Sam Cristo was one-hundred and sixty-six years old today. Another five-hundred years and I'll be the number of the beast, he chuckled to himself as he watched the comings and goings of the nest from his vantage point in the big oak tree. It was a small nest of vampires, seven at best guess and few enough he should be able to handle them in one fell swoop. Come mid-morning they would be deep in sleep and he would go in then. With any luck he would decapitate four or five before any woke up and that would leave two or three to actually fight. A larger nest would force him to pick them off a few at a time and then the remaining ones would run, meaning he would have to track them down. The little town was nice. He wouldn't mind staying a few weeks, see the local sites, and drink in the pleasant ambience. The town was, admittedly, a little tension filled but who could blame them what with three bodies found drained of blood and three people still missing? The wreck of the old abandoned house the vampires were hiding in ought to burn nicely, some remains would be found, and the police would chalk the deaths up to some wayfarers that got too drunk and set themselves on fire and were maybe the elusive murderers they were hunting for. Job done, Sam could kick back and relax for awhile.

The hours just before sunrise and the bright morning that followed passed quietly. It was almost eleven when Sam decided he had waited long enough. He descended the tree and exited it protective greenery. He skulked toward the decrepit blue house, a machete in either hand, wincing as the sunlight caressed his sensitive skin. This was why he tried to stay north. It was too fucking hot in Texas in the middle of summer to wear long sleeves.

He picked open the lock on the back door with ease, so many years of long practice preventing it from being anything approaching a challenge. He missed some of the challenges of the early days even if he had almost died more times than he bothered to keep track of anymore. He pushed the back door open carefully, trying to minimize any creak that could rouse someone.

Once inside, he just as carefully shut the door, moved up to the wooden door and its peeling yellow paint, and paused to listen. One human heartbeat thumped in his ears, blood rushing through veins sounding like a river, but the slow and ragged breathing told Sam the human was hurt. He frowned. He had been watching the house for the past three days and hadn't seen anyone brought in. The human was probably one of the three who went missing. Witnesses were freaking inconvenient. It was also possible the human had been fed blood but not yet turned. Some people would change in less than an hour while some took as long as a week. Best to kill the human and eliminate any problems with witnesses or a potential future vampire.

He listened for the slow staccato breathing of the vampires, but the damned human's heartbeat derailed his attempts. He could hear their breathing but not differentiate how many there were. Shit or get off the pot, Sam chastised himself. At worst the three missing had been turned and he would have ten to face. Ten…okay, he may need to make an expeditious retreat if that was the case but he wouldn't know unless he went in.

Slowly, Sam pushed open the swinging door from the kitchen that led into the dining room. Two vampires were sleeping on the collapsed table, wrapped in each other's arms. Sam's machetes were sharp and easily cut through their necks. The human's heart and rushing blood made it impossible to hear if the other vampires' shallow breaths had changed and if any were stirring in the next room.

He ran his tongue over the flat blade of one of his machetes, savoring the blood. As soon as the vamps were dead he could feast. Their blood would easily hold him for a good few days, maybe a week, if he supplemented it with occasional livestock blood. He wrinkled his nose at the thought. A milkshake in the sun for three days was about what livestock blood tasted like. Maybe he would get lucky and could find someone in town willing to give up a bit of blood for money or sex. It was so much easier when he and Jessica were married. She could feed him a bit every few days and in the years of free love, people were stoned enough many were willing blood-givers. They would awaken and just think it was a really weird acid trip. Since Jessica had been killed ten years ago in retribution against Sam for hunting his brethren, he hadn't been willing to take on a long term lover, not until he found the nest that killed her. It also meant that he had to work harder to get human blood without killing someone.

One perk of hunting was typically a good meal at least. Since he was going to kill the human, after he did it would be a shame to let the blood go to waste. His sire had taught him how to survive without the necessity of taking human lives and he had taken only a few because he lost control. The others he had killed died for the very same reason this one was going to. Definite witness, potential newborn. He gave a small smile. Of course, with Jessica he was smitten from the time he laid eyes on her and couldn't bring himself to kill her. So he married her instead.

Sam reached the doorway and peered into the dim room. The rest were here. Fuck. Eight vampires. So they probably did turn the three missing people and the human must be one not yet reported as missing.

The naked human hung by chains around his wrists from a bolt in the ceiling. His muscular back—there was no doubt the broad shoulder belonged to a man--was a bloody mess of bites and cuts. The man appeared to be unconscious. At least the idiot wouldn't give Sam away by talking.

Sam crept across the room to the strongest looking male vampire and the woman at his side, raising his blades, ready to strike what was potentially the nest's leader. Their eyes snapped open and they grinned at him as they dodged the down sweep of his deadly blades. Movement came from all around the room. Four others rose to their feet and nudged awake their sleeping comrades. It was a frigging trap and he fell blithely into it. How the hell did they know he was coming? He had been a hunter for a hundred and forty three years. He was not sloppy.

"Knew that hunter wasn't working alone," the man sneered at Sam, tossing aside the gun he held, now knowing it was useless. "But another vampire? You kill your own?" the man demanded.

The woman's face lit with recognition. "Fuck, it's Cristo," she hissed.

Sam slowly retreated, keeping his back toward the man in chains. The man was a hunter. Fuck. More inconvenient than ever. He gave the vampires a smile.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Sam said, bowing fractionally. "If you know who I am, then you know I can take the eight of you down. You leave and get out of town and I won't follow. Not for a while at least."

The dark-haired leader laughed. "You think you can kill the ten of us."

"Eight. I already killed the lovebirds in the dining room."

A shadow crossed the face of the man and anger colored his eyes. "You're not leaving here Cristo."

Sam laughed softly. "Sure I am. I've been doing this longer than you and your bitch combined have been around. Take my offer while it's still on the table."

Instead the man rushed Sam. Always have to do it the hard way, Sam thought with disgust. Sam sidestepped the bulrush and as the woman came within range, he lunged forward and decapitated her in a single arc of one blade. He spun to face the fury of the leader but had to dodge an attack from another vampire, slicing his blade across the man's neck when the man ran past him. The vampire's body collapsed to the floor, his head rolling away and under an end table.

"Two down, six to go," Sam said to the leader. When a woman flew at him with a sword, he blocked the blow with a machete. She stepped back and Sam realized she knew how to wield that sword. Damn, damn, damn.

"I'll handle him Michael. Get the others out of here," the woman ordered.

Fuck. It was a matriarchal nest and he had mistaken 'Michael' as the leader. He wasn't the dangerous one. The woman in front of him now was. He focused his attention on her shapely body, long flowing hair and blue eyes as he heard the man angrily order the others out.

"You can go too," Sam offered, holding his blades ready to counter any attack. "I won't follow."

A smile curled her lips. "And let one of Anastasia's dogs live another day? I don't think so."

Sam froze. She knew who his sire was? She was older than he was, he could tell that by her smell now that they were alone, hunter not withstanding. His jaw clenched. He should know better than to make stupid wishes about 'challenges.' The fates had a twisted sense of humor. This woman was going to be more of a challenge than he bargained for. Maybe a deadly one.

"Not a big fan of Stasi's I see," Sam said as they began to circle one another.

The woman spat on the floor, her gaze leveled on him. "Fucking vegetarians have no right to exist. That's not what we were meant to be! We are better, superior to, the cattle."

"Uh-huh. That's why our numbers dwindle every year. The cattle are a little too good at trampling us in the mud."

"And you and dogs like you help them!" she yelled, rushing forward with her sword.

It felt like hours passed as they fought, blades clacking like a bowl of coins poured onto pavement. It was obvious to Sam that if he hadn't had two machetes she would have finished him within the first handful of blows. She got past his guard a handful of times, the sword driven into him, through him, or long slashes cut into his skin. He got in about half as many as she did. Purely by luck he suddenly bound her blade with his own and disarmed her. He was startled but not so much so that he failed to swing at her neck. He slashed deep, but not deep enough. Her eyes grew wide with surprise. Her eyes darted to her lost sword and back to Sam, hand going to her damaged neck.

"Next time, Dog," she hissed before she bolted.

