Don't Feed After Midnight
Chapter 37: Memento Mori
"Sam, go get Kevin. I'll stay here and keep an eye on our friend," Dean muttered, eyeing the gremlin in open hostility. His gun still pointed between the creature's eyes, as Sam left to do like he was told.
The little sonofabitch of a gremlin didn't look phased at all. It simply sat there watching him, entirely too chilled out for Dean's comfort.
The minutes after Sam's departure lagged and Dean shifted his grip on his gun, moving from foot to foot and began to wonder why he was still pointing a gun at the gremlin.
"—Oh, and I advise you to make your brother stay here while you deliver Mr Tran to Mz. Mosley," the gremlin broke into Dean's growing boredom.
"And why's that?" he asked gruffly, thinking he'd far rather Sam took the impala and dropped Kevin off by himself; that way he could avoid another one of Missouri's well-meaning lectures.
"—Considering Mz. Mosley is an individual with more than the average amount of sensitivity and your brother is currently cohabiting with an angel, he knows nothing about. I would say it makes the greatest logical sense."
Dean jolted internally at the explanation, realising with slow horror that he hadn't even thought about that particular complication. As much as he hated to admit it, the Spielberg reject had a point. If he needed to keep Sammy away from Crowley, he sure as heck had to keep him away from Missouri, too. Still, something told him the little freak hadn't made the suggestion out of the goodness of its heart, it had to be working some kind of angle. Or perhaps it just wanted another excuse to point out how much smarter than him it was.
"Thought you wanted me to tell my brother the truth?"
"I do, but there happens to be a vast difference between telling someone something in a controlled manner, and that same individual learning the identical, potentially explosive information for themselves. Besides, I would really hate to find myself in a position where I might feel honour-bound to do something about freeing the demon you have chained in the basement."
"Honour-bound?" Dean narrowed his eyes at that. "Tell me you weren't stupid enough to make some kinda deal with Crowley."
The gremlin tipped its head to one side, flattened ears pointing outward like the wings of a plane. "I'd say it was more of a friendly agreement. He and I both have an axe to grind with a certain member of the Unseelie court. The demon has a number of theories of particular interest to me, pertaining to my supposed betters in the fae community. Given our mutually unground axes, he wasn't completely averse to sharing those theories. The enemy of my enemy can appear to be a friend in those circumstances, I'm sure you agree. I merely offered to release him if you and your brother ever left me alone to do so, as a show of solidarity."
"And by tellin' me, you're ensuring that won't happen."
The gremlin smirked, it's ear swivelling like radar dishes tracking a signal. "Really? Deary, deary me, what a bother."
Despite himself, Dean let out an aborted huff of appreciation. "You're a real sonofabitch, you know that, right?!"
"I have told you before, Mr Winchester. I'm not a son of anyone, strictly speaking."
"You claim you don't lie, yet there you go, welching on your half of the deal with Crowley."
"I don't believe what I am doing could be described as welching. It's more—that I'm utilising certain ambiguities. The demon would be a fool to expect me to release him. He's smart enough to have seen the obvious loopholes in the wording of our agreement. Besides, even were you both to leave here, there happens to be more than one way of releasing someone." It ran one sharp claw over its own throat in a gesture that was obvious.
Dean stared at it. "You sayin' you've got the juice to kill a demon. That demon? You can't expect me to believe that. Okay, the guy mightn't look like much, but Crowley's the king of hell. Implying you can just off him for kicks…" he scoffed and shook his head in dismissal.
"Not everything is about brawn, Mr Winchester. And all I'm saying is…that many things for my kind are a flip of a coin." The gremlin produced a nickel from somewhere and proceeded to make it pitch end over end and walk across its knuckles. "Go for a ride with the prophet and your brother. Perhaps, we'll both find out what chaos dictates." The gremlin tossed the coin into the air, and it disappeared like magic. "Heads or tails, Dean?"
…ooo0ooo…
"Okay, Kevin's ready. Let's go," Sam announced, as Kevin trailed behind him and into the bunker's kitchen. He was carrying a hastily stuffed backpack over one shoulder and feeling weirdly off balance and nervous at the prospect of being parted from the Word of God. Seeing Dean standing in the middle of the floor, scowling, with his gun levelled at the gremlin, didn't exactly help his feeling of off-kilter nerves.
The furry, smart mouthed creature was just sitting on the kitchen table, completely visible and grinning like a Cheshire cat. At their arrival, it somehow managed to smirk wider, shooting him a jaunty wave; like the two of them were friends.
Kevin glared back at it. Refusing to reciprocate in any other way. Still annoyed about how the thing had tricked and drugged him.
