Song Remains the Same

Chapter 54 / The Vampire Diaries

"I'm not afraid of werewolves or vampires or haunted hotels, I'm afraid of what real human beings do to other real human beings."
- Walter Jon Williams


Answering the call, but with no amount of enthusiasm, only dark foreboding, Castiel left Heaven's battlefields, descended to earth. Found himself in a dim warehouse littered with trash. No one seemed to be here, and the angel was confused. Then, behind him, he heard the familiar voice: "Hello, Cas old buddy."

Castiel turned. He was never happy to see this demon, but he greeted him lowly nonetheless. "Crowley." Cas glanced around sharply. Why were they meeting on earth this time, instead of Hell? Leery, Cas narrowed his eyes at Crowley. "What is this place?"

The King of Hell chuckled, sauntered over, looking up and around the dilapidated place fondly. "Home sweet home. Our new business headquarters, if you will."

Not in the mood for chuckles, Castiel just glared at his business partner, angry that the demon could even be called that. "What do you want."

"What do I want?" Crowley asked, feigning innocence. "I just wanted to remind you of our little arrangement."

Increasingly irritated, Castiel's face remained hard and unfriendly. "I haven't forgotten, I don't require a reminder from you."

"That so?" The demon asked, by all appearances calm and conversational. "Well. I'd like to know, what, exactly, were you thinking," Crowley said, voice low and smooth… then suddenly he flew into a fit of absolute, loud rage: "When you took Alex Winchester to my sodding homeland and helped her dig up my bloody bones!?" His shout echoed in the huge space.

Growing angry at the demon's audacity and attitude—he wasn't Cas's superior, and when he spoke as if he was, Castiel felt ancient fury boiling in his veins. "I was thinking that I was protecting your bones," he replied hostilely. "I made certain they weren't burned, didn't I?"

Face twisted into an ugly, sarcastic expression, Crowley just sneered. "Appreciate it. Truly." He leaned closer and his voice took on a soft, warning tone. "Let me be blunt with you, trench coat. You can't be flitting down to earth and traipsing about with the missus right now; you can't be going 'round for a visit whenever the mood strikes. The more time you spend around littlest Winchester, the more you risk her finding out about the dirty little details of our little partnership. And what's more, you can't be making house calls on Dean and Sam, either." Crowley paused, paced a slow circle around Cas, who was frowning deeply, wondering why Crowley would say this. The demon explained, as if he'd anticipated Cas's confusion: "The Winchesters start asking questions… those questions will require answers. And they find out about what you and I are doing with Purgatory, mate…" he came to a stop in front of Cas again, expression serious. "They won't stand for it. Mark my words."

Cas hesitated, considering Crowley's statement. He knew it was in what the humans called the moral gray area, what he was doing—partnering with the demon Crowley to find and then open Purgatory, use the souls therein to defeat Raphael… it was a means to an end. Preferable means to an end? No, but it was the only way Castiel knew to stop the apocalypse from restarting. "Alex is reasonable," Cas said slowly, still in deep thought, "so are her brothers. If I explained it to them—"

"Do you hear yourself mate?" Crowley asked, cutting him off. "These are the Winchesters. Dean, A.K.A. Captain America, Mr. Morality… he hates my kind. Can't say his sister's much fonder of black eyed bastards…" he smiled darkly, "though she did develop a taste for us. Sam's the only one who was in love with one though. That's besides the point. They find out you're working with me, they find out about our little arrangement... cracking open Purgatory… there'll be hell to pay." Crowley paused, leaned in, eyes narrowed." Y'see, everyone else made the mistake of underestimating those little plaid-wearing fleabags. Only reason I'm still kicking? I haven't." He stood back, and Cas knew he was right—that Dean, especially, would not stand for what Castiel was doing in the dark, in secret. As if reading the angel's mind, Crowley concluded with, "They simply can't find out. It has to stay a secret."

Cas looked at him sharply, his jaw clenching tightly. He felt cornered and, as a result, furious. "I tire of secrets."

"Cry me a river," Crowley commented, disinterested, then a sly smile grew on his face. "You and I both know you've gotten good at keeping them, haven't you?"

Cas said nothing for a long moment. He knew what Crowley was talking about and it both angered him and struck a chord of fear deep down. "How do you know about that?" he asked, attempting to remain stone-faced.

Crowley shrugged mildly, put his hands into his pockets. Seemed pleased with himself. "I have my sources."

Castiel let his glare say things he didn't speak aloud for a long moment. Then, done with the encounter and angry at how true everything Crowley had said was, Cas turned to go. "We're done here."

Crowley's soft, pleased chuckle behind him paused him momentarily. "Why do you seem so surprised that this is a torrid little thing you and I've got going, hm? You should have known." Cas turned a little to look at Crowley with hard eyes. The demon just waggled his eyebrows up knowingly. "That's just what you get when you partner with the King of Hell, isn't it?"

Yes. He supposed it was. Wordlessly, Castiel left that place, righteous anger and a feeling of self-loathing coursing in his veins. What, exactly, was he doing? The right thing, he thought. He hoped. But the thought of purposefully keeping the truth from Alex made him feel wrong. He didn't want to have to lie to her, but Crowley was right. The more time Castiel spent with her, the more the risk of her finding out what he was doing. The more he saw her, the more he would have to lie to her to protect himself to ensure that the plan to open Purgatory wouldn't be derailed.

It felt wrong, wronger than wrong. Both to be away from her (how long had it been, since he'd had to leave her there at Bobby's after Scotland? He didn't even know, time escaped his grasp at the moment)… but however long it had been felt too long. If it were up to Castiel, he never would leave her again. But the war. His duties. The things that chained him to Heaven. As always, those things awaited.


Limestone, Illinois

It was late morning, a pretty day, and Dean leaned back against the side of the Impala casually, his phone to his ear and an uncharacteristically relaxed smile on his face. "Yeah and hey—uh, I'm actually not far from you guys right now," he told her. "I'm maybe three hours out, tops."

"Yeah?" Lisa sounded hopeful on the other end of the line. "So, ya think...?"

"Well, there's some stuff I gotta do here first…" he said slowly, sort of playful.

"Of course," she said, sounding hopeful, and Dean's grin grew.

"But I was thinkin' that, uh, I'll wrap up here, and, y'know, make sure I'm not followed…" he wet his lips, smile widening. "I'll have to take side streets, and I'd have to come at night—"

"Will you just shut up and get your ass home?" she interrupted then laughed, and he did too. "I can't wait to see you," she said softly. "This phone thing's getting old."

"Yeah, it is," he agreed. It had been forever since he'd seen her face.

"Well, call us when you're close," she said. "And be careful."

"Course. Bye, Lees." He hung up, smiling to himself helplessly as he thought about her.

"You look excited about something," came a familiar female voice. Dean turned slightly to see his sister walking up, two gas station coffees in hand. She held one out to him and Dean's smile fell a little. "So how's Lisa?" she asked knowingly, not seeming to notice how he deflated a little. He deflated because he felt abruptly guilty about allowing himself some happiness, no matter how small, when he felt like his sister must still be so sad inside. He'd sort of forgotten everything for a second, talking to Lisa.

It had been two days since Alex had met back up with him and Sam. And she was acting weird as hell. She was acting… fine. She'd brushed off all his hedging questions about the panic room, the demon blood, the… other thing. Instead of being freaked out and upset and withdrawn like he'd expected her to be, she was instead eager to tackle the job they were on right now… which mystified him.

It made no sense to him that she'd just have bounced back to herself so fast. And really, the way she was acting wasn't entirelyherself, or not the Alex he remembered. She seemed so… businesslike, unaffected and diffident. Cracking jokes and in seemingly good spirits, not carrying that distant look of tortured thought and deep pensiveness that she always had before. But a couple times he'd caught her looking off into the distance sort of tensely when she thought no one was looking and he'd seen the telltale way she chewed the inside of her mouth and bit her thumbnail—nervous tics she'd displayed all through childhood and adolescence. Things she did when something was bothering her—and things had always bothered her—she was a textbook over-analyzer, and a lot more emotionally sensitive than she let on. But the times the past two days when she caught Dean studying her somber moments, Alex was back to projecting like she was fine, adjusted, cool.

But Dean was pretty damn sure she was none of those things. He'd actually tried to call Cas yesterday to get the angel's take on what had happened in the panic room, but the angel wasn't answering for who know's what reason. Bobby had told Dean over the phone that the panic room been rough on Alex but Cas had been true to his word and stayed with her the entire time. It was weird… Dean was both intensely thankful for that and completely appalled at himself for leaving Alex to detox alone, and with of all people, Cas. If he were honest with himself… it was one of the more cowardly things he'd ever done, ditching her like that. But he literally hadn't been able to handle the thought of seeing her going through what he'd watched Sam go through with the demon blood. So he'd run away.

"Dean? Did you hear me?" She asked, looking at him with a anyone home? sort of questioning look on her face.

Right, she'd asked about Lisa. Dean tried to look less emotionally messed up than he felt. "Oh yeah, uh, she's good, she's…" he'd promised to visit Lisa, and now he realized what do I do about Alex? Ditch again? "I was thinking of going for a quick visit, nothing long. See her and Ben after we finish this job." He paused, worried that she'd get that you're leaving? look he dreaded. "If, you know, if you're okay with that."

She looked at him questioningly. "Why wouldn't I be?" She asked, from all appearances and tone, perfectly fine with the idea, disinterested, even. Dean stared, not believing it, not really. She had to be secretly mad at him for ditching her like he had, right? He still felt bad about it, why wouldn't she?

"I, I dunno…" he wracked his brain for the most delicate way to put it. "We just got teamed back up yesterday, Sam's kinda a weirdo lately… you… had things to deal with..." he trailed off, not really wanting to get more specific, not wanting to push her over some fragile ledge.

"You should definitely go see them when you can," she said, seeming totally supportive of the idea, if a little flippant. She leaned against the car beside him, lifted her coffee up, Dean kept watching her with a dubious expression. "I'm a big girl," she said, grinning easily his way in the face of his concern. "Don't forget it." She blew on the coffee through the little sip-hole, proceeded to look ahead of herself, end the conversation.

But Dean couldn't bring himself to let it go. He held his coffee without drinking any. "It's just… we haven't talked about… what happened."

