Hunter and Hunted 1/3

[mizface]

There was something going on. Something very not right, and Ruby could swear it had to do with Sam. If nothing else, over the centuries she’d learned to trust her instincts. Ruby started to reach for her phone, but a cool voice stopped her.

“Ah, ah, ah, I wouldn’t make that call if I were you.”

She spun around to face the intruder and found herself face-to-face with a tall, thin man, immaculately dressed in a three-piece suit, leaning casually against the locked door of her hotel room. He gave her a cold smile that didn’t reach his eyes and she let her eyes go black as she reached within herself for her demonic power, one hand starting toward her knife.

“I wouldn’t do that either,” the man said nonchalantly, buffing his nails on the lapel of his suit. Suddenly, she couldn’t move. Even worse, she felt her power leech from her bones, leaving her weak and helpless. The knife fell from her grasp, skidding well out of reach as it hit the floor.

“That’s better,” the man in front of her said, giving her a smarmy smile. “But please, be comfortable. I want this to be a friendly chat, after all.”

With a flick of his hand, Ruby found herself moving toward the bed. She tried to fight, but it was no use. Whatever had her was more powerful than anything she’d ever encountered. She was surprised to find herself situated not laying across the mattress, but instead sitting at its edge, in as ladylike a position as someone on a skeevy motel bed could be.

“Now then, what to do with you, hmmm?” He looked her up and down, and Ruby flinched inwardly at the white-hot flash of power that washed over her. She unwillingly looked up to meet his eyes, expecting them to be pitch black, or possibly, if she was very unlucky, pure white. Instead, they blazed with unholy fire. Not many demonic forces could harness what she felt emanating from him, and a wave of fear hit her as she realized just how far out of her league she was. When Dean Winchester had been pulled from Hell, there had been rumors, lots of talk she’d dismissed as impossible or downright crazy. Whispers of things more powerful than demons wandering the Earth, of power plays being made now that the Seals were being broken.

She wished she’d paid more attention, because somehow she had garnered the attention of one of those beings.

“You’re beginning to understand,” he said, delightedly, obviously having plucked the thought right from her mind. His smile became a troubled frown that she was certain was insincere as he went on. “That certainly does complicate matters,” he said. “Now I can’t just send you back Down. You lot are so gossipy. But I can’t have you telling your precious charge anything either, now can I?”

He tapped a finger on his chin as he thought. “This is a predicament. I suppose I could just scatter your essence completely, let it drift away. Would you like that, little demon? You’d be one with the cosmos.” He cocked his head. “Or is that too lofty an aspiration for your kind?”

She glared at him and he gave her an indulgent smile. “Oh, do forgive my manners. You are permitted to speak, of course.”

The tiniest bit of whatever held her immobile relaxed. “I won’t beg for my life,” she spat out, burying her fear under a layer of bravado that had served her well over the years.

He leaned in and gave her a sinister smile. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that. Or was that a challenge?” he asked, one eyebrow raised. “Maybe you want to strike a deal.” His look intensified, the force of it almost painful. “Is that it? Do you actually believe you have anything I would want?”

“You know about Sam,” she said, mind racing as she tried to figure out a way to stay alive. “Then you have to know that he trusts me, listens to me. That puts me in a pretty powerful position, especially now that his brother is back in the picture.”

He looked mildly interested, and gave her a go-ahead gesture. “Intriguing. What exactly are you offering?”

“Like I said,” Ruby went on, feeling a little bolder, “Sam trusts me. Given time, I could get him to do whatever I want. And if you’re calling the shots, that means he’ll do whatever you want.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “Really? And what would your Lucifer think of this change of heart you’re having?”

She fought to hide the shock that question pulled from her. If he knew about that, he was more powerful than she’d guessed. “He’s still caged. You’re here,” she replied, amazed her voice didn’t shake.

“True enough,” he replied with a chuckle. “And it is tempting, but I must tell you, you’re proceeding under a false assumption. I don’t want your plaything’s trust.” His eyes narrowed, the look on his face stormy and intense. “I want his head on a platter.”

Ruby was stunned into silence. The whatever-the-Hell he was watched her for a second, then smiled, his mood breezy once more. “So you see, you have nothing I need,” he told her, arms spread wide.

Ruby’s heart sank as she realized he was right. “You’re just playing with me, then.”

“I am wounded,” he exclaimed, putting a hand over his heart. “I thought we were having a pleasant exchange.” He moved in close, playing with a strand of her long, dark hair, then trailing the back of his hand down her arm. “You’re very lucky, you know. Not everyone gets my… special attention.” This last was whispered into her ear, and Ruby couldn’t suppress a shudder.

“Even luckier for you,” he went on, straightening and smoothing back his near-shoulder length brown hair, “I’m going to let you live. You can even keep this meatsuit if you’d like,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “But until all is said and done, you are mine.”

“What,” her voice cracked and she started again. “What do I have to do?”

“Right now? Make a phone call. Tell Samuel you won’t be able to meet him for a few days, possibly longer. Give as little detail as possible, and say nothing that might make him suspicious. I’d rather you not disappear completely, but one wrong word, one hint about me, and you’ll regret it in ways you cannot begin to imagine.”

Suddenly released from the invisible hold, Ruby slid off the edge of the bed, barely catching herself. She took a deep breath, then another, before standing and shakily walking to get her phone.




