Disclaimer: Characters are not mine! All characters belong to Supernatural.
A/N: I haven't much to say, other than I hope I'm keeping these guys in as much character as I can (Given the circumstance of corse.) I might start posting this regularly every Tuesday, just because. I also want to inform you that, in spite of the alternate universe, the basic facts about Bobby and Crowley (later Dean, Castiel, Sam, Gabriel, and Lucifer.) Will stay the same. From their attire, where they live, family, and personality, down to the buttons of their shirt and the brand of alcohol they prefer. So, I'm letting you guys know, that the beliefs that I give them, and the things they will say, that is part of their characters, those are their beliefs. This story, is going to be slow, just letting you guys know, but I hope it suits your preferences. Alright, I hope I got my point across, and I hope you enjoy~! ^^
Warning: Mild Language, mentions of Alcohol use.
Deep rapid burn, bitter after taste, swig, pour, drink, rinse, repeat. It seemed glass after glass was poured, and the subtle tension of strangers switched and melted away into a warming glow of talk and friendly laughter, jokes and stories well forgotten passed between two men like an old friend long since missed. Simple talk turned to jokes, and jokes to silly stories; to talk about nothing and everything all at once.
Crowley, evidentially, came from Canisbay Scotland, who, quote un quote "-Sailed to America for better opportunities." His father having been a Tailor, Crowley didn't want anything to do with that, having decided business, selling, location-location-location was more of his forte` anyhow.
The man had expressed a little bit more on his past, but nothing too deep. Never said a word about family life other than his father; other personal information kept hidden in a box, and lock up tight. Crowley didn't bring it up, and Bobby didn't ask; just as Bobby kept his own personal life, his past, hidden in some far away book on some shelf he'll never let anyone find. Bobby didn't say anything, and Crowley never asked. Like a silent mutual agreement neither made, but was thankful to have it there. A man has to have his secrets.
The minutes ticked away to hours, and all they did was talk, and laugh. Never too serious, and certainly never sad. Those were emotions for another day, another time, with another person. No, they were here to enjoy, and be enjoyed, platonically of course, the the time tick on by in a steady silent beat that nobody could hear.
"-Fergus, actually, isn't my real first name." The Scotsmen stated, reclining against the couch in Bobby's study. Bobby was sitting behind his desk, looking over the small clutter at the shorter man, who sat examining his clear class, twirling the alburn liquid inside.
"Your card say's otherwise." Bobby muttered, setting his glass onto his desk, the glass clanking against the wooden surface.
"Well of course," Crowley looked up from his drink, to give the hunter an obvious look, "America may accept any name, but most consumers do not." He glanced down at the glass in his hands once again, "They hear something wrong, and most assume it's satanic, and bam-" Crowley snapped his fingers, his front teeth pulling at his lower lip for a split second, "-Down goes business, nobody want's to buy from a man with a name like mine," A soft shrug, "I never understood it with you American's."
"Not all of us are like that." Bobby offered.
"No, no, not all of you," The business man sighed, "Just a majority of you, too many point fingers." Raising the glass to his lips he took a sip from his glass.
"Well, if Fergus isn't your real name, then what is it?"
"I've told you, Crowley."
"How come you told me your real name then, eh?" Bobby asked, a gruff eyebrow raising on his face.
There was a pause, where the shorter male looked like he was contemplating; It was a long moment before he opened his mouth. "You know," He began, twirling the glass in his delicate pale hands, "I haven't the slightest."
Bobby gave the business man a questionable look, "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Crowley stressed the words, "That I have no idea why I told you my real name," He hadn't given the hunter a look, but just continued to stare at the glass in his hands, moving his fingers over the soft pattern near the bottom, as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever laid his eyes upon. "It seemed like the right thing to do, I suppose."
There was a pause, "I don't get it then," Bobby stated, "Why would people assume that Crowley was some sort of satanic name? Wasn't there a few successful men somewhere in Europe with the name Crowley?"
