Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"I'm impressed." He managed to say it with a steady, deep voice. The three demons behind him stared a hole into his skull, and Crowley wanted nothing more than to bash theirs in in exchange. The sudden smoldering anger surprised even himself, but he didn't have enough time to dwell on it.

His eyes scanned the hunter over and over again.

Singer sat motionless, limp in the chair he was tied to - his head hung low, his breathing hitched. He didn't have his signature cap on his head. His clothes were torn at the base of his left legs, dark burgundy blood dried in the material, it was probably from a monster.

"We managed to capture him on a hunt when he was with another hunter. He didn’t hear us, and we only needed to deal with his buddy."

That smug tone just inflamed his anger.

The King of Hell didn't answer.

The silence was only disturbed by the hunter's breathing.

Crowley took a step closer to Bobby; his eyes got caught on the blow on the hunter's head, the wound wasn't too deep, but it was bleeding just enough to stain the man's hair red.

Human body, it was so fragile, so weak - only one good hit on the skull and lights went out. One good cut, stab, or just a wrong step, and from then on it became unusable forever. Crowley didn't forget his old body, that miserable meat sack he had to live in, suffer in over the years. If anyone would ask him, being a demon was salvation. Sure, he was able to feel the pain, but he welcomed it for the last couple of decades, like an old friend. Besides he was able to heal the bodies he took over.

Singer, on the other hand, wasn't that lucky.

"Leave. I want to deal with him alone." He heard the shuffling behind him, but not steps. As he glanced over his shoulder his eyes darkened and so did his voice - the edge was sharp enough to cut. "Do I have to repeat myself?"

The three demons finally took a step back.

"No, sire."

They finally vanished.

Now alone, Crowley let himself think, and first he looked around in the rundown room.

The paint had worn off the walls, but the place had never looked particularly interesting or colorful. The hunter was dragged into an abandoned warehouse in a remote corner of Nebraska. The building had been vacant for years, and ownership had been constantly changing hands to those who needed such a place to complete certain transactions.

The walls were already covered in dirt, grime, and a few pitiful attempts at graffiti, it had no windows either. Perhaps it was once a janitorial room. It had been completely emptied by now, the only new thing there was the reinforced door behind the demon, locked.

So, this was Bobby Singer's cell.

The King of Hell took another step closer to the man and looked over his body. He saw a few cuts on his arms and one almost too close to his eyes. Deep red blood stuck to the side of his face, staining it.

After the apocalypse, and Lucifer - after everything had happened over the weeks and months. Crowley still couldn't get rid of the hunter from his thoughts. There weren't many people who were able to break the contract. One, only one man, the one who were sitting in front of him, unconscious.

What an ironic set up.

"Robert?" He leaned a bit closer, voice quieter than before. One of his hands rested on the hunter's shoulder. "If you can hear m--"

Bobby suddenly jerked up, his head hitting the King of Hell's nose with such force that a dull crack could be heard.

"Bloody hell!" Crowley staggered and pressed his hand to his throbbing nose.

"Get the hell away from me!" Growled Bobby deep and angry.

The demon could see the flame in his eyes, as he always did - that cut on his face just made it even more wild.

"You --" Crowley swallowed back a curse, one that would have raised even more question than explanations. Bobby Singer was a true hunter, he actually asked one question but still he would have shot any monster after. "It's nice to see you too, darling."

Another growl, but slightly less honest.

The hostile seconds became meaningless as they turned into awkward ones.

Bobby's breathing was difficult, he was sure that one of his ribs was at least cracked, his arms and shoulders felt as if they were burning and so did the cut next to his eyes.

"What do you want? Still being pissy about our deal?"

"Please." Crowley pulled out a red handkerchief from one of his pockets and cleaned the blood from his nose. "Let's call it an arrangement, it rather felt like a unsatisfied, sloppy one-night stand. Besides, it seems like you ran out of luck this time - the hunter became the hunted an etcetera." He threw the red silk into Singer's lap.

