(no subject)
Title: We're Coming in From All Sides
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Marshall-centric. Includes mentions of the rest of The Cab, FOB, PATD, TAI, MCR and Cobra.
Spoilers: Oddly enough, I was able to not have any real spoilers for SPN
Warnings: Mentions of gore. This is a Bandom Supernatural Fusion fic, so that should be expected.
Word Count: 2,953
Summary: Marshall's got four rules for dealing with vampires and only one rule for dealing with hunters. Except, the apocalypse sort of breaks all of the rules.
Author's Note: This would be the Marshall snippet of my Big Ass SPN/Bandom Fusion fic in which Spencer and Ryan play the Winchesters, Patrick plays Bobby Singer, Brendon is Castiel, Angel of the Lord. I haven't finished the Big Ass one yet, but I was told that I had to write the Marshall fic I was planning. And so, here it is. Marshall is a badass vampire hunter and he fights them with the rest of the Cab.
They say Patrick Stump’s place is the place to be during the apocalypse.
Marshall’s inclined to agree with that.
Patrick Stump isn’t your regular hunter. He’s the kind of guy that goes out on hunts every once in awhile and totally kicks ass even though you wouldn’t think he would. He’s great at research and he knows every other hunter in existence in the US. Most hunters work alone, but if you need help, Patrick’s the man you talk to.
Marshall would use him more if he were fighting demons, but his specialty is vampires.
There are really only four things you need to know about vampires.
One, everything you’ve ever heard in any vampire movie or show is pretty much bullshit.
Marshall learned that the hard way, but Marshall’s pretty sure that’s how everyone learns what they need to in order to become a hunter. Stakes don’t work on vampires. Neither does holy water. Sunlight’s pretty much just a nasty burn.
And the motherfuckers do not sparkle.
Decapitation is the only way to go. Which is at least fifty percent of the reason why Marshall’s specialty is vampires and that probably makes him sound like a sociopath, but hey, he’s not Carden who supposedly gutted a werewolf and played with its entrails.
Marshall’s told that Carden just really loves his job and that’s why the rumors about how he’s batshit crazy get started. Marshall’s not in it to judge. As long as a hunter’s not going darkside, Marshall’s cool. Enjoy your job all you want because that’s the only reward you’re gonna get when you’re a hunter.
Two, dead man’s blood is your best friend.
Marshall sleeps with a jar under his pillow and he wears a necklace with a vile filled with the stuff. Cash calls him hardcore and Singer pukes and Johnson just sort of rolls his eyes and Ian gleefully loads the super soakers.
The way Marshall sees it, vampires are super quick and super strong and Marshall’s stealthy, but not built like a brick shithouse like some hunters. He takes whatever advantage he can get. And, considering he’s got Cash and Singer’s lives pretty much in his hands because fuck if he gets a band of hunters that actually know what they’re doing, Marshall likes advantages.
Some hunters carry a shitload of salt or holy water, Marshall carries super soakers filled with dean man’s blood.
Three, don’t fuck with Gerard.
Because Gerard may be peace loving and he may not eat humans and he may talk about his feelings and how he hopes for humans and vampires to be able to live together in harmony, which makes Marshall snort and ask if the dude wants some sparkle to go along with his ridiculousness.
Which is stupid. Very, very stupid and it’s something Marshall would’ve scolded Singer for because Gerard may be the vegetarian of the vampire world, but he’s still a fucking vampire.
And you just don’t mess with that shit.
And you don’t mess with his little group of vampires. Which took Marshall awhile to get used to, but they’re actually good guys. They go on hunts and they kill ghosts and shit and other vampires and they’re good guys. Marshall’s even worked with them a few times.
Mikey’s kind of stereotypical, but in a kick ass way and Frank giggles annoyingly and will kick you in the balls if you let him. Ray fiddles with his guitar and challenges people to video game matches. Brian makes sure everyone eats and doesn’t spend a ridiculously distressing amount of time playing Doom. Lyn-Z and Alicia are kind of scary hot. The kind of hot that makes you want to just touch them a little bit, but you know they’d bite your fingers off if you tried.
