Author's Note: Well, it's another short chapter, but I liked the juxtaposition too much to make it longer. Hope you enjoy! :-)

SPN

(New York … Thursday, December 3, 2005)

The sky was grey and dreary when Dean ventured out onto Bela's covered balcony later that morning. They might finally see some snow! It was certainly cold enough. Bundled up in his dad's leather coat, Dean didn't mind the weather. With thoughts of demons and dark magic heavy on his heart, he much preferred winter over the oppressive heat of summer. Then again, if they suddenly found themselves snowed in, they'd be in a world of trouble.

It was going on eight o'clock—approximately twenty-two hours since Sam's abduction. Dean hardly slept—how could he? The others were still inside, trying to rest before planning their next move, including Sam. Despite hours of unconsciousness, he remained thoroughly exhausted—physically, emotionally, and spiritually drained. Astral projection wasn't easy. But Dean couldn't hope to unwind, even with ibuprofen, so he kept a quiet watch while trying to process this whole ordeal.

First of all, Shax could find them. Son of a bitch! If Shax could track Sam's tattoo, it didn't matter how dangerous Elizabeth might be. They had three weeks, more or less, to deal with her, but Shax could bite them in the ass at any moment. He was a loose cannon, and they had to remove him from the equation as soon as possible. But how?

Bait? Dean shuddered. As a rule, the Winchesters tried to avoid hunting with bait. True, sometimes it was necessary, but whenever the situation demanded it, John's face always darkened with shadows of shame and regret. He made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that bait was for hunters with little regard for life.

Not to mention, Sam remained conflicted about his relationship with Jacob. How could he even consider asking the bastard for help!? If they tried using him as bait in his current condition, it would undoubtedly spell disaster. And it wouldn't be fair—Sam deserved their protection, not their manipulation.

Now, sitting in a teak chair with a plush cushion, Dean frowned up at the heavy clouds, wondering what other choice they had. The vampire was right; they couldn't spend the rest of their lives on the run. Dean maybe, but not Sam. What kind of life would that be for Sam?

Speaking of the vampire, Benny chose that moment to slide open the glass door and join Dean on the balcony. He moved with the remarkable poise of a large predator, but he seemed too relaxed to be on the prowl, so Dean acknowledged him with a terse nod. Benny eased into the adjacent chair and looked him up and down. "I still can't figure how you walked out of that fight in one piece. Jacob should've torn you apart."

Dean grunted. "He almost did. Sam distracted him, and I got lucky."

"Mmm…" Benny leaned back and studied the sky. "I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn earlier. I don't want you to get the wrong impression. I've never met your brother, but—you have my word—I'm on his side, one hundred percent. I'm invested, Dean, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep him safe."

"That right?" Dean managed to curb his contempt, but he couldn't hide his skepticism. "No offense, pal, but why do you even care?"

Benny shot two piercing blue eyes at him. Then he sighed, pulling his hat from his head and running a hand through his short brown hair. "I didn't ask to be a vampire. No one asks. When you're turned, it's chaos. Nothing but hunger and overstimulation. The world's too bright, the smells are too strong, and no matter how hard you try, you can't block out the provocative sound of hearts beating in the distance. It's maddening. You're utterly dependent on your maker's provisions, which often leads to blind devotion. Your nest becomes your family, and your maker, your god. My family was evil, Dean. I knew that, but I also knew I'd be nothing without 'em. Besides, what's the point of virtue in a world as broken as ours? It wasn't till I met her… that I remembered… Humans have a capacity to love that vampires can't comprehend. I glimpsed it in Andrea all those years ago, and I see it in you today. The kind of love that strengthens you to overcome insurmountable odds… That's something the likes of Jacob'll never understand, and it's something the likes of me will never enjoy. Maybe that's why it's so precious to me, cause I know I'm damned. It's torture, yearning for something forever out of reach. But if I can't have it, I sure as hell ain't depriving others. I'll fight for you, Dean. You and your brother, cause it's worth it."

Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. A philanthropic vampire? Was such a thing possible? Benny spoke without a trace of irony, and according to Pamela, he wasn't acting. Jacob, for all his enhancements, remained human, but he was more of a monster than Benny had ever been. Damn. The world was turning upside down. Of course, it could all be ending soon.

"Are you gonna be able to pick up Jacob's trail again?"

"I reckon. It's mighty difficult to give vampires the slip once they catch your scent. You can throw 'em off, but you can't hide forever."

Great, Dean thought to himself. By now, Benny had every single one of their scents. Whether he was on their side or not, he would always be able to follow them—anywhere—and Dean wasn't particularly comfortable with that idea.

"I'm just surprised he's hiding at all," Benny went on, heedless of Dean's concern. "He's obsessed, and if he's running with a demon, they should've been able to zap themselves from the viaduct straight to that island, no sweat. They should've beaten us there. But they didn't. They practically let Sam go, and I can't begin to fathom why."

Dean could. If there was any justice in the world, Jacob was injured from his fall—and definitely from the knife to the eye. Shax would use those injuries to justify teleporting somewhere else, far away from Sam and (more importantly) Bela. He wouldn't want Jacob to learn he was consorting with Azazel. If the hunters were lucky, they might be able to use that to their advantage. Maybe they could turn Jacob and Shax against each other.

