Chapter 1: Hunters in Starling

Plot: After hearing stories of a man being able to tear down solid steel doors and killing security guards with his bare hands, the Winchesters decide to head to Starling city to see what kind of monster they have to dispose of. Pity they did not believe the rumors of a modern day Robin Hood who is not pleased someone else has ventured onto his turf...

"Too late Too late, my time has come. Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time. Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go. Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth..."

Sam sat next to his brother, his face scrunched up in pain as he listened to Dean bellow out the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody for the third time in a hour. An hour. He had to listen to the song for five hours. Five. Technically he had heard it on a loop for four hours, until his brother figured out the best way to annoy him was to sing it each time he played it. Which meant he could not doze off in the front seat like he usually did when his brother drove.

"I see a little silhouetto of a man, Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango? Thunderbolt and lightning, very, very fright'ning meeeeeeeee" Dean continued to sing in the tones of a dying rhinoceros.

"Dean." Sam said deadly calm knowing that his ears would not survive another earsplitting screech of the upcoming lyrics, "Sing another verse and I'll kill you."

"You can try," his brother smirked, "Come on dude. My singing isn't that bad." He clapped his hand against the Impala's stirring wheel in tune with the song, "So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye? So you think you can love me and leave me to die? Oh, baby, can't do this to me, baby!"

Sam snapped off the radio leaving Dean to choke on the words as the music suddenly stopped. His brother turned his head, expertly turning the wheel to compensate for a turn in the road while he kept his eyes on his brother. He did not say a word. Slowly he pulled off the side of the deserted highway and stopped, though he kept the ignition on. He glared at him for a heartbeat, while Sam glared right back. It was silent in the car for several minutes only broken by the sound a screech owl perched somewhere outside.

"Driver controls the radio. Shotgun keeps his hands off them unless he wants broken fingers," Dean spoke calmly turning to face the road again. He interjected his point by pointing at the console with his head, "Again. My singing was not that bad." His hand moved to turn it back on.

"My ears are dead," Sam groused and his brother's arm froze. He glanced to see if Dean was watching him, before roughly shoving his hands deep in his pockets, not particularly wanting to take any chances, "And I think you are making every single coyote in a mile radius start howling."

"Whatever," his brother rolled his eyes, relenting and sitting back in his seat.

There was silence in the cabin of the car. Then Dean rolled the window down and craned his head out out of curiosity to see whether of not his brother was exaggerating (which by judging his facial expression he was). For a moment all he could hear was the sound of rushing wind and crickets. Then somewhere in the grass plains, he heard the long drawn out wail of a coyote. Scowling, he pulled his head back in and closed the window.

"It was only one coyote," he protested upon spotting Sam's grin. Dean folded his fingers against the rim of the wheel before asking, "Remind me again why we are traveling six hundred miles after I drove you to that geek symposium in Central?" He drummed his finger expectantly.

Then he pulled back onto the road, not bothering to turn on the turning signal due to the road being completely vacant. Soon the sound of tires hitting the pavement filled the cabin.

"Hey!" Sam frowned, shuffling indignantly, "They had that exhibit there only for three days. Then it got shipped back to Norway."

"Still don't see why you wanted to see a whale carcass that had legs. You sure they didn't glue them on?"

"You're impossible," Sam was quiet for a moment,"And no...they didn't. Whales had legs millions of years ago. Read it in a book."

"Not to mention the fall out from the particle whatever explosion," Dean continued as if his brother had never spoken. His brow furrowed, "When we're done, Cas is so testing us for radiation exposure."

"Enough," Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair to retrieve a print out sheet of paper from the cabin compartment. He cleared his throat and switch a flashlight on to read. Squinting against the glare, he read clearly and with added dynamics to particular terms, "Crusher Strikes Again. Unknown suspect believed to have stolen half a million dollars worth of jewelry from Lux Fine Jewlery store in downtown Starling City. No fingerprints were recovered at the scene."

The paper rustled as he shifted it to correct for a sudden dip in the road. The light bounced crazily around his lap, until he steadied it.

