Three weeks before, night had fallen and hit Dean Winchester like a ton of bricks, each and every one of them made out of shit. Starting badly upon his emergence from the sleep of the undead he smacked his head painfully on a box spring no less. Just how drunk had he been the night before, he wondered, to end up sleeping under a bed instead of on it?
He slid out from under the large queen size bed and stood up. He didn't recognize the bed or even the room for that matter. Its decor was too eclectic and too personalized to be a motel room and, although clean, it looked like the fashion police had busted in the door and had taken no prisoners.
Clothes were pulled out of the dresser drawers and the small closet and were strewn everywhere. Picking through a random pile Dean lifted up the sheerest, sexiest, black bra he'd ever seen and pressed it to his face. He inhaled deeply. It smelled of her, Allison Whitehall, and of him. His cologne, her perfume, his blood mixed with hers and suddenly he remembered it all and his head swam as he sat down on the bed.
When the shock subsided a little he looked around and wondered where the hell "his maker" had gone. Back to the bar? Back to her job? And as stupid as the idea seemed he felt it was exactly what Allison had done. She'd gone back home, to the only family she had, and he was determined to follow her, to stop her from doing something she would regret and that would reveal them both to the fine folks of Coos Bay, Oregon.
Stopping to pick up his jacket and his car keys, which he had laid on the kitchen table the night before, he felt his stomach cramp with a sudden and overwhelming hunger. He opened the refrigerator door and found only a solitary can of beer which he grabbed and chugged down without thinking.
He crushed the can with inordinate strength but before he could lob it into the recycle bin for two points he grabbed his midsection and the entire contents came back up with a vengeance and covered the white porcelain of the sink with blood tinged, frothy foam. Pain sliced through him again as his hunger grew and his stomach continued to rebel.
Dizzy, his body growing weaker by the minute, he bolted out the door and down the stairs of the apartment complex. Looking around in the darkness for someone, anyone, he found the parking lot empty and stumbled to the Impala. He caught the flash of something out of the corner of his eye and Mrs. Henderson's cat Fluffy joined the rash of pets, both cats and dogs, that had recently gone missing in the area.
Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand he almost threw up a second time and wondered fleetingly how his father would feel about his son sucking a cat dry? Disappointed for sure and pretty pissed off when he found out how Dean had mishandled the situation. How he'd gotten cocky and let down his guard and how, just maybe, he hadn't really been ready to hunt on his own.
As the nausea passed Dean became filled with rage and his hands gripped the Impala's steering wheel tightly until the feeling subsided. He figured there was no use crying over spilled blood and he started the car and headed downtown to Saints and Sinners, his connection to Allison Whitehall growing stronger with each passing mile.
Stopping near the alley in back of the bar he could hear her thoughts and feel her anger, her pain and her confusion. Her hunger, not partially relieved with a cat d'oeuvre, consumed her and made his connection to her both powerful and painful and he found her easily enough hiding in the shadows. "You can't go inside," he said from out of the darkness.
She turned and caught by surprise hissed like a scalded cat. For whatever reason, maybe her all consuming hunger, she hadn't heard him coming, hadn't felt him as he made his way unerringly to her and she stared at him, her face a mask of cold, hard beauty, eyes green ice, pale skin glowing against the wild tumble of coal black hair and he felt himself becoming aroused.
"Go away," she commanded.
Dean snorted disdainfully and came to stand next to her. "I will...but you need to come with me."
"Can't you feel it?" she asked and turned her eyes back to the door expectantly.
"Which one will it be do you suppose?" he asked and she turned back to look at him, at the hand he rubbed slowly down her arm, "Mary Ellen Price come on down. She has kids...they'll miss her."
Allison curled her lip contemptuously and said, "Your breath smells like cat."
His stomach heaved but he continued, "Maybe Frankie will bring out another case of dead soldiers. He thinks he's in love with you, you know."
"So?" Allison said petulantly and turned away from him wishing now that she had just killed Dean Winchester instead of turning him.
"Enough to die for you?" he whispered.
Allison was quiet for a moment, her thoughts a jumble in her head...and in his. When she turned back to him blood tears, thinner, more watery, more pink than red, ran down her alabaster face.
Dean took pity on her and slipped his knife from its sheath and putting his faith in her he threw caution to the wind and punctured his jugular vein. "It'll be okay, Ali, I promise."
He never saw her move; only felt her as she collided with him, her tongue languishing sensuously over his neck for a brief moment before her fangs sank deep into him and he felt an erotic mixture of pain and pleasure that very nearly brought him to his knees.
His blood flowed smoothly into her mouth and down her throat and Alison felt her ravenous hunger slake. His faith rewarded, she retracted her fangs and pulled her lips away. She didn't move away but continued to hold onto him as much for the comfort of his touch as for his need of her strength to keep him upright and on his feet. "It hurt so much," she started to explain.
