Someone To Watch Over Me

[mrkillershades]

Keeping the Winchesters, even one of them, out of trouble for any length of time wasn't a job for one angel. They needed a whole damn squad for that, but seeing as they were a little short on that...well, it was just one broken angel tonight. Maybe half an angel. Two-thirds at most, Saul figured, these days with the shape he was in. Still enough for some things, at least, but not at the top of his game.

It didn't help that Abaddon's new recruit fodder was smarter than the usual grunt. This team was working in concert, using modern tech, actually taking advantage of the territory. Saul would almost applaud them if his arms weren't already full of their lookout's corpse. Sorry, buddy. At least the hell-ride's over now. Usually, they were thugs, but the redheaded hell-whore had, apparently, started lining up thugs with tactics.

Like sniper rifles, because while they weren't much good against angels, they worked just fine against humans like Sam Winchester.

The professional hitman whose body Saul inhabited just looked on with amusement. Like all the other angels that had been expelled from Heaven when the Gates slammed shut, Saul had been forced to find a host very quickly, and the one that he'd wound up with had been...well, okay, kind of an unconventional choice. It was lucky that the guy had a weird sense of humor, to say yes in the first place. It was a tenuous arrangement and Saul was sure he could get the boot at any time, but it was better than drifting helplessly, and for the time being, they seemed to be getting along okay. Saul didn't have to shove the man's consciousness in a psychic lockbox, and could draw on his experience and knowledge instead, which was incredibly helpful.

And, well, even Heaven had its hitters. So they had at least that much in common. A lot of angels that wouldn't normally be out and around were now free because of the Fall, and Saul was one of them. For better or worse, with his wings charred down to nothing and doing errand boy duty for one of the very few angels left that he trusted not to shank him if he turned his back on them. Tophiel might be a bit...stiff, but his word could be relied on, and he'd helped Saul heal as much as he was going to without getting back to heaven.

So, in return for that, a favor: take a shift babysitting these two while Tophiel handled whatever else he was up to. Or whichever one of the brothers was, at the moment, the least guarded/most likely to get into trouble on their own at any given moment.

Plus, making at least a small dent in the opposition, which was something Saul was very well suited to. Letting the smoking corpse down to the ground and slipping his blade back into his sleeve, he silently dropped down the metal cageway of the fire escape to the ground, moving to keep his charge in sight.

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[hunter_returns]

Sam knows there are demons up on the walkways above him, but he isn't deterred. Dean. He has to find his brother. Abbadon still had loyal followers and they were all gunning for his brother. Or what was left of him.

So if he wanted to find Dean? He kept teaching them.

For years he'd ignored his addiction but at long last it was proving useful. He could sense thm nearby, that sweet smoky smell, a promise of power and peace if he'd only just give in.

He had to find his brother. He had to find Dean.

[mrkillershades]

Saul would respect that single-minded determination more if it wasn't likely to get Sam killed, because he could smell the demons, too- restless, determined, seething like a nest of wasps and starved for violence. Abaddon seemed to have a knack for drawing in the crazies even among the damned, which was saying something.

Crowley at least had something like rules, and that was why if given the choice, Saul knew who he'd rather have in charge of Hell. It had to be someone, so it may as well be the one who at least pretended to be civilized.

But so much for just lurking on the sidelines and clearing a path. This was going to be messy. Saul only watched the younger Winchester bulling forward for a second before shifting his focus. Feet on the concrete, he bolted up the side alley, angling to catch half of the pincer guard ahead. He still had the element of surprise- they'd be expecting Winchesters, not him. Maybe Sam thought he could do just fine against the watch, but it was really better not to test that. Especially since it was only a matter of time before kicking the hive brought the rest of the bastards out to play.

Tophiel was going to stuff a pillow with him if he botched this, and Saul would have seriously preferred to avoid giving himself away to either of the Winchesters, given the track record of anyone who hung out with them (and Castiel in particular, but that was another story...), but Eve's fucking apples, this one was asking for trouble. He huffed a sigh, and slid his blade from the sleeve of his calfskin jacket again as he waited for the chaos to start.

