"We don't have the Colt, and your girlfriend's run off with her demon-slaying knife-"
"She's not my girlfriend." Sam protested in a low voice, knowing the words were futile. He and Dean were seated at a grungy table in a grungy bar in a grungy town somewhere in the middle of Nebraska on the trail of a demon. At least, that's what all the signs pointed to. Odd weather patterns, a series of murders apparently committed by a man with no memory of the three-week period when they had occurred.
"We do have the key of Solomon and a couple of heavy-duty exorcisms to work with." This was all they had come up with after three days of research and planning.
"Right, because that worked out so well last time." Dean snorted. It couldn't have been a nice little vengeful spirit, heck, he would've taken a poltergeist happily. But no, it had to have been a demon that caught his brother's attention. "Even Bobby said we'd better leave this till we have more info on what precisely we're dealing with. I mean, what if it's one of those uber demons, like the Seven Deadly Sins?"
"Well what do you suggest we do, Dean?" Sam was on his way to being pissed. In the angry sense of the word rather than the drunken one. Dean, on the other hand, seemed quite content to down beer after beer. "We can't just leave these people to its mercy!"
The two brothers were leaning across the small table, so intent on their conversation they didn't notice the tall figure that approached them until he broke into their conversation. "Your dedication is admirable, but this case is not for you."
Taken by surprise, the Winchesters sat bolt upright, Dean's hand automatically reaching under the table for his gun, as Sam quickly shut his laptop and hid the display of arcane research.
"Peace, I'm not here to fight you." The man held up his hands, palms out.
"What do you know about this case?" Dean asked suspiciously, one hand still out of sight under the table. The man who had addressed them out of the blue was tall and well built, his shaven head not detracting from his handsome features. He had a tattoo creeping of the side of his neck in an intricate, curling pattern that continued down his neck and shoulder, disappearing under his clothing. He wore a long black duster over a loose-fitting shirt, in the tradition of mysterious figures who want to intimidate potential targets, but it was well worn, speaking to a long successful career at doing whatever it was the stranger did. No weapons were apparent, but the man exuded an air of self-confidence that suggested he could handle himself quite well if it came to a fight.
Sam stared coldly at the man, mentally swearing at himself for leaving his own gun in the trunk of the Impala. The man smiled, but it was only an automatic gesture conjured from the notion that it was impolite to stare blank-faced during a conversation. It didn't reach his eyes, which were a brilliant shade of dark blue. Or were they simply crystal blue? Now they looked almost green. Sam blinked first, and darted a look at Dean. This man's presence was not only unwelcome for them professionally; he was also just plain disconcerting.
Although it seemed like an eternity before the man replied, Sam was sure it had really only been a second or two. "I am a hunter, like you." He addressed Dean directly, and Sam was relieved to escape the brunt of his gaze for a moment. But only for a moment. Before they could react, the self-proclaimed hunter had added another chair to their table and sat down with them. Looking back and forth between the two shocked brothers, a more genuine smile crossed his features. "I'm sorry, I honestly didn't mean to startle you. My name's Michael Prince, I've been in the game for quite awhile now, so of course I've heard of the Winchesters."
"Don't believe everything you hear." Sam warned. He and Dean communicated silently across the table, using subtle expressions and the knowledge that comes from working in close quarters for many years to read each other. Who is this guy? What the hell does he want?
Hell if I know. I don't remember seeing anything about a Michael Prince in Dad's journal, or hearing the name mentioned.
"We're hunters; we have to at least investigate what we hear. Otherwise we'd never catch half the things that terrorize people." He turned to the elder Winchester. "Isn't that right, Dean?"
Ignoring the man's rhetorical question, Dean repeated his own query. "What do you know about this case? Why are you warning us off it? What do you know that we don't?"
For a moment, Sam would've sworn Prince's eyes turned a brilliant aquamarine color, but then they returned to a more normal shade of still-bright blue. The quirk of his lips was unmistakable though. "I know a great deal more than you, even with Sam's talent for research." He leaned forward over the table, and for a moment Sam thought he caught a glimpse of something over his shoulders, but when he looked straight at the space behind the strange hunter there was nothing there. Prince continued his thought. "Among other pieces of information, I know that this demon you boys are hunting is named Balaam."
Intrigued despite himself, Sam popped open his computer and entered the name into a search engine.
