If you're new here, this is sort of AU, with various topics/elements from Supernatural, American Horror Story, Harry Potter, the Hex Hall series, Hemlock Grove, and my imagination! It isn't a crossover, it just has little pieces of many things melded together. It's rated T for of swearing and (eventual) sexy bits that aren't too descriptive.
Quick extra A/N: REWRITTEN!
Enjoy!
"Do you think you'll be the guy to make the queen of the angels sigh?"
September 26, 2008
The hunt is a relatively straightforward one. Just your regular run-of-the-mill vampire nests. The creatures who decided to hole themselves up in Albany had been methodically killing a child every month for the last year. They would slowly sip on the blood each time they felt hungry, savoring it until the first of the following month when they would decide to take a new victim. But one of them became arrogant and decided to go on a rampage in the next town over, sucking four kids dry in one night. Which the vamps should know is not a good idea if the nest didn't want Dean Winchester and his little brother to get involved.
The Impala rumbles to a stop at the bottom of the gravel driveway that leads to the vamps' hideout. Dean leans his head out the window and gazes at the red brick building.
"Damn it," he says shortly.
With a heavy sigh, he climbs out of the car and goes to stand next to Sam. The brothers both shield their eyes from the blinding sun and take in their target. It looks old and decrepit, the bricks taking on a dingy sheen of brown and green as damp moss spreads across them.
"Gotta give the vamps credit," Dean starts. "It's not exactly a well-populated area."
"Yeah," Sam agrees. "You ready?"
"Let's do this."
Sam walks around to the back of the Impala and pops the trunk, lifting the cover and revealing the Winchester arsenal. He takes out two machetes and hands one to Dean, who finds the jar of dead man's blood. Each brother dips a blade in the jar, covering the entire thing with certified vampire cyanide. For extra protection, they take a syringe each of the leftover dead man's blood. Purposefully, the brothers march up the driveway, and Dean pushes the gate open, frowning when it squeaks on rusty hinges. They make it to the back door, and Dean pushes it open.
"On three?" he mutters to Sam.
Sam nods. "One."
"Two."
"Three!"
On that three, Dean rushes inside with Sam just a step behind him. Dean assesses the room with the well-practiced eye of a hunter. It's large, with no apparent trace of the vamps anywhere. The room looks like it had used to be an old office space, but the walls of the cubicles had broken apart so badly that the whole place is now just a vast open space of cracked, plastic dividers.
"Where the hell is everything?" Sam asks quietly.
"Dunno," Dean answers. "But keep an eye out."
Without so much as a word to one another, the brothers separate. Sam goes left, and Dean, with his flashlight in hand, goes the other direction. He shines the light every which way, but there is no trace of the vampires. No pale, unconscious bodies, no plastic bags filled with blood, not even dried streaks of day old blood on the cement floor. Dean is almost scratching his head in confusion. So distracted is he that he almost misses as his flashlight finally finds something. On the ground lies a headless body. Someone (or something) had ripped the shirt open and carved what looks to be a flower on the dead vamp's chest.
"What the hell?" Dean mutters aloud.
Rapid footsteps approach Dean, and he freezes, machete at the ready.
"Dean, it's me."
"Sam," Dean says, relieved. "Did you see? What the fuck is it? Demons?"
"Witches," Sam corrects.
"What?!"
"Yeah," Sam says. "There's another body about fifteen feet from here. Same symbol and everything."
"But witches?" Dean grunts, annoyed.
"It's a symbol of folk magic, I think."
"Great," Dean mutters. "Just fuckin' great. I hate witches. I fuckin' hate 'em, Sam."
"Dean," Sam says. "You hear that?"
"Yeah."
The brothers start to move silently towards the noise. It sounds like screeching to Dean. Like a record player has shorted out or something. The noise stops as the suggestive sound of a squelching blade tells him that the vamp just lost its head. After about ten seconds, Sam's flashlight catches the scene, and it's the same as the last two; a dead vamp with a flower carved into its chest.
"Whoever this witch is, she sure knows what she's doing," Sam comments.
"Exactly," Dean says, strangely awed. "That's three she's taken out."
"She's fast too."
"C'mon, Sammy. Three down-"
"Three to go," Sam finishes.
The Winchesters continue their careful walk. It's hard to see in the pitch black building, and Dean is so not in the mood to be overpowered by a vampire today. He suddenly jolts back into Sam's chest in surprise.
