Don't Feed After Midnight
Chapter 4
Kevin was on a stage, his cello steadied comfortably between his knees, upper bout resting against his chest, neck in position perfectly above his left shoulder, C tuning peg just behind his ear.
He could smell a faint whiff of the rosin he preferred to use on his bow string; sweet and gingery with faint musky undertones. A smell which always filled him with certainty and peace. A knowledge he was in control.
Looking out towards the audience, Kevin saw his mother sitting front and centre of the first row as always, beaming up at him in pride.
Beside her sat Channing, a look on her broad face that he knew well, the slightly off centre smile, that told him Channing was feeling nervous for him, but pretending otherwise. He smiled at them both faintly and nodded, careful not to seem to enthusiastic in front of an audience.
A movement from the corner of the stage caught his eye.
Turning his head, he caught sight of the denim and plaid clad brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester. They were lurking in the shadows, waved and gestured to him.
Something inside him froze, he jerked his eyes away from the two men, hand tight upon his bow and gritted his teeth uncomfortably.
What piece was he supposed to be performing?
A moment of panic raced through him as he looked to his music stand, found, not sheet music as he expected; but a weathered stone tablet covered in carved, ancient writing.
As if translating the word of God wasn't hard enough, now he was expected to perform it?!
"Hmmm," a strange voice murmured from some where close by. "Interesting place this. A demon claiming to be King of Hell in the basement and a prophet of the Lord in the guest room…"
King of Hell? Kevin thought in escalating panic, just as a blocky man in an expensive black suit stepped onto the stage creating a sudden hush.
Kevin knew he was running out of time.
What piece was he supposed to be performing from the tablet?
Was it the demon or angel tablet… or another he'd never seen?
These people all expected too much! He couldn't do this!
He looked around in blind panic, worried he was going to make a fool of himself in front of everyone!
Sam and Dean would be mad.
And his mother, she would be utterly disappointed and ashamed of him! Channing would be mortified!
Looking out to the audience again, he searched for his mother, wanted to make eye contact with her, and tell her with his eyes how sorry he was, for embarrassing her like this.
And then realised, she was gone!
That Channing was gone.
Turning his head again, he saw that Sam and Dean were gone also.
Everyone in the auditorium had vanished.
All except him, and the man in black.
Seeing the audience was gone should have reduced his anxiety, that feeling of escalating expectation and dread. But it didn't.
Instead the absence made his heart hammer and his stomach twist sickly.
No-one would protect him now!
The man in black turned to face him.
Crowley! He identified in shock.
Kevin tried to force himself to get up, to flee the stage.
Found he couldn't move.
He was pinned in place, motionless.
"I thought privacy might make it easier to chat." The demon King purred with a smile. "Decision time, Kevin. How's this going to go?
Read any good tablets lately?" Crowley raised a brow and adjusted his jacket lapels fussily..
"Don't be recalcitrant, Kevin. You know it brings out the worst in me."
"No!" He breathed in denial.
"Oh yes, Kevin!" The demon tutted. "I see you've got all your fingers back.
I can fix that." Crowley snapped his fingers.
There was a sudden sharp pain in his arm.
Looking down, horrified, Kevin saw his left wrist was now just a bloody stump.
Thick rivers of blood ran down the strings of his cello staining the glossy wood.
Yet still, he couldn't move.
"I know we're not mates, Kevin, but one word of advice – run." The demon tilted his head looking down at him with red flooded eyes. "Run far and run fast. 'Cause the Winchesters – well, they have a habit of using people up and watching them die bloody. Ask Mummy, she'll tell you.
Oh no!" Crowley pantomimed a look of shocked remembrance, "she can't, can she? The Winchester Boys let me kill her, didn't they? 'Cause Mummy wasn't useful." Crowley smiled down at him again bitingly.
"No!" Kevin sobbed in denial.
"Hey enough of that!
Wake up!" The strange voice commanded and there was a sudden pain in his scalp like someone had pulled his hair.
Kevin startled awake flailing in terror.
For a moment his befuddled mind told him there was some kind of little creature with big eyes, bat ears and a squashed face staring at him from a perch on top of the Angel tablet. He'd fallen asleep while translating.
He flinched and blinked, there was nothing there. Kevin rubbed at his face, as the door to his room opened cautiously making him startle once more, but it only revealed Sam Winchester, standing there in bare feet, sweat pants and a t-shirt, hair still damp from a shower.
"Hey, you okay? I heard…" Sam shuffled his bare feet awkwardly, probably not wanting to say how Kevin had been yelling or squealing like a girl, or something equally as mortifying.
"Ah, yeah. Just a bad dream…" Kevin sat up further, reached for his coffee cup and took a mouthful, it was cold and bitter. He grimaced spitting it back into the cup, rubbing at his aching head.
"Nothing like stale, cold coffee after waking up from a nightmare," Sam gave him a wonky half smile and held out his hand, "let me get you a fresh cup…"
Kevin opened the bottles of pills Dean had got him, "for pep and for pain," palmed a few of each, tossed them into his mouth, and chased them with a mouthful of cold bitter coffee, nodded, handed Sam his cup.
He watched Sam's eyes skitter over the white plastic bottles, a disapproving frown forming, his mouth opened to say something.
But then, the younger Winchester seemed to reconsider, and shook his head slightly. "And maybe some food too?" He said, instead of the expected lecture on pharmaceutical study aids, "think we need to do a food run, but I'm sure I can scare something up…"
Kevin nodded distractedly, his eyes drawn back to the angel tablet.
Food seemed like way too much effort.
Sam turned to go, then stopped again, "What was the dream about?" He asked.
Kevin looked up again, eyes narrow with sudden resentment. "Crowley, I dreamed about Crowley!
Are you satisfied?
I dreamed he was torturing me again!"
"Kevin—"
"What Sam? Are you going to tell me I'm safe? That he can't hurt me anymore? Seriously?!
He's just downstairs. Is it any wonder I'm having nightmares?"
"Kevin— it's the safest place we have to keep him." Sam told him earnestly.
'Since you didn't toss him back where he belonged and slam the gates of Hell behind him like you promised me!.' Kevin wanted to scream. 'Crowley killed my mother, he tortured me! If you weren't going to do what you promised and lock them all away. Why couldn't you kill him? Why?!" Buthe knew why they couldn't. Because the Winchester's thought Crowley was useful.
He ducked his head and stared at his hands
"Yeah I know…" He muttered sullenly. "I better get back to work…and find a way to put the angels back where they belong…"
He pulled on his headphones and cued up some music, picked up the angel tablet.
"Yeah…" Sam replied, turned, walked out, and shut the door.
A while later he returned with a bottle of water, a hot cup of coffee, a grilled cheese sandwich, and a slightly worse for wear apple balanced on the side, by that point Kevin was so deeply immersed in translation he barely noticed picking up the coffee cup or taking a sip.