Indigo

Chapter 2: Initiation

Cane's phone lit up, a text message from his Father. It read: turn off your fucking lamp. He stared at the screen a moment before texting back: The lamp is off. He could practically see his father in the living room, lying firmly against the bottom couch cushions, barely breathing. Increasing warmth fell over Cane as the multiple placebo heat bags grew hotter, throwing off the effectiveness of a heat detector; all they needed to do, was stay still. Cane settled himself at the edge of his bed, stared at the wall, and sat motionless; it was nothing he hadn't done almost one hundred times before.

About five minutes into this, the sound of struggling metal broke through the silence. At first, he thought that it must be the wind; but the sound continued, lightly, but almost rhythmically. The low screech of the window sliding is what made him break the hardcore training he stuck to his whole life. In one swift movement, Cane snagged the glock that he kept for safe keeping from his nightstand, flipped off the safety, and spun around. He was surprisingly calm, keeping the gun steady of the shadow looming in front of the glass.

"You know, out of all the times I've heard of you and your padre getting away, I wonder how many times no one tried the window?"

Cane loaded the clip. "It'll be fun to watch you try climbing back out of it once I put a bullet through your skull."

"Yeesh Dean Winchester," the figure moved towards Cain slowly, "I come in peace." Cane shifted the gun in his hand and the figure stopped. "Don't move." Without taking his eyes off the shadow, he flipped on his lamp.

The person, dressed in all black, stood before him with their hands in the air. They stared at Cane through the eyeholes of their mask in the new found light.

"So you're really not packing?"

They shook their head, "No need."

Relaxing, Cane laughed slightly, setting the gun down on his covers.

"So what, they sent somebody my own age to appeal to me? Make me ripe for the picking?" Cane fell onto his bed, pulling a previously rolled joint out of his back pocket. He proceeded to light it as the random wannabe ninja lowered their hands, standing there quietly. Cane noticed the sudden silence. "It's medicinal," he explained between hits, "being around annoying cunts gives me anxiety."

A small laugh came from the masked figure. "Then you must be your own worst enemy." Cane flashed a smile, "Touché."

"I'm not sure why they sent me," they said, taking an assiduous look around Cane's rather plain room, "not now, after all this time. I'm honestly trying to figure out how they never got to you? I literally just climbed through a fuckin window-"

"Well now you're here, Cane exhaled the smoke, which was starting to fill his room with the strange aroma of Mazar , "so what do you have to say to me?"

"They need you." The person took a step back, sitting on the small window sill.

Cain shrugged, "They've always needed me."

"Okay, you cocky piece of shit; this time it's more important. I don't know why, but Chief has been riding my dick my whole way here."

"Okay, well," Cane took one last drag from the joint, and threw it in his watered down Taco Bell beverage. He moved the edge of the bed, swinging his long legs over, and rested his elbows on his thighs.

"Fuck your chief, fuck you, and ultimately," he said, leaning forward, "fuck the FBI."

"Listen," the figure sighed, "whatever misconceptions you have, I'm sure someone will be happy to clear them up-