late October, and a nice wind chill was in the South Dakota air. 

He was at some friend’s cousin’s birthday party out in the middle of nowhere just north of Sioux Falls. The house was more of a ramshackle shack in the middle of a small clearing, next to a pond. It only had a few lights and no ceiling fans. There were candles littered all over the counters and cabinets for the party, and enough religious iconography to make a catholic priest cry. 

Someone had the bright idea to bring out their great-great- great grandmother’s Ouija board. It was a deeply weathered oak, with etched letters arching across the wood in bright white. The gold detailing around the edges made the wood nearly shimmer in the candlelight.

Bobby had only ever seen pictures and posters of the board before, but never one in person.

The kids had found the board underneath the party girl’s older sister’s bed, probably taken earlier from their parent’s room.

It was supposed to be a joke.

No one knew it had actually worked. 

A gust of warm air blew in from the center of the room, billowing everyone’s shirts and pants. The curtains lashed angrily, rattling the window pane. There was a sense of dread clawing through Bobby’s stomach as black smoke began to fill the room.

 As he got older, Bobby convinced himself it had just been the wind from outside making all of that racket. Perhaps with enough speed, the wind could blow things in your house around even without any windows open. 

While still keeping all of the candles lit.

Luckily, the birthday girl’s mother knew a thing or two about the safe practice of summoning magic in the house and blew out the candles in the room before the demon could try any funny business. She confiscated the board, which was going to get the party girl in trouble with her sister later, but it successfully stopped any more demon summoning. 

The rest of the party went off without a hitch, and Bobby’s father picked him up at nine. 

The second time Bobby Singer summoned a demon he was nineteen, drunk off his ass in college. It was a long weekend, so his roommate had left town. The whole shitty dorm room was his for the next four and a half days.

Bobby had already begun the second draft of what would later become his senior thesis paper, which had some convoluted title half in Japanese and half in English. He was researching extensively about religions that had crossed over into one another without anyone noticing - or at least, that’s how he explained it to people.

Without anyone to teach him the ropes, Bobby reasoned how to set up a safe way to summon a demon and contain it within a seal in the dorm room. He had a shaky idea of how to get rid of the demon after he summoned it, but summoning it was the real leg work. 

He performed the ritual mostly in Japanese, using excessive amounts of chalk and salt. It had taken nearly a fortnight to gather all of the relevant texts and materials in secret so his roommate wouldn’t rat him out. 

He had the foresight to buy a tarp and paint the seal on the tarp instead of their floor. Once he had finished drawing it out and setting up the rest of his altar, he began chanting.  

The lamps on the walls flickered, obscuring the room heavily. Bobby struggled through the end of the ritual, lighting the last candles against the breeze that had begun blowing around his roommate’s tapestries. There was rattling against the walls and window panes where the hanging beads thrashed in the wind. 

As he finished the chant, the wind died and the room went quiet. Smoke filled the seal in a strange column of shadow. 

Bobby barely got a word out before the demon stepped across the threshold of his incomplete seal, thanked him, and vanished. He woke up the next day and convinced himself it had been a dream, as he swept up all the salt and chalk littered around the room.

The third time Bobby Singer summoned a demon he was thirty-nine. Three days had passed since he buried his wife, and he still hadn’t fully washed her blood off his hands.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, seeing fifteen missed calls from John Winchester, and a handful from Rufus. Bobby tossed his phone into the passenger seat and got out.

He was miles deep into the Monongahela National Forest, his Chevelle parked off the beaten path with the headlights left on to provide light as he picked his way through the underbrush.

It was thick, and knee-deep, nearly causing Bobby to trip more than a few times. He unsheathed his machete and began hacking his own pathway in the dim light as he hollered into the wilderness.

“I know yer out here, ya sonofa-”

“ Bitch, ” spit a demon, shaking wet goop off of his expensive-looking shoe. 

Bobby spun on his heel or tried to, had his heel not been caught on a gnarled root. His ankle rolled underneath him, arms flailing out, until he was swiftly scooped under the armpits and fixed upright once more. The machete lay long lost amongst the underbrush in the dark. 

“Ah, yes, I do enjoy a good romp in the woods at the witching hour. Doesn’t every busy demon?” the man behind Bobby drawled in an English accent.

“Get yer hands offa me,” Bobby slurred, nearly falling over once more as he tried to put weight on his now twisted ankle.

“If you insist.” The demon said, releasing him and letting Bobby tumble to the ground in a fit of groans.

“Now ya listen ‘ere, ya pompous sonofa-”

“I can’t help you with your wife, I’m sorry,” the demon said matter of factly. A moment of silence passed between them, Bobby’s eyes trailing to the metal-tipped points of the demon’s shoes. 

“How’d ya know?” Bobby replied softly, finally meeting the demon’s eyes. His face was painted with a shade of surprise as if he had just been slapped across the cheek. 

“As I said, I’m a busy demon. I like to prepare ahead of time for each of my appointments so they take the least amount of time possible. With that being said, I am truly sorry about your wife.”

“I, I don’t understand,” Bobby started, “If ya can’t do it, then why’d ya show?”

“Ah! And now you’re asking the million-pound question.”

“The million-what?”

“Look, I don’t have all night to spend dawdling in petty pleasantries. Some of us, me included, like to spend our finite time in this mortal realm occupying ourselves with, shall we say, big-picture goals.”

If the six-pack he’d finished on the drive up hadn’t been enough to leave him in a haze, the utterly poncey nonsense spewing from the mouth of the demon definitely did. He struggled to his feet, leaning heavily against a thick trunk behind him. It put Crowley right in the beam of his Chevelle, illuminating his features in the pitch-black forest. 

“Good God,” Bobby mumbled, reaching up to straighten his trucker hat as he finally got a good look at the demon he’d been talking to, “Rufus warned me you’d be eccentric, but I never imagined…” 

The demon stepped forward, looking down the length of his crooked nose and straight into Bobby’s shattered soul. Bobby, in an attempt to back up, slid down the length of the tree, coming to a seat on the ground once more. 

“Imagined what?” Crowley snarled, peering down at the crouched man.

“You’d be good lookin’ too,” Bobby said with surprising clarity, then slapped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, ’s been a long drive.”

The blushing demon straightened his tie, sniffed, then offered Bobby a hand. He accepted. He was pulled to his feet with surprising strength for the stature of the man in front of him. 

“Well, lucky for you country bumpkin-”

“What’d ya just-”

“I have an apocalypse to prevent.”

“An apocalypse?” Bobby said, snapping out of his daze entirely. 

“I don’t know how much you know about the angels and demons wishing to wage a war on Earth,” the demon began, “But I’d be delighted to fill you in if it means you’ll be willing to cooperate.”

Bobby, at a loss, just stared.

“Oh how rude of me, I’ve forgotten to introduce myself. Crowley, the crowned Prince of Hell.” The demon held out his hand, waiting for Bobby to take it. 

He did and shook it with vigor.

“Bobby Singer.”

“Well it is a pleasure to meet you, Bobby, now I must ask: What is your relationship with the Winchesters?”

“John and ‘is boys?”

“Precisely.”

“Well, aside from bein’ a competent huntin’ buddy, John lets me watch th’ boys while he’s on a job.”

“Lets you?” Crowley inquired. 

“Me and Karen ne’er gotta ‘round to having kids ‘f our own, and John’s always on th’ move. I reckon th’ boys’ll be better off with a familiar face than all on their lonesome, so I ask ‘im to drop ‘em off when he’s passing through,” Bobby explained. 

“I’ve never much seen a point in having kids,” Crowley sniffed. “The world is already doomed, why bring more souls into existence to watch humanity’s downfall?”

“I don’t see it that way,” Bobby said as he shook his head.

“No? Not even when you’re staring down the barrel of the apocalypse? Then enlighten me, please.”

“Well, I reckon ‘ey give us purpose - a sense of responsibility. If th’ world needs fixin’, well I see ‘t as my job t’ fix it. Bein’ someone’s kid? Ya don’t gotta choice in that. But raising a kid? That, that’s yer choice, now, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

“Not e’eryone needs kids to find that sense of responsibility, much like yerself. Yer quite the conundrum. If not kids, then why d’ya want to prevent the apocalypse?” Bobby finally asked.

“I’d like to keep the balance between the three realms just as they are. Being the crowned Prince of Hell has a nice ring to it, but if hell breaks loose there isn’t exactly anything for me to rule over, now is there,” the demon replied.

“Power, that’s yer play?” Bobby raised an eyebrow, not fully convinced.

“Isn’t it everybody’s?”

The demon reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. He handed it to Bobby.

Hop and Barrel - Order ‘The Devil’s Delight’ - 6 pm 

“Meet me there tomorrow, after you’ve cleaned yourself up,” Crowley said, eyeing Bobby from head to toe. Bobby looked down at the wrecked state of his clothes, covered in beer stains, dirt, and all sorts of grime.

“I’ll see ya,” he looked up and realized he was completely alone, “there.” He finished with a huff. 

