Hunter of the Ages

There was literally nothing in that world that could surprise Dean Winchester anymore. If someone expected him to be scared of a situation or furthermore, SHOW that sort of emotion, then he was wrong. Maybe in front of his brother or Castiel he could admit that or say it out aloud, but never in the face of an enemy. No matter how his insides were tensed up. That was something he had learned from his father: Push against the fear, take a breath, slow your heartbeat down, because most monsters sensed fear.

And so the hunter stood there, pushed against wall once more, fully knowing a damn HELLHOUND was in front of him, on the verge of possibily killing him - and a slow smile appeared on his lips, or was it even a half smirk? It was a very well trained mask when he was on his own, when Sam didn’t see him. When all was different. “Name one reason why I shouldn’t kill her.” Did that guy really think his speech had any influence on him? Years ago, maybe. In the meantime, he had killed Hitler, he had killed too many to count, always out of desperate moments. A Banshee here? In Dean’s understanding, it could only be an enemy to kill those who were easy to kill in here, already crazy. “And add another why I shouldn’t kill YOU.” he added, completely calm, green eyes darkened a little.

His hand was close to the demon blade, but he didn’t go for it yet. Maybe he wanted to know what was going on first. Why shouldn’t he kill her, and why had the hound made him go for his weapons when he shouldn’t kill her? There was a gap he didn’t understand. Otherwise, he would have gone for the blade and given his best shot to get rid of that monster. No, he wasn’t as scared as he should be. Maybe a darker part of him had already died inside, the part that was purely human and had those emotions that should exist in such a situation. Dying and returning to the world all over, it left his scars. Most of the time very well hidden.

                                      And what was that thing about being pushed against the wall?

“Come on. Do you need a treat to talk?” Who else than Dean Winchester could stand face to face with a HELLHOUND and still try to provoke him? This could go terribly wrong but in the back of his mind he knew he would be dead already if there wasn’t something left to do, something he was needed for. Calculating risky situations was always important - sometimes it went wrong. Sometimes it didn’t. This time, he nearly leaned against the threat in front of him. 

IT WASN’T THE DEFIANCE THAT MADE THE HELLHOUND GROWL. It wasn’t that know all smirk on the hunter’s lips or the lack of fear --- that gaze Dean Winchester gave him being the same one he had used on others in the past. The legend of the Winchester’s grew by the day and even Halwyn knew that threats would not break them. Not Sam. Not Dean. But the Hellhound did not threat. Threats were for humans and demons and angels. Threats were for those that hesitated. For those that took either joy in seeing the fear in someone’s eyes or take that breath of peace once they realized they didn’t need to resolve issues with violence.

A HELLHOUND DID NOT THREAT. Halwyn did not threat --- as he punched a hole on the wall mere inches away from the hunter’s face, his glowing eyes narrowing towards Dean Winchester as he was nothing more than a particularly large cockroach that he could squash at any minute. That was why the Winchester’s were legends. They survived countless fights before and all due to the simple fact that the ones they fought were too busy wanting to play with their food. It would give the hunters an opening. It would allow them to fight back. What stopped Lucifer from blowing Dean from existence with a snap of his fingers? His hubris. Arrogance.

A HELLHOUND HAD NO SUCH NEEDS TO CAUSE AN IMPACT. They did not require to play with their food, to feed their own human emotions --- for there was none. Instead, Halwyn pushed the other away yet again, not even bothering with him anymore. Yes, he could easily kill Dean Winchester by setting him on fire and turning the legendary hunter in nothing more than ash. “She’s innocent.” There were indeed Banshees driven insane by their powers and their connection to the dead. Few were the ones that withstood the weight on their shoulders and endured the constant voices in their heads. “She’s trapped. I can --- FEEL it.” And whatever threat that had consumed the asylum, the Hellhound knew he couldn’t deal with that alone.

