The rain hadn't let up for more than an hour. Not a little bit of rain either, but a whole fucking lot of it. The kind that drenched through every single layer of clothes, he wore and then some. Making him feel twenty pounds heavier, and so cold his fingers were numb around the gun in his grip. The cold rain seeming to seep down to his very bones.

It was not the kind of night that Dean wanted to be anywhere except in a warm motel bed with the heater turned up all the fucking way. Too bad that most supernatural sons of bitches didn't care about things like the weather. The pack of black dogs had killed again tonight. This time a little kid, and his father had finally picked up on their trail. The mother fuckers were going down tonight, rain or no rain.

They'd gone into the woods together, but they'd split up when the tracks they'd been following had suddenly divided. There was no way to tell really which way the majority of the pack had went. The rain was quickly washing away any signs of the trail, so they had to move quickly or they'd risk losing them again tonight, which meant they could kill again tomorrow night.

They weren't going to let that happen.

Dean fought his way through the thick underbrush, the thorny vines catching on his wet jeans and tearing small holes into them, and he bit down a curse. The last thing he needed was to alert the pack to his presence. When he finally broke through into the clearing, he knew immediately that he'd found the nest, lair, whatever you wanted to call it, of the pack. The human bones, and half rotted corpses of animals littering outside the dark forbidding entrance of the cave was pretty much a dead giveaway.

There was no sign of the pack though. They must already have gone underground. That would be damned inconvenient if they had to go searching around in the caves all night to flush out the pack, but at least it would be dry. Dean was reaching into his pocket for his cell to call his Dad and tell him he found the lair when he heard the first deep growl from behind him. Dean turned, and without hesitating, aimed and fired his gun loaded with the silver bullets at the pair of glowing red eyes behind him. The ear piercing yelping scream from the black dog telling him he'd hit his mark.

Well, at least his Dad should hear the gunshots and head this way. Unfortunately the rest of the pack had obviously heard them, as well as the death of their pack member and quickly converged on his location as well.

Dean fired round after round, the rain and the darkness making it difficult to aim properly not to mention tell just how many of the things were actually out there. He heard his father's shout less than five minutes after Dean had started shooting, good thing the older man had let him know he was there or Dean might have accidentally shot his father too in the process. Dean heard his father's gun, and tried to keep track of how many shots both he and his father were using. They were both getting low and he knew he knew he was going to have to reload soon.

The young man blew open the skull of a black dog that tried to leap on him, the corpse falling dead inches from him. He tried to put another bullet into its heart, just in case, when his gun clicked. Damn it. He was reaching for a fresh clip in his pocket when he heard another growl from behind him. Too close. Even as he turned, trying to reload his weapon at the same time, he knew he wasn't going to have time. He tried to prepare himself for the crushing weight of the monstrous dog landing on him.

But when the blow came it wasn't from the front but from the side as his father knocked him out of the way. The dogs claws raking his arm even as he fell out of its path, and the beast knocked his father to the ground instead. Why wasn't his father shooting it? Why hadn't he shot it instead of pushing him out of the way? Had his dad been out of ammo too? All those thoughts flashed through his brain in the instant he landed on the ground muddied by rain and blood, the second it took to snap his fresh clip of silver bullets into his gun, pull the trigger several times, and shoot three bullets into the ribcage of the black dog.

A few seconds… too late…

"Dad!"

Dean screamed as he pushed himself up and crawled over to his fallen father. Shoving the heavy weight of the dead demon dog off the older man. Even between the thunder and the heavy rain Dean easily heard the gurgling gasping wheezes, even in the near pitch dark he could make out the gaping wound in his father's throat, watching in horror as his dad choked on his own blood.

"NO! No, no, no… God, No!"

Dean pressed his hands uselessly over the wound at his father's neck, feeling the hot blood flowing over his hands, the elder man twitching, growing weaker by the second, dying… and there was nothing Dean could do. Absolutely nothing.

"Dad, no, please… god no…"

He tried anyway. He tried to stop the blood. Tried to force air into his father's unmoving body. He didn't care that there still might be other dogs out there, ready to rip his throat out too. He couldn't let his father die. Not like this. God, not like this, please.

But he did.

Jacob's house. Thank God, Sam thought as he practically slid the car to a stop in front of the steps. He was startled when Dean cried out, calling for his father. Putting a gentle hand on Dean's forehead, he nodded a little to himself. He wasn't certain but he thought Dean's temperature was beginning to drop. Dean suddenly began to thrash as he begged whatever was in his nightmare not to happen. The death of his father, apparently. Sam pulled Dean's head into his lap and stroked his face.

"It's okay Dean. You're not alone. I'm right here. I'll always be here if that's what you want. Always."

He brushed away the tears on Dean's face as Dean sobbed. He knew Dean was still asleep, but that didn't mean the emotional pain was any the less for it. After a few minutes of offering what comfort he could, he slid out from beneath Dean and walked around to the passenger's side. He lifted Dean easily, keeping him wrapped in the blanket and now wet comforter. He walked up the stairs and kicked the bottom of the wooden door a handful of times. The red door opened almost immediately.

He returned a brief smile to the old man in front of him. He realized that though Jacob was nearing a hundred, he didn’t look much older than maybe his seventies. He was still solid and muscular and had a fair sprinkling of gray peppering his almost black hair. He had some wrinkles and age spots, but really, he looked very good for his age. His blue eyes still twinkled and still held that determination that had convinced Sam to let him live in the first place.

"About time you got here Sam," Jacob said, ushering the vampire in. "I've got everything all set up in that guest bedroom off the hallway."

"Thanks, Jake," Sam said and strode down to what was typically his bedroom when he came for a visit. He laid Dean down on the bed and peeled open the comforter and wet blanket. He saw the goosebumps wash over Dean. He wasted no time swabbing Dean's arm and inserting the IV. Jacob had already seated himself and was doing likewise. Sam watched as the crimson filled the tubing. Once it reached the end, he let the last of the air out and then slid the tube into place on the IV needle. He exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding and gently brushed the hair from Dean's sweaty forehead. Yes, Dean's fever was definitely beginning to drop.

"How much do you think we ought to give him?" Jacob asked Sam.

"Hmm?" Sam said, not looking away from Dean's beautiful face. He traced his finger along Dean's cheek.

"Sam," Jacob said. He grinned at the obviously entranced and in love man. "Sam!" Jacob repeated a little more forcefully.

Jacob's voice snapped him out of the way Dean's scent teased and got inside of him, distracting him in ways that nothing else could. He looked up at his friend. "I'm sorry. What?"

Laughing quietly, Jacob said, "I don't think I've ever seen you so in love. You looked at your wife with something similar to the look you're giving him, but he still beats Jessica out, hands down."

Sam wasn't certain if he liked that thought. Jessica had meant the world to him. He glanced down at his charge and realized that while Jessica meant the world to him, Dean meant everything to him. Body and soul. The other half of himself. "He's like Jessica. A bloodmate. Only…with him turning, he's responding to me in ways Jessica never quite could. And his taste," Sam shut his eyes and shook his head. "Exquisite. Magical even."

"I'm glad to know you've found someone again," Jacob said, leaning back in the brown overstuffed chair.

Sam swallowed hard. His voice wasn't much more than a whisper and every word cut inot him. "No, Jake. He won't be staying with me, no matter how this plays out. He…he's a hunter. He won't live as a vampire and if he stays human, he won't want…he's not interested in men."

Sitting up straighter, he looked at Sam, surprise clear on his face. "Hunter? Does he know?"

Sam laughed softly. "No. And I don't intend to tell him."

Jacob scowled at him. "But what will happen when he needs blood?"

"I'm going to hook him up with the vegetarians."

Seeing the look in Sam's eyes, Jacob shook his head. "Now don't you go and get foolish on me, not like some lovesick puppy."

