Sophia's Chronicles

A/N:

Hope you guys enjoy this chapter and don't worry about Sophia, I did write stuff from her POV in an upcoming chapter. I didn't forget about my main character, people. Here's a quick recap before you start the chapter.

PREVIOUSLY, on Sophia's Chronicles: Sam, Dean and Zara are in Jefferson City hunting a suspected Rakshasa after finding out that the last one may not have been working alone (MO: hunting 'insecure' girls with a history of relationship issues under the guise of their favourite Rockstar). They run into Jack (Luc, son of Lucifer and Sophia, disguised as an ordinary angel disguised as an ordinary human – status: complicated), who used to be Zara's guardian angel and wants to redeem himself in her eyes by helping them out with the case. Jack is confronted by Chuck and Death, who warn him about the dangers of his actions – especially Death, who lays down four rules for him to follow (Don't use archangel strength, don't meet other angels, don't be seen by Lucifer and most importantly, don't reveal your real identity to anyone). They all run into Crowley, who reveals that he is working with the pagans to defeat Lucifer and in escaping him, the four of them obtain a mysterious helmet while also losing Zara's archangel blade. With no leads, the four of them head to a pre-festival party where their suspected Rakshasa probably also is. Things take a turn when Jack and Zara fight about her issues with men and she storms off, not before attracting some unwanted attention. Jack and Zara reconcile, but she is too wasted to carry on the mission so they decide to get her back to the motel. Meanwhile, Sam and Dean find Danny, the lead singer of Brides In White, on the move and decide to follow him.


Chapter 73: One-Punch Girl

Some Nightclub, Jefferson City, Missouri – 21 September 2012, 11.24pm

It was such a relief to Dean's ears to be free of the tasteless beats that played through the club's speakers. At least, as much as it was possible to while meandering through the hallway that led to the parking lot at the back of the club. There was almost no one here, which made him and Sam worry that the young blonde on Danny's arm could be in danger. A girl with a pixie cut and a cigarette between her fingers cursorily glanced at the Winchesters as they briskly walked past her. Searching every door on the way, the exit was the only option left. They stepped out onto the cold lot. The boys gazed in opposing trajectories, keeping an eye out for Danny. But all that was visible was the array of slick, shiny cars and a vacant road outside the lot.

"Great, did we lose him?" Sam wondered.

Like a knife cutting through the air, the sound of a woman's shriek jerked them in its direction. "Well, there's your answer," Dean said as they both drew their guns and headed towards the corner of the building. With a silent countdown, they jolted around the corner, guns ready to fire.

The couple, intertwined in an amorous embrace, twitched. Danny's mouth detached from her neck. "Woah, what the hell?!" he yelled.

"Oh," Dean realised. He sheepishly smiled and lowered his gun. "Sorry, uh, we thought…" he cleared his throat.

"Sorry, um, was he hurting you?" Sam asked the girl.

"In all the right ways…" she let out a throaty giggle.

"Right," Dean clicked off the safety on his gun and sheathed it. So did Sam.

"Not cool, man," Danny declared, straightening his jacket. "Totally ruined the mood."

"I can help you get back into the mood," the girl propositioned, smiling shyly. She tried to brush a strand of his hair away. Danny simply scowled and knocked her hand away. Her smile faded.

"Let's just get back inside," he grumbled.

"Not so fast," Dean halted him. "We need to ask you some questions."

"Well I'm not really up for an interview. Talk to my manager," he brushed them off.

To that, Sam and Dean pulled out fake IDs. "We're not asking," Sam stated. Later, having sent the disillusioned blonde woman inside, Sam and Dean stood towering over Danny, who stood with his back to the wall. "Have you seen any of these women before?"

Sam showed him the pictures of the women who'd been killed by the Rakshasa. Danny squinted at their images. "Maybe? I don't know," he shrugged. "I mean, I see a lot of women. Can't remember all their faces. Or their names," he let out a short chortle. "Ooh, where can I find her?"

He stopped on the picture of the first girl. "In the cemetery," Dean deadpanned. "She's dead."

"Seriously?" he looked between Sam and Dean. "What happened?"

"She was brutally murdered. And so were the others," Sam answered. As much as he tried, it was hard to take Danny seriously when the singer's eyes were heavily framed by eyeliner. He looked like a teenage angst nightmare.

"Oh no," Danny grimaced. "That sounds horrible."

"Cut the crap!" Dean slammed a palm against the wall. Danny flinched. "The one thing that all these women have in common is you! All of them were fans of your… 'music'."

"It wasn't me! I swear," Danny defended himself, increasingly trembling in Dean's presence.

"All of the women were killed in places where your band played gigs. They also applied to become part of your little… sex cult," Sam reasoned. "All the evidence points to you."

"Hey, it's a club, first of all," Danny retorted. "Second, we're all about love and peace, man. We don't condone violence or fighting."

From the look on Dean's face, he wasn't convincing anybody. "You're a guy who takes advantage of insecure women and uses them for your own personal pleasure," Dean asserted.

"Wow, harsh," Danny quipped, looking almost surprised by that statement. "It wasn't my idea, okay? I've just always had trouble approaching women and this… helps me. Now instead of me approaching them, they approach me. How awesome is that?"

"Just fantastic," Sam dryly replied. "Except for the part where their flesh gets torn into pieces."

"Wait, if it wasn't your idea, whose was it?" Dean questioned.

"It was Larry's," he told them. "My manager. He takes care of the whole process for me. He talks to the girls first and by the time they get to me, they just won't say 'no' to me. He's a miracle-worker."

"Of course," Sam sighed. He exchanged a knowing look with Dean.

"Wait, you don't think… it's him, do you?" Danny hesitantly asked.

"It's highly possible," Sam nodded. Danny's shoulders drooped as he let out a deep exhale.

"Man, I can't imagine Larry hurting people like that," Danny mumbled, his eyes roving over the floor. "He was such a nice guy and he works crazy hard. I mean, he's been working so hard the past few months it's almost like he's a completely different person."

"Huh." Dean signalled to his brother with a look that this seemed suspicious. "I guess we'll find out once we find him. Guess we're headin' back inside."

"Oh, right, um," Danny pressed a hand to his forehead, suddenly realising something. "Larry went off somewhere. He said he wanted to talk to that girl… see if she wanted to be part of our uh, club."

Sam perked up at the sound of that. "Which girl?"

"The one that came with you and Jack. He said she'd fit right in," Danny looked between them. Those words struck like a giant bell in Sam's head. "Wait, is Jack working for the Feds? Is he like an informant or something?"

"It's confidential," Dean simply said. The Winchesters decided this was the end of the conversation. Legs moving hastily, they rushed back into the club. "We were so worried about not being able to find Dr Lecter but looks like he found us."

"He's going after Zara," Sam uttered what they already knew. A thousand thoughts raced through his head, refusing to focus on a single one. It was happening again, he thought. This was what he was always afraid of. And it was coming true again. Why does she keep getting into trouble?

"I know what you're thinking," Dean said as they made through the long hallway again. "She'll be alright, okay? We'll stop him. Try her phone."

"On it," Sam instantly dialled her number. An automated message played on the other end. With every word, Sam's heart quickened its tempo. "She's not picking up."


A Street, Jefferson City, Missouri – 22 September 2012, 12.03am

"Shit, phone's dead," Zara muttered, staring dejectedly at the blank screen. The phone disappeared into the abyss of her little handbag, lost to a messy assemblage of cosmetics.

