Chapter 4: Sweetness Never lasted

Written by: Dustybaby and PPT

Disclaimer: Dustybaby and I do not own or make any profit from anything related to Supernatural. We just really enjoy playing in their sandbox.

A/N: Hello! PPT here. It's official that I have moved from a Beta Reader to Dusty, to co-author! Yay! I'm still the Beta though. We are very excited about the upcoming chapters. We have already written up to chapter six and have very many more exciting things planned. It's taking a while, however, to get these chapters posted, so please bear with us. Keep in mind that anything you would like to say to us is greatly appreciated. Fair warning, though. Her works are for those readers that are 18+. This is the only series that is for Mature Audiences only. And now on to the story, which is told from Dean's point of view! Enjoy!

"What the fuck did you just do?" Dean snapped as he pushed past Sam, he watched her head, which had drooped to the side as she fought to open her eyes. Her chest was rising and falling, staggered, like breathing was a struggle. His guts clenched as tight as his fist and he fought the urge to ram his fist into his brother's nose.

"Dean, we did what we had to do." Sam's voice was shaking as he cupped her face and tilted her head up to his. "No." Dean felt the bitterness in his words as he snapped but a small sound stopped him.

"Stop." She croaked out and forced her eyes to open. She squinted as if the lights were bright and hurt her. She took a moment then her gaze focused on Sam's face. Dean stood beside them and stared with a laser focus on her. His brother's forehead was creased; his eyes were scanning her face as his mouth fell open. He smiled and exhaled as he ran his thumb over her cheek.

"Babe?" Dean's voice was shaky as he stared at her. She looked smaller, weaker than he'd ever seen her look before. Inside he was battling the urges to beat Sam senseless for doing this to her, run because he was out numbered and the urge to steal her away to nurse her back to health like his own baby bird with a broken wing. He dropped to his knees in front of her, her head turned slowly to him as a soft innocent smile turned her lips upright. Sam moved to the side and let him in.

"What?" She said softer than a coo as she tried to get up from the chair, "What happened?"

"Take these off, now…" Dean growled as he cupped her face and tilted her head from side to side examining her. Sam moved fast and worked to free her. Rage was swirling around inside of his chest as he watched her rest limply in the wooden chair.

"How do you feel?" Sam asked with a curt voice. Dean's head snapped to Sam, and an elbow slammed into his ribs. Sam glared at Dean but it didn't faze him. He was worried for her, whatever Sam did could have done damage.

"Like I lost the fight…" She murmured as Dean lifted her into his arms. Sam fussed over her, wiping at her face and pulling down the hem of her shirt to cover her belly that was bruised. Tears rolled down her face as her lower lips quivered.

"Not now Sam, damn it!" Dean growled as he carried her away, out of the dungeon and into the hall. His legs seemed to move slower than he wanted them. His head was filled with the idea of her dying in his arms and the idea that he wouldn't care as much as he knew deep down he should. He shook his head.

"What happened, Dean?" Her words whispered in the dark hall as her head fell into his shoulder. She seemed lighter in his arms, as if he was carrying a wounded child.

"Nothing baby, you need sleep." Dean murmured as he hauled her through the bunker and into his room.

He laid her down in the bed and stared down at her. She was breathing softly, a sleeping beauty in sweaty blood soaked clothes. His heart seemed to dip as he moved in close to her. He could see the puncture marks in her arm and neck, the redness from the cuffs and the dark circles under her eyes.

He could smell the crisp smell of blood and the tang of something different, an unfamiliar smell that was almost bitter. This was his fault. He put the demon in her; he manipulated her into this life. Now she was broken and battered in his bed. He gathered his thoughts and shoved them down deep. He didn't have time to wallow; he needed to get her cleaned up. He pulled the soiled clothing off and changed her into one of his shirts. He took a wet rag to the dried blood and cleaned her off with careful precision. He pulled her hair up and away from her face. She looked peaceful as she rested on the pillow; he stroked her cheek and tried to relax. He knew it was useless, he could leave the room and fight with Sam but he didn't have the energy. He sat at the desk, pulled the hidden bottle of bourbon from the bottom drawer, and took a long swig. It burned going down and sat in his belly like a lead weight.

It took a while before he could bring himself to bed; he rested his body beside her even if his mind was still racing. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him. He could feel her heart thumping against his skin. It felt wrong holding her like this because he didn't deserve it. He was a monster keeping her captive. Sleep came quickly, like a smothering hand over his face that rendered him useless.

Morning came just like a kick to the ribs, an unseen weight pulled him from sleep but he stayed still. He felt her stir beside him. A small hand touched his and squeezed it carefully before lips touched his skin.

"Morning beautiful." He whispered.

"Hey." She rasped out with a dry sounding voice and stretched her muscles, making sure to rub her ass against him to keep his attention.

"How ya feeling today?" he nuzzled her neck then kissed her soft skin.

"Like I got in the ring with a hellhound…" She said softly as he stroked her arm with calloused fingers. He chuckled and pulled her close.

"What happened last night?" She asked gingerly.

"Well, depends on what you remember?" Dean asked with the playful tone.

"I remember walking into a scuzzy motel and finding you with Crowley… then I don't know, it's spotty." She whispered and shifted slowly to face him. Her bright eyes scanned his face, like something in her head was trying to remember something. A memory or a moment that was not hers.

