Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sam whipped another bushy tendril away from his face, hair flying out behind him, breath huffing rapidly in and out as his feet pounded over the leaf litter.  His eyes wide, mouth open with the gulping of air as he ran, he risked a glance over his shoulder and caught the shadow of his pursuer.  It was not nearly as far away as he’d hoped.  Remembering the lessons his dad had taught him, he turned his face forward and tried to add another burst of speed.  Running track at the last school had given him some new skills but only experience would save him now.  The weight of the knife he clutched in his left was barely a comfort as the discovery that his dad’s declaration that it was a werewolf they had been hunting had been put to bed the moment the creature had smiled with his fangs showing.

He caught sight of the Impala just a head and thanked God his dad had thought to leave the emergency kit in the back seat for ease of access.   He slammed into the side of the black car and in a smooth motion, yanked the door handle as he bounced back, pulling the door open.  Using the handle as leverage, he yanked himself back towards and into the backseat, pulling the door shut behind him.  The thudding of his own terror-ridden heart, as well as his harsh, gasping breaths nearly drowned out the sound of his pursuer coming swiftly through the crinkly leaf litter. 

He dropped the silver knife onto the seat, not registering it slide down onto the floor, as he threw open the emergency kit and scrambled to find the dead man’s blood syringes.  The moon was clouded over and he’d lost his flashlight in the initial scuffle, so it was mostly by feel that he searched, thanking his father this time for requiring the kit be maintained at all times and in a precise order, which was most decidedly being destroyed in his current frantic search.  Just as his finger closed on a few of the syringes, he did register the change in the sounds around him.

Holding his breath, he turned wide, hazel eyes to outside the window of the back, passenger seat.  It was now very quiet and very devoid of any monsters.  He heaved in a few deep breaths as he leaned forward to see better.  It was quiet, the clouds having dispersed enough to allow moonlight to glisten off the rain tipped leaves in the trees all around the car.  There appeared to be nothing but the trees all around. 

Then the face loomed pale and ghastly in front of him, causing him to gasp and scramble backwards.  The man in front of him grinned with his fangs on display, going from the gruff, bearded fisherman his father had interviewed that morning, to deadly monster while hissing at Sam.

“Come on, boy,” the creature rumbled, a dark sparkle in his eyes.  He grabbed the door handle and stepped to the side as the door opened, staying in the opening so Sam couldn’t escape in that direction.  Sam shoved the kit to the floor and scrambled further back across the seat, careful not to break the syringes, finally feeling his back hit the other door.  Reaching behind him with a frantic hand, he popped the handle and felt the door yanked open at the same time. 

He fell part way out, head laying off the seat in surprise as he looked up into the face of a second man/monster.  This second man looked vaguely familiar but he didn’t recognize him from any of his dad’s suspects.  This face was smoother, younger, more James Dean, than Bayou fisherman. 

“Well, hello kid. You’re just in time for dinner.”  Another fangy grin, more feral than the other, with his dark green eyes twinkling with mirth. 

This time, Sam finally found his voice and screamed for his father. 

“Daaaaad!!!!” It was desperate and reedy and cut short by the second monster wrapping his hand around his windpipe. 

“Nuh uh uh,” came the chiding.  The free hand came up to wag a finger in admonishment.  “Can’t have anyone spoil our meal, kid.”

Sam bucked and kicked, his foot catching fisherman guy square on the nose.  There was a grunt and a muffled swear, then green eyes glanced up with a smirk at his fellow monster.  This gave Sam the edge with the distraction and he twisted out of the grip around his throat, throwing his full hand backwards, attempting to jab one of the needles into his attacker.  When they were all deflected, he scrambled over the back seat to the front.  He knew his only hope was to call for help and was reaching for the car horn.  A hand grabbed one ankle and another grabbed the back of his jacket and his wrist that was pushing him over the front seat, causing him to drop the syringes into the back floorboard.

A final surge of energy and his free hand slapped the horn a few times, hopefully alerting his dad to his whereabouts and need for help.  But the grip on his wrist increased and he was inexorably pulled back into the backseat again.  The bones in that wrist protested, grinding together under the monster’s fingers.  The hand on his ankle helped pull him flat on his back on the black leather seat.

“Was gonna take my time, kid, but now that daddy’s probably on his way, guess I gotta dine and dash.”  The creature holding his wrist so tightly pulled him backwards, hanging half out of the car, bound wrist twisted up across his chest, pulling his back against the monster.  The creature’s other hand grabbed his long hair and pulled his head to the side.  Sam screamed when he felt the fangs pierce his neck and then the weird, nearly cold sensation of feeling his blood being pulled out through those holes.  In an abstract way, he heard the swallowing of his blood down the monster’s throat but even that faded as he began to float with the blood loss and loss of the fear adrenaline that was running out in the face of his imminent death.

He barely felt the fangs pull away and the free arm come around his throat to press down.  He heard the monster hum happily as if his blood had tasted better than any dessert ever made, even pie, then the arm around his throat tightened just enough that he couldn’t breathe.  As the darkness crept in around his vision and his slowing heartbeat thudded in his ears, he definitely didn’t hear, “Nighty-night, kid.”

Within a few more seconds, he was fully unconscious, laying lax in the monster’s arms.  Fisherman guy released his ankle and came around to the other side.

“This kid was harder to catch than I thought he would be, brotha’,” he shook his head as he helped his friend throw the unconscious boy over his shoulder. 

“He’s the son of a hunter, Benny.  Did you honestly expect him to freeze up and piss himself?” The second man patted the thigh next to his head.  “Pretty tasty, but there’s something odd there.” He licked his lips and thumbed the corner of his mouth, sucking the remnants off as he stood up to his full 6’1” height and turned to slip into the trees with Benny.  The kids head hung against his back, his neck dripping slightly, though not as badly as it would have if he hadn’t pressed the wound closed while he was choking him out.

“Well no, but he’s one tough sum-bitch to be so little.” He gingerly reset his nose and snorted, causing the other to snort in laughter. Then Benny tilted his head as his heightened senses heard another body crashing through the trees coming in their direction.

“Dean-o, we need to get a move on.  Daddy bear is coming this way.” He nodded meaningfully in the direction of the sounds.  Dean shifted the body on his shoulder and smirked.

“Good, we’ll be long gone, but I’ll miss that sweet sound of his anguish at the lost boy.”  He smirked and they both ducked into the shadows with their speed that left the crime scene far behind.  They got far enough away to not be caught, but were still able to catch the echoing “Saaaaaaam!” that rang through the forest.

Chapter Text

If the migraine wasn’t bad enough, this time he had the added joy of a pain in his neck and wrist.  Pretty sure he’d slept really wrong and would suffer for the rest of the day, Sam allowed himself to groan softly.  Honestly, it made the headache spike a little more but it was the only sentiment he could offer.  He tried turning but it only made the pain in his neck burn more and moving felt like it would be more energy than it was worth.   The light was delightfully dim so he risked opening his eyes a sliver.  He already knew he wasn’t in the backseat of his dad’s car because it was very obviously a bed, not leather.  And the sense of the open space screamed motel room, from his experience on the road.

While dim, the light still stabbed into his eyes, causing him to hiss and close them quickly, another groan escaping, this time louder than expected.  He heard movement and seconds later, the bed tilted as someone sat on the side of it. He licked his dry lips and tried to convey the immediate need.  Dad could get his medicine that would shorten this torment.

“Migraine,” came out in a near whisper.  The bed shifted and then he felt fingers on his temples that began a slow, gentle massage.  The pain eased off a little after a moment or two and he sighed. “Thanks.”

“No problem, kid,” came the deep voice from directly above him. He froze, his breath caught in his throat, as his eyes flew open, pain be damned.  The sparkling green eyes above him were definitely not his father’s.  Once the man above him saw that the boy remembered how he’d gotten here, his lips curved up in a wicked grin, human teeth showing, laugh lines crinkling around his eyes.  He withdrew his hands and sat back, smiling at the boy, who scrambled backwards to slam his back into the headboard.

Sam held back another groan of pain in lieu of scanning the room frantically.  It was too bland a room to be one of the super cheap, crappy motel rooms his dad usually rented for them.  And this was obviously just a bedroom, not a bedroom, kitchenette, one-room-for-all-uses type of room like even better hotels have.  This was a house or an apartment.  The windows were covered in dark blackout curtains and the room was sparsely populated with only the bed, a bedside table with a lamp and a short dresser on the opposite wall.  To the left was an open door that obviously was a small bathroom and to the right was the door that led into what appeared to be a hallway. 

The door was open, but not empty.  The fisherman guy was leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.  The other guy still sat casually on the side of the bed, grinning in amusement at Sam.  It was at that moment, that he found his breath, that he realized there was something snaking across the foot the bed from the footboard to his leg.  He blinked and focused for a moment, realizing it was a galvanized steel chain, like the ones his dad used to lock up cemetery gates, or haunted houses to keep civilians out.  It ended in a shackle like his dad had used on that zombie to anchor it to his own grave before he'd filled it back in and poured cement over it.  But this shackle was firmly around his own ankle. 