Gerard is Gerard. He’s kind of their leader even though Brian’s the one who makes sure they all don’t die.
Marshall respects the dude.
Four, bait, though not necessary, is pretty handy.
Enter Singer.
And those are Marshall’s rules for hunting vampires. They’re not fancy, but they work and that’s good enough for Marshall.
He’s not entirely sure how they’re gonna hold up against the apocalypse though.
Marshall avoids demons and he tries to keep his ghost hunts to a minimum even though he’s pretty sure they’re easier to kill than vampires. He’s got sliver bullets and guns and salt and knives in the trunk of the van, but Marshall likes the machete.
Machetes are pretty much shit against demons.
And that’s why they’re going to Patrick’s.
He knows the legendary- and Marshall says that without a hint of sarcasm because they are legendary- Spencer Smith and Ryan Ross are lying low there. He’s heard things about Bob and Joe closing down the Roadhouse and high tailing it there with Andy in tow. He’s heard rumblings of other people showing up, but nothing concrete.
Marshall supposes he’ll find out when they get there.
~*~
The first thing that happens when they pull up to Patrick’s place, right after they jump out of the van and Marshall barely gets his feet on the ground before Singer lets out a squawk that usually means the vampire is about to eat me, somebody shoot it with arrows right now.
Marshall picks up his super soaker without even thinking and he sees Singer, feet dangling off the ground and he’s ineffectively swatting at a big guy.
A big Bob Bryar shaped guy.
“What did you do?” Marshall asks.
“Nothing! I swear!” Singer says.
Cash snorts and shakes his head.
“He called this dude Spencer.”
Marshall groans.
It’s not that Bob doesn’t like Spencer or anything. Spencer probably rates number three in things Bob Bryar cares about- number one is Joe Trohman and number two might actually be Joe Trohman again or maybe the Roadhouse or even possibly Patrick and Andy wrapped into some kind of pair special-, but everyone has this notion of what the great hunter Spencer Smith is supposed to look like and Bob Bryar sort of fits that description to a tee.
Except the last time Bob went on a real hunt, a werewolf almost took his leg off.
He hasn’t been on another hunt in almost ten years.
So he’s a little touchy about the whole being mistaken for Spencer thing.
“Come on, man. He doesn’t know any better,” Marshall says.
Because the last time Marshall has brought the gang back to the Roadhouse was before Singer had joined them. Back when it was just him and Johnson and Ian, before they stumbled upon Cash and Singer running for their lives, covered in blood.
Bob sort of just gives him a look, but Marshall’s garnered enough respect- and totally reluctantly because people see his Zac Efron looking hair and tight jeans and super soaker and want to write him off- that Bob puts Singer down and grunts.
“You better tell him then,” Bob says.
Marshall nods.
“Yeah, sorry. I will. Is Patrick here? I wanna tell him that we’re here.”
Patrick had said that he could house five other dudes. Apparently they’re building a whole other house because they’ve had so many people come in that they just don’t have enough room. They’re gonna have to share, but they sleep in a van together.
Marshall’s not worried.
“Patrick’s pretty busy.”
And Marshall would jump- Singer does, but that’s because Singer’s jumpy- but he’s pretty used to Joe just popping up out of nowhere.
Joe is truly the stealth master. He’s like a fucking ninja. Marshall has asked Joe to teach him the stealthy ways, but Joe kind of just said to feel weightless and asked Bob for a shot.
“Yeah, I heard. Who’s here?”
“Everybody, man. Everybody.”
“Who’s everybody?” Singer asks curiously.
Joe shakes his head, curly hair moving in his face.
“Everybody.”
Singer frowns and Bob rolls his eyes.
“So far, we’ve got Jon Walker and Carden and Chislett. Carden says that Beckett, Siska and Butcher should be here in a few days. No one’s heard anything from Saporta,” Bob says.
“You don’t sound too worried about that,” Singer says.
Marshall rolls his eyes and Bob gives him that look that says Singer should totally know better. Marshall knows that, but, with the apocalypse, vampires have been totally not caring and, what used to be close to extinction, is now a feeding frenzy.
