Even in the fading light, the crimson red sunglo finish shined on the Harley-Davidson Softail Rocker-C. A few white detailed flames graced the side panels, almost as they were drawing the view to the self-assured Rider perched on top. His charcoal jeans gripped against the motorcycle tightly, shifting the vehicle easily at speeds so fast both rider and machine blurred at one. The wind friction rippled an onyx black leather jacket back, exposing at fitted black dress shirt on the rider's frame.
Abruptly, the man slowed down his metal beast, pulling into the lot of a hole-in-the wall dive, named Jolly Darcy's. Thick soled combat boots kicked down the motorcycle's stand, and then that leg swung over the top of the bike with lightening flash speed and grace. The rider smiled before his head twitched in disjointed super speed jerks like he had a nervous twitch. With no one to witness this reaction, the patrons just inside had no idea of the danger approaching them. He needed to find a victim—Anyone would suffice. He snickered as old man, who sought to quench his woes, passed by the rider in haste.
Again, the spasms came, but the rider seemed amused by this reaction. The striking figure entered the bar as the sounds of the rusted door and his boot steps announced his arrival. He simply strutted inside, eyed the patrons within, and then proceeded to the jukebox. Without loading any money, the man pressed several selections on the prompt. The guitar riffs of "Back and Black" began to play, causing the creature to wrench and flinch another time. "Sorry, Dean... you can't have control," he whispered to the presence he shared a meat suit with. From time to time, Dean would flare awake and fight for consciousness, but the rider was too powerful for him to control. Yet, every so often, the hunter would try to reclaim his body. The screams were a whisper to the Red Rider now, barely even audible over the screeching of the classic rock that accosted the ears of the patrons
With the temporary buzzing of Dean out of the way, the Red Rider strutted past the few drinkers, who were well on their way to drinking to oblivion. The lone line of bar stools stood nearly empty as the clock chimed. The meager light inside was barely enough to see an old man drowning his way through a bucket of beers, a hunter talking about the deer her killed this afternoon, a woman nursed back a drink at the bar, and two young rednecks kicked back at the pool table, telling dirty jokes. He walked in a superior stance towards the bar, relishing the sensation of how it good it felt to be able to touch things- awakening senses. The demon was full of desire to experience life, although you wouldn't have been able to tell from his face. The mask of Dean's humanity that wore on this face was still perfectly in place, although it was most definitely wavering slightly.
A middle aged woman hummed as she worked, set down the glass she was cleaning, and went to take the Rider's order. "Hey pal, what do you need?"
"Hmnm... what would you think a man like me drinks?" The rider questioned condescendingly, not really knowing what his new human body would prefer.
"Whiskey."
"Than I shall have that."
The bartender ignored the strange way the rider carried himself and poured a straight whiskey shot in a glass. Dean picked up the glass and sipped at the glass rim. Somewhere in his head he heard his host ridiculing his stupidity of the human world. The sharp blade planes of Dean's face contorted with the momentary loss of control, but the demon squashed the voice easily and sneered. "Humans!" The Red Rider thought as he traced the ring of condensation his glass left on the cheap plastic bar top and split his gaze between the dull circle of water and the woman who sat on the opposite him. She ordered another tequila shot and downed it within seconds, sans the salt and the lime. Bitterness embraced the many worry wrinkles on her face. She ordered another and another and another, downing each one in quick order.
The demon killed his drink and moved closer, ordering another shot of whiskey. "Leave the bottle," he told the bartender. But, as he does this, he begins to speak to the woman. She clenched her glass and goes to drink it when the rider stops her, "spirits can rid you of pain, but not death."
She alarmed. "Get your damn hands off me she said. "Those good looks are getting you any today. I know what you want to do."
The two men from the pool table began to approach as if they were preparing to defend one of their own. The rider let them come and kept his hand on the wrist of the woman. "My dear, you have no idea what I want."
"I doubt that."
But, the rider the rider could sense her excitement of being near his possessed shell. He read her image of lust, thinking of the way Dean's lip would feel on hers. He senses her regret that she no longer had youth and beauty to attract the young man. "You like the way I appear, very pleasing."
Go to hell, you freak!" She moved her purse, showing a can of mace. "So back off, bucko!" she screamed.
"HEY! LET HER GO!" One of the local men took a swing with a pool stick. The rider caught the staff without looking. His hand glowed red and his finger traced over the man's forearm in an almost intimate touch. "You sicko... what..." The man stopped speaking. Red lines illuminated on the skin from the rider's attacker. The local stopped as if he was a rubber band pulled out to long until it snapped.
