SPNFic: Ajar; Story II of The Abaddon Series
Title: Ajar
Author: Emrys
Category: Gen
Pairing: N/A
SPOILERS: MAJOR SPOILERS for "No Rest for the Wicked", but anything from Seasons Two and Three are fair game.
Summary: This is what happens immediately after Ruby's chat in my story, "Coming Back."
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the television program Supernatural. That all belongs to the CW and Eric Kripke, and whole bunch of other people who are lucky enough to be involved with this show. I’m not receiving any sort of revenue for this fic.
Please note the "SERIOUSLY IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE" behind the cut.
SERIOUSLY IMPORTANT AUTHOR’S NOTE: By adding this fic to my SPN repetoire, I’m putting my fingers in real sticky places. First, it’s a second story to what I guess is going to be a series of stories (the first in said series is “Coming Back”). I’m committed to another HUGE writing project, so it’s a little inconvenient to be playing rough and tumble in the SPN fandom right now. But it doesn’t seem I have a choice, because my brain is obsessed and is working of its own accord. I’m totally out of control.
Second, I’m going to be playing with biblical text. Here is where my fingers come out covered in jam, and snot, and all kinds of sticky goo. To be sure, the book of the New Testament I’m playing with is probably the most interpretative of all the biblical books (in some versions of the Bible, it’s not even included). However, I seriously am playing around with what most consider a sacred text. And I’m doing it to meet the needs of a few demon characters in a piece of fanfiction…it’s bad stuff, truly. So if you’re not into authors messing with the Bible, please, don’t read this story.
And please, don’t flame me. I’m feeling enough heat already (seriously, my palms are sweating just thinking about posting this fic).
Regular ole Author’s Note: Don’t expect the third story in this series (which I’m going to title “The Abaddon Series”) to come out as quickly as this one did. I’m on vacation, so this came fast. But here’s something to think about. I’m a public school teacher. June is on its way!
HUGE spoilers for “No Rest for the Wicked” and you probably need to read the first story in the series before this one makes sense. Also, lots of cursing in this one. I can’t help it if it’s narrated by a demon! Oh, well, I guess I can.
Also, since this is from Ruby’s point of view again, and since she’s not really into squeaking out all of her secrets, this may be confusing at the very end. But it’s supposed to be that way. In time, I’ll have her tell you everything.
:)
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the television program Supernatural. That all belongs to the CW and Eric Kripke, and whole bunch of other people who are lucky enough to be involved with this show. I’m not receiving any sort of revenue for this fic.
Ajar
The brothers Winchester play house and try to have a real life. They live in an apartment, together, in a quiet place named after angels. Sam goes to school. Dean tries to stay sane. Bobby visits on occasion.
I visit also. That’s why I know what happens next.
Wanna hear about it?
oOo
Dean still hallucinates. It’s easy to tell because there are times when fear is in his eyes, and he sweats for no good reason. The images come at bad times. Sometimes Sam’s head warps and jiggles unnaturally as he talks; sometimes it’s laughter from nowhere or monsters under the bed.
Dean wonders if he will ever be rid of the delusions, if he’ll be so close to Hell for the rest of his life.
He hates the phrase “rest of his life.” Hates it because he can’t think about what will happen when his life is over.
He just can’t.
Anyway, Dean still hallucinates. So when he sees the swirling in the darkness of corners, he tries hard to ignore it. Does a good job, too. Until today, he hasn’t even spared more than a second glance at the smoky curls in the dark corners.
Silly boy, it’s just me. Weak and harmless Ruby.
But today, Sam left for school, and Bobby’s nowhere in sight. Dean wakes up from a nightmare he can’t remember. He’s sweaty and doesn’t feel very well.
He’s alone and can’t remember why.
So on this day, I help him out a little.
The shades are closed; Sam left them that way so the very bright sun only peeks into the room. Dean’s been sick at heart lately-it’s not hard to imagine why. Sam hopes rest will help his brother, so he’s sensitive enough to keep the light at bay for as long as Dean’s tired body allows. Dean sleeps late in the dim room, but not too late. The nightmares forbid it.
I don’t mind the lack of light, because the dim helps me out. The darkness lends me strength, and my shadow swirls.
Dean stumbles out of bed. His sweaty face turns my way, so I see it when a flash of memory stabs him. It hurts. Bad.