“Saporta does what Saporta does,” Bob says.
“He still working with all those people?” Marshall asks.
Bob nods.
“He switched girls, far as I can tell, but yeah.”
“And that’s it?”
Bob nods.
“Your vampires have called. They might be coming.”
Marshall nods.
“Guess it’s time to set up shop then.”
~*~
They’ve got sleeping bags in one of Patrick’s spare rooms.
The first thing Ian does is pass out. Not quite on a sleeping bag, but it’s not like Ian cares. He’s the one that’s been driving all through the night and Ian’s way too ADD to even think about sitting through Patrick’s meetings without breaking something.
As it is, Marshall’s pretty sure Cash is going to have to be banned. Maybe even Singer too. Johnson’s trying to explain the intricacies of hunter life, but Singer’s eyes are doing that glazed over thing and he’s stopped writing in his stupid notebook like two minutes ago.
Marshall’s pretty sure he’s gonna catch shit from Bob in that silent way of his. Carden’s probably going to be completely vocal about it.
Marshall wishes he had a reason. He doesn’t really. They were doing fine when it was just him and Johnson and Ian. It’s not like Cash and Singer contribute much of anything. Singer is good as bait, very, very good and Cash can at least drive a car. Neither of them can even go one round against a vampire let alone actually get close enough to decapitating one.
There’s no reason.
Except, Singer lost his whole family to a vampire attack and Cash pretty much has no one but Singer and Marshall knows it’s bad for his imagine, but it’s not like he keeps Singer and Cash in clothes and food.
So, you know, whatever.
“He’s not getting this,” Johnson says.
“Don’t fuck with Bob. Don’t fuck with Joe. Don’t ask questions. Don’t mess with Patrick’s hats. When Gerard gets here, you stick with Mikey and try not to say anything. You think you can handle that,” Marshall says.
Singer frowns.
“That’s kind of…”
“You’re dealing with hardened hunters here, man. People who’ve been doing this their whole lives. They don’t wanna know about you and they don’t care that your frown kills puppies. They’re just trying to survive the apocalypse. So, don’t ask stupid questions.”
It’s a lot harsher than he usually gets with Singer, but this is kind of big deal. He doesn’t have the time to hand hold him right now. Not when Patrick’s supposed to be back with Ryan and Spencer and there’s supposed to be a meeting about how the hell they’re going to beat the devil.
The fucking devil.
He hadn’t quite believed it when he’d heard the rumblings, but if they’re really getting rounded up like this, if Patrick’s really allowing all these people into his house and Bob just gives him a look that’s that same you should know better when Marshall casually asks, then Marshall knows it’s true.
It’s fucking true.
“I… maybe we should…”
“Don’t be a stupid fucker,” Cash says harshly.
They do that thing where they talk with their eyes and Marshall has no idea what gets said, but Singer sighs and flops down on his sleeping bag.
“Maybe Cash and I should avoid this meeting. We’re not really hunters,” Singer says after long minutes of this weird telepathy shit.
“Just don’t piss anyone off and you should be fine,” Johnson says.
“Tell that to Cash,” Singer says.
Cash flips him off.
Marshall thinks this is probably going to end somewhat badly.
~*~
When Marshall was eight, his grandfather got committed to a mental institution.
He said that vampires were real, that they were out there and that they were after him because he had a special gun. A gun that could kill anything evil. He said it was given to him by his friend- a guy named Daniel Elkins who Marshall would later meet and punch in the throat- because vampires were after his friend and he didn’t think they would go after Marshall’s grandfather.
He was wrong.
With grandpa locked up though, the vampires came after Marshall and his family.
Marshall ran.
He ran and he ran and he ran and he went to grandpa and told grandpa that he’d been right, he’d been so right and now his parents were gone.
Grandpa had busted out of the loony bin.
They didn’t hunt after that. Grandpa was old and Marshall was too young, much too young to be an effective hunter. So they ran and they hid and they met some people who were hunters and offered as much help as they could in exchange for learning as much about demons and vampires and things that go bump in the night
They never used the gun. They never gave it back either.
