A/N: Fun with vampires! Or, not so much fun. Probably more the second one. Anyway, this one is set in Season 6, after Sam has been re-souled, but before And Then There Were None.

A/N #2: Update: I've gone back and changed some of the final fight since this was first published. I wanted to do Sam a bit more justice in getting his revenge, and I realized I had sort of left things hanging with Tessa originally. Thanks to some helpful suggestions from K Hanna Korossy, I think that has now been fixed. (When you're done with this story, you should go and read her stuff. She's very good.)

Dean ignored the ringing phone in favor of the article Rufus has just emailed him. It had to do with a series of missing persons in Washington—a fair distance from South Dakota, but with Sam having been gone for two weeks now, anything was a possibility. Bobby could get the phone.

"Something wrong with your hands?" Bobby yelled from the basement landing. "Pick that up!"

Dean sighed and turned to grab the phone—Bobby's house phone, not any of the 'government' ones. "What?" he growled.

"Well, aren't you just a ray of sunshine? Where's Bobby?" demanded a woman's voice.

"Busy. What do you want?" Dean didn't really have time for this.

"To help him with a case he's working on. Tell him to call Jenny," she said shortly. She hung up and Dean growled at the phone before placing it back on the receiver. He and Bobby were quickly running out of leads at this point, and he'd run out of patience for distractions at exactly the same time he'd realized Sam was missing and not stuck in traffic or whatever.

Two weeks ago, he and Sam had stopped by Bobby's on their way to a case in Wisconsin. Sam had gone out for pizza and never came back. To Bobby's knowledge, there hadn't been anything supernaturally questionable in Sioux Falls, and so they'd had to start the hunt from scratch. They'd been casting their nets out further every time they came up empty—so much so that Dean had even contacted Samuel to ask if he'd seen his grandson. (He'd taken almost enough time getting back to Dean to make him suspicious before responding with a curt no and a request to leave him the hell alone.)

"Rufus have anything to say?" Bobby asked when he tromped back up the stairs.

"Haven't had time to read it yet," Dean grumbled. "You're supposed to call some lady named Jenny," he added, nodding at the phone.

"Jenny?" Bobby looked puzzled before something clicked and he pulled out his cell phone. "Jenny Lawrence?" he asked as he dialed.

"Didn't say," Dean shrugged. "Sounded Southern and kinda pissed."

"Yeah, that's her."

"Is finding Sam not interesting enough for you here? She said you had some other case she was helping you with?"

Bobby reached out and smacked the back of Dean's head. "She's helping with this case, idjit." He switched the phone to speaker and set it on the table. "Be nice," he warned.

"Bobby?" came the voice from the phone.

"Jenny, how's it going?"

"Fair enough. You get an assistant or something? I'd fire him, cause he is rude as hell."

"Hey!" Dean interrupted.

"That sounds like him," Jenny said.

"Don't mind Dean," Bobby said. "He gets antsy when his brother's missing. I hear you had something?"

"Maybe," Jenny said. Dean could hear the rustling of paper and the click of a keyboard through the phone. "Got wind of your missing persons through the hunter grapevine, rang a bell with something that came across my desk earlier."

"You found Sam?" Dean asked.

"Just hold your horses, would ya?" she replied. "If I knew that, don't you think that would have been my opener? I don't have a name, but I have a picture here. Security camera, black and white, but clear enough. I got a white guy, looks like late twenties, longer hair—I'd guess brown—can't give you an eye color, but he's a big fella—real tall, good shape, very easy on the eyes."

"If that is Sam, he's too young for you," Bobby interrupted.

"Shut up, Singer, and let me enjoy the view," Jenny retorted. "Anyhow, like I said, I can't tell an eye color, but those are the saddest puppy-dog eyes I've ever seen. He's got some kind of tattoo on his chest—shirt's blocking most of it, but the top of it looks like a sun or something. Which, if he's a hunter, mean's it's probably a devil's trap. Sound like your man?"

"That's him," Dean exhaled. "Where is he?"

"You wanna head on down to my neck of the woods and I can fill you in."

"That's great, Jenny, but Georgia's a long way off. If you could just give us what you have now, we're kind of on the clock," Bobby said.

Jenny huffed. "Bobby Singer, you think I would have you drive all the way down here to hand you something I could email? The guy you're looking for is down here, peabrain."

"Sam's in Savannah?"

"Has been for two weeks, and will be until you get down here."

"We're on our way," Dean said. "How old is the picture? Is he okay?"

"Picture's about four days old. And he's alive, if that's what you're worried about. Beyond that—kinda depends how you're defining 'okay'."

"Well that's cryptic, thanks. What's happened to him?" Dean demanded.

"Look, it's complicated, okay?" Jenny sighed. "The best I can give you right now is that he's alive, and it's in the best interest of the people who've got him that he stay that way. He ain't exactly comfortable, but nobody's gonna kill him any time soon."

"Who's got him?" Dean growled.

"Like I told you, it's complicated, but the short version is that you should stock up on the dead man's blood and pack your big machetes. You got yourselves a vampire situation."

Two Weeks Ago

Sam groaned as his head pounded its way back into consciousness. He was laying on something hard and itchy, twisted around into an uncomfortable position, and was contemplating just passing out again until the hammering inside his skull stopped when a feminine voice said, "Rise and shine, sugar. I see those eyelids fluttering down there, come on," she finished with a sharp tap on his cheek.

He gasped and shot upright, realizing as he crashed back to the ground that the reason he'd been twisted uncomfortably was because his hands were shackled around a pole behind him. The voice giggled and he cursed, struggling more carefully until he was sitting up, leaning against the pole behind him. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded, blinking up at the voice until his vision cleared.

"Mm, someone's cranky," the young woman replied, her tone suggesting she was talking to a small child. She was bending down in front of him, hands on her knees, large grey eyes studying him intensely. She was dressed in short denim shorts, a plaid shirt and cowboy boots, and her voice had a distinct Southern twang to it. "Well now," she said, reaching out to brush Sam's hair out of his eyes, ignoring his flinch back. "Such fine packaging is always a good place to start."

"What are you talking about?" Sam demanded, snapping his chin out of her grasp. "Who are you?"

"Name's Tessa," she said, unperturbed by his anger. She looked him over with an appraising eye. "Well, you're sure pretty enough. Hold still."

"What're you—ah!" Sam cried out involuntarily as she ducked behind him and something sharp slashed across his palm. His stomach rolled as she pressed her mouth to his palm and he felt the sickening sensation of her tongue moving, drawing his blood out. He tried to jerk his hand away and she stood, licking her lips.

"Oh, honey, you are good," she breathed.

"You're a vampire."

Tessa blinked and cocked her head, looking down at him in surprise. "Well, you're mighty quick on the uptake there. Unless…" She grinned. "Are you a hunter?" Sam scowled and her grin widened. "Oh, that is just too good! Oh, Daddy's gonna love you."

"Daddy?" That didn't sound good.

"Your new boss," she said with a smirk. "You're gonna make us all kinds of money."

"What—" Before Sam could get any further, a door behind Tessa swung open, sunlight temporarily blinding him. The outlines of several figures solidified in front of him, all staring down at him like he was a horse they were considering buying.

"Whatcha think, baby girl?" a deep voice boomed. A large man with salt-and-pepper hair turned from Sam to Tessa. One look told you he was the one in charge. 'Daddy', if Sam had to guess.

"Oh, he's good," Tessa said excitedly. "Y'all try him out."

Sam tried to fight, but, chained to the pole as he was, there wasn't really anywhere to go. One of the vampires grabbed his head and forced it towards the ground. He held him in place while, one by one, the others bent and drank from Sam's hand—nothing more than a mouthful or so each, but there were enough of them that Sam was starting to feel light-headed by the time they were done.

'Daddy' was last to have a taste, noting the approving nods and murmurs of the others before he did so. "Very nice," he pronounced when he stood. "But the hand, Tessa? Really?"

"Well, he's so pretty, Daddy, I hated to mark him up before we knew what we were going to do with him."

"The shoulder would have done just as well for that," he said, but rolled his eyes indulgently.

"Mr. Forrest," one of the other vampires approached. "He's got a different sort of taste to his blood, sir. What is that?"

'Daddy', or Forrest, it seemed, turned to the younger vamp, then cast his eyes curiously around the crowd. "Anyone care to guess? Dylan? Sharla? You're my top tasters, here."

"It's definitely richer than your average human's blood," Sharla said, licking her top lip as if trying to recall a taste. "But there's something sort of…"

"Smoky," Dylan put in when she trailed off. "A smoky, earthy sort of flavor."

Sam was feeling around the straw on the ground behind him, only half listening as he searched for anything that might be sturdy enough to pick the lock on his cuffs. He was confused and kind of disgusted by the way they talked about his blood like he was a bottle of wine or something, but Forrest's answer snapped him back to the conversation with a horrified twist in his gut.

"Demon," Forrest informed them all, grinning down at Sam as he swallowed hard. "That—as Dylan descriptively put it—smoky, earthy flavor, is what you get when you mix demon and human blood."

"That mean he's half-demon?" Tessa asked curiously.

Forrest shook his head. "He's all human. If his mama had fooled around with a demon, that taste would be a lot stronger—probably too much. Naw, he just got a little bit in him at some point, and that never really goes away. Not enough to do anything with except add that little splash of flavor, like a lemon in an iced tea."

Sam fought to keep his breathing under control as they all stared down at him curiously. Just thinking about his tainted blood filled him with familiar horror and shame—although, in an odd way, it was slightly reassuring to know that there was only a little bit there—probably just what Azazael infected him with when he was six months old. He could cleanse himself of what he had done with Ruby, but that small, original impurity—that would never go away.

Tessa was smirking down at him. "Betcha keep that one quiet on the hunter's circuit, don't ya?" She grinned, looking enormously pleased with herself as the others turned to look at her. "Yep. He's a hunter. Knows all about us and what we are."

Forrest smiled—a very unpleasant, predatory smile. "You just get better and better, don't you, boy? Sales are going to be good this summer." He paused thoughtfully. "Wouldn't have thought Travis and Nick would've had it in them to take down a hunter. I suppose they should get some sort of bonus for that." He gestured and most of the other vampires followed him out of the room, leaving Tessa and two boys who didn't look any older than eighteen (though, being vamps, they could be centuries old for all Sam knew). "Do your thing, Tessa," he said over his shoulder. "Since he's a hunter, you should probably put him in High Security when you're done."

"Yes, Daddy." She turned to Sam. "Told you he'd like you," Tessa beamed. "Now. Time to get you cleaned up and processed."

As it turned out, after everything that Sam had been through at the hands of various supernatural fuglies, being 'processed' didn't rate nearly as bad on the scale as it may have sounded. If anything, it was more humiliating than painful.

The two younger vamps had unshackled his hands from behind his back and then re-shackled them in front him, pulled him to his feet and fastened the chain on the cuffs to a hook somewhere above his head. They cut off his shirts and took his shoes, then turned to Tessa who was eyeing his bare chest with appreciation.

"You know, I wouldn't mind at all if Daddy says we can turn you once the season's over."

"What season?" Sam asked. From the way they'd talked earlier, it sounded like they'd be keeping him around to feed on for a while instead of killing him outright, but beyond that, there was something distinctly different about these vamps. He didn't think that was a good thing.

"Summer's a big season for sales, people on vacation and all," she answered. She turned to one of the boys. "I think we'll keep the jeans. He's tall enough, we may as well hang on to a pair that fit him."

"Sales?" He didn't think he was going to like the answer to this.

"We're selling your blood, sugar," she informed him, grabbing a clipboard off a table in the corner. "Big business down here."

"Hey!" Sam shouted, twisting to get away from the younger vamp who was reaching for his belt. He kicked at him and received a punch in the stomach that would have doubled him over if his hands weren't stuck above him.

"Relax," Tessa said, rolling her eyes. "Bryan's not getting fresh. Told you we were cleaning you up, and those things could use a wash. Anyhow," she continued as Bryan yanked off Sam's jeans and boxers and Sam wheezed to catch his breath. "Like I said, we're in the blood business. Daddy's the biggest name this side of the Atlantic, and we're not doing too shabby in the European market, either. Nice ink, by the way."

