Another Raising Hell one shot before I post the next story!

So this one stemmed from a conversation I had with NordicRivers on Ao3 and I had to write it. When I started Raising Hell, I had actually never intended to use Wheatly as much as I did but I found I really enjoyed him as a character, and I'm glad you guys also seem to like him ^_^ Also, I couldn't resist using the Black Butler format for this one.

Next Monday I will post the first chapter of "Pandemonium" (Raising Hell #2)

Steward Wheatly

A Supernatural Fanfic

In the Morning: The Steward, Weary

Demons didn't sleep, but that didn't mean Wheatly didn't get weary. He had thought that overseeing the running of Hell in the absence of any ruler was exhausting—after all, keeping demons in line was like herding cats, except they talked back and Wheatly was actually rather fond of cats—but with the Winchesters in charge?

Wheatly heaved a weighty sigh before he opened the doors to the Winchesters' suite upon a summons, wondering, if the reader would pardon the cliché, what fresh hell he would have to face today.

"Jeeves, there you are," Dean's curt tone greeted him the instant he stepped in the door, coffee cup in hand and the remnants of breakfast on the table.

Wheatly pressed his lips together to refrain from sighing again. "Master Winchester, My Lord, how may I serve you?"

"Thanks for coming, Wheatly," Sam said, at least a little more polite than his brother was. "We need to call a few of the crossroads demons together to discuss some of the forms. Some of them haven't been filling them out properly."

"I will call them together to meet within half an hour in the conference room, My Lord," Wheatly said smartly.

"Bring several guards as well," the angel said firmly. "Things have the tendency to get ugly with the crossroads demons are concerned."

Wheatly sniffed. As if the King would need any more protection besides the angel, Master Winchester, and himself. He was getting rather weary of the halo always looking down his nose at him—especially since Wheatly knew the Winchesters beloved pet had been working with Crowley willingly even before they had, not to mention he'd had a scandalous fling with Azazel's favorite, Meg. Demons gossiped, and not all of it was false information. Wheatly knew how to weed out what was true and what was not.

He leveled a glower at the angel to let him know he didn't take orders from a guard dog. But the angel glowered back, undeterred, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Wheatly, you heard him, get a few guards just for riot control. We can't be too careful after recent events."

Wheatly knew that was fair and bowed slightly before heading out to do his duty. As he passed the bar and the refrigerator, he once again refrained from sighing. It looked like he would have to make a run to replenish their cupboards again. Dean seemed to be under the impression that Crowley had constructed the kitchen to magically replenish food and drink, which was utterly ridiculous. No, Wheatly was the one who had to keep it all stocked, and honestly, those Winchesters, especially Dean, could consume a lot of alcohol and bacon. It was rather revolting.

And then there was the coffee, which he literally bought by the pallet.

So, yes, really, it was just a typical day in the life of the Steward of Hell.

"Why do we have to go to another meeting again?" one of the demons demanded upon Wheatly's extension of the compulsory invitation to the meeting.

"Because apparently not all of you can wrap your heads around getting the job done properly," Wheatly told them simply. "His majesty is simply trying to clear things up."

"To hell with this!" another demon snarled and tried to walk out the door. Wheatly shot a hand out and pressed it firmly against the demon's chest.

"I would reconsider, Mr. Connolly."

"Why, because of the king's trigger-happy Knight or his pet angel will cut my head off?" the demon sneered.

"No," Wheatly said simply. "Because I will be obliged to. You're not worth the trouble for the king or his brother or his angel to have to deal with."

After all, if he couldn't weed out at least the paltry issues in Hell, what kind of Steward would Wheatly profess to be?

The demon sniffed, but stepped back. Wheatly raised his head and swept his eyes across the room again. "Fifteen minutes, in the conference hall. Don't be late."

He left the room and checked his pocket watch, frowning at the time. With everything else, he wouldn't have time to get to the shops and he had only seen two beers left in the Winchesters' refrigerator. That would never last the rest of the day, especially with a staff meeting.

As much as Wheatly hated passing jobs off to others, especially when they involved sending demons topside, it couldn't be helped in this case.

He snagged a demon on his way back to the barracks and slipped him a list.

"Brian, the Winchesters are running low of food and drink. Please do the shopping for me." He tapped the list. "Everything on this list—do you understand?"

The demon looked a bit disgruntled but nodded. "Yes, sir," he said glumly.

Wheatly watched him as he went on his way and then continued toward the barracks.

"Winston," he called to the captain of the guard. "I need guards to keep the Crossroads demons in line during the meeting."

"How many?"