Sam sighed in relief. That was just way too fucking close and the battle probably hadn't been more than a minute long, if that. He looked up at the hunter and both his eyebrows lifted in surprise. The man was positively…beautiful. His chiseled face, his muscular body, his rippled abs, his well-endowed member. Sam practically got hard just looking at him. His eyes went to the tattoo on his chest that protected him from possession. Hunter. Right. He didn't have to kill him. That was good because he would have had to fuck that beautiful boy at least once before he did.

Reluctantly he dragged his eyes away from the Michaelangelo-esque example of man before him and turned to the vampires he killed. He pulled the woman's body behind the hunter and quickly fed, sucking what blood was in her dry. He did the same of the second dead body. He licked his lips free of the blood. That would hold him for awhile. He realized he was staring at the man's tight ass, at the tiny seeping line of blood slipping over that curved muscle. This time he licked his lips for an entirely different reason.

He grumbled to himself. Best he get the man down before he wakes up. Sam's superhuman strength would be a dead giveaway to the hunter if he was cognizant enough to put two and two together. He couldn't risk it. Pulling over a chair, Sam was able to reach up the bolt and yank it from the ceiling and he gently lowered the man to the floor. The soft groan he heard told him he had made a wise choice. The man's eyes slowly flickered open.

Dean Winchester had done a lot of stupid things in his life.

There had been the time he’d met the triplets while working a job during Mardi Gras in New Orleans when he’d been fifteen. The beautiful busty twenty year olds had eagerly helped him lose his pesky virginity, keeping him ‘occupied’ for four whole nights. Dean had turned his cell phone off and when he’d finally returned to the motel room where he and his father had been staying the way John Winchester had exploded Dean had almost feared for his life. Dean had never turned his cell off again, always making sure his father could get a hold of him no matter where he was, or what he was doing.

Then there had been the Wendigo incident up in Washington when he was seventeen. Only he hadn’t known it was a Wendigo at the time. He hadn’t done his research like he should have. If he’d just taken the time to interview a few of the locals maybe he would have been better prepared. Instead he’d just charged off into the woods and earned himself a nasty set of new scars across his ribcage for his trouble. Dean had never charged into a hunt half cocked again.

When he was nineteen he’d drunk himself near to unconsciousness the night his father had died. Killed on a hunt because Dean had been too slow. The black dog had been coming for him. There had been a whole pack of them and Dean had just emptied his entire clip of silver bullets into what he’d thought had been the last one. He’d had absolutely no time to reload, when the dog had come out of nowhere. His father had put himself between the dog and him, and it had torn out his throat before Dean could get off a shot from his reloaded gun. That same night Dean had driven the Impala off the road into a tree, and sometime during the weeks he’d spent recovering in the hospital he swore never do anything stupid like that again. Swore he wasn’t going to let his father’s sacrifice go to waste by getting himself killed.

It seemed some mistakes he’d never learned from and some promises were impossible to keep.

Dean hadn’t been out of contact with Bobby, the one who’d clued him in on the vampires nest to begin with. In fact, he’d been on the phone with the older hunter when he’d been grabbed in the first place. He hadn’t been careless, had no idea how the vampires had figured out he was a hunter, and had targeted him. Didn’t know how they’d taken him by surprise and maybe that made it even worse because he didn’t know what his stupid mistake was that would now cost him his life.

They’d kept him like this for three days, chained up like a piece of meat. Feeding from him slowly. Keeping him weak, too weak to fight or try to escape. Playing with him. Torturing him. He wondered how long they were going to keep him like this. A week? A month? They hadn’t fed him or given him any water, so maybe they would just keep him hanging here like this until he starved or they drained him dry. Shouldn’t take too much longer then. He wondered if they would bother to even cut him down after he died or if they would just leave him here like this to rot.

More than ever Dean wished his father hadn’t saved him that night. Given his life to protect his worthless son, just so he could die here like this… a fucking vampire juice box…

Dean was too far gone to understand at first what had woken him, he only knew something was ‘wrong’. Because it was midday, he realized that much, and the vampires should have been asleep. Only the sounds he was hearing were definitely not from sleeping vampires. Crashing, and shouting. Maybe he was only dreaming. He’d dreamed a couple of times of Bobby finding him, saving him, but even if the older hunter had headed out this way the second Dean had been taken he didn’t think even Bobby could find the nest in time to help him. So, yeah, had to be just a dream. A damn foolish dream.

Then why was he being lowered to the floor? The change of position after hanging like that for so long making the young hunter moan in pain and almost making him black out again, but he clung to consciousness desperately, needing to know what the hell was going on. Somehow he managed to open his eyes, wincing at the harsh light, and looking up into the face of his savior. A man he did not recognise as one of the vampires, or anyone else for that matter. Definitely not a dream then, because why would he dream about someone he didn’t even know coming to his rescue?

Dean licked his dry lips. Who are you? He tried to ask, but the only sound that escaped them was another low groan. Darkness edging around his vision once more despite how he fought against it.

The boy had beautiful, soulful green eyes. Those eyes were clouded with confusion but focused on Sam’s face through what had to be a fair amount of pain. He was probably afraid he had been pulled down just to die.

“It’s okay, Hunter. I’m a friend. I’m a hunter, too. My name is Sam, Sam Cristo.” Sam cupped Dean’s face gently. The boy was badly dehydrated and pretty damned weak. Hunter’s rules were you didn’t take someone to the hospital unless there was no other choice. None of the hunter’s injuries were life threatening at first glance. Best he take the hunter back to his motel room where he could tend him. “You’re safe, Hunter. I promise you, you’re safe,” Sam soothed. “Sleep. Rest.”

When the boy went back to sleep, or more likely simply fell unconscious, Sam picked the locks to the shackles and eased them off his wrists and ankles. His wrists were rubbed raw, the bases of his hands bitten into by the cruel metal, but he barely bled. Sighing, Sam knew the hunter was dehydrated badly enough that he needed to water into him as soon as possible. An IV would be best, but just getting some water down his throat until Sam could do that would help tremendously.

The house was a good ways out from town. The water was surely from a well, not municipal. Most such wells had a manual or backup pump somewhere so they didn’t have to rely on an electrical pump. It could take days or even weeks to get electricity fixed if something took it out.

Sam went to the kitchen and grasped the knob of the sink’s faucet and twisted it hopefully. A low pressure stream tumbled out of the spigot. Sam grabbed an empty beer bottle and washed it out, finally filling it with water. He sampled it, running it around in his mouth. Although bad water wouldn’t hurt him, he could tell if it were bad for human consumption or not. It tasted fine. It held the bitter mineral taste typical of well water, but it was potable and that’s all that mattered. Sam carried the bottle back to the hunter.

After pouring some of the water onto his fingers, he ran the wet digits over the young man’s dry lips. “Hunter, c’mon, wake back up,” he urged. “You need water.”

Sam smiled a little when the hunter struggled back to consciousness. He was definitely a fighter. Cradling the man gently, he held the beer bottle up to his lips. “It’s just water, I promise. You’re safe. You’re safe,” Sam murmured as he tilted the bottle up, slowly dribbling water into the hunter’s mouth. The man sputtered a little and then seemed to realize he was being given water, accepting it greedily. Sam didn’t dare let him have too much too fast. He sat with him patiently, slowly feeding water to him until the hunter drifted back off into sleep. He pulled a light blanket he found over the young man. That would have to do for now.

He left the hunter there on his side, keeping him off his back, but able to throw up if the water didn’t set well, then left the house and broke into a run. His car he had parked a mile away so the vampires wouldn’t hear or see it. He reached his car in thirteen minutes and change and drove it back to the house. Unloading the gasoline, he carried it into the house along with a kerosene lantern. After ensuring the hunter was still asleep and doing well, Sam fed off the two lovebirds he killed, knowing that tending the hunter would likely limit his access to decent food for awhile and he needed to make use of what he could. As he situated the four dead bodies, placing their heads back in a reasonable place near their bodies, he realized that one of them was one of the missing girls. Since the nest was obviously trying to expand and Sam killed four of the ten, they would try to expand again. They would foolishly leave their mark in the news and Sam would pick up their trail then. The hunter was more important right now. There were always too few hunters. Besides, it would be a crime to let such an exquisitely handsome man die.

