Family of Blood

Shakespeare's Lemonade

Rating: T

Genre: Horror/Family/Hurt/Comfort

Summary: After dealing with Metatron and the Mark of Cain, the boys face a new problem: vampires. The Alpha is attempting to rebuild his empire, and he has his sights set on one who was once his. But Dean isn't about to go down easy or follow anyone else's plan, and he's got more help than even he realizes. Still, it may not be enough to save him and everyone he cares about.

A/N: This came about from a subplot in my other story "The One I'm Fighting For" where Dean encounters the Alpha around chapters 17-20. I didn't really have time, nor did the plot allow, for me to expand on the idea, so we have this. Which is probably better anyway because I can do a lot more with it than I could have in that story.

This story takes place after season 9. I deal with the events of the season finale in the prologue with a few deviations for the sake of the plot, so this is a little bit AU.

Originally, this was rated M because of the violence, but I think it's probably okay for most readers over 13. If anyone thinks otherwise, I can always change it back.

Pairings: Benny/Lenore, Castiel/Meg

Warnings: Vampire!Dean, strong violence throughout, occasional language, implied sex.

Prologue: six months ago

His first feeling, odd as it seemed, was that the whole world looked different. The world had been looking different so gradually for so long, but this was the first time he was complete aware of it. He knew what he was, what he was feeling. It was all so clear.

There was anger. A lot of it. But more than that, he was relieved. To finally know what was happening to him. To not be dead. It was a weird feeling, but at least he could make a somewhat intelligent decision now.

"Where's Sam?"

Dean wasn't surprised that those were the first words out of his mouth, even though he hadn't consciously thought them before he spoke.

"Weren't you listening?" Crowley replied. "I just explained everything."

"I was coming back to life. It's not the easiest job. I'm sorry I was a little distracted."

"Sam's in the dungeon. Summoning me. You should come too; I want to see his face."

"You think this is funny?"

"I think you're handling it rather well."

"This isn't permanent."

"Ah. Denial. Shall we, then?"

Dean moved toward the door, and Crowley rolled his eyes.

"You know you don't have to walk," he said.

"Shut up."

Dean closed the door behind him. Crowley would follow him or snap his fingers or whatever. Dean didn't care. He didn't want to spring this on Sam that way. As he headed down the stairs he could hear voices. Sam sounded urgent, and it was strange to be on this side of things. To be the one whose life was being begged for. By comparison, Crowley was unconcerned. Of course he was. He was probably thrilled about this new development. It wouldn't last. They'd fix this. Dean could get rid of the Mark. He could be human again.

At first, Sam didn't turn around when Dean entered the dungeon. He was too focused on trying to understand Crowley's vague explanation for what happened to Dean. When he did turn, Sam wore an expression Dean had forgotten he had. It had been so long since Sam looked relieved, happy even. He hugged Dean, which Dean knew was supposed to be a good thing. It was supposed to feel warm and welcoming, and maybe because it was supposed to, it did. There was something... good... about it. But it was more in Dean's head. He knew it was good. He didn't feel much of anything.

So, he pushed Sam away, more firmly than he would have thought he'd ever do. He looked Sam in the eye, and he still saw that optimism. There was no inkling in Sam's face of the fact that something terrible had occurred.

"What happened?" he asked. "How are you even alive?"

"Sam... I—I'm not the same." Dean thought this should have been easier. He wasn't sure where he got that idea. "I'm..."

I'm a demon. Just say it. It's not that hard.

"What, Dean? Whatever it is, we can handle it." Sam was still looking at the bright side. "I know you said the Mark was making you into something else, but we can stop it."

"It's already done." Dean wasn't really surprised at the flat tone in his voice. "It's too late."

"But you're still alive. We can fix it."

Maybe they could. But would Sam want to? There was only one way to know. Dean closed his eyes for a moment. Longer than he needed to, but he wasn't ready for this. When he opened them again, the world looked sharper around the edges. Sam stumbled back, the shock and revulsion on his face erasing any of the previous sentiments he was feeling. The way he looked at Dean, the utter contempt didn't hurt as much as Dean thought it would because he always thought Sam felt that way anyway.

