Supernatural Omens

Author's notes: While based in the Supernatural universe, this story veers off on its own in a few abnormalities. First off, in this story, monsters look like monsters. Dragons really look like Smaug, and werewolves go full-on wolf; Leviathans can show their 'true forms' as gigantic, dinosaur-like beasts. Secondly, some story lines from the show have been edited or cut entirely, ignoring most of anything that happened after Season 10 (and some stuff before that). Third, my monster lore is not necessarily canon. When I use the term "shifter" or "shape-shifter," I'm referring to an entity that can change from human to animal form, as opposed to the series definition of shifter, which is a humanoid that takes on other human forms through shedding.

I'd also like to point out that the female OCs are, indeed, Mary Sues, and while I'm a bit ashamed about it, I'm not going to change them. This story is my therapy, the way that I deal with my anxiety and depression, and so I write my OCs as super strong and super smart and super lovable because it helps me to feel those things about myself. So, sorry but not sorry. Maybe they can be therapeutic for you, too.

Chapter 1: Enemy of my Enemy

Sam wasn't sure how he'd missed the signs. All they ever did was look for supernatural stuff, and yet they'd managed to overlook one of the largest invasions of their lives. It was like one day, everything was normal, and the next Dick Roman was back from the dead, running half the businesses in America, all "reports of my death were greatly exaggerated." And then it became glaringly obvious: Everything had been overtaken by the Leviathans, the same slimy black-blooded monsters they'd sent back to Purgatory years ago. How had they gotten out again? How had they managed to put together what was basically the same operation as last time without anyone, including angels and demons, noticing?

Well, perhaps he could see how Heaven hadn't noticed. The angels were busy fighting each other, as usual. And Hell…Well, Hell was finally starting to cool off, so to speak, now that Abaddon was dead and Crowley was back in control (though there was always something trying to overthrow him, wasn't there). As for him and Dean, things seemed to be as close to 'normal' as they ever were: Dean was no longer a demon, the Darkness was no longer a threat, and Lucifer was back in his Cage. It was only fitting, Sam supposed, for the next major crisis to hit, since all the other crises were now averted.

And so they found themselves back in a previous chapter of their lives, filling Super Soakers with Borax and lopping off the head of every Levi they could find. In a way, it was better now, because they had the safety of the Bunker to retreat to, and they knew (more or less) what the leviathans were up to. And in a way it was harder, because the leviathans knew what they were up to, and now they were more efficient, and their plans were moving forward so much faster. There was also the matter of sending the leviathans back to Purgatory again: The weapon they'd created last time wouldn't work, as the lovely Men of Letters had managed to off the last Alpha known to man. So they were left playing Whack-a-Mole, cutting one head off at a time with no end-game, while the leviathans were busy dumbing down the nation and preparing their slaughterhouses.

A quick check by Castiel on Purgatory gave them even more bad news: The Leviathans had escaped, along with every other monster, by breaking open the main gateway. It was well and truly broken, which meant that it couldn't seal itself back up. As long as the gate remained open, anything they killed would just pop back out again, and even if they did find another way to banish the leviathans back to Purgatory, they'd just walk back out the door unless Sam and Dean found a way to close it (because, let's face it, no one else was going to). They were, in a word, fucked.

Dean shouldered the warehouse door open, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the low light. In one hand, he held an electric Super-Soaker which was fed by an industrial-sized backpack reservoir, normally used for spraying pesticides in greenhouses, but which now contained an immense quantity of Borax solution. In his other hand, resting across the water gun, was a very sharp machete. He held his breath, listening for voices or footsteps. Wind swept down through a broken window, rustling sheets of plastic. Where are the damn leviathans?

Sam had gone to investigate the warehouse over four hours ago. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission, but obviously something had gone wrong, because he wasn't answering his phone and he hadn't returned to the motel. It was possible the asshats had moved him to another location, or (he wasn't going to think about it) eaten him already, but according to Sam's GPS, this was where his phone was. If nothing else, Dean would find his brother's phone, then figure out what to do from there. Besides, the fuckers knew he'd come looking. If they were gone, they'd be back for him. And then…

…Borax, bitches.

His foot slipped on something wet and he pitched forward, hitting his head on a metal beam with a loud metallic "clang" that echoed throughout the building. Great. So much for stealth, he thought. He steadied himself and braced for an attack.

The echo faded, and the world went back to an uncomfortable silence. There should have been a thunder of running feet, or at least a hushed scuffling of feet and whispered commands. But this…This was too quiet. He glanced up at the rows of shelves, wondering if they were perched above his head, but he couldn't see anything unusual. He looked down at his foot to see what he'd stepped in, and crouched down to take a closer look.

