Legend Killer Chapter 16

As always a big, huge thank you to Kiss316 for going over the chapter looking for inconsistencies, asking questions and being awesome in general. It bears repeating: You rock!

Dean looked at Randy and for once only nodded and turned his horse away as Randy let go. He put the spurs to the sorrel's sides and galloped off.

As the sound of hoofbeats faded, John looked at Randy. "What now?" he asked, seeing Punk's limp body tied up with several lengths of rope and handcuffs. It was gagged as well. Only the solid black glaring eyes indicted that demon was still alive inside. John swallowed against the nausea that was threatening to crawl up his throat. He wasn't sure if it was the concussion or the demon's proximity but he was having a hard time focusing on what Randy was saying.

"We take it to Crowfoot. He'll send it back to hell," Randy said, his voice devoid of emotion. He never thought that Punk would end up like this. "He'd want to give Punk's body a proper ceremony to ensure his spirit reaches …" he trailed off. Punk's spirit had been destroyed by the demon. He swore quietly and rubbed at his eyes. The grass swayed gently in the freshening breeze.

"I'm sorry," John said sincerely, looking away to give Randy some privacy. His head throbbed.

Hearing John say that made Randy pause. No one had ever said that to him before. For the first time, Randy looked at John without impatience or bitterness and saw the man for what he was. John Cena wasn't a bad man. He was, in fact, a good man. Randy had met so very few honest to god good men during his lifetime he hadn't been able to credit Cena with the benefit of the doubt. But here was a man who had principles and stood by his word. Randy decided to extend a tentative olive branch. "A word of warning, John: do not kill anything on Crowfoot's land, unless you are given permission," he said as he got himself under control and back to the task at hand. "I won't be able to help you if you piss them off."

"I'll do my best not to," John replied. He thought he heard a low rattling nearby when Randy was speaking but when he tried to zero in on it, it stopped. Must have been his imagination, he thought. He had the feeling like he was being watched and that made him nervous. Maybe he should have gone with Ambrose he mused, but discarded the thought immediately. He needed to get rid of the demon taint in his soul. And if that meant listening to Randy Orton and adhering to Crowfoot's rules, he would gladly comply. Still, he turned his gaze north and even though the land looked empty, he just knew that something was watching him and not kindly.

As if he could read John's mind, Randy studied him closely, "Last chance," he offered, his voice soft. "You can still turn back." He knew what was in store for John and almost felt sorry for the man.

"Then you don't know me very well. I don't give up," John damned near growled. Randy's look of pity angered him. No one had ever looked at him like that in his life and he hated it. "Even if it kills me, I never give up. So shut your mouth and let's get moving." He stood up, ignoring the black spots that burst in front of his vision.

John's angry reaction to his attempt at a truce made Randy shut down the trickle of sympathy he was feeling. "Don't say you weren't given the chance," he said coolly. "Chances are you are going to die before the taint is removed." Despite that, he could see through John's anger and knew John was afraid and lashing out. But Randy had his own issues to deal with. He turned away from John and got on with the business of getting Punk's body back to Crowfoot. He knew the horse would hate carrying Punk, but there was no choice. He would have to lead the horse the rest of the way. And with John concussed and probably unable to ride at a pace faster than a walk, it was going to be a long time before they got to Crowfoot. Ignoring his aching shoulder, he heaved Punk's body over the roan's back, tying it securely to the saddle so it couldn't wriggle off. The horse snorted, rolling its eyes and pinning its ears back but it didn't buck. Stroking a hand down the sleek neck, Randy took the reins and started leading the horse north, not bothering to check to see if John was coming.

What was hurting him the most wasn't John's rejection though. It was that every time, every fucking time he thought that maybe he could be part of the human world, he was slapped down hard. By now he should know better. Having any sort of emotional attachments meant being vulnerable and his enemies would target them because of that. The remains of his soul ached, not just from the spiritual damage inflicted by the Colt Walkers but the emotional damage it had sustained from losing every person he had ever cared about. Ted, Cody, Punk…

And now he had to explain to Crowfoot that his grandson was worse than dead. That Punk was lost to them forever. He wouldn't be waiting in the spirit world to reunite with them. And it was Randy's fault. Punk had only been caught by Nexus because of Randy.