It took Bobby the entire night and most of the morning to make it back to the scrapyard. He barely had time for a shower and a nap before six o’clock came. 

He drove to Hop and Barrel, less than half an hour from his home, and waited until six to order his drink. The bar was a touch nicer than any of the establishments Bobby frequented, with a long menu of complex drinks bearing equally complex names.

“I’ll have… th’ Devil’s Delight?” The last bit came out as more of a question. The bartender nodded and headed into the back room. 

A moment later, the doorbell jingled, and the seat next to Bobby’s was quickly occupied.

“Don’t you clean up nicely,” the demon mumbled. 

“Can it,” Bobby replied, pushing off from the bar. He gestured for Crowley to follow him to the booth in the far corner, as it offered the most privacy. “Now, what was all that talk ‘f an apocalypse last night?”

A mischievous glint shined in Crowley’s eye as the corner of his mouth pulled up into a tight smile.

“To keep it short and sweet, God decided to let his children tussle it out on Earth, leaving humanity to pay for their actions.”

“Tussle?”

“Really, that’s the word you’re hung up on? Honestly, are all you rednecks-”

“Watch it,” Bobby warned, just as the waiter approached their table.

“Here you are sir, the Devil’s Delight ,” he said with a smile. He sat the massive, sugar-rimmed, lime and pomegranate-adorned margarita glass full of slushie, dark red liquid down between the two men, leaving a straw poking out on each side. “Enjoy.”

After he slipped out of earshot, Bobby leaned forward, “I thought the Devil’s Delight was some sortta code word?”

“Why would I need a code word if I know when to expect you? No, this is just for me,” the demon replied as he took the glass in both hands. He lapped up the sugar coating and took the largest gulp Bobby had ever seen. 

Bobby shook his head in disbelief, pulling off his hat to run his fingers through what remained of his hair.

“Can we please get on with it then?” he asked.

“Sure,” Crowley said, punctuating it with a long slurp. “So, the Angels and Demons are going to inhabit human vessels and play out their little war on Earth, effectively opening the gates to Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory.”

“Which I assume’s a bad thing?” Bobby clarified.

“A terrible thing indeed. It will leave all three realms in complete disarray and the world will have to go through another flooding and an ice age before humanity is born a second time. It’ll be so boring to watch the rubble for millennia, so we need to stop it before it happens.”

“I’m sorry, what was that ‘bout the death of all humanity?” 

“Ah yes, the death of humanity, most of the demon spawn, and practically everything in purgatory. The balance of good and evil will be so hilariously unstable that there’s no telling the price Heaven will pay for their deeds.”

“And how exactly do ya plan on survivin’ th’ apocalypse?” Bobby asked.

“I don’t. That’s why the plan is to stop it before it happens, moron,” the demon bit back, taking a long sip of his drink. 

“And ya need me fer this, why?”

“I need a human soul to be granted access to the cage once we’re in hell. It’s no easy task, getting an audience with the devil,” Crowley explained.

“You plan on making a deal with the devil?” Bobby asked, tone filled with disbelief.

“I don’t suppose you have a better plan?”

“There’s gotta be someone else we can reason with, ya can’t expect Satan t’ be sensible.”

“Please, he goes by Lucifer. He was an angel once too, you know,” Crowley pointed out, passing the half-empty margarita glass across the table. Bobby hesitantly took a sip. “The angels would rather destroy the world than listen to reason, and no one in the three realms has heard any word from God.”

Bobby nearly choked on the sweet drink, coughing up a storm. “Wait, He’s real?”

“Of course He’s real, and He’s a pompous dick from what I’ve heard.”

Bobby stared into the deep red of the Devil’s Delight , swirling the drink with the straw a few times before he let out a defeated sigh. 

“Okay, assuming the plan is t’sneak into th’ cage and have an audience with Lucifer , how do ya plan on getting me there’n back safely?” Bobby asked.

“Originally, I assumed you would be so distraught over your wife that you’d just go willingly. But something tells me you want to survive this round trip now.”

Bobby nodded, glancing down at his lap. He pulled his wallet out and flicked it open on the table, a photo of two young boys in the ID slot. 

Crowley leaned forward and took in the sight - Dean Winchester, no more than ten, holding a rifle by his side with a proud smile on his face, and Sam Winchester, no more than six, trying to hold a squirming frog still. There is a hand on either of their shoulders, but the photo has been cut off to show only the boys. 

“You could say that,” Bobby mumbled. 

“Look, I have a few more appointments to make this week, but meet me here again, same time, next week. Sound good?” the demon proposed.

Bobby nodded, and Crowley snatched the margarita glass back, draining it in an instant. 

“Until then,” he said as he stood with a flourish of his tailcoat. Before Bobby could reply he was out the door. 

Bobby rubbed the photo with his thumb and pulled his phone out of his pocket. In addition to the missed calls, John had sent him a text.  

Tuesday, 10am. Five days. 

Bobby slipped the phone back into his pocket and ordered a beer to go. 

“Looks like I’ll be babysittin’ tomorrow,” he told the bartender with a chuckle. The man grinned and slid him two bottles of Blue Moon.

“Well, better make these last.”

The following week, Bobby ordered two Demon’s Blood cocktails and brought them over to the booth at 5:58 pm sharp. 

 As the demon took the seat across from him, Bobby slid one of the glasses over. 

“Demon’s Blood , surprisingly sour,” Bobby remarked. 

Crowley grinned, taking a large sip of his own.

“Mmm, delectable.”

“Now, I’ve done some diggin’ in my library ‘bout th’ cage. There’s a door located underneath a convent in Maryland, but th’ blood’n sacrifice to open it are a bit too high fer my likin’. I see it as a backup plan,” Bobby explained. 

“So if that’s Plan B, what’s Plan A?” Crowley said snidely. Bobby raised his eyebrow and continued.

“Gettin’ into Hell’s much easier than gettin’ into the cage, all we’d have to do is survive long enough to get down there. We can enter through any Devil’s Gate. There’s one a few hours drive in Wyoming, though it requires some sortta key known as ‘The Colt,’ which I haven’t done much reading on.”

“If all you need is a devil’s gate then I can get us in lickity split.”

“Don’t ya ever use that phrase again, ya hear me?” Bobby said. He held the demon’s gaze for a moment before breaking into a fit of giggles. 

“I’m sorry, are you giggling?”

“I don’t giggle.”

“Sure you don’t.”

The next week, Bobby ordered The Sucubus , an outrageously fruity cocktail served in a highball glass. Crowley was already seated in their regular booth. Bobby checked his watch, it was only 5:45 pm.

“So, any reason yer early, or are ya just happy t’ see me?” Bobby teased as he took his seat. 

“I’m happy to see this ,” Crowley corrected, grabbing a glass out of Bobby’s hand. He downed half of the drink in one go and set the glass down with a satisfying thud. “Now, let’s get down to business.”

“With th’ Devil’s Gate yer able to open out back, we should be able to pass through and make our way through Hell with ease. It looks like it should spit us out ‘bout halfway down th’ pit. I’m researching a few sigils and other protective wards fer myself, but the only thing that looks remotely reliable is this here bond I found,” Bobby said, passing an open book to the demon.

Crowley took a slow sip from his glass and began reading rapidly. He flipped the pages at sporadic intervals, nodding and humming to himself. 

“This looks perfect, but it comes at a price.”

“The price isn’t so steep,” Bobby said hopefully.

“Not to you it isn’t,” the demon mumbled. He scanned through the pages one last time before tossing the book aside on the table between them. “I’ve seen a lot of spells and enchantments in my day, but nothing quite like this.”

“How so?” Bobby asked.

“When a human soul enters hell, it fully leaves its vessel. Think of it as pouring water from one cup into a gigantic bucket. It will be contained in hell from that moment forward, and it is nearly impossible to fit that exact water back into its original container. This spell,” Crowley continued, pointing at the book, “allows me to hold your soul temporarily, instead of pouring it into the bucket, and place it back inside of your body once we’re finished.”

“So I’m just supposed to trust ya, a demon, t’ do the right thing in th’ end?” Bobby said skeptically.

“I suppose so,” Crowley said with an air of satisfaction to his tone. 

The following week, Bobby took a seat at their regular booth at 4 pm without ordering anything. The bartender had given him an odd look as he reassured him he was fine. When the demon entered the bar fifteen minutes later, Bobby stood and met him halfway to the door.

“I’ll do it, but there’s somthin’ ya gotta do fer me first,” Bobby said mid-stride. He didn’t wait for a response as he left the bar. He made it all the way to the driver’s door of the Chevelle before Crowley came running after him.

“Can’t I at least order something to-go?”

“I’ve got beer at th’ house.”

“Please let me order something to go,” the demon begged.

“Just get in and shut your yap, we’re gonna be late.”

“Late for what?” Crowley asked as he pulled open the passenger side door.

“You’ll see,” Bobby reassured him. 

The two men drove in silence, with only the static-filled radio to offer any reprieve. They arrived at the scrapyard at a quarter til five. Bobby got out and made his way inside, not waiting for the demon to pick his way through the pot-hole-filled yard. 

