You know, when Crowley said he would help the Winchesters, he wasn't expecting to do their grocery shopping. He hated waiting in line, it was the reason he organized Hell like that, but knew Dean would sick his precious pet angel on him if he did anything to speed up the damn line. So he stood with his basket of supplies behind some idiot redneck.
Scooch.
The line inched forward and now Crowley could see the magazines. He scanned over the display, taking in the gossip and lies. And cute baby pictures. What? He picked up a magazine and flipped through until he found the article about Baby Henry. Babies were adorable, why did he despise them?
"MOMMA I WANT IT!" a child screamed behind him, holding up a stuffed penguin-thingy.
Ah, that's why. How did he forget? He scowled at the child and its mother, who seemed ready to faint. It was tempting to offer a deal to shut up the brat, if only for his current benefit. But he didn't appreciate Moose's forced piggyback rides.
Scooch.
He placed the basket on the edge of the conveyor belt as the bitch-faced cashier rang up an old man's diapers and ointment. Crowley rolled his eyes in time with the teenaged hillbilly in front of him and leaned over to the drink cool and grabbed a Coke. Luckily, the old man had his money ready and was quickly gone along with who was assumed to be his grandson.
Scooch, scooch, scooch.
Crowley dragged his basket closer and straightened his tie as he watched her ring up his items.
"Hello," Crowley greeted, offering a smile.
The woman, Clare by her nametag, looked at him through her fringe. She snapped her gum, making the King blink in surprise. "Hi." She gave him a fake smile.
Crowley's small grin faded to a scowl and he grabbed his bags, tossing the forty dollars down and walking out.
"Don't you want your change?" Clare called.
"Oh, fuck off." He called behind her, snapping his fingers and disappearing.
He appeared at the bunker, wrapping his knuckles against the door. It was lined with salt, which very much burned though he paid very little mind to it. Dean opened the door and allowed him in, following the King down to the foyer.
"I hope you appreciate what I had to go through for this, Squirrel." Crowley grumbled. Dean snickered and rifled through the bags, pulling out things and placing them in piles on the table.
"…Where's the pie?" the hunter asked.
"The what?"
"You forgot the pit! Dean groaned, rubbing his face with the heels of his hands.
"I'm not going back for a bloody pastry." Crowley announced, holding his hands up.
"Fine, then you can make one. From scratch." Dean pointed toward the kitchen. Crowley hung his head and shuffled into the room.
You know, I'm the bloody King of Hell!" he growled.
Yeah, sure, Crowley. Now, be a good demon and make my pie."
Computer class is very useful for typing up fanfiction. Yep.
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