The floor was splattered with…Water? Oil? He dipped his finger in the liquid and took a tentative sniff. Leviathan blood. So. There'd been a fight, and Sam had managed to injure at least one of the bastards. Dean shuffled along the trail of black goo, ducking behind shelves and darting his eyes upward every few steps. He spied a pair of legs sticking out from another aisle and rushed to investigate. Sam?

The legs didn't belong to Sam, which was great considering they weren't attached to a body anymore. They were just a pair of legs, oozing black goo. A few feet away from them, Dean discovered a hip, and a little further down there was a ribcage and one arm. What the hell? Sam didn't do this, so what did? He continued to creep along, stopping abruptly when he heard a noise.

It sounded like someone dragging something, or someone, heavy. When he stopped, so did the noise; he moved again, and so did the other person. So that's how it's going to be, eh? Fine, Dickwad. You're not leaving here with my brother. Dean ran forward, the giant vat of chemicals on his back sloshing and threatening to throw him off balance. He knew he'd been found out, so there was no point in trying to keep quiet: His shoes pounded against the cement, soles squeaking as they skidded across black goo. He hopped around bits of skin and hair, tripping over a severed arm and righting himself.

"I know you're there, asshat!"

"Dean?"

The voice was hoarse and frail, but unmistakably Sam's.

"Sam!"

He headed for the sound of his brother wheezing for air. Something shuffled rapidly across the floor, then went quiet. Dean reached the end of the warehouse and saw body parts everywhere. Slumped against the far wall was his brother, splattered in black goo, his right shoulder ripped open, the whole right side of his shirt drenched in blood. Nothing else in the general vicinity appeared to be alive, but he hadn't stayed alive this long by letting his guard down. He holstered the machete and tucked the water gun under his chin, kneeling beside his brother.

"Sammy? You okay?"

Sam blinked at him slowly, his eyes unfocused. "Dean…Run…"

"Not without you, buddy. Come on, stand up!" Dean grabbed Sam's undamaged arm and hoisted it across his shoulders. Sam's legs wouldn't support his weight and he collapsed immediately. Dean pitched to the side, and he would have righted them both had it not been for the inertia of the massive water tank on his back. The tank toppled him over, and Sam flopped on top of him like a giant ragdoll. Their combined weight broke the reservoir, and Dean found himself drenched in liquid Borax.

"Shit."

Sam groaned and rolled off his brother, hissing in pain as he moved. "Dean…"

"What the hell do you want me to do, Sam? You can't run. You want me to carry your ass out of here?"

Sam grabbed his shoulder, trying to keep himself upright. "I think you scared it off, but it'll be back…Just go…"

"Scared what off?"

Sam gasped, choked, and spat blood onto the floor. "It killed them…There were—" he paused to cough, then shook his head and sent a gob of blood flying out of his nose. "There were five of them. They smashed my tank, got the jump on me. One of 'em…" His eyes started to glaze over, and his head drooped.

"Sam!" Dean hissed, smacking him on a bit of chest that didn't look broken. "What—Oh shit." He slipped his arms from the straps of the now useless water tank and felt for Sam's pulse. It was low, but at least he had one—he laid him back on the floor and listened for his breathing, which was, again, present but not fantastic. It sounded like he had blood in his lungs. "Come on, man, don't do this here. If you're gonna pass out, at least wait till we're not in Leviathan Central."

Sam wheezed, but didn't open his eyes.

"Fine. Screw you, asshole," Dean grumbled. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and hooked his arms under his brother's back and knees. You can do this, Dean. You've done this a hundred times before…Just with chicks that weigh, like, half of what he does…And are a lot smaller…Oof, can I even lift him? Time to go on a diet, Sammy. He staggered to his feet, and his back and biceps immediately objected. Keep it together, man. He pitched toward the rear door, accidentally using Sam's head to push it open. Sam didn't even groan, which he took to be a very bad sign. Now all he had to do was circle the entire building to reach the car, load Sam into it, and get him back to the motel so he could fix him up. He needed a hospital, really, but he knew the local one would be infested with more leviathans.

Dean made his way around the building, feeling like his arms were going to explode, like that body-builder who took too many steroids. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, and he felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his head, but he could see the car, they were almost in the clear! He lurched forward, dumping Sam onto the ground not quite as gently as he'd hoped to. Again, Sam made no response. Dean ripped the passenger door open and stooped over his brother again, but now his arms refused to work for him. He knelt at Sam's side, trying to catch his breath, and he realized something disturbing: He couldn't see Sam breathing. He put his hand on his chest, trying to feel for the rise and fall that would indicate life, and discovered he couldn't feel his heartbeat, either. Starting to panic, he felt Sam's pulse. An icy wave of dread washed down his spine as he realized there was nothing there.

"Fuck."

