what happens in vegas

[Parker Dorian]

Her truck had been scratched in the fight, that’s what was really killing Parker. Sure, it wasn’t a super new truck, and yes it was worth exactly nil, but she took god damn good care of that baby blue paint job. And this crazy cultist dude had the nerve to put a scratch in it.

Oh, and also throw Parker into a dirty hole in the ground in the middle of the night. Which wasn’t exactly a new experience for her as a hunter, but wasn’t something one could easily get used to. Especially when it was a large hole in the middle of the Mojave desert, and also might be filled with human bones if that thing poking into her back was what she thought it was. Until Parker’s eyes could adjust to the dark, she couldn’t be sure, but it felt a whole lot like a human femur. So she sat for a few minutes, hands zip-tied behind her back, and waited for her eyes to adjust.

Goddamn cultists and their goddamn end of the world theories. From the very short amount of research she’d done, Parker had figured out that the biannual disappearances from the Las Vegas strip had something to do with a bunch of mushroom-eating desert dwellers who called themselves the Order of… the Order of… something she couldn’t remember. Coyote? Scorpion? Whatever. According to the stories, they’d bring people out to the desert and sacrifice them to their monster-god in the hopes that one day it would be powerful enough to destroy the sun or modern civilization or something.

Cultists were bad enough, but cultists that ruined Las Vegas was ten times worse. So Parker had decided to drive on over, play some poker, eradicate some cultists, and then maybe see a show. She'd heard good things about Jersey Boys. But of course the crazies had found her before she'd found them, and had driven her off the road before she'd even made it to the Strip. And now she was in their death pit.

After a while Parker realized two equally disconcerting things: new moon means no moonlight to see by, and there was something else in this pit with her. From the other side of the hole, maybe ten feet away at most, she could definitely hear the sound of at least one person breathing. Or it could be the monster-god-thing, though if it was small enough to actually fit inside the pit she was going to be thoroughly unimpressed.

Parker debated the pros and cons of making herself heard for roughly half a second, and then rasped out an informal:

“Yo?”

[Dean Winchester]

A hunt in Vegas was supposed to be the most awesome hunt ever. Spending the days researching, evenings doing some James Bond style gambling, then go gank the monster of the week. Then finish it off with some more gambling. Poker, maybe. Yeah, well, this whole trip had been a wash from the get go. Sam neglected to tell him that he was banned from Vegas for counting cards. An indiscretion in his youth with Jess and a couple other friends from college. What even.

Still, Dean decided to go solo, leaving a fretting Sam behind to do some long distance research for him. Dean lost some money at the slots, drank probably a little too much during the wildly inappropriate time of day (read: all day), and narrowed down some suspects. All the research pointed to the same thing. Victims were taken from a stretch of road leading into Vegas (or out of Vegas, same difference for these cultists), and that was the thing Dean decided to do. Except that Dean was gonna hide some weapons on himself and hope like hell the cultists were not experts at patting folk down.

Admittedly, it was a half baked plan, but ever since his return from hell, Dean could admit to himself that he lacked the patience or the wherewithal to plan ahead beyond the next drink and knife stab into the nearest monster. Plans never survive first contact with the enemy anyway. That was his story should anyone ask.

He woke up, blood dripping into his eyes from a free flowing gash high on his forehead and his hands bound behind his back. He was in a pit. He could tell by the high, sandy walls, dug by men with shovels. The sky above was purpling in sunset, and that told him he lost some hours between being run off the road and smashing his head on the steering wheel, or the windshield, whichever was the more likely culprit for his head wound, and ending up in one of the Earth’s pores.

The fading light was still strong enough for him to see the bones. And partially mummified human remains. Lying in a pit of death. It was like he was back in hell. Like he had never left. Awesome.

Now, he could flip out over it, but the buzz from the alcohol hadn’t faded yet, and he could feel the edges of a powerful hangover reaching for him, and in the throes of either condition, he wouldn’t have the capacity to have a freak out. Lying in a pit of death was just another Tuesday.

Finding a broken bone wasn’t difficult; using them to try to slice his bounds on the other hand, was most decidedly. With his hands behind his back, he couldn’t reach any of the places he had secreted his knives, though he could feel that the cultists had found his gun. With a moue of distaste, he settled in to slowly work away at cutting his bonds.

