laurel-finch

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S2.Ch01: Wake Up

Summary: Everything comes to a screeching halt... Referenced Episodes: S1 E22 "Devil's Trap," S2 E01 "In My Time of Dying" CW: Hospital, references to sustained injuries. Word Count: 4718. Recommended Song: Amazing -- Aerosmith Season One -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

My eyes fluttered, my head spun, ears filled with an intense ringing that I couldn't shake no matter how much I tried. I blinked, eyes filled with molten gold, the hospital lights twisting and cascading like falling diamonds. My hands roamed over my arms until I found the IV and wrenched it from my arm. I scrabbled at my fingertips and finally yanked the pulse monitor away. The screen beside me flatlined, blaring a warning signal that had me clutching my head in my hands.

A commotion came from the hallway as I slipped my legs over the edge of the bed, toes touching the bare, cold floor. I winced and stood, gripping the wall until everything stopped spinning. On shaky legs, I stumbled towards the door and reached for the handle, only to have it thrown open.

"Ma'am!" a nurse shouted, sighing in relief, and slipping her hand under my upper arm. "Ma'am you need to get back in bed- your condition isn't stable."

"Where's Dean?" I asked, voice raw and scratchy. I shrugged her off and took another step towards the door, only to be blocked by a gaggle of nurses.

"Miss, please!" another pled, her dainty hands sliding under my arms and holding me upright. "You need to get back to bed-"

"Get off of me!" I snapped, wrenching my arm from the nurse's grip. "Where’s Dean?" I snarled, eyes blazing like headlights in a dark tunnel. Hands gripped at my gown, attempting to pull me back.

I stumbled through the doorway, pushing past the throng of nurses and around the crash cart. The nurses were shouting now and coaxing others to them in an attempt to pull me back. A doctor's hands gripped me around the waist, dragging me back. I screamed and thrashed in his grip.

"Dean!" I screamed. "Get away from me! I need to find Dean!" I thrashed, lifting my feet in the air, kicking, flailing, and hitting whatever I could make contact with. The nurses began shouting, calling for help, and sedatives, too which I only screamed louder.

"Dean!!" I screamed and twisted in the man's grip, pushing myself from his arms until my feet hit the floor. He and another nurse gripped my arms and pulled my back, yanking me towards the doorway. "Sam! John!!" I screamed, and snarled, teeth elongating and sharpening before I could stop them. Panic gripped my lungs, squeezing the oxygen out, and for a split second, I thought my heart would give out. I threw my head back and screamed, kicking, punching, and hoping to God I didn't hurt anyone too badly. I had to find Dean.

A familiar scent drifted down the hallway, one of old books and leather, and I screamed louder, pulling myself away from the nurses and sprinting down the hallway with them hot on my heels. I skidded along the floor and collided with what I could only describe as a brick wall that quickly wrapped its arms around me and hoisted me to my feet.

"Sam, where's Dean?" I snapped, dripping the collar of his jacket. He sputtered and glanced at my shoulder at the handful of doctors and nurses racing after me, surely wondering how I had moved so fast. "Where is he!?"

"Four down, on the left," he sputtered out, pointing over his shoulder, and releasing his grip on me. Before he could blink, I was off again, tearing down the hall until my palms made contact with the door. I pulled myself to a sliding stop and wrenched the door open, cool metal burning my boiling skin.

I threw the door open and slipped into the room, slamming the door shut before the nurses had even made it down the hallway. I breathed a sigh of relief and rested my head against the wood, taking a deep breath, then spun to face Dean.

What I saw brought me to my knees. I collapsed, my legs refusing to hold my weight and giving out beneath me. My hands flew to my mouth and tears filled my eyes.

He was a mess, limp across the bed like a puppet without strings. His heart rate monitor beeped slowly every few seconds, the only sound in the room aside from the oxygen flowing into his lungs. He was intubated, a mask adorning his handsome features.

"Dean...?" I questioned, reaching to grip the door handle and pull myself to my feet. I half expected him to wrench the tube from his throat and respond, turning his green eyes to meet mine. I choked back a sob when he didn't move.

I stumbled across the floor, feet slipping across the linoleum. I dropped to the side of the bed and gripped his larger hand in my own, not caring that my tears were dripping onto his freckled skin. My fingers trailed over his palm until they laced with his, gripping his hand as if it was my lifeline.

The sounds of murmuring voices in the hall fell on deaf ears. I knew Sam was talking with the nurses, but I didn't care. I tightened my grip on his hand and buried my face in his side, tears staining the thin hospital blanket.

It was my fault, right? It had to be. I was the one helping him, stemming the flow of blood. I hadn't gotten to him fast enough, hadn't shielded him enough from the crash. I hadn't done something right, and now here he was, limp on a bed, covered in bandages and new scars.

I sobbed and buried my face into my elbow, tears soaking into the thin, cotton hospital shirt I wore, cascading over my thighs like a shorter dress. The long shirt was open on the back, and a shiver crawled down my spine, like icy fingers dragging down my back. I was thankful for the heavier cotton pants that adorned my legs and kept my lower half warm.

The door to Dean's hospital room creaked open and Sam's familiar scent flooded the room. I refused to lift my head and instead curled into a tighter ball; my ribs were uncomfortably pressed into the side of the bed.

"How long have we been here?" I choked out, voice hoarse with tears. Sam's footsteps halted and I could feel his gaze running over my bare back, hazel eyes filled with worry.

"Almost two days now," he muttered and leaned against the wall. "We were Life Flighted over here–we're not too far from Bobby's. 'Bout an hour's drive." He sighed and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. "I got discharged yesterday. I've been checking in on you three pretty frequently."

My breathing stuttered as I struggled not to gasp for breath. My sobbing was beginning to take a toll. I lifted my head and wiped my cheeks, eyes red, puffy, and swollen, and hair a mess. I didn't care.

"What happened?" I asked, meeting Sam's eyes. His gaze flitted to Dean's and opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the door once more slipping open.

A doctor strolled in, his eyes glued to a clipboard and a pen in hand. "Your father is awake. You can go see him if you'd like." His gaze lifted to meet Sam's and then flickered to mine, surprise decorating his dark irises. "So, this is where you disappeared to," he spoke softly, regarding me with kind eyes. "The nurses were wondering where you had gone off too."

I scoffed and slipped my hand from Dean's, stretching my legs out in front of me with my arms folded over my chest. Where else would I have gone? I frowned at my own thoughts, knowing the doctor couldn't possibly know of my attachment to Dean. I wondered what lie Sam had come up with to cover for us.

"Doc, what about my brother?" Sam questioned, focusing his gaze on the shorter man. "Is he going to be alright?"

The doctor sighed and dropped his eyes to his clipboard, a look of hopelessness on his features. He wasn't even trying to hide it. "Well, he's sustained serious injuries: blood loss, contusions to his liver and kidney. But it's the head trauma I'm worried about. There are early signs of cerebral edema."

I winced, wishing I understood more of this medical jargon. All I knew was that it wasn't good, which had already been made obvious enough. The wires and machines attached to Dean didn't exactly hide his condition.

"What can we do?" Sam pressed, growing increasingly more upset with each word the doctor uttered. He couldn't lose his brother, not like this.

"Well, we won't know his full condition until he wakes up- if he wakes up," the doctor replied. My heart fluttered and my lungs squeezed. I couldn't breathe, and once again the room was spinning, molten gold rising in my irises.

"What do you mean 'if '?" I demanded, voice icy and every muscle in my body tensing. The doctor's eyes flitted to mine and he looked startled by the sudden change of color, from their normal to a subdued gold.

"Most people with this degree of injury wouldn't have survived this long. He's fighting very hard. But you need to have realistic expectations," he responded, uncertainty dripping into his voice as he took in my angered expression.

"Realistic expectations, my ass," I spat, dragging myself to my feet. I pushed past the doctor and made my way back to my room. An odd chill filled the air and I couldn't shake the feeling of someone watching me as I strode down the hallway.

---

"We'd like you to stay overnight for observation. Your condition isn't stable quite yet, and we'd like to make sure your head trauma doesn't cause you any problems at night," the nurse stated, eyes scanning over the clipboard at the foot of my bed.

I said nothing, eyes glued to the window and the sky outside that was rapidly darkening, the pink tint of the sunset having long ago faded, the dawning stars obscured by clouds. "Ma'am?" the nurse questioned, lifting her head to scan my battered features. "Are you listening?"

"Yeah," I mumbled out, eyes never leaving the clean glass. Two days ago, I had witnessed a night much like this, and that had ended in pain and torment. I squeezed my eyes shut, holding back a flood of tears. How could I call myself a hunter if I couldn't protect the person I cared for most? "Yeah, I'm listening."

The nurse sighed, pity dripping into her voice. She placed the clipboard on her lap and sat on the edge of the bed. "I need you to understand just how much damage you endured," she spoke softly, placing her hand on my leg that was tucked neatly beneath the blanket. "From what the doctors can tell, you've suffered a lot of physical trauma recently- not just the car crash. Your back and kidneys are bruised from the severe impact that they can only describe as being thrown across a room. Your ankle is a mess, and I'm not sure how you managed to get such intense bite marks there," she sighed again and ran her fingers through her blonde ponytail. "On top of that, there's some awful mauling along your back and leg from months ago that's still healing. Over all-" she took a deep breath, steeling herself for a cacophony of protests, "-I think you should stay for more than just the night. You're in bad shape, and it's our job to make sure you're alright."

I remained silent pondering her words with little attention. Perhaps I should stay, but I knew I couldn't. I needed to get back home soon and see my pack. They had to be worried.

A knock came from the door, jarring both the nurse and me, drawing our attention to Sam's tall figure taking up the majority of the entrance. The nurse sighed in defeat and stood, brushing off her clothes. "I suppose I'll leave you two alone," she mumbled and stepped out of the room.

Sam was quiet, eyes trained on mine. I dropped my gaze to my hands, clasped tightly in my lap. I hadn't realized just how bad my condition was, not until I took a closer look. Even my knuckles were bruised, and the skin was split and scabbed. I wouldn't be surprised if they were broken, and the painkillers had just kept me from noticing.

"So, what'd the nurse say?" Sam finally asked, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight and my hips slid slightly towards the edge. "Good or bad news?"

"She says I'm a mess, but we already knew that," I grumbled out and leaned forward, bracing my arms on my knees. "I've been told to stay overnight–she phrased it as an option, but I know it's not." Sam laughed at this and I cracked a weak smile, bumping him playfully in the arm. "I can be discharged tomorrow."

"That's good," he said softly, eyes roving over my backpack in the corner of the room. He had taken the time to empty the Impala of our belongings as soon as he was discharged and brought my bag back to me. "That means you can come with me to check out the car in the morning, right?"

I nodded and mustered a grin. "Of course. How bad's the damage?"

"Pretty bad," he grumbled and ran a hand through his hair, something I had noticed he often did when he was thinking deeply. It was a nervous tick, like Dean chewing on his fingernails. "Dean's not going to be too happy when he wakes up."

I fell silent, eyes unfocused and glazed. Despite the fact that I had slept for nearly two days, I was exhausted. I had so many thoughts running through my mind and had yet to really consider any of them. I worried my thoughts would become too dark to handle.

"I called your family," Sam said, leaning back on his elbows until his torso was hovering over my shins. "They were worried about you, you know. They all knew something was wrong." My eyes widened at this and I met his gaze with mixed confusion and elation.

"Did they say anything else?" I questioned. He looked puzzled as to what I meant and dropped his gaze when I didn't clarify. Truthfully, I was wondering if Caeden had experienced similar things to me. I had seen him in the darkness, and I couldn't help but contemplate whether he had seen me as well.

"No, they didn't say anything else," Sam replied. "But I do know Booth was on his way over here. Kept saying that 'someone needed to see you home now that you don't have that damn truck.' He was pretty insistent." He chuckled and turned his tired eyes to meet mine. "He should be here sometime tomorrow."

I nodded and swallowed dryly, knowing I was going to get an earful when I got home. Booth wasn't one to tolerate unnecessary risks, but I was sure he would understand the situation. Sasha on the other hand would be furious. She hated it whenever one of us got hurt – it drove her up the wall to know there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Sam tapped my shin and I jumped, meeting his eyes with a startled gaze. "It's getting late. You should get some sleep," he spoke. I frowned, knowing I couldn't hide my exhaustion from him – he would always be able to see right through my act. "I'll come get you in the morning-" he began and then quickly changed direction, "-or, we can wait for Booth if you want." He scratched the back of his neck nervously, fumbling over his words.

"We can figure that out in the morning," I murmured and leaned back against my pillow. "For now, you should head back to your motel room–don't want you getting back too late."

"Yeah," he whispered out. Sam stood on shaky legs and made his way slowly towards the door. He pressed the handle down and paused in thought, turning to look over his shoulder once more. "Listen, I..." he inhaled shakily. "Thanks for... looking out for Dean. I don't know what I'd do without him and- I think, without you there, he would've..."

"It's not a problem, Sam," I murmured back, flashing him a reassuring smile and hoping the looming darkness masked my worry and the wrenching feeling in my heart. "Dean- both of you are important to me."

Sam opened his mouth to say something else and then quickly changed his mind, nodding instead.

With that, he disappeared through the doorway, shutting the heavy door softly behind him. Despite his exit, the room still felt full, and for the first time in hours, I didn't feel lonely. It was odd, being alone and yet feeling comfort, as though I wasn't really alone.

I sighed softly and rolled onto my side and tried to ignore the aching in my ribs, left by the pummeling I had taken from the demon outside of Sunrise Apartments. That all seemed so long ago, although it was only... not quite three days ago? The last seven or eight days had been one nightmare after another, leaving me full of questions and insecurities.

I frowned and pulled the thin blanket to my chin, shivering at a chill that drifted through the room. Compared to the warmth of the darkness I had been submerged in only hours before, it was an icy, bitter chill that left me craving a warmth I couldn't attain.

I rolled onto my back restlessly and clenched my eyes shut, my racing as I struggled to quell the thoughts and questions that arose. All I wanted was to sleep, not question my very existence. An image of red eyes and pearlescent teeth flashed in my mind and my eyes snapped open, gold swimming in my formerly neutral irises.

What was that dark place? The silence there was deafening, terrifying even, and each experience left me more confused than the last. Each time I dreamt of that place, I came one step closer to understanding, and yet I was still so far.

What had the wolf meant when it said I wasn't where I belonged? Was the wolf even real or was it simply a figment of my imagination? I wondered if I would feel fur under my hands if I reached out to touch it. I shut my blazing eyes and tried to imagine its broad, brilliantly white face that contrasted with my midnight black fur.

Its fur had been so clearly defined, each strand like an individual ice crystal. Its eyes were as red as flaming coals, like fire lapping at fuel. There was no way something I dreamt up could be so startlingly beautiful, right? But there was no way such a creature could exist. Hell, the beast was even bigger than I was and must have easily been at eye level with Sam or Caeden.

I wondered if I could get back to that place on my own. Perhaps it was like a lucid dream; maybe I just needed to direct myself towards it in my sleep. I needed to figure out how to get back – I had so many questions, and it seemed the wolf may have the answers I needed. It was worth a shot.

I rolled onto my side and glanced up at the clock along the wall, just above the window, and was shocked to see the time. It was nearly one in the morning, several hours since Sam had left. Had I fallen asleep and not realized it? I blinked, thinking maybe I was seeing things. No, it really was early in the morning. It felt like I had sent Sam away only minutes before.

I sighed and sat up, running my fingers through my tangled hair. I was feeling restless, knowing that on a normal night I would be returning home soon after a late-night run. Perhaps a run was what I needed, but I couldn't risk it. Not in or around a hospital, nor could I jeopardize my health for such a frivolous thing. Instead, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, toes brushing over the cold linoleum.

A short walk couldn't hurt.

I padded softly down the hallway, trying my best not to wake the other patients. I chose to go in the opposite direction of Dean's room, roving the simply lit hallways like some sort of ghost. The lights cast on me left my shadow looking longer than usual, taking up most of the length of the hallway. It was an eerie feeling, and yet, it brought me an odd sense of peace.

The sound of distant tears caught my attention and I quickened my pace, jogging towards the sound. I ran down the dim halls, around corners and bends, into new wards, and passed nursing stations that gave me quizzical looks as I passed. Finally, I stopped in front of an oak door, a window beside it, the blinds lifted to allow sight into the room.

A woman lay on a bed, her dark hair stuck to her face, matted with sweat and tears. Several doctors stood around her, busying themselves with their equipment or muttering kind words to her.

In her arms sat a tightly wrapped bundle, a tiny squirming figure swaddled on the blankets. It was a newborn, a baby crying loudly and waving its red, pudgy hands high in the air.

I watched, wide-eyed and open-mouthed as the woman pulled her newborn baby closer to her, tears of joy and relief slipping down her cheeks. This was a maternity ward, and she was a new mother.

The sound of footsteps approached from behind, and I felt a presence move to stand beside my shoulder. With awestruck eyes, I turned to face the figure at my side, taking in the countenance of a very tired old man. His eyes were crinkled around the edges, as though he had spent most of the night, and certainly, the majority of his life, smiling.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" he spoke, his voice tired and soft, well-worn with age. "How in one room there's new life, and the next one over nothing but darkness. Hospitals are..." he shook his head in amazement and his eyes returned to the woman. She looked up with tired brown eyes and waved weakly to him. He smiled and waved back, pressing his fingertips to the glass.

"That's my daughter, you know," he murmured, a proud look adorning his deep brown eyes that so deeply matched hers. "I remember seeing that look on her mother's face, the night she was born. She looks so much like her mother..."

The man's gaze flitted from his daughter to my bewildered eyes, focused so intently on the swaddled life in her arms. "Do you have kids of your own?" he questioned.

I snapped out of my trance and shook my head, shutting my jaw tightly. What a mess I must have looked, standing in the maternity ward covered in bruises and scars talking to a man I didn't know. "No," I mumbled out. "No, I don't have any."

The man chuckled, his white hair contrasting with the dim lights in the hall so starkly. "That'll change soon," he murmured. I glanced at him with confusion and he laughed softly, tired voice velvety smooth. "I recognize that look in your eye–I had it too, once." He sighed, as if remembering a long-forgotten memory, daydreaming wistfully. "Who's the lucky man?" he questioned, voice full of certainty.

"There is no man," I whispered back, eyes meeting the woman and her swaddled bundle once again. The man's eyes met my profile and fell on my star-struck eyes before returning to his daughter's exhausted figure.

"Well, when you meet him, I hope he understands how lucky he is," he whispered out, flattening his palm against the glass in thought. "I know I didn't..." his face fell, reliving an old memory once more, one that left him feeling lonely and craving a warmth he could no longer have.

A doctor waved the old man forward, drawing both of our eyes to him. The man grinned ear to ear and shuffled around me, slipping into the room. He pressed a soft kiss to his daughter's forehead, standing over her exhausted form and teasing the fabric around the new bundle of life.

I blinked softly, taking in the happy scene before me. The man was right – it was amazing, the amount of life and death circulating in a hospital. I inhaled deeply and smiled at the new family, a collection of generations all with a common thread – life, and love. With one final glance at the family, I spun on my heels and padded down the hallway, unaware of the old man's eyes on my departing form.

This time, I strolled down the long hallways, the nurses never bothering to look up from their paperwork to investigate my unhurried gait. It wasn't long before I found myself back in my room, the door ajar just as I had left it. I stopped beside it, fingertips brushing over the oak wood in thought.

Before I could even form a coherent thought, I was traveling back down the corridor, fingers trailing along the smooth white walls. I turned the corner, counted the number of doors on the left side, and stopped in front of the fourth. The door to Dean's room was ajar, just as most critical patient's doors were. I breathed deeply and pushed the door open, light cascading into the dark room.

I had been holding out hope that he had improved, that maybe he was no longer intubated, or better yet, he was awake, and no one had informed me yet. Instead, I felt my heart sink into the pit of my stomach upon seeing his lifeless form lying limp on the bed with nothing but a few machines keeping him alive.

I pulled my arms tightly around me, shivering in the cold room and padding softly across the tile floor. The bed dipped under my weight and I sat beside Dean, leaning over him with tired eyes, my warm breath fanning his cheeks.

I opened my mouth to say something and found I couldn't speak. I didn't know what to say or do now that I was here. What do you say to someone in this situation, when you weren't even sure if they could hear you? I decided against speaking and instead leaned my head against his chest, careful not to reopen his wounds.

The gentle beating of his heart was a comforting sound compared to the erratic pounding it had been just a few days before. The beating, although helped along by the many machines attached to him, proved that Dean was alive and fighting to come back to us.

I lifted my head and inhaled deeply, eyes roving over his freckled face. Despite the many bandages wrapped around his head and the mask over his mouth, he was still as handsome as ever. I wondered if he was dreaming at all, or if his coma consisted of total darkness. I hoped that if it was darkness, it was a peaceful darkness, unlike the darkness I was beginning to frequently experience.

I leaned forward and pressed my forehead to his, drinking in the scent of cherries that still hung off him, despite the bleak smell of sterilization that clung to every surface in the hospital. Tentatively, I placed a hand on his cheek, swiping the pad of my thumb over his cheekbone in thought.

With a deep sigh, I lifted my head, my gaze falling to his closed eyes, hiding his brilliantly green irises from me. "Wake up soon, Winchester," I whispered and leaned forward, placing a gentle, lingering kiss on his forehead.

Face flushed and every part of my body cold from the lack of heat in the room, I stood and cast one last glance at Dean's comatose form before turning and leaving the room, unaware of the ghostly green eyes surveying my retreating form.

[laurel-finch]

will you be making more than 5 seasons?

Unfortunately not. The story I have outlined lines up with the end of season 5, and I never planned to go past that. There are some allusions to lore in later seasons, but I won't be going beyond season 5.

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' Season 1: The Road So Far

Season 1 Timeline:

Circa January 1980 - The mother of our reader's character is working an assumed werewolf case with her adoptive brother. The monster, a skinwalker thought to be extinct for generations, bites and turns her. The pair claim she was killed on the hunt to protect her new identity. She goes into hiding and eventually meets our reader's father, who helps her cope with her new status as a monster.

1981 - Our reader is born as a third-generation skinwalker. Her parents raised her in solitude to keep her protected and prevent her from attacking anyone.

1996 - Our character accidentally murders a human (later stated to be her first boyfriend).

1997 - A fight between our character's parents causes her mother to lose control. Seeking her brother's help, she begs him to kill her. He complies. A few months later, our reader's father leaves and she moves in with her uncle.

Circa March 2003 - Our character's uncle is killed on a wraith hunt, leaving her alone, miserable, and wanting revenge.

Circa May 2004 - Tom Chikaltio and his pack arrive in her town. Upon realizing there is already a skinwalker in town, he offers her an ultimatum -- leave, or join the pack. She stalls, avoiding conflict for as long as possible.

Mid-November, 2005 - The Winchesters arrive, thinking they are hunting a werewolf -- they later realize they are hunting skinwalkers, a species that hunters had thought were extinct for nearly one hundred years. With our character's help, they close their case. (Blue House, Black Dog - Fur).

December 2005 - Booth, Andrew, and Sasha are introduced (Alone), and the four have been living together for a month. The Winchesters invite their new ally to join them on a hunt, not realizing it has some tense family history. They try to keep her out of their problems but fail. Our reader begins hearing whispers in the woods. (Home).

December, 2005-Late January 2006 - The whispers lead our character to Marcus and Caeden, who are attempting to kill a former hunter (it is later discovered that this hunter was responsible for destroying one of Caeden's previous packs). Caeden is badly injured and she leads Marcus and Caeden to her home. After a month and a half, the pair decided to stay and join the pack (Who Are You?).

Early February 2006 - The Winchesters arrive at the pack's home for the night, and the trio departs on their next case in the morning. That night, Sam disappears, supposedly abducted by a phantom kidnapper. Our character and Dean share a bonding moment, and then begin searching for him in the morning (Tether). Dean is caught for impersonating a police officer, and the pair separate to find a newly captured civilian and Sam. Later, a fight ensues and Jared Bender, one of the villainous sons manages to injure Sam, which sets our character off. She kills Jared Bender and immediately regrets it (The Real Monsters).

February-Mid March 2006 - After a week of worrying that our character may hurt the brothers and being unable to change forms, she leaves. She meets Calliope, another skinwalker, at a rest stop in Montana and the pair decide to travel together (Stay). After a little over a month of traveling together, Calliope runs into a territorial grizzly bear. The grizzly bear attacks Calliope, which, combined with the ever-present whispers, spurs her into action. As time passes our character feels comfortable enough to rejoin the Winchesters, but cannot stomach the idea of returning to her pack yet. She sends Calliope to join them, and the pair briefly part ways. (Gamble).

Mid-March, 2006 - Our character finds Dean in a bar and the pair argue about her previous abrupt departure. The trio agree to travel to Chicago, where they investigate a demonic case and she discovers John Winchester was acquainted with her uncle (Winds of Change). The trio recognize they are hunting a Daeva, and on her way to assist the brothers she runs into John Winchester (In The Dark). The Daeva's attack, leaving everyone injured, and our character is delivered to her pack for reluctant recovery (Dear Dad).

Late March-Late April 2006 - On the way home our character dreams of being in total darkness and wakes up after seeing red eyes in the dark. The brothers stay the night, and she and Dean have a heartfelt conversation early in the morning (Family). After a period of time she feels healed enough to spar, and Caeden agrees to fight under Booth's supervision. In the scuffle the pair form a strange bond (Learning).

Late April-Early May 2006 - The evening of her fight with Caeden, our character receives an urgent call from the Winchester family. She reunites with the brothers for a vampire case and they begin searching for a gun that can kill any monster (Coven). On the way back to the motel, Sam and John get into an argument and John begins to their new friend isn't entirely truthful. The four unsuccessfully attempt to steal the Colt from the vampires, making themselves the coven's next targets (God's Instrument).

In the evening, they lay a trap to kidnap the lead vampire's mate. John pulls her aside and tells her to leave and never speak to the brothers again. Later, she and the brothers go back to the barn to free the humans; the vampires show up and she tells the brothers to run, then fights the monsters. Finally able to shift, she races off to find the Winchesters, exposing herself to John. John tries to kill her with the Colt, but Dean stops him by threatening to shoot his own father in her defense (Monster).

The four agree to go to Salvation, Iowa the next day, where signs point to the demon arriving there soon. Sam and our character go to the public library where he has a vision, and the pair rush off to find the mother and daughter. They meet Monica and her six-month-old baby, Rosie, then leave to report back to John and Dean (Salvation).

Back at the motel, Meg calls and demands John deliver the Colt to her. The group separates, John preparing to pawn off a fake gun to Meg and the trio carefully monitoring Monica's home. She has another dream of being in total darkness and encounters a white wolf. The demon arrives and the three race into the house. The demon shows her a vision of monsters, humans, and humanoid figures with wings dead, along with a winged figure on a towering throne, its face obscured. They save Monica and Rosie, only to find out that Meg has captured John (Yellow-Eyes).

They drive through the night and arrive at Bobby's house early in the morning. Meg finally arrives and they trap her, interrogating her with the help of an exorcism. Dean takes it too far and expels the demon, killing human Meg in the process (Bobby).

Tracking a clue human Meg offered before she died, the three find Sunrise Apartments and the brothers impersonate firefighters to enter the building. They rescue John and flee the building, but Dean kills another human in the process (Sunrise).

The group flees and decide to spend the night in a run-down, abandoned house. Whilst salting any possible entrances to the house, she and Dean get into an argument, and she admits that she wants to quit hunting. He brushes it off and leaves her alone, much to her dismay. The demon arrives and Dean claims that John is possessed. The demon retaliates by attacking the trio and tortures Dean. John overpowers the demon and Sam shoots him in the leg. On the way to the hospital, the group is intercepted by a semi-truck is intercepted by a semi. Our character has another dream of total darkness, where she sees and converses with the white wolf, who attacks her. She wakes up in the hospital.

I hope you enjoyed season 1! If you are eager to start season 2, you can find it on Wattpad and AO3 (unedited). I will begin uploading (and editing) it here soon.

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch22: Devil's Trap

Summary: Months of fighting finally comes to a head... Referenced Episodes: S1 E22 "Devil's Trap" CW: Minor gore. Word Count: 7422 Recommended Song: Carry On My Wayward Son -- Kansas Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- The Road So Far

"You said you wouldn't bring the gun!" I shouted as the Impala's engine roared to life and Dean sped the vehicle down the alleyway at high speeds. "You promised-"

"If I hadn't brought it, we could have all been dead!" he shouted back, his knuckles white as he clutched the wheel, turning sharply onto a more public road. I gripped tightly onto the back of the seat, holding myself in place as our bags slid across the seats. "We've still got two bullets-"

"I don't care about the fucking bullets!" I screamed, slamming my hand down on the back of the seat. He flinched as the leather bounced behind him and shot me a nasty glare. "I care that you killed another human! How many more people have to die, Dean!?"

"As many as it takes to kill this son of a bitch!" he swore, the car swerving under his jerky movements and dashing onto the highway.

My jaw dropped in shock and I collapsed backward into my seat. When did this become about jeopardizing the safety of others for petty revenge? I pulled my jacket tighter around myself, hiding in the thick fabric as though that could possibly shield me from his hatred.

The very fact that he cared so little for the lives of those in his way tore me apart. I tried so hard to overcome that instinctive drive to kill – it felt like he was mocking me. He chose to do this, a choice I wished I could make for myself. I wished I had that control – if I did, I would never kill unnecessarily.

Dean's eyes flickered to the rearview mirror, glancing back and forth between my scrunched form and the road. He never spoke, though I didn't expect him to. Neither of us were going to apologize. We both had our own beliefs and were too damn stubborn to admit that either of us could be wrong.

John shifted in his seat from beside me, the duffel bags being the only things separating the two of us. I scowled and dug my nails into the plush fabric of my coat and dropped my gaze in anger. It was John's fault that all of this had happened- his fault that the brothers had been dragged into his mess, his fault that Meg had come after us, his fault that we had to rescue him.

It wasn't long before the city had long faded into the distance, leaving only the open road. Dean seemed to be constantly holding the accelerator to the floor, winding down the road at intense speeds. It couldn't have been good for the car, but John didn’t seem to care. Curious.

Eventually, the car began to slow, and Dean directed the car toward the side of the road. A row of trees blocked a dirt road that angled towards the right of the road and disappeared into the thin forest. He followed the road with tense shoulders as if he was ready to turn around at a moment's notice.

"What are you doing?" Sam questioned as he straightened in his seat, putting his palm on the dash and gazing out the window. "I thought we were heading back to Bobby's?"

Dean shook his head and drove cautiously down the road. "We need to make sure dad is alright," he replied and cast a quick look at his brother, grimacing at the severe bruises and scrapes that decorated his face. "And we need to get you fixed up."

Sam scoffed and fell back in his seat. "I'm fine, Dean-"

"Like hell, Sam," I hissed, eyes glued to the road. "You're a mess. We can be back on the road in the morning," I grumbled, gesturing to the darkness that was steadily falling, concealing the blue sky and dragging the stars out with it. It was late, and we had all had a long day. We needed time to rest, somewhere that was hopefully safe.

A house rose in the distance with broken, moldy boards holding it together and grubby windows. I was surprised to see that the glass windows mostly were intact, boasting only a few shattered panes and that the roof was seemingly undamaged. It was only one story and certainly closer to a shed than a house, but it would work for the night.

Finally, the car stilled, and Dean parked, throwing his door open almost immediately and thrusting his hand into his jacket pocket, surely gripping the Colt like his life depended on it. Sam slid out of his own seat and pulled his father's door open, dragging John to his feet.

"I'm going to check the house to make sure it's clear. Wait here," Dean ordered, slipping his hand from his pocket to the silver and white gun on his waist. Sam nodded and hoisted John to his feet, stabilizing his father against the side of the car.

I rolled my eyes and pulled the duffel bags across the seats towards me, slinging one over each shoulder. Wordlessly, I turned and made my way towards the house, the front door cracked open from when Dean had entered. I heard Sam stammer out a meek protest before falling silent and returning his attention to his dad.

The small house was just as musty inside as it was outside. The only light was the Impala's headlights filtering through the doorway and illuminating the dust swirling and cascading through the air. The wallpaper on the walls was peeling to reveal the moldy wooden boards hidden beneath.

The floorboards squeaked under my weight and my boots left imprints in the thick layer of dust. Clearly, no one had lived here in a very long time. Old, rocky furniture decorated the main room, including a plain oak table and several chairs. I dropped the heavy duffel bags onto the dusty table, the weapons inside clattering as they made contact with the wooden surface.

Dean came thundering around the corner, charging out of a doorway with his gun drawn. He skidded to a halt, let out relieved sigh, then fixed me with a frustrated glare. "I told you to stay by the car."

I folded my arms tightly over my chest and scowled at him. "There's nothing here, Dean," I countered. "If there was, I'd smell it." He rolled his eyes and stomped across the room towards the front door, motioning for Sam and John to join us.

I rifled through our collection of weapons and pulled several large bags of salt from one of the duffle bags. If we were going to be staying here for the night, we'd need some extra protection. The window trims were so dusty I could hardly tell what was salt and what was dust until the line of salt began piling up.

A hand reached from behind me and gripped the bag of salt. I jumped and spun to meet Sam's tired eyes, a surprisingly reassuring grin on his bruised features. "Let me help," he said simply, slipping the bag of salt from my hands. I nodded and allowed him to take it, moving back to the table to grab another bag for myself.

I gripped the large white bag in both hands and cut the top open. The bag was heavy, but not unmanageable I noted as I hoisted it up and carried it down the dark hallway towards the two rooms at the other end of the house.

I peeked through one doorway to see Dean helping his father onto a small twin-sized bed that, to my shock, still had a mattress on it. The room only had one window, the glass cracked and provided a slight draft into the room. Avoiding Dean's gaze, I made my way across the room and lined the one window with salt, and quickly turned to exit.

The sound of footsteps following me caught my attention as I made my way across the hall to the other small bedroom. This room was barren, save for an overturned table that was missing one leg and a lone rocking chair. White lace currents riddled with holes left by insects rustled next to the shattered windows.

I snuck a glance over my shoulder to see Dean leaning in the doorway, a sour expression on his freckled face and arms crossed in obvious irritation. With pursed lips, I stepped further into the room and began lining one of the two windows.

"What do you want, Dean?" I questioned, lifting the end of the salt bag into the air to usher more grains out.

"I just..." he began, struggling to find the words. I lifted a brow and continued pouring, running my fingers through the salt until it was evenly spread, waiting for him to continue. "I'm not going to apologize for bringing the Colt along. Sam almost died back there, and I can't-" he took a deep breath. "I can't lose him, you know? Better safe than sorry."

I lifted the bag of salt, stemming the steady stream, and gazed out the broken window. The glass was so distorted and grimy that I could barely see my reflection. I knew I was probably a mess of bruises –I hadn't bothered to look at the damage that my brief brawl with the demon had inflicted.

"I don't expect you to apologize," I grumbled and padded towards the other window, my boots sending soft clouds of dust into the air.

"Then what do you want?" he snapped, eyes following my movements. His gaze was harsh and unyielding like he couldn't believe that I was still angry with him.

I froze and lifted the bag of salt, stemming the flow. "I want them to still be alive, Dean," I hissed through gritted teeth. "I want that man you killed alive. I want Meg to still be alive. Hell, I want Jared Bender to be alive."

"Little too late for that," he grumbled.

"They didn’t have to die," I snarled, keeping my furious gaze locked on the window, my fingers pinching the crisp edge of the bag of salt.

He scoffed and pushed away from the door, standing to his full height. "What else was I supposed to do? Just let it kill my brother?"

"No!" I shouted and whirled to face him, spilling a thin trail of salt on the ground. "No, you should have let me handle it! Or we could’ve run, or taken a different route, or-" I placed the bag of salt on the windowsill and took a few agitated steps forward. "I just- we had- have other options and we never use them!"

"Since when did you care so much about people!?" he shouted back, fists and jaw tight in rage. "You killed someone because he hurt Sam, for God's sake!"

I flinched and scowled at him, hurt clawing at my stomach and bile rising in my throat. "Yeah, and I regret it every fucking day. I regret not having enough control over myself to prevent taking a life for the second time, when I finally thought I had a grip," I spat, fingers picking at the hem of my shirt. "And you know what sucks? Seeing a person who has that control and squanders it. Every time you kill, it's your choice, and that's what pisses me off." I snapped and raised an accusatory finger at him. He opened his mouth to fight back, eyes blazing with fury,

"I hate that you refuse to take accountability," I snarled, cutting him off and taking another enraged step forward. "I hate that every time something like this happens, you brush it off as necessary when it was completely avoidable! I hate that you think your way is always right and that you blatantly disregard mine or Sam's wishes!"

Dead flinched and took a cautious step back, his jaw clenched as though he was fighting to hold back a scathing remark. My blood was burning and once again that boiling sensation returned. The stress of the last several days was finally crumbling my resolve. Four days ago, I had the Colt aimed at my head by none other than John Winchester. Five days ago, I couldn't shift no matter how much I tried. Six days ago, I had gotten into a fight with Caeden that left me with some strange connection to him.

I was so fed up. I wanted it to be over, I wanted out, I wanted the people I cared about to be safe. I was tired of Dean's anything-for-dad attitude, and tired of Sam's hunger for revenge. Truthfully, I was beginning to think killing this demon wasn't worth all the additional pain it brought; it felt as though for every life we saved, we lost ten more over stupid decisions.

"I am so tired of people getting killed because of us, Dean!" I shouted, jabbing my finger into his chest. "It feels like every single hunt someone gets hurt, or we can't save someone in time, or you just don't care!"

I flinched as he reached a hand cautiously up to my cheek and ran the pad of his thumb under my eye. I blinked rapidly, realizing I was crying. When did I start crying?

I jerked my head away from his hand and took a step back, eyes glued to the dusty floorboards. "When all of this is over," I spoke softly, voice wavering and surprisingly hoarse. "When we kill this bastard, I'm out. I quit. I’m so tired of this, Dean."

Dean fell silent and I drew my jacket tighter, huddling in the warm folds. Perhaps if I made myself small enough, I would disappear under his intense gaze.

"And what if we can't kill it tonight, or tomorrow?" he asked, his voice low. "What if it takes years?" I refused to look at him, not quite knowing how to answer. Could I keep going for years? The weight of everything that had been happening was beginning to take a toll – I wasn't sure if I could handle weeks, months, or years of this.

I started hunting to help my friends, people I now viewed as family. I started hunting to help others from the dangers I knew and understood better than any other hunter. But lately, it felt like I was doing more harm than good.

"I don't know," I answered meekly, running a palm over my cheeks and mopping up the stray tears. "But I do know I can't watch you get hurt. Not you, not Sam, not anyone I care about." I fixed my furious gaze on him, his green eyes blazing in dim lighting.

He fell silent, hands buried in his pockets and a bitter expression on his face. Dean wasn't sure what to say - he knew what he should say: that it was alright, that he would be happy with whatever I chose to do. But that wasn't Dean. He was harsh, rough around the edges, and difficult to see eye to eye with. Once he was set on something, it was impossible to change his mind; and right now, he was set on this hunt.

"We can talk more about this after we kill the demon," he spoke softly, tone low and as reassuring as he could manage. "We'll figure something out."

And with that final note, he spun on his heels and left the room, leaving me standing alone in piles of dust, tears slipping down my face and a head full of questions. I sniffed and rubbed my eyes, drying my cheeks the best I could manage, and turned back to the window. I picked up the bag of salt and finished carelessly lining the window, dumping more salt than I really needed to,

I gritted my teeth and the sound of Sam and Dean conversing softly in the main room, discussing their plan and what to do about their father. The bed in the other room creaked and the floorboards bent under John's weight as he hobbled into the hallway, listening in on his sons' conversation.

I was miserable. The one person I wanted to understand how I was feeling had brushed it off like my feelings were something that could wait until later. I scoffed and brushed my nose on my jacket sleeve and cleared my throat, struggling to rid myself of that course, gritty feeling. I felt pathetic, crying in an old building over my own problems when I had bigger things on my plate.

I needed a break.

John's stern voice filtered down the hallway as he joined in on the conversation. I didn't bother to pay much attention to his words as my fingertips ran over the packaging of the salt bag, running along the edge of the opening. I needed to see my pack soon, I needed to check in on them and try to have some of my questions answered.

My life had changed so much since the Winchesters had come into my life- hell, everything changed when Dennis had been killed. Life was so peaceful, so normal back then. I felt like just a kid spending time with her cool uncle and living life to its fullest.

Now, every day was a battle and I certainly was not normal, not even by skinwalker standards. Perhaps my strange experiences had to do with my pedigree. I hoped that was the case, as it was the only logical solution. Finally, I took a deep breath, tucked the bag of salt under my arm, and made my way toward the hallway.

"Mad?" John spoke, sounding surprised by a previous statement. "No, I'm not mad- I'm proud." He took a few steps towards Dean and put his hand comfortingly on his shoulder. "You know, Sam and I, we can get pretty obsessed. But you – you watch out for this family. You always have."

My brows rose in surprise, my eyes never leaving John's back as I padded into the room, the floorboards creaking under my heavy boots. Sam's eyes flickered to mine for a second and then slid back to his father's form. He looked as surprised as I felt. We had all been sure John would be furious over Dean wasting a bullet.

