2476/Virginia Blues

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Virginia Blues
Date of Scene: 09 September 2017
Location: Virginia
Synopsis: Things go horribly, horribly wrong in Virginia for Jo Harvelle, Dean Winchester, and Agent Mom... er.. May.
Cast of Characters: Dean Winchester, Jo Harvelle, Melinda May




Dean Winchester has posed:
/Somewhere on Route 66//

The small Virginia town off the beaten path has been an odd one as of late. Over a month ago, a stranger blazed into the next town over, claimed they had a hellhound infestation, and proceeded to deal with said problem... by tracking a 'coven' to this place. Law enforcement hadn't exactly been okay with the explanation, and, as usual, Dean ended up in prison.

It's what had kept him from responding to Sam's kidnapping faster. In many ways he'd had extreme guilt over his most recent stint in lock-up. If only because it kept him from helping out Sam. Which is likely why he never told Sam about the arraignment scheduled for today.

Jo, on the other hand, along with Ellen, had put up his bail. Between the reminders and the recently acquired Impala-passenger, he wasn't going to miss the date. Ironically, any plans to go back to Hell's Kitchen before now had been eaten by the road and its plans for the Harvelle-Winchester duo.

It's fortunate that time in court went as expected and all charges were dropped on insufficient evidence. It's equally fortunate that the town has one of the best burger joints in the State--at least according to Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives, and is a great place for a break.

Dean, in his cheap, rather ill-fitting suit, leans back in the chair and smugly smirks as he takes a too-large bite into his too-big burger. "Worth it," he murmurs around the meat, talking around the patty instead of actually focusing on chewing, a habit that Sam said would get him killed. Choking is a hazard.

Greedily, he peels back the paper and takes an even larger bite. He speaks around the burger in his trap, "...told ... ya... " he was right. There wasn't enough evidence. "You know though..." he finally swallows, "...one thing bothers me about the job..." but of course he doesn't say what, instead he tucks back into the burger. His company is so fortunate that he's so forthcoming.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
Jo, the blue eyed blonde, sitting opposite the Hunter raises a pale eyebrow at the atrocious table manners. "You'd think I'd be used to this by now..." she grumbles as she shakes her head. "I'm not speaking to you, till finish that mouthful. Say it, don't spray it, Dean...."

Her own burger, in comparison is laid out on a plate in front of her and being eaten in a far more dainty manner. More dainty, but no less heartily, mind you. Taking a bite and wiping the corner of her mouth with a serviette, Jo gives Dean a very dry look as he makes his last observation.

"I'm sure you'll regale me with the wisdom of your experience in the fullness of time, but I'll bite. What is it that bothers you about the job?"

Melinda May has posed:
It did not go unnoticed that Dean was not there to help rescue Sam from Hydra, and May took it upon herself to find out why. Even with SHIELD’s resources at hand, tracking down someone skilled at staying off the grid is not instantaneous. But, finally, they got a hit. A court hearing in Virginia regarding a young man matching Dean’s description and some very unusual circumstances. May has the intel experts lock that file, then goes to speak with Dean herself.

As Jo is commenting on Dean’s table manners or lack thereof, the simply dressed Asian woman steps into the diner, looking at first glance just like any other traveller stopping in for a bite to eat before getting back on the road. She doesn’t even glance toward where the two Hunters are seated as the waitress leads her to a table nearby.

Of course, to anyone used to having to keep an eye out, May practically screams ‘Fed’.


Dean Winchester has posed:
A smirk follows Jo's assessment of his table manners. Dean waggles his burger and watches her, "Aw, c'mon. It's fine," he basically raised himself--probably makes sense why his manners are what they are. Then again, he claims to have raised Sam too, and Sam seems fine. Who knows?

He eyes the room once over and then lowers his voice, "It was too easy." He actually shrugs at that. "A few weeks back we go deal with Stepford, Virginia after I dealt with //this//," the witch problem, "in the same relative vicinity. Yeah, I think something more is going on here. Plus it was almost too easy. I mean," he takes another bite of his burger, and then speaks around the food again, "I'm... good. But I'm not //that// good." He issues her a one shouldered shrug and a pointed look.

Slowly, he twists around the room and his eyes train on the casually dressed woman before he glances away and shrugs at Jo again with an extremely saccharine smile.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
Is Jo a Hunter? She's a Hunters daughter that's for sure - she probably is now though, given who she's thrown her lot in with.

"I don't like wearing your food, Dean..." she shoots back but can't help but smile a bit. His demeanour ... well, it's not exactly charming, but she does have a soft spot for the man. Heavens knows why.

"If you call being held up by your throat whilst a demon possessed old woman tries to choke you and I run over the others in your car, simple... sure?" The blonde frowns though and glances at the casually dressed asian woman who walks through the door. She doesn't know this 'Agent Mom' but the frown deepens. "What do you make of her ..." she asks quietly raising her chin. Deans been keeping her on her feet with little tests like this since hit the road.

"And I know just how //good// you are. Trust me. Your technique could do with some work..." Can't have the Hunter's ego getting too big now, can she?

Melinda May has posed:
Still behaving like just another tourist, May asks for a glass of water before proceeding to try to find anything on the menu that isn’t either deep fried or drowning in fat. She’s not hopeful. She also uses the time to quietly check the building for exits (three: the front door, the kitchen, and the plate glass windows), defensible positions (two: the main counter and behind what sounds like fairly solid cooking surfaces based on the sheer amount of banging and clanging the short order cook is making), and potential threats in the room.

The last is just one. The blonde woman sitting across from Dean. She’s very likely a hunter just like Winchester, based on her posture, choice of clothing, and the pistol she thinks is adequately concealed on her person.

Dean Winchester has posed:
"Yeah... should've figured a way to make a demon trap for that one," Dean replies about the woman who held him by his throat. He rubs his chin. "Parading teens through town for some ritual? Doesn't lend itself to a trap." His lips purse at that. "Bobby thinks she'll be fine, by the way. But it's not enough. Something else is up."

His eyes scan the room slowly, lingering on one corner longer than he ought to--remembering more than actually seeing. He inhales a half-breath at the question, and shrugs once. "Tourist," clearly. "You? Think there's more going on?"

But despite himself, his eyes turn back to the corner and he clears his throat. "I think these cases are related. But I don't know what's up. Coven here. Cult there. They're not really different. Not //really//."

Jo Harvelle has posed:
Jo probably has a pistol on her. At least. Dean probably hadn't let her out of the car without it. Not that Ellen would have either. Her blue eyes watch the asian 'tourist' and frown at the Hunter as he brushes her off.

"I don't know, Dean. I think you're testing me. See what I can do. I've seen you do it with Sammy." There's another dry look at the Hunter as the blonde takes a bite from her burger. It's getting a bit cold now, she'll probably have to eat faster.

As to making a demon trap, the blond snorts derivisely. "Parading teens through town ... Stepforded Teens ... didn't set off any alarms for you, at all?" To be fair, Dean had thought they were dealing with a Coven but Jo's not one to let the moment pass.

"They're different enough, but they're motives all seem to be the same, right? World domination, incredibly power .... itty bitty living spaces ..." she can't help but add the last. Maybe the Hunter will get the reference.

Seeing the 'tourist' looking at her, Jo raises pale eyebrows again and salutes the woman with her cup. "Nice place here, ain't it?" she calls out before brushing her hair back from her face and sighing at Dean.

"Yeah, I think there's something going on. Too much activity. Too much //similar// activity and it's too easy ..." she shakes her head "... can't believe I'm saying that."

Melinda May has posed:
“It’s certainly quaint,” is the Asian woman’s reply to Jo’s words. She finally decides that maybe (hopefully) the roast chicken plate will be the least offensive thing on the menu, and requests that from the waitress. Then, as if to further try to sell the tourist cover, she pulls her phone out of one pocket and starts to tinker with it.

She’s of course not idly checking Facebook. She’s sending a text back to some interested party or other. That, or she’s typing a firmly worded email to someone. Like… Darcy.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean leans forward in his seat. "Yeah, I sound like a real charmer." The constant tester. The ever-on-his toes Hunter aiming to create much the same in those he associates with. His jaw tightens and his chin tucks towards his chest pensively, but as he does so, his eyes hone in on the door and a vehicle outside.