Full dark finally settled like a thick, black cape, and Dean could feel the bonds loosening. He heard a scuffle above and discerned a vaguely dark shadow get tossed into the hole with him and some other unfortunate souls. Dean held very still, eyes wide open trying to see blindly into the darkness. He had no idea if this was a friend or foe, and he didn’t have any intention on revealing himself to be killed like an ignoble sacrifice for a monster.

“Yo?” Sounded like the confused grunt of a millennial, and not at all a murderous cultist. Dean deemed it safe to respond, though it likely wouldn’t protect him from any ironical happenings.

“It’s going to be okay,” Dean probably wasn’t lying, “I’ll save you from the idiot cultists as soon as I get my hands untied. My name’s Dean.”

[Parker Dorian]

Well, it talked, so probably not a monster. Unless this was one of those bait-and-switch situations where she spends the night working with a fellow captive to escape, only to find out that he was the villain the whole time. Which would be the biggest dick move ever, so she really hoped that wasn't the case. Probably best to assume that he was in the same slightly confused boat as her, and work from there.

In the pitch black of the hole, it was pretty much impossible to make out any defining features of her fellow captive, and Parker never got a great read on voices. Male, probably? Adult, hopefully. Alive, most definitely, which meant that he’d be significantly more helpful than the rest of the inhabitants of the pit.

The fact that he knew that they were dealing with cultists was a tad suspicious, but then again, the robes and chanting was a bit of a giveaway. Could have just been an educated guess… or he could be a cop, which would make him a solid alley but absolutely no fun at all. Parker avoided the police as a general rule; they rarely got along for reasons she could not even begin to fathom. Also, he sounded like the hero type (ugh), and there was only enough room for one impulsive idiot in this hole (her).

Or he could be a hunter, which would make things interesting. The pattern of disappearances like clockwork were easy to spot if you knew what you were looking for, so presumably anyone else who was familiar with the supernatural could have taken an interest. Parker still hadn’t quite nailed down how to figure out who other hunters were, though, which might be awkward. Did they have like a secret handshake or something? Probably best not to mention it at all for now.

“Uh, thanks?” She said, struggling to get her still-zip-tied hands in front of her. It took some contorting, but after a few seconds had managed to get her legs through her arms, so she could balance well enough to get to her feet. Grabbing the tail end of the zip tie in her mouth, she pulled it as tight as it could go, until the plastic began to dig into her wrists. Then she raised her hands up over her head, and with as much force as she could pulled her elbows sharply down to her sides, snapping her bonds in half with sheer force. It would have looked super badass, if anyone had been able to see her. Such a wasted moment.

“Okay, so step one is getting the hell out of here.” She said aloud, running her hands over the curved wall of their prison. “You wouldn’t happen to be, say, seven feet tall, would you?”

[Dean Winchester]

Millennial moved, maybe. Dean could hear some rustling. He redoubled his own efforts at cutting away at the ties binding his hands, just in case it was a rat or two. Fucking hated rats.

The stars wasn’t nearly enough light by which to see, but the silhouette of a woman was visible as she stood over him blocking the Nevada night sky. The rustling had been her clothes as she contorted herself enough to bring her cuffed arms to the front. Flexible. Dean appreciated that in a woman sometimes.

There was more movement on the part of the lady and Dean had the sense she had gotten rid of her bonds somehow. Damn it. She was in this pit all of thirty seconds and she was already out of her bonds. It could give a guy a complex.

“Six, one, sorry to disappoint,” Dean replied. “If you stand on my shoulders you might be able to make it, if you’re not too short.” In a fit of frustration he flexed his wrists, and the bonds finally snapped. Almost immediately, the blood flowing in his arms and hands was a painful tingling sensation. One he knew all too well, but at least this time it wasn’t going to be temporarily fatal or result in dismemberment. He shook his hands out, teeth gritted and forced himself to stand up. He patted down his jacket and found his flask. Cheered, he took a swig of the scotch he kept in there. Clearly, for Dean, step one was lubrication.

Not one to be impolite, he offered it to his companion, “scotch?” He patted down his jacket again, looking for his knives. Damn, they took one. He shifted his feet, and reached down with his left hand to extend his fingers down his boot. Yup, his switchblade knife was still tucked in there. “Took all my weapons except for my switchblade, but at least they left me my hooch. I’d almost like them if it weren’t for their extracurricular activities.”