I jumped, a shiver running up my spine as the wind picked up and the lights began to flicker. Something was wrong. John ran for one of the windows, drawing back the weathered lace curtain, and peered out into the darkness.

"It found us," he said, his tone low and full of disdain. He spun on his heel, his eyes flickering between Sam and me. "You two, I want lines of salt on every door and window."

"We already did-" Sam sputtered, but was cut off by John's harsh reply.

"Well then check it again!" he shouted and turned back to the window. Sam leaped into action, bouncing to his feet and racing down the hall. I followed close on his heels with the bag of salt clutched tightly in my arms.

I skidded into the small bedroom and came to a stop at the little window, opposite the bed. The salt line was still intact, though I sprinkled a bit more for good measure. You could never have too much salt when it came to demons.

Sam thundered into the room, hands gripping the doorway to slow his momentum. "Everything in here looking good?" he questioned. I nodded and handed him the bag of salt, which he happily snatched and turned to race back into the opposite room, relining the windows just in case.

"Should we line the doors?" I inquired, stepping into the small room with him. He paused in his pouring and then nodded, handing the bag back to me. I poured a thick line of salt along the doorway – worst-case scenario, we'd have to hunker down in one of these rooms with our weapons and salt.

When I was finally satisfied with my salt lines I marched back into the hallway with Sam by my side, his jaw clenched and set in determination. This was his second chance at killing the demon, and he had just as much reason to destroy it as John. He looked as though he needed, craved this revenge like it would make him whole again.

Sam froze and I nearly ran into him, stopping just behind him and peering around him. My eyes went wide at the sight in front of me.

Dean had the Colt aimed at John, a look of malice on his face.

"Dean, what's going on?" Sam questioned, his voice rising with a note of anxiety. John's eyes flickered to his with mixed emotions of anger and hurt.

"Your brother's lost his mind-" he began but was cut off by Dean's sharp voice.

"He's not dad," the eldest Winchester brother snapped, his eyes never leaving his father. Sam took a few cautious steps into the room. I followed, my fingertips resting on the gun at my hip. "I think he's possessed. I think he's been possessed since we rescued him," he clarified, his voice wavering, although his grip on the Colt remained firm.

"Don't listen to him," John ordered, his eyes flickering from Dean, to Sam, to me, and back to Dean. He raised his hands slowly and moved to take a step toward Dean. Dean tightened his grip on the gun and clenched his jaw. John halted.

"Dean, how do you know?" I whispered, taking a small, nervous side-step towards him. "I can't smell sulfur, and holy water didn't burn him."

"He's just..." Dean stammered out, struggling to grasp at his reasoning. "He's just different."

"We don't have time for this!" John shouted. I flinched and took another slow step toward Dean. John turned to Sam with pleading eyes. "Sam, you wanna kill this demon, you've gotta trust me. I'm not possessed."

My hackles rose at this comment. Something about this situation wasn't sitting right with me. I took a few more steps until I stood by Dean's side, glaring ferociously at John in a way that I hoped masked my nerves.

Sam's eyes flickered between his father and his brother, wide-eyed and unsettled. Dean cast a brief glance at him before returning his heated gaze to his father. Sam took another slow step forward before moving to Dean's side, a tentative scowl on his features.

John scoffed, eyes swimming with betrayal. "Fine. You're both so sure, go ahead. Kill me." I winced as he dropped his head, hands dropping limply to his sides. My muscles tensed, from my neck to my shoulders and down my legs, ready to pounce whenever necessary.

Dean's hand shook, his finger resting on the trigger as he struggled with his own thoughts. My eyes flicked between John and the barrel of the gun, a gun that, not too long ago, had been aimed at me by a man who wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger.

John's head lifted, the look of betrayal falling away, leaving a twisted grin in its wake. "It thought so," he murmured, his voice confident.

Before I even had time to react, the three of us were thrown across the room, backs colliding harshly with the rotten wooden walls. The Colt dropped from Dean's hand, clattering harshly against the ground – to me, it sounded like a clap of thunder. That sound marked the end of our campaign.

The demon took a few languid steps forward and bent to pick up the Colt, eyes blazing with that familiar yellow color. A smirk adorned John's cheek as he inspected the gun, running his fingertips along the engraving left by Samuel Colt.

"What a pain in the ass this thing's been," the demon mused, its condescending tone dripping into John's voice. His eyes lifted to meet the brothers, flickering between them as they thrashed against the wall.

"It's you, isn't it?" Sam snapped, struggling to push himself away from the wall and break away from whatever force was pinning him to it. "We've been looking for you for a long time, you know."

"You found me!" said the demon, spreading his arms wide and grinning mockingly. "Well, actually," he spoke, dropping his arms to his with a sudden puzzled expression. "I should say I found you," he sneered, the cocky grin returning. For a moment, his eyes flickered to meet mine, wide and excitable as though he had been waiting for this moment for years.

"What about the holy water?" Sam snapped, jaw set in provocation. The demon barked out a laugh.

"You think something like that works on something like me?" he laughed, waving the Colt wildly. "That's cute." He held the gun up, aiming for Sam, and shut one eye. The demon made a popping noise with his- John's lips and mimed the gun going off, then laughed, dropping it back to his side.

"I'm gonna kill you!" Sam shouted, thrashing against his invisible restraints, but to no avail. As soon as he would get his shoulders away from the wall, he would be sucked back into place.

The demon laughed. "Oh, that'd be a neat trick. In fact-" he placed the Colt on the dusty table, a teasing smirk on John's face. "Make the gun float to you there, psychic boy." I winced as Sam's eyes flitted between his father's possessed form and the gun, clearly hoping that maybe he could.

The gun didn't move.

"This is fun," the demon remarked whilst taking several steps towards Dean, eyes never leaving Sam. "You know, I could have killed you a hundred times today, but this-" his voice dropped, and his eyes met Dean's. "-this is worth the wait."

The demon grinned a Cheshire cat grin, glaring down at Dean with such vile contempt in his yellow eyes that I was sure if looks could kill Dean would have been in pieces. "Your dad – he's in here with me. Trapped inside his own meat suit. He says 'hi,' by the way," he declared, leaning forward until he was nose to nose with Dean. "He's gonna tear you apart. He's gonna taste the iron in your blood."

I snarled and struggled to push myself away from the wall, my shoulders leaving the hard surface. Like hell was I going to let this bastard get close enough to the brothers for that to happen. My skin burned, the blood beneath seething and boiling hotter than it had in days. My hackles rose and I pushed, struggling against the heavy weight that kept me against the rotted wall.

A jolt went down my spine, like pure electricity lighting all my nerves from the base of my neck to the tips of my toes. Caeden. For the first time in days, that static feeling crawled down my spine, spurring my blood into raging beneath my skin. He was worried and on guard, knowing something was deeply wrong.

The demon's yellow eyes flickered to mine, taking in the gold that was quickly rising in my irises. His smirk dropped and his eyes narrowed in disgust. "The pup didn't like that, huh?" With a flick of his wrist, I was spinning, launched into the air, and sailing across the room until my back collided roughly with a corroded wooden beam, spanning the length of the ceiling.

I gasped for air and squeezed my eyes shut tightly, avoiding looking at the moldy floorboards several feet below. Blood rushed to my head, pounding in my ears and still I kept my eyes closed, ignoring the tears that threatened to spill from the pressure alone.

"Let her go!" Dean shouted. I cracked open one eye and gasped, arching my back into the beam. The view was disorienting as if I was much higher than I actually was. My mind struggled to grasp the new angle, thrusting odd images of this being the wall and the brothers being in the ceiling. The images flipped back and forth as my lungs contracted. I felt like I was going to vomit.

"You let them go, or I swear to God-" Dean started his voice dripping with malice. The demon took a threatening step forward, lips drawn back in a grimace.

"Or what?" he demanded. "What are you and God gonna do?" He took a step back and snarled bitterly. "You see, as far as I'm concerned, this is justice. That little exorcism you pulled-" his eyes flitted between Sam and Dean. "- that was my daughter. The one in the alley? That was my son."

I squeezed my eyes shut and inhaled deeply, struggling to regulate my breathing and slow my thundering heart. Dean rolled his eyes and scowled at the demon. "You've got to be kidding me," he spat, not quite believing what he was hearing.

"What? You're the only one that can have a family?" the demon demanded with hostility. "You destroyed my children. How would you feel if I killed your family?" I winced as the demon cackled and cracked an eye open. "Oh right- I already did. Still, two wrongs don't make a right," he added with a wide smirk, shaking his finger at Dean.

"Why'd you do it?" Sam demanded, no longer thrashing against his restraints. My golden eyes flicked to his tensed form, focusing on anything other than the height at which I was being held. "Mom and Jess- why'd you do it."

The demon glanced between the brothers, looking overjoyed before he began speaking to Dean again. "You know, I never told you this, but Sam was going to ask her to marry him. Been shopping for rings and everything," he spoke, taking a few steps backward towards Sam. My heart squeezed until I thought my blood would stop pumping .

"You want to know why?" the demon continued, eye level with Sam. "Because they got in the way of my plans. Plans for you, and children like you." Sam struggled to reach the demon, his palms never leaving the splintered wood pressed against his back, snarling swear words.

"Listen, you mind just getting this over with? Cause I really can't stand the monologuing," Dean grumbled with a dramatic groan. The demon moved back to stand in front of him, hands buried deep in his pockets with a disinterested scowl on John's face.

"Funny, but that's all part of your MO, right? Masks all that nasty pain, masks the truth," the demon growled, leaning forward. "You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but they don't need you. Not like you need them. Sam - he's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you."

"I bet you're really proud of your kids, too, huh? Oh wait, I forgot. I wasted 'em," Dean spat, meeting the demon's furious gaze.

I tensed, every muscle in my body tightening and clinging to the wooden beam crushed against my back. Dean was getting too brave, too rash.

Suddenly, Dean shouted in pain, his shoulders tensing and trembling. Every nerve in my body sparked and the searing heat returned to my blood. "Dean!" I shouted, thrashing against the beam, back struggling to arch away from it.

I panicked, digging my heels into the beam until I felt the wood give, splintering under the pressure I was forcing upon it. Dean screamed and tossed his head back, chest heaving, eyes meeting his father's.

Blood poured down his chest.

"Dad, don't you let it kill me," he pleaded with his father’s possessed figure, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched in pain. "Dad!"

Sam screamed, fighting against his own restraints, his shoulders pulling away and then immediately planting themselves against the rotten wood. The demon stepped back, admiring his bloody masterpiece with a satisfied grin.

Dean shouted, his fists clenching reflexively and nails digging into the wood. I screamed, eyes never leaving the rapidly thickening trails of blood that dripped down his chest as if he was being ripped open. I felt like I was burning, bones splitting beneath my skin and struggling to rearrange into a canine form. The invisible chains forced them back in a painful process, keeping me locked in place and unable to shift.

Fur struggled to sprout from my skin, pushing through the thin cells and then rapidly retracting before it could break through the skin. My teeth sharpened and elongated, pushing through the gums until they bled. I screamed in frustration, arching my back until the wood splintered, cracking above me. This was more painful than my first time shifting.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, thrashing against the demon's invisible chains. He placed his palms flat against the wall and pushed, back arching until his torso was free.

I no longer cared about the immense height or the blood pounding in my ears from this angle. Like Sam, all I needed was to get to Dean. I screamed as his head lolled, dropping to his chest that still had waves of blood pouring from it. His heart was beating erratically, forcing the blood to circulate instead of forcing it out of his body.

"Dean!" I screamed, tears running down my cheeks, the red tint in my sight nearly masking his blood-stained shirt. "John, make him stop!" I pleaded, arching into the wood once again and feeling it splinter under my weight. "John!"

The room fell silent as the demon hung his head and stumbled back. I froze, golden eyes watching his every movement. Finally, John lifted his head, tears swimming in his brown eyes. "Stop..." he whispered, eyes following the thin trail of blood dripping from between Dean's lips. "Stop it..."

Sam dropped to the floor, the weight holding him to the wall disappearing. He fell to his knees and gasped for air before stumbling to his feet and racing across the room, sliding into the table, and gripping the Colt tightly in one hand.

The demon spun to face him, his confident smirk quickly returning and yellow eyes in the darkness. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Sammy," he chided as Sam aimed the gun at his head. "You kill me, you kill daddy."

"I know," Sam spoke, still gasping for breath. In a split second, he lowered his gun and fired, the bullet colliding with John's thigh. Electricity pulsed through him, jumping from joint to joint, in and out of his body. John collapsed.

All too suddenly, I was thrown to the ground like a limp rag, plummeting several feet onto my stomach. I screamed as I fell and hit the ground hard, my lungs giving out and chest heaving, searching for the oxygen I had suddenly lost.

I had barely taken a breath before I was scrabbling to my hands and knees, coughing and sputtering slobber onto the dusty floor, splinters digging into my palms. I struggled to my knees and groaned, gripping my head in my hands.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, racing across the room and skidding in the dust until he was on his knees beside his fallen brother. My eyes snapped up to meet the two figures and I pulled myself to my feet, no longer caring about my own condition. "Oh, God," Sam continued, placing his hand on Dean's chest and immediately pulling it back, his skin slick with blood. "Oh, God, you lost a lot of blood."

I hobbled across the room and collapsed beside the brothers, placing my own hand on Dean's chest. The shirt was drenched, stuck tightly to his bloodied and shredded chest. I forced down the bile rising in my throat and tried not to gag.

"Where's dad?" Dean managed to utter, eyes barely open.

"He's right here," Sam said, pointing behind him to where John's crumpled form lay. "He's here, Dean, he's fine."

"Go check on him," Dean ordered, pushing Sam's hands away and pointing weakly towards their father. "Go." Sam's eyes met mine tentatively and I nodded, shrugging off my jacket. Sam stood and shuffled towards his father.

I slid across the floor until I was parallel with Dean, leaning over him and putting as much gentle pressure on him as I could, my coat soaking up the blood that was still spilling from his open wounds. "Dean, can you hear me?" I whispered, lifting his head with my free hand, leaving a bloody handprint in his hair. He sputtered and managed to nod, gripping my wrist with his hand.

"Sammy!" John suddenly screamed and I jumped, startled by the sudden noise. "Sam, it's still alive!"

"Shit," I mumbled under my breath, keeping Dean's head elevated. I shifted, blocking the older Winchester's view of his family. "Dean, I need you to stay awake, OK?" I murmured out, heart pounding and hands shaking.

"Sam, you need to shoot me!" John shouted through gritted teeth, tears cascading down his cheeks. I squeezed my eyes shut and leaned over Dean, face inches from his and hopefully blocking his sight. "You need to shoot me, right in the heart! Shoot me !" John screamed.

"Sam, don't do it," Dean said meekly, voice barely audible over the sound of John's screaming. His head lolled back and his eyes shut, a pained expression on his face.

"Dean, stay awake," I ordered harshly, holding his head up higher. "Don't die on me now, alright? Not now." He said nothing, eyes shut tight and lungs heaving for oxygen. I pressed down tighter on his chest and pulled his torso into my lap, supporting his upper half.

John continued to scream, demanding that Sam kill him. I winced with every pained order he gave, waiting for the sound of the Colt firing and for John's body to thump lifelessly to the floor. "Sammy, kill me! We can end this here and now, son!"

Dean inhaled shakily and I gripped him tighter, leaning down until my forehead was pressed to his. "Stay with me, Dean," I ordered, struggling to conceal the panic in my voice. His eyes fluttered open and then quickly closed as he struggled for breath. "Dean, we're going to end this," I told him. "We're going to kill this demon and then we're going to get out – you, me, and Sam. We're going to quit alright?" I wiped a stray tear from my cheek, smearing blood across my skin. "You're going to have a house, with a white picket fence, and build a life. Get married, have kids – two dogs, just like you said. Remember?" I shook him and he struggled to open his eyes. I placed a hand on his cheek, smearing blood across his freckled face and dripping my own tears onto his pale skin. "Apple pie life, right? Just stay awake, alright? Stay awake-"

John screamed and thrashed, and the sound of high-pitched whistling filled the room. My eyes snapped open and I pulled away from Dean, peering over my shoulder with wide eyes. The demon was leaving, fleeing John's body in a cloud of black smoke. John fell to the floor and the demonic smoke filtered through the floorboards, filtering through the ground beneath.

"Sam!" I shouted as he hauled John to his feet, bracing his father.

"We need to get to a hospital," he shouted back, hauling John and his limp leg towards the door. "You got Dean?" I glanced between him and his fallen brother and nodded, hoisting Dean up until he had partially risen to his feet.

Half walking, half dragging, I managed to pull Dean with me to the car, his feet dragging in the dirt and my coat slipping from his chest, dragging tendrils of sticky blood with it. With much effort I managed to pull the car door open and set him in the seat, pushing his legs into the car. I didn't bother to pull the seat belt around him – who knew what damage that could cause.

The engine purred to life as I slipped into the car and replaced my hand on Dean's chest, the bloodied coat between us. He was still losing blood, although thankfully not as much. Sam put the car in drive and took off down the dirt road. It wasn't long before the car jolted as the wheels hit the pavement highway, jostling my hold on Dean.

Dean's eyes fluttered open as he struggled to look around, eyes resting on Sam at the wheel and then his battered father in the passenger's seat. I pulled him to me, resting my forehead on his cheek. "We're on our way to the hospital," I murmured beside his ear. He blinked and rested his head against mine, breathing labored. "Don't die on me, Dean," I whispered. "I can't lose you alright?"

The sound of another vehicle roaring towards us caught my attention and I whipped to face the opposite window. Lights filtered in, illuminating a massive semi barreling towards us. I barely had time to scream and duck in front of Dean before everything went dark.

I blinked in the darkness, my lashes fluttering against my skin. It was dark, and warm, just as I remembered. Why was I here? I glanced down at my palms – they were clean of blood.

Where's Dean? I thought, and I could hear my own voice echoing back at me, bouncing off the shadows like a chorus of frightened doves. I padded through the darkness, my coat repaired and resting on my back, my clothes clean of blood.

The darkness was completely silent, enveloping me in its odd sense of peace. Why did I feel peace?

I started to run, my feet landing harshly in the darkness, and yet not making a sound. I ran and ran until I thought my lungs would give out and my muscles would burst, despite the lack of oxygen.

I stopped. Something was wrong.

I spun on my heels, turning in nearly a full circle before I came to a stop. I saw a light, a distant light, but still a light. It was blue, crackling, and cold. I ran for it, ran and ran and ran until I felt I might die, and still, I ran. I knew that light.

I skidded to a stop and stumbled back, taking it in. It was a figure, one I knew well, although the features were impossible to make out. It was energy, fizzing and popping like lightning against an impossibly dark night sky. It beckoned me and I took several long steps forward, coming to a halt only inches away from the energy.

I reached my fingertips up and brushed the raw energy, brushing away the tendrils of excitable electricity until I could see the figure.

It was Caeden.

I gasped and cupped my hands over my mouth, seeing his dark skin and narrowed blue eyes as if he was ready to shift at a moment's notice. He didn't breathe. He didn't blink. He was completely still.

A growl from behind snapped me out of my trance, and suddenly I was met with two crimson red eyes only inches from my own. A snarl split the white wolf's pink gums, showing off glistening white teeth that rivaled the purity of its pearlescent fur.

Why are you here? A voice rang out in my mind, deep, guttural, and authoritative.

"I don't know," I whispered back, my voice swallowed by the infinite darkness. The wolf snorted and took several steps back, its long, bushy tail swaying and its eyes never leaving my own. "Where am I?" I questioned, taking a single step towards it.

Somewhere you don't belong, it answered. And then it lunged, blindingly white teeth lunging for my throat and clamping down on my skin, sinking in and-

I woke to bright lights beating down on me and my ears ringing like church bells. I gasped and clutched at my throat, struggling to take in a deep breath of oxygen. I expected to feel hollow holes where its teeth had met my skin, and instead found solid, unmarked flesh.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my head pounding from the sudden resurgence of light. Where was I? I sat up, fingertips clutching at the hospital blanket draped across my waist.

Hospital? My heart hammered in my chest as I threw the blanket across the bed, eyes taking in the hospital gown wrapped loosely around my body. Why was I in the hospital? What happened?

I blinked rapidly, once, twice, three times as my mind raced to understand what had happened. Meg- the demon- John- the car crash.

I gasped and my hands flew to my mouth, eyes flashing brilliantly gold.

Dean.

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' Season 5 Masterlist

To Be Continued...

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' Season 4 Masterlist

S4.Ch01 'Moribund'

S4.Ch02 'The World On Fire'

S4.Ch03 'Righteous'

S4.Ch04 'It's Too Late'

S4.Ch05 'Twisted in Knots'

S4.Ch06 'Fever'

S4.Ch07 'Holy Beasts'

S4.Ch08 'Divine Monsters'

S4.Ch09 'Radio Waves'

S4.Ch10 'Limbo'

S4.Ch11 'Coin Toss'

S4.Ch12 'Pay The Devil His Dues'

S4.Ch13 'The Rapture'

S4.Ch14 'Implosion'

S4.Ch15 'Gray'

S4.Ch16 'It's Me, Again'

S4.Ch17 'Double Life'

S4.Ch18 'The Hunt'

S4.Ch19 'Unraveling'

S4.Ch20 'Son of the Morning'

Season Conclusion 'The Road So Far'

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' Season 3 Masterlist

S3.Ch01 'What Did You Do?'

S3.Ch02 'The Gate'

S3.Ch03 'Why Do You Care?'

S3.Ch04 'Love'

S3.Ch05 'Growing Pains'

S3.Ch06 'Red Sky'

S3.Ch07 'Give A Damn'

S3.Ch08 'Hunger'

S3.Ch09 'Time'

S3.Ch10 'Deja Vu'

S3.Ch11 'Capture'

S3.Ch12 'Release'

S3.Ch13 'Bite'

S3.Ch14 'BONUS CHAPTER: Ghostfacers!'

Season Conclusion 'The Road So Far'

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' Season 2 Masterlist

S2.Ch01 'Wake Up'

S2.Ch02 'Stay With Me'

S2.Ch03 'I Quit'

S2.Ch04 'Rumors'

S2.Ch05 'Into Darkness'

S2. Ch06 'Can You Hear Me?'

S2.Ch07 'Hello'

S2.Ch08 'Late Nights'

S2.Ch09 'Simon Says'

S2.Ch10 'I Missed You'

S2.Ch11 'The Roadhouse'

S2.Ch12 'Others'

S2.Ch13 'Blood'

S2.Ch14 'The Usual Suspects'

S2.Ch15 'Are You God?'

S2.Ch16 'Sugar Rush'

S2.Ch17 'A Wonderful World'

S2.Ch18 'Heart'

S2.Ch19 'Don't Worry About Me'

S2.Ch20 'Where Are You?'

S2.Ch21 'What Was and Will Be'

S2.Ch22 'Burning Bridges and Houses'

S2.Ch23 'Black Dog'

Season Conclusion 'The Road So Far'

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch21: Sunrise

Summary: The constant fighting begins to take a toll... Referenced Episodes: S1 E22 "Devil's Trap" CW: None. Word Count: 5518 Recommended Song: The End of The Innocence -- Don Henley Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

I hid down the long, dark hallway, taking deep struggling breaths. She was dead. She was dead because of us. I ran a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots and curling my fist in frustration. There had to have been another way, one that didn't involve her death.

I snuck a glance over my shoulder at Meg’s sagged, bloody, broken form and gagged, quickly retracting my gaze and holding back the rising bile. I had never been good at handling death. It was one thing if there was no other choice, but a frivolous, avoidable death... that was something else entirely.

It felt like a tremendous weight had been dropped onto my shoulders, pushing me down and against the wall until I was seated with my head hanging limply between my knees.

I couldn't even begin to understand what she had gone through. Possession was a new concept to me, nothing more than a myth that I would never experience, for obvious reasons. What was it like to not have control over your own body? What was it like to have to sit back and watch a demon's nefarious activities? I was thankful that I would never know, and for once I was ecstatic that I didn't have a soul.

The brothers and Bobby spoke in hushed voices in the kitchen. My ears roared as my heart pounded, blocking their whispers. If I focused, I was sure I could hear them, but I didn't feel the need. I didn't want this. How many more humans were going to die on this crusade? I thought the whole point was to save people...

I turned to look over my shoulder, eyes raking down Meg's broken corpse. Already, she smelled stale and lifeless. Her lips were blue and her skin was steadily paling as her temperature dropped. I swallowed dryly and pulled my wide eyes from her body.

The brothers stormed into the living room, their eyes avoiding the body with mixed looks of guilt, and rushed for their stuff. My pulse pounded as a swell of anger filled my chest – Dean didn't care that she was just a girl, and Sam hadn't even tried to stop him. How could they have just let that happen? Sam tucked the Key of Solomon under his arm and searched the many stacks of books for anything else he may be able to use.

"We need to go," Dean called to me, slinging his coat over his arm. I stood on shaky legs, brushed the dust off my jeans, and bit back an angry retort. Everything was happening so fast.

Dean marched from the room, a determined spring in his step. He looked so sure of himself now like he had a goal and now had a way to achieve that. His confidence was often contagious, but this time I didn't feel it. How could he have confidence after what we just witnessed?

Bobby called my name from the kitchen. I shuffled through the doorway, keeping as much distance between me and Meg's body as possible. Bobby had a stern scowl on his aged features, wrinkles folding his forehead in worry. Under his arm was a book, which he quickly handed to me.

My fingers slipped over the worn leather cover of the book as I grasped it and took it from him. My eyes scanned the title in surprise. The Creation of Monsters, the same book I had been looking at before Meg's arrival. I looked at Bobby with shock, wide-eyed and subtly terrified.

"Do you-" I started to ask, but was quickly cut off by his raised palm, silencing me.

"Of course, I know. You think I can't spot a non-human, after how long I've been hunting?" he said with a teasing grin rising on his cheeks. "Meg's comments weren't exactly slick either, you know."

"And you're not worried? Do you know what I am?" I questioned, tucking the book under my arm. I doubted any normal hunter would be this calm upon finding out what I was. Perhaps he had already talked to the brothers about me?

Bobby shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I have some ideas, but I'm not going to worry about it now. You can fill me in later," he said with a cocky grin. "Right now, you and the boys need to leave."

I opened my mouth to speak and then quickly shut it with a nod. We didn't have time for all my questions – the paramedics would be here soon, and I didn't particularly want to stick around and wait for them. With one last nervous glance, I whispered a quiet thank you to Bobby and immediately dashed out the door.

The brothers waited at the car, the Impala already purring loudly, its engine thrumming with power. I slid into my seat easily and tossed the book at my side hurriedly.

"What took you so long?" Dean began, glaring into the rearview mirror as he backed out of Bobby's yard. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back a scathing reply.

"He knows," I answered harsher than intended, earning a confused scowl from both brothers. "He knows I'm a monster."

Dean hit the gas in surprise, the engine roaring loudly and the car springing forward towards the road. "How'd he find out? Did you tell him?"

"No, I thought maybe one of you did," I offered. Both brothers shook their heads. "Then he must have figured it out on his own. I wasn't exactly doing much to hide it, other than not shifting."

"And he didn't... threaten you, or anything?" Sam questioned, twisting in his seat to face me.

I shook my head. "No, he just told me he knew." My fingers dragged down the spine of the book, deep in thought. "He doesn't know the details, but he knows I'm not human."

"So long as he doesn't cause problems, it doesn't matter what he knows," Dean said, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "I trust Bobby- he's not like Dad when it comes to monsters." I flinched, leaning back in my seat. I really didn't need another hunter like John in my life.

For the sake of the brothers, I hoped he was alive, and that he would stay alive until we could get to him. We had a long drive ahead of us, and while I had no doubt Dean would be speeding the whole way, there was only so much distance we could cover in the short window of opportunity we had. I was worried - worried we wouldn't make it in time, worried about the demons, worried about the brothers and the danger they were putting themselves in.

I frowned and pulled my jacket tighter as if it could shield me from my own negative thoughts. My eyes tracked to the back of Dean's head and the image of his rage-filled snarl and pure wrath towards Meg flashed in my mind. It was a terrifying look on him. I hated seeing that look on myself, and I hated it even more on him. Unlike me, Dean was human and capable of free thought. He wasn't driven by hunger and instinct.

And yet he still chose the route that would have someone killed.

I shivered and pulled the book towards me. Truthfully, I didn't have an excuse anymore. I had people to look out for, people who didn't see me as a monster. Bile rose once more in my throat as I thought about the day's events. I felt sick at the thought of Meg's death, and yet, I had done so much worse.

Why did I feel sick at the prospect of someone else's kill, and not my own?

I ran a finger over the faded embossed lettering of the book title, tracing each letter. For a reason I didn't understand, I was scared to open the book. Perhaps it would make me feel like more of a monster just after having overcome my fear. What if I learned something about myself that would plunge me back into that darkness I had struggled to escape from?

None of this was normal.

I reached a tentative hand up to the base of my neck and rested my fingers there, relishing in the small jolt of electricity I felt. The feeling hadn't faded over the last several days- rather, I had just become used to it.

I hooked a finger under the cover of the book and lifted it, revealing faded paper underneath. Maybe the book could tell me something about my odd connection to Caeden.

It was an impressively large book, categorized based on region, and then sub-categorized by culture. My finger skimmed the pages, flipping the section on North American and then to native legends. Skinwalkers were Navajo in origin – I wondered how different the truth was from their legends.

The words were smudged in some places and nearly impossible to read, but there was enough writing left that I could piece it together. My eyes flickered over the crinkled, worn pages, searching for any information I didn't already know.

Skinwalkers are Navajo in origin and believed to be vengeful witches who can control, possess, or turn into animals... This I already knew, but of course, we weren't witches. Perhaps we were once, but we had adapted to be much more wolfish in nature, pack mentality and all.

Much like a pack of wolves, a group of skinwalkers will have one alpha, to which all others respond... The book said nothing of how an alpha was chosen, or how a new alpha could rise to power. There was more to this section, although the next rather lengthy paragraph was smudged and in some places impossible to understand. I stifled a chuckle at the rather basic information the author knew about us.

Various skinwalkers have various conceptual organizations: Their pack organization is dependent on the animal they shapeshift into- My eyes widened at this as I struggled to read the rest of the blurry writing. What did it mean dependent on the animal? Was it possible for a skinwalker to turn into something other than a dog?

I skimmed over the pages, searching for any other information that could possibly answer my growing list of questions. I had never heard of a skinwalker turning into anything other than some form of canine. My father would have told me if it was possible, right? There was no way.

I searched the book for a date or an author, searching for any indication as to when the book was written. Perhaps it was written several hundred years ago when skinwalkers were still abundant. Maybe they had mistaken a skinwalker for some other now-extinct monster.

The notations ended abruptly, leaving a handful of empty pages that the author was surely intending to fill in the future. I flipped through the blank pages until my eyes landed on the next chapter title.

Black dog.

Black dogs were not native to North America – they were a myth from the British Isles, a hound that was synonymous with a hellhound, and brought death with it. I was surprised to see that the author had even chosen to add them to their list of monsters. They were ghosts, nothing more.

The Impala suddenly lurched, skidding across the gravel road and pulling towards the side of the road with sudden speed. "What the hell, Dean!?" I questioned as I was thrown forward in my seat, the book sliding from my hands and to the floor, the pages crinkling even more than they already had been.

"Gas station," he grumbled out, speeding into a parking spot. "We need to stock up on supplies." I huffed and folded my arms over my chest. As if we didn't have enough weapons and salt to defeat an army. Hell, we had an incantation and weird runes now added to the arsenal.

The brothers exited the car without question and Dean made his way to the store with a spring in his step, leaving Sam to refill the Impala with gas. I glared at his back and slid out of my seat. Was he ever going to address what had happened at Bobby's house? I doubted it.

I didn't understand how Dean and I could always share odd moments together before everything went to shit. Like everything was normal and we were just people – and then suddenly something would go wrong, or someone would do something stupid.

Was I even really mad at him? Partially, yes. I didn't think John was worth the loss of several lives, and who knew how many people would be killed on Dean's quest for revenge. Of course, I would never tell him that.

I glanced over my shoulder at Sam, whose back was to me. I scowled at his broad back and leaned against the Impala, drumming my fingers on my arm in thought. Why hadn't he stopped Dean from taking it too far?

Why hadn't I stopped him?

I sighed and ran my hand through my hair, ruffling it and glaring at my boots with disdain. There had to have been some other way, right? Some way where Meg could have lived and we would still have the information we needed. I grimaced and kicked at a pebble beneath my shoe. It couldn't be undone, no matter how much I wished it could be.

It wasn't long before Dean exited the small gas station with several more bags of salt in their hands and deposited them in the back seat beside my collapsed book. He moved to stand beside Sam, on the opposite side of the car from me and peered over his brother's shoulder at the open book in Sam's hands.

Wordlessly, Sam made his way to the rear of the car, a piece of chalk in hand, and began drawing on the corner of the trunk. My eyes widened in shock, tracing each stroke he made with horror – he was drawing on the Impala.

"Dude, what are you drawing on my car!?" Dean shouted and ran to the symbol Sam had drawn, tracing his fingers over the chalk that didn't seem to want to leave the chrome paint.

"Relax," Sam said softly, drawing an identical symbol on the other end. "It's called a Devil's trap. Demons can't get through it or inside it."

"So?" Dean questioned, clearly growing agitated at Sam's vague answer.

"It basically turns the trunk into a lockbox," the younger Winchester responded as if that made everything so much clearer.

"So!?" Dean shouted, throwing his hands in the air in increased frustration. Sam frowned at his brother's impatience and placed the chalk down, satisfied with his symbols.

"So, we have a place to hide the Colt while we go get Dad," Sam replied bluntly. I flinched, knowing full well an argument was brewing.

"What are you talking about?" Dean questioned with furrowed brows and tight lips. "We're taking the Colt with us."

"We can't Dean," Sam quipped. "We've only got three bullets left. We can't waste them on a demon, we need to use them on the demon." I frowned and cast my eyes to the ground in thought. If we didn't take the Colt, how the hell were we supposed to make it out alive? But if we did take it, we risked running out of bullets.

"We need to save Dad, and we can't do that without the gun," the elder Winchester spat, his tone low and frankly frightening. "And that means taking the gun-"

I snapped my eyes up to his and snarled, his voice fading into silence. "So you're going to jeopardize countless lives by wasting bullets?"

"We won't waste the bullets," he snapped back. "Saving dad isn't a waste-"

"John is more important than hundreds, maybe thousands of lives? Countless children left motherless, like you?" I snapped pushing away from the car and glowering at him. "Your father is worth innocent lives?"

"Yes!" he shouted back, slamming his palms onto the trunk. "Because with Dad, we can make a plan to kill this bastard, bullets or not-"

"And how many more innocent people have to die before that happens!?" I shouted, flailing my arms in anger. Sam held a hand up and pressed it lightly on my shoulder, which I rapidly shrugged off. "Dean, we've already killed one girl today! How many more are you planning on murdering?"

He fell silent with a dangerous grimace on his lips, drawn back to reveal his gritted teeth. His fingers dug into the chrome paint, his joints slowly turning red from the force he was exerting on the vehicle.

"Do you know how pissed dad would be if he found out we used the bullets?" Sam offered, attempting to reason with his brother. I scowled at Dean, his eyes never leaving my own- hell, I didn't even know if he was really listening to what Sam had to say. "Dean, he'd be furious."

"Since when did you care about what dad wants?" Dean snapped, finally flickering his eyes to Sam. His younger brother's jaw tensed, teeth clenched tightly.

"We both want the demon dead. You used to want that too," Sam reasoned, his tone pleading. "You're the one who came and got me at school, man! You dragged me back into this, I'm just trying to finish it!"

Dean scoffed and folded his arms tightly. "You and Dad are a lot more alike than I thought, you know that? You both can't wait to sacrifice yourself for this thing. But you know what? I'm gonna be the one to bury you," he spat, glowering darkly at his brother with so much condensed rage that I thought he might just skin Sam. "You're selfish, you know that? You don't care about anything but revenge."

I bristled and tightened my grip on the edge of the car. "You're a fucking hypocrite," I hissed out. Dean's eyes snapped to mine, the fury dissipating ever so slightly. "Like you didn't just have a girl killed because she hurt John."

He growled and narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "Would you forget about the girl-"

"No!" I shouted, slamming my hands down on the car. "Dean, our job is to save people, not condemn them!"

"And we're supposed to condemn ourselves instead!?" Dean shouted back, viridian eyes blazing with rage. "Look, without Dad, we're not going to be able to even get close to this demon. We need him!"

"And we'll get him back!" Sam countered. "Without the Colt."

The brothers glared at each other, holding their heated stare for several long moments. Finally, Dean growled out in frustration and ran his hands furiously through his hair. He withdrew the Colt from the waistband of his jeans, held it up for us to see, and then tossed it into the trunk.

"If we die, I'm going to kill you both," he spat and slammed the trunk shut. "Let's go."

—

I traipsed behind the boys, eyes glued to my shoes and hands buried deep in my pockets, a scowl on my features. I hadn't said a word since we had started walking, avoiding any and all conversation and instead choosing to dwell on my own thoughts.

I was so tired of people dying, people in my life, people that the boys cared about. No one deserved to die, not by my hands and certainly not by the demons. I was so tired of it, tired of every day being a fight for survival, every hunt potentially being the last.

I wanted out.

I doubted I'd ever be able to leave hunting behind, not now that I had a taste for it. The fact that I could make a difference despite being a monster myself was intoxicating. It was a thrill I'd never be able to let go of, no matter how much I wanted to.

How many more people had to die until I was satisfied, until I could leave this all behind? How many more people would die when I left? It was a paradox – either way, I would never be able to save everyone. I was beginning to understand every hunter’s pessimism.

I inhaled deeply, relishing in the feeling of my lungs expanding to their full capacity, that feeling of tightness that momentarily alleviated my anxiety. I wanted nothing more than to make this hunt my last, to be done with this life as soon as the demon was done. All I wanted was to go home and find its walls blissfully quiet. Silent and alone, without a single worry about how to feed my pack, or keeping the Winchesters safe. Alone, like I had been months ago before the Winchesters broke into my home and dragged me into their schemes.

"Hey, hey," Dean whispered, stopping in his tracks and holding up a hand to halt our small procession. "I think I know what Meg meant by sunrise."

I followed his gaze to a small sign in front of a brick building, humans milling around out front. Sunrise Apartments. I pursed my lips in thought, eyes flickering between the humans.

"Son of a bitch," Dean whispered out in obvious surprise. He almost sounded impressed. "That's pretty smart. I mean, if these demons can possess people they can possess almost anybody inside."

"Yeah, and make anybody attack us," Sam offered, eyes narrowed in thought. He peaked out further from around a bush, eyes trailing up the length of the massive building. "They probably know exactly what we look like, too. And they could look like anybody."

"We have to get the humans out, somehow," I spoke, voice icy cold. "Otherwise, they're going to get killed." Dean's eyes flickered to mine and I avoided his gaze, instead gazing up at the building. I swallowed dryly, counting the number of stories it boasted. Great, I thought. I hated heights with a passion.

"So we pull the fire alarm," Dean offered with a shrug like it was the simplest thing in the world. "That gives us, what, seven minutes to find Dad and get out? Easy." He spun to face me, a determined look in his eyes. "You think you can track the sulfur?"

"Do I look like a bloodhound?" He raised an eyebrow, an indication that he just wanted me to answer. "Yeah, I can do it," I grumbled and held back an indignant pout.

"Good," he replied and turned his attention back to Sam. "You handle the alarm, we'll handle getting in," he told his brother, gesturing between us. Sam nodded and disappeared around the corner, headed for the building.

We waited behind the bush, watching the building and waiting for the crowd to rush out. I tapped my foot impatiently, the scent of the briny river filling my senses. Finally, my ears were filled with a soft ringing and I tapped Dean on the shoulder to alert him. Moments later, Sam jogged out and made his way towards us, the crowd filing out behind him.

It wasn't long before I could hear the sounds of sirens in the distance and urged the brothers forward and into the crowd, mingling with the apartment residents. The firetrucks came whizzing around the corner, sliding to a screeching halt, and out-raced a mass of firemen, carrying hoses with them.

Dean pushed through the crowd and began talking to a firefighter, distracting the unassuming man while Sam picked the lock on the back of a truck. Inside the truck were rows of gear, which Sam and I quickly pulled off of racks.

Dean slipped into the back of the truck and I tossed some stray equipment at him, which he readily slipped on. "Damn, this stuff is heavy," he muttered, slipping the coat on and struggling to button it. Sam chuckled as he slid his helmet on. "Aren't you going to grab a suit?" the elder Winchester questioned, slipping the helmet and visor over his head until the polycarbonate nearly obscured his green eyes.

I shook my head and placed my hands confidently on my hips, hoping it masked my nerves. "I figured I'd go with a fire dog for this," I said with a grin.

Dean suppressed a laugh, pulling an oxygen tank full of holy water onto his back. "Sure, Sparky. You want us to paint you like a Dalmatian while we're at it?"

I shook my head with a grin and pushed the door to the truck open, allowing the boys to step out. Once they were safely on the ground I shifted, my paws landing on the rough ground and shaking out my fur. I would never get over that feeling of my bones snapping and muscles tearing. It was far less painful than when I first shifted, and while still severely unpleasant, and remained one of my favorite feelings.

Wordlessly, the three of us made our way towards the building and I stuck close to Sam, scrunching myself up so I looked at least a little smaller than I really was. I couldn't shake the nervous glances cast my way as I made my way up the steps and through the door into the apartment building. It must have been quite the sight, a massive black wolf accompanied by two firefighters.