He gulped dryly, throat clicking.  His breathing picked up and he felt heat prickling behind his eyes.  Sam knew he was trapped but he was not a little kid anymore; he wouldn’t cry, damn it!

“Dean, I think you might have frightened the little fella,” the bearded vampire said with a chuckle.  Dean, the green-eyed vampire just out of arms’ reach, snorted a chuckle himself. He stood up and headed towards the bathroom.

“Nah, Benny, hunters’ kids don’t get frightened.  Ain’t that right, Sam?” Dean glanced over his shoulder to smirk at the boy on the bed, who blinked at him in surprise.

“How-how did you know my name?” Sam asked, reining in his panicked breathing.  His eyes flicked between both vampires.  The bearded one raised one finger, drawing his attention.

“Heard your daddy yelling for you as we skedaddled,” he rumbled.  “Sounded like he’s mighty upset that his seven-year-old son got eaten by monsters.” Sam rolled his eyes and shot one of his soon to be patented bitchfaces at the bearded man.  Obviously, this was an insult that he’d heard too many times to let it slide.

“I’m thirteen, asshole,” he growled, crossing his arms angrily across his chest.  He hissed when his hurt wrist ended up in the wrong part of the grip.  Glancing down, he could see the deep bruising around the wrist and slight swelling, but since he was moving it and the pain wasn’t sharp, he figured it was a sprain or just a bruise.  He huffed as he realized both vampires were laughing derisively at him.

“Excuse me,” Benny chortled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. Dean, coming back out of the bathroom with a plastic cup in his hands, shook his head around his own laugh.

“You’re awful scrawny for barely a teenager, kid.” Sam huffed again.

“Dad says I got a lot of growing left to do.”  As soon as he said it, he realized, horribly, that he wasn’t going to be growing up now.  He was only a meal for these two vampires until they tired of him and then he’d just be so much more rotting meat.  Sudden melancholy settled over him and his arms dropped to his sides and his head hung down, longish hair falling over his face.  The tears that had threatened before made a sudden appearance and a few trickled down his cheeks before he could stop them.

He’d always hated being a hunter, but knew that his dad was obsessed with finding monsters and putting them down.  Now Sam was going to die and his dad would be all alone.  His breath hitched and he stifled on sob. 

Dean sat on the edge of the bed and offered the cup to him, bumping his elbow to get him to look up at the cup.

“Cry if you wanna, kid,” the vampire said, no longer laughing, not even smiling. “But drink this so you don’t get too dehydrated. Your dad’s gonna come looking for you, and you dying before he finds us ain’t part of my plans.  You gotta be alive so he dies knowing he can’t save you.”  Sam lifted his head enough to glance at the vampire’s face.  The cup looked to only contain water.  He huffed slightly before taking the cool plastic cup, careful not to spill.  He drank half the cup, then sat it on the bedside table.

“Thanks,” he said again in a near whisper. “What now?” Dean patted the leg that was chained and stood, heading towards the door where Benny stood. 

“You rest. Gotta build your blood back up.  Benny’s next to feed but you’re too little to take much more so soon.” Sam glanced between the men, seeing his future as a living blood donor for these two and more tears fell. “The chain will get you to the toilet, the sink and back to the bed.  The windows are sealed and barred, the door will be locked and the chain won’t go that far anyway.  There are no neighbors close enough to hear you so scream if you gotta let off some frustrations.  We won’t judge.  But you ain’t going anywhere so you might as well sit back and relax for now.” 

Once they had closed the bedroom door and Sam had heard the lock click, he didn’t even wait for their footsteps to move away before he slid over onto his side and curled up in a ball.  He drew his legs in close, now more aware of the drag of the chain across the bed and began to sob in earnest.  He figured he’d probably cried out more liquid than the water he had drunk and chuffed to himself that it’d serve them right if he died before they could feed again.  This was the dark thought that ruled his brain before he dropped into an emotionally and physically exhausted sleep.

Chapter Text

When he finally woke up, he had no way of telling how much time had passed, but the sharp pain in his neck and the way he was being held up left no doubt that whatever time it was in the real world, here, it was feeding time. His eyes shot open and the struggled feebly in panic, but the burly arms holding him tightened enough he couldn’t move away from the sharp mouth clamped to the other side of his neck. Matching bite marks. Just great. He felt that heady, floaty feeling that made him go lax again quickly, but didn’t fall unconscious this time as the mouth pulled away.

He heard lips smacking right next to his ear with a throaty hum.

“It’s got a light tang, almost like demon blood,” Benny said over his shoulder, letting the boy back down to rest on the mattress.  He grabbed a cloth and pressed it over the bite mark to stem the flow from the small holes that littered his skin. “But he ain’t a demon.”

“Maybe he was possessed recently?” Dean’s voice came from the direction of the bathroom, moving back towards the bed.  The bearded man hummed thoughtfully.

“Could be,” he replied. “But virgin blood is divine. You gotta get over that damn morality clause you got built in, brotha, so we can start aiming for this type of delicacy more often.” Benny eased off the bed, licking his lips.  Dean glared at him as he took his place, reaching to pull Sam back up to sitting.  Sam’s eyes rolled in his head and he moaned roughly. Dean held him in the right position so he could put the full cup to Sam’s mouth and let water dribble in, forcing Sam to swallow to keep from drowning.

After half was drank, he put the cup back on the bedside table and eased the boy back to lay prone.  With a sigh, he pulled the covers from beneath the small body and covered the boy, who shivered with chills.  The draining of his blood was making his internal temperature drop.

“I don’t kill kids, man,” Dean grumbled as he ran a hand over Sam’s hair before he got up to face the other vampire.  Benny rolled his eyes meaningfully towards where Sam lay half-unconscious.  Dean ran a hand down the lower half of his face.

“He’d just grow up to take his dad’s place as a hunter,” Dean started with a deep sigh, “Otherwise, once his dad and any friends he brought with him were dead, I’d drop him off at some ER once we’re done. But we both know it’s either he dies when his dad does, or he becomes the same damn thing we’re trying to eliminate.”  Benny nodded and shrugged.

“Well, I need to get back out there, see if I can pick up any more rumors about which hunter’s coming our way and who he’s bringing with.  You play nice with your tea parties.”  Benny punched Dean playfully in the shoulder before being shoved out the door.  

Sam heard a door slam from far away as he drifted in agony.  He hurt all around his neck, his wrist, and the migraine wasn’t gone, just waiting on the back burner as a dull throb.  He wasn’t sure if the blood draining was making it better or worse.  Even the shackle around his ankle was highly uncomfortable already.  He felt the bed shift again as Dean sat down beside him.  He tried to turn away, to move away, but he could barely roll his head away and the groan/sob that came out of him wasn’t much of a deterrent. 

He felt a hand on his hair again and he clenched, waiting for the grip to tighten and tilt his head back for Dean to partake again.  But the hand only petted him gently, smoothing down over his hair, cradling his head.

“You look so much like him,” the vampire said softly. Sam’s eyes were closed so he didn’t see the soft look Dean had.  He also didn’t see how it hardened within seconds and Dean was up, stalking out of the room quickly, slamming the door, locking it behind him.

Sam groaned again and let himself drift away.

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep again, but the nightmares came on with a vengeance.  Bloody red fangs chased him, but he was too tired and felt mired in tar when he tried to run.  His dad called out to him but there was fire and black smoke that blocked him at every turn. The picture of his mom and older brother that he had seen in his dad’s wallet fluttered in front of him, but it caught fire and their faces morphed into screams.  He reached out for it, something grabbing his wrists and ankles and holding him back.  The fangs snapped at him, laughter rolling from behind bloody tongues.  There was a bright light that pierced through the fire and smoke and he turned to face it.  It felt safe and loving and he called out to it for help.  The light got so bright that he would have closed his eyes against it if he hadn’t been so desperate not to lose sight of the last bit of hope. 

Then he was falling, the grip on his wrists and ankles fell away and he was falling into the white light, being cradled, almost like being surrounded by feathers, soft wings of some sort.  He was reaching out to hold tight to this source of light but the grip on his limbs was back and he was wrenched away, slamming harshly against something solid and unforgiving.  He cried out with a sob, but the light faded and the nightmare slipped into reality as he opened his eyes, realizing he had fallen off the bed in his sleep and was laying on the hardwood floor in a strange house, with his ankle chained, and two vampires claiming him as a warm blood bag.  His stomach rolled and pitched as he forced himself up on weak legs and swayed his way rapidly into the bathroom.

He was leaning over the toilet, wretching up bile and water and whatever else had still been on his stomach when he was taken, when he heard the door to his room slam open.  The heavy footsteps thundered through his head as they dashed across the room following the chain from the foot of the bed to the bathroom.  He could feel the presence stop in the doorway to just stare at him.

“Something you ate?” Dean asked once Sam stopped dry heaving enough to fold up on the cold tile by the tub. Sam burped nastily.

“No, something you ate.” Dean blinked in shock and then started laughing. 

“Damn, kid.  Chained up, drained, beaten down, and you’re still a sassy little snot.” Sam turned his head enough to glare at the broad-shouldered man leaning in the doorway. He was nearly doubled over in laughter, one hand over his stomach.  Sam groaned before sitting up quickly to dry heave a little more.  This time, he didn’t just fold up, he flopped down so weakly that his head clanged lightly against the side of the metal tub.

