***Sam***
"Dad, I just… His shoulder hasn't been right for over a month. He hasn't slept in two days. How hard are you going to push him?"
He'd gone longer without sleep, it's true, but the shoulder injury would make him vulnerable, and Sam wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of sending his wounded brother in to play bait.
If Bobby were here, he'd back me up…
"Are you volunteering to tell their families that Dean couldn't pitch in because his 'shoulder hurt and he needed a nap?' Or are you gonna do as I say for once?"
John was stuffing his clothing into a canvas duffel on the motel bed while the subject of their discussion was out grabbing take out from the chinese joint they'd passed on the way into town.
They'd been tracking the nest for days.
Sam wanted, begged, to play decoy. He'd tried reasoning with his father, but it was like talking to a brick wall. John insisted Dean play bait because Sam's stitches from the last job might tear if he had to run quickly in a clinch moment: A black dog had gouged a nasty furrow in the meat of Sam's thigh, and while it was close to healed, it wasn't to a point yet where he could safely sprint from harm's way.
The problem was, while Sam trusted Dean explicitly to save his hide, their father wasn't interested in the logical approach. Sam would sit behind, and watch his family go to war with a bunch of fangs because he was ten miles of useless these days.
He scuffed the edge of the table with his boot and scowled. Bullshit, is what this was. Dean needed him and he knew it. The shoulder had been bothering him for almost four weeks, ever since it'd gotten pulled out of joint by a shifter in Tomah. No amount of explaining would deter his father's insistence on using Dean for bait, though. Not for lack of trying.
There was a familiar mechanical growl outside, a car door opened and shut, then silence, then footsteps and a turned key ratcheting in the handle. Dean kicked the door shut behind him and put the chinese boxes on the table, tossing a pair of chopsticks to Sam.
He seemed to notice the tension in the room, and he stopped, looking between his brother and his father with a sigh of resignation.
"What now? You two couldn't decide which knives to gut each other with while I was gone?"
John shot his son a look, then slowly sat at the table.
"Dean, your shoulder still hurting?" he asked.
Sam watched as his brother lied smoothly, hiding a wince no one but Sam would notice as he demonstrated a full rotation of the joint. It cracked.
"Nah, it's loud, but it doesn't hurt so much anymore. I'm good."
"Glad to hear it," John said, addressing Dean but staring straight at Sam, "because I'm gonna need you to help me with the job tomorrow. Think you can do that?"
Dean nodded, lo mein dangling from mouth to the box.
Chewing, he said, "I'm ready, no problem."
"Good. Just before sun-up, we'll head out. Bobby's gonna meet us there. Now you both finish up here and clean your guns, got it? Then get some rest."
"Yes sir."
Prickling with irritation at his older brother's routine response to their father's commands, Sam felt that exhausting mix of exasperation and fear that was now so familiar to his family's line of work. He wondered, like always, if this would be the last job he'd see his brother and father alive. Later, he'd realize he'd been half right.
Dean was still bait, but at least Sam got to go with as long as he promised to stay in the car. It was when he was dragged out of the impala that he started to realize how horribly wrong the hunt had gone.
Through blurry eyes, he watched as his father dashed helplessly behind him, arm outstretched, yelling his name… and then Dean's. Dean… were both of them ambushed? Sam craned his neck, trying to see around him before a black hood was thrown over his head and a sharp crack to his skull with the butt-end of a knife rendered him unconscious.
***Dean***
Sam is trapped in a cage and I'm strapped to a table. They've been feeding on me for the past two hours, and to be honest, I wish they'd just finish the job, except then Sam would be next, and I can't let that happen.
They want me to turn.
Luther was Kate's sire and apparently they're pretty pissed at me for killing the bastard. From what dad's told me, most vampires typically turn hunters to make them pay for killing one of their own. I know Sam was hoping that I wouldn't be the bait for the case, but Sammy... God, it's like for all those brains of his, he still doesn't understand how these things think. Maybe that's a good thing...
I had to play bait. There was no other way around it. Dad's opinions aside, I was the one who ganked Luther. It would make sense that I'd be the natural target for their next attack. I had thought, and I guess this was my own shortsightedness, that this would mean my little brother would be safe. Now, in the bare chill of the room and surrounded by the undead, I'm kicking myself for believing I'd have that kind of luck. No Winchester ever gets out of a scrape without a little bloodshed, it seems. Let's hope mine is the only blood being shed.
They got the drop on me after Sam was caught, and now one of Kate's little bitches is fixed on my throat like a goddamn leech and I feel my extremities slowly freezing. The cold creeps up my arms, my legs, and waves of pain radiate from the tips of my fingers to my shuddering heart. I realize I'm about to die... A surreptitious glance tells me Sammy is already looking for a way to pick the lock on the cage. Buy time, I remind myself. You don't have to survive. You just have to distract them until your dad or Bobby finds you. They're the recon, you're the bait, so you better make it good...
