(no subject)

[sunnydalealum]

It's a bigger room, this time. The better to fit two dozen zhirelin in addition to the sorcerers themselves.

The conference room setup this time is much hastier, at Emma's orders. The table's been upended against the wall instead of removed entirely; the blood in the spell diagram is still tacky. Everything's in place, including the two most vital components: the real Kshaartian mandrake, and the Scythe.

Emma's trying hard not to pace as the two red-robed apprentices bend to light the first candles, as the priests in their darker robes begin chanting.

We're in the homestretch. Go. Go. Go.

Comments

[gavemea_45]

Click.

Sam cocks the hammer back without even an eyeblink's worth of hesitation.

"You don't want to make the mistake of thinking that'll stop me, Emma."

Believe it. Make her believe it.

"If we're all gonna die here, you'll be first."

[sunnydalealum]

"And your partner'll be second."

It's not quite a shot in the dark -- this one's the voice she heard yelling a name just now. She's not looking at the gun anymore; her eyes are steady on his, and one might even believe the look if it weren't for the tension in her neck and shoulders.

"How about instead you move your arm, and we both stand up really slowly, and see if maybe we can stop the fighting long enough to talk terms."

[gavemea_45]

If she was hoping for a reaction, she got one.

"You want terms? Fine."

Something dangerous flares in Sam's eyes, and every muscle in his body tenses, bringing him to the edge of action.

"Call them off. Do it now, or die."

[sunnydalealum]

Her jaw clenches for a second, lips pressing together whitely ... and then moving in a tiny betraying tremor.

She draws a deep gulp of breath, her throat working against Sam's forearm, and raises her voice to carry. "Stand down. Everybody."

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean manages a smirk at the demonic sorcerers.

Hey, somebody's gotta do it.

"You heard the--"

bitch

"--lady. Stand down."

[sunnydalealum]

They exchange glances, and step away from Dean and from the table. One of the blue-scaled ones moves its hand, and the spell holding Dean relaxes slightly, so that he slides down the wall until his feet touch the floor.

(He still can't move away from the wall, though.)

[gavemea_45]

He doesn't allow himself to breathe a sigh of relief, not yet.

"Get up."

Sam takes Emma by the arm and stands, pulling her to her feet along with him. The gun doesn't waver, even as he sweeps a fast glance over the room, his gaze meeting Dean's in the process.

[sunnydalealum]

"You two with the Council?"

She's keeping her eyes on him, not letting herself glance at the others.

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean ain't too happy about the fact that he can't move his arms. Or his legs.

Or any of the rest of him.

But he's not gonna show that to anybody.

So Emma just gets a crooked smile.

"You even askin' that question, sweetheart, says you've pretty much made your mind up."

[sunnydalealum]

"Nooo ... if I'd made my mind up, that would have sounded like this."

A small simulated gasp, and in stylized tones of realization: "You're with the Council!"

[gavemea_45]

"Funny."

His hand tightens on her arm.

"Now. Here's how this is going to work. You're going to release my partner, we're going to take our leave, and you get to live."

[sunnydalealum]

"Or," she says thoughtfully, "you shoot me, my colleagues here kill the two of you, and I have a slightly better position to take at my next performance review. Which, let me tell you ..."

A tight smile, wry on the surface and furious underneath. "Not looking forward to it."

(She's still working hard not to look down.

Sam's foot isn't quite as solidly on the Scythe anymore.)

[hopeitsworthit]

Okay, maybe this calls for different tactics.

And Dean isn't ever gonna forget what he looked like as a skinwalker. Or, you know, what a skinwalker looked like when it looked like him.

"Guess that means we're gonna leave you for last, then."

Dean's smile this time isn't pretty at all.

Here's hoping the bravado behind it is hidden.

"Means we can take our time, right?"

[sunnydalealum]

She looks at him, and her mouth twitches slightly.

"Good luck with that."

And overlapping her last word, one of the blue-scaled demons seems to collapse in on itself, the red robe sinking to the floor in a billow of fabric --

-- and out of it leaps something gray and four-legged and hideous, right at Sam.

[gavemea_45]

There's no time for thought, and no real need for it as survival instinct combines with years of training and reflex.

Sam shoves Emma aside and trains his gun on the creature, firing rapidly.

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean tries to yank himself forward, to get away from the fucking wall, but--

Well, hey, what do you know?

It works.

He stumbles forward a step, training taking over as he hears the shots, as he sees--

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

-- the hellhound recoiling back, bleeding and snarling but not falling over --

-- two of the other demons raising their hands in the familiar gesture, beginning to glow yellow-white --

[sunnydalealum]

-- Emma dropping to a crouch, and lunging forward to grab the Scythe as Sam steps forward off of it.

[gavemea_45]

The hellhound's wounded, which means the more immediate problem now is whatever spell the two red sorcerers are gearing up to cast.

Sam doesn't plan on waiting around to find out what it is.

Can't give them the chance--got to get them both at once--

One more step forward, and it's just enough. Sam lifts the sideways-lying table and shoves it through the air at them, putting all his strength behind it.

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean takes half a moment to put a bullet in the blue demon slumped against the wall.






Okay, maybe two bullets. Just in case.

But the bulk of his attention is on Emma.

"Now where do you think you're going, sweetheart?"

He's got quite a grip on him.

Emma's gonna have bruises later.

You know--

If she lives.

[sunnydalealum]

Whether or not, actually.

Emma twists, bringing up the Scythe; she's making no attempt to turn it and use the blade, just trying to knock Dean's gun hand aside.

[hopeitsworthit]

Yeah, because Dean's never seen that trick before.

His fingers tighten on her arm as he swings his knee up into her gut, pulling her forward enough that her blow ain't going where she thinks it is.

Then he cracks her in the temple with the butt of his gun.

Hard.

Bitch is lucky she's human.

[gavemea_45]

"Dean? Talk to me, man--"

Sam doesn't spare a glance behind him, being far too occupied with what's going on in front of him. Two demons down and dead, but the other two are only temporarily downed by the table--

--which, Sam notices, has sent them sprawling into the middle of the spell pattern on the floor.

He snatches up the fallen black cloth that had once covered the table the Scythe had lain on, grabs one of the burning candles from the iron stands around the sides of the room, and strides forward.

The cloth ignites with a whoosh as Sam throws both it and the candle into the center of the marked spell-- and as it lands, the pattern explodes into lines of flame.

[sunnydalealum]

A wavering scream goes up, and one of the sorcerers staggers to its feet, arms flailing uselessly. Ripples of brighter light begin to run along the lines of fire, from the outermost ring inward: yellow, red, yellow again, white, sickly green.

(At the center of the spell-circle, almost invisible under the sweep of black cloth, a flaky gray root writhes in the flame.)

[comm-npc-2.livejournal.com]

The wounded hellhound is bleeding black onto the floor; it staggers, one paw scrabbling weakly at the floorboards, and tries to drag itself away from the flames. Looks like it's on its last legs.

Until it gathers itself like a coiling spring and leaps, teeth bared.