Claire Bennet (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} regenerating) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} parabolical,@ 2009-08-13 01:29:00 |
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| Entry tags: | castiel, claire bennet (future), dean winchester, faith lehane, ruby, the scourge |
WHO: Claire Bennet (future), Dean Winchester, Ruby, Castiel, Faith
WHERE: seedy demon bars; a strip mall scheduled for demolition
WHEN: Sunday, August 13, 2006; around 1 a.m.
WHAT: An encounter with the Scourge
RATING: R for heavy violence, temporary character death, language, etc
STATUS: part-log (posted to keep under character limit), part-thread; in-progress
NOTES: As I didn't think of it until now, this may possibly open at some point to anyone who got a text and demands to be there, provided it doesn't get too crazy. Otherwise, we can assume they showed up off-scene.
Sighing softly, Claire leaned against the Impala and half-watched Dean sift through things in the trunk, finished with rechecking the weapons strapped to her body under her clothing. As he closed the trunk, she turned to face the direction of the bar close-by that they'd be going to, one set in the basement of an otherwise abandoned building. Three bars they'd been to already tonight on what would usually be just Saturday night patrol, bars all catering to demons and vampires and other 'undesirables', each progressively seedier with a progressively more... well, dubious clientèle than the last. They weren't the bars of the type that had been first attacked - these creatures were far closer to the Wolfram & Hart side of things, one with their true nature - but the bars that catered to the 'good' demons were all but empty now with the fear that was running through the demon and vampire groups in the city. They still hadn't learned anything more than she'd already seen mentioned on the boards or spoken to people in A.I. and elsewhere about what exactly was out there. Her gaze slid to Dean again, penetrating and serious. She knew he didn't really want to be doing this, not really. Time in L.A. had previously begun to temper Dean's reactions to the word 'demon', let him see the grey here that didn't exist in his own world, but recent events had blown away most of that progress. The only good demon was a dead demon; she knew he was thinking it, even if it wasn't foremost in his mind. Dean had double and triple checked everything. He wasn't happy about this, and even less happy about taking her with him, but he was dealing with it fairly well. He told himself that after this fourth bar tonight they'd go home. "You have holy water?" he asked, holding up an extra bottle of holy water he had made himself. Without even really waiting for an answer, he pressed it into her hand and checked his own weapons. He had quite a few either tucked into his pockets, in his hand, and he even had a gun tucked under the back waistband of his jeans. They were as ready as they could be. "Let's get in and out and head home." Dean had been a hunter long enough to know to listen to bad vibes and instincts, but he wasn't about to chicken out here. They were already here...they'd just have to be careful." Though well-prepared, Claire tucked the extra bottle of holy water into the thick leather belt around her waist, right next to the other bottle in one of the concealed pockets between belt and shirt. She preferred the squirt gun, but back up water was definitely of the good. As they approached the door down the stairs to the bar, Claire gave the leather top another strategic tug, both to adjust the small water gun tucked down near her sternum and to get ready for the way things were done inside this particular bar. The types of creatures found in this place might scoff at their half-breed brethren for wanting 'human' lives, but it didn't change that much like some humans in the city were sexually interested in demons, some of the non-human beings in the city had a taste for humans - and not just the vampires with the literal meaning of the word, but the demons who enjoyed humans in those other ways. Not that she planned to be a demon's new girl, or wanted Dean being any vampire girl's new plaything. This - the clothes, the act - it was just how the motions of the information game played out in these parts. At least, the first step. All roads eventually led to the point where the beat downs might be, and often were, administered. Dean didn't particularly care for the way Claire was dressed. To be truthful, he loved the way she looked, and she was sure as hell easy on his eyes, but he didn't want her using her good looks to entice some demon or worse. She looked good. Not that that was different for her, but if Dean had his way, Claire would come to these things dressed in sweats. He had used his good looks to pry information out of witnesses before, but Claire was unmistakably his. He reached again for the gun tucked in the back waistband of his jeans. His patience was running so short with everything that was going on, he'd shoot first and ask questions later. If one of the things he shot just happened to be looking at Claire...well so much the better. He knew there probably weren't going to be any leads in this place, just like there weren't any in the last three...but they had to try. That was what they did. They tried and tried and banged their heads against the wall because the alternative was giving up...and that wasn't really an option at all. Yanking open the door, Claire moved inside without waiting for Dean to go first, her dark ponytail swinging sharply behind her as she sent a cool gaze to either side of her. What she found made her miss a step internally, but didn't throw her outwardly yet. There were no vampires, no human-appearing demons, no 'off-world' demons and demon-like creatures, nothing. Sure, many demons of this world were 'humanoid', but Claire had always sorted them into 'looks human with demon traits' and 'looks like a demon'. There had been vampires and the could-nearly-pass-for-human demons in the other bars, but there were nothing but the most demon-looking of demons in the city in this bar. Except them. Looking around, Claire lifted her chin and focused on acting the part of belonging there, even when the looks turned toward them were far from what she'd been expecting. There was always a vibe of 'not wanted' in these places, because they were part of the white hats, but this place was still supposed to cater to a certain type of humans meant for certain types of demons. Instead, these demons were giving a whole new meaning to 'looks could kill'. A group, grey-skinned and