Bobby walked just far enough to let himself fall onto the couch, aware that Aleister would be bitching about the blood stains later. Whatever. "Thanks for the lights." Couldn't complain too much there, although he did have a bleeding headache brewing. "Where's that whiskey?"

He had priorities.

"Why are you suddenly so eager to help?" Sam was suspicious. "Thought you didn't think the Michael thing had any chance of working." Last he heard, Aleister was all for Sam doing the deed by himself to get the devil locked up again, hopefully for good.

"We've got a deal," Bobby explained, "Don't ask." Because if they did ask, he'd have to think about the last several promises he had made Aleister and how he had made good on them and that was not for his boys' delicate ears.

"What kinda deal?" Of course, Sam asked anyway.