Crowley would point out that you can't just scare people into getting what you want; you have to also be nice to them now and then. Hell, even Plato knew that. But whatever. There's no reasoning with Michael.

"Yeah? Cause I think the term 'crazy' works just fine."

He flinches when Michael reaches for him, certain the other boy is about to hit him. He squints at the hand nervously. So...his options are get his ass kicked by Michael now, or get his ass kicked by his father when Crowley gets home and his dad wants a smoke. Damned if he does, damned if he doesn't.

He grits his teeth. Then he digs into a pocket and pulls out a full carton of cigarettes and sets it in Michael's hand. He glares at his feet.

"Fine. Have it your way."