Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gulping down a coffee, Robert ‘Bobby’ Singer settled at his desk, opened an ancient tome, and started to read.

Hours flew by as he scribbled his findings on a scrap of torn news-paper, scratching notes onto crimes gone by and stories long since forgotten to even the most intrepid librarian. Far to focussed to even rifle through a drawer for a proper notebook. Sam and dean needed these notes, and Chuck knows those sons of a bitch wouldn’t do it themselves. Not when old Bobby could do it for them,

The dawn sun rose too noon, and then back down to dusk before he finally stood again, pacing to the grimy kitchen in search of a coffee-pot long since cold. Sighing, he slipped it back onto the stove. Waiting for the boiled bubbles to start and checking the fridge while he did so, grabbing old take-out like it was made of gold and shovelling to down, still waiting for the pot to boil.
“You know…they do say…” a panting voice snapped into focus behind him. And he dam near threw his cold noodles to the floor.
“Christ, Crowley. You idjit, I’m eating.” He growled, slamming down the cardboard box on his kitchen surface.
“Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m in a bit of a rush.” He gasped, slamming a hand down on the solid wall.

“You’re in a rush…” Bobby scoffed, finally turning to face the demon.

Crowley was burnt, his smouldering hand left an imprint of skin and flesh everything he touched, half his face was still ablaze, a skull just visible through the roaring heat. His sensible suit in tatters around him, burnt pieces flying off whenever he moved. Red smoke blazed through the burning body, Crowleys soul writhing in pain and anguish. Speech barely made it from the flayed skin that was his lips, black char coating his teeth and blocking his air-ways. Not that he needed to breath, but it made his voice choked and raspy.
“Holy…fire….” He groaned, leaning heavier on the walls, trains of debris flying around him.

Bobby stood gawking for too long, his legs barely jolting him into movement as he rushed towards his basement, reaching the sacred vases that held the precious little oil needed to make that unholy flame. Was he really helping the demon? That bastard had hindered his work more times than he could count, and he was playing for the wrong team…but his body moved him more than his mind did, fuelled by intrigue and grim determination more than sense but, he thought, that was how this job normally worked.

As he scrambled back up the rickety stairs, Crowley was sat at his sagging couch, barely holding together his confidence gradually falling with every passing second. But…the way his broken face lit up as Bobby slammed the door back open, like recognising safety. He wasn’t safe, Bobby grunted, but the slight smile brought a something in him too, and he felt a fool to deny it.
“Light it, honey.” Crowley groaned, bones creaking as he stood again,
“Outside,” Bobby sighed,
“I…don’t think that will work…” Crowley groaned, “your house won’t burn down.”

Bobby just chuckled, selecting a cauldron from his dresser and pouring the oil into it. Before, after an age of shedding and burning from Crowley, he lit it, the instant flame blowing a cloud of sparks far into the air. Lurching forwards, Crowley grabbed the bowl, and with the gravitas of a starving lion, poured the flaming contents over his wounds.

Flesh stitched back together as the flames reached a fever pitch, scorching the scuffed carpet and the ragged curtains. Watching, Bobby cursed his own naivety, naturally holy fire saved demons, for they are the mortal opposite of angels, and so the destruction of one must bring the saviour of another.

Fire, extinguished as quick as it was brought, knitted back together what it tore apart, and from it the Demon stood remade anew. Even his suit had been given a new lease of life, the slight tartan shading just visible in the folds of the lapel.

“Thank you kindly.” Crowley nodded, brushing the ash from his suit. Bobby glanced at the floor, burn marks stretching across his rug and all up his walls.
“Son of a bitch” he sighed, rubbing his forehead as Crowley stepped forwards,

“As a thank you,” he nodded again, meeting their lips in a gentle kiss. Shock registered across both faces as Bobby almost bounce back, almost.

Instead, he leaned in. Memories of past experiences flashing through his mind, but all his focus on the here and now. And the stupid, fool demon in his arms…

But the demon did as Crowley does, vanishing as suddenly as he had arrived, leaving a new carpet, and a questioning Bobby behind.

Chapter Text

Three weeks had passed, and Bobby was more and more pissed with each passing hour. He'd drank his liquor cupboard dry(which was quite a feat) just trying to forget something, but he wasn't even sure what he was trying to forget. Just passing over the carpet felt like breaking a sacred vow, some kind of deal that never happened. It was like he was always looking over his shoulder, just in case some dam british fool stood behind him.

He couldn't even focus on his books, brain fogging over like a school-kids first crush. And whenever the phones rang...it was like he always heard that stupid accent on the other side.

