Toledo, Ohio
Layla Simmons stepped out of Mercy General Hospital, twisting her neck in a counterclockwise motion while stretching her arms up as high as she could reach. Repositioning her bag, she started walking down the sidewalk, thinking the five blocks to her apartment in the cool night air would do wonders for her mood after the evening's events. She had been a paramedic for the past five and half years, but tonight's victim in the ambulance had struck a nerve. The victim was a male in his late forties, and he had been in his home only five miles away from the hospital when he was attacked. It was a nice, suburban neighborhood, full of housewives and children and blue collar workers. The two-story tan house had blood splatters everywhere. The man had gashes across his chest and neck. There was no doubt that the victim had run through his house, fearing for his life. The police were calling it a large feral dog attack. She had a hard time believing that. She had been on the scene for dozens of dog attacks over the years, but none had ever looked like this. She honestly had no idea what could have damaged a man like that around here. Maybe a black bear she thought, but those are very rare around the area, especially right outside of town. She did remember reading a local Metropark article about the influx of coyotes spotted. They were supposed to be skittish around humans though. She shrugged. This is why she was a paramedic and not a park ranger. She zipped her coat up and pulled a hat out of her pocket to throw over her head, tucking her long strawberry blonde strands behind her ears so the hat wouldn't plaster her hair in front of her eyes. She had performed CPR the entire ambulance ride, but unfortunately the man's injuries were just too severe. She had filled out her paperwork and left her statements with the police and hour ago, but had waited to see if any family members had been contacted or would come in. Sadly no one had come yet, so she had finally decided to head home. Adjusting her work bag across her shoulder, she started down the snowy sidewalk, the warm glow of streetlights illuminating snowflakes as they lazily fell from the dark night above.
Stepping through her apartment door, she stomped her boots on the rug, shaking the light dusting of snow off of her. Pajamas, a good book, her bed, and maybe some tea sounded like a wonderful night. She dropped her bag in the hallway, pulling out the plastic ziploc with her soiled clothes and hanging it on a coat hook, next to her blue paisley purse. She would have to walk down the apartment hallway to the laundry room and get those soaking if she had any hope of saving the clothes from being stained with blood. She meandered to the kitchen to fill her teapot with water and start the stove burner, before turning to the bedroom to change into some fluffy pajama pants and a tank top. Stopping at her book shelf, she skimmed the titles of her well worn books, before pulling The DaVinci Code from the shelf and tossing it on her bed. She grabbed her pajamas, throwing her clothes in the corner hamper, and tossing her coat on the small vanity chair in her room. Heading back to the kitchen just as the pot was whistling, she made some chamomile tea and retired to her bedroom for the night, the soiled clothes hanging on the coat hook long forgotten.
Five blocks away...
"Dean," Sam whispered loudly, elbowing his brother in the driver's seat of the Impala.
"Huh, wha..., damn it Sammy," Dean replied groggily with a touch of anger.
"I think that may be our werewolf," Sam continued, ignoring his brother rubbing his arm in mock agony.
They both stared out the Impala's windshield, watching a man walk by the outside of the hospital doors, nose pointing in the air as he seemed to do a few circles on the snowy sidewalk. They had already checked out the latest victim at the hospital, and decided to stick around a bit to see if the werewolf would show. They had already killed 3 werewolves in this town, the alpha of the pack deciding to go a little crazy in converting others into werewolves. These newer werewolves were predictable, acting more like a wild dog with their characteristics. They would follow the scent of their victims for a few hours, before deciding to move on to another vic. They were hoping the werewolf would turn up at the hospital. Before they could sneak out of the car though, the werewolf seemed to straighten his path out and move down the sidewalk.
"I dunno, it may just be some crazy drunk," Dean replied.
"Look at him, Dean, something just isn't right about him, let's just give this a little more time," Sam stated.
Castiel, who had remained silent in the backseat, had decided to add his input. Clearing his throat, he said, "Your brother is right Dean, that is indeed the werewolf."
Sam and Dean both turned to Cass, almost forgetting that as an angel, he would know if someone was clearly not human.
Dean sighed, but nodded in agreement before starting the engine, and slowly creeping out of the parking lot to follow this guy down the sidewalk.
Five blocks later they pulled over on the road into a parking spot, watching the werewolf stop at the entrance to an apartment complex, sniffing the air again it seemed, before entering.
The three men jumped out of the Impala, turning to the trunk of the car quickly, Sam and Dean grabbed a few silver daggers before closing the trunk. Castiel had let his angel blade slip from his sleeve and grasped it tightly in his right hand, ready to strike. The three hunters headed into the apartment building hoping to stop the werewolf before it found it's next victim.
When they entered the building, the hallway had paths left and right, both turning about twenty feet down. Sam and Dean glanced at each other, intending to split up, before Castiel turned to the left, with a short statement of "He went this way."
