With a frustrated growl, Cassie Robinson launched yet another pencil at the wall. She let out a huff, realizing that about eleven pencils had been embedded already. The book in her lap was snapped shut, and then tossed to the edge of the bed. It had been the fifteenth book she had looked through already. Still, there hadn't been any mention of 'The Connected.' To think she had thought her day off would be relaxing. Cassie sighed, and then moved to climb out of her bed. Might as well take a break. She had been up since six this morning, and it was approaching noon. She stepped over the pile of books on her way out of the bedroom. She would get them, and the pencils, after she had something to eat.
Cassie stretched her arms up high as she walked through her house. That was still a wonder to be honest. She hadn't planned on having her own house until her mid-forties. But here she was, moving through a house three times as big as her tiny studio apartment. This had all been given to her by a man she had barely known as an adult. Who would have thought a few summers with him would have gained her a place in his will? One would think she had been the late Mayor's lovechild, or something. There were definitely rumors going around. She had chosen to shut her ears to such things. Her priorities were focused on work and… the other aspects her life had taken on.
Almost half a year, and she was knee-deep in the supernatural. If she were all the way honest, most of her free time had gradually become looking through textbooks and journals, practicing with weapons, watching a lot more martial arts films and how-tos, and learning about this world that had been existing since the beginning of time. The life had sucked her in, and she couldn't remember if she had even put up a fight. Not like she could fight herself, after all. She, herself, was supernatural. Going against her own nature had seemed so counterproductive. But. She was steadfast in her decision to not completely submerge herself. No way. It couldn't happen. She couldn't just replace the normal life she had now just because of what happened in 2003. She wouldn't.
Cassie opened her refrigerator door, eyes immediately darting around in search of something to eat. Her eating habits had changed since that fateful day. She had normally ate light during the day. Now, all of her meals were heavy with multiple food groups. Her funds mostly went to buying food nowadays. It was actually pretty fortunate that this house had been given to her. Now, she didn't have to worry about that high rent—only the standard utilities. She supposed she should be grateful for the late Mayor. Cassie grabbed the cream cheese from the bottom shelf. She would start with bagels, then fruit, make some scrambled eggs—with plenty of bacon and ham—and then oatmeal. She would finished it off with apple juice. She idly wondered if all athletes had the same type of appetites as she shut the refrigerator door.
Setting the container of cream cheese down, Cassie went to grab a knife from the drawer. However, the sound of her cell phone ringing caught her attention. She halted, looking towards where the noise had come from. Had she left her phone in the living room? Looking up in thought, she made her way out of the kitchen. Actually, she had. Last night, she had settled in front of the television with her phone and a notepad in order to watch a marathon of Bruce Lee movies.
Cassie reached down to grab her cell phone from the wooden coffee table. She glanced at the caller id, but couldn't recognize the number. Humming thoughtfully, she answered, and the ringing stopped. "Hello…?" she greeted. For a long moment, all she received was silence. Knitting her brow, she repeated her greeting. "Hello?" Someone cleared their throat, and then said her name. Cassie blinked once, and then her lips parted. She knew his voice. "… Dean," she almost whispered. She hadn't expected to hear from him. It had been weeks. She hadn't even heard from Tracee yet. Running fingers through her curled hair, Cassie licked her lips. "Is this your new number?"
"Uh, yeah, got a new phone—thought I'd maybe get a new number, too," Dean answered. Cassie nodded, although he couldn't see it. She would save it under his name after the call ended. "So, um, I didn't just call you to, you know, breathe in your ear." An uneasy chuckle left him. She nervously chewed her lower lip, waiting for him to continue. The last phone conversation she had had with someone in their trio had not been good at all. She didn't want a repeat. She hoped Tracee was okay… Dean paused, taking a deep breath. "I took… I took your advice. I told Trace about what dad said to me."
"Oh," Cassie silently let out a sigh of relief. No one had been hurt. Physically. That was good. Unless, of course, Tracee had attacked after learning this huge secret involving Sam. "How'd she take it? Full on British?"
"And Korean," Dean chirped. "You know, the double whammy." Cassie found herself wincing. She knew about that. Tracee had five levels of anger. The first was mild. The second, the accents started coming out, usually British. Third, Korean words spewed. Fourth was the double whammy, and more than likely, she would start getting violent. The last, and fortunately, Cassie hadn't experienced it, was the tundra—cold, bitter, harsh and void of anything but. Tracee had told her she had unleashed that level of anger on Dean before because of his callous words to her. They had both said things they hadn't meant in the heat of the moment. Those levels had nothing on Slayer rage, though. Cassie idly wondered if all Slayers had that. She had gotten pretty heated when she attacked the ghost truck, after all. "But once she calmed down, we came up with a sorta solution."
"And what's that?" Cassie asked, shaking thoughts of Slayer rage out of her mind for now.
"We're… we're trying to figure out why dad said what he said," Dean stated. "Trace had a dream awhile back—one of her Slayer dreams-" Cassie pursed her lips at the mention of 'Slayer dreams' despite knowing it wasn't directed at her. "-about Sam and five other people. We already met one of the people in her dream, besides Sam, I mean. Max Miller." Cassie nodded. She knew Max. Every time she had called Missouri, he would be the one to answer the phone before passing it along to the older psychic. "We figure that if we can find more information on the rest of them, then we find the reason for dad's warning. They all have something to do with the Demon we're hunting."
"Okay, so what's the next step?"
"… We used one of our new sources," Dean continued. "This guy's a genius, or whatever, and he gave us the names of two of the people in Tracee's dream. Or, at least, we hope they are. See, these two had the same thing happen to them that Sam went through as a baby."
"Nursery fires," Cassie supplied.
"Yeah… Jeez, how much does Trace tell you?"
"Enough," Cassie shrugged. "But only two names? I though you said it was five other people."
"Yeah, but he only managed to find two other people with the same background," Dean muttered. "The others might not have had the same thing happen to them. It's Trace's guess, anyway. Two names are better than none, though. But we've hit a roadblock. You see, we can't let Sam know about any of this until we know. We can't get any more information on these two without Sam trying to get suspicious."
"What do you need me to do?" Cassie asked with no hesitation.
"I… I…" He seemed at a loss for words. "I wanted ask if you can do me a favor. With this stuff, I don't want people I don't know looking into it. I need someone I can trust, but I wouldn't want you to-"
"I know this is important to you, and Tracee, and I can do more than you right now, so what do you need?"
"These two people—we need more information on them. Trace thought you'd be a good choice since you're neutral. You can use your profession as an excuse."
"Okay," she replied simply. "I'll find them and interview them."
"Okay? Just like that?"
"Just like that, Dean," she told him. "Just send me the names, and I'll call you back once I've got something."
"Thanks, Cassie… I… I really appreciate this," Dean said. She felt herself smiling. "I'll text you the names. Talk to you later."
"Good bye, Dean."
"Oh, hey, wait…!" he stopped her from pulling the phone from her ear. "… So what are you wearing?" Surprised giggled broke through her mouth. "Let me guess—those purple pajamas? Or that lacy thong with a t-shirt?"
"Good bye, Dean," Cassie repeated with a roll of her eyes.