“Couldn’t you have pulled up closer to the house? I’m getting mud on my nice loafers,” the demon complained. Bobby chuckled, holding the door open for his complaining companion. Crowley stepped inside and busied himself by straightening his tie and dusting off his jacket. The door creaked shut behind him.

“John should be here in th’ next fifteen minutes.”

“John? As in John Winchester ?” Crowley said in disbelief.

“Yes,” Bobby agreed.

“Pray tell why exactly you thought it wise to introduce me, a demon, to your hunting buddy ?” 

“He’s not who I wantcha t’ meet,” Bobby explained.

Crowley opened his mouth to offer a scathing retort but was interrupted by the sound of crunching gravel as a sleek, black Chevy Impala pulled up. Bobby gestured for Crowley to stay put as he went outside. 

Before the car was fully parked, two doors flung open as Sam and Dean jumped out of the car.

“Uncle Bobby!” Sam cried, running forward and wrapping himself around Bobby’s legs. 

“Hey there Sammy, how’s th’ drive?” Bobby asked, tone softer and more gentle than Crowley had ever heard it.

“Long and boring,” Sammy whined.

“Well, we’ll just ‘ave t’ make this visit fun’n exciting then, won’t we?” Bobby replied, a smile dancing across his features. Sam nodded excitedly.

The driver’s door opened slowly, revealing an extremely sleep-deprived John Winchester. Bobby held up a hand in greeting, and John nodded in reply.

“Good to see you Bobby, sorry again about the short notice. This should only take two days tops, so you won’t have to watch ‘em for long,” John said.

“No worries, they can stay as long as ya need ‘em to,” Bobby replied with a terse nod. John’s lips pulled into a tense smile and his eyes drifted to Dean.

“Keep an eye on Sammy, will ya?” John said quietly. Dean nodded and turned to Bobby with a stone-cold expression on his face. The way his features creased made him seem much older than ten. 

With a slap on the roof of the Impala and a final nod, John got back into the car and left. 

Bobby waved to the boys to come inside, and lead the way. 

“Now, boys, I gotta friend I’d like ya to meet. He’s from the same line of work as me and yer dad,” Bobby explained, shutting the door behind the boys. He lead them into the living room, where Crowley had decided to take refuge in a plush armchair.

“Boys, meet Crowley. Crowley, this is Sammy and Dean.”

Dean held out a hand, looking straight into Crowley’s eyes.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Dean said. Crowley stood and closed the distance between them in three strides. He hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking to Bobby. Bobby inclined his head, eyebrows slightly raised.

“Well,” Crowley started, reaching out and grasping Dean’s hand, “I’d say the pleasure’s all mine.”

“Me next!” called Sammy. The younger boy rushed forward and wrapped Crowley’s leg in a warm hug. Bobby’s mouth pulled into a sly smile.

“Ah yes, hello there,” Crowley began, hands raised as if they couldn’t figure out what to do. Slowly, he brought them down to rest on Sammy’s shoulders and offered him a friendly pat.

“Alright boys, Crowley and I have a few things to finish up. Why don’tcha go play in the backyard fer a bit?” Bobby suggested.

Sammy’s eyes grew wide and he detached himself from the demon’s leg, making a mad dash for the back door.

“Sammy, wait! Don’t go too far,” Dean called, racing after him. The door swung on it’s hinges and slammed shut behind them.

A moment of blissful silence passed between the two men, before the demon rounded on Bobby.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked.

“I wantcha ta spend th’ evenin’ here with me’n th’ boys. I wantcha ta see what I’m fightin’ for, why I wanna prevent the world from endin’. Maybe if ya see what I ‘ave on th’ line, ya might understand me better.”

Crowley considered this for a moment, before letting out a long sigh.

“I suppose if it’s just for this evening… fine.”

“Now there’s a good sport,” Bobby cracked a smile and lightly elbowed the demon. 

“Now don’t go getting cocky on me, we can’t have that,” the demon joked.

“It’s not being cocky, it’s ‘bout trust. Trust is a two way street Crowley, and quite frankly I don’t think ya care ‘bout me making it out of this alive.”

“I’m a demon, what do you expect-”

“If I can trust ya with these boys, then I can trust ya t’ get me back out of the pit when th’ time comes,” Bobby said matter-of-factly. 

“And how’d you reason that one?” the demon jeered.

“Children are the best judges of character, and if these boys can learn t’ trust ya, then so can I.”

Bobby’s eyes drifted out the back window, and Crowley turned to follow his gaze. They watched as the sun began to cast long shadows across the field in Bobby’s backyard. They watched as the last fireflies of the season rose from the grass and danced around the two boys running wildly amongst them. They watched as laughter and smiles floated through the late summer air as it shifted into a cool breeze.

“And what if you can’t?” the demon whispered quietly. Bobby rested a hand gently on Crowley’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. “What if you can’t trust me?”

“Well, then I-”

“There’s something I haven’t told you,” Crowley admitted plainly. Bobby turned to face him, but the demon kept his eyes trained on the two boys frolicing outside. “Something very important.”

“I reckon now’s as good a time as any to get it off yer chest then,” Bobby offered. Crowley turned to face him slowly, eyes downcast.

“It’s about the boys,” Crowley started. The grip Bobby had on his shoulder tightened ever so slightly as the man tensed.

“What about them?” Bobby ground out, trying to keep his tone level.

“There’s a prophecy,” Crowley said, mulling over each word carefully, “A very old prophecy. About the apocalypse, and those who fight in it.” Crowley’s eyes drifted back out to the field. Dusk was overtaking the tall grass, leaving the two boys as nothing but blurred movements between the spark of fireflies. 

Bobby nodded, and slowly turned to watch the two boys as they ran about.

“So, you think you know their story,” Bobby said, letting his hand fall from Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Since the beginning of time,” Crowley said bitterly.

“But do you know them ?” Bobby countered. Crowley almost laughed. “Knowing their fate is one thing, but this tangible, flesh and blood relationship, is a whole different beast entirely.”

“So these are your terms then?” Crowley said incredulously. “I have to have a relationship with these boys, and in turn you’ll go to Hell with me?”

“Precicely.” 

“And if I choose not to?”

Bobby didn’t dignify that with a response, choosing instead to give the demon a hearty slap on the back.

“Keep up th’ jokes and ya might just become a comedian,” Bobby said, walking over to the back door. He pulled it open and hollered into the backyard. “Dinner time boys! Come inside.”

After everyone had been fed, they all settled in for the night. Bobby grabbed Crowley by the elbow and escorted him into the spare room he kept for the boys. There were two twin beds with bedside tables and lamps. The one next to Sammy’s bed had a small stack of books tucked along the edge.

“Can you read us a story,” Sammy said, pausing to yawn, “Please, Uncle Bobby?”

“Well I’d love to boys, but my friend here,” Bobby said with a firm hand clamping down on Crowley’s shoulder, “Why, he does th’ best voices I’ve ever heard. I think he better take over fer story time tonight.”

Crowley shot Bobby a glare so cold, it would’ve made hell freeze over, but only served to make the man chuckle and give his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Sammy, why don’tcha pick the book while Crowley and I grab our seats?”

The young boy busied himself by picking through the small selection of books, before handing one over triumphantly. 

“Sir Gawain and the Green Knight? I haven’t read this one in forever,” Crowley mused, taking the book from Sammy. “You sure this isn’t a bit too… grown up for the boys?” Crowley asked.

“Nonsense, yer ne’er too young t’ read proper literature. We finished To Kill a Mockingbird durin’ their last visit.”

“It had lots of big words!” Sammy said excitedly.

“And what did we learn about one of the words in the book?” Bobby pressed.

“That some words aren’t okay for us to say,” Sammy said proudly.

“That’s right, some words are bad fer a reason, 'n they cause people a lotta harm without us realizin' it.”

“Does this book have any words like that?” Dean asked softly.

“Well, I guess we’ll have t’ read it to find out,” Bobby said, wiggling his eyebrows for effect. It pulled a small chuckle from Dean.

“If you say so. Now, shall we start at the beginning?” Crowley said, eyebrows raised. He gave the two boys a pointed look, and they settled down under their blankets. Bobby stood to tuck them in as Crowley cleared his throat and began. “ After the siege and assault of Troy…”

The boys barely lasted ten pages before the yawning overtook them and turned into snores. Crowley set the book down softly and turned off the lamp next to Sammy’s bed. Bobby followed suit and the two men left the room, closing the door gently. 

They made their way to the kitchen, where Bobby busied himself making a cup of tea.

“John sent a message,” Bobby said just loud enough to be heard over the running water. “Says he’ll need t’ drop the boys off again next week.”

“Same time?” Crowley asked.

“Same time,” Bobby agreed.

He brought the teapot over to the stove and flicked on the burner. He set it down and braced his hands on the counter. “Finish th’ book for them, and I’ll go. No questions asked.”

“We still haven’t discussed the price. You don’t know what you’re signing away, Bobby.”