After Sam carefully poured gasoline in small quantities about the house, he carried the hunter out to the car. He searched the house and found a wallet, car keys, and a hotel key. It was the cheap crappy hotel at the other end of town from his own. The wallet had a driver’s license with the hunter’s picture. Dean A. Young. Probably a false ID, though Dean was likely his first name. He sorted through Dean’s wallet. Dean Rudd had an insurance card, and Brian Johnson was apparently permitted to carry a concealed weapon. Cliff Williams and Malcolm Young both had visa cards. Sam chuckled. So Dean was an AC/DC fan. Searching deeper he found a driver’s license with Dean Winchester on it and an associated insurance card for a 1967 Chevy Impala. Both were buried deeply enough that Sam suspected Winchester was probably Dean’s real name. He also found some clothes and boots that were likely Dean’s and took them as well. After a final sweep through the house, Sam broke the kerosene lantern between the couch and end table and made sure the fire got a good start before he returned to the car with Dean’s stuff. After covering Dean’s nakedness with a blanket, he drove them back his motel, trying to soothe the young man’s mutterings and bad dreams with soft words of reassurance.

When Dean woke again he was thankfully a little more coherent than the last time. Not by much, but enough to be surprised that he was waking up at all. Surprised that he wasn’t dead when by all rights he should have been.

What the hell had happened? Where the hell was he?

Those two questions enough to help him force his eyes open and look around at his new surroundings. He found himself in a room he didn’t recognize. A motel room. He could tell that easily enough, he’d spent most of his life moving from one room such as this to another. But the fact that he was certain it wasn’t his motel room put him on edge despite the fact that it was a great improvement over where he’d been. Hanging like a haunch of meat in the middle of a vampire’s nest…

Dean closed his eyes with a soft groan. Trying to concentrate. Ok, obviously he wasn’t a prisoner of the vampires anymore, but he had to have gotten here somehow and not under his own power. He tried to remember but the effort was only giving him a headache and he gave up with a sigh. Opening his eyes again and turning his head to look around. Maybe that would give him some clues.

Well, wherever he was he could tell it was a lot nicer than the flea infested rooms he usually crashed. The wallpaper was a soft neutral color, not some horrible garish scheme left over from the 70’s. The sheets were soft and clean underneath him. He was clean too, he realized, looking down at himself. Clean bandages wrapped around his wrists and his other wounds obviously tended. There was an IV drip taped to his arm too, hanging from a hook over the bed that had probably once held a picture instead. The room was dark except for a small lamp that was on over the nightstand next to him. The simple digital alarm clock on the same nightstand read 8:25. The shades and curtains over the windows were closed tightly but he could still tell there was no light beyond them, so that meant it was at night. There was a closed first aid kit also sitting on the nightstand.

So, whoever had gotten him out of that vampires nest wanted him alive, that was reassuring. Had taken care of him… how long had he been here? It bothered Dean that he didn’t know. As messed up as he’d been he could have been out for hours or even days. Fuck.

The room was empty right now. He was alone. That bothered him too. He wanted to know who’d taken care of him. He wanted someone to answer his questions. Who had saved him? Bobby? Another hunter maybe? Somehow that rang true in his head. A name, a face, he didn’t recognize. There a split second and then gone the next and Dean cursed. Fuck he hated this. Hated being an invalid. He’d always hated whenever he was hurt or sick, but after the weeks he’d been forced to spend in a hospital after his father’s death he hated it even more. At least he wasn’t in a hospital now, just a motel room. Small favors.

Dean was trying to push himself up, trying to get a better look around the room when the motel door suddenly opened and Dean turned his attention to the man walking inside. That same face he’d remembered briefly showing momentary surprise when he looked at him and the name that had eluded his memory before flickered back to the surface.

“Cristo…” Dean muttered automatically.

Sam. Sam Cristo. Hunter. As the young man weakly dropped back to the bed, his momentary strength having given out, the irony didn’t escape him. That the other man’s name was the very same thing he would have said anyway to make sure some kind of demon spawn hadn’t been walking in.

Making sure no one was around, he carried the young man into his hotel room and laid him on his stomach in the king-sized bed. After tending and bandaging his injuries he took Dean’s hotel key and car keys and jogged to the other end of town. He was certain the hunter would have medical supplies that Sam himself didn’t carry such as IVs and strong pain medication.

Sam found Dean’s room and waited, watching and smelling, making certain the vampires hadn’t returned, regardless that it was daylight. He had learned the hard way to never take anything for granted. Soon satisfied, he started for the door when the whiff of old blood made him pause. The trunk of a black car—Dean’s Impala, Sam realized—was the source. Sam opened the trunk and it took some minor detective work to find the compartment in the trunk but he softly whistled when he opened it. The kid was loaded for bear. When the smell hit him, Sam almost staggered back from the odor. A wrapped up bottle of blood, probably dead man’s blood, had broken open and its dried remnants soaked one area of the mass of weapons. Dean had likely unwittingly given himself away if any of the vampires passed downwind of the trunk. He was pleased to know Dean had not simply been sloppy. He had probably gotten the blood, maybe ran a few errands or went to watch the nest at the Gold Monkey Bar they had been frequenting and inadvertently broke the bottle open at some point. Someone had smelled it and made him as a hunter. Plain as that. The bottle was well wrapped so he hadn’t been careless. Maybe he had to hit his brakes hard for some reason and the axe Sam found lying on the bottle had shifted, shattering it and spilling its contents, all but giving Dean a neon sign announcing him as a hunter.

He would clean it up later. He didn’t want to leave Dean long. Dean needed an IV and soon. As he approached the door, though it was shut, it looked as if it had been busted open recently. The vampires flat out took him from his room. Bold on their part, embarrassing on his, not that he would have suspected he had been made.

Entering Dean’s room, the musty odor, the smell of urine, puke, and sex, all practically raped his olfactory senses and he had to force his gag reflex under control. Long ago he had stopped trying to figure out the incongruity of how he could decapitate a vampire, drain the headless body dry without qualms, and yet smells like this could almost put him on his knees. His gaze roamed over the contents of the messy room.

Dean’s cell phone lay on the grungy carpet, open, its battery long since drained. Clothes were strewn carelessly about. Salt lined the windows and threshold of the door, not that it did anything to keep vampires out. A long cold, half-eaten pizza sat in an open box, cockroach crap splattering its brown cardboard. Sam made a face. He was so glad he stayed in nicer places. In Texas, cockroaches were everywhere, and even some of the nicer motels rooms were musty, but nothing like this pit.

Meticulously Sam gathered Dean’s things, loaded them into the Impala, and drove it back to his motel. He carried in the first aid kit and sure enough, found IV supplies. He promptly got Dean started on an IV and checked the cell phone he had plugged in. It had enough of a charge he could get to the last seven numbers dialed. Five were listed as “Bobby” and a quick run through its phone book gave Sam the number. He yawned. He wanted to wait until the first IV bag was empty and he switched it over to a fresh one before he collapsed into bed himself.

He debated about calling this “Bobby,” then decided against it. He didn’t know yet if the young man was going to turn and it was probably best to leave this Bobby in the dark until he could talk to the hunter to find out what the hunter might want to do. Besides, he had no idea if “Bobby” was male or female, hunter or civilian. He changed out Dean’s IV before disrobing and sliding into bed beside the man. He had learned to be a light enough sleeper when he considered himself at risk that he would wake if the hunter roused.

Sam awoke about seven that evening. He was a little embarrassed to have found himself nestled up to the man, immensely glad the hunter hadn’t woken. It had been far too long since he had gotten laid, he supposed. Well, he would just have to be a bit more careful. Unfortunately he had gotten a king-sized bed rather than a double, but he had not expected company.

After changing out Dean’s IV for a fresh bag—at least there were two more left—he showered, then ran out to get the man some food. While he didn’t need to eat food, he enjoyed eating, so he decided to bring some back for himself as well.

When he reached the hotel room, he was surprised but pleased to see Dean was awake. He chuckled when Dean said “Cristo”, suspecting that was more a reflex than remembering who he was.