She glanced his way briefly. "I got through it," she said simply. "Now all three of us are in the panic room alumni club." She raised her coffee cup toward him slightly. "Cheers."

"Cheers?" Dean repeated, watching as she drank some coffee like nothing in the world was wrong at all—she was really gonna dumb it all down to them all being panic room lockup alum? She was gonna play it for humor? Who the hell was she, him? "What, it's all a big joke to you now?" he asked, aghast.

"Come on, lighten up," she said, growing a little sullen at his attitude.

"Sorry, I just don't think it's that funny, joking about the bitch-blood crap," he said, temper flaring at her nonchalant attitude—he didn't think it was funny. He thought it was his own personal hell, the things that had happened to his family.

His sister just gave him a brief, testy glance. Dean was flabbergasted, took a couple seconds to put his thoughts into words—and calm down, speak reasonably, too. He set his coffee down on the Impala's roof as he turned to face her. "Look… it's just..." he didn't know how else to say it and put his hands out, gesturing and showing how he felt at his wit's end. "You seem almost too good, you know?"

Obviously not liking his confrontational stance or the subject matter, she became a little catty. "'Too good'?" She repeated. "And that's a bad thing?" She did one of those things she and Sam did like pros—a humorless little laugh and an eye-roll that seemed to indicate she was sort of above the current conversation. She proceeded to talk to him in a clear, sure voice. "Dean. I'm good. For the first time in awhile. I'm off demon blood. I'm with you and Sam again. Even though Sam's… kind of a weirdo, like you said. Either way. Life's a whole lot better for me than it has been in awhile." She tucked a hand into her side, in between her ribs and her other arm, gestured lazily with her other hand, which still held onto the coffee. "I'm allowed to be happy."

Dean paused, watched her sipping her coffee casually. Was he really way off base here? Was she actually okay? He still didn't buy it, because he'd been around the block a time or two himself. So he tried again, gently, firmly pried. "Yeah, but… the stuff that happened, that doesn't just go away."

She glanced up at him pointedly over the lid of the coffee, her eyes a shade darker than they had been before. "Especially not when your brother won't stop bringing it up."

He heard how she didn't want to talk about it, and that made him pretty sure there was something to his theory. If she really were over it, she wouldn't care about it either way, wouldn't have a problem talking about it. "I just wanna help," he told her, genuine but guilty. It was a little too late. He couldn't quit thinking he never should have let her leave that night a year ago when Sam died. But he had. And here they were.

Alex smiled obligingly, almost patronizing when he said he just wanted to help. "You're real sweet, Doctor Phil… but I don't need the diagnosis." She gestured to the police station across the street where their brother was currently doing some solo sleuthing. "Sam's the one you should be trying to psychoanalyze. Any theories on why he's gone all Mr. Roboto?"

Smooth, changing the subject like that, Al… but he grudgingly went with it and dropped the current subject matter, decided to try again later. He picked his coffee back up, turned around and put his back to the Impala, leaned there beside her again. He was frustrated… but what else was new? "Not really. I've tried talking to him about it a couple times but he's just… I dunno. Not all there." He sipped at the coffee, thought a little bit. His siblings were both so hard to get a read on right now. "Maybe Hell burned away some parts that we'll never get back."

Alex shook her head, eyes narrowed in thought. "Something about him just doesn't feel right to me."

Something they could agree on. "Yeah. Same."

She turned her head to look at him sidelong, looking to him for direction. "So what do we do?"

That was a good question. One Dean had kind of been ducking because Sam was different. Emotionally cold, focused on jobs above all else, sort of insensitive to things he'd always been hyperaware of before. Had Hell burned away his capacity to feel? Dean didn't know. "I dunno," he told his waiting sister. "We… keep going? Hope in time he finds himself again? I really got no clue, honestly." He figured honesty was gonna go further than lying to her face. She digested his opinion with a thoughtful, troubled expression and Dean tried a smile, tried to look on the bright side. "Hey, at least we're still us, right?"

Her eyes, the same color as Sam's, crinkled up slightly as a little smile crossed her face. She was looking out ahead of herself, he didn't know at what. "Yeah. At least we're still us."

Only, were they? Dean knew he'd changed the past year… he'd been out of hunting and in the domestic life. He'd been a boyfriend, a welder, a sorta-dad to Ben. It had made him softer for sure, a little rusty where the whole hunting thing was concerned. It had been so long since he'd been the Big Brother that now, suddenly exactly that again, he was overwhelmed by it. And he wasn't the only one who had changed. Alex had been hunting and working and doing who the hell knows what else besides getting a taste for demon blood. Putting herself in danger, that was for sure. Choosing crappy "friends." And now she felt closed off to him, sort of older too. It was ironic… all those years when she'd been mute, he'd been able to take one look at her and know what she was thinking and feeling without any words at all. The day she'd gotten her voice, her independence had really started. And with it had come the gradual distance. Now, he felt like he barely recognized her. Mostly because she wasn't letting him see her. That's what made him the saddest. He would bet a million bucks that she was sad and fighting the kinds of emotional battles he fought every day. But why wouldn't she talk to him about it? It must be a lot worse than he thought, for her to put the guard up so high like she was.

Maybe he wouldn't go see Lisa. Not yet. Maybe he should stay put. Until he knew, for sure, that his sister really was all right.

It was quiet between them for a few seconds, but Dean had one more thing he had to ask about. One more thing that he was dying to know, that he'd been sitting on, wondering about, getting all kinds of uncomfortable over. There were all kinds of crazy vibes he was feeling about this, and now was as good a time as any to ask, right? While it was just them, no Sam around. So Dean asked, and watched her carefully, trying to figure out the truth from her reaction. "So… uh, what about Cas?"

He expected her to react, but when all she did was let her eyes go down fractionally in thought, Dean was stumped. Her poker face was a whole helluva lot more unreadable than he remembered it being before. "What about him?"

Dean felt a little on the confounded side at her lack of, well, anything, and fumbled. "You… you two… I dunno, on the rocks, or what?" She looked at him sidelong with faint questioning, contemplative eyes. But she said nothing, forcing him to fill the silence. "Look, I don't even know, last time I saw you two together, really, you were acting like… a couple, back at the graveyard where Sam died. He shows back up last week and you were crying all over him and he looked bummed about something… he offers to take care of you… now he's MIA again and I just… I wanna know what the deal is, okay?"

For a minute, she looked like she was considering telling him. Then she looked ahead of them, across the street, and the moment was lost. "Yeah, how about we talk about that later," she said sort of darkly, nodding toward the police station. "Moose, five o'clock."

Dean followed her gaze, saw Sam's familiar figure crossing the small-town street to them. He had a stack of fliers in hand. "Hey," Sam greeted as he reached them, all-business as was the usual, lately. "So…" he handed Dean a small stack of missing person fliers. "Six girls in seven days," he explained, "which is more disappearances than this city has seen in over a year. They're all about the same age."

"And cute," Dean remarked offhandedly as he looked through, getting a weird look from Alex and a sort of eye-roll and laugh from Sam. Dean defended himself. "Hey, ice cream comes in lots of flavors, guys."

"Yeah, like my favorite… jailbait," Alex teased, then grabbed the papers from Dean, gave him a pointed, amused look before she began to look over them for herself. "Didn't you just get off the phone with Lisa?"

Dean made a face. "I'm allowed to look," he said lamely.

Sam, focused on the job, wasn't interested in their conversation. "So we got half a dozen girls, late teens, a shower away from greatness." He paused as Alex shuffled through the papers and frowned deeply. "Sounds like a profile, right?" Sam supposed. "I mean, what else they got in common?"

"Well they're all brunettes," Alex said as she reached the last printout. She slapped the stack to Sam's chest and he looked a little surprised, then grabbed onto it.

"Huh, you're right." He frowned a little as he paged back through the fliers. "Interesting."

"That's not enough to go on, really," Dean said, which he knew his siblings already knew, as well. "But hey, six directions to go here. Pick a number."

"Seven," Sam corrected. "Another call just came in today. Girl named Kristen Swan. Went missing on Wednesday. I say we head to her house, see if we can catch her trail."

Dean nodded agreement, pushed himself up to stand. Fair enough. "Sounds good to me." He said, and headed around for the driver's side as Sam got into the Impala. Dean glanced at his sister, who was already heading back for her own car—which was parked behind the Impala. Another thing that was bugging him—she was driving herself everywhere, wasn't riding with them like the old days. Attempting a friendly, hopeful tone, Dean tried to change her mind as he opened his door. "Hey, you wanna ride with?" He cracked a casual grin, the kind that was playful, light, and she'd never been able to say no to in the past. "Back seat misses you. We can come back and get the Mustang later?"

She was already opening the front door to her car, and only glanced up at him briefly to shake her head. "It's okay," she said, her tone nothing but polite and friendly yet slightly brusque. "I'll meet you there." Her door slammed, she was fiddling around with her keys, oblivious to him.

Dean stood at the door of the Impala a little longer than he needed to. Hurt, because yet again, he literally felt her pushing him away.


The Winchesters stood in the Swan home—it was a nice, conservative, boring house. The kind with unartistic watercolors of flowers hanging on the walls, bible verses splashed in swirly script all over everything, and really uptight, pastel decor. Kristen's father, Steve, had let them in readily when they identified themselves as agents.

"I really appreciate the FBI's involvement in my daughter's disappearance," Steve said. He was in his forties and wore khakis, a button down, a sweater vest. He was the definition of vanilla. "Kristen's a good kid," he continued. "A little naive, sure... you try to be a good parent. Girls are hard." He paused, looked at Alex, grimaced slightly like he hadn't thought before he'd spoken. "No offense."

Dean glanced at Alex, who just rolled with it. "None taken," she said, the picture of professionalism and pleasantness—which was apparently her thing these days. Dean forced himself not to dwell on her, for now. They had a job to do and he needed to focus.

"We'd just like to find your daughter," Sam said.

Steve paused, then looked up the staircase, indicating it with a nod. "Last door on the left."

Dean followed his gaze. "Thanks, Steve." He led the way. As the Winchesters climbed up the stairs, Dean gave a quick glance back to the girl's father, who was taking a seat onto the couch, putting his head in his hands. He seemed stressed out. As any good dad would be if that happened to his kid. But… "Whaddya think he was talking about?" he asked his siblings, quiet enough that only the three of them could hear. Girls are 'hard'? She was a 'little naive'?

