A/N: I have played around with this story idea for at least two years, editing the plotline and completely trashing some first baby chapters. Fortunately I finally decided I would post it anyway. I am a hungry author and reviews will give me the much needed sustenance and motivation!
Prologue
A small field was surrounded by a wall of dark trees, the only open area among the frozen forest. A man whose eyes held no color was perched high on a thick branch, veiled by layers of leaves. He could clearly see the man he had just attacked laid out unconscious, a stream of blood flowing from his nose and mouth stained the snow beneath him.
He enjoyed this part almost as much as the attack. Just observing the way the body looked, so vulnerable, so elegant in its brokenness. The black leather jacket ripped apart, strewn around the body's frame like the accents painted in the background of a mural. A violent painting he had created. The way the skin drained of color, almost matching the white ground, gave Him another rush as He felt the human's cells he sucked out revive His body, temporarily.
That was the con, however. This energy, this feeling was only fleeting. He'd have to find another human within another month or so.
If only he could find the perfect host. He would never have to renew his body again.
A shout grabbed his attention. Two boys came running out of the trees from the opposite side of the field. Both were young, one looked thirteen or fourteen, and the other was almost a man, his dark blond hair gelled up. They stooped down beside the body, Gel-Hair cradling it in his arms and tapping its cheek.
Something about Gel-Hair interested him. It could've been his aura, or his …hair? No, he chuckled at the thought.
When Gel-Hair looked in his direction, he drew farther into the cover of frozen leaves, but then he saw it. A certain fire was in his eyes. A vibrant determination, a need to live, was in him. He could spot it all the way to his soul. That was what he needed.
He'd have to keep an eye on that one.
Chapter One
The sound of the heart monitor was the only thing Dean had heard within the past hour.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
He tried to concentrate on it instead of the oxygen machine connected to Dad. Instead of his still, pale and bruised body covered by off-white hospital sheets. Instead of Dean's father, John, who was supposed to be strong and undefeatable, who kicks monster a** almost daily, rendered immobile by the coma.
He squeezed his hands together and squashed the threat of the hot tears welling up behind his eyes. He had to be strong for his brother, Sam, who could clearly see him from the other side of John's bedside. He sat there, trance-like, staring at John while grasping his limp hand.
Times like these it was hard to be strong, though. All the times Sam or Dad had been hurt before it always hurt him, and he always had to wear his strong, positive, big brother façade because that's what his father always expected him to do. 'Take care of Sammy' he always said. And that's what he always did. But he didn't want to have that full-time responsibility yet. He didm't want John to go.
He wouldn't let him.
Dean breathed in deeply and exhaled quietly, staring into the rays of morning sun that streamed through the room window. Sam ran his thumb over John's calloused right hand, the skin hanging off abnormally on his fingertips.
"He's never looked this pale before." Sam said quietly. He noticed the circles under Sam's eyes looked bruised. He chewed my lip. They'd been up all night waiting for test results, but Sam looked like he hadn't slept in days. He hated that his failure hurt him, too.
"I'm... sorry Sam." Dean spat out slowly. Then, louder, he said, "I should have been there for Dad. I'm going to...fix this. Somehow...I'll figure it out."
Sam let a strand of half-curl fall over part of his face, attempting to mask the flush crawling up his neck and cheeks. "It isn't always your job to do, you know." His voice cracked a tiny bit, but he pretended not to notice. "You're always trying to do things yourself, stupid. If the doctors don't have a solution then I'm not going to let you find another one alone." He brushed his hair away and gave him a determined stare.
The door was thrown open and Bobby came rushing in.
"Dean, Sam!" Bobby threw his arms around Dean, squeezing tight. "I'm so glad you kids are alright." He let go, then turned to Sam and did the same. He pulled back and surveyed them for a moment, then said, "Y'all look awful. No sleep?"
Dean nodded and turned from his gaze, glancing back at Dad.
He followed his eyes, placed his hand on his shoulder. "What happened, Dean?"
He don't want to tell him. He failed. Failed. Failed.
"Bobby, I…" It was so hard to say.
The door opened again and Dr. Okin came in with his clipboard in hand and bald spot combed over, unlike it was when they arrived last night.
He moved Bobby's hand away gently. He'd put off this explanation as long as he could.
"Hello, I'm guessing you're Bobby singer, their uncle, am I correct?"
Uncle Bobby nodded. "Dean told me over the phone that you would have the test results today."
"Yes, have them right here." He shook the clipboard and then pulled his bulky glasses from his pocket and began to read. "The results showed that his coma was somehow induced by an unknown toxin. We'll administer antibiotics for a while and if he improves, then we'll know treatment can continue and he will begin to recover. But if he doesn't, we'll have to continue testing, and, really, only time will tell us how severe he is and how successful we will be."
"Why are you going to give him antibiotics if you don't even know what kind of toxin is in him?" Dean asked.
"That is the procedure we take with all toxin-induced patients. We'll continue researching the toxin, and when we know we'll contact you." Dr. Okin was unfazed.
"What if the antibiotics you give him have the opposite effect?" He stood up and met the doctor's eyes. "Can you tell me you're one hundred percent sure they won't hurt him?"
Dr. Okin's squinty eyes flitted to John, "No, son, but-"
He clenched his jaw. "Don't call me son."
