Warnings: Angst, swearing and violence,

A big, huge thank you to kiss316 for asking questions, spotting the hiding typos, pointing out flaws, and being awesome in general.

Legend Killer 11

Randy, Roman and Seth had left soon after John and Randy's early morning conversation. Seth had refused to let him go with them when John offered, telling him bluntly that he would be more of a hindrance than a help. John hated to think Seth was right, even if he was.

Roman and Randy looked calm. To Randy it was just another day. Roman knew the bulk of the killing would be on him, but Seth would be with them and he trusted his friend with his life.

Seth had taken John aside as the others were mounting up. "I'm going to be straight with you," he said, looking at John dead in the eyes. "Right now there are three people in the world who matter. I'm taking two of them. You are responsible for the third. Nothing gets to him, got it?"

John was surprised at how fierce Seth looked. He nodded. "I won't let anything happen to him, you have my word," he promised.

The three rode out not looking back. After they had left, John realized that his badge was missing.

He was used to the bustle of the big city and being involved in the action, but here he was a bystander and worse, a burden. Since the three demon hunters had taken all the horses, he was stuck at the cabin unless he wanted to walk back to town. But realistically, what could he do when he got there? Besides, the trees were so thick that he figured he'd be lost the minute he lost sight of the cabin.

Seth had promised to bring back his horse from the Helena livery when he returned, but John had no idea of exactly when that might be or if he would even be alive when they did. In the meantime, he waited for Dean to wake up. Both Seth and Roman had advised him to make sure that there was coffee for Dean, or John might find himself dead before the Nexus could finish the job. John had laughed, thinking they were joking. The look they gave him made him reconsider. Being left alone with no horses and a sleeping Dean, John realized he was bored.

And frustrated.

And terrified.

But mostly bored.

So while the coffee brewed on the fire, John sat outside the cabin and cleaned his gun while he waited. The day was clear and the temperature was mild. The birds chirped and the ever-present sound of wind in the trees whispered in the slight breeze. It was a glorious day this high up in the mountains. The surrounding peaks weren't jagged, but the mountain the cabin was perched on rose steeply above them, its granite top visible over the treetops. With a little exploration he found the small stream and for something to do he decided try his hand at tracking. Not wanting to be caught in the cabin and unaware of approaching threats, he started walking in an increasing spiral around the cabin, looking for prints. The rain had washed out most of them, and the ones left were made by himself and the others. He was rather proud of himself for recognizing his own, and Roman's. He could tell Seth's since there were slightly smaller.

"For a big-shot US Marshal, you still miss much about your surroundings," observed a mocking male voice from right behind him.

John jumped about three feet in the air and spun around, instinctively reaching for his gun. A tall, lanky man dressed in buckskin with shoulder length straight black hair stood smirking at him. He was holding a shotgun across his shoulder and a small bag made of leather hung from a thong around his neck. The wind twitched at a feather braided into his hair. Seeing John reaching for the gun, the man lowered the shotgun and aimed it casually in John's direct. "I wouldn't," he warned. It would have been hard to imagine a person with more confidence than this man.

"You shouldn't sneak up on a man," John admonished, moving his hand away from his gun. Flushing with embarrassment, he was all too aware he had been caught with his pants down, figuratively.

"You didn't make it difficult," the man said dryly. He shifted his weight as he glanced around. His eyes were constantly moving from John to the surrounding trees and back again.

"Well, I'd say you are the quietest-moving man I've ever met." John tried to remain polite. He didn't know if this guy was a friend or foe yet, though he didn't shoot John in the back when he easily could have, which went a long way in John's book. "My name is US Marshal John Cena. What do they call you?" John asked. His racing heart was slowing down as he stepped away from the footprints and maneuvered to put himself between the newcomer and the cabin where Dean was still sleeping. That was not lost on the man either.

"Orton calls me Punk," the man said. He stared at John curiously and shifted his gun back to his shoulder.

"You're Orton's friend?" John asked, a bit relieved.

"You're the idiot that got himself infected by a demon," Punk replied with a smirk instead of answering, like John should have known better.