Dean finally moved forward and flushed the toilet, leaning around Sam to grab a washcloth from the shelf on the back wall.  He wet it in the sink, then knelt beside Sam and used it to gently wipe his face and then his mouth.  He pulled Sam into a seated position, pulling his hands back slowly until he was sure the boy wouldn’t fall over again.  When the man stepped out of the bathroom, the boy watched him go, anger warring with fear on his face.   Dean returned shortly with the cup, refilling it in the sink before offering it to Sam to rinse his mouth.  He helped the boy lean forwards to spit into the toilet, then wiped his mouth again.

Setting the cup on the sink, he reached down to pull Sam up into his arms. The vampire gripped him tightly enough that he wouldn’t drop him, but lightly enough to not add any undo bruises to the small frame.  He gingerly stepped over and around the trailing chain before depositing the boy back onto the bed.  Sam lay back while the tremors wracked his body.  He was cold but sweaty. His head throbbed and swam.  His stomach burned and felt like a rock.  His wrist still ached and both sides of his neck stung with the sweat and ached with any movement. Dean stepped back to take a look.

“Guess you’ll be needing human food, huh?”  Sam managed a sarcastic glare from beneath half-lidded eyes.  Dean laughed and shook his head. “Hunter’s kids. I tell ya.”

Sam rolled onto his side and clutched his stomach as it burned, along with the low burn in his esophagus.  He knew the vampire had left the room again because he’d heard the door close and lock behind him.  This time, he didn’t drift into sleep or even less awareness.  For now, his mind and body were hyper aware. He could sense the lack of air current into his room. He could smell the slight musk of mold and mildew in the room from a long time of not being used or opened up.  He could hear the wind brushing against the side of the house, slapping some limbs together in that familiar wood on wood patting.  He could see the faintest change in the hue around the edge of the blackout curtains as it got brighter as the night ended and the sun must have finally come up.

So he was not surprised or startled when the door opened again after an hour or so, bringing in an dusty air current from the hall, as well as the heavily greased scent of fast food fries with Dean.  He did struggle to sit up and lean against the headboard, his mouth already watering from the scent of food.  It seemed his upset stomach was from the nightmare and stress, not an actual illness, otherwise he’d not feel so hungry so soon.  Of course, being drained of blood as he had been, twice already, probably played a role in his being famished.

Dean didn’t even sit on the bed this time, just tossed the fast food bag lightly onto the covers next to Sam and dropped a few cans of cola on the bedside table.  When Sam didn’t say thank you this time, Dean smirked and turned around to leave.

“Why are you doing this?” Sam asked before he made the doorway.  Dean paused and turned, hesitating for a moment before shrugging.

“Food for your stomach, caffeine for the migraine, and liquid for the blood replenishment.”  Sam huffed, dropping his hands on top of the bag he had begun to open, effectively closing it again. 

“No, why keep me alive? I know what you are and you know what I am. Why feed me? Why make me drink?”  He waited but Dean only crossed his arms and then tilted his head in concentration, eyeing Sam thoughtfully.  “I mean, dad always said vampires are just animals who drink blood and they don’t care about their victims. So why care about me?” This made Dean smile oddly. Not in derision or anger.  More like fondly.

“We don’t care.  Not really. Your dad-, and you, I guess, are hunters.  You hunt things like me. You kill us without finding out if we even hurt anyone. Some of us don’t live off human blood.  Sure, Benny is old school and prefers it, but he can get the discarded stuff they toss from blood banks.  Me, I can make do with taking a sip here and there, and the rest comes from animals.  Got an arrangement with a slaughterhouse.  I go in and before they put the animal through the usual terror-ridden death, I get to drink my fill, which make the animal relaxed before they kill it.  Makes the meat taste better without the bitter fear running through it.  I feed and they get to sell a higher quality meat. Win-win.

“Now, you can believe me or not, but hunters like your dad, will always say vampires like us are just riding an edge and will kill one day given the chance. And I’m not saying I won’t, and yeah, blood lust will probably get to me one day, but until then, I still try to not kill.  Not even the animals. But your dad took out the rest of mine and Benny’s nest.  We lost five good people that day.  My blood sister, Benny’s mate, and three others.  All living without killing.  But he hasn’t stopped or even slowed down.  Hell, if he wasn’t so hellbent to kill my kind, no matter the cost, he’d have been with you or would have thought enough to not bring a kid on a hunt. 

“But he wasn’t, and he didn’t, and we have to do what we have to do.  I know I’m doing that damn villain monologue thing, but just so you know.  It ain’t about making you our victim.  You’re the bait.  We have you.  He wants you back.  He gets some friends and comes to save you.  We’ve already got a few other partial nests that were decimated like ours who are waiting for the signal to converge and we’ll end these hunters before they end us.”  Sam gasped.

“You’re going to kill my dad?” Dean’s left side of his face jerked up towards a half smile before falling right back down. Not a flinch.  Not a smirk.

“I’m sorry, kid. You being a hunter’s kid, you know the score. Kill or be killed.” Once again, Sam felt tears prickling the back of his eyes.

“And you’re waiting for him to be dead to kill me.” This time it was a definite flinch.  Dean’s hand came up to card through his own message light brown hair and he shifted uneasily on his feet. “I heard you say you don’t kill kids. You don’t have to kill me.”

“Sure kid.” He sighed before he turned to leave again. Without turning back around, he said, “Eat. You’ll feel better. Gotta get that blood replenished before I get hungry again.”  The door closed behind him, the locked clicked, and Sam curled over onto himself and screamed into his balled-up fists. 

Chapter Text

In spite of his anger at the situation, fear of dying, and desire to deny the vampires a live victim, his hunger won out. Not long after the vampire had left the room, he had eaten half the fries and half the burger in the bag.  One cola had gone down behind it all but not all that smoothly as he throat still burned from the stomach acid that had come up earlier.  But he had to admit that he did feel better.  Better enough to realize that being chained in a room alone, now that the imminent fear of death was over (it was coming, but it wouldn’t be right now), he was excruciatingly bored.  He had put aside the rest of the food, then had gingerly gotten out of bed to take care of other bodily functions.

He'd walked the length of his chain, searching the room for anything useful or entertaining and found it horribly void of either. No loose nails, nothing small, sharp, or strong enough to pick any of the locks.  He’d saved the window for last and while it was also missing anything useful to help him out of his current situation, it did provide a break from the tedium for a short while.

He’d pulled the curtains back finally, blinking back at the light that was far brighter than his room.  Once his eyes saw past the nailed shut window casing and iron rebar crossing the opening, he took in the wide-open fields that surrounded the house.  Some low mountains rose in the distance, trees rising up along its base and scattering over the sides.  There was a very overgrown and disused dirt road that he saw a distance away, so that even if someone was passing by on that road, he’d never be spotted in the window.  There was a large tree to the side of the house with a homemade single seat swing drowsily swaying from one of its limbs.  And a rusted out old clunker buried further back in overgrown weeds.  For all intents and purposes, it appeared to be an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. And Sam was going to die here.

He was leaning heavily against the window, mostly hidden behind the blackout curtains that he’d let fall from his hand once that realization had hit.  When the door to his room had opened again, he didn’t even flinch, having almost accepted his fate.  So, he didn’t see the dark rage that was on Benny’s face when he saw that the room was empty and a quick glimpse confirmed the bathroom was too.  Benny growled low in his throat once he saw the chain leading under the curtains and reached down to snatch it from the floor, yanking Sam off his feet and dragging him away from the window. 

Sam did yelp then and when he saw the angry, thirsty look in Benny’s eyes, he screamed and turned over to try and scramble away.  He had accepted he was going to die, but he didn’t want to die right now.

“You trying to hide from me, little man?” Benny growled as he knelt and pulled on the chain, dragging the panicky boy towards him, his predatory smile getting darker and darker as his fangs came out to play. “You think a curtain is going to stop me from tasting that divine elixir you got flowing through your veins?”

“No, stop, I was just looking outside!” Sam was yelling, digging his fingers into anything he could reach, which at this point was only the leg of the bedside table.  He tightened his grip around it, ignoring the tearing pain in his ankle from the metal shackle.  Finally, the bedside table shifted, giving Benny a closer span towards his foot, and he took advantage of it, grabbing the boy’s ankle and yanking him closer.  The table tilted and wobbled, the lamp losing its balance to shatter on the floor next to Sam’s head, showering him with glass from the lamp, as well as the finer shards of the lightbulb. 

Sam immediately released the table leg and grabbed the remains of the lamp itself, ripping off the lampshade to thrust the broken light socket into the closest part of Benny he could reach, Benny’s hand. The electricity traveled through both of them, throwing Benny off and backwards and causing Sam to spasm and scream, nearly biting his tongue. He dropped the lamp, feeling every cut in his hands, as well as along his arm where it had scrapped through the glass fragments a few seconds before.

He had not even stopped twitching before Benny was up with a roar, gripping his upper body and pulling it towards his sharp fangs.  They had just sunk in when Dean roared from the doorway.