"You're pretty handy," Dean whispered to Cass, patting him on the back as they neared the corner in the hallway. Castiel gave a half smile, before the three of them stopped and peered around the corner. The werewolf was on his hands and knees, sniffing the bottom of a door. The creature seemed utterly consumed by the air, his pupils were dilated, and saliva dripped onto the dingy linoleum flooring. The werewolf stood, twisting the door knob back and forth a few times before turning it with such force that the knob broke off, the door popping open. The apartment numbers on the door clanked on the floor as they fell. As soon as the werewolf stepped inside the boys were running down the hall towards the abandoned brass numbers "2" and "4", making it to the apartment door just as they heard a loud growl coming from inside. Then, all Hell broke loose.
Dean was grabbed and tossed across the living room before they could even raise their knives to strike. He crashed against the small flat screen television. The sounds of glass, plastic, and metal crunching under the force of his body. Even the small entertainment center the TV had sat on crushed with the weight, flattening to the floor, sending Dean rolling across the beige carpet. Castiel jabbed his angel blade towards the werewolf, but the wolf was quick, the small lean body of the man he used to be having an advantage over the more muscular angel. The werewolf spun around the angel pushing him towards the couch, sweeping Castiel's feet out with his leg, causing Cass to flip over the back of the couch, rolling to the floor. The room paused as a woman in her early thirties appeared in the back hallway of the apartment, her long strawberry blonde hair sticking up wildly, her green eyes wide with fear. She was ready to scream, but froze as the werewolf's dark yellow eyes turned towards her. The werewolf crouched slightly, ready to pounce on her, but Sam dove for the werewolf knocking them both to the floor before the werewolf let out a kick that sent Sam flying over the werewolf, his head crashing into the side of the kitchen countertop, rendering him unconscious. By this time, Dean and Castiel were both standing, and Dean lunged for the werewolf, both man and monster throwing wild punches to each other. Layla backed up the hallway slowly, intending to lock herself in her room and call 911, as a man in a beige trench coat approached her. Her eyes landed on his, but she saw no malice in them. Only large blue circles, much like ocean waves during a sunset, focusing back at her. A slight trace of worry on his face as he approached.
"You need to leave this place now. It is not safe," the man said, "Hurry!" Then he turned back towards the other two men fighting. One of them let out a crying gasp, and she watched as the man that seemed to have claws for fingers tore into the side of the other man. She turned back to her room, quickly grabbing a rolling suitcase from her closet and stuffing clothing in it. She turned to her bathroom, grabbing a few toiletries before running to her nightstand and opening the door. Inside was a small safe. Entering her combination, she grabbed her emergency stash of cash, and her Beretta .380 she kept in there. She threw on her jacket and hat that were tossed across her vanity chair, then turned to her dresser to retrieve more clothes and her jewelry box. A quick grab at her bookcase, and she was stuffing her suitcase full plus her duffle bag she used when she went to the gym. Dragging them through the hallway, she entered the living room to find the man that had the yellow eyes and claws for fingers dead, a large silver knife sticking out from his chest. There was a man with longer hair collapsed on her kitchen floor, the side of his face and neck covered in blood from an apparent head wound. The man in the trench coat was helping another man, the one with the claw marks on his side, up off of the floor as the injured man winced in pain. She dropped her bags, running back to the bathroom and grabbing some towels off of the shelf. She returned to the two men now standing, and folding a towel in half, she gently approached the injured man, pulling his shredded shirt away from his torso to place the towel on the wound. He winced again, letting out short quick gasps.
"Get me to the car Cass," the man panted out, "then come back for Sammy." The man, Cass, as he was called, seemed to have a head wound also, blood dripping down the side of his face, coloring the collar of his trench coat crimson, but he was obviously well enough to help the injured man out. Cass glanced at Layla, the sides of his eyes crinkling as he gave her a reassuring nod. Layla met his eyes in understanding. These men weren't here to hurt her, but they obviously didn't want to stick around. Cass turned to the apartment door and left with a hobbling Dean. Layla moved her suitcase and duffle to the hallway, next to her work bag. She stepped over the unconscious man in her kitchen, skimming the white cabinets until her eyes spotted her bottle of Jack Daniels, hidden behind some cups. She grabbed the bottle and the roll of paper towels from the countertop. She wet a paper towel at the sink, and began to wipe the blood from the man's cheek and neck. Sammy she thought, that's what the injured man had called him. She stood to fumble through a kitchen drawer, pulling out a small flashlight. She lifted Sammy's eyelids, checking his pupils. Nice and even, he would probably be safe to move, but he'd have a hell of headache when he wakes up. She had no idea what was going on, or who any of these men were, but she started to realize that her life had just been royally screwed up. Closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, because there was no way she could freak out right now. She could only hope that the neighbors hadn't become suspicious of the noise until she could get out her apartment. She had this deep rooted feeling that she had to get away, and the thought terrified her. "Focus," she whispered to herself, clenching the bloody paper towel in her hand, before continuing to wipe at Sam's face, shaky breaths blowing over her lips.
Cass returned to the apartment, watching the woman clean Sam's face for a few moments, before he stepped further in, catching her attention.
