// The Demon Within
Disclaimer: The characters of Buffy: The Vampire Slayer and Angel are not mine and belong to Warner Brothers, Twentieth Century Fox, Mutant Enemy. They are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
*
Feedback is incredibly welcome.
*
Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural are not mine and belong to Warner Bros. and the CW. They are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
*
Series spoilers for Angel; spoilers for Supernatural S1-S2. For Cofax.
*
Dean was not expecting the stranger standing by the Impala to have a British accent.
The man was tall, and looked as though someone had sketched him in leather and shadow. But his eyes were blue, and real, and human.
"I'm sorry," Dean said, "we don't give lifts." Behind him, Sam muttered something that sounded like "unless hot chicks are involved." Dean chose to ignore him.
"That's not what I'm here for," the stranger said. "I understand that you're in possession of a gun. A special gun."
Sam said, in a drawl, "There are a lot of guns in the world."
The stranger's voice was ironic. "Of course. But this gun--there is no other like it. And there is someone I have to kill. It was the last thing I promised him."
"We're not really in the business of euthanasia," Sam said carefully.
"It doesn't matter anyway," Dean added. Something about the stranger, his air of quietly controlled desperation, made him think there was no point in lying about the Colt. "The last bullet's gone."
The stranger's shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. "Even so." He glanced over at the Impala, made an abortive motion toward its sleek black hood. "My friend liked cars; he would have appreciated yours...My life must have seemed so brief to him," he said, looking away into the wide wide sky, the unending blue. "I wonder, now, if he ever got used to the way humans die. It made him hard, at times. I wish it had stayed that way. It would have been better for us both."
Sam made a skittish movement. "You've died," he said bluntly.
"Takes one to know one, doesn't it?" the stranger said. "He traded his soul for mine--something else I expect you'd know about--and this time, this time I don't think there's any going back. I have to kill the demon in him. I'll swear it on anything you like, the Bible or fire or salt or ash. Whatever it takes."
"You have good sources," Dean said.
The stranger's mouth curled. "Indeed."
"Come with us," Dean said, "and maybe we can work something out." The clock was ticking for him, was ticking for all of them. He had made worse gambles.
The stranger straightened. "I'm good with a gun."
"You'll have to show us," Dean said, and for the first time he thought he saw the stranger smile.
* * *