Song Remains the Same

Chapter 55 / Fanged Up

"It doesn't matter what you are. It only matters what you do."
- Sam Winchester


Alex became aware slowly as she came out of the darkness of unconsciousness.

Momentarily disoriented and not remembering what had happened, she could feel how she sat in a wooden chair with her hands behind her. Ropes were tied around her waist and arms tightly—the hell? She strained at them instinctually, even before her eyes had opened fully. And then she remembered attacking Sam, feeding on him—and him getting the crowbar away from her. Ah. He must have knocked her out. Coming to quickly, feeling a new sort of calm and strength as she woke Alex realized that she felt… good. Sam's blood, although she hadn't gotten a lot, made her feel totally different. Alive again, but in a new way. A better way. That's what her first thought was, but then quickly after it, she recoiled internally, horrified at her own thought process. Alive in a better way? She'd been turned into a vampire and just fed on her own brother! Distinctly, her two mindsets warred against the other: her familiar humanity which was slipping away as her newfound vampiric state of being fought for dominance.

The constant barrage of noises hadn't stopped—she heard heartbeats and traffic and lightbulbs and electricity—but the sounds weren't as completely jarring and deafening as before; she felt like she could almost separate them from her senses, somehow—she wasn't sure how to process it at all. And then Alex realized… there were two human heartbeats in the room with her now, not just one. She raised her lolling chin off her chest, and saw that a pair of black booted feet were in front of her. She frowned. That wasn't Sam. She looked up slowly.

A tall, imposing man with a shining bald head and thick eyebrows was looking down at her, his arms folded. "There you are," he greeted leisurely, smiling just barely—he looked distinctly calm and in control, self-assured, and she didn't like it. "Morning, sunshine."

Alex stared at the man guardedly. She'd met him just the once, and he hadn't left the best impression then, either. "Samuel..." she greeted neutrally, cautiously. His heartbeat was steady, loud, strong. Samuel Campbell: her maternal grandfather—her mother's father. She didn't know much about him except he was a hunter and had died in the seventies… yet was somehow inexplicably alive again since about a year ago, just like Sam was.

"'Grandpa' would be fine, too," he suggested. And even though his tone was friendly and pleasant enough, there was an unpleasant glint of calculating and superiority behind his eyes. Alex felt another twinge of dislike toward him.

She pulled a little against the ropes that held her down again, realizing that she almost felt strong enough to snap the ropes completely. But instead of testing that theory, she decided to bide her time. She raised her chin, narrowed her eyes, adopted a guarded and snide tone, tried to figure out what the guy was even doing here. "So what is this? Family reunion?"

Samuel's little smile never left his face, resulting in an expression that seemed to imply Alex was stupid. "Your brother didn't tell you I was on my way?" He glanced to the side, Alex followed his gaze. She'd already known he was there—Sam's heartbeat and scent was familiar, locked inside of her somehow—but it wasn't until she laid eyes on him that she reacted with genuine care. Saw what she had done. Sort of sullen and in a new shirt, Sam had his arms crossed. On one of them, a large bandage. The place where she'd bitten him. He stared at her sort of balefully from near the window.

"I'm here to help," Samuel explained.

Yeah, whatever. He was a little too late—Alex—the real Alex, not the corrupted vampire-version of Alex, saw her brother, saw what she'd done, and was deeply horrified at herself, realizing all over again that she was a monster. She stared at the bandage on his arm, saw how the faintest bit of blood had seeped through. Her mouth watered a little—her eyes teared up, as she realized how she truly couldn't fight this, that it was suddenly who she was, and she was powerless to change it. She wasn't human anymore. "Sorry," Alex muttered to her twin, then bowed her head down, kept her voice gruff, shoved her tears away angrily. "You, uh, you okay?"

Sam shrugged, pushed himself up to stand, arms still crossed, seemed to not give two shits about anything either way—he took a couple steps toward her. "Yeah. Fine." He paused, a little cynical, he cracked a straight-faced joke. "My shirt's ruined." She looked at him at that point, confused and trying to see what had happened to him—Sam shouldn't be wisecracking at a time like this, would he? Who was this guy? He narrowed his eyes at her, like he was trying to figure something out. "How do you feel?" He questioned. In the past, Sam would have asked that out of genuine care and concern. But today, he seemed to ask it out of a scholarly interest—there was no empathy in his eyes.

