Don't Feed After Midnight
Chapter 9
Charlie Bradbury 11:19am ↩️ …
To Sam Winchester
Hi Sam,
Thought I'd zap you an email, see how it's hanging.
And maybe ask about the whole meteor thing. You know, the one all the experts can't explain.
I can't help thinking it might have something to do with you guys.
Were those meteors something demony, (or monstery or… Alieny? I know Dean says aliens don't exist, that it's just fairies making fun of the close encounters, tinfoil headgear enthusiasts … but, are we really sure on that? Like really, really sure.)
Were those 'meteors' something to do with the trials you're doing? Did you you find your prophet?
Did you find out what that last trial was? Did you actually do it Sam? Did you lock all the demons away.
Should I be worried? Or Celebrating?
It's been w-a-y to long since I heard from either of you, don't leave a girl hanging.
I guess Dean told you about my Mom. I finally got up the courage to say goodbye, it was hard. But I know it was time. Like Dean said, I was afraid of losing her, but she was already gone. I know that.
Anyway, no chick flick moments, right?
I really hope you're doing better, Dean mightn't say it 'cause he's Dean, but he worries, a lot! Don't give him a hard time about trying to look out for you. It's his job and the man takes that job mega serious. I know you take your job of looking out for him seriously to ;-)
The Force will be with you. Always.
-Charlie
...ooo0ooo...
"Hey," Sam leaned against the door jam watching his brother. "Is the kitchen really the best place to do that?"
Dean looked up from a sink (filled with what smelled like gasoline) full of mysterious car parts and smirked.
"It's the only place Sammy!"
"Got an email from Charlie."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Checking in, asked if the 'meteor shower' was aliens, or one of our things, I told her it was, sorta. Warned her not to say 'yes' to any angels that might come asking for permission."
Dean grunted, eyes on the sink full of car parts, he started to scrub at one energetically with a tooth brush.
"I sent her Kevin's contacts, asked if she'd mind introducing herself and saying hi to him on occasion." Sam continued, "I, I thought, given he can't exactly go out and meet people… contact with someone other than us might do him good."
"Yeah, agreed. Kid's startin' to look like Wile E Coyote at the end of a roadrunner cartoon. He needs somethin', other than stealin' my booze to let off steam…"
Sam opened his mouth, then thought better of it and closed it again.
Dean grunted at his reaction, mouth twitched sideways with an aborted smirk.
The kitchen lights flickered a few times, he looked up at them frowning then back to Dean, Dean shrugged minutely. 'Place is old Sam, wirings funky. We checked it for emf remember. Stop bein' such a girl,' it said.
"Havin' Crowley down stairs isn't exactly helping any." Dean continued without addressing the lighting.
"Yeah."
He sighed wearily in response, and started laying the parts out on an old towel, to dry.
"Recon his Royal assiness has marinated in his own juices long enough yet?" He asked, pulling the plug, to drain the sink.
Dean rinsed his hands and wiped them dry on the back of his jeans. Flipped the used toothbrush at Sam.
Sam caught it on reflex.
"Is this, is this my toothbrush? It is isn't it? Seriously Dean!?" He tossed the brush back at his brother's head, Dean's hand whipped out, catching it midair with ease.
Sam drew in a breath, prepared to tell his brother exactly how annoying, disgusting and incapable of understanding other people's boundaries he was, for the ten-thousandth time.
Then stopped himself remembering Dean wanted a reaction.
Instead, he performed a nonchalant shrug and smiled at his brother sanguinely. "Guess it was time for a new one anyhow. Keep it." He tossed it back once more.
Dean frowned at it.
"So, Crowley, lets do it. Let me grab something and I'll meet you at the stairs in 5?"
…ooo0ooo…
There was a brisk rap on his door.
"Hey Kev'" Dean's voice called, "just a heads up, you might get a call or email from a chick namea Charlie. She's legit, a friend, helped us out with the Leviathan thing. Sam gave her your contacts…"
Kevin made himself get up from the desk and open the door.
"Are you trying to set me up?" He demanded crossing his arms in irritation, "'Cause you know, given what happened with Channing… let's just say, the job description of Prophet of the Lord, and dating; they're pretty much mutually exclusive."