But in the meantime, they had to be careful—especially Dean. Jacob was bound to be pissed, and if he knew the Styne at all, there would be hell to pay.

SPN

Jacob woke sharply to the sound of chickadees outside a row of double-hung windows. What a nuisance! He found himself in a sparsely decorated room with crown molding, soft-green walls, and a hardwood floor. Damn. Someone had left him resting atop the covers of a firm bed—no pillows—with a short chain shackling his left ankle to the footboard. Who would dare? Shax? Dean? No, Dean would have simply killed him.

Slowly sitting up, Jacob hissed at the pain lingering throughout his body. He had fallen over a hundred feet, and judging by the bandages wrapped around his bare chest, he sustained some minor damage. His enhancements saved his life, and they would hasten his recovery, but they didn't make him invincible. What about his eye? By all rights, he should be half-blind, but he couldn't detect any substantial differences.

Bewildered, Jacob brushed his fingers over his face, checking for abnormalities. Nothing. Apparently, whoever restrained him also had the means to heal him. Why? What were they after? Jacob learned at an early age not to trust anyone outside the family. Friendships and allegiances were all well and good, but they always came with ulterior motives, and as Monroe taught him, the wise not only accepted that—they took advantage of it. Obviously, someone wanted something from Jacob. But who? And what?

Scowling, he yanked back his leg, hoping he might either snap the chain or crack the footboard, but no such luck. He wasn't operating at full strength, and it didn't look like he was going anywhere soon—which naturally meant Dean would reclaim Sam.

It. Wasn't. FAIR!

Jacob snarled in frustration. The snarl quickly swelled into a roar. Soon he was shouting at the top of his lungs, and fortunately it didn't take long to attract some attention. A white door swung open and Shax appeared, wearing a sheepish grin. "Jacob! You're awake! That's good. I'm sorry about the chain. I told them it wasn't necessary, but they wanted to proceed with caution, just in case."

"They?" Jacob growled as another man entered behind the demon. He was six feet tall with narrow shoulders and a thin frame. His tailored black suit and tidy flaxen hair conveyed culture and prestige, while his arctic eyes showcased cruelty. Jacob didn't recognize him, and wanted nothing to do with him. Instead, he glowered at Shax. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Don't worry," came his nonchalant reply. "We're all friends here. Jacob, allow me to introduce Commandant Eckhart, leader of the renowned Thule Society."

Just when Jacob thought his wrath was at capacity. The Thule. According to Sam, their incompetence enabled Dean to navigate his way to the safe house on the night of the wedding. Ultimately, they were responsible for Sam's escape and the Stynes' humiliation.

"Commandant," Shax continued blithely. "May I present Herman Styne's great-nephew, Jacob? I believe you have much in common."

"Pleasure," Eckhart said with a noticeable German accent. "I was a disciple of your great-uncle's, Mr. Styne, and can honestly say I have nothing but respect for you and your admirable kin."

"And yet you've shackled me to a bed."

Eckhart shrugged apologetically. "Our mutual friend here warned us you might be, shall we say, hostile. I can't blame you for that—I know all too well the bitter taste of defeat. The shackle is simply a safety measure to ensure you don't take your aggression out on the wrong people. I wish to help you, Mr. Styne. That's why I treated your wounds and saved your eye. Accept my partnership, and I'll release you. Refuse, and we shall go our separate ways, but you'll be obliged to remove your own encumbrances."

Jacob fumed, resenting everything about the conceited bastard, from his stupid voice to his smug face. However, he was raised by Monroe, and could almost hear the old man preaching shrewdness over passion. He took a deep, calming breath. "Why help me? I have nothing to give in return." The Winchesters took everything. Everything!

Eckhart frowned. "On the contrary. I have my own grudge against that upstart, Dean Winchester. He and his hunting pal—Bobby, I believe—killed someone very dear to me. I intend for them to suffer, and if that is likewise your goal, we ought to combine our resources."

"What good are your resources? After everything my uncle taught you, you still lost your damn war."

Eckhart scoffed. "All right, if that's how you care to play, we were overwhelmed by everything the Men of Letters and their pet Jews could throw at us. You and your family? Vanquished by some meager legacies." Jacob clenched his fists, but Eckhart wasn't deterred. "Let's not quarrel, Mr. Styne. It serves no purpose to wallow in our failures. The fact is, we both have reputations to restore, and by working together, we can have our justice."

Jacob sighed, reluctantly considering the offer. After all, it wasn't the best time to be scorning potential aid—he couldn't forget Sam's message about Lilibet, Yellow Eyes and Lucifer. If anyone could succeed at permanently separating him from his little brother, it would be the fallen angel, and Jacob would be damned if he allowed that to happen. "You'll have to excuse my temper, sir. I had a rough night. On second thought, perhaps we can come to an understanding."

SPN

Author's Note: Take that, Jacob! It's not as much fun when you're the one being restrained, is it!? :-p Somehow, I doubt this experience will change how Jacob might treat Sam in the future. What do you think?

Please Review!