Along came Gordon


It's been about a month.

Dean spent his time either working on the Impala or as a dog laying under the porch. Since both Bobby and Sam were well aware of the limitations of both his forms they didn't mind much. Nor did they call him on the carpet when some days he spent all day as a dog.

They just chalked it up to depression attributed to just about everything in their lives.

What Dean didn't tell them was it wasn't anything like that.

He carefully didn't tell them that it was because of his performance issues.

Namely him turning into a human. Namely, him having a time limit on his humanity.

Namely, his battery being so empty it was frightening how easily he could trip, stumble, and find himself as a dog for a week to recharge himself without any say-so. HIs battery was empty, and he knew it. The itching along his spine a signal, one he had been receiving loud and clear. It was... It was just ...

He just... He finally, after months, wanted to run a case as a human. Fully human. Sure, heightened senses, but as a human, the entire way. He'd sleep as a dog when he felt safe too, but other than that... He wanted to hold a gun. He wanted to protect himself the human way. He wanted to speak to people, people who didn't know about his furry side. He wanted to be human, even if it was only for show.

He wanted to be anonymous. Human anonymous.

And it didn't help that running cases as a dog made him feel farther away from his father than ever before.

John had taught him all he knew - but as a dog, that was instinct, and natural talent, and guesswork. There was no John Winchester within the dog that Dean turned into. And it... it was weird. Awkward. Felt like betrayal.

The purr of the Impala made Dean smile and swipe a hand lovingly over the car's insides. With his superior hearing, he could actually hear howwell the car was working. Any clips, wonky sounds, or catches and he'd know about it. Immediately. There was none. Hadn't been for the dozens of miles he'd driven.

"Whoo! Listen to her purr! Have you ever heard anything so sweet?" Dean demanded, smiling as bright as ever. So when he said the Impala purred, he meant it. The sound, almost cat-like, lifted his spirits right up out of the gutter.

Sam smiled. Dean's good mood contagious.

"You know, if you two wanna get a room, just let me know,"

Dean played along, acting as if he was protecting the vehicle. "Oh, don't listen to him, baby. He doesn't understand us."

Sam chuckled.

"You're in a good mood," He noted.

"And why shouldn't I be?"

"No reason,"

"Come on, Sam, I'm human, been saving up my body-time-share, got a case. Things are good."

"Wow." Sam said, shaking his head. "Give you a couple of severed heads and a pile of dead cows, and you're Mister Sunshine."

They were not sure what they were following, only that it mauled and ate livestock. Or, it was assumed to eat the livestock. Not very well, since they left a lot of it behind. The decapitated heads lead them to believe it was supernatural. Perhaps even demon or witch-related.

Which always made Dean's heart jog a bit, the possibilities with a Witch damn near endless, but he tried to keep a calm head.

"You betcha!" Dean said, tapping his fingers. "How far to Red Lodge?"

Sam looked between the map and the road. "Bout another three hundred miles."

After almost three months of total driving-celibacy, three hundred miles sounded like a dream . Sharing a private smile with his car, he shook out his shoulders and got ready for a ride.

"Good."

And then, Dean floored it.


"The murder investigation is ongoing, and that's all I can share with the press at this time,"

Dean and Sam were posing as reporters. It was a go-to disguise, and very easy to collect information with. Flubbing journalistic ID's or press passes was a cakewalk compared to acting as FBI. The sheriff was a bigger man, late forties, with one of these most impressive mustaches Dean had ever seen. And he'd been to a lot of small towns. He'd seen many a mustache.

"Sure, sure, we understand that," Sam said, between glancing at the sheriff and his notepad. "But just for the record, you found the first, uh, head last week, correct?"

"Mh-hmm," The man nodded easily, going along.

"Okay, and the other, an uh, Christina Flanigan - "

The sheriff cut Sam off.

" - That was two days ago. Is there - "

A young woman knocked on the window, pointed at her watch. Dean only heard the clicking of a watch on her wrist, and the subtle shifts in the air as her hand moved, but he could paint a pretty clear picture. Her heartbeat was slow and steady, boring. Her perfume was strong. Her breath a sniff.

"Oh. Sorry boys," The man said with a not-so-sorry smile. "Time's up, we're done here."

Sam and Dean rose together, the younger brother beating Dean to the punch.

"One last question - "

He waited for the sheriff to lean over the desk.

"What about the cattle?"

Puzzled, befuddled, the sheriff's brow rose and then fell fast.

"Excuse me?"

Dean took over, reveling in being human and being able to ask the questions now. You never knew how awful it was being silenced until you were.

"You know, cows found dead, split open, drained... over a dozen cases."

The sheriff stared at him like he was an idiot. His smell didn't seem off though, just confused, honestly confused why they cared.

"What about them?"

Sam scribbled something, a stick figure, before interrupting. "So you don't think there's a connection?"

There was confusion, and then there was whatever this guy was feeling. Like a mix of not-comprehending, thinking they were idiots, and also a dash of disbelief that they were even asking.

"Connection... with...?" He asked, trying to suss out their question.

"Well, first the cattle mutilations, now two murders?"

The sheriff wasn't getting it, leaned over the desk as he was, he honestly looked like he was listening. His heartbeat stuttered only as the questions came, not as he answered. So his answers were genuine and nonplus.

Sam continued. "Kinda sounds like ritual stuff."

"Yeah, you know, like satanic cult ritual stuff?" Dean added, listening without surprise as the man started to laugh. The bubble up from his throat and through his mustache was an... interesting sound. The sheriff had a hearty laugh. All belly.

Though it wasn't a surprise to the two, they'd been laughed out of a lot of rooms, cities, and towns, both Dean and Sam were completely serious and tried to show that on their faces rather than call him out.

The laughter died abruptly.

Dean learned a new way to hear the truth as the man's heart stuttered, his breath closing off for a brief moment. His eyes widening. It was all minute details, but each one screamed at him.

"You're... you're not kidding... are you?"

"No, sir," Dean confirmed.

Dead serious and with no humor, the sheriff stopped just short of rolling his eyes.

"Those cows aren't being mutilated. You wanna know how I know that?"

Cause you don't, do you? And you don't have a damn clue how the world really works, huh? Dean thought to himself.

Sam kept his amusement hidden as he deferred to the man. "If you wouldn't mind, sir?"

"Because there's no such thing as cattle mutilation ." The man said with such conviction Dean felt compelled to believe him. But that was just how it was with 'normal' people. They just saw only as far in front of their nose as they could rather than poking and prodding further. "Cow drops, leave it in the sun, within forty-eight hours the bloat'll split it open so clean it's just about surgical. The bodily fluids fall down into the ground and get soaked up because that's what gravity does." The man's eyes were hard as he laughed without humor. "But, hey , it could be Satan."

If Dean had a dollar for every time he heard someone try to explain that there was no such thing as 'cattle mutilation' or 'demons' or 'vampires,' he wouldn't need to scam credit card companies. Sam was feeling just about the same way. They'd dealt with it nearly every day of their lives. It wasn't a big deal to just continue pretending.

"What newspaper did you say you work for?" The sheriff asked, as his try at humor didn't get the usual response of lucidity as it usually did. A laugh here, a smile.

Dean let Sam answer for the both of them.

Still, the sheriff just stared at the both of them. Not sure what box to put the crazy reports that believed in things like cattle mutilations, and UFO's, and other manner of weird things. The poor man already had enough to deal with, so he told them like it was.

"Get out of my office."


There seemed to be too many perks of being a familiar. Sometimes, Dean forgot that it was a curse because it was just so... damn useful. Sure, the whole turning-into-a-dog-after-midnight thing sucked, and the need for Sam (which he still hadn't actually told Sam about), the collar; all of that collectively sucked, but it wasn't as bad as the good things were good.

Like the ability to smell blood. And other... things.

"Anything Dean?" Sam asked as they stood outside the mortuary.

Dean rolled his eyes. Of course, he was getting something. He was always 'getting something' as Sam worded it, still not understanding that this was everyday life, not just as a dog. He kept his snark in though so he could smell the air and process what he was getting. There was blood, lots of stinging cleaners that made him feel like he was sniffing through a lemon, and metal. It was a clean smell, altogether. He had been in a hospital, and it smelled almost the same, except with the overwhelming blood smell.

Shaking his head, he told Sam, "Blood. I can't get anything more specific than that. We've gotta get inside."

Only problem was the intern inside the room, guarding the heads of the deceased.

They both were in white lab coats they kept for occasions such as these when neither FBI nor Journalists would get them behind closed doors. Occasions such as entering into a mortuary without a license for what they were about to do to a few corpses.

It wasn't much of a problem, even with Dean somewhat off his game, because he was experienced in this kind of deception. He could misdirect, lie, and direct attention as easily as breathing. Hell, sometimes it came before breathing. Now that he was a familiar he had an even greater upper hand because he could smell the kid's emotions hanging on his skin like colored paint.

Taking a deep draw of the air around him, he focused not on the blood, but on the heartbeat.

Nervous, new, the kid smelled like a newborn lamb or a fawn. He was gangly in the way all new things were. Hesitant.

Dean knew exactly which buttons to push.

"I got this." He told Sam.

It only took a few seconds with the wildly talented Dean to see the intern, Jeff, running off after Dr. Dworkin, whom he thought was now back from vacation and royally pissed at him, leaving Dean and Sam alone in the room.

"Still got it," Dean said with a smile as he honed in a couple of the closed doors on the morgue wall, where the bodies were kept. He picked one at random and pulled out the dead body with a box in between its legs. The box that smelled strongly of blood. The lid came off with a pop, and a puff of pure putrid, awful smelling cloud hit Dean in the face. He recoiled as if slapped.