Hurt because it was clear he didn't really care and she didn't know why, Alex resorted to defensive sarcasm. "Dead inside," she quipped sullenly, peevishly staring past Samuel and at the empty bed behind him. Then, Alex realized someone was missing. Worry surged forth. "Where's Dean?"

Samuel glanced at Sam, who looked down, smiled derisively, appearing to be mildly annoyed. "On his way back right now."

Well that was cryptic. Whatever, Sam. Everything he was doing was pissing her off more and more, but it didn't really matter anymore. It was too late to fix the broken relationship or figure out what had changed. And honestly, she didn't even want to. She didn't like Sam anymore and was bitter at how he'd let her think, that whole damn year, that he was dead—he seemed to have no remorse about how it had torn her up. It was like he didn't care at all.

She was done trying to understand. She was done with everything, like it or not. After all, this was probably her last day on earth. She and Dean couldn't stay the way they were… she knew that, below her in-shock state of mind. They were menaces. Monsters. That word kept coming to mind. And monsters had to be put down.

Unbidden, she thought of her heart—no, not the flesh and blood thing that was in her chest—the fierce, gentle angel in the trench coat. She would have one final request before Sam or Samuel ended her existence: That they allow her to write him a goodbye letter in private, then see that he got it. She couldn't say goodbye in person; she couldn't stand the thought of letting him see her like this. He'd be so devastated, and selfishly maybe, she couldn't bear to think of seeing him like that. That, and she was so afraid she'd lay eyes on him and want to drink him…

Samuel was dragging a chair up, setting it across from the one Alex sat tied into. His heartbeat was loud and annoying. Swallowing her emotionally raw thoughts, Alex raised her chin again, projected a cool, somewhat hostile demeanor toward the balding grandfather who she didn't know from a hole in the wall. "So you here to kill us or what, 'Grandpa'?" She asked, snide.

Samuel didn't seem to like her rude tone, but instead of glowering, he just smiled a little more, cool and composed. "That dad of yours didn't teach you to respect your elders, huh?" He asked conversationally, setting the chair to face back-first toward her. His casual insult surprised Alex. He took a seat across from her, sat on his chair backwards, like he was totally at ease… and she didn't like his know-it-all attitude or the cool way he stared at her. "Figures," he said mildly, clasping his hands together over the back of the chair. "Anyway, I can't say what your future is, per say, but Dean might still have one."

Alex looked at him shrewdly and despite her growing insolent feelings toward him, decided to ignore his fighting words and be the bigger person. "What do you mean?"

Samuel held up a leather-bound book that looked old as hell. "This here's my grandfather's journal. There's a cure in here."

"A cure?" Sam and Alex chorused. Samuel shot Sam, in particular, a strange look.

"A cure for what?" Alex asked urgently, feeling a sense of hope where she'd had none before.

"The journal says the cure'll turn a newborn vampire back to a human," Samuel explained, and Alex gaped. There was a way out of this? The second she thought that, Samuel stomped her hope down unintentionally. "But, thing is… the vampire can't have fed. And Sam here says you already have."

Expression falling and shoulders slowly lowering down into a slump, Alex averted her gaze. Samuel sounded sort of haughty about that last part. She had barely been able to think, she'd needed blood so bad. Same old song and dance, huh? Once an addict, always an addict. Alex was so disappointed in herself. But she also realized that for now, the need was sated—a small mercy. She wasn't insane with bloodlust... even though both Sam and Samuel's blood was loud and distracting, she was okay. She hoped Dean had somehow managed to hold off better than she had. What if he'd fed, too? Then the cure wouldn't work. Alex almost scoffed at that point, because she had no clue if some hokey old cure from some obscure old journal would actually work. She had no idea if Samuel was actually a good hunter or reliable resource—Sam said he was, but Sam was full of shit lately. "You tried this cure out before?" Alex asked, looking at Samuel closely. Hoping that maybe he'd say yes and at least Dean could escape this nightmare.

"Haven't had occasion," Samuel said, a little grim now.

Alex looked down, clenched her jaw tightly. Well, at least Dean had a some small shot in hell. That was better than what she had going for her. "So basically, I'm fucked," she surmised.

