[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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Reid’s eyes stayed riveted on the two figures in the room with him, going back and forth between them as everything just seemed to click together and make sense. At least, sense in warlock terms.
The gut-twisting fury that’d had Reid thrashing around like an feral animal seemed to have cooled to a smoulder in a matter of seconds, and the feel of blood mingling with sweat on his exposed skin barely registered in him. So this was what it was like dealing with the fanatical nobodies. Sure, godlike users of the black arts had been caught and strung up before--the Salem witch mess had been a prime example of that. Lots of ancestors had gotten their jollies off with regular people who thought they were the Antichrist and tried to drown them in a vat of holy water. All in the past, though. Never in the present day, where that sort of shit seemed laughable, what with all the rules and regulations of the covenant.
But hey, it looked like Reid was getting his turn. Exorcised for being demon possessedThese class act retards really had no
( ... )
Well, that managed to stall off an impressive five seconds. Sam let him go.
Dean was looking at him, obviously expecting the rosary, and Sam wasn't really sure what to say at first. This seemed an awkward moment to launch into an explanation of how he'd almost suffocated under a pile of ghostly hair, therefore preventing his acquisition of the rosary. He ended up shrugging a shoulder and giving a slight shake of his head as apologetically he could manage, indicating that he'd explain later.
Hearing Dean ask about the yellow-eyed demon when Sam precisely who had killed the thing was downright absurd. At least the demon hadn't immediately pointed out that Yellow-Eyes was dead. Actually, why hadn't it pointed that out? Was it possible for a demon to be caught up in the same sense of temporal discrepancy they were
( ... )
Dean could barely make out his brother's face, but he could see enough to get that look. Shit. So he hadn't been able to find a rosary, which meant no holy water, and not a whole lot they could do to inflict real pain on the demon. Then there was the whole messy fact the Key of Solomon was apparently not as strong as it was supposed to be and that what should've been a walk in the park might actually be dangerous, despite the demon being smack in the middle of the trap. Dean knew Sammy had some weirdo immunities to things like demonic viruses, but he wasn't so sure he could just shrug off some demon using telekinesis just because he had powers. He shot Sammy a look of his own, silently motioning for him to get back in case the demon got a second-wind.
If anyone was gonna take the hit, he'd rather it'd be him. Even if he was still recovering from last night, he wasn't the one who'd been stabbed in the back only three days ago.
Dean stood up, then, removing the knife from Punk-Ass's neck and without warning, cuffed him hard against
( ... )
He snickered through the slap, even when the duct tape cut into his throat. He let his head loll as much as he was able, anyway, despite the pressure on his Adam’s apple.
“No, you haven’t,” the warlock replied softly, and the surety of this statement was clear in every word. “You really haven’t.” Then he lifted his head, and despite how crappy he’d felt even before being battered, bruised, and beaten, and despite the blood, the sweat, and the shaking, he fixed his inky black eyes on the two of them without blinking. Oh yeah, things were sure making sense now. ‘Really tall guy in his twenties’, wasn’t that right? He licked his lips again and spat to the left of the chair before saying clearly, “Soon, then. Let’s do it, boys. I‘ll sit nice and let you exorcise me.” Reid tipped his head to the side. “But I guess I just got one question before you get to it: how’d you find me?”
Yeah, those were definitely the eyes of a demon. Still didn't quite add up, but that? That was hard to deny. He wasn't sure what it meant by No, you haven't, either, like it knew something.
Sam ignored Dean's gesture and didn't step back. If anyone was more likely to get thrown around, it was Dean.
At the bluff, though, he did shoot Dean a look. Wait, what? He wasn't gonna leave Dean alone with a demon. But Sam wasn't willing to get into an argument in front of the thing, either, and it occurred to him that while he couldn't do much here, maybe he could from outside, hidden from view. A single door couldn't be much of a barrier, could it? Pass it off as the demon escaping on its own; they weren't beyond bailing when they'd had enough
( ... )
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
( ... )
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
( ... )
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
( ... )
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
( ... )
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 hellThere was a split second of panic at the notion that his powers had
( ... )
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
( ... )
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
( ... )
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 gleeThe little details could be dealt with later. Right now
( ... )
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The gut-twisting fury that’d had Reid thrashing around like an feral animal seemed to have cooled to a smoulder in a matter of seconds, and the feel of blood mingling with sweat on his exposed skin barely registered in him. So this was what it was like dealing with the fanatical nobodies. Sure, godlike users of the black arts had been caught and strung up before--the Salem witch mess had been a prime example of that. Lots of ancestors had gotten their jollies off with regular people who thought they were the Antichrist and tried to drown them in a vat of holy water. All in the past, though. Never in the present day, where that sort of shit seemed laughable, what with all the rules and regulations of the covenant.
But hey, it looked like Reid was getting his turn. Exorcised for being demon possessedThese class act retards really had no ( ... )
Reply
Dean was looking at him, obviously expecting the rosary, and Sam wasn't really sure what to say at first. This seemed an awkward moment to launch into an explanation of how he'd almost suffocated under a pile of ghostly hair, therefore preventing his acquisition of the rosary. He ended up shrugging a shoulder and giving a slight shake of his head as apologetically he could manage, indicating that he'd explain later.
Hearing Dean ask about the yellow-eyed demon when Sam precisely who had killed the thing was downright absurd. At least the demon hadn't immediately pointed out that Yellow-Eyes was dead. Actually, why hadn't it pointed that out? Was it possible for a demon to be caught up in the same sense of temporal discrepancy they were ( ... )
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If anyone was gonna take the hit, he'd rather it'd be him. Even if he was still recovering from last night, he wasn't the one who'd been stabbed in the back only three days ago.
Dean stood up, then, removing the knife from Punk-Ass's neck and without warning, cuffed him hard against ( ... )
Reply
“No, you haven’t,” the warlock replied softly, and the surety of this statement was clear in every word. “You really haven’t.” Then he lifted his head, and despite how crappy he’d felt even before being battered, bruised, and beaten, and despite the blood, the sweat, and the shaking, he fixed his inky black eyes on the two of them without blinking. Oh yeah, things were sure making sense now. ‘Really tall guy in his twenties’, wasn’t that right? He licked his lips again and spat to the left of the chair before saying clearly, “Soon, then. Let’s do it, boys. I‘ll sit nice and let you exorcise me.” Reid tipped his head to the side. “But I guess I just got one question before you get to it: how’d you find me?”
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Sam ignored Dean's gesture and didn't step back. If anyone was more likely to get thrown around, it was Dean.
At the bluff, though, he did shoot Dean a look. Wait, what? He wasn't gonna leave Dean alone with a demon. But Sam wasn't willing to get into an argument in front of the thing, either, and it occurred to him that while he couldn't do much here, maybe he could from outside, hidden from view. A single door couldn't be much of a barrier, could it? Pass it off as the demon escaping on its own; they weren't beyond bailing when they'd had enough ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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 hellThere was a split second of panic at the notion that his powers had ( ... )
Reply
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 ( ... )
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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 ( ... )
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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 gleeThe little details could be dealt with later. Right now ( ... )
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