The Protectorate I

There would only be three events that would warrant the arrival of a dozen or more hunters in a single area. A den of monsters or a hive of demons, the funeral of another hunter, or, in this case, a meeting set up by one of the most well connected hunters in North America.

Bobby Singer had contacted almost all hunters that he had personally trusted, even the ones that he does not like. Hated, even.

The organizer had been foretold of their arrival days beforehand and by the trail Harley Davidson motorcycles, busted-up pickup trucks, and litany of white men that could stir up a fight with a slightest grin, they had arrived early and arrived expectant.

Maggie's Diner was packed like a can of sardines come morning, even before the locals came in for their breakfast grub. Smoke billowed out the front of the diner as the hunters choked down their food with so many cigarette butts that it felt as if the town was being transported down to the 80s fad of indoor smoking.

Lisbon Sheriff's Office, having merely five on-duty deputies and one ancient detective on loan from San Diego, tried to placate the local townsfolk by patrolling the whole town.

By the time turndown service had begun in the local motel, ten o'clock sharp, no more than seventy-three hunters had parked in or around Lisbon's public spots. With most of them having a surly, penny-pinching attitude, the complaints about their arrival had reached Archibald's ears before he had his first bite of his late breakfast.

His son, Irwin, was still asleep due to his late-night spell casting or whatever it was that kept him alive and screaming late into the day. As such, it was up to him to placate the nervous townsfolk and rid them of the thoughts that the town would be a hang-out spot for Hell's Angels wannabees.

The city hall already had a mob of angry voters, most of whom were geriatrics with no sociable skills other than to complain, in their front lawn. The security guard was a few more hands away from being palmed to death by the unruly complainers, which was why Archibald was glad that he had brought one of his son's employees with him.

While Garth may look like a fumbling idiot, he was a hunter through and through and may be his last chance of changing the folks' mind about their sudden appearance.

He had already asked the hunter to give him a quick rundown of the hunter's parlance, hoping that his charm would get through and stave off the visible frustration of the unlucky hunter group.

Wearing a skullcap sun visor, the hunter regarded his approach with annoyance and hesitation. It was clear at first glance how differential the townsfolk were at Archibald's figure, nodding at him with an unknown civility.

"Mornin'," The hunter greeted with a nod.

Archibald put on his most charming smile, bushy mustache doing all the heavy lifting, "Good morning. It seems that the folks around town were not notified of your incoming arrival. That would be our fault."

"No matter. Ain't the first time they came at us swinging dicks." The leader of the group of hunters chuckled at his remark, pointing towards Mayor Greene, who had exited the building. "Can you fix that for us? My boy's getting itchy. I don't want any trouble with the law."

"I, too, do not want the kind of trouble you boys can cook up." Archibald winked at the leader. "I didn't get your name. I am Sebastian Myron Archibald Greythorne III. And you are?"

"Toby."

Archibald hummed at Toby's curt response, wading through the bickering mob of fools and standing up to Mayor Greene. "Greene."

"Greythorne." Greene nodded, nodding at the hunters. "Mind telling me why there's a bunch of rednecks in my town. I already have complaints up to my knees, and I've been hearing some of them going near the highschool. What's that about, Archibald?"

"None of your damn business, Greene. Tell your men to not aggravate the men, lest you find yourselves needing body bags. They'll be gone or placated after lunch, that I vow to you. In the meantime, call the sheriff's office and I'll handle this crowd." Archibald's words were as decisive as they were harsh, needing not be courteous to a man whose balls he owned.

Archibald turned towards the crowd and raised his hands, immediately dampening the furor they had accumulated through fear, pathetic desperation, and peer pressure.

"Let us all calm down, people. These people are friends of our family, future employees, and guardians of, dare I say, the world." His words proved to befuddle the townsfolk, and so did the so-called guardians. "While I cannot say anymore than I already have, I vow to you that they are harmless unless provoked. Their weapons, albeit dangerous at first glance, is but a form of self-defense for their unusually dangerous job–"

"They have a job?" One folk remarked, much to the amusement of the others and consternation of the hunters. "They're bums…" Another piled on.

It looked as if Toby was done with all the insults and was prepared to go, but luckily, Garth was there to run interference as Archibald snapped his fingers.