"Drugs?" Sam suggested as they got to the top of the stairs.

"Boys," Alex muttered, earning another little glance from her oldest brother.

They wandered down a painted white hallway lined in more annoyingly perfect paintings of boring flowers, then found the last door on the left. Dean opened it, flipped on the lights…. and they all froze momentarily when they saw the room inside. "Oh it is so much worse than drugs," he muttered. Alex had been right when she says boys… sorta.

Kristen's bedroom didn't fit with the rest of the house at all. The walls were painted a deep blood-red and all the furniture was black; cheesy gothic accessories and decor littered the room and its surfaces—among these things, a fake crystal ball with a fang base, a skeleton candelabra with black never-burned candles, and way too many posters that featured pale guys with brooding expressions and inhumanly yellow eyes. The posters proclaimed Twilight, My Summer of Blood, The Vampire's Dream, Once Bitten. Kristen's room looked like a gothic teen shrine to...

"Vampires?" Sam snorted.

Dean felt a little skeeved out. "Ah, these aren't vampires, man, these… these are douche bags." Real vampires weren't this pansy or magazine-friendly. What a freaking sham.

Alex shut the bedroom door after they all came into the room, and then jumped back, a little startled—taped to the back of the door was a full-sized cut out of a teen heartthrob 'vampire.' He was giving an intense, sort of murderous stare. "Whoa," she commented, seeming sort of turned off by the entire vibe of the room.

"Well doesn't he just get you all fired up." Dean snorted sarcastically. How could anyone think these guys were hot? "Come on." He rolled his eyes and continued to look around the room and voiced all of their thoughts when he shook his head and uttered a very glib "wow."

Alex walked the length of one of the walls, stopping to stare at the poster for My Summer of Blood. "So… Kristen had a little bit of a thing for vampires," she said.

Dean gave a short little laugh and sent her a joking look, momentarily forgetting everything, just joking with his sister like old times. "Crack detective work, Captain Obvious. What gave you that idea?" He got a little smile and eye-roll in return, she shook her head, went back to poking around. He knew what she was thinking: shut up, Dean. He smiled to himself, but the smile fell a little as he watched her inspecting the top of Kristen's dresser. Some asshole had tried to rape her last week. And Dean had been a hundred miles away, none the wiser. And now she was just acting like everything was normal, like she had no issues in the world at all.

Sam pulled out a red laptop that had been slightly pushed up and under the pillows on Kristen's bed. "Aha!" he announced, distracting Dean. "Here we go." He carried it over to the little desk by the window and set it down, sat down in front of it. Dean and Alex drifted over and came to stand behind Sam, who was opening up the laptop. "Let's see what we can see," he muttered, and pushed the space bar to wake up the laptop. A fake sounding clip of a scream played as a super close up picture of an intense-looking fake vampire popped up and filled the entire screen. He was brooding, pale, and had eyes shining like gold. All three Winchesters flinched back at the unexpected screensaver. "Th-that's just… uncomfortable," Sam commented, face twisted in revulsion.

"What's he so bummed out about?" Dean asked, making a face. Seriously… why did chicks dig this crap?

"Make it go away, Sam," Alex muttered, looking at the screen like she had a bad taste in her mouth.

"Yeah, sure," he said, and pressed some keys—a password prompt came up. Sam paused. "Ah… gimme a couple minutes." He tried the password vampires and hit enter. The laptop made the same screaming noise, denying him access.

Great. This could take awhile. Dean picked up a paperback book that was on the desk beside the laptop. My Summer of Blood. On the cover, a teenage girl in a white nightgown was asleep on a bed while a pale-skinned, male vampire stood next to the open window. He was staring down at her, and to Dean, it looked like maybe the scene of a murder five minutes before the crime took place. He waggled the book at Sam—Alex had wandered over to the bookshelf beside the desk. "Look at this. He's watching her sleep. How is that not the creepiest thing ever?"

"I gotta concentrate here, Dean," Sam said, distracted, and typed the password dracula. The laptop made a screaming noise again. Nope.

Dean glanced at Alex, who was off in her own world looking through the shelves on the bookcase. The book cover honestly made him think of Cas, who had done the exact same thing—stayed all night and watched his sister sleep that time at the hospital. It had freaked Dean out then, and it freaked him out now. Cas had probably watched her sleep all last week in the panic room, too. Before he could help himself, it popped out of his mouth thoughtlessly. "I bet you think that's cute, huh?" Dean asked Alex, pushing his luck, trying to gauge her reaction, shamelessly goading her. "Old guy who doesn't look old watching a young girl sleep." His sister just gave him a mild what's your problem look, then crouched down at the bookshelf next to the desk and looked through some of the volumes there. So… that told him nothing.

Dean cracked the book open to a random page, grudgingly resigned to not knowing about Cas and Alex for now. He walked off a few steps as he read aloud from it in a cheesy, overly dramatic voice. "'He could hear the blood rushing inside her, almost taste it. He tried desperately to control himself…'" the laptop screamed again as Sam got another guess wrong. "'...Romero knew their love was impossible—'" Dean stopped reading and made a face. "Romero? Really? You believe this crap?" He looked at Alex for support, but she just shrugged and Dean stared at her in disbelief. "Don't tell me you read this," he said.

"Honestly, I liked Once Bitten better than My Summer of Blood," she said, blasé and concentrating on her search, earning a baffled, you're kidding look from Dean. "What?" She asked, glancing the look on his face. "I read them a couple years ago when they came out. Don't judgeme."

"Too late," he told her. She just rolled her eyes at him. He turned the book over in his hand, read the summary aloud. "'Romero and Tatiana's love was forbidden in every sense… she was the outcast teenage girl suffering from anemia, he was a tormented blood-thirsty vampire from a distant time—once, he had been a world-famous ballroom dancer, now he was dancing the line between loving Tatiana and killing her where she stood'—oh my god, are they serious? This sounds like an actual parody of itself… I mean, this is a national bestseller. How is that possible?"

"Dean, shut up, will you?" Sam said over his shoulder, irritated. "I'm trying to think." The laptop screamed again as he tried and failed again to enter the right password.

"Hey check this out," Alex said, standing up. In her hands, a binder labeled 'From My Soul.' Alex gave Dean a meaningful, somewhat mocking look. "Poems Kristen wrote," she explained, turning her attention to flipping through the papers that were three-hole punched inside. Alex stopped, frowned, then read aloud from one of them. 'I wish I could be a thing of the night. I wish I could savor love's first bite. I want to be leased from the chains of mediocrity. I want my fanged prince to come set me free.'" She paused, seeming uncertain and sort of uncomfortable. "Jesus Christ, was I this emo as a teenager?" Dean just gave her a look. "Shut up," she muttered, even though he'd said nothing. He tossed the book he'd been holding down and picked up a pillow off the bed that had a fake vampire's face on it. The dude's pinched expression made it look like he was constipated, and Dean chuckled to himself. Ridiculous.

The laptop screamed again and Sam made a sound of frustration. "Hey, try, uh—" Dean thought for a second as he set the pillow back down. "Try 'Lautner.'"

"Lautner?" Alex asked, dubious, glancing around the room and seeming to be of a different opinion. "No, Sam, try 'Pattinson.' This chick is team Edward, trust me." Dean's mouth dropped open and his eyebrows shot up. Alex gave him a weird look. "I know what Twilight is, Dean. You'd have to be an alien from another planet not to know. I mean, how do you know about it?"

"You kidding me? It's everywhere, it's a freakin' nightmare," Dean covered lamely. "I bet even Cas know about stupid franchise," he muttered, not even intending to bring Cas into it—he hadn't thought—and he saw how his sister's face flickered a little, how her jaw tightened, how she looked away from him. A genuine reaction that seemed conflicted. Seeing a window of opportunity, Dean tried to approach her. And then was cut short.

"How many T's are there in 'Pattins-'" Sam began to ask, then stopped mid-word. The laptop dinged pleasantly and Sam got excited. "That's it. We're in! Ha!" He bent over the laptop, typing and clicking. "Okay, let's see… hm."

Dean glanced at Alex, then dropped it, focused on the job. "Well?" he asked, going to stand behind Sam again and lean over his shoulder to look at the laptop screen.

Sam squinted at the social networking website he was on. "Well, her inbox is full, from some guy claiming to be a vampire. 'I can only meet you at night… I don't trust myself with you… the call of your blood is too strong…' blah blah blah, a bunch more crap like that."

Alex set down the binder of poetry and leaned over Sam's other shoulder to look at the message with an intensely studious expression. "Damn," she commented, seeming mildly impressed in a dread-filled way. "So this could be real vampires fishing for victims or just your run-of-the-mill serial killer who knows what the teenage girls are into these days."

"Either option sounds pretty bad," Dean mused aloud, thinking deeply. Alex stood up and retreated into the middle of the room as Dean frowned a little deeper. This just didn't seem likely… vamps using the internet to fish for victims? That seemed like a waste of time when they could just go to a bar or a club and find plenty of idiots to feed on that way. "I'm gonna go with human mouth-breather on this one," Dean said, pretty sure that was a safe bet.

"Hard to tell, but I mean, talk about easy prey," Sam said, turning slightly to look at Dean for a second. "For actual vamps especially." He looked back at the laptop. "These chicks are just throwing themselves at you. All you gotta do is… I dunno. Write bad poetry and talk about how depressed you are." Sam clicked on another message. "Huh. So looks like this guy wanted to meet her at a bar called The Black Rose."

Dean rolled his eyes and stood up at the name of the place. "Gimme a break…"

"Just reporting the news," Sam said, even-keeled. "It's worth checking out, right?"

Dean heaved a thoughtful sigh. Was this even really up their alley? Could be a huge bust lead. He crossed his arms, not sure about it. "I mean, it's probably just your standard-issue perv, right?"

"One way to find out," Alex said from behind them.

Both brothers turned to look at her. "What do you mean?" Dean asked cautiously. Something about the tone in her voice seemed foreboding to him.

She was holding a shirt up against herself that she'd picked up off the dresser. It was dark red and looked low-cut and said I Won't Bite in rhinestones. A pair of fangs was emblazoned underneath the words. "This looks about my size, doesn't it?" She asked in overly innocent tones. A slow smile grew on her face. "I feel like going out tonight, boys."


