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Multitasking is a fine thing when it comes to simpler tasks, like talking and driving, but unlocking a door while holding your wounded arm is rather more complicated, as Bobby knew from experience and was learning once again. “Balls,” he grumbled, finally nudging the motel room door open. Damn wendigo.
“Well, I’ve got to say that this isn’t what I expected,” a familiar, deadpan voice said. “Though I really don’t know what I was anticipating.”
Crowley looked a hell of a lot better than he had when Bobby last saw him. He’d shaved, at least, and he’d lost that hunted look, like he was half-expecting something to get him at any moment. “Nice to see you too,” Bobby said, “but I’m kinda bleedin’ out over here, so excuse me if I ain’t in the mood for chit-chat.”
“Charming as always.”
Bobby huffed at that and began digging through his bag. Demons. He was never gonna be able to deal with all these damn demons, least of all Crowley with his smart-ass smirk and expensive scotch.
The bleeding wasn’t actually all that bad, but the gash still needed to be stitched up. Bobby sat on the edge of the bed and tried to thread the needle, cursing when he failed.
“For God’s sakes.” Crowley walked over and held out his hand for the needle. “Here, let me. Unless you’re going to let your bloody masculine pride get in the way of not getting your arm infected.”
Bobby glared at the demon. “Like you know how to.”
“Tailor, remember? I can make a full suit. I think I can handle stitching up your damn arm. Give it.”
Bobby grumbled, but he handed Crowley the needle and thread. The demon kneeled, took Bobby’s arm, and began to stitch the gash with surprising care. They sat in silence for a long time. It was…oddly comfortable, for a hunter and a demon.
“I understand you’re without a home at the moment,” Crowley said when he was almost done. He didn’t make eye contact, just focused on his work.
“Yeah.” Bobby sighed. It’d been weeks and he still hadn’t had a moment to let the truth of it sink in- the one home he’d known for most of his adult life was gone. “Yeah, I am.”
Crowley didn’t say anything again for a while, not until he was done. “As it happens,” he began slowly, “I’m looking for a place to stay as well. I don’t suppose you’d like to…split the cost, perhaps?”
“Cost?” Bobby scoffed. “Since when the hell do you pay for anything?”
“I’m staying under the radar, so to say,” Crowley said, a smirk rising to his lips. “Can’t exactly go stealing mansions left and right. However, I do have a healthy bit of money set aside, if that makes the decision any easier.”
“Are you honestly asking if we can move in together?”
Crowley stood, putting his hands in his pockets. “Out of convenience, of course. You’re cute, but I don’t exactly see us setting up a love nest and adopting Chinese babies.”
This time, the silence was much colder. Bobby became aware of the noises around them for the first time- a couple in the next room, a police car speeding down the highway. He sighed and then shrugged.
“Sam and Dean’ll give me hell for it, but if they think I’m gonna keep goin’ motel to motel like they do, they’re in for a shock. I’m too old for this crap.”
“It’s a deal, then.”
“I’m thinkin’ something with a yard.”
Crowley smirked. “Well, of course. We’ll need somewhere to keep the hellhounds. Ta, love.”
Alone, Bobby shook his head. Demons.
***
Sam and Dean didn’t raise much of a fuss about Bobby living with Crowley because he hadn’t exactly told them yet. He would, of course- hopefully before one of them discovered the hellhounds in the backyard –but some things needed a little planning first.
“I don’t know what you’re waiting for,” Crowley said. “It’s not like a nice dinner beforehand is going to make them especially open to the idea. ‘Boys, I’m living with a demon.’ ‘Well, that’s all right, he makes a delightful quiche.’”
That was something, too. Crowley could cook. Bobby wondered when, exactly, the demon had taken the time to learn, but he had a nigh-endless supply of recipes and they were damn good, so he wasn’t about to question it. (He hadn’t made him try any weird Scottish things yet, thank God.)
On the whole, it was…quaint.
It was a modestly-sized house in Colorado. There was nothing special about it, really; two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and enough space for Bobby’s books. (And for Crowley’s books, too, actually, though Bobby had seen some very odd covers and didn’t have the nerve to investigate.) There was a yard big enough for the hellhounds, however many of them there were. The real estate agent was quick to inform them that this was a very welcoming neighborhood, tolerant of all sorts of people. It probably helped that their nearest neighbors were two miles away.