"Never mind that… We should take a shower and eat." Dean kissed her lips. He dreaded this; he didn't know how to explain. How could she not remember everything… what would he even say. He panicked and started to shut her down, "I could eat… I'm starving."

Dean ran a hand up her soft back and held her closer to him; a cool chill ran his spine as he pulled them out of bed. They showered together and he bandaged her forearm and neck making sure to cover the puncture marks. She asked a million questions but he was able to dodge them.

As they dressed for the day, he listened to her humming an unfamiliar song. Her hands wandered his back as he pulled on underwear and jeans, it should have been a turn on but instead it was more like being gutted. She placed kisses on his spine before he turned to face her. He faked a smile and kissed her forehead.

"You okay baby?" She asked.

"Nothing. Just tired… and hungry. Food… now." Dean gripped his stomach dramatically and pushed her to the door. She frowned at him like she knew he was keeping something from her but didn't know what.

The day was spent indoors, movies and food. Dean avoided conversation at any chance. He couldn't tell her, he couldn't risk it. She was still weak and he could smell it. The smell was like masking cyanide with sweet red wine, it was there but faint. Maybe it was an infection, maybe it was the smell of her soul being cleansed of the taint of demon but it turned his stomach.

Her head was resting on his knees as Me, Myself and Irene played on the television, but over the sounds of Jim Carrey's antics he could hear her lightly snoring. His fingers pushed through her tangled hair and stroked her scalp. Dean felt the coils of something dark, insidious filtering in his head. He was trying everything to keep from breaking down, getting violent and hurting Sam or her… anyone who was in a close proximity. He knew that he was volatile.

'Poison.'

'Heartless.'

'Murderer' He shook his head hard and closed his eyes before reaching for the remote and flipping the television off. It was quiet in the bunker, low lights flooding the floors as he lifted her from the couch and cradled her in his arms. She was a reason to keep from going back to darkness, not to kill and deal in souls like he was supposed to. Sam was the other reason; he'd do anything to keep them alive. To keep them breathing. Maybe that's why he did it. He thoughts drifted back to what had happened.

That night, rain soaked and shivering she stood in the door of the motel room. It had been weeks since he'd seen her or Sam. Even longer since he left her in a main room of the bunker with an angry promise to be back, weeks since he hit Sam in the face and went after Metatron alone. The sound of bones breaking and the feeling of metal pushing through his chest, nicking his heart and feeling the sheer pain tore through his body. But she found him in a seedy motel in Wisconsin, kicked in the door with a gun in hand and ready to take down whoever took him from her. He could feel the anger in her body as she stepped into the room, melting into confusion and almost sadness.

They fought for a moment but it was quick. He had her pinned down as the door creaked open with Crowley stepping in. He shot off a one liner about a threesome.

"You gonna help?" Dean asked.

"Don't. Dean, please." She hissed and fought against his strong hands.

Crowley smirked. The room filled with smoke, thick and dark like feathers of a crow. The fog was full of something evil, something that was going to surpass all the parts of her that made her wonderful before and wash that away with darkness. She screamed and thrashed against him, until she was still in his arms.

"Thick as thieves." Crowley had called them. She followed Dean's orders, hung on his words and would do anything to make him happy, it made him feel a little guilty but he loved the control over her.

"Must be nice keeping a pet…" Crowley would hiss, reminding Dean that he could pull her away from him with the snap of his fingers, making the hackles raise on the back of his neck and his whole body want to revolt against itself.

"Come on, Dean. Let me play… I can do this." She whispered in his ear with a smile. Big bright eyes that were so convincing.

"We need to talk." Sam's voice cut into the memory and pulled him back. Dean looked up to see Sam in the doorway, the light shining in from behind him like some angelic glow. His brother dropped his head and turned away. Dean glanced back and slowly rose from the bed. Sam sat on the edge of the table with his hands folded in his lap. His hair was messy and tucked behind his ears; he was still the same little boy that he remembered making microwave dinners for and patching up wounds for. Crying out for that stuffed bear that John hated.

"We gotta talk about it man." Sam said with a low voice. Dean felt a heavy weight hit his shoulders as he stood across from his brother.

"Alright, talk."

"What does she remember?"

"Nothing, Sam." Dean replied trying to keep himself civil.

"But, she's cured?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, for all intents and purposes, she is cured."

"So what now?" Sam asked with a sigh, his hand rubbed his neck as he sat upright and stretched his spine longer.

"She isn't back to normal, she needs to recuperate." Dean stared at Sam. The words were hollowed out even though he was aching for something to make him feel normal.

"I'm okay with that… are you?" Sam lifted his eyebrows and stared at Dean's bare forearm. The scar was red and violently aching deep inside of him for some kind of carnage. Real visceral violence that would stain his soul a little darker and push him a little further down the rabbit hole.

"Yeah Sam. For fuck sake, I am not some heathen… I can keep my shit together while she gets back into fighting shape."

"I'm just saying that, if it worked for her… it will work for you." Sam offered.

"No."

"What?"