Adrenaline surged through his veins, giving him one hail-Mary last-ditch bit of strength to start chest compressions. Not doing mouth-to-mouth, buddy. It had been years since he'd had to do CPR, but after a lifetime of demon-hunting the motions were nearly automatic. Just kidding, I'll breathe for you if you promise not to die. I'm not making out with another dead person. He felt something crack in Sam's sternum, which he knew was normal but still freaked him the hell out. He paused to check for a pulse again and felt a large presence in front of him. His head shot up, and black spots swam in his vision—carrying his brother, plus the chest compressions, had taken more out of him than he'd like to admit.

He shook his head, clearing his vision, and nearly toppled over backwards. Standing in front of him was a dragon: Not a human with flaming hands, but a real, in-the-flesh, giant lizard-y dragon. It was the height of a horse, completely black, its wings folded at its sides. Its blue eyes were fixed on Sam and Dean.

Dean dropped Sam's lifeless wrist and staggered to his feet. "Are you shitting me right now?"

The dragon snorted and pawed the ground, slicing the pavement with its claws. Dean straightened and reached for his gun.

"Fine. Bring it on, Toothless."

He tried to raise the pistol to aim at the dragon, but his arm refused to cooperate. Both arms seemed to have disconnected from his brain, ignoring its frantic call to arms. Dean ground his teeth, willing his arm to work. The dragon spread its wings, flapping them toward him and creating a gust strong enough to knock him off his feet. He slammed into the asphalt and rolled, gripping the gun with both hands and using the ground to help support his aim.

Lightning shot from the dragon, arcing into Sam. His body jolted, momentarily jumping off the ground. Dean shouted in surprise, but the sound was muffled by the sharp crack of thunder that followed. He squinted in the dark, his eyes thrown off by the burst of light, and shot in the general direction of the enemy. The dragon screeched and seemed to implode on itself, disappearing in the dark. He hesitated for a moment, wondering what the hell just happened, before remembering his brother.

"Sam? Sam!" He holstered the gun and scrambled to his side.

Sam jolted awake, coughing and choking. Dean rolled him onto his side, not sure what the hell was going on but glad to have his brother back. Sam spit blood and groaned.

"Dean? What happened?"

"You got your ass kicked by a bunch of leviathans."

"No, I…I got that bit. How'd you get rid of the reaper?"

"Reaper? What're you talking about?"

"I was dying. No…I was dead." He turned his head, looking suspiciously at the car. "Did you zap me with jumper cables?"

"No, I gave you CPR. Broke some ribs, by the way. That dragon thing zapped you—must've been trying to cook you. I've never heard of a dragon that shoots lightning."

Sam coughed again. "I think it restarted my heart." He sat up, regretting it instantly as pain swept through his chest. "Jeez, Dean, you know you don't have to break 'em for it to work, right?"

"Hey, are you alive or not?" Dean snapped. "Come on, we need to get out of here before it comes back."

It took more effort than expected to get Sam into the car. The lightning strike had energized him, but his body was still half-dead, and any sort of locomotion was really beyond his grasp. Dean had spent too much energy carrying him out and giving him CPR; now, his arms were nearly useless. They shoved each other upright like a pair of drunk, stoned college students after an all-night party, taking ten minutes to do something that should have taken ten seconds. As Dean finally slid behind the wheel, he spotted headlights coming down the road ahead of them.

"Crap."

The engine roared to life, and he fumbled with the steering wheel, his shoulders and biceps burning with the effort of just keeping his arms out in front of him. He reversed back around the side of the warehouse, wincing as he slammed into a metal barrel with a loud 'bang.' The barrel toppled over and rolled noisily to the side—it was full of scrap metal, and it seemed determined to make as much noise as humanly possible.

Headlights bounced around the building, focusing squarely on their car. Dean reversed to the end of the drive, then spun the car in a cloud of tire-smoke and took off. The other vehicle was close on his tail.

Dean glanced at his brother, wondering if he was capable of using a gun; but Sam was already passed out in the passenger seat, slumped awkwardly to the side and wheezing softly. Great. He reached for his own gun, aware that he was unlikely to hit anything at this point, let alone keep hold of the trigger. He heard shots being fired behind him, and before he could think of a plan "B," an explosive 'pop' alerted him to one of the tires being blown. The car sagged to the right and veered off the road before he could even think to take his foot off the accelerator; they crashed through a barbed-wire fence before coming to a sad, gurgling halt in an old horse pasture.

Sam struggled to sit upright. "What's happening?"

"We're under attack," Dean snapped. "Looks like more of Roman's goons."

"Shit. We can't fight them like this."

"We don't have a choice. Stay here."

Dean slid out of the car and crouched behind his open door, gun in one hand and machete in the other. He knew the gun wouldn't do shit against the leviathans, but it was all he had going for him at this point.

