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Every now and again Bobby Singer made a point to meet with a hunter strongly tied into his past. Rufus Turner was a good man, and a damn good hunter; despite all the shameful history or the butting of heads they would get together for a job, or just to have a few drinks.
This time had seemed strange, however. Something had been off when Bobby received a nonchalant invitation to Rufus’ safe house for a potluck dinner. Potluck meant ‘party’, and, well, the gruff bearded junk-man just couldn’t picture his former partner opening his doors to the neighborhood. Something had to be wrong, but if there was Rufus had clammed up and just spewed a time:
Right damn now would be awfully convenient.
Still, there Bobby stood in his flannel and ball cap glory, feeling like a fool with a crockpot he didn’t even know he owned, in his hands, full of a simmering stew that he likely didn’t even have to make. But far be it from him to come unprepared in case Rufus had really lost his mind and had an actual party.
Knocking at the door with the toe of his steel tipped work boot the hunter waited for the answer he knew wouldn’t come before shouldering the door. It flung open, easily, as though in preparation for his arrival. The place was a damn mess and showed signs of obvious struggle.
From somewhere near the back Bobby heard grunting, and then an unholy scream. He knew it. Plopping down his stew on a table he rushed toward the noise and found a bloodied Rufus having it out with a petite, pretty red-headed woman. A demon, from the looks of her black eyes and malevolent grin when she took notice of Bobby’s arrival— and she had Rufus way-laid with a few of her dead buddies littering the floor.
"What took you so damn long?!" Rufus exclaimed, rolling over the limp body of what looked like a mailman, before pushing to his feet and shooting his friend a disbelieving expression.
"I had to make a stew!" Bobby replied in rough defense of himself, already dragging out the holy water and a folded paper containing latin script— just to prevent him from forgetting any important words to get rid of this demon bitch.
As she snarled and approached him, Bobby spoke quickly while Rufus tackled her with a scream-empowered headbutt to the lower back. It was enough to slow the redheaded demon, distracting her enough for the incantation necessary to exorcise her from the body she inhabited. As the pillar of black smoke evacuated, filling the air with a shrieking howl, Rufus turned his back to allow Bobby to undo his bindings.
"How in seven Hells did you get yourself in this situation?" He barked, jerking the rope away and tossing it to the floor.
Rufus shrugged, rubbing his wrists. “She said she needed a cup of sugar.” He glanced to the listless body of his neighbor crumpled on an area rug. “Evidently, I have some touching up to do on my demon wards.”
“Evidently." Bobby snorted back in disgust, shaking his head.
It was then that Rufus took note of the crockpot on the table. “What the hell is that?”
"Beef stew. You said it was a potluck, and I wasn’t takin’ any chances."
Warily, Rufus lifted the lid and took a whiff of the smell wafting toward his nostrils. He flashed the other hunter a contemptuous glare. “You mean to tell me you’d have been here sooner if you didn’t take the time to simmer a crockpot stew for a potluck that obviously ain’t happening?!”
Unfazed, Bobby arched an eyebrow and nodded his head to one side. “At least we got dinner. It’s kosher.”
Rufus stared for a long few seconds before picking up the crockpot, hauling to his mediocre kitchen. “Let’s clean this mess up, then.”
He was, after all that was said and done, admittedly hungry.