Deal
Title: Deal
Author: Sara Ellison
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Bobby/Crowley, incidental Dean/Crowley and Sam/Crowley
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 7x10 "Death's Door"
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warnings: Language, allusions to canon character death, crack
Summary: Crowley makes really good deals. King of the Crossroads, remember?
Author's notes: I'm still writing my Cas fix-it fic, but this is the Bobby fix-it. This isn't one of my serious ships but...
"Evening, boys."
They're both on their feet, weapons drawn, before the final syllable fades from the air. "The fuck do you want?" Dean snarls as Sam, predictably, slashes at the intruder with the demon-killing blade.
Crowley dodges the attack casually, falling back to lean against the wall just inside the motel room's door. "Really, Sam, is that any way to greet a guest?"
"You're not a guest, we sure as hell didn't ask you to darken our doorstep," Sam snaps back.
Dean narrows his eyes. There's something off about Crowley. For one, he didn't address Sam by some ridiculous epithet like "giraffe" or "Gigantor." And his habitual smug grin doesn't seem to quite reach his eyes. Dean can't quite bring himself to care, though, about the demon who, when it comes down to it, was responsible for Castiel's demise. He doesn't have time for this. "Tells us what you want, or get out," he snaps.
"I would have thought you two would want to make a deal," Crowley says mildly. While still cordial, his smile has faded even more, and he looks almost tired.
Sam blinks at him. "You're coming to us and asking to make a deal? Doesn't it usually happen the other way around?"
"Usually," the demon agrees, "but I think you may have noticed, there isn't a lot of usual happening these days."
"Sorry, but," Dean interrupts, "what is it we're meant to be wanting from you? You haven't told us anything about this deal you seem so eager to make."
Crowley's face darkens. The Winchesters have seen him angry before, but rarely directed at them, and Dean is glad this isn't one of those infrequent occasions. Dean can see Crowley working to get his wrath under control before he answers, forcedly calm. "Bobby."
Sam frowns at him in confusion. "You're offering to bring Bobby back? In exchange for what?"
"Does it matter?" Dean snaps at him.
"Er, yes," Sam answers. "I'm not exactly ready to go back to Hell just yet, if it's all the same to you."
"If you'll be so kind as to shut up," Crowley interrupts their incessant bickering. "I don't want your souls. The deal is this. I bring Bobby back to you, whole and intact, just the way he was, pre-bullet to the brain. In return, you two bozos stay the fuck out of my way while I give that bastard Dick Roman what's coming to him."
Sam and Dean exchange raised-eyebrow looks. "All right," Sam says, but Dean shakes his head.
"How about you sweeten the deal," Dean says. "Whatever you do to Dick, make it extremely painful for him. And when you're done, kill him."
Crowley smiles sardonically. "Didn't I just say I'd give him what's coming to him? Don't worry your pretty little head, I'll take care of everything."
"Wait," Sam says suddenly, and Dean nearly punches him. "Wait a second. What's the catch, here? It seems like a win-win for us, and when shit seems too good to be true, it usually is."
"It's also a win-win for me," Crowley points out. "Look, there are rules, or I wouldn't even bother making a deal, I'd just do it."
"What do you mean, rules?" Dean demands.
Crowley rolls his eyes. "I mean I'm not an angel. I can't just go around resurrecting people, unless I make a deal. Not even being King of Hell gives me that kind of autonomy. So would you two just kiss me already so I can get on with it?"
The glance that passes between the Winchesters now is awkward and a little sheepish.
"Don't tell me you forgot about the whole sealing-the-deal part," Crowley says, smirking. "Come on. Do you want your precious Bobby back, or not?"
"Hang on," Dean says, "this deal doesn't even involve any souls. There's hardly even anything supernatural about it, we're just agreeing to let you do what you want to do. Why does there have to be saliva involved?"
Crowley winces. "I may have left out one or two tiny details."
Sam draws himself up to loom threateningly at Crowley. "Tell us," he growls. "Now."
"Well," Crowley begins, "remember when I said I didn't want your souls?"
Dean does try to punch him now, and Crowley ducks and vanishes, appearing again behind Sam, as though the larger brother is willing to act as a meatshield for him. Instead, Sam turns and makes a grab for Crowley, who vanishes again and appears behind Dean. "Stop!" he yelps. "Let me finish! I don't want your souls."
The two boys stop swinging fruitlessly at him and settle for glaring murderously. "Then what?" Sam snarls.
