AUTHOR'S NOTES:  Here be lots of speculation about who the Demon is and what he is planning, based on the symbol John drew on the floor in "In My Time of Dying" and the general demonic goings-on during the first season.  Skip this story if you consider that sort of thing spoilerish. 
 

The evocation was botched, but the Demon came anyway. 

He had come out of curiosity, mostly, to discover what this particular human wanted of him.  Had it been anyone else, he wouldn't have bothered. 

Certainly, there was nothing about this makeshift attempt at magic that had compelled the Demon to appear.  The Seal of Saturn had been drawn on the cold, bare floor, instead of properly inscribed on a lead plate along with the other required sigils and words.  Especially conspicuous by its absence was the Sigil of the Intelligence of Saturn, representing the thrice-cursed angel Agiel, which could counterbalance the Demon's influence in a magical working. 

Any well-trained, knowledgeable magician would have evoked the Demon into a Triangle of Art, or at least a mirror, to confine his movements and constrain his actions.  Such a magician would have created the lead talisman properly, so as to subdue the Demon should he prove troublesome.  Instead, the Demon was free to prowl the room at will, to come and go as he pleased, to do almost anything he wanted.  Even the astrological signs were not auspicious for a Saturnian evocation of this nature, the human not having waited for the planets to move into the correct alignment.  This man looked desperate, and time was a luxury that a desperate mortal could not afford. 

The poor, deluded fool.  No real magician would have made such disastrous mistakes.  The only thing this amateur had done right was to create magical protections and wards to guard himself and keep the Demon at bay.  Poorly done, but serviceable. 

No, John Winchester was no magician. 

He was, however, a problem. 

The Demon had great plans.  Seeds planted years ago had grown and were now, finally, bearing fruit.  He had worked long and hard, manipulating and crafting earthly circumstances, steering the gullible, eliminating the dangerous, guiding the course of events.  Now he was reaping all that he had sown.  The future looked glorious for him and his kind.  At long last, he and the other Grigori would regain their rightful place in the firmament, and their half-human spawn, a new race of Nephilim, would rule the Earth until the end of time. 

But now, Winchester was threatening that future.  The absurdity!  The hubris!  A mere mortal, daring to challenge the First Star Which Fell!   It was unthinkable. 

For many years, John Winchester had been a pest and occasionally even an amusement.  Sometimes, sparring with the human gadfly offered an enjoyable diversion.  At other times, Winchester's interference was aggravating, but nothing the Demon and his minions couldn't handle with minimal effort.  However, in recent days, things had changed for the worse.  That accursed Colt revolver made John Winchester a real threat.  To the Demon's plans, to his children, and even to his own existence. 

And now Winchester was offering up that very revolver in a desperate attempt to save his son's life. 

It was too funny.  Had Winchester done the evocation correctly, he wouldn't have needed to bargain--he could have commanded, and the Demon would have had no choice but to obey.  It had happened in the past, in the days when humans took magic more seriously than they did now.  Sometimes it happened still, when one of the few remaining true lodges undertook a major working, although that was becoming increasingly rare.  But Winchester was no magician, and the Demon wasn't constrained to obey.  The Demon could make any deal he liked.  He'd follow through with his end of the bargain, naturally, but the terms and conditions were his to define. 

Not Winchester's. 

It really was funny. 

The Demon told Winchester that the gun wasn't enough for such a trade, and almost laughed aloud at the look on his adversary's face.  Oh, yes, Winchester knew what was coming, what price the Demon would demand.  John Winchester must have known from the moment he had decided to attempt the summoning.  But like the frail human he was, he'd allowed himself a tiny sliver of hope that the first offer would be enough. 

Poor, deluded, pitiful fool, making a deal with the devil. 

The Seal of Saturn, its lines starkly white on the drab floor, gave mute testament to Winchester's lack of formal knowledge and training.  Winchester hadn't used the Sigil of the Spirit of Saturn, a glyph representing the Demon's true name.  Even the Hebrew letters of his name were missing.  The omissions were insulting.  Such ignorance and disrespect fairly demanded what was coming next. 

Azazel smiled malevolently.  This was going to be fun. 
 

--fini-- 

October, 2006 

For anyone who is curious, I consulted these references: 

Three Books of Occult Philosophy by Henry Cornelius Agrippa

The Golden Dawn by Israel Regardie

A Dictionary of Angels by Gustav Davidson

Modern Magick by Donald Michael Kraig

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