Don't Feed After Midnight

Chapter 23: Bias

The next day Kevin woke to the smell of coffee and bacon.

Serendipitously he'd managed to dodge clean up duty the night before with a sudden nose bleed; prompting the brothers to have one of their silent debates. They'd 'generously' sent him away to clean up and get some sleep.

According to the clock by Kevin's bed, he'd slept 13 hours and his near ever present headache had loosened to a numb kind of tightness that lingered at the back of his skull. Other than that, he felt better than he had for months. The smell of bacon made his mouth water and his stomach grumbled demandingly.

Like one of those characters from an early Saturday morning cartoon, he followed the smell, utterly tantalised, feeling like he all but floated after it to the kitchen in its wake.

To his relief there was no sign of the previous days drama, the kitchen was spotless, and there was neither sight or smell of rancid water, the only sign, one blackened shell of a microwave sitting out in the hallway.

When he entered the kitchen he found Dean was at the grill, flipping pancakes and stirring a skillet of eggs. Sam leaned against the island bench, like Kevin, he looked as though he'd only just woken.

"Hey." Sam greeted him with a smile. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," just then, his empty stomach made it's presence known by grumbling embarrassingly.

Dean looked over his shoulder with a hum, "Great timing Kev'. Grubs almost ready. Grab some plates will ya?"

Kevin busied himself setting the table while Sam filled mugs with coffee.

The Winchesters weren't ones to stand on ceremony. Dean loaded all their plates with pancakes, bacon and eggs, then promptly began stuffing his own face like he hadn't seen food in a month.

Sometimes it didn't pay to look directly at Dean while he was eating, this was obviously one of them. Table manners were something the elder Winchester saved for more public settings, even then, he tended to forget if there weren't any ladies present to impress.

"We have a whole library here, and you're tellin' me we don't have a single book that tells us how to kill a fairy?" Dean groused around a bulging mouthful of half masticated food.

Sam set his fork down with a sigh and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "There are just so many conflicting accounts, some texts say they're immortal, that you can't kill them." Dean scoffed in response to that.

"And some that they're just really long lived. Gremlins themselves are worse, if you can believe that. They only seem to come into the literature in the 1900's, then, mentions of them all but dry up after World War II."

Kevin swallowed his own mouthful before adding to the discussion. "The greatest concentration of fae lore seems to be Gaelic," he piped up.

Dean frowned at him questioningly. "Scottish and Irish. I'm guessing, the problem is that the Men of Letters started as an English thing.

Gremlins only started mattering to them because they interfered with the Allied war effort.

Before that, the English attitude towards tales of non-humanoid fae, or wee folk, were pretty dismissive. According to one report I read, the Men of Letters, or the author anyway, thought people of Gaelic decent were, 'drunken, barbaric, superstitious savages;' and their accounts of the wee folk, to be, ' half seen wildlife, mistaken reports, spawned by excess alcohol consumption.'"

Dean half choked on a mouthful. "You're kidding."

"He really isn't, Dean. Systemic racism isn't a new thing."

"But, it's lore isn't it! … Wasn't the whole point of the Men of Letters, to know about the supernatural shit!"

"They weren't above bias, Dean." Sam took a swig of his coffee and nodded to himself. "Haven't you noticed how little Native American lore there is in the library, I mean considering how the indigenous people were here, in America, first.

I mean don't get me wrong, the Men of Letters knew the fae were real, there's records of practitioners like Boltar the furious, binding the fae or making deals with them for stuff. Like that guy from Elfwood, was it?" Sam grimaced like he had a headache and rubbed at his forehead.

"Elwood." Dean corrected absentmindedly. Kevin found himself frowning in response to the youngest Winchester's mistake, Sam was usually so good with town names, practically encyclopaedic.

"But for the most part the men of letters didn't believe or record first hand accounts about what they called the wee folk." Sam continued. "Especially from people they considered to be unreliable and uneducated at best, and baldfaced liars at worst."

"Typical pompous assholes!" Dean flared, "—Like his Royal doucheiness downstairs."

