#*cue crowley's unholy screeching*

[melissatreglia]

Papa Wolf

(Just a fic I thought I’d write, as this is a scene that’s been stuck in my head for... well, pretty much forever. It takes place within the “canon” of the Darkness ‘verse, technically, and is also a crossover with Supernatural. Enjoy!)

Bobby Singer’s eyes widened at the stranger (who he’d never seen before), as the man rather suddenly appeared before him.

“I’m going to be very quick about this, as I have little time. So, I just want you to answer one question honestly: Where are they?”

Bobby raised a grizzled eyebrow. “Who?” he said. Hopefully, this guy wasn’t talking about who the old hunter thought he was talking about.

“My children. I heard they crossed paths with your boys, and are now their guests.” The mysterious man’s expression was closed and forbidding, as if there was so much being held back. “A young lady with long black hair, is quite pretty and has a penchant for leather and killing things. The boy is energetic and has a splash of colour in his hair not commonly found in nature.

“I desire no difficulties with the local rabble. We only entered this reality to locate an item I have need of, and we intend to leave your world as quickly as possible without causing your kind any problems. Provided My children are unharmed, of course.”

The man leaned forward, against Bobby’s desk, and the shadows seemed to loom. Bobby instinctively leaned away, his grip on Ruby’s knife tightening. 

“Now, Mr. Singer, from one father figure to another, I’m sure you can appreciate My concern and would like to resolve this with all parties in reasonable condition.” The other man -- who was not merely a man -- gave a flick of an eyebrow, some unnameable and unreadable expression briefly flitting across His face. “Or we can do this the hard way. Your choice.”

Bobby lunged as fast as his slightly arthritic limbs would allow, stabbing the man’s shoulder with the demon-forged blade. His uninvited guest hissed in pain, but immediately backhanded Bobby, and the hunter was propelled several feet away into a shelf of his old books from the force of the blow.

“So you’ve chosen the hard way,” the stranger said, standing straight and turning to face Bobby again. There was a grunt as the blade was bloodlessly yanked out of His wounded shoulder, followed by an annoyed sigh as Ruby’s knife hit the floor with a dull thud. 

He attempted to readjust the fit of His now-torn jacket, adding,  “Pity. I really did like this suit.” 

Meg screeched in pain as the holy water hit her skin. 

“C’mon, Sammy! I thought you memorized the words to an exorcism by now!” the older brother growled in frustration.

The younger brother stopped amid his mix of half-remembering and half-prompting from his book to glare at his sibling. “Dean, I’m saying the words the way they should be said. It’s just not working!”

“That’s because,” the female demon snarled in response. “I’m not from around here, you meatheads! That’s an exorcism for the demons of your world. Lucifer wasn’t the one who made me!”

Her green-haired companion giggled manically, jerking back and forth in his bindings in a manner that resembled a computer screen glitching badly. “She’s right, ya know. But you’re gonna meet Him s̷͙͑ō̸̘ǫ̴͌n̴̦͋.”  The glitchy demon gave another inappropriately-timed giggle.

“I’m not the Meg of your world either, idiots. And the best part? The guy who made me? He’s looking for us right now and, when He finds you, you’re gonna be dead meat.”

Dean stared at her. “How can you be so damn sure?”

Meg smirked, the hair falling over her eyes almost making her look like that creepy chick from The Ring. “Because I called Him.”

Dean grabbed Sam and pulled him aside. “The fuck did she mean by that?!”

“Well, she doesn’t have a cellphone or that blood-bowl that demons like Crowley use...” Sam began.

Dean grimaced. “So, that means... what, exactly?”

Sam frowned thoughtfully. “A psychic connection, maybe?”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit.”

As if on cue, there was an angry, violent rumble of the ground beneath their feet. A high pitched white noise like radio static inundated their ears and minds. The lines of the devil’s traps that the two demons were held in broke, and the green-haired teenaged boy sighed in relief as he ripped off his bindings.

The girl, Meg, remained still, apparently too tired from the Winchesters’ interrogation methods. 

The heavy metallic door of their current warehouse hideout exploded into the room. A man with raven-dark hair and in a business suit under a heavy woolen coat walked in, sneering at them. “Hello, boys.”

Sam and Dean glanced at each other in puzzlement. “Crowley?”

The man chuckled, the timbre of His unnaturally deep voice echoing. “Oh, don’t you wish.” He gave a slight flick of a hand, as casually if He were merely swatting away a fly, and the young hunters were thrown back into the cement wall over a dozen feet behind them.

Then, the man turned to the two young demons. “There you are.”

The man immediately drew toward Meg. With paternal tenderness, He tilted her head up and pushed her hair back to examine the burns on her face. “Holy water,” He growled.

He glared up at the two hunters, still pinned to the cement wall through this being’s psychic power. “I should kill you for this insult. Fortunately for you, you may be of more use to Me alive.”

“Go to hell,” Dean snapped.

The stranger chuckled, apparently more amused than annoyed. “Really? Years of ‘saving people, hunting things’ and that is the best insult you can come up with?”

The girl demon whined at Her creator-turned-rescuer like a small child. “Daddy, I want to go home.”

“We shall, little one. We shall.” When she moved to get up, He gently squeezed her shoulder. “Just relax and catch your breath for now. You’ve had a difficult day today.”

He glanced up at the two hunters again.

“I’m only here to take My children home. However...” -- and at this, He glanced at their stash of items on a nearby table -- “I do hope you don’t mind if I take a look around.”

Dean and Sam could only watch as He proceeded to rifle through their things, and Sam inwardly cursed that they hadn’t had enough time to hide some of the material before this douchebag showed up.

The man seem to stop when He happened upon one of the volumes of books in their possession. The wear and tear of the leather-bound tome betrayed its age, and He began to skim through the pages with a careful touch.

He then chortled. “The Grand Grimiore, in the original Byzantine Greek. As it turns out, you had the precise item I was looking for. What are the odds?”

He made a grand sweeping gesture to the two demons. “Come, children. Our little roadtrip has ended. It is time to go home.” They immediately ran to His side, apparently quite eager to leave.

The unholy trio vanished, and Sam and Dean could move freely once again.

“Uh... Sammy? What was in that book, exactly?”

“...Um, contacting spirits and demons, some spellwork... and uh, stuff about necromancy. Like, high-level spells that take a lot o’ juice to pull off.”

“Well, shit,” Dean muttered. “Is it wrong to hope that He really isn’t sticking around, with that kinda mojo?”

“Definitely not a notch in the win column for us.”

“No kidding. This gig sucks.”

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