The smile on Sam's face was as weary as the look in his hazel eyes. "I'm tired Jake. Tired of it all. It's a good excuse as any. Stasi was right. Living forever sucks out loud. I'll leave a trail and let some hunter get a kill. Maybe I'll find an inexperienced one and give him or her a boost in the confidence department."

"Alive and alone has to better than Hell," Jacob said with concern. He took hold and squeezed Sam's forearm. "Don't do anything stupid. Give it a few months, or even a year or two. Death will still be there and who knows, maybe you'll find another one of these soulmates."

Sam shook his head. "It hurts too much when they die. And they always die. Besides, a couple hundred years in Hell and I imagine I'll go full demon. I've always wondered if we get any special dispensation being a halfbreed to begin with."

"You could always ask God to forgive you. They say all someone has to do is ask."

"If you're turned against your will, maybe. I asked for it. I doubt even God can overlook that."

"Doesn't mean you can't ask." Silence fell between them until Jacob heaved a sigh. Sam was a stubborn man. If his mind was made up, it was made up. His jaw clenched at the thought of the loss of his longtime friend. Jacob looked down at the tubing between he and Dean. Back to safer subjects, he decided. He would work on Sam. Maybe he could persuade the vampire to give it some time. "So back to my original question. How much should we give him?"

"As much as you can spare, I imagine," Sam said with a shrug. "You know you can have what you need from me."

"Speaking of food, there's a calf out back waiting for you."

Sam rested his hand on Jacob's shoulder and smiled fondly at him. "You always did know how to sweet talk me old man."

Jacob snorted. "You, Sammy, are easier than a hooker being picked up by a limo."

Dean hadn’t been expecting any kind of comfort. He’d never received any before. When the nightmares came, he’d always suffered through them alone. He always woke with tears drying on his face with no one to wipe them away. No one to tell him it was going to be ok. He would have denied he even needed it.

He did need it. He felt like he needed it more than the air he breathed. He needed it more than anything. He needed the warm hand, touching him, soothing. He needed the gentle voice reassuring him, offering comfort, offering a promise. Not to leave him…

The tears stopped. He began to relax into the comforting warmth holding him. Making a small sound of complaint when that warmth was withdrawn, but thankfully it was brief. Then he was being held, closer now, closer was good. The other man’s scent washing over him just as comforting as the strong arms wrapped around him.

Sam…

Far too soon he was being set down however, the other man pulling away from him, and leaving him chilled at the same time. He shivered. He felt so damned cold. Where was Sam? No, no he’d promised. Sam had promised not to leave him. Dean struggled up from unconsciousness. Fought and clawed against it. Forcing his eyes open even though he could barely focus on anything. He reached out blindly. Groaning in discomfort when he came fully awake and all the various aches and pains in his body began making themselves known.

He felt like he’d been hit by a truck, then it had backed up over him again for good measure.

“Sam…” he barely managed to croak out the other man’s name.

Sam's attention snapped away from Jacob when Dean began to stir. The desperation in his bloodmate's voice was like a spike through his heart. He went to Dean's side, capturing Dean's reaching hand, brushing his lips over the back of it and sat down next to Dean. He felt the cold of Dean's hand in his own. Dean's fever was definitely fading though he knew it would not break until an outcome was decided.

"Shhh, Dean, you're safe," Sam murmured softly. "I'm right here, lover. Right here with you. As long as you want and need me, I'm right here."

Sam grasped the edge of the fresh comforter that had been turned aside on the bed and with one hand dragged it up and over Dean's naked form. The death-hold Dean had on his other hand would have broken those fine carpel bones were he merely human. Even so, he was going to have some impressive bruising. But it didn't matter so long as it helped Dean. Just like the wound at his throat and the dark bruising Dean had determinedly left there, it would fade.

Dean was obviously fighting to regain full consciousness. Sam ran his hand through the hair at Dean's temple then caressed Dean's cheek and took that caress down to his jaw line.

"It's okay. You're going to be fine," Sam told him reassuringly then leaned down and pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to Dean's lips.

Dean gripped the hand that found his desperately tight. Knowing on some level his hold had to be painful but he didn’t care. He only cared that he wasn’t alone. That Sam was there… It was Sam’s warm hand holding his, Sam’s soft lips against his skin, Sam’s soft voice, reassuring him gently, promising him everything he wanted, everything he needed to hear.

The young man turned into the soft caressing fingers that touched his hair and face with a small moan. His body slowly relaxing once more, even as his mind struggled closer to consciousness. But it was so damned hard to focus. His brain felt like it had been melted and he wouldn’t have been surprised if it began leaking out of his ears.

Where the hell was he? What the fuck had happened… was happening… to him? He thought he should know, he did know, but he just couldn’t grasp anything. It slipped through his fingers like sand. Only one thing sure and solid. Sam…

A soft moan escaped Dean when he felt the light brush of the other man’s across his dry chapped lips. He instinctively parted them. Instinctively sought out more, his tongue darting out to swipe across the other man’s lips. He felt so good, tasted so good, smelled so good… Sam…

Sam!

Dean’s eyes snapped open, the realization of what he was doing and who exactly he was doing it with practically slapping him in the face, and he jerked back way from the other hunter as though he’d been burned. Dean wasn’t so sure he hadn’t been. His lips still tingling even from that soft, almost chaste touch.

What the fuck… what the fuck was he doing?!

The young man’s eyes were wide awake now, and about as close to panicked as he would ever admit, as they darted around the unfamiliar room. Locking briefly on the old man he didn’t recognize, and looking as though he expected some kind of creature to jump out of a shadow at any second.

“Where the hell am I?” He managed to wheeze out, coughing, and swallowing hard. His throat feeling as dry as sand, and his head pounding like it was going to literally split in two any second. Dean suddenly realized he was still holding Sam’s hand and dropped it with a bright flush to his already fevered cheeks.

Sam was surprised when Dean responded to his kiss, but not at all displeased. Maybe Dean wasn't going to freak over them making love after all. Of course Sam was going to have to come up with convincing answers to the questions Dean was bound to ask. Like why Dean would obey him. Why Sam let him drink from him. Why Sam drank from him and how he didn't risk becoming infected himself. He thought he had convincing answers to all those questions. He hoped so at any rate. Dean was not ready to hear that Sam was a vampire.

When Dean's tongue flicked out to his lips he was ready to deepen the kiss, but nothing more. Since Dean's fever had dropped, they had a lot of things to talk about and besides, Jacob was here and he figured it might embarrass Dean.

And then Dean jerked back from him. Sam sat up, confused. Damn was Dean good at confusing him. Talk about fucking mixed signals time and time again. Had he done something wrong again? Crossed some line he didn't know about?

Dean looked scared out of his mind. Looked like if he had the strength, he would be out of the bed, his back against the wall, and anything at hand resembling a weapon held at ready. His question wasn't a surprise since the last thing Dean would remember was being at the hotel making love to Sam. The sudden blush to Dean's cheeks made Sam's heart jump. Dammit, he wished Dean would stop blushing all the fucking time. It was hard enough as it was.

"Easy, Dean," Sam soothed. "We're at my friend's, Jacob. I told you about him? He survived turning. We're giving you some of his blood. It has antibodies against the vampiric virus. It's a slim chance, but the chance you'll beat the virus on your own is almost nil. I don't want you to get your hopes up. It's a long shot."

"I think that's about it," Jacob said and pinched off the tube funneling blood from his body into the young hunter's. "Pleased to meet you, Dean. Any friend of Sammy's and all that."

Sam gave a soft huff. "Dammit Jake, how many times do I have to tell you it's Sam, not Sammy."

Jacob laughed and gave Dean a wink as he pulled the IV out of the crook of his elbow, while Sam did the same for Dean. "You want to annoy him, just call him Sammy. Samuel is just slightly less annoying to him."

"Samuel is respectable name," Sam muttered. "Sammy is a fucking ten year old." He glanced at Dean. "Jake responds to Asshole, too. He's called it so often his mother should have just named him that instead of Jacob."
Jacob slapped Sam on the back of the head. "Mind your manners, young 'un."