”YOU CAN’T KILL ME FOR I’M NOT TRULY ALIVE.” That was all the justification Halwyn would give, turning on his heels and starting to walk down the hallway, seeking the origin of the screams. Whether Dean would follow him or not was of little concern --- but they would not be able to stop whatever was happening there on their own. It was the only reason why Dean was still alive. That and the fact that Halwyn had no qualms with the hunter personally. “Something bigger takes shape inside these walls. Something that needs to be stopped. Contained. Destroyed.” The balance demanded it. The supernatural secrecy needed it to happen. “We deal with what is causing this and we are done. You won’t touch her --- or I will send your burning corpse to your brother on several boxes. And no. This is no threat.” A Hellhound had no need for threats.

mason resisted the urge to roll his eyes, moreso in amusement than annoyance. “neat. so you’re telling me it works as hellhound repellent, too?” just to be an insufferable brat about it, he spritzed it on one more time under his armpit, though he knew that would hardly mask the heavier scent of soot. 

he, of course, watched while the hellhound made meticulous work of dressing, like he wanted mason to be a pervert about it. it wasn’t so much that mason was prudish; he just gave his rare guests the privacy they deserved, despite asking for it or not. but, the hellhound seemed to be way beyond personal space, as his dick was out in the sanctity of mason’s bedroom without so much as foreplay. after he shrugged on a tattered leather jacket, mason pulled up to the other male and slipped his fingers to the open folds of halwyn’s unbuttoned jeans. the hellhound was tall, gargantuan by the average male’s stature, but he didn’t have to look down more than two inches to take in that shit-eating grin on mason’s face. his calloused fingers slipped over that warm cock, tucking it carefully back into his zip. 

“well, good thing i’m not yours, then,” mason purred, tone of voice laced with a seductive playfulness usually reserved for more risque scenarios. if the hellhound thought he was some himbo with some desperate agenda to be laid by him, well, he was sorely misled. mason was desperate enough to wear cologne in the hopes that he might get lucky at the bar, but he wasn’t picky about who the guy or gal might be. “you coming?” he asked as he fetched his keys from the fruit bowl and twirled it around his finger.

WHY HASN’T HE SEPARATED MASON’S HEAD FROM HIS NECK YET? The question seemed to linger on the Hellhound’s mind. Not that the hunter was annoying to that extreme. To be annoyed with an individual was nothing more than a pesky human emotion that Halwyn did not suffer. But there was something close to it --- especially when Mason started to act even more challenging and use even more cologne in an attempt to annoy the crap out him. Childish, if one was to put some sort of label on the hunter’s behavior. That was why the Hellhound didn’t waste time with humans. There were slaves to their own emotions, to that annoying need to prove themselves to be something more than they actually were: the bottom of the fucking food chain.

FOR A MOMENT WHEN MASON MOVED, the Hellhound followed his actions with the corner of his eyes --- not even reacting to the sudden proximity between the two of them and the sudden warm hand being shoved inside his pants so that the hunter could adjust him inside those pants. The pesky little shitty grin was almost annoying yet again and perhaps any other person would produce any sound --- from a moan to a yelp --- by having a man like Mason shove his hand down his pants. If he was human, sure. He would have reacted. Perhaps he would have also reacted to that if it wasn’t for the grin on the hunter’s face, that insufferable scent of cologne surrounding him like a thick fog.

WAS THE HUNTER THAT STUPID OR WAS HE JUST SUICIDAL?

IT WOULD TAKE LESS THAN A SECOND TO PROPERLY DISPOSE OF HIS WRETCHED LIFE, and yet, Mason seemed to deal with him like he would any old friend or working companion. Almost like they possessed some sort of friendship --- just because they happened to bond over the same hunt. Humans were such complicated and stupid individuals. A growl formed as Mason pulled away, leaving Halwyn to finish his own dressing, wanting to get away from that cologne infested room as fast as he possibly could. Were all hunters that insufferable? He wouldn’t know… the ones that opposed him were all ash by now.

There were so many thoughts running throughhis head, all involved different materials that could kill a Banshee or anyother creature he would find. The only thing he was truly good at? Killing amonster, finding ways to get rid of it. He had learned that from such a youngage on, that it was every second of his life right in him. And then, with a very out-of-the-blue action, he was pulled to an apprupt stop,pushed against the wall. His back hit the wall with a thud. A gasp came overhis lips and he stared at the stranger wide-eyed and maybe a little bit inshock. What the hell? It was only in that moment that he had a first closer look at that male nurse.Intense glance, pretty face, strong hands – for the tiniest of seconds, heatrushed through him. Getting pushed against a wall, was nothing that happenedoften to him. Within another second, his mind was able to process the situationagain.

