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Default Hellboy RP Short Story: Yin and Yang - 10-12-2011, 07:28 PM

Fern walked down to the library and stared in horror at the white symbols strewn over the ground. ".. Dean. Sam." She glared at them. "You had better f**king tell me why you chose to ruin marble tiling."

"We'll explain in a minute." Sam checked the Journal over and looked down. "You need to re-draw that one."

"No, I don't, you're looking at it upside-down, mister perfect." Dean glared at him and went back to setting up the small summoning spell. Whatever was in the little pewter bowl, it smelled God-awful and she wanted to gag. "Try sitting right above it."

"What the hell is it?" She crouched down next to him, her tail covering her nose.

"Do you really want to know?"

"If you're trying to summon an Orgdu Jahad right here, Dean, I'm going to pin you to the floor and knock your head off."

"You tried to do that once and we all know how that little number turned out." Dean shooed her back before straightening up and stepping outside the elaborate circle around the dish. "You can't set this one on fire, alright?"

"Why not?" She shot him a dirty look.

"Because it won't work. Demon fire and all that." She rolled her eyes at his comments and crossed her arms, watching irritably. She was stuck in the base again - broken right arm, again - and was the only one to keep an eye on the brothers when they were around.

"This better not explode."

"It won't. Just uh, don't panic." He lit a match and tossed it into the pan; it lit up briefly before dying. She stared at him but he continued on before she could reply. "Castiel, we ask for your guidance... again... and want your counsel. Get your ass down here before I whoop it for you."

"What the-"

"I said shut it, hot cheeks."

"Being elaborate to call me is unlike you, Dean." Fern had barely blinked before a man had appeared quite literally two feet in front of her. She could only see him from the back, but he wore a trench coat similar to hers and his hair was short, choppy, and deep brown.

"Yeah, well, we didn't know how you'd react to being here." Dean pulled another lit match from behind him and dropped it - and the white edge of the ring lit ablaze. Fern's tail was on it and while normal fire wouldn't hurt, this was holy fire, from holy water, and her scream of pain rattled the glass in the panes over the fireplace. Sam threw regular water on her, which also had the effect of breaking open the ring of holy water - and before the trio knew it, the angel had grabbed Fern by the throat and had her thrown up against a library shelf.

He had very, very cold blue eyes; he looked like any other average human being on the planet, with a white suit and a blue tie. He had a bit of scruff, nothing too excessive, less than a five o clock shadow; an angular face that managed to not look gaunt. "Why do you keep collaborating with these abominations, Sam?" The hand on her throat tightened with an alarming strength she wouldn't have anticipated from a scrawny human and she felt some sort of burn running from her throat down into her lungs and heart. What was going on?!

"Cass, put her down now! She's a hunter!" Dean pulled some sort of steel knife out of a sheath in his jacket, she couldn't quite see it; she felt very, very sick, but the feeling randomly stopped and she was dropped to the floor.

"Ungh." She rubbed her throat and winced at the burn-like blisters on her neck; she hoped that wasn't going to leave a mark. Though, she noted as she looked at her tail through blurry eyes, that mark on her tail was gonna stay forever. Great.

"But she is a demon. Why would she hunt other demons?" He looked down at her and she spat at him half-heartedly; her throat felt extremely sore and spitting took too much energy.

"I'm just born that way I guess, babe." She tried to inhale but it just hurt. "Dean. Sam. Next time you want to summon a f**king Yang to my Yin, tell him who the hell we are so he doesn't try to kill us. I'd love to see him fight Dad."

Castiel turned back to Dean, his head tilted so much that his ear would have touched his shoulder were it physically possible. "... Dean?"

------

Some beers, a bottle of whiskey for her tail, and a lengthy explanation later, Castiel looked at Fern. "I apologize for my earlier misgivings about your leanings due to your race, Fern."

"Yeah, well, happens a lot more than I'd like." She drank some of her beer and glowered at him, yellow eyes still thoroughly angry. "I even learned to ask questions first and I'm one of the most trigger-happy people here."

"..I apologize for your ill temper, then. You clearly have a fiery disposition." She snorted as she drank her beer and she started coughing hard, trying not to laugh. He looked mildly distressed. "I don't believe choking on a fermented beverage is a way to fix it."

"She's laughing, Cass. Relax. If she's laughing at one of your scr'ew-ups, it's a good sign." Dean finished his beer. "I think it's time for some shut-eye, g'night, hot cheeks." He mocked tipping a hat to her as he stood up and left, and, as he cited a headache, Sam shortly followed suit, leaving the angel and half-demon sitting at the kitchen table rather awkwardly. In the silence, Fern just drank her beer and stared at Castiel.

"... I didn't think you guys were even real," she finally said. "My dad's religious and all, but I never even thought for a second that the stories he told me about angels and heaven and hell were real."

"Given that your father is the The Beast of the Apocalypse, The World Destroyer, The Great Beast, The Right Hand of Doom-"

"Spare me the horror stories, I've heard them all." She yawned and leaned back to open the fridge and get another beer. Being demon-born, she hardly had to worry about ruining her liver or dying of alcohol poisoning. She could get hella drunk, though, and she usually regretted it once the hangover kicked in when she woke up the next day. "And don't try to surprise me with his real name, I know that too. Me and Batty apparently both have names relating to it. Don't know what they are, just that hearing them is supposed to wake up some sort of "demonic hidden inner nature" or something like that." She rolled her eyes and cracked open a beer with her teeth, spitting the bottlecap into the recycling bin on the floor at her feet. She'd pulled it over earlier due to her bad habit of basically chewing the caps off the bottles; she couldn't help it if her teeth hurt constantly and chewing on things made them stop aching. There was nothing wrong with them, either - dentists called in could find nothing wrong.

"I see." Castiel was silent. Then, "So why would a family of demons choose ot hunt their own kind?"

"Because Dad was raised to. Granddad started it all up anyway; he was the occult consult to the president during World War II since Hilter had one, Rasputin." She cringed; just hearing the name made her sick. "Granddad, Trevor Bruttenholm, found Dad and raised him to be as normal a kid as possible, and the BPRD was founded not long after." She let her burnt tail hold the bottle; it felt a lot better as it did. "And slowly they started attracting people who wanted help. Mom was one; she uh, leveled a good area of Pittsburgh when she was a kid. Dad had a mad crush on her for the longest time; he was a teenage demon at the time. Kind of like how I only look maybe eightteen when I'm twenty three, we age a hell of a lot slower. Once I hit thirty, he said, I should stop aging for a hell of awhile." She smiled a bit. "Then he almost died, before Batty and me were born." She sighed and drank some beer without her hands. It was an amusing sight to see and Castiel smiled awkwardly.

"Your mother made a difficult choice to save him."

"Yeah. I know about that, too." She frowned. "You're really a know-it-all, aren't you."

"All angels know. We constantly hear each other. Sort of like white-noise to humans and demons... and other creatures," he amended. "There are rare humans who can hear us and those are considered as prophets."

"That's interesting enough." She leaned against the table with one arm, only half-listening; she was happily drunk and was hoping she was pulling off the "I Am Not Drunk" stance well. He just stared at her.

"You're drunk."

... well, there went that.



I stare at the girl in the mirror: T-shirt, torn up jeans, no beauty queen.
But the way that you see me, you get underneath me, and all my defenses just fall away, fall away.
I am beautiful with you, even in the darkest part of me. I am beautiful with you;
Make it feel the way it's supposed to be!

You're here with me: Just show me this and I'll believe I am beautiful with you!
Halestorm
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