He merely laughed out loud, telling her he would talk to her later. She shook her head and ended the call. Pulling the phone from her ear, she couldn't wipe the smile from her face. Well, this was good. He was being his regular self, wasn't he? That meant that the burden had been lessened, after all. She huffed lightly, lifting up her shirt to tug on the band of her lace panties. How had he known that she still sometimes chose to wear this particular outfit to bed? The chime of her cell phone alerted her to a new message. Quickly, she opened her texts to find the one from Dean's new number.
Andrew Gallagher, Scott Carey.
Cassie hummed as she stared at the text message. Two names, both males. Dean hadn't told her much about the same background, but she could infer that they were probably both Sam's age, equipped with psychic abilities, along with Max Miller. It would probably be tough getting them to open up if she managed to find them. But for some reason, the two had something to do with a Slayer dream. A dangerous demon. And a horrible warning that had caused both Tracee and Dean to freak. Too important to ignore. She had ignored her Slayer dreams before, and she decided not to anymore. She wouldn't ignore Tracee's dreams either. They all had too much riding on this now.
Besides, she needed a break from trying to find The Connected.
0-0
Dean felt himself grinning, instantly recognizing the song that had come on the radio. A classic. So he turned up the volume as he sped down the stretch of road. He ignored the speed limit of 55 and went beyond it just as the lyrics kicked in. The Impala sounded better than ever. After weeks cooped up at Bobby's, they were finally back on the road. Today was shaping up to be really good. "Whoo!" Dean couldn't help but exclaim his excitement. He just felt enthused. More enthused about a job than he ever had, maybe. Actually, it might just be the fact that his Baby was up and running, too. "Just listen to her purr! You ever heard anything so sweet?"
"You know, if you two want to get a room…" Sam trailed off with a smirk.
"Ah, don't listen to him, Baby," Dean ignored his brother's sarcasm and chose to coo at the perfection of his vehicle. "He doesn't understand us." Sam only huffed out a laugh.
"You're in a good mood," he commented.
"Why shouldn't I be?" Dean asked. "Got my car. Got a case. Things are looking up."
"Well, calm down, Mr. Sunshine," Sam told him as he reached to lower the volume. He then glanced back at his girlfriend in the backseat. Five miles into the drive from Bobby's, Tracee had laid down, curled up on her side with her back facing the front. Using Sam's jacket as a blanket, the tiny tank had barely moved at all. She had never seemed so tired before. It was a little odd. "Tracee didn't get much sleep last night. I don't think she went to sleep at all."
"Dude, there's a reason I didn't ask about the hickeys on your neck," Dean grumbled with a shake of his head. "I don't wanna hear how you two were making out all night long."
"No!" Sam protested, attempting to cover the various dark marks on his neck with his hand. Then he dropped it, chuckling. "I mean, well, yeah…" he admitted, unable to stop the smug look from crossing his face. Cheeks flushed and all that. Dean shook his head again. "But mostly we were just talking." His brother turned his full attention on him. "About my abilities." Dean tried not to flinch. "Basically, we both agreed not to experiment with my abilities. We should just stick to premonitions for now. So she was up all night looking through her handbook for information. I woke up this morning, and she was still reading. I don't think she found anything yet."
That was actually expected. The bookworm that she was, Tracee probably wanted to know as much information about possible about psychics. And she didn't want Sam knowing her true intentions, so persuading him to not think about his abilities in the first place benefited them both. It really had been a good idea to tell her, after all. Now, he had someone in his corner to do the heavy lifting, so to speak. For a while, he didn't have to worry about that vague warning left behind. The tiny tank, and her bestie, were on the case. Thinking about said bestie managed to produce a smile on Dean's face.
He cleared his throat, and focused back on the road before Sam could notice. "So no more practicing?" Dean questioned. His brother shook his head. "Well, good for now. Leaves us time to focus on better things." Sam scoffed.
"Better things…?" he repeated in disbelief. "A couple of severed heads and a pile of dead cows is considered better things to us. Wow, what a life we have."
"Living the dream, Sammy," Dean retorted with a wide grin. His brother only chuckled and shook his head. "How much further to Red Lodge?"
"Uh, about another three hundred miles."
"Good," he replied, and then put more pressure on the gas.
0-0
Tracee watched as Dean successfully persuaded the morgue attendant to leave his post. Too bad his persuasive skills hadn't managed to move the local Sheriff. So now, they had to impersonate personnel of a hospital in order to find information on the latest victim. The young male hurriedly scurried from behind his desk and quickly left the room. Hopefully, he would be gone long enough. Sam shut the door after the attendant left, and she left his side to grab pairs of latex gloves from the box on the desk. "Hey, those Satanists in Florida, they marked their victims, didn't they?" Dean questioned, grabbing a pair of gloves from the box as well. He handed them off to his brother.
"Yeah, reverse pentacle on the forehead," Sam stated. He took the gloves, and then headed in just as Tracee finished putting on her pairs.
"When did you go to Florida? Can we go back? I'm all for warmer climates and bikinis," she said, following after Sam.
"Trust me, Trace, you do not want to go to Florida," Dean moved to follow after her. "So much effed up crap happens in Florida."
"California then?"
They approached Sam just as he was opening a compartment. He wheeled out the corpse. There was a plastic box set between the legs. Presumably, the head was in there. The label on top of the box marked the corpse as Christina Flanagan—the latest victim in a brutal murder. Tracee stepped to the left, partially pulling back the cover that draped over the victim's body. She had wanted to examine the cause of death. Her finger lightly touched the ridges of the neck as she narrowed her eyes. Clean. She wondered what type of blade had done this as she listened to the Winchesters bicker about which one of them was going to open the box. Rolling her eyes, she shifted her attention to the plastic box.
"You're both weak," she announced, moving to grab the container. "Honestly—doing this for so long, and yet you're squeamish." Tracee placed the plastic box on the examination slab. She removed the lid, and her nose was affronted with the putrid smell of death and stabilizing chemicals. "Oh my God! Her eyes are still open!" she squealed as she took a step back from the box. Sam chuckled and shook his head, approaching her side.
"Looks like you're just as weak as us," he remarked, nudging her arm with his elbow. Tracee pursed her lips, but didn't try to protest. Dean walked over, tilting his head as he stared down at the severed body part.
"Well, no pentagram," he stated.
Grimacing, Tracee peered into the plastic containing again. Her gaze darted all over, brain already coming up with a theory. "Since there's no other trauma that I can see to the head, it looks like the intention was just to kill," she began. "Plus, her body was just left after the killing strike. Satanists would probably prop her in some way—mark her in some way. From the cut itself, I'd say we're dealing with an established serial killer. He or she didn't just start. They probably have more kills on their record than the two we heard about here. I don't think this is an escalation from mutilated cows. Like the Sheriff said, they probably don't have anything to do with each other."
"You actually believe that crap about cows' bodies splitting open?" Dean questioned.
"Oh no, that sounded cracked," Tracee answered. "Something or someone is mutilating cows, but I don't think it's our serial killer."
