Sam had his finger on a line of text in some obscure tome. He was frowning at it intently, reading and re-reading the Latin, trying to glean some kind of understanding from it.

He hated Latin.

The table in front of him was scattered with various books with sticky notes pasted all over them. The neon colours were a grotesque contrast to the yellowing pages and leather-bound covers.

He had been eyeballs deep in the Men of Letters' archives for weeks now. He felt overwhelmed by the sheer volume of material he had at his disposal.

Right now, however, he was digging for any mention of demon tablets, trials, hell gates….. anything at all.

He hadn't had this kind of drive in ages. This was the one purpose he could get behind with his entire being. He didn't particularly care if Kevin got any sleep - just as long as the kid worked out how to slam the Gates of Hell.

He was staring at the book so hard, that he did not hear Dean entering the room, shrugging on his jacket.

"Morning" Dean said.

Sam jumped, and turned to his brother, (( to be met with a self-satisfied grin)). Dean never gets over taking the piss out his brother.

"Whatcha reading?" he asked innocently as he walked over.

Leaning back, Sam stretched his back. "A history of the Great Plague, written by a priest who was convinced demons had caused it". He smiled sarcastically.

Dean pulled a face. "Good times". He slapped the table "Ok well. I'm heading out for supplies. You need anything?" He made a show of twirling the Impala's keys around his finger.

Sam shrugged, then sat up "Actually" he started "we need a new belt for the washing machine".

Dean looked at him blankly "The whatnow?"

Sam stared at him for a second. "The wa-shing ma-chine?". He chanted slowly. "You know, the thing that washes clothes?". He raised his eyebrows in mockery, his face a show of utter ((bitchiness)).

"Yeah, I know what a fucking washing machine is douchewad. " Dean fumed, embarrassed. He frowned. "Since when do we have a washing machine?" he was genuinely confused.

Sam drew a breath to retort, exhaled it, blinked, then simply packed out laughing. The kind of laugh that, at first, doesn't make a sound, then just becomes wheezing. He bent forward, his hair falling in his face, clutching the table for support.

Dean stared shocked at his brother. The hell is wrong with him?

"Dude..?" he started, was Sam having a fit of some kind? "What can possibly be this funny?" he asked, now getting annoyed.

Sam now had his head in his hand, shaking with poorly contained mirth, tears streaming down his cheeks uncontrollably.

Dean was utterly confounded as to why Sam was practically suffocating with laughter. He was torn between simply walking away from the embarrassment, and watching his brother consumed with pure innocent joy. It's been a long-ass time since Sam had anything to laugh about. Never mind laugh till he cried.

Sam dragged in a ragged breath " Where…." he gasped, then failed, tried again. "Where do you think.." he heaved " all your clean clothes come from?" He moved his hand from his eyes to look at his brother. A giant smile splitting his face. He wiped at his wet cheeks.

"Huh?" Dean was confounded. "What in the name of God are you talkin' 'bout?"

The younger Hunter composed himself, coughed and took a deep breath. "Dean, we've been here for almost a month. Where do you think your clean clothes come from?" His mouth twitched with the urge to start laughing again.

Dean looked lost. "uhh.. ".

Sam got a glint in his eye as he continued "Could it be" he snickered "that you thought, the bunker had some special voodoo that cleaned and packed your laundry?" his last words dissolved into more giggling.

"What?!" Dean yelped indignantly. "Of course not". He squirmed uncomfortably under Sam's gaze. "I knew my little bitch brother wouldn't let laundry lie for more than a day. And I know how you love to play housewife". He displayed a cocksure grin, trying to dispel the fact that he had been caught out.

"Yeah, whatever" Sam smiled at him. He saw right through Dean. He shook his head. Dean could be a giant asshole when it suited him, but at times like this, Sam could just hug the crap out of his older brother, simply to annoy him.

Dean shouldered through the awkwardness. "So this belt thing. What the hell is it?" He scowled.

"I'll text you the details" Sam replied, still smiling.

"Yeah you do that Martha Stewart" he rumbled, still trying to gain a win from this whole experience.
He glared at Sam a moment longer, shook his head and then stalked past him.

~oOoOoOoOo~

Dean was marching to the Impala when his phone rang. He pulled the phone from his pocket and swung the car door open at the same time.

It was Garth. He drew a breath for strength before answering "Garth" he sighed

"Hey Dean" the voice over the phone drawled.

Silence.

"Yes, Garth?" Dean urged, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He had better things to do than chat with Skeletor.

Throat clearing on the other end of the line.

"What y'all doin?", the discomfort in his voice obvious.