Now Randy was done.

He was done with friends.

He was done with family.

He was done with the whole fucking war.

While he walked through the tall grasses and sage brush, he decided that he wasn't going to fight for the human world anymore. He had done his share, had sacrificed more than anyone. Roman and Dean could take care of it, he thought bitterly. The grass swished quietly as the horse and Randy moved through it, avoiding the occasional small boulder. Grasshoppers jumped lazily out of the way. A bird warbled somewhere in the distance and the vast sky overhead was an unbelievable shade of blue. Mountains rose high to their left, kissing the sky as they guided Randy northwest. And the infinite plains rolled away to his right. This was where he belonged, away from the problems of humans, demons and angels. He heard the rattle of the snake and smiled to himself.

As he watched Randy walk away, John sighed and prodded gingerly at the large lump on the back of his skull. It wasn't like him to snap at someone who was honestly trying to help, even if that someone was Randy Orton, asshole supreme. He could blame the concussion but that was only part of the reason. John was man enough to admit that his real reason was fear. When Chief Justice Vincent McMahon had ordered him to come out west, John had had no idea what was in store for him. He had never thought of himself as sheltered or naive, but now his eyes had been opened and truth be told, it scared the shit out of him. He had never felt fear like this in his life and to his embarrassment, he lashed out at someone who didn't deserve it. If he lived through this, he decided he would make it up to Randy somehow. With a pang of longing for his earlier ignorance, he took a deep breath and forced his body to move. He climbed onto the bay mare's saddle and nudged her with his heels, following Randy. Grateful for the slow pace, he had a feeling the rest of the day wouldn't be much better. And from the way Randy had been looking at him, John knew his future wasn't going to be fun. To distract himself, he moved the mare up to walk next to Randy who kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. After a mile or so John frowned in confusion. "Where did this mist come from?" he asked. "It wasn't here a minute ago." It was so thick he could barely see several paces in front of the horse. Instinctively he moved the mare closer to Randy so he wouldn't lose sight of him as the mist got even thicker. For a long time he thought Randy wasn't going to answer because he was still mad at John. Everything was so quiet.

But when Randy finally spoke, his voice was calm, almost peaceful. "You're not in America anymore John. This place it's…different from any place you've ever been. This is the domain of spirits and magic. The earth spirits here are powerful and they won't hesitate to rip you limb from limb if you anger them."

As if in response to Randy's words, there was a low growling nearby. From the sound of it, it was something unbelievably huge, hidden in the mist. Mouth suddenly dry, John again revised his definition of fear.

….

As the sun rose higher in the east, the shadow of the racing mustang grew a little shorter over the uneven ground as the miles rolled by.

Dean could see a group of riders far in the distance but he resisted the urge to spur the horse to go even faster because he knew there was going to be some sort of ambush ahead. Whoever those guys were, they hadn't grabbed Seth on a whim. It had been a setup and the demon Punk sent it to cause a distraction. It had been a good one too. Randy had been so upset when he saw what happened to Punk that it hadn't occurred to him there might have been more to the situation. But dammit, Dean should have known! Dave had told them Hunter was after Seth but they hadn't taken it as seriously as they should have. Dean was furious, with both himself and Hunter. He kept his eyes firmly ahead, looking for any sign of the trap.

Ahead, some of the forest that had been growing on the mountains had spilled over into the plains. Not the towering Ponderosa pines, but smaller, sparser aspens that followed streams and rivers. The riders he was following headed straight into it. If he were to plan an ambush, that would be the perfect spot. His lips twisted into a savage grin at the obviousness. He would have welcomed the distraction in other circumstances; the chance to tear into Hunter's men was never a thing to pass up. But now it just meant a delay, to fall further behind.

And God help anyone who stood between him and Seth.

