[Currently in M01, from hereKurt exhaled loudly and suddenly when Kon sat on him. Jeez, way to knock the wind out of someone! Kurt was barely half Kon's weight, he would be crushed
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Dean wasn't too keen on leaving Punk-Ass to his own devices, especially under a devil's trap that might not one hundred percent demon-proof. But he knew that tone in his brother's voice, the kind that said it wouldn't be a good idea to shrug off his brother this time.
"We'll get to that," was all Dean would say to the demon. He wasn't particularly surprised the demon was tight-lipped about whatever it might know. Even if you slapped around a demon, it'd keep trying to lie through its teeth or be a general pain in the ass until you got the big guns out - sure, they'd laugh off not being scared about going back to Hell, but there had to be a reason they weren't ever so jazzed about going back.
Getting up, leaving Punk-Ass to stew tied up to the chair, Dean joined Sam. Automatically squeezing past Sam, he soon saw what he'd been worried about; someone, most likely a patient, was heading down the hall, and from the way the light was angling toward this door, it was possible they were coming here. For all he knew, it could be Angel, coming back for a second ax stashed in the room he didn't know about. Dean breathed a silent "crap", turning to his little brother.
"I'll go check it out," he said, keeping his voice down so only Sam could hear him. "Should take a minute. Just keep an eye on Sunshine over there: he was able to use some of that TK crap earlier. Knocked me on my ass. If he looks like he's up to something, do whatever you need to break his concentration."
Dean didn't exactly say be careful in so many words, but he didn't need them to get his point across.
He paused and than gave Sam the bowie knife; it was business as usual to let his brother borrow his gear, but it also reminded him that they were gonna have to find Sam a knife sometime after tonight. A bowie wasn't gonna do much against a demon, but it was still better than nothing. Dean toed the bag of salt he'd left earlier near the door, drawing Sam's attention to it. The trap might not be good enough, but the salt should work...although should was really the key word, 'cause he'd tried spilling table salt on Punk-Ass back there a few days ago and he'd had no reaction at all. Still, drawing a circle of salt around Punk-Ass couldn't hurt as insurance coupled with a fault Key of Solomon and Sam could probably rattle off the rest of the exorcism if worst came to worst. Dean's mouth tightened into a line, but instead of saying anything else, he clapped Sammy on the shoulder and headed out into the hall to run interference with the newcomer.
Tweedledee and Tweedledum sure needed to get their act together.
The warlock watched the standing version of musical chairs, curling his hands into fists against the armrests. The half-assed demon exorcism/smiting of evil bit was amusing and all, but who was stupid enough to walk away after he’d already proven the devil’s trap was a no-go? Did they even have any fucking idea what a demon could do to a person, let alone him? Something wasn’t right here, and it wasn’t just that Reid had gotten himself shanghaied by a complete retard.
Neither of them had bothered covering his mouth again. Weren’t worried he’d, oh, go ‘help!’ or what?
Not that Reid would, of course. He was the prime target for a non-magical intervention, being a hell of a lot higher on the list of supernatural beings than things that went bump in the night, and didn’t need to worry about this actually ending badly for him. Like hell he needed help dealing with two chuckleheads, no matter how many occult books they’d checked out of the library.
But that still didn’t change the fact that he was still tied to the chair he was sitting in.
A bead of sweat rolled down his neck, and Reid tossed his head as he watched the two at the door, both to dislodge it and out of aggravation. Any normal guy might’ve been passed out cold right about then, but not Reid. He clenched his fists tighter before relaxing his hands and looking down at his lap. Back to square one. Try and break the tape or go for the chair. He still had Power to spare.
Sam shut the door carefully behind him as Dean left, knife in hand. Not that he'd need it. His brother was out for now, but there probably wasn't that much time, depending on how quick Dean could turn away whoever had shown up. Seconds to minutes, at most.
