Chapter One

Mary-Lou's POV

"Dammit Dean!"

I shouted at the top of my voice when I saw him walk upstairs in that wrecked hole, checking for monsters, even when he was injured.

I pushed off the one vamp coming towards me, he tripped me, and I fell down on my back with my machete still in my hand. He was about to lower himself on me to bite, when I swung with all my might and the head came off – almost. The machete got stuck in there, just at the last nick, but the vamp was definitely down.

I picked myself up, and ran after Dean.

Thank god, (yes I believed in god,) that there was no one upstairs. Just as I reached up, I saw Dean swaying, and his energy gave out.

"Lou?" he said, blinking, and then he fell down.

I wasn't there in time to catch him. He fell on the hard wooden floor, limp, unconscious.

As far as we both knew, we had cleaned this nest out. It was mostly youngsters, newborns, who hadn't any experience with their strengths or powers. The person who turned them, well, I didn't think we'd found that vamp.

I sighed, as I tried to lift that heavy ass hunter, but he wouldn't move.

There was only one thing to do.

I ran to the car, and fished out my first aid kit. It was a handy little thing for moments like this, and it was a gift.

I ran upstairs, and was relieved that Dean was still there, lying. I took a pulse, and it was rapidly downing.

I pulled out my "magic syringe" as I called it. It was filled with hormone shots, and it could revive him for some time, while I could patch him up.

"Gahssp!"

Dean woke with a loud hoarse gasp, and I felt my held breath release.

"Dean? Dean, are you okay?"

He nodded. I propped him up, and supported him against the wall. He had a few gashes into his right side, cuts and bruises on the hands, one nick in the thigh and a swelling seemed to have started in the head. The nick in the thigh was still bleeding profusely.

I told him to stay still. I took out my knife, and I slashed out a part of his jeans so that I could see the whole wound. It was a large gash.

Dean tried not to groan or make a sound all the while I was cleaning and patching that wound, except for muttering "son of a bitch" under his breath. Once I'd bandaged it, I was sure he could walk.

"Here. Have some of this." I handed him a chocolate bar. He wordlessly took it and chowed down on it. I helped him up, and we both limped downstairs. But as we reached the last step, one danger was standing in front of us.

The vamp I got my machete stuck in, he wasn't completely dead. He seemed to have recovered enough, to have taken the machete out, and healed, although slightly. The wound in his neck was still fresh, and had I a blade; I would have easily cut his head off this time.

But I had no weapon except my knife.