imposing, rose as one from a nearby table and turned to face the two humans who had come into the bar. "Get out and we won't throw you out," one in the middle of the group said, voice carrying like a small rumble of thunder in the now-quiet bar. Though Dean knew that Claire was practically indestructible, and a very capable fighter besides, and though he knew that she might consider the gesture chauvinistic, he stepped between her and the one who was threatening to throw them out. "We'll leave." He promised, his voice firm as he reached discretely for the gun he had. "After you answer a few questions, you fugly sons of bitches can go back to doing whatever you want. Answer and we'll get out of your precious bar." Dean rubbed his fingers over the gun, hoping the demons would just spill so they could go. He hated these ugly ass creatures even more than the human looking ones. They made him think, wonder if he would eventually have looked like that. What made them that way? Was it a matter of staying in hell for too long? A matter of different universes? What? As far as intelligence went, Claire had guessed these weren't the smartest in the room, but they were big and they moved with a purpose that countered any assumption that intelligence equaled capability. For herself, in a one-on-one situation, she wasn't afraid of being tossed against a wall by a demon with better moves than the ones she spent over a year learning and improving, but she did have big problems with Dean using himself as a body shield. Also, there were more than a few, and indestructible or not, getting into it with a group of big-ass demons wasn't smart. "Now, lover, just hold on a minute," she said to Dean, purposefully moving around him while resisting shooting him a partially annoyed look, wanting to keep her attention on the demon. To said demon, she gave him her best sly look, complete with that quirked smile that Dean claimed was so damn sexy. "We're just here for a little information," she said, going for persuasive. "You know what they say - you scratch our backs, we'll scratch yours." She felt something tighten in her stomach when the demons moved closer, clearly Not Interested in the way things usually went. If anything, her actions seemed to have pissed them off. Which was not great. Casually, she reached up, tugged her long ponytail over her shoulder and started twisting it as she slid a glance to Dean. To most, it would just look like a girly, flirtatious gesture. In their code, it was a question - once more with the questioning, or retreat? "There's been a change in... management," the same demon said, the smiles from the demons on either side of them vicious rather than amused. "Your kind, and all the rest like you aren't wanted here. Now get out." Humans, vampires and all the human-tainted half-breeds of demon society, weren't welcome here because it was a protection against the feet that went stomping in the night, the name that was known and hadn't been shared with the white hats. Dean resisted the urge to growl at her when she moved around him and started using that sly smile. That smile was damned sexy, and the thought of some demon getting excited over it made his stomach turn. Unfortunately--or fortunately, the demon didn't seem interested in her flirtation. His words left little room for negotiation, but Dean decided to try one more time. They could retreat...but that would just leave them exploring ten more places just like this in the days to come. "I told you...just answer a few questions and we'll leave. All we want to know is who's been killing the vampires and demons and making everyone so scared. Just tell us who they are, where they are, and we'll leave." It was a lie, he might have to leave without hearing anything if things started getting rowdy here, but he was hoping the threat would work. Humans. They could be so annoying. The demon to the right of the one who had been speaking growled low in his throat, but the one in the middle silenced him with a look. After moments that stretched into what felt like hours, he turned and moved to the bar. A quick exchange with the bartender and he returned with a piece of paper. "Go find your answers there. Now get out." That quick exchange with the bartender and the preceding moments of silence were leaving Claire unnerved. There was more here than met the eyes, that was for darn sure, but what, she didn't know. She trusted Dean's experience, all the years of dealing with the supernatural without really knowing enough going in to some situations, but she found herself wishing Faith had been here, to turn Slayer senses on the off-ness of the whole thing and form a theory based on her own experiences with this very world. When Dean took the paper, she looked at it briefly, then looked back at the demons. The address wasn't one she was hugely familiar with, but she knew enough from the patrolling grids to at least place the general city location. The perplexing thing was that it wasn't a bad part of town. "Right, so, thanks, and we'll be on our way," she said, preparing to leave. Dean was tempted to go after these demons just because of what they were, how they didn't even vaguely resemble anything human. It wasn't right, to have THINGS like this walking around...but he resisted. They had done what was asked, so, he supposed, he had little choice but to walk out with Claire without doing anything. Damn. He looked down again at the address on the sheet of paper again, then took Claire's hand and started walking again toward the door. He didn't want any of the demons to get the wrong idea. Claire was with him, and if anyone came after her later, they were going to be dealing with him too. The demon to the right of the spokesperson for the group watched the humans leave and then turned to the one that had been talking. "Where'd you send 'em?" "That hideout we heard about." "But that ain't where-" The demon looked confused for several long moments and then slow understanding dawned and he chuckled roughly as he returned to his seat. The one who'd given the paper over stared at the door a moment longer and then went back to the table as well. Maybe there'd be no attack, or maybe the hidden and the humans would be wiped out tonight. What were two less humans, really? All that mattered was there weren't any halfbreeds or humans in the bar to bring those ever-stomping boots in this direction. Quiet until they reached the car, Claire slid into the passenger seat and then turned to face Dean. "No vampires, none of the demons that look the most human, barely even half-full of demons as it was. That placed used to be packed solid on Saturday