Just Died in Your Arms Tonight (2?)
I don't own anything you can clearly identify.
Author: Dimitri Aidan and Aloysha
Fandom: Supernatural, Smallville, and Charmed
Unbeated for the moment. Tremble...
Pairing: Eventual Dean/Sam, Lex/Clark, Chloe/Pete, and Chris/OMC. But until then other not nearly as important things.
Warnings: Umm…Language, Violence, Smut, Slash, and such.
Summery: When Dean and Sam head to Kansas after they get a call for help, they find that a haunted house is their least of their worries.
Aloysha: God, I just love a good trippy dream.
Dimitri: Quite pleased with yourself are you?
Aloysha: Fuck yeah.
Notes: Would have been done faster but we thought 'Hey, lets check this 'Reckoning' thing out and then wrap this chapter up. It's like crack…we should have just said 'no'. Also all responses to reviews can be found at Dimitiri's livejournal, link on his profile.
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Chapter Two
Wonderwall
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Sam was still a little out of it when they left the motel, opting to just roll out of bed, walk out to the car, and crash in the back. He wasn't asleep as far as Dean could tell, just drifting. Dean had put in AC/DC and left his brother to his own thoughts or…whatever was going on back there. He was tempted to pull over and force Sam to tell him what was going on but he was half-afraid showing an interest would just scar his brother indefinitely.
Or leave him open for miles and miles of teasing about 'touchy feely girly crap'. He wasn't sure which idea appealed to him less and, as such, didn't want to risk either. To matters worse Dean had some kind of headache forming, pressure building right behind his eyes and at the base of his neck, throbbing in time. He tried to ignore it but it just got steadily worse until his couldn't even see straight.
It was about noon when he pulled off of the road, if you could call the dirt-covered gravel a road and leaned his head against the wheel. He reached back, rubbing at his neck.
"Sammy?"
"Sam." He didn't hear the other man move but at least he was awake and paying attention. Dean had been a little bit worried as to whether or not Sam was still in there…more than once the lights had been on but Sam had been miles away, deep in a waking dream.
Dean had wanted to ask if Sam was up to driving but instead continued to rub his neck. "So…that dream of yours? Anything worthwhile in it?"
"Maybe." He heard the soft noise of movement and could almost imagine Sam sitting up and staring at him. "I don't really understand it. It was very…surreal. Gave me a headache."
Dean waited and, when it became obvious that Sam wasn't going to say anything else, spoke again. "Like?"
"Hmm?" Sam's voice was deep and slow, almost lazy. "Oh. Umm…bleeding sky, grass, dancing, monsters. I think I stabbed someone."
"Oh."
"Are you okay?"
"Fine. Why wouldn't I be?"
His tone was a little too sharp and his words come out too fast, angry. Dean sighed and lifted his head up. His head still pounding and was more than ready to finally ask Sam to take the wheel. He turned slightly and found that Sam was leaning over into the front, face mere inches from his own. Sam's eyes were dark, almost black, and a shiver went through Dean.
Sam's lips parted in an almost wicked smile, reveling too white teeth, and Dean felt like the proverbial deer in the headlights. He could already tell nothing good would be coming of this at all but found he couldn't speak or move. He didn't think he'd ever seen Sam look so intense.
"What's going on?"
Sam moved closer, lips so close he could feel each time his brother breathed out and another shiver ran through his body but it wasn't as unpleasant as the first one. Sam's tongue darted out, licking over his lips, and a hand brushed over Dean's cheek gently.
"So beautiful." Nails scrapped over his stubble almost teasingly, but Dean could feel them scrapping along the inside of his skull slowly. He winced and tried to jerk back but Sam's hand moved faster, grabbing him by the throat, fingers digging into his flesh. He gasped and grabbed onto his brother's wrists and tried to pull the hand away but found it held fast with a purely unnatural grip.
"You aren't my brother." Never let it be said he was slow on the uptake, choking usually got the point across to him. Though there had been that one time with that one girl in Las Vegas but when most people wanted to choke him it was a bad thing.