"You heard me Sam. There is no cure that is going to fix this… it's in me. It's not a demon that's inside of me…" Dean trailed off and scoffed as he shook his head. Both men stood silent for a moment, Dean was trying to find the right words for how he felt. Sam dropped his head and crossed his arms over his chest as a protective measure, his mouth opened as he inhaled as if he was preparing for a fight.

"You think that you're the problem." Sam stated.

"Sam."

"No, you think that you are I don't know, Dean. Broken…" Sam paused, "And that maybe because you are broken that you are the reason she is like this…"

"I am the fucking reason for it!" Dean shouted at glared at Sam, "I put the demon in her!"

"Demons ride their vessel hard and you know that… this isn't your fault Dean." Sam's voice softened.

"I'm not doing this right now, Sam." Dean shook his head as his fists clenched and unclenched.

"Fine… we will stay here for a while until she is back to her old self." Sam stood and put his hands up as a white flag. The tension between them was thick and palpable.

"Damn right." Dean said before stalking off to his room.

"We had a run in with Crowley recently right?" She asked as she sat at the other end of the bed, dragging a nail file across her nails.

"Uh, why do you ask?" Dean felt himself jump a little, unintentionally.

"I keep having weird dreams… like vivid ass dreams." She smirked with a little chuckle as she looked up at him, "Your brother's been in my dreams too… I kill people." Dean swallowed.

'You're a heartless monster, Winchester for doing this to her.' Crowley's words echoed in his head.

"You okay?"

"Great." He lied.

"You're lying…" She said softly. Dean stilled, his eyes trained on her as she moved onto all fours. Her body moved towards him in a slow motion crawl, "You've turned me down every… time… I do this."

She crawled into his lap and kissed his lips. His hands held her hips; she felt good in his hands and kissed her back.

"We are all alone… no Sammy and it's been a while…" She bit her lip then kissed him again.

"You are still sick babe." Dean said hating himself for turning her down. She pouted and fell back, her shirt flipping up and showing her belly.

"I just want you to fuck me, Dean…" She grumbled, "Because I feel just fine, Winchester."

"When you are back to normal." Dean reassured her then leaned forward to kiss her exposed skin.

It didn't take long for cabin fever to set in; Dean could feel it in his bones how antsy he was. Sam was cranky and chose to use short clipped sentences when he spoke to Dean. He needed to get out of the bunker, choosing to spend his time in the firing range or napping. She was better and starting to piece things together, he had done his best to dodge all questions and tried his best to give as vague of answers as he could be it was becoming exhausting.

Dean woke up alone. His heart was already beating fast as he threw the blankets back and padded through the bunker with bare feet thwacking rapidly on the floor. He pushed his legs to move faster as the sound of her voice angrily echoing off the walls.

"It's not what you think!" Sam's voice was defensive and sharp.

"I was a fucking demon, SAM!" She shouted as Dean came around the corner, her back to him.

"Dean's a demon too!"

"No he's a fucking knight of hell Sam!"

"Shh!" Sam hissed back then let his eyes meet Dean's. Sam's eyes went wide and his face bleached out.

"He's been avoiding it, Sam! He is evasive and won't answer my questions… Which is almost as bad as lying to me," She continued only pausing to take a breath, "But Sam, I am sleeping in a bed next to the very thing that I should be sending back to hell but I fucking can't because it's Dean! I mean how am I supposed to rectify that with myself. I mean come on Sam… we gotta do something to fix this!"

"So cat's outta the bag, huh?" Dean said as he took two steps into the room. He watched her spin around fast and step back nearly running into Sam.

"Dean. I didn't-"

"I heard." Dean cut her off and inhaled through his nose, he needed to stay calm. This was not the time to let himself lose control. He could easily subdue his brother and her but he didn't want to, "You're right. I have been avoiding your questions because there is no easy way to say sorry you were a demon and so am I… hallmark hasn't made that card yet."

"So… I was a demon." She said with no emotion in her voice as her face went hard as stone.

"Yeah. I am a demon."

"Can we cure you?" She asked deadpan as she folded her arms over her chest.

"No. It won't work; I don't have black smoke for insides." Dean smirked, "Maybe the power of love can heal me."

"I could just kick your ass for what happened then?" she glared.

"You could try." Dean tensed. He felt the heat starting to rise to the surface of him at the base of his neck as he watched her moved gracefully to him. His fists were tight and felt heavy. She stood in front of him, wearing his worn thin racing shirt and a pair of tiny shorts with messy tendrils falling over her shoulder. He knew that she was trying her damndest to appear bigger but she never would. He stared down at the scowling little face with freckles and long eyelashes.

"Or we could work a job?" Sam offered with a hopeful voice. He cleared his throat and turned away from them. She turned her head sharply and stared at Sam just as he had.

"You found a case?" Dean asked trying not to smile because he needed to work. He could feel it in his bones that being cooped up was going to drive him to be reckless and this was not the time to do that.

"Yeah, it came up yesterday. In Dahlonega, Georgia four kids have gone missing and two others have been found. One child, Thomas Clinton was found deceased with his liver missing and a puncture mark the size of a baseball. The other child, Alannah West was found with her inside liquefied. Same markings on her body but the wound had been what appeared to be cauterized." Sam said lifting up a manila folder with the men of letters Aquarian star on the front of the jacket. They symbol for protection was mocking Dean, making him ache for something he needed but couldn't have.