He sinks to his knees. One hand holds his head where the pain is worst. The other presses into the badly varnished wood floor and supports his upper body. The pain ratchets up a notch, and the hand on the floor slips. Wood splinters invade the tender skin under his fingernails; they draw blood. The hand slips again and slides into the gloom of my corner.
The slideshow of hellish memory continues, so he doesn’t notice when I nip and slurp at the blood on his fingers. I draw more of the juicy red stuff and drink it up. My strength increases. It’s just what I need.
I watch him carefully, and I know when his memories are receding. He returns to himself slowly. I draw back, but his hand is still in my corner, bleeding into my swirling shadows. Tough iron and scarlet life still lend me strength and breadth.
Hurriedly, he removes his hand, not far, but I sigh at the sudden loss. He squints at me carefully, and I see it when his eyes widen in recognition. If I had lips, I’d smile.
“Ruby?” he asks. His voice is as rough as the splinters still sticking in his hand.
“About time you saw me,” I say in my demon, buzzing voice. I know the sound reaches him, because he clutches his head and more blood flows from his nose. I’m smug and a little bit pleased.
“Why’re you here?” he asks, wiping at his nose, smearing the blood over his upper lip.
“Idle curiosity, killer. Nothing more.”
I’m half-way in his head now, so I see it when another set of memory blinds him. An image of Hell’s pit swims behind his eyes; the memory of the last time I called him ‘killer.’ I laugh. He sees nothing clearly for a little while.
When he comes back, I laugh for a little while longer.
“So how’re you doing, Dean? Enjoying life away from Hell?”
I giggle, and he can barely stand it.
“Why are you here?” he asks through painful gasps of breath.
His repetitiveness is annoying.
“I’m not telling!” I sing out in my buzzing voice.
He wants to send me away, I know. He vaguely remembers an exorcism that could do the job even though I’m not corporeal.
He just doesn’t remember the words.
He sinks to the floor. He shakes and bleeds and clutches his head. I watch and talk nonsense and laugh at him. He hasn’t come far from Hell, but his edges are clean and linen white. He’s growing in ways he doesn’t know, and one day he’ll be so bright I’ll see the sky through him.
Sam’s power touched him, continues to touch him, and Dean’s becoming what I need.
Outside, the sudden noise of a car door slamming makes Dean jump. It’s Sam. The intruder.
I slurp again at the blood on Dean’s fingertips, lick at the stain on his upper lip. He flinches away from me but doesn’t have the energy to push me completely out of reach.
“Tell Sam I said hello,” I say and retreat to the far back of my corner. Far back, where I can’t be seen.
At least from Dean’s perspective, I’m gone and he’s on the floor sweating and bleeding.
And then little brother is there, grabbing at Dean’s shoulders and saying quiet soothing things that make me mad.
“Dean, what happened?”
Dean can barely speak, and for a moment I think I got away with my visit. But he chokes out an answer after a little while.
“Sam, uh, I dunno, I, uh, I think, I just saw, uh, Ruby.”
I want to laugh at his stuttering weakness. I want to laugh at Sam’s devastated face. Dean doesn’t hide anything from Sam anymore. Sam, sometimes, in selfish moments, wishes this wasn’t the case.
I giggle. That’s when Singer comes in, and I know I’m screwed.
“She’s still here,” Bobby fucking Singer says.
Dean scrambles away from my corner. That’s how Sam knows where I am.
Sam’s eyes narrow, and somehow I’m drawn forward again. I have no control. I’m not happy about that.
“Ruby, what are you doing here?” he asks. There’s no surprise in his voice, just simmering anger. I am compelled to answer.
“You could almost say I’m here for sentimental reasons,” I buzz. Compelled to answer for sure. But these new rules of Sam Winchester’s can’t force me to tell the truth. No demon can be compelled to go against inherent demon behavior. That would just be fucking ridiculous.
“I’m not going to let him be played with by demons. Not anymore.”
“Why, Sam, I’m hurt,” I say, all pout and drone. “I watched after him for you way down in that other place. I would expect a bit more hospitality.”
“He’s not a pawn anymore. He’s out of play. Leave us alone,” Sam says.
And doesn’t he look so delicious in his uneasiness? He doesn’t know what he’s capable of, and for that reason this is all bluff and bluster. He took on Lilith and won by accident. I know he’s strong, and I know how he’s strong. I could have him if I wanted, because I know what his true purpose is.
But I need to play this smart. Can’t have my own pride spoiling my big plans, can I?
I decide to annoy him. It’s fun.
