~*****~

Whatever the hell concoction that Mick came up with might kill him on stench alone. "Good news and bad news," I mention to Zack once I pry open the iron door. "We're gonna try something from overseas. The guy who found it says that it works on mice infected with the werewolf disease, but human trials are very slow. It kills every human it's been in given to. Bad news-- We need live blood. Which means your buddy's head is useless." I explain.

Zack's face scrunches up. "That smells rancid." He mentions as I set the uncomplete cure on the desk.

I snort. "Yeah, no kidding. Is this the guy who turned you?"

Zack frowns and leans his head back, as if he's thinking hard. "I dunno... When I woke up, he was the only one around..."

I snort. "Great. So until we find out who turned you, you're not leaving this room. And yeah-- you'll have to stay awake while the moons full." Zack groaned loudly, shifted, and hissed at the harsh sizzling of the silver chain against his arms. "Luckily for you, werewolves live in packs, and I'm sure somebody's pissed that you killed this guy. They'll track your scent here and try to kill you."

"How is that lucky of me?" Zack groaned.

"Because, my dude, it means I can pin 'em down with silver netting and have myself a little interrogation on who bit you. Which means, I can complete this disgusting shit, and either cure you, or kill you."

Zack just stares at me incredulously. "What are you, freaking insane?" He asks in a horrified breath. "Doesn't a pack mean more than like, two?"

I wave my hand around and perch on the desk. "The people who told you I might be able to help you? They chose me for a reason." I ruffle his hair as if he were a child. "Don't worry. If I can't heal you, you'll die knowing you aren't going down as one of those blood thirsty monsters."

Zack chuffed and slumped against the wall. "Thanks for that." He grunted irritably. I chuckled and shut the iron door behind me.

Bobby met me upstairs, his hands halting in their weaving with the large net we'd been making. "He still rational?" Bobby asks.

I nod. "Yeah, a little irritated from sleep deprivation, and the silver chains burning his hide, but nonetheless, he's accepted what his fate might come to."

"Good. As long as that boy can keep himself in his own mind, there might be a chance this thing works. You sure this Mick guy knows what he's talking about?" Bobby asks.

I nod again. "Yeah, Mick's a pretty good hunter. He's apparently apart of some huge group in the UK that dedicates their lives to hunting down the Supernatural. He doesn't go into great detail, but he's sent over some pretty good info in the past."

Bobby grunts and tosses the large section of netting down. "That's done. I don't know how the hell you're gonna pull this off without getting a hunk taken out of you."

"I'll figure it out." I gaze out the window briefly and hum. "Sun'll go down in an hour or so, we should get the sprinklers set up."

Bobby heaved up the jug of water we'd shaved silver into. "Well, we better get to it." I beamed before grabbing the other jug. "I don't know how in the hell you keep those boys alive with plans like this."

I bark out a laugh as the door snaps shut behind us. "I told you, I'm usually the voice of reason when it comes to those two."

~*****~

It's well into the night, and the full moon is high in the sky. I gaze upwards skeptically to the only lit window in the house-- Mary's room is completely werewolf proof for the meantime, but it wouldn't hold against three or four of them. Hopefully, this pack would only be that. Bobby sat at the top of the house, gazing around through the scope of his rifle.

I could vaguely hear Zack down below shouting to keep himself awake. He'd recited the entire album lyrics to AC/DC's Rock or Bust, which was impressive to say the least. I gave a soft sigh as I returned my gaze back onto the expanse of blacktop that led from the highway to the garage.

"Lottie, I don't think anyone's coming." Bobby's voice crackled through the radio besides me.

I grunt and lift it up. "I don't think so, either... So much for that plan."

"Hold on... there's a car coming up the driveway." Bobby says.

I perk up and gaze skeptically at the car slowly pulling up. It sits at the end of the yard for a few moments until it shuts off. I grimace at the amount of people stepping out. "Anyone else in that little clown car of yours?" I ask as at least six men approach the house.

The leader of the pack doesn't speak for a moment, he just gazes around. "Where is he?" He asks irritably. It's apparent that these are who we've been waiting for. They're not transformed, but they're already showing the effects of the full moon.

