NINE
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Contains another F-bomb.
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Sam opened the door to the bunker, letting John in first. The shorter man marched in, hands in his pockets, to look around and stride off.
Sam and Dean carried in their duffles, ending up in the kitchen. Sam dumped his bag first. He looked across the table at Dean. "Beer?" he offered.
Dean wiped his hands down his face. "I am done," he announced. "Even if we knew where the girls were, I wouldn't be any use gettin' them back. I need sleep."
"Fair enough," Sam nodded. Dean turned and disappeared from the kitchen, lugging his duffle after him.
Sam turned to the fridge as he rubbed a tired eye. He opened it up and found a beer, twisting off the cap and taking a swig.
"Not a bad place you've got here," John said from behind him.
He almost jumped in surprise. He turned and found John leaning on the doorjamb, his arms folded. "Yeah," he allowed. "It kind of… found us."
"Question," John said. "The rooms… They don't move, do they?"
"How do you mean?"
"Well…" He sniffed, as if looking for words. "They don't change places, or change sizes, when you're not looking?"
Sam smiled. "No. Why?"
"Just wondered," John said. He pushed himself up from the jamb and went round the altitudinous Winchester to the fridge. "Got any going spare?"
Sam waved a hand at it. "Go ahead."
John pulled on the door and located his own beer. He opened it up and took a few good-sized pulls on it. Finally he looked at Sam. "So… I am sorry, mate. For taking the book and getting you mixed up my shit. But I had to do it."
"Yeah," Sam said with great unease. "Just… maybe steer clear of Dean for a while."
"What's his story?" John asked. "I mean, I know I pissed him off something proper, but… Tell him to get over it, yeah?"
"He will do," Sam said quietly. "Just get this demon to talk."
John sniffed to himself, then lifted his bottle, downing half of it without apparent effort. "Do you know this demon's name?"
"The woman you scared off - she called him Malakatch."
"Malakatch! Skeevy little shit," John tutted.
"You know him?"
"I know of him," he said tersely. "He's not a very useful demon. Except… he works for Malphas. Which means…" He paced across the kitchen in silence. Sam took a long pull on his beer, trying not to appear as impatient as he felt as John went backwards and forwards, apparently miles away. Abruptly John came to a stop. He glared at the table as if it held the secrets he so badly needed. "Tell you what," he said suddenly. "Why don't we all sleep on it. Dean was knackered - you must be too."
"Yeah," Sam said. "We have like a tonne of rooms - you can have any one of them," he said. "There's like a massive washroom just down the hall - should be towels and stuff in there. Let me know if you need anything."
John looked around the kitchen. "This place doesn't have a smoke alarm, does it?"
Sam smiled. "No. But stand under a ventilation grate when you light up, ok?"
"Of course."
Sam picked up his beer bottle. "We'll come find you in the morning."
John waved a palm up and Sam disappeared out of the door. John tilted his head, let something run through it a few times, and then dug his hand into his pocket. He brought out his lighter, and without him even noticing, his thumb snapped it open and closed, open and closed. His eyes narrowed as they lost focus on the here and now.
And then he smiled.
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ooOoo
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Sam swung open the bookcase and Dean ducked into the hidden room. His boots came to a screeching halt. "What the hell is going on here?"
Sam hurried up to his shoulder until he too stopped on a sixpence.
The light from the ceiling had shrunk to a circle, shining down on the demon, Malakatch. He was still chained to the chair, his back to them, his arms on the rests. Blood was leaking from his arms, the floor was water-splashed, and the darkness around the devil's trap on the floor was making the hair on the back of Dean's neck stand up in trepidation.
"Dean! Sam!" Malakatch called. "Stop him! Get him out!"
They wandered in further, peering into the pitch black outside the circle. "Who?" Dean asked.
"That'd be me," said a quiet voice.
They whirled and found a tiny red light in the darkest corner of the room. The red spot intensified, and then a long curl of smoke streamed out of the darkness. As it reached the fallout cast by the searchlight in the ceiling, it flipped and folded upwards, towards the giant fan above them.