He sat back a little and reined the mustang to an easy lope as they entered the trees. Dean was in a hurry but if he wasn't careful, his getting killed wouldn't save Seth. He pulled out his left revolver and held it easy at his thigh. He stretched out his senses but there were no sign of demons in the vicinity, which was surprising but encouraging. Still, he muttered to himself. "Old man, if you aren't here when I need you… Whoa!" He didn't get a chance to finish his threat because something gray and dog-shaped jumped out from under the mustang's feet, causing the horse to flinch violently to the side. Most of Dean's weight came down into his right stirrup as he barely managed not to get dumped by the unexpected swerve. As he clung to his horse's mane Dean drew a breath to curse the coyote only to growl in anger at the buzz of a bullet whizzing past his head. He pulled the wild-eyed mustang to a sliding stop on its haunches and quickly scanned for a target. Knowing better than to be standing still, Dean turned the horse in the direction he was sure the bullet had come from. He couldn't see any movement through the trees but that didn't matter. The shooter had eyes on him. Except for the erratic stand of aspens, there was no cover, no place to pick off his enemy safely from a distance. He was in the open and vulnerable. He remembered the war stories of the veterans, of being in battle under heavy fire from enemy cannon and rifle.

Sometimes the choice is to charge the enemy or die.

Sinking his spurs into the mustang's sides, Dean charged. This asshole was between him and Seth. He stood in the stirrups and aimed the revolver at the trees in front of him. It took a few seconds to lock onto a movement between the trees. He pointed the revolver, squinting down the barrel. His eyes widened when he saw the man who had shot at him. For a moment, his mind balked at the idea that this man was alive. He was too pale, and big. He was nearly as tall as Glenn. And he had the reddest hair Dean had ever seen. He was definitely the ambush Dean was expecting, but Dean almost rolled his eyes at the lack of foresight. No matter how big a man was, a bullet was the great equalizer in this equation. Dean had six shots in his revolver and he never missed. He squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet directly into the man's chest.

The man laughed.

Irritated Dean fired again. The pale man spread his arms wide, making himself a bigger target for the charging horse and rider. Dean swore to himself. That was impossible; there was no way he missed! Then abruptly he remembered what true mission was and holstered his gun. He leaned in the saddle to turn the mustang back to their original course of pursuing Seth's abductors. Why the guy didn't go down when Dean knew there were two bullet lodged in the man's heart was beyond him but that was irrelevant. He spurred the mustang to make up time.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement right before the horse's front legs were jerked out from underneath it by a lasso and the mustang went down hard on its chest. Only Dean's lightning reflexes prevented him from being caught under the crashing animal. He kicked his feet free of the stirrups and dove off before getting trapped under the horse. He landed hard on his stomach, the wind knocked out of him. For too many seconds he struggled to get air back in his lungs. A pair of large boots blocked his vision.

"Bullets don't affect me none, boy-o," the man grinned down at him, clearly enjoying himself. His accent was so thick Dean could barely understand what he was saying. Blood trickled down the front of the man's shirt. Dean had hit him dead center but it hadn't made a difference. "I hear you Saint's boys are tough, well-nigh unkillable. Well except for a bullet to the brain. I want to find out just how tough you truly are. Fight me," he challenged. With the accent it sounded like he said 'Foight meh."

"Christ," Dean muttered, almost rolling his eyes. The pale man reached down and grabbed Dean by his hair and pulled him to his feet. Dean gasped in pain.

"Get rid of the belt boy-o," the man advised shoving Dean back. "Name's Sheamus," he grinned.

"Don't care," Dean replied as he unbuckled his gun belt and let it drop. "Demon ass-kisser won't live long enough for me to remember."

"Not working with demons," Sheamus said, still grinning. "Workin' with the angels.

"Same difference," Dean told him, standing completely still, waiting for Sheamus to make the first move. He kept his body relaxed, joints loose.

"Not the same my friend. I have the angels' guarantee to protect me if I stop you." The big man crouched a bit, keeping his weight on the balls of his feet. He curled his hands into fists.

