Summary:
Jesse Turner is out of luck, and out of options. Ana hasn't resurfaced, and with no contact for two weeks Jesse has begun to sweat. Ana took Jesse in, she looked after him, kept him fed, clothed and most importantly safe. She kept him in school, and taught him how to hunt. Ana is the only family he's got, mother and sister both. But Lucifer is out of the cage, and Ana is missing, the worlds going to hell and Jesse? Jesse is going to the Winchesters.
But with Mary newly resurrected, can Sam and Dean really handle a teenage Cambion? His mysterious guardian and the religious zealots that seem hell bent on hunting them.
I do not own, nor do I benefit, from any of the recognisable characters or storylines from Supernatural. R&R.
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A steady rhythm danced it's way across the dank concrete floor, a steady beat echoing out into the night setting the pace. Each drop of blood hit the floor in even intervals, almost as if each and every drop had been perfectly measured and timed.
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Suspended from the roof was a body, the body of a young woman, swaying in the breeze. Hooded eyes watched the woman sway, her smooth perfect skin was smothered in the sticky brown of drying blood and the sleek silky red of fresh; debris from the cellar had quickly worked its way in every open wound that decorated her flesh. Her arms and legs were off set indicating brakes, her breathing shallow and gurgled from the blood that filled her lungs, for all intents and purposes she should have been dead but there she hung, still breathing, heart pumping, barely alive but alive all the same. Her eyes fluttered open taking in nothing but dirt and the inescapable cold, sapphire eyes flecked with silver gazed around they were glazed and disorientated. Rats squeaked and skirted about the floor, as they scurried away from the steady drumbeat of blood. As each droplet fell from porcelain fingertips, it set the pace, it kept the beat, it was nature's metronome. Only there was nothing natural about these circumstances. There was nothing natural about her smile.
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Coal black eyes watched as the woman began to choke, no not choking, laughing. She was laughing at him. Flashing him blood stained teeth. Leaning further back into the chai r where he sat in the corner, he checked his watch for what felt like the hundredth time, she should have bled out hours ago and died hours before that, and yet here he was baby sitting this sadistic bitch. She looked like she was enjoying this, her laugh was gurgled but it filled the room, he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. How was she doing this? She was their prisoner, she was the amateur hunter who walked into their trap and yet, and yet there was this sinking feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. She was exactly where she wanted to be. What kind of sick bitch enjoyed what they had done to her? Christof had trained under Alastair, he had carved her up like the filthy pig she was, and yet, she was laughing at them.
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Andre jumped as the door slammed behind him, her laughing ceased, and his breath appeared before him in thick white cloud as the temperature dropped. What the fuck? Andre jumped up from his chair, the chair clattering to the floor noisily, she began to laugh again, screw this he wasn't staying here with her for a second more. Orders be dammed. Wait till she bleeds out, cut her down and leave her for the hunters to find. They may work alone more often than not but they had their own makeshift network, someone would be along to look for her shortly. She had been their honoured guest for just under a week. Andre moved to pick the chair up, and wandered how long it would take the flannel clad monkeys to find the mutilated body of one of their lying in a pool of her own blood? It took the cops in Ohio two weeks to find the last vessel, empty, lifeless and half eaten by racoons. By that time they were long gone, just like he would be this time. Christof was already off scoping out their next victim, a male of course the boss man was specific about that he wanted a male vessel to hold him once he clawed his way out of the pit. In fact they were hopeful this last one would have suited their needs but then this bitch came along and put a merciful bullet between the meatsuit's eyes before they had finished their ritual. Andre picked his jacket up off the floor, swinging it over his shoulder and began to move towards the door.
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Andre reached for the door handle, and the room plunged into darkness. He swore loudly as he reached for his knife, reminding himself that he was demon, he was oldest and scariest thing in this room. Breath fanned out on his neck, a warm gurgled breath, laughter hung on the edge of the breath. Andre swung round knife ready, but as he turned the lights came on there was nothing. The warded chains that had once held their prisoner hung empty, the symbols engraved on them burning gold, hot from whatever magic she had used to break free.
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The noise was directly behind him, nails tapping out a rhythm on wood.
"Not so fast sweetheart, it would be rude to refuse a lady her turn."