“Oh, believe me, Sam, all sorts of demons have already had their fun with him,” I say, taunting.
His anger abruptly gets away from his control.
“Go away,” he says. “I don’t want to see you again.”
He flicks his hand, and I feel the power flare. I’m forced back, but not totally away. I drank Dean’s blood, and that means I don’t have to leave if I don’t want.
But I’ll stay quiet and hide, just to see what happens next.
Sam stares at his hand. It’s obvious he still doesn’t understand his recently awakened power. It’s still so chaotic and whimsical, working sometimes, but not always. I’m sure he’s wondering why it worked now, or if it even did.
Poor, poor confused baby.
I resist the urge to snicker, because Bobby Singer of the keen hearing is still in the room.
“She’s gone,” Sam says.
Behind him, Singer curses. Beautifully.
“That was stupid, Sam. We need to know more.”
“I know,” Sam says. He’s angry. Angry at Bobby, at himself, at everyone. But his voice is still quiet. “Don’t you think I know?”
Sam looks at Dean, still and in pain, lying heavily in Bobby’s arms.
“C’mon, let’s get him on the bed,” little brother says.
As they lift Dean, Sam begins to cry. Unabashedly.
His sorrow is boon and blessing.
oOo
I come back to my corner of the Winchester abode, but Dean’s not there. I search from black spot to black spot, but my plaything is gone. Yet, interestingly, in the kitchen, when I peer from the corner of a musty cabinet, I see a demon sitting in the middle of the room.
I can tell it’s Nybbas, the fucking stooge, because the body he inhabit grins maniacally and wears those stupid glasses he loves so much. Smoky glass and wire rims. What a clown.
He sits alone and quiet. He’s fat like the stinking pig he emulates. I stretch my smoke to talk to him, but the kitchen door opens and Sam walks in. I am again relegated to a fucking corner.
As soon as Sam comes in the room, Nybbas’ smile grows larger, becomes deformed. He bows his head in a conciliatory way.
“Mr. Winchester, I’ve heard so much about you,” the demon says, all dark eyes and smarmy tone.
“Nothing good, I hope,” Sam quips.
“Oh, never, I can assure you.” Nybbas’ tongue is silver slick and smooth.
Does he know yet just how much trouble he’s in? Does he understand there’s no talking his way out of the mess he’s just buried himself in by getting caught? Worse, by getting caught by Samuel Winchester?
I don’t think so.
“Good to hear,” Sam says. “Now tell me, why all this sudden interest in my brother?”
“Why, I have no idea what you mean,” Nybbas says. He’s lying. Nybbas’ interest is strong. He got a good, hearty taste of Dean Winchester when he was down in Hell. Nybbas hasn’t quite gotten over the flavor of him.
Sam’s power flares, and Nybbas cries out.
“We can do this easy or hard,” Sam says. He glances at the ceiling. I see the devil’s trap and shrink back.
“Oh, I assure you, I prefer the easy way,” Nybbas says, gasping and crouching in new found fear. The dim fuck might just now understand what he’s up against.
“That’s good to know. Now tell me why I’ve found three demons skulking around my brother.”
Three? I have to wonder who the third little shit is. As I wrack my brain-such as it is-no answer comes. I forget to listen into the conversation playing out before me, until Sam’s power flares again. Nybbas is quickly becoming a sniveling wreck. It’s odd. I would have expected more from a demon who basks in the dark fires of Hell.
Then again, Sam’s power is angelic in source. Even I fear it, especially after the little taste he gave me yesterday. Hence I hide in the dark corners.
Nybbas snivels and starts to cry. When his glasses slip down his nose, he hurriedly pushes them back up.
“There’s a story, an important story. It’s been misrepresented,” Nybbas says.
I curse. It’s not really a surprise that he’s going to tell. It’s just that I thought he’d hold out for a little while longer.
Demons. Just can’t trust them to, well, do anything at all.
“What story?” Sam asks, all quiet anger and clenched teeth.
“I can’t tell you that,” Nybbas says. “Please, I’ve told you more than I should already.”
“You’ve told me nothing,” Sam says, and lashes out with his power again.
I’ll give Nybbas credit, he tries hard to withstand Sam’s wrath. But even from my cupboard corner, I can feel the heat of Sam’s rage. It’s exquisite and sharp, like nothing I’ve ever felt in Hell. Nybbas doesn’t have a chance.
