Alright, okay. There are so many good options but I gotta go with :
Garth and Benny/ Geanie and Betty (yeah, I’m still thinking about Betty 😂)
No. 8, 13, or 22 (some variety if you want it funny or whump)
Dealer’s choice on choose who’s injured
Ah, my weak spots, the werepires and Suphernatural, my God...
Betty likes to think that she’s kept a pretty level head on her shoulders considering the goddamned Winchesters didn’t tell her she was being used as a glorified battering ram to get into this nest.
No, she barely even shouts when the name “Dean” eventually flashes across her phonescreen, accompanied by some god-awful sound that she hasn’t been able to figure out how to change (Dean says it’s an old-timey car horn and that it’s funny because Betty’s also old? Betty thinks it’s a fucking nuisance).
“Hey, Betty, you get into the nest ye-”
“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME I WAS YER’ FUCKING BAIT!?” Of course she’s in the nest, that’s the only reason she picked up the phone, she’s standing next to the dead bodies of vamps that might’a been her kin in another life, and this devil wants to know if she’s in? “Deanna Michelle Winchester you’ve got some ‘splaining to do.”
The line is silent for a beat, “I told you my middle name out of boredom, not so you could chastise me like a disappointed nun.”
“Explain.” Betty moves deeper into the nest, shifting her phone into her left hand so that her right hand is free to swing her blade.
“Fine-” Deans probably rolling her eyes on the other end of the line, “We've got this hunting pal, she was tracking this nest around and then sorta dropped off the map.”
Betty winces, carefully opening up the door to the kitchen, “Chief I hate to be the bearer of bad news but she's probably-”
“Lotta’ confidence you got in this gal,” The house is eerily quiet except for the sound of her boots on the floorboards, seems like all of the vamps came out to greet her, “Why couldn't you come look for her.”
There's no response and Betty thinks she hears Sam whispering something to her sister.
“And we don't know what they fed her so…”
Betty scoffs, “Ain't like your friends is a werewolf, Cher.” There's another pause, “No.”
“You sent me to pick up a were for you!?” If there's a werewolf in here, it's probably in the basement, “The sun is rising, come get her yourself!”
“But if you get bit you won't turn, I've done the turning thing, it ain't pleasant!"
“You think I don't know that?” There's a suspiciously placed throw rug in the middle of the kitchen for no reason, and Betty isn't surprised when she kicks it aside to see a trap door, “If she rips my throat out I'm clawing my way out of purgatory so I can tear you apart myself.”
“Thank's Betty, you're the best.”
“Bras ma chu, Winchester.” She ends the call and shoves her phone back in the pocket of her jacket, already preparing the earful she's going to give her friend when this is all over.
Two steps into the basement Betty can already smell the tang of blood, thick and overpowering, but it doesn't smell human. She hopes Dean won't be disappointed when presented with the corpse of her friend. Honestly, it's rare enough for a nest to take another creature hostage instead of killing it outright, whatever happened to this hunter-turned-werewolf…. Well, she probably didn’t deserve it.
“Shit…” She reaches the bottom of the stairs with a heavy, un-beating heart, “Shit, that's a lot of blood.”
The basement is a concrete room with a sliver of a window far out of reach, showing the first peek of the morning light, with a floor that’s absolutely stained red. Betty wants to take off her cap, out of respect for the Winchesters friend, but a low rumbling noise from the far corner stops her.
There's something in the shadows, held in place by a shiny chain, its eyes flash dangerously as Betty takes a cautious step forward, hands where the other person can clearly see them. It's not a vampire, Betty can smell that much, and those chains holding it- her, Betty also realizes- in place look like they're silver. Maybe she should have taken this friend of the Winchesters more seriously.
“Hey there, Cher,” Betty never drops her weapon, even when she crouches down what she deems a safe distance away, “Okay, here's what we're going to do- Merde-”
The werewolf snarls and lunges from the corner, the chains stopping her about a foot away from where Betty planted herself. She doesn't look much like a hunter, all wiry limbs and wrinkles that look suspiciously like smile lines, but Betty doesn't doubt that some of the blood she's doused in isn't her own.
“Easy there,” She tries not to show unease, there's no way she'll keep a handle on this situation if the werewolf thinks she's running this show, “I don't wanna’ fight you.”
The were smiles, showing off a few dropped fangs but nowhere near the amount Betty would expect to see from someone coming off their own little moonshine rendez-vous, “Heard that one before, pal.”
“The Winchesters sent me to wrangle you,” Betty, very carefully, leans forward, not even sure if the smell of the impala is even noticeable anymore under all the other vamp blood- From the way the werewolf wrinkles her nose after taking a careful whiff, she assumes not, "Believe me or not, I'm supposed to leave here with you, alive.”
The werewolf seems to consider this for a moment before offering up her chained wrists, “As soon as I'm out of these I'll be able to claw your eyes out.”
“You can certainly try,” Betty takes hold of the restraints, “Silver, nasty business-" then snaps them clean off, letting the pieces crumble to the ground, “You hurt?”
“Nope,” She staggers up to her feet, “Are you?”
“Nah, it takes more than a nest to hurt me.”
The were cocks her head a bit, “See, I would believe that, but you have a gosh darn knife sticking out of your leg, so.”
“I do?” Sure enough, someone's best pocket knife is handle-deep in the side of her thigh, she didn't even notice it, “Well, shoot.” She yanks it out and tosses it off to the side, earning a raised eyebrow from the werewolf, “What?”
“Nothin’,” The were looks at the knife for a bit longer before shrugging, “Name's Genie Fitzgerald IV, you can just call me Genie.”
“Betty Lafitte- You sure you ain't hurt? That's a lotta’ blood you got on ya’.”
Genie grins wickedly, “Please, this isn't mine. I don't bite humans but I'll certainly bite some handsy vamps.”
Betty can't help it, she pauses climbing the stairs to laugh- Not at the werewolf, far from it, she's laughing at the poor sons of bitches who thought they could take on this apparent force of nature.
“Ya’ know, I think me and you are gonna’ get along swell.”
At that, the werewolf's face absolutely lights up, showing off the smile lines Betty notes earlier, “I'd like that.”
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