-Chapter Six-

Dean had his eyes fixated on the alleyway, he did not look away not even to blink. He stayed still, half out of fear but mainly because he knew that any sudden movements made on his behalf would either scare whoever or whatever away or simply cause them to suddenly jump out and attack. A thought had occurred to Dean that the noises he had heard may have been made by just a stray cat, dog or even rats gnawing away at rubbish in the bins but Dean couldn't afford to take any chances. He would have to wait and see who it was or what it was, that would be more accurately putting things and besides Dean doubted that the noise was made by an animal. He had have sworn he had heard voices and unless cats had learned how to talk than it was defiantly something that Dean should be on his guard about.

Dean moved his hands toward his pockets, his right hand's fingers gripped firmly around the handle of a kitchen knife he had swiped from the demon's home earlier on. Rule number one with demon hunting: never go anywhere, particularly dark places without a knife or some way of protecting yourself. That rule was right up there with 'keep your cell phone on you at all times', well Dean could hardly do that one. If the noises were being made by a demon Dean still had holy water on him, he would have been an idiot to leave that one behind, what with demons running around the place and all. So if the knife were to fail the holy water would make do.

Dean kept his eyes focused, still glaring in the direction of the alley, they had begun to water but he didn't care. Slowly and carefully Dean began to move the knife out of his pocket but as soon as the steel end of the knife had reflected off the moon, it was glittering if you please, whoever was watching him suddenly came out of hiding.

Dean had been completely caught off guard when this had happened. He had tried to dart out of the way but he had been unsuccessful, too slow. The person—whoever the hell they were were strong, Dean had to give them that. They pinned him down. Dean felt sharp and long fingernails digging into the flesh on his shoulders, he felt the pain sear through him, he felt the warmth of his blood seeping through the newly made wound and soaking his shirt. Using all the strength he could muster Dean pushed them off of him. He rolled across the ground, quickly regaining his balance once again. The person, whoever they were, did not give up, they lunged for him again but this time Dean was ready.

Dean had the knife ready in his hands. He waited for the person to come closer, it was too dark to see their face but he could faintly see the outline of their body. They were small framed, tiny in height, Dean would have guessed no taller than five foot three. He was going to take the most logical guess on this one and say that his attacker was female.

Although Dean had the knife ready she kicked it out of his hand then sent a flying side-kick at his chest. Dean stumbled backward, nursing his ribs that he was sure were about to break.

Dean looked up at her, although she would not be able to see it his face was pulled into an expression of rage. He pounced at her, thrusting his fist forward. He missed her face but instead his fist made direct contact with her shoulder blade.

She let out a soft whimper, out of instinct she placed her right over her shoulder, she looked at him—though it was unclear why, it was too dark to see anything and you could hardly relay on the very little moonlight that was shining down upon the city. The source of light was a faint glitter coming from the sharp edged kitchen knife that was gripped firmly by Dean.

Dean lunged for her again, but she was quick to see this one coming. She darted out of the way, and spun forward, sending a flying kick his way, her foot made contact with his midsection. Dean howled him pain, he knew one of his ribs much be broken now, he staggered backward though it did not take too long for him to regain his balance once again. Dean now felt more enraged with anger than he ever had been, it seemed that all the anger he had been forced to bottle up for the past two days was finally rearing it's ugly head. Good for Dean, that he had an outlet to unleash his anger upon—but not so good for whoever this chick is that was receiving the punches and kicks his fury was dishing out.

Dean was sent flying backward as another kick came pelting his way, he hit the ground, every bone in his body felt like it was broken but that impossible as he could still move his arms and legs. He just lay there, his muscles were twitching. He wanted to get up, but something seemed to be holding him back. He looked up, the chick was charging at him once again—he had no choice this time he had to try and stand no matter how much his wounded body would try and resist.

Dean did was quick to get back on two feet, the floor felt a little shaky at first, it felt like he was just learning to walk again. But Dean did not have the time to stand around waiting for the sensation of being drunk to pass, he had to get her before she got him.

She was pelting his way once again, she had been ready to throw a side-kick toward his head, it would have given Dean quite the concussion too if it had not been for Dean's quick reaction. He stopped the kick, blocking it, then sent her flying backward. She landed on her stomach, but before he could even more a step forward, breve another breath, she was back on her two feet. Dean had to hand it to her, whoever she was she could sure hold her own.

Dean would have been somewhat impressed with her martial arts skills if it had not been for the fact that she was trying to kill him.

A nearby loud sound in the distance made Dean's attention turn away from her for longer than a second at least but that second had been a moment to long. She pounced, alike a tiger that had just spotted her pray.

