Sam: We're back on a ship.

Dean (licking the anchor): Yeah, it is made of chocolate!

Sam: That's a really bad sign - I think we should get out of here.

Dean: I bet I look really cool in this hat.

Sam: Maybe there's a lifeboat or something we can take...

Dean: Hey, ships have rum on board, right?

Sam: Mostly, it was used as an anaesthetic or a disinfectant.

Dean: I got a really sore throat.

Sam: Help me.

Dean: Hey, look, there's a bottle now!

He reaches for the bottle of rum on the deck.

Sam: Dean, don't touch it!

A net falls and entangles them.

Sam: You idiot! We're stuck in a net!

Dean (drinking): Doesn't matter had drink.

Chapter Twenty-One

Later, they would think about how comical the next ten seconds were.

During those ten seconds, Crowley's expression went from glee, to confusion, to panic, to terror, to desperation, to considering cunning, to discarding that idea very quickly, to resignation, to the idea of brazening it out, to the possibility of pleading ignorance, to charming, to sheepish, to wheedling, to a resigned acceptance that he had been caught out, sprung bad, and generally found guilty as sin by way of overwhelming evidence.

A tiny little comet of smoke appeared, whizzed around him a couple of times, then dropped to the floor and resolved into Gedda the teacup Hellpoodle. She yipped happily, wagged her tail, and bounded over to Bobby.

"Bobby, mate!" trilled the King of Hell, "How wonderful to see you again!"

Bobby glared at him, not taking his eyes off the demon as he bent to scratch the Hellpoodle's ears.

"Oh, she's so fond of you," Crowley beamed, "Aren't you, Gedda, my darling, you just love to visit Uncle Bobby..."

Bobby glared at him.

Crowley looked down at the devil's trap. "Er, do you think you could do something about this? Cramping my style just a little."

Bobby glared at him.

"Ah, and the brothers Winchester," Crowley forced himself to smile at them. "Hello again, boys. Long time no blackmail, ha ha ha!"

Bobby glared at him.

"And if I'm not mistaken, you have found your sibling!" he smiled brightly. "A sister! A sister who's a Sister, ha ha ha! Oh, how wonderful for you! I do love a family reunion *sniff* I'm sure you'll have so much to talk about..."

Bobby glared at him.

"Bobby," he said carefully, "Bobby, love, this isn't what it looks like..."

"Who the fuck is that?" asked Felicity.

"Ah, allow me to introduce myself, good Sister," Crowley performed a polite little bow. "I am Crowley, King of Hell, and one of Bobby's oldest friends, in fact, I am his oldest friend, by a few hundred years, ha ha ha..."

She gazed at him in disbelief. "You're shitting me," she stated.

"No, madam, no, I shit you not," he went on hurriedly, "On such an important matter, I assure you, I do not shit. I am indeed the CEO, ruler and all around Big Boss Man of Hell." He smiled his most winning smile.

She looked him up and down. "You're not what I expected," she said eventually.

"Well, of course, most people expect Lucifer in the role," Crowley nodded judiciously, "But the Lord of Perdition is currently, how shall I put this, on... sabbatical leave..."

"He's a chihuahua," Felicity interrupted. "With a circus strong man. Getting fat on pasta. Dean and Sam told me."

"Well, your Eternal Father works in mysterious ways, yes?" suggested Crowley. "Who's to say that mine doesn't do the same, a chip off the old block, perhaps..."

"That wasn't what I meant, anyway," she cut him off. "I meant that I'd thought that the Supreme Bitch Of Hell would look a lot more imposing. Taller, maybe. A bit more buff, perhaps. A little bit more, you know, a bit more... tempting. More Jared Padalecki, less Mark Shepard."

Crowley gave her a hurt look. "If you say one thing about me being 'cuddly'," he began.

"I was going to say 'avuncular'," she commented, "But now you mention it, yeah, cuddly. You're cuddlier than I'd imagined." She bent down to pet the little Hellpoodle, who was wuffing for her attention. "And so is your dog."

"I'll have you know that Gedda there is one of the most feared Hellhounds of the Pit," insisted Crowley. "So, I'll just pop out and find a better host, shall I?" he added sourly. "You like 'em tall? You like 'em buff? Football player perhaps? Or a bodybuilder? Why you'd bother I don't know, surely you could get the same effect by hugging a pair of panty hose stuffed with melons..."

"Crowley," Bobby finally spoke in a dangerously quiet voice, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Well, I was just, you know," Crowley began, "I was just doing what demons do, ordering the minions around, sending them forth, practising my evil laugh, bwahahahahaha..."

"You sent them to find Fic, and kill her!" snarled Dean. "You wanted to kill our sister, in order to kill us!"

