Don't Feed After Midnight
Chapter 31: Not talking about it, is one of your problems
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They clomped down the bunker stairs calling for Kevin; Dean carrying the bucket of fried chicken and the prune juice he'd insisted they pick up on the way home.
Kevin didn't answer.
Nothing but silence responded to their arrival and shouts.
When he saw the Angel tablet, just laying there unattended, on the library table, covered and ringed by a thick layer of salt; all the worry Sam had pushed aside over unanswered phone calls, came flooding back, to pool, thick and viscous in his gut.
Dean must have felt the same. He dropped the food and took off, straight for the dungeon; straight for Crowley.
Sam followed behind. Hoping and praying with every echoing metal footfall downward that they weren't about to find Crowley gone, find Kevin dead or gone; or both demon and prophet murdered; perhaps, accompanied by a taunting note from Abbadon, thanking them for being moronic idiots.
How could they have been so stupid?
Powerful demons could snap their fingers, go from one end of the country to the other, just like that. Meanwhile, he and Dean had been forced to drive for hours to do the same.
How could they have forgotten, Abbadon had seen the coordinates for the bunker.
They'd left Kevin alone with Crowley, thinking it was safe, because Crowley was shackled in a devils trap. They'd thought the bunker was impenetrable. But they'd forgot they were leaving Kevin, the only prophet, alone with the King of Hell AND a freaking gremlin.
A gremlin which had already sent the bunker into lockdown once, and opened one of the impossible to open, locked doors.
How could they have been so reckless, so utterly stupid?
…ooo0ooo…
Instead of a missing captive, or two mutilated corpses, they found Crowley right where they'd left him, shackled in his chair; front and centre of the intact devils trap.
But not everything was as it should have been.
Crowley was bloody and bruised.
"Who worked you over?" Dean demanded, quicker to speak, as usual.
Crowley smirked up at them. "Martin Hayward and Brandon Favors," he said, giving them no useful answer.
Sam shared a look of confusion with his brother.
Not Abbadon? Or were Hayward and Favors Abbadon's flunkies?
How exactly, could have demons have gotten past the devils trap to get Crowley though?
The gremlin? Kevin?
But why, if Crowley's state had anything to do with Abbadon, (and the knight of hell wanted him so bad); why'd they beaten him to a pulp, then just left him there?
More pressingly, where the heck was Kevin?
"They,— did this to you?" Sam asked, seeking clarification, but trying not to broadcast his confusion.
"No." Crowley scoffed. "They're demons. You asked for names, I'm giving you names. They're under performers. Spike them, you'll do me a favor."
Sam exchanged another look with his brother.
"Wow. You break easy," Dean muttered shaking his head.
"Please. Your little plan to have me stew in my own... delicious... juices..." Crowley tilted his head and shot Dean one of those looks, making him bristle and glare in response. "—Pathetic. You want intel. I want things, too.
Maybe we can come to some kind of arrangement. Quid pro quo, gentlemen."
So what? Crowley had done this to himself?
Seriously?!
Just, wow! Talk about not being able to sit with yourself.
"So these are what, then? Freebies?" He asked, not bothering to hide his own contempt and irritation.
"Not at all," Crowley demured. "You can consider them fair trade for the enjoyment that Kevin gave me."
Oh shit, Kevin!
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean snapped, as the roiling worry twisted in Sam's gut once more.
"He's my new favorite toy. Wind him up, watch him go."
Wind him up? Watch him go?
Kevin… had beaten Crowley?! Sam's mind boggled.
He'd never have suspected the straight A kid, from Neighbor, Michigan, had it in him. Honestly, Sam had assumed, after the bunker went into lockdown the previous week, Kevin wouldn't go near Crowley without a gun to his head.
What the heck had changed? Did the gremlin pull another stunt?
Did Kevin finally snap?
Shit, shit, shit!
Again, he and Dean were on the same page.
"You check the names, I'll go find the kid." Dean said darkly as they made for the stairs at a jog.
…ooo0ooo…
"Kevin!" Dean called out urgently, again, as he jogged down the tiled hallway towards the prophet's room.
Alarmingly, he still got no reply.
"So, now you're worried." A strange voice from behind caused Dean to wheel around, demon knife in hand.
To find nothing.
The hallway appeared empty.
Ghost? Demon?
Nah, it had to be that asshat gremlin.
Aparently, gremlins could run their mouths, like so many of the other monsters they'd been forced to deal with. 'cause of course, they couldn't catch a break; have gremlins be just destructive little animals like in the movie. Noooo, of course they had to be mouthy little douchebags.
"Dean Winchester, the Michael sword, and righteous man—." The words came from behind him, once more.
Mouthy douchebags that knew stuff and wanted to go on about it…. Perfect, just perfect.
Shoving the demon knife into his belt, Dean spun, gun in hand, to aim in the direction of the voice.
"Where are you, you sonofabitch!" He spat, searching frantically for some kind of target.
"Wrong again." The voice tutted. "Correctly speaking, I'm not a son of anyone—"
Dean took a blind shot, into apparently empty air. Where he judged the voice came from.
Received a round of mocking laughter for his trouble, and chipped tile.
"You're going to wake the boy if you continue like that; which would be something of a pity; this being the first decent sleep young Mr Tran has managed since you brought the King of Hell into your bunker.