"You won't find much online, I'm afraid. Not much that will help you. Balaam was the name of a necromancer and demon-worshipper who had a run in with the Archangel Michael back in Biblical times, but the demon possessing people here in Nebraska only barely resembles the figure from lore." Prince took a sip of the beer sitting before him, one that Sam would swear hadn't been there a moment ago. But there was the barmaid to his left, walking away from them… He frowned. Something still didn't add up.
Dean finally relaxed his grip on the gun. "You're telling me that this demon-guy tangled with an Archangel and escaped? That's bullcrap. If angels even exist, surely they would be able to deal with one little hellion." He smirked. "Did you catch that? Hellion?" Sam wasn't amused.
Prince was, though, and nodded approvingly at Dean. "Nice one. Few people here appreciate a good pun."
"Tell me about it." Dean raised his own bottle and took a swig. "Look, you seem like a nice enough guy, but we work on our own. Thanks for the intel and all, but we got this one."
Prince's expression slipped slightly, and the polite, meaningless smile reappeared. "I really think you should just walk away this time, boys." Though phrased as a suggestion, the order behind the words was obvious. Leave, and don't look back.
"Dean, you were the one who was just protesting that we didn't have the right equipment to deal with a powerful demon." Sam wasn't any more comfortable with the idea of working with this Michael Prince than Dean was, but he wasn't about to let his brother off the hook for his earlier pessimism.
"Dude, lore says he had a run in with an angel. Since he's still running around, clearly the lore is wrong. It's probably just some wannabe who wanted a cool name and 'Satan' was already taken."
Prince held up a hand. "Hey, personally I think "Balaam" is a way cooler name than Satan. I mean really, how many times have you looked at the word and misread it as "satin" first? Not really that scary. Sometimes I even hear it wrong."
The brothers paused in their bickering and stared at him. He blinked innocently back at them, his eyes bluish-green with poorly disguised humor. "That's never happened to you? Honestly?"
Sam regained his voice first. "Um, no." His mind had gone blank for a moment, and he tried to recall what he and Dean had been arguing about.
Dean got there before his brother. "Yeah, but back to this demon. Now that we know his name, it'll be that much easier to design a binding spell to contain him. We set up that key of Solomon trap specifically for Balaam, throw some Holy Water and an exorcism at him, and wham, no more serial murdering psycho."
Sam paused, mouth open to argue. That actually made a lot of sense. Names had inherent power to them, especially when it came to supernatural creatures…
"Leave this to me. I know the creature, and will be able to deal with him far more effectively than the two of you." Prince stood up to leave, his voice low and serious now, his eyes a deep cobalt blue. "You are skilled hunters, but I have the advantage of years and specialized training."
The Winchesters stood up as well. Dean matched Prince's grim expression. "You can't be that much older than us, and besides, who are you to tell us what we can and can't do?" He demanded.
With a swirl of his black duster, Prince turned around and headed towards the exit, throwing a few bills on the bar as he did so.
This wasn't good enough for Dean, who swore under his breath as he dug out some money for their tab. Sam quickly shoved his stuff into his bag, swinging it onto his shoulder as he followed his angry brother after their strange hunter.
"You can't just walk away from us, after giving us some mysterious warning and telling us to get lost." Dean stalked angrily though the entrance way out into the dusty parking lot. Unfortunately his speech of righteous indignation was lost on its intended recipient, as Prince was already on the far side of the parking lot, heading out into the open field which bordered the bar lot on one side.
"Dean, maybe we should just let this go, I mean, he seems to have things under control, and there are a lot of other evil things we could be hunting."
"Damn it Sam, no. This was our hunt. He has no right to just sweep in and pull it out from under us!" Dean was a hunter. He was good at it, and it was the one constant in his life. He was not going to let some self-important jackass take a hunt away from him like this! He picked up his pace and caught up with Prince, stepping in front of him and forcing the man to stop and talk to him. "If you can give me one good reason why you are more capable of completing this hunt than I am, I'll consider letting you have it!"
Michael Prince considered the young hunter in front of him for a moment. Dean was breathing slightly quicker than normal from the extra burst of speed he'd needed to overtake the larger man. Sam came up beside them, his head on level with the stranger's. The younger Winchester took a small measure of satisfaction from this. Prince may have the bigger attitude, but Sam was just as tall as he was. Prince casually took a step to the side, and the afternoon sunlight flashed on the broadsword that had suddenly appeared in his hand. "Don't move."
