Chapter Text
One second, Dean had Roman by the throat, the slick, black leviathan goo burning his hands.
The next, the world blinked.
The heat of the lab vanished, replaced by a sudden, violent chill. What the fuck? Dean blinked against a heavy, monochromatic haze. Dean gasped, his lungs burning as they inhaled a frozen, stagnant air. He was standing in the middle of a forest, but everything about it felt wrong. It was drained of color, washed out in a sickening, perpetual twilight. The air itself tasted like ash and old blood.
"Cas?"
Castiel was standing just a few feet away. His trench coat was torn, smeared, and his posture was unnaturally stiff. He wasn't looking at Dean, he was staring into the bleak, endless expanse of jagged trees, his jaw set so tight the muscles jumped. He knew this place. Dean could see it in the angel's wide eyes - a dark, ancient recognition.
A sudden, icy prickle of goosebumps broke out across Dean's neck. The hair on his arms stood up. The shadows between the trees felt alive, shifting and heavy with a predatory malice that made his instincts scream. Someone is watching.
"Cas? Where the hell are we?" Dean asked, but his voice sounded hollow, swallowed instantly by the dead, suffocating quiet of the woods.
Castiel didn't answer. When he finally turned his head to look at Dean, a cold, leaden pit formed in the hunter's stomach. There was an expression on the angel's face that Dean had never seen in all their years together. A desperate look, of a man who had just run out of options and decided on something incredibly stupid.
Dean took a sharp step forward, reaching out instinctively to grab Cas's sleeve. He needed to touch something real. To ground them both in whatever hell this was. It will be okay as long as we are together. "Hey, look at me—"
Cas took a sudden, jerky step back, his eyes flashing with a terrible, silent apology as he slipped just out of reach.
Dean tried to stay calm. One of them at least had to.
Before Dean could demand an explanation, the unnatural silence of the forest shattered. A low, vibrating growl rumbled through the dirt, vibrating right up through the soles of their boots. Dean's head snapped around, his eyes scanning as the shadows began to detach themselves from the trees.
Then, the fog parted just enough. Pair after pair of glowing, predatory eyes ignited in the darkness. Dozens of them. A suffocating wall of yellow light, sharp teeth, and absolute hunger, closing in from every angle.
They looked like they came from some horror game rather real life.
Dean swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper, his heart beginning to hammer a frantic rhythm against his ribs. They needed to run. "Cas—"
He turned back, his hand outstretched, his fingers curling to grip the fabric of the coat. But his fingers grabbed nothing but empty, freezing air.
There was a sharp thrum, a displacement of wind, and Castiel was gone. Flown.
It hit Dean like a physical blow, stealing the remaining air from his lungs. It wasn't just that he was entirely alone in a nightmare; it was the understanding that Cas had looked right at him, weighed his chances of survival, and decided Dean wasn't worth saving. Motherfucker. A cold, suffocating weight dropped into his chest, crushing his ribs. He left me. He fucking left me here to die.
"Cas!" Dean yelled, the name tearing from his throat, raw and broken, a desperate plea disguised as anger.
The forest answered instantly with a deafening chorus of bloodcurdling, howls. The pack unleashed, throwing their massive, shadowed bodies forward in a synchronized, feral charge.
Run.
The single, command hijacked Dean's brain, overriding the paralyzing shock of the betrayal. He spun on his heel and bolted into the gray thicket. Branches whipped across his face, but the pain didn't even register.
Adrenaline surged through his veins like burning battery acid, making his vision blur at the edges. He tried desperately to map his surroundings as he ran, but the trees blurred together in a dizzying, endless loop of gray and black. A goddamn labyrinth with no exit.
Fumbling blindly at his belt, his trembling, slick fingers managed to grip the hilt of his hunting knife.
A massive, wolf-like beast lunged from his left flank, its jaws snapping close enough for Dean to feel the hot, foul breath on his forearm. Dean jinked violently to the right, throwing his entire weight into a sharp turn. The beast missed by inches, its thick claws tearing up the ash-covered dirt as it skidded past him into the brush.
Dean braced himself to change direction completely, to find a tree to climb or a rock to back into, but before he could plant his foot, a blinding, white-hot agony exploded through his lower leg.
