I slumped limply over Clarence's broken form, his eyes narrowed but still fixated on the trees up above. I watched with a slack jaw, half expecting him at any moment to take another shaky breath and proclaim that he was in good health. He never did.
A sob broke the silence around me, quiet, timid, as though they didn't want to be heard. I lifted my head to see a woman I didn't recognize bandaging her friend's arm. She clearly had no idea how to wrap the bandages and stem the flow of blood from his rather nasty gashes. I rose slowly to my feet, only to be halted by a comforting hand on my shoulder. I met Caeden's eyes and placed a hand on top of his own.
"Watch him," I whispered as I stepped around Clarence, shooting one last glance at his bloody form. I pursed my lips and hung my head. Now was not the time to think about what could have been different.
I crossed the grass and fallen leaves, speckled and stained with blood until I reached the woman's side. She was thin and wiry, with a shock of short pink hair styled into what would have been a short mohawk, had it not been ruined by the night's events.
I dropped to her side and held out my hand. She froze, her blue eyes wide as she stopped her wrapping. Slowly she handed the roll to me. Wordlessly, I took it from her and unwrapped her work. From the bag by her feet, I withdrew a second lump of gauze and stretched it over the first, hoping that may slow the bleeding.
"What's your name?" I asked the man beside me as I wrapped his wound tenderly. I winced with each touch and each motion to tighten it.
"Augustine," he mumbled out, scrunching his hooked nose in pain. His olive skin paled, sweat beading on his brow.
"Why did you help us?" I inquired softly, glancing at the pink-haired minx by my side. He glared at the ground, her hands balled into fists and buried into her thighs. Her nose was covered in dried blood, the cartilage askew. It was broken, and it didn't look like it was the first time.
Augustine chuckled morbidly and draped his other arm over his face. "You helped us. They were after us, not you." I lifted a brow, waiting for him to elaborate. Instead, he groaned, his chest rising and falling heavily.
"We should get you to a hospital," I murmured and lifted his arm, inspecting my work. His arm was in far worse shape than mine. If it wasn't treated properly and quickly, I didn't doubt it would turn septic. "What about the rest of your pack? Where are they?"
The pink-haired woman shook her head and pointed over her shoulder. I turned to see their companion with the friendly demeanor and warm eyes dragging two bodies to the side, away from the rest of the mass. They were bloodied and battered, much like my own pack. But, at least all of mine were safe.
I turned back to the pair and opened my mouth to offer my condolences, but was cut off by a harsh wave of the pink-haired woman's freckled hand. "Things happen. Ain't the first time we've lost people," she said, doing her best to sound aloof, but I didn't miss the hitch in her voice. "'S been a long couple o' weeks," she said and ran her dirty hands through her hair, spiking it back up again. Reluctantly, she held one of her grimy hands out to me. "Name's Gator," she said, her name fitting the strong Texan accent.
I reached for her hand and held it tightly in my own. "Y/N," I offered and pointed over my shoulder to my companions. "Caeden, Marcus, and Andrew," I offered, dropping my hand slowly as I watched Marcus patch up Andrew's leg, a bullet wound evident on his skin. It was a graze, but the silver poisoning would make it slow to heal.
"You've met Auggie," Gator continued, pointing to her slumped friend, he held up a weary thumbs-up. She pointed over her own shoulder to her friendly companion. "That there's Hidalgo. He don't talk much." She then pointed towards her fallen companions, her thin lips drawn into a tight line. "They was Tony and Amelia. Last few of our pack."
"What happened to the others?" I questioned softly, hoping not to startle the pair. Gator shrugged and folded her arms across her thin chest.
"Dead." She said half-heartedly. "Or gone. There weren't many of us to start, but a few left once things got hot," she grumbled out a few swears. "I reckon they couldn't take it. Once those bastards creeped in, they split."
I hummed along with her words and glanced back towards my own pack. They stood warily, Marcus on shaky legs and Andrew splayed on the ground with an exhausted look in his green eyes. I glared at the mass of bodies that lay on the grass. I glared at the mass of bodies that littered the glade.
I found myself counting them, wondering just how much of a dent we had made in the tervuren's pack. I pursed my lips at the final count; it wasn't enough, that much was for sure.
"Why was he after you?" I asked, wiping my dirty palms on my jeans, leaving smears of blood in their wake.
Gator shook her head and pulled herself to her feet. "Somethin' 'bout joining him. Some bull crap 'bout being stronger together. Our alpha wasn' havin' none of it," she grumbled and helped to pull Augustine to his feet. He swayed, towering over her petite form. Beads of sweat built on his forehead and upper lip. "Guess that's what got him killed, yeah? Insolence and the like."
I turned to her with wide eyes, jaw slack. "He killed your alpha?"
"Well yeah, that's how ye take over a pack, ain't it?" she answered with a shrug like it was nothing. "What about you lot? What'd he want with you?"
I shook my head and bent forward to gather up the medical supplies, tossing the dirty bandages into a separate compartment. "Nothing, that I know of. We just stumbled across this hunt. Wasn't expecting to see him here."
Gator quirked a brow. "Ye seemed rather friendly back there-" I scoffed at her words. "Have ye met before?"
"Once," I offered and slung the small bag over my shoulder. "There wasn't much to it, just..." I trailed off. She nodded along with my words, seeming to understand. I sighed and waved my companions over. They had been waiting off to the side, talking quietly amongst each other.
Caeden was the first to reach my side, and Marcus and Andrew soon followed. Andrew limped slowly, jaw clamped tightly in pain. I doubted he had ever experienced a silver wound before. At this rate, it wouldn't be the last time.