Sam flipped his phone shut and turned to Dean. “That was Ruby. She won’t be around for a while.”

“Good,” Dean nodded as he exited the car. Sam sighed as he got out, and Dean looked over at him over the top of the Impala. “What?”

“It’s just… something didn’t seem right.”

“She’s a demon, Sam. There’s nothing right about her.” Sam glared at that; Dean glared right back. “Seriously,” he scoffed, “you can’t expect me to even pretend to be worried about her, can you?”

“I just wish you’d see that she’s different, Dean.”

Dean snorted and shook his head. “I’ve been to Hell, remember? No way are you ever gonna convince me a demon has any good intentions. So give it a rest, please? I’m done having this argument.” He started forward and gestured for Sam to follow. “You want to pick up the pace a little? I am overdue for a cold beer and prettier company than you could ever hope to be, Sammy.”

As expected, Sam rolled his eyes at that but quickly caught up, and the two walked toward the bar.

“Bobby joining us?” he asked Dean.

Dean shook his head. “Nope. Not that I blame him - this is his town, after all. Probably shouldn’t make our connection too obvious.”

“It’s not like the hunt we just finished was here,” Sam said.

“True enough,” Dean shrugged, wincing as the motion pulled at the stitches he’d needed after they’d taken down the werewolf a town over. He felt Sam’s gaze on him and waved his hand. “Whatever. More beer for us, Sammy.”

Sam knocked into Dean’s good shoulder as they walked, retaliation for the Sammy, Dean was sure. He started to shove back, but stopped when he heard the unmistakable sounds of a fight. Pulling Sam to the edge of the building, Dean peered around the corner, swearing under his breath when he saw that one of the two men at the end of the alley had a gun. He was about to pull his own weapon when two shots rang out as the taller man shot the other one in the face. There were two bright flashes of light from his eye sockets as he fell to the ground.

Dean jerked Sam back before they were spotted, and silently dragged his brother down the block, only stopping when they were around a corner.

“Jesus, Dean,” Sam whispered, turning to face his brother. “What the hell was that? It almost looked like-“

“Like when we gack demons,” Dean finished.

“You think the guy’s a hunter?”

“No idea,” Dean answered, shaking his head. He could hear sirens nearby and swore under his breath. No chance of going back for evidence now, not dressed like they were. “But I know who will know.” He started walking back toward the Impala, trusting Sam to follow.




“He did what?” Bobby asked, eyes wide and full of disbelief.

“Shot out the guy’s eyes, big blaze of light, then whatever it was died,” Sam repeated.

Bobby looked at Sam, then Dean. “And you’re sure it wasn’t some kind of hoodoo gun?”

“You ever hear of a gun like that besides the Colt?” Dean asked, unsurprised when Bobby shook his head.

“So what gets taken out by normal bullets?” Sam asked.

“Nothing that I know of,” Bobby admitted. “And far as I know, there’s nobody but you two idjits hunting in the area right now. Nothing much to hunt, not here.”

“It looks like we need to do some research, see what that thing was,” Sam said, elbowing Dean when he made a face.

“I’ll starting reading,” Bobby said with a nod. “You two go get cleaned up, get changed, and get back to the crime scene pronto. I want to know want the hell’s going on in my town.”




A change of clothes and two fake IDs later, Agents May and Deacon had access to the crime scene, which was, unfortunately, incredibly unhelpful. Dean sighed; of course they couldn’t catch a break. Looked like a trip to the morgue was next.

“We didn’t expect anyone Federal here,” the medical examiner said as he pulled open the drawer and pulled back the sheet.

“Just happened to be in the right place at the right time,” Sam told him as he leaned in to study the body.

“Any idea who it is?” Dean asked.

“Not yet. Not a local, no ID… we’re running prints now, but it could be a while, depending.” He shook his head. “It’s a strange one, though.”

“Strange how?” Sam asked.

“Well, I haven’t done a full autopsy yet, obviously, but I’m betting cause of death wasn’t the gunshot wounds.”

That got them both interested. “Why’s that?”

“Look at the wounds,” he said, stepping aside so Sam could move closer again. “Not enough blood, or skin trauma. Living tissue would have been a lot more torn up, bruised, you name it.”

“So you think someone killed the guy and then shot him?” Sam asked. “What, to make ID’ing the body harder or something?”

“No idea why - that’s your job,” he said with a shrug. “I’m just telling you he had to have been dead before he was shot.”




“I don’t get it, Sam,” Dean said as they walked back to the Impala. “We saw the guy moving around. Not just moving - he was fighting back.”

“Well, based on what we saw in the morgue, it wasn’t a vamp, or a zombie, or anything else that might use a dead body.”

“Could have been a demon,” Dean threw out.

“Never seen one go down like that,” Sam countered. “No black smoke, no exorcism.” He paused, and Dean could see his brother weighing his words before he spoke again. “You know, we could try to find the guy that shot him. He might be a hunter.”

Dean stopped in his tracks, grabbing Sam’s arm and turning him so they were face to face. “No. No way. Until we know more, we are not going anywhere near him, you got me?” He watched Sam intently, body tensing until finally Sam nodded. He could tell Sam wanted to protest, but the idea of Sam talking with someone who might not be human was too much. Just the mention of Ruby made Dean’s stomach turn over - no way was he going to encourage meeting someone who might be another demon.

