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.