Sam turned a glare on Jacob that put Jacob into fits of laughter so hard he had tears in his eyes. He finally settled down enough to tell Dean, "I'll get you some Gatorade and a sandwich made up. I'd guess you're probably hungry, too. Fevers will do that to a man. The Gatorade will help your headache some, but I'll get you some aspirin to take."

The fact that Sam looked even more confused than Dean felt threw him for a moment. How the hell did Sam have any right to look surprised by his reaction? Sam had been the one kissing him, for fucks sake.

Sam’s reassurances were really anything but. Jacob? The man… Dean thought he remembered Sam had said something about seeing someone not turn who’d been feed blood. And Sam thought this man’s blood would keep him from turning?

Dean’s eyes flickered briefly to the old man. Not likely… slim… not get his hopes up… yeah, real reassuring there.

The young hunter almost snorted at Jacob’s words. Friend? More like an acquaintance he’d rather not have at the moment. Though Dean couldn’t really help the slight smirk that quirked his lips at the banter between the two men, a small huff of laughter he barely disguised as a cough escaping his lips when the old man smacked the big bad hunter Sam Cristo upside the head.

“Thanks.” Dean managed, genuinely grateful for the older man’s offer. He was starving, and thirsty too… and he now knew what it meant. Dean’s heart plummeted all too quickly as he remembered seeing his back nearly healed, realizing he was turning, Sam telling him how he’d known…

Dean swallowed hard and looked back at Sam, remembering what else he’d let the other man do to him… as well as what Sam had done without his permission. Why the hell had he done that? Let Sam do that to him? And he’d enjoyed it, enjoyed it a lot, right up until…

“Why did you bring me here? There’s no chance I’ll survive this. Why didn’t you kill me?” Dean managed to force out despite how dry and sore his throat was.

Sam heard Dean’s barely covered snort of laughter when Jacob hit him. "Young ‘un" indeed. Jacob knew good and well Sam had him by a good fifty years. Of course he also knew Sam couldn't say a damned thing without giving everything away.

After Jacob left, Sam turned his focus on Dean. He saw the cascade of emotions wash through the young man as memories returned to him. Upset, confusion, pleasure, pissed, and anger. Sam sure would have liked to have seen a lot more pleasure on that face, or at least a lot less pissed. It wasn’t really Sam’s fault as Dean did all but accost him. There was no way to readily stop Dean, especially if he wanted to assure Dean didn’t hurt anyone. Dean’s words cut through his own turmoil of memories.

"I brought you here because there is a chance. I’m not going to kill you until there is no doubt that you aren’t going to beat the virus. I don’t care if there’s only a one percent chance, I’m going to give you that. Does it matter if you die now versus a few days from now? I’ve dealt with enough potentially vampires that I know I can handle you. There’s no real danger to me. If you become unmanageable, I’ll deal with you then. You’re in the lull before the storm. Your fever will start climbing again soon."

The look on Dean's face suggested to him that Dean didn't really want Sam sitting next to him. He clenched his jaw. Dammit, he'd been better behaved than by all rights he should have been. He did not fuck Dean, he let Dean fuck him. He let Dean drink from him and satisfy his need. And really, it was either Sam, who could control Dean, or Dean would go out hunting on his own and he would have killed someone. Quite possibly raped and killed them because of smelling Sam's scent to begin with.

Sam studied the hand he had broken punching it through the wall. He probably should have at least wrapped it. It still hurt, was still a little swollen, but it was nothing compared to the twisting of his gut inside him. He pushed himself to his feet so Dean might feel less intimidated or freaked or pissed, or whatever the hell he was feeling. Seemed like anything he thought Dean was feeling, he read him wrong and Sam ended up on his ass, confused at what he had done wrong. Dean was more volatile than a woman with PMS.

He found he couldn't face Dean and it was an effort to keep his voice steady. He knew his voice sounded cold, but if he didn't keep it emotionless, he would say things that would embarrass both of them. Nothing more pathetic than a vampire begging. Besides, he didn't beg. Wouldn't beg. He might find tears in his eyes when he was alone, but he wouldn't show them to Dean. The young hunter couldn't be told. Besides what was Sam going to say? "Hey I'm a vampire and you're my blood soulmate and you'll shatter me if you leave me." …That would go over just perfect.

"I'm sorry about what happened at the hotel," Sam said. He didn't really figure the apology would help ease the tension, but he just didn't know what else to do. He had let it happen. He should have recognized the signs and he hadn't. If he had, he could have prevented Dean's bloodlust from becoming what it had. "You didn't give me a choice. It was either me or some innocent. I gave you what you needed to keep you in the room. I'm sorry if you're not comfortable with that. Another day or so and this will all be over anyhow. You won't have to deal with me anymore. One of three possibilities is going to occur. One, you'll be human again, two, you'll turn and choose to go vegetarian and I'll take you to one of their nests, or three, you'll want to die and I'll…" Sam paused, trying not to choke on the words. Trying desperately to even get the words out. "…I'll do what I promised." His words dropped to a whisper. "I'll kill you. Salt and burn you. And let Bobby know you didn't make it."

Crap. He was not going to cry. How freaking girlie was that? Why did Dean turn him into a blubbering girl? He sighed audibly. Because Dean was a soulmate. The universe had a really fucked up sense of humor.

Sam still couldn't face Dean and kept his back to the man. "I have to get a few things out of the car, tend to a few things. I'll be back by the time you finish lunch, I'm sure. If you need me sooner just call out. I ought to be in earshot. The furthest I'll be is either out front at the car, or out back, tending to something Jacob has for me.

"I promised I'd stay by your side as long as you wanted or needed me. I can wait to do these things until your fever starts again if you would rather. Or I can stay away until it's necessary for me to be in here. You will need to be put in chains when your fever returns. You'll be pretty strong at that point and I don't want to risk Jacob's life in case I can't control you at that point. So, should I stay or should I go?"

Did it matter? Sam Cristo, big bad ass vampire hunter, was asking him if it mattered whether or not he died now and not in a few days? Dean didn’t care about hurting Sam. He knew the other man could handle his own, the guy had gotten him out of the vampire’s nest in the first place for fucks sake. The difference between dying now and dying later was fucking simple. Now he’d die as a human, later he’d die as a monster…

Sam should know the fucking difference. He was a hunter after all. No, Dean didn’t want to die, but he didn’t want to live to see himself become one of them either. A fucking bloodsucker…

The other hunter had promised him. Maybe Sam wasn’t exactly going back on his word, but he’d told the other hunter before to kill him if he started to turn. Well, he sure as hell was turning, and he only had maybe a one percent chance of coming through this human. What the hell kind of chance was that? Why wouldn’t Sam just get it over with and kill him now before he changed completely? He killed fucking civilian witnesses without a second thought, if what Bobby said was true. Why not him then? It’s not like they even liked each other. Especially after what had happened…

When Sam suddenly began apologizing for what had happened at the motel, Dean was already shaking his head, even though the other man wasn’t looking at him. He was about to tell Sam to just fucking save it, he didn’t want to hear it, when Sam’s words caused confusion to flash over his face instead. Didn’t give him a choice? Him or some innocent? Keep him in the room… what the fuck?!

It was only then that Dean noticed the monster of a hickey on the other hunter’s neck and his stomach suddenly clenched so hard if he’d had anything in it he probably would have vomited. Oh right, he did have something in it. Blood. He’d fucking drank blood, and he wasn’t even fully turned yet. Sam had let him…

Dean didn’t really listen to the other man as Sam ticked off his options matter-of-factly. He didn’t even look at Sam. He simply sat there, pale and shaking a little, and it became painfully obvious what he needed to do.

“Just leave me alone.” Dean said softly, without emotion. When the other hunter left the room, Dean closed his eyes a moment before he pushed himself up on shaking arms and threw aside the comforter he was wrapped in. Not really caring much about modesty at this point, Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed and after another moment of shoring up what strength he had, got to his feet. His legs feeling as shaky as a newborn colt, having to hold onto the wall as he moved around to the bathroom on the other side of the room.

