Chapter 5: Like A Bat Out Of Hell

"Angel! You in?!"

Sam startled at the shout from the entrance of the shop, and the bang! from the door as it was flung inwards and bounced against the wall. The younger Winchester looked up from the last book he had been studying and squinted through the gaps in the shelves surrounding the table he sat at to get a better look at the new arrival. The man was moving fast, striding through the rickety book shop as if he owned the place and all Sam could see was something black, slender and expensive-looking sliding past. Also, for some reason the book shop suddenly felt like a lot less safe place to be...

"Hey, angel!" the stranger called again. "Stop hiding under your dust collection and talk to me! It's important. Didn't you get my message to meet me at the pond?"

"My dear!" Fell's voice finally answered, the owner of the book shop appearing down the staircase in a hurry. "Not so loud, I'm coming!"

The man in the black suit still didn't sound pleased. Sam poked his head around a bookshelf and saw him standing with his back toward him, arms crossed as he talked to the approaching Fell.

"I'll be as loud as I bloody want, I'm-"

"I've got a customer."

"...oh." Black suit guy paused. Then he waved a hand.

"Well, throw him out."

"What? Dear boy, I can't just-" Fell started to sputter, but Sam chose that moment to stand up and make his presence known to both.

"It's alright, I was planning on leaving, anyway. Thank you very much for the tea." Sam was already grabbing his notes, phone and jacket, nodding at them and heading for the door. Blacksuit had half-turned around as he walked past and Sam wondered for a moment why on Earth someone would be wearing sunglasses in the middle of winter in the inside of a store, but then mentally shrugged. Perhaps the guy was vision-impaired or something.

Sam stepped out into the street, slipping on his brown cargo jacket that sadly didn't match his black suit at all and tried not to shiver from the cold air. That snow storm had come out of no where. But then again, at least one mystery had been solved.

'Angel'.

'My dear'

Yeah, no wonder that guy patted me on the head. Sam absent-mindedly ran a hand through his hair. He had walked out of the bookshop that the Bentley was parked straight in front of, but because Crowley didn't want anyone to see it at the moment, Sam didn't.

Instead, the younger Winchester picked up his phone as it started ringing, displaying Dean's name under the call sign.

"Sam?" his older brother asked by way of greeting. "Let's meet back at the hotel. I've lost the bastard."

Inside, Crowley was still staring after the young man that had just left the shop. When Sam walked off, he turned to Aziraphale and raised an eye brow.

"Are they interbreeding them with giraffes now, or what?"

xxx

"No, I'm fairly certain he was just an American," the angel said, before adding with a bit of a thoughtful look, "I think they eat more over there."

Crowley's eyes narrowed. "What was he doing here? I think I've seen him somewhere before."

Aziraphale gave a vague little wave as he walked over to the sofa in the back where he put the two cups he was carrying down. "I'm not sure, actually. It sounded like he was a student with a project. But yes, he did seem vaguely familiar..."

Crowley irritably waved him off, instead opting to plunk down on the sofa himself opposite his friend.

"Doesn't matter, anyway. Just make sure no one's coming in anymore. There's...things happening."

"Oh? What kind of things?" Aziraphale asked, used to the cryptic nature of the demon he consorted with and also familiar enough with the subtle clues to recognize a rattled Crowley underneath. He poured them both wine that a moment ago had been tea. Crowley made a noise that could have been construed as a thanks if he hadn't been a demon, and took a sip before he spoke up.

"I think," he said, "that someone is trying to hunt me."

xxx

"Sorry," Sam said, "He did what?"

Dean angrily yanked open their hotel room door and stomped inside.

"I told you. He sat in the café forever, and was watching people trying to pick up a coin he'd glued to the floor. After that he was vaguely menacing at ducks and then he literally disappeared into thin air."

"So you're saying..." Sam began, then paused. "What are you saying?"

"That in my opinion this isn't a demon but probably some sort of bastard love child of Gabriel and a fucking fairy, I don't know," Dean grunted, grabbing a beer and flinging himself into one of the grubby seats of the cheap hotel. "What about you? Found anything in the lore?"