“Benny, stop!” Benny growled against Sam’s throat, letting some of the blood seep pass his lips and drip down his neck and onto his shirt. Dean was standing half an arms-length away from them, both arms up, both reaching and hesitant.  Sam was trembling violently, and he couldn’t have said if it was fear or remnants of the partial electrocution. Either way, he could feel the fangs in his throat tearing at his flesh and his eyes rolled back with the pain. 

“Benny, let him go. It’s too soon to feed. It’ll kill him. Remember the plan.” Dean was commanding and pleading with his nest mate.  Dean’s eyes were wide, flickering between the pale, trembling boy with red running down his neck and the enraged, bloodlust driven vampire who was gripping him so tightly.

Benny finally huffed and released Sam, tossing him not-so-gently to the floor.  Benny licked his lips with a growl before stalking out of the room.  He turned in the hallway to watch as Dean picked up the half-conscious boy off the floor and carried him to the bathroom.

“Brotha, you’re going to have to let this one go. He’s only good as bait and then as an hors d’oeuvre.” Then he stomped down the hallway, slamming doors as he went.

Dean paused, then sighed deeply, before continuing into the bathroom where he laid the boy in the tub. He stripped his shirt off and laid it to the side, noticing the black lightning marks on his fingers.  He lifted up the hem of his jeans to get a better look at his legs and saw more of them around the cuff on the one ankle.  That ankle was also turning purple and swelling.  Grabbing a clean washcloth and wetting it, he wiped down whatever he could reach on the boy, cleaning up the still seeping blood from the neck wound.  As the usual small holes had been torn in the attack, this one would not heal over as easily as the others.

With one hand on the boy’s chest, he reached into a side cabinet to pull out a first aid kit.  The boy moaned, tossing his head and Dean smiled fondly.

“Found this when we set up shop here. Never thought I’d need it.” Dean was mostly talking to himself as he opened it and pulled out old, but still usable bandages and medical tape to cover the wound and stop the bleeding.  “Don’t know what you did to put him such a foul mood, but you keep it up and your dad will be too late.”  Sam had opened his eyes and turned his head towards Dean, eyes still not able to focus.

“So. Just means my dad gets to die after me instead of before,” Sam said softly. If he didn’t know better, Dean would have thought that was sarcasm tinging his words.  Dean stopped his ministrations, leaning heavily on the side of the tub.

“Look kid-,” he said.

“Sam.  If you’re going to kill me, might as well remember the name to put on the weekly vampire newsletter. Sam Winchester.” He turned his head away from Dean.

Dean blinked and sat back on his heels.

“Uh, kid, uh, Sam. What’s your dad’s name?” Sam furrowed his brow and rolled his head back, forcing his eyes to focus on the green-eyed vampire.

“You don’t even know or care who you’re planning on killing, do you? And here I thought my dad had a reputation as a hunter to be feared, even by other monsters he hasn’t run into yet.” Sam gave a weak half smile. When Dean didn’t reply, he closed his eyes. “John Winchester, Monster Hunter. Only son of the late Henry Winchester, last of the Men of Letters, who was the only son of Jonathan Winchester, alumni of the Men of Letters and blah, blah, blah.” It was the rote lesson he always heard when people found out who his dad was, what was expected of him. 

“Damn it!” Dean muttered, running his hand through his hair again.

“So, you have heard of him,” Sam chuckled weakly. “Might as well kill me. You won’t be far behind me.” He kept his eyes closed and allowed himself to drift, only reacting with a flinch when the hands returned to cleaning him up and bandaging his ankle and wrist.  He didn’t struggle when Dean carried him back to the bed, feeling the chains feeling so much heavier now that his ankle was sprained, possibly broken. 

Dean left him in his silent agony, only noting that at least he’d eaten something.  He shook his head before pulled the door closed gently, locking it again.  This time it was to keep Benny out, not to keep Sam in.  The boy was too injured and weak to escape. He’d still probably try, being a hunter’s kid, but he’d never make it past the doorway.

Chapter Text

Hours later, Dean returned with a worn box in his hands and a thoughtful look in his eye.  Sam didn’t do more than open his eyes to see which one it was, then he closed them again and ignored him.  Dean huffed a deep breath, coming over to lay the box at the foot of the bed.

“Look, kid. Sam. I’m guessing you’re bored out of your mind. Terrified, sure, but probably bored too.” Sam huffed a sarcastic laugh. “How about we play some games?  I have some board games from when I was a teenager that I managed to save and keep with me and I think you’re smart enough to know a board game won’t kill you.”  Sam opened one eye, looked at the box, then back at Dean’s earnest smile.  He rolled both his eyes open, then gingerly sat up, wincing at every ache and pain. 

“Board games?  Can I get like a painkiller or something?” Dean shook his head, hand on his lower face.

“Sorry, kid. Makes your blood taste bad.”

“Wouldn’t want that to happen,” Sam muttered with another roll of his eyes. Dean shrugged.

“At least this should take your mind off stuff for the most part. And we can ask each other questions while we play.” Dean shrugged again, bending over the box to pull out some old-fashioned wooden boards that were hinged to allow folding, and some smaller boxes that rattled, that must contain the game pieces.  “I can tell you want to talk, and I want to know to more about life outside of monsters and hunters.” 

Sam glared at him, lips pursed.

“Why would I know what life is like outside monsters and hunters? My mom and older brother were killed by a demon when I was six months old. I’ve been on the road with my dad since well before my first memory. It’s ALWAYS been monsters and hunters.”

Dean sat down heavier than he intended.

“Damn, no pickup games in the park?” Sam shook his head. “No sleepovers with your buddies?”

“With dad’s hunting buddies, sure. If the hunt was too dangerous, I was dropped off at Uncle Bobby’s or Pastor Jim’s, but it was never longer than a week.” He shrugged at the vampire.

“What did your buddies think about you coming and going so much?” Dean pushed the larger box to the far end of the bed and began to lay out two boards with their respective parts boxes on top of them.

“Never had any.  Hurt less if I hadn’t made any friends by the time we had to move to the next hunt.  Ended up doing homeschooling, having the supplies come to dad’s random PO boxes so I could keep up.” Now Sam was fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, eyes going between the two boards, not wanting to look at the vampire and see pity from the monster who had hurt him and taken him from his dad. 

“Huh.  Guess I won’t feel so bad then since I didn’t really take you away from anything you’d miss.”

‘Or anyone who would miss me.’ Sam felt the thought roll through his brain and the emotional roller coaster he was on reached the end of the line as he let himself detach.

Dean flinched internally when he saw the utter despair come over Sam’s face for a moment before it was hidden away behind a new, emotionless façade. Guess he’d struck a nerve. “So, which one?  Scrabble or Hexagonal Chess?”

Sam was officially done feeling sorry for himself, but his inherent inquisitive nature wanted to know about the odd chess game.

“Hexagonal Chess? What’s that?” Dean lit up, being able to explain one of his favorite games to this kid.

“It’s chess,” he said, holding up one finger, “But played on a hexagonal board. Hexagonal means-.” Sam shook his head and glared at him again.

“I know what hexagonal means.  I mean, I’ve never heard of it being played on anything besides a square board before. I’ve seen Chinese checkers on a hexagonal board, but never chess.” Dean smirked.

“Before I was turned, it was my favorite game.  I was teaching my brother to play while dad was always away working.  Wanna learn?” He watched Sam’s eyes as the boy thought for a moment, as he considered telling him to go to hell, as he thought about how bored he’d been and how that had nearly gotten him killed.  When Sam nodded hesitantly and looked up at him with his new, carefully blank face, Dean smiled brightly.  “Let me explain the rules…”

Over the next half hour, he set up the beautiful but worn board and the hand-carved pieces, helping Sam move so he could comfortably lean forward to look over the board.  He explained each piece and how it moved on the hexagonal board, answering all questions that the boy put to him about the nuances of the differences.  Seeing as whose son and grandson he was, he wasn’t surprised that the boy picked up the rules quickly and they were soon ready for their first match.  Dean let him go first.

“Okay, so let’s make this more interesting.” Sam looked at him cautiously, leaning away slightly.  “You can ask me questions, but for every one you ask, I get to ask one too.  And vice versa.  But you have to accept ‘I can’t answer that’ as an answer.  Temper tantrums ends the entertainment immediately.” Sam pursed his lips and nodded slowly.

“But same applies to you.” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“No temper tantrums allowed?” Sam huffed and rolled his eyes. No wonder the kid got migraines with all the eye rolling he did. 

“Well, that, but you also have to accept if I can’t or won’t answer a question. I’m not willingly going to help you kill my dad or any other person.” Dean leaned his head left then right before shrugging.

“I can accept that. Can’t promise no temper tantrums though.” He smiled goofily as Sam finally released a small smile before wiping his face blank again. “You move first, since you’re the guest.” Sam snorted and muttered something, but Dean pretty much knew what he was muttering about.

Sam leaned forward with a wince, then moved his first piece. He looked up at Dean to make sure he was following the movement rules and maybe to gauge what the vampire thought of his opening move.  Dean just nodded and moved his own piece.

“Your dad really John Winchester?” Dean asked as Sam made his next move, tongue peeking out as he concentrated.