"Angels lie," Dean told him. "Besides, you're between me and one of my brothers."

"To get to him, you have to go through me." Sheamus charged at Dean, fists ready to strike.

Bored, Dean reached into his jacket and pulled out his spare revolver and shot Sheamus through the forehead. Twice. Sheamus' eyes widened as he stumbled, blood pouring from his head. He fell down face first and lay still. The earlier encounter with Dave Batista had taught Dean that keeping both guns in their holsters was an easy way to be separated from them. "Idiot," he muttered, then froze as a muzzle of a gun nestled behind his ear. Dean hadn't even heard him approach.

"Yeah, he liked to fight but he wasn't very bright," a man said sounding agreeable. "Can't say he was my first choice as a partner, but Hunter pays good money so I'll put with a lot. Now, put your hands up where I can see them."

Slowly, Dean raised his hands in surrender. "Who are you?" he asked. The man hadn't shot him in the head, which was a good sign.

"Not your concern," the man said. Dean desperately wished he could see whom he was talking to. But the man stayed out of his line of sight, feeling inside Dean's jacket for another weapon, finding none. Satisfied, the man said "Now kneel."

"If you're going to shoot me, I think I'd rather stand," Dean replied. There was no fear in his voice.

"I'm not going to kill you. Our orders were to hand you off to someone else. I don't do anything I'm not paid to do."

Dean thought he could detect a trace of an accent but he was having a difficult time placing it. "Whose orders?" he asked, easing to his knees. He tried to think of a way out of this situation.

"I told you, Judge Hunter," the man said, completely unconcerned. With Dean on his knees, the man circled around in front of him, gun aimed at Dean's head never wavering yet never within reach. Getting a look at his captor, Dean wasn't initially impressed. The man was overweight, had short brown hair with a neckbeard and a round face. Yet despite being out of condition, the man had a very broad neck and shoulders. His eyelids drooped like he was half-asleep, or bored. But it was when Dean looked into his eyes that he felt a cold finger of genuine fear in his heart. Behind the man's eyes there was nothing.

The man had no soul.

Even Randy, whose soul was so badly damaged he probably wouldn't be able to move on to any sort of afterlife had something. But not this man. Had he not been recruited by the Saint, Dean wouldn't have known like he did. But even then, he would have instinctively felt the absence and treated it with the utmost caution, like handling a sleeping viper. "Who are you?" Dean asked again.

The man shrugged. "My name's Kevin Owens." He glanced up at the sky but not long enough for Dean to do anything. He sniffed and shook his head, almost like a nervous tick.

"You don't have a soul." Dean couldn't help himself.

Unconcerned, Kevin sniffed and shrugged again. "So I've been told. Personally I don't think I'm missing out after seeing how people are terrified about what happens to theirs after they die."

No sure how to answer that, Dean changed tactics. "How long are we going to wait here?" he asked. As if right on cue, he felt uneasy. Dammit!

"Long enough for some guy they call Balor to get here. I guess he knows you or something." Kevin didn't seem shy about answering questions. In fact, he didn't seem to give a shit about anything.

"Yeah? And when's that?" Dean asked, stalling while he tried to come up with a way to kill this guy and get the hell out of there before this Balor fiend showed up. Unless the Saint appeared, Dean was in serious trouble.

Kevin shrugged again. "I don't get paid to keep a schedule of his appearances. But you probably already know that he's on his way."

"What if I don't want to meet your friend?" Dean asked, starting to fidget. He hated the feeling of demons under normal circumstances. Now with Seth's life in the balance, it was all he could do not to throw himself bodily at Kevin. Come to think of it…Glancing at the sky again, Kevin started to answer when Dean did throw himself at him, tackling the stocky man even as Kevin fired. Dean felt the bullet burn into his shoulder but he didn't care. His momentum took Kevin to the ground. With one fist Dean cracked Kevin's jaw while the other held the gun hand pinned to the ground. The blow did nothing to Kevin however. The stocky man just shoved Dean off and with a quickness that rivaled Seth's, rolled to his feet. Dean staggered back, clutching his shoulder briefly before he charged again. But this Kevin guy was a better fighter than Dean had anticipated. And Dean was still recovering from his torture by the hands of the Nexus. All too soon, Dean found himself blinking up at the sun, wondering why there were two them. Then the sun was replaced by Owens' round face.

