I just want to send out a big heaping thank you to everyone for their reviews! It's so encouraging to know that people are on board with me, and I do hope to have this thing finished eventually. I hope you continue to enjoy it as the story progresses!
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Dean sat on top of the table, his legs crossed Indian-style, and watched as the vampire stirred. It was a gamble, but he had to know. Incapacitating the vampires was priority one, because he'd have to go to the kitchen in person to find a weapon large and sharp enough to cut the fugly's head off, and right now it was just damned impossible to do that without some kind of insurance. He had to know.
"Oh," Lesley groaned. "This is worse than a hang-over…" She lifted her head groggily, shaking away the confusion, and her bleary eyes eventually settled on Dean.
"Now that's a pleasant surprise," she said, getting unsteadily to her feet and glowering at Dean with her ice-blue eyes. "I was hoping you'd still be around so I can tear the flesh right off that handsome face of yours."
"That threat gets scarier every time I hear it," Dean quipped. His hand was gripping the syringe tightly.
"This won't be quick," she warned, stalking towards him with renewed rage. From the venom in her gaze, Dean knew that she meant business. If this didn't work he was going to die painfully and slowly. She would make sure of that.
"Say a prayer to your dear Lord," she said with a hiss, her teeth descending once again as she grasped Dean by the shoulders and leaned in to chomp down onto his already injured neck.
And that's when Dean made his move. In one swift motion the syringe was up, jabbed into her chest, the plunger pushing its contents into her undead bloodstream. She paused for a moment, looking at the syringe with a smirk and a frown.
"Drugs don't work on vampires you id—" but then she froze, her eyes going wide at the red tainting the empty syringe. "Dead man's blood…" she murmured, stumbling back. And then she fell to the floor.
Dean rose slowly from the table, staring down at the semi-conscious vampire as she struggled against the blood that was coursing through her body like poison. And then he let out an explosive breath and whooped with joy.
"Thank you Anne Rice!" he shouted to no one in particular.
It had worked. His plan had worked. He vowed he would never again allow Sam to make fun of him for his extensive knowledge of movie trivia – "Interview With the Vampire" had just saved his life. He wasted no time in rushing over to Dwight's corpse to fill the remaining syringes with his dead blood.
"Sorry, man," Dean whispered to him. "I promise, you won't have died for nothing. Kay?"
"Dean!" Greg called from the corridor. "Come help me with the door, would ya?"
Dean jogged through the common room and made his way down the hall to the door, where he found Greg struggling to push a gurney through the door as it attempted to close on him. They worked together to wheel it through and swung it toward the unconscious vampire.
"Did it work?" Greg asked.
Dean beamed.
"Hell yeah!" he said with enthusiasm. "Took her down like a shot of that garbage you guys keep pumping into us."
Greg laughed awkwardly, casting Dean a guilty look before bending to help lift Lesley onto the gurney. They plopped her unceremoniously onto the bed and strapped her arms and legs tightly in the restraints, leaving no room for her to wriggle free. Then Dean handed him several syringes full of Dwight's blood.
"Put those in your pocket or something," Dean suggested. "Somewhere people can't easily see them if we're spotted."
"Right."
"So ok, we need help. Did Cheryl head home for the night?" Dean asked.
"I don't think so. She took on an extra shift because she was worried that something would happen…" Greg smiled awkwardly. "I think she was worried about you."
Dean tried not to blush.
"Heart-warming," he said dryly. "All right, then. Call her. We need her help for this one. It's kind of a three-person job."
"Right." Greg hauled out a cell phone from his pants pocket and dialled a number. "Hey, Suzanne. Is Cheryl around?"
Dean raised a questioning eyebrow and Greg mouthed 'nurses' lounge' by way of explanation. Dean nodded his understanding.
"Hey, Cheryl. It's Greg. Listen, I need your help with something. Can you come and meet me in the common room? Yeah. Yeah. No, it's just that…" he bit his lip in thought, bracing himself to be casual. "No, Dwight had an accident. NO NO! Just come alone. It's kind of private, is all. Yeah, I'm sure. He's sure. Just, hurry, kay? Thanks, Cheryl."
He hung up and swallowed hard, struggling to stem the tide of his emotions.