Weapons. “Don’t. Touch. Me.” His voice was coming off rougher was planned, as he pushedhimself off the wall again. “Call me stupid and I’ll show you that I can killyou with my bare hands.” Empty threat. Not even worth saying it, but he was outof balance and he had to let that steam go, so why not against a damn (strong)stranger who was telling him what to do? But he was right. With a deep breath, the hunter turned towards his room, jogging towards it,trying to be as fast as possible. Underneath the mattress, he had prepared abelt that was connected with his demon blade, a gun and another knife. Just incase. Who the fuck was that guy? Was it another hunter? Possible. Questions to beasked later. Dean fixed the belt, cursing a little. Where was he supposed toget some Gold from now to kill it? He hadn’t expected a Banshee, so he couldprobably only hurt it or get rid of it for tonight until he was betterprepared. Running back to the other hallway, he glanced at the guy and wentfurther down that direction. “What about your not visible weapons?” He didn’t like that. Not knowing who he was talking to, or if they were even on the same side. Watching his own back was one issue.Maybe next time, he really should consider taking someone with him on such a hunt.                      “We don’t have time, so I’m going to ask you this. Are you on my side, meaning against that bitch?”

EMPTY AND VEILED THREATS THAT DIDN’T EVEN SEEMED TO BOTHER THE HELLHOUND. Any other supernatural creature would think twice --- about pushing Dean Winchester against a wall like that. They wouldn’t even dare to look his way, probably turning tail and going back to under whatever rock they crawled under from. Dean Winchester was a hunter of legend. His deeds were spread across Hell, Heaven and Earth and every single supernatural being was aware that the Winchesters had a particularly high kill count when it came to their kind. All facts that would make anyone else cower under the threat of being killed by the hunter’s bare hands. But not him. So the threat itself was nothing more than attempt coming from the hunter to look intimidating. That would have worked… against someone else.

AS DEAN BOLTED TO HIS ROOM, Halwyn remained on his spot, pressing his ear against the wall to attempt to pinpoint the location of the Banshee. There was something calling for him. As Harbingers of Death, Hellhounds and Banshees nurtured a tight relationship that few could even begin to understand. A Banshee merely alerted others for their death --- often screaming when someone died as well. One being in that Asylum wasn’t by choice. It reminded him of the other Banshee --- Lydia Martin. Another woman captured and tossed into a cell surrounded by monsters. An Asylum that concealed more than it let on. It was like Eichen House all over again --- but only this time, Halwyn had no hand on its founding or the creatures trapped inside.

THERE WAS LITTLE TIME TO LOSE, so when Dean returned, he followed the hallway down the dark and narrow pass --- ignoring the question regard his weapons. Dean Winchester was not required to know what he was or what he sought inside those walls. All he should care about was to put a stop to whatever madness was going in that Asylum. It would be the plan --- until the moment the hunter called the Banshee a BITCH and saying that he was up against the Banshee. Not the type of thing that one would say to a Hellhound but then again, Dean had absolutely no idea with whom he was talking to… was he?

Symbols for the mun

💌 I just think you’re amazing

mason was truly minding his own business when halwyn came out of the showers just as naked as he’d gone into it. naturally, his body curled a little as the hellhound drew near to sniff all the places he’d spritzed his cologne on. “hey, just because you don’t like boss, doesn’t mean others won’t.” he scoffed. “it’s a good scent, you’re just sensitive.” not to mention picky, if a few sprays of cologne were going to stop him from enjoying a fun time. properly scandalized, mason rubbed his neck where the heat had bloomed, trying to soothe the warmth away. 

the hunter swung his legs over the side of his bed and sat up to watch the hellhound inspect his clothes while standing there naked. a part of him thought this scene rather bizarre, because a fellowship between humans and supernatural creatures was usually rare, and here was halwyn, ass-naked in his pad. how had he gotten here? mason wondered the same thing halwyn did, though a part of him knew that his encounter with halwyn wouldn’t be the first time he’d eloped with a supernatural creature. something about his charms apparently convinced them that mason was worth keeping around alive than dead. 

