I sat in the small bar, nursing my fourth bottle of beer, rotating it on the counter between my palms, listening to the sound of the bottom of the bottle scraping on the Formica. I focused all my thoughts on that sound, just so I wouldn't have to think.

But I had been blessed (or cursed, as I was thinking at the time) with the active, agile mind possessed by my parents as well as my older brother. So, try as I might not to have to think, I couldn't help remembering my latest fight with Dean.

He was on his computer, and I was on mine, looking for a new job. We both found one. His was a haunting in Florida. Mine was a demon possession in California. He said we should go to Florida because the haunting had a higher body count, and the numbers were rising rapidly. I insisted on California. After all, it was a demon, which meant things were gonna get real bad, even if they hadn't yet. To Dean, the number of lives that had already been lost mattered more than the number that could be lost. Also, he hadn't been too interested in demons since my return from hell. Both of us were so stubborn, we started arguing about it. And then Dean asked, "Why do you have this fetish for California?"

His carefully constructed barrier of forced bravado encrusted with idiotic humor was showing some cracks, providing a glimpse at his hidden anger. "What do you mean?" I asked him.

"So much of your favorite parts of life seem to focus on California," Dean said. "Stanford, Jessica, Madison. Hell, when we were looking for Dad and he called us up, told us to go to Indiana, you took off running to Sacramento to find him. I swear, you're in love with the state itself."

Dean obviously didn't know how wrong he was. California is probably my least favorite state. Stanford was a closed chapter of my life. Madison and Jessica were both gone, and I had somehow managed to accept the fact that neither of them was coming back. But what bothered me the most was that this was Halloween night, 2010. Five years after I left Jess alone to die. In exactly two days, it would be exactly five years since she died, pinned to the ceiling by the demon I knew as Brady, screaming, burning alive. The image still haunted me, every day, but most prominently at this time of year. So the subject was a little touchy for me, anyway, and Dean had (unknowingly, but unforgivably) stomped on the sorest spot.

Now, I know how childish it was for me to react the way I did, but Dean had hurt me so bad, I wanted to hurt him back. So I glared at him and snarled, "Yeah, well, you seem to have a fetish for a childhood you left behind almost thirty years ago, that you can barely even remember, and you can never go back to."

Ouch. Looking back, I think that's probably one of the cruelest things I've ever said.

And Dean was rightfully pissed off. He looked like he wanted to take a swing at me. I couldn't blame him if he did. He glowered at me and retorted, "Well, at least my favorite memories center on family. Yours all focus on getting as far away from your family as you can."

He was referring to the differences between our two views of heaven. Now I felt defensive. "I wouldn't keep wanting to get away if you and Dad didn't keep pushing me to be like you. I've always looked up to you, Dean, you know that. But that doesn't mean I want to be you. I still want to be myself, live my own life."

"Congratulations, Sammy," Dean said mockingly. He was using that nickname out of spite. "You're doing a great job of having your own life. Oh, by the way, you do realize how much you're acting like Dad whenever you run off to do your own thing, don't you?"

It's very rare for Dean to admit that Dad wasn't perfect. Dean's spent his whole life building up an image of Dad as THE perfect father, stuffing down all the pain and anger he's kept hidden all these years and refusing to talk about it. Ever. So for him to say what he just said… I can only imagine how badly it's tearing him up inside to have to admit it. This would be the perfect time to get him to open up and talk.

But I hesitated, selfishly unwilling to shove aside my own unhappiness, and by the time I realized he needed to talk, he had sealed up the crack in his façade and reverted to his simmering pot of rage. And me? I felt like my head was going to explode. I knew if I didn't get away from Dean, I was going to be the one to throw the first punch. So I slammed my laptop closed, got up, and crossed our hotel room, heading for the door. I could feel the hurt in Dean's eyes as he watched me. "See?" he said. "Just like I said. Just like Dad. You don't wanna hear the truth, you don't wanna be part of the family, so you're gonna run away from it. Just like you did the night you ran away to Stanford."

