A/N: Quick thank you to readers Eddieizzy and TheSouthernScribe (I knew you'd like the speech) for reviewing this story. It really helped me work through my block. Which brings me to the real note. Which comes in the form of a big fat "I'm sorry!" As you all might have been able to tell by this series, I love and adore Supernatural. I'm a Dean girl through and through and there's nothing more that I love than when he's heating up my tv screen. But if I had to name one thing that I hate about SPN it's sad/depressed/out of control Dean. Now, granted, it's mainly because I am completely at the mercy of his tears. I can't help it. They turn me into mush, and I hate seeing him like that. But you know what I hate even more? Writing him like that. So, if this chapter leaves a pit in your stomach like it did mine, then I'm sorry. Please don't get upset and leave this story. Because I promise it gets better. As always READ AND REVIEW.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a twisted imagination and a computer. The song title is by the Motley Crue. Now, let's get on with it, shall we?

LOOKS THAT KILL

Dean's POV

The last thing I saw before my head hit the ground were two green eyes focused in piercing concentration that brought a whole new meaning to the phrase "if looks could kill."

"An aneurism." That's what she kept telling Sam that she'd given me. "Just an aneurism." But even so, her face was twisted in confusion that deepened every time she snuck a peek at me, like something had gone wrong. "He was supposed to have healed as soon as I stopped." She sat off to one side of the yellow brick room still wearing her blue dress underneath Sam's suit jacket—now stained with black tears.

Sam sat slumped over to my far left with his eyes glued to the floor in the universal sign of We're screwed. Even when he spoke he never took his eyes off that spot. "He was turned a couple of days ago. He's been starving himself ever since." She didn't understand. She wanted him to make her understand, because of all the things she'd come to expect from vampires, self-control had never been one of them. Not starting off anyway. She'd seen bloodlust in the beginning. Lots of bloodlust that was supposed to go away with time and practice. But I knew that she was just adding the last part to keep the kid calm. In reality, Green Eyes knew that the need never fully went away. Hell, sometimes she still saw bloodlust when she looked in Leather Jacket's eyes. I could tell by the way she kept fixing the collar over her throat as if keeping her neck guarded were something she'd practiced until the habit had become second nature. So the moral of the story was that resisting a natural urge wasn't something that newborn vampires were supposed to do, and frankly, she hadn't even believed that they could.

Sam checked to see if I was awake, then started his story. And this time, he gave her nearly everything: from the day we met up after mom had plucked him from Hell till two days ago, when he got her number off her school's faculty directory. The only parts he left out were the parts he didn't know—how I'd gone back for her the night she took off with Leather Jacket—and the parts he knew I wouldn't want her knowing—the St. Augustine case. "I'm sorry you had to…I should have kept a better eye on him," he said to the tops of his shoes.

Green Eyes went to the door, grabbed the window's bars, and hung her head in defeat. I could have put her out of her misery by telling them both that I was awake; that the lingering headache her aneurism had caused was a walk in the park compared to what I'd been used to, but a part of me wanted to know what she could possibly say to top the last seven years. Her next statement made me regret that choice.

"After he left, there were nights that I hated him," her voice was low and distant, "But I never wanted this for him. Your mom begged me to save him, but I didn't know how. I thought that if I got you two back together, that would be enough, but I guess it wasn't. I guess I wasn't enough." I didn't need her blaming herself for my messes. I needed the arguing back, because at this rate, we'd go back to seven years ago. And neither one of us needed the hassle.

She heard me clear my throat, and slapped me in the face, adding to my headache. "You sold your soul to the devil? How the hell could you be so selfish!" Now she's just overreacting, I thought. Crowley's a lot of things: dick, douchebag, and dumbass usually come to mind, but he wasn't the devil. And I hadn't sold my soul. I caught her hand before she could take another swing at me. "And why the hell would you go off by yourself in Fairfax? For all poor Sam knew, you could have been abducted and turned. Oh wait," she pretended to think, "that's exactly what happened!"