Alex got out of the Impala first—the sole of her spiky black knee-high boot hitting the parking lot pavement with a crunch.

"Of all the bad ideas you've ever had, this has to be the worst," Dean complained, getting out a second after her. It was dark outside and the chill of evening hit him as he got out. He slammed his door and gestured to her erratically. He was all kinds of moody and resistant. "I mean, look at yourself, you look like…"

"Kinda the point, Dean," she said, cutting him off and raising an eyebrow at him. She crossed her arms and smirked at him almost. Like she thought he was being funny. She looked like a hooker, honestly. Her knee-high boots were high-heeled, jet black, leather. Fishnet leggings criss-crossed up her legs. She wore a gothy looking choker around her neck. The low-cut, fitted magenta shirt that proclaimed in rhinestones I Won't Bite with fangs beside it was tucked into a black pleather miniskirt that was way too short. A black leather jacket was over all of it, and the only reason she was wearing it was because she had a machete concealed in there. Alex had 'borrowed' the outfit from Kristen's closet. And to top it off, she was wearing makeup for what Dean thought was maybe the second time in her life maybe—and it looked like she hadn't done it completely right, either. Black rimmed her eyes unevenly, thickly. She'd even put on red lip stick. She didn't look like herself, and she didn't seem to care that he was worried about her crazy plan to be the vampire lure. She'd insisted she fit the profile—she got mistaken as a teen girl all the time, was brunette, could play the part of vampire-smitten gothic chick—and Dean had grudgingly agreed in theory, but now he was having second thoughts now that they were outside of the bar where Kristen had probably disappeared from.

Sam, getting out much leisurely than the other two, smirked at his brother. "Dean, calm down," he said, cracking an easy grin. "She's the perfect bait."

"Exactly!" Dean exclaimed with rising urgency. "If these are real vamps we're up again, this is all kinds of stupid and dangerous!" He looked at his sister, who was adjusting one of her boots—she had knives hidden down there, he'd watched her strap them on. It seemed like no big deal to her, which was why Dean was getting so shaken up. "This the kinda stunt you pulled the past year?" He demanded. "Risking your life like there's no tomorrow?!"

She made a confused, amused face at him as she straightened, and she didn't rise to his level of anger. "Uh… isn't that what hunting is?" She asked, making a pretty good point and then, of all things, cracking a grin. "You know what, if you have such a huge problem with it, we can maybe find you some eyeliner and an I Heart Vamps shirt, too." She patted him on the face cajolingly, like he was cute but she'd had enough. "I got this, Dean," she said confidently, then glanced over at Sam, who was more in the mindset to actually do the job. "Now you two just stick with the plan and I'll see you inside." She took off toward the entrance to The Black Rose, then wobbled in the high-heeled boots mid-step, almost fell—righted herself and then shot them a dirty look and pointed a finger at them with a jab. "Not a word," she warned, then turned around and resumed walking, more carefully this time.

Yeah right, it was too good an opportunity to pass up. "You suck at walking high heels!" Dean called, and she threw a good-natured middle finger over her shoulder at him. He shook his head. He didn't like this, but mostly, because she'd been in such a bad situation recently and this seemed… sorta like she was pushing the boundaries a little bit. Trying to get skeevy guys to hit on her? Trying to draw the bad guy out using sexuality? His protective instincts told him no way you should let her do this.

"She'll be fine, Dean," Sam said cajolingly, his hands in his pockets as he walked up to stand beside Dean. He was watching his twin walk into the bar but spared Dean a brief glance. "She's got us watching her back." In that moment especially, there was something distinctly un-Sam about Sam.

Dean looked at his brother with a dark, unsure expression. "Right," he said and, drew in a deep breath, turned back to watching their trampy looking sister walk up the side of the building. "Yeah." Two seconds passed, and Alex's dark brown head disappeared into the entrance of The Black Rose. And Dean decided never mind. "Screw this," he muttered, and without a backward glance, took off after his sister. He caught up to her in the dim hallway that led into what looked like a big room ahead. Colored lights flashed and low music thumped there. "Wait up two seconds, Al," he said, catching her by the shoulder lightly.

She got annoyed, stopped, and glanced around, leaned close to speak in low tones. "Dean, the whole point of entering separately is—"

"I know, I know, but who cares, Al?" He asked, exasperated, then giving a very gothic looking passerby a tight how-ya-doin' smile before turning back to his sister and whispering loudly. "Come on, look, we've been together for a couple days now and I can't keep not saying anything, all right?" Alex looked more and more pissed and Dean was glad. Let her get mad. He wanted to see some real emotion out of her. "You're acting like you're okay but I don't get how the hell you could be okay after everything."

She gave him a bitch-face that could win awards—it was that sassy. "Seriously? You pick now to keep pestering me about this?" She crossed her arms and gave him a lot of attitude. "All right. Great. Let's do this now, Dean." She looked mad enough to spit. "I'm fine." She shrugged, pulled a face, put her hands out, like she was saying and that's all there is to that. And then she turned the conversation around on him, became almost accusing. "How are you okay after everything? You've lost your family, your home, you've been to Hell, you've died, Sam died, I ran off on you, now you've gone and ditched Lisa and Ben—"

Indignant, Dean cut her off. "Whoa—I have not ditched them."

She made a face at him like she was thinking you kidding me right now? A couple with crazy piercings and lots of tattoos walked by, hand in hand, looking at the squabbling siblings curiously. Alex and Dean waited for them to pass and remained silent and sullen. The second the passersby were out of earshot, Alex was talking again. "The point is, insane shit has happened to all of us. Stuff that would send most people howling to the looney bin—"

"Or running to the whiskey shelf, or out for a hit of demon blood," Dean said darkly. Alex definitely reacted to that. Looked rueful and pissy, but she somehow managed to keep her cool.

"Yeah, you're right," she said evenly, clearly working to be patient, to not hit him. "I may have problems. And I may have dealt with some of them in stupid ways. But I dealt. The best I could. Like I said, before you cut me off… we've all been through crazy crap. But we're all okay and we got through it. Same thing now. So let it go."

"Let it go?" Dean repeated incredulously, his temper rising. "None of us are fine, and you know that." He jabbed a hand out to his side, gesturing almost violently. "Have you taken a look at Sam lately? He's not fine!" Dean's anger was making him animated in the worst way. "Have you ever, uh, I don't know, talked to me? I'm not fine and I haven't been for my whole goddamn life!" Dean looked at Alex accusingly. "And you're not fine, either!" He insisted gruffly, wet his lips, tried to get his very baleful sister to try and break through, talk to him. "What, it's all just over now? The shitty year you had, what you did, what happened to you? Call me crazy but I don't exactly believe you right now!"

Alex just met his gaze. "Look at me." She blinked once, shrugged again. "I'm fine. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go do my job." She turned to go, he grabbed her shoulder, didn't let her.

"Al—!"

She yanked away, eyes flashing. "Dude! Stop!" Her shoulders heaved from sudden breathless anger. "Get the fuck out of the past! Stop bringing it up, okay?"

"I just know you can't keep this stuff inside forever, Alex!" Dean protested with rising desperate earnestness.

"Oh, like you came a hundred percent clean about Hell?" She fired back. "Dean I'm not dumb. You're still holding on to so much of that crap. You only told Sam and me a drop in the bucket, don't insult my intelligence. So why do I have to tell you all about my hell if you won't tell me about yours?" She crossed her arms tightly.

Again, Dean was blindsided by how she was misinterpreting his concern… that, and he was so deeply saddened at her word choice. Calling it her hell. He hurt for her, and he would take that pain in an instant. "I just care about you, I'm just trying to help," he implored, wishing he could show her how he literally lived for her and Sam, to a certain point. How he'd do anything for them. How he just wanted to help both of them and make it better.

Instead of a glare or a snide comment, Alex softened, however reluctantly. She looked tired. "I know, Dean. I do." Her jaw clenched. Then she looked at him through a pinched expression and in a strained voice, asked him to stop trying to help. "But I need you to back the hell off right now." She shrugged, mildly defeated, and wouldn't look at him again. "You and I were always so close, but… I've been on my own for a year. Things are different."

She was right, and it broke his heart because she was pretty much saying she didn't want to be close to him right now. And moments like this were rare for him, but he swallowed his pride and own hurt over the whole thing. Made it about her instead of about him. Tried to reassure her. "I'm still your big brother. And I'm always gonna be here for you, understand?"

Alex seemed annoyed. "I know, I know," she muttered, extremely uncomfortable and ready to stop the conversation. She jerked her thumb to the side, toward the interior of the bar. "I'm gonna go start canvassing now."

She turned to go.

Dean watched her leave, sort of wishing he hadn't had that conversation at all. It hadn't gone how he wanted at all. He'd pushed her away even further. He moved a hand down over his mouth and chin briefly, gave a short expulsion of exasperated breath. Why did both of his siblings have to be off the rails? He felt like the only one holding it together right now. And Alex was right. There were things that haunted him that he had never told anyone. He was barely holding it together. What the fuck else was new, he reflected cynically. One thing was for sure… he needed a damn drink.


The Black Rose was a bar club hybrid, a clearly gothic hangout. The atmosphere was dark, dim, and a bunch of really emo looking people milled around. The bar itself was centered in the room, not up against a wall. It provided a pretty good way of scoping out the whole place while not drawing too much attention. Dean took a sip of his beer, watchful of his sister, who was currently weaving her way through the crowd across from him, trying to draw out their vampire perp. They were looking for a guy who was trying to look Twilight, and honestly, most of the guys here looked sort of pop-culture vampy. Black leather getups, spiky detailing on shirt sleeves and shoulders, piercings, emo haircuts, some of them wore makeup or had black painted nails. Needless to say, Dean and Sam definitely stuck out, sitting at the bar in their typical plaid getup.

Pop culture had gotten a lot wrong about vampires, and Dean was chagrinned, to say the least. Real vampires could go out in the sunlight (even though it apparently wasn't their preference), didn't give a shit about crucifixes, garlic, wooden stakes, or coffins. They didn't turn people by biting them, they had to feed their blood to a human directly to turn them. The only way to kill them was chopping off their heads. And their fangs only came out when they were ready to feed. In short, it made identifying vampires difficult. They looked like normal human beings and there wasn't a quick, easy way to ID them.