“Uh huh, badass monster hunter.” Sam couldn’t help the little bit of pride that snuck out with his acknowledgement. “Why did you really stop Benny from killing me?” Dean paused and looked up into the boy’s eyes.

“You must have been really out of it if you didn’t hear me.  You being alive is part of the plan.” He finished his move and leaned back, frowning.  Sam shook his head, brow furrowed, but went to make his next move, taking Dean’s pawn.

“No, I heard you, but my dad and his friends will come regardless if I’m alive or not. I could see if you’re planning on killing me in front of him to make him suffer, but you already told me he was going to die first, then me, so it’s not that.” He looked up at Dean, watching the vampire’s face twitch.  I also heard when you told Benny that you don’t kill kids, but I already know that I’m the exception that rule in this situation.  Is it just the good monster, bad monster thing you and Benny are trying, to like keep me in line or something because I’ll be honest with you. I’ve accepted that I’m never leaving here alive.  Not ready to die, though. I mean, I just made it to high school, damn it.  Either way, you’re either taking the good vampire schtick too far or you really don’t want to kill me.  And I appreciate that, I do. But the in between, that’s torture. Physical and mental.”

He looked directly into Dean’s eyes and saw surprise there.  Dean eyed him critically.

“High school? I thought you were, what, 13? I admit things have changed around me over the decades, but aren’t you a little young for high school?” Sam shrugged.

“I’ve skipped a few grades. Easy to do with homeschooling because I’m not having to wait for the rest of the class to catch up to me.  Plus, it helps with Uncle Bobby teaching me languages so I can help do research.  Means I have a broader view and bigger grasp than my peer group.” One shoulder twitched in embarrassment, turning his attention back to where Dean was moving his king in an unexpected direction.  The vampire laughed.

“You’re smart, then, huh?” Sam glanced up and then back down again, trying to hide his blush by letting his long hair fall over his face as he made his next move.

“I guess. Dad always said I should have been a Man of Letters instead of a hunter, but they went extinct the same time grandpa went missing. So moot point. It doesn’t matter anymore anyways.” Sam sat back and watched the calloused hand of the vampire move again. He was going to lose this match and he knew it, but at least he’d learned by playing.

“You dad never did find out what happened to him? Never found a body?” Dean tried to ask nonchalantly.  He’d stopped thinking about Henry Winchester dozens of years ago, but this was a rare opportunity. Sam shrugged again, forfeiting when he saw he was out maneuvered.

“Dad was four when his dad left to meet with his Men of Letters people. He never saw him again. In fact, no one ever saw any of them again.  No one has discovered any of their secret hideouts, meeting spots, whatever.  It’s like whatever happened, made the entire secret society cease to exist.”  Dean was resetting the board for another round. “My turn for a question.  Did it hurt when you died? I mean, you’re undead so you had to die when you were turned. Right?”

The vampire shrugged this time.

“It was so long ago that I only remember the attack, the bite, and then waking up. The only pain I remember is from the thirst for blood. Once that was sated with my first drink, it’s not been an issue.” The board was again set and this time he went first.  “No one knew what happened to your grandpa…and the others?”

“The rumors and research said that it was a demon attack but those were really rare and had to have been a really strong demon or coordinated to take them all down in one night.  That’s what got dad into hunting as soon as he was old enough. But he stopped when he met my mom. It was when a demon attacked our house when I was a baby and killed my mom and older brother that confirmed to my dad that his only choice was to hunt and kill all of the monsters he could.  To stop others going through what we did.” They traded a few moves in silence, Dean going between being impressed at how fast Sam had picked up the game and being thoughtful of the information he’d gained so far. “Do you feel anything when you kill a person?”

This question was quiet but the vampire sighed internally.  He made his move, then leaned back until he slid to a seated position on the floor, facing away from the kid and the board. 

“Like remorse or something?” He glanced back at Sam, who nodded once. “Not really, because like I said, I try to avoid killing and if I do kill, I try to make sure it’s some waste of skin, like a rapist or a pedophile or something. Lots of vampires have lost any sense of remorse. Some are just killing machines, out for themselves. But having lived a long time and watched people they care about die, it’s sort of been erased over time.” Sam looked down at his hands as he pulled them back into his lap and sat back thoughtfully.  It was quiet for a little while. “You were too little to remember your mom and brother?” Sam blinked up at the unexpected question.

“Pretty much, but dad tells me stories about them sometimes.  Mom was called Mary.  Dad still dreams about her, mostly nightmares, and yells for her. He has nightmares about my brother too, but not as much.  I think he’s sad about mom but my brother’s death made him feel too guilty so he’s buried it way, waaaay down. He doesn’t like to talk about him.” Dean turned enough to look at the melancholy look on the boy’s face and make his move, before settling his back against the side of the bed again. “I do know his name was Dean, like yours, and dad said he was his little blond-haired angel.”  Sam began rambling on about how his brother had been the perfect one, always saying ‘yes, sir’, and jumping right to any requests of commands their dad gave him, even as a very little kid.

“The only command he didn’t follow was when the fire started and he yelled at him to go outside, but Dean stayed to help dad save me and mom.  Dad didn’t know he was still inside when he grabbed me and ran for the front yard. By the time he realized it, Dean and mom were dead and the house was gone in fire and ashes.” The vampire ran a hand over his face. “But Dean was named after mom’s mom, whose name was Deanna.  His middle name was Michael, after the archangel. I’m named after mom’s dad, Samuel. My middle name was dad’s dad’s first name, Henry.” Sam tilted his head and looked off at the wall for a moment, silent.  “Huh…” Dean turned, propping his arm up on the bed and watched Sam, the game forgotten by both of them.

“Huh? What, huh?” Sam shook his head.

“It’s just. Just a crazy thought.” He shrugged to himself with a frown on his forehead. Dean made a motion for him to continue.

“Don’t keep me in suspense. What’s your crazy thought?”

“Well, grandpa was four when his brother died. Dad was four when his dad died. My brother Dean was four when he died.  I was four when I started having the…,” his eyes flickered over to Dean as he realized what he was saying and then looked away again. “…the migraines. Four seems to be the curse of the Winchester men. Although I don’t think we have any Asian blood in us...” His voice trailed off and his attention went inward as if he were searching his own brain for more information. His eyes unfocused and the vampire could tell that the kid was certainly no longer mentally with him.

Chapter Text

Settling in to wait, Dean watched the muscles slide and move as the kid did his mental calisthenics to whatever end.  He huffed to himself that the kid’s dad was right.  Sam definitely should have been a Man of Letters.  Dean had been on track to be initiated into the secret society himself before he was turned during an intelligence gathering training run.  While the kid was lost in thought, he let his own mind drift back to his past that he hadn’t let himself remember for a very long time.

He had just turned 20 at the time and his dad was finally going to let him become an initiate of the Men of Letters and he’d be given access to the accumulated knowledge of thousands of years.  The mission that night was simply to observe a local tavern in Lawrence, Kansas that was known to be frequented by vampires and werewolves, none of whom had ever been indicated in any murders or missing persons cases.  They were just there to observe and listen where they could for underground information. Even if these non-humans weren’t killing people, surely they knew the ones who were and might slip up and say something that the MOL members could pass to the scruffy hunters that they utilized from time to time to gather artifacts and further their knowledge. 

Before Dean, his father, another young initiate a little older than he, but from a prominent, wealthy family, and another MOL member went inside, they had discussed what the initiates should be looking for to tell the humans from the non-humans and how to signal to the others in their group if something was wrong or about to happen.  As nothing untoward had ever happened in this tavern, they were on their guard, but also more relaxed than they should have been. It wasn’t until the other initiate had drunk too much and begun spouting off about his privilege as the son of a wealthy family and as a legacy of the Men of Letters and then loudly espouse the certainty that those filthy hunters were missing out by not being here to kill all the non-humans immediately, that Hell broke loose.

Of course, all of the humans and a few of the non-humans had fled, including the incubus bartender, who had a new bed partner nearly every night and only took enough to be satisfied, never enough to kill. The other initiate had pulled his gun and shot at the first person that approached him, not realizing that it was a human man, who was just wanting to break up the disaster before it got started. But the damage had been done. Blood had spilled and a newly changed werewolf and a vampire who was trying to go blood-free had both gone into a frenzy.  The drunken idiot who had started it all had been shredded by the werewolf and the last Dean had seen of him before he’d been yanked away by his father had been the bloody chest, open and missing its heart.

The other member had grumbled but had cleared the way for Dean and his father, only to be taken down by the same werewolf a moment later. Dean remembered seeing his father being yanked from him at the door by something from outside, assuming it was another werewolf or vampire, but in that moment, when he froze, it had been his undoing.  He’d never trained in physical combat before as the MOL saw it as brutish and uncouth.   The vampire had landed on Dean, pulling him down, his mouth already clamped onto his neck.  He remembered that cold suction of the vampire drinking his blood, then passing out, awakening no telling how long later, hunger pains clawing through him.

The same vampire who had bitten him had been in the strange room with him and had simply thrown his first kill, a roguish dock worker at him, telling him to drink and he would feel better.  He hesitated only a moment before ripping into the man’s throat and drinking until sated.  His maker laughed later when he had come to himself enough to feel remorse at his actions.

