Bobby Singer Needs More (Supernatural)
Title: Bobby Singer Needs More
Fandom: Supernatural
Prompt: Trust
Medium: Fanfiction
Size/length: 963
Summary: Crowley always returns his toys, you just have to wait for him to be finished with them.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Bobby/Crowley
Content Notes: None.
AO3
"I wondered when you'd be calling." Crowley looked at the edge of the Devil's Trap. "You know you really don't need that." He raised an eyebrow. "Unless you're into bondage."
"No dammit." Bobby put his hands on his desk. "I want my soul back."
"And you'll get it." Crowley glanced at the trap again. "Can we do this later? I have things to do, people to torture, deals to make."
Bobby produced a knife from his vest pocket. "You really have somewhere more important to be?"
Crowley rolled his eyes and sighed. "We've talked about this. You'll get your soul back when I'm done with it. I'm not quite finished."
"And what? You're a demon and your word is your bond and I should take you on it?" Bobby groused, but he tucked the blade back into his clothes.
"It is." Crowley moved closer to the edge of the paint forming the trap. "C'mon Bobby. Surely you've got better things to do than watch me stand here all day."
"I need my damn soul back Crowley." Bobby knelt and scratched away enough of the paint, scuffing his floor underneath it.
"Yeah, yeah. Don't call me, I'll call you." Crowley stepped over the line of paint and disappeared.
Crowley didn't show that night or the next. Bobby scrapped the Devil's Trap off his floor and painted a new one on the ceiling. It wasn't good enough to just repaint the area he'd scraped clean, for some reason a broken trap couldn't be repaired.
He hadn't forgotten about Crowley, after all the man owned his soul, but the King of Hell was in the back of his mind when he woke up a week later to a whisper and hot breath on his ear.
"Karen?" Bobby rolled over, still in a blissful, half-asleep state.
"Sure sweetheart."
The deep British voice startled him to wakefulness.
"Crowley!"
"I thought it was Karen now." The King of Hell was relaxed and posed on his bed in a silky looking robe.
Bobby shook his head and grabbed his hat from his side table. "I told you Crowley, I'm not doing this anymore. Go get your back scratched somewhere else."
Crowley produced a shiny suitcase from thin air. "You know you love me." He purred, beckoning Bobby back to bed. "Sit down, open your mouth."
"I'm done with these games." Bobby sat down on the bed, but he going to pull his boots on, in a minute.
"Sure you are. We both know you like them." Crowley slid one of the clasps open on his fancy briefcase. A bright light shined out from it, spilling into the room. He undid the other clasp and the light exploded from its prison.
Bobby didn't remember what happened after that. There was a blur, a blackness in his memory and the next thing he remembered was Crowley stroking his cheek.
"Was that-"
"Your soul?" Crowley sounded bored, but Bobby could sense a deeper level of hurt beneath his snarky tone. "No, it was Jack the Ripper's."
Bobby frowned at that. He may have been new to his whole soul trading business personally, but he'd done a pile of research for Sam [back in season 3] and Jack the Ripper's soul in his body, it just didn't work that way.
"You got me." Crowley lifted his free hand off of Bobby's face. "It's not Jack the Ripper's."
"Thank you." Bobby lifted his head just high enough to press his lips to Crowley's.
"I told you I'd give it back when I was done with it." Crowley pressed his fingers to Bobby's chest.
"Just needed to mark it up a little while I had the chance."
"What'd you do to my soul?" Bobby asked. "Should I be worried about where I'll end up?"
Crowley shrugged. "Only if we're having a fight you lumberjack." His fingers pressed inside Bobby's chest, just a little bit. It didn't feel bad, maybe a little bit odd, and then something inside of him jumped, his heart raced and it felt like something inside of him was pounding on his ribcage.
"It remembers Papa."
"Are you talkin' to my soul?" Bobby complained. "The rest of me is around now and I don't get much from weird ass finger dipping."
"Bobby Singer's a real man. He needs more." Crowley's voice was serious and straight laced at the beginning, but by the end his fake advertisement voice was gone and he was chuckling into Bobby's ancient pillows.
"So I take it my soul's going to you."
"Oh yes. We'll have so much fun together. You'll enjoy it to." Crowley pulled his fingers out and caught Bobby's gaze. "Once your body isn't around, you're a lot more aware of your soul."
"Well I'm holding onto it for the next couple of years."
"Your soul or your body?"
Bobby shrugged, difficult from his prone position. "Both of 'em, if I can."
"I'll always give your soul back." Crowley moved his hand back to Bobby's chest, just resting it over his heart his time, on the outside of his chest.
"I know."
"Sometimes it takes a while. Bureaucracy."
"Bullshit."
"Probably."
"You just wanted to see it every night when you went to bed." Bobby undid the top button of his
pyjama top. "Now you've got to come here for that."
Crowley nodded and made short work of his own jacket, tie, and button down as Bobby shed his clothes. "It's your soul Bobby."
"I know." They were both naked now. "And I know you'll always give it back. I can share once and awhile."