"Get them to a hospital," I murmured quietly to Marcus and motioned for Caeden to hand him the keys to our stolen truck. "Make sure they get patched up. Drive carefully." Marcus looked as though he wanted to protest but decided against it. He swiped the keys from his partner and gestured for the shabby group to follow him.
Andrew cast one last lingering glance over his shoulder, concern written on his freckled features. "What are you going to do?"
---
I dragged the heavy tree limb behind me, scraping at the dirt and rocks that littered the forest floor. My arms were beginning to shake, my wound freshly wrapped but still bleeding in spots. Hopefully, this would be over soon.
The weight in my palms lifted as Caeden approached from behind, lifting the gnarled branch off the ground. I breathed a sigh of relief and uttered a quiet thank you. He said nothing in return.
The funeral pyre wasn't much to look at sadly, but it would do the job. Caeden had taken the liberty of pulling Clarence's keys from his pocket and finding the hunter's truck. Inside of course was a mess of poorly concealed weapons, and one half-empty container of gasoline. By the end of this, it would likely be completely empty.
I watched with my arms folded tightly around me as Caeden began dousing the branches that shrouded that hunter's body from my view. I shivered in the cold, knowing it wouldn't be long before the air was plenty warm enough, fueled by the soon-to-be raging fire.
He tipped the canister over, a grim scowl on his thin features, watching as the last of the gasoline dripped out and onto the twigs. Slowly, he righted the canister and stepped back, eyes latched onto the messy pile.
"Do you want to do it, or should I?" he asked, withdrawing a small lighter from his pocket. I took it from him sluggishly, my cold fingers fumbling across the plastic surface. I finally managed to get a tight enough grip on the small lighter, dwarfed in Caeden's rather large palms, and made my way across the small clearing.
I struck the lighter once, twice, and watched a short column of flame rise from the opening. I watched the flame dance there, pushed about by the wind. My eyes met the clump of branches, the old hunter buried somewhere in the center and I pursed my lips. I hadn't known him well, but he certainly deserved better than this.
It pained me to know that I would never know him better, not like I knew the Winchesters or Bobby. I wondered if he could've ever become a friend.
I tossed the lighter underhand onto the pile, surprised that the little flame hadn't gone out and been wicked away. Instead, it caught the thin trails of gasoline almost immediately, setting them ablaze with such ferocity and vengeance that I took a few stumbling steps back. Caeden placed his hand on my shoulder, watching the flames climb higher and higher.
We watched for several quiet minutes, taking in the roaring inferno and the column of smoke rising into the cold, early morning air. It couldn't have been more than four in the morning, and the woods were uncharacteristically silent for such a clear and bright night. Perhaps they were also mourning.
"Did you know him well?" Caeden asked, finally breaking the silence and jarring me from my thoughts. I shook my head, earning a quiet hum from him. "He seemed... nice. Scattered, but kind."
I nodded and narrowed my eyes at the bright flames that fanned my face with heat. "Yeah..." I murmured out and watched the cinders beneath the flames ignite and dissipate, struggling to stay lit. "Did you see what happened?"
He shook his head. "Not much. Andrew went down and a gap opened up, s'all I saw," he spoke, just as softly as I had. "He wasn't down for long, but..."
"It was enough," I finished. Once more he hummed in response. We stayed like that for several long silence before I turned from the flames, now lowering as the gasoline ran out. It would burn for hours, but it was well contained. "We should get moving. I don't want to wait for them to come back." My friend nodded and dropped his hand from my shoulder. With that was started down the thin path back towards Clarence's pickup.
---
"Heathecliff?" I told the receptionist, ending with a slight question. I was pretty sure I had gotten the name right. "They should've checked in maybe a few hours ago?"
The woman at the front desk nodded, her ruby red nails tapping against the raised keyboard as she searched for the name. My eyes fell from her dark curls to her red nails every few seconds and lingered there until she began typing again.
"Grace?" she asked, not looking up from her monitor. I paused for a second before nodding. She hummed and spun the monitor to face me. "These are their rooms. Your tall friend is in surgery, should be out in a few hours." Her deep brown eyes met mine, her tanned skin pulled into a tight frown. "I've never seen car wreck injuries like that, you know."
I shrugged and scrawled the numbers messily on a sheet of paper, avoiding her gaze. "Freak accident, I guess." I felt her gaze burning my skin and followed her eyes to the bandages on my arm.
"You're those agents, aren't you?" she questioned with a quirked brow, perfectly trimmed and colored. "The ones that were down by the quarry?" I nodded and slipped the paper from her desk, handing it behind me to Caeden who had been as still as a statue through the whole encounter. "Did you ever find the-"
"I'm going to go talk to the victims, alright? I'll see you on the way out," I interrupted and she promptly fell silent, wide-eyed and startled. I pressed a hand lightly to Caeden's arm, ushering him along.
"Marcus is upstairs, go check on him and Andrew," I whispered, pushing my friend in the direction of the stairs. This seemed to spur him into action and suddenly he was moving on his own, rushing towards the staircase leading up to the next story. He caught my eye once and shot me a meaningful look before disappearing around the corner.
I sighed and ran a hand through my now tangled hair, pulling at the ratty ends of my ponytail. My hands were still sticky with blood, my skin marred and bruised in several spots. I was in desperate need of a shower.
I meandered slowly down the halls, my skin crawling with each step. I hated hospitals. They were too clean, too quiet. They reeked of death and something in between. Limbo. It was like no time passed in hospitals, at a standstill. I hated them even more after my last time in one.