"So you're sure?" Sam asked, off in his own little world, on the phone. "A hundred percent? Huh. Yeah, interesting. All right. Yeah. Talk later." Sam ended the call and pocketed his phone, turned toward Dean. "So, sounds like we're dealing with vamps for sure. Samuel says this is the fourth town he's heard of. Same pattern. Kids go missing, blood bank van gets jumped. Guess what? Blood bank was robbed here in Limestone just last night. Saw it in the paper earlier. What do you think?"

Dean wasn't exactly excited to hear they were looking for real, actual vamps. "Just friggin' great," he muttered, watching Alex even closer. Sam followed his gaze, then, typical Sam, scoffed, implying that Dean was being overly dramatic.

"What's the big deal, Dean? She's a hunter. A good one."

"Yeah but I don't like using her as bait, okay?" Dean asked, then gave Sam a pointed look. "And you shouldn't either."

"Maybe you should have more faith in her abilities," Sam said factually.

Dean glanced at him peevishly. "Maybe you should shut up."

Sam smiled briefly. "Same old Dean."

Not entirely sure how to take his brother, Dean was quiet. "Yeah." He tried to force himself to relax, then tried to strike up a conversation with Sam. "Hey, this isn't all bad," he said, gesturing at Sam's beer. "We haven't had a beer together in forever."

Sam wasn't paying attention. He gestured with a faint thrust of his chin toward the area across from the bar. "Check it out."

Dean followed his gaze. Alex was over there, talking to a guy in his late teens who was decked out in dark leather, eyeliner, and he seemed pretty into Alex—grinning, posturing flirtily, eyeing her. He leaned close, whispered something in her ear—and Alex made a face like she had never heard anything so stupid. She pulled back, wiping the look off her face with sort of startling ease, appearing to be enjoying herself… she made a 'come here' motion with her finger… grabbed the kid's chin in a hand, pulled him closer… then her other hand shot forward and yanked fake plastic fangs out of the kid's mouth. She flicked them into the kid's face as she made a very unimpressed face at him. Poor dweeb was blinking, shocked, and Alex was giving him a clearly false smile and an eye roll and moving on.

Sam chuckled. "Okay. Not our guy." He returned to his beer, casually leaning on the bar.

The kid Alex had just un-fanged followed her like a puppy dog, apparently trying to appeal to her—Dean faintly caught the words 'babe, come on!' over the music. Dean was tensed, half standing, ready to go over there and kick some ass if he needed to.

Sam glanced at him sidelong. "Relax, Dean, wouldya? Kid's like a hundred pounds. She could break him in half while she had a hand tied behind her back." He took a swig of his beer, not concerned.

Dean didn't sit down. Alex turned around to face the kid. She must have said something really disturbing or scary, because when she finished saying whatever she had to say the kid drew back, wide-eyed, and left, hurried straight out of the bar. Dean relaxed a little, chuckled, caught his sister's gaze across the bar. She gave him a little smirk, then continued to wander through the crowd. Dean felt his smile fade a little. He still didn't believe she could just be fine. But she sure was acting like it.

He sighed, restless. "What was that kid wearing fangs for, anyway?" Dean asked, scoffing—did chicks really go for that crap?

About twenty minutes went by, Alex milling through and talking to guys, lurking around and getting approached by creep after creep. She shook her head after each one, glancing at Sam and Dean. None of them fit the bill. About four beers in, Dean was getting frustrated and bored, a little distracted. Sam, as usual, seemed tireless and ultra-focused. "Dude, this lead is a bust," Dean muttered, swiveling his head to look at the dance floor to his left. That's where all the drunk people were. And hey, someone who looked relatively normal. In a sea of black and dark colors, one girl caught his eye—she was turned the opposite way and he couldn't see her face, but he didn't need to. She was blonde and wore an eye-catching little red dress that hugged every curve and barely covered her very shapely ass. The little red number had long sleeves and was cut to reveal almost her entire back—which, by the way, looked impressively strong. The girl could dance too, her hips were like magic, and Dean turned more, smiling without realizing it, appreciating the distraction. Some people just had that it factor when it came to dancing, exuded sexuality and magnetism without even trying at all. This chick definitely had it, was making the stupid gothy trance music a little more tolerable. And then she turned a little, tossed her head back, and Dean's stomach dropped out from under him when he recognized her. No… fucking… way. His face fell and he reacted without thinking, got out of his seat, and dragged her off the dance floor and into an empty lounge room.

"The hell are you doing here?!" He demanded roughly, shoving her up against the wall. "You following me and my family, huh?" Jamie Ward stared back at him, seeming a thousand-percent shocked to see him and unsure of how to answer his questions. And that's when he realized she was very, very drunk—she reeked of vodka and her eyes were dull, her expression wasn't very coherent. And then he took in how bad she looked—her lip was busted, there was a huge red bruise across one side of her forehead, a little cut on her cheek, she had dark circles underneath her eyes—and genuine surprise made Dean's voice go a little softer. "What happened to you?"

She seemed to get a little of her clarity back. "A whole lot of shit," she slurred acidly, face twisting into a mean expression. "Now let go of me." She tried to twist away, but he only tightened his hands on her arms.

"Not until you tell me why you're here," he said darkly, not trusting her for one second.

She let out a disgusted huff and rolled her eyes, her head lolling around as she conducted herself drunkenly. "A job; what's it to you?" Dean glared at her and she rolled her eyes, getting exasperated and annoyed. "Serial killer, vampires, I don't know."

"You're working this job." Dean looked at her like she was nuts, because he was pretty sure she was. "With who?"

She chuckled—sounded like she was high off her ass when she did, too. "Me, myself and I."

Was she for real right now? Dean looked at her in growing confusion. "Okay… so you're doing this hunt… by yourself... drunk out of your mind? What, you got a death wish?"

Her stupid grin fell and Jamie's features darkened with anger. "I said let go," she said, and when he didn't… well, he paid for it. He wasn't quite sure of how she did it, but her foot or maybe the back of her leg kicked him hard in the back of the knee and when his leg gave out in response, she slammed the heel of her hand into the side of his head and then grabbed his jacket shoulders and half-shoved, half-flung him away from her—he tripped over the edge of the low lounge table and fell backwards, caught himself on his hands. And Jamie looked down at him, seething, fists clenched at her sides. Dean held his aching jaw where she'd hit him—freaking hard too—remembering, suddenly, that she was a witch. And realizing he had pissed her off.

She took a step closer and Dean raised a hand defensively. "Whoa, whoa, don't put any of your witch-bitch mojo on me!"

She stopped short, made a face like oh my god are you joking right now. "You know, just for that, I should," she said, then raised her hand at him, wiggled her fingers, then suddenly shoved her hand at him. He cringed and threw an arm in front of his face, tried to duck her magic—then nothing happened. She was laughing crazily. He looked up at her, freaked out—had she turned him into something? She was holding her arms over her stomach, laughing maniacally. "Haaa, ha ha ha, you should have seen your face!" she chortled slurringly.

Christ, she was hammered. "How much did you drink?" He asked incredulously, not sure if he was safe or not.

"Pssh." She scoffed, a little uncoordinated, stumbling back a little as she held up a lecturing finger. He stood up slow and careful, watching her hawkishly. "And also, I'm not following you, I'm not following anything, mmkay? I'm here for a job, that's it." And she was gonna get herself killed, going about it like this. Dean looked at her uncertainly. She appeared to be disturbed, thinking of something, and she looked downward, her eyebrows knitting together a little. "Your, uh, your sister here with you?"

Dean's hackles raised, fast, his suspicion was renewed a hundredfold. "I don't see how that's any of your concern."

She got incensed, quick, and it was pretty clear her reaction was so strong because of her intoxicated state. "It's my concern cuz she was my friend."

His eyebrows shot up and he made a bitter, catty remark without a second thought. "Yeah? You let all your friends get violated by your brother?"

Her expression fell, her arms did too, and genuine guilt-ridden pain came over her strong, pretty features. "If I had known… that he would do that…"

Not in the mood for it, Dean crossed his arms and challenged her coldly. "What. What would you have done."

Jamie looked him in the eye and lost it. "Christ, Dean, he's my brother, he's not me!" She shouted, incensed and frustrated. "Whatever the hell he did—which, I don't even know what he did, no one's told me shit—I had nothing to do with it!" Pain ran across her face. "And if I had known, I would have found a way to keep it from happening!"

Suspicious of her and not really seeing the point in arguing over it, Dean looked at her balefully. "Yeah, nice story," he said flatly, then stepped closer to her, intimidating her by staring down—he was taller than her and a whole helluva lot bigger. And witch or not, he wasn't scared anymore. Pretty girl or not, he didn't care. "Stay away from my family, you hear me?" And without another word, he brushed past her roughly, letting his shoulder knock into hers.

Jamie watched Dean go, genuine hurt filling her features.


While Dean was busy picking a needless fight with Jamie, Alex, unaware that Dean had disappeared at all, was approached by a tall, dark-haired guy in leather who looked at her with intense eyes. He was pale, looked at her with great interest, getting right up in her personal space. "You look like the kind of girl who belongs to the night," he said to her, his voice low and suggestive. He leaned close, and she made herself stay still, not move back. His voice was soft and low. "I could show you things you couldn't imagine…" wow. That was the best I-wish-I-were-a-vampire pickup line she'd heard all night. In fact, as he drew back to look at her again, she realized there was something about this guy that seemed legit. This was the first guy she really thought actually might be a vampire.

"What kinds of things?" she asked, cautious, but playing it like she was intrigued.

He didn't blink, and his eyes bored into hers. "Things of eternity."

She would have rolled her eyes, but instead Alex looked down, attempting to look demure, then cast her eyes to the side, checking to see that her brothers still had eyes on her. Dean wasn't there anymore—huh—but Sam gave her a subtle nod. Alex looked back at the guy. "Show me."

He cast around mysterious glances. "I can't show you here."

"Where can you?"

"Let's go out back." He held out his hand to her, indicating he take it. "Come with me." She didn't really want to at all, but she did. And the second she did, she realized they had their guy. His skin was cold, lifeless. Real vampire. He began to lead her toward the back exit and Alex looked back at Sam, who trailed them through the crowd. She quickly and discreetly made the signal Dean had invented for vampire—two fingers in a peace sign, facing inward toward herself, then she hooked them into the hair, imitating a vampire bite. Sam nodded understanding. They'd get this guy alone and use him to find the nest. Vampires always traveled in packs.