Samuel was disapproving at her choice of words. "You should really mind your tongue a little better, young lady," he said.

Whipping her head up, Alex stared at her grandfather challengingly. Just what she needed. Some bullshit male relative who had no right to say a damn thing to her coming in here and acting like he could just tell her what to do. No—she didn't think so. "I'll say what I want," she retorted rebelliously, daring him to say something else to her, daring him to try and tell her what to do again.

Instead, he just drew back slightly, looked mildly thoughtful. "Huh."

"What?" Alex asked in a short, hostile tone.

Samuel looked at her cooly, taking his time to reply. "No respect for authority, mouth like a trash can, think you know everything…" he shook his head a little bit, seeming to be looking down on her. "You're more like your father than I thought you'd be."

Taken aback and bristling, Alex blinked once—her face momentarily conveying an expression that demanded excuse me? "The hell is your problem?" Clenching her fists, the ropes strained against her stiffened arms and she let her expression twist into something ugly and hostile. "You want my respect, you earn it, old man," she spat. "And don't you mention my dad to me ever again."

Yet again, Samuel's face was even-keeled and he seemed to almost enjoy how he'd so obviously goaded her. "I can see that this is an argument that's gonna go south, fast," he said neutrally, but that small, superior smile never left his face. "Let's quit while we're ahead."

Disliking him more and more, Alex gritted her teeth. He was the most patronizing, infuriating… "Who put this guy in charge anyway, huh Sam?" Alex asked angrily, sharply looking at her twin. Then realized she had another important question. "And what the hell are you guys gonna do with me if there's no cure, huh?" She was breathless, getting mad, getting real warmed up to the idea of drinking one or both of the men at this point. And realizing that—how the thought of tearing into her own flesh and blood family struck her as appealing—her more human mind fought for dominance, she was startled into sudden fear at herself and her thoughts. Her heart hurt, she thought of Castiel and her eyes stung again. She wanted him to be there so bad, to make everything okay; she wanted him to never come again, because she was a monster and she couldn't have him see her like this.

The two men looked at each other wordlessly when she asked what they were going to do with her if there was no cure. There was an abrupt knocking at the door. Sam's arms uncrossed. "That must be her." Momentarily distracted, Alex looked at her already-moving twin with a confused frown. Who must be who?

Samuel stood, too, followed Sam to the door. Alex couldn't see the door from where she was, no matter how much she craned her head. Then she heard a familiar female voice and she went still, shocked. "Hi guys. Special delivery. He's passed out in the back of the dark green Tahoe parked on the west side of the building." Alex heard the sound of keys jingling like they'd been tossed and caught, heard Sam say thanks. Heard two pairs of heavy footsteps leaving the motel room. Heard high-heels clicking toward her. Smelled new blood.

Alex already knew who it was before she saw Jamie, but still. When Jamie slowly, hesitantly walked to stand in front of Alex, it was like a punch in the gut to see the familiar face—mostly because it reminded Alex of Glen, reminded her of what had happened. She swallowed, suddenly nerve-wracked. And then was confused, because Jamie was wearing a worried expression and a little red dress with a plunging neckline and long sleeves. Not her normal jeans and screen-printed t-shirt combo—was she hunting in that dress and heels combo? There was nowhere to hide a weapon, anywhere.

"You're all dressed up," Alex noted guardedly, trying to figure it out and play it cool. "What's the occasion?"

Jamie looked down at herself, like she'd forgotten what she was wearing, then she tried to laugh at herself. All that came out was a lifeless, single chuckle. "Me being stupid, I don't know," she said, trying for a conversational tone. But Alex could tell Jamie was off. Distracted. Depressed, even. Jamie was taking in Alex's appearance with a note of confused, faltering amusement. "What's with your trashy outfit?"

"What, you don't like it?" Alex asked, matching Jamie's sort of joking, careful tone. Not unpleasantly, Alex squinted at her friend, forcing herself to ignore the never ending thump thump, thump thump. "What the hell are you doing here, anyway?"

Jamie sighed as if she had no idea and tossed a tired hand up. "Long story, but uh… ran into Dean and he was trying to get me to kill him, so…" she gave a wan, tight attempt at a smile, "interesting night."

"Dean asked you to kill him," Alex repeated, her stomach flipping unpleasantly at the news. Without saying goodbye to her? Dean wouldn't do that… would he?