But he knew the pain, both his and hers, and rested his forehead against hers. "It okay, Ali. We just need to get out of here and..." And what? They were vampire and not only were vampires not extinct they were two of many. With his background he felt it best to keep away from 'their kind' should they run across any and quickly searching her memories he decided the Mills' mansion was the perfect place to stay until he figured out what to do next.
SN
Worse than any motel he had ever stayed in the condition of the old mansion neither bothered him nor did the stink of rot and decay. He was just thankful for a safe haven and for the first few days he spent most of his time on the widow's walk on the roof, brooding, staring out at the blackness of the sea, listening to the breakers crash onto the boulders below.
He spent so much time on the roof that Allison started referring to him as Heathcliff or the Geico Caveman as he left it up to her to bring them the small game she ran down in the woods to help sustain them. For the most part Alison was satisfied with their symbiotic relationship that always began with the exchange of blood and ended with incredible sex. But she knew the taste of unadulterated human blood, his blood before she had turned him, and it was that which she craved and that which led her to her first kill and to their ultimate discovery.
SN
Tired of wearing the same few outfits again and again Alison had returned to her apartment late one night to fill a backpack with more clothing and as she made her way back up the beach to the cliffs on which the mansion perched she heard a couple making love. The vampire walked in the surf to hide her footfalls and watched the two of them until they were done.
The boy rolled off of the girl and onto his back, panting with his exertion. Sweat, which only she could see, glistening on his body and she suddenly found she couldn't resist him. His blood was so sweet, so warm and flowed so strongly from his ruptured aorta that it ran from her glutted mouth, down her chin and onto her clothing and when the girl opened her eyes and saw it all, she screamed so loudly and for so long that Allison, a preternatural light shining in her eyes, grabbed her by the neck intent on shutting her up by either drinking her dry or twisting her head around to break her neck.
But before Alison could finish the deed, pain shot up her arm as Dean Winchester twisted it snapping her wrist and when she finally released her grip on the girl he backhanded her knocking her far out into the surf. Running his hands through his hair in frustration Dean was rocked back on his heels until the frightened girl, thinking he was her knight in shining armor, grabbed him in a death grip.
The girl's heart beat furiously against his, the smell of blood was rife in the air and whether it came from Allison, who had begun to swim back to shore, or from the ancient blood that flowed in his veins he felt an invisible push. An unholy light suddenly glowed in his eyes and his fangs distended unbidden and the screams that had brought him to that spot on the beach at that moment in time started again growing in intensity to a crescendo before being cut short by a quick but merciless death.
When she made it back to shore Allison found, much to her chagrin, that the boy had bled out and that the girl was equally as dead and that Dean Winchester was nowhere to be found. Fueled by copious amount of human blood Ali grabbed both bodies, one under each arm, and willed herself off of the ground. She flew far out over the open ocean and dumped them unceremoniously into the sea then returned to the mansion.
She found Dean up on the roof but instead of brooding, which would have been so much more in character with his brother Sam, Dean was instead extremely agitated but he settled quickly when she came to him. He took her by the wrist he had broken and, guiding her with a hand to her back, pulled her into his arms. He pressed her to his chest and laid his cheek on the top of her head smelling the slightest tang of seawater in her hair and sighed. "All my life I've been taught to hate creatures like vampires. To hate, hunt and destroy them," he started. He felt her stiffen and pull away slightly and laughed mirthlessly. "Don't worry Ali, I'm not gonna hurt you...or do something stupid like stay up here and watch the sunrise. I've just been having a hard time getting used to...all of this...but the girl...the blood."
Ali looked up into his face and instead of seeing blood tears she saw a feral light shining in his eyes. She cupped his cheeks with her hands and lowered his face to hers and kissed him gently. "I didn't mean to." she whispered softly.
He shushed her. "Neither did I but we are what we are and if we're gonna survive we're gonna have to learn to adapt, control our urges and take just what we need...and stay clear of hunters."
"We could just kill 'em all," she suggested and he shook his head.
"No, we can't, Allison because just like the people at the bar they're my family. But I know how they think, how they react so we have the advantage. I think we can stay one step ahead of 'em, maybe give my dad a hand once in a while."
"He'll accept you like this?" she asked pointing to where her fangs hid.
"Oh, hell no," Dean said with a laugh, "He'll make a special effort to kill me. I fucked up Ali and if he finds out he won't let it go...ever."
"Well, then we'll just have to keep it from him." She stood on her tiptoes and ran her tongue the entire length of his neck.
He grabbed her shoulders and they sank to the floor of the widow's watch where he laid her down and pushed death and it's consequences from his mind and made love to her, first as a vampire, then as a man, each way as old as human kind itself.
And now, locked in Bobby's panic room, blood sweat dripping down his face Dean thought back to that night on the rooftop, the night of his first kill and he laughed because as if steered by fate the bodies Ali had so carefully dumped at sea had drifted back to shore only a few feet from where the loving couple had been savaged.