"Indeed there were," The Scotsmen replied, "It also means Descendant of the hard hero, or hardy warrior. But I must say that I always prefered Wood of Crows." There was a sort of thoughtful chuckle that escaped Crowleys lips, something barely acknowledged. "Must scare these over righteous Americans with something so utterly innocent and simple as a name."
"I don't know about you, but Crowley seems pretty Satanic to me."
The Scotsmen snorted, "Oh, now you're just flirting."
Bobby made a soft yet sarcastic mm hm before bringing his drink to his lips, another swig, burn of the throat, bitter after taste.
"Did you know, that the name Robert means to have the desire to understand and help others with their problems," Crowley began, his fingers swiping away at the condensation build on his glass, "but, at the same time, can become too involved and worrying as the result." Crowley stated idly, "Good natured and affectionate and enjoy home and family life. Not to mention those who have the name tend to avoid issues, however, and put off until tomorrow decisions that should be made today."
Bobby looked up at the black clad man in skepticism, eyebrows furrowing together as he spoke. For some odd reason Bobby thought of the Impala sitting in his garage, or the dishes he never bothered touching. Crowley stopped abruptly, pressing his lips together in a thin line as his eyebrows furrowed. Setting aside the glass onto the couches' side table, he pulled back his left trench-coated sleeve slightly, reveling an old watch, before dawning crossed his face.
"Bollocks," Crowley cursed, pushing himself to his feet, "Ah, well Robert. I hate to leave so soon, but duty calls." He began, turning to give the hunter a friendly look, pointedly ignoring the blunt confusion that crossed the hunters face. Neither was certain if it was for the name outburst, or the fact that he was leaving, but it didn't matter. "Thank you, once again," He paused before waving his hand from his side a moment, "For the car, I mean."
Bobby was quiet for a moment, before shaking his head when he realised that Crowley was waiting for some sort of response. "Not at all."
The shorter man smiled, or more or less smirked, before pulling his keys out of his pocket. He turned his back on the hunter and began walking out, calling a subtle goodbye before he was gone. The soft eliciting sound of a creaky wooden door opening before footsteps receited out of them with a subtle slam moments after. Bobby looked at the direction of the back door a moment longer, rough hand reaching out and grasping the rest of his drink, downing the rest before pushing to his feet.
Days went to weeks, and weeks shifted quickly to months, and suddenly the strange man from his doorstep slowly began to ebb away from Bobby's conscious mind. He couldn't get rid of the Scottish mans existence from memory, no, that would be impossible; He was just another person to walk into his life, before quickly stepping back out again. It was like everyone else, just another passing face, always another passing face before it becomes blurred and unfocused like everyone elses.
It was the fact that Crowley's face hasn't blurred yet was driving the hunter absolutely crazy.
By now, a passing look, a bump in the road, a friendly hello between two strangers would have left the hunters mind by the first week, at least but Crowley's face still seemed as vivid as ever. Bobby remembered the way he laughed, and the deeply accented voice that seemed to vibrate into a delicate purr before a laugh or chuckle were to escape, even the slight pudgyness- the roundness of the mans face, all these little things Bobby could remember. But why?
Well, he really couldn't expect any less. It was a very interesting time, with a very interesting person, it has to be hard to forget such an imprint, yeah? Well, that would make sense. No break in his daily routine, and suddenly there is an abnormal stop, like a sudden skip in a heart-beat, or the pause in a metronome. It takes notice, because it's out of place, it's suddenly different and make-shift in a matter of moments and yet you have no idea why or how. Why did the heart skip? Was there failure? Lack of blood pressure? Or too much? What happened exactly to cause such a reaction? Same with the metronome. Why did it pause? Was it broken? Is it breaking? Does it require attention? Or should you wait and see what happens?
Cause, effect. Something happens, something strange, and it causes a ripple effect, and branches off to many different questions that may or may not ever be answered, if there ever was an answer to begin with.
Cause; A man in an accident and came looking for help. Effect; A lapse in routine and judgement, leaving an imprint that Bobby just can't smear or blur the lines to.
Goddamn it was frustrating.