"Yeah so? Like I've said, people are screw-ups," Dean made a face. He swerved slightly to avoid squashing a raccoon crossing the road, "You better have something better than a wannabe Borko Ilinci." He was quiet for a moment, thumbs thumping against the wheel once again. Eventually, his curiosity got the best of him and he asked with begrudging defeat, "Continue?"

"That was just the byline," Sam said patiently. He cleared his throat again and continued, paper crackling as he lifted it up to his face, "At three a.m. Wednesday morning an unknown male broke into Lux Fine Jewelry at the intersection of Wade and Century. Once inside, he broke open display case and gathered several rare and unique pieces of jewelry and polished stones. He broke it using just his bare hands."

Dean cast him a sideways glance, "Bare hands? You sure you didn't get one of those made up papers? Or the writer made a typo?"

"No," Sam said, "Its definitely from The Starling City Star. Plus I printed it off the website and went though backdoor channels to make sure it was legit. " He rustled the papers before continuing, "It says here that he was caught on camera using his hands to smash open bullet proof glass."

"So the guy was high on something," Dean said, "Happens all the time. Remember that idiot on Youtube that got drunk, broke into a liquor store to steal more booze, and ended up having over five hundred dollars worth of wine drop on his face...and he came out fine?" He paused and added, "And let me guess...they call him 'Crusher' since he breaks bullet proof glass with his hands?"

"Actually no..." Sam grimaced. He glanced at the article again, "After loading up on as much jewelry as he could, one of the security guards attempted to subdue him. Um...it says..." He flinched, remembering why he had blocked out remembering the reason the cops were calling this man Crusher. Sam swallowed before adding, "that he killed the security guard by shattering his skull...with one hand." When Dean had not responded, Sam added, "And he's done it to at least four others in previous break-ins. That's why they call him Crusher."

Silence.

"And also ripped an arm off this guy. They still haven't found it."

Pause. All they could hear was the sound of their breathing and the crunch of tires on the road. Sam had a good feeling that Dean was silently freaking out. They had been around each other long enough that they could practically read each other thoughts. It was both beneficial and annoying depending on the situation.

"So..." Dean nodded his head and swallowed, "Some juiced up monster. Great. That narrows it down to...oh I don't know..." a hint of irritation crept into his voice, "about two dozen supernatural sonofbitches that can do that." He glanced briefly at the paper before asking curiously, "Say anything else?"

"Um. All it says that after killing the guard, the assailant picked up the safe—which by the way, was bolted to the floor with industrial grade steel used in battleships—and carried it out of the store. Cops found it later in the back ally crumpled like tin foil."

"So a supernatural being who is also a thief," Dean nodded his head, "Great..."

They drove on in silence.

Dean unwrapped his second burger and bit into it. He ignored the grease as it dripped down the back of his hand.

Upon noticing the burger shop and the line that was standing in front of it, Dean had dragged his brother to eat there as soon as they had wrapped up at the police station. Judging by the line, this place was worth the wait.

Big Belly had some of the greasiest burgers he could remember, but it was right up there with his favorite. The grease, and salt tasted gourmet. He moaned in pleasure and glanced at his brother to see if he incited a reaction.

Sam just sat there eyes glued to his laptop. He was still dressed in his FBI uniform and his salad remained untouched. Dean picked out a piece of tomato from his burger, wiped off the ketchup, and flicked it at his brother. The tomato bounced off the edge of the fork and smacked Sam right in the shoulder. He still did not move even when it slid down his chest and landed in front of him with a splat.

"'Ello?" Dean spoke through a mouthful of food. He swallowed and felt the big ball of food slowly make itself down his throat. Dean waved his hand in front of his brother's face, "Sam." When his brother still had not responded, he spoke a little louder, "Sammy." He flung a wadded up napkin (it was clean, he was not that mean and he did not want to have to end up scrubbing the stain off later) at him. It bounced off Sam's forehead and plopped onto the keyboard in front of him.

His brother startled, nearly knocked over his glass of water. He swore and wiped the liquid off his lap and snatched several napkins out of the dispenser to mop up the water before it reached his laptop, "Dean. What the hell?"

"You haven't touched your rabbit food," Dean looked at the greens in disgust as he shoved it closer to his brother, "And you've been sitting there like a zombie for three minutes."

