Time froze. With wide eyes Victor watched the surprised look on Foster's face while his head tilted over to the side. In slow motion Foster's body slid to the floor and his head landed in a puddle of his own blood.

"Foster!" Gerry screamed but it came from far away. Blankly Victor stared at the blood splattered wall where Foster had been standing a second ago. Something clattered to the ground and it could be the machete which had slipped from his numb fingers.

Foster. He had killed Foster. His thoughts ran in circles and didn't make any sense at all. Foster was dead. He had killed him. A friend.

"Oh, god!" Victor was shoved aside and he had to lean heavily against the bars of a cage. His legs trembled and without the support he'd go down like a rag doll.

"Foster." Gerry. Pleading. Victor turned away – but still had the picture of Foster's dead body clear in his mind – and sagged to his knees. Forehead against the cool steel he vomited till he was only dry heaving. The strain shoot lances of pain from his neck in his head and down his arm but the rest of his body was numb.

"Vic, hey." He had no idea how much time had past but out of nowhere Dean was at his side, holding his shoulders and rubbing circles on his back. Something about that was wrong Victor, however, couldn't care less. There was something more wrong, something about Foster. Blood. So much blood.

"It's okay." Dean's voice reached him through his foggy mind. "You had no choice. It's okay."

His tone told Victor that there was nothing okay about this. In the background somebody was crying.

"Can you walk?"

He nodded and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. With Dean's help he got to his feet and slowly they left the crying and the blood behind.

Outside the sun was shining and the air was fresh and Victor was sure that somebody – god or the devil – wanted to mock him. Dean guided him a few steps and then helped him to sit down next to Sam on the hood of a car. One of the vampires cars. The dead vampires. Dead like Foster.

Victor heaved again but there was only bile left which left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Holding his shoulders Sam saved him from doubling over but his grip was weak. Sam was wearing one of Dean's shirts but had left it unbuttoned. The bite wounds on his exposed skin looked nasty.

"Are you alright?" Victor asked, glad to have something to think about rather than Foster – who was dead, by the way. Killed by your very own hands, a mean little voice whispered in the back of his mind.

Sam looked him in the eye – dark shadows under his brimming eyes and pale from the blood loss – and tried a smile.

"I'll be fine." He said with a trembling voice. "And so will you."

Sam paused for a while catching his breath. With the heel of his hand he smeared blood and dirt and tears all over his cheeks. The boy needs a tissue, Victor thought randomly.

"You saved Foster."

Victor let out a hollow laugh. He saved Foster, that was a good joke. But Sam seemed serious.

"It wasn't your fault that he got turned." Honest, making a point. Sam meant what he was saying. "Thanks to you he didn't kill anybody. You saved him from becoming a monster. He would thank you for that."

They sat in silence for a while each of them lost in his own thoughts. Well, Victor was lost in a gray fog not really thinking at all. He could stay that way.

"Are you still bleeding?" Sam asked him through the fog and Victor needed a minute to figure out what he meant.

He probed his neck and when his fingers came back dry he shook his head.

"It stopped. You?"

"I'm good."

Through the open door to the cellar Victor couldn't see much for what he was thankful but now Dean and Gerry came out carrying something – somebody – wrapped in a blanket. The package was too short for a grown man and it was soaked with something dark at some points. Gently they put it to the ground while Dean opened the side door of a van. Then they settled the body – yes, you can name it. It's Foster's dead body – in the back and Gerry climbed into the driver's seat. Without a look in Victor's direction she drove away.

"We'll meet her at the sawmill." Dean said coming over. His clothes were stained with blood and he had dried blood on his hands and on his face. And he looked tired. "We take this car."

With his help Sam and Victor got in the car and Dean hot-wired it to follow Gerry.

Dean drove carefully and avoided most of the bumps but Victor welcomed every lance of pain his mauled neck shot through his body. It was the only thing he could feel. His mind drifted back into the gray fog of nothingness.

After a short drive they stopped to switch to the Impala.

"Come, it's more comfortable in the backseat." Dean coaxed him out of the car and a long second Victor just blinked at him. Why were they still dragging him around? He killed their friend. Why didn't they leave him at the farm where he would have sit around till the police would have come to arrest him. He'd deserve it. They could have blamed the whole massacre on him and he'd deserve it. He had killed a man. A friend. He had chopped his head off without a second thought. Without hesitation. The taste of bile was back in his mouth.

Will-less he followed Dean's instructions and was seated in the back of the Impala a minute later. In the passenger seat Sam sat, his elbows on his knees and his head hanging. He didn't look up when Dean started the car.

Victor spaced out again and he had no idea how much time had passed but when he looked up they had stopped at the sawmill they had left only a few hours ago. Up in one of the offices there was Eddy's headless body probably still tied to the chair. So many had died in the last hours. Those vampires had been barely more than kids and Foster ... Victor couldn't finish that thought.

Your fault. You killed him. Murderer. You are a murderer. A cold blooded killer. The little voice of his conscience taunted him. He wanted to cover his ears with his hand but he couldn't move his arms. Everything was numb. Maybe he could sleep it off. He hadn't slept last night so maybe this was all just a hallucination. Indicated by sleep deprivation and blood loss. Maybe he'd wake up in the morning and everything had been just a bad dream.

It's real. You killed Foster and you know it. He wanted to shout "Shut up!" but his mouth wasn't working like it was supposed to.

"Vic, you alright?" Sam had half turned in his seat to look at him. Somehow Dean had disappeared from the car without Victor noticing.

"No." He answered honestly after the minute he needed to figure out the meaning of the question.

"Yeah." Sam said a knowing expression on his face. Victor turned his head to avoid Sam's gaze, he wondered when the yelling would start. Would Dean beat him up? It was quite possible. He had killed his friend. Gerry's friend. She hadn't spoken to him since ... since. Hadn't even looked in his direction.

"What are they doing?"

Dean and Gerry dragged a pallet over and throw it on a pile of other pieces of wood. Gerry's stolen van stood not far away the side door closed but Victor knew what was inside.

"Building a pyre." Sam answered. He sounded dead beat. They all needed a shower, a good night's sleep and something to eat, not necessarily in that order and not that Victor was anywhere near hungry. Even thinking of food flipped his stomach. He swallowed and kept the bitter bile down.

"For Foster?" Stupid question.

"A hunter's pyre." Sam clarified. For a second he watched his brother and Gerry who eyed the pile of wood closely. "I think they are ready." He reached for the door and unfolded himself from the seat. Outside he stood heavily leaning on the door and the roof of the car.

A pyre, like a funeral. Something for family and friends to say goodby to their loved ones. Victor felt tears running down his cheeks. He shouldn't be here but he was glad that they tolerated his presence at least from the distance. From his place in the car he could watch and make his silent apology to his friend.

A door squeaked and suddenly Sam peered through the open door next to Victor. He hold out his hand.

"Come."

Together – they needed each other for support – they walked the short distance to the prepared pyre. Dean and Gerry carried the body still covered in the blanket and set it on top of the construction. Then Dean poured salt over it while Gerry emptied a canister of gas on it. Gerry lit a match.

When the flames flickered high Victor expected somebody – maybe Gerry – to say something but they all kept silent. All of them had tears in their eyes but nobody said a word.