Two men in dark suits got out of the offending car, looking relaxed and happy. They knew they'd already won, and now they could gloat over their dinner.

"Hello, Dean. I'm going to enjoy eating you." Both men sidled toward him casually, as if he were an old business partner. "I think we'll start with your brother, though. You can watch."

Dean jumped up to fire a shot, grazing the speaker's temple and splattering him in black goo. The speaker didn't even change his facial expression; he grew the tissue back, closing the wound, and mopped the side of his face with a handkerchief.

"Really, Dean?"

Dean shrugged, firing again and hitting him square in the forehead. "If I can't gank you, least I can do is piss you off," he growled. He shot the second man in the chest, then the neck.

Goon # 2 smoothed his shirt as his chest healed. "I'll get the brother out."

"Careful not to bruise the meat. Makes it bitter."

Goon # 2 began to circle around the side. "I've got Sriracha—makes everything better."

Goon #1 was almost at the rear bumper now. Dean shot him in the chest, but he barely even blinked. "Really? I've heard about it, but never tried it."

"Seriously? Oh man, you've got to try it." He pulled a small bottle out of his pocket. "Spicy Winchester—my treat."

Dean slammed his door shut and leapt at the first goon, slashing wildly with the machete. The man deflected it easily and grabbed him by the wrists, slamming him into the side of the car and smashing his hand against the metal until he dropped his weapon. Dean kicked his shin, head-butted him, and kicked his kneecap, but it had no effect other than to make him angry. He braced himself as the leviathan opened its freakish mouth full of razor-sharp teeth—

Black goo spurted from its neck, splattering Dean's face and clothes. It collapsed, still holding onto Dean's wrists, and he was forced to drop with it. The dragon from the warehouse was on top of the leviathan, its jaws clamped around its neck. It shook the man's body, and finally he let go of Dean; Dean heard his neck snap. It laid one clawed foot on top of the man, then snapped its head up, ripping the leviathan's head from its body. It tossed the head into the air, caught it in its teeth, and crushed the skull with a 'crack' as loud as a gunshot. Then it spat it out, turned, and leapt over the car.

The remaining leviathan, his hand on the passenger door handle, turned to eye the dragon. "We're all monsters to them," he said. "You and I, we're on the same side! What's the point in fighting?"

The dragon roared and shot lightning at him; black goo exploded from where he was hit.

"Fine. If that's how you want it to be."

The man went full-on leviathan. His suit and skin gave way to leathery gray hide, which got bigger and bigger. He grew to the size of a two-story house, looking like what would happen if every dinosaur that ever existed were wadded up into one mega-dinosaur, but with more teeth. The head, while not massive, seemed to be made up entirely of mouth, and that mouth was filled with rows of teeth. It had spikes in places where spikes shouldn't be, including on its impossibly long tail. With one whip of its tail, the car went skidding across the field, Dean hanging onto the door handles for dear life.

The dragon charged up at the leviathan, biting at its long neck; but its teeth couldn't even break the monster's skin. It circled around in the air, dodging the thing's tail and jaws. It pumped its bat-like wings, gaining altitude, until it was high above its foe's reach; the leviathan followed it with an open mouth, snarling and gnashing its teeth together. The dragon turned and folded its wings, plummeting straight toward it; Dean was sure it was going to break off at the last second and attack, but the leviathan snapped its neck up, jaws straining, and the dragon's head disappeared into its mouth.

Then the rest of it disappeared.

The leviathan didn't swallow it whole—it just disappeared. One moment, it was neck-deep in the thing's mouth, and the next, it just wasn't there. Dean decided that, if he made it out of this alive, he was going to get in touch with a dragon expert, because none of the children's stories said anything about lightning or being able to vanish.

The leviathan turned, its mouth-head turned toward Dean and the car. Dean ran around to the passenger side and tried to haul Sam out, but he could barely stand, let alone walk. As he thought frantically about a plan "C," the monster paused in its steps.

Its midsection bulged, glowed red, and ripped apart very slowly, like an old duffel bag on its last leg. Black goo, mixed with fire, poured from it like lava. Something else was coming out of it, like in Alien but instead of the chest, it was coming out of the entire creature. The whole leviathan exploded in slow-motion, revealing another dragon—though this one was much larger than the previous one, over half the size of the leviathan—and as it stretched and unfurled its wings, it flung black goo everywhere, revealing a deep red, scaly hide. It stomped on the remaining bits of its victim, blasting them with fire, focusing on the head and neck until it was satisfied the thing was truly dead.

It turned its attention to Sam and Dean, and now Dean was really at a loss. Dragon disappears, bigger dragon reappears…Maybe it's not really a dragon then—Shapeshifter! Too bad I don't have a silver cannonball—how am I supposed to hurt this thing? He pulled at the trunk release, but the combination of fence and leviathan tail had crunched it just enough that he couldn't get it open.

