Work Text:
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve gotten this right.” Bobby stared at Crowley in disbelief. His ears could not be working right. “You want me to be a judge for what?”
“A dog show,” Crowley supplied. Which is what Bobby had thought he’d heard, but it still didn’t make any goddamn sense. Why was Crowley putting on a dog show? He didn’t have the chance to ask, as Crowley continued, “Hell’s recently gotten a massive influx of souls who did nasty things to dogs in life, and as part of their punishment, I thought it might be fun to make them watch a dog show. When dogs are eliminated from contention, they’re turned loose on the audience.”
“And you think I’m going to help you with this why? Participate in the torture of human souls, which they still are no matter where they are or what they did?” Bobby asked, voice dripping with disgust. “That’s how your people end up claiming mine.”
“You do realize you’re probably coming my way when you die anyway,” Crowley deadpanned. Bobby couldn’t argue, really. Dating the King of Hell was not going to count in his favor when Heaven was reading his resume. “Good people do end up in Hell. Frequently. Lilith never minded, but when I get one, they get to go to a special place. No torture, off-limits to demons unless they’ve gone soft, just an eternity of playing with puppies or reading books. It’s not Heaven, personally tailored to them, but it’s not like the rest of Hell either. We still get the power of having their souls, but without the torture they don’t deserve.”
“And that’s got what to do with anything?” Bobby demanded – although it was nice to know. He could easily imagine hunters ending up there – too bad to go to Heaven, too good for the rest of Hell. People who sold their souls for good reasons. If it weren’t for the Apocalypse, that’s probably where Dean would’ve gone.
“If I do that for people I don’t give a damn about, imagine what Hell would be like for someone I love. You come to me, you’re going to have a good time. Doesn’t matter what you do while you’re alive.”
“It matters to me,” Bobby grumbled. “Why’re you wanting to have a dog show anyway? Has to be a point to it beyond torturing dog-haters.”
“My Juliet’s due for a heat soon, and I can’t have her mating with just any old hellhound, not now that I’m king. Only the best for my dear.” Crowley tilted his head. “Tell you what. Forget the torture aspect of it. We’ll do it as entertainment for the good ones. When a hellhound is eliminated from contention, they still get sent into the audience, but this time for consolation pets and cuddles. Good enough for you to be in?”
“I…” Bobby shook his head. This was crazy. “How’m I supposed to judge hellhounds when I can’t see or hear them unless they’re after me? Not letting you mark me to get ripped apart by them.”
“Now that, there’s an easy solution to.” Crowley pulled a small case out of his jacket pocket, which Bobby opened to find a pair of glasses and earplugs. “Those are purified in holy fire. You’ll be able to see and hear the hellhounds. I really should see about getting you and Juliet bonded so you can see her any time.”
Bobby took out the glasses and tried them on. Nothing seemed different, except that now he could see the hellhound behind Crowley with her head on her paws as she stared back at Bobby. “You brought her?”
A look of relief crossed Crowley’s face. “Of course I brought her. This is Juliet.” The hound’s head perked up at her name. “Juliet, this is Bobby. You’ve heard all about him, the hunter who helped save the world and never gets any of the credit for it.”
“I get more than you,” Bobby grumbled. He hesitantly reached a hand out to Juliet to sniff. Next thing he knew, he was on his knees petting a damn hellhound. When she rolled over for a belly rub, Bobby knew he was screwed.
“And don’t I know it. Underappreciated, the both of us.” Crowley smiled. “Does this mean you’ll do it?”
“Yeah, I’ll do it,” Bobby said. “Can’t let her have substandard puppies, can I? This mean the girl hounds don’t get to participate?”
“They do.” Crowley crouched to join Bobby in petting Juliet. “Hellhounds are as much demon as they are dog. They don’t have the same relationship with sex that mortal dogs do. The only time they can’t sire pups is when they’re close to going into heat themselves, and if they’re in or near heat, letting them be around other hounds is too bad an idea to let them participate. There’s only a handful of others right now.”
“How’s it usually get decided then, if there are so many potential fathers for a handful of mothers?” Bobby asked.
“Usually, with lots of blood and occasionally a few corpses to clean up. Another reason for the dog show, keeps the hounds from wasting their strength on each other.” That was exactly what Bobby had figured. “When are we doing this?”
“Soon. Next couple of days, if we can get it arranged.”
The dogs were broken into groups based on size, hunting style, and temperament. Each dog had been assigned a demon handler, who paraded them one by one through the ring. Bobby’s eyes were starting to cross by the middle of the third group – and this was, Crowley assured him, after preliminaries had weeded out the obviously unworthy. Juliet wasn’t in attendance, which hardly seemed fair as she was the prize. Crowley had assured him it was necessary. With her heat kicking in, there was no way this show would remain peaceful.
Eight hounds had been advanced to the finals, based on the number of hellhounds in heat. All of the finalists would be mating. Bobby’s favorite was a somewhat short, solidly built hound. There was aggression there, but well contained. “What’s his name?”
“Which one?” Crowley looked where Bobby was pointing and smirked. “I should’ve known you’d latch onto that one. We call him Donald. Not one I’d have expected to make the finals, really, he’s never stood out much. Kind of ordinary, really. You sure this is the one you like? Not Brenda over there?” Crowley pointed to the biggest dog in the finals.
“This one. He’s ordinary, but he’s here. That speaks to his heart and his character, which are things that can overcome a lot of deficiencies. He’s not deficient, but sometimes pups don’t come out perfect.”
Crowley nodded. “Sounds good to me. Congratulations, Donald, come with me and Bobby.”