"As I was saying," Crowley interrupted. "This wasn't exactly the plan, but it's not such a bad thing. Think of all the things you'll be able to do, the places you can go—"

"Shut up," Sam said, never taking his eyes of Dean. "We can fix this. Dean, we know how to fix this."

When Dean blinked, the world returned to normal, and Sam didn't look half as repulsed as he had before. "Are you serious?"

"Think about it. I almost did it before. I know how."

"But won't that put you back on track to burning up from the inside?"

"I don't think so. Cas healed the last traces of it. And it was the third trial, so it wouldn't start it up again. You have to do them in order."

"You'll end up getting yourselves killed," Crowley muttered, but no one paid him any attention.

"So you could make me normal again?" Dean was still incredulous.

"Well, it might be a bit more complicated with the Mark, but it's the same idea, isn't it?"

"What if I can't be cured? What if it just kills you?"

"I have to try. We can't leave you like this, let you turn into something you're not."

"I don't know what I am."

"Then let me bring you back. I can do this, Dean."

"This is insanity," Crowley grumbled.

"Shut up," Sam and Dean said in unison.

~oOo~

Sam couldn't remember exactly what the old church was like the last time he was there. Everything had started to get blurry a few doses into the cure, and by the end of it he was so drained he could barely think straight. Maybe that was why he had stopped. Maybe if he'd been in his right mind, he would have finished it and left Dean to deal with the fallout. Maybe not. It wasn't as if he would ever know now.

But he did remember the feel of it. That old, sacred feeling. That hadn't changed. And this time, Sam would finish. He would cure Dean even if it killed him because it would be better to die than to let his brother be condemned. Again.

Dean was quiet on the way there. He had told Sam to get the chains and anything else to keep him in place. He didn't know what kind of abnormal powers the Mark gave him, but he didn't want to risk anything.

As Sam reluctantly secured Dean in place, there was a moment of breathless silence. Neither of them said anything, but there was something waiting to be said.

Finally, Dean broke the silence. "Whatever happens," he said, " no matter what I say... don't stop, okay?"

"I won't." Sam wished they didn't have to talk about this.

"I mean it, Sam. Don't listen to me. Don't stop until it's done or..."

"Or you're dead, you mean? Dean, if we're gonna die... we're gonna be us, okay? I'm not letting you go like this."

Sam stood up and walked back to the rundown confessional where he had spilled out all his sins the last time. Once again, he spoke them aloud, knowing Dean could hear him. Sam wanted him to hear.

When he was finished, he returned to the small table to prepare the first dose of Dean's cure, refusing to allow himself to imagine a scenario where it didn't work.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said quietly. "I don't really know what that means, but I'm sorry."

Sam nodded, still facing away from his brother. "I know," he said. "And when we're done here, we'll work it all out, we'll go back to the way things were when... when it was just you and me."

Sam turned around, holding the needle, but trying not to look too threatening. Dean smiled a sad, longing smile, and Sam pushed the needle into his neck.

~oOo~

Metatron's body wasn't cold on the floor before Gadreel had addressed the entire angel population, informing them of what had happened. Their leader had betrayed them. He was using them, trying to control Heaven and make himself a god, all of which they heard on the angel radio before Gadreel had managed to break free and stop Metatron from killing Castiel.

None of the three angels in the office knew what was going to happen next. The doorway was still closed, but there were plenty of angels who had been loyal to Metatron right outside. Hannah locked the doors to give them time to decide on their next move, but it was unlikely the rest of the angels would choose to trust Gadreel and Castiel like she had. And even she had needed convincing.

"We did the right thing," she said, more to herself than the others.

"We have created a power vacuum," Gadreel replied matter-of-factly. "We need a leader. Now, before the factions start up again."

"But who is qualified?" Castiel said. "Who has the power and the decency to give them what they need?"

No one pointed out the way Gadreel said "we" and Castiel said "them," but it was an obvious distinction. Castiel would not, nor could not, be a leader of angels. Metatron had been right when he said that Castiel was too concerned with two little humans to put the needs of his own people above them.

Hannah seemed to be thinking about that fact as she paced the soft carpet. She stopped suddenly and looked at Gadreel. "You are the only one strong enough," she said. "The only one who could unite us now."

