Author's Note: Aw, no reviews yet? Me be sad, very sad. Thanks for your favs and follows though! 3

WARNING! WARNING! Attempted rape in this chapter. Definite trigger warning.

CHAPTER FOUR

Dean redialed Becca's number yet again. He'd been calling her nonstop as he sped hazardously across town towards her apartment. The Impala squealed as he rounded a corner too sharply and had to hit the brakes to temporarily slow down.

Hopefully she's just asleep or something, Dean thought to himself. Yeah, right. Because lucky stuff like that happens all the time.

Minutes later, he was parking in the lot as near to her apartment as possible. He ran to her door and tried the handle. It was locked shut. 'Cause that'd be too easy, he said to himself. He knocked on the door. "Becca? Becca! You in there? Open the door!"

There was a loud crash from somewhere inside. Shit. Dean took a step back and kicked the door but it didn't budge. Shit, shit, shit. He began trying to break the door down.


Becca shook her hair from her eyes and lightly touched her fingers to the corner of her forehead. She glanced at her hand and saw blood. She'd hit her head and her mind was moving so slowly… she was dazed and confused … couldn't quite understand what was happening…

After Dean left, she had decided to fix up a simple snack to eat before bed. She'd been preparing that snack, a small sandwich wrap full of veggies and hummus, in the kitchen when a door somewhere inside her apartment had slammed shut. She'd whirled around just in time to see the huge hairy body of the satyr looming over her, those dark red eyes full of fury. It had grabbed her by the arm and threw her across the room, her head slamming against the corner of the kitchen table.

Becca shook her head. She needed to move. Now. She stood up, keeping her eyes on the satyr standing on the other side of the kitchen, and slowly inched her way towards the counter where all her knives were. The monster glared at her but didn't move. Instead, he smiled menacingly as if he knew exactly what she was planning. He obviously wasn't worried about it in the slightest.

Oh God. He's right, she thought to herself. There's no way I'm going to be able to fight this thing. Nonetheless, she slowly made her way to the knife drawer, slid it open, and picked out the biggest piece of cutlery she owned. She held it out protectively and began moving slowly, ever-so-slowly, towards the doorway that led to the living room and front door.

The satyr's smile lengthened into a sharp-toothed, repugnant grin. He moved away from the doorway, giving Becca better access towards her escape route, and for several moments she didn't budge, completely stunned.

This friggin' psycho is toying with me! She thought to herself. I'm going to die. She tensed her muscles, preparing for the fight of her life. But it's not getting me without a fight!

Becca sprung for the doorway and dashed into the living room just as a knocking sound came from her front door. "Becca? Becca! You in there? Open the door!" She was vaguely aware of Dean's muffled voice coming from outside, but had no time to register it. The satyr lunged after her and caught her arm, but she swung around and cut his wrist with the knife. As the creature snarled and released its grip, she lost her balance and fell into a lamp. Both she and the light fixture crashed to the floor.

The satyr laughed, a deep sound rumbling in its chest, as it approached her. He grabbed her by the shoulder and lifted her from the carpet, pushing himself against her and pinning her to the wall. The knife fell from her grasp and she struggled to keep her face away from his other hand, which he was trying to press against her mouth. No, No, No! she screamed to herself. I'll be damned if he uses that friggin' love drug crap on me again!

As Becca struggled, she swept her hand around, desperately searching for anything she could grab and use as a weapon. Her fingers closed around a tv remote, which she smashed into the side of the monster's head. Momentarily distracted, the satyr loosened his grip on her. She slipped down the wall, squeezed past his vile hairy legs, and retrieved her knife.

She dashed for the front door, but something hard hit her in the back and she fell to the floor. The damn brute had thrown something at her! She rolled over onto her back to face him.

She heard shattering glass coming from somewhere else in the apartment. Surprised, both she and the satyr glanced towards the direction of the sound. They each recovered quickly, however. The creature bent towards her and she stabbed it in the foot. It roared in frustration and continued his attack, but then it stumbled backwards as a loud exploding sound filled the room.


Dean had decided he was wasting too much time trying to break the door down, so he'd found a window instead. He'd pulled out his gun and had arrived in Becca's living room just as she stabbed the hairy creep in the foot from her position on the floor. He fired a shot at the monster's stomach, sending it reeling in pain across the room. Keeping an eye on it as it tore and scratched at the wound in its belly, Dean rushed to Becca's side, pulling her to her feet.

