A/N: Wow. Uh, this happened because of a conversation with the fabulous sammysmissingshoe. It should be noted that it was approximately four in the morning when this brainchild came into being...takes place sometime after season 9's finale, so spoilers for that. Enjoy.

-Jaq

"And some good entertainment! Would a bloody band really be that terribly amiss? You ignorant twats, what the hell do you think this is, a democracy?"

Dean raised his eyebrows at the King of Hell. Crowley rolled his eyes and snapped shut his cell phone. "I cannot believe their idea of a good night of entertainment. Where are the drinks, strippers, bands, torture?"

"Not sure. You could always kill them."

"Actually, I can't. My secratary may be stupid and pathetic for a demon, but she's great as a secratary. You have to learn these things, Dean. Just because you always want to kill doesn't mean it's the best idea. But if you want, we can go murder some of Abbadon's old followers. They think they can hide. Hide, my arse. It's a bit pathetic, really. You can't hide from the King of Hell!"

Dean watched as Crowley's face became more and more red, and the annoying, lingering human bit thought of a pun. "We could always make a bloody band."

"Huh?"

Dean grinned, his eyes flicking to black. "I'm sure you've got a bass player somewhere down there."

Crowley looked at his protégé, nodding in consideration. "Not a bad idea, actually. Come on, then." He promptly disappeared.

Dean was getting better at following Crowley once he teleported, and managed to pop up himself barely fifty feet away.

Crowley was leaning over a man on the rack. Turning to the demon who was torturing, he snapped his fingers. "That's enough."

"But, sir-"

"I said, that's ENOUGH!"

The demon nodded meekly and put his knife down. Crowley snapped his fingers and the man was off the rack and standing up.

"You play bass?"

The man nodded, bewildered. "I only came down here a week ago- I didn't mean to sell my soul, my wife was dying-"

"Shut up. I don't give a rat's ass about your poor family. Answer the question."

"Yeah." The man swallowed but stayed silent otherwise.

"Good."

-:-

Several hours later, there was a group of five people on a stage dressed in speedos and extremely hesitantly rocking out. It didn't help that every time somebody messed up Crowley threatened more torture, but it was definiely a reverie from the routine stuff.

Dean was loving it. The band was bloody, and broken, and despicable, and he loved it.

"Play more Zeppelin," he called, absentmindedly twirling the First Blade. There was a hurried discussion, and then the opening notes of Black Dog began to play. Dean smiled widely.

Now this was a bloody band.

A/N 2: Don't even try to tell me that Demon Dean doesn't listen to Led Zeppelin anymore, okay? Just don't. If you enjoyed that piece of insanity, please leave a review! They make my day :)

-Jaq