"What's the problem, Green Eyes?" My jaw still ached a little from the slap, "I thought you liked 'em like this. The dead-er the better, right?"

She yanked her hand back, using it to point a finger at me instead. Though I had a feeling it wasn't the finger she most wanted to use. "Don't you dare bring Damon into this. He's not the one who made you this way." Sam shifted along the far wall. Any minute, I knew he'd intervene. He didn't do well with confrontation amongst those whom he deemed were our allies. It's just how he was.

Unfortunately for Green Eyes, that wasn't me. "Too bad I can't say the same about you. I bet all he has to do is walk through the door, and you jump to attention."

Sam stopped her from slapping me again. "What I think my brother's trying to say is that, given your close relationship with the Salvatores, we were hoping that you could lend some of your vampire knowledge into helping us find a cure." She couldn't. Not because she didn't want to, but because she didn't even know if a cure existed. And even if it did, there was nothing she could do to help. Witchcraft was something that she just didn't do anymore. Period. End of discussion.

"The best I can do," she leaned against the door, carefully avoiding me as she answered Sam, "is let you guys stay here tonight. You'll be safe. I've put a seal on the room so Dean can't get out, and I've set an illusion spell over the door so Damon won't hear, see, or smell you. If he comes down here for a blood bag, this room will look empty. But the spell only lasts until sunrise so you have to be out by then." I asked her how the hell she expected me to pull that off; she ignored me. Upstairs, the front door clicked shut behind two sets of footsteps: one headed for what I assumed was the bathroom while the other one walked closer to the basement where we were. Whoever was coming our way smelled like cheap cologne, old leather, and decay.

"Fright Night's home. Better go see what he wants," I grinned at Green Eyes who tossed Sam's jacket back to him along with a silver ring. My silver ring.

"It'll protect him from the sun." And just like that, she left with the determination of someone who didn't want to get involved.

"So why the hell is Belinda taking up shop in yer kitchen, then?" Bobby had gotten here this morning, three days later than he was supposed to. And for those seventy-two hours that Sam and I waited for him, Green Eyes made sure that the wait wasn't in vain.

"What's with the sudden change of heart?" I looked between the heavy book resting in her hands and Eyebrows, who stood protectively behind her. "I thought you didn't do this anymore."

She took a deep breath before answering, "I don't. But Sam's a nice guy, and just because you're hell-bent on getting yourself killed, doesn't mean that he deserves to lose you." She treated the whole thing with businesslike detachment and got straight to work, and I'll admit it, I was a little turned on. More than a little, actually. Not that I bought her little charade for a second.

Eyebrows talked most of the time, called himself showing me the ropes and confirmed all of Sam's research. But all it sounded like to me was a contest to see who could issue the most "I'm just trying to help's" in an hour. It made me wonder how I'd missed his resemblance to Sam the first time around. The fight for normalcy. The overdramatic therapist routines. It all reeked of how Sam used to be before this life had broken us so badly we needed witchcraft to us back together again. The only things the vampire needed now were daddy issues and a blood addiction. Although, I guess I was taking care of the last one enough for the both of them.

Meanwhile, Green Eyes barely said a word. She preoccupied her time with spells and suspicious phone calls that she answered less and less as the days went by. But her silence didn't mean that she was all smiles about Eyebrows and Sam's ideas, especially when they landed us smack dab in front of Mitch's Motors: Mystic Fall's one and only spot for auto upkeep.

Mitch was a retired Hell's Angel who specialized in everything from petty body repairs to the full-blown restoration of classic American cars. Working for him had been a lot like working with Bobby: with his straight to the point, No Bullshit personality and relentless list of whining sad sacks who couldn't even muster a nod of thanks for the service. Still, he had given me a steady paycheck, not to mention a place to stay. And my thanks to him came without an apology. I wasn't up for facing that mistake.

