Unlikely (for snapshots)
Title: Unlikely
Characters: Bobby Singer, Crowley
W/C: 882
Pairing/Rating: no pairing, gen
Summary: Bobby never expected it, but found he didn't mind that much.
For spn_30snapshots, prompt #24, kindness
It wasn’t the first time Crowley had popped in for a visit since giving Bobby his soul back, and honestly, Bobby didn’t really even mind so much.
These visits were generally short, fifteen or twenty minutes, just catching up. Crowley was offended by the existence of the rotgut booze Bobby kept in the house, so he always brought a nice bottle of scotch or bourbon with him, and Bobby wasn’t about to complain about that.
Conversation was easy, somehow, but generally stayed superficial. Well, as superficial as you could get considering the circumstances. Somehow, before the Apocalypse That Was Not To Be, they’d all ended up on the same side. Crowley had his own agenda, of course, he always did. Bobby never doubted that, and he never forgot it. Even now, sipping whiskey on either side of the desk in Bobby’s study, he was sure Crowley was already cooking up something new. Bobby would find out what it was, or Dean would, and they’d all be right back to trying to kill each other. It was the way things went between them, there was no getting around it.
For now, though, the two of them could sit and drink and talk. Crowley gave Bobby inside information from time to time, things he could add to his collection of lore and supernatural knowledge. Crowley never seemed to want anything in return, though Bobby suspected that at some point he would.
Today hadn’t been a good day for Bobby. He’d chosen an isolated life for himself long ago, but his relationship with John Winchester’s boys had changed that. Feeling lonely wasn’t something that happened often to Bobby, but he hadn’t heard from Dean in a while; even Rufus seemed to be in the wind recently. He’d already been drinking before Crowley appeared in his house with a bottle and a smirk. It wasn’t all that surprising, really, when Bobby started talking about things that weren’t harmless or superficial.
“You know, it’s something I never thought I’d do, not in a million years”, he told Crowley, looking down into his half-empty glass.
“Pawn your soul, you mean? I don’t guess anyone ever really thinks they would until they’re really desperate for whatever it is that they want”, Crowley replied, making sure he drew the distinction that Bobby had pawned his soul, not sold it.
“No - well yeah, that too, but…you remember when you asked if I was just going to sit there, and admitted that you’d added that little clause to our contract, about me being able to walk again?”
“Sure”, Crowley said with a quiet laugh. “No one expected that, and rightfully so. You hadn’t asked and it’s not like I’ve got a reputation for giving things away. But if you’re not talking about the deal, then what is it that you thought you’d never do?”
“Say ‘thank you’. To a demon”, Bobby admitted.
“Ah. Yes, I do remember that. A little difficult to forget. It’s not often that any genuine thanks is directed at me; probably because I don’t do much to inspire it.”
“Your kind, you know, is the reason why I even started hunting in the first place. I never knew a single thing about the supernatural until Karen…”
Crowley broke the silence after Bobby had trailed off. “Yes, I do know. I can’t apologize for any of that; I had no knowledge of it, I don’t even know which demon it was who possessed her.”
“I don’t know either”, Bobby told him, finally looking up and meeting Crowley’s eyes. “Doesn’t matter, it never did. I didn’t even try to find out. Wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“True”, Crowley responded, taking another sip of his drink. “There are some things, no matter what kinds of power you might possess, that just can’t be changed.”
Bobby found himself voicing words that he’d only ever formed before in his mind, even though they made him feel guilty. “I love those Winchester boys like they were my own sons, but if Karen had never died”, if I had never killed her went unspoken, “I would never have met their father, or them. And I’d trade it in a heartbeat if I could.”
“Of course you would. You’ve done a lot of good - your kind of good - in this life, but no one would blame you for wanting the one you were meant to have with her. We both know how unexpected events can change everything, for better or for worse.”
Wearily, Bobby swallowed the rest of his drink. He couldn’t think of a reason why he’d confessed one of his darkest and most selfish secrets to Crowley. “Having a demon show you a kindness is certainly an unexpected event, that’s all I was trying to say. About you giving me back the use of my legs”, belatedly adding, “I don’t trust you, I never will. If you can give me something, you can take it back just as easily.”
Not surprisingly, Crowley looked uncomfortable at being confronted with raw evidence that he was capable of doing something nice, even couched in the honest description of his ugly nature. Instead of answering, he simply disappeared.
But he didn’t take the mostly-full bottle of whiskey with him. An oversight, Bobby figured, as he refilled his glass.