"Nope." Sam's lips twisted into something that resembled a pout. "But that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun, does it? I can smell how much you want him."
"…eww." Like his life wasn't fucked up enough, he got a demon that wanted to fuck him in his brother's body. Of all the good looking people in the world it had to jump into Sam.
The demon chuckled and moved closer to him. Warm breath played over his lips and there was a flash of pink as the thing in Sam's body slowly licked his lips. "Don't lie to me. You could have him…I can share. I'll even give him back when we're done."
Dean just glared, hoping that would get his point across. Somehow 'fuck you' just didn't feel like it'd be strong enough in this case.
"Fine." It was a full-blown pout now, complete with the sad eyes. All the thing would need is Sam's 'fine, you win, I hope its worth it' sigh and it'd be right on track, except that Dean wouldn't cave this time. Dean let his arms go limp, trying to give the appearance of starting to pass out.
Which wasn't overly far from the truth; black spots danced over Sam's face and Dean doubted they were anywhere but in his mind. Though he wouldn't go one record about that sort of thing because in their line of work you just didn't know. He kind of suspected his throat would be crushed before lack of oxygen got to him though. The thing in his brother chuckled and shook his a little bit. Dean's fingers brushed the water bottle, which was just where he'd been hoping it would be.
He felt something warm trickle down his neck as Sam's thumb moved to press against his windpipe. He ignored it and the fun little warning bells his brain was giving off and instead focused on the water bottle in the passenger seat. He kept a few bottles of holy water and salt water around for just these kinds of occurrences. …Not Sam in particular but any possessed person. Holy water for demons and salt for the spirits.
Normally they were on the floor but with Sam in the back…well, he'd gotten lucky.
"I expected so much more of you two. You weren't much of a challenge." Dean rolled his eyes mentally. Whatever; the longer the thing was having a 'personal' moment the more time he could buy. He'd never understand why demons wanted to monologue though. Did they spend all their time in hell plotting with no one to listen and then wanted to bore their victims to death?
It was a real mystery. And not like Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster, but an actual legitimate mystery that Dean just couldn't wrap his mind around.
His fingers closed around the cool plastic of the top of the bottle and managed to drag it forward enough over the seat that he could get a good grip.
"Your brother's mind is so open and…exposed. He's like a lighthouse that's always left unlocked. So bright." Figured. First the Shine and now this shit. A lighthouse… His brother was going to be the fucking death of him. "And you…your mind is closed to me but if I hadn't been trying so hard to get in I doubt you would have noticed I wasn't your brother."
Dean had the bottle firmly in grasp and upright. Unscrewing the top one-handed was proving to be a bit of a hassle and the spots were dancing frantically in front of his eyes, pulsing in time to the steady throbbing in his head.
Finally…success. The top tipped onto the seat and he all but threw the water into his brother's face. He heard a hiss followed by a shriek as he was all but thrown back against the wheel. Gasped, trying to draw in air while searching along the floor for his bag.
Exorcism in the middle of the desert, far away from the nearest rest stop let alone a church, after pretty much throwing all the holy water he had into the demon's face. …He so loved a challenge.
There was a cry of rage and he looked up just in time to see himself get backhanded. The force was unnatural, something not even Sam at his worst (or best) could have managed and Dean not only went slamming into the door of his car, but ended up falling out and rolling over the dusty ground as well. He looked up at the cloudless blue sky, wondering for a moment if people ever actually saw stars after getting smacked and, if so, why wasn't he seeing any?
The air was dry and seemed almost tight. He could feel it closing in around him and forced himself to his knees while he drew in wheezing breaths even though the air seemed to claw at his throat on the way down.
His vision was blurry and even if it had been focused the world was spinning around him. One of his few intact memories of his mother was of a carousal and going around and around while she stood just outside of the safety gate, taking pictures every time he went past, waving and smiling so hard her face had to hurt. She'd been pregnant with Sam, he remembered because she'd been huge and Dad hadn't wanted her to take him to the Fair. She'd agreed only to sneak them out while Dad worked on something in the basement.
