The Leandros brothers were not new to monster hunting. If you couldn't run from them, join them, right? They lived in New York City, right alongside a booming population of supernatural creatures and their human prey. Their business for odd jobs - item fetch, clearing someone's apartment of pixies, investigating disappearances - had gotten good traction, and sometimes they got more far-flung jobs. Cal didn't mind road trips now that they had a home and weren't on the run from his monster relatives.
So, somewhere rural, something's been disappearing people, haunting the farm, revenge, yadda yadda. Cal figured out in the first sniff that it was not a ghost and it was eating the disappeared people: human decay had a different scent at first than animal decay. He didn't like things that ate people. He was half-people.
Cal had no idea what it was, he'd never smelled it before, but that wasn't new. There were so many creatures of myth and legend (and none of hem were exactly like myth said, they were usually worse) but fortunately they were usually easily disposed of by hot lead.
Or a sword, as Niko preferred.
Niko - older, olive-skinned, blonde - was searching the house for clues while Cal poked around in the barn. Grumbling to himself about the smell of old bird shit, his voice was a low peat whiskey rumble. Jet black hair streaked with stark Auphe white, dandelion fine, iron grey irises flecked with Auphe crimson, Cal was pale-skinned and greyhound lean, and glad for his black leather jacket and jeans. It was chilly and damp out here. Glock in hand, he eased past the last stall and out into the barnyard.
Human, gunpowder, cologne. Cal's head snapped around as the scent came to him, his long ponytail swaying. "Hello?"
It's not an unusual kind of hunt for Dean. Monsters disappear people all the time, and Dean does his damn best to make sure he stops too many people from dying. Saving people, it's kind of his whole...
Thing. Gives a guy purpose.
Sam's on a hunt somewhere further out west, leaving Dean to his own devices for the time being. There's a lull in whatever friggin' apocalypse they're dealing with at the moment (take your pick, seriously, it's just one crisis after another in the lives of Sam and Dean Winchester), so they've split up to cover more ground, gank some demons, that kind of thing.
Dean's colt is gripped in his hands as he picks his way through the yard, looking for something, anything that'll tell him just what, exactly, he's dealing with.
What he doesn't expect is for someone else to be out there poking around with him.
"Who's there?" He says, grip tightening, rounding the corner of the barn.
“Me,” Cal answers on automatic, followed closely by, “Don’t shoot. Please,” as he sees that Colt.
His own gun is down, his finger off the trigger. He can move fast enough he’s not worried about not getting off a shot, but he’s really hoping it won’t come to that.
Weight balanced lightly, ready to spook backwards into the dubious shelter of the barn, his glance over Dean is deeply wary and skeptical: he clearly doesn’t expect any goodwill nor even for the plea of no shooting to be honored. Yeah they’re both trespassing but maybe this dude is legitimately here.
Probably not, sneaking around with a gun in hand, but Cal has no clue, okay?
Dean hadn't expected to find anyone else out here - not looking like they're investigating, like he is, that's for sure. Dean's brow is furrowed in suspicion, but he keeps his tone (and gun) level, not wanting to draw any more attention to either of them.
"Who the hell is 'me'?" He asks, and while Dean doesn't lower the gun completely, he certainly doesn't show any signs of pulling the trigger right away. "What are you doing out here?"
"Me. Caliban." Cal watches that gun very carefully, still poised to spook at the slightest indication the man's going to shoot. "We, uh, we're ghost hunting."
If it falls a little flat, well, he isn't usually in charge of the cover stories for a reason. Several, in fact! Not only does he lack Niko's stupid amounts of charisma and charm, he also lacks the ability to think on his feet in ways that don't involve pyrotechnics, and he tends to unnerve people simply by being what he is: half predator.
"We can leave, though, if you own this place?"
And come back later, this is a paying job after all, and there is something eating people. Maybe several somethings. They don't leave monsters that eat people alone, they kill those suckers.
Dean blinks at the honesty, the gun lowering a fraction, though his skepticism is clear on his face.
"Ghost hunting, huh?" He's run into 'ghost hunters' before, dumbasses in their twenties getting in way over their heads, getting themselves hurt, their friends killed. The guy is already making him a little edgy, and then throw that on top, Dean's kinda...
Shit shit shit Cal hates making up the cover story so much.