Dean pinched the space between his eyes. This is going to be a long conversation. "What do you want Garth?"

"Well uhhh….." , he was stalling.

Dean ground his jaw. He was pretty sure if it were important, the story would have been told already.

Garth cleared his throat again, audibly drew a breath, and started.

"I was working a case in Dew Creek, out Louisiana side - some Fangs.. And uh…", another breath, "well, I had to leave. So I was wonderin'-"

"-Leave? Why?" Dean asked curtly. He wasn't in the mood for an inquisition.

"Personal stuff". He was vague. Garth sped on. "Anyway, I will text you the details. Room's paid 'til next week. All the info is already laid out-"

"Garth-", Dean interrupted.

The voice on the phone kept going, "-deaths so far. Thanks man, I owe ya."

Dean tried again, "I don't understand why you can't just deal with this yourself. Sam and I are kinda in the middle of a case already…. Garth?", silence on the line. "Garth? Garth! Sonofa…"

Dean took the phone from his ear and checked the screen.

Call disconnected.

He sighed irritably. The day had been going so well.

He stared at the screen for a few more seconds, willing it to erase all evidence of Garth's call, then he could go and get some beer, make some grub and watch Sam do the laundry – was that too much to ask?

The phone beeped. A text message from Garth.

" …kick your skinny ass…" he mumbled as he shoved the car door open again.

~oOoOoOoOo~

Sam opened the motel room door. Garth had left the keys at the booking desk, as promised. And the room was paid upfront for 5 days.

The room was well-furnished. Actually, impressively so, considering it was a motel.

Two double beds and frilly pillows, big-screen television, elaborate glass chandelier, jacuzzi…. The tackiest kind of kitsch money can buy.

Sam shook his head. For all his faults, Garth at least didn't skimp on his creature comforts, however gaudy and cliché they might be.

Hearing the slam of the Impala's trunk, Sam turned to watch Dean's face as he walked into the room and was not disappointed. The look of sheer disgust made Sam snort in mirth despite himself.

Eyeing the jacuzzi suspiciously, Dean asked "Please tell me there is a shower in here….?".

"Nope" Sam smiled cheerily. He was pretty sure there was one, but getting to watch Dean squirm twice in the space of 24 hours? That was a rare treat.

Dean grimaced with revulsion, and dumped his gear on the bed closest to the door.

Sam had long since given up getting his big brother out of this habit. When asked why he still insists on taking the bed closest to the exit, big brother mutters and scowls, but would never admit that, even though Sam is more than capable of handling pretty much anything that came through that door, Dean still wanted to, no, needed to, protect his sibling against all comers.

So Sam doesn't ask anymore, but smiles to himself whenever Dean makes a show of claiming that particular bed.

Dean pulled his shirt over his head and started rummaging for a fresh one. It had been a long drive. "You tried calling him again?", he asked over his shoulder.

Sam, already squinting at the tableau Garth had arranged over the motel room wall, sighed "Yep. No answer". He hated working with other people's research. Every Hunter has their own way of arranging their stuff so that it makes sense to them - Sam was no exception.

Seeing Dean staring at the chandelier as if the thing were about to bite him, he said "Listen, I'm going to need a few hours to figure out all this crap" waving at the clippings, map, strings and post-it notes on the wall "Why don't you go talk to some locals, hear what there is to hear", eyeing Dean pointedly. Please get out from under my feet so I can get work done.

Recognising the life-line he was being thrown, Dean perked up, "Good idea. I will bring us some lunch too. Anything you feel like?"

Sam shrugged "Usual".

Dean was already out the door when Sam turned to ask him something. He shrugged, turned back to Garth's research with a resigned sigh. He checked his watch - 9:34am.

They had driven all night. Garth's cryptic call to Dean was precious little information to warrant an all-night haul, but a quick online search, had revealed a definite body count in this town. So within 45 minutes of his call, they were on the road.

Sam had tried to catch some sleep on the road, but it had not been forthcoming. Instead he had done more research, and tried to get more information from Garth. After several unanswered calls, short and curt text messages from him had been the only communication, which did nothing to help with Dean's already irritable disposition.

"I'm gonna to kick his skinny ass" was muttered more times than Sam cared to remember.

Now, facing the left-overs of his abandoned hunt, Sam was inclined to repeat those exact words. With a few choice four-lettered additions.

~oOoOoOoOoOo~

Dean laughed a full-bellied laugh. Head tilted back, teeth exposed, he slapped the bar top for punctuation. He fought for breath "No" he wheezed "That scene where Larry hits on that chick" he wipes at his eyes "and she tells him to fuck off" he collapses in laughter again. "That was the funniest bit".