"Three at least, no more," Wheatly said. "We don't want to spook them, after all."

Winston nodded and picked three men, then came to speak low in Wheatly's ear.

"There's more talk of sedition. Crossroads demons are planning a strike."

"And did you tell the king?" Wheatly asked.

"Not yet," Winston replied.

"Don't," Wheatly said firmly. "His Majesty has enough to deal with. I'll take care of this."

Winston nodded, and as his pick of guards approached, Wheatly waved them on.

"Well, come on, then. It's time for a meeting."

At Noon: The Steward, Frustrated

Wheatly set up his desk in the corner of the conference room to take notes during the meeting, watching the gathered demons intently. Some were fidgeting, and he knew which ones would inevitably cause trouble. The problem was every demon in the room was a leftover from the rebellion. Though they had re-sworn their fealty to Sam Winchester, it was only a matter of time before they decided to rebel again and Wheatly was not at all surprised that the cracks were already showing. But they would soon find out that a strike was a bad idea. Wheatly only needed to root out the leader—and Mr. Connolly was looking good for that role—and then he could take care of it.

The king and his entourage came into the room after a few minutes and Wheatly stood and bowed properly, glowering at the other demons to do the same.

"Thanks for coming," Sam said, taking the seat at the head of the table. "I have a few concerns about the forms."

Wheatly dutifully took notes and continued watching the demons. As expected, Mr. Connolly was using every excuse and argument he could manage, and effectively riling up the others. The guards and Master Winchester nearly had to step in. Wheatly sighed inwardly—yes, he would most certainly have to deal with this paltry matter. No need for the king to worry.

"We won't stand for this much longer!" Connolly said as the meeting ended, slamming his hands down on the table before walking out. "We will fight for our rights."

"Great, I look forward to it," Sam said with a tight smile as the guards closed the door on the retreating demons.

"Well, that was fun," Dean grunted. "Looks like we have another Kipling on our hands."

"We'll work it out," Sam said with a weary sigh.

Wheatly stood from his desk tapping his papers together before setting them at Sam's elbow. "Here are the minutes on the meeting, My Lord. Let me know if you need anything else."

"That's all for now, Wheatly, thanks," Sam said.

Wheatly retreated quickly to the Winchesters' suite to find Brian putting the groceries away. Juliet sat by the fridge watching eagerly, hoping for a treat.

"Is that everything, Brian?" Wheatly asked, glancing at the items with a critical eye—bacon, milk, cereal, eggs, orange juice, salad for the king's more discerning palate…

"Where is the beer?" Wheatly demanded.

Brian stopped, glancing back at the few bags he hadn't unloaded yet. "I…I forgot, sir."

Wheatly smacked him upside the head. "Incompetent idiot! I should have done it myself! Master Winchester will be very upset."

He glanced into the refrigerator. Only one bottle left, it seemed. Wheatly sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. It appeared he would have to go to the shops after all. "Just get all of this put away, they'll be back soon."

Brian swallowed hard and nodded, hurrying to restock the pantry. Wheatly checked his watch. He might have just enough time to get to the shops before Dean sat down to serious drinking that afternoon.

He hurried out and was about to make his way topside, when he caught the sound of the promised sedition happening.

"He's not gonna make us do it his way anymore. Kipling was right! We need to make a stand! No more souls get into Hell until he meets our demands!"

Cheers could be heard. And Kipling stepped into the mess hall where Connolly and the other crossroads demons, along with the demons who accepted the new souls in, had gathered.

"As I suspected," Wheatly said with a sniff. "A seditious gathering. Perhaps I should call Master Winchester and the angel?"

A female demon shifted uncomfortably. "We have the right to free speech."

Wheatly raised an eyebrow. "Do you? Last I checked this was Hell, not America. You have the right to obey your king. And I have the duty to put a stop to this nonsense before it gets out of hand."

Connolly stepped forward. "Come on, you hate being run around doing all their chores. Join us, Wheatly."

"Thank you, I'm not one for rebellion," Wheatly told them. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have business to see to. But if I hear any more talk of striking, there will be consequences."

He passed the demons and hurried topside, teleporting to the nearest convivence store. He sighed, straightening his suit as he went in, grabbed a case of beer and set it wordlessly on the counter. The cashier blinked and rang it up. Wheatly paid the money and hurried back to Hell.

He had the beer under his arm and checked his watch again. Almost time for the king's afternoon coffee. He was running late.

"We can't let this keep happening." Dean Winchester spoke and Wheatly stopped outside the suite, cursing that he had made it back too late to quietly place the beer. The sound of a bottle opening made him even more annoyed as he backed away. This was quite the frustrating day.

