AN: So here's the first instalment of a three part short story I've been working on. It's set around season 10. No Mark of Cain, so I guess, a little AU.
The mythology of the OC is taken from the TV show The Vampire Diaries. I don't own anything.
Enjoy :)
The moment I heard the bunker door shut I materialised in an instant in front of the hunter, grabbing the rucksack he'd already slung off his shoulder.
"Geez, don't do that!" he snapped at me. I could hear his racing heart thudding against his rib cage and I shot him a smirk, ripping open the ruck sack and pulling out a blood bag. I grimaced at the cold temperature, my tongue itching to taste something warmer. Preferably thirty-seven degrees... "I couldn't get as many as last time." There seemed to be an apologetic edge to his voice, but I let it roll over me as I ripped the corner of the bag open and started to sip on the glorious crimson substance I craved every waking hour.
"Well maybe next time I'll make the blood run," I suggested after swallowing down several mouthfuls. He rolled his eyes at me. I knew he'd never agree.
"You know how I feel about compulsion," he reminded me, referring to my neat ability to make someone do whatever I wanted. Sometimes I wished morals had a physical substance. That way I might've been able to surgically remove his.
"And you know how I feel about O-positive," I shot back, shaking the blood bag at him. "But we can't always get what we want, kiddo." His eyes narrowed at me. He was far from a kid, but compared to my old age, he was still brand new. Plus, I knew the belittling term would annoy him which always made my day moderately better. The hunter always made sure he stole that particular type of blood, the most common type, as if to redeem himself somewhat from stealing from a hospital. It didn't taste bad, but it was nothing like the B-negative I preferred.
"Just be glad I got it in the first place," the hunter said, frowning grimly at the way my eyes flooded red as I gorged myself on the blood. My supply had run out a day or two ago and I'd been climbing the walls, resisting the urge to ask Sam or his brother if I could tap a vein, knowing it would've ended badly. "Dean would've brought you road kill." I swallowed thickly, the thought causing bile to rise in my throat. I suddenly wasn't hungry any more.
"That's true," I said, tilting my head at him as I swung the bag onto one shoulder and pressed the empty blood bag to the hunter's chest. "Thanks, Sammy," I said with a sarcastic smile, watching as he fumbled with the empty blood bag, trying not to let any of the crimson liquid get on his shirt.
"It's Sam," he said, clearly already irritated by me and it was still early in the morning.
"Whatever," I replied flippantly, using my rapid speed to get to the kitchen and load the remaining bags of delicious goodness into the fridge.
My rocky friendship with Sam Winchester was certainly not one to be jealous of. I don't think I'd even call it a friendship. I'd never cared much for humans, seeing them merely as warm bodies waiting to have their necks ripped open, not to mention the fact that Sam was a hunter. That alone told me that I was highly stupid to even converse with him, let alone breathe the same air as the man twenty-four hours a day.
But there was something about him that I liked. No. That was too strong a word. There was something about him that I didn't hate. It was probably the fact that he felt like he owed me which made me feel like I could live in close quarters with him without worrying he'd stake me in my sleep. I had been the one to single handily save his ass from a nest of vampires. Of course, it'd been unintentional at first. I'd gone into that nest with the sole purpose of slaughtering everything inside, not realising there was a pair of hunters already there to complicate things. Needless to say, I'd chopped the heads off of every single pathetic vampire groupie in the place before one could chomp down on poor Sammy's neck.
The hunter had proceeded to stop his older brother from decapitating me after all was said and done. That had made me chuckle. There was no way Dean Winchester could've caused me any damage with the pathetic machete he'd wielded that night. I was far too old. It would take someone with supernatural strength to have enough power to lop my head off.
I liked to think of myself as part of the superior vampire species. I was descended from the Original Family, not some crappy alpha vampire claiming to be the king of all. The two species had been feuding for as long as anyone could remember, which for a vampire, was a long time. The hatred my species had for who we regarded as second class citizens mainly stemmed from their lack of power. They weren't pure vampires like we were. They were weaker, not as fast and most importantly, they didn't possess the useful little ability of compulsion. This meant they were sloppy when it came to feeding and drew attention to themselves, highlighting our existence like a sore thumb. They were reckless, conspicuous and slapdash when it came to disposing of their victims.
I hated them.
The Winchesters, on the other hand, I hadn't been able to bring myself to kill when I'd discovered them in the old barn. Sam had been taken and his older brother, Dean, was busy untying him as I hacked off the last of the vampire's heads right in front of them. The younger Winchester was bleeding at the time and I hadn't been able to stop my fangs from sliding down as hunger surged through my veins.