"You know that car?" he asks slowly. It's possible he's just experiencing deja vu. His lips twist upwards on one side and he slowly shifts in his seat. Jo might remember it from the bowling alley when they'd had some 'good, clean, fun' bowling with demons. Because what else is there to do in small towns?

His hand reaches slowly into his jacket, finding the grip of his pistol. "Got any rock salt?" He carefully slides off his chair and gives his jacket a tug. "Something isn't right..."

Jo Harvelle has posed:
"You should get out of here, lady..." Jo mutters to May and busies herself with her own ketchup bottle. She's nowhere near as practiced as Dean, or Sam ... leading a somewhat more sheltered childhood than the two Winchesters, and it's possible her construct isn't as ... solid.

"Don't need to hide them..." the blonde looks at Dean as she moves to make the second trap. Her footsteps falter as Mae appears and she moves to near the trap she just "painted". "My mama taught me it was rude to try to strangle people. Leavin' in the middle of the conversation doesn't even stack up to that."

She's going do something really, really stupid. Like Winchester stupid... she's going to try and bait Mae through her trap. Well she was ... until she finds her hurled across the room, over the trap and against the wall. "Is that the best you've got, you old hag?"

Winchester stupid, indeed.

Melinda May has posed:
The moment Dean goes on the alert, May does as well. She doesn’t know exactly yet what alerted him, but she knows it’s not her -- he’d have called her out already if he had had the intention of doing so. Unlike the Hunter, though, she doesn’t start carefully preparing for a fight. Instead, she takes a casual sip of water before getting up and approaching the waitress, asking her a seemingly innocent question before leading the woman toward the kitchen.

She shows the waitress her SHIELD badge as she ushers her through the doors, and they both disappear into the kitchen proper. A moment later, the short order cook’s noisy food preparations abruptly stop and leave the restaurant almost eerily quiet.

Dean Winchester has posed:
A nod follows Jo’s display of rock salt. “Get the window frames,” Dean instructs. Relief tinges his expression when he sees May chatting with the waitress, and hones in on basic strategy to deal with whatever has shown up to see them. He reaches for his own pouch of rock salt and salts the frame of the door.

He begins to move to the windows opposite Jo, spreading the salt once again along the frame’s base. His eyes train on the car as he does so. It’s empty. He blinks blankly and his head turns askance towards Jo. “We need paint,” it’s in the Impala. “We need a trap. And we gotta get that son of a--” the sound of shattered glass has his eyes narrowing, and his hands reaching for chalk in his pocket. It’s not his writing utensil of choice.

The sound comes from the bathroom, prompting a loud groan from the back of his throat as he tries to speed up.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
Jo watches as May ushers the waitress out, eyes narrowing at the badge that's displayed. She can't see it fully, but the response is enough. She opens her mouth to say something but snaps it shut again.

It doesn't take long to salt the windows but she looks at Dean with a frown at the mention of paint. She reaches for the Ketchup bottles and tosses one at the Hunter. "Improvise ..." It's a question as much as instruction.

The shattering glass has her looking as well "Sounds like we don't have much time ..."

Melinda May has posed:
Once May has the waitress, cook, and dishwasher safely ensconced in the manager’s office and the doorway liberally salted, May looks around the kitchen then fills a bowl with hot water and a lot of salt. Her sash whip is added and left to soak while she quickly salts the back exit. The sound of glass shattering has her look toward the dining area. Time’s up.

Returning to the dining area with the bowl and a large sack of salt in her hands, she looks to the other two. “How long do you need?” She grabs a coffee carafe and adds a handful of salt to it while taking a quick visual stock of the contents of the shelves behind the counter. More salt. Good. That gets put on the counter as well.

And right about now, May is wishing she’d bothered to study Latin. Or at least insisted that Sam teach her a few key phrases. Though last time she tried speaking something other than an Asian language, Romanoff accused her of sounding like Margaret Cho.

Dean Winchester has posed:
“Longer than we have!” Dean states as he unscrews the lid of the ketchup bottle. “The more we can make the better--we’re going to have to get them in the traps and--” the rustling in the bathroom continues as Dean calls over the din “--there’s no time to hide them and no way to do it anyways!” Thanks to the ketchup. He’s not even sure the traps will work.

He’s drawn demon traps for years. He’s not remotely novice when it comes to drawing demon traps. He learned the pattern when he was seven the first time John Winchester saw fit to leave his kids alone for an extended period of time. His father had virtually burned the shape into his mind.

“Jo, draw one over there!” he urges. “We’re going to have to push them into one of the traps--” but it’s too late. The door to the ladies room swings open.

The elderly woman recognizable to both Jo and Dean as Mae, steps out and tilts her head at the group and her lips quirk into a vague smile. “Didn’t your mother tell you it’s rude to leave a conversation with your elders?” she looks pointedly at Winchester who continues go about his work. “Oh yes. She died, didn’t she? All in service to a greater purpose.”

More glass shatters in the bathroom. Dean inhales a deep breath and begins another demon trap but anyone paying attention can see that him visibly twitch. He begins to mumble several lines of Latin. This was never his forte--Sam had always been better at the exorcisms.

Mae reaches out with telekinetic energy and swings her arm across the bunch to force them against the wall.


Jo Harvelle has posed:
"You should get out of here, lady..." Jo mutters to May and busies herself with her own ketchup bottle. She's nowhere near as practiced as Dean, or Sam ... leading a somewhat more sheltered childhood than the two Winchesters, and it's possible her construct isn't as ... solid.

"Don't need to hide them..." the blonde looks at Dean as she moves to make the second trap. Her footsteps falter as Mae appears and she moves to near the trap she just "painted". "My mama taught me it was rude to try to strangle people. Leavin' in the middle of the conversation doesn't even stack up to that."

She's going do something really, really stupid. Like Winchester stupid... she's going to try and bait Mae through her trap. Well she was ... until she finds her hurled across the room, over the trap and against the wall. "Is that the best you've got, you old hag?"

Winchester stupid, indeed.

Melinda May has posed:
With a nod to Dean, May simply keeps prepping salt-laden objects and setting them on the counter, so that when the elderly woman steps out from the bathroom, May instantly reaches for the bowl of saltwater.

She slings the contents of the bowl at the woman -- one hand already on her sash whip that had been in the bowl soaking -- just as they’re all slammed back against walls. That is honestly annoying. But, May is nothing if not prepared. And this was something she researched independently of the Winchesters. They wouldn’t have had the resources or linguistic ability.

Speaking in an archaic and highly formal version of Mandarin, May invokes a member of the Celestial Bureaucracy known as Zhong Kui to demand that the demon possessing the elderly woman depart or face bureaucratic consequences. It’s … far too simplistic compared to a Roman ritual or even some of the Chinese rituals she read about, but… fingers crossed that her words and the small talisman of Zhong Kui hidden under the neckline of her shirt are enough.

Dean Winchester has posed:
The baiting seems to have its effect. Mae lurches towards Jo, but is interrupted. The bowl of saltwater meets flesh in a boiling effect like that of dry ice. It steams away from her face, searing her flesh and causing her to scream in pain. The sound echoes through the restaurant.

Dean grunts when he’s flung against the wall. He continues to murmur in Latin, “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” but he struggles to remember the next line. He really needs to study more and silently curses his faulty student status.

And as the woman shrieks, everyone pressed against the walls gets some reprieve. She bends over at May’s Mandarin--it seems to be working. Behind her another figure steps out of the washroom. This time, instead of drawing more demon traps, Dean fires a shell of salt from his hand gun. The fellow staggers backwards, but the bullet barely makes a dent as his eyes change red and black. He starts his words over again, “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii….” he frowns and his gaze sweeps the room as if trying to find the Latin written on the walls. He really longs for his book...

Jo Harvelle has posed:
Jo grunts as she's held against the wall but manages to turn her head to glare at Dean "Are you kidding me, you can't remember? Try ... omnis satanica potestas ...." Maybe she's a better student than the Hunter? It's easy when you're safe behind a bar, right?