I raced down the hallway with the brothers jogging at my sides, struggling under the weight of their heavy costumes. The brothers opened door after door for me, allowing me access to each floor as I ran up and down the halls, tracking the scent of sulfur.

Finally, I caught a whiff of it on the third floor and quickened my pace to a dead sprint, navigating the maze of halls and plain-looking doors until I skidded to a stop. The trail ended abruptly, disappearing through the doorway. I bent my head until my nose was almost pressed to the ground, searching for any scent beneath the door. I gagged on the stench of rotten eggs and took a few stumbling steps back, growling at the door.

Dean pounded a clenched fist against the wooden door, it caving ever so slightly under the weight of his fist. "This is the fire department!" he shouted, his voice muffled by the visor. "You need to evacuate!"

The sound of a lock being undone caught my attention and my ears flattened to my skull. Together, the brothers tossed the door open to reveal two demons, waves of sulfur pouring off of them. They aimed their hoses at them in a synchronized manner and sprayed the pair of hellspawn with holy water, their skin boiling and burning.

I snarled and lunged forward, knocking the petite woman over, water cascading over me with no chance of reaching my skin through the thick tufts of black fur. The woman hissed, her eyes completely blackened, and swatted out, her palm connecting with my furry cheek. I growled and gripped her wrist in my hand, snapping the bones and dragging her towards a small linen closet where the brothers had the other demon pinned.

Sam dragged the possessed woman to her feet and shoved her into the closet with her companion while Dean salted the edge of the door. All movement from within quickly ceased and the apartment fell silent.

I shifted back, landing on shaky feet, and gripped my stinging cheek that I was sure was beginning to redden. The Winchesters began pulling off their equipment, revealing their weapons hidden underneath.

Gear discarded, we began searching, eyes flickering over the small apartment. My hand rested on a small handgun on my waist, thankful that I at least had some sort of weapon in case things went to shit.

The sound of a creaking door and a raging heartbeat caught my attention and I spun to see Dean standing in the doorway of the bedroom, a stricken look on his handsome features. "Dad?" he spoke softly and dashed into the room, Sam and I not far behind.

John was tied to the ends of the bed, spread eagle and unmoving. My heart fluttered with nerves. Were we too late? Dean ran to the edge of the bed, shaking his father and placing an ear near his mouth. "He's still breathing!" he exclaimed, evidently relieved.

I jumped into action, moving towards the bed, but Sam held out an arm, stopping me in my tracks. He held up a flask of holy water and uncapped it. "Dean, wait. He could be possessed for all we know."

Dean's eyes flickered up, full of shock and confusion. "Are you nuts?" he questioned, reaching for his father's bindings.

"We need to be sure," Sam grumbled and splashed the holy water gently across John's face. I breathed a sigh of relief as the water slid down his face, rather than burning his skin.

Suddenly, John began to move, his head rocking back and forth as he blinked his eyes open groggily. "Sam?" he asked, squinting up at his youngest son. "Why are you splashing water on me?"

That was enough for me. I raced to undo his bindings, plucking at the thick rope and pulling at the tight knots. They slipped from his ankles and his wrists and he struggled to sit up with Dean bracing his back. "You alright, Dad?" he inquired.

John shook his head and slumped his shoulders slightly. "They've been drugging me," he said simply. I furrowed my brows and glared at the ropes draped over the edge of the bed – why keep him drugged if he was already pinned down? I supposed it made him easier to manage. "Where's the Colt?" he asked, rubbing a calloused palm against his temple.

"It's safe," Sam replied, pulling one of John's arms over his shoulders and off the bed.

My hackles rose and I turned slowly to face the doorway. My skin prickled and I peered out of the room and into the hallway. Something was wrong. "Guys, I think we need to move-"

The door splintered and was thrown open by a man in a fireman's uniform, an ax gripped tightly in his hands, eyes black as obsidian. "Shit!" I heard Dean shout as I reached for the gun on my waist and whipped to face them.

Sam carelessly tossed an open bag of salt to me and I barely caught it, spilling small grains onto the short carpet. "Go!" I shouted, motioning to the window, and fire escape before slamming the bedroom door shut, lining the edge of the door with salt.

I screamed and fell backward as the ax came through the door, splintering the wood. Scrambling for purchase, I hauled myself to my feet and raced for the window, stepping out onto the fire escape and scrambling down the ladder.

I ran to catch up with the brothers as Dean hobbled along with his father and Sam trailing behind with the duffel bags. Suddenly, a dark blur streaked across the road, colliding with Sam and sending him sprawling across the concrete.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, dragging his father a bit further, leaning him against a truck, and running towards Sam. I lunged forward at a dead sprint – I wasn't going to make it before Dean, not even if I shifted. The demon beat down on Sam's face, one hand gripping the front of his shirt and the other pummeling the youngest Winchester mercilessly.

Dean sprinted forward and gripped the demon on the back of his coat. The demon didn't even spare him a glance as he swung his arm back, colliding with Dean's chest and sending him flying into the hood of a car.

With an enraged snarl, I crashed into the demon, sending him sprawling onto the ground, fists flying wildly and meeting ribs, stomach, and face. Through the flurry of blows, I could hardly tell what I was hitting, nor could I feel the demon's heavy hits on my own body. I gripped its face, nails digging into the demon's skin, and slammed its head down onto the concrete.

"Move!" Dean shouted, stumbling to his feet. I cast my eyes to him briefly and the demon took the opportunity to shove me away, sending me tumbling to the ground several feet away. I staggered to my feet, gripping the side of a shiny Ford Focus and hauling myself to my feet.

I shook as a cacophonous bang rang through the wide alleyway and with it a dramatic hissing and sizzling sound. With wide eyes and a slackened jaw, my gaze fell upon the staggering demon, a bullet hole in the center of its forehead. It collapsed, the human skeleton illuminating through the thick layers of skin.

Behind the demon stood Dean, holding the Colt at the ready, his gaze fiery with contempt. Silently, he ran to Sam's side and pulled his taller brother to his feet, urging some semblance of groggy consciousness into him.

I dashed towards the pair, hoisting the duffel bags from the ground and onto my shoulders. My eyes never left the crumpled body that lay limp on the asphalt, blood pooling beneath the fallen man.

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch20: Bobby

Summary: A new friend joins the fight... Referenced Episodes: mention S1 E21 "Salvation," S1 E22 "Devil's Trap" CW: Minor gore (Meg's exorcism). Word Count: 7862 Recommended Song: The Gambler -- Kenny Rogers Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

To my disappointment, Dean didn't stay with me for long. All he needed was a few moments to collect himself, and now he was ready to jump back in. He stormed back into the motel room and I followed close behind, wanting to know what exactly his plan was. Were we really going to go after John?

Sam was seated at the table when I entered and quickly jumped to his feet, his eyes following Dean as his brother marched towards his duffel bag. "What are you doing, Dean?" he questioned as Dean filled the bag and pocketed the Colt.

"We've got to go," he responded, turning to face Sam with a resolute expression. "The demon knows we're in Salvation, all right. It knows we got the Colt. It's got Dad – it's probably coming for us next," he clarified, pulling his coat on.

"We've still got three bullets left," Sam retorted. "Let it come."

My hackles rose. That demon was not something I ever wanted to see again, quite frankly, and I really didn't want to sit here and wait for it. This thing... it had been in my head twice, showing me things I could never imagine on my own. It made my skin crawl and sweat bead on my brow. To allow it to come to us was just going to set us up to be cornered and skinned.

"Sam, if we stay here we're sitting ducks," I snapped. Dean turned to face me with a quizzical expression. Perhaps he had expected me to side with Sam’s usual more careful perspective, rather than Dean’s favored sporadic charge. "Next time we fight the demon, it'll be on our own terms; otherwise, it's going to kill us.”. Sam glared back and I stared him down with a vicious look. I was not in the mood to deal with his idiotic guilt complex and the need for vengeance, not when facing something of this caliber – vampires were one thing, but this… we needed a plan.

"We're not ready to take it on," Dean chimed in. "We don't know how many of them are out there. Now, we're no good to anybody dead. We're leaving now," he ordered, slinging his pack over his shoulder and marching out to the Impala.

I cast Sam a nervous look and began silently packing my things. I was still shaking from my encounter with that demon... that thing it had shown me. Towering red wings that split the gray sky, ash covered ground, corpses buried in the sand. A vision, maybe? I didn't know, but I knew I never wanted to find out.

I hated not knowing. The demon clearly showed it to me for a reason, and I hoped I would never know why. I wanted nothing more than to never see those pale yellow eyes again. The scent of sulfur and ash still clung to my clothes and I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

"So what is the plan?" I questioned as I tossed the strap of my bag over my shoulder and moved to stand beside Dean. He hunched over his own duffel bag and wrenched the zipper shut in hurried frustration. "Please tell me you have at least some sort of plan."

"Sort of," Dean started. "We find dad and kill the demon. That's it."

A shiver ran up my spine. Maybe I should have sided with Sam after all. "That's your plan?" I spoke, my voice rising with terror. Dean cocked his head from where he hunched to look at my wide eyes, a stern expression set on his face. "Dean, we don't even know where to start looking!"

"We should stayed," Sam crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. Dean shook his head, hoisted his bag in his arms and made his way towards the door. I glanced worriedly over my shoulder at Sam, then chased after his brother. "We could take him!" Sam argued as he followed us, reluctantly hefting his own items.

"Like hell! If we stay we’re dead.

"You don't know that-" he started and I snarled. He clamped his mouth shut and glared from the corner of his eye, refusing to fully turn to face me.

"I saw it, Sam," I hissed through my teeth as we entered the parking lot, the motel door slamming shut behind us. "It spoke to me- I looked into its goddamn eyes! There's no fucking way we can kill it, at least, not on its terms. And I guarantee, if we had stayed we would have been exactly where it wanted us." I turned my back to him and marched after Dean, who popped the trunk and gestured hurriedly for me to stow my bags.

The three of us fell silent, the only noise being the sound of canvas bags scraping against each other as we packed. Finally, Dean spoke slowly and steadily, his brows pinched in concern.. "It spoke to you?" he questioned, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

I nodded and fisted the hem of my shirt with a frown. "Yeah. Only a couple of words though. It commented on my eyes."

Sam scoffed and twisted in his seat, a sneer on his thin lips. "The demon complimented your eyes?"

My lips drew back to showcase an irritated grimace. "Its eyes are yellow, Sam- like mine. So yeah, it said 'nice eyes.'" I snapped and folded my arms tightly over my chest. "And... it showed me something."

At this the boys perked up, curiosity evident on their faces. "What kind of something?" Dean questioned, quirking a brow.

"Like... hell on Earth. It was a wasteland," I said softly, my voice dropping to just over a whisper. "There were bodies... everywhere. Humans and monsters," I gulped, my voice dropping as I let myself sink into my thoughts. "No one was spared."

Once again, the group fell silent. Dean’s hand rested on the trunk of the Impala, lost in thought in his preparation to close it. I stared quietly at my feet, my boots a mess, stained with blood, vomit, and whatever else. I had no clue what the vision meant, but I hoped to God it wasn't any sort of possible future.

The trunk slammed shut and I flinched with a sharp look at Dean. "Look, we can worry about dystopian visions later," he said, looking briefly at me in the rearview mirror. "Right now, what we need is a plan. They're probably keeping Dad alive, we just gotta figure out where. They're gonna wanna trade him for the gun-" Sam shook his head and chuckled darkly, drawing Dean's attention. "What?"

"Dean, if that were true, why didn't Meg mention a trade?" Sam countered. As much as I hated to admit it, Sam was right. I didn't think there was much chance of a trade. "For all we know, dad could be-"

"Don't!" Dean shouted, slamming his hand down on the trunk of the car. I jumped and took a partial step back.

"Look, I don't want to believe it any more than you!" Sam shouted back, struggling to reason with his erratic older brother. He sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth, looked around the parking lot, and dropped his voice to a near whisper. "But if he is, all the more reason to kill this damn thing. We still have the Colt. We can still finish the job."

"Screw the job!" Dean argued. He rolled his shoulders and made his way around the Impala to the driver’s seat. Sam rolled his eyes and hurried to the passenger’s side, opening the door just as Dean slipped into his seat. I followed hesitantly. "We find dad, and then we take this son of a bitch out together."

"And what if that's not an option, Dean?" I prompted as I dropped to my seat. "Do you really think we can take this thing out on our own? Hell, we tried tonight and it evaporated! Like of a fucking cloud of mist!" I threw my hands in the air in frustration and pure bewilderment. "How do we fight something like that, Dean? How do we do that alone?"

"We won't be alone," he growled, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles went white. "Everything stops until we get dad back, alright? Everything."

I bristled and glared at the back of his head, biting my tongue to keep from lashing out. I couldn't just drop everything, not when I had people waiting for me at home. If I didn’t come back, they would go on a manhunt. I shivered at the thought – there was no solace in my own home anymore, no privacy in my personal life. I bit the inside of my cheek and reminded myself that these were my friends, my family now. I didn’t need to be alone.

Right? 

Sam paused in thought, his mind racing trying to comprehend our next course of action. "So how do we find him? Lincoln?"

I scoffed. "You can't possibly think they'd still be there. They're demons, I doubt they'd even leave a trail to follow." Dean's narrowed green eyes caught mine in the mirror. They looked so similar to John's, full of authority and ice, dispelling their usual warmth. "Even if they were still there, we'd be walking in on God knows how many demons."

I rested my arms across the top of the seat and rested my chin on my folded arms, glaring out the large front window. Dean sat still for a moment, then wrenched the car into action. We backed quickly out of the parking lot and tore off down the road.

"You're right," Dean finally answered lowly, as though he hated to admit it. "We're going to need some help." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Frankly, I didn't want to drag anyone else into this mess, but he wasn't wrong. We would need help.

"Who're you thinking?" Sam asked, turning his head towards his brother, eyes full of curiosity.

"It's been a while since we've paid Bobby a visit," Dean offered, a grin rising on his cheeks. "And he knows dad better than anyone, aside from maybe us. If anyone can find him, Bobby can."

I leaned back in my seat and my heart thumped faster in my chest. Dragging a new person into this was a risk, both for that individual and for me. I knew by now that the boys would defend me if something went wrong. But, it wasn't worth risking for my safety and for the individual’s. I picked at my nails and drew my lips into a thin, tight line.

So much had happened in just one night... This was the second time I had a dream about that empty void. Before, I may have just simply considered that a dream. But now... I had seen that demon, right before it had arrived. It had generated such a strong reaction in me that I knew it couldn't be a coincidence. Was the demon the one prompting the dreams-? No, that didn’t make sense, right? And what about that wolf? It was massive and white as freshly fallen snow. Why was it there?

Just another dozen to add to my growing list of questions.

—

Bobby Singer’s property was a mess of old cars, scattered around a messy lot. Tires were half-submerged in mounds of dirt and the rust on old metal seemed to blend in with the reddish dirt of the ground. The occasional weed sprung up around the old cars, but other than that there was little to no color.

It was red and brown, and dirty, but it felt like home. It reminded me of when my uncle was alive, when he would have old cars scattered around the massive front lawn of our house. He would always spend his free time working on cars. Although he would never admit to it, I knew he liked the feeling of being able to fix something, to do something good after all the suffering he felt he had caused.

It seemed to be a common trait in hunters.

The Impala came to rest not far from a large wooden home that looked like it could topple in a strong enough gust of wind. Comically, it reminded me of the Three Little Pigs and the piglet that had chosen to build his home out of sticks. In this scenario, I hoped I wouldn't become the big bad wolf.

Dean parked the car between two other vehicles, one a much larger pickup and the other a battered, beaten old muscle car. I frowned as I stepped out of the car and ran my fingers lightly over the dented hood.The brother’s hushed voices fell on deaf ears and their footsteps eventually faded, on the hunt for their companion.

 Rusted, warped frame, forgotten in the shade of the trees that surrounded the hidden property. The car felt grimy under my fingertips. My gaze slipped from the metal towards the front porch when I heard a screen door slam. I buried my hands in my packets and stared down at the car, waiting for… what, exactly? An invitation to make someone else’s life miserable?

I shivered. Was that really all I did? My pack’s lives had turned to hell since their association with me. And Caeden, this odd bond… I brought a hand to the back of my neck. Perhaps they would all be better off without me. I certainly felt I might be better off with fewer mouths to feed. I never wanted this, never wanted a pack-

"You like that one, huh?" a gruff voice called from behind me, well-worn with age and raw as if the man frequently reveled in the burning flavor of cigarettes. I spun on my heel to face the man, a pleasant smile on his worn cheeks.

I placed my palm flat on the car's hood and smiled warmly at the man. "Just… just admiring," I answered, indirectly answering his question.

The man nodded and held out his hand for me. I grasped it tightly and shook it. "Bobby Singer," he said, introducing himself.

I responded with my own name. He nodded and retracted his hand, glancing at my flat palm against the car. "Where'd the boys go?" I questioned peering around the older man. I hadn't noticed them leaving, and now I had no clue where they had gone.

"Looking for me, I expect," he replied with a chuckle. "I was in the shop out back, working. Stepped out when I heard the car pull up and saw you out here." He patted the trunk of the Impala fondly. "I'd recognize the purr of this beauty anywhere."

I nodded and my grin widened. I too would have known it from a mile away- literally. The purr of the Impala's engine was unmistakable, and I felt confident that I would be able to pick it from a lineup of lookalikes.

"Well don't just stand there," Bobby teased, motioning for me to follow as he turned towards the house. "Come inside, have a seat. Let me get you a beer."

I followed him reluctantly. My eyes narrowed as the front door came into view, a rusted car sitting not far from the porch. Atop it was a muscled rottweiler, with beady eyes and a scarred snout. It lifted its head to look at me and rumbled, growling low in its chest.

"Don't mind him," he said, gesturing dismissively towards the growling dog with a wave of his hand and a limp wrist. "He doesn't like most people." The dog growled in response, rising in tone. I glared back, holding its gaze until it gradually fell silent.

I wasn't a fan of most dogs. They had a tendency to react poorly around me, either with territorial growls and barks, or snapping with the intention of biting. In fact, most animals seemed nervous or aggressive around me – horses especially. I couldn't get within ten feet of a horse without it panicking. My father had always assumed it was how we smelled – like a wolf, and yet we looked different. It frightened them. They didn't understand what we were, beyond predator.

The interior of Bobby's house was just as much of a mess as his yard, cluttered with stacks of books several feet high. How a hunter could have so many books and still find time to read them was beyond me. Bobby motioned for me to sit on a dusty old couch in the living room and I complied while he went to fetch a few beers.

The door in the kitchen was tossed open, squeaking on its old hinges in protest. The brothers stormed into the room, tracking dirt with them onto the tile floor of the kitchen.

"Nice of you to join us," Bobby said, pulling a beer from the fridge and offering it to Sam. "Your friend's waiting for you in the living room." The brother's eyes panned to mine and I gave them a meek wave.

Dean padded towards me, leaving a rapidly thinning trail of dirt behind. I smiled and patted the seat beside me, which he happily took after pushing some books aside. Sam took a chair near Bobby's desk, situated at one end of the room.

"It's good to see you boys," Bobby said gruffly as he waltzed into the room. "Pleasantries aside, you said your daddy was in some sort of trouble with demons?" he questioned, placing his own beer on a table with minimal space on it.

Dean nodded and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "A demon we ran into a while ago's got him. We don't know where he's at, and don't know where to start looking," he summarized.

"We figured it would be best to get some help," I offered, placing my beer on the floor at my feet. "We're hunting something- something big. We need all the help we can get." Dean bumped my leg, a clear sign that I needed to stop talking. We wanted Bobby as uninvolved as possible.

Bobby nodded and nursed his beer, swirling the contents before setting it back down. "Right, that demon John was always going on about," he said, casting his glance down to a book with a large rune on the cover. "Last I heard, he had a pretty decent lead."

"Yeah," Sam chimed in. "And now he's got demons after him for it." He leaned back in his chair, as relaxed as he could be in this situation.

"Well then I guess you lot had better start studying up on how to deal with demons," Bobby said with a chuckle. He gestured with his beer in hand to a few stacks of books. "I'd suggest you look through those. They've got the majority of my demon lore."

I groaned. More reading. As suggested, I stood and began rifling through one of the piles of books while Sam took the other. I didn't understand how Bobby could have this many books and know where anything was.

My fingers skimmed over the covers of books, some about demon summoning, which I avoided, some about witchcraft. I could spend hours in just this room, combing through book after book. I wondered how much information I could soak up from just one sitting.

My fingertips skimmed over the leather-bound cover of a rather thin book, the title emblazoned in gold letters. The Creation of Monsters. My brows rose in curiosity as my eyes scanned the dusty cover. There was no author listed, although that didn't surprise me. The books looked much older than me, potentially even older than my father. My fingers gravitated towards the duty tome-

"Find something?" Sam questioned, looking up from his stack of books.

I looked up to meet his curious gaze and shook my head, running my fingers over the faded title once more before placing it back down on the desk. "No. Just something I might want to read later."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, I'm getting plenty of that too," he said and held a book up with strange runes as the title. "Pretty interesting, but not exactly great reading material."

I laughed and returned to my stack of books, thumbing through the odd manuscript and reading a few pages here or there. My eyes shifted back to the old book on Bobby’s desk, curiosity itching at me. There was so much information just in one room. Would our house have looked like this if I had stayed with my uncle? He did have an affinity for collecting.

Eventually, I found a book that looked promising and sat on the couch to read. Dean had long since disappeared, likely to get supplies or prepare weapons. Sam had gone upstairs not too long before I found my book, taking a break from the monotony.

Bobby cleared his throat and spoke up from the kitchen as he prepared what I assumed was an early lunch. "How'd you end up traveling with the Winchesters?"

I laughed and lifted my eyes from the tattered page I had been reading. "We ended up working the same hunt. They've called on me a few times since then to help them out." My eyes fell back to the page, taking in the handmade drawings scrawled in the margins.

"You been hunting for long?" he questioned. "You don't strike me as much of a rookie."

I shrugged and finally placed my book down, turning my head to face him. "I'm probably more of a rookie than you think. I had hunted a bit in the past, but not as much as I do now." Bobby nodded slowly, placing something in his small oven and sliding his small oven mitts off. "I hunted with my uncle for a few years."

"What happened to him?" Bobby inquired, though I was sure he already knew the answer.

"Hunt gone bad," I said simply. "Wraith." I hung my head, hands in my lap and fiddled with my fingers. "It was about two years ago. I hadn't hunted until about... seven? Maybe eight months ago? A case showed up in my town, and so did the brothers. We just kind of clicked."

"I can tell," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "The way those boys look at you- it's like you're one of their own. People don't get that look from many hunters, you know?"

I smiled softly at my clasped hands. "The feeling's mutual," I mumbled, barely loud enough for Bobby to hear.

Once more the door was carelessly tossed open and Dean came sauntering into the room, effectively interrupting the conversation yet again. In his hands, he held several shopping bags, filled with what I assumed were supplies for dealing with demons.

I stood to my feet, placing my book aside and taking two of the bags from him. He thanked me and placed them on the small kitchen table, which was surprisingly barren compared to the mess of a living room. I opened one of my bags to see two paint cans and several brushes.

"Sam said he's looking for something to trap demons," he clarified before I even had a chance to ask. "Figured we could paint it somewhere, just in case Meg or anyone else shows up here."

I scoffed and pulled the paint and brushes from the bag. "You mean when she shows up. I have no doubt that she'll find us, especially if we stay here any longer."

Dean shrugged and smirked, emptying the contents of his own bags. Salt, and a lot of it. "I was trying to be optimistic," he teased and bumped my shoulder. I chuckled and helped him organize the supplies, tossing the bags in the trash as I did.

Bobby had left the kitchen, though I wasn't sure when. I assumed he had gone upstairs to check on Sam, who had been in Bobby's small library for quite some time. I hummed in thought as I closed the trash can, wiping my hands on my jeans, the cuffs and pockets frayed. "You really think we can take her, Dean?" I asked quietly, my back to him.

Dean fell silent, his methodical organization ceasing. I found it funny how obsessed he was with keeping his hunting equipment neat and organized, but not his personal belongings. Finally, after several long moments, he spoke.

"Of course, we can take her," he said, oozing confidence. I turned to face him, leaning against the kitchen counter with my palms on its surface. "We've got the gun and some dusty old books. We can take on anything," he joked with a wink.

I frowned and stared at my feet, brows furrowed and heart pounding with nerves. After that encounter with the demon... I was shaken, to say the least. My confidence had been drained, knowing how easily it could get in my head.

Dean's soft footsteps tapped across the tile floor as he padded over to me, stopping just in front of me. A finger was placed under my chin, and he lifted it gently until I was eye to eye with him.

"Optimism, remember?" he said, a worried look on his handsome features. "Don't worry about it, Fido. Everything'll be fine."

"And what if it's not?" I questioned, gripping his wrist in my hand. "Dean, I can't shake the feeling that something's going to go wrong-"

"It's just nerves," he said, doing his best to reassure me. I frowned as he continued to speak. "Everyone gets them, and it always turns out fine-"

"Fine? Yeah, like it turned out fine for my mom? For my uncle? For your father? Dean, hunts don't always turn out fine," I snapped. His eyes went wide at my outburst and I dropped my gaze to the floor, loosening my grip on his wrist. "I'm sorry. I'm just... really nervous, you know? I feel like something really bad is going to happen. It's like a weight in the pit of my stomach. I can't shake it."

He fell silent, his eyes raking over my face. I could practically feel his gaze on my skin, my ears dusting red. "I get it," he said softly. "I'm worried too- I'm always worried before a hunt." He pulled his wrist back and my hand easily slid from his skin and to my side. He raked his fingers through his hair, spiking it up slightly.

"Just... promise me you won't get hurt?" I asked, raising my eyes to meet his.

He lifted a brow and smiled softly. "I promised you back in Colorado that I wouldn't-"

"You never actually promised," I pointed out, raising an accusing finger at him. "You just kind of shrugged it off."

He sighed and turned his head momentarily away from mine before meeting my stern gaze again. "OK," he said. "I can't guarantee something won't happen, but I promise not to do anything stupid." He raised an accusing finger, mimicking my earlier pose, "But only if you do the same."

I grinned and folded my arms over my chest. "OK," I agreed. "I can work with that." He smirked back but quickly looked confused as my smile fell. "I just... I don't know what I would do if any of you got hurt. Sam, my pack, you..." I frowned and dropped my gaze. "I think... I think I'd lose it, honestly. Like I did on the Bender case..."

I jumped as his hand slid to my cheek, raising my head to meet his tired gaze. His green eyes flickered between mine, sincere concern written in them. "No one's going to get hurt, Sparky," he said softly, sounding so sure of himself. "Not Sam, not your pack, and not me. Everyone's going to be fine."

"You don't know that," I whispered, sliding my hand up his arm to rest lazily on his wrist. "You don't know what's going to happen. No one does."

"I know I won't let anything bad happen," he whispered back, swiping the pad of his thumb reassuringly over my cheek. "I'd die before I let any of you get hurt."

I frowned. "And I'd kill anything in my way rather than let you die," I grumbled, glaring up at him. He chuckled and I tightened my grip on his wrist. "I'm serious, Dean."

His grin fell away to a look of surprise, that playful glint in his eyes disappearing. His jaw hung loose, and his lips parted slightly as his eyes scanned mine, a mix of emotions flickering in his green irises.

I hadn't realized just how close he was to my face until his breath fanned over my lips. A blush rose on my cheeks, but I don't think he noticed. He looked lost in thought, transfixed. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by the sound of someone racing down the stairs.

Dean sprung away from me and turned to face Sam, who was barreling into the living room, an excited look on his face and a book in his hands. "I've got it!" he shouted, thrusting the book into the air in triumph. "I found a symbol that can trap demons!"

I blush blossomed across my cheeks and I swallowed dryly. Perfect timing.

—

The symbol was rather intricate, with odd sigils and designs decorating its edges. There was very little empty space, and I had no doubt that one slip-up could ruin the effect it had on a demon. It baffled me that such a thing could physically immobilize a demon - it just sounded so... fake. How could a painting trap some biblical monster?

Sam had returned to Bobby's desk, his eyes scanning over a lore book with intense fascination. My fingers drummed over a stack of books, waiting impatiently for something to happen. Dean paced up and down the room, his hands buried deep in his pockets and a gun on his waist. He always seemed to have a weapon on him.

Bobby sauntered into the room, a flask in either hand. "Here you go," he said, handing one of the silver flasks to Dean, who inspected it with a curious gaze.

"What is this- holy water?" he questioned, meeting Bobby's gaze.

Bobby chuckled. "That one is," he said, pointing to the one Dean held. "This one's whiskey," he grinned and took a sip of it, then offered it to Dean. Dean took it and drank some of it, offering it back to Bobby.

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. "For everything. To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure we should come."

I scoffed and leaned forward, glaring at the elder Winchester brother. "He wanted to head straight to Lincoln," I told Bobby, a teasing smile on my lips. "Like a dumbass." Dean twisted to shoot me a glare over his shoulder.

"If you ever need anything, feel free to ask me," Bobby said with a chuckle, running his fingers through his red beard. "'Specially if it means helping John."

"Well, yeah, but last time we saw you, I mean, you did threaten to blast him full of buckshot. Cocked the shotgun and everything," Dean said with a laugh, turning from Bobby and making his way to the couch. I expected him to sit, but instead, he leaned against the armrest, avoiding my gaze.

"Yeah, well, what can I say? John just has that effect on people," Bobby replied, tipping his whiskey flask in acknowledgment. I grinned and dropped my gaze to my clasped hands. It was reassuring to know that a man who had known John far longer than I had felt the same way.

"Bobby, this book.... I've never seen anything like it," Sam called out from the desk, his voice dripping with awe. I looked up from my folded palms.

Bobby waltzed across the room and leaned on the desk, looking over Sam's shoulder. "Key of Solomon? It's the real deal, alright."

"And you're sure these protective symbols work?" Sam questioned, running his finger along a drawing on one of the tattered old pages. Bobby nodded.

"Hell, yeah. You get a demon in, they're trapped. Powerless. It's like a Satanic roach motel." Sam chuckled at Bobby's response and gently shut the book. "I'll tell you something else, too. This is some serious crap you boys stepped in." I frowned and looked up at him with curiosity - of course, this was a mess, but just how serious was it.

"How's that?" Sam questioned, mimicking my own thoughts.

"Normal year, I hear of, say, three demonic possessions. Maybe four, tops," he sighed and scratched his chin, ruffling his beard. "This year I heard of twenty-seven so far. You get what I'm saying? More and more demons are walking among us – a lot more."

Twenty-seven? It was only May, we weren't even halfway through the year yet! "Jesus," I whispered under my breath, wide-eyed and thoroughly concerned. Those were just the cases Bobby heard about, not necessarily how many there really were. There could be hundreds, maybe thousands across the globe.

"Do you know why?" Sam pushed, leaning back in his chair. Bobby shook his head.

"No, but I know it's something big. The storm's coming, and you boys, your Daddy – you are smack in the middle of it."

The rottweiler chained outside began barking erratically, and I jumped at the sudden noise. This wasn't simple bark that a dog would direct at a mailman. This was a violent, territorial bark. Like it was threatened. My hackles rose before I could stop them, my skin prickling.

"Bobby-" I started, standing to my feet as he marched across the room to peer out the window. He held a hand to silence me, his eyes scanning his dirty lot. I clamped my mouth shut, heart hammering in my chest. Something was wrong.

I could smell her before the door was thrown open, the scent of sulfur filling the air. Meg kicked the door open, breaking the lock and tossing it haphazardly into the wall. She cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders, eyes befalling each individual in the room before speaking.

"No more crap, OK?" she spat, her voice sickly sweet.

Dean charged forward with his flask of holy water at the ready, but before he could even uncap the flask, he was thrown across the room into a pile of musty old books. I snarled, eyes swelling with gold. Meg brightened, a smirk rising on her pale cheeks. "Down, puppy," she said and turned her gaze to Sam. "I want the Colt, Sam – the real Colt – right now."

Sam and Bobby took slow steps away from her and she followed with an ever-growing grin. I took a few small side steps to where Dean lay on the floor, clutching his head in pain.

"We don't have it on us. We buried it." Sam replied, his voice shaking.

Meg growled and drew her lips back in a sneer. "Didn't I say 'no more crap'?" she spat. "I swear- after everything I heard about you Winchesters, I got to tell you, I'm a little underwhelmed," she scowled and began counting on his fingers. "First Johnny tries to pawn off a fake gun, and then he leaves the real gun with you two chuckleheads. Lackluster, man. I mean, did you really think I wouldn't find you?"

I scampered towards Dean once her back was to me and helped to pull him to his feet, bracing him with a hand on his back. "Actually," he started slowly, his words slurred as he struggled to get his feet under him. "We were counting on it."

Meg whipped to face him, a confused glare on his pale features. She followed Dean's gaze to the ceiling, finally noticing the scarlet devil's trap painted on it. "Shit," she whispered.

It didn't take long to get her in a chair and tied down. She was defenseless now and likely didn't have enough physical strength on her own to defeat any of the four of us. So she sat quietly and watched as Dean tied ropes around her wrists, keeping her in place.

"You know, if you wanted to tie me up, all you had to do was ask," she hissed, a teasing smirk on her thin lips. I scoffed and crossed my arms tightly, leaning against the edge of the couch. She cast her eyes briefly to mine and gave me a once over before returning her gaze to the brothers.

Bobby entered the kitchen with one of the large packages of salt Dean had bought. "I salted the door and windows," he began. "If there are any demons out there – they ain't getting in."

Dean nodded and returned his ferocious stare to Meg, a scowl etched on his lips. "Where's our father, Meg?" he questioned.

She giggled and glared up at him. "You didn't ask very nicely."

Dean frowned and held her gaze. "Where's our father, bitch?" My heart fluttered with worry. We knew very little about this symbol that had her trapped. What if it broke? Surely she'd attack Dean for his insolent comments.

"Jeez, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" she hissed. Sam winced from beside me. "Oh wait- you can't."

Dean slammed his hands onto the arms of the chair, eyes wild with fury. "You think this is a fucking game!?" he shouted. "Where is he? What did you do to him!?"

Meg leaned forward, her face inches from him and a cocky smirk rising on her delicate features. "He died screaming," she whispered. "I killed him myself."

Dean struck her across the face. I jumped and pulled my jacket tighter around me, as though it could possibly shield me. She laughed, a thin trickle of blood staining the corner of her lips, and glared up at him. "That's kind of a turn-on – you hitting a girl." I grimaced in disgust and averted my eyes.

"You're no girl," Dean crumbled. Bobby called his name and all eyes turned to the older hunter, who motioned for Dean to follow him. He glanced once more at Meg and turned to follow Bobby to the next room with Sam not far behind him.

I frowned at the floor and stayed, keeping an eye on Meg. I didn't trust the trap - I didn't trust magic. How could I rely on something I couldn't see to keep me safe? It was nonsense. I scrunched my nose in disgust, the air stinking of sulfur. I understood now why she had practically bathed in perfume.

"Heard you had a bit of a run-in with old Yellow-eyes," Meg purred, leaning back in her seat. Her teeth were stained pink with blood. "How'd that work out for ya?"

I held her gaze for a long moment before looking back towards the hallway that the brothers and Bobby had disappeared down. "I'm still here, aren't I? Clearly, it didn't go too badly."

"Not yet, at least," she teased and shifted in her seat. "You know, it's almost a shame you won’t go to Hell. You and I could have had a lot of fun in the pit," a Cheshire cat grin spread across her face, the small cut in her lip pulling tight and cracking, releasing a small spurt of blood.

I did my best to ignore her, tuning out her syrupy voice. "I hope you know you're not leaving this room intact," I spoke, finally turning my steely gaze on her. "If the Winchesters don't find a way to kill you, I will."

At that moment, the brothers returned, a book clasped tightly under Sam's arm. He stopped beside Meg and rifled through the pages, his eyes scanning over the messily scrawled words until they settled on the incantation he needed.

"Are you going to read me a story?" Meg questioned. I raised a brow at Sam, who met my gaze with his own nervous expression. What exactly were they doing?

"Something like that," Dean said with a small twitch of his lips, the beginnings of a smile. "You ready Sam?"

Sam nodded and began reading out the Latin incantation. Meg turned to face Dean with an unamused scowl, her fingers twitching in their restraints. "An exorcism? Really?" My eyes widened in surprise. Did those really work?

"Oh we're going for it, baby – head spinning, projectile vomiting, the whole nine yards," Dean replied with a confident grin. A shiver crawled up my spine at the sight of that smile. It always brought a grin to my own cheeks, but this... this was an entirely new scenario to see that smile in. I wasn't as happy to see it this time.

Meg flinched as Sam continued, as though her muscles had spasmed. Sam glanced up at Dean for permission to continue, and his older brother nodded in response.

Meg snarled and clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. "I'm going to kill you," she hissed. "I'm gonna rip the bones from your body!" I narrowed my eyes at her and pushed off the couch, moving to stand across from her, just outside the devil's trap.

"No, you're going to burn in hell," Dean whispered, towering over her with a hate-filled gaze. "- Unless you tell us where our dad is." When she didn't reply, he shrugged and motioned for Sam to continue with the exorcism.

Meg began shaking in her chair like she was shivering from the early stages of hypothermia. He twitched, her head rocking from side to side. It was sick to watch. Finally, she gasped and Sam paused his reading.

"He begged for his life with tears in his eyes," she groaned out, tears welling up in her own brown eyes. "He begged to see his sons one last time. That's when I slit his throat." She cackled and threw her head back, twitching madly. Sam nervously went back to his reading, and to my horror, she continued her wild laughter through her spasms.

Dean leaned forward, almost eye level with her, a snarl embedded on his features. "For your sake, I hope you're lying. Cause if it's true, I swear to God, I will march into hell myself and I will slaughter each and every one of you evil sons of bitches, so help me God!"

I flinched and turned my gaze from him to Bobby who stood in the corner of the room, a helpless and horrified expression on his features. Meg groaned in pain and flinched away from Dean as Sam continued, lips pulled back in a pained grimace.

"Where is he?" Dean questioned.

"Dead!" Meg shouted, gripping into the armrests, nails digging into the dust-covered wood.

"No, he's not! He's not dead! He can't be!" Dean shouted back. Sam's eyes left the book, filled with concern for his brother. "What are you looking at?" Dean spat. "Keep going!"

Meg screamed as Sam continued and the chair moved slightly, dragging her away from the center of the circle. She screamed and flailed, tears slipping down her cheeks. I covered my mouth with my hand, watching in horror.

"He's not dead!" she screamed, and suddenly all movement stopped. Sam's eyes lifted from the page in shock. "But he will be," she snapped and spat on the ground.

"Where?" I asked before Dean could speak. He cast a glare over his shoulder and then turned back to the demon. "Where is he, Meg?"

"Jefferson City," she hissed out, clenching and unclenching her fists in pain. "Some building in Missouri."

"A building?" Dean questioned. "Where? What's the address?"

"I don't know," she groaned.

"What about the demon? Where is it?" Sam questioned, taking a step closer.

"I don't know!" she screamed. "That's all I know, I swear!"

The room fell silent as she heaved for breath and Dean contemplated what to do next. Dean straightened and took a step back. "Finish it," he muttered to Sam without looking at him.

Meg screamed in rage. "You son of a bitch!" she shouted, thrashing in her restraints.

"Sam, read!" Dean shouted. Sam shook his head and kept his eyes on Meg's thrashing form, clearly thinking.

"Maybe we can still use her-" he offered, but Dean cut him off.

"She said she doesn't know," he spat and glared at his brother with balled fists.

"She lied!" Sam shouted. Dean shook his head and motioned for him to keep ready.

"Dean, you're going to kill her!" I shouted, stomping forward to place a hand on his arm. "She fell off a fucking building, Dean, if she is still alive, she won't be for long!" I glared at Meg who had ceased her thrashing and instead stared at the symbol that kept her trapped. She smelled of blood and infection like she was rotting from the inside. The sulfur had been covering the scent of death on her. "She's human, she can't possibly survive this," I whispered, pleading with him to stop.

Dean stared, holding my gaze for several moments. Finally, he shrugged off my grip and returned his glare to Meg's broken body. "We'll be putting her out of her misery," he grumbled. "Finish it Sam."

My jaw dropped as Sam did just that, taking a deep breath and resuming his incantation. Meg screamed, her chair lurching around the circle as if dragged on invisible wires. She screamed and thrashed and shook violently, bloody spit dripping from her lips. After what felt like an eternity, she tipped her head back and screamed one last time, a billowing back cloud of smoke leaving her body.

Her head dropped and a trail of blood dripped from her parted lips. I gasped as her head struggled to raise.

"She's alive," Dean whispered out in shock. "Call 911! Get some water and blankets!" he shouted, motioning for Sam to help him pull her from the chair.

I raced down the hallway in search of blankets and pounded up the stairs to Bobby's second story. I peaked in each room and finally found one with a neatly made bed that looked as though it hadn't been touched in years. The guest room. Without pausing to think, I dragged the blankets from the bed and bundled them in my arms, stomping back down the stairs with them.

I heard whispers from the living room and watched Sam lift the girl's head urging her to drink. She struggled to do so and swallowed harshly, wincing as she did so.