As that stupid bring-bring sounded again, he gathered himself up from his sorry seat and pushed towards the wall of telephones lined in his kitchen. He could almost still smell the burning flesh, see the floating ash flying past him. But he clasped his eyes shut. That was too sappy for anyone, let alone Robert Singer. What was next? a tub of haagen-daaz and a chick-flick?

Clasping the reciever, he held it up to his ear. "What,"
"Hello, Bobbie," Castiels monotone voice spoke back through the ear-piece, causing a mild tremor through Bobbies floor-boards.
"Crow...Cass, what're you callin for, boy?" He grumbled back, silently cursing himself for the stupid mistake.
"Oh, good, you already know. Could you come to the bunker?" His breath slowed down as he listened closer, What should he know? Surely...surely, that dam demon idjit wouldn't have gotten himself caught yet.
More voices started on the other end of the line, gruffer and deeper ones, his boys.
"That Bobby? Tell him to get his ass here pronto, we need his special skills. Crowley's being a bitch." Deans light chuckle made Bobbies ears prick and his heart beat. God, he loved those kids but he was going to skin them alive.

Hanging up the phone, he packed only the essentials. Holy water, crosses, salt, and...lots and lots of holy oil. Before clambering behind the wheel of his old Chevelle to drive down to Kansas, beer filling up his back-seat.

Clambering out of the vehicle, he grimaced as he knocked on the doorway to the bunker, Practically pacing as the locks unbolted and the giant iron gate swung open.
"Dude, you got here quick." Dean grinned his charming smile again, as Bobby pushed past him.
"Where is that son of a bitch?" He grunted, pulling his trunk from the boot of his car.
"The library, you wanna get started right away?" Dean's laugh ebbed through the walls again, taunting him slightly. What was he even doing? What was the plan? What the fuck was happening?
He just walked through, barely acknowledging Sam's presence at the huge meeting table and simply nodding to Castiel who was cooking..something in the kitchens. But he was trying not to think as he crossed the huge maze of corridors in search of the stupid, fucking library.

"Come to give it another go, have we?" The sly voice slide around the room, toying with him as Bobby opened the door, barely a chink of light entering the room, just enough to see the hunched over silhouette sitting at some desk, His face turned down to avoid the entrance's light source. He hadn't seen Bobby, and as the gates shut behind him, he probably would continue to not.
"Somthin like that." Bobby replied his gritty sound returned, meeting the smooth elegance of Crowleys sarcasm right in the middle of the room. Crowley sat back up, his face contorted in a instantanious wave of fear.
"Well...Fuc..." Crowley started, but he was silenced as Bobby returned his generous favour, and slid across the concret to meet him again, for real this time. No pretence, no deal. Just...them. Something he didn't even know existed until that first second in this cool, dark room. But now was sure he wanted to treasure.

Their hands tumbled together as Bobby gently scratched a hole in the ever present devils trap, allowing Crowley to free himself from his bounds. Faces and lips and grins met again as he broke the chains holding his wrists down, running a hand gently through Bobbies hair. Grinning from ear to ear as they parted again. Eyes finally meeting in the silent dark of the room.

Outside the cold prison cell, Sam slammed the laptop shut. Rubbing his eyes as Dean trotted back into the meeting hall.
"How's it going in there?"

Chapter Text

Bobby left. Pretty much as soon as he arrived.

Slipping out in the middle of the night, feeling like an exhilarated teenager, he clambered back into his car. Feelings he hadn't felt in years clouding his brain and fogging the car around him. Sissy feelings, he wasn't a teenager figuring shit out, No one was like this when he was a kid, they didn't think. They just did. But he had done, and now all he wanted to do was think.

Luckily, this was a long drive. And he had nothing better to do.

But memories and the prospect of a future terrified him. He could see the horrified faces of his family, deep in his minds eye, saw his fathers clenched fists and his mothers tears. He remembered when he saw the protests on television, just before it was switched off. No one wanted him to get those...ideas. But he had them. And they scared him. It was hard, adjusting. He had spent so long in a process of pure denial. Ignoring thoughts and dismissing possibilities. But now, old memories popped back up again. Memories of nights he had craved, as well as nights long past.

As acceptance started to form in the softest part of his mind, guilt wormed its weaselly way in. Karen popped up into his head, he beaming smile and downy hair the face of his wrongdoing. But he shook it off, Karen was the kindest, gentlest, and most accepting woman he had ever met. There was no possibility of her hating him. None at all, she would love him for this. Love him finding himself, even if part of himself was a salty demon from the 1700s.

Rain started pattering down the windows as he passed the border into south Dakota, gently building into a storm as he thudded into the rising sun. Sloshing his tires around the pot-holes of his yard as he pulled up home, dragging the vehicle to park outside his front steps.

