Dean came down the alley at a dead run, machete in hand. Seeing Sam, bloody, panting for breath, he snarled and advanced on the vampire emerging from the shadows.

When the vamp, lips strawberry-red with Sam's blood, charged Dean, Sam threw out an arm and clutched at its leg. He was nowhere near strong enough to hold it, but it threw the creature off balance just long enough for Dean's machete to separate its head from its shoulders.

Dean knelt beside Sam, pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it against Sam's throat. "Did he make you drink?" he asked urgently.