Having been away for a few months, Irwin had missed quite a few spectacles in the life of the Winchesters. One of them was, of course, their first meeting with the Archangel Gabríel, whom Irwin was sure was now being bugged by his brethren seeing he had given them the secret to his ruse.
Irwin hoped that the fact does not bite him in the ass, but he would guess that he would. As such, it was instrumental that he garner enough force by the time Gabriel figured out that it was him that unmasked his masquerade.
Another that he missed was Sam and Dean's misadventure with a shapeshifter. Even now, there were wanted posters within the state of their bank robbery and killing of a corrupt Baltimore cop.
Since he would need the Winchesters' help in his next plan, he figured that a favor from them would be a good start. That was why he was adamant about reaching Congressman Brown, who, according to Archibald, had sent missives and couriers to the manor in the past few months.
Seeing the call be picked up, Irwinn put on a friendly voice and said, "Good morning. This is Richard Greythorne of the California Greythornes. I'm calling in response to Congressman Brown's massive amount of letters and calls. Is he free at this time?"
"Oh, yes, sir. Mr. Brown will be notified immediately. Please hold." The voice on the line quickly turned into a nice hold music before, not a minute later, the voice returned. "You'll be transferred now. Have a good day."
"Hello, Richard?" Brown's voice entered his ears. "Ah, yes, thank you, dear. No, I'll be having dinner with Linda."
"Mr. Brown." Irwin cleared his throat, earning the man's limited attention.
Frankly, Irwin would rather not deal with the Congressman, but according to recent local polls, he was in the running for the next California senator. As such, it was better to invest in the man prior to his election and when he was still a neophyte in regards to the supernatural world.
"Yes, Richard. I've been calling you, young man, for the past month. How come you've only called back now?" Brown asked.
Irwin chuckled, "I've been quite busy, Mr. Brown. Hunting is a dangerous process and any sort of disturbance is… deadly."
"That I've seen and heard. I made contact with a few 'hunters' myself. Well, I say few, but only one of them really talked to me," Brown said with a scoff. "Apparently, most of them don't like my kind any less than the things they hunt."
"The demographics of hunters are biased on the ones that own guns and in rural areas with large swathes of uninhabited land, Mr. Brown. Don't worry, though. I'll let you hang out with the cool guys soon enough." The joke elicited uproarious laughter from Congressman Brown.
"I am eagerly waiting." He replied, "Now, I know this isn't just a social call, so what do you have in mind?"
Irwin went straight for the business at hand as he asked, "Before I tell you… is the call secure?"
Irwin swore he could hear a hint of smugness in Congressman Brown's voice when he answered, "Of course. I had to go down a path that I dare not walk, but it's one of the best there is currently. All for the greater good, son."
'Yeah, right.' Irwin rolled his eyes before continuing, "Do you know of the Winchester brothers? Sam and Dean Winchester? They've been involved in bank robbery and a dozen B&E charges…"
"Oh, yes, yes. I have a memo from the Attorney General here. They're the FBI's most wanted for a while now–Wait, are they… hunters?" Brown's tone turned a pitch higher.
"One of the best, sir. One of the best." Irwin replied. "They're in a bit of a tough spot. I was wondering how we can help them since the bank robbery was a botched Shifter hunt."
"A-a Shifter?" Brown asked with great curiosity.
Hearing his tone, Irwin was more than glad to give Brown a quick lesson, "You've heard of Shapeshifters, right? People who can change their appearance. Well, this is a bit more complex. They can molt their skin off like a snake, but they need to touch the person they want to impersonate first. They gain that person's memories, learn the mannerism and speech patterns, and basically become that person. It's not all good, though. Their molting is hard, slow and gross. It takes a few minutes or hours depending on the variety of the Shifter."
"Holy… mackerel." Brown went silent for a moment before speaking up, "H-How do we kill it or, crap, how do we even know that one is a Shapeshifter?"
