He was out of time. Bobby swore, standing at the fork in the road, discarded shotgun at his feet, Holy Water in one hand a knife in the other. The Demons he had been chasing now encircled him, pacing with menacing confidence. They had him surrounded, all they had to do was move in for the kill. He wasn't especially keen on dying, but if life wasn't going to give him a choice, he was sure as Hell going to go down fighting. Above them, the clouds were growing dark, blocking out the sun, despite it being somewhere around noon. One of the Demons hissed ferally at him, but it didn't have any effect – intimidation tactics had long since ceased to work on the old hunter.
"What're you waitin' for then?" Bobby snarled back at it, adjusting his grip on the knife slightly, so it sat a little more comfortably in his hand. The Demons gathered around him hissed as one. Bobby glanced around the circle.
There were seven in total, enough maybe for a younger, fitter Hunter with more weapons - or perhaps two Hunters - but armed as he was, and technically being retired, Bobby knew he didn't stand a chance. Even if he did manage to take out two demons, possibly even three, there were more, and he knew it was hopeless. If he wasn't so proud, he might have surrendered then and there.
However, something other than pride, however, stopped him from dropping his weapons. A face, smirking at him from over a glass of scotch, glaring across the room at Sam and Dean, and once, smiling, just for a second, at Bobby's muttered comment of 'Idjit's'. The face smirked at him now, and Bobby could almost imagine what it's owner would have said, had he been present.
"Really Darling, giving up so soon?"
Bobby spun around, and exclaimed in surprise. Standing behind him, suit in perfect order, not even looking slightly out of place, was Crowley, self-proclaimed King of both Hell and the Crossroads, and the occasional bane of Bobby's sanity, among other things. His arms were folded, and was regarded the other Demons with a look that Bobby could only describe as put out.
"I've told you all before." Crowley addressed the Demons now, a note of anger creeping into his hard voice, "You are to leave Robert Singer and the Winchester brothers in peace. You all, of course, know the penalty for disobeying your King." He glared at the Demons, who were now cowering, "I wouldn't have to remind you now, would I?" The Demon's flinched away from him, fear evident in their ranks.
"I thought not." Crowley continued, "Now, get out of my sight." He turned away from them, evidently disgusted by their actions, and therefore didn't react quickly enough to what happened next.
Bobby, distracted both by Crowley's display of power over the Demons and his quick, irritated movements as he turned away, failed to notice the one Demon that wasn't cowering drawing a long-bladed knife from its belt. He turned back, ready to pick up his shotgun and leave, and barely had time to bring his own blade up to parry the Demon's vicious diagonal strike. If unparried, Bobby noted, in some deep, strangely calm part of him mind, the blade would have entered his chest cavity via the gap between neck and collarbone, puncturing his lung and quite probably lodging in his heart. Charming, as Crowley would probably say.
As it was, the Demon's blade slipped off his own and grazed his arm. Bobby was shocked by how much the wound burned, the blade had cut deep, sure, but he'd been cut that deep before and he could instantly tell that this wasn't normal knife-wound pain. He had more important concerns however, than a knife wound. He went for his own stab at the Demon, but before he reached it, Crowley had shouted something in what sounded like enraged Hellspeak, and the Demon was forced from its host, the black mist swirling for a moment, before Crowley added another few words, almost as an afterthought, and it vanished.
Suddenly, the road was empty; the other Demon's having vanished at Crowley's order. Bobby and Crowley stared at each other for a few moments, the former panting slightly, the latter appearing to be a little more ruffled than when he had arrived. Finally, Crowley asked sharply.
"Why didn't you just summon me, you fool?"
Bobby glared back. "I wonder." He returned, "Ya think I carry everythin' I need to summon a Demon with me?"
"You could simply have called for me." Crowley muttered, "I would have come."
That stopped Bobby in his tracks. Crowley, listen to him? He must have been hearing things. He shrugged and ducked his head to examine his wounded arm. Pushing back the ripped sleeve of his shirt, he discovered a long, deep but surprisingly clean gash, oozing dark red blood. It still burned, but it was likely that once it had been cleaned a dresses, it'd heal fine.
While Bobby was examining his arm, it started to rain. Crowley sighed, as if irked by the weather, and pulled out an umbrella Bobby was sure he hadn't had a moment ago, opening it above him.
"Well, come on then." He gestured Bobby towards him, "Don't want you freezing to death as well. I spend enough time trying to keep you and the morons alive as it is."
When Bobby stepped across and positioned himself right at the edge of the – admittedly rather large – umbrella, Crowley sighed, grabbed him by the belt and dragged him underneath properly, safe from the heavy rain. If his hand lingered for just a second on Bobby's hip, well, the Hunter didn't call him out on it, so who was Crowley to blame? Bobby remained silent, pointedly ignoring Crowley all the way back to where his truck was parked, about half a mile down the road.