"Hey, wait up a minute, Sam," I held him off from walking up the stairs that Mitch was stiffly pointing to, "What's the matter with you? You know we don't shit in the same crapper twice." The four of us walked up to apartment number J2. Sam had never been here before. For him, this was a one-time trip to the john, but for Green Eyes and me, this place was just a little too familiar. She walked further behind, trying not to hyperventilate over what had happened the last time we were here. Yeah, well at least she can't still smell us in the sheets.

"Look Dean, we need to stay somewhere that doesn't have such a high population, okay, so let's just be glad that Mitch isn't holding any grudges?" He grabbed my key and walked in, leaving me to wonder just why Mitch wasn't wielding any crowbars at my head.

"It's kinda hard to hold a grudge when you're being compelled not to," Green Eyes shot me a dirty look before walking in behind Sam. I didn't have a damn clue what she was getting at. Eyebrows was the one who suggested that Sam and I stay here for a while. All I'd done was ask the old man for a room. But as usual, if I said, "A," she automatically fired back with "B." No questions asked. And that, in a nutshell, is pretty much the only time we talked; when we were at each other's throats.

Bobby wanted to know why we hadn't asked Cas for help. "Where is he in all of this?"

"MIA as usual," I answered, half-watching Green Eyes mix some powdery green shit in a rusted pot. Her cell phone went off for the millionth time. She let it go to voicemail.

"Well what about Crowley?" Bobby was about as desperate not to work with these two as I was.

"He wants Dean's soul on a silver platter," Sam sneered to show Bobby that we'd definitely considered all avenues. They were all dead ends. Green Eyes was our only way out. The three of us stood in the bedroom, watching Eyebrows shove the phone in her face. She retaliated by snatching the phone away from him and holding her finger over the button, calling him on whatever threat he'd silently issued. Their lips never moved during the conversation, yet somehow, I knew that he was on the verge of pushing her too far.

"Balls!" Bobby scratched his head, hat in hand, "It's like 2010 all over again." He barreled through the door, and moved her book across the table.

"You sit here," he motioned to Green Eyes' new spot, "and you," the old man pointed in my direction, "get over here, now!" He placed a stack of journals in front of me on the opposite side of the table, which now looked like a huge puzzle comprised of newspaper clippings and pictures that didn't connect. "Don't anybody get up unless I say so."

Bobby rarely issued orders. He was different from dad in that way. He preferred to give helpful suggestions, then leave it up to us to decide whether or not to follow them, but today he made his demands clear, muttering that he didn't have time for any murderous rampages. Green Eyes sucked on a pen cap as she worried over putting our puzzle together. Every now and then, her shirt would slip low enough to reveal a slice of black lace. I couldn't speak for her, but at that moment murder wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

Sam followed my eyes down to the place that the lace dipped the lowest and elbowed me in the side. I barely noticed it, though, over the scrape of her teeth along the cap. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. That's how it always started; singling out one sound. Then another and another until my head threatened to explode. Just focus on Bobby, I told myself. I had to keep focusing on Bobby.

"So what is it that we're supposed to be looking at here?" Eyebrows piped up. Bobby pulled up a chair beside Sam and straddled it, completely ignoring the question.

"It's a good thing you boys left town when you did. Fairfax has been cop central ever since they found the mayor's body." He pulled a copy of the coroner's report along with pictures of the crime scene out of his duffle. According to the report, Mayor Kripke's body was finally found in an alley two days ago, completely drained of blood. Green Eyes' pulse hitched, making a thump thump sound. Scrape. Thump. Scrape. Thump. I had to take a couple of breaths to distract myself.

"How long ago did he die?" she asked.

"Time of death dates back approximately eight days ago," Sam read the report to the others at the same time Bobby threw a black band on the table.

"Found this next to the body," he didn't look to happy about it either, "not that there was much of a body left when I got there. Those damn neck feeders swarmed all over him like ants to a juice box. No offense," he looked at me and Eyebrows. Green Eyes took the band and fondled the silver clasp, sucking in a breath.