"Ugh, oh gross."

Sam snorted at him but came closer to take a look in the box, gagging behind his hand and pulling back sharply. "Oh, man, that's ripe."

Dean started poking around in the box with a glass stick he'd found. "Hey, you remember those Satanists in Florida?"

"Course."

"They marked their victims, didn't they?"

"Yeah, reversed pentacle on the forehead."

Dean sniffed, trying to smell any dye but only managed to smell blood and death. Sam took his time observing the outside of the face, trying to find any kind of indicators of what they were dealing with.

"So much fucked up crap happens in Florida." He said, conversationally.

"You can say that again," Sam muttered but was far more interested in the head than talking to Dean. He reached for a pair of latex gloves and pushed the gloves-box over to Dean, who declined, he didn't need that smell seeping through the gloves and staining him. He'd rather just poke with his stick and sniff. There was bound to be something.

"No pentagram looks like an ax or a saw did this," Dean said, pointing to the ragged edges of where the head used to attach to body. "Anything in her mouth? Did those wackos stuff anything down there? Like in Silence of the Lambs, with those moths?"

"Shouldn't you know that o'powerful-nose?" Sam asked, grimacing as the full smell really started to hit him.

"I can't tell you what the smell of something is if I've never smelled it before," Dean told him. "Now go on, reach on in there."

"Me? Why me? Why don't you?"

"I'm not touching her," Dean told him, nose crinkling. "I do, I won't be able to not smell dead person for a week . Your human nose is dull and stupid; you'll survive. Besides - You want me to be useless?"

Sam sighed, resigned to this new lot in life of the 'human' of their party. "Fine." He breath, knowing Dean could hear him, " Wuss ."

To his credit, he went right in, fingers to her mouth and digging around. His face looked like he was touching something made of week-old cheese and jello. His parlor changed rapidly. His heartbeat fluttered. His stomach gurgled. Dean was forever thankful he had never been a sympathy vomiter.

"Get me a bucket."

"You find something?" Dean asked, perking up and looking over his hands.

"No, I'm going to puke."

No constitution, Dean thought before something caught his eye. Something around her teeth.

" Wait ! Lift the lip up again?"

"What?" Sam demanded, looking at Dean like he was crazy. "You want me to throw up, is that it?"

"No, no, no, I think I saw something."

There , just... right... there. Dean took his glass stick and helped Sam by lifting the lip for him. There was a hole, right above her teeth. In fact, there wasn't just one. They followed the length of her gums.

"What is that?" Sam asked, his sickness forgotten as he got closer to see better. Dean pushed on the top of the hole, and something popped out.

It dawned on Sam first.

"It's a tooth."

Dean caught on and pulled back. "Sam, that's a fang."

Suddenly, the almost too-overwhelming smell of blood made sense. He expected it to a degree in a place where the dead rested, but this was 'too' much blood. He'd chalked it up at first, to being so many murders in a short period of time that it stained the place, now it made sense. Even over the smell of antiseptic and bleach. Vampires were literally just blood bags.

"Retractable set of vampire fangs. You gotta be kidding me."

"This changes things," Sam said with a sigh, as he quickly replaced the boxes lid.

"No shit, Sherlock."

Vampires... this would be the first ones they've hunted since Dad had died. Ugh. Dean was not looking forward to this. It was one thing to smell something rotten, or nothing, or dirty. But bloody? Just... blood? It was a lot. It would be extremely taxing.


It's quiet in the Impala as they drive around. Both are figuring out the best next place to go. Where do Vampires hang out? Someplace dark, muggy, not a lot of light or sense of right or wrong. A shady place with low morals... What do they do? Are they here to hunt? It was a stupid question, but important. So far nobody else but the beheaded vampires had shown up... There were no strange disappearances. Nothing. Not for almost twelve years. Which begged the question:

Why would they have killed one of their own?

The nightlife was one thing that was easy to figure out, which lead them to the one place in a small town where all the nightlife was located.

The bar.


Dean smelled blood as soon as they exited the car. It was stale, but it was that same too-much-blood in one place smell. Since the place was hopping, it was clear that the smell was vampire, or at least the blood of one. Being the other option was a bar filled with dead people, and Dean had still never encountered Zombies, Dean assumed he was right about the first thought.

He filled Sam in on what he'd smelled but otherwise allowed the situation to play out. A hunt was a hunt, after all. They followed their usual script.

Entering they made a beeline for the bar, Dean smelling everyone he passed subtly, leaning against the tabletop to talk.

"How's it going?" Dean asked the male-bartender, the usual opening line. Subtly he kept focus outwardly as well. On people's heartbeats, on their breathing, the way they laughed, the way they fell silent. It was overwhelming, but Dean tried to just focus on... change, rather than the rhythm. Unfortunately, there was too much to notice the absence of a heartbeat. It was a sea of heartbeats, and Dean wasn't that apt at picking out one single a heartbeat from a lineup.

"Living the dream," The man said, "What can I do you two for?"

Though it killed him inside, Dean knew he had to play his part. He ordered. "Two beers, please."

Over the month he'd been rebuilding the Impala, he had slowly been teaching himself to just tolerate a sip or two of beer. If he could get through the first few sips, then he could stop and subtly switch Sam's bottle out when he finished his off. Which let him 'sip' the empty bottle. His taste buds hated him, and Sam was plenty glad to not have to get up to get another beer, but he could keep up appearances.

And what was Dean Winchester if not appearances?

"So, we're looking for some people," Sam said, as they were handed their beers and Dean laid down some money.

The bartender looked like he heard that line nightly.

"Sure. Hard to be lonely."

"Yeah. But uh, that's not what I meant." Sam may have been out of the game for a few years, but he still got it. He pulled out a 50 dollar bill, fingered it softly, never breaking eye contact with the guy, as he dropped it on the bar. The bartender took it without another word. "Right. So these, these people, they would have moved here about six months ago, probably pretty rowdy, like to drink..."

It's then that Dean feels a presence behind them. Eyes watching them. A heartbeat picks up its pace for a mere split of a second. Someone moved uncomfortably in their chair. Follow by a long huff of breath. Smoking a cigarette, Dean thinks.

Interesting , Dean couldn't help but adding in his two cents to the conversation in front of him, pretending he wasn't listening as that interesting person behind him got up. "Real night owls, you know? Sleep all day, party all night."

The man was already nodding.

"Barker farm got leased out a couple of months ago." The man revealed the information as if he would have without the 50. "Real winners. They've been in here a lot - drinkers. Noisy. I've had to 86 them once or twice."

"Thanks," Dean gave him a salute before leaving his basically full beer behind. Sam following.

In situations such as these, Sam and Dean had come up with a pretty foolproof way of telling the other there was danger. And it was all about how they moved. Dean took the lead, very subtly, taking a longer step in front of Sam, waiting for a moment of eye contact, then they flowed next to each other - which let Sam know he had something to say. There were two options now, Dean could lead them back to the Impala, to safety, or they could go around the bar and surprise their tail.

The tail that he could feel from the heartbeat across the street, waiting behind a parked van, ever since it had stepped out of the bar a moment before the conversation with the barkeep had ended. With a person with a heartbeat on their tail, Dean had an interesting quandary. Could he be a blood bag? One of those people who sold themselves to vampires for the high?

He shook his head; they'd just have to ask.

Sam followed as Dean choose the later. They walked at a steady pace around the corner, quick with their long legs, but their tail gave them plenty of time to get around the last corner, walk a little faster to hid in the doorway, and wait.

Their breathing even. Their hands on their knives. They were pros.

This was just another Friday night for them.

It didn't take long. Their tail walked his way down the alley directly after them, keeping about ten or twelve paces in front of them. His heartbeat steady, telling Dean he'd done this before. He, too, was experienced. Not nearly as much as them, but clearly, not everyone could be.

Not everyone was a Winchester, after all.

When their tail came around the corner, his steps stuttered. So did his heart, which gave Dean pause for half a second... wait - did Vampires have heartbeats? He wasn't sure, he hadn't hunted them as a familiar, and as a human, he'd rarely gotten close enough to tell.

It didn't matter as they would confront him.

When the tail turned around, looking behind him for the two of them, they pounced. Silent, like two giant cats, they waited for him to turn around to surprise him. Sam took the right, holding him with brute strength. Dean took his left side, and held the knife to the skin of his throat, even as he knew immediately that this wasn't a Vampire.

He smelled like old-dead-dead blood, but not like blood-bags smelled of it. He was also warm, had a heartbeat, and was clearly: human.

"Smile," Dean demanded anyway because if this was a human, who smelled like blood, he was either a hunter like them or a serial killer. Or a human blood bag.

"What?" The man demanded. And this time, the furrow of his brows, the way his eyes flashed between them... well it confused Dean.

What kind of Hunter was this man, if he was one?

"Show us your teeth," Sam demanded without any flare or drama. Dean was too good to look at Sam during an interrogation, but he felt something with Sam... felt a kind of hog-red-anger that was only barely being held in.

The man rolled his eyes. Honest to God rolled his eyes.

"For the love of - Hey! You want to stick that thing someplace else?"

Dean and Sam didn't budge an inch.

"I'm not a Vampire."

Sam frowned severely, and Dean took his cues from the very-human Sam, because he could tell this guy wasn't a vampire, knew that, couldn't tell Sam, cause he wasn't a dog at the moment. What he wanted to know of the man was why he was following them. The man provided the answer easily.

"I heard you guys in there."

"What do you know about Vampires?" Sam demanded.

