spn_springfling | Contraband by jennytork for <user site="livejournal.com" user="

Title: Contraband
Rating: PG
Characters: Bobby, Crowley, and original characters wearing familiar faces...
Warnings: AU

Captain Robert Singer was in a shuttlecraft with his wife, rocketing through space on their way to a well-earned happily ever after. The only dark spot was that the music they were listening to seemed to have developed an annoying buzzing beep.

But when his wife turned to him and her voice dissolved into the same annoying sound, he realised he was dreaming. He leaned over and kissed her tenderly, then sat back and closed his eyes.

Bobby Singer opened his eyes to his spartan bedroom aboard the trading vessel he commanded. He leaned back onto his pillows and growled out vague curses. He hated those dreams where his wife was alive, well and by his side once more. They just made him miss her and the life he'd once had more acutely.

The same annoying sound that had alerted him that he was dreaming sounded twice more and then stopped. Bobby groaned as he recognised it. "The comm..." he sighed, forcing himself out of bed and into his clothing. "Of course it's the blamed comm...."

As Bobby walked onto the bridge of the small ship, his shipmate turned from the communications console. "About time. I'm not your bloody secretary, you know. Got better things to do than take your messages!"

Bobby's returning smile wasn't entirely faked. "And a very good morning to you, Crowley. Any messages for me today?"

Crowley let out a snarl that made Bobby chuckle. He stood and waved a hand toward the console. "Commodore Thomas," he growled. "Station Fifty-Four. Knock yourself out."

Bobby watched him stalk off and shook his head, still softly chuckling as he called Thomas back. When the sandy-haired figure appeared, he asked, "To what do I owe the pleasure of a personal call, Commodore?"

"Bobby," Thomas smiled. "You still interested in Old Earth relics?"

Bobby sat up. "Why, you got some?"

"Think I might, if they're not forgeries."

"Send me images and I'll get back to you." Thomas nodded and seconds later, a datapacket came into the communications console. "Got it. I'll let you know, Commodore." Bobby ended the connection and opened the images.

"Whoa," he breathed in awe, recognising a couple of the artifacts in the images. He togged a switch. "Crowley, need you up here."

"Yeah, still not your secretary, mate," Crowley snarked back.

"Got possible authentic Egyptian relics on Fifty-Four."

After a beat of silence, Crowley replied, "Right. On my way." Seconds later, Crowley walked in and sat down. "Show me."

Bobby called the images up and truly enjoyed the play of emotions on Crowley's face. It was rare that the creature was truly shocked, and Bobby always delighted to watch it. "Recognise any of that?"

"Absolutely." He leaned back in the chair and sighed. "I can tell you this – they're authentic Old Earth, but they're not authentic Ancient Egyptian."

"Do tell." There was no doubt in Bobby's mind that Crowley was telling the truth. The creature held things close to his vest at times, but so long as he was aboard the ship, he was under the influence of a truth field.

Crowley touched the screen, fingers tracing the shape of a tapered jar with the stylised head of a lion. "That's a canopic jar."

Bobby nodded. "Holds a mummy's internal organs, right?"

"Usually. That one, though, holds a crystal."

"And you know this because --"

"—Because I put it there. Centuries ago. It was just a pretty bauble, but it seemed to weaken me. Took coming out here for me to find out why."

"Do tell," Bobby repeated, smirking.

Crowley looked at him. "The crystal is almost pure carbinium."

Bobby's smirk vanished as if it had been slapped off. "How big?"

"Fills nearly the whole jar. About...." He measured with his hands. "I'd say it weighs – oh – ten, twenty pounds."

"And that is, in Standard...."

Crowley sighed. "I bloody hate Standard. Fifteen and a quarter units, Standard weight."

"Fif...." Bobby licked his lips. "That much carbinium could power the ship for---"

"Fifty years." Crowley shook his head. "Twenty-five annual units, Standard." He nodded at the screen. "And there's two of them."

"You'd have to do the install," Bobby pointed out.