"She's gonna rush in here hoping to help Dwight," he said thickly.
"I know," Dean whispered back. "You did good, though."
They waited only a few minutes before Cheryl came running quietly onto the scene, her face set with worry. She skidded to a halt when she saw Dean standing next to Greg, and her eyes went wide in complete bewilderment at the sight of Lesley strapped to a gurney.
"What the hell…?"
"Hey," Greg said soothingly. "Um… something's happened…"
"Dean, honey, what did you do?" Cheryl asked.
Dean stepped back, deciding to let Greg handle the situation. She would listen to Greg.
"Cheryl," Greg said. "There's something wrong with Lesley. She… she went crazy and attacked us."
"Attacked you?" she asked, dumbfounded, confused, and visibly frightened. Her hands had begun to shake. "Where's Dwight?"
Greg looked hesitantly at Dean, who nodded for him to continue.
"Cheryl, Dwight is dead," he said quietly. "Lesley killed him."
Cheryl's hand rose to her chest, as if to clutch it to prevent it from exploding.
"What?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "How?"
"It was… it was like with Maria…"
She was backing away.
"Hold on a sec," Dean said, taking a step toward her.
"What the hell is he doing out of his room, Greg?" she asked, her face draining of colour. Dean could see that a hoard of fears were washing over her, including having let her guard down with a patient who, on paper at least, was criminally insane and extremely dangerous.
"Cheryl, listen to me," Dean coaxed. "I'm not the bad guy – I swear to you, I'm not the bad guy."
But she was still backing away.
"What. Happened?" She looked to be a hair's breath away from screaming bloody murder.
"Lesley is a vampire," Greg supplied. "I know it sounds crazy, but I saw it with my own eyes, Cheryl."
Her wild eyes flicked between Dean and Greg.
"Dwight and I came out here because we heard a crash, only to find Dean waiting for us with a Billy club. He was saying that Rodney – one of the nightshifters from the second floor – had snuck into his room and attacked him."
"Which was true," Dean added. "I overpowered him and I escaped. He's still in there, by the way. We're going to have to deal with that before we go to the kitchen."
"And Dwight and I of course didn't believe him. But he had the bite marks on his neck to prove where he'd been bitten."
"Right!" Dean exclaimed, remembering his injury and tilting his head so that Cheryl could see the angry red puncture marks on his neck. "See?"
"Anyway," Greg went on. "That's when Lesley showed up. At first we thought she was coming to help us, but she took one look at the blood on Dean's neck and…" His voice dipped into a low whisper. "Christ, Cheryl, I've never seen anything like it. She changed – her teeth went all funny and she hissed like some kind of wild animal and then she attacked us. She killed Dwight."
Cheryl's chest was heaving. She appeared as though she was going to hyperventilate.
"It's ok, Cheryl," Dean said gently. "I know you're scared. This is some seriously freaky shit, and unless you've seen it first-hand it just seems like all kinds of crazy. But I know what I'm talking about here. And deep down I know you do too."
She watched Dean sceptically, weighing his words, but was still obviously hesitant, resisting the truth. Dean couldn't really blame her. The truth sounded more like fiction, and believing right now would require a major leap of faith.
"You laid out that salt line in front of my door for a reason," Dean went on. "But since seeing is believing…"
He took an empty syringe from the table, tore it out of its packaging, and plunged it into his own arm with a hiss.
"What are you d—" Cheryl began, but Dean cut her off with a wave of his hand as he drew back the plunger, filling the syringe with his blood.
He then leaned over Lesley's prone and seemingly unconscious form and gave her a not-so-gentle rap on the cheek.
"Hey!" he called. "Sleeping Bitch! I've got a midnight snack for ya."
He waited until her eyes opened, settling on him with a death-like glare. For the moment they were her natural brown, but Dean knew that would change. He was counting on it.
Holding the syringe over her head, he gently pushed on the plunger, allowing several fat drops to tumble from the needle, where they landed on Lesley's pale lips. Her eyes flickered with rage and bloodlust, but she tried to resist, not wanting to blow her cover in front of Cheryl – who she hoped would help to release her from her binds. Dean pressed harder on the plunger, sending several more drops tumbling onto her lips.