Before Sam could reply or get his breath back all the way, he gasped as a spray of cold water hit him in the face. The vamp that wasn't Bryan was holding a high-powered water hose, drenching him as Bryan scrubbed him down with some kind of brush on a stick like he was a horse or something. And it was looking like from their point of view, he was.

By the time they were done, Sam was shivering. Unless Dean came through the door right now and made the whole issue unavoidable, the whole wet and naked and tied to a pole thing was something he'd be leaving out of this story later. He didn't kick this time when not-Bryan worked a pair of drawstring pants up his legs.

"Right," Tessa declared. "I'm guessing we call you Sam." She held up the wallet that she'd grabbed from his jeans before Bryan had taken them away. "Awful lot of last names on these cards—typical hunter—but they all say Sam. Actual last name to go with that?" She cocked an eyebrow, then shrugged when Sam said nothing. "Just 'Sam', then." She made a note on the clipboard.

She clicked her fingers and not-Bryan handed her a syringe. She plunged it into Sam's bicep, filled it, then emptied it into a small IV bag. "Take that over to Sharla so she can do the marketing write-up," she ordered. Not-Bryan left, and Bryan handed her another syringe. She drew blood again and again, filling up bag after bag until everything was going fuzzy.

"That ought to be enough for now," she said, taking in Sam's lethargic blinking. "Samples," she explained to him, setting the bags down on the counter. "We send these out to the right people, get 'em talking before the season kicks off. You could do with some rest now, though."

She nodded at Bryan who unhooked Sam's cuffs from above his head and manhandled him through a door at the back of the room. Tessa followed. The sudden motion after losing so much blood was making Sam nauseous, and his limbs were shaking and making it hard to stay upright. He dimly noted a series of large cages with several human shapes inside that seemed to be—hopefully—asleep. He was pushed on through a second door at the end of the room, there was a metallic buzz and he was shoved forward and found himself sinking to the ground.

Sam blinked, trying to focus his vision. He was laying on his side on a thin pallet on the floor, surrounded by the iron bars of a cage. Tessa was kneeling front of him, Bryan standing with his arms crossed behind her, blocking the exit. Behind him was a room smaller than the one they'd passed through, filled with cages like the last one, though each of these held only one person. There was an electric box fixed to the wall with large buttons on it—the locking mechanisms for the cages, it looked like. This must be "High Security".

"Here you go," Tessa said, holding out a bottle of orange juice. "This'll help you feel better. Got to get those fluids back up."

Sam glared at her, not wanting to accept anything from the vampire, but he was so thirsty. It looked like he was going to need some help getting out of this one, and it wouldn't do any good to die of dehydration before Dean could get there. With a resigned sigh, he propped himself up on his elbow and took the bottle.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Tessa asked with a smile, taking back the bottle when he was done. "Now," she shoved at his chest, pushing him back down onto the pallet. "Let's clean that hand up." She pulled over a small kit and began washing the gash on his palm. Sam fought to keep his eyes open, but now that he was fully horizontal, the blood loss seemed to wash back up into his head, graying out his vision and making him feel weighted to the floor, and consciousness slipped away.

By the time they pulled up in front of the little yellow house, Dean was shaking with the need to get out of the car and find Sam. He'd been forced to break the drive with a few hours in a motel when he nearly ran his baby into a ditch—two weeks of stressful searching had equaled very little sleep, and he'd covered thirteen of the twenty-one hours between Sioux Falls and Savannah before going off the road. Bobby had slapped him in the head and forced him to find a place to stop, and as much as he hated the delay, he had to admit it was a lot easier to keep his eyes open now.

A curtain twitched as they walked up the driveway, and before he could raise his hand to knock, the door was swinging open.

"Bobby Singer," a woman's voice greeted warmly. Before Dean could say anything, he and Bobby were hit across the face with a splash of holy water.

"Nice to see you too, Jenny," Bobby said, removing his hat and wiping off his face.

"Oh, don't give me that look," Jenny said. "If I didn't test you, you'd be thinkin' something was wrong and testing me. C'mon in." She moved back, allowing them to step inside and over the devil's trap painted in front of the door. "Laundry day," she said with a shrug towards the floor. "Usually a rug on top of that. Anyhow, you got here early. Wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."

"Told you the boy gets antsy when his brother's missing," Bobby said with a nod at Dean.

"So you're Dean, hm?" Jenny, a small woman with graying red hair, pushed her glasses up her nose and looked him over. She smirked. "Well, ain't you just as pretty as that other one?" She looked over at Bobby as Dean blushed. "Fine lookin' family like that, can't be any relatives of yours, Singer."

"Shut up," Bobby grumbled. "Whatcha got on Sam?"

"In here." Jenny turned and led them into a study off the living room. Papers were scattered across the large desk, a few more lazily rolling out of a printer. Jenny dropped into a rolling chair and swung herself closer to the desk. She shoved a folder at Dean and started tapping away at the keyboard, pushing again at the glasses that refused to stay up. "That right there is what I got on your brother. Did a little more digging once this turned out to be a case someone was interested in."

Dean leafed through the folder. There were a couple of images that looked like security camera stills—one was of Sam sitting on the ground and chained to a pole while a group of people, including a man in a suit and a girl in cowboy boots, leered down at him. Another showed Sam standing in a row with five other people, all of them dressed in jeans and black tank tops, while suit-man talked to someone else in the corner and cowboy boot-girl stood to the side with a clipboard. The last was just a headshot of Sam with a list of numbers Dean couldn't decipher paper-clipped to the side of it. "What is this?" he asked. "How does this help us find him?"

"Those are pictures of your brother," Jenny said, not looking away from the screen. "And they don't help us find him, but they do show you he's alive and some of the market info they're putting out on him."

"You said—" Dean began.

"You don't need to find the boy," Jenny continued, rifling through the growing stack in front of the printer. "Because I already know where he is."

Bobby laid a hand on Dean's shoulder before he could start again. "Back up to that thing about market info." Dean huffed. "Quiet down, boy," Bobby said. "She said these vamps don't wanna kill him, and knowing where he is puts us one step ahead of when we got here, so take a minute and breathe. Market info," he said, turning back to Jenny. "That doesn't sound good."

Jenny turned around with a sigh. "So, vampires. Your average vamp is a lowlife, backwoods drifter type, wanders around drinkin', partyin', killin' folks—the usual. What we got down here is more a…cosmopolitan variety."

"Huh?" Bobby said.

Jenny shrugged. "These vamps don't skulk around in abandoned old shacks or whatever—these guys are lawyers, politicians, bankers—monsters with money. They got nice houses, drive nice cars and wear designer clothes."

"And?" Dean pressed. Swanky uptown vamps or not, it didn't make much difference to him. They had his brother, and a machete was a machete.

"And," Jenny said with a glare for his attitude. "They're careful. They don't find a body and drain it and leave it on the side of the road. They take people, they keep 'em, they feed on 'em nice and quiet and out of the way, somewhere they won't draw attention. And down here in Savannah, they make a whole business out of it. Out in California, you got people with vineyards who sell wine. And here you got vamps who sell blood."

"They sell blood?" Bobby asked, disgusted. "To who? Other vamps?"

"Other high-class vamps, yeah," Jenny confirmed. "The whole capturing and keeping of humans ain't cheap. They grab people from all over the country. Keep 'em in cages and tap 'em to sell. And different people taste different, so they find a flavor they like, they can keep sellin' off of one guy for years if they're careful."

"Oh, that is just sick," Dean spat. His stomach rolled in disgust at the thought of vampires tapping his little brother like a keg, selling off little IV bags full of his blood.

"It's good money," Jenny pointed out. "Like I said, it's an expensive business. And just like people go to wine country for vacations, vamps do the same with these blood vineyards or whatever you want to call 'em. Especially in the summer. Hell, right now, you got vamps from all over the States, Europe and freaking China coming over and doing the tour. They visit all the stops, taste all the new human flavors and buy samples to take back home."

"Stop, before I throw up," Dean said. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. "So, this market info stuff, that's what, Sam's stats for this whole blood-selling thing? So the other vamps know what he tastes like or something?"

"Yep." Jenny nodded. She grabbed the photo with the numbers attached and pointed to them. "And I know you don't know how to read those, but that right there is what's keeping your brother alive. Those are good numbers."

"So Sam tastes good?" Dean asked, ignoring how wrong it felt to ask the question. Jenny nodded again. "Doesn't that mean they'll drain him faster?"

"Nope. Bigger payoff if they just sell little bags of blood, give him some time to heal, then sell some more instead of all of him at once—make more in the long run that way. These numbers mean they'll keep him alive until at least the end of the summer rush, though probably longer, judging by the write-ups."

"Write-ups?"

"Oh, yeah, they got vamp food critics and all whatnot. Sammy's the flavor of the season according to the last two I read."

"It's Sam," Dean corrected her quietly, seething with rage at the vampires for doing this to his brother, and starting to feel none too friendly towards Jenny for being so calm about the whole thing.

"Well, whatever it is about Sam that tastes so good, it's what's keeping him alive right now. And quit lookin' at me like that. I don't know the kid. I got no need to feel emotional about it."

Dean opened his mouth and was cut off again by Bobby's hand on his shoulder. "Right," he said, squeezing Dean's shoulder in warning not to say anything stupid. "So, Sam's alive," he said, looking pointedly at Dean and willing him to calm down. "And you know where to find him?" he asked, turning back to Jenny.

She gestured at the printer. "Forrest Ranch, southeast side of town. Got some maps and what blueprints I could find coming up."

"Great," Dean said, surging forward to grab the papers. "So we come up with a plan, go in tonight, and—"

"Boy, did you listen to anything I just said?" Jenny asked. "Busy season, vamps from around the

world and all that?"

"How many fangs we lookin' at?" Bobby asked, tilting his head to see the map in Dean's hands.

"You go in tonight? Maybe two hundred, two fifty." Both men's heads shot up to stare at her in alarm. "What? I said it was busy season. This week's the summer opening gala or some crap. Now, you wait till the weekend—and daytime—and you're looking at more like twenty vamps."

"We are not leaving Sam there until the weekend!" Dean snapped.

"It's three more days and they're not gonna eat him," Jenny said, rolling her eyes. "Well, okay, they are," she corrected. "But they're not going to kill him. First rule of any successful business, you don't eat up all your money maker. If a kid with a lemonade stand can figure it out, a vamp that's been running his business for a century or so shouldn't have trouble with the concept."

Dean sighed. Very grudgingly, she did have a point. There was no way in hell they could handle two hundred vampires, but twenty…well, it was still a big number, but manageable at least. Leaving Sam there for three more days though… that went against everything inside him, even if he knew they weren't going to kill him. "I want to see Sam."

"What?"

"These security camera pictures you got," he said waving the folder. "You can see their cameras, I want to see my brother."

Jenny let out a long-suffering sigh, but spun back in her chair to face the computer. "Alright, I'll see what I can find. This is gonna take a while, though, so go…make a plan with your maps or something. I'll tell you when I find anything."

Sam groaned as he came awake, shifting uncomfortably on the pallet. He was pretty sure he hadn't left his cage for three days—the past few days were kind of blurry, no doubt because of the blood loss. He felt like he should have been farther along in the healing process than this since his initial 'sample taking', but concentrating was not his strong point right now. And different vamps had been along a few times for a taste, although he didn't think it had been that much. He rubbed irritably at the bandage on his forearm covering the one bite mark they all used.

"Afternoon, sunshine," Tessa's voice said, and he groaned again. Blurry though his memories were, Tessa, he remembered. She was in here every day with food and water, monitoring who snacked on him and when, checking on his arm, writing things on her clipboard and generally just being annoying as hell. Sam remembered kicking her in the stomach the other day when she started petting his hair like a dog. He didn't remember much after she slammed his head into the bars.

"Come on," she said, prodding him with the toe of her boot. He opened his eyes and glared up at her. "There you are. Now," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Big day for you. Daddy's having some people over for dinner, and guess who's featured on tonight's menu?"

"Bite me," Sam spat.

She smiled at that. "Might not be quite the words you want to use there. You getting up?"

"Why?"