“besides, why should i take advice from a guy who smells like a campfire?” he retorted with a heaping side of sass. “yeah. you.” he wouldn’t admit it in the “heat” of the moment, but the scent of burnt wood was rather attractive on the hellhound, but it still sufficed to say that halwyn carried about him an unmistakable and unique smell of his own, one that he couldn’t easily forget. it was intense and smoky, like charred leather or something else attributed to that macho persona halwyn pulled off.

HUMANS WOULD CALL THAT EXCHANGE A BANTER. A back and forth conversation filled with sass and remarks designed to pull a reaction out of someone, just to inspect the chips on their armors. The comment regarding the cologne was honest --- for the Hellhound had no reasons to sugarcoat things or even lie --- probably due to the simple fact that his sense of smell was far more evolved that any lesser being. While to Mason it would seem a couple of drops of cologne were acceptable, to Halwyn it felt like the hunter had showered in that very same cologne. He didn’t understand the need to mask one’s natural scent. Animals did not require those sorts of scents to attract a particular mate. The same happened with humans.

”IT’S TOO STRONG.” Reaching for the pants and inspecting them once more, Halwyn turned towards Mason with absolutely no shame in his naked form. He didn’t understand why humans were such prudes when it came to nudity. “My sense of smell is more developed than yours.” Not that he needed to teach Mason what he already knew but Halwyn wanted to make his point across. Starting to dress the pants without even bothering with dressing underwear, Halwyn’s eyes remained on the hunter as he slowly buttoned the denims, fingers brushing against his own member and dark pubes. “Natural scent is more appealing.” At least to him. The different and fabricated scent was often too strong for a supernatural being to endure. Humans did love it --- but not him.

COLLECTING THE SHIRT, Halwyn continued to dress like their exchange was the most normal interaction ever. He paid no attention to that sort of thing. Minor details to him but they seemed to be bigger issues for humans. Even after all that time mingling and walking around surrounded by those hairless apes --- they still managed to surprise him. One way or another. “The natural scent is more appealing. Arousing. You can tell who a man is by his scent. Hiding it under fabricated products is illusory. Provides you a temporary feeling of attraction, of hope that someone will be drawn to you by that scent.” Maybe he was used to the natural scent of the flesh. To the scent of sweat. Not that it mattered.

“oh, drat,” mason droned, his tone of voice dripping with sarcasm. “you caught me.” if the hellhound wasn’t such a fan of human sentiments, then he should also be detached from materialism, too, or at least, that was how mason saw it. surely, a few bucks were nothing to an immortal hellhound. he shrugged nonchalantly. “yeah, i don’t blame you. the bald eagle’s a bit much,” he pressed the shirt to his nose to take an experimental whiff and scowled, for it reeked of old sweat and cheap booze. he was diving into his drawers again, fishing out one of his larger shirts when he turned and saw halwyn in his birthday suit.

“that way, on your left.” he said after a moment’s pause of staring shamelessly. “yeah, go ahead. not like this is my place, or anything. make yourself at home.” his complaints obviously fell on deaf ears as the hellhound roamed his pad and marked it as his territory the moment he walked in. while halwyn was in the shower, mason also changed into something casual. there was still soot streaked across his cheeks and ash in his hair, but a quick wash at the kitchen sink spruced him up enough for a night out. not that he had any company to impress, because the hellhound had made it clear they wouldn’t be braiding each other’s hair by the end of tonight, or whatever. just in case, though, mason spritzed on some cologne against the crook of his neck and below his waistband. a hunter had to be prepared for any situation.

he then waited for halwyn to finish showering, lying casually in bed with a tablet in his hands. he’d write a report now, conveniently leaving out the fact that he had an immortal hellhound as help who’d done most of the work. that’d look terrible on his resume, and compromised halwyn’s anonymity, so he left it out.

a thought crossed his mind: should he have warned halwyn that the hot water didn’t work? nah.