‘Feel not for that brute, young one,’ the monster had said. ‘He was working with smugglers to kidnap, rape, and sell young women and men to visitors on their yachts for their entertainment. You gave him a much kinder death than he deserved.’

It had eased his guilt, but that night he realized he was lucky that he had been changed by one of the few vampires who still had any sort of morality.  He later learned that most did not.  He had spent months learning how to live as a vampire, learning how to fight, how to subdue, how to hide.  He had built up muscle and was wearing more hunter-like clothing so that no one would recognize him.  So it was that when he went to see how his father had died, he was not recognized at the distance where he stood as he saw his father, alive and unharmed, escorting his mother and younger brother from the empty graveside where they had held a funeral for him, for the look of it.  It would raise too many questions if they told everyone he died but they had no body, so they’d bribed a local mortician and had an empty coffin planted in the family plot.

His father did not look much different, perhaps a dark pinch around his eyes, but otherwise, the same.  His mother was distraught and appeared to have lost much weight. Dean was certain she had been told there was a body in the casket but had not been allowed to view it due to ‘unmentionable’ damage.  His little brother, though. Henry looked lost. His hazel eyes haunted and red-rimmed.  The little boy had idolized Dean and followed him everywhere. Now, he’d have to grow up faster than he’d ever expected to. Dean had despaired, knowing that while his father would not kill him because he was a vampire, he would put his family at risk involving them in his new life.  With a heavy heart, he’d turned away and disappeared into the shadows.

Shaking the memory from his head, he looked up into the boy’s hazel eyes and fleetingly, the face was overlaid with the younger brother he’d said goodbye to in 1936.  And it hurt.  He took a deep breath and leaned forward to tap the kid on the knee because he was still lost in his thoughts, but Benny coughed from the doorway to get his attention.  Both he and the boy looked up, the kid freezing, terror evident in his eyes.  Dean sighed then heaved himself off the floor and pushed Benny back out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him to separate them.

“What do you want, Benny?” He asked as soon as the door closed.  Benny narrowed his eyes and leaned closely.

“What I want, Brotha, is another sip of that tasty little morsel in there, but since you’re insistin’ on keeping me away from him, I WANT to know what’s going on that head of yours.” Benny growled lowly as he reached up with his point finger and jabbed it into Dean’s forehead. The younger vamp swatted his hand away and scowled.

“You know there’s a plan, Benny.”

“Yeah, I know there’s a plan, but are you still part of the plan?” Benny bared his fangs on that.  Dean huffed.

“Of course, I am.”

“Are you? Because it seems to me you’re protecting this whelp instead of having him play his role as bait.”  This time, Dean poked Benny in the chest.

“How’s he bait if he’s dead? You’ve got to get a handle on this because if he’s dead, sure they’ll come but part of the plan depends on them hesitating while he’s still alive and giving us that little bit in our favor. If he’s dead, they’ll be fueled on rage and adrenaline and despair and we don’t have that edge anymore.” Dean pushed Benny further from the room and down the hallway. “I know you’re hurting over your mate. Damn, I’m hurting over Charlie too, but you know whose kid that is? Huh?  John Winchester’s!” 

Benny’s eyes went wide and he jerked back in shock. He glanced around Dean at the closed door.

“No kidding,” he said with awe. “Your nephew’s boy is in that room?” Dean nodded once. Benny rubbed his hand over his mouth and beard. “Damn. We gotta up our planning. This ain’t going down so easy.”

“No kidding. We’ve all heard the stories and you know that hunter rarely loses a hunt. Guess we should have done more research before we snatched the kid.” Dean glanced over his shoulder at the door before leaning on the wall next to Benny.

“Had no idea the hunter in the woods that night was John Winchester. Damn, brotha. We done stepped in it now.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“So yes, the kid has to die, but you tell me it doesn’t scare you a little to think of Winchester in an adrenaline-filled rage busting in here.  As long as his kid is alive, he’ll hesitate and that gives us a better chance. So, just stay the fuck out of that room if you can’t control yourself.”  Benny sighed and nodded. “Did you find out anything useful?”

“The hunters are gathering.” He looked thoughtful.

“How many?”

“So far, count is about eight. The word is they know the general area where we are and will be heading this way tomorrow night. We gotta get the nests together but keep it quiet so they don’t suspect.” Dean nodded.

“Yeah, okay. Get the word to the other nests and have them come in quietly, dawn tomorrow.  Make sure they’ve all fed on wildlife, no humans, no domestic animals, and cover their tracks.  Don’t need the hunters suspecting how large a trap they’re walking into. I’ll get this place ready.”

The two vampires conspired longer, going over plan specifics and contingencies, and it ended with a hug and a clasping of hands before Benny headed out and Dean headed back to the kid.

Chapter Text

“Okay, everyone here?” When the mumbling and soft conversation had fully ceased, John Winchester stood to his full height and looked around at the shadowed faces of the other hunters.  Some appeared nervous, some angry, and some resolute.  He himself, was angry and determined. 

“We all know what we’re up against,” Bobby said from his position next to the stall wall. The old barn was musty, but thankfully empty, disused.  “We know there are at least five vamps waiting for us.  It’s not a nest, but the remnants of nests we’ve taken out that are banded together.”  He pulled off his ballcap to run a hand over his hair before putting it back.

“Where did you get your information?” the older black man to his right asked, scratching his chin. 

“Rufus,” Bobby grumbled. “Never you mind.  Have you ever known info John provides to be wrong?”  The older black man scowled at John.

“Well, no, but just makes me nervous.”  A balding white man leaned into the light to nervously glance over at John as well. 

“Let’s just get on with this, okay?” He leaned back as John eyed him curiously. 

“Caleb’s right,” Bobby responded.  He leaned closer to the makeshift table created from some old hay bales and a broken stall door.  He pointed at the map that had been laid out on it.  “John’s boy was taken here.” He pointed to the far left of the map, the forest designated by green.  His finger jabbed other points on the map, edges of towns nearby.  “And these are the nests that haven’t been taken out over the past year-.”

“Year?” another voice asked.  “You think they’ve been planning that far back?”  Bobby looked to John to respond.

“It could be further back than that,” John growled.  “I’ve been killing vamps for a long, long time.  My source tells me that at least two of the ones that have my son are from a nest I thought I’d wiped out 8 months ago.  Maybe if they were smart enough to hide and escape death this long, they’re smart enough to know they can’t take us on alone.  And since we know it’s leftovers from more than one nest, it’s safe to assume that it could be ones from any number of nest we’ve destroyed.” There were new murmurs.

“You think they could be leftovers from nests we’ve all taken out?” another man asked.  There were nods and whispers, until John wiped his hand down his stubbly face. 

“Honestly, I don’t know.  I say ‘we’ but they only took my son, none of your family members.  Could be they are just from my kills and just want revenge on me.  But I’m alive because I don’t underestimate the enemy and I’m pretty sure none of you are dumb enough to do that either.”  He looked around at the faces as each quietly contemplated that.

“How do we know if your boy is even alive?” a younger black man asked.  He looked hard already, only in his early 30’s. 

“Gordon.” John muttered.  He knew the man’s history with vamps.  His sister’s turning and subsequent beheading by her brother had been his entrance into hunting.  He had questioned Bobby’s wisdom of inviting the hunter to this rescue mission but Bobby had assured him that Gordon wouldn’t kill Sam, even if he had been turned, because he was just a boy.  “If they had just wanted to hurt me, they’d have made sure I found a body.  But the two vamps leading their suicide mission have made it clear that Sam is being kept alive and unturned.  They want to hurt me long-term, by making Sammy a blood bag.” 

Gordon grunted, but made no other protest. 

“Okay, let’s go over the plan one more time, and then we head out a little after sunrise,” Bobby sighed.  He pointed to open land.  “They’re holed up here, in this old cult farm.  We verified it a few days ago, following them back to the nest. There’s a few outbuildings, an old barn, kinda like this one here.”  He looked around the room.  “The main house is big.  Think Walton’s but fortified.  Bars on the windows, steel reinforced doors.  Only two access points, one in the front and one in the back.  There are heavy curtains over all the windows so we couldn’t see in.”

“My source says he got a glimpse of Sammy at one of the windows before he was snatched back,” John said in deep, angry voice.  “So, we know he’s still alive as of yesterday.” 

“I’d really like to meet your source, Winchester,” Gordon growled.  “Ain’t many things that can get near a vamp nest without being seen.  You consortin’ with monsters, John?”  Many eyes darted nervously between the two men.  John’s face went emotionless except for a slow half smile.  Nearly everyone there unconsciously leaned back from that cold smile.  Gordon simply glared at him, waiting for an answer. 

“I didn’t say he wasn’t seen, Walker,” the tall, gruff hunter replied icily.  “That’s why I expect they know we’re coming and why I asked for help to kill every one of those sons a bitches.” 

“Revenge?” Gordon snorted.  “You even want your boy back?”  Even Bobby gasped at that.  With a speed no one had expected, John leapt forward, grabbing Gordon’s throat and shoving him hard against the rotting wall. 

