Disclaimer: We do not own Supernatural or the Dark-Hunter series that would be a wonderful blissful dream. A glorious dream...a wonderful...I'll stop now. Have fun with the chapter!


Chapter Two

It had been a long night, but Jean-Luc was glad to say that it was finally almost over. Or rather, he would soon have the chance to return to his boat once more and sleep. He needed it. Daimons really weren't supposed to be this hard to kill, but for some reason tonight it was like trying to fight the devil himself...or herself.

It depended on if you were talking to a Dark-Hunter or not.

In his case, he simply didn't want to think about it. He just wanted to find a normal Daimon and take out every last one of his frustrations on it. While that probably wasn't a healthy perspective given the fact that he was supposed to be a protector these days, he really couldn't bring himself to care.

Shaking his head, the former pirate continued down the streets of New Orleans. He barely made a whisper of sound as he moved. Having been alive for some three hundred years was good practice for that kind of thing. And practice was necessary when the last thing you wanted to do was for people to find out that you were alive or yourself at all. Humans tended to be rather foolish about how they acted with things that were different from them. Even some squires could be fools.

Just one more reason why he much preferred to live alone.

He paused at one of the intersections and considered simply heading back to the docks and calling it a night. He needed to get in touch with Acheron and figure out what was going on. Not that the boss didn't have enough on his plate. After all, the man was saddled with the never desired duty of attempting to corral and wrangle every Dark-Hunter on the plant. And no matter what most of them said, they all desperately needed it. Not that most of them would ever admit that they needed it. While every last one of them, himself included, was willing to ask Acheron what the hell they should do about certain things, they had a very bad habit of not saying thank you.

Jean-Luc had a feeling the man wouldn't know what to do if they did.

The thought brought a smirk to his lip. Now there was something to keep in mind. The look on Acheron's face when someone actually did say thank you, would likely be priceless. Of course, given who said it, it could also signal an imposter. The whole thing was up in the air like much of the life of a Dark-Hunter.

Moving away from the docks, he forced himself to keep monitoring the streets. The Daimons might not have given up just yet. There was always likely to be a couple of strays out and about. The last thing he wanted was to allow them to have even the slightest belief that they might get away with any of their shit, that the Dark-Hunter's might not be watching their every move. Paranoia was good for Daimons. Made them make mistakes. Made them stupider than they already were.

Then again, Jean-Luc had been certain, at least until tonight, that there was no such thing as an intelligent Daimon. His sore body told him otherwise. Tonight was something else and his gut told him that it was only going to get worse before it got better. Much worse. The thought was not one that made him feel better in the least.

His inner radar started to go off and forced him to slow his pace. Stopping was stupid. It drew attention to you. Something that he had learned very quickly when he had first taken the oath of a Dark-Hunter and started his own patrols so many years ago. No, people didn't notice when you slowed your pace, they noticed when you stopped. Even as he moved slower, he was reaching out, trying to find the source of the Fabio disturbance.

He allowed his feet to show him the way, blocking out the world around him. A little dangerous perhaps, but he honestly didn't give a shit. He just needed to find these damn Daimons so he could actually kill something and go home and get a good a good night's sleep. What was so wrong with that? Well, besides the very violent reaction going on in his brain right now. But, really, he had been a pirate in his life. He was a allowed violence even in death.

Jean-Luc was unsurprised when the second sense led him to an alleyway. It was terribly cliche, of course, but very fitting. After all, killing in the middle of a crowded street wasn't something that either Daimons or Dark-Hunters could expect to get away with in this day and age. Anyone who thought that they could were very quickly taught otherwise. Usually in the form of a very quick death in the middle of a holding cell. Luckily that kind of thing never required a cover-up...unless there was a witness.

Shaking his head, the Dark-Hunter brought the stiletto in his boot shooting up to his hand and hid it in the folds of the long black coat that he wore. There were other weapons in the beautiful arsenal that was available to the Dark-Hunter Community, but Jean-Luc had always enjoyed being up close and personal and there was something about a stiletto that gave him a satisfaction that things like swords and pistols never had.

The four Daimons came into view surrounding a dark-haired male who seemed to enjoy giving them lip to no end. He looked very human to Jean-Luc which made him curious. What kind of human had the guts to look a Daimon in the eye and smart off to them. Better yet, what human could look into the eyes of a Daimon and not fall under their sway? That was a mystery he would have to muse after he took pleasure in dispatching them.

"Now, now ladies," he chided as he shook his head, meager rays of light winking off his own fangs and the gold loop that sat in his ear. "You can argue about who's taking him to prom later. Right now, you all owe me a dance."

The man snorted and shook his head. "Why don't you just stay out of this buddy?" he said. "Walk away and let me and the girls handle it. I'll deal with you later if it really means that much to you."

"Silence human!" one of the Daimons growled backhanding the male.

Jean-Luc let out a sigh of exasperation. He was surprised to see that the man was able to keep his feet though as his head jerked to the side and he simply wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. "Alright, now you've pissed me off princess."

It was tempting to just stand back and watch the human work. After all, he wasn't bad on his feet, but it was clear that he was out of his depth. Jean-Luc stepped up behind the first Daimon that made the mistake of turning its back on him and plunged the stiletto into its back, a dark smirk of satisfaction lighting his features as the thing burst into golden dust, freeing the poor soul inside of it.

The human stared at Jean-Luc, his eyes wide with surprise at the sight. "Shit," he breathed. The Dark-Hunter arched a single eyebrow before moving into a flurry of action. Two more lovely little puffs of golden dust had him feeling far more pleased about his night.

Two gunshots cracked the night air and forced a deadened silence in their wake. The fourth Daimon stared down at the wound that had hit where it's heart might have once have been, but not where the inkblot that marked it lay before it disintegrated. Not into gold powder, but a black ash as the Daimon crumbled on the ground, a red sheen covered the dark substance before it floated away on the breeze.

The second shot found its way to his own chest a few moments later on the wrong side of his chest. Or what would have been the correct side if his heart was on the correct side. Oh the wonders of being born strange. Jean-Luc looked down at the bullet wound before glaring at the human. "You're a damn fool boy," he snapped, his usually calm manner gone.

"You have got to be kidding me," the human breathed.

Jean-Luc allowed a bitter bark of laughter to fall from his lips. "Oh boy, you should have thought that through before you shot me. Either you're one stupid squire or an even stupider Ord. Either way, I'm going to kick your ass. Consider it a lesson in manners and who not to fuck with. This is my town."