How do I Leviathan? (Dean/Sam/Torrid+)

To Torrid's amazement, Sam ducked with him and Torrid re-directed the incoming Leviathan's momentum into the other as it clamped down viciously. When it expected a mouthful of redhead, it really ended up with the french kiss from Hell. Two pairs of impossibly sharp teeth clattered and Torrid resisted the urge to bark with amazement that'd actually worked. "Let go, you imbecile!" one snarled at the other.

While this was all going on, however, he'd forgotten about Dean, and looked over to see fly through the air, sending the machete clattering away, Leviathan advancing on Dean. A burst of adrenaline ran him cold, and he was moving before he told himself to. He vaulted some wreckage of an overturned armoire, sword whizzing through the air to slice clean through Dean's assailant's neck from behind.

Wow, that is a satisfying feeling. The runed sword glowed a dark orange in delight.

Realizing he's left Sam with two Leviathans, he turned back to that action, ready to cap another. But his blow wouldn't hit either of them. No, it was blocked by that wildcard Leviathan, holding the sharp point in his hand without even an inkling of pain on his face. "Holy crap..." swallowed Torrid. The Leviathan moved slowly, directing the spearhead of the sword to its heart, then fucking walked forward! "Guys. Do you see this shit?" he squeaked. Torrid just stood there, watching in horror, as it kept walking forward on his blade, until it was in his personal space."This is not okay." The Leviathan's breath puffed angrily on his face. That smell is not okay either. "This is the opposite of okay."

Torrid was flung back with impossible force, and he struck the wall. He'd just managed to keep hold on his weapon on instinct alone. From his distance away, he saw it. "Eh... guys?" Even he couldn't hear himself. The Leviathan that flung him lunged and had him pinned on the floor. It's face transformed, and it seemed actually a little confused that it couldn't chomp through the blocking blade. Torrid was struggling, but distracted.

"Guys?! Remember Robert?" Because Robert was putting the other decapped Leviathan back together. "Five on three. NOW is it time to go?!"

The monster gnawing on his sword (regrettably, not in the sexy way) stopped at the strangely calm aura coming from-- Wait, that was Robert? He's not sure what bugs him more: The fact that Robert's actually an unkillable monster, or the fact that he faked that hick accent this whole time. Bastard. He was dragged back to reality as the Leviathan on top of him paid attention to his superior, then went about flipping Torrid onto his stomach. He really, really hopes that Sam and Dean hadn't failed to mention a rapey side to these things too.

He had a weight on his back and hand on his head keeping him still, but his struggling stopped when he heard the thing utter "that one we were telling you about." What? What. What. "Boss. So... so they have a hierarchy. Like a military. That's cool." Torrid muttered to himself. He knew Winchester luck was shit, but this is just ridiculous. His military-phobias weren't helping here either.

"This one's noisy," comments the Leviathan restraining Torrid dryly. He pulls him back by the hair and slams Torrid's face into the ground hard enough for him to black out. One of the other Leviathans cast a grateful look his way.

The other Leviathans didn't seem too concerned, just smugly waiting for their orders. When Dean dropped his blade and conceded defeat, one passed another a wad of bills, clearly having lost a bet. He expected something snappy. Either way, Dean was bound with his hands behind his back, much tighter than necessary. These particular humans had given them a lot of grief, and retribution was so sweet. "You're going somewhere you can't cause any more trouble," informed the Leviathan, who was smug for a guy who'd just had his head chopped off. With that, he beamed a wolfish grin into Dean's face, and pulled a hood over his head. The same was done to Sam and Torrid, and they hauled the men bodily from the deserted house and into the back of the pickup like deadweight. Well, one of them was, but that's beside the point as they were restrained to the truck bed, and they peeled off for destinations unknown.

Gonna take a wild guess and say it was no where good.