They sauntered at a leisurely pace along the empty street. Jack watched as she staggered in front of him. Carefully, she placed one foot in front of the other, trying her best not to fall. She walked like she was on a tightrope, which was a little amusing to Jack. It was only them, the street of quiet buildings and periodic streetlamps casting an incandescent yellow light on the world below.

"What's it like, by the way, to work for-" he almost said 'my father'. "-for Lucifer?"

"Well, he's very…" her large brown irises darted as she searched for the word. "… demanding. But not in a bad way." She smirked, reminiscing interesting moments with the archangel. "He has a very commanding presence. He knows what he wants and how to get it. It's comforting, actually, to be on his side for once. To follow someone who knows what he's doing. I kinda get why people fear him. He's good at this." She held her hand out to him and he complied, wrapping her hand around his own elbow to support her. "I mean, I don't need to tell you, right? You probably know him better."

"Actually…" Jack trailed off. "I've never even met the guy. I don't know what the big deal is."

"Seriously?" Zara puzzled.

"I only know what I've read about him. So really, you're the expert on this one," he conceded with a little huff.

Zara had a befuddled look on her face as she studied her best friend. As notice of her gaze took over him, he reciprocated with a thin, radiant smile. She only found herself wondering who he really was – some kind of strange, unknown creature who came with magical hair and a bubble of love that she could feel simply by standing next to him. "You're really strange, you know that?" she drunkenly mumbled. "One day, we are going to sit down with a bottle of vodka between us, and you're gonna tell me exactly how you ended up babysitting me."

"One day," he repeated in assent, a mild satisfaction warming him up from the inside. "I promise." When he looked at her, he only saw his home. His source of comfort, his retreat – the one thing that could truly bring him home. His innocent, loving Zara. She was in there somewhere, he knew it. Even if Lucifer had done something to her. "But you still haven't answered the question. What's it like for you to work for him?"

"Oh well, you know, he's the Devil. He can get me anything I want. And he does, from time to time. In fact, he indulges me. So I'd say… the perks are great," she added. But then a weary breath dropped her shoulders and the liveliness faded from her eyes. "And all I have to do is sacrifice myself at every turn for his goals. But I don't mind, really. What else do I have to do with my life?" she chuckled sardonically. "I think I actually enjoy it."

"Are you sure about that?" Jack was sceptical.

"Yeah, yeah, no doubt," she hurriedly dismissed. "The number of times I've flung myself out of windows to get myself out of tight spots… he always catches me, of course. Working for him constantly challenges me. Forces me to be at my best because there's always danger."

"So you like the thrill?" he clarified.

"Exactly," she agreed. "You get what I mean, right?"

"Eh." He turned his head away, reluctant to divulge his true opinions on the matter.

"You're such a hypocrite, you know that?" she criticised. He instantly jerked his head towards her. "You do all these cool amazing stunts. Throw yourself off buildings, parkour, skateboard – it's okay when you do insane things, but not if I do it?"

"That's different, okay? That's me," he argued. "I'm an angel. I don't get hurt. But you do. Know your danger zone, alright?"

Their pace was a smooth constant, until suddenly Zara halted and pulled him close to her. "Lucifer taught me how to hurt angels, you know," she whispered in his ear. "I could be your danger zone."

That, you definitely are, he thought. As his doleful eyes turned to her, he saw a distance in her pupils. She seemed like a creature trapped in her own mind, playing out a programmed role. What have you done to my Zara, Father? A remnant of the girl he remembered remained, still, but as a captive of this new servant Lucifer had made.

Seeing his melancholy, Zara remained eerily grave. Then, like a switch flipped inside her brain, her lips widened and pearls of her laughter bounced about the air. She threw her head back and pulled him forward along the path, though he remained observing her. It was surreal.

The midnight had only the two of them for company as they strode down the sidewalk. Jack found himself detaching, if only to ground himself in her presence again. His mind was awash with thoughts about what they had both become.

"I made a mistake, Zara," he broke the silence between them. "I should've been there for you. This is all my fault."

"You weren't supposed to intervene, Jack. I get it," she sympathised, if only to get him to quit whining.

"That was during the apocalypse. I mean after. After… after Sophia left you," he answered, eyes drooping. "You were all alone. And you were praying for help. I- I should've come to you."

"Oh my God. Would you please… just stop?" she groaned, separating herself from his side. "'Should've's and 'could've's don't mean shit to me, Jack. The fact of the matter is, you had the choice and you chose not to do anything. Can we just leave it at that?"

"No," he curtly answered, kind eyes stinging. "What I did was not okay."

"Of course it isn't. But you… bringing it up again like this is not helping. I'm trying to move on here but it's like you're trying to make me mad," she pointedly uttered to convey her frustration, while trying her best to stay calm.

"Then get mad. Get mad at me. I deserve it," he confessed. "If it helps you heal from the damage I've caused, do it."

Zara's lips formed a tight line. Every time she looked into his eyes, she felt an emotion she could only describe as real. "Nothing is gonna help me heal…" she told him sombrely. With a single look, her scars were exposed. "If only you knew the things I felt…"

"Then tell me," he asked of her. She stared at him, half a heart telling her that she should talk about it.

"It doesn't matter," she simply said. "None of it matters now." A dull ache emanated from her chest but by now, she was used to the feeling. "Lucifer saved me and gave me a new life. I'm thankful for it."

"Does he care about you?" Jack pondered.

Zara huffed. "He's my boss, not my boyfriend," she quipped.

"I don't mean it like that. After everything… that's happened, you'd be… family," he stated as a gentle breeze swept past them, brushing his lengthy hair with it. He pulled a hand up his forehead to push back the trespassing locks of hair. "You bore his son."

Zara's own short tendrils of hair bounced about as her head tilted with both amusement and surprise at once. "You really don't know him, do you?" she chuckled. "None of that actually means anything to him. I doubt he sees me as anything but a… container for his and Sophia's use."

Oh, Jack realised.

She sighed, pulling her jacket closer to her body. "But I suppose… he does treat me better than he typically would want to," she admitted. "Now that I'm working for him, he's actually kinda nice to me. We have fun in Hell too, you know."

Cynicism knotted his eyebrows but curiosity got the better of him. "What kind of fun?" he asked.

"One time, he showed me how to skin a man's torso in under thirty seconds," a malicious glee lit up her face. It felt almost cathartic to admit that to someone, like a secret that she didn't want to hide anymore.

"Zara, that's fucked up," Jack stated monotonously.

"Yeah? Well so was being probed and prodded like some lab rat in a prison without windows and suffering a miscarriage in the process," she countered emotionlessly.

"A miscarriage," he repeated. The words were an assault on his heart. It took him a few seconds to just comprehend the weight of those two words. It wasn't like he didn't know what happened. The British Men of Letters. He remembered the panic he had when he discovered Zara and Nick were gone. The crippling paranoia, the indecision he'd faced not knowing whether he could intervene. Now all he had was guilt. "What the hell did they do to you?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. They were a strange contrast to each other, Zara answering with a numbness and Jack listening to her with a pained look like he was going to burst into tears any moment. His demeanour was but an amusement to her. It seemed funny that anyone should be so upset about her ordeal when even she had lost all feeling about it. He seemed to be searching for the words to say and Zara realised it would have been tough for anyone in that position to reply to such a thing. "Please don't apologise again. I will walk away."