"Cause you been in here for three days and you stink, Sammy-boy. You're getting a shower."

"I'll pass," Sam retorted.

Tessa sighed, crossing her arms across her chest. "You know, if you quit fighting me on everything, your life here could be a lot smoother. You do what you're told, and we'll be nice to you. Hell, you could even get upgraded into a cage with a bed and everything if you're good enough. I'm thinkin' that day's a long way off for you, though, so here's your options: You get up and take a shower on your own, or Bryan ties you to a pole, strips you and scrubs you down again. Your choice."

Sam glared with as much hatred as he could muster, but moved to sit up. He used the bars of the cage to pull himself up.

"Good boy," Tessa said approvingly. She smirked at the look that crossed Sam's face and raised a warning finger. "Touch me and I'll deck you again, and Daddy's guests can just eat on you while you're unconscious."

She indicated for him to follow her, and she led him to a door in the corner of the room. The farther he walked, the steadier on his feet he got, but he knew he was nowhere near having the steam to make a break for it. She pushed the door open to reveal a small bathroom—no window—with a shower, toilet and sink. "Drop your pants outside the door, and put these on when you're done," she told him, shoving a towel and some folded up clothes into his hands, including what he recognized as his jeans and boxers that he'd lost the first day here.

He went inside and shut the door. He turned on the water, and as it warmed, pulled off the drawstring pants, cracked the door and tossed them out. The hot water was heaven and did more to wake him up than anything else had so far. He was still a little shaky though, and was leaning on the shower wall by the time Tessa pounded on the door.

He toweled off and dressed—his jeans and boxers had been washed, and were now accompanied by a black tank top. Still no sign of his shoes. He stepped out and Tessa looked him up and down, nodding approvingly. "Much better," she declared. "This way." As they moved, Bryan appeared from somewhere to join them, and kept a firm grip on Sam's arm. Sam blinked in surprise when they reached their destination—a small, well-lit room with a few chairs that resembled a dentist's waiting room.

A teenage boy and a woman about Sam's age sat in two of the chairs, both dressed like him in jeans and black tank tops. They both looked at him disinterestedly before looking away again. Bryan shoved him down into the nearest chair, then reached down to the side of it and grabbed a cuff attached to the chair and snapped it around Sam's wrist.

"Hey!" Sam protested, tugging on the cuff and noticing that his two companions had no such restraints.

Tessa laughed. "Oh, please, like I'm going to trust you enough for that yet? Now, you're gonna wait in here until somebody comes to bring you to dinner. Here's how it works. You get brought in, you walk to the table. You kneel, you tilt your head so they can see those yummy veins of yours, you let them drink. You behave and we get through this whole thing without having to mess up that pretty face of yours. Got it? Now, sit. Stay," she smirked and backed out of the door, shutting it behind her. Sam heard the soft catch of a lock.

He looked back over at the other two. They hadn't moved during the whole exchange. The teenage boy looked back at him curiously. "Don't suppose you'd come over here and help me out of this thing, huh?" Sam asked, jerking on the cuff.

The boy smiled sadly and shrugged. "Not a lot of point."

"You think so? I can get us out of here if you help me out."

The woman gave a soft, amused snort but didn't look up. The boy shook his head. "I was new too. You get used to it. Just do what they tell you and it won't hurt as much," he advised. Neither of them would speak to him after that. Sam sighed. Great.

The 'dinner' had not gone particularly well—for either party. Sam had been brought into the dining room first. It was a dimly lit room, large, with a round, wooden table in the center. Forrest and six other vamps sat around it, waiting expectantly as Bryan, now dressed like a waiter, hauled Sam into the room. He shoved him towards the table, and when Sam didn't kneel as previously instructed, Bryan kicked him roughly in the back of the knees and he went down. The vamp whose chair he was beside reached for his hair to tilt his head back and Sam jerked away, head-butting the vamp and struggling to get to his feet. Things happened very quickly after that.

Forrest ushered the other vamps outside with apologies and words about how nice the garden was this time of year. Bryan and three other vamps converged on Sam, ropes and handcuffs at the ready, and though he got a few good punches in, he wasn't really a match for them. He was quickly bound and cuffed, gagged with a bandana tied a little too tightly around his head, and—to his surprise—hefted up onto the table. One of the vamps had cleared off the massive Lazy Susan in the middle of the table, and his ankles were quickly tied to a loop on one end of the thing, his bound hands fastened behind him, and those tied to his ankles, and his head forced down and something slipped through the bandana in his mouth and tied to a loop at the other end. It was surprisingly effective, and he couldn't move at all.

Forrest soon ushered his guests back into the room. They took their seats around the table, and Forrest shot Sam a murderous look before gripping the edge of the Lazy Susan and setting it spinning. "If you would do the honors, Mrs. Wallace?" he asked warmly, gesturing with one hand at Sam's neck. The woman Sam's head had come to a stop in front of smiled wickedly and leaned forward, sinking her teeth into Sam's now exposed neck.

Sam let out a cry of pain, muffled by the gag, as her sharp fangs bit into his flesh. He swallowed sickly as her tongue worked against his throat, drawing his blood from his veins. After several seconds, she stopped, and he felt himself spinning again. When he stopped, a new set of teeth bit into his neck, over and over again, until the blood loss and the spinning were making his head fuzzy and his stomach churn, and all of his attention was focused on not throwing up behind the gag and choking himself to death.

He wasn't sure how long it lasted, but was aware of strong arms pulling him from the table amid far away voices. He was dragged away, feet stumbling awkwardly as a strong arm held him up and he focused on keeping up, not throwing up and not passing out. Next thing he knew, he was back on the floor of his cage.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," Tessa was saying, shaking her head. "That did not go well."

"S' Sam," he slurred.

"Uh huh," she said, crouching down in front of him. "You wanna watch yourself, embarrassing Daddy in front of his guests like that. These folks weren't super-important, which, as it turns out, was the better place to start you off, but still…" She clicked her tongue disappointedly. "Lots of work to do. Now here," she added. She held out a bottle of orange juice. "Let's get that blood sugar back up, and I'll work on that neck of yours."

Sam took the bottle, glad it had a squeeze-top so he didn't have to sit up. "G'off me," he growled as Tessa moved toward his neck.

"Can't have that getting infected, Sammy-boy," she said brightly. He hissed as a wet cloth touched his neck. "That's why we only bite in one place, you know," she added conversationally. "Makes it easier to take care of. That shiner, on the other hand," she went on, gesturing at his eye. "Not much I can do about that. Not that you didn't deserve that, but it would've been nice if they'd avoided your face. It was Bryan, wasn't it? He doesn't really like you. But I'll talk to him about that."

"Would you shut up?" Sam groaned, letting go of the empty bottle and laying his head back. Everything was spinning again and blurring out of focus, and though her voice was sounding farther away, it just wouldn't stop. Something…something seemed off about this—he didn't remember all the spinning and the weird echo-y noise from last time he lost this much blood, but it was hard to…

Over the next couple of days, Sam was pleased to find some of his strength and powers of concentration returning. He guessed the dinner the other night had pushed him to the limit of how much blood he could safely lose, and they were giving him time to heal. He was still exhausted, a little unsteady on his feet and fighting off a constant, low-level nausea, but it was nice to be able to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time.

He'd had some time to actually notice his surroundings—not that there was a lot to see. The room he was in held thirty-four other cages like his, although only twenty-two of them were occupied. Each held a single captive, and were spaced far enough apart to make attempts at conversation awkward. He'd tried talking to his neighbors, but like the other two people he'd met in the waiting room, no one was really up for conversation. Everyone slept a lot. Once he was awake enough to notice things, he did notice that Tessa, Bryan and Not-Bryan came in early in the mornings and took most of the other humans out of the room. They weren't shackled or tied up—just trudged along behind them. A few hours later, they'd come back in, not looking particularly snacked-on. He wondered where they went.

"And how are we today?" Tessa asked, stopping in front of his cage and holding that infernal clipboard. She looked him over, made a couple of notes, then leaned forward and inhaled deeply. "Hmm…" She made another note. "You're healing up well. Should be ready for another round before too long. Might be time for another shower, though." She looked up disapprovingly. "Still haven't answered my question. We've been over this, Samuel. You answer me when I talk to you."

"Or what?" Sam retorted. "You'll knock me out again? After I've been 'healing up so well'?"

She smirked. "We just want your blood, boy. Not much use for your brains. Now. How are you feeling?"

"Sick of seeing you," Sam snapped.

Tessa chuckled and marked something on the clipboard. "Feisty little fella, aren't ya? Must be feeling better if that attitude is back."

Sam glowered at her. "Wait," he said as she turned to go. She turned back, raising a curious eyebrow. "Those people you take out of here every morning," he said, nodding at the only door. "What are you doing to them?"

"Doing?" Tessa smiled. "Nothing."

"Where do they go?" Sam asked suspiciously.

"Outside."

"Why?"

Tessa shrugged. "Exercise. Sunshine. Get a chance to get out of the cages, stretch their legs."

That wasn't the answer Sam was expecting. "But…why?"

"Because it ain't good for a body to be cooped up all the time, Sammy," she explained. She laughed at the confused look on his face. "Got to take care of those fragile little human bodies if we want them to last."

Sam considered. He supposed, from the vampires' point of view, it made a certain kind of sense. You didn't keep a racehorse shut up in a stable all the time, and really, what were he and the other human captives if not livestock to them? A little work had to go into maintaining your stock if you wanted to keep it in good enough shape to turn a profit. Any 'kind' gestures on Tessa's part were more maintenance than altruism. And though it sickened him to be thought of that way, and though he hated himself for asking, once he realized that tiny bit of freedom was an option, he wanted it so badly. "What about me?"

Tessa raised an eyebrow. "What about you?"

"Why don't you take me outside?"

She let out an amused snort. "Really? Yeah, it may be good for you, but that kind of thing is a privilege. What makes you think I'd let you out? You gotta behave better if you want to earn that. Like I said, you be good, and we can treat you a whole lot nicer." She reached a hand through the bars and patted him on the head. "So you think about that."

Sam did think about it. Maybe the whole following orders thing wasn't such a bad idea after all. What with them knowing he was a hunter and being in the high security section, options for escape were pretty thin on the ground with as close as they watched him. But outside…well, aside from the growing need to be able to stand all the way up and stretch out, that seemed like his most likely ticket out of here. Playing along for a little while might be worth it in the long run.

When Tessa came in with his breakfast the next morning, she rushed over to his cage, leaving Not-Bryan and a tall man in a suit walking slowly behind her. Tessa shoved his food through the bars and gave him a stern glare. "Got a big Italian buyer doing the tour this morning," she hissed. "You don't behave, you'll find out just how much worse your life here can be—got it?" She stood and walked quickly back to the other two. Not-Bryan had been describing the facility, and Tessa smoothly stepped in to elaborate on the different 'vintages' they carried.

"Now, these in here are our higher quality products," Sam heard her say. "Higher security here, you understand. Most of them are outside right now—we'll take you to see them as soon as we're done in here, but there's a couple in here you just have to try." They paused in front of Sam's cage. He sat down his bowl and looked up at them, making no move to get up. "This is Sam," Tessa said. "There's some information on him in your packet there," she said, gesturing at the folder Not-Bryan was carrying. "Now, he's new—little rough around the edges still, which is why we gotta keep him in here, but I think you'll find the taste is well worth the trouble." She looked down at Sam with an intense stare. "Your arm, Sam."

Sam stared hard back at her for a few seconds, then let out a resigned, self-loathing sigh. Playing along. He shifted closer to the bars and extended his arm.

"Good boy, Sammy," Tessa said, sounding pleased and a little surprised. She knelt and unwrapped the bandage from his forearm, then stepped back and made a welcoming gesture to her guest.

He knelt and sank his fangs into the tender spot on Sam's arm, and Sam flinched and fought the instinct to jerk his arm away. "Molto bene," the new vamp said as he rose, grinning and licking his lips. Sam drew his arm back inside and cradled it to his chest, pressing the hem of his shirt against it to stop the bleeding and glaring up at them.