nights with the gutter-level bad guys in the city - and now it's 'under new management'? What are they avoiding and why?" It was a question without answer, currently, but a question that was grating Claire's nerves the further the night wore on. Dean didn't know the answers any more than she did, and he hated that. He was too much like his father in that aspect, he wanted to know what was going on, what was behind it...and he had a sneaking suspicion that if John were there at the moment, he wouldn't approve of them going to the address on the sheet of paper without doing at least a little ground work. Oh well, he thought. It can't be any worse than the fuglies in the last place, can it? Because he didn't have an answer for her, Dean shrugged and turned on the radio. His normal station was on commercial, and he had already listened to the tape in the tape deck, so he hit the seek button until some song that was sung by a girl with a high screechy voice came on. Just to be funny, Dean left it there. "There's your man, Claire." He said, somehow managing to keep a straight face. "Justin Timberland is singing that song just for you...or for his man of the month." Settling back into the seat, Claire rested her head on the back of it, head turned toward Dean. When the song came on and he left it there, her eyebrows went up. She might like boy bands, but at least they could sing. "Yeah, I always go for the men who sing like women being strangled," she said, stretching slightly. "Oh baby. Oh baby." Her tone was full of dry sarcasm, but she was amused. Amused, and counting down to when he couldn't stand the singing anymore and shoved the tape back in the deck again anyhow. Just like always, Dean could only take a few seconds more of the incredibly high singing from the woman before he slid the tape back into the tape deck. He said nothing for a few minutes, instead he tapped his fingers along to the drum rhythm of AC/DC's "Shook me all night long," to allow himself to relax. Finally, when he felt a little more comfortable, he turned the music down a little and looked over at her. He wasn't exactly sure how to start the conversation, and he knew he was walking on dangerous territory, but he wanted to say it anyhow. "You don't need to get all dressed up like that..." He waved his hand at her shirt. "And flirt with things like that to get information. I don't want them thinking they can do things to you, Claire." For a few moments, Claire's only response was a soft sigh. Given that they'd had this conversation before, she wasn't surprised to be having it now. It was just one of the standard list of Things That Always Come Up. "I get that I don't 'need' to, but it's what works." After a pause, she amended it. "Well, it works, except when we don't get the memos about new management." Her expression turned lightly pointed. "It's using the tools of the job... just like you do." She understood where this was coming from, not just high levels of concern, but also blatant maleness combined with a bred-in hatred for demons, because she didn't particularly like it when he turned the charm on some cute city hall worker to get at a file, and she knew that his outward tolerance for demons only went so far. 'Just like you do.' Dean didn't like that at all. He knew that he was far more guilty than she was at using a smile or a wink to get what he wanted...but he still didn't have to like it. He knew they could go round and round on that subject, but they were getting closer to the address and he didn't want to be fighting with her when they went into a house that could be filled with God knew what sort of scum. He loved her too much. Dean realized that more and more every day. He loved Claire in a way that made him feel frightened because of its intensity, because at the end of the day nothing was guaranteed in this city, not even for his Supergirl. He loved her too much to see some lowlife grey skinned demon drool over her, too much to see her flirt with danger that way. She was better than that, and sure as hell better than those demons. Maybe it made him a pigheaded male, but he loved her so much he wanted her to stay home where it was safe. He cursed soundly, taking the tape out of the deck again and searching through the channels. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, more than likely he just needed something to do so he and Claire wouldn't fight. Yes, he was pigheaded. Yes, he was sexist. Yes, he was a hypocrite. Yes, he could be misogynistic. Claire wouldn't have him any other way. Yes, really. Shifting in the seat, she moved to rest her head on his shoulder and tug his hand back from the crazed flipping of the stations. Rather than leave it on that station, she slid another tape into the deck and then threaded her fingers through his, toying with his ring with her free hand. There was no point this time in even gearing up for a fight that didn't have any winner. He wasn't pissed because he thought she couldn't handle herself - that had been fought out a long time ago, back when they had been 'just' friends. He wasn't pissed because he didn't trust her - that had been settled the first time they'd had a 'discussion' about this topic after getting together. Which left, once again, the warring sides of him, one that wanted her not involved in anything to say safe and one that rebelled against controlling her life. Despite the frustrations that conflict produced, she loved both sides, one just as much as the other. "It's done, it's over, let's just focus on getting some information." If the place looked out of their league, they'd call in back-up, but they could definitely do reconnaissance. She knew him too well. She knew how to calm him down, and, amazingly, it didn't even take that much. The weight of her head on his shoulder, the feel of her fingers resting through his, and he felt the part of him that was about to get them in a fight over something silly fall away. She was right. It was done and over and they'd need all of their concentration for the information gathering. He didn't say anything else, instead he took her hand and pulled it to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to it before putting their joined hands back between them. It was unmistakably a chick flick moment, but it was dark outside and there was no one around to see, and he knew Claire knew better than to bring it up later. Maybe he was going soft after all, but Dean didn't really care. Wisely silent over the gesture, Claire left the companionable silence in the car just as it was, doing so for the rest of the drive. As she'd remembered, they didn't end up in a bad part of town, just