Dean sat at one end of the couch with Mack in his lap and her head resting against his chest, legs stretched out on the sofa while looking utterly exhausted. They had been that way for well over an hour while she had quietly cried herself out, finding comfort in the soothing sensation of his warm hands slowly stroking up and down her back. When he had coaxed her into showing him just why she kept flinching his anger was damn near palpable as he took in the array of savage bites and multitude of bruises. Mack had never been one for the whole pain is pleasure mentality and Roman knew that, so what had possessed the man to make her look like a potential extra in a zombie flick?

While she had yet to say anything he had a fairly good idea what had happened last night, and as much as he longed to march over there and see how Roman would fair against someone roughly his own size now was not the time. So he simply sat there while ignoring the empty gnawing feeling of his stomach pleading for breakfast, waiting patiently for Mack to finally open up and say something.

There was something comforting in listening to the calm heartbeat of another, the steady pulse slowly lulling Mackenzie into a sense of security that she had been bereft of for hours. As the tightly wound coil of anxiety and stress began to unwind she found herself drifting, she felt so tired. Looking up she found a familiar sight whenever she came running to Dean every time she found trouble. His expression was almost completely stoic but his eyes told the story of what he was thinking; they were hard, cold. Nothing good ever came from that look and a part of her was lanced with a sudden jolt of trepidation. She knew just what he was thinking about.

"Dean..."

"Yeah?"

"Please don't go around there, I don't want him hurting you too."

He didn't reply to that, his response was to hold her a little tighter while avoiding any tender spots. How could she show up here like she had and then say that to him?

Her stomach suddenly rumbled, but her answer was to simply try and curl up into herself. As hungry as she was Mack wasn't exactly confident in any ability to actually keep anything down. A couple of moments later Dean's echoed the statement, almost as if in agreement.

"I'm going to get us some breakfast," he said quietly after a minute, "Why don't you get some rest in the meantime? I won't be gone long."

With a bit of reluctance Mack disentangled herself gingerly and fell in step behind Dean. Gesturing towards the mess of unmade covers he gently insisted she get in the bed, only half joking that trying to sleep on the couch in her current state would just be cruel and unusual punishment. It was soft, comfortable and smelled of him, calling to that ingrained sense of security that had cemented itself on a snowy day atop the tenement building they both lived in back in Cincinnati almost twenty years a go. Reaching over he plucked the corner of the blanket and pulled it across before sitting on the edge of the mattress. A third weight climbed up on the bed, tucking itself behind Mackenzie's legs and resting a furry head on her thigh.

"Excuse me, buddy, I don't recall saying you were allowed up here."

Dean looked at Loki who simply stared back, almost as if to say 'try to move me, I dare you'. Instead he decided to let it slide just this once and deal with the inevitable dog hair later. He shifted his attention back, noticing that already it looked like Mack was going to pass out.

"Any requests?" he asked, "Keep in mind that if you say 'surprise me' I'm coming back with a raw potato."

"But then it's not a surprise any more."

"This is true." He scratched at the few days worth of gold blond stubble before offering up a suggestion, "Pancakes?"

She simply nodded, not really caring one way or the other.

"Alright, pancakes it is, then." He stretched, his eyes trailing over the finger shaped bruises around her wrists, "And when I get back we're going to discuss those."

It was a tone that was firm but fair, something you didn't argue with. Satisfied he stood up, pulling out some fresh clothes from a nearby chest of draws and disappeared into the bathroom to change. When he re-emerged she was already asleep, Loki's eyes shifting in his direction but otherwise didn't move. Leaning over he ruffled the animal's ears before heading out the door, grabbing both Mack's keys and something else along the way. It was time to pay a certain someone a visit.

Something was... decidedly wrong.

Roman's eyes snapped open to find Dean staring down at him coldly, a ball bat casually gripped in his right hand as he slowly tapped the side of his leg with it.

"I fucking warned you," he growled menacingly, "That if you ever so much as laid a finger on Mack and hurt her... you and I would have serious problems."

Confusion clouded his sleep addled mind; what in the hell was Ambrose talking about? He didn't even get time to form a question before the bat swung out, narrowly missing him as he rolled out of the way and off the bed, oblivious to his own nudity. Dean swung again only to miss as Roman dodged with speed and agility a man his size shouldn't be capable of. The beast inside began to stir at not only the immediate threat but also the scent of its mate that Ambrose carried on him.

He went for a third strike, the arc clearing the top of the dresser of various nick knacks and other things to send them flying haphazardly and shatter a mirror. He kept coming, anger fuelled by rising frustration at being unable to connect. He could have easily introduced Roman's head to the bat while he was sleeping but wanted the man to know exactly why he was going to do it before castrating him and dumping what was left in the river. The slugger suddenly stopped dead, caught in Roman's outstretched hand and didn't so much as blink at the force that had been behind it. With a guttural growl he moved inhumanly fast and had Dean pinned against the wall and held him a good foot off the floor before the other man could react.

Surprise and instinct made him let go of the weapon in favour of trying to pry the vice like grip around his throat. This was insane, Dean wasn't a small man by any means but Roman held him there like he weighed nothing more than a child. A token amount of force at best.

"Where... is... she?"

"Go fuck yourself," he choked out. He had no idea why all of a sudden Roman's voice had changed or sounded like he barely had a grip on spoken language, but it was creepy as hell. He saw the same subtle yet distinct change that Mack had, the Samoan's face seemed familiar but different; his features sharper, more feral and wild, and his eyes... weren't they supposed to be grey?