Dean had lunged for his machete and I would've snapped his neck in an instant had it not been for the stench of vervain that filled my nostrils and burned my windpipe like acid. The damn vampires had been burning it for protection, knowing that it was toxic to my species. As I crumpled to my hands and knees, grasping at my throat, Sam had been the one to stop his brother. Although he wouldn't've been strong enough to take off my head, it wouldn't've taken long for the hunter to realise that a wooden stake would do the job.
"Stop!" Sam had yelled to his brother as he rounded on me. "Dean, wait. Don't kill her."
"She's a vampire, Sam!" No shit Sherlock I remembered thinking. I didn't say it though. My lungs were filled with a thick fog of vervain. All I could do was cough as I clawed at my neck.
"She helped us, Dean," Sam had insisted. "She killed the others."
Dean had reluctantly stood down at Sam's request and after putting up an impressive fight, he'd finally agreed to bring me to the bunker to recover.
That brought me to where I was today, Rosalie D'Angelo, a three hundred and something year old vampire stood in the kitchen of the Men of Letter's bunker roughly six weeks later. It wasn't out of choice that I had stayed this long. Dean had annoyingly slipped my daylight ring off my finger at one point or another, meaning that if I set foot outside the bunker during the day, I was toast. Literally. Of course, I could leave during the night, but daylight rings didn't grow on trees. I was lucky to get my hands on one in the first place. I'd met plenty of other vampires of my kind that confined themselves to the shadows when the sun was up. I couldn't leave the bunker without it. I'd be far too vulnerable on the outside.
After finishing loading all of my new blood bags into the fridge, I made my way down the corridor towards the guest room I was staying in, passing the elder Winchester's room on the way. His door was ajar, but I knew he'd still be sleeping. I'd heard the sound of him sipping on a glass of whisky until the early hours of the morning. He'd be out for another hour or so.
A smirk pulled at my lips and I silently pushed his door open and wandered in. It was unlikely that he kept my daylight ring on him at all times, but I'd looked for it everywhere else I could think of.
The beam of light cutting into the room from the open door illuminated the man's features as he lay sprawled on his back, the covers covering half of his bare torso. I took a moment as my eyes roamed his broad chest, his muscles straining under his skin as he breathed in and out. Don't get me wrong, I despised Dean Winchester with every fibre of my being. He was moody, rude and categorically hated my guts. But that didn't mean I didn't enjoy looking at him.
As I silently approached, I found my gaze honing in on his chiselled jaw and perfect cheek bones. I could hear the steady thud of his heart, the sound of his blood rushing though his arteries making my mouth water, though his blood wasn't the only thing I craved. I may have been a vampire, but I was still a girl. The man was bloody beautiful, as was his younger brother. I wouldn't complain if I ever had the fortune of finding myself as the filling of a delicious Winchester sandwich.
I cursed myself for even thinking it. Who did I think I was? Katherine Pierce? No way. I grimaced at the thought of doing something that remotely imitated the psychotic bitch I'd had the misfortune of running into too many times. I shook my head, clearing my thoughts as I stepped closer to the bed. Where would he keep it? Perhaps in a pocket?
I carefully pulled back the sheets that covered him, my keen eyes focused on his grey sweatpants as I reached a finger inside his pocket. Within a moment, my back hit the floor, a warm body pinning me to the ground as something sharp was pressed against my chest. The elder Winchester's heart hammered in his rib cage, his teeth gritted together as he breathed heavily.
"Dean, if you wanted to be on top, all you had to do was ask," I told him with a wicked smirk, keeping an eye on the wooden stake that he was pressing into my skin. He grimaced at the mere suggestion that he could ever want me in that way.
"You shouldn't sneak up on a hunter," he warned and my smirk widened into a grin. I could do whatever the bloody hell I wanted. In less than a second I'd used my speed to push him off of me and had him pressed against his bedroom wall, the wooden stake discarded to the floor. My recent meal had left me buzzing and I was eager for some action. I needed to run. Staying in the bunker all day made me feel like a caged animal.
"You shouldn't think you're powerful enough to intimidate me," I replied calmly as if I hadn't just completely turned the tables on him. "I want my ring."
"And I want you dead," he replied. I smirked at him, removing one of my hands from his chest to run my fingers through his hair. I hadn't yet decided whether he was blonde or brunette. Maybe somewhere in the middle. Either way, it felt soft on my cool fingers and I lost myself for a moment.