one a mixture of solo businesses and strip malls and apartments and middle-income houses. The drove past their destination once, then circled back to almost pass it again before Claire spotted the street number and name on the bottom of the empty marquee tower, now practically covered by grown-up grass. An empty marquee tower in front of a small strip mall, about eight or ten businesses long. "A mall? What kind of joke is this?" she muttered as she let go of Dean's hand. Sitting up straight in the seat as he drove around the building to the back, she looked around at everything. Granted, it was a mall apparently about to be torn down to make room for a new office building, according to the sign, but usually it was a formerly-empty warehouses or abandoned houses or things of that nature that became baddie hideouts. As the car came to a stop, she shot Dean a wary look. "I don't know..." Dean didn't like the turn of events either. Anything that deviated from the way things normally went sent his senses on alert. Seeing the location in this area made him nervous about innocent civilians that might get caught in the crossfire if things went south...though admittedly the risk of that in the wee hours of the morning wasn't that high. Still, it didn't sit well with him. Not sure what they were getting in to, he stayed mostly silent, giving her a once over to make sure she had all of the weapons she should tucked away mostly out of sight, then started walking toward the building just a bit ahead of her. Some things about him would never change. Not knowing exactly what they were facing made it harder to decide what weapon to put in her hand, so Claire settled for resting one hand behind her back on the handgun and the other on the stake in the long sheath pocket of her pants. This late at night - or this early in the morning, depending on your view - it was quiet, any Saturday night action one or two streets over at least, which meant even the slightest movement was going to seem that much louder and sudden. And that moment came when something darted out one of the doors on the backside of the building and Claire reactively pulled both gun and stake out at once. Dean too had a weapon in each hand, but a split second later he realized the movement was coming from a child...no, a demon child. The kid...thing, he reminded himself, was smaller than Ben, and something made him put his weapons back in their pockets and loops...though the almost paternal urge wasn't enough to make his hands move away. He had done enough godawful things in hell, the last thing he needed to do was kill a kid. Even if it was a demon kid. "Hey!" He called out, motioning for the small creature to come forward slowly. "C'mere kid." He held his hands out at his sides in an unthreatening gesture. They were still only inches from his stake and gun, and if the kid didn't come, he'd have to act, but he hoped the move would be just enough to make the demon child feel safe enough to come over. The child froze, eyes huge, as if just realizing his mistake in coming outside after he'd been told not too. Humans weren't something he had any fear of, but adults - adults were a different story, simply because he was a child. Smaller, far more easily hurt. The door moved again, another emerging from the building with the same caution, but also clearly upset "Jeremiah." The name was hissed in reprimand and the child scampered back, latching on to the woman's leg. As the woman stood up, Claire noted that she was much like the boy - at a glance, passing for a human, but facial features and body markings where clothing didn't cover skin revealing her as a demon, or maybe one that had both human and demon parents. Even the boy's name was human-sounding, rather than one of the difficult to pronounce names of some species of demons. How was this the answer to the deaths of the vampires and demons? A woman and child couldn't possibly be part of what was behind the murders, unless there was something she was missing here. The appearance of innocence wasn't always true innocence, but still... The demon database at A.I. would be really handy right now, but Claire had a feeling if she reached for her phone, the woman was going to all maternal-rage and attack first, ask questions after, which would start a whole chain of dangerous, unnecessary and likely fatal events. She was just glad she'd put the weapons back before the woman had come out. Dean wasn't sure how to handle this situation. Was he really supposed to go up to this woman and speak, parent to parent, about the danger? Was he supposed to end her because she was an adult demon? A demon was a demon was a demon, as far as he was concerned. They lied, and Ruby was a demon, and she served Sam her tainted blood on a frequent basis and had nearly cost them all everything. Still, there was something about the very familial moment that made Dean reluctant to harm either one of them. Damn this city and the way it made him see past black and white. Questioning his long held beliefs made him feel weaker. "We're just here to ask a few questions." He said, holding his hands more out to his side in a peaceful gesture. "We're trying to figure out what's going on around here...who's been hurting the vampires and demons." The demon woman stepped back, guiding the boy with her, her gaze holding both fear and a bit of pity, that these people hadn't realized just what was in the city now. No one was safe, no one, and while hiding and then escape was an option for most, escape wouldn't be an option for these humans if they weren't of this world. L.A.'s containment of those people was now the worst thing to happen to the city. "It's them. They're out there and they're coming for all of us." And then a noise came, faint and far off, a sound Claire couldn't make out much of, but caused a vehement reaction. The woman blanched, color completely draining from her face, and then lifted the boy into her arms and ran for the door before explaining further. Without missing a beat, and with no more than one brief glance at Dean, Claire took off after them, reaching the door as it was nearly closed in her face. In the few seconds it had taken to run the distance, the sound had grown slightly louder. It sounded like synchronized jog-marching, too slow to be walking, too perfectly in time to be random. Oh fuck, is that what goose-stepping sounds like? Dean paused for just a moment as he heard the sound get louder and louder, then he was rushing toward the building after the woman and Claire. He slammed the door shut behind him, locking all of the deadbolts on the door. For a moment he listened, straining