Crowley scanned the accounting sheet for the third time and shook his head. He had had to cook the books a little in years past, but nothing this bad. He was getting desperate. He had bought a little time sending Michael to the bank with nothing, but in a day, maybe even just a few hours, everything would come to light. A soft knock on his door brought him to attention.

Crowley brightened as Naomi opened the door. He had been speaking to her on the phone for a couple months, planning this event, and he was more than a little lost on how, well, attractive she was. Petite, dark auburn hair pulled back tightly, primly dressed in dark jeans and fitted black blazer. She looked less like she would be a pop star's personal assistant and more like she would be a mid-level executive at his record company.

She was just Crowley's type. The kind of woman who handles herself with such restraint day-to-day and then really let's it all go in the bedroom. Crowley unconsciously smiles at the thought.

"You employees are assholes," Naomi announces. Crowley sits up, only slightly surprised by the language. He considers this and nods.

"Not surprised," he says, "What did they say?" Naomi thinks for a moment.

"Nothing that wasn't necessarily true," she admits as she takes a seat in the chair on the opposite Crowley.

"How's your day going?" Crowley inquires. Naomi looks down and shrugs, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

"Luke is being a royal pain in the ass because his stylist cut his hair too short, I've been cursed out by, not one, but four Soccer Moms, and we have to go to mall opening in Anaheim tomorrow to deal with a crowd of thoroughly apathetic teenagers." She chuckles humorlessly and rubs her temple. Crowley gives her a sad smile.

"You hate this, don't you?" Crowley says opening his bottom drawer and pulling out his emergency bottle of scotch. He places the it on his desk in front of her.

"So much," she admits, grabbing the bottle and unscrewing the top.

"Then why are you here?" He wonders, resting his head in his palm.

"At first, I was hoping to use this as a springboard into the music industry," She takes a heavy swig, "Three years later, I'm still here."

"You're a singer?" Crowley asks as Naomi passes the bottle back to him.

"Producer," she says flatly

"I know how it is." Crowley says, "Used to be a musician myself." He waves a hand at a drumkit in the corner. Naomi snorts good naturedly.

"I've dated many a drummer in my time," she says wistfully. "Wild nights." She laughs at a private memory. Crowley raises an interested brow as he pulls the bottle away from his lips.

"Really?" he says, a playful glint in his eye. Before he can take the conversation further, there is a heavy knock on the door frame. Crowley glares at Dean, who is leaning against the jamb.

"Luke wants to know if you still have any of those cough drops he likes?" Dean asks, addressing Naomi. She stands up and exits the office, heading to the door for the store. Dean gives Crowley a shit-eating grin.

"I see we have a little crush," he teases, running his tongue along the inside of his lip. Crowley stands and walks to the door.

"Fuck off, Dean," he growls, slamming the door in Dean's face.


Gabriel is studying the quiz "Are You a Sexual Dynamo?" out of a random copy of Cosmo, when Balthazar saunters into the staff room.

"Good afternoon," He says. He looks hungover as shit, wayfarers perched precariously on his nose. He has his guitar case slung over his arm. He drops it off of his shoulder and leans it against the lockers.

"Castiel," He calls out, punching his timecard, "I heard a story about you."

"Which one?" Castiel asks, not looking up from his game of go-fish with Jo. Balthazar walks past the couch.

"The one where you stole $9,000, blew it all in Las Vegas and now there's a hit on you," Balthazar says casually, receiving a confused grimace from Cas, "Has anyone seen Meg this morning?" His words are hesitant. Gabriel looks up from the magazine sternly.

"Yeah, she's here," he answers flatly, "And she has a bandage on her wrist." Balthazar looks up, concerned, before his eyes drift to Naomi.

'Who are you?" He asks.

"I'm Naomi," she says with the same poise she applies to her entire life.

"Oh?"

"I work for Luke Cypher"

"Oooooh," Balthazar tries to hold back the derisive snort of laughter. His reaction sends Jo and Castiel into a quiet fit of giggles, followed by Gabriel.

"It's funny, huh?" Naomi snears. She has had enough. She stands and crosses the room to Crowley's office.

"Tell Luke I quit," She says as she jerks open the door. Crowley jumps from his desk.

"You're quitting?" He asks in disbelief, "You can't just quit!" He follows her as she grabs her leather jacket off the couch.

"I need a change of scene," Naomi replies. She looks like a 100 lb weight has been lifted off of her shoulders, "Truth is, I've always hated Luke's music." Everyone watches with curiosity as Crowley trails after her, insisting she can't go.

"C'mon, you can't leave." He pleads. Naomi smiles at him warmly.

"I gotta do this, Crow." she squeezes his hand and vanishes out the back door. Crowley let's his head hit the doorframe in quiet frustration. He turns to see three employees and one thief staring at him.

"What are you looking at?" he barks. He stomps back to his office, slamming the door behind him. In the solitude, he knows what he has to do. He opens the top drawer of his desk and grabs a cassette tape. Popping it into his stereo system, he presses play, grabs his drumsticks from the window sill and sits down at his kit. As the first notes of "If You Want Blood" ring through the room, Crowley is ready to zone out the only way he knows how.


Meg quietly counts the Funk and Soul albums, checking the inventory. She can feel his presence before he makes a sound.

"I like your hair," Balthazar murmurs, fingers tentatively reaching out to touch an idle strand. She ignores him. He takes a step closer to her, "Meg, are you alright?"

"What do you want?" she says flatly. She doesn't know what she would classify her relationship with Balthazar as. They hang out, they have sex, they've been doing it for about 8 months, but it wasn't dating. Whatever it was, it wasn't making her very happy.

"I want to make sure you're ok." He replies quietly.