When the pressure lessens, she slides to the ground and reaches into the pouch at her side. As the next demon comes at them, a fistful of salt is flung in it's face and she draws the pistol from the back of her jeans. "I'm glad I maintained this piece and not you..." she snarks. She's actually scared, not that anyone would not know it - false bravado for the win.

Another sigh as Dean falters the words again "omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica" she feeds ... "I swear Dean, when we get out of here I'm going to program you while you sleep..."

Melinda May has posed:
Huh. Seeing the elderly woman react to her words and the telekinetic effects disappear, May doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of the moment of freedom. She charges toward the demons, launching the length of soaked silk fabric at the closer of the two and if it successfully wraps around the second demon, she’ll put in a good rodeo roper effort and try to drag them into the nearest devil’s trap.

Fingers crossed, the salt soaked into the silk will help.

Mental note to self: have the biochem group develop ICER rounds specifically designed for demons.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Black smoke emits from the woman’s mouth as May’s recitation stops. One exorcised, one to go. The second gets pulled into the ketchup demon trap with the sash causing Dean to cringe when ketchup smears but doesn’t break the symbol. He’s visibly relieved when it looks to be holding. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll study Latin in the car or something,” his eyes roll. “You sound like Sam,” which, in this case, is probably a good thing. “Not sure you can motivate me any better than dad or baby bro.”

“Mental note,” he mutters, “in a pinch, ketchup works.” They can breathe easier now that the demons are either exorcised or caught. When Jo finishes the exorcism, the second draws out in a cloud of dark smoke. Dean inhales a long breath and then looks between May and Jo. “Uh. Jo Harvelle, this is Agent May. May,” his head ticks towards Jo, “Jo Harvelle.” His hand rakes through his hair and he looks towards Jo, “You remember how you didn’t think that badge was real…” and really, why would she?

Jo Harvelle has posed:
"Then Sam must sound very smart then ..." Jo snarks back but her blue eyes widen as May charges the remaining demon. "Well ... that's different..." beat " ... and effective."

Deans smart ass response gets a smirk from the blonde, she's a bit grimy and her hands are covered in ketchup. "I might know how to motivate you to learn Latin better than your Dad or Sammy ..." She coughs when she remembers they're not alone.

"Of course ketchup works. Soy Sauce isn't so great though. You might want to note that." The pistol is shoved back in the band of her trouser and she turns to regard the "tourist". "This ... is Agent Mom?" May is given a nod and Dean a sideways glance "I didn't say it wasn't real. I asked where you lifted it from ..."

"Uh ... pleased to meet you?"

Melinda May has posed:
As soon as the second demon is exorcised, May releases the sash whip from the second person and moves to check to see if either former meatsuit is in need of medical attention. The Hunters are done with their part of the job, this is where May’s experience and training take precedence.

“Dean, go check on the employees, and have one of them call an ambulance.” The elderly woman has contact burns from the salt water, and might have injured herself when she collapsed. The other person doesn’t appear to have taken as much damage.

“Likewise, Jo. Now help me clean this up.” Because she does NOT want to have to explain ketchup symbols and salted coffee to the authorities. The Agent Mom comment is being ignored for the moment, because there are more important things to attend to right now.
Dean Winchester has posed:
“The one and only,” Dean replies gruffly with a smug smile. But as far as the clean-up is concerned, it’s more foreign than he’d admit. This is the part the Winchesters typically bail for. Not having to disappear, and having an iota of legitimacy causes Dean’s eyebrows to lift and his head to tilt to the side. It’s a wonder.

His weight shifts and he trails to the back to check on the employees.

When May checks on the meat suits, one is clearly breathing and the other completely toast. Not all demons leave easily or readily. Mae has died, leaving more questions than answers--particularly around what on earth was going on in that town. The fellow though is in obvious shock. He trembles and continues to murmur the same indecipherable phrase, “Forty… dogs… forty… dogs…”

Whatever he means by it isn’t likely to be known. If he means anything.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
"So..." Jo bends to help with the cleanup. She helped Ellen with the bar, this is nothing new. In fact, this might be a bit cleaner than dealing with the detritus of rowdy Hunters kicking back. Surprisingly less blood ... more bits though...

"... do I call you Agent Mom?" Yeah, the blonde is pushing but she watches as Dean disappears out the back. "What's the bet he tries to shoot through? He's not used to this. Normally he and Sammy are smoke by this time." Which would certainly make things awkward for the Hunters daughter.

Dean wouldn't do that. Would he?

With the ketchup scrubbed from the floor and the chairs and tables set to rights, Jo looks over the mumbling man and then frowns at the Agent "Is he sayin' forty dogs?" Where the hell is Dean, he knows this stuff better than she.

Melinda May has posed:
“Only if you don’t value your trachea.” May frowns faintly at finding that the elderly woman is dead, and actually feels like she’s been dead for a while. Very unpleasant. Nothing to be done, though. The other, though, is given a cursory check for any neck or spinal injuries and once he’s deemed intact enough, she moves to heft him up and into a booth so he’s at least not laying on the floor.

“He’d better not if he wants to retain his consultant privileges.” And there May proves that the badge Dean used and the cash he had on him was all completely legit. Shocking. She listens to the man’s mumbling for a bit, then nods to Jo. This is where SHIELD’s analysts earn their keep. “I can call this in and see what intel we can glean about it.” And Dean had damned well better return very quickly here.

“Sir, lie still. The authorities are on their way.” Yeah, probably not the most reassuring person in the world, but there’s no one else here so May says what’s necessary. That task completed, she moves to clear the counter of all of the salt-items she’d been assembling, including that coffee carafe. Because leaving it for someone to find the hard way would just be cruel.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Emergency services arrive moments after May promises that they’re on their way. In short order the second meat suit is gone. It’s good that quiet has returned to the restaurant. Although, strangely, it’s //very// quiet.

For a staff that was supposed to be resolved in mere moments, the silence may be more puzzling than any noise.

Also of note: Dean hasn’t come back. But the Impala is still definitely parked out front.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
"My trachea, huh?" Those blue eyes land on the Agent again. "So .... Agent May, I suppose? And you really did hire him oh. Huh. Go figure." beat "You don't know him real well, do you? He doesn't respond to authority and ..." she sighs "... he's lived without the perks all this long. I don't know if he knows any other way of being."

Still. There's little more for Jo to do but watch as the bodies are hauled away.

It's the silence that gets her causing her to peer out into the parking lot (not Carpark). "Awful quiet in here, ain't it?" she turns back to the Agent "Somethings wrong ..." she starts out the back, the way Dean had gone, drawing her pistol as she does.

Winchester stupid must be rubbing off.

Melinda May has posed:
“Yes, and that is preferrable.” Wow, Vulcan much? “I’ve worked alongside him a few times before.” Of course, on those occasions everything was such a mess it was better to have the Winchesters just leave while she dealt with everything. She’s trying to break them of that habit, though.

After dealing with the authorities and making sure the former meatsuits are dealt with, May looks at Jo with an ever-so-faint frown. Dean should have been back by now. Or at the very least the employees should be out of that office and making more noise.

Jo’s assessment that it’s too quiet only gets a nod of agreement, and May heads out the front door, but not before calling after the blonde, “Let the employees out of the manager’s office while you’re passing by.” If Dean wants to leave and take his Baby with him, he’ll have to explain to her why he just rabbited. Otherwise, May will call to have someone from the local field office pick up the SUV she drove here, and she’s taking the Impala back to the Triskelion herself.

Maybe he’ll show up to protest if she calls in a quinjet to carry the vintage car off. She was too nice last time asking another senior agent to drive the car.


Dean Winchester has posed:
Walking to the back gives more the same. Ironically, however, inspection of the door to the Manager’s office demonstrates a break in the salt. The door was opened. It’s closed again. Curious.

When it’s reopened, there’s no sign of anyone in the room. But there is a circle of sorts along the floor with flickering candles, several dusty books, and an array of cushions. The smell of incense fills the air. The lights have been turned down and a metal pot rests in the centre of the circle.