His grandfather would spend hours studying the gun, looking at it and checking it out, trying to figure out what was so special about it. He bought other guns similar to it and tried to engineer them to work like it, but nothing ever worked. They kept that gun until the day Daniel Elkins came back into their lives and took it back from them at gunpoint.
That’s the day Marshall punched him in the throat. It got him knocked over the head with a shotgun, but at least he’d got to punch the guy that was responsible for turning his life upside down.
He still made off with the gun.
Grandpa died when Marshall turned eighteen.
And that’s when Marshall made it his mission to hunt down every vampire in existence and take their heads off.
~*~
Spencer Smith has a beard.
Marshall wishes he could have a beard as cool as Spencer's, but Spencer’s kind of manly with his beard and long mountain man hair and black t-shirts. Marshall knows that when he first started out, everyone looked at Spencer the way they look at Marshall.
They don’t look at Spencer like that anymore.
Marshall eyeballs everyone in the room. They’re all familiar faces and it’s nice to see that most of them don’t give him the stink eye. Bob kind of does, but Bob gives everyone the stink eye. Marshall thinks it was probably a good idea to trade his super soaker for a real gun.
Everyone in the room has at least three on their person.
There are two guys that Marshall doesn’t recognize. One has bright red glasses and he’s wearing jeans, a red shirt and a light brown corduroy suit jacket with patches at the elbows. He’s standing fairly close to Spencer, leaning over just slightly to whisper something into Spencer’s ear and Spencer smiles slightly. The other guy is in all black, black jeans and some kind of complicated black jacket and black shoes with purple laces. Marshall recognizes them as Supras and he smiles.
Neither of them look like hunters, but Marshall has a don’t ask policy.
Questions are usually unimportant in this crowd.
When everyone sits down, gingerly to not jostle guns and knives and other weapons, Patrick clears his throat and claps his hands together.
“So, apocalypse. That’s kind of a big deal.”
Marshall snorts and Johnson smiles. Joe lets out a high pitched giggle and Spencer lets out another smile. Marshall notices that Ryan doesn’t smile. In fact, Ryan doesn’t do much of anything, staring straight ahead.
Marshall’s heard things, but, again, he doesn’t dare ask.
“You could say that,” Carden says.
“Yeah, well, we’ve been fighting for a year now, but we weren’t able to stop this thing. Now we need a plan to make sure millions of people don’t get caught in the crossfire,” Spencer says.
Marshall nods.
“Maybe full disclosure to the rest of the class might be good,” Joe says.
Spencer and Ryan tense and Marshall doesn’t ask.
“Joe,” Patrick says.
“No, I think everyone here deserves to know how completely fucked this whole thing is, don’t you. You know because apparently angels wanted this thing to start and God is dead,” Joe says.
Apparently that breaks the whole don’t ask thing because the room goes crazy with voices. The loudest being the guy with the glasses.
“God is not dead,” he says and, even though his voice is light, there’s a weird power behind it, thrumming through the room and making Marshall’s skin itch.
“Brendon,” Spencer says.
“He’s not. I intend to find him,” the guy- Brendon apparently- says.
Spencer rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, okay, look, stuff went down. Angels exist, Lucifer walks and we’re pretty much screwed and not in any remotely good way. Brendon here… he's an angel. The only one that seems to think humanity is worth a damn. And Pete's a prophet, so we got seeing into the future going for us. Now, we also have a bunch of hunters, a crapload of weapons and the vague idea to kill the devil,” Spencer says.
“Yeah, but how?” Carden asks.
“That’s the vague part,” Bob says.
Marshall takes a deep breath and he can hear his grandpa’s voice in his ear telling him he can do this, he can figure this out.
“Well, I don’t know how unvague this idea will make the situation, but… I think maybe I might be able to make more Colts,” Marshall says.
Everyone’s quiet and Spencer’s staring at him with large eyes and he really hopes he’s not making a huge mistake. He knows Johnson’s looking at him like what the fuck.
Patrick smiles.