"How was I supposed to know that the sheriff and his deputies are demons?" John protested. "I had no idea they even existed before yesterday. And my deputy didn't see fit warn me about them." He hated how whiny he sounded.

"Would you have believed him?" Punk asked curiously, cocking his head to the side.

"Honestly, no," John had to admit. "I would have thought he was crazy."

"Your deputy is smarter than you," Punk stated. "Your people don't believe in the spirit world. That's why you are so vulnerable to them."

Getting annoyed at Punk's superior attitude, John was about to ask the man why he was there when they were both distracted by a shirtless Dean staggering out of the cabin. The cuts on his chest and back were swollen and very sore-looking where Slater had worked him over with his knife. Randy's stitching stood out black against the raw red. Everywhere else he sported deep purple bruises. Despite the fact that he had to be in a lot of pain, his eyes were clear and cold. He held a cup of steaming coffee. "Did you make this?" he asked. His voice was hoarse, the rope burns livid around his neck.

Bemused that Dean was even able to walk after everything he had suffered, John merely nodded.

"Saved your life," Dean muttered as he took a small tentative sip of the steaming liquid. He looked at Punk, unimpressed. "And who the fuck are you?"

"Orton asked me to keep an eye on you while they're gone," Punk said, not answering Dean's question either.

Dean glanced over at Cena. "He thinks I need two babysitters?" he snarked, blowing on the hot coffee before sipping it.

Punk snorted. "You need someone to watch your back," he said. "Besides, the eastern marshal is one step away from becoming a demon himself. You will probably have to kill him."

Dean glanced over at Cena and smirked. "I can do that," he commented. Before Cena could protest, Dean glanced over at the empty corral. "When did they leave?" he wanted to know.

"Several hours ago," Punk said, squinting up at the sun.

Taking another sip of his coffee, Dean turned and started walking away from the cabin in the direction of town. For a full minute John and Punk just watched him go, and then it registered to John that he was not coming back. "What the hell, Ambrose? Are you going to walk all the way to town?" he asked, jogging to catch up to Dean. Punk trailed casually behind them. "You'll never make it."

Dean didn't respond. He just kept walking as if on a mission.

John tried to stop him. "By the time you get there, they will have killed all the Nexus." And that reminded John that he probably wouldn't live to see the sunset. He pushed that thought away, but it reminded him of something he wanted to ask Punk.

Dean didn't look at him; he just kept walking and drinking his coffee.

"You don't have to hunt them. Nexus is on its way," Punk said behind them. "They're hunting your eastern US Marshal friend here." He gestured at John as if it wasn't clear already.

That stopped Dean. He turned around and scrutinized Punk. "You sure?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

Punk nodded. "If you wait, you will get your chance to kill some Nexus."

"How long?" Dean asked, lowering his cup. He was deathly pale with dark circles under his eyes. John couldn't believe the guy was still on his feet. As if in response to John's unspoken thought Dean's knees started to buckle. "Whoa there," he said, wrapping arm around Dean's waist, trying not to touch the man's wounds. Dean didn't pay any attention to him though. He just kept staring at Punk, waiting for an answer.

Shrugging, Punk replied, "They'll be here soon."

John hated how they were so casual about the situation. But he wasn't going to show fear in front of them. "If the Nexus is on its way, aren't you worried about getting possessed? You don't follow the Saint of Killers," he asked Punk as he slowly helped Dean back to the cabin. That question earned him another look that told him he was an idiot and damned if he wasn't getting tired of it.

"No," Punk said. He didn't elaborate but his hand went to the small leather bag hanging from his neck. Both Dean and John noticed.

"Is that how are you protected?" John persisted. He really needed to know.

"The earth spirits protect me," Punk said, back to studying the surrounding area. He wasn't going to explain his beliefs and connection to the earth to the white man.

They reached the cabin and John gently eased Dean down on a stump near the door. He fetched a shirt from inside the cabin and brought it out for Dean to wear. He also refreshed Dean's coffee and tried to think of some way to make the demon killer more comfortable. He asked Dean about his experiences with the Marshals' service but the only things that got a response from Ambrose was the coffee and the prospect of Nexus coming.