The waitress was red in the face from giggling. She had her one hand over her mouth, and the other on Dean's forearm.

They had been swapping tales for over two hours now. And had inevitably come around to favourites.

Favourite band, movie, actors, now, favourite scene from a comedy film. Dean had chosen Weekend at Bernie's. She had chosen Cheech and Chong.

Evie had not had a table the whole shift and had whiled away the time chatting with Dean.

Between his first beer and fourth whiskey shot, they had become fast friends.

"Oh god" Dean gasped "I need to re-watch that movie, man". He took a swig from his warm beer. He grimaced, shoving the almost empty bottle away.

"Another one?" Evie asked smiling, cocking her head so that her brown curls fell over her shoulder.

He waved with his hand in the negative, still swallowing at the tepid drink. This had been the third bar he had hit, gently probing for leads. Sometimes blending in got more information than breaking out the badges. He sat back in his barstool "I gotta go. Been here too long already". He smiled at her "But, say what - I promised my brother I would get lunch, so say I bring him 'round, and I see you in an hour or so?".

Her eyes flicked over his head to the clock on the far wall, and she shook her head. "Lunch is long gone, babe. My shift ends in about 20 minutes."

Dean blinked. He looked at his watch. Fuck! It was past 3 already. How the hell did the time go by so fast? "Crap" he muttered. Smiling, he offered Evie a folded up bill for his drinks. "Dinner then?" he chanced.

"Maybe" she flirted. She bit her lower lip, considered him for a while, then said "I need do some stuff later. Hang around here till 8. I will be done then". Her smile was a promise.

"Done" Dean was grinning.

He swung off the stool in one fluid motion and walked towards the door, giving Evie one more dazzling smile over his shoulder before he exited.

As he marched to the car, he fished out his phone from his pocket. Sam's gonna be pissed.

He unlocked the screen, expecting to find a pile of missed calls and messages. Nothing.

"Huh" he mused. While unexpected, Sam's leniency was welcomed. I'm gonna buy Sammy an extra-large salad as thanks.

He snickered at his own humour.

As he slid onto the warm leather of his car's front seat, he looked back at the bar.

He had been routinely poking for information from the barman, and had somehow ended up in a Led Zeppelin vs Black Sabbath debate with Evie.

She was sharp, and funny. And she cut right through his bullshit. She had met him pound for pound on music trivia. And when she started talking about classic cars… then he was sold.

This ass-backwards town with its vamp problem might be the best thing to pass his way in a while.

Thank you Garth!

He considered for a second getting take-out for Sam, and leaving him in the motel room to work, but guilt got the best of him. He already forgot lunch, the least he could do was buy the dude a decent sit-down dinner, considering the poor bastard washed his toxic socks without dying.

And if Evie arrives, he will make an exit.

Yes.

~oOoOoOoOo~

Sam sat with his fork hovering over his onion rings, reading the screen of his laptop. The dim overhead bar lights making the screen difficult to see properly. He had spent the entire day piecing together the threads that Garth left behind.

"Ok so", he started, "there doesn't seem to be a nest in the traditional sense. Seems they have a kill spot. But get this –", he pointed at Dean with the fork, "they live in town. Like regular folk." He waited for a response.

Dean, however, was looking behind Sam at the door. Again.

Glaring at him, Sam sighed irritably, "Seriously?"

Snapped from his daydream, Dean reached for his beer, "What?"

Sam wiggled the fork between in fingers in irritation. He chose his words carefully. "Can we please focus on the reason why we are here? People are dying". The exhaled slowly through his nose. He was tired, and annoyed.

"No, totally", Dean replied, faking interest. Eyes flicking to the door again. He shoved fries into his mouth.

Setting his jaw against the words he wanted to shout, Sam pushed on, "So far, 7 people in the last 5 months. Garth did some legwork, tracked one vamp into town. Lost him here. He reckons the local cops might be in on it….. Dean?! "

The older hunter's eyes snapped back from the door again. He drew a breath to say something, paused, grinned sheepishly, then said, "Listen, man. I'm sorry 'bout leaving you to do all the work today-"

"Okay?"

"-and, I know you're gonna be pissed-"

"Dean?"

"-But, man… There's this chick…"

Sam rolled his eyes. Of course there was. People were dying, and Dean wanted to get laid. "We are working Dean!" he fisted his hand on the table, fork vertical. This was not cool.

Dean put his hands up in defence, "I know. I know. But… Ok, listen. I'll make you a deal. I'll be back at the motel by midnight.." he looked pleadingly at his brother, "Promise".

