Author's Note: I forgot to mention that I realize the language is a bit odd, but this story is set in a specific time in the future where the speech is a mite different than the present.
Also, all the Winchesters will make an appearance eventually, so be patient.
This is not a "Mary Sue", even though I personally hate the term. So don't run away just because there's an OFC.
Reviews are appreciated and do help to get chapters out sooner, but thank you to those of you who have this story on alert.

Passage #2 - Glycerine

Now you're here, now you're away,
I don't want this, remember that,
I'll never forget where you're at,
Don't let the days go by
Bush, "Glycerine"

He waits tenaciously in the alleyway behind 1984 the next night. The spell he cast last night wasn't enough to make her completely forget about what happened, but that's what he wanted. He wanted her to recall everything – know what he can do to her. His intentions are specifically to let her live in fear about what he might do next, but he's incredibly disheartened when he can't smell her trepidation. Maybe she was speaking the total truth concerning her death wish.

Since his Dark Conception, he's ignored his adeptness to hear the thoughts and feelings of humans. He's a murderer and perceives no remorse for doing so, but mind-reading has never found a place in him. A person's thoughts are their own, unlike their blood.

All at once, his senses are swelled with her fragrance of shampoo, her chewing gum and sweat from working all night. She's close, but so far away. The mixture of odors mingles with the stench of brick, which he's leaning against, and drywall. He languidly turns around to face the fortification and he inhales fervently, closing his eyes. She's got to be standing against the other side of the wall. He lifts his hand and hesitates a split second before flattening his palm on the brickwork. Static electricity stings the pads of his fingers as he glides his hand along the wall in the shape of her body.

He begins to open his mind to the commotion of jumbled thoughts around him, sifting through them as he tries to find the important ones – the ones belonging to Bella Teague. He recognizes her voice immediately with its sweet innocence and sultry tone. Her thoughts confirm that she is positioned right against the wall and she knows he's on the other side of it. He retracts his hand instantly, shaking it free of the tingling ardor residing in his dry skin.

His nerves have been rattled for the first time in almost a century and he's unsure how to treat such an emotion. Does he even remember what real emotions are?

He sniffs her on the air again, but it's substantially stronger than before. He stands firm to face the end of the alleyway where the scent seems to originate from as opposed to directly through the wall and he hears the door to 1984 open and close. His fingers feel as though they've fallen asleep, joining the buckling of his knees and the uselessness of his arms. He's suddenly deadweight while he watches Bella Teague approach him. He licks his lips, realizing what his symptoms have in store for him, but also that he has more power of her. It's her scent and the mere glimpse of her azure eyes that create his momentary disorientation. Just like her mother. Just like her grandmother.

"You're everywhere," she murmurs, slowing her pace, cracking her knuckles as her hands hang at her sides. "In my dreams, in my nightmares, in my daydreams … in my mirrors."

His mouth goes dry and he blinks every few seconds. He didn't expect it to ever happen; he didn't expect to ever feel it. Up until now, he's always thought it was just lie – a story – sent down from generations upon generations of vampires and their companions.

"But every time I turn around," she continues, "You're not there." She stops walking and ends up only a few inches from him. "I feel you everywhere." She dares one more step forward. "If you're going to do this, please don't drag it out."

"And what is this?" he retorts, stepping forward as well, touching the toe of her black boot with his own.

She exhales exhaustion and closes her eyes, causing him to smirk in satisfaction. "It's like you're inside of me …"

He leans down, his lips brushing hers and breathes, "Not yet … not yet." His tongue snakes out of his mouth, sliding across her dehydrated lips, and his jeans tighten as his cock hardens from even the simplest of stimulation.

"Don't leave me here," she begs, licking her lips.

"One of these days, you'll be mine," he says, "And that … will be a sad day."

He backtracks slowly, quickly picking up his pace, as he leaves her standing there – eyes closed and body warmed with arousal.

He almost gave into temptation tonight, but she isn't ready. If he takes her before she's ready, the consequences could be great.