LJ Name: chinae, aka Erika
Email Address:
Title of Fic: Rites of passage
Beta: dossier
Word Count: 6K+
Rating: PG-13 with slight violence
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke et al. Predator is owed by Jim Thomas and John Thomas et al. No copyright infringement is intended.
Genre: Action / Adventure, with bits of drama
Warnings and pairings: No pairings, this is a crossover between Predator (movie version) and SPN. No wincest. Dean is ten in this fic and Sammy is six.
Personal Note: I have been wanting to write this crossover for some time, for what other creature would be attracted to the coming of the Apocalypse but those who themselves are hunters.
Summary: All hunters have rites of passage, regardless if they are human or alien.
~oo00oo~
Translation:
Ooman = human (slang)
Amedha = meat (prey)
Kantra = pray
Kehrite = training ground, arena
Ka'rik'na = summoning (of other Yautja)
Lou-dte Kalei = Child maker
Mei'hswei = brother
Nain-desintye-de = "The Pure Win", absolute victory
Pauk = fuck
Pyode Amedha = soft meat
S'yuit-de = Bad Blood, Coward, pathetic, low and demeaning description
Yautja = Predator Species
~oo00oo~
Prologue
Twin moons mark the night sky.
Silence greets the visitors as they make their way through the jungle to their people's sacred ground. They reach a clearing illuminated by campfire. Around the camp, impaled on sticks are skulls of animals and aliens, trophies brought back by other hunting parties.
Shapes that were invisible are revealed. In front of a fire stands an elder. He removes his face mask to reveal deep scars, a blinded eye and a broken mandible.
The younglings step forward. Each is presented with a sharp blade, their own unmarked mask as well as a wrist device that will keep them in contact with their trainers at all times. The younglings bow before the elder; they will either come back victorious or not at all.
~oo00oo~
In California State, in Yosemite National Park, small, nearly invisible shapes drop from the top of the massive trees to the ground. They scatter, quickly dispersing and merging into the forest. They will be picked up at this very spot after the rise of the seventh moon, each given one task to emerge victorious.
~oo00oo~
"Dad," ten-year old Dean whines as his father packs his gear.
"I need you here, Dean." John continues to put his hunting tools, holy water and salt in the duffle bag.
"It's not fair," insists Dean, tired of staying behind and taking care of Sam. He wants to be out there, hunting, doing men's work, like his dad, not staying back and babysitting the squirt.
"When you're older," his father assures him, before giving him the look: This discussion is over.
Dean sighs. He never has any fun.
He watches as his father slides clippings about the missing hikers and their skinned bodies that had been discovered days later between the pages of his journal.
Seeing his son's gloomy expression, John affectionately ruffles the top of Dean's head. "Take care of your brother."
"Yes, dad."
Before he leaves, John talks to both of his sons, going over the house rules about staying in the motel room, and if they need to leave, to do so only during the daytime. In case of an emergency, he gives Dean enough cash for the bus fare to Pastor Jim's.
~oo00oo~
The youngling stands back, just close enough to observe the alien before him. What sort of creature is this? he wonders. The outside appearance, the creature looks human, appearing meek and docile, and certainly not worthy of having its head severed from its body, except –
It had somehow sensed him, even though the youngling is invisible, cloaked. The thing knew it was being watched. For a brief moment the creature's eyes turn black and its thermal readings change, indicating that the creature had shifted its shape, growing in height, displaying massive horns and wing-like arms. The youngling trembles. Is this the legend the other hunters spoke of?
Long ago, when their kind first visited this planet, a hunter had encountered a creature with massive reptile like wings, but with a torso similar to that of the Ooman inhabitants of this planet. The battle that ensued had inspired all hunters that came after.
It had been the only trophy whose head had not been detached from its body. It had been skinned and its bones brought home to display them amongst the various tribes. It was a thing of legend, a most worthy opponent.