"You still only good at yapping, princess. You want to kill me, I want to kill you, so get over with it!"

Crowley's mouth twitched; he forced a smirk on his face. "Bobby, Bobby, Bobby. Neither of us is in such a hurry - Moose and Squirrel, the last time I've checked, is on the other side of the country, hunting a werewolf. No. You were actually a gift, and I'm going to enjoy opening you up."

Their eyes met, and for a quick second Crowley's mask cracked.

The deal was broken a few months ago - whatever they shared became broken on that day. Of course, the demon couldn't just give the hunter's soul back. He was the King of the bloody Hell after all. However, Singer was one of a kind, a man whom Crowley underestimated the moment he said no to him.

The second he left that smelly home he knew he made a mistake, not that he would ever admit to it. It wasn't like that anything they had ever could have worked.

Still, stealing someone's bones to blackmail him was a bit of an overreaction, wasn't it? And finally, he could have his revenge.

Crowley took a step back, and walked to the door.

"So? This is why you dragged me here? Just for a payback?" Singer narrowed his eyes, that familiar angry fire burned inside it, with which he looked at the demon a few months ago.

"Something like that." The King of hell looked back at him over his shoulder for a quick glance.

As the door closed, Bobby began to tighten the ropes holding his arms, trying to move his wrists up and down, hoping to find some small nail or sharper edge of wood that he could use to free himself. The only ray of hope was the hemp rope around his wrists; if he could somehow cut it, he might have a chance to escape. One of the advantages of such desolate places was that everything was a little rusty and damaged enough to be of use for an escapee.

However, there was no luck. Not a rugged edge to use - but that didn't mean that he just have gave up on escaping. There was no telling what kind of things Crowley planned for him after breaking a couple of his bones.

He shut out the pain from his body as much as he could, he had to live to have a chance at healing later. He needed to get out, everything else had to wait. Everything and everyone. Even his own bitter thoughts and feelings.

To his own surprise, he wasn't really scared - angry, and pissed? Yes. But not scared, not for his own life.

In the silence, he was still able to hear the werewolf, and the shots that rang around the dark forest. He was on a hunt with Rufus, they followed a couple of murder cases - bodies were found deep in the woods, their hearts torn out. A young werewolf was picking her victims, and despite her attempts to restrain herself, her hunger overcame her again and again.

They were chasing after it, Rufus was able to shoot the creature, the memory of the shot echoed inside his throbbing head.

The werewolf after failing to flee chose to fight, even though the shot only injured her shoulder, it also angered her sufficiently. She was quick but inexperienced in a fight, the hunters were lucky in that regard. After cornering her they were able to end her. Rufus' most serious injury was a scratch on his shoulder, which although looked nasty but was far from fatal. He himself got wounded on his left leg.

However, even after the fight, even after dealing with the werewolf they weren't alone in the forest - they couldn't even hear the demons. It was hard to tell when they showed up, or how long they were following them. He only heard that cocky laugh, then everything turned to dark.

He cursed under his nose and forced his focus back.

Once again, he looked around, but he didn't find anything useful. The room still was barren and cold. Too cold, to his liking. A shiver ran through his body - adrenaline slowly started to run out of his system and the fatigue already sat on his shoulders.

"Shit." He stretched his arms again, but it was no use. Not yet, at least.

If Rufus survived, he will let Dean and Sam know about it. If not --

Bobby's chin tensed and let out a painful sigh.

If not, the two kids will soon realize that he disappeared - not soon enough, he thought, a couple of days will have to go by, but they will do everything to find him.

So, he just needed to survive for a couple of days, while he was locked up with the God's damned King of Hell. His fingers turned white as he clenched his fists. He just needed to survive, and in the meantime to find a way out and save his energy.

One deep inhale then another heavy exhale. Slowly he lowered his shoulders and slightly adjusted his position in the chair.

Waiting, he fucking hated to wait.