Jack gulped. "So what? This is… revenge? Are you taking revenge on the world for what it's done to you?"

Her lips widened in a soft smile. "Maybe," she simply answered. "All I know is that working for Lucifer fulfils me. I have everything that I could ever want. There's nothing better than this for me."

"What about being happy?" he rebutted. "Tell me, does all this chaos actually make you happy? Does it make you feel good about yourself?"

"Sure," she said rather stiffly.

"You don't sound sure," he pointed out.

"Listen, you don't understand," she argued, voice hardening. "It's not about happiness. It's about justice. People have taken advantage of me, they used me for their own purposes and left me to rot like a sorry mess. I was broken when he found me. And now I'm not. Tell me, if you had found me instead of Lucifer, would the people who hurt me ever face justice?"

"Of course they would," he answered without hesitation. "If anyone understands what it feels like to be used… t-to be left outside like last week's garbage, it's me, okay? And it's not that I don't understand. Of course you want revenge. Of course you're angry. You've every right to be. But you can't let yourself be so caught up in this anger that you don't let yourself live and become… obsessed with violence. That's a mistake."

His tirade gave her pause. "Who used you?" she ventured a question. He talks like he knows the feeling too well.

Jack shook his head passively. He'd never said this much to anyone before. "Someday I'll tell you," he simply said. They took a left and crossed the road to the motel. Outside her door, they both stood facing each other. "Hey, you can't tell Lucifer about me," he requested. She exhaled a smirk, eyes sweeping over the floor momentarily. "I'm serious."

"I know," she answered nonchalantly. "I wasn't gonna tell him anyway. I don't think it's gonna sit well with him that I still have emotions. Or friends." Jack nodded very shortly as he remained where he stood, wordless and observing her. It was one thing he knew he had to get off his chest as a matter of obligation and it was settled.

One day this will all make sense, he reassured himself. One day it will mean something.

"It's not your fault, you know," she snapped him out of his thoughts, voice low and scratchy as she leaned back against the wall. Seeing his blurry silhouette, she could sense the melancholy on his face even if his face was shrouded in the darkness of the hallway. All that gloominess was so unlike him. "Bad things happened to me because bad people did those things. I'll never blame you for any of it."

She turned around and inserted the key into the keyhole. The chirping of nocturnal insects filled the silence between them. Archangel, pensive, and human, intoxicated, were prepared to part for the night. With a jiggle, the lock slid open and the door gave way. The thoughts that raced through Jack's mind, wanting conversations of a lost eternity, only found hastily-put words rushing out of his lips to catch her before she retired for the night. "Do you have a happy place?" he asked out of the blue. One last question before he had to fast the normal eight hours before further human interaction. She paused at the threshold to see him again. "What's in your happy place?"

His question seemed so simple yet so silly. A smile tickled her jaw. "Let's see…" she decided to humour him. "I'm in a house somewhere in Illinois. Somewhere far away from everyone else with nothing but meadows around me. Sophia's there. You're there. And so is Luc." Her voice was like honey to his ears when she spoke a name no one had said in a long time. What might have been two years for her was two thousand for him. Two thousand years of being nameless – being less than existent. Not anymore, he thought with a curve of his lips. Funny how something so simple could be so comforting. Zara chuckled to herself. "You know, I wish you'd met Luc. You'd like him-"

Jack threw his arms around her and pulled her close. His sudden embrace knocked the breath out of her but it felt like a thick cloud of warmth had enveloped her. She simply wrapped her arms around his waist as his hands hugged her to him. Everything about him brought back a flood of good memories. His scent was that of fresh rain, like a thick, damp fog encircled her. He had a comforting aura – motherly, even, Zara thought. It was a different world in his arms. A world without fear, without pain, but most importantly, a world with only the two of them. The way it should have been.

When they finally parted and the motel room door came to a close between them, thoughts of Lucifer returned to Zara after a protracted absence. It was a blissful ignorance but the stakes were clearer now. Her drunken form sat on the bed in changed clothes, staring into the darkness as her head spun. She mulled over what living meant, now that someone cared – now someone that she cared about cared. Unfair, it seemed, but the mission had to come first. The mission being Sam and Dean. Things seemed to be going well on that front. A little too well, perhaps. Dean, the righteous man, and Sam, the one who was meant for her. And Jack in the middle who seemed to be getting along well with them. Being on good terms with him – which Zara was very inclined to do – meant keeping the Winchesters' faith. And how long would that last? Dammit.

Maybe it wasn't supposed to be this way. Maybe Jack was a liability. He had to go. Zara's first instinct was an image of her archangel blade through his heart. Wasn't that what she was supposed to have done in the first place? Her breaths raced as her body fought against the training. Lucifer or Jack? I'll need to choose sooner or later.

All of this ambiguity was frustrating. Her fingers clenched around a glass at her bedside table. I'm already in Hell. It doesn't matter how many people I hurt. An invasion of voices gave her conflicting messages. He's your best friend. The only person in this God-forsaken universe who'll ever care about you. Don't you dare hurt him. The grand tug-o-war made her head feel tight. You've killed the past before. Do it again. Do it for Lucifer. A grunt escaped her lips. Her elbow arched back with the glass in her hand, ready to hurl it against the wall. You can't believe that he's for real! No one cares about you! You've lost. Now destroy him!

Knock, knock, knock, the door's chatter resounded. Zara was practically heaving for breath, nerves so tight that she could have buried the glass in someone's head if she tried. She set the glass down and took a few deep breaths. It was a strange thing to have visitors at this hour. She dragged herself to the door and pulled it open.

A large silhouette greeted her, yellow streetlight highlighting the hair that hung past his shoulders. "Jack?" she called out with sleepy eyes. The hallway was dark so his front was shrouded in a curtain of black. "You're not going back to the party?" The figure stood eerily still and quiet. He simply shook his head 'no', a slow, robotic side-to-side. Zara hugged her cardigan closer to her body. "Okay…" The night seemed lonely anyway. "Come on in."


Some Nightclub, Jefferson City, Missouri – 21 September 2012, 11.38pm

Sam's heart pounded in his chest as he hastened to scan the crowds of people. The paranoia was overtaking him so fast that he couldn't even bother to pause at every face he saw to verify that it wasn't Zara. For a brief second, relief flashed in his mind to spot a familiar jet black hair and sharp jaw, until he realised that it was Jack, not her. Still, it was progress. Jack was seductively eyeing a lady standing by herself who seemed to be reciprocating the gesture when Sam and Dean appeared before him.

"What's crackin' fellas? Did I miss anything?" he playfully asked them.

"We need to find Zara," Dean stated firmly.

"Oh, don't worry. I had it handled," he sighed in relief. "We talked it out and we're good now."

"S-so you found her?" Sam raised both his eyebrows.

"Yeah," he nodded, with a tone markedly more relaxed than the Winchesters'. That was beginning to dawn on him. Slightly hesitant, he continued, "So are we gonna lynch Danny or what?"

"It's not him," Sam told him, to his befuddlement.

"Dammit," Jack cursed, shaking a fist.

"It's the manager," Dean cut to it. "He's going after Zara."

"What?" the angel's brows dipped briefly, alarm beginning to build the tension between them.

"He must have-" Sam pulled a hand down his chin as he tried to derive an explanation. "He must have overheard your little argument and thought she was like the other girls," he flustered. "We have to get to her before he does. Where is she, Jack?"

"She… I just walked her back to the motel," he explained.