Yeah, hardly enough time to get answers and Sam was already hovering on the slight edge of frustration at the pointlessness of this whole exercise. For the first time, he found himself caring about something more than finding Lilith. He wanted Dean saved. If nothing else, this place might've given him a way to do that which was terribly ironic if he thought about it too hard. But whatever the demon might've had to say now, it wouldn't help him with the situation with Dean. He wanted-he needed-it gone before Dean came back for another round of questions. He had a feeling Dean would try to stop him if he knew what Sam had in mind, what he was capable of, and Sam didn't want to repeat those months of fighting with his brother on saving his damn life, of all things.
And if he had to admit, logic aside, it was still a demon. Out of every supernatural creature he'd run into over the course of his life, nothing had screwed with him so personally than demons. Throwing one back was never going to not be satisfying.
He gripped the arms of the chair, leaned down so that he was eye-level with the demon. The close proximity didn't even register as a concern; if it couldn't even break out of the chair despite the malfunctioning trap? It might've been able to toss Dean, but there was no way it could toss him.
"My brother might think you're useful," he said, before taking step back to channel the power that was almost instinctual now. He'd long stopped contemplating what that really meant. "But I don't."
The block he’d been dealing with since he’d woke up here never failed to send that wordless, vital part of Reid’s entire being into a frenzy whenever he reached for Power… that no longer answered him. It was like hitting a wall, and feeling like he were working in molasses, slow and clumsy, all at the same time.
He’d had more than enough of sitting on his ass, but he just couldn’t… couldn’t…
Reid knew the game and the tactics that went with them--he played in the big leagues, no matter what these two thought--and the whole getting up in his face routine was standard practice. He didn’t even bother to give the new guy his attention; he kept his chin dipped low, fighting with magic that didn’t want to listen to him. Fucking ass was going to pay. They both were. He didn’t care what there reasons were, even if they’d been kicked fresh out of church, with shiny new crosses in their hands. The fact that Reid had let himself get caught by a guy who thought Reid was a demon--a demon--was too much.
It was only when the sidekick stepped away that Reid gave up the ghost enough to peer up at him through messy bangs. The smile came back, more feral and daring than before. “A brother tag team, how kinky… S’too bad what you think means squat. Just try me, you pussy. You don’t got the chops to handle me.”
Because at least Reid could still prove that. One wrong move with that knife, one more attempt at knocking him around for kicks, and he was going to put this one through the wall.
The comment struck him as a bit off, as if Sam's mention of his brother was suddenly some kind of new revelation. The demons knew perfectly well what they were to each other. That was part of the whole damn problem in the first place.
Whatever doubts he'd been feeling earlier, though, he was too tired and too rushed to entertain them right now. And he really wasn't going to bother taking the time out to trade verbal blows with a demon. There was no point; that kind of crap just went around in circles.
He'd used his abilities on Dean this morning, but barely a touch of it-just enough to feel things out. There wasn't anything holding him back this time and when he let it go, the first thing that hit him was a sharp pain between the eyes. Not the slow build-up when he'd first started exorcising demons, but the ones that used to come along with those visions. He winced, hand flying up to his temple, partly out of the pain and partly out of shock because-what the hell?
There was a split second of panic at the notion that his powers had somehow regressed before a more immediate concern arose. Which was that this guy? Was exactly like when he'd tested for possession in Dean. Nothing there to grab hold of. He didn't know how it was possible; he'd seen the eyes and according to Dean, he'd been tossed around, but there was no denying what was a simple fact. No demon.
For a brief moment, Sam just stared since, really, there wasn't much to say here except maybe uh, my mistake? or this was totally Dean's idea in which case it was probably better not to say anything at all. But telekinesis, the eyes-and everything Peter had said earlier about other people's apparent powers? The age was off, but Sam was starting to think the generational bit might not be the deciding factor anymore.
His gaze narrowed slightly in thought, maybe a touch of surprise. All thoughts of mistaken exorcism fell to the wayside as this realization took over. "You have them, too."
Whether he was hoping for confirmation or denial, he wasn't sure. Because yeah, the eyes. Christ knew Sam had started subconsciously checking his own every time he looked in the mirror.
