A/N: Written for the spn_bigpretzel Halloween reverse microbang on LJ. Have a happy Halloween everyone!
If You Can't Beat 'em …
"Is everything ready?" Crowley asked Henchman #1.
"Almost, sir," The burly demon answered.
"Better hurry, it's getting dark and we don't have much time left. I don't want us caught with our pants around our ankles like last year."
"Yes, sir," The henchman responded, standing beside Crowley as he nervously looked out the window and checked up and down the street. So far, he hadn't seen any sign of the monsters that roamed freely on this night, but it was early yet and he knew it was only a matter of time before they came with their incessant demands and cruel intentions. But this year, Crowley was going to be ready for them. Yes … he'd be prepared and he wasn't about to let them get one over on him.
Unlike last year …
Dear Satan, what a horrible experience that was ...
Crowley turned from the window and noticed that the other demon was still standing beside him, almost invading his personal space. He didn't care to know the demon's name, all he cared was he had enough muscle to help him make it through the impending night, but the guy was a little lacking in the brains department. "Well? What are you waiting for, you moron? Go finish with the prep work and when you're done, I want everyone in here for a last-minute debriefing, got it?"
"Yessir," Henchman #1 replied quickly, suitably chastised enough to exit the room quickly.
Crowley shook his head and rolled his eyes. He then allowed the curtain to fall back over the window as he turned towards his desk and opened the top drawer. He pulled out the bottle of 50 year old scotch that he had imported from his home in Scotland and poured himself a nearly full glass. Usually he was judicious in his consumption of the rare and precious liquid, but tonight, it was needed for what was to come.
He drank the glass down in two gulps, gasping as it burned down his throat. He was thankful for the nearly instantaneous calming effect as it melted through his muscles. Sighing, he settled down into the leather chair behind the desk, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off the impending headache he could feel brewing between his temples.
Damn this night. What evil fool dreamed this shit up? Truly, he hoped to meet that man in hell one day just so he could personally string him up on the rack and repay him for this. A small smile played across Crowley's face as he imagined the various instruments and devices he would use on that bloody bastard and the places he would implement them.
Ahhhh torture … Good times, good times …
Crowley's musings were cut short as Henchman #1 re-entered the room with three other demons whose names he also didn't care to know, "Sir? We've finished the preparations. What would you have us do now?"
Pushing away from his desk, Crowley stood then straightened out his jacket, addressing the assembled team with stern authority like a general preparing his troops for war, "Alright. Listen up. If you want to survive tonight you need to do exactly as I say. Is that understood?"
The demons before him nodded, somewhat nervously. Crowley had built a reputation in Hell and on Earth as king of the cross-roads for being a harsh task-master with his servants. He meant to uphold the belief amongst his underlings that he wouldn't hesitate to pull out all of the stops in their suffering should any of them fail to please him.
"You need to keep your wits about you. These monsters are not to be trifled with and only engage them as a last resort. While I could care less if these heathens were abolished with impunity, I have a status to uphold in this neighborhood and any bloodshed would be looked down upon and force me to find another base of operations, which I have no intention of doing. So, think first before you snap any necks, got it?"
Heads nodded again.
"And don't do the whole black-eyed thing. It'll only make things worse if any of them start screaming and making a scene. Now, you- " Crowley pointed to Henchman #1, "will man the front door."
The demon gulped audibly, then pointed at Henchman #2, "Sir … I think Agares would be a better choice –"
"Hey!" The demon named Agares objected adamantly.
Crowley cut them both off with a stern, "Enough!" He approached the first henchman and poked him in the chest with his finger, "You will man the front door or I swear to all that is unholy to send you back to hell where you can tell all of your pals down there that you were sent back because you were too afraid to face a few nappy-filling, piss-ant cretins half your size."
The demon hung his head, "Yessir, Mr. Crowley."
Crowley eyed Henchman #1 scathingly, but in all honesty, he was glad he had expendable minions such as this idiot so he wouldn't have to be the one in the path of those awful, vile vermin.