ANY OTHER DAY AND HE WOULD BE BACK AT HIS PLACE. And his place often was an hotel if he was simply passing --- or some apartment that he would acquire if his stay in a specific place would be longer than usual. Money was what made the world go round. Not that the Hellhound cared about materialistic things or even a place to stay… but considering he was mostly human to everyone’s eyes, he could very well made sure he would be comfortable whenever he was. Just because he had claimed a body for himself, it didn’t necessarily invalidate the few commodities he could have. An uncomfortable host made for an uncomfortable stay. And even if his host was mostly silent throughout the day, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t be vocal somewhere in the darkest corners of his mind.

THE WATER WAS FREEZING, something that didn’t bother the Hellhound as increasing the temperature of the air around him was child’s play. While extremely low temperatures were a weakness for him, cold water from the shower offered nothing more than a couple of seconds of discomfort before the entire bathroom started to resemble a sauna. How did he get into this situation, to begin with? As he washed the grime and ash from his body, Halwyn’s mind replayed that night yet again. Somewhere along the way he had decided that going out to drinks with the hunter would be a good idea. It was stupid. They wouldn’t become the best of friends --- braid each other’s hair --- but there was some latent respect towards the human. It would seem keeping the same vessel for long would make him start experiencing human things.

PATHETIC.

TURNING THE WATER OFF AND REACHING FOR A TOWEL, Halwyn left the bathroom and walked back towards the bedroom --- stopping on his tracks the moment he entered the room. There was this… odd scent in the air. Something that wasn’t quite natural. Taking a sniff once more, Halwyn cared naught about approaching the bed where the hunter was laying on, nearly brushing his nose against the other’s neck and then move it towards his waistband. He didn’t need to be THAT close. He could very well catch that stench several miles from where they were. It was just one of those things that he enjoyed doing to make people uncomfortable… and also because he could just… do it. “If you want to get laid tonight, you won’t get it with that cologne. You stink.” Never one to hold back any punches, Halwyn dropped the towel on the ground as he inspected the clothes Mason was borrowing him. No eagle this time.

mason wore a shit-eating grin as he noticed that oh-so-familiar look of annoyance bloom on halwyn’s expression. it wasn’t anything to the average person, but getting under somebody’s skin like that was mason’s way of steering the conversation. just the sheer fact that halwyn found his presence or mannerisms deplorable was proof enough that the hellhound was listening or at the very least acknowledging his existence.

“you don’t know that.” the hunter shrugged. indeed, halwyn, even with all of his supernatural abilities, had no way of knowing the kind of people mason bedded. “for all you know, i could be fucking minotaurs.” with that, the two left the scene and within the hour arrived at the janky motel the hunter was staying at. it was one of the safehouses designated by his organization, a relatively safe shelter mason could use during his travels. it required a special key to get into, and once inside, mason stored his rifle into a suitcase and secured it in a storage compartment under the floorboards.

“me, overthinking things?” mason scoffed, scandalized by the mere suggestion. “sure, not like you just didn’t ask me out on a date.” he was teasing, of course, thinking nothing of the invitation for a night-out other than for celebration. he obviously just found entertainment in bugging halwyn. he pulled out a pair of clothes one of his midnight lovers had left behind, which was surprisingly just a little bit smaller than halwyn’s size. “i think this night warrants something better than beer. are you feeling whisky?” he asked as he tossed halwyn his change of clothes. the american eagle and patriotic flag on the front of the spare shirt was a little embarrassing, both for halwyn and mason. he wasn’t one of mason’s proudest lays.

ANYONE ELSE IN MASON’S SHOES AND HALWYN WOULD HAVE RIPPED THEIR HEAD OFF. There was one thing being chatty and trying to fill the silence with random facts that no one ever asked about --- and then there was Mason. Mason who clearly loved the sound of his voice, who was aware that the constant chatting would make him roll his eyes more often than not and who actually thought that he had a sense of humor. Well --- maybe he did by human standards. There wasn’t that many things that would even make the Hellhound crack a smile let alone laugh. And that included the sudden --- and rather quick --- mental image of Mason fucking Minotaurs. Wasn’t he aware that those were extinct?