"It's Rose's" she looked at Eyebrows. His forehead bunched up as he asked why Rose's bracelet would be next to the mayor's body. She ignores his question because she isn't finished. I watch her tuck a few stray hairs behind her ear—something she always did when she was nervous. The strands smell like fire. Like incense and flowers mixed with warm fruit that smelled dangerous like Heaven and Hell thrown together. It smelled like I remembered. The memory of those curls blowing that damn scent around caused my head to swim. Get a grip! "I think whoever killed him was after her as well."

Bobby doesn't even stop to ask her what she means. "Rufus thinks that the vampires might belong to the same nest as the one who turned you," he motioned to me with one of the journals, "Their alpha's recruiting an army of newbies to find some Rose." Bobby was getting more wound up by the second. Sam leafed through the journals, asking why he needed her to break free when we'd already popped his seal during Corpse Bride's death.

Eyebrows' face turned blank. He started pacing around the kitchen, rubbing his chin while internally debating the details before us. "I thought she was lying," he admitted, "I thought she was just trying to convince me not to worry so much about her but…" he looked up at us as if realizing for the first time that he wasn't alone, "but she was telling the truth."

"Mind translating that into plain English?" I asked.

"Before I found out that Katherine was starving Damon and me so that she could pretend to be Elena, she told me that she wasn't the last one. That the Petrova line wasn't the last of the seven doppelgangers. That's why she wasn't afraid of Elena dying in the tomb," he was whispering to himself again.

"So where's the last one?" The clues were making even less sense than the mystery. "And what does he want with this Rose broad?"

"He's probably looking for another get out of jail free card since the vampire copy idea was a no-go," Bobby grabbed a beer from the fridge and popped the cap, "Hate to break it to you, but we have to work fast if we wanna kill 'em. He doesn't stay in the same place for long."

"If he's always on the run, then how do his creations know where to find him?" There were things about being a vampire that Sam hadn't learned from his research, and I hadn't bothered to fill him in. Until now.

"He talks to them. To…to us." All eyes were on me.

"He talks to you?" Eyebrows repeated like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"How?" Sam asked next.

"What do you mean how?" Green Eyes ran her hand through her hair again. It was driving me friggin insane. "He's just talking…like…telepathically. I'm telling you Sammy, he's like you twelve years ago with the Ghost Whisperer shit."

"How do we kill him?" Green Eyes had that look. Like she was out for blood and didn't want to wait for the green light. Her phone rings some chick song loudly in my ear that strengthens the ache in my gut.

I keep bleeding.

I keep

Keep bleeding love.

She turns the phone off all together, as if it's driving her just as crazy as me, and judging by the guilt-laced sweat seeping from her clammy hands, I'm guessing that the calls must be coming from Leather Jacket.

"Originals are rumored to be almost indestructible. They need to be killed in very specific ways. Damon's trying to find a way that doesn't involve Rose but—"

Bobby flipped to a page in one of the journals and slammed it down in front of him. It was basically a list of Don'ts followed by two fundamental requirements: catch him at his weakest and rip his heart out. "If even one piece of it is left in him, he lives." Bobby explained.

"And, let me guess," I grabbed Green Eyes' hand before she could flip her hair again, "it's lights out for us instead." She yanked her hand away from me. Next to her, Eyebrows' phone goes off. He looks at the text.

"I have to go," his announcement was more to Sam than anyone else, because of all of us, my brother was the only one who really seemed to care. "Damon says it's important," he fixed Green Eyes with a He's getting suspicious look that she met with narrowed eyes.

"I'll be there as soon as I can." She got back up and tested out different combinations of powders. After he drove off, there was nothing left to say. Bobby was staying the night, but needed to check on something in the next town over. And as for the rest of us? Well, we couldn't make a move until we had a plan, and it was kinda hard to cook up a plan when I wasn't even sure we had all the right ingredients. Like for starters, where did Rose fit into this whole doppelganger/Klaus awakening business? And how did Green Eyes know her?

Sam's stomach growled almost worse than mine. "I'm going out," he grabbed my keys before I could stop him. "You two want anything to ea—" he cringed and changed his wording, "You two want anything?"