So there they were. Crowley cooked and conveniently disappeared on other business whenever Sam and Dean stopped by. It was odd at first, but it was quickly becoming just a new normal.
Naturally, someone had to fuck it all up.
“I made eggs,” Crowley said one morning. Bobby didn’t know when (or if) the son of a bitch slept, since he was already cooking no matter what time Bobby woke up. “Toast, too.”
“Hrn,” Bobby intoned, still half-asleep as he took his plate.
“No bacon if you don’t use words.”
“Whatever you say, dear,” Bobby grumbled. He began to flip through the newspaper, hoping for a job to get him out of the damn house. He was one day of research away from cabin fever.
“You’re so ungrateful,” Crowley said. He walked over to the table, pan of bacon in hand. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”
“I could say the same for you,” Bobby said as Crowley dropped two pieces onto his plate. “Thanks.”
“Besides looking pretty, it’s what I’m here for.”
When he thought about it later, Bobby had no idea who started it, but they met in the middle as they kissed each other for the second time. There was a long pause afterwards until Crowley said, “More bacon, then?”
They attempted to continue the long-standing Winchester practice of Avoiding The Issue. Living in the same house didn’t allow this to last long.
“You kissed me,” Bobby said some time around noon.
“I’m quite sure you kissed me,” Crowley replied, not looking up from his book, “but I’m not about to argue. We kissed. Yes. I’m glad you noticed.”
“And you aren’t gonna pretend to be a little surprised that it happened?”
Crowley glanced up at him. “No, not really. You want to know why? One: it’s happened before, no good reason why it shouldn’t happen again. Two: I’d be lying- which I’m quite good at –if I said I didn’t want it. Three: I’ll be quite honest, I haven’t been laid in God knows how long. Four: we’re very much a couple and old habits die hard.”
“Couple? Since when in the hell are we a couple?”
“Well, let’s see. We moved in together. I took it upon myself to make meals for the both of us because I rather doubt that you can cook-”
“I can cook, you bastard-”
“-and we spend our days together in our lovely house in the mountains, reading and arguing.” Crowley made a show of pondering this information. “No, no, never mind, I can’t see anything in all of that that screams ‘old married couple’. Sorry to bother you and make you question your clearly staunch heterosexuality. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m quite interested in this book.”
This was the problem. He was such a smart-ass. Bobby couldn’t help it when he stood up, marched over to the demon, and- and-
And kissed him.
All right, maybe he was a little bit attracted to him.
“About damn time,” Crowley whispered, smirking. He tossed his book aside- not so interesting after all, it seemed –and pulled Bobby onto his lap. It was a difficult fit, but they somehow made it work. Crowley sucked at Bobby’s neck while the hunter fought to undo their pants. “I have been waiting for this,” Crowley muttered against Bobby’s skin, “for too bloody long. You are not an easy man to woo, Bobby Singer.”
Bobby wanted to give him a sarcastic response, but he was too distracted by pulling down Crowley’s boxers and his own. “You are a bastard,” he grumbled, rubbing his erection against Crowley’s.
The demon moaned as he grasped Bobby’s waist. “Takes one to know one, love,” he chuckled before returning to his previous task of sucking Bobby’s neck raw.
They were as close together as they could be in this damn small chair, gasping and sweating. Bobby held Crowley’s face in his hands and kissed him again, properly this time, long and deep and rough. Crowley groaned into the kiss as he came, muttering Bobby’s name over and over again.
They lay there afterwards, breathing heavily. “That,” Crowley said, “is how to properly treat your housemate.”
“Idjit,” Bobby grumbled affectionately.
“Of course, now you have to think about what you’ll tell your boys. ‘First I moved in with that demon you hate, and now we’re having regular sex. Funny, that.’”
***
It was a house in Colorado. It wasn’t quiet- far from it –and it wasn’t always cozy. There were plenty of arguments and one or both of the occupants often brought their work home with them, which was always messy. But it was a home, and they didn’t feel like they needed much more.