"Here," Tessa said, handing a wet cloth and a fresh bandage through the bars. She stood and directed her guest towards one of the other cages, chattering as she went. Sam dabbed gingerly at the blood trickling from the puncture wounds, careful of the bruising. Instinctively, he reached for the mark on his neck and felt at the bandage experimentally. Still sore there, too. He returned to the wrapping of his arm. He hadn't lost enough to make him feel sick, but Tessa's earlier comments made him suspect there were more tastings and 'dinners' in his future. Hopefully this playing along thing would pay off before too much longer.

Dean scowled down at the maps spread out across Jenny's table. Forrest Ranch was secluded, and not the easiest place to get to if you didn't want to come in the front door. Satellite images showed a little dirt road that ran alongside the property and ended up near the end where the house was, though it still looked like a good walk from there. The place where they kept all the humans was near the big house, and a circle of smaller houses and buildings formed a loose ring around it.

"It's probably going to be smarter to take out all the vamps instead of trying to sneak in and out," Bobby said. He pointed at the ring of houses on the map. "Plenty of places for somebody to jump out at us if we don't clear 'em all."

Dean nodded. He instinctively wanted to shut down anything that added more time to laying eyes on Sam, but getting jumped for being impatient wouldn't help anything. "Yeah. You said you think there's going to be about twenty?" he called to the other room.

"Yep." Jenny replied from her seat at the computer. "Got eight of 'em that live in the main house—big daddy vamp, wife, four kids and his boys' wives. The other houses'll have the staff, security and the rest of 'em that run the business. During the week, they'll house some of the more important guests staying for the gala, but the place is pretty empty on the weekends."

"So, we'll go in Saturday morning, maybe ten o'clock," Bobby started. "Give 'em all time to get to bed. I say we hit the smaller houses first, then sweep the big one. We do one house at a time, quiet and fast, and they won't have time to get word to the others."

Dean nodded. "If we treat some arrows in dead man's blood and get some crossbows, we can incapacitate them faster before we do any chopping. Gives us better odds of not being jumped, and three to twenty, we could use all the help we can get."

Jenny's chair rolled into view in the doorway. "You say three, you better mean you have friend on the way, 'cause I ain't comin' with you," she said with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you mean, you're not coming?" Dean demanded angrily.

"Boy, it's a good thing you're so pretty with as dumb as you act. 'I'm not coming' means I'm. Not. Coming."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I'm sixty-four years old and I didn't live this long by doing stupid things like attacking a compound full of vampires. I am in information. I stay not dead by staying here. 'Sides," she shrugged. "It's not like cutting down from three to two changes your plan from surviving to dead. It's more like it cuts it down from dead to dead a little faster."

"Why, you—"

"Dean." Bobby put a hand to Dean's chest. "Let it be. Besides, you and I know how each other hunts—we can hunt well together without adding someone new into the equation."

"Fine," Dean growled. "But I hate you," he snarled at Jenny.

"Yeah, and that might hurt if I didn't hate you too, sweetheart. I got the feed up on your brother, by the way." She jerked her thumb back towards the computer in the other room. "You wanna see?"

She rolled her chair out of sight, Dean fuming as he followed. "I'm gonna shoot her."

"At least wait until she's done helping us out," Bobby suggested, patting him on the shoulder.

The image on Jenny's screen showed a long line of people sitting against a wall. They were all dressed identically in jeans, black tank tops and bare feet. Every minute or so, two vamps would come in, grab one of the humans and lead them out. Dean spotted Sam in the middle of the line.

"See?" Jenny said. "He's alive. This is a live feed."

"What are they doing?" Dean asked. "And what's with all the matching clothes? The picture you gave me earlier had all that too."

"They're getting ready for the gala tonight," she explained. "The clothes are just so everybody looks nice. Looks good when they match, and the tank tops show off all the veins in the arms and the neck."

"Can we follow them from here?" Dean asked, as two vamps approached his brother and led him out.

"Nah. No cameras out in the garden," Jenny said. "Just wanted to show you he was still alright."

"Yeah. Thanks," Dean grunted. He nodded at Bobby. "Let's get back to it."

Over the next couple of days, Sam did his best to play along. No more dinners had come up—he didn't think he'd have been able to manage 'behaving' for those—but plenty of tourists and prospective buyers had come by in twos and threes, and he'd gritted his teeth, rolled up his sleeve, and let them all have a taste. He'd even cut down on the snark with Tessa. And on the third day since he'd learned about going out, it payed off.

"Rise and shine, Sammy-boy." Tessa woke him with a shove in the stomach from her boot.

"What?" Sam groaned.

"It's mornin'. And today's the day you get to go outside," she told him.

He sat up quickly. "Really?"

"Mm-hmm. Told you if you were good, you'd get treated better. Up."

He got to his feet, and she made to move aside, but stepped forward and snapped a pair of cuffs on his wrists. "Hey! What—"

Tessa laughed. "Oh, come on. You've been good, sure, but you think I actually trust you? Please. Don't think I forgot you're a hunter. You've earned your outside time, but cuffs-free is a long way off still. Now, come on."

She led him out of his cage, and he joined the line of other humans heading out the door. He blinked as they stepped out into the sunlight. It was a warm, sunny morning, and they were standing in a large, walled courtyard. The ground was covered in lush grass, and trees lined the walls and ringed a little pond in the middle. Tessa led him to the pond and attached his cuffs to a chain locked to a ring in one of the trees.

"There. Now, this'll let you wander a good way," she said, nodding at the long chain. "You can go out in the sun if you like, or stay here in the shade. I'm going inside and going to bed, but don't you think nobody's watching. You try anything, and it's straight back to the cage." She smiled. "Have fun."

She walked away, and Sam saw her pause and speak to a vamp standing back by the door with a nod back at him. Okay, so, he was still being watched, and he hadn't been expecting the leash, but he could work with this. He could do some recon, be 'good' a little longer.

He walked out from the shade of the tree and sighed happily at the sunlight. He sat down on the grass, closed his eyes and stretched, laying out in the sun. Funny how you didn't miss little things like this until you couldn't have them.

After a few minutes, he became aware of someone watching him. He opened his eyes to see a little girl standing a few feet away, looking at him curiously. "Hey," he said, drawing up his legs and sitting up. She startled a little, but didn't run away. "It's okay, I won't hurt you," he told her. "I'm Sam."

She looked at him for a minute, then came closer and sat down. "I'm Yeju. You're new, aren't you? I haven't seen you before."

"Yeah. I've only been here for…about a week? I think. How long have you been here?"

"I don't know." She shrugged. "Since after Christmas, however long that is."

Last Sam had checked, it was the beginning of April, so it was a little over three months. "How old are you?"

"Nine. They keep you in the High Security room, don't they? All the other new people are out in the big cages with the rest of us."

"Yeah. Are there a lot of other new people?"

"Uh huh. They've been finding a lot of people for their summer thing. You must be special, though, to be in there. Are you expensive?"

Sam smiled. "That's what they tell me."

"I wouldn't want to be expensive," Yeju said. "I'd get lonely, being in a cage all by myself."

"It is lonely in there," Sam agreed. "Do you like it in the big cage?" he asked, hoping she'd say no. He hated the idea of anyone being as resigned as the others he'd seen, especially a kid.

"No," she shook her head. "I don't like it here and I want to go home."

Sam smiled. "Well, when I get out of here, I'll make sure you get out too."

She looked at the cuffs on his wrists skeptically. "How are you going to get out?"

"Well, I'm still working on that," he admitted. "But if I can't figure out how to do it, then my brother will come and save me."

"You can't save people from the vampires," she scoffed. "They're mean and scary, and super-strong."

"Yeah. But me and my brother? We hunt monsters, and he knows how to beat vampires. He'll come. You'll see."

She didn't seem particularly convinced, but still nodded. "Okay." She sat and talked with him a while longer, telling him about her home and her family, and asking which kinds of monsters were real and how you fought them. Even if nine year-olds weren't really his strong suit, it was nice to have someone to talk to after so long cooped up by himself. They sat in the sun for a while, and walked as far as his chain would allow, and when the security vamps came by a few hours later to take them all back inside, she gave him a sad smile and waved good-bye.

Between all the times he was 'sampled', he felt tired pretty much all the time, and though he drifted off and napped a lot in the sun whenever he was outside, he was still able to get a pretty good feel for the courtyard, and even the timing of the security guys walking around. There was one well-shaded corner where he was sure he could time it right and get from the tree to the wall and over. The problem was the cuffs…and the fact that didn't know what lay on the other side of the wall. If he could get the cuffs off, it would still be worth taking the shot. He spent the free moments outside that he was awake walking everywhere within his reach, searching for something that would allow him to pick the lock under the guise of talking to Yeju or enjoying the sunlight. The vamps were very careful about that, though, and he'd had no luck so far.

There had been another dinner, and Sam had just managed to keep from getting tied to the table again. He'd resisted at the start, then Forrest had grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head and slammed him onto his knees, and he'd swallowed his pride, closed his eyes, tilted his head and let them drink. Chances of escape from outside were slim, but they were non-existent if he couldn't leave his cage.

They'd led him back to his cage afterwards, and though he probably would have fallen if not for not-Bryan holding him up, he felt much better than last time he'd been to dinner. Not being dog-piled and spun in circles 'til he was nauseous probably had something to do with that. He was light-headed, but not fuzzy to the point of passing out, and something made him pause as Tessa handed him a bottle of orange juice and knelt beside him to clean his neck.

"Something wrong, Sam?" she asked, watching him stare at the bottle.

He didn't answer for a minute. The food they gave him was always very simple, and always accompanied by water. The juice was only ever after being fed on—which, admittedly, made sense, what with the whole blood-sugar thing and all, but still…He always felt like absolute crap for days after being fed on, and while he'd lost a lot of blood in his time, this always felt different. He'd always been too groggy to think on it much beyond that, but tonight…"What's in this?" he asked.

Tessa paused in her ministrations. "What, you mean besides orange juice?"

"Don't…" Sam propped himself back up and pulled away from her to the corner of the cage. "No, there's something else in this, isn't there? What are you doing to me?"

She smiled coldly. "Gotta keep you in line somehow, sugar. Now, if you know what's good for you, you'll drink it without complaining."

Sam shook his head and pulled a little farther back. "You're drugging me? Why? Where the hell am I possibly going to go?"

"Oh, nowhere. Probably. We just want to keep it that way. Now, you can drink it yourself, or we can do it the hard way."

"Screw you," he spat. No wonder he felt so tired all the time. He wondered what it was and if it was in the food too.

"Wrong answer, sweetie." She smiled dangerously and nodded at Bryan, who lunged into the cage, pulled Sam from the wall and slammed him down onto the floor. Sam kicked and struggled, and then Tessa was on top of him too, the two of them holding him down. He struggled harder, smiling inwardly when he landed a good kick to Bryan's knee that made him yelp. Then not-Bryan was there with some kind of oxygen mask-looking thing attached to a tank, and he was forcing the mask over Sam's mouth and nose, and adding his weight to the pile keeping him down. Sam tried not to breathe, but lost the fight when Bryan punched him in the gut, making him gasp and inhale the cool mist coming out of the mask. He felt his limbs going heavy and his vision greying out as the three vampires rose and swam into one blurry image. His head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds and he closed his eyes with a groan and sank into oblivion.

Sam woke up with a pounding in his head and arms too shaky to push himself up. Crap. That was…Something had happened, he was sure about it, but it really hurt to think right now. He groaned, thought about rolling over, then gave up and went back to sleep.

The next time he woke up, Tessa was dragging him to his feet. She was saying something, but he was concentrating too hard on trying to find his feet and keep them underneath him to listen. He was manhandled somewhere, then let go of and sank to the ground. All the movement proved too much and he leaned over and threw up. Tessa made a noise of disgust. He hoped he got it on her feet.

His head started to clear up and he looked around, realizing he was back outside, wrists chained to the tree again. He grimaced at the pile of puke on the ground and stood to move away from it. He made it mostly upright, and then small hands were propping him up and shoving at him. He squinted down. "Yeju?"

They hit a sunny patch and she quit pushing on him. "Hi," she said. "You don't look very good."

"Yeah, well, I don't feel very good," Sam agreed, dropping gracelessly to the ground. The sun felt amazing.