He went down hard, the impact forcing the breath from his lungs in a ragged gasp as his face plowed into the dirt. He rolled over, his vision swimming with black spots, and saw teeth. Massive, jagged fangs were buried deep into his calf, sinking through the denim and deep into the muscle. The creature didn't just bite to hold—it began violently thrashing its massive head from side to side, a brutal, predatory motion meant to rip the muscle clean off the bone.
Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. He could actually hear the wet, tearing sound of his own tendons snapping under the pressure. 'No, no, I don't die here. I don't get eaten in the dark like fucking garbage,' a frantic, panicked voice inside his head screamed.
A raw, guttural scream tore out of Dean, a sound that didn't even belong to a man. The sheer agony nearly made his fingers loosen around his weapon, his muscles turning to water. The world began to tilt dangerously into blackness, but he still locked his grip on the hilt. With a desperate yell, he brought the knife down, plunging the blade repeatedly, blindly, into the beast's snout and eyes.
The creature yelped—a wet, choking sound as Dean's knife found bone—and released its hold, backing away with a snarl.
Dean scrambled backward on his elbows and his one good leg, dragging his useless, ruined limb through the dirt. His heart was hammering so violently against his ribs he thought it would crack them from the inside. The pain in his leg wasn't just a wound; it was a pulsing, sickening heat that felt like venom spreading upward. Poison, the frantic thought screamed in his mind. These things aren't normal wolves. Too big. Too fast. Too smart.
He dragged his back up against the gnarled trunk of a dead tree, holding the bloody knife out in front of him with both hands. His fingers were shaking uncontrollably, coated in a mixture of his own hot blood and the beast's black grime.
The pack didn't rush him now. Seeing their target crippled, they slowed to a predatory stalk, fanning out in a perfect, suffocating circle. Their teeth were bared, thick stringy saliva dripping onto the ground. They were encircling him, treating him like a cornered animal, waiting for him to bleed out enough to make the kill effortless.
Suddenly, the beasts halted, their ears twitching in unison, their aggressive growls dropping to a low, warning hiss. But Dean couldn't think. He kept backing up, pressing his spine harder into the wood, his eyes darting wildly between the dozens of glowing gazes fixed on him.
"Cas!" he shouted again into the oppressive gloom. He hated how high, how broken and desperate his voice sounded. It was the voice of a scared kid hiding in a closet, not a hardened hunter.
It was the sound of a man begging for a savior who had already turned his back and walked away.
The burning humiliation of his own weakness, of being left behind like trash, burned hotter than the physical wound in his leg. Nobody was coming. Sammy wasn't coming. Cas was gone. He was completely, utterly on his own.
One of the alpha wolves snapped its heavy jaws, taking a slow, menacing step forward. Dean flinched, instinctively throwing his weight backward to avoid the anticipated lunge—
And his heel met nothing but empty air.
The solid ground vanished beneath him.
With a breathless, choked gasp, Dean fell backward over the hidden ledge. He tumbled violently down a steep, rocky ravine, his body slamming into jagged stones and sharp roots, the bleeding gray sky spinning out of control above him as the heavy, suffocating darkness finally rushed in and swallowed him whole.
000
He must have blacked out. When he came to, the pain was already there-a savage, tearing agony that ripped his calf and back into shreds. He was flat on his back, a deafening screech ringing in his ears. His skull throbbed unmercifully, matching the heavy, frantic pulse.
Something warm, wet, and thick trickled down his forehead. Dean forced his eyelids open through the sticky crust. A broad, ragged silhouette loomed directly over him, blocking out what little pale light filtered through the trees.
'No, no, no, please, his mind screamed, a useless, childish prayer that tasted like ash on his tongue.
"So lucky... Must be my day..." a low, raspy voice grated out, smelling of decay and copper.
Dean shoved blindly at the man's chest, his palms slipping against filthy leather, but the stranger just let out a wet, breathless laugh that vibrated against Dean's own ribs.
"Don't be so feisty," he muttered, dropping his full, dead weight lower. Dean gasped as the monster deliberately ground his crotch against his hip, a heavy, unmistakable pressure.