I rounded the corner of one of the long halls and found myself nearly face to face with Hidalgo. He jumped back in fright, his deep eyes suddenly swimming with caramel color. As soon as the color had risen, it faded along with his fright.
"Christ," he grumbled out and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Took you all long enough to get here. We've been waiting for ages."
"Would you have rathered I left him there?" I questioned. I didn't wait for him to answer before I pressed on. "I heard your friend is in surgery. August, yeah? What's wrong with him?"
Hidalgo sucked in a bated breath and spoke slowly, trying and failing to hide the obvious concern in his voice. "Wound's bad. Deep. Doc's tried their best to clean it up, but..." he trailed off, his eyes meeting the white tiles beneath his feet. "I think they're worried they're going to have to take it off."
My eyes flew open in shock. "Take it off?" I echoed, earning a nod from Hidalgo. I shook my head slowly, processing the words. "Will he be alright?"
Hidalgo shrugged. "Maybe. Probably," he replied, not sounding very convinced. "I saw it, it's not pretty. You did a good job wrapping it, but it's shredded. Muscle, skin, everything." I winced, ignoring the sting that arose from my own wound. I was grateful mine wasn't that bad. "He should be out after a few hours. After that... I guess we'll figure something out. Somewhere to go."
I paused for a moment, mulling over my own words as I thought about what to say next. Did I really want to suggest this?
"Why don't you stay with us?" I finally blurted out the suggestion, earning a quizzical stare from Hidalgo. "At least until you all recover and decide to move on. I mean sure, we will be pretty far from here, but it's safe-"
"Sure," he cut me off with a gentle smile. "At least I'm fine with that. I'll have to ask them first." I couldn't help but express surprise at how quickly he accepted the offer. I nodded curtly and stared down at my feet, unsure of what to do next. Hidalgo chuckled and placed a warm, calloused hand on my shoulder. "You should check on your friends."
I nodded in agreement and moved to speak, but he was gone. He disappeared down the hall as quickly as he had come, likely on his way to see Gator. I pursed my lips and frowned over my shoulder. I suppose I had plenty of time, might as well make sure the others are alright.
I didn't make it very far before I stopped at the feeling of what now seemed to be a heavy weight in my pocket. My phone, now weighing as much as a brick, seemed to burn against the side of my hip. I furrowed my brows in thought before inevitably reaching into my pocket and withdrawing the little device.
My fingers moved so naturally when I dialed the number that I didn't have to think about it. I had done this so many times before that it felt natural by now to call him. As soon as I hit the call button, the phone was to my ear and my lips between my teeth, chewing nervously. Would he yell at me, or would he simply be worried? I hoped he wasn't already on his way here, that did seem like a very Dean thing to do.
Fortunately, none of those things occurred. Unfortunately, I was sent straight to his voicemail. My shoulders eased slightly, my back loosening at the sound of his voice from the other end of the line.
"This is Dean. I'll call you back when I get the chance." That was it. A beep followed shortly after and I was jarred back into reality, drawn from my thoughts of him.
"Dean, hi. It's, um... it's me. Everything's fine, the case is done. I..." I chewed nervously on my lips once again, playing with the ends of my hair in the same way he had so many months ago on the Benders' case. My voice cracked when I spoke again. "Call me back when you get this, OK? I'll... tell you about the case when you do. See you then, yeah?" I paused for several long seconds before ending the call.
I sighed and placed my head in my hands, my phone still clasped tightly in one. Hearing his voice just reminded me of how much I wanted to talk to him. I had half a mind to call back just so I could hear the voicemail again.
I sniffed and brushed a hand beneath my eye. He was probably just on silent. It was early in the morning, he was likely still asleep. Sam would be awake by now, right?
I typed in Sam's number and waited for him to pick up. I pulled the phone away so abruptly from my ear at the sound of his voice mail that I didn't even bother replying. That wasn't right. They almost always had one or both of their phones on. Even at the apex of a hunt, they would be left on, they'd just be in the Impala. Going straight to voicemail was unusual for either Winchester, let alone both.
I tapped my finger against the side of the phone, thinking about my next course of action. Should I wait for them to call back, or should I try again? Eventually, I came to a third option.
This time I had to think about the numbers I was typing in. Bobby wasn't one I called as regularly as the brothers. The phone rang three times before he finally picked up.
"N/N?" he answered. I breathed out a sigh of relief. "Thought you were out on a hunt?"
"I am- was. Done now," I spoke, a lazy smile dawning on my lips. "Do you know where the boys are? Neither of them are answering their phones."
Bobby scoffed and shuffled on the other end of the line. "Well hello to you too. My week's been great, thanks for asking," he grumbled. "Last I heard they were working a case in Baltimore. Some family claiming to have seen a ghost, or something." Bobby hummed and I could clearly picture him scratching his beard in thought. "Been a bit since their last check-in though. Could just be busy."
I didn't respond, wondering just how long it had been since they'd checked in. I hadn't talked to them in, what, twelve hours? It wasn't like them to not even send Bobby a text for that long, not unless they were already deep in the case.
"Have you tried calling them?" I questioned. I heard Bobby rustle from the other end, likely shaking his head.
"No, figured they're caught up in whatever's going on up there." Bobby sighed and paused for a moment. I matched his silence, drawing my gaze back and forth across the tile floor as a way to distract myself. "Is everything alright, N/N?"
I let out a shaky breath and pinched the bridge of my nose. No, I wanted to say. It's not. Everything had gone to shit in a matter of minutes. My arm was throbbing now, my head felt like it was splitting open with a pounding headache, and I had barely had time to process the night's event.