Jamie nodded, grim and hard-faced. "Yeah. Seemed pretty desperate," she turned the chair Samuel had been sitting in to face Alex, sat down slowly. "Also, tried to eat me, so..."

Alex's eyebrows raised a little. "Huh," she commented, appraising Jamie closely. "Awkward." The blonde looked sort of awful—tangled hair, bruised forehead, busted lip, dark under-eye circles. Her eyes were bloodshot, and something about her demeanor was different than normal. It looked like she'd been in a lot of fights lately. Maybe because she was now on her own—Alex had killed Jamie's only remaining living relative, to her knowledge. A pit of guilt settled in her stomach but Alex cleared her throat, forced herself not to feel that way. "You okay?" Alex asked, trying not to sound as bad as she felt. She hadn't even called Jamie to check on her since… since what happened. She hadn't given it much thought at all, had decided to just cut ties, because that was easier. Now, she regretted that decision and felt like a shit friend.

Jamie seemed to be uncomfortable at the question, shrugged and brushed it aside. "Yeah, who cares," she said, downplaying herself, acting like it was no big deal. She eyed Alex's ropes with a frown. "Are you?"

Alex looked down at herself, chuckled darkly. "A little tied up at the moment. Also, a vampire. So… not great." Remorseful, Alex again cleared her throat, figuring she owed Jamie a little bit of an apology. Wondered if Jamie had any clue that she was sitting across from her brother's murderer. "I'm sorry I didn't call you to tell you what happened or whatever. Dean tossed my phone and I just kinda... I dunno. I've been distracted."

"No, it's fine," Jamie said with a valiant effort to sound nonplussed. Looking at Alex kind of sadly now, her eyes rested on Alex's mouth and chin. Alex realized both must have been still covered in blood, and her human mind was embarrassed, her new vampire senses were proud. And she was left in the middle not knowing how to feel. There was a long silence, then Jamie looked Alex in the eye. "Dean, uh, didn't say you got turned, too."

"Yeah, well," Alex let out a heavy, windy breath, trying not to think about it. "I'm apparently past hope but my good ole grandpa thinks he's got some magical cure for Dean."

Jamie stood up decisively for reasons Alex wasn't sure and walked over to the kitchen. Alex heard the water running in the sink. "Just Dean?" Jamie asked, her tone tense. "Not you?"

"I, uh, I fed, so apparently it won't work on me," Alex admitted, a little shamefaced. "But if Dean hasn't put a straw in anyone yet, maybe he's got a chance."

The water cut off, Jamie's heels clicked across the floor as she came back. "So, he could get fixed and you're just… stuck?" Jamie asked, seeming incredulous. She held a damp dishrag in her hand. What was that for?

"Sounds like." Alex pushed that sad thought away and set Jamie with an intensely questioning gaze. "Why didn't you kill Dean if he asked you to, anyway? You saw what he was, right?"

Jamie made a face like she was thinking trust me, I saw… "Yeah. I definitely saw but… couldn't. Knocked him out, swiped his phone, called Sam. Figured it should be a family decision, I dunno." Jamie looked at Alex with renewed sadness. "Hold still." She quickly leaned in and wiped Alex's chin off for her, not getting too close, seeming to understand that the closer she got, the more it would bother Alex. Jamie's heart beat was so loud and the sound of her blood was rushed noisily in Alex's ears. She tried not to hear it or think about it. Just thought if she were ever to have a sister, she would have probably picked Jamie. Alex didn't like girls, usually. But Jamie was okay. The least annoying one she could think of.

"Thanks," Alex said, depressed, glancing at how the washcloth came away bright red with Sam's blood. Blood. The sight of it made her a little hungrier for some, made her remember all over again what a monster she was. "Back up, would you?" She asked Jamie quietly, voice trembling. "Your blood's noisy as hell," Alex complained, looking down, unable to look her friend in the eye.

Jamie did, stood back. "You know, I still haven't forgotten Ypsilanti," she said after a minute. "How you saved my ass back there. Lemme, uh, make some calls and check some spell books. See if I can figure anything out." She nodded toward the door. "My phone's out in the car." She made to leave, but Alex stopped her with five words—a sudden confession she blurted out.