to hear anything through the thick door. He didn't hear it...but that didn't stop the feeling he had that something really bad was coming. It took Dean a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness, and even then there wasn't much to see. It was a gutted office space, with light fixtures missing and stacks of drywall and other things scattered throughout the room. There were about ten people or so throughout the room, and he could tell that they were all waiting, almost terrified of something. But what? Was that marching he had heard outside? Suddenly Dean was hit with the strongest surge of regret possible. They should have stopped after three bars. He and Claire should be home right now instead of huddling in a building with a bunch of demons waiting for an army of something to come. The demons were supposed to be the villains, not the victims in some sort of Alice in Wonderland upside down day. None of it made sense, yet in the moment, it didn't have to make sense to Claire. All she knew was that they hadn't been attacked by the demons here, that the people inside this room that she could see looked far from fighters and murderers, and there was something coming en-masse that they needed to avoid. Stumbling into a few extra plywood boards propped sideways against the wall, no doubt left over form when the glass was removed and the space boarded up, Claire felt behind it, finding a space like a very small, very makeshift lean-to. It would have to be good enough to hide them from whatever it was that had terrified these demons - something worth noting, respecting and fearing, that these people, these demons, were likely stronger and faster than she and Dean and they were hiding. Reaching out, she grabbed Dean's shirt and dragged him behind her with it as the formerly muffled sounds of stomping boots grew louder by the minute. They were coming closer. And closer. And then the marching stopped. Outside, the demon squad stopped as one, then broken apart to move along the front, sides and back of the building. After moving along the back, they returned to several doors, inspecting them, before reporting back to their leaders. After ordering his squadron to batter down the closest door, the lieutenant stepped back and watched. Hand-to-hand, they were hardly extensively powered, but working together, as one fluid unit, they were lethal, unstoppable. They were the salvation of this accursed city - one massacre at a time. The doorframe splintered, the locks and frame giving way before the solid steel door did, and moonlight spilled in through the door before the heavy bodies of the demons blocked most of it as they moved inside. It was dark and quiet inside, but the stench of filthy blood was almost tangible in the air to the lieutenant. He moved inside and walked the length of the office space, right up to the boarded-up, formerly glass-fronted windows. It was there he stopped, whistled sharply and then directed several of the squadron to kick down the boards. As they did, moonlight shone in front that end to partially illuminate the front part of the space, revealing trembling forms ill-hid by the piles of debris. Calmly, voice carrying in the space, the demon spoke to his brethren. "Kill them all." Dean was very, very still as he listened to the marching get closer and closer. The silence when it stopped was almost eerie, though he knew nothing good could come when the sound came again. He pulled out his gun, though he knew it would do little good against what sounded like an army outside, it made him feel more comfortable to have its cold weight in his hand. Claire grabbed him, pulling him behind the plywood lean to, and while he knew it wouldn't give them any sort of long term protection, he hoped it provided them with enough cover for them to get a chance to come up with some sort of plan. Unfortunately then the back door he had just locked was kicked in and there was no more time for anything. He hesitated, just a few seconds more, and then the plywood boards near the front were kicked in and Dean could see moonlight streaming in at the sides of the plywood lean to. There was a horrible noise near the opening--the sounds of people fighting and dying and the feeling of more people rushing in to the building--and then, acting on instinct, he motioned for Claire to help him grab the plywood and push back at some of the invaders who were in the room. He was careful to keep his back to Claire as they fought, because she was the only one he would trust with his most weak side, and he wanted her to do the same. He wanted to keep her close, and if they could just stay back to back...well maybe they had a chance. When the - well, whatever they were - entered the room, Claire held her breath, balanced on her toes, unmoving, as though they could escape this. It wasn't until the sound of feet against wood that she abandoned that hope and prepared to do something. Despite the dark and then the horrible sounds of cries and screams, Claire followed Dean's direction and, with the weight of her whole body behind her, surged upwards and forwards. It was enough to send several of the invaders reeling, knocked backward or onto the floor, and gave her time to grab her gun and a long knife. What greeted her gaze as she slammed back-to-back with Dean threatened to throw her off her game for the second time tonight. They were demons. Demons wearing military uniforms. They looked like disfigured skin-mummy Nazis, due to their faces being exposed so grotesquely in places. There wasn't much time for more than that split-second impression before she had to defend herself, not even enough time to look beyond the few feet in front of her to see if any of those who'd been hiding had been able to fight back. "Your left!" she yelled to Dean as she kicked out solidly to the other direction. Her foot made contact with the head of a demon who'd been trying to get to his feet, even as she raised her handgun and fired a shot. Bullet impacting after the demon had stumbled, the wound blew open on the creature's shoulder, not its chest. Fuck. Dean was slightly taken aback by the ugly creatures they were up against, but not for long. There just wasn't time to register that these ugly bastards were every bit as gruesome as something he would have seen in hell. He started firing, but there were so many--both so many people in the room and so many creatures coming after him and Claire--that his shots didn't hit vital spots. It was like he was just hitting more of the disfigured attackers and pissing them off, which drew their attention over to him and Claire. Fuck. 