It’s possible Dean didn’t break up the entire Coven in July. It’s equally possible they’re not too happy with him.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
Jo just glances at May and shakes her head "An' I though my Ma could be cold ..." Of course, Ellen isn't anything on John Winchester but still, the woman is ... strict.

Pointing to the salt with the end of her pistol, the blondes lips twist in a grimace. "Maybe Deans been in there ..." she doesn't sound too hopeful about that. Still it doesn't stop her nudging the door open again and peering inside.

"Well... damn." she breathes, stepping carefully inside.

"Ritual. Maybe witches. Maybe demons. Hard to tell really... " she mutters to herself, moving around the room to that bowl and peeking over the rim. "Oh, this ain't good. Would you say that was blood?"

And where the hell is Dean?

Melinda May has posed:
No sign of Dean out front. And Jo or the restaurant employees haven’t returned either. Actually looking a bit displeased, May turns and heads back in toward the kitchen in time to hear Jo’s assessment of what she found in the office. That elicits a faint but harsh curse in Japanese. Stepping gingerly, she crouches down to examine the contents of the metal pot without touching anything.

“Yes. Can’t tell if it’s human or not.” She straightens again and looks at Jo seriously. “Do you have other resources nearby?” She pulls her phone and steps back to take a photo of the objects and circle. If Sam isn’t available, hopefully a WAND agent over at the Triskelion will be able to make sense of this.

Photo taken, she touches one ear with her hand. “Ops, this is May. I need a WAND analyst to study incoming data, top priority. Also, track Dean Winchester’s cell phone. Now.”


Dean Winchester has posed:
The voice on the other end of the earpiece answers crisply and quickly. “Of course, Agent May. Send the data. Do you need us to dispatch someone?” because they can. That isn’t necessary on their end, but it certainly is an option if she should want the extra hands.

There’s a pause at the mention of Dean Winchester’s cell phone. “Apparently it’s… in Hell’s Kitchen. At his apartment. Or, the one he’s apparently been in for weeks. While we know he hasn’t been there.” A few beats go by. “I’ve been tracking him for the better part of a couple weeks, yeah? I think… I think he picked up a burner phone along the way. Can track that if you like?”

And even without May giving the affirmative, the agent on the other end goes to work. “Burner phone is two blocks from you. Sending you the address. Can’t pinpoint where it is in the building, but it looks like a community hall…”

Jo Harvelle has posed:
"He left his phone in his apartment..." Jo murmurs as she looks into that bowl. "I can't tell either but let's just assume it's an animal, hmmm?"

Is she ... squeamish? Maybe.

As May gets the information through her phone, Jo continues to poke around the room, flipping through the books - very carefully. Trying to make head or tail or what might have been happening here. She'll take those books with her, when they go.

"Anything?" she asks the Agent hopefully. There's a degree of concern there. More than usual for just a friendship.

Melinda May has posed:
Sending off the photo, May makes a mental note of information the analyst on the phone provided. “Yes. He’s two blocks away. Let’s go.”

Without bothering to wait for Jo’s agreement or anything, she heads back out to the Impala and picks the lock to the trunk while waiting for the blonde Hunter to catch up to her. Don’t even bother complaining about the mistreatment of the car, she’ll make it up to Dean later, because right now it’s a matter of keeping him from ending up in a crossroads demon’s hands too early.

She looks at the contents of the trunk and once Jo’s there asks, “What out of this do we need to get him back?” She’d rather just go in with her own weapons, but there’s no telling if steel and dendrotoxin will be sufficient. And she’ll be damned if she doesn’t go in adequately prepared.

Dean Winchester has posed:
The trunk provides a bevy of Supernatural fighting paraphernalia. Crowbars, guns (mostly loaded with salt rounds), holy water, iron tools, and… oddly several bombs (a sleepy bomb, one EMP bomb, and two magnet bombs--where did those come from?!) can be found in the trunk of the car.

As May looks through the tools and posits the question to Jo, the analyst gets back to May. “Alright. WAND thinks it’s human. They suspect witches, and it’s some kind of ritual. Evidently it’s blood magic,” May can virtually hear the analyst squint. “It predates word-based magic and actually can be far more powerful. I can’t tell you much more. But they think it’s powerful stuff. We’d need to get an actual sample to give you more info. That said, watch out for wards. Use lots of iron--it represses witches’ magic. Most witches are fallible because they are human. Normal weaponry typically works on them, but it’s important they don’t see you coming. WAND seems to think you’re dealing with borrowers. That means they’re in contract with some demon who’s giving them powers. Be careful.”

Jo Harvelle has posed:
By the time Jo catches up with May, she just raises an eyebrow at the trunk being popped. "You'll have to teach me how to do that..." Maybe she's playing coy and knows how to do it. Well, she probably does - given whose daughter she is.

"All the iron. The salt. The holy water. We don't know what we're really dealing with ...." As she speaks, she starts stuffing her pockets and taking up weapons. Jo's going in loaded for bear ... ahem ... so to speak.

"Wards too..." she's repeating what the analyst is saying, not that she can hear him. "They'll be hard to see, if we can see that at all, but any strange markings, be wary of it. Let's go ..." She slides into the drivers seat of the car ... If May can pop the trunk, Jo can drive!

It doesn't take long to reach the community hall and the Impala rumbles to a halt. "Do your people have any schematics? Or do we just in the front or side doors?"

Melinda May has posed:
As both the analyst over the comms and Jo state basically the same things, May also starts pulling things she deems are useful. Oddly, though, instead of just adding them to what she’s already got on her -- and really, it’s only the soggy sash whip that she’s revealed -- she starts swapping objects out for things she apparently already had on her person.

An odd-looking sidearm is swapped out for one from the trunk, because these people have messed with one of HER agents. She’s not going to be gentle with them.

No less than three blades are swapped out for iron equivalents, disappearing into her jacket where the shinier counterparts came from.

The bombs are left alone, if only because May didn’t have a chance to ask Mercy which ones do what, and she’s not willing to find out right now.

On the drive over as short as it is, May gets a download to her phone of the building blueprints. Apparently, the analyst on her comm was able to hear Jo. Handy, that.

“This is the building’s layout, but the signal wasn’t able to pinpoint anymore accurately that somewhere inside.” She looks at the low building consideringly. “How’s your parkour?”


Dean Winchester has posed:
The community hall looks altogether unimpressive when they pull up. The cement exterior seems strangely normal alongside the green yard, well kept-garden, and playground to the side.

One oddity, however, might draw attention. The parking lot is packed. In the middle of the day. This might beg some obvious questions.

Like whether anyone in this town works.

The schematics May receives reveal a pretty standard looking community hall. The main floor includes a kitchen space, public washrooms, and a large ceilinged gym.

The far west corridor, however, includes a staircase down into a basement. The basement itself has little to offer aside from another kitchen, a large open space, and a utility room.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Green eyes blink slowly as Dean starts coming to. Some forms of magic contain power that can bring people to their knees. The throbbing pain in his head causes his face to scrunch while his mind tries to process where he is.

But the processing halts as a very familiar smell enters his nose. His face turns to a scowl.

Sulphur.

He shakes his head, trying to will away the dullness of his mind, and instinctively, he aims to lift his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. But his hand doesn’t move. His chin drops. He’s restrained to a surface. His lips purse and his head turns as his eyes slowly come into focus.
,br>The room is dark. Cold. And he can hear something dripping close by. His eyebrows lift. That’s not a sound he’s come to appreciate as a Hunter. Dripping faucets have become a trigger over the years. Mostly because a lot of other things drip, and while hunting, Dean has encountered them all. He swallows hard and squints through the dark… to see a wall adjacent to him. But it’s not the wall that’s of interest. The symbol painted on it in blood causes his lips to turn downwards. He doesn’t know it, but he commits it to memory.

Having identified one wall, his head turns to view the other side of the room. The tool tray next to the table causes him to frown. “That’s… not good…” he mutters to himself and struggles against the restraints. It’s possible they left him one weapon by accident--he always had plenty hidden away.