"You were bad, weren't you?" she asked, sitting down cross-legged beside him.

"Huh?"

"They put the mask-thingy on you and made you breathe the stuff, didn't they?" she asked. "They do that when you make them mad."

"Mm. That happen to a lot of people?"

She shrugged. "A lot of new people. 'Til they learn to stop making them mad."

"Yeah, I made them mad. I'm kind of surprised they let me come outside."

"They didn't yesterday," Yeju informed him. "I haven't seen you out here since the day before that."

Sam shook his head to clear it, pleased that it no longer felt like it was going to fly off. He'd been unconscious for an entire day? "What the hell is that stuff?"

"I don't know. But you should probably just drink the juice," Yeju said. "You only feel a little bit bad after that."

Sam squinted down at her. Much as he hated it, she probably had a point. He definitely didn't want to go through that again. "You're awfully practical for a nine year-old."

"Thanks."

Sam smiled and rubbed at his eyes. They felt a little gritty, but the sunshine was really helping to clear his head. "So," asked her. "Do they come and get you to take to the dinners and stuff?"

"Yeah. They haven't for a couple of days, though. And they said there weren't gonna be any more dinners for the rest of the week because of the gala starting this weekend."

"The what?"

"The gala. I don't know what that means."

"Well, a gala is a party," Sam explained. "Crap, that's probably not good."

"That means a lot of people are going to be eating us, aren't they?" For the first time since he'd met her, Yeju looked afraid. "Do you think we're gonna die? What if they take all our blood?"

Sam wanted to promise her that wouldn't happen, but he didn't want to lie to her either. "I don't know," he said at last. "Hopefully they won't, so they can keep selling it."

She sighed. "I hope your brother comes to save us soon."

"Me too," Sam sighed. "Me too."

The first day of the gala, Sam had gotten to see just how many people the vamps had on lockdown. They'd all gotten showered and given clean clothes—those stupid matching black tank tops and jeans—and were all standing in the courtyard, getting a lecture on the rules from Tessa. It looked like there were about a hundred people there.

They were led out in small groups to a massive garden. Had Sam been in the garden as a guest, he would have admitted that it looked pretty cool. Little stone pathways wounds between bushes and fragrant summer flowers. Gazebos dotted the more distant parts of the garden, a fountain splashed in the middle, and off to one side was a pond with fireflies dancing over the water. Soft music was playing, and little white Christmas lights were strung in all the trees and bushes, giving everything a soft glow. It was beautiful, actually.

The only thing marring the beauty of the garden was a series of posts and little platforms, seemingly randomly strewn about the garden. Each post had a pair of shackles attached, at a height—Sam discovered when he was bound to one—that didn't allow enough room to stand once you were attached, forcing the person in the cuffs to their knees. Each post had a human shackled to it, and Tessa and several other vamps in business clothes with clipboards were never far off.

As the sun fully set, the first guests arrived. Forrest was rushing back and forth, greeting each as they came in, directing them to various spots in the garden, spending more time with some than with others. Not long after the doors opened, Tessa appeared at Sam's side with a young couple. She said a few words to them in something that might have been Swedish, and each of them knelt and took a quick drink from Sam's neck. She said a few more words to them and they moved on.

"Good boy, Sammy," she said, marking something on her clipboard. "You're a featured special tonight, so lots of folks are gonna be by." She pulled a disposable wipe from a pack in her pocket and swiped it over the bleeding spot on his neck.

"Ow!" he hissed at the sting of disinfectant.

"Gotta keep you clean," she smirked. She swiped a finger underneath the bite mark and wiped off a stray drop of blood, then licked it off her finger. "Mmm." She smiled. "Don't you worry," she told him, patting him on the head. "We'll bench you before you get tapped out. You be good now."

"I hate you."

"I know."

The night continued on, different vamps coming by in twos and threes, each taking a quick drink from his neck and asking questions or making comments to Tessa. None of them took very much—he supposed there must be some sort of limit imposed—but it wasn't long before he started feeling dizzy and leaned back against the pole to sit down instead of staying on his knees. When Tessa noticed, she disappeared for a moment and came back with a bottle of orange juice.

"No, thanks," Sam spat.

"Nothing but juice in this one," she told him. "Don't want you passing out in the middle of the party."

He glared at her for a long moment, then finally shifted in his cuffs to take the juice. (They had a little more give when he was sitting.) He was so thirsty, and at this point, he didn't really care if it was drugged. Maybe if he passed out, he'd be done for the night.

It was a couple of hours later when Tessa called one of the security vamps over. "I think he's done for the night," she said, nodding down at Sam. Sam cracked an eye open at that. At some point, he seemed to have closed them.

"Take him back to his cage and fix him up," Tessa said. "And take it slow, we don't need him throwing up. Sorry folks." She held up a hand to an approaching couple. "He's dried up for the night. We'll have him out for you again tomorrow."

Sam was hauled to his feet, surprisingly carefully, all things considered. It was nice not to have Bryan and what-the-hell-ever his grudge was yanking him around. He noticed a few other people being led away as well. Apparently they were the popular ones for the night.

Back in his cage, he sank down onto his mat and closed his eyes, ignoring the vamp cleaning and bandaging his neck. He cracked his eyes again to find the vamp nudging him with a bottle of juice.

"Seriously?" He demanded. "I'm literally about to pass out."

"You want to do it the hard way?"

Sam sighed and grabbed the bottle. He wasn't in a hurry for another hangover from hell.

The next two nights went the same as the first, although by the third night, he was being taken back in earlier. "That's to be expected," Tessa told him the night morning as she led him outside. "You're not gettin' the chance to heal up as fast. You're gonna be dog-tired by the end of this week, but don't you worry. You'll get a nice long rest before the next one."

"The next one?"

"Oh, we have these things all summer, honey. And you're doing great. Good numbers on you. Daddy definitely won't be selling you off at the end of the season."

"Great," Sam sighed, sinking down to the grass as she chained him to the tree. "My life's ambition."

"Well, you must be feeling better, if you're snarking at me. You keep resting up, there, sugar," she said, patting him on the head before she left.

The fourth night, Sam got taken in particularly early. This was getting him nowhere, and he was so sick of playing the 'good dog' and letting these freaks keep taking his blood, and something snapped. He lashed out, head-butting the vamp that was kneeling to drink, then kicking at the knees of the security vamp moving to restrain him. Suddenly his side was on fire and he screamed and keeled over into the dirt. The fire stopped and his muscles kept spasming a little longer before going still. He was hauled roughly off the ground and out of the garden, and was tossed to the ground in his cage before he'd caught his breath again.

"That was stupid, Sam," Tessa said in a low voice. He blinked up at her and the taser she held in her hand. "Very bad move on your part. I'm going to have to tell Daddy about this, and he's not going to be happy. You pull too much more of this crap and he might just decide to sell you off after all."

"Good," Sam spat. "Won't have to listen to you anymore."

"Mm. I don't think you quite get what being sold off means," she said. "We sell off the reject stock at the end of the summer. Not to other people in the blood business like us. To people who want something from a fine company like ours for their next meal. You get sold off, they drink you dry. Think on that." She hit him with the taser again, and Sam screamed and sank into merciful blackness.

The next night, he was back out in the garden again. This time, he was kneeling and his ankles were chained to the post, as was his neck. His wrists were still shackled, but on a chain run through a loop in the post. He couldn't move, but Tessa could grab one arm and pull it forward for the guests to taste, pulling the other one tight against the pole behind him.

"Sorry we can't offer you a taste from the neck," she apologized to several of the vamps who came by. "We're having a few discipline problems. But feel free to bite down on that arm as hard as you'd like." Whoever she was talking to would smirk and sink their fangs down into Sam's arm much harder than he knew was necessary. (And how wrong was it that he knew how hard they had to bite to draw blood?)

For the last two nights of the gala, he was led out and tied up the same way. He was still being taken in earlier each night, with barely the strength to stumble along beside whoever was taking him. On the last night, Tessa let them take more than normal, since he'd have more time to recover afterwards, and he was still done by midnight. She was turning disappointed vamps away and urging them to pre-order the blood of his they'd be selling by the bag when the season was over. He'd never really been popular before, and he decided it sucked. Like vampires. Vampires sucked too. He chuckled a little bit. Wow, he was out of it. Was he even walking back to his cage, or was someone carrying him? He wasn't sure, and he passed out before he could decide.

Dean had been up since sunrise, going over plans to the Forrest Ranch, checking and re-checking the weapons, and drinking cup after cup of coffee. Jenny had been giving them what news she could find as the gala had progressed, and while she assured him that Sam's popularity would keep him alive, Dean was unimpressed, unable to shake the nagging feeling that something would go wrong and Sam would be dead.

At last, Bobby had deemed it late enough in the morning, and they headed out. The drive was quiet, and the road brought them up about half a mile from the houses. Dean had been twitchy for the hike in—it was a nice, open field, and though he knew the vamps were all sleeping, the lack of cover made him nervous.

They decided to take the two smaller houses first. They knew from Jenny's layouts that the two smaller ones housed non-family staff, the large building in the middle was the offices and where they kept all the humans, and the big, plantation-style house was where the Forrest family was. The bigger house was likely to have more security, so if they could take out the two smaller ones, the big one could raise an alarm and no one would answer. The offices and holding area they'd save for last—it was unlikely anyone would be sleeping there, so they could sweep the offices quickly, then get Sam and get out.

The first house went off without a hitch. They counted eight vamps in all, passed out from a week of hard partying and possibly drunk, if how soundly they were sleeping was any indication. There were eleven in the next house—not as soundly asleep as the first group, and things got a little messy. They were able to take almost all of them down with dead man's blood-tipped arrows, but a couple of them were too fast, and Dean took a bite in the arm before they all went down.

"You good?" Bobby asked, chopping the head off the last one moaning on the floor.

"Fine," Dean replied, kicking away the head of the vamp that bit him. "Let's hit the big house."

"We should wrap that arm first," Bobby suggested.

"I'm fine, Bobby, let's get this done!"

"You'd say you were fine if your arm was layin' over there on the floor," Bobby grumbled. "But we should still wrap the bite. Don't want the folks in the big house smellin' that and wakin' up as soon as we get inside."

"Fine," Dean sighed. "Let's do it quick."

They counted eight more vamps in the big house, and they put up more of a fight. If the house hadn't been sleeping when they started, Dean didn't think they would have pulled it off. They were able to catch most of them by surprise—then Bobby got jumped and knocked down the stairs, and Dean got thrown into a china cabinet. He grabbed the closest sharp object as his attacker—a girl who didn't look more than twenty-five—jumped at him.

"Huh," he mused when he got to his feet. The closest sharp object had turned out to be a broken china serving platter, and had worked surprisingly well at decapitation.

He groaned, rubbing at his back as he made his way out the door. Bobby appeared at the bottom of the stairs, clutching his arm. "Y'alright? Bobby asked.

"Had a fight with a china cabinet. I'll live. You good?" He nodded at Bobby's arm.

"Yeah. Think I pulled something. We get 'em all?"

"I count eight dead bodies," Dean said, coming down the stairs. "If anyone else was here, I think we would've woken them up."

"Alright. Let's go find that brother of yours."

They made their way to the building in the middle. A quick sweep of the offices upstairs turned up empty. A large garage door led them to the holding area.

"What the hell?" Dean whispered. The room in front of them was vast, dark, and cool. Floor-to-ceiling bars fenced off sections of the room, and behind each wall, human shapes huddled on the floor. "There's got to be a hundred people in here."

"She did say it was a big business." Bobby shook his head. "Let's get to work." He made his way to the nearest cage and set about picking the lock. Dean moved to the next and started doing the same.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he scanned the cage for Sam. "Sammy?" he asked. The lock clicked and he swung the door open. No one inside moved. A confused head lifted to blink at him.

"What?" the woman asked.

"You guys are getting out of here," Dean said, and a few more heads perked up. "Come on, guys, up. If you can move, help someone who can't."

He turned away as the occupants of the cage began to rouse themselves, and moved on to the next one. In minutes, he and Bobby had unlocked all the cages and people were slowly moving themselves out. "He's not here," Dean said desperately. "Bobby, he's not here!"