“I guess it’s a start.”
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Marshall-centric. Includes mentions of the rest of The Cab, FOB, PATD, TAI, MCR and Cobra.
Spoilers: Oddly enough, I was able to not have any real spoilers for SPN
Warnings: Mentions of gore. This is a Bandom Supernatural Fusion fic, so that should be expected.
Word Count: 2,953
Summary: Marshall's got four rules for dealing with vampires and only one rule for dealing with hunters. Except, the apocalypse sort of breaks all of the rules.
Author's Note: This would be the Marshall snippet of my Big Ass SPN/Bandom Fusion fic in which Spencer and Ryan play the Winchesters, Patrick plays Bobby Singer, Brendon is Castiel, Angel of the Lord. I haven't finished the Big Ass one yet, but I was told that I had to write the Marshall fic I was planning. And so, here it is. Marshall is a badass vampire hunter and he fights them with the rest of the Cab.
They say Patrick Stump’s place is the place to be during the apocalypse.
Marshall’s inclined to agree with that.
Patrick Stump isn’t your regular hunter. He’s the kind of guy that goes out on hunts every once in awhile and totally kicks ass even though you wouldn’t think he would. He’s great at research and he knows every other hunter in existence in the US. Most hunters work alone, but if you need help, Patrick’s the man you talk to.
Marshall would use him more if he were fighting demons, but his specialty is vampires.
There are really only four things you need to know about vampires.
One, everything you’ve ever heard in any vampire movie or show is pretty much bullshit.
Marshall learned that the hard way, but Marshall’s pretty sure that’s how everyone learns what they need to in order to become a hunter. Stakes don’t work on vampires. Neither does holy water. Sunlight’s pretty much just a nasty burn.
And the motherfuckers do not sparkle.
Decapitation is the only way to go. Which is at least fifty percent of the reason why Marshall’s specialty is vampires and that probably makes him sound like a sociopath, but hey, he’s not Carden who supposedly gutted a werewolf and played with its entrails.
Marshall’s told that Carden just really loves his job and that’s why the rumors about how he’s batshit crazy get started. Marshall’s not in it to judge. As long as a hunter’s not going darkside, Marshall’s cool. Enjoy your job all you want because that’s the only reward you’re gonna get when you’re a hunter.
Two, dead man’s blood is your best friend.
Marshall sleeps with a jar under his pillow and he wears a necklace with a vile filled with the stuff. Cash calls him hardcore and Singer pukes and Johnson just sort of rolls his eyes and Ian gleefully loads the super soakers.
The way Marshall sees it, vampires are super quick and super strong and Marshall’s stealthy, but not built like a brick shithouse like some hunters. He takes whatever advantage he can get. And, considering he’s got Cash and Singer’s lives pretty much in his hands because fuck if he gets a band of hunters that actually know what they’re doing, Marshall likes advantages.
Some hunters carry a shitload of salt or holy water, Marshall carries super soakers filled with dean man’s blood.
Three, don’t fuck with Gerard.
Because Gerard may be peace loving and he may not eat humans and he may talk about his feelings and how he hopes for humans and vampires to be able to live together in harmony, which makes Marshall snort and ask if the dude wants some sparkle to go along with his ridiculousness.
Which is stupid. Very, very stupid and it’s something Marshall would’ve scolded Singer for because Gerard may be the vegetarian of the vampire world, but he’s still a fucking vampire.
And you just don’t mess with that shit.
And you don’t mess with his little group of vampires. Which took Marshall awhile to get used to, but they’re actually good guys. They go on hunts and they kill ghosts and shit and other vampires and they’re good guys. Marshall’s even worked with them a few times.
Mikey’s kind of stereotypical, but in a kick ass way and Frank giggles annoyingly and will kick you in the balls if you let him. Ray fiddles with his guitar and challenges people to video game matches. Brian makes sure everyone eats and doesn’t spend a ridiculously distressing amount of time playing Doom. Lyn-Z and Alicia are kind of scary hot. The kind of hot that makes you want to just touch them a little bit, but you know they’d bite your fingers off if you tried.