It was kind of like that, only he wanted to throw up now and had been intent on getting an ice cream cone then. He saw sneakers come into his line of sight as a shadow fell over him. He shook his head, crawling back some.
He had to get it together; no way was he going to let his little brother kick his ass, possessed by evil or not.
"You thought Holy Water would stop me?" The thought had occurred to him. He'd thought it'd at least buy him time. One leg arced up and caught him in the chest. Dean gave up on breathing and instead rolled with the kick. Distance. He needed distance so he could try and clear his head. Air was clearly a secondary need to that one.
This would be so much easier if his brain wasn't trying to implode inside of his skull.
"It's too late for that Winchester. Even if you get rid of me we know where you are just by following your pretty little brother. We will find you and we will destroy you."
"Take a number." Dean rasped. He was on his knees again and trying to force himself to get a bit higher than that, to his feet perhaps, but he had the worst feeling of vertigo all of a sudden. It laughed and walked closer to him. A hand touched his shoulder and pushed him onto his back. The metallic gleam of the gun in his brother's hand was too bright for him to stare at and he looked away. He heard it cock as a foot landed on his chest, pressing hard.
"Stay away from Kansas. This is all that awaits you."
Dean groaned and the world seemed to just cut away for a moment, not like he passed out but simply as if nothing existed for a moment but there wasn't dark or light or even nothingness. It was simply a jump from one place to another.
When it was back he was in the motel room, staring at the ceiling. He could hear the sounds of typing and when he forced himself up, pain still very much there, Sam turned to look at him, eyebrow arching slightly.
"You know, for a guy who didn't think he was going back to sleep you've been out of it for almost…three hours."
Dean nodded, mouth dry with the taste of sand. He held up a hand then motioned that his brother should come over. Sam stood, looking a little wary.
"I looked up that town like you asked. It's pretty weird, some kind of Mecca of weird shit. Far as I can tell it's all because of some kind of meteor shower in the late eighties and-" Sam was in reach now and, glaring darkly at his brother, Dean punched in his arm as hard as he could manage without over-balancing. Sam reared back. "Ow! Dude, what the fuck?"
Dean just shrugged and hauled himself completely out bed. "Funky dream."
"Which is my fault how?"
"Sam." Dean stared at his brother, trying to communicate without speaking that it should be obvious.
Everything was Sam's fault; it was a well-documented and unavoidable fact. Sam must have gotten the point because he just turned and went back to his laptop. Dean stretched a bit then shuffled over to the table. He sat across from his brother and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, trying to will the headache away.
From the corner of his eyes he saw a pad of paper with the name of the motel scrawled across the bottom. In the middle of the paper was a harsh drawing of…a room maybe. The lines were thick and black, all sharp angles and edges, from the row of windows along one side to the table in the center. There was nothing really descript about it, beyond the fact it seemed to stretch on and on.
"What's this?"
"What?" Sam looked up and followed Dean's gaze. "I don't know. Maybe something from my dream. I don't really remember anything exact, it was so weird, so I was just drawing, like with the tree, and this is what I got."
Dean nodded and looked up at Sam. "What do you remember?"
"Blood falling from the sky, people dancing, really old grass, a knife…I think I stabbed someone. It was just…why're you looking at me like that?"
Dean stared at him for a moment then kicked him underneath the table, smiling as Sam cursed at him. He really had a foul mouth when he put his mind to it. Finally Sam calmed down and sat back in his seat, muttering irritably under his breath. Dean grabbed his cell phone from the table and stood up, quashing the rush of dizziness he felt.
He needed an aspirin or six. Or a beer. Maybe both. He'd have to look into that. Right now however he had to make a phone call.
"I'll be back."
"Fuck you."
He waved at Sam over his shoulder before opening the door and slipping outside. He all but collapsed onto the ground outside of the door, squinting against the sun, which seemed to be throwing all of its light right into his eyes. The Impala was right in front of their room, lightly covered in dust and in need of a wash. There was a little girl, or at least he assumed it was a girl since they were in a skirt, across the road peddling slowly on a bike.