"Okay," Dean nodded. "Wait, Rakshasas usually need an invite to get into their victim's houses, right?"

"Oh, well, she's too shitfaced right now to be hospitable," Jack shrugged. He hoped to God that that would mean that she didn't answer the door. His eyes widened to consider another possibility. "Unless she thought it was Danny…" The boys briskly exited the club and Jack flew them to the motel. The neon sign flickered a little upon their arrival but the scene was otherwise tranquil. They marched up to her door and Sam was the first to offer a knuckle to the door. A single contact later, the door nudged open. He exchanged a terrified look with the others, as if to confirm their worst suspicions. Leaden steps journeyed into the dark room. Three sets of Winchester eyes scanned the darkness until Jack flipped the switch, revealing her absence.

"We're too late," Sam gulped.

"I leave for one second…" Jack mumbled under his breath. Dammit, Zara, where did you go?

The elder Winchester brother inspected a mess of broken glass on the floor. It was the tattered remains of a drinking glass. Some tiny shards glistened a ruby colour. Someone had been hurt in the scuffle. "Room seems a little clean," Dean mused hopelessly at the lack of trail. "Sammy, see if you can hack into the cameras-"

Dean halted abruptly at the sight of the empty air where the open door was. He heard the muffled jingle of keys and knew immediately that Sam was already on it.

Later,

Jack's hair hung like a smooth, opaque curtain down his back as he stared at the raindrops trickling down the window pane. His eyes drooped on their outer edges. The surface tension in each tiny bead of rain against the window built up, until gravity decided that the drop should succumb to its pull and fall. He watched it happen over and over again, letting nature accuse him of the same inescapability that the rain drops had in keeping to the windows.

"Got it," Sam announced, perched in front of a laptop screen. Dean was seated next to him at the table. The two Winchesters had half-emptied cans of extra-strong coffee in front of them. Jack rested his forearms on the spines of both their chairs as he leaned forward between them. The black-and-white footage of the hallway outside rolled on the laptop screen.

Two figures appeared on the screen, entwined. Jack's heart melted at the sight of Zara's head resting against his shoulder, her eyes closed serenely. Time slowed as her lips inched into a smile and his followed suit in real time. The warmth of her hug lingered on him like a perfume. Soon enough they parted and Jack backed away out of the camera's shot before he disappeared in flight – a habit he'd cultivated to avoid getting caught on tape using his powers. Sam fast forwarded the tape until another figure plodded up the stairs that raised the ground floor above the parking lot. Their breaths collectively paused at the sight. The same frown was replicated on each of their faces.

"You guys are seeing this too, right?" Sam asked, eyes glued to the screen.

"This is like some… Freaky Friday shit," Dean remarked without a blink.

"Son of a bitch," Jack sharply muttered. They watched as the long-haired figure shook his head slowly, shortly before Zara invited him in. A pulse reverberated in his chest as the door shut. A few moments later, it opened again and the large figure emerged again. He seemed to stagger out the door as he held down a struggling Zara with an arm, the other arm clamped over her mouth. She thrashed about to little use. Of course, the Rakshasa was much stronger than she was. Her struggle was pathetic in comparison to his iron grip.

Then came the moment. The Rakshasa swung his body in tandem with the arm secured at her jaw, knocking her head against a pillar. Sam flinched at that but Jack was eerily still. His blood seemed to be boiling in his veins. They watched as Zara's torso grew limp and her head slung down passively. Then the Rakshasa picked her body up with both arms and proceeded down the hallway toward the camera. A single sliver of light cut through his trajectory and as he passed through it, the features of his borrowed face came into view. Jaw first, then lips, nose and eyes. No part of Jack's likeness was spared.

"Cunt," Jack cussed. "How fucking dare- When I find this sonuva-"

"Cool it, Fargo. We're all pissed," Dean cut him off before any more colourful language painted the air.

Sam switched cameras at the same timepoint to track the Rakshasa's movement. "He just vanishes," he remarked as he struggled to locate the monster. "Great," he pulled a hand down his jaw. "Now what?"

"If you were a reptilian bug-chasing monster, where would you take your next meal?" Dean pondered.

"Hm," Sam keyed in something. A map of the whole city appeared on the screen marked with all the hotspots that Sam could think of. But there was one problem. "There's too damn many. We'll never be able to get through all of these in time."

"There has to be some kind of method to his thinking," Jack straightened up. "How would a guy like him pick a spot?"

"Sammy, pull up the maps of the other cities our guy's hit," Dean suggested. Sam obliged, marking the same points of interest, and the three of them studied the three maps simultaneously. Five minutes passed. And then ten. Finding a pattern wasn't so easy.

"We should probably remove this one," Sam pointed at a point on the Springfield map that represented the last case they investigated there. "It was a false flag, right? It could be throwing us off."

"No, wait," Jack stopped him. Dean thought it uncanny how not a single breath left Jack's lips but then again, he'd observed that sometimes with Cas. It was like angels sometimes forgot to breathe, not that they needed to in the first place. "I could- I know someone who can help us," he said. Gesturing for Sam to move over, he took Sam's seat and went tapping away on the keyboard.

"Wait a second, is that… the Tor browser? What are you doing?" Sam inquired.

"I have a friend on the Dark Web who can crack this," Jack explained, intently working. "Don't worry, the VPN will keep our location safe."

"Hey, I might be wrong, but I don't think the Deep Web is a good place to make friends," Sam shrugged.

"It helps to have connections when you're trying to be inconspicuous," Jack mentioned. He uploaded the images of the marked maps to a site and entered something in a chat. He requested, very vaguely, for an extrapolated set of points on the Jefferson City map based on the other three maps. Someone replied, asking for payment.

"Good luck not getting tracked paying a shady no-name on the internet," Dean scoffed. "A credit card number's all it takes."

"Payment's through crypto, Grandpa," Jack jibed back. "Do yourself a favour and invest in Botcoin. You'll thank me later."

"I don't get it," Dean muttered cluelessly. "So they can't track you? At all?" He squinted at the screen to read the name of the person they were communicating with. "This person- this uh- that's not even English."

"A Botcoin wallet is completely anonymous. Of course, you'd still have to use a scrambling programme to mask where your coins are coming from and going," Jack monotonously rambled. A pause later, he continued, "His username's in Russian. It means-" He cleared his throat. "VampireBoy87."

"Subtle," Sam said, sarcasm dripping in his voice. "And you trust this… VampireBoy87? You don't even know him."

"Trust isn't important for this transaction," Jack shrugged. "But he's helped me out before. Although, I have been trying to get him to show his face. All I get back is this Anne Rice vampire roleplay bullshit." Jack lowered his voice to a whisper. "It's still a little hot, though."

Dean was caught off-guard at that revelation. He never expected that from the angel. "Oh," he realised. "You uh- play for both teams, huh?"

"Why settle for one gender when you can catch 'em all like Pokémon," he quipped like it was nothing. Dean nodded in consideration. A bunch of text appeared on the screen in no time. "He's got it."

"That was… fast," Sam was duly impressed. Jack opened up the incoming image of the map. Marked in green, Vampire Boy had circled four spots which an algorithm deduced. They decided to split up to cover more ground and Jack suggested that Ser Adler could take the fourth spot. After what they'd seen the lizard do, the boys did not question it. "We still don't have a brass knife. What are we gonna do?"

