Winchester.

Derek knew that name from somewhere, slipped in some faded memory of his mother mentioning a hunting family by the surname. Not one of the larger ones, certainly not one like the Argents, with their long standing vendetta against werewolves (Chris possibly being the only exception, despite his personal tragedies), but hunters were a dangerous breed under any circumstance. Which was why Derek thought it was odd, the way his stomach dropped when he watched Jasper descend the stairs, whistling a tune as his eyes locked onto Dean Winchester.

The hunter was trying his best to hold his neck up to see the bastard, but with his arms tied back and together, he was failing. Derek didn't think it would matter. Seeing Jasper, how normal, how polite and clean-cut he appeared to be, wouldn't prepare anyone for what was to come.

Derek knew fear, knew what his own tasted like on the tip of his tongue. This Winchester wasn't feeling nearly enough of it. Derek wanted to scream at the thought of seeing this all over again. The shifter, at least, had been a murderous beast, able to heal quickly to some degree. This was a human. Maybe not an innocent one, but fragile, like people were.

Derek had a habit of forgetting that sometimes, and he wished he could forget it right now. When Jasper went to work, the hunter wouldn't last long.

Why he cared, that was a question Derek couldn't answer. He told himself that this fear was actually guilt, guilt over the fact that he'd had no faith in Braeden finding him, but she'd been out there, recruiting help. Actually looking for him. And now part of the rescue team was on the dinner menu. She would blame herself.

She should blame him.

"Sounds dandy," Dean snapped.

Derek realized he had missed some of the conversation between Jasper and Winchester. That had been happening more frequently, his focus slipping. He didn't know if it was a defense mechanism his mind had conjured to keep him from having to hear the wet slurp of his skin peeling from his muscle every day or if it was the wolfsbane bleeding in through his open wounds. What he did notice, clearly, was the hunter's false bravado and the monster's joy.

Derek had never seen Jasper quiet so giddy, even when he was…feasting. But the happiness on the creature's face was obvious. Derek even picked up on a hint of arousal in the air. That was far more common. Jasper always enjoyed his time in the basement.

"It must be fate," Jasper said, his voice trembling slightly in excitement. "I couldn't have planned such a perfect series of circumstances. There I was, minding my own business, when I spotted your little crew. I admit, I was a touch worried when I realized what you were, why you were here. I hadn't prepared myself for hunters, just yet. But then, I saw you… My stomach growled. Can you believe that?"

"Fated?" Dean spat. "Buddy, I know I'm a hot piece of man meat, but I promise, one bite of this and you'll choke. You don't know the crap you've just stepped into."

Jasper chuckled. "My mouth watered," he said, more softly, completely ignoring the man's words. He reached out, fingertips combing through Dean's short hair almost tenderly. "Then, why, you went and separated from the herd. Practically wondered up to my doorstop, a beautiful lamb for the slaughter. I didn't think I was ready to try human again yet, but…you're irresistible. I can feel it. You're going to be the one."

Derek didn't realize the low growl was coming from his own throat until Jasper turned his way, a chiding frown on his face.

"Oh, you jealous little mutt," Jasper said, fondly. "Don't you worry your pretty head over him. I'll still need you a bit longer. You'll get your turn at breakfast. After all, if I want this to work, then I need to take my time. Can't rush perfection, Momma used to say."

"You know," Dean commented, "I was expecting a monster, but the batshit crazy momma's boy is a surprise."

The slap was loud, startling Derek. Dean's head snapped to the side, the blow leaving his eyes shut in pain.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered.

"Rude." Jasper tutted him, then raised his hand again, this time to kiss a dab of blood off his knuckle. "Tasty. I was going to try and fast until my next attempt to ascend, but I don't think a snack ever killed anyone. Anyone but you, maybe."

Jasper chuckled at his joke, then circled behind Dean, so that the man couldn't see him. After a moment's hesitation, Jasper pushed up the back of the hunter's shirt, staring down at the smooth skin beneath, his fingers hovering over the flesh, as if hesitating.

"Get your fucking hands off me," Dean grunted, trying to buck out of his chair. It held tight.

"Don't," Derek begged, swallowing hard. "Jasper, please don't. You don't have to do this!"

"Just a taste," Jasper promised and pulled a small knife from his pocket. "A little nip to tide me over. Don't worry, mutt. You're the main course tomorrow."


"You done?"

Sam looked up from the table at the sound of her voice. He'd overturned it, thankfully not while his laptop was occupying the top, but his notes, the clipping, were scattered around the floor next to the chair.

He hadn't reacted well. Not then, at the gas station, nor when they made it to a motel on the edge of town to re-group and come up with a plan. In truth, he couldn't even fully remember what he'd told the other hunter when he realized…

Sam swallowed hard. When he realized Dean was missing. Again. Sam was certain that whatever had left his mouth hadn't been nice, but Braeden was still there, so she must have understood his reaction.

"Good," she continued. "You don't strike me as the kind of person to lose it like that."

"This is kind of a thing with Dean. Disappearing," Sam said, quietly, trying to force a bitter smile onto his face. It didn't work. He straightened, taking a deep breath to calm down. "We need Cas."