"In order for the deal to work, to give me the power to bring Bobby back, there needs to be an exchange of souls." He hastily holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not actually going to take them! It just needs to be in the contract, which I promise I will tear up as soon as I've resurrected the old bastard."
Dean's eyes narrow. "I don't believe you."
"I swear," Crowley says. "Cross my heart."
"He did let Bobby out of their deal," Sam points out.
"After we threatened to burn his bones," Dean retorts.
"You did burn my bones," Crowley counters. "Boys, listen. I don't want your souls. They're both so damaged they'd be more trouble than they're worth. All I want is for you to let me bring Bobby back, so would you please just stop stalling and--"
Dean grabs him by the back of the neck and mashes his lips against the demon's. "There," he spits, wiping his mouth on the back of the sleeve. "Deal's made. Go do it."
Crowley smiles sweetly at him. "Why, thank you, darling," he coos. "That was lovely. But I need a kiss from your brother, too. The deal's with both of you." He bats his eyelashes at Sam.
Sam, for his part, stands stock-still, staring from Crowley to his brother as though he's just witnessed the most horrifying thing ever. Given his experiences in Hell, Dean doubts that an awkward gay kiss even counts anywhere near...oh. Shit. "Sammy," Dean says quietly, urgently, "you okay?"
Sam blinks, and his left hand clenches into a fist, digging his fingernails into the shiny pink scar that crosses his palm. "Yeah," he mutters. "Fine." He shakes his head as though dispelling fog and steps hesitantly toward Crowley.
The demon closes the distance between them and reaches up to gently pull Sam's head down. As their lips meet, Crowley's hands slide into Sam's hair, carding through the long strands. It's weirdly tender and goes on a little too long and Dean is starting to get really uncomfortable, so he clears his throat. "Guys," he says, and thinks better of suggesting they get a room because he's a little bit afraid they might actually do it.
They break apart and Sam looks a little dazed, but not the way he looks when he's staring at things no one else can see. He looks surprised, and almost pleased, but in a confused way as though he's not sure why he's happy.
"All right?" Crowley says, and Sam nods. "All right." And he's gone.
Dean shudders. "Worst kiss ever," he declares. "He was all stubbly. Ugh."
"Tell me about it," says a dry voice from the doorway. They turn as one to find Bobby standing there, Crowley next to him with his arms draped over Bobby's shoulders. Bobby glares at the boys. "Idjits. What'd you do, sell your souls again?"
"It's only a loan, sweetums," Crowley purrs at him. Incongruously, he nuzzles at the side of Bobby's head like a cat. Bobby gives a shrug as though trying to shake him off, but Crowley is unshakeable. "Only to give me the power to bring you back." He frees one arm long enough to snap his fingers. "There, see? Full ownership of your souls has been returned to you."
Sam and Dean glance down at themselves just in time to see the last of blood-red lettering vanishing from their visible skin. Dean feels palpably lighter, and glances at his brother to find Sam grinning--at him, at Bobby, even at Crowley. Dean blinks, then Sam is charging headlong at Bobby, knocking Crowley out of the way to envelop Bobby in a bone-crushing hug. Maybe there is something to Crowley's idea about Sam being a moose, Dean thinks, but he follows and hugs Bobby too. "Glad to have you back, man," he mutters, understatement of the year but everyone knows what he means.
Epilogue: One Week Later
"So I've been feeling great," Sam says, too casually, slumping in his seat.
Dean's head snaps up to stare across the greasy diner table at him, narrow-eyed. "And?" he presses.
"And nothing!" Sam answers with an expansive gesture that takes up the entire booth. "Since Bobby came back, but it's more than that. I haven't had any nightmares since then, no hallucinations, nothing."
"So what are you saying?" Dean demands.
"I'm saying, I think I'm..." Sam gestures, his hand near his temple. "Fixed."
"You mean, your wall? How?"
Sam shrugs. "I don't know. It doesn't feel like when my wall was up--there's nothing blocked off. I can remember Hell, it just...it doesn't hurt anymore, like I'm, I dunno, better adjusted? And like I said, I haven't been hallucinating..."
Dean frowns and mutters, "Crowley. He must have done something to you when he brought Bobby back."
Sam's eyes widen. "When he kissed me!" Heads turn, and Sam ducks his head and belatedly lowers his voice. "That's when I started feeling better."
"Why, though? Why would he fix you? It wasn't part of the deal."
"He fixed Bobby's legs," Sam points out. "Maybe he was just being nice."
"Maybe he thought you were a good kisser," Dean posits in return, and Sam steals a French fry off Dean's plate just to fling it back at him.