"Well..." Sam settled in the seat opposite his brother, getting out the crumpled papers of his notes. "I found a few things that might relate to what we have here. There was one passage that said that only very powerful demons called Dukes of hell are able to 'reverse the order of nature', like make plants turn on...well, creatures that eat plants."

"You do," Dean pointed out. "I don't."

Sam didn't grace that one with a reply. "I didn't find anything much about snake-eyed monsters, though," he continued instead. "There...were some bits about a demon with yellow eyes, but I'm not sure whether those were about Azazel or a different one. Some of the passages were a bit strange."

"So we're dealing with what's potentially a 'Duke of hell', then," Dean summed it up. "Fantastic."

xxx

"So we're dealing with the Winchester brothers," Alastair grumbled. "Fantastic."

"What is it with them?" Hastur asked, irritated but also seemingly intrigued by just what it could be that was putting Alastair out so much. "They're just ordinary mortals, are they not?"

Alastair sighed, wondering a bit how he could put it to the duke so that he would understand. He turned back toward him.

"You sound British," the torture expert said finally. "Are you aware of the expression 'a spanner in the works', then?"

"Yes," Hastur replied with a frown, a bit unsure of where this was going. "It's an idiom mortals use to indicate an obstruction to a plan going smoothly, isn't it?"

"Exactly, your grace," Alastair smiled in a way that wasn't funny, "And let me put it this way, in comparison to a 'spanner in the works', those two brothers are a blessed exploding home improvement store."

xxx

"Hunt you?" Aziraphale repeated, raising an eye brow. "That hasn't happened for a couple of centuries," he pointed out. "I rather thought witch hunts and excorcisms had gone out of fashion. Bit messy, all of them were."

"Yeah, I know," Crowley replied, before staring into his glass of red wine. "Thing is, I'm not exactly sure who it even is. I was in a flower shop today and got attacked with what felt like demon magic, but then there was..." he grimaced. "Holy water as well, so I'm wondering whether it might have been something else." He looked up again. "No one on your side particularly wants to smite me, do they?"

"Not that I'm aware of, no."

"Thought so." Crowley looked back into his drink again. "Though I'm also wondering whether it had anything to do with the two humans in that store," he added absent-mindedly.

"Two humans?" Now Aziraphale sounded a little worried.

"There were two other shoppers," Crowley explained irritably. "The plants started attacking me and I was fighting for my existence and I think the begonias were trying to get to them, too. I didn't get much of a look at them when I escaped through the back door."

"They were two humans?" Aziraphale asked again, though it now sounded more incredulous, shading into accusatory. "In a shop with possessed, murderous plants? And you left them there?!"

"They seemed to be doing fine!"

When Aziraphale's offended stare didn't seem to get any better at this defence, Crowley finally dropped his eyes and mumbled, "Besides, there haven't been any reports of weird deaths yet. I checked," he grumbled, like he wasn't particularly pleased with himself for that.

"...I see," Aziraphale said, sighing in a way that meant feathers were being smoothed down again. He examined his wine glass. "So, it's holy water and demonic plants, then?"

"I think so," Crowley said. "Doesn't seem to fit together, right? And the demon magic was stronger than mine. I couldn't even properly defend myself. I think it might be..." There was a scowl. "Hastur."

"Ah." Aziraphale winced in understanding.

"Yeah," Crowley confirmed glumly. "But then again, the strength would fit, but the style doesn't." Crowley took a breath. "Next thing, a human was tailing me at the cafe and the park as well."

"Anyone you recognized?"

"...not completely sure," Crowley hedged. "I thought it might have been the same guy from the shop, though."

"But you're not sure?"

"No," Crowley admitted. "At some point I was considering it wasn't even a human but another demon possessing a body."

"Oh." Aziraphale's face set into a prim expression of reprehension again. The angel did not approve at all of highjacking a vessel without their consent."And was he posssessed?"

Crowley shook his head. "No."

"Well, at least that's something," Aziraphale said, but was apparently still a bit upset by the thought of someone stealing a body, because he proceeded to stir some sugar into his wine next. "Are you sure he wasn't, though? Especially if it's Hastur, you said that demons outranking you could also conceal their aura from you."

Crowley for some reason now looked curiously fascinated by a stain on the sofa.

"Uhm, yeah. Pretty sure the guy wasn't possessed."