Gerard is Gerard. He’s kind of their leader even though Brian’s the one who makes sure they all don’t die.
Marshall respects the dude.
Four, bait, though not necessary, is pretty handy.
Enter Singer.
And those are Marshall’s rules for hunting vampires. They’re not fancy, but they work and that’s good enough for Marshall.
He’s not entirely sure how they’re gonna hold up against the apocalypse though.
Marshall avoids demons and he tries to keep his ghost hunts to a minimum even though he’s pretty sure they’re easier to kill than vampires. He’s got sliver bullets and guns and salt and knives in the trunk of the van, but Marshall likes the machete.
Machetes are pretty much shit against demons.
And that’s why they’re going to Patrick’s.
He knows the legendary- and Marshall says that without a hint of sarcasm because they are legendary- Spencer Smith and Ryan Ross are lying low there. He’s heard things about Bob and Joe closing down the Roadhouse and high tailing it there with Andy in tow. He’s heard rumblings of other people showing up, but nothing concrete.
Marshall supposes he’ll find out when they get there.
~*~
The first thing that happens when they pull up to Patrick’s place, right after they jump out of the van and Marshall barely gets his feet on the ground before Singer lets out a squawk that usually means the vampire is about to eat me, somebody shoot it with arrows right now.
Marshall picks up his super soaker without even thinking and he sees Singer, feet dangling off the ground and he’s ineffectively swatting at a big guy.
A big Bob Bryar shaped guy.
“What did you do?” Marshall asks.
“Nothing! I swear!” Singer says.
Cash snorts and shakes his head.
“He called this dude Spencer.”
Marshall groans.
It’s not that Bob doesn’t like Spencer or anything. Spencer probably rates number three in things Bob Bryar cares about- number one is Joe Trohman and number two might actually be Joe Trohman again or maybe the Roadhouse or even possibly Patrick and Andy wrapped into some kind of pair special-, but everyone has this notion of what the great hunter Spencer Smith is supposed to look like and Bob Bryar sort of fits that description to a tee.
Except the last time Bob went on a real hunt, a werewolf almost took his leg off.
He hasn’t been on another hunt in almost ten years.
So he’s a little touchy about the whole being mistaken for Spencer thing.
“Come on, man. He doesn’t know any better,” Marshall says.
Because the last time Marshall has brought the gang back to the Roadhouse was before Singer had joined them. Back when it was just him and Johnson and Ian, before they stumbled upon Cash and Singer running for their lives, covered in blood.
Bob sort of just gives him a look, but Marshall’s garnered enough respect- and totally reluctantly because people see his Zac Efron looking hair and tight jeans and super soaker and want to write him off- that Bob puts Singer down and grunts.
“You better tell him then,” Bob says.
Marshall nods.
“Yeah, sorry. I will. Is Patrick here? I wanna tell him that we’re here.”
Patrick had said that he could house five other dudes. Apparently they’re building a whole other house because they’ve had so many people come in that they just don’t have enough room. They’re gonna have to share, but they sleep in a van together.
Marshall’s not worried.
“Patrick’s pretty busy.”
And Marshall would jump- Singer does, but that’s because Singer’s jumpy- but he’s pretty used to Joe just popping up out of nowhere.
Joe is truly the stealth master. He’s like a fucking ninja. Marshall has asked Joe to teach him the stealthy ways, but Joe kind of just said to feel weightless and asked Bob for a shot.
“Yeah, I heard. Who’s here?”
“Everybody, man. Everybody.”
“Who’s everybody?” Singer asks curiously.
Joe shakes his head, curly hair moving in his face.
“Everybody.”
Singer frowns and Bob rolls his eyes.
“So far, we’ve got Jon Walker and Carden and Chislett. Carden says that Beckett, Siska and Butcher should be here in a few days. No one’s heard anything from Saporta,” Bob says.
“You don’t sound too worried about that,” Singer says.
Marshall rolls his eyes and Bob gives him that look that says Singer should totally know better. Marshall knows that, but, with the apocalypse, vampires have been totally not caring and, what used to be close to extinction, is now a feeding frenzy.