"Where's the demon we're looking for?" Sam asked gently. I kneeled beside him and stuffed a soft blanket under her back and head, elevating her. She sighed in relief.

"Not there," she whispered out, her voice strained, as though she hadn't spoken on her own in a very long time. "Other ones... awful ones..."

"Where are they keeping our dad?" Dean questioned, a hand resting gently on her broken shoulder. "Do you know?"

"By the river..." she whispered her voice fading with each word. "Sunrise..." Her head lolled back and her heart ceased its erratic beating.

"Sunrise?" Dean questioned. "Sunrise, what does that mean? What does it mean?" he shook her gently, but she didn't respond.

She was dead.

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch19: Yellow-Eyes

Summary: The Winchesters split up, leaving the trio to face off against a familiar foe... Referenced Episodes: S1 E21 "Salvation" CW: Vomit? Word Count: 6557 Recommended Song: Eyes Without a Face -- Billy Idol Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

I sipped on my lukewarm coffee and watched John pace up and down the room, deep in thought. He had a stern frown, as though he didn't quite believe what he was hearing. The brothers watched their father pace from their perches, Dean sitting at the end of one bed with his coffee, and Sam sitting at the table, tapping his foot nervously against the carpeted floor.

John halted, his back to us and a puzzled look on his scruffy features. He spun on his heels and faced Sam. "A vision, huh?"

Sam spoke slowly, through gritted teeth. "Yes. I saw the demon burning a woman on the ceiling," he said flatly, hoping his father wouldn't push any further. I too hoped John would just take his word for it.

We didn't have time to be explaining all of this, and I had a feeling I knew John wouldn't be too happy about this conversation. To my knowledge, Sam hadn’t told him about his odd visions, and I had no doubt that could potentially push him over the edge. No man as obsessed with authority as John could stomach his underlings hiding multiple secrets from them.

"And you think this is going to happen to this woman you met because..?" John asked, raising a brow in suspicion. I frowned at the bitter flavor of my coffee as its heat stung my tongue. I buried a scowl at John’s words in its murky depths.

"Because these things happen exactly the way I see them," Sam snapped as though it was the most obvious thing in the world – he was often short-tempered like that when John questioned him. I glanced up at the analog clock hanging on the wall, its hands signifying that we had been sitting there for almost an hour. John hadn't arrived until about ten minutes ago, and now we were wasting time.

"It started out as nightmares. Then it started happening while he was awake," Dean added. He stood and padded across the carpeted floor towards the coffee machine, swishing the pot's contents and nodding in satisfaction before refilling his cup. Black coffee, just the way he liked it. 

John stopped once more and glared at his sons, arms folded against his chest in the typical 'disappointed-dad' pose. "Alright. When were you going to tell me about this?" Everyone turned to look at John with baffled expressions.

"It wasn't relevant, John," I offered. "He hasn't had visions for, what, months? I was beginning to think it had stopped." John glared at me with a vicious look, as though he wanted nothing more than for me to disappear. I shrunk into my seat and took another sip of my coffee, glaring right back at him.

"Something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone and you call me," John spat, pointing an accusing finger at his sons. I bit back a snarl and bolted upright, fully intending to launch to my feet and give him a piece of my mind.

Dean beat me to it and slammed the coffee pot on the counter, marching towards his father with a truly venomous look in his eyes. "Call you? Are you kidding me?" he growled, standing nose to nose with his father. "Dad, I called you from Lawrence, remember? Sam called you when I was dying. I mean, getting you on the phone? I got a better chance of winning the lottery."

John's nostrils flared and his lips twitched as though he was trying to hold back a scathing remark. After several long moments of heated glares, John finally dropped his scowl and spoke again. "You're right. Although I'm not too crazy about this new tone of yours, you're right. I'm sorry."

I flinched. John, saying someone else was right? I had only known the man for a little over a month and had seen him a handful of times, but I knew he was not the kind of person to readily admit to his wrongness.

Dean took a step back, eyeing his father once more, and then turned and made his way back to the coffee pot. He leaned against the counter and surveyed the room as he took a sip of his refilled cup.

"Look guys, visions or no visions, the fact is, we know the demon is coming tonight. And this family's gonna go through the same hell we went through," Sam grumbled, directing the conversation back to where it needed to go. I nodded in agreement.

"No, they're not," John replied, a determined glint in his eyes. "No one is, ever again."

The room fell silent as everyone pondered the next course of action, waiting for someone to speak up. I jumped as Sam's phone went off, the whining tone of a phone call filling the room. He quickly snatched the phone from his pocket and lifted it to his ear.

"Hello?" he questioned. He furrowed his brow and eyed the flower warily. "Who is this?" Sam bolted upright and glanced furiously around the room. "Meg," he growled, more to us than to her. I grimaced and sat up straight, elbows resting on my knees. How the hell was she still alive?

"Last time I saw you, you fell out a seven-story window," Sam continued and rose slowly to his feet. He paused and cast a nervous glance toward John. "I don't know where my dad is," he said softly, failing to keep the nerves out of his voice.

My eyes widened. How did Meg know John was here? How was she even alive? Falling two stories was enough to kill a person, let alone seven. Sam's eyes narrowed and he handed the phone to John, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

John took the phone from him and held it to his ear, speaking softly to Meg. I wrinkled my nose at the very thought of her and that disgusting perfume she had used. I looked up and met Dean's eyes, his face a mask. It struck me just how much he hid his emotions when his father was around. His eyes left mine and tracked towards his father.

He was as still as a statue, his only movements being his green eyes taking in every tiny action and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply. Suddenly, Dean bolted upright, eyes wide and jaw slack. My head whipped towards John, whose jaw was tightly clenched.

"You listen to me. He's got nothing to do with anything. You let him go," he said, his voice dripping with malice. Whoever Meg had was someone John cared for. His jaw unclenched and his brows furrowed in thought. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Lie, I thought. He was lying through his teeth. His heart rate had sped up so much I could nearly feel it pounding in his chest, my own fluttering to match. If I knew he was lying, then certainly so would Meg.

"Caleb?" John questioned. I heard a faint gurgling from the phone and pressed a hand to my mouth. "Caleb!" John shouted into the phone. He fell silent, gripping the phone tightly in his hand, his knuckles going white. "I'm going to kill you, you know that?" he whispered into the phone, barely loud enough for Sam and Dean to hear.

I sucked in a shaky breath, my heart beating erratically. That was the sound of someone dying- his friend dying. Meg just murdered someone, simply to get John's attention. I clenched my fists and rage- I was beginning to think Meg wasn't human.

"OK," John murmured to the speaker. "I said OK! I'll bring you the Colt..." he trailed off, casting his eyes between Sam and Dean. My brows rose in shock. "It's gonna take me a day's drive to get there," John continued, soft-spoken. His voice rose in anger at what Meg said next. "That's impossible! I can't get there in time and I can't just carry a gun on the plane."

He opened his mouth to retort to what she said in response, but the line went dead. She had hung up. John stormed around the room, pacing up and down in deep thought.

"What is she?" I asked, finally finding the courage to speak, my voice wobbling. The brothers turned to look at me with curiosity. "I mean, she can't possibly be human, right?" I added hurriedly. "She fell off a building and is murdering people for fun. That's not-"

"She's a demon," John spat, cutting me off. I clamped my mouth shut and waited for him to elaborate. "Or she's possessed by one. It doesn't matter which."

"So what do we do?" Dean asked, pushing off the counter and taking a few slow steps towards John. "You aren't actually going to give her the gun, are you?"

John shook his head, though I couldn't be sure if that was a response to Dean's question or an automatic reaction. "I'm going to Lincoln. It doesn't look like I have a choice. If I don't go, a lot of people will die, our friends will die."

"What about the gun?" I asked, referring to Dean's question.

"I'll stop by an antique store on the way out of town," he offered, running a hand through his wiry hair. "Look, besides us and a couple of vampires, no one's really seen the gun, no one knows what it looks like."

Sam scoffed. "You're going to hand Meg a fake gun and hope she doesn't notice?"

"As long as it looks close, she shouldn't be able to tell the difference," his father replied.

"And what happens when she figures it out?" Dean questioned, folding his arms over his chest. "What then?" He had a good point. I had no doubt Meg would figure it out sooner or later – a demon couldn't possibly be that stupid.

A demon. I hung my head in disbelief. It was one thing to plan on killing a demon, but to interact with one was something else entirely. It made everything seem too real and raised too many questions. Where did they come from? How were they created? Every monster had its own version of a creation story, and I doubted demons were any different.

What if they really were created by Lucifer himself? What if all that was real too?

I couldn't stomach that right now.

"I'll think of something," John finally answered. "I just... need to buy a couple of hours."

"You mean for us. You want us to stay here, and kill this demon by ourselves?"

John shook his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "No Sam. I want to stop losing people we love. I want you to go to school, I want Dean to have a home. I want... I want Mary alive. It's just... I just want this to be over."

The room fell silent and John hung his head. I leaned back in my seat and frowned in thought. I had never imagined doing this without John – this was his goal, he was the one who always knew what to do. Without him... would we even stand a chance?

I shook my head, clearing my mind of those dark thoughts. The boys and I had tackled plenty of challenges in the past. We could take this one too.

—

My paws pounded on the gravel beneath my feet, digging into the thick skin. Everything felt so much better now that I could run.

I skidded across the gravel and came to a stop beside John's pickup, the Impala not too far behind me. I yipped and pranced as the old car parked, having finally successfully beat Dean in a race. It was an amazing feeling, being able to stay just a few steps ahead of him like that.

Dean scoffed as he stepped out of the car, giving my dark head an affectionate pat. "I went easy on you," he teased and ruffled my fur. I huffed and bumped into him, nearly tripping him.

"Did you get it?" John called from where he stood beside his truck, Sam at his side. Dean nodded and held out an old revolver wrapped in brown paper to his father. John took it and inspected it, turning it over in his hands and inspecting it from all angles.

I shook out my fur and stretched as I shifted, taking a few languid steps towards the Winchesters. "Think it'll fool them?" I questioned, stretching my arms over my head. John nodded, not taking his eyes off the gun.

"Yeah, this'll buy you some time," he grumbled and folded the paper back over the gun, slipping it into his bag.

"You know this is a trap, don't you?" Dean questioned, anxiety seeping into his voice. "That's why Meg wants you to go alone."

"I can handle her," John said with a reassuring smirk. He smacked a hand lightly on the back of his pickup, right over his weapons stash. "I've got a whole arsenal. Holy water, Mandaic, amulets..."

I clasped my hands and looked towards the ground, kicking at the pebbles between my feet. This felt like yet another conversation I had no business being part of. The brothers were saying goodbye to their father yet again. If things went south, it could potentially be a permanent goodbye.

I was worried. I was always worried before a hunt now, always on the edge of my seat thinking something would go wrong. That heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach hadn't gone away; sure, it had lessened, but it felt like every step closer to this demon increased the sinking feeling to the point where it was dragging me under. It was like a freezing lake, up to my stomach, and each time we got closer, the water got closer to submerging us.

I was worried that if we weren't careful, we would drown.

My eyes snapped back up to John as he handed the real Colt to Dean, the bullets with it. This was it. Dean grasped the Colt and took a step back from his father and motioned for Sam to follow.

John's eyes met mine and stared back, my heart fluttering with nerves. I wet my lips and momentarily glanced toward my feet before lifting my gaze with what I hoped was a determined look. I held out a hand to John, like a parley flag.

To my shock, he took it. He clasped my smaller hand in his well-worn, calloused ones, his eyes never leaving my face.

"Stay safe, John," I said, praying my voice didn't sound as meek as I felt.

The corners of his lips twitched up into a grin but quickly fell flat, his gaze stern. "Take care of my boys," he ordered. I nodded and retracted my hand, watching him spin on his heels and climb into his truck.

He was gone.

We were alone.

—

I hated waiting.

The sky was just beginning to darken, the beautiful pale blue fading to a steel gray and eventually to black. I was beginning to feel restless like there was an itch under my skin I couldn't quite satiate. I blamed it on the moon. It was nearly full, and the sudden return of my furred form had me longing for my usual wolfish activities.

I wanted to run, to explore the open plains and rolling hills of Iowa as the state gradually dipped into the Great Plains. I rarely had open areas like this to run, and my wolf was itching to take a lap.

I wanted to hunt. There was only so much fast food could do for a monster, and I was beginning to miss the taste of venison and deer hearts. I closed my eyes and imagined chasing after a fat deer, leaping high fences and pounding after it. Hunting was exhilarating.

I hummed and wet my lips. I would rather be anywhere else.

"You alright back there, Fido?" Dean questioned. I opened my eyes and turned to face the rearview mirror where Dean's eyes caught my own. "Hope you're not falling asleep on us."

"Nope," I replied with a soft grin. "Just daydreaming." I sunk back into my seat and laid my arms across my stomach, staring out the window. It was getting darker faster now. Another hour and it would be pitch blackout.

I snuck a glance at my watch, eyes flickering over the tiny hands. Just after 10pm. It felt later, like we had been sitting here for hours, just waiting.

I wondered what the pack was doing. Were they out enjoying the nearly full moon? I wished I knew what they did while I was gone. Was it more or less the same, or did they do new and exciting things? I sighed and ran a stray hand through my tousled hair.

I wished I didn't need to be away so often, but the boys needed me. Maybe after tonight I could finally stay, hang up my gun and quit hunting. Leave it all behind and focus on my family.

I glanced at Dean from the corner of my eye, taking in the back of his head and trailing down his shoulder and arm to his open hand, palm down next to his seat. I huffed. Yeah right, like I could ever leave hunting behind.

Did they really need me? They were plenty capable of hunting without me. If anything, maybe I held them back.

I frowned, eyes flickering to Monica's large windows, watching her and her husband in their living room, enjoying a quiet night together. My abilities weren't always much use on a hunt. A wolf, no matter how big, can't fight a demon. I couldn't shift in front of humans either. It was like hunting was a handicap, and I was a handicap to the boys.

I hoped they didn't worry about them. I know I had scared them when Sam was kidnapped by the Bender family. It surprised me that they were still willing to work with me, despite the scare I gave them. Did they ever wonder if I was going to lose it, maybe attack one of them?

I hoped that never happened.

I drew my coat tighter around me, the Daeva claw marks on the back subjecting me to a slight chill. I'd have to get those patched at some point. As far as I knew, Sasha could sew. Maybe she could teach me – my mother had never bothered.

I scowled at the memory of my mother. I could never decide which was worse at parenting, my mother or my father. In a way, John reminded me of my father; strict, to the point of pushing me over the edge. My father had never given me much freedom, always expecting me to do what he said. If I didn't there was a chance I'd screw something up for the whole family.

He was right. The one time I hadn't listened, I screwed things up royally for the three of us.

My mother was just... a mess. She could never decide what she wanted. One moment, she was incredibly happy with my father and loved him dearly, the next she wanted her old life back and to get as far away from him as possible.

I squeezed my eyes shut at the painful memories of their many fights. Maybe if they had found each other naturally and not felt forced to be together, they could have been happy. Maybe if they had been happy, they would still be here.

Was my father even dead? I couldn't be sure. If he was, I doubted he'd ever be able to find me, aside from perhaps rumors left by former members of Chikaltio's pack. I opened my eyes slowly, thinking about the mutts that had been subservient to their idiotic alpha before I killed him. Had they ever found new packs?

I had so many questions I wished I could have answered. It was unlikely that I would ever get answers.

Sam shifted in his seat, drawing my attention. "Maybe we should just tell them there's a gas leak? That could get them away for a few hours."

Dean scoffed and shook his head. "How many times has that worked for us, Sammy?" Sam didn't answer. I assume that meant it had never worked.

I leaned forward, elbow resting on the back of Dean's seat. "You could always just... tell them the truth?" I offered. Sure, it was an unlikely option, but it was possible they would believe us. Worst case scenario, they don't and I have to shift to prove to them that monsters exist. If they would leave the house for the night, I didn't care what I needed to do.

The brothers glanced at each other and laughed at my suggestion. I pursed my lips and glared at them, highly unamused.

"Listen, we've really only got one option here," Dean spoke with authority and pointed at a second-story window. "We wait for the demon to show up in that window and then we gank the son of a bitch."

I slumped back into my seat and glared up at the cursed window. I had mixed feelings about this; on one hand, I wished that demon would just show up already so we could kill it. On the other hand, I wished it would never show up and we could go about our lives.

I rested my head on the back of my seat, baring my neck. It was an uncomfortable position, but it would do for now. I shut my eyes and did my best to relax, sinking into darkness.

It was dark. So very dark, and oddly warm. I opened my eyes and peered into the darkness. The only indication that I truly had opened my eyes was the feeling of the tips of my lashes leaving my skin.

I blinked, hoping my eyes would somehow adjust to the endless extent of shadows. My feet rested flat against the nonexistent ground as if the void was somehow holding me upright.

Here again, I thought and took a few careful steps into the darkness. I opened my mouth slightly to take a deep breath, only to find my lungs were expanding. There was no oxygen for me to breathe here. How was I still conscious?

I shut my eyes and attempted to take a deep breath. Nothing. And yet, I was fine. I opened my eyes and peered through the darkness, evaluating the inky landscape.

There had to be something here.

I marched forward, through the darkness as the heat lapped at my skin, relishing in the feeling of constant warmth. It wasn't the inconsistent heat and humidity of Alabama- no, this felt like a blanket of absolute warmth, sending tingles down my arms.

What was this place?

I padded through the darkness, my shoes making no noise as they hit whatever invisible floor I stood on top of. I was still in my clothes, the heat reaching through the claw marks of my coat and dipping into my cotton shirt hidden beneath.

I heard a soft growl from somewhere in the distance, a warning rather than a threat. Don't go further, it said. You'll see something you don't want to see.

Whatever I was here for, I knew it wasn't to avoid whatever resided here. The image of those red eyes hit me. Was that what was growling at me... or was it what I didn't want to see?

The thing growled again and it brought a chill down my spine. This time, it was a threat. It sounded vicious and commanding, nearly stopping me in my tracks. I spun on my heel to face the source of the noise. My lungs hitched in fright, choking on nonexistent air.

Red eyes bore into me from a distance, narrowed and piercing. They were like fire, flaming and lapping at whatever they gazed at. I felt like I was burning under the intense gaze and it nearly knocked me off my feet.

I didn't belong here, and it knew that. The eyes tilted, as if whatever it was tilted its head at me.

What are you? I whispered in my mind and my voice echoing through the darkness. And then they were gone, disappearing somewhere into the shadows. Something told me it had turned and walked away from me.

I gave chase, my feet making no noise as I sprinted across the void, chasing the red-eyed, shadowy figure. Whatever it was, it wasn't getting away from me. I ran and ran until I felt my legs were going to give out and my lungs would burst. How did my lungs hurt so much without oxygen?

I skidded to a halt, spotting a shadowy figure in the distance. It was massive, a bit larger than my wolf form. Peering through the shadows, I took a few careful steps closer, walking on the tips of my toes out of habit, despite the lack of noise I was generating.

It was a wolf. My eyes widened in shock, noticing its feral, aggressive stance, it's back to me, and a snarl on its lips. It was a massive white wolf, with paws as big as my hand, fingers splayed wide. It was a solid foot taller than me, and I wouldn't be surprised if it could stand at eye level with Dean or even Sam without having to stretch.

My eyes surveyed its glossy white fur, my mouth hanging open, dumbfounded. It was a wolf and so much taller than me. It made me think just what people thought of me when they saw me in my fur.

The white wolf snarled and took a few slow, stalking steps forward. Its fangs were easily double the size of a normal wolf's, maybe four or even five inches long. I padded ever closer until I stood even with its flank, creeping up behind it. Its ears twitched backward to face me and its tail swished. Clearly, it knew I was here, but it didn't care.

I followed its gaze to a shadowy, humanoid figure in the distance. The figure was walking ever closer with a slow, methodical gait like it had all the time in the world.

The silhouette halted maybe ten feet away and I squinted into the darkness, struggling to make out its features.

Two blazing, yellow eyes.

I gasped and flailed in my seat, panting heavily. I coughed and sputtered, bile rising in my throat and my head pounding to the point that tears were streaming down my face.

"Woah, woah!" Dean shouted, twisting in his seat to face me. "Are you OK?" I shook my head and wheezed, scrabbling for the door handle.

I threw the car door open, the metal grinding and creaking in protest. Someone shouted something, but I didn't know who. I crawled from the car and landed on my hands and knees on the asphalt road, heaving and dribbling spit onto the concrete. I felt like my innards were going to crawl up my throat and escape my body.

"Calm down!" Dean shouted, throwing his door open. "What's going on!?" he sputtered, moving to stand beside me and linking a hand under my arm to help hoist me to my feet.

I vomited.

Dean rested a hand on my back while another weaved through my hair and pulled it out of my face. I vomited, the acidic bile burning my esophagus, and tears poured down my cheeks. I vomited until I was dry heaving and nothing more could come out.

I felt like my head was going to explode. I panted, eyes squeezed tightly shut as the feeling of nausea slowly faded and the stink of my own vomit wafted back into my face. Sitting back on my heels, I turned my face up to the stars, eyes shut, my chest rising and falling like a storming ocean, the waves cresting and crashing over me.

The radio in the Impala blared with static, unable to find a radio station. I winced and jumped to my feet, leaning against the Impala for support. Dean's hand left my hair while his other stayed on my back, steadying me.

The wind picked up and the street lights flickered and finally went out, bathing the streets in the moon's glow. I brushed my hair from my face and wiped the tears from my cheeks, gazing up at the house with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

"It's here..." I whispered with awe as the Earth seemed to shake from the raw power of the demon. "Dean, Sam! It's here, we need to go!" I shouted, my voice carried away by the howling wind. I lunged for my gun in the back seat and slammed the door shut.

The brothers scrambled for their weapons and together we raced towards the house. Dean kneeled beside the door and slipped a card into the crack easily opening the once-locked door. He pushed the door open and together the three of us crept into the house.

It was a modest home, with simple yet beautiful decoration. It looked well put together, and clearly, the couple had an eye for design. I held my gun at the ready and stood beside Sam, scanning the room as Dean led the way.

A man cried out and leaped from the shadows, a baseball bat in hand, and aimed for Dean's head. Dean easily dodged and the bat smashed into an antique-looking lamp, knocking it to the floor and shattering it.

"Get out of my house!" the man, Monica's husband, screamed and lifted the bat to swing again. Dean gripped the end of the bat and easily tore it from the man's grip. He gripped the man by the shoulder and held him against the wall, bat pressed against his throat.

"Be quiet and listen to me," Dean hissed, glaring at the shorter man. "We are trying to help you." The man's eyes flitted between the three of us, his eyes holding mine for a few seconds, shocked and terrified. They flitted back to Dean with terror.

Monica spoke from somewhere upstairs, a note of curiosity in her voice. "Charlie, is everything alright?"

Charlie panicked, shouting and flailing in Dean's grip. "Monica, get the baby!" he shouted, pushing against Dean to no avail.

"Don't go into the nursery!" Sam shouted, moving towards the stairs. Charlie screamed and thrashed, backhanding Dean across the face. Dean stumbled backward and growled at the man, holding the bat high.

Charlie tackled Sam to the ground with an outraged cry. Dean lunged for him, gripping him by the shirt and receiving an elbow to the jaw, knocking him to the side. He stumbled to his feet, wobbling a bit. "Get Monica and the baby out," he ordered, voice low and determined.

"What about the demon-" I started.

"Just go!" Dean shouted. "We'll take care of it!" I paused and then nodded, turning and running up the stairs to the nursery, feet pounding against the creaky wooden steps. I skidded across the carpet that ran the length of the hallway and stopped at the end of the hall. This had to be the right room.

A crib sat alone in the darkroom, Rosie burbling happily in her tiny bed, hands raised high in the air, gesturing at something. My eyes followed her careless movements and settled on...

Monica.

I gasped and raced to the wall where she thrashed almost silently, like a puppet on strings, rising ever higher. Wrapping my fingers around her pale ankles, I yanked and started dragging her down the wall. She screamed when I touched her, her back bent as she was halfway onto the ceiling. Her tears fell and hit the plush carpet beneath my boots.

Suddenly, she fell, toppling down from a height of several feet and into my waiting arms. I crumpled under her weight and fell to the floor. The wind was knocked out of me and she clung to me for dear life. After several long seconds, I sat upright and began pushing her to her feet.

I stumbled onto my own feet and steadied her as she cried. I held her tight and she wrapped her arms around my waist, sobbing. "Monica, you need to go," I coaxed, trying not to raise my voice. She shook her head and mumbled something unintelligible through her tears. "Monica, you need to go! Something bad is coming, and you and your husband need to leave," I ordered, pushing her towards the door. "I'll be right behind you with Rosie, just go!"

Monica nodded and choked on her sobs, turning to look over her shoulder at the crib.

She screamed.

I spun to face the crib, arms spread wide to protect Monica. There, bent off the crib with one hand dipped down to lazily stroke Rosie's cheek, stood the demon, cast in shadows.

"Monica, go!" I shouted, raising my gun and aiming at the figure. I pushed her away and she screamed once more, turning to run towards the stairs.

I growled, lips drawn back in a half snarl. The demon straightened, the collar of its jacket covering the lower half of its face. Somehow, I knew it was smiling.

"Hey, pup," it spoke, its voice almost nasally and arrogant. In a flash, it whipped its head to face mine, yellow eyes boring into my very soul. "Nice eyes," it said.

It was then I realized my eyes had changed to gold, a color not dissimilar to its own. Those eyes... they were the same as my dream.

A series of images crashed into me like a tidal wave, throwing me upside down and backward. I was falling through a world of red, fire, and ash coating the Earth. I screamed and shut my eyes.

Suddenly, my feet were on the ground. I opened my eyes to a world on fire, red cascading over the landscape. It looked like hell, fires raging, white-hot. Bodies dotted the landscape.

I stumbled backward with a loud cry, recognizing the carcasses. Humans. Monsters. All of them, dead. The skull of a vampire sat in the dirt, bleached white. Beside it, the body of a wraith, its wrist spikes giving it away.

Humans, monsters, skinwalkers littered the ground, their flesh decaying and ash coating their bones.

I stared at the ground beneath my feet, red sand, and ash clinging to my boots. There was an odd pattern on the ground, a pattern that couldn't be moved no matter how much sand I kicked around. I stepped back and stared with wide eyes.

Wings.

They were wings, burned into the Earth, leading to a body half-buried in the sand. What kind of monster left that mark?

My eyes trailed up to a structure, not far from the winged monster. It was a throne, made entirely of bones. A lone figure sat atop it, their features disguised by the haze and impossible to see.

Two crimson, broken wings extended from the murk and rose triumphantly into the sky.

Just as quickly as it had come, the vision disintegrated and I was standing exactly where I had been. My boots dug into the plush carpet like I was weighed down by lead weights, golden eyes swimming with tears as I fixated on the shadowed demon.

The demon lifted a finger to its lips in a shushing motion, a wide smirk on its thin lips.

Then it was gone, a shot ringing loudly through the air and a bullet embedding itself in the wall. The ceiling burst into flames, lapping at the pastel wallpaper and singing every crevice. I stood frozen in horror, unable to move.

What atrocities had I just seen?

"Get the baby, and let's go!" I heard Dean scream from behind me, gripping my arm and shaking me wildly. I lept into motion, finally coming to my senses, and lunged for Rosie, pulling her from her crib as she giggled, blue eyes wide and dancing with flames. Together, Dean and I sprinted from the house, baby in my arms and the Colt in his.

We raced down the stairs and out of the house, cascading onto the lawn. Monica raced towards me, arms extended and waiting for her baby expectantly. I handed Rosie off to her and sagged onto the grass, falling to my knees, then my stomach, and rolled onto my back.

The fire had engulfed the entirety of the second floor, breaking the windows and lapping at the roof. In the broken nursery window stood the silhouette of the demon, smiling down on us.

—

I stood outside the motel room and gazed at the night sky, cloudless and beautiful. The boys argued in the room, their voices muffled by the wall separating us. I picked at my fingernails and winced as I ripped one, drawing blood beneath the edge of the nail.

The motel room door was thrown open and out stepped Dean, his breath fogging in the chilly night air. He was a mess, with a purple bruise gracing his jaw and several cuts and bruises decorating his body.

I watched with curiosity as he stared wordlessly at the night sky, eyes swimming with raw emotions. Finally, he turned to me with a heartbroken look in his eyes and moved to lean beside me.

"Meg has dad," he whispered and toyed with the tips of his own fingers.

My eyes went wide with shock, breath hitching in my throat. "She called?"

Dean nodded and placed his palm on his forehead, swallowing dryly and running his fingers through his hair. "We need to get him back..." he whispered, trailing off. I nodded in agreement. But how? Neither of us knew how to track a demon or John for that matter.

Den rubbed his thumb aggressively over his bruised and scabbed knuckles, shredding the newly formed scabs. I reached forward and gripped his hand tightly in my own. He flinched, his shoulders tensing and then slowly relaxing.

"We'll find him, Dean," I said softly, certainty in my voice. "We'll find him, and then we'll kill this demon. Together."

Dean swallowed and nodded, turning his head towards me. His green eyes were narrowed, and to my surprise, unshed tears threatened to spill over. His face was bruised and his lip split, a thin trail of dried blood leaving a splotch just below his lip.

I reached up and placed the pad of my thumb against his lip, swiping over the cut methodically. I hated seeing him hurt- I hated seeing any of my family hurt. But something about his fractured gaze and split lip had my heart tying itself in knots. He watched me intently and I flushed under his gaze, retracting my hand quickly. I licked my lips and flickered my eyes up to his.

He looked broken, like he had no clue what to do next. I knew that feeling, as it was my own.

I embraced him, throwing my arms over his shoulders and hugging him tightly. He wasted no time in wrapping his own arms around my waist, face buried in the crook of my neck.

"We'll find him, Dean," I whispered. "I promise."

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch18: Salvation

Summary: A decades-old enemy makes a reappearance... Referenced Episodes: mentioned S1 E20 "Dead Man's Blood," S1 E21 "Salvation" CW: None. Word Count: 6003 words. Recommended Song: Creeping Death -- Metallica Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

Raindrops ran down the windows of the Impala, slipping across the chrome surface. The brothers and I agreed to return for my truck in the morning and salvage whatever we could. I doubted the monsters would stay for long. There was nothing there for them anymore. Their leader was dead, and they knew we were still in the area. I was mostly concerned about the weapons stash – I hoped the vampires wouldn't go rummaging in the wreckage.

The car was quiet, though I hadn't expected anything different. The thrills of the evening had finally worn off, leaving nothing but worry and rampant questions in its wake. I could imagine that the boys were concerned about their father. Would he be waiting for them at the motel, or would he have already left to fight the demon? Would he even allow his sons to accompany him? Probably not.

I propped my cheek against my hand, eyes flickering to the treeline outside the roaring car. I felt as though I should be panicking or at the very least nervous about the night's events. But truthfully, I felt at peace, as though I finally understood a part of me I had been struggling with.

Was it fear that had kept me from shifting? It must have been. That sense of terror that I wouldn't be able to control my actions or my blood lust. Perhaps that's why I had kept myself chained down – because I never wanted to confirm the worries that I had previously felt. Worries that maybe I really was a monster.

But I wasn't. At least, not in the eyes of those I cared about. Maybe I was, or had the capabilities to be, but for now, I was unconcerned about what my future held.

I felt loved.

The Impala slowed to a gradual halt in the motel parking lot. I slowly unbuckled my seat belt and slid out of the car, my feet hitting the wet asphalt with a soft thump. The ground was still covered in large puddles, leftover from the recent rainstorm.

I knew it was after midnight, but I had no idea just how late it was. I didn't really care; I just wanted to sleep. Without a word I passed the brothers and headed towards my room, waving at them as if to bid them a good night.

My room was cold, as though someone had left a window open while I was gone. I shivered and shrugged off my coat, laying it gently over the back of the armchair that sat in one corner of the room. I rummaged through my belongings, looking for a change of clothes, and sighed. As much as I wanted to sleep, I was covered in dirt and dried blood, and desperately in need of a shower.

I had planned to take a short shower, just enough to clean off all the blood. The warm water was too inviting for me to get out quickly, so instead, I soaked, watching as the dried blood washed off and disappeared down the drain.

In just two days with the Winchesters, my life had been turned upside yet again. I had a sneaking suspicion that there was more to come.

—

I woke to a heavy pounding on my motel room door, jarring me from a surprisingly deep and peaceful sleep. I bolted upright with wide, startled eyes and leaped from the bed, padding softly across the carpeted floor to the door. I turned the lock and drew the door open, meeting Dean's grinning face.

"’Bout time you woke up," he teased, leaning against the door frame. "I was beginning to think I had the wrong room."

I opened the door just a bit more and glanced at the golden placard that read '105'. "Nope, you got the right one," I joked. "What can I do for you, Dean?"

"Family meeting in our room," he said simply. "Dad's going over the plan for dealing with the demon."

My brows rose in surprise. "And I'm invited? He’s alright with that?"

Dean’s tongue poked the inside of his cheek, stifling a frown. "At this point, I don't think he'll try and stop you. Just keep your head down." He pursed his lips and glanced back towards his motel room in thought. "We're going to be heading out soon, I think. We'll stop by the vamp nest and see what we can salvage from your truck. S'up to you if you want to come with us after." His eyes turned back to mine, holding a serious and contemplative air. "You should pack up. If you decide not to come with us, we'll have to find some way to get you home."

"You won't be driving me?" I questioned. Dean shook his head and glanced back down the row of doors to his own.

"Dad's impatient. He's going to want to get this son of a bitch ASAP. No detours."

I nodded and looked behind me at the minimal mess I had caused. My belongings were already well organized, save for my personal hygiene products in the bathroom. "Give me maybe five minutes and I'll meet you in your room," I said before turning away from Dean. I heard him chuckle and close the door softly behind him.

In just under five minutes, I changed clothes and packed up all my stuff. I still looked exhausted, despite it being just after ten in the morning. I doubted John would approve of a caffeine stop.

The door to the brother's room was unlocked, thankfully, and I slipped quietly inside, hoping to not interrupt the ongoing conversation.

"You're late," John grumbled, not even bothering to turn away from his surprisingly impressive collage of demon-related news.

I rolled my eyes and dropped my backpack by the door. Sam patted a spot on one of the beds beside John and me quickly. "Late by, like, maybe two minutes. What'd I miss?"

"Not much," Dean chimed in. "This is everything dad's got on the demon." Dean shifted in his chair and leaned back, green eyes raking over the mess of omens and symbols laid out before him. "So what's this trail you found, dad?"

"It starts in Arizona, then New Jersey, California," John spoke, turning back to his complex board. "Houses burned down to the ground. It's going after families, just like it went after us. Families with kids, infants, attacked on their six-month birthdays."

"I was six months old that night?" Sam inferred, leaning forward with his arms braced on his knees.

John nodded and turned towards his youngest son. "Exactly six months."

"So basically, this demon is going after these kids for some reason. The same way it came for me? So Mom's death...Jessica. It's all because of me?" Sam demanded, his voice rising with frustration. Jessica. Was that his girlfriend's name? I knew so little about her and Sam's life before meeting him. All I knew was that she had gone up in smoke, just like Mary...

"Sam, we don't know that," Dean sat up and glared sternly at his brother.

"Oh really? Cause I'd say we're pretty damn sure Dean," Sam scoffed.

Dean rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms indignantly. " For the last time, what happened to them was not your fault-"

"Right. It's not my fault, but it's my problem!"

"No, it's not your problem, it's our problem!"

"It’s no one’s fault but the demon," I chimed in by raising my voice, bouncing to my feet and glaring at the two quarreling brothers. "And we’ll make it his problem too. Arguing isn’t going to help us make a plan." I flopped back onto the bed, lying flat on my back and glaring up at the ceiling. After several long moments of silence, I threw a hand up and waved, motioning for John to continue.

Sam sighed and relaxed his shoulders. "So why is it doing this? What does it want?"

"Look I wish I had more answers, I do. I've always been one step behind it; I've never gotten there in time to save..." John cast his eyes to the ground, lost in thought. After a long pause, he continued to speak. "There's signs. It took me a while to see the pattern but it's there in the days before these fire signs crop up in an area. Cattle deaths, temperature fluctuations, electrical storms. And then I went back and checked... and..."

"It happened in Lawrence..." Dean said softly, eyes wide with realization.

John nodded and took a few steps towards us, hands deep in his pockets. "A week before your mother died. And in Palo Alto...before Jessica. And these signs, they're starting again."

"Where?" Sam asked, his fists curling and jaw clenching in anger. I placed a gentle hand on his arm, my eyes never leaving John's form.

"Salvation, Iowa," their father said simply. "Pack up your bags, we're heading out in an hour." And with that final order, John left the motel room, presumably to pack up his own belongings and stash them in his truck.

"An hour, huh," Dean remarked as he stood and stretched. "Gives us plenty of time to head back to the barn and check the damages on your truck. We can swing by on the way out of town."

"Well, then you boys had better pack up pretty quick," I teased. "Don't want to keep your old man waiting."

—

My truck was ruined. That was the only word I could use to describe it. Utterly ruined. My beaten mess of a pickup was laying on one side, the door crushed inward and glass shattered. The entire driver's side of the car was folded inward and I was thankful that I hadn't been in it at the time. The metal was in pieces and scattered across the ground in some spots, glass littering the earth. The hood was blackened and burned, as though it had been set on fire at some point - I wouldn't put it past the vampires for doing such a thing.

The bodies I had left in the dirt were gone now, likely buried or burned along with my truck. The only indication that they had been there was the large splatters of blood on the ground like spilled paint.

Dean whistled in surprise as he marched around the truck, taking in the damages. He stopped in front of the hood and placed his hands on his hips, turning to face his father who was just exiting his own pickup. "What d'you think dad? Salvageable?"

John scoffed and glared beadily at my crumpled mess of metal and ash. "No," he said bluntly. "I don't even see anything worth keeping."

I groaned and placed my head in my hands. "I'm so glad my uncle isn't here to see this," I grumbled and dragged my hands down my face in utter defeat. "Do you think the weapons were at least mostly preserved?" I asked Dean.

He shrugged and placed a hand on top of the truck, pulling himself up what would have been the underside, struggling for footholds. He laughed and turned to face me as he straightened and stood on top of the trunk. "You're missing a door," he called and pointed to the other side of the truck. "It ended up over there."

"You've got to be kidding!" I shouted and ran over to the other side of the truck. Lo and behold, there was a car door lying in a dirty puddle. "How the hell did it get over there!?"

"Vampire might have ripped it off," Dean called. "Hopefully it didn't get into your weapons stash."

"Well, how the hell am I supposed to check?" I asked, throwing my hands up in exasperation.

Dean laughed and extended a hand. "You climb in," he said with a cocky smirk. I glared and marched over the truck, taking his hand irritably. I had expected it to be difficult, but he hoisted me up with ease, pulling me to stand beside him on top of my ruined truck.

I gazed down into the backseat, grass visible on the other end. It struck me now just how wide my truck had been – although it wasn't a particularly long drop, it still made me nervous.

I dropped into the truck, feet planted on the side of one of the front seats. There wasn't much room, but it was enough. After several seconds of fumbling for the latch, I lifted up the bench seat in the back and peered through the darkness at what was left of my weapons stash.

The seat compartment was empty, every gun, knife, a container of holy water, and whatever else was gone without a trace. I glared furiously at the empty compartment and snapped my eyes up to meet Dean's. He looked equally frustrated and extended a hand to pull me from the wreckage.

"Damn," he grumbled as he hauled me up and pulled me into his side, steadying me. "They really cleaned house, huh?" I nodded and clenched my fists and anger. First my truck, now my weapons?

The truck didn't have a ton of sentimental value. Sure, it was my uncle's favorite and the only one I had kept, but it wasn't nearly as important as the Impala was to Dean. But the fact that the vampires had burned and raided it? It made my skin crawl.

"Hey," he spoke, drawing my attention to him. I glanced up quickly and dropped my eyes to the wreckage. "You alright?"

"Yeah, fine," I replied. "Just pissed." He chuckled and placed a firm hand on my shoulder.

"Fair enough. You need help getting down?"

I shook my head and moved to sit on the edge, sliding off and thumping to the ground. The impact jarred my ankle which was still healing from my recent fight with Caeden and the vampires.

I couldn't help but lose myself in thought, leaning against the overturned truck as I did so. The loss of this vehicle was damaging. It was more than just a mode of transportation – it was a link to my life before all this started, before losing my uncle, before the pack, before the Winchesters. It showed just how much my life had changed, how far I had come, and who I had been.

I missed who I was. That girl who had been so sure of what she wanted- or what she didn't want. No pack. No romance. Just life on the road, hunting with my uncle.

Now, I didn't have hunting with my uncle. I had a pack to look out for and needed me, sometimes to my disappointment. And love? I snuck a glance at Dean as he dropped from the top of the wreckage. I still didn't want love. Not now at least. But, Missouri had planted those seeds in my mind with her psychic premonitions, leaving the door open for unexpected visitors.

"Ready to check in on Sam and dad?" Dean asked. I peered up at him and then towards the barn that I knew Sam was exploring.

"Of course," I said with a grin and began my small trek to the weathered barn.

Despite the constant drizzle of rain last night, the scent of vampires still lingered in the air. It was enough to make me crinkle my nose and gag. The Winchesters couldn't smell it, but it stunk heavily of that odd sickly-sweet decay. It was unnatural.