“If it’s th’ only chance we got at saving the world, at saving them? I’ll take it.”

The teapot began a low whistle. 

“It should only take a few weeks to finish,” Bobby continued. “And by then, I reckon all the preparations we can do will be done.”

“Bobby, you’re not listening- ”

“We’re talkin’ ‘bout the end of days here, Crowley! There is no other option.” 

The whistle became too shrill to bear anymore, and Crowley crossed over to the stove top to set it aside. He turned off the burner and set his hand against Bobby’s arm. 

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Fine?” Bobby asked.

“I’ll finish the fucking book,” Crowley clarified. “And,” he added, “you’ll make it out of hell in one piece.”

Chapter Text

The last thing Lucifer expects to see is Crowley, the demon who had been crowned Prince of Hell since Lucifer’s entrapment, and had been missing for the last century, standing next to a wheelchair-bound redneck in the middle of a national forest. 

And yet, there he is, ruby red tie and all, not a strand of hair out of place. He seems really chummy with Sam already, much to Lucifer’s dismay.

Lucifer didn’t expect a warm welcome from Sam either, not after not hearing from him for… well, years, but the cold and silent treatment isn’t working for him. 

“Can you at least pretend you still like me in front of the parents?” he jokes.

Sam doesn’t laugh.

He swings the driver's door open and gets out without another word. 

“Bobby! Crowley! It’s been a minute,” Sam says with far more enthusiasm than anything he’s said to Lucifer all week. 

“It has,” Bobby laughs. He pulls a crouching Sam into a half hug, slinging his arm around the boy.

“Hello there, Moose,” Crowley says warmly. It catches Lucifer off guard - a demon being warm? “Now, where is that lovely company you promised to bring us?”

“He’s in the car,” Sam deadpanned, gesturing back to the blond man still sitting in the passenger seat.

“Well tell him to get a move on then,” Crowley says, taking the handles of Bobby’s wheelchair and turning to go inside. Bobby shrugs at Sam as he’s wheeled away. 

“You heard them,” Sam shouts back to the car, not waiting for his company before trudging inside as well. 

The inside of the cottage is even more strange than the outside, if only because it seems like a perfectly normal home. There’s a pot of tea on the stove, with a tray of little cookies next to it. The paisley potholder still on the corner of the pan really sells it. 

“Alright boys, settle yer things in th’ first bedroom on th’ left down that hall, and then we’ll get started,” Bobby grunted, pouring himself a small cup of tea. “It’s Jasmine if you’d like any.”

The bedroom is quaint, and as soon as Sam steps foot inside Lucifer softly closes the door behind him.

“What are we doing here, Sam?”

“Getting help.”

“We don’t need help, we need to get to the Gates.”

Sam sets his bag down on the full-sized bed and turns to sit on the edge. He looks up at Lucifer, actually looking him in the eyes.

“Okay, and then what?”

The devil has to look away first.

“We need the help, Luke- fuck,” Sam drags a hand across his face, hiding the slight flush that rises to his cheeks after the first slip-up.

Lucifer smiles.

“Okay, maybe we do need the help, Sammy,” he teases Sam. Sam rolls his eyes and turns to go back to the kitchen. Lucifer doesn’t miss the red creeping up the back of his neck and curling around his ears. 

Maybe Sam isn’t as distant as Lucifer thinks. 

Crowley and Bobby are seated around the table munching on the freshly baked cookies when the two boys return. Sam swipes a few from the tray and pours himself a glass of tea before taking a seat as well. 

Lucifer hovers by the teapot, stretching his legs for a moment. 

“So boys, how’s yer drive?” Bobby asks, breaking the silence. 

“Long” Sam supplies. 

“Well, it’s only going to get longer from here,” Crowley huffs. 

“How're ya holdin' up,” Bobby nods to Lucifer. 

“I’d never thought you’d ask,” he says smartly. “Aside from cramped legs, I’m peachy.”

“Good fer ya,” Bobby chuckles, taking a sip from his cup. “Let’s finish up here and head down to th’ basement.”

The basement looks exactly as Sam remembers it. The main room is a small living room, void of any demon idolatry, and perfectly safe for Crowley and Lucifer to sit in. The second room, hidden behind the furnace, contained mountains of books, demon seals on the floors and walls, and enough dust to bury a castle.

“I’ll wait in the parlor with chuckles here while you two find what you need,” Crowley says, gesturing to the devil. Lucifer laughs, plopping down into the plush armchair nearest to him. He gives Sam a small wave by wiggling his fingers.

Sam rolls his eyes and follows Bobby into the second room.

“How are ya holding up Sammy,” Bobby asks in hushed tones as the door clicks shut behind them. 

“I’m alive,” he says. 

“By yer own damn stubbornness, no doubt,” Bobby replies. 

“And the grace of God,” Sam laughs. 

“God ain’t got nothing t’ do with this,” Bobby mumbles, “Not no more.”

“What?”

“It’s in our hands now, Sam. It always has been.”

“So what do we do?” Sam asks.

“We finish it,” Bobby replies, punctuating it by slamming down a heavy book into Sam’s hands. “Just like we planned.”

The two get to work, gathering books to bring back into the first room. They work in silence for a few minutes, the only noise the shuffling of papers and Sam’s feet. He slides across the room, searching a shelf just out of Bobby’s reach. As he’s leaning over the man, he hears a grunt.

“I need ya t’ be honest with me Sam,” Bobby starts. 

“I’m always honest with you.”

“Not ‘bout Lucifer.”

“No, I guess not,” Sam admits.

“I need t’ know if we can trust him, Sam. Before we go any further, I need yer full and utter conviction that he’s on our side.”

“He is.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“I’m gonna ask ya one last time boy, are ya absolutely sure?”

“I am, Bobby,” Sam says softly, looking back at the door. He remembers how eager and nervous Lucifer has looked the whole drive, all tense muscles and awkward movement. 

He’s trying. 

“I’m sure. He’s on our side.”

In the first room, Crowley busies himself by sorting every almanac on the shelf by year and region. Lucifer’s eyes have been trained on the door ever since it closed. 

“What do you suppose they’re doing in there?” he asks Crowley.

“Talking about you, of course.”

“What are we supposed to be doing?”

“Talking about you, too.”

“Well you’re doing a bang-up job, thanks,” Lucifer says. 

“So how is our little devil doing, then?” Crowley whistles through his teeth, spinning on his heels to face Lucifer. Crowley keeps his nose buried in an almanac, eyes darting up over the edge to glare at Lucifer. 

“Like I said, I’m peachy.”

“Cut the crap, I know what it’s like being away from hell. We’re both demons, remember?”

“Actually, I’m an angel.”

“And I’m the Prince of Hell who’s been missing for one hundred and twenty-one years. Isn’t that something, one hundred and twenty-one… Aren’t we both something.”

“Where have you been, Crowley?” Lucifer inquires tone full of mischief. 

“Here.”

“And what have you been up to?”

“This.”

“Reorganizing libraries for your disabled boyfriend? Did he ask you to, or is it just compulsive?”

“He asked me not to, so naturally I had to,” Crowley corrects, snapping shut the almanac and laying it on the table between them. “And if you catch that tone ever again while you’re talking about Bobby, you will wish you could crawl back to the cage our dear little Moose let you out of.”

“Is this supposed to be an intimidation tactic?”

“Only if you care enough to be intimidated by me.”

“And why would I care?” Lucifer teases. 

In an instant, Crowley is across the room. His body arched over the armchair, left hand on the arm of the chair, right hand on the side table next to the chair, hovering over the devil.

“Because only one person here trusts you, and he trusts us. What do you think will happen if he has to pick sides?” Crowley arches his right eyebrow in a faux sense of innocence. 

“He won’t,” Lucifer starts, words catching in his throat. He clears his throat and starts again, “He won’t have to pick sides.”

“And why not?” Crowley hisses.

“Because we’re all on the same side.”

Crowley nods, stepping back a few paces and swiping the almanac off the table again. 

“Good. Then how are you doing?”

“Antsy,” Lucifer replied honestly. 

“Well, that makes four of us, anything else?”

“We are doing the right thing, aren’t we?” the devil asks quietly. Crowley looks up from the almanac and watches him for a moment. “God always said there would be an apocalypse, if we prevent it from happening then what does that even mean for us?”

“It means that humanity will survive a few more years. Long enough to wipe themselves out and leave a barren wasteland as a battlefield for the angels if they still want to duke it out with us,” Crowley says. “At least that’s what I think.” 

“Ever the optimist.”

“What do you suppose will happen after we seal the Gates, Lucifer?”

“I think all Hell will break loose in Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory. I think closing the Gates is just the beginning, and we have no idea what we’re getting ourselves into.”

“Well let’s hope you’re wrong.”

“You being right isn’t exactly a happy ending either,” Lucifer points out.

“I believe natural selection to be much more humane than genocide,” Crowley says, taking a sip of his tea. He had brought it down to the basement with them to cool and it had finally reached the appropriate temperature. 