My voice cracked as I spoke, my words getting caught in my throat. After days of barely sleeping, or not sleeping at all, I was exhausted. Drained and welling up with emotion that I really couldn't deal with right now. To acknowledge it would be opening the floodgates, and I couldn't handle that yet.
I just wanted to see Dean.
"Yes," I finally answered after several long moments. "Yes, everything's fine. I'll call you later, alright Bobby?" I said although it was less of a question and more of a statement. He simply grunted in reply and I ended the call.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and placed my head in my hands. I needed a shower and sleep. I just had to get us out of this and everything would be fine. Get everyone away from here, find Sam and Dean-
Why did I need to find Sam and Dean? I lifted my head and brushed a stray tear from my dirty cheek, hardly paying attention to the sudden moisture welling up in my eyes. They could help. They could help. Just find Dean.
I sniffed one last time as I marched on shaky legs back down the hallway.
---
Hours later, I still hadn't heard a word from the Winchesters. I sat beside Andrew's bed, bouncing my knee nervously, irritating the poor boy each time my heel clicked against the cold linoleum floor. Thankfully, he was asleep now, exhausted from a long night.
I must have checked my phone twenty times in the last ten minutes. Did I have any missed calls? Was my ringer on? Had they texted me? No, no, no, every single time. Anxiety blossomed in my chest, squeezing my rib cage until I felt it was going to pop.
"No news?" I heard a now-familiar voice call out from the open doorway. I shook my head, not meeting Hidalgo's eyes. "Hey if you need to go, you can. We can hold down the fort for you," he said with a grand gesture over his shoulder to Gator who loomed behind him. I shook my head again, several stray hairs falling in my face.
"I can't leave Andrew alone. They'll call me soon, I'm sure." I wasn't sure, not at all. I couldn't dismiss the feeling that something was very wrong. Hidalgo gazed at me with a look I couldn't quite place. Was it pity? With a sigh I leaned back in my chair and draped my arm over my eyes, blocking out the harsh hospital lights. "Tell me about what happened. Your pack. The others," I said, more of an order than I intended. Neither of them protested and instead stepped quietly into the room and found seats.
"We were... a small pack. Quiet. Didn't eat humans," he began, his eyes meeting mine to gauge my reaction. I simply nodded, waiting for him to continue. "Kept to ourselves mostly, stayed in that old fire tower. Tried to stay out of town.
"They showed up probably... three weeks ago? Not sure how they found us honestly." He sighed out shakily, earning a comforting touch from Gator on his arm. "Started as a 'you're welcome to join us,' and he offered all these things. Safety in numbers, power, food. Our alpha... she said no. Didn't want any part of it, we were all happy.
"Turned into a 'join or die' campaign pretty quick after that. Bodies started turning up - humans. Heart gone." He shook his head and placed his hand over Gator's. "They started sending us bits not long after."
"We weren' quite sure what he was lookin' for at first," Gator continued where Hidalgo had faded out. "He kept coming back for more, getting angrier and angrier. He was so gentle at first -- real composed, quiet-like. We just ignored him, alpha's orders. Figured he'd go away eventually - not the first pack we've dealt with."
"And then Colin turned up dead," Hidalgo breathed out. I flinched, my heart sinking. "Amelia found him when she went out looking for food. After that, things got... rough. They started showing up more often, got more forceful."
"Why?" I questioned, my heart hammering in my chest. "What'd he want?"
Hidalgo shrugged. "More, I guess? More skinwalkers, more power. He seemed..."
"Obsessed," Gator finished, her lips drawn back in a snarl. "Bastard just wanted power. We've seen alphas like him before who get power-hungry. They always want to be on top. Never seen none as bad as him before."
"They started picking us off after that," Hidalgo continued. "Picked fights. Killed a couple more. And then... he showed up one day and challenged our alpha."
"Killed her like it was nothing," Gator murmured, earning a wince from Hidalgo. She was almost too blunt for her own good. "We ran after that, the five of us. They took the damned tower and we just ran. Auggie wanted to get out of there, but..."
"They would've found you," I finished. Both nodded in response. I tilted my head back and swore softly. "I'm sorry."
"Ain't nothing," Gator finished with a shake of her head. "We made it out alright, didn't we? That's all that matters." I dropped my gaze to the floor, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. I couldn't help but wonder what that tervuren wanted. Seeing him twice now... it couldn't be a coincidence.
I jumped in fright as my phone began to ring loudly, startling everyone in the room and jarring Andrew out of his deep sleep. The boy groaned and placed his hands over his face, rubbing sleep from his eyes. I fumbled with my phone and didn't even bother to check the caller ID before answering.
"I found them," came Bobby's gruff voice from the other end of the line. "You're not gonna like this."
---
The truck was completely silent other than the subtle purr of the engine. The cab was filled with tension, Marcus and Gator staring out opposite windows with twin scowls on their faces. The two hard-headed, arrogant blondes argued at the drop of a hat, their hackles raised and bristled with irritation.
I glared out the open wind, the sun waning now as we neared Baltimore. We had let swiftly - I hadn't had the strength to argue against them coming with me.
"You're not going without us," Marcus had spat in an attempt to convince me not to go. As much as he liked the Winchesters, they were not a priority. "And we can't leave Andrew here with them."
"Then I'll go with you," Gator called, snatching my backpack from my shoulder and slinging it over her own. "And, God willin', if you don't shut your lousy trap I'll throw you out the backseat. So get in and let's go."
I huffed, tightened my grip on the wheel, and pressed harder on the gas, watching the speed inch from ninety to one-hundred. It was an interstate, no one cared about speeding. I couldn't help but think Dean would be shocked at my antics - I rarely ever sped with him.
