After a few hours, Crowley showed up back at the kitchen. Just him, and no Sam. "You're missing a person." Bobby, whom was facing his stove cooking some ravioli, stated. Completely unsurprised by this fact.

"There were complications," the demon grumbled. "I don't suppose you tried asking your buddy, Cas, where Sam is? He seemed to have a fairly clear idea of the location." The King of Hell straightened his jacket and brushed some soot off of his shoulder.

That question caused Bobby to stiffen. "Well if you can't find him, I'm sure as hell Cas won't." He grumbled, getting another beer from his fridge. "I know its not your brand, but want one?" He asked, offering a second bottle.

Crowley snatched the bottle and took a swig, frowning distastefully at it. "I wouldn't be so sure. He stopped me shortly before I got to where I believe Sam may be. Did I mention Castiel hates me?" He took another unpleasant drink of his beer and shook his head. "I was so close."

"Wow, didn't think this would bother such a heartless monster." Bobby smirked, taking another sip. "As for Cas... we believe that Sam asked for his help, didn't think you'd actually find him to be honest." Bobby started drifting off before coming back and realized the ruffled cloth on Crowley's shoulder. Once again, his mind not thinking. "You guys fought? Damn... sorry." He mumbled the last bit.

Crowley shook his head again, his eyes avoiding Bobby as he took yet another drink of his beer. "It was pretty one-sided," he grumbled. "And heartless monster, really?" His gaze finally snapped to the old hunter, his expression irritated and slightly offended. "I just tried to save a bloody hunter who has tried to kill me multiple times, and you have the nerve to-!" He cut himself off with an angry sigh and glared at the kitchen floor. "You can find Sam on your bloody own, I'm done trying to help you, Singer." He set his beer on the counter before he disappeared again, leaving the room smelling strongly of sulfur.

"Way to go Bobby, you hurt his feelings." Dean smirked as we walked into the room.

"Creep much?" Bobby retaliated. Which in turn caused Dean to frown. "What, do you want me to apologize?" Dean gave another look. "Are you kidding me?"

"Nope, so have fun with that." He gave a cheeky grin and left.

"Balls." Bobby thought it was stupid to having to apologize. "Why the hell should I... damn it Dean." He took a deep breath a mumbled, a 'I'm sorry.'

Crowley reappeared a few feet away from Bobby, his face written with confusion and disbelief. "Excuse me?"

Bobby stared at him, with a complete sincere look. "I'm... sorry." He choked over saying the words. "I didn't mean to call you out. Its been pretty damn stressful these past days. Thank you for trying to help find Sam." He felt himself mentally slapping himself for thanking and apologizing to a demon.

Crowley, still looking surprised and slightly disbelieving, managed, "Well... No harm done. I don't suppose you're doing this out of the good of your heart, rather than to get me to help you find Sam, am I wrong?"

This time it was Bobby who looked surprised. "I'll have you know Dean already located Sam and got to him as you were fighting Cas... sorry about that too, that wasn't really planned." Bobby looked away for second, feeling slightly like an old teddy bear. "So yes, Crowley, believe it or not. I am, from the bottom of my heart, sorry." Bobby said feeling sick to his stomach.

"Well, uh..." There was a silence from Crowley that lasted a moment, before managed. "Then apology accepted, and..." He straightened his jacket. "Forgiven." The word was like sand in his mouth, or maybe salt, but he meant it. "Now, unless I am needed for anything more, I guess you'll be wanting your house to yourself again."

Bobby hesitated for a second. "You never finished your drink..." He drifted off, and and went back to sitting down. He wanted to stab himself for not wanting Crowley to go. What the hell are you thinking Singer. Just shut your trap and let him go on his merry way.

Crowley glanced at the beer bottle sitting on the counter. He did so loathe the drink, though it was a good excuse to stay, so he shrugged and walked over to it, picking it up before turning to Bobby. "You make a valid point." He took another drink and leaned back on the counter.

