Short commentfic stemming from a prompt over at the comment-fic of livejournal.

Enjoy!

Title/prompt: I'm not a daycare!

Bobby Singer had never needed a drink more in his life than in that instant. Or maybe he did. But one or two bottles certainly wouldn't have hurt right then. He glared at the demon who shrugged helplessly.

"Don't look at me, I didn't do it."

Bobby kept glaring, refusing to pay attention to the small but insistent tugging at the bottom of his pants.

Crowley cleared his throat.

"Well, it's been real fun, as always, but I really ought to get going. Hell might freeze over if I don't..."

"Oh no you don't. You don't dump this kind of thing on me and just walk away. Not happening."

"Robert. Really. A firearm around the children? Is that wise? Someone could get hurt."

Bobby clenched his hand around the handle of his shotgun, closed his eyes, counted to five, and looked down. At his feet, one toddler, black hair, impossibly blue eyes, was looking at him with all the solemnity of the world.

Crowley, the bastard, was pouring himself a glass of scotch. From his own flask of course.

"Cheer up mate, I bet you make a very good babysitter. The first few days might be tricky, what with all the little hands and feet and and mouths which will no doubt require your constant attention..." The King of Hell looked pointedly at the two other babies currently exploring/thrashing Bobby's living room. "But I'm sure you'll get the hang of it soon enough."

Bobby aimed at him again. Crowley made a show of putting his hands up while holding his glass.

"Bobby... it's rude to shoot the messenger, you should know that."

"Messenger my ass. What the hell happened?"

"Long version or... short version it is then." Crowley pointed at the blue eyed baby. "That's Castiel. Cute, right? The other two are, I'm sure you guessed, the little Winchester pests, and the last one... who you should probably keep a better eye on by the way... is Gabriel." Crowley seemed to savour saying those last words. "All the other details are pretty boring, actually. Insults being thrown, spells being miscast, interference by some mystical artefacts..." The demon made a dismissive gesture. "And voilĂ ! I think I should be rewarded for bringing everyone here, really."

"Oh for Christ's sake. I'm not a daycare!"

Crowley looked over Bobby's home, wrinkling his nose. "Obviously." He took a sip of ridiculously expensive alcohol.

Bobby grunted in annoyance. Then narrowed his eyes, trying his best to ignore all the things he'd have to do in just a few minutes.

"Now that I think about it... How come you're so helpful all of a sudden? What's in it for you?"

Crowley smirked. "That's for me to know and for you to worry about."

"Figures." One glance down. Two stern blue eyes. Bobby scowled, starting to feel a little desperate. "How about this then. Remove the spell or I shoot you."

"Wish I could, love. I really do. But I can't. Gabriel's handiwork is not something I can snap my fingers at. Especially when the idiot goes overboard." He leered at the hunter. "Unless, of course, you'd be willing to make a deal..."

"Go to hell."

"With pleasure."

Crowley disappeared with a kissy face, and Bobby was alone when the first of many baby cries echoed in his house.

"Balls."