All hunters who came after had hoped to encounter this being, but instead they encounter a lesser species, the Oomans, who refer to themselves as humans.
The youngling leans against the tree.
To be part of the pack he must survive and claim his heritage. Claim the right to have a name, for one could not be referred to as youngling forever.
If he brings this creature back with him, would he then earn the name 'he who vanquished'?
He would follow this creature, learn of its weakness, take it down and then bring it back to tribe and let the song of this battle inspire those after him.
~oo00oo~
"Aw, Dean." A young Sam complains as his older brother wipes Sam's face with a dishcloth.
"Sammy." Dean acknowledges, ignoring his sibling's struggle.
It's only been two days since their father left them to hunt whatever was after the hikers, and they are both going a bit stir-crazy in the motel room. There are only so many cartoons they could watch during the day, or so much cereal they could eat.
"When's daddy coming back, Dean?" Sam asks, as he wipes his mouth against the back of his hand.
Dean rolls his eyes. One would think he isn't taking care of the squirt by the way he behaves.
"I don't know, midget," teases Dean.
"Don't call me that," whines Sam.
"Midget. Midget."
They tussle on the ground.
"One day, I'm going to be bigger than you, you'll see," promises Sam.
"Right." Like that would ever happen.
"Can't we just go someplace, like the library?"
"Look bookworm, dad said we have to stay in and we are staying in, capiche?"
"You're not the boss of me," insists Sam.
"Dad left me in charge," Dean corrects him.
"But Dean, we could take out books to read." He's bored.
"Sammy." It isn't that Dean doesn't get it. He's bored too, but when Dad left, making Dean man of the house, motel, whatever, he had to follow the rules, damn it. Why couldn't Sammy see that?
"I'm sure they must have some bike magazines," said Sam, as he tries to convince his brother that a small venture out would do them a world of good.
A small pause and then Dean nods, "All right."
"Yay!" Sam bounces, already running around, gathering his packsack.
Dean lets out a slight sigh, "We have to get milk anyway, but we need to be quick about it."
"Quick, right," Sam agrees, only half-listening.
"Sammy." Dean grabs hold of his brother's arm. "When I say we have to come back, I don't want any arguments from you. You better not make a scene."
Sam sticks out his tongue. "I'm not a baby."
Dean grabs the knife and revolver his dad had given him. He places the dagger in the back of his pants and the revolver in his own packsack, took enough change for milk and then just enough cash from his secret stash, that they could perhaps buy some cookies, too.
~oo00oo~
Three moons have passed since the youngling had been dropped to hunt in this forest. Three moons and he still has not encountered any of his kind, which in itself is odd. While their kill must be theirs alone, they had also been taught to hunt in packs. That it is better to learn new territory and mark it together than venture out alone.
The youngling crouches down on the ground. It had rained the day before and there are large paw prints on the now dried ground. He could continue to follow his prey or go off and hunt another target.
To show up empty-handed, one might as well not show up at all.
He glances back at where he'd last seen his query.
The thing is headed towards a large encampment.
He's never seen an Ooman's dwelling up close. He's only ever seen them via the holographic images projected through his wrist console.
There could be bigger targets there, worthier than this animal that had left its footprint on the ground.
He stands up and activates his camouflage.
He makes sure to keep his distance as he follows the Amedha, taking note of the building that housed the Oomans.
~oo00oo~
"Sammy, hurry up!" They've taken too long and if dad ever found out –
"I'm coming," Sam says, even as he stops to sit on the curve of the sidewalk. He wipes the sweat off his forehead. His cheeks and neck are red from the exertion of carrying his library books.
Dean kneels next to him and opens up both their packsacks. He takes some of the books out of Sammy's pack and places them in his. "Nerd."
"Take that back!" Sam insists. He isn't a nerd. He just likes to read.
"If you keep at this, you'll be wearing glasses soon."
"No," Sam shakes his head and his eyes well up.