"Dude, what?"
"Look!"
Sam follows his brother's light, and they both gaze at the strange sight before them. Two vamps are surrounding a small woman who has a machete gripped tight in her hand. From what Dean can hear, she's singing "Another One Bites the Dust" (ironically, it seems) as she dances around the creatures wearing these wicked stilettos covered in little spikes and studs. Dean catches notice of a blur, and a third vampire shoots out and joins the fray. The girl hasn't seen it yet, and the monster takes a flying leap onto her back. Her lovely singing voice abruptly ends, and she swears, loudly and often, as she wiggles around trying to throw it off.
"Cazzo, damn, merda, you asshole! Get the fuck off of me, cunt-face! Vaffanculo!"
Without thinking, Sam flips on a switch near the wall and the room is filled with a bright, white light that makes all three of the vamps hiss in pain. The one on the woman's back is flung violently to the floor, and in one quick move, she slices off the head. The other two vamps are advancing towards Dean and Sam, trying to look menacing and cover their eyes from the glowing light at the same time. The brothers are quickly on top of them (the light is terribly distracting to the monsters) and at the same time, behead the creatures. Dean lets out a breath he didn't know that he was holding and wipes a bit of blood from his face. He turns around to look at the witch and is drawn in at how weirdly attractive she looks. It's pretty hard to look hot when one is covered in blood and guts, but she pulls it off well. The witch crouches down to the ground and pulls out a knife, carving something into the vamp's chest. She's wearing a leather jacket and a white tank top that bears the logo of some brand of vodka. The shirt collar hangs low, and when she bends down, Dean's blood jolts as he gets a peek at the nicest pair of tits ever. He has to shake his head to snap himself out of it. She's a witch. And Dean kills witches.
"Thanks for that," said witch remarks, standing up again.
Dean pulls the gun from his pocket on her, curling his lip.
"Jesus, what the fuck, dude?"
Dean almost drops his gun to the floor at the sound of her voice. It's sexy as hell, with some accent that Dean can't place.
"Why did you carve those symbols into the vampires' chests?" Sam asks quickly.
Dean snaps out of his second desire filled reverie and nods at the woman, waving his gun at her warningly.
"Those were not just vamps," she says, as though the brothers are incredibly naive.
"What were they then?"
The witch wipes a strand of hair from her face, leaving a streak of goopy blood across her cheek. Dean's blood heats up when he catches notice of her sharp green eyes.
"They were Upyr," she explains.
"Upyr?" repeats Sam. "In New York?"
"I guess so," the woman says, walking closer. "They're running out of food overseas. They're getting desperate."
"What are Upyr?" Dean asks, the curiosity getting the better of him.
The witch trains those intelligent eyes on Dean.
"They're vampire-demon type things from Russia. All the vics were kids under the age of fifteen, and after they had drained the bodies, they ate the hearts. That's how you know. I think they're starving over there. As I said, they're getting desperate. Any creature, when they're hungry enough will gladly leave their homeland looking for prime rib. Plus, you Americans have a diet filled with red meat. The kids have more fat around their hearts here. Upyr love fat. They'll go anywhere for a fatty heart, even across the ocean."
"And how do you know this?"
"Because I'm formerly from Europe. Italy. I grew up around European monsters. Which is helpful over here when North American hunters don't know what they're dealing with," she says, all Hermione Granger, know-it-all.
"Why did you carve that symbol on the vamps' chests?" Sam asks again.
"It's a Witch's Knot," she explains. "Mortals use it to prevent witchcraft, but we use it as protection. Upyr are bad motherfuckers, and you do not want others to come sniffing around for their family."
"So then you're a witch?" Sam wonders.
"Do I need to kill you?" Dean adds. "I fuckin' hate witches."
No matter how hot they look covered in blood and guts and no matter how sexy their accents are, Dean despises witches with a passion.
"Natural born," the woman snaps darkly. "Born and bred."
"Is that supposed to mean somethin' to me?" says Dean.
She snorts. "I wouldn't expect it to mean anything to you. Hunters are very misinformed when it comes to us. They only see us as monsters."
"You are!" growls Dean. "You guys are always spewin' your bodily fluids everywhere, making everythin' all gross and unsanitary. Not to mention that witches are terrible and bloodthirsty murderers, killing in cold fuckin' blood!"
