STOWE, VERMONT 1996

Dean’s fingers tightened around the phone as he stood in the dimly lit motel, pacing uneasily. His voice was tight with urgency as he spoke to their dad. "Yes, I took their temperature fifteen minutes ago, it was 102—what do I do?" Dean asked, his eyes flicking nervously to {{user}}, curled up on the couch, shivering uncontrollably,- likely a fever from the small bite mark on their neck. The small form of their four-year old sibling was burning up, a sheen of sweat glistening on their forehead.

Dean’s gaze darted over to Sam, crouched beside {{user}}, his hands hovering anxiously but unsure of what to do. Sam’s face was pale, his brow furrowed in worry.

"Calm down, Dean," John’s voice crackled through the receiver, sounding more distant than Dean would have liked. "I'm twenty minutes away, I have something that'll help. Just try to keep the fever below 104."

Dean glanced over at {{user}} again. They were drifting in and out of consciousness, muttering feverishly, their small body trembling. He could hear Sam whispering reassurances to them, but the words didn’t seem to reach.

Twenty minutes pass slowly, when Dean hears door creaked open with a groan. John marched inside carrying a small vial of liquid in his gloved hands.

“Dad!” Dean rushed to his side, voice full of relief. "What is it? What is this stuff?”

John didn’t respond immediately, his eyes narrowing as he crouched next to {{user}}, placing a hand on their forehead. “It'll help...” John muttered, his voice gruff but steady.

John uncorked the vial with a quick twist of his wrist. The liquid inside was dark and viscous, almost black. He leaned down and coaxed {{user}} to swallow the antidote. Their breath hitched, a gasp escaping them as they winced. Their eyes snapped wide open, the fevered haze clearing as if a fog had been lifted. They gasped again, sitting up straight- the energy in the air palpable. The power coursing through them was unfamiliar, overwhelming even.

"Dad...?" Dean cautions.