Chapter Text
Set after Death's Door
The man in the black suit stood in the doorway of the hospital room, staring blankly at the bed, already stripped of linen. So absorbed was he that he didn't notice any approach until he felt a hand grip his shoulder and pull him around. "What the fuck are you doing here?" Dean Winchester's voice was almost a snarl, sharp with tension. Very nearly he pulled his gun, but his brother quickly grasped his wrist to prevent him.
"We're in a hospital, Dean! Crowley, I don't know what you're playing at now, but....not now, all right?"
"Where is he?" Crowley, King of Hell, interrupted, hardly seeming to notice either the gun or the handling. "They said Robert Singer was here. Where is he?"
The brothers looked quickly at one another. Any other time, Crowley would have said something sarcastic about sharing a brain, but now he simply stared at Dean, waiting for a reply. "He's dead, Crowley. Dick Roman killed him. Headshot."
"No," said Crowley, his voice oddly flat.
"Get out of here, Crowley. Gun's loaded with rock salt and I will shoot you."
The demon raised amber eyes to Dean's face as though he had not heard. He glanced next at Sam, then turned to look back into the hospital room as though he might have missed something. "Where – where will he be buried?"
"We're not telling you," Sam said. Crowley said nothing more and in the next instant he was gone. The brothers exchanged uneasy looks. "Was he upset?" Sam asked. "If he was, you know, a person, I'd say he was upset."
"He's not a person," Dean growled. "And he's the last who should know any details about Bobby."
"He was upset," Sam said quietly.
*
Set after Inside Man
"A wise man once told me, " 'Family doesn't end in blood.' "
Crowley nodded tiredly, for once not trying to come up with any snarky response. "That's Bobby Singer, isn't it?" he asked. "Who said that about family not ending in blood?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah, he did." The hunter studied the demon king's morose face as he played with the tiny pitchfork stuck into his drink. "Bobby was a good person to talk to, if you needed to talk, but boy, he did not take any crap." Still Crowley didn't look at him, sunk deep into his grim thoughts. Dean sighed. "I'm gonna regret this, and Sam is probably going to make me regret it, but there's something we never told you, that time you came to the hospital where Bobby was taken."
"You didn't tell me anything at all," Crowley said, a caustic note entering his voice. "So I suppose anything now is a bonus, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Dean said, and something in his voice made Crowley finally look him in the eyes. "It's this. Uh, Bobby didn't die."
"If this is your idea of humour, I warn you that the old Crowley isn't far below the surface."
"No. He didn't die. We cooked up the death story so that Bobby could get clear of the Leviathans. He was real sick for a long time, more than a year. After the hospital, he stayed with Garth for a few months and then Garth and some other hunters set him up in a cabin that used to belong to Rufus, his old partner. They rescued some of his library from his house....anyway, he needed a new identity, to get away from hunting. Dean shrugged awkwardly, "I don't know if you care, I don't know why you were there that day, but that's what happened."
"Where is he?" Crowley asked, very softly. "Dean. Please. Where is he?"
"Well clear of all this crap we're dealing with."
"Bobby Singer not a hunter? That doesn't make any sense at all."
"I figure his story's for him to tell or not," Dean said. "And I told you because, well, I don't exactly know why. All these warm fuzzies we're having at the moment. But I can't tell you where he is."
"Then call him for me. Ask him if he'll see me."
Slowly, Dean nodded. "Okay."
*