The Best of Kansas

Fight Fire With Fire

Spencer wasn't happy.

One might think his sour disposition had something to do with his job, but one would be wrong. Sure, hunting wasn't the most uplifting of jobs, but neither was profiling; both jobs still made him feel content and accomplished at the end of the day. And that was good, because an unhappy Spencer was not to be trifled with.

And Spencer wasn't happy.

"What did you just say?"

"Uh—"

"Don't. Think." Spencer put his hands on the arms of the chair, gripping the demon's wrists as he ground out a low demand. "Tell me what you just said."

"I said... word on the metaphorical street is... it won't be long before the big battle so..." the demon swallowed, tongue flashing over his split lip as half-bloody, blue-gray eyes scanned Spencer's face, "...so what you're asking... doesn't... matter."

"So, there are demons who seem to think Sam and Dean are going to say yes to Lucifer and Michael." Spencer pressed his lips together, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, calming himself. He wasn't mad at the demon, after all; unlike some people, the demon was being relatively cooperative and helpful. "How fact-based is the word on your metaphorical street?"

"Uh—" Eyes darted to the left, starting at the top and moving down before shooting back to

Spencer again. "I don't know." He leaned back as soon as he said the words, anticipating a blow. "I—I swear, I really don't. I know the demons are pretty sure about Dean." His vessel's young age showed when he hunched his shoulders and retreated into himself, reminding Spencer of a turtle. "There was a town with all these faked exorcisms and demonic activity and stuff, and I guess the Winchesters showed up, and Dean killed the Whore of Babylon, which only—"

"—a true servant of Heaven can do." Spencer heaved a sigh and let go of the chair, straightening up and looking, ironically, to the sky for help.

If it weren't for the blatant body language, Spencer would have been inclined to think the demon was lying, but Spencer had quickly learned that demons weren't used to being in vessels that subconsciously responded to truthfulness with their eyes.

"They're dead," Spencer muttered.

"No, I think they both made—"

Spencer glared down at the demon. "When I find them, they're dead."

"Ah." Nodding, the demon let his eyes wander to the floor and stay there. "Yes."

I have to call Garcia. Spencer ran a hand through his hair and turned his gaze upward again, still thinking. I can't risk confronting them over the phone—they might run or make a stupid move even sooner.

"Um..."

Spencer looked down again, watching the demon squirm and remembering there was another line of questioning he had to pursue before he could make his next move.

"You said... if I answered all your questions... I could go, so... can—"

"I never said you could go." Spencer smirked, folding his arms over his chest. "I said I wouldn't exorcise you. Besides, you haven't answered all my questions. Technically, I won't have asked all my questions until I'm dead, because only then will I neither have nor create any more questions. I can keep you in this trap until then without going back on my word."

The demon stared for a moment, surprised, but then a childish sort of anger twisted his features. "That's—that's cheating!"

"No, that's genius." Spencer tapped his temple and wagged the digit before turning toward a nearby table. He used the moonlight streaming in through the battered roof to navigate the broken-down warehouse, and once he got to his bag, he pulled out a thin case file. "Besides, I still have questions right now, so we aren't done either way."