Notes: contains the aftermath of Crowley's possession of Linda
She wakes while Kevin sleeps. That pallor over the world fades with every blink and she is aware, first, of the world, then, of her heartbeat. It pounds, and she can barely hear herself or her son breathe over it.
The windows are frosted and painted with red satanic symbols. "Kevin," but her voice is hoarse and, God—
Red smoke had poured in, and in, curling itself into every place inside of her, someone else seeing Kevin through her own eyes, the sharp voice,
"Kev and I are going to great things together, Mrs. Tran. You'll be so proud," and she pushed pushed pushed, screaming against the prison of her own flesh, while that awful ashen voice told her, "So that's who the daddy is. My my my, won't Kevin be so thrilled to finally know who daddy dearest is?"
She covers her mouth with her hands—won't keep me out—and staggers to the corner of this hovel and she vomits up something green she can't remember eating. Nothing red. "Mom?" Kevin's voice is thick and he looks at her through half-lidded eyes, like when he was eight and wanted to sleep on the floor in front of her room so she couldn't go away, but then he scrambles over to her, puts hands on her shoulders, "You're awake!"
Linda takes in gulps of air as her son rubs her back. "Is… is it gone?"
"Crowley's gone, mom. It's okay, it's okay," but she retches again, tastes ash hot against her thick tongue, and Kevin wraps his arms around her, so tight, nothing like when he was five and his little arms didn't meet when he held her.
Her little boy isn't so little anymore. "This is holy water," he tells her, "It fights against demons," and a cool water bottle is placed to her lips and she drinks and drinks, till she sputters and chokes, almost like drowning again.
Kevin rubs her back, and she can feel the tremor in her hands, but is choking—can't reach out, can't comfort, not much of a mother, really—
The water doesn't taste special, but Kevin says it fights demons.
"Where—where are..?" she gestures with the hand holding the bottle, splashes water everywhere, but nothing happens, so Kevin must be clean—"The… Sam and Dean?"
His hand on her back stills. Then, in a tight voice that reminds her of his father, "I don't know. Far from here, hopefully. We're—we're on our own. No tablet means no closing the gates of Hell. And we're better off without the Winchesters."
Something—something is there and she wipes holy water from her mouth. "…What happened, Kevin?" but her voice is low and weak, trembling hard as she is, and she sounds nothing like herself, not like the authority figure Kevin needs.
Kevin resumes rubbing the soothing circles on her back. "…Dean tried to kill you to get Crowley."
A flash of it—against a pillar, hard against her back, huge man, knife, bloodlust in his eyes, and this is the sort of thing her parents used to warn her against, why you didn't walk by yourself late at night or wear shirts too low or skirts too high, and then the red pour pour pours from her mouth in a never-ending river—and Linda drains the rest of the water. If Dean had killed her, Crowley would be dead.
"…Wouldn't it be over, if Crowley is dead?" her voice is small against the vastness of the hovel.
"No," and he wraps his arms around her again, face pressing into her shoulder, hot and wet, "No, Mom. No. I'd rather have you here. With me." And his voice catches, and he rocks and rocks her.
And, despite it being her job to comfort him, she lets him. God, she lets him.