Chapter Text

Hours went by, but Bobby mostly focused on his breathing while he let himself sank into half-sleep. He knew that even though he wouldn't able to let himself fully sleep, not voluntarily, his body still rested a bit and so did his mind. Only the coldness inside the room made his body tremble from time to time. And the blood loss didn't help either. He wasn't able to tell how much time went by, only his dull throbbing shoulders warned him that the longer he stayed like this, the more unpleasant the consequences will be.

Finally, the door opened again and the fresh chilly air poured inside.

And slowly he opened his eyes.

Two party carts were pushed in, one of which filled with familiar tools: knives, scalpels, and pliers. All polished clean and shiny. Ready for use.

Bobby swallowed back a nervous exhale.

Then he saw the second cart, on which laid a bottle of Craig scotch, two glasses, and a covered food tray waited.

At last, Crowley stepped inside the room. He didn't look at the hunter right away. He lazily glanced around the dilapidated room, unimpressed - like he just realized the abysmal state of the room he arrived to.

His minions put down a chair in front of the hunter then all of them left.

"Morning, darling." Chirped Crowley as he sat down. But there wasn't any answer. "You didn't sleep well, not fan of bondage, I assume?"

"So, this is it? You're here to take your revenge?"

"What makes you think that?" Seeing Bobby Singer being helpless gave him some satisfaction. However, some beating would never break a man like him. "Are you hungry?" He raised the metal lid, revealing the fragrant omelette underneath.

"Bite me."

"We will get to that." Answered the demon with a smile.

Bobby just rolled his eyes, but couldn't hold back the grumbling in his stomach. Gods know how long was the last time he ate?

"Come on, darling, don't be so reluctant." He cut a bite with a shiny fork and knife. "I think you're more a like hard-to-get kind of human."

"I'm not that stupid to accept food from a fucking demon." Bobby growled once again, ignoring the part of his brain that was taken over by hunger.

"Why? You think I'd poison you, when we have all the time on our hands?" Crowley brought the fork closer, and his voice changed. "Eat, before I cut pieces out of you and force feed you with them." It was maybe a bit much, thought the demon.

Bobby stared at him, his mouth twitched with the most hostile look in his eyes, but bit down on the food and took it from the fork.

It was necessary, Crowley was aware how hard headed Singer could be. "See? It wasn't so hard, was it?"

Bobby chewed on the food then spat it back on the demon's face with enough saliva so it stuck to his face. "Taste like shit."

For long seconds they were just looking at each other, and Crowley felt a headache starting to throb deep inside his skull.

Oh. This. Man.

Crowley took a scalpel between his three fingers; he moved much faster than Bobby could have reacted. The edge stopped just in front of his left eye.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Robert." The demon waited for the hunter to lean back, then rested the scalpel against the man's throat. "I'm going to say this only once." He put weight into his words, and his fingers slowly dragged the scalpel against the hunter's throat. "Eat."

He only nicked his skin, just a bit, but it made Singer wince.

"Why?" Murmured Bobby, looking right into the demon's eyes.

"Because I like play with my gifts - and besides, if you lose your strength before I'm done with you then I have to force feed you and that could get really ugly."

Singer's eyes narrowed, but he bit back the answer. When another piece of omelette was put to his lips, he accepted it and swallowed it after a few bites.

And again, they were just staring at each other - Crowley with a playful glint in his eyes, and in response Bobby tried to stab the demon with only his gaze. However, nothing else happened, Singer didn't start to choke, or vomit his stomach out.

Crowley didn't say anything, and yet the satisfaction could be read clearly from his face.

Another piece of omelette, and this time Bobby let himself taste the omelette. He hated that it was actually was really delicious.

They were sitting in silence like that, until the last piece of food was gone.

Singer gently shook his head, the warmth inside his stomach actually helped him think cleaner. He still felt the pain and cold, but at least he will have some strength. From the corner of his eyes, he glanced at the not-so-welcoming looking tray.