"How so?"

"Er. More wine?"

"Crowley..." Azirphale's tone had now taken on that particular tone that suggested a smiting was not too far out of reach if the other didn't stop dancing away from a particular subject. "Exactly how did you find out that he wasn't possessed by a demon?"

Crowley shifted in his seat again, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I. Uh. Imighthavebrieflytriedtopossesstheguymyself." The words came out in a tumble, but unfortunately, angelic hearing was just that good.

"Really, Crowley!"

"Come on, it would only have been one itty bitty teeny-tiny possession!"

"Just his big toe, I presume?" Aziraphale asked with a touch of sarcasm and Crowley scowled.

"It doesn't matter anyway, because I didn't," he said, determinedly. "Well. Couldn't," he corrected himself. Hell's field agent could still remember trying, when he had noticed that particular human hiding away on the other side of the street, watching him. He had been good at it, too, Crowley had to admit, considering he had to have been there a while before the demon had noticed him. Crowley had relaxed then, let his own body slink somewhat deeper into the café chair and close his eyes behind the sunglasses while his consciousness slipped out of its physical shell, invisible to mortal gazes. Honestly, erupting from somewhere as black smoke was for amateurs.

Instead, Crowley's presence had swept across the street swiftly and quietly, passing oblivious humans strolling along the sidewalks. Their souls shone in their vessels, each one of them easy pickings for him in his current state - some of them, the ones perhaps a bit more faithful than others would have been harder to possess, but Crowley knew that if he had forced himself entry, their bodies would have been his. (Not that he particularly wanted to - to him, posessions had always seemed just a tad unhygienic, like the equivalent of using someone else's toothbrush). But when he had tried to get closer to the man watching him, within arm's reach of the see-through outline of his physical body, the human's soul burning an unusually fierce white inside him and Crowley reached out with his essence to discern whether it had been recently touched by another demon - there had been a double resistance repelling him so hard it had almost knocked him back into his own body before he could get a hold of himself.

There had been something imprinted on the soul, yes, but it definitely hadn't felt demonic. More like the opposite, actually. Crowley thought it had looked like a mark, a mark that had been giving off a fiercely protective and territorial vibe, hovering over the brightly pulsing soul like its own personal guardian. Not that this would even have been necessary - mainly because the other thing barring his way had been a rune Crowley hadn't seen in quite a while. It was a five-pointed star encircled by a burning sun, which in this world of souls now hovered like a shield between him and the mortal's body, blocking any access and hope to find out more until Crowley had retreated into his own physical form again.

"The guy must have been wearing an anti-possession sigil somewhere on him," Crowley said to Aziraphale, ignoring the strange impression of an imprint for now because it definitely hadn't been anything to do with anyone down below, "Which could mean a hunter. But at least that'd mean that no one else could have been controlling him, either."

"Well, that's...something I suppose," Aziraphale said at last, though it didn't sound like the angel could make a lot of sense of what the demon had been telling him, either. "What do you want to do, then?" he asked.

"For the moment?" Crowley asked, emptying the last of his wine. "Stay here, I think. If it really should turn out to be just a hunter, I can deal with that. I asked some of my old contacts to scrounge up info, see whether I can't find out who's behind this. They should have something for me tomorrow morning." He stood up and brushed some dust and sofa lint off his pristine trousers. Whoever said cleanliness was next to godliness clearly had never seen Aziraphale and his dust farm that he called a bookshop. "Mainly, I wanted to warn you," Crowley said. "Because if it is a hunter, I hear that they're not too fond of angels, either. Maybe just keep an eye out for strange things, okay?"

"I will, dear," Aziraphale replied and if the two stayed together in the doorframe of the shop after that just a few moments too long, there was no one around to see why that was.

xxx

It was past midnight and it had only gotten colder since the sun had gone down. Dean and Sam were currently sitting in the parked Impala, huddled up because even in the car it was cold enough that they could see their breath in the air. They had spent the rest of the day trying to figure out their next step, and had determined that the most promising lead was still the guy in the black suit, whatever he was, and the best lead to find him was that goddamn Bentley. It had taken some time to track the car down, mostly because Sam had first found out that the Bentley wasn't even registered, and then that even with advanced hacking skills, trying to access the footage of the ubiquitous security cameras proved impossible. ('Who has designed this camera system, some kind of insane, mastermind genius?' Sam had asked at one point, exasperated). Luckily, they had soon struck paydirt on another site – classic automobile lovers of London seemed to have made it their hobby to take pictures of old cars around town and Sam had found several that showed the Bentley they were looking for parked in an upperclass residential area called Southbank. Which explained why now two decidedly non-upperclass men were sitting in a black Impala, and chowing down on two burgers, one salad and a pie while watching one apartment in particular.