Bit thoughtless, don't you think? Considering what the demon did to the lad,— and his mother. You're not the most empathetic caregiver, are you, Dean?
I suppose, it comes from your own, somewhat lacking upbringing—"
"—The hell?! Don't you dare talk 'bout—"
"Talk about John Winchester's A+ parenting?
You do realise, not talking about it, is one of your problems.
You and your brother, have been living and breathing trauma for so long, you can't even seem to see, or identify it, anymore.
You are like fishes, who have, all but stopped believing in water. But the lad… I think he may be drowning."
"Where is he?
If you've done anything to him—"
"You'll rip my lungs out… Oh, I'm sure you'd try. Not that I have lungs, strictly speaking. But you are unpleasant enough to have made the fae invading Elwood, want to spit you back out.
That's a fair achievement in itself.
And then, you took on a redcap, and lived to tell the tale. No paltry feat, believe me. Psychopathic little sods, redcaps."
"And you're not? You disassembled my freaking car!"
"Disassembled, Mmm, yes. But there wasn't a scratch on it. Was there? That took skill." The damn thing sniggered. "—And a certain theatrical flair!
Have to say, your face, was priceless."
"Ha-de-haha, laugh it up chucklehead. Real comedian you are.
Now, where's Kevin?"
"In his room, asleep. Hopefully, will be for a while yet."
Dean didn't stop, or listen to any more of the invisible little assholes smartass comments. He covered the distance to Kevin's room at a trot and kicked the door open.
It banged open hitting the wall behind with a loud thump.
Revealed Kevin, sprawled on his back across the unmade bed, asleep. His hag stone dangeled out of his shirt and across his chest; rising and falling with each open mouthed breath he took.
An empty hip flask lay by Kevin's open hand. Making it plain.
Reason why he hadn't responded, or woken yet, was 'cause he'd been into the hunters helper.
Kid had obviously gotten himself sauced with Dutch courage and used Crowley as his own personal Wing-Chun dummy.
Went all LaRusso on his ass. Well, more power to him.
"Little punks fine." Dean breathed to himself, relieved.
Stood there watching the steady rise and fall of Kevin's chest a moment longer, while his heart rate steadied. Wondered if he ought to chuck a bucket of cold water over the kid and chew him out; for stealing his hooch and getting blackout drunk, the way Dad would have done.
But figured, that wasn't his job, and he really couldn't talk. Boys would be boys after all, and the gremlin was right about one thing. Kev' didn't get enough sleep.
Instead, he grabbed a book of post-it notes off the desk and scrawled a quick note; saying they were home, there was chicken and prune juice in the fridge, and that Kevin could REALLY do with a shower.
He stuck the note on the boy's forehead. Then backed out of the room and shut the door.
"He really isn't, fine.
Neither are you, or your brother."
Dean whipped round to face the disembodied voice, a prickling tightness between his shoulder blades.
"What d' you mean? What's wrong with Sam?"
"With the damage to his body — and soul— Your brother should be dead, add to that, he's walking around possessed by an Angel."
"The hell you say, Sammy's gonna be fine!"
"He isn't. And he won't be if he knows what you did. Which is why you're afraid to tell him, isn't it.
His biggest nightmare is being possessed, again, after what Queen Mab's favourite archangel did to him, for all that time…"
"Pardon?" Dean's heart rate sped up again.
"You don't know exactly what happened to him in that cage, do you?" The gremlin taunted. "You've never asked. And he's afraid to tell you. Thinks you'd treat him different and blame yourself, make it all about how you feel, like you always do. Your brother was ready to die, willing to make a choice and accept the consequences. But you had to step in. Manipulate him. Invalidate everything he's suffered, by trying to save the day. It's what you do, isn't it Dean?"
"Shut up! You don't know anything, not about Sam, and definitely not about me. I did what I did to save him!"
"He didn't want to be saved."
"The hell he didn't!" Dean balled his fists. "Listen here, you mogwai wannabe. Me 'n' Sam are good, and we, are gonna banish your gremlin ass back to fairy land—"
"Oh, I know.
Your efforts will be much appreciated."
"Sure they will, Brer Rabbit. I'm not dumb enough to fall for that reverse psychology shit."
"But you are admitting that you're dumb?" The freaking thing snickered at him again. "You know, Dean… admitting there's a problem is the first step."
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
Authors note: Happy New Year everyone.
I know, I know, it's been an age since I've posted. There's been so much going on lately in reallife and I haven't had enough mental juice left over to face writing.
Covid drama has become entrenched here in NZ, now; making all the end of year and Christmas preparations that much more fraught. Then, both my father and father in law were diagnosed with cancer, in rapid succession. They've been clocking up hospital time, undergoing surgeries and treatments.
Then daughter number two was in a car accident that wrote off one of our cars (but thankfully not herself) just before Christmas. Mum's taxi rides again -sigh-
I'm really hoping and praying that 2022 treats every one of you kinder than it's predecessors have, and you all stay safe and sane out there in your little corners of the world.
Until next time, Luv you all and be kind to yourselves.
I'd love to hear from you in the comments, (critique always welcome) if you get the chance and thanks for being patient. ️
-MC2