Five Times Azazel's Plan Couldn't Work 4/5
Previous
A/N: I forgot to mention it in the last chapter, but Parts 3-5 are from prompts by jennytork.
Warning for demons being demons.
4. Arise and Seize the Day
This Dean kid was talking crazy, Samuel thought, but he was so insistent that Samuel gave in and looked at the journal Dean said had belonged to his psychic dad. Sure enough, there was a list of names that included Charlie Whitshire, Liddy Walsh, and a handful of other names from the area that sounded vaguely familiar.
Samuel was still trying to decide what to make of it all when suddenly there was a third man at the table.
Dean startled back. “Castiel, what the hell-”
“Something’s gone wrong,” the new arrival, Castiel, said in a grave, gravelly voice that might have held a hint of panic. “We need to leave now.”
“What the-we can’t leave! Not when I’m this close!”
“Dean, it doesn’t matter.” Definite panic, it was obvious now. “None of it matters. We have to get out of here.” And before Dean could object again, Castiel grabbed him by the shoulder... and they vanished in a gust of wind and a sound like a giant bird flapping its wings.
But Samuel didn’t have time to dwell on that. The gust of wind also ruffled the pages of the journal that Dean hadn’t had time to take with him-and said pages immediately began to crumble to dust that Samuel couldn’t even grasp when he grabbed at it. In seconds the journal’s rings were empty, and within seconds of that the journal itself began to fade and dissolve. He had just enough time to get a good glimpse of the medals and ribbons pinned to the inside of the front cover before the space where the journal had been was as blank as if it had never been there. Samuel let out a quiet curse and then tried to place the decorations he’d seen in the hope they could give him some clue as to the identity of the journal’s owner.
Marine Expert Rifle badge. Bronze Star, Purple Heart. Good Conduct Medal...
... Vietnam Service Medal.
That made no damn sense.
It was possible Dean had lied and the journal, and therefore the medals, were his. But no, “my dad wrote down” had fallen far more readily from the kid’s lips than “my dad could see the future” had. Yet he was in his late twenties at least-if the medals were his dad’s, how the hell did he have only the VSM and only enough decorations for a...
... a Marine corporal who’d been wounded in action...
... somebody like John Winchester.
“Sam?” Deanna prompted.
Samuel took a deep breath. He didn’t know what to make of any of what he’d just seen and heard, but there was only one thing to do in the short term: go to ground. “Mary!” he bellowed. “Grab your gear and get down here!”
Mary appeared at the top of the stairs, frowning. “Dad, what in the world-”
“Dean was right. We’re going to the safe house now.”
“Whu-well, where is Dean?”
“Gone. Something grabbed him.”
Mary’s eyes widened. “Here?!”
“We’re not waiting around to find out why. Grab your bags!” Samuel paused. “And... and bring John.”
Mary’s eyes widened further, but she didn’t argue, just ran to obey.
Deanna put a hand on Samuel’s back. “You sure?”
“No,” he confessed. “But I’m not taking any chances. If something is after John, he needs protection, too.”
Deanna kissed his cheek. “I’ll get supplies. You get clothes. We can call Ed and Rob from the safe house.”
Charlie Whitshire frowned in confusion. “But I told all that to the priest this morning.”
“All what?” the man in the black suit asked.
“All about the man who showed up an’ asked me if I wanted the beatings to stop. An’ the fact his eyes looked yellow for a minute.”
The man in the black suit tilted his head back and regarded Charlie thoughtfully. “This yellow-eyed man. What did you promise him?”
“Nothin’, I swear! He just said he might come a-callin’ in ten years and want somethin’ then.”
“I see. Now, I know this is an awkward question, lad, but I’m afraid I’ve got to ask. Did he make you kiss him?”
Charlie’s cheeks flamed scarlet, and he didn’t answer.
“What about this priest? What did he look like?”
“Real tall, short brown hair, green eyes, lotsa freckles.”
“Did he ask any... pointed questions?”
“Just about what the man wanted, and were his eyes black or red or anything.”
“Hmmm. Well. Thank you for your time.”
Charlie nodded and went back to the house as the man in the black suit walked toward the road.
“Well?” asked a woman’s voice from the shadows near the gate.