"Dean!"

He snapped his head around, giving up on the trunk for now. The dragon was shrinking—in a matter of seconds, it had changed into a human. Dean couldn't make out any features from where he was in the dark, but the outline of the body was definitely human. The shifter took several steps forward, then collapsed.

"Sam, have you got—"

"In the glovebox. But Dean, I don't think we should just kill it without talking to it—he kinda helped us out there. And, uh, honestly, I'm not sure he wasn't trying to help all along."

Dean pulled a dagger and gun out of the glove box, checking to make sure the blade and bullets were silver. "I'm not gonna kill him unless he tries to kill me. Dude brought down leviathans, I want to know what his deal is before we gank him." He rolled his eyes at Sam's expression. "If we gank him."

He crept across the field, trying to side-step chunks of leviathan and the larger pools of black goo, finally arriving at the body. Minutes later, he was back at the car carrying the humanoid creature.

"So, what's the story?" Sam asked. He'd managed to get back into the passenger seat, sitting sideways with the door open.

"Well, she's a lot lighter than you," Dean said, though his muscles still ached from earlier. "Get the door for me, will you?"

Sam turned at the mention of 'she' and nearly fell out of his seat: Dean was carrying what looked like a young woman, naked but covered in black Leviathan blood. "That's—it's not a..."

Dean huffed, his arms on the verge of giving out. "Door, Sam."

Sam yanked the door open and Dean laid the body down across the back seat.

"Keep an eye on her while I get the spare out." Dean hit the trunk with a rock (mentally apologizing to his Baby) until it opened for him, then moved quickly to change their shot tire. "…But not too close an eye!" he snapped from the back of the car.

Sam laughed. "Excuse me? Are you Mr. Chivalry all of a sudden?"

"I'm just sayin', you have a history with demons, Sam. Maybe that extends to other weird shit, too."

Sam bristled. Dean was never going to let him live that down, was he? He decided to ignore his brother, focusing instead on guarding the shifter. There wasn't much he could tell about her in the dark, other than that she was definitely female and covered in a lot of leviathan goo. She was short—she could almost lie flat in the back, so just over five feet, Sam guessed—and her skin, at least where the goo wasn't, was pale. Her hair was long and she looked young…Not quite 'child' young, but she would've been carded if she went to a bar. He focused on the thick wads of goo oozing down the side of her face, like it was the most important thing in the world, because the alternative would have been staring at her breasts, and he felt a little skeezy staring at a stranger's unconscious body, even if said stranger was only a shapeshifter. It was fine in porn, because those people gave their consent to be ogled by everyone, but in person…Eh, sketchy…

Dean smacked his shoulder, snapping him to attention. "Dude, come on. She's not going to attack us with her tits. Focus."

Sam shifted around so he was facing forward, and Dean started the engine. "I wasn't—"

"Yeah, okay," Dean chuckled. "Your eyes weren't popping out of your head like a cartoon."

Sam crossed his arms, glaring at his brother. "That's not what I was staring at. I mean, I wasn't staring at anything."

"You know what I think, Sammy? Soon as we get you healed up, we are going to a bar and getting you laid. I'll even be your wingman."

Sam snorted. "No, you'll say that's what you're doing, then you'll hijack my girl."

"When have I ever—No, don't answer that. But I'm serious, Sammy, I'll do it."

"And who's going to babysit our friend while we're off duty?" He tilted his head to indicate the creature in the back seat.

Dean sighed. "You know what, Sam? Screw you."

When they reached the hotel, Dean helped Sam get inside, then went back out to grab the shifter. He glanced around the lot, thankful that they were alone—it would have looked suspicious if someone had seen him hauling a naked woman out of the back of his car. He scooped her up in his arms and dashed back to their room, whacking her head on the door frame in his haste.

"Shit!" Dean hissed.

"Aargh," the shifter mumbled, opening her eyes and rubbing her head.

Dean panicked and dropped her on the floor; she shrieked in surprise, stopping suddenly as she landed on her back, the wind knocked out of her. Thinking fast, Dean slammed the door shut and locked it, drawing the silver bullet gun as he spun back to face her. She rolled onto her side and sat up slowly; her eyes focused on Dean, then the gun, then Sam, then back to the gun. She sniffed the air, like she could smell the silver nearby. Dean kept the gun pointed at her, but several thoughts were clamoring for attention in his head.

This is weird, even for us, he thought. She killed half a dozen leviathans—why would a shifter even care about them? It's got to be working for someone. Or some thing.