He closed and locked the door, then moved over to do the same to the other door of what looked like an adjoining bedroom. Dean’s mouth twisted in a sardonic smile when he saw exactly what he needed laying right there on the sink. What kind of fucked up universe was it that this was the only thing going right for him right now? He hoped someone was getting a laugh out of all this.

With a sigh Dean picked up the straight razor and flicked it open. Gotta hand it to old guys who liked the old fashioned kind. Would have sucked if he only had an electric razor to work with. That thought almost made Dean burst out laughing.

Again holding onto the wall for support Dean managed to get in the tub without breaking his neck. That thought also made him laugh a little. Wouldn’t that have been ironic? Dean laid down in the tub, no reason to make a big mess after all, and flicked open the razor again. This was going to be his only shot, he might as well do it right.

Dean pressed the cold sharp edge against his throat, wincing as he dug it into his fragile flesh, feeling his blood pool up readily and run down his neck. With one quick jerk, Dean pulled the blade quickly across.

Leave him alone. Yes. That was what he expected. Cold. Emotionless. Like his own words had been. But Dean's words were like a fist to the gut and he had to focus all his willpower not to let Dean know how much they hurt. Dean wanted him gone.

Maybe…maybe it would be better to offer Dean death now. Dean didn't want to become a vampire, didn't want to risk becoming what he hunted. Sam understood that. He really did. When he had been bitten by that werewolf twenty years ago, he had made Jessica promise to kill him if he somehow did become a werewolf. A vampiric werewolf. He didn't know if it was even possible but it scared the hell out of him. He almost put a silver bullet in his own heart and prepped a means to decapitate himself. He really didn't want Jessica to have to do it. But she convinced him to wait it out and see. And those last few days before the full moon he had gotten sick. Vampires didn't get sick. Not like that. And he knew the viruses were fighting inside him. He'd chained himself with his tools at hand if he did change. His sickness faded after the full moon, but he had been weak for days and no amount of non-human blood seemed to help. Jessica had found donors. He hadn't asked how. It had taken the equivalent of draining three people dry, though he had fed from a few dozen to make up for that amount, to heal him.

Sam left the room, his shoulders hunched, his head down. He didn't make it more than a few feet when he collapsed against the wall and the tears hit him. Dammit! He was going to lose Dean anyhow. What difference did it make? If Dean were dead it would all be so much easier. One more hole ripped into his already tattered soul. He'd get the stuff in the house, feed on the calf, give Jake the blood he needed, and chain Dean, whether the hell he was into the fever or not. Then he could leave the room. He would come in periodically and run cool clothes over the man, keep the fever down enough not to melt Dean's brain, and then it would be over. He had a feeling Dean wouldn't take finding out Sam was a vampire any better then than he would now. It wasn't like you really changed much on the inside, not for a long while, anyhow.

Moot. Pointless. He was alone again and always would be. Unless he took up with a nest and …he just wasn't interested in that. The only point his life had was hunting. It offered him some type of redemption. Every soul he saved might move him that much further from damnation. Not that he really thought he'd end up anywhere but Hell. But he liked to pretend he might. Jessica was surely in Heaven. Elizabeth too. Stasi and Michael…okay, they were probably down in Hell, but it was unlikely they were anything but demons now. They would probably be the ones to visit Hell's torments on Sam. He imagined Hell liked such irony.

Vaguely he heard Dean get out of bed and stumble into the bathroom. Not a surprise the hunter had to piss. Sam wanted to laugh when he heard the door locked. Was Dean that afraid Sam was going to go for another peek? Like he hadn't seen Dean in all his glory, like he hadn't had that wonderful glory buried deeply inside him.

Stop it. Just stop it. It was over and done with. Dean hated him. Would always hate him. He was going to let Dean turn before he killed him. He had invaded Dean without Dean's permission. He had…he had fucked up again and again and again.

"Should have just fucked him and killed him at the nest," Sam said softly, a pretty large part of him wishing he had. That was it. No more times. Even if he some how didn't chose death and went back to hunting, there would be no more civilians left alive. He wouldn't do this again. Ever. He couldn't. It just hurt too damned much.

Why didn't he hear Dean pissing? And what was that soft scrape of metal on metal? He heard bare skin slap on porcelain. Dean was going to shower? Then why didn't he turn on the water first?

And then he smelled it. The scent of copper. The scent of his soulmate's blood.

Sam was back in the room and ripped the door off its hinges. He panicked gaze shot around the room, but the scent drew him. Dean. In the bath tub. Blood pouring from his throat. The throat he had sliced open himself.

"No!" Sam screamed, the tears flowing readily down his face. He scooped Dean up and carried him out to the bed, one hand covering the carotid. Dean's eyes had already rolled back in his head and his heartbeat was slowing. Sam exposed his teeth and slit his wrist on one of his canines. He put that bleeding wound at Dean's mouth while he put his own mouth at Dean's carotid. He used his teeth to put pressure there, to slow the bleeding. The carotid on the other side of Dean's neck would ensure Dean got enough blood to his brain.

All Sam could think was a desperate Don't die. Please don't die. Please. And wonder if Dean was enough vampire to survive this otherwise deadly wound. What Dean wanted didn't matter worth a damn to him right now. He wanted Dean to live. He needed Dean to live. Because surely, if Dean died, all that was Sam would die with him.

Dean wasn’t completely stupid, though recent events might suggest otherwise. He had known dying like this would be less than pleasant. Having his head cut off much quicker and cleaner, of course. But at least this way it would be better than turning into a fucking vampire, risking changing his mind about letting Cristo slice off his head after he turned, promising to try not to feed off humans… and then doing so anyway. Yeah, it was better. Though it was a little difficult to convince oneself of that when he was choking on his own blood. At least, he hoped, he wouldn’t regret his decision for very long.

He was surprised how much it actually hurt though. He’d had deeper, more painful, cuts along his chest or his shoulder. But when his struggling panicking body tried to inhale through his damaged throat and all that went into his lungs was blood, it was excruciating. He was literally drowning in his own blood, and even as he quickly grew weaker by the second from the blood rushing out of his body with every pump of his heart he wished he’d just pass out soon so the pain would stop.

Though darkness robbed him of his vision rather quickly he was distantly aware of a loud crashing sound followed by the most heart wrenching sound he’d ever heard in his life. It made his heart twist even more painfully than it already was, struggling to beat as his life drained out of him.

He felt like he was floating. He tasted blood in his mouth, not a surprise he supposed, but it was different. The flavor was different than his own blood. More potent. He felt lips at his throat, and teeth. His body, struggling to live despite his mind’s wishes, recognized what it needed, and his lips began sucking weakly at the wrist pressed to his mouth.

His body no longer tried to breathe but his heart continued struggling. Every beat seeming more painful than the last, but his heart continued beating. He was sucking with more strength now, drawing blood desperately into his body, until finally a racking, painful, cough shook him. Crimson pouring from his mouth as he vomited up the blood in his lungs, finally managing a weak wheezing breath through his healing throat.

He just had to keep the carotid sealed long enough for the virus to do its job and start to heal the wound. He felt Dean begin to drink from his wrist, first just a weak suckling, but for as fast as Sam's heart was pounding, he knew a decent amount of blood was getting into Dean's mouth. Listening, he could tell Dean wasn't breathing. Vampires didn't really need to breathe all that often. He had heard they didn't need to breathe at all, but he found that hard to believe. He suspected maybe as a vampire got older they could simply control their bodies better and maybe they could go a very long time between breaths. Regardless, it really wasn't a good sign that Dean wasn't breathing. His heart was still beating though, and it was beginning to beat stronger. There was the vampiric stutter to it, but also periods of human-type steady thump-thump-thumps.