"You don't mean that," I said, my eyes locking with his as I tried to pull him under my spell. I knew it wouldn't work. He'd been taking vervain every day since I moved into the bunker, much to my annoyance. Dean Winchester under the influence of compulsion was something I was dying to see.
"And why is that?" he asked, pretending not to be intimidated by how much stronger I was than him. His heart gave him away. It was beating erratically. It made me want to sink my teeth into his jugular.
"Because you like me," I said with a smile that I knew would get under his skin. "It's not your fault, Dean," I whispered, backing him further against the wall. "You can't help it. Everything about me is designed to draw you in."
"I don't like you," he said, shoving a hand against my shoulder to push me away. I resisted at first, but when he did it harder I removed my hands from his chest, glaring as he pushed past me. "I tolerate you. For Sam's sake." He flicked the light on and I winced, my eyes stinging at the brightness. "The moment Sam realises you're no different from any of the other monsters we hunt, I'm sending you straight to purgatory."
"You can't send me to purgatory, dumbass," I told him bitterly as he pulled a shirt over his head. I'd had my fun for the morning. He was far more entertaining when he was asleep. "I'm not descended from Eve."
"Right, I forgot," he deadpanned. "You're an entirely different type of freak." I rolled my eyes, finding his sarcastic comments utterly trivial. I had better things I could be doing with my time. If only I had that damn ring.
"Just give me my ring and I'll be out of your hair," I asked, trying to sound as pleasant and polite as possible.
"I think I'd much rather leave you out in the sun without it and watch you burn," Dean spat, bending down to pick the stake from the floor and gripping it in his fist threateningly. "God, you have no idea how much I want to use this."
"Well you have no idea how much I want to rip your vocal chords from your throat, you mother fu-!"
"Guys!" I didn't have to turn to see that Sam had materialised in the doorway, his hands stretched out as he jumped between us. His right hand met Dean's chest and he pushed him back. Luckily for him, he didn't do the same to me. I would've snapped it right off. "Seriously, do we have to go through this every morning?"
"Come on, Sam, she started it," Dean said accusingly, sending me a glare which I returned, only harder.
"I don't care," Sam replied sternly. "I don't care if you hate each other. But you can't kill each other."
"I can try," I mouthed at the man opposite. Sam caught it out of the corner of his eye and sent me an unimpressed look.
"Cut it out, Rose," he chastised and I rolled my eyes, pushing past him and out of the room. "Hey, I'm not done!" he called after me. I didn't care. I certainly was.
"Go to hell," I snapped back, the fact that they'd both actually been to hell giving my comment more weight. I sauntered down the corridor back to the kitchen, grabbing another blood bag from the fridge as a midmorning snack, uncaring that I'd soon run out.
The week that followed dragged miserably until Sam popped out to the hospital for a quick supply run. The batch of blood bags included one labelled A-positive. Not my favourite but definitely better than what he'd given me before. When I questioned him on it he'd said it was a treat for good behaviour which made me almost laugh. I'd refrained from tormenting Dean as much as possible since the incident a week ago. Apparently, in Sam's eyes, that warranted a reward.
This, however, left me mind-numbingly bored. I wasn't allowed to leave the bunker under strict instructions from both the boys. They'd made it clear from the start that if I so much as breathed the same air as another human they'd have to put me down. I'd promised I wouldn't, but they didn't seem to take my word for it. If I was honest, I didn't blame them. I craved blood straight from the vein more than anything.
Sam often asked me why I didn't have more control over my urges. I told him I did. I'd perfected the snatch, eat, erase method over two hundred years ago, but then something had gone wrong. A few decades back I'd decided to flick the humanity switch, ditching all emotions and gorging myself on as many humans as I could. When I finally flicked it back on, a deep hunger within me came back with all the other crappy human feelings I'd been void of for so many years. I told Sam it would just take a while before I'd build up my tolerance again, but that didn't satisfy the younger Winchester. He'd taken it upon himself to help me control my urges, and apparently, that meant no feasting on humans, even if I didn't kill anyone.
I found the kid in the bunker's firing range. My enhanced hearing made the shots seem like they were going off inside my head. On physical appearance, I was probably ten years younger than him, but in reality, I was far his superior.
"Hey Sam," I greeted, causing the man to jump as I appeared silently next to him, the breeze my speed created ruffling his shirt. He didn't tell me off for it this time, simply releasing a sigh as he resumed his target practice.
