Don't Feed After Midnight
Chapter 33: It's a kind of Magic
The gremlin sat crossed legged on a case of sweetened condensed milk stamped with the best before date of July 1959, and watched.
After debate, the Winchester brothers had decided to use the less heavily warded space attached to the loading dock for their activity.
Cleared out a large space there by shoving the crates, barrels and various other equipment back towards the walls.
They then painted a devils trap onto the concrete floor in red, covering that entire cleared area. The younger hunter had proceeded to studiously chalk a sigil onto the centre of the trap and set out a series of stout black candles on the symbol's vertices, lighting them as he went.
Then the shorter, but elder, brother Winchester plonked a metal bowl in the centre of the symbol and poured a ziplock bag of premixed ingredients into it.
Watching it all, the gremlin felt a certain measure of regret for choosing to follow the wrong Winchester, and having missed out on seeing exactly what those ingredients were.
Human magic was far different than that practiced by the fae, and the gremlin had never witnessed a demon summoning ritual before.
What ever the previous ingredients in the bowl, it did witness Dean cut his hand and let a thin trickle of blood patter down on top of the concoction from the plastic baggy.
On its canned dairy perch, the gremlin leaned closer in sharpening interest, ears slanted forward.
Blood magic was something fae could not perform, not being truly physical beings.
Humans consisted of matter and energy working together in complex synergy. They were capable of creating new unique life by conjoining their bodies in the process of sex; yet in doing so, that creation didn't subtract from either party involved. Despite having formed a third separate, unique being. Earthly creatures ate, and converted matter into energy in much the same way machines did; yet they were also capable of growth and continuous repair of their flesh. Humans were somehow more than just energy encased in matter; or base consuming lumps of flesh; with the capacity to burn matter and extract energy.
Humans were also different from other earthly creatures. When their meat stopped functioning and humans died, (releasing unheard of amounts of energy when the body was cleaved off from spirit and soul,) they were not simply used up or broken. They became something else; like butterflies clambering free of their chrysalis'.
Somehow upon detachment from their physical bodies the complicated constructs that were humanity still weren't depleted, and only appeared to become so if the process of demonization happened, cleaving the spirit away from the soul in hell. Or, to a lesser degree if the human became partially mired in ghost form on earth.
Humans were both puzzling and fascinating.
Life and death were part of their normal cycle.
Blood magic tapped into the power of both, in a way the fae just had no personal access to.
The higher fae decried such magics as primitive and inferior, yet Queen Mab and her cohorts had long been known to abduct human mortals that strayed into fairy rings and other thin places; specifically so they could experiment with that so called primitive and inferior magic.
While the gremlin pondered these weighty topics, Dean Winchester stepped out of the devils trap, drew his gun and nodded to his brother.
Sam then proceeded to chant a summoning spell in sonorous Latin without any other fanfare.
"Appello et compello et obligamus Martin Hayward ad respondendum et coram me per meritum sanguinis magici et veri nominis comparere. Prodeunt!"
Finished with the invocation the man struck light to a book of matches, and strode long legged out of the devils trap following his brother; turned at the waist and tossed the match book back into the bowl with surprising accuracy.
Potential and intent prickled like a build up of static electricity through the gremlin's dense fur when the spell makings caught fire in a rushing flare of pearlescent flame. The mundane contents of the bowl were consumed and transformed into the slippery stuff of magic and the gremlin felt the demon summoning take effect.
"What in tarnation!?" The demon exclaimed, finding itself rudely yanked from whatever activity it had previously been pursuing. Its shock broadcasted perfectly by the discordance between the outward appearance of a prim middle aged woman, attired in tweed and rose linen, a small tasteful badge on her lapel announcing, 'Chief Librarian: Miriam Levy; and it's tone and cadence which were masculine and old west flavoured.
"Look Mr Crowley, I can explain—" the demon began, obviously blaming its sudden recall on its superior. But didn't get any further before a shot rang out punching it backwards with a bullet impact to the temple.
The demon stumbled and sent the candles and metal bowl flying before toppling backward.
The gremlin watched the spirit of the woman the demon had been wearing detach itself from her physical body; the same process it had witnessed when the prophet hit the self proclaimed King of Hell in the head with a sledge hammer. This time it was ready for the buffeting wave of released death energy, and caught sight of the reaper when it appeared to usher the dead woman's confused and distraught spirit off to her appointed afterlife.
Before being trapped in the reconnaissance camera, the gremlin had only experienced human death once. A young mechanic tasked with maintaining the allied aircraft, crushed when a winch failed… An accident the gremlin had been partially responsible for.
That first human death had so shocked it, that it had missed the involvement of another entity in the lad's death process.
The second human death it had witnessed was the King of Hell's meatsuit. Forewarned of the shock wave by that first experience, and informed of the purpose and position of reapers by reading the Supernatural books, it had still failed to witness a reaper going about its business because of the distracting nature of the prophet's emotions at the time.
This third time, the gremlin had caught the reaper at its work.