My knuckles went white as I thought about Dean. Suffice to say I was shocked that Sam and Dean had not only been caught but were now being interrogated in a prison for something they hadn't done. I had known that Dean was mixed up in something illegal, or at least was accused of such. That in itself was confirmed on the Benders' case so many months ago.
What I hadn't realized was the severity of the claims against him. Murder, torture, and the like, things he certainly hadn't done. No wonder he hated shapeshifters so much, he had been framed by one. I was beginning to hate them too.
"These boys, they mean that much to ya?" Gator had asked, traipsing out of the hospital with a mighty scowl on her rather masculine features. She had a square jaw and small, beady eyes that seemed to pick you apart when you caught her eye. "'Nough to hunt down like this?"
I nodded and reached for the bags in her grasp, tossing them easily into the pickup bed of Clarence's truck. "They're worth more than that, trust me." She grumbled something under her breath and hauled herself into the backseat.
I glanced over my shoulder one last time to see Caeden and Marcus sharing one last goodbye before the blonde departed. He scowled as he turned from his partner and marched towards the truck, none too pleased about the turn of events.
He was still displeased, bickering with Gator at every turn. They were fairly extreme in their levels of trust - one rarely handing trust over and the other blindly following those she believed to be of strong character. I glowered at the seething pair from the rearview mirror.
The interstate split and veered into Baltimore. I navigated the wide, busy streets at a much higher speed than was permitted, not that anyone cared. It seemed everyone was speeding, and many were above and beyond my speeds.
I swerved into the next lane and pulled off onto a smaller road, following the well-lit street towards a tall stone building at the end of the road. My eyes tracked around the now empty parking spaces that lined the road outside of the Baltimore Police Department, dimly illuminated by the now waning moon that rose high into the night sky.
With a harsh glare over my shoulder, I pointed an accusing finger at the two sulking skinwalkers in the backseat. "Stay here, and don't do anything stupid," I ordered firmly, not bothering with waiting for them to reply.
My boots hit the dirt road with a thud and I pulled Dean's old jacket tighter around me. A thin wisp of cold touched my back, although far less notable now with patches sewn into the formerly ripped fabric. My sewing wasn't the best, but the old flannel did its part in covering the daeva's claw marks from so many months ago.
The wind seemed to pick up a bit as I traipsed down the sidewalk, both hands tight in my pockets. I was unarmed, feeling almost naked without a weapon on me - it irked me, just how reliant I had become on guns and knives. I was almost reluctant to get my own paws dirty.
I hardly felt the cold metal door handle under my palm, as my own skin was just as frigid. The door moved easily under my weight, swinging open and swaying gently in the chilly wind. The lobby was much warmer, although the interior didn't give much comfort. The walls were slate gray, matching the seafoam green and white tiles beneath my muddy boots.
The receptionist looked up at me from behind his heavy glasses, his dark eyes that matched his equally as dark skin took in my disheveled form. "Can I help you?" he asked with a low baritone. I flashed him what I hoped was a friendly smile.
"I'm looking for a... friend of mine, I heard he might be here," I spoke sweetly, cringing at my own syrupy voice. The receptionist quirked a thick brow, wondering just how much of a friend they could be if they were in lock-up in Baltimore of all places. But, I was here in the middle of the night, so they must be important to me.
"Name?" he asked, fingers poised over his keyboard, likely planning to search the registry.
"Dean Winchester," I replied hopefully. The man's long fingers didn't move. His eyes remained on his monitor for several long, pain-staking sentences before dropping them back into his lap.
"No visitors, ma'am."
I scowled and withdrew my hands from my pockets, crossing them irritably over my chest instead. "But-"
"No visitors-" the man chimed again more firmly this time, only to be cut off by the sound of a door slamming behind him. I followed his gaze to a rather attractive blonde woman in a pantsuit, a badge on one of her hips, and a gun on the other.
"Problem, Walter?" the officer questioned the receptionist as she wrapped a scarf around her neck; the receptionist shook his head and muttered a quiet 'no'. She spun on her heels to face me from behind the desk. "Officer Ballard," she introduced warmly. "What can I do for you, miss?"
"I'm looking for Sam and Dean Winchester," I said coolly. "Heard they might be here." The woman froze just as the receptionist had and held my gaze as if pondering my words.
"Why don't you come with me," she spoke and stepped around the desk, strolling past me. "I'm clocking out Walter, I'll see you tomorrow," she said with a dismissive wave and waited for me to follow. Walter stuttered something out before falling into silence, watching me with a wary gaze.
I raced after the officer, following her out the door that was now intent on staying shut, the wind pushing against it. She used her body weight to shove it aside, holding it open for me as we stepped out onto the empty Baltimore streets. I expected her to say something, but instead, she continued her stroll down the sidewalk.
I cast a wary glance towards Clarence's pickup where my friends sat, watching nervously. Gator had one palm planted firmly on the door handle, ready to dash out at a moment's notice. I raised a hand, ordering them to stay put before catching up to the officer.
She walked with brisk strides, although they were easy for me to match. I fell in step beside her, hands once more buried in my pockets. "I'm assuming you're Y/N L/N?" she finally asked. I froze, halting immediately, and watched her warily.
"How..." I began, an unpleasant and suspicious scowl on my features. "How do you know that?" I questioned, furrowing my brows and glaring heartily at her. She rolled her eyes and gestured for me to continue following.
"Your friend Dean told me to call you," she said and pulled an old, chipped phone that I quickly recognized to be Dean's from her pocket. "Had to take this from lock-up and everything. He said you might be able to help us?"
