The Water
ch. 3 by Jokers
The TARDIS landed in southern Ohio, making its signature whirring noise as it solidified in its new location. Within the machine, Cas had fallen onto his backside. The Doctor hadn't but he was nice enough not to comment. The angel allowed only a moment's hesitation before he silently got to his feet.
"You should turn off the parking breaks. It would make the landing far smoother." Cas stated in a monotone that was so not River that it was disturbing. He had changed into a set of clothing consisting of dress pants, button up shirt and a tan overcoat, which only increased the effect. Staring at the angel wearing his girlfriend's (wife? She had never actually answered that question) skin, the Doctor repressed what would have been a terribly impolite shudder. It would take a while for the Timelord to get used to the arrangements. It would be handy if the angel solved his problems and got a new vessel before that was necessary, but the Doctor knew that wouldn't happen. Neither would happen until he was just getting comfortable with the celestial being, curse his luck. He hid his musings behind a cheery smile (as he often did).
"Everyone always tells me that, but I think it just adds to the old girl's charm, don't you?"
"She does not appreciate being called old." Cas said, what was probably an angelic version of amusement bleeding into his voice. It didn't make much of a difference, but it was enough to make the discomfort the Doctor felt lessen slightly.
"Sorry," he apologized, only slightly sorry, then moved toward the door, "Now, let's see where we landed." He had chosen the U.S. for a very specific reason. When reading Cas' mind, he had mostly felt abstract intentions and emotions, but there were a few flashes of memory. All of those memories, with one exception that the angel didn't seem to like at all, had spoken with American accents. So, he had aimed toward America and, it appeared, actually hit the target. It looked like the TARDIS approved of his quest to help the angel.
They were in a ridiculously green field. So green, in fact, that the Doctor almost thought they had actually landed on a different planet and the TARDIS had decided to mess with them all. Then, however, he saw a terrified looking man in a postman's uniform running toward his van. Yes, this was definitely Earth. The Doctor saw a sign that appeared to point toward a small town and followed it, Cas at his heels.
Within minutes they reached the town. Well, it could hardly be called a town, more like a small grouping of shops that probably serviced a dozen or so houses scattered around it, but that was beside the point.
The Doctor stood in the dusty street, attempting to decide what piece of small town charm to investigate first. After much consideration (and eeny-meeny-miny-mo) he decided upon the bar. It was a tall wood and stone building covered in small splotches of peeling paint, indicating that it had once been colored in garishly bright reds and yellows. The sign hanging above the door was equally warn, a sparsely clad young cowgirl in what was once a red shirt gesturing to the name "Ok Corral". The sign was unnecessary though, as this did not seem to be a tourist town and thus all of its patrons had probably been visiting since they had their first beer. This bar, with its noisy music and laughter, was a meeting place, the sort of place the Doctor could use to find out why the TARDIS had brought them to Ohio. The Timelord took a step forward.
Only to be stopped when Cas put a hand on his shoulder. The Doctor glanced back to find the angel, who looked confused, pressing his free hand against his temple.
"Something's here. Something…wrong," Cas said, saying the final word like he knew it did no justice to just how bad whatever the "something" was. The Doctor nodded, carefully removing the angel's hand.
"Dealing with things that are wrong is my specialty," Then, because he figured it was worth asking, "Do you know what it is?" Having someone tell him the problem before he stumbled into its center would be quite nice. The angel just shook his head, however. He looked afraid that he had he had failed some test so the Doctor smiled at him, ignoring once again how not River he looked, and continued walking.
The bar was filled with smoke and the smell of cheap liquor, making The Doctor wish he could double over hacking without losing credibility. Cas looked unhappy, but he seemed to have been in situations such as these often enough to keep his calm. Lucky bastard.
The Doctor sat down at the bar and smiled at the burly man serving drinks. He had approximately two teeth and a rather impressive mustache, which twitched as he scowled at the new arrivals. After a few moments, the man seemed to give up on his solid refusal to serve the obvious city slickers and walked toward the pair.
"What do ya want?" The man asked, his voice low and tinged with a southern accent so thick it sounded almost fake.
"Umm, actually," The Doctor flashed his psychic paper and the man's brow furrowed, "My…partner and I would like to know if anything strange has been happening around here lately." The bartender stared at the two intensely for a moment, then relaxed, a grin on his face.
"You two are the hunters, ain't ya?" The Doctor blinked, then opened his mouth to come up with a cover story, but Cas beat him to it.
"Yes. We are. Now, could you please answer our question?" The angel stared, unblinking, at the man across from the bar.
"Course I can. Anything to get this crap over with as soon as possible. Hey, hotshot," The last was yelled to a young man lounging in a chair near the bar. He gave a long suffering sigh and stood, attempting to move with a confident swagger but failing due to his gawky adolescent limbs, and walked to the bar, "watch things while I talk to these two." The boy nodded. The bartender stepped around the bar, wiping his hands on a rag. Nodding to the two, he began to move through the crowd, patrons shifting to the side to allow him passage.