“Evening Dean. I’m Sam, in case you don’t remember.” He smiled at the hunter, reassured to hear a strong steady heart beat in his chest. Holding up a bag he said, “I brought you some soup and juice from the diner. Your cell phone is charged if you want to call anyone.” He waved at the end table by Dean, indicating the phone. “‘Bobby’ has called you numerous times.” Sam set the bags of food on the table and pulled out the soup. “I am hunter, six of the vampires got away, and we’re still in Crockettsville at the other end of town at the Best Western. Your car is outside and your stuff is inside it.” He carefully pulled the lid off the soup, dug out a spoon and carried it over to Dean. “I found your wallet at the house before I torched it, but they took your money I’m afraid.” He paused, trying to think of anything else the man would want to know, then shrugged. If he left anything out, the boy would surely ask him. He set the soup on the table and then gently grasped Dean’s arm and carefully extracted the IV. Dean looked surprised and Sam figured Dean hadn’t even realized he had one in. “Don’t think you need this anymore since you’re awake. Hungry?”

Dean’s eyes widened comically when the other man greeted him by name, reintroduced himself, and went on to fill him in a little on what the hell was going on.

He glanced over at the end table when the other man motioned to his phone and raised an eyebrow when the other man mentioned Bobby. Did he know Bobby? No, probably more like the guy had simply just gone through his phone and saw the older hunter had been calling. Dean didn’t particularly like that idea. He liked it even less that the other man had apparently also gone through his wallet and driven his car as well. No one fucking drove his baby but him.

But given the fact that the guy had saved his life from a pack of vampires he couldn’t exactly be all that pissed. The man had brought him here and taken care of his wounds, when it would have been much easier to just leave him to die in that dump, and brought him food to boot. Besides, any good hunter would have done the same thing, would have done checked him out.

Still, Dean had never been the trusting type, certainly not one to divulge a great deal about himself, and the other man now knew a hell of a lot about him while Dean in turn knew nothing about the other hunter other than his name. Sam Cristo, he’d never heard the name, which sounded like a bad joke to boot. Come on, Cristo? Hell, maybe Bobby would have heard about him though. He’d have to ask the older man when he called him back.

“Yeah, thanks.” Dean cleared his throat and nodded at the offer of food. He was starving, hadn’t eaten in three days or more, and while he would have much rather had a cheeseburger he wasn’t going to be picky right now. Dean rolled over onto his side, tugging the covers around his waist tightly when he realized he was completely naked beneath them. After food next came clothes, definitely, then a phone call to Bobby.

He picked up the spoon and began to eat. The soup was pretty good, more like a hearty stew so at least it would be filling, but to be honest Dean would have probably been satisfied with cardboard at that point. After taking a few bites he glanced over at the other man.

“So, you just happen to hunting vamps in the area, or what?” Dean asked, and ok maybe it made him sound over suspicious, but that was a quality shared among hunters too. He didn’t much believe in chance or fate, and it seemed a hell of a coincidence another hunter just happening to pull him out of a vampire’s nest in the nick of time.

Sam watched the annoyance cross the boy’s face and chuckled to himself. Not only did Sam know way too much about him, but Sam had <gasp> touched his stuff. Hunters, he thought with amusement. Admittedly, if the situation were reversed he would be equally concerned, of course he would be much more concerned if he were in Dean’s place that the helping hand had discovered he was a vampire. If one suspected, the proper pressure in the right place would reveal his fangs. Stasi had taught him how to make his heart beat even while sleeping, and to beat at a fairly regularly pace, not the slow occasional heart beats a vampire typically had. In turn, the beating heart and ‘normal’ breathing rate he maintained helped keep his body temperature in the fairly normal range. When he had been young, it had been an effort to maintain those more human like functions, but after all these years, it was second nature to him. If he was badly hurt—that was another matter altogether. While he healed quite quickly, it took energy, energy that he typically used to appear “human.”

Seeing the the look the young man gave the bowl of soup almost made Sam laugh. He had gotten two burgers, just in case Dean thought he could manage more than just the beef stew. He returned to the bags of food and pulled out one of the burgers and a couple napkins. He carried it over and sat it by the soup.

“In case the stew isn’t enough,” Sam said and returned to the table, settling down in the chair to face Dean as he pulled out his own meal. Western burgers. Bar-b-que, bacon, lettuce, tomatoes. He loved the modern times.

“Kind of hard not to notice the reports in the papers,” Sam said, responding to Dean’s suspicious question. “I’d been watching the nest for three days and finally decided I had gathered enough intel to make a move. Even so, I thought there was only seven. You’re lucky. I might have reconsidered going in if I had known there was ten of them. If I had known you were in there,” Sam paused guiltily, even though he had no way of knowing that fact. Still there was an apology in his voice as he said, “I would have tried to get you out as soon as I knew. I’m sorry. I had no idea you were in there.”

Sam took a bite of his burger as he debated about his next words. No real sense pussy-footing about. “I would have called your friend but I didn’t know if he? she? was a hunter or not, or if they knew you were.” Sam hesitated, then pushed on. Best just to ask. “More importantly, if they fed you blood, I didn’t want to tell this Bobby anything. Did they give you blood? Are you going to turn?”

He watched Dean expectantly as he waited for his answer.

Dean couldn’t help but grin, definitely pleased, when the other man came back over and set a fucking delicious smelling burger down next to his soup that made his mouth water. A part of him wanted to just push the soup aside and tear into that burger right away but the more sensible part of him knew he’d regret it later if he wolfed down the burger only to barf it up soon after. So Dean decided to take a few more bites of the stew first to see how well it set before he tried something more solid.

He nodded when Sam mentioned the reports in the paper, and yeah he was right, they were a little hard to ignore. Those were what had clued Bobby into the vampires in the first place as well, and he’d called Dean to check it out since he was in the area.

Dean was a little surprised when the other man said he’d been staking out the house for three days, must have just been right after the vampires took him then. He was even more surprised by the apology the other man gave.

“Not like you could have known, man. Guess I am pretty lucky then.” Dean said, giving a slight shrug of nonchalance. Not that he felt all that ‘lucky’ but it was better than thinking about just how close he’d come to death. “I owe you one.”

Then Dean almost snorted his soup through his nose when Sam mentioned the possibility of Bobby being a chick. He wished the older man could have heard that. Shaking his head Dean chuckled a little. “Most definitely a he, and yeah, hunter. He’s the one who clued me in on the vamps…” Dean began to explain, then his voice trailed off as the other man continued, asking him if he’d been fed any of their blood, and Dean looked up from his food.

“No.” He said with certainty, shaking his head. His stomach clenching at even the possibility of those freaks turning him, but then it downright twisted as doubt flickered across his features. “I… don’t know. I was pretty out of it after the second day…”

Sam sighed. He didn’t know the bitch matriarch, but turning a hunter was a typical delight to many vampires. Turn him and then torture him. Vampires healed fast, letting the torture go on for endless days until they finally got bored and killed the unfortunate hunter.

“Then we’ve got about five days before we’ll know one way or the other. If you don’t want your friend here to witness it, just in case you do turn, I will follow whatever you wish. Kill you and salt and burn, or deliver your body to whomever. If you do want him here and me gone,” Sam shrugged. “That’s fine, too. You’re not going to be up to driving for at least another day or so and I wouldn’t recommend just taking off as a good option, but I won’t stop you. If you do turn, I will hunt you down, though.”

He heard the man’s heart rate increasing as he listed off the possibilities. He remembered well the fear of turning. He had been a young man, twenty-three, when Anastasia found him, dying from a knife to his gut. Now he knew he was dying from peritonitis, but back then he just knew he was in agony and that he wasn’t going to survive. The same bandits that had basically killed him had raped and killed his wife and daughter, and slit his young boy’s throat. Stasi offered him a chance at revenge, even if it meant damnation. He was willing. He hadn’t been the most respectable of men and figured he was probably going to Hell anyhow. So what difference did it make between a probably and definite? And his family would be avenged. And they were. But he still remembered his fear those first hours, even through the agony of his wound, he was still scared. Scared he wouldn’t live long enough to change, scared of what it was he would become.