"Really, Mr. Malcolm? Insults when you're three months late on your rent?" Archibald rebuked the man harshly, shutting him up effectively. "Listen, folks… There is no cause for panic nor fear. Even if there were, this is our town, too. Hell, we have more cases to protect it than to leave it to fend for itself. If they try to do anything, even something as minor as, uh, littering, I will personally punish them."

That seemed to mellow down most of the crowd, although a handful of them–mostly inordinate geriatrics whom hated the Greythornes ever since they arrived–were grumbling amongst themselves.

'They won't be a problem,' Archibald thought, 'Not unless they make themselves one.'

With the problem fixed, he turned towards Toby and addressed his crew in whole.

"Now, I must say… Your arrival has surprised us. My son didn't tell me that there would be so many of you, and the variety of which astounds me."

"Yeah. Well, word spread like wildfire in our people." Toby remarked, "Who wouldn't wanna miss the guy that'll save us all from a demon war, huh?"

●●Irwin Bellios●●●

His world had turned upside down. Literally.

Ella flipped him off the bed with a swift swipe of the bedsheet under him, smashing his sternum into the hardwood floor and jolting him awake.

"Jesus. What's your problem?" He exclaimed angrily, standing up to confront his attacker.

"I've been calling your name for an hour now. It's half past eleven, and the hunters are here." Ella pulled Irwin towards his dressing room and hurried him along.

It wasn't until Irwin, dressed in comfortable clothes, saw a row of motorbikes and dusty cars along their driveway that he realized that the hunters had arrived in town. And he just slept in.

Luckily for him, his family and friends loved him so. Boxes of beverages and trays of sandwiches and finger foods were strewn across the lawn as the hunters treated his front yard as a normal tailgating party.

He pointed towards the couple of denim-wearing hunters on the back of an SUV. "A-are they taking out–"

"They're taking out a grill, son. They are taking out a grill." Archibald appeared next to him with an amused chuckle. "You've got yourself a handful, huh?"

Irwin had to smack his chest just so he could get rid of his stammer. "I just–Jesus. There's so many of them." 

"Come, let me introduce you to Toby. He's their leader, sort of." Archibald grabbed him by the shoulder and led him towards training grounds, where a circle of leather jacket-wearing hunters scrutinized Irwin's metal-plated dummies.

"Toby!" Archibald exhaled, "This is my son. He prefers to be called Irwin now. You know how it is with children these days."

"That I do." Toby extended his free hand towards Irwin, a gruff expression in his face. "Bobby told me all about you. Name's Toby and this here's my club."

"Irwin." Irwin shook Toby's hands, scanning the faces of Toby's hunter gang. "I was taught that hunters usually prefer doing jobs alone or just a trusted partner, not in a gang roving around the country."

A gang hunter scoffed, "It's a hunter's club, not a gang."

"And Hell's Angels are just a motorcycle club." Irwin rolled his eyes at the hunter-in-denial.

Toby chuckled, "Our club don't take the usual hunts. Once in a while, there's a witch coven or monsters den that's far too dangerous for any singular paranoid hunter, so that's where we come in. Of course, if you're a goddamn Winchester, a den don't matter much…"

"But you're the guys to call when they're not around, huh?" Irwin hummed positively, recognizing the niche support the gang had found themselves in. "Sounds to me that you're always finding yourself in dangerous situations without medical or armamental support."

Toby cracked his neck as if to assent to Irwin's words, "Harder now than it was when we first started. Most of our recruits are either in jail as a fall guy or burned."

Irwin nodded, "How's the pay like?"

Toby chuckled at his question, raising up the burnt burger in his hands. "First time we had a meal without hustling for it."

"Or committing insurance fraud!" A female member of the gang remarked with laughter.

"Yeah, but you do it for the good of humanity." Irwin said with pity. "Wouldn't want it any other way."

Toby clenched his jaw tight and looked on to his gang as he whispered in, "Alright, enough, kid. Bobby told me you're promising some great stuff, so cut the bullshit and tell me what you got?"

Irwin shrugged, glad that it made his job easier as he leaned in and said, "Not here. I'm hosting a dinner tonight. You might wanna come. I promise you, it'll be a night to remember."