My fingers curled around the hotel room doorknob. I shut my eyes tight for a second, thinking, So help me, Dean, if you say one more thing about Stanford, I will fucking strangle you! But I didn't say it. Instead, I grabbed up my sage green jacket hanging over the back of the chair by the door and shrugged into it. "I'm not running off, Dean," I told him. "I just need to clear my head. I'm going for a walk. I'll be back pretty soon, okay?"

Dean let out a heavy sigh and waved a hand in the air. I took this as my cue to leave.

I walked around for a good half hour, the cool, crisp night air refreshing me, clearing my head. Unfortunately, my head became so clear that I couldn't stop obsessing over the fight. The more I walked, the guiltier I felt. So I went to a bar and ordered a beer.

Four beers later, I was sitting at the bar, rotating an empty glass between my palms. The bartender tapped my shoulder. "Hey, Mac."

I looked up too fast, and his face swam before my eyes. Dean has always teased me about my intolerance for liquor. There had been a time, when Dean was in hell, that I was almost never sober, and I'd been able to function relatively well. Then Ruby gave me demon blood, and for the next year, I was never sober. I would go through painful withdrawal spells and beg her for more, like a teenager begging his supplier for more crack.

But Dean had come back, the Apocalypse was over, and I had returned to my inability to drink more than one beer at a time. Well, almost. Actually, I could handle three now. But four was pushing it a bit too much. I could already feel a headache starting. "Huh?" I grunted at the bartender.

"It's midnight," he said. "I gotta close up."

"Oh." I slid the bottle aside and dug some change out of my wallet and slapped it on the counter. Then I left, shuffling, staggering, barely able to hold my head up at all.

The hotel was on the other side of town, a good ten mile walk, but there were no taxis in a town this small, so I was forced to hoof it. After a couple of miles, the cold air again helped clear my head, and I was able to lift it somewhat above my shoulders. A minute or so later, I passed a street corner where the light had gone out. Sitting on the curb was a young, red-haired woman, her arms folded over the slender knees drawn up to her chest. Her face was buried in her arms, but I could hear her sobs and see the way they shook her shoulders. It always tears my heart out to see or hear a woman cry. My headache nearly forgotten, I crouched beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Hey," I said softly, "are you okay?"

She sniffled and looked up at me, bright green eyes floating in pools of silver tears. At first, she appeared to be frightened by my forwardness. She probably wasn't used to random people stopping to actually help her. But presently, she brought her eyes up to mine and saw that I had no intention of harming her. She used a delicate white finger (very pale white, I noticed, practically albino, the nail painted bright red) to wipe a tear out of the corner of her right eye. "I'm fine," she said in a trembling voice.

"Then why are you crying?" I was showing her a little more concern than the situation called for, but I wasn't thinking clearly, and she was very pretty. I found myself trying to figure up how long it had been since I'd been with a woman.

"I just-" She sniffled again. "I'm a little depressed, is all. I lost someone ten years ago tonight."

She appeared to be in her mid-twenties. It seemed strange, to say the least, that she would be crying over someone she lost when she was a teenager. "He must've been very special," I commented.

"He was," she said, a dreamy look flickering through her eyes, only to replaced by sorrow. "He died ten years ago. He was killed, and I always get so sad around this time. I loved him so much."

My heart went out to this girl. "I understand how you feel."

She looked up at me. "You lost someone?"

I nodded sadly.

She tried to smile a little. "I'm Tina."

"Sam."

"Sam, you seem pretty nice," she said. "Would you mind walking home with me? I don't like being alone at night, but I didn't realize how late it would be before I went home."

It sounded fine to me. She was just an innocent girl, and I certainly wouldn't hurt her. So I helped her up and followed her down the street, heading out of town. "Where do you live?"

"Just outside of town," Tina replied. "About a mile away."