"No!" yelped Crowley desperately. "No no no! No! No!. No. No." He shot a pleading look from Bobby back to the Winchesters. "Or, if I'm brutally honest, yes."

"Crowley," Bobby growled again, "Explain to me why I shouldn't end you right here and right now."

"They wouldn't have suffered!" the King of Hell shrieked. "It would've been quick! Oil on the road, a flip of the car, a snap of the necks, a tragic accident, it would've been humane and bloodless!"

"Well, gee," Felicity humphed, "That makes it all right, then."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Bobby snarled, "There's a third one! You were prepared to bleed her out like a steer carcass to do that! You were going to murder her, to murder them!"

"Uh, well, yes, that was the, er, collateral damage," Crowley agreed. "Sorry," he said, smiling at Felicity.

"Why, Crowley?" Dean demanded. "Why? Why would you kill our sister, to get to us? Why not just send your minions straight for us? Why drag somebody else into it?"

"I'm I demon!" Crowley wailed, "It's what demons do!"

"I think I know why," Sam said quietly, a small smile on his face.

Crowley swallowed anxiously. "Because I'm a total arsehole, an utter bastard, and a scumbag demon who'd kill somebody for fun without thinking, right?" he said brightly.

"Well, that too," conceded Sam. "But what you have to understand, Fic, is that Crowley here is King of Hell. Which is to say, he's at the top of the heap." Crowley nodded eagerly. "But, having clawed his way to the top of the shitheap, wherever he looks, he's still surrounded by turds."

"Yes, yes I am," Crowley nodded again, "You wouldn't believe what I have to put up with, Sister, demons are the most ungrateful creatures, I work myself to the bone for them and what do I get? A complete lack of thanks or even respect..."

"It's true," Sam confirmed, "He's surrounded by idiots, assholes, scheming demonic nobility, utter bastards, and countless legions of Hell's inhabitants who barely tolerate him and would cheerfully see him reduced to a sulphurous little smear."

"I am a martyr to my job," sighed Crowley in a put-upon fashion.

"He runs the place, but at the end of the day, Hell is Hell," Sam went on. "It's not a nice place. And, well, Crowley here, avuncular, cuddly little Crowley, he's like the weird smart kid at school with no friends. I think he finds it lonely at the top." Sam couldn't contain his smirk. "I think, deep down underneath, he just wants somebody to talk to."

"Oh, yeah, he's got such a man-crush on Bobby," Dean laughed. "He turns up here, with single malt Scotch, and says he wants to educate Bobby's palate."

"Of course, Bobby just calls him 'idjit', and shoots him with Mark IX Anti-Demon rounds," Sam told Felicity, "And the dogs tear his clothes, and the gargoyles steal his ties and his phone and one of them pees holy water on him..."

"What cheeky little scamps they are," Crowley smiled through gritted teeth.

"But he keeps on trying," Sam continued. "Now, just think, one day, he stumbles across the fact that there's another Winchester, one born before John and Mary got married, and he thinks, hey, I remember hearing about this really interesting spell, what if Dean and Sam died in an accident, completely free of apparent demonic activity, what would happen with Bobby then?"

The evil grin on Felicity's face showed that she was following his line of reasoning. "Bobby would be devastated," she inferred. "Utterly, utterly devastated. Grief-stricken. Inconsolable."

"Totally. But," he turned back to Crowley. "He wouldn't really be all alone, would he? He'd have his 'friend' Crowley – who had absolutely nothing to do with the tragic deaths – at the ready to step up, and offer consoling company, give him a shoulder to cry on, and very good quality booze for a sad and lonely old man to drown his sorrows. And who knows, maybe, just maybe, that support would be enough to convince Bobby to reciprocate with, well, if not friendship, maybe at least a lessening of the utter loathing and despising. And who knows, even against the odds, a sad, lonely demon might cling to the faint hope that with time, luck, and a lot of single malt, bromance might blossom…"

Dean's mouth opened and shut a couple of times. "Crowley," he announced, "Even for a demon, you are a scheming, immoral asshat."

"Why, thank you, dear boy," Crowley smirked momentarily. "It was a joke!" he added hurriedly when he saw Bobby's expression. "It was a joke!"

"You," breathed Bobby, "You were gonna kill my boys... and my girl, here... just to try to get me to be your friend?"

"Let's not take this as an indication of the depth of my evilness, Bobby," Crowley smiled worriedly, "Let's look at it as an indication of just how highly I value your intelligent, engaging and fascinating company..."

"You wanted to kill my brothers," said Felicity quietly.

"Um," Crowley said, "Er, yes. Sorry."

"You only wanted me so you could kill them without being found out," she added.

"Er, yes?" Crowley agreed tentatively.

With a face like thunder, she walked across the trap towards the demon.