Hesitantly, he added, “Some vampires don’t survive on human blood. I’ve run into a few nests of them now and again. Even if you do turn, you could learn to survive without killing humans for food. I might be able to find one of those nests and see if they would be willing to take you in and teach you how to survive without become a killer.”

Dean pushed away his food, suddenly not feeling the least bit hungry anymore though he forced his expression to remain impassive. As impassive as the other hunter’s voice as he listed off his ‘options’, though his heart was pounding hard and fast against his ribs. Dean clenched his hand into a fist and angrily told himself to calm the fuck down. He didn’t know that he was going to turn. In fact there was a good chance he wasn’t. He knew they hadn’t given him any food or water, and he certainly didn’t remember them feeding him any blood. But then again, like he said, he was barely conscious most of the time after the second day, and maybe they hadn’t fed or watered him because they knew he wouldn’t need it soon…

Fuck!

The young man took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Five days. Five days and he’d know for sure. No reason to start panicking now. And if he started showing signs he was going to turn… Dean looked up at the other man, the hunter, who’d saved him. Or, at least who’d gotten him out of the nest. If he’d been given blood nothing was going to fucking save him now.

But the other man was offering to help him still, letting him decide his fate. If he turned, he was offering to stick around so he could kill him. Deliver his body… fuck it was so weird thinking about this, like planning his own funeral. Did he want Bobby here? No. That decision was easy enough at least. He’d seen the older man once all broken up when he’d had to tell Bobby about his father’s death. Maybe it was selfish, but he didn’t want to see it again, and he certainly didn’t want to put the older hunter in the position of maybe having to kill him if he turned. Maybe he shouldn’t even call Bobby, then. If he did turn, it might be easier if the older hunter just thought he’d been killed by the vampires and not…

Dean almost had to smile at the other man’s threat that if he took off, and turned, he’d hunt him down. Yeah, he was exactly the kind of guy he’d trust with this. To put him down if necessary. Maybe he was lucky after all.

Though he raised an eyebrow a bit when the other man went on to talk about vampires that didn’t kill. Didn’t live off human blood. Offering to help him find some, to teach him… yeah right. That was a nice fantasy and all, but it was better to just stick to reality. It would be easier in the end…

“If I show signs that I’m gonna turn, you can take me out.” Dean finally said, surprised just how steady his voice was giving the other hunter permission to kill him. “Salt and burn is fine…”

That part was a little more difficult and he cleared his throat glancing over at his phone again sitting harmlessly on the table. It might as well have been a snake about to bite him.

“I’d rather he didn’t know.”

Sam was impressed. The young man was handling this reasonably well. A lot better than he had. He had cried like a baby, but then, he had known he was going to die so it was either death or turn. Dead either way. This young man had a chance.

“In a few very, very, rare instances, the virus has been fought off. So even if you were fed blood, the chances are extremely small, but sometimes people make it through it without turning.” He couldn’t very well admit he had seen four people do it, not if it was so rare, but he could probably get away with one. Jacob was still alive, after all. Old, but still alive. At least he was alive two years ago. “I’ve seen one man do it.”

Noticing that Dean had pushed his food away with distaste, Sam couldn’t resist a little jab. Okay, so he was evil that way. Sam cocked his eyebrow at Dean. “You know, loss of appetite is one of the signs of turning.”

He laughed when the man glanced at the food and blanched. “You should stop worrying. Most people turn within a day, maybe two. You’re probably at about two days,” he told the young man reassuringly. “The longer the time passes, the less the chance is that you’ll turn. Why don’t you try to get a little more food down you? And water…crap, I forgot.”

Sam pushed himself up from the table and pulled a water from the small fridge in the room, then extracted the apple juice from one of the bags.
“You’re dehydrated and I forget to offer you something to drink. I don’t know where my head is.” He moved the first aid kit from the end table and set it on the floor, replacing it with the water and juice.

Returning to his meal, he scooted the chair in closer to the table. He could sense the turmoil chewing Dean up from the inside out. He was scared, he was in pain, and he was worried. Maybe for his friend, maybe for himself.

“If you don’t want your friend to know, that’s fine. I would guess he is on his way here. I turned your phone off as soon as I got Bobby’s number out of your phone book. He can’t use the GPS in your phone to find you but since he told you about the nest, he knows where you are. You’re car sitting out in the parking lot isn’t exactly discreet. Do you want to move a few towns over? Or do you want to call him and tell him you’re okay? You could tell him I got you out before anything other than an ass-whipping happened.”

Sam smiled just a little and continued. “A hunter is prone to vengeance. It’s what drives a lot of people into this life in the first place. If you disappear, he’ll try to find the nest that took you. They’ll resurface. Maybe in a few weeks, maybe in a few months. If he’s your friend, he’ll come hunting for you. The matriarch of the nest is old. She’s a very good fighter.” He grimaced then. “As much as I hate to admit it, it was more luck than skill that got us out of there.”

Sam had said his peace. The cards were out on the table for Dean to make his choice. He admired that handsome face and chest discreetly as he ate and Dean debated. He wondered if there was any chance that gorgeous young man was gay. Even bi would do just fine. He sighed a little. Probably not. Of course if the young man did turn, oh the possibilities if he could convince Dean to try to go vegetarian. He embraced a mini-daydream then of having his dick buried so far up Dean’s ass … ah well. Just a daydream, he mused. He refocused on Dean to see if he was going to pick up the phone and call his friend or not. Honestly he didn’t particularly like the idea of Dean not telling Bobby. Bobby comes to town, busts down the door to get to Dean, finds Sam there, and then, for whatever reason, Sam gives himself away as a vampire.

Hunters were a dangerous lot for an undead like himself to rub elbows with. Hunters tended to be a cynical lot. They went after the supernatural, whether it was evil or not, and destroyed it. Never mind Sam was a hunter. Never mind he had killed a mind-boggling number of evil creatures in his many years. He was a vampire, thus he was evil and needed a machete across his neck. He shuddered just a little. He much preferred his daydream of fucking the boy until they were both writhing in pleasure.

Dean looked over at Sam when he started talking about the slim possibility he might not turn even if he had been given blood and had to wonder why the other man seemed to be going out of his way to try to reassure him. It was a little unnerving, it wasn’t like they actually knew each other, he had no reason to really care. This should be nothing more than another ‘job’, watching him to see if he turned and killing him if he did. Dean didn’t think he’d given anything away, like how friggen scared he was, more so of the prospect of turning into a fucking vampire than the prospect of death.

Maybe the guy just felt sorry for him or something. Well if there was one thing Dean didn’t need it was pity. Especially from another hunter. All hunters knew the risks of this kind of job. Dean had known the risks. He’d watched his father die to the supernatural. Knew that would probably be his fate as well. Just because he hadn’t thought it would happen like this, didn’t mean he wasn’t prepared for it.

If he wasn’t infected, great, if he was… he was prepared to die. Prepared to let this hunter kill him rather than risk him turning into a monster and killing others. Becoming like them…

However Dean didn’t much appreciate the other man’s ‘joke’ regarding his appetite, and Dean threw him a nasty glare. That didn’t stop him from pulling the soup back towards him and began eating again, as though to prove a point.

“Thanks.” Dean muttered at the offered water and juice the other man sat down beside his food. Neither really his drink of choice but Sam was right, he needed fluids, probably vitamins too considering how low his blood levels must be right now from the repeated feedings the vampires had done on him.

Dean opened up the bottle of water and drained a good bit of it as he listened and considered the other man’s next words. Regarding Bobby and the steps they should probably take if he didn’t want the older hunter to come looking for him, which he probably was already. Might already be in town even.

The young man sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, he had a point. Bobby wouldn’t stop looking for him until he found him and if the older man didn’t find him he’d eventually find the vampires who took him. Dean had spent enough time amongst the bloodsuckers he knew Sam was right about their bitch leader. Bobby was one of the best hunters he knew but he still might not be able to handle them, at least not alone.

The last thing he wanted was Bobby’s blood on his hands, figuratively speaking. If he called the older man just to tell him he was fine Bobby would want to know where he was. No way around it and he didn’t want the older man to see him like this, especially if he was going to turn into one of those bloodsuckers in the next few days. If Bobby suspected he’d been turned he’d go after the vampires anyway.

