Two Worlds IV

XI

After taking a well needed shower, I stepped out and got dressed. I caught a glimpse of my reflection and looked back to it. I examined myself.

From my usual work boots, my loose jeans, 80s band T-shirt and my hair being up in a ponytail. The way I had always dressed since I was old enough to dress myself, I could tell something had changed. Not in the Mark of Cain burned onto my arm for all eternity or the Star of the Deceased, a permanent reminder of how I screwed up my relationship with Taylor.

No. It was something deeper. My aura.

I had always been able to sense things about people. I knew how to tell whether or not they'd be good people to be around. A vibe came from each person I met. Hostile. Friendly. Standoffish. Social. They all had a different feel, but mine. It was like Cain's. Undefined.

Ever since I knew how to shoot a gun properly, I knew that my purpose on the earth was to do what I did best. Hunt.

Hunt down anything and everything that threatened the human race. Born and raised that way, everything had been straight forward since I left home at only 14. It had all been so clear, then it went hazy once I hit 24.

My intentions changed and I was fighting for a bigger purpose. Saving the entire world, even when it was on a suicide run.

"You know, there was a time when I was a Hunter, not a stone cold killer." My own words rung through my head. No one was ever going to know what went on inside my head in five seconds flat.

All the ways I could kill a person had went through my mind in a day, and how to make it as painful and bloody as possible. It was terrible to want to kill my best friend out of nothing but the shear fact of killing someone. I was a psychopath, no matter what anyone had to say, and no one could change it. I watched as my fingers clenched into fists and I sneered as I looked at my reflection.

I grunted and screamed as I punched the mirror. It shattered and a few shards cut through my knuckles.

A few pieces were still stuck in the frame, allowing me to see my face. My eyes were burning as I sneered. I once again thought I saw someone behind me in the dark. I turned to see no one there and let out a heavy breath. I looked down to my knuckles as they started healing. I flexed my fingers and turned to the door to leave when I saw Jack standing there. He was just staring at me with a certain expression that looked like he had just seen something horrifying. I huffed and pushed past him.

Death stood in front of the door to Lucifer's cell. He put his hand to the lock and the objects gathered into a single goblet. The Holy Grail. He let it go to golden smoke, sending it to his work space in the Veil of heaven.

Death opened the doors to see an angel with his wings spread behind him and leaning on a back was, head hung. Blond curled hair covered their head. He looked up with bright blue eyes. Michael.

Death let his wings out behind him in a flash of shadows as they engulfed both him and Michael, flying them out of the cell and hell.

Death left Michael in a room, to watch over his true vessel. Sam Winchester, who was sleeping.

"Samuel Winchester," Michael said in his true voice, a deep one. Sam snorted and snapped awake, looking around quickly. He saw Michael and went back.

"Who the hell are you?" Sam whispered, "And why are you not wearing clothes?"

"I am Michael," Michael told Sam, "I suspect you already know why I'm here,"

"The war," Sam said, and Michael nodded once, "I'm sorry, but I can't let you use me to kill my sister,"