The beast wanted to kill him but was hindered by something it couldn't understand, so all it could do was make its demand again while it fought with the man over this strange restraint.

"Where?"

Dean could feel something sharp pricking the back of his neck, threatening to tear straight through it as the pressure around his throat slowly increased, hindering his ability to breathe and made his effort to get out of that iron grip even more desperate.

"You think I'd ever give Mack up after what you did? Kill me and she'll disappear for good." Something warm and wet tickled it's way down the skin, his own blood he vaguely realised. It was getting harder to think as he felt consciousness begin to slip, but couldn't stop himself from goading... whatever it was Roman was becoming, "Go on, do it. I fucking dare you."

With a snarl Ambrose was suddenly launched clear across the room, his back colliding with the doors of the built in wardrobe and falling to a heap on the floor. Coughing and wheezing as he greedily gulped for air Dean slowly managed to find his feet, using the wall as support to keep himself upright. He cast a wary eye on Reigns who was now on his knees with his back to him, broad shoulders shaking in some sort of effort. What in the hell was going on?

"What did I do?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What did I do?"

There was a sense of desperation and fear in the question. He began to slowly circle his way around the room, trying his best to hide the limp from his impact into the wardrobe, until he faced Roman. He seemed normal now, or at least as normal as this strange situation was allowing.

"You decided to use Mack like a chew toy, she's got brutal looking bite marks all over her. What the fuck were you thinking?"

He hadn't bothered hiding his irate venom, Reigns would have been surprised if he had, but it paled in comparison to the assault of guilt that had just dropped on him. Absently his fingers tore long gouges through the thick carpet as the implication of Dean's statement sank in; the beast had gotten out and had staked its claim. Violently. He shut his eyes tightly against the anguish and shame at his inability to control this thing and what it had now wrought. He was supposed to love and protect his lady, not terrify and hurt her.

"You have to keep her away from me."

"Yes, Mack is really going to come running through the door any second now," Dean retorted, but the rest of the sarcastic comment died when Roman growled again before he flinched, like he was fighting for control of his own faculties. OK, perhaps antagonising the man ripping up carpet like it was wet paper and wasn't even aware he's doing it isn't the smartest of moves.

"You don't get it. Ever since we came back, since that thing bit me... I know it's going to sound crazy, but it's like there's something else trying to get out and I can't keep control. It's turning me into something else; something dangerous." Briefly he thought of the first night the beast had taken his body for a test drive and realised he hadn't even been aware of the mental shift at the time, it had taken control of him so easily, so completely. "And worse."

If Dean hadn't witnessed everything he just had, he more than likely would have thought it all an act and called bullshit on the entire thing. But that... whatever it was, it was too authentic to be faked; people's eyes don't change like that for a start. This had to be the most bizarre day in his entire life. First his best friend shows up looking the worse for wear, then he goes searching for some old testament eye for an eye only to be almost killed in the attempt by her bare ass naked boyfriend turning into... something. The question however, was what?

Roman looked past Ambrose and noticed the frenzied scratches that decorated the bedroom door and had stripped the wood of its white paint, realising that Loki must have been going absolutely berserk trying to get in. Christ, just how badly had he acted to get that sort of result from such friendly animal? Shame piled on even higher, so much so that he thought he was going to drown in it. One of the things Roman had always prided himself on how well he had treated the women in his life, but what the hell was he now?

"I'd never knowingly do anything to hurt Mackenzie. But this thing though, it wants her, and will do anything and go through anyone to keep her." Finally he focused on Ambrose, eyeing him with a sort of pleading sincerity, "Like I said, you have to keep her away from me."

As unbelievably angry as Dean still was, a certain understanding was quickly dawning on him and with it a small but growing tendril of dread. It left him speechless for a moment, which was no small feat from a man who was always ready with some quip or smart arse comment ready to go.

"If this thing is as dangerous as you say it is, you should really give some thought to getting out of the city before you hurt anyone else."

He was right, Roman knew that. He needed somewhere quiet and isolated. But where could he go?

"You'd better leave. Now."

It was all he could say. If Dean stayed here any longer he didn't know how long he could hold onto his sanity and not kill the man. For his part Ambrose got the hint, picking up his bat and wasting no time getting out of there.

No sooner had he heard the the small squeal of rubber on bitumen something exploded inside him. Confusion, anger and a few other things he couldn't quite name. Anything within reach was met with a violent reprisal as he tore through the house like a tempest. Doors were completely ripped of hinges, deep gouge marks and holes littered the walls and furniture completely decimated. By the time the irrational, indescribable rage had finally burnt itself out he was standing in the middle of the living room, shoulders heaving while he breathed deeply as abrupt exhaustion washed over him. He was so tired of fighting himself and this thing inside him; he needed Mack. He needed his mate. Collapsing into the ruined remains of the couch gave some sort of cue to his brain and his eyelids started to droop; he was so very, very tired. He'd take a few minutes then get himself together. So tired. Need rest.

Sleep.

Not quite as happy with this as I was with what I had originally had but I managed to get the main premise of it down, so it could be worse.

This would have been up sooner but I had another oh so wonderful misadventure with Open Office turning the original chapter into hashtags. Second time in about as many months it's done that, so needless to say I wasn't impressed. Does anyone use LibreOffice? If you do is it worth jumping to that instead? I really don't want to go through a third round of these weird hashtag shenanigans.