“Why do you care about whether or not the humans get ‘humane’ treatment, Mr. Prince of Hell?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Crowley says tartly, taking another sip of his tea. 

“Isn’t what obvious?”

Crowley gently lifts his cup and gestures around the room, to the antique lamp and side table, the furnace, the stairs, the ceiling, all of it. 

“This is my home now, sunshine, and I want to keep my home safe,” he explains. “Why do you care?”

The door behind the furnace opens with a shy creak that’s followed by a stumble and a thud, and then Sam tumbles through with a tidal wave of books falling on top of him. Lucifer springs out of his chair and starts sweeping all of the books up without a word. 

“Thanks, Luke- Luc-ifer, fuck,” Sam stutters, blushing furiously. 

The devil nearly drops the books a second time but manages to slip them onto the table at the last minute. He tries to disguise his stumble as going to sit back down in the chair but misses and slides down to sit on the floor instead. 

Crowley gives him a pointed look, finishing his tea and setting it down just in front of Lucifer’s nose. Sam scrambles to his feet and gives Lucifer a small smile. It causes the heat that had been pooling in his gut to rise to his cheeks. He turns away, meeting Crowley’s eyes. 

“I think you have your answer,” the demon teases.

“Oh, shove it,” Lucifer whispers. 

The four men decide to start actually sifting through the books the following day, having done enough driving and housework to call it a night. 

Bobby grills burgers for the lot of them before sending them to wash up and hit the hay. As they all stack their plates in the sink, Bobby wheels around to face them. 

“If I come in and one of ya idjuts is sleeping on th’ floor because ya can’t behave like grown adults, there’ll be some ass-whooping in the morning. Do ya hear me, boys?” Bobby says with an air of finality.

“Yes sir,” Sam says dryly, turning to head back to the room.

“Aye aye captain,” Lucifer says, giving a mock salute. Bobby snorts and shakes his head. 

“Now go get some sleep, morons.”

“Do you really find it smart to leave those two alone in a room all night?” Crowley asks as he climbs into bed. Bobby is already comfortably seated on the right side, reading an old Dostoevsky novel by the light of his bedside lamp. 

“They need to talk.”

“They need to sleep.”

“As if they’d get any rest in separate rooms.”

“As if they’ll get any rest in the same room,” Crowley counters. 

“Well, ya know what happens when ya leave a boy and a demon alone in a room,” Bobby sighs, setting down his book to look over at Crowley. 

A light drizzle patters against the lone window pane of the bedroom housing a boy and the devil. They lay on opposite sides of the full-sized bed, Lucifer staring absently at the ceiling and Sam staring absently at the window. 

“You can stop acting like you don’t know me,” Lucifer says softly.

“I’m not,” Sam whispers back. 

“I’m still me, Sam, I’m still Luke.”

“You were never Luke,” Sam bites back dryly, “You were always you, Lucifer.”

“I suppose I was,” he muses.

Sam turns over to face him, still laying down. The low light of the room obscures his facial features, but Lucifer’s are on full display in the moonlight. 

“Did you know?” Lucifer asks suddenly, face showing the raw emotion he had carefully kept out of his tone.

“Know?” Sam repeats.

“That I was the devil,” the devil clarifies.

Sam sits up, scooting his back against the headboard, slouching in the dim light of the window. The rain begins to thin out, only the occasional pitter-patter left echoing throughout the otherwise silent room. Sam’s eyes gaze into the windswept storm gently brewing outside, until he finally caves.

“Yeah, I knew,” he says, defeated.

A wave of emotions, some unfamiliar and some old friends, crash over Lucifer, leaving him gasping for air. He sucks in a sharp breath and feels a cold shiver work its way up from deep in his gut.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he says, throat scraped raw. 

“Why didn’t you?” Sam replies tiredly.

Lucifer spares him a side glance, earning him a picture-worthy profile view of Sam backlit by moonlight. The light traces the sharp angle of his forehead, dipping down to shine over his earnest eyes, and curve over his nose and lips, until it disappears just below his chin. 

“I thought if you knew who I was,” Lucifer says softly, “you wouldn’t want to be friends.”

Silence stretches between them, punctuated only by the rain. Lucifer hesitates to even take a breath. 

“Well… you were wrong,” Sam says with a note of finality. Sleep begins to pull at the corners of his eyes, and Sam finds himself stifling a yawn. He slides back down to settle under the covers.

Shadows dance across the walls as trees sway in the breeze outside. The gentle shimmering of the moonlight through the leaves lulls Sam’s eyes shut.

“Sam?” Lucifer whispers. There is no response. He turns on his side to face Sam’s silhouette in the dark. 

He watches the steady rise and fall of Sam’s breathing, perfectly measured as if he were pretending to sleep. Lucifer struggles to keep his eyes open, blinking back the bleariness of the first tendrils of sleep that begin clawing at Lucifer’s consciousness. 

“Thank you,” the devil whispers to the sleeping boy beside him.

His words are met with silence.

Chapter Text

Although the demon would be loath to admit it, Bobby was right. 

He finished the book in six weeks.

The demon found he quite enjoyed reading to the boys. The routine of helping the boys get ready for bed became a seamless dance. After everyone had eaten and washed up for the night, Bobby and Crowley followed the boys into the spare bedroom upstairs and settled into their chairs beside the twin beds each night, waiting to continue their journey through the stack of books on Sammy's nightstand. 

Before Crowley knew it, they had finished the second book.

And then the third.

After their latest romp through Dante’s Inferno, the fourth book that Sammy had chosen, Crowley decided to bring a book of his own to read to the boys.

“I can’t have the two of you getting lofty ideas about some ancient man’s idea of Hell,” Crowley huffed, settling into the chair next to Sammy’s bed.

“Now this ‘ere better be somethin’ age appropriate fer th’ boys,” Bobby warned.

“Oh please, it’s nothing they can’t handle. Besides, I think you’ll find it quite relevant to our current circumstances,” Crowley chided. He rooted around in the messenger bag he had brought with him until he let out a satisfied hum. “Now, this one is on demonology. You boys have heard of demons before, haven’t you?” Crowley asked. The two boys sat bolt upright in bed and shook their heads in agreement.

“Good, well everything you’ve ever been told about them may not be entirely true. But this,” Crowley continued, brandishing a thick, leather-bound tome, “this is a nearly perfect compendium and manual to all things and everything demonic or demon adjacent.” He gently flicked through the first few pages until he found what he was searching for.

“What does add-jay-sent mean?” Sammy asked.

“It means next to, or related to. So anything related to demons,” the demon clarified. 

“What’s so important about demons anyway,” Dean called grumpily from his bed.

“Well you ought to know who you’re talking to,” Crowley said. He shot a pointed look at Dean, and the glint of the lamplight cast a red gleam across his iris. “Do you boys know how demons are made?”

“No,” they said in unison. 

“Well, when a person’s soul leaves their body, they either go to Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory,” Crowley held up the book for the boys to see. There was a diagram of the three realms inked onto the page, depicting three separate planes of existence. 

“For those that go to hell,” Crowley said, tapping his finger on the lowest plane, “they will be tortured for eternity. Do you know how long eternity is?”

“Forever,” Sammy said in awe.

“That’s correct little one, forever,” Crowley replied proudly, “But there is a way for a human’s soul to be freed from this anguish,” the demon continued, flicking through more pages before coming to an image of a man in chains shaking hands with a horned demon, “and that is by becoming a demon.” He flicked to the next page, which depicted the man breaking out of his shackles with newfound power. 

“So they either get punished forever or start doing the punishing themselves?” Dean asked.

“Precisely. Demons are simply humans who wanted a better gig in the afterlife, or at least most of them are. There are a few exceptions that reside in hell, but that is for another time,” Crowley finished. 

“What kind of exceptions?” Sammy asked.

“Take Lucifer for example,” Crowley began, “he was first an angel who fell from heaven. The fall is what made him a demon, and quite a few other angels fell along with him.”

“The devil was an angel?” Dean said skeptically. 

“He was,” Bobby agreed, “but Crowley ‘ere wasn’t.”

The room fell quiet for a moment until Bobby slapped a hand down on Crowley’s stiff shoulder. “Crowley’s one lucky son’f a bitch that came out on top when all ‘f hell was goin’ under.”

“You’re a demon?” Sammy squeaked in surprise. Dean’s grip on his quilt tightened as a small grin spread across Crowley’s face.

“Not just any demon, I’m the crowned Prince of Hell. I make sure everything down there runs smoothly. Does it bother you that a demon has been reading your bedtime stories?” he mused.

“Well, your voices are a lot better than Uncle Bobby’s,” Sammy hummed inquisitively. “So I guess it doesn’t matter since you’re really good at reading.”

“Is that why you never go into the office with Uncle Bobby?” Dean asked slowly. Crowley inclined his head in agreement.

“Those demonic seals and devil traps wouldn’t treat me too kindly, so I prefer to stay on the opposite side of them. I’d hate for Bobby to have to break a seal for me,” the demon chuckled.