Gadreel shook his head, not looking at Hannah. "I cannot. All the things I have done..."

"You came back. You saved us from Metatron's plans."

"You haven't done half the evil you think you have," Castiel said. He could see Hannah's point. Gadreel was older than most of them, he still held to the ancient ways of doing things, the ways that had kept the peace until very recently. Perhaps he could take them back there. "And anyway," Castiel went on. "There are only a few humans who will never forgive you, and you don't have to answer to them. But I do. So I think I should go."

"You won't stay and help us rebuild?" Hannah asked.

"I have done enough damage. Of course I will help you any way I can from Earth, but that is where I belong. Where I should stay."

"You would abandon your family for a human?"

Castiel gave Hannah a sympathetic look. "I did so a long time ago, I just never realized it fully until now. Perhaps if I had, it would have saved everyone a lot of pain."

Gadreel stood from where he was leaning against the desk and met Castiel's gaze. "Go, brother," he said. "But always know that as long as I live, you may return."

Yes, Gadreel was meant to be the angels' leader. Maybe he didn't know it yet. Maybe he was starting to. Either way, Heaven was in as good hands as Castiel could leave it.

"Thank you," he said. "If you ever need me, don't hesitate."

Castiel walked to the doors and opened them, gazing out into the faces of angels who had once followed him. They all stared as he passed, then noticing Hannah and Gadreel behind him. When they reached the portal, Gadreel told the guards to allow Castiel to return to Earth and to open up the doors so that anyone could come and go. They obeyed.

~oOo~

Anger. Hate. Fear.

Dean was seeing red. Literally. There was a rusty tint to the images around him: blackened, distorted things that had little resemblance to how he remembered the world. But it was all he could see now. All he could feel. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he wanted this, that Sam was trying to save him. But sometimes, he couldn't control the things that came out of his mouth.

The chains held him, which was almost a shock, but he could do far more damage with his words. Because he knew Sam, knew what he feared, what he wanted, what he loved. And as a demon, Dean had perfect clarity on how to exploit those weaknesses, as he thought of them at the time. He didn't even remember everything he said, but he remembered the look in Sam's eyes as he continued plunging in the needle anyway.

It had been too long. Longer than the eight hours it was supposed to take. Dean's throat was hoarse from screaming, but he didn't feel it like a human would feel it. Pain of that sort didn't bother him now.

Sometimes, Dean had moments of clarity, and he noticed that Sam wasn't just tired and weary of the verbal arrows Dean flung at him. He was in pain. Physical pain, yes, but something more than that too. He was sad. And it was one such moment that Dean realized why: he hated seeing his brother like this. Just as Dean had hated leaving Sam in Bobby's panic room when he was on demon blood. This was like that. At least, Dean thought so. He wasn't sure of anything anymore.

Time seemed to have no meaning. All that existed was blood and pain. It was like Hell in that, only it was too quiet. Dean's tormentor didn't taunt him or offer him any respite. He just went on in silence, never stopping to rest, even between doses. It was as if he were afraid to close his eyes and let go of his fragile control.

It was probably 16 hours in when Dean was certain he was going to die. A deep gnawing feeling was spreading from his gut, like he was being eaten from the inside. Sam's blood was burning in his veins, pumping through his dead heart. His pulse raced, but more than that his essence felt as if it were being consumed. It got worse with each new dose until it was all Dean could do to keep his head up and eyes open. Death would be a relief. Even if he were destined for Hell, it was better than this. This twisting and changing and undoing of his very soul.

Dean was too far gone to realize that was a good thing.

It all ended in light. Beautiful, excruciating light.

~oOo~

When Castiel returned to the bunker, he was surprised to find it empty except for Crowley, who was sitting in one of the cushioned chairs in the library. He was drinking from a crystal glass and looking mildly annoyed.

"Wasn't expecting you back so soon," he said. "Don't you have a bunch of angels to babysit?"

"Where is Sam?" Castiel said, ignoring the question.

"I thought you had a crush on the other one?" Crowley smirked at his own joke.

"Metatron told me..."

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "That Dean was dead? Well, that's up for debate."

"Are they at the hospital?"

"This isn't that sort of thing."

"Do you know where they are?" Castiel was beginning to lose his patience if he had any for Crowley to begin with.

