Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Twilight. The show, the movie saga and the majority of the characters I'll be using belong to their respective creators.
A/N: I'm changing the rules to the vamps of Supernatural. Okay, so just one of them…Now, while most of the rules will stay as they are, in this story, the main way to kill a vamp (not of the cold-one variety though) is to stake them with a sharp wooden object, although beheading will come in as a close second…so do keep that in mind…
Previously:
Purgatory – 2012
Dean – his eyes wide and scared – faced Castiel: ''…we're in Purgatory?'', he asked, his voice filled with incredulity. ''Well, how do we get out?''
''I am afraid we're much more likely to be ripped to shreds…'', the angel answered simply as sounds of growling and hissing reached their ears.
Gulping, Dean turned towards the sound, swallowing loudly upon seeing several sets of bright red eyes glowing menacingly from within the shadows cast by the dark forest as the creatures themselves slowly circled the little clearing where he now stood.
''Cass…'', the hunter whispered: ''…I think we better g- '', turning back around Dean cut himself off when he realized the angel wasn't there anymore.
''Cass?'', he whispered again, this time marginally louder as he turned in a slow circle, his eyes scanning the woods around him for the missing celestial. As if answering him, the monsters growled and hissed again as they continued to circle the little clearing.
''CASS!''
Purgatory – 2012
''Cass!''
Jasper stopped in his tracks, the sudden shout in the usually almost eerily quiet woods startling him out of his musings. Cocking his head to the side, the emphatic vampire listened carefully, thinking even as he did so that he must have imagined it in the first place.
''…not like that would've been the first time either…'', his mind supplied sarcastically and he grimaced. Of course it wasn't the first time he imagined hearing something that wasn't there. After all, there is only so much of quiet and loneliness a person can handle…and if asked, Jasper thought he couldn't even begin to describe the desire he felt to simply talk to someone. Because let's face it – he just didn't get to do that here…
Sure, he'd bump into one of the nasty-crawlies from time to time but, honestly? All thoughts of holding a somewhat coherent conversation jump out the proverbial window as soon as one of the aforementioned nasties hisses, growls or – better yet – screeches like a damned siren shortly before pouncing…
Sighing, he was about to turn around and head back to the little creek he'd stumbled upon during his first days in this…place where, over time, he'd built himself a shelter when he heard it again: ''CASS!''
Jasper's eyes narrowed in that direction as the shout was soon accompanied by a loud: ''…son of a bitch!'', and sounds of a struggle became louder, followed swiftly by throaty growls and hisses.
For a second there, Jasper thought of simply turning around and heading back to his camp site for this wasn't his fight but, in the end, his curiosity overwhelmed him and he closed his eyes, feeling out the situation with his gift.
However, the vampire's eyes snapped back open almost immediately.
''Human…'', he whispered under his breath, reeling from the intensity of the emotions he just sampled as he hadn't felt anything like that for a very long time – decades for sure.
His eyes wide with disbelief and…dare he even think it – hope…he stared in the direction the sounds of the scuffle were coming from.
''It can't be…'', he muttered quietly, his mind racing.
''But those emotions''
…they were the real deal – sharp and clean and just so…there…unlike the dark, dull ones of the creatures he'd ran into while here as usually theirs would start and end with hungry. Unable to help himself – much like an addict locked in a room with a smidgen of cocaine in one corner – Jasper once again closed his eyes, reaching out for the emotions that shined and called to him like a beacon of light in never-ending darkness. He latched onto them and he knew – without a shadow of a doubt – that whoever they belonged to was most definitely human.
''Human…''
As soon as that word fell from his lips, he was running towards them, running towards the human…
''CASS!'', Dean shouted again, his voice echoing in the dark woods.
''He didn't'', the hunter thought: ''…he wouldn't. Not Cass...he'd never…'', fear stabbing at his insides like hot knifes as his eyes frantically searched for the angel.
