Assassin (A Crobby Fanfic)

Chapter 1

Bobby leaned into the scope, eyeing his target. He decided that this would be his final kill, a big one. "Going down with a bang," as he put it. He was abnormally calm, just watching the man in the suit talking to some brunette chick in a far-too-fancy dress. His finger tightened a micrometer on the trigger, not enough to release the bullet, and Bobby saw him walking toward the sedan before returning his attention to the dressed up woman.

"Balls!" the man hissed, watching his target move. Without hesitation, Bobby pulled the trigger.

Red bloomed over his black suit as he fell over. The old sniper had hit his target straight through his heart.

"Assassins are sly little things, aren't they?"

Bobby whipped around, pistol immediately drawn and aimed. His eyes widened in shock and confusion at the man he supposedly shot. The blood stain wasn't there anymore. Bobby glanced back to see the body still there. A double.

"I don't think we've met before. I'm Crowley." His eyes held a glint of triumph and arrogance. "And you, Robert Singer, are a legend in the underground network."

The sniper regained his composure, scoffing. "Yeah. What does that matter? I'm dead either way."

Crowley tilted his head at an angle, making his eyes seem to half-glare at Bobby. "I'll be honest: you're not what I expected to be at all. The storybooks, the adventures. I thought I'd be seeing a strapping lad with enough arrogance to cause his target's suicide."

"Well, sorry to disappoint, princess," Bobby grumbled.

"Actually, you've not disappointed anyone here but yourself. I find you quite intriguing, though I've also heard rumors of a secluded cabin of sorts filled with alcohol bottles and sad leftovers."

"And I heard you were a fearsome mafia leader. You look more like an English businessman, ready to bargain for a watch."

Crowley smirked. "Ah, but the most fearsome are those you never suspect. At least, at first. I assure you that I'm not one to be brushed aside."

"I know who you are." Bobby let his hand holding the pistol drop to his side. "You're known as the 'King of Hell,' sending enemies to a painful grave. You're cunning, capricious, and full of himself."

He nodded at the words with that devilish grin of his, as if to agree.

"But I've taken on big bad wolves before. You won't be any different."

"Really?" Crowley's smirk grew more amused. "Then why am I still standing?"

The gun twitched in Bobby's hand, an itch to aim and fire as well as the reluctance to shoot. "I'm letting you off easy. It wasn't the first time I shot a double."

Crowley hummed, a brief sound of approval.

"Are we just gonna stand here all day? Why don't you just end me already? Push me off the roof, shoot me in the head, somethin'."

"That could easily be arranged, but where's the fun in that?" Crowley took a step—two, three, four—closer to his assassin, narrowing the gap between them. "I've been watching you for a while now, Singer. You're quite formidable, and not without your own charms. The ladies must be swooning over your steps."

Bobby scoffed again with the lightest tinge of red over his cheeks. "If you're not gonna end me, then what the hell are you gonna do with me?"

"There's lots I would love to do with you," Crowley purred. "Alas, being a mafia leader is very busy work. I have to get going, but we'll meet again real soon. I promise you that."

The slicing of wind made Bobby look away for a moment, covering his mouth and nose with the crook of his elbow. A chopper had come for Crowley, taking him off in a grand exit. The old sniper rolled his eyes at the dramatic leave, putting his pistol back into his inner pocket before packing up his rifle.

Back in the mess of books Bobby called home, said man threw himself onto his couch, groaning in exhaustion. He dropped his duffel bag of weaponry by a chair and picked up a random book to read. This was routine to Bobby, except that usually he'd already killed his target.

The old sniper grabbed a half-drunken bottle of beer from his coffee table and downed it all, wiping his lips on the back of his hand. His throat burned from the foamy liquid while the taste of warm beer ghosted over his tastebuds. Bobby found himself unable to focus on what he was reading, despite running his eyes over the words more than once. The image of Crowley kept popping in his head. His hand twitched. Although he'd never admit it out loud, Bobby was angry that he didn't catch Crowley's heart with his bullet on the first try. He didn't feel sorry for the double either, whether he was clean or not. In this line of work, remorse was only good as a word. But that didn't stop the sight of his dead body from haunting Bobby.

A sudden knocking on the door snapped Bobby out of his not-reading. He folded the corner of the page and closed the book before getting up to identify his guest, fingers hovering over the handle of his gun by reflex.

"Hey, uh, are you Bobby Singer?" a brunette woman asked.

"Who's asking?"

"Aren't you friendly," she mumbled sarcastically while still maintaining a smile to show she didn't mean to offend. "I'm Jody. Jody Mills. I'm moving into the neighborhood for the summer and thought that maybe I could make some new friends. The other folks here told me you used to work a salvage yard and to look for you if I have any car troubles."

Bobby rose a brow. "Odd. I'm not usually that popular."

"You're definitely the talk of the town," Jody said. "I mean, the first family I greeted as a neighbor told me not to bother with you. I think they think you're an old coot who doesn't enjoy company."

"Well, I can't seem to keep up with company. Or maybe they just don't like me." Bobby let his hand relax from the pistol. "Anyway, folks around these parts are demanding. They're always looking for something."

Jody chuckled. "Ain't that the truth. Speaking of looking for something, I do need help fixing my car."

The man scoffed, but not unkindly. "'Course you do."

"I'll repay you," Jody said quickly. "I'm not asking it as a favor, but I don't have much money either, so I thought maybe I could bake a pie or a casserole for you in return?"

Bobby thought for a minute, weighing his choices. "Alright. Why not? Show me your car, Jody."

She grinned and started off.