[FIC] - Pups For Sale: Registered with the HKC
Author: phaelsafe
Rating: G
Genre and/or Pairing: Bobby Singer, Crowley
Spoilers: nope
Warnings: there is no beta, only Zuul
Word Count: ~500
Summary: "...the best hypothetical scenario ever is bobby and crowley raising hellhound puppies out the back of the salvage yard together..."
A/N: Frickley drew a picture and asked for some fic.
"How the Hell am I supposed to clean these runs if I can't see the damn things in the first place?" Bobby hollers over his shoulder, lead in hand as he lifts the latch of the gate. Somehow, the metal fences keep the beasts in check, but Crowley refuses to tell the hunter how that works. He glances around worriedly, waiting for the telltale sign of an incoming hell-hound.
Nothing.
Maybe Crowley took it for a walk... Bobby is suddenly wildly windmilling his arms as he slides through something squishy and warm enough to feel through his heavy work boot. He catches his balance, grimacing at the smell of sulfur and dog shit now wafting through the air.
"Jesus Christ!" he mutters under his breath, which elicits a growl from the back of the kennel. The sound of claws clicking against the concrete, then paws pounding against the dirt is the only warning Bobby gets before a heavy weight pounces, knocking the wind right out of him.
They tumble to the ground, and Bobby makes a genuine effort to dislodge the creature, but the hell-hound just sits atop his chest, panting in the hunter's face.
"EUUGHH! Crowley!" he yells, his nose scrunching up in revulsion. Bobby twists away, attempting to find dog-breath free air. "That could peel the paint from walls. What in God's name are you feeding these things?"
"Proper dog chow: whole cattle, pig entrails... the occasional underachieving demon. You know, the usual, " the King of Hell says as he steps into Bobby's field of view.
Crowley looms above Bobby, a smug grin spreading across his face -- he'd almost look menacing if it weren't for the stack of newspapers in his arms. Bobby glares at the upside-down image of the demon and huffs, "Ain't nothing usual about any of this. How'd you talk me into this?"
"Daisy, come," Crowley commands with a sharp whistle.
It obeys, knocking the wind out of Bobby again as it all but launches off the hunter's prone form. Bobby rolls over, pushes up onto his knees -- adamantly staying upright and away from his messy boots -- as he brushes dirt and invisible fur from his clothing.
Crowley crouches down and shoves the newspapers into Bobby's arms before reaching out and grabbing an armload of nothing. "Who's a good boy? Are you a good boy, Daisy? Yes, you are. Yes, you are!"
"Daisy...? Okay, then," Bobby says, his eyebrows flying up toward the brim of his cap at the affectionate display. "Um, what are these for?"
Snatching the lead from Bobby as he stands, Crowley loops it around Daisy's intangible neck and turns on his heel, adding "You'll want to put those on the floor while we potty train him."
Bobby frowns, his forehead creasing as he thinks. Then, his eyes go wide, and he chases after Crowley and the hell-hound. "No way! He ain't staying in the house!"
Rating: G
Genre and/or Pairing: Bobby Singer, Crowley
Spoilers: nope
Warnings: there is no beta, only Zuul
Word Count: ~500
Summary: "...the best hypothetical scenario ever is bobby and crowley raising hellhound puppies out the back of the salvage yard together..."
A/N: Frickley drew a picture and asked for some fic.
"How the Hell am I supposed to clean these runs if I can't see the damn things in the first place?" Bobby hollers over his shoulder, lead in hand as he lifts the latch of the gate. Somehow, the metal fences keep the beasts in check, but Crowley refuses to tell the hunter how that works. He glances around worriedly, waiting for the telltale sign of an incoming hell-hound.
Nothing.
Maybe Crowley took it for a walk... Bobby is suddenly wildly windmilling his arms as he slides through something squishy and warm enough to feel through his heavy work boot. He catches his balance, grimacing at the smell of sulfur and dog shit now wafting through the air.
"Jesus Christ!" he mutters under his breath, which elicits a growl from the back of the kennel. The sound of claws clicking against the concrete, then paws pounding against the dirt is the only warning Bobby gets before a heavy weight pounces, knocking the wind right out of him.
They tumble to the ground, and Bobby makes a genuine effort to dislodge the creature, but the hell-hound just sits atop his chest, panting in the hunter's face.
"EUUGHH! Crowley!" he yells, his nose scrunching up in revulsion. Bobby twists away, attempting to find dog-breath free air. "That could peel the paint from walls. What in God's name are you feeding these things?"
"Proper dog chow: whole cattle, pig entrails... the occasional underachieving demon. You know, the usual, " the King of Hell says as he steps into Bobby's field of view.
Crowley looms above Bobby, a smug grin spreading across his face -- he'd almost look menacing if it weren't for the stack of newspapers in his arms. Bobby glares at the upside-down image of the demon and huffs, "Ain't nothing usual about any of this. How'd you talk me into this?"
"Daisy, come," Crowley commands with a sharp whistle.
It obeys, knocking the wind out of Bobby again as it all but launches off the hunter's prone form. Bobby rolls over, pushes up onto his knees -- adamantly staying upright and away from his messy boots -- as he brushes dirt and invisible fur from his clothing.
Crowley crouches down and shoves the newspapers into Bobby's arms before reaching out and grabbing an armload of nothing. "Who's a good boy? Are you a good boy, Daisy? Yes, you are. Yes, you are!"
"Daisy...? Okay, then," Bobby says, his eyebrows flying up toward the brim of his cap at the affectionate display. "Um, what are these for?"
Snatching the lead from Bobby as he stands, Crowley loops it around Daisy's intangible neck and turns on his heel, adding "You'll want to put those on the floor while we potty train him."
Bobby frowns, his forehead creasing as he thinks. Then, his eyes go wide, and he chases after Crowley and the hell-hound. "No way! He ain't staying in the house!"