"So, has this happened anywhere else? What are the connections, if so?" She asked with the same fire that Dean had been feeling at the idea of a case. Hope, maybe even a little too much excitement.

"Uh, about every ten years, the surrounding counties, Jasper, Ellijay and Blue Ridge have had the same thing. Whatever it is, it can travel because they aren't taking like a ten minute drive… I'm talking at least a two hour drive on back country highway." Sam said pulling his lap top from the table, "All little kids, mostly orphans or latch key kids, all taken and bodies are torn to shreds usually found within a week of the kids going missing."

"Okay… what are we waiting for?" Dean said. He watched both Sam and his girl turn to face him like he farted in church. He shrugged and paused for a moment, "I'll be packing. We leave in an hour…"

She sat in the back seat of the Impala. The scenery passed us by, the lush and green trees. There was a stream to the right of us and woods to the left. Skynard was playing softly as Sam spoke about the case. Sam's voice was firm, an unusual position to take for him but as of late if was becoming something I was used too. He was too consumed by his own thoughts to pay attention to the words. Dean's eyes were fixed on her in the back; soft hair was tucked behind her ear as she stared out the window.

"What is the mother's name again?" She asked Sam as her bright eyes locked on to Dean's.

"Selma Clinton, 38. Single mother…" Sam said quietly as the sounds of the computer keys clicking. Dean pulled the Impala along the streets paying attention to the signals and pedestrians, "She was working when her son was taken."

"I couldn't imagine." Her voice called from the backseat with a stain of sadness that followed it. He wondered if she was thinking about what she would feel like if this happened to her. He pulled into a cheap motel and parked outside the lobby. Sam disappeared into the office, his long body moving gracefully.

"Sam should go to the morgue and we should talk to the victim's mother." She said with a certain coldness that gave Dean a bitter taste in the back of his mouth. It was the same taste he had when he dry swallowed a pill.

"That uh, sounds good." Dean said nervously. He mocked his emotions in his head, thinking he was a demon nervous about a damn human girl working with him.

"Quit being weird, Dean." She chided him as she dipped a little lower in the seat. Dean stared forward and nodded as Sam came out from the office and pointed down the walk way towards the room.

The three of them changed into 'Fed Gear', she had the paper cup of coffee and was waiting for the two of them by the door. She had a small bag with files inside. Mostly they were filled with blank papers and the newspaper clippings to make things look a little more real for the interviewing of the mother.

They dropped Sam off and head to the mother, Selma.

The woman lived in a house on Buck Run lane. It was rustic and clean with bright tanned wood trimming that matched the high ceiling. Dean wondered how she paid for the home while the woman walked them through to her kitchen. Selma was a thin woman with long legs and arms that were thin. She was dressed in sweats and an oversized sweatshirt. Her eyes were sleepy with heavy lids and deep purple bag that looked more like bruises.

"Tom was such a wonderful little boy." The woman's voice was somber. All the life was sucked from her eyes as she took a deep breath in, "I just don't know who would do this."

"I know this is hard, Ms. Clinton but the days before Thomas went missing had you noticed anything out of the ordinary? Anything that just seemed a little odd?" Dean asked as the mother sniffled a little, his girl shuffled a few paper and looked up a little cold.

"Thomas as multiple bruises on his body, the M.E. said that many were at least a week old. Can you explain that?" She asked looking up and staring at the mother with no emotions. The look on her face made Dean's guts wrench, he recognized the look but couldn't place it.

"What!" The mother asked looking at her. Dean jammed his foot into hers and kept his face cool even though he was confused.

"I can say it slower."

"My son was an active kid… he played outside. He had bruises…" Selma said with a hard voice. Her steel blue eyes were even colder now. She scowled at her then turned back to Dean.

"There was nothing that you remember from that day?" Dean asked with a smile.

"No… nothing." Selma hesitated, "Well, I mean… I remember feeling strange like I was being watched and I don't know… but I swear that a few days before and the day after Tom went missing I heard like a ticking sound."

"Ticking sound?" She asked skeptically.

"Like a giant clock would tick, a ticking sound."

Sam had spent hours researching with her at the library while Dean interviewed the first responding police men. They went over the crime scene photos and the recollection of the police man's memory of the scene. He listened to the police man with winkles around his eyes and a permanent frown as he said there as an uncomfortable feeling all around. Dean thanked everyone and headed back to the motel, meeting his girl and Sam in the room.

"So, the second victim had the insides been filled with a goo that consisted of human organs, blood and another organic compound that the medical examiner's office has never seen. But they also found about fifteen baseball sized eggs inside the body." Her voice as she read off the piece of paper then looked up at Dean.

"But it gets better… the ticking sound the first victim's mother heard… has been heard before." Sam paused as he clicked on the computer keys. He turned the computer to face Dean with a wide smile and took a deep breath, "Aswang."

"Wait… didn't we hunt one of those with Bobby?" Dean said squinting at Sam as the memory tried to pull from the back of his mind but was cloudy.

"Yeah, I was a little rusty on the lore so I looked in dad's journal. Apparently it's like a skin walker. Is normal in the day light, hunts at night and has been reported to make that ticking sound but they do this to throw off victims. Usually they are silent and fast killers, killing for the livers, kidneys or heart." Sam said as Dean scanned the page.