"What do you want?" he asked, and I pouted at him, slightly hurt that he'd think I'd only talk to him when I wanted something, though he was entirely correct. I played it off, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right.
"Nothing," I replied nonchalantly, watching as he fired twice at the paper figure across the firing range. My excellent vision told me he'd hit the target both times. "You're pretty good at that." He chuckled slightly under his breath.
"Thanks," he replied, lowering the weapon as he squinted at the target. He proceeded to remove the clip from the gun and I watched closely as his deft hands moved against the metal. Sam had tried fruitlessly to try and teach me all the different makes and brands of weapon he and his brother used. I tended to zone out whenever he got all nerdy about stuff. Pretending to be interested was exhausting.
"I'm bored," I said flatly, arching my back and bracing my hands against the metal bench in front of me. Sam hummed in response, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. It was getting rather long, but somehow it suited him. I almost liked it.
"You're always bored," he replied matter of factly, not turning towards me to reply. I listened to his heart beat closely like I always did. It was steady, unlike Dean's which was always erratic whenever I was around. But Sam wasn't stressed at all. He wasn't even remotely terrified by how close I was stood next to him. He may have been bigger, towering at least eight inches above me, but I was far stronger. He knew that, but yet he still didn't seem to fear me. I now had my new game: if I wasn't allowed to tantalize the elder Winchester, Sam would have to be my new target.
"We should do something," I suggested absentmindedly, shuffling a little closer to him as he reloaded his pistol. "Have you ever played murder in the dark?" I asked, locking eyes with the younger Winchester as I licked my smirking lips. "I'm really good at it." There it was. The oh so satisfying sound of his heart beat picking up. I grinned at him wickedly as I moved even closer.
"You know, you're kind of creepy," he commented, shooting me a weary look before stepping away from me. I watched him go, my grin deflating along with my mood as his heart returned to its steady speed.
"Some would say sociopathic," I replied as I glared at the back of his head, my tone flat and icy. He murmured a response that I didn't bother to listen to. I was too angry. Too riled up. We'd been playing house for too long. Now I needed some answers, but most of all, some entertainment.
I shot up beside him just as he turned around, though I was careful not to touch him this time. I wasn't playing games anymore. "Why do you keep me here, Sam?" I asked seriously, my eyes narrowing at the young hunter. I wasn't somebody's pet they could train.
"What do you mean?" he asked. I thought he was faking misunderstanding, but his eyes seemed genuinely confused.
"Is it information you're looking for? More knowledge about my species?" I guessed, watching his eyes carefully. He didn't give anything away. If anything, he only grew more confused. "We're barely friends," I said quietly, shaking my head. "I irritate you, we don't trust each other. Your brother detests me." And I hated him right back. Other than his divinely chiselled features, the only redeeming quality Dean Winchester possessed was his car. The '67 impala was definitely something to be envious of. If I ended up killing both of them in the near future, I'd definitely be nabbing the keys.
"Maybe I wanna help you," Sam said in an equally soft voice, only his lacked the hardness that mine always had. "Like you helped me."
"You don't owe me anything," I told him, shaking my head.
"I know," he said, his eyes so alarmingly kind that I almost had to look away. "But I know what it's like to crave blood. I've been through it." He paused, swallowing thickly. "I understand." I scoffed.
"You don't understand," I snapped at him, quickly losing my temper, though I wasn't sure I ever had a handle on it anyway. "You were hooked on demon blood for what, a year? I've been hunting humans for over three hundred." He looked alarmed by my admission and took a step back. I was happy he did, but I didn't let my usual smirk pull at my lips. "You can't detox me. You can't make me better." I spat the words at him, watching as he gritted his teeth together. "There's no cure for what I am."
"You don't have to hurt people. Just let me help you," he said, almost pleadingly. I snapped.
"I don't want your help!" I yelled, stepping closer to intimidate him. "I'm not an addict, Sam. I'm a vampire." He needed to get it out of his head that I was a person who could be fixed. This wasn't a phase. This is who I was. "I'm a cold, heartless killer. I don't care about anyone or anything." I enunciated each word carefully, stepping closer with every syllable until I was close enough to practically see his carotid artery pulsating in his neck. He was nervous now. I could feel it.
"You saved my life," he said, his face stubborn as he refused to be intimidated, though I knew he already was. "You didn't kill me."
"I wanted to," I told him, my features schooled as I stared at him "I want to right now." His heart was hammering in his chest just like I'd wanted. He was afraid of me. That was how it should be.
"You won't."
