Under a blood red sky

After screwed up dreams, and Phaedra being taken off the job, Lindsey was in need of a damn drink. He didn't know how long it would take for Phaedra's replacement to get to town, but he wasn't going to sit around and wait to die. Given the choice, he'd be getting the hell outta Dodge already. But he couldn't leave Phaedra, even if he wanted to. Saerian would kill him if he left town, this assassin would kill him if he didn't. It was all kinds of fun, being him right now.

So here he was in the bar, again, nursing a beer and trying not to brood.

Saerian sat in Jack's apartment, eyes shut, hands moving as though he were directing an orchestra. He was dressed in a nice three-piece suit, once Jack's favorite. His shoes were immaculately shined, his eyes shone in the dark.

A cigarette dangled between his lips, and while he paced, Saerian used his mind to find the people of York that were sleeping. At this hour, it was really most of them. It was shortly before dawn, a time when vampires were settling down to sleep and humans would still be asleep at least another hour.

He could do a lot of damage in that hour. And he intended to.

Dean was happy that everything was mostly back to normal. Jo was in her own body. And not frying electronics. He wasn't scratched anymore and craving human flesh. And most importantly, he did not spontaneously fly into the air without warning.

The fair had been fucking draining. Dean could live the rest of his life happy without a clusterfuck like that ever happening again. Evil was fine, demons were fine... but shit like that was not.

He shook his head and downed his drink, getting up from his spot at the bar and getting ready to go back to the Phoenix and get back to it. The door opened as he paid his tab, and the guy that walked in looked like someone Dean should know. He was familiar, somehow. He didn't know why. But the air he had about him was a strong one that said "not to be fucked with."

So, because it'd been that kind of week, Dean decided to fuck with him.

He waited until the guy was inside and seated at the bar before he started to talk. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

Lindsey had rescued his guitar and truck from further out of town, but it was only now he'd actually got around to playing the guitar. He sat perched on the end of his bed, shirtless, with jeans that were soft and worn through on one knee and bare feet.

Competent fingers slid over well-worn strings, the glossy finish on the guitar body worn away under the sound hole. He hummed softly now and then, snatches of melodies as he strummed; safe to say this wasn't a side of Lindsey that many people got to see.

When his fingers were beginning to throb, the buzz of the strings against the pads of his fingers edging into painful, he finally put the guitar down. Shoes, shirt, smokes, and he was ready to face the world. Or, hopefully, one particular vampire.

Character interaction may be NSFW. You were warned.



Phaedra watched a little girl and boy playing, saw the little girl trip and fall, and the boy walk away. It was just after sunset, and she was heading back to Harry's, past a park near an old church.

She had time to gasp as she saw the little boy walking back to his fallen playmate. And before she had finished a thought, she realized the boy wasn’t alone. He walked, freckled face smiling, hand in hand with a good looking man she recognized. Well, recognized might not be the right word. But he felt familiar

( The set-up )

When Phaedra left Seattle, Saerian left, too.

It wasn't that he didn't have anything to do there. Murdering women who bore a passing resemblance to Phaedra, carving her tattoo into their wrists... that was fun. He'd really been enjoying that. It was just that having someone else from Benning and Son figure out the punch line was sucking all the joy out of what he was doing.

After 300 years of crawling back to a position of power, Saerian wanted her to suffer. And she was going to damn well suffer. This was not how it was supposed to be. He'd picked a mortal telepath hoping to imbue her with even more power, make her even more terrifying. And, he realized, he had. But cunning and mean as the higher demon was, there was little he actually understood about allegiance.

Her family. Her tribe. The destruction of both. Those were the things that had hurt her, not actually losing her life to a trick.

This time, he'd be paying attention. And this time, even without the vampire body, he had a few good tricks up his sleeve.

The name of the man whose body he was using was Jack Robbins. He'd picked Jack for simple reasons: he liked Jack's vices, he liked the look of him, he liked his sins, and, most importantly, Jack had no close family. He was easy to take hold of.

Saerian leaned against the side of the gas station with his newly-purchased pack of cigarettes, tapping the tobacco into the top part, where the filter was. Fucking filters. Even though there was a lighter in his pocket--one that was soon to be very, very important-- he kept it hidden.

And when the guy in the Stetson walked past, he asked him for fire.

"Hey, man," he said, nodding. "You got a light?"