“Okay then,” Dean said as he let Sam go and started walking again. “Let’s head back. Maybe Bobby has some answers.”




He did, but not the ones they’d been hoping for.

“I got no idea exactly what’s going on, but I do know this isn’t the first place it’s happened.” Bobby shifted over to show them the computer screen. “There’s been a few cases like this, starting about two months ago. No real pattern, just a body’ll turn up, eyes shot out, and the kicker is if the vic is identified, they’re already dead. And I mean years, sometimes decades dead.”

“Are we talking missing persons assumed dead, or dead dead?” Dean asked, yanking off his tie as Sam leaned in to read.

“I mean dead and buried, funeral, body, casket, the whole nine yards. But no sign of embalming fluid, no autopsy scars. It’s like they were never dead. Bodies ain’t even desiccated.”

Dean suppressed a shiver. What Bobby was describing was hitting way too close to home and they all knew it.

“And they stay dead after that?” Sam asked, scrolling down the page.

“Oh yeah, far as anyone knows,” Bobby told them. “Looks like they’re cremating ‘em second time around. It’s like nobody wants to take a chance on them coming back to see if third time’s a charm.”

“How many have you found?” Dean wanted to know.

“Four so far, but I get the feeling I’m just getting started.”

Sam tilted his head to face Bobby. “And no common thread?”

“Not that I can see. But feel free to start looking,” Bobby replied, waving a hand at the computer. “Because whatever this is, it ain’t gonna be easy to figure out.”

Dean pulled up a chair, flipping it around before straddling it and crossing his arms over the back. “And no leads on this hunter or whatever it was we saw?”

“I’m telling you, there’s nobody around but us. Maybe it’s a new guy, or somebody who wants to stay under the radar.”

“Or maybe there’s a connection we aren’t seeing yet,” Sam said.

“That’s the angle I want your brother working on,” Bobby said, shifting his attention to Dean. “Grab Sam’s laptop, see if any of the reports describe the shooter. Sam, you take over the web searches on my machine, look for more deaths that fit the profile.”

“What are you gonna do?” Dean asked as he got up.

“Hit the books,” Bobby sighed. “See if I can figure out just what it is that’s being killed, and why it’s here in the first place.”




A couple of hours later, Dean felt like his eyeballs were going to fall out if he read one more word. He got up, stretched and went to grab a beer before heading out to the porch. It didn’t take long for Sam to follow.

“Break seemed like a good idea,” Sam said as he sat on the steps next to Dean.

Dean just nodded and took another swig of beer.

“You’ve been awful quiet,” Sam said after another minute.

“Been busy researching, Sammy,” Dean replied evenly, looking out over the salvage yard.

“Yeah, but we usually shoot the shit while we do that,” Sam said, and Dean could practically feel his brother’s intense look. “You know this isn’t like you, right?”

“What, nose to the grindstone?” Dean joked, hoping Sam would take the hint.

But of course, Sam being Sam, he didn’t. “I mean, these people that are being shot… them coming back isn’t what you’re thinking.” He leaned and nudged Dean’s shoulder gently with his own. “You aren’t like them, Dean.”

Dean looked down at the bottle dangling from his hands. “How can you know that, Sam? Because from what we’ve found so far, it sure sounds familiar.”

“Dean, an angel brought you back. That’s a big deal.”

“You sure? Because I’m not.” He turned to face Sam. “I’m still not sure why I was brought back at all, Sam. Who’s to say there isn’t someone out there hunting people like me? And who’s to say they aren’t right to do it?” He held up a hand to stop Sam’s response. “I was dead, Sam. Dead and damned. You aren’t supposed to come back from that.”

“But you did, because Heaven wanted you alive,” Sam countered. “Come on, Dean. There can’t be anything wrong about that.”

Dean looked down again at the near-empty bottle in his hands. “You sure about that?” he asked again, voice quiet.

Sam stood up with a sigh. “If you don’t believe me, ask Castiel. And if he says there’s someone out there hunting you…” He paused until Dean was looking up at him. “We’ll find a way to stop the son of a bitch.”

Dean sat there for a few minutes more, but wouldn’t even let himself think of the angel. Because deny it as he might, a part of him really didn’t want to know whether or not Sam was right.




Zeke felt a familiar presence behind him and sighed deeply. “I don’t want to hear about how the job’s only half done,” he said as he walked to his hotel room, fumbling tiredly for his key. While technically no longer alive, these hunts still took a lot out of him, especially when they involved long chases on foot. “I’ll take care of the partner tomorrow night. He’s not going anywhere now that he knows I’m here.”

The reply he got was unexpected. Of course, that wasn’t so unusual, which was a weird paradox, one more oddity Zeke had learned to accept during his time as the Devil’s hunter.

“You were watched tonight, you know.”

Zeke shrugged as he opened the door. “This isn’t news. I’m always being watched. You’d think the Devil would have better things to do.”

The Devil grinned and shook his head. “Oh my dear Mr. Stone, you are amusing. I didn’t mean me. Because you’re absolutely right - I have many more important things on my plate than one dead policeman with an overdose of self-righteousness and a terrible sense of style.” He slithered around Zeke, always staying just a shade too close, making sure Zeke never felt at ease.

