A/N. Hello again...waves
Reality has kept me busy for some time and to make matters worse my plot bunnies decided to take themselves for a holiday somewhere. So, plot ideas were pretty scarce for awhile. Now they're back with a twinkle in their eye and a spring in their step. I'm not going to ask what mischief they got up to while they were away...winks.
A huge thank you goes to my beta Maya Perez who with a gentle hand guided my words and ideas. And if I didn't come up to par she 'gently' prodded me with a chosen weapon from her arsenal of pointed sticks...lol. I mean that in the kindest possible way. For without her this story would be the mindless ramblings of an obsessed supernatural fan...hats off to you girl
I hope that you like this story. It is AU, so be aware of that while you're reading it. As always feel free to leave a review good, bad or indifferent.
Dramatic drum roll...
Brothers in Blood
By KAZ2Y567i
"Anywhere I roam
Where I lay my head is home"
Metallica- Wherever I may roam
Chapter 1 Present Day
Long fingers wound their way around the coffee cup, absently tapping a rhythm that had no rhyme or reason on its cooling exterior.
Sam had bought the paper earlier that morning and was looking for any 'out of the ordinary' news that might have occurred overnight. His breakfast sat by his right arm, only partially consumed, the remains left to grow cold and stale. He'd woken earlier than he'd wanted to, to the same nightmare that had plagued him since he started this hunt.
Fire!
Heat!
Then snapping upright with her name still on his lips.
He had long ago come to terms that he would never be free of the guilt he still harboured over Jess' death. Guilt that lay quietly dormant in his subconscious, biding its time for when his will weakened. Then it would release the memories and make a child of him - causing him to cry her name over and over in his sleep then bolting upright, sweaty and panting, his pain fresh, his shame laying over him like a cloak, its icy fingers constricting his heart.
More often than not the dreams would stop there - her frozen face surrounded by fire - then he would awaken, shaken and alone.
Back then, before he left school forever, he'd pondered the advantages of seeking professional help from a grief counsellor on campus. But his pain had been too recent, his guilt too great for him to confide in a stranger no matter how well intentioned. Besides, he was harbouring secrets he would never want to let see the light of day. And even though he believed in the confidentiality of patient/doctor relations, the 'family business' would best be left alone for all concerned. So he tried to solve the problem on his own the only way he knew how - computer research. And through it he'd come across The Five stages of Grief by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. Something he wished he had known of earlier for the time before…
He'd immersed himself in the electronic text, his bottled-up emotions releasing themselves as he read each stage of the grieving process - empathising with each and every graduation as he read it. His eyes had overflowed with tears, his heart beginning to lighten from the burden it carried. He felt himself reach an epiphany as he accepted the hard fact that no matter how much he relished having the benefit of hindsight, he could not have saved Jess from her fate.
It made her loss just that little bit more bearable…….but only just.
However small the comfort, it was something he'd desperately needed. Especially since his father was still missing….situation unknown, MIA. No amount of cell messages, whether uttered in expressions of sorrow or loneliness, filled with demands for information, or covered in tones of unbridled anger at not being called back, or even the longing of a son to hear the comforting voice of his father. They all went unanswered, every last one.
Sam was on his own.
He rubbed at his face for a moment, pushing the unwanted recollections away and the throbbing pain that came with them aside.
Luckily for him, despite the early hour, the convenience store had been open, and resigned with the fact he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, he'd decided to make the best of it and got himself some food. To placate the hunter within him, he'd grabbed a local paper and kept alert for clues.
All his research, and the other information he garnered during the last few days had led him to this small but quaint town called Absolution. It supported a moderate populace of middle class workers. The community consisted of modern looking schools, libraries and businesses, all neatly planned out and structured by the original developer into a grid. Similarly constructed houses, where only the colours of the awnings made them different from one another, arose from manicured lawns and gleaming white pavement. Well marked, wide roads criss-crossed each other, making it easy for anyone to navigate their way through the town proper. Sam had found it surprisingly pleasurable to drive through it looking for a motel. He had watched the locals as they nodded their heads in recognition of a familiar face, or stopped for a moment to chat, then give a casual wave of goodbye with the promise of catching up later. Everything seemed safe. Peaceful. Normal. But even normal could hide things behind its carefully constructed exterior.