Sam went back to the secret door and felt around for the light switch. He yanked the huge handle down and the main lights came on.
John was sitting on an upturned bucket in the corner. His coat was lying on the floor by his left foot, his right shoe planted firmly on a stack of three heavy tomes. His right elbow was on his knee, the cigarette propped up just a few inches from an evil grin.
"What did you do?" Sam asked, going round to appraise Malakatch's face. The demon had been sweating - apparently a lot, and for a while. His skin was ashen, his eyes red-rimmed and pinched half shut in some kind of reluctance to have them open at all.
Dean looked from the demon to John and back again. "Did you get anything?" he asked John.
John considered the hot end of his Silk Cut. "Your friend here is indeed Malakatch. And he did take four women from the accountant's in the centre of town. The boss of the firm - the man whose skin he's wearing right now - was a mason. He was rumoured to have bought a book in an online auction. Malakatch possessed the poor sod and kidnapped a car full of women going home from his office one night. One of them, Helena-the-unlucky, seeing as she's now in a dumpster, tells him a DHL parcel turned up at work. Problem is, Fuckwit here thought it was the book, so he tortures the next unlucky bird, Moesha. She says she saw Mr Torrence put whatever was in the DHL parcel in his safe. He kills her too and the two poor birds end up in the rubbish skip. He goes into the office to find it, leaving Monica and Saanvi tied up in case he needs them later. Only, when he gets to the office, you two ruin his evening." He puffed on the cigarette. "Mind you, that's what he claims. They do say that confessions you get from interrogations are unreliable."
Dean's jaw stuck out. "You said you'd wait for us."
"You said it was important," John said amiably. "Now, I've had him telling me everything from Sam's unfortunate history with birds to why the US Postal Service loses so much mail every year. What he's not telling me is what he wanted this book for, or where the remaining two girls are."
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. Sam studied Malakatch's weary face. "You really went to work on him, huh," he managed quietly.
"It wasn't easy," John sniffed.
Dean folded his arms. "But you can't get it out of him?"
"Nope." John dropped the cigarette, crushing it out with his left shoe. "Last chance, Malakatch. Spill, or we'll take it higher."
"Go screw yourself," the demon panted.
"Been there, done that, still alive by the skin of my teeth," John said to himself. He got up and ran his hands through his hair. Dean watched him approach the chair. He put his hands on the rests by the demon's wrists, leaning in. "Come on, sunshine. Just spill. Don't make me do something I don't want to do."
"Screw you."
"Where's Malphas these days? I never see him around the blood bowl any more."
"Screw you."
"In your wet ones," John winked.
Malakatch pulled on his chains, shifting in the chair. "There's nothing more you can do to me."
John pushed himself up from the chair arms. He slid a hand in his pocket and pulled out a tissue. He leant down again, watching the demon's yellow eyes stare back at him. Slowly, steadily, his hand went down and the tissue pressed into the slice in the skin of his forearm. The demon gritted his teeth and hissed curses at him, as John simply pushed it down - and down. Blood welled around it, but John still pressed.
"Aargh! This is childish!" Malakatch raged.
John pulled the tissue back. "You're right." He lifted it to watch the blood seep across the surface slowly. "So let's call Daddy and see what he says."
"What?" Malakatch demanded.
John just smiled and walked round him and away. Sam huffed and followed. Dean tilted his head, then backed up and leant against the wall. He folded his arms, considering the demon in the chair.
"Where's he gone?" Malakatch asked.
"Out," Dean grunted.
The demon swallowed. "You have to stop him. You need me."
"Like a hole in the head."
"But I can help you! I can - I can get that mark off you!"
Dean smiled. "Of course you can. You wait till now to try that card. Little late, pal. And of course there's no way you're lying."
"No - not this time. You have to believe me!"
"I don't have to do a goddamn thing," Dean growled. He pushed himself up from the wall and stalked toward the exit.
Malakatch struggled. "Look - you have to understand something!" he called. "Constantine! He's mad! He'll do anything to get what he wants. He doesn't care if he screws you over or not!"