Bobby made for the driver's door, but Crowley, very intentionally, got in his way.
"Ya gonna move?" He asked, irritated. He was tired, his arm hurt, and he had his mind set on getting home, dressing his injuries and getting soundly drunk. And he didn't like Crowley getting in his way.
"Doubtful." Crowley admitted, holding out his hand, "Keys. I don't trust you behind the wheel of a golf buggy with that arm, let alone this." He eyed the truck with a hint of distaste.
Bobby had to admit, the Demon had a point. Grumbling, he pulled his keys out of his pocket, not bothering to tell Crowley which one he should be looking for. Not that it mattered, since Crowley seemed to know exactly which key to unlock the door with and then insert calmly into the ignition. Bobby rounded the truck as quickly as he could and clambered up into the passenger seat, wincing a little as the movements jostled his injured arm. Crowley put the big vehicle into reverse and steered his way neatly back onto the road – "Really Robert, parking halfway into a hedge" – and they were off.
For a Demon whom Bobby had assumed didn't have very much experience behind the wheel, Crowley drove surprisingly well. He didn't swerve, didn't slam the brakes and even negotiating Bobby's drive – which wasn't so much a drive as a maze between all the wreaked cars in his yard – without mishaps. He turned the engine off smoothly, removed the keys from the ignition and climbed down from the driver's seat. He was around the other side of the truck in moments, offering Bobby a hand down. Bobby ignored the proffered assistance, grumbling something about not being 'a damsel in distress, damnit' and that he could do it himself.
"Suit yourself then." Crowley shrugged, "Can't blame me for being a gentleman."
Bobby rolled his eyes, and followed Crowley ill-temperedly into the house.
He was greeted by a surprised looking Sam, and a rather annoyed looking Dean, who only begun to look more cross when he saw Crowley, who was politely holding the door open for Bobby. Sam's surprise turned to worry when he saw Bobby's arm, and he hustled the older man inside, asking him what had happened. Crowley followed them both, catching the dirty look Dean was giving him and replying with a calm raise of one eyebrow.
While Sam and Bobby went into the kitchen so Sam, who had surprisingly good first aid training, and steadier hands than Bobby most days, could take a look at the other's wound, Dean cornered Crowley in the hallway.
"I swear, if this was in anyway your fault…" He snarled in the Demon's face, getting right up into his personal space.
"Calm down, moron." Crowley snapped back, "He's lucky I arrived in time, otherwise he'd have more than just a scratch." He stepped past Dean, smoothing his suit jacket down as he went. "Now," he was heard to mutter, "I need a drink."
In the kitchen, Sam was preparing to clean Bobby's wound while Bobby recounted the events on the road with the Demons. Sam was mostly interested in how Crowley had known to turn up in the first place.
"I dunno," Bobby shrugged, glaring at Sam from under his hat when Sam searched the first aid kit for an alcohol swab to clean the wound. Why did you young man have to be so damned nosy?
"Too many demons in one place, came to break up the party is my guess." Dean pointed out, walking into the kitchen and straight to the fridge, grabbing a leftover slice of pizza and a beer.
"I am loathe to admit that you are mostly correct." Crowley grumbled, joining them, leaning casually against the bench. He glanced curiously over Sam's shoulder, and then his eyes narrowed, focusing on Bobby's wound. He leaned in, examining something curiously. Just as Sam was about to start wiping away the dried blood with the alcohol wipe, Crowley pushed his hands away.
"Hey!" Both Sam and Bobby shouted indignantly, "What the hell are you doing?" Dean added from the other end of the kitchen, reaching for a gun he realized he wasn't carrying.
"Stopping things from getting worse." Crowley snapped at Dean, turned back to Bobby's wounded arm. He ran a hand almost over it, barely a centimetre above the skin, and nodded to himself.
"What?" Sam asked him, cottoning on to the fact that Crowley could see – or sense - something he couldn't.
"Bastards." Crowley muttered, adding in what sounded like expletives in Hellspeak afterwards.
Sam gave him a look that said, that wasn't so courteous, and repeated himself, "What?"
"Poison." Crowley said tersely, turning back to Bobby, "You can't see its effects, but I can." Sam squinted a little, "Dark brown patches, some almost black and irregular clotting of the blood?" he asked, head to one side. "How come I can see it?"
"Well done Moose," Crowley snapped back. "And do I look like an encyclopedia? Why would I know?"
"Point is," Bobby said over them, "Would it have been better to leave me to those black-eyed bastards back there?"