He looked down when something tugged on his jacket to see a young girl staring up at him. Dark circles ringed her eyes and an ugly bite wound stood out on her neck. Dean swallowed hard. These sickos had been kidnapping and feeding on kids.

"You alright, kid?" he asked carefully.

"Are you Dean?" she asked, instead of answering the question.

"Yeah," he said, kneeling down to meet her eyes. "Yeah, I am. What's your name?"

"Yeju."

"Yeju, do you know Sam?"

She nodded. "He said you would come save us. He was right." She smiled "Does this mean I get to go home?"

"It sure does, sweetheart," he said with a smile. "But, hey, do you know where my brother is? I can't find him in here."

Yeju shook her head. "He's not in here. He's too expensive. They keep him in the High Security part."

"Okay. So he's alive?"

"Last time I saw him."

"Where's High Security?"

"Over there." She pointed to a large red door on the other side of the room. "There's no vampires in there," she added. "But the door is locked better than the one for this room. So they can't get out."

"Thank you," Dean said, giving the girl a warm smile. He stood, then paused. Bobby was gathering everyone together and explaining what was going on. "Do you know anybody here?" He hated to send the kid off by herself.

Yeju turned and looked at the crowd. "Linda always took care of me in the cage."

"Linda!" Dean called. A woman turned, looking cautiously at Dean. "Look out for Yeju, will you? Make sure she gets out of here okay?"

Linda nodded and held out her hand to the girl.

"Thank you for saving us," Yeju said sincerely, taking the woman's hand and leaving with her.

"Bobby," Dean said. "They said Sam and some other people are locked up in there." He nodded at the red door.

"You good to go in after 'em?" Bobby asked. "I'm gonna get these folks started down the main road. They're not in much shape to walk far, but I figure if we can get 'em started, we can call 911 to come meet 'em."

"I'm good," Dean assured him. "Get them out of here."

Bobby moved away, and Dean shook his head. Yeah, Jenny had explained the situation earlier, but he hadn't been able to wrap his head around it until he saw how big this thing was. The amount of people they had locked up here was staggering. He knew they grabbed people from all over the country, but the missing persons cases represented in this room had to be off the charts. How in the world had no hunters known this was going on?

Fortunately for his nerves, the 'better lock' Yeju had mentioned turned out to be a heavy-duty bolt. Impossible to open from the inside, true, but easy enough for him to slide free. This room was smaller than the first one. Instead of large cages, there were several smaller ones, each only holding one person. Dean scanned the line of cages, then his breath caught in his throat. "Sammy."

He rushed to the cage, dropping to his knees. Sam lay curled up on his side, half on a thin pallet, half on the floor, just too far in for Dean to reach and dead to the world. He was breathing, though. He was still breathing.

"Sam!" Dean called. Nothing. He growled and stood, searching the cage for a lock and coming up empty.

"Lock's over there." The man in the cage about four feet away from Sam was propped on his elbow, watching Dean curiously. He nodded towards a large box set against a pillar. "You, ah, just here for him, or…" He trailed off, looking down the row of cages pointedly.

"You're all getting' out of here, pal," Dean said, rising and moving to the box. He swung it open to reveal a row of numbered switches. He shrugged and started flipping them all up. A series of clangs over his shoulder told him cage doors were slamming up one after the other. He turned and saw people already starting to rise. "Head on out that way," he told them, pointing to the door. "There's a group walking towards the main road. If you can walk, grab someone who can't and help 'em out."

He returned to Sam's cage and knelt by his brother. Sam was still out, and closer to, he looked terrible. "Oh, Sammy," Dean breathed. He was pale and shivering. His neck and one of his arms were bandaged—bite marks, Dean guessed—and his feet were bare. Above the bandage on his neck and on both his wrists the skin was red and chafed, like he'd been restrained, and a hand print-shaped bruise ringed one of his biceps.

"Come on, man, get up." He grabbed Sam's shoulder and shook him. "Getting' you out of here, Sam, come on. Let me know you're in there."

Sam groaned, shifted, and blinked his eyes open heavily. "D'n?"

Dean grinned. "Yeah, Sam, it's me."

To his dismay, Sam's face fell. "Weren't s'posed t' catch you too," he said miserably.

"What? No, they didn't get me," Dean said.

Sam's eyes went to the bars. "But you're in a cage," he whispered.

"I'm—" Dean stopped. "Sam, I'm in your cage. I'm here to get you out of it."

Sam blinked. "Oh." His eyes rolled back and fluttered shut again.

"Hey, no, no, no! Sam? Sammy!"

Sam's eyes blinked open again. "Dean?" His hand stretched out until it bumped Dean's knee. "You're really here?" he breathed.

Dean smiled. "I'm really here, Sam."

Sam smiled. "Knew y'd come."

Dean's face fell. "I'm sorry it took me so long."

Sam waved an uncoordinated hand in dismissal. "Foun' me, didn't you? S'important part. Y'always find me."

Something warm purred happily in Dean's chest. "That's right, I do." He grabbed Sam's shoulders. "Ready to get out of here?"

"Hell, yeah," Sam groaned. "But get me up slow, or I'll throw up on you."

Dean chuckled. Carefully, he pulled Sam up into a sitting position. Sam closed his eyes and breathed heavily for a minute, and when he opened them, he looked a little clearer. "Standing?" Dean asked.

Sam drew in a deep breath, considering. "Okay."

Even with Dean holding on, he swayed alarmingly by the time he was vertical. Dean grabbed his arm and pulled it over his shoulder. "Lean in here, man. You just work the feet, I'll handle the rest. How much blood did they take, anyway?"

"S'prised I have any left," Sam groaned. "Got another machete?"

"Don't worry, man," Dean chuckled. "Bobby and I checked everywhere before we came in here. I think we got 'em all." He felt the tension drain out of Sam's body. "Besides, can you even lift a machete right now?"

"Could help 'f I needed to," Sam muttered.

"I'm sure you could," Dean assured him. "But let's just do the walking thing right now, okay?"

"Mmm."

By the time they got outside the building, the larger crowd had cleared the edge of the property—Dean could see them making their way towards the road via the front gate. He'd still have to get Sam across that field, though, if he wanted to get back to his baby. He sighed.

They were just coming to the edge of the last house when he heard Sam gasp and something slammed into his back. He felt Sam fall away, and then he was rolling across the dirt with a vampire. The man on top of him screeched and Dean kicked him away, rolling to his feet. Another one hit him from behind and he went down again, scrabbling for the crossbow he'd dropped. A head rolled past them as they struggled and they both paused to watch it. Then the vamp attacked Dean with a new ferocity, and his face was in the grass and her hair was falling into his eyes as she held him down, and he had to stop trying to grab the crossbow just so he could swing back with his arms and try to keep her off his neck.

With a shriek that was alarmingly close to his ear, she was yanked off of him with enough force to roll him off to the side. He pushed himself to his knees, saw he had landed right next to the crossbow, grabbed it and sprang to his feet, pointing his weapon in the direction of a blood-curdling scream.

Thankfully (and slightly surprisingly, considering the condition his brother was in), it wasn't Sam doing the screaming. It came from the vamp, most likely due to the leg that was no longer attached to her torso and had been lobbed back in Dean's general direction. She started to say something, but was cut off with another shriek when Sam swung the machete he must have pulled from Dean's belt as he was pushed away and her other leg joined the first.

"I'm sorry, what was that, sugar?" Sam asked the vamp, acid dripping from every word as he cupped a hand over his ear. "I didn't quite catch that."

Dean had been moving to come and help, but something in Sam's tone told him that wouldn't be welcomed. He stopped, but kept the crossbow up, just in case.

The vamp growled and spat at Sam, rolling to try to push herself up with her arms.

"You know, I'm pretty sure we talked about this," Sam said, planting his foot not-at-all gently on her chest to keep her in place. "You answer me when I talk to you," Sam hissed in a voice that sent shivers down Dean's spine and sounded a hell of a lot like their dad.

The vamp girl laughed, a dangerous glint in her eye. "So forceful, Sammy," she crooned. "I like that. I mean, you're still a dead man, but I like that."

The machete sliced through the air, and her left arm was suddenly a foot and half shorter. "It's Sam," Sam said coolly, once she was done screaming.

"You're dead!" she shrieked, her eyes wide and wild, single arm flailing against the dirt. "The rest of them will never stop hunting you!" Her eyes flickered to Dean. "You or your precious family! They're all dead!"

"You're right. They are all dead," Seam replied. "Oh. I meant your family. They're all dead," he clarified. He leaned in closer to her with a snarl. "And you can just go to hell," he spat. The machete flew down one more time and her head went rolling across the grass.

Sam straightened, breathing hard as he stared down at what was left of her body.

"Wow," Dean said, raising an eyebrow. "That, uh, that looked personal."

"Uh huh," Sam said, not looking up. His legs started to tremble, and then he yelled and brought the blade down again, slicing her torso in half. And then again and again, hacking up the arm and mincing the torso into smaller pieces.

Dean swooped over and grabbed him—carefully—from behind. "Whoa, Sammy, okay!" He was surprised Sam was still upright as bad as he was shaking. "I think you got her." Sam's arms faltered on the swing back down. "You got her," Dean repeated, and Sam's arms dropped to his sides and he sagged heavily into Dean as the adrenaline crashed hard.

Dean grimaced at the mess at their feet and pulled Sam away, conscious of the copious amounts of vampire blood that was, well, everywhere, and Sam's bare feet. "You good?" he asked.

Sam swallowed, nodded. "Yeah." He pushed away from Dean, staggered, and Dean grabbed him again.

"You sure?"

"I'm alive. She's not. I'm great," he snapped. Dean decided not to take that personally. Sam hesitated. "I, uh, I don't know if I can walk, though."

Dean smiled fondly. "I'm surprised you're conscious right now."

"I kind of am too," Sam admitted.

"Well, see if you can hold on a little longer, huh?" Dean advised, pulling Sam's arm over his shoulder and looping his arm around his brother's waist. "We gotta walk back to the car."

Sam grunted, and started moving his feet. Very slowly, they moved towards the open field.

"Dude," Dean started, waiting until Sam looked up at him. "That was pretty awesome," he beamed, pride tingeing his voice.

Sam grinned, too tired for much else.

They'd made it to the edge of the short grass when they were slammed into from behind. Sam fell away from him again, and even as Dean rolled to his feet, keeping hold of his weapon this time, he couldn't help demanding of the universe how in the hell this was fair.

It was another vamp girl, this one taller and older than the last one, but just as angry. She'd landed in a crouch, Sam in front of her, and she had one arm around his chest, holding his body up against hers. Sam, unfortunately, was out. The knock to the ground had proved too much on top of the blood loss and the adrenaline crash, and his head lolled against her shoulder. She hissed at Dean and leaned in closer to Sam as Dean raised the crossbow. He could still make the shot.

"Watch it, honey," she warned, sliding her hand back to grab Sam's fallen machete.

"I can kill you a lot faster than you can kill him," Dean replied. "Back off."

She grinned and swiped her hand along the machete, pulling the bleeding palm up next to Sam's face. "Who said anything about killing him?"

"Touch him and I'll kill you."

"I know. Why do you think I haven't done anything yet?"

"Then talk," Dean barked. He was not in the mood to bargain, but that blood so close to Sam's mouth turned his stomach.

"I want to walk," she said.

"You don't chase me, I don't chase you?" Dean guessed.

"Bingo."

"How do I know you won't come after him later?" Dean asked. Vampires could hold a grudge almost as well as John Winchester could.

"You don't," she said. "How do I know you won't track me down later?" She cocked a playful eyebrow.

"Guess you don't. My word for yours," Dean offered.

She considered. "Ooh, how I hate trusting a hunter."

"Feeling's mutual, sweetheart. We got a deal?"

She eyed the crossbow in his hands. "Think I'll just take a head start and take my chances," she smirked.