Sam simply glared at him. They had so much on their plates right now. Kevin. Crowley. Demon tablet. Slamming the gates of hell… and Dean wants to get some ass. He drew an exasperated breath "Fine. But you and I are having a discussion tomorrow. This shit is not on".

Dean smiled his brightest smile "You are a gentleman and a scholar, Sammy". His eyes flicked to the door again.

She was here.

He grinned at Sam, swept his beer off the table, smacked money down, and got up.

"Don't wait up" he slapped Sam on the shoulder as he walked past.

Sam turned to see what the hubbub was about, and saw a brunette in a tanktop, denim mini skirt and cowboy boots, smiling coyly a his brother as he made his way through the tables towards her.

They made their way to the bar, Dean's hand on the small of her back, guiding her on to the stool.

Sam turned back to his work, shaking his head. He would never deny Dean a good time with a woman, but they were on a case. One that another hunter abandoned mysteriously. Lives were at stake.

On the other hand, seeing Dean in such a good mood, smiling, made up for a guaranteed groggy and irritable big brother the next day. He knew Dean wouldn't be back by midnight and he knew the whiskey and shots would flow all night. The hangover was going to be a good one.

And I will have to deal with him.

He looked up at the sound of Dean's raucous laughter drifting over the din of the bar. The woman had her hand on his arm, two fingers slipped under the rolled up sleeve. She was smiling, her eyes intent in Dean's.

Dear god. Sam though. She has no idea what she's letting herself in for.

Exhaustion was suddenly upon him. His eyes burning, small of his back aching. He had pretty much been awake since yesterday afternoon. Time to call it a day.
Snapping his laptop shut, he threw back the last dregs of his beer.

Looking towards the bar, he hoped to catch Dean's eye to let him know that he was leaving, but his brother had his back to him, and was vigorously gesticulating, much to the amusement of his date.

Tucking the laptop under his arm, Sam pulled his jacket from the back of his chair, and half-glanced at Dean, and stopped. He saw something out of the corner of his eye. He snapped his head around.

He could have sworn the brunette had just shot him a look of pure hatred.

He stared at her, bug-eyed. Watched her talking and nodding at Dean. Had he just imagine that?

He tilted his head, as if a different angle of seeing would reveal the truth. His instincts was singing. He started to make his way towards the bar, then thought better of it.

He was tired. He had been deciphering Garth's crap all day. He was being paranoid.

He stood indecisively for a few seconds, fingers drumming on the outside of the laptop, then shrugged on his jacket, and made his way out the door in a few long strides.

Once outside, he realised two things: Dean had the car keys, and he had the motel room keys.

Sam smiled to himself. The motel was four blocks away - he could walk that without breaking a sweat.

Dean, however, would be drunk as a weasel at whatever time he crawled back. He would be too embarrassed to wake Sam up, so he would have to pick the lock of the motel room to get in.

Sweet justice.

Tucking his free hand into the pocket of his jacket, Sam started his way towards the motel, still smiling to himself.

~oOoOoOoOoOo~

It was 2:34 am and Dean was sitting in the Impala, listening to the idling engine. He had been sitting like this for a few minutes already, in the quiet motel parking lot. Staring blindly at the deep shadows, the lights glinting off the dew on the cars. For some reason, he couldn't turn the engine off just yet. The low rumble and the vibration through the seat, was the kind of comfort that he needed right now.

Right hand on the steering wheel, left hand in his jacket pocket, he fingered the watch resting inside.

Earlier, just short of 11pm, two German tourists had found their way into the bar. They were obviously loaded and Dean had seen a chance to make a quick buck with a hustle.

So when Mr Tourist had leaned over the pool table to rack the balls, the expensive looking watch had caught Dean's eye.

Not that it was his style really - too gadgety. He liked his watches simple. Practical.

No, this was Sam's kind of thing. All knobs and dials and buttons.

Dean had run his usual schtick: lose a few games, up the stakes, then clean the poor bastards out.

Evie had seen through his game though, and had given him sly grins all through the hustle. She sat by the bar and cheered mightily whenever he pocketed a ball, then gave him a lingering kiss when he won the last game in a clean sweep.

He walked away with a watch for Sam, and $400. Not a bad haul. And the gushing admiration of the prettiest girl in the bar.

As he sat recalling his night in the eeriness of the early hours, he frowned. He and Evie had never made it out of the bar. He had thought she would have dragged him off to her place as soon as Sam left, but they ended up talking about cars and sport and guns for hours on end instead.