"Who?"

Sam grimaced. "Someone who isn't answering right now…Forget it." He took a breath, trying to calm down. "Ok, let's go over this again. What do we know about the area where the shifter went missing? You were obviously right about the location."

Braeden raised a brow at him, as if she didn't quite believe he was done with his breakdown. "We're going to find them," she assured him. "Both of them."

Sam didn't meet her eye. He wasn't exactly a hundred percent certain that Dean's disappearance was tied to Derek's. The area was the same, sure, but he had enough experience to know that Winchester luck ran sour, often. Between the demon and angel problems, and their long list of enemies, nothing was guaranteed. Still, she was right about one thing. Following this hunt was the only lead they had.

"Yeah," he agreed, not quite feeling it. He closed his eyes, quieting the voice inside him that said to panic, and opened his eyes again to see the woman staring down at her phone. "Did your contacts have anything?"

He remembered that part at least, that she mentioned getting some info on cases that might be related. Apparently, she was an ex-US Marshall, which came in handy. And if he hadn't walked out of that convenient store to find Dean missing, he would have asked her why she left that part of her life behind.

"Maybe." She swiped the surface of her phone. "I wanted to know more about missing persons cases in the area," she reminded, "but there aren't many to choose from, even including the communities around Riverside and Trussville. There are a couple odd ones that stand out, though. There's a home health nurse who found a body missing an arm a few months back. The victim was a transient man, looks like he'd spent the better part of two decades homeless and travelling. The local PD had a hard time figuring out what happened to him, but they thought he might have lost the arm in an accident. Since he was on the river shore at a local park, they think he might have went out for a midnight dip and been hit by a boat's rotor. Not much investigative work was done though."

"Because he was homeless," Sam concluded, annoyed. "Why that case?"

Braeden tilted her head in thought. "This is a small city. The nurse found the guy's body in the park, which is directly behind the shopping area where we were parked this morning. If you were going to start munching on people, why not pick someone no one would miss? Maybe our wendigo didn't get to finish the meal though?"

"You said a midnight dip?"

"I'm exaggerating." Braeden shrugged. "Body was found in the early hours of the morning." She glanced down. "After 5 A.M., and the report said he hadn't been dead long when police arrived. But if he bled out, the accident could have happened earlier, depending on the circumstances."

"If the wendigo didn't finish with him, it could be because the victim escaped," Sam realized. "So, if someone was hurt that badly and running..."

"The creature couldn't have been keeping him far away," Braeden agreed.

"Does the report say if the nurse noticed any other witnesses, possible suspects or anything?"

Braeden shook her head. "Not the most detailed paperwork," she admitted. "But I've got contact info. Let's give the nurse, Nancy Brewer, a call and find out if she saw anything nearby. Maybe we can meet with her."

"We'll leave your bike and call from the car." Sam nodded to himself, turning back toward the hotel door with his keys in hand. "Even if she didn't see anything, maybe we can get an idea of where our creature feature had the victim. I'll walk the whole damn town if it means finding a clue."


Dean's blood felt like it was on fire, especially the steady stream of it spilling down his side. He could almost picture it as acid, eating right through his skin and dripping onto the floor, corroding the cement and working its way down to old Crowley's throne room. He focused on that, on the fire, instead of paying attention to what he was hearing. Swearing helped to drown it out, too, and every curse he could think of was being sent toward fucking Jasper, which, God, what a dick.

It was better to spit out nonsensical threats than to think about the sound of the quick squick his skin made when it was pulled free. Or the smack and chew of Jasper's teeth ripping into it. Even concentrating on the pain was better than listening to the wolf's pleas. An aborted howl of anger had been cut off by a wet slurp-thud-slurp-thud. That sound was familiar. It was the noise a knife made as it slid into a body and out again, over and over.

"Now, don't make me gag you again, mutt," Jasper warned.

The comment cut through all the rest, bringing Dean back to the moment. His captor's voice was almost pleasant, at odds with all the rest. When Dean looked up, he realized that Jasper was talking to Derek, but Jasper quickly turned his attention back to the hunter. His face was flush, cheeks rosy and eyes bright with excitement.

"Don't worry your pretty head," Jasper said, wiping off blood slicked hands with a rag. "I'll get back to you soon enough. We've got plenty of time together, don't we? Gonna make this last a nice while."

His footsteps pounded up the staircase. Dean heard the basement door slam shut. When he dared to crane his neck back, Derek was still hanging from his chain, rivers of blood slithering around his legs and down onto the floor. Dean couldn't see all the stab wounds on the man's back, but the werewolf looked like he'd fallen in a tub of knives. No way anyone could lose that much blood and live, Dean thought.

"Why the hell didn't you stay quiet?" Dean snapped.

And, shit, if the very act of speaking didn't tug on the skin over his ribs and make him wince. Dean knew his own wound couldn't have been as gaping as any of Derek's, but he felt raw, open, the air touching the spot a red-hot rod searing into him.

"Wasn't…" Derek trailed off, head lolling back between his shoulders.

"Hey." Dean hissed out a breath, annoyed that just trying to get a good look at the other guy hurt. "Hey, Lon Chaney, wake the hell up!"