Zeke suppressed a sigh. “Okay, I’ll bite, so you don’t have to keep wasting your time here. Who’s watching me?”

“Hunters, dear boy.” He stopped in front of Zeke, face surprisingly serious. “You have found yourself under the radar of the Winchester brothers.”

Zeke frowned as he searched his memory. “Not ringing any bells, so I’m guessing they’re my next targets. Even though I’m already in the middle of a hunt.” The Devil was uncharacteristically silent. “They are escapees, right?”

“Oh, the older brother, Dean, most definitely is. Raised quite a stir when he left,” the Devil said, examining his fingernails, then buffing them on the lapel of his suit jacket. “It’s the topic of interest right now.”

“You said brothers, plural,” Zeke said. “What about the other one?”

“Sam is a… special case. Where one Winchester goes, the other invariably follows. And there’s very little those boys wouldn’t do for one another.”

Zeke read between the lines. He’d gotten very good at that since he’d started this job. “So Sam’s not one of the hundred and thirteen?”

The Devil waved his hand as he gave Zeke a slick smile. “Consider him a bonus.”

Zeke took off his coat and tossed it onto the bed. “For who - you? I don’t do you favors.”

The next thing Zeke knew, he was up against the wall, held there by an invisible wave of heat. The Devil was watching him, black flame flickering in his eyes as he spoke. “You do as I tell you to, Ezekiel Stone, unless you want to end up back in Hell, this time with no way out.” He cocked his head. “Do you understand me?”

When Zeke didn’t answer immediately, the temperature rose, and he could see smoke starting to rise from the edges of his clothes. “I understand,” he gritted out, wondering just what it was that was making the Devil so uneasy that he’d turn to a display of force. Taunts and threats were much more his style.

The heat disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, and Zeke had to catch himself from falling.

“Take care of both of the Winchesters,” The Devil said, cool and unruffled, as he turned and walked to the door. “Or there will be Hell to pay.”




The next morning Zeke headed for the local library to do some research. Thank God for the internet; it had made his hunts a lot easier over the years. While he’d loved being a cop, sifting through layers of old, musty newspapers or scrolling through microfiche were not parts of the job he’d enjoyed.

He got a pass from the information desk and went to sit at a computer in the back. Pulling out a small notebook and a pen, he typed Sam and Dean Winchester into the search engine. He hit return and then sat back, a little shocked at the number of hits the names brought up, including several reports of Dean Winchester’s death.

The date listed disturbed him - it was much too recent, which meant Dean Winchester wasn’t part of his original deal. Zeke has suspected as much the night before; to have that suspicion confirmed was both satisfying and frustrating. What was it about this guy that made the Devil change the rules?

“Quite the popular subject, those Winchester boys,” came a voice next to his ear, and Zeke fought down a flinch of surprise. “Stalling for time, are we, Mr. Stone?”

“More like finding out what I’m up against,” he whispered. “It’ll be a lot easier to find them if I know what they look like.”

“I already told you, they’ve seen you. And considering the circumstances, I think perhaps you’d be better watching your back than peering at this screen.” When Zeke ignored him and went to click on a link, the Devil put a hand over his on the mouse, stopping him. Zeke fought a shiver at the mix of hot and cold that flickered through the Devil’s skin, making the back of his hand itch.

“You won’t find anything useful here,” the Devil said, voice all too reasonable. “I’m trying to save you hours of pointless research.”

Zeke pulled his hand away. “Why do you care how I spend my time?”

“Because that time isn’t yours,” the Devil said, straightening. “Haven’t I made that clear enough?”

“You want to just tell me where to find them, what their MO is?” Silence was all the reply he got. “Okay, then I’m doing this my way.”

He looked back at the screen and clicked on the link. After a moment, it brought up a blurred photo of two young men, one taller with longish dark hair, the other with a shorter, more militaristic cut, both with determined looks on their faces. He’d barely had time to read the caption, identifying the taller man as Sam, when the room went dark.

He growled in irritation. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, turning, but there was no one there.




By the time they made a second trip to the medical examiner’s office the next day, Sam and Dean hadn’t made any real headway. Sam hadn’t found any more cases of unsolved murders like the one they’d seen, though Dean had found numerous reports of similar shootings, some dating back decades, but there was one major difference - in every case, no body was found. Dean was still sure they had something to what was going on; he could feel it.

That feeling was strengthened by the fact that there was a possible connection. It turned out that each and every person, body found or not, had been a convicted criminal, and all had involved the death of innocent people. Which could point toward possession, or some kind of spirit they’d never faced. Or or or… all the unanswered questions were making Dean crazy.

His mood kept getting worse as the morning wore on, and the autopsy results didn’t make it any better. He drove back to Bobby’s without saying a word, and the few times Sam tried to speak, Dean just cranked up the stereo a little more until his brother got the point and shut up, glaring out the window.

“I take it the news wasn’t good,” Bobby observed dryly as the two men stalked into the house.

“You could say that,” Dean shot back, sitting heavily on the couch, then popping right back up to pace. “Bullets, Bobby. Normal, everyday bullets and this thing just dropped.”

“They ID him yet?”

“Yeah,” Sam said when Dean didn’t answer. “Looks like the same deal as the rest. Rap sheet a mile long, finally convicted of the rape and murder of a couple of teenagers about twelve years ago. Died in prison after serving around six months.”