Briefly, Alex thought about how wrong it felt to be holding anyone's hand but Cas's, thought of how warm and solid and comforting Castiel's hands were. She missed them. She missed him. Don't think about that. The vampire led her down some stairs, through a shadier portion of the club. He kept looking behind them, even though Sam was shadowing at a safe distance. "We're being followed," he said, then abruptly pushed her through the back exit. "Quickly!"

She stumbled out into the night air and down into the back alley. She looked behind herself for the guy… and, nothing. Empty doorway. She looked around—how could he have just disappeared? "Hello?" She asked, self-aware and careful, looking around her environment closely. "Weird vampire guy?"

Behind her, a soft, new male voice. "Well hello. You're pretty."

She turned around fast, seeing a guy she didn't recognize and who had seemingly dropped out of the sky, out of nowhere. He was shorter than her, compact, had long, wild hair that fell in curls to his shoulders, was in his mid-thirties, but dressed young, like he thought he was cool—with a distressed leather jacket, some pagan necklaces, some skeleton rings on his thick fingers. He had a goofy expression on his face, looked sort of like a doofus, honestly. "Uh… thank you?" Alex asked, skeptical.

He grinned at her coyly, overly friendly. "Where's your boyfriend?"

"What boyfriend?" She asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Pretty boy," the man explained, still grinning. "You were arguing with him a little while ago? I want him." The man giggled—actually giggled. He wanted Dean?

Officially weirded out, Alex backed up a step, her red flags raising, because something about this was off. "Uh, sorry, I don't think he swings that way. Now if you'll excuse me… I have someplace less creepy to be." She turned to walk away—and then felt herself being grabbed and yanked backwards, hard, then thrown with superhuman strength.

She went flying through the air and landed painfully on her back on a dumpster lid, rolled sideways off of it and fell further down into a pile of trash bags. Disoriented and confused and wondering where the hell Sam was, Alex tried to get up, managed to get her foot on the ground… then fell over when the heel of her boot made her wobble and stumble. "Sam!" Alex called, trying to get help, reaching in the general direction of her machete—but before she could get it, the curly-haired guy grabbed her by her jacket and slammed her up against the dumpster, punched her in the face, stunning her. "Ahh—" she groaned, barely able to see from the insanely strong hit—it almost seemed superhuman, the force of his fist against her face—wait… was he? She wondered that even as her attacker opened his mouth and pointed fangs descended down over his human teeth—and realizing what was happening, Alex struggled to get away to no avail even as he bit his own wrist, let blood flow out, and, holding her down, despite her protests, he smeared her mouth with his rancid blood.

And the second it touched her tongue, it was all over. Her blood ran cold and hot, screaming in pain as the change happened—weakened and disoriented, she fell backwards into the pile of trash bags when he let her go, chuckling. Her mind was spinning and bursting and nothing made any sense at all, her blood seemed to be having seizures inside her veins. Nearby, she saw a very tall young man holding a sword thing. He just stood there, he had longish hair and was… watching, curiously, almost smiling. Why would he smile? Who was that? Alex blinked against bleary eyes when the vampire was suddenly in her face again.

"Now. Your first assignment, sweetheart. Be a good little girl for me. Your boyfriend. Turn him." He grabbed her hand in his and let blood drip into her palm. He held her gaze in his eyes. She couldn't look away for a second. His words seemed to bore into her, seemed to be her own thoughts. "Take this blood… and turn him." He grabbed her chin and reiterated. "Look at me. Turn him. I compel you." The serious look fell away and again, he giggled. "After you do that, come see me, pretty girl. I have plans for you."

"Hey!" Came a loud voice, and the guy with the sword suddenly ran forward and made to attack.

The vampire jumped back, grinning maniacally and dodging a swipe from the blade aimed for him. He jumped onto the side of the building, began to climb it like a spider, getting away easily. Dazed, Alex looked up at the guy who had just run up. She recognized him, she thought... "I don't feel… good…" she said to him. Everything was getting really hazy and confusing. And then a new man burst out of a door nearby—he was dressed like this tall one, in plaid, jeans, and a cargo jacket, but he was shorter, had close-cut hair. Didn't she know him, too? He looked around frantically, and when he saw her, he came running. Then she realized that he was the one. The one she was supposed to turn. And she stood clumsily, remembering her task and only her task. She had to obey. She remembered the eyes boring into hers. Turn him. I compel you.

The newcomer ran up to her and grabbed her shoulders. His voice was gruff and loud and she could barely understand him, because all the noises in the world seemed to be plugging up her ears. "Are… okay?! What… do to... you?! Lex?!" His words were clipped and echoing weirdly.

She stared at his mouth. Turn him. She took the handful of blood that she was holding onto, and did as she had been commanded. Grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him forward even as she shoved the blood into his mouth with every ounce of strength she possessed. He was shocked, sputtered, fell backwards. And she remembered nothing else, as the world went dark around her.


Sirens suddenly blared, loud as hell, cars, horns—she heard everything and her eyes snapped open, she clapped her hands over her ears because it hurt. Beside her, a familiar grumbling voice. "Oh my god, what is that sound?!" Dean asked, sitting up and holding his head in both hands. As Alex's blurred vision returned and she tried to focus, she realized she and Dean had both been thrown down on the bed like sacks of flour. Why? What was happening? And why was everything so loud?!

Sam's voice sounded someplace nearby. "What sound, Dean?"

Alex pushed herself up and grabbed her head. A lamp crashed to the floor someplace nearby as Dean stumbled into it clumsily. He turned and caught sight of her even as she saw him, too. She couldn't see right; everything was painfully bright, but she could tell that he looked horrible—pale, eyes rimmed in red. And there was blood all over his mouth and chin. The hell? Maybe she looked the same, because his face registered horror when he looked at her. "Alex—uhhh, what—" he paused, suddenly distracted, setting his sights angrily on one of the motel room walls, "the hell IS—THAT—NOISE?!" He pounded on the wall angrily. "Keep it down, dammit!" he shouted, then put his face in his hands. Alex and Dean both recoiled in unison when Sam switched on the other lamp that hadn't been smashed yet.

Dean squinted and held a hand out even as Alex ducked her head down and covered her eyes with an arm. "Sam, please, please shut that off, it's blinding!" Dean complained, rubbing an eye with his hand uselessly.

Sam complied, and mercifully, the room went dark. Alex tried to stand up—her vision was doubling and the world was spinning and every noise was deafening. She stumbled, feeling like she was suffering from impossibly low blood sugar or seasickness. Her ears ached, there were a million screeching sounds in her head, a steady sound of a hammer hitting against a tin roof, Sam's footsteps were like thunder; she heard a million things at once: a lightbulb buzzing someplace nearby, voices in the room next door, mice feet scampering across a floor close by, even Sam's breathing sounded like tornado winds. "Christ, Sam, stop making all that racket!" She accused, clapping her hands over her ears uselessly.

"I'm not doing anything!" Sam protested.

"What the hell happened?!" she demanded, teeth gritted against all the noise—why was she messed up? What had happened to her and Dean? Her oldest brother, similarly tortured, had his hands on his ears, was grunting as if he had a headache.

"You don't remember?" Sam asked, seeming mildly confused. "You both got turned." He paused, then clarified. "Into… vampires."

Alex and Dean both looked at Sam in unison, seemingly both noticing at the same time. They could hear their brother's heart beating steady and strong. Thump thump. Thump thump. And at the same moment, Alex realized. She wanted to taste what was pumping through his veins. She wanted his blood. Oh shit. Shock made her feel faint, light-headed.

Dean seemed to be having a similar conundrum, staring at his brother in shocked, leery pain, hands falling slowly away from his ears. Sam looked at both of them a little warily, made calm down gestures with his hands. "Guys… you should sit down…"

"You sit down!" Dean retorted, fiery, then sat on the edge of one of the beds and cradled his head in his hand. "How'd this happen, Sam?"

"Vamps got the jump on Alex. Then she turned you, Dean." Sam explained, matter-of-fact, even as Alex gaped, shocked, not remembering that at all. "I wasn't quick enough to save you guys. I'm sorry." A passing freight train made Alex and Dean double over, Dean groaning and letting his head fall toward his knees, Alex trying to cover her head with her arms and knocking into the little column in the middle of the room as she lurched back, her head clanging with too many noises.

"Of all the ways to die, damn, to go out like this…" Dean grumbled, "My head's like a frickin' hellscape!"

Sam looked at him like he was nuts. But Alex got what he meant. Every sound was amplified and echoing, like being in a cave but with the volume at a hundred million thousand. Speaking of… "What is that fucking sound?!" Alex asked, going insane and frantically trying to identify the loud, mechanical banging sound. She would kill someone if that noise didn't stop.

Dean got up, seeming to know what was making the sound. "It's that…"

"What's what?" Sam asked, getting more and more confused.

Dean roughly grabbed and ripped the little bedside clock off the wall, making sparks shoot out as the power cord severed from the clock. Both Dean and Alex recoiled at the burst of brightness and Dean dropped the clock onto the floor, staring in dismay, seeming to have an epiphany. "Shit. Shit. This is bad. This is… I can't…" he looked at Sam blank and horrified all at once. He swallowed, looked at Alex dread. And Alex knew what he was thinking, her face fell. But… she wasn't a vampire. She couldn't be, and Dean couldn't be one, either. This was just a bad high or something. Dean turned to Sam. "Sam y-you gotta kill us," he said, voice soft with horror. "Both of us."

Sam cocked his head to the side, like he hadn't heard right. "What?" He scoffed. "No. Look, Samuel's on his way, I called him on the way over here. He's close, just a couple hours out. He said to make sure neither of you fed. Guys, we'll figure this out."

"How?!" Dean demanded, approaching Sam with sudden anger. While Alex was in silent shock, Dean was in full-on freakout mode. "What the hell is to figure out?! Look at us!" He suddenly became accusatory, staring at Sam oddly. "Why aren't you freaked out?"

"Of course I am!" Sam said indignantly. And then Alex realized why Dean asked Sam that.