But then again, some would argue that so was I.

The place was deserted, with no sign that anyone had ever lived there. The hammocks were gone, along with whatever personal items that had been laying around. The occasional beer bottle littered the straw floor, though any passersby would likely just assume they had been left by rowdy teens.

Sam peered out from a doorway down the long hall, drawn by the sounds of our footsteps. "Find anything?" he called.

Dean shook his head. "Zilch. They took everything man."

"Damn," his younger brother uttered. "Doesn't look like there's anything here either. It's pretty empty." Sam disappeared back into the room, rifling through whatever was left behind.

"What about you, dad?" Dean called out, waltzing into the main room that felt oddly empty without the rows of hammocks. "Find anything?"

"No," John replied and Dean followed his voice to what I assumed was Luther and Kate's room. I had seen him running out of it Colt-less the day before. "Maybe you can get your mutt to sniff something out."

I bristled and grimaced down the hall, glaring at the doorway that Dean had disappeared through.

If I were human, I wouldn't be having this problem.

"If you boys haven't found anything, how ‘bout we head out? Iowa is pretty far and we're losing daylight." I offered, tapping my foot impatiently against the straw floor.

Sam's head popped out from a doorway and he gazed at me with adamant surprise. "Does that mean you're coming with us?" he questioned.

I grinned. "Course I am. Told my pack I'd be gone for a week at the most, and I've been here for, what, a little over forty-eight hours? Still got five days." Dean appeared around a corner with his own shocked expression. "You boys aren't getting rid of me that easily."

—

Hours of driving had left me lethargic, and frankly irritable. Being crammed into a seat with a tight seat belt and little room to move was almost worse than driving for hours on end. At least I would have something to do if I were driving.

The Impala suddenly lurched to the side, swerving towards the edge of the road. I jolted upright and gripped onto the door, holding on tight to prevent myself from sliding. "The hell, Dean?" I sputtered as he slowed to a stop on the side of the road and parked.

Without missing a beat, Dean stepped out of the car, Sam not far behind him. I glanced nervously between the two and opened my own door.

"God dammit!" I heard John shout, causing me to jump. I quickly slid out of my seat and jogged over to the Winchesters. John continued to swear and stomped around in frustration. "I just got a call from Caleb," he spat.

"Is he alright?" Dean questioned, voice filled with worry. Caleb? I assumed that was a hunter friend of John. The name rang a bell...

I could practically see the light bulb going off over my head as I spun to face Dean. "Isn't that the dude that researched the Daevas for you?"

Dean glared teasingly. "I helped," he grumbled and returned his attention to his father. "Is Caleb alright or not?"

"He's fine," John growled. He stopped his pacing and looked up at his son, grief evident in his eyes. "Jim Murphy's dead."

"Pastor Jim?" Sam asked, his own eyes going wide with disbelief. "How?"

"His throat was slashed. He bled out," John replied bluntly, casting his eyes to the gravel road. "Caleb said he found traces of sulfur at Jim's place."

"A demon?" Dean questioned. "The demon?"

John shook his head in uncertainty. "I don't know. Could be he just got careless, he slipped up. Maybe the demon knows we're getting close." I bristled. This was suddenly becoming all too real. A demon. I had never seen a demon, let alone fought one. All I knew was the basics of how to identify one, taught to me by the brothers only hours before.

A part of me hoped to God that it would be an easy kill, but I knew better than that.

"What are we going to do?" I asked. John's eyes snapped to mine and he glared ferociously. I stared back, holding his infuriated gaze.

"Now we act like every second counts. There are two hospitals and a health center in this county. We split up, cover more ground. I want records. I want a list of every infant that's going to be six months old in the next week," he ordered and turned to climb back into his truck.

"Dad, that could be dozens of kids. How do we know which one's the right one?" Sam questioned, and rightly so. Salvation wasn't a small town, and having to search the entire county made it even more difficult.

"We check 'em all that's how. You got any better ideas?" he demanded, voice gruff and irritable. When no one responded, he nodded curtly and climbed into his truck dismissively.

I turned and went back to the Impala, Sam by my side. Glancing up, I realized Dean hadn't left his father. They shared quiet words, barely audible even to me before Dean turned and sauntered back towards the Impala, a crestfallen look on his features.

Whoever Pastor Jim had been, he had been someone important to them. They were tired of losing people they cared about. I was tired of seeing them so miserable. This demon deserved what it had coming.

—

The Salvation public library was surprisingly empty. It was a big library, with records dating back generations. If there was anything to indicate where the demon might be headed next, it was here.

Sam was on birth records duty, whereas I was looking for any symbols and potential omens that could highlight more of the demon's activities. It was tedious, to say the least, and I had little patience for it, but it needed to be done.

I flipped through old record book after old record book, looking for any signs of demonic activity. Nothing. I slammed another book shut and tossed it on the floor beside me.

"No luck?" Sam called from the other side of the shelf I was leaning against.

"No," I grumbled, palm pressed to my cheek. "All I'm seeing are the same things John found. Just... evidence that it's in the area." I sighed and placed my chin in my hands, pouting. "What about you? Find anything?"

Sam chuckled and I heard his footsteps traipse around the shelf to me. He sat beside me and handed me a list of names and addresses. "These are all the kids in the county that are turning six months in the next week."

My eyes scanned the page of Sam's messy handwriting. "That's a lot of kids..." I grumbled and handed the page to him. "You humans sure do keep busy."

Sam chuckled and folded the paper, tucking it into a book and placing it in his lap. "Skinwalkers are like, part dog, right? Doesn't that mean you'd have more kids?"

I scoffed and glared at him. "Most monsters are more prone to having twins, or even triplets. Probably because of… y’know, dwindling populations. That doesn't necessarily mean we breed like rabbits. Most don't ever have kids."

"Why not?" he questioned, leaning back against the shelf.

"Because they're either too busy eating humans, or don't want to bring kids into a world where they'll be hunted for just existing.” Few monsters ever had kids or families. Maybe they'd have mates, like those vampires in Manning, but rarely kids. Hell, before Marcus, my father was the only purebred skinwalker I had ever known.

Sam didn't respond and instead tapped his fingers rhythmically on the cover of the book. What was there to say after something like that? 'Not all hunters kill monsters for existing'? That wouldn't hold up – his own father had tried to kill me simply because I was a monster.

He sat up and scanned the cover of his old book. He looked exhausted, and rightfully so. He was finally so close to ending this demon and having his family back.

We were all exhausted, for varying reasons.

"Your bruises are looking a lot better," he finally spoke. I raised my brows and glanced at him. He was right, they were looking better. My jaw had faded to splotchy yellowish bruises, not nearly as noticeable anymore. By tomorrow, they'd be gone. "How'd you get them anyway? Dean said something about a fight."

I huffed and rested my arms on my knees, leaning forward slightly. "Just a pack fight, with Caeden. Nothing serious."

"Your bruises looked pretty serious," he continued. I glared at him and he shrugged as if to show that he was simply concerned.

I rolled my eyes and leaned back against the shelf, resting my intertwined fingers on my stomach. "Caeden just... wasn't handling having an alpha well. He doesn't trust people," I said softly. I glared down at my hands, my knuckles bruised and scraped from my recent fights. "He was trying to prove a point, and it didn't work out."

"Who won?" Sam asked. I cast him a confused look. "The fight," he clarified. "Who won?"

"No one," I replied. It was true- there were rarely winners in a fight. Everyone always lost something. Sam fell silent, his eyes roaming along the opposite bookshelf, although he clearly wasn't reading the titles. He was thinking.

I wondered what he was thinking about. There were a million things I wanted to ask him. Maybe about his life before hunting, or why he had left. About his experiences, and his father's slow descent into obsession.

Did revenge always lead to obsession and aggression? I hoped not.

"Sam?" I asked. He hummed in response, motioning for me to speak. "Why law?" I shifted and straightened my back, no longer slouching against the, frankly, uncomfortable shelf. "Why did you want to be a lawyer?"

Sam laughed softly and leaned beside me, mirroring my position and stretching his legs. They nearly extended the length between the shelves. "I guess because I wanted to help people without violence," he said softly. "Save lives, and correct injustices without having to lie, cheat, steal, and murder."

I chuckled and nudged him with my elbow. "A lot of people would say lawyers still lie, cheat and steal, you know." He laughed and pushed back gently.

"I don't know, maybe they do. But, they deal with the real monsters," he said, his voice low and soft, lost in thought. "There's more to being a monster than not being human..." he trailed off and glanced towards me. "You're proof of that."

Not a monster.

I grinned up at him deviously. "I don't know, monsters are scary, and I can be pretty terrifying." I bared my teeth teasingly at him. He laughed and placed a hand on my head, ruffling my hair. "Hey!" I shouted, pushing his hand away.

"Sure, you're absolutely terrifying," he teased. "Like a pomeranian."

I frowned. "Pomeranians can be scary," I countered, pointing an accusing finger at him.

"Right," he said with an eye roll. "We should head out. I'm sure Dean's done at the hospital by now." I nodded and hobbled to my feet, extending a hand to Sam. He gladly took it and I helped to hoist him to his feet, wobbling a bit from exertion. Sam dusted himself off and clutched his book tightly to his side. He gestured ahead of him, allowing me to lead the way. I grinned and marched down the small hallway, making my way towards the exit.

It was a lovely day, compared to the gloom of Colorado. The sun was high in the sky by now, finally making itself visible after the drizzle of rain and fog earlier that day, and it was nearly cloudless, save for the occasional wisp low on the horizon.

Suddenly, Sam crumpled and hissed through his teeth. I spun to face him in worry. He was clutching his head and whining through gritted teeth. "Sam!?" I called and raced forward, holding him upright.

"Vision..." he hissed out and straightened, towering over me. "The demon... in a nursery..."

"Where Sam?" I asked. If this was anything like his other visions, I had no doubt he was seeing the demon's next victim. "Can you see anything that would tell us where it is? Any sights, smells?" My voice fell dangerously low, coaxing any sort of answer out of him. It startled me just how deadly my voice sounded.

It hit me then just how much I wanted this demon dead. It had hurt my family- hell, it had hurt John and that alone was enough to piss me off. And now it was going to hurt others.

Sam hissed one last time and straightened, taking his hand palm away from his temple and cracking his eyes open. He winced at the sunlight that suddenly seemed harsh and unyielding to me. He blinked twice and grimaced, thinking deeply. Immediately, his eyes snapped open and he turned to charge back into the library.

"Sam!?" I called questioningly and chased him. He weaved through the rows of shelves and stopped at a librarian's desk, speaking hurriedly to her. I hadn't even made it to his side before he was off again, following the older woman through the maze of towering bookshelves.

When I found him again he was seated at an old table, a map laid out in front of him and a pen in hand. I spoke his name quizzically, which barely drew his attention. He pulled out a chair at his side and motioned for me to sit.

"I heard a train," he said simply, eyes roving over the page. "I'm looking for newer neighborhoods with a train station nearby."

"Find anything yet?" I inquired and hovered over the map, my eyes trailing over the long line of train tracks, running from the top left to the middle of the right.

Sam nodded and pointed to a spot in the mid-left section of the map. "Here. This is the only big neighborhood that fits the bill," he said, tapping the spot gently. "It's in the middle of everything; it's near the school, near grocery stores, and not far from downtown." He gazed up at me with determined eyes, jaw set firmly. "Perfect for new parents, don't you think?"

I shrugged. "I don't know much about being a parent, but it sounds pretty perfect. You want to call Dean and check it out?"

"No," he said flatly and folded the map, slipping it into his book. "No, that'll take too long. I say we check it out now."

"Without weapons or backup?" I questioned, resting my palms on the table and standing. "Sam, that's-"

"We'll be fine," Sam cut me off, sounding too sure of himself. "My vision was set at night, and it's-" he checked his watch, "4pm now. We'll be fine," he repeated. I paused and finally nodded, following him out of the library.

Thankfully, it was a rather short jaunt to the neighborhood Sam had found, maybe about fifteen minutes. The sun, although a nice change of pace from the previous night's rain, was beating down now and the temperatures were swelling.

Sam marched down the sidewalk, his eyes scanning up and down the row of houses and on the lookout for any indication of a train. His strides were much longer than my own, and I had to take two steps to match one of his. It was becoming exhausting having to nearly jog to keep up.

He finally stopped and winced, pressing a palm to his temple. He glared furiously at the ground and then bolted upright, hazel eyes falling upon a white house across the street. "That's it," he whispered out.

I looked at the house, with its white paint and sea green trim. The curtains were lace and it had a well-kept lawn and fenced-in yard.

A white picket fence.

"Look," Sam whispered, and I followed his gaze to a very pretty woman with a stroller and an umbrella hanging off her arm. "That's her," he said. Without missing a beat, he crossed the street and stopped beside her, making idle conversation. I tore across the street after him, skidding to a stop beside him.

Sam knelt beside the little baby carriage and cooed at the girl swaddled in the shade. "Wow, hi!" he murmured to the infant. "I'm sorry, I'm so rude," he spoke and extended a hand to the woman. "I'm Sam, I just moved in up the street. This," he said, gesturing to me and offered my name to the woman. “She's helping me move in."

"Hi," I said with a small, friendly wave, and held out my hand for her. She took it with her own sweet smile. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too," she said. "Well, I'm Monica, and this-" she leaned over the stroller as her baby took her finger, "-is Rosie."

"Hi, Rosie..." I said as I knelt beside the carriage and stuck a finger towards the baby. She grabbed it with a giggle, wrapping her tiny digits around mine.

The conversation seemed to fade away as I looked at her, her blue eyes boring into mine. I could hear- no, feel her tiny heartbeat pulsing in her chest. It was the first time since meeting Calliope that I had heard another heartbeat. But this time, I wasn't afraid.

I was elated. This little baby looked at the world with rose-colored glasses, like there was no evil. She looked at me like I was just another being.

I grinned sheepishly at the little girl and ran my fingertip over her pudgy knuckle. Kids were so simple, so beautiful, and pure. They knew nothing of evil in the world.

I wanted to make sure Rosie never experienced that evil.

"She seems to like you," Monica said softly. I tore my gaze away from Rosie and looked at her with astonishment. I had seen so few babies in my lifetime that the idea that this tiny little life form could like me was astounding. I grinned and turned my gaze back to her, taking her tiny hand in mine.

"She's such a good baby," Sam remarked, hovering over me and gazing at Rosie with interest. the baby giggled, bringing a wider smile to my lips.

"I know, I mean she...she never cries. She just stares at everybody. Sometimes she looks at you and I swear it's...it's like she's reading your mind," Monica replied. Her last comment drew my eyes back to hers.

"How long have you lived here for?" I asked softly.

Monica grinned and partially leaned against her stroller. "My husband and I bought our place just before Rosie was born."

"And how old is Rosie?" Sam questioned, nudging her other hand with his finger. She reflexively reached for it and burbled.

"Six months old, today," Monica responded, her chest inflating with pride. "She's so big- growing like a weed."

I froze, my finger stopping its gentle caressing movements over her knuckles. Today. Six months old today.

"Hey Monica..." Sam started. The new mother looked up expectantly, eyes wide with joy and excitement. I never wanted to see that look disappear from her eyes. "Just... take care of yourself."

She frowned in confusion and tilted her head. "Yeah, you too, Sam," she sighed and giggled, drawing a finger down Rosie's cheek. "I guess we'll be seeing you around?"

"Yeah, definitely," I said, standing and casting Rosie one last forlorn glance. And with that, Monica waved goodbye and continued her trek down the sidewalk and towards home. A car pulled into her driveway and she waved at the driver as he stepped out of the car. I assumed he was her husband, and he looked just as happy to see her as she did.

Sam and I watched the happy family, my eyes darting between the husband and wife. I longed for that life so much that it made my heart hurt. I felt weighted with worry and despair- would I ever have that life? A large part of me doubted it, knowing that few monsters ever found love or even started families. But a small part of me held on to the thin hope that maybe I would one day have my white picket fence and family.

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch17: Monster

Summary: Suspicions come to a head... Referenced Episodes: S1 E20 "Dead Man's Blood" CW: Gore. John Winchester (again). Word Count: 6810 Recommended Song: Animal -- Def Leppard Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

"Are you sure about this?" I questioned Dean as I wrapped my weapons bag around my waist. "I mean, surely there's a better way to do this than use you as bait?"

Dean laughed and smirked as he rummaged in the trunk of the Impala for his weapons. "What, you don't think I can handle it?"

"Of course, I think you can!" I retorted, ceasing my fumbling to glare at him. "I'm just worried."

Dean stopped his movements and paused. His eyes flitted up to meet mine, full of subdued surprise. "Why would you be worried?"

I frowned at him and leaned against the Impala. "I've just... got a weird feeling," I mused, twirling a strand of hair between my fingertips. "Like something bad is going to happen."

Dean chuckled and closed the trunk of the Impala, leaning against it next to me. "That's normal for a hunt like this," he teased. I rolled my eyes – of course being nervous was normal, but this… I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach like something was approaching and fast. Something dark, on the edge of the reason. I pulled my coat tighter to me and shivered, snuggling into it. Dean placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, gazing at me with evident worry.

"Everything's going to be fine," he assured with an affectionate squeeze to my shoulder. "You don't need to worry about a thing- I've got it covered," he continued with a confident smirk. I huffed in disagreement.

"I'm always going to worry about you, Dean," I chided. He quirked an eyebrow. "Both you and Sam. And John too," I added hurriedly, despite the man’s growing distrust for me – I felt the way his gaze lingered coldly when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. "The three of you... you're family. Even if John doesn't trust me much."

"He trusts you," he spoke, removing his hand from my shoulder. "More than he trusts most hunters at least. Maybe it's because he knew your uncle." Dean sighed and ran his hand through his short hair, staring off into the tree line. "I was going through my dad's journal recently. Apparently, he went on a few hunts with your uncle."

I nodded slowly and drew the heavy coat tighter around me. "Yeah, he told me about that," I mumbled. "It was years ago though. He didn't even know he was dead," I whispered out, eyes falling to the gravel beneath my feet.

"It was a wraith, right?" Dean asked softly. I nodded and shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans. "Have you ever thought about...?"

"Getting revenge?" I asked. Dean remained silent, his silence confirming my question. I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. If I had the opportunity I'd tear that wraith to shreds. But... I don't know if I could do what John does. I don’t think I would be as… mentally clear as him." I chose my words carefully, not wanting to rudely pick at the bond Dean and his father shared. I turned my head to face Dean, his eyes gazing distantly down the road.

We sat in silence for what felt like hours when in reality it was maybe two, or three minutes. Finally, Dean pushed away from the Impala and stood to his full height, stretching a bit. "Guess you should go meet up with Sam and dad, huh?" he asked and turned his rather tired green eyes on mine. "You remember the plan right?"

I nodded and cast my eyes to the ground. Dean swallowed dryly and nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, likely to send me on my way, but I cut him off. I spun and tugged him by the collar of his leather jacket. He stumbled forward, not expecting the motion, and stopped within a few inches of my face, a surprised and dazed look in his eyes.

"Promise me you won't get hurt," I pled, drawing him ever so slightly closer. "Promise," I demanded softly, glaring intently at him. He blinked once, twice, then nodded slowly, swallowing nervously.

I held him there for a few more moments, my eyes washing over his face, taking in his features. His spectacularly green eyes, his abundant freckles, that confident smirk that could make could make any woman swoon, his lips-

 I shoved him away, a bit rougher than intended, and cast my eyes once more to the ground. I tucked a rogue strand of hair behind my ear and glared up at him. "Stay safe," I ordered quietly and spun on my heel, marching away from him and up the hill to where I knew Sam and John were waiting for me.

Once I was out of view I stopped and placed my head in my hands and listened to my hammering heart, beating so wildly that I was worried it would beat out of my chest. I dragged my hands down my face and scowled down at my feet, kicking aside a stray rock.

What was I doing?

I huffed and pulled my coat tighter, shielding me from the chilly night air, and stalked up the hill.

As suspected, Sam and John were waiting for me at the crest of the hill, a crossbow across each of their laps. From this elevation, we could easily see the road and the Impala, but they were not within earshot. At that moment, I was thankful for my enhanced hearing.

I sat beside Sam and stared down the hill, my chin resting in my palm. Sam elbowed me in the arm gently, drawing my attention. I turned to face his hazel eyes. "What took you so long?" he asked.

I shook my head and turned back to the road. "Nothing," I mumbled out and watched the rainy highway, waiting for any signs of vampires. I hoped to God that my scent wouldn't draw them away from Dean and up the hill. I had no doubt that my scent could easily overpower the Winchesters. However, there was a chance it would be drowned out – it was three humans against one skinwalker, after all.

The minutes ticked by and I picked at my nails aimlessly as we waited.

I perked up as I heard footsteps at the base of the hill, a much lighter pair than Dean's. "Look alive boys," I whispered to the father and son duo. "We've got company."

A female vampire rounded that car, probably meant to be a distraction. She sidled up to Dean ominously and spoke to him. I couldn’t hear her words from such a distance. My skin crawled as I glowered at her, tightening my grip on my machete. I was no good with a crossbow, but at least I could bust some heads with a knife.

Dean turned his head towards her and gave her a once over, his expression stalwart. She grinned at him and Dean chuckled, pulling his hands from his pockets. He replied to something she said with a cocky smirk-

The vampire chuckled breathily and backhanded him across the face, sending Dean stumbling to the side. I snarled and Sam held out an arm, stopping me from tumbling down the hill.

The vampire woman reached down and gripped Dean's face in her hand. Somehow, she managed to lift him off his feet, holding him suspended in the air as he thrashed in her grip. He grabbed her wrist and attempted to push her away. I glared as he pulled him closer and spoke softly to him.

And then she kissed him.

I felt like my blood was boiling, and I couldn't hold back the feral snarl that escaped from my lips. A jolt of electricity went down my spine, stemming from the base of my neck. Caeden was worried. I breathed deeply and shut my eyes, willing my heart rate to settle. The crackling feeling of electricity continued, mixing with the feeling of my boiling blood.

I felt like I was burning alive.

Dean spat as the woman pulled away from him, still keeping him suspended high in the air. He licked his lips in disgust and glared at her with revulsion. His leg flailed out in a harsh kick to her stomach. Her grip on his throat slipped.

"Now," John whispered, pulling back his bow string and knocking an arrow. Sam followed suit. The youngest Winchester let his arrow fly, and it hit its mark, burying itself in the chest of the second vampire.

That was good enough for me. I charged down the hill, a machete held at the ready. I heard the twang of John's bow as the arrow flew and embedded itself in the chest of the female. She gasped and glanced down at her chest.

"Dammit," she whispered and raised a shaky hand to touch the arrow tip.

I cascaded down the hill and tumbled into Dead, pushing him away from the downed vamp. "Are there any more of them?" I hissed at him. He shook his head and eyed the hillside where his brother and father were following my tracks.

John stumbled to a halt beside the female vampire, who still looked stricken at the arrow through her chest. I glared ferociously at her, putting myself between her and Dean. Her nostrils flared and she grimaced before glancing between the four of us. "Barely even stings," she said, hunched over slightly.

"Give it time sweetheart," John said with a confident grin. "That arrow's soaked in dead man's blood. It's like poison to you isn't it?" The vamp's eyes went wide and she swayed slightly. Her eyes traced back to mine with a heated glare. She inhaled deeply, wrinkled her nose in disgust, and then collapsed sideways into John's waiting arms.

"Load her up," he ordered, passing her off to Sam.

Dean pushed past me to grab the legs of the female and followed Sam down the road to where John's pickup was hidden. The brother’s worked to carry the vampire up the hill and into the woods. Dean dropped her legs unceremoniously to the ground while Sam carefully lowered her torso to the dirt.

I turned slowly at the sound of John's heavy boots snapping twigs beneath his feet. "Toss this on the fire," he called, tossing a small bag to the boys. Dean caught it one-handed and dropped it into the flame without question. "Saffron, skunk's cabbage, and trillium. It'll block our scent and hers until we're ready."

Dean coughed and sputtered, taking a step back from the fair and waving a hand in front of his face. "Stuff stinks!" he exclaimed as he moved to stand beside Sam.

"That's the idea," John said with a hearty chuckle. "Dust your clothes with the ashes, and you stand a chance of not being detected." I glanced towards the fire to see that it hadn't produced enough ashes yet to mask all of us. I motioned for Sam and Dean to go first – I was more concerned for their safety than I was for mine.

"You're sure they'll come after her?" Sam asked, patting ashes onto his clothes. He seemed to actually have confidence in his father now. I wondered what changed.

"Yeah. Vampires mate for life. She means more to the leader than the gun." John nudged the woman, and thankfully she didn't stir. "But the blood sickness is going to wear off soon, so you don't have a lot of time."

"A half-hour outta do it," Sam grumbled. John nodded and padded over to his sons, standing beside the fire.

"And then I want you two out of here as fast as you can," he ordered. You two, I thought. Not three. I clutched the edges of my coat, digging my nails into the plush fabric. 

"Dad, you can't take care of all of them by yourself," Dean protested, placing a hand on his father's shoulder.

John shook his head. "I'll have her, and the Colt."

"But after. We're gonna meet up, right? Use the gun together. Right?" Sam asked. John fell silent, his eyes taking in the flames. The orange glow washed over his features, turning his silver hair golden.

"You're leaving again, aren't you?" Sam continued, balling his hands into tight fists. "You still wanna go after the demon alone. You know, I don't get you," he spat, taking a few angered steps towards his father. "You can't treat us like this."

"Like what?" John spoke furiously, taking a step closer to Sam, practically nose to nose.

"Like children," Sam spat. "You're treating us like children."

"You are my children. I'm trying to keep you safe," John hissed, glaring up at his taller son.

Dean cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention to him. He took a step forward and spoke. "With all due respect, dad," he said slowly, "that's a bunch of crap."

My eyes went wide and I dropped the edge of my coat, eyes flitting between Dean and his father. I was getting used to Sam talking back to his father, but Dean? That was something else. I turned away from the conflict and lingered at the edge of the clearing beside my pick-up truck, parked neatly beside John’s, not wanting to get caught up in family drama more than necessary.

"You know what Sammy and I have been hunting. Hell, you sent us on a few hunting trips yourself. You can't be that worried about keeping us safe," he continued. I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, watching the display. Truthfully, I sided with the boys. John had no right to be ordering them around like this.

"It's not the same thing, Dean," John retorted, stepping away from Sam.

"Then what is it? Why do you want us out of the big fight?" Dean challenged, placing his hands on his hips in defiance.

"This demon? It's a bad son of a bitch. I can't make the same moves if I'm worried about keeping you alive-"

"You mean you can't be as reckless," Dean countered coldly. John fell silent and stared down at his oldest son before finally averting his eyes.

"Look... I don't expect to make it out of this fight in one piece. Your mother's death ... almost killed me. I can't watch my children die too. I won't," John muttered out, just barely loud enough for his sons to hear.

I couldn't help but flush. I felt like I shouldn't be here like this was something private and sacred to the Winchester family.

Dean took a few slow steps towards his father, looking worried. "What happens if you die? Dad, what happens if you die, and we coulda done something about it? You know I've been thinking. I... think maybe Sammy's right about this one. We should do this together." Sam nodded along with his words. "We're stronger as a family, Dad. We just are. You know it."

John fell silent again, his brown eyes flashing between his two sons, deep in thought. Finally, he turned away from them and spoke gruffly, "We're running out of time. You do your job and you get out of the area. That's an order."

Sam's fists curled once more and he stormed towards the fire, turning his back on his father. Dean stared in shock and then turned and moved to stand beside Sam.

I folded my arms tighter and leaned against the hood of my pickup, parked beside John's. I wrapped myself tighter in my coat, thinking. John had just enough stupidity and carelessness to sacrifice himself when there were other options, that was for sure. I was beginning to see where the boys got their recklessness from.

I flinched at the sound of my name rolling off of John’s tongue. I looked up to meet his brown eyes with furrowed brows. He nodded towards the trees, gesturing for me to follow, and then turned and began walking. My heart sank.

I glanced once towards the boys whose backs were to me and then pushed off my truck and followed, jogging to catch up with John.

We walked until the abandoned campsite was out of sight, a lingering trail of smoke above the treetops being the only indication it was there. After several minutes of walking, John stopped, his back still to me and his hands buried in his jacket pockets.

"You know," he began slowly. "I did some digging on you." He turned slowly to face me, a deep-set scowl masking the tired wrinkles on his face. He took a slow, threatening step forward and stopped. "There's no record of your uncle’s sister ever being pregnant. No hospital visits, no letters or phone calls. Nothing."

I shrugged and blinked slowly at him. "Guess she was good at covering her tracks," I offered and pursed my lips. "Hunters are pretty good at that. You would know that, John."

He held my gaze for a long moment before pulling his hands out of his pockets and reaching one towards his belt. His hand rested on his hip just in front of the glint of metal that signaled some weapon. "It's not just that," he continued. "I found something else pretty interesting. He never confirmed her death, either. There's no death certificate, no obituary, no record of a burial. Nothing other than his word. Now, I know some hunter’s try to leave things ambiguous – legal records and all, but-"

"Your point?" I interrupted, earning a harsh glare. I crossed my arms defiantly over my chest. Don't say it... don't say it...

"I don't think she died on that hunt."

Fuck.

He fell silent for a moment with his back to me. I picked at the sleeve of my coat and watched him intently. He cocked his head to the side as if waiting for a response. When none came, he finally spoke again. “Where did you say the boys picked you up? Alabama, a few months back?”

I nodded cautiously.

He sighed dramatically. “You know, I’m the one that sent them on that hunt – gave them the coordinates and everything. I went after what I thought was a skinwalker in New Mexico a few years back, never did find it. That case I sent them on was eerily similar.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” I defended. “Never seen a skinwalker in my life. Hell, I hardly hunted at all until I met your boys. Besides, skinwalkers are extinct. Everyone knows that.”

“Thought the same thing about vampires too until a few days ago.”

I tensed.

John took several slow steps forward until he was within inches of my face. I wrinkled my nose at the stench of cigarettes on his breath. "Your story doesn't add up," he growled lowly. He leaned forward, his mouth beside my ear. "I don't think you are who you say you are," he hissed.

I swallowed dryly.

John leaned back and glared heatedly, nearly black eyes raking angrily over my face. "So here's what's going to happen," he snapped. "When this case is over, you're going to leave. You're going to delete my sons' numbers. You're never going to contact them again. You're going to forget they ever existed, and they're going to do the same," he spoke softly, his tone icy and threatening.

I glowered at him and leaned forward defiantly. "Or what?" I spat.

"Or I put a bullet between your eyes," he growled firmly. "You're lucky that's not my first action. Whether I like it or not, my boys are fond of you. I'd rather not have to explain to them why their friend has a bullet in her skull."

I glared, holding his gaze for several agonizing moments before dropping my gaze. Getting shot would only make this worse – a normal bullet wouldn't kill me. My secret would be out, and everything would be so much worse.

"When this case is over, you're going to disappear into whatever hole you crawled out of," he ordered. And with that he pushed past me, shoving my shoulder harshly and sending me stumbling to the side.

I shuddered, my shoulders shaking uncontrollably as the pattering sound of his footsteps faded into the distance. I clenched my fists tightly, my muscles shaking from keeping them tense for so long.

"Asshole..." I whispered, running a hand across my cheek and finding it to be wet. I looked at my hand in surprise. Tears?

I choked back a sob.

Definitely tears.

I couldn't just leave the Winchesters, they were my family by now and some of my closest friends. I cared for them just as much as I cared for my pack. I cared for them more than I cared for myself.

On the other hand, I couldn't stay. That would generate more problems, for myself and the boys. I had no fear for any normal bullet, but if this trade-off went well and John really did manage to get the Colt from these vampires... then he really could kill me, and I had no doubt he would try.

It was all just a huge mess.

I sobbed as tears rolled down my cheeks, my nose becoming stuffy. I hiccuped and wiped the tears from my face, tears rolling from my fingertips and down my wrists. There was no way this day could possibly get worse.

And yet that sinking, foreboding feeling remained in the pit of my stomach.

I heard Dean's voice call my name from the woods, his voice full of concern. "You ready to go!?" he called out. I gasped a few times and wiped my tears on the sleeve of my coat – Dean's old coat, the Daeva claw marks exposing my back to the chilly air. I nodded as my breathing steadied, forgetting that he couldn't see me.

Ready as I can be ...

—

I followed the roaring Impala in my old beater, speeding down the highway and around sharp turns as my life depended on it. Truthfully, the lives of others depended on it. It was raining now, the water pounding against the windshield and my squeaky wiper blades struggling to clear the water enough for me to see clearly.

The Impala's tail lights flared, signaling that they were turning. I recognized it – we were close to the nest. I gripped the wheel and spun the truck hard, the rusted metal frame groaning in protest as it lurched down the dirt road.

The barn rose into view and I slammed on the breaks, grabbing my machete from the passenger's seat before I had even parked the truck. By now I was angry. I hated the way John spoke to me, made me feel replaceable. I knew it was just his flimsy attempt at control, but it made my skin itch.

I growled in rage and spun the blade in my hand, tightening my grip on the handle. There was one vampire blocking the entrance to the barn, his back to me.

He didn't even have time to fully turn towards me before I swung my blade, his head lolling to the side and hitting the ground with a dull thud. A spray of blood splashed across the cheeks as his body fell.

I reached for the barn doors and shoved them open, a flash of lightning illuminating the dull quarters.

I heard Dean shout from behind me, two pairs of feet thundering towards me. I spun to face them, a ferocious glare imprinted on my features that I knew wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.

"Get the humans out," I snapped. "Quickly, before more of them come back." I gestured towards the inside of the barn as if to say 'get going'. Dean cast me one last befuddled look before chasing Sam down the long hallway that led to the hostages.

The rain was pouring by this point, matting thin strands of hair to my face and obscuring my vision. It nearly washed away the scent of vampires, masking it with the smell of dew and wet earth.

A roaring noise came from the highway and I squinted in the darkness. Two bright white lights came tearing around the corner at an astounding speed, showing no sign of stopping. My eyes widened at the massive truck sped up, the driver flooring the accelerator and colliding with...

My truck.

"Son of a bitch!" I screamed and raced forward as three vampires exited the now crumbled truck. My shabby, rust-covered mess of a vehicle was thrown haphazardly on its side, caked in mud. The frame was crumpled, as though it had caved in on itself.

A vampire lunged for me, sharp-nailed fingertips groping at my jacket sleeve. I screamed and rage and tossed the blade into my opposite hand slamming the hilt down onto the monster's elbow joint. The vampire released its grip automatically. I snapped my arm upward, the butt of the blade connecting with the vampire's jaw and sending it sprawling backward.

Dean charged toward me with a shout of my name. I could practically feel his feet pounding into the wet earth behind me. I held up a hand to him, my blade held high before me in my other hand to ward off the bloodsuckers.

"Get the humans out of here, Dean!" I screamed my voice hardly a whisper over the raging storm. It almost seemed a miracle that he had heard me. "Get in the car and drive! Go help John!"

Dean faltered and screamed something into the pouring rain, something that not even my hyper-sensitive ears could pick up.

" Go!" I screamed and swiped at a vampire that had charged forward, cutting through its cheek, a spray of blood hitting my hand.

Moments later, the Impala roared to life, barely audible over the pouring rain. From the corners of my blurred vision, I saw the taillights disappearing into the distance, leaving me alone with the bloodsuckers.

I snarled at the vampires, my own teeth sharpening. My instincts were buzzing with the sense of danger, burning tingles crawling down my spine with each slogging step I took in the mud.

The thought of fleeing was scrapped the moment a vampire pounced, colliding with my chest and throwing me onto my back, sending my machete tumbling. Its second set of teeth descended in a flash and just as quickly it lunged for my throat. I threw an arm up, my forearm pressing into its neck and pushing it away as firmly as I could.

The vampire rolled to the side and hooked its claws into my arm, dragging it away from my body. I screamed and rolled to the side, kicking out. My foot connected with its ribs, the air escaping its lungs. My injured ankle protested at the impact.

Another gripped my leg, wrenching it away from its companion and yanking it from my body to the point where I thought they would drag it from the socket. I screamed in pain and fumbled for the machete only inches from my fingertips. The third stepped on my hand, crushing my wrist beneath its foot. I screamed and fought to free myself.

A shiver ran up my spine and my skull pounded, a foreign sensation rippling up my spine. I thrashed against my aggressors, my back arching off the ground in anger. Electricity ran from the base of my neck and to seemingly every point of my body. The tips of my fingers and toes twinged from the electrical shock.

Caeden.

He felt absolutely terrified, and at that moment I could almost see him, doubled over and clutching the edge of the dining table in pain, blue eyes blazing.

I roared and arched from the dirt, thrashing in their grip. A stinging sensation met my ankle, just above where Caeden had shredded the skin. The vampire lurched back, my blood running down its lips and leaving burning red trails. It dropped my leg and scrambled at its mouth, the skin blistering.

I reached over to the vampire who held my other arm and grabbed it by the jaw, smashing its face down into the harsh dirt, satisfied with the crunch I heard beneath my palm. I rolled and dashed to my feet, arms held high in defense.

The blistered vamp lunged, its teeth glistening red with my blood. The blood seemed to sizzle on its teeth, burning its lips and tongue. Monster blood. Not as appetizing as human blood, clearly. I punched, my tightly curled fist connecting with its jaw and sending it sprawling.

My blood was burning, hotter than it had ever felt before. It felt as though there were white-hot tendrils of energy coursing through my veins, burning my skin from the inside out, burning anything it touched. I lunged towards another vamp, tackling it to the ground. It landed with a loud thump beside my machete. My fingers curled around the wet handle and pressed into the vampire's throat. My blade sunk in, blood spilling from the wound. I snarled and pushed down with all my weight, cutting through the monster's throat.

A force tugged me off before I could finish the job. I snarled and spun, my blade colliding with the collar bone of another. I gripped its shoulder and yanked my blade out before bringing it down again, cutting clean through tendons and bones.

"What the hell are you!?" it screamed over the pouring rain, thunder blasting in the background. I grinned. What a sight it must have been, with molten eyes and blood-stained features.

"I'm a skinwalker," I snarled, fangs growing into my grin.

And suddenly, I had paws.

Black fur tore out of my skin, the clothes I had previously been wearing sinking into my flesh like a second skin. My bones cracked, snapping and breaking, rearranging into new shapes and immediately healing. I laughed, my laughter fading into howls of delight.

I was shifting.

I stood on my hind paws, towering over the vampire, and lunged, my paws connecting with its shoulder and knocking it over backward. My teeth latched onto its throat and I shook my great, furred head, shredding the tendons and then going back for more. After mere seconds, its neck was nothing more than a ragged stump, its head bloodied and laying nearby.

I wheeled on the final vamp, its neck bleeding and blood flowing down its throat. It gurgled and turned from me, sprinting in the opposite direction. I howled with joy and gave chase, tackling it to the ground in only a few steps, its neck between my jaws. In only a few seconds, its head was gone, joining the pile of others.

I sprung to my paws and trotted in a wide circle. It had been months since I had shifted, and even before I hadn't felt this much control and comfort. My skin burned with uncontrollable heat, and my blood pounded and thrummed in my veins, a mixture of intense heat and electricity.

I was whole again.

I tore off down the road, leaving the wreckage of my pickup behind. It was one of my last ties to my uncle, but now was not the time to mourn. I pounded down the road and yipped at the feeling of my paws barely hitting the asphalt road, the wind tearing through my fur. I stretched out my limbs, extending them to their full length, the muscles stressing and straining under the force of my sprinting.

It was an incredible feeling. And better yet, the rain was letting up, the moon's light becoming visible through the dense clouds.

My jaunt was ended all too quickly by the stench of vampires flooding my senses. I howled, the sound shaking the trees as the pads of my paws beat down on the road, drawing me ever closer to the monsters, to my boys.

The lights of the cars came into view, my golden eyes slipping over the scene before me as I sprinted ever closer. My eyes latched on a figure clutching another tightly to its body. Sam, I realized. The leader of the vamps was holding him tightly, an arm around his neck and heatedly glaring at Dean with a vicious look in his dark eyes.

I lowered my head and stretched my limbs further than I ever thought was possible, covering the distance in a few short leaps. I snarled and barrelled into the vampire before he could even blink, sending him and Sam sprawling across the wet pavement.

Sam tumbled to the side and the vampire reached for him, his fingers slipping against Sam's coat. I snarled and snapped at the vampire's hand, grinding my teeth into the freezing flesh and crushing the bones. The vampire howled in pain as blood filled my mouth. I spat it out onto the road, grimacing at the abhorrent flavor.

I lept back and grabbed Sam's shirt collar tightly in my mouth, dragging him towards Dean. Dean clutched his brother tightly, helping his brother to his feet as I spun on the vampire, fangs bared and covered in blood.

"You need to get out of here!" Dean shouted, shoving my shoulder. He hardly had to bend down to do so. I snarled and snapped at his hand, which he quickly withdrew. "Dad's got the gun!"

I don't care.

John could shoot me if he wanted, but I wasn't going to let anything touch the brothers. I took one step forward, planting my feet and snarling at the vampire as he stood on shaky feet.

"A skinwalker, huh?" the vampire confirmed, rubbing his bruised jaw with his good hand. "Thought you bastards were extinct."

"Luther!" the female from earlier called out. "Luther, baby, let's go!" Luther's eyes flickered between his mate and me, a scowl set on his face. His eyes flickered up to Dean and he rolled his shoulders, looking ready to charge.