Sam steps back to view his work. There’s human meat glazing the demon’s core, and Sam knows it. For a moment, as Nybbas wiggles and howls in fear and pain, Sam looks uncertain. He stumbles out of the kitchen, and the demon shakes and quivers beneath the invisible chains of the devil’s trap. Sam’s gone only for a moment, before he comes back again. It seems as if he’s made a dangerous decision.
“I want answers,” Sam says. “I’ll have them.”
Nybbas shrieks in dismay and, yes, fear. I cringe back. Angelic power can bring retribution in the most serious of ways.
It isn’t long before Nybbas, his skin burning in many places, starts shouting out secrets.
The dumb fuck.
“It wasn’t an angel who spoke to John of Patmos! IT WASN’T AN ANGEL!” He screams. I can tell his mind is warping.
And that’s when Dean Winchester walks through the door.
“What the fuck is going on here?” the older Winchester yells.
I have to admit, it must be a strange sight to walk in on your brother terrorizing a fat, bespeckled demon. Especially when you aren’t expecting it.
“Dean-” Sam says, but he’s interrupted by Nybbas’ now gibbering shrieks.
“Ostium, ostium, ostium,” Nybbas says, and I curse. “Ianua, ostium, ianua.”
“What the hell?” Dean yells over the loud noise Nybbas is making.
Sam ignores Dean for a moment, because he can’t take his eyes off Nybbas who can’t seem to take his eyes off Dean.
“Ostium, ostium, ostium….” Nybbas screams insanely.
It’s a lamentation, his repetitive song. A lamentation, because Nybbas is telling sacred secrets. And not just the little sacred secrets. The big ones.
The whoppers.
Knowing this is bad, I mean seriously, fucking, BAD, I gear myself up. I drank Dean Winchester’s blood very recently, so I have a little strength left. I didn’t want to use it all in one blow; I wanted to save it up to cause mischief of my own when it suited my needs. But now all my plans are on the edge of ruin, and I have a little strength to maybe keep things from unraveling.
Just a little strength. Maybe enough.
As everyone is distracted by everyone else, I sneak my way forward. I blow a little dust, spin a little wind.
Just enough wind to settle the dust on the greasy ceiling of an antique kitchen. The little specks blow and twirl, and stick to the devil’s trap. They’re small, feeble specks of dirt, but they’re enough. They break the spell of the trap.
In a prattling hurry and force, Nybbas is released. He exhales himself out of his human gift box, and digs deep into the cracks of the farm boarded floor. He’s gone.
He doesn’t even say thank-you, the fucking twat.
I shrink back and leave before I feel Sammy’s wrath.
Look what a sniveling mess Nybbas became with only a few moments of Sam’s attention.
I wouldn’t want that to happen to me, would I?
I mean, a lady has her pride.
oOo
Sam reads aloud.
“‘I, Jesus, have sent My angel to testify to you these things for the churches. I am the root and the offspring of David, the bright morning star.’”
He looks at Dean who is sleeping quietly on the nearby couch. Sam’s forehead scrunches up with worry. He bites at a nail.
I know he’s remembering something important. He’s remembering Lilith, and the grand, luminous light she gave off when she tried to smite him only months ago.
We demons can look mighty fine and wondrous when it suits our purpose. That’s what Sam’s thinking. He’s seen plenty of demons, but he’s never seen an angel. Right now, he’s wondering if it would be easy to confuse the two.
I’ll tell you a secret. It is. It really is.
I’ll tell you another secret.
John the Exiled was a fool. He had no scope. And his self-esteem was trashed by the end of his journey. Trashed, because events quieted down; God withdrew, and Jesus went with him. It’s the way of things. It’s how things are.
But John, he wanted Revelation, with a capital “R”. He wanted to know his struggle was worth the fight.
He was fair game and ripe pickings for a very clever demon.
A door is a door is a door.
All doors, except one, are meant to be opened. All clever demons know this.
All doors, except one.
John was lied to by a son of the morning star, and when the time comes, the door which isn’t supposed to be open, will be.
The time is soon. I look at Dean Winchester peacefully sleeping, and I know the time is soon.
And when that time comes, I want to be the Abaddon. I’ll walk the hell of earth and spend my time with sinners. I’ll swan dive into the lake of fire and fan myself with the skin of man. I’ll pluck and gnaw and chew and enjoy the destruction and wrath.
Now doesn’t that sound like fun?