THROUGHOUT THE DRIVE TOWARDS MASON’S PLACE, Halwyn kept his conversational skills to a bare minimum, often focusing on the scenery outside the vehicle than the hunter’s attempt to conversation. Again --- anyone else would be ashes by now. The Hellhound merely found it oddly amusing. How could a man so talented in what he did on the field be such an oddball in his personal life? Some people did talk a lot because they couldn’t stand the silence. They couldn’t be alone with the thoughts in their minds, the voices in their heads that constantly reminded them of all the times they had failed at something. Humans were complex individuals. To allow their own thoughts and emotions to guide them forward was no different than a little ape hitting itself in the face with a rock time and time again.

mason wore a shit-eating grin as he noticed that oh-so-familiar look of annoyance bloom on halwyn’s expression. it wasn’t anything to the average person, but getting under somebody’s skin like that was mason’s way of steering the conversation. just the sheer fact that halwyn found his presence or mannerisms deplorable was proof enough that the hellhound was listening or at the very least acknowledging his existence.

“you don’t know that.” the hunter shrugged. indeed, halwyn, even with all of his supernatural abilities, had no way of knowing the kind of people mason bedded. “for all you know, i could be fucking minotaurs.” with that, the two left the scene and within the hour arrived at the janky motel the hunter was staying at. it was one of the safehouses designated by his organization, a relatively safe shelter mason could use during his travels. it required a special key to get into, and once inside, mason stored his rifle into a suitcase and secured it in a storage compartment under the floorboards.

“me, overthinking things?” mason scoffed, scandalized by the mere suggestion. “sure, not like you just didn’t ask me out on a date.” he was teasing, of course, thinking nothing of the invitation for a night-out other than for celebration. he obviously just found entertainment in bugging halwyn. he pulled out a pair of clothes one of his midnight lovers had left behind, which was surprisingly just a little bit smaller than halwyn’s size. “i think this night warrants something better than beer. are you feeling whisky?” he asked as he tossed halwyn his change of clothes. the american eagle and patriotic flag on the front of the spare shirt was a little embarrassing, both for halwyn and mason. he wasn’t one of mason’s proudest lays.

ANYONE ELSE IN MASON’S SHOES AND HALWYN WOULD HAVE RIPPED THEIR HEAD OFF. There was one thing being chatty and trying to fill the silence with random facts that no one ever asked about --- and then there was Mason. Mason who clearly loved the sound of his voice, who was aware that the constant chatting would make him roll his eyes more often than not and who actually thought that he had a sense of humor. Well --- maybe he did by human standards. There wasn’t that many things that would even make the Hellhound crack a smile let alone laugh. And that included the sudden --- and rather quick --- mental image of Mason fucking Minotaurs. Wasn’t he aware that those were extinct?

THROUGHOUT THE DRIVE TOWARDS MASON’S PLACE, Halwyn kept his conversational skills to a bare minimum, often focusing on the scenery outside the vehicle than the hunter’s attempt to conversation. Again --- anyone else would be ashes by now. The Hellhound merely found it oddly amusing. How could a man so talented in what he did on the field be such an oddball in his personal life? Some people did talk a lot because they couldn’t stand the silence. They couldn’t be alone with the thoughts in their minds, the voices in their heads that constantly reminded them of all the times they had failed at something. Humans were complex individuals. To allow their own thoughts and emotions to guide them forward was no different than a little ape hitting itself in the face with a rock time and time again.

and there halwyn was, emerging from the pit of brimstone and hellfire like the hero of some action movie, while mason was getting cramps from crouching for so long. “aww, thanks,” the brunet said as he rose, shouldering the strap of his sniper. “that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all night. ever, actually.” at least now he knew hellhounds felt some semblance of camaraderie towards humans, or at the very least, some pity. anything that provoked some feeling of humanity in the other creature was a win for mason.

the slaughter was done, but clean-up was part of mason’s job as the glorified janitor of the supernatural and mortal world. thanks to halwyn, most of the evidence had been burned away, leaving nothing but ashes, but he couldn’t be too overconfident that everything was destroyed. he nudged away piles of soot and fingered his way through the charred dirt for anything left behind, things to collect as part of his studies of the occult. he, of course, didn’t let down his guard completely, as halwyn could very well be unsatisfied with his hunt still.