Dean had lost quite a bit of blood. How much of that blood had held the antibody that might have saved him? Too much, Sam feared. The vampire finally drew away from the young man's neck when the blood no longer poured from his carotid. It still seeped a little, but it was healing. Vampire-type fast healing. Dean suddenly began coughing and emptied his lungs of the choking blood. As soon as his lungs were clear, he took in a breath. Sam breathed a little easier himself.

He continued to let Dean drink his blood. With his free hand he ran his fingers through Dean's blood soaked hair. How was he ever going to kill Dean? If he would have let Dean die now, it would have been easier. If he had simply headed out to the car to get their stuff, he wouldn't have known, not until Dean was dead. It would have been so much easier…

Sam wondered briefly how he had ended up on the floor. He struggled to get up but his limbs didn't want to cooperate. That was okay, he decided. He was tired anyhow. He was really hungry, really thirsty, and really tired. The smell of blood, the smell of a lot of blood tickled his interest, but he wasn't quite sure he was ready to get up yet. And then his head exploded in pain and everything went dark.

"God dammit," Jacob growled as he set the baseball bat aside. "If I don't end up as dinner for you, I'm going to end up as dinner for your lover. I've only got one set of shackles you idiot."

With an effort, he dragged the unconscious Sam from Dean's room and hauled him out back. He wasted no time getting Sam in the shackles that he fastened to the pipe that was buried deeply enough in the ground not even Sam could pull it out. It had been tested before. He tied a rope around the calf's neck and tied the end of the rope within Sam's reach. Sam was already beginning to stir. Jacob quickly got out of Sam's reach.

Sam's head hurt. Hurt a lot. And he was hungry. Very hungry. He smelled the human, smelled the fear. He snapped his head around, homing in on Jacob who sat near by. He looked down at the chains and tugged a little at them.

"C'mon Jake. Let me out. I'm fine," Sam said. His eyes had taken on a red sheen, like one might see in a flash photo.

Jacob snorted. "Yeah sure you are. I refuse to be your dinner, Sammy. Eat what I got you. That calf is plenty big to ease the hunger."

Sam looked at the calf, disgust shadowing his eyes. He wanted human blood, not animal. He wanted the thick sweet flavor coupled with the smell of terror. He inhaled sharply as his stomach cramped. He was so damned hungry.

He turned toward Jacob suddenly, rushing him, fangs exposed, and was brought up short by the chains. He howled his frustration and fought with the iron links to no avail.

"You want to eat, that's your dinner," Jacob said firmly, pointing to the calf that at this point was beyond spooked. It bleated and tried to escape the rope around its neck.

Sam paced and growled, glaring at Jacob. He really didn't know who the human was at this point, his mind clouded by his bloodlust. He fought with the chains again, but it was futile. He doubled over as the pain of hunger racked him. He turned his gaze on the calf. It would at least ease the pain until he could escape his bonds. He grabbed the rope tied near him and yanked the frightened calf close. He sank his fangs deeply into its throat, hungrily devouring the blood that poured out. He shook his head as any predator might, shaking the dying, screaming animal, and dug deeper, drinking every drop he could pull from the beast.

Jacob sighed regretfully and retrieved one of the other calves he had purchased. He wasn't sure just how hungry Sam was and didn't care to risk it. As soon as Sam shoved the dead calf away from him, his attention shifted back to Jacob, a hungry gleam still in his eyes. Jacob tossed Sam the rope.

"Eat up. I'm going to have veal for a year after this."

Growling, glaring at the human whose scent and heartbeat and symphony of rushing blood blood taunted him, he yanked the calf to him and repeated the previous attack, all the time his eyes fixed on the human. The hunger, the bloodlust finally eased, and his body simply shut down. He collapsed, sleep stealing all consciousness from him.

Jacob left one shackle on Sam and carried the other in to the bedroom. One thing about vampires, blood ended up everywhere. He eyed the blood trail from the bathroom, groaning when he saw the destroyed door, then his gaze followed to the blood soaked sheets and comforter and he shook his head with a sigh. Sam was going to really owe him for this. A new door, new mattress, new sheets...

Jacob could tell Dean was a little confused and he used that to his advantage. He connected the chain to the ring in the wall at the head of the bed and then snicked the shackle on Dean's wrist. He saw Dean trying to put the pieces together and having trouble making any sense of the situation.

"It's just to keep something from happening that neither of us would like. It's just temporary," Jacob assured him. "Sam's sleeping. When he wakes up, he'll be back in here to look after you, Dean. He'll take care of you. He loves you too much not to."

After giving Dean a kind smile, he told him, "you try to get some sleep too, okay?"

Jacob brought Dean in a fresh blanket but not being sure if Dean might feel the need to get a little more blood to feed any lingering hunger pangs, Jacob gave the bed a wide berth, and at the end of the bed shook the blanket open before casting it over him.

"I'm sorry I can't risk cleaning you up, but I didn't live this long being stupid."

He left the room, shutting off the light but leaving the door open. "Give a shout if you need anything."

Once the painful coughing had eased, Dean closed his eyes. His lips once more fastening around the bleeding wound being held at his throat. Sucking stronger and steadier now and sighing in contentment at the gentle fingers running through his hair. His heart beating stronger and his breathing becoming easier with every mouthful of sweet blood he swallowed. A small whine escaping his lips when suddenly it was gone. He licked his lips greedily for the drops that had escaped but it wasn’t enough, he wanted more, he wanted... Sam...

Somehow he managed to force his eyes open though they felt weighted down by lead. His vision was blurry but he managed to focus enough to see the old man dragging Sam out of the room. A desperate whine escaping his lips and he tried to move, tried desperately to, to stop the man from taking Sam away but he couldn’t. He was simply too weak. Soft moaning whimpers filled with despair and longing breaking from his lips until he finally lost consciousness.

When he came too Dean had no idea how long he’d been out. Hell, he barely knew his own name at that point. He smelled the blood, it was overpowering. He also... smelled the other man, heard his heartbeat... before he managed to focus on him. Though unsure what was happening he could only blink blankly up at Jacob as the older man chained his wrist. He didn’t even think to fight. He barely had the strength to turn his head to watch the man moving around the room.

He didn’t really understand what Jacob was telling him. Though his muddled brain did pick out two words. Sam... love... Where was Sam? He wanted Sam... love... where was his... love?

“Sam...” Dean called weakly. The chain around his wrist rattling softly as he pulled on it uselessly. Not that he had the strength to even rise from the bed if he wanted. When the light shut off he realized just how much it had been hurting them but in the darkness they seemed to only grow heavier. Even though he didn’t want to close them, didn’t want to sleep, until he knew where Sam was he knew he had no real choice. As they slid closed Sam’s name slipped one last time from his lips before unconsciousness claimed him again.

Sam forced his brain to crawl back to consciousness even though he just wanted to sleep for a long, long time. Blinking his eyes and trying to take in where he was, he felt a little nauseous and shaky. The sun was up and shining brightly. Even though he was under a protective awning, he crawled deeper into the shadows and away from that unpleasant brightness. He frowned when he felt the weight on his wrist and heard the metal clinking as he sought out the dark. He was outside. Chained to a pipe. A shackle around his wrist. Examining the shackle he winced, seeing that he had fought violently against the metal bans, violently enough that the shackle tore the hell out his wrist. His skin was trying to heal and integrate the metal as part of it. He twisted the metal band, his breath hissing as he got the shackle loosened from his skin. Fresh blood welled along the healing injuries. He spotted some sunglasses nearby and snatched them up. Running his hand through is hair he began to piece together what had happened.

In his concern over Dean, he had let Dean drink too much from him. He recalled faiting, more or less, then the solid whack upside his head. The next thing he knew he was chained up and in bloodlust. The memories there got a little vague. He was surprised that he had passed out after the bloodlust had been sated. Then again, he had let Dean drink a lot from him and that coupled with having fed Dean just the day before, and his lack of sleep, okay so maybe it wasn't a real shocker.

“Jake!” Sam called.

Jacob came out the back door. “Hello Sleeping Beauty. Feeling better?”