Dean raised a brow and smirked running a hand through his short hair. "Charlie, she likes the ladies, and fairies… well the fairy was a chick… so yeah, no… Not a setup. Though, come to think of it, you two probably do got stuff in common.
We just figured, next time this place goes nuts an' the lights go out— 'case we don't make it back one time, thought you might appreciate us figuring out a backup plan. She knows where we live, has access to a key. Maybe set up one of them fail safes…"
"Oh."
"Don't sound so disappointed kid."
"No, no I'm not."
"Sure.
Oh, and heads up, Sam 'n' I are gonna visit him down stairs. Try get something useful outta him.
Once he's tapped out…"
"You'll hold him down for me?"
"You got it!" Dean winked and grinned. "Don't forget after, ice-cream and strippers all round, we'll make a real party of it."
Dean probably would to. Sometimes, Kevin still couldn't believe this was his life. The Winchester's were an uneasy amalgam of Tucker and Dale, from Tucker and Dale versus Evil, and Micky and Mallory Knox from Natural born killers.
"Oh yeah, before I forget," Dean pulled a heavy duty door bolt out of his pocket and held it out. "Figured this might help you sleep better. I'll hunt out a drill and install it later, okay?"
Kevin took the bolt, gripping it so hard his knuckles ached. The plastic of the packaging dug into the meat of his palm, as he stood there looking down at it, "I…"
Dean slapped him on the shoulder and nodded once, then turned and walked away.
Kevin closed the door and walked back to his desk with a sigh. The bolt probably wouldn't hold up against something like Crowley for long, it was mostly symbolic. But it was better than a chair.
…ooo0ooo…
He'd over reached; foolishly thought he could goad Dean into giving him what he wanted. Instead he'd ended up with duct-tape across his mouth and a bag over his head.
In lieu of distraction from the disconcerting changes within, Crowley ended up with more intense time alone with his thoughts.
What happened to the luck of the damned? The demon king asked himself.
…..
The sound of work boots on the stairs made Crowley sit up straighter, ears pricked.
Maybe his luck was about to turn.
Two sets of work boots, steady no nonsense tread, synchronicity of step.
Crowley waited as the steps drew closer.
The lights flicked on beyond the black fabric of his hood.
The sound of the metal doors to his dungeon being dragged open, came next.
One set of footsteps paused, in the doorway, the other set came closer.
The bag was ripped off his head and tape torn from his mouth in one action, it took a fair amount of hair with it.
"Hello —" He began his usual greeting.
In premature response Dean slugged him in the jaw.
"Never get tired of doing that." The Hunter enthused, grinning with bravado.
Crowley grunted in response, rolled his head sideways and looked at the wall full of torture implements, anticipation rising, along with the copper bloom of blood filling his mouth from Dean's little love tap.
"Homey. Where did you get this fantastic little treehouse?" He asked nonchalantly.
Sam ignored his question.
"Alright, here's how it's gonna go. You're giving us the name of every demon on earth, and the people they're possessing." He demanded.
"Am I?" Crowley narrowed his eyes in a show of contempt. He studied the younger Winchester, attempted to see past the warding, and trace the changes to the boys aura. "Doesn't sound like me."
"I saw you break down, Crowley," Samantha sniped smugly, note book and pencil at the ready, as if those words alone would make him spill.
"When I was trying to cure you, I know a part of you was human again, maybe still is," he continued.
As if that made any difference to anything.
Did the boy really expect him to put out so easily, without receiving anything in return?
"Blah, blah, boohoo.
Done?" Crowley rolled his eyes. Bored.
"Good.
'Cause this is what I know.
I'm not giving you anything. Why would I? You have no leverage, darlings.
You're not gonna close the gates of Hell, because you didn't. You're not gonna kill me, because you haven't. So what's left?"
And that was the thing wasn't it?
"We have a few ideas." Dean rumbled menacingly, and the way he said it sent little thrills of anticipation up Crowley's spine.
'Yes Dean, exactly, let's get down to it then shall we,' Crowley enthused silently.
"Torture. Brilliant.
Can't wait to see Sam in stilettos and a leather bustier, really putting the S-A-M into S&M." He taunted, outwardly leering at the younger Winchester, hoped to enrage Dean into loosing control. Get him to break out one of the many fascinating items of hunter home décor.