Kevin frowned at that. "But, wasn't Crowley originally Scottish?" Sam gave him a sharp look and Kevin realised too late, that was information he'd learned from reading the Supernatural books.

"Mmm." Dean muttered, unaware, from across the table, around another giant mouthful of pancake and bacon. "Dude used to wear a skirt with one of them furry purse things over his family jewels. Demons used to call him lucky the leprechaun, behind his back."

"Leprechaun's are Irish, Dean." Sam huffed quietly.

"Scottish, Irish, close enough. 'm just repeating what that demon that Bobby BBQed said."

Kevin struggled not to bristle, not that he cared what nationality Crowley had been when he was human. But, 'close enough,' that's what people always said when he corrected them about what flavour of Asian American he actually was. Twenty seconds ago Dean had been acting offended by the Men of Letters racial bias. But, fact was, he wasn't much better with his throw away comments about people, especially those not straight, white, male or 'American,' and he'd seen those busty Asian beauty skin mags Dean had a thing for.

"Well!" Dean pushed back his chair abruptly. "You two are on clean up duty an' I'm goin' into town." Kevin felt another flash of irritation, amazing how Dean found excuses to dodge research.

"Priscilla, from Mystic Myths promised to overnighted them Hag stones. In the meantime, you-" Dean stole a strip of bacon off Sam's plate, prompting him to lunge forward across the table to make a grab for it, but, Dean shoved the entire thing in his mouth before Sam could retrieve it. "—keep lookin' for a way to kill th' freakin' gremlin." He finished the orders around his mouthful of the stolen pork product.

Sam kicked out at his brothers leg, but Dean sidestepped easily, retreating with a laugh, and a mocking. "Too slow."

"Jerk!"

Sam's voice was sharp with annoyance but his smile was indulgent as he watched his brother depart.

"Want the rest of my bacon?" Sam offered after Dean's footsteps had faded.

"Don't you want it?" Kevin asked, confused.

The corner of Sam's mouth quirked up, eyes still on the kitchen doorway.

"Only when Dean's around," he admitted ruefully, giving Kevin a wide conspiratory smile.
But the smile just made Kevin feel lonely.

The Winchesters had their own language of gestures and half spoken phrases that only the two of them could interpret.
Even now, having read the Supernatural books it didn't help, not really. Sometimes it was like the Winchesters were on one side of sound proof glass, and he was on the other, looking in on them.

He remembered having something similar, but different with Channing and his Mom. The ability to use Mandarin in a room full of people. To have their secrets stay secret from everyone listening.
Now Mom and Channing were dead and he was alone. In some ways he'd felt less lonely hiding in that church, (except for that niggling empty feel of being without the word of God.)

At least then he'd got to believe the people he loved were still out there, that he was protecting them. But now, Crowley had taken even that small hope from him.

"I'm so over this." He sighed wearily. Sam looked at him and away from the dishes he was washing.
"I just really wish we had a fairy tablet!" He added quickly, to camouflage the deepening depression he was plunging himself into.

"I'd think you'd be over staring at the ones we've got." Sam replied quietly his eyes too knowing as he handed over a dripping plate for Kevin to dry.

"I am, I am… it's just … at least with, the word of God, we know the info's real. That if we try something from it, it'll work…"

Then it hit him.

"Of course!" The plate slipped through his fingers and clattered to the countertop.

Kevin barely registered that the plate hadn't shattered before he took off to his room at a run.
Sam was calling after him but he couldn't stop to explain, not yet.
There was a different kind of tablet that might just hold some answers.

-/-/-/-/-/-/

Authors note: Sorry this chapter took so long, it feels like I've been chipping away at it in slow mo. Writing is not the sort of thing that lends itself to constant interruptions.

But! The kids are finally back at school again after the Summer holidays. Well... they should be, but the smallest has a tummy bug. Mummy's getting lots of cuddles, but not much sleep.

Thanks for reading and don't forget to click to follow, favourite or comment. It makes my day to get input.