“Anything new on cause of death?”

Sam shrugged off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. “Officially, they had to list the gunshot wounds. The ME still says he doesn’t quite buy it, but there was nothing else that could have caused it.”

“I’m with him,” Bobby said. “The more we find out, the less sense this all makes.” He pulled off his ball cap and ran a hand through his hair. “Whatever these things are, they aren’t in my books, and that’s saying something.”

“What about the guy?” Dean asks. “You find anything more than I did on him?”

“Unfortunately, no, or maybe it’s a good thing. Hell, I have no idea at this point. What I can say is that there’s no lore on him, so if he’s supernatural, he’s either new or so old he knows how to hide. Or else he’s human as the rest of us, and we just don’t know about him.” Bobby shrugged. “It does happen from time to time.”

“So we still don’t know if Dean…” Sam trailed off.

“We don’t know if I’m next on his list,” Dean finished with a frown.

“Well, he ain’t shown up here, and yes I know you boys know well enough not to be followed, but still, it’s something.”

“It’s not enough, Bobby!” Dean spat out. “I spent a year with a death sentence hanging over me - I don’t want to go through it again. If something’s after me, we find it, we take care of it. End of story.”

“Or we try my idea,” Sam ventured, and Dean turned his glare toward his brother.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bobby nod. “Dean, maybe Sam’s right on this one.”

“No way, Bobby!” Dean near-yelled. “I am not gonna let my little brother go and talk to a demon! Or a rogue hunter, or whatever this guy is.”

That of course put a sullen look on Sam’s face. “Dean, I can take care of myself,” he told his brother.

“Yeah, I saw how well you did while I was in Hell.” Sam couldn’t hide the hurt look fast enough, and Dean slumped when he saw it. “Look, Sam. I just think there’s gotta be another way. This feels like a bad idea, especially if he’s not human. No way can we trust anything he says.”

Sam looked away, a stubborn set to his jaw. “I didn’t say I’d trust him. Just that I’d talk with him.”

Dean bit back mentioning Ruby, knowing it would just lead to a bigger blow up. “Which involves trusting that he won’t kill you when he sees you,” he ground out. “I’m gonna say it again, bad idea, Sam.”

“I gotta side with Sam on this one, Dean.” Bobby held his hands up to forestall Dean’s argument. “To a point, so don’t start. We need more intel, and we keep hitting walls. Whatever else he is, this guy’s our best source of information.” Sam started to smile, but a sharp look from Bobby stopped him. “So we need to find the guy, but keep our distance.”

They were right; Dean knew it. But he couldn’t shake his unease. “And you’re sure you’ve never read about anything like this?”

“Supernatural anything who’s vulnerable to plain old lead? At least when shot through the eyes?” Bobby snorted. “Nope. Not ringin’ any bells.”

Sam shot Dean a glance before saying, “We could still try-”

“I swear to God if you say her name I will hit you,” Dean interrupted, glaring.

“Try what?” Bobby asked, looking from one brother to the other.

Dean kept glaring, and Sam just glared back as he answered. “I was going to say Castiel. We could see if he knows anything about this.”

“Sounds like a better choice than a heart-to-heart with a demon-killing demon or a crazy hunter.” He turned to Dean, one eyebrow upraised.

“I don’t know if I trust him either,” Dean admitted.

“But at least you know he won’t try to kill you,” Sam said.

“Do I?” Dean countered.

Sam gave Dean an Are you kidding me? look. “He raised you from Hell, Dean.”

“And he could put me right back.” Dean turned away from Bobby and Sam, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, so he probably wouldn’t try to kill me on sight. But I don’t know how much we can believe what he tells us.”

Bobby looked at him incredulously. “You really think an angel would lie?”

“I have zero doubt that he’ll keep the full truth from us if he thinks he should,” Dean told him. “I think there are agendas going on that we have no clue about, that we don’t ‘need to know’ or ‘wouldn’t understand’,” he air-quoted as he spoke. “And that’s worse than lying, because he’s supposed to be on our side.”

That shut them both down for a minute, then Sam asked, “So what do we do?”

Dean sighed and wiped a hand over his face. “Looks like I have a call to make to an angel.”

But try as he might, Dean got no answer. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.




After his unsuccessful attempt to contact Castiel, Sam had an idea about how to find their elusive quarry.

“Idea’s got some merit,” Bobby said with a nod.

“And even if we don’t find our guy, maybe whatever’s he’s hunting can tell us something,” Sam said. “The police report did mention a partner.”

“I don’t like it,” Dean stated, then shrugged. “But seeing as we have no other leads, it looks like our best shot.” He flashed a quick, humorless smile. “If nothing else, maybe we’ll get to kill something.”

Course of action decided, research switched from their mystery hunter to his most recent quarry, and there, at least, they had better luck. By sundown Sam and Dean were stationed at a bar near the alley where the first altercation had taken place.

Dean was facing the bar when the guy walked in. He gave Sam a tiny nudge to grab his attention, then watched the mirror behind the bar as he casually took another drink of his beer. He got a good look, and was only a little surprised to see a normal reflection - no weird flashes of light in the eyes or facial distortions. He sighed and crossed a few more possibilities of monster type off his mental list.