“My son is my first priority,” John growled a bare inch from Gordon’s face.  “Their destruction is second.  They die either way, but don’t EVER presume to think I don’t care about my son.”  He shook the shocked man. “Do you understand me?”  Gordon could only nod. 

Not once did John’s voice go above his normal growl, but every person in room felt as though the voice of God had admonished them with a booming declaration.  The gruff hunter released Gordon and turned away, completely ignoring the black man whose eyes narrowed as he eased his hand down to where he had his gun stashed.  John didn’t even pause.

“Do it, Walker,” John growled.  By the time he got back to his spot and turned, Gordon’s hands were up in defense and he was slowly easing up from where he’d been shoved against the wall.  John shot him one cold glance before turning back to Bobby.

The older hunter swallowed, glancing between the two of them, then went back to the map. 

“We go in teams of four,” Bobby pointed out as he jabbed the map again.  “One for the front door, one for the back, and one for the barn. We’ll deal with the outbuildings once we have Sam safe and secure and the rest of the house and barn cleared and nothing that ain’t one of us is dead.  The mission is Sam first, kill vamps along the way, then finish whatever is left after.  Are we clear?”  There were murmurs and nods from all around.

“Bobby will be leading the team with Shane, Bill, and Rufus.  Caleb will lead the team with Pastor Jim, Walter, and Martin.  My team will be Roysten, Daniel, and Gordon.” John turned his eyes onto Gordon, daring him to protest.  Bobby knew why he wanted Gordon on his team but he didn’t like it. 

“We’ll be heading out to get into place within a few hours so stock up, get some rest, and get yourself ready.”  Bobby laid his hand on the map as he scratched his beard.  “Meet out back at 6am.” 

Everyone shifted around and then scattered to leave John and Bobby alone by the map table.  Gordon was the last to go, eyeing John the entire time.  Finally, John slumped and ambled to Bobby’s side.  They stood close together, heads down, staring at the map. 

“Do you think we’ll get Sam back, Bobby?” John’s voice was tired and sad.  His friend looked over at him, then clapped his shoulder.

“John, if he’s alive or he ain’t, we’ll get him back.”  When John gave him a tired nod, Bobby smiled a small bit.  “And if they’re keeping him alive just to torment you, I know it ain’t ideal, but we’ll get him back and get all of them dead.  What’s your gut say?”  John looked down at the map, but his mind was elsewhere. 

“It says he’s alive, being tormented and abused, but alive.” He nodded, then stood and wiped at his eyes brutally.  “They want to kill him where I can see it happen.”  Bobby snorted.

“Then they done screwed up.”  When John looked at him questioningly, Bobby shook his head.  “Everybody and every monster  knows, once John Winchester has you in his sights, you best be running ‘cause if he wants you dead, your life is just a clock ticking down.”  John snorted at him, shaking his head, before walking off to make sure his weapons were ready in the Impala.

*****

“Okay, everyone here?” When the mumbling and soft conversation had fully ceased, Dean Winchester stood to his full height and looked around at the shadowed faces of the other vampires.  They were all angry and determined.  “So far, what we know is that the hunters have gathered in a group of at least eight, maybe more.  If everyone has been following the rules, they won’t know how many of use there are.  Their scout looked right in Vince’s eyes so they know we know.”

“And why did you let him get away?” One angry voice piped up from the back of the room.  There were other murmurs.

“Because, giving them misinformation is better than letting them see all our cards,” he smirked.  The room quieted again.  Benny rose up from where he had been leaning casually against the doorframe. 

“The hunter leadin’ them is John Winchester,” he said and then waited for the expected response.  There was an uproar from many.  Most of them had lost family to the hunter, but all of them had heard of him and were aware of his reputation. 

“So, he took over the hunt to come rescue the hunter’s kid?” Lenore whined from her spot at the end of the dining room table.  She was short but powerful.  Having lost all of her family to John’s machete, she was angry, but afraid of him.  When Dean and Benny shared a flinching glance, she felt even more nervous.  “What? What aren’t you telling us?”

“That kid, uh, is, um, John’s son,” Dean stammered, rubbing the back of his neck.  The room again erupted into an uproar and several of the vampires tried to take off down the hallway to kill the boy now.  That’s why Dean and Benny had placed them in the dining room and living room, so they only had access out of there through the front door or hallway.  They both stepped up and stopped the vampires from leaving. 

“Now wait a minute!” Benny yelled and held up his hands to get them to stop.  It took several long minutes before they settled, several of them still seething.  “We didn’t know it when we grabbed him, but this works out for us. Either way, John is hurt.  He took our family, so we took his.  The boy will die, but not until his daddy can see it with his own two eyes.  That way he knows what he did led to what we did.” 

“It doesn’t change the plan,” Dean said loudly.  “We expect them a little after dawn.  They can only come in through the front door or back.  We expect them to hit the barn too if they have enough, but definitely the house.  We made sure their scout saw the boy in the window.”  Benny smirked.  “Based on that, here’s where I want each of you.” 

He and Benny leaned forward and spoke quieter now, to keep anyone or thing that might be listening from hearing their plans.  They knew the scout hadn’t been human, which shocked them to no end as hunters would rather die than work with something inhuman.  But since it hadn’t come in to take the boy itself, they decided it must be under orders or docile and thus, not a threat. 

In the back bedroom, Sam curled up on the bed, tears leaking unbidden.  He’d heard the yelling downstairs.  And after Dean’s comment when he’d come into his room earlier, he knew his time and most likely his dad’s time, were almost up. 

Chapter Text

By the time all of the hunters’ vehicles were parked out of sight down the road from the ‘farm’, the sun was just past the horizon.  They had already loaded up with machetes and dead man’s blood, but took time to make sure they had enough as they waited for the sunlight to completely fill the sky.  The teams gathered around John and Bobby for one last run through and any last minute intel.  Their ‘scout’ had apparently alerted John with any further developments, so they were ready to go ahead with the plan. 

It was broad daylight.  If the vampires hadn’t known the raid was coming, the hunters should have been in and out.  But Winchester luck being as it was, it was a not the clean sweep they had planned for.  The first clue should have been when the initial kicking in of the doors had brought none of the monsters running towards the noise.  The second clue should have been when the barn had been found empty.  The final clue should have been when they found Sam inside the locked room, unconscious, chained up, but unguarded.  John had been ecstatic and emotional upon holding his pale, limp son in his arms while Roysten picked the lock around his broken ankle.  They had all seen the fang marks on his neck, but the exchanged looks were silent.  The uncomfortable questions would have to wait.

Upon the signal from Daniel via the walkie-talkies that Sam was found and alive, the other hunters had relaxed in happiness.  And that had been the moment of weakness that the vampires took advantage of. 

“Aaaaaaaaargh!” Screams from all over suddenly broke the peace all over the property as vampires poured from the outer buildings, a tornado shelter, and the basement and attic of the main building.  The hunters were caught partially off guard and several went down, but they tried as much as they could to take as many vamps with them as they died.  All told, 15 hunters had shown for the rescue mission.  Four went down within the first minute of the ambush, two in Caleb’s team, one in Bobby’s, and one in John’s.  The vampires had counted themselves at 21, all from different nests, at different stages of experience with hunters.  Nine went down with the first hunters. 

Spread across the property, the battle raged, blood flying.  Inside the house, John had reluctantly laid his son back on the bed so he could have both hands free to kill the vampires that had raced up and down the stairs to attack them.  Vampire claws and fangs versus machetes and knives.  The biggest advantage the hunters had was that they had all dosed their blades with dead man’s blood, which slowed down any vamp that got even sliced a little.  The tide was turning outside in the sunshine, the grass being coated in splotches of dark red blood and the hunters were winning.  It was nearly down to two hunters per vamp.

Inside, however, the losses on both sides were more pronounced as there were walls to contend with and being cornered was almost as good as a death sentence. Carter, the new guy that had shown up last minute and had volunteered for John’s team, had gone down with the initial ambush.  As had Shane, from Bobby’s team.  Now, Bobby and Rufus were fighting back to back through the main living area, both bloodied, but still in the fight, while Bill and Chris, another last minute arrival, were dead.  John and Roysten were blocking the entrance to the bedroom where Sam still lay insensate on the bed, fighting off or beheading any vamp that tried to come through the door.  Gordon had gone missing and although John thoroughly disliked the man, he didn’t wish him dead.  Daniel had died in the initial ambush, but Gabe, the final last minute arrival, was still battling away in the hallway just outside the door, deftly dodging the vamp attacks, but as a short guy, was unable to do more than slice the ones that got past him, making them a bit slower.

“John,” Roysten huffed out between catching his breath and swinging the bloody machete at yet another vamp who tried to burst into the room. John didn’t look away from where he was in hand-to-hand combat with a vampire who obviously was quite old and experience.  “John, as soon as you can, grab Sam and run. Me and Gabe will draw them off you.” John still didn’t look over as he had finally gotten his hand on the bowie knife in his belt and was busy sawing off the head of the one in front of him.  He only grunted at Roysten.  Once the head rolled and the body dropped, John turned, just in time to watch hands grab Roysten from behind and snap his neck.  The hands, however had come from inside the room.

John whipped around to attack the blood sucker who had somehow slipped past the hunters who guarded the door and froze. 