They all knew what he was asking. Was the poison fatal? Did he have a chance?
Crowley made a face halfway between a grimace and a frown. He looked at Bobby, then at Sam, then spoke quickly, "I need to return to Hell." He explained, "There are too many possibilities, I need to narrow it down a little. Moron." He directed this at Dean, who glared. "Get that Angel who's always in your back pocket over in case he has any ideas." He turned to Bobby, gave him a confusing look and said simply, "Stay alive." Before he vanished. His warning to them all was clear; be on your guard.
Moments after he disappeared, Castiel - with a highly inebriated Gabriel in tow - appeared in the kitchen. Castiel looked around curiously, before seeing Dean and crossing the room to his side. Gabriel stumbled around for a moment before he noticed Sam, who remained seated across from Bobby's dressing the other's wound with a clean pad and fastening it with a bandage. Sam was halfway through applying the aforementioned bandage when a small, but very noticeable and ridiculously drunk Archangel crawled into his lap, burying his face in Sam's neck and mumbling something that might have been 'Heya Sammy'. At this, Bobby rolled his eyes and stalked upstairs, announcing that he wanted sleep, not 'damn Angels in my kitchen'.
Sam looked down as Gabriel, who seemed to have passed out in his lap, head drooping adorably against Sam's chest.
"Cas?" Sam asked, looking across the kitchen, "How much did he have to drink? He's completely out."
Castiel glanced up from his conversation with Dean, "About half a bottle of Holy Water," He replied smoothly, "It appears to have a much more…intoxicating effect compared to alcohol. I believe Gabriel quite enjoys it."
Sam rolled his eyes, picked Gabriel up and carried him to the sofa, pulling the blanket off the back of it and tucking him in. He looked down at his Angel fondly for a moment, then turned back to Dean and Castiel. Not surprisingly, Dean had crowded Castiel against the kitchen counter and was kissing him, something the two of them seemed to end up doing every time they were left to their own devices without something to hunt, chase, investigate, Smite or otherwise aggress. Sam was positive he and Gabriel weren't that bad. Even when they'd first started going out, Sam had done his best to keep things discreet, even if Gabriel had been attempting the opposite.
Sam sighed and stalked off to Bobby's study to search through his books on Demon lore. There might be some useful information in one of them. Anything to distract him from his own, deeply troubling thoughts. Why had he been able to see something only Crowley could, something Demonic.
"Morning Sammich."
Sam groaned, lifting his head from where it was pillowed on a heavy book. He didn't recall falling asleep. Gabriel was sitting on the edge of the desk, swinging his legs and grinning down at Sam. He smile seemed to increase in brightness when Sam opened his eyes to glare sleepily at him.
"What time is it?" He complained, rubbing at his eyes and running a hand through his hair.
"Almost nine." Gabriel shrugged, "We're still the first up."
Sam grimaced, most of the time he despised sleeping in, and then he remembered the reason he'd been in the study in the first place.
"Bobby!" He exclaimed, moving to get out of his seat. Gabriel pushed him back down.
"Relax Sam," the Archangel told him, "The Demon was here last night with a few ideas."
As if simply speaking his name had summoned him, Crowley appeared next to them. He looked, if that were possible for a Demon, rather harried, like he'd been run off his feet.
"Hello Boys." He muttered, looking from Sam to Gabriel and then back again, "Where's the idiot and the Angel? Still in bed?"
Sam nodded. Gabriel snapped his fingers, and vanished, reappearing a few seconds later with Dean and Castiel, both of who were, thankfully, dressed, if not fully awake yet. Dean glared at Gabriel, shaking his grip off him. Castiel, now fully awake, was more focused on Crowley.
"Crowley," He greeted the Demon, "I am assuming you have made a discovery, and the manner in which you have gathered us suggests that it was not one of a positive nature."
Sam got to his feet, pushing out his chair for the Demon, but Crowley waved it away, preferring to pace the study instead.
"What then?" Dean burst out angrily, clearly not in the best of sorts after being zapped downstairs by Gabriel. Crowley looked up at him, and his eyes had taken on a haunted look, almost…scared. He still didn't speak. He looked like he was at war with himself. Gabriel, clearly tired of the situation, fixed the Demon with a serious gaze for a brief moment.
"Shit." He muttered.
Crowley looked up, "No mind-reading, Angel." He protested, albeit weakly. At least he wouldn't have to deliver the news now.
Gabriel looked around the study, clearly upset, and also angry from whatever he had seen in the Demon's mind. "There's…there's nothing we can do." He barely whispered, "Bobby's gonna die from the poison, Crowley says there's no antidote."