The true, potent stuff was something only the families inherited, but there were weaker branches that had some magic, like Gorman. A puny amount compared to Sons’, but magic all the same.
Reid thought he knew the signs when someone was trying to use something on him, and the way the hair at the back of his neck tingled in warning and the way Asshole #2 recoiled like he’d hit a mental wall kind of gave it away. The warlock’s teeth sank into the inside of his cheek on reflex, smirk disappearing. Okay… what? He’d been jumped by Slap-Happy Joe out there, but the sidekick brother had some kind of supernatural mojo? That just made the entire situation more of a fucking joke, because what the fuck did they think they were doing, joking around with him?
He flexed harder against the duct tape, staring down Captain Oblivious--who so needed to be taught a lesson on who had the biggest magical balls of them all--without saying anything. It took some effort not to, if the twitch in his jaw muscle was anything to go by.
“I’d stop pretending you had a clue what I am,” he finally murmured. ‘You have them, too’? Please. Reid wasn’t anything as sorry as these two. “So now what? On to Plan C?”
Sam had no clue what he was, either, in truth; he'd stopped trying to figure that out a long time ago, too. But there was no way this guy knew about Yellow-Eyes or the true origins of his powers. He obviously wasn't a hunter. However he'd come about his abilities, they must've just developed on their own like the other kids. Though Sam had thought the remaining generations had gone dormant before this. He'd hoped they'd gone dormant. His had only unlocked as a result of...a lot of things, and considering the way they'd screwed with him and everyone around him, he'd hoped the others would get to live out their lives normal.
The guy's mention of Plan C did jolt Sam out of his focus on the whole possible special kids aspect and into the fact that, yeah, this was...sort of not a good situation, what with. Kidnapping. Which Sam was tempted to wholly blame on Dean, but given that he would've jumped to the same conclusion had he been in Dean's place, that probably wouldn't be fair. It took all of his power not to cringe visibly. There was no proper explanation here, was there?
There really wasn't. Sam didn't even bother trying, only licked his lips and moved forward, grabbing the flashlight along the way so he could actually see enough to cut the kid free. Some chance of the guy taking the opportunity to attack once he was let go, but Sam wasn't gonna leave him like that. He was pretty sure an apology was in order, too, except sorry didn't quite cut it in these cases of abduction via massive misunderstanding. Maybe once upon a time, he would've made an effort, anyway, fumbled his way through something, but. Besides, he figured the guy might be more interested in getting the hell out rather than an explanation.
He kind of wished Dean was back in here so he could pass the torch to his brother to deal with this because seriously, his head was still pounding for reasons he didn't want to think about at the moment and this whole situation was simply jacked. Not just this here right now, but everything. Everything since last night. And when did he start falling back on expecting Dean to be around again? One day with his brother and four months working to move past needing Dean-needing anyone-at his back apparently undid itself just like that.
Dean came back into the room. It was almost as dark as the hallway outside, but he still had enough light. Dean had a split second to pick out Sam, bowie knife in hand and flashlight in the other, and...
He was cutting Punk-Ass loose from the duct tape.
Dean stepped forward. "The hell're you doing?"
Was Sammy possessed? He hadn't been during breakfast and he wouldn't have been fool enough to walk under a devil's trap willingly even if he had been. So what was he doing freeing the prisoner? Y'know, the friggen demon that belonged tied up to that damn chair and was going to be sent back to Hell. Dean couldn't keep up with Sam's moodswings - first he was gunning to exorcism this bastard and now he was freeing it? What was even going on?
Wild tigers could be better behaved than Reid, his own mother had said so, but maybe she’d be rolling over in her country club chair if she could see him then--under a serious fucking threat from one fourth walling ringmaster, and a less serious and more annoying threat from two dimwits--letting the subpar magical sidekick get within spitting distance of him with a bowie knife. And like a wild tiger that knew the key was about to turn in the lock and open his cage without ever admitting he needed help getting out, the warlock sat and held his breath.