She was a complete mess. She wasn't standing straight and he had to support her against himself. There was a bleeding gash on her forehead, though most of the wound looked crusted over with dry blood. Good, Dean thought. Not imminently life-threatening. She had bruises but nothing was broken, and she seemed very aware of her surroundings, meaning the son-of-a-bitch hadn't drugged her.

"Becca? Listen to me. You have a bottle of lotion or something in a junk drawer somewhere. The tent stake spot. I need you to find it. ASAP!"

Dean kept an eye on the satyr. It hadn't been seriously hurt, just surprised. It was recovering quickly and would attack them again in a moment.

Becca looked at Dean, her eyes wild and terrified. Her face showed the same crazed expression any living thing had while fighting desperately for life: frantic determination, feral ferocity, and pure, unadulterated fear. For a split second, a lump formed in the back of Dean's throat and he tightened his arm's grip around her supportively. A person like Becca should never, ever have to experience something like this. It was his job to keep these things from happening, and he'd failed. Her life would never be the same.

The satyr began advancing towards them. Dean raised his gun and shouted, "Becca! Lotion! This gun won't kill it!" She disappeared into the kitchen as Dean aimed for the chest and shot the creature again. However, with the element of surprise gone, Dean's gun had little effect this time. New plan: stall as long as possible and hope Sam arrives before this guy turns me into a chew toy.

"So what's your problem?" Dean hissed mockingly. He carefully shifted himself so he was positioned between the beast and the kitchen. "Little lonely monster can't impress the ladies, so he attacks them instead? Real classy dude. Surefire way to win them over."

The satyr growled and clenched its fists while pacing back and forth. It was sizing up its enemy and determining its next move.

"What? I didn't catch that. Can't you talk, or are you too dumb?"

With lightning speed, the creature launched itself at Dean and threw him across the room. In a split second it was next to Dean again and, holding him against the wall, brought its face close to Dean's. Dean scrunched his nose as the satyr's putrid warm breath blew across his skin. "Dude, no wonder the ladies despise you. Have you ever heard of breath mints?" He struggled but couldn't move. This monster was strong. All he could do was carefully move his hand towards the side of his leg, where he had a knife stashed in a concealed pocket.

The hairy beast stared at Dean for a few moments, glaring at him with those ugly red eyes. Then it leaned close with a smile and whispered in Dean's ear. "She's going to watch me kill you. Then I'll make her wish she was never born." Dean suppressed a shiver as the moist foul breath brushed past his ear. The thing's voice was deep and gravelly and made his head almost physically ache. So close to the knife… just a little bit further… "There's nothing you can do to save her," the satyr hissed. "She's mine, and I'm gonna make her squirm."

The rage Dean felt in that moment was enough to make him almost lose control. His fingers gripped around the handle of his knife and he yelled angrily as he thrust it into the creature's side, pushing the nasty satyr's body away from himself at the same time.

Becca was standing there waiting. "I don't belong to anyone, you chauvinistic douchebag!" She shoved her own knife deep into the satyr's back, and it howled in desperate pain. The smell of scorched flesh filled the air and the skin around the blade sizzled and cracked.

Dean glanced in surprise at Becca, who was holding an empty bottle of hand and foot cream. He had been so focused on holding the satyr off that he hadn't noticed her come in. Fortunately, neither had the satyr.


Becca stood triumphantly over the struggling monster. She'd liberally covered the blade of her knife with the beauty cream from her junk drawer, and now the satyr was lying on the floor, clearly struggling.

"Here, give me the bottle," Dean requested. She handed the nearly-empty container to him, and he scooped out as much of the remaining lotion as possible.

They both jumped as a loud pounding came from the front door.

"That'll be Sam," Dean grunted as he stooped down and plucked his knife from the satyr's side. The monster snarled and lashed out weakly, but Dean easily avoided the attack.

Nodding, Becca shuffled to the door and let Sam inside. "Where is it?" he asked. He was carrying a long machete smothered with what looked like oil. It smelled like a health and beauty store.

She nodded her head towards Dean and slumped against the wall. It's over, she thought to herself. It's over. With all the adrenaline slowly leaving her veins, Becca found herself overwhelmingly tired. Her muscles were weak, her bruises ached, and the gash on her forehead was starting to throb.

Sam's eyebrows furrowed in deep concern. "You okay?" He placed his hand reassuringly on her shoulder. All Becca could do was slowly shake her head up and down. Sam squeezed her arm and joined Dean in the living room. They mumbled something to one another, then Becca closed her eyes as Sam raised the machete in the air.

Whack. Whack. Whack.

Three quick strokes to the neck and the satyr was dead.