Mud seeped into his worn boots as he trodded across the ragged concrete to his home. Leaving disgusting footprints up the wooden boards and dirty filled rugs that floored his ancient home. Barely loosening the laces before he collapsed onto the couch. Snoozing noisily for as long as he could manage, before the irritating 'bring' of the telephone woke him up again.

As he lifted the reciever to his ear, Sams softer tone filled he areas around him.
"What the Hell, Bobby," His whispered urgency shuffling around the kitchen.
"Morning to you too, kid." He scoffed, Pulling a beer from his grime fridge.
"Bobby, I thought we told you about the cameras?" Sam groaned, footsteps audible from the cool tiles of his meeting room.
Glass flew around his feet as the bottle dropped to the floor, sending alcohol and shards skidding across his kitchen floor.
"If you breath a word, to anyone..." Bobby started, "Delete that footage, Or I swear..."
Across the line, Sam's childish giggles settled in his ear.
"I don't give a shit Bobby. I've removed the footage."
"You'd Fucking better had, what about your brother..."
"He doesn't know, He has... different priorities right now."
Looking around him, Bobby growled. "Okay, Ya Idjit. I need to go. Drop in some time."

Those kids were going to kill him, one day.

Chapter Text

Three days later, Dean dropped by. Slamming the door open like he owned the place and trotting straight to the kitchen. Bobby (who was researching at his desk) barely looked up as the young man pulled out a cool beer and sat on the sofa.
"Jesus, Bobby, Did you get an new couch or somethin'," He chuckled, appreciativly leaning his boots against the coffee table.
"Somethin' like that." He mumbled in response, flipping a page in the ancient tome.
Sam entered a little more gently, closing the door behind him. And Cas materialized on the sofa next to dean, folding his arms before him.
"Are you Boys here for anythin'" Bobby groaned. "Or just disturbing my peace and quiet."
Sam smirked from the corner, avoiding eye contact as Bobby stared him down.
"We're hunting for the Demon, Crowley." Castiel sighed, standing from the sofa and walking over. "And Dean thought you might know something, Because you were the last person to see him before he disappeared."

Dean gave him a hard stare, looking over his beer neck for purposful intimidation techniques. Bobby was non-plussed. He had half-raised that kid, he wasn't scared of 'im.
"I don't know shit,"Bobby started. "I was focused on torturing the bastard."

Sam smirked again, but Bobby ignored it this time.
"Maybe the goddam devils trap broke, how should I know." Bobby sighed, lying through his teeth.
"well, whatever, you don't mind if we stay here tonight?" Dean groaned, but the look in his eyes wasn't exactly trusting.
"Sure, kid, let me just...prepare the spare room." Bobby spoke sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Three hours later, he was throwing them semi-clean sheets from his rusting airing cupboard and leaving them to it. Almost reminiscing on when he taught them to make beds, because sure as hell their dad didn't.

Instead, he was pulling books on hell's rulers from his extensive library and trying not to chuckle as he read up on hells hiding spots.
"Hello, darling. I heard you were looking for me." A gentle hand lay on his shoulder, as Crowley appeared behind him.
"I must say, I'm honoured." The Demon grinned ear to ear as Bobby looked up, trying to hide the gentle smile appearing on his face.

Upstairs, a creaking floorboard broke the gentle tension.
"who else is here," He hissed, taking a few steps back.
"Who'd you think," Bobby groaned. Reaching a hand to Crowleys and grasping it. As if to stop him from de-materialising.
"Bollocks," Crowley whispered, "I need to go."
"Wait," Bobby jumped up, grasping the demon firmly and kissing him, Crowley relaxing into him as the kiss went on, but still pulling apart before either wanted to.

"Honestly, you'd think i still owned your soul." Crowley chuckled, before disappearing again.

Castiel stood by the stair-well, looking out into the open-plan down-stairs.
"I thought I heard a voice." He said, looking around. Bobby shook his head lightly, shaking off any remaining feeling.
"I sure as hell didn't." Bobby sighed, leaning on the table gently.
"Are you sure?" Cas nodded, still staring around, but looking slightly more confused than he normally did.
"Of course I am, cas." Bobby sighed again, growing slightly agitated. But the conversation was broken by Dean rushing down the stairs like a hound, and crashing into the angels back and sending him flying. Sam following behind only a little slower.
"We're getting Chinese." Dean yelled from the floor. Untangling himself from the humanoid, and Bobby might have still been high from his own romance. But he swore he saw something in those two's eyes. But it was gone too fast as Dean ran to the phones.