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Twenty-four hours.
It had been twenty-four hours.
Twenty-four hours since he'd nearly bled out.
Twenty-four hours since the love of his life had betrayed him.
…
Twenty-four hours since Dean Winchester had killed her.
Benny shifted where he'd collapsed against the wall in an abandoned factory near the pier.
He should get up. He needed to feed and the supplies Dean had brought for him were long gone.
He'd lost so much blood.
Too much blood...
He needed to feed.
For the first time in many, many years, Benny considered finding someone to feed from directly. Longed to not have to beg, borrow, or steal a cold, congealed bag of his food, not to have to hunt down some poor deer or other woodland animal.
To taste warm, thick human blood again, straight from the source. To truly fill his stomach instead of barely slaking his thirst as he had done for years. To truly feast.
As was his birthright.
He was a predator, why shouldn't he hunt his prey?
He'd done it for decades before he'd met Andrea. Stolen entitled rich assholes that no one would miss. Sliced them open and drank deep. Stolen their yachts—
"Vampirates!" The memory of Dean's proud exclamation broke Benny out of his spiraling thoughts with the ghost of a chuckle.
He resheathed fangs he hadn't realized had descended with a shaky breath, rubbing his sweaty palms along the legs of his trousers.
Don't think, Benny told himself. One foot in front of the other. Animal blood to take the edge off, then find a blood bank with old stock. You've done it before.
He'd make it through tonight. Keep from giving that brother of Dean's a reason to hunt him down… keep from giving Dean a reason to hunt him down.
And after…
Well, after would just have to go take care of itself.