"Son of a bitch!" Dean swore fervently. Where the hell had the monster sword come from? All his instincts screamed at him to jump backwards out of the reach of the lethal metal object, but Prince's tone brooked no disobedience.
Sam was under no such obligation, and immediately backed away from the sword-wielding hunter. "What the hell! What happened to not wanting to fight us?" His fingers itched for the comforting weight of a gun. I swear, if we get out of this, I am never leaving my gun in the car again! He matched the man in height, but Prince had the advantage in breadth, and his hand-to-hand wasn't all that it could be.
The face-off was abruptly broken when several events occurred nearly simultaneously. The sword flashed down towards Dean, Sam screamed his brother's name, and Dean felt as though he was trapped in tar as he tried to jump back out of the way of the silvery death he saw swiftly approaching.
Time seemed to catch up with him abruptly, and Dean found himself sitting in the prairie grass next to a decapitated, greenish-brown snake. His breathing sounded labored even to his own ears, but the shock he felt on his own face was mirrored in his brother's.
"Dean, are you okay?" Sam's legs felt unstable. He would've sworn the sword was aiming straight for his brother's head, but it had somehow missed Dean completely and instead killed the rattlesnake which neither Winchester had noticed in the grass.
"I'm sorry if I alarmed you. Prairie rattlesnakes usually leave people alone, but you almost stepped on this guy." Prince stated calmly, his hands miraculously empty once more. He gave a hand to help Dean up.
"Uh, yeah." Dean struggled to regain his equilibrium, physically and mentally. "I guess I owe you one."
Prince shrugged. "I'd say don't mention it, since I really don't like snakes, but I need something from you. You let me have this hunt, leave town, and we'll call it even."
The Winchesters shared a glance, and Sam spoke for the both of them. "That sounds reasonable." He could feel the adrenaline still surging through his system, and took a deep breath. "I gotta ask: where the hell did your sword come from?"
In the blink of an eye, the giant sword was in Prince's hands once more. "I've had it with me the whole time." He said casually, as though it was perfectly normal to walk around with a broadsword that no one noticed.
Sam watched closely this time as Prince made the sword disappear, and barely caught the brief flash of the metal glinting in the sun as it slid into a sheath strapped to the man's back. He blinked, and the sword sheath seemed to fade in front of his eyes. Since he knew what he was looking for, when he stared directly at the sword he could see it, but he had a hard time staying focused. His eyes seemed to want to slide away from it. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision, and exchanged a glance with Dean, who had been doing the same experiment.
"Dude, that is not normal."
An amused smile crossed Prince's face. "It's amazing what people won't let themselves notice. It's too much work to believe in the impossible, so people just ignore the extraordinary." He nodded once to each of them, and then walked past Dean out into the field. "Don't worry about Balaam. He won't slip away this time."
Before the brothers could stop him, Michael Prince strode away, somehow moving faster than a man could run without seeming to even walk at a fast pace. Within moments he was only a black speck, walking parallel to the road.
"The hell?" Dean asked, nearly speechless.
"Let's, lets just go." Sam stammered. He was a hunter, who'd faced countless evil beings and creatures that defied conventional understanding, but right now he was feeling extremely weirded out. And I don't think "what the Hell" is precisely the right question to ask, either… his subconscious couldn't help but add.
Dean nodded shortly, and they both immediately turned around and got into the Impala. The two were silent as Dean quickly started the engine and roared out onto the highway, heading in the opposite direction that a hunter calling himself Michael Prince had taken. Only when they were several miles safely down the road did Sam break the silence. "So, what happened back there-"
"-shall never be spoken of again. The demon was destroyed by the time we got there. End of story."
"Right." And we never met a hunter with a sword you can't see, eyes that change color, and who has detailed knowledge of a demon no one's heard of for thousands of years. Sam swallowed hard.
Dean gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, but he kept his eyes on the road and pretended he didn't know exactly what his brother was thinking. Some things were too weird, too unsettling, to contemplate. Even for them.
St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle; be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; And you, O Prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and the other evil spirits who prowl about the world for the ruin of souls. Amen.
A/N: This is a Catholic prayer that I really like, but one day an idea occurred to me: what if Sam and Dean actually met this heavenly figure? I mean, they're all basically in the same line of work. So, this is my first attempt at describing such a meeting. It's not quite what I want, but it's an okay first draft. What do you think?