"You're gonna call me, and I'm gonna do in the maggot-festering cunt with my bare hands," Jack stated as a matter-of-fact. "Trust me, there ain't no surviving that."


Hell – 6 months ago

"Jab, jab, cross," Abaddon instructed, her body moving slowly so as to illustrate the motion.

"Shouldn't I be wearing hand wraps?" Zara asked. The two of them were in the armoury in Lucifer's quarters, attired appropriately for physical activity. Zara's medium-length wavy black hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She seemed scrawny in comparison to Abaddon, like she could replace any of the many blades that lined the walls of the room.

"Sure. Do you want that in hot pink with glitter and diamonds too, Princess?" Abaddon snarked, her lifeless grey eyes refusing to spare Zara from cynicism. Zara said nothing. She simply shifted into a fighting stance and performed the movements on a standing punching bag which Abaddon held firmly. "Faster, come on!"

Left fist first. Left fist again. Then right fist. Fast breath in. Fast exhale with every punch. Her muscles grew used to the motion. With every repetition, her thoughts disappeared. Her body moved with purpose. Soon enough, she felt the strain in her arms. But her ceremonious rebirth was fresh enough in her mind that it didn't matter. She pushed on, almost dissociating from the feeling of pain like it was a strange other.

After some varied routines that combined different kinds of punches, Abaddon shifted to getting her to train with the punching pads which the demon would hold up while Zara practised more combinations of punches and kicks. "Punch harder," Abaddon said.

"I'm going as hard as I can," Zara answered, pausing between reps.

"You won't make a dent on a demon like this," the Knight added. The naturally silky voice of her meatsuit always sounded like a grenade ready to blow under the demon's control.

"Hey, I'm trying my best," Zara defended herself. A sigh clouded her mind as she panted for breath. "Pitting me against a demon isn't exactly a fair fight anyway."

"The world isn't fair," Abaddon's eyes threateningly narrowed. "If you don't learn to fight like a demon, you won't last out there."

"You say that but… I'll never actually be able to match up to a demon in strength," she wiped sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. It was only then that a stinging sensation came to her attention. She looked down to see her knuckles bruised and scraped. Her palms quivered when she tried to hold them still. Her maximum effort was reduced to nothing by a Knight of Hell.

"That's not true," a third voice interrupted. The ladies turned to find Lucifer leaning against the door frame. He had a sly smile, like he was hiding a secret. As soon as he got their attention, he straightened up and approached them. "And besides, fighting isn't just about strength."

Zara felt so small around the both of them. They seemed to tower over her in height, experience and strength. Now that she was sober and hardened by Hell, her head seemed more solid than before. None of her previous apprehension towards the demons remained. She felt like a brand new person. Yet, there was this feeling of hollowness within her. It felt like she was both present and absent at the same time. There was a person named Zara moving and talking, but it felt nothing like the Zara that existed before. Lucifer could see it in her eyes – how she awaited his next word with no weakness hiding behind her irises. She seemed but a clay to be moulded into an image of his choice.

"Drop the training pad. Do fist-to-fist," Lucifer ordered.

"But sir, we haven't even started on actual combat," Abaddon worried. Zara was equally alarmed. She knew for sure that she'd get her ass handed to her.

"Don't worry about it," Lucifer dismissed. "Zara already knows enough to fight. Isn't that right, Zara?" She held his gaze with uncertainty gnawing at her. It was true; he had zapped some knowledge into her head that one time long ago. But knowing fighting moves theoretically was not even close to being able to execute said moves in a combat. Lucifer, on the other hand, seemed to regard her with confidence. There was a twinkle in his icy blue eyes that she'd never quite noticed before. "Just go with your instinct," he told her. And to Abaddon, he said, "Don't hold back."

Lucifer stood aside, close to one of the walls, as the ladies assumed position. They had their forearms up, fists held close to their chins. The air fell deadly silent as they watched each other. Zara concentrated on shifting her balance to her toes as she stared straight into her trainer's eyes. She could tell that Abaddon wanted her to take the first shot, but holy hell, looking into Abaddon's eyes was like having a staring contest with a lion moments before it chewed up its prey and spat out the bones.

One step forward and Zara launched a jab at Abaddon's face. The Knight countered with a parry so forceful it knocked her off balance and instantly delivered a punch to Zara's left cheek. A grunt escaped her lips as she careened to the right. Considering that this was all within the span of a single second, it was a miracle that Zara was still on her feet. Her vision spun immediately as she struggled to straighten up again. The blurry image of Abaddon awaited her strike again. Okay, faster. This time she did a jab but immediately stepped back to dodge a retaliatory punch. It worked – she was still on her feet. Before she could congratulate herself for making it so far, Abaddon's fist met her face again.

And so it went. Zara learning something new every step of the way as Abaddon pummelled her face and sometimes her ribs. At one point, Zara did manage to land a punch on Abaddon, which the demon blocked with her forearm. She was so surprised that she had even managed to land four knuckles on the demon that she forgot to dodge the next blow. Then back to square one again.

"You punch like a human," Lucifer commented from the side-lines.

"Don't know if you've noticed, but I am a human," Zara bit back a harsher response. By now, her body was releasing so much heat she could feel a heatwave rising from her body. She bent down, resting palms on her thighs as she heaved for breath. Hot air seemed to fill her ears. And as she looked at her knuckles again, the soreness was like an ocean of red on the back of her hand. Pleasing these people seemed impossible. "How else am I supposed to punch?"

"You humans always punch like you're afraid of getting hurt. I don't know why evolution removed your tails when you like tucking them between your legs so much," he explained with this befuddled look that went along with the animated shrugging of his shoulders. Zara was expressionless. She was almost excited to hear his input until she was reminded of how much he constantly insulted her species status. " But you…" he pointed a finger towards her. "You're gonna be different, alright? You need to learn to clock someone like you're not afraid of breaking some bones. And I mean your bones." At that moment, heavy footsteps dragged through the hallway to his study and Lucifer realised that Hades was back from his mission. He began towards the door. "Your knuckles better be shattered by the time I get back."

Great. Zara's breathing had slowed down to a more comfortable pace now, though her limbs were quivering. Taking a deep breath, she assumed position again.

"How'd it go?" Lucifer inquired the pagan as they retreated to the quiet space at his table.

"I found Horny Boy Dionysus' Playhouse," Hades reported with his hoarse voice. The grey bulk of a god had a permanent frown on his face as he recalled the events of the past month. "He runs underground prostitution ring."

"And?" Lucifer probed, curiosity piqued.

"I haven't had Persephone in years," Hades grumbled. "He has many Persephones."

Lucifer held back rolling his eyes into the back of his skull. Surely, if Hades had found the prostitutes he had also found and done more important things.

"All I said was that I wanted to speak with the bastard," Hades continued, staring at a single point on the table. "She kept screaming. I had no choice. I rip her throat out." He shrugged like it was nothing. "Dionysus didn't come. But he doesn't have much to come back to now."

"That should send a message," Lucifer agreed. "The cockroaches are already scattering after what Zara did."

"I hear I miss out on sexy action. That's not fair, boss," Hades complained. "How come angry redhead gets to watch but I don't?"

"Get over it. Zara doesn't exist for your entertainment," Lucifer calmly asserted. Thus far the conversation was casual, with Lucifer even relaxing in his folded-arm posture. It had been a while since he'd truly felt so in-control but it was an optimistic time – things were working out for him. "She exists for my entertainment." An eyebrow raised as an order not to question him. "Besides, I need to hit Javelin on more than one front at the same time. Make them feel the gravity. No one's gonna dare fight back."