"Silver can kill it. Like werewolves and most creatures, it is allergic to silver, with its skin burning at the touch of the metal. Also, cameras show their eyes glowing with light. Remember the bank robbery? The Winchesters were able to figure out who the Shifter is by looking at the bank's cameras." Irwin informed Brown with patience, treating the information as a trade for the favor the man was about to do for him.
Heavy breathing came out of the other side, which was replaced by Brown's unsteady voice. "Thank you for the information. That-this world sure is dangerous."
"It sure is." Irwin replied, "Now, about the favor."
"Ah, yes. Well, I can't do much at the FBI's level, but I'll see what I can when I turn up in their office. For now, tell them to lie low and you call me if they pinched. Maybe I can drop the charges on the cop killing since the guy's dead and no longer teflon." Brown sighed.
"That's good enough for me." Irwin said
He prepared to end the call by saying his thanks, but before he could, Congressman Brown called out an invitation, "Why don't you visit LA for dinner? That bit of information about Shapeshifter sated a deep curiosity of mine. I would like to pick your brain more… I mean, my wife is a good cook. She's from Kuwait, so–"
"I appreciate the offer, Congressman, but I'm heading to Nebraska at the moment." Irwin politely rejected, hiding the amusement in his voice. "But I'll give you a call if we're heading to or near LA. I know I still haven't repaid you for the favor in Portland."
"That's already been forgotten, but I suppose that would incentivize you to taste my wife's cooking," Brown joked.
"That would do it. Well, thanks for the favor, Mr. Brown. Call Ella, my secretary, if you're in a tough spot and need some hunters." Irwin ended the call before Congressman Brown responded.
He gazed towards Scott, who had just returned from the bathroom and asked, "Did you get the tickets?"
Scott nodded, waving it around before grabbing Irwin's luggage and his own. They traversed the airport, heading towards their gate with guarded ease.
Although Irwin had gotten over his fear of another ghost fetus attacking his airplane, there were still a number of monsters that could make this flight the one that hit the front page of the newspapers. More so if the son of a semi-famous philanthropist Archibald Greythorne was found amongst the wreckage.
"Where are we going, sir?" Scott asked hesitantly.
"We'll land in Central Nebraska. Then ride down to a roadhouse where Garth is staying." He replied.
Scott cleared his throat. "This Garth… is he kind of like me and Andy and Ansem, sir?"
"No, but if we get the timing right, we'll meet one of them." Irwin said.
It had surprised Irwin when Scott had been deferential to him, which was backed by the Child's sudden change of personality as Scott began following after him like some lost puppy. When the moment ceased to be amazing and amusing, Irwin the thought of the implications of the matter.
If the oath scroll Scott had taken caused his shallow endearment to Irwin to be magnified to this degree, what else would have magnified if he had allowed his loved ones to enter the same contract?
That was a dangerous line of thinking, he had thought then. But it kept popping up whenever he saw Scott, and that thinking led to Brunhilde's actions during their brief stop at Germany. She kept calling him 'Sir', even when he had told her to stop. He knew that her usage of the term came from a deep-seated wrath, from killing her friends and binding her to servitude, but what if was not? What if she had a modicum amount of respect or acknowledgment before she signed the contract and that, too, was magnified to an inordinate degree?
Much like Brunhilde, Scott and Ansem had a predilection to call Irwin some form of title befitting of his rank within the group's hierarchy. He didn't like it, but at this point, he would have to be accustomed to such treatment, and many more so in the coming months.
That was, of course, if his plans were to work.
'It'll work.' He hyped himself as he boarded the plane. 'If not, then we go to plan B.'
He turned towards Scott, who had sat beside him. If all else failed, then he would have to make do with what he got.
Plan B was simple. Turn Scott, Ansem, Garth, Gordon, Andy, and Brunhilde into super-soldiers. Strip them to bare essentials and plant as many magik and mystic he could, equip armor and weapons and accessories, and, if that weren't enough, force feed Lucifer's experimental Angel Grace.
'Last resort scenario, of course,' He soothed himself. 'Last resort.'
There were many things that Irwin could do with what credit he had, but like the archangels born of four, there was only so much he could do against a force of nature dictated by God himself.