But his voice draws the attention of someone on the other side of the room. The figure stalks forward, shuffling against cement. When he turns around he doesn’t look remotely menacing. Instead, he’s unshaven, unkempt, and skinny like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. “You’re awake,” he actually smiles. His voice has the tone of a predator.

Dean manages a saccharine smile, “Nah. I’m still asleep. No demon coward would knock out a would-be victim and then take them //here//. Nope. That’s changeling bullshit. But,” his nose wrinkles as he inhales the sulphuric scent again, “all evidence says you’re wearing that poor schmuck. Suspect you’re not nearly as pretty under the facade.”

The man’s brown eyes flicker, rolling to the back of his head, exposing a very different set of flat-white eyes beneath them.

“...Yeah,” Dean says again, “...you’re one ugly motherfucker.”

“Oh,” the demon replies, “this is going to be fun. Shall we get started?”

“...Sure,” Dean replies. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus … omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio…” He really needs to study his Latin.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
"Looks like we're about to interrupt a Bar Mitzvah." Jo shakes her head as she looks at all the cars. "Parkour? Not sure. I excelled at B & E though... Think we should check the main hall out and then the basement. Everyone knows that any self respecting demon or witch keeps their prisoners underground."

She's snarking - not at May - but she is. She's worried and it's starting to show, even though she's trying to keep her cool and remain detached.

The blonde slides from the car and, after conferring with May, heads to the side of the building. It's going to take a bit to get in ... something about using the playground equipment to balance enough to reach the roof and then break in through a service door. All without making too much noise.

As they descend from the roof into the building, Jo stops and listens "Where is everyone? I would expect it to be noisier than this, given all the cars out the front." The main hall is just up ahead on the left. That door leading to the basement, is a few feet past that. Part of the blonde hopes that there's no one there …

Melinda May has posed:
Getting in would have been easier if Jo didn’t clomp about like a kid wearing their first ever pair of boots, but May works with it. She probably makes climbing the playground and going from there to the roof seem almost too easy.

Once they’re inside the building, May goes into full stealth mode. Because, really, she does not want to have fight through the ENTIRE town’s worth of people. Going with Jo’s assessment, she’s aiming for the basement door. But. There’s the door to the main hall that they have to get past.

Is the door open? How tall is the ceiling in this hall way? May has an idea, and she’s not sure Jo would be capable of keeping up.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Sure enough, a wedge doorstop props the door to the main hall. But the building itself lacks noise. Its nearly clandestine quiet presents an odd quandry. But the smell of incense and burning wax fill the room. The rumble of voices chanting slowly cuts through the silence, gaining momentum like a storm.

First only one or two voices. Then more. The noise of the chant thrums across the open space, vibrating as it reaches destinations. It’s possible the pair may be able to sneak by. It’s equally possible that won’t happen.

Glowing runes appear along the expanse of the cement floor. The runes move in circular patterns about the room, and begin to glow brilliant blue upon the walls. In the pair’s periphery, a figure seems to appear.

The blonde little girl with brilliant blue eyes and pale skin opens her mouth and releases a blood-curdling scream. She runs towards the pair, aiming to inflict injury upon either or both as she wills it. Should she get close, her chilling grasp with its ghostly touch will leave anyone in want of warmth, comfort, or hope.

Children should never be ghosts.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
Jo doesn't clomp. Well. Not much, anyway. She's just not a lithe asian woman who's clearly had some 'other' training.

The chanting gets a soft sigh from the blonde and she glances at May. Then there's the cute little girl - well, she would be cute, if she doesn't ... you know ... dead and screaming the scream of a banshee.

Thank goodness it's not a banshee. They're much harder to be rid of.

Muscle memory kicks in and the blonde pulls a handful of salt from her pouch, flinging in the poor childs face. Her other hand closes around the flask of holy water - the contents of which are splashed liberally in the same direction.

"Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino per caelum, caelum antiquos glori Patri" The words are rushed and the cadence might be off, but surely ... that should do that trick…

Problem is, the ones in the hall likely know they're here now. With an apologetic shrug to Agent Mom, the blonde makes a dash for the door at the end. If they can get through it and shut it, they should be ok, shouldn't they?


Melinda May has posed:
May stops just short of the propped-open door when the chanting starts and looks at Jo… and then at the ghost child. Well, shit. As Jo is flinging salt, holy water, and words at the ghost, May kicks the wedge out of the doorway and slams the door closed. If it’s lockable, she’ll lock it as well, but she’s not banking on it. “Go, go.”

Pulling one of the blades she’s sure is iron, she pushes Jo to head for that basement door, putting herself in the path of the ghost child if she’s still there after all of the countermeasures.

Is it wrong that she’s seriously considering calling in an air strike on this building as soon as they’re clear?

Dean Winchester has posed:
The salt is enough. The ghost dissipates in a film in the air like a puff of smoke. But the damage has already happened. The witches calling their incantations wake from their othered state and are on the move thanks to the girl’s alert.

//BANG//

The slam of the door gives the pair a head start. But there’s no question that a lot of people are on their tails--or very soon will be.

The door is lockable, but it’s not a particularly effective mechanism. Regardless, the action buys extra time, granting them the ability to descend down the stairs into the black, dark abyss.

The stairs leading down to the basement have the musty dusty smell of concrete. With each descending step, the air cools further in their lungs, and a strange chill comes over the space.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The sound echoes through the space. The constant dripping of something begs questions if the room has a piping problem. The concrete walls of the basement, lined in strange red symbols (likely wards), are almost dizzying. But the smell of decay and dying in this space wafts through.

And sulphur.
<brSo much sulphur.

The scent of rotting eggs consumes every facets of the space. And, if anything, the smell strengthens as they move through the space. But there’s no signs of life over here.

The schematics of the building, however, did suggest that the kitchen lays North and a utility room beyond it.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
"Come on, Agent Mom... uh May..." Jo urges the SHIELD agent to follow her through the door, throwing it shut and leaning against it for a moment. It's dark here and gets darker as the stair descend which means the blonde needs a moment for her eyes to adjust - and to find the flashlight that should be in one of the pouches on her belt.

The thin, pale, beam of light cuts the darkness as they head down those stairs and Jo wrinkles her nose at the smell. Damp ... well, not earth, but its close .... and the sweet, sickly scent of decay and death; and now rotten eggs. "Well, it //smells/ like we're in the right place at least ..." she observes quietly, though her voice bounces off the walls and sounds deafening.

"We can't go back the way came in. Let's hope there's a way out ahead ... " her voice is lower this time, as they make the Kitchen door. "Shall we then? Straight through to the room on the other side? Watch out for traps - and if you see any ketchup, maybe grab it?"

Is she joking?

Melinda May has posed:
May closes the door behind them and just for good measure jams a blade into the doorframe, hopefully making getting through after them more challenging for everyone outside. That also gives her eyes a little time to adjust to the near-total darkness in the basement area.

As they walk, she mentally registers the smells -- some familiar, some recognizable but out of context like the sulfur -- and then she frowns faintly at Jo when he voice echoes loudly. This kid needs SERIOUS stealth training. It’s a wonder she’s not already been eaten by something.

She has been watching for traps already, it’s kind of habit by this point. “Straight through.” And no, she is NOT going to stop to collect any ketchup along the way. Salt, yes, but not ketchup. Though she’s pretty sure there won’t be any salt around here.

Dean Winchester has posed:
The dripping gets louder as they near the kitchen.

When they open the door, blood--which has already formed a pool along the kitchen floor--spills further into the hallway. Small black bags (which on inspection are filled with herbs, ridiculously old looking bones, and objects) line the kitchen counter.

Large circular symbols created in blood that look like runes line the walls and glow yellow when they step into the space.

The summon happens quickly.

First the room seems empty, but the moment the pair blink, it’s filled with hollowed-out looking teens. Their eyes glaze over and angrily they aim to take their vengeance out on the living that never bothered find them in their darkest hour.

The echoes of the room though yield something else beyond it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The scream starts out quietly and then emits louder until the demon presses a hand to Dean’s mouth effectively stifling it. Blood oozes from each of the open wounds WInchester has already incurred.

When the moment ends and the demon drops his hand, Dean spits blood back in his face. Yet the demon merely smiles in response. Dean’s gaze flattens. Any warmth behind his eyes has disappeared.