[Parker Dorian]

“Hmm. Shame.” Parker said absently, trying to see how far up the wall she could reach. It was very high, definitely too far for him to jump it at his height. How had she not broken something getting tossed down here in the first place? Six-foot-one was definitely not gonna do it, unless maybe…

“That might work,” She conceded, though standing on someone’s shoulders Cirque Du Soleil-style did not sound like the easiest feat. Her five feet and two-and-a-half-inches would definitely get them to the top, but with nothing but sand and rock to grab onto on the way up, she wasn’t actually sure what she’d do once she got up there. The last thing she wanted was to fall off some dude’s shoulders and get punctured in the lung by a stray bone. There were more exciting ways to die.

Taking careful steps so as not to get tripped up on any stray skulls, she made her way over to where Dean was. With her eyes ever so slightly adjusted to the dark, she could just barely make him out standing next to her, and he was not lying about the height thing. In her combat boots she barely came up to his shoulder. He also seemed pretty solidly built from the outline she could see, which made her feel a little better about her chances of survival.

“We’re maybe, what, nine feet down? Ten?” She mused, looking from Dean to the top of the pit, trying to visualize just how the hell they were going to do this. “If you can at least boost me up to the top, I can see what we’re dealing with… thanks, yeah.”

She took a small swig off his flask and handed it back. She had to stay relatively sharp if she was going to trying any gymnastics skills, but one hit couldn’t hurt. This guy had to be a hunter, if he was carrying around both booze and knives on his person at all times. Parker wasn’t sure whether she should be comforted by this knowledge or not, but at least she wasn’t dealing with a terrified civilian.

She could feel the empty place in her boot where her knife usually rested, and she’d left her guns and phone in her truck, so she would have to go up against this cult monster empty handed if they didn’t get out of there soon.

“Okay, so I don’t think there’s anything up there to grab onto,” She said, steeling herself, “But if you can lift me up enough to at least scope things out, I can try to figure out what we're dealing with. Sound good?”

[Dean Winchester]

Pocketing his flask after taking it back and sipping one last slosh of it, Dean nodded, forgetting momentarily that it was dark as sin and the Millennial couldn’t see it. Belatedly, he replied in a low murmur, “yeah; sounds good.” He stretched his muscles, tentatively touched the gash on his forehead, the dried, crusting blood flaking off where it wasn’t scabbed. He winced again. Head wounds were a bitch.

“All right,” he knelt, suppressing his groans. Being in the ground for hours had done him little favours for his body. “Get your feet on my shoulders, hug the wall, and hope to hell there’s nobody watching.”

Hopefully, his car was nearby. He had some rope in the trunk. Pained at the thought of anyone but him driving the Impala, he nonetheless made the useless prayer that the car was all right. Else, he would have some serious apologizing to do in the form of tune ups and repair work, and that took money.

Wrapping his big hands around her boots, he trusted the Millennial had good enough balance to handle standing on his shoulders and didn’t just spend every day on the couch watching laptop porn and being ironic, or whatever it was that Millennials did. Though, she seemed cool enough to share his scotch, so he was gonna hold off on the judgement train. At least until they got out of this particular situation that demanded death of them.

Slowly standing, he was surprised that he was still fit enough to lift her with considerable ease. Ever since his trip downstairs, he hadn’t really been focused on keeping fit so much as staying as drunk as possible. The sense of everything feeling shiny and new was starting to wear off the longer he stayed drunk and hunted things, but he still felt like the world wasn’t real every now and then.

“See anything?”

[Parker Dorian]

This had seemed like, if not a great idea, then at least the smartest course of action given what they had to work with. But that was when Parker was six feet and once inch closer to solid ground, and now she was very much regretting the decisions that had led her to standing on Dean’s shoulders. She felt like a circus monkey, and from the way she was wobbling, not a very talented monkey at that.

“Okay, okay, go slow!” She hissed as Dean straightened up to his full height. She had to lean forward as much as she could, hands against the wall, just to keep from tipping over and landing on her ass. As suspected, there was nothing to hold onto as she reached the top of their makeshift prison, and she was still just a bit too short to get her elbows up and over the lip of the pit. She was, however, high enough to at least see the desert around them.