"How to kill them," He replied easily enough, before turning his eyes to Dean. "Now, seriously, bro. That knife's making me itch."

It was the first time the man had looked directly into Dean's eyes. Now, pure-human Dean had a few reactions to people looking into his eyes. One which was staring right back, standing firm, and showing them he wasn't scared. The other was reserved for people he respected, who had earned his respect time after time, and that was to look away simply.

Now that Dean was a familiar he realized there was a third option. And to the naked eye, it would look like the first of his 'human' options.

He didn't understand it, it was too new, but it was instinct. Looking into the man's eyes, Dean realized something about the man. He was a stone-cold killer. He had little to no remorse for killing things, people, monsters, the lot of them. There was a deep sadness there, too, a wound too great, to large, to be taken as anything but life-shattering, life-altering. There was something in his eye that told Dean all of that and more.

And looking into his eyes, Dean saw a reflection of the man he himself was.

Dean wanted to flinch. Seeing that was... disturbing. Like looking into one's own soul. To Dean that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Sure, it unsettled him to know that there was another Hunter around that seemed to mirror him, but didn't most Hunters?

So why was he feeling so... off about it?

Dean didn't know, so he held firm. The man tried to move forward a bit, and Sam, not knowing what was going through Dean's mind, pushed him more fully against the wall.

"Whoa," The man coughed. "Easy there, Chachi."

Carefully, slowly, he brought his hand up to his mouth. Unsurprisingly, he showed clean, untouched gums.

"See?" He said, in a 'no duh' sounding voice. "Fangless."

Sam pulled back first, followed a moment later by Dean.

Dean didn't want to let up though. He felt something from the man. Something he had yet to feel from another human. It sent a chill down his spine, made his hair itch, and his ears ring, but Dean didn't know, still, if he was a good or bad feeling kind of thing. He was still so new to being a familiar.

The man rubbed his neck.

"Now who the hell are you?"

As they walk back to his car, which was parked in an empty lot just one lot over, they chatted. As they walked, they introduced themselves, told them why there were there.

"Sam and Dean Winchester. Still can't believe it." The man, they learned his name was Gordon, just shook his head like it was a funny joke. "You know I met your old man once? Hell of a guy. Great hunter..." He went regretful. "I heard he passed. I'm sorry."

And it still hurt every time someone brought it up.

Sam and Dean both nodded, in thanks for the words.

"It's big shoes. But from what I hear you guys fill 'em. Great trackers, good in a tight spot - "

There was that itching feeling along his spine again. Dean sighed, not really sure how to take that.

"You seem to know a lot about our family,"

Almost more than we know, Dean wanted to say.

"Word travels fast. You know how hunters talk."

This time, the pain in his chest was in direct relation to how their father had seemed to teach them nothing about navigating the world of Hunters. Sure, they could research, find monsters, and kill them - but he had kept them from the community at large.

Looking to Sam h,e said, "No, we don't actually."

Gordon looked confused, before the lightbulb clicked on. "I guess there's a lot your dad never told you, huh?"

You can say that again, Dean thought, but shook those thoughts away. Sam asked Gordon, "So, uh, those two vampires, they were yours, huh?"

There was a proud way Gordon stood as he nodded. "Yep. Been here two weeks."

There was a flash in his eye and it distracted Dean. Everything about Gordon was throwing off his senses. Probably because the only Hunters he'd been around since he'd been cursed were ones he had known. Now, Gordon was a whole new beast, his own kind of messed up problems Dean had to figure out if he wanted any peace and quiet in his own brain.

"Did you check out that Barker farm?" Dean said, trying to get back into the conversation and out of his head.

"It's a bust. Just a bunch of hippie freaks. Though they could kill you with that patchouli smell alone."

Well, he was thorough. Dean couldn't fault him on that. Dean really couldn't fault him on much. He was a good hunter.

"Where's the nest, then?"

"I got this one covered." Gordon was defensive. With good reason, too, Dean thought. "Look, don't get me wrong. It's a real pleasure meeting' you fellas. But I've been on this thing over a year. I killed a fang back in Austin, tracked the nest all the way up here. I'll finish it."

Dedication. Dean was starting to think his 'senses' were just warning him that Gordon knew what the hell he was. A hunter. A good one, too. Dean felt himself soften a little. This man was a Hunter, that meant he had a Hunter past, which was usually full of heartache, pain, blood, and insanity.

You had to be insane to hunt Monsters for a living.

Still... Dean was itching for a hunt.

"We could help."

Gordon smiled but shook his head.

"Thanks, but uh, I'm kind of a go-it-alone type of guy."

It was the truth. Dean could respect it, thought it was stupid, sure, except he really was just... needing a good hunt. A hunt that made him believe he could do it while he was human, still.

"Come on, man, I've been itching for a hunt."

"Sorry." The man shrugged. "But hey, I hear there's a Chupacabra two states over. You go ahead and knock yourselves out."

He pushed his array of hunting weapons into his car and got it. "It was real good meeting you, though. I'll buy you a drink on the flip side."

Then he was off, leaving Sam and Dean behind in his dust.

"Well," Sam said, as he turned to go back to their car.

"Let's follow him." Dean said, staring after the car. He still didn't feel right. He wasn't sure if that was all Gordon or the Vampire smell following him. Or if it was something else entirely. He was still learning and it was aggravating, but Dean wasn't one to run away from a fight.

Sam raised a brow, but now that Dean was on his way back to the car, he just kept pace with him. "Any particular reason, why?"

"I want to go on a hunt," Dean said, simply, before staying quiet for a moment. "And there is something else... I can't put it into words."

Sam sounded like he wanted to argue, but pulled himself up short. "Alright, fair enough... are you doing okay, though?"

"He smells like a dead vampire. The smell... it lingers." Dean answered. "There is something with him too... I don't know what it is yet. I've never... felt it before."

"What, you mean it's like... a familiar power kind of thing?"

"... I think?" Dean said, but he wasn't sure. Nothing was sure anymore.

"So you knew he was a human, back there, when we had him cornered?"

Dean nodded.

"You could have told me."

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Dean looked to see Sam staring ahead, resolute.

"What? How? You want me to reveal myself to a Hunter?"

Sam opened his mouth, before closing it with a huff.

"... No, you're right. How'd you know though?"

"The smell. He had a heartbeat. He was... warm." Dean shrugged. "It's all guesswork right now, I don't know what a Vampire feels like yet. I know what they smell like, but thats... that's it."

"So this hunt serves two purposes." Sam said, with a small 'ahh'.

"Yeah, well, don't all of them?"

Sam smiled, kind of sad. "I don't know, Dean."

There was no heart-stuttering. Then again, there rarely ever was with Sam.


They followed Gordon by smell alone. He still smelled like dead-blood and the wind was pretty calm that night. Since it was only Dean's nose that was leading them, Dean was sitting in the passenger side, head hanging out of the car, following the mere tendrils of smell left

"You still on him?" Sam asked.

:Yup. He's straight ahead - Ah! Slow down,:

Sam did as commanded.

Dean heard the screech of brakes that signaled that Gordon had stopped some far point ahead of them.

:He's stopped.:

Sam pulled the car over, pulling into a shady little spot. They could see up ahead was a bunch of warehouses. Some abandoned, some not. Clearly a good place to hid for Vampires, especially at night. The younger brother jumped out of the impala, grabbing his knife and gun quickly.

Dean changed as he climbed out the window of the impala.

They were close enough that walking was going to be the fastest way to follow Gordon without him seeing them.

As they walked, Dean smelled water. The water carried along its waves the smell of blood. Dark, dark blood. Too much of it, too fresh, like a walking wound. Blood-bag, he'd even call it.

:Vampire.: He whispered to Sam, jerking his head forward to point ahead.

Gordon knew exactly what he was hunting.

Sam held a single finger to his lips, signaling that from here on out would be silence. Dean signed back :OK:, before transforming. Together they crept towards the old, abandoned warehouses. One of them smelled like scrap metal, the taste of it almost bloody, but Dean had been around the junk heap, he knew it wasn't. The next one down smelled of wood and ...

Yup. Vampire. Listening closely he heard a single heartbeat, elevated, excited. That was Gordon.

Dean pointed, letting Sam know they were at the right spot. He managed to convey they were going to go in through the back part, whereas Gordon had gone in through the front. Sam nodded once, and they both crept silently. The sound of two separate footsteps let him know Gordon was about to make his move.

Sam and Dean made it to the back, but not before they heard a scuffle.

From there, it was chaos. The Winchester brothers made a run for it, coming up on a scene that was looking to be in Gordon's favor. He had the Vampire, a large guy wearing a jumpsuit, against the railing. Both of them were going at each other, when the Vampire got the upperhand with its superior strength and shoved him towards a rotating saw. Gordon fought as good as he got, but he was too slow. Too weak. Too human.

Sam and Dean knew just what to do.

Sam went for Gordon's feet, dragging him back from the saw as Dean nailed the Vampire. The monster snarled at him, showing those two sets of fangs and teeth. His breath was by far the worst Dean had ever smelled. And he'd smelled Sam's in the morning. They grappled, Dean throwing a punch into his jaw and unbalancing him. That was the only way to get a hit. The vamp threw him a ways away. Stunned, Dean had to shake his head and the cobwebs out before he leapt up and went for a pole with a sharpened end, quickly turning around to pike the guy.

It was fast, it was brutal. Dean's heart was pumping, his blood sang in his ears.

This. This is what he was made for. Not some curse. This. Hunting.

The Vampire let out a horrible scream as he fell where Gordon had laid, under the saw, in the perfect position for decapitation. Dean had killed people, well monster-people. He'd run them through with swords, stabbed them, set them on fire. Sure, he mostly understood spirits, but he had killed before. It was what he did.