The second man freaked and drew back his fist. The blow was countered and the rider grazed the man's check with a streaking red traces. Suddenly the two men turned and began attacking each other and anyone in sight. One by one the rider touched the patrons and bartender, each responding with hostility and random attacks upon each other. The lapse between touch and aggression had barely time to register before they began attacking each other. The deer hunter knocked the elderly men from his chair and drove a boot into the man's face. A barrage of fist, feet, and objects slammed into human flesh, leaving behind nothing but a sticky haze of gore and bone.
The woman cowered and tried to flee, but Rider hoisted her by the neck and lifted her with one arm. He brought her close and indulged her former lust with a deep kiss. Through the act, he felt his host bulk in disgust, making a bid for control with no success. He lowered her down, and
a trace of red glow appeared on her lips. Within seconds, she jumped in the fray, just as maddened as the other.
"Hmmm... not unpleasant this kissing." He acknowledged, feeling Dean's presence raging against the way his body was just used. Then the Rider walked back to the bar, poured another shot of whiskey, and then drank it down. He perched on the bar stool with the bottle and calmly poured himself another, ignoring the carnage going on all around him. He listened to the battle cries and crunching of human bones breaking without even a flinch. Then when the sound died down, the Rider smiled.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x—x-x
Sam sat up, his heart pounding rapidly. His fingers shaking, he brought them to his face and touched it cautiously. He looked down at his fingers and rubbed them together as he let out a sigh of relief. Sweat, not blood, drenched his fingers. He ran the same fingers through his messy brown hair and let out another panicked breath. He could've sworn that the blood that had splattered onto his face had been real. His throat was dry. Had he been screaming in his sleep? Heart still pounding a little too fast, he struggled to untangled his sweaty body from the blankets and find his brother. When he moved, he realized the pain his abdomen was more than real. He noticed the sun shined through a dirty window, bathing everything in a bright ethereal light. Then he saw a man, dressed in catholic garb, preaching to an empty room. Vaguely, Sam wondered if he awoke in some hellish version of Phantasm, for the man looked as frightening as the old man in that movie. "Hello?" Sam managed to squeak out in a dry voice.
Ezra stood in middle of the room, preaching to no one. "And there before me was a white cloud, and seated on the cloud was one like the son of man with a crown of gold on his head and a sharp sickle in his hand."
"Hello," Sam spoke again, and tried to get up.
The preacher didn't respond, but continued his sermon. "Still another angel spoke take your sharp sickle and gather the grapes
from the vine."
"Where am I? Where's Dean?"
"The grapes were gathered and thrown into the winepress and blood flowed out of the press, rising as high as the horses' bridles for the distance of 180 MILES"
"Stop the SERMON AND TELL ME WHERE I AM! I don't have time for this mumbo jumbo!" Sam's anger burned with the pain in his body. At the moment, he could beat the answers out of anyone. He had never felt this out of control.
"It's easy to be sarcastic about religion. Sam, please sit down," he said kindly. "Although, no one is here to listen, I find it hard not to give a good sermon on Sundays. Now, let's see how you are faring this morning. Good to see you moving. How are you feeling?" Ezra turned to smile fondly at the young hunter.
"How do you know?"
"God told me your name, plus I have told you mine at least five times during your fever, which I am glad to say broke this morning."
"Who are you? WHERE'S DEAN!? ANSWER ME!"
"Calm yourself, my son."
"I'M NOT YOUR SON!" Anger flashed and Sam let it grow. He wanted answers and wanted them now.
"I meant in the heavenly sense, Samuel." Ezra stated kindly. "My name is Father Ezra. You're safe, but your brother is in grievous danger. We will need to get you rested and healed in order to stop the end of the world."
"What are you talking about!?"
"I'm afraid one of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse has taken over Dean and if the dark forces use the rider's powers, it will spell doom for all."
"I… But.. I saw Dean... he saved…"
"I'm afraid that was me. The rider had no need for your car or you after he took Dean. I came just as the demon was set to deliver you a final blow, but for some reason he stopped. And it was not out of kindness. God then revealed to me that your brother fights for control. He stopped the Rider from harming you, but he grows weaker even know. I found your car and took you to my church."
"That's impossible; Dean would never leave his car."
"I'm afraid Dean doesn't exist at this moment. He has been taken."
"That's impossible! We safe guarded against possessions." Sam started to pull his shirt to reveal the tattoo, Ezra's voice stopped him.
"That bit of ink would work on demons, but Dean has been taken by something slightly different. As one of the four Horsemen, particularly the Red Rider of War, he doesn't follow the same confines of demons for he is neither good nor evil, but a means to an end. When the gate was opened, the sinister forces broke his seal. Without the guidance of God to give the rider purpose, he is enamored with the guise of humanity. His purpose has been warped beyond all recognition by evil. We have to return him to his seal. God has given this charge to you and your brother. The mother of all demons plans to use the Rider to open the other seals. Then the earth will be the domain of evil long before the destined time. You must help me…"
"The only thing I have to do is help Dean!"