Dean sighs. For a six-year old, his brother could be such a water pot. "I'm just teasing."
"Swear I won't have to wear glasses." Sammy's mouth trembles.
"Sammy –"
"Swear it!"
Dean raises his hand and once they entwined their pinkie fingers, Dean swears, "May the bookworm god ensure –"
"Dean." Sammy giggles.
Dean smiles, "I swear that Sammy will never need to wear glasses." With that taken care of, Dean gets up, pulling Sam next to him.
"Come on, we still have a few more blocks to go."
"Do we still need to get milk, Dean?" Sam asks.
"Yes."
"I – I don't need to drink milk, at least for a few days." He offers.
"Then have you whining that your gnome-like status is my fault? No thanks."
"I don't whine."
"Sure you don't."
They continue arguing good-naturedly, as they enter the small corner store.
Sam runs to the magazine section, and flips through a few of the comic books on the bottom shelf. Dean goes to the back of the store to get the milk, keeping an eye on Sammy via the large security mirror hanging above the aisles.
It's when he walks to another aisle to pick up a package of cookies, that he notices that there is a man next to Sam. The stranger is just browsing through the magazine and every so often looking down at the boy, on the floor, concentrating on the comics books. He seems innocent enough, but Dean knows, even at this age, no one is innocent, except maybe Sammy. Dean puts down the jug of milk and takes the package of cookies with him.
If he has to throw his knife, he'll need a free hand.
"Hey, you done?" Dean asks, as he sways back on the heel of his running shoes. The sense of oddness strengths the closer Dean gets to Sammy and the stranger.
"Yup," Sam replies quickly as he gets up off the floor.
Dean grabs Sam's hand. Something wasn't right.
"What about the milk?" Sam asks.
"We'll get it later." He puts the cookies on a shelf and practically hauls his brother out of the store, until the stranger snags Sammy's packsack and pulls.
"Dean!" cries Sam.
"Hey, what are you doing man?" asks the store clerk.
The stranger ignores him.
The clerk took out his bat. "Let the kid go!"
The stranger looks up, eyes turning yellow and it grins at the boys. "Winchester."
"Let him go!" Dean shouts and pulls, freeing Sammy from his packsack. The clerk hits the man in the back of the head just as Dean and Sam scramble out of harm's way.
"Come on, Sammy!" Dean uses the store mirrors to see what was happening out front, pushing Sammy in before him, protecting his brother, as they hid behind another aisle. He opened up the remaining packsack taking everything out, dumping the books and instead sticking the boxes of salt in the pack.
"Dean?" Sammy's quietly asks, as Dean grabs his hand.
"We can't let that thing get us, Sammy. So you do what I tell you."
Dean opens up one of the boxes of salt, dumping it into his hand.
The only way out is through the front and the demon knows it.
But Dean is a Winchester and Sam is his to protect. No way is that demon getting to them.
First thing is to get rid of that mirror. He could use his gun but that would bring far more attention to them especially if he was wrong, and the man was just a creep and not a demon. Dean bit his lip as he picks up a can of soup to throw at the mirror, he notices this odd, small red light from outside aimed at the demon's head.
The demon turns his attention away from the boys. That is all the distraction Dean needs. He runs to the front of the store, tosses the salt in his hands toward the demon's face allowing Sammy enough time to get out, as the demon screams in anger.
As Dean leaves the door, the window bursts, the glass scatters.
"Run!" Dean shouts at his brother.
~oo00oo~
The youngling uses the mask's lenses to zoom in to the destruction and scattered bodies, ignoring the whine of a siren fast approaching.
A ball of fire escapes through the mouth of the prey he been hunting, engulfing the approaching vehicles. The two Pyode Amedha that had escaped the building momentarily stop to look back as a mushroom ball of heat rush toward them.
The youngling wasn't here to save the soft meat, for that is what the children are. He ignores them, and instead moves to the top of a rooftop. He tilts his head for there is something odd –
"Pauk," he whispers, as he detects the infrared signature of other Predators.