We walked in silence for a little way, which I and my returning headache were glad for. I realized I was moving my gaze along her feminine figure, pausing at her narrow waist and then at her firm bottom. Feeling a little guilty about it, I moved up alongside he so I wouldn't be able to look directly at her without turning my head and aggravating my headache.

"So, I haven't seen you around here before," Tina said. "You just move in?"

"No," I replied. "Me and my brother, we're just staying at a hotel for the night. We'll be leaving in the morning."

"Oh." She had an adorable pout. "Too bad. I was hoping to get to see… a lot more of you." She looked at me, her eyes sweeping over my 6'4", two hundred twenty-five pound frame. This was one of those rare occasions when I wished I was a midget with a thyroid condition. I always get embarrassed whenever a hot girl looks me over. Don't get me wrong; I like it. But that's the way women look at Dean. Me, I'm the cute baby brother that they want to pat on the head and give a lollipop. So when a girl looks at me like she's interested in my looks- like Tina was looking at me now… I'm just not used to it, and I get really shy. Especially if I'm attracted to her, too.

"So where you going?" asked Tina.

I gave her a slightly puzzled look. My thoughts had taken their own direction and I had forgotten what we'd been talking about.

"You and your brother," she elaborated.

I started to nod in acknowledgement, then thought better of it. My head was pounding again. "Um… just road tripping." Only the longest, most dangerous road trip in American history.

"Is that fun?" she asked.

I shrugged. "It's all right."

We passed the city limit sign and came to a small, boarded-up house just beyond. I frowned. "This is where you live?"

She smiled at me, her face barely visible in the starry night. There were no lights at all out here. "It's really old. Should be condemned, but the county's too lazy. So I keep it boarded up and live like a recluse. No one even knows I'm here."

"Must be lonely," I commented.

"A little," she replied. Her eyes looked quite sad. "Hey, you look a little woozy. Wanna come in and sit for a minute?"

She was right. That last beer was really getting to me. My head hurt, and I was getting dizzy and sleepy. But Dean was waiting for me to get back. I could only imagine how pissed off he'd be when I would come staggering in, drunk, exhausted, and late. besides, I felt wrong abut being drunk and alone with a woman at the same time. And all this darkness and seclusion was giving me the shivers. Something felt wrong. "Nah, I'll just go back to the hotel now." I turned and started to leave, tripped over a loose board on the porch, and fell flat on my face, sprawled across the steps.

Tina knelt beside me and helped me up. "You can't go back like this. Sam, you're smashed."

I pressed a hand against my head. I had bumped my head when I fell, so now, on top of a hangover, a purple bruise was starting to form over my right eye. And I had some splinters in my hands. "Yeah, thanks for the news flash," I mumbled sarcastically. Her lovely face spun before me. She was right; I was in no shape to walk.

Tina tugged on my arm. "Come on in and sit down, just for a little while."

I nodded slowly and reluctantly allowed her to lead me inside. The room was dark and I could barely see anything. She led me to a straight-backed wooden chair and helped me sit down. I felt my head roll off to one side as I began to doze off.

After only a few minutes, I awoke to feel her long, white fingers working at my wrists. I tried to move my arms, but my wrists were tied together. As I worked my legs, I found she'd tied my ankles to the legs of the chair and my waist to the back of it. I furrowed my brow and strained against my restraints. "What the hell…?" Dear God, what had I gotten myself into?

Her delicate fingers stroked the back of my neck. I bit my tongue and shut my eyes tight. Her touch was very pleasant, soothing. She placed her lips close to my ear and whispered, "I don't want you to go."

"I thought you were depressed," I said.

"I was," she whispered. "You remind me so much of him. he was tall, too, and muscular, with dark hair and a great ass. And so sweet, and a little shy, too. I loved him." she stopped tickling my neck and sat down on my lap, wrapping one arm around my shoulders. Her other hand moved down, over my chest, my stomach, and eventually down between my legs. I let out a small groan and clenched my teeth, trying to ignore what I was feeling. I was drunk, all right, but not that drunk. My body could still react to the lovely girl's actions. She smiled at me. "You like that?"