He smirked as her nostrils flared, her breaths laboured, as she struggled to resist. Losing patience, Dean pushed the plunger completely to, sending the entire contents squirting onto Lesley's lips. Blood seeped into her mouth and her eyes rolled back in her head in ecstasy. And then in a flash she was lost to the hunger. She moaned longingly and then hissed with rage, her second set of teeth – her vampire teeth – descended once again even as her eyes returned to the icy blue hue, the pupils reduced to tiny slits once more.
"Well hello there," Dean said with feigned warmth. "For a minute there I thought you weren't going to show."
"You just made a big mistake, hunter," Lesley said, laughing dangerously. "You've given me a taste for your blood. Now I'm gonna suck you dry. Just as soon as the others come for me."
"Huh…" Dean shrugged, unimpressed. "I wonder how good your suction will be when I cut your head off. Well I guess we'll see."
He turned to face Cheryl, his arms folded across his chest, his face set in a handsome yet patronizing smirk.
"Do the words I told you so even begin to cover how much I freakin' told you so!"
At first he thought she was going to faint; what little colour left in her cheeks leeched out. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, and she laid a tentative hand on a nearby table to steady herself. Forcing a deep breath, she stood upright and looked Dean straight in the eye.
"So this is what you do?" she asked soberly. "You really do hunt down monsters and save people?"
Dean grinned, his eyebrows waggling mischievously.
"Yup," he said simply. "I'm a freakin' hero, Cheryl."
She appraised him for a long moment, looking him up and down, tilting her head to the side as if studying a piece of abstract art. Then her eyes widened and she swallowed hard – realizing in that instant that she was seeing the real Dean Winchester for the first time. And for one hysterical moment it crossed her mind that he was even better looking when his face was set in a confident smile, his eyes gleaming with lethal intent. He oozed raw power and strength, all semblance of the frightened, trembling boy she'd known for the last two months gone. She realized that the man standing before her now, his intense green eyes locking onto hers, revealing their truths with a single, penetrating look, was the same bold lover who had taken her into his arms and made love to her with blazing fire and passion, making her feel seventeen again. This was Dean Winchester.
"What do you need me to do?" she asked.
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"Are you sure this is a good plan?" Greg asked in a hushed whisper. "Lesley said there were others – what if one of them attacks us?"
"You've got the syringe," Dean assured him with a wink. "Besides, the restraints are loose enough for me to get untied quickly if I have to. We just need this cover."
Cheryl and Greg tried to appear nonchalant as they wheeled the gurney with Dean lying atop it down the corridor toward his room. Neither of them had been particularly keen on strapping their protector down in the restraints, but Dean had insisted that the cover was necessary in case they were discovered by any of the other staff. While acknowledging that it was a sound plan, neither one was very happy about it.
They traversed the familiar corridors, swipe their key cards through the key slots, doors opening with a buzz and then a clang of metal, wheels squeaking plaintively in the eerie silence of the night as the madhouse slumbered. At last they reached Dean's room and paused.
"Kay, lemme up," Dean whispered.
They immediately untied him and he rolled off of the bed, coming to his feet swiftly and peeking through the tiny window to see the angry vampire, Rodney, pacing around inside.
"Man he looks pissed," Dean said musingly. Then he turned to his two comrades and gave them a confident if slightly bracing smile. "Ok, shut the door behind me and lock it. Don't come in until I've taken the sonovabitch down, you got me?"
"What?" Cheryl hissed. "Are you crazy?"
"No way, man!" Greg agreed. "We're not lockin' you in there with a monster!"
"Yes. You are." He folded his arms across his chest and gave them a puckered-lipped glare. "I can't fight that thing if I'm worrying about you two getting in the way. Just stay out here until the coast is clear. And if you get in my way, so help me God I will kick both your asses."
They nodded solemnly and watched with bated breath as Dean made his way inside the room.
"Hey!" he called, his voice ringing with challenge.
Rodney turned his mushroom-cut-haired head in Dean's direction, his lip curling up in a snarl and a smile of pleasure.
"Boy, you gotta be the stupidest crazy fuck I've ever seen," he said, his shoulders squared and his chest heaving with unbridled blood lust.
