"What the hell, Crowley?" demanded Dean on his mobile phone while Sam called the authorities about the rest of the kids. He'd headed out the front, glaring at the woodlands like he could somehow spot that little monster if only he squinted hard enough. "Possessing kids? Sending your little messenger to run into my car?" That had to be on purpose. It couldn't have been his fault.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Crowley, in a maddeningly calm voice. "Maybe if you started at the beginning I might have a chance to know what you're saying?"

Crowley playing stupid just made Dean angrier. "I'm talking about the little kid-to-demon farm your lackey just dragged us into breaking up."

"Sounds like my lackey just did you a favour," said Crowley. "Though I still have no idea what you're on about. What kid to demon farm? I certainly didn't authorise anything like that."

"Really?" asked Dean, uncertain now but unwilling to let the anger go. He didn't look forward to the emotion that would replace it.

"I give you my word that I have no foreknowledge of what you're talking about," said Crowley. "I'm hurt that you'd think I'd jump the gun on turning kids into demons. I don't need to do that. Most are perfectly willing to do that themselves. It's called the teenage years. Or college."

"So you didn't send anyone to help clear it up?"

"That is what I'm saying, yes."

Dean paused. "So who did?"

"I've really no idea," said Crowley. "But I will look into it. If there are demons performing such activities illicitly and still more demons fighting them without telling me…. Well, let's just say that I wouldn't want to be that demon."

"There were witches working with the demons," said Dean. "A demon, actually. Just the one. Sam banished it so it should be back in hell."

"A new arrival?" asked Crowley. "And isn't even my birthday. I'll go track him down and make him talk. You go track down who those witches belong to. We'll meet in the middle, hmm? It'll be thrilling."

"Crowley, there's one other thing…." Dean paused. It might not be the best thing to tell him, in case he didn't already know, but if he wanted to find the little monster he might just have to. Of course, if the spell really worked how she said it worked then it wouldn't be much use to the average demon. "The girl demon, the one possessing the little girl, she wasn't affected by Sam's exorcism. Said the host girl's little sister's prayers kept her safe so long as she was doing the right thing. Trying to save them. That sound familiar to you?"

"I've heard myths of such a spell," said Crowley thoughtfully. "I never thought it could be real."

"She used a coin as some kinda focus," said Dean.

"Do you still have the coin?"

"No, but I can get it."

"You go and do that. Call me when you learn anything more." Crowley hung up.

Dean scowled at the phone, cursing it right back. It was stupid, but Crowley hanging up first really got to him. He didn't like when the King of Hell acted all in charge.

He was still staring at the phone when he heard a set of wheels come charging down the dirt road, headlights on high beam and - the moment it came into view - a set of exorcismal prayers blasting away on loudspeaker. He just stood there, staring at them for a long moment. "The fuck?"

It was a big grey jeep with run-flat tyres (if he was any expert) and way too many idiots inside who spilled out of it the moment the car pulled up. They were all boots and camouflage. Try-hards, clearly, though their weapons were impressive. Scoped rifles (too loud) with flashlights attached and SMGs that would have fit more into the hands of a SWAT team. Dean would've almost felt inadequate if he didn't have an angel knife in his jacket and the mark of Cain on his arm.

Six guns pointed his way and he slowly raised his hands, mobile phone still clasped in one. "You're too late, boys," though three of them were clearly girls, "we already saved the kiddiwinks."

"Aww nuts," said the driver into her microphone. The words blaring out on the speakers. She flicked the microphone off and poked her head out the driver's side window. She had a blonde crewcut and flinty grey eyes. Not his type, though right now after the night he had, he wasn't feeling picky. Not that he was allowed to do anything, trying to be all healthy and non-indulgent. "That's what we get for being so far away." The last bit was said without amplification, revealing a neutral American accent that gave very little away.

"Yeah," said Dean, not knowing what else to say. "Can you tell your hounds to lower their guns?"

"Yeah, yeah," she said, hopping out of the car. Immediately the six guns dropped and on a gesture they broke apart into two teams, one sweeping left while the other moved into position by the door. Suspicious buggers. "You a Winchester?"

"Yep."

"Thought so," she said, looking him up and down. She clearly liked what she saw, and that made him smirk and almost re-evaluate his whole attempts to stay wholesome. "Had any real trouble with this?"