Just his luck; there are other blooded hunters, hunting his prey.
As they turn toward him, he gestures to them in greeting. When it is not returned the youngling realizes his mistake. These aren't warriors of the honoured class. These are bad blood Yautja, dishonourable warriors and outcasts, known for killing their own kind.
He is but a youngling, on his first hunt. He is no match for these seasoned hunters. He must retreat and warn the others.
A circular metal object, a smart disk is thrown at him, and he dodges just in time to hear the whine of the computer-controlled disc, as it returned to its wielder.
He enters the safety of the forest and he presses a button on his wrist console; the only connection he has to the Predator craft and his brother younglings out hunting. "Kehrite ... S'yuit-de Yautja. " He hopes it was enough of a warning.
~oo00oo~
"Dean," Sammy is tugging at his brother's arm. The blast had thrown them nearly a hundred of feet away, and Dean lay unconscious next to Sam. "Please wake up. I promise no more books. Please, Dean."
There is gunfire everywhere and Sam doesn't know what to do. He continues to shake Dean.
"Sammy?" Dean moans and opens his eyes. His head is resting on his brother's lap.
It feels as if they are in a war-zone, like one of those Commando movies they've both seen on TV.
Police cruisers are on fire, people either dead or bleeding on the streets, and there is a loud bark from an alley.
Both children look up. It is a large dog with black fur and glowing eyes.
"It's a hellhound," Dean whispers slowly crawling back, making sure Sam is doing the same thing.
It stops and growls at them, but as it leaps a rectangle shape net appears from nowhere to trap the beast. The net secures itself against the ground, though it is no match for one of hell's creatures.
The hellhound uses its teeth to cut through the laser net, its focus shifting from the boys to the approaching figure.
Something moves, and Dean detects almost a shimmer as if whatever it is, is moving. Dean and Sam slowly, ever so cautiously retreat, the hellhound circles the being that suddenly becomes visible when the hellhound attacks, gripping its arm, trying to pull it from its socket.
It looks like a man, with big dreadlocks and fancy gear and it isn't until it turns its head that Dean is able to see its mask.
"That's not a man," Sam said.
"No, but I don't think it's a demon either." Dean replies.
They run out of the town, into the safety of the forest.
They run as fast as they can, as the town became is engulfed in blaze.
~oo00oo~
Always carry an emergency kit, Dean's father had told him. In a pocket of the boy's packsack, is a small container of holy water, a small plastic lunch bag with bandages, a sewing kit, matches and a Swiss army knife. In the other pocket is a small flashlight and granola bars.
They couldn't go back to the town and run the risk of encountering those creatures or that yellowed eyed demon that had tried to get at Sam.
"Will Daddy be able to find us, Dean?" Sam is six. It was okay for him to call their Dad, Daddy. It was okay for him to be scared. Dean doesn't have that luxury.
"Dad is the best tracker that ever lived. He'll find us," He reassures his brother.
"I'm hungry."
They've been walking for hours and soon, the sun would be setting.
"I know, Sammy."
Forests hold their own sorts of dangers, like vampyres and werewolves.
"Dean?" Sam tugs Dean's jacket.
"Sammy, right now we can't think about our tummies. We have to be safe, that's what Dad would want us to do."
They have enough salt to create a barrier, but how would they keep the animals out? Dean still had his knife and gun, but that wouldn't be enough.
~oo00oo~
In the dense forest, the youngling moves cautiously, aware that there are others like him out there, capable of hunting him down.
He is no longer concerned about his first kill. He still has four more days before they are summoned and picked up.
He soon comes upon a clearing, with the two Pyode Amedha, sitting by a fire, the children he'd encountered in the village, those whom his Ooman prey had taken an interest in.
He pressed a button on his wrist console to both magnify and tape part of their conversation.