"Dean told you to call me?" I repeated. She nodded and stepped off the sidewalk, stopping beside a silver corolla that I assumed belonged to her. "What does he think I can help with?" I demanded. She shrugged and rolled up her sleeves, revealing thick bruises on her wrists.
"Said something about a vengeful spirit. Said you two are in the same line of work," she replied and popped open the driver's side door. "Also said his brother could help - that's where I'm headed now."
"Sam's not in there?" I raised my voice over the howling wind. She shook her head, shouting something about an escape before slipping into the driver's seat and starting the car.
"Are you getting in or what?" came her muffled voice, waving at the empty seat beside her. I wrenched the door open and climbed in without a second thought.
---
Before the motel door was all the way open, I was on Sam. My arms wrapped around his shoulders in a nearly bone-crushing hug, throwing him off balance as he stumbled backward into the room, his hands gripping my waist to keep us steady.
I released him just as quickly as I had tackled him, scolding him for being so reckless. How had they gotten caught? Now they were both wanted by the authorities, and I hoped to God my name would never be on record beside theirs.
I hurriedly texted the address and room number to Marcus, happy that I had left the keys in the truck. I doubted Marcus knew how to drive a stick shift, but something told me Gator was proficient. I just hoped she wasn't as much of a reckless driver as she seemed.
I glanced up to see Sam examining the officer's wrists, speaking quietly to her about the supposed specter she had witnessed. The same one that had given her those nasty bruises. How she hadn't noticed them, I didn't understand, although I suppose I wasn't one to talk. Adrenaline did funny things to people, covering up their wounds.
I glanced down at my own arm, freshly wrapped and no longer bleeding. It was seeping, sure, pussy and swollen and flayed, but at least I wasn't bleeding. It wouldn't heal as fast as normal, what with it being a skinwalker's bite, but I would heal faster than any human.
It irked me, seeing just how much damage my own kind could do to me. A normal bullet couldn't kill me - hell, I wasn't even sure being decapitated could kill me if it wasn't silver. All I had ever been told was that silver and wounds from my own kind were my only weakness. It didn't make much biological sense, but I suppose nothing supernatural ever did.
"Y/N? You listening?" Sam called, his hazel eyes on mine. I lifted my head, no doubt still dirty and bloody - I had done my best to wash up with a rag, but I still needed a shower.
"No," I answered honestly and sat up straighter. "No, I wasn't." Sam rolled his eyes playfully before dragging a small weapons bag off the table and tossing it to me. I caught it easily with my good arm.
"Pack up, we found it," he said, looking rather cheerful despite the circumstance. "We've got a spirit to kill."
---
I stood nervously outside the front door of the ramshackle warehouse, bouncing from one foot to the other. Sam and the officer were inside, doing a quick search of the building, hoping to find the remains of the poor woman that was now haunting Ballard.
Ballard seemed... nice enough. I was glad that she was willing to overlook Sam and Dean's 'crimes' for now, although I wasn't sure how long that would stay true. But, this wasn't the first time they had gotten a cop on their side, and I doubted it would be the last.
The familiar purr of a Ford had my eyes racing from the ground up to the side alley where the Impala was blanketed in shadow. The Ford pulled to a stop and before the damned thing was even parked Marcus was out and storming towards me.
"Where the hell were you?" he scolded, following close behind as I entered the building, door creaking on weathered hinges. "You disappear and start texting us addresses? What the fuck?" he growled out, Gator trotting along behind, a weapon's bag slung over her shoulder.
"Don't get it twisted Marcus, I gave you more than addresses," I grumbled, jogging down the steps and into the basement to where I knew Sam was waiting.
"Right, cause telling us Sam's out and we're hunting a ghost sure gives a lot of information," he pressed, his skin prickling with each step he took further into the basement. He hated ghosts. Out of everything supernatural, he hated ghosts the most; he hoped he'd never have to see one or even be near one. Marcus would take ghouls and werewolves and shapeshifters any day over a ghost.
Gator came to a halt at the back of the group, peering her head around a doorway. She stared quizzically into a rather empty room, occupied by Officer Ballard with her flashlight held high. "Ay, I thought ye said we were killing a ghost," she called, chasing after the group. "So what's the cop doing here? We killin' her too?"
I sent her a sharp glare over my shoulder, watching her thin lips twist up in a wry smile. "She's here to help."
Gator scoffed and wrinkled her crooked nose in disgust. "What good's a cop gonna do-"
Ballard screamed. I spun on my heels and pushed past my companions, racing down the corridor. Sam appeared from around a bend, nearly colliding with me as we dashed into the room. Officer Ballard stood in the center of the room, both hands covering her mouth in shock as she panted.
"What is it, what happened?" Sam asked frantically, standing in front of the officer and gripping her tightly by the shoulders. She shook her head and leaned around him, her eyes latched on the brick wall behind him. She was... well, she looked like she had seen a ghost.
"She was right there," she said, pointing around the mountain of a man that stood in front of her. "Claire, she was right there, by the window." Sam glanced over his shoulder and waved me over.
"Did she hurt you?" he asked, scanning the officer for any visible wounds. She shook her head no. "Help me move this," he ordered with a vague gesture to the shelving unit that stood against the wall.
Gator quickly slid in beside me, gripping the edge of the unit while I took the one beside her. Sam stood across from us and pushed, sending it our way. The metal scraped across the concrete, grating my sensitive ears.