"Yeah, the ski lodge where the floor collapsed in on us… I remember." Dean snapped his fingers then scanned over to her. She was sitting on the bed with her legs crossed, she was cleaning guns and in her own head.

"How do we kill it?" She asked.

"Uh… well, if we can get a whip made from a stingray's tail that can kill it. Decapitation is what we did last time… because if I remember correctly, Sam and Bobby were attacked by vampires who were working with the Aswang?" Dean said feeling his brain working harder to remember.

"So, we need machetes."

"I think we have some talismans in the trunk that will work too. And salt." Sam added, "They prefer to hide away from the victims."

"What does that mean?" She growled as she ran fingers through her hair and pulled it over to one shoulder. Dean stared at the bare skin of her neck where faint bruises had begun to yellow.

"It means we get to go hiking." Sam smirked up at her as he turned his head to face her.

"Great, because I love the woods… when do we hunt this thing?" She asked with a drawn out sigh.

"Tonight." Dean nodded and smiled at her.

The woods were dark without the moonlight providing any comfort as they marched through the woods. The ambient sounds of night animals chattering and a soft breeze pushing through the woods were the only sounds that could be heard aside from their boots dully thudding on the soft earth. Dean walked behind them scanning the tree line for any sign of movement also catching glimpses of her ass in the beam from his flashlight as it swayed and grinning like a perv knowing he'd never be caught.

"There are cabins just over the ridge." Sam's voice was soft as he moved over a downed log covered in moss or some other foliage.

"I hate this case already." She complained as she clumsily climbed over the log. Her pack heaved to one side and knocked her off balance slightly. Dean reached out for her and kept her upright. She glanced back and smiled at him. It was a big soft smile that made something in his chest flutter. She pinched his chin and kissed his lips.

"Thanks." She whispered.

"Come on." Sam hissed as he shined his flashlight in their faces then turned away from them to keep moving forward. She stuck closer to him as they hiked up further, watching as the trees thinned out and became a clearing.

At the crest of the hill it cleared out to a small section of land that was flat, four abandoned old ski cabins with blacked out windows and thick hearty looking logs sat in a foursquare position. Sam turned to face them. Sweat had accumulated on his brow and hair was sticking to his face.

"I'll take the first two; you and Dean take the back two." Sam whispered. In a swift move they deployed on the cabins, peering in the windows and trying doors.

The last cabin had windows that were painted over. It made his guts lurch a little but he picked the lock. He opened the back door slowly as clutter and debris hindered it from swinging wide. As he stepped and found the place was empty, the bitter but sweet smell of rotting flesh invaded his nose and made him gag. He lurched forward and gagged feeling his throat constrict and his eyes water, tears streaming down his face as the foul smell attacked him.

He turned to call for backup as his skin rose with goose bumps. Hard hands shoved him back into the cabin. He moved past the door and into the middle of the room. He stumbled awkwardly and fell to the filthy floor, which made him retch harder. His flashlight flew back as well as the long heavy machete that was in his hands clunking into a corner of the cabin.

Dead weight slammed into his chest and tightened his lungs making it impossible to breathe. He tried to call out for help as he flailed his arms recklessly, hoping he would hit something tangible but never did. He struggled against his unseen attacker, groaned and gasped for air as the weight became unbearable. His vision spotted over and he felt his head start to throb. Pain echoed through his jaw to his hips as he started to lose the tension in his muscles. He could feel his heart slamming against his ribs and scraping at his lungs.

As quickly as the attack happened, it stopped. The pressure evaporated and left him lying on the floor, next to the small decaying body of a child. His hand was pressed into it's softened stomach and leaving it covered in something slimy.

"Oh god." Dean groaned as he shook his hand vigorously trying to get the substance off him.

"Dean!" a soft voice called into the cabin as a flashlight scanned over him.

"Found it's lair." Dean grumbled as he slowly rose to his feet. His muscles burning and screaming under his skin as he moved.

"Sam!" She called out and stepped in, "Guess you really stepped in it for this case." Her light scanned down his body as his eyes followed. Thick black goo covered his left leg.

"Gross!" Dean shouted as he glanced around the room.

Sam and her scoured the cabin for any clues or something that could give them a lead on the monster but came up with nothing.

"You're bleeding." She said with a tender voice as she shined a light on his chest, making his eyes scan down his own body to find the wound. There was tears in his shirt and the faint trace of blood that rippled down the cotton material.

"It's healed." Dean replied with a shrug as he wiped his hands off on his jeans, feeling ooze still on his skin even though they were still clean.

The drive on the way back to the motel was quiet. Dean was trapped in his head, going over the attack. The painful crushing weight on his chest, making the ribs feel like they were going to shatter. The feeling of his lungs clenching as he struggled for breath. The feeling of his body unable to fight off something he couldn't even see. The feeling of his heart pounding in his temples. The sheer panic that took away all his logic and the years of training.

"What happened back there?" Sam asked with a curious but cautious voice.

"Nothing. Did you see that shithole?" Dean grumbled, "Every square inch was covered with yuck… I just fuckin tripped."

She snickered from behind him in back and Sam smirked then wiped his mouth to clear it from his face.

"Hey, screw you guys. I'm human." Dean snapped and shrugged away from them towards the cold window.