"Let's not rule out Satanists just yet," Dean continued. "I mean, maybe we should, uh, look in her mouth, see if this wacko stuffed anything down her throat. You know, kinda like the moth in the Silence of the Lambs." He chuckled, patting his brother's arm. "Why don't you open her up, Sammy?"
"What?" Sam visibly tensed at the suggestion.
"Yeah, 'Put the lotion in the basket.'" Dean gestured towards the head. Tracee snorted, trying to stifle the laugh. The grin on his face made it clear that he had been proud of his impression. Sam looked at her, clearly not finding his brother as amusing.
"It's funny, darling," she said with a shrug of her shoulders.
"It's morbid," Sam corrected with a huff. He took several breaths to calm his nerves before his fingers reached for the mouth of the corpse. His own lips twitched several times as his fingers worked their way through the mouth. Tracee watched his face, in mild amusement, as his expression went through various stages of disgust. Honestly, it looked like he was about to be sick. "Dean, get me a bucket."
"Why? You got something?"
"Nope, just gonna puke," Sam explained, taking his hands away. Dean only rolled his eyes. After a pause, he told his brother to lift the lip up again. "What?" He actually sounded affronted. "You want me to throw up," he accused.
"No, no, no, I think I saw something," Dean stated. He was the one to go for the upper lip. Sam and Tracee leaned in close. There was a small disfigurement on the upper gums. "What—is that a hole?" Sam reached forward again, pressing against the gums near the 'hole.' To their astonishment, a sharp tooth slipped out. "That's a fang." Dean stood up straight, along with his brother. They both took their fingers away from the severed head. "Retractable set of vampire fangs. You've got to be kidding me."
"Well, this changes things," Sam muttered.
"You think…?" Dean asked, sarcastically. "Trace, you couldn't sense anything?"
"No, despite her being a vampire, this is a real corpse," she replied. "She's dead—there's nothing for me to sense. Might as well be dust. But you know that this means, don't you? This isn't a normal serial killer."
"Yeah, could be a hunter."
0-0
With her arms crossed, Tracee sat in the backseat of the Impala, waiting for the Winchesters to come out of a local bar. They had wanted to gather evidence on a possible nest. After the three of them had left the morgue, Tracee had found out more about the latest victim. Apparently, she hadn't been a native to Red Lodge. She had only gotten into town a few months back. She had a part-time job that had paid her under the table as she had no proof of residence. Not surprising, her having been a vampire and all. The first victim, in this town, hadn't been as forthcoming with the details, but they had found out that the first victim had visited this particular bar quite often before his head had been discovered. The second victim, too, so that's why Dean and Sam had gone in.
It was the only lead they had. The reason they had decided to stick around had been to confirm the theory. As of right now, they only knew that the second victim had been a vampire, not the first. So before they packed up and left, they had wanted to make sure. Admittedly, Tracee also had a nagging feeling about the whole thing. Something was off. This nagging feeling wouldn't go away. Coupled by an annoying buzz at the base of her neck ever since they had pulled up to this bar, this case was starting to become a mystery she wanted to solve.
Tracee sat up straighter, seeing the brothers walk out of the bar's entrance. However, they did not walk towards the car. She uncrossed her arms and leaned towards the closed window, watching as they headed around the corner of the building instead. She narrowed her eyes and hummed, wondering their intentions. She didn't have to wonder for long. Her eyes caught sight of a figure, a man's silhouette, moving in their direction. The figure had followed the brothers down a dark alley.
Frowning, Tracee pushed open the back door, cautiously stepping out. Once she shut the door behind her, she moved quickly in the alley's direction, making sure to carefully walk so that her footsteps wouldn't make much noise as she followed after the unknown man. She lifted the hood of her jacket, glad that she switched from her jean one back at the motel, because it had started to drizzle a little. The man rounded another corner, obviously looking around for the Winchesters. Once he stopped moving forward, Tracee made her approach.
"Excuse me…?" she spoke up. The man sharply turned to face her. He was a dark-skinned man, looking to be close to his thirties. His hair was shaved, buzzed cut, and he had a short dark beard around his mouth. With dark eyes, he focused his sight on her, staring suspiciously. This was a man she hadn't seen before, and so she kept her distance. However, she couldn't sense anything supernatural about him. "Can I help you with something?" In the silence that followed, the man's shoulders gradually relaxed.
"Not tonight, sweet thing," he replied, having the nerve to show a smile. "I'm taking care of a few concerns of mine."
"That's funny," Tracee sneered, taking offense to the implication. "You happen to be following after two of my concerns." The man lost his smile, but her words were a big enough distraction. He hadn't seen Dean and Sam sneak up on him. Hadn't realized until his back was slammed against the nearby wall. The older brother held a knife to the man's throat. Smirking, she stepped closer to the three. She leaned against the raised concrete and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. The two had him pinned by the shoulders, so she wasn't worried about retaliation.
"Would you put that thing away? I'm not a vampire," the man protested.
"Oh, we already know that," Dean stated. "Because if you were a vampire, you'd already be dust… Isn't that right, Trace?"
"That's right," she crooned. She wouldn't allow a vampire to so boldly go after the Winchesters. If even a smidgen of killer intent was felt, that vampire would be dust, no question about it. But just because this guy wasn't a vampire did not mean he wasn't dangerous, which was the reason Dean and Sam still had him against the wall. And since he had so easily mentioned the word 'vampire' in the first place, he was most likely the one hunter they had formed the theory about. "Which begs the question… Why are you following them?"
"I heard them in the bar, asking questions," the man said.
"So you assumed they were vampires? Smart."
The man frowned, clearly not liking the sarcastic compliment. Then he took on a thoughtful expression. "Wait…" he muttered. His eyes darted between the three of them. "You're Sam and Dean Winchester." Tracee raised a brow, surprised that this man seemed to know who they were. Slowly, the two released their hold on him as she pushed herself from the concrete wall. His eyes focused on her again. "And you're the black girl that travels with them."
"Excuse you…?! Black girl?!" Tracee hissed out. She felt her face hardened. Immediately, she was offended. Immediately, felt hot anger swirling within her. This stranger had just referred to her as something she hadn't been called since middle school. That might as well have been her bloody nickname with the amount of times she had been called that. This stranger had known Dean and Sam's names, but she had been called something else? Was this how it felt when she hadn't gotten others' names wrong? No. This was worse. Tracee let out a bark of humorless laughter. "I got your black girl!"
"Trace, calm down," Dean turned to her, holding up a pacifying hand. Tracee growled as she folded her arms over her chest. Still, at his behest, she stifled her anger. The scowl could not be wiped from her face, though. Satisfied with that, Dean turned back to the man. "How do you know who we are?"
The man warily stared at her for a few moments more, and then focused on Dean. "I'm sorry. It's just what I heard." He tilted his head, indicating that they all should follow him. He headed back to the parking lot, and the three silently agreed to follow, if only for more information. It was still a mystery as to how this guy knew of them. Even if he hadn't known all of their names. Glaring at the man's back, Tracee watched as he opened a door to a red car. "The name's Gordon Walker," he introduced himself as he pulled out a secret compartment behind the driver's seat. There were a plethora of weapons, confirming his hunter status. "Met your old man once—hell of a guy. Great hunter," Gordon continued. "Heard he passed. I'm sorry."
