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“Bobby Singer is dead.”
Crowley stopped breathing. Of course he didn’t really have the need to do so, but after a few minutes his chest started to hurt and he willed himself to take in oxygen again. He stared at the demon underling who’d brought him the news and tried to hide any emotion he felt at the news from showing, but he felt devastated. He shouldn’t. He knew that. But he’d… grown fond of Bobby.
“Has his soul been reaped,” Crowley asked calmly.
“Don’t think so.”
“Then where is it? Where’d he die?”
“Don’t know and don’t know,” the demon said as he began picking at the cuticles of his nails.
“You’re pathetic,” Crowley spat as he exited the room. He hated most other demons. The few he continued to associate with were either useful or stubbornly loyal to him. He didn’t care much for them, but until they attempted to betray him he figured he’d keep some around. It always helped to have a loyal army, anyway.
He immediately teleported to Bobby’s house. It was still in shambles, but he figured an unreaped soul would return to the place that was most familiar to him if it wasn’t trapped in the place the person died. Though maybe Bobby would foolishly attempt to stick around the Winchesters for who knows what reason. He had no idea where they were, though, so this was truly his best shot.
The second he materialized he felt Bobby’s soul nearby. He’d held onto that soul for so long he could recognize its familiar sensation immediately. Bobby was close.
“Bobby?”
“What the hell you doin here?”
Crowley nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Bobby’s voice. He turned around and spotted him leaning against what used to be the doorframe to his study and he breathed a sigh of relief. Bobby looked exactly how he had the day he died. He even had a damn trucker’s cap.
“Looking for you,” Crowley said as he stepped over a pile of rubble and approached the soul.
“Well, here I am. What’s left of me anyway. Ain’t much.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You know better than most just how valuable a soul can be.” There was an awkward silence as Bobby glanced around the burned out shell that was once his home. He was clearly distressed at the sad state of affairs and Crowley wished he could provide some sort of comfort for him. He knew he shouldn’t have the urge to provide comfort like that, but it was what it was. “Why didn’t you move on?”
“Can’t. Not ‘til this whole Leviathan thing is sorted out.”
Crowley smiled. It was so like him to have ‘unfinished business’ like that. He had such a pure soul.
“Once that’s sorted, there’ll be another crisis you know. There’s always something. Especially with the Winchesters,” he smirked. When he thought about what he was saying he quickly tried to correct himself. “I mean, not that I’m trying to convince you to move on. I rather like you staying here.”
“And why’s that?”
“I do hate to spoil the surprise, love, but you’re bound for Heaven. Once you move on I’ll… well…”
“Well, what?”
Crowley looked slightly embarrassed, but he quickly straightened his jacket and attempted to recover from the strange lapse is demeanor. “I’ll never see you again, of course. Demons can’t just visit Heaven on holiday.”
“Is that so? Maybe I should track that reaper down…” When Crowley genuinely looked hurt, Bobby crossed his arms and stared at the demon. “Why do you care, anyway? I mean, never seeing me again sure would be one less thorn in your side.”
“Why do I care? We might not always be on the same side of things, but a world without you in it will be significantly less enjoyable.”
“Idjit.”
“Maybe so. But it’s true.” Bobby wanted to make another joke, but the determined look in Crowley’s eyes stopped him from doing so. Whatever Crowley was trying to say, he was serious. “I could bring you back, you know. I just need someone to make a deal…”
“No. No way am I letting someone give up their soul so that I can come back to life for a few years. Ain’t happening.”
“It’s the rules. For something as large as a soul I need a trade.”
“Whose rules? Ain’t you the King of Hell now? Whose rules do you have to follow?”
Crowley paused and thought about that. A smiled crept across his face and he was suddenly well within Bobby’s personal space. He wrapped an arm around the hunter’s shoulders and gave him a gentle pat on the cheek.
“You are a genius, Robert Singer,” he said right before diving in and planting a kiss on Bobby’s lips. Bobby wiped off his mouth with his sleeve and tried to shove the demon away, but Crowley wouldn’t budge.
“Thanks, but ya didn’t need to do that. What the hell was that for anyway? We didn’t make a deal…”
“Can’t a man kiss another man when he’s happy?”
“No and you aren’t a man. You’re a demon.”
“And you’re a soul. Semantics. The important thing,” Crowley said as he grabbed onto Bobby’s arm,” is that I can bring you back to life and we don’t need a living soul to do it.”
Suddenly they were standing in the morgue at the hospital. Crowley quickly started to scan the names on the shelves looking for the right body as Bobby tried to recover from the disorienting feeling of being suddenly teleported across such a large distance. Crowley, however, needed no recovery time and was frantically reading the names on the little white cards.
When the demon found the slot with Bobby’s corpse he slid the drawer out. The hunter cringed when he laid eyes upon his own body. It’s skin was ashen and tinged yellow. He looked, well, like a corpse. It was unnerving.
“Don’t tell me you’re squeamish over dead bodies, Singer.”
“When the dead body is my own, yeah, I’m gonna be a little squeamish.” Crowley smirked and then bent down towards the corpse. “What are you-“
Before he had a chance to finish his thought the demon had pressed his lips against Bobby’s and the hunter found himself entirely alive and gasping for air. It was rather difficult to get any air when there was a demon pressed firmly against his lips, but that didn’t stop him from trying. He shoved Crowley away as he sat up and, to his surprise, the demon actually moved out of the way.
He clutched onto his chest as he took in several deep breaths. Each breath hurt slightly less than the last until he was breathing at an almost normal rate. But his heart was still pounding and his skin burned as the blood began to flow again. Every sensation was amplified as his soul began to settle back into its body. It took a moment for him to realize that the demon was running a soothing hand up and down his back.
“You’ve gotta stop kissing me,” Bobby huffed. His throat was dry and his voice sounded like it belonged to a pack a day smoker. Crowley just laughed and kissed him gently on the forehead.
“No.” Bobby didn’t have the strength to argue. His whole body tingled as it was filled with life again. Every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire, but the pain at least meant he was alive. He could feel again. “There is something I need to tell you, however…”
“A catch. There’s always a catch,” Bobby wheezed.
“No, darling, no catch. You just have a right to know.” Crowley gently turned Bobby’s arm over as a dark script suddenly appeared across his skin. “There had to be a contract. That’s just the way it works. Even as the King of Hell I can’t stop that from being the case. But the contract merely states that this soul is a gift from me to you, no strings attached,” he said as he traced a particular set of lettering near his wrist. “Just like your legs only… bigger. With nobody keeping tabs on my expenditures, I am free to give gifts as large as I want to whomever I want.”
“Why,” Bobby said as he looked up at Crowley. The demon was still rubbing his fingers across the skin on the inside of his wrist even though the writing had vanished. Crowley was hesitant to meet the hunter’s eyes, but when he did he only smiled.
“I told you. Without you, the world is significantly less enjoyable.”