A/N: I am a recent fan of Supernatural (yet another show I discovered through the magic of Netflix) and was totally bummed when Jeffrey Dean Morgan's character of John died at the beginning of Season 2. He's my favorite character in the show, mostly because I've been a fan of JDM since I saw him in Watchmen. Not to say Dean and Sam aren't totally appealing; I'm still watching the show, aren't I? But there's just something about John I found especially riveting.
I was less than thrilled to discover a sizable number of the John-centric fics I found were incest stories (or Wincest, if you want to get cute about it). That kind of subject matter I'm just not into. Doesn't matter what kind of silly label you put on it, it's still perverted and totally gross. Besides, if you've read any of my other stories, you know I'm into pairing up characters with OC's anyway. In this case, I decided to write something AU where John, Sam, and Dean succeeded in offing ol' Yellow Eyes and then went their separate ways. Hey, it's my story. I can write whatever the heck I want! So here goes, my very first Supernatural fanfic. Should any readers choose to review, keep in mind that this is for entertainment only (mostly my own). :-)
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the show Supernatural or the character of John Winchester.
LOOMIS, KENTUCKY
THREE WEEKS AGO
Rain, rain, go away... The old nursery rhyme ran in a seemingly endless loop in Nick's head, matching the rhythm of the windshield wipers squeaking back and forth. Nick hated the rain; it always made his nose run. He kept a box of Kleenex on the dashboard and the damn thing was almost empty, spent tissues littering the floor like disgusting confetti. But more than the overflowing sinuses, Nick especially hated driving through the rain at night. The reflective wetness made everything look even more surreal in the headlights than usual, plus he had to drive way slower to avoid skidding on his car's bald tires. At least there wasn't any oncoming traffic to dazzle his straining eyes. That's one advantage of living out in the middle of no-fucking-where.
Nick inherited the shack his grandpa laughingly called a house a couple of years ago when the old fart finally kicked it. He only moved into it because he had nowhere else to go. His wife, who he married right out of high school, had kicked him out again, this time saying she was filing for divorce. Nick didn't take the threat seriously at first—she never followed through on her threats before—but shortly afterward he got a call from some chick claiming to be his soon-to-be ex's lawyer. It wasn't long before the divorce was finalized. It was the one time Nick was glad to be broke, because it meant he had absolutely nothing the bitch could possibly want from him. Not even the two lousy acres good ol' gramps left him.
Nick once again fiddled with the fussy radio in hopes it might miraculously start to cooperate. No such luck; all that came out of the speakers was some hissing static and the occasional incomprehensible noise that sounded vaguely obscene. Nick switched the radio off with a curse and tapped the steering wheel impatiently. Rain, rain, go away...
A vast emptiness to the right was all he could see of the lake. Thank god! He was just ten minutes away from home. Even the rain was slowing down to a light patter. Things were looking up.
A pale flicker of movement at the corner of his eye drew Nick's attention to the side of the road. What he saw made his eyes widen in surprise and he immediately lifted his foot off the gas and pressed the brake. Once the old car wheezed to a halt with a minimum of slippage he put it in park and got out. The rain was light enough that it only dampened his hair a little, not that he noticed. Not when his headlights were illuminating the pale figure of a beautiful young woman leaning against a gnarled old tree. Her long blonde hair hung in wet tendrils down her back and she wore a simple white dress that clung to her shapely curves. She smiled as Nick approached her.
"You okay?" he asked, slogging through the waterlogged grass towards her and grimacing the whole time, "Er, did your car break down or somethin'?" He looked around, but there was no sign of any vehicle besides his own.
The girl's smile widened. "Or something," her voice chimed musically. Her skin was so pale Nick could see the web of light blue veins underneath, and her eyes were the most intense shade of green he'd ever seen.
"W-well, uh," he stammered nervously, "d'you wanna ride?"
The girl held out an elegant hand and Nick took it without hesitation, but instead of heading for his car, she started leading him further into the dark.
"What're you-"
"Come with me," the girl sang, "Come with me. Such sights I can show you. Come and see."
Her voice was achingly beautiful, promising delights beyond his wildest imagining. Nick could have resisted, but why would he want to when this gorgeous young thing obviously wanted him? To hell with the mud and the chilly air! Nick followed the nameless woman away from the reassuring light of the car's headlamps and out into the waiting blackness of the lake.
PRESENT DAY
John Winchester barely acknowledged the waitress who deposited another beer in front of him and cleared away the empties with brisk efficiency. He picked up the sweating bottle and took a hefty swig, then went back to staring at the dried condensation rings on the table's surface. To all appearances he was nothing more than another nameless, slightly shabby drifter whose life was in a slump. There were plenty of others who matched that same description throughout the dimly lit bar that was charmingly named Dally's Alley. Despite the establishment's seedy appearance, it was actually thriving, mainly due to its prime location beside a very busy highway. Most of the traffic on said highway consisted of huge tractor-trailers roaring to and from different delivery points, which meant most of the bar's patrons were truckers. It made Dally's Alley an ideal place to get lost in; everyone was just passing through. Nobody knew each other and nobody cared to.
