"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. "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. I couldn't believe he had just said that. 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 any and all negativity.
The very fact that he cared so little for the lives of those in his way irked me. 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 wanted to rescue him.
But no matter how much I wanted to blame him, to be angry with him, I just couldn't. We were all responsible for the day's - week's events.
I should have stopped it when I had the chance. I should have convinced them to take a different route, one where no one had to die, one where the boys were safe. But I knew that route was unlikely to exist. For whatever reason, this was the road we were meant to take.
I hated it. I wanted off that road, to change directions, even if it meant crawling down the overgrown path and dragging myself towards a life where no one had to die, where my family would be safe.
But, if my family wouldn't follow, then I'd have to stay.
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 we needed to get as far as possible.
Suddenly, 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 you are, 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 and then quickly narrowed his eyes. "I thought I told you to stay by the car."
I scoffed and folded my arms tightly over my chest, scowling 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 cheeks. "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 quirked 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."
"That's not possible," he grumbled. "It wasn't impossible two hours ago, or yesterday, or months ago."
"So, what, they had 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!" I placed the bag of salt on the windowsill and took a few agitated steps forward. "You should have let me keep the demon busy while you all make a run for it!"
"You expect me to sit and watch you take a beating for us?" he hissed through gritted teeth. "Hell no!"
"The demon can't kill me Dean, but unless it has silver," I spat, crossing my arms in irritation. "You know that - you could use that! I don't care how hurt I get, as long as another person doesn't get caught in the crossfire!"
"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 accusing 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. I had so much I wanted to say - I just wanted to talk. I wanted to tell someone how I was feeling, about the week's adventures. But as of now, Dean was not that person.
"When all of this is over," I spoke softly, voice wavering and surprisingly hoarse. "When we kill this bastard, I'm out. I quit."
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."
I raised a brow, 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 work on 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 - no wonder he wanted this demon dead.
"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, isn't it? Masks all that nasty pain, masks the truth," the demon growled, leaning forward. "You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is 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 ordered, 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 took a step 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 whined, clenching my jaw tightly and squeezing my eyes shut to keep away the tears. This was more painful than my first time shifting.
Dean screamed again and my eyes snapped open, red flooding my vision. My wolf howled.
I snarled and bowed my back into the beam, eyes glued to the demon with his pleased smirk. Blood cascaded down Dean's chest, soaking his shirt. I screamed in rage, arching my back until the wood splintered, cracking above me.
"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, OK? 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, OK? 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 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 around 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.
End of season one. 7725 words.
FINALLY! We've reached the end of season one - what do you guys think? Any theories about what's going to happen in season two?
And A/N has been posted, discussing my thoughts on season one, some of my plans for season two, and answering any questions you guys may have!
I really hope you enjoyed the first season of my book! I know I did.
Take care, guys.
- Laurel