On the bed, a green-eyed vampire was seated against the headboard nonchalantly, with Sam cradled against his chest.  He had one arm wrapped around the boy’s chest and the other was holding his head to the side as he leaned down to lick the boy’s neck.  The green eyes never left watching John as the vampire smiled darkly.  John felt his heart stutter, barely reacting as rough hands grabbed him, ripped his blade from his hands and forced him to his knees, a strong grip twisting his arm high up between his shoulder blades.  There was a fist in his hair that yanked his head sideways, exposing his neck. 

“Uh, uh, not yet,” the vamp holding his son admonished someone behind him.  The hunter sucked in a breath realizing that one of the ones who had grabbed him was only inches from sinking fangs into his carotid.  The vampire paused but growled. “Benny, I’m not denying you, but I want to watch him suffer.”  ‘Benny’ chuffed and moved back, letting John’s head move back upright, hand never leaving his hair. 

“Please,” John said, watching the scene on the bed.  He didn’t even realize he’d spoken until the smile broke out on the vamp’s face. 

“Please?” The green-eyed vampire said mockingly.  He glanced down at the boy in his arms and gently laid him on the bed, softly patting his head like he would a puppy. 

“Dean-,” growled the bearded one that the one had called ‘Benny’.  ‘Dean’s’ eyes flashed to Benny, causing him to go quiet. The other vampire holding John also stilled from the gnashing of teeth he had been doing.  Outside in the hallway, they could hear voices calling to John and Roysten and other sounds of battle as they other hunters still fought off what vampires remained.  There were growls and hisses and ripping skin.  Dean indicated the door with his chin and the unnamed vamp kicked the door closed and locked it. 

“The great John Winchester,” Dean chuckled, standing off the bed and coming around to look down on him.  The hand in John’s hair pulled back, straining his neck as he was made to look up at the blood sucker who now crouched in front of him, elbows on his knees casually.  Benny still kept his head back so that his neck was exposed and now had to look down to see in front of himself.  “I gotta admit, when we grabbed that delicious boy over there, we had no idea that you were his father.”  He leaned in and stared longingly at the pulse in John’s throat before leaning back, shaking his head.

“Bet that just about made you shit blood, didn’t it?” John asked with a smirk.  Now that no one was touching or directly threatening Sam, his ferocity came roaring back.  He mentally dared the vamp to get closer so he could give him a taste of his own medicine.  Even if it meant his scalp was ripped off and his arms were ripped from their sockets, he’d try his damnedest to bite the throat out of the vamp in front of him.  He only scowled when the vamp laughed and shook his head.

“Not really,” Dean said as he eased fluidly back to standing and then leaned back against the bed, his hands going into his jeans pockets.  “We were surprised by the news, but honestly, it was the perfect opportunity.  You were who we’d been looking for anyways.” Dean looked as though he were contemplating the universe for a moment.  He glanced back at the sleeping boy on the bed and then back to John. “At first it was all about revenge, and you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”  When John gave no response, Dean smiled broadly. “But I think this might be better.  We were going to kill you, then kill him and be done with the Winchester line, but it won’t end with your death or his.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” John asked, brow furrowed.  Dean blinked innocently as he laid a hand on his own chest.

“My name, before my sire turned me, was Dean Winchester.”  John’s face paled and his mouth fell open. 

“No,” he breathed.  Dean chuckled.

“Yes, nephew, your father was my little brother.  Sweet Sammy is my grand-nephew.  Soon to be my child, my fledgling.” 

“NOOOO!” John screamed, throwing himself forward to escape the grip but the second vamp behind him grabbed on as well and he truly couldn’t do anything but watch as Dean turned back to the bed and gathered the boy to him again. 

“Hey now,” Benny grumbled from behind John. “I want one more taste before he’s off the menu.”  Dean glared at the bearded vampire, shaking his head.

“We’ll find you another boy later, Benny,” he started, but Benny was already stepping away from John, having let go of his arm and hair as he faced off against Dean.  John used it to his advantage and ripped himself away from the unsure third vamp, rolled to grab the discarded machete that lay against the wall where it had fallen behind the door before, and was up, Benny’s head falling to the ground before any of them had a chance to do more than tense up.  “Benny!”

The door behind them flew open, Bobby, Rufus, and Gabe running in, blades up.  The unnamed vamp turned to hiss at them but Rufus was faster, beheading him swiftly.  The black man nodded as the corpse thumped to the floor. 

“That’s four for me. I win,” Rufus said, almost to himself.  Bobby grunted and ignored him. 

“Too late, John,” Dean laughed darkly from the bed, causing all eyes to swivel to him.  His arm was held above Sam’s slack lips, dripping blood into his mouth.  The vampire had his head leaning back in open amusement even as a machete flew through the air like a boomerang, burying itself in the wall behind the headless body that now slumped down over the slender, abused body of John’s son.   

“Six,” Gabe said.  As John ran forward to shove the body off his son, the others turned confused eyes towards Gabe. The short, golden-haired man shrugged. “Whatever the prize is, I win.  That was six I killed.” 

John had run into the bathroom with his son and frantically tried to flush out Sam’s mouth, hoping he had yet to swallow any of the vampire blood. 

“Damn,” Rufus muttered, but Bobby wasn’t sure if it was because of Gabe beating him or because they had been too late to save Sam from being fed vampire blood. 

Chapter Text

Nearly a decade later, Gabe smiled sadly as he watched from his invisible spot as another shadowy figure walked past him in the darkened living room.  A second shadowy figure, slightly taller, tiptoed past him, following the first.  Finally, in the kitchen, there was a scuffle, a short battle before the first finally pinned the second with a chuckle.

“Whoa, easy, tiger,” the green eyed man smirked.  The slender young man beneath him stared up at him in confusion, the fear that made him breathe fast slowly leaving him. 

“Dean?” he asked quietly.  Gabe held his breath as Dean chuckled. This was the moment of truth.  The younger man felt something flicker in his mind that something was really off, but on the next blink, it disappeared and he wrote it off as still not being fully awake and the adrenaline still rushing through him. “You scared the crap out of me.”  The older man on top became really smug. 

“That’s because you’re out of practice.”  In that moment, the younger man saw his moment and took it, flipping them so he pinned the older one to the kitchen floor instead.  “Or not.”  

When the younger let Dean up and made no move to kill him, Gabe let the breath go.  He watched them talk and interact and turned to go.  Not that they noticed, because he had been invisible to them and wouldn’t interfere again for a while. 

When his Father had come to him long ago, his first inclination had been to run and hide, but as things unfolded, he couldn’t help but to return and quietly observe, seeing everything happening as God had predicted. 

“Gabriel,” God had said while leaning against the cathedral wall. “Your brothers have all been destined for this future and it cannot happen without your help.  The only force that really surprised me and threw a wrench into all this is nature.  Michael’s Sword is being born several years too early.”  Gabe had only raised an eyebrow at the bearded man who looked up at the stained glass windows.  “It would be okay if he would die in the destined attack on the bar, but I can see what happens and he gets turned into a vampire instead.  I need your help to put his Sword back into the right place and time.”

“Dad,” Gabe had sighed, sliding down the wall to sit next to him, eliciting a small smile. “Why even allow Michael and Lucifer to duke it out?  They’ll destroy the earth and so many people will die.  Doesn’t that bother you?” He watched God lean his head back and look up to the dome above them.

“I promised your brothers that they would have their day and I have to follow through.  I can see all paths up until the day your brothers meet for the final battle.  This is the path that gives them that day.”

“But what about free will?” Gabe asked, laying his arms over his bent knees.  “Isn’t this controlling and not allowing them the free will you also promised?” 

“Gabriel,” was said fondly. “this is only putting a soul back in the time and place it was meant to be, not forcing it to do what I want it to.  If the soul is where it’s supposed to be, it’ll choose to do what it was destined to anyway.” 

With reluctance, but not wanting to disobey, Gabriel had watched for the right moment.  He’d seen when Sam Winchester had been taken by his undead great uncle.  He’d appeared and offered his services as a scout to John Winchester, hiding his true nature, of course.  He’d used an illusion to appear as a different person while scouting and then joined the hunt as ‘Gabe’. 

Step one had been to get the soul, by way of killing the vampire, which he had accomplished.  Step two had been waiting until everyone had been distracted with burning the corpses and checking on poor, abused Sam.  He’d used that distraction to secret away Dean’s body and piece it back together, erasing his memory, and putting the soul back in place.  Step three had been finding everyone who had anything to do with Sam and changing their memories to forget that his older brother had died in the fired along with their mother.  Step four was waiting for the appropriate moment to insert new memories into Dean’s head and put the newly resurrected human into the carefully crafted ‘correct path’. 

It had been a tense few years as he’d had to watch them all and tweak memories here and there.  Dean had retained a bit of his vampire glamour, making him irresistible to all women.  John had felt over protective of Sam and would blame Dean for anything that happened to his youngest son.  Sam had been the hardest to manipulate.  The demon blood made him resist the tampering more than the others so he’d always felt off, out of place and had taken the first opportunity to go to college, to feel ‘normal’.  But now was the time to bring it all around to where God had said it needed to be.  And it appeared it had worked.

His Father’s plan was back on track.