HEATHCLIFF STUDIOS - AFTERNOON

The large family of Pastor Abin Cooper and their friends were let into the Inferno set while the house band was still rehearsing. Everyone gave the protesters a wide berth, because - though the cast and crew of this Hell-themed show were all monsters - these guys were downright creepy. They were chanting something about the Lamb of God and some of them were carrying signs with verses from Revelation. 6:12, 13:3, 13:7, 13:12. One of their signs read, "The Slain Will Rise". These are not the humans you feel comfortable inviting in.

Unless you're the devil.

Crowley and Balthazar shook off the last few fans wanting autographs at the door. The way Crowley swaggered toward the protesters, smirking the self-satisfied smirk of a man who'd just won, you'd think these people were here to bring him his trophy. Not something the Coopers were used to, but there's no scaring off the crazed. Crowley approached one of them, a woman in her 30s. Blonde, thin, tall. She lowered her sign and Crowley spoke, looking her right in the eye.

"Where's your sharpshooter?" he asked.

They fell silent, lowered their signs. Was it because they were trapped in an arena with a guy Abin told the cops he shot, or because they all knew it was a lie?

"The pastor isn't here," the woman said. "I'm his granddaughter, Cheyenne."

"Cheyenne?" Crowley echoed, with as much sex in his voice as the laws of nature allow.

"I'll handle this," Balthazar said sweetly, pushing between them like the mean girl in a bad high school movie. These were supposed to be his people. Or, his father's people after all. Well,... ostensibly. They seemed to think so.

"We won't talk to you," Cheyenne said.

That shocked Balthazar for a second. "Wha... me? I'm the only angel here, you realize. Don't I get-."

An older woman in back cut him off, "You're the Beast's beast!" And as if that was the cue, the chanting began again.

Balthazar looked scandalized. Did that Jesus freak just call him a bitch?

Crowley, on the other hand, was highly amused, looking around himself hopefully. "Please tell me someone's getting this on film!" he said.

"Enough!" Balthazar roared that them, loud enough to affect the sound system. Everyone shut their chant-holes and straightened up. Even Outside Her Syndrom was paying attention now. "There will be no touching," Balthazar went on to the protesters, calmly but sternly. "Not of the cast, the crew, or the audience. No spitting, no slurs, no threats. You will behave yourselves or you will leave. But if you're good boys and girls, you'll get to be on national television and wave to grandad. Are we clear?"

None of them spoke, totally gobsmacked, but Cheyenne nodded dumbly.

"Good." He turned and headed for the door, decidedly troubled.

Crowley went halfway to Outside Her Syndrom and started shooing them out of the band's pit. "You - get out, we'll find another place for you. Move it!"

Most of them started moving and taking their equipment with them, but Levi protested. "Zealots are gonna hate this," he warned.

"They'll hate it if I bite off all your heads and replace you with Low Shoulder," Crowley snapped back. "If I move you, they'll just whine about it on the internet."

That was enough to scare Levi out. As soon as the pit was clear, Crowley offered the space to the protesters with a sweep of his arm. They shuffled in and Crowley gestured for some minions to tend to them before leaving to join Balthazar at the door.

Crowley was just bubbly. "That was fantastic," he whispered. "You need to use that voice more often."

"I think you're making a mistake," Balthazar whispered back. "I don't like them - we're partners, I should get a say."

"I know, that was terribly naughty of me... I should be punished."

Balthazar glared at him. "Not everything's about sex," he said.

"Of course not. Some things are about foreplay."

Crowley smiled sweetly. No shame.