(no subject)

[always_enduphere]

It'd taken him less than five minutes to lose Cas.

They'll have to work on that when Dean gets back. Cas is more vulnerable than ever, newly human and frankly, pretty fucking terrible at it. Given their lives to date, Dean has no reason to believe that every evil creature in Darrow won't be gunning for them both, and if Castiel is going to survive this place, he needs to shape up, and fast.

Doing a final weapons check outside the dilapidated building, Dean makes a mental note to start Castiel's training, and then he breathes out and steels himself.

There are, at minimum, twelve vampires inside. For a nest, it's huge, but it's also high noon, and Dean has it on good authority that a few of them haven't eaten in days. They'll be desperate, but stupid, too, and if it turns into a rough fight, well...these days, Dean will welcome that.

Squaring his shoulders, Dean lets himself in quietly through the rotted door. The first kill is swift and silent, as is the second, but the third...

Dean flies through the wall as easily as a hammer through wet cardboard, but he keeps a hand on his machete, up on his feet and ready for the fourth vampire when it comes for him. His expression doesn't change as he parts another head from its body, but the other vamps are up and closing in, snarling as they form a half circle around him.

Hesitating. Dean quirks a grin he almost feels and wipes his blade on the untorn leg of his jeans. "Did you need an invitation?" he asks, dragging the edge of the blade against his forearm. It's a narrow cut, but the blood weals up, rich and red, and the nest goes mad.

With the sounds pouring out the broken windows, anyone would be insane to come inside.

Comments

[triskehale]

Dean has committed the scents of the people that matter to him here to memory. Stiles, Dean, Hayley, Castiel. He can sniff out any of them if he tries hard enough.

He's out running through the outskirts of the industrial district, weaving in and out of buildings both functional and abandoned, when he hears it. It's an odd snarling scream, neither werewolf nor human, and he stops to whip his head in its direction.

There's a scent that's entirely new to him, something dank and musty, dead but not, and underneath that there's Dean. Derek's eyes widen and he listens for his heart. There's a slight uptick to it. He isn't scared, maybe a little stressed, but Dean doesn't really seem the type to be much afraid of anything.

He's just in shorts and the worn white tank he arrived in, the one stained from the coffee Dean dumped on him, and Derek doesn't give it a second thought before he's running in his direction.

The door folds like wet cardboard when Derek kicks it open, barreling in with his eyes red and fangs extended. He lets out a loud roar and the creatures Dean's taking on ten to one all stop to whip their heads around. A few of them snarl back and Derek heaves in a breath and turns to face Dean, talking around his fangs as he flicks his fingers out to let his claws extend, ready for a fight. "This your idea of a pleasant afternoon?"