Like A Boss

[Jilak]

Bang. Hot blood coursed through veins, muscles tightened over bone, to make that one, satisfying movement. Gun shot. Adrenaline pumped, legs moved, body propelled. Run. Surrounded, surrounded on all sides, just keep running, never stop running. Or shooting. Both were entirely necessary for survival.

Bang bang. It was raining, outside, when he came in. Soaked, soaked to the bone. Some of it was blood, not all of it his own. Just keep moving. They were everywhere, they swarmed, made his skin crawl. Crying. That horrible crying, that was the worse, their screeching. Inhuman. Unnatural. Heart-rate sky-rocketed.

Bang. That man from before, that shop owner, had he and his wife gotten to safety? He was the only reason he was armed, he'd stocked his shop with firearms after a few 'disturbances'. After that it hadn't been too hard to find salt and turn the water in a canteen holy.

Duck. One of them swung for him, and he ducked, muscles toned over the years coursing and propelling. He brought his rifle back, shooting the creature in the head. Direct hit with a rock salt round. It wasn't down for long. None of them were down for long.

Run. He ran into a small side building. It was an apartment. Bad choice, he should have come to that conclusion before kicking the door in. More of them. A family, this time, three of them. Couldn't go back. No way back, no way out, had to keep moving forward.

Splash. He threw his canteen, and it burst on impact, spraying the creatures with holy water. Their momentary distraction was all he needed to make it to the staircase, firing a few salt rounds behind him to cover their tracks. Had to make it to the roof, had to make it up. It was the only way to go. Even if it was the worst idea tactically, it was the only way to go. This would be so much easier with the colt.

Demons. Demons everywhere. Demons coming from every nook, every cranny, everywhere. This entire street had been infested with them, and the one human still residing here had never noticed. He'd never questioned the lack of customers, attributing it to the frequent supernatural matters that went on here, never equating those matters to demons.

Trapped. Trapped, John Winchester was trapped. He'd made it to the roof. There were demons behind him as he reached the edge of the building. No way to the next one, too far, even given how close the little street was. He turned. There was practically an army of them. No devil's trap, no Colt, no hope. Hope. There was never hope. There hadn't been hope since Mary had died.

"You're surrounded. Just give up now. One of our brothers needs a body. We promise it won't hurt... too bad. And hey, which is the better option? Fighting us and getting killed, or joining us?" One of them asked.

Smirk. They'd expected him to go down easy. Him. John Winchester, trained hunter. He'd rather die a man than become one of them. But then, he'd rather not die at all. Mary's killer. They'd been so close. Why couldn't Sam have just shot him? This would all be over, then. They would have won. But no. Now, the first shot he fired, he knew, he would be dead. They'd kill him. He'd be ripped to shreds.

No hope.

Hopeless.

Mary's killer.

Sam, Dean.

My sons.

I'm sorry.

Bang.

[mugenginga]

The curious fluctuations between seperate realities had granted Barachiel the ability to observe this nest for a solid month. Every day, he'd taken a different route, a different angle, a different look and had gotten a distinct understanding of the inner workings of the demons in this settlement. Every day, he'd set a different trap, a different layout, a different step towards the flushing of it. The plans of of his brethren were advancing at a steady pace, and Barachiel was nothing if not patient. This kind of nest had to be dealt with, but nothing was ever accomplished in haste.

Everything had been thrown out the window at the unexpected arrival of John Winchester. He was aware the man had been lost from his world. The fluctuations could once again be blamed for the gap in time as far as the mortal plane was concerned. For worry that the demons would act rashly in regards to the Winchesters, an angel had been sent to the brothers. John had been unfound, presumably being used as a flesh puppet for the demons or if he were lucky, killed.

Like his brethren, he was not one to force interference. While he was a fair bit annoyed all his efforts were being undone in minutes by the man's actions, he would not act rashly. He found himself having to give the man credit for unraveling several of the measures he had spent the last month putting into place. It had given the man ammunition, a way to fight. A way to fight against all odds, humans were so foolish sometimes. So Barachiel did nothing but watch with something not unlike impressed interest as the man performed what he had to know was his last stand.