He saw Punk sitting Indian-style nearby. "Is it true that Crowfoot can get rid of the demons' influence over a soul?" John asked, trying to make it sound like he was merely making conversation. But he could tell that Punk wasn't fooled. Dean too, from the way he turned and looked at John.

Giving him a penetrating look, Punk asked, "Orton told you that?"

John nodded.

Staring off into the distance, Punk considered his words carefully. "What he said was true, but what was done to you cannot be undone. Crowfoot can't cleanse the tainted part of your spirit, he can only remove it." Punk said.

That didn't sound so bad. "These guys are able live with holes in their souls," he motioned to Dean.

"Holes, yes," Punk agreed. "But this isn't about holes. This is a tearing away of an entire part of your spirit. You will be left with something much less."

"I can live with that," John said.

"Are you sure?" Punk questioned.

"Yes," John said determined, even though he felt cold at the implications. "Will Crowfoot help me?"

"If you ask real nicely, he might," Punk grinned and suddenly he looked much younger. "You could bring him something to trade."

"What would he want?" John wondered.

"I think that's up to you to decide what your spirit is worth," Punk said sagely.

Then Dean looked up, feeling uneasy and smiled a death's head grin. The fun was about to begin.

At the same time Punk stiffened and rose smoothly to his feet. He looked around, even glancing up as some birds flew by overhead. "They're near," he said.

John couldn't stop his shudder of dread but he was determined to stay and protect Dean like Seth had told him to. He checked the load of his gun. He knew there was very little he could do but he wasn't going to run and leave Dean and Punk to face Nexus by themselves. "Could the earth spirits protect me?" he asked.

"You will be lucky if they don't attack you for being part of Nexus," Punk replied.

Pale, John nodded. He wanted to protest again that it wasn't his fault but that was pointless. Resigned to his fate, John looked down. "Just be sure to kill me before they take me," he told Dean.

"Will do," Dean said a bit too eagerly.

But Punk was staring at Cena thoughtfully. It wouldn't hurt to have another ally, he decided. And denying Nexus a new member was a win, no matter how you looked at it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out another leather bag the size of his hand and frowned at it. It never hurt to ask the spirits for their help. They might be willing. He crouched down and picked up some dirt, small rocks and leaves from the ground in his palm. Blowing on it softly, he reached out as if to show the sun what he was holding. He sang a few words in his native language and then poured the mixture into the bag. Pulling the ties shut he tossed it to John. "Take this," he instructed. "It may help." Then he vanished into the foliage

Scowling perplexed at the small bag, John shook his head and stuffed it into his pocket. He hadn't missed the fact that Punk had said 'they'. He looked over at Dean. "We need to go," he said.

Dean looked at him with scorn. "I don't run from a fight." The bastard actually drank another mouthful of coffee like it was a Sunday morning.

"Listen, you maniac, you heard him. There is more than one coming." John hoped that maybe Dean wasn't as insane as he feared. That maybe he would listen to sense and reason.

"So?" Dean asked, genuinely baffled at John.

So much for that hope. Nearly tearing his hair out with frustration, John said "So? Do you think you can take Nexus on in the shape you're in? Look at you!"

Slowly, stiffly, with a wince, Dean stood up so he could stare challengingly into Cena's eyes. Taller than Cena, he looked down at him with eyes that weren't entirely sane through his fringe of bangs. He abruptly smiled and spoke in a deliberate way that reminded John of one of his school teachers explaining a concept that John should have been able to understand but was too dense to figure out on his own. "Maybe you don't get it, Marshal. I don't care how I look. Looks aren't important. Now, what I do care about is killing those sons of bitches. So here is how this is going to play out: you can get out of my way," Dean paused to see if Cena would take him up on the suggestion, which he didn't. "Or," he went on, "you can make yourself useful and watch my back. Your call. But let's be clear on one thing, I am going to kill them, got it?"

Seeing how Dean was determined to fight, Cena acquiesced, albeit reluctantly. Seth's warning rang in his head but the best way to protect Dean was to turn him loose on the demons hunting them and watch out for him as much as possible. He hoped that Punk knew what Dean was planning, although if Ambrose was anything like Orton, (and he suspected those two were cut from the same cloth) then Punk would know exactly what Dean planned to do. "Very well. But at least get in the cabin so they can't just shoot your stupid ass while it's out in the open," he advised.