"Apart from a coven plus demon trying to turn kids into demons?" asked Dean.

"Yeah, apart from that."

The door opened in the face of the wannabe SWAT team and Sam stepped blinking into the light. The way the trio moved back made the hierarchy pretty clear. They were probably itching to shove Sam against the wall and cuff him or make him get down on the ground, but the Winchesters had a reputation. A reputation these guys were clearly privy to.

Naturally it was Sam who asked the million dollar question. "Who are you?"

"We're a new outfit," said the woman. "Call ourselves the Coyotes."

"Not gonna get far being that obvious," said Dean. "Any cop get a whiff of those guns and you're gonna get arrested."

The woman gave Dean a look like *he* was the idiot. "No shit, Sherlock." Apparently she came from the Bobby school of hunter retorts. "We only break this kit out for the big guns."

"Didn't seem that big to me," said Sam. "Three witches and a demon. If anything, they would've been able to turn those guns of yours onto each other."

"Fact is they prevented me from shooting," said Dean.

The woman strolled forward and pulled out her own gun, which was a sensibly sized handgun, and showed the markings along the sides. "Antimagic wards."

"Huh." That was impressive. "They work?"

"Like a charm," she said.

"Who taught you how to do that?" asked Sam, looking at the rifles as the troops filed past.

"Never you mind. I'm Katrina. You boys have done an impressive job. If I'd known you were handling it, I wouldn't have come near."

One of the six came back out onto the verandah, giving Sam another chance to pull out his flashlight and examine the markings. "We're missing one," said the soldier wannabe.

The reminder hurt. Dean rubbed at his eye to cover the wince. "Yeah, demon from another faction wore one. She escaped."

Katrina frowned at him. "Escaped how?"

It was Sam who responded. "She was immune to the exorcismal rite despite having all of the indicators of a demon." He didn't take his eyes or his torch off the gun. "Black eyes. Immune to damage. Strong, too. She snapped the neck of one of the witches and she did it with great ease. She also behaved strangely for a demon. Her responses were off-kilter, almost human at times and her facial expressions showed compassion and concern."

"Demons lie," said Katrina.

"Not emotionally," said Sam. He cleared his throat. "I, uh … I've dealt with a number of demons over the years and they can never mimic human compassion or sympathy. They can leave you signs that they might have those emotions deep down somewhere and allow you to make of it what you will but they never actually embody it the way she did."

"So what are you saying?" asked Dean.

"I'm wondering if she was, in fact, a demon."

Katrina put her hands on her hips. "What else could she be?"

"I don't know yet but I think we need to do some research." Sam paused. "Do you mind if we take a look at this gear? Could be handy to reverse engineer it."

Katrina hesitated. "That would require a certain amount of magical prowess."

"Come again?"

"We don't work with witches but we know someone who has magical talent who keeps our community safe. He's the one who set up the guns."

Sam looked at her with that curious intensity he always got when he was trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together. "And he is?"

"We only got a pseudonym," said Katrina. "At least I'm pretty sure it was a pseudonym." When Sam didn't quit staring at her, she sighed again and answered the question, "Constantine. John Constantine."

"Like the television series?"

Katrina shrugged. "It's his gimmick. He's … gimmicky."

"Could we meet him?" asked Sam.

Katrina shook her head. "We really should get going. Now the location is secure, we can call the authorities…."

"Already called them," said Sam. "They're on their way."

"Then we should be getting out of here," said Katrina. "And we've got no room in our van…."

"Our car is parked right around the corner," said Sam. "We could catch you up on the highway in no time."

Now Katrina actively scowled. "What if I just said no?"

"You recall we're Winchesters, right?" asked Sam.

"Yeah?"

Sam shrugged, but his eyes still held that intensity. "We'd find you."

Sometimes Dean just loved his little brother. He didn't know why Sam wanted to find this witchy freak so much but he loved the way he chased the angle and wouldn't let go. So Dean made a point to give Katrina a menacing look which just made her mutter and roll her eyes.

"Sure, fine, you catch us up and you can come." And she called to her troops via a shoulder microphone and the folks came marching up and got back into the van.

Dean hurried down the street toward his Impala, ignoring the sudden calls of a certain little girl who came running out of the house behind him. "Please! Mister! It's okay! You don't need to do anything. She won't hurt anyone!"

Too late, little girl, she already did.