Sam turned toward the bar, casually keeping an eye on their target as he waved to the bartender for another drink; Dean shifted to face the door.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Dean told his brother. “Looks just like anybody else.”

“So we wait and see, make sure even if our guy doesn’t show that this one doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“You really think he will without his partner?”

“He’s here, isn’t he? And his record was about as bad as the other guy’s.”

Dean was about to respond when the door opened. He glanced over to see a small group enter the room. He started to swing back around, but something about the last man walking in caught his attention. He was nothing special - tallish, short brownish hair, okay looking, dressed in layers, including a coat that had seen better days. Someone totally forgettable, if you didn’t see the look on his face. Dean knew that expression; the man was hunting someone. Or something.

Sam must have picked up on it too. “That’s him, isn’t it?” he whispered as he leaned in.

Dean nodded and turned back to face the bar before they were spotted, taking in the man’s appearance in the mirror. Again, nothing to show he was anything but a normal guy. But Dean of all people knew better. After all, the mirror said the same thing about him.

Sam nudged him, tilting his head toward their original target. He’d apparently spotted the new guy too, and was making a not-so subtle retreat toward the back. That was their cue. Sam and Dean made their way toward the door, casually enough not to spark any interest. As soon as they were outside, they hustled toward the back alley exit they’d scoped out during their earlier recon.

They got to the edge of the alleyway in time to see the guy scaling up the fire escape, faster than humanly possible. The other man was right behind him, moving a little slower, but not by much. As they neared the roof, the hunter caught the other man by the ankle. He kicked out but couldn’t get the man to let go, and both ended up falling over two stories to the pavement below.

Sam started to move forward, but Dean’s hand on his arm stopped him. They both watched as the men jumped back up and started fighting.

Dean turned to Sam. “Guess we can rule human hunter out now,” he whispered. He started to move back, lowering his gun, and Sam frowned.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

“Staying out of it. The way I see it, maybe they’ll take each other out, save us some work,” Dean explained. “Then we go in, take care of whatever’s left.”

Sam looked like he wanted to protest, but a loud clang drew their attention back to the alley. They watched as the two men fought, the smaller one finally shoving the one they’d thought was a hunter into a row of trash cans, then running down the street at the other end of the alley. The taller man was up in a flash and following, pulling a gun. Sam and Dean followed, keeping a fair distance between themselves and whatever it was they were trailing.

They stopped at the edge of a building, peering around the corner just in time to see that the shorter man had been cornered. He was saying something, but was too far away for Sam or Dean to make anything out.

As far as Dean could see, this was the best chance they were going to get. He pulled his gun back out, but before he could move, Sam blocked him, pushing him back.

“What? Now’s our chance, Sam!”

Sam’s eyes widened, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Dude, he just fell from a building and got up to run and kill something. You really think we stand a chance?”

“I think we don’t move now, we lose him, and that’s not an option. He’s a monster, Sam.” Dean tried to shove past, but Sam blocked him.

“Yeah, maybe,” Sam allowed. “But if this guy’s a demon, why kill his own people?”

Dean shook his head. “He’s evil, Sammy. You think he needs a reason? Maybe he’s just taking out the competition.” Sam rolled his eyes, even though he had to know it would piss Dean off. “Really? Don’t tell me you want us to hold off taking this guy out now?”

“You were the one insisting we wait just a minute ago,” Sam pointed out far too reasonably.

“Because two against one is better odds, so we can gank him first try!” Dean hissed, most of his attention still on the fight.

“So we hold off a little longer.”

Dean pointed a finger at Sam. “You want to meet him.”

Sam blinked at that. “What? No.” he protested, but it wasn’t at all convincing, and they both knew it.

“Bull. I know that look, Sam - you want to compare notes, see what the guy knows.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Sam sighed. “He took that first demon or whatever out with a gun, Dean. A regular gun.”

“We don’t know that.”

Sam looked at Dean in disbelief. “Well it sure as hell wasn’t the Colt. Don’t you think that would be good to know?”

“Or we kill the guy, because he’s a monster, and take the gun ourselves,” Dean countered.

“And if there’s more to it than that?” Sam asked.

“Then we’re no worse off than we were before,” Dean said.

Sam started to say something else, but just then, in a move almost too quick to be seen, the taller man drew a gun, firing two quick shots. Like before, there was a huge flash of light, and the man fell. That was all Dean needed to see; he darted past Sam and rounded the corner. If he was lucky, he’d take care of things before Sam got there; he didn’t like where his brother was going with this.

But no such luck. He’d just faced off with their target, guns drawn and pointed at each other when Sam caught up. Dean risked a quick a glance at him, and saw Sam moving toward them slowly.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Sam said, raising his hands. “Both of you need to step back, before somebody gets hurt.”

“He’s a demon, Sam,” Dean huffed out. “No way I’m letting him go.”

The humorless laugh that elicited startled them both. “Look who’s talking. You just don’t want to go back, and believe me, I get it, but you don’t have any choice. You don’t belong here any more.”

“That’s not true,” Sam protested. And if you think I’m going to let you hurt my brother-”

The demon interrupted Sam before he could finish the sentence. “I already know I’ll have you to deal with, thanks.”

Dean kept his eye on the guy as he spoke to his brother. “You gonna keep talking or are you gonna actually help me out here, Sam?”