"Actually babe, you're a demon." She commented then laughed a musical sound from the back.

When they reached the motel, all tired and dirty. Sam showered first then his girl followed, trying to get him shower with her but he declined even with her adorable pouty lips and big bright eyes. Something didn't feel right. There was something wrong, in his head or the room he couldn't tell but he knew it was off.

As the night settled in and his hunters crashed out into their research, Dean led them to bed tucking Sam and her into beds and turning lights off. He sat in a chair facing the television as an old John Wayne movie played quietly on the screen. He sipped scotch from a plastic cup and balanced his phone on his thigh. Debating his next move unsure what to do. He knew demons didn't sleep, nor did demons had the need too but he felt tired. His body ached and the alcohol burned in his belly as it churned uneasily. He gave up, knowing he needed the sleep as he pulled his clothing from his body and fell lazily into the bed where she slept. Her body curled around him as she slept in his favorite shirt that was too small for him but perfect for her. He hugged her body closer and kissed her forehead.

The sounds of screams and the smell hot copper and iron filled his nose and jarred him from sleep. He could feel warm slickness on his hands and taste something acidic in the back of his throat. Dean tried with everything to get up but he couldn't he was trapped to the bed, silently shouting for help as he felt the crushing weight on his chest again. It gone as soon as it came, freeing him from the bed and letting him go with a shout.

He gasped for air and shot out of bed. His eyes darted around the room; he pulled the blankets from Sam and checked him over. Sam sat up groggy with a gun in hand; he mumbled something that was unintelligible. His shaking hands cupped his brother's face, pushing his fingertips into Sam's cheeks.

"You okay?" Dean asked feeling manic as he spun on his heels and went back to his bed. He crawled on the bed then violently shook her. Her eyes popped open with surprise as she tried to fight him off. He ran his hand over her skin and checked her for any injuries.

"What are you doing?" She snapped and shoved him back.

'Monster.'

"Nothing. I just…." Dean replied feeling as if he couldn't catch enough air to respond the right way. He didn't know how to tell them without sounding crazy. He backed from the bed with his hands running through his hair and went for his clothing. He stumbled into jeans and a shirt as he scrambled for his keys. His head was cluttered with confusion and a tinge of anger, not sure how to react except running. He was good at that.

"Dean!" Sam shouted after him as he rushed out the door and headed straight for the Impala. He saw a thin shadow running for him and reaching for the door. Bare legs and arms were all he focused on in his confused haze. Dean could feel his muscles shaking, he could feel his guts clenching tight in the same way it felt before throwing up. He revved the engine as a warning for her to back off but she didn't.

"Don't you dare!" She hissed through the glass. She was still in short shorts and an old shirt of his that was a little too worn out to be decent in public.

He revved the engine again this time in annoyance and glared at her. He wanted to be alone but he knew that she would chase him down. She pulled the door open with a familiar squeak then sat beside him, slamming the door and turning to face him. He pulled away from the motel and roared down the main drag of the sleepy town.

"What is it?" She asked with a hard voice.

"Nothing. I just need to clear my head." Dean snapped at her. She moved across the seat at him and touched his arm.

"Don't shut me out." She said with tenderness. But the words made his skin crawl; he tightened his hands on the wheel and turned sharply. She slipped across the seat and into the door.

"I'm a demon." He said coldly, "We aren't the sharing and caring type."

"You never were before but you still fucking talked to me!" She shot back, her words like rapid gunfire from assault rifle.

"I'm not doing this with you, not now." Dean said flatly.

"What the hell happened? Why were you freaking out?" She snapped back.

A long leg stretched over his and felt the warmth of her body seconds before his Impala jerked and skidded on the road as her barefoot connected to the brake pedal. His neck flared hotter and he sharply inhaled. He shoved her back and felt his skin prickle, his heart start to race and the mark burning deep in his skin.

'Hit her.' A voice in the back of his head goaded him but he swallowed the feeling and gripped the wheel tighter making his knuckles turn white.

"Please." She said softer this time with big eyes like a wounded animal.

Dean turned the car around and headed back to the motel, choosing not to speak to her. The words he would say were venomous and dark, words that would hurt her and he wouldn't do that. He parked the car outside the room and got out, leaving her behind inside the car.

"What the hell, Dean!" Sam hissed as Dean stepped in.

"Drop it, Sam!" Dean snapped and made a bee line for the bathroom. He listened to the commotion through the bathroom door, her yelling and snapping at Sam. Sam snapping back and banging on the door. There was a lull in the room for a moment then the sound of shattering glass, a startled scream, and the sound of something hitting the wall hard making the wood paneling in the bathroom rattle violently forced his body to react. Even if he was a demon, he still had his hunter intuition. This was nothing good and he knew it.

Dean ripped the door open and burst into the room. Sam was pinned on the floor, long pale arms and legs pushing him down as leathery wings and delicate bones snapped like sails on a mast behind the ugly thing and stretched over its head. Dean slammed a boot into the ass of the thing on top of his brother, sending it over Sam ass over tea kettle style but it didn't stay down. The monster was on all fours, sharp blackened teeth hissing and spitting at Dean with fire red eyes. The face was warped, white skin was sucked against the skull, every inch of bone thinly wrapped in paper thin skin and revealing hallowed out cheeks.