"So you heard of us through our dad?" Sam questioned.
"Not exactly…" Gordon said. "From what I hear, you guys are great trackers, good in a tight spot. Word travels fast. You know how hunters talk."
"There's a hunter grapevine?" Tracee rolled her eyes.
"I guess there's a lot your old man didn't tell you," Gordon summarized.
"You have no idea," Sam muttered. "But anyway… Those two severed heads—they were yours? Vampires?"
"Yep," the man replied, pride seeping into his voice. "Been here two weeks." Tracee felt her lip curl up as Dean asked the location of the nest. "Look, uh, real nice to meet you folks, but I've got this one covered. I've been at this a year." He slid the compartment back in place. "I killed a fang back in Austin, tracked the nest all the way up here. I'll finish it." She may have been biased because of the sour first impression he had left with her, but Tracee felt that there was something not quite right with this man. She especially had not liked his use of the word fang either. Besides, the nagging feeling hadn't gone away even after receiving the confirmation.
"Alright," Dean told him. "Good luck out there."
"Yeah, thanks," Gordon said with a nod of his head. He climbed into the driver's seat of his vehicle. "And, uh, hey, maybe if we see each other again, I'll buy you a drink, huh?" Not waiting for a response, the man turned the key in the ignition and started up his car. He drove off without a backwards glance.
"So… we're just gonna let him go?" Sam asked.
"Why not?" Dean scratched at his head. "It's not our hunt, Sammy." Then his green eyes focused on Tracee. "Unless you have something to add, Trace."
"Why?"
"Well, we're dealing with vampires—your calling card, remember?" Dean explained. "When it comes to vampires, Slayers probably trumps hunters, right? So it's your call. Your show. What do you want to do?" Both brothers stared expectedly at her. On one hand, she didn't very much care what happened to Gordon Walker. If he wanted to take on a nest by himself without backup, then that was his business. On the other hand, this whole investigation seemed too strange for her tastes. Straight answers hadn't really added up. Half of the reason they had come to this town had been explained, but not the other half. More than likely, the mystery would gnaw at her brain if they packed up and left now.
"Fine, I think we should follow him," Tracee decided.
"Don't sound so enthused, Trace."
"What? I don't think I like him."
"You don't like a lot of people, so that's actually pretty normal," Sam commented. Tracee playfully told him to shut up. He only chuckled and draped an arm around her shoulders, leading her over to the Impala. Dean walked by their side. She could just about sense his approval with her decision. The three loaded themselves into the car, and quickly began tailing after the hunter on a mission.
They had to drive carefully, with the headlights off, as to not alert the man. Eventually, Gordon's vehicle stopped just before hitting an old mill. Dean came to a stop a little ways away, parking the Impala. They watched as the man exited his vehicle and make his way over to the mill. After waiting a few moments, the three got out of their vehicle. Dean went around to open the trunk. Tracee and Sam followed, stepping to his side just as he lifted the tire lid's compartment. The two brothers grabbed guns while she had reached for a single wooden stake. After gathering their weapons, the trunk was quietly shut.
Now equipped, the three headed straight towards the mill. Strange, though… It didn't appear to be a nest. The mill, though old, seemed to be in working order, judging from the smoke rising and the lights that were still on. Nests were usually abandoned buildings that wouldn't draw much attention. Why would vampires hole up here? Was it even a nest? This just didn't make any sense. Still, she perhaps should focus on the task at hand for now. They had made it to the mill, and were now maneuvering through, seeking out the obvious sounds of struggle.
Once they reached the source of the noise, Tracee saw that Gordon hadn't been a match for one vampire. The man laid there, weak from the struggle, about to be decapitated by a large industrial chainsaw. Sam quickly moved, reaching to grab Gordon's ankle. He pulled the man from underneath the chainsaw's path in the nick of time. The vampire sharply turned, growling with his fangs bared. The proof was right there in front of her, but… the tingles were different. They were… muffled? If she closed her eyes, she wouldn't truly be able to know that it was a vampire in front of her.
Still, the vampire lunged at them, compelling her body to react. She shot forward, deflecting the sloppy right hook by swatting it down with her left hand. Her right hand, curled into a fist, rammed hard against the man's temple. The strike sent him crashing hard into a machine with many buttons. He recovered, but stared at her gob smacked. She didn't give him time to retaliate. Lifting her leg, she brought it back down in an axe kick. His body slammed against the floor. Tracee grabbed the back of his uniform, lifting him to his knees. She struck his face three times in rapid succession with her left first, and then brought her knee to his gut then his face.
The vampire's head sprung back, and the rest of his body followed. On his back, his chest was exposed. Tracee pulled the stake from the waistband of her jeans and raised it high. She dropped down in a squat, putting most of her weight into plunging the sharp end into the vampire's chest. His mouth opened to scream, but his body was already crumbling to dust. Tracee tugged on the stake just before the entire body disintegrated. With a sigh, she stood to her full height, tilting her head to the left then right. She rolled her shoulders, and then shifted her attention to the three men. They each wore varying expressions of shock. She licked her lips, and then arched her brow.
"Wanna know my name now?"
0-0
The waitress brought over three more shots, and Dean reached into his pocket to grab his wallet. The four of them had come back to the local bar to celebrate. Even Tracee, who had never been one for alcohol had participated in downing shots. Sam, of course, not so much. "No, no! I got it," Gordon interrupted him. This would be the fifth time he had paid for shots. "Really, I insist." Dean shrugged, relaxing in his seat as he eyed the man that was so willing to pay for their drinks. He placed a couple of bills on the waitress' tray. "Thank you, sweetie." The platinum blonde haired waitress walked away, and the shots were grabbed from the table. Gordon held up his shot, wanting a toast. "Another one bites the dust—literally."
Dean and Tracee clinked their glasses with his before downing their shots. Sam remained relaxed in his chair, fingers clasped together in front of him. Tracee slammed her glass down, giggling. She had been doing that ever since she had taken her first shot. "All in a day's work!" Tracee exclaimed. Her head dropped down before springing back up with a wide grin on her face. Dean shook his head, wondering if it had been a mistake giving her alcohol.
"Tracee…" Gordon said her name with a drawl. He laughed out loud. "I cannot believe what you did, my friend. That was beautiful. You're a little slugger, aren't you?" Tracee rapidly nodded her head, almost falling out of her chair in her enthusiasm. Sam frowned, righting her before she did. "You know, awhile back, I heard there were people who could actually pull off a dusting, but to think I would be able to see it. Almost died a few times, trying to do it myself!"
"Yep—leave it to the professionals!" Tracee slapped at her chest. Then coughed because she must have hit herself too hard. "We run this!" She laughed again, grinning stupidly. "No… no… no… no silly boys!"
"You alright there, Sammy?" Dean asked, noticing his brother's continued silence. He hadn't said much of anything since they had left the old mill. Sam sniffed a bit, gaze darting over to Tracee once before answering.
"I'm fine," he replied.
"Well, lighten up a bit, Sammy!" Gordon attempted to cajole.
"He's the only one that gets to call me that," Sam retorted, his Bitchface prominent. Dean almost rolled his eyes as he took a swig of his beer.