As soon as the wall was visible, Sam got to work. The EMF blared in his hand, picking up electromagnetic frequencies that, in a building like this, could only mean one thing. Claire - or whatever was left of her - was behind the wall. In no time, Sam was swinging a sledgehammer, pulled from the back of the Impala, bricks cracking and falling around his feet.
I exchanged hushed words with my companions, ignoring Sam and Ballard's conversation for the most part. Occasionally Ballard would ask one or both of us a question and I would answer. I muttered softly to the pair of skinwalkers, filling them in on the case. It wasn't until Sam let out a noise of triumph that I turned my attention back to the pair.
Sam and Ballard reached into the sizeable hole Sam had created and withdrew a bundle from the wall. It reeked of death and rot, and I wrinkled my nose in disgust. I didn't even have to see it to know what was inside.
They unwrapped Claire's body and inspected her corpse timidly. Her skin still clung to her thin bones, even after ten months of being buried in that wall, if you could even call that being buried. I stood beside them, crouched and leaning over the scrawny corpse, her wrists still obviously bruised and a gold necklace loose around her neck.
Sam's fingers reached for the necklace, holding the charm up for Ballard to see. "You seen anything like this before?" he questioned.
The officer gazed at the necklace with a stunned expression. "Yeah, I..." she withdrew her own necklace from her neckline, a perfect match to Claire's. My eyes widened in surprise. "It's supposed to be rare. Custom made... my partner, Pete, gave it to me..."
"Shit," Sam said as he stood abruptly and carded his fingers through his hair. "It makes sense- it all makes sense now!"
"What makes sense, Sam," I asked and stood on my own feet. I offered a hand to Ballard and pulled her up beside me, one of her dainty yet calloused hands still gripping her necklace firmly.
"Claire's a death omen, not a vengeful spirit!" he exclaimed triumphantly with an excited gesture to the poor girl's corpse. "Claire's not killing anyone. She's trying to warn them. You see, sometimes spirits, they don't want vengeance, they want justice. Which is why she led us here in the first place. She wants us to know who her killer is!"
"That doesn't tell us much, Sam," I grumbled irritably. "Who's her killer then?" Sam's lips quirked up in an excited grin, the look of a man who had just put all the pieces together. I wondered if that's what he would've looked like in the courtroom, had everything gone the way it was supposed to.
"Detective, how much do you know about your partner?"
Ballard blanched, opening her mouth as though she were going to vehemently argue against Sam's suggestion. Her mouth promptly shut as she mulled over his words, searching her memory. Finally, she sagged and seemed to sway as the realization hit her.
"Oh God..." she practically wheezed and pressed her free hand to her temple. "About a year ago, some heroin went missing from lockup. Obviously, it was a cop. We never found out who did it. But whoever did it would need someone to fence their product."
"Was Claire a dealer?" Marcus asked, speaking for the first time since the ghost's initial sighting. Ballard nodded and I cursed under my breath. Before anyone could suggest it, Ballard pulled out her cell phone and called her precinct, chewing nervously on her perfectly manicured thumbnail. We all listened with bated breath as she spoke to the receptionist and then hung up moments after the call began.
"Pete just left the precinct with Dean," was all she managed to utter. I sucked in a sharp breath, feeling my lungs squeeze with anxiety. "He said Dean needs to be transferred and left. Dispatch's been calling but..." she didn't even have to finish. We all knew what that meant.
"Where?" I demanded, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "Where's he taking him?"
"Is he in a county vehicle?" Sam questioned, interjecting and earning a sharp glare from me. "We can track their lo-jack if they are." Ballard nodded and released a breath of relief.
Minutes later we had a signal. Ballard stormed out of the warehouse and I chased after her with an order to Marcus and Gator, telling them to stay and help Sam dispose of the body. They grumbled with disapproval but inevitably submitted.
I wrenched the car door open only to have an accusatory finger pointed at me. "Nuh-uh, you're not coming," Ballard ordered as she slid into the car. I slipped in beside her and slammed the door shut behind me. "Hey!" she shouted. "You don't even have a weapon-"
"I don't need one," I spat. "Just drive!" she paused for a moment before shaking her head and putting the car in gear. It roared down the highway, at speeds much more volatile than any other on the road. Neither of us cared about going the speed limit.
My skin prickled, my veins filling with that familiar heat that I could only describe as fire in my veins. It had been a while since I had felt that scorching heat, and I relished every second of it.
The nape of my neck prickled with a now intimate sensation, the crackle of electricity just beneath my skin. I knew Caeden could feel the wild emotions, and could likely feel the fire beneath his own skin.
The moment the corolla turned a corner on the rough highway, I felt it. I knew something was wrong; my hair stood on end and a rush of vibrant color filled my once dull irises. Without a second thought, I wrenched the door open and leaped from the car. Ballard's screams cut short and she swerved into the other lane as my paws hit the ground, tail flailing wildly behind me. She spun, righting the car and pulling it back into the correct lane, not even bothering to shut the door.
I ran harder than I felt I ever had before, although I knew that couldn't possibly be true. My muscles strained and burned with each step, my shredded foreleg protesting each time my paw made impact with the ground. I didn't notice it, nor did I notice the fading roar of the corolla behind me. All I wanted was to get to Dean.
I felt like I was flying, tearing across the ground like a streak of lightning in the early hours of the morning. My exhaustion was forgotten, left behind with Sam and the others. I roared as I rounded a bend and saw a van looming far in the distance. Even in the dim lighting, I could tell it was a police vehicle.
Two figures came into view from between the shadowed trees, one standing very the crumpled form of the other. My heart pounded wildly in my chest, and not from the exertion of sprinting; my lips drew back in a snarl, revealing pink gums and dagger-like teeth. Red formed at the edges of my vision.