“You were right, luv,” Crowley replied. “Azazel’s gone into business for himself, and he’s got hunters on his trail.”
“What about the angel?”
“The boy didn’t know, but I’ll wager you weren’t seeing things. His description of the hunter matches yours.”
The crossroads demon stepped out of the shadows, her black cocktail dress making her host’s pale skin stand out in the moonlight. “Are you reassigning me?”
Crowley shook his head. “No. But Azazel has got to be stopped. I don’t know what he’s after, but he’s attracting too much attention.”
“But he’s almost as powerful as Lilith. Even as King of the Crossroads, how can you hope to oppose him?”
He smirked. “I shan’t do it alone. You see if you can find out where he’ll be. I’ll call on the union.”
She bowed and vanished.
Moments later, a hapless vagrant disappeared into a side alley in one of Lawrence’s worse neighborhoods just in time to provide Crowley with the blood he needed to phone home. Half an hour or so after that, a cloud of smoke descended upon the vagrant’s cooling corpse; the demon quickly erased all sign that the body’s throat had been cut, then stood.
“Shea,” Crowley said by way of greeting. “How’d it go?”
The spirit who in life had been Cornelius Shea, first president of the Teamsters Union, smirked. “Like clockwork. You give the word, and he goes down.”
Crowley chuckled. “Excellent.”
Just then the junior crossroads demon returned. “He’s in Haleyville,” she reported. “Family named Walsh-the father has cancer, and the daughter’s despair... I could sense it a mile off. I think Azazel’s waiting for the doctor to come visit tomorrow.”
“Haleyville,” Crowley mused. “Right. Shea, find out when that appointment is. And have everyone-and I mean everyone-there.”
Shea grinned. “On it.”
The next night, Azazel made his pitch to Liddy Walsh, claiming he would ask her for something in ten years. But her response surprised him a little: a sniffly “Is... is that all?”
He nodded. “That’s all.”
“And d-do I have to kiss you or something?”
“Well, Liddy, I’m flattered-”
“Only... it’s too late.”
“Too late? What do you mean?”
“I already kissed someone else.” And as her expression smoothed into a cold smirk, her eyes turned blood red.
Azazel recoiled, but before he could say anything, a whirlwind of demon smoke surrounded the house and shook it with the sheer force of its malice. The door flew open, and Crowley strolled in, looking supremely pleased with himself.
“Crowley,” Azazel growled, “will you kindly explain what you’re doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Crowley replied.
“It’s none of your concern.”
“Oh, no. This is very much my concern. You’ve been making irregular deals, mate.”
“On Lucifer’s orders.”
Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh! La di dah! And just what proof of these orders do you have?”
“I don’t answer to you, you little pipsqueak.”
“Ah, but you do, you see. Hell has rules, and one of those rules is that we make the deals. Another is that deals can’t attract attention.”
“So what?”
“So the Campbells know about your little game. And so do the angels.”
“And you know this how?”
“There was an angel in Lawrence two days ago.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Really? One of my girls saw him with her own eyes, and he was talking to a hunter who’s been questioning the Whitshire boy.”
Azazel stood. “You have no idea what you’re interfering with, tailor.”
“I don’t care. Whatever it is, it’s bad for business. And we won’t stand for it.”
Azazel lunged at Crowley, but the demon possessing Liddy billowed out of her and forced itself into the doctor Azazel was occupying. More demons rushed into the house and into the doctor until, by sheer force of numbers, they were able to overpower Azazel and drag him out of his host and back to Hell. The remaining demons followed, and soon Crowley was left alone with a petrified Liddy and an unconscious doctor.
“He’ll come ’round in a moment, ducks,” Crowley assured Liddy. “Be right as rain in an hour or two. Now, after I leave, paint this”-here he handed her a sheet of paper with a devil’s trap drawn on it-“on the ceiling over your doors and line the windows with salt, and you’ll be safe enough.”
She struggled to speak for a moment. “Is... is it really over?”
“It is. Your da’s fine. And you’ll not hear from me again. Mind you, I’ve let you off cheap, not asking for more than that short little possession in exchange for that healing-but then, I really did need your help for this.” He patted her cheek. “Cheers, luv.” And he left, satisfied in the knowledge that she’d be having nightmares about him for the rest of her life... which now promised to be very long indeed.