"Sorry," Sam muttered. He turned the laptop so that Dean could see the screen, "I was reviewing the footage. It's...pretty weird." The screen showed a grainy black and white feed that was paused at the moment. "It took a lot to get it out of that Detective Lance guy. I think he liked me more than you."

"I'd say," Dean scowled, "I thought he was going to shoot me when I flirted with his daughter."

Sam smirked slightly shoving the laptop closer to his brother, "Thanks to that, it took me longer than usual to talk him into giving me the video. But he came through in the end. Nice guy." He chuckled, "That cop—Reves or something—looked like he had sucked on a lemon when you offered her your number. That was worth seeing. I don't know whether he was going to attempt shooting his boss if he pulled a gun out on you or just stand there like a stuffed bunny."

"Ha, ha. That detective was such a nice guy," Dean grunted, remembering the moment the detective had nearly pulled his gun from his holster, "Yeah...he's nice alright. Big old teddy bear. Hate to be her boyfriend if she has a dad like that. He seems to be the type of dad that would greet the prom date with a shot gun."

His eyes fixed onto the screen as Sam clicked play. For several minutes, he saw nothing but the vacant store. Around the 2:52 mark, there was a shadow at the front door. At the 2: 58 mark, the shadow smashed into the glass. The window did not just fall apart. It was just gone. Almost as if the guy had stepped into it and it vaporized into little particles. Dean watched as the thief slowly made his way over to the display cases and nearly choked on his burger as the guy stood up to his full height.

He was huge. Sam was big, but shit, this guy made his brother look like a toy. Easily towering over the six foot five mark, the man smashed his way methodically through the glass. Though the footage was crappy, Dean could see exactly how bulked up the man was.

Even after years of hunting things that went bump in the night, he could not help but feel an odd sense of dread as he watched the man work. There was something about him that seemed almost...dangerous. Animal. Someone with absolutely no emotion attached to him.

Around 3:02 a security guard stepped out from the upper level of the store. He pointed a gun at the man and shouted something at him—there was no audio—and fired at him. Only bright flashes alerted Dean to how many shots had been fired. He expected the man to drop after the fifth or sixth bullet.

The bullets sunk into him but he did not drop.

At all.

Like the guy was a freaking T-800.

The thief looked up. In the footage Dean could see the shocked expression on the guard's face. The thief calmly picked up a display case, easily weighing five hundred or so pounds and threw it like it was a football. It smashed into the balcony the guard was perched on, sending him tumbling to the ground. The guard hit the floor, and lay on his back, rolling back and forth in pain.

The thief walked over, and used one hand picked the guard up. And punched him in the face.

The guard's head caved in and he slumped lifeless in the man's arms. The thief carelessly threw the body to the side like a rag doll. The guard's arm came off the torso in the process and the thief threw it out of sight without a second glance; as if it was no more than a toy. Then he disappeared out of view.

A moment later he was seen carrying a large safe in his arms. Unburdened by his loot, he lugged it to the front door and carried it out of sight. The footage ended.

Dean sat back, appetite gone for a few moments and said shakily, "What...the...hell...was that?"

"No clue. Cops were not much help either," Sam shrugged, "I think they are hiding something. This footage has not even been released yet...even though the guard's family is demanding it."

"Well..." Dean shrugged, "There's got to be something else we can go with." His eyes flickered down to the uneaten food, "Eat."

"They only have one lead," Sam said, sticking his fork morosely in the salad. He put the mouthful in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, "Some little old lady saw what he got into escape. He used some car that was reported stolen to get away. I tracked it down to an old warehouse at the docks."

"So let's go," Dean said taking another bite of his burger, though this time he noted, it tasted stale and ashy, "But let's bring everything we can that can work. Until we know whatever the hell this is, I'm not taking any chances."

"Shit."

There was a muffled clang behind Dean and Sam as they ran panting from the back of the warehouse. Sam's forehead was wrapped in a makeshift rag that was stained red. Dean was limping slightly, favoring his left leg. They held their guns in their hands, though they were nearly empty of bullets. Sounds of approaching footsteps grew louder and louder as the man approached them.

"When I get my hands on you two I'm going to pop your heads off like bleedin' grapes," the man snarled. There was the sound of tearing metal as he ripped open a shipping container somewhere behind them.

