A/N: This is single-perspective, so it's a bit different from the last chapter, but I felt this worked the best. Hope you enjoy! (The next update is going to be slower, so I apologize. Please hang in there with me ^.^)
Dean never knocked. Why should he? The only way in was with a key, and as far as the brothers were aware, they had the only key. So of course Sam would investigate; a knock on the bunker door was enough to get him out of his research, a feat even Dean struggled with. So Sam had picked up a nearby gun and went to peek out the door… only to find an intruder, supposedly the knocker, already within the confines of the heavily warded, practically impenetrable bunker. So: What the HELL?!
The tall, lean, dark-haired man, who had an unassuming professor-like air (image complete with a sweater under his trench coat), turned slightly and eyed Sam up and down. Sam could see the stranger tag every hidden weapon the hunter kept on his person. A fighter, then. Not encouraging. The man raised an eyebrow, a small smirk quirking his sharp face. "Well," he announced in a British accent, "I must say, this is not how I envisioned this little excursion. Considerably more… interactive than what I had in mind. And you… you do not appear to be a Man of Letters."
"How would you know?" Sam frowned. The Men of Letters were wiped out years ago.
The stranger shrugged eloquently. The man was doing a very good job of keeping his hands in sight. "You could say it's family history. I know a bit about the order. So, are you a hunter?"
A legacy like us? A British legacy? "Depends. Who are you?"
A brilliant smile lit his face, "Adam Pierson. And you are?"
"What are you doing here?"
"It's going to be like that, is it? If you must know, I was looking for a few books. The type of book you would be… unlikely to find in an average library," the stranger, Adam, shrugged eloquently again and gave Sam a meaningful look.
"How did you get in?"
"A key. I should hope any other way is thoroughly warded against."
"A key. You have a key?" Sam found himself repeating doubtfully.
"Yes, that is what I said."
"And how did you get a key?
A smirk graced Adam's sharp features and he shrugged again, "Oh, I've had it for ages."
Sam narrows his eyes at the man before him. "Ages," the Winchester repeated doubtfully once again.
The man frowned, false worry coloring his tone, "Do you have a scratched record in there?"
Sam pressed his lips together in annoyance, "If you had a key, why did you knock?"
"Well, I didn't think there was anyone here, but I wasn't about to risk getting shot on sight. Bad for your health, don't you know, never mind bloody painful."
"Really," Sam shot back dryly.
"Now, this has been fun and all," Adam clapped his hands together, "but I really would love to know the name of the hunter with a gun pointed at my head. If you… don't mind, that is."
Sam gave the stranger another appraisal. He appeared to have some kind of weapon stashed in his coat—a very big one at that. However, he did seem to be a hunter of some variety…"Sam Winchester."
"Winchester?" Adam repeated in surprise. For a moment Sam was sure he saw fear—no dread— flash across the Brit's face, but it was gone faster than it appeared. "My, my. You and your brother have created quite the stir over these past few years…both in the hunter community and beyond. Especially with that apocalypse business. I must ask, though; what was up with that serial killer spree? Shifters?"
"Leviathan."
"Oh, my. The rumors are true then, are they? Out of the prison and into the world," Adam shook his head in reproach.
"You seem to know an awful lot." Almost like an insider.
Adam gave the Winchester an unimpressed look, "I am very good at my job, Sam."
"It seems to be a bit more than that, Adam," Sam shot back.
Adam's reply came as an icy smile that transformed his face. Sam was instantly struck by the realization that as unassuming as Adam may be, he was very dangerous… and a very good actor. Sam shifted himself slightly, preparing to reach for a silver knife, but just then the bunker door flew open.
It clanged loudly against the wall as Dean burst in, gun in one hand, shopping bag in the other. "Sammy?" he called before his eyes landed on the scene below him. In an instant his gun was trained on the intruder. "Hands in the air!" the elder Winchester bellowed.
Adam heaved a dramatic sigh, but complied easily enough. Sam's eyes were immediately drawn back to the man's coat. There was very clearly some sort of weapon tucked away in there.
Dean shut the door with a foot before pounding down the stairs, "Who the hell are you?"
Adam rolled his eyes, "I do apologize, but we already did this part without you. I am Adam Pierson, I have a key, and I did knock. I hate to disappoint…uh, Dean, is it?"
Dean frowned, "How do you know my name?"
"I'm afraid it's simple logic. If he is Sam Winchester, you must be Dean Winchester. I mean, last I heard you were both alive, and when that is the case you rarely leave each other's sides, do you?" Adam gave another elegant shrug, "Word about you two gets around the hunter grapevine quite quickly."
"You're a hunter then," Dean eyed him up and down.
"I assure you, Dean, looks are not everything."
Sam glanced at his brother, "He claims to be a legacy, like us."
Adam leaned forward in interest, "You two are Men of Letters? I must say, that explains how you got a key."
Dean frowned at him, "We were under the impression that it was the only key."
"That would be bloody impractical, don't you think?"
The brothers glanced at each other again. Silently they agreed; it was time to run their unwanted visitor through the ropes and make sure he was what he said he was. Sam sighed slightly, This all seems a little too coincidental… A visitor claiming to be a Man of Letters showing up just two days after we find the bunker? Pushing his doubts aside, Sam reached into his pocket again and produced a silver knife, holding it up for their visitor to see.
Surprisingly the man heaved a sigh, "Don't suppose we could do the holy water first, could we?"