"Perhaps."

"What do you want? What could you possibly want from me?"

"Assuming I tell you where the Winchesters have gone to, you would do me the favor of stopping them."

"Stopping them?"

"Yes. I have reason to believe that the *ahem* procedure Sam is attempting on Dean will only lead to a bigger mess which I will undoubtedly have to clean up. If I tell you where they are, you will stop them. It serves both our interests, really. You potentially save their lives, and I have things the way they're supposed to be."

"What things? Does this have to do with the Mark of Cain?"

"Why would you think that?"

"What other interest do you have in Dean? You want him to be your weapon, and Sam is trying to save him. Why would I stop them?"

"Because they may very well end up dead as a result. Which would you rather?"

Castiel knew that his friends would rather be dead than enslaved to Crowley, but he wasn't about to say that to ruin his chances of finding and maybe helping them. He could agree. He could say he would try to stop them. He just wouldn't try very hard.

"If I promise to try, you'll tell me where they are?"

"That is the deal. No going back on this one. You're not nearly strong enough for a fight with me."

"I will," Castiel said. "I'll do what I can to save them. Now where are they?"

Crowley smiled as if he'd won some great prize. "You remember the old church they dragged me to? They've been there almost 24 hours now. I'm assuming it's taking longer because Cain was no ordinary demon."

Demon. Dean was a demon. Castiel ran from the room, never having wished more strongly to have his wings back.

~oOo~

When it was over, Sam could barely stand to unlock the chains. He'd lost a lot of blood, but it was more than that. It was the angry red needle marks on Dean's neck overlapping each other. It was Sam's blood running down Dean's face. It was the way Dean slumped over as if dead, and Sam didn't have the energy to check if he were alive. He just unlocked the shackles and let them fall to the floor, believing that soon enough, Dean would wake up. He would open his eyes, and Sam would see bright green, not black.

Maybe Sam was tired because he'd been hyper-alert for the last 24+ hours. He actually couldn't remember the last time he slept. He had tunnel vision, and he felt cold. But he had to make sure. He couldn't collapse until he was absolutely finished.

As the last of the chains came off, Dean fell forward and Sam caught him. He moaned softly. He was alive. But they weren't out of the woods yet. Dean's skin was burning, and when Sam touched his arm, he let out another muffled cry of pain. Sam pushed back Dean's sleeve and saw that where the Mark of Cain had once been, a massive infection had formed. That would explain the fever. And Dean would be dehydrated and weak. Sam hadn't really thought this far ahead when he was just trying to make his brother human again.

"Sammy..." Dean's voice was faint, as if it were coming from a long way off.

"It's okay Dean," Sam said. "You've got an infection in your arm. I'm gonna take care of it."

Sam managed to pull Dean out of the chair and slide him across the floor so he could lean him against the wall. A brief moment of sharp focus allowed Sam to see that Dean really wasn't looking good. His face was whiter than it should have been, and his eyes had thick black circles around them. Maybe all the blood on his face wasn't just Sam's.

Sam hurried out to the car to get the emergency kit they always carried. A surge of energy hit him as he realized that he was finally doing something to heal Dean rather than hurt him. He also grabbed more holy water, towels, and whatever painkillers he could find.

When he got back into the church, Dean had fallen over on his side, and his eyes were closed. For a second, Sam feared the worst, but then he saw that Dean was still breathing steadily, and he started to work. First, he sterilized the demon knife, thinking it would be the best to open the infected area to let it drain. He took one of the bowls, normally used for spells and placed it under Dean's arm. As soon as the blade touched his skin, Dean jolted back to consciousness. Sam had to hold him still to keep him from hurting himself. But maybe it was a good thing he was awake.

Sam grabbed the painkillers and some water and gave them to Dean. "This will help," he said.

Dean took them without question. It didn't look like he had the energy to make much of a protest.

Turning back to Dean's arm, Sam noticed that an ugly puss-like substance was beginning to flow from the small cut. But it needed to be bigger. Sam just used the tip of the knife to cut a longer incision in Dean's skin. He didn't flinch this time, but Sam could feel his muscles tense up. The substance continued to flow, going from a beige color to darker brown the more it came. And there was blood in it too. Sam had been expecting that. He used the holy water to flush the wound, hoping that would help remove the evil this infection embodied.

