can't promise much to this but enjoy it anyway =w=

.

"What the hell?"

Its thin, gangly limbed, and young. A teenager. High noon blue narrows upon contact. Its not dressed to impress, so informal it hurts compared to Crowley's suits. Shaggy, unkempt hair falls over its head like a rat's nest. Dean thinks its perhaps the most bedraggled demon he has ever seen, and he's seen a lot of roughed up demons in his line of work. Sure, he had been the cause but still. What high ranking demon doesn't dress its meat suit to the nines?

This one apparently.

It wrinkles its nose, inhaling deeply, and takes one step forward. It ripples with a full-body shiver, and pauses. It glances lazily to the floor, and looks back up at him, and Castiel lining the sides each in turn. It lingers on Castiel with a thoughtful gleam in its eyes before settling back on Dean. The devil's trap is stark against the concrete, and it merely frowns at them.

"What the hell, yourself," it drawls, breaking the silence.

Dean really wants to break its face in. "You've got information, so we've been told. We want it. Among other things."

It shrugs its shoulders, pushing its hands into its pockets like its got naught a worry in the world.

Well. They'll just have to change that won't they.

With a jerked nod to Castiel, Dean smirks. Its eyes narrow to slits of glittering blue, following the motion toward the angel just as he pulls a long chain. There's a crank, and a soft hiss of metal against metal.

The demon jerks its head back.

"Heard human blood works wonders on the skin."

The blood rushes down with a wet slop. It coats the demon from head to toe, running down its head and onto the floor, and it howls in rage as its skin slides off like dirt. Distorted reality washes away with slabs of illusioned clothes, and magicked skin. Black hair bleeds white, skin revealed as a dark grey-brown shade; two dark horns wash into view above suddenly sharp-pointed ears. Black and white clothes appear from under the blood, a satanic cross appearing from beneath the flow as it ebbs.

The sigils on the floor glow, and the fallen blood recedes into it; the lines of dried paint twist and contort before resting in new forms, the demon and area clean from blood and ruined magick.

"Feel like talking now, Cambion?" Dean eggs on. "Or should I call you Daniel?"

It laughs.

Falling back onto the floor, it bares rows of sharp teeth and a split tongue. A spear ended tail arches into view, sweeping sideways and near its shoulder. It laughs, the sound throaty and echoing. White gloves curl sharp fingers into dark clothed knees, and noxious green eyes widen as they land back on Dean.

"Ohh. Ohh," Daniel sneers, lips curled, and eyes curving to bright slits. "Do I ever want to know who told you that beauty secret. I must thank them personally."

Castiel shifts minutely out the corner of the elder Winchester's eye, strangely quiet. The angel's face is hard, like it's cut from stone and just as blank. Dean grimaces inwardly at what he might see his human eyes can't.

Taking a pause, Dean makes a show of thinking it about it, rubbing lightly at his chin as if in thought. "Mmm, nah. I think I'll keep that one to myself. Maybe if you're a good boy, I'll throw you a bone, how does that sound?" he mocks, eyes hard.

A flicker of simmering rage surfaces in the radioactive. It disappears as quick as it came, but Dean notes it. "Oh, okay," it relents, face titling into one hand, the other waving forward dismissively as it leans back. "You've caught me. Now what, hm? A deal? Is that what you want? I can most certainly make a deal."

"Something like that," Dean snaps back. "I want Kevin's soul. You're gonna go get it from whatever bastard's dragged him down and maybe, just maybe, we won't gank your ass." A spirit blessed stake to the chest sounds like a nice reward.

It looks positively fucking delighted at the demand. "Oh, you want little prophet boy, do you? But he's been having so much fun with us downstairs," the Cambion cooes, grinning from ear to ear. "It'd be a shame if he had to ditch early, wouldn't you say?"

Dean takes a step back as if hit. "You motherfucker," he snarls.

"Didn't you know," it chirps, eyes wide with murderous glee, "I collect what Prophet souls I can. Or did... Crowley not mention that?"

He tries, he really does, but Dean's so thrown he can't stop the surprise that crosses his face.

"Oh Crowley, Crowley, Crowley," Daniel sighs, disappointment fading into a slow grin. "Demons, can't trust them, am I right?"

There's a beat, time slowing to a crawl, and the Cambion's tail whips sideways; it carves a line into the concrete, digging up the paint and solid ground, and Dean feels his heart stutter.

And, then a hand grips his arm hard, and they're gone, the frantic flap of feathers roaring in his ears.