“so, for purely scientific purposes,” the hunter went on to say as he dusted some white ash into an uncorked vial. some idle chit-chat was desperately needed to fill the silence, so he wasn’t made painfully aware of halwyn’s near-nude state. “do you always have an extra change of clothes on you, or…” the naked get-up was hot, don’t get him wrong, but he couldn’t see the practicality in having to buy new clothes every time he set himself on fire. once he gathered all he needed to make a full report back at headquarters, he looked hal up and down. “beer. you mind making a quick stop back at my place? gotta drop off the goods, maybe get you in some old clothes,” he said. “most bars have a no shirt, no service policy.”

WITH THE DEED DONE, there was little more required for the Hellhound to do other than survey the carnage and destruction he had --- mostly --- inflicted. There was no pride in his actions. No self sentiment of grandeur that followed the satisfaction of a hunt. Most predators would feel things. They would rejoice in the carnage as they would prove to be the apex predator and there were those rare cases where people would feel a deep grief for having no other way to deal with an issue but to kill everything and everyone. The Hellhound felt nothing. There was no lingering emotion, no weight on his conscience. Feelings and emotions were human traits and while there were moments were fragments of that humanity would slip --- this time was not one of those moments. The deed was done and it was all that mattered.

HALWYN TURNED HIS HEAD TOWARDS THE HUNTER, a somewhat annoyed expression beginning to form on his features as he realized Mason’s attempt to procure some sort of idle conversation to fill the silence. Only a hunter would start talking about technicalities such as his current and almost full state of nudity. To Halwyn, it didn’t really matter. He would find shelter, wash himself up and gather some clothes that would fit him before returning to his own place. One never truly knew when he would burst in flames --- so carrying extra clothing with him was not something the Hellhound was particularly concerned about. Although… he could see Mason’s point. There was a goal in all that dancing around a mere topic.

“shocking,” the hunter countered with a sarcastic lilt to his tone of voice. it would be a much shorter list to note what halwyn actually enjoyed in life. beer was a start. “thought you didn’t like company,” he called after the hellhound, squinting as a wave of heat burst into his face, nearly burning the ends of his hair into a frizzly crisp. he swiped a palm down his own sweaty face and shifted into position once more, muttering a low “show-off” under his breath. watching halwyn in his element was always something like a performance, and he studied it the way he did for other supernaturals. as a hunter, observation was part of his routine, and his friend was rare; nothing in the books said all hellhounds would be so endearing as his fiery-furred partner here.

when halwyn reached the checkpoint, mason fired a perfect shot at the rift. the bullet, specialized in its ability to negate magical effects, shattered upon impact and evaporated the escape chute. while halwyn tore apart the battlefield, mason searched through his scope, picking off ones that seemed more eager to flee than fight. a witch’s head to the right of the hellhound exploded in a fine mist of silvery ash, and another popped mid-incantation. between the chaos, mason indulged in a bit of sight-seeing and just brieftly directed the scope to halwyn’s ass, which looked just as nice as he’d imagined it, just covered in fire.

“that’s some hot ass, sir,” mason snickered to himself, thoroughly enjoying the perfect punchline of his joke. too bad halwyn wasn’t around to hear the delivery. he focused again, noticing some stone tablet that was glowing at the center of the summoning circle. while the hellhound was preoccupied ripping limb from limb and tearing through witchy flesh, he fired another shot to crack the tablet in two, mostly getting the minor technicalities out of the way.

ANYTHING THAT WOULD EXPOSE THE SUPERNATURAL WORLD WAS A THREAT. And threats had to be dealt with --- no matter if he did it alone or with company. The main goal was to stop the demonic summon and tear the witches apart as quickly as possible and with Mason providing some long range support --- the task at hand was rather easy. Spells and incantations took time to perform. It was a matter of being quick --- deadly. Of silencing the witches before they could start their profane chants that could ultimately hinder his efforts to deal with the impending threat.

THEIR MINIONS WERE NOTHING MORE THAN BRAINWASHED SERVANTS. They were probably innocent --- but standing in the Hellhound’s path had earned them dead by combustion. The flames and fire brightened the previously dark night, the stench of burned flesh barely stopping the Hellhound from ripping the closest witches to shreds. As the smoke grew, so did the screaming. While screaming --- the witches could not perform their enchantments and with Mason taking them out one by one, by the time most of the place was on fire --- there was nothing more left to summon. Nothing bur burnt corpses that would be impossible to recognize in an autopsy. Yet --- leaving the bodies there would defeat the purpose of keeping things a secret.