"Shyeah!" Tracee agreed, excitedly. "On-Only… Only Dean because… cuz… cuz Dean's nasty. He's the nasty one!"
The gulp of beer came right back up. Dean coughed and sputtered it back into the glass mug. He never should have made that joke. "Okay, Trace, I think you've had enough!" he exclaimed. "Sam, take her back to the room. She's done."
"Yeah, yeah, she shouldn't have been drinking, anyway, but okay," Sam muttered, standing from his chair. Had that been the reason his brother had been irritated? Dean couldn't stop the eye roll as Sam helped Tracee out of her chair. "Come on, let's go and sleep this off." The tiny tank whined out, but didn't actually use words. She stumbled into Sam, grabbing him around the middle with her arm and reaching for another glass with her free hand. "No, no, no—let's just get you to bed." Sam halted her reach for the beer. Tracee let out another unintelligible whine, but then nodded her head in agreement. The two began to make their way towards the door.
Dean reached into the pocket of his jacket. "Sammy!" he said, catching his brother's attention. Sam turned back around, barely stopping Tracee from falling to the floor. Apparently, the tiny tank was going to be a handful. Dean tossed the keys, and it was almost impressive that they were caught while holding onto a drunken Tracee. "Don't do anything weird to her while she's like that."
"I'm not a pervert, Dean!" Sam snapped, clearly annoyed by the teasing.
"Shyeah, you are!" Tracee laughed out. "Oh my God! Oh my God—I'm gonna be ravished! He's gonna ravish me! Save me, Dean!" Said brother rubbed his temple as Tracee giggled loudly. Yeah, she couldn't have any more alcohol if this happened every time. It had only been twenty minutes ago where her Slayer-self had been so badass, and now she had been reduced to a drunken mess.
"And on that note…" Sam led his girlfriend to the exit.
"I don't think your brother likes me very much," Gordon mumbled after the two of them had left.
"Nah, he's like that with every guy that hits on his girlfriend," Dean told him.
"Oh! Oh, oh, my bad—I didn't know," Gordon sounded genuinely astonished. "I would have never… Anyway, I meant no offense." Dean waved off his concern. Sam still felt some type of way about Ash. At least, Tracee hadn't flirted back this time. "But in all seriousness, that girl is something else. For someone so small, she packs a hellava punch."
"Yup, that's our tank," Dean agreed. "She's something like our vampire specialist. Been trained for this most of her life, so yeah, she's the heavy hitter."
"Well, you two definitely lucked out with her," he replied. "I mean, the way she moves—I could barely keep up."
"Yeah, yeah…" For some reason, he found this continued line of conversation uncomfortable. Honestly, Dean didn't want Gordon to know. He seemed to be in the dark about Slayers like most hunters. Probably should just keep it that way. So after clearing his throat, he decided to switch subjects. "So, uh, you say you've been at this for a year?"
Fortunately, the conversation did switch easily. Once Dean got him talking about the various hunts he had been on, Gordon wouldn't shut up. Most of his hunts centered on vampires. The guy was obviously obsessed with them. Then he began talking about how he got into the life in the first place. A vampire had killed his sister. Dean supposed the obsession made sense then. That one thing triggered the life he had now. The rest of his family had turned their backs on him, leaving him no choice but to get answers on his own. His first kill had ended up being the vampire that had attacked his sister. Dean got the sense that even that hadn't been enough. Had Gordon even stopped to grief on his journey of revenge? Probably not. The way he spoke about filling the hole in his chest with killing, and the black and white of the world they lived in, made it clear that he hadn't truly gotten over what happened to him when he had been eighteen.
Dean frowned, wondering if he hadn't had help dealing with his dad's death, would the hole in his chest be larger. Just as large? Just as dark? Gordon obviously hadn't had any help. Dean had. Tracee, Cassie, even his annoyingly persistent brother had been a help. He had dealt and grieved John Winchester's death. There was a still a hole, to be honest, but that hole wasn't threatening to consume him anymore. The hurt was bearable, and he didn't have to fake as much as he thought he would.
"So what about you?" Gordon took time out of his rant to give his own question. "I mean, what happened to me was a long time ago, but your dad… it's got to be rough." Dean clenched his jaw. He may have dealt. He may have grieved. But… That didn't mean he hadn't felt the guilt that went along with it. Thinking about it, why wouldn't he? Dean had been in a situation where death had been around the corner, and then suddenly he had been fine. Then John had died. He was the reason his dad was dead. He hadn't told Cassie, but that was a huge part of why hadn't wanted to think about it. No way could he share something like that with Sam, though. He couldn't do that to him.
Dean rubbed at his earlobe. "It was…" he answered. "It was, and, uh… I'm gonna get the bastard that killed him. But for now, just gotta take it one day at a time. Keep my game face on for my brother, and keep it moving."
"Good for you, Dean," Gordon nodded his head. He lifted his almost empty glass of beer. "To John."
"To your sister," Dean replied, raising his own glass. His fellow hunter gave a tight smile, and then clinked their glasses together. After a beat of silence, Dean cleared his throat. "So, uh, maybe you want help taking out this nest after all?"
"Yeah, maybe you three can actually help me find the damn thing."
"Hey, man, you said it yourself—we're great trackers."
0-0
Sam sighed lightly as he dried his hands on the towel that hung from the metal rack. He was irritated. He had been irritated since leaving the mill. It had started when Gordon Walker had made eyes at his girlfriend, and had only escalated from there. He had been so impressed with her that he had offered to buy her drinks, and then had insisted and persisted until Tracee had eventually accepted his gratitude. Tracee, who had never drank alcohol—at least, he hadn't seen it—had five shots of liquor. Now, he had to deal with two plastered people whenever Dean decided to call for pickup.
After turning off the faucet, Sam turned stared at the bathroom door. He breathed deeply through his nose, mentally preparing himself. A couple of minutes ago—actually ten; admittedly, he had been hiding for a few of those minutes—he had managed to get Tracee onto their bed. She had passed out on the drive to the motel, and he had been grateful for that, to be honest. It had been an uncomfortable ride. She had called him 'daddy long legs' more than once, and had made numerous attempts to sit in his lap and demand that he let her suck his face. So uncomfortable… in the sense that he had to fight himself not to give into her demands, least they wreck. And that was a crap storm he hadn't wanted to face from his brother. So he had deflected her attempts and dissuaded her from drunken kisses. To which she had pouted and whined before passing out.
Sam took another breath. If she had woken up, he would have to evade her advances again. Frowning, he blamed his problems on Gordon. If he hadn't nearly forced his girlfriend to drink, they would be having their own little celebration right now, and with Dean being out, the timing would have been perfect. And Tracee had been so impressive, too, taking out that vampire. He had actually been able to keep up, and see the hard dance she had inflicted. It had been nothing like her fight against Jo, but at least he had been able to see it this time. He had planned on personally congratulating her, but no. Here he was, only thoughts of cold showers on his mind.
Sighing, Sam opened the bathroom door and walked out. He had expected to see Tracee still curled up on their bed. However, she wasn't there. "Tracee…?" he called out, eyes darting around the room. He spotted her, sitting at the table next to the door. With her hands on her head, elbows propped on the table's surface and back hunched, she appeared to not have heard him. Sam approached her, and she didn't react. "Tracee, you okay?" he questioned, noticing that her eyes were squeezed shut.