The calls still came in, as per usual, at least that was the same. The house was cleaner, but that wasn't too different from before. He still drank the same beer, still took calls, worked cases, and fixed cars, there was nothing different. Regardless, something felt different. Something felt wrong.
Bobby just couldn't place it, this deep empty feeling in his chest like something was completely and utterly off, and it was driving him mad.
His routine was the same, the times he woke up and fell back into sleep never fluctuated, he seemed to be in good health. Perhaps he was just getting old; although 43 didn't seem that damn elderly, it could be a factor.
Age could always be a factor; too young to understand, too old to be wise, too middle-aged to be an idjit. But, then again, most people are anyhow, being an idjit doesn't really have that much of a age-limit, now does it?
Autumn had passed into winter, and winter into spring. The spring was finally settling into a much warmer climate as the year began to pass on, the holidays long gone, and case's were starting to come in more frequently now that the creatures were warm enough to peek out of their holes. So many damn animals everywhere, and too many damn idjits trying to get rid of 'em. If you can't kill it, then leave it alone for the professionals to take care of.
The other hunters never listen to him, and just keep calling, all too stubborn to get some real help.
Not that he wasn't real help, he just wasn't getting paid for it.
Bobby was so tired, frustrated with everyone and everything, including himself, he needed a drink but he was out, and he was so goddamn tired of eating chinese food. He had to shower, brush his teeth, use the washroom, he really needed to finish fixing up the Impala, and not forget to clean it again; Books were scattered everywhere, and papers were cluttering the ground, it was time to do dishes again, and Bobby felt like hell.
"Balls." Bobby cursed under his breath, tossing The Lovely Bones onto his desk. Sam had suggested some books from Bobby to read that weren't strictly research, and were more for entertainment; Bobby had piles of books like that, but Sam had insisted he read a book from this century. And since the hunter flat out told Sam no on 50 Shades of Gray and The Naked and The Dead, Sam had eventually quit trying to convince him to get books, and ended up at the house a week later with a satchel full of these books that look both new, but used.
He now owned the whole Harry Potter series, as well as The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, Twilight, True Blood, not to mention a few that he knew, like Fahrenheit 451, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Pet Semetary, and the like. He didn't know most of these names, nor the authors; and what the hell was Sam doing with a copy of The Earth, My Butt, and other Big Round Things.-?
Some of the novels looked like porno's waiting to happen, while others looked like you had to have serious time and patience to finish. Some looked interesting, and some didn't have much of a cover other than a black color and the title. Bobby had grabbed ahold of The Lovely Bones out of curiosity about a week after the boy had dropped them all off, (Sam having helped put them on one of hunters filled up shelves) and given it a gander.
Hasn't been able to set it down since.
Maybe reading for entertainment wasn't something too bad, but it was definitely something he didn't get enough time to do. With everything on his plate, he's only been able to read 13 chapters- It's been 3 months.
Pushing himself out of his chair, he stretched his back. Although he'd been dying to push his nose into his book, he really needed to go get some food; and not chinese. Bobby looked over at the cluttered mess that was his desk, and mumbled to himself.
A loud ringing caught his attention, and he found himself glaring at the phone; he was tired of calls, he just wanted to eat. Never the less, his hand swipped down and snatched the phone off of the table in a familiar motion he was far too used to, answering it.
"Bobby speakin'." He answered.
"Hey Bobby," Now wasn't that a familiar voice.
"Hey Dean," Bobby replied warmly, moving so he could walk into the kitchen, heels thudding.
"Long time, man."
"No kiddin'," Bobby grunted, "How's Lisa and Ben doin'?"
"Great, actually we were about to head up to see Sammy, you speak to him lately?"
Bobby made a throaty noise, "Yeah, 'bout a week ago, why? S'he in trouble?"
"Nah," a pause, "Just haven't been able to get ahold of him, you hear about his new Job?"
"He got a new job?" The hunter questioned, hand wrapping around the handle of his fridge, and pulling it open, before peering inside. leftovers, leftovers, leftovers..
