BLINDED NEPHILIM

    IT SEEMED TOO OFTEN, as of late, that cases involving mysterious and unexplained deaths and disappearances landed themselves across Dean’s lap. Nothing seemed to jump for his throat, nothing invited his pulse to quicken or his blood to thump, loud and heavy, in his ears. But a case was a case, and Dean would be damned if he let himself sit if he thought there was even an INKLING of something demonic or paranormal. So old routines remained the same; ironed suit was donned, and fake badge pocketed. He’d make the rounds; laugh through the stupid jokes, and smile through the shitty coffee- all of it, if it meant he caught something worthwhile. 

    THREE DAYS IN, AND DEAN found his name inside everybody’s mouth- and his own hands in even more pockets. The rumor-mill ran deep; roots woven deep within social circles and deeper still within the privacy of kitchens and living rooms. Everybody had a lead on somebody else- could have sworn they’d “seen so-and-so” with “that guy” who just looked like “they were trouble,” and by the end of the week Dean was too slap happy to give much of a damn. He was exhausting his supply of booze, and wasn’t too keen on making another trip to the store so “Old Lady Jeanie” could tell him he “could use some sleep” and “should smile a little more”, so when someone brought up Griffin’s name on Dean’s way out of a rinkydink ma’ and pa’ deli he figured he might as well follow up. 

    FORTUNATELY, THE KID didn’t take much time to dig up. Apparently, anybody that knew anybody knew exactly where he was because he was just. so. damn. suspicious. it made their heads spin and the little hairs on their arms stand straight up. A few questions and a few more pinched noses lead Dean to exactly where he needed to be in order to keep himself behind Griffin just long enough to be noticed. He wanted to cry when they finally stopped walking to acknowledge each others’ presence. “Yeah, Shaggy, I’m sure it wasn’t.” And Dean can FEEL the sigh that has been consistently begging for permission to leave his mouth- he’s convinced it’s his this town’s form of the plague, and he’s been exposed to the: I-don’t-give-a-fuck disease. “Nobody in this town knows a damn thing.” Arms overlap to secure themselves ‘cross Dean’s chest, posture configuring into something between pissed off and nap time. “But they sure as hell know you.”

   everything in him ached to RUN. fling his bag in the direction of the voice and sprint the other way, zigzagging a path across the street until he could dive into the covered safety of the woods. that wouldn’t guarantee his escape though. and it certainly wouldn’t make things better for himself if he got caught. but fear temporarily gave way to confusion as griffin listened to the other man talk.

   “who the hell is shaggy?” was that really what people thought his name was? griffin was sure he had introduced himself at least once or twice. definitely at the soup kitchen or church. did it really matter what they called him? griffin would be gone in a day anyways. there was too much trouble here for it to be a safe place to lay low any longer. still, griffin was mildly miffed that of all names to choose from, the town had called him SHAGGY. did he really look that bad? he supposed he could use a shower or... maybe the town was a little more spot on with their nickname than griffin would have liked.

         HENEEDS MORE TIME to think, yet as threat draws nearer, he prioritizes theother’s safety ( thankfully they’ve already clearedthe streets – or perhaps the terrified crowd did that on their own ). “UM, at your three-o’clock,” he attempts to give coherent direction, palm raisedas his powers send flames right backthe way they came. “Okay, we need a new idea,” his impulsive mind searches fora quick solution, “We could flood them out – there’s already a few clouds inthe sky, so we can make it rain !”

          NATURAL WIND COMES TO AN ABRUPT STOP AS HE LIFTS BLUE PALMS TO CHEST-LEVEL. Is this an arrogant display of ability, or does he have purpose? He notices embers in the distance, air molecules stilled as if they all exist in a ventless container. Suspended in midair, the size of the embers grow before they miraculously erupt into flames, telekinetic energy condensing oxygen and nitrogen atoms to limit the damage. It’s as if the heat is directed toward one specific stranger, and the local hero is quick to take action. “OKAY, TIME TO GO !”

          what did that ———— what did that mean? experiments? torture? he knew what that was like, torture. not so much the physical type, but… being held prisoner inside michael’s fortress, his head broken into, his nightmares twisted into something unbearable. every time now, every single time he saw sam and dean in danger… he saw it. he saw that red door, smoke protruding from underneath, and their voices, crying out to him for help as they slowly choked and burned and died. he couldn’t open the door. he couldn’t get to them. he couldn’t do anything!

          it wasn’t them. it wasn’t them, but it still resembled something. a future. a possibility. their lives were so… marred by danger. and that thought? that thought was crippling. confusing. wrong.

          what hunters, what angels griffin had come across? didn’t matter. he didn’t deserve that. no one deserved that. and the more jack watched him, the more he wished he could show him a better life. there didn’t have to be war. there didn’t have to be fighting, and running, and fearing for your life. he was scared too… all the time.