When Torrid finally came to, he realized he was cold. The shredded remains of his shirt had been removed, along with the crappy bandaging, leaving the blood to cool on his skin. One self-catalog and he was amazed to find real bandages there. Combine that with being exposed to winds in the back of a pickup for god knows how long, and he feels his teeth clattering. At least something pressed against his side is warm, and he snuggles into it to try and get the edge of the chill off.

Also, why can't he see? He sniffs, but only gets that earthy burlap scent. Oh.

"Hey, Hero's got himself a girlfriend," he hears a Leviathan sneer, and another chuckle. Torrid's muscles flinch, instantly alert at that word. How did they...? Right, his tattoo. Suddenly there's approaching footsteps, and a growl builds in Torrid's throat that isn't entirely human. The hood covering his face was roughly snatched away and he blinked at the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. It was then that he realized what the warm thing was:

Dean.

Torrid blinked up at him blankly. "Sorry," he said after a beat. "My snuggling game's kinda off today. Raincheck?" And he scooted up the wall they were leaned up against. He suppressed a shiver because it's still cold in here and the heat was nice.

The room looked like a loading zone of some sort. There were several men standing around, and Torrid assumed they were Leviathans. One of them was picking its teeth with Torrid's sword, apparently deciding an unbreakable weapon was worth keeping. Another with a thick beard approached Sam with a machete, and Torrid thought they were done for. But to his unending surprise, the monster actually slipped it into Sam's still-bound hands and the others filed out behind a cage door, leaving them alone.

So... they meant for Sam to cut them all free? And then what? Why had they nearly killed them, only to bandage their injuries and release them? The gate locked closed, but there was another gate that was left gaping open. Torrid could see what he thought was a forest outside, but the sunlight looked... artificial. Torrid's got a bad feeling about this. He looked to Sam expectantly.

"What... the hell... is right," mumbled Torrid, flexing his wrists after Sam cut him free. He let his eyes wander all about his surroundings-- Nothing much to look at here. Stone walls, no windows, fluorescent lights. But through that door was what he could see as a grassy knoll with a sparse, strategically placed forest. He got up and strode towards it, and he could smell running water, artificially-ventilated air, pine trees, even traces of rodent. What had him thrown off was what had to be a gas fireplace. And food.

He ducked to see the sky, but it wasn't to be seen. It was a ceiling, several stories high, painted dark blue with flecks of white that he guessed were supposed to be stars. That's why the lighting was bluish. Nice try, Leviathans. And beyond that... its hard to tell, but it looks like glass. Something sank in Torrid's gut as he remembered the lioness from the Jacksonville Zoo he'd released for a party a year back. Is this one of those facilities?

He suddenly jerked back, as if afraid of the area. He went to the other, locked cage door, and found there weren't any hinges to manipulate, and the bars were solid. He turned back to look at Sam and Dean in horror, then cleared his throat to try and get a grip. Not having his blade wasn't helping. "Do we...?" He rolled his shoulders, crossing his arms against the cold. "Don't have much choice."

With that, he strode into the clearing, and it was suddenly a much milder climate. If and when the brothers follow, the gate behind them will slam shut, leaving them in this dome surrounded by glass, strategic lighting, and fakeness. Not good, not good.

Edgar grinned his own personal flavor of malicious grin back at them. You had to squint at the glass to fully make him out, but his presence was fully felt. Despite all his professionalism, he really did enjoy seeing the look on Dean's face right now. After getting a car dropped on him, he liked knowing that he had these two barbarians right where he wanted them. Plus an extra little prize with them. "Winchesters," he greets formally. "I hope you find your accommodations to your liking."

Torrid snorts, crossing his arms again. "Yeah. 'Cause you don't sound like the Disney villain."

Edgar continues, as if he hadn't heard. "I came to oversee the grand opening of the Winchester Exhibit. Don't worry, no one will be harming you in here. You can live out your existence in relative comfort." He said that like he'd just bestowed a lovely gift onto them. Torrid wasn't sure whether or not to be insulted at not having his name in the exhibit too.