Dean had tried to move out of the way but he had not been quick enough. With one swift kicking motion she sent him flying into the brick wall. She dashed toward him, pinning him against the wall. Dean tried to move his hand to push her out of the way but she snapped it back. Dean howled in agony as he felt the bone in his wrist snap like a twig. He winced again as she sent another heavy blow to his ribs, they were tearing, shards of bone were breaking inside of him, and it let to his collapse. Dean was driven to the ground, all the fight gone from him, all he had left was the severe and tremendous pain from his broken wrist and ribs.

The last thing he remembered seeing was the feint glow coming from the moon above. Then the rest was only darkness.

------------------

All the pain he felt no more, it was too distant, almost as though he had managed to step away from it all somehow. Was he dreaming?

Somewhere in the distant darkness he could hear a voice, a harsh toned voice, so cold it sent shivers up and down his spine. It was the voice of true evil.

He could hear to talking to someone else, saying something. He tried to move closer to hear the voice better but he could only make out fragments of the conversation.

"...the other world...humans...all who live, who breve must be exterminated...fight back be killed...bring down the scum and those who dare appose...bring upon the end of the world...a new world...

The voice was fading out, it was now to distant for him to hear. He tried to follow it but it faded out too fast and then he saw something else—someone—someone he recognized almost immediately.

Sam Winchester.

He could feel his heart beat faster when he saw his young brother's face. He tried to move more toward Sam, but something seemed to be stopping him. He tried to call out to Sam, but something was preventing him from doing so. Every time he opened his mouth to speak nothing could come out.

He needed to talk to Sam.
He needed to warn him.

Sam was now fading too, fading from his mind. He could no longer see his brother anymore, he tried to call out but only the sounds of silence would escape his mouth.

He had to warn Sam.
He had to find Sam.

All consciousness was coming back. The darkness was fading, too, now he saw a small and extremely bright light.

------------------

Consciousness returned to Dean in agonizing fragments. It began in his hands, his broken wrist especially, it then began to creep up toward his neck, his head felt like it was on fire. The pain began to move toward his lower libs, starting with calf muscles and then there was the ribs—they hurt the most.

Dean's eyes snapped open, it was so dark around him that he had wonder why even bothered to open his eyes to begin with. Dean looked around him, he did not recognize anything. The room was so darkened, he could only make out a faint, soft glow coming from one single lit candle. It proved barley useful, if so entirely useless. Dean wondered why the person need bother to waste a match.

Dean tried to move but he couldn't, his arms were bound to a wooden chair, he could feel the splinters in the back of his legs. He tried to break free but whoever or whomever had tied him up had done a pretty damn good job of it. At least this time Dean wasn't gagged nor did he had a blind fold over his eyes, but there was still room for improvement.

Dean had been tied up to a chair and held hostage so many times he had lost count, he had also lost his interest in it. It was boring to him. Dean looked around, hoping to catch even the slightest glimpse of the person or people that had put him here. One thing he knew, they were in the room somewhere. It was so silent he could hear the sounds of breathing, one person breathing.

"I know you're around here somewhere." Dean called out into the darkness. "Why don't you show your face bitch!"

At these last words someone stepped forward, he could hear the sounds of their shoes moving against the tiles. A soft clicking sound and there was light. The room had been lit by a hanging lamp above Dean. Dean had to shield his eyes, the light was so bright it was almost blinding him. He moved his gaze toward the man that was now standing before him. He looked around mid to late twenties, he had very pale skin—though that was probably due to the fact that this guy could hardly thrive on sunshine in this world, he had probably never been out to tan in—well God knows when. He had short spiky dark brown hair and in a lot ways reminded Dean of himself, most likely because of the cocky smile the guy wore upon his face. The man had his arms crossed firmly against his chest, his gray eyes were focused solely upon Dean.

After a few minutes it was starting to make Dean feel rather uncomfortable—very uncomfortable. The guy had a hungry look in his eyes and had begun circling him, much like a shark did right before it was it ate it's prey. Dean shifted in his seat, or more so tried to. The guy moved forward, opening it's mouth wide to reveal something that made Dean's eyes widen. It had fangs—it was vampire. The vamp moved it's mouth to Dean's neck, the young Winchester could feel the tip of it's fangs press lightly against it's skin. The vampire moved it's fangs back for a moment, it was ready to strike. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, he just hoped this wasn't going to hurt much.

Dean waited, waited for the creature's fangs to pierce into his jugular vein but it never came. A voice called out to the vamp, causing the creature to slowly back away.

"Reiff, no!" the voice called out to the vampire.

Dean opened his eyes to see who had called out to the vampire. He saw someone now, a young women, someone he recognized almost immediately as the girl he had fought in the alleyway earlier that evening. Of course he had not seen her face then, but he recognized her, also the amount of bruising she had spoke for itself especially the painful greenish colored bruising that was around her shoulder blade—the exact spot Dean had struck.

"We don't want to kill him." she said, though the corrupt grin she wore would have suggested otherwise. "Not yet anyway."

--------------------