"Right – it just weakens me. It's nearly fatal to you, given long enough exposure."

Bobby froze. "Wait – those people on the station. Tell me those jars have the right shielding."

Crowley's lips thinned into a tight line as he shook his head. "It was centuries past, mate. I didn't know what it bloody was, much less how to shield!"

Bobby swore. "Okay, then we get to the station – fast."

"Got another issue, Bob."

"Seriously? What now?"

Crowley met his eyes, sighing. "Station's warded."

~*~

A warded station meant the same in space as it did on Earth – the station was protected against supernatural influence. Crowley was a supernatural creature, so he was unable to enter the station on his own.

Bobby let him pout for a little while, then he grinned wickedly and said, "You know what? There's more than one way to smuggle a creature onto a station."

Crowley began to mirror the wicked smile. "And just what do you have in mind?"

"Your – species. The essence that holds your consciousness possesses things, right?"

"You know that," Crowley snarled, losing patience. "And that's precisely what the station's warded against. I can't transport down and if I try to leave the ship and set foot on the station, it'll set the wards off!"

"Even if you share with me," Bobby nodded. "The wards are activated when you go in inside an organism."

Noticing Bobby's choice of words, Crowley's eyes widened. "You're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting...."

Bobby's answer was a sly smirk.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Fine," he spat. "But you have to make sure this meatsuit goes into stasis. I've had him a long time, and I don't want him to start rotting on me."

"Deal," Bobby said. "Although I don't get why I can't just go in and get the canopic jars by myself."

"Because I booby-trapped them."

"Of course you did," Bobby sighed. "And you could tell me how to--"

"I could. But I won't."

"Typical," Bobby ran a hand down his face. "Absolutely typical."

~*~

Two hours later, the single-man shuttle docked with Station Fifty-Four and Bobby walked out. He was in full uniform, down to the captain's pips on his collar. He tugged idly on the bottom of his tunic as he walked into the docking bay and headed right to a tech. "Commodore Thomas' office?"

The tech didn't recognise the face, but it was clear he knew the insignia. He nodded and pointed, and Bobby headed that way. He buzzed, and Thomas called, "Come!"

He looked up and blinked, standing up and coming around the desk. "Bobby! Well, this was unexpected! And in uniform!"

"Figured it would help me aboard here. Crowley's with me, too."

Thomas frowns. "He is? How is that possible, we're warded!"

A voice came from the communications badge on his shoulder. "Yes, you're warded against organic infiltration."

Thomas' jaw slammed open. "And you've exposed a weakness. Well played, you two."

Crowley said, "There are two canopic jars in that collection that we need to take with us. They're loaded with unshielded carbinium." At Thomas' startled suck-in of breath, he added, "Exactly."

"In his defense," Bobby added, "he didn't know what it was when he loaded them."

"No wonder I've been getting reports of ill health since that shipment came aboard," Thomas breathed. "Is that the extent of the carbinium?"

"It is,"Crowley said.

Bobby held up a hand. "And there's an honesty filter in the badge, so you know that's the truth."

Thomas nodded. "Let's go. I'll help you get them off. Sooner they're gone, sooner everything will start improving."

"That's the plan," Bobby and Crowley said in unison.

Thomas glared. "Okay, that is unnerving."

As they walked through the corridors, Crowley whispered, "No, Thomas is unnerving."

"Why?" Bobby whispered back.

"Because he looks too damn much like an older version of Dean Winchester."

"Who?"

Crowley sighed. "An old .... well. We howled at the moon once upon a time."

"Sometimes you worry me, Crowley."

"Put it this way. If it weren't for him and his brother and ... Well, I'd still be running somewhere I'd lost all interest in instead of out here, helping out." There was a bit of silence, then he finished, "They made me see I could be something else."

Thomas turned. "We're here." They went into the storeroom and right to the canopic jars. At Crowley's direction, Bobby pressed hidden switches on the back of each jars' head – deactivating the booby traps – and they loaded them onto a null-grav transport. "Tell me something, Bobby," Thomas said as they worked. "You know what Crowley is. What his – species – does. You know what he cost you. Why do you still stay with him?"