"Sure that's the one?" Sam asked, his eyes fixed on the building that housed several spacious, modern flats with large windows. The curtains on all of them were drawn shut.

"Fairly sure," Dean replied. "I saw him come out while you were gone getting food."

"What?! Why didn't you grab him?!"

"He was only out there for like a second," Dean defended himself. "Anyway, at least we know he's in there now when we break in later."

Sam frowned. "What was he doing outside?"

Dean shifted a bit in his seat. "He...threw a plant away."

"A plant?" Sam repeated. "Like, like one of the ones that attacked us?"

"Well, maybe," Dean said, though it didn't sound like he thought so. "Didn't look like it would, though. Was only a very small flower."

"And he threw it in the trash?" Sam asked, looking at the garbage can. "Should we...uh, check it out?"

"I don't think it could be still dangerous," Dean seemed to be picking his words carefully. "It looked like the bottom of the plant had been encased in cement. Like a...mafia killing."

Sam looked at him. "What."

"Look, the flower looked scared, man!"

Sam took a breath. "Okay." He took a few more seconds to stare out of the window again. Then; "Okay, Dean, are we sure-?"

"Look, something is weird about that black suit guy and if he is a monster, we kill it, alright?!"

"Okay, okay, fine!" Sam held up his hands. "With you on that. We just haven't had a demon yet that plays coin pranks and goes on and feeds ducks or whatever."

"And I'm telling you he is a demon or some other freak. I saw his eyes. And the way he disappeared on me in the park."

"Yeah, okay." Sam looked at his phone. "But we've been here for more than three hours now waiting for an opportunity to break in and it's two am already, don't you think-"

And it was at that moment that Sam Winchester was interrupted when the apartment they were watching burst into bright, roaring flames.

"Wha-?" None of the brothers had had time to do anything else but stare, before the largest window of the top flat already exploded, and a burning, flailing figure burst from it, falling down to the ground in a shower of flames and feathers and glass.

And then there was the howling, and more windows burst apart as invisible things seemed to crash through them and Dean's face showed that special kind of seasick-like terror that only barking without a dog can summon forth in those that have once been chased by hell hounds.

The figure crashed onto the wet asphalt, falling from a distance that no one should have survived. Dull thuds followed around him, casting shadows were none should have been where the fire had lit the street as if night was terrible day. And then the man with the sunglasses in the still burning suit took off running, crashes and patches of nothing where dog-shaped creatures were, roaring at his heels.

"...okay," said Sam, putting his salad down. "He might not be human, then?"

xxx

At one o' clock in the morning, lying in his comfy bed, Crowley had thought nothing might happen tonight after all.

The second his apartment burst into flames and the hellhounds crashed through the door, that theory (and the demon who had been considering it) went out the window.

Crowley could feel his ankles splintering and his shins crack as he impacted on the asphalt, but it was adrenaline that dulled the pain and panicked demon magic that healed them almost immediately as he took off running. He had briefly considered scrambling into the Bentley, but dismissed it – not only, if truthful, because they might have gotten to him before he got in, but also because even if those monsters should drag him to hell, a part of him really didn't think his poor Bentley deserved to share that fate.

And so, in the middle of the night in Southbank, one panicking, fully-fledged demon, a horde of foaming at the mouth invisible hell beasts, and two men in a '67 Impala with the steering wheel on entirely the wrong side for this country, were barreling through moonlit London on their way to Soho.

It said something about the city that this wasn't even too far out of the ordinary.

To be continued...

And Supernatural continues to be highly entertaining. Which is great, because it makes writing this fic all the more fun! :D As do your comments, of course - if you read, please review!