Finding the number was easy, the number of people in his phone was almost depressing, and he put it to his ear. Each ring seemed a hundred times louder, echoing on the inside of his head with scary intensity.
Yeah, probably both. He'd let Sam drive; the only thing he hadn't worked his brother down about was driving after drinking. Dean didn't have to heart to tell him that he'd driven while drinking more than a few times. He was saving it for either a serious Chick Moment or for the next time Sam started to lecture him about something.
There was a click and Dean sighed. "Missouri-"
"Hello, this is Missouri and I'm not available at the moment. If you want to schedule an appointment leave a message and I'll get back to you." There was a beep and Dean hung up, frowning. Well that…had been useless. He leaned back against the door, rubbing at his head again. His head was still pounding and he sure as hell wasn't getting beer or aspirin sitting outside with no shoes on.
He stood and, taking a moment to make sure he didn't just pitch over, opened the door again. Sam put a hand up to shield his eyes from the outside light while giving him a questioning look. He just shrugged and sat down on his bed, reaching for his shoes.
"We should get going. This guy wants to met us tonight and it's a long drive."
"Lex Luthor."
Dean stopped what he was doing. While he wasn't one for politics or the news or tabloids even he couldn't deny knowing who Lex Luthor was. One of the richest men in America, son to the richest man in America, and in the center of almost every major scandal in the nation. If not him than Bruce Wayne.
"You're kidding."
"It's the only thing that makes sense; someone in Smallville who thinks discretion is the most important thing and is willing to pay 'anything'?"
Dean had to confess the prospect of a decent payout eased the pounding in his head. Money was the best pain reliever in the world.
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Lex eyed the floating fruit bowl with something between annoyance and amusement. He had known this was going to happen, had told Clark it was gong to happen and, per usual, his concerns had been brushed aside. By acknowledging the spirits, or whatever they were, they now felt they had license to annoy him whenever they felt like. No longer were they regulated to the nighttime and dark hours, it was noon and he was watching a floating fruit bowl.
Damn annoying.
Much like a certain farm boy he knew who had invited himself over for the night, citing wanting to met these guys that Lex had gotten in contact with and protect him from any angry ghosts lurking about. Lex, personally, didn't think he was in danger.
The flying chairs had been the first semi-dangerous things and if his spirits had an ounce of common sense they had to know that, while Clark was the eye in the storm of trouble that followed Lex he was also the calm after that storm.
Sure, Clark would probably never stop almost getting him killed but he'd also never stop saving him. And then claiming that he hadn't saved him and that his latest blow to the head that week had him seeing things once again.
Clark was really a terrible liar. Lex almost wanted to cringe in pain every time Clark opened his mouth to lie because it was really awful to watch. Lex figured he was just going to stop questioning Clark one day to save himself from watching the display.
The fruit bowl was almost dancing, tilting this way and that in some kind of strange rhythm. The fruit inside shifted around, sometimes threatening to come out but the bowl would always tilt away before that happened.
He didn't mind Clark staying over exactly and in fact looked forward to hanging out with the teen. He just wasn't looking forward to tonight in general. Ghost hunters in his home. If anyone ever found out he'd be a laughingstock. Shit, he was almost laughing at himself. Would be only he was afraid someone would hear and tell people about it. He had an image of shaky sanity to maintain.
Still he supposed it couldn't be that bad; if people found out they'd just label him eccentric and that would probably be a step up from where he was.
It was still ridiculous though. He didn't even believe in ghosts.
"Ah, Lex." The bowl crashed onto his desk, shattering on impact, as his father strode into the room. He sneered at the mess, watching as a red apple wobbled to the edge and rolled along the floor. It came to a halt eventually and was picked up by his father who eyed it before turning to look at him. "Is something wrong Lex?"
Figured. Even ghosts fled at the sight of Lionel Luthor. Lex really wished he had that kind of power at the moment.
"No, why do you ask?" Lex leaned back in his chair, acting for all the world as if nothing was going on. For all he knew he was hallucination. Mass hallucinations were known to happen and as often as Clark and his friends were around it'd make sense they'd be affected like him. Maybe there was a gas leak. "Does something seem wrong?"