"Their testicles are weak," Hades agreed, clenching his fist in the air in what seemed to be a crushing gesture. "But scared animals fight back, don't they?"

"They might," Lucifer conceded. "Which is why it's imperative that we destroy Javelin. If they can't talk to each other, they can't band against us. Most of them already don't like each other. All we have to do is light the gasoline."

"Not to dip your feathers in river Styx, boss, but the Javelin is like hellhound with no claws. The lie is only known after bitch scratches face off," the pagan pondered. "We must cut off paws."

"Hmm," the archangel considered. This was a question of strategy to him. Hades was right; there was no telling how Javelin might try to fight back. Some new measures were necessary. An ancient memory provided inspiration. "Have I ever told you about my rebellion?"

"You said idiot angels kick you out for making sense," Hades recalled. "Like idiot Zeus kick me out for making sense. Hmph."

"Yes…" Lucifer nodded. "But did I tell you how it all happened? How a war came to be?" Hades remained silent in anticipation, so Lucifer continued, "We didn't want a war. We thought they'd listen to reason…" A scowl slowly overtook Lucifer's expression. "I was wrong to think that they'd know what was best for them. I mean, how could they have been so willingly blind? Feather-brained morons," he puzzled. Barely a moment passed before he shook himself out of it and took a swift inhale. "Anyway, I digress. Looking back, I just wish I'd… planned better. Stupid Mark messed with my head. Thanks, Dad. That's just what I get for helping you save the whole universe, isn't it?" he mumbled, shaking his head in disappointment. Sighing, he said, "If I'd allowed myself to seriously consider a war, I might have done some more things before it came down to it."

"What kind of things?" the pagan perked up. He was ready for an order.

"Well, for one, it woulda been nice to have upped the stakes. Steal some weapons, leave them scrambling in terror," Lucifer told Hades casually. "It wasn't worth it to play nice. That really blew up in my face, didn't it?" Hades simply sat there, unsure of what to say. This wasn't really his area of expertise – the whole rambling, that is. Lucifer found Hades' bored expression and suppressed the urge to tear into him. He soundlessly exhaled through his nostrils as his gaze swept over the table. I can't believe I'm doing this. This sometimes happened. He'd sit there, wanting to say something. Wanting to talk to someone. But it was always too personal to talk to anyone. So he'd just be silent. But he'd wonder a what-if – what if Sophie was here? Dammit. Not again. "We could have made them take our side."

"So uh…" the grey-skinned being stammered, fiddling his thumbs. "What, uh, do- what's-"

"I have ideas," Lucifer answered before Hades could finish. "I want you to take some demons to Samara. We have intel that Javelin's operating there. I don't want an attack. Not yet. Find out what they're up to and report back."

"You're sure Redhead can't do this?" Hades asked a little dispiritedly.

"You will do as you are told, Pagan," Lucifer uttered forcefully as his eyes narrowed in cynicism. "Abaddon stays here to train Zara."

"Give me a chance, boss. I'll teach the nymph to wrestle," Hades remarked with a serpentine grin. "I'll teach her to hold a sword the right way."

He did a… suggestive gesture with his hand. The archangel was annoyed, more than anything, by the Greek god's persistence yet could not find it in himself to be too frustrated. It was hard enough attempting to care about a human; protecting her from Hades' lustful gaze was a level of commitment to her safety that he wasn't sure he wanted. She's no use to you if Hades smashes her to dust.

"Alright, I joke, I joke!" Hades held his arms up in surrender as he giggled heartily, which sounded more like the eruption of a volcano than an expression of amusement. "Don't look at me like Michael kicked your Hellhound. You know what you need, boss? You need woman. Maybe next time I bring back one for you."

"I'm monogamous, you clay-brained asshole," Lucifer sharply derided.

"So am I," Hades responded. He had a wide-eyed, sincere look that only befuddled the archangel. Lucifer wondered if he should even point out what was obviously wrong with that statement. But the blank look in the pagan's single eye stopped him.

"There is no one you could find who even comes close to-" he abruptly stopped. Every moment thinking about this just seemed to take him lower. "Forget it. You ever bring this up again with me, I'll chop your knob off and stuff it into your empty eye-hole."

"Have you tried visiting Asgard?" Hades pressed. When Lucifer stared daggers at him, he backed away. "Alright, alright, I'll stop. So, to Russia, then."

"Wait," Lucifer halted him mid-journey to the door. "There's still one thing I need you to do before you leave."

Just as he was about to explain, a loud grunt pierced the air. "Ow!" a female voice yelled. "Motherfucker! Ah!"

Lucifer's eyes lit up. "Oh- I think she's done it."

When he entered the armoury, he was greeted by the sight of Zara clutching her right wrist and writhing on the floor while Abaddon stood over her with a wide cherry smile and hands on both her hips. "The pup's finally learnt to bark," she told her boss. Her grey irises were practically glistening with satisfaction. "Rather obscenely, I might add."

"How'd she do?" Lucifer followed up.

Abaddon's chin tightened as she evaluated the punch. "It tickled a little. But her technique's improving. She's learning to be quicker. If I felt something…" she tilted her head in consideration. "…it could hurt an average demon."

"Guys, if you don't mind," Zara called out from her sweaty patch on the ground. Her eyes were tightly shut and it looked like she was tearing up. "I'm… I'm in a little bit of… pain right now." She heaved for breath. "Just a- just a little, you know?"


Jefferson City, Missouri – 22 September 2012, 12.36am

Zara's nose sniffed the air as she stirred awake. "Ugh," she grimaced. Something smelt severely gross. As it usually was the case, her hands were secured behind her back. This time, she appeared to be laying on her side against a damp floor. Fidgeting on the floor, she nudged herself to a sitting position. Slowly, her senses began to notice her environment. It was dark and it took a while for her to get adjusted to it. Soon enough, she could make out the shape of grates and a door. A distant rushing of water also became obvious, forming a constant white noise in the background. "Please don't tell me I'm where I think I am," she muttered to herself, maintaining a disgusted scowl.

The door creaked open and a figure stepped through, holding an ancient-looking lantern. It was him. Zara stiffened where she sat. He looked her right in the eyes as he slowly treaded to the wall opposite her and set the lantern down. She said nothing. The silence between them was uncanny. It was clear that one of them would die in this room. But the fact was that he was wearing the face of someone she was supposed to have killed. Was this retribution for not having done the deed before? The ire in the Rakshasa's scowl seemed the only thing that made sense. That was the look she should have gotten from Jack. From him, from everyone else too. Then it was probably right that it was a monster with Jack's face that would beat some sense into her.

Each footstep echoed without interrupting the last. Their unbroken eye contact seemed to amuse him. He knelt before her with the grace of a cascading waterfall. Zara refused to give him the satisfaction of a nervous greeting so she simply frowned instead.

"Look at you," the Rakshasa spoke. His lips curved into a smile. His words were so gentle it was like he was trying to caress a baby bird with it. Zara tried to back away from him to no avail as his fingers caressed her cheek. "All that hollowness… It's incredible." The way he stroked her cheek so gingerly made her quite sick, she had to admit. It was so stunning how the Rakshasa was this… tender that she was out of her regular grit. "But it's okay. Sometimes we give ourselves up so easily. Just to feel something again. I understand."