"Yeah, at some place called Purgatory Placements-"
...-The words 'Purgatory Placements'printed out neatly on the front, with a number printed underneath it, the name Fergus McLeod in the center. He turned the small card over to see a message scrawled out in neat handwriting.-
"-Name ring any bells?" Dean asked, and Bobby wondered briefly if he had missed anything. There was a pause, before Bobby closed the fridge with a light slam.
"A few," Bobby commented off handedly, before his hand slipped into his pocket, finger brushing against the rough edge of a small piece of paper, idly, or pointedly, tracing the cards edge with the tip of his finger. "I believe I heard it somewhere."
"Yeah, same here. It's like I hear the name everywhere, but at the same time no one knows about it, I don't get it."
Bobby shrugged nonchalantly, briefly forgetting that Dean couldn't see him. "When'd he get the job?"
"Few weeks back, I think. He was talking about it, all happy and excited. It's been a while since he's sounded happy, it's a good change, you know. After all that happened." Bobby pressed his lips together into a thin line.
They never talked about what happened, it was awful, and they never uttered a word about it out of respect. It's been a few years, but they both knew it was a sore and sour subject for Sam; how could it not be? Karen was a sore subject for Bobby, Mary and John Winchester were a sore subject for Dean, since Sam was too little to remember them anyway.. And then there was Jessica.
Jessica was the love of Sam's life, his other half, his missing piece that made him whole, Jessica was everything to him. One day out of college, while him and Dean were out, there had been a fire and she didn't make it out alive. Bobby tried to sympathise with him, but it was too hard to compare Karen to anybody, even for comfort reasons, so he settled with empathy; still, Sam was a wreck.
Him and Dean did everything they could for him, they tried everything they could to get him out of this shell he crawled into. They were too late to try anything else once he met Ruby.
Bobby grimaced, Ruby was a sore subject for everyone. A hard-core deep woman with a careless attitude had waltzed into Sam's life, and for a moment, Bobby and Dean had thought that it was a good thing, that he was getting out of his shell and finally pulling through. On the contrary, Ruby had made everything worse.
Bobby shook his head, he wasn't going to think too deeply on it. "Well that's definitely somethin'." Bobby replied, crossing an arm over his abdomen and holding his side.
There was a soft chuckle on the other end, "Yeah, it's good to hear that he's not zoned out in La La Land where he's been for a while."
"No kiddin'," The hunter murmured, "What about you Dean?"
"What do you mean?"
"You okay?" The elder man asked, "You know, after that virus scare, you hadn't really talked much."
"Nah, I'm fine. You know me, always pulling through."
"You damn Winchester's," Bobby chuckled, "Well, if you ever need to talk-"
"Bobby," Deans voice halted his train of thought, "We are not having another Chick-Flick moment, I'm fine! Really, if I've got something I need to tell you, I will."
"Ya' lyin' idjit."
There was a sharp chuckle on the other end, causing the side of Bobby's mouth to twitch upward, just the slightest. "I hear ya' Bobby," a pause, "I'll call you back with any updates on 'em, alright? Alright, I'll talk to you later."
"Whatever," He rolled his eyes, straightening his back, "Bye."
"See ya' Bobby." The hunter pulled the phone away when the line went dead, thumb pressing over 'end' just in case, before setting it off to the side, eyes glancing over at the fridge a moment, before hearing his stomach growled violently at him.
He really needed to stop putting these things off. Pushing off of the table, he ran his rough hands over his face. Better now than never.
Fill in chapter, and I'm going to be adding the boys' POV at some point, so you see their developing lives and relationships as well. (Like I said, Destiel, Sabriel) and all the works. I didn't want to throw Crowley back in, not yet anyways, otherwise I'm stuck with a awful plot, and a romance that is moving too damn quickly for words. I hope you guys like so far~! Chapters will eventually begin to get longer as the story progresses. Let me know what you guys think! Really! I would love to know your guy's opinion! Leave a review down below, and give me your thoughts. I really need to know if I'm doing something wrong. Never the less, thank you for spending your time to read this~! ^^ LLAP