"By now all of Hell knows you've been caught." Hummed Crowley.

"What?" Bobby asked, surprised.

Because I needed to find a way to deal with mess, the demon thought, but instead of saying that he answered: "Because the demons who caught you wanted to feel really special and get a higher rank. I don't think I need to explain how much demons crave others to humble themselves before them."

"Demon celebrities?" The hunter scoffed.

"Demon middle managers, but yes. And besides, you have your reputation in Hell, just like the Winchesters do."

"Because I made a fool of you.”

Crowley licked his lips and couldn't hide that tiny smirk. "You made me look like a fool, yes. You should be proud."

"I am." Bobby once again glanced towards the scalpels. "So, this is why? This is what all this shit is about? A pity payback? How long have you been sending your minions to capture me?" He tried to put as much of a mocking tone into his words as he was able to.

There was a small pause, then Crowley just followed his eyes. "We will get to it, later. But first." He took the bottle and opened it.

Bobby scoffed. "Aged at least thirty years?"

A small smile played on the demon's lips. "So, you remember?"

"Hard to forget, how much you were bragging about when you were rampaged through my house for searching something drinkable."

"And yet you never got anything closely tasteful." Crowley wrinkled his nose, and the smile turned a bit more honest.

There were times, a few occasions when they weren't at each other's throat. After Moose fell into the pit with a heroic self-sacrifice, and Squirrel chose to have his own soon-to-be-tragic family, Crowley - time to time - showed up at Bobby's place. To drink for the win against Lucifer, to drink for the younger Winchester's loss, to drink just to not to be in Hell for a while.

Being the King of Hell had their quirks and perks, but dealing with even more demons were challenging. Like dealing with a bunch of insufferable, unimaginative idiots who followed orders like a bunch of insufferable unimaginative idiots would. At the beginning a lot of them died, they had to, this way the others would know how to behave, what to expect from their new ruler.

At first there were opportunities, challenges, but soon Crowley realized that he needed to get away from them, even just for a drink...with a hunter.

The King of Hell took two glasses and poured some alcohol for both of them.

"I'd say a toast and we could drink, but just letting one of your hands go could be very dangerous to my health."

"Fuck off." Singer rolled his eyes as he exhaled through his nose. "You must feel really bored if you're wasting your time here."

"Wasting? Oh no, I wouldn't say that. Hell works like a clockwork; they can function without me for a short period of time. Besides, all the higher-ranking demons think I'll kill you, which means I have to kill you." Because that's where this was all headed, right? Crowley licked his lips. "After the humiliation you caused to me, I can't just let you go. You brought this on yourself, if you'd just stayed under our contract, then they would have never dared to touch you. Instead, you made them reckless."

"Me? I made them reckless?!" Singer snorted so loud it echoed inside the room.

"Yes. That little ruckus made some echoes in Hell too - heads had fallen, and my scheming subordinates were replaced by new ones, ones that seems to be more ambitious and eager to please - three of them actually chose to catch you and drag you here, to show me their loyalty and devotion. They caught you, for me." Crowley raised one of the glasses. "But even more to state their ambition."

Bobby opened his mouth then closed - there was a chance that Crowley was lying, but he had to know that the hunter would never trust him again. Not after the whole soul-dealing thing. It never occurred to him that the demon himself wasn’t the one who sent his subordinates to him.

"You seem surprised, Robert." Crowley clicked his tongue. "Let me guess, you thought that I still held a grudge against you, after you slipped out from my fingers."

"That was the idea, yes." Bobby raised his eyebrows. "It's hard to believe that you aren't still pissed, after all the hissy fit you threw, back at my home about the contracts, and deals, and the piss poor management in Hell."

This time it was Crowley's turn to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

"What? I listened, sometimes." Bobby turned his head away.

"So you did, and here I thought I was just talking to those mouldy walls."