“Yeah, I don’t think I can climb out,” She told Dean, taking an experimental grab at the ground in front of her and coming away with a handful of loose sand. “Not unless you’ve got a couple more inches to spare.”

The night was still darker than it had any right to be, she thought, but after the pitch black of the hole Parker’s eyes had adjusted enough to see their surroundings. It was not encouraging.

“Well, shit. We are… we are just in the middle of fucking nowhere.” She informed Dean. “I think there’s a car over there? Or a weird rock, I’m not sure. Do you drive a black Cadillac? Wait, hang on--”

Two pinpricks of hazy light suddenly appeared on the horizon. And seemed to be moving in their direction, very quickly.

“Shit, shit, car!” Parker called down, trying to keep her balance. “What’s our move here, hide or yell for help?”

[Dean Winchester]

Unable to look up, Dean’s neck grew tense as he stared straight ahead at the wall in front of him. Not that he could see the wall, but he knew it was there. Dark spots were starting to form in his vision, though how the hell he could see them in the pitch blackness of the pit, Dean was fucked in his ability to explain. The phenomenon irked him. He tried to relax his shoulders, under the weight of the girl, listening to her chatter.

“How do you mean you can’t climb— You need more height? I think I can lift you more if I can get my hands under your feet.” Dean wasn’t a gym rat, but he could bench press his own weight. The girl on his shoulders weighed far less than that. As she only needed a couple inches to clear the pit; well, his arms were definitly more than a couple inches long.

Thank fuck it wasn’t Sammy in this hole with him. They would probably most definitely have done rock, paper, scissors, but Dean just knew he’d be the one trying to lift Sammy up out of the hole.

His offence strangled him. As he tried to articulate just how utterly wrong Millennial was about the Impala, “she’s not a— she’s an Impala. Chevy.” Dean was indignantly grumbling, “we get out of this alive, I’m teaching you about cars.” Millennials. Honestly. A Cadillac.

Dean tightened his grip on her ankles as she startled and yelled. He pressed his lips together tight as he quickly parsed the circumstances.

“There’s no hiding in this pit.” Decision made without much consultation with his current companion, Dean shifted his grip under her feet and rocked his body up, helping his arms propel her up and out of the pit. A torrent of sand rained down on his head, coating him with a layer of dust. He kept his eyes closed as he tucked his head down.

“You should hide! At least until you know who they are.” Discretion being the better part of valour and all. Dean knew fuck all what that meant, but he knew strategy. Even though his idea of strategy was less chess and more bumper cars.

Digging his fingers into his boot, he extracted his switchblade knife. Whoever, what ever was coming, he was prepared.

[Parker Dorian]

“But what if it’s help--” Parker started, but suddenly found herself propelled up and forward, landing hard enough to have the wind knocked out of her. Good lord that guy was stronger than expected. Staying low to the ground, she spun around to peer back down into the dark pit, uncharacteristically worried about a stranger’s safety. Normally she would have already been booking it to safety, but she did owe her newfound freedom to Dean, after all. Could she really leave him there alone?

Yeah, she could.

“Back soon!” She called down, and then got to her feet. Staying as low as she could, she sprinted over to the one bit of cover within reach: the abandoned car. She threw herself behind the back bumper a second before headlights lit up the ground directly between her and the hole, and she heard the other vehicle’s wheels crunch to a stop over the sand. Shit.

Careful not to make too much noise, Parker crept around until she was on the far side of the car, and very, very slowly pulled open the back door of the car. The other car, a large SUV, had stopped twenty or thirty yards away, thought she couldn’t see how many occupants might be inside it.

If she was actually inside Dean’s car, and he actually was a hunter, then this was the perfect opportunity to gear up in case their uninvited guests weren’t here to help. Ducking her head down behind the driver’s seat, Parker felt around on the floor, and came up empty handed. Rooting around under the back seat turned out to be equally fruitless, and even reaching up to the glove compartment got her exactly nothing to defend herself with. What kind of self-respecting hunter doesn’t have a gun in his glove compartment?

The obvious answer, it dawned on her, was that they don’t. Meaning that this probably wasn’t Dean’s car. Meaning that she was definitely screwed.

In a last bid attempt to find anything that could help, Parker reached deep under the back seat of the car, and came back with an aluminum baseball bat, sized for a child. Well, that was something.