"I don't know what you think you understand," she rebutted. A draught wafted in from a grate, bringing with it a piercing smell of sewage. The Rakshasa was unfazed by it but she felt her stomach flip. As if the alcohol wasn't nauseating enough.

"Girls like you… girls with a tender heart…" More unwanted caresses sent shivers through her. "Such precious things you are. Such… delicious things." The Rakshasa took in a strained breath. "I'm the only one you'll ever need. You won't want for anything else in the time we'll spend together."

"Pretty sure I'll want for air that doesn't smell like ass," Zara gagged.

"Sorry about that. The sewers always… get me in the mood," the Rakshasa explained. That's odd, she thought. That's the first time I've heard a Rakshasa apologise.

"In the mood for what?!" she dared ask.

"Everything." He simply smirked. "I don't like the taste of intimidation."

"That's a first," she huffed, rolling her eyes away.

"Some call it an acquired taste. But it's as natural as it gets for me. I've always been a lover as far as I've known," he muttered despondently. "Not many people are so understanding."

"Did Bidhra know?" Zara brought up. The Rakshasa's eyes snapped into their true reptilian shape at the sound of her name. "Did Bidhra know about your- your kink?"

"How… how do you know her?" he stammered quietly. His eyebrows knotted deeply as he tilted his head in curiosity.

"Springfield," Zara told him. "She dropped a body using your MO and I put her down."

"Wait, it was you? She was trying to kill you?" Something about that stank to the Rakshasa more than the sewer itself. "Lucifer's assassin."

"Always nice to meet a fan," she dryly added while the confusion continued to toil on his face. Moments passed with him just thinking in silence.

"Huh." He plopped onto a spot right next to her, now sitting with her shoulder-to-shoulder. "Wait, so Bidhra's dead?"

"Yes, Jesus Christ," Zara grumbled. Everything proceeded at snail's pace for this guy. When is he gonna kill me?

"That'll show that bitch," he suddenly said. This time it was Zara's turn to be surprised. "Too stupid to make her own pattern so she steals mine. And she can't even do that right," he rambled, pulling his legs up closer to his chest. "('They're all young girls. What does it matter? Fondled before death or not, Durga still gets a goat')," the Rakshasa mockingly imitated Bidhra in his native Hindi. Zara was befuddled. She wondered what the Hindu goddess Durga had to do with anything. "(Doesn't respect me. Doesn't respect my art. But still wants 'the goat'.)"

"O… kay," she interjected, as if to remind the Rakshasa that she was there.

"I guess I should thank you," he pulled a hand down his face as he contemplated his dead friend. "I never liked collaborating with other people."

"Great. Now we know that this is all a great big misunderstanding," she sighed, partly in relief. Hey, this might not be so bad after all. "So… let me go. I'll…" she gulped, slightly in repugnance. "I'll leave you to your… (art). I'm not your target demographic anyway."

"But you are," he said, staring straight ahead at the lantern. "I can sense it. Your… frustration."

"Woah, hold up," she snapped defensively. "Frustration? I'm the best I've ever been in a long time. I have everything I could possibly want, okay?"

"Not everything," the Rakshasa calmly disagreed as he angled himself toward her. "Whatever Lucifer gives you, he can't give you the one thing you need."

"Now it's like you're actually Jack," she scoffed. She'd have folded her arms if she could. "I don't need to hear it from either of you assholes. You're both wrong."

"It'll all be over soon. We have a connection now. I'll mend your broken heart before I eat it," he reassured her. A sly grin spread across his jaw. "I suppose I won't have to change either. You seem to prefer Jack."

"What? Ew," she recoiled in her seat. "No," she shook her head.

"Many women do. He is a charming guy," the Rakshasa pondered with a malicious zeal in his eye. "I should have become Jack's manager instead of Danny's. Do you know how hard it was to convince women that they should want Danny? I didn't believe my own words half the time."

"Okay, look. I don't think of Jack that way," Zara set it straight. It was so strange that she even had to say that out loud.

"You will now," he shifted his weight to get up, settling in a half-squat opposite her again. He took a deep breath of the rancid air. "Now that's perfect," he moaned. Zara bit back a disgusted remark at the sight of his heavy chest heaving. "I should take to the sewers more."

"Then why didn't you? You killed all those girls in their own homes," she challenged as his deathly grip secured her in his arms.

"Oh, you know, I had to attempt to mask my trail. It was the least I could do," he spoke through thirsty breaths. Shoving her to the floor, he immediately lowered himself to her level and cupped her cheeks with his palms. Their faces were in fatal proximity. "I was going to wait until after the festival to hunt again. But the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew I wanted you. Your pull is so strong, like a black hole."

"Then write a song and name it after me, (motherfucker)," she groaned. Every moment she had to stare into his eyes – Jack's eyes – seeing that dirty gaze he had made her physically sick, as if the sewer stench wasn't enough.

"Your anger, your… emptiness was so powerful I could smell it from the moment I entered," he pressed his forehead against hers and took a sharp inhale. "And then I heard you fight with Jack and I just knew that you were perfect for me. I'm sorry he hurt you. And I couldn't wait any longer. I needed to savour you. Soon, we will be one. We will complete each other."

It was a futile attempt to try and crane her head away from him. His palms were a brace around her head and his fingernails began to morph into claws. She immediately withdrew her awareness to within her. A spark of energy lit up in her core. With a sharp grunt, the spark exploded and she managed to send a blast-wave in his direction, flinging him backwards. She panted heavily, eyes glowing emerald, as she finally felt herself free of his presence. But that wasn't all – the spark she channelled had been so powerful that it had cut through the ropes binding her wrists. Zara scrambled to her feet.

Her path to the door appeared unobstructed. But first, she grabbed the lantern and hurled it at the monster. The glass broke and the oil inside spilled all over him, setting him on fire. The Rakshasa yelled at the sudden burst of heat as the golden flames danced on him. Hoping that would be distraction enough, she made for the door. Her bare feet thudded against the rough cement floor as she took off through the tunnel. She didn't even know if she was going in the right direction. In retrospect, she regretted her decision to destroy the lantern. It was really dark and she didn't have enough of her eye kohl on to see with Sophia's light. Fuck me for cleaning off my make-up before bed. Instead, she hoped to keep going until she found light.

A sliver of streetlight appeared around a corner. Perfect. She hurried towards it. There was a barred grate leading to the street above her and a ladder. One foot stepped on the rung.

"Not so fast," a voice hissed behind her. Her free leg fell victim to the Rakshasa's grasp and he yanked her backwards.

The breath was knocked right out of her lungs as her back hit the wall several feet away. The Rakshasa rapidly advanced towards her. Adrenaline shot through her like a spike of lightning. She sprinted towards him and used the wall to launch herself onto him. In doing so, she knocked him off balance and managed to land a blow on his face. She pummelled him with both hands until he regained his composure and hurled her backwards. She fell noisily back-first right under the grate.

At that moment, the light falling on her face suddenly seemed to disappear. When her vision focused, she realised that it wasn't that the light had disappeared, but rather, someone was blocking it. "Zara?" a familiar voice called out.

"Sam!" she yelled back.

"Zara, are you okay?" he worried. He tried to find a gap between the bars of the grate that would best allow him to see her face. He clicked on a flashlight to see her better. Just then, he caught sight of a figure rushing her, pushing her out of his frame of vision. "Zara!" he shouted. "Hang in there!" He scrambled to get out his phone and dial a number. The seconds were awfully tense as the phone rang. Sam heard some struggling noises and hoped that her grunting noises wouldn't suddenly disappear. "Jack, I found her. Get over here!"