Sam gave a hesitant nod. “More or less.” He lifted his arm with the shackle on it. “Think I can get out of this now?”

“You still hungry?” Jacob challenged.

“Wouldn't mind a little human blood, but I’m back in control. I wouldn’t suggest you letting me drink from you just yet, but a little in a glass would be good if you think you have it to spare.”

“The sooner you’re better, the sooner I get my fix, and frankly, I don’t think I’ve had such a craving for vampire blood since the first time when we were trying to figure out what was wrong with me. It’s beginning to hurt.” Jacob tossed Sam the key from the porch. “I’ll get you a small glass.”

Sam caught the key and gratefully released the metal band. He brushed his pants and shirt free of the dirt, but there wasn’t much he could do about the blood. His clothes were pretty much coated in it. Between carrying Dean and chowing on the calves…Dean!

Sam dashed through the back door, through the kitchen and by the startled Jacob, down the hall and almost shot by Dean’s room in his rush.

The smell of blood was everywhere. Mostly Dean’s blood. His heart ached, seeing the bloody trail from the bathroom seeing bloodstains that crept out from beneath the fresh blanket Jacob had put over him. He could still see the faint scars along Dean's neck. It wasn't uncommon for neck wounds to leave scars, but Sam hoped that wouldn't be the case with Dean. He was deeply reassured to hear Dean's beating heart, his pounding blood, and the constant slow breaths whispering from him. Dean's color was good, almost flushed, and Sam suspected the fever was beginning to climb again. He approached Dean slowly, seeing the chain running from Dean’s wrist. He sank to his knees by the young hunter. He couldn’t help but wonder if Dean tried to kill himself just because he was turning, or if them making love had anything to do with it. After he got the glass of blood from Jacob he would come back in and get Dean cleaned up.

“I’ll honor your wishes, Dean,” Sam said softly. “No matter how much it hurts me. I promise I will. But don’t do that again.” Sam took Dean’s hand and brought it up to his cheek. “I’ll have to kill you or something if you do that again.”

Sam set Dean’s hand down and once he was back on his feet, leaned in and kissed Dean’s forehead. “I’ll be right back, Dean. Promise.”

Knowing Dean was okay, his panic subsided and he walked back to the kitchen.

"Think I wouldn't take care of your boy?" Jacob scoffed standing at the table and dribbling blood into a glass from a small cut on his wrist.

Sam shook his head. "If he was doing poorly I certainly wouldn't blame you. It was my fault."

"Pish posh," Jacob said. Finished, he put a small bandage over his wound. "He made a conscious choice. You can't blame yourself for him doubting he will stay human. I understand exactly how he feels." He held out the glass to Sam.

Accepting the small glass of still warm blood Jacob gave to him, he breathed in the delicious smell…only it wasn't delicious. It smelled a little odd. Nothing he could pinpoint, but still a bit odd. It was probably just his loss of blood, followed up with the ingested cattle and the scent of his blood, Dean's blood and cattle blood splattered all over him. With a small shrug he tossed it back, downing the double shot of crimson.

It burned. Everywhere the blood touched was like acid. Sam fell to his knees and immediately threw up, heaving again and again. His stomach cramped, his mouth was on fire; it was worse than deadman's blood. Jacob was at his side instantly.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Jacob asked, startled and frightened. He had never seen anything hurt Sam like this, let alone his own blood!

"Water," Sam gasped holding a blind hand out.

Jacob jumped up and ran to the sink, filling a glass and taking it back to Sam. Sam rinsed his mouth out repeatedly, spitting the water out onto the floor. When Jacob gave him a second glass, he downed it and almost immediately heaved it back up. He shifted to a sitting position, panting.

"Sam?" Jacob asked worriedly.

Sam gave a slight gesture to where the blood he had thrown up was pooled. Small ripples ran across its surface.

"I don't understand," Jacob said, frowning.

Sam chewed on his lip and cast a glance up to his friend. "You said you're craving my blood so bad it hurts?"

"Like fire in my veins. Yeah."

Sam chewed onhis lip some more and thought for a handful of seconds. He pushed himself to his feet. "I think your protection from turning isn't antibodies. I think the virus mutated because of something in your system. The mutation feeds on the vampire virus instead of your cells. It feeds, goes dormant, and then reactivates every couple years, needing to eat again. I drank your blood and right now the virus is starving so it began to attack me."

"It won't hurt you, will it?" Jacob asked concerned.

"I doubt it. I think I got most of it out of my system," he said, wrinkling his nose at the rather large puddle of blood and water on the floor. "I've drank from you before without any ill effects, you know that. I imagine my own virus will wipe out any of your rogue viruses as soon as yours goes dormant. When did your craving get this bad? I got the impression you weren't really needing any blood from me, not desperately, anyhow, when I arrived."

"I'd had some minor pangs and was probably going to call you in a week or two," Jacob admitted. "After I gave blood to Dean, though, it started getting really bad then."

Sam nodded slowly. "Okay. I would like you to give another pint, maybe a little more, to Dean. I'll be ready to give you my blood just as soon as you give him yours. If your virus is this voracious," he looked down at the puddle that still showed faint ripples, "maybe it will beat out what's in Dean. But I don't envy Dean just how much it's probably going to hurt. Are you willing to do this for me, Jake? You know it's okay if you don't want to. It's getting on the dangerous edge of blood loss for you."

"For as much as I want your blood right now, I'd damn well dance naked and sing Mary Poppins for you to get it."

Sam grinned. "That's tempting, just to see you do it."

"Hah. That's not happening, smart ass. Let's get to it. You get the other shackle, I'll get the medical supplies."

Dean couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had woken him. A voice, a touch, a feeling… or maybe only a dream, because when Dean’s eyes slowly blinked open he was alone. He didn’t exactly understand why that surprised him since he was always alone.

Or maybe it was something else all together that had woken him. The heavy stench of blood that filled his lungs with every breath he took. He was covered in it. It had dried stiff on his skin and stuck to the sheets beneath him. It was almost overpowering and it made his stomach cramp with disgust, but the intense feeling of hunger that went along with the disgust was even worse.

God… why was this happening? Why couldn’t the vampires have simply killed him? Drained him dry… This was worse, so much worse.

Dean remembered where he was now. Sam had brought him here instead of killing him like Dean had asked him to. So Dean had tried to do the job himself… but that certainly didn’t explain why he was still alive. He should have bled to death within minutes after slitting his own throat, no one could have survived what he’d done to himself… nothing human anyway… Was he already so much a vampire he could survive that? Well… obviously he was, since he was still alive…

The young hunter closed his eyes, forcing back his tears, and grit his teeth, swallowing hard against the cry of frustration that tried to burst free. No matter what happened he wasn’t going to break down like some kind of pussy. Like a blubbering girl…

Almost unconsciously Dean tried to raise his hand, to touch his neck where there should have been a gaping wound but felt remarkably whole, but his movement was stopped short. Dean opened his eyes to look at his wrist where a shackle was attached to a chain attached to the wall behind him. He wondered briefly if this was so he didn’t go berserk and try to rip someone’s throat out for blood since he’d obviously lost so much, or so he wouldn’t try to off himself again.

Dean’s hand fell back to the mattress with a sigh of defeat.

Sam knew every second at this point counted—hell, when hadn't they been racing time in this whole mess? He quickly disconnected the shackle and carried it in to the kitchen where Jacob rejoined him with an oversized tackle box of medical supplies.

Jacob tossed Sam a wet towel. "Sammy, didn't your mother teach you to wash your face after eating?"

Sam wiped his face clean of the blood. He glanced at Jacob who gave him a nod of approval before motioning Sam first down the hall.

Entering Dean's room, Sam winced at the smell of blood and belatedly realized he should have taken off his own bloody shirt. Too late now. Dean didn't know what cattle blood smelled like anyhow. That would have been awkward to try to explain. Wouldn't really matter since Dean was probably still out cold….

Crap.

