Vampires in Brooklyn - Supernatural fanfiction No.1

Chapter Four

Dean sat outside the warehouse, his back pressed up against the wall.
"Dude, she's taking ages! Does she not realize that we're out in front of a building with huge ass machetes? If the police see us, we're screwed!"
Sam didn't tell Dean what he was thinking, but it was something along the lines of. 'Dude, you can't rush perfection.'
Just then, a scream of manic laughter came from exactly behind Dean, forcing him to cover his ears. Almost immediately after, whatever transparency the windows had was cloaked by a curtain of grey smoke.
"That's our queue!" yelled Sam, breaking a window as he jumped through it.
Opal's back-up stormed the rundown building, wielding machetes the size of their arms.
They pulled back their weapons.
They aimed their blades.
Blood rained endlessly, waterfalls of red soaking clothing.
Opal dragged the knife out of the back of her jeans.
She laughed and plunged the engraved steel into the vampire's throat, sawing the flesh, breaking it. She hacked at the muscle in the maid's neck, all the while bellowing high-pitched laughter out of her lungs.
She drew the knife back and stabbed it into the corpse's chest, carving a circle around the heart. Her hand dived into the warm flesh, fresh blood drowning her forearm, her ignoring it like it was only water. Feeling the muscle in her palm, Opal tore out the beating heart, her laughter louder now than ever.
Smothering her hands in blood, she painted the word 'Corleone' on the wrecked wall, a warning to the vampires that hadn't been attacked yet.
"Son of a bitch..." whispered Dean as he surveyed the scene with disgust. Blood everywhere. Mutilated bodies littering the ground. And through it all, the ever continuous laughter from the antichrist.
Opal clutched the still-pulsing heart in her hand and turned around.
Dean nearly fainted.
There was Opal, pale as a sheet, blood spattered on her face, a grin cracking her cheeks. But by far her eyes were the most disturbing.
They were black where the white should be, like a demon's, with bright blue irises. Blood dripped slowly down her face like tears, the stark red contrasting with the white of her skin.
Not just killer's eyes.
Devil's eyes.
Dean staggered away from the woman he once knew, kicking open the door and running so quickly through it it wasn't natural.
He grabbed the back of Sam's shirt and reached out for Cas's hand, pulling them both very far away. They ran and ran, never planning to stop, because they knew that the most awful thing in the universe was what they'd just left behind.
A dark, lone figure leapt out of one of the trees in the far distance.
The men kept dashing down the dirt path, ignoring the crouched person, until Dean shuddered to a halt.
"That kinda looks like..."
He didn't need to finish the sentence.
Dean crept towards the stationary girl, hoping beyond hope that it really was his friend.
"Hey Dean," whispered Maya Clark.

                                                                                         ***

"M-Maya! Opal told us you died! A ghost in New Orleans, three years ago!"
She threw back her head and laughed. Dean was seriously getting tired of all the hysterics.
"She never did see me die. And she's still in that building, and she's gonna end up dead if we don't go back there."
Dean was horrified.
"We saw that thing, Maya! It may have been Opal once, but it's not anymore. That thing'll be fine. It doesn't need us!"
Maya's usually kind face hardened considerably.
"'That Thing' is still Opal, Dean. Just a different - more violent - version of her. And besides," a spark lit behind her eyes, "'That Thing' is my best friend."
She dashed to the warehouse and pulled the door off its hinges.
"O!" she yelled over Opal's laughter, reaching her and pushing down on her shoulders until the hunter was on her knees.
"Opal," Maya said again, softly this time. "Opal, it's me, it's your Maya. I'm okay, and you're going to be."
Opal finally stopped laughing. Her eyes morphed back to their normal shape, slanted leaves to horizontal walnuts. The black faded and the blood drained, leaving her looking as normal as she ever did.
"Maya," she hummed, a constellation of uncried tears on her lashes. "How?"
Maya breathed a laugh, staring down at the exhausted friend lying in her arms.
"I'm a seraphim. A baby angel."
Sam rubbed his temples.
"Okay, let me get this straight. You, Opal, are the son of Lucifer and some demon. You, Maya, are the son of Michael and some human... oh goody."
Maya nodded, still cradling Opal in her arms.
"Like Ying and Yang. Our powers of good and evil cancel each other out. That's why you've never seen that before."
"What do you turn into, Mai?" Opal breathed, still calmly elated that Maya was alive. She shuddered.
"Something awful."
"No way. Nothing could morph your face to be any less than perfect."
Maya giggled softly. "That's the relief talking."
Their voices were low when they talked to each other, like a kind, lonely, old married couple.
Maya stared up at the Winchesters.
"You know what? I forgot something." She lathered on the thickest accent she could muster.
"'Ello boys."
"I said that!" sighed Opal, marvelling at her and Maya's similarities.
They pressed their foreheads together, their noses touching.
Opal licked her lips and moved her head upwards, her mouth brushing Maya's chin.
There was a blinding flash of light, and a man appeared, a shining halo behind his head and golden fire springing into life when he spread his arms. His upper limbs were held wide, like a heavenly embrace, or the way a stereotypical angel might stand. His legs never parted from each other, cloaked in a pair of fraying blue jeans. A dark green leather jacket covered his shoulders, and curled brown hair was embroidered on his scalp and cheeks.
Frankly, he looked like a broke, overworked guy who was still paying back student loans.
He opened his eyes, revealing brown-green.
"Hey guys! Sam, Dean, how you doing?"
"God?" questioned Maya and Opal.
"Father?" questioned Castiel.
"CHUCK?!" yelled Sam and Dean.
"What? Come on you guys, stop being dicks."
He stared down at Opal and Maya.
"You two should kiss."
Opal ignored him.
"Dude, you know this guy?"
Dean nodded. "You know we told you about that prophet guy who was selling our lives as books? Well now you've met him."
Chuck sighed. "I'm not a prophet. I'm God."
Cas's jaw dropped. "Father?" he repeated.
God nodded at him. "Hey, Castiel."
"Oh Chuck."
"Huh?"
Maya smiled at him. "I'm saying that instead of 'Oh God' from now on."
He smiled back. "Like I said before. You two should kiss."
Opal glared at him.
"You may be God, but that doesn't mean I'm doing what you say."
"What are you doing here, Chuck?"
He stared at Sam.
"What? You can have the antichrist and a baby angel, it's not surprising God was the next to appear in the story! The writer obviously thought that, at least, as any non-crappy writer would. Please. God can't show up at least once?"
Dean's face was the purest definition of the word 'what'.

                                                                        ***

Back at the motel, Opal sipped her beer, staring at Maya as she recounted her story.
"So that's it? The three years of Maya, on the run from the world? No beer?"
"No, Opal."
"No strippers?"
"No, Opal."
"No poker?"
"No, Opal."
"Sad life."
What a reunion.

                                                                         ***

Angie waded through the woods, the abandoned warehouse in the distance. Or at least, it should've been. In its place was a blazing wreck of ash and fire, screams still echoing through the woods.
"What the..."