She had been completely captivating. Her eyes had turned his legs jelly, and his brain mush. Which was something he had not experienced since… well… forever.

"Don't get all dewy, Winchester", he muttered to himself through a grin, awkward at his own emotions.

Pulling the watch from his pocket, he held it to the light. He had intended to buy Sam some new shirts, as an subtle thank-you for doing his laundry, but this watch seemed more fitting.

He was embarrassed to admit, that he had not even noticed the constant supply of clean clothes in his drawers. Whenever he needed clean socks, they were simply there.

And Sam had not once bitched about it. This kid will never cease to surprise me.

Turning off the engine finally, he tucked the timepiece back into his pocket. He was dying to wake up Sam right now, to give it to him. But he would wait till they were back home, at the bunker, so he could hand it over properly.

He was not as drunk as he had expected to be, he realised as he walked in the chill air to the motel room.
Evie had not plied him with drink, and he had sipped slowly on his beers. He had been responsible even. The horror.
And when she had kissed him goodnight, they were both sober enough to exchange phone numbers and promises of dinner the next day. He had watched her get into her car, and waved sweetly at him as she drove off.

Normally, he would have been disappointed that the date had not panned out as he had hoped. But the company and banter had been wholly fulfilling in itself. Sex could quite possibly have been the low point of this evening, if it had transpired.

You are definitely getting old, Dean.

He knelt in front of the motel room door. He had let Sam leave with the key. Well, he had only realised that the keys were in Sam's pocket around midnight, but nobody needed to know.
And in any case, the logistics for juggling one room key was just too much to manage when a hot chick was demanding your attention.

Lock-pick in hand, he considered just knocking on the door, waking Sam up, but he decided to not be dick - after all, it was after 2am, and Sam would most likely give him an earful.

The lock undid without much effort. He slid it open quietly, closing it in the same manner.

The room was dim. The TV playing on mute was casting the room in flickering shadows.

"Sam?" , he whispered. He knew his brother would not wake up completely, but even just the subconscious re-assurance of his safe return would be enough. He knew what if felt like, waking up in the middle of the night, not knowing where Sam was, that cold feeling of dread.

"Sam, I'm back", he squinted into dark. He listened for a grunt, the rustle of sheets. All he could hear was the swish of blood past his ears.

"Sam?" he said louder, "You hearin' me?" He started towards the farthest bed.

It was empty.

He frowned, "..the hell?"

He looked towards the bathroom. The door was open.

He stepped up to the bed. It had definitely been slept in.

He flicked on the lamp on the bedside table.

"Sam?" he said out loud, even though his sibling was obviously not in the room.

Where the fuck did he go now?

Annoyed, he pulled out his phone. If Sam hadn't left him a message, he was going to fucking tear him a new one. He didn't mind the odd midnight soda run, but let a dude know at least!

One message from Sam. 10:22pm. Just saved yourself a serious ass-kicking, dude.

Dean tapped on the screen, and an image loaded. He sat down on the bed and started kicking off his boots.

Then he went cold, and it felt like his entire world had reduced to the luminescence of the phone.

The image on his phone showed Sam tied to a chair, knife to his throat and unconscious. His head was being held up by the hair.

Dean launched to his feet. A cold fear cascaded over the back of his neck.

Dean's ears pounded with his heartbeat. A universe of scenarios raced through his head at once. Abduction? By who? What do they want? Is Sam ok? Is he alive?

His thumb hovering over the screen. He blinked, his eyes refusing to believe what he was seeing. He scrolled the message up, found text below the image: Back off.

He scrolled back to the picture again. Sammy. This was bad. This was really, really bad. Nobody but the most brazen monster would do this to hunter, to a Winchester.

Instinctively, he dialled Sam's phone, and shoved it to his ear with a trembling hand. It went directly to voicemail. "Dammit!" Dean shouted, nearly flinging his phone in anger.

He looked around the room, desperate for anything to jump out at him, for an explanation - a clue as to where his brother was now.

His mind raced.

Back off from what? From the hunt? The Hell Gate trials? What?

He started pacing, his hands twitching to make something bleed. His shoulders taut with growing anxiety.

At this time of the morning, the motel desk clerk won't let him anywhere near the surveillance tapes, so trying to find anything from the cameras on the parking lot will have to wait till morning.

He couldn't track the phone - it had obviously been turned off.

Garth.

He dialled the other hunter's number, not caring for the ungodly hour.

It rang, went to voice mail. He dialled again. The same result. He was pacing up and down the room, in a vain attempt to control the myriad of emotions threatening to explode from him.

"Screw you, Garth! Answer your phone!"

After the fifth attempt, the line was picked up.