Aside from the waitresses, there were a surprising number of women in the bar. Most of them were female truckers either teamed up with their husbands/boyfriends or going solo. But there were a few who appeared to be regular ladies making a pit stop on their way to somewhere more important. There was a pretty brunette in short-shorts beside the jukebox, showing off her assets as she swayed to the music blaring from the speakers; a black-haired girl who barely left her teens behind crammed in a booth with a slightly older man, both engaged in a heavy make-out session; and a solitary thirty-something seated at one of the little circular tables, long blonde hair tied back in a loose ponytail.
The blonde was surveying the other patrons with an air of speculation, only taking occasional sips of her beer to keep up appearances. John watched her from the corner of his eye. A few minutes later a brown-haired man in a battered leather coat approached the woman almost shyly. She smiled warmly at the new arrival and nodded when the man apparently asked to take the empty seat across from her. The loud country music drowned out their conversation from any prying ears, but it was obvious the guy thought things were going well. Then the blonde leaned towards him and said something that made him smile in puzzlement. He laughed, thinking whatever she said was a joke, but the woman nodded firmly. The man's body language challenged her for some kind of proof. She slipped something out of her pocket and showed it to him. John glimpsed a folded bill, but couldn't tell what denomination it was. Apparently it was quite a bit, judging from the way the guy's eyebrows shot up. The man nodded eagerly. He and the blonde settled their tabs, then hurried out the door together.
John took the time to finish off his last beer, fished out enough cash to cover his tab plus an adequate tip, then got up and sauntered to the exit, hands in his pockets as if he had no reason at all to hurry. Outside the night air was pleasantly cool. A light rain that fell moments ago turned every surface into a dull mirror, reflecting the lights from the passing traffic and the blinking neon sign over the bar's entryway. John casually looked around and saw the blonde and the guy in the leather coat disappear into the back of a beat-up old van. The woman shut the rear doors, cutting her and the man off from the rest of the world. John strode towards the vehicle, hands stuffed into the pockets of his long overcoat. As he neared the van he withdrew his hands; in the left was a small vial. His right hand pushed his coat aside to reveal a bowie knife strapped to his hip. He pulled it out of its sheath, popped the cap off the vial and poured its contents over the blade. The thick liquid looked black in the poor nighttime lighting.
He could hear the couple's voices, which meant there was still time to prevent another death. He grabbed the handle and flung the van's rear door open, startling its two occupants. John didn't pause; he snagged the man by the collar of his coat and flung him out of the vehicle. The man landed in a heap on the pavement and gaped in shock, then scrambled to his feet and ran, leaving the blonde to deal with the knife-wielding maniac. Chivalry was indeed a thing of the past.
The blonde woman was caught totally off-guard, which was why she didn't dodge fast enough to completely avoid John's slashing blade. Its razor sharp edge sliced through her jeans and left a shallow cut on her thigh. The wound instantly became inflamed and the woman hissed in agony. Her second set of teeth popped out of her gums, rows of deadly fangs that transformed her from pretty blonde victim to predatory monster.
A horrible nausea twisted her stomach. Panic rose in her. Dead man's blood. He coated the blade in dead man's blood! If the cut had been any deeper she would have been incapacitated. As it was, it took a force of will for her to lash out with her other leg and kick her attacker away. She quickly pulled the doors shut before he had a chance to come at her again and locked them, then clambered into the front of the van, fumbling in her pockets. Keys. Where were the damn keys?
A tap and the driver's side window drew her attention. There stood John with a smug grin on his face, he van's keys dangling from his left hand. At some point in the brief struggle they must have fallen out of her pocket.
"Son of a bitch!" She jumped out the passenger side and made a run for it. She heard the heavy thuds of John's boots as he gave chase. Normally the female vampire could have easily outrun him, but the poisonous blood infecting her injured leg slowed her down. John could very well catch up to her in this state. Thinking fast, she swerved towards the ever-busy highway and ran across the four lanes, dodging speeding vehicles, ignoring the screeching brakes, honking horns, and shouts of abuse she left in her wake.
John put everything he had into chasing her. He didn't waste his breath in uttered curses, though he was sorely tempted. He shouldn't have let her slip away. Ten years ago—hell, five years ago—he wouldn't have. But no matter how hard he tried to keep himself in shape, age continued to slow his reflexes. And in his line of work, that could be potentially fatal.
Case in point: a loud shriek of tires on wet pavement was his only warning before a sedan struck a glancing blow off his right side and he fell hard against the pavement. His quarry spared a brief glance over her shoulder to see him struggling back to his feet. He had to concentrate to get his legs to cooperate, but he wasn't about to stop now.
There was a set of train tracks running parallel to the highway. A cargo train that had to be a mile long was coming, its single headlamp giving it the look of a cyclopsian caterpillar. If the blonde beat John across the tracks the train would cut him off, giving her plenty of time to escape. The woman put on a burst of speed and ran straight ahead, ignoring the approaching train and the possible threat of winding up under its crushing wheels. She leaped over both rails in a single jump, tucked and rolled, then sat up to see if she'd succeeded in losing her pursuer.
