Chapter Text
Bobby Singer was never letting the Winchesters use his bathroom again. If they ever showed up covered in blood and graveyard dirt, with three days’ worth of stubble and smelling like a bar that’s sewer overflowed again he’d spray them off with the hose in the back yard. They’d come in and ate his food, broke his washing machine, and tracked mud through his house. Then the angel had popped in, silently gawked at Dean toweling the laundry room floor dry in his underwear for a while before announcing his presence with a husky “Hello Dean.” An hour later the brothers were on the road to check on a mysterious boom in the frog population in some little town in Massachusetts. Bobby had offered to have a friend of his look into it, but because Dean was whupped and didn’t even know it they had set off without even a decent night’s sleep. Now Bobby was left all alone to do damage control. Towels were crumpled in the bathroom floor, Sam had forgotten a t-shirt, water was splashed all over the counter and stubble and shaving cream covered the sink. Bobby sighed and got to work.
The little belt on his washer had snapped. Probably because it was old and the weight of denim and mud was too much for it. Bobby was pretty sure he had a belt that would fit, but it might be just a smidgen too big. He wiggled out from behind the dryer to find the King of Hell leaning in the doorframe. “Sonofabitch!”
“Well good afternoon to you too Robert.”
“What do you want Crowley?”
“Why must everyone assume I have ulterior motives? Can’t a demon stop in for a friendly chat?”
“You always want something. Even if it’s only to insult my liquor and steal my silverware.”
“I haven’t touched your cutlery in ages.”
“Again. What do you want?”
“Simply a break. Hell’s being bothersome.”
“Hell’s been bothersome a lot lately.” Bobby could tell Crowley wasn’t going anywhere. He had that look on his face, the one that said he needed a few hours of solid complaining about something before he felt up to snuff and ready to deal with whatever Hell threw at him. Bobby could use some complaining himself. “The idjits broke my washer this morning.” Bobby said, gesturing to half dismantled machine beside him. Crowley raised an eyebrow. “The Wondrous Winchesters aren’t still here are they?”
“Nope. Cas showed up and they took off to the East coast.”
“Angel said jump and Dean said how high?”
“Pretty much.” Bobby grunted as he got up.
“Do you think they’ll ever admit how badly they want to shag each other?” Crowley drawled as he followed Bobby into the kitchen.
“God I hope so. The staring and the awkwardness is gettin’ on my nerves.”
“Isn’t it? I feel sorry for Moose sometimes.” Crowley pushed an empty coffee cup away from his usual spot at the kitchen table. Bobby grabbed two tumblers from the cabinet and turned around to find, as expected, a full bottle of Scottish whiskey sitting in the middle of the table. Bobby set the glasses on the table and pulled out his pocket knife. Crowley watched intently as he cut the wax from around the top of the bottle. Bobby had noticed that the demon sometimes got a little too fascinated watching his hands, and he had a feeling he knew why. Castiel wasn’t the only supernatural entity around that had a not so subtle crush on an alcoholic hunter. Bobby wasn’t sure how he felt about it. So mostly he ignored it. Crowley had never pushed the topic, which honestly surprised him, but they both seemed content to leave it be.
“So. Hell.” Bobby said after he’d poured both of them liberal amounts of whiskey. Crowley groaned and scrubbed his hand across his face. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I thought that’s why you dropped in.”
“No. Absolutely not. I’d like to stay as far away from the topic as demonically possible.”
“That bad huh?”
“And humanly possible, Singer.”
Bobby chuckled and sat down. “So what do you want to talk about then?”
Crowley took a sip of his drink. “I don’t know. Flowers, rainbows, puppies? Anything but our respective careers.”
“Puppies. Now there’s somethin’”
Crowley raised an eyebrow. “You’re joking.”
“Naw. I’ve been thinking of getting a dog. I used to have a few strays around here that I fed, but they all wandered off. I haven’t had an actual dog in years. By that I mean one I got on purpose and trained and fed routinely.”
“Don’t you do that with the Winchesters? What do you need a dog for?”
“Very funny.”
“Does that make the angel one of those weird cats that suddenly decides that one particular dog is okay, and no one is allowed to mess with it, and the dog returns the favor all the while being a little bemused by the situation?”
Bobby tipped his glass at the demon. “Cute but I don’t think either of them would appreciate your analogy.”
“You really think I care about the opinions of the Righteous Hound and the Kitten of the Lord?”
“Dammit Crowley, you have not had near enough to drink to be spouting this shit.”
Crowley swished his empty glass at Bobby. “Then fill it up again.” Bobby did so.
“So what’s Sam?” He asked after a few minutes of silence.
“Moose is a moose regardless of the situation”
“Fair enough.”