Hey all! SPOILERS SPOILERS for Season 12 Episode 17. So the scenario is that Mick Davies survived the shot by Arthur Ketch and is determined to warn the Winchesters about Dr. Hess and Ketch. I know its somewhat unrealistic but its Supernatural, anything can happen. Really wished they didn't kill Mick.

Enjoy!

Mick Davies had a knack for surviving. As a child he was left to the streets pickpocketing coins to keep starvation at bay. And even after finding a home with the British Men of Letters, under the supervision of Dr. Hess, he had not taken it for granted. Instead he poured every ounce of energy he had into exterminating monsters and again, surviving.

It was not until he met the Winchesters and the other American hunters that he realized he had a will of his own. And he could make his own choices.

It was this change of heart that left Mick Davies slumped over a table in Safehouse 1426 with a bullet hole in the back of his head.

"It's over", Dr. Hess announced, "The grand experiment of recruiting American hunters has failed, utterly."

She looked at Mick's lifeless body before looking to Arthur Ketch, her trusted executioner.

Ketch remained emotionless, "What would you like me to do?"

Hess threw the case files she was holding on the table before answering, "Exterminate them. Every last one."

She then walked away, her heels clicking toward the door.

"What shall I do with Davies", Ketch asked quickly causing her to stop in her tracks before staring daggers at Ketch.

"Send a team to dispose of this mess. He is no longer one of us. Take the files and follow me, this safehouse has been compromised. We must move on", Dr. Hess said sharply before leaving the room.

Ketch followed obediently not daring to look back at Mick instead he found his mind wandering to Mary. She would have to be dealt with.

The door closed and latched the sound resounding throughout the room before settling in silence, only the drips of blood falling from the table could be heard.

Then a sharp gasp.

The bloodied body over the table gently shifted. He then found his hands moving to the sides of the table trying to sit up only to fall to the ground. Mick groaned as he fell on his side in a puddle of his own blood. He was in pain, terrible agonizing pain but beyond that he was disoriented his mind desperately trying to piece together what had happened.

Minutes passed as he willed his body to move coming to his hands and knees. Finally he opened his eyes seeing red. There was blood everywhere, on his hands, blazer and pants. It was then he realized it was his own, a hand shakily coming to the back of his head.

Bullet wound.

He was hemorrhaging still, his hand coming away warm and red. His stomach turned at the sight causing an overwhelming dizziness. Swallowing his fears, he crawled to the nearest wall leaning against it.

The Englishman cursed as the memories slowly came back. Hess, she ordered them to be dead, the American hunters. The Winchesters.

But she did not shoot him, he remembered that much. That only left one person; Ketch.

With the strength he had left Davies grasped the table in front of him to stand keeping a firm hold on the adjacent wall. He needed to escape, to warn the Winchesters. He owed them as much.

He would not be taken out so easily. His instincts kicked in allowing him to focus on the one thing he was best at, surviving.

As quickly as he could he neared the exit, knowing he had to get to his car. His supplies were there and his phone, whether or not he could drive was another matter.

He stepped out into the cold air finding his body shaking unbearably. No doubt the blood loss. Nearing his car he heard a sound and moved to grab his gun.

Gone. He must have dropped it when he fell. Cursing silently, he squatted down close to the car trying to see the source of the noise in the dark.

But he didn't have time to play it safe, he knew that he was supposed to be dead. That if he was discovered there would be no escaping.

Fumbling in his jacket for his keys he was able to sneak into the car without a hitch. Keeping his head down he carefully grabbed his phone noting the blood covering his hands.

The Winchesters, he should call them.

But not here. He had to get away.

With his hands on the steering wheel he stared at the road, his vision was already darkening and it was hard to keep focus.

Shakily he took a breath before starting the ignition and blasting down the road.

So, I will try to continue this depending on the responses I get. Any tips, criticism or spelling errors please let me know. Thanks!

-Sio