(A/N) Hello there! This is just a little fluff-ish thing Between Bobby and Crowley we wrote.

I am Bobby, and Skykes is Crowley. We're both the other characters

Anyway, please enjoy! ~AidaMae

Crowley was feeling a bit bored one day, and decided to pay a visit to his favorite Hunter, Bobby Singer. When he appeared in his house, he found him cooking in his kitchen. "Cooking. One of the more manly tasks of life, wouldn't you agree?" he piped from his spot in the doorway. The unexpected visitor caused Bobby to jump ever so slightly before turning around.

"Damn it Crowley. What the hell?" Bobby snapped, turning back to his poorly cooked tomato soup.

"Just thought I'd pop in for a visit," the demon commented, glancing around the kitchen for demon traps before stepping into it. "Hope you don't mind. Not that I care either way." He gave the hunter a cheeky grin and walked up next to him. "Mind if I ask what you are making?"

"Do you even know what personal space means?" Bobby said, rapidly getting ticked. "But if you must know, spaghetti." As he turned the stove off and went to the pantry to get some pasta.

"Of course I know about personal space," Crowley muttered with a slightly distasteful look. "But I've never found it to benefit me." He glanced at the sauce, his face still contorted in discomfort. "It smells lovely, but I don't think I'll be staying for dinner. Don't much care for anything salty." This caused the hunter to choke out a laugh.

"Gee, wonder why. Then what was the point of coming anyway." Bobby said, moving the pasta to a strainer, then facing the demon.

With a roll of his eyes, Crowley backed away from the stove. "What, I'm not allowed to say hello anymore?" he asked with sarcastic smugness. He shrugged, his eyes once more turning to examine the room.

"Not unless it benefits you. So what's the deal?" Bobby asked, not taking his eyes off the wandering demon.

"You got me," Crowley held his hands up in mock surrender. "I was bored, honestly. Wanted to get out of that damned hole, I think you can imagine how terribly annoying it all is down there." He lowered his hands and stuffed them into his pockets.

"Well if that's the case, you aren't welcome here. Go bother some other poor sap." Bobby barked, as he grabbed a plate of pasta and moved down into a chair to eat. He waited a while longer, but realized the King Of Hell is going nowhere. "Are you waiting for me to personally kick you out?" The hunter sassed as he kept eating.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are a terrible host?" Crowley tsked and grabbed the back of a chair. "May I?" he asked, pulling the chair out and sitting in it despite Bobby's clear disapproval.

"Coming from the terrible guest." Bobby snapped back. Even as the demon sat down he rolled his eyes. "Can I get you anything?" Bobby said in a mocking house wife voice.

"Ah, yes, I'll have a scotch, you know my brand." Crowley smirked as Bobby's expression grew more annoyed.

"Then get it yourself. I ain't your bitch." Snarled Bobby, ready to just strangle the thing next to him.

"Ah, well, the scotch can wait, I suppose." Crowley shrugged, then reached his hands up to rest on the table. "So, Bobby, what's new in your life?"

"At this point? Might kill Hades." He growled, getting up to clean his plate. "Damn it Crowley, its been a long day. Can't you just, go back to hell or something?" Bobby sighed getting more and more irritated.

A flicker of concern crossed the demon's face, gone as quickly as it had appeared so that Bobby was completely unaware of it. "Long day, eh? I know what that's like, you know, being the King of Hell and all." He sighed and stood up, his palms flat against the table to help him up. "Well, I guess I'll be going then. Take care," he turned to leave, "Or, you know, don't. Whatever suits your fancy." And with that, the King of Hell disappeared from Bobby's kitchen.

The next day Bobby woke up on his couch with a book over his stomach. As he sat up he felt a sharp pain in his forehead. The hell? Oh right. He sighed as he remembered drinking some heavy vodka after his previous day and unexpected visitor. He slowly got up, making his way back to the kitchen for some Advil. Once his headache began to lessen one of his many phones stated ringing.

"Hello?" Bobby answered, his throat dry and sore.

"You know, water helps with hangovers," came a smug English voice from the other end. "And before you ask how I knew you were hungover... Well, it's not important." Before Bobby could reply, the demon appeared in the room. "Phones are such a waist of electricity," he said distastefully. Bobby stood there, blinking, wrapping his head around things, before giving a disapproving pout.

"Balls." He murmured. "The hell are you doing here so god damn early?" Bobby asked, before sitting down at his kitchen table, rubbing his temples.

Crowley pulled a glass out of a cupboard and filled it with water before setting it down in front of Bobby. "Apparently helping you recover from a hangover." He pulled out a chair and leaned back, propping his feet on the table. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you were so worked up yesterday?" The demon did his best to hide any signs of sympathy or worry from his voice, keeping his face locked in a slight smug smirk that was a little too unwavering. Bobby took the water carefully and began taking small sips.

"Depends. What's with the sudden interest?" Bobby asked, becoming more and more curious. "Its not in your blood to worry, unless you get something out of it." Bobby asked with another sip of water.

"Maybe I am worried," Crowley challenged, his eye twitching slightly, though he showed no other signs of caring. "Or maybe it's curiosity." He shrugged. Bobby studied the demon a while longer.

"Well... if you must know, its Sam and his hallucinations. There, happy?" Bobby growled, finishing off his water. He got up and went to grab another beer.

"I see..." Crowley watched Bobby with apparently mild interest. "And where is old Sammy boy right now, if I may ask?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. Dean called sometime during the day, asking if he know where Sam was. So now I've been trying every place where he could be, but I got nothing." Bobby sighed, gulping down the cold ice beer.

"Well..." The demon's gaze wandered to the wall, as his eyes became thoughtful. "I could help."

"Oh really now? And you'll be willing to just, help?" Bobby asked, curiosity peaked to the top on why the demon's behavior has been so off.

Crowley shrugged. "Maybe just this once. I owe it to you for not trying to kill me again when you saw me yesterday, now don't I?" His eyes returned to Bobby, a slight dry smirk resting on his lips. "It shouldn't be too hard, even with that thing on his ribs. Not for the King of Hell."

"Right... so what's the deal?" Bobby asked, and raising his eye brow. "I don't believe you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart." He snarled, finishing the last few drops of his beer.

Crowley held up his hands. "No deal," he said with dead seriousness. "I'll find your Sammy and drag him back here, it shouldn't take more than an hour, and I want nothing in return. Though, I must say I am enjoying not having to fend for my life every time I see you."

"Nothing. You mean to tell me, the all famous Crossroads Demon, wants nothing?" Bobby said, folding his arms in front of his chest. "I wish I could believe that. So tell me, what are you really after?"

Crowley sighed and brought his hand to his temple, cloaing his eyes. "Fine. If there must be a deal, I want..." He opened his eyes again and continued, "I want you lot to stop trying to kill me."

"Right that's just gonna happen. Especially after stealing my soul, we're just, not gonna hate you anymore." Bobby took a breath. He looked around the room, thinking to himself before facing back to the demon. "Do you really think, I'm that stupid? I know there's a deeper meaning, tell me it and maybe I'll make a deal with you." He added the last part before he could think, instantly causing himself to cuss in his head.

The question caught Crowley slightly off guard, and he mentally had to scramble for an answer. "Maybe I'm a better person than you think I am," he replied hastily. "Anyway, I don't need your permission to find Sam, as far as I know. So I'll be off now." Before he could say anything to make a fool of himself, the King of Hell disappeared once more.