"Bitch, you're ugly!" Dean snapped as he went for a machete that had been lazily sitting on the table top. He swung the blade at the monster but missed as she flew up and over him. Sharp pain ripped through his back as he was shoved forward and into the wall. His head connecting with the 70's floral print wallpaper and making everything rattle in his head. His vision was blurred for a moment then he was back. He reached down and touched something soft and pliant. It was the girl was slumped on the floor, head bleeding from the hairline but she was breathing.

The monster was back on Sam, bony but strong arms holding him down as the blackened fangs lowered to his neck and connected to the skin. Sam growled and shouted, the monsters torso barely budging as Sam pushed his arms against it. The wings folded around them like a veil of thin white lace. Dean gripped the machete tighter and swung. He felt it connect with flesh and bone, ripping apart the monster with ease sending a spray of hot metallic blood across the room in an arc. The body collapsed down on Sam. The wings folding in and withering away to nothing. Pale skin regulating back to soft milky white shoulders and a neck stained red. Sam pushed the body off him and towards the head, where blood pooled around a pretty face with wide red eyes and a gashlike mouth stained a deep red. Sam was up on his feet, staring at Dean.

Dean stared down at the blood and the broken room surrounding the body. He felt his own body burning and trembling with the rush of violence in his veins. His hands were shaking and the sweat on his forehead was cool against his skin. His eyes were out of focus as he looked at Sam. Sammy who was bleeding from the neck and huffing hard with wild hair and dumbstruck eyes. His Sammy, once little was now a full grown man, someone who would be in his way. Someone he would take down if he needed to.

"Dean. It's done." Sam's voice trembling as he moved in closer. Dean could smell the fear on Sam, a thick mealy apple like smell that made his mouth go dry. Dean was fighting something that was dying to break out from under his skin, something dark and vile that wanted to keep slicing and hacking away at the Aswang.

She'd hurt Sam. She's hurt his girl. He needed to destroy the monster until she was nothing more than ribbons and blood.

"Dean!" Sam's voice was more urgent this time, fear creeping up his throat and making his voice actually shake. His hand tightened on the handle of the machete as his muscles clenched and he pulled in air hard and heavy to his lungs, "Stop!"

"No." Dean growled, feeling the word roll out of his mouth in a voice he didn't recognized. The sound was something evil and something violently wild that he knew he couldn't contain.

"Please." A soft coo from behind him made him recoil. The burning slowed under his skin, no longer a swelling tide that swallowed the shore inside of his veins. He forced himself to turn back; if he could see her… maybe it would quash the need to destroy. His body moved mechanically as she came into his line of sight.

A small body that was hunched slightly, a trail of blood that moved across the side of her face, the split lip and the faint trace of a black eye made him break. His heart crackled and the anger was gone. He dropped the blade, hearing it clatter to the floor and the sound of bare feet shuffling on the old carpet until her arms were wrapped around him. His arms squeezed her body tight as little fingers pulled at his shirt. One arm released and reached out for Sam. He pulled his little brother in and squeezed him.

Relief and gratefulness hit him in the guts and nearly took him to his knees. His eyes that once were clouded, were watering and his heart hurt. As he pulled back and got a better look at Sammy and her, something in his guts flopped. His people were hurt, and that old familiar feeling came back. That ugly black painted guilt that he carried around with him, the guilt weighed on him like a thousand pounds. If only he'd stayed in bed and let the nightmare pass, this wouldn't have happened. The monster would not have attacked or maybe he could have killed it before it got to Sam and threw her around like a rag doll.

"Let me help." Dean said with a shaky voice as Sam milled around for the medical kit. Sam looked back with a confused expression. He slowly nodded as he pulled the car keys from broken glass and pieces of wood on the floor. Dean took the keys and rushed outside into the small mass of people congregating around their room. In the back of his head, he knew that they had minutes before the police would arrive.

As he came back, Sam was already tossing his duffle over his shoulder and throwing Dean's bag at him. The girl was zipping hers up and pulling a black hood over her head to conceal the cut on her body.

"Go."

As a group they rushed to the Impala and sped off into the night. Dean held the wheel tight and watched the rearview mirror, expecting to see red and blues in the reflection but they never came. His eyes drifted down to her, slumped on the seat with eyes closed and a frown on her lips. That frown was for him and he knew it. 'This was your fault' was written on her face, she didn't have to speak the words for him to hear it.

As he hauled ass out of town and headed for the first rest stop they came to in the darkness, it was surrounded by trees and lit with an orange glow that lent an air of creepiness to the entire parking lot. A large semi with mud splattered chrome rested across the lot from them as the three of them met at the trunk.

"Sam needs stitches." She said pressing an old shirt into the weeping wound on Sam's neck.

"Yeah, well you probably do too." Sam said fussing over her as he pushed up her hair to see the long thin cut on her scalp.

"I'll stitch Sam up." She offered with a sweet smile to Sam, she turned back and gave him a defined frown, "Since you can't do anything but piss and whine about being a fucking demon."

"What?" Dean asked confused as he took a step back.

"What?" She replied looking even more confused than he felt.

"What did you say?"

"I'll stitch Sam and you can stitch my head? Can you pass me the suture pack?" She said slowly wrinkling her forehead and smiling slowly as if she wasn't trying to alarm him.