Author: Sara Ellison
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Bobby/Crowley, incidental Dean/Crowley and Sam/Crowley
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 7x10 "Death's Door"
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warnings: Language, allusions to canon character death, crack
Summary: Crowley makes really good deals. King of the Crossroads, remember?
Author's notes: I'm still writing my Cas fix-it fic, but this is the Bobby fix-it. This isn't one of my serious ships but...
"Evening, boys."
They're both on their feet, weapons drawn, before the final syllable fades from the air. "The fuck do you want?" Dean snarls as Sam, predictably, slashes at the intruder with the demon-killing blade.
Crowley dodges the attack casually, falling back to lean against the wall just inside the motel room's door. "Really, Sam, is that any way to greet a guest?"
"You're not a guest, we sure as hell didn't ask you to darken our doorstep," Sam snaps back.
Dean narrows his eyes. There's something off about Crowley. For one, he didn't address Sam by some ridiculous epithet like "giraffe" or "Gigantor." And his habitual smug grin doesn't seem to quite reach his eyes. Dean can't quite bring himself to care, though, about the demon who, when it comes down to it, was responsible for Castiel's demise. He doesn't have time for this. "Tells us what you want, or get out," he snaps.
"I would have thought you two would want to make a deal," Crowley says mildly. While still cordial, his smile has faded even more, and he looks almost tired.
Sam blinks at him. "You're coming to us and asking to make a deal? Doesn't it usually happen the other way around?"
"Usually," the demon agrees, "but I think you may have noticed, there isn't a lot of usual happening these days."
"Sorry, but," Dean interrupts, "what is it we're meant to be wanting from you? You haven't told us anything about this deal you seem so eager to make."
Crowley's face darkens. The Winchesters have seen him angry before, but rarely directed at them, and Dean is glad this isn't one of those infrequent occasions. Dean can see Crowley working to get his wrath under control before he answers, forcedly calm. "Bobby."
Sam frowns at him in confusion. "You're offering to bring Bobby back? In exchange for what?"
"Does it matter?" Dean snaps at him.
"Er, yes," Sam answers. "I'm not exactly ready to go back to Hell just yet, if it's all the same to you."
"If you'll be so kind as to shut up," Crowley interrupts their incessant bickering. "I don't want your souls. The deal is this. I bring Bobby back to you, whole and intact, just the way he was, pre-bullet to the brain. In return, you two bozos stay the fuck out of my way while I give that bastard Dick Roman what's coming to him."
Sam and Dean exchange raised-eyebrow looks. "All right," Sam says, but Dean shakes his head.
"How about you sweeten the deal," Dean says. "Whatever you do to Dick, make it extremely painful for him. And when you're done, kill him."
Crowley smiles sardonically. "Didn't I just say I'd give him what's coming to him? Don't worry your pretty little head, I'll take care of everything."
"Wait," Sam says suddenly, and Dean nearly punches him. "Wait a second. What's the catch, here? It seems like a win-win for us, and when shit seems too good to be true, it usually is."
"It's also a win-win for me," Crowley points out. "Look, there are rules, or I wouldn't even bother making a deal, I'd just do it."
"What do you mean, rules?" Dean demands.
Crowley rolls his eyes. "I mean I'm not an angel. I can't just go around resurrecting people, unless I make a deal. Not even being King of Hell gives me that kind of autonomy. So would you two just kiss me already so I can get on with it?"
The glance that passes between the Winchesters now is awkward and a little sheepish.
"Don't tell me you forgot about the whole sealing-the-deal part," Crowley says, smirking. "Come on. Do you want your precious Bobby back, or not?"
"Hang on," Dean says, "this deal doesn't even involve any souls. There's hardly even anything supernatural about it, we're just agreeing to let you do what you want to do. Why does there have to be saliva involved?"
Crowley winces. "I may have left out one or two tiny details."
Sam draws himself up to loom threateningly at Crowley. "Tell us," he growls. "Now."
"Well," Crowley begins, "remember when I said I didn't want your souls?"
Dean does try to punch him now, and Crowley ducks and vanishes, appearing again behind Sam, as though the larger brother is willing to act as a meatshield for him. Instead, Sam turns and makes a grab for Crowley, who vanishes again and appears behind Dean. "Stop!" he yelps. "Let me finish! I don't want your souls."
The two boys stop swinging fruitlessly at him and settle for glaring murderously. "Then what?" Sam snarls.