Dean shrugged.
"My brother's the smart one," he quipped.
"And now you're lunch," Rodney snarled, lunching at the young hunter.
And missed.
Dean sidestepped effortlessly and plunged the syringe that was neatly concealed in his palm into the vampire's back as he blundered past, pushing the plunger in hard and fast but failing to move away from the flailing limbs as the creature made its graceless decent to the floor. They fell in a crash of limbs, Dean landing on top of the vampire, who wrapped his arms tightly around Dean's chest, effectively pinning him in place.
Dean turned to look up at the sound of Cheryl's strangled yelp through the window, giving her a reassuring though pained smile and nod as he felt the vampire shudder. The arms around him trembled and then fell as Rodney groaned, the blood sickness sapping him of his preternatural strength and leaving him moaning in lethargic sickness on the floor.
Dean rolled to his side and pulled himself up to his feet, grinning like a schoolboy after his first kiss. He gave his two co-conspirators the thumbs up and they promptly unlocked the door.
Within minutes the empty gurney was filled with Rodney's prone and restrained form. Lesley was then wheeled in, Greg having gone to fetch her, as ordered, and the two poisoned vampires were left locked, and restrained in Dean's room. Greg had also procured yet another gurney, which Dean once again laid himself out on, allowing his friends to loosely restrain him for the sake of subterfuge.
"This is the coolest and scariest thing I have ever done," Greg confessed as they wheeled Dean down yet another corridor on their way to the kitchen. "Hey, so do you have superpowers?"
Dean snorted a laugh. "Hell, no. I'm just a regular guy."
"But you fight like… like…"
"Like Batman," Dean suggested eagerly, his head stretching away from the gurney as he looked up. "Except without the gadgets, or the armour. Ok, so I'm actually way tougher and cooler than Batman."
"Plus, you probably don't have a Batmobile," Cheryl added.
"Oh baby, my car is so much cooler than any Batmobile," Dean confided, his grin positively lighting up his face. "'67 Chevy Impala. Sleek and black." He pursed his lips together as if to whistle.
"I tell you what," he said. "If we make it out of this alive, and if I ever get out of here, I'll take you for a spin." He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.
Cheryl blushed furiously and averted her gaze.
"Dude, are you off your meds?" Greg whispered in stunned disbelief.
"What?" Cheryl and Dean asked in unison.
"Are you off your meds?" Greg repeated, slapping his card through the nearest swipe station and pushing the door open.
"I thought we agreed I wasn't crazy," Dean replied.
Greg shook his head.
"No, that's not what I mean," he said. "You're acting super normal – like you're not dopey or confused or sluggish or drooling."
"Thanks," Dean said dryly.
"And the way you were fighting earlier," Greg went on, "you've got way more energy and body control for someone who's on the dosages you're supposed to be on."
Dean didn't have an answer for that and looked to Cheryl and then back to Greg to see if either of them had any ideas as to why he seemed more lucid of late. Cheryl's gaze seemed determinedly fixed on the floor.
"Cheryl," Greg intoned questioningly.
She shrugged.
"Ok fine," she said, huffing. "I started lowering his meds after his last restrainment."
"Are you kiddin' me?" Dean demanded, shock and delight playing out on his handsome features.
She shook her head and shrugged again.
"I don't know," she admitted. "It was like a little voice in my head told me to do it. I had always thought that the dosages we had you on were too high, Dean," she added. "I tried convincing Dr. Walpole to lower them."
Dean was moved and touched beyond words. He had never known anyone to put themselves on the line for him, to risk their career to save him. The fact that she had done it when he was at his lowest and needed it most when she had no reason to believe he was anything other than a crazed patient was almost too much. It threatened to make him emotional and weepy and chick-flicky, so he decided to look away. Look at anything other than her and Greg, because they were both staring down at him as if waiting to see his reaction.
"So Dean has basically been off his meds for the last week?" Greg asked, seeking clarification.
Cheryl nodded.
"Cheryl," Dean said, finding his voice at last. "You are so seriously awesome."
And he was grinning at her again, a boyish cocksure smile on his face that was somehow brighter than the sun.