Kate leans over me, starts to speak in a soft hiss.
Her breath reeks of iron and rot, and I nearly gag. They've been plying me with threats and promises of power if I'd let them turn me for over an hour, now. Jesus, can't a person die in peace around here? Doesn't seem so, since Kate's voice is a breeze in the shell of my ear:
"If you don't drink, we will kill him, slowly, before we finally bring him across.
If you do drink, we might consider letting him go...Your choice."
Bartering, now? This was new... This was possible leverage. I suck in a breath and watch the vamp behind Sam's cage give me a knowing nod, and he gestures subtly to his left hand.
He's holding a meat hook.
There's a sudden release of pressure at my throat and the bitch smiles, wiping her mouth in satisfaction. My whole body aches. Tired as I am, I hope they aren't bluffing this time. Even if they were, I'm not certain how much longer I can hold out. Bait or not, the blood loss is making me dizzy. Kate's brow furrows with impatience, and she motions to the vamp by the cage.
"He's refusing. Start on the brother."
"Stop!" My voice is weaker than I thought it would be... I hear it breaking as I pant for a reprieve. "Stop, not yet..."
"Change your mind, gorgeous?" She raises a brow and holds a waiting hand out to her thug sidekick by the cage. He stalls his hand, and Sam is shaking in the opposite corner, unable to hide, defenseless.
"Okay," I whisper.
"What was that?"
I clear my throat and groan. "Just.. do it. But leave him alone. You agree not to hurt him, I'll turn."
"Dean, no! What are you saying?" My brother's panic filters into my brain but the bloodloss warps it, and I push the fear away. I'm tired. Ready, in fact. If I gotta die somehow, let it be by saving him. Doing my real job: Protecting Sam.
"Deal's a deal," I reminder her, "Don't hurt him, let him go..."
Kate shakes her head, tsk's a few times. "Not quite, Dean. No honor among thieves, and all that. You first."
I shake my head. "No dice, let me see him walk outta here unharmed, and then do what you want to me."
A harsh bark of laughter. "You really think you're in a position to be making deals right now? Try to get off the table, Dean. Just try. You're short a few pints and you're wounded. There's no way you're breaking those ties. So I guess you'll have to trust that we're giving you fair play, hmm? It's either that, or Sammy boy over there gets a few new piercings to go with that hipster hairdo."
"Hey," I snarl, mustering as much threat as possible, "Nobody insults my kid brother's hair but me, and you sure as hell can't call him Sammy."
"The clock's still running, Winchester," she says, far too calm for my liking. I can feel my heart pounding, possibly for the last few times... "What'll it be? You gonna come to the dark side and save your 'kid brother', or are you gonna trade his life for yours?"
I stare at Sam, and beg silently for him to forgive me.
"Do it," I say.
I can't hear Sam's scream over the dawning darkness as my remaining blood is nearly drained. I'm almost grateful for it.
When Kate's bleeding wrist is shoved against my mouth, I shut my eyes. I'm sorry, Sammy.
It doesn't taste as bad as I thought it would. At first it's cold, thick, revolting- but after a moment, something changes and it becomes… sweet. My stomach clenches and for a moment I think I'm gonna hurl, until I realize- It isn't nausea, it's hunger.
I gag, choking on the blood, but by now I've swallowed enough for the change to take root and Kate laughs.
"You're an idiot, Dean. Just so we're clear? We never wanted one of you to join us. You killed Luther; it's only fair to kill one of you. Except, true to our word, we won't be the ones to do it. That's where you come in." Voices, filtering in and out. I hear, take him to the cage, and I begin to thrash.
Wait- Wait-
My heart stutters, stops, and my lungs collapse. I'm screaming without making a sound.
I have a moment of life left. Just long enough to realize what they've done. What I might do.
They drag me to the cage. They toss me in. Sam is in shock and I can't breathe… I can't breathe…
No- NO- This wasn't supposed to happen- Sammy, God, Sammy, get away from me- Kill me-
KILL ME-
He looks at me, shaking his head. He backs away, but his eyes…
"Dean?"
God, Sammy, I'm so sorry…
***Sam***
My brother is dead. For now.
The room keeps weaving back and forth until I realize it's me, rocking, like a scared kid.
I shudder, and sit straight.
He thrashed, clawed at his skin, screamed- I don't know if he even knew he was doing it.
I hope he was gone by then, I can't imagine what the change would be like.
He's been still for hours now.
I'm starting to feel something I've never felt before.
Terror.
Sheer terror at being caged with him, knowing I might not be able to kill him before he kills me.
Not because of his reflexes. Not because he'll wake up starving.
Not even because I know he can now outrun, overpower and feed on me.