"See, now, that wasn't necessary," Owens lectured, barely even breathing hard. He touched Dean's cracked ribs with the toe of his boots. Dean scrunched his eyes shut with a groan. The demon was close now.

And then men who grabbed Seth were getting further away.

Where the fuck are you, old man?

…

The smell of sweaty horse and leather was right in his face. Tied up over the saddle with his head hanging on one side, and his feet over the other, Seth was furious with himself. He had been so worried about Dean that he hadn't been paying attention and got jumped. John had tried to fight, but after being brained by a large rock all the fight had gone out of him, like a puppet getting its strings cut. Seth wondered if John was alive. To be strictly honest, John's health wasn't high on his list of things to be concerned about at that moment but it did distract him from the jarring caused by the motion of the galloping horse. And the constant motion of the horse's galloping battered Seth's stomach and wreaked havoc with his breathing. All he could see was the horse's side if he opened his eyes but he didn't need to see to know where they were going.

They were headed south, towards Helena.

Where Hunter was supposed to be arriving at any time.

Where the Beast was already lying in wait.

Seth resisted the impulse to stew about his situation. Instead, he tried to focus on a way to escape. They had tied his hands behind his back. Luckily his riding gloves protected his wrists from chaffing as he tried to work his hands free, but he had to admit that whoever tied the knots had done an expert job. Further hindering him was the pounding in his head from hanging upside down. The gag between his teeth tasted awful and chaffed his cheeks and lips. After a while the discomfort turned into pain and his mind started to fog over. He was losing his sense of time as the disorientation worsened and all he could think about was the pain radiating outward from his midsection and his head. It became his whole world.

It took him a while to realize that the horse had stopped moving. He drew in a deep breath and was just raising his head to look around when someone grabbed him by his legs and pulled. Unable to catch himself, Seth fell heavily to the ground, flat on his back. All of the air went out of his lungs with a whoosh. He groaned through the gag, squeezing his eyes shut at the nausea and curled over on his side, breathing through his nose. After he got his breathing under control he opened his eyes and turned his head. He was forced to squint up into the sun, only able to make out the silhouettes of the men who had captured him. There had been three, two were very short, older but wily. Both had the look of having fought in the war. The third, the one who had taken out John with a rock to the head, wasn't in his line of sight. Seth wondered where the man was.

The short one with short hair, as opposed to the short one with no hair, spoke with a marked southern accent. "We got 'im, Hunter. Me an Joey got 'im! It went just like you said!" The man, who had been called Jamie by his companions beamed at Hunter like he wanted the judge to be proud of him.

"You had some help," Hunter dryly.

The other one, the bald quiet one, glared at Jamie visibly trying to get him to shut up, or at least tone down the ass kissing. "It was close though. They were right at the edge of Crowfoot's territory. Another few minutes they would have been out of our reach."

"But you got him. That's all that matters," Hunter said, ending the budding argument before it began. He crouched next to Seth and reached out a hand to help him sit up. Seth jerked away, glaring as hard as he could. Hunter smiled, like he was expecting it. Seth struggled to a sitting position on his own, glaring at Hunter the entire time.

"Hey, we aren't going to hurt you," Hunter said, looking at Seth like a prized piece of meat.

Skin crawling, Seth continued to glare at Hunter. Even tied up, gagged and on the ground he wasn't going to let Hunter intimidate him.

As if reading his mind, Hunter's lip curled up into an amused sneer. "Seth Rollins," he drawled, as if he were savoring each syllable of Seth's name. "I'm very glad you're finally here. I was getting worried. We were starting to run out of time." He nodded at Jamie who untied Seth's gag. After that, both Jamie and Joey positioned themselves on either side of Seth, each keeping one hand on his shoulders.