Dean was awake. This would be so much easier if Dean were unconscious or even semi conscious. Not only would Dean, without a doubt, be pissed, but now Sam was going to have to explain, costing them more time. Hopefully he had given Dean enough blood that Dean wouldn't be in bloodlust and the young hunter would be lucid enough to understand Sam's explanation.

"Dean, please, listen to me," Sam said. "I think we've got a better chance of saving you than I realized. Let Jacob and I do this. I swear to you, if this doesn't work, I'll…" Sam shut his eyes briefly, forcing his voice steady. "…I'll kill you. My word. You won't hurt anyone, you won't be forced to live on as a vampire. But let me try to save you first."

Dean turned his head wearily when he heard footsteps outside his room, not at all surprised when Sam and his friend… Jacob… that was the man’s name, come in. He was however more than a little surprised by Sam’s appearance, covered in blood, much like he was. Dean had little doubt that the blood covering the hunter was his own. What he didn’t really understand was why it looked old and dried as what was covering him, why hadn’t Cristo washed or changed his clothes long before now? Unless for some reason he couldn’t… Dean remembered suddenly the other man’s “apology” from before, he had obviously… fed… from the other man before. Was that why he hadn’t died? Why he was chained down? Had he attacked Sam? Drank his blood again?

The young hunter’s stomach cramped so hard it was a wonder he didn’t get sick right then and there. As though he didn’t feel enough like hell already. His head pounding like it was being beaten on by a sledge hammer, his whole body aching and hot, aside from the blood covering him he could feel himself sweating too, which just made him feel even more disgusting. The fever… Sam said it was the last step before he turned completely…

Before true panic from that realization could sink in, Sam started speaking, begging him to listen. It was all he could do not to tell the other hunter to just fuck off. The sadistic bastard who was forcing him to turn into a monster just to behead him afterwards wanted a chat? Dean’s eyebrows shot up, and again he had to resist the urge to lash out at the other man for his bullshit. First he tells him he has less than one percent chance to remain human now he was saying he had a “better” chance, what two percent?

But something in the other man’s voice, his expression, stopped him from just screaming obscenities or nonsense at the man he was beginning to think was doing all of this to him for his own sick twisted amusement. Because Dean couldn’t see any of that, in fact, Sam looked and sounded damn near crushed as he swore to kill him after if it didn’t work. Sam wanted to save him… he really did… he sounded like he needed to. Why? Just because Sam wanted to fuck him? That seemed like a whole hell of a lot of effort just to get into his pants, and it didn’t sound right anyway, but Dean wasn’t sure he was willing to contemplate whatever other reasons Sam might have for wanting him to live so badly.

Dean sighed and nodded faintly, what did he really have to lose?

Sam saw the sweat on Dean's forehead and his flushed appearance. This was it. The final fever was starting. He waited for Dean's response and when Dean conceded without a fight the relief swelled in Sam so much it almost choked him.

"You're moving into the last fever," Sam told Dean and moved to the far side of Dean's bed. He connected the chain to the ring in the wall. "You'll probably get violent. I'll need to keep you cool enough that the fever doesn't kill you, but let the fever burn high enough to eradicate the virus. The only way I can do that is if you're shackled. I won't tighten the chains until I don't have a choice." Sam quickly slipped the shackle on Dean's wrist, expecting a fight, and not wanting to give Dean a chance to react.

Sam moved back around to stand by Jacob. Jacob already had an IV in his own arm and handed Sam the needle for Dean. After swabbing Dean's arm, he inserted it, then insert one in his own arm. He felt his heart pounding in his chest and his hands were almost shaking. This had to work. It just had to.

"Dean, if we're right about this, when Jacob's blood enters your bloodstream this time, it's going to hurt like hell. It'll probably feel like fire or acid but that's a good sign if it does. It means you've got a damned good chance of coming out of this human. If it doesn't hurt…then there's almost no chance. If you want, I'll kill you then and there. I'll kill you before you fully turn."

As before, Sam ran the air out of the IV line coming from Jacob before attaching it to Dean's IV. He watched, praying it worked.

Dean listened as Sam explained what was happening to him, as though he didn’t already know full well what was happening, what he was becoming. But he didn’t say anything and didn’t move as Sam chained his other arm with the shackle he’d brought with him. Only giving a faint nod of understanding, it’s not like he really had much choice at this point, but at least this way he wouldn’t have to worry about hurting anyone, Sam or Jacob, trying to help him.

Though by this point “help” was a relative term to Dean right now.

He watched Jacob getting the IV ready in his own arm and wondered if this was all some kind of ploy but he really didn’t know to what end it could accomplish. The old man’s blood hadn’t done anything before… not that he’d really given it much a chance to do anything. But it certainly hadn’t done anything that Sam was explaining now. It hadn’t hurt, hadn’t felt like anything in fact. What the hell would the difference be now?

But when Sam promised to kill him if it didn’t start to work right away, so at least he’d die human… or mostly human… Dean looked at the other man and nodded again. Looking at Sam as the hunter got the IV’s ready it was hard not to feel some flicker of hope that it would work, when Sam seemed so desperate for it to. Like he wanted it to work even more than Dean himself did right now, if it were possible.

Dean watched the little plastic hose filled with blood, wondering how long it would take to start working… if it did… a second passed, two, not long but it felt like an eternity, but before Dean could count to three he felt an intense burning sensation traveling up his arm and he cried out loudly in shock and surprise, instinctively trying to yank his arm away from the fiery pain.

When Dean gave his shout of pain and tried to pull away, Sam almost shouted with elation. Sam immediately grabbed Dean's arm to keep him from ripping out the IV. It was all too apparent when Jacob's blood reached Dean's heart and shot out across Dean's body. Dean was practically writhing in agony, cussing and begging Sam to make it stop.

"Knock him out, Sam. The baseball bat is just outside the door. Worked on you," Jacob said.

"Not until you've given him what blood you can. He'll pull out the IV," Sam said, hating it had to be that way. "Tell me when you've given your max."

Jacob gave a soft sigh, but knew Sam was right. He saw the tears in friend's eyes. If Dean did stay human and left Sam…Jacob suspected he would need to find another vampire to feed his craving because Sam wouldn't be around long after Dean left. He knew Sam was right. Sam was screwed no matter what happened with Dean.

Jacob managed donating about a pint and a half before his vision began to swim.

"Now," Jacob said, really hoping he wasn't going to pass out and fall out of the chair. That would just be embarrassing.

Sam pulled the IV tubing free of Dean's arm and had no choice but to let the man thrash as he hooked up the tube to his own IV needle. Although is heart was already racing, he concentrated on increasing his heart rate even more, trying to get as much blood flowing into Jacob as he could.

Breathing a sigh of contentment, Jacob shook his head a little and sat up straighter. "That is just what the doctor ordered," Jacob said as the increasing pain with every drop of blood he lost to Dean was finally eased.

As soon as Jacob was stabilized, Sam disconnected their IVs and turned back to Dean. Hesitating only a moment, he punched Dean hard on the temple. Dean's moans of agony ceased abruptly.

Sam sat down on the bed beside the young man. "I'm here Dean, I'm right here," Sam said soothingly. Accepting the cool wet cloth Jacob handed him, he began wiping Dean's body down with it, trying to keep the fever under control. He paused only long enough to wipe away his own tears before returning to the task.

Though Sam had warned him how much it was probably going to hurt, the warning was nothing to the actual experience of it, and Dean had always thought he could take pain pretty well. But he wasn’t prepared for this, and he couldn’t stop himself from shouting and moaning in agony, writhing and begging for it to stop, cursing Sam, the god damned vampires, Jacob, Bobby, even his father for good measure.

He just wanted the pain to stop, it didn’t matter how at this point, he just wanted it to stop. But it didn’t stop and Dean cried out and cursed all the more when the other hunter merely held him down forcing him to endure it. He didn’t care if this would save him. He wanted it to end! If he had to die to make it end, then that was just fine with him.