It sure does to me.
oOo
Last Author's Note: The text Sam reads is Revelations 22:16
Author: Emrys
Category: Gen
Pairing: N/A
SPOILERS: MAJOR SPOILERS for "No Rest for the Wicked", but anything from Seasons Two and Three are fair game.
Summary: This is what happens immediately after Ruby's chat in my story, "Coming Back."
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the television program Supernatural. That all belongs to the CW and Eric Kripke, and whole bunch of other people who are lucky enough to be involved with this show. I’m not receiving any sort of revenue for this fic.
Please note the "SERIOUSLY IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE" behind the cut.
SERIOUSLY IMPORTANT AUTHOR’S NOTE: By adding this fic to my SPN repetoire, I’m putting my fingers in real sticky places. First, it’s a second story to what I guess is going to be a series of stories (the first in said series is “Coming Back”). I’m committed to another HUGE writing project, so it’s a little inconvenient to be playing rough and tumble in the SPN fandom right now. But it doesn’t seem I have a choice, because my brain is obsessed and is working of its own accord. I’m totally out of control.
Second, I’m going to be playing with biblical text. Here is where my fingers come out covered in jam, and snot, and all kinds of sticky goo. To be sure, the book of the New Testament I’m playing with is probably the most interpretative of all the biblical books (in some versions of the Bible, it’s not even included). However, I seriously am playing around with what most consider a sacred text. And I’m doing it to meet the needs of a few demon characters in a piece of fanfiction…it’s bad stuff, truly. So if you’re not into authors messing with the Bible, please, don’t read this story.
And please, don’t flame me. I’m feeling enough heat already (seriously, my palms are sweating just thinking about posting this fic).
Regular ole Author’s Note: Don’t expect the third story in this series (which I’m going to title “The Abaddon Series”) to come out as quickly as this one did. I’m on vacation, so this came fast. But here’s something to think about. I’m a public school teacher. June is on its way!
HUGE spoilers for “No Rest for the Wicked” and you probably need to read the first story in the series before this one makes sense. Also, lots of cursing in this one. I can’t help it if it’s narrated by a demon! Oh, well, I guess I can.
Also, since this is from Ruby’s point of view again, and since she’s not really into squeaking out all of her secrets, this may be confusing at the very end. But it’s supposed to be that way. In time, I’ll have her tell you everything.
:)
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the television program Supernatural. That all belongs to the CW and Eric Kripke, and whole bunch of other people who are lucky enough to be involved with this show. I’m not receiving any sort of revenue for this fic.
Ajar
The brothers Winchester play house and try to have a real life. They live in an apartment, together, in a quiet place named after angels. Sam goes to school. Dean tries to stay sane. Bobby visits on occasion.
I visit also. That’s why I know what happens next.
Wanna hear about it?
oOo
Dean still hallucinates. It’s easy to tell because there are times when fear is in his eyes, and he sweats for no good reason. The images come at bad times. Sometimes Sam’s head warps and jiggles unnaturally as he talks; sometimes it’s laughter from nowhere or monsters under the bed.
Dean wonders if he will ever be rid of the delusions, if he’ll be so close to Hell for the rest of his life.
He hates the phrase “rest of his life.” Hates it because he can’t think about what will happen when his life is over.
He just can’t.
Anyway, Dean still hallucinates. So when he sees the swirling in the darkness of corners, he tries hard to ignore it. Does a good job, too. Until today, he hasn’t even spared more than a second glance at the smoky curls in the dark corners.
Silly boy, it’s just me. Weak and harmless Ruby.
But today, Sam left for school, and Bobby’s nowhere in sight. Dean wakes up from a nightmare he can’t remember. He’s sweaty and doesn’t feel very well.
He’s alone and can’t remember why.
So on this day, I help him out a little.
The shades are closed; Sam left them that way so the very bright sun only peeks into the room. Dean’s been sick at heart lately-it’s not hard to imagine why. Sam hopes rest will help his brother, so he’s sensitive enough to keep the light at bay for as long as Dean’s tired body allows. Dean sleeps late in the dim room, but not too late. The nightmares forbid it.
I don’t mind the lack of light, because the dim helps me out. The darkness lends me strength, and my shadow swirls.
Dean stumbles out of bed. His sweaty face turns my way, so I see it when a flash of memory stabs him. It hurts. Bad.