“Saporta does what Saporta does,” Bob says.
“He still working with all those people?” Marshall asks.
Bob nods.
“He switched girls, far as I can tell, but yeah.”
“And that’s it?”
Bob nods.
“Your vampires have called. They might be coming.”
Marshall nods.
“Guess it’s time to set up shop then.”
~*~
They’ve got sleeping bags in one of Patrick’s spare rooms.
The first thing Ian does is pass out. Not quite on a sleeping bag, but it’s not like Ian cares. He’s the one that’s been driving all through the night and Ian’s way too ADD to even think about sitting through Patrick’s meetings without breaking something.
As it is, Marshall’s pretty sure Cash is going to have to be banned. Maybe even Singer too. Johnson’s trying to explain the intricacies of hunter life, but Singer’s eyes are doing that glazed over thing and he’s stopped writing in his stupid notebook like two minutes ago.
Marshall’s pretty sure he’s gonna catch shit from Bob in that silent way of his. Carden’s probably going to be completely vocal about it.
Marshall wishes he had a reason. He doesn’t really. They were doing fine when it was just him and Johnson and Ian. It’s not like Cash and Singer contribute much of anything. Singer is good as bait, very, very good and Cash can at least drive a car. Neither of them can even go one round against a vampire let alone actually get close enough to decapitating one.
There’s no reason.
Except, Singer lost his whole family to a vampire attack and Cash pretty much has no one but Singer and Marshall knows it’s bad for his imagine, but it’s not like he keeps Singer and Cash in clothes and food.
So, you know, whatever.
“He’s not getting this,” Johnson says.
“Don’t fuck with Bob. Don’t fuck with Joe. Don’t ask questions. Don’t mess with Patrick’s hats. When Gerard gets here, you stick with Mikey and try not to say anything. You think you can handle that,” Marshall says.
Singer frowns.
“That’s kind of…”
“You’re dealing with hardened hunters here, man. People who’ve been doing this their whole lives. They don’t wanna know about you and they don’t care that your frown kills puppies. They’re just trying to survive the apocalypse. So, don’t ask stupid questions.”
It’s a lot harsher than he usually gets with Singer, but this is kind of big deal. He doesn’t have the time to hand hold him right now. Not when Patrick’s supposed to be back with Ryan and Spencer and there’s supposed to be a meeting about how the hell they’re going to beat the devil.
The fucking devil.
He hadn’t quite believed it when he’d heard the rumblings, but if they’re really getting rounded up like this, if Patrick’s really allowing all these people into his house and Bob just gives him a look that’s that same you should know better when Marshall casually asks, then Marshall knows it’s true.
It’s fucking true.
“I… maybe we should…”
“Don’t be a stupid fucker,” Cash says harshly.
They do that thing where they talk with their eyes and Marshall has no idea what gets said, but Singer sighs and flops down on his sleeping bag.
“Maybe Cash and I should avoid this meeting. We’re not really hunters,” Singer says after long minutes of this weird telepathy shit.
“Just don’t piss anyone off and you should be fine,” Johnson says.
“Tell that to Cash,” Singer says.
Cash flips him off.
Marshall thinks this is probably going to end somewhat badly.
~*~
When Marshall was eight, his grandfather got committed to a mental institution.
He said that vampires were real, that they were out there and that they were after him because he had a special gun. A gun that could kill anything evil. He said it was given to him by his friend- a guy named Daniel Elkins who Marshall would later meet and punch in the throat- because vampires were after his friend and he didn’t think they would go after Marshall’s grandfather.
He was wrong.
With grandpa locked up though, the vampires came after Marshall and his family.
Marshall ran.
He ran and he ran and he ran and he went to grandpa and told grandpa that he’d been right, he’d been so right and now his parents were gone.
Grandpa had busted out of the loony bin.
They didn’t hunt after that. Grandpa was old and Marshall was too young, much too young to be an effective hunter. So they ran and they hid and they met some people who were hunters and offered as much help as they could in exchange for learning as much about demons and vampires and things that go bump in the night
They never used the gun. They never gave it back either.