There was a hunger boiling in him, and it was crazy hard to hold it back while bit by bit, duct tape came loose. And then Mr. Slippery Fingers walked back in the door from whatever smoke break he’d been on, and Reid bit his lip in something like glee.
The little details could be dealt with later. Right now…
When Reid was loose enough to move on his own terms, he hauled himself out of the chair with a quick, easy grace that deep down, he wasn’t feeling. But he’d been embarrassed and knocked around and reminded again that his Power wasn’t so helpful anymore, and he needed this to be good. So he rubbed the scabbing cut on his neck with undue nonchalance, while inwardly he channelled his will into everything he had left.
“Guess he’s proving he’s not so much of a dumb shit as you,” drawled Reid, who rolled his shoulders once. “But then again, now I’m up, which is pretty damn stupid to let happen.” And then he threw his arms up, palms out to each brother, and released what Power he had left, two torrents quicker than light and that seemed to ripple the very space they occupied, like waves in water. Halved, the full blast wasn’t what it could’ve been, but for the two of them, it was more than enough to make up for the beating he’d taken. Dean’d got off easy the first time.
"We'll get to that," was all Dean would say to the demon. He wasn't particularly surprised the demon was tight-lipped about whatever it might know. Even if you slapped around a demon, it'd keep trying to lie through its teeth or be a general pain in the ass until you got the big guns out - sure, they'd laugh off not being scared about going back to Hell, but there had to be a reason they weren't ever so jazzed about going back.
Getting up, leaving Punk-Ass to stew tied up to the chair, Dean joined Sam. Automatically squeezing past Sam, he soon saw what he'd been worried about; someone, most likely a patient, was heading down the hall, and from the way the light was angling toward this door, it was possible they were coming here. For all he knew, it could be Angel, coming back for a second ax stashed in the room he didn't know about. Dean breathed a silent "crap", turning to his little brother.
"I'll go check it out," he said, keeping his voice down so only Sam could hear him. "Should take a minute. Just keep an eye on Sunshine over there: he was able to use some of that TK crap earlier. Knocked me on my ass. If he looks like he's up to something, do whatever you need to break his concentration."
Dean didn't exactly say be careful in so many words, but he didn't need them to get his point across.
He paused and than gave Sam the bowie knife; it was business as usual to let his brother borrow his gear, but it also reminded him that they were gonna have to find Sam a knife sometime after tonight. A bowie wasn't gonna do much against a demon, but it was still better than nothing. Dean toed the bag of salt he'd left earlier near the door, drawing Sam's attention to it. The trap might not be good enough, but the salt should work...although should was really the key word, 'cause he'd tried spilling table salt on Punk-Ass back there a few days ago and he'd had no reaction at all. Still, drawing a circle of salt around Punk-Ass couldn't hurt as insurance coupled with a fault Key of Solomon and Sam could probably rattle off the rest of the exorcism if worst came to worst. Dean's mouth tightened into a line, but instead of saying anything else, he clapped Sammy on the shoulder and headed out into the hall to run interference with the newcomer.
[Dean's heading out to here]
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The warlock watched the standing version of musical chairs, curling his hands into fists against the armrests. The half-assed demon exorcism/smiting of evil bit was amusing and all, but who was stupid enough to walk away after he’d already proven the devil’s trap was a no-go? Did they even have any fucking idea what a demon could do to a person, let alone him? Something wasn’t right here, and it wasn’t just that Reid had gotten himself shanghaied by a complete retard.
Neither of them had bothered covering his mouth again. Weren’t worried he’d, oh, go ‘help!’ or what?
Not that Reid would, of course. He was the prime target for a non-magical intervention, being a hell of a lot higher on the list of supernatural beings than things that went bump in the night, and didn’t need to worry about this actually ending badly for him. Like hell he needed help dealing with two chuckleheads, no matter how many occult books they’d checked out of the library.
But that still didn’t change the fact that he was still tied to the chair he was sitting in.