He was not one for impulse decisions. As he chose to do something about the situation after John kicked down the door, that could have been taken as one. But it wasn't in the least. No, he had spent a month preparing to destroy this nest. John had forced a play of hands, and if the man died here it would undo his actions. Barachiel was a patient entity, but not one to relish the idea of lost work.

A human with wavy brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, green eyes, and a freckled face stepped into the apartment. His eyes rested only a moment on the three humans that had been torn to shreds in the encounter. He moved towards the stairs, going up and up, in a sense retracing the steps John Winchester had taken moments before. He moved deliberately, picking his way past the massacred human bodies. They had been vessels, but the demon's death had meant their own.

There were demons blocking the door to the roof. The month he had spent taking notes assured the man of just how much he could do before John would be aware of his presence. There was a calm and calculated deliberateness as he dodged attacks, putting his hand upon the face of vessels and causing them to collapse, free of possession. Four fell before there seemed to be dissention in the troops. Six fell by the time John would realize there was something at the back of the crowd causing a disturbance.

After the eighth collapsed, the man calling himself Patrick Ahearne begin to speak in very rapid and distinctly pronounced Latin. Seven more fell, this time with their eyes burning and the very dead vessels collapsing to the ground. If there was any doubt that something had changed in the situation, a bit more Latin and a flare of energy no average human could sense sent four flying backwards with enough force that one fried human body managed to land a mere foot in front of John Winchester.

By now, he would be able to see there was a figure. An adult male, apparently of some Irish descent. He held a bible in one hand and seemed to have wrested a gun from one of the demons as it crumpled. He fired off three well placed shots and felled three more. The man turned to John at this point, barely managing to avoid getting tackled by two more demons. The side step was rather artful, and the demons went barrelling down the stairs. He spoke once those were past, not letting another shot interfere with being heard.

"In a battle of attrition, the key is to not surrender! Fight!"

[Jilak]

Rather surprisingly, there was always a small glimmer of hope. Just like there were always options. John Winchester had been given one such option. He could, with one motion, one swift move, fire out at the nest of demons that had him cornered. They would proceed to rip him to shreds. Or he could agree to their demands and calmly follow them to become a host for one of their brethren. With the first option, he'd never see his boys again. With the second, he would. Though, they would likely be on different sides.

No question. He fired, his last loaded round ripping into one of the creatures. As he looked down to reload, he expected to be dead, to have been forced off the building, to have had his skin ripped into, to have had his very flesh torn from his bones, before he could look up. Suffice to say, when that didn't happen, he was quite confused. Looking up, he noticed that something, or maybe someone, was thinning the ranks. A surprise ally. As another fell, the fellow came into hearing range, speaking very rapid Latin. He had a slight Irish accent, from what John could tell.

More and more fell, until finally one landed at John's feet. This guy, whoever he was, was good. He was tearing through these creatures in a fashion John himself could not recall seeing in his lifetime. It was the fellow's speaking that brought John out of his muse, something about not surrendering. He was urging John to fight. John Winchester didn't need to be told twice.

There were much less demons than there had been when this had started. Not all of them were attacking, either. From the looks of it, only the really prideful or really stupid felt like going against two experienced hunters.

One of the demons came at John, and he reached behind him, pulling forth a second canteen blessed with holy water. He splashed it in the creature's face, and it fell to its back, screaming.

"YOU'RE DEAD! YOU HEAR ME, JOHN WINCHESTER? DEAD!" It yelled, with a very noticeable accent. Its host was from some portion of New York. Probably Brooklyn.

"Maybe. But not today." John responded, pointing his gun.

Bang.

By this time, however, another had gotten close to John, tackling him. Had he not have had the forethought to move from the edge first, the two would have taken a fall. Too close in range to shoot, this left him one option. He had a crowbar strapped to his side, that he'd also picked up from the shop. He hadn't had a chance to use it because, really, he didn't have time to get that close to one of the creatures. Now, however, it would save his life. He stabbed.