He had never decapitated anyone with a giant saw before. Sure, he'd gotten close when John had come back and wanted help finding the Vampires, but he'd never done it.

It was a line in the sand.

A line he couldn't afford not to cross.

With a heave he pulled the saw down sharply, the sound of flesh being torn, spewed every which way nearly made him sick. There was a kind of... sick warmth that splattered him, settling in his nostrils and ruining his sense of smell, and settled his soul. The smell, all dead blood and nothing good, hit him hard enough that he almost let go. But he finished the job, jaw clenched, dragging the saw down all the way and through the spine.

The head fell with a thump.

He breathed hard as he fell back from the scene.

For a long moment, all he did was stare at the head.

The vamp's eyes were wide open, staring up at him in shock, while the body was completely limp, not a stiff line. The overwhelming blood smell hadn't left, nor had it dissipated, but it seemed... less. The blood, dark and black, settled around the head, mesmerizing.

Looking to Sam and Gordon he saw two very different expressions. Sam looked struck, sick almost, in a fight with himself to look between the body of the Vampire or on Dean, the one who had killed him. It was so Sam, it was a relief.

Gordon though... he was stunned, sure, but not from the violence or the death, more from how the fight had gotten away from him. He looked more amused than anything, stared at Dean's blood splattered face like it was something as normal as leaves on the ground.

"So, uh," He said, with a small smile. "I guess I got to buy you that drink."

He let out a breathless laugh too, which was more cause he was impressed by what he saw rather than intrigued. Then he just continued laughing. It was the kind of laugh of someone who was just glad to be alive. And it was deeper than that, too. Cause Dean didn't know if Gordon was glad to be alive.

Sam... well Sam looked sad. Stricken. Seeing another side of Dean he hadn't seen before.

Or at least, hadn't seen recent enough that he'd assumed it was gone. Like his humanity.

It wouldn't due to dwell on that. So Dean turned away.

Dean, Sam, and Gordon cleaned up as best they could. The clothes that were torn or blood were set on fire next to the impala and left at that. The blood on their faces was cleaned up and they looked good as new. Even if Dean could only smell dead-blood on himself... it almost felt human. Being so consumed by one smell.

It was gross, disgusting, but Dean wasn't about to let it stop him from relaxing at the bar.

Sam on the other hand...


Sam felt sick. The way Gordon and Dean had worked together to take down that Vampire... it had been impressive, sure, but something in his gut just hadn't felt right about it. Gordon had been so... happy about it. He revelled in Dean's bloody form like he was some kind of god. He laughed at the dead vampire like it had never been human, like it hadn't had a life, and a death.

As bloody as it was.

Now he was sitting in between the two of them, feeling like this was his first kill all over again. Sick to his stomach, upset at something he couldn't pinpoint, and just feeling wrong all over again.

Dean and Gordon laughed uproariously at a joke. They were old hat at this, Sam knew that, but it was more than that. Dean and Gordon, they seemed to share the same slights, the same humor, the same way of dealing. And now... now they were just sitting here, like everything was normal.

"I got it," Gordon told Dean as he tried to pay for his shots. One of the only alcoholic type things Dean could stand because it burned, and burned, and just kept burning. And Sam knew that Dean would need that tonight. He had a cup of well coke, but wasn't touching it much cause he needed to just get the shots down.

"Come on," Dean said, acting for all the world like he had all those months ago, not-cursed Dean.

Sam didn't realize how much he hadn't missed that aspect of Dean.

"I insist," Gordon said, all smiles but firm. Hunter firm. Turning to the waitress he thanked her and tossed some money onto her tray. He lifted his shot to Dean, "Another one bites the dust."

Dean smiled and shook his head just so. "That's right!"

It's so... Dean. Hiding behind all his pain, uncertainty, and shakiness as if it was as easy as breathing. Sam fell even deeper into a bad mood. He had thought he and Dean were making progress. Just last hunt they'd actually talked through some things. Dean had done some talking too.

It was progress...

Now it wasn't.

And it was all thanks to this Gordon guy, who Sam still couldn't get a read on.

Coming back to the conversation he realized Gordon was cheering to Dean's 'skills' at beheading vampires, Dean was taking it all in strides, thanking him, smiling. Ugh. It was Hunter-Flirting.

"Hey, you alright, Sammy?" Dean asked, seeming to come back to himself. His focus shifting.

Sam realized why that felt so wrong - or months, he'd been Dean's full focus. Now, it was split.

"Fine." Sam said, not feeling it. Dean seemed to see that, but only cocked his head, confused.

"Lighten up a little, Sammy," Gordon said.

Sam felt a spark of anger start in him. The kind that he had been trying to stomp out.

"He's the only one who gets to call me that."

The good mood didn't evaporate but it sizzled down a few degrees.

Gordon backed off respectfully.

"No offense meant. Just celebrating a little. Job well done."

Sam wanted to scoff, wanted to just beat it into Gordon's head that this wasn't a 'job well done', it was something worse. It was a life, this job was life, not a job. And he didn't want to deal with the specific of what he was upset about right now. Especially considering he wasn't sure he could put it into words.

"Right. Well, decapitations aren't my idea of a good time, I guess."

"Oh, come one, man," Gordon said, confused now. "It's not like it was human. You've gotta have a little more fun with your job."

Dean watched Sam, trying to feel him out. Sam could tell something was wrong with him. Maybe it was the high from killing that vampire, or something was off with his nose, or maybe the connection between them was waning - Dean didn't look nearly as understanding as usual.

With a sigh, Sam set his hands on the edge of the seat and pushed up.

"Look, I'm not gonna bring you guys down. I'm just gonna go back to the motel."

"You sure?" Dean asked.

"Yeah."

"Hey, Sammy," Sam turned around, quick to catch the keys as Dean threw them. "Stay safe out there,"

Sam felt a little of the hard rock in his chest soften as he exited the bar.

There we go . That was more like the Dean he was getting to know after his long exodus from his family. As he left, he breathed deep the night air, feeling that coil inside of himself tighten. He still had something to take care of.

Gordon was off.

When Sam got back to the motel room, he was quick to call Ellen, she was his closest contact to the bigger, better, meaner Hunter Network. Bobby was next if Ellen didn't know anything, but it was after ten, so it was a good call that Bobby was probably asleep. Ellen ran a saloon; late nights were her mornings.

"Harvelle's Roadhouse."

"Hey Ellen, uh, Sam Winchester."

"Sam! It's good to hear from you. You boys are okay, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine. Got a question."

"Yeah, shoot."

"You ever run across a guy named Gordon Walker?"

"Yeah, I know Gordon."

"And?"

"Well, he's a real good hunter. Why are you asking, sweetie?"

"Well, we ran into him on a job and we're kinda working with him, I guess."

"Don't do that, Sam."

"I - I thought you said he was a good hunter."

"Yeah, and Hannibal Lecter's a good psychiatrist. Look, he is dangerous to everyone and everything around him. If he's working on a job you boys just let him handle it and you move on."

"Ellen - "

"No, Sam? You - just listen to what I'm telling you, okay?"

"Right, okay."

After the phone was hung up, Sam sat on the bed and realized that for all of Dean's familiar powers, the curse and all its usefulness, it was him, the human, that was right about Gordon.

Wasn't that a bitch?


It had been a long time since Dean had sat and talked with a Hunter, mono-a-mono. The last time was with his father, and that wasn't much more than just talking about their last hunt, strategies, and silence. Unable to even share a beer because of Dean's freaky-weirdness.

With Gordon, there was camaraderie. It was new, too, and it was exciting. They talked and talked, and it was like staring at a reflection of himself. Dean had never thought there could be others like him, specifically like him, in the world, but here he was. Wrong about that.

They each had a sad past. Gordon's sister gone, taken by Vampires, Dean's mother dead on the ceiling. They each killed things to ease their own sorrows. They battled for others, for those that couldn't battle for themselves. They traveled the world, going everywhere and belonging nowhere.

A meeting of the minds. Dean and Gordon had so many similarities it was startling.

And now that Dean couldn't smell, he almost felt human enough to believe it.

Almost.

But as much as Dean was like Gordon and Gordon was like Dean - there were differences cracking up through the surface of their conversations. They way he talked about monsters, about Vampires, Dean agreed with, but there was also that tickle in his chest, which made him wonder what was wrong with him.

He was cursed, not a monster, but every time Gordon talked about monsters, about Vampires, Dean couldn't help but remember that he was one. He turned into a dog. Granted he had control of it and didn't have a hankering for human flesh, but it was still monstrous...

So their conversation never broached any forbid topics. They never touched on horribly inappropriate things.

They talked about experience, and through their experience, Dean realized it didn't matter what he felt about Gordon.

Because Gordon was a good Hunter.

"Know why I love this life?" Gordon asked, as the night began to wrap up around them.

"Hmm?"

"It's all black and white." Gordon said, seriously, with a smile. "There's no maybe. You find the bad thing, kill it."

Dean couldn't help but nod along, Gordon was completely right. And the way Gordon's eyes sparkled as he talked. It was passion. He could feel it in his heartbeat. He didn't need his extra good nose, or super hearing, or anything abnormal to get the full picture to know that Gordon got it.

"See, most people spend their lives in shades of gray. Is this right? Is that wrong? Not us."

There is something off with what he is saying, but Dean can't find a whole lot of fault. He's right.

Sammy though...

He said as much and Gordon just stared at him.

"Doesn't seem like your brother's much like us."