'Your left!' Claire called out, and without even glancing in that direction to see what the danger was, Dean's gun swung and fired. It hit, and Dean could tell it was a decent shot...but not enough as the creature was already trying to stand up. "Goddamn it!" He swore, firing again, this time at the thing's head, and this time at least it stayed down on the ground, albeit twitching. He spotted one of the hideous demons going toward Claire and he pulled the trigger again, but this time the gun was out of bullets. Swearing soundly he tossed it to the side, reaching for the most available pouch on his jeans and pulled out a knife. He threw it at the demon as hard as he could, and while the demon tried to pull the knife out of its upper chest, he knew they had at least a few seconds. This is bad...this is really bad. He thought. He couldn't see a way for him and Claire to get out of this alive, because that was all he cared about at this point. There was no exit that wasn't heavily surrounded by the creatures, they were outnumbered, and though Dean tried, he couldn't come up with a time when things had looked more deadly--at least not since the day when his deal came due. Claire was by no means a sufferer of claustrophobia, but the feeling of being in a tight space that meant if she shot, it could hit one of the demons who weren't trying to kill them, left her feeling just as trapped and sick as she imagine claustrophobia would make her feel. But there wasn't time for more than a fleeting feeling of that because there were more demons to fight. The one she'd shot got to his feet again, a stubborn sonofabitch whose actions served to piss her off. She knew she'd make it out of this alive though, even if she made it out dead first, because that was how she worked. That was not, however, how Dean worked and knowing he'd need her to get back up again if he went down made her careful to keep her back to him, to protect her only vulnerable spot - the damn spot that meant she'd be down for the count until someone yanked whatever was in her brain out of it again. The knife flew past her and sunk into the demon, buying her the few seconds needed to take a better aim in the shifting twilight and sink two bullets into the demon's chest right over its heart - or where she hoped to God its heart was. Apparently, she was successful, as it dropped the creature like a rock. Moving forward, knowing Dean would move backward to keep their backs in contact, Claire bent down and grabbed the handle of Dean's knife, yanking it out with her full body weight. It was passed back to him, but as she turned to fire again, three - maybe four? she couldn't be sure - demons plowed into them both, breaking their united front apart. Dean took his knife back, and was grateful for the welcome power it gave to his left hand. He had already reached for another handgun and was trying to find the next target to fire at. Before he could find one, however, four demons unexpectedly plowed into them. His eyes were searching for Claire, but he was too distracted with the two attackers that were concentrating on him to have a chance to offer her much help. He fought hard, struggling against the two who were fighting him with all he had. The gun got knocked out of his hand at one point, but he slashed with the knife like a tiger, stabbing at first one and then the other until they were both momentarily on the floor, then he turned, eyes desperately seeking, to find Claire. It should have been a quick recovery. They'd fought together before, Claire knew what to do. Get to her feet, get her weapons - gun in hand, knife, knife, where was her knife? - and get back to back. He'd be there, at her back, as soon as she was there. He always had her back. But one of the demons was on top of her before Claire could even get to her feet herself, yanking her upward as a second grabbed her from behind. Leaving no time for anything but to press her gun against the chest of the one in front of her and kick out viciously at the one behind her, the latter grabbed her head in its hands and viciously snapped Claire's neck. She was dead when the two demons flung her body into the corner, but more bones still snapped on impact, the sound muted in the chaos of the room. Dean's eyes searched almost desperately, trying to find Claire, and when he didn't see her at first glance he panicked, but then he caught a glimpse of the familiar brown hair out of the corner of his eyes and for one blissful half second, everything felt ok. He turned around just in time to see the demon release Claire's head, and he watched, numb with shock, as it flopped limply. He'd seen broken necks before--what hunter worth his salt hadn't?--but never had he seen one on Claire. Before he could even blink the demons flung her body into the corner, and though the noise of the impact was muted in the hyperactivity of the room, Dean knew her body would have even more broken bones. He had told her often that her gift was just that...an unexpected reward, and not something that should be relied upon. Claire had reassured him a hundred times that the only thing that could really keep her down was an object that was left in the lower part of her brain, but what if this was different? She had never faced creatures like this before, what if they did something she had never encountered before? What if Claire's gift only worked a certain number of times? The what ifs kept coming one right after another, and it all came down to one simple thing: Claire Bennet was unmistakably dead, and Dean couldn't point to any concrete reassurance that she would ever come back. Something broke in him just then. He was in a losing situation, the woman he loved, the only woman he had ever let himself get that close to, was lying broken in a corner, and there was no way out. He abandoned any sort of thought process, abandoned the sorts of barriers that normally kept him from accessing the darker parts of himself like the creature he had become in hell, and he just reacted. Pure fury and adrenaline was powering him as he hurled the bloody knife in his hand at the demon who had snapped Claire's neck. There was no satisfaction when the knife hit its mark and the demon fell over, the knife perched between his eyes, just a need to continue. He took his gun and emptied it into the second demon, and in the few split seconds it took to get out all the bullets, that demon too was on the ground. He still felt nothing, no vengeance, no justice or satisfaction for taking down Claire's killers, just a need to continue. He fought savagely, using every weapon he had at random. He hurt. God he hurt so badly and he knew if he didn't