Not long into this process, Dean's breathing became shallow. Whether from pain or something else, Sam wasn't sure he wanted to know. Dean's eyes were unfocused and glassy, and a blanket of sweat covered his face.

"It's not gonna come out," he said with surprising clarity.

"What are you talking about?" Sam replied. "It's going fine."

"No... I can feel it, Sammy. It's... got a hold on me. It won't let go."

"Dean, I'm pouring holy water all over you, and it's not hurting you. You drank it." Sam wasn't sure what good logic would do right now, but it was his default when he couldn't think straight otherwise.

Dean swallowed hard and stared upwards with his head laid back against the wall. "I'm sorry," he said. "Sorry you had to..."

"It's fine, Dean." Sam was a little busy to listen to this right now.

"No it's not," Dean argued. "I know... what it's like. Hurting you... because it's the only way to help."

Sam suddenly realized that Dean wasn't talking about anything recent. He wasn't talking about how it was all his fault and how much he always screwed things up. He was talking about the panic room. About Bobby's house. Five years ago. Dean knew what it felt like to watch his brother suffer without being able to stop it. And he'd gone through that twice.

"You asked me to do this," Sam said, not looking at Dean's face. "You said no matter what... I had to. It's gonna be okay."

Dean seemed to be losing the breath to speak every passing second. "If it's not..." he said. "If it's not... it's okay."

If it's not okay, it's okay? Dean wasn't thinking straight. He was exhausted and fighting off whatever hold the Mark still had on him. He'd be fine as soon as the last of it drained out.

It kept coming, though. Sam had to get more water, and worried about running out. He thought about cutting the skin open wider, but he didn't want to push any of that substance into Dean's body. He needed something to draw out that poisonous ooze, but he didn't have anything on hand. Hot water would help, but he had no way to heat it. He thought about getting Dean in the car and taking him home where they had more supplies, but he wasn't sure he could stay focused enough to drive, or if Dean would live through it. He just didn't know. And that was enough to keep him crouching there on the floor, watching and waiting.

There was more blood now, and Sam wasn't sure if that were a good thing. It could mean that the infection was almost out of Dean's system, or this could all just be a surface problem. The Mark had never just been a blight on Dean's skin. Maybe this was all just external. Maybe Sam could heal Dean's wound, but the Mark would still be there on the inside, seared into Dean's soul.

Sam couldn't think like that. He hadn't come all this way to save his brother only to give up now. This was what they did. They pushed through the pain and fear and exhaustion, and they made it to the other side. They would survive this. They had to. Sam needed to have his brother back. He needed to know they could be like they were before the lies and the fighting. He needed to know that all they had sacrificed had been worth it because at least they still had each other. They had to still have that.

There was nothing but blood now. Maybe too much of it, but Sam could hardly see straight. He did his best to clean and bandage the wound.

How long had it been since he started? An hour? It didn't matter. It was a funny feeling to realize he'd had two hours of sleep in the last four days. Or was it five? Didn't matter.

He couldn't last much longer. Sam cleared away the odds and ends of his impromptu medical experiment until he was left with just himself and Dean sitting against the wall, shoulder to shoulder. Dean was still barely conscious, but he hadn't said anything in a long time. His breathing sounded halfway normal again, and his skin didn't feel so hot. Sam managed to get him to drink a bit more water, and then realized he should probably have some too.

As he set the empty container aside, Sam felt Dean's head fall onto his shoulder. But Sam wasn't alarmed. Dean was just tired. He was going to be fine. Maybe that's what Sam told himself so he wouldn't feel guilty letting his own head rest against Dean's and closing his eyes. Just for a minute.

~oOo~

When Castiel arrived at the church, he already knew he was too late to stop whatever was going to happen. He couldn't feel any demonic presence, and even in his weakened state, he should have been able to sense it. Whether that was a good thing remained to be seen. Sam could have failed. Dean could be gone.

But the car was outside, and even as a demon, Dean wouldn't have left that. Would he?