“So, you’re what? Some witch-bitch doing their bidding?” only a Winchester would try to interrogate a monster while under such circumstances.

“Oh,” the fellow’s eyes widen, “no, not exactly.” His smile takes on a feline edge. “You made them very angry, Dean Winchester.” The smile grows. Yes, he knows Dean’s name. Much of hell knows Dean’s name. “The sacrifice needed to summon me? Extreme. But the rewards for hurting an enemy?” he clucks his tongue and his delight reflects in his eyes. “But for me? This is a pleasure. And I look forward to doing it again. And again. And again.” He pats the side of Dean’s bloodied face.

“Again?” he manages to have bravado even while strapped to a table. “Last I checked humans only die once,” Dean replies gruffly.

The demon laughs. “What do you think hell is, Dean?” He pauses and watches Dean. “You know, you’d make a pretty suit for awhile…”

Jo Harvelle has posed:
It's a good thing that Jo took the supply of salt from the Impala, as well as the supply of Holy Water. She doesn't stop and moves quickly through the room to the door on the other side, pausing then to take a deep breath and step right on through.

"Oh crap..." The symbol glows yellow and she's faced with a roomful of teens. "What's wrong. Did Mommy send y'all to bed without any supper?" It's an indication of how scared she is, the snarking. She might borrowing some of Deans bravado. "Why don't y'all go listen to some emo music and let a girl through?"

"No? Well then ... let me assault you." It's a bad pun, she knows that it is as she flings another handful salt in their direction. Can she throw fast enough to get through the throng relatively unharmed and to the other side? There's only one thing on her mind. //Save Dean.//

Melinda May has posed:
May would frown at Jo’s snark, but she’s more concerned by the passageway suddenly filled with what look like extras from a zombie movie. Studying the various individuals, she pulls a pair of what she hopes are cold iron blades at the same time that Jo is flinging salt. And then she launches herself at the undead teens, determined to fight them back to give Jo an opening to get through to Dean.

“Go, Harvelle. Now!” She’s not pulling her punches with these things, either. So Jo just might catch a glimpse of her particular fighting style. Hint: markedly different from Winchester fisticuffs.

Dean Winchester has posed:
The teen ghosts--a sacrifice made in another place as service to this one--aren’t receptive to the puns. But the salt? That definitely carries some advantage. The salt pushes them back. When it touches them, it effectively banishes them, albeit, temporarily, from the area. The salt round weapons could be particularly effective on these ghouls.

That said, May’s salt soaked sash-whip burns them out of existence (again, temporarily, but certainly long enough to get through). The children scream when the salt hits them, agonizing against the salt that drives them backwards.

Joint efforts make it easy enough for Jo to get through to the door. And when it opens, the room reeks of sulfur. A scrawny mans lays in a heap on the floor and Dean strapped to a table in the utility room’s centre. He’s bloodied, bruised, and unresponsive to the sound of someone entering the room.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
“It’s Jo…” Jo mutters at May, a frown of worry for Dean creasing her brow. With the ghouls and ghosts disappearing, she can see a way through. It won’t be easy and if one of those ghosts should rematerialise on top of her, things could get particularly hairy.

It’s the smell that hits her first, the smell of rotting eggs and hot springs. She gags, her arm rising to cover her nose as she looks first to the body and then to Dean. One step, then two, towards the Hunter strapped on the table but the blonde hesitates and draws in a deep breath. “Focus Jo. This might be a trap … “ Her blue eyes drop to the body on the floor and she draws the pistol from the back of her pants, sprinkling salt and splashing holy water over the poor downed creature.

She’s not taking any chances.

Keeping the body in view, the blonde skirts around - watching for symbols and markings that might indicate wards or traps - until she reaches the table that Deans strapped on. “Dean …” she taps at his face whilst checking to see what might ail him and how to release his restraints.

Melinda May has posed:
Making sure that there’s an opening for Jo to get through, May ignores the quip from the blonde about her name -- there is no way he was going to yell out a rhyme in the middle of a tense situation. That would be beyond distracting. She just remains focused on dissipating the ghosts as they reappear, giving Jo time to get Dean up and moving so they can get out of here.

If any of the spirits do manage to touch her, her only visible reaction is to attack all the more viciously for a moment. But even she can’t keep this up indefinitely.

Dean Winchester has posed:
The downed creature seems to be legitimately down. The sound of his name causes Dean’s face to scrunch and his eyes to slowly flutter open. “Jesus,” he murmurs as he groans. “We… should get out of here…” he turns down to look at the mess of a human on the floor. He groans again, “In a real pinch I can remember Latin.” There’s a pause and he casts Jo a long look. “You’re a sight for sore eyes…” he murmurs again while slowly sliding off the table and rubbing at one of the open wounds on his cheek.

“You any good with a needle and thread?” because he’s going to need stitches. He manages a very tired, not all present smile, “Would hate to stop looking so damned pretty?” he almost laughs. It’s a hollow sound. He’s easily guided out of the room.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
Jo could kiss him and smack him - all at the same time but she doesn’t, just keeps frowning. “At least you’re with us. Is it really you?” There’s some more salt and holy water that gets sprinkled over the Hunter - some might get in that wound. But Jo’s heard the stories and doesn’t want to become a statistic.

As long as the Hunter doesn’t scream or smoke, errr smoke starts coming off his body that is, she slips a shoulder under his arm “Of course I am. A sight for a sore eyes. And it’s a good thing that I //can// remember Latin, isn’t it?’

“Got him Agent Mo… May.” she calls out, frowning towards that exit once more. “I can’t see a back door here and we’re too low for there to be windows…” Which means they have to go back out the way they came.

Through the teen ghosts and the witches at the door. That’s if they’re still at the door and not got through it. Because that’s a possibility - a really bad one at that.

“Come on. Let’s go…” she mutters, dragging the Hunter with her and handing him her pistol “I can stitch you up good enough and scars never hurt no-one. I might like it, on my man.”

Melinda May has posed:
May dissipates one of the teen ghosts yet again as Jo and Dean emerge from the other room. “Get to the door, be ready to move when I say. You’re going to have to keep these ghosts off of our back.”

While still snapping her sash whip out at ghosts with one hand, May pulls … one of Dean’s pistols out of her jacket. Damnit, that’s right. She left her ICER in the car. This is going to be particularly messy, especially since she’d not planned to need WAND backup. And this will be the LAST time she tracks either Winchester down without preparing for the worst. This pistol will have to do.

“Now.” And May promptly steps past them to lead the way back toward and up the stairs to the basement door several steps ahead of the pair. It might seem like she’s not waiting for them to keep up. And in a way, she isn’t. This is practically Bahrain all over again for her, and she will mow through everyone in this community hall to get the Hunters out.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean visibly winces when the salt and water hit him. “Hey! Don’t you know how much that stings?!” his voice comes as a hiss. He shudders in an effort to will away the memory of this place as well as the burn of the salt. He shudders again. Evidently he’s more of a baby than he lets on. He manages to accept the shoulder and groans again.

The notion of liking it on her man wins Jo a crooked hitch of Dean’s lips like he aims to say something but he leaves it for the time being. They need to plow through an obstacle course of ghosts, ghouls, and witches. Never a dull moment in the life of a hunter. “Just… make the stitches small.”

Ironically, Dean’s pistol filled with salt rounds is strangely effective against these creatures. He had filled it before they’d ventured through.

The ghosts aren’t deterred by the group’s ability to move through them. Each of the tools at their disposal are effective, but the barrage of ghouls continues to be on them as they move through the community centre.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
“Better it sting you as a man and a human than somethin’ else.” Jo shoots back, grunting under Deans weight. She might be strong, but he’s not light…. Yes, yes, it’s all muscle - not all the burgers he consumes. Still… “Maybe you should lay off the burgers a bit…”

“Don’t tell me how to stitch you up - you’ll get what you get.” Her blue eyes are focussed on the room ahead and she simply nods to May as the Agent growls at her.