"Do you think that will keep the demons out?" the young boy asks.
"Until morning at least," is the other boy's reply.
"Dean, I'm scared."
"I'll be okay, Sammy. Promise."
They are dumping something in the dirt, forming a circle. The youngling breathes in, whatever they are dumping smells like a spice used to preserve meat, and it is white in colour.
The young Predator waits, observing them as they continue their discussion. After a bit he grows bored, then he hears the sound of crushed dry leaves.
A male Ooman appears and approaches the perimeter where the children had dumped the spice, almost like a protective barrier around themselves.
"This will only keep me out for so long," the human threatens.
"Long enough for daylight, you blood sucker!" the older child says, unafraid.
The man laughs. "I'm older than time. Daylight won't affect me."
"Dean?" the younger boy asks, from his hiding spot behind his brother.
Dean raises a gun and aims it at the man. "I can shoot you from here."
"Go ahead, it won't do a thing."
From the forest another group of humans step out. "Leave him be, Vampyre. These children are ours."
Now, thought the youngling, this was getting interesting.
"You don't rule this forest, go back to hell!"
With that, a skirmish breaks out.
The youngling observes the weapons being used, making sure to record the fight. Before they were dumped on this planet, their trainer had informed them that the humans, while they were smart creatures, were not known for their strength, nor were they immortal. Whatever these humans were, they should be dead by now.
The fact that they continue to fight is worrisome.
Four days, soon to be three.
The youngling could not afford to leave his hunting until the end.
With his camouflage activated and his combat staff in hand, the youngling runs towards the battle, coming out of cloaking mode as it engages the strange humans, throwing his combi-stick and watching as it punctures through one of the targets.
They come at him, and he let out a fierce snarl, as his retractable wrist blades come out, slicing the opponents across their torso, beheading another.
He takes them down one by one, until all that is left are the two children, who had not run away in fear, but bravely stayed.
The older child yells, "Don't come any closer!"
There is no honour in hunting the young. He turns his back to them and goes to the bodies of his victims.
Using his ceremonial dagger he slowly separates the flesh from its bones, skinning each of the bodies.
The two children argue as he steadily works on his task.
"Ugh, I'm going to be sick!"
"Dean, why can't I look?"
"Sammy, quiet."
"Do you think he's a canni – cannibal?"
"Shush."
He hangs the beheaded bodies on top of the trees. He hides the heads for safe keeping, looking up at the sky to measure the distance from here to the pick up location, for he would need to come back for his trophies.
"Do you think he's a demon?"
"I don't know, now stop asking questions."
He walks over to where the children stand and kneels down on the ground at the barrier of spice. He touches the small white crystals and hears both children gasp aloud.
His kind had used this substance before, to preserve the heads of their hunt. Salt, was what the humans called it. He gets up. The young meats are of no interest to him. He presses a button on his wrist and becomes invisible again.
~oo00oo~
"Dean, did you see that!"
Whatever the thing was, it is no demon.
Once it disappears, Dean abruptly sits down on the ground. They have to make it to the next town. They have to call Pastor Jim and somehow get in contact with his dad.
"That was cool, if a bit gross."
Sam continues to chatter away.
"Go to sleep, Sam."
"But –"
Dean watches over his brother as he slept, and hopes their salt barrier will hold and protect them until morning.
~oo00oo~
The youngling continues its quest. The fact he has successfully hunted and beheaded four Ooman's means he has passed his people's test and can now claim his heritage. With a name, he would now be considered part of the pack.
He looks out at the forest. Still has three days to hunt bigger prey, Amedha. The more honourable his kills, the greater chance that a strong clan will accept him; more prey is needed.
~oo00oo~
They are tired, hungry and thirsty.
Dean only allowed them to have a bit of their protein bar; they have to save the rest for later.
"Can't we just go back, Dean?" asks Sam.
"No, we can't risk it. The whole town could be run by demons by now."
They have to keep walking, putting as much distance between themselves and danger.