Disgust, sharp and acidic like bile, hit him harder than the physical pain. This wasn't just a hunt gone wrong; he was being systematically dismantled. Used. Reduced to a piece of meat to be violated and discarded in the dirt. 'Get off me, get the fuck off me,' he wanted to roar, to scream until his lungs burst, but his throat was dry as sand.
He twisted his head to the side, gagging at the sheer wrongness of it, but a heavy, calloused hand clamped around his jaw.
The fingers dug in like iron, squeezing his cheeks until the flesh bruised and his teeth scraped together, drawing fresh blood inside his mouth.
"Don't you fucking dare make a sound. You don't want to draw more of them," the stranger hissed, his breath hot and putrid. "Or maybe you do?" He leaned down further, pressing his cracked, dry lips against Dean's ear, whispering filth while his lower body kept up that sickening, rhythmic friction against Dean's thigh.
Dean's heart hammered like a trapped animal against his ribs. His breath hitched, shallow, erratic, and suffocated by the stench of the monster. Gathering every single ounce of strength, he threw his hips upward, trying to break the hold. A muffled, agonizing shriek tore from his throat as the sudden movement ground the shredded meat of his calf directly into the jagged rocks and dirt below.
Their faces were inches apart now. The attacker looked young-he could have been a college kid on Earth-but his eyes were completely dead, milky with hunger. With a wet click, twin fangs slid from his upper gums, gleaming dully. He took a deep, shuddering sniff of Dean's sweating skin, drinking in the scent, then pinned the hunter's wrists brutally to the ground, crushing them against the earth.
"Shut up," he snarled, and plunged his fangs deep into Dean's neck.
Dean gasped, his lungs instantly locking up. For a second, there was nothing. Just pure, blinding white light expanding behind his eyes. 'I'm dying,' the realization flickered, cold, distant, and terrifyingly small. 'I'm going to die in the dirt like an animal.' Then, the white noise in his ears exploded into a deafening roar. It felt like liquid fire, toxic and boiling, was being poured straight into his veins. His throat burned with an unuttered scream, and hot, silent tears spilled down his cheeks.
Worse, the vampire's grinding grew frantic, fueled by the rush of the hot feed. He was fully hard now, pressing brutally, obscenely against Dean's hip, claiming every part of him.
Dean's muscles seized in a violent, uncontrollable rigor. His entire body convulsed with agony and revulsion. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He was trapped under a corpse that was taking everything from him.
He didn't know how much time has passed, he was floating between awareness and sleep. 'Cas... Cas please.' his mind turned to his only hope.
"Oh fuck, you taste so good," the vampire groaned, a wet, guttural sound. He pulled back slightly, strings of dark blood connecting them, only to drive his fangs into a fresh, unblemished spot on Dean's throat.
It didn't blind him like the last time, but still he barely stopped a whine slipping from his throat.
As the monster lost himself in the blinding high of the feeding, the crushing grip on Dean's wrists slackened. Just a fraction. The fingers didn't press as hard into the dirt.
Now. This is it. One shot. If I miss, he tears my throat out.
Fighting the heavy blackness that threatened to swallow his consciousness, Dean slowly slid his right hand down toward his hip.
Toward the only thing that could save him.
At that exact moment, the vampire shifted his weight, pinning him harder into the mud. Dean couldn't smother a ragged, broken groan. The pathetic sound only fueled the creature's arousal, making him lose his grip on Dean's arms entirely as he lost himself in the ecstasy of the kill.
Dean moved. He whipped his hand down, his fingers locking around the familiar, cold grip of the silver-bladed machete at his belt.
He didn't hesitate. With a final, desperate burst of adrenaline, he drove the blade upward, burying it deep into the monster's flank.
He gritted his teeth, a feral snarl tearing from his lips as the fangs ripped violently out of his flesh. The vampire recoiled, his eyes wide with sudden, genuine shock, a wet gasp escaping his lips. Dean didn't give him a second to breathe. He wrenched the machete free with a sickening squelch and, putting every ounce of his remaining weight and hatred into the swing, hacked through the creature's neck.
The head thudded heavily into the dirt, the eyes still blinking in surprise.
The breathless, heavy corpse collapsed fully onto him, pumping thick vampire blood over Dean's chest. Dean felt hollowed out, bleeding dry from the neck and leg, his vision fading at the edges.