She starts intoning the words of a chant that she thinks will work. She hopes will work, at least between her salt, Deans salt rounds and Mays salt soaked sash, they might get out here relatively unharmed.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.” A ghoulish looking teen comes at her, nails extended like it wants to rake her face, gets a handful of salt in its face. Jo’s not sure if the visage is //because// it’s a ghost or whether the hapless teen looked like that in life.

Another ghost materialises beside them, more salt is flung “Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te...cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare…” beat “I swear Dean, I’m gonna make you remember these words if it’s the last thing I do…”

Slowly, painful step by painful step, the pair hopefully with May following make their way to the door. “Get the damn door, Dean.”

She’s bossy, isn’t she?

Melinda May has posed:
By the time the others catch up to her, May simply shoves the pistol at Jo and pulls a double-bladed knife-like setup from behind her back Crocodile Dundee style -- and this clearly eminently functional blade would make even that fictional character agree that it’s a knife.

“Be ready.” Then May yanks the knife free that had been keeping the door wedged closed and steps back, expecting the door to be shoved open by the people on the other side. And indeed, the moment that door slams open, May is charging up and through, using her blades -- the matched pair together in one hand, the door-wedge knife in the other -- to very Kill Bill like effect.

If Dean manages to get a look at May’s expression, she’s completely shut down to the point that even her eyes are flatly emotionless. She might as well be mowing through a bunch of mannequins for all of her reaction to the havoc she’s wreaking.

Dean Winchester has posed:
The clearing of the nasties goes really well with the pair’s efforts. Dean, however, seems far too out of it to really help. His eyes even look nearly distant when they find the door. He coughs. Lightly. “Tickle in my throat,” he rasps as he reaches for the door.

His eyes linger on May longer than they ought, and it’s only when he looks away that he seems to recognize he’s being awkward.

He props it open and leans against it as he fishes for his keys in his jacket. “I’m driving,” despite barely standing up. Evidently some things never change.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
“Dean.” Jo actually snaps at the Hunter “Get with the game… What would your father say about this?” That’s a really low blow and she’ll apologise for it later but she’s worried and they have to get out there.

Is Dean really alright? She’s no idea what was done to him - the salt and the holy water is only a partial test. Maybe she’s going to need Bobby to help with this. She doubts Agent Mom, despite her fighting prowess, is really equipped to deal with the nastier things they have to. She might be surprised though.

With the door propped open, the blonde turns to cover Mays retreat and snags the keys from the Hunters hand. “Not today, you’re not…” She’ll knock him out if she has to once they get to the car. Right now, he doesn’t seem like he could fight his way out of a wet paper bag.

“Let’s go…” She tugs the Hunter out the door and into the corridor. Where the hell have the witches gone? The corridor is long enough and they still have to get past the hall but she doesn’t stop, tugging Dean along with her.

Melinda May has posed:
May again leads the way, her shark-like gaze watching for attacks from all quarters. They reach the door to the main hall and she pauses there to look at the Hunters. There is NO way that Dean is going to manage the roof the way she and Jo did. Front door it is.

“Both of you, when I say go, go. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.” She pulls a burner cell phone from a pocket and tucks it into Jo’s jacket pocket. “Call speed dial one when you’re clear, he’ll direct you to the nearest SHIELD facility with medical staff, and I’ll meet you there.” She pauses for a moment longer, dropping the small blade and separating the two larger blades into a matched pair of something that would fit into a kung fu movie. Then, after a VERY brief glance through the doorway, she turns and charges through.

“GO!”
Dean Winchester has posed:
The snap of his name causes Dean to arch a wry eyebrow at Jo in return. And the mention of his father actually steeles his expression. There’s no trace of anything remotely weakened in it. Daddy’s blonde little warrior carries on, it seems. Which, for the moment, likely has the desired effect.

The mention of SHIELD medical has him lifting both his eyebrows, but he’s not exactly in any shape to argue. Not really. He inhales a long breath in preparation for needing to move. His eyes trail back to where Jo has taken his keys and his expression flattens further. There’s an implied //don’t mess with Baby// in there, but he never gives it words. Instead, when told to run like a bat out of hell, he does. Well, he does as best he can, which, strangely, is better than maybe even he expected.

The opening of the door also yields an array of witches bent on their revenge. The magic itself, borrowed from some other power still thriving in this space, grants them extra abilities--those seen among meta-humans more than cultists or witches. The barrage of magics that the group faces reflect the mystical.

Tongues of fire lick their way through the hall. But even with the magic present, the physical attack still presents a challenge.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
Yeeeeah. Jo’s going to give Dean up to SHIELD medical. The ‘feds’. Of course she is. Not. She nods to May though and lets the Agent thinks she will. Besides, they’ve got bigger … witches … to fry than that.

“Don’t worry about your car, I’ve driven it recently remember…” When she ran over the cultists back in Stepford, Nowhere.

As Dean bolts, so does she, levelling the pistol she holds and fires. Right at the first witch target she can find - the largest part of them, making it harder to miss. The salt for the moment is forgotten. She needs both hands for that weapon.

As one redheaded bi---, ahem witch, lunges for the blonde, Jo ducks and kicks a leg out. If May thought Deans technique was bad, Jo’s is attrocious. There’s no finesse, just pure bar-fight brawl but it’s effective.

//Crunch//

That’s a knee that her foot connects with. The redhead goes down as Jo’s fist comes up. Nighty night to that one at least.

Melinda May has posed:
Jo’s technique is indeed crude but effective. May is going about twenty steps further, her polished steel blades clearly not just show pieces. She doesn’t hesitate to slash throats, chop off fingers, and in one woman’s case as she tries to target Dean, a perfectly parallel pair of slices across the abdomen that let the woman’s inside abruptly become outsides.

Unlike the other two, she does not try to head for the exit, instead meeting the evildoers in the hall straight on. It’s now well and truly like a Kill Bill movie all up in here.

While she’s fighting like a dervish, though, May is keeping alert for any one of this group that seems more leader-like than the rest, and she’ll target him or her specifically.

These stupid yokels wanted blood? They’re getting blood.

Dean Winchester has posed:
But strangely there doesn’t seem to be a leader. There doesn’t seem to be one person leading the rest. Any coven worth their mettle tends to have one, but this one, sadly, seems without.

Of course, this also hasn’t been the only weird thing in Virginia. It’s possible there are more. And, if Dean ever bothers to write a report, it’s likely that they’ll ping the radar. Regardless, the blood bath continues and Kill Bill style seems to be the only way the ladies stay down--a fact that landed Dean in the clinker in the first place.

But the decimation isn’t unnecessary. Perhaps the small comfort of witches is the mortals involved chose to exercise their actions.

“We should just nuke this place and be done with it,” Dean states quietly with a frown. “What is up with Virginia?” he mutters to no one as they make it to the exit. He rubs absently at the gash on his face and casts Jo a long look. “You can drive,” like he has a say in the matter, “and you can patch me up.” There’s a pause. “Roadhouse and then Hell’s Kitchen?” He swallows hard. “...I need to see my brother.”

Jo Harvelle has posed:
Jo doesn’t watch May, she’s to involved in getting them free. “Light the damn building up…” she grunts as they exit. “Make sure they don’t rise again.” She might agree about blowing Virginia up, she’s seen enough and she’s only just started.

“So nice of you to give me your permission…” she says dryly to Dean, finally turning to watch May emerge from the building. “Get in the car, we’ll get somewhere safe and then I’ll patch you up. Agent Mom said something about SHIELD Medical.”

Her blue eyes rest on the Hunter. He’s going to have to make the call otherwise she’s heading back to the Roadhouse and then to Hell’s Kitchen. She doesn’t trust ‘feds’.

Melinda May has posed:
May does emerge from the building a few moments later and just as she reaches the Impala multiple windows in the building burst outwards and gout flames. Still holding her kinda gorey blades in one hand, she gets into the car while being mindful to not smear too much blood around.

The shark-like flatness to her eyes has faded and now she looks tired, though still as emotionless as ever… unless you count the tenseness to her posture as an indication of emotion.

She didn’t hear Jo’s mistrust of Medical, or she would have things to say about that.

