Demigods and Hunters
Two Winchesters hurtling through the streets was something you don't see everyday in downtown Manhattan, and a creepy-flying-chicken-lady chasing after them was even less common.
"How the hell do we kill this thing?" Dean panted. Nothing they had even affected them, and they'd tried everything.
"To hell if I know," Sam replied. They ducked into an alley, exiting on the opposite street.
Suddenly their was squawking and the familiar zing of a blade. They skidded to a stop and looked back. A tall black haired teen holding a glowing bronze-like sword stood in the midst of yellow dust. The boy rested his sword on his shoulder, looking at them.
"You're welcome," he said.
"Who are you and what was that thing?" Dean demanded.
The teen raised an eyebrow. "Okay, not demigods. That thing, my friend, was a harpy."
"No duh," Dean snorted.
The teen rolled his eyes. "An actual harpy dumbass."
Sam held out a hand, stopping Dean from doing anything stupid.
"Who are you?" Sam asked.
The teen twirled the sword around nonchalantly. "No one of consequence. You?"
"We're Sam and Dean Winchester," Sam said. Dean glared at him, he shrugged.
He nodded. "Oh yeah, the Winchesters. Good job with saving the world and all, bit sloppy with the Leviathans, but eh, who am I to judge?"
"You're not," Dean said. "Who are you?"
The teen flipped the sword up and caught it, then it suddenly shrunk down and he stuffed his hands into his pockets, flashing a smile.
"Well since you ask so nicely, the name's Jackson. Percy Jackson."