Edgar leaned even closer to the glass like the kid at the zoo who wants to touch palms with the monkey. He didn't so much as flinch at the heat in Dean's tone. These glass walls had been tested against humans, angels, werewolves-- you name it. He was going to answer Dean with a belittling, hope-stealing comment, but Sam posed a valid question. To an extent. "Knows about it?" he echoed, lips curling in a cheshire grin. He leaned against the glass with one palm, "He's the one that allocated the funds. He looks forward to visiting." Good try, Sam.

"We considered building another enclosure for the hound, but figured you'd like someone to take your anger out on." Torrid's heart dropped into his stomach, and he dared not glance to either Winchester. Edgar's choice of words may have been strange to some, but dead-on to others. "Or don't. I've heard you have quite an affinity for the supernatural," he sneered at Sam. "Maybe you'll put on a show for the guests." The look in his eyes suggested Ruby, or any other of Sam's conquests, and he lifted a brow meaningfully at Torrid. 

Torrid looked nervous for a whole different reason.

Edgar pushed off the glass, turning to the side thoughtfully. "Sure, when he said he wanted you dead, it seemed straight-forward. But why? Historically speaking, killing you is meaningless. But taking away your freedom..." He wagged his finger at them meaningfully. "Now that is death." He smiled sweetly at the three of them and turned to leave.

He tossed over his shoulder, "Your keepers left you something inside. You should get it before it goes cold."

Torrid growled lowly in his throat, quickly understanding the Winchester's distaste for this particular Leviathan. He turned away, and that's when he saw the faint outline of the cabin on the other side of the forest. Smoke was rising from the chimney. Without waiting for the Winchesters, he went to check it out, finding the door unlocked. It was fully furnished, and even cozy. It reminded him of a few places back home, actually. Except for one glaring discrepancy: The glass wall (now a two-way mirror) that covered one wall of the living room. He examined the bedrooms-- both with glass faces, and found the single bathroom to at least be sequestered off for privacy. There was food in the oven, a fake fire in the gas living room, and he felt eyes staring at him the whole time.

"This is utterly fucked up," commented Torrid, at a loss for anything else to say in the face of this, well, fucked up situation. "Dibs on a bed, I guess?"

That tremor in Dean's voice was the most beautiful sound Edgar had heard in a long, long time. There is no music in Purgatory, but that stringy tenor of infallible, insatiable fury he'd drawn out of Dean was as close as he'd come. Beautiful, and even more beautiful in knowing that he was the cause. Edgar actually paused in his exit, peering amicably over his shoulder. "We'd expect nothing less." And with that, he moved past the sparse crowd and out of view.

Torrid listened to the whole thing. Woe to the dumbass who had anger that raw from Dean directed to them. Edgar was going to get it good once they got out of here. Well if they-- No, when they escape. Torrid glared at the semi-two-way glass pane of the cabin wall, and decided he needed a distraction. He quickly found a shirt, and went about rummaging around in the kitchenette. His drink of choice was absent, but he found a handle of whiskey and decided it would do for now. He poured a glass for himself, downing it in a gulp and refilling. Oh, fuck, this was going to be a long night.

There were still too many Leviathans milling about outside, sneering at them and their victory. Torrid decided he'd ignore the inevitable explosion from Dean, since it wasn't productive. What's productive is getting a grip, and finally eating something, and maybe letting their bodies heal from the fight. He sniffed the steak and potatoes for poison, and evidently deemed it safe. Sam and Dean can have their meltdown if they like, but unlike him, they had plenty of reason to live and lots to lose. Torrid? He's hungry.

"Dick is the head hancho?" he asks casually, flicking a bone at the glass. Just because. "They gave us a cushy, safe place to heal while we wait for your archenemy to fall in your lap? Doesn't sound like a half-bad day." If he's fazed by the situation, or dodgy on what Edgar said, he sure didn't show it.