“Yer funny,” Bobby chided, unamused. 

“Tonight, I’d like to read you a special story from this book,” Crowley said, tapping the cover. “The story of how I became the crowned Prince of Hell.”

“This’ll be good,” Bobby mumbled. 

“A long time ago, in the moment before anything existed, God created the angels. The creation of the universe was just beginning, the Earth was coming together piece by piece, humanity was freshly born, and all of the angels could appreciate the beauty of God’s creation. All, except one - Lucifer.”

Crowley flipped to one of the following pages and showed the two boys a picture of an angel kneeling before a looming figure. 

“Lucifer was prideful. He saw humanity as the imperfect and deeply flawed creatures that they are.” Crowley flipped to the next page, showing the angel arguing with the figure. 

“When God asked the angels to bow before His creation, Lucifer refused,” Crowley explained. He flipped to the next page in the book, depicting an angel being stripped of his wings and thrown from a cloud. 

“God took Lucifer’s wings and cast him out of Heaven. Lucifer’s followers, fellow angels that refused to bow to humans, fell with him and became the first demons.” 

“Lucifer fell from Heaven?” Dean asked.

“Yes, and during his fall God created Hell. He crafted a realm for the demons to exist in, and Lucifer gave them purpose. The demons were to punish the worst of humanity after they had played out their little meaningless lives on Earth.”

“So if Lucifer rules Hell, how are you the Prince of Hell?” Sammy asked. Crowley smiled and flipped the page. There was a familiar picture of an apple tree in the middle of a breathtaking garden, with two figures sitting beneath it.

“Are you boys familiar with the story of Adam and Eve?”

The boys nodded.

“Lucifer, willing to give humanity one chance, disguised himself as a snake and snuck to the surface. He found Adam and Eve in the garden and saw how ignorant and blind they were to the truths of the world. He told them if they ate the forbidden fruit of knowledge then all of the world would be theirs, and every secret and far corner would belong to them.”

“And they ate the fruit,” Dean concluded.

“They did,” Crowley agreed, “And Lucifer was punished for tempting them. God crafted a cage in the lowest pit of Hell and imprisoned the devil inside so that he could never tempt another human again.” Crowley turned a few pages until he came to an image of an iron cage surrounded by eternal flames. 

“What Lucifer didn’t know was that he gave humanity the best gift they could have ever received. Do you boys know what that is?”

They shook their heads. Crowley turned the page. The two human figures were escaping from the garden and venturing into the world beyond.

“He gave humanity what he lost - free will.”

Crowley turned the page. The cage sat in a sea of pitch black. 

“The cage was sealed off from the rest of hell, isolating Lucifer for eternity. The demons, outraged that their leader was imprisoned, vowed to do his bidding. They began sneaking up to the surface to tempt humans and wreak havoc. But with their ruler in chains, it wasn’t long before Hell itself devolved into chaos,” Crowley said. Turning the page, he revealed a figure in a black suit addressing a crowd of shadowy demons. 

“Naturally, one demon stepped forward and proposed a solution to keep Hell in order. He became the overseer, organizing the different rings of Hell and developing a formula for the creation of new demons. He approved all visits to the surface and reviewed every job request. It wasn’t an easy life, but he found pride in it.”

Crowley flipped through pages depicting the demon’s reformation of Hell, coming to a stop on a page where the demon was addressing an elderly figure with an ornate crystal ball balanced on a table between them.

“The demon relied on the prophets that were in Hell, people who had been chosen by God to predict the future. They had endless prophecies of torture and temptation, making it easy for the demon to hand out job assignments.

“But one day, a very important prophet told this demon that he was to leave Hell and go to the surface. There was work for him to do on Earth, work that was more important than ruling Hell. So the demon squared everything away and left.” Crowley flipped to a page showing a man in a dark suit with dark wings spread behind him drifting up and to a shimmering doorway.

“He just left?” Dean echoed.

“He just left,” Crowley said, snapping the book shut. He smiled at the two boys, then turned to place the book back into his messenger bag. 

“What about Lucifer?” Sammy asked.

“What about him?” Crowley said. 

“Is he still in his cage?” Sammy asked softly. 

“Yes, he’s never left it.” Crowley sat up and patted his legs, “Any more questions?”

“Is it lonely?” Sammy continued.

“I would suppose so. See, time passes differently in Hell. The deeper you go the longer time stretches, and what lasts one day for some may last many years for others. In the cage, time is extremely warped, and Lucifer has been there since the beginning. There’s no telling how long it’s been since he’s seen anyone.”

“That’s sad,” Sammy commented, punctuating it with a long yawn.

“I suppose it is,” Crowley said offhandedly. 

“He never got to see us,” Sammy murmured.

“What’re ya on ‘bout Sammy?” Bobby asked.

“After he gave us,” Sammy paused to yawn again, “free will. He never got to see what we were like.”

“No,” Crowley said, tone full of wonder, “No, he did not.”

The two boys had slowly slipped down and under their covers, and Bobby and Crowley flicked off their lamps.

“G’night boys,” Bobby said softly.

“Night Uncle Bobby and Uncle Crowley,” Sammy called.

“Sleep well, little ones,” Crowley replied in hushed tones.

The door clicked shut softly behind the two men. They turned and made their way down the stairs and into the kitchen below. Without a word, Bobby began filling the tea kettle. 

“So ya just up’n left Hell ‘cos some ol’ prophet told ya to?” Bobby said in slight disbelief. He flicked on the burner and turned to face the demon. 

“He isn’t just some run of the mill low-grade prophet.” Crowley scoffed. “He’s one of the oldest prophets, the one who predicted that Adam would eat the apple and that Cain would kill Able. Alastor is his name”

“Well, I reckon that makes ‘im pretty damn important,” Bobby said.

“Indeed it does, so when he came to me with three prophecies pertaining to the end of the world, you can bet your arse I listened,” Crowley said, a slight flare of passion emphasizing the last statement.

“Get on with it then, what are they?” Bobby said with a huff.

“The prophet told me to ‘walk the Earth ’ for the next one hundred and twenty-one years.” Crowley took a seat at the small table that sat against the wall with a chair tucked on either side. “To ‘walk until I found a hunter who had lost his wife, and form an unbreakable bond. ’ Pretty finite wording, if you ask me.”

“Well, I’ll say,” Bobby murmured to himself. 

“He said, ‘the hunter would lead me to the answer .’”

“I don’ suppose ‘e told ya what th’ answer was?”

“He did, actually,” Crowley said in a dazed tone as if the pieces of a puzzle were slowly coming together in his mind. The tea kettle began a low whistle.

“Well, out with it then,” Bobby pushed.

“I’m surprised you haven’t worked it out for yourself yet,” the demon commented smartly. He waited expectantly for a response that wasn’t coming. “I’ll give you one hint,” Crowley added, “How did you housebreak the Prince of Hell?”

The teakettle began to pick up speed, a low whistle turning to a near ear-splitting shriek in a matter of seconds. Bobby moved it off the burner and onto a handmade potholder. He grabbed two mugs, poured the tea, and put three sugars in one, and two sugars and a splash of milk in the other. Only after he had finally brought the tea over to the table, taken a seat, and taken his first sip, did he respond.

“This.”

“This,” Crowley agreed. He took a sip of his tea, steam billowing off of the still scalding liquid that had been moderately cooled by the milk. “Showing him humanity, teaching him to care, that’s how we get him.” 

“So, yer wantin’ t’ introduce lil’ Sammy to the devil?” Bobby replied, tone lightly colored with misbelief.

“Precisely,” the demon replied.

“And why on earth d’ya think that’ll work?” Bobby asked.

“Because of the second prophecy Alastor gave me. He told me ‘Sam Winchester is the beginning and the end. He is the answer. ’ And you lead me right to him.” 

The demon took a long slurp of his tea. Bobby stared, too stunned to speak, so the demon continued.

“There’s something I haven’t explained to you about angels,” Crowley said, choosing his words slowly. 

“What’re ya on ‘bout now?” Bobby asked.

“Angels, like demons, need a corporeal body to inhabit while they’re topside. With demons, it’s possession - a one-sided pull that consumes the soul of the vessel against their will.”

“I reckon it’s not so simple with angels,” Bobby said.

“Angels need permission to inhabit their vessels, and they can’t choose just anybody. There are human souls that were crafted for each angel, known as their true vessel. The more powerful the angel, the stronger the soul that contains it.”

“Yer losin’ me,” Bobby admitted plainly. 

“The most powerful angels, archangels, have very few vessels that will ever walk the earth. Michael and Lucifer only have one. Care to wager who they are?” Crowley raised an eyebrow at the hunter. 

Bobby’s eyes drifted to the staircase leading up to the room where two boys were sleeping peacefully, and an iron grip seized his heart.

“How long ‘ave ya known it was them?” Bobby asked gently.

“The prophecy of Sam and Dean Winchester is known by every demon in hell. It was the first prophecy Alastor received when he arrived in Hell, right as I began to reform it,” Crowley said, sipping his tea.