Scream. That horrible scream again. A scream of pain, with but a hint of fear. John, unlike his sons, had been doing this for many, many years. He remembered enough Latin to exorcise it while it was distracted with the iron crowbar through its chest. He kicked, sending it off of him, sweeping his rifle up in his hands.

Bang bang.

And through the darkness once more was John Winchester delivered a glimmer of hope.

[mugenginga]

Patrick glared at the few stragglers John hadn't gotten. He emptied the last few bullets in his gun on them, taking down a few. Most got away, but there didn't seem to be worry in Patrick's expression over it. That's because there wasn't. He knew damn well they wouldn't come back to this place, and the hosts would be dead if it wasn't convenient for them to keep. Well, he'd never been one to concern himself with a few human lives here or there. He walked over to John as the now very injured but free host fell off the side of the building. He'd be dead when he hit.

As Patrick walked over, he tucked the now blood spattered bible between his body and the back of his pants. He checked the gun for ammunition before letting it drop to the ground, an apparent indication of it being empty. He bent over and offered a hand to John, who was still on the ground. His expression was fairly stoic, not unlike many of John's own.

"Were you aware you were marching into a demon's nest, John?"

[Jilak]

John took the hand that was offered to him. Right, now that that was over, it was time for the meet and greet. This fellow had saved his life, the least he could do was answer his questions and learn his name. The fact that he had come out of an encounter with a nest of demons more or less unharmed had everything to do with the fact that the other fellow was there, and he knew it.

"I had no idea. By the time I realized it, the other customer of that little shop owner's had realized who I was and suddenly the entire nest was swarming me. Barely had time to cobble together weapons, if the shop had been out of salt, I don't know what I'd have done. I just arrived here, so I didn't have time to check the omens. Lucky you showed up, though, saved my ass. I'm John, as you know. And you are...?" John asked.

[mugenginga]

"Patrick Ahearne," Patrick replied, "And I was able to save you merely because I've had this place staked out for nearly a month and measures in place that I'd intended to use more cautiously. Tell me, is there a particular reason why the mere sight of you would send a nest into a frenzy?"

Barachiel could venture a few very educated guesses in regards to that question, but they weren't leaps that could be made with the knowledge of the situation he supposedly had. As far as his knowledge went, and Barachiel tended to be very good about taking the time to check his facts, John Winchester operated almost exclusively within the confines of North America. It would be no difficulty to masquerade as coming from overseas with his preferred human form if the situation came up.

[Jilak]

John took a moment's pause. He wasn't really one to explain his backstory to every random Bob or Joe that asked. But then again, this guy, this 'Patrick Ahearne' had just saved his life. The least he owed him was a bit of an explanation on why he'd just run into the nest the other man had been scouting for a month.

"I don't usually tell people this, but as you just saved my life, figure the least I could do is explain myself. You see, 22 years ago some demonic son of a bitch hung my wife on the ceiling and burned her alive. I'd been asleep in front of the television that night when she went in to check on our son, Sam. Her screams woke me up. I was too late to save her.

I spent the rest of my life from that point hunting supernatural things. Killed everything that came my way. There are things out there that are still having nightmares over the name 'John Winchester'. Eventually, I found the son of a bitch that killed my wife. A demon, with bright, yellow eyes. I didn't just want to send it back to Hell. I needed to kill it. So I found the Colt, the gun that can kill anything.

After a bit of a hectic day wherein demons killed almost everyone I'd ever cared about, it possessed me. I overpowered it for a bit, just enough to avoid killing my son Dean. Sam shot me in the leg and I became dominant enough to hold it. Ordered him to shoot me. He didn't listen, and it got away. Shortly after that we were hit by... something. A truck, I'd guess. Then I wake up here with no memory of what happened after that, and a helluva lot less injured than I should be." John answered.