"You people," he hissed. "Why can't you just leave us alone!? We have just as much a right to live as you do!"

A shuffling from behind Luther drew my attention and my ears flattened to my skull, lips drawn back.

"I don't think so," John uttered, Colt held high.

And then he fired.

It was like fireworks. The skin around the entry wound seemed to bubble and then disintegrate, a blue glow emanating from the hole. Luther's mate screamed from behind me, but I was too transfixed to care.

I had seen this before.

Luther slumped to his knees, his skeleton flickering like fire under his skin. He dropped to one hand, struggling to stay upright. Then, his face hit the ground, and with a resounding snap, his body exploded with light. I was still blinking away spots when the light fully disappeared.

My jaw slackened in shock, golden eyes wide. That glow... that was familiar. Where had I seen it? An engine roared to life somewhere in the distance, screams of protest and wails of despair fading into the background of the now gentle pitter-pattering of rain.

I wracked my brain for any memory that could indicate why I recognized that glow. Suddenly, one was thrust into the forefront of my mind. A skinwalker, with a hunter standing above him and a revolver aimed at his skull. A memory that wasn't mine.

The sound of a gun cocking drew my attention and I looked up to find the end of the Colt aimed between my eyes. I followed the length of the gun, up the arm of the wielder, to the wild eyes of John Winchester.

"Dad, stop!" Dean shouted and rushed in front of his father, shoving the Colt to the side. "Dad put the gun down!"

"Move, Dean!" John screamed back, fighting with his son to release his grip on the gun. "Get out of the fucking way!" he screamed and brought his free hand up to strike Dean, throwing him to the ground. Dean hit the dirt with a heavy thump and scrambled to his feet, clutching his cheek.

I snarled, my ears flattening against my skull. John swung the gun back towards me, his eyes raged filled and almost inhuman. "She's a monster, Dean! She lied to us!"

"No!" Sam shouted, moving to stand in front of his father, blocking his line of sight. "No, she lied to you!"

John's eyes flashed between his youngest and me, stalwart features morphing into absolute rage, a detestable grimace rising on his lips. "You knew!?" John screamed. "You knew, and you didn't tell me!?"

"We've known since day one!" Sam shouted, shoving his father backward slightly. John shouted in anger and shoved Sam away, pushing him to the side and aiming once more at my head. His finger rested on the trigger, and I heard the first half click, signaling he was ready to fire.

I shut my eyes.

I heard another click and expected to feel pain, to see light escaping from my body, to collapse into the expectant and waiting arms of death. Instead, I felt nothing other than the cool breeze raking through my fur and the pounding of my heart, beating wildly in my chest.

I opened my eyes.

John still held the gun to my head, though his eyes were elsewhere, turned to a familiar figure to his side. Dean.

"Put the gun down, dad," Dean ordered, his finger resting on the trigger of his own silver pistol, the gun aimed for his father's temple. My eyes went wide. John didn't move, simply staring at Dean in shock. "I said put the gun down!" he shouted, his hand visibly shaking. Silence hung in the air, thick enough to suffocate.

"You won't shoot me," John whispered, his brown eyes boring into Dean's green ones.

"You wanna test that theory?" Dean questioned, gripping the gun tighter. Tears welled up in his eyes and he took a deep breath, the air rattling in his lungs. "Put the gun down, dad. Now." The two glared silently at one another, gauging the other's resolve.

To my shock... John complied.

He lowered the gun to his side, his eyes never leaving Dean's. Hurt swam in his dark eyes, hurt and unfulfilled wrath. Slowly, he bent down to place the Colt on the ground. I blinked once, twice, and gazed up at Dean with wide eyes.

"She saved Sam, dad," Dean spoke. "More than once. And me. And you." Dean paused and blinked slowly. "She's not a monster."

Not a monster.

I inhaled deeply and felt my fur recede, the bones snapping and rearranging into their normal shape. I stood shakily on two legs, the boiling sensation quelling until I felt almost normal again.

John was silent, his eyes never leaving Dean's. Sam padded softly around his father and picked the Colt up from where it rested at John's feet. Dean lowered his gun.

Dean swallowed dryly and placed his gun back into his holster. John's eyes panned to mine as they faded back to their usual color, dull in comparison to the brilliant gold they once held. His eyes scanned my figure before settling once more on my eyes.

"Not a monster, huh?" he asked. "We'll see." And with that, he stormed past me and headed for his truck without another word.

I sighed in relief and placed my hands on my knees. I gagged, my stomach threatening to spill its contents. Never had I been so close to death.

"You alright?" Sam whispered, placing a gentle hand on my back. I nodded and wiped my mouth, waiting for my stomach to settle.

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Yeah, I'm fine." I placed a hand on Sam's shoulder as he helped to pull me up to my full height. My hands shook with increasing intensity, but I couldn't help but laugh. I threw my head back and laughed until I felt my ribs were going to break. The brothers looked appalled, their eyes wide with shock.

"Why the hell are you laughing?" Dean demanded, placing a hand on my back to steady me. "You could have died!"

"But I didn't!" I cheered, throwing my arms high in the air in excitement. "I didn't die!" I laughed again and collapsed into Dean, wrapping my arms around his neck in a tight hug and giggling softly. He gently placed his hands on my waist, glancing quizzically at Sam. "Thank you," I whispered. "For defending me."

Dean chuckled and wrapped his arms around my waist, finally hugging back. "Anytime, sweetheart." I hummed in delight and buried my face in his neck, exhaustion barreling into me like a racehorse. After what felt like days, I pulled away from him and stood shakily on my own two feet, unaided.

I sighed and grinned up at the night sky, the moon apparent and the clouds had nearly entirely dissipated. The sky was dappled with brightly glowing stars that seemed to smile down on me, rejoicing in the fact that I was alive.

Not a monster.

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch16: God's Instrument

Summary: A brief calm before the storm... Referenced Episodes: S1 E20 "Dead Man's Blood" CW: John Winchester being an asshole (per usual). Word Count: 6163 words. Recommended Song: Learning to Fly -- Pink Floyd Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

I wished I had asked to ride with the brothers. I wished I hadn't driven my damn truck. I was so tired of driving, and I was sure I was missing something crucial by not being in the car with them. Were they discussing the vampires? Or maybe their father? Who the fuck knows. I certainly didn't.

I pouted in my seat, mulling over what little I knew of the case so far. Some old hunter named Elkins had been killed by a group of vampires – a coven, I thought. Stupid name. Made me think of something a bunch of goth teenagers would call themselves. Though if the movies held any fact, vampires were just a bunch of goths.

Despite the sun bearing down on me and warming the entire of my old rust-bucket truck, I felt like I could fall asleep at any moment. To be fair, I had been awake for, what, thirty hours now? God, I couldn't wait to get to sleep.

My eyes snapped open as the Impala roared to life and flashed forward, swerving in front of John's glossy pickup. It screeched to a halt and Sam stormed out of the driver's side door not even a second after putting the car in park.

I pulled off the road, out of the way of any passing cars. Not that it mattered, as the boys and their father had effectively taken up three-quarters of the road. The door protested as I thrust it open and strode towards the quarreling Winchesters.

"We need to talk," Sam shouted across the road to his father, who was just stepping out of his vehicle. Sam looked absolutely livid, his hands balled into tight fists. Dean looked visibly annoyed behind him, although clearly more so at his brother than his father.

"About what?" John hissed out and stopped in front of Sam, nose to nose with his taller son.

Sam sneered and gestured wildly. "About everything. Where are we going, Dad? What's the big deal about this gun? How do you know it can kill the demon?"

Dean placed his hand on Sam's shoulder and his younger brother roughly shoved him off. He scowled. "Sammy, come on, we can Q-and-A after we kill all the vampires."

"Your brother's right, we don't have time for this," John added. I frowned. There was always time to discuss what was going on - the boys had a right to know.

"John, you can't keep them in the dark," I offered, keeping my tone as polite as possible. His eyes snapped to mine, holding a furious look in them that made my skin crawl. "We have as much right to know what's going on as you do."

John glared daggers at me and I squared my shoulders, standing my ground. Maybe we had been the wrong word. I hated that he thought that look would get him anywhere with me. I wasn't his sons, I couldn't be ordered around like a soldier.

"Last time we saw you, you said it was too dangerous for us to be together. Now out of the blue, you need our help," Sam shouted angrily, pointing an accusing finger at his father. "Now obviously something big is going down, and we wanna know what!" I winced. Sam's aggression wasn't going to get him anywhere with John. It was like talking to a brick wall that could punch you.

John's hands curled into fists and he glared ferociously at his youngest son. "Get back in the car," he finally ordered, his tone low and icy, thick with malice.

Sam snorted as though it was some joke. "No," he sneered, his tone equally as dangerous. My eyes widened in shock. I had never heard the boys talk back to their father, and I had never expected to see it. They had been so happy to reunite with him again, and now suddenly it was crumbling.

I glanced towards Dean, whose green eyes were just as wide. They quickly narrowed with annoyance and frustration. I sidled over to him and placed my hand gently on his upper arm reassuringly. Thankfully, he didn't shrug me off as Sam had done to him.

"I said get back in the damn car," John ordered, his voice rising with increasing anger.

"And I said no!" Sam shouted, moving to take a step towards his father. In a flash, Dean was between them, his hand placed on Sam's chest and pushing him back.

"Alright, you’ve made your point, tough guy," he growled out, glaring at his father and younger brother. "Look, we're all tired, we can talk about this later. Sammy, I mean it, come on." He flashed Sam a meaningful look and gave him one last shove in the direction of the Impala.

Sam held his father's stare for another few seconds and then turned away, eyes focused on the ground and fists curling and uncurling in rage. "This is why I left in the first place," he grumbled.

My eyes snapped open. I had heard very little of why Sam had left the family and gone to college. Frankly, I thought it wasn't any of my business. I knew Sam and his father had gotten into an argument, but I never knew the extent of it.

My eyes shifted to John, who looked stricken and utterly appalled. His eyes narrowed quickly and he ground his teeth together. "What'd you say?"

Oh, fuck.

Sam spun on his heels and snarled at his father. If looks could kill, John would have been in pieces. "You heard me," he snapped.

"Yeah," said John as he took a few long strides towards Sam. "You left. Your brother and me, we needed you. You walked away, Sam," he spoke, his words dripping with hurt and pent-up anger. "You walked away!"

I winced at Dean's pitiful attempts to separate the both of them, his words being drowned out by their argument. We didn't have time for this – there was a case at hand, and if we didn't hurry up, those vamps might attack more people.

"You're the one who said don't come back Dad, you closed that door, not me!" Sam retorted, taking a step closer to his father, "You were just pissed off that you couldn't control me anymore!"

John lunged forward and reached for Sam's shirt. In a flash, I dove between them and reflexively pushed them apart, my strength sending them backward and sprawled across the road. "That's enough!" I shouted fists clenched in frustration. "Both of you, get back to your cars. We'll discuss this civilly after we work this case." I growled out, casting glares between the two men. "I refuse to put up with your petty bullshit when there are lives on the line. You can sort out your feelings later."

The two men fell silent, glaring heatedly at each other, and looking as though they still had spiteful words they wanted to share. "Get in your cars now," I hissed out, tone low and threatening. I turned my head to glare down at John, whose eyes held an air of disobedience that drew a shiver of anger down my spine. "Go," I snarled.

I held John's glare for a few moments until he finally stood. He brushed off his clothes and cast me one last suspicious look before turning back towards his truck without a word. I wheeled slowly on Sam, who was being pulled to his feet by his brother.

"I don't care what kind of argument you and your dad had in the past," I said coldly. "Now is not the time to be discussing it. Get your shit together so we can solve this case," I spat and turned on my heels, storming back to my truck.

The truck groaned softly as I changed gears and followed John down the highway, the brothers not far behind me. I tapped my fingers loudly against the side of the wheel in irritation, deep in thought. I couldn't help but wonder why Sam felt that now was the time to act out. Sure, I could understand it – even I disliked the fact that John thought he could immediately take over and that anyone would follow him without question.

It seemed to me that John was borderline narcissistic, although clearly unintentionally. He cared a lot for his sons, that much was clear, but he had a funny way of showing it. Treating your companions as soldiers was never the way to garner respect.

But on the flip side, it was selfish for Sam to resume this argument now of all times. I could see why John was so frustrated – we were finally one step closer to getting revenge, and his son, who he thought would have his back, was now challenging his authority.

I could understand the desire for revenge. Hell, I felt it when I discovered that my uncle was murdered by a wraith. I still felt it.

The Winchester family was a mess.

I sighed and gripped the wheel tighter, my eyes following John's truck as it weaved down the road. Finally, he flashed his right turn signal and darted off to the right, down an exit road that would presumably lead back to town. I followed closely behind.

The road was starting to blur when John finally halted in front of a shabby-looking building, the motel sign flashing dimly above the roof. "Thank God," I mumbled to myself as I pulled into a parking space beside his truck. Moments later, the Impala came roaring around the corner and screeched to a halt beside my truck. I winced at the sound of the tires squealing.

I pushed my door open and slid out, wincing at the prickling sensation in my feet. My muscles felt stiff from the long day of driving, just as I had anticipated. I pulled the keys from the ignition and dug around in the back seat for my bag.

The sound of footsteps drew my attention and I turned to face Sam, a tired scowl on his face. "You wanna stay in our room, or get your own?" he asked bluntly.

I turned away from him and fished my backpack off the floor, swinging it over my shoulder. "I'll get my own room. Don't think your dad would be too happy about me crashing with you." Sam scoffed and spun on his heels without another word. I rolled my eyes; he was acting like a child.

I ignored John's gaze as I marched past him to the main office. I could feel him glaring daggers into my back as I walked. Sure, I understood why he was mad – I interrupted a family argument that I likely had no place taking part in. Didn't help that I was sure he still didn't quite trust me...

My mind raced as I thought of my actions this evening. It was stupid of me to get between them, to shove Sam and John apart. Of course he looked at me suspiciously, I practically threw both of them! I cast a nervous glance over my shoulder, only to find John had disappeared, along with the boys.

I needed to be more careful.

The main office of the motel was quite nice and well put together. Lights cast a golden glow around the room, but they weren't so bright as to be obnoxious. The room had a tasteful color scheme, cream with light brown accents, and the occasional large fake plant was scattered around. I hoped the actual motel rooms would be just as pleasant.

The woman at the front desk had a cigarette between her garishly red lips, the lipstick staining the shaft. She held a magazine in her hands and her eyes, covered in heavy blue eyeshadow, darted across the page.

Her eyes flitted up to meet mine as my heavy boots padded across the linoleum floor. Her eyes went wide and her jaw slackened, the cigarette hanging loosely between her red lips. It took me several seconds to realize what a mess I must look like, covered in bruises and scrapes. She hurriedly put her magazine aside and turned her attention toward me.

"What can I do for you, honey?" she asked sweetly. "Do you need a room?"

I nodded and flashed her the sweetest smile I could muster, hoping it would make up for my unsightly features. "Yes, please. One bed," I said, handing her my credit card.

She nodded and filled out her ledger. She glanced at me one last time, her brown eyes scanning my face nervously, and then handed me a room key. "Room 105, in front of the parking lot. You can pay when you check out." I smiled again and thanked her before spinning on my heels and walking back out the door, her eyes boring into me as I went.

Thankfully, room 105 wasn't far from the main office. In fact, it was only a few doors down from Sam and Dean, and supposedly their father. I assumed John was in a separate room, but close by. He was always close by.

The room was small and undecorated, but cozy, with a small kitchenette and bathroom. I left the door open a crack, as I didn't plan to stay long.

I dumped my bag on the bed, rummaging through it. Finally, I drew my hairbrush from it and a small pack of makeup. I rarely used makeup, it just wasn't something I thought about, but for cases where we needed to look professional, it wasn't a bad idea. I hummed in delight, knowing I could finally make myself look presentable.

I froze when I saw myself in the bathroom mirror. I really hadn't expected it to look that bad. My jaw was decorated with various bruises, ranging from deep blue in the center and fanning out to greenish-yellow. My eye didn't look much better, the skin around the socket nearly purple with tinges of red. My nose, although corrected and back in its usual place, was scuffed, with deep but short cuts along the bridge. My lip was split, although not severely enough for it to sting every time I wet my lips.

I frowned at my reflection. No amount of concealer would be able to cover this up entirely. I sighed and ran the brush through my hair, starting at the ends and working my way up. It was knotted, and in some spots matted.

I looked like someone had repeatedly hit me with a baseball bat.

My hair was a nightmare to tame, though I did eventually manage to get it back to its normal state. I stared at my face, not even sure where to start. I leaned forward, placed my hands on the countertop, and inspected each bruise.

"Need some help?" I heard a voice from the doorway and I jumped, stumbling back until my heels hit the rim of the tub. In the doorway stood Dean, smirking confidently and leaning against the door frame.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound cruel.

His smirk dropped and he buried his hands deep into his pockets, a dejected expression on his face. "Don't exactly want to be around dad or Sam right now. Didn't know where else to go and, well... your door was open." He reached up to scratch the back of his neck nervously. "I can leave if-"

"No!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up, "No, it's alright. I don't mind you being here, honestly." He smiled lazily in response and then cleared his throat, gesturing at the sparse makeup supplies on the counter.

"So... you need any help?" he questioned. I crossed my arms and smirked.

"Do you know how to do makeup?" I asked, a teasing note in my voice. The tips of Dean's ears flushed and that confident smirk quickly returned.

"Can't be too difficult," he replied. "You just smear it on, right?"

I chuckled at his cluelessness. "Something like that," I teased, though it was very clear by my tone that there was a lot more to it than that. I took a few steps towards the counter and reached for a washcloth, wetting it and gently dragging it down my cheeks. "Honestly, I should probably take a shower. I took one before I left the house, but it's been, what, almost twenty-four hours since then?" I dabbed the cloth under my eye and winced as the soft fabric made contact with the damaged skin.

Dean hummed in response as his fingers ran over the various makeup items. I hadn't bothered to bring anything too big with me. A few small brushes, some blush, and concealer, but that was about it. He lifted a brush and inspected it. "I don't know why you brought any of this," he muttered.

My hand stopped its circling motions, the towel coming to a halt on my cheek. My eyes drifted towards his relaxed reflection and his veridian eyes met mine. "What?" I asked, hoping he would clarify.

"You don't need it," he added, his eyes never leaving the mirror, and subsequently mine. "You always look good, even without it."

I couldn't help but blush, my eyes dropping to the sink as I ran the cloth under the water again. "Yeah, maybe normally I do," I mumbled. "But right now..."

"You look beautiful," he interjected. I stiffened, the warm water running down my fingers and spilling into the sink. "Makes you look tough." If I hadn't been blushing before, I certainly was now, the pink likely complementing the red bruises around my eye. Dean placed the brush back on the counter and turned his eyes away from my reflection and towards me. "What happened anyway?"

It took me a few seconds to respond while I continued to run the cloth under the water. Beautiful. In what reality? "Got into a fight," I began. "With Caeden. Nothing much." I regretted saying it as soon as I did. There was more than I was letting on, and there was no doubt he knew that.

Dean jumped to his feet in a hurry and leaned toward me. "What d'you mean you got into a fight with Caeden? He attack you or something?"

"No, nothing like that," I replied, finally shutting the water off. "Just a sparring match gone wrong."

Dean fell silent, inspecting my profile. I refused to look at him – if I did, I was sure he would know that there was more to the story. Truthfully, I wasn't even sure why I was hiding it from him. Maybe because I didn't want him to worry? Hell, the last time I told him something when even I didn't know the full story, he was ready to go apeshit on a few whispers.

"You know, you've got a limp," he finally said, his tone serious. "I noticed it as soon as you got out of your truck today."

"It's really nothing, Dean," I said, trying not to sound desperate. "I'm fine."

"Like hell you are," he grumbled. I winced at his tone. I almost would have felt better if he had yelled at me, called me an idiot for getting hurt. "You look like you got run over by a bulldozer, sweetheart," he growled out.

"And yet I'm still beautiful?" I hissed out. "Which is it, Dean? Am I beautiful, or am I a mess?" The room was silent, save for the occasional drop of water from the soaked towel hitting the counter.

I yelped as I was suddenly lifted in the air, large hands gripping my waist. Dean sat me down gently on the countertop and reached for the washcloth, his fingertips brushing over the back of my hand. "What you are," he said as he gently ran the cloth over my cheek, "is stubborn."

I frowned and placed my hands on my knees, glaring at him. "How so?"

His green eyes flickered to mine for a split second and then immediately darted back to my various bruises. "I know there's something you're not telling me," he retorted. "I just don't know what- or why." I froze, panic gripping my lungs like talons, squeezing the air out in a split second. I fell silent. Dean continued his silent ministrations, paying special attention to my hairline and just in front of my ears where I was sure to have missed spots of blood.

"You know," he began, "I'm a bit worried about dad." At this I lifted a brow and flickered my eyes to his, expecting him to continue. "He... I think he might be on to you."

I stiffened and gripped his wrist, stopping his movements. "And you only thought to tell me this now!?" I hissed out. Dean's eyes went wide and then quickly narrowed.

"Well I haven't exactly had much time to talk to you," he spat. He pouted briefly and turned my head to the side slightly, dragging the cloth slowly down my neck. "He was asking about you yesterday after you hung up the phone on him. Asking what we knew about you, where you came from, your hunting experience."

"Shit," I mumbled out, casting my gaze downward. Dean hummed quietly.

"You throwing him today probably didn't help," he added. I rolled my eyes and watched him. His gaze was focused and his lips drawn tightly together in thought. I had to admit, it was a nice view. It dawned on me then that Dean was probably just as exhausted as I was, although likely for entirely different reasons. Who wouldn't be tired after having to deal with their quarreling brother and father all day?

Dean took a step back to inspect my bruises, eyebrows drawn together in thought. "Alright," he said. "I think I got it all. Now let's see if I can figure out this makeup." A grin spread across my features as he fumbled with the brushes, unsure of which one to grab. I pointed to the concealer by his hand and he quickly snatched it. "Why are you even putting makeup on? Aren't you going to go to bed?"

I chuckled softly and kicked my legs softly, my heels hitting the counter. "I was thinking about getting some food first. Dried gas station jerky can only get you so far, you know?"

Dean laughed and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it up slightly. My eyes followed his motions and settled on his face as his hand fell. So many freckles, I thought. I could probably spend days counting them.

"When was the last time you ate a real meal?" Dean asked, unscrewing the cap on the liquid concealer. I giggled at his shocked expression when he realized it had a small brush on the end.

"Probably breakfast, yesterday?" I responded, failing to keep the questioning tone out of my voice. "It really depends – do you consider jerky and Oreos to be a meal?"

Dean laughed and lifted my head, pinching my chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger. "An emergency meal, maybe."

I shrugged. "Well, it was an emergency. And I've got a few Oreos left in the package. Maybe I can have that for dinner," I teased.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Dean grumbled and smeared a glob of concealer across my cheek.

I grimaced and gripped his wrist in my hand. "Not that much," I said. He frowned and reached to wipe some off with his thumb, but I caught his other wrist. "Take a washcloth and spread it gently," I added, reaching for a dry cloth at the end of the counter. "Like this," I said, demonstrating on my own cheek. His eyes followed my movements and he nodded, taking the cloth from me.

I fell silent as he did his best to apply it. I watched him while he worked, smiling slightly each time his expression changed. He had a tendency to poke the inside of his cheek with his tongue when he was focused - it amazed me how intent he was on making it look right.

Finally, he took a step back and gave my face one last inspection before nodding. "I think I did it," he said, looking pretty pleased with himself. I lifted a teasing brow and hopped down from the counter, spinning on my heels to inspect his work.

He really hadn't done a bad job; maybe it was applied a bit too thick here or there, but overall it looked clean. The bruises were still apparent under the makeup, but not until you were close enough to get a clear look.

I grinned widely and turned to face him, nodding excitedly. His own eyes widened in excitement and he smirked. "See? Told you I knew how to do it."

I laughed and grinned happily at him. "I should have never doubted you, Winchester." His smirk widened with confidence, and I reached to take the cloth from him, dabbing softly at a few spots that needed some correction. I looked like a new woman. I smiled at his reflection in the mirror. "You ready to go to dinner?"

—

The vampire's den was a shabby old barn that looked as though it would fall apart in a strong gust of wind. The Winchesters and I watched as a beaten old Camaro pulled up to the barn doors where another vampire stood watching.

The vampire in the doorway ushered his companion in, a clear argument commencing between them. From this distance, I couldn't hear them. It bothered me, to say the least.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered to my side. "So they're really not afraid of the sun?"

John shook his head. "Direct sunlight hurts like a nasty sunburn. The only way to kill 'em is by beheading. And yeah, they sleep during the day - doesn't mean they won't wake up." I frowned in thought; surely there had to be more to them than just that. Knowing that there was a monster out there that I didn't understand made my skin crawl. I prided myself in my knowledge of monsters, and yet even I had believed they were extinct.

"So I guess walking in's not our best option," Dean joked with a soft chuckle. John laughed.

"Actually, that's the plan," John replied. Three heads snapped to him, and utter shock filled my eyes. John motioned for the group to stand, and the boys followed him to his weapons cache. I marched towards  my pickup, feeling resolute. At least I knew one thing that could kill them.

I flipped a latch just behind the passenger's seat and pushed the bench seat upwards, revealing the stash of weapons underneath. The lock was rusty and stiff, but luckily still kept everything in place.

"Hey Dad, I've got an extra machete if you need one," Dean called.

John laughed and held up his own, a nasty-looking blade with a serrated edge. "I think I'm good." Dean's jaw dropped, an awestruck and giddy look on his face. I rolled my eyes. Of course, he would geek out over a cool knife. "So you boys really want to know about this Colt?" John asked.

"Yes sir," Sam called back as he rifled through the weapons in the back of the Impala. I listened intently as I sorted through my uncle’s mess of equipment for suitable weapons.

"It's just a story, a legend really. Well, I thought it was. Never really believed it until I read Daniel's letter..." his voice faded off wistfully. He shook his head and picked up the story again. "Back in 1835, when Halley's comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo, they say Samuel Colt made a gun. A special gun, like uh- an instrument of God, I think he called it. He made it for a hunter, a man like us only on horseback. Story goes he made thirteen bullets, and this hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. And somehow Daniel got his hands on it." John sighed as he ran a rag over his machete blade. "They say... they say this gun can kill anything." A shiver ran down my spine. A gun that could kill anything... John had mentioned it yesterday in passing, but to know the legend... made it seem all the more real.

I had never been afraid of most man-made weapons until that moment. Guns had never bothered me in the past, unless it carried silver in its cartridge. But now... There had to be something this gun couldn't kill. If not, then this thing truly was the embodiment of the wrath of God.

"Kill anything, like, supernatural anything?" Dean questioned.

"Like the demon?" Sam added.

John nodded. "Yeah, the demon. Ever since I picked up its trail I've been looking for a way to destroy that thing. Find the gun – we may have it."

I shook my head in disbelief. Everything was changing so quickly. First the pack, then my barrier... I thought I had overcome that, but now... I couldn't even make contact with my instinctive side, and it felt like it was vastly out of my control anytime I did shift.

And now this gun.

I suddenly had so much to worry about, so much to fear. What if I could never access my paws like I had been able to in the past? And what about the whispers?

It was a firm possibility that maybe I was just going nuts. I wished that were the case, but it couldn't be. Crazed whispers don't lead you around.

"Hey!" Sam called my name from the other side of the Impala, peeking his head around. "You ready to go?"

I reached for the belt I had been loading with supplies. A gun, just in case, with an extra magazine of bullets, several knives, including a silver one, and a machete, strapped to my waist. I hooked the belt around my waist and looked over my supplies. After making sure everything was there, I nodded to Sam and followed the Winchesters down the hill and towards the nest of vampires.

John led us to the side of the barn where a large window was latched. He quietly broke the latch and opened the window, allowing cascades of light to filter into the barn. With one last glance over his shoulder, he slipped into the room. Dean followed close behind, then Sam, and then finally me. My boots hit the straw floor with a dull thump.

John had already disappeared into the shadows, intent on his search for the Colt, as he had called it. My eyes surveyed the large room, taking it in.

The vampires, to my surprise, slept in hammocks. I had half expected them to sleep upside down, like in the movies. One side of the room was packed with sleeping vamps, their limbs strewn awkwardly over the sides of the net hammocks, gentle snores coming from the odd comatose body. To the right was a small bar with several empty bottles of jack littered across the countertop.

A particularly loud snore came from my left and I stiffened, instinctively reaching for my machete handle. Thankfully, the monster didn't wake up.

The monster. It was strange how quickly I began to see them as the enemy, despite being just like them. But then again, I didn't kidnap young couples.

A soft clinking caught my attention and I whipped my head to a fallen bottle, next to Dean's foot. He winced and glanced nervously at a sleeping vampire. The vampire didn't wake. I held back a sigh of relief and moved away from the sleeping vamps, toward the mini-bar.

The bar was full of alcohol and reeked of bloody, poorly made margaritas. I wrinkled my nose in disgust, having never enjoyed the pungent smell of alcohol, especially not when mixed with blood. I whirled around, eyes scanning my surroundings and looking for anything that could possibly give a hint at what had happened to the humans.

"Dean," Sam whispered from down the hall. My ears pricked – they must have found them. I walked slowly around the countertop, making my way towards the sound of Sam's voice.

"There's more of them," Dean whispered back. raised my eyebrows in surprise. More humans? How many more?

The hallway was dark and lined with various doors. The smell of vampires dampened the scent of the boys. I hoped I would never have to smell another vampire after this. They smelled like an off mix of life and decay, like the sickly-sweet aroma of life could possibly mask the stench of rot. I cast a glance over my shoulder at the sleeping vamps. They didn't look to be rotting. Maybe it just came with the title of 'undead.'

Suddenly, someone screamed, a feral, rage-filled noise. I jumped and reached for my machete, drawing it from its sheath. Too late, the vampires were beginning to stir.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, grabbing his brother by the arm and dragging his brother down the hallway towards me. I waved them over, machete held high in defense.

"Go!" I shouted, ushering them past and following them. I heard a crash from behind me, like the sound of breaking glass, and John's muffled voice. Spinning on my heels, I stopped beside the door. "John, come on!" I screamed, holding my blade high as I charged back towards the hallway.

"What are you doing!?" Dean shouted as he burst through the barn doors and into the sunlight. I waved him away and raised my blade at the flock of angry vampires.

"I've got this, Dean, just go!" I shouted back, hoping he would listen and run with Sam back to the cars. The sound of footsteps pounding up the hillside told me they did. I sprinted towards the hallway and was stopped by an arm linking around my waist and throwing me backward. I snarled as I was thrown to the ground and quickly leaped to my feet.

The vampires had formed a loose circle around me, blocking the exit. A hiss drew my attention and my eyes flitted back towards the vamps, gauging me with angry, but unsure eyes. I snarled and sidestepped, taking a few steps closer to where I had heard John's voice.

A vampire lunged forward, reached to grab my arm, and drag me into the throng. I swung wildly with my blade, cutting through the bloodsucker's forearm. It hissed and lept back, clutching its arm. I snarled through gritted teeth and pounced towards the vampires blocking my route to John.

The vampires stepped back, wary looks in their eyes. I spun and swung my blade at vampires that were approaching from behind. The vampires glanced between each other and wrinkled their noses in disgust.

"You're not human," one grumbled out lowly, and I recognized him as the vampire that had driven the Camaro earlier that day. "What the hell are you?" I grimaced and bared my teeth at the vamp, hissing quietly.

I heard John shout my name as he burst out of the room, two vampires hot on his trail and a machete clutched tight in his hand. No gun. "Go!" He shouted, spinning to face the vampires with a machete in hand.

I charged forward and swung at the row of vamps blocking me from John. Those that didn't spring out of my way received deep cuts to their abdomens. I reached forward and gripped John by his coat sleeve, dragging him with me. Together, we raced towards the barn doors, a horde of vampires chasing us as we went.

Warm sunlight beat down onto our backs, and still, we didn't stop, panting as we crested the hill and the cars came into view.

"Dad!" Dean called out. "Dad, are you alright!?" John nodded and waved his son away, placing his hands on his knees and panting heavily.

"I'm fine too, thanks for asking," I sassed, slipping my machete into its sheath and leaning against the hood of the Impala.

Dean glared over his shoulder and rounded on me, a furious glare on his face. "That was stupid of you!" he shouted. "You could have been killed!"

"Lay off, Dean," John wheezed. He stood to his full height, albeit a bit shaky. "She did good," he said with a small nod in my direction. John sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "They won't follow. They'll wait till tonight. Once a vampire has your scent, it's for life."

I stiffened, my nails digging into the black chrome paint beneath my hands. Sam scowled and leaned against the car next to me. "Then what do we do now?" he asked, his voice gruff with uncertainty.

John chuckled morbidly and his eyes settled on me, a deep scowl on his worry-lined features. "You gotta find the nearest funeral home, that's what."

I groaned and placed my face in my hands. "I shouldn't have agreed to come on this stupid hunt."

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch15: Coven

Summary: An uncomfortable exchange pushes the reader back toward the Winchesters... Referenced Episodes: S1 E20 "Dead Man's Blood" CW: None, unless you hate exposition. Word Count: 7033 words. Recommended Song: Flight of Icarus -- Iron Maiden Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

I held an ice pack to my bruised cheek, my legs dangling limply off the side of the counter I perched on. I winced a Sasha wiped antiseptic on my arm, feeling it sting the wounds on my upper arm. The kitchen was silent, save for the occasional rustling of bandages as Calliope fumbled with them. No one had said a word since the end of my fight with Caeden.

I reached a quivering hand to the base of my neck, resting my fingertips on a spot that seemed to thrum under my touch. It felt as though electricity was humming from my neck and down my spine. It was nothing I had ever felt until now and began shortly after seeing what I assumed were Caeden's memories.

I could feel him. He was confused and nervous just as I was. What had happened to us?

I jumped as the back door was thrown open, banging harshly against the wall, and was sure to leave a mark. Sasha lurched backward and dragged the antiseptic harshly down my arm, drawing another wince from me. I pulled the ice pack from my bruised cheek and turned my tired eyes to meet Marcus's seething, veridian ones.

"What the fuck did you do to him?" Marcus snarled, his tone low, dangerous, and full of wrath. It brought prickles down my spine and an instinctive warning growl from my lips. "What the fuck did you do!?" he demanded, stomping forward. Calliope was quick to jump to her feet and block Marcus's path. She placed her hands on his chest, pushing him back gently.

He growled ferally and gripped her wrists tightly, yanking them away from him and shoving her to the side. Calliope stumbled into Sasha, who caught her and helped to steady her much taller friend.

Marcus stormed towards me and snatched the front of my shirt, gripping it tightly and pulling my face towards his. "You could have killed him!" he spat. I grimaced and laced a hand gently atop his.

"Marcus, he was trying to kill her!" Sasha countered, a pleading tone in her voice. "We all saw it- he looked like he was out for blood!"

Marcus's eyes stayed focused on mine as he thrust a hand towards Sasha, gesturing for her to shut up. "Caeden doesn't kill people. He wouldn't-"

"Yes, he does. He tried to kill that hunter, and I know why, Marcus," I uttered. "I know what the hunter did. I saw it happen." His eyes widened to the size of saucers, anger dissipating into shock. And just as quickly as it had gone, the rage flooded back into his eyes.

His curled fist released my shirt and lunged for my throat, thumb pressing against the side of my throat. I gasped and reached for his wrist, digging my nails into his skin in fright. "How the hell do you know about that!?" he demanded. His green eyes glowed and he looked to be seconds away from bursting into his fur.

My grip on his wrist tightened and I glowered at him. "Get off of me," I hissed out, punctuating each word with a harsh growl. His grip waived for a moment at my tone. My hand lurched forward and I dug my thumb into the space behind his collar bone, a sensitive pressure point. Marcus winced, his shoulder sagging and grip loosening, but not enough for me to escape.

And suddenly a force like a raging bull crashed into Marcus and tackled him to the floor. I gasped, air filling my lungs once again. Marcus hadn't been trying to kill me, but he had certainly deprived me of needed oxygen.

I turned my furious gaze back toward the blond. Marcus snarled and thrashed beneath Booth who had him pinned to the floor by his neck and shoulders. "Let him go, Booth," I said as I slid off the countertop, my bare feet touching the cold wooden floors. Booth's cold gaze surveyed me with concern before he stood, relinquishing his hold on Marcus.

I placed my palms flat on the counter behind me and glowered darkly at Marcus. He wheezed and stood shakily on his feet, propping himself up against the opposite counter, and avoided my gaze.

"I don't know what happened," I began. Marcus's eyes rose to meet mine, surprise swirling amongst the wrath. "One moment I thought he was going to kill me, and the next-" I stopped, shutting my mouth. What had happened next? Visions? I turned my gaze towards Booth. "How is he?" I inquired.

Booth shrugged and crossed his muscled arms over his broad chest. "He's in the bunkhouse. Andrew's patching him up."

I nodded and pushed away from the counter. My eyes locked with Sasha's frightened pair and then flitted towards Calliope's. The pair were gripping each other as if they were their last lifelines. "Keep an eye on Marcus," I said softly. "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

Calliope nodded and her blue eyes trained on Marcus, whose head was bowed in defeat, fists clenched in subdued rage. I spared him one last worried glance before making my way to the bunkhouse, Booth not too far behind me.

For once I detested the walk to the bunkhouse. My joints were protesting throughout the rather short walk and I couldn't help the occasional stumble. The weak muscles that had been slowly regrowing after the recent Daeva attack were complaining the most.

The door to the bunkhouse was slightly ajar, likely from when Marcus had stormed out with Booth close behind, neither bothering to shut it behind them. I reached forward, fingertips brushing the wooden edges cautiously. With a deep sigh, I pulled the door towards me and nervously poked my head in. Light cascaded into the dark room, illuminating the dust that drifted softly through the air.

My eyes fell on Andrew's hunched form, his back to me. He fumbled with his medical supplies, his hands obviously trembling. He turned his head towards me upon hearing the door creaking open, red curls bouncing and brown eyes full of worry.

Behind him was Caeden. The older man was slumped forward, head hung low and an arm draped surreptitiously across Andrew's lap, a bandage loosely draped across his forearm that I was sure the redhead would apply momentarily. His deep brown eyes were closed and an odd, almost pained expression rested on his features.

Andrew pursed his lips and scrunched his eyebrows together, looking as though he wanted to say something. Instead, he turned back to the slumped male in front of him and continued his work. I stepped lightly into the room and padded towards them, the floorboards creaking quietly beneath my bare feet.

Booth stood motionless in the doorway, leaning against the frame in a way that he could see both the back porch and into the bunkhouse, depending on how he turned his head. My gaze flitted back towards his, and he nodded reassuringly.

I sat and pulled my knees to my chest, eyes dancing between Andrew's reproachful eyes and Caeden's exhausted features. The room was silent, save for the rustling of bandages – it appeared to be a common theme today.

"Did you get Marcus sorted?" came Caeden's quiet voice, breaking the silence. I jumped, having thought that maybe he was asleep, or at the very least had no intention of talking to me.

"He's with Sasha and Calliope," I murmured, wringing my hand. "They're keeping an eye on him."

"Good," he chimed softly. "You ran out of here in a hurry. I figured you'd be able to handle it." I chuckled softly and dropped my gaze to the floor, a slight smile rising on my lips. I jolted once again as Caeden started to speak. "I don't suppose you know what happened?"

I shook my head. "No. I was hoping you might."

Caeden chuckled almost morbidly. He slowly lifted his arm from Andrew's grasp – the younger boy seemed like he wanted to protest, but remained quiet. Caeden inspected the bandages and quietly thanked Andrew, ushering him away. Andrew stood on shaky legs and left without bothering to collect his things, Booth following him and shutting the door, leaving me in semi-darkness with Caeden.

Caeden swallowed and winced, instinctively reaching a hand towards his mouth. "That was a clever move. Cutting the inside of my mouth," he said. His words were almost slurred, as though he was trying not to put too much pressure on the roof of his mouth. "I'll have to remember that."

I grimaced and fiddled with my fingertips, cleaning dirt and dried blood out from underneath my nails. "I don't know why you would be impressed by that," I said. Caeden's eyes opened slowly and his face turned towards mine. "It was barbaric. I didn’t want to do it."

"Fighting is barbaric. Self-defense isn’t," he countered and leaned back on his elbows, eyes glued to the ceiling. The room fell silent again. What was I supposed to say? I had so many questions I wanted to ask but had no clue how to present them.

Caeden sighed and ran a hand through his thick curls. His hair was always kept short, but thick, coarse curls still made it a pain to deal with. "So what'd you see?" he questioned, his voice surprisingly tender. I jolted upright, eyes swiveling to meet him.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice shaking with each word. He chuckled softly.

"When you did that... thing," he clarified. "What'd you see?"

I paused and draped my arms over my knees, hugging them closer. "Who says I saw anything?" I asked, sounding more defensive than I intended. My eyes dropped to the ground and I pursed my lips. I hadn't meant to sound so rough.

Caeden sighed and sat up straight, his deep brown eyes meeting mine. "I can't have been the only one."

It took me a few seconds to register what he had said. The words bounced around my mind as I struggled to understand their meaning, and then suddenly it clicked. I whirled on him, my knees dropping to the floor as I turned to face him. "What did you see?"