"But my feet hurt."
"I can't carry you, Sammy."
Sam sniffles. He is just so tired.
"Come on, I'm sure once we get to Pastor Jim, he'll have ice-cream for us."
"Really?"
"Hey, when am I ever wrong?"
~oo00oo~
The youngling returned to the enclosure that housed the human dwellings, but all he'd found were dead bodies.
There are others like him here, older, unmarked.
It is best he doesn't stay too long, just enough to document what had happened, but it is difficult to hide amongst his own kind. Especially those with more experience as hunters; by the time he realizes that he's being followed it would be too late for him to hide.
~oo00oo~
Another night.
Another protective circle. They only have one granola bar left and still a long way to go.
"I'm thirsty," Sam says. His lips are chapped.
Dean thought the fire would keep them warm, and protect them from the animals that live in the forest. As for the other creatures, he could only hope they had other things with which to concern themselves.
~oo00oo~
He was being followed by two different groups.
One was a group of humans. He calculates that there are about five of them, and from the thermal reading, they are of different sizes and shapes.
The S'yuit-de Yautja, unhonourable Predators, are also following, probably to use him to flush out the humans.
If he's going to go down, he'll go down fighting. The youngling throws the sharp discus into the air. It catches his target, one of the larger human males, squarely on the chest. The human stops, and instead of bleeding out and dying, pulls the disk out of his chest, throws it to the ground and keeps on moving.
The youngling takes a step back.
This thing is no human.
~oo00oo~
"What's that sound?" Sam asks, rubbing his sleepy eyes.
Dean doesn't bother answering. It didn't sound human.
"Sammy, whatever happens; don't get out of the circle." Dean grabs a stick and lights it from the campfire.
Dean wishes his dad were here.
~oo00oo~
As he runs away from the fight, a spear is thrown in the youngling's direction. A net gun that fired a man-size net securing itself against the ground followed the spear. The net entangles the youngling, and trapping him within its confines. The young Predator pulls at the net, taking advantage of the fact the S'yuit-de had deployed a weaker model than the newer laser nets that are known to cut apart its victim.
The humans and the Bad Bloods continue their fight. The humans are changing into odd shapes. The strange Oomans, though harmed, weren't stopped by the Predator's weapons. They care not that their arms are cut off.
They just pick up the severed limbs and reconnect them. These are not any ordinary soft meat.
The youngling cuts through the net, using his ceremonial dagger.
Then, one of the head of a large, three-headed beast grabs hold of the young Predator's mask and shakes it. Just as his mask is ripped off and tossed, the youngling retracts both twelve-inch wrist blades, watching in satisfaction as it goes right through two of the dog's heads. He quickly leans back, brings his legs up, places his feet against the dog's torso. Before he pushes it away, he turns his wrists, beheading the last of the dog's heads.
The injured young Predator looks up to get his bearings as he crawls to safety. He sees the spear and somewhat unsteadily he stands up, walks over to it, picks up the spear, and uses it to steady himself.
He looks around, trying to locate the mask, hoping he'd be able to salvage it and as he continues walking, he notices a beam of light through the trees. As he approaches it, he comes upon his mask, dented on the side, scratched along the top but otherwise still workable. He puts it on and continues to investigate the light source, coming upon a small clearing, a campfire and the two young meats he'd met just the day before.
Were the Ooman's so careless that they allowed their young wander about?
Where was their mother?
~oo00oo~
They had been quiet, afraid to make any sound. Taking one of the small flashlights, Dean had instructed Sam to aim it toward the trees while he held his makeshift torch, ready for anything. Or so they thought, but that creature they had encountered just the night before emerges from the trees.
It looks injured, it's mask dented, and it is using a spear to walk upright. It looks at them almost as if it is just as perplexed as they were.
It seemed to shake itself and then the thing says, "Ooman Amedha Lou-dte Kalei?"