He might be grateful for the prospect of a break, out of the hole in the ground that was the men of letters bunker and getting away from the stifling presence of Crowley. But he wasn't thrilled by the idea of being packed off to stay with some psychic lady. One he'd never met before. From what he'd read in that one Supernatural book about Missouri Moseley, she sounded kind of bossy. But as Sam had told him while he was hastily packing his bag, she was in Kansas, had the advantages of being psychic and could sense most of the supernatural things that might come looking for the world's only Word keeper… Besides, it wasn't like he had any say in the plan. Sam and Dean had decided how things were going to go in their usual unilateral, no objections will be entered into, kind of way, and he just got to do what he was told.
"Remember what I told you," the gremlin said, obviously speaking to him from the way it was still looking at him with those far to knowing amber eyes. "If you talk about it, it will help."
Sam huffed and glared at the gremlin, looking bitchy. "No one's interested in your suggestions, so why don't you just give it a rest?"
"Yeah, like Sam said. Enough of the doctor Phil crap and leave the kid alone. We're doing this to get him away from you, not because anyone's taking your advice."
Sam stuck out his hand to his brother. "Keys?"
Dean just shook his head. "Nah, you stay here, watch the vermin. I'll drop Kevin to Missouri."
Sam frowned at that. "Thought you said I was first in line to get whacked with her spoon, Dean."
"Well, you're not driving my car; not after getting dinged in the melon twice in one week, spoons or no spoons, Sam."
Sam snorted in derision, and Kevin rolled his eyes, anticipating having to stand there for the next ten minutes listening to the Winchester brothers bicker.
"If I get a vote, it's for the brother without a possible head injury," he muttered, half under his breath. He must have said it louder than he intended, because Dean pumped his fist and Sam side eyed him for a moment, before seeming to deflate under the two on one vote.
"Yeah, okay. Tell Missouri I said hi and call us when you get in. Just… try to get some rest and don't think about the tablets for a few days." Sam gave him an edgy smile that was obviously supposed to be comforting. "Missouri is a really decent cook. You know, Dean's probably only taking you because he's hoping she bought cookies."
"Damn straight!"
Kevin tried not to roll his eyes at that. Sometimes the Winchesters acted more like a pair of squabbling little kids and expected him to have the same mentality.
'Yay,' he thought sarcastically, trailing Dean out of the kitchen, through the library and war room, then up the stairs; leaving Sam behind to continue pointing his gun at the gremlin. 'I'm being packed off to a stranger like a piece of luggage, and it sure won't be awkward, weird or anything, because the psychic I'm being fobbed off on can make cookies.'
The day outside was warm and clear and the sunshine hurt Kevin's eyes after so many days inside, buried under the hill in the men of letters bunker. Finishing his climb up the steps from the bunker's sunken entrance, he stopped at the sight of Dean's big black muscle sat car glinting in the sunshine. Whether it was the shock of being outdoors again after so long, he didn't know. But he couldn't help stalling dead and staring at the car for a moment with new eyes.
Before reading the Supernatural books, the car had been just a car to him. A nice car, sure. But still a car. Now, looking at it, once again in mint condition and sitting there bathed in afternoon sun, he found himself seeing it with new eyes.
What had the other prophet written about the car? That it was the most important object–in pretty much the whole universe.
Dean was completely unaware of Kevin's thoughts; he just opened the front passenger door, tossed Kevin's backpack in on to the bench seat and strode around to the driver's side.
"Come on, Kevin, move your ass. We don't wanna keep the lady waiting."
Obediently, he did as he was told. Climbed into the car and shut the door. It closed with a creak and a solid thunk. And he found himself sitting inside the impala, beside Dean, in the place where Sam habitually sat.
Suddenly it struck Kevin that sitting in Sam's seat felt wrong. Like a weird kind of sacrilege.
He looked down at the army man crammed in the ashtray and heard the slight rattle from the vent when the air came on. Those things had a whole other layer of meaning to them after reading Carver Edlund's books. He knew that young Sam had shoved the army man into the ashtray, and that the rattle came from Legos Dean had shoved into the vents as a kid. It gave him an itchy feeling on the back of his neck, to know without looking, that there were two sets of initials carved in wonky letters above the car's back seat. S.W. and D.W.
All the history behind that particular car struck him like a blow.
He was sitting in the thing that had given Sam the strength to take back control back from the devil himself and stop the apocalypse.
After reading the Supernatural books, it was all kind of overwhelming to be sitting there. Feeling the weight of the blood, tears, miles and sacrifices the car had been witness to.
It was like being allowed to touch the Declaration of Independence or being served pizza in the Oval Office. The car shouldn't be an everyday object anymore, not after everything it had been through. It was like a talisman, something of legend and history that ought to be in a museum, behind glass.
Dean, meanwhile, was jamming a cassette tape into the car's outdated stereo and cranking up the music.
"Look Kevin," he said, putting the car in gear and speaking gruffly over the noise of the music. "You don't need to off Crowley at the end of this, not if it's too much. I get the dude killed your mom, but that don't make you a killer and you shouldn't have to be one, not if you don't want. Me 'n' Sam, we won't think less of you if you can't. Gankin' monsters, it's our job, mine and Sam's, not yours. You get me? You're still just a kid, a good kid who never asked for any of this crap."