Ever the student of new knowledge, it was buoyantly pleased with what it had gleaned from the brief apperception. It had studied the angel residing inside Sam Winchester and could conclude reapers were similar but different to the host of heaven. It appeared that reapers' energy held a wider range of resonance and complexity than that of angels, but they still appeared to be individuals constructed of energy and waves; similar on a surface level to both angels and the fae.
"Dean!" Sam Winchester was staring at his brother in something like shock.
"What?" The man glared back at his brother before holstering his gun. "This was your plan, remember."
Sam ran a hand through his overlong hair, huffed a sigh and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, yeah I know… It's just, uh, I didn't expect—"
"It to be wearing a chick? Well suck it up buttercup, this is the job." Dean Winchester drew his Kurdish blade and stepped forward. "Don't matter what it's wearing, that ain't some innocent librarian anymore, you know that Sam."
The gremlin pursed its lips around its sharp fangs at the blithe evasion. Dean Winchester was right, but only because he'd already splattered the innocent librarian's brains on the concrete with his devil's trap bullet.
The demon lay on its back in a widening pool of blood, stunned and immobile.
Sadly, a stack of crates now half obscured the gremlin's view of the action. It shimmied down from the condensed milk. Leaped, and clawed its way atop a pallet of yellowing rolls of toilet paper; only to accidentally send a precariously balanced box of rat chewed P&G Ivory soap tumbling to the floor.
Both brothers wheeled at the sound; alarmed and instantly on guard, guns drawn.
Without discussion the Winchesters split up and approached the gremlin's new vantage point from converging directions.
The gremlin froze, reflexively pressing itself low against the pallet of Charmin toilet tissue, expecting the Winchesters to use their Hag stones to aid in their search.
The brothers however, had their minds focused on demons and were only searching for human sized assailants.
When they failed to see any shapes or movement; apart from waving cobwebs, drifting dust, and nervous skittering of rats, the Winchesters relaxed again.
Dean kicked at the fallen box, picked it up and examined the gnawed cardboard with a cluck of his tongue.
"Just a rat, place is full of 'em," he muttered, turning the box over in his hands. "Score! Soap, the good stuff."
"You don't seriously want to use that." Sam Winchester screwed up his face at the thought, and the gremlin caught the full impact of the younger Winchester's look of disgust.
Dean shrugged easily.
"Knew a chick who swore by Ivory soap, said it is the best stuff on the market for sensitive skin."
"I'm pretty sure soap that's been sitting round in an underground bunker, being chewed on by rats, for over 50 years, is not the best stuff on the market for sensitive skin, Dean."
"It's soap Sam, soap doesn't go off."
"Yeah… Pretty sure it does, if something with rabies has been chewing on it."
"How in the blue blazes did you gab mouthed son of a bitches whistle my Dixie."
Both Winchesters' heads snapped around at the downed demon's outburst, and turned back towards the devil's trap in tandem.
The Winchesters looked down at the demon, still laying on its back in the centre of the trap. The librarian's face was cratered by the devil's trap bullet, slowly oozing blood and brains The mess of flesh was twisted inhumanly by the impotent fury of the demon within as it attempted fruitlessly to master its frozen meatsuit.
"Someone gave you up, Martin Hayward," Dean Winchester answered, Kurdish knife back in his hand.
At the mention of its true name the demon gaped up at the man slack jawed. "No one knows that name!"
Sam scoffed. "Obviously not no one. Your boss, your so-called King, Crowley. He gave you up, Martin. Said you were an under performer. Said if we spiked you we'd be doing him a favour."
"What? No! The king doesn't work with hunters."
"Wrong again, Martin. Crowley's our bitch, which makes you our bitch too."
"And we want names, true names, of other demons."
"True names? You gotta be kidding me. Demons don't just go round telling each other crap like that, jus' for the howdy Doo. You got no idea the things they can do to you down in the pit if they get ahold of your true name."
Dean Winchester chuckled darkly looking down at the demon, his head tilted, and a predatory glaze to his eyes.
"Oh, I've got a pretty good idea of what they can do."
"Well then, you know! You learn quick to bury that scat deep."
"… In that case..." Dean took a step forward, the Kurdish blade raised.
"Is that? O—h shit!"
"Ancient demon killing blade of the Kurds." Sam Winchester confirmed with a cold smirk.
"But they're supposed to all be lost, 'cept the one those musty scholars have locked up in their glass case."
"Crowley was right, Dean. He's useless."
"Wait! Sam, Dean— you're the Winchesters aren't you? Azazel's Boy King, the Righteous man that broke down in hell an' picked up Alistair's knife."
"See what you mean Sammy, total idiot. Prick knows nothing—"
"No, no, I've got a name, I've got a name. Used to be part of the same gang— before. Died in the same bank heist gone wrong. We were practically next door on the racks."
"I'm getting bored, aren't you Sammy."
"Thought you liked cowboy movies, Dean."
"Yeah, well, this thing, he ain't no Jesse James. He's just a common thug."
"I'm not a common thug, I can read!"
"Oh, he can read, well ain't that something Sammy."
"Maybe he can read the writing on the wall, and give us a name."
"Or— I could try scalping him. Never tried it on a demon with this knife. Don't reckon it'd kill him outright if I'm careful."