"No," she mumbled. "I've got a really bad headache." She groaned out in quite the dramatic manner. "Oh my God! I'm never drinking again!"
"You're hungover? Already?" Sam's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"It's why I don't drink," Tracee explained. She rubbed at her forehead as though it would soothe her. "The effects last for maybe two hours, and then boom—hangover time! Fast metabolism, remember?"
"Guess that makes sense since alcohol has calories," Sam stated. "Why'd you end up drinking this time?" The frown on her face caused his own mouth to mirror hers. He sat down in the chair opposite of her. "Hey, tell me what's going on." Obviously, something was bothering her, and it might have been the real reason she had accepted drinks from Gordon. Under normal circumstances, Tracee wouldn't allow just anyone to change her firm no to an alright, you unnecessarily pink gums-having bastard.
Tracee slowly removed her hands from her head. Fingers curled, she placed her hands on the table. Then she let out a deep sigh. "I don't know, I guess…" Again she sighed. "I wanted to stop the nagging." Sam chose not to speak, knowing that she would elaborate once she formed the words in mind. "Ever since we met Bruce, this nagging feeling hasn't gone away. Maybe even before that. It got louder after I killed the vampire. I didn't feel good about it—not at all." Tracee shook her head. "So I thought alcohol would stifle the nagging, but it's back with a vengeance."
"What's the nagging about?" Sam questioned.
"This entire case! I mean, we came to this town, looking for a monster with a penchant for mutilating cows and severed heads," Tracee explained. "Instead, we got a hunter and vampires. What brought us here doesn't quite match up to what we found. And that vampire I staked tonight…" She trailed off, gaze lowering to the table. "I keep replaying it in my head, and… he was definitely a vampire, but sensing him was different. Plus, he was in a uniform. He was by himself. It almost seems like he was just working. The second victim had a job, too, and I feel like… I killed needlessly."
"He was attacking Gordon," Sam stated. "He was going to kill him if we didn't show up."
"I know, I know," she said. "But… something isn't right about all this. And this bloody headache isn't helping either."
Sam watched her in silence for several moments, sensing her distress. It wasn't like her. Usually, she was very quick-witted about stuff. It was like she was hitting a roadblock, and the more she thought about it, the more frustrated she got. A vicious cycle he hadn't noticed she had put herself in. He also wondered what made this job so different. Honestly, he had a weird feeling about it, too. Ever since they had discovered the second victim to be a vampire. Tracee was right. Things weren't adding up even though the obvious threat had been revealed.
With a sigh, Sam stood up, taking her hand. Tracee stared up at him, brow knitted close together. "Come on," he said, gesturing over to the beds. "Come here." Without hesitation, she stood from her chair. Sam led her over, and then sat down on their bed. He guided her to sit sideways on his lap. "I think…" he began, resting his right hand against her closest thigh. His other hand lifted to gently massage the back of her neck. "You need to relax." Tracee frowned, dipping her chin. She sighed through her nose and shut her eyes. "You're overanalyzing the little stuff, and that's making you miss the big picture." She hummed in agreement, tilting her body closer to his, forehead pressing against his neck. Sam smiled, moving his hand down to slide up and down her back.
"You're right," Tracee murmured. "But it's not like I can just stop with the little things."
"I know, so… I say I go out and get you some aspirin for your headache, and some Twizzlers," Sam suggested. "When I get back, we could bounce ideas off each other. I know it helps, and I know you like doing it. So what do you say?"
"I say that sounds nice," Tracee replied, softly. She shifted her head to look him in the eyes. "You're so good to me, Samuel." She lightly poked at his chest, finger circling the highest button of his shirt. "And maybe afterwards, if Dean's not back… We could bounce something else…" Her eyebrows raised with implication. Sam gave her a grin, feeling heat rush to his cheeks.
"And exactly why am I considered the pervert in this relationship?" he questioned.
"Because you are, darling," Tracee said, matching his grin. "I just encourage it." Sam shook his head, laughing a bit before she pressed her lips to his. They kissed slowly for a time before she eventually reared back. "Hm…" Her forehead touched his. "Still hurts a little."
"Okay, I'll go now," Sam told her, squeezing her thigh. Tracee nodded, and then slid off his lap so he could stand. "There's a convenience store about fifteen minutes away. "Shouldn't take me long."
"You're not taking the Impala?" she questioned.
"No, walking helps me think," he stated, heading towards the front door. "I might have some really good ideas by the time I get back."
"Oh, okay, be careful," Tracee bid him farewell.
"You, too."
After responding, Sam walked out, closing the door behind him. Once he was outside, he found himself chuckling again. God, Tracee was something else. Sam bit his lower lip as he began the trek to the convenience store. Dean had driven pretty fast earlier, but he was pretty sure the little corner store was a twenty-four hour business. Okay, so brainstorming… He was in full agreement about this being a weird job. And having Tracee admitting that something had been off only cemented the fact.
Judging from what he already knew about vampires, the background just seemed like a variation. This nest seemed to be a contrast from the last nest they had encountered. One, they hadn't been so bold in their actions. Dad had been able to track them down because of what they had done to his friend. These vampires were probably being more careful. There hadn't been any news of missing people or bodies found with bites all over them, so that had been a variation. Two, like Tracee had said, the vampires killed, that they knew of, had jobs. The thought itself was befuddling. What vampire would willingly get a job? It's not like they needed money to survive.
Sam suddenly heard a faint noise, like a twig breaking. Not halting his walk, his eyes scanned the surrounding area. It was too dark to make anything out on this stretch of road. Street lights were a little ways off, too. Frowning, he scratched at his neck. He turned his head as his nails moved up and down. Even with a wider range, he couldn't see anything. Sighing to himself, he continued on, but kept his ears strained for more sounds. He hadn't had to wait longer. Another sound came, but closer than before. This time he stopped and sharply turned around. Still nothing. But now he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being followed.
Just as he was about to turn around, he felt a heavy weight on his back. Immediately, he tensed, twisting his body to get his attacker off. He managed a sharp right hook, which knocked the man down. He heard footsteps approach behind him, and immediately turned to punch the second man. His fist hit hard, causing the man to stumble back. Sam clenched his jaw, waiting for him to try attacking again. Because of that, he didn't notice the other recover quicker than he should have. Consequently, he was knocked over the head with a heavy object. Falling to his knees, his mind reeled.
The world faded to black before he completely fell over.
0-0
It had been an hour since Sam had left. It had been twenty minutes since Dean had come back to the motel, along with Gordon. While, they had discussed strategy about the location of the nest, Tracee had been pacing. Her headache had faded already, so now she was just worried. Why was it taking so long for him to come back? Fifteen minutes, he had told her. It should have only taken him thirty minutes to get back, and yet it had been double the time already. "… half… What do you think, Trace? Split into two teams?" Dean's voice broke through her thoughts, causing her to halt her pacing.