"Honestly, boys. What are you gonna do to me that I don't do to myself just for kicks, every Friday night?"
And that was the question wasn't it? The one that made his blood sing and his borrowed heart go pitter pat in anticipation.
Sam and Dean exchanged a look, then turned
….and bloody well walked out!
"Have fun." Dean taunted with a smirk.
The doors slammed shut.
The lights went out with a jaunty snap.
They left him alone, in darkness once more.
Rolling his tongue around his mouth, Crowley chased the taste of blood and blinked into the darkness moodily with a low grunt of aggravation.
….
"I have so many questions."
A voice from behind made Crowley freeze, startled.
Not alone after all.
He tried to turn and get a view of his unexpected visitor, but the chains wouldn't allow that, had to be exactly what his unseen visitor intended.
Permitting an unknown to lurk behind his back was not something he, or any demon of advanced age and power considered politic. Appearing ruffled by circumstances however, would only signal vulnerability; it was inadvisable.
Crowley drew a breath, forcing his meat suit into a semblance of ease.
"Nice of you to visit again Zeke. It is Zeke, isn't it?"
His unseen visitor snorted. "You can call me Zeke, if you must."
Crowley smiled to himself. "Oh I must, friend. Now, if you have so many questions, perhaps you came to me for some answers," he hazarded.
"Anything to avoid being alone with yourself, and your thoughts?" The voice parried acerbically.
"Hardly. It is a relief to escape the endless paperwork, however."
His visitor ignored his dissemble. Intimated instead. "The boy is terrified of you by the way."
Crowley raised a brow. "The boy? You'll have to be more specific, I terrify lots of boys. King of Hell, remember."
"I do. I was referring to the prophet, friend."
"Ahhh Kevin, yes well. Our relationship is complicated. I admit I was forced to do certain things to the lad… But you have to understand, he forced me to it. Kevin, he deceived me, lied to me and killed several of my loyal drogues. Don't let the doe eyes deceive you, the prophet, he's nowhere near as Bambi-esk as he'd have you believe."
"Who are you trying to convince your highness, me, or yourself? My kind don't take sides. I simply state the facts."
"Your kind?" Crowley asked. It begged the question, what exactly was his visitor.
The damned warding was beyond infuriating!
What kind of threat did the entity pose to him? Had the Winchester's enlisted it, to get the information they claimed to want?
His unseen visitor hummed in amusement, clearly enjoying itself. "My kind," it agreed evasively.
"The Winchester's, do they know what you are?" Crowley queried.
"Do you know what they are? People who help them inevitably end up dead, did they tell you that? Maybe you ought to read Carver Edlund's books, look them up on Amazon, friend. Make sure to take note of all the bodies of allies they leave lying in their wake."
"Is that why you are refusing to give them what they want?"
"I give them everything they want and I'll be dead soon after. Besides, it's the principal of the thing."
"Yes, I know, very dead. And afterward they will all go out for ice-cream and strippers. Dean promised the lad."
"Lovely." Crowley muttered in response. "Hardly an incentive, now is it?"
"But torture is?
Ever stop to think, maybe you crave the torture as a salve for your guilty conscience."
Crowley forced out a bark of laughter in response. "Yes, yes, demons are well known for suffering from guilty consciences.
You're a right comedian, you are."
Footsteps behind him, moving closer. "I'm glad you appreciate humour, Your Highness," the voice said cheerfully from much closer.
"I do have to ask…"
Now the voice seemed to come from right beside him, yet still Crowley couldn't see anything in the place from which the voice emanated. Whatever it was, it had to be inside the warding, completely unaffected.
"What kind of demon has principals?" It asked musingly. "That seems a little—," it cleared it's throat mockingly, "—abnormal,"
Crowley was sure he felt the warmth of breath against his meat-suit's ear.
Unnerved, he opened his mouth set on delivery of some kind of witty retort, a way of camouflaging his unease. But as he did so, quick footsteps crossed the space in front of his counterfeit throne, then the dungeon doors slid open, and banged shut.
But now, Crowley was uncertain, if he was in fact alone.