A bead of sweat rolled down his neck, and Reid tossed his head as he watched the two at the door, both to dislodge it and out of aggravation. Any normal guy might’ve been passed out cold right about then, but not Reid. He clenched his fists tighter before relaxing his hands and looking down at his lap. Back to square one. Try and break the tape or go for the chair. He still had Power to spare.
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Yeah, hardly enough time to get answers and Sam was already hovering on the slight edge of frustration at the pointlessness of this whole exercise. For the first time, he found himself caring about something more than finding Lilith. He wanted Dean saved. If nothing else, this place might've given him a way to do that which was terribly ironic if he thought about it too hard. But whatever the demon might've had to say now, it wouldn't help him with the situation with Dean. He wanted-he needed-it gone before Dean came back for another round of questions. He had a feeling Dean would try to stop him if he knew what Sam had in mind, what he was capable of, and Sam didn't want to repeat those months of fighting with his brother on saving his damn life, of all things.
And if he had to admit, logic aside, it was still a demon. Out of every supernatural creature he'd run into over the course of his life, nothing had screwed with him so personally than demons. Throwing one back was never going to not be satisfying.
He gripped the arms of the chair, leaned down so that he was eye-level with the demon. The close proximity didn't even register as a concern; if it couldn't even break out of the chair despite the malfunctioning trap? It might've been able to toss Dean, but there was no way it could toss him.
"My brother might think you're useful," he said, before taking step back to channel the power that was almost instinctual now. He'd long stopped contemplating what that really meant. "But I don't."
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He’d had more than enough of sitting on his ass, but he just couldn’t… couldn’t…
Reid knew the game and the tactics that went with them--he played in the big leagues, no matter what these two thought--and the whole getting up in his face routine was standard practice. He didn’t even bother to give the new guy his attention; he kept his chin dipped low, fighting with magic that didn’t want to listen to him. Fucking ass was going to pay. They both were. He didn’t care what there reasons were, even if they’d been kicked fresh out of church, with shiny new crosses in their hands. The fact that Reid had let himself get caught by a guy who thought Reid was a demon--a demon--was too much.
It was only when the sidekick stepped away that Reid gave up the ghost enough to peer up at him through messy bangs. The smile came back, more feral and daring than before. “A brother tag team, how kinky… S’too bad what you think means squat. Just try me, you pussy. You don’t got the chops to handle me.”
Because at least Reid could still prove that. One wrong move with that knife, one more attempt at knocking him around for kicks, and he was going to put this one through the wall.
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Whatever doubts he'd been feeling earlier, though, he was too tired and too rushed to entertain them right now. And he really wasn't going to bother taking the time out to trade verbal blows with a demon. There was no point; that kind of crap just went around in circles.
He'd used his abilities on Dean this morning, but barely a touch of it-just enough to feel things out. There wasn't anything holding him back this time and when he let it go, the first thing that hit him was a sharp pain between the eyes. Not the slow build-up when he'd first started exorcising demons, but the ones that used to come along with those visions. He winced, hand flying up to his temple, partly out of the pain and partly out of shock because-what the hell?
There was a split second of panic at the notion that his powers had somehow regressed before a more immediate concern arose. Which was that this guy? Was exactly like when he'd tested for possession in Dean. Nothing there to grab hold of. He didn't know how it was possible; he'd seen the eyes and according to Dean, he'd been tossed around, but there was no denying what was a simple fact. No demon.
For a brief moment, Sam just stared since, really, there wasn't much to say here except maybe uh, my mistake? or this was totally Dean's idea in which case it was probably better not to say anything at all. But telekinesis, the eyes-and everything Peter had said earlier about other people's apparent powers? The age was off, but Sam was starting to think the generational bit might not be the deciding factor anymore.
His gaze narrowed slightly in thought, maybe a touch of surprise. All thoughts of mistaken exorcism fell to the wayside as this realization took over. "You have them, too."
Whether he was hoping for confirmation or denial, he wasn't sure. Because yeah, the eyes. Christ knew Sam had started subconsciously checking his own every time he looked in the mirror.
