I don't own Supernatural. Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

Monster Hospital, Book Three: Werewolves.
Chapter Three: Holy Furball, Batman!

When consciousness returned, the first thing Asher realized was that she was at the bottom of some pile of warm squishy things that soon revealed themselves to be bodies and that she was very uncomfortable. She was lying on her side, her legs draped over someone's chest and her head pillowed in the crook of someone's neck while the rest of her was pressed against the worn wood of the floor; her hand could touch the edge of a blanket, but someone had obviously rolled themselves in it, stealing all the comfort it could possibly offer. There were bodies pressed close to either side of her, a hand on her back, and what felt like a face pressed into her thigh.

Panic started to course through her, her wolf rising with it. She couldn't remember why she was there, how she had gotten there, or where she was. She couldn't understand why Amelia wasn't around and why she was surrounded by unfamiliar smells. Because she didn't want to change in the middle of the pile of people, Asher closed her eyes again and took several long, deep breaths to calm herself down. She thought of Sam and Amelia and Dean, thought of hunting and of driving and of going home to Austin's house.

When the wolf began to recede and she could breathe without the danger of hyperventilating, she began to manoeuvre out of the living cave; she was starting to feel claustrophobic. As she wiggled out of the pile, Asher realized all the people stunk of werewolf. She'd never seen so many of her brethren in the same place at the same time.

Suddenly a little lightheaded, she dropped to a crouch and rolled back to sit on her heels, back pressed against the wall, arms wrapped around her knees and eyes glued to the pile of bodies in front of her; the fact that she was naked didn't do anything to help to keep her calm. Her limbs didn't function quite properly either, something that happened when she spent any length of time in her wolf form. She fought to remain conscious and upright as she tried to piece her memory back together.

The last thing she could vividly remember was Amelia bringing the silver chains into the motel room from the truck, preparing to chain her to the bed so she wouldn't escape and kill anyone. She remembered have a mental argument with her wolf, convincing her that she had to remain inside. Everything after that consisted only of flashes, noises and colours and she couldn't force her memory to bring anything else to the forefront. Memory losses happen when you spend time as a wolf too, she told herself. Use your nose and see if any of the wolf's memories are jogged. Asher agreed with herself, so she closed her eyes, called up the wolfish senses that would enhance her own and sucked in a deep breath through her nose, letting the myriad of scents run through the catalogue in her mind.

Beneath the scent of the various wolves—twelve others in total, all with their own distinct scents overlying the smell of wolf and nature—her nose picked up corn nearly ready for harvest, oiled metal, wet grass, horses and cattle and hay. She opened her eyes—the deep blue having lightened to nearly white—and growled slightly, the noise rumbling in her throat. The wolf was rising to the surface. Some of the flashes had evolved into more comprehensible visions, bolstered by the unique scents of all the wolves, and Asher did not like what she saw, what she remembered.

Attacking Amelia, lapping blood from a freshly killed man, tearing meat from white bones, rolling in the blood, relishing in the freedom she finally had; running with the pack, fighting for food, tearing a chunk out of another wolf's neck, fighting for a higher place in the group—blood and meat sliding down her throat...

Asher barely made it to the bathroom before she threw up.

Not because she was repulsed by what she had done, but because she liked the remembered taste of blood and meat.

When she was able to stand up again, her throat burned and her eyes were still watering, but they had returned to their normal deep blue and the wolf had slid back into the dark place where she lived twenty-seven days out of the month.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror and saw that she was covered in dried blood; her tan skin was tight with it and her black hair matted in thick clumps and sticking up in every direction around her head. Her skin was also decorated with deep purple bruises that she knew would soon fade, but the sight of herself beat up made her uneasy. She smelled of wolf, of outdoors and of blood. Her stomach flipped again, but there was nothing else to expel. Unwilling to heave dryly and put herself through more pain, Asher dropped onto the white tiles of the bathroom floor and put her head in her hands, wishing with all she could that Dean was there because he would know what to do and he, probably more than anyone else, would have some idea of what the hell was going on. She wanted Dean there because he would make her feel better, make her feel safe, even from herself. Against her will, tears started streaming down her face, cutting paths in the brownish blood on her cheeks.

"You didn't seem so upset yesterday," a deep, rough voice said from her left.