He sinks to his knees. One hand holds his head where the pain is worst. The other presses into the badly varnished wood floor and supports his upper body. The pain ratchets up a notch, and the hand on the floor slips. Wood splinters invade the tender skin under his fingernails; they draw blood. The hand slips again and slides into the gloom of my corner.
The slideshow of hellish memory continues, so he doesn’t notice when I nip and slurp at the blood on his fingers. I draw more of the juicy red stuff and drink it up. My strength increases. It’s just what I need.
I watch him carefully, and I know when his memories are receding. He returns to himself slowly. I draw back, but his hand is still in my corner, bleeding into my swirling shadows. Tough iron and scarlet life still lend me strength and breadth.
Hurriedly, he removes his hand, not far, but I sigh at the sudden loss. He squints at me carefully, and I see it when his eyes widen in recognition. If I had lips, I’d smile.
“Ruby?” he asks. His voice is as rough as the splinters still sticking in his hand.
“About time you saw me,” I say in my demon, buzzing voice. I know the sound reaches him, because he clutches his head and more blood flows from his nose. I’m smug and a little bit pleased.
“Why’re you here?” he asks, wiping at his nose, smearing the blood over his upper lip.
“Idle curiosity, killer. Nothing more.”
I’m half-way in his head now, so I see it when another set of memory blinds him. An image of Hell’s pit swims behind his eyes; the memory of the last time I called him ‘killer.’ I laugh. He sees nothing clearly for a little while.
When he comes back, I laugh for a little while longer.
“So how’re you doing, Dean? Enjoying life away from Hell?”
I giggle, and he can barely stand it.
“Why are you here?” he asks through painful gasps of breath.
His repetitiveness is annoying.
“I’m not telling!” I sing out in my buzzing voice.
He wants to send me away, I know. He vaguely remembers an exorcism that could do the job even though I’m not corporeal.
He just doesn’t remember the words.
He sinks to the floor. He shakes and bleeds and clutches his head. I watch and talk nonsense and laugh at him. He hasn’t come far from Hell, but his edges are clean and linen white. He’s growing in ways he doesn’t know, and one day he’ll be so bright I’ll see the sky through him.
Sam’s power touched him, continues to touch him, and Dean’s becoming what I need.
Outside, the sudden noise of a car door slamming makes Dean jump. It’s Sam. The intruder.
I slurp again at the blood on Dean’s fingertips, lick at the stain on his upper lip. He flinches away from me but doesn’t have the energy to push me completely out of reach.
“Tell Sam I said hello,” I say and retreat to the far back of my corner. Far back, where I can’t be seen.
At least from Dean’s perspective, I’m gone and he’s on the floor sweating and bleeding.
And then little brother is there, grabbing at Dean’s shoulders and saying quiet soothing things that make me mad.
“Dean, what happened?”
Dean can barely speak, and for a moment I think I got away with my visit. But he chokes out an answer after a little while.
“Sam, uh, I dunno, I, uh, I think, I just saw, uh, Ruby.”
I want to laugh at his stuttering weakness. I want to laugh at Sam’s devastated face. Dean doesn’t hide anything from Sam anymore. Sam, sometimes, in selfish moments, wishes this wasn’t the case.
I giggle. That’s when Singer comes in, and I know I’m screwed.
“She’s still here,” Bobby fucking Singer says.
Dean scrambles away from my corner. That’s how Sam knows where I am.
Sam’s eyes narrow, and somehow I’m drawn forward again. I have no control. I’m not happy about that.
“Ruby, what are you doing here?” he asks. There’s no surprise in his voice, just simmering anger. I am compelled to answer.
“You could almost say I’m here for sentimental reasons,” I buzz. Compelled to answer for sure. But these new rules of Sam Winchester’s can’t force me to tell the truth. No demon can be compelled to go against inherent demon behavior. That would just be fucking ridiculous.
“I’m not going to let him be played with by demons. Not anymore.”
“Why, Sam, I’m hurt,” I say, all pout and drone. “I watched after him for you way down in that other place. I would expect a bit more hospitality.”
“He’s not a pawn anymore. He’s out of play. Leave us alone,” Sam says.
And doesn’t he look so delicious in his uneasiness? He doesn’t know what he’s capable of, and for that reason this is all bluff and bluster. He took on Lilith and won by accident. I know he’s strong, and I know how he’s strong. I could have him if I wanted, because I know what his true purpose is.
But I need to play this smart. Can’t have my own pride spoiling my big plans, can I?
I decide to annoy him. It’s fun.