"What the fuck is going on, Hunter?" Seth demanded. He was in a terrible situation and was searching desperately for a way out. But to do that, he needed information. Seth couldn't suppress a shudder looking into Hunter's eyes. He could see the man's fanaticism. He looked for a way out, but the two little guys had their hands on his shoulders, keeping him on his knees. For being such little guys, they were very strong.

Shrugging, Hunter said, "I made a deal that I intend to keep."

"With the demons and the angels, I know. But you fucked up. The Saint of Killers will never raise a finger to save me. "

Smirking, Hunter stood up and leaned up against the wagon. Reaching in, he pulled out a bottle and took a sip of liquor. "That's true. The Saint recruited Ambrose and Reigns, which makes sense because I always knew they were killers. But not you. You're different from them. You are exactly what I need." The bastard looked so confident Seth longed to punch him in his large nose. Hunter glanced up at the sun as if measuring the time. "This isn't about the Saint, at least not directly. This is about getting my allies something that they want. And they want you."

"Fuck off, Hunter," Seth growled, struggling to contain his panic. He couldn't understand the situation. If they didn't want to use him to get to the Dean and Roman, and thus the Saint, then why was he there? He shook his shoulders, trying to shed his captors, but he couldn't get nearly the leverage he needed.

Smiling, Hunter shrugged, supremely unconcerned at Seth's rebelliousness. "Not that you have a choice. You see, much like demons, angels can possess humans. Care to take a guess where you come in?" He looked up at the sun with a knowing smirk. "We're ready," he said to the surrounding air. He glared in annoyance at his two minions. "Get ready or you will burn your eyes out," he warned. Out of his pocket he pulled a blindfold and covered his own eyes. Jamie and Joey copied him, taking turns then resuming their grip on his shoulders, keeping him on his knees.

Seth felt his stomach twist in terror. "No!" he shouted and started struggling against the ropes that bound his wrists. He looked around for an escape but Jamie and Joey held him firmly on his knees. "Hold him still," Hunter said and Joey groped around, grabbed Seth's hair and pulling his head back so the sun was shining directly in his face. He screwed his eyes shut against the light but the light burned orange against his lids, then white. He tried to turn his head away but Joey was too strong. The light moved nearer to him, surrounding him and he got the horrible feeling of being smothered by it. That it had a weight, a substance.

And then it entered him.

It filled up every part of his being, all his thoughts, secrets and feelings were wide open before it. It examined his emotions, paying particular attention to his feelings for Roman and Dean. Feeling nauseatingly violated inside and out, Seth tried to open his eyes, to turn away but he was unable to move or resist. Distantly he heard the beating of wings.

Hello Mr. Rollins, a voice in his mind said.

Giving into his terror, he frantically tried to push it out, but the light was immovable and the voice laughed at him. Don't bother, it said, dismissing his efforts. I have been waiting a long time for this. You are mine now.

Then everything he knew became light.

For a long time it was quiet, except for the single scream of an eagle soaring above them. After a few minutes, Hunter peeked out from under his blindfold. Seeing Seth limp in the two men's arms, Hunter said, "You can let him go now."

Jamie and Joey to let him go and removed their blindfolds as well, watching as Seth's body slumped to the ground. Long minutes dragged by as they watched the deputy Marshal lay unmoving. Then Seth groaned low in his throat and Jamie and Joey tensed, ready to subdue Rollins again if necessary. But Hunter stopped them with a gesture and they stepped back watching intently.

Drawing a deep breath, Seth opened his eyes and looked at the sky. He sat up, looking around in wonder. His eyes were golden. A blond streak on the side of his head glowed in the sun. Even covered in dirt, he was beautiful.

"It's okay, you can untie him now," Hunter said, smiling like a proud father. Jamie pulled out a knife and knelt behind Seth, cutting the rope that bound his wrists. The Jamie stepped back and watched Seth climb gracefully to his feet.

"Thank you Hunter. I am most grateful to you," the angel smiled, looking down at his new, mortal body. "It's perfect."

TBC