"Grab your things," he stated, "and follow me."
Layla nodded in silence, grabbing the paper towels and bottle of whiskey from the kitchen floor as Cass pulled the silver blade from the back of the dead man, and then lifted Sammy over his shoulder and started for the door. She quickly rose the bottle of whiskey to her lips, taking a long swig before she stuffed it and the paper towels into her large purse, grabbing it, her suitcase, the duffle, and her work messenger bag, and hobbled after Cass out of her apartment complex, into the snowy cold night.
She saw the passenger side door open on a late sixties black Chevy Impala. Nice car she thought, as she headed for the back passenger door. Her grandpa Keith would have loved to look under the hood. She smiled thinking about her grandpa as she loaded her bags into the backseat, trying to leave room for the other guy. No one had opened the trunk, and she didn't press the issue. These guys seemed to be in a hurry. Her grandpa was probably rolling in his grave, her getting into a strange car with strange men in the middle of the night after the fight she just witnessed. What was she thinking? Cass set Sam into the passenger side, closing the door before walking around the car, leaning into the driver's side window.
"Are you sure you are well enough to drive Dean?" he questioned.
"Just get in the car Cass," Dean replied tiredly.
Cass climbed into the back seat, shifting Layla's suitcase slightly before Dean pulled away, leaving this town behind them all. Layla shifted nervously, before extending her hand towards this man called Cass in the backseat next to her.
"I...uh...I'm Layla," she stuttered out. Cass stared at her hand for moment, before taking her hand. "Castiel," he replied, "I'm an angel of the lord." Layla's eyebrows raised slightly in confusion, and she heard the man driving, Dean she had heard this Castiel say, chuckle slightly.
"Yeah, I'm Dean, this lump here is Sam," Dean finished off the introductions, focusing on getting the Hell out of town.
Layla lifted her work bag towards her, digging around before producing some medical supplies. She pulled out the roll of paper towels from her purse, and dabbed some of the whiskey onto a towel. She crawled onto her knees, leaning over the passenger seat, and continued to clean the cut on Sam's head. It had stopped bleeding, now just oozing slightly, but she knew it needed to be stitched.
"Hey now, what are you doing to my brother?" Dean questioned angrily, seeing her set some stitching supplies on the seat between himself and Sam.
"Relax mister, I'm a paramedic," Layla replied. "He needs a few stitches. Best to do it while he's still out."
"Oh, um...yeah, OK," Dean muttered out. He split his tired but worried glances between Sam and the road.
Layla smiled. This Dean seemed like a tough guy, and very protective of his brother. She turned back to the head wound, cleaning it and stitching it as best as she could in a moving vehicle. She pulled out some baby wipes from her purse and finished cleaning off the dried blood on the side of his face, and once again checked his pupils. She turned to grab her supplies from in between the brothers, and noticed the blood on the seat.
"You need to pull over," she demanded, startling Dean, who swerved the car slightly.
"I'm fine," he grumbled.
Layla looked back at Castiel, and he could tell that she was worried.
"Dean, pull over," Castiel said, his eyes meeting Dean's in the rearview mirror. "She can help you more than I am able to."
Layla wasn't sure what he meant by that, but Dean seemed to agree since he was slowing the car and moving towards the side of the road. She rummaged through her bags while Castiel exited the car and helped Dean hobble to the back, and in less than three minutes, they were on the road again.
Layla looked over the pale man. He had beads of sweat across his forehead, he was breathing shallow, and he was obviously trying to hide the amount of pain he was in.
"Are you allergic to morphine?" Layla questioned, producing a needle from her bag.
Dean's eyebrows raised in surprise, but he shook his head no, so she pulled his jacket and shirt away from his upper arm and administered the shot. A few minutes later Dean's eyes began to grow heavy, his head resting on the door as he fought to stay awake. Layla peeled back the towel on his side, revealing three large scratches. They were only three to four inches long, and two of them looked shallow, but one was pretty deep.
"Oh my God," Layla gasped, hardly believing that he was actually still driving the car with this much bodily damage to his side. What was worrisome, these wounds were eerily similar to the ambulance victim from earlier in the night.
Castiel tilted his head slightly back, "What's wrong?" he questioned, and she could hear a hint of worry in his voice.
"He's OK," she hurriedly assured Cass, "he's just lost a lot of blood. I take it you guys aren't the going to the hospital type?"
"No, we aren't," he replied, Layla catching his smile in the rearview mirror. "I plan to drive to Kansas."
"Kansas!" Layla exclaimed, "That's like a fourteen hour drive! These guys need rest. Food, water, a bed you know?"
Castiel was silent for a moment. He knew that Dean just wanted to make it back to the bunker, but she did state she was a paramedic, so she probably knew more about what humans need when they are injured than what he did. He did remember all of the times he was injured when he was human. They often left him very sore and very tired, so maybe he should comply with her advice. "I will drive another couple of hours and stop at a motel then."
Layla nodded in agreement before settling in to clean and stitch Dean's side.