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Sam switched the plastic carrier bag to his other hand and flexed his fingers, wincing. He glanced up and down the road before crossing it, the motel coming into sight on the other side. The warm afternoon sun beat down on the back of his neck - it was so warm today that he had slung his jacket over his arm almost as soon as he left the motel, and his shirt was sticking to his back. The motel car park was practically empty: almost everyone had gone out to enjoy the weather. Both he and the others were glad of this - less people meant less questions. It had been two days since he and Dean had rescued Opium from Gordon, and everything had been surprisingly quiet. Worryingly quiet. Hell, Gordon hadn't even called. Sam knew how anxious Dean was, but neither of them had said a word to Vicky or Opium.

He reached the other side of the road and strode over to their room, glancing around out of habit than fear. No one was watching them. No cars lingered on the sides of the road, no eyes tracked them from dark windows. Sam reached their room and knocked lightly on the door. After a slight pause, the door cracked open. He recognized Dean's green eyes staring out through the gap before the door opened all the way, his brother lowering his gun.

"Hey," Dean said, turning away as Sam stepped inside.

Sam shut the door quickly behind him, looking over the dark room. The dull lightbulb was the only light - the curtains had been drawn over the windows to hide the sunlight. Across the room on the far bed, Opium was curled up on his side facing the wall, one arm wrapped around his chest. The sound of the shower hissed from the bathroom, betraying Vicky's location. Sam made his way over to Opium, pulling a large box of extra-strength painkillers from the bag.

"Opium?" he called softly. "I've got them."

Opium rolled over onto his back, blinking sluggishly. His silvery eyes glistened in the half-light, and his pupils were huge round disks, like a cat caught in the headlights. He gazed blankly at Sam, who held up the box again. Opium reached for them, taking them from Sam's hand with heavy limbs.

"Thanks, Sam," he muttered.

Sam smiled and walked over to Dean as the vampire settled again.

"Wow," Dean said under his breath as Sam sat down opposite him. "That's the most thanks you've got out of him all week."

"He's not so bad," Sam replied, grinning. He pulled his brother's hamburger out of the plastic bag and pushed it across the table towards him before taking his own food out. "No news of Gordon? Or Lusing?"

"Nope," Dean said, putting his mobile down on the table and seizing the hamburger. "Nothing. Its freaking me out, damn it."

"Maybe he left town," Sam suggested. "Maybe he's worried we'll come back for him."

"Do you really believe that?"

Sam hesitated and then shook his head. "No. But I don't know what else to think. I mean, why wouldn't he come after us again?"

Dean shrugged. "I almost wish he had found us. This waiting is just killing me."

Sam glanced at Opium, who was still curled on his side. The sound of the shower shut off in the other room. Vicky would probably join them soon.

"How's our fanged friend today?" Sam muttered.

Dean shook his head. "Dunno, he won't talk. Seems better, though. I think he and Vicky ah... did it again."

Sam nodded, understanding. On the first night Vicky had told them to wait outside while she allowed the Opium to take her blood. Dean had clearly hated it, but there was nothing he could do. It was Vicky's choice, not theirs. Sam didn't know what to make of it, but it came down to very little - Opium wasn't killing anyone and Vicky was perfectly happy with the situation. Did feeding off a volunteer count as evil?

He glanced at his brother, who was by this time engrossed in his food. He had had another nightmare the night before. Of the Impala, of Dean, of vampirism... all of it seemed to be pointing towards a single thing, and yet how was he suppossed to even mention the subject? Hey, Dean, ever fancied having fangs? But his dream must mean something.

And they may be running out of time to do something about it.

"How many times do I have to apologize?"

Gordon kept his eyes on the house across the road. He was slouched in his car, a dark hat pulled down to hide his face. The autumn leaves littered the ground, skeletal trees snatching at the sky as if trying to reach a happier place. The small, prim house stood almost directly behind the large white sign reading, 'Hathway Street.' Gordon was good at waiting. He had been waiting for five hours already, mostly in silence. Amy had tried to start conversation but he had remained slient, and so she had plugged herself into her i-pod. Now, however, it looked as if she was coming out of hiding.

"Gordon, please," she said. "You have to talk to me sometime."

"I'm not ignoring you," he muttered. "And I heard you apologize."