Sam glanced at his brother, What? Why? Dean just shrugged and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, producing a familiar flask with a cross embossed on it. Without any preamble, the hunter tossed a fair amount of its contents upon the Brit. The intruder spluttered a little and wiped the water out of his eyes, but didn't otherwise react.
"While we're at it…" Dean muttered, putting the cap back on the flask before reaching into his shopping bag and retrieving a bottle of borax.
"Borax?" Adam asked curiously, "Is that for Levi—" He was cut off by a face full of the cleaning solution. Adam gagged and coughed into his jacket, "Was that—" he made a face, "really necessary? You could have waited for me to close my mouth."
Dean smirked at him, "We might have been here all day."
"Hilarious," Adam shot back.
Sam lifted the silver knife once more and raised his eyebrows meaningfully.
"Yes, yes, alright," Adam sighed holding out his hand. Sam tossed it to the man in an easy underhand throw. Adam eyed it carefully, "I don't suppose I could convince you that me holding it is enough?"
Dean gave a forced fake laugh, "Hilarious," he mocked back.
Sam shot his brother a side eye before frowning at Adam, "Why are you acting so squeamish? If you aren't a monster, why don't you want to cut yourself with a silver knife?"
"I assure you, I am like this with every knife, regardless of its material." Adam turned slightly to place the knife beside him on the table before carefully shrugging off his coat and tossing it with a thump onto the center of the map. He rolled the left sleeve of his sweater halfway to his elbow, revealing a strange circular blue tattoo. He gave the brothers a wry smile, "Might as well get it over with." Adam retrieved the knife from the table and—contrary to how the brothers always performed the test—laid a deep cut across the palm of his hand. Adam raised his eyebrows at the brothers, "Satisfied, I hope?"
The brothers exchanged yet another look. Sam frowned to himself. Why was he so worried? Well, maybe he just doesn't like cutting himself. No wonder, if he's always cutting himself on his hand. "Uh, yeah." Sam fished into a pocket and retrieved a handkerchief. "Here," he tossed it to the now verified human. Dean lowered his gun.
Adam, however, was not done being eccentric. He flashed them another grin as he wiped the blade clean and set it on the table once more. "Now, please refrain from shooting me. It is not a pleasant experience."
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw his brother's what- the-hell face flash into place, "Why on earth would we—"
Before Dean could finish, Adam wiped off the blood from his hand, revealing… nothing. His hand was perfectly untouched. In an instant, both brothers had their guns trained on the man once more.
"What are you?" Sam practically growled.
"No, let me amend that, Sammy," Dean turned to 'Adam', "You don't react to holy water, borax, or silver, and bleed red, but heal instantaneously. What the hell are you?"
The man calling himself Adam deliberately—almost painfully slowly—tossed the bloodied cloth onto the table next to the knife, and straightened his sweater. He eyed the Winchesters carefully before speaking, "I am human. I sleep, eat, and drink the exact same as you."
"Well, what don't you do like a human?" Dean snapped.
"I don't heal like a human, and I don't age like a human."
After an awkward pause, Sam huffed in disbelief, "That's it?" There's always a catch.
"That's it."
"So," Dean stepped forward with a dangerous glint in his eye, "If I shot you in the heart right now…"
Adam gave Dean a thoroughly unimpressed look, "I would die." Just as Dean rolled his eyes and started to turn to face Sam, Adam smirked, "And then I'd get back up."
Dean whipped back to face the strange man, "What the hell are you?"
Sam's mind reeled. Plenty of things could get shot and keep going, but something dying—like completely ceasing to be alive—and then getting back up? A zombie? But a zombie is always dead…
The intruder smiled enigmatically, "I am a hunter."
"Uh," Sam stepped forward, "Not what we're talking about."
"It is true. I have been hunting monsters and demons long before your grandfather, Charles Winchester, or even your great grandfather, Arthur Winchester, were even conceived."
Dean gave a dry chuckle, "Not helping your case buddy. Nothing human can live that long."
"I am not a demon, Leviathan, shifter, werewolf, vampire, skin walker—would you like me to go on? I am not a monster. Nor," he paused and swallowed hard (that's interesting), "am I a bloodthirsty god that survives on sacrifices. I've heard you encountered a few of those?" Adam shrugged, "I may be more permanent than the average human, but that does not change my intentions. I am merely here because I need the Men of Letters' resources."
"And it doesn't change the fact that we're cautious," Sam pointed out. Adam nodded in acquiescence.
Dean narrowed his eyes and waved his gun a bit, "Are you serious when you say you'd die and come back?"
"Yes, though I do hope you take my word for it; there really is no pleasant way to die. Trust me I have plenty of experience."
Sam frowned, "That's dark."
"So you've died a lot, you mean?" Dean pried.
"Yes."
"Then you'll just be adding one more to your list." Without a moment of hesitation, Dean aimed his gun at Adam's heart and pulled the trigger.
The last thing Adam did was roll his eyes.
"Dean!" Sam jumped forward and redirected Adam's trajectory so he fell away from the table. Fuming, he glared up at his older brother.
Dean merely shrugged, "If he was lying, he was stupid and a monster. If he was telling the truth, I bought us some time. Let's figure out what the hell we have in our entryway."
Sam looked back down at the body lying at his feet. Adam's lifeless eyes stared across the room, and one of his arms was flung to the side. A sinister red stain spread across his sweater and leaked across the floor. Human or not, the stranger who had turned their day upside down was as dead as a doornail.
Sam sighed and glanced at his brother's retreating back. I hope your right, Dean. I really hope you're right.
A/N: Please let me know what you think!