Which startled Dean. Of course, he was! Sam was as good a Hunter as any, better, too. He was quick, he was brilliant, he was the brains and he had the brawns to back it up.

"I'm not saying he's wrong. Just different. But you and me? We were born to do this. It's in our blood."

Still, something was wrong with the picture Gordon painted, but Dean wasn't sure what. So he just drank his coke, the last shot he'd had almost an hour ago still fizzling in his mind, making it not as clear as he'd like.


Thinking makes Sam thirsty so he goes to the vending machine to grab a coke. He's distracted, but as soon as he hears a strange sound, out of ordinary for a night like this, he stiffened.

What was that?

Sam was on guard now. He took slow, sure steps back to his room, making sure to keep his ears and eyes open for anything. There were vampires around, after all, it wouldn't do to be caught unaware. Still, he power-walked those last steps to his door and quickly entered. Leaning hard against the front door as nothing jumped out at him.

Whew. Safe.

With a deep breath, he walked further into the room.

Suddenly, he was attacked. Whoever it was managed to get an arm around his throat and squeeze. Sam was a huge strong guy, so he knocked the attacker off only to be attacked by another. He fought for all he was worth, succeeding in getting away from one, then another, before one of them konked him over the head with something heavy enough it wiped him out.

His last thought only on the fight.


Sam took detailed notes in his mind of where they were taking him. Since he had been bundled into the car he was in two minutes had passed, he was a on a very bumpy gravel road, and two hands held him in place on each side of his shoulders. They pulled up to somewhere and then lead Sam none-to-kindly to a chair.

It doesn't take them long to tie him down and remove the burlap sack over his head.

Blinking in the waning light of the evening, Sam realised there was a man in front of him. A familiar man. The bartender from earlier that day. He was all fangs, his breath smelled awful, and he was walking towards Sam. Sam's first thought was: Damnit, Dean, your nose sucks.

This is how I die, Sam thought to himself, second, only able to be really pissed at Dean for his date with Gordon rather than having his back.

As the vampire advanced on Sam, a woman appeared in the doorway.

"Wait! Step back, Eli."

Eli pulled back, his fangs retracting. Sam could feel his heart pounding, could feel relief course through him. He had been so close to death. The woman walked over and pulled off Sam's gag. The younger Winchester took a moment to move his tongue around. The woman wasn't young, probably early thirties, and she had a simple face.

"My name's Lenore. I'm not going to hurt you. We just need to talk."

Sam's face must be incredulous, and he makes sure they know it.

"Talk? Yeah, okay," Sam tried to keep the nervous energy down, playing it cool. "But I might have a tough time paying attention to much besides Eli's teeth."

"He won't hurt you either. You have my word."

Sam stared at her. Her word? Her word was about as useful as pre-chewed gum. She had to know that's what Sam thought of her. Yet... She had offered it. She was serious.

"Your word? Oh yeah, great, thanks. Listen lady, no offense but you're not the first vampire I've met."

Lenore didn't smile, it was too serious of a situation, but she tried to connect. "We're not like the others. We don't kill humans, and we don't drink their blood. We haven't for a long time. "

"What is this, some kind of joke?" Sam demanded. He had met a few monsters who had toyed with him and Dean before they tried to kill them. It was a trap. Except... they'd never really had him tie up before. It was always to gain their compliance, and then the betrayal afterwards.

"Notice you're still alive." Lenore raised a brow.

She was serious. As serious as a heart attack, it seemed. And she had kidnapped him to... what? Talk? No. There was more to it than that. Suddenly, Sam was way more interested in the 'why' and 'how', than the what.

"Okay, uh, correct me if I'm wrong here, but shouldn't you be starving to death?"

The logistics of an entire coven surviving not eating humans... There was no logistics for that. No logic, either.

"We've found other ways." She looked completely disgusted. "Cattle blood."

Sam's mouth popped open and dropped. "You're telling me you're responsible for all the - "

"It's not ideal, in fact, it's disgusting. But - it allows us to get by."

"Okay, uh, why?" Sam demanded. To him it seemed pretty cut and dry that they would want human blood, they were strong enough to get it, too. With or without force. Sam was also an academic. And this was... fascinating. Something choosing to fight core programming was an anomaly. And there were two right in front of him.

"Survival." Lorene said simply. "No deaths, no missing locals, no reason for people like you to come looking for people like us. We blend in. Our kind is practically extinct. Turns out we weren't quite as high up the food chain as we imagined."

Sam understood then. It was impossible not to. These Vampires, they were trying to be... human. Trying to make some kind of difference if not for themselves than for their family. And Sam could understand that... he did understand that. His visions made him feel so... other. Dean being a dog half the time didn't help. Yet, it did help. Not that Sam would ever, ever reveal that to Dean.

Lorene must have sensed he was beginning to come around to the idea because she relaxed marginally. Eli on the other hand...

"Why are we explaining ourselves to this killer?"

"Eli!" Lenore snapped.

"We choke on cow's blood so that none of them suffer." Eli spat, not winning a lot of points in Sam's book, but sympathy, sure, he had that in droves for them. "Tonight they murdered Conrad and they celebrated ."

"Eli, that's enough."

"... I get it." Sam whispered, his head falling back. Subconsciously he was exposing his throat, which was a mistake but he was thinking of Dean now. Of his curse. Of Gordon and his hate of Vampires that could so, so easily be transferred to a familiar. To anything he deemed a threat. "I get it. You don't need to say any more."

Eli looked unconvinced. "How would you know? You're a Hunter, you bath in our blood with pride."

"Shut up, Eli," Lenore said, her eyes only on Sam. Things fell into place in her mind. Things clicked. "You've got someone, don't you? Someone like us... but a little more palatable for your human mind?"

"You could say that." Sam conceded, mouth in a firm line.

Lenore nodded, leaving it at that. "It does not matter. What's done is done. We're leaving this town tonight."

That confused Sam.

"Why bring me here? Why are you even talking to me?"

"Believe me, I'd rather not," Lenore admitted. His lip tugging up in a snarl of disgust. "But I know your kind. Once you have the scent, you'll keep tracking us. It doesn't matter where we go. Hunters will find us. Even Hunters that might be... sympathetic."

Sam understood then. "So you're asking us not to follow you,"

"We have a right to live. We're not hurting anyone,"

Once, Sam might have thought otherwise. Once, Sam might have killed these Vampires for their slights, their murders already committed. Once, was not now.

"I believe you," Sam said, and he knew it was a mistake to just... trust a vampire, but she hadn't killed him. Nor did it look like she was going to. She was talking. She was sharing . Sam had been around a lot of monsters disguised as humans, and they didn't share anything, except their fangs and stomach.

Lenore was looking at him, staring through him, she then crouch in front of him. "You really do, don't you?"

"Your story is convincing." Sam said, feeling uncomfortable at how close she was.

"You know, nobody has ever believed us before," She said, shrewdly. "But I can hear the blood in your heart. It's steady. You're... You're being truthful... "

"As you said," Sam said, with a grimace. "I know someone."

Lenore continued staring, before she backed off.

"Thank you."

"So what now?"

"We let you go."

And then, they put the burlap sack over his head and proceeded to frog-marched him outside, back to the car.

They were letting him go, but not letting him see where they were. Smart.

It's what Sam would have done.


Dean's nose isn't work at all. The blood has seeped into his sinuses and made him feel like he was a walking blood-bag himself. He stepped under the shower head and tried to find a way to clean his nose out. The water felt good, hot and sweet, and it marginally sloughed off the smell.

It took almost ten minutes, but he could almost smell mold on the edge of his senses and that was good enough for him.

He got dressed, exited the shower, and then realized that the shower had done nothing for his nose. The dead-blood smell was still everywhere, it stuck to everything, which was impossible...

Right?

Sam hadn't been at the motel when he had arrived, but since he didn't have the best nose, he hadn't worried. Sam was probably off getting a salad. Taking a walk. Who knew what college had instilled in him? He hadn't worried at the time. There was no reason, too.

Now though... The room, not just inside his nose, smelled like vampire.

Gordon was sitting at the table, going over a map. "Come over Dean, this is what I've got so far."

You're just being paranoid , Dean convinced himself, sitting across from Gordon.

They talked strategy for a few minutes, where the door opened on Dean bringing up his brother's absence.

"It's not like him..." Dean said, just as Sam walked in.

"Speak of the evil," Gordon said, all charming. Dean was frowning.

"Where were you?"

Sam looked a little beat up but he barely spared Gordon a look. "Can I talk to you alone?"

With his nose better, Dean could smell some anxiousness on Sam's skin. That and Vampire. Fresh, less than minutes old.

Thoroughly intrigued and a little impressed if Sam took out a Vampire coven, Dean rose.

"You mind chillin' out for a couple of minutes?" Dean asked Gordon.


Dean knew immediately in the clear night air that something was off with Sam. The vampire blood in his nose still muddied things, but not as much as before. He could pick up anxiety, surprise, and something else on Sam's skin. He reeked of Vamp though, so there was that. But... wait. Had Sam been covered with blood? Had he even touched one of the vamps? Maybe he was just running on a high. Escaped, killed a few of them. Dean was being especially patient as he waited for Sam to tell him.

They got out into the parking lot before Sam kept walking, well out of earshot of... anyone. Dean didn't like that.

"We gotta rethink this hunt." Sam finally admitted, swiping at his mouth, a gesture of uncertainty.

Dean's eyebrows nearly fly into his hairline. "What are you talking about ? Where were you?"

Dean knows immediately before Sam speaks, that he isn't going to like whatever Sam's about to say.