"You did a pretty good job of pretending, then," Amy said sourly. "Look, I really am sorry. Winchester just came up behind me, hit me, I had no chance. By the time I woke up..." she sighed heavily. "It won't happen again."

"No, it won't," Gordon replied. "Because I always work solo. This was just a favour to your father, for someone experienced to show you the ropes. I've done that, now you're on your own."

"Gordon! I can help you with this-"

"No, you can't." Gordon shot her a glare before quickly returning his gaze to the house. "I would prefer it if you just left."

Amy slid down in her chair, folding her arms tightly. "So this is why you wouldn't even tell me your plan. Won't you at least let me stay until we finish the job?"

Gordon didn't respond. Amy took his silence as a 'yes' and a smile flashed across her face. "Good. Then what're we doing?"

"We're waiting," Gordon said softly. "Lusing has to come out sooner or later. I saw his face that night. He'll be after his brother, either to apologize or to kill him. And right now, his brother is with the Winchesters."

"So if we follow Lusing," Amy said slowly, "We'll find the Winchesters."

Gordon gave a short, curt nod.

Opium could hear every noise amplified as if through a megaphone. He could hear the tap dripping in the bathroom. He could hear the steady booming as Dean Winchester tapped his mobile against the table. He could hear Vicky's heel swinging against her chair leg, a deafening banging. He could hear Sam's every sigh like the roar of a hurricane. He would have screamed at them all to shut up, but his throat stung whenever he swallowed and he doubted that yelling would help much. The dead mans blood had almost left his system - these were the final effects that were slowly but surely wearing off. Things had been much, much worse only twenty four hours ago...

He pushed the thought away, rubbing a hand over his chest where the wounds carved there still throbbed. Every throb brought a rush of rage with it. He wanted nothing more than to tear Gordon Walker apart, rip him limb from limb... he hadn't killed anyone whilst feeding for over two hundred years, and wasn't prepared to break that oath for some sadistic hunter. But he was prepared to kill for revenge. He knew that Vicky just wanted them to get out of the city, that the Winchester brothers were hoping to drive them out as soon as possible. But he couldn't leave yet. Not until everything was sorted... the three people sitting across the room began to talk in lowered voices. Opium pressed both hands over his ears, wincing at the noise. He couldn't block it out. A low growl rumbled from his throat, and the conversation paused before continuing once more. Opium squeezed his eyes shut and then abruptly pushed himself upright and rose to his feet. His head swung, but he managed to stay vertical. He blinked hard and then made his way over to the bathroom, tearing the door open and stepping inside, ignoring the stunned silence of his companions. He locked the door behind him and slid down it to sit on the floor, pressing both hands over his face.

He and Lusing would have to sort things eventually. Things were certainly not over between them, not after what he had just been through. He had wondered many times as he screamed in that basement why Lusing would give up his only brother. There had once been a time when they valued each other more than the 'greater good.' Now, apparently, it was clear that his brother wanted nothing more to do with him. Was willing to betray him, even, to a hunter. And what was he supposed to do? If he stayed, Gordon would kill him. If he ran, Lusing would follow him, tracking him through and through. And the Winchesters would be left to Gordon. Opium hated owing people - he would prefer to clear everything now.

In his pocket his mobile suddenly vibrated violently, and he hissed. He tore it out and was about to pound it into a mass of crumpled metal when he noticed the number. He paused, and then answered. There was no greeting, only a harsh, laboured breathing on the other end. Eventually, he spoke.

"What do you want?"

"Hey, bro," Lusing said, his voice trembling. "How... how are you?"

Opium bit back a growl. "Infected with poison and half dead," he snarled coldly. "How are you?"

"Listen, Opium... god, I feel terrible. I came back for you-"

"I heard what you did back there. You just abandoned them. And me."

"I'm sorry," Lusing said helplessly.

"Why should I believe you?"

Lusing hesitated. "You remember the church? We used to go there every Sunday with mum. I hated it, but you kept on. To please her, more than anything else, wasn't it? You kept me in line, for both our sakes."

"I remember," Opium said.

Lusing paused again. "We... we need to talk," he said at last. "We need to... to decide."

Opium swallowed hard. "Yeah," he said. "We do."

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