It all seemed very simple. Three vampires run amok in a small town. Three victims killed, one missing. Creepy old abandoned warehouse.
Textbook.
That is, until they'd finished the hunt and found themselves with custody of a survivor. The victim who'd gone missing wasn't dead. There were bite marks all over her and rope burns around her wrists. Her temperature was frighteningly high and she was scared. But she was most definitely alive and…surprisingly…fairly cogent.
At least for the first few hours.
She sat in the back seat of the Impala and dutifully told them everything that had happened. Kidnapped on her way home from a friend's house. Taken to said creepy old abandoned warehouse. Tied to a doorframe by her wrists, bitten and bled almost dry within a day. Then they'd started giving her fluids – blood – at least that's what she thought it was. She'd been blindfolded. But the taste, which she described as metallic and acidic, seemed on point with blood…but not necessarily with human blood. Between that and the smell of burning that clung to her skin one thing was clear - they'd been giving her demon blood.
And then, a few hours before Sam and Dean had finished their hunt and freed her, they'd made her swallow something else. It was sticky and bitter and rancid, she told them. So her captors said, it made the blood easier to get.
Sam and Dean didn't ask what that meant. They were too focused on the demon blood. And on the fact that she was going to start having withdrawls any second. And on the fact that they were a solid hour from any hotel where they could hole up until she recovered.
Brinn was 19, no immediate family, visiting a distant cousin who lived in town. She'd texted that she was all right and that she'd decided to head back to the city. No one would question her absence. Which was good.
Because at this point said absence wasn't negotiable. She was going to have to detox – hallucinations, vomiting, incessant pain – and there was no way they were leaving her to do that by herself.
She'd decided to trust Sam, who'd cut her down from the doorframe, taken off the blindfold, assured her everything was going to be fine. Dean she wasn't quite as fond of. At least not yet. Her first impression of him was "that other one who beheaded the vampires" – which, while heroic, wasn't exactly comforting. So she just curled into Sam's side and passed out, half an hour from the hopefully-not-too-terrible hotel.
She woke up still ten minutes out.
"Stop the car," she mumbled into Sam's chest.
"What?" Dean snapped. She wasn't bailing. That wasn't an option.
"Stop the car," she repeated.
"You're not going anywhere. We need to make sure…" Dean began.
"I need to throw up now stop the bloody car!" Brinn shouted, pressing her hands to her temples, trying to control the pounding in her head.
"Okay…okay…it's gonna be fine," Sam said gently, as Dean pulled over.
She didn't listen, just threw open the door, collapsed on hands and knees and vomited bile until she passed out again.
"This is gonna be fun." Dean said as his younger brother picked her up from the gravel and carried her back to the Impala.