Caeden smirked and rested his crossed arms on his knees, eyes twinkling with a knowing, triumphant look, as though he was pleased to know that he had been right. And suddenly that confident look fell and he was left looking worried and puzzled. "A lot," he said, his tone almost wistful. "You, mostly."

I inhaled shakily and turned to face him fully, crossing my legs and leaning forward ever so slightly. "I saw you, too," I spoke gingerly, my tone low. "I saw..."

"My life?" he inquired. I shut my mouth tightly and nodded as he turned his head once more towards me. "Yeah, me too." The room was silent again and I stared at him, tracing his features, searching for any clue as to what he might have seen of me. Finally, he spoke the question I had been hoping to ask him. "They were memories, right? Your memories?"

I shrugged. "I assume so." I picked at my fingernails absentmindedly, running through all the images I had seen. "I saw... your packs," Caeden winced. "And when you were turned... Meeting Marcus..."

"Milestones," he whispered out. He knitted his fingers together and dropped his gaze, pondering. "Major moments in my life." I nodded. He breathed out shakily. "I saw them too. Some of yours." I inhaled sharply, my eyes snapping upwards, hoping to meet his gaze, and instead met with his cold profile. "The first time you shifted... Your parents... Your-" he gulped and his head sagged a bit. "Your boyfriend and what happened to him," he whispered out. "I saw your mom, and your dad... leaving. I saw..." he sighed and his eyes met mine. "I'm sorry about your uncle," he murmured. "I know he meant a lot to you."

My eyes dropped. "Yeah..." I breathed out. "And I'm sorry about your pack... your alpha and that girl." Caeden gulped and stared unmovingly at the ground. "... What else did you see?" I pressed.

"Chikaltio. The Winchesters. That... hillbilly boy..." He sighed and rubbed his arm roughly over his shirt, a clean shirt that wasn't stained with blood, and then propped his chin in his hand, looking perturbed. "What you did wasn't your fault, you know?"

I bristled and whipped my head towards his, glaring. "Like hell, it wasn't. I lost control and killed someone. I nearly ate a human's heart. That was me, no one else."

"I saw how you feel about it," he countered, his tone holding a rising note of defensiveness. "How guilty you feel. It wasn't your fault. You were protecting-"

"Protecting someone doesn't give me the right to eat someone," I hissed back through gritted teeth. "And what in God's name makes you think that the man who tried to kill me is going to make me think any differently?"

Caeden winced and turned away from me, looking crestfallen. "I wasn't trying to kill you," he snapped, his voice filled with irritation.

I scoffed. "Sure didn't seem like it," I snapped, my voice dripping with unexpected malice. "If you weren't trying to kill me then what the hell were you doing? What are you playing at?"

Caeden fell silent, his fists curling and uncurling reflexively, as if all he wanted was to reach out and hit something. I understood the feeling, as that's all I really wanted. At that moment, I wanted to reach over and strangle him, just as Marcus had tried to do to me.

"I wanted to prove to Marcus that we didn't need a pack," he grumbled through clenched teeth. He sounded unwilling to speak like it was being pulled forcefully from him. "I never wanted a pack, and I wanted to show him we didn't need one."

I growled and pushed myself to my feet, shoulders taut with anger. "And you thought that by, what, showing everyone I was weak was the way to do it!?"

"Well you are, aren't you!?" he snarled back and hopped to his feet. He towered over me, anger evident in his dark eyes. I shook with rage as he spoke. "An alpha that can't shift isn't an alpha!"

"If you can't stand having me as an alpha so much, leave!"

"I can't!" he bellowed back. "If we had this argument three hours ago, then maybe I would have but now-" his voice cut out sharply and he drew back his lips and snarled. "Now I can't leave, even if I wanted to!"

"And why the fuck not!?" I screamed back.

"Because I can feel you!" he shouted. "Here!" he snapped, raising a dark, calloused hand to touch the base of his neck. "Every time I think about leaving, I get dragged back! Every fucking emotion you feel, I feel too! Every pain, every feeling, every thought! You're in my fucking head, and for the life of me I can't get it out!" I froze, my eyes gradually widening as he spoke, my wrathful gaze dissipating into one of shock. "It was the same in my previous packs," he roared, tossing his hands up in the air angrily. "And no matter what I try and how many times I think about escaping, I get dragged right back here to you, to where something in my head is telling me to stay put and listen to what my alpha tells me! And I hate it!"

I blinked rapidly and reached a slow hand up to the base of my neck, pressing my fingers gingerly against the skin. "You can't leave?" I questioned.

Caeden's chest heaved, rising and falling with labored, angered breaths. He shook his head, the rising blue dying down and revealing the tired, soulful brown ones. "Whatever you did, it's got me stuck here- whether I want to be or not."

"If you want to leave," I started, drawing in tight breaths, "then go. I'm not going to keep you here." I folded my arms over my chest in agitation, waiting for him to turn on his heels and leave, walking out of my life. I half expected him to, though a part of me wished he would stay. I wished that part of me would shut up.

Caeden stood silently for a few moments, save for his heavy breathing that was gradually returning to normal. "I can't," he said. "I-" he took a deep breath. "I don't want to."

I quirked a brow and lurched back slightly in surprise. "You just said you would leave if you could."

"And something else is telling me to stay!" he growled. "Some... tiny voice in the back of my mind, saying I should stay. That it's safe here. That I trust you to take care of us, to take care of Marcus."

My brows rose. "Instinct," I offered, more of a statement than a question. Caeden paused as if he didn’t quite believe that was it. Maybe it was more, like those whispers that plagued me?

"Whatever you did... it's got that part of me tied to this pack. That part of me," his gaze dropped, and despite his dark complexion, I could tell his cheeks were flushed. "It's telling me to stay. That the fact you were still able to beat the shit out of me, despite not having shifted, makes you..." He trailed off with a deep scowl.

"How'd you know I couldn't shift?" I asked, my jaw tightening. I hadn't told anyone in the pack about my predicament.

"I saw inside your head, remember?" he retorted, looking frustrated by what he thought was a stupid question. "I saw how much that hill billy screwed you up. I know that, even now that you're not scared of shifting, you still can't."

I narrowed my eyes at him and furrowed my brows. "So you're not going to leave?" I asked, returning to our original conversation. Caeden shook his head.

"Not without Marcus, and I know he won't agree with it. He's beyond pissed about whatever you did, but he's still too stubborn and happy here to leave. Even if he was up for it, I don't think I could." He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, bruised knuckles apparent in the dim lighting. "I'm happy here, with the others. I like them, even Booth, even though he's a hard ass. I just-" he grumbled and turned his eyes on mine, their message clear, "I hate that there's an alpha. Nothing personal."

I scoffed. "Right, you hating my existence isn't personal." I wasn't pleased with his anger, but I could understand it- hell, I could feel it. That link went both ways. I knew he had little trust for authority anymore, and that he was used to having things his way, rather than listening to someone else. Had I been in his position, I would have felt the same way. In fact, if I had suddenly been thrust into Chikaltio's pack and made to listen to someone I didn't trust after having only ever responded to myself, I would have reacted just like him.

I sighed. "I get it," I started and he seemed to perk up a bit. "I get why you don't like me- or at least my title. But don't you dare undermine me in front of the rest of the pack," I hissed out warningly. "I'll skin you and hang your hide the next time we play capture the flag."

Caeden grimaced and looked as though he wanted to argue, then stopped himself. Instead, he nodded. "Fine," he said. He was sinking back into his usual blunt stoicism. It dawned on me that this was the longest conversation I had ever had with him. Funny how it seemed that many of my ice breakers revolved around something utterly insane happening.

I inhaled deeply and fixed my eyes upon Andrew's mess of medical equipment. "I guess we should take that back to the main house, huh?" I asked, already reaching to scoop up supplies. Caeden followed closely behind, his stony features back in their usual place. It was odd how quickly that mask came up again, as though he didn't want me to know what he was thinking.

He followed me back to the main house, walking shoulder to shoulder and utterly silent. The house was eerily quiet, not a peep coming from any of the inhabitants as I gingerly pushed the back door open. My eyes scanned the room and landed on the pack, all seated at the dining room table near the door. Five sets of eyes flitted towards me and then immediately tore off in different directions, hoping to not meet mine or Caeden's gazes.

I placed the medical supplies gently on the table, as far from the edge as I could manage. Andrew reached for a roll of bandages and fiddled with the edges of it.

"I think we've still got some catching up to do," I mused, seating myself at the head of the table. Booth nodded off to my right as Caeden seated himself to my left. Marcus reached out a shaky hand and placed it on his partner's shoulder, more to reassure himself than his boyfriend. "Caeden's nose is still looking rough," I said, gesturing to the mess of blood that stained his upper lip and his nose that was clearly not where it was supposed to be.

Caeden laughed breathily and gestured towards my own face. "You should take a look at yours." I grimaced and turned my head away from his. I knew I probably looked like a mess, covered in bruises and dried blood. I didn't want to look in a mirror any time soon.

Without being told, the majority of the pack busied themselves with something. Calliope made herself useful by fetching whatever Sasha and Andrew might need to patch us up and occasionally lent a hand. Marcus stayed by Caeden's side, refusing to meet my eyes.

I winced as Sasha corrected my nose and cleaned any dried blood she could get off my skin. I'd need to take a shower later, and I wasn't looking forward to all the scrubbing. My ankle was a tattered mess, but to my relief, I sported no broken bones. Sasha simply cleaned and dressed the wounds and most of them didn't require any more attention than that.

No doubt, I would be sore the next day.

The bustle eventually died down as the sun dipped behind the trees. The sunset dappled the clouds with brilliant pink and orange colors that gradually disappeared as it set, leaving an afterglow in its wake.

It was getting late and everyone seemed exhausted from worry. Sasha and Andrew had both bid everyone a good night and headed to the bunkhouse. They both looked frazzled and stressed from the afternoon's events. Calliope looked exhausted, although she refused to leave before anyone else.

Booth couldn't help but chastise Caeden and me for our brutal fight, although he remarked with pride on how well we had handled ourselves. "I've seen a lot of fights in my time," he said with gentle laughter, "but never anything quite as impressive as that. It was like something entirely new was happening before you could even register what had just occurred."

I laughed and lifted my beer to my lips, taking a large swig of it and placing it back on the table. "I've gotta say, you fought well Caeden," I said. Caeden chuckled and pulled his own beer closer to him. "Don't think I've ever had the pleasure of fighting someone like that."

"And hopefully you never have to again," chimed Calliope. She took a sip of her beer and grimaced at the taste.

Booth huffed quietly and grinned. "With this life, she'll probably have another big fight next week." He raised his beer high in the air. "Here's to not dying in the next fight," he offered. The five of us smiled softly and clinked the ends of our bottles together, each taking a long swig.

I placed my nearly empty bottle back on the table, a soft smile on my face. The day's events hit me hard, making my shoulders sag, but I knew it was nothing I couldn't handle.

I hoped one day Caeden would come to accept the group. I knew now that he wouldn't be leaving anytime soon, but I hoped he would never be miserable here. He'd had enough happen in his life. He didn't need anything more.

I would have liked to ask him more about his life before meeting us, but I knew now wasn't the time. Perhaps in the coming months, when things had calmed down and perhaps he had forgiven me for doing whatever I had done.

For now, all I wanted was to sleep and wake up in the morning to Andrew making pancakes and just forget that any of this had happened.

My phone rang, humming loudly in my pocket, and everyone at the table jumped in surprise. Who could possibly be calling now of all times? I glanced towards the analog clock in the kitchen, registering that it was just after 7pm.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and flipped the screen over and read the contact number.

Winchester 3.

"You've got to be kidding me," I mumbled. The group turned to me quizzically, and I held up a finger, silencing the already silent table. I answered the call.

"Hello?" I asked. I heard Sam’s voice call my name from the other end of the phone. "Yep," I affirmed, running my finger over the rim of my bottle. "What’s up?" I struggled to hide the exhaustion in my voice.

I could practically hear his grimace from the other end. He hated that nickname from anyone other than Dean. "Listen, we've got a case here in Colorado. I think maybe you should come down." I frowned and hit the speaker button on the phone, placing it on the table beside my nearly empty beer.

"What kind of case are we talking about here?" I asked. I heard rustling from the other end and then Sam spoke.

"A big one we think. Hunter was killed, guy by the name of Elkins." I quirked a brow. I didn't recognize the name. My eyes drifted up to meet the pack, and they all shrugged. "We think we're onto something here," he continued. "Something to do with the thing that killed mom. There's a letter here we found in a post office box addressed to 'J.W'. We're thinking maybe it's-" I heard a faint knocking from the other end and the sound of a car door opening.

"Sam?" I pressed, hoping he'd continue.

"Dad?" I heard Dean's voice from the other end. "Dad, what're you doing here? Are you alright?"

I stood from my seat abruptly and turned off the speakerphone. My pack looked at me with wide eyes as I paced away from the table and up the stairs to my loft, leaving them questioning just what in the hell was going on.

"Is that your friend you got on the phone? " I heard John's quiet voice in the background, almost imperceptible. I heard a click from the other end and recognized that I was now on speakerphone. "Good," said John. "I read the news about Daniel, I got here as fast as I could. I saw you two at his place."

"Why didn't you come in?" I heard Sam ask as I flopped down on my bed.

"You know why. Because I had to make sure you weren't followed.... by anyone or anything. Nice job of covering your tracks by the way," their father complimented.

"Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" I grumbled, "I'm not a fan of being left in the dark, you know."

"Friend of dad's was killed in Manning, Colorado," Dean started. "A hunter by the name of Daniel Elkins. We scoped out his place earlier, the house was a mess. Definitely a scuffle. Whatever showed up there broke through the windows, knocked over furniture." He sighed and the line was silent for a moment. " Listen, now that dad's here, maybe we don't need- "

"We'll take all the help we can get," John interjected, silencing Dean. I scowled – that didn’t seem typical for John… "If it is what I think it is, we're going to need the extra hands."

"What do you think it is?"

"We can go over that once you get here," John replied. I rolled my eyes again.

"It's about a twenty-hour drive from here to Colorado, maybe eighteen if I cut out bathroom stops," I started. "I don't know if I'll be able to make it in time to be of any help to you boys."

"I don't care how long it takes," John continued. "Just get here." I bristled at the audacity of his statement. Who in God's name gave him the right to order me around, and why the hell did he want me?

"I'll see what I can do, John, but no guarantees," I said through gritted teeth, hoping my voice didn't show the irritation I felt. And with that, I hung up, not waiting for a reply from the cantankerous hunter or his sons. I shut the phone and dropped it on the bed next to me, running a hand down my face and groaning into my palm.

I nodded again and stood from my spot on the bed, stretching languorously. I dragged myself upright off the bed and padded back down the stairs with a deep set scowl. As expected, the pack was still seated around the table, minus Sasha and Andrew. I breathed deeply and moved to stand at the head of the table.

"An emergency came up," I began. "I'm going to have to leave and help the Winchesters with a case. Hopefully for no longer than a few days, maybe a week tops."

The table was silent for a few moments before Calliope spoke. "It's about their father, right? Weren't they looking for him?"

I nodded. “Yeah, they were. Seems John found them and is helping them with this case. An old friend of his was killed, apparently."

"By what?" inquired Booth as he took a sip of his second beer.

"Not sure," I said with a shrug. "John said he has an idea, but won't tell me till I get there."

Booth scoffed and slammed his beer roughly onto the table. "So you've got no clue what you're walking into? What if it's a trap?"

"I think I can handle it," I said with a mischievous grin. I had no doubt that with my uncle’s arsenal and his pickup, I would be already, even without the ability to shift. "I've got enough weapons to take down an army."

"What if one of us tailed you?" Booth offered. "Keep our distance, but still keep an eye out?"

I shook my head. "No, I don't need anyone following me. Just stay close to a phone and I'll call you if something goes bad." Booth fell silent with one last grumble and I continued. "I appreciate you guys offering to help, but really, I can handle it. It'll be a quick hunt, get in and get out. Anything more and I'll head home. Frankly, I don't want to be away for too long anyway."

The group nodded and cast worried glances around the room. Finally, Booth pushed his chair away from the table and stood, drawing the attention of his seated companions. "I suppose we should help you pack then," he grumbled and gestured for Calliope to follow him. "Cal, come help me get the weapons ready. I'm sure some of the guns and blades need cleaning – who knows when they were last used."

—

I was never a fan of driving. Why drive when I could just run there? It was so much more entertaining, and I didn't have to worry about falling asleep at 2am on an interstate.

It took me seventeen exhausting hours to make it to Manning, and I still had another hour's drive to make it to a crime scene. The boys had said they would meet me there and go over the case. I grumbled to myself, clutching the wheel tighter. All I wanted was to meet them back at the motel, maybe get some sleep before they came crashing in.

My eyes flickered to the small digital on the beaten, old radio. 1:35pm. I groaned and felt the urge to smack my forehead against the steering wheel. God, all I wanted was to sleep.

I sighed and slackened my grip on the wheel, readjusting my hands. The minimal bathroom breaks had left me feeling sore and like my ass was glued to the seat. I had a feeling my legs would feel numb the moment I stepped out of the worn pickup.

My finger tapped idly against the side of the steering wheel, pondering as my gaze flitted around the road. There were few people on this road, to my surprise. It must not have been heavily trafficked, which of course would make it the perfect hunting grounds. I wondered what I would be hunting? Certainly not the monster that killed Mary Winchester – a demon, if John was correct.

I chuckled to myself. If he truly had found something that could kill it, he was beyond lucky. To my knowledge, demons were unkillable.

But, in his defense, everything had a weakness. Hell, my father had told me stories about humans struggling to kill skinwalkers. Supposedly, it wasn't until settlers in North America arrived and began mining that they realized silver was poisonous to us.

I pursed my lips tightly in thought. To my knowledge, silver was the most effective way to kill a skinwalker, and several other things for that matter, but it wasn't the only way. A monster could kill another monster – I had experienced that first hand a number of times already. It made me wonder what else I was vulnerable to.

An image of Caeden flashed briefly in my mind before I could suppress it, an image of his fangs buried deep in my throat. I reached a hand up to stroke the edges of my neck.

I still didn't trust him, but a part of me told me he would never hurt me now.

Why?

I shook my head and gripped the steering wheel tighter. He hadn't earned my trust back – he may never be able to after the stunt he pulled. But, my success in the fight, despite my lack of shifting, had given me confidence. I felt I could beat him should he try to hurt me, or anyone in the pack, again.

My life had been thrown upside down after meeting the Winchesters. Not only was I dragged back into a life of hunting, dredging up old memories that I didn't necessarily want to relive, but I also was experiencing odd things, some that I had never even heard of before.

Voices.

Dreams.

This odd separation of instinct and body.

And now this uncomfortable connection that neither Caeden nor I understood.

As if on command, I felt a twinging at the base of my neck and reached up to touch that cursed spot. It was as though I could sense him next to me, though he clearly wasn't. He was calm as of now, but that didn't stop my heart from hammering.

How would I even start going about understanding all this? I hadn't heard the whispers in a month now, so that was clearly a dead end. And that dream... I was beginning to think it really was just a nightmare. I couldn't help but shiver at the thought of those red eyes boring into me like they were ready to pounce at a moment's notice.

My eyes darted down the road, seeing several cars pulled over along the side, and one car sat in the middle of the highway, driverless, cold and empty. My eyes scanned the row of cars until they landed on a familiar shape.

The Impala.

A grin slowly spread across my face as I pulled my old beater towards the edge of the road and parked it, pulling the keys from the ignition excitedly. I tossed the door open haphazardly, ignoring the groans and creaks of protest from the old vehicle, and excitedly made my way down the road towards the row of cars.

My eyes settled on two familiar figures, their backs to me as they watched the state police inspect the car. Sam turned his head slowly towards me and I grinned excitedly as recognition flashed in his eyes. He nudged his brother and whispered something to him. Dean whipped around faster than a bullet to face me, a wide grin rising on his handsome features.

An unexpected blush dusted my cheeks, and suddenly I felt self-conscious. My bruises were likely still apparent, and I didn't doubt they were scuffed and a pretty shade of blue. I felt almost embarrassed by my beaten state.

And still, he grinned and jogged towards me, his smile never faltering as he called my name. "You made it!"

"Of course I made it, Winchester," I teased. "Wouldn't miss it for the world." His grin only seemed to widen, and then promptly disappeared.

He lifted a calloused hand to my jaw, running the pad of his thumb softly over the bruise that decorated my cheek and jaw. "What happened?" he asked softly. My eyes widened slightly at his sudden touch.

I glanced around him briefly, looking at anything else other than his face. I cracked a small smile as I saw John making his way back towards us. "I'll fill you in later," I said quietly and flashed him a reassuring smile.

I stepped around him and made my way to Sam, who threw open his arms, practically demanding a hug. I obliged and was nearly lifted off the ground by the force of it.

"Nice seeing you," the younger Winchester said. "Dean's been pretty grouchy without you, you know."

"I have not!" Dean challenged. "Been grouchy cause we were trying to find dad."

"And it seems like he found you, Dean," I teased and pulled myself away from Sam. I heard John chuckle from behind me and spun to see him come to a halt. I waved nervously to him, "How've you been, John?"

"Better than you by the looks of it," he quipped and leaned against the side of the car. "How'd you get those bruises?"

"A case," I offered. "Couple days ago. Nothing I couldn't handle." It was a lie, but with how quickly I healed it wouldn’t surprise me if the bruises looked three or four days old by now. John nodded, accepting that answer. "So, you mind telling me what we're dealing with now?"

"Dad's thinking vampires," Sam said. My brows rose in surprise. I had never heard of a vampire case before – my uncle had thought they were extinct. "Yeah, we were just as surprised," he said with a chuckle.

"Daniel was a vamp hunter," John added. "He thought he wiped them out, but... he must've missed a few." He sighed and scratched his cheek, running his fingers lazily over his beard. "They took something when they killed him. Something that might help us kill the demon."

My eyes widened at this in shock. "You actually think you can kill it? With what?"

"A gun," John said nonchalantly like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Special bullets. Said to be able to kill anything."

Anything?

I leaned against the side of the Impala, bracing my palms on the top of the trunk. "Wow," I whispered out. John nodded.

"So, what'd you find out?" Dean asked, moving to stand by my left, a serious look on his face now that a chance at revenge was finally in sight.

"It was them alright," John answered. "Looks like they're heading west. We'll have to double back to get around that detour."

"How can you be so sure?" Sam asked, and Dean flashed him a warning glance. In all honesty, I was curious as to how he knew as well. I had thought for sure that vamps were extinct. But then again, John thought that I was extinct.

"I found this," John replied, handing something small and white to Dean. Dean opened his palm as his father dropped whatever it was into it. He stared at it quizzically and then grinned geekily at it, holding the object up to the light.

"It's a... a vampire fang," he said, looking awestruck. I leaned forward to inspect the tiny piece of enamel between his fingertips.

"Not fangs, teeth. The second set descends when they attack," John corrected. I pinched the tooth between my thumb and forefinger, taking it gently from Dean and inspecting it. It was translucent and had an almost pearlescent sheen to it. "Any more questions?" I heard John ask, sounding cold and defensive. There was no response. "Alright, let's get out of here," he said, more of an order than a suggestion. The brothers hustled to their car and Dean pulled his car door open before being stopped by John. "Hey, Dean, why don't you touch up your car before you get rust? I wouldn't have given you the damn thing if I thought you were going to ruin it," he called to his oldest son before sliding into his pickup.

I struggled to hold back my laughter at Dean's startled and ashamed expression. He whipped his head towards me and glared, which only made me laugh harder. I waved at the brothers and made my way towards my beaten pickup. I slid into my seat and followed the Winchester convoy down the road and presumably back to the motel.

It seemed as though this would be a quick case, and that they, for the most part, had it handled. Maybe this would be an open and shut hunt after all.

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch14: Learning

Summary: Pack life takes an unusual twist... Referenced Episodes: None. CW: Minor gore. Major lore. Word Count: 7138 words. Recommended Song: Back In The Saddle -- Aerosmith Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

Caeden was surprisingly competent when it came to fighting, though he refused to explain why. He had deep scars running across his dark shoulders in a twisting pattern that gave me chills. Seeing him fight... he had a certain cold viciousness about him that made me doubt my easy victory the day we played capture the flag. I watched carefully as he stood at the edge of the ring where Andrew and Calliope scuffled together.

I scowled with my arms folded tightly against my torso and reclined in a newly bought lounge chair as I watched my pack members scamper across the lawn or tussle with one another. Booth had taken it upon himself to educate the others on fighting- few of them were capable fighters. At this point, I was more than ready to let him kick my ass in the ring, just so long as I could do something. I hadn't been on a run in weeks, and it was beginning to show. I could practically feel my muscles dampening. I would be sore after my next run, that much was certain.

I huffed and reached for my book on a small table beside me, ruffling the pages with my thumb. I really wasn't in the mood for reading, but I felt like I needed to do something with my hands. I sat up slowly and rolled my shoulders, enjoying the feeling of the harsh sun beating down on my exposed shoulders. We were well into spring now, and the weather was beginning to show it.

I stood and stretched my arms high over my head, feeling my bad shoulder pop. I flinched and brought my arms back down, rolling my shoulder once more. My shoulder was healing well. It was still sore and scarred, but the skin was beginning to heal over the top of it, closing the exposed wound. I expected that by the end of the week, it would be healed enough for me to start using it as I had before, though maybe with a little extra care.

I tucked my book under my arm and reached for my crutch – I only needed one now, thank God. Having to rely on an object to assist me was a new feeling. Any injuries I had previously had left me out of the game for maybe a day or two. The perks of healing quickly, I suppose, unless the damage was caused by silver.

I hobbled up the steps of the back porch and relished the shade of the lip of the roof overhanging the back door. I loved the sun, it made me feel warm, safe even, but it was sometimes too much. Blistering. The moon, however... gave me a sense of hope and purpose.

It was always odd to me, how much of a pull the moon had on skinwalkers. The closer to the full moon, the more excited I got and the more I wanted to go out and run. Sure, skinwalkers were cousins to werewolves, but we weren't the same, not even close.

I wondered how many of the old skinwalker legends were true. Were we really witches in the early ages of our species? The Navajo had always said we were evil and did harm to our fellow man. Had we always been wolves? Or were we once some odd cross between man and animal in our early days, like our cousins the werewolves?

I cared little for the concept of deities, but I know that would be one of the many questions I would ask God if I ever had the chance to speak to him. That, and maybe why he felt the need to make humans so defenseless. I mean honestly, it's one thing to give a monster built-in weapons, but to leave a creature so defenseless that it feels the need to perfect the art of killing? That's ten times worse.

The door to the rickety old barn was open, pushed aside on rolling hinges to let sunlight spill into the dingy single room. I glanced from the fights to the door. No one acknowledged me as I stood up and hobbled across the lawn with one crutch– maybe I preferred it that way.

Clanking from within the barn drew my attention. I leaned against the large doorway and watched Booth march around with a quizzical expression on my face. Finally, the graying male looked up with tired blue eyes and grumbled.

"Andrew was complaining about the pickup acting funny when he went out for groceries," the older man grumbled, scratching the back of his head. "Figured I'd come take a look while Caeden's managing the fights."

I hummed quietly and sidled up to Booth, his eyes never leaving the truck. "What do you think's the matter with it?" I questioned. Booth huffed and crossed his burly arms.

"Probably nothing," he scoffed. "Andrew doesn't know a truck from a moped. Wouldn't be surprised if he's driving it a bit rough."

I frowned a bit and rested my crutch against the rusted car door. The pickup only seated two people, with plenty of room in the pickup bed to host more. "Andrew's a pretty careful driver, Doesn't know much about trucks, but he's safe. I think if he says there's a problem, it's worth looking into."

Booth grumbled and moved the tools from the hood, placing them on the straw and dirt-covered barn floor. "Pop the hood, would you?" he asked. I nodded and climbed carefully into the cab, and popped the hood for Booth.

I sat in the cab of the rusted old pickup while Booth leaned over the engine. My hands slid over the steering wheel reverently, squeezing the worn grooves where my uncle’s hands had sat ages ago. Firm hands that molded the world into a place that embraced him with vigor. It was a temperament I would never have.

“What’s going through that head of yours, dove?” Booth asked. My eyes flicked up to look through the windshield. The lifted hood of the truck blocked him from view. His tone was soft, despite the worn texture of his throat that led to gruff words. Soft, doting, affectionate. Did I deserve that?

“Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

He hesitated. I could practically feel the way his thoughts roamed, searching for the right answer to my ambiguous question. “Elaborate?” he pressed.

“Like… I don’t know, I just sometimes wonder if- if taking on a pack was the right decision,” I answered in one shaky breath. “It’s not like I’m around much, at this point, and I never… never wanted a pack to begin with. Ever. I just never had an interest in it.”

I dropped my gaze as Booth slowly lowered the hood of the truck. His eyes settled on me in the cab, twisted in the seat in such a way that I could cradle my arms around myself without stressing my injuries further than I already had. I exhaled a deep sigh. “Sometimes I just… I come home to- to people in my house- my uncle’s house, and I just wish I was alone. I wish I wasn’t responsible for anyone but myself.” I paused and lifted my gaze to meet his. “Does that… make me a bad person?”

Booth shook his head, not even stopping to think first. “I think it makes you pretty human- or, close enough to it.” I cracked a timid smile. “It’s alright to want to be alone every once in a while.”

“Do you think we’re a normal pack?”

He huffed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t know a normal pack if it hit me over the head. I’ve only ever known scavengers and Chikaltio, and this is nothing like that. You’re more of a friend than a boss. I think we’re all pretty happy with the dynamic, even if you’re gone a lot.”

I didn’t answer. He held my stare for a few long moments before turning his attention back to the engine. “Might be time to sell it for scrap.”

I pursed my lips. There wasn’t a chance in hell that I would be getting rid of the truck willingly, no matter how much rust adorned its once smooth surface. It was my uncle’s, one of the few things I had left of him other than the house. A house which now felt more like someone else’s home than his. Clothes that weren’t his, furniture he would’ve hated, new residents deciding everything. My skin itched.

"Where are we gonna get another one?" Booth asked as he stood rockily on old legs. "I'm sure the government would take notice to us paying that much money. They aren't blind to credit card theft, y'know."

"Then we take from multiple accounts," I offered. "Five hundred here, three thousand there. Not too much, but enough." Stealing money was a rough business, we could only take as much as we needed to get by. I didn't like it, but it was necessary – we couldn't exactly get normal jobs, could we? Booth wiped his hands on his oil-splotched jeans and ran a calloused hand through his silvering hair. "I don't like it – stealing from people like that. It's not honest," I said, hoping he would pose some alternative.

"Since when is anyone honest? We sure aren't, and I'll bet my life that no one else is. Not the President, not the Pope, not even God. Hell, if God was honest maybe the world wouldn't be such a shithole," he retorted as he began filling his toolbox once more and locked the lid. "I don't much like the idea of honesty. It's flawed. No one's ever truly honest. If you say you are, you're lying." And with that, Booth swept up his tools and marched out the open barn door, leaving me alone in my bewildered thoughts.

—

Three weeks into my healing process, my leg was feeling much better. I still kept bandages on it, but I could at least walk without the crutch. Sasha demanded I keep a can nearby, in case I needed it, though I hardly used it. A few too many times, she smacked me with a dish towel for my stubbornness.

It was Calliope's night to lead a hunt and she had chosen to drag Andrew along with her. He wasn't too fond of hunting, but she felt he needed improvement. They worked well together, moving as a lithe team in the arena and on runs. They worked even better against each other, in the spirit of competition. The other pack members who wouldn't be hunting tonight had of course made bets of their own – my money was on Cal. She was beyond skilled when it came to hunting, and no amount of determination on Andrew's part would get him the win.

Calliope and I had spent quite a bit of time together during my house arrest. Several nights in the past two weeks had been deemed 'movie nights,' and several other pack members had chosen to join in. Sasha was a recurring face every night, while the boys would typically pop in to see what we were up to or steal snacks, Unsurprisingly, any time we watched a romcom, Marcus chose to join us.

While Andrew and Calliope were preparing for the evening hunt, I ran through Andrew's shopping list. I was eager to get out of the house, and there was no better time than now. It was surprisingly long, though I should have expected that. He was interested in trying out a few new recipes.

"Do you need someone to go with you?" I heard Sasha's cheerful voice from the kitchen. She popped her head out from around the counter, a mop gripped tightly in her hands.

I chuckled and glanced down at the list. "Maybe, but you look pretty busy, Sash. I can take someone else, no trouble." The short woman nodded nervously, her loose brown curls bobbing with her head.

I made my way to the door, grabbing my cane from its spot on the wall upon feeling Sasha boring holes into my head with her glare. I hobbled across the freshly trimmed lawn towards the bunkhouse.

It surprised me how mundane life felt when you became... well, mundane. I hadn't tried shifting in weeks. I was nothing more than human without my fur, and with my bad leg... I was about as mundane as it could get. If I wasn't living with five other monsters, then perhaps this could be that apple pie life Dean so desperately craved.

I needed to call him and Sam again, and check up on them. I had called them the day after I woke up, the day after they left. Sam had answered, telling me essentially what Marcus had said - that when I was healed, I was welcome to join them again. To my dismay, I hadn't spoken more than a few short sentences since our late-night conversation. I assumed he was busy, they both were, but I would appreciate more than a brief update.

One step forward, two steps back.

I quietly turned the door handle of the bunkhouse and poked my head in, searching the dimly lit room for figures. My eyes fell on three figures seated in the center of the room, sets of bunks lining the walls to my left and right.

"So while Sasha's cleaning the main house, you three are playing cards?" I teased, leaning against the door frame. Marcus, Caeden, and Booth glanced up, Marcus looking especially guilty.

"'S poker," Booth crowed, holding his cards up high with their backs to me. "I'm kicking their asses."

Marcus snarled playfully. "You've won like three rounds-"

"- Outta five," remarked Booth with a smirk.

"That doesn't mean you're kicking ass!" Marcus shouted, tossing his hands into the air, making sure to hide his cards from view. "You know what, I call," he snapped, dropping his cards onto the floor for all to see. Honestly, it was kind of a pitiful hand- two pairs, both low numbers and not particularly high ranking suits.

Booth followed quickly behind and deposited the cards at his feet. He had a pair of jacks of two good suits. He grinned, knowing that he had beaten Marcus yet again.

Caeden scoffed and gently placed his cards down, revealing three aces. My eyes widened, but not nearly as much as Marcus's. The blonde's eyes rivaled saucers and looked like they might pop out of his skull. Caeden leaned back with little reaction, crossing his toned arms over his chest.

Booth laughed loudly, the deep, rumbling sound filling the room and drawing a chorus of laughter from the other players. "S'pose we can't beat that, Caed," he said with a hearty chuckle and pushed Caeden's winning - a few cans of peaches and assorted vegetables - towards him. "Looks like you're out of the game, Marcus," Booth teased, gesturing towards the lack of cans in front of Marcus. His blue eyes lifted to meet mine and he flashed me a lop-sided grin shrouded by his thick, graying beard. "Care to take his place?"

I shook my head and placed a hand over my mouth to mask my grin. "Nope, I was about to head to the store. Marcus, you could join me, if you'd like?"

Marcus stretched and rolled his shoulders out. "Sorry, I promised Sasha I'd actually help her around the house today. Guess I'd better get on that now," he replied as he stood a bit shakily, probably from the rise and fall of energy. "I bet Booth'd go with you though."

Booth shook his head and hobbled to his own feet. "I'm on clean-up duty for when Cal and Andrew get back," he remarked, shaking out his legs from when they had been folded neatly not long before. "How bout you, Caed? You up for it?"

The older male shrugged and stood up, facing me with a rather disinterested look. His eyes briefly flitted to Marcus. "I suppose," he said before stalking past me and out the door.

I frowned and glanced towards Marcus who looked oddly worried. He was often an open book and had a hard time hiding his emotions – that was one thing I liked about him. You always knew what he was thinking. Caedan, on the other hand, was still reserved and closed off. He had grown quite fond of the rest of the pack, and they of him, but hardly ever spoke to me unless necessary.

I sighed heavily and turned to follow him out the door. Perhaps this shopping trip would be a good chance to get to know him.

The drive to the grocery store was silent, and actually rather uncomfortable. Any attempt I made at small talk was shot down with a dismissive wave or a low grunt. It was infuriating, and I was beginning to think I should have gone by myself.

In the store we chose to stick together; or rather, I went my own way and he followed not too far behind with a shopping cart. My eyes scanned the shopping list as we darted up and down aisles, never lingering for very long.

"Why would Andrew want frozen lasagna? Can't he just make some of his own?" I inquired quietly, nose practically pressed to the paper as I made my way to the frozen food aisle.

"It's for Calliope," Caeden muttered out, just loud enough for me to hear. My eyes trained on his, his deep brown ones holding that familiar disinterested look. "Said she's never had it before."

"But why would she want the store-bought stuff when Andrew can make it?" I asked, turning to him and dropping my list at my side. Caeden shrugged and pushed past me, the squeaky cart rolling in front of him. I rolled my eyes. So much for that.

The frozen food aisle was not too far, only about three aisles down. While I searched for the lasagna, Caeden grabbed whatever he thought the pack might like. I almost laughed as I watched him deposit four boxes of pizza bites into the cart.

My eyes found the lasagna and I rifled through the different brands, looking for the best one. I smiled softly and inhaled the sweet scent of Stouffers. My mother would make it from time to time when she was too tired to cook.

I spun towards Caeden and tossed the package underhand towards him. "Catch!"

He did not catch it.

Caeden jumped back, a wildly frightened look in his eyes as the lasagna hit the ground. Thank God it was packaged, otherwise, there would have been cold food all over the floor. Caeden's eyes tracked up to mine, and for the first time in a very long time, I saw something other than indifference in them.

Fear.

It was the same look I had seen from him when I had first met him, back in that old hunter's house. Why would he have that same look now as when he had been shot?

"You alright?" I asked softly, worry dripping into my voice. He nodded and bent to pick up the lasagna as I tentatively made my way over to him. I reached to place a hand on his shoulder and he flinched away from me. My brows furrowed at this.

"I'm fine," came his gravelly voice, and just as quickly as the incident happened, he was gone, already at the end of the aisle and headed towards our next destination.

I scoffed and glared at his back. "Fine, my ass," I grumbled and followed him. The rest of the shopping trip was utterly silent until we got to the cash register, where I had to speak to the cashier. I paid while Caeden bagged our goods and placed them back into the cart.

"Have a nice day!" the cashier called after us.

I smiled at them. "You too!" I followed Caeden out of the store and to the truck, helping him silently load the groceries into the pickup bed. Not long after, we both climbed into the cab, me at the wheel, and headed home.

My finger tapped against the side of the steering wheel, contemplating how I could get him to say more than just a few words. I had seen him laugh and talk plenty of times with the others, though never when I was involved. Maybe occasionally on game night, but he was often stoic as can be whenever I was around.

"So..." I started rather awkwardly, looking for some way to make him talk. "How long have you and Marcus been together?"

Caeden didn't look away from the window, his eyes watching the tree line as we sped past. "Traveling or... together?" he asked, sounding just as uncomfortable.

"Either one," I offered, just hoping he would say more than three words.

"Traveling for four, together for three," he mumbled. "Roughly," he added as an afterthought. His fingers tapped together in his lap and I was sure he had finished speaking until he piped up again. He cleared his throat and spoke slowly, each word strained in effort at maintaining a conversation. "How about you and the hunter? Dean?"

My face flushed and I almost swerved towards the edge of the road. My grip on the steering wheel tightened. "We're not together. Don't know why everyone thinks that." Caeden hummed quietly and his fingers stopped tapping. I didn't think my grip could tighten anymore, but now I was clinging on with white knuckles and tense muscles. "We're not. And we're not going to be."

Caeden chuckled, a sound that surprised me as I had rarely heard it. "I said that once, too." From there the conversation died out and the cab was silent once more as we pulled into the driveway.

The rest of my day was spent doing simple chores and yard work, though my mind was occupied with swirling thoughts. Caeden, despite knowing him for months now, was still a complete mystery to me. I knew very little of his life prior to meeting the pack. I knew nothing about how or when he was bitten, how he met Marcus, or why he was trying to kill an old hunter with such vicious resolve.

I tossed my small shovel to the ground and sat back on my heels in contemplation. I didn't want to push him but did want to know him. I at least had the right to know why he refused to talk to me.

Right?

—

Another week and a half had passed and my leg was nearly healed. Sasha had pulled the stitches out a few days prior and I could walk without any sort of help. It felt great to not need a crutch. My muscles were only fragments of what they had been, but the last week had held many chances to rebuild.

I stalked out onto the lawn and towards my packmates, where Booth was leading fights yet again. Today was all about hand-to-hand fighting, something I certainly needed more practice in.

It had been a long time since I was able to shift, although I hadn't tried in the last few weeks. I hadn't had any contact with my rather vicious, instinctive side, nor had she felt the need to urge me to fight anyone and anything. I almost missed her angry outburst - at least when she was present I knew the ability to change forms lay just below the surface.

I had been trying not to think about my predicament. The scars along my thigh, shown clearly by the shorts I was wearing, were bad enough. I didn't need more on my plate.

I still wondered about the whispers from time to time. What was it that was speaking to me? I hadn't heard any of the whispers since my brief altercation with John. It drove me mad to think that everything I had been trying to understand was suddenly gone.