Upon entering the building, Castiel got his answer. Sam and Dean were both asleep against the wall left of the doors. It had worked. They were still alive, though they looked severely weakened from the ordeal. That wasn't important. They would be okay. Castiel could help them recover. For the moment, their enemies were dead. They had time to regroup.

The one thing that concerned Castiel was the poorly wrapped bandage on Dean's arm that was seeping blood. But Castiel wasn't about to adjust it with the way Dean's arm was wedged between their bodies. Sam, at least, would wake up—and probably shoot first.

So, Castiel set to cleaning up the mess Sam had left. He found a bowl full of something rather disgusting that he thought had best be burned. He took it outside for that, because as much as it smelled now, it would certainly be much worse when fire was added to the equation. While he was outside, Castiel put away the weapons and equipment Sam had used. He was sure to clean them and put them back where they belonged in the trunk of the Impala. Dean would want his armory to be in order the next time he used it.

By the time Castiel went back inside, Sam was awake and blinking in confusion. "How did you find us?" he asked quietly, so as not to wake Dean who was still sleeping on his shoulder.

"Crowley," Castiel replied. "He made me promise I would try to stop you if he told me."

"You were going to try to stop me?"

"Not very hard."

Sam smiled. "It worked you know."

"I know."

"He's gonna be okay." It almost sounded as if Sam were trying to convince himself.

So, Castiel crossed the room and touched Dean's forehead. He felt the slightest twinge of darkness left in him, but it would fade. It had been killed by the purity of Sam's blood. "Yes," Castiel said. "Dean will be perfectly well."

As if sensing that he was being talked about, Dean stirred and opened his eyes. He seemed disoriented at first, then a bit uncomfortable. Castiel thought it might have something to do with personal space, so he took a step back.

"We don't have to talk about this do we?" he asked, turning to Sam.

Sam grinned. "What, you falling asleep on me? No, we don't have to talk about that."

Sam got up from the floor and helped Dean to his feet. The latter was still rather wobbly. Sam fixed the bandage, and Dean didn't try to resist. He looked like he was still asleep with his eyes open.

"I can take you home," Castiel said, and Sam gave him the keys to the Impala.

Dean didn't seem to care about being put in the backseat, and Sam looked like he was about to fall over from the exertion of helping his brother walk the ten feet from the church doors. As such, Castiel wasn't surprised that the two of them fell asleep again on the drive back to the bunker. Of course, as soon as they stopped, Sam and Dean woke again. Sam began to help Castiel get Dean out of the back, but Castiel told him he could take care of it. Not that it was particularly easy to half carry Dean through the door and down the stairs into the bunker. But Sam looked like he was about to faint, so it was a necessary inconvenience.

As they reached the lower level, Crowley came out of the library looking thoroughly irked.

"I thought we had a deal?" he said to Castiel.

"I was too late," Castiel replied. "I didn't break my promise. Not that I'm particularly bothered by that fact."

"Of course not. You'd have found a way out of it anyway."

"What are you still doing here?" It wasn't just a question. It was the way Castiel said it with the slightest hint of leave or I'll make you.

Crowley made a show of acting as if he didn't care before snapping his fingers and disappearing. Castiel couldn't have fought him anyway. It was an empty threat.

Castiel managed to get Dean to his bed and made sure he was all right before sending Sam off to sleep as well, promising to keep an eye on things while they slept. If either of them had wanted to argue, they didn't show it.

Castiel returned to the library and sat in the chair Crowley had vacated. After the events of the past several days, he finally had time to think. Metatron was dead. The Mark of Cain had been dealt with. Gadreel would find a way to open Heaven completely again. It seemed as if things were going a little too well. There had been losses, of course. Kevin Tran was dead. Castiel was still living on borrowed grace, and that couldn't last forever. He would deal with that later. At the moment, he felt tired. Not the same kind of tired he had felt as a human, but something more fundamental. He was weary. As if he had lived too long, and his body just hadn't realized it yet.

All troubles for another day. For now, Castiel would just be happy that Sam and Dean were okay and that he could stay with them for the foreseeable future. When the time came, they would work out these issues together.

That thought made him smile. Castiel had never felt more at home, more like he belonged, than when he was with these two incomparable humans.


This prologue doesn't get into the main story line because I had to deal with some stuff first to set things up, so we'll get to the vampires in chapter one.