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean scrubs his face, rubbing at the open wound along it with just a hint of masochism. It’s unlikely he’ll talk about it. And even less that anyone will ever get the full story of whatever happened in the basement. But even then, his eyes have flattened and their usual good humour seems to have drained from them.

He inhales a long breath. And as May gets into the backseat of the Impala, he actually nods. And then, in a way everyone has likely come to expect, adds, “Don’t get blood on the upholstery. I mean, I know how to get it out,” but why. With that, he nods again.

He casts a long look towards Jo. “Hell’s Kitchen first. I gotta see Sam before these motherfuckers drag me to hell.” It’s been way too long. “I’m not going to bleed out in the car, but I need to get there,” his voice doesn’t waffle on the point. “Besides, I don’t think he cut very deep. Bastard seemed to know what he was doing.”

A glance is given to the backseat. “And then the Roadhouse. Or SHIELD medical.” Evidently he’s not particular.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
Jo stares at the wound and at Dean. He can expect words from the blonde later, when they’re alone. “You alright, Agent Mo… May?” The engine roars to life and she floors it. The Impala peels out of there.

“Then you go to SHIELD medical. I want to see how true all this is…” She still doesn’t quite believe it’s real, still.

“What happened?”

Melinda May has posed:
“Fine.” Even more terse than usual, May sets her swords onto the floorboards of the Impala very gingerly after they’re off and away and reaches into a pocket of her jacket and pulls a small plastic bag. She removes the scentless equivalent of a baby wipe from the bag and starts working on cleaning her hands and face. It’s an old coping mechanism, and one she hasn’t had to employ in a long time.

Even though she says nothing else as they drive, she’s wondering just as much as Jo is what happened to Dean in that room. Clearly, nothing good, but she won’t be able to help him deal with it if she doesn’t know the particulars. ...not that she’s going to press him for the intel either. She knows how much she’d detest if someone tried to pressure her to talk about something bad.

Dean Winchester has posed:
The question actually causes Dean’s posture to change. His hands drop from his face and wrap tightly around his chest. His eyes harden. Everything about him hardens. And while Jo has known Dean for a long stretch, and has seen him shut down many times, this isn’t his usual strategy. He normally goes for humour. Or pie. Today it’s just plain as day stonewalling.

His mind works to process what happened and finally he issues Jo a long look. “Nothing worth talking about.” There. That seems like enough. But something in him must know it’s not, and so he offers other insight, “The bastard said I made someone mad. That’s all. That the bitches,” because that’s what he’ll call this Coven, “summoned him because they really hate me.” But whatever happened doesn’t get a great deal of detail. Perhaps for their benefit. Perhaps for Dean’s. It’s difficult to tell.

Jo Harvelle has posed:
Jo casts Dean a worried look and raises her eyes to the mirror, trying to catch Mays. Something’s wrong, very wrong and she knows it. But now isn’t the time to do anything about it.

“First aid kit under the passengers seat if you need it, Agent May…” she says instead. Another look to Dean and then her eyes are back on the road and her foot presses down on the accelerator. First stop Hell’s Kitchen, probably to find Sammy, then onto to SHIELD medical.

Hoo boy. What a ride.

Melinda May has posed:
The offer of a first aid kit gets only a nod of a reply from May, and as she cleans off her face and hands, it looks like she managed to get out of there with nothing much worse than a few minor scratches and bruises. She is sorely tempted to pull the pen-injector of pain killer from her jacket and stab Dean with it, but she knows he would NOT react well for multiple reasons. However…

Pulling the first aid kit, she looks for -- and finds, unsurprisingly -- a small bottle of superglue. Poor man’s liquid bandage. She pulls that and another antiseptic wipe from her personal collection. “Dean, I can fix that cut on your face without stitches. It’ll hurt. Do you want me to try?”

If he says yes, she directs Jo to avoid any sudden bumps or swerves then uses the wipe and glue to clean and then close the cut on the young man’s face. And she’ll forgive any cussing that ensues. She knows from extensive personal experience that this crap burns something awful.

Dean Winchester has posed:
The offer has Dean rubbing his cheek again as if somehow the gash will magically disappear through sheer will. His green eyes narrow with some unspoken thought, and then after a moment, he nods. “Please,” it’s an easy response. His lips pull up grimly into something likely akin to a grimace, already prepared for whatever pain will come his way.

The touch of the antiseptic to his face causes a sharp inhalation of air and a quiet, “Son of a bitch.” But the pain is nearly revelled. At least a little. His eyes clamp shut and he exhales a long slow breath to control any further reactions to May’s machinations. “No scars,” he repeats some version of his earlier thoughts on the matter. “I’ve got to keep this face pretty,” and then with a nearly maniacal laugh in his voice he quips, “Never know how long I’ll need it.”

The near-smile--grim rather than merry doesn’t fade, gritting through the process.
Jo Harvelle has posed:
Jo just keeps driving. Deans answer to her question was unsatisfactory but she'll take him to task for it when they're private. But "Who was he?" That gave Dean that information, she means. "Agent May, did you notice a leader? I didn't and that's strange."

How long is this drive to Hells Kitchen going to take, anyway?

Melinda May has posed:
“Not anyone clearly in charge, no.” Once that cut on Dean’s face is dealt with, May settles back but only long enough to shake a couple of pills out of the first aid kit and pull a slim metal flask from her jacket. She leans forward again to offer both to Dean.

If the Hunter ignores her offer of the mild painkillers, she’ll nudge him until he accepts them. “But I’ll get WAND started researching this. That entire town is a liability we can’t afford to leave unaddressed.” Especially considering the way they were clearly playing with forces that are exceedingly dangerous.

Dean Winchester has posed:
“I don’t know,” Dean answers Jo. “Some demon they summoned.” The mention of no one being in charge earns a lift of Dean’s eyebrows. He twists around and looks at the flask and the pills. After a couple moments he merely shakes his head. “I’ll be fine,” he mutters before sinking back into his seat to stare out the window. And then, with all the good humour he can muster, he adds, “Looks worse than it is, I think.”

As far as getting WAND to deal with the town, Dean frowns. “Well they’ll to deal with more. I’ve been around the counties in the area and all have infestations. Problems. I only ended up here because those bitches summoned a hellhound to a county over. No idea how they did that.”

Jo Harvelle has posed:
"He didn't gloat on who he was?" Jo frowns and uses the mirror to watch May tend Dean. "Looks like there won't be any scarring. More's the pity." the snark is there, never far from the surface. She's still worried, nothing adds up.

"What wand and how's it going to help?" Clearly she's misunderstood something here but Dean's follow up has her nodding "He's right. Feels like something's brewing... Just don't know what." beat "Why do you need to see Sam?"

Melinda May has posed:
Jo’s snark isn’t really appreciated by May, and the questions even less. Especially the last. But, it’s not her place to deflect, so she’s going to leave that one for Dean to figure out. She’ll answer the first question.

“WAND is SHIELD’s Wizardry, Alchemy, and Necromancy Division.” So, yeah, Jo pegged her correctly as a Fed. “Created to deal with the increasing numbers of unexplained and unexplainable things out there.” Anything more than that is need to know only.

Guessing that this is likely going to be a long drive, May pulls a cellphone out of her jacket. “If you want, Dean, I can call Sam and have him meet us at Medical.” She doesn’t mention that the younger WInchester might already be at SHIELD HQ, in some training class or other. Does the elder sibling know that Sam signed to be WAND full time instead of just a consultant? She suspects not.

Dean Winchester has posed:
It’s becoming ever clearer that things aren’t going according to plan. The change comes subtly at first. The flash of light in the car that emits from Dean’s hand follows with a sharp spark of electricity. When the light relieves, the Impala has lost all system control and every electronic device in the vehicle fails, including homing devices and cellphones of any kind. The steering stiffens and the car essentially shorts out, causing all of the systems to flash angrily.

While Jo gets to manage the vehicle and its newfound quirks that Dean himself will curse if he should ever get his body back, the front passenger seat sees something entirely different. Flat-white eyes have replaced Dean’s usually green ones as his mouth grimly flattens into a line.

While the vehicle pulls across the highway, the Deanmon vanishes. Destination unknown.