"Garth?"

"Dean."

There was no time for pleasantries. "Sam's gone. And you have been dodgy as fuck about this case. What the hell is going on?"

Silence.

Dean ground his teeth in frustration "So help me, you bastard. Start talkin', or I will break every bone in your face!" he was breathing shaking, raspy breaths.

"Dean….." his voice was small, "I had to leave…. The vamps…. They are in deep with the authorities. I think…." he stalled.

"Yes?"

An audible breath. "Dean, they knew where my mother lived. They…. told me to back off…. Sent me a picture of her front yard…" he trailed off.

"So you bailed?" Dean was not giving any quarter. "You bailed and left Sam and me to deal with your crap?" he ran his hand over his face. They had walked into this blind. "You know what Garth? Screw you."

"It was my mother Dean, I had to…."

"Save it!" he growled. "You will tell me everything you know. And I mean everything"

~oOoOoOoOoOoOo~

Dean had watched the surveillance video for the ninth time. And there was still nothing of any worth. His finger hovered over the mouse, ready to pause the footage at the merest indication of anything.

Muscles were jumping under the skin of his jaw. His eyes red rimmed with lack of sleep and the after effects of a smoke-filled bar. He rubbed at them with the palm of his hand, and lingered for a second while he drew a halting breath.

Whenever he closed his eyes, the image of Sam on that chair was engraved behind his eyelids. There was blood under his nose. And seemingly coming from his hairline. His lips slightly parted as his head was being pulled back.

Keep it together man. No use losing it now. A mantra to keep him calm. If he gave in to his fears, his panic, he would be no good to Sam. No matter how many times they have brushed with evil, with death, no matter how many times they have had supernatural assistance in returning from the dead. The idea of Sam hurting, suffering…. It paralysed Dean with a fear that nobody can understand.

He drew a steadying breath, and returned to the task at hand.

Between the time Sam arrived, till the time Dean returned, there was nothing. Nobody came to their door. Nobody even looked remotely suspicious.

The desk clerk stuck his head through the door.

"Listen man, Mr. Owens is gonna be back any minute…"

Dean waved him off, "Yeah ok. I'm going". He looked at the screen one last time, as if something was going to pop up that wasn't there before. He had bribed the kid at the front to see the footage, claiming someone had messed with his car overnight.

He would have flashed a badge, but after what Garth had told him about the local cops, he didn't want to raise flags.

He walked into the parking lot, and squinted at the tarmac again. How could Sam just disappear? There was only one door. There was no way he could have gotten out of the bathroom window, and the other windows were barred.

Unless….. unless the surveillance footage was tampered with.

Dean turned on his heel to go shake the kid up, then stopped. He was a good enough judge of people to know that the kid was not involved in this.

As the long hours had passed till he could see the tapes, he had tried to make sense of what Garth had told him.

Vampires. Living in town like normal folk. And who were also in deep with the local cops. So, they fit in, and their kills were neatly covered up. Sweet setup.

No wonder they did not want hunters coming in and messing it up. Normal vamps have nests that can up and go at a moment's notice. This lot was settled. They had structure.

Dejected, Dean started toward the motel room again. He had no leads. Nothing. He could not count on help from the local law enforcement. Hell, anybody could be in on the take.

He slammed the door shut louder than needed, and slumped down on a bed. Sam's bed. Unconsciously choosing to be close to his brother in any way he could.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and put his head in his hand. He felt utterly helpless. The silence of the room deafening.

Activating his phone screen, Dean's chest tightened at the sight of a still-empty inbox. Nothing from Sam's kidnappers. Nothing from Garth.

Every minute of Sam's absence made him more panicked. What do they want? Why haven't they called for a ransom, a demand? Anything?

He scrolled through the contacts, and tapped his thumb on Castiel's number again. "Please pick up" he whispered, his forehead resting in his palm. But it just rang as the 6 times before, and went to voicemail. He hesitated, swallowed down the emotion in his throat, then said "Cas…. It's Sam. He's….. I need you, man. Call me. Please". He held the phone to his ear, until end of message tone sounded.

The panic was threatening to overwhelm him. These vampires were anything if not thorough. They had taken absolute care to cover their tracks to make sure Dean would not find them.

Vampires… Benny!

He dialled his friend's number from memory. The line rang 3 times, when the husky drawl on the other end answered "Hey brother. Mighty good hearin' from you."

The familiar voice was an utter lifeline, and Dean had to take a deep breath to speak.

"Benny…". He could only manage one word before his emotion chocked his throat.

The vampire knew Dean well enough, to tell that something was very wrong. "Dean, what is it? What's wrong?"