Not even because he could turn me.
I'm afraid I won't be able to kill him because killing Dean means killing the only person in the world who really gives a shit about me.
My own brother.
I can't kill my own brother.
They tossed a knife in with us, and I'm clutching it so tightly I can't feel my fingers anymore.
Dean groans.
I flinch.
***DEAN***
My body is on fire.
My brain is scrambled.
Aside from this… silence. No breath. No pulse. The quiet jars me to full consciousness.
I open my eyes.
Sam is collapsed shivering against the wall, holding that knife but looking way too freaked out to use it.
I try to speak and the stillness of my chest reminds me that I need to breathe to talk to Sam. I inhale, unnaturally sucking air into otherwise useless lungs.
"Sammy?" My voice is rough. Sore. I've been screaming.
He flinches back when I move to sit up.
I realize I'm cold. Then, with a sliver of fear, I notice something else: I'm beginning to feel hungry.
"Sammy, listen to me. It's… It's okay. You can do it."
I want him to. God, I want him to. Before this gets any worse.
Sam shakes his head. "I can't, Dean. I won't do it."
"Sam, please."
Sam straightens a bit and seems to collect himself. I begin to relax. Good boy. Sam's no dummy, and I always knew I could trust him to do the right thing.
Except he doesn't.
"I'm not going to kill you."
Sam starts to re-examine the cage structure, clearly looking for any weaknesses they may have missed the first few days of captivity.
No, this is not part of the plan. Come on, Sammy, don't wuss out on me now. Not now.
"Sam, we're not fucking playing around. You saw what happened. You know what I'm turning into, now do it."
"No."
"Sam—"
There's a scream from the hall. Shots fired. It's a good sign, for Sam at least. If the cavalry is coming in, then he'll be safe. But as it stands, I'm rapidly turning into the most dangerous thing in the room.
"Sam, you have to! Sam—"
He runs to the bars and calls out for Bobby. My urgency is tempered by the knowledge that Sam is safe.
He's safe. Bobby will come in guns-a-blazing like always and Sam will go free. Only one loose end.
"Sam—"
Bobby runs in with the keys, but not before a bit of shrapnel leaves a shallow, bloody trough in Sam's shoulder.
My vision blurs and I try not to inhale, but can't help it. God, it smells like… I can't describe…A bolt of pain barrels through me and knocks the forgotten breath out of my lungs. My stomach cramps with need.
Ohgodohgodohgod-
I sink to all fours. Fuck- fuck- Get him out now- get Sam out-
I lock my teeth together and groan.
Bobby runs to the cage, pace slowing as only one of the men inside is standing- The other is shuddering on the ground, doubled over. Something is wrong with Dean.
Sam is shouting, but the words are indistinct and Bobby realizes one of the boys he'd loved as a father would love his own sons, is crippled with pain.
Bobby takes the stolen keys from his pocket and unlocks the cage door.
He is shocked when Sam dashes out and slams the bars closed behind him, panting with exertion.
His brother is still locked in the cage.
Dean cries out and twists on the floor, cradling his midsection, sweat lacquered on his shoulders.
Sam watches with caution, pity. Even grief.
Something is very, very wrong.
"Sam, what happened?"
Sam doesn't look at Bobby. He doesn't take his eyes from his brother.
Dean is shaking, groaning through clenched teeth.
"Dean…" Sam takes a deep breath, "They turned him…"
Bobby drops his gun to the floor with a clatter, curses under his breath and runs a hand through his hair before putting his baseball cap back in place.
"Your call, son," he says quietly. "What do we do?"
Sam doesn't have a chance to answer before Dean's eyes open to murderous slits.
"You f-fucking kill me! You fucking behead me and kill me. Do it."
Bobby's shock would be comical if the situation weren't so dire.
"It's still him," he gasps.
Sam is shaking his head slowly, unable to think in the moment.
Dean roars in pain.
"Give me the knife! Give me the damn knife, I'll do it myself!"
"Dean—"
But Dean has broken into pained sobs, tremors wracking his body.
"Please, please just do it- It hurts, Bobby, please…"
Instead, Bobby looks thoughtful for a moment. He takes Sam's knife and walks over to the other cage, plunging it into the corpse. He draws it out slow, dead man's blood painting the blade with a brackish ruddy hue.
Sam watches him, understands, and opens the cage door. Bobby walks inside to where Dean is rambling insensibly, arms tensely folded against his aching stomach.
"Don't let me live like this, you can't let me live like this…. Please…" Before Dean can struggle away, Bobby slides the blood-slicked knife between his ribs.
Dean cries out, hand clutching at the knife as his eyes roll back, and the elder Winchester goes slack in Bobby's arms.
Sam grabs his feet.
Together, they carry him to the truck waiting outside.