Sam was on the hunt for vampires. And the detritus of their tracks had led him here.
The town bothered him more and more the longer he stayed. He trusted his 'hunters nose' and something wasn't right, and it was more than the fact vampires had come here. The beaming faces and friendly smiles he received upon arriving made him feel welcome at first. But soon Sam saw through the façade of the gleaming teeth and the wide smiles. He peered into their eyes, and the populace looked frightened. The fact that young girls had disappeared in neighbouring areas and yet no 'missing' signs had been placed around the town or that he never overheard any gossip on the disappearances was enough to make him wary. There was something foul broiling beneath the undercurrent of normalcy here.
He'd been too late to save the latest victim -- a young girl of about 16 years, who'd been bled dry in an old woodcutter's cottage up in the hills. She must have been there for a few days judging by the disgusting state of the cabin and the horrific condition of her body. Wild animals had found their way into the abandoned cabin once those who'd killed her were through. They'd attempted to usurp the vampires' predator scent by defecating and urinating throughout its interior. In one corner lay the dismembered remains of some kind of animal - its once vibrant life gone, its remains strewn on the wood floor. The combined stench of faecal matter, dead mammal and nibbled cadaver nearly made him retch.
Sam had found the girl trussed up like a pheasant waiting to be bled, hands tied up high above her head, legs in a similar position to the ground. Her clothes hung off her in strips that did little to cover the puncture wounds and bite marks populating her body. Sam had checked around the cabin for any identification or clues as to where she came from. But nothing revealed itself during his meticulous search amongst the filth and decay. Though from what he'd noticed before, this didn't necessarily mean she wasn't a local.
All his instincts had clamoured for him to cut her down and give her a burial, possibly with a few words of blessing said over her grave. But Sam had known better than to touch her. He'd already been there longer than necessary for his scent to remain and give a discreet warning to the vampires that their haven had been polluted. No, he would leave her untouched after disguising his footprints and smell with debris and masking scents designed to keep vampires unaware that anyone had been privy to their murder.
Sighing heavily at the memory, Sam stopped reading for the time being. He pushed the paper away from him, and slumped back into his chair. He'd been concentrating for too long and the black print was beginning to merge into incomprehensible symbols. Kneading the flesh above his nose at the burgeoning ache brought on by lack of sleep, he pushed his chair away from the kitchenette table and walked to the front window of his motel room, stretching his legs and cricking his back in the process. Stopping at the window, he parted the flimsy curtains and glanced out.
There sat the impala in all her ebony beauty. Caressing her form and shape with his silent reverence, his gaze skimmed along the contours of her metallic body. He took in her strong lines, her power and her willing heart. She encapsulated everything from his past, his present, and perhaps his future. She was his only constant in the turbulent life he'd made for himself. She was his memory.
His life.
His home.
And she would've belonged to someone else if circumstances had been different.
Sloughing off the remorseful thoughts, Sam shook himself out of his reverie and returned to the open newspaper. Nothing was going to get accomplished if he continued along this line of thinking. Settling himself back in his chair, he began to read. Fingers skimming along the typeset, he checked for any headlines that might pertain to the discovery of the girl in the cabin. There weren't any, which was a good sign. He wanted it to remain that way. Leaving the place untouched was the best way for him to keep the vampires at ease. It would give him the opportunity to draw them into a false sense of security, for them to believe their activities went unnoticed. Not that he was naïve enough to think they would become blasé and totally complacent about their subterfuge. No, those were two qualities vampires didn't possess. But Sam would take any advantage he could, however small, and this he was going to milk for all it was worth.
Returning to the newspaper, he began to read from where he left off and noticed there were a few reports of local farmers complaining about their cattle being attacked. Puncture wounds had been found around the neck region but were not damaging or life threatening. Police believed it to be pranks by bored juveniles.
