Fangs for the Supernatural Memories, for quickreaver
Title: Fangs for the Supernatural Memories
Recipient: quickreaver
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~5.6K
Warnings: Views and opinions expressed by the narrator are not the author's own! ;)
Author's Notes: Set in one of the alternate worlds from season 15, so canon's effectively turned on its head.
Summary: Assigned to make a documentary about a day in the life of the infamous Winchester brothers, a filmmaker follows along with Sam and Dean on the search for their missing father.
~#~
I couldn't believe I was finally here, a guest at long last in the Men of Letters bunker. If I wasn't seeing it with my own eyes, I'd have assumed that it was just the stuff of legends, the kind of urban folktale the higher-ups used to keep the rest of our kind in line. Really, I didn't know where to look - in every direction was some complex sigil or ancient relic of power. No wonder this place was off our radar.
But that wasn't what had me spooked.
"So, are you ready for my close up?"
The deep masculine voice announced the appearance of the speaker at my side with an equal air of threat and flirtatiousness. It took all my willpower not to yell in surprise or shock. It wouldn't do to broadcast that he could apparently creep up on me unawares. No, that would be as potentially foolish as it was unseemly.
"Thank you, for agreeing to this interview, it's much appreciated," I said, the lie leaving a sour taste in my mouth. I used the excuse of adjusting the camera lens to avoid having to give any further eye contact. If everything I'd heard about him was true, then he was a damned sight more dangerous than he was good-looking - and I had to admit he was absolutely mesmerizing. Like a snake.
"Oh, I'd have soon as ripped your head off as talk to you, it's my brother you've got to thank. He's the one who's all kumbaya at easing the bad blood between our two sides," he said in that melodic, good ol' boy way. His teeth and eyes glittered in the dim light as he grinned with pleasure at his own joke.
I tried not to gulp in alarm, but it was another reminder not to let the pleasing package of the exterior distract me from the knowledge that this was a vicious, near-unstoppable killer who was standing in front of me. Given that I was now within easy reach of him, I could only imagine how many of my brethren he had slaughtered.
As that thought took root in my mind, I found myself taking a half-step back, keeping my eyes firmly on the film camera's viewfinder as if the stupid human-invention was some sort of shield. Still, it did strangely make me feel better. Time to get this show on the road, I thought. Let's just get this over and done with and try not to get murdered while we're at it.
"I need to check the sound levels," I said, after clearing my throat. "Do you want to start by telling me a little bit about yourself?"
"My name is Dean Winchester. I'm an Aquarius," he cocked an eyebrow in wry amusement as he continued. "I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women. And I did not kill anyone-"
I couldn't help but scoff aloud at that.
Winchester's eyes darkened, and his teeth lengthened and elongated even as they multiplied in his mouth. It was like looking into the maw of a shark, and certainly just as hard-eyed and deadly.
"- that either didn't deserve it or I didn't eat," he added with a warm chuckle that was as charming as it was incongruous.
"So, you're a vampire," I confirmed, trying to feign boredom. In truth, I was actually somewhat relieved. The frequently told -- and no doubt greatly exaggerated -- tales of the infamous Winchester brothers were such that we'd long -- clearly wrongly -- suspected that they might be something newer, something far worse.
Vampires had been a dime-a-dozen back in the old days, but my kind had kept their numbers in check even before hunters had got in on the action. Then, before anyone could stop them, humans had gone on to decimate vampire numbers to the point that vampirism was considered the smallpox of the supernatural world - wiped out in the wild, but with just a few examples of the breed safely tucked away in case of any future need for a little biological warfare. In more recent years, perhaps due to the addition of the Winchesters, we'd noticed that trend had worryingly reversed.
Dean frowned, perhaps at detecting my almost-disappointment, but his head whipped around to turn and stare at the door to the bunker. A moment later, the door was flung open with an almighty crash, and a huge figure burst in with an unmistakable sense of agitation.
From the ridiculous, looming height and the long flowing locks that made my fingers itch for a pair of scissors, I surmised that this was the brother. It was claimed by many that he was the brains of the two, but from the well-muscled look of him and the way he was babbling on I had to say I had my doubts. He made a bee-line for his brother, only pausing at the last moment as he seemed to finally notice me.
"Oh, you must be the delegation..." he said trailing off, as I stepped back to keep him in shot, even as he held out a hand. He coughed awkwardly and retracted his arm, perhaps belatedly realizing that someone of my ilk might be reluctant to risk shaking his hand and the likely outcome of losing it.