          “ what if i told you… what if i said ———— ” for a brief second, hesitance. don’t turn back now, don’t you dare. lie to him, he’ll stop trusting you. he needs to hear it. you need to tell him. remember? “ what if i said… that those men you’ve met, they’re not really hunters. it’s not about pain… it’s about keeping the world safe… keeping innocent people alive. what if i said that… i know some good hunters. who are fair… and kind. and will do whatever it takes to make sure you never get hurt again. ”

   without meaning to, he took a step back, almost stumbling as his leg betrayed his emotions while he tried to keep his expression in check. still, he couldn’t quite stop himself from turning left and right, straining his ears for the faintest sound to betray that the two of them were being observed.

   he couldn’t hear anyone else.

   “i’d say...” that you’re delusional! but griffin bit back his words, forcing himself to stand still and straight-backed as he fought a war against his biases. not all hunters could be bad. just as not all angels or demons or nephilim or cambions or humans were inherently good or bad either. griffin knew that! he did. but it was still hard to weigh the words against his own experiences and remember that what he had gone through wasn’t the norm.

   the part that griffin kept coming back to was that jack had been honest with him. again! if jack had meant to deceive him and lure griffin back to hunters, he wouldn’t have mentioned the hunters in the first place knowing that it immediately would have put someone like griffin on guard. jack himself seemed healthy and well-rounded. hell, he was alive and fed and probably had a safe place to sleep for the night, even if it was with hunters. could griffin say the same?

          eighteen? seventeen? sixteen? “ … sure… ” not even close, but the nephilim would let him believe whatever he wanted, if it meant he didn’t need to answer his question. did it matter? maybe it would be nice, to pretend. normal teenager. normal kid. everyone, they were always watching him. as if expecting him to pick up a knife sooner or later, start waving it around as if he didn’t know better. he knew better. he knew what he was doing. he hadn’t been on this earth long, but he’d figured it out well enough.

          right?

          apparently not. because of course, of course, the first thing he would do was offer him shelter, knowing full well that the second, the second this boy realised that the people who had raised him were hunters? he’d bolt. their friendship was a ticking time bomb, and yet… he wished he could prove him wrong. he wished he could force him to see, that not all hunters were the same. sure, he’d come across a rough crowd before. he’d had to prove himself. but hunters, they didn’t typically… attack, unless provoked. unless they had a reason. maybe then, their friendship wouldn’t be ruined. like me, like me, please like me!

          sam and dean… they wouldn’t leave a child on the streets. even a nephilim, like him…

          “ i can speak to them. ” hopeful tone, eyes fixed on the other as he watched, examined, learned. just open your mouth. just open your mouth, get it out of the way, say it. and yet, he couldn’t bear to. he needed more information first. make an informed decision. how deep did this go? 

          “ i guess you’ve… ran into hunters before. angels. that kind of thing… ”

   the way that jack asked about hunters and angels made griffin almost reply with ‘yeah? why, haven’t you?’ but he held his tongue. jack had been honest before with admitting that he had people looking out for him. it was entirely possible that jack’s experience with hunters and angels was far different from griffin’s own.

   fingers tugged down the edges of his sleeves until the fabric covered his skin from his neckline to the backs of his hands. it wasn’t quite enough to cover the scarring across the backs of his knuckles, so griffin crossed his arms and tucked his hands out of sight. 

   “yeah, i guess. i mean, i’ve... i’ve had some pretty close calls.” he didn’t want to get into details. jack was still a stranger, someone he had just met. and yet griffin shared a kinship with him unlike anyone anywhere else. griffin didn’t want to lie to him. and while he couldn’t tell jack everything about his past, he could tell him this. “angels are terrifying but–– in my experience, they’re rarely cruel. they just want us dead and done with. hunters though...” don’t share details. don’t get emotional. stick to the facts. but god damn, how the hell was griffin supposed to stay detached when he was still so traumatized by everything that had happened?

   “i escaped from a few hunters because of my age. they were conflicted about hurting a kid and sometimes i could use that to my advantage.” a tiny shrug lifted his shoulders. “others were a little more messed up, and when they found someone not human that they didn’t understand? they uh, learned what weapons worked on them.”