Timing. It was sometimes the most important detail about any hunt. Or when he waspretending to be someone he wasn’t. That could either lead to an epic fail ordetermine survival. As of right now, Dean was relieved for a tiny second thathis masquerade seemed to work, the person who appeared to be one of thosenurses, believed his stupidness and only sent him back to his room. No furtherquestions were asked or suspicious action followed. The sigh of relief thatwould have left his lips, didn’t come. Right when he was about to turn aroundto go back to his room and escape the situation, a loud noise echoed throughthe halls, so loud, so unhuman, that he had to make a decision right there andthen. Holding up that mask? No. Then he would lose the damn chance to find outwhat was going on. Being alone on a hunt had downsides, this one for example. Rolling in his eyes, he muttered a “fuck it.” His mind raced, what noise wasclose that, what had he been hunting in the past, that could produce such anoise? “Banshee.” Glancing to the nurse, who had a different look on his facenow, but Dean couldn’t really be bothered to analyse the man. “Yeah buddy, Ifear I can’t do that. See, this noise, I need to check where this is comingfrom and if the poor soul has already gone crazy and his head is splattered allover the damn walls.”

Actually, that Banshee was smart. Use anasylum where everyone was crazy, one way or the other. Easy to drive thoseinsane to get what they wanted: easy victims. Although this couldn’t be all,there hadn’t been any mentions of such happenings, at least none he knew of.Was this only part of it all? Dean turned around, one step after the other towards the noise. Wonderful, hehad no weapon with him, literally nothing. The hidden weapon was in his room.There was no time to hurry back right now and get it. Again, not the first timehe had to improvise and find a solution to complicated things. Although theplace here was creepy without any monster in it already. He leaned against the wall now, checking the corridor that was split up. Thehunter glanced over his shoulder – the nurse. What was that with him? A normal, real nurse would have put him under some injection now after hearingwhat he had said (which sounded crazy..) but this hadn’t happened. Or were theyused to weird things going on here already and didn’t bother anymore? No.Humans didn’t work that way, they always showed some degree of reaction, fear,anything at all.

Another scream. Another screech. Loud enough to wake the dead, and yet, no one was runningaround in fear or hurrying towards it, only himself and that nurse were outhere. Why?

HALWYN HAD NO TIME TO DEAL WITH LESSER HUMANS AT THE MOMENT, so the delusional little psycho would have to retreat to his room alone. Or wander around the haunted corridors for all he cared. His business was more severe --- especially since there was a Banshee somewhere in the Asylum. There was a special connection between Hellhounds and Banshees. Something mystical that they could not fully comprehend themselves. As harbingers of Death, they could feel each other’s presence nearby. They could feel it --- almost like some sort of six sense when something foul was about to happen.

BUT IT WAS NOT THE SHRIEKING THAT TRULY MADE THE HELLHOUND REACT. It was the patient who uttered the word Banshee and took off on his own, much to Halwyn’s surprise. His head tilted to the side --- and for the first time since he had arrived, he focused all of his senses in that one person nearby. His scent. The sound of his heart beating inside his chest. Steady --- not even slightly phased by the screams that made other mental patients scream inside their cells. The scent was… familiar. It took Halwyn a second to recognize, one moment where he summoned back memories of a couple years back.

DEAN WINCHESTER.

THE HUNTER WHOSE SOUL HE HAD DRAGGED DOWN TO HELL. The one person that had made the entirety of the Underworld rejoice. Halwyn had nothing personally against the hunter. He did what he needed to do --- the same thing he did when he was back on Earth. Protect the supernatural world. Hunt down those that threatened the sanctity of its secrecy. For a moment, Halwyn considered revealing himself to the hunter. All he had seen was nothing. In their original form --- Hellhounds were spectral and translucid. Those targeted by one could only hear their growls and howls. Feel their teeth and their claws tearing their body apart. Funny… he could still remember Dean’s taste now that he thought about it.