[mugenginga]

Barachiel listend with a neutral expression as John relayed his story. He raised an eyebrow about halfway through. Yellow eyes? There was a flicker of recognition there if John were paying enough attention to notice. It was far less of a reaction that Barachiel was having in his head. He knew that trait quite well, and he knew the entity that would use that as a way to make a point. Contrary to John's opinions, it was not a demon.

"I've heard of that Colt. The fact that this demon got away indicates one of two things to me," Patrick lifted a single finger, "One, you're dealing with something no human could stand up to on their own. If the rumors are true, you shouldn't have to make a killing shot with that thing to destroy your average demon," He lifted another finger, "Two, it's not gone. This would explain the healing, as it could have had you suppressed for far longer than you realized."

"My only question would be what caused this reaction if you're a demon," Patrick worded it carefully. If he was a demon, indicating the possibility he wasn't speaking to 'John Winchester' at all, "It would have to be quite the gambit and the only motive I could think for it would be an attempt to flush me out. I'm not leaning towards this option, because those demons looked genuinely frightened. It does, however, mean I have no intentions of turning my back on you nor will I hesitate to shoot you in the head to slow you down if the case becomes the latter."

Barachiel doubted Satan was still present, but he couldn't rule out the possibility. Of all the angels, fallen ones included, Satan had always been the most morally ambiguous. He'd made no attempts to read auras as he'd come up the stairs, and flaring his own energies now would likely do little more than attract trouble. This man was motivated more by Sin than Virtue in his quest for Mary's killer, he wouldn't serve as a viable fuel source.

The way he had presented the situation would do well to accomplish two things. On the off chance that Satan remained present and had set up this entire situation as part of some plan he'd chosen not to inform the Archangels of, he'd know Barachiel suspected him. On the other hand, if this really was John Winchester, it would establish himself some credibility. He could tell this man would react the same way, and he had to admire that. A cautious human remained a living one, even in the world of hunters.

[Jilak]

John couldn't help but smile. The cautiousness with which Patrick addressed him... he had to admire it. It was a quality he himself often practiced. It was something he'd tried to instill in his boys, although it... didn't seem to have worked out so well. At least, not in Sam. Dean, maybe, but not Sam. Sam didn't have the virtue of growing up with a mother or a little brother to protect. Sam was harder. And he hated John with every fiber of his being. So no, John's training hadn't gone so well with Samuel.

"I have to say, you must be a pretty well-adjusted guy. Most hunters don't believe the Colt even exists, practically got laughed out of Harvelle's Roadhouse when I mentioned I was looking for it." John stated. But then Patrick's other statement hit him. 'something no human could stand up to on their own'. Honestly, in this line of work, that... hardly narrowed things down. But it did get John to wondering. If he hadn't been possessed by a demon, then what?

"What exactly do you think I'm dealing with here, then? Skinwalker? Hellhound? Nothing else I can think of could do that to Mary and possess me..." John questioned, curiously.

[mugenginga]

Patrick's expression didn't shift as John said he was well adjusted. Humans tended to do that, didn't they? Assume that just because they couldn't see it, it couldn't exist. Negatives, contrary to popular human opinion, could be proven simply by finding what it wasn't. It wasn't that something didn't exist, just that it didn't exist in the format people liked to assume. More importantly, he found himself worried about some of the bodies laying around. Demons tended to get back up no matter how dead their hosts had become. He looked back at John at his question, raising an eyebrow.

He had intended for his statement to imply he was dealing with a demon of unusual power. Somehow or another John had read the truth of the situation into a vague statement. Not all of it, no one anymore made the leap that their lives had been turned to hell by angels, but he'd keyed into the vague possibility it wasn't a demon. Even his statement had meant to imply the best of the race in regards to such things. A human could deal with a Hellhound assuming it wasn't their soul it was hunting. Skinwalkers weren't impossible to handle either, though quite rare. He shook his head.

"I meant only to imply a power level even a hunter couldn't handle," Patrick stated, avoiding a lie with a skilled sidestep of words. He continued with the diversion, "I'm surprised you would suggest a Hellhound at all. Is there something regarding your soul I should be aware of?"

