Dean watched the two like a hawk, noting how they moved completely in sync with the other. "Gabriel." One said softly, setting the odd-looking blade in his hand to glowing slightly.

"Azriel," the other said, his blade flaring brightly as well.

Wishing very much that he had some sort of bladed weapon as well Dean made due a rusty pipe lying in the corner of the alley. This gave the two aggressors some pause and they exchanged a curious look. "A vampire using a weapon," one of them said with a laugh. "First time for everything, I guess."

"Yeah, well, two-on-one isn't a first for me," Dean said with a roguish grin. The smile never reached his eyes.

"Yes, yes, very macho." One said, stifling a yawn. "Come on John, let's hurry up and finish this one so we can alert the Clave to us destroying the nest later."

"What the hell is the Clave?" Dean demanded.

"Don't worry about it," one told him. "Even if we described it to you it wouldn't matter, you are about to die."

"We will see about that, now won't we?" Dean growled. Now that they were a bit closer he could see strange tattoos on their skin. To a normal person they would just seem like random designs but Dean's practiced eye recognized them instantly as runes. He did not, however, recognize what type of runes they were. In fact it seemed like each rune had properties of different religions and regions within them.

The taller of the two darted forward without warning and swung in a vicious overhead arc towards Dean's head. The obvious move would have been to jump backwards but that would have exposed him even more to a follow-up attack. Which is just what you want me to do, Dean thought. So he did the exact opposite, stepping forward and stabbing the end of the pipe at the man's elbow. Whether it was due to arrogance or simply due to Dean's newfound vampire speed, the maneuver was successful as the weapon fell from the man's grasp and he grabbed his elbow. With a display of reflexes and athleticism, Dean grabbed the blade from the air and ran the edge across the Shadowhunter's throat. He fell onto his back and immediately started to crawl backwards. He reached into the folds of his coat and withdrew what looked to be a silver twig. He extended his forearm even as blood continued to pour forth from his neck. His companion stepped in front of him, all traces of antagonism towards Dean now replaced with a cold look.

The blade he had taken from his first opponent seemed to oddly resonate with the Mark of Cain, almost like the two were meant to be together. Not quite as much as the First Blade, but enough for Dean to feel as though it was an extension of his being. This seemed incredible to the Shadowhunter. "How are you wielding that?" she spat, her own blade held defensively before her. "You filthy vampire, you shouldn't even be able to touch that without burning."

"Guess I'm not your run of the mill vampire," Dean sneered back, flipping the blade just to show how little he cared for her objection. "Got a problem with it, come take it from me."

She glared murderously at him and the two began to circle one another. Dean made the first move, darting forward and thrusting towards her midsection. Predictably she sidestepped it and attempted a thrust of her own. Dean twisted away, slashing at her as he moved. Clearly expecting this she stepped back and easily avoided the blade. Behind her, the first shadowhunter Dean had downed was beginning to get back to his feet. The split flesh at his throat had inexplicably knitted itself back together without a single scar in sight. His skin was still ghastly pale however and his breathing was incredibly labored. If he got back into the fight, Dean was confident he could dispatch of him with very little effort.

The woman glanced behind her at her companion and nodded slightly. "Stay out of this, John," she told him. "Fresh-turn or not, this guy is good. He must have had some kind of training."

"Oh, lady, you have no idea," Dean barked out a laugh. "Why don't you two just wander off and I won't have to rip you in half."

An odd sound came from behind the woman. Many people would have trouble placing it but it was familiar to Dean. It was the unmistakable sound of a blade sliding into someone's back. Apparently it was familiar to the woman shadowhunter as well as she whirled around just in time to see her friend fall and a blade swipe across her chest. She fell seconds later, dead by the time she hit the ground. Standing over their dead bodies was a large man wielding a claymore with as much ease as Dean did the silver blade. Upon closer inspection it seemed as though half the sword was made of steel and half was the same silver metal that Dean's blade was made of. He didn't spare a glance towards the two fallen bodies, his entire focus upon Dean's arm. "That is an interesting mark you have there," he said finally, nodding to the Mark of Cain. "Not exactly common, is it?"

"You could say that," Dean answered warily, unsure if he was about to fight this newcomer as well. He was garbed in a similar armor to the one that the dead shadowhunters wore. The only difference was that his seemed more akin to what a knight might wear. "Why?"

"No reason at all," the man said. He shrugged and smiled slightly. "Forgive me, I forgot my manners. My name is Valentine. Have you heard of me?"

"Should I have?" Dean asked pointedly.

"Perhaps, perhaps not." He shrugged again. "If you ask the shadowhunters, the people who were about to kill you, I am something of a villain. But, then again, you have just seen what kind of people they are."

"Yeah, not exactly the friendly type," Dean agreed. "So what did you do to make them pissed at you?"

"In an effort to make a long story rather short, I led a rebellion." Valentine answered. "The way things were done, the way you have just seen, were wrong. I wished to change things."

"And they stopped you?" Dean asked slowly.

"Stopped me, tried to kill me and my chosen, drove me into exile," Valentine answered, bitterness clear in his voice. "All for trying to make this world better."

"Look, I'm not judging you," Dean said. He nodded to the bodies on the ground. "Those two were dicks. They deserved what they got as far as I am concerned. But if you are trying to get me to join up, I have my own things to do. I'm looking for my brother, he's probably got turned into a vampire or something like I did."

"Well, I could help you search if you'd like," Valentine offered. "I too am searching for something. If your brother has been borne as a downworlder there is every chance that my search could run across him as well as what I seek. Will you join me? I vow to offer every resource at my disposal to help you in your search."

Dean thought about this for a moment before nodding. "Deal," he said, offering his hand. Valentine shook it and turned to walk back out the alley, his cloak flowing around his legs. "Hold up," Dean called, staring down at the body of the dead male shadow hunter.

Valentine turned and raised an eyebrow. "What is it?" he asked.

Dean sized up the man and nodded once. "Time for a change in wardrobe," he said, reaching down towards the man.