"Name's Cliff." The bartender said.
"John Smith."
"Cas." Cas stared at Cliff as though he could see into the man's very soul which, given the fact that he was an angel (or something similar to an angel, because angels didn't exist, supernatural things like that were pure rubbish) might be true. Cliff didn't notice, speaking to them as though they were old friends, a far cry from the guarded hostility of just moments before. Obviously, The Doctor thought, being a hunter carried a lot of weight with the man.
"It's good to meet ya. So, why didn't James tell ya I knew about the hunt," Perhaps there was another reason Cliff apparently trusted them so suddenly, "Oh come on. You must know who James is. Skinny little British asshole, keeps track of all the hunts from here all the way to northern Missouri? Which, let me tell you, makes things way easier than havin' ta look for em the old fashiond way." The Doctor rebounded quickly from this little turn of events.
"Of course we know James, we're just also surprised he didn't tell us anything." Cliff shook his head, grumbling sympathetically.
"That little shit loves to screw with people. Bet he's just laughin' it up in his stupid little office right now. Swear ta God, I sometimes I just wanna punch the guy." The Doctor nodded, while Cas was silent. None of them spoke for a few moments.
"Here we are." Cliff said when they reached the far wall. It sported an inconspicuous door labeled "staff only" in neat red letters, and Cliff pulled it open, guiding them through it.
The room behind it was moderately-sized. The only piece of actual furniture was a beaten blue sofa pushed against one wall, facing toward an old TV (rabbit ears? Really? The Doctor didn't think those even still worked in 2011), which sat on a pile of pizza boxes. The room had no windows, and the carpet was dirtier than could possibly be legal.
Those weren't the features which The Doctor found most interesting about the room, however. One of the things that he did find interesting was the abundance of weapons, both modern and medieval, laid in meticulous piles around the room. The other was the supernatural paraphernalia: newspaper clippings, the salt that the three of them had barely stepped over when entering the room, the sigils painted in both blood and ink on the walls. The Timelord leaned over to Cas and whispered in his ear, "Do you know what's happening? What are hunters?"
"I'm…unsure. But I believe they hunt monsters."
"What? What sort of monsters?" The Doctor ran through all the things he had encountered that seemed monstrous. There were many extraterrestrial beings that could conceivably be mistaken for the supernatural. What The Doctor didn't understand is how there was apparently a large group of disorganized humans successfully fighting them off.
"Demons. Ghosts. I think that I remember…a vampire?" Before the Doctor could respond, say that ghosts weren't real, that there had to be a scientific explanation, Cliff interrupted them.
"What are you two talkin' about?" The Doctor blinked.
"We were just, umm, wondering if it would be polite to ask why you don't hunt whatever it is that's causing the problem yourself." Cliff shrugged.
"Ta put it simply, I'm too old. I do some smaller hunts, but 'm nearin' sixty. I don't have the stamina for somethin' like this. I know you kids don't understand this, but ya can't hunt forever. I just count myself lucky I got out of the game through retirement instead of the other way."
The Doctor thought about telling the man that he, and probably Cas, was about ten times older than most humans ever got, but decided admitting he wasn't human to Cliff would be bad idea after reexamining the incredibly violent contents of the room. After a moment of awkward silence, Cliff gestured toward the couch. The Doctor sat, shifting slightly around a wire protruding from the stained fabric. Cas remained standing, head tilted slightly to the side. Cliff pulled a newspaper from the top of a messy pile and held it up for the other two to see.
"On to the hunt, then," the paper was dated from early September. Most of the articles were typical small town stuff: the school's having a penny drive, there was a power outage after the recent windstorm. But one stood out, it's headline splashed in large font across the front page. Unexplained Killings in Bransen. Cliff pointed to the article, "People have been turnin' up dead these past few weeks. The killins ain't something a human could manage. The bodies were ripped to shreds, organs missin', the blood spread all over like some piece of fucked up modern art. Whatever it is, obviously no one told it about gravity."
"One of the local cops is a hunter's nephew, so he's been givin' us info on this case. He said that he couldn't find any of the normal spook signs, but he did find this." Cliff held up a baggy filled with a thick, black goop. The Doctor raised his eyebrow at this. He was suddenly glad he was no longer Ten, who had the urge to taste everything. He had a feeling that licking the gunk would be both unappetizing and socially inappropriate.
Instead, he turned to Cas, opening his mouth to ask what the angel thought about the situation. He stopped, however, when he caught sight of the celestial being in River's body. Cas was standing, body rigid and completely still, as he stared at the gunk. Then he began to shake slightly, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion, pain and terror. His mouth opened, and he spoke so quietly The Doctor had to lean in to hear.
"Leviathans."
A/N: Yay update! Sorry if I offended anyone with Cliff. He's just an offensive person. Who I think is responsible for more swearwords than most of the people in all of my fics. Combined.