"Do you want to test that theory, pretty boy?"
"Don't test me, sweetheart. I'll kill you before you can mix a potion or whatever you bitches do," Dean threatens, gesturing to his gun.
"Oh, Christ. We don't mix potions. They major in potion blending, not me," she snaps.
"Hold on," Dean pauses. "What are you babblin' about?"
"The witches you hunters are used to fighting?" the woman starts, "They got their powers by selling their souls to those ass-hats in Hell. I, on the other hand, was born one. A damn good one and hell of a lot better than those other moronic 'witches.' I don't mix potions, or use hex bags. I use blood magic and can translate ancient runes and Archaic Latin faster than you can ask "what the hell's that mean?" Potions? Hell no. You know Vodou right? That's what I can do. And Vodou spirits are deadly fast and quicker than any old lame-ass, sell-your-soul-to-a-demon witches."
"Is that supposed to impress me?" Dean says, sneering.
"I don't know. How would you feel having Congo Savanne come and eat you for breakfast?"
Dean makes a face. "What?"
"Vodou loa," the woman elaborates, grinning mockingly. "He grinds you up like corn and then eats you."
"You're just a bullet away," Dean warns.
"Or maybe I should get Marinette-Bwa-Chech," she continues, ignoring Dean's threat. "They call her the sworn servant of evil. A she-devil. I'd think she'd like you."
"Oh, that's it, witch bitch..."
"Okay, hold on!" Sam says abruptly, trying to diffuse the tension and Dean scowls at him, "You were born a witch?"
"Mhmm. My great-grandma was one. It can skip a few generations, especially if the witch marries a mortal."
"That's pretty amazing."
"Amazin'?" Dean repeats. "Are you serious, Sam?"
His sworn supernatural enemy is right in front of him, and his brother is trying to make friends with it. Dean doesn't know whether to be pissed, confused, or betrayed. He settles on all three and glares menacingly at Sam. Sam, used to his brother's glares, ignores him and turns to the woman.
"Well, she did kill four Upyr in one fight. That's pretty hard to do. Besides, we both know that not every supernatural being is homicidal."
"Thank you," the witch says, grinning up at him.
Sam smiles back, and when he turns away from her, she gives Dean the middle finger in triumph. Dean clenches his jaw in irritation. Apparently, he couldn't shoot her now. Not with Sam 'liking' her all of a sudden.
"I have some sandwiches in my car," the woman pipes up. "You guys want any? There's pie too, I think."
"I do," replies Sam. "Dean?"
"Fuck no!"
Dean gets an excellent 'Bitch Face' from Sam.
"Would you excuse us?" Sam says. "We need to have a word."
"Okay."
Sam grabs Dean forcefully by the arm and steers him away from the witch. Dean scowls again as soon as Sam lets him go.
"She's a witch, Sam!"
"But does that give you a right to be an asshole, Dean?"
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, it does," Dean answers, trying not to say 'duh' and smack Sam on the forehead- like he used to when they were kids.
"No, it doesn't. Remember Madison?"
"You had to kill her!"
"Only because..." Sam sighs, frowning, "Fine. Bad example. Remember Lenore?"
Dean regards this for a second. He grumbles when he can't find an argument against it.
"Kill first, ask questions later," Dean finally says.
"Fine. Starve. I'm going," Sam says, shrugging.
"But what if she kills you?"
"Then I guess you'll have to come with us, Dean. Keep me safe."
He grins, knowing he's got Dean by the short and curlies now. Dean scoffs a little and nods in bemused agreement.
"Touché, Sammy. Touché."
They walk back over to the witch, and she stands up from the Upyr. Dean sees that the two he and Sam had killed now have Witch's Knots carved into their pale skin.
"What did you decide?" she asks.
"We'll join you," Sam says. "By the way, I'm Sam. That's Dean."
"The infamous Winchesters," the woman muses. "I'm Bella. Bella Rossi. You guys ready for the best sandwiches ever?"
Sam agrees, and Dean watches as he walks ahead of him with Bella. The witch. Dean grumbles again and follows the two out of the warehouse. But only to protect Sammy. Not because he thinks the witch is hot.
It's nothing like that.
The song is "Hello, I Love You" by The Doors :)
And just a quick remark- all the chapters are rewritten and they will be posted within 1-2 weeks of each other.