The hunter tried to shrug his shoulders, but the ropes barely allowed him to move, so he just muttered something under his breath.

"Then this one to those old days." Crowley rose the other glass and drank again.

"We talked; now can we get over the torture part?"

"Being eager, aren't we?"

"No, but at least I don't have to listen to your voice." Singer murmured again, and it almost sounded convincingly, almost.

The corner of Crowley's mouth curled up. A late-night memory flashed before his eyes, after a couple of glasses of alcohol both of them just sat in one of Bobby's armchairs. It was a quiet midnight, a foolish one where he became drunk with a hunter. He didn't remember what they were talking about - mostly monsters. But one moment stuck with him from that night.

"Really? Because if I remember correctly, you once told me that you're quite fond of my voice, Robert."

Bobby felt the faint blush spreading under his eyes, but decided to completely ignore it. The demon's soft chuckle sent a warm shiver down on his spine. He closed his eyes and just waited.

"Then let's get to the nasty part." Crowley pushed the food and drink cart aside, then pulled closer the one on which the selected tools were resting. For a couple of seconds, he didn't move - it was ironic how much he didn't want to do it. It felt meaningless, of course, he wanted to have revenge, some kind of payback, but as soon as he saw Singer's wounded body, he didn't feel any satisfaction. He didn't want a revenge like this.

On one hand letting the hunter go was out of question, on the other hand, however, killing him wouldn't accomplish anything. His soul didn't belong to Hell anymore. Which meant if Bobby Singer would have died, then they couldn't meet again. And that felt unacceptable, just the thought sent a cold pang deep inside the demon's chest.

"What are you waiting for?" Bobby's voice broke up the silence.

"Just gathering some thoughts." Crowley took a clean scalpel into his hand, as he glanced towards the hunter, their eyes met again.

Singer's gaze was challenging, he had the eyes of someone who had already lost a lot, buried to many friends and family, and while it broke him, he still didn't give up. He still had fight in him.

Crowley tore his eyes away, forcefully turned them towards the edge of the scalpel. "Let's get this over with." He lowered his voice. "If I were you, this time, I wouldn't hold my voice back." Deep down he hoped that the hunter could understand the meaning of his words.

Chapter Text

In the shady bar, 80s music was playing at the background just to break the silence. The smell of cheap beer and tobacco wafted around everything. It was one of those places where people just stop by to get something cheap and fast before they continued on their way. Places like these had the shadiest regulars, since they were almost always open.

Sam Winchester grimaced as he ate his last piece of fried potato wedge, it wasn't the best. Hell, it wasn’t even 'fine', but he was far too hungry to be picky. He wiped the oil from his finger into his napkin.

Across from him, his brother, Dean, was happily devouring the rest of his cheeseburger, like there was no tomorrow. After a big swallow he glanced up at Sam, licking the grease down from his fingers. "I tell you, Sammy, this is heaven."

The younger Winchester just scoffed before answering. "Yeah, I haven't heard that at least a thousand times from you when eating food like this. Heaven full of fat, and grease."

"Exactly, it's not my fault that there a bunch of good places with amazing burgers."

Sam just glanced at his brother, but didn't even try to argue. Instead he raised a hand to one of the waitresses. Like in most of these bars, the waitresses were pretty, with a bit open blouse, and charming smile - the kind that could easily persuade a wanderer to order a little more drinks and food than they originally wanted.

"Let's just pay for the food and beer then get back to the motel. I still can feel the dirt on my hands." Murmured Sam, and he was still able to smell the coffin - he hated how used to it he got.

Dean just nodded this time; his attention was focused on one of the woman’s sitting at the bar.

"Hey, dude," Sam waved his hand in front of his brother's face. "Come on, man. We need to sleep --"

"Yes, me too, but I think I won't sleep alone. How do I look?"

"Like someone who just dug up a body then salted and torched it, and after that tried to cover the grave again, stepped on the slippery leaves and almost fell into the hole." Answered Sam with a small satisfied smile - the memory will stay with him for the rest of his life.