A twig snapping sharply not too far off – and way too close for comfort – had him freezing in his spot, his green eyes now trained on two glowing red embers rushing straight at him from within the deep shadows of the night.
He sucked in a sharp breath, his lungs aching when the hunter stubbornly refused to let it back out and the thing a couple of feet in front of him stopped – standing stock still and barely out sight. It sniffed at the air and growled – a deep, throaty growl – and then it slowly stepped out of the treeline.
''Son of a bitch…'', the human murmured quietly, unable to help himself as the expletive rolled off of his lips as easily and naturally as water rolls off of a duck at the sight of the creature and it – because honestly? Dean just didn't know what else it could be classified as – growled again.
''Tall – check'', the older Winchester thought, letting his eyes drink in the 8-foot tall monster: ''…long (emphasis on long), lean limbs – check. Glow-y red eyes – check'', suddenly his green orbs widened even further in fear: ''…sharp teeth''…gulp…''nope, scratch that – very big and very, very sharp teeth? Cheeeeck…''
The creature lunged, moving faster than the hunter expected for a thing its size and startled, he fell backwards, his back colliding with the hard cold ground painfully.
''Son of a bitch!'', Dean hollered loudly as the monster landed on top of him, its teeth poised at his throat.
Sam: Colorado, Pagosa Springs General Hospital – 11 months post Dean's disappearance…
''Hey Tim.''
Doctor Timothy Andrews smiled as he turned around to face his long-time colleague and friend: ''…Elizabeth, hey.''
The pretty blonde surgeon smiled right back, her left cheek dimpling as she did so.
''How's your night so far?'', Timothy inquired as he quickly glanced over the pretty much empty E.R.
''Oh, you know. Pretty much same as yesterday…quiet.''
He chuckled: ''…so, you think we're in for another slow night then?''
She sighed: ''…yeah'', and then squinted at the front door as the harsh siren of an incoming ambulance caught her attention: ''…or not'', she corrected, nodding her head towards the double glass doors and they both watched as the paramedics hastily unloaded a gurney.
''Well, I guess that's my cue…'', Tim muttered, quickly adding: ''I'll see you later, Liz'', as he hurried to greet the EMT's.
''What do we have here?'', he asked as soon as the gurney was wheeled in through the entrance.
One of the paramedics – a stocky young man with short, curly dark brown hair and expressive grey eyes – cleared his throat: ''Caucasian male, mid-twenties to early thirties, seems to be suffering from some kind of a psychotic break.''
Doctor Andrews stopped taking notes and glanced down at the young man secured to the gurney; his hazel eyes were wide and wild and filled with fear as he trashed about, trying desperately to free himself, incomprehensible mutterings rolling off of his tongue every few seconds.
''Is he mumbling in Latin?'', the Doctor asked, his curiosity piqued.
''Oh…it's Latin now?'', the other paramedic – a middle aged Eastern-European woman with hair as dark as raven's feathers – asked, ''…you should have heard what he was screaming when the cop who initially made the call helped us wrangle him onto that gurney…something about demons and monsters…''
Timothy's eyes widened comically at this and he glanced back down at the still struggling young man: ''why haven't you sedated him?'', he asked, his brows furrowing.
''Matt did, Doc'', the female EMT answered with a slight nod of her head towards her partner: ''…doesn't seem to work…''
Doctor Andrews gaped at her, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.
''Good morning young man'', Doctor Andrews greeted as he stopped by Sam's bed, professional curiosity making the tired medic check in on him and any possible progress made over the couple of days he had been here.
''All right'', he murmured under his breath as he grabbed the chart hanging at the foot of the bed, his eyes stopping to rest for a second or two on the police-issue handcuffs fastening the agitated patient's wrists to the guardrails. Sighing, Doctor Timothy Andrews let his tired eyes quickly skim over the contents of the chart and he couldn't help but sigh again helplessly as the patient in question started up his strange mutterings again.