"Why not?" I questioned. "It would be easy. I could snap your neck in a second." He took deep breaths as if to try and calm himself down. I didn't breathe at all. If I took even one breath and inhaled his scent when I was this close to him, it was lights out for Sammy.
"You won't kill me," he repeated. "You would've done it already weeks ago."
"The only thing stopping me is that ring your brother has," I told him bitterly. "If it weren't for that, I'd drain you dry in an instant. I wouldn't even bat an eyelid." Sam supressed a grimace as he shook his head. I knew I was getting to him and I couldn't help the sense of satisfaction that rolled over me at the sight of his distress.
"I don't buy it," he said, trying to sound convincing. "You give off this tough exterior to make people afraid of you, but underneath all that, there's just a lonely Italian girl." I stepped away from him, taken aback by what he'd said. I hadn't told him much of my past. I'd told him nothing of my human years.
"You don't know me, Sam," I told him, trying not to falter as I shook my head. "You don't know what I've done. You don't know what I will do."
"You can change," the younger Winchester insisted. His eyes stared into mine and I couldn't look away. It was as if he was the one with the power of compulsion. "I know you want to. You wouldn't've stuck around this long if there wasn't a part of you that wants to be different. That wants to be good."
"I'm the devil," I whispered, my jaw tight. Sam shook his head.
"I've met the devil," he reminded me. "You don't even come close." He was so near to me now that I could feel his breath. It felt so warm on my cold skin that I wanted him ever closer. I'd never craved him so much until that moment. He raised his hand and for a moment, I thought he was going to stroke his thumb along my cheek. He changed his mind at the last minute, perhaps remembering who I was. What I was.
"I'm no good, Sam," I said quietly before stepping away. I turned, taking maybe three steps before I heard the sound of a knife being unsheathed. The noise of the blade scrapping against the leather rang in my ears, intensified by my heightened senses. "What are you doing?" I asked the boy before me as he held the blade against his palm. "Sam…" It was too late. A small stream of blood had formed where the knife cut into his skin, the crimson substance bubbling at the open wound. I made the fatal mistake of breathing in, the intoxicating scent filling my nostrils and driving me crazy.
"It's okay," he said, taking a step forward. Fear flared in my gut and I rushed backwards, my back colliding with the wall.
"Don't come any closer," I panted as he made his way towards me. He didn't seem afraid at all. I wished I could've said the same about myself. There was literally nothing stopping me from killing him right then and there. I tried to search for a way out but all my mind could process was the blood dripping from Sam Winchester's hand. "Stop," I told him weakly. "Stop!" He wouldn't. He came closer until he was a foot away, standing over me as I cowered on the floor, trying to push myself into the wall and disappear.
My fangs descended, the whites of my eyes flooding red. I was hungry. Too hungry. I wanted it more than anything. I imagined the coppery taste of it as it slipped over my tongue and the rush I would feel from draining the life out of him.
"You're not gonna hurt me," Sam repeated, crouching down beside me. I flailed on the ground, trying to get away.
"There are smarter ways to prove a point," I spat, panic rising inside of me. And that's exactly what he'd done. He knew I'd never hurt him. He wasn't trying to prove it to himself. He was trying to prove it to me. It was all part of his plan to make me realise I wasn't just a heartless killer.
"I knew you wouldn't," he told me. I stopped breathing and forced myself to look away from his hand. This time, Sam did grab my cheek, using his unwounded hand to pull my face back towards him. My teeth were gritted together and I felt my fangs pierce my bottom lip, my mouth filling with the bitter taste of my own blood. The worst part was that I knew he wasn't on vervain. He wore the herb around his wrist to protect him from compulsion, but that wouldn't help him now.
"It's okay," he whispered. I held my breath, my eyes squeezing shut as I tried to block him out. The sound of his heart hammering against his ribcage was deafening. I felt his palm against my face. His touch was scorching on my cold skin. I was frozen still, my jaw clamped shut over my deadly fangs. "You're not gonna hurt me."
"You might not get so lucky next time," I forced out between my lips before pushing him away and sprinting from the firing range. I ran close to my full speed and I didn't stop until I was in my room, the door slammed shut with my back against the dark wood.
My breathing was rapid as I tried to focus on anything other than the younger Winchester's blood. What Sam had done was reckless and stupid, but I'd managed to resist the urge to rip into his skin and drain him dry. For now, Sam was safe. For now.
These Winchesters were going to be the death of me.
AN: Keep an eye out for the other two parts. Should be up pretty soon.
Let me know what you thought, much love x