Almost faster than Dean could see her move, she pulled Sam upright, swiped her hand across his mouth and shoved him toward Dean. Dean dropped the crossbow and jumped forward without thinking to catch him. By the time he could look up, she was sprinting away. Swallowing down every big brother instinct that was screaming at him to make sure Sam was okay—which is what he was sure the vamp thought he would do—he surged forward and sprinted after her, scooping up the machete as he went. If she had turned him, they'd need her blood. If she had turned him, they'd need her blood. If she had turned him—the crossbow probably would have been faster than the machete, but sheer rage propelled him forward and he relished her gasp of surprise as he barreled into her and plowed her to the ground.

Her severed head still stared up at him in shock as he pushed himself up and shakily made his way back to Sam. "Please, please, please," he whispered. Maybe it hadn't worked, maybe it hadn't gotten in his mouth. He swallowed down a wave of nausea as he dropped to his knees next to his brother. Blood was smeared across the lower half of his face, covering his lips and staining his teeth. Dean pulled a bandana from his pocket and carefully wiped the blood away. Maybe he hadn't swallowed it. He was unconscious, right? How much swallowing would he be doing? Holding his breath, he reached out and carefully pried Sam's mouth open, prodding with a finger at his gum.

"No, no, no, no, no," he moaned. A sharp fang descended over Sam's canine tooth. "No. Sammy," Dean moaned. He grabbed Sam's shoulders and pulled him up into his lap. Sam twitched and let out a moan, and Dean's eyes watered. It was already starting. His insides were already starting to change and twist, and Dean pulled his little brother closer and cried.

"Son?"

He gasped at a touch on his shoulder and looked up to see Bobby's concerned face staring down at them. "They got him, Bobby, they—they got him. She was bleeding and I—I didn't see her before—I thought they were all—but she…" Tears slipped down his cheeks as he blinked up at Bobby. "She turned him," he whispered.

Bobby looked up, and then back down at Dean. "That her over there?" He walked away when Dean nodded, and a few minutes later he was back. "He'll be alright, Dean," Bobby assured him. "Got her blood right here." He held up a water bottle now full of dark red blood. We can get everything else we need easy enough. We'll set him right."

Dean blinked and swiped at his eyes. "Yeah," he said gruffly, suddenly embarrassed. Of course he'd be fine. That's why he'd gone after her, wasn't it? They had a cure. Sam would be fine. "Sorry."

Bobby smiled sadly. "Don't you worry about it, boy. You want me to go get your car so we don't have to drag your brother across this field?"

"You're gonna drive my baby in that?" Dean grumbled like he knew he was supposed to. Sam would be fine.

"Back in a few," Bobby said, patting him on the shoulder. "Sit tight."

After Bobby had brought the car and Dean carefully loaded Sam into the backseat, they discussed their next move and decided skipping town was best. They had just slaughtered one of the county's leading families, after all. That was going to raise a hell of an investigation, no matter what all the traumatized people who'd be showing up in the hospital soon said. And, as long as Sam didn't drink any human blood, the cure would keep. Better to work the cure some place they could be left alone.

Of course, driving all the way back to Sioux Falls was out of the question, and Bobby slapped Dean across the back of the head for thinking that he was going to suggest that. They headed down the interstate for half an hour, pulled into a little one-horse town and booked two rooms at a motel with a name like 'Peach Pit' or some crap like that.

So far, Sam drinking human blood hadn't been an issue because he hadn't woken up yet. Dean didn't think he'd hit his head when the vamp knocked him down, but considering how low he was on essential fluids, he told himself this was to be expected. After stripping Sam down to his boxers and dropping the bloodstained clothes in a pile to be burned, he and Bobby settled Sam on top of one of the beds and wiped him clean of all the blood they could find. They then moved to the kitchen, and Dean tried not to hear Sam's occasional little whimpers while he concentrated on mixing the antidote.

"Ugh," he grunted, grimacing at the final concoction. "Did I really drink this crap?" It looked disgusting and smelled worse. He could only assume the taste followed suit.

"If it helps," Bobby said, studying the notes in the journal. "He's only gotta drink…" He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and squinted at it as he filled it. "That much." The glass was three-quarters full, though there was twice as much again left in the bowl.

"Awesome."

"You want me to help, or should I…?"

"I got this," Dean said. As much as he appreciated Bobby, he didn't want anyone else there. Taking care of Sam was his job. Sam had gotten kidnapped and hurt and turned on Dean's watch, and he was going to fix it. He didn't remember all the details of his fun time with the cure, but it had sucked out loud, and he didn't think Sam would want more people watching than necessary. Even if he was unconscious.

"Okay." Bobby gave him a small smile and a clap on the shoulder, understanding in his eyes. "I'll be next door in my room. Holler if you need me."

After Bobby left, Dean pondered the room for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to set this up. He'd already washed the blood from his hands and arms, but he took a moment to add his bloody shirt and jeans to the burn pile as well and change into clean ones. "D'n?" Sam moaned.

"Sammy?" Dean rushed to the side of the bed. Sam had rolled onto his side and was half-curled into a ball against the pain in his gut.

"D'n, wha's…" Sam blinked his eyes, then slammed them shut again with a pained hiss. "S'goin' on? Don' feel good."

"I know, Sammy," Dean said, running a hand through his brother's hair. He tried not to think about the bloodshot sliver he'd seen of Sam's half-open eyes.

"Nnnh," Sam moaned, curling in on himself tighter and clutching his stomach. "D'n, s'mthin's…somethin's wrong. S'happening to me?"

"You're sick, Sammy," Dean said softly, eyes watering at the pleading voice. "But you're gonna be okay, I promise."

"S'too loud," Sam mumbled, pulling one hand away from his stomach to try to cover his ears. He groaned again as a spasm of pain ripped through his body.

"Hang in there, kiddo," Dean whispered. "One more minute." He tore himself away from his brother and got back to work. In seconds, he had cleared one corner of the room. He pulled in a trash can and set the glass of nasty down beside it. He remembered being left on the floor when he changed back, and while he didn't hold it against his re-souled little brother, he also remembered lots of thrashing, and didn't want Sam going off the side of the bed and hurting himself more. He also remembered lots of puking—hence, the trash can.

"Alright, Sammy, here we go." Dean pulled him up into a sitting position and Sam moaned, but he seemed aware enough that Dean was trying to move him that he tried to help. Dean half-dragged, half-carried him to the wall and settled down into the corner with his knees up, positioning Sam between them with his back against Dean's chest. Sam's head flopped back into the crook in his neck as Dean shifted and pulled the trash can closer.

Sam's face rolled into Dean's neck, and Sam suddenly stiffened and let out a gasp of pain. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sammy, easy!" Dean barked, pushing Sam forward in alarm as a full set of fangs descended from his brother's mouth. Sam moaned and choked like he was having trouble breathing around the new teeth. "Easy, Sammy, easy, deep breaths," Dean soothed, holding his brother's head away from him. "Deep breaths, bring it on down, man, come on."

Sam's breath hitched a few times like he was trying to remember how to breathe, then his breathing calmed and the fangs receded into his gums and he collapsed against Dean's shoulder. "D'n?" Sam whispered, sounding small and scared. "S'happening?"

"Sh, sh, you're okay," Dean soothed.

" 'm so thirsty," Sam rasped.

Dean swallowed hard. "I know." What had he been thinking?! He remembered that heightened sensitivity to sound, and what with Sam's new body craving sustenance, that vein throbbing in his throat an inch away from Sam's face would have been like a siren's call. Stupid, stupid, stupid! All it would have taken was one little drop, and the cure wouldn't have done Sam a bit of good.

"I'm gonna fix it, Sammy, okay? It's all gonna be okay." He reached for the glass and brought it to Sam's lips. "Here you go, drink this."

Sam leaned forward eagerly at the promise of a drink and took a long sip from the glass. He coughed and sputtered and turned his head away with a groan.

"Hey, I know it's gross, man, but you gotta drink it. You're sick, but this'll make everything better, and then I'll get you a real drink, huh? But you gotta drink all of this first. Can you do that for me?"

Sam scrunched up his face, but leaned forward and took another sip from the glass.

"That's my boy," Dean said proudly, patting Sam's chest. He held the glass steady, and Sam slowly but persistently drained the vile-smelling liquid. He moaned and leaned back against Dean's chest when he was done.

"Alright, alright, here we go," Dean said, setting the glass as far to the side as he could. "Here we go." He was a little hazy on the timing of this whole thing—he'd had other things on his mind when he'd been going through it. Apparently, things got going pretty quick—Sam suddenly lurched forward, and Dean's arm, honed by years of big brother experience, yanked the trash can over just in time for Sam to hurl spectacularly.

Dean's nose wrinkled at the revolting black liquid gushing out of his brother's mouth. He hadn't thought it was possible, but it smelled even worse coming out than going in. It went on longer than he remembered, and in a volume that seemed greater than should have been physically possible, and in the light from the kitchen, it looked kind of sticky, like it was pulling the vampire disease out with it, and he really shouldn't be looking at it that closely.

When he was finally done, and the trash can was alarmingly full, Sam slumped back against Dean with a groan. Before Dean could open his mouth to say anything, Sam's back arched and he cried out. Oh, yeah, he remembered this part too, and all he could do was hold on to his brother as Sam yelled and writhed in pain. Dean seemed to remember it taking about thirty years when it happened to him, so he was a little surprised when, about three minutes later, Sam's pained cries turned into little whimpers, and the thrashing toned down to violent shaking. Another few minutes, and the whimpers were heavy breathing and the shakes calmed down into shivering. Two minutes later, so abruptly that Dean thought he'd stopped breathing, Sam went absolutely quiet and still, slumping bonelessly against Dean.

"Sammy?" Dean patted his cheek. "Sammy?" He jostled his head and tilted it up to look at him, but Sam's eyes were closed. Then he felt the gentle rise and fall of Sam's breathing against his chest and let out a deep breath. "You're okay." He breathed. He let his head fall back against the wall for minute. Everything was fine. It was fine. It had to be fine. But he had to…No, he had to check.

He shifted Sam's head down his arm a little, tilting his face back towards him. With gentle hands, he pried his lips apart, held his breath, and hesitantly prodded at Sam's gum again. When nothing happened, he poked a little harder, and a tiny spot of blood welled up in the cut a fang had recently made, but nothing came out. No fangs. He let out a sigh of relief and slumped back against the wall, nervous laughter bubbling up his throat even as his eyes watered.

The door swung open cautiously, and an old trucker hat preceded Bobby's face into the room. "How's it comin'?" he asked softly. "I didn't hear anything for a while, so I thought maybe it was done."

"It worked, Bobby," Dean said, his voice a little shaky, but he didn't care. "It worked! He's okay." Bobby beamed, and Dean turned to smile down at Sam. "You're okay," he whispered, brushing a lock of hair out of his face.

"Want some help getting him up on the bed, or you gonna stay down there a while?" Bobby asked.

"No, let's get him up," Dean said, shifting to support Sam as Bobby pulled him up. "He needs to be on a bed, and I need to get rid of that crap before it makes me throw up," he said with a nod at the trashcan.

"Wondered what that smell was," Bobby said conversationally.

"You got any I.V. stuff in your first aid kit?" Dean asked as they pulled back the blankets and laid Sam out in the bed. "He's running awfully low."

"Mm," Bobby mused. "We could rig up somethin', but…"

"What?"

"You sure that's a good idea?"

"Bobby, even before the fight with the vamp, he could barely stand up! Of course he needs more blood!"

"I know, I know, I just…"

"What?" Dean demanded.

"Well, so the cure worked, but are we sure it's done?"

"What do you mean? There's no fangs, Bobby. I checked."

"Yeah, but, we don't really know the mechanics of this thing. He's de-vamped as far as we can tell, but what if it takes a little longer internally? I'm probably wrong, but I'd hate to stick blood in him and have that throw the cure off somehow."

A weight settled in Dean's stomach. "I hadn't thought of that."

"It may not be anything…"

"No, you're right, that's not a chance I want to take." Dean swallowed down horror at the thought. "We'll just…we'll just give him lots of fluids, and he can build it back up on his own." He hated the thought of Sam feeling like crap longer than he had to, but if there was the chance he could turn again…

Bobby settled a hand on his shoulder. "He'll be alright. You made sure of that." He sighed and looked down at Sam's sleeping form. "Hard part's over."

The sun was going down before Sam showed any signs of stirring. He groaned and rolled onto his side, and Dean leapt from his bed to kneel next to Sam's.

