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Bobby Singer was a lonely man. It was undeniable but it was something he would never admit to. He secretly clung to every hunter that came his way and mourned every acquaintance lost. There were certain people he was more grateful for but overall, he loved the interaction with them all.

It was a Thursday around noon that an unexpected guest dropped by, but the company wasn't as pleasant as Bobby would prefer.

"Hello, dear," an accented male voice greeted, causing Bobby to nearly jump out of his wits. His hand graced forward to rest on the shotgun that lay on his desk.

At the threshold between the hallway and his living room was a demon, a demon that Bobby wasn't sure how to feel about.

"Crowley," he greeted gruffly, his body tense, waiting.

"Oh, do simmer down," Crowley insisted lightly with a hand motion. With an ease that made Bobby uncomfortable, Crowley stepped into the living room and began to inspect the environment.

Crowley was looking as spiffy as ever, with his black, custom-made suit and trademark red tie. His overall appearance made Bobby self-conscious, with his scuffed shoes and trucker hat. Bobby grit his teeth at his discomfort.

"Was there something you needed?" Bobby snapped after a tense moment.

"Hm?" Crowley let out, turning to face Bobby, whose expression was grave. "Oh. Right. I come bearing gifts." He paused, looking curiously to the side before refocusing on Bobby. "Well, gift." The jagged cut of the 't' made Bobby grip the gun at his side. It was then that he noticed a brightly wrapped box under Crowley's arm.

The box seemed ordinary enough, slightly large Bobby noticed, but it was from Crowley. There was always an agenda with Crowley, an ulterior motive that was too difficult to spot at a first or third glance.

Crowley bent low to put the box on the floor, already knowing that Bobby wouldn't venture too far forward.

"It's all yours," Crowley says, smiling.

"I don't want it." His grip on the gun tightened.

"It's a present. Who doesn't like presents?"

"Not from demons, I don't."

Crowley gave a sigh. "Does this have to do with that picture?"

"No," Bobby replies roughly, though it wasn't very convincing.

"Good, because you should be over that by now."

Bobby jerked to a standing position, the gun and the tension no longer tangible. With a hot face and an incredulous expression, Bobby spoke swiftly, "That picture was humiliating and you know it!"

"That's the point of jokes – there's always a butt to them. I couldn't be the butt because I was making the joke, the morons and Thursday couldn't because they were the primary audience, so that just left you." Crowley smiled at his logic.

"No, it's not the picture that puts me off from you," Bobby ploughed through, "It was the tricking me, refusing to give me back my soul, and nearly taking my legs away from me that ticked me off."

"First, I gave you back the ability to walk. Second, I'm a demon, Bobby," he paused to smirk, "it's what I do."

"Well, why don't you do what you do, leave my house and go back to Hell?" His hand itched to grab his gun or the flask of holy water in his desk drawer.

At this, Crowley gave a sigh and rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll open it."

Despite having the perfect opportunity to grab a weapon, Bobby watched as the demon got on his knees and gently pulled off the top of the box. Bobby found himself straightening to his full height, trying to get a better look at what was in the box. He pulled back as Crowley stood up.

In the demon's hands was a puppy. It was small, but healthy looking, with a smooth coat and large snout.

"It's a dog," Bobby said after a moment of shock and watching Crowley scratch its ears.

"Astute observation," Crowley remarked dryly, though his eyes were trained on the creature in his hands.

"I had a dog once. It didn't work out." Bobby didn't mention that it was because a demon had killed it. He hoped that Crowley would take the hint and just leave.

"If you're worried about taking care of her, you should know that she practically takes care of herself."

"She?" Bobby questioned before he could stop himself.

"I call her Lady," Crowley continued. "She was the only female in the litter."

"What did you mean by she can take care of herself?" The question was sharp and abrupt and Bobby wasn't sure if he wanted an answer.

"Bred her myself," Crowley explained simply and proudly, setting her on the floor. "It was an accident really. She's a mutt, you see. One-fourth Hellhound."

"Hellhound?" Bobby echoed incredulously, recounting all he knew about Hellhounds. Nothing good he realized.

"One-fourth, yes. She's strong and fiercely loyal," Crowley complimented. The pup, Lady, had taken to sniffing the ground around her.

"Yeah, loyal to you," Bobby commented, feeling annoyed. He didn't like the way she was smelling his property.

"That may be but as long as you're on my good side, you're on her good side."

"And when I'm on your bad side?"

"Oh, Bobby, you'll never be on my bad side." Crowley threw Bobby a soft smile and wink before turning his attention back to Lady. He seemed very fond of her.

Trying to ignore all innuendo or underlying meaning, Bobby quickly asked, "What does she even eat, human flesh?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Only mongrels would want a taste so sordid." He simpered to himself as he felt Bobby glare his way. "No, she'll eat dog food. Though, you will have to feed her some raw meat occasionally. She can't help her nature after all."

After a moment of silence, Crowley felt his impatience rising. Being the King of Hell was rather time-consuming and it seemed as though Bobby would never answer. But Crowley gave no complaint, allowing only happy thoughts and deep breaths.

"Fine," Bobby muttered after a moment, "You can leave her here."

"Good!" Crowley clapped his hands once in finality. "You should know that she is house trained but does have the occasional accident. She understands the basic commands, you know- sit and stay and attack but she can be quite playful and stubborn when she wants. Also, she eats three times a day." Crowley paused to catch Bobby's gaze. "Take care, love."

And with that, he was gone.

Bobby looked down at the pup, who was still busy sniffing the floor, and he considered taking her out back and shooting her. He didn't really want to chance that she could attack him one day – but then she looked at him and cocked her head to the side.

She really was adorable. Her coat was predominately a dark caramel hue that darkened to chocolate around her eyes, nose and mouth, as well as her paws, and the tips of her wilted ears and her tail. Her eyes were a startling shade of blue, reminding him specifically of Castiel.

Giving a deep sigh, Bobby walked to move in front of his desk. He continued to watch her as she watched him.

"So," he began awkwardly, "Lady, huh?" She seemed to grin in response, her jaw dropping and tongue lightly hanging out. Bobby took notice of her sharp teeth.

He crouched low to the ground, knees creaking underneath him, and he held out his hand. Lady blinked twice, her gaze intent on his hand.

"Come here, girl," he commanded lightly, motioning with his hand for her to come forward. She rose to stand on all fours and walked towards him. He noticed that she seemed to prance, like a horse, moving her paws in an elegant, even manner, just for show. She stopped a few inches in front of him, taking a seat on her back paws.

Up close, Bobby noticed some traits that could only be from her Hellhound genes. Her nose and paws were large, though still proportionate to her body, and her ears looked like they needed to be clipped because of their excessive droop.

Without trepidation, Bobby stroked the top of her head and he thought her fur too soft. He continued to pet her for a moment and when he pulled away, she followed his hand.

Scratching her ears, Bobby wondered what the boys would think about his gift. He doubted that Dean would ever forgive him, but as Lady began to lick the calluses that marred his palm, he figured that it didn't matter much where his joy came from; whether it was from a pup called Lady or a demon named Crowley.