"Got to catch us first," Dean retorted. Immediately, Sam clamped his hand on his mouth and dragged him into the shadows. They crouched down between a pillar and a pile of wooden shipping boxes. Dean protested and struggled to wiggle free, but Sam's height allowed him to overcome his older brother's struggles.

"Dean," Sam hissed, lifting his head to look anxiously back the way they came, "Are you insane? You saw how he shrugged off the silver bullets. And the salt. And the—"

"I get it!" Dean hissed back, shoving his brother's hand away from his face, equally as furious. He clutched his injured leg, "How the hell was I suppose to know the guy is human? As in the Terminator type of human." He groaned and glanced down at his injury. His leg was slightly turned at an unnatural angle, "Sonofabitch broke my leg."

"Uh. Not technically all the way human as he's pretty juiced up on something," Sam shuttered. He peered into the semidarkness, "But what on earth is in his system is the better question."

The recon had been a total disaster. They had decided to split up and enter the warehouse from two entrances, staying in contact via cellphone. Dean had not found anything at his end—aside from a crate full of stinky fish and an inebriated cat (whereupon he immediately started sneezing and cursing the animal for making his allergies act up). Sam unfortunately, had found the thief. The thief—whom Dean had dubbed 'Andre' (as in Andre the giant) much to his brother's annoyance—knocked Sam out; by some miracle not shattering his skull. Sam came to tied to a chair and with a nasty bump on his head. Andre immediately started questioning him, demanding to know why the FBI was interested in him. Sam tried to talk his way out of it using his talent for negotiation (or as Dean like to put it, his inner lawyer), with no luck. Just as bad the man had a short fuse.

One moment, he was fine, the next he began throwing furniture around and screaming that he was going to kill every single person who tried to stop him. He actually managed to rip an entire industrial storage shelf clean off the wall. Had Sam had not had previous experiences with impossible feats and heart stopping crap, he probably would have peed himself.

Maybe he did just a little in this case.

The man's anger suddenly just faded as soon as it appeared. Then he muttered something about getting more of the 'juice' from someone named Wilson. He began pacing anxiously, his hands halfway between reaching out to Sam to snap his neck, and the other half Andre spent running his fingers through his hair. Taking advantage of the situation, Sam managed to free an Exacto blade tucked into his waistband to begin to fray the rope bounding him.

He was nearly through when Dean appeared. Whereupon his brother emptied an entire magazine into the man. Andre did not even act as if he had been shot. Despite his shirt being bullet ridden and stained with blood, he roared like an angry bear and threw a large storage container at Dean. Dean yelped in alarm and barely managed to dodge to the side as it nearly turned him into a human pancake. While he struggled to pick himself off the ground, Andre stepped onto his leg—hard.

While his brother yelled in pain and struggled to free his combat knife from his jacket, Sam managed to fray to ropes enough to wiggle free and grabbed his confiscated gun—Andre had stupidly left it lying on a table next to him. He picked up the nearest thing he could think of—a container full of plaster—, threw it towards the giant, and shot it. Plaster exploded all over the place, blinding Andre long enough that Sam was able grab his brother and run.

Which lead up to their current predicament...trying to get out alive.

"I said it once, and I'm going to say it again," Dean panted, trying to keep his broken leg straight. He swayed as if drunk and closed his eyes, "People are nuts. I'm hurt. I blame you."

"Ssh." Sam whispered feverishly. He listened.

Andre had stopped stomping around and screaming. He had a very bad feeling the man was creeping around quietly, trying to find them without giving up his location. It was so quiet that he could hear his heart rate starting to increase just slightly. He had been hunting enough that he had trained his heart rate to remain steady throughout the hunt. But something about hunting someone human, who was human in fact, unnerved him.

"How many bullets do you have?" he asked.

"Only half a magazine after unloading a whole one into that guy. You?"

"Same." Sam did the math quickly in his head, "That leaves us with approximately twelve rounds." He paused, before stating, "You get out of here. I'll stay behind until you're safe."

"Not gonna happen Sammy," Dean answered instantly. He struggled to stand up, and ended up slumping against the wooden crates and flour sacks, face scrunched up in pain, "I stay. You go. Someone's gotta give that sonofabitch something to chase. Yeah he's human, but let's face it. He's a monster."