Could this be connected with his clan of vampires, one of them having a sudden urge for bovine blood? About as likely as them turning into tree hugging vamps. It was probably an unrelated incident.
Still, not believing in coincidences, Sam cut the reports out and put them aside for further study.
The type of trauma inflicted upon the young girl was indication enough for any hunter to know there were vampires in the area. The cabin was, for the time being, a hangout for their grisly activities and once they sated themselves they left it to sleep elsewhere. Sam was positive they were 'his' vampires and he knew they would return. He'd been hunting them for a few weeks now and had found reports and checked the remains of similar victims on the borders of adjoining counties.
The closer he got to this town though, the frequency of girls disappearing diminished, which was odd. And if it weren't for him mapping the locations of all the kills on a wall map, he wouldn't have noticed that this town had no disappearances, no kills. It was almost like the place was sacrosanct – as if all the afflicted towns pointed toward this one just as all roads once led to Rome. Add that to the fact no one ever spoke of those gone missing around them, or the lack of notices like he'd seen in every other town in the area, regardless of where the person had gone missing from...and things looked more out of kilter than before.
Furthermore, he was suspicious of the crime scenes. To an untrained eye the scene was macabre - young girls hanging lifeless and bloodless from the ceiling. But upon closer inspection of the bodies he could see an attempt had been made to cover them with what was left of their tattered clothing. As if someone was embarrassed by their nakedness and wanted to give the young women some modesty in their death - buttons on blouses partially done up; clothing re-arranged to sit properly and not hang haphazardly. On one body Sam had found the remnant smears of dried tears and dirt coating her closed eyes as if someone had seen her lifeless eyes staring at them and filled with pity had closed them as a farewell.
This type of behaviour was unbecoming of a vampire. And as Sam had found no human tracks coming or going into the crime scenes, he felt there may have been a third party involved. A very skilled third party. This became even more obvious as a thorough search of each body always found one extra bit of evidence tucked in a fold of clothing or pocket. Something which would make normal investigators shake their heads in confusion but be a screaming sign of what had killed the victim to anyone in the know – a small curved, hollow tooth -– one discarded like a shark's tooth in favour of a re-growth. Someone wanted hunters to know what was out there preying on the weak.
He tapped his fingers on the tabletop, each digit marking off the facts in his head. He added one more after he was done, his instincts still insisting the cow molestations must be connected in some way as well though he couldn't as yet say how.
The Winchester itch for 'something isn't quite right here' was starting to tingle in earnest.
Reading further he spotted a follow-up report to a blood theft at the local blood bank. The report re-iterated the police's statement that the lock had been picked by an expert. No fingerprints were found and only a few blood bags had been stolen. The authorities suspected the blood may have been taken to be sold on the black market. The news article closed with the police's appeal for public help and that the case remained open.
Now why would someone want to steal blood from a small town like this?
The conjecture by the police about the black market was desperate in the extreme. Only a small amount of blood had been stolen. Possibly enough to sustain one, maybe two vampires at most for a short while. If there was money to be made in the theft of blood a larger city would be a better target. The police had no idea as to the culprit or motive and were clutching at straws to rationally explain the theft.
No, there was something wrong here and it was starting to make his itch turn into eczema.
Sam suddenly jumped out of his chair. It banged loudly behind him as it hit the floor.
Of course! How could he have missed this?
The accumulation of too many late nights and the lack of sleep had worn down his normally acute acumen. His fatigue had dulled his focus. He knew he couldn't go on like this much longer, and if he did, mistakes like these or worse would occur. Errors in the research, which would then lead to an ill-planned hunt and possibly result in injury or death to himself or those he hoped to save. His lethargy could be his undoing.
Moving towards his duffel he pulled out his journal. Snapping open the book, he quickly leafed through the pages. As his fingers fanned them in his haste to find what he was looking for; they created an eddy that loosened the newspaper clippings inside. The clippings fell to the floor. Sighing with frustration, he bent down to pick them up and on the upward movement his mind spun with the sudden loss of blood. Grasping the side of the bed for support he let himself pause a moment before he rose the rest of the way.