"Jamie. I killed your brother."

Immediately, Jamie's heart rate skipped, then doubled. She stopped in her tracks, looked at Alex with a gaping, horrified expression. Alex stared at her own knees. "You knew that had to be me, right?" she asked guiltily. She was gonna die soon anyway, might as well face this oddly shameful situation. "When you found him dead there, me gone and not answering the phone—you had to know, put two and two together… figure out it was me, right?" She looked up at Jamie, who was clearly upset and surprised.

It was weird, it was stupid, being so messed up about killing the asshole who'd tried to hurt her—he'd deserved it and Alex really felt justified, but at the same time, she felt horrible because that was her friend's brother. And Alex had been fool enough to believe Glen was her friend, too. That he was trustworthy. There was a lot of deep shame surrounding the entire thing in Alex's mind. A lot of pain she didn't want to face.

Jamie looked down, her expression deeply troubled and conflicted—not angry or indignant or murderous. Almost like she already knew why Alex had done what she did. "Look," she said in a strained voice, "I don't know what he did to you but I'm… it's…" she couldn't seem to find a way to explain herself. "Dean and I talked, the day it happened and he… he sort of alluded to it being pretty bad and I just…" her jaw clenched tightly, she looked at Alex in the eye, and for the first time Alex had ever seen, there were tears were in Jamie's eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, and when she blinked, an ashamed tear ran out onto her cheek. "So sorry. I gotta help you somehow, okay?" Alex was honestly shocked that Jamie seemed to already know, understand, and accept what Glen had done. "I had no idea he could… be that way." Jamie swallowed her emotion, hardened her face, wiped her cheek decisively. Set her chin, nodded just once, seemingly unable to think about it any longer, even at all. "I'll look in my spell books. See what I can see." She cleared her throat, became the Jamie Alex was used to: matter-of-fact, focused, and a little grim. "We don't need to talk about this ever again. In fact, I'd prefer it if we didn't."

Alex nodded, because she could definitely agree to that. "Yeah. Okay."

Without another word, Jamie left even as Sam and Samuel came in and carried Dean in, dumped him into a bed. He seemed to be unconscious. Alex craned her neck, a new reason to be upset distracting her from the other one. What had happened to him? Had he fed? Was he okay? Sam smacked his face repeatedly even as Samuel stood back, arms crossed. "Wake up, Dean," Sam commanded, and when Dean stirred and protested, sat up, Sam immediately demanded to know: "Did you feed?"

"Outta my face, your blood is so freakin' loud!" Dean commanded, surly and pushing Sam away, hard—then catching sight of Alex, whose chair faced the bed. "Why's she tied up?" he asked, looking at Sam balefully for an explanation.

"Because she decided to attack me," Sam answered shortly. "Now did you feed or not?"

Dean said nothing, just set his jaw and seemed to be really pissy, glaring in Sam's general direction, then Samuel's. "Answer the question, Dean," Samuel said sternly.

Dean batted an invisible something away in annoyance. "You can relax, I didn't drink anyone."

Samuel let out a tense breath. "Thank God one of you's strong enough to withstand the temptation." Alex looked at her grandfather sharply, not appreciating the comment.

Dean looked startled. "What's that supposed to mean?" Then, understanding, slowly he looked at his sister, his expression falling with the beginnings of dread. "Al?"

Uncomfortable under his stare, Alex looked down. "Yeah," she confirmed. "I'm sorry." And she was, at least in part. Her body wasn't sorry, but her mind was. And anyway, it was too late. A little sullen, her eyes darted back up to her brother. "Where'd you go, anyway? Why'd you just leave?"

It was Dean's turn to look uncomfortable and he stood up, got quieter. "I uh, I went to say goodbye to Lisa… which, for the record, was a lousy idea." He swallowed, seemed ashamed. "But I…. I couldn't let it end without trying, you know?" He paused, suddenly frowned, looked around and seemed to be remembering something. "Wait… where the hell's Jamie? She bring me here?"

"She said you tried to eat her," Alex said, fishing for the truth by reading Dean's expression… which was immediately a hundred percent guilty.