Sam grabbed their first-aid kit and attempted to patch up his mangled shoulder, which was made more unpleasant thanks to the ribs Dean had broken. Dean knew he should be helping him, but he didn't dare take the gun off the girl for a second. Whatever she was, she'd just shifted into real live dragons—multiple types of dragons—and there was really nothing, as far as he could tell, stopping her from killing him and his brother.

Right, he thought. Time to interrogate a naked chick. Jesus-why is she still naked? Can't we fix that somehow? It's damn hard to think with all that skin in the room.

"Hey, uh—you got a name?"

The shifter looked up at him and rubbed her head where he'd banged it into the doorway a moment ago. She seemed concerned about the gun, but not nearly as concerned as Dean was about whatever she could do back to him. "Ash," she said.

In his peripheral vision, Dean saw Sam lean back in bed. He looked paler than usual, and maybe a little grey around the edges. He wasn't going to be much help tonight. Focus on her face, he told himself. Just…Don't forget that the rest of her can grow claws and shit.

"Okay, Ash, here's how this is going to go. I'm going to make Sam get off his ass one more time to grab you some clothes—" Sam groaned, but got up and began to rummage through their bags—"Then we're going to sit down at the table like normal people, and have a chat. If you don't like that plan, I've got a full clip of silver bullets with your name on them. Capische?"

Ash nodded. That was all—no biting retort, no baring of teeth, macho posturing, no laughing or spitting in his face. It was downright unsettling—Dean wondered if he'd finally hit his head one too many times, and was now hallucinating shape-changing dragons. This one must be playing the long game, he thought, trying to get us to let our guards down before she strikes. Good luck with that, doll.

Sam dug up a t-shirt and a pair of workout shorts and tossed them to the girl. She looked at them for a moment, like she had to remember how they worked, but then slid them on quickly. Dean motioned for her to sit down at the table, which she did, keeping her eyes on him as she moved. Dean sat down across from her as Sam laid back down. He set the gun down on the table, his hand resting next to it.

"So…Why were you attacking leviathans? I've never seen another monster mess with them."

Ash narrowed her eyes. "You'd prefer I let them harvest you all like cattle instead?"

Dean blinked. "No, I didn't mean…Alright, so you want them gone, and so do we; that doesn't mean we're on the same side. Listen, if there's one thing I've learned from a lifetime of hunting, it's this: It's the two of us" he gestured to Sam and himself "versus all of you creepy-crawlies. None of you are on our side, I guarantee it." He leaned forward. "So, who're you working for?"

Ash hesitated, her eyes fixed on the gun.

Dean sighed and pulled the silver knife from his belt. "Okay, I'm sick of this 'good cop' bullshit." He stood so fast he knocked his chair over, darting forward and grabbing the girl's wrist. To be honest, he wanted to get a reaction out of her—the whole 'damsel in distress' act was killing him. A normal shape-shifter, or whatever she was, should be grinning maniacally, taunting them, anything; they were a cocky bunch of bastards that could rip a man's arms off with their bare hands. He knew he was exhausted: he'd been up for the past 48 hours, barely had a thing in his stomach besides whiskey and beer, and pushed himself too far physically as far as his arms were concerned. But he'd rather fight a monster any day over playing a fucking mind game with one. He just needed her to snap, and he'd be back in familiar territory.

The girl froze.

Someone banged on the door, startling everyone inside.

"POLICE! OPEN UP!"

Dean glanced over to Sam, who had rolled onto his side but was pretty well out of it. He'd taken all the good drugs in their arsenal.

"Shit." Dean let go of the shifter, grabbed the gun, and shoved both weapons into his pants. He did a quick scan of the room for other weapons, throwing an old shirt over Sam's gun, and cracked the door open. "Evening, officers. Can I help you?"

They presented their badges, which looked legit. "We need to inspect your room, sir," one of them said.

"Uh…Yeah, come in," Dean said, knowing they were coming in one way or another. Leviathans? He wondered. They had a few gallons of Borax fluid back by the bathroom, and two machetes in the duffel bag by the door, but there were three officers and one of him, now that Sam was down for the count. The shifter might try fighting them again, but she'd passed out after her last transformation, so she was likely running on fumes, too.

A tall, muscular cop spotted Ash. "Yeah, that's her. Frank, Rob, you handle the boys. The one that answered the door, he's the one that brought her in."

Dean was ushered over to sit on the edge of Sam's bed; Sam was awake, but barely coherent. He'd lost a lot of blood and would need, at the very least, an IV drip when all this was taken care of. Dean glanced toward the jugs of cleaning fluid, only…What? Fifteen feet away? He could roll off the bed, grab one, tear off the lid…

"So, what have you boys been up to this evening? Partying hard?" Officer Frank said, pulling his attention back.

"Oh. Uh…Yeah, a little too hard in his case," he grinned, nudging Sam's leg. Sam groaned in response.

Ash's cop settled into the seat across from her. "Miss, are you here of your own free will?"