"Sammy?" he asked.

"D'n?" Sam croaked. He blinked heavy eyes open, and for just a second, Dean's heart sank at the sight of his crimson eyeballs. That part did take more time to go away. Maybe Bobby had been right about the inside taking a little longer.

"How you feeling, Sammy?" he asked carefully, reaching up a hand to brush Sam's dirty hair out of his face.

"Crap," Sam said eloquently.

"Yeah, I'll buy that," Dean said with a small smile. "You thirsty?" Sam nodded, and Dean moved away to the kitchen. "Figured you would be. Got a lot of fluids to build back up. Here." He came back and held out a bottle of orange juice, moving to twist off the cap. To his surprise, Sam's eyes widened in horror, and he shot up and scrabbled back on the bed towards the headboard, lost his balance, and fell off onto the floor on the other side.

"Sam! You okay? What the hell, man?" He rounded the bed and Sam pushed himself back against the wall.

"No!" Sam snapped.

Dean followed Sam's red eyes back to his hand with the bottle in it. "No OJ?" Sam shook his head. "Okay," Dean said, backing up to put the bottle on the table. "It's gone," he said, holding up his hands as he approached Sam. "It's gone. We good?" Sam nodded and started to un-tense as Dean crouched down in front of him. "You okay?"

Sam nodded again. "Yeah. Yeah. Sorry."

"Okay. What the hell was that?"

"Um," Sam blushed. "No, it's just…I'm sorry."

"Sammy, it's okay." Dean patted his knee. "I think at this point, you're entitled to freak out. I just want to know what's wrong so I don't do it again. Obviously orange juice is off the menu."

Sam reddened further. "It's just, um, after they would feed on me, back in the cage, when Tessa was taking care of me—"

"Excuse me?" Dean interrupted.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Shut up. I'm not getting all Stockholm Syndrome-y, or anything. I just meant, she would clean out the bites so they didn't get infected and crap. Anyway, she made a big thing about re-hydrating, and she always had orange juice…"

"It does help with that," Dean said, after Sam seemed stuck on how to continue.

"Yeah, but…I always felt like crap after they'd feed on me. Different than just blood loss, you know? And I finally figured out they were dosing the juice with something. Keep me from acting up, or whatever."

"Right." Dean nodded. Made sense. It was sick, but it made sense.

"Not that I think you would—I just panicked," Sam said quickly. "I'm sorry." He hung his head.

"Dude, it's fine," Dean said, reaching out to squeeze the back of his neck. "Don't even worry about it. We need to do something about that blood sugar, though. How about a soda?"

Sam nodded.

"Okay. Soda, then water, then maybe some soup."

"Dean, I think if I eat anything, I'm gonna throw up."

"Gatorade, maybe. We'll take it slow. C'mon." He grabbed Sam's arms and pulled him back up onto the bed, propping him up on the headboard.

It took a while, but Sam finished the soda and the bottle of water before he started drifting off. "Soup next time," Dean decided, tucking Sam back under the blanket as he shivered.

'Next time' turned out to be the next morning. Sam slept through the night while Dean dozed, an ear out for any sign of distress. He was contemplating leaving Sam a note and going for coffee when the door swung open. Bobby came in, bearing a tray of coffee and donuts. "Bobby, I think I love you," Dean declared, rising and grabbing a cup.

"How's he doing?" Bobby asked, setting the tray down on the table.

"He woke up around eight last night and I got him to drink something. Dead to the world since then. Bobby, you know those freaks were drugging him?" He wondered how much of that was still in his system.

"Hmm," Bobby said. "Y'know, I think I heard something like that before."

"Huh?"

"Some old hunter I worked with a couple times. Ran into some vamps keeping people for snacking on—hell of a lot smaller scale than this. Said they roofied the folks to keep 'em from running off. Had to use roofies, cause everything else changed the way the blood tasted."

"Man, these guys get better every time I hear about them," Dean grimaced. He inhaled a donut. Boston Crème. Bobby knew him too well. "Any trouble with the cops we should be worried about?" He'd caught the end of a report on TV about the 'Forrest Ranch Massacre'. Sam was still down for the count, but they could move him now and head back to Sioux Falls if they needed to.

Bobby shook his head. "All quiet. I mighta grabbed a badge and swung back into town before grabbing breakfast. They're still trying to figure out what happened, and between the mess we left and everything they're hearing from the people at the hospital, nobody's got any idea what's going on."

Dean was about to respond when Sam started moving. He'd gotten himself tangled in the blanket somehow and was having trouble getting it off. Dean crossed the room to free his weakly struggling limbs, then pulled him into a sitting position when he tried to push himself up. "You okay?"

Sam grunted an affirmative.

"Good to see you back in one piece, kid," Bobby said.

Sam looked up. "Hey, Bobby. Thanks." He managed a grateful smile, that little sappy one that would have had Dean rolling his eyes if it had been anyone else.

"You hungry?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head quickly, wrapping one arm around his stomach.

"We could try some Gatorade?" Dean asked.

"Sure. Gotta pee first," Sam replied. Dean helped him to his feet and across the room before Sam assured him he could handle the next part by himself.

"I think you were right about the cure taking longer internally," Dean told Bobby. Sam's eyes were only marginally less bloody today. And if his insides were still rearranging themselves, that probably wasn't helping with the nausea.

Bobby shrugged. "Who knows? It may just be that they had him so run down. You bounced back pretty quick after it happened to you, but there wasn't much else wrong with you." He took a sip of his coffee. "Won't do any good, but I'm gonna tell you not to worry anyway. He'll be alright."

"Dean!"

Dean spun around and flung the bathroom door open. He'd told Sam to call him if he needed help, but that hoarse, panicked shout was not what he'd been expecting. "Sam! What's wrong?"

Sam was standing in front of the sink, hands clenched in a white-knuckled grip on either side of the basin. He was staring at the mirror in horror. "Dean!" He turned to look at his brother. "What—" His bloodshot eyes swung back to stare at their own reflection. "What the hell is wrong with me?!"

"Sammy, it's okay," Dean began. It hadn't occurred to him that Sam didn't know what had happened to him. He cursed himself internally. He'd been unconscious for pretty much all of it. Of course he didn't know.

"No!" Sam insisted. "Look at my eyes, Dean!" His arms were starting to shake badly, and Dean grabbed him before he could face-plant into the sink. "What's happening to me?"

"Okay, first of all, let's sit down before you fall down, okay?" Dean knocked the toilet lid down with his foot and steered Sam to sit on top of it.

"Dean…"

"Second of all, I need you to breathe, man," Dean said. He waited until Sam managed a few shaky inhales. "Okay." He crouched down so that he was on eye-level with his brother. "I wanna start by saying that you're fine now. Alright? You are okay."

"Now?" Sam asked nervously. "Dean, you're scaring me, man, what happened?"

Dean sighed and rubbed a hand across his eyes. "What's the last thing you remember from the vamp farm?"

"Um," Sam started uncertainly. "I remember you. You got me out of the cage, and we…did we fight some vampires?"

"Yeah," Dean affirmed. "You took down two of them, the last one with extreme prejudice."

A smirk tugged at one corner of Sam's mouth. "She had that coming."

"Yeah, I'll bet," Dean agreed. He was willing to bet good money that was Tessa. What exactly Sam's beef was with her, he'd find out later. "Anyway, um, you took them down, but there was this third one who popped out of nowhere and knocked us both down. She knocked you out. I—" He looked down, shaking his head. "I wasn't fast enough. She was trying to buy herself time to escape and she," he swallowed. "She turned you, Sam." He looked back up, meeting his brother's eyes as they widened in horror.

"She turned me?" he repeated quietly.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "But we have a cure, remember? Old Campbell family recipe? We got you out of there, got back here and got you fixed up. You're fine, okay? You're you again. No fangs or anything. The eyes just take a while to clear up."

"I was a vampire?" Sam whispered. He looked like he was going to throw up again.

"Yeah." Dean reached out and grabbed his arms. "For, like, two hours, Sammy. You didn't hurt anybody," he assured him. "You were unconscious almost the whole time."

"Almost?" Sam asked warily.

"I mean, you threw up and you growled at me a little," Dean said. "Not exactly a terrifying undead bloodsucker, you know?" He gave an encouraging smile, and Sam kind of smiled back. "We got you fixed up before anything bad could happen, and you're okay, Sam, I promise."

Sam shook his head slowly. "I can't—" He swallowed. "I need to take a shower."

"What, now? I mean, yeah, you smell awful, but Sammy, you can hardly stand up—"

"Then I'll sit in the tub, Dean!" Sam snapped. "I need—" He swallowed again, took a breath. "I need to be clean. Please." And creepy, bloodshot, recently-vamped or not, the puppy-dog eyes still worked.

"Okay," Dean agreed. "Okay." Sam nodded, and Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "You need help?"

"I got it," Sam assured him.

Dean wasn't convinced, but he stood up. "Call me if you need anything."

"I will," Sam said. Dean cocked a suspicious eyebrow. "I promise," Sam added with a small smile.

Dean nodded and left the room, leaving the door cracked behind him.

"He okay?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah." Dean ran a hand through his hair. "He kinda missed the whole vampire thing, which is ironic, considering he's the one it happened to."

Bobby snorted. "He was unconscious, you idjit, how much did you expect him to remember?"

Dean shook his head and moved to start stripping the sheets off Sam's bed. He didn't think Sam had showered for a while before they found him, and after having been in bed for a day and a half—and all the post-cure sweating and lingering funk of puking—the sheets smelled almost as bad as he did. There was a clean pair in the closet in the corner, and he finished before he heard the water go off in the bathroom.

After the water had been off for a while, he heard a tentative, "Dean?"

He poked his head into the bathroom. The shower curtain was still closed. "You alright, Sammy?"

There was a pause. "I don't think I can get up," Sam admitted.

Dean chuckled. "Okay. Need a towel?"

"Yeah."

He grabbed one and tossed it over the top of the shower curtain, then headed out into the room to grab a pair of boxers and sweatpants from his duffel. "You decent?" he asked when he came back in.

Sam tugged the shower curtain aside in response, and Dean really did try not to laugh. He was sitting on the floor of the tub, towel wrapped around his waist and water dripping from his hair, looking like a sad, wet puppy. It was kind of adorable.

"Shut up," Sam said.

Dean grabbed him under the arms and pulled him up to sit on the side of the tub. He grabbed his feet and pulled them around so they were on the floor. Sam kept one hand on Dean's shoulder and one on the towel. Dean grabbed a second towel and dried off the dripping hair and trails of water running down his shoulders. He grabbed the boxers and poked Sam's feet through them, working them up to his knees. He did the same with the sweatpants. "You pull those up if I get you vertical, or you want me to do it?" He didn't mind, but if keeping his dignity was an option, he'd let Sam have it.

"Get me up," Sam replied, and Dean pulled him up slowly. It took a little while, but Sam got the pants up of his own accord. "Thanks," he said, leaning into Dean's shoulder and dropping the towel.

"How about you get in bed before passing out, huh?" Dean asked.

"S'far," Sam complained.

"Yeah. Think how much farther it would be for me if I had to carry you," Dean pointed out.

Sam huffed a soft laugh, then started shuffling his feet. Dean did most of the work, but Sam kept himself mostly vertical, which was really all Dean could ask for at this point. They made it to the bed and Sam collapsed with a happy sigh. He was out before Dean swung his feet up off the floor.

"Now that he's all good, I think it's your turn," Bobby said.

"Huh?" Dean replied.

"Ain't exactly a diplomatic way to say it," Bobby said, looking up from his newspaper. "But you're no bed of roses yourself." He took another sip of coffee. "'Cept maybe a freshly fertilized one."

"Hey!"

"I ain't ridin' back home with you smelling like that. Sam and I can survive out here on our own while you get cleaned up." He returned his attention to the paper.

"Yeah, yeah. But you know we're not leaving today, right?" Dean pointed out, digging through his duffel bag for something clean.

"Doesn't mean I have to keep smelling you 'til tomorrow," Bobby replied, not looking up.

Dean growled and stalked into the bathroom, and Bobby chuckled to himself and took another sip of coffee.