I sucked my breath in sharply. "Tina, we just met. You don't even know me."

She moved her hands over my sides. "I know you. Better than you think. You're Samuel Winchester. You and your brother killed the rest of my nest last month. Except my mate. Another hunter killed him ten years ago. I moved here after they all died, trying to start a new life for myself. But it's hard to do it alone."

My mouth fell open. Oh, crap… "You're a vampire?" Now she made sense: the seclusion, the darkness, her pale skin.

"Yes," she answered. She covered my cheek with long, slow kisses. I twisted my neck, trying to keep my face away from her groping lips. "I've been studying you, Sam. You're not like other hunters. You have a heart. A very beautiful, sensitive heart. If I tell you the truth, I know you'll understand. I'm not like other vampires. I take only what I absolutely need to survive, barely enough for a hospital blood sample. I'm the only anorexic vampire alive. I've never killed anyone. I've never poisoned anyone with my blood. I'm good, Sam. I really am."

I looked her in the eye and asked, "Is that why you brought me here? To convince me to let you live?"

"Not really," she said. "Like I said, you remind me so much of Tony. I loved him so much. And I want you so badly. You know, to a vampire, sex and love are as important as blood, and I've been starving for ten years, looking for the right one." She moved her hands over my shoulders and pressed her fingers into my back.

Now that I knew what she was, it was easier for me to be unresponsive. I moved my wrists in the rope and slid my switchblade out of my sleeve to saw at the bindings. "So you brought me here to screw me?"

"If that's how you choose to look at it, then yes." She covered my mouth with hers. I grimaced into her kiss.

"You're gonna be awfully disappointed," I said after she moved her face away from mine. I worked harder at the rope.

"I'm sure I won't be," she whispered. "Cuz you're gonna enjoy it. I'm gonna take you so high you can't even see the clouds below you."

Oh, shit… I sawed faster with my knife.

She cupped my face in her hands and kissed me again.

With a tangible snap, the rope around my wrists broke, and I was free. I grabbed Tina's shoulders and with all my might, hurled her across the room. Then I used my knife to slash the bands around my waist and ankles. I stood unsteadily, my head still throbbing, but more from adrenaline now than from alcohol. I started to run, but something hit me from behind, knocked me to the floor, forced the air out of my lungs. Tina was sitting on my back. I rolled over, and she grabbed my wrists. Anorexic or not, she was very strong. She clapped a handcuff on each wrist, then snapped the other end of each set of cuffs to the leg of a heavy, sturdy table in the middle of the floor. Then she sat on my waist, wrapping her calves around my legs so I couldn't move them.

Tina pushed my jacket off my chest. Then she hooked her finger under the top button of my plaid shirt and yanked her hand back. Buttons flew all over, and she pushed my shirt out of the way. Lastly, she pushed up my T-shirt, revealing my bare chest.

She tilted her head so one tooth poked through the skin, over my right lung. Then she twisted her neck, and I roared in pain as that one tooth ripped a ragged, bloody gash across my chest, ending over my heart. I looked at the blood oozing out of the wound and started thinking up obscenities to scream at the monster.

She cut off my thought by lifting her left arm and tearing it open with her teeth. Dark liquid dripped out of the wound.

Fear gripped my heart, beating wildly beneath the cut. I strained harder to move my legs, but she stayed put. I imagine she thought of my lurching as some erotic ride.

She held her arm aloft and smiled at me. "Don't worry," she said. "It won't hurt. You'll feel a rush of warmth, and you'll lose consciousness, and when you wake up, you'll feel like you're riding on the moon."

"No!" I roared, giving one last great heave with my hips and knees, trying to dislodge her.