John struggled to keep after her, ignoring the pain in his side from that run-in with the car. He watched as she crossed the tracks just seconds ahead of the oncoming train. He didn't even slow down; if he hesitated even a second, he'd lose her. He was just clearing the first rail when his knee chose that moment to buckle. John gasped as he sprawled across the tracks, the light from the train's headlamp blinding him. There was no way he'd get across in time to avoid it. He barely even had time to think, What a stupid way to die.
A pair of inhumanly strong hands suddenly grabbed his outstretched arm and yanked him off the tracks just as the train barreled over the spot he was lying on an instant before. John landed on the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of him, the bowie knife tumbling from his slack grip. He lay still for a couple of stunned seconds, listening to the regular ca-chunk, ca-chunk of the passing train. A pair of sneakers came into his view and a slender hand reached down to pick up the knife. John turned his head to look up at the female vampire. Her green eyes gleamed like an animal's in the dim moonlight, her lips peeled back from her deadly sharp teeth.
"Fucking asshole," she snarled, the fangs giving her a menacing lisp, "You wrecked my plans for dinner and you ruined my favorite pair of jeans! Goddamn it." She paced back and forth, flexing her injured leg. After a while she paused and took a couple of deep breaths. Her fangs slowly withdrew into their hidden sheaths.
It took a moment before John's muddled thoughts could form a coherent sentence. "You saved me from the train."
"Yeah!" the blonde snapped, nodding her head in sharp, angry jerks, "I saved you from the train. Y'know why?" She tapped her chest with the flat of the blade. "Because I'm not a monster!"
She glared at the train, car after laden car passing by with no end in sight. It'd be several long minutes before she could get back to her van. She sat down on the ground a safe distance from the hunter, still holding on to the bowie knife and stewing over the lousy turn this night had taken. She watched from the corner of her eye as John struggled up to a sitting position, grimacing as he flexed his knee. "Does it hurt?"
"Yeah, it hurts!" he said, irritated, "I got sideswiped by a damn car."
"Try getting cut by a poison-dipped knife," she retorted. She shifted to a less uncomfortable position. "How'd you find out about me, anyway?" She wasn't sure he'd answer, but the guy surprised her.
"Some men have gone missing in the area over the last couple of months. I came here, did some research. There was a rumor about a vampire picking up random guys in the local bars."
"So you figured I was the one behind the disappearances," she concluded with a derisive snort. "Newsflash, jerk. Living off of blood isn't the same as being bloodthirsty. I don't kill people. Yeah, I feed off those guys I pick up, but I pay them for it. I don't even bite them! I use needles and tubing and put the blood in neat little baggies, just like at the Red Cross. If you'd waited a few more seconds, you would've seen it."
John glared. "If I'd waited a few more seconds, that guy you had with you could've wound up another missing person. How do I even know you're telling me the truth?"
"Hey, you'd be hamburger right now if I hadn't saved your sorry ass," she shot back, "Why would I do that when letting you die clearly would've been in my best interest?"
John couldn't think of an answer to that. Everything about this situation was wrong. He knew something was responsible for the rash of disappearances in this area. It only stood to reason that if there was a vampire in the area, she had to be the cause. But in that one instant where his life literally hung in the balance, the logic of vampiric behavior he'd always believed in was abruptly blown completely out of the water. It just didn't make sense! It had to be her, yet everything in his gut now told him it wasn't. He found himself grasping at straws. "If it's not you, then it's gotta be one of the vampires in your nest-"
"I don't belong to a nest," she said, "It's easier that way. More vampires means more blood is needed. Since I'm on my own, I can just take small amounts from people without having to kidnap them and drain them dry over time."
"Then why drink human blood at all?" John asked, remembering when his sons told him about a group of vampires they ran into who lived off of cattle blood. He'd thought Sam and Dean were just being naïve at the time, but now he had to wonder if it wasn't true after all.
The blonde woman scoffed, "I'll start drinking animal blood when you start eating bugs instead of burgers."
The last train car finally trundled past. The woman stood, grimacing at the discomfort in her leg, and looked at John. "I don't know what's causing those disappearances," she said, "but it's sure as hell isn't me. You need to find yourself a different monster to blame." She stepped closer to him and held the knife out handle first. John eyed her warily, took the knife, wiped the tainted blood off on the grass, and put it back in its sheath. He then fished the van's keys from his coat pocket and tossed them to her.
"What's your name?" he found himself asking.
The woman quirked an eyebrow. "Why d'you wanna know? You looking to lay a hex on me or something?"
John frowned. "Forget it." He struggled to his feet with a painful grunt. He'd be lucky to get out of bed in the morning.
The blonde stared at him thoughtfully. "My name's Janelle Estrie. Nell for short."
John smirked. "Estrie. That's a type of female vampire in ancient Hebrew mythology."
"I know," Nell grinned, "One of those jokes that only a handful of people will ever get. So I told you my name. Only fair you tell me yours."
He hesitated for a second before answering, "John Winchester."
Nell snorted, "There's a cowboy name if I ever heard it." She started to leave, tossed a parting shot over her shoulder "Good luck with your hunt, John Winchester." And with that, she casually vanished into the night, leaving a bemused John standing alone in the dark.