"Huh?" is Sam's response.
"You're not supposed to talk to it, dumbass," Dean informs him.
"It's hurt." Sam tells him.
"Yeah, and better him and not us." Dean said, still holding tightly to his torch. He knows that the two of
them are no match for whatever this thing is.
"It's not a demon Dean," Sam says in his most know-it-all voice.
Dean rolls his eyes. "I know that, midget."
A demon or anything tainted by evil would not have been able to break through the salt barrier.
"Maybe it's a hunter like us." Sam looks hopeful.
"It's not human, Sammy." It might not be a demon, but it is still large and dangerous.
"It could be um – an Alien." Sammy argues back.
"UFO's aren't real." If Dean had been able to, he'd smack his brother at the back of the head.
"Yeah, who says?" Instead of aiming the flashlight at the creature, Sammy now points it to the ground.
"I do."
"I'm right, you know." Sam pushes his bangs out of his face.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
Crash.
Both boys jump.
The creature has fallen to his knees. It is breathing hard.
"Should we help it?" Sam takes a step forward and Dean quickly grabs hold of his arm.
"Don't." They both look at the thing before them.
Last night they'd been too scared to notice the creature's small thick dreadlocks, or the fact it was wearing dark armour of some kind, like a body mesh.
"Dean?"
It did seem hurt, and it hadn't tried to harm them the last time they'd seen it.
Dean remembers one of his father's lectures, the enemy of my enemy is sometimes a – friend.
"All right, but we do this quick." Dean tells Sam as he places the torch back into the campfire.
Cautiously, they walk to the injured creature. Dean nodding to his brother, and they each get their arm under the Alien's shoulder, half carrying, dragging the thing with them.
"Come on, Sammy." They have to get back to safety, in case there are any demons out there.
As they drag the creature in, they momentarily brush aside part of the salt barrier. After they dump him next to the fire, Dean picks up his last box of salt and fixes the circle.
"All done." He proclaims, turning around and watching in horror as Sammy takes the creature's mask off.
"Sammy!"
"What?" Sam drops the mask and jumps.
It looks be around five feet tall, with wounds upon its large cranium, small black dreadlocks and – mandibles. Large mandibles.
"It looks like an ant." There is wonder in Sammy's voice as he edges closer to the creature as if to stroke it.
"Sammy." Perhaps this may not have been such a good idea.
Six-year old Sam turns to Dean and asks, "Can I keep him?"
"Sammy, he's not a pet," said an exasperated Dean.
"No, he's an alien, we'd be famous."
"Dad won't let us get a dog; I don't think he'll say yes to an alien."
"Aw."
By this time both Winchesters are sitting down on the ground, on either side of their pet alien.
"I'm Sammy. He's Dean, he's a jerk." Sammy introduces himself to the alien.
"Watch who you're calling a jerk, princess." Sam just ignores Dean and reaches instead to gently touch the alien's injured face.
The thing grabs Sam's wrist. Sammy makes a face, and says in a voice that comes close to mimicking his brother, "Stop that you big baby. I'm not going to hurt you."
It lets him go and watches as Dean grabs the emergency kit. With Sam's help, Dean uses holy water to quickly clean the alien's face. Dean then sews shut some of the bigger cuts, while Sammy applied Spiderman band-aids on those cuts to keep them from becoming infected.
They've been so busy administering first aid to the alien, that they fail to notice they are no longer alone.
There is a large alien watching them. It is over seven feet tall, with long black dreadlocks.
"Hey, maybe it's his dad," Sam tells Dean, as he waves at it, making the universal come here motion, but when it raises its arm as if to shoot at them, Sam adds, "Maybe not."
The older alien's gun fires nail-like bullets meant to penetrate skin, flesh and bone.
The young alien shoves them aside and throws his dagger into the shoulder of the large alien, spoiling its aim. It's protecting them.
"Dean?" Sam asked.