His father set the apple down, handily crushing Lex's theory because you couldn't really touch hallucinations to his knowledge, before sitting in the chair that Clark had sat in some nine hours before. Lex was going to have to burn it now.
"You have been oddly jumpy for a few weeks now son." Lionel said finally. "Not yourself at all, and I've just been told you canceled your dinner arrangement with one of your investors for tonight. I've never known you to slack on responsibility when it comes to LexCorp."
"Where did you hear that?" Lex asked, not really needing to be told. He suspected his secretary, a nice guy a year or so younger than Lex fresh out of college with a useless degree, was on Lionel's pay role. He flirted too hard and confidently and was entirely too pretty to be anything else.
Maybe not a gas leak, maybe something in the water that…brought hallucinations to life. It would hardly be the oddest thing to ever happen. Had he ever seen Lionel drink any of the water beyond the bottled stuff? …Did Lex drink anything beyond the bottled stuff?
Ice cubes maybe.
"I saw the windows in the dining room, whatever happened? Those things are almost thirty pounds apiece, not to mention a good ten feet off the ground. That was the original stained glass, it'll be impossible to replace accurately."
Kind of like those stupid chairs. Lex shrugged. "I really can't imagine what happened, I'm just as shocked as you are."
It probably wasn't that. Lex had a very fertile imagination and there were a lot of…daydreams that had yet to pop into existence, much to his dismay. Though did he really want strange chemicals bringing his less than pure thoughts to life?
He'd only end up being strangled by a naked imaginary Clark or something equally as arousing/terrifying and that just wasn't acceptable.
"I see." Lionel's eyes went to the bowl again. "Are you feeling alright son? I'm very worried."
And, if that didn't work, there was always the good old standard, but usually right, paranoia: His father was out to get him. Well…the man was always out to get him of course, but was once again out of the plotting stages and in the 'active' stage. Though how the hell even Lionel would manage something this elaborate and insane was beyond him.
If anyone could though it was surely his father.
"Fine."
"Perhaps you need to…talk to someone. You don't look fine." Lionel said, leaning forward some. Lex closed his eyes, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. What he needed was sleep. Here was his father, the off-and-on bane of his very existence, and he wasn't even coming up with decent responses. If Lionel hadn't really been bothered before he was now.
Lex was usually much better at the verbal sparring they did but really didn't feel like getting into it today and it showed.
Though he had to admire his father's ability to turn just about everything into another 'Lex is crazy/incompetent/evil' situation.
"Lex?" Clark, displaying good timing for a change of pace, called out. An expression crossed Lionel's face as if he'd just tasted something bitter and Lex's lips quirked slightly. Clark walked in, bag slung over his shoulder, but slowed to stop when he saw Lionel. "Mr. Luthor. Sorry to interrupt."
"You weren't. My father was just about to leave. Why don't you go ahead and I'll be around in a few minutes."
Clark nodded and, with another glance at his father, turned and left. Lex watched him go and then turned his gaze back to this father, who still look rather displeased.
"I take it the Kent boy is the reason you canceled your meeting."
Lex frowned at is father. Anytime Lionel showed interest in Clark was a dangerous time. His father was rather fond of tainting things he cared about and, though Clark seemed to be untouchable most of the time, he could never be too sure.
"Why?"
"I'm concerned about you of course…who you spend your time with. People talk Lex and some may think you spend an…unhealthy amount of time with the Kent boy and speculate on your relationship with him. Especially considering past indiscretions on your part." Lex just blinked at him, wondering why his father had any interest in who he was sleeping with.
As long as it wasn't front-page news more than once a season and no one ended up dead Lex was left to his own devices. Lionel had even moved past his original hesitation over Lex's appreciation for both genders. Apparently it made them look better amongst certain communities that they were both so 'open minded' and what made them look better was good for business. What was good for business was more than acceptable by Lionel's standards.
"How is your new secretary working out?"