“This whole time… you’ve known these boys were bein’ lead like lambs to slaughter?” Bobby said.

“I never thought I would meet them,” Crowley said, mostly to himself, “Never thought I’d… care about them.” He set down his teacup and met Bobby’s empty gaze. “Sam was made for Lucifer. Their souls are destined for one another, don’t you get it?”

Bobby blinked, the room coming into focus once more, though a little blurry at the edges. He wiped absently at the corners of his eyes. 

“Lucifer has been waiting for Sam for millennia. For the soul that was created to be his perfect other half. If anyone can get through to the devil, it’s Sam,” Crowley finished. 

Bobby rubbed at his eyes, then took a long swig from his mug. He turned to look out the window that sat over the kitchen sink, watching as dusk fell and the stars began to pierce through the dark sky. 

“So what’s th’ last one?” Bobby said.

“The last what?”

“Prophecy.”

“Oh, that,” Crowley said. Bobby let out a chuckle and finished off his tea. “He said ‘all of the gates must be opened before the first one is closed .’”

“Gates?” Bobby asked

“There are three main gates in all of existence,” Crowley replied.

“Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory,” Bobby murmured softly. Crowley nodded.

“Once one gate has been opened, it can’t be shut until the other two have been opened as well,” Crowley explained. “The gates can only be opened from the outside, and must be sealed shut from the inside.” 

“Someone’ll have to stay inside fer each gate,” Bobby said.

“I’d volunteer for Hell, but…” the demon began.

“What is it?” Bobby said curtly. 

“Well, I think the bond is literal.”

“Bond?”

“Your soul and my…demonic entity. The bond we must create to cross over into Hell safely.” Crowley took a sip of his drink. “I think you will be bonded to me in a way that is irreversible.”

“So if yer volunteerin’ t’ stay in Hell,” Bobby started.

“Then you’re along for the ride,” Crowley finished flatly. 

“What ‘bout Heaven and Purgatory? Who’s gunna close those gates?” 

“I’ve got a few people in mind… but there are still too many moving parts to be sure,” Crowley said, finishing his tea. Bobby nodded and grabbed the two empty mugs, making his way to the counter to refill them. He busied himself with the motions, adding the sugar and milk slowly, mulling over the conversation. 

“So we’ll argue our case t’ th’ devil. Convince ‘im t’ meet ‘is vessel, and then Sammy will take care of th’ rest?” Bobby asked.

“Bingo,” Crowley said.

Bobby made his way back over to the table, passing Crowley his second cup of milky tea. The demon accepted it and greedily took a slurp. Bobby looked away. 

“That’s a lotta weight t’ put on a kid,” Bobby started slowly. “Leaving a six-year-old t’ save humanity.”

“I think you’ll find that most angels and demons are overgrown children, so Sammy will feel right at home.”

“Still,” Bobby pressed, “we aren’t askin’ an easy task of ‘im.”

“But I suppose asking a demon to remove your soul and bond to you for the rest of your existence is easy? We all have our parts to play, Bobby, each one just as vital and irreplaceable as the next.”

They sipped their tea and let a soft silence wash over them. The tea was considerably cooler this time, and the cups were drained quickly. 

Crowley stood and crossed the floor, setting his empty cup next to the sink. He rested his hands on the counter and gazed out at the stars. 

“There’s only a few weeks until the equinox,” Crowley commented. “March is almost here.”

“Everythin’ else fer the ritual ‘as been prepared,” Bobby said. “All’s left is th’ actual ritual.”

“It’ll be an early morning, demonic, soul-bonding experience,” Crowley said with more than a touch of sarcasm, “Should go off without a hitch.” He turned and offered Bobby a wry smile. 

Just as Bobby was about to stand, there was a small bump and the sound of small feet pitter-pattering across the floor. Sammy appeared, bleary-eyed and wrapped in a quilt, at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Hey there Sammy,” Bobby said softly, “What brings ya downstairs?”

“I ‘ad a bad dream,” the little boy mumbled, mouth stretching around a yawn. He padded forward into the kitchen, and Crowley guided him over to the chair at the small table. He plopped down into the chair in an ungraceful heap of patchwork fabric.

“D’ya wanna talk ‘bout it?” Bobby pressed gently. Sammy blinked open his eyes and looked up at Bobby. 

“I don’ ‘member mos’ of it,” the little boy began sleepily, “but I ‘member bein’ in a really cold ‘n dark place.” The demon crouched down to eye level with the boy, and put a hand on his knee poking out from the quilt. 

“Well, how about a cup of tea to warm you up?” the demon asked. Sammy’s eyes brightened considerably, and he nodded. Crowley smiled, and stood up, making his way over to the cabinet and selecting a small teacup for Sammy. He poured the now nearly room temperature tea into the cup and stirred in two and a half sugars, and a touch of milk. 

“Here you are, my good sir,” he said, turning with the cup held gently between his fingers. He made a big show of sweeping across the floor and bowing in front of Sammy before placing the cup on the table in front of the child. Sammy started up in a fit of giggles, the blanket slipping down around his shoulders. 

“Only the best for our Duke Samuel Winchester,” Crowley said, swishing his hand around wildly and bowing a second time.

“Why am I a Duke?” asked Sammy.

“Well, if I’m the Prince of Hell, and you call me Uncle, then that would make you a Duke, obviously, sire,” the demon said. Sammy broke off into a small fit of laughter again, and once it had quieted down he reached forward and sipped his tea. 

“Mmmm, perfect,” he said around the rim of the cup. The drink was finished in about thirty seconds, and Crowley started on a second cup.

“Now, we don’t wantcha havin’ to get up to use the bathroom all night, so only one more cup, alright?” Bobby said, then added, “My Duke.”

Sammy sipped the second cup much slower, and once he finally set the empty cup down, he made no move to get up.

“Is something still troubling you?” the demon asked gently. Sammy’s eyes were downcast, so Crowley crouched down again and looked up into them. 

“I don’ wanna have that dream ‘gain,” he mumbled. Crowley nodded and reached behind his back. He turned and swiftly pulled a small plush object seemingly out of thin air.

“Well, what if you had this great big moose to scare all the bad dreams away?” Crowley said, offering the stuffed animal to Sammy. He accepted it hesitantly.

“A moose?”

“They’re massive deer that grow great big antlers like this one here has. I bet he would keep you nice and safe tonight, little moose,” Crowley said, reaching forward and ruffling Sammy’s hair. 

A small smile spread across the child’s face, and he hugged the moose close to his chest. 

“Thank you Uncle - I mean Prince Crowley,” Sammy beamed at him. The demon stood and brushed off his suit.

“Anything for my Duke,” he gave a final bow and extended his hand for Sammy to take. They joined hands, and the demon escorted the young boy back up the stairs and into his bed. 

Bobby waited, still seated at the small table, and watched the night sky. When the demon finally came softly down the stairs, Bobby raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Did ya really use yer demon mumbojumbo to make a stuffed moose?” Bobby asked incredulously. 

“Oh, shut up,” Crowley hissed, swatting a hand at him. 

They both quietly followed the motions of cleaning up, rinsing the cups and tea kettle, scooting in the chairs, and coming to stand by the sink together.

“Well, it’s getting late. I’d better be off,” Crowley said stiffly. Bobby nodded, and clapped him on the shoulder. 

“I’ll see ya next week. John’ll be droppin’ th’ boys off ‘round 8 pm on Tuesday.” Bobby let his hand fall. Crowley nodded, then walked to the door. He hesitated for just a moment, before swiftly unlatching the chain and disappearing into the crisp night air.

Winter began to melt away as the equinox approached. The snow turned into sleet and then melted into rain that left crisp dew each morning. There was a sense of finality that coated the eve of the equinox, a presence Bobby had never felt before.

They had decided to prep the sigil the day in advance so that they could start the ritual straight away the following dawn. Bobby had cleared out his garage and bought fresh paint to use. The two began drawing the intricate and intertwined sigils, steadily painting the lines by hand. They placed the candles within each loop of the sigil and left them unlit.

“We have to do it as the sun rises and the equinox begins,” Crowley said, “The ritual uses the equinox as a catalyst to open our souls to one another. The spell won’t fully be complete until nightfall, so we’ll just have to wait it out together.”

“Is it supposed ‘t hurt?” Bobby asked.

“I have no idea,” Crowley answered honestly. 

Bobby nodded and went back to finishing up the sigil.

They waited out the day with bated breath, glad that for once the boys were with John. When nightfall came, they resigned to the living room. Nerves were running high, and neither man felt even a shred of exhaustion. 

“Run me through it ‘gain,” Bobby said. 

“Like I explained, time works differently in Hell. The deeper you go, the more warped it becomes. One day on Earth might be months, if not years in hell. And the deeper we go, the longer it will take.”

“By my estimates,” Bobby said, rifling through a stack of papers, “the walk will take us sixty years.”

“Are you sure-”

“Yes. I’m sure.” Bobby cut him off with a huff.

“Bobby, please, consider what you’re about to walk into,” the demon pleaded.