"Again, little late with that newsflash," Dean called over his shoulder. He began to heave the bookcases closed.
"He'll lie to your face! He'll twist everything you have just to get his own way! And he does get his own way - every time!"
Dean paused. "Really?"
"Yes!"
Dean smiled. "Good."
"Good? Good?" Malakatch spluttered.
"Yeah. Cos right now, getting the location of these women out of you is his mission. So yeah, I hope he does get his own way, every time."
"Don't turn your back on him," Malakatch blurted.
Dean closed the bookshelves. He ignored the shouts and warnings from the hidden room. Instead he turned and walked down the corridor, wending his way round the bunker until he came to the kitchen.
He found John and Sam standing on opposite sides of the table, taking turns to throw small amounts of powdery substances into a mixing bowl. The outside was covered in strange inscriptions that neither Winchester recognised.
"Now we bring Malakatch's master here," John said with a smile. "We tell him that we have the little toe rag. He'll want to drag him home, whereupon we get him to torture info out of your yellow-eyed friend."
"We can do that?" Sam asked.
"Whatever works," Dean said.
John picked up the bloodied tissue from the counter top. "Final ingredient." He tossed it in the bowl. The resulting mixture made a weird raspberry noise, causing a small puff of noxious smoke to rise out of the bowl. "Are we ready?"
"As ever," Dean nodded.
John picked up the bowl. "When he appears let me do the talking." He waited, and Sam and Dean nodded agreement. John cleared his throat and straightened his back. His hands raised the bowl between him and Sam. He paused. "I could just do this sittin' down, you know. But this looks more impressive." He brought himself straight. "Creatures of the underworld, lords of the garrisons, servants of the Fallen, I speak to you," he said firmly. "Hear me, be bound to my voice and obey my order. Bring me the one who contains the essence of Malphas, the bearer of the tithes of Legion. Bind him to my will, bring him before me as my servant in all things, for payment only I can offer."
Sam and Dean backed up slowly. They looked round the kitchen.
Nothing stirred.
John frowned. "I order you to heed my will. You are summoned, Malphas. Now get your soddin' hairy arse up here where we can talk about that numptie you own called Malakatch."
The bowl cracked and then split right down the middle. John let go in shock as the mixture inside caught light. The mess of pottery and flames hit the table. The eyes of the three men followed the dance of the fire as it puddled in the remains of one side of the bowl.
John huffed. "Well, it doesn't always work."
Dean looked at him, then took a step back. "Whoa."
John froze. "He's behind me, ain't he?"
Dean nodded, his eyes somewhere over John's head.
John turned slowly as Sam and Dean made sure the table was between them and the tall, hulking figure behind John.
"Malphas?" John asked with a cocky smile.
The figure, a complete silhouette of nothing, moved slightly. Like a black hole, no light, no image escaped its outline. "Constantine," rumbled a deep voice.
John looked round at Sam and Dean, then back at the non-entity. "You know me?"
"I know all about you," it hissed. "What of Malakatch?"
"Before we get onto that," John said, putting his hands in his pockets, "what's his punishment?"
"Punishment?"
"Yeah. I figure, what with him getting himself caught by a couple of hunters - and so easily, I might add - and then spilling all about the book he let us find… Well. There's consequences, right?"
Silence.
John sniffed and looked at his feet. "Far be it for me to tell you your job, squire, but I'm pretty sure he shouldn't be handing out trade secrets like the fact that every demon and his mother is looking for a certain book. What do you reckon?"
"You and your associates are now mine."
John lifted his hand from his pocket to wag a finger at the darkness. "You've got that backwards. See, I summoned you. Now I have to decide what to do with you."
"You cannot harm me."
"True. However, I could keep you here whilst my friends go off and send your precious Malakatch back to Hell. They could just stab him in the soul. Wipe him out. And you'll never know if he told us where the book is - you'll never get the book you sent him out for in the first place."
"It matters not what he told you—"
Sam cleared his throat. "Think how pissed every demon in Hell is gonna be when they find out you could have stopped Malakatch talking to us - and didn't. And you need that book, right? I mean, you really need it."
