Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the pop culture references made throughout this drabble collection.

A/N: And, first up, a handful of drabbles from the King of Hell with a few small crossovers mixed in the lot.

"COME TO THE DARKSIDE, WE HAVE MUFFINS"

Crowley stepped into the bakery craving a cupcake. When he realized this was a new age, healthy gluten-free-and apparently cupcake-free-vegan shop, he considered massacring the hipsters herded at the counter. Instead he begrudgingly ordered the biggest muffin behind the glass, a "soy protein" concoction promising cranberries.

Crowley tossed the shop-girl a bill, took a tentative bite…and immediately spat it back out, disgusted.

"What in Beelzebub's name is that?"

"Dude?"

He glared up at the girl. "That tastes like dead babies and misery." He paused in thought. "I'll take a dozen."

If they could fool him, they could fool a Leviathan.

"HOW TO TERMINATE EMPLOYEES"

"How do I put this?" Crowley lifted one foot up out of the cave's shallow water, frowning in distaste at the moaning polyps stuck to his ankle. What a waste of souls. "Ursula, darling, I know we're from two different worlds, but the rules remain the same…We need souls, not lovely singing voices. We've been over this before."

The cecaelian sea witch flopped her tentacles. "-I've been making deals with poor unfortunate souls since before you were born! You mean to tell me how to do my job? Me?!"

Crowley raised a brow. "I suddenly have a craving for calamari."

"S'MORES"

Crowley blew out the flaming marshmallow.

"It's burnt," someone whined.

The demon glared at the two small children sitting across from the fire. "It's perfect," he snapped. "Hand me those crackers."

The girl scrambled to obey. He added the chocolate to one side, squeezing the gooey goodness onto his graham cracker sandwich.

"That," he announced, "is how it's done. Now. The two of you will deliver four of these to my camper every evening…" He leaned forward, letting the flames light his red eyes. "Understood?"

The wide-eyed children nodded.

Perhaps this whole 'hiding from Godstiel' thing wouldn't be so bad.

"GOT BLOOD?"

"Of course Purgatory's front door requires bloody blood of a virgin," Crowley muttered, annoyed.

While he enjoyed the dark arts, performing a location spell for virgins was tricky business, and picking one off of the street wasn't really reliable. Unless he snatched up a kiddie…he could probably swing by a daycare while—

Crowley's thoughts cut off. Parked in front of him was a bus, painted red, a line of youths in front of it, all willing to give blood for a good cause. And to tell any fool with a needle if they were sexually active.

"Well, that was easy…"

"SURPRISINGLY DIDN'T MAKE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL"

"Sir?"

Crowley slowly turned away from the stack of contracts.

"Excuse you?"

His assistant gave a nervous, apologetic smile. "My Grace," she corrected.

He unrolled a scroll. Noticing the name across the bottom, he huffed and tossed it over his shoulder, reaching out for yet another contract. "What is it? I'm looking to see how long we need to put up with The Adventures of Sparkle 'n Klutz…"

"My Grace, the contract you're looking for...It doesn't exist."

"Surely we have her on a standard—"

"We've all checked."

Crowley gaped. "How the Hell is the Meyer woman not on contract?"

"HAPPY EASTER! ~LOVE, HELL"

Crowley leaned back in his throne, popping a jelly bean into his mouth and listening to the sounds of celebration.

He had to admit…he rather enjoyed Easter. Or, at least, he enjoyed celebrating it in Hell. None of the old higher-ups had bothered to note the many modern holidays taking place topside, but this was a new Hell with a new king.

Frankly, both life and death were a bit boring without a little something to shake things up, and if that meant he had to release the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog upon the souls on Easter, so be it.