Fuck.

Dean sighed as he picked up his phone, flipped it open and turned it on. He still wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to say to Bobby yet but he’d figure something out.

Bobby flat out panicked. One moment he was talking to Dean about the vampire nest and the next he heard a loud crash, Dean cussing, the phone dropped, the sounds of a scuffle, and then nothing. He shouted Dean’s name half a dozen times, kept the phone up to his ear, straining to hear anything, but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He was in Maine hunting a werewolf when he read the news bites about the missing people in Crocketsville and the dead bodies drained of blood. He knew Dean wasn’t all that far from it. New Orleans to the little town not far from Austin was about eight hours. Dean said he would check it out. When the boy hit Crocketsville, he rang Bobby, then called him with an update that next afternoon. It was definitely looking like it was a nest. Dean was going to work on taking out as many as he could on a one-by-one basis. Odds were that Bobby wouldn’t be able to get to Crocketsville for nearly a week to help, so Dean was going to keep an eye on them, take out any he could safely, and hang tight and wait for Bobby while trying to gather information about the vampires. One man taking on a whole nest wasn’t the wisest move, and Dean hadn’t gone up against a nest by himself yet. Bobby insisted that he wait, no matter the risk to the community. That boy wouldn’t be a damn bit of good to anyone if he was dead. Dean wasn’t a god-damned Elkins. Reluctantly, Dean caved and agreed to wait. He’d counted seven so far and that was pushing what one man could do, Elkins not withstanding, but then Elkins was a crazy ass fool and Bobby reminded Dean of that.

That evening Dean called back. Ever since John had ripped the boy a new asshole for shutting off his phone those couple days when he was a teen, Dean had become diligent, almost obsessive about keeping in touch. With John when John was alive. With Bobby since John had died. When either of them was on a hunt, it damned near approached annoying. Dean also checked in with Bobby once a week, keeping him informed of where he was. Sometimes Bobby thought it was overkill, but John would be pleased and Bobby just couldn’t bring himself to tell Dean to just take it easy. Besides, it honestly made him feel better to always know where John’s boy was. If they hadn’t salted and burned John, John would surely haunt Bobby’s ass if he didn’t look after Dean. Sure, John and Bobby hadn’t seen eye-to-eye on a lot of things, but Dean was like a nephew to him. Since John was gone, almost like a son. John’s death and Dean’s guilt over it had almost killed the boy. Bobby couldn’t do anything but be there for him and try to convince him it wasn’t his fault. No matter what he said, Dean had inherited John’s stubborn as an ass streak, and he knew he never convinced Dean otherwise.

Bobby hit the road within an hour of losing contact with Dean, werewolf be damned. It could wait. Dean was in trouble and was a god-damned 2200 miles away. Bobby hauled ass that first night, trying to find some hunters to get to Austin, but no one could. He did manage to get one to go after his werewolf at least. Bobby got himself a few hours of sleep at a rest stop, filled up on coffee, and got back on the road.

He blew his water pump in New York. On a fucking Sunday. He was all set to rent a car, but the one rental car agency was one town over from BFE New York, and it had already closed for the evening. Bobby cussed and fumed and worried, but there wasn’t a god-damned thing he could do. So he did the only thing he could. He got a hotel room and got as much fucking sleep as he could so he would be able to drive longer the next day.

Car fixed, he drove for twenty hours when he just couldn’t drive anymore without risking falling asleep at the wheel, no matter how much coffee he had in him. His adrenaline kept him tense but plain as day just wore him down. Again he got a hotel and he slept as long as he could. He still had hours to go. At least with the sleep he had forced himself to get, he would be able to function once he got there. Dean hadn’t told him the nest’s location beyond it was in an abandoned farmhouse outside of town. He was going to have to do some fast investigative work when he reached the town and it was already working toward evening. Government buildings would already be shut down for the day. Fuck! Couldn’t one god damned thing go right?

He was about an hour out of Crocketsville when his cell phone rang. He picked it up from the seat beside him and flipped it open, figuring it was a hunter with news for him. He glanced at the number and his heart lurched. It was Dean’s number. He prayed John’s boy was on the other end and not some police officer ready to tell Bobby Dean was dead or missing.

“Dean? Tell me it’s you, Boy.”

Hearing the mixture of hope and fear in the older hunter’s voice when Bobby answered his phone Dean felt like an ass for even considering not calling him. ‘Uncle’ Bobby had been one of his dad’s best friends when he’d been alive, despite the fact that the other hunter had nearly filled him with buckshot once, and threatened him with it several times after too. The older hunter had always been there for him when Dean needed him. A fucking phone call to let him know he wasn’t dead was the least Dean could do.

“Yeah, Bobby. It’s me. I’m all right.” He reassured the older man, and it wasn’t even untrue. Sure he was a bit banged up, in need of a good meal, and possibly going to turn into a vampire in the next couple of days, but he wasn’t dead and that pretty much equaled ‘all right’ in the hunter’s manual. But knowing the older man wouldn’t be satisfied with that, he continued.

“The nest made me as a hunter, not sure how yet. I’m a little banged up and gnawed on but nothing serious. Another hunter got me out of there, goes by the name of Sam Cristo. Know him?” Dean glanced over at the other man as he said his name, wondering if Bobby had ever heard of him. Also hoping to distract the older man while Dean thought how he could convince him that he didn’t need to come ‘check up’ on him in person.

Overwhelmed with relief barely covered how Bobby felt as the massive knot in his stomach finally began to relax after almost four days of panic. Dean sounded a little tired and his voice held a slight underlying tremor that no one but family would have noticed. But then Bobby was family. Dean was badly shaken or hurt. Of course having a nest grab you would do that to anyone. Any nest that grabbed a hunter either killed the hunter or turned the hunter. If Dean had been fed blood, he doubted he would tell Bobby, especially since there was another hunter, an unbiased hunter to take care of things. But if the nest had Dean that long…either Dean was pretty bad off, or pretty bad off and at risk of turning.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of Cristo. His specialty is vampires, but he’ll go after anything. Hear tell he’s pretty fearless, but he tends to shy away from other hunters. Real solitary type, more so than a lot and that’s saying something. Apparently he comes from a long line of hunters…also heard he can be damned ruthless. Doesn’t like civilian witnesses. I’d say you’re lucky he marked you as a hunter. That tattoo of yours probably saved your ass. But watch your back since I’ve also heard rumors he’s killed a hunter or two, but the situations around those reports are pretty vague. Both cases I heard were jobs where a hunter might have gotten himself in trouble, like bit by a werewolf or something. Never met the man to ask him.

“I’m almost to Crocketsville. I’ll be there in under an hour.” Bobby hesitated, but he had to know. “Son, did they feed you blood? And don’t you even be thinking about lying to me, Boy.”

Dean made sure not to stare at the other hunter in the room as he listened to Bobby tell him what he knew about the other man. Not that the other man seemed to care at all that they were talking about him. Still he relaxed a little as the slight unease he hadn’t even realized was there until it began to dissipate hearing Bobby vouch for Sam’s identity, yeah, he wasn’t the untrusting type at all.

Though Dean wasn’t sure he liked it at all when Bobby mentioned that Cristo had a ‘dislike’ for witnesses. What the hell did that mean? He killed anyone who saw anything supernatural? What the hell did that solve? They were supposed to help people, and helping them did not include wiping civilians out along with the bad guys just because they were unfortunate victims or in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Lucky. Sam had said it, Bobby had said it, and even he’d thought it himself. Dean frowned a little, wondering if he was all that ‘lucky’ after all. At least if the bastard was really that heartless he should have no problems killing him if Dean did turn.

Dean was still trying to think of how to convince the older man not to try to track him down once he reached town when Bobby asked him the one question Dean didn’t want to answer. Even worse, he realized he couldn’t lie, though he very much wanted to. But Bobby was the only person he’d never been able to lie to, other than his father. Both men able to smell his bullshit miles away.