The sudden darkness that enveloped him was a blessing, despite the explosion of pain in his skull that brought it on.

Only the pain did not end there, it followed him down into his dreams. It seemed to dredge up every memory of every hurt he’d ever experienced. His time in the Vampire nest, getting clawed up by a wendigo and every other beast he could remember, the night his father had died, the night the man had… raped him… He alternated calling out his father’s name, begging the man not to leave him, cursing the vampires who’d tortured him, shouting and begging the man not to rape him.

If those dream memories weren’t painful enough, as his fever continued to climb they began to get more creative. He experienced being gutted while he was still alive by the vampires. He not only saw his father bleed to death from his torn throat but was forced to watch as the man was literally torn limb from limb over and over. The man didn’t let him go when he was through with Dean but kept him, kept doing things to him, awful things that disgusted him and made him scream over and over. He dreamed he’d succeeded in killing himself in that bathtub, experienced what he imagined hell would be like afterwards for taking his own life, fire, burning, his skin melting off his bones.

Every once in a while he thought he heard soft reassuring words, promising him it was going to be ok, a gentle hand on his face offering him comfort. He clung to those moments desperately, even though they always slipped through his fingers like sand.

Sam sat by Dean wiping down his body, rinsing the blood soaked cloth again and again in the bucket of cool water. He didn't even seem to notice the water was almost as red as the blood Sam was wiping away.

"Take him into the shower," Jacob urged after watching Sam do the same thing for a good few hours. "You get him cooled down and get him cleaned up. You both need it. I'll get the sheets off and the mattress flipped." When Sam didn't respond, continuing mechanically wiping down Dean to help cool the fever, Jacob stepped up to Sam and laid a light hand on his shoulder.

Sam jumped to his feet, vampire teeth fully exposed, hissing in fury, his fist drawn back and ready to strike.

"Sammy! Easy! It's Jake!" Jacob said, falling back from the vampire, wondering if Sam had dropped back into bloodlust and he was monumentally screwed. Hell, if Sam hit him with his full vampire strength he was monumentally screwed.

Blinking, Sam froze, retracting his teeth. "God, I'm sorry Jake," Sam said hastily, seeing the fear in his friend's eyes. "I didn't…I was…it doesn't matter," he finished, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "I'm sorry. What did you want?"

"What's going on in that brain of yours? Talk to me. I've never seen you react like that," Jacob said, stepping closer, concern in his face.

"I was resting. You startled me out of my sleep."

"Bullshit. You haven't stopped wiping that boy of yours down from the get go."

Sam gave a half-hearted shrug. "Okay, not sleep exactly. More like a trance. I let my thoughts shut down. It …hurts to think too much right now. When you startled me, I was just responding protectively."

"Protecting him?" Jacob said, gesturing to the fevered man muttering and twitching.

"Does it matter?" Sam asked, his voice cold.

"C'mon Sammy," Jacob said softly. "This could play out any number of ways."

His smile was tight. "No, Jake. The options are pretty damned few. So what did you want that almost got your head ripped off?"

Reluctantly, Jacob let Sam change the topic. "I got the bathroom and floor cleaned up and the door moved out into the hall. Both of you are a mess. Take your boy into the shower. Get him cooled down proper for a few minutes and at the same time get the two of you cleaned up. I'll get the sheets off and the mattress flipped. I hope the old blood smell won't bother you, but I don’t imagine I can get a new mattress out here before you're ready for the bed. I'll get everything set up for you. And since I'm not craving your blood anymore, I would guess my blood is safe for you to drink again."

"I'm not really hungry," Sam said. It wasn't entirely a lie. The smells in the room of the blood, the cleaners Jacob had used, Dean's sweat, Jacob's fear, his own tears…no, he really didn't want to eat anything right now. Jacob's suggestion was sound, though. He and Dean were both bloody messes. Giving the old man a nod, he went into the bathroom and got the shower going, adjusting the temperature to a tepid level. He didn't want to cool Dean off too much. He saw that Jacob had already laid towels out on the counter, the formerly bloody bathtub was sparkling white, and there was liquid soap available as well as shampoo. With a start, he realized fresh clothes were laid out for him, a razor, everything. He had certainly let himself go deeper into the trance than he meant to.

After stripping off his blood stained clothes, he folded them up and set them aside. He would have Jacob throw them away. There was no sense trying to get the blood stains out. He would never be able to wear them again without memories of Dean even if the stains could be removed. He walked back into the room. Jacob had already freed Dean from his shackles. Sam picked Dean up gently, cradling the moaning, fevered man against his chest and carried him into the shower. The water tumbled off of them in rivulets of red. It was easiest to sit down and do what needed to be done, so that's what Sam did. He squeezed some shampoo into Dean's still stiff hair, getting the long dried blood rinsed free. Using the liquid soap, he washed the blood and sweat from Dean's body, whispering assurances that Dean was safe. Dean muttered soft cries of terror and pain, curses, pleading it to stop, begging his father not to leave, not to die, and at one point Sam stopped and simply held Dean to him, stroking his face, his chest, and telling him over and over that he was going to be okay, that he wasn’t going to leave Dean, that he would protect him. He kissed the man’s lips gently and rocked him, and sometimes even sang to him, choosing some old soothing rock tunes he thought Dean might like. He wasn’t a good singer and knew it, but figured it didn’t really matter. The lukewarm water seemed to help calm Dean, helping to cool the fevered man’s flushed skin.

Dean calmed down a little, the constant twitching and jerking of his muscles easing. Sam let the last of his own tears fall. At least he hoped they were the last. However it played out, he would end up alone and he had to accept that. Either watching Dean leave—he wouldn’t let Dean take him back to his car. He’d rent a car—or watch Dean’s decapitated body burn. He would call Bobby if that happened, wait to burn the body until Bobby was there. Dean ought to have a friend, not a stranger, at his funeral. And that’s really what Sam was. Just a stranger. That’s all he would ever be.

When Dean quieted for a bit, Sam took care of finishing getting himself cleaned up. He picked Dean up to rinse the last remnants free of Dean and himself before shutting off the water. Holding Dean awkwardly against his chest he shook open a towel and began to dry Dean off as best he could and did the same for himself.

"Jacob you ready for us?"

"Just finishing up now. I put down an extra blanket so we can change it out if needed."

Sam took a moment to hold Dean against him, to breathe in his scent, to feel the heat of Dean's body so warm against his own cold flesh. Cold showers made it really difficult for him to keep his body heat up. He carried Dean out to the bed and laid him in the soft blanket. A light sheen of sweat was already beginning to form on Dean's skin and Sam sighed with frustration.

"Enough of seeing your family jewels Sammy. Get dressed," Jacob said, lobbing a towel at the back of Sam's head.

"You are a pain in my ass, you know that Jake?" Sam growled as he picked up the towel and finished drying himself off. He returned to the bathroom and pulled on the sweats and a t-shirt Jacob had put out for him. When he emerged from the bathroom, he saw Dean was already back in his shackles and Jacob held out a small glass of blood for him.

"Best I can do for you right now."

"Jake, I'm not hungry," Sam insisted wearily.

Jacob glared at him. "That's lifeblood and it won't stay good long. Now drink, dammit, or I'll force feed it to you."

Giving a long suffering sigh, Sam acquiesced. He handed Jacob the empty glass. "Thanks."

"Best you sit with him. He's quieter if you're there. I," he yawned, "am going to take a well earned nap."

"Thanks for everything Jake."

"Hah. Wait until you get my bill. You won't be thanking me then."

Sam gave him a fond smile. "I'll be sure to add a tip, Geeves."

Jacob's laughter followed after him as he headed to the living room and the recliner waiting for him.

Sam refilled the bucket of water, got out a fresh cloth, and after some hesitation, decided Dean seemed to do better cradled in his arms. He situated himself against the headboard and pulled Dean into his lap, up against him. He began wiping Dean's fevered body down with the cool cloth, and whispered soft words to the man, hoping Dean heard him.