So when a blizzard hits the moment they're plane landed in Central Nebraska Regional Airport, all Irwin could do was moan in exasperation as he rented a car to drive towards their destination.
Unfortunately for Scott, he had to listen to his newest boss groan and bitch about giving priority to growing his magik to be strong enough to blast the blizzard away one day. Apparently, the Trade Store could wash away the natural phenomena but for almost thirteen hundred credits which Irwin was sorely tempted to buy.
After half an hour of thinking, Irwin settled on setting the car's heater at maximum and cared not if they ran out of battery the moment they arrived at Harvelle's Roadhouse.
What had further ground his gear was that the snowstorm was messing with phone signals which caused the existence of satellite phones to permeate Irwin's mind.
As the storm grew stronger, so did Irwin's boredom. With nothing else much to do, he let Scott handle the drive as he reclined backwards and tried to rest.
It didn't take much to make him fall asleep given that his body and mind had synchronically alerted him that an of relaxation would do him good from the months of torture. Although he didn't actually remember it lasting that long–partly thanks to Alistair's old techniques–there were still remnants of muscle memory that was yet to be informed of their escape.
He didn't dream. No vivid imagery of yellow nor remnants of that scenery, merely darkness and lucidity. Frankly, Irwin much preferred that than to be always reminded of his past.
●●●●●
The silver eye blared in defeat as the tears of white cascaded down the glade of green.
moon
snow
His memories reminded him of the eye's name. It reminded him of many things, things that had helped him survive during the great tears of white.
winter
There it was again, memories filling his head beside the worms of the great land. Worms that had brought down the creatures of the sky, creatures that had fed him from the falling of the leaves and the burning of the wind.
fall
summer
"GRAAAH!" He roared, rejecting what he had been.
The old him wanted out, dreaming of becoming less than what he was now. But he would not let him out. He was better now than he was before.
Thankful for the grace of the land, he had found prey bigger than worms and tastier than the dogs that bite at the smell of blood. Dogs. He was reminded of that word during the last great–winter.
When the snow had invaded his Sanctuary and his hunger had grown up to his skull, he had found the critters of thick skin and thicker bone.
A sudden crisp snap invaded his side hole–ears, his mind recanted–which meant that something was moving within his Sanctuary, a hole within the glade of green that was beside the tall wall of rock.
Blood eyes scoured the Sanctuary to find the form he had taken before he became better.
mutated
"Huuuuummaaaaan." He whispered, crawling around the rocks that hid his hulking form.
The human that he had stored for the winter had gotten loose, rope that had tangled his body were still bound but had loosened enough for strained movement. He scurried forward, fear coursing through his addled mind as his tongue lolly-gaggle around his lipless mouth.
The only thought in his brain was to capture the food. Mother knows how dangerous it had been to trap this one. What more if it were aware of his existence?
"Run, Cyril. Run!" The food cried out, which hurried him more, for soon other food scurried away from the Sanctuary.
Luck was on his side as he reached the first food and grabbed its meaty hind quarters, causing it to kick and thrash away as if its meager strength would do damage to his form.
thrash
He liked that word. Most words he remembered were essential to elucidate thoughts, but thrash? Elucidate? That was expressive–
A burly food jumped into his gangrenous back and smashed its still-tied up hands on his skull. Pain was second nature, given that he was in a state of eternal hunger so the bashing was without merit.
Still, the food thrashing atop him was annoying him and preventing him from capturing the others. His magnanimous roar reverberated across the Sanctuary, causing echoes to blast like the howling winds atop the peak of the wall of rocks.
magnanimous
The roar affected the nuisance in his back, which allowed him to reach its body with his spindly long limbs and throw him towards an upper tooth of the Sanctuary. Both tooth and body broke from the throw and cracked from the fall, causing tasty morsels of flesh to be dipped into the sauce of life.
blood
Hunger dominated his rationale more often than not. Rear legs bolstered by the sight roared forward as he used his upper limbs to maneuver closer to the food.