Fuck...fuck. I can't die like this. Not here.
Ignoring the violent, sickening spinning in his head, he shoved the dead weight off his body. He dry-heaved, his stomach turning inside out as the cold, rigid bulge of the dead monster dragged across his bare skin one last, sickening time.
Dean gasped, taking a series of ragged, shallow breaths in a desperate bid to clear his blurred vision, but his lungs felt like they were filled with crushed glass.
Something was wrong. Visually, mentally - everything was spiraling out of control. The gray trees bled into the heavy fog, stretching and distorting like funhouse mirrors.
Cas...
Then there was the blood. Vampire blood. It was everywhere. It was a thick, foul-smelling grease smeared across his face, soaking into the collar of his shirt, and drying into a sticky, heavy crust on his skin. Panic, sharp and icy, flared violently in his chest, cutting through the shock. He had to be careful. He couldn't accidentally swallow it. He couldn't let it into the open tears on his throat or his calf.
What the hell happened if you got turned in a place like this?
There were no alpha vampires to kill here, no cures, no backup.
Did the rules of the supernatural even work the same way in here?
The terrifying, endless uncertainty of it made his stomach heave with a violent wave of dry-heaving.
Gritting his teeth until his jaw ached and his teeth threatened to crack, he began to drag his mangled leg forward. The acute pain of the tearing was morphing into something deeper, a sickening, white-hot throb that grew heavier and more venomous with every inch of dirt he covered.
He had to move. Anywhere.
Staying out in the open, drenched in the scent of his own spilled life, was an absolute death sentence.
Cas. Please. I need you. The words were a frantic, silent prayer directed into the void, a pathetic echo of a little boy lost in the dark. Dean didn't dare speak them aloud.
His mind was filled with the memory of fangs. The ravenous wolves at the ridge, the vampire over him. That monster had said there were more of them. It had warned him to shut up. Dean wasn't about to test his luck by screaming for a ghost.
Why? Why did you look right at me and leave me? His thoughts were fractured, snapping like brittle twigs under a heavy boot.
He couldn't focus. His vision would go completely black for three steps, then snap back to the bleak, gray reality. Nothing made sense. Not like this. Please.
He was on the absolute verge of giving up. Every fiber of his exhausted, violated being screamed at him to just sit down, lean against a dead tree, and let whatever apex predator was tracking his scent finish it. It would be so easy to just stop fighting.
But then, through the shifting, suffocating gray haze, his eyes caught on a shadow that didn't match the trees. A cave. Or at least, the dark, jagged mouth of a shallow rock formation.
A choked, pathetic groan escaped him as his torn calf scraped against a jagged, fallen branch. The agony was blinding; his entire field of vision whited out into pure, searing heat. His knee buckled, and he had to throw his upper body weight against a nearby trunk just to keep from crashing face-first into the dirt. He hung there for a second, strings of saliva dripping from his lips, his forehead pressed against the rough, dead bark.
Pain wasn't new to him. Of course it wasn't. He’d survived Hell. He had survived Alastair’s rack, brutal hunts, and beatings that should have left him in a casket. But this place? The utter, crushing alienness of it terrified him to his absolute core. There was no lore here. No salt lines. No Sammy.
With the very last scrap of his remaining strength, Dean dropped to his knees and crawled toward the mouth of the cave, trailing his good leg and dragging the ruined one behind him like a dead weight. Right in the center of the opening sat a massive, jagged boulder. A perfect blind spot from the treeline.
Help me, please. I forgave you, Cas. For the leviathans, for everything. Why did you leave? Please come back. His thoughts were growing heavier now, sinking into a muddy, sluggish swamp of total exhaustion.
He dragged his body inside the damp stone structure, consciously keeping his bloody, ruined leg hoisted slightly off the cavern floor. He couldn't afford to leave a crimson map pointing straight to his hiding spot for whatever was hunting him.
He slipped behind the cold boulder, his shoulders hitting the stone with a dull, hollow thud. With a shaky, trembling sigh that rattled in his chest, his grip on his machete finally loosened. He slid down the rock until he was crumpled in a broken, shivering heap on the dirt.
Please. Please. Cas... Ple—