Bobby Singer's Daughter - A Supernatural Fan Fiction

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Six - Vamptonite

In the end we decide that our best move is to summon Crowley and get his blood for the weapon; if he'll cooperate that is. I sit on the arm of the couch as the two gather supplies, draw the summoning sigil and put everything together; they look at each other then over at me and when I nod Dean slices his hand and drips the blood onto the items in the bowl.

"Et ad congregandum eos," Sam says, "coram me." He lights the match tossing it in catching everything on fire; a plume of smoke rises and then Crowley appears across the room.

"Hello boys," he eyes me, "and lady."

He looks from each of our faces, adjusts his suit jacket then glances at the paper on the table and says, "so that's what all the 'rumble, rumble' was about. Who translated for you?"

"Never mind," Dean snaps, "you gonna give us the blood or not?"

Crowley smiles at us, "happily, but not quite yet. I'm all for chopping Dick, but I can't have you running around with a vial of my blood now, can I?" I raise an eyebrow, "you know the sheer number of nefarious spells my enemies can use that blood for?"

"Then when?" I growl.

"Last," he clarifies, "after you've got all the other components. Most difficult, the angel part, I'm assuming. Given your role in their little apocalypse, I can't imagine the choirboys upstairs are wetting their vestments to do you – what's the word? – a solid. Unless, of course, you have an angel up your sleeve."

"Don't worry about it," Sam says, "we'll get the angel blood one way or another. We just need you to be ready next time we call."

"Fine," he leans forward, "oh, here's a tip. I have it on good authority there's one Alpha still among us."

"Whose authority?" Dean asks and Crowley grins, "mine, wily character that Alpha vampire. Somehow made good his prison break before Cass went nuclear on the place."

"And you know this how?"

"Keep your friends close, your enemies, blah blah," he responds, "needless to say I keep tabs. He moves around quite a bit, but I have an inkling I know where to start the Easter egg hunt. Happy trails."

At this he disappears, I grind my teeth together as we look around angry that he didn't actually say where until the table starts to curl with flame and smoke; Sam hovers over it reading, "Hoople, North Dakota."

"Piece of paper would have worked," I mumble, "rather than ruining the table."

I run my thumb across the burned wood and all I do is slightly burn my finger; I stick said thumb in my mouth as we make a plan to head on out to North Dakota. We pack our things, including the paper Kevin wrote the instructions on and pack up the car, Dean drives while Sam sits in his usual place; I have my ear buds in listening to a podcast about Dick Roman the more I know about him the easier it'll be to keep from being detected or eating things that his new business venture has made. The next day we stop at a gas station and Sam gestures for me to join him in getting food for the three of us but gestures to my pocket and I forgot that I still have dad's flask on me, I deposit the thing on the seat while Dean joins us just outside the store instead of going in and somehow, I know what's going to come next.

"He seem angry?" Sam asks and I nod, "of course he's angry, Sam. If you were him, wouldn't you be?"

"But was he showing signs of fatigue, like – like fritzing?" He persists and Dean takes over, "no, actually, it was just the opposite. He said he never felt stronger."