“I don’t know, Bobby. I don’t remember.” Dean sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair, deciding after he was done with this call he might try to take a shower because he absolutely reeked and he felt like he’d need some time alone too. “Until I know for sure, I’d rather you didn’t… Just don’t come looking for me, ok? I’ll keep in touch, but I don’t want you here if it happens.”

Bobby’s heart sank. If John’s boy didn’t remember, then he was probably a little more than banged up. And Dean expected him to stay away? Leaving him alone? Or maybe Cristo was still there? If Dean was hurt, Cristo wouldn’t have left him alone…no, he wouldn’t have. Cristo’s reputation said he would hang around to see if Dean turned. If Dean did, Cristo would take care of him.

The thought that John’s son would die alone, at the hands of a stranger, on a job Bobby sent him on almost brought tears to his eyes. None of that sat at all well with Bobby. He couldn’t change that he sent Dean on the job. He couldn’t fix whatever Dean did that gave him away, but he damned well wouldn’t let Dean be alone in this. His body damn well wouldn’t be burned with only a cold-hearted hunter that didn’t even know him to see him off.

“Bullshit, Boy. I’m not staying away and I should smack you upside the head for even thinking it. I might just do that when I see you. I’m gonna make sure Cristo is treating you right, cause I’m guessing that hunter is hanging ‘round to make sure you don’t turn. I’ll stay next door or as close to your room as I can get, but I’m going to be there to see you fine and walking or…be there for you if you’re not. Either way, you ain’t going through this alone, and I won’t brook no argument from you. So where are you staying?”

Dean had to smile, though it was a sad smile to say the least, at Bobby’s reply. He’d really expected nothing less from the older hunter, though he had hoped otherwise for both their sakes. Still it warmed his heart to know, like he really needed any reminding, just how much Bobby cared about him. Probably the only person left in this world who still did care about him. The older man was the closest thing he had to a father now since his dad had died protecting him all those years ago.

The young man almost caved. Almost told Bobby where he was. Almost.

Dean had been forced to watch his own father die because of a stupid mistake he’d made, and there was no way he was going to let the same thing happen to Bobby. It had been Dean’s fault he’d been captured by the vampire nest. No one else’s. If he was going to turn… then he wanted someone here who didn’t give a damn about him to finish him off, not someone who cared about him. Sure Bobby was one of the best god damned hunters Dean knew but he was still human and might hesitate… long enough that Dean might hurt Bobby or worse.

“I’m sorry, Bobby. I’ll call you in a few days if everything turns out all right, and you’re welcome to beat my ass then if you want. Whatever you do, just don’t go looking for the nest, at least not alone. Six of the vamps got away while Cristo was saving my ass and their leader is strong and one mean bitch. I’ll see you, Bobby.” Dean said and promptly hung up the phone before the older hunter could argue. Then he did something he hadn’t done in years, turned the cell off. Yeah, Bobby was definitely going to beat his ass the next time he saw him… if he saw him…

“We should go,” Dean said to Cristo then, looking up at the other hunter as he placed his cell back on the nightstand and started pushing himself up, without much success, from the bed again. “Bobby said he’d be here in under an hour.”

Sam easily heard both sides of the conversation. It was interesting to hear how other hunters viewed him. Fearless. He rather liked that. He was a bit taken aback by Bobby’s comment that he took out “civilian witnesses.” He only killed those that were potentially a threat, such as a person who was likely going to turn. Innocents he saved when he could. And when he couldn’t, well, dinner was dinner. He preferred to think of himself as practical. Ruthless…well, he supposed he couldn’t deny that either. But only when necessary. He was pleased to see Dean relax rather than tense with Bobby’s description of him except for the flicker of upset that crossed Dean’s face when Bobby made the comment regarding the killing of civilians. Sam couldn’t very well protest the comment, not without letting Dean know just how good his hearing was.

He saw just how hard it was for Dean to tell the older hunter to stay away. It wasn’t his business, though. If Dean didn’t want his friend present, then he would honor that wish. Besides, if Dean began to turn, he might be able to convince Dean to learn to eat vegetarian. Dean could keep hunting…and maybe even consider partnering with Sam. In more ways than one, Sam thought with a private grin. Two hunters, both vampires? They would make one wicked team. The one drawback was they couldn’t feed off of each other so Sam would be forced to eat more livestock blood than he preferred, but that would be a small sacrifice to have that sweet beautiful boy beside him for years to come.

When Dean tried, and failed, to push himself out of bed, Sam stood, wiping his mouth clean with a napkin. The burger had been quite good. “Very well. Let me pay for the room for another two weeks so I can leave my car here without question. I’ll gather my things and we can leave. You eat. If you were fed blood, you need your strength if you want to have even that very slim chance of fighting it off.” Sam headed for the door, carrying the onion rings with him. No sense in letting such delicious food get cold.

If Dean wasn’t feeling hungry before, after the talk with Bobby, he definitely didn’t feel like eating now. But Sam was right, he supposed. Not like he’d ever heard of anyone who’d been infected by vampire blood and not turned into a vampire, but he did need to rebuild his strength, and what else could he do? Considering he obviously couldn’t do anything right now without Sam’s help, not even get out of bed.

So while he waited for the other man to return Dean quickly finished off his soup. He even unwrapped his burger and managed to eat half of it thankfully with no sign that it might come back up again.

He supposed that shower he wanted was going to have to wait too. Every minute was going to count, since Dean had no doubt that Bobby had probably floored the accelerator of his car the second Dean had hung up the phone and damn the risk of cops pulling him over for going over a hundred. Even though he’d asked Bobby not to look for him, he had no doubt that the older man would try anyway.

Well, better Bobby search for him obsessively than the vampire nest, he supposed. Staying one step ahead of the older hunter was going to be a trick though, especially with less than an hour’s head start. The next time he saw Bobby, he was going to be pissed. Perhaps for the first time in his life he hoped the older man had the chance to rip him a new asshole.

Sam wanted to minimize the man at the desk remembering him and hoped the brunette he had chatted up the first day he arrived and two days later wouldn’t be working when Bobby came hunting them down. He kept his eyes down and slid his credit card across the counter as he asked to extend his stay another two weeks. Like most hunters he used an alias, not that ‘Cristo’ was his real name anyhow. He used Cristo as a defense mechanism against the demons that occasionally got pissed enough at him to come hunting for him. Nothing like introducing himself to have a person jerk back. It had saved his ass more times than he cared to count. He was, he knew with a grimace, climbing higher and higher on the demonic hit list. At this point he didn’t dare take off his hex bag. He would have half a dozen demons on him so fast it would not be amusing in the least. They wouldn’t bother to kill him. He was already immortal, healed quickly, and with enough need for blood might well rip a human apart to get it. It would be an unpleasant eternity.

Signing his name and pocketing the receipt, he wished for probably the millionth time that Hollywood had it right and vampires really did have the ability to instantly mesmerize people to make them forget or whatever. Older vampires did have some very minor demonic powers, but all those talents were pretty much something you had to be taught how to use. Fortunately Stasi had taught him before she was killed. He could bend someone to his will if he spoke with a person for an extended period of time and worked very hard at it. If they really didn’t want to do what he asked though, they wouldn’t. Likewise, if Sam really tried, he could move something about the size and weight of a couple quarters. Seventy years ago, he could move about half that. He wasn’t impressed with the slow progress of either talent.

He stopped at his car and pulled out his supplies. If something did happen and his car got towed, he didn’t want to lose his gear. They certainly couldn’t leave Dean’s car. Well, actually if they did, they would be far less conspicuously in Sam’s Jeep.

He had the distinct impression Dean would not take well to that suggestion. It was an old and beautiful car with an engine that practically growled. Again, not discreet. Well, he could ask, but he suspected he knew the answer and decided to go ahead and load his gear into Dean’s car. He only had his hunting case and two duffels, plus his few things in the room. Dean’s car was as messy as his motel room had been and he expected it to take far longer to switch Dean’s gear to his Jeep rather than vice-versa. Of course, the smell of that dead man’s blood coming from the trunk was going to make Sam nauseous until he got those weapons cleaned. And he hoped he didn’t puke while trying to clean them. Maybe Dean would feel strong enough to clean them and Sam could make himself scarce for a few hours. He also didn’t want to put his things into the trunk where it could absorb that awful stench. As he was putting his gear into the back seat he groaned a little. The Impala did not have tinted windows. And no air conditioning. Dean had said he owed Sam. Yeah, he was going to owe him big time for this. At least he had sunblock in his room. That would help.