“Did you think about trying to exorcise him?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Gee, Sam, I would have but I’ve been a little too busy trying not to get shot.”

Which just got Dean a bitchface, but whatever. “Fine, just, keep him covered.”

When Sam started chanting in Latin, the demon frowned. “What in the Hell is he doing?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“What, you’ve never heard an exorcism before?” Dean asked, smiling coldly. “Well, you’re in for a treat then. Nice ride back down for you, and hopefully you haven’t damaged your victim too badly.”

“Victim?”

Dean nodded toward him, more than happy to answer stupid questions if it bought Sam time to finish the ritual. “The meatsuit.”

The demon glanced down. “This is my body,” he said, looking at Dean like he wasn’t all there.

“Of course it is,” Dean responded, voice full of sarcasm as Sam finished the chant.

They all stood there a moment, waiting, but nothing happened.

“Did you do it wrong?” Dean asked.

That got him another bitchface. “Dean, I’ve done exorcisms a hundred times. I could do them in my sleep.”

“Obviously not,” Dean pointed out, “since this guy is still possessed.”

“I’m not possessed,” the hunter-demon-whatever-he-was protested.

“Yeah, right,” Dean huffed.

“If I’m a demon possessing this body, then why didn’t your brother’s ritual work?” he asked.

“He’s got a point, Dean.”

“He’s trying to get away, Sam,” Dean scoffed, tamping down irritation at Sam for not taking his side. “He’d say anything.”

“But he’s right,” Sam pressed. “It didn’t work, and there’s no reason it shouldn’t have.”

Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So what? We just believe him? Let him go?”

“Sounds good to me,” the maybe-demon chimed in.

“Shut up,” Dean growled. He glanced at Sam. “Get your gun out.”

“Why?” Sam asked as he pulled his gun.

“Because my arms are getting tired,” he said as he tucked his gun into the back of his pants. “Cover me.” Dean took a cautious step forward, wanting a better look at the guy. Maybe he was wearing some kind of charm or talisman that prevented the exorcism from working.

His eyes widened and he kept the gun trained on Dean as he moved closer. “I’ll shoot you if you touch me.”

“You do that and Sammy there will just shoot you. If that’s really your body, you don’t want it hurt, right?”

“Oh, and you’re not going to hurt me,” he responded, voice full of sarcasm.

“That’s right,” Dean replied, as if it had been a serious statement. “Right now, I’m just trying to figure you out.”

“Why?”

“So I’ll know how to send you back to Hell,” Dean replied with a mean smile. He stepped closer, and saw the maybe-demon’s finger tense on the trigger. The gun lifted, targeting Dean’s face, and he shifted back a hair, the move putting him into the light of a street lamp.

The guy’s gaze shifted to Dean’s shoulder, and his look went from determined to confused. “You’re bleeding,” he told Dean.

Dean flicked a glance over and saw blood soaking into his shirt, visible where his jacket was askew. Huh. He’d thought he’d felt something tear. “Pulled loose a couple of stitches,” he shrugged, yanking his jacket back into place. “So what?”

“Stitches? Why would you need stitches?”

Now Dean was confused. What did it matter? “You really want to know? I took a hit from a werewolf a couple of days ago. Nasty SOB, tried to rip my arm off.” He smiled again. “Didn’t stop me from putting a silver bullet in his brain.”

Dean figured that would get him a reaction. It did, but not the one he expected. The guy, who Dean was less and less convinced was actually a demon the longer they spoke, shook his head, looking more confused than before.

“You have a problem with that?” Dean asked.

“Besides the part where there’s no such thing as werewolves? How about the fact that you can’t bleed.”

That was just plain stupid. “Of course I can.”

“But you’re dead,” he insisted.

Dean snorted at that. “Last time I checked, I was alive and kicking.”

The guy shook his head. “You are Dean Winchester, right?”

Dean did his best to hide his reaction. He’d been pretty sure this whole thing was going to tie back to him somehow, but hearing the actual proof still sucked. “So?” he huffed.

“So this doesn’t make sense. If you’re Dean, then you’re dead. Dead and escaped from Hell, and you can’t be hurt by anything but another damned soul,” he said so matter-of-factly that it creeped Dean out.

“Yeah, well somebody out there forgot to tell all the evil sons of bitches I’ve been tangling with that. But then again, I’m not dead, so maybe your intel is wrong, ever think of that?”

“I think…” they guy stopped, took a deep breath, and much to Dean’s surprise, slowly lowered his gun. “I think we need to talk.”

Before Dean could respond, he heard sirens, close and getting closer. Dammit. “Fine,” he growled, reaching out and grabbing the man by the coat, jerking him so he was between himself and Sam. “But not here, unless you want to explain all this to the cops.”




They took the hunter-demon-whatever-he-was - Detective Ezekiel Stone, call me Zeke, like they were buddies or something - into the motel room they’d gotten when they first got to town; standard procedure in another hunter’s territory, since it wasn’t seen as good manners to lead monsters to someone’s door. Even though Bobby’s place was more secure, an anonymous room sometimes came in very handy.

“I’ll take care of Zeke,” Sam said. Dean made a face at the fact that Sam was already on a first-name basis with the thing, and Sam just rolled his eyes and pointed toward the bathroom. “Go get cleaned up, make sure you don’t need new stitches.”