Green Eyes shook her head. "The usual. Extra bacon, extra onions," I called back, even though the thought of food brought my mind back to the girl in front of me. By now, the garage had closed. All the mechanics had covered the cars, cleaned up, and gone home. She looked about ready to do the same.

We walked down to the main level in silence. I couldn't remember a time since I'd known her that she'd been so quiet. I should have been glad that, for once, she wasn't bitching at me. Only, now it was too quiet. I could hear her heart banging against her rib cage. Smell the blood rushing through her pulse. Oh no, I pleaded with a God who probably didn't even recognize my voice and fingered the shot of Dead Man's Blood in my back pocket, don't do this to me now. Turning right now would give her just the excuse she needed to back out of all .

Green Eyes turned on the lights. A red pickup truck sat in the corner where she had for the last seven years—and probably decades before that. "Big Red! You miss me?" I slapped the side of the body and jumped into the bed. She definitely had some age on her, but all that meant to me was that she had more experience. And if there's one thing I like about both my cars and my women, it's experience.

From inside the bed, I could see a deck of playing cards lying between the front seats. Right where I left it. "I don't suppose, living in that big ass house, you still know how to play," Green Eyes watched me shuffle, trying to pretend that she didn't remember all those late nights in the back of this truck.

"Knowing how to play and wanting to play are two different things." Then she glanced up slightly and sighed, "What are the stakes?" My first instinct was to suggest that we play strip poker, until I realized that it was the same line I'd used our first night in this truck. She tried not to look interested when I told her to name whatever price she wanted. She'd turned her phone back on to look at the clock. It was a little after 12am. I half expected her to walk out of the garage, but she just stood there looking up at me. "Truth," she finally decided. "For every point earned, the winner gets to ask a question," she didn't wait for me give her the okay. She climbed up and took the cards so she could deal. "Is Black Jack okay with you?"

"Shuffle up and deal," my lips said the words, but they were running on auto pilot, distracted by the way her hands maneuvered the cards. Expertly cutting, shuffling, and dealing like she already knew how this game—and Klaus's—was going to play out. And I had no doubt in my mind that she was witch enough con whatever hand he dealt us. I wasn't a man of faith by any means, but I believed in that much. Even if she didn't.

The first game, she won, with me silently hoping that she'd keep the tough questions to a minimum. There was no need to turn this into some type of shitty daytime soap opera. She kept her eyes low during her question, "Why did you leave that night instead of killing me?" Aw, shit, I knew this was gonna happen, I thought. Leave it to her to get all serious. But at least this question was something I could handle.

"You spared Sammy's life." Her chest deflated a little bit as if she were looking for a different answer. One that drifted toward three deadly words that were even more deceitful than promises. I swallowed hard, and re-dealt the cards. Tonight wasn't just wasn't my night. She won three more rounds, asking questions about my favorite songs and foods that hadn't mattered in years, because she wasn't all that interested in scratching any deeper than the surface either, but when I finally hit twenty-one, she didn't have a choice.

"Why are you really helping us? And don't give me that 'Sam's a good guy shit. Why aren't you off grading papers or cleaning chalkboards?"

She bitterly looked off to the side and chuckled. "I tried."

One of the main rules of hunting was: never get too personal. Back in the early days of riding with Sam, I used to sit in front of him, sleep still fogging up the headlights in my brain and explain to him how a job was just that: a job. The people we saved were just nameless, faceless marks on a never-ending list of potential monster movie victims. We did our job and headed off into the line of another deadly crossfire. And above all else, we didn't bring these threats home with us. We checked them at the door. But eventually, we always ran upon something that couldn't be solved in under sixty minutes with fake IDs and salt guns. Eventually, we all found some cause worth taking home and avenging. Dad's cause was mom. Sam's was Jess. Mine was pretty much never having the luxury of actually finding a viable cause. Now it seemed as if Green Eyes had found her cause in me. And just like me, the last thing she wanted to do was add another fight to her list. But she was more of a rule number two kind of girl. She never left a job unfinished.