“Oh, believe me, Sam, all sorts of demons have already had their fun with him,” I say, taunting.
His anger abruptly gets away from his control.
“Go away,” he says. “I don’t want to see you again.”
He flicks his hand, and I feel the power flare. I’m forced back, but not totally away. I drank Dean’s blood, and that means I don’t have to leave if I don’t want.
But I’ll stay quiet and hide, just to see what happens next.
Sam stares at his hand. It’s obvious he still doesn’t understand his recently awakened power. It’s still so chaotic and whimsical, working sometimes, but not always. I’m sure he’s wondering why it worked now, or if it even did.
Poor, poor confused baby.
I resist the urge to snicker, because Bobby Singer of the keen hearing is still in the room.
“She’s gone,” Sam says.
Behind him, Singer curses. Beautifully.
“That was stupid, Sam. We need to know more.”
“I know,” Sam says. He’s angry. Angry at Bobby, at himself, at everyone. But his voice is still quiet. “Don’t you think I know?”
Sam looks at Dean, still and in pain, lying heavily in Bobby’s arms.
“C’mon, let’s get him on the bed,” little brother says.
As they lift Dean, Sam begins to cry. Unabashedly.
His sorrow is boon and blessing.
oOo
I come back to my corner of the Winchester abode, but Dean’s not there. I search from black spot to black spot, but my plaything is gone. Yet, interestingly, in the kitchen, when I peer from the corner of a musty cabinet, I see a demon sitting in the middle of the room.
I can tell it’s Nybbas, the fucking stooge, because the body he inhabit grins maniacally and wears those stupid glasses he loves so much. Smoky glass and wire rims. What a clown.
He sits alone and quiet. He’s fat like the stinking pig he emulates. I stretch my smoke to talk to him, but the kitchen door opens and Sam walks in. I am again relegated to a fucking corner.
As soon as Sam comes in the room, Nybbas’ smile grows larger, becomes deformed. He bows his head in a conciliatory way.
“Mr. Winchester, I’ve heard so much about you,” the demon says, all dark eyes and smarmy tone.
“Nothing good, I hope,” Sam quips.
“Oh, never, I can assure you.” Nybbas’ tongue is silver slick and smooth.
Does he know yet just how much trouble he’s in? Does he understand there’s no talking his way out of the mess he’s just buried himself in by getting caught? Worse, by getting caught by Samuel Winchester?
I don’t think so.
“Good to hear,” Sam says. “Now tell me, why all this sudden interest in my brother?”
“Why, I have no idea what you mean,” Nybbas says. He’s lying. Nybbas’ interest is strong. He got a good, hearty taste of Dean Winchester when he was down in Hell. Nybbas hasn’t quite gotten over the flavor of him.
Sam’s power flares, and Nybbas cries out.
“We can do this easy or hard,” Sam says. He glances at the ceiling. I see the devil’s trap and shrink back.
“Oh, I assure you, I prefer the easy way,” Nybbas says, gasping and crouching in new found fear. The dim fuck might just now understand what he’s up against.
“That’s good to know. Now tell me why I’ve found three demons skulking around my brother.”
Three? I have to wonder who the third little shit is. As I wrack my brain-such as it is-no answer comes. I forget to listen into the conversation playing out before me, until Sam’s power flares again. Nybbas is quickly becoming a sniveling wreck. It’s odd. I would have expected more from a demon who basks in the dark fires of Hell.
Then again, Sam’s power is angelic in source. Even I fear it, especially after the little taste he gave me yesterday. Hence I hide in the dark corners.
Nybbas snivels and starts to cry. When his glasses slip down his nose, he hurriedly pushes them back up.
“There’s a story, an important story. It’s been misrepresented,” Nybbas says.
I curse. It’s not really a surprise that he’s going to tell. It’s just that I thought he’d hold out for a little while longer.
Demons. Just can’t trust them to, well, do anything at all.
“What story?” Sam asks, all quiet anger and clenched teeth.
“I can’t tell you that,” Nybbas says. “Please, I’ve told you more than I should already.”
“You’ve told me nothing,” Sam says, and lashes out with his power again.
I’ll give Nybbas credit, he tries hard to withstand Sam’s wrath. But even from my cupboard corner, I can feel the heat of Sam’s rage. It’s exquisite and sharp, like nothing I’ve ever felt in Hell. Nybbas doesn’t have a chance.