Ash glanced over to where the other cops were talking to Dean. "Um…Yes? I mean, what? I'm sorry, I…" She pressed her hand to her forehead. "I had a few drinks, I'm not really thinking…Straight…"

"We received a call regarding a possible abduction, Miss. Someone says they saw a man of his description"-he poked his thumb over his shoulder toward Dean-"carrying an unconscious naked woman of your description out of the back of a car and bringing her into this room. Do you know these men?"

You're going to run into the Winchesters. You can be honest with them, though they won't trust you. And take care of them—they're idiots. Got a damn revolving door for them in heaven and Hell, can't keep the damn things from dying. But try.

"I…Yes, of course I know them. We were…We're in town visiting one of Sam's college friends—he's the one lying down—and things got a little crazy. I don't normally drink, I'm a total lightweight, but they had these amazing mango margaritas…" She tried to focus on what Dean was telling the other cops, but she couldn't listen and talk at the same time, and her officer was studying her closely, like he thought she'd really been abducted and now felt the need to defend her abductors. Okay, so technically she had been abducted and was defending her abductors, but it's what He would want her to do… "So I guess I started taking my clothes off, and that's when Dean decided I'd had enough—he's the one your other officers are talking to, he's…" she hesitated. What is the least weird thing he could be? "My boyfriend," she decided. "He brought me back to the car—not sure where my clothes ended up—and I passed right out. Woke up back here, threw up, and I feel loads better. Still a little wonky though, you know? And…Embarrassed, that his brother and all his friends saw me dancing around naked…And, apparently, someone else in the hotel." She looked down at her hands, trying to look ashamed with herself.

"Ah?" the cop replied, looking slightly confused. "Right. And you…You just have the one room?"

Ash looked up at him. "Yes. Why?"

"Well, isn't it…Awkward…Sharing a room with your boyfriend's brother?"

"Oh! No, um…" She blushed. "We've got a system. And he's a very heavy sleeper."

The cop raised his eyebrows, then started to laugh. "The old 'sock on the door trick' still works, eh?"

Ash had no idea what that meant, but she smiled since the officer was smiling.

"Well, I'm sorry to have intruded on your evening." He stood up and motioned to his co-workers.

"No problem at all, officer," Ash smiled. "That…Would have looked very suspicious, I'm sure. Bringing a naked girl back to a cheap hotel…Could have walked in on a much different story, right?"

All three officers were now glaring at Dean. "Yeah…All too often, kid. Anyway, have a pleasant evening."

The police left in a flurry of grunts and glares. Dean locked the door behind them and turned to the shifter, who was still sitting at the table. He pulled the gun out again, keeping it aimed at the floor. She looked even paler than earlier, though she seemed just as relieved as he was that the cops were gone.

"Thought the Levis had found us," Dean mumbled. He moved toward her slowly, like a handler approaching a snake.

"They weren't leviathans. I can smell the difference."

"Oh? That's handy. You know what else is handy? That Sam and I weren't just arrested for abducting you."

Ash snorted. "Is that what you wanted me to tell them? You wanted to go to jail?"

"Of course not! But you'd be free then. Isn't that…Look, I'm holding you at gunpoint! With silver bullets! You should be trying to escape! You should be trying to kill us!"

She sighed. "I'm here to kill leviathans, not humans."

"So get us locked up and then go be free. Now you're stuck here with us. What kind of game plan is that?"

"Stop giving her pointers, Dean," Sam mumbled from the bed.

"No, I want to know what kind of game you're playing." He raised the gun to point directly at her. "And why you won't fight back!"

"Crowley," she snapped.

Dean froze. "What?"

"I'm working for Crowley. He sent me here to take out the leviathans, and said I had to help you if I found you."

There was a loud thump as Sam fell out of bed. "I'm okay!"

Dean took another step toward her. "Crowley sent you here to help us? Crowley doesn't help anybody but himself."

"He wants the leviathans gone. He can't stick his demons on them, it'll cause an all-out war he's not sure he'll win. You guys know what they're doing, and how to kill them. He just…Thinks you need help."

Sam weaved drunkenly across the room to them and collapsed in the other chair.

"Sam, go lie down! I've got this."

Sam grabbed his shoulder and winced. "I think I opened it back up when I fell…"

Dean glanced from Sam to Ash. She sniffed the air again, like a dog.

"Yes," she confirmed, "you're bleeding again."

"Shit." Dean glared at Ash in what he hoped was a threatening manner. "Stay."