"Dean." Bobby said sternly.
"I understand your frustration, but this is the best way we can treat him with what little information we have."
"Sure, Doc." He sighed and sat back down and glared out the window.
Dean heard papers flip and zoned out when he heard "payment options." He stared at the willow trees that clung to the window, scraping back and forth by the angry force of the wind. His stomach tightened knowing that no knew when John would wake up. If doctors couldn't fix him then he'd have to find a way himself.
"You're crazy, Bobby. This is the worst time to even suggest the idea." Dean watched the number of houses they passed slowly diminish as more and more trees tinted by the dim orange morning glow replaced them. They were getting close.
"Just because you two are hunters don't mean you need to be dumb." Bobby wouldn't budge. He wouldn't even turn his eyes from the highway to glance at him.
Sam piped in from the backseat, "If you want to be an idiot the rest of your life then go ahead and drop out."
"Maybe I will" he smirked
"Not today. You're gonna be an Eagle at Sioux Falls High." Bobby half grinned.
Dean scoffed.
He began picking at his cuticles and noticed there was still blood caked into the skin surrounding his right ring finger. He thought he had managed to wash it all off. The reminder grated on him, his muscles tensed with renewed worry for John and the unsettling mystery of the attack.
The unspoken weight of it all sat like a fourth passenger in the truck, taking up space and making everyone quiet and uncomfortable.
He stared through the truck window and noticed a house sized rock almost swallowed by the forest, blanketed in kudzu. Bobby was going nearly sixty, so he almost missed the odd mark covered by muck and vines. It was a tear drop shaped carving with something running vertically through it, splitting it in two perfect halves.
"Did you see that, Bobby?"
"See what?"
"That huge rock we just passed. It had some kind of carving on the side."
"Kid, I ain't never seen no rock like that on this road as long as I've lived here."
He looked over his shoulder through the truck's back window hut he didn't see it anymore. Sam was staring out the left side window. "Did you see it, Sam?"'
He turned to Dean, his brown hair now long enough to reach his eyebrows and curl over his ears. "I don't know, I wasn't looking. We can always look for it on the way back."
"Yeah…yeah." He turned back around and slouched in the worn, warm seat. Weird.
Bobby grunted and scratched his greying facial hair, twisting the long ones around his finger. He gave him a quick expectant look.
"What?" he said.
Bobby was quiet for a moment, then looked in Dean's worried hazel eyes, "What happened?"
He didn't know if he could tell him. It was his fault, how could he admit that? He picked at the bloody cuticle again.
"It wasn't… Bobby…I, um…"
"We were out hunting in some woods a couple hours from here." Sam piped in from the back. Dean gave him a gracious look.
"There were a few people that had gone missing, all from those woods. We found a few bodies, both had been mauled by something, their clothes were all torn apart and they…um, they were bloodless."
Bobby knitted his brows together. "You think a vampire was what got to John." He stated.
"No, it's something different. You heard the doctor, he said there was a toxin in him. Vampires don't leave toxins, they just take blood."
He had to say it. He had to say it.
"Were you both with him when that happened?" Bobby said.
He had to say it, he needed to say it
Sammy started, "He caught sight of it before us and got really far ahead-"
"And we lost him," Dean said. "It was…my fault. If we had kept up we wouldn't have lost him. He wouldn't be hurt like he is." He stared out the window again, refusing to meet their eyes.
Sam squeezed his shoulder. "Stop that. It's not something we can reverse. Beating yourself up over it won't make anything better."
"We'll find a way, Dean. I promise. We'll go back to the place of the initial attack and see if we can find any clues. If that thing is still out there then it's probably going to keep racking up bodies. And besides, we never leave a job unfinished." Bobby full on smiled now. He tried to.
SCREEEEEETTTTCH
Dean's head hulk smashed through the side window, glass circled and flew like trailers in a tornado, skinning his face. Green trees and red red red was everywhere as he felt the truck rotate like a planet kicked out of rotation.
Bobby's voice blasted out curses and harmonized with the sound of the straining brakes. They came to a sudden stop and his head was thrown back inside the truck, slamming against the headrest. He groaned, his vision spun and he felt sticky hot blood sting his eyes and slide down his cheeks. He watched as the drops fell in slow motion onto his faded blue jeans.
"Sammy…Bobby…ugh" Pain clawed at his right side and he clasped his hand over it, biting down on his lip.
"What was that?" Sam rubbed his temple, otherwise unscathed...then saw Dean. "Dean, omygod."
"I'm…fine. Bobby what-" A guttural wail interrupted him, and he turned to see a man wearing a cut up windbreaker picking himself up from the road, not three feet away. He lifted his head, torn skin hung off his jawline, revealing half his bottom teeth.
"Did we do that?" he asked. He locked his gaze on him, bruises pockmarking his face. He started running.
"Guess so." Bobby reached under his seat for a gun, but Almost Roadkill was already at Dean's door. Did he teleport?
He reached in through the broken window and wrapped his pale, dirty hands around Dean's, pulling. His burning ribs jarred, he screamed.
Sammy threw himself over Dean and stabbed at Almost Roadkill's arm, but he didn't even flinch. His eyes were black orbs, unfazed.
"Bobby, he's a demon!"