Next
A/N: I forgot to mention it in the last chapter, but Parts 3-5 are from prompts by jennytork.
Warning for demons being demons.
4. Arise and Seize the Day
This Dean kid was talking crazy, Samuel thought, but he was so insistent that Samuel gave in and looked at the journal Dean said had belonged to his psychic dad. Sure enough, there was a list of names that included Charlie Whitshire, Liddy Walsh, and a handful of other names from the area that sounded vaguely familiar.
Samuel was still trying to decide what to make of it all when suddenly there was a third man at the table.
Dean startled back. “Castiel, what the hell-”
“Something’s gone wrong,” the new arrival, Castiel, said in a grave, gravelly voice that might have held a hint of panic. “We need to leave now.”
“What the-we can’t leave! Not when I’m this close!”
“Dean, it doesn’t matter.” Definite panic, it was obvious now. “None of it matters. We have to get out of here.” And before Dean could object again, Castiel grabbed him by the shoulder... and they vanished in a gust of wind and a sound like a giant bird flapping its wings.
But Samuel didn’t have time to dwell on that. The gust of wind also ruffled the pages of the journal that Dean hadn’t had time to take with him-and said pages immediately began to crumble to dust that Samuel couldn’t even grasp when he grabbed at it. In seconds the journal’s rings were empty, and within seconds of that the journal itself began to fade and dissolve. He had just enough time to get a good glimpse of the medals and ribbons pinned to the inside of the front cover before the space where the journal had been was as blank as if it had never been there. Samuel let out a quiet curse and then tried to place the decorations he’d seen in the hope they could give him some clue as to the identity of the journal’s owner.
Marine Expert Rifle badge. Bronze Star, Purple Heart. Good Conduct Medal...
... Vietnam Service Medal.
That made no damn sense.
It was possible Dean had lied and the journal, and therefore the medals, were his. But no, “my dad wrote down” had fallen far more readily from the kid’s lips than “my dad could see the future” had. Yet he was in his late twenties at least-if the medals were his dad’s, how the hell did he have only the VSM and only enough decorations for a...
... a Marine corporal who’d been wounded in action...
... somebody like John Winchester.
“Sam?” Deanna prompted.
Samuel took a deep breath. He didn’t know what to make of any of what he’d just seen and heard, but there was only one thing to do in the short term: go to ground. “Mary!” he bellowed. “Grab your gear and get down here!”
Mary appeared at the top of the stairs, frowning. “Dad, what in the world-”
“Dean was right. We’re going to the safe house now.”
“Whu-well, where is Dean?”
“Gone. Something grabbed him.”
Mary’s eyes widened. “Here?!”
“We’re not waiting around to find out why. Grab your bags!” Samuel paused. “And... and bring John.”
Mary’s eyes widened further, but she didn’t argue, just ran to obey.
Deanna put a hand on Samuel’s back. “You sure?”
“No,” he confessed. “But I’m not taking any chances. If something is after John, he needs protection, too.”
Deanna kissed his cheek. “I’ll get supplies. You get clothes. We can call Ed and Rob from the safe house.”
Charlie Whitshire frowned in confusion. “But I told all that to the priest this morning.”
“All what?” the man in the black suit asked.
“All about the man who showed up an’ asked me if I wanted the beatings to stop. An’ the fact his eyes looked yellow for a minute.”
The man in the black suit tilted his head back and regarded Charlie thoughtfully. “This yellow-eyed man. What did you promise him?”
“Nothin’, I swear! He just said he might come a-callin’ in ten years and want somethin’ then.”
“I see. Now, I know this is an awkward question, lad, but I’m afraid I’ve got to ask. Did he make you kiss him?”
Charlie’s cheeks flamed scarlet, and he didn’t answer.
“What about this priest? What did he look like?”
“Real tall, short brown hair, green eyes, lotsa freckles.”
“Did he ask any... pointed questions?”
“Just about what the man wanted, and were his eyes black or red or anything.”
“Hmmm. Well. Thank you for your time.”
Charlie nodded and went back to the house as the man in the black suit walked toward the road.
“Well?” asked a woman’s voice from the shadows near the gate.
“You were right, luv,” Crowley replied. “Azazel’s gone into business for himself, and he’s got hunters on his trail.”