Sam returned to his room, carrying Dean’s duffel of clothes with him and saw that Dean had wolfed down most of the food Sam had brought him. That was good. Setting the bag on the Bed beside Dean, he pulled out the first clothes he came to and handed them to Dean.

“Let me know if you need help getting dressed. It will only take me a minute to gather my things. I assume the argument that we would be more discreet in my car than yours is pointless?” Sam asked as he walked into the bathroom, picked up his small satchel of grooming supplies, and then went to the closet to collect his meticulously hung clothes. He slid the clothes into the custom made garment bag, and nestled his grooming supplies into the bottom of the bag beside his dress boots. He zipped up the bag, folded it over on itself and snapped the straps. He set it beside his small bag of hunting gear and laid his book on top. All that was left was to gather the water from the small refrigerator, collect the first aid kit, toss the used IV supplies in the dumpster outside and get those items and Dean out to the vehicle of choice.

Dean was glad to see his duffle in the other man’s hand when he returned. Nothing against the other guy, but he hadn’t really wanted to wear the other hunter’s clothes.

Though he’d failed the first two times he tried, Dean was even more determined now and finally managed to struggle up into a sitting position. Though the effort seemed to sap him of what little strength he had and he couldn’t contain the soft groan or hide the wince of pain that crossed his features either as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Swaying there a little unsteadily for a moment, praying he didn’t fall back, or forwards for that matter, as he waited for the room to stop spinning.

He took the set of clothes Sam offered gratefully with a nod of thanks, glad he wouldn’t have to root around himself for something clean to wear. But when the other hunter asked him if they should take his car rather than Dean’s, the young man gave Sam a look like the other man might have hit his head or something.

“You’d assume right.” Was all Dean said, considering the matter pretty much closed as he started to struggle into his clothes. There was no fucking way he was leaving his baby here sitting in a motel parking lot for a week. Bad enough it had been sitting alone at the other shithole of a motel for three days while he’d been gone. Though he knew Bobby would probably find her and take care of her if he left his car here, Dean wasn’t willing to chance it.

Dean said nothing in regards to the other man’s offer to help him get dressed. He wasn’t going to be treated like an invalid, after all. He’d been dressing himself for years, thanks very much, he didn’t need Sam to pamper him. Though Dean began to wonder about the wisdom of his decision as struggled into his button up shirt. His movements pulling painfully at the wounds across his back and chest. He hadn’t even considered how he was supposed to put his jeans on without falling on his ass. If they had more time his pride might have kept him struggling stubbornly until he was finally able to do it himself, but he reminded himself every second counted.

“I need help.” Dean finally sighed in frustration.

Sam would have been more than surprised if Dean had managed to dress himself without his aid. And if the look on Dean’s face earlier had been any indication, Dean was going to crap himself when he realized he was going to have to let Sam drive.

“Let’s only get you up once. Let me get everything set up and ready,” Sam told him. Sam quickly carried everything out to the car along with the pillows from the bed that he put in the front seat for Dean to lean against, and discarded the IV and other trash.

He returned to the room to find Dean still sitting up but with his eyes shut and looking like he was ready to fall asleep again any minute.

“Dean,” he said softly so as not to startle the young man.

The exhaustion in the man’s greens eyes when he opened them was monumental. Sam took Dean’s shorts and jeans from him and got them up to his thighs. Sam found it a little amusing that Dean still had the sheets wrapped around his waist. Did Dean think he hadn’t seen him in his full glory? Well actually, ‘full’ glory would be something delicious to see, Sam thought with a chuckle. The man was extremely well endowed to begin with.

He could tell Dean would be doing good to stand, let alone get his jeans pulled up and himself adjusted comfortably. If the man wasn’t bi, this was probably going to embarrass the hell out of him. Sam made himself promise to be professional about it. The guy had it rough enough. He didn’t need a complete stranger feeling him up.

“I’m going to pull you to your feet and you’re going to hang on to me. I’m going to get your jeans pulled up and get you adjusted inside them. I’m not trying to get fresh with you, okay? I know it’s freaking embarrassing, but it’s got to be done.” Not really giving Dean a chance to argue, he pulled Dean up and bent over, feeling Dean resting heavily on his back. Sam’s mouth was right near Dean’s cock as he exhaled, but he firmly made himself focus on the task. As he pulled Dean’s jeans up, he adjusted the man’s member off to the side for comfort, feeling the man jump just a little. He zipped Dean’s jeans, buttoned them, then instead of straightening up to help Dean out to the car, he turned enough to get his shoulder into the man’s abdomen and gently hefted him onto his shoulder amid Dean’s protests. He strode out to the car, closing the motel door behind him, and completely ignored the man’s outright indignation.

As carefully as he had hefted Dean, he set him on his feet, catching him before his knees gave out, and helped him into the passenger’s side of the car.

“Sorry, but you are not in any condition to drive,” Sam told him firmly as he got Dean into the car and shut the door. He walked around to driver’s side, started the car, and pointed the car east.

Dean managed a slight nod when the other man suggested they only get him up once. He wasn’t looking forward to getting up at all, tell you the truth, but they had to move quickly if they were going to avoid Bobby.

Dean was already starting to regret a little and question his decision to keep Bobby away from him until he knew for certain whether or not he was going to turn. First of all it was going to be a pain in the ass to stay ahead of the skillful hunter, and when Bobby did find him he was going to be pissed. But it really was for the best, for both of them, especially if he did turn… and he was sure Bobby would forgive him… eventually.

Still it was it would be a hell of a lot easier if they could at least get out of town before Bobby arrived. Town was so damn small you could practically spit from one end to the other. If they could just move a few towns over it would be a hell of a lot easier to lay low for a couple of days.

Fuck, what was taking Sam so long? Dean closed his eyes and swallowed back a groan, beginning to regret having eaten so much. He didn’t feel like puking, at least not yet, but he definitely didn’t feel good. He had a feeling he’d feel a hell of a lot better if he just laid back and went back to sleep for the next few years, he was so damn tired.

But when he heard his name, practically whispered, he forced his eyes back open despite how difficult it was. Letting the other man take his clothes from his limp grasp, and nodding slightly to his words, even though he only understood about half of it.

Dean groaned again as the other hunter pulled him to his feet, Dean’s knees immediately buckling and he would have fallen on his ass hard if Sam wasn’t there letting him use him for support. Dean’s fingers instinctively twisting in the other man’s shirt to help keep his balance as he leaned on his back heavily while Sam pulled up his jeans. Fuck, this was embarrassing. He’d been dressing himself since he was four and he couldn’t even get his pants up himself…

Even as out of it as he was he felt the brush of the other man’s breath over his sensitive skin and a shiver worked its way down his spine. His muscles instinctively jumping at the touch of Sam’s warm hand on his cock despite how brief and clinical the touch was, he couldn’t really help it. It had been years since he’d felt a man’s hand, other than his own of course, touch him like that. Back when he was still an adventurous teenager willing to try just about anything, or anyone, at least once.

At least the embarrassingly awkward moment was over quickly, so he thought anyway, because as soon as he was zipped up the other man was hefting him like a sack of potatoes, cave man style, despite Dean’s squawk of protest. The other hunter completely ignoring his increasingly graphic curses as he carried him out to the car, and sure maybe Dean wouldn’t have been able to walk there by himself, but let him maintain some measure of dignity for Christ sake!

Dean was fuming, his face red with embarrassment as much from the blood rushing to his head from the upside down position he’d been in, by the time Sam finally sat him down once more. To his further embarrassment he had to hold onto the other man tightly to keep himself from simply sliding to the ground on legs that refused to bear his weight. Would serve Sam right if he puked on the other man, but since there was no way Dean would let him in his car like that he refrained from doing so.

He didn’t even have the strength to make a comment about the other man driving his baby again, leaning heavily against the door Dean fell asleep before they even got out of the motel parking lot.