His grandfather would spend hours studying the gun, looking at it and checking it out, trying to figure out what was so special about it. He bought other guns similar to it and tried to engineer them to work like it, but nothing ever worked. They kept that gun until the day Daniel Elkins came back into their lives and took it back from them at gunpoint.
That’s the day Marshall punched him in the throat. It got him knocked over the head with a shotgun, but at least he’d got to punch the guy that was responsible for turning his life upside down.
He still made off with the gun.
Grandpa died when Marshall turned eighteen.
And that’s when Marshall made it his mission to hunt down every vampire in existence and take their heads off.
~*~
Spencer Smith has a beard.
Marshall wishes he could have a beard as cool as Spencer's, but Spencer’s kind of manly with his beard and long mountain man hair and black t-shirts. Marshall knows that when he first started out, everyone looked at Spencer the way they look at Marshall.
They don’t look at Spencer like that anymore.
Marshall eyeballs everyone in the room. They’re all familiar faces and it’s nice to see that most of them don’t give him the stink eye. Bob kind of does, but Bob gives everyone the stink eye. Marshall thinks it was probably a good idea to trade his super soaker for a real gun.
Everyone in the room has at least three on their person.
There are two guys that Marshall doesn’t recognize. One has bright red glasses and he’s wearing jeans, a red shirt and a light brown corduroy suit jacket with patches at the elbows. He’s standing fairly close to Spencer, leaning over just slightly to whisper something into Spencer’s ear and Spencer smiles slightly. The other guy is in all black, black jeans and some kind of complicated black jacket and black shoes with purple laces. Marshall recognizes them as Supras and he smiles.
Neither of them look like hunters, but Marshall has a don’t ask policy.
Questions are usually unimportant in this crowd.
When everyone sits down, gingerly to not jostle guns and knives and other weapons, Patrick clears his throat and claps his hands together.
“So, apocalypse. That’s kind of a big deal.”
Marshall snorts and Johnson smiles. Joe lets out a high pitched giggle and Spencer lets out another smile. Marshall notices that Ryan doesn’t smile. In fact, Ryan doesn’t do much of anything, staring straight ahead.
Marshall’s heard things, but, again, he doesn’t dare ask.
“You could say that,” Carden says.
“Yeah, well, we’ve been fighting for a year now, but we weren’t able to stop this thing. Now we need a plan to make sure millions of people don’t get caught in the crossfire,” Spencer says.
Marshall nods.
“Maybe full disclosure to the rest of the class might be good,” Joe says.
Spencer and Ryan tense and Marshall doesn’t ask.
“Joe,” Patrick says.
“No, I think everyone here deserves to know how completely fucked this whole thing is, don’t you. You know because apparently angels wanted this thing to start and God is dead,” Joe says.
Apparently that breaks the whole don’t ask thing because the room goes crazy with voices. The loudest being the guy with the glasses.
“God is not dead,” he says and, even though his voice is light, there’s a weird power behind it, thrumming through the room and making Marshall’s skin itch.
“Brendon,” Spencer says.
“He’s not. I intend to find him,” the guy- Brendon apparently- says.
Spencer rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, okay, look, stuff went down. Angels exist, Lucifer walks and we’re pretty much screwed and not in any remotely good way. Brendon here… he's an angel. The only one that seems to think humanity is worth a damn. And Pete's a prophet, so we got seeing into the future going for us. Now, we also have a bunch of hunters, a crapload of weapons and the vague idea to kill the devil,” Spencer says.
“Yeah, but how?” Carden asks.
“That’s the vague part,” Bob says.
Marshall takes a deep breath and he can hear his grandpa’s voice in his ear telling him he can do this, he can figure this out.
“Well, I don’t know how unvague this idea will make the situation, but… I think maybe I might be able to make more Colts,” Marshall says.
Everyone’s quiet and Spencer’s staring at him with large eyes and he really hopes he’s not making a huge mistake. He knows Johnson’s looking at him like what the fuck.
Patrick smiles.
“I guess it’s a start.”