"Not leaving you Dean," Sam replied stubbornly.

He craned his neck and stood up. The hairs on the back of his head prickled. He could not help but feel the unearthly feeling that he was being watched by someone or something that was definitely not Andre. Warily, he held his gun pointed down at his feet and looked around; turning slowly in three hundred sixty degrees. He could barely see anything in the warehouse, and his senses were on high alert. Something clanged behind him, and he whirled around, finger at the trigger.

Nothing there.

He turned around again and literally came face to face with a man wearing a hood. Sam instantly raised the gun, intending to fire, but the man slapped it out of his hands with an object that he could not make out. It moved to fast to see, and at any rate, it was difficult enough to make the man out as is. The gun skittered somewhere off in the dark. The stranger gestured with his hand for Sam to put his arms up; the latter reluctantly obeying.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" the man's voice sounded unnatural, guttural. He shifted his head slightly, allowing enough light for Sam to make out an angle of a sharp cheekbone and unshaven stubble. Without turning around he added, "And tell your partner to put the gun away. I'll shoot him." Dean had managed to sit up enough to point the gun directly at the hooded man's head. His lips were set in a straight line and he looked somewhere between freaked out and pissed off. One hand clutched his broken leg, the other firmly clamped on the handle of the gun, finger at the trigger.

"Dean." Sam swallowed his eyes flickering over to his brother, "Do it."

Dean glared at him with a 'Are you serious?' expression written all over his face, but obeyed. He slipped the gun down at his feet and put his arms up. He then retorted, "The question is who the hell are you?"

"None of your business," the man snarled quietly, "I ask the questions. And keep your voice down. Bad enough he can smell your blood. Your voice probably alerted him to our location."

"Smell our blood?" Dean choked bluster and cockiness momentarily wavering, "Is this guy a fucking vamp hybrid or something?"

The hooded man ignoring the comment, paused and raised his head. Sam could barely make out the faint sound of someone talking. Though muffled he could tell it was a young woman who sounded either extremely caffeinated or excited. The hooded man growled and shifted again. The shadows stopped clinging to his face long enough for Sam to catch a glimpse of a bright blue eye with a dark green mask encircling it.

"You're not FBI." There was unmistakable malice in his voice, "Lance was a fool to trust you." He added chillingly, "Winchesters."

Sam and Dean shared a look. Dean's expression now read 'WTF dude?'. Struggling not to panic, Sam asked quietly, "How do you know our names?"

"I have my sources," the man turned again, this time looking behind him, "And facial recognition."

Sam was able to make out a quiver of arrows strapped to his back silhouetted in the light. His eyes widened slightly, and his mouth was agape, "You're...You're the Hood. But...but...you're an urban legend. Not something that's real!?"

The archer turned so fast to look at him, that Dean nearly reached down for the gun. Had it not been for his gimp leg he would have succeeded in grabbing it and shooting the vigilante. The Hood growled about to say something in response and looked behind Sam. The man's eyes widened slightly and he barked out, "Duck."

In the blink of an eye, he had somehow pulled his bow out of nowhere and shot an arrow—only then did it register that he had used the bow to knock the gun away earlier. Sam obeyed and barely managed to duck as the arrow flew over his head. It hit something organic in the dark. Andre came lumbering out of the shadows, the shaft buried halfway into his shoulder. He did not even flinch, even as blood slowly began to drip off the shaft.

"The Hood," he chuckled darkly, "Slade told me about you. Said that you weren't so tough."

"Where is he?" there was unmistakable malice in the archer's voice. The string on the bow creaked as he pulled it further back. His fingers twitched slightly, and Sam had the sneaking suspicion that there was some history between the vigilante and this 'Slade'.

"Don't know," Andre smirked, crackling his knuckles, "Don't care. He let me go. Said I was too...violent."

"Gee I wonder why," Dean droned sarcastically. He shifted, struggling to stand and gain his balance on the flour sacks.

"When I say go, you two get out of here," the Hood growled under his breath, low enough that Sam was barely able to hear him, "Get to that thing you call a car and get the hell out of town. The next time you two show up here I won't be as lenient."

