A/N The final part of this story, which has been a doll to write. Thank you so much for all your follows and reviews! I hope you enjoy this last chapter!
Bobby, ever valiant in the face of possible heart attacks, restrains himself from screaming as he runs towards the truck with a cart in each hand. The oranges bounce and tumble around him, and he barely has time to shove them against the bumper and pray nobody takes them.
"Here, doggie," He waves an orange around, eyes roving the parking lot for a glint of red or obsidian. People give him a wide berth, most likely oblivious to the hellhound running around.
"Come here, you mutt." He grabs another orange and takes off at a brisk pace across the asphalt, waving his hands in vain. "I got oranges. Oranges, remember?"
If the thing was eating a toddler somewhere of something, Bobby would never forgive himself. Or the dog.
"Damn it, what's the matter with you?" Bobby whisper-screams as he circles the area around the store in vain. "I ain't playin' dumbass hide and seek all day!"
A far-off bark sounds a second later, echoing from a line of trees to his left. Oranges in hand, Bobby practically sprints in the direction of the sound, muttering to himself.
"Where are you?"
Another bark sounds a few feet ahead, between a large fringe of trees. Bobby groans to himself as he hears the telltale sound of running water, trudging onwards.
He parts the pines to find the edge of a stream (more like a pond) surrounded by trees and relatively shielded from the town.
The little fucker is swimming in the middle of the stream, barking lightly as Bobby approaches. He almost trips on a tree root on he way down, throwing a hand out to catch himself.
"Fuck." He grumbles as the orange smashes against the cool ground, splattering juice and fruit across his fingers. "Fuck you, dog. Fuck your stupid oranges. Fuck!"
The hellhound barks merrily from the water, swimming forward to the shore. Bobby stumbles upright and gives him his best glare.
"The hell you thinkin' running away?"
Red eyes pout up at him. A low whine escapes the pup's lips, but he really doesn't care.
"I thought you were-eating a baby, or something!" Bobby points at the dog, growling. "You could've been shot!
Not to mention the entirely too likely possibility of Crowley killing him. Then he and the dog would both be in hell, and neither of them would have three cases of goddamned oranges.
Bobby glares as the hellhound tries to shrink away back into the water. "Don't you run away from me."
The dog whines loudly, glancing forlornly back at the water. Bobby's eyes narrow.
"It ain't time for swimming, damnit!"
Another long whine.
"I have a whole cart of oranges back at the truck." He pleads, throwing aside the smashed one and holding the intact fruit high. "See that? Quality fruit. I paid a lot of money for this shit, cause you seem to like it."
The mutt gives him a look Bobby swears says I ain't buying it.
"Seriously? Do you wanna see the receipt? You owe my ass. I bought three cases of fruit. All ya gotta do is come back with me."
The dog edges closer to the shore, nose twitching at the fruit. The second its fur leaves the water the hellhound flinches back, throwing its body back into the stream with another goddamned whine.
"We can swim back home." Bobby throws up his hands, abso-fucking-lutely done. "Promise."
The dog tilts its head, inching out of the water. Bobby waves his remaining orange in front of him, smiling as the mutt latches into the fruit in a flash. He pets the hellhound, tangling his hand in its fur.
Time to go home.
By the time he manages to get the dog back to the truck, his carts are still mostly intact. Half of the oranges are on the ground around the cars, smashed by various passerby. He can see the dents the carts put in his bumper from twenty feet away they're so large. Fuck.
He tightens his hand in the hellhound's fur, pulling it away from the families and people around him. The dog just hunks against his side, still munching on the tummy remains of an orange in its mouth.
Bobby walks faster and ducks his head, dragging the conveniently invisible hellhound with him as he makes a break for the car. The voice behind him gets more insistent.
"Mister! Sir!" A small hand grabs his shirt, stopping him. He growls, suspiciously like the hellhound.
A little girl faces him, barely three feet tall in her pink plastic shoes. She holds out her hand, the other going to her mouth.
"You dropped your receipt." She mumbles around her thumb. Bobby snatches the piece of paper from her wordlessly, already turning around to make another run for it.
"No, wait! Is that a dog?!"
Bobby freezes in place, gritting his teeth as he faces the girl again. "No."
The hellhound barks enthusiastically at his side.
"Yes it is." The girl says matter-of-factly, staring in the general location of the dog. "It just barked."
Bobby glances around nervously as no parent comes forward. "No it didn't." He backs up a few steps. "I have a...disease."
"A disease that makes you bark?"
Bobby nods furiously, tightening his fingers around the energetic hellhound. "Exactly."
The girl sticks her thumb back in her mouth, dubious. "So why do you have your hand-"
"Sorry, gotta go. It's very contagious, sweetheart."
He drags the stupid hellhound behind him and all but sprints for the truck, throwing open the passenger door and shoving the dog in.
He ignores the looks he can feel on his back as he loads the oranges in the trunk with what must look like a crazed expression. Slamming his door closed, he lays down rubber and oranges roll as he books it.
Eh. He was the town drunk already.
They get home quick enough to stun even the hellhound, which very wisely chooses not to stick its head out the window this time around. AC/DC blares the whole way home, and Bobby's on the third rotation of Hell's Bells, wishing the day would just be over already.
They get home around four, but the sun's still high in the western sky when they roll in. Bobby grumbles to himself as he drags the stacks of orange cartons inside, muttering about opposable thumbs and anything else that crosses his mind. The hellhound waits patiently as he works, dutifully following him out to the car as he unloads.
"Swimming time?" Bobby asks reluctantly as he tosses the last orange inside, already regretting the bribe.