He ran his hands through his hair in an attempt to hide his embarrassment before practically bouncing back over to his brother. I tried to suppress my irritation at trying to keep this overgrown killer puppy in view. This was the bookish one? And I know I've been around for a while, but when did people get so tall? I was sure to get a crick in my neck from following after these two murderous bozos.
"Just carry on as normal," I prompted. "The deal was to give us an insight into your lives. What makes the Winchesters tick? So pretend like I'm not here unless there's something you need to explain to the audience.
Even as the younger Winchester nodded in eager understanding, I could barely restrain the urge to puke. This was a terrible idea; I don't know what my superiors were thinking. Even the name Samuel was an abomination, although he went by 'Sam' as if that somehow made him less of a monster.
Dean, on the other hand, had barely spared me a glance since his brother had arrived. All of that intense scrutiny was firmly focused on the wellbeing of his sibling and whatever might account for his excited state. "What is it, Sammy? What's wrong."
Good grief. Just imagine; the sheer humiliation of being exsanguinated by Sammy the moose.
Still, personal feelings aside, I recognized a key scene when I saw one, and I was able to zoom in close on Sammy as he spoke.
"Dad's on a hunting trip, and he hasn't been home in a few nights."
~#~
Dean's face twisted through a number of expressions in response to Sam's bombshell: shock, denial and finally anger. "What do you mean? What's happened to him?" he demanded, grabbing his brother by the shoulders.
While alarmed, I wasn't surprised by his reaction. One thing all the lore about the Winchesters agreed on was the importance of family to them, that and the blind fervor with which they served their mysterious patriarch was the stuff of legends. If you ask me, it just proves that even the greatest among us still have mommy or daddy issues.
Meanwhile, Sam ducked his head, albeit still towering over both of us. "All I know is that he said he had a meeting with someone important and he'd be back in a couple of days. That was nearly a week ago, and his car was found abandoned in Michigan."
Dean released his grip and ran a hand down his brother's arm as if in apology, before turning away. "And you let him go on his own?" he asked, his voice quiet but still with an icy steel to his tone.
Sam threw up his hand in exasperation. "Hey, he's the boss. Are you really telling me you'd do anything different in the face of a direct order?"
Dean puffed out his cheeks and blew out a long sigh. "No, I guess not," he relented with noticeable reluctance and a defeated look. "Are you sure he didn't say anything else?"
Sam frowned, his forehead furrowing in concentration as if playing back a conversation in his head. Let's hope he doesn't strain anything. "Something about going to see a man about a dog? I don't know what he meant, but it seemed to amuse him."
If previously I'd thought that Dean's face had shown anger, then what it morphed into now I can only describe as incandescent rage. Mouth now bursting with needle-like teeth, he swiped a pile of books off a nearby table with a hissing roar.
"Werewolves!"
Sam and I exchange a brief puzzled glance. "That's a bit of a stretch, isn't it?" he asked, turning back to Dean. He was clearly brave, or stupid. I'd never have dared disagreed with Dean while in this state.
"No," replied Dean, fortunately seeming to bring himself back under some semblance of control. "But there have been sightings of the Michigan Dogman for over a century. I don't remember all the details, but it fits, I'm so sure of it I can feel it in my veins."
Sam held up his hands in a placating motion. "Okay, let's go hit the books and see what else we can find, yeah?"
~#~
Well, this is dull. I now had several hours' worth of video footage of Dean huffing and puffing while reading all of a couple of paragraphs. Sam, by contrast, turned each page with an intense, metronome-like regularity. Perhaps it would make a good montage?
I couldn't take it any longer. "So did you find anything, yet?" I asked, not quite keeping the testiness out of my voice. I had a documentary to make, and my superiors were anything but the patient, forgiving types.
Sam rubbed his eyes and stretched, apparently in surprise that I was even still here. I forgot that vampires needed sleep.
"Yeah," he yawned, flashing rows of needle-like teeth for just a fraction of a second. "According to the folklore of the region, the Michigan Dogman is said to have stalked the area around the Manistee River since the days of the Odawa tribes."
He glanced back at his notes -- which alarmingly seemed to consist of many pages -- and continued. "The first known sighting took place in 1887 in Wexford County when two lumberjacks saw a creature they described as having a man's body with a dog's head. They chased it, and cornered it, when it let out 'an unearthly scream', and stood upright - by all accounts, about seven-feet tall."
"So basically, a werewolf," I added quickly before he could continue to drone on any more.
