Stealing Shadows

[madimpossibledreamer]

Setting up for Valentine's, so I'm skipping my (current) schedule to just post the ones before in the series.  Admittedly, there will still be a writing gap to fill in later, but shhhhh I can do that.
Also, has anyone ever had a job interview where 'we're a family' boded well?  Just curious.
~Dreamer~
(Assassin!Xander is weird.  Though, honestly, most of my alternate Xanders are weird in some way or another.  And no, he and Dean don't get along at first.)

Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Assassin's Creed/possibly Mummy??/Supernatural
universe first introduced in primordium
Summary: Dean doesn't appreciate critique unless it comes from his little brother.
Word Count: 710
Rating: Teen (mostly for swearing and threats of violence)

            “I’m telling you, Dean, I didn’t misread it!” Sam yells, ducking the chunk of ceiling that falls at his head.
            “Well, all this started happening after you read your little greeting card, so I’m going to blame you for all of this,” Dean manages, running at full speed like they’re being followed, and for all they know they are.
            “I’ll blame both of you,” a new voice they haven’t heard before joins the conversation as they pass into the deserted parking garage.  “Your presence caused me to fail my mission and endanger the entire city.”
            Dean instinctively points the shotgun at the voice, Sam adding his pistol a few seconds later.
            The face, at least, is familiar.  Brown eyes are narrowed in hate, but unlike before the hood on his hoodie is down, so they can see the shaggy, long hair kept back in a ponytail.  He’d look like a puppy if not for the rabid violence in his gaze.
            Dean grins right back, because that makes things simple.  “You’re the asshole that stole my wallet.”  It was hard to say for sure, but he’d been the only one who’d actually bumped into Dean in the crowd in the museum, and he’d just paid for Sammy’s fancy coffee and the wallet was missing after.  He’d actually seemed harmless, then.
            The man shrugs a little with his shoulders, knowing, at least, not to move his hands too far and get shot.  “I stole more than that, but it’s just my luck that didn’t stop you.”
            “The key!” Sam exclaims.  They’d had an argument about Dean misplacing things in the car, but clearly it wasn’t Dean’s fault.  This time.
            Dean moves forward slowly, takes the key from the hoodie’s pocket, pushing his shotgun below the man’s chin.  He’s enjoying it.  “Tell me why I shouldn’t just kill you now.”
            The man smiles dangerously.  “Someone needs to undo your mistakes.  And just because you outnumber me doesn’t mean you should underestimate me.  I could kill the both of you if I wanted.”
            Something in Dean says that this is no bluff, that man or monster or whatever the hell he is knows exactly what he’s doing, but he can’t help but push anyway.  “Big words, little guy.”
            With a speed that seems inhuman, there’s suddenly a finger in the way of the trigger, another hand prying the shotgun away roughly.  Dean’s pushed into Sam and they both fall, a shot ringing out in the darkness.  Dean rolls away, pulling out his knife—only to come face-to-face with his own shotgun.
            “I could’ve killed you both in the crowd.  It’d have been easy enough to slip away, and it would’ve avoided this mess.”  He cocks his head in the direction of the shaking, back the way they came.  “But…” he acknowledges with a predatory grin, “…that’s not the business either of us are in, is it?”  And just like that, he hands back the shotgun, like it was just as easy as stealing it in the first place.
            “What are you?” Sam asks with awe, because in the end, it’s only polite, and also he’s a little intimidated and needs knowledge, because just like his brother shoots or flirts his way out of a situation, he tends to think his way through.
            “Human, like you.”  He fidgets a little, a dog on a leash aching to be set free to follow an interesting scent, but his eyes keep matching Dean’s gaze.  Probably because out of the two of them, Dean’s the more likely to have an active trigger finger.  “Look into the Men of Letters.”
            “That’s a myth,” Dean states dismissively, as Sam glances between his brother and the supposed human.
            The man nods.  “I see your point.  Like, I don’t know—Wendigo, vampires, demons.”  He’s amused, which is annoying Dean.  “Nothing is true.  Don’t blindly accept what other people tell you.”
            “Like the fact that you’re human?” Sam challenges, and his words are met with a slow smile.
            “It’s a start,” he agrees, “…but unfortunately we’re on a schedule before this town is vaporized, and you’re wasting time.”
            And he just breaks into a run back the way they'd come.  They stand motionless, shocked, for a moment before Dean swears and begins chase.