The hellhound barks smugly, eyeing another orange from its spot at the door. Bobby sighs in defeat, grabbing two of the ghastly fruit and pushing past the mutt and out the door.
"It's South Dakota. What were you expecting, hot water?"
The dog sputters. Then sputters again, a low whine escaping its lips.
"You were the one who wanted to go swimming." Bobby reminds it, laughing behind his hand as the dog sends an honest to god death glare his way.
The lake behind his yard was tiny, but it went down almost twenty feet and had a small, wooden dock edging out towards the center. It was part of the property agreement deal he and Karen had made all those years ago, when they thought they were going to have children to jump and play in it.
And to be completely honest, Bobby wasn't really expecting to have a hellhound mucking around in it, but that's the joy of life sometimes. It throws shit at you.
The mutt scrabbles up onto the deck with a defeated glare, shivering slightly. Bobby just smirks.
"Teach you to run off. Hmmph."
It's only fair game what happens next.
One second Bobby's on the edge of the pier, facing the dog when a blur of motion knocks into him. He barely has time to shout out before he's tumbling into the freezing water.
For a second he doesn't think he'll surface, lungs seizing as the icy water hits his skin. He lets out a shocked scream under water, kicking vainly towards the surface.
"Oh you. Oh-" Bobby sputters, shaking his head back and forth to remove the icicles that probably formed while he was down there. "You bitch."
The hellhound preens from where it's perched on the edge of the dock, smug. He can hear it huffing from seven feet down, what must be the equivalent of hellhound laughter.
Bobby throws water at it, grumbling as he tries to paddle to the shore.
"You're lucky I can swim," He tells it bitterly as he pulls his sopping clothing out of the water. "When I get you, I'm gonna-"
The hellhound spins in front of him, growling at the new voice. Bobby doesn't miss the protective stance it takes up in front of him, fangs extending on a intimidating growl.
"Chill, love." Crowley says from a few feet away, waving a hand at the dog with a sleazy smile. "Just Papa."
The spell breaks and the hellhound tumbles forwards, leaping onto the demon's chest with an enthusiastic woof! Bobby shakes his hat dry and thinks about all the things he'd do to Crowley if he had fangs and a hundred plus weight advantage.
"Robert, darling, let's not forget about you." The demon in question waves him over, face still being licked and covered in hell-slobber. "Come here."
"Fuck you." Bobby grunts at him. "You're lucky I don't unload my shotgun into your ass."
Crowley's eyes go wide. "I'd love for you to unload your 'shotgun' into my ass. Any time."
His teeth chatter, either in fear or cold. "F-fuck you."
"That's the idea." The demon banters back, but the lewd look in his eyes disappears. A second later, he's standing outside of his house in warm, dry clothes.
"Better?" Crowley asks from his left, voice uncharacteristically soft. Bobby crosses his arms and nods frigidly, glaring at the demon.
"I didn't sign up for babysitting duty, if that's what you're asking."
The demon throws his hands up in defense. "I had a thing. Do you know how hard it is to track down nannies these days? It's-"
Bobby interrupts. "I'm a goddamned nanny now?"
"No no no no," Crowley waves his hands, hellhound still attached to his leg. "You think I'd trust just anybody to watch this beauty?" He nuzzles the dog's snout. "Yes you are, precious. Such a pretty girl. Yes you are."
Well goddamn. "She's a...she?"
Crowley gasps dramatically. "You couldn't tell?"
"I couldn't see it until two hours ago!"
"Oh." The demon considers, hands rubbing the hellhound's fur. "Yes, that might've been a problem. Sorry?"
Bobby just glares at him. "Damn right you're sorry! Do you know how many oranges I bought today?"
The hellhound-she-it-barks from the ground, leaning forward to rub her head across Bobby's leg. He sighs before placing a hand on her snout, rubbing softly.
Crowley's eyes go a little far-off as he watches the two of them, leaning forward. "Robert-"
"What." Bobby doesn't look up from where he's petting the hellhound.
Bobby looks up. "Don't call me-oomph!"
His eyes go wide in realization as Crowley's lips smash against his, soft and yet unyielding as they press against his. He hears a screeching sound off in the distance, too occupied with thoughts such as holy shit and does this count as a deal?
He gets his senses back in time to reach an arm back, tearing his lips away and slamming his fist forwards in a fit of outrage. The demon happily dances out of the way, sliding back fluidly and waving.
With a snap of his fingers he and the hellhound are gone, disappearing completely from the yard. Bobby gazes at the spot on the grass they were standing, dumbfounded.
Sam's face barrels into his line of vision, along with Dean's as they both push into him.
"Bobby, are you al-"
"What the fuck-"
The impala sits behind them, hahazardly parked next to a pile of scrap. Bobby straightens his shoulders and tries to muster some of his dignity back.
"Sam. Dean." He's calm. He's totally calm.
"Bobby, what the fuck?" Dean yells, Sam halfway through his own rant. "We thought you were getting eaten!"
Oh. The phone call.
"It's a long story."
Dean drags him by one arm up the stairs, toeing the door open while Sam hoers cautiously behind him. "Then we're getting a bottle of whiskey and you're spilling. All of it."
Bobby slumps in his arms in defeat, closing his eyes. "Okay."
"Okay." Dean affirms, dumping him towards Sam. "Now-"
A heavy thump sounds, like shattering wood.
Bobby opens his eyes to find Dean on the floor, gaping up at Sam.
"And why the fuck are there so many oranges?!"
A/N The end! Drop me a review, and tell me what you thought! :)