"Hey," chimed Booth, waving me over. "You come to watch?"

I shook my head. "I'm looking for a fight actually. It's been too long since I've had a good one." Booth frowned and I smiled at him with what I hoped was a reassuring grin.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" He asked, gesturing towards the spider web of white scars on my thigh. "You're still healing."

"I think I can manage it," I said with fake confidence, crossing my arms over my chest. Truthfully, I wasn't sure I would win a fight right now. Sure, I had received some tips on fighting over the years from my father or my uncle, but that in no way made me an expert. The lack of strength and confidence I had could be my downfall.

And perhaps, if I was in enough danger, I’d finally find it in me to change forms.

What I needed now was a solid win, when all I had been getting recently was losses. Booth seemed to sense that. He nodded slowly and shrugged. "Your funeral, kid." I cheered and pumped a fist into the air in excitement. "Calliope just got done with a match, but I can have her fight you if you'd like-"

“I’m real tired, Booth,” Calliope whined from her spot on the ground, her dark hair splayed out on the messy lawn and grass and weeds. “Give me a break?”

Booth pursed his lips and stared incredulously down at Calliope. The young woman scrunched her eyes closed tightly, avoiding his lingering gaze. He sighed dramatically and looked around the clearing, taking a mental catalog of my options. Marcus sat on the porch soaking up the sun with Sasha. Andrew sat on the grass on the opposite side of the ring, catching his breath after his bout with Cal. So that left…

“Caeden?” Booth called, and the quiet man twisted to face us. He stood at the edge of the designated sparring ring with arms crossed and brows furrowed. “You up for it?”

I heard shuffling from behind us and turned to see Marcus sitting upright in his lounge chair, suddenly interested in the fights. The relaxed grin he bore had rapidly disappeared, replaced with a curious frown. Sunglasses obscured his eyes, but I knew they were narrowed in curiosity.

“Don’t see why not,” Caeden responded calmly. I watched as he bent down and grabbed a roll of sparring tape from the ground. He taped his knuckles carefully before tossing it my way. I held my tongue, watching and waiting instead – I would have to treat myself carefully

"Right, this'll be a clean fight. I'll beat your asses, alpha or not, if it ain't.” I bit back a smile as I stepped into the ring and took to my side, by back to Booth. "You get knocked out or get your throat caught, you're done for. No shifting ‘til I say."

My ears pricked at that last line. Shifting. My skin paled as I twisted to look at him over my shoulder. “Wait, Booth, I don’t think-”

A shriek left my lips as a heavy weight collided with me, knocking my square onto my back. All the air in my lungs left my body in a quick puff of breath. “Caeden!” a warning shout came from behind us.

Caeden dove toward me and I lifted my knees to connect with his chest, his weight falling down hard on me and jarring my thigh. Pain rippled up my legs through my injury, a patchwork crater that was still working to fill the void in my flesh. I pushed and knocked him to the side and stood, stooping low in preparation for his next attack.

Caeden swung his leg out in a sweeping motion, connecting with the back of my knees and causing me to land on my ass. I sat up just in time to be met with a punch to the face.

"First blood!" I heard Booth call out. My head spun as I stood, feeling blood drip down my face. I wiped at my lips, my hand coming away red.

I stared at my bloodied hand in shock and wiped a knuckle across the base of my nose. I turned my head sharply towards my opponent, eyes narrowed with fury. "Did you just break my fucking nose?"

Caeden shrugged and brought his hands back up. "I think it's a good look for you."

I snarled and lunged, my elbow connecting with his jaw. His head lolled back and I gripped him by his ears, bringing his face down to meet my knee. Blood poured from his nose as he stumbled backward, a dazed look on his face. "Looks good on you too," I spat, blood dripping into my mouth.

He roared and launched forward, a blow connecting with my ribs. I swung back wildly, not caring where I hit him or what I hit him with. I fell to the ground, landing hard on my back in the dirt, and snarled.

I rolled to the side and struggled to stand, but was dragged backward by my ankles, nails tearing the sensitive flesh. Caeden released me and clawed at my hair, dragging me to my feet by my scalp. An arm struggled to wrap around my throat as I snarled and spat wildly, thrashing in his grip.

I grabbed his arm and dug my nails into his wrist, my teeth sinking into his dark flesh until I tasted blood. Caeden howled in pain and dropped me. I spun to face him with blood stained teeth.

"Shift!" Booth shouted and Caeden wasted no time in bursting forward in his fur, his chocolaty brown, wiry fur a tangled, bloody mess.

My eyes widened a fraction as he barreled into me, jaws snapping at my throat. Fuck. I still can't shift. I reached a hand up towards his neck and dug my nails into his fur, piercing the flesh. I pushed upward, putting pressure on his throat with the palm of my hand. Caeden slobbered on me, his claws digging into the soft flesh of my arms. I screamed as Caeden rolled to the side, dragging my hand with him and exposing my upper arm. 

“Caeden!” Marcus’s voice drifted from the porch, followed by the thump of him jumping off the porch and running towards the ring. Caeden’s icy blue gaze drifted from me to Marcus. His eyes narrowed, his teeth sank into my flesh, and he ground his jaws together.

I swung a punch towards Caeden, my fist connecting with the side of his burly head. He yelped and released my arm. I slid to the side, and stood on shaky feet, eyes trained on the wiry mutt before me.

"What are you doing!?" someone screamed to my left. "Shift!" My eyes trained on Booth's figure as he frantically gestured to Caeden. My eyes whipped back to the dog before me, trained on his vibrant blue ones, opposite to his usual brown.

Caeden lunged forward again and I side-stepped, kicking him hard in the ribs. He yelped and landed rougher than intended, spinning to face me once more.

Caeden lunged forward, paws colliding with my chest and throwing me over backward. I could feel the pull in me somewhere, that same feeling I had when the bear found Calliope. An itch in the back of my mind, like I knew what I was supposed to do but couldn’t quite get there. Like a slippery rope sliding helplessly through my fingers. I howled as Caeden snapped at my throat and I braced my forearm against his neck, struggling to push him away.

A high-pitched ringing filled my ears as I screamed, fighting to get him off of me. I screamed and snarled and clawed at his fur, my fingers gripping and tearing at his flesh in an almost pitiful display compared to his claws. The hair on my arms thickened and darkened like fur, but it just wasn’t enough.

“Caeden, stop!” Marcus shouted. A growl ripped out of Caeden’s throat. His jaws snapped at my throat, the ivory tickle of his teeth teasing my flesh.

I shouted once more and gave a mighty shove, throwing Caeden across the ring with strength I never knew I had. Caeden struggled to his feet, blue eyes wide with shock from my sudden strength. He drew back his lips revealing pink gums and bloodied teeth. I snarled back and brought my hands up, ready to fight him once more. His eyes narrowed coldly.

What do you have to prove? I questioned as I stared at him and paced around the ring, keeping my distance. He watched with curiosity, taking in the blood dripping down my face, my hobbling leg, my tired ankle from his ceaseless dragging.

The itch fell to the base of my neck, now more of a tug that seemed to urge me forward. My teeth elongated into fangs, nails sharpened into claws. It wasn’t enough- it was never enough. I needed more.

That scared me. The need for strength and power, so easy to abuse. I didn’t want it.

My eyes feel on my pack members- friends standing at the edge of the arena. Did I have power over them? Was that what scared me-?

Caeden launched himself at me in my distraction, faster than a bolt of lightning. I punched him in the jaw as he flew towards me, redirecting his course to land roughly at my side. I kicked out, connecting with his shoulder and he whirled to grip my ankle in his firm jaws. He yanked and pulled me to the ground, a wild fury and hatred in his eyes.

Hatred.

Why did he hate me?

I howled and kicked again, my heel landing against his temple. He stumbled to the side, his teeth still fastened to my ankle, blood dripping down his jaws. He looked at me with utter malice, and suddenly I recognized the fear he had once held.

He never trusted me, not like he did the rest of the pack. I knew that, of course, but why now-?

Oh. An alpha that can’t shift… isn’t an alpha.

His snapping jaws dragged me to the ground by my already weak ankle. My blood boiled as I writhed on the ground, flailing as hard as I could to get him off me. I swung wildly, gripping at his ears and his fur, bruising him with heavy fists, throwing him around with frantic kicks. Still, he did not loosen his hold on my ankle.

His blue eyes lifted to mine, holding a resolve in them that appeared to say I knew it.

You're not my alpha, they seemed to say. If you were, you could win this.

I don’t want to be your alpha- I want to be your friend. That’s what I wanted to say, but all that came out was a strangled cry.

I lunged forward, gripped his upper jaw and struggled to pry him from my leg. My skin was scorching with unfathomable rage as I gripped his jaw and pressed my thumb into the roof of his mouth, my nail digging into the sensitive skin. Blood dripped down my thumb.

Caeden howled out and scrabbled at my arm, claws tearing the delicate flesh. I snarled and gripped Caeden's throat, pressing my hand down until he was gasping for breath, blood trickling down his throat. Red tinted the edges of my vision, and this time I didn't push it away. I let it fuel me.

“Would you just-!” I shouted through hot, sticky blood dripping into my mouth.

Caeden's eyes were still wild with defiance and anger. I snarled a primal growl that startled even myself. I felt my eyes burning, that same feeling of electricity that raced under my skin, and they began to glow their familiar molten gold. Caeden howled and struggled under my grip.

“- Fucking listen for once!?”

My mind buzzed with an odd feeling, an unfamiliar presence that seemed to be cracking beneath me. Caeden howled, the only sound I heard amongst the harsh buzzing, and he thrashed. The defiance was gone. Instead, I saw fear.

No, no no no, don’t-

The floodgates broke and the buzzing swept over me like a tidal wave as memories and emotions filled my mind. Memories that weren't mine.

A young boy raced through dirty city streets, screaming for help as he struggled to outrun the pounding of feet behind him. He couldn't have been older than thirteen. He had deep scars on his hands, now drenched in blood from his bloody knuckles.

He ran, screaming for help that he knew wouldn't come. The thing owned these streets. It would catch him.

He felt a tearing in his shoulder and he screamed louder than he ever had before a terrified, pained scream. His deep brown eyes fixated on sharp, angular teeth digging into his shoulder. What felt like an electric shock went through him and suddenly he was a bleeding heap on the ground.

And suddenly the boy was older, though only by two or three years. He argued with a much older, grizzled, and angrier-looking man who was riddled with scars and tattoos. The older man smacked the younger boy backhand across the face, sending him sprawling on the ground.

"I won't do it!" the boy spat.

"You will," snarled the older man. His voice faded off into a series of threats as the memory swirled and faded into another.

The boy was running again, once more away from pounding footsteps behind him. He lept into the air and shifted into a deep brown, wiry form, blue eyes blazing. He howled in delight, a howl that delighted in the feeling of freedom.

The boy laughed gleefully as he pranced around in an open field around a recently dead deer, blood fresh on his matted jaws. His first kill. He could live without eating humans, despite what they had told him. Suddenly, his eyes whipped up to meet a brown pair, belonging to a dog. This dog, a clear English pointer, was like him. A skinwalker, right?

The English pointer had turned out to be a girl, and he thought she was rather pretty. She coaxed him into following her, and he did. She had a pack.

Packs are terrifying. Look at what his last one did.

But her pack was good. They welcomed him with open arms. They were kind like he wanted to be. Nothing like in the city.

He could be free with them.

And he was free for years. He rose through the ranks and quickly became the alpha's second. His alpha.

And suddenly his alpha was gone. The tents were burning, his pack was howling, screaming in pain. He could hear them, he could feel them dying off one by one. Suddenly his heart squeezed.

His alpha.

He raced towards the largest tent and burst forth to see an almost blinding flash of light and his alpha thump to the floor, lifeless, a bullet hole in his head. Caeden screamed, pain and sorrow ripping through his body as his now burning blue eyes fixed on the hunter who did this.

He would remember his face, his smell.

He looked older now, though it had clearly only been a few years. He looked exhausted as tears ran down his face.

A new pack had come into the area and they had taken over. Caeden had lost the challenge. He lost the pack. And now these new monsters were wreaking havoc.

He writhed under the weight of heavy silver chains as they dug into and burned his naked flesh. He was bound tightly in the middle of the camp for all to see. Their precious alpha, who couldn't protect him.

He deserved the scars the chains would leave.

The memory changed to one not long after, maybe a week or so. Caeden was covered in blood, his skin raw and torn. He fought with tired motions to push his former beta away, telling her to run. She removed the chains and ushered him to leave, to get away, to bring help.

He couldn't. If he did, she would take his place.

"I don't care," she said. "Just go."

And he did. He ran and he ran until his legs collapsed, not caring that he couldn't breathe. And still, he crawled, dragging himself through the woods. He stopped his scrambling as two massive golden paws landed before him, and his blue eyes trailed up to meet playful green ones.

Memories whirled past faster than they could truly be understood. Caeden running through wide, green fields with Marcus, their paws muffled by the grasses. The two quickly became family and accepted no alpha other than themselves. The bond they shared.

And suddenly it was dark, and one smell filled Caeden's nose. The smell of the hunter. He chased it with Marcus not far behind, hunting the man down. It had been years, but Caeden hadn't given up.

There was the house, with its single light from the second story. The duo stalked up the porch in their fur and Caeden shifted, pushing the door open for Marcus. He pounded up the stairs to find the man reclined in a chair. He shifted and leapt onto the man's back, tearing his flesh and basking in his blood.

And all too suddenly he was ripped away. He lifted his head to snarl at his attacker, only to be met with golden eyes bearing down on him with absolute rage.

And then he was bleeding and burning, silver filled holes in his stomach. He would die here.

He woke up in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar house. And before he knew it, that house was his. But he did not belong to the house. He hated the black monster that pulled him here - hated that he respected her and that she expected him to submit. Why did Marcus submit? Had they not agreed that they were their own alphas?

And now here he was, bearing his throat to her, sealing a bond he had never made with another alpha. Not his first. Not his second. Certainly not his third. But now, he was bound.

I gasped and stumbled backward, the flood of memories fading. Caeden groaned and clutched his head. When had he shifted back? His blue eyes faded to their rich brown and they fixated on mine that still held their gold.

I felt something heavy settle between us, like a chain tugging us together. Electricity buzzed under my skin, not like the molten heat I had felt previously. No, the heat was mine, but this was him. The weight settled at the nape of my neck. I stared at him in shock as the glade fell quiet.

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch13: Family

Summary: A brief calm before the storm... Referenced Episodes: mentioned S1 E16 "Shadow" CW: Mostly filler. Some fluff! Word Count: 5922 Recommended Song: Cecelia -- Simon & Garfunkel Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

I clocked out after about eight hours of driving and finally gave up on holding a conversation with the boys. The relief of surviving yet another hunt had finally washed away, leaving a bitter feeling hanging low over us.

The brothers were not happy, for similar and yet very different reasons. Both of them were pissed to hell that they had to say goodbye to their father not even an hour after reuniting. However, Sam was frustrated with the fact that it was his brother who sent John away – I could understand his pain. If I had rekindled relations with my father, wherever he might be, and then he suddenly left I would be upset too.

The brothers hadn't spoken much, only really conversing together when I was involved in the conversation. Eventually, I got fed up and did my best to fall asleep to the sounds of loud rock music. Despite Dean's claims about not liking Bon Jovi, he played it an awful lot.

I too was irritated in my own way. I couldn't help but replay the previous night's events over and over again until my head was reeling from exhaustion. Maybe if I had stayed put, John wouldn't have been led to the boys. Perhaps he wouldn't have gotten there in time and therefore not have gotten hurt- No, if we hadn't gotten there, the brothers might have been dead, or worse.

The more I thought about it, the fewer good options there appeared to be. No matter how I spun the story, I couldn't find a happy ending. Something would have gone wrong eventually.

I sighed and fluffed my coat - there was no way Dean was ever getting it back - and rested my head back onto it. It had already been two hours since I had given up on getting a conversation going and all I really wanted was to sleep. I hadn't gotten any at the hospital, and I certainly hadn't had anything more than a few hours while in Chicago. I shut my eyes and did my best to lull myself to sleep.

"Sammy, hand me one of my AC/DC tapes, would you?" Dean asked, extending his hand. Sam had just enough time to open the glove compartment before I spoke up.

"If you play that while I'm trying to sleep, I will skin you," I grumbled out, my words partially muffled by my coat.

Dean briefly glanced over his shoulder to catch my glare. "What's wrong with AC/DC?"

"Nothing, as long as it's not played at 10pm," I growled and nuzzled into the coat. Dean scoffed.

"It's just after 9:30," he muttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

"Close enough," I spat. I heard Sam chuckle and close the compartment. "You have my permission to play something like Journey, though."

Sam practically howled with laughter at this. "No way does Dean have any Journey," he said with a chuckle. "You're lucky he's got any Bon Jovi."

"They're not my favorite," Dean tacked on, "but, they do have a few good albums. I just hate their love songs."

I sighed into my makeshift pillow and squeezed my eyes shut. "Yeah right, Dean. I heard you tapping your foot to 'Bed of Roses' earlier." I cracked one eye open to see Dean's ears tinge pink and again Sam laughed. I grinned and shut my eyes once more.

The car fell silent after a few grumbles from Dean and the cassette that was currently playing came to an end. I hummed and burrowed once more into the coat, letting sleep finally overtake me.

I felt oddly warm, despite being enveloped in darkness. Shouldn't the lack of anything suggest cold, rather than heat?

I blinked open my eyes, or I assume I opened them. The lack of any sort of presence made it hard to distinguish the inky blackness of my surroundings from the shadows of my closed eyelids.

I looked down, seeing my calloused hands, shadowed and blanketed by the heavy darkness. My eyes scanned over my form, recognizing all the clothes I was wearing. They were the same ones I had fallen asleep in, jeans with ripped knees and cuffed ankles to fit over my tightly done hiking boots, and a loose sage green button-down that fit well over my bandages.

I stretched, soaking the warmth into my tired muscles, and suddenly jumped, expecting pain from my torn shoulder and feeling none. I rolled my shoulder questioningly - where was the pain? There wasn't even a dull throb.

I reached towards my back and felt under my shirt, searching for shredded skin, bandages, anything, and felt none. My back felt smooth. Frantically, I unbuttoned the tops of my jeans and pulled them back as far as I could, peaking at where the top of my mangled wound should be. It was smooth. Unblemished.

I felt sick. My eyes flitted around the inky darkness and my throat closed up. I scrambled at my throat. I couldn't breathe. Why wouldn't I breathe?

A faint noise caught my attention and I swiveled the best I could in the murk. My eyes widened with horror as my ears strained to identify the sound.

It was a growl.

I whipped in the opposite direction, searching my shrouded darkness. A shape moved in front of me and I squinted my eyes at it. My hands dropped from my throat, the lack of oxygen forgotten. I struggled to make out a shape in the dark, peering and hoping to see whatever had growled.

My eyes widened as they fastened to two red ones.

I woke with a jolt, using my good arm to propel myself away from the window. I fell to the side, putting pressure on my bad leg and catching myself with my sore arm. I yelped and pushed backward, leaning against the door with wild eyes and heavy breaths.

The car skidded as I startled Dean and he quickly corrected our course. Sam whipped around to face me, worry in his hazel eyes. "Woah, woah, the hell is going on back there!?" Dean shouted, sounding panicked.

I nodded and threaded a hand through my hair the best I could. I took a deep breath in an attempt to regulate my heartbeat and then nodded again, feeling more sure of myself.

"Nightmare," I wheezed out and dropped my hands on my lap. Could it even really be considered a nightmare? If anything, it was more unsettling than terrifying. I brushed my hair out of my face as it clung to my sweaty face. "What time is it?"

"Just after eleven," Dean replied. "You've been asleep for about two and a half hours."

I nodded and swallowed dryly. "So are we close to home?"

Sam nodded and handed me a bottle of water from the glove compartment. "Another twenty minutes." I sighed in relief and relaxed, shifting so my back rested comfortably against my seat. I uncapped the water and downed a third of it.

"Wanna talk about it?" Sam inquired quietly. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply.

"I was in complete darkness, just kind of... floating," I mumbled. "I wasn't in any pain either. My wounds were just... gone, and there were no scars. Like nothing had happened." I sighed out and rested my fingertips lightly on my throat. "I couldn't breathe. It was like there was no oxygen, and... I heard this growl. When I tried to see what growled at me, I saw eyes. Red. Like fire." I shrugged and leaned my head back. "And then I woke up."

My eyes flashed to Dean as he chuckled darkly. "That's it?" he asked. "You afraid of the dark or something, Scoob?"

"-Dean!" Sam chastised his older brother for his apathy."Of course not," I scoffed. "I just- it was just unsettling. There was something... not natural about it."

"We specialize in 'not natural,' sweetheart," Dean continued. "You think it had anything to do with these voices you keep hearing?"

"I don't know," I mumbled, pressing a palm to my temple. My head was throbbing, like a dull headache. "Oh! I forgot to mention it earlier but- I heard the whisper again. Right before your dad attacked me, it told me to duck."

"It told you to duck?" Sam asked, obviously confused. "Why?"

I shrugged. "Probably because your dear old dad would have hit me in the back of the head if I hadn't."

"I dunno, maybe you deserved that for following us," Dean chimed. I glared at his stern features in the rearview mirror.

"And maybe you deserved that pretty cut across your face for being an ass," I snapped back. My harsh words only drew a rumbling chuckle from him. I resettled myself in my seat and shut my eyes once more as the interior of the car fell silent.

I jolted upon feeling the car take a familiar turn off the highway, one that would lead to my front door. I cracked a grin and straightened in my seat, leaning between Dean and Sam to stare out the front window.

Nerves hit me like a truck - was now really the best time to go back? My grin slipped from my face and instead I frowned, pondering. The boys had only just found their father, who supposedly had a huge lead on killing the demon that killed their mom. Killing a demon! What if they needed me?

My heart pounded. Calliope. Had she even made it to the pack? I should have called to check- I should have called to let them know I was coming home! God, that was stupid of me. They were my family, I needed to tell them these things.

Being a part of a family again was a lot harder than I thought.

I bolted upright again when I saw the lights of my house come into view. There was no way this wasn't my favorite place on earth. I beamed, remembering all the memories I had here. Repainting the house with Dennis had been one of the best - it had been an ugly beige color, but I somehow convinced him to go with an almost pastel blue. He had been so against it at first until we started doing it. He fell in love with the color after that.

I reached for my crutches and waited for the Impala to roll to a steady stop. Before Dean had even parked, my door was thrown open and I launched myself from it, struggling to walk and get my crutches under me at the same time. The pack bond was blazing, pulling me towards the painted house as I stretched the crutches as far ahead of me as I could to propel myself forward.

The front door was tossed open and from the opening popped Andrew's red hair, a wide, relieved grin on his features. He ran out the door and toward me, Sasha close behind with a dishrag in hand.

My crutches fell to the ground as Andrew threw himself at me, enveloping me in a warm hug. Sasha soon followed him, embracing me a bit more timidly after surely having noticed my injuries. I hugged back tightly, relieved that I was finally home.

I jumped and broke the embrace, hearing a squeal from the doorway. My eyes fell on Calliope, long hair tied into a loose braid and an apron draped across her front. In just a few bounds she had crossed the lawn and tackled me, practically knocking me over.

"You're back!" she exclaimed, pulling away and inspecting me with sheer joy.

"You're here!" I squealed back. "I was worried you hadn't made it!"

"Of course I made it! Why wouldn't I?" Calliope was practically shaking with excitement, her eyes raking over my form as if she hadn't seen me in years. Finally, her eyes settled with some confusion on my leg with a tight brace on it to restrict movement to keep me from further injuring my muscles. Her eyes widened with panic as they befell my crutches and her grip tightened on my upper arms. "What happened?"

A gentle hand rested on my good shoulder and I turned my head to meet Dean's green eyes, my backpack slung over one of his shoulders. "Just a couple thousand-year-old shadow demon," he said, smirking playfully. He extended his hand to Calliope. "Hi. Dean Winchester."

Calliope looked nervously between the two of us. "Your human friend?" she asked me. I nodded. She smiled softly and shook Dean's hand. "Calliope Jones. I’m a new friend." Her chest swelled with pride.

Andrew leaned forward to pick up my crutches and handed them to me. "What do you mean 'shadow demons'?"

"Ever heard of a Daeva?" I asked. He shook his head and I chuckled. "I wouldn't expect you to. I hadn't heard of them either. Basically, they're these shadow demon things that are really hard to summon and are vicious." The younger boy blinked in confusion, drinking it all in. I rolled my eyes playfully. "I'll fill you guys in later. Where's everyone else?"

"Booth turned in a few hours ago," Sasha chirped, her sweet voice music to my ears. I missed her- all of them. She was going to be pissed when she saw the state of my clothes. "Marcus and Caeden went hunting a couple of hours ago."

I nodded and turned to the Winchesters who were both rearranging luggage in the car. "Don't tell me you boys are leaving already?"

Sam glanced up at me, a woeful expression on his face. "We have to go," he started, straightening and brushing a long lock from his face. "We've got to find dad."

I scoffed and crossed my arms in irritation, much to my shoulder's displeasure. "John can wait a few hours. You boys are getting some sleep." I glared at Dean as he bolted upright to protest, silencing him. "I'll have you boys dragged in by your napes. You can head out tomorrow, but you're sleeping here tonight." I turned to Sasha, hobbling a bit as I spun. "Can you set up the pull out couch in the living room? I doubt they'll want to share the guest room bed," I teased with a glance over my shoulder at the brothers.

The six of us padded into the house and I breathed a sigh of relief as I sat on the living room couch. It had been too long since I was home, and the familiar scents and warm lights gave me an innate sense of comfort that I was sure nothing else ever would. This was my home. And of course, it could be argued that my pack was my home as well, but everyone needed roots. It kept us grounded.

I needed to be grounded.

I wasn't particularly worried about my self-control – as long as I remained around people I trusted and cared about, I had little concern. Truthfully, I was worried about my inability to change forms. How long would it last? And what the hell did I have to do to make it stop?

I must have dozed off at some point. The boys had gotten settled and wished everyone a pleasant night. After that, I remember staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours.

—

I bolted upright having been awoken by the sounds of a door opening, squeaking on its hinges. My eyes slowly adjusted to the room as I blinked furiously, peering through the darkness. My tired eyes latched onto a shadowed form on the front porch, just visible through the small window near the top of the door.

I rubbed a hand down my face, working the sleep out of my eyes. It was still dark out and couldn't have been any later than four in the morning, perhaps even earlier. I felt like I hadn't slept at all. With a deep inhale that rocked my lungs, I stood and reached for my crutches, making my way slowly towards the front door.

The door creaked as I pushed it open, but elicited no reaction from the figure on my porch. I sighed, recognizing who it was, and padded softly toward him.

"You're supposed to be sleeping, you know. That's the whole reason I told you to stay," I mumbled sleepily to Dean, rubbing a closed fist over my eye. He didn't respond, instead staring into the tree line with a tired expression.

"Did I wake you?" he finally asked, eyes unfocused and clearly deep in thought.

I yawned and placed a hand over my mouth. "Yeah, but I probably would have woken up soon anyway. What time is it?"

"’Bout three in the morning, I think," he mumbled back. I nodded and propped my elbow on the railing, resting my chin in my open palm.

"Then I would have been up in a couple hours anyway. Pretty much as soon as the sun started coming up," I reassured with a soft chuckle, almost unnoticeable.

Dean ran his fingers through his hair which was subtly less spiked. Clearly, he had at least laid down for a little while. He always slept on his stomach, it only made sense that his hair would be mssed because of it. "I thought skinwalkers liked to sleep during the day?" he teased.

I laughed a bit louder than I had intended, placing a hand over my mouth to muffle my laughter. "Yeah, some do. My sleep schedule has been all kinds of messed up in the last few months though," I yawned again. "I used to sleep the day away then come out at night. Everything just seems so peaceful and crisp at night, you know?" I sighed and smiled softly. "Even the air is better."

Dean nodded slowly and turned his head towards mine, green eyes swimming with unspoken thoughts. "I guess we messed up a lot more than your sleep schedule, huh?"

I frowned and locked yes with him, confused by his statement. "What makes you think that?"

Dean huffed and turned to face the tree line again, a resigned look resting on his tired features. "Ever since Sammy and I waltzed into your life, nothing's been the same. I mean, you're a hunter now, you've got a pack-" he chuckled darkly, "Hell, you've almost gotten killed a couple of times."

I hummed quietly, mulling it over. True, everything had changed, but I wouldn't say my life was messed up now. "I was bored out of my mind before you boys showed up." I inhaled deeply and spun around, back to the railing and elbows propped on it. "I had been on a few cases long before meeting you boys, but it had been a long time. Months before my uncle died." I paused and thought for a few moments. "Honestly, I think hunting was what I was missing. I love it, despite how crazy that sounds. I was raised on stories of hunting, and when I got a taste of it... I didn't want to let go."

I turned my head to meet Dean's eyes, his looking rather unsure. I mustered the sweetest smile I could and grinned at him. "I'm glad you boys dragged me back in. I didn't realize how much I missed it."

Dean scoffed playfully. "Why would you miss hunting? This life sucks."

“I think I like the… saving people part. I’ve done enough bad in my life, it feels nice to do some good.” I raised an eyebrow at him and nudged him in the arm. "Don't act like you wouldn't miss it."

He exhaled deeply, picking at his nails nervously. "If I could get out and have a life, then I would. White picket fence, kids, two dogs-"

"- Two dogs? I thought you didn't like dogs?"

"Yeah, two dogs – and I do like dogs, s'long as they don't shed. The apple pie life, you know?" He propped his chin in his hands and stared wistfully into the woods. "A house like this, too. Small, but warm, cozy, and out of the way of everything else."

"Would you get a normal job?" I inquired. He looked so peaceful, daydreaming about the perfect life. I wanted to see more of it.

"Yeah, I would," he said with a small smile. "Probably a mechanic, like my dad. I'd teach my kids all about cars, just like he taught me. We'd have pie on Sunday nights for dessert and have Sam visit from time to time..." his smile suddenly fell, replaced with a grim expression. He frowned, the skin between his brows wrinkling and dragging his eyebrows down with it in a sour expression.

"I want that for Sam," he continued, sounding almost lost. "And I want that for you."

Now it was my turn to frown as my own eyes perused his crestfallen features. "But not for yourself?"

"Of course, I want that for myself," Dean grumbled. "But it's just... not something I'll ever have. Kids, a wife, that whole life – maybe in another world that could be mine." He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair once more, tugging at it gently in frustration. "Sam got out of this life once. He can do it again. I want you to get out too, away from the hunting, the demons, all the conflict."

I scoffed. "I hate to break it to you, Dean, but it's not in the cards for me either." His green eyes whipped to mine, a deep-set scowl on his handsome features. "Maybe if I was human, or even if I didn't have a pack to look out for... but not now. Hell, I don't know if I'll even find a partner."

"Do you want kids?" Dean asked. The question startled me and I glanced at him with wide eyes. The last time I had even thought about the prospect of kids was my first case with the boys, with Missouri...

"Honestly, I've never really thought about it," I mumbled and scratched the back of my neck. Why was I so embarrassed? "Never really been the motherly sort, you know?"

Dean laughed and cracked a grin, one that brought a smile to my own cheeks. "You seem plenty motherly with your pack."

My grin grew into a smirk. "Yeah, but they can feed themselves and don't need their diapers changed." Dean chuckled again at this and leaned further forward over the railing.

"So I take it that's a no?" he asked. I hummed questioningly. "About having kids? I guess that means no?"

I froze. Did that mean no?

I shook my head. "Whatever happens, happens. I'll just roll with the punches. If I have a kid, or two, or three, then yeah, I'll be ecstatic. And if I don't-" I frowned. What if I didn't? Missouri said I would, and in the near future, but what if she was wrong? "- If I don't, I've still got a family." My voice cracked as I spoke, betraying how I felt.

I hoped Missouri was right. Maybe I would have some pups of my own and have that apple pie life. Get away from hunting, maybe appoint Booth as the new alpha... my stomach lurched at the sudden thought. Give it all up? Maybe that didn’t sound so bad…

"I still want all that for you," Dean mumbled, once more tearing nervously at his nails. He had a habit of chewing them when he was deep in thought and picking at them when nervous. "For you to have a happy life away from all of this, both you and Sam-"

"Sam and I are never going to be happy with a life outside of this unless you're part of it," I stated, sounding a bit harsher than I intended. "And you and I both know that if either of us had a life outside of this, you'd stay as far away from us, so you don't ruin it."

Dean glowered and glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "I do have a habit of doing that," he grumbled as his eyes lazily scanned over my injured leg and finally befell the crutches leaning against the railing by my side.

I scoffed loudly and turned my face away from his, a dismissive glare on my features. "You don't ruin things, Dean."

He hummed in response, as though he didn't believe me. "Yeah, sure I don't..." he huffed disapprovingly and turned his green eyes away from me. "I didn't exactly act the way I should have when I saw you again in Wyoming... that made things worse."

"No, it didn't," I stated firmly. "You were pissed, and you had every right to be, but the fact that we can have this conversation now tells me that nothing is ruined." He inhaled deeply, ignoring my gaze and glaring down at the ground.

"What'd you and my dad talk about?" he asked, confusing me with his question. Why'd he change the subject so quickly? "On the way back to the hotel in Chicago? You guys took a long time getting back."

I placed a hand on my aching shoulder, rubbing it a bit. I'd need to change the bandages soon. "Nothing much. He didn't believe who I was at first."

"How much did you tell him?"

"I didn't tell him I'm a skinwalker if that's what you're asking," I hissed out. "I'm not that stupid. I mostly told him the truth. Told him my mom died just a little after I was born, and lived with my dad until he left. Told him my uncle took me in and taught me how to hunt. Nothing too crazy or far from the truth."

Dean nodded, looking relieved. "Good," he muttered quietly. "He had your uncle’s number, didn't he? That's what you were trying to show me at the bar?"

I nodded. "Yeah, apparently they worked a couple cases together, though it had been years since they'd seen each other. Didn't even know he died." Dean nodded again, eyes scanning the horizon as the first blue-tinged rays of light dotted the sky. It was only four in the morning, but the sky was already brightening. I sighed and fluffed my hair, trailing my fingers through it in the hopes of undoing a few knots. "I'm sorry, Dean."

He perked up at this, casting me a rather confused glance. "What for?"

"For everything," I mumbled back. "Mostly for leaving. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He chuckled softly and reached to put an affectionate hand on my good shoulder. "You didn't hurt me. I get it, you had to go. Just... next time, let me know before you disappear without a word?"

I laughed softly and fixed my eyes on him, a smirk rising on my lips. "As long as you don't ask me to stay."

"No promises," he teased and spun, his back to the railing. "Thank you."

I straightened and looked at him quizzically. "What for?"

"For everything," he teased, mimicking my previous statement and earning a soft laugh from me. "Mostly for putting up with me. Not many people can."

"What are you talking about, Dean, you're a joy to be around," I said sarcastically.

"I try," he replied jokingly. He yawned, coaxing a yawn from my own lips. "I should probably try to get a couple more hours," he stated softly. "Got a long day of driving ahead of us."

"Where are you and Sam going to go?" I asked. John hadn't given any mention of where he was going.

Dean shrugged. "Sam found a case in North Carolina. Nothing too major, I think, probably just a vengeful spirit," I wrinkled my nose in distaste. I didn't like ghosts. "From there I guess we'll just... follow dad's trail. Try to track him down."

I nodded solemnly and fixed my gaze on Dean's once more. "If I asked you to stay, would you?" I asked quietly. Dean's eyes widened an almost imperceptible amount, his jaw becoming lax from surprise. His eyes surveyed mine with a certain wariness, as though he wasn't sure what to say.

"Yeah..." he finally whispered, trailing off as though he didn't believe it. "I think I probably would."

"Then you should go," I whispered back, standing and hoisting my crutches up next to me, my face only inches from his. "Before I ask you to."

He continued to scan my face with a certain bashfulness and confusion that I had never seen on him. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked timidly, leaning forward ever so slightly.

I gulped, my cheeks dusted with pink. Did I want him to stay? After another few long moments, I turned my face away from his. "You should go to bed, Dean. You've got a long day tomorrow," I said softly, leaning back against the banister again. Dean blinked, ridding himself of the confusion and sleeplessness plaguing his features.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Yeah, I probably should." He stood to his full height and turned away, his back towards me. With one last brief glance over his shoulder, he mumbled, "I'll see you around." And just as quickly as our conversation had begun, it ended, and once more I was left alone in the dark.

I covered my face with my hands when I heard the guest room door shut. My cheeks reddened from embarrassment. "God that was stupid," I muttered to myself. My cheeks flushed darker. I'd never seen Dean act like that before – I'd never seen myself act like that before.

What was wrong with me?

—

I woke mid-afternoon to the sound of Simon and Garfunkel, their wailing tones mixing with someone else's rough vocals. I blinked hard, adjusting to the bright golden lights filtering through my large windows, casting a soft glow onto my bed. When did I make it to my bed?

I stretched and reached for the crutches that leaned against the side of my bed and hobbled down the spiral staircase that led up to my loft. My leg was feeling a lot better than it had yesterday, but I doubted my tendons were even close to being fully healed.

The kitchen was just as bright, with the huge west-facing windows casting a massive amount of light into the room. I squinted and blinked, my eyes fighting to become accustomed to the light. Finally, my eyes landed on Marcus who was sashaying around the kitchen with various pots and pans and belting out the lyrics to 'Cecilia,' the sunlight bouncing off his blonde hair.

"Well look who finally decided to wake up!" he chirped, placing a soapy pan in the sink and pausing his music. "I thought you were going to sleep the day away, honestly."

I groaned and rubbed my eyes which were sore from an excessive amount of sleep. "I feel like I did sleep the day away," I said with a yawn as I sat at one of the bar stools on the edge of the kitchen. "Heard you and Caeden went hunting. When'd you get back?"

"About the time you and your hunter friend had your 3am rendezvous," he teased, scrubbing a pot that looked to have chili residue in it. "So what was that all about?"

My face flushed. "I heard him open the front door and decided to see what was up. We just... talked for a while."

"Mhm," Marcus teased with a smirk. "Yeah, I'm sure you two did a lot of talking." I didn't think my face could get any redder, but I was quickly proven wrong. Marcus sighed playfully and rinsed the pot, placing it on the drying wrack. "By the way, your boyfriend and his brother left a few hours ago."

"They left already?" I asked, a bit surprised by their sudden exit. Marcus nodded.

"Yep," he said, popping the 'p'. "And Dean said to give him a call when you woke up."

I frowned and contemplated a bit. They left without a word - though I suppose I deserved that, after how I left last time I saw them. "Did they say anything else?"

"Just that if you're up for a hunt when your leg heals, then they'd be willing to team up again," he replied, aggressively scrubbing some tongs. "By the way, Sasha changed your bandages for you after we brought you upstairs." I jolted at this, wondering how to hell they managed to do that without waking me – hell, I was in a pair of sleeping shorts now, the new wrappings clearly exposed. Somehow, despite all that, I slept through it. Marcus shrugged, seemingly knowing what I was thinking. "She's pretty gentle, and you were really out of it. Clearly, you needed the sleep."

"Yeah," I mumbled in agreement. "Yeah, I guess I did."

My mind was racing at nine hundred miles an hour, chasing any and all random thoughts that popped into my head. Did they really have to leave so soon? They could have at least waited until I woke up so I could say goodbye.

Maybe they got a lead they wanted to follow up on. Whatever their reason for leaving without any notice to me, I'm sure it was with good intention. I glanced towards the corner of the counter where my phone was plugged in next to the outlet. I contemplated calling Dean now, despite my throat being raw and dry from sleep.

Marcus dried his hands slowly, watching my eyes flicker around the counter in thought. Finally, he put the cloth down and rested his palms on the counter, leaning toward me.

"You care about him, don't you?" he asked, a serious expression on his face. This wasn't the usual teasing- this was sincere. I jolted when I met his green eyes, the sincerity in them shocking me back to reality.

"I care about both of them," I retorted, clasping my hands in my lap. "They're family."

Marcus' eyes regarded mine with scrutiny before he stood abruptly and tossed the dishrag over his shoulder. He reached to press play on his music, but I stopped him with a chuckle.

"Simon and Garfunkel, huh?" I teased, propping my chin on my open palm and elbow on the counter.

"Damn right," he exclaimed with a grin. "Best damn musicians, past, present, and future. I don't care what anyone says. The way they sang 'Bridge Over Troubled Water'?" he blew a kiss into the air. "Absolutely delectable! Nothing better."

I laughed, a wide grin spreading across my cheeks. "And what does Caeden think about that?"

Marcus huffed and crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. "Caeden has terrible taste in music. He likes Johnny Cash," he spat with a groan. "Wouldn't know good music if it bit him in the ass."

I giggled and brought a hand to cover my mouth, suppressing the loud laughter. Suddenly, an outstretched hand was thrust towards my face. My confused eyes traced the length of the arm back to Marcus, who wore a cocky grin on his face.

"Care to dance, alpha?" he teased, wiggling his eyebrows at me. I laughed once more and took his hand. He dragged me out of my seat and held me tight, tilting me slightly to the side to keep too much weight off my injured leg. He reached towards the counter and pressed play on his music, the opening notes of  'Mrs. Robinson' filling the room.

I giggled as Marcus and I swayed around the kitchen, the both of us belting out lyrics like there was no one else around.