focus on the fight he was going to be flooded with memories of his time here in LA with Claire, first as his best friend and then as his girlfriend, he'd start picturing how different his life would be without her, how hard Ben would take it, how hard everyone would take it...so instead he closed that part of himself off entirely. He just had to fight, he told himself. He had to fight to get himself out of here, and then maybe he could take Claire to ABC or Sarah or Peter and they could fix her. God please, they just have to fix her. Though he was fighting without any real destination (other than to take down as many of the attackers as he could) he was near the corner when one of the demons opened fire on him with a semiautomatic. The force of the blast knocked him over before he could even make any plans on how to retaliate, who to kill next, though that would have been pointless anyhow. Dean's knives were gone, the one gun he had left was out of bullets, and the bottles of holy water in his jacket pocket weren't scaring anyone. There was a system to death and a system to living again when one had the power to regenerate. In a death by broken neck, it was the severing of the spinal cord that killed, instantly. The bones that broke along with that were just incidental, unless they were the means by which the spinal cord was severed. The spinal cord, much like everything else on Claire Bennet's body, would regenerate, cells scrambling at lightening speed to rebuild the severed tissue. From there, signals to and from the brain could once more travel. Breathing would resume, the heart would beat and the body would live. Broken bones, however, needed to be set again unless the break was clean and the edges remained close, which was why when Claire revived with a small gasp for air - the sound thankfully lost in the chaos - it was to a neck still broken, head laying at an awkward, unnatural angle to her body, some bones still jutting out of her body even while others that had been only cracked were already mending. God, she so hated broken necks. Broken arms, those were pretty normal, so even if the healing of them wasn't, it still wasn't entirely freakish to have one, but no one broke their neck and walked around with their head limply hanging until they reset it. But she was alive. She had survived, like always. In that, she knew her advantage, and momentarily controlled the impulse to put her head back on straight, literally. As long as she looked dead, she had a hand to play the demons didn't know about. As she quickly sorted her options, eyes still closed in case a demon came close, she listened to the battle being fought. Was Dean still fighting, was he down, if she got up would the demons try to kill her again and delay her getting to him? So many concerns in so few seconds. She'd need to act, and act now. The spray of gunfire made her heart race, but still didn't prepare her for the impact of Dean's body on hers. She'd know the feel of it anywhere. She also knew a fall like that wasn't natural. Thanking God that their bodies had fallen at such an angle that she was on her side facing the wall when he had fallen on her, one of her arms beneath him in the space made between her body, his body and the wall. She lifted her hand to his chest in a furtive motion, seeking his hearbeat as time seemed to slow. She found it after what felt like an eternity, but in the process could feel the sticky fluid gushing sluggishly out of wounds on his chest. God, he was shot, he was likely shot a lot and there was little she could do about it at the moment. There wasn't enough time to reach for her syringe, fill it and plunge it into his arm, not with those demons still there. There was only one option to get the demons to leave them alone. "Play dead," she hissed in a barely vocalized whisper, hoping against hope that he heard her, that the false state wasn't far too close to the reality, and, as she went as still as possible, that the demons would not inspect them too closely. Dean wasn't sure, as he hit the ground, if he was imagining the feel of Claire's body under him or not. His mind felt sort of sluggish, and he wasn't sure whether it was from the shock of losing Claire and then getting shot and going down, or whether it was from losing blood or something else entirely, but he wasn't thinking that clearly at the moment. He felt her hand on his chest, and a slow, lopsided smile came to his face. Claire...his Claire. Thought came to him then, about how she was supposed to be dead, and how he was supposed to be shot, and how they needed to both get out, but before he could react to any of them he heard her voice. 'Play dead.' Though it went against all of his instincts, to just lay there and let things happen around him, though he wanted to open his eyes, to kiss Claire if she was indeed alive again, to do so many things, Dean obeyed. He was tired, so tired, and part of him was afraid that if he struggled too hard he'd sit up and discover the battle raging on around him and Claire's limp body under him. If this was some sort of hallucination...well that was ok. He complied - at least, Claire prayed it was Dean complying and not him slipping away - and so Claire forced herself to remain dead still as the sound of fighting died off quickly (had they been the last standing? were all the others dead?) and demon voices talked about filth and cleansing, about the dead in other office spaces like this one (had there been others hiding in the building? could she and Dean have done something if they'd known sooner?), and boot-clad feet moved around the space accompanied by the sounds of heavy things being dragged and lifted (was it the corpses of the demons she and Dean had killed? did they take their dead with them?) and voice spokes about injuries to be treated (which of those they'd attacked had been left alive?). If felt like forever, precious time ticking away as Dean lay bleeding on top of her, his blood soaking her clothes where broken bones hadn't pierced skin and made her bleed on herself. She couldn't wait too long, risk Dean slipping unconscious, risk him actually dying. Bringing him back or not, the thought of him dying still shook her to the core. Why she didn't mentally call out to Castiel, she didn't know. Why she didn't call out to Peter either, she didn't know, although he was with Sarah on a night off and wasn't reachable anyhow. Why she silently prayed to God at length she didn't know either, but she did. And then finally all was quiet. Quiet she liked. She'd run from them, the little group of animals that had dared to call her impure because she'd had to take on a