"Well, possibly," Sam concurred. "Although, there are some other reports of a blue-eyed creature that's only seen every ten years," he added holding out the other pages of notes as he started to explain his methodology for establishing the validity of accounts by cross-referencing the eye-witness sightings.
"Are you sure you're not an energy vampire?" I interrupted, as it all started to get too much. I could practically feel the will to live draining away from me.
Dean barked a laugh as he came over to join us, summoned, I suspected by any chance to abandon his own research as to see what we were talking about. To be honest, at that point, I think I might have even welcomed him putting me out of my misery.
"Nah, our Sammy might be a fussy eater," he joked, slapping Sam on the shoulder, "but he's on a strictly liquid diet. He's even got prior form for drinking blood."
I tried to compose my features and not let the revulsion show on my face, but it did confirm some of the dark rumors I'd hear whispered about them.
"That was back when I was human," mumbled Sam, his cheeks coloring.
Considering I'd been watching them for the last several hours, I wondered when he'd snuck off to feed to be able to look so flushed. It was yet another reminder to watch my back with these two plaid-clad nightmares.
"Yeah, yeah, he wouldn't touch that swill with a barge pole now," interrupted Dean forcefully. His tone was off, and I couldn't tell if he was asking us or telling us.
Sam snorted. "I'd say I've got a more refined palate," he said with a nod that I still didn't find quite convincing enough. "Anyway," he said in a louder voice, signifying he was bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand, "None of this really helps us."
Dean quirked an eyebrow, but his tone was unamused. "You mean I was right, and we've wasted hours with nothing to show for it?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "I mean, it just proves there have been reported sightings all over the northwest of Michigan's Lower Peninsula, so it's still a huge area to cover. What we need is someone with an inside track. Someone we trust with insider knowledge."
Dean groaned and held a hand over his eyes. "You're talking about Garth, aren't you?"
"Who's Garth?" I prompted after it became clear an explanation wasn't otherwise going to be forthcoming. Sam's face was lit up with what I've heard humans refer to as a 'shit-eating grin'. An ugly, repulsive mental image, but perhaps a suitable term for the Winchesters given their proclivities.
"Garth and us go way back, even as far as our human hunter years," explained Sam, still grinning.
I raised an eyebrow in curiosity. This pair hadn't been anything remotely human for a very long time. Odds were then, that unless this Garth was going to be joining us from a nursing home, then he wasn't either.
"So, he's a vampire too?"
Dean made a sound in his throat. "Hardly, he's a werewolf," he sneered, making his distaste plain.
I confess I was a little surprised, he might be a callous killer, but I'd never pegged Dean for a snob.
"Don't let him fool you," Sam laughed. "Dean definitely has a soft spot for him."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Of course I like him! Who doesn't like Garth? Besides, he gives the best hugs."
"I always thought he was a little touched-starved," Sam said under his breath to me before turning back to his brother. "Yes, see, and he's a werewolf."
"Yeah, well he's different," argued Dean. "Not like the rest of those fleabags. Anyway, at least he's not a human. Still wouldn't let him ride in the Impala without putting down a blanket first. That werewolf hair gets everywhere."
"By the Alpha, you're such a bigot!" Sam chuckled.
"I am not a bigot," Dean declared, clearly moving on to a bit of a rant. "You've just conveniently forgotten that you're a hunter too."
He turned to continue his appeal directly at me or, more likely, the camera lens. "The last thing we all want is these other things moving in on our turf and making the humans realize the supernatural's real. I mean, what even are some of them? Vampires are classic, they're pure - not like some of these other weird half breeds."
Sam cringed. "I sometimes find your zeal a bit disturbing. Like, a lot."
Dean threw up his hands. "We were the first from Eve, that's gotta count for something. We're like the originals, the master race..."
"I think you'll find that was the humans," muttered Sam mutinously.
"The cattle don't count," Dean scoffed.
Urgh, he didn't have to convince me - while it's said that the Mother weeps for her first children, humans, whose sole purpose is to feed the favored who came after - if you ask me, they're like cockroaches. If you don't keep their numbers in check they'll swarm all over the place. It was mind-blowing to consider that there were nearly a billion of the creatures world-wide.
"Anyway, some of my best friends aren't even vampires!" continued Dean. I suspected he was trying to dig himself out of a hole. "I just like to keep my Baby nice and clean. After all, you're a vamp and I still won't let you have fast food in the car."
Sam groaned in frustration. "That was one time, and I never would've even ripped that jogger's carotid artery out if you hadn't hit that pothole."
