While hunting a different kind of vampire, Dean is reunited with an old friend...
Notes: This only took me half a year... I'm so sorry! I had been utterly stuck at this chapter since long before I started posting this story. My thanks go to my reviewer LockersKnivesandSomthingthatStrives, whose comment made me go back to this cursed chapter and lo and behold... sometimes the thousandth time is the charm.
The Second TimeThe second time Dean Winchester met Damon Salvatore, Sammy was back, Dad was dead and they were checking out alleged wild animal attacks.
Dean was also royally pissed off.
Three months ago, he had happily believed vampires to be extinct, one less kind of monster to worry about. Now Sam and he were on the third vampire hunt in as many months.
As the bloody cherry on top, their investigations pointed towards this being a different breed of vampire. They had even called Lenore and she had confirmed that this wasn't the MO of her kind. They couldn't hypnotize people and Dean would bet the Impala's new rims on the two survivors they had interviewed being mind-whammied.
"If we run across sparkly vamps next month, I'm quitting this job!" Dean had told Sam before they split up to cover more ground.
At least the precautions were simple, if time-consuming. Dean expected by the time they were done, the smell of vervain would make him retch.
The red-light district they had pinned down as the monster's favorite hunting ground was a veritable maze of crowded streets filled with loud noises and rowdy, drunken men, and filthy, dimly lit back alleys. There were a thousand places to hide, either in plain sight or in the shadows.
For all that, it didn't take Dean long to find the first corpse. Whoever the vampire was, they didn't even seem to care anymore if they attracted attention. Dean's heart rate sped up, and he tightened his grip on the tranquilizer rifle loaded with vervain. It was barely hidden under his oversized trenchcoat, and it was hard not to feel ridiculous. But this hunt was no laughing matter. Monsters, just like people, were most dangerous when they didn't have anything left to lose.
Dean dutifully checked on the young man, though one glance at his mauled throat with a conspicuously small puddle of blood told Dean he was far too late. It looked like the boy had run, and tried to fight. The bloodsucker wasn't even bothering to mind mojo its victims anymore. Or maybe it liked to play with its food?
Two backstreets deeper into the maze, Dean was lured in by the sounds of a scuffle, and a muffled scream. It played with its food, alright.
He arrived just in time to watch a huge brawny bouncer type get smashed into the wall by a smaller man, dark-haired and inhumanely strong.
Dean aimed and fired.
The vampire sidestepped barely and turned his head, snarling, revealing an ugly monster's face.
Dean dropped the tranquilizer gun. Faster to reload than a crossbow or not, he'd never liked Sam's idea anyway.
"Sorry, buddy, dinner's been cancelled." He reached for a stake. The vampire still hadn't moved.
For all that Gordon had been a nutcase, he was right to attack the leeches when they were at their weakest. Turned out the hunters for this breed met them head on. It felt weird, going against everything he'd painstakingly learned about vampire hunting.
Once the vampire moved it was a flurry of kicks and blows and Dean trying to ram his stake into the vamp's chest. Keeping him busy while Sam got into position. He really hoped Sam would be ready soon; the little bitch was kicking his ass hard.
The sharp pain at his neck came suddenly, and just as suddenly the vampire reared back, wiping his mouth. It was actually him who took two steps back from Dean this time. When he looked up, his face was human and deceptively pretty.
He laughed mockingly. "Told you I'd see you around, Dean Winchester. Looks like you learned a thing or two since then."
Dean looked up at the vamp from where he still laid with his ass in a puddle of questionable content.
Somehow it took mere seconds for him to remember, though he'd talked to thousands of people in hundreds of bars since that night.
"Damon Salvatore." He wiped some spittle mixed with blood from his own lips, and laughed harshly. "How did the hunting trip go?"
"How did yours go?" Damon asked right back. "Werewolves, wasn't that what dear old daddy called you away for?"
Dad… Dean's face tightened. He realized he was still holding on to the stake. "We killed them."
"You Winchesters know how to throw a party."
"Sure. How about you…"
Damon looked towards one of the low roofs. Something nasty flickered over his face, before the far-too-friendly smile returned. "Speaking of parties, I'll have to cut this one short. Vervain and stakes make for a monster hangover."
Suddenly he was right there in front of Dean again, one hand wrapped around his throat and hauling him up by it. Dean thrust the stake forward, Damon twisted and yelled, there was another yell from Sam somewhere above them…
…and Dean's world went black with one resounding thud.
.
.
Dean came to in the passenger seat of the Impala, just as Sam was pulling onto the motel parking lot.
He rubbed his temples, and was unsurprised to find the back of his head tender, hair matted with blood. "Anybody catch the number of that truck?"
Sam gave him his girly I'm Concerned face. "You're lucky, Dean, the vampire could have just as easily snapped your neck as knock you out." His knuckles turned white around the steering wheel. "I was right there, but…" He swallowed hard. "If he'd wanted to kill you, there would've been nothing I could have done."
"Way to cheer me up, Sammy." Dean flashed him a crooked grin. "Let's just agree: we're lucky I'm too cute to kill."
Sammy didn't look happy, but Dean had to look even worse than he felt, for he actually dropped it.
Later, when Dean didn't look too pitiful to interrogate anymore, Sam did ask how the vampire knew him. A hunt, Dean said, while you were in Stanford. That shut him up, as he'd known it would, and while he hated the guilt he'd put into Sam's eyes, it was still the lesser evil to telling him the truth.
How close he'd once come all these years ago to fucking this monster, or letting him fuck him. That he'd spent months jerking off to the thought of him, and that there was a part of him which wanted to do it again.
There were some things Sammy was better off not knowing.
to be continued...