"It's Sam, he's…."

"He's coming for me? Is it time?" Benny interrupted, expecting the worst.

"No, no" Dean corrected him. "He's been taken. By Vamps." Saying it out loud took the breath from him. "I don't know what to do man. I got nothing. No leads. No nothing".

A hesitation. "Where you at?"

"Louisiana"

"Text me locale. I can be there in 6 hours"

~oOoOoOoOoOo~

Benny watched the tarmac race towards him, only to disappear under the nose of the car. The rumble of the engine accompanied by the tyres on the road created an almost hypnotic lullaby.

He glanced over to Dean who was gripping the steering wheel in a fist, arm locked at the elbow, his jaw set grimly. His phone was laying in his free hand - he had been checking it religiously every ten minutes.

Dean's voice over the phone earlier had spoken volumes. His face when he had opened the door, had nearly broke Benny's heart.

In Purgatory they had gone days without rest. Bloody, exhausted, assailed from all sides. Even though he had seen Dean anxious or fearful then, he had never seen him like this.

His eyes darted around like a scared deer, and when Dean looked at him…. a pleading. A helplessness.

Benny had intended to hug him in greeting when he arrived, but it had turned into a gesture of support instead, Dean gripping him a little longer than necessary before thumping him on the back and pulling away.

After that it had been a whirlwind of papers, maps and computers.

Benny had spent most of his time sitting quietly by the table, watching Dean pacing between his laptop and the wall where the map and newspaper clippings were arranged.

In their initial conversation, Benny had indicated that he would be able to smell Sam, if he could get into a 2 mile radius of where he was being kept. That had encouraged Dean and had set the tone of his subsequent research and planning.

Benny took a deep breath of the air gliding in the partially open car window. The scents of the pine forests and all the creatures in it like a fine perfume.

As he had driven into town some hours earlier, he had already taken care to smell the air carefully. There had been domesticated animals of all kinds - dogs, cats, horses. A very faint trace of werewolf, though very stale.

And vampire.

Vampires tend to smell like the makers who created them, so nests tended to all smell alike. But nowadays, very few vampires held to the old ways of keeping well-organised nests, never mind selective 'breeding'. Most moved around a lot, sometimes because they got bored, but mostly because they were greedy, and killed sloppily. Hunters would be on their trail within weeks of arriving in a town.

The old ways, were elegant.

A nest master would create a stronghold for his kin. He would be selective about who he turns. They would hunt in an organised fashion. They had networks in place to divert hunters from their scents.

He had remembered, for a brief moment, his own nest's scent. It was like a signature of his maker, and those who were his children.

And then he frowned. The vampire scent he was picking up in town was very strong. This indicated a well-established nest. Or worse: an old nest, which meant bad news for Dean. And a very slim chance that Sam was still alive.

He had contemplated telling Dean the moment he walked into the motel room, but the sheer hope on the hunter's face had taken the breath out of him, so instead he had watched his old friend weave an intricate pattern out of the jumble of nonsense his brother had left behind.

Within 3 hours of Benny's arrival, Dean was ready to action a plan.

"Here", he pointed on the map with a big red marker, "is a house Garth identified as a vamp hole." He dotted four more houses, "These too". He walked over to his laptop, swung it around to face Benny and pointed at the screen showing him an aerial view of the town and surrounds.

"Now, let's assume these vamps are smart enough not to kill in-town - they need a safe place to keep their food. Right?"

Benny nodded in agreement.

"So, they have a good gig going here. No need to travel too far. I'd say, max five miles. Ten at a push". He circled the town with his finger, "So I checked out abandoned farm houses - about three - but there is only one farm registered to one of these people living in the fang houses in town." He pinned Benny with a hard stare.

"Good work, brother", Benny applauded Dean cautiously, "What's the plan?"

Benny's encouragement gave Dean momentum. "You said you can sniff Sam out. So, we leave now, drive out there to that farm, you give it a smell. If there's nothing there, we hit up the abandoned ones. That way, we find the vamps, we find Sam and be back by dinner." There was no humour in his voice. His eyes challenged Benny to disagree.

"Let's go, chief." Benny secured his sailors cap on his head as he rose from the chair. He settled his sunglasses on his nose as he opened the door to lead Dean out to hunt.

Benny looked back at the road and sighed. The sight of Dean's desperate determination was too painful for him to look at.

If this vampire nest was an old one, or even a mildly organised one, they would have drained Sam by now and buried his body. Furthermore, they would have left town last night. The message they sent Dean wasn't a challenge, or a threat - it was an instruction. They had no reason to keep Sam alive. They didn't need leverage. They needed to send a message. And it was sent. It was over.