"In order for the deal to work, to give me the power to bring Bobby back, there needs to be an exchange of souls." He hastily holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not actually going to take them! It just needs to be in the contract, which I promise I will tear up as soon as I've resurrected the old bastard."
Dean's eyes narrow. "I don't believe you."
"I swear," Crowley says. "Cross my heart."
"He did let Bobby out of their deal," Sam points out.
"After we threatened to burn his bones," Dean retorts.
"You did burn my bones," Crowley counters. "Boys, listen. I don't want your souls. They're both so damaged they'd be more trouble than they're worth. All I want is for you to let me bring Bobby back, so would you please just stop stalling and--"
Dean grabs him by the back of the neck and mashes his lips against the demon's. "There," he spits, wiping his mouth on the back of the sleeve. "Deal's made. Go do it."
Crowley smiles sweetly at him. "Why, thank you, darling," he coos. "That was lovely. But I need a kiss from your brother, too. The deal's with both of you." He bats his eyelashes at Sam.
Sam, for his part, stands stock-still, staring from Crowley to his brother as though he's just witnessed the most horrifying thing ever. Given his experiences in Hell, Dean doubts that an awkward gay kiss even counts anywhere near...oh. Shit. "Sammy," Dean says quietly, urgently, "you okay?"
Sam blinks, and his left hand clenches into a fist, digging his fingernails into the shiny pink scar that crosses his palm. "Yeah," he mutters. "Fine." He shakes his head as though dispelling fog and steps hesitantly toward Crowley.
The demon closes the distance between them and reaches up to gently pull Sam's head down. As their lips meet, Crowley's hands slide into Sam's hair, carding through the long strands. It's weirdly tender and goes on a little too long and Dean is starting to get really uncomfortable, so he clears his throat. "Guys," he says, and thinks better of suggesting they get a room because he's a little bit afraid they might actually do it.
They break apart and Sam looks a little dazed, but not the way he looks when he's staring at things no one else can see. He looks surprised, and almost pleased, but in a confused way as though he's not sure why he's happy.
"All right?" Crowley says, and Sam nods. "All right." And he's gone.
Dean shudders. "Worst kiss ever," he declares. "He was all stubbly. Ugh."
"Tell me about it," says a dry voice from the doorway. They turn as one to find Bobby standing there, Crowley next to him with his arms draped over Bobby's shoulders. Bobby glares at the boys. "Idjits. What'd you do, sell your souls again?"
"It's only a loan, sweetums," Crowley purrs at him. Incongruously, he nuzzles at the side of Bobby's head like a cat. Bobby gives a shrug as though trying to shake him off, but Crowley is unshakeable. "Only to give me the power to bring you back." He frees one arm long enough to snap his fingers. "There, see? Full ownership of your souls has been returned to you."
Sam and Dean glance down at themselves just in time to see the last of blood-red lettering vanishing from their visible skin. Dean feels palpably lighter, and glances at his brother to find Sam grinning--at him, at Bobby, even at Crowley. Dean blinks, then Sam is charging headlong at Bobby, knocking Crowley out of the way to envelop Bobby in a bone-crushing hug. Maybe there is something to Crowley's idea about Sam being a moose, Dean thinks, but he follows and hugs Bobby too. "Glad to have you back, man," he mutters, understatement of the year but everyone knows what he means.
Epilogue: One Week Later
"So I've been feeling great," Sam says, too casually, slumping in his seat.
Dean's head snaps up to stare across the greasy diner table at him, narrow-eyed. "And?" he presses.
"And nothing!" Sam answers with an expansive gesture that takes up the entire booth. "Since Bobby came back, but it's more than that. I haven't had any nightmares since then, no hallucinations, nothing."
"So what are you saying?" Dean demands.
"I'm saying, I think I'm..." Sam gestures, his hand near his temple. "Fixed."
"You mean, your wall? How?"
Sam shrugs. "I don't know. It doesn't feel like when my wall was up--there's nothing blocked off. I can remember Hell, it just...it doesn't hurt anymore, like I'm, I dunno, better adjusted? And like I said, I haven't been hallucinating..."
Dean frowns and mutters, "Crowley. He must have done something to you when he brought Bobby back."
Sam's eyes widen. "When he kissed me!" Heads turn, and Sam ducks his head and belatedly lowers his voice. "That's when I started feeling better."
"Why, though? Why would he fix you? It wasn't part of the deal."
"He fixed Bobby's legs," Sam points out. "Maybe he was just being nice."
"Maybe he thought you were a good kisser," Dean posits in return, and Sam steals a French fry off Dean's plate just to fling it back at him.