"Fine," Dean grumbled. He checked his revolvers even though those weren't the ones he would use to kill the Nexus. Those particular guns never needed reloading and they never jammed. Dean had only fired them once, but he remembered the feel of the cool sandalwood grips in his hands and the incredible destructive power that emanated from them. He longed to hold them again.

Meanwhile Punk was circling the area around the cabin. He softly chanted a prayer to the spirits, exhorting them to help him. He had placed certain items in strategic areas to strengthen the local earth spirits. He could feel their hatred for the intruding demons and called upon them again for their aid, which they gave willingly. He wasn't a medicine man in the same league as Crowfoot, who could call on spirits powerful enough to fight and vanquish demons. The spirits he could summon couldn't hurt the Nexus but they could confuse and distract them until Legend Killer or one of his new brothers could. That's how he and Randy had worked so well in the past. He looked up as earth spirits rushed past him like slight currents of wind, making straight for their targets.

In the cabin, John and Dean took up spots at the open windows and waited. Dean looked over at the Saint of Killers and his lips stretched back into the vicious grin of the wolf. The Saint tipped his head in acknowledgment. There was a sudden thrashing in the trees nearby and someone shouting in panic. "Punk?" John asked, concerned.

Dean looked at the Saint for confirmation but the tall spirit shook its head. 'No,' he said. 'But he's involved. He is using the local spirits to distract the Nexus.'

Not needing to be told anymore, Dean rushed out of the cabin and into the trees. John was on his heels swearing to himself as he followed the lunatic. He couldn't believe that Dean had the strength to walk, let alone run after everything he had endured the day before. The tree grew thicker and he raised his arms to keep from getting smashed in the face by a branch and lost sight of Dean. He stopped, not daring to call out and draw attention to himself or Dean. A branch on the ground snapped and John spun around, raising his gun.

There was nothing there. Swallowing in sudden fear, John felt a malevolent hatred from something just out of sight, like a physical touch. He hoped it wasn't aimed at him, because whatever was out there was not something he wanted to mess with. He started forward in the direction Dean had disappeared but suddenly his body jerked to a stop and refused to move.

Justin Gabriel was there, aiming his gun at Cena but blinked his solid black eyes when he saw that it was John. He grinned and moved a finger to his lips in the classic shushing motion. Shaking, John stood as Gabriel walked up to him. "Nice to see you again, Marshal," the demon whispered in his ear. "I thought you were just another one of those pesky spirits at first. Good thing I didn't shoot you on accident."

John was furiously fighting against the influence, but just like last time he was absolutely helpless against it. There was a movement behind Gabriel but John didn't dare look, lest he give it away. Instead, he spoke to the demon trying to keep its attention on him. "I know what you are, and I won't let you take me."

Gabriel laughed. "You have no choice, Marshal. You are already one of us. My brother will be taking your body soon. And don't think that I don't know you are right behind me Saint of Killers," he said, spinning around to face…nobody. "Fucking earth spirits!" he snarled. A squirrel chittered furiously from the treetops in response.

He turned back to Cena and grabbing him by the back of the neck, steered him in the direction of the cabin. A branch dropped on top of Gabriel from a tree, hitting him square in the face. "You can't do anything to me, can you?" he shouted at the empty air as he spun and aimed his gun at a quivering bush. It was probably his imagination but John could have sworn that he could see baleful yellow eyes glaring from behind it. Gabriel shot into the bush. "All you can do is shake some branches! You're nothing, do you hear me?" he shouted. The feeling of hatred intensified until John was sweating with terror. The demon was responding too, jumping in alarm at every nearby sound and shooting randomly at the foliage. But if it made any difference, John couldn't see it.

Just as John was sure he was going to die of fright, Dean appeared off to the side. He was standing straight and tall despite the livid bruises and cuts, his eyes blazing green. He didn't bother to speak; he just drew the massive Colt Walker and pulled the trigger, destroying the demon masquerading as Justin Gabriel. The thunder of the gun rolled off the nearby mountains. His eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed. Free of the influence, John was beside him in an instant, catching him in a fireman's lift.