Dean shifted, and Benny looked over again. He was slowing the car down.

"Here", Dean said, indicating a dirt road leading into the pines, with a single hand-painted wooden sign that read 'Benton'.

Dean guided the car on to the dirt track. The road was in reasonable condition - not too rutted with ditches and holes filled with gravel. It was used often.

Dean glanced over at Benny. They exchanged a look. They had both noticed the same thing.

The car ambled easily along, the suspension creaking on occasion. To Benny it sounded like a herd of sheep being mauled, but Dean did not seem to notice. Then again, Benny could hear a human heartbeat at ten paces.

After about a mile, Dean spotted a glint of windows through the trees, and immediately shut down the engine, letting the Impala roll to a stop.

He was breathing heavily. He looked over to Benny again. Anything?

Benny made a show of inhaling the air, for Dean's sake. He could smell the death. Dean was going to find only pain here.

His nod was the silent catalyst to launch Dean from the car. They had already primed the gear at the motel, so he immediately started working his way towards the farmhouse at the end of the dirt road the moment he exited the car.

Benny followed behind him. Dean had equipped him with a machete. He had not asked Benny if he wanted to join in the hunt, wanted to kill his kinsman. But Benny had simply taken the blade without question. He would kill his own mother for this man.

They quickly settled into Purgatory mode: Benny behind checking their six, Dean in front, pushing through the underbrush.

"Nobody here", Benny reported as they reached the edge of the clearing where the house stood. He didn't look at Dean.

"You sure?"

"Yeah", the vampire assured him.

Dean's fear was rising in his chest, he breathed hard to suppress all out panic. Sam.

Benny could be wrong. Sam could be in there, hurt, scared. "Let's go" he said, already moving.

The door was not locked, in fact, it was standing open. The place looked well-maintained. The furniture was relatively clean. Nothing was broken or tipped over.

Dean walked over to the fireplace, held his hand over the ashes. "Still warm", he said, looking up at his friend.

Benny nodded and moved around the farmhouse, machete held at the ready.

Dean resumed working his way through the house. There were plenty of windows. It was airy and well-lit. Not the dark and musty death trap he had envisioned it would be. In a different situation, he would have enjoyed spending a weekend here.

Benny returned from the back of the house, his heavy booted feet creaking the floorboards. Nothing, as he had predicted.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a second. "Fuck", he muttered, discouraged. He sheathed his own blade and caught the look on Benny's face.

"What?" Dean asked the vampire.

"There's a basement", he answered.

Dean looked around "I don't see the door".

"It's here", Benny said, looking at the floorboards, "I can smell the blood"

Dean seemed to pale. Blood?

"Find it", he said through a clenched jaw. Sam's in there. He's hurt. I'm coming Sammy, hang on.

Benny announced he found the basement entrance from the kitchen. Dean strode over in hurried steps. He stopped in surprize that Benny was just standing there, and had not opened it yet.

He frowned questioningly at him.

Benny seemed uncomfortable. His big hands fidgeting at his sides. "Dean…", he started.

Dean could sense that something was very wrong. His blood was racing in his ears. "What? Benny!?"

The vampire swallowed, pinned him with sad blue eyes, "Brother… I smell only death here."

Dean was breathless, "Ok? And?" He wanted to scream for Sam at this instant. Why couldn't this damn fang just open the fucking door?!

Benny's gaze did not waver. "I smell Sam here." He held out his hand when Dean started towards him and door. "Dean. I smell death. His death."

Dean looked like he had received a physical blow. The air seemed to leave him. Eyes searching Benny's, his strength draining from his body. He trusted this vampire implicitly. He knew Benny would not lie. Not about this. It felt like he couldn't breathe, like a vice was crushing the life right out of him.

"Where is he?" Dean managed.

"Gone"

"What do you mean gone?!" Dean shouted, taking a threatening step towards the vampire. He wanted Sam. He wanted his brother. Dead or alive. Death was a relative thing for them. If he could just have Sam's body. He needed to see him.

His desperation was tangible.

"Gone, Dean", Benny took a step towards him, hands open in a disarming gesture. "I smell his death here. But not his body." He reached Dean, gripped the hunter's biceps. "Dean", he made sure to keep Dean's gaze, "I'm sorry. There's nothing here".

Dean didn't hear the words. His heart had dropped through his ribs. All he could hear was a drumming in his head. His world narrowed to the vampire's blue eyes fixing him with devastating truth.

Sammy.

~oOoOoOoOoOo~