Turning, Tracee eyed the two men that were staring expectedly at her. She had tune them out quite a bit ago. "What? Shyeah, whatever," she agreed, waving off the question. She went back to pacing, folding her arms tight over her chest. "Why couldn't he have taken his phone with him?" she muttered to herself.
"Calm down, Trace," Dean told her. "He probably just took the scenic route—you know how he is." She had thought about that already. The man did love his walks and jogs. However, he wouldn't choose to take the scenic route, not knowing how long her headache would last. He would move quickly to get her the pain killers. And with his long strides, the walk would have taken less than thirty minutes. "Besides, Sammy can take care of himself."
"Oh my God, do I know that," Tracee said, fondly thinking back to the first time she had seen him go for the kill. She might have let out a dreamy sigh because the older Winchester scowled and rolled his eyes. Gordon just looked confused. "But I also know what a damsel in distress he can be." Dean looked as though he might protest, but then he shut his mouth and nodded his head in agreement. "I'm just saying… ten minutes ago, I wasn't that worried. But now I am." Just then the door opened and Sam walked in. Tracee breathed out a sigh of relief. "Samuel…!" She walked over, wrapping her arms around his frame. Sam returned the hug, squeezing her tightly.
"Hey, I need to talk to you both for a minute," he said. Confused, Tracee reared back just as Dean asked Gordon to wait inside. The three of them left the motel room. Sam had taken the lead and led them past the Impala. He halted and turned to them. "I think we need to rethink this hunt."
"What are you talking about? Where's the Twizzlers?" Dean questioned. "Trace said there'd be Twizzlers."
"I didn't make it to the store," Sam stated. "I was… I was taken by the nest."
"You what?!" Tracee exclaimed. Her hands immediately reached for him, checking his arms and neck for any sign of damage. There were no abrasions that she could see. "What happened? How did you get out?"
"You kill any? How many were there?" Dean continued the interrogation. Sam shook his head. "Well, they didn't just let you go! What happened?"
"That's exactly what they did. Dropped me off a mile down the road from here," he said.
"Where are they?"
"I don't know. I was blindfolded."
"You've got to know something!"
"We went over that bridge outside of town, but, Dean, listen, maybe we shouldn't go after them," Sam said.
"Why not?" Tracee asked, folding her arms. "They kidnapped you!"
"I know that, but… I don't think they're normal vampires," Sam insisted. "I don't think they're killing people." Both Tracee and Dean must has given skeptic looks before he huffed in frustration. "I know that sounds impossible—I didn't believe it at first either—but it make sense. I met their leader, Lenore, she said they're responsible for the cattle mutilations. They survive from drinking animal blood."
"And you believed them?" Dean asked, not losing his incredulity.
"There's not a scratch on me," Sam stated. His eyes looked Tracee's way. "I'm the proof." It was real nice that he was trying to appeal to her logical senses, but admittedly, he was not, in fact, sufficient proof. She needed something a little bit more concrete than just a vampire's word. Hell, they could have easily deduced that their comrade had been staked and had realized that a Slayer had been the one to do it. Now, they were desperate to stay out of her sight or something like that. With their heightened senses, they could have realized that the person they had kidnapped belonged to a Slayer and turned him loose in fear of retaliation. Something in her expression must have given that away because he opened his mouth to further explain. "Think about it, Tracee. They've been here for months. There's no missing people or other bodies. They had jobs. They were blending in. They just want to survive."
"Sam, they're vampires," Dean protested. "Of course they're killing people! It's what they do!"
"Not this group," Sam asserted. "Not this time. Tracee said that she couldn't properly sense them, and I think it's because on a basic level, she doesn't perceive them as a threat. I mean, she couldn't even sense that that bartender was one of them." Dean sharply turned to her, eyes mildly accusing.
"That true?" he questioned.
"… The bartender's a vampire?" Tracee asked. She scratched at her neck. Sam pressed his lips together, slowly nodding his head. Well, damn. She hadn't been able to sense him. Sure, she had been drunk most of the time while at the bar, but she should not have ignored that slight buzzing she had when she had walked in. "I… felt something," she admitted. "But it wasn't sharp like the last time."
"Exactly my point," Sam continued. "I think a part of your senses deals with how dangerous these creatures are. The less dangerous, the harder it is to sense them. If they're not killing people and are just drinking animal blood…"
"Then they barely show up as a blimp on my radar," Tracee finished. That had made sense. From what she had gathered, the Slayers before her hadn't usually gone after non-violent creatures. Maybe that had been the reason for it—the inability to properly sense them. If all this was true, then that vampire she had staked had only been defending himself. Well, this certainly complicated things. However, the nagging feeling had gone away. The mystery had been solved, after all. Tracee sighed heavily before turning her attention to Dean. "What do you think?"
"It's your call," he said.
"I want to know your opinion before I make that call," she stated. "This new information—what do you think of it?"
Dean shook his head. It took him several moments to open his mouth. "I gotta tell you, Trace," he began. "Every instinct is telling me screw this new information. They're vampires. They're evil. So they gotta be wasted. I mean, me and Sam—we were raised to hate anything supernatural. They're not like us. They're not human. They're all the same. Every instinct is telling me to find and exterminate every last one of them." His words weren't surprising—unsettling, but not surprising. Sam, black sheep that he had been, had broken away from that bigoted mindset, but Dean stuck to it like a good son, following his father's ways. "My world was black and white, and then I met you and it jacked everything up. And then your dad, forcing us to ascend made it worse. For the first time in my life, shades of grey started appearing. And now I know that there's a possibility that these vampires… could be different."
Tracee forced herself not to smile. It might have been hard for Dean to admit such things. Despite his gut telling him to keep the same mindset, he just couldn't ignore and remain ignorant when variations were revealed. Development and progress. Oh, how she loved it, especially when it came from someone she cared about. "Okay," she spoke out loud. "It looks like, for the most part, we're all in agreement. So we let them go. All the evidence confirms their lifestyle choice, so I'll let them be. Even though I'm sure one of them had to knock Samuel out in order to kidnap him."
"Calm down," Sam said, smile working its way across his face.
"Yeah, this is all well and good, but I doubt Gordon's gonna be as lenient," Dean told them, frowning. "They guy's borderline obsessed with killing vampires. You should have heard him talking after you guys left."
"We can just tell him Samuel killed them all," Tracee shrugged. "He doesn't know us, so he doesn't know what we're capable of. We can say he burned the bodies, too."
"So we're all cool with this?" Dean asked.
"It'd be great if I could get the chance to speak with this Bella after Bruce leaves, but yes, we're all cool," Tracee stated.
"It's Lenore," Sam corrected.
"Alright then," Dean said with a nod of his head. "Let me do most of the talking to Gordon, though. We've built rapport." He turned, heading back to the motel room. Sam and Tracee followed close behind. They entered the room, only to discover Gordon had disappeared. "Crap!" He shifted his attention to his companions. "You think he heard us?"
"I hope he didn't hear everything," Tracee muttered.
"He probably went after them," Sam said. "We have to stop him."
"Yeah, I guess we do," Dean agreed. "Give me the keys—I'm driving."