Dean saw the moment Derek's legs tensed, trying to hold himself up again. Not unconscious then. Not yet.

"'S not a curse," Derek muttered.

"Uh, good, I guess? You hanging in there?" Dean asked.

"Being a werewolf isn't a curse," Derek said. "The Wolf Man… was a stupid...movie."

"Yeah, well, I've run across some innocent victims who'd say otherwise," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "How quickly can you heal, 'cause those knife wounds don't look like they're going anywhere?"

"Weak." Derek swallowed hard. "But the bleeding is good. Wanted him to lash...lash out," he said, sounding exhausted. "Needed… Needed to drain the poison from my blood. Wolfsbane in the cuffs. It's…"

"To keep you from going Hulk on the chains, yeah, I see," Dean noted. "That won't do you any good if you bleed to death. Can you bleed to death?"

"In theory," Derek replied, then stayed quiet, as if thinking the prospect over.

Dean didn't like this, any part of it, and he was annoyed at himself for worrying about the werewolf instead of making a plan of escape. He couldn't help it, though. Despite what he'd been through, the constant hunting in Purgatory, that hardness that had grown around him since finding a way out, despite all that, he still felt sick at the sight of the man beside him. Werewolf or not.

Out of nowhere, the chains above groaned and Derek swung backward. Dean jumped at the sudden movement, growling in pain when he didn't budge an inch.

"Damn it!" Derek snapped.

"What are you doin'?" Dean grimaced as he tried to get a better look. "Were you trying to kick the wall?"

Derek huffed, sounding breathless. "The pulley. Still can't reach it."

The pulley, the ones holding Dean's arms back at such a threatening angle. If he could actually sit up straight, he might have a chance of getting free from the chair. "Well thanks for the try," he said, awkwardly. Maybe there was some other way to slip the rope from the pulley. "So, this Jasper guy. I kind of picked up on the fact that he's missing an abundance of claws and teeth."

"There's wendigo in his bloodline," Derek assured. "Or he thinks there is. He's trying to trigger the change by eating enough flesh. He smells different… I think it's working."

"Yay for Jasper," Dean groused. "Braeden said you disappeared while hunting a shifter. Found that guy, by the way. Wasn't pretty. How'd a werewolf find himself hunting, anyway?"

"I wasn't-" Derek's voice cut off. "It wasn't hunting. People were getting hurt by something supernatural, and there wasn't anyone protecting this territory." His voice sounded steadier, and Dean wondered if he'd been right about draining the poison. "I thought I could help," Derek continued. "When I was young, my family, they protected people, when something like this thing threatened lives, my mother's pack went after it. Most packs do."

"No kidding?"

"You don't believe me. I don't care. You asked a question, and I answered it."

"Jesus, we're testy, aren't we." Dean shook his head. "None of the werewolves I've hunted were itching to become super heroes."

"You've probably hunted out of control Omegas, most of them bitten instead of born. Or, at least, a few generations removed from a pureblood Alpha bite." Derek hesitated a moment. "If you hunted packs like mine, I'd know it. We keep up with the families, the hunters who truly hate our kind. They come whether there's danger or not. They might as well be killing for sport."

"What about you?" Dean asked. "You mentioned your mother's pack. Why are you with Braeden instead of them?"

Derek was silent. Dean could fill in the blank though. Those hunting families the werewolf had mentioned with such spite. Dean knew he shouldn't have asked, but he had a feeling Derek wasn't one to talk so much when not under the influence of extreme bloodloss. A 'getting to know you' session wasn't exactly what Dean had been aiming for though. And it certainly wouldn't make things easier if they both got out alive and had to make a tough choice.

A loud pop rung out, startling Dean. "What the hell?"

When he strained to see Derek's position better, the werewolf was grimacing, breathing heavily through his teeth, and something about his body looked different. It took Dean another moment to realize the man's shoulder had shifted, one side higher than the other. Dislocated.

"What the hell did you do?" Dean belted, his eyes wide.

Derek hushed him. "Quiet, before it hears me."

At a hushed whisper, Dean echoed, "What the hell did you do?"

"I need a few more inches."

Another loud pop sounded. Dean almost gagged, watching Derek twist his body. The werewolf's eyes rolled back in his head a moment, and Dean was almost sure he was going to pass out when Derek straightened, his face tense as he shifted his form delicately and kicked out. Dean couldn't see what he did, but the snap of wood and metal rung out.

Dean practically folded forward at the sudden release, only the bolts under his chair keeping his strapped body from hitting the floor. He tried to ignore the searing pain from having his muscles suddenly lax and focus on the fact that the shift had loosened the ropes holding his wrists.

"I can't believe that worked. Good job, wolf boy."

Derek didn't answer. His body was hanging, a heavy weight held up by the pair of cuffs above, his shoulders misshapen. Dean knew what kind of permanent damage that would do a human's arms, but he was sure it wasn't pleasant for a werewolf either. And if the weight of his body kept him from breathing, it wouldn't matter either way.

"Hold on, Derek," Dean muttered, and went to work on the knots behind his back.