"I was under the influence, okay? Still am." He glanced at Sam and Samuel, who must have been pretty appealing at that point to him. Alex was feeling hungry again, too. Dean seemed pissed and desperate all at once. "Shoulda known she wouldn't have the balls to gank me," he grumbled, then shut his eyes and winced as an ambulance wailed past somewhere nearby. "This is a nightmare. We gotta go, quick." He turned to Samuel. "How we gonna do this? I can't watch you kill her. I can't. You gotta do me first." He was pointedly not even looking at Alex—all she could see was his profile, his jaw working hard. He was trying not to break down. She recognized it. And seeing him that upset always got her upset, too.

Samuel looked at Dean for a moment, then walked forward. "Okay…" he said slowly, pausing for effect. "Or… I can just turn you back."

Dean faltered slightly, as if he hadn't heard right. "What?"

"I didn't drive all this way to kill you, Dean—I'm here to save you."

Suspicious, Dean looked his grandfather over closely. "How?"

Samuel sauntered over to the table where he'd set his journal down. "I have a cure," he said, opening up the journal and tapping a bookmarked page with his finger. Dean, frowning judiciously, went to look. "It's an old Campbell recipe, kind of like the soup. No one's tried it since God knows. What I hear… this stuff is a bad trip."

Dean looked up from the old, yellowed page of the journal, looking uncertain of what to believe. "You tried it before?" he asked, and it was possible to hear how he was allowing himself to hope.

"No," Samuel said. "But the cure is good according to these pages, and nothing in here's ever led me astray before." He leaned forward over the table, hands on its surface. "But you gotta hold off—a lot of this is on you. You drink, you're done, the cure won't work. I'm talking one drop of human blood—"

"Wait," Dean cut him off gruffly, suddenly frowning deeply again. "Wait." He looked at Alex, who was silent and watchful. "She drank Sam. So that means what?"

Samuel straightened slowly. "I dunno what to tell you. It says this only works if the newborn vamp hasn't already fed."

Dean obviously didn't like that. "No—no. If there's a way to save me there sure as hell has to be a way to save her! Who says this cure won't work on a full-on vamp? Huh? I mean, you don't even know if the cure works at all, right? You seen it with your own eyes, 'grandpa'?"

Samuel paused, reaffirmed what they all already knew by now. "I haven't."

"Okay, all right," Dean said, agitated and cagey. "Here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna try for this cure and hope like hell it'll get my sister un-vamped. What do we need to make this happen?"

"Your fighting spirit's admirable, son," Samuel said, but he didn't sound like he meant the words. "Trickiest thing on the list's blood of the fang that turned ya."

That gave Dean pause. He didn't seem to know what to do with that information. But Alex did. "I don't remember the guy who did it, but I have his scent," Alex said, and suddenly three sets of eyes were on her.

"You have his what?" Sam asked, seeming to be confused and a little grossed out. Alex just gave him a silent and brief fuck off glare.

"Okay, you tell me where he is, I can get it," Dean said, looking ready to go, now.

"You're gonna walk right into the nest?" Samuel asked dubiously.

"Well, I'm one of them, aren't I?" Dean asked. "So all I gotta do is get in there, get the guy alone, and shoot him with so much dead man's blood that he'll think he's rushing a fraternity."

"I should come with you," Sam said.

Dean immediately made a face. "No. Dude, you reek. You're like a walking hamburger. I gotta do this solo."

"How?" Alex asked. "You won't know which vampire it is, Dean. And even if you knew who it was, you're anemic. Those vamps get the drop on you, you're dead. I barely drank any and I feel… well, pretty good now." She decided to test her earlier theory, began to use all of her strength to strain against the ropes. "Good enough to do this." The bonds holding her snapped against her new superhuman strength, and as she stood up, Sam and Samuel both looked shocked. She heard how Samuel's heartbeat picked up in anxiety and she smirked a little, looked at him darkly. He was nervous she was going to hurt him or drink him. "Relax," Alex said, decided to play with him a little bit. "I don't drink old people."

Dean looked grim about taking her along, but made no arguments. "Get your machete."

She crossed the room, under Samuel's watchful gaze, and reclaimed her weapon that Sam had taken from her whenever he'd knocked her unconscious.

"Okay, as good as this sounds..." Sam hesitated, "we haven't been able to find the nest yet, how will you?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Alex asked, stashing the serrated machete inside her jacket. "I can smell the guy. The nest is two miles east of town."