Sam steps back to view his work. There’s human meat glazing the demon’s core, and Sam knows it. For a moment, as Nybbas wiggles and howls in fear and pain, Sam looks uncertain. He stumbles out of the kitchen, and the demon shakes and quivers beneath the invisible chains of the devil’s trap. Sam’s gone only for a moment, before he comes back again. It seems as if he’s made a dangerous decision.
“I want answers,” Sam says. “I’ll have them.”
Nybbas shrieks in dismay and, yes, fear. I cringe back. Angelic power can bring retribution in the most serious of ways.
It isn’t long before Nybbas, his skin burning in many places, starts shouting out secrets.
The dumb fuck.
“It wasn’t an angel who spoke to John of Patmos! IT WASN’T AN ANGEL!” He screams. I can tell his mind is warping.
And that’s when Dean Winchester walks through the door.
“What the fuck is going on here?” the older Winchester yells.
I have to admit, it must be a strange sight to walk in on your brother terrorizing a fat, bespeckled demon. Especially when you aren’t expecting it.
“Dean-” Sam says, but he’s interrupted by Nybbas’ now gibbering shrieks.
“Ostium, ostium, ostium,” Nybbas says, and I curse. “Ianua, ostium, ianua.”
“What the hell?” Dean yells over the loud noise Nybbas is making.
Sam ignores Dean for a moment, because he can’t take his eyes off Nybbas who can’t seem to take his eyes off Dean.
“Ostium, ostium, ostium….” Nybbas screams insanely.
It’s a lamentation, his repetitive song. A lamentation, because Nybbas is telling sacred secrets. And not just the little sacred secrets. The big ones.
The whoppers.
Knowing this is bad, I mean seriously, fucking, BAD, I gear myself up. I drank Dean Winchester’s blood very recently, so I have a little strength left. I didn’t want to use it all in one blow; I wanted to save it up to cause mischief of my own when it suited my needs. But now all my plans are on the edge of ruin, and I have a little strength to maybe keep things from unraveling.
Just a little strength. Maybe enough.
As everyone is distracted by everyone else, I sneak my way forward. I blow a little dust, spin a little wind.
Just enough wind to settle the dust on the greasy ceiling of an antique kitchen. The little specks blow and twirl, and stick to the devil’s trap. They’re small, feeble specks of dirt, but they’re enough. They break the spell of the trap.
In a prattling hurry and force, Nybbas is released. He exhales himself out of his human gift box, and digs deep into the cracks of the farm boarded floor. He’s gone.
He doesn’t even say thank-you, the fucking twat.
I shrink back and leave before I feel Sammy’s wrath.
Look what a sniveling mess Nybbas became with only a few moments of Sam’s attention.
I wouldn’t want that to happen to me, would I?
I mean, a lady has her pride.
oOo
Sam reads aloud.
“‘I, Jesus, have sent My angel to testify to you these things for the churches. I am the root and the offspring of David, the bright morning star.’”
He looks at Dean who is sleeping quietly on the nearby couch. Sam’s forehead scrunches up with worry. He bites at a nail.
I know he’s remembering something important. He’s remembering Lilith, and the grand, luminous light she gave off when she tried to smite him only months ago.
We demons can look mighty fine and wondrous when it suits our purpose. That’s what Sam’s thinking. He’s seen plenty of demons, but he’s never seen an angel. Right now, he’s wondering if it would be easy to confuse the two.
I’ll tell you a secret. It is. It really is.
I’ll tell you another secret.
John the Exiled was a fool. He had no scope. And his self-esteem was trashed by the end of his journey. Trashed, because events quieted down; God withdrew, and Jesus went with him. It’s the way of things. It’s how things are.
But John, he wanted Revelation, with a capital “R”. He wanted to know his struggle was worth the fight.
He was fair game and ripe pickings for a very clever demon.
A door is a door is a door.
All doors, except one, are meant to be opened. All clever demons know this.
All doors, except one.
John was lied to by a son of the morning star, and when the time comes, the door which isn’t supposed to be open, will be.
The time is soon. I look at Dean Winchester peacefully sleeping, and I know the time is soon.
And when that time comes, I want to be the Abaddon. I’ll walk the hell of earth and spend my time with sinners. I’ll swan dive into the lake of fire and fan myself with the skin of man. I’ll pluck and gnaw and chew and enjoy the destruction and wrath.
Now doesn’t that sound like fun?
It sure does to me.
oOo
Last Author's Note: The text Sam reads is Revelations 22:16