"Don't blame me," Dean scoffed. "All that time at college and you never even once shot-gunned a beer? Talk about wasted potential!"
"So are you going to head off, or what?" I asked, now at the limit of my patience and thoroughly bored by the tedium of the domestic dispute between Dumb and Dumber.
"It's too early," blurted Dean, after a quick glance at his watch.
"Dean can't go out in the sun," explained Sam in a soft, sing-song tone that was also mocking.
I shook my head in confusion. "But I thought all the old stories about vampires and daylight weren't true."
Sam cast a quick smirking glance in Dean's direction, his smile widening at the sight of his brother's embarrassment.
"Oh, no, we're not! But Dean? He's a... how can I put this? A sparkly vampire."
"Hey, you don't know what it's like," cried Dean in fury.
"Bah, you never used to like to go out anyway," snorted Sam dismissively. "You always complained about how quickly you burned and how that brought out your freckles and the red in your hair."
Whatever cutting answer Dean mumbled in response was lost due to him stomping off in a fit of pique.
"I wonder if it was something I said?" grinned Sam. "I guess we'll see you at sundown then."
As I gave a wan smile in response, I decided that Sam was the truly evil Winchester. Dean might serve up a quick, violent death, but Sam would absolutely destroy you.
I almost felt sorry for his brother. Almost.
~#~
After a couple of hours of waiting around, during which the Winchesters topped up on their decidedly unnecessary beauty sleep, I became aware of a presence in the room with me.
Giving the app I was using to pass the time a decidedly forceful swipe-left, I looked up from my cell phone to come face-to-face with a baleful, blue-eyed stare topped with what could only kindly be described as a terminal case of bed hair.
"Are you their familiar?" I enquired.
Judging from the snarl I got in response, the stranger appeared offended by my words, but I just shrugged. With his shifty demeanor and grubby flasher's mac, the guy looked the type to get off on eating insects, so it seemed an understandable mistake to make.
"I see you've met Cas," said Dean, once more surprising me by appearing unannounced at my side. Seriously, I was going to have to put a bell on him or something.
I'm ashamed to admit that it took me a moment to connect the dots from the nickname. "You're Castiel?" I asked in disbelief that this pathetic creature had once single-handedly stormed the gates of Heaven to pull Dean back down to Earth, life, and subsequent vampirism.
By way of an answer, he blinked his eyes deep-black at me. I evidently needed to get mine checked given that I'd not seen the signs sooner.
"Who is this?" he rasped at Dean, giving me a disdainful look up and down as Sam arrived and explained about the documentary.
"Oh, I see, like Interview with the Vampire?"
Sam laughed at that, but Dean visibly winced. "Sheesh, we're not a bunch of whiny losers."
"Does that make you Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt?" chuckled Sam.
Dean seemed to give it a surprising amount of thought. "Banderas? No, Cruise, he's the better action star."
They seemed to bicker about this some more until I interrupted them. "Aren't you going to get a move on?"
Dean gave me a hard look but nodded. He retrieved a box, marked with the distinctive Amazon branding, from over in a far corner of the room.
How come we had such problems locating this, so-called, secret bunker if they're even taking deliveries? I wondered. My surprise was compounded as he opened the package to retrieve a long, black translucent cape that he attached around his neck with a large scarlet brooch.
"Look at you, Bela Lugosi," said Sam mockingly.
Dean stopped in his tracks with an anxious expression, pulling the cape tight around himself. "You think it's too much?"
Sam's face visibly softened. "No, it looks cool."
"Thanks," Dean sighed in relief. "It's a long drive, so I thought if it helps keep the sun off, it'll be worth it."
"I still think you oughta try sunscreen..." Sam scoffed. "It worked like a charm in Blade."
"Nah, too greasy," Dean grimaced. "We good?"
"Oh, no! I need to go floss first," exclaimed Sam, before rushing from the room.
"Huh, well, we won't see him again for at least an hour," snorted Dean.
~#~
Being crammed in the back of an antique car for a day and a half with seats in desperate need of re-upholstering, all while pressed up against a foul-smelling demon, is really not my idea of a good time. And the music they inflicted on me! It was like listening to the wails of the damned.
I shan't bore you with the tedium of the specifics but suffice it to say that I discovered a new appreciation for the concept of Purgatory that day, let me tell you - all unceasing torment with the threat of imminent destruction due to unfortunate circumstances that are no real fault of your own.