John nodded. "We could kill the little gobshite before you have the chance to ask him where it is."
The figure swayed slightly. "You could."
"Glad we agree." He looked over his shoulder at Sam and Dean. "If he doesn't go for the deal, you go kill him."
Dean smiled. "Gladly," he nodded. Both Winchesters reached out and took a shiny charmed knife each from the counter.
John turned back to the figure. "Think fast, Malphas."
"You—." It paused. "I will take him from you."
"No, Sam or Dean will kill him," John said.
The figure did not move. "He belongs to me. I will get my book from him and determine what his punishment should be. Give him to me."
"What if I told you… I had the book," John smiled.
The figure hissed, low and angry; an eerie moment of dark intent. "You lie."
"Frequently, and with style. But I do have your book, Malphas, and I know what it's for. Now if you want it, you'll have to do something for me."
"I do not serve humans."
"Now now now," John smiled. "Nobody used the S word."
"I do not serve humans."
John's smile faded. "Except the ones that summon you and order you to."
"You—. You have a point."
"So," John said. "You have a choice. Go in there and get Malakatch to give up his two hostages - who bloody well better be in good nick. In return, you can take him home, and I'll even give you the book."
"What? No!" Sam blurted.
John spun lazily to look at him, his hands in his pockets. "Calm it, Sam. Trust me."
Dean's eyes stole over to John, then went to Sam. He stretched his shoulders out against the sudden worrying tickle brought on by John's words.
"All you want is the location of some humans?" Malphas rumbled.
"Not just any humans," John said, his gaze back on the black hole. "I want the hostages he took from the office, and I want them unscathed. Physically, emotionally, and in all other ways perfectly ok."
The form swished, black smoke melting up from the floor to flip and snap in slow motion around where the head should have been. "And in return, you, John Constantine, will give me Malakatch and the book?"
"Scout's honour," John smiled, holding up three straight fingers. "Dib dib dib, and all that. Do we have a deal?"
"You think me as stupid as yourself," the form growled.
John's face abruptly flipped to broadcast complete innocence. "How's that then?"
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, gripping their respective knives tighter.
"You ask for one thing yet offer me two. I know what that means," the figure warned.
John looked at his feet. "Yeah, kind of thought you might. But you know what, what's the worst that could happen?"
"I would owe you," Malphas seethed.
John snapped his fingers. "That's right - you'll owe me."
"I will kill you."
"You could. You'd still owe me," John shrugged.
"You are infuriating."
"You're wasting time. In about a minute from now Malakatch will be hanging off the pointy end of a Winchester's knife. I'm thinking Dean's, but you never know, Sam might get there first. Want to make a wager on whether his longer legs will beat Dean's?"
The outline of Malphas grew a foot taller out of sheer anger. "Give him to me."
"You'll be in my debt."
"Give him to me."
"Do you agree to the deal?"
"I—." There was a deep, raging huff. "You insignificance!"
"Do you agree to the deal?" John demanded.
"I—." A pause, a long, horrible moment of prickly trepidation. "I agree. Now give him to me."
John waved a finger round in a slow circle. "And…?"
There was an unearthly grinding noise. "…And… I will be in your debt."
"Ok then," John grinned.
"You will burn, Constantine. I will find you, whether it be soon or the end of time. I have patience. You are human. I can already see your end, and how your soul will dance for me on the hooks of Hell," the figure seethed.
"Yeah yeah," John said, waving a hand at him in dismissal. "That's what they all say." He paused to put his palm up. "Malphas - you may harm none but your minion Malakatch. You are bound to me, and must follow me wherever I go. Should I wish it, you will use your influence with Malakatch, as your minion, to aid me."
The figure wisped into black storm clouds. It tumbled and billowed, throwing everything not nailed down to the tiled floor. The three men grasped at the table for support as the storm clouds blew out of the door.
They recovered some balance and looked at the exit.
"Go! Go!" John shouted. "Get to Malakatch first!"
Sam and Dean pulled on the table to get up momentum as they ran from the room. John pounded after them, hoping only to catch up with the smoke.
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As always, thanks for your attention!