"Hey, Fic," Dean called in alarm, "That's not a good idea, he's still a demon, and a powerful one..."

Felicity stood toe to toe with Crowley. "You vicious, cowardly, pissant little Limey shit," she hissed at him.

"Er, well, guilty as charged," he offered sheepishly. "Look, dear lady, all I can say is..."

She hauled off and hit him as hard as she could.

To the surprise of everybody, Crowley went down like a sack of potatoes.

He clambered to his feet, a look of surprise on his face. "You shouldn't be able to do that," he told her in disbelief. That..." he put a hand to his jaw in bewilderment. "That... that really hurt..."

"Interesting," mused Bobby.

"Working like a blessed weapon?" theorised Dean.

"Sanctified and consecrated to God," nodded Sam, "And, apparently, effective against demons."

"That's for trying to bleed me out!" Felicity shouted at Crowley, then pistoned her knee into his groin as hard as she could, which made him fold up into a squeaking, gasping pile. "And that's for your scumbag underlings possessing Sister Agnes and Sister Lucia!" she yelled at him.

The menfolk watched in bemusement as she pulled a small jar of yellow liquid from her apron, opened it, and upended it over Crowley. He began to steam, and writhe in agony.

"And THAT'S FOR MESSING WITH MY LITTLE BROTHERS!" she thundered at him, giving him a final kick.

"You shouldn't be able to do that!" he moaned breathily, a sob starting in his throat as the steam spat and hissed from him, "Sister, please... you're a nun!"

She turned back to face him, and her expression was something he hoped he'd never face again...

"I'M A FUCKING NOVICE!" she roared, before stalking off.

"Yup," grinned Bobby, "She's definitely a Winchester."

"Owwwwww," wailed Crowley, clutching at his jaw and his groin, "Oh, she hurt me, Bobby, she hurt me..."

"Good," humphed Bobby. "I'm only disappointed that I can't do the same."

Crowley gazed at him miserably. "You don't mean that, really?" he pleaded.

Bobby considered the matter. "Nope, I guess I don't," he conceded.

"I knew it!" Crowley smiled a brave, wobbly little smile, "I knew that really, deep down inside, you..."

"What I really would rather do is just kill you outright," Bobby snapped. Crowley's face fell. "If it wasn't for the fact that you are the only think keepin' order in Hell, I would cheerfully stand back and let these two stab you with their demon blades."

Sam smiled angelically, and Dean gave Crowley a little wave.

"There are days, Bobby," sniffled Crowley, "There are days, darling, when I'm feeling particularly down, that I think that if somebody assassinated me, you wouldn't lift a finger to do anything about it."

"Now, you know that's not true," Bobby said, "You know I'd adopt your dog. She's such an adorable little thing, aint ya, Gedda?" The Hellpoodle grinned doggily at Bobby, and butted against his leg for more pats.

"Et tu, Gedda," sighed Crowley. "I don't know what I've ever done to deserve the disdain you heap so callously upon me," insisted the King of Hell, his bottom lip wibbling.

"Ha! How long have you got?" asked Bobby snidely. "So, Your Majesty, my suggestion to you is that you get the hell off my property, and stay the hell off my property. Because if I see you again," he lowered his voice, "I will give you both barrels with the mark IX Anti Demon ammo, just on general principles. And if you ever, ever, come after my boys – or my girl – again, you or your minions, I will Hunt you, and I will end you, do you hear me, you asshole?"

"Bobby..." Crowley pleaded.

"I will come after you with salt, holy water, consecrated iron, half a dozen weapons you don't even know I got, and a minibus full of elderly nuns of dubious continence!" Bobby barked. "Now, get the hell out, before I change my mind about lettin' you off so lightly."

"Lightly?" Crowley was indignant. "Lightly? You call that getting off lightly? She broke my jaw, and tried to set me on fire, and next time I sing in the shower, I shall definitely be an octave higher!"

Bobby picked up the shotgun he'd left close to hand. "Out," he growled. "Now."

"Bobby, love, this has all been a terrible, terrible misunderstanding," tried Crowley.

Bobby cocked the gun. "One," he said.

"In fact, I'm having second thoughts!" Crowley yelped. "Life really would be no fun without Rocky and Bullwinkle to make things interesting!"

Bobby raised the muzzle. "Two," he counted.

"And they give me something to frighten the youngsters in the Lower Circles with!" Crowley offered. "Behave, children, I say, or one day, the Winchesters will creep into your cave, and snatch you from your rack, and drag you away and eat you all up!"

"Two and a half."

"You could just exorcise me, you know," suggested Crowley, "You have such an impressive speaking voice, darling, real authority and gravitas, such polished classical pronunciation, it's just such a relief to be banished by an educated man for a change. I could listen to you exorcise all day, so to speak..."

"Two and three quarters..."