"Locked up tight. Which one of you bit him?" I retort as I stand up.

"None of us did, he killed our pack leader." The man snaps. "We're here for his head."

I groan irritably before pulling out my gun. "There's six of us, and only one of you, Princess, do you expect to kill all of us before we tear into your home?" One of the other men mentions.

"I'm not worried." I hum as I aim to the side and shoot the control box at the end of the yard, kick starting to sprinkler system. All six men howl in agony as their skin turns bright red from the amount of silver dousing them. A heavy thump echoes out as Bobby launches the silver net over them. I pinch at the bridge my nose and shove my pistol back into my waist band. I lift the radio back up. "None of them bit him. The head we have? Well, that's the leader of the pack." I explain irritably.

"So the kids gonna have to be killed." Bobby sighed.

I huff irritably and start tapping at my forehead with the radio. "I wonder if Castiel knows anything..." I murmur to myself.

As if I'd called him, Castiel is standing at the edge of the silver netting, his gaze suddenly concerned as he stares at the writhing pack of werewolves. "Why have you prayed for me to come here?"

"I... didn't? I just asked myself-- look, it doesn't matter. Can your angelic powers or grace or whatever cure someone from a werewolf bite?" I ask irritably.

Castiel's brow's furrow. "Why would I have to do it? You have the power to do it yourself." Castiel states. "You are much more powerful than I."

"You say that as if I have an inkling on how to do it myself." I murmur irritably. "Whatever-- I'll take care of it. Are the boys okay?"

Castiel gazes at me for a moment before nodding. "Yes. I must get back." He disappears a second later, and I sigh loudly.

"God, you can't be vaguer, can you?!" I storm back into the house as Bobby gets down the stairs. "You want to take care of them? I'm going down to the panic room. I've got one more thing I want to try."

Bobby nods and steps around me.

~*****~

Zack has dark circles around his eyes, and he's now rocking against the wall. "Any news?" He asks in a breathless tone. His eyes have changed now-- if he passes out, the transformation will be complete. I sauntered towards him and ran my hand over his head as if I were trying to soothe him.

"The head you brought was your sire." I mention. "I'm going to try something, and just like every other outcome, it might kill you."

Zack groaned loudly. "It's fine, I don't care, I don't want to be one of those monsters!" He cries. Tears brim at his eyes as I offer him a small smile.

"If it's any consolation, you tried your best, and that's worth more to your soul than anything." I explain, and my other hand grasps his throat delicately to angle his head back. My palm slides from his hair to his forehead and I press down slightly. I suck in a soft breath as I reach into him, trying to figure out exactly what I'm looking for. His soul is there, shimmering softly as I push past it. A strange, blissed out look appeared on his face. There's something inside that I find-- kind of disturbing, and dark. Like sludge from the bottom of a trash can. My fingers brush against it, and I feel sick to my stomach. My vision distorts as I begin to gag, and I force myself from Zack's limp body and hunch over the small pail in the corner before something forces its way out of my throat. It hits the bottom of the bucket with a sickening plop.

"Breathe," I hear Bobby murmur as I suddenly feel his palm against my back. "What the hell was that?"

I spit the taste out of my mouth. "Check on the kid--" I snap at him through a hoarse tone. Another wave of nausea burns at my stomach, and I heave again, spewing more of the sludge that's forcing its way up my throat.

"Kid's unconscious, silver ain't burnin' him no more." Bobby mentions.

I gag and spit again. "Soul was clean." I mention breathlessly. "I reached in 'im... felt some weird... sludge and when I touched it, it kinda-- transferred..."

Bobby peered into the bucket under me and grimaced. "I don't think we ought to dispose of that like any old thing." He mentions. "I'll go grab a jar."

I grimace and sit back. I tug the bucket into the light and peer in. The black substance is quivering and moving around slight, as if it were alive. Bobby returns and with his help, I carefully transfer the contents of the bucket into the jar and seal it up tight. Bobby duct tapes the lid down and peers at it.

My legs are shaking lightly as I stand up and make my way to unconscious man still leaned against the wall. I press my palm against the side of his neck and look inside of him again. The only thing inside is his soul, still perfectly normal as the day he was born.