Returning the chart to its place, Doctor Andrews raked his fingers through his messy, graying hair and slowly approached the young man which only made him mutter louder.
''Hello'', Timothy greeted him, ''…can you tell me your name son?''
Nothing.
''Son?'', he made to step closer and that's when the weird muttering stopped momentarily only for the young man to start screaming.
''No! Get away! Get away you monster!''
Timothy froze, his eyes wide and Sam started muttering again, his hazel eyes fixed firmly on the Doctor standing at his bedside: ''…Omnis immundus spiritus, Omnis satanica potestas, Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, Omnis legio…''
Swallowing thickly, the freaked out Doctor grabbed a syringe filled with a sedative off of the medicine cart at the head of the patient's bed, preparing to yet again sedate the man with a much higher dosage than normally as anything less had no effect what-so-ever. However – crazy or not – the young man seemed to understand what was about to happen as he kicked out with his long, lean legs screaming: ''…no! Don't touch me! No! No!''
''Doctor Andrews?'', asked a female voice suddenly, startling him into dropping the syringe.
''Nurse Simmons…'', he uttered, relief clear on his face.
''What's going on here, Doctor? I heard the screaming and came running…and I was all the way down at the reception, mind you…''
He sighed, sadly shaking his head: ''I thought I'd come in to check in on John Doe here before clocking-out for the day and…he seemed quite agitated so I tried to sedate him but…as you can see'', he finished quietly, gesturing to Sam.
Nurse Simmons' eyes filled with compassion and something akin to pity as she threw a quick look at the young man cuffed to the hospital bed: ''oh, that poor boy…''
Timothy nodded, agreeing with the woman.
''I think…'', he started and then closed his eyes for a second as Sam continued on as if the two people weren't even there: ''…eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire te rogamus…''
''Nurse Simmons…'', Doctor Andrews started over, his voice gentle, ''…would you be so kind as to fetch Doctor Palmer from Psych Ward…because I don't know where to start in order to help him…''
Nurse Simmons nodded: ''of course, Doctor. ''
Three weeks later…
''How is he doing?'', Timothy asked as soon as the door to Doctor Palmer's office closed behind him.
The petite woman's lips twitched with slight amusement before she leaned back in her black leather chair, her french-manicured finger tips swiftly brushing aside a stray strand of hair away her face: ''honestly?''
Doctor Andrews nodded.
''Not good. I've tried everything I could think of and he only seems to be getting worse…''
Timothy frowned: ''…well, just how bad is it?''
''Suffice it to say that it's bad, Tim…he's hardly eating. The medicine helped somewhat in the beginning but now...it's just…it doesn't anymore and these…episodes of his –''
''Episodes?'', he asked, his brow cocked questioningly.
Jo Palmer rolled her eyes: ''you know damn well what I mean; episodes – where he either screams bloody murder or is muttering on about demons and monsters..?''
''Ah, those…''
Doctor Palmer nodded: ''…just a couple of hours ago he had one – and it got so bad...he got so worked up he suffered a seizure while we were trying to restrain him…''
''Good God…''
''Yeah…'', she agreed quietly, ''…I don't think there's anything else I can do to help him…this hospital and its staff just isn't equipped to deal with cases like that of our John Doe's…''
''What are you saying Jo?''
''I'm saying it might be in his best interest if I have him transferred.''
''Transferred? Transferred where? Are you sure? I mean, you're damn good at what you do…I'm sure you could figure it out…''
Doctor Jo Palmer smiled at him appreciatively, ''…thanks Tim but I'm certain he'll be better off…and that hospital in Omaha? You know, the big one they opened what…three – four years ago?''
He nodded: ''…something like that…''
''I hear they have a really great Psych Ward…''
''So that's it then? You're just gonna hand him over?''