“Hell. I’m ‘boutta walk into Hell,” Bobby said.

“Are you certain you want to do this? This is your last chance to-”

“Back out? I don’t think so.” Stubborn conviction shined in Bobby’s eyes, and Crowley knew he wasn’t going to win this argument. Luckily, he didn’t want to.

The glasses of whiskey the men had been nursing sat forgotten on the coffee table between them.

“I trust ya,” Bobby started softly, “To get me there ‘n back. We’ll set off th’ day after t’morrow, once we know th’ bond is set.”

Crowley nodded. 

“Somethin’ on yer mind?” Bobby pressed.

“I haven’t been home in…” Crowley trailed off softly, then looked up and met Bobby’s eyes. “What if everything changed while I was gone?”

Bobby considered this a moment, then shrugged. 

“We won’t know til we get there, I suppose.”

“We don’t even know what we’re walking into, Bobby. What if this is a mistake? What if-”

“Are ya really gettin’ cold feet, now ?”

Crowley balked.

“Yer just scared,” Bobby chided.

“I’m a demon, I’m not scared of Hell.”

“Yer scared fer me,” Bobby reasoned. He leaned forward and reached his hand out over the coffee table. Crowley, sitting in a chair on the opposite side, leaned forward and mirrored the hunter. Bobby grasped Crowley’s hand and held it firm. “Ya don’t hafta be. I chose this, Crowley. I found th’ bond, I researched th’ ritual, I want to go through with it.”

Crowley gripped his hand back tightly. 

“What if I can’t protect you,” Crowley whispered sharply.

“I’m a grown man, and a hunter, I’on’t need protectin’.”

The demon’s eyes went downcast, and his hand went slack. 

“If only that were true,” he said under his breath.

Morning came like a soldier marching across the battlefield, full of glorious purpose. The garage door was open, and the spring breeze drifted in, nipping at Bobby’s neck as he leaned down to light the candles. Crowley was rifling through books, triple-checking every aspect of the ritual as Bobby completed the setup, using the dim overhead light to read. 

All too soon, the sun began to peak over the horizon.

“It’s time,” Crowley remarked hoarsely.

Bobby and Crowley stepped into the center of the seal. Bobby held out both hands, waiting. Crowley brought up his hands and held them out shakily. 

“Just some last-minute jitters,” he joked. Bobby reached forward and grasped his hands, gently holding them still. He smiled. 

Crowley gulped.

As the first rays of sunlight began to streak into the garage, they began chanting. The noise filled the air around them, an almost melodic cadence taking over. 

The wind from outside whipped in through the open garage door, causing the candle flames to swish violently. They held strong.

The light above the two men began to flicker, sparks flying off of it, before a loud crack was heard and they were bathed in shadows. 

For a moment the chanting faltered, and then the candles began to flame more violently.

“Keep going,” Bobby shouted against the wind. 

The two men chanted louder, holding fast to one another. They were each other’s anchors, a physical grounding force holding them to the Earth. 

A piercing blue light began to pulsate just beneath Bobby’s skin. It was high on the left side of his ribcage, just below his heart. It mingled with the warm rays of sunlight, creating an ethereal glow.

The light flared, slowly pulling out and away from Bobby. A ball of electric blue energy hovered between the joined hands, casting a ghoulish glow over their faces. Crowley looked up into Bobby’s eyes, and saw a flare of passion flit across. He steeled himself. 

As they continued chanting, the light slowly drifted towards Crowley, before coming to a stop just shy of his suit. He gave Bobby’s hand a little squeeze, took a deep breath, and let the light sink into his body.

Cold wasn’t the proper term for what the demon felt. It was like ice began to pierce his solar plexus and spread throughout his veins. More refreshing than a saline drip, and more visceral than a raging river.

Crowley couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his lips. 

His hand slipped out of Bobby’s grasp and slid up to Bobby’s elbow, pulling the man closer. Crowley took a step, closing the distance, and rested his forehead against Bobby’s. 

The sunlight streaked higher, cascading down their legs and onto the sigil. 

The blue light began to dim and a wave of static washed over the demon. The static faded to a warm ache, and then it was gone.

The sunlight began to creep up, shining against their forearms. 

The ritual was almost complete.

The chanting began to slow until the final words were uttered. The sunlight was trailing up the nape of their necks, and Crowley opened his eyes. He was mere inches away from the hunter, and if he took a deep breath he could breathe him in. 

“There’s a special way I seal all of my deals,” the demon began softly.

“And what’s that,” Bobby whispered back.

Crowley swallowed his nerves and leaned forward.

Their lips met, warmth washing over both of them like a tidal wave. Crowley gripped Bobby’s elbow tighter and brought his other hand up to the back of Bobby’s head. The embrace was fleeting, and Crowley leaned away after hesitating only a moment too long. 

The hunter took a step back, sizing up the demon. 

Crowley looked everywhere but at his face. He tried to wretch his arms away to make a swift escape when suddenly he was pulled close again. His lips were met with intensity as Bobby kissed him. It was electrifying, passionate, tender, and everything Crowley had never known. 

They broke away after a moment, foreheads still resting against one another as the morning light painted their faces in a warm glow.

“What now?” Bobby asked.

“Now, we wait.”

They went into the house and busied themselves with making breakfast. Despite demons not needing to eat, Crowley found he quite enjoyed the ritualistic behavior of meal times. 

Not to mention Bobby was a great chef.

After they had eaten, Bobby decided it was a great day to reorganize his library of folklore and sort it by region. 

“It was originally sorted by author, but I-”

“Stop telling me these things as if I care,” the demon spat.

It wasn’t long before Bobby finished and decided to clean out his office. 

Crowley sat in the living room for all of this, preferring to leave himself to quiet contemplation until the evening came. 

Finally, after a day that seemed to stretch on forever, the first rays of sunlight began to disappear.

“Wanna sit out on th’ back porch with me?” Bobby asked the demon. Crowley nodded, and the two men made their way outside. 

There were two porch chairs, and a small table nestled amongst a few potted plants. Crowley flopped down into a chair unceremoniously. Bobby sat in the other chair, and the two of them gazed out over the field. It was bordered by a dense forest, that the sun was currently setting behind. Light filtered through the leaves and danced across the grass as it swayed gently in the evening breeze. 

When the sun dipped low enough behind the trees, Crowley and Bobby were quickly surrounded by the shadows of the evening.

“That’s it?” Crowley said. 

“Suppose so,” Bobby agreed.

He stood from his chair and turned to the demon. 

“Tea?” he asked. Crowley nodded.

They made their way inside and resumed the usual actions of tea time. Bobby brought the two steaming cups over to the table, and set his own down. He reached out to Crowley, offering the second cup. The demon reached out, and as their fingers brushed a jolt of energy shot up his arm. He dropped the cup and it fell to the floor, shattering.

“Fuck, did you feel that?” the demon asked quickly. 

“What was that?” Bobby asked.

Slowly, the reached out for each other. As their hands met, a sharp warmth spread over each of them, starting from their fingertips and working all the way to their toes.

“The bond…” Crowley said in amazement. He looped his fingers through Bobby’s and felt the steady heat pulsate.

“Well I reckon it worked,” Bobby said. 

Their hands slipped from one another slowly, and the heat began to fade instantly. It was still there, like a low fire crackling in the pit of their stomachs, but much more muffled. 

A moment passed between them before they both realized hot tea was splattered all over the floor. 

“Here, let me,” Crowley said. He went to the cupboard and grabbed a towel and the broom. He swept up the glass and wiped up the liquid as best as he could.

“I’ve got this,” Bobby said. Crowley turned and saw the man brandishing floor cleaner and a mop. He smiled and allowed the hunter to take over. The mess was cleaned shortly, and a new cup of tea was poured. This time, when their fingers brushed, they didn’t pull away.

The two men tidied up and Bobby began preparing for bed. Crowley wandered into the living room and began browsing books, picking one for the evening. He settled into an armchair for the night.

“See ya in the mornin’,” Bobby called from the bathroom down the hall. Crowley smiled.

“Goodnight,” he called back. The hall light flicked off. The only source of light left was coming from the lamp on the table beside Crowley. He flipped to the first page of his book and began to read.

In the morning, not much was said. Breakfast was made, dishes were washed, and then the two men met on the back porch. 

They passed through the field quickly, feet trampling the long grass still wet with the dew from the growing dawn. Crowley led the way into the forest, following a barely worn path through the underbrush to a great stone arch. The faces of the stones had been intricately carved with runes and arranged with care. The light of dawn dappled the forest floor as it danced between the leaves, casting a beam of light through the center of the arch.

“So this is it,” Bobby said.

“I suppose it is,” Crowley echoed.

“Is there anythin’ yer wanting to say before we go through… well, hell?” 

“Saying ‘good luck’ doesn’t quite cover it, does it?” the demon said pointedly.

“It sure doesn’t,” Bobby agreed. 

He turned and offered the demon his hand.

Crowley accepted. 

They stepped through the arch.