We arrived in Michigan not a moment too soon and parked up somewhere in the depths of a forest. What with the grey sky above and the gentle, but persistent, patter of rain on the windshield, anyone would think we were in Vancouver rather than the Midwest. I looked about, but I couldn't see anything pleasant about the peninsula that would encourage me to leave the dubious safety of the car.
So the tap, tap, tap on the side window, when it came, was enough to scare the life out of me.
"Is that him?" I snorted dismissively, as I got a moment to examine the man in question. He was small and scrawny, and under the patchy beard looked all of twelve years old.
"He might not look like much, but he took down the tooth fairy, and that was before he was a werewolf," muttered Dean in my direction, hopefully in a tone too low for even supernatural hearing, after apparently reading my mind.
"She certainly had it coming," I agreed, but I shivered at that knowledge that this was the champion that had dispatched that ancient evil.
"Nah, Mr. Fizzles did most of the heavy lifting on that case," smiled Garth disarmingly, as I maneuvered myself and the camera carefully from the car. So he had heard.
"Garth Fitzgerald IV, at your service," he introduced himself, holding out a hand in my direction. Prudently, given what I'd just learned, I used the excuse of the camera to maintain my distance. Seemingly undaunted by my standoffishness, he turned his attentions to the Winchesters and their pet demon, pulling each in turn into a long enveloping embrace.
It did appear that, as advised, he gave the best hugs. Unsurprisingly, Dean made a fuss, but even he seemed to melt into it as he submitted to the enthusiastic greeting. Perhaps it was part of this Garth's supernatural abilities? Stranger things have happened.
"Thanks for meeting us," said Sam after the rounds of pleasantries had been concluded.
"It's no problem, I know how much the guy means to you," smiled Garth, adjusting his backpack over his painfully narrow shoulders. "So, what did bring your Alpha out here? Was it to meet mine?"
I almost dropped my camera at those words, but I caught it (and myself) in time to avoid giving myself away. If I'd had a bad feeling about this strange assignment before, then now it was a pit of gut-churning foreboding. I wondered if perhaps the reason for the camera was so the higher-ups would still have something to show for all this if I (probably) didn't make it out alive.
Hardly a thought conducive to making me want to stay here, but I've been around for a long time, and I vowed that it would take more than a couple of gormless fangers, a stray mutt, and a bottom-feeding abomination to get the better of me. Fighting words indeed - let's just hope I could live up to them.
I'd missed most of Sam's answer due to my woolgathering, but given I had my doubts he could think his way out of a wet paper bag, I doubted it was worthy of my attention. If my suspicions were correct, then these morons had even less idea of what was going on than I did.
"So your Alpha lives here?" I prompted.
Garth turned to look at the camera, straightening slightly and running a shy hand through his hair that only mussed it up worse. I didn't begrudge him his self-conscious actions as everyone wants their fifteen minutes of fame, especially since I was also now fairly sure being recorded on this thing was tantamount to having your death warrant signed.
"No, but he comes from here originally, so he does like to visit from time-to-time," he explained. "Although this wasn't a scheduled trip."
How long would it take them to figure out that each Alpha had received a message purportedly from the other, but was actually from a third-party that meant them harm? Or was I now walking as blithely into a trap as I now assumed they had?
~#~
Apparently, vampire and werewolf noses are highly sensitive. How this can be the case yet so many of them choose to live in squalor, makes no sense to me, but it certainly meant they were able to pick up and follow the trail of the Alphas quickly.
I don't think anyone was expecting we'd find the building so soon. It was a squat, ugly concrete structure, and absolutely smothered in protective sigils. It was like someone had worked their way through the entirety of the Encyclopedia of Enchanted Etchings.
Was that one really meant to banish bad breath? In any case, there was no way we'd be getting in there any time soon.
But by the looks of the figures appearing at the door and windows brandishing weapons, they're going to come to us...
~#~
I like to think of myself as more a lover than a fighter, so I held well back from the action and focused primarily on not getting killed, and secondly on recording as much of the action as I could, given that I'm now pretty confident that's the whole purpose for this charade. It's not that I'm a particularly loyal worker, I just had a hunch that returning without the video evidence would ensure me getting killed by my own bosses.
As for the fight, well it was so one-sided that it was more a rout culminating in a massacre. Those Winchesters are fast - even I struggled to see them clearly. It almost made me feel sympathy for their poor human opponents. The whole good ol' boy routine and the dumb bickering is just the thinnest veneer of respectability over what are truly frighteningly-efficient killing machines.