His voice reached her ears and his scent reached her nose and suddenly, she knew who the man was. He was the Alpha, the wolf in control of the others, the one who had called her away from Amelia, the one who had forced her to change. He had gathered this pack together, made them run, made them kill. He was forcing them all to embrace their animal sides, turning them away from their humanity. With his scent, the memory of a big, grey wolf revelling in the kill, raising his mouth and howling, a cry joined by the others.

Asher knew she was out of place with this group, a group of people who enjoyed hunting and killing anyone and anything. Asher hunted and killed, but only the supernatural beings that threatened the innocents; she was not a murder.

Knowing full well that she was much weaker than the Alpha—she wasn't anywhere near an Alpha level of strength and she didn't spend enough time as a wolf to have the control that he did—and that she was completely vulnerable and unarmed, Asher still lunged towards him, hands braced like claws, ready to dig into the soft skin beneath his clothes and tear him apart.

She got within a foot of him and then she couldn't move.

"Uh uh, my little wolf. I can control you, remember?" he sneered; Asher wasn't sure if he was talking to her or her wolf. His scarred face split into a savage grin, revealing slightly pointed yellow teeth. Clearly he spent a lot of time transformed. "You wouldn't be in this situation if you spent more time as a wolf. She is an angry beast and you should really let her out more. I don't have control over strong wolves. Just pups." The black eyes set far back in his face lightened to yellow as they slid down her immobile body, taking in her silver-induced scars with nearly clinical interest and leering at everything else. "Chaining yourself up won't keep her quiet forever, little one. The longer you keep her contained, the bigger the rift becomes between you. She's going to rip your sweet ass apart."

Asher growled loudly and pressed against the invisible barrier. "I'm a hunter, you freak!" she barked.

The Alpha's thick eyebrows rose and then he threw back his head and laughed. "A hunter and a werewolf? How did you manage that?"

His amusement seemed to distract him and he dropped whatever control he had on Asher. She stumbled forward a step, but took the opportunity for what it was—she ran. It took only a split second for the Alpha and his wolves to realize she was moving—and there were a few other wolves awake now, a snarling mass of supernaturally enhanced flesh—and to start chasing her.

Asher pushed herself as fast as she could through the halls, her bare feet eating up the distance to the front of the house, the door and escape. Not wanting to take the time to fumble with the doorknob, she raised her arms, preparing to leap through the glass of the window, but something solid hit her, taking her to the floor, her head bouncing hard on the wood planks and bright stars dancing across her vision. Before she had time to recover however, the Alpha's rough face appeared in her vision, that savage grin on his face. He seized her around the waist and tossed her over one shoulder in a fireman's carry, one of his big, calloused hands freely groping her ass, even as she struggled.

"You aren't going anywhere, little wolf."

Asher then did something very un-Asherlike and resigned. She draped herself over the wide shoulder of the Alpha and let him grab her ass while she concentrated on finding a way out of this mess.

The Alpha carried her up a rather rickety set of stairs and down a narrow hall. At the end of the hall, they entered what appeared to be, from the backwards view Asher had of it, a very large bedroom; her insides squirmed as she thought of all the reasons he might have dragged her to a private bedroom for. Unlike the rest of the house, there were no wolves here. Alpha tossed her none-too-ceremoniously onto the bed and sat down on the end of it, but he didn't stop her from scrambling backwards to huddle against the pillows at the headboard.

She didn't like retreating from the Alpha, but without her weapons and without any real familiarity with her wolf, she would stand no chance in a fight—he would crush her. But that didn't mean she wouldn't fight if he tried to rape her. Or beat her. Asher would rather die than let someone get that control over her.

"You will have to complete your transformation sometime," Alpha growled.

"I don't want to."

"Then why are you still alive?" The tone of Alpha's voice had changed from someone in charge, controlling and demanding, to someone curious and seeking answers. Clearly he felt comfortable pursing his curiosity when he felt there was no way Asher could get away.

Asher, feeling the immediate danger may have been lessened for the moment, settled into the pillows, pulling one into her lap; there was a brownish dust powdering the sheets around her as the blood flaked from her skin, but she tried not to give them too much thought. The Alpha knew she was bloody. He wouldn't have dropped her on his white sheets if he cared that much. Why would a werewolf have white sheets? she wondered idly. "I don't want to die," she answered simply. "I found a way to keep from changing so I can continue to hunt monsters." Like you, she added in her head. She was surprised at her own restraint. If she had been talking to Dean, nothing would have been held back. Then again, she could take Dean in a fight and she wasn't worried about him hurting her.