"I owe you my life," John said to the air around him hoping the spirits wouldn't take their anger out on him. "Thank you." He waited for a few seconds to see if there was any response, but the forest was silent and watchful. Remembering Seth's warning, he climbed further up the slope of the mountain with Dean across his shoulders moving away from the cabin. The only sound was his labored breathing from the strain of carrying Dean's weight in the thin air. After about a hundred meters, he was forced to rest. He gently laid Dean down behind some rocks and scrub bushes, hiding him from any gunsights. He concealed himself nearby and waited for Dean to recover. The trees had thinned out a bit, allowing him to see further around him. It was so quiet that even John's breathing seemed ridiculously loud and he found himself holding his breath. He still felt like the forest was watching him, making him extra alert. Even still, Punk managed to sneak up on him; nearly causing John's already strained heart to just stop when he felt the soft touch in his shoulder.

"Was it you that made the spirits help us?" John whispered.

"I asked for their help, and they gave it," Punk corrected him in a low voice. He knew that there were two other demons in the area. He wasn't sure how long the earth spirits could keep them distracted after all the noise Gabriel kicked up. They needed Dean to wake up, or the others to return.

"Please thank them for me," John said, finally getting his breathing and heart beat under control.

"Your thanks are unnecessary."

"You have it anyway," John said.

Punk shook his head, but it surprised him to realize John was entirely sincere in his gratitude. The man was not as infected with greed as the other white men Punk had met. With very few exceptions, most easterners Punk had met were actively trying to kill his people or deprive them of their land.

While they waited, Punk did a quick mental tally; Dean had killed one and as soon as he recovered enough to kill the others it would be over. But until then they remained in very great danger. The scream of a hawk overhead warned him a split second before Heath Slater stepped out from behind a tree, a wicked-looking knife in one hand and aiming his gun at them with the other. His face and clothes were a mess of cuts and bruises. John threw himself between Slater and Dean, using his body as a shield. "I ain't gonna waste any more time with you," Slater screamed and raised his revolver aimed directly at John.

John's eyes widened and he knew he was going to die. He refused to move though. Dean was right behind him and John wasn't going to give Slater a clean shot at the vulnerable lunatic. He hoped Punk would be able to stop Slater.

But from out of nowhere, Randy struck with the speed of a rattlesnake. He was on Slater before he could pull the trigger, driving him to the ground and punching Slater directly in the face hard enough to break bones. The demon howled with rage. Randy drew back his fist and punched him right through the sternum, black blood sprayed across Randy's face. From the wreckage of its human body, the Nexus demon pulled itself free.

Nauseated, John could see it now; see what Randy was intent on killing with his bare hands. With a horrid fascination he watched Randy wrestling with it and wondered briefly if he could be as brave as Orton; facing that nightmare with nothing but his bare fists and righteous fury. He was just starting to wonder why Randy didn't shoot it when there was a movement from the ground next to him. Dean had rolled over, took aim with a Colt Walker and fired. Heath Slater died instantly, his body flopping to the ground. Randy breathed hard, eyes bright was rage.

"Why didn't you kill him?" John asked about Slater. Randy didn't respond except to go pale and with a wince, John realized the answer. There was only one reason Orton wouldn't kill a demon right in front of him. He glanced over at Dean, who was still lying hidden in the brush. Punk wasn't visible and John wondered where he got off to.

"One more," he said to Randy. "Just have one more then…" he trailed off. Just one more then John would be dead.

They were interrupted by the sharp crack a rifle from below and Randy cried out in surprise, clutching his left arm which was now pouring blood. John instinctively threw himself at Randy, using his greater weight to push the younger man off his feet and flat on his stomach on the ground. He lay directly on top of the outlaw, covering him with his own body. John buried his face into the back of Randy's neck, tense, waiting for the sharp pain of bullets.

And underneath him, feeling the horrifyingly familiar weight of another body pressing him to the ground, Randy went insane.

TBC