Characters: Bobby Singer, Crowley
W/C: 882
Pairing/Rating: no pairing, gen
Summary: Bobby never expected it, but found he didn't mind that much.
For spn_30snapshots, prompt #24, kindness
It wasn’t the first time Crowley had popped in for a visit since giving Bobby his soul back, and honestly, Bobby didn’t really even mind so much.
These visits were generally short, fifteen or twenty minutes, just catching up. Crowley was offended by the existence of the rotgut booze Bobby kept in the house, so he always brought a nice bottle of scotch or bourbon with him, and Bobby wasn’t about to complain about that.
Conversation was easy, somehow, but generally stayed superficial. Well, as superficial as you could get considering the circumstances. Somehow, before the Apocalypse That Was Not To Be, they’d all ended up on the same side. Crowley had his own agenda, of course, he always did. Bobby never doubted that, and he never forgot it. Even now, sipping whiskey on either side of the desk in Bobby’s study, he was sure Crowley was already cooking up something new. Bobby would find out what it was, or Dean would, and they’d all be right back to trying to kill each other. It was the way things went between them, there was no getting around it.
For now, though, the two of them could sit and drink and talk. Crowley gave Bobby inside information from time to time, things he could add to his collection of lore and supernatural knowledge. Crowley never seemed to want anything in return, though Bobby suspected that at some point he would.
Today hadn’t been a good day for Bobby. He’d chosen an isolated life for himself long ago, but his relationship with John Winchester’s boys had changed that. Feeling lonely wasn’t something that happened often to Bobby, but he hadn’t heard from Dean in a while; even Rufus seemed to be in the wind recently. He’d already been drinking before Crowley appeared in his house with a bottle and a smirk. It wasn’t all that surprising, really, when Bobby started talking about things that weren’t harmless or superficial.
“You know, it’s something I never thought I’d do, not in a million years”, he told Crowley, looking down into his half-empty glass.
“Pawn your soul, you mean? I don’t guess anyone ever really thinks they would until they’re really desperate for whatever it is that they want”, Crowley replied, making sure he drew the distinction that Bobby had pawned his soul, not sold it.
“No - well yeah, that too, but…you remember when you asked if I was just going to sit there, and admitted that you’d added that little clause to our contract, about me being able to walk again?”
“Sure”, Crowley said with a quiet laugh. “No one expected that, and rightfully so. You hadn’t asked and it’s not like I’ve got a reputation for giving things away. But if you’re not talking about the deal, then what is it that you thought you’d never do?”
“Say ‘thank you’. To a demon”, Bobby admitted.
“Ah. Yes, I do remember that. A little difficult to forget. It’s not often that any genuine thanks is directed at me; probably because I don’t do much to inspire it.”
“Your kind, you know, is the reason why I even started hunting in the first place. I never knew a single thing about the supernatural until Karen…”
Crowley broke the silence after Bobby had trailed off. “Yes, I do know. I can’t apologize for any of that; I had no knowledge of it, I don’t even know which demon it was who possessed her.”
“I don’t know either”, Bobby told him, finally looking up and meeting Crowley’s eyes. “Doesn’t matter, it never did. I didn’t even try to find out. Wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“True”, Crowley responded, taking another sip of his drink. “There are some things, no matter what kinds of power you might possess, that just can’t be changed.”
Bobby found himself voicing words that he’d only ever formed before in his mind, even though they made him feel guilty. “I love those Winchester boys like they were my own sons, but if Karen had never died”, if I had never killed her went unspoken, “I would never have met their father, or them. And I’d trade it in a heartbeat if I could.”
“Of course you would. You’ve done a lot of good - your kind of good - in this life, but no one would blame you for wanting the one you were meant to have with her. We both know how unexpected events can change everything, for better or for worse.”
Wearily, Bobby swallowed the rest of his drink. He couldn’t think of a reason why he’d confessed one of his darkest and most selfish secrets to Crowley. “Having a demon show you a kindness is certainly an unexpected event, that’s all I was trying to say. About you giving me back the use of my legs”, belatedly adding, “I don’t trust you, I never will. If you can give me something, you can take it back just as easily.”
Not surprisingly, Crowley looked uncomfortable at being confronted with raw evidence that he was capable of doing something nice, even couched in the honest description of his ugly nature. Instead of answering, he simply disappeared.
But he didn’t take the mostly-full bottle of whiskey with him. An oversight, Bobby figured, as he refilled his glass.