"Really?" Dean asked. "Cuz I can hear your heartbeat, and it's pretty damned steady." She could hear it, too, in fact, it was the only sound she could focus on. Thump thump. Thump thump. This wasn't a bad trip or a dream. This was really happening. Her mouth watered almost, at the thought of blood. She was so hungry for it. But I just got over a blood addiction, she thought ruefully.

Sam faltered at Dean's accusation. "That's cuz I'm… I'm trying to remain calm," he said, not leaving time to question the matter further. He grew intense, like he was trying to act the part of concerned brother now. "Dean, look—Samuel will know what to do!"

Dean scoffed. "C'mon, man, we're… we're monsters. This is not a problem that you spit-ball. We gotta deal with this before I—we—hurt somebody." He finally turned his attention to Alex. His wan face and pained features grew sad and guilty, filled with despair. "I'm sorry, kiddo," he said softly. "This is my fault. I was busy picking a fight and took my eyes off you for one minute and…" he gave a short little lame attempt at a laugh. "Worst timing ever, huh?"

"A fight?" she asked, filled with pain—her head ached so badly. Who would he be fighting with and why?

Dean looked rueful and dark, glanced away. "Never mind." He groaned suddenly and put his head in his hands. This was a nightmare. It didn't feel real. Alex moaned as an ambulance passed somewhere nearby. Everything hurt so much. She let her head go into a hand.

"How's it feel?" Sam asked, studying Dean closely.

"Now?" Dean asked, irritable. "Now you wanna talk about my feelings?"

"No, I mean… physically."

Getting more and more pissed, Dean let Sam know. "How do you think it feels? Not good!" He brushed past Sam.

"Where you goin'?" Sam asked, getting a very evil eye and ugly-toned retort from Dean.

"Bathroom, okay? News flash, Mr. Wizard: vampires pee!" He slammed the door with gusto behind himself and Sam sighed, crossed his arms, then turned to look at Alex.

Thump thump. Thump thump. His heart was pounding so steadily and all she could think about was how she could now smell his blood. "So, what about you?" He asked, prompting her to say "huh?" He reiterated his earlier question. "How's it feel?"

Irked at his questions and all the sounds and lights and echoing and the new, heady smell of warm blood filling her nostrils, Alex made a face, stalked away from him and over to the window, trying really hard to fight this. "What is this, the Discovery Channel?!" She snapped.

"I'm just curious."

"You should be worried," she muttered, gripping the windowsill and leaning against it heavily, her voice too low for him to hear. "Old Sam would be worried." Outside, the street lamps in the dark were like little acidic dots, and she shut her eyes against the pain that they drilled into her head.

"What's that?" He asked, not catching her words. His stupid voice was pissing her off even more.

She whirled around. "I said it feels really great!" She yelled. "Fan-fucking-tastic! Two thumbs way, way up!" Glaring at him, she abruptly winced at the little wall-light that was behind his shoulder. It was so damn bright.

Sam looked annoyed at her reaction. "Geez, forget I asked."

"Just turn off that fucking light!" There were some shoes beside a duffel bag near her feet and Alex grabbed a shoe and with a shout of rage she threw it at the light. It shattered and the room sank into total darkness. She sighed in moderate relief, only a little soothed. The sounds. The sounds.

"...How am I supposed to see?" Sam complained. But Alex was suddenly falling forward slightly, had to turn and throw a hand out to the wall to catch herself from falling down. She could feel, in her mouth, a new sensation—over her teeth, fangs were creeping out and down. Horrified at the feeling, the cold sensation in her veins, the utter lack of life in her body and the overwhelming noise… she realized how desperate she was for human blood, how Dean was right. They both had to die. She sank down to sit on the floor, despairing completely and trying not to think about how good Sam's blood smelled, how much she wanted it. In silence, she sat there and fought her instincts, tried mind over matter. Tried not to accept this, tried not to think about anything real. But of course, reality was all she could think about.

Dean was right. She was not okay. Not about anything, not really. But she really wasn't okay now.

A few minutes passed. Sam stumbled around in the kitchenette, grumbling about something or another. Eyes filling with scared tears that she allowed in the dark where no one could see, Alex was so utterly ashamed and confused and covered her face with her cold hands. Why had this happened? Why couldn't she remember being turned? Why was Sam so different, so heartless? Why why why?

A single thought kept pounding through her head like a nail driving through splintered wood: she couldn't face Castiel ever again. She couldn't bear to let him see her like this… a bloodthirsty monster. Well. Hadn't he already? The jumbled memories of the panic room and how faithful he'd been to stay at her side flooded her mind. She hung her head, completely miserable and defeated, wanting someone to just tell her it'd be okay, even though she knew it never would be ever again. It was over. A strange, numbing thought. All of it. This was a startling, sad way for it to end. But, Castiel. But the thought of him seeing her like this was absolutely terrifying and she couldn't allow it. Razor sharp fangs begged for blood in her mouth and she fought away even more tears as the reality sank in anew.

She never wanted anyone to see her like this, least of all Cas. Let him remember her as they'd been together last: her, brave and sending him off to battle, despite great trepidation. Him, giving her a kiss that had been as beautiful and warm as a sunrise. That seemed a better ending than him seeing her like this: a monster and a disease. She could write him a letter, explain what had happened to him there. Have Sam give it to him. A siren outside blared and Alex clenched her hands on either side of her disastrous, clamoring head. Thump thump. Thump thump. She could smell Sam, she knew exactly where he was without even looking. Her more clear thoughts began to fade as she focused on that.

So many sounds here were harrowing her mind as Sam's steady heartbeat maddened her to insanity, made her fangs beg for blood. If she didn't feed, she felt like she would die. The idea of blood became the only thing she could think about. She could just take a little bit… Sam wouldn't mind, would he? He was a big guy, he didn't need all that gorgeous, delicious lifeblood, he could share some… she looked up, her eyes working insanely well in the dark. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up a little, and she could see how his forearms were covered in huge, blood-fat veins… they called to her. Told her to drink. And she began to forget everything except that call.

Alex stood up slowly and intently, watching him with new, razor-focus as she contemplated him, then realized that was the weapons duffel bag beside her feet... Sam was looking at the bathroom door and not paying Alex any mind—the water was running in there and had been for awhile. Sam sighed, went to the bathroom door. Knocked on it twice, impatient. "Dean." No answer, and he opened the door then seemed surprised. "The hell? Aw come on Dean!" He exclaimed, then turned, crossed the room, grabbed his jacket off the bed.

"I gotta go look for hi—" he never finished the sentence. Alex hit him in the face with a crowbar she'd gotten out of the weapon bag. He was totally unprepared for the attack, stunned to the point of near-unconsciousness. He fell backwards onto the bed and she was swooping in like a hungry tiger, grabbing his wrist and bringing his arm to her mouth. Her fangs sank into his skin and hot blood burst into her mouth even as Sam cried out in pain and surprise.


Dean, not exactly clear-minded in the slightest, didn't think it through. He'd stood there at the bathroom mirror, felt his fangs coming in. And realized this is it. The end of his fucking life. And he wasn't gonna have many more chances to say goodbye or do what needed to be done. Not thinking straight, he'd ducked out the motel bathroom window, gotten into his car, and driven at fatal speeds under the cover of deep night to the place that had been his home for a year. Now, he stood in the dark room just inside the open window he'd broken in through. Watched Lisa sleep in the bed they used to share. She looked beautiful, even through his bleary, profane eyesight—tan, healthy, dark-haired, delicate-featured. So alive. She wore a very tight, skimpy lace camisole. Her neck looked so gorgeous and soft, her décolletage was inviting—he watched how she breathed steadily. He could hear her heart beating even from the distance he stood at, he could smell the intoxicating balm of her blood and he wanted it. A dog abruptly began to bark and Lisa stirred, opened her eyes, then she sat up, startled and afraid at the sight of him, for a minute not knowing who he was. And then she recognized him, even in the darkness.

"Dean!" She exclaimed, surprised, relieved, relaxing a little.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound like himself. But so impossibly sad because of why he was here.

She reached over and turned on her nightstand lamp and it blinded Dean, who looked away, eyes aching at the sudden, impossible burst of light. "Hey," she returned, rubbing an eye sleepily. "I... wasn't expecting you for a couple of days."

"Yeah, yeah…" Dean tried to act normal, but he was squinting and he could hear her heart beating and everything felt wrong. "I wanted to see you." He sat down on the bed, near her feet, because he was afraid of being too close. Of what he might do to her if he lost control.

Lisa, unaware of the reality but picking up on the fact that something was wrong, looked at him carefully. "What's up? Are you okay?"

"Listen…" Dean started slowly, not sure how to explain any of it or how to tell her goodbye.

"What's going on?" She asked, getting very concerned and edging closer. Her heartbeat was picking up a little, he could hear the blood rushing inside of her. Concentrating was almost impossible, and in his mouth, the fangs craved release from where they currently rested, hidden in his gums.

"It, it doesn't matter," he said. He didn't want to tell her the truth. It was too horrible. He just wanted her to know he appreciated everything they'd had. He just wanted her to know he appreciated her. "But I need you to know… you and Ben.. .just, uh... thanks. Okay? For everything." Every time he tried to look at her, the lamp blinded him. His head pounded.

Lisa slid out from under the cover and moved even closer to him—he could see how she was wearing pretty much nothing, he could smell her blood even more strongly, her heartbeat was louder. "Dean, you're scaring me," she whispered, trying to lean closer to him.

Dean got up abruptly, filled with filthy thoughts involving sex and blood and screams—all hers. "I… I gotta go…" he said with rising urgency, realizing this had been a bad idea. She was not safe from him—he was dangerous.

At his declaration, she stood, confused and riled up. "No, you can't just show up here like this and—"

"Believe me, I wish it was different," he said, cutting her off. Barely able to concentrate at her closing proximity.

"Just stop, and explain to me what's going on out there!" She asked, upset.

Miserable and regretting his decision to come here, Dean shook his head, barely able to meet her gaze. "Lisa, I can't bring this crap home to you."

"You're… you're talking about your work?" she asked, soft, confused. His eyes traveled her. She was so innocent, so ripe for the plucking, so unaware of the things his condition, his disease, was compelling him to do to her…

Resolve heightened because of how alarmed he felt, Dean shook his head, backed up a little from her. "I'm talking about my life. It's ugly… and it's violent… and I'm gonna die—soon."