[Jilak]

John had the feeling that out there, somewhere in an alternate universe, he'd sold his soul to save his son's life. But even then, he wouldn't have been taken by a hellhound, but a heart attack. Depended on which demon alternate-reality John would make a deal with. But that was neither here nor there. The point was, in the only relevant universe, this one, John had never even considered making a deal with a devil. But he had... other, equally as valid, reasons to mention Hellhounds.

"No, no, I'd never make a deal with a demon. No good reason to. Hell, no bad reason to. But a few years back, when I was just starting hunting, I came across a Black Dog. An overgrown hellhound, one of Hell's own pit bulls. Killed Mary's brother, who decided to tag along because he thought I was insane. It was a good few years before I finally found it again and stabbed it with its own right canine." John responded. It was just one of those wacky mix-ups that new hunters experienced.

"Remind me to tell you about my first shapeshifter later on, too."

[mugenginga]

Patrick did seem to be listening, but he wasn't inputting anything to the conversation. He spoke only after John finished. Even then, it was a solid thirty seconds later, giving ample time to be sure John had finished speaking. Patrick was walking towards the door he had come out of.

"We should leave here before any of those still here wake up. While the habits in the past month indicate they won't respawn here, I'm not of a mind to deal with any desperate demons."

He stopped by the door and waited for John to follow. Once they got past the doorway, John would likely note that about seven people looked merely unconscious. A few seemed that some kind of fire inside of them had burned them from the inside out, those were quite dead. But it didn't cover the fact that it looked likse those seven had just... passed out. There wasn't a mark one on them, and the only blood didn't appear to be their own.

[Jilak]

John quickly followed Patrick. He was right. It would be extremely horrible if they chose to respawn here. A rooftop was not the place to deal with desperate demons. Hell, it wasn't the place to deal with non-desperate demons. He'd only done it because he'd had to, and if it hadn't been for Patrick having scouted this place for about a month, John was certain he would be dead. So yeah, he broke into a quick pace, reaching the door. However, once they got past the doorway, things got... odd. While it WAS possible to exorcise someone without killing their host, this was... odd. While John could pass off the unconscious folk as normal, it was a bit harder to pass off the individuals that seemed to have been burned from the inside. Even the unconscious folk were odd, though. Didn't seem to be a scratch on any of them, and the blood? Didn't look like it came from the hosts.

"Jesus, Patrick. What happened back here?" John asked, pausing for a brief moment to inspect one of those that seemed to have had a fire lit inside of them. Dead. Very, very dead. That wasn't entirely normal, whatever could be considered 'normal' for a hunter. Though, of all of the guesses John was making right now, none of them were even remotely close to the truth. No one really guessed that an angel had just dropped in and tore down an army of demons any more, these days. It just wasn't normal.

'normal' here being a key term.

[mugenginga]

Patrick looked emotionless as he picked past the various dead bodies. He'd paused once he reached the seven that were alive, merely unconcsious. If they broke when they woke up, he supposed it was a sign of humanity's weakness. He turned towards John as he asked what had happened, looking down at the one John was looking at.

"Exorcism," Patrick said. Short and sweet, and somewhat stoic.

[Jilak]

Well that was... okay, that was... technically correct. John didn't doubt Patrick, and, in fact, respected his answer. It was the sort of answer John himself would have given. Besides, it wasn't like Patrick was to blame for what had happened. That was something simple Latin simply couldn't achieve. Probably were just possessed by a few powerful sons of bitches that had been nearly impossible to hold, those people. John imagined holding a particularly powerful demon would be like bottling a hurricane. Which raised even more questions. Why, or rather, how, was John still here? Why hadn't he burned from the inside out? Why had he, even for a brief moment, been able to bottle the yellow eyed demon? But more importantly, where were his sons?

"Where exactly are we, anyway? I haven't had the time to get my bearings, barely had time to catch my breath before I was knee deep in demons." John queried.