"Stay behind me, Sammy." Dean grabs the spear, holding it tightly before him.
Their alien gets up to stand beside Dean. For one brief moment, Dean feels a light camaraderie with the alien they had rescued.
He smiled winsomely, and when the young alien roars, Dean yells alongside him.
~oo00oo~
The youngling had not expected the young meats to help him, and now they are in danger from the Bad Bloods.
The young Predator knows it has to protect these young humans. It would be dishonourable to allow them to be killed.
"Nain-desintye-de!" it warns the older Predator, for the pure win.
The young Predator had honourably killed four preys and it is now willing to face this experienced fighter.
As he steps forward, the older Predator takes off his mask and tosses it aside. They circle each other, measuring and weighing their opponent; both are trained combat hunters. They both launch towards the other at the same time. Only one would come out victorious in the end.
~oo00oo~
Dean and Sam watch as the two aliens fight, the younger one spinning on the ground, kneeing the older Hunter.
They fight the kind of fight they heard in their father's stories, of how he or other hunters took down Vampyres or demons.
It looks like their young Predator is about to meet its end, when a gun is fired, hitting the older Predator in the back of the knee. It goes down and another shot hits him on the side. Glowing blood flows heavily down its shoulder and leg.
"Sam. Dean." It's their dad.
When the older Predator turns and tries to get up, the tip of a wrist blade appears in its chest. Glowing blood flows down its torso; the younger Predator has sliced through his adversary.
Not realizing that the young Predator is a friend, their dad aims his gun.
Seeing this Sam screams, "Daddy, no!" He puts himself between his father and their young friend. He reaches down to pet the injured Predator on top of its large cranium. "It's our Alien. We're going to be famous!"
"Sam, get away from that thing. Dean, call your brother."
Dean with spear still in hand, stands next to Sam. "Look, I admit it's one fuggly little alien –"
"Dean!" protests Sam.
"What, it's true."
"Boys!"
"Sorry, dad," said both boys.
"Now, why are you protecting a demon?"
"It's not a demon," Sam insists.
"It's not, dad." Dean concurs.
Their tired father rubs the back of his head. "All right, what if you just start from the beginning."
~oo00oo~
The youngling uses his spear as a crutch as they slowly reach their pick up zone. His final days of his rite of passage had been most unusual. John, the young meat's father, an Ooman who moved like a well-seasoned hunter had helped him gather the beheaded heads.
The youngling now had four Ooman prey, three heads from what the young meats called a Hell Hound, and the head of a large Bad Blood.
As the winds picks up and the Predator craft extends its landing gear, uncloaking in the process, other younglings begin to appear as they deactivate their camouflage.
The young injured Predator soon finds himself flanked in front by John and behind by Sam and Dean. The youngling opens his mandible and he lets out a roar informing others that these are allies and not prey.
The craft touches down and from it a group of Predators descend.
The warrior Predators made room, and an elder Predator stepped down. It looked at the youngling and the Oomans. It lifts its wrist to show them a red holographic image. It is bits of the recording the youngling had transmitted to the ship, as well as other recordings from the clan.
While the trainers would not interfere in a youngling's rite of passage, it is customary to supervise and record the kills. The elder Predator knows what the youngling had faced and seems pleased with the hunt. He glances over to the Oomans and for a long time it stares at John, the Ooman's father as if weighing his family's worth. Predators do not leave witnesses, the hunt was sacred and not for others to know but the two Ooman's had proven their own worth. Johns nods, as if understanding that they've been granted their lives in exchange for aiding the youngling.
Decision made, it steps toward the young Ooman named Dean and bestows upon him a ceremonial dagger. To the younger Ooman, named Sam, it gives him a small medicomp.
The elder walks back to the ship followed closely by the warriors and the other younglings.
The young Predator carrying his trophies followed his brothers to the ship. Just before the doors closed behind him, he turns to look at the Oomans.
He hopes their hunt will be as fruitful as his.