"In the nest,"

Dean's heartbeat did leap out of his chest as he pulled Sam closer by his bicep. He checked him over visually.

"You found it or they found you?"

Based on Sam's rebellion in the form of silence, Dean knew the answer.

"Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?" Dean tried to both breath in the scents surrounding Sam and also talk. Its... decidedly different. "How did you get out?... How many did you kill?" Dean demanded well before his mind caught up with him.

Wait.

He wasn't covered in blood. He didn't smell exhausted. He looked... well, roughed up but not beaten up. He looked like he was just stressed not battle-worn. Like he had just poured over books all night rather than go toe-to-toe with a Vampire.

"None." Sam told him and Dean knew immediately that this conversation is one he will not enjoy.

"They let you go." Dean said, in wonder. His stomach was in knots that his brother was in danger in the first place. Without him watching his back. Even worse, he couldn't fathom why they would let Sam go. Couldn't fathom why they kidnapped him in the first place. Honestly, Dean thinks he might have just short-circuited his own brain.

"Yeah." Sam said, shaking his head. "They just... we talked and then they let me go."

Oh hell no, this was not good. Could Vampires control humans? Wasn't that one of those myths that was proven false?

"Sam..."

"No, Dean, that's all they did." He patted himself as if to show him he was fine. "And Dean... I don't think they're like other vampires. I don't think they're..." He looked around to check for eavesdroppers. "killing people."

It was a bombshell. It was also a topic so completely alien Sam might as well just announced he was gay, going to live on the moon, and in love with a sheep. Monsters... Monsters wee monsters. Supernatural beings killed humans, ergo, they had to die. Dean knew this. Dean knew Sam knew this. It was a truth more universal to them than breathing. There was no wiggle room for thinking of those monsters as... human.

Winchesters didn't question if monsters were any part human.

They questioned only what was the best way to kill them.

And then that ideology had been thrown straight into the trash as soon as Dean had been bitten as a Familiar.

Not that Dean still didn't believe it. He just... now knew that apparently, Familiars were on the short-list of creatures that didn't lust for human blood.

Yet.

"Sam," Dean stared at his brother as if he had two heads. Not a little bit uneasy, but a whole lot of rolling sickness in his own gut. "Don't be an idiot... You're joking, right? You're joking. In case you missed it - Vampires eat people. That's the only way it's been. That's the only way it's ever been."

Because... Because Sam couldn't be right. Vampires couldn't be... fallible . They were beasts, monsters. They were the thing under boot, not human, perhaps once, but they were lost as soon as they sucked their first person dry. It was known everywhere. Every Hunter would say the same thing. Hell, most every monster would confirm it. Would delight in informing anyone who asked.

"It's true. They said so..." Dean almost relaxed, but then Sam had to go and say: "And I believe them."

"How do they stay alive?" Dean demanded. "Or undead, or whatever the hell they are. Huh?"

Dean's heart was racing as Sam answered.

"The cattle mutilations. They said they live off of animal blood."

Animal blood? Well. I mean. It isblood. Dean thought to himself, closing his mouth with a clink. It was... possible? Could this... could these monsters really be trying to change? Go vegetarian?

It seemed impossible. Yet... It all made sense if Dean allowed himself to look at everything from a far less jaded perspective (which he was finding himself slipping into with ease these days). Pieces of a puzzle laid out over the past few days that no Hunter worth his salt would have actually paid any mind to - blazing in his memory. The truth. The pieces. As simply as that. The only thing that could tear that puzzle to pieces was Gordon.

And boy did Dean want that puzzle to be torn apart. It was much easier than having his entire life torn apart, wasn't it?

"Look at me, Dean." Sam said, snapping his brothers attention to his face. He made sure Dean was paying attention as he slowly, surely, without falter told him, patting himself over his shirt:

"They let me go without a scratch ."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, Dean thought as his eyes slid shut. If anything, Sam believed the Vampires so surely that Dean almost couldn't help but believe him. He didn't want to believe him. He wanted to believe Gordon. He wanted to fight, to kill. That was what he was good at. No remorse. No stops.

He was a Hunter.

And... unfortunately, he was a Familiar, too. Which made Sam's opinions too important to really tear apart, which made his mind feel muddied, sure, but also it was a comfort. If there was one person he could trust with his entire life, it was Sam. If there was one person who he could trust, implicitly, with anything, it was Sam.

Gordon was forgotten as Dean sighed.

"Alright. You believe them."

"And?"

"You realize if you're wrong, people will die... right?" Dean had to make one more stab at it. Only Sam had already thought of this and only nodded his head, resolutely.

"I believe them, Dean," Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "They don't deserve to die."

"They've killed before, Sam," Dean tried, one last ditch effort to lose this haziness over his mind that made him consider far more than he normally would have. "What's to say in a few years, they get comfortable, they kill again?"

"... They deserve a second chance." Sam said, and this time, it wasn't like he was talking about Vampires. It sounded like a whole different situation. It sounded... personal.

"Fuck, Sam," Dean said, taking a step back and another. It was too much. "And what about Gordon? Huh?"

"Ellen says he's bad news, man, a good Hunter but... she told me to stay away from him."

Dean almost wanted to question what Ellen's opinions had to do with anything, but stopped himself. There was only one thing that would settle his mind. Which, made him itch and want to run from, but he stood his ground.

"You're taking me to those Vamps. I want to talk to them myself."

"Ok." Sam said, as if he wasn't blindfolded the entire time he was in the car, and they turned back to the motel.

Back in the room, Gordon was sitting at the map, he smiled as they entered. It waned as Dean didn't smile back.

It had only taken them less than a minute to walk back, but Dean had come up with plans with far less in the way of resources. So. He had a plan and he knew he wasn't going to like Gordon if they ever met again after this. Especially if the Hunter guessed (correctly) that they had come up with this plan specifically to help Vampires.

Gordon watched them walk back into the room with thinly veiled interest. He was up out of his chair, and packing away something in his bag, but now he was stopped.

"What's up, Dean?"

Dean heard everything in that tone. It was such a Hunter mannerism. Tightly coiled, ready to launch out in an attack, no matter that there was none on the horizon. Which Gordon didn't need to know.

"A buncha vamp's jumped Sam," Dean said, making sure his voice was exactly as cold as an ice cube. Stilted. "He defended himself, and they ran off - but this is fucking personal now. We're ending this tonight,"

Gordon's eyes narrowed, but it wasn't in suspicion.

Of course, why would it?

Vamps were vamps. Hunters were hunters. Until the sun exploded or armageddon happened that wasn't about to change.

Except for tonight.

And only for tonight.

"You get anything from them?"

Sam frowned severely. "Nada. Jumped and ran, that was it," He shook his head, unable to stop himself from twitching and shaking from the adrenaline that had waned and was now not even there. Except it felt like it was. "Fuck, that was close..."

"We were thinking to spit up?" Dean demanded, more of an order. "You take the south of town, we'll take the east?"

Gordon was nodding, already reaching into his pack and pulling out some stakes to tuck into his belt, his knife onto his leg, and speaking. "Sounds good. I was just about to suggest that. You guys going on foot or car?"

"Car," Dean said, immediately. "You?"

Gordon flashed a sharp smile. "Not my first rodeo,"

Dean smiled right back. All sharp, jagged edges that spoke of a hard life, and a harder lifestyle.

"Then let's get these sons of bitches."

Gordon was going to kick his ass after this. Dean knew it.

Still.

Sam asked for very little. And if giving vamps the benefit of the doubt was on the menu for this month then... Dean wasn't about to say no.


Sam remembered how they brought him back to the motel almost to the letter. It was impressive, it made Dean proud. Sam recounted every turn they took (backwards to him), how long they went for, and even the quality of the road. It made Dean remember that his memory was that good, too, but he'd been lacking in utilizing it because everything had just kind of gone to shit with his cursed-status. The power, his nose, learning how to control it all... it had kind of gone to his head, he wasn't above admitting that.

"Take a left here," Sam commanded. A tingle ran up Dean's spine, but he followed of his own free will.

"This the place?" Dean asked after a minute of driving down a long, dark road only to come upon a single, white house.

"I had a bag over my head, Dean," Sam rolled his eyes. "I don't know..." Then in a much lower, fainter voice, he whispered, "Was I here?"

Dean took a deep breath after rolling down the window and wanted to gag. Ugh. He would never get used to the smell of too dead-blood, Vampires. Even so, with the overwhelming smell, Dean knew Sam's scent like he knew the scent of a good burger. Distinct.

"Yup." Dean coughed. "Definitely."

Sam asked in concern. "You okay there?"

"Fine, fine."

Dean waved him off as he opened the door and got out.

The place stunk worse than the bar. Which was almost impressive. This must be the nest, Dean decided, careful with how he walked and how he kept himself aware.

After years of being taught stealth around supernatural creatures, Dean nearly had a heart attack as Sam called out.

"Hey! Lenore!"

"Jesus, Sam," Dean said, holding his chest. "Give a guy a little warning, woulda?"

"Sorry," Sam said a tad sheepish before turning back and resuming his yelling. "My brother just wants to ask you a few questions!"

Damn right I do, Dean thought to himself, while watching the front door.

Nothing moved.

"Maybe they already moved out?" Dean asked, when nothing happened after a few more seconds.

Sam frowned, but confirmed Dean's suspicions.

"They were packing up."

"Well, if they won't invite us in, let's invite ourselves."

Sam had to jog for a moment to catch up to Dean.

The smell was stronger on the porch and would only get stronger still inside the den of these monsters. Dean didn't want to continue, but he had to see if Sam was right. Call it what you will, but Dean didn't exactly enjoy the pain... he just knew he needed to know. Needed to know if he himself was an anomaly, like Tanner, or if there was something... else.

