Don't Feed After Midnight
Chapter 10
Kevin rubbed at his eyes, mind spinning as he shut the last electronic book.
He felt numb and spun out.
The Charlie person Sam and Dean had given his email address to, had sent him a link to a series of electronic books, by someone called Carver Edlund.
He'd been confused at first, the books seemed like cheap trash, not worth his time.
Despite that, he'd kept reading, because reading anything as simple as English, after the word of God, had been such a relief.
Several chapters in, he realised the lead characters names weren't a coincidence. The books were actually about the life of Sam and Dean Winchester.
He'd read them all, even the sex scenes, in one head long rush; it made him feel kind of pervy, but he couldn't stop himself once he got started.
The Winchester's didn't talk about the past, they made offhand comments and referred to things, sure. But they never explained.
Now, finally, he had the full picture, and it was a lot to take in.
Shaking his head in bemusement Kevin wondered what kind of person this Charlie woman was, to go dumping all of that on an unsuspecting stranger who actually knew the Winchester's. Like all of that was some kind of bizarre in-joke she wanted to share.
Why did she think he wanted or needed to know that stuff.
Kevin turned his eyes back to the angel tablet guiltily. Realising with a start he'd just wasted hours on what amounted to pawing through the Winchester brother's diaries. Felt a cherry red flash of shame as he dragged the tablet towards him again across the desk.
Stared down at the Word of God, and tried to will his mind back onto his job.
Onto finding a way to open heaven's gates once more, so they could send the angels back to heaven. Surely there had to be something on this rock about opening heaven's gates, like on the demon tablet.
He picked up his iPod and fitted his earbuds, cued up his favourite playlist without looking.
Expected Dvorák's Cello Concerto in B minor to fill his ears and relax his mind.
Wash away— or at least dilute, all the stuff he'd just read, everything the Winchester's had lived through.
Instead he was assaulted by electric guitar and drums at full volume.
Clawing the earbuds from of his ears with a yelp, Kevin hastily reduced the volume and peered at the little LCD screen on his iPod in confusion.
That wasn't, Dvorák's Cello Concerto in B minor!
He flicked to the next track labelled, 'Elgar - Cello Concerto in E minor,' and pressed an ear bud to his ear, heard a tolling bell, followed by heavy base guitar and drums.
There was no confusing it, someone had gone into his room, deleted his music off his iPod, and replaced it with the kind of god awful music Dean listened to incessantly.
Kevin stormed out of his room, with the offending iPod trailing from his clenched fist.
…ooo0ooo…
Sam wandered back into the library and found his laptop open and on.
Screen cram-full of open web pages; his email browser, Articles on history and World War II, something on Amazon. And of course pages and pages of porn.
Dean!
Sam grimaced and ran a hand through his hair, why couldn't his Jerk of a brother use his own damn laptop?
Why did he have to constantly rub that stuff in his face?
Dean never seemed to get that they were different.
It wasn't like he was a monk, or a prude.
He picked up women in bars sometimes.
He watched porn sometimes.
But your sex life ought to be private, damn-it, not a spectator sport.
Especially for your own freaking brother!
Why the hell did Dean see it as his duty, or right, to constantly shove this stuff in his face; like it was a competition or Dean had to 'educate' and fix him.
Gritting his teeth, Sam thumped a balled fist down, hard, on the keyboard and went to close the web pages, without copping too much of an eye full. Only to discover the machine was frozen.
Typical!
He went to switch it off, but nothing happened.
Seriously?!
He tried again, only to be greeted by a sudden electronic sizzling sound, a shower of sparks and a stream of thin blue smoke.
Mouth agape, wide eyed in surprised shock, Sam jerked the laptops plug roughly from the wall socket.
Stood there, stupefied into silence, his hands hovering uselessly above his ruined laptop like a flock of startled seabirds.
…ooo0ooo…
Dean hummed Metallica as he worked, dicing onions and slicing cheese.
There was nothing like a piping hot burger, nestled hot and juicy on a freshly toasted sesame bun, bedded down in a nest of the finest melted American cheese. All topped off with a heaping helping of onions, fried just right, in a shit ton of butter, then slathered in BBQ sauce.
Not a nasty green thing in sight to ruin the perfection of all that meat and oozing molten cheese.
No Sam in sight either, whining about the evils of cholesterol and saturated fat or giving him woeful puppy dog eyes.
Dean flipped the meat patty onto the waiting bun with its cargo of cheesy goodness. Tipped butter-logged onions out of the skillet and added a large splurt of sauce to top it off. Crowned the lot triumphantly with the second bun.
Raised the of culinary work of art reverently in open palms, to his salivating mouth. A worshipper receiving communion.
Bit in ravenously, felt the hot buttery grease from the onions spill from the corners of his mouth and run down his chin.
Chewed once, twice.
Expecting a rapturous explosion of meaty goodness….
And tasted….
Nothing.
Instead of the rich meaty braised copper-iron taste of rare cooked beef, the patty was like so much tasteless rubber in his mouth.
Dean opened his lips and pushed the offending thing out of his mouth with an outraged, betrayed tongue.
It dropped to the plate with a wet splat.
Dean poked at the mess with one thick finger.
The meat patty wasn't meat. He could see that now.
It was one of the god-awful tofu concoctions Sam periodically insisted he buy. (Which usually got left in the icebox to develop an epic case of freezer burn, before finding their true home, in the trash. Because Dean refused to cook that shit on principle and Sammy wasn't a great one to stir his ass to cook, not if big brother was there to do it for him.)
Sam!
The little turd must have slipped one of those counterfeit abominations in with the honest to god meat products, thinking Dean wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
Expected him to choke that rubbery piece of trash down without noticing.
As if!
He'd been spending all this time worrying about his kid brother, tryin' to be nice, and how did the sneaky little Sonofabitch repay him.
By messing with a man's meat.
Well, little brother had another thing comin' if he thought he was gonna get a pass on this one.