Dean was about to answer when his phone started to ring.

"We're not done yet!" Said his brother with a sour face, as soon as he saw the caller his eyes narrowed. "Yes, what is it, Rufus?" He said picking it up.

Sam sat up straight, and quickly paid for their dinner to the waitress with the kind smile, giving her enough that he was sure she would leave them alone.

"What? What do you mean they got him?" Dean's voice deepened as he furrowed his brow. "All right, right. Give me the address." He motioned to his brother and quickly grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. “Yes. We're leaving now. Yeah, you too take care and wait for us." Dean shoved his phone back to his pocket and looked at Sam, then at the address he had written.

"What happened?" Sam was able to tell that he won't like the answer.

"It was Rufus, he was hooking up with a werewolf with Bobby. Something happened, they got hit, and demons got Bobby."

The knife fell with a dull clank into the metal tray, joining its bloody companions.

Bobby drew a harsh breath; his body was covered with cuts and bruises now. Most of his clothes were now crimson, his face twitching with every breath. His previous injuries seemed to matter little now, except perhaps the broken rib. Yet, he still was alive, and still was staring at the demon in front of him.

Crowley rubbed most of the blood down from his hands with a rag, his eyes focused on the tray.

"Are you done?" Singer murmured. He was tired, he was losing some blood, but not close enough to bleed out yet.

The demon's gaze swept over the man's body. Few of the cuts were still bleeding, but he made sure not to cut too deep - after all he was the master of torture, not a brute residing in hell like Alastair was who just tortured souls. The King of hell knew a lot of tricks to keep someone alive for a long time. And he knew that none of those cuts damaged anything important. Even when he was punching the man in the face, he made sure to miss his eyes or nose. If he had the chance, the hunter would have been able to rest for a few days from the injuries he suffered here.

"We're done, for now. Kudos for holding back your voice, Robert."

"Go to Hell, you sick fuck."

"Oh, already back to flirting? I know you can handle a lot, darling." Purred Crowley with a smirk, but it didn't reach his eyes. "But, you're right, I need to go for a while, business can't wait forever after all."

Bobby tried to straighten up, but his body winced and reminded him to stay put, for a while at least.

The demon watched him; his thoughts raced with each other. The hunter should not have been so exhausted; the fight with the werewolf have used up his body and strength more than he thought.

Singer was breathing through his teeth, trying to get a hold of his shaking body. The blood loss, the punches, and the cuts, his adrenalin have shot up during it, and it started to drain from his body, leaving it shaking and hurting.

"Fuck you."

Crowley took a step closer and looked down at him. He was standing right in front of him now.

"Did you have your fucking fun?" Bobby's face trembled. He still didn't let the fear take over - anger, oh yeah, it smouldered deep inside of him. But not fear, he couldn't afford to be scared.

Crowley on the other hand felt empty. He should have been pleased with his work, after all he was able to keep the hunter alive. But the next step was a mystery even for him. Neither of them could go like this for too long.

Bobby eyes wouldn't budge, that fiery gaze just stared at him with anger deep inside it, and Crowley couldn't help but enjoyed being in the centre of his attention.

Without thinking he slowly reached out, and took Singer's face into one of his hands, carefully stroking the man's cheek under his eyes, drawing a small circle with his finger.

The sudden gentleness froze Bobby, for a second, he forgot to breathe and the anger turned into pure confusion.

As fast the moment came it went away just as quickly, and the King of Hell just snapped back to reality. He yanked his hand away, like he was touching holy water. He glanced down at his fingers, then back towards the hunter, without a word he turned around and started to walk, no hurry, out from the room.

"Crowley." Singer called after the demon, and to his surprise Crowley stopped in the door, one hand resting on the handle. "I was the only one who got caught?"

The King of Hell raised one of his eyebrows, and without a word just slightly nodded before leaving. The hunter was left alone with his own thoughts.