He stuck the gun back in his waistband, then dragged Sam back to bed and redressed his shoulder. He hooked him up to an IV bag, passing the time by arguing with him about Crowley. There was no right answer, but it seemed inevitable that they would be cooperating with him. They both needed the leviathans out of the picture, and, as hard as it was to admit, they could use all the help they could get. True, one shifter wasn't much of an advantage, but she did have an aptitude for killing. That could be a pro or a con, depending on who she was trying to kill…

As Dean hooked the IV bag onto a light fixture over the bed, he heard a soft thump from the kitchenette. He snapped his head up and drew his gun, cursing under his breath: The girl had disappeared. He darted over to the table, steeling himself for a fight, but he needn't have bothered: She had fallen off her chair and was passed out on the floor.

"What is it?" Sam called over, trying to sit up.

"She's out cold. Again." He slid her over to the wall and hauled her into a seated position, then grabbed a glass of water and flicked some of it onto her face. "Come on, Toothless, rise and shine."

Ash groaned, wiping the water from her face. She opened her eyes slowly, gradually focusing on Dean. He pressed the glass into her hand.

"Drink."

She sniffed the water, then took a tentative sip. Satisfied that it wasn't anything dangerous, she drank the rest of it quickly.

"Better?"

She nodded.

"Right. Here's the plan: I'm fuckin' exhausted, and so's Sam. I can't trust you, and I can't stay up 72 hours straight to keep an eye on you. So here's what we're gonna do: I'm going to cuff you to that bed"—he gestured to the empty bed—"with these." He held out a pair of handcuffs. "They're made from a silver alloy. They'll sting a little, but there's not enough silver in them to really hurt you—just enough to stop you from shifting out of them. We all get to sleep, and everybody's happy. That work for you?"

Ash stared at the handcuffs, her head still fuzzy. "Um." She looked up at Dean: He looked tough and intimidating, but his eyes were tired. He's not doing this to be mean, she told herself. He's doing what he thinks he has to do to protect himself and his brother. "Fine."

That seemed to surprise him, but he looked relieved. "Great." He stood and grabbed her hand, hauling her to her feet. She swayed, her vision filling with light; she shook her head, blinking to clear her eyes, and let Dean lead her over to the bed.

He retrieved the cuffs, motioning for Ash to hold out her hand. He snapped one end shut over her wrist, and she winced at the sensation of silver alloy against her skin. It didn't burn like pure silver, but it was still unpleasant, like her hand was being held in the middle of a hot oven. Her skin started to turn red, like a sunburn, and peel around the edges of the cuff. She grunted in surprise and gritted her teeth.

Dean touched the red patch on the back of her wrist experimentally. Her skin turned white when he removed his fingers, then back to red as his fingerprint faded, just like a regular sunburn. "You good?"

He was having a lot of conflicting thoughts that he didn't appreciate. When he'd used the cuffs before, it was on a real ass of a shifter, a guy who'd slaughtered over a dozen children, four mothers, and one police officer before they caught him—just for the hell of it. It was all a sick game to him, and Dean had wanted to drive a silver knife through his heart more than anything. But he'd been playing his game against two other shifters, looking to see who could score the most kills without getting caught, and the other two had still been at large when they caught this one. He'd held him for questioning, and when he'd slapped the cuffs on him then he'd taken joy in the superficial pain they'd caused him. But this girl…He wasn't so sure. He knew shifters were evil, and if she really was working for Crowley then surely that made her doubly evil; but right now she was weak, clearly no threat to either him or Sam, and she'd been…Fairly cooperative, he had to admit. Was he really going to hurt her just because he could, because he knew that eventually she would turn on them, and he might as well get the first punch in while he could? He'd always taken pride in being better than the shit he hunted—he maintained the moral high ground by maintaining a certain amount of ethics. The bad guys, they shot first, killed for pleasure and asked questions later; but the good guys, like him, asked questions first and shot later. Granted, it was a lot of effort and sometimes resulted in death, but that was the price for being good. It's what separated the humans from the demons, and God knew he needed to maintain a shred of humanity.

All that was to say, he wasn't sure how he felt about putting the cuffs on Ash when she hadn't, technically speaking, done anything evil yet apart from existing. God, he was tired.

Ash nodded. Dean hooked the other end of the cuffs to one of the metal rails on the headboard, double-checking that both ends were secured. He moved across to Sam's bed, motioning for him to scoot over a little so he could lie down next to him, and switched off the lights. Ash maneuvered so that she was curled up under the covers, her restrained arm under her pillow. The metal itched like hell, but she was so tired, she felt like she could sleep through anything right now. She eyed Dean warily, who was eyeing her warily. Not keen to engage in an all-night staring contest, Ash tilted her head slightly to break her gaze. Overall, meeting the Winchesters had gone…Rather well, she supposed, in the sense that she hadn't been shot at or stabbed. And they hadn't turned down her offer to help. Maybe, apart from the blatant speciesism, paranoia, and violence, these humans wouldn't turn out to be so bad after all.