"I—uh—I," Kevin found himself floundering in response.
Dean patted his shoulder awkwardly, eyes on the road. "No need to decide now. Just think it over, okay? We're good either way, you hear me? Hell, you decide you don't wanna do it and I'll be thankin' you for the chance to put that sonofabitch down."
Kevin swallowed and nodded. Then turned and stared fixedly out his side window. He didn't know how to tell Dean that he was already a killer. That he'd killed the man Crowley was wearing as a meat-suit — with a hammer. And he didn't know how he felt about what he'd done. Dean was a good guy, and it hurt to know that the hunter thought he was better and more innocent than he actually was.
…ooo0ooo…
Dean pulled the car up outside the Lebanon Kansas general store, and Kevin saw an older black lady standing out front. She was leaning against a small green Toyota hatchback sipping something from a red paper cup. At their arrival she set her cup on the car's roof and turned towards them.
Dean threw his car door open and bounded out of the impala to greet her with a thousand-watt smile. "Missouri, long time no see."
"Dean Winchester," Missouri greeted him thoughtfully. "You've gone and grown up."
Dean leaned down and gave her a gentle one-armed hug. "Pretty sure, I was full-grown last time, ma'am."
Kevin watched them, feeling suddenly shy and awkward. It had been weeks since he'd interacted with anyone, and he envied Dean's effortless ease.
"More than inches make a man grown. No one's full-grown till they understand that they can't know it all." Missouri held the hunter at arm's length and eyed him thoughtfully. "Suffering teaches that, an' none o' us are full grown till it does." Her expression fell, as she reached out and patted his hand. "But glory me, I'm sorry you've had so much teachin' this past couplea years, Dean…"
Dean chuckled nervously, stepped back a little and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Ah leave it to a psychic to cut right through the small talk huh?"
"And leave it to you to still be constantly worried about that brother of yours, that never does seem to change, does it, Dean?—But you're also worried about..." Missouri trailed off, and looked away from Dean and straight at Kevin, where he still stood nervously clinging to the door of the impala like a safety blanket.
Even across the intervening distance her brown eyes seemed to swallow him whole when they regarded him. It made him think of his mother and the way she'd always known when he was planning on doing something he knew he shouldn't.
"Kevin Tran don't hang there feeling awkward, boy. We're all friends here."
Kevin gulped, noting that the psychic didn't look sixty, like Dean had said. She was a small dumpy woman and looked motherly rather than grandmotherly like he had expected. She was ageless in a way some women did, with a thick corona black hair that was untouched by grey, and smooth mahogany skin. Her fashion sense was not as colourful or flamboyant as he would have expected of a psychic. No jangling bracelets or occultist paraphernalia. Instead, she brought to mind someone who would be comfortable at PTA meetings and bake sales and gave off a similar vibe the the Oracle from the matrix.
Reluctantly, he let go of the car door and stepped forward to join her and Dean.
"It's nice to meet you, Ma'am. Thank you for agreeing to let me stay," he said, hugging his backpack to his chest. Then remembered his manners and held out a hand to shake, as his mother always insisted was polite.
Missouri took his hand in both of hers and just held it for a beat. Her eyes widened fractionally, and her lips thinned, then she shook her head and sighed.
"No," she said. "Thank you. You've carried a mighty heavy burden and lost so much for your troubles. Had to grow up like a lettuce bolting in the summer heat. The Winchester boys, they mean well, but most times they're like a bull in a China shop. Barely notice the things they're knocking over, for a goodly portion. But you can't blame 'em, it was kinda like they were raised in a barn."
"Hey!"
Kevin stifled a laugh at Dean's squawk of objection and Missouri shot him a conspiratorial look before reaching for his backpack.
"It's true and you know it, boy." Missouri said to Dean, nodded to herself. "All right, there. Don't you worry 'bout a thing with your boy prophet. We'll have a nice visit, and he can help my girl Dede with setting up that new-fangled laptop she's just bought. You just go ahead and deal with—'' she frowned. "—whatever it is that you don't want me knowin' about."
Kevin caught a quick flash of something like worry flickering over Dean's face, and he wondered what secrets Dean was keeping now—If he'd learned anything from reading the Supernatural books, it was that the Winchesters' keeping secrets often led to trouble. But Missouri was leading him back toward her car and talking about a pot roast she had in the oven. And then Dean was back in the impala, and heading off down the road towards the bunker, Sam and the gremlin once more.
When Kevin saw the Winchesters again two weeks later, he'd totally forgotten about whatever secret Dean had supposedly been trying to keep from Missouri. Perhaps, if he'd remembered to pursue the matter, things would have turned out differently. But he didn't.