"Talk holy to me, Bobby!" squeaked Crowley.

"THREE!"

Bobby pulled the trigger. Both barrels of Mark IX Anti-Demon ammo discharged, but Crowley was gone. A wailing column of smoke speared away back down into the ground. Somehow, the wailing noise managed to sound mournful.

Bobbyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy yyyyyy...

"Idjit," muttered Bobby.

"I could almost feel sorry for him," chortled Dean. "No, I don't."

"It's kinda satisfying to know that, even for the King of Hell, Hell is, well, hellish," opined Sam.

"It's self inflicted, and I got no sympathy," griped Bobby, bending down to pat Gedda again. "You better go with him," he told her, "He's feeling a bit down, and probably wants some company. Go on, go do the unconditional dog love thing." She barked happily a couple of times, chased her tail, then sprang away, a happy little streak of white smoke whizzing after the larger black one.

"So, job done," Dean said. "Bad guy identified, convent break-ins derailed, evil spell thwarted, Crowley gone crying back home, happy ending, roll credits, fade to black. Which means we can now concentrate on finding another way to break my curse."

"What curse?" asked Bobby.

"I'll, uh, just go see if Fic needs, needs, yeah," said Sam hurriedly, leaving the room. They heard the back door open, and bang shut.

"You know, my chastity curse," Dean went on. "You helped Sam to figure out a fix for it. Well, you gotta come up with something else."

"Huh?" queried Bobby, scratching his head.

"Look, I've tried the whole outwardly chaste for 24 hours thing," Dean told him, "I really have, but it's just beyond the capacity of the Living Sex God. Going without has been difficult enough, but not even talking about it? Not even hinting? Seriously, there's gotta be another way to break it."

"You feelin' okay, Dean?" Bobby asked in a worried tone. "Sam never called me about any curse – I didn't hear from him before he called to say you'd found Fic."

"But..." Dean blinked. "The curse on me..."

"Son," Bobby replied, "I thought we'd talked about this. It was a just damaged muscle in your leg. Deeper tissues take longer to heal. It should be well and truly okay by now."

"But... Sam said..."

"There was no curse, Dean," Bobby rolled his eyes, "It was all in your imagination, ya idjit."

"Then..." Dean's expression went from confusion to anger. "Excuse me, Bobby," he said politely, heading the way Sam had gone, "I just gotta go take care of something... FRANCIS!"

...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...

"They often do this?" asked Felicity.

"Yup," Bobby sighed, as they watched Sam and Dean wrestle on the ground in the yard. Jimi watched on, tail wagging, barking encouragement to both of them. "Since they were big enough to argue."

"You bitch!" yelled Dean, getting Sam into a headlock, "You told me I was cursed!"

"You told yourself you were cursed!" Sam yelled back, elbowing Dean in the ribs, "And I'll take any opportunity to get you to shut up about sex for a few days, you jerk!"

"I've been deprived, Sam, deprived, because of your sick joke!" yowled Dean, grabbing Sam's arm and twisting. "The Living Sex God has been deprived!"

"Depraved, Dean, you're depraved!" snapped Sam, throwing his weight backwards. "The word you're looking for is depraved!"

"Okay, that's enough, guys," suggested Felicity. "Big sister is calling time."

"He's a bitch!" shouted Dean, punching Sam's kidneys.

"Oof! He's a jerk!" Sam yelled, driving the back of his head into his brother's solar plexus.

"Well, you can be a bitch and a jerk without beating the crap out of each other," she said, stepping in and reaching down. "Come on, enough."

"Back off, cow!" growled Dean, kicking out at her.

"Yeah, back off, harpy!" agreed Sam, slapping her arm away.

"Ohhh, you little shits," she snarled. "You are so dead!" She reached down, and gave Sam's arm a good yank.

"Ow!" he wailed.

"Shut it, little brother!" she snapped, dodging his punch, "I said, that's enou – oof!" Dean's leg shot out, and took hers from under her. "Right, you dick, you asked for it..."

Bobby stood and watched for a while, then went back inside. In his experience, when Winchesters started wrestling it out, the best thing to do was let them get it out of their systems. It sounded like the start of a joke, he mused; a tall guy, a ladies' man and a nun get into a wrestling match...

He headed to the kitchen to pour himself another coffee, smiling contentedly to himself. The sun was shining, the birds were singing...

"Cow!"

"Dick!"

"Bitch!"

"Jerk!"

"Sissy!"

"Harpy!"

"Whuff!"

... and the sounds from the yard confirmed that, just then, things were as normal as they ever got, Castiel was in his Heaven and all was right with the world.

Dean and Sam dangle in the net over the wading pool full of jello

Dean and Sam: Aaaaaaaaaargh!

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Dean and Sam: AAAAAAAAAARGH!