madimpossibledreamer

Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Assassin's Creed/possibly Mummy??/Supernatural
universe first introduced in primordium
Summary: Dean continues to be hostile to their reluctant ally.
Word Count: 620
Rating: Teen (mostly for swearing and threats of violence)

          “Dean, if you don’t have anything to contribute, go find the bar,” Sam suggests, annoyed, because the only thing he’s done since the newcomer—he’d jokingly introduced himself as Spartacus before giving the probably false name of Ahren—joined them is complain. Climbing over the buildings is showing off (it’d be useful for disappearing, and besides, it looks kind of fun), he’s being unfriendly for not giving his real name (never mind the fact that they haven’t done that, either), he’s probably a demon (they’ve done all the tests, what more does Dean want), who is this guy thinking he can just judge them like that (Sam’s not going to say anything, but yeah, if he hadn’t read the inscription they wouldn’t be in this mess, so it is kind of his fault), if he’s here he’s a nuisance (with very helpful knowledge) and if he’s gone he’s plotting their demise (not likely, like he said he could’ve just killed them earlier but he didn’t)—
          It doesn’t help that all the complaints and accusations only amuse this Ahren, and he’s more than willing to serve as a sparring partner for an antsy Dean. It’s kind of like a cat playing with a live mouse, honestly, but if Dean’s noticed the attitude it just makes everything worse.
          “I don’t want to miss the action,” is the drawl in return, and it takes a few seconds before Sam parses what that actually means.
          “Dean, I can take care of myself,” he responds, trying to look as absolutely unimpressed as he possibly can. He doesn’t add that if Ahren wants them dead, they’re dead, no matter where Dean is.
          “Oh, is that right, Samantha?” Dean teases.
          “Are you trans?” The words are soft and curious, more than anything, and Sam turns to find Ahren has dropped, silent as ever, in a crouch through the previously shut window.
          “What?” he asks, nonplussed, before college memories catch up, and he shakes his head. “No, sorry, my brother just has a sucky sense of humor.”
          “What are you talking about?” Dean demands, hackles raised, and Ahren fiddles with one of his bracers, not bothering to move from the crouch.
          “Wanted to make sure I got the pronouns right.” He shrugs. “Two of five afarit cultists dead. Demon cultists are the worst. I hate them, Jacques.”
          “Afarit…related to djinn?” Sam asks eagerly, and watches Dean scowl in return.
          “Yeah, only their eyes and powers glow red. If they can get enough people in on it, they’ll torch the city using the minds of their victims. That little earthquake was them waking up where they’d been buried, only I missed it because I was looking for some earthquake-related creature, not the Architects of Pompeii.” He runs one of his fingerless gloves over the back of his forehead. He’s sweaty and probably bloody, even though it’s hard to tell against the dark grey of the hoodie.
          “You only got two there, champ?” Dean taunts, and the softer, more helpful version disappears completely as if it’d never been there in the first place.
          “Given that the other three figured out what I’d been doing in the meantime and joined forces, yeah. I’m better trained against them and even then against more than one at once I’d be nothing more than a Hiroshima shadow. You’d never make it close.” Ahren sighs, a sound of deep exhaustion. “With three, they probably can’t vaporize an entire city, but leaving any alive is not an idea of the good.”
          “Well, we’ve got a starting place for research,” Sam states, because one of them has to have some hope, and gets nothing in reply.
          “Is he asleep?” Dean grouches, not bothering to lower his voice.