Unfortunately I do not own Supernatural. I do own Gemma, though, and her influence on the plot I'm enjoying mangling. And I'm trying to keep all of the chapters at least as long as the first one, hopefully more, so they aren't too short.
Gemma was typing in her last message to Sam when the doorbell rang. She stood from her chair and walked slowly, still rapidly keying in the words.
This would be her last contact with Sam unless the Winchesters were in a life-threatening situation that she could help with. She'd be getting a new phone after this, though she'd be keeping Sam's number just in case she needed to get in contact with him. Offer verbal reprimanding or support or something of the like.
Her things were already packed; she had started putting everything she couldn't replace away almost as soon as Sam had left, and simply waited until then, amusing herself with the golden-azure flames she would soon have full reign to use for optimum destruction.
For the first time in years, she would be shedding her human skin, if only for a few moments. Too long and the sheer heat would incinerate more than just her/Sam's house. She wanted to burn, not leave no trace that the building had never existed.
"Hello, Brady," she said as she opened the door. "I was waiting for you to show. Aren't you cutting pretty close to the deadline?"
The blond leaning against the front railing blinked at her, and his eyes swirled into pitch demonic black. He smiled tauntingly, and she neutrally back. "Aren't you gonna let me in?" he asked, and strode past her. Quite rudely, actually.
And Gemma pressed the last period of the message, and then hit SEND.
Her ties were cut, for now at least.
Nothing to do now but clean up the loose ends and leave Sam a nice welcoming party.
"I'd prefer not to have demonic taint stinking up my house," she said as she walked into the living room and faced him. "But it'll be gone soon enough, cleansed along with the rest of the house. And you, 'Brady', will be a sweet little pile of ash in the slag."
'Brady' frowned at her, uncomprehending of his own oncoming demise. "What are you?" he growled. "I never could find out. But whatever it is, you'll die just like anything else."
"Wrong," Gemma's smile widened, and twisted into something else, something older and darker and crueller. "You can't kill me, filth. The only thing that could've has been lost for years, though I suspect the Winchesters may come across it in the future. It seems like something they might want."
"The Colt," 'Brady' muttered, understanding.
"That's the thing," she said cheerily, and flicked her lighter. This time she purposefully reached out to it, and the inch-tall candleflame sparked and roared up to a foot in height, flaring gold and bright, violent blue. "Now. Let's get this going. Sam'll be home in less than an hour, and I'd rather be long gone then."
"As would I," 'Brady' commented, eyes locked curiously on her fire. The fool still thought he could win? That would be his downfall.
Gemma twitched, and dropped the lighter. It didn't sputter out. The flames landed on the floor and caught, spreading rapidly across the wood and leaping up the walls. Firelight bathed the room in blue and gold, and her skin boiled, melting away to reveal tightly-compacted feathers in all the shades of red and yellow imaginable. The clothing covering her body curled away into only so much ash, and the chain around her neck melted, dropping the tiny amber pendant to the ground. They- the feathers- spread apart into wings that spanned the room- nigh on fifteen feet- and beat at the air, fanning the fire to tumultuous heights as the atmosphere heated to a temperature greater than the desert, making it ripple like a mirage.
Silver eyes blazed into the hottest blue, and then with a loud screech the fire exploded, rushing outwards in a conflagration of heat and waves- nay, tsunamis- of rushing flame that suffused the entire house and turned it into a death trap none but the maker or a god could possibly survive.
'Brady' was frozen in shock and fear, so when she dipped her great, viciously curved beak and touched it to his head, he couldn't avoid the contact.
Fire spread underneath his meatsuit's skin, and turned him to ash inside-out. The black soul-smoke struggled out from ash-chapped lips, swirling around the room frantically after it escaped the now-destroyed body, but as soon as it touched the flames it too was destroyed, with a not-quite-mental scream of rage and agony.
Gemma fanned the blaze with her grand wings, and then forced herself down, inwards, to shrink until she was crouching stark naked on one knee in the middle of the fire. Her still-blue eyes found the necklace, and she tossed it- hard- towards the front porch where it landed outside the still partially-open door on the pavement, glimmering from the heat. Sam would find it, and recognize it. And, being the sentimental boy he was, would keep it.
Balthazar, she prayed, and the Angel was at her side instantly. "It's done, then?" he drawled.
"The demon is gone, and I have effectively staged my death for anyone not the Winchester brothers. I sent Sam a text just before the demon arrived. It would be best if we left now, Balthy. The fire will bring firefighters, and Sam and Dean will be back soon. Very soon."