Lex twitched. One day he was going to find someone not working for his father. "He's nice. I'll probably bend him over a desk and fire him next week. I assume you have a nice package lined up so he doesn't leak it out."
"Sorry to hear that." Lionel said, leaning back in his seat some. "I thought you might like this one. He's from a small town in Texas and he certainly seems to resemble your…type as of late. And he's old enough to vote."
"I see." Lex smiled. As always it was an image thing and he could see how people thinking he was involved with someone Clark's age could make a few people frown. Though he suspected Clark's gender would have more to do with the frowns than his actual age. He didn't have to let Lionel know that he agreed though. "I'm sure it doesn't hurt that he isn't Martha Kent's son. How is she doing by the way…unless the Kent farm was your next stop?"
Lionel was really quite the hypocritical bastard when he was wanted to be. Scolding Lex when he was all but obsessed with a married woman. And, while that was hardly new territory for his father to dwell in, this was the one woman Lex knew he couldn't have. As long as Jonathan Kent was around there just wasn't a comparison.
Lionel's cool mask slipped for a moment and anger flashed in his eyes. Lex smirked, knowing that this round had gone to him. The anger was quickly snuffed out and his father stood, smoothing down the front of his suit.
"Be careful son."
Lex nodded, waiting until he was sure his father was gone to glare at the shattered fruit bowl. "I'm not picking this up." There was a moment where nothing happened then the pieces of bowl and fruit slid across his desktop to the garbage can. Satisfied he shut down his laptop and stood up.
Clark was either upstairs dropping his stuff off in the bedroom he used when he stayed over or he was in the room where Lex kept his DVDs. Knowing Clark it was probably the latter, as the teen rarely let anything get between him and Lex's collection. He made a detour to the kitchen and made some popcorn before heading to find the teen.
He was right, as he typically was; Clark was sitting cross-legged on the floor and staring at movie discs. Lex dropped onto his couch and glanced at the movies Clark was choosing between. Somehow it didn't surprise him to see that most of them were horror and ghost themed.
He could tell it was going to be a long night.
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Kit sighed, looking around him. He knew where he was, the throne room of the Necromancer in the Underworld. It wasn't where he'd intended to end up, he'd been aiming for the new seer but when a more powerful demon wanted to intercept him there wasn't much he could do.
Sitting on the gray stone throne was the Necromancer herself, long black hair done in a braid and a jeweled crown on her head, dressed in silk and velvet. She was sitting pretty for someone who'd been put down like a weak rabid dog in his timeline by a teenage witch. He sneered at her and she lifted her head, snorting at him.
"Christian."
"Kit." He said, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't particularly like the underworld, it made his skin itch uncomfortably, as if it didn't fit properly and was rubbing against all of the stuff on the inside. He belonged here and part of him wanted nothing more than to stay but at the same time he knew he couldn't. "What do you want?"
"To speak to you of course. I assume your little witch sent you here to find information. Doesn't he know how this place effects you?"
He didn't say anything, simply rocked back on his heels. Chris didn't know of course, otherwise he wouldn't have sent him. Chris was the sort of person who would say screw the greater good for someone he loved and Kit knew this was the least he could do for that whole greater good thing.
She smirked, lips painted the color of blood. He swallowed, trying to drive the taste of sulfur and ash the air carried from his mouth. "I need you to kill someone."
"Blow me." Her smile only widened and he stepped back, hands clenching. "No. I don't kill people."
"Of course not you just flit from person to person, seducing and taking small parts of their essence away." She was mocking him, mocking what he was and what he'd become. He didn't care; he was what he was for a reason. "You're foolish but you'll still be useful to us."
"Us who?"
"All demon kind. You're going to Smallville to play a role in stopping something that isn't meant to be stopped. It's been in the works for longer than you've been alive and it's the destiny of those involved." She stood; dress flowing after her like a river of blood. "You're going to sabotage your little lover and, to finally turn things to our side, destroy one of our greatest threats."
"No. I'm not."
She waved a hand and the air rippled before parting like a veil. He sighed; why was it always theatrics with her? He looked though and saw the image of two men. One was leaner and taller with longer brown hair and the other more solidly built with closely cropped blond-brown hair. They had the same eyes in shade and the darkness they carried.