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Reid thought he knew the signs when someone was trying to use something on him, and the way the hair at the back of his neck tingled in warning and the way Asshole #2 recoiled like he’d hit a mental wall kind of gave it away. The warlock’s teeth sank into the inside of his cheek on reflex, smirk disappearing. Okay… what? He’d been jumped by Slap-Happy Joe out there, but the sidekick brother had some kind of supernatural mojo? That just made the entire situation more of a fucking joke, because what the fuck did they think they were doing, joking around with him?
He flexed harder against the duct tape, staring down Captain Oblivious--who so needed to be taught a lesson on who had the biggest magical balls of them all--without saying anything. It took some effort not to, if the twitch in his jaw muscle was anything to go by.
“I’d stop pretending you had a clue what I am,” he finally murmured. ‘You have them, too’? Please. Reid wasn’t anything as sorry as these two. “So now what? On to Plan C?”
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The guy's mention of Plan C did jolt Sam out of his focus on the whole possible special kids aspect and into the fact that, yeah, this was...sort of not a good situation, what with. Kidnapping. Which Sam was tempted to wholly blame on Dean, but given that he would've jumped to the same conclusion had he been in Dean's place, that probably wouldn't be fair. It took all of his power not to cringe visibly. There was no proper explanation here, was there?
There really wasn't. Sam didn't even bother trying, only licked his lips and moved forward, grabbing the flashlight along the way so he could actually see enough to cut the kid free. Some chance of the guy taking the opportunity to attack once he was let go, but Sam wasn't gonna leave him like that. He was pretty sure an apology was in order, too, except sorry didn't quite cut it in these cases of abduction via massive misunderstanding. Maybe once upon a time, he would've made an effort, anyway, fumbled his way through something, but. Besides, he figured the guy might be more interested in getting the hell out rather than an explanation.
He kind of wished Dean was back in here so he could pass the torch to his brother to deal with this because seriously, his head was still pounding for reasons he didn't want to think about at the moment and this whole situation was simply jacked. Not just this here right now, but everything. Everything since last night. And when did he start falling back on expecting Dean to be around again? One day with his brother and four months working to move past needing Dean-needing anyone-at his back apparently undid itself just like that.
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Dean came back into the room. It was almost as dark as the hallway outside, but he still had enough light. Dean had a split second to pick out Sam, bowie knife in hand and flashlight in the other, and...
He was cutting Punk-Ass loose from the duct tape.
Dean stepped forward. "The hell're you doing?"
Was Sammy possessed? He hadn't been during breakfast and he wouldn't have been fool enough to walk under a devil's trap willingly even if he had been. So what was he doing freeing the prisoner? Y'know, the friggen demon that belonged tied up to that damn chair and was going to be sent back to Hell. Dean couldn't keep up with Sam's moodswings - first he was gunning to exorcism this bastard and now he was freeing it? What was even going on?
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There was a hunger boiling in him, and it was crazy hard to hold it back while bit by bit, duct tape came loose. And then Mr. Slippery Fingers walked back in the door from whatever smoke break he’d been on, and Reid bit his lip in something like glee.
The little details could be dealt with later. Right now…
When Reid was loose enough to move on his own terms, he hauled himself out of the chair with a quick, easy grace that deep down, he wasn’t feeling. But he’d been embarrassed and knocked around and reminded again that his Power wasn’t so helpful anymore, and he needed this to be good. So he rubbed the scabbing cut on his neck with undue nonchalance, while inwardly he channelled his will into everything he had left.
“Guess he’s proving he’s not so much of a dumb shit as you,” drawled Reid, who rolled his shoulders once. “But then again, now I’m up, which is pretty damn stupid to let happen.” And then he threw his arms up, palms out to each brother, and released what Power he had left, two torrents quicker than light and that seemed to ripple the very space they occupied, like waves in water. Halved, the full blast wasn’t what it could’ve been, but for the two of them, it was more than enough to make up for the beating he’d taken. Dean’d got off easy the first time.
He wouldn’t be someone’s weak little bitch…
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