His hand, fire-warmed, landed on top of her head and curled into the freed strands of red-gold chestnut hair that gleamed in the bright, bright firelight. "Then let's go," Balthazar said. "I'd rather not be discovered so early in the game."
Gemma's lips quirked as the Angel's invisible wings flapped and the burning world around them disappeared just as a thick wooden beam crashed down through the ceiling. She had played her part, played it well in her opinion; now they only had to wait. Wait, and watch.
Could the Winchesters stop the coming Apocalypse? Could she and Balthazar steer them away from the shadows, or would she have to get involved personally? Either way neither of them were ready to watch the world be destroyed for 'paradise', as Lucifer apparently put it.
Sam's phone beeped, and he pulled it out. His brows furrowed slightly when he noticed it was from Gemma- what could she want? She knew that he'd be back soon... he opened it, and his eyes widened.
This will be the last message from this phone, but know that I'm alive and safe. I know you're looking for the Yellow-Eyed demon, so I'm going to give you a little hint- his name is Azazel. He's a nasty old thing, not as ancient as Bal of course, but still older than most. You aren't the only one who lost one or more of their parents when they were six months old. But be wary, Sam. Be careful. He's coming back out of the shadows now that you and the others are grown, and Brady was a demon under orders to kill me to drive you back into Hunting. I'm not human either, as I'm sure you've guessed. The state of the house when you arrive might give you some clue as to my true species, because things aren't always what they look like, are they? I've left you my necklace- it's outside the house, somewhere near the sidewalk. Take care of it for me.
"Sam!" Dean barked, and Sam's head jerked up and around as the Impala rolled to a halt.
"What the-" he stared in horror at the townhouse, where he and Gemma had roomed together for the last year- two for her- and couldn't believe his eyes.
There were firetrucks outside, but the water the hoses were shooting out wasn't doing much good. There was just too much of the vibrantly colored flames that were leaping all over the structure.
As yellow as pure gold and as blue as the ocean.
He had seen them before, multiple times when he or Brady had gotten Gemma emotional when her lighter was out. It had flared those exact same colors, brighter than it should've, and he had done his research but hadn't known what she was. Couldn't find out; there hadn't been enough clues.
Sam scrambled out of the car and dashed across the street, slipping through the yellow-clad groups to the water-soaked ground in front of the house, his eyes searching, searching- there it was. He picked up the amber pendant that she had always worn, never- as far as he knew- taken off, that was in the shape of an abstract flame. It was warm on his skin, like it too had been in the fire only minutes ago, and glimmered warmly in the flickering light.
And then something by the door caught his attention.
It was burning just like everything else, so it didn't stand out, but as the firefighters forcefully pushed him back away from the danger- because the air was hot, hotter than any fire had a right to make it- he could have sworn, just before it fell apart, that it looked like a feather. A feather as long as the length from his fingertips to his elbow, and gleaming red-gold.
An epiphany struck him, and Sam collapsed back against Dean when his brother hauled him back to the car. He loosened his iron-tight grip on the crystallized sap, and held it up to Dean. "It's hers," he croaked, and shot his eyes back down to the phone, back to the last line-
See you 'round, Sammy.
He blindly shoved the phone at Dean, and pushed himself up from the cement, brushing himself off. "It was so freaking' obvious now that I think about it," he muttered to himself, pacing by the car. "How did I miss it?"
"Sammy, what're you talking about?" Dean called, and then his face darkened as he ran through the rest of Gemma's last words. "Sammy, what the hell is going on?!"
"She's a phoenix, Dean!" Sam almost yelled, catching himself just in time so that they wouldn't catch the attention of the onlookers. "Her last name. 'Fenix' is a variant of 'phoenix'. The way she was always smoking or playing with her lighter. That fire- it's the same stuff that came out of her lighter when she got angry or excited. And she never aged. I didn't notice at first, but now that I think back- oh, I am an idiot!"
"Hey- hey, Sam, calm down. You couldn't have known, she was hiding, right?" Dean grabbed his shoulders, and forced him to stay still. "I don't know what her motivation is, or who she's working for-"
"His name is Bal," Sam said distractedly, his eyes fixed on the burning house over his brother's head. "Sometimes she called him 'Balthy', but never said a full name."
"Alright, we have half a name for her boss. But we also have its name, don't we? Yellow-Eyes'? Mom's killer's? Whatever's coming, we'll do our research and we'll be ready. We'll have to be," Dean told him determinedly, and Sam focused on his brother, nodding slowly.
"We'll be ready," he repeated. "We'll be ready." We have to be.