Suddenly, with a sickening sound of metal slicing through flesh, bone, and nerves, a necklace of red liquid encircled her throat. Her head rolled to the floor to my right, her body slumped across me. Grimacing, I rolled over just enough to make her fall off me, and then I cringed away from her as much as I could.

I looked up at my rescuer. It was Dean, standing over me, holding a long, silver machete dripping with blood. "Are you all right?" he asked, looking at the bloody gash in my chest.

I nodded, wincing from the pain.

Dean had an amused look on his face as he looked at the handcuffs. "Kinky. Hey, Sammy, if you ever wanna be an actor, I know what part you should start out with."

I frowned. I always know when Dean's setting me up for a bad joke; and, like an idiot, I always fall for it. "What?"

Dean grinned. "Maggie Evans, in the new Dark Shadows movie they're making."*

I felt my cheeks and lips tighten into the expression Dean calls my "bitchface."

We could hear police sirens in the distance. Apparently, someone had heard the screams and called the police. So we left Tina's mutilated body lying in the middle of the floor and shagged ass to get out of town before we were discovered. Dean drove, and I stared out the windshield sullenly, my hands folded in my lap. After a while, the silence started getting to me. I turned to Dean and said, "All right, let me have it."

Dean gave me a puzzled look. "Have what?"

"My well-deserved butt-chewing."

Dean shrugged.

I shook my head, not understanding Dean's indifference. "Dean, I was stupid, and I know it. I got pissed over…" I let out a heavy sigh. "Over nothing, really, and I ran out, got drunk, and almost got myself killed. Now, the least you can do is take advantage of your one opportunity to cut loose with a big-ass I-told-you-so without my arguing about it."

Dean shrugged again. "Don't really feel like it."

I gave him a look of concern. Was he sick? Then I noticed the pensive lines in his face. "Dean, what are you thinking?"

He gave me a funny look. "Why do you ask?"

"Cuz the only time you don't take an opportunity to chew my ass about something is when you're deep in thought." I scoffed, "Which is pretty rare, actually."

Dean muttered, "Very funny." There was no jocularity in his tone. I tilted my head, gave him a questioning look. If I stare at him hard enough and long enough, eventually he'll cave and spill his guts.

And he did. "Sam," he began reluctantly, "I got to thinking after you left, and it suddenly hit me what day it is."

So he did understand. I was very glad now that I hadn't called him a heartless son of a bitch, as I'd been thinking during our quarrel.

"Sammy, I didn't mean to be…" Dean broke off, shaking his head.

"It's okay, man," I told him.

"Sam, I'm trying to apologize here!" Dean said, sounding frustrated.

I chuckled at the irony of the situation. Both of us were arguing over who was gonna apologize and who was gonna bellyache about the other's attitude. "Dean, I said some pretty cruel things, too. I figure we're about even."

Dean turned the corners of his mouth down. "So we're okay?"

I shrugged and nodded.

"Good," Dean said hastily. "This caring and sharing is gnawing at my last nerve." He switched on the stereo.

The song playing was "Undone" by The Guess Who.

It's too late,

She's gone too far,

She's lost the sun-

She's come undone.

I couldn't help smiling at Dean's song choice. It was his way of saying "I-told-you-so" without actually saying it and making himself out to be a liar. Dean cast sidelong glances at me as he sang along, and even I joined in the chorus, my own off-key voice belting out:

She didn't know what she was headed for,

And when I found what she was headed for,

Mama, it was too-oo la-a-a-a-a-a-ate!

It was my way of saying "I'm sorry" without losing my pride.

Dean was wrong. We weren't okay. We're never okay, because we're as different as night and day, and yet as similar as rain and dew. So we always fight, tear each other's hearts out, split up, fell sorry for ourselves, and get back together again. Because no matter what happens, we're brothers. We're family. We're all we've got, and we're all we really need.

*Dark Shadows was a 60's soap opera about supernatural creatures, and is being made into a movie, due for release in 2011. At one point in the series, the young woman Maggie Evans was kidnapped by a vampire who wanted to make her his bride.