Bobby could see it now. The 'Smoothest Hunter of the Year' award sitting right as desk. He took a deep sigh, and began rubbing his temples. Just one day to myself. No demons, hunters, angels, just peace and quiet. He thought to himself as he went for another drink of his beer.

"Balls." He muttered, finding it empty. Forcing him to get up and become face to face with Crowley.

"So, not to complain, but why the sudden attitude change?" Crowley asked skeptically. "An hour ago you wanted to rip my guts out, and now..." He narrowed his eyes. "You're not trying to get something from me, are you?"

Bobby scoffed, "Yeah, you wish." He rolled his eyes and pushed Crowley out of the way. Once he grabbed another drink he sat back down. He smirked and before he could stop himself he found himself saying, "Unless you have other plans in mind?"

Crowley found himself inexplicably flustered by the words of the hunter. "I don't believe I do," he muttered, pulling himself a chair across the table from Bobby.

Why Bobby found this amusing he hasn't a single clue. He laughed. "Anyone ever tell your fun to mess with you." Why can't I just shut up? I was only like this a few times, but I was completely drunk... looking down to his drink he found that his beer was a lot stronger than it should be. You have got to be kidding me...

Crowley took another drink, his eyebrows furrowed in a frown. "People generally don't do that, so no," he answered, wrapping both hands around his bottle. "Definitely the first time I've heard that."

"Well gee, I wonder why, you don't normally go around playing with all your clients. Am I just that special?" Bobby just wanted to shoot himself to stop making a fool of himself. He can feel himself reliving his past all over again.

Crowley didn't answer, instead staring at the beer bottle as he utterly failed at finding the words to defend himself. "You wish," was all he could manage.

Bobby, amused with the flustered King, faked being stabbed through the heart. "Ouch, your words wound me so. I mean, your special, I haven't killed you." He started going quiet in the end but he never shook from his smirk.

Crowley finished off his beer quickly. "Very funny," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm.

"Not lying..." Bobby whispered, more sober then he has been and his smirk vanishing for a moment. Once it returned he chugged down the rest of his beer. "You want another one?" He asked, still feeling like an idiot for not wanting Crowley to leave.

Crowley looked at him with confusion. "Yeah, sure, another sounds great..." Bobby was right, of all the demons the hunter had met, the King of Hell was probably the only Bobby had let live. "Tell me, Bobby, what makes me different?"

The hunter snickered at the question. "If I knew, you'd be the first to know." Bobby got up and went to grab some leftover pasta as an afternoon snack. "I think the real question here is; why haven't you left yet?"

"Another excellent question." Crowley took another drink. "Maybe I'm avoiding Hell, maybe some other reason. Can't say I know."

"Well that's complete bull." The hunter finished his meal and was leaning back in his chair. "So tell me, oh mighty King, if avoiding Hell is your true reason, why?"

Crowley shrugged. "Don't know. Do you want me to leave?"

Bobby just stared at Crowley. He didn't want to say yes, but he also didn't want to say no. Instead he just stayed quiet, staring at his drink.

Crowley shifted in his seat. "Thought so," he muttered.

"No, stay... if you want that it is." There he goes again, making a fool of himself. "I don't really care." Bobby was mentally arguing with himself. He would much rather be taking on the Leviathans right now.

The demon shrugged, and leaned back in his chair. "Well, it's not like I have anything better to do."

At this point the hunter was willing to beg to God to sober up, instead he let out a snort. "I can name one thing." He mumbled into his bottle finishing the last sip.

"Oh?" The King of Hell raised a curious eyebrow and tilted his head ever so slightly. "And what might that be?" he asked.

Bobby placed down his bottle and thought for a moment. Bobby Singer, you shut your mouth and tell that bastartd to go to hell. Literally. Instead though he felt his lips tugging upward into a smirk. He set his lips to be as straight as possible. "You're looking at him."