“What about the angel?”
“The boy didn’t know, but I’ll wager you weren’t seeing things. His description of the hunter matches yours.”
The crossroads demon stepped out of the shadows, her black cocktail dress making her host’s pale skin stand out in the moonlight. “Are you reassigning me?”
Crowley shook his head. “No. But Azazel has got to be stopped. I don’t know what he’s after, but he’s attracting too much attention.”
“But he’s almost as powerful as Lilith. Even as King of the Crossroads, how can you hope to oppose him?”
He smirked. “I shan’t do it alone. You see if you can find out where he’ll be. I’ll call on the union.”
She bowed and vanished.
Moments later, a hapless vagrant disappeared into a side alley in one of Lawrence’s worse neighborhoods just in time to provide Crowley with the blood he needed to phone home. Half an hour or so after that, a cloud of smoke descended upon the vagrant’s cooling corpse; the demon quickly erased all sign that the body’s throat had been cut, then stood.
“Shea,” Crowley said by way of greeting. “How’d it go?”
The spirit who in life had been Cornelius Shea, first president of the Teamsters Union, smirked. “Like clockwork. You give the word, and he goes down.”
Crowley chuckled. “Excellent.”
Just then the junior crossroads demon returned. “He’s in Haleyville,” she reported. “Family named Walsh-the father has cancer, and the daughter’s despair... I could sense it a mile off. I think Azazel’s waiting for the doctor to come visit tomorrow.”
“Haleyville,” Crowley mused. “Right. Shea, find out when that appointment is. And have everyone-and I mean everyone-there.”
Shea grinned. “On it.”
The next night, Azazel made his pitch to Liddy Walsh, claiming he would ask her for something in ten years. But her response surprised him a little: a sniffly “Is... is that all?”
He nodded. “That’s all.”
“And d-do I have to kiss you or something?”
“Well, Liddy, I’m flattered-”
“Only... it’s too late.”
“Too late? What do you mean?”
“I already kissed someone else.” And as her expression smoothed into a cold smirk, her eyes turned blood red.
Azazel recoiled, but before he could say anything, a whirlwind of demon smoke surrounded the house and shook it with the sheer force of its malice. The door flew open, and Crowley strolled in, looking supremely pleased with himself.
“Crowley,” Azazel growled, “will you kindly explain what you’re doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Crowley replied.
“It’s none of your concern.”
“Oh, no. This is very much my concern. You’ve been making irregular deals, mate.”
“On Lucifer’s orders.”
Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh! La di dah! And just what proof of these orders do you have?”
“I don’t answer to you, you little pipsqueak.”
“Ah, but you do, you see. Hell has rules, and one of those rules is that we make the deals. Another is that deals can’t attract attention.”
“So what?”
“So the Campbells know about your little game. And so do the angels.”
“And you know this how?”
“There was an angel in Lawrence two days ago.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Really? One of my girls saw him with her own eyes, and he was talking to a hunter who’s been questioning the Whitshire boy.”
Azazel stood. “You have no idea what you’re interfering with, tailor.”
“I don’t care. Whatever it is, it’s bad for business. And we won’t stand for it.”
Azazel lunged at Crowley, but the demon possessing Liddy billowed out of her and forced itself into the doctor Azazel was occupying. More demons rushed into the house and into the doctor until, by sheer force of numbers, they were able to overpower Azazel and drag him out of his host and back to Hell. The remaining demons followed, and soon Crowley was left alone with a petrified Liddy and an unconscious doctor.
“He’ll come ’round in a moment, ducks,” Crowley assured Liddy. “Be right as rain in an hour or two. Now, after I leave, paint this”-here he handed her a sheet of paper with a devil’s trap drawn on it-“on the ceiling over your doors and line the windows with salt, and you’ll be safe enough.”
She struggled to speak for a moment. “Is... is it really over?”
“It is. Your da’s fine. And you’ll not hear from me again. Mind you, I’ve let you off cheap, not asking for more than that short little possession in exchange for that healing-but then, I really did need your help for this.” He patted her cheek. “Cheers, luv.” And he left, satisfied in the knowledge that she’d be having nightmares about him for the rest of her life... which now promised to be very long indeed.
Next