"Why do you care?" she responds, "You didn't care last night." Truth is, nothing out of the ordinary happened last night, and that was part of the problem. Balthazar inhales sharply.

"Meg, I… I want to say I'm sorry," Balthazar actually sounds contrite. She wants to laugh. He doesn't even know what he's apologizing for. Balthazar is so oblivious most of the time.

"Why? It's not your fault." Balthazar reaches for her arm carefully, but she jerks away, "Don't touch me." He jerks back like he's been stung. She turns and looks at him; he looks so pathetically sad.

"Look, it's not about you, ok?" Meg sighs, "I got home last night and I thought about everything that had happened the night before and the month before and the year before. The only thing that was different was that there was always something else making me feel like shit, ok?" She turns back to the rack and focuses on the inventory sheet.

"I'm trying to say I'm sorry," Balthazar mumbles.

"This isn't about you!" she snaps a little too harshly, "I'm just screwed up, ok? Now, just leave me alone." Balthazar tries to place an arm on her shoulder but she shrugs him off quickly. He walks away dejectedly as Meg watches him out of the corner of her eye.


"This is Bullshit, Man!" Jo screams. He arms are securely cuffed behind her back as Crowley approaches the arresting officer.

"Do not fear the warm embrace of the long arm of the law, Jo," Castiel offers as he leans his head back against the back of the couch.

"I'm Fergus Crowley, the manager here. Do you need anything from me?" Crowley asks the officer.

"No, we've already got a statement from Mr. Novak over there," the officer says, indicating Castiel.

"Are you kidding me?" Jo yells, "Mr. Novak over there stole $9,000. I take a could of CDs and…"

"That's enough, young lady!" The cop snaps, seizing Jo by the arm and dragging her toward the door.

"C'mon, Castiel, tell 'em!" Jo yells, trying to jerk out of the cop's grip.

"Don't let the man get you down, Jo." Cas says, giving the girl a pitiful look.

"I don't want to see you back in the store, Jo," Crowley adds, seriously. Gabriel gives a little wave goodbye as Jo grits her teeth and struggles against the restraints.

"I'm gonna get you! I'll be back and you'll be sorry!" her screeched words echo through the store as she's pulled out the door.

"You'll be sorry," Gabriel imitates in a high-pitched squeak.

"I'm already sorry," Crowley snorts, heading back to his desk.


Dean rushes into the back room to grab a drink when he notices Alfie perched on the back of the staff room sofa, eyes glued to the fuzzy, ancient television. His mouth is stuffed with brownie, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, chewing slowly. He stares unblinking at the music video on the screen.

"Alfie," Dean says carefully, approaching him, "What are you doing?" a full five seconds pass before he answers.

"I'm playing with GWAR," Alfie says as he swallows a mouthful of brownie. Dean glances at the screen where Oderus Urungus wails over the music.

"Oh?" Dean says carefully. Alfie looks like any sudden movements might cause him to snap. "They invited me to join the band and now I'm playing with them," he points to the screen, "Right there." Dean raises an eyebrow. Alfie stops chewing and leans toward the screen.

"And now the rest of the band is eating me," he adds. Dean' eye go wide as Alfie dissolves into giggles. "Cool" he laughs manicly as he takes another bite of brownie. Dean backs away slowly and heads out to the floor.

"Hey Gabe!" he calls out to the man behind the cash register, currently checking out a customer. Dean comes behind the counter and stares down Gabriel.

"Can I help you, Dean?" Gabe asks genially.

"What the hell did you put in Alfie's brownies?" Dean hisses, his mouth is a hard line.

"Nothing," Gabe answers. Dean levels a glare at him, "I'm serious, nothing!"

"Really?!" Dean is incredulous, "because the kid is convinced he's watching himself get eaten alive by members of GWAR on TV." He crosses his arms over his chest. Gabe frowns in confusion.

"It's just extra sugar. Nothing else," Dean gives a derisive snort, "I swear! The kid's just weird." Dean shakes his head and moves out from behind the counter.


Crowley tries to focus on the work in front of him when there is another knock at his door.

"Crowley?" Sam stands there with a hopeful grin, squeezing his hands together, "Best boss ever, I was wondering, if, um…"
"Spit it out, Moose," Crowley says without looking up. Sam Sam thinks that if he bats his eyes, he can get what he wants. This might work on Gabriel and Dean, but not on him.

"I was hoping I could bring Luke his lunch." Sam beams.

"Balthazar is bringing him his lunch," Crowley replies, organizing the papers on his desk. Sam's face drops.

"Crow, you know Bal will insult him right to his face," Sam says seriously sitting in the chair on the opposite side of the desk.

"Good, maybe it will knock that twat down a peg," Crowley looks up at Sam and gives him a tight smile, "now shoo, Moose." Sam's expression goes hard, nostrils flaring.

"Crowley, I need to bring Luke his lunch," he says, eerily calm.

"Balthazar is," Crowley says, refocusing on his work.

"Crow," Sam's leans forward, speaking slowly, "I need to bring him his lunch." Crowley looks up suspiciously. He's never seen Sam be anything but a giant puppy. This Sam is… different.

"Balthazar is," he says carefully. Sam stands suddenly and slams his large fist on Crowley's desk.

"I'M BRINGING LUKE HIS LUNCH!" Sam shouts with unrestrained fury, hazel eyes blazing. Crowley has never had to face down an angry Moose-Man before, and now hopes he never will again. Angry Sam is downright terrifying; Six-foot-four-inches of controlled Winchester rage aimed in his direction is jarring. Crowley doesn't react, save for a nervous swallow in his throat. He sits up straight, dusting an invisible piece of lint off of his jacket.

"Alright, Moose," he mumbles. Sam beams brightly, murmuring 'thank yous' and practically skipping out the door.