There was no hesitation. "Because he didn't cause the accident that cost me my ship. He was there, all right, but he didn't cause it. He helped my crew, he helped me, all through those hellish weeks on that asteroid before we were found. If it wasn't for him, all hundred of us would be dead. When we were back here and we found out his species, most of the crew and most of the service turned against him, reaching the conclusion he caused it all. But it isn't true."

"You've said that consistently," Thomas said as they walked out of the storeroom with the transport between them. "People thought he'd coerced you."

Bobby shrugged. "Well, they can think anything they want. No skin off my --"

Suddenly he was turned around and dropped with one punch. A large guy stood over him, growling, "Singer! You're a disgrace to that uniform! You got some nerve showin' up here and--"

Red smoke poured from the badge on Bobby's chest and into the large man. He twitched, his eyes flaring red, and a British voice purred from his throat, "Oh, dear, how can you breathe with that huge chip on your shoulder?" Alarms started to blare and he smirked, "Oops. Seems I set off some wards. My mistake."

The smoke then poured back into the badge, just reaching it before guards came and hauled the brute off, ignoring his screams that he was not being ridden, he was all him, and it was Singer, it was all Singer's fault.....

Thomas found himself laughing as the alarms went silent and he helped Bobby to his feet. "You okay?"

"I am now." Bobby worked his jaw. "Who the hell was that?"

"One of my new guys. Not sure what made him go off like that..."

"His surface memories said his uncle worked with you while Karen was alive and he blamed you for her death. Thought losing your ship was just punishment and you were let off easy."

Bobby groaned. "Karen was my wife," he told Thomas. "She died of injuries from a crash landing awhile before the accident. The crash was caused by some of Crowley's species."

Thomas nodded slowly. "That explains it. Well, we'll take good care of him." By now, they were at the shuttle. "Might be best if you get out of here as fast as you can."

"That's the plan," he said with a grin. "Thanks, Commodore."

"Captain," Thomas said and stood there while Bobby secured the canopic jars and piloted the shuttle from the station.

~*~

By the time Bobby got back to the trader ship, he wasn't feeling well. And Crowley was complaining he was feeling weak.

To help each other, Bobby agreed to a temporary "inhabitance". Their combined strength would be enough to get the jars secured and shielded until Crowley could install the carbinium.

Once that was done, they walked down the hall toward the stasis room. "I'll be glad when you're back in your own skin," Bobby said. "This feels just too weird."

Crowley shot back, "Now that I'm here, what makes you think I won't just reneg and push you down? Take over you and terrorise the galaxy?"

Bobby chuckled. "Beside the fact that I know you and wholescale terror is so far outside your style as to be laughable?"

"Dammit. When did I become one of the good guys?"

"Since I've known you, you have been. I blame those Winston boys you told me about. Sounds like they were quite the positive influence."

Bobby opened the stasis field and Crowley flowed back into his body. He opened his eyes, sat up, turned his hands over and back, then shot an acid glare up at Bobby and said, "Winchester. Their name was Winchester, not Winston."

Bobby just grinned, and Crowley snarled, "You did that on purpose."

"How soon can you have the carbinium installed?"

Crowley sighed. "If I do it safely, so neither of us gets sick? A week, tops."

"Get on it, then. I'll rustle up some supplies. I hear the Clay brothers are looking for some Old Earth objects. Think some faux Egyptian canopic jars – minus their toxic load – should fit the bill."

"They should," Crowley stood. "Just leave me out of it this time. They give me the willies."

"I'll see what I can do." Bobby grinned and left Crowley alone.

As he settled into the pilot's chair, Bobby called up the Clay brothers. Identical features – down to the long brown hair and the triangle of moles on their faces – appeared and they asked in unison, "How can we help you, Captain Singer?"

"How interested are you in a trade....." Bobby began the negotiation.

And life went on in his small area of space.

END