Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
As a Crobby shipper, I felt like I had been kicked in the head and stabbed after watching "Taxi Driver." So, this is my way of dealing. I hope you enjoy it.
In his years as a hunter, Bobby had seen a lot of weird things. And he had had a lot of weird things happen to him. But opening his front door, only to be buried in an avalanche of pie, that took the cake. Or pie, considering that's what Bobby was buried under.
Now Bobby liked pie as much as the next American. But he didn't like being buried under it. Particularly after long hunt, when he was bruised, and tired.
So, swearing to himself, Bobby got up and pushed his way into his house, which admittedly smelled delicious. Of course, since Bobby's house was full to the brim with pie, by the time he got to the kitchen, Bobby resembled a pie-monster. The creature Bobby found in the kitchen did not make Bobby feel any better. Though now he could say he'd seen something stranger than a house full of pie. Crowley making pie was definitely stranger.
At least Bobby thought it should be. Crowley was a demon. Demons don't make pie. They spread evil, caused chaos, and made Bobby's life miserable. Not make pie, in a hunter's home, and they certainly didn't look domestic and remind Bobby of his dead wife while doing it.
Crowley looked up from mixing pie-filling, took one look at Bobby and began to laugh. Bobby, whose brain was being a traitor, and making connections that should never, ever be connected, had been struck dumb. Luckily Crowley's laughter caused his intelligence to come back. "What are you doing in my house?"
"Honestly, love," said Crowley. "I came here to vent."
Bobby grumbled unintelligibly to himself and stalked over to the sink. Ever since giving Bobby his soul back, Crowley had been appearing on a bi sometimes tri-weekly basis to complain. Bobby could do nothing, nothing, about it. Any attempts met with Bobby in a telekinetic hold on the wall for hours. Pretending to listen and be sympathetic gave Bobby the opportunity to at least get work done.
"But you weren't here," Crowley continued.
Bobby had been a state away, with three other hunters, hunting a wraith. It was a good thing Crowley hadn't show up to complain while Bobby was getting knocked around by a wraith. A good thing for the other hunts that is.
"So, you made pie?"
Crowley cast an amused eye about the house. "I may have gotten a tad carried away. Making pie is soothing for me." Crowley snapped is fingers and the house was clean again. Or as clean as it was when Bobby left, which wasn't very.
The ten most recently made pies were still there, and the smell made Bobby's stomach rumble. Crowley heard said rumble.
"Go wash up, I'll make you something healthier for dinner," said Crowley.
"I'm not eating anything you make."
"Would you prefer I gave you a sponge-bath Robert?"
Bobby fled the kitchen before Crowley decided to act on that idea. While he'd had no intention of returning until Crowley came to fetch him, the delicious smell of food drew Bobby to the kitchen again.
Crowley had made steak, mashed potatoes, asparagus, and it looked like something found in a five-star restaurant. Despite the table being set for two, Crowley's absence made Bobby hope the dinner was an apology and he would not be returning. That hope was dashed to smidgens when Crowley returned a moment later a bottle of red-wine in his hands.
"Be a dear, and uncork that would you." Crowley handed the shot-gun to him and replaced it with the bottle of wine. "It's impolite to have guns at the table. I'll put it away for you."
Bobby swore under his breath. His stomach rumbled again, and he took a seat at the table. If anyone asked, he would claim he wasn't thinking due to hunger and fatigue. With that thought, Bobby uncorked the bottle, and settled back in his chair, determined to at least enjoy his dinner.