Very upset now, Lisa stepped closer, beseechingly. "Just tell me. Just tell me what the hell is going on…" she asked, taking hold of his arms and staring into his eyes with vast amounts of concern.

He stared down at her, frozen, fighting his urges, trying not to hear the delicious heartbeat in her veins, trying not to inhale that gorgeous aroma of lifeblood. It was entirely irresistible. He snapped, grabbed her hard and shoved her against the wall that was beside them, she gasped, shocked at his actions, staring at him with wide eyes. As their eyes held, her concern faded, she seemed entranced at him and almost interested—her bosom was heaving as her pulse skyrocketed, he stared at the little curve where her neck and shoulder met—he wanted to taste her there, he wanted to dive into her veins with his fangs, sample her blood. He felt himself giving in, called forward by the song of her pulse, his mouth drawn to the maddening perfection of her neck… Dean, stop his inner voice told him, and he realized what he was doing—he remembered himself and with all the self-control he possessed, he yanked himself away, horrified even as his fangs descended in his mouth, ready to puncture her. He turned away from her and lurched forward a couple steps, pained and in torment, realizing if he didn't leave now, he would probably kill her.

"Dean?" Lisa asked behind him, voice high with panic. She wasn't entranced anymore, and Dean was confused.

"I gotta go," he said, and completely shaken, he fled into the hallway, covering his mouth with his hand, disoriented, his vision blurred. He had to get away from her. He had to get away from everyone.

One door down, Ben emerged—the light coming from his bedroom was bright as the fucking sun and Dean recoiled even as Ben wandered out, rubbing his eyes. "Dean…?" He asked, confused and half-aware, but when he saw it was Dean, he smiled, came forward to greet him.

"Ben, just stay there," Dean commanded, squinting, almost doubled over as he held out a warning hand.

"I thought I heard you—" Ben started, getting too close—Dean could smell his blood and the light behind the kid was inconceivable and Dean panicked, lost his mind.

"I said stay back!" he shouted, shoving Ben aside too hard, where he collided with the other side of the hall. And Dean saw that through what seemed another person's eyes. The callous way he knocked the small kid aside was reminiscent of what his dad had done to him. To his sister. He was just like his father, but even worse now.

And with that thought, Dean tore out of the house, panicking and full of stark fear. I'm a monster. I have to die. Someone has to kill me. I have to die. Someone has to kill me. There was no way he could hold off on drinking someone much longer. The desire was too intense and he was barely holding onto his mind at this point. He pulled out his phone, groaned as he stumbled back to the Impala—the screen was acid-bright and he could barely look at it. Still, he scrolled through, trying to find someone who would kill him sight unseen. And then, he saw the name Jamie Ward. He'd kept her number, and maybe this was why. Beggars couldn't be choosers. Dean hit call and leaned heavily against the Impala, half out of his mind with lunacy, bloodlust, and horror.

She picked up, and there was some swishing. "What?" she asked, pissy. She sounded half-asleep, still drunk.

"Where the hell are you?" Dean asked, gruff and barely able to concentrate on forming words.

She moaned softly, like she wasn't fully awake, like he was really inconveniencing her at the moment. "Still at the bar. Why are you calling me?"

He didn't explain. Just barked out an order. "Stay there and don't do anything stupid, I need you to do something for me." And he hung up without a word, got in his car, and drove like a absolute madman, alternating between nearly wrecking and nearly running off the road. When he parked crookedly in The Black Rose parking lot, he saw Jamie's Tahoe parked off by itself and he grabbed his machete out of the trunk, stumbled over to the SUV. He could hear all the noises of the city and smell people nearby and he was getting really, really worried that he couldn't hold off much longer. Jamie was asleep in the front seat of her car, her head awkwardly resting on her shoulder and her mouth opened a little—she was in the same red dress—why did it have to be the color of blood? Dean banged on the window loudly, rudely waking her up. She sat up, grimacing and squinting. Then when she saw it was him, her face showed annoyance and contempt.

She didn't open her car door or roll down the window. Just spoke through the window. He could barely hear her. "Seriously?" She asked, somewhere between drunk and hung over. "You here to bitch at me more?" Unhappy and groggy, she hunkered down into her seat even more, apparently ready to go back to sleep. "Fuck off before I shoot you," she muttered.

"A gun won't work," Dean said, then indicated his weapon. "You'll need my machete."

That got her attention, woke her up. "Wait… what?" She paused, looked around sort of mistrustfully, then slowly got out of her car, shut the door behind her. She looked at him carefully and took in the blood along his collar, the red-rimmed eyes, the pale color cast. She was surprised, the bitchy look left her face. "What's wrong with you?" She asked. "You look terrible. Are you sick?"

He shoved the weapon at her with a shaking hand, realizing he could hear her heartbeat, too, and it was making his mouth water. "Chop my head off," he said urgently, "Just do it, make it snappy, before I hurt anyone." She looked at him like he was speaking an alien language, like she didn't know what the hell he was talking about. "I got turned!" He said loudly, then pulled up up upper lip, showed her his new fangs for emphasis and she recoiled, genuinely surprised and finally a little wary.

"You, uh, you might wanna see your orthodontist about that," she said, backing up a little—against the side of her SUV.

Annoyed, Dean was losing his cool, fast. "I don't got time for the comedy club, now do it!" He grabbed her tightly for emphasis, only meaning to scare her into action—but she did nothing, just stared up into his eyes.

In that moment, Dean remembered that some vampires had the ability to compel—put their victims into a trance of sedated and compliant behavior. And when Jamie just let him stand there, pushed up against her intimately—her chest heaving alluringly, her mouth open as she breathed, her eyes locked on his—he realized that had to be what was happening, why Lisa had let him just shove her against a wall, too.

Dean's breathing was quickening, fast… he could hear the blood rushing inside her, almost taste it. Her ice-blue eyes stared up into his and her heart beat was the most maddening call in the entire universe, he saw her sleeve had fallen down a little to reveal the soft round shape of her shoulder. Her other shoulder was tattooed, he remembered faintly, but this shoulder? The bare skin looked warm, inviting, flushed with blood. He tried desperately to control himself, tried to tell her how he was a monster, what was wrong with him:"I wanna drink your blood, understand?" He asked softly, losing his edge of alarm in place of desire. He was looking at her and finding her so intoxicating, so delicious, so ready for the taking. Beautiful. "Taste you... feel your heartbeat in my mouth... sink my teeth down deep into that soft little neck of yours..." the words kept coming and he didn't even think he was saying them, but she smiled a little, eyes glazed over and not clear, as if she were drunk or high on what he was saying.

Dean's clarity was falling away in favor of bloodlust—he didn't even know who she was or care. "You smell so damn good—" he said and leaned in, letting his hand graze the bare skin of her shoulder where blood flowed beneath. He couldn't help himself. He had to have her blood, now. He pulled her sleeve down further, grasping her shoulder and pulling it to him as she made a soft sound of surprise—not protest. He bent down, pressed his nose to her skin, inhaled deeply—opened his mouth, his fangs descending, begging to pierce through the silken skin and harvest hearty red lifeblood. And the second one of those fangs touched her skin, she snapped out of her trance, said "hey!" and shoved him away before he could break the skin. Following his stumble, she arced her elbow up and crashed it into his face, stunning him, then grabbed his collar and cracked her fist into his face repeatedly—she hit like an MMA champion, he thought faintly as she beat his face in. She let go when he was good and woozy, and he collapsed down onto his back next to his machete, which had already clattered down uselessly.

Dean looked up at the fierce blonde woman in the red party dress who had just broken his nose, he was pretty sure. "Biting is rude," she said, upset and a little surprised, shaking out her fist a little, grimacing.

He groaned, maybe at the pun or maybe at the physical pain, at the noise clanging around in his head, maybe at the horrible realization that he'd almost just fed on her. The things he'd said to her struck him, the way he'd almost bitten her crashed over him and he despaired at himself. "I told you, you got to kill me," he said, miserable and past hope.

She dropped the jokes and relented. Crouched beside him, kept her knees together tightly. Looked at the machete, then him. Briefly, she had no guard up at all, and he felt like he was looking at someone else entirely. "I'm sorry, Dean." She meant it, and it was obvious, and she seemed genuine, almost vulnerable. Like she identified with him or something. He could smell her blood still, and it was clouding his mind.

Dean reminded himself that he didn't like her, that she was a witch, that he didn't associate freely with her kind. "I don't need anyone feeling sorry for me," he said gruffly, trying not to get cold feet. He needed to die. He was thisclose to killing. "Now pick up that damn machete and end this now please."

A little chagrinned, she shook her head. "You know, I appreciate you using your manners, finally, but—"

He grabbed her wrists angrily, suddenly, yanking her down, almost knocking her over as he pulled himself up, getting in her face. "Enough with the jokes, James!" Dean exclaimed, barely able to tolerate the insane need to taste her. Her small wrists in his big hands pulsed with blood and life and he let go as if stung, laid there propped up on an elbow beneath her—she'd fallen over him, was pushing herself away from him with her hands. "I want blood, understand?! I want your blood. I'll kill people, I'll kill you!" She seemed to believe him, genuine fear flickered across her eyes, and Dean swallowed painfully, because this was such a shitty ending to his story. This was the opposite of who he was supposed to be. He was supposed to save people, not hurt them. Jamie looked down at the machete, slowly reached down and closed her fingers around the handle, looked back at Dean with unsure eyes.

He braced himself for the kill, wished he hadn't gone to see Lisa. He should have stayed with Sam and Alex, the ones he owed more to than he ever would to Lisa, loved a million times more than anyone else in the world. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. Story of his life. Just another failure to add to the never-ending list. Too late for regrets. He'd done what he'd done. He hardened his face and voice, raised his chin, faced it like a man. "Now do your damn job and gank me," he told her commandingly, not letting her see his inner conflict. "You gotta put me down. I'm a monster."

There was a long pause, and she looked at him with an unreadable expression, searching his eyes with hers. "I dunno about that, Dean," she said, then softly touched the side of his face with a warm hand, soft fingertips. He looked at her questioningly. Even as he was opening his mouth to ask her what the hell she was talking about, she uttered a single word: "Somnus."

And with that word, Dean Winchester's world went black as the night.