[hunter_returns]

The demons were itching for violence, but that was just fine with Sam. Because he was going to get answers or by Christ he was going to carve them all to ribbons. He could keep a lid on his anger most of the time, but losing Dean had snapped his fairly strict sense of self-control. Violence and death and he'd keep going until he got his answers. Where was Dean?

It's a small mercy that he hasn't backslid far enough to start drinking their blood again, to torture the demons into what he needed to know.

Yet. The temptation is there and it's getting harder to resist. But Tophiel had promised him aid and he trusted the angel. He'd hold on as long as he could. Dean was all he had left, and he wouldn't lose him. Not to the Mark, not to Crowley, not to anyone.

[mrkillershades]

Saul generally made it a habit not to get involved with anyone crazier than he was. At least he wasn't likely to trip over too many that fit that criteria, but the guy who'd dug up the Mark...yeah, that was up there.

But this he could deal with. The less crazy brother, until he did something catastrophically stupid and not just insanely reckless. Blade out again, Saul felt the cauterized stumps of his wings twitch uselessly behind him, trying to bring wings he no longer had around to bear. He slid up behind the guard just as he turned, eyes flickering beetle-black in recognition just as the silver plunged home. Evil black smoke erupted, the brush of both souls escaping, and Saul shoved the dying body forward, blade flashing bright and red-stained as he stepped out of the shadows. One claw of the pincer broken off, though the low, dissonant buzz of demon presence still stirred around him, restless and ready.

That was fine with him. There were plenty of them around, if he used up a few getting answers. Right now, he was just clearing a little bit of yard trash and...establishing his credentials, since being shanked by his charge wasn't part of his intentions. "Sniper's already dead." His voice breaks the silence, low and whiskey-rough and oddly lacking the over-precise enunciation of most of his brothers.

Saul just has a knack for being different, apparently.

[hunter_returns]

Sam knew that an angel had been shadowing him. If it wasn't Tophiel, it was an ally that he trusted. The voice is vaguely familiar and Sam nods, shifting to set his shoulder against the wall. He'd stirred up the demons and by god he was going to get some answers. Someone had to know where Dean and Crowley were. The demon killing knife flashed as the big hunter shifted and moved, taking down another demon with a quick, violent blow.

"Thanks." Sam draws the gun from his holster and fires, taking another demon and dropping them. Carving a Devils Trap on the bullet takes time, but damnit it's effective.

"I need one alive. I need answers."

[mrkillershades]

"Trusted" might be a strong word, but Saul could be relied on to do what he said. More or less. The problem was mainly that he could also be relied on to do at least a few things that he hadn't said, which made things...interesting around him.

But, the fact that Winchester knew he was coming made things easier. Saul strolls out of the shadow, turning his blade so that it flashes clean, suddenly blood-free. Dirty-blond, dressed sharply in expensive jeans, top-shelf cowboy boots, and a brown suede jacket, he looks like he's wandered out of a menswear catalog, but the glint in his gold eyes is faintly unsettling, laser-bright sparks over what was probably human brown. "Might go through a couple, if you want good answers. Abaddon's been stepping up her game and her toy soldiers actually have some fight in them." As opposed to being fervently devoted to the cause of self-preservation, which was usually far more common in demons.

He decides that he really likes English. It's short, useful, and to the point, not a flowery mess like his native Enochian. He's been through every corner and crevice of his host's brain, and picked up a nice bunch of vernacular in a few languages, but he doesn't think Sam will appreciate his Vessel's advanced knowledge of how to call someone a whore-hopper in Russian. Borrowing the man's attitude, though, is like slipping on a jacket, and surprisingly easy after just a few minutes of rummaging in his mind.

Saul turns, doing a slow half-circle as he listens in the silence. Running boots, which isn't a surprise. His eyes flicker to the hexed blade in Sam's hand, then back at the bigger man. "I think we'll have plenty to pick from, though."