In a flash, I was on the officer. I wasn't sure how I had covered so much distance in a few short seconds, but before I knew it I was flying through the air with a vicious howl, tackling the officer to the ground. My claws found his shoulder, tearing the flesh and clothing there. I was careful to keep my teeth from breaking his skin.
The moment he hit the ground I was off him again, backing towards Dean as he pulled himself to his feet. My ears swiveled backward as he spoke, sputtering in shock. "How the- what the fuck-"
I whipped around again to flash teeth once more at the officer, holding him in place with a fiery gaze. He pulled himself to his feet, gun raised once more, aimed directly between my eyes. "What in God's name-" he began but was cut off by the sound of a safety clicking off. All eyes turned to see Diana Ballard holding her own pistol eye, aimed at her own partner.
"Put the gun down, Pete," she ordered, readjusting her shoulders and staring him down with a look that screamed 'don't make me do this.' "I know about Claire," she continued and took a languid step towards Pete.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Pete snapped, his eyes shifting between Dean and me and Diana. I could practically see the gears turning in his mind - did he have enough time to shoot Dean before Diana or I got to him? I took a slow step back until my hips made contact with the side of Dean's leg. His fingers instinctively went to the curve of my spine. "I didn't do anything-"
"- It's a bit late for that," Ballard spat.
"It wasn't my fault! Claire was trying to turn me in, I had no choice," he defended, earning a harsh growl from me. I could practically see the shiver run up his spine as he twitched to meet my gaze before returning to his partner. "Same with Tony and Karen! Tony scrubbed the money, he got skittish, and then he wanted to come clean. I'm sure he told Karen everything."
Dean's fingertips dug into my fur unconsciously, a look of anger growing on his handsome features. It was all clicking for him now - this bastard was the reason Dean was almost jailed for life.
"How many more people are gonna die over this, Pete?" Diana pressed, her eyes following Pete's arm as his hand shook under the weight of the pistol and his own stress. "How many more people are you going to kill-"
"-There's a way out - this Dean kid's a frickin' gift!" he shouted excitedly, waving the gun in a gesture to Dean, his eyes flicking towards me with nervousness once again. "We could pin the whole thing on him. Right? No trial, nothing. Just, just one more dead scumbag."
"Hey!" Dean shouted with resentment, followed by a snap of my jaws. His fingers curled tighter into my fur, willing me to wait.
"No one will question it. Diana, please. I still love you," the officer coaxed, raising his free hand in a silent plea. My golden eyes widened as Ballard slowly lowered her gun. "Thank you," he breathed out, a sigh of relief. His features hardened once more as he turned back to Dean, adjusting his grip on the pistol as he struggled with who to shoot first.
A shot rang out and Pete Sheridan went down, his gun slipping from his grip. He was dead before he even hit the ground. My golden eyes felt as wide as saucers as I took in Ballard's shaken form, one of her hands pressed to her mouth in shock.
Dean dropped to her knees behind me and wrenched me around by my scruff. Both of his firm hands placed themselves on my cheeks, burying themselves in the plush fur there. "Are you alright?" he asked, having forgotten that I couldn't answer in this form.
My fur pulled back into my skin revealing my grimy clothes and the bags under my eyes that never seemed to fade. A warm, relieved smile rose on my lips as I gripped both of his wrists softly. "I should be asking you that, Winchester," I teased softly. His own lips quirked up in a smile, and then he froze.
"You're bleeding," he remarked, his lush green eyes now on my arm, the scabs having reopened from my frantic running. My eyes followed his to see sticky blood soaking through some parts of my coat.
"Don't worry about it," I murmured and slid my hands from his wrists to his shoulders. "I'll be fine." His eyes held my gaze for a brief moment before his hands gripped tightly around my waist, pulling me into a hug.
His arms wrapped tightly around my waist, his head buried in the crook of my neck. I froze in shock, placing my good arm tentatively on his back. "I was worried," he muttered softly, not caring about the body nearby or the shell-shocked officer standing several feet away.
"The Dean Winchester was worried about me?" I teased with a chuckle and ran my fingertips along his spine just as he had done to me, hoping that the action might comfort him. "I'm flattered."
He pulled away and held my gaze once again, his eyes searching mine for any indication of the week's events. "What happened?" he asked, more of a demand than anything else. "Tell me about the case."
I glanced over my shoulder at the officer who now kneeled over her fallen partner, one palm pressed to his back. My eyes returned to Dean's concerned green ones, a look I rarely saw from him. It was a look I saw him give Sam numerous times, but to be on the receiving end of it... it sent a buzz through my veins that no one else could.
"Let's get out of here first," I uttered softly and tentatively pressed my forehead to his. "I'll tell you when we get home." Dean laughed softly and lifted his fingertips to my jaw, barely brushing over the skin there. It was just enough to have my heart pounding and my skin tingling.
"Right. Home."
9460 words.
Hidalgo - Mexican-Filipino mix - 32 years old, October birthday. Xoloitzquintle (mexican hairless dog), larger than standard. Warm and friendly, soft spoken and a natural academic; 5'8" (~173 cm).
Grace "Gator" Heathecliff - white - 23 years old, June birthday. Mixed breed, brindled. Scrawny, but well-muscled and battle worn. Several tattoos, including a half sleeve on her left upper arm; 5'6" (~168 cm).
Augustine Aetos - Greek - 35 years old, January birthday. Mixed breed, deep brown fur, soft and plush. Similar to a bernese mountain dog, although not in color. ~6'6" (~198 cm).
Edited 05/18/22.