I let her grab the cards from me, completely lost for words. After all, what do you say to something like that?

Her fingers scratch at her scalp, sending that smell my way again. Suddenly, her image swam behind my eyes, splitting between the real version of herself who waited for me to show my cards, and a second Green Eyes whose lips twist up into a dangerously crooked smirk. "Eat me, Dean. I know you want to?" I look back at the other Green Eyes to see if she sees this chick, or if she's just here for me like a personal devil on my shoulder. She doesn't seem to notice which makes me feel like I'm trapped in some cheesy ass thirty-minute sitcom. I wait for the audience to laugh in the background. But they don't. Bizzaro Green Eyes licks her lips and bites down real hard until blood drips from her teeth down her neck. "Looks good doesn't it?" The trail burns a path that leads down to the crack between her tits.

"You're not real," my throat is so dry all I can do is swallow air.

The other Green Eyes is in front of me now. Her mouth moves rapidly and she's touching the veins underneath my eyes, but I can't hear what she's saying. It looks like, "They're getting darker, because you're hungry. You have to fight it." What the hell do you mean "fight it?" Wasn't she just telling me to bite her?

"You're not real!" Even I can't recognize the voice that comes out; my throat burns like I've been drinking sandpaper shakes.

"I'm real. I'm as real as the hunger you feel for me. Can't you feel it?" Twisted Sister grabs a knife out of thin air and stabs me in the gut with it. When I look down, the knife is gone, yet the pain isn't. "Can't you feel me? Can't you just taste me? I can still taste you, Dean. Every time I kiss Damon, I taste you instead." She's got the knife again, dipping it in her blood and licking it off, "Tastes good." That's when he takes over. I can feel the vampire coming out, working my controls, grabbing Green Eyes by the ankle. "See you on the other side," Bad Green Eyes waves.

In an instant, I had the real Green Eyes pinned to the pickup's floor. "Listen to me, Dean. It's me. You have to fight it." She pretends to be so brave, but the vampire pulling my strings can tell how scared she is. He likes her scared. Likes cutting witches down a few notches, letting them know how their victims feel.

She tries to get away from me, which only makes me hold her tighter. "It's not as much fun when the shoe's on the other foot is it? Is that how you got Leather Jacket? Huh? Bet it makes you feel real good doing all that abracadabra shit. Is that how you got me?" I'm saying all this crap I don't mean. Or maybe I do. I'm so frigging hungry, I can't even tell what's me and what's the vampire anymore.

Green Eyes seems to be able to tell us apart though. Her tiny hands are at the sides of my face, grabbing my head to hers so that her lips can graze my ear, "This isn't you. Fight it!" She screams over her own heartbeat.

For a second, I'm able to come back. "What the hell do you think I'm trying to do here?"

"Well try harder!" That's the wrong answer. My fangs snap at her jawline. The vampire remembers how much she used to like it when I lick at the spot on her neck. She still does. But, at the same time, it scares her that she does. That makes two of us. I do it a couple more times to get her heartrate back up, so that the blood can pump faster. She tries whatever she has to to distract me from biting down: rubbing my veins, yelling for me to fight, but none of it works. Not until she touches the necklace Sam gave me to my chest, to the place where my heart should beat.

I'm off her in seconds, jabbing a syringe into my arm faster than she can say, "What the hell?" Dead Man's blood wrangles the demon in so I can try to salvage any chances of her sticking around. I crack jokes that she doesn't laugh at, and ask her what her card was. A jack and an ace. Once again, she's got twenty-one. Her phone rings.

"I um…"

"…gotta go," I avert my eyes. She stumbles out of the truck just as Sam drives up in my car, oblivious to the shit storm brewing just minutes ago inside.

"Are you going to be okay tonight?" she asks.

"Is that your question?" I can't even look at her. Seeing the disappointment in those green eyes would only serve to make me hate myself, and her, more. She stuffs the cards in her coat pocket, smelling like everything but regret, and walks backward out of the garage.

"No," she struggles to catch her breath, "I think I'll save my question for another time."