Bobby Singer's Daughter - A Supernatural Fan Fiction

Chapter 193 - Crowley the blood junkie

Once we're back home things seem a little less stressed, a little less tension filled which makes me feel a little better; Sam and I have been researching a lot more on Cain and Abel while Dean tries repeatedly to get a hold of Crowley for whatever reason. Dean and I have become closer like we used to be over the weeks since we've gotten home; we've run cases together, alone and with Sam. Most of the time it's just small stuff, ghosts or vamps; Dean is pacing across the room from the table that Sam and I are seated at trying again to call Crowley.

"Come on Crowley, pick up!" He growls, "where the hell is he?" he looks at us, "it's not like he's got a social life."

"Uh are you actually worried?" Sam asks.

"Cause to me," I look at Sam, "it seems like you are or something."

He doesn't respond right away as Crowley's phone sends him to voicemail and he hangs up without leaving a message.

"Guy's got one job," he grunts, "find the First Blade, bring it back. How hard is that?"

"It's Crowley," Sam states, "he's not exactly a team player."

I nod because Sam has a point, Dean comes over then phone in hand.

"Yeah, but his ass is on the line too," he tells us, "he goes missing for weeks on end without a peep? Well, not one that makes sense, anyway, listen to this," the phone is set down on the table and he pushes a button putting it on speaker.

"Dean.. uh..." comes Crowley's garbles voice followed by other words I can't quite make out, "did he just uh drunk dial you?" Sam asks.

Dean takes the phone again trying the King of Hell once more getting more frustrated by the minute, I shake my head getting up from the table. Sam doesn't look up and Dean doesn't ask where I'm going not that I'm actually leaving the bunker I just need a drink or something if I'm going to keep staring at books and screens all day. I get a beer out where several bottles still stand in the fridge, taking two large swallows from it I turn and run smack into my husband. He hisses as the cold beer touches his skin but I keep a firm grip on the bottle so it doesn't go crashing to the floor, my hand goes to my mouth which still has a small mouthful of beer.

"Oh my god," I screech swallowing the liquid, "I am so sorry, Dean."

"Seem a little preoccupied," he mutters wiping at his shirt, "everything okay Mel?"

I set the partially empty bottle down on the counter and turn back around, he's reaching beside him to the table for a paper towel.

"Yeah, I guess," I say, "why?"

"Like I said you just seem a bit preoccupied."

"Only concerned for you and the mark," I tell him, "how are you feeling, Dean?"

He looks up with the drooping paper towel in hand, I can see the gears turning in his head trying to come up with a suitable answer but all he says is, "impatient and Crowley is pissing me off."

"Doesn't he do that with everyone?"

He chuckles and shakes his head at me.

"Hey guys," Sam comes in, "I think we should uh resolve to other measures in regard to Crowley."

"As in?" I ask with a raised eyebrow and he sighs, "I think we need to uh summon someone to tell us where he is."

Dean and I agree that it's probably for the best, especially since he can't get a hold of the King of Hell wherever he is, maybe one of his underlings or crossroads Demon will know where he is if they're willing to spill details without too much violence. We gather the supplies, most of which are already in the trunk of the impala, then head out for the nearest crossroads but not too close to the bunker as to not draw attention to it. Sam and I work the devil's trap with several spray cans of red paint then join Dean in the middle who is burying a container with the items and his ID needed to summon a demon; "do it," Dean tells his brother who says the incantation, "Daemon, esto subiecto voluntati meae."