"Look, Dean, I have to go work on stuff in the office. We'll talk about Connolly and his cronies later," Sam said.

Wheatly retreated in a rather undignified manner and made it around the corner before the king could see him lugging a case of beer. Sam continued on his way toward his office and Wheatly cursed again. He needed to bring the king's coffee within minutes.

It was then he caught sight of Connolly walking purposefully toward the King's office, and Wheatly cursed yet again, though a little louder this time. He quickly stashed the beer, and hurried after Connolly and a couple of the other crossroads demons.

He caught up to them in the throne room, stepping firmly between them and the hallway that led to the king's office.

"And just where do you think you're going?" he demanded.

"Out of the way, Steward," Connolly snarled. "We're going to see the king."

"And if you wish to do that, you need to schedule an appointment with me," Wheatly said firmly. "I don't remember you doing so. His next time slot will be 3 o'clock on Friday, does that work for you?"

Connolly sneered. "You twat, get out of my way."

"You threaten the king's steward, you threaten the king," Wheatly said firmly. "Is that your intent?"

"Yeah, it is," Connolly snarled.

Wheatly sighed. "Very well, I was going to do this eventually anyway." He pulled out an angel blade and slammed it into Connolly's chest.

The demon gave a shocked, breathless scream, the others stepping back instantly. Wheatly pulled the blade out, and stepped back before the pooling blood could get on his shoes. He glanced up at the other demons.

"Anyone else want to see the king without an appointment?"

They shook their heads.

"Brilliant," Wheatly said. "Then I suggest forgetting about going on strike and simply doing as the king asks. Is that fair?"

They nodded.

"Then get out," Wheatly snarled.

He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the blood from his blade before tucking it back into his coat and tossing the bloody cloth onto the dead Connolly.

He walked into the corridor and called a guard. "There's a bit of a mess in the throne room. Clean it up before the king sees."

The guard nodded and hurried to do what he asked. Wheatly looked down at himself and saw blood spatters on his fresh white shirt.

"Damn," he muttered, and snapped his fingers, dispersing the blood and straightening his coat and bow tie.

He then rushed back to the suite, retrieving the case of beer. It was getting warm, curse it. He cracked the door open, and saw Dean getting up from the table, heading to the fridge.

"I could use another beer. Cas?" he called over his shoulder.

"No," the angel replied.

Wheatly saw Juliet and hissed at her. She turned around and he pointed to Dean's new, even more ridiculous, coat hanging over the back of the chair. Taking the hint, Juliet happily leapt up with a bark and grabbed the coat, rushing off toward Sam's bedroom with it.

"What the—hey, give that back! Damn dog!" Dean rushed off. "Cas, don't just stand there, help me!"

Wheatly slipped inside and shoved the case of beer into the fridge as the angel turned with a huff and an amused smirk to 'help' Dean get his coat back from the dog. Wheatly closed the refrigerator door and slipped back out.

One job down. He checked his watch and practically sprinted back to the kitchens.

He would be late for the king's coffee.

In the Afternoon: The Steward, Resigned

He rushed, boiling the water with a snap of his fingers and putting it over the grounds in the French press. He tossed a couple pastries onto a try and a cup, and then carried all of that through the back passages to the king's office.

He stopped a moment outside the door, taking a breath, brushing his hair back and effected the pose of a man who had not just run halfway through Hell Proper to bring coffee to the king.

He knocked on the door, and opened it, coming in to find Sam Winchester slumped over his desk, papers everywhere, a hand pressed to his forehead. He looked up and smiled slightly as he saw the steward.

"You look like you could use a break, Your Majesty," Wheatly said.

"Thanks, Wheatly, coffee sounds good. Not sure about a break though. I don't want to start another rebellion, but I just can't have the crossroads demons ignoring the forms."

"I wouldn't worry about that, my lord," Wheatly said as he pressed the coffee and poured the steaming brew into the cup. "I took care of that."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "You took care of that?"

"Connolly will not be a problem, my lord. And I don't think the others will either. At least not for a while."

"Huh," Sam said, looking impressed as he pulled his coffee toward him and took a sip, smiling up at his steward. "What would I do without you, Wheatly?"

"Well, My Lord, you are too kind," Wheatly said, bowing. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"Not at the moment, thanks," Sam told him.

Wheatly left the office and heaved a sigh. The king was not the only one who could use a break.

But then, making coffee, replenishing alcohol, and executing rebels was just all in a day's work for the Steward of Hell.