"Not...really. Mostly it's just wild animals or deluded people. Um, angry property owners are the biggest danger, really...so....you're not one of those?"
Curious, careful, because this dude might believe or know about the supernatural - and honestly either he does or he's a fucking serial killer, it's the gun and the way the scent of cordite and gunsmoke is woven into his clothes, he's around it a lot. So no, ghost stories are sometimes angry raccoons but sometimes giant human-eating monsters or, on occasion, knee-high sin-ugly venomous gnomes.
Cal does not like gnomes. The bites itch like hell.
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no subject
So, somewhere rural, something's been disappearing people, haunting the farm, revenge, yadda yadda. Cal figured out in the first sniff that it was not a ghost and it was eating the disappeared people: human decay had a different scent at first than animal decay. He didn't like things that ate people. He was half-people.
Cal had no idea what it was, he'd never smelled it before, but that wasn't new. There were so many creatures of myth and legend (and none of hem were exactly like myth said, they were usually worse) but fortunately they were usually easily disposed of by hot lead.
Or a sword, as Niko preferred.
Niko - older, olive-skinned, blonde - was searching the house for clues while Cal poked around in the barn. Grumbling to himself about the smell of old bird shit, his voice was a low peat whiskey rumble. Jet black hair streaked with stark Auphe white, dandelion fine, iron grey irises flecked with Auphe crimson, Cal was pale-skinned and greyhound lean, and glad for his black leather jacket and jeans. It was chilly and damp out here. Glock in hand, he eased past the last stall and out into the barnyard.
Human, gunpowder, cologne. Cal's head snapped around as the scent came to him, his long ponytail swaying. "Hello?"
no subject
Thing. Gives a guy purpose.
Sam's on a hunt somewhere further out west, leaving Dean to his own devices for the time being. There's a lull in whatever friggin' apocalypse they're dealing with at the moment (take your pick, seriously, it's just one crisis after another in the lives of Sam and Dean Winchester), so they've split up to cover more ground, gank some demons, that kind of thing.
Dean's colt is gripped in his hands as he picks his way through the yard, looking for something, anything that'll tell him just what, exactly, he's dealing with.
What he doesn't expect is for someone else to be out there poking around with him.
"Who's there?" He says, grip tightening, rounding the corner of the barn.
no subject
His own gun is down, his finger off the trigger. He can move fast enough he’s not worried about not getting off a shot, but he’s really hoping it won’t come to that.
Weight balanced lightly, ready to spook backwards into the dubious shelter of the barn, his glance over Dean is deeply wary and skeptical: he clearly doesn’t expect any goodwill nor even for the plea of no shooting to be honored. Yeah they’re both trespassing but maybe this dude is legitimately here.
Probably not, sneaking around with a gun in hand, but Cal has no clue, okay?
no subject
"Who the hell is 'me'?" He asks, and while Dean doesn't lower the gun completely, he certainly doesn't show any signs of pulling the trigger right away. "What are you doing out here?"
no subject
If it falls a little flat, well, he isn't usually in charge of the cover stories for a reason. Several, in fact! Not only does he lack Niko's stupid amounts of charisma and charm, he also lacks the ability to think on his feet in ways that don't involve pyrotechnics, and he tends to unnerve people simply by being what he is: half predator.
"We can leave, though, if you own this place?"
And come back later, this is a paying job after all, and there is something eating people. Maybe several somethings. They don't leave monsters that eat people alone, they kill those suckers.
no subject
"Ghost hunting, huh?" He's run into 'ghost hunters' before, dumbasses in their twenties getting in way over their heads, getting themselves hurt, their friends killed. The guy is already making him a little edgy, and then throw that on top, Dean's kinda...
Annoyed? Unsettled? Something like that.
"Dangerous job, isn't it?"
no subject
"Not...really. Mostly it's just wild animals or deluded people. Um, angry property owners are the biggest danger, really...so....you're not one of those?"
Curious, careful, because this dude might believe or know about the supernatural - and honestly either he does or he's a fucking serial killer, it's the gun and the way the scent of cordite and gunsmoke is woven into his clothes, he's around it a lot. So no, ghost stories are sometimes angry raccoons but sometimes giant human-eating monsters or, on occasion, knee-high sin-ugly venomous gnomes.
Cal does not like gnomes. The bites itch like hell.