The Rakshasa hurled a fist at her. She twisted her torso, narrowly dodging the punch. She lowered her hips and launched a punch at his ribs. Not stopping at one, she pulled back as fast as she could and punched again, but much harder. Pain surged through her knuckles but she was too focused to care. She ducked to miss another blow and switched hands this time to rapidly strike his face. With every punch, her energy built up. It wasn't easy to faze the monster, but her speed was starting to take its effect. Until her rhythm reached its maximum. Channelling the hawk, she felt its power flood her arm as she pounded a fist against his cheek. His head careened to the side. Wasting no second, she kneed him in the gut and shoved him to the ground.

Meanwhile, Sam had promptly moved to lift the heavy grate. A flap of wings sounded out of nowhere and the archangel appeared before him. "He's with her," Sam's lips quivered the information. Jack lifted a foot over the open grate and dropped in vertically, landing with barely any noise. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted movement. Zara was on top of the Rakshasa, who lay supine on the ground. Her fists moved so forcefully and aggressively that it even started to give him pause. Of course, his surprise was short-lived when the Rakshasa finally retaliated, flipping her into his position. Jack charged forward while Sam made it down carefully using the ladder.

"Hey, Handsome. It's illegal to look this good," Jack grabbed the Rakshasa and propelled him towards the sewer wall. When he got his turn to knock the crap out of the Rakshasa, the first strike was so hard that the Rakshasa morphed into his previous form as Larry, falling to the floor and touching a trembling hand to his cheek.

"What- what are you?" the old man's eyes widened in terror. Sam used the opening to rush to Zara, holding her in his arms as she decided to succumb to the fatigue. She winced a little and he looked down to see her scraped and bruised knuckles.

"Your nightmare," Jack hopped on one leg and kicked the creature in the gut with the other. The Rakshasa was propelled backwards and rolled on the ground until he finally came to a stop. Jack lifted him up by the collar and held him close to his face. The old man Larry – or the Rakshasa borrowing his face – never could have known what he'd come face-to-face with that night. He felt the power of the being in front of him radiating in waves, each pulse petrifying him more than the last. It felt like being hopelessly caught in a tsunami as the waves crashed around you. And when he looked into Jack's eyes – really, deeply looked with his keen reptilian senses – he saw a fury burning so hot that he didn't dare look any further.

Jack clamped his palms around the Rakshasa's neck and with a tight pull, he ripped apart the creature down the middle as easily as tearing a piece of paper. A slobbery mess of blood and guts lay limp at his feet.


The Motel, Jefferson City, Missouri – 22 September 2012, 1.20am

"Ser Adler was worried sick about you, man," Jack confessed with concern contorting his eyes close to the point of tears but never really reaching there. In his hands, he'd cradled Ser Adler and stroked his back gently. Ser Adler in turn purred in his lizard tongue and stuck a tiny hand towards Zara. The archangel extended his hands to her side of the table to bring the lizard closer to her.

"Uh… thanks, Adler," Zara croaked with a weary voice. The four of them sat around the motel table in her room after she'd insisted on taking a shower to wash the smell of the sewers off. It felt like she needed more than one shower but this would have to do for now. As much as it was normal for her to be broiled in situations like the one she'd just escaped, it was a new, comfortable feeling to be surrounded by people who cared. Even if her relationship with two of them was built on a huge lie. Even seeing the lizard brought some solace to her. She smirked and touched a finger to his raised paw. She could have sworn that the lizard was smiling at her.

"So what happened? Did he say anything to you?" Sam probed. His heart was finally at rest to see her but it was uncanny to see all the bruises and scars she'd accumulated in that time. But she was strong. She was unbothered by it. It gave him some relief to know that she had a strong stomach for these kinds of things, as well as a knack for getting out alive.

Zara contemplated the experience. It had been quite unsettling to learn of the Rakshasa's… fetish. And the fact that he had Jack's face on at the time… "No, he didn't talk much," she said, shrugging. "Which was how I knew that it wasn't actually Jack. I'm there thinking like, 'Is something wrong with him? He should be having seizures by now.' Because he's always itching to say something-"

"Okay, I get it. I don't shut up. Jesus," Jack defended, mocking an offended expression. "And you seemed a little too happy to pound his face into a pulp."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, forehead creasing into a slight frown. "What happened back there?"

"I woulda done that too," Dean argued, puzzled that they were even discussing this. "If someone with Sammy's face was gonna eat me, my best bet would have been to pull his Rapunzel locks." He chuckled though Sam raised an eyebrow.

"No, uh, her hand was broken," Sam told him. He held up the back of his hand and pointed to illustrate the damage. "Four fingers. All shattered."

"Damn," Dean remarked. He didn't know if he was worried about her or admired her. "That's… that's something."

"Something dangerous, you mean. Something stupid," Jack berated. Of course, he'd been the one to heal her before they made it back to the motel so he had something to say, as usual, about it.

"Okay, look. I don't have big, meaty arms like you boys," Zara passionately defended herself. "Yeah, sometimes I gotta stick it to the bad guy to survive. And yeah, sometimes that's gonna hurt my frail girl fingers. You got a problem with that?"

"Uh, no," Dean answered with stunned, wide eyes. "N-not at all. You go, ma'am."

"Alright, so what's next?" Sam began. A 15-hour nap, hopefully, Zara thought.

"We kick back, relax and chill backstage," Jack leaned back into his chair, gleaming with excitement. "After you come see the show tomorrow, that is."

"Oh, the show," Sam recalled. He'd never thought much of it till then, but the possibility of having some fun eased him up a little.

"Yeah, the show," Jack nodded slowly. "Are you guys in?"

"Yeah, what the hell. I'm in," Sam assented, throwing up his hands. "Guys?"

Zara and Dean nodded, both displaying different levels of consideration but equally certain. "Yes," Jack shook his fist animatedly. His tightly stretched lips parted to reveal his teeth as he chuckled heartily. Just then, his sharp eyes detected something. They immediately panned to the window. The night's blanket of darkness lay beyond but glowing orange eyes hovered at the windowsill. The unusual fading of his smile and targeted gaze caught their attention. The others turned to look at what he was looking at.

"Is that… a monkey?" Dean identified. No one said anything but they all agreed with his assessment. A tiny brown monkey stared at them from outside the motel window. "Hey, little guy…" Dean waved at the creature. As cute as it was, Jack was a little bothered by it. He'd seen it in the alley. He'd seen it when they confronted Crowley. And here it was again. The same monkey.

"Should we let him in? It's cold outside," Sam proposed.

"Okay, but you're cleaning up after him," Zara replied. "If it's even a 'him'."

"Hey, you can get Ser Adler a little friend," Dean smirked to Jack. But the way the angel stared unblinkingly and curiously at the monkey seemed unlike of him.

"Ser Adler has lots of little friends," Jack emotionlessly mumbled. "Isn't this just strange?"

"Sure, but so is the amount of hair you'd find on Sammy's hair brush," Dean mocked, lips upturned goofily on one side.

"It's a comb," Sam corrected.

"As a fellow cranially-gifted being, Sam, don't listen to the haters," Jack advised with a half-grin. "The hair is sacred. But no, what I mean is… since when were there monkeys in North America?"

It was only when he'd brought that up did they all realise that they did not have an answer.