Sam pointed over to a table. There weren't any keys. Only a cactus-shaped hook for the keys. "He snaked the keys!" he exclaimed. Dean groaned dramatically, practically stomping back out of the motel room. Having no other choice, Sam and Tracee followed him to the car. They all piled in, and Dean quickly began working on hotwiring the Impala. His complaints were loud and obnoxious. He practically cursed the ground that Gordon walked on. Tracee leaned against the back of the seat in between the two brothers, curiously watching the steps Dean took to start the car. Perhaps she would have to know such knowledge in the future. She hoped not, but she would rather have the knowledge and not need it than to need the knowledge and not have it.
"I can't believe this!" Dean grumbled hotly. The engine continued to stall. "Just fixed her up, too!" Eventually, the car started up, and he sighed in relief. He turned towards his brother. "So the bridge—is that all you got?" Tracee also turned her attention to the younger Winchester. He was staring down at the map in his lap.
"The bridge was four and a half minutes from their farm," Sam stated matter of fact.
"How do you know?" Dean questioned.
"I counted," he answered as though it was obvious. Tracee's eyebrows jumped in surprise. That was impressive. "Took a left out of the farm," Sam continued, moving his finger across the map. "Then turned right onto a dirt road. Followed that for two minutes slightly uphill. Then took another quick right, and we hit the bridge."
"Don't you just love it when he talks dirty?" Tracee sighed with a smile. Unable to help herself, she pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. Sam chuckled while Dean's eye roll could be heard.
"I don't understand how you think that's hot," he muttered.
"I don't understand how you don't," she retorted.
"Look, I'm not saying what he does isn't awesome, but I'm not trying to-"
"Rock his world for it?" Tracee interrupted.
"… I'm not even going to respond to that—we're leaving now," Dean shook his head.
Giggling, Tracee sat back in her seat, and then strapped herself in. It was so fun teasing the older Winchester. She probably wouldn't ever stop. Dean pulled out of the motel's parking lot, and following his brother's instructions, they drove into the night. Eventually, they stopped, having spotted Gordon's vehicle already parked outside a decrepit house. He had gotten the head start. Wondering if they were too late, Tracee quickly got out of the car. She felt the two brothers behind her as she went inside the house. All too soon, the trio came across Gordon. A woman sat in a chair, weak, wheezing, and bleeding all over.
"Sam, Dean, Tracee—come on in," Gordon waved them over with his free hand. His other hand held his tool—a blade, no doubt soaked in the blood of the dead. Tracee's lips parted, mildly horrified by the sight. She could handle fighting and killing. However, this was straight up torture. This guy wasn't saving anyone by doing this, and yet… he actually seemed enthused about doing it. "I'm just poisoning Lenore here with some dead man's blood. She's going to tell us where her little friends are, aren't you?"
"Look, man-" Dean tried.
"Wanna help?" Gordon interrupted. He sliced into the vampire's arm, and the poison visibly spread through her veins. "I was just about to start in on the fingers."
"Sorry, I tend to draw the line at senseless torture," Tracee said, taking a step forward. "This is obviously gone too far, so drop the knife." Gordon narrowed his eyes, his calm façade wavering. Then he turned to glance back at the vampire. A sharp sigh left him, and then he tossed the bloodied blade onto the wooden table.
"You're right," he said. "I'm wasting my time here. This bitch will never talk." The man picked up another weapon. He unsheathed a larger blade, making a show of examining it. Tracee grit her teeth, irritated. Perhaps he hadn't realized that when she had told him to drop the knife, it hadn't meant to pick up another one. "Might as well put her out of her misery. I just sharpened it, so it's completely humane."
"Gordon, I'm letting her go," Sam stated moving forward.
"You're not doing a damn thing," he protested, pointing the tip at Sam's chest.
Immediately, Tracee went rigid. Dean, somehow sensing her anger spike, gripped her forearm, preventing her from physically lashing out. "Hey, hey, let's all just chill out, huh?" he tried to be the pacifying voice. "Let's talk before this goes too far south."
"What's there to talk about, Dean? It's like I told you—no shades of grey," Gordon replied. "They're vampires. We're hunters. We kill them before they kill us or anyone else. End of story."
"That's not all there is to this story," Tracee said through clenched teeth. "They're feeding off animal blood. They've turned their backs on their very nature and are acclimating to a different life. Their actions give them a second chance, and you're just hunting them down anyway. This group of vampires is innocent. And I think you know that."
"There's no such thing as an innocent vampire," Gordon laughed out without mirth. "They're all the same. Evil. Bloodthirsty. My sister was innocent. Before she got turned. I killed her without remorse, without regret, because she wasn't my innocent sister anymore. She was one of them. So don't you dare tell me about innocent vampires. They don't exist. It's about as ridiculous as a vampire with a soul. They're not us. They're not human. Just because this nest decided to suddenly start making nice doesn't mean it can change what they are. And I can prove it."
Gordon quickly grabbed Sam by the wrist and cut into his arm with the large blade. The younger Winchester winced in pain as he was pulled in Gordon's direction. Tracee's mouth dropped open, eyes wide in disbelief at this man's audacity. With his fingers still wrapped around Sam's wrist and the closed fist at his throat, which still held the blade, Gordon forced her lover to stand over Lenore. "Let him go!" Dean growled out. "Now!"
"Relax," Gordon said. "If I wanted to kill him, he'd already be on the floor."
"Is that what you think?!" Tracee snarled. She kept her hard gaze on the enemy, but directed her next words to the older Winchester. "You gonna let this bitch keep punking us?" Dean sighed.
"I tried," he said, releasing her forearm. "Knock yourself out."
"Oh, now, you're in for it," Sam remarked.
She noticed that he relaxed his body, and she took it for what it was. An opportunity. Tracee leapt onto the table. She lifted her left leg in a hook kick. The sole of her shoe smashed into Gordon's face, sending him crashing towards the left wall. He hadn't had the time to react, let alone counter, so he had felt the full impact of the kick. Gordon crumbled to the floor, dropping his blade in the process. Tracee dropped down from the table, moving to grab the front of Gordon's shirt. The impact hadn't been enough to completely knock him out, but he looked well on his way. She lightly smacked at his cheek with her free hand to get him to focus.
"Look here, bitch," she began once his gaze settled. "Once you shake off this defeat and head back out into the world, I want you to let the hunter grapevine know that Tracee Noland protects the innocent and slays evil… no matter the species. And if any of them have a problem with that… Well, tell them to remember one thing: don't fuck with the Slayer and her Winchesters. Araso…?" Gordon stared up at her, lips pursed tightly together. "Shyeah, I think you got it." With a hard punch to his face, Tracee rendered the man unconscious. She released her grip on his shirt and stood up to her full height.
"Wow… I think I love it when you talk dirty, too," Sam caught her attention, making her turn around to face him. While he held his bleeding arm, he stared at her in awe, smile showing those gorgeous dimples of his. He wore a look that Tracee had become quite fond of seeing. She bit her lower lip, trying not to grin too wide.
"Come on, guys, don't make it gross," Dean scoffed, successfully breaking their sizzling eye contact. Tracee cleared her throat, turning her gaze to the older brother. "Grab Lenore and let's get outta here. I think we're done."
0-0
I'm back for a bit! Stay tuned.