With a few deep breaths to compose himself, he turned back to the table and grabbed the clippings he had cut out earlier. Scanning through them he quickly placed them in chronological order.
The ache behind his eyes increased exponentially. He hoped it wouldn't escalate to something less pleasant. Ignoring it, he carried on with his research.
He glanced at the date of his diary entries from when he first started his hunt to the present date. He then compared them to those of the newspaper clippings of other past cow molestations and blood bank robberies. They coincided with each other. All were only off by a few days on either side of a victim being killed.
What the?
He massaged the muscles at the base of his neck, trying to loosen the increasing tension there.
Oh man, I really don't need this… Not again…
His thoughts died suddenly as the persistent, painful side effects of his constant nightly companion came to the fore -- that extra scene of his guilt induced nightmare that lingered on the edge of his consciousness, waiting to pounce, even into wakefulness.
His vision tunnelled, the black edges speckled with silver lights. The cold scent of half eaten pancakes assailed his nostrils and made his stomach move of its own volition. His senses became so amplified he swore he could smell the warm leather of the impala's interior and the indoctrinated smell of gun powder and manly scent despite the fact the car was on the other side of the wall.
All of this came to him in a rush of adrenaline, pain, and endorphins.
Then came the rest of the nightmare, the confusing memories…
Flames. Hot and moving.
Flames on the ceiling. Rippling above like waves on a shoreline.
Flames on the ceiling shrouding a girl pinned to it.
Flames that flashed- red-gold-white as they undulated over and around her with an almost sensual intensity in its caress. Her golden hair a halo around her stark white fear frozen face.
Her abdomen cut and bleeding - Her life's blood dripping onto his upturned face.
Her eyes and mouth wide open as if asking a question. Her form beseeching him for an answer.
Why? Why didn't you tell me Sam?
Then a loud scream of No! Jess, No!
His body scooting backwards on the bed. Eyes fixated on the horrific scene above him.
Hands coming from his right to grab at his biceps, incessantly pulling and tugging at him to come away. To leave his lover. To leave Jess!
His body partially rotating to escape.
His legs and arms tangling amongst themselves in their confusion on whether to fight, save or flee.
Reflex turning his gaze towards his saviour/tormentor.
Seeing first his own distorted reflection, framed by fire, staring back at him from the fireman's protective faceplate.
Then peering closer and seeing his own expression mirrored in the fireman's eyes.
Eyes that were the same as his brother's…
"Arrgh!"
Sam fell to his knees on the worn motel carpet. Teeth in a grimace, eyes tightly shut and excreting salty tears of pain, his palms held his head, which at the moment felt as if it were splitting in two, so intense was his waking nightmare.
"Gah,..God!" he exclaimed in shock as he collapsed and rolled on the floor.
Chest heaving, his lungs straining for a full intake of breath but only being successful with short shallow gulps, Sam tried to hold on.
His stomach roiled with increasing amounts of acid, threatening to expunge its contents on the floor.
He began to crawl, slowly and with measured movements, trying not to jar his already throbbing head. He made his way incrementally toward the bathroom. The cold of the floor tiles as he got there made his palms shiver upon contact and sent a sigh of relief through his overstressed and flushed body.
Just a bit further...a few more inches….
Sam reached the toilet bowl just in time for his stomach to release what was inside. Letting his reflexes take control, he succumbed to their sudden authority over him. An acrid stench rose to cover him as globs of half digested breakfast splashed into the water. His body repeated the routine over and over until he had no more to give.
Chest and body aching from the effort, his wired muscles slowly relaxed once it was over, the entirety of him tired and spent. The infusion of adrenalin now used up, Sam's body slowly relinquished control to another natural force of nature. Her usurpation assured, gravity took advantage of Sam's weakened state and drew him slowly to her cold bosom.