An obscene part of his mind wondered if they'd taste as good as they looked.
The one with the shorter hair seemed to surge forward in the image. "This is the one you must kill."
"I don't kill people." He glanced at her then back up at the image. "I'm not going to change my mind because you show me pretty pictures."
The image rippled again and showed the two in a scene that could only be described as carnal. Kit could feel a buzz just from watching it. Well there was no way he was going to kill them now; people who radiated that kind of sexual energy were on his list of people to never kill.
Spy on maybe.
"If this happens these two will become one of the greatest threats to our kind. They will hunt us and do their hardest to eradicate demon kind. They do it now, but on a small almost meaningless scale. But if they become intimate…" Her lips twisted into a frown. He smiled.
"I like them more with every passing moment. Who are they?"
"The Winchester brothers."
Kit's eyebrow quirked. He'd heard of them, a bit of a thorn in the paw of the Underworld, slowly working themselves into something more than an occasional pain. Still, it wasn't his business; it wasn't like a pair of hunters could do anything to him. He shook his head. "No thanks. It's been lovely though, we should really visit more often-"
He didn't even have time to think as she raised a hand and a dagger slammed into his gut. He stumbled and fell to his knees, hands going to his stomach, trying to hold in the blood starting to pour out. He stared up at her, not able to form any words.
She glared. "They will kill us all. Even you, pathetic excuse for a demon you are. You think only a witch can destroy you but they will." She looked furious with him but he could even bring himself to really listen. He had a knife sticking out of him. "And your witch. Yes, that makes you pay attention; you care nothing for your family but for him you'd kill wouldn't you?"
He realized he must have shown his surprise when she mentioned Chris then looked down, closing his hand around the ornate gold hilt of the dagger. He couldn't believe she'd actually stabbed him. She was a bitch and delighted in tormenting him and Chris, but she didn't usually try to hurt him beyond trying to turn his lover into a pile of smoldering ash.
"Chris is good."
He could taste his own blood in the back of his throat and knew this had to end quickly before he ended up bleeding out down here. He also knew he couldn't leave until she was done with him.
She sneered for a moment then turned her back to him, walking back to her throne. "They will kill him. They know nothing of 'good magic' or the balance and would as soon kill him as you and me. To protect him you have to kill them."
She sat, crossing her legs slowly while smiling. "I'm trying to help you Christian. I want only the best for you."
"You…stabbed…" He coughed and put a hand onto the ground to steady himself. She laughed, a harsh sound that made him cringe.
"I just wanted your full attention." Blood was making the dagger slick and though he knew had to remove it to leave, he wasn't sure if he could. "You always think I'm out to do you harm but this time I mean it. I don't want anyone but me to kill your witch."
He glared and, taking a breath, drew the weapon out. It fell to the ground with a clatter and he moaned, pressing his hands on the wound. He glared at her one last time then made his mind focus on Chris and the car and the park they'd stopped in. He felt the tug and the snap of his mind racing back. She must have been done with him.
He sat up, gasping. He was back, on the picnic table he'd laid down on to send his mind to the Underworld. Stupid Astral Projection, it always ended badly. It made him very wary to leave his body and go wandering about like that.
Chris was sitting on the table next to him, pale and staring. Kit sagged against him while tugging on his t-shirt to examine his stomach. There was a long white scar, smooth under his fingertips.
"What happened?"
"Oh you know I got stabbed by the Necromancer. Same shit, different day." He pulled his shirt down and slid to the ground, grass cool under his bare feet. "Gave me the usual 'demons must stick together, ditch the witch' speech."
"I was worried." Chris stood as well, one arm going around him. Kit watched him from the corner of his eye, forcing himself not to shrug Chris off or shove him away. "You were gone a while. Your body was getting cold."
"No worries. Nothing short of a witch is going to do me in, you know that." He moved out of Chris' arm length and headed for the car quickly, talking to the other man over his shoulder. "We should hurry, we have people to meet and things to kill."
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