Dean started to protest, but now that Sam had brought his attention back to the injury, his shoulder hurt like a motherfucker.

A quick once-over told Dean that the damage wasn’t too bad, though his shirt was pretty much ruined. He tossed it aside and went into the main room to grab a spare t-shirt out of their duffel.

Sam was just about done securing the guy, and while he wouldn’t say it aloud, Dean thought it was a decent job. Sam had him cuffed, tied to the chair, and settled on top of a devil’s trap they’d laid out when they’d first checked in. Because whatever the guy was, one thing Dean was sure of - he wasn’t human, so better safe than sorry. He gave Sam the briefest nod of approval, then glared at Sam’s new best friend Zeke when he noticed he was staring.

“Nice tattoo,” Zeke said.

“Does the job,” Dean shot back as he pulled the shirt over his head.

Sam tilted his head toward the door. “Dean, maybe it’s time you tried calling again.”

Dean scowled. “Why? He didn’t answer the first time.”

“But things have changed.” Sam stepped closer, careful to make sure they both still had an open line of sight to their captive. “Look, I get that you don’t trust Castiel,” he said, voice low, “but it’s worth a shot.”

The two stared at one another, neither backing down, until Dean threw his hands up, stepping toward the door. “Fine. I’ll call. You just keep an eye on Chuckles over there.” He did his best to project menace and promise. “You even try to hurt my brother, pain won’t begin to describe what you’ll feel when I get hold of you,” he promised as he turned and left the room.

Once outside, Dean looked up at the star-filled sky. After a minute, he spoke, his voice soft and hesitant. “Castiel… hey, you gonna answer me this time?” Making a face at how plaintive he sounded, he started again. “Cas! Seriously, get down here and talk to me.”

“Hello, Dean.” The voice came from behind, and Dean whirled around, hand halfway to his gun, to see Castiel standing behind him, as always a picture of calm.

Dean relaxed a smidge, straightening and walking closer to the angel. “You gotta learn to warn a guy. Or at least appear in front of him,” Dean said.

“I will try to remember that,” Castiel replied, unperturbed.

“Okay,” Dean said with a nod. “Okay, good. So, you too busy to answer me before?”

“You are not my only concern,” Castiel answered smoothly. “If it makes you feel better, I did hear your earlier calls.”

That was both interesting and annoying information to have. “Just decided not to answer me before? Better things to do, more important than the guy you brought back from Hell?”

If the barb hit home, Castiel didn’t let it show. “I was speaking with a, I suppose colleague would be as good a term as any.”

“About this new demon we found?” Dean guessed.

Castiel looked over Dean’s shoulder toward the motel room as he answered. “He isn’t a demon, but about Ezekiel Stone, yes.”

Dean waited, but of course Castiel didn’t say anything more. “So?” he pushed. “What is he then, ‘cause he sure isn’t human. And what makes this angel you had a powwow with such an expert?”

“I didn’t say it was an angel.”

Dean waved a hand dismissively. “Angel, colleague, whatever. I don’t care if it was a blue-assed baboon. You gonna keep me in suspense here?”

Castiel gave Dean that trust me look he didn’t know what to do with. “There are things I cannot tell you, Dean.”

“You mean won’t,” Dean countered angrily, unsurprised that Castiel wouldn’t tell him.

“I mean can’t,” the angel insisted.

“Come on, throw me a bone here! Or are you going to let Sam and I possibly get ourselves killed due to lack of communication?”

“All truths that are kept silent become poisonous.”

“Exactly!” Dean said, then shook his head, like that would help what he’d heard make sense. “Wait, what?”

“This isn’t your fight, Dean. You should leave Ezekiel Stone to his work, and go about doing yours.” He took a step closer, and did that thing he did where suddenly he seemed a lot bigger. Dean was pretty sure it was supposed to be intimidating, and yeah, the first few times the angel had done it, it totally was. Now it just pissed him off.

“Have you forgotten about the Seals we must stop Lilith from breaking?” Castiel asked, low and ominous.

“There’s no way we can stop her if we’re dead! You did know that was this guy’s job, right? To take Sam and me down? So just leaving him alone to do his work?” Dean shook his head. “Yeah, don’t think we can do that, but thanks for the advice.” He gave Castiel a considering look. “Unless there’s something you can do about him.”

Castiel looked uncomfortable at the suggestion. “Ezekiel Stone is… out of my jurisdiction.”

“You’re a freaking angel!” Dean said, throwing his hand in the air. “You’ve been to Hell. How can anything be out of your jurisdiction?”

“Please, Dean,” Castiel said, stepping closer to Dean. “This is difficult enough without you being stubborn.”

Dean couldn’t believe his ears. “Stubborn?” He took a deep breath and counted to ten. “Fine. Fine. I’ll try to be more open or whatever. Just, actually say something. All you’ve given me is he’s not a demon, and you can’t touch him. I need something I can actually work with here.”

Castiel was silent, looking so obviously torn that Dean was almost sorry he was pushing. Almost. He waited, and finally the angel seemed to reach some kind of decision.

“You need to think beyond anything you know of demons or angels or any supernatural beings you’ve encountered so far. What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not an end.”

“What does that even mean?” Dean asked, but Cas was gone before he’d gotten the question out. “Great,” he muttered as he went back to the room. “I knew that would be a bad idea.”

Part Two