"Alright, now that we have that settled, let's talk about our defenses. I think we all learned a lesson about this neighborhood last year and the kind of ilk that has been bred here, but if all goes well and those beasts are appeased, we might be able to escape any confrontations and come out of this night without any damages. So tell me, what do we have as an offering?"
Henchman #3, whose vessel towered over Crowley by at least of foot, turned and left the room for a moment, returning with a large bowl in his hands which he proudly showed to Crowley.
Taking one look at the contents of the bowl, Crowley ground his teeth as anger welled up and flowed over the brim, "Bollucks … What the fuck is this?" He asked.
"It's what you asked me to procure, sir." The demon replied as he shrunk away and tried to make his enormous size appear smaller, but Crowley was incensed and approached the moronic, mammoth-sized minion with unrestrained fury.
"This? You think I asked you to get this? You really think that those monsters will think this worthy? You really think that they won't retaliate with extreme prejudice the moment you give them this?" He asked as he snatched the bowl out of the lesser demon's hands and tossed it to the floor. The metal bowl clanged noisily and reverberated against the walls, spilling its contents in all directions.
"But …" The demon looked honestly confused, "Isn't that what they like?"
Crowley stared at the demon wondering if he was truly that stupid. He pointed to the mess on the floor, "On what planet do you think this liked by anyone, much less the spoiled brats that will be here at any moment? Do you remember what happened last year? How terrible their attack was just because we did not participate in this ridiculous ritual?" Crowley shouted, spitting out his words with righteous indignation, "It took days to clean everything up! But this … this will be much, much worse …"
"But you said to get candy ..."
Crowley let his voice drop to almost a low growl as his nostrils flared. He fought to control the pitch and timber of his voice so he could clearly make his point to the idiot, "That is not candy … those are Raisinets and though they be covered in chocolate, they can hardly qualify and anything even remotely approaching the kind of candy these monsters are expecting. Your first clue should have been that there is a bloody 'raisin' in the name; it's like poison to them!"
Crowley gave up even trying to stay in control and his voice cut through the air like a punch to the gut. All of the assembled demons stepped back as he continued his rant, "You realize that you have completely SCREWED us, don't you? We are situated in the most affluent neighborhood of this city and if we give them this cheap, nasty-ass, rabbit turds instead of the full-sized, gooey, nougat, crap-filled candy bars that they get from all of the other houses here, then we might as well paint a gigantic target on our backsides, bend over and take up the shitter!"
All four of the demons standing around Crowley cowered from his wrath. He was beyond pissed. He couldn't believe the gall of that fool … Raisinets? Why don't they just give those brats the eggs and toilet-paper rolls they were going to decorate his home with on a silver platter for all of the good giving them the chocolate-covered raisins would do?
And that wasn't the only thing he was angry about. Sure, they were demons, evil servants of the underworld, and therefore pretty much lived to do evil things, but giving out Raisinets on Halloween was just plain cruel and senseless. He would not stand for it. Afterall, he still had a shred of morality left in his black heart.
Crowley was half-tempted to exorcize them all when the shrill sound of the front door bell ringing echoed into the room.
"Christ … they're here." He whispered.
"What do we do, sir?" Henchman #1 asked.
Crowley glared at the candy on the floor. He hated to do it, but what other choice did he have? If they didn't give the little devils something there would be hell to pay – just like last year. It might help mitigate the damages, but that was a fat chance given the evil nature of these beasts, "Give 'em the damned Raisinets."
Crowley's demons stooped down and gathered up the little bags of raisins and put them back into the bowl. Henchman #1, being the assigned doorman, walked like a man going to the gallows towards the front door.
At its opening, there was a shrill chorus of 'Trick or Treat' that filled the hall and made the hairs on the back of Crowley's neck stand at attention. With a shudder, he fled to the sanctuary of his study to wait for the inevitable pelting of his home with eggs, the wrapping of his precious car in plastic wrap, the toilet paper in the trees, or whatever devious prank those hellacious animals would perpetrate.
He went back to his bottle of scotch and poured himself another full glass, drank it down, then refilled it.
"Children … Halloween …" He muttered to himself as another group of those terrible, little monsters could be heard approaching, "God save us all …"