''I'm afraid I have no other choice…he won't last much longer if I keep him here, drugging him with stuff an elephant wouldn't withstand while waiting for someone to invent some sort of a miracle cure…I've tried my best to help him, Timothy...I really did – but it didn't work, so maybe it's time I let someone else try…''
Doctor Andrews swallowed thickly as he found himself nodding in agreement; because of course he knew she was right – it was time to let someone else try…and maybe – just maybe – that someone else will end up saving the life of their John Doe.
Red Pine Motel: Houston, Texas – Present Day
''What's wrong?'', the vampire asked quickly, his stomach doing somersaults with the sudden bout of anxiety.
''I'm at the cemetery…you know which one'', the Alpha of the Quileute shape-shifter's pack said instead of answering. He was about to add something to that but Carlisle interrupted him: ''…Ephraim. Tell me what is going on?'', he pleaded.
The lead wolf stayed silent for a second: ''I…I don't…I don't know how to…just get here, fast'', he stuttered out and hung up before his friend could ask any more questions he didn't have the answers to.
Carlisle – the cell phone clutched tightly – stood still as a statue for several seconds, the dial tone blaring harshly in his ear as he tried to calm his racing mind.
Sucking in a sharp breath, the vampire physician pinched the bridge of his nose and tossed the cell phone onto the bed shortly before he grabbed his discarded clothes and dressed, moving so fast he was a mere blur of motion in the early morning light lazily flooding his motel room through half-open blinds.
Stopping as soon as the last button of his slightly wrinkled baby blue dress shirt was done up, Carlisle looked around the room, his keen eyes searching for the keys to the rental car he had picked up shortly after landing in Texas.
Anxiously raking his pale fingers through his equally pale blond hair, the patriarch of the Cullen family growled under his breath as his frustration at failing to find the keys kept on building.
Momentarily closing his eyes he let out the breath he didn't even know he was holding in.
''Where are they?'', he muttered quietly, slowly letting his eyes open to stare straight ahead…and that's when he saw them; they were right under his nose the whole time, so to speak, and he rolled his golden orbs before quickly rushing over to the bedside table.
Snatching the keys off of it, he turned on his heel and was about to head out when he thought better of it and stopped just long enough to grab the medical supplies bag he totted with him where ever he went to nowadays…after all, he didn't know what happened to shake Ephraim up so much and so, thinking that one of the Quileute wolves the Alpha had taken with him when leaving Forks for the insane mission of tracking down the Mexican warlord had most likely gotten injured, he rushed out the motel room door.
The Old City Cemetery: Houston, Texas – Present Day
The tires of the sleek black 2013 Nissan Quest skidded to a halt at the curb of the Old City Cemetery and a few seconds later the blonde vampire emerged from the vehicle, medical supplies bag shifting from left hand to the right as he quickly locked the car and ran for the nearest entrance leading into the dilapidated graveyard, mentally reminding himself to slow down in case any humans happened to drive past.
As he unknowingly entered through the very same coral pink brick arch like the Quileute pack earlier on, Carlisle's long-dead heart throbbed painfully as memories of the day they buried Jasper here – at Rose's insistence because the beautiful heartbroken vampire just wouldn't agree to have her 'twins' remains burned – right next to where his human parents had been laid to rest close to a couple of centuries ago, he halted for a second, willing the venom tears that had gathered at the edges of his golden eyes away even though they wouldn't fall anyway.
Taking in a calming breath, Carlisle worked on calming down when his ears picked up on a sound of a woman crying softly, followed by equally soft whispers of comforting words coming from yet another person – a man – who, apparently, was trying to calm the upset female.
Not even noticing when he started walking again – slowly and as if in a trance – his mind still replaying painful old memories, Carlisle walked towards the source of the noise.
A soft gasp of shock reached Ephraim Black's ears and the familiar sweet scent that assaulted his senses a second later told him it was his old friend Carlisle but before he could so much as lift his eyes from the young vampire at his feet – writhing in pain – the blonde leader of the Cullen coven was at his side, falling to his knees as a strangled whisper fell from his lips: ''Jasper?''