"Hey! My car is not a thing. And what are you going to do if we don't listen to you?" Dean responded struggling to stand, despite Sam's hand crossing his throat in a silent attempt to tell his brother to 'shut up', "Huh? Shoot me? I dare you Robin Hood."

"Tempting," the Hood admitted, "But I think the broken leg is enough punishment as is for wandering into my turf."

Andre snarled, "Enough talk. Let's see if you are wimp as my master described you to be. Perhaps if I kill you he'll let me back into the fold."

He stomped forwards, arms forwards, fist clenched. The Hood shoved Sam pointedly and began to shook arrow after arrow at the approaching giant. Five. Then ten arrows became embedded in the man's chest. Still he had not gone down and continued his mad dog approach. Sam managed to hook Dean's arm over his shoulder to help his brother up. But neither of them could leave. Instead they watched in a mixture of horror and fascination as the archer fired his fifteenth arrow. It hit the man directly in the stomach. Andre looked down at it and laughed.

"You really think this will stop me? With the serum in my system nothing can take me out."

"I just injected thirty milligrams of elephant tranquilizer into your blood stream," the archer responded calmly lowering his bow, "It only takes ten to take down an elephant. So this is more than enough to take you down."

Andre stared at him for a moment, before taking another step forwards. That was all he could do. The second his foot came in contact with the ground, his eyes rolled up and he face planted into the cement. The entire floor seemed to shake as he was knocked unconscious. The Hood lifted his head and eyed the two brothers who were staring at him in absolute shock.

"I thought I told you to leave," he said with a hint of grudging admiration in his tone.

"Sorry Robin Hood," Dean quirked a smile at him, "Couldn't pass up seeing a giant get taken down with arrows. I mean seriously...the arrow thing is just cu—" His eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped forwards.

Before Sam could figure out what was happening, did he feel woozy and a sharp pain in his neck. Lifting his hand up, he managed to calmly examine the dart in his grasp before hitting the ground out cold.

Dean sat up with a gasp smacking the top of his head on the roof. For a moment he could not figure out or remember where he was. But a quick glance around confirmed he was sitting in the Impala. Breathing heavily, he glanced to the side and saw Sam lying on his back in a reclined seat rubbing his eyes. Dean leaned over to check on him, but a sharp pain in his leg reminded him that it was broken.

However, when he glanced down, he saw it was encased in white plaster. Another glance at his brother, showed that the gash on his head had been dressed and washed. They both looked like shit, but then again, they looked like shit sixty percent of the time.

"What the hell?" he croaked. He held his head, the pain intensifying from the collision with the roof, "I feel I had one too many hangovers."

"My mouth feels like I have been sucking on your smelly socks for a month," Sam groaned cranking the seat up. He rubbed his face again, "Ugh. That was some pretty potent tranquilizer he hit us with. Where is he?"

"Asshole left. Patched us up and left." Dean scowled, "Apparently, he's not a urban legend after all. Now I see why the cops here hate him. He's a prick."

He then cast a glance outside. They were still in the shipping yard, though there was a faint glow on the horizon. Shit. It was almost dawn. Lord knows how long they had been out.

"Sam?" he asked his brother.

"Yeah?" Sam answered rubbing his eyes.

"Next time you suggest coming here...how about a big, fat, no."

With that, Dean slipped the key into the ignition and peeled out of the ship yard. Unnoticed to either of the two men, the archer watched them leave from the top of a building. He only stood up to leave once he saw the car out of sight.

"Are they a threat?" a female voice asked from his ear.

"No," the man replied calmly, "I don't think they are going to be back anytime soon. Tangling with a man full of Mirakuru was enough to scare them both away."

"Shame. The tall one was actually quite cute."

"Felicity."

"What? I have a thing for tall guys."

The archer grumbled as he slipped into the shadows. He melted into it like a second home just as the sun peeked over the horizon.

I am willing to take requests if any of you guys have any. This is a one-shot series so feel free to list any possible story lines you would like to see.

I decided to take a break from my main story based on how classes are going at my university. Quarantine. Fecking hell.

Not sure to see the Microbio I'm taking this semester as a blessing or as a curse.

So it may be a while before I update my other main story. And for that I am sorry...but at least you guys will have some one-shots to tie you over.