The demon and the werewolf did their part too, but it was already a foregone conclusion by that stage, as plumes of arterial blood sprayed in all directions to not only neutralize the protection sigils but also make the ground treacherous underfoot.
Dean ran his knife through the few remaining sigils, and Sam was in the building and in a moment physically restraining the last human.
Both the vampire and werewolf Alpha were there, seemingly unharmed but trussed up like chickens in thick silver chains that bound them to sturdy steel chairs, surrounded by yet more sigils that worked to keep Dean at bay.
I made sure to capture on camera the evidence right there in front of me. As I'd suspected earlier, the mysterious Winchester patriarch and their Alpha was one and the same - an adopted father by dark rebirth rather than biology.
Dean glanced at me as if ordering me to help, his gaze narrowing when it became clear there was no way I was getting that close to one Alpha, let alone two of them. Instead, Castiel shuffled over and dragged his foot through the protective circle in a desultory motion that was enough to ruin the enchantment, before snapping the chains with his bare hands and tossing them into a far corner.
Sam rushed forward, practically shoving the restrained human down his Alpha's throat.
"My boys," rumbled the Alpha in a voice so deep I could near-hear it deep in my bones as he tossed aside the drained body. "It is indeed a fine sight for these sore eyes to see you." He glanced approvingly at Dean. "Nice cloak."
Dean ducked his head in unmistakable pleasure, only his hunger and tiredness preventing him from blushing.
As Dean watched his Alpha move around and stretch away the aches from prolonged restraint, he rubbed his hand thoughtfully over his head, tousling his hair. "Do you think it'd suit me if I shaved my head too?" he asked Sam quietly with a thoughtful expression on his face.
Sam snorted. "It would certainly save on product and all the time you waste preening in front of the mirror." As if to underscore the point, he passed Dean an antibacterial wipe from a packet he'd retrieved from his pocket.
Dean choked off a laugh as he cleaned off the worst of the gore, "I guess I'm glad the whole not-casting-a-reflection thing isn't true."
"It would make shaving more difficult," agreed Sam as he took care of cleaning his own face. "But I think the deeper voice thing is enough for now."
"Huh? I always-" squeaked Dean. He cleared his throat and spoke again, deeper than before. "I always sounded like this," he repeated.
Sam pursed his lips but wisely took the decision not to answer.
"Maybe a cane?" Dean wheedled.
"No," said Sam firmly, leaning forward to wipe away the last spot of blood from behind his brother's ear.
"And who's this?" said the Alpha, now face-on with me, not counting the flimsy barrier of the film camera.
I tried not to gulp anxiously as all eyes turned to look at me.
"You know, the documenting team as part of the peace accords?" said Sam, his voice rising in inflection at perhaps finally realizing something was wrong. "The one you authorized?"
"I gave no such order," replied the Alpha with a raised eyebrow. He gestured to the blood-soaked bodies and sigils surrounding us. "But perhaps it was done so by whoever also arranged all this."
Never let it be said I'm a bad guest, as soon as I sensed my presence was no longer welcome I was straight out of there. With a quick flick of my wings, I flew straight back home.
~#~
Back in my trainee days they always use to joke that I was practically named after the bird best known for finding the quickest, most direct, route between two points.
What a shame then, that I was clearly too slow to join those dots and had only belatedly realized I was being played by my superiors. Lilith would be sure to hear a few choice words from me and I don't care if she demotes me or not.
I'd even seen Eve meet with our elders in the days leading up to my assignment. I just never imagined the two things were connected, but it was clear now that she, and they, were helping the humans.
Maybe Eve's just doing it to spite God, who knows? But my bosses? Well, they don't even care that much about Him either way. Lucifer's been running the show up in Heaven so long that he forgets that he didn't create it all himself, and everyone else just wants to be at the top of whichever pile they think they can win. To them, humanity's just the little power packs that keep the lights on. So, get rid of the monsters and you finally let the humans up to the top of the food chain, and you can say goodbye to their population control. Follow the souls, as we always say.
Me, I'm an angel of simple pleasures, leave me alone in peace and quiet to drink a decent scotch and I'm happy. Thanks to me, my bosses have now got a nice little training video on 'know your enemy,' but if there's anything I've learned from what I've seen, it's that I'm going to keep well and truly out of it. You can't win against a Winchester is my new motto, and you'd all do well to remember it.
But it's just as well I had to hot-tail it out of there - I'm just way too kind for my own good. Otherwise, I'm sure I'd have ended up feeling sorry for those two incompetent, plaid-clad leeches, and where on Earth, I ask you, would that have led?
THE END