How much was choice? How much was nature? How much could the Vampires get away with? How far could they go before they snapped?

He knocked but ended up pushing the door open. It was unlocked.

"Dean - " Sam tried to stop him, but Dean was this far, what was a little farther? Dean was already inside.

The little house was quaint. No blood on the walls, or seeping from the floorboards. It just smelled like death. It was well lived in, though, obvious the Vampires had not finished packing.

Well, that was also obvious by the four Vampires he now faced.

Huh, Dean thought to himself, well shit.

To Sam, the woman had been pretty plain, but he couldn't see like Dean could.

All of the vampires had black eyes, darker than any human. Their skin was a touch too alabaster, especially on the black guy. Humans could be pale, but this looked was almost... powdered. Their chests didn't move, no heartbeat echoed in the room. They were all dead. There was no real beauty to them, they screamed danger to him, but Dean didn't know how human's saw Vampires so he couldn't really compare - but they might even be considered harmless to the naked eye.

Dean wanted to make them stay dead. Every instinct, every single bone in his body wanted to tear their heads from their shoulders. He held onto his sanity, onto his bloodlust, for the sake of Sam. He put away everything his father had trained him to do, and listened to Sam.

It was trust. Trust in a way Dean would never let Sam know about... it was embarrassing. Though Dean had an inkling that Sam already knew.

"You said you wanted to talk," Lenore said, arms crossed severely but no real expression on her face. "So talk."

Dean jutted his chin just-so, uncomfortable, he took as long as he could just trying to figure out how to read this woman in front of him.

"My brother," He jerked his head back to Sam, "Says you eat animals... that true?"

He listened, he smelled, he waited for any kind of change to indicate lying, a new tempo to this Vamp in front of him. Instead, he got a bunch of nothing. Resounding nothing. He may as well have been talking to statues. The vampire's bodies were dead. It wasn't such a shock that their bodily functions were as dead as they were.

"It's true." Lenore said, but she looked curious now. Her own nose was almost on par with his, he could tell, by the way, she subtly sniffed at him. She found something off, he could tell, as her eyes narrowed in confusion, but he didn't think she knew what. Maybe there was a politeness in the monster community, because she didn't say anything. Held her tongue and watched him, much more wearily than she had his brother.

Good. He was rare enough that these Vampires had never smelled him. Probably.

Back to the lying. So... he couldn't tell a lie by smell or by sight. Dean had to go a little deeper than that.

"Tell me an outright lie," Dean commanded, watching to see what she would do.

Lenore cocked her head, observing him. "Why?"

"Curiosity." Dean said with false charm and smile.

"I'm in love with you."

Neutral ground. Brought him into it too. Made sure he knew it was a lie as well - There . Dean leaned forward the tiniest bit to really absorb it all. It was a change in a small, subtle way, a shift between the deadness already stuffing his nose and the blood. There was the faintest, tiniest, stupidest small twitch in her heart, too.

It could have been a coincidence, but Dean rarely believed in those.

Plus, he'd been listening to their bodies as they had talked before Sam and he had knocked on the door and barged in. He had a baseline.

"Huh, would ya look at that." Dean said to himself, except nothing whispered was not overheard in a room of Vampires.

Lenore tensed up. "Look at what?"

"Dean?"

"I believe them, Sam," Dean said without really thinking of the consequences of his actions, he turned and started walking away. "Let's go pack up the motel. I don't want to be around when Gordon realizes we sent him the wrong way,"

Behind him, as he got only three steps, he heard from the bartender, "Wait... that's it?"

"Good enough for me," Sam declared, following Dean.

"No, wait! What the hell was that?" One of the other Vampires, a younger looking guy, was staring at them both completely bamboozled. Both Sam and Dean stood, waiting. If they became irate and attacked, well then they would take care of the problem. They were already ready.

"What was what?" Dean demanded.

"What you did? You came in looking for a fight, I could... I could feel it." The kid said, looking scared, and befuddled, and all sorts of out of sorts.

Dean took a moment to think it over.

From all the trouble these Vampires had caused, he wasn't about to just give them a free pass.

"None of your business... and I would suggest you go. There are other Hunters out there other than us. We sent the one who was with us to the other side of town... You should take the time to run in the opposite direction."

"And," Dean said, right before he turned back around. "I apologize for killing your..."

"Benjamin," Lenore supplied.

"I apologize for killing Benjamin."

Then they left, and Dean decided then and there that next to his actual first-turning into a dog, this was the weirdest day of his life.

"I am so pissed, Sam," he said, well within earshot of the Vampires as they stepped onto the porch. "So, fucking pissed."

"I know, Dean... You gonna fill me in in the car?"

"Oh, you know it."

And Dean was acting like it wasn't a big deal, like his entire world crumbling around him wasn't fucking life changing. He slapped on his biggest fakest smile and tried to ride the pain out. Ride the pain of his entire world, his mind, the structure of his life - fell around him. Dean wished he had never been cursed. Because then, at least, he could have been ignorant of all the change.

But now... now four innocent people - monsters - were safe all because he had a better nose, a better sense of people, and Sam...

Sam was right. He couldn't leave Dean. Not just because of the familiar nonsense, but because Sam was his moral compass. A moral compass he apparently lacked in droves.

They drove away, back towards the motel. Dean told Sam all the small nuances that he had missed, all the smells, the feelings, subtle changes in the Vamps that had told Dean what he needed to know. Once he was finished, the Impala fell into heavy silence. Sam trying to dissect a world that Dean lived in, but that he would never touch. It was in that silence that Dean realized he needed to be honest. It hurt, sure, but honest was best. It kept casualties to a minimum. It saved a bunch of Vampires... and if it saved Vampires, who else could it save?

What would have happened had Dean not had trust in Sam? If he didn't have that connection with him? If he had trusted Gordon, a Hunter after his own heart?

Clenching the steering wheel, Dean knew he had to say what had been heavy on his mind. The one thing that Sam had revealed during the clow-debacle that had stayed with him, that had stayed true to him, but that Sam was still uncertain about.

"You were right, you know." Dean said, staring ahead, he couldn't look at Sam when he said this. He couldn't.

But if one of their worlds was torn apart, wasn't it fair the others was too?

"About what?"

"... I don't think you can go back to college."

Sam reacted viscerally.

"Whoa, whoa, where did that come from?" Sam demanded, turning in his seat, but Dean didn't dare turn to him. "Dean..."

"There are some things... that I haven't told you."

There. He said it. It was real now. It was a problem.

Sam stayed silent for a whole half of a second.

"About what?"

"About being a Familiar,"

"... What do you mean?"

It was clear he was trying to be calm, but the uptick in his heart gave it away. Sam is nervous.

"Consider we just let loose a bunch of vegetarian Vampires on the world," Dean dryly said. "I'm gonna ask you to keep an open mind."

"You know I will." Sam said, and Dean could imagine his face. That serious face of his when he was getting ready to enter battle. That face that he put on for battle, and research, and the hard aspects of life. Dean knew this deserved his full attention, no matter that he didn't want to do it, so he pulled over on the side of the road.

He may not turn to Sam as he spoke, but at least his whole attention was on him. And Sam's on him.

"A few months into the curse, I stole Tanner's number from Dad's phone."

"Tanner?" Sam asked.

Dean reminded. "The other Familiar. That Dad knew?"

"Ah." Sam shook his head. "Oh yeah. I'd forgotten about him."

"I hadn't..." Dean admitted, taking a deep breath. "When I could hold my human-form for a few hours, I called him and asked to meet. I wanted answers."

He could still remember that conversation. Tanner being calm and level headed as he explained everything about being a Familiar. Things he knew, things he only guessed at, and the horrible mythos. The worse reality. What Dean could expect, what he needed to be ready for.

"I'm guessing you got them." Sam said, softly.

"You bet I did." Dean confirmed, but it didn't feel all that great.

"And you never told us because..."

"Because it scared the living shit out of me? Because it confirmed things that I didn't want confirmed? Because it..." Dean stopped himself, realizing he was getting pretty emotional. He let go of the wheel in front of him, rubbing feeling back into his hands. He leaned his head back against the headrest.

Because it was the truth and it confirmed I'm a monster, Dean left out.

"It's that bad, huh?"

"Worse." Dean assured him, rubbing his face down. How had his night turned into this?

"Well... uh, maybe you should start small?"

Dean laughed. Small? How did you start small with something like this?

"Alright, small. Start small. Well, let's start with this one," Dean turned to Sam. "Two types of Familiars. Turned and True-Born."

"Good. Starting small." Sam nodded calmly. It seemed easy enough. Tanner knew a lot about the culture of Familiars, he'd clearly shared it. Sam came at it from a very clinical view. "Any differences between the two?"

"No, just different ways we're... cursed I guess. One born, one made. The being made happens a whole lot less, because sometimes the bite doesn't take, and you'd need a mammal form to even bite... it's complicated." Dean waved away the tangent that thought had brought.

"Alright, that seems easy enough... You don't have to tell me everything tonight. I can wait."

"I can't," Dean admitted.

"Alright, alright," Sam said, reaching over and laying a hand on Dean's shoulder. "How about.. One big bombshell tonight? Then we can go back to the motel, sleep it off, and talk about it in the morning?"

Dean nodded along. Relaxed as Sam's hand stayed strong on his shoulder providing strength.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that,"

Sam waited expectantly. Dean tried to decide what to say. There were so many things to talk about. What was the most important aspect of being Familiar? The biggest, the baddest thing that if Dean was snatched up by some weirdo witch - that Sam should know?