When the young man didn't respond, Carlisle – his usually steady hands shaking – gently cupped the other vampires face: ''…son?'', he asked, this time louder, his voice trembling with raw emotion.
Sapphire blue eyes connected with bright gold ones, brief recognition dancing in their depths just before a pained whimper escaped him and his beautiful dark blues turned black – the darkness and malice within them truly frightening as he growled: ''who the hell are yo–''
The question, however, was left unfinished as the younger vampire ripped his face out of his father figures hands and swiftly rolled onto his side, hacking and coughing until he threw up – large, thick chunks of black goo covering the brownish grass blades.
Too shocked to do anything, Carlisle and the Quileute pack could only watch as Jasper clawed at the hard ground, his fingers digging into the dirt.
Groaning, the younger blonde fought the overwhelming nausea and pain and stood up before doubling over as a sharp, searing pain settled in his chest and before he knew it, he was once again spraying the ground with the black goop.
Unable to just stand there and do nothing, Carlisle rushed over to his son's side, placing a hand on his back and rubbing it in gentle, soothing circles.
''Son?'', he whispered as soon as Jasper stopped blowing chunks of black gunk all over the ground – not to even mention the good doc's expensive, Italian leather shoes – his chest heaving as he tried to regain his breath. Feeling exhausted, the recently resurrected vampires knees buckled and he fell. Had Carlisle not caught him in time, he would have face-planted into the ground.
''Jasper, son…'', he tried again and the younger vampire glanced up, meeting his coven leader's gaze even though it took a lot of effort, his eyes once again a brilliant shade of sapphire blue: ''Carlisle…'', he whispered back, his voice quiet and raspy.
''I'm here son…'', Carlisle answered, gently brushing aside an unruly curl from Jasper's face.
''I-I…I'', Jasper stuttered and tried again only to close his eyes as a wave of dizziness hit him full on, his world spinning and tilting. Slowly, he drew in a breath and re-opened his eyes when he noticed something move. Sharply turning his head towards the movement – an action for which he paid dearly in the form of a blinding pain racing through his skull – Jasper stared, wide-eyed as the black goo he upchucked started quivering and then slowly pulled up into several piles of quaking mass.
A sense of dread settled somewhere deep down within his gut, urging him to act, to do…something but for the love of all that's still holy in this God-forsaken world he couldn't remember what he was supposed to do…not that he could remember all that much of anything after the fight Maria brought to Forks and the Cullen family. Well, that and the searing pain and the darkness that descended upon him soon after and then…waking up in a stuffy wooden box, breaking through the rotten boards and frantically digging at the hard ground…
''Jasper?'', Carlisle asked, his voice worried as Jasper kept on staring at the goo which continued to quiver, the few piles growing in size and it just hit him: evil.
''Destroy'', a voice in his mind - one that sounded much like the Major when he took over - hissed, ''…don't let it escape.''
''Son, what is it?'', Carlisle whispered as Jasper stood up, groaning when his head throbbed painfully with the sudden action: ''…don't let it escape…'', he rasped in answer, swaying on his feet as the black mass of goo started to slither away; at first barely moving but gaining speed with every passing second, ''…don't let it escape!'', the younger blonde shouted, quickly balling up the fingers of his right hand into a tight fist, hitting the closest pile of ooze with such force that the dry ground cracked and shook briefly with the force of the impact.
Breathing heavily, Jasper straightened out and, his voice pleading, whispered hoarsely: ''don't let it escape…it-its…''
Carlisle – eyes wide – glanced over at Ephraim who had come to his friend's side when the young blonde Cullen boy started throwing up the strange black mass. The vampire and the wolf stared at each other for a second before both their gazes fell on the piles of black goo as it quickly slithered off in several different directions.
''…don't…don't let it e-escape…'', Jasper groaned, desperation and fear clawing at his insides before another sudden wave of dizziness engulfed him and he collapsed at his father figures feet.
A/N: Review please…