"But why hasn't your wolf torn you apart?"

"I won't let her."

"How have you not been hunted yourself?"

"I have been. And I will be again." She bared her teeth at the Alpha when he turned to look at her, the gesture of aggression rapidly turning into a devious grin. Her restraint did have a limit, after all. "My sister will already be looking for me and, if she's half the hunter I know she is, she'll have called the Winchesters."

The name had the effect Asher had hoped for: the Alpha reared off the bed, growling. However, it also had an effect she did not anticipate: he leapt forward and slapped her hard across the face. He then grabbed her around the throat and hoisted her into the air, face darkening to purple in a matter of seconds. Alpha glared at her with yellow eyes and then tossed her on the floor with enough force to send her skidding across the floorboards to smash into the wall even as she choked down gulps of fresh air. The drywall opened up around her and Asher found herself slightly dazed and half in what she assumed would have been used as a storage space if there was a door—well, there's one now.

Thinking pretty fast for someone just having been chucked through a wall, Asher wedged herself into the space and tried to ignore the cobwebs sticking to her skin. She hated cobwebs.

"Get out here, you little bitch!" Alpha snarled. "Tell me where the Winchesters are!"

"I don't know," she snapped. "But they'll come for me."

There was a bass grumble and he smashed his fist into the wall above Asher's head. "It's been three days! Why haven't they come for you yet? They're not coming for you!"

Don't listen. Dean will come for you. Asher withheld the whimper she wanted to voice and pressed herself farther into the hole. Dean and Amelia and Sam will come and get you, but you still have to fight. She kept her eyes opened and tried to find a way to fight back, even as Alpha began to pursue her.

His big hands tore drywall from the edges of the hole, making it larger and although Asher doubted he could ever make it big enough to admit his bulk, he could make it big enough to drag her out. Doing her best to keep her panic at bay, Asher pressed herself as far away from the hole as she could get, but it wasn't very far. She hadn't come up with anything to fight back with yet. She had no ideas. Alpha managed to get his head and one shoulder into the hole and reached forward to grab Asher's ankle. She growled and kicked at his hand, but his claw-like fingernails dug into her skin and pulled her towards him, her skin picking up splinters and probably several new bruises.

When she was free of the wall, the Alpha pulled her roughly off her feet, her toes dangling a few inches above the floor and her arms bruising where he held her. She growled and tried to struggle, but found that, except for her legs, she couldn't, and when she tried to kick him in the nuts, he tossed her clear across the room, into the wall above the bed. Her head landed against the metal headboard in a blow that would have knocked someone without supernatural blood unconscious. As it was, her head lolled and a pool of blood spread across the white comforter beneath her, but the Alpha werewolf wasn't done with her yet.

Downstairs, the werewolves were getting into the swing of their daily, or rather, nightly routines, completely ignoring the fact that there was a new wolf in the midst, knowing the Alpha still had to break her. There were verbal fights going on over the meagre supply of food in the house, physical fights for fun and practice in the yard, and a patrol of three wolves in their animal forms roaming the perimeter of their Alpha's farm, making sure no errant humans or inquiring hunters were in danger of getting too close. There were loud discussions of who would hunt and where, cries for fresh meat, cries for human meat and bids for mating rights with the few females living on the farm. There was so much noise that the screams from upstairs went unnoticed, and even if they had been heard, no one would have paid them any mind.

In a den of werewolves, a few blood-curdling screams were normal.

They had all been broken at one point or another. The blood-curdling screams would stop when the new one submitted and let her wolf take over. All the farm's wolves enjoyed being animalistic. Everyone did eventually.

Even when Alpha came down the stairs a while later, bleeding from several wounds and sporting a brilliant bruise along the right side of his face and jaw and favouring his left leg, no one paid any attention to the wounds, only giving pause in their activities to expose their necks to their leader as he passed, declaring their submission to the big wolf.

Author's Note.

So this chapter is very unhappy. I'm not telling you exactly what happened with Asher at the break there. I'll let your imagination run wild. I really like this book so far, so I hope I can keep it going.

I hope you enjoy it too.

Next Chapter: Tracking.