In the end, it just kind of... came out.

"You're my... person ,"

It came out wrong, but it came out.

"... Person? I'm your... person ?" Sam asked, there was a hint of amusement. Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, thanks Dean, but we're also Brothers, and Hunters, and - "

"Familiars are connected by magic," Dean started to defend himself, cutting Sam off. "To their person. You need a person with magic, or a kind of magical sensitive person to sustain a human form in a familiar. If I didn't have you, I wouldn't be able to even look into being a human until I found someone who I could... bond with."

That shut Sam up. His pulse hiked up.

"Bond? I... I have magic?"

"A sensitivity ." Dean stressed.

Sam corrected himself. "A Sensitivity."

Dean wearily explained. "Magic... it's got a feel to it. In your case, it doesn't feel like full on magic, but then again, I don't think you've been doing any real magic that it would stick to you - "

Sam cut him off.

"What, wait? You can feel magic, too?"

"Yes, I can feel magic."

"How does - wait - what does it feel like? Can you sense evil?"

Dean tried to shut him down as quickly as possible. "No, it's probably nothing like you imagine it feels. It's kind of like an electric shock, usually when I touch someone who has used magic, is when I can feel it. And no," He gave Sam a look. "I can't sense evil. At least... I don't think I can."

"Dean!" Sam hissed, his eyes blown wide as he stared in shock at Dean. "Holy shit, Dean."

"Bombshell, remember?" Dean said, as Sam flopped back on his side of the car.

"Geesh, next time warn a guy if it's going to be more hiroshima than nuclear testing."

Dean didn't really get that reference but he felt like the fact that Sam was trying to joke was better than nothing. Even if he was confused, it seemed like he wasn't about to explode, which was a good sign.

"Okay, I asked. Thanks for... uh, answering." Sam said, stuttering as he ran a hand through his hair. "Can we - ugh - can we do back to the motel now?"

Dean was more than happy to comply.

When they returned back to the room, Sam was quiet. Dean knew he would be, he had a lot to go over in his own head, but still... It made Dean uncomfortable is all. Not knowing where he stood with Sam. He had faith that Sam would tell him in the morning, probably stay up well into the night trying to get his head together, but it wasn't enough.

Dean knew this changed things. The truth usually did.


Dean is up first and getting ready by the time Sam even cracks an eye open. It almost makes Dean smile, because that means that Sam stayed up all night just bouncing around ideas in that big head of his. Almost, because Dean still has to explain... everything else.

Sam finally manages to look somewhat human by the time Dean gets back with coffee, bagels, and add-ons.

"What time is it?" Sam asked, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"'Bout twenty after eight. Coffee?"

Sam nodded, taking the coffee from Dean's hands.

There was silence. Dean thought it was comfortable. He knew it was about to be broken into a billion tiny pieces though, so, anything was comfortable comparatively. Sam drank his coffee, ate his bagel, and then went off to shower, leaving Dean to sit and stew by himself. Dean spent it going through local news.

"So I've got magic," Sam started as soon as he came out of the shower with a towel around his waist.

"Yes and no," Dean confirmed and denied, lounging on the bed.

Sam stopped as he was reaching for clothes. "Well. Which is it?"

"It's not that simple, Sam," Dean rolled his eyes. "As far as I understand it, just because someone has magic, doesn't mean they have to act on it. It just means they don't have to use... demons or whatever to get their power. I don't know, I did that digging on my own. Tanner didn't say anything about that."

Sam was staring at him.

"So I have magic... and I could use it?"

"I don't know," Dean frowned. "All I know is that Tanner said Witches were the only one's we 'bond' with, but that we need someone with a hint of magic to keep us tethered to humanity."

"So I could use the magic I have?" Sam asked, again, he'd gotten all the way dressed and was now sitting on the bed across from Dean.

"Well, yeah, but then you'd be a Witch."

Sam frowned deeply.

"Ok, I've got magic, that magic is keeping you human - "

"Not keeping me human," Dean interrupted. "Gives me the ability to switch between forms. But I need to be near you, connected to you, to charge my battery... I think that's the true curse part to everything. If I was just a shapeshifter, it wouldn't be so bad... but I have to have someone or else I can kiss humanity goodbye."

"Ok." Sam nodded that deep frown on his face. "So, wait - I'm your... powerpack?"

Dean opened his mouth to tell him no, but realized, yeah, that worked. It was how Tanner had explained it, those long months ago. It just seemed weird to say it that way. He nodded as he puffed up. Sam took that in strides. Nodding as he worked it out verbally.

"Ok. I'm your powerpack. You need to be charged. Got it." Sam breathed, held it, before letting it out. "Anything else you want to tell me?"

Dean pounded his fingers softly on the table top. There were a lot of things to talk about, but much of it could wait until the moment of truth, for it to happen. It dawned on Dean there was one thing that Sam would probably like to know about. Even if Dean was loath to admit it.

"One bombshell." He reminded Sam as he took a deep breath.

"One bombshell." Sam agreed.

"Witches."

Tended to come up in conversations about Familiars.

"Yeah, what about them?" Sam asked, confused.

"Apparently... consent between Witch and Familiar for a Bond is..." Dean's teeth clenched. " Optional ."

Sam had been pretty easy going throughout the information dump, but now, he was all tensed up. His shoulders a block of solid muscle. He stared at Dean with his mouth open wide, in shock. His heartbeat was off the charts. There was a smell to him, too, that Dean wasn't quite sure what it was.

"Now wait a minute Dean," Sam exclaimed, standing abruptly. "Magic, fine, I get that, kind of had to of known, I guess - but Dean, you told us that you pick the Witch. Dad told us!"

"I wasn't lying. I do get to pick. If I ever do," Dean let out a shaky breath and made sure to add quickly at Sam's face, "Which I won't,"

"You just said - "

"It won't happen to me."

Sam ran his fingers through his hair and threw his hands in the air.

" What won't happen to you?"

Dean's jaw was clenched tightly shut.

"It's my choice... But," Dean didn't want to say this, he didn't. He looked away as he said. "Sometimes, powerful Witches can force a bond."

"'Can force a' - " Sam looked absolutely flabbergasted. He spluttered, getting up to pace back and forth. "How is that any different than you not having a choice, Dean!"

"The Witch has to be powerful." Dean tried to sooth Sam. "And I mean... very, very powerful. Merlin level."

"Merlin?"

Sam seemed calmer, but that could mean a variety of things: Too angry to show it, spitting mad but face stone cold, too emotional to be emotional. He was still standing, hands on his hips now, and staring at Dean, but he wasn't shaking-mad.

"Yes, Merlin-level." Dean confirmed. "I don't know how it works, I don't know why it does either, all I know is that Tanner told me a few stories that have been passed down in the familiar community. Myths and legends."

"You believe him, though, don't you?"

"We hunt myths and legends," Dean said with an eyebrow raise, then he leaned back, unsettled himself over the facts. "It felt... right. Horribly, right."

"And you're just going to believe your gut?"

"... In these cases, these past few months, it hasn't been wrong."

It was silent for the first time a while. Their conversation had gone on for some time, what coffee they had was cold.

Sam crossed his arms and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Anything else?"

Dean shrugged.

"Probably, but nothing I can think of."

Sam sat on the bed and stared at the floor for a long while, before getting up with a sigh.

"Let's get on the road. I... I gotta think about this. It's," Sam shook his head. "It's a lot."

It was. Dean acknowledged, grabbing his bags and heading out to the car to pack up. It was easier that way. He'd talked a lot, after all, so just shutting up and getting the car ready was definitely A-OK with him.

"Shutting up now," Dean said as he opened the trunk.


Dean's never been completely sure of anything except two things: Family came first, and shoot the monster before it killed you, because it would always take the killshot. It's what makes it so easy for him to follow his father's orders, to keep his head down and his gun loaded, to ask only the questions to answers he can handle, because he used to ask questions and only received a grunt of reply from his father. He wasn't like Sam. He didn't ask questions because they needed to be asked, he ignored them because they needed to be ignored. He stuck with the easy things.

What attacked you?

Did it leave behind a weird smell? Did you hear anything?

Has your boyfriend or girlfriend been acting different, lately? Do you fear for you safety?

Did you see anything suspicious? Green? Blue?... Orange?

Of course, I believe you.

It's the other questions he never asks that Dean finds himself wondering now.

Like:

Who's the monster? Them... or me?

It used to be so easy. If they killed a person, they were evil, they deserved to die, and Dean and his family and other hunters wiped them off the map as easily as hitting the windshield wipers on a bunch of insects. There was no time for second chances. No time for questions before the shooting.

You shot or you were dead.

You kill the monsters so that more humans were not injured.

Now... now as a Familiar Dean is not so sure of anything anymore. Now, letting vegetarian vamps go, he's lost.

He's a beast. He has claws, and fangs, and bad breath - all a sin to the old-Dean. All enough to find guilty of being a monster. Yet, he is controlled. If not by his father, than his brother, than Bobby - than himself. He had a network. He had support...

How many of those monsters had they killed had a support system? Who stopped them from being monsters?

Sure, Dean knew that a few of them were absolutely, irrefutably evil. The child eaters, the ones who murdered without a second thought, but then it all went gray. The ones with no control, who were human in the day but beasts at night. The humans who were coerced into obeying. The humans who were new-freshly turned baby vampires who only had to look forward to his blade in their throats, because they didn't have a choice anymore.

They were monsters. They'd never killed, sure, but they would.

They would...

Would he?

Hmph . Dean thought to himself, as he looked at Sam, asleep in the passenger seat. Hadn't he already?