Chapter Text
Bobby woke in his bed, with the broken springs, and cracking frame. His back hurt, not as much as it had before he died, but still more than was possible in heaven. Shit had been going sideways up top since they'd been losing angels left and right. He sure as shit didn't expect to end up down in the dirt again.
He grabbed for his phone, and found a brick of a thing that he had to fiddle with to find the date. 1991! Balls! He needed his computer, or no he needed a newspaper, maybe even a visit to the library, because it was nineteen ninety fucking one!
He got up, and went to the bathroom. He had to figure out if this was time travel, or some kind of alternative universe like the shit the boys had been going through with Jack down on earth.
He wasn't an alternate version of himself obviously, but he'd seen the other world's version of him trying to date Mary Winchester of all people. If he really did have a chance to make something in his world or any other go better for his boys he would.
He stopped in the mirror as he enjoyed the monotony of brushing his teeth, he looked so different. He didn't have so many lines, or scars on his face, he did have a hell of a scruffy beard. He could deal with that later. He had more important things at hand.
Two days of research and all he knew was that his library needed an update, because half the books he had when he died weren't there, his rot gut scotch was not as good as he remembered, and if this was a different world not much was different. He'd gone down to the liquor store and gotten a few decent bottles.
Not 30 year old Glen Craig, but decent. He did order a bottle of that too just in case. He hadn't realized how much money he'd wasted being frugal. He'd had a tidy sum left when he'd died.
Now he had two options, one keep living his life like he had, or whip up a few demon blades, and find the colt so maybe his boys could salvage a childhood. The choice was obvious, the problem would be getting close to Azazel. He had a plan, cause he always did, but it was a shit plan. Absolute shit, because it involved trusting Crowley; a Crowley that didn't know him, or have a damn reason to help.
Stop putting the cart before the horse Bobby. He needed the colt, then he could find Crowley, and then unfortunately he'd have to talk to John. The Colt was exactly where he remembered it being, which made it feel a bit cheap. He'd hoped he'd have more time before he had to bring Crowley into this. He set up about sixty devil's traps throughout the house, and decided to summon him at his desk. The safe room would only put him on edge.
He had the colt, and a demon blade tucked in his belt. He pulled off his cap to run a hand through his hair, and down three fingers of scotch to steel himself before he cut his hand open. The candles flickered, and the smell of sulfur burned his nose. His eyes moved up the clean lines of a well tailored suit until he met the eyes of the man he'd seen die to save his boys. He had hated him so much when they met, but even in hell, by the end... He'd missed the smug bastard.
"Well, well. Not the usual business call darling, but who doesn't love surprises? What can I do for you, I assume you know my name given you summoned me directly?" He leaned against the door frame. Nice to see he hadn't changed that much.
"I have a bit of a proposition for you Crowley. Drink?" He held up an empty tumbler, Crowley looked around his rough, cluttered home with derision.
"No, I doubt you have my brand." He said, Bobby laughed, everything felt so predictable these days. The familiarity felt nice, he'd have to give Rufus a call. He could help. He'd almost forgotten that he could.
"Too good for Glen Craig? Aged thirty years, goes down smoother than the rot gut they sell at the corner store. " He poured three fingers, knowing Crowley would want it.
"A man of taste I see, what a delightful surprise." He took the tumbler, sipping with a small hum of appreciation.
"I ain't done with surprises yet. I summoned you to help me kill Azazel, and Lilith. I want to make you the king of hell." He took a swig of his own scotch to hide his smirk. Crowley's eyes went wide, and he took a step back, hitting the invisible walls of his devil's trap.
"You're going to have to run that by me again sweetheart, because it sounds like you want yours truly to stick my neck out for some cockamamie plan that couldn't possibly work. Pass. If you'd be ever so kind as to break this I'll be on my way." He slammed back the rest of his Scotch, and held the empty tumbler out to him. Bobby poured more into the cheap crystal.
"Hold yer horses, you ain't even heard the plan. All I need from you right now, is to tell us his location when I call, not that a little muscle might not help, but I ain't trying to ask for more than it's worth. It's a risk, I'll grant you, but you ain't seen the cherry on top. " Bobby held up the colt, shaking it back and forth.