"Oh… uh, yeah." Dean shook his head and smiled, "I thought you said… never mind."

"You okay?" Sam asked with a cringing expression washing over his face as she pulled the shirt from the wound, "Or do you finally realize that you are bringing the team down?"

"I uh… I'm sorry." Dean said feeling his skin bristle as he placed the suture pack in her hand.

"It's fine. You are a monster… you can't help it." She said turning on him and pulling something from her waistband. It glimmered in the orange glow as she lifted it revealing the sharp point of the demon blade.

Dean grabbed her wrist and spun her away from him. He bent her arm back and made her hand release the weapon as it clattered to the floor. She let out a cry as he slammed her body into the trunk of the Impala and pressed his forearm into her neck.

"Dean!" Sam shouted before grabbing his shirt and pulling him back. He shoved Dean backward and stood between them. The girl slowly rising from the bent position on the trunk to face him, her face now covered in tears that washed a little blood from her cheek.

"She…" Dean started as his eyes scanned the scene, a bottle of rubbing alcohol on the ground as well as a rag next to it, "I just…"

Dean couldn't speak. His words were stolen from him. Was he losing it? She just threatened him, with an demon blade. Where was it? He blinked hard and watched her as she grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him back.

"Can you get us coffee and something sugary from the vending machine?" She asked with a bitter tone.

Dean nodded and watched as they went back to triaging each other's wounds, talking quietly and trying not to cast a glance his direction. He slowly moved to the machines that were emitting a humming and whirring from the fans to cool or heat them. A man passed by with a puffy jacket and a thick grisly white beard. His eyes met Dean's and he nodded. His face was familiar but not in the same hand.

"Monster." The man muttered under his breath. Dean gave him a look but dropped it, feeling too sensitive and unsure what he was hearing.

Dean stood in front of the vending machine. He scanned the items, cookies and chips mainly filled the machine. Unsure what to buy and unwilling to go back to the car he began loading bills into the machine. He picked one of each and let them pile into the catch bin. As he bent to pull the treats from the bin, a chill ran his spine. The sound of howling and growls filled the night air. A familiar scent of hell filled his nose and turned his stomach.

'Hellhounds.' He thought as he turned around and saw nothing behind him. He could feel the hot air and the foul rancid breath the reeked like sulfur and wet cardboard. He held his breath and reached behind him for the knife that was tucked into his jeans.

A deep wet bellow filled the air and made his blood boil. He knew they were there and he could see them but the hounds were nowhere in sight. Dean pulled the knife and stood on guard as the vending machine pumped out coffee.

'Can't escape this.'

'Heartless.'

'Monster.'

'Failure.'

Voices pumped through air and made his chest tighten. His hands were shaking as he glanced around for the source of the voices. Sam and her were at the car still, she was sitting on the trunk as Sam loomed over her. He spun around and tried to find the sound. He turned again and this time four hounds stood waiting, their skin mealy and moving just below the surface. Blood red eyes and rust colored canines that were bathed in drool. Heavy paws clawed at the concrete as a low foreboding growls filled the air around them.

"Fuck." Dean muttered as he stiffened, the Mark burning on his skin as he turned the knife in his hand and gripped the handle. He heard the snapping of jaws as he swung out and landed a fist into flesh. The sound of a human like cry pulled him away, into the vending machine. He kicked his leg out, and sent the monsters flying away from him.

"What the fuck?!" He heard a feminine shout and the sound of hard heavy feet pounding the pavement. He looked up and saw her running at him. He looked down to see Sam on the ground with a hand to his face and confusion written across his bruised skin.

"Sammy?" Dean said with the word rattling in his chest.

"What the fucking fuck, Dean!" She shouted and shoved him away from Sam. Her arm wrapping around Sam and cupping his face. She was protecting him but that was his job. He'd done this. His guts ripped in half as he stepped back and covered his mouth.

"I thought you…" Dean managed out but couldn't complete his thought.

"What is wrong with you?" She snapped and stood up. She jabbed fingers into his chest.

"I don't know." Dean whispered feeling the harsh glare in his chest, "We need to go home."

"You think…?" she hissed at him as she helped Sam upright.

At the bunker, Dean sat on the couch with a glass of scotch. He knew that he should be looking into what is going on with him but he couldn't. He'd freaked out and hurt Sam. He was hearing and seeing shit that wasn't there and everything around him made him question what was real and what was fake. He knew that the Mark made him volatile, but would it make him hallucinate? He could hear the sounds of the shower running and the familiar clunking of the pipes and water tank echoing in the place like a lullaby. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass then tossed back the last bit. He set the glass down and stood up. He gave a lazy stretch and sighed.

As he walked towards the kitchen and rounded the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks. His stomach dropped out and he felt his heart stop. His mouth was dry as he opened his mouth to speak but the words wouldn't come out. He blinked and blinked again.

A man stood in the door way to the kitchen; it was a face he would never forget. Broad shoulders and thick arms wrapped in a grey shirt with hands stuffed into jean pockets. The face turned up and stared at him, almost as if it was staring through him.

"Hey Dean." A gruff voice with a slight drawl came out as the corners of his mouth turned up.

"Dad?"