"tasty… tasty!" He muttered, long simpering tongue languishing into the sauce of life–blood.
Before he knew it, his hunger had abated, and the food was nothing but bits of bone with stringy flesh. The sauce has scattered around the rocks and could no longer be eaten. Licked, maybe.
Still, the bones could still be used to taste what was now gone. He had enjoyed it, but knew his hunger was eternal and soon it would gnaw again.
"Huuuuummannnn." He whispered excitedly before gazing back at the first food to escape, only to find a trail of hemp and blood leaking out of the Sanctuary.
"hunt… hunt…"
●●●●●
Irwin was enjoying the effects of his slumber, in so far as it had no effects compared to the previous guilt-ridden dreams that he had been experiencing only Chuck knows when.
Yet for all that relaxation, his body and, subsequently, his mind had been trained, molded, and upgraded by the various skills, spells, and potions he had consumed in the seven or eight months.
As such, when the vehicle he rode upon rocked his body, emitted a bone-crunching sound in front of him, and lurched to a screeching stop, Irwin immediately awoke with an intense glare as he summoned an Angel Blade and the Indestructible Hex Bag from his spatial bangle.
"What's happening?" He asked Scott, who, as he turned towards the man, was wide-eyed and shocked.
Scott blinked hard before answering, "I-I ran over someone. A woman–Fuck!"
"Calm down." Irwin said in a neutral tone, noting that the Scott's contract still allowed him to react to unfamiliar situations like a normal human being.
'Ansem must be alienated in the house.' He thought before ordering Scott to lock the doors as he exited the vehicle.
He hid the Angel Blade on the sleeves of his blazer as he walked in front of the car, revealing the large dent on the rental's hood and the strings of bloodied hair stuck in its grill. Not a few feet away from the car was a mangled body of a brown-haired woman, still twitching and moaning from the pain of the hit.
With the headlight, his only illumination against the blustering wings of the blizzard-woven night, Irwin stalked closer as he scrutinized the woman. Clad in what appeared to be hiker's clothing, with hemp rope tied around her waist and two distinct holes puncturing her left outer thigh and left shoulder blade.
Irwin knew that her broken arm, dislocated hips, and broken skull may be their fault. The rest of wounds were not.
"Baby, this is why I love Nebraska." He muttered as he stashed the Angel Blade for an Angel Sword and drove the tip upon the asphalt, letting it stand there in case he needed a weapon.
The snow never bothered me as he kneeled beside her and saw how gaunt and pallid her face was. Small claw-like marks bedecked her cheeks and aquiline nose and there he saw a chuck of her left temple were missing.
No, not missing. Eaten.
"Awe-I mean, crap." Irwin cleared his throat and felt the woman's pulse. It was beating—that much was clear—but not for long.
"You owe me about 35 credits." He whispered as he force fed her a Health potion which would cut out a large portion of her already waning Stamina.
The potion's effect was potent, especially in her as it immediately closed the visible wounds before growing enough skin to heal the scratches and scraps that she had accrued from captivity.
'At least I think she was captured or, hopefully, in a BDSM dungeon gone very, very wrong.'
He hoisted her up and walked towards the back of the car, scanning the surrounding forest line before placing her on the back. He retrieved his sword and returned to the passenger seat.
"She's not dead." Scott sighed with relief. "Thank god."
"No. Thank me," Irwin corrected sternly, gazing at Scott's eye before wrinkling his lips into a smile. "God, I've always wanted to say that. Let's go to the nearest town, motel, or something. She still has broken arms and, frankly, I want to know why the fuck is she in the middle of nowhere."
Scott nodded, consulting the map from the glove box. "Alright. Nearest one is… Whiteclay. Small town, barely a town, actually."
The car restarted and rolled forward with a few hiccups, leaving a trail of gas and blood.
También te puede interesar
Comentario de párrafo
¡La función de comentarios de párrafo ya está en la Web! Mueva el mouse sobre cualquier párrafo y haga clic en el icono para agregar su comentario.
Además, siempre puedes desactivarlo en Ajustes.
ENTIENDO