"A gun. Not to burst your bubble Al Bundy, but those don't work on my lot." He puffed up as he said it, but Bobby could tell he knew what it was.
"I could test it on you to be sure." He pointed it haphazardly towards Crowley , who threw his hands up in surrender, the tumbler hanging from two fingers, and nearly sloshing Scotch on his floor.
"Alright, no need to get tetchy. Say it works, and I give you old bone bag's location, how's one old man going to take him out, even with a fancy gun?" Crowley sipped his scotch, watching him carefully. Bobby smiled, he knew he had him.
"It ain't just me, for two other hunters on the job, both with these." He pulled out the demon blade, and Crowley moved to the edge of his circle to examine it.
"Where did you find that bobble?" He raised a brow at him, Bobby tucked it back in it's sheath.
"An old friend had one, I reverse engineered these. They're tested. They also got devil's trap bullets. They don't hold folks for too long, but I figure it'll keep ol' yellow eyes still long enough to put him down. I know you don't want Luce out of his box any more than the rest o' us, so what do you say?" He leaned back against his desk , crossing his ankles to wait for Crowley to process the idea.
"I think you're presuming an awful lot about me. I'm not the kind of girl to let you go down on the first date. I make proper deals, now if you wanted to deal, I'm happy to draw up a contract, but I don't even know your name big guy." He said, reaching into his pocket for a pen that likely cost as much as Bobby's house.
"Bobby Singer, and I ain't kissing you again, this ain't that kind o' deal. Last time I was in hell I got off pretty damn easy, so I'm fine keeping my soul right where it is thanks." Bobby rolled his eyes, remembering the not entirely horrible kiss from their last deal. Hard to imagine Crowley was one of the last people Bobby kissed before he died.
"Again? I think I'd remember locking lips with a big ol' bear such as yourself darling." Crowley leered, he would never get comfortable with Crowley's flirting. He'd never been with a man, except one drunken night with Rufus, which had mostly been making out, and getting handsy, but he'd always been a bit curious.
"Figure a speech. The point is I'm not selling, you get the throne in hell out a this, if that ain't enough I ain't got a thing to sweeten the pot, so I guess you'll have to get comfy." Bobby set his scotch down, and picked up a book. He moved to his chair, settling in.
"How exactly would you killing Azazel help me get Lilith's throne?" Bobby could almost feel Crowley scheming.
"Well Lilith's got to go too, might take a touch more fire power, but I got an Angel I plan to talk to yet on that front. If not I can at least get a few a them Angel blades to even the odds. You're welcome to help iron out the details. Once they die all you gotta do is be first in line, smart fella like you, it'll be a cake walk." Bobby didn't look up from his book, he didn't think this would be over quickly.
"Easy as that? Just like riding a biker? I don't think so. What do you think happens to me if you fail?" He raised his voice, Bobby could picture the way his lips would peel back in a snarl, and his face would redden with anger. It was a testament to how lonely he was these days that he wanted this to drag on. He missed his misfit family, even Crowley.
"A whole boat load a bupkis, since I know you ain't so stupid as to leave a trail back to you. That's why I ain't asking you for a legion a hell hounds to hold 'em down while I pop their asses. " Bobby took a sip of his scotch, still keeping his eyes on his book. He knew Crowley hated to be ignored.
"Well I suppose there is some merit in that. Suppose I agree, I help your merry band of misfit toys, how do I know I can trust you?" Bobby rolled his eyes, and finally closed his book. He set it aside, filling his scotch back up.
"Well spit it out you idjit, what do you want!" He crossed his arms, Crowley grinned, that ridiculous way he did when he felt like he'd gained an inch.
"I'll be your little carrier pigeon, no souls involved, but I still want a deal, sealed properly, no turning back, or double crossing." Crowley ran his eyes down what he could see if Bobby behind his desk.
"I can agree to that, but I ain't some wet behind the ears idjit, I want to read it myself. I don't need you putting in that you'll do your best to tell us so you can wiggle out a your end, or that you get my soul if we take too long. " Bobby stood up, moving closer, his boots scoffing against the uneven floor.
"Fair enough. I just so happens to have a standard write up right here..." Crowley pulled a scroll made of what could easily be human flesh.