human host. She'd been considering fighting after they'd attacked, when she'd seen them snap the neck of a teenage halfbreed without a care, and she'd known she was unlikely to be a threat. So with a burst of demonic speed she'd left them distracted and killing and she'd run, seeking refuge in a soon to be demolished mall. But they'd come there too and Ruby had done the only thing she could. She'd fled the body hoping they'd leave in time for her to return to it. Cowardly maybe but then she'd never claimed to be anything otherwise. The demons had killed. Left no one alive to tell about it from what she could see but then when you were a black cloud hiding unashamedly in air vents, you missed things. With a gasp of breath she returned to the body of the nameless Coma Victim and quickly got to her feet streching out the limbs and feeling the bruises of where these things had kicked at her to make sure she was dead. Deciding she was okay to walk Ruby started to leave the building before she heard it. The unmistakable sounds of someone suffering mortal wounds. Muffled yes, but there. What made her turn? She didn't know. But what she found suprised her more than it should have. "You've got to be kidding me?" she exclaimed, stepping over bodies to get to the pair, Claire didn't enter her thoughts right away beyond a quick affirmation of what her powers could do. Dean though... He couldn't die. If for no other reason then his brother needed him, his son needed him. But then she hadn't her magic. Castiel had made sure of that. And even at home she couldn't stop death without a deal of some kind being made, and her level of demon couldn't even do that. "Your Blood?" she asked the brunette Claire. Ironic the substance that dammed one Winchester could save another. The longer he laid still and pretended to be dead, the less the whole laying still thing actually bothered him. The pain was beginning to set in, so moving didn't seem to be a good option to begin with, but Claire was under him, and that much was right. He could smell lots of less than appealing things in the room, and the stench of blood threatened to overpower all of the other scents, but he was nearly certain he could smell Claire's shampoo, the soap she used...hell, maybe that was just his mind playing tricks on him. Still, it was comforting. Dean heard Ruby's voice saying something about kidding, and his eyes flew open. He heard a crack, but didn't trouble himself to place it because he was trying to figure out what the hell was going on. If this was over and they were dead, he was most certainly in hell. Even if he wasn't dead, seeing Ruby again was Dean's own private version of hell. He looked around the room thoroughly, and, seeing no attackers (other than Ruby, whose intentions were anything but certain to Dean) he tried to sit up. He knew they couldn't stay here. They needed to get home in case the attackers came back, to give the other 'good guys' the info about who was attacking the good demons and a whole lot more. Most of all, he had to make sure Claire was alright, and get the hell off of her. His body, however, didn't want to do much more of anything. He managed to swing his legs a little, so that his groin wasn't resting on her hip anymore, and that was enough momentum to make him roll, so that he was fully between her and the wall instead of laying on Claire. Then he felt the most welcome sensation of his life--Claire's hands helping him to sit up. Once he was propped against the wall, he turned his eyes to her, taking in the fact her neck was at the right angle again (even if he could see other bones that were decidedly wrong) and all but beamed. That's when he heard Ruby's voice again before he even got a chance to say anything to Claire. "You're kidding..." he said, frowning as he turned to face the demon. "She just died, no way am I going to take her blood." Just as quickly as the frown came, it vanished as Dean turned back to Claire. "Hi Supergirl...you scared the hell out of me, you know that?" Though in the quiet she'd let her guard relax a fraction, when Claire heard movement and footsteps, she went back to faking very very dead - at least until someone spoke and she recognized that voice. Recognized it, because she wasn't going to forget Ruby's voice. She'd prayed to God for Dean to make it, for them to be able to get away, for no demons to return - and she'd got Ruby. What an insane cosmic joke. Bu it was motivation enough to shift to her back and reach up to grab own head. Putting her neck back in place was a matter of seconds, as weird as it no doubt might look, and then her attention was split between supporting Dean and keeping an eye on Ruby, her other injuries forgotten. Much like Dean's biggest concern was her, her biggest concern was him; unlike Dean, she had something to worry about. Blood? Yes, blood, my blood, not Ruby's fucked up blood - was she mentally babbling? She was. Pushing back a bit from Dean, Claire finally took stock of his wounds... and wondered how he was even still conscious. There were several bullet wounds across chest, stomach and shoulders, and the one she'd felt bleeding sluggishly wasn't the one bleeding the worst. She couldn't respond to him telling her she'd scared him, couldn't do anything but dig for a syringe, because her temporary death was nothing compared to his impending one. Did he even know how much blood he had lost, how much blood he was losing as he spoke, how gray his skin looked, how sleepy his expression was, how weak his voice sounded? At first she didn't find the syringes. Then, when she did, she nearly had a meltdown. Cracks, fine ones and thick ones, covered the casings of both, no doubt from the impact of her body against wall and floor. It made them useless. Dear God, why had she stuck them both on her, why hadn't she left one in the Impala? Why hadn't she insisted Dean turn around when she realized she'd forgotten her kit, rather than blow it off. There'd been reasons, solid reasons, at the time, but damned if she could remember what they were. Knife. Knife to the arm, she could pour the blood in his wounds. Messy and inexact, but it would get the blood where he needed it. She'd just have to keep cutting to keep the wound fresh. "Knife, I need a knife, these are broken and I need a knife." And now the babbling was out loud, as frantic as Claire's movements as she patted herself and then Dean down, continuing as she looked with wild eyes around the room for the weapons that were hidden or no longer there because they'd been in bodies taken from the building. [ooc: tag to Ruby!] |
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