"What in fucking hell…?" Dean stops the car about half a block from the barricade. From the blue and red lights, the milling camera crews and the – oh fuck – SWAT team members that are crouching behind plex shields and an armored van. The cathedral is right there, so close Dean can practically taste it. Taste of bile because Holy Cross is the center of all of this, and that means Sam is. *God damnit, Sammy…you got grabbed by some kind of…media-whore demon? Jesus.*
Whatever this thing is, it likes to put on a show, doesn't it?
"Now your little puppet-master figures it out. If we try to just walk in there, we'll be shot. So, you – " Dean shakes Rafe ever so slightly, muffled chime of metal from the hold-all. "You get me in there, you hear?"
Rafe just stares at him, bewildered, and Dean's starting to think he's fucking nuts but then it happens. Sudden shift of stance – of Rafe's eyes and whatever it is that's got Sam is grinning at Dean – cutting its glimmering eyes over to the hulk of the cathedral, stained with too many spotlights.
So Dean knows that whatever has Sam isn't Rafe, yet he treats Rafe like shit--what's with the animus?
"Hey, you! Get the fuck out of there or I'll shoot!"
Dean slams his shoulder into the door, loosing his grip on Rafe – not giving a fuck in that moment if Rafe makes it or doesn't. Focused on one thing, and that's getting inside.
Yeah, it's like willful hatred. Wanting to get Sam back is one thing, but this is something else, entirely.
Dean grabs shirt and coat and heaves them both further into shadow. Just as the actinic white of a spotlight is dazzling over them, the door slams shut.
"Jesus…Christ," Dean pants.
"You wish." Rafe starts untangling himself, making a soft sound of pain as he works his hurt arm free of the hold-all's straps.
Hah! I like an angel with a sense of humor. Gallows humor, too.
"What did it do? Do you know?" Dean gets to his feet – pulls his Glock free and clicks the safety off – chambers a round of blessed, wrought iron. Ready to go.
"I…think… There was a priest. He was mostly dead. It…sent him out with a gun."
Dean curses softly. Mostly dead is surely dead, now, and murdering some poor priest puts one more tick-mark in the 'kill it fucking hard' column in Dean's head. But it's also put every fucking officer out there on hyper-alert, and getting Sam free before they storm the place is getting less and less likely.
This thing certainly plans its showdowns well, but why all the high-profile mumbo jumbo?
"You saw it?" he asks, taking in the room. Light coming in through the high windows, splintering the darkness into strips. There is a door-less sort of closet along one wall, hung with the priest's vestments. Sink, crowded shelves – they must be in the sacristy behind the altar.
"I felt its...intent. Felt what it made the p-priest do." Rafe says, and Dean sees him shudder.
It has the power to control people with its mind, so why this? What's it planning? Big Bad usually operates in secrecy till it's too late for the good guys to do anything--this thing's all but filming its own docudrama.
no subject
Whatever this thing is, it likes to put on a show, doesn't it?
"Now your little puppet-master figures it out. If we try to just walk in there, we'll be shot. So, you – " Dean shakes Rafe ever so slightly, muffled chime of metal from the hold-all. "You get me in there, you hear?"
Rafe just stares at him, bewildered, and Dean's starting to think he's fucking nuts but then it happens. Sudden shift of stance – of Rafe's eyes and whatever it is that's got Sam is grinning at Dean – cutting its glimmering eyes over to the hulk of the cathedral, stained with too many spotlights.
So Dean knows that whatever has Sam isn't Rafe, yet he treats Rafe like shit--what's with the animus?
"Hey, you! Get the fuck out of there or I'll shoot!"
Dean slams his shoulder into the door, loosing his grip on Rafe – not giving a fuck in that moment if Rafe makes it or doesn't. Focused on one thing, and that's getting inside.
Yeah, it's like willful hatred. Wanting to get Sam back is one thing, but this is something else, entirely.
Dean grabs shirt and coat and heaves them both further into shadow. Just as the actinic white of a spotlight is dazzling over them, the door slams shut.
"Jesus…Christ," Dean pants.
"You wish." Rafe starts untangling himself, making a soft sound of pain as he works his hurt arm free of the hold-all's straps.
Hah! I like an angel with a sense of humor. Gallows humor, too.
"What did it do? Do you know?" Dean gets to his feet – pulls his Glock free and clicks the safety off – chambers a round of blessed, wrought iron. Ready to go.
"I…think… There was a priest. He was mostly dead. It…sent him out with a gun."
Dean curses softly. Mostly dead is surely dead, now, and murdering some poor priest puts one more tick-mark in the 'kill it fucking hard' column in Dean's head. But it's also put every fucking officer out there on hyper-alert, and getting Sam free before they storm the place is getting less and less likely.
This thing certainly plans its showdowns well, but why all the high-profile mumbo jumbo?
"You saw it?" he asks, taking in the room. Light coming in through the high windows, splintering the darkness into strips. There is a door-less sort of closet along one wall, hung with the priest's vestments. Sink, crowded shelves – they must be in the sacristy behind the altar.
"I felt its...intent. Felt what it made the p-priest do." Rafe says, and Dean sees him shudder.
It has the power to control people with its mind, so why this? What's it planning? Big Bad usually operates in secrecy till it's too late for the good guys to do anything--this thing's all but filming its own docudrama.