The demon whined in terror. "Brandon Favors! Brandon Favors!"
Dean crouched down beside the demon housed in the corpse of a 50 year old librarian and pressed his knife into the oozing bullet wound on its forehead, it started to sizzle with orange sparks, making the demon whine in pain. "That's the only true name you've got?"
"Yes, yes, please! Crowley, he keeps most of us apart! Has me an' Brandon over in London, keeping tabs on The British—"
Dean plunged the Kurdish knife into the demon's chest. "Yeah. I don't care." The demon spasmed and screeched in agony, orange flame flared up to consume its smokey essence like touch powder.
"Dean!"
"In London, Sam. As in a whole other continent. We got enough problems here, without worrying about whatever tea and crumpets crap Crowley's got going on in merry ol' England."
"Yeah but…"
Dean climbed to his feet. Yanked the blade out of the now empty corpse, and wiped it roughly across Miriam Levy's matronly bosom. "He's the king of Hell Sammy, that means worldwide, Timbuktu to Kalamazoo. Now give me a hand to drag this outta the trap."
The Winchesters proceeded to heft librarian Miriam Levy's empty body out of the devils trap and dumped it to one side like an over-large sack of grain.
"Wanna do the other one now?"
Sam shrugged. "Guess it's best to get it done and cleaned up, before Kevin wakes."
"Oh, I dunno. If the kid likes whaling on demons so much, maybe we oughta save one for him to gank."
Sam Winchester cocked his head. "Guess he might find it… uh… therapeutic...?" Then the younger hunter smiled in a flash of white teeth. "And he can help us lug the bodies out to the drainage ditch."
The gremlin watched the Winchesters with rising distaste, they didn't seem like the empathetic, heroic characters he'd read about in the Supernatural books. There was a numb kind of callousness in the way they had dealt with the librarian and the demon that had inhabited her.
The gremlin could sense no real emotional turmoil from either brother, even though Sam Winchester had momentarily objected. Now the librarian and demon had both been executed, the Winchesters simply moved on seamlessly to the next task, and potential death, on hand.
Kevin Tran's emotional dysregulation after his confrontation with the demon King might have been akin to the sound of nails down a blackboard for the gremlin's highly attuned senses. But for all that, it had also seemed… more appropriate to the gravity of ending the existence of one being, and permanently changing the state of another.
Knowing what it did of Kevin Tran's precarious mental state, the idea of the Winchesters trying to force the lad to participate in the dispatch of a second demon, made the gremlin bare its teeth in irritation. The fact that they used the excuse of it being some kind of misguided therapeutic exercise only made it worse.
Both hunters had totally disregarded its words to them on the topic of Kevin Tran. Arrogantly assuming that their interpretation of, and way of dealing with, things was the only possible course of action.
The prophet would wake soon, and if the Winchesters inflicted more trauma on him in the name of therapy, hardening him up, or giving him some misplaced sense of vengeance, the gremlin would have to endure the backlash of the lads' complete emotional collapse. There was nothing more frustrating than being part way through fixing something, only to have some unskilled idiot come in and trash your project!
Abiding such wanton hubris without constructing an obstacle or reprisal had never been in the gremlin's nature.
While the Winchesters were collecting up the scattered candles, scuffing out Martin Hayward's sigil and checking over the integrity of their devil's trap, the gremlin began its own preparations.
-/-/-/-/-
Authors notes:
Yes a chapter from the Gremlins perspective 😊 that takes my POV characters up to 5 in this story. George RR Martin Im catching up, and I'll -probably- finish this before WOW hits the shelves😅
As I said on my other WIP I have decided to go back to responding to reviews at the end of each newly posted chapter, so I suggest you follow or subscribe so you don't miss my updates since my writing and posting schedule can be all over the place. Recently I read another writer's story and they are doing something similar and I was reminded of how I and many authors used to do it like that. Instead of off in private little messages. It made me so nostalgic for bygone days where we all interacted more and made friends on fanfiction. So I thought — well, why not. I know how nice it is getting a shout out at the end of each chapter and feeling seen.
So come over and say hi and tell me what you think of this chapter, there's no need to sign up to Pat-reon I'll mention you at the end of my next chapter for free 😉
Iowa Kat: Thanks for commenting on the last chapter. I really appreciate your patronage ️. I loved your comment about the gremlin being similar to Dean and breaking things trying to fix them, you are right and I never thought of it quite like that, but you are so right.
We have finally got a new, second hand car to replace the one that got side swiped and written off thanks to that rouge learner driver. The daughter is very happy and so are hubby and I. Taxi driver too teenage girls was never my idea of an enriching career path. The car is small and red and reminds me of my own first car (except it's far sexier) it's all very circle of life, without the need of a monkey hanging someone off the side of a rock.
Thank you also to TheAnonymousP3n for your help working out if the magic stuff made any sense outside of my own head, and also for reminding me to clarify head canon stuff that I take far too much for granted.
She has a fascinating story that I love called "Mr Crowley" you guys should all check out if you like our King of Hell as much as I do! ️
Thank you to my favourite Cougar for your opinion on whether the Winchesters were behaving in a canon compliant manner