Dean looked at his sister, nodded quickly, then glanced at his brother and grandfather. "We'll be back," he said.

"Dean." Samuel pulled out a large, safety-capped syringe filled with blood. "Might need this. Dead man's blood. Now, there's enough there to drop a linebacker, and then some." Dean hesitated, obviously suffering from bloodlust… then took the syringe of what was poison to vampires. Samuel looked at him intensely. "Good luck, son."

Wordlessly, Dean stashed the syringe in his pocket and tightened his jaw. Looked at his sister, jerked his head toward the door. Silently, she took his cue, and brother and sister headed out.

The second they were gone, the second the door shut behind them, Samuel rounded on Sam, who had started gathering things and packing up. "What the hell's wrong with you, Sam?"

Pausing, Sam looked up as if he had no idea what his grandfather was asking. "Whaddya mean?"

"You knew about the cure."

Sam's face showed mild confusion. "What?" He scoffed, as if the idea were preposterous. "No I didn't."

"We talked about it months ago," Samuel reminded him.

"Not me," Sam said, his tone a little too hard and insistent. He resumed shoving things into his duffel bag. "Must've been Christian or something."

Samuel knew what he remembered and didn't hide his doubtful expression. "Huh. That's strange, cuz if you had known, it'd be almost like you let them get turned," he said, accusing without saying the words outright. "Get a man on the inside? Help us find that alpha vamp we've been looking for?" Samuel watched his grandson closely, trying to read between the lines. "Only something went a little wrong with that plan, didn't it? When sis got bitey." He looked at Sam's bandaged arm for effect.

Sam stopped, looked at his grandfather as if he were perplexed, offended. "You serious? You think I'd do something like that, risk my own brother and sister?" Sam paused for effect, looked at Samuel with revulsion. "What's wrong with you?"

To Samuel, Sam's reaction seemed pretty damning and he didn't back off. Just kept staring at his grandson, waiting for the kid to crack. Sam looked mildly uncomfortable under his grandfather's unflinching stare. "Look, I'm just relieved there's a cure, okay?" he asked, trying to act the part of concerned brother.

"For Dean," Samuel reminded. Strange. In Samuel's day, family stuck together… Sam didn't seem to subscribe to that belief, almost seemed to detest his siblings. Samuel found it strange, believed it couldn't be totally genuine—that Sam had to care more than he let on. "Son, your sister's prospects aren't good. I don't see her living through the night." Samuel paused, expecting just a flicker of something from Sam. But he saw nothing. So he tried to clarify. "Mostly because we'll have to finish her off if the cure doesn't work. Which… I'm pretty sure it won't." Again, he waited to see Sam's reaction. There was none.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Sam said, then gestured vaguely, as if he were suggesting that they leave. The only thing he seemed to be feeling was eagerness to depart. "We should probably try and go find the nest, I don't care if the two of them are vampires now. They're gonna need backup." It was like Sam was trying to say and do the right thing, but not for reasons Samuel understood.

Samuel wasn't sure what to make of Sam's behavior. His grandson was already halfway out the door and Samuel followed grudgingly. Sam was hiding something, and Samuel knew it. Wasn't sure what. After all, he hadn't even met Sam until roughly a year ago… when they'd been resurrected from death and run into each other during a hunt. Sam was reliable, efficient, sharp-witted. But also sort of disturbing with how detached and cold his personality was. He was the opposite of his siblings—Dean and Alexandra were obviously spitfires, seemed to have much more emotional sides than their brother Sam did. Dean's fierce loyalty and obvious deep sensitivity made Samuel think of his beloved daughter Mary… Dean truly was his mother's son. But the only thing Samuel could see when he looked at his granddaughter was John Winchester. The man who'd stolen his daughter away. The man Samuel Campbell had never approved of in the slightest.

Sam and Samuel exited the west side of the building, back out toward where that blonde young woman, Jamie Sam had said her name, was still parked. The red dress was highly impractical, especially since she was apparently a hunter. She had the back of her vehicle open, was standing there intently studying a little volume there with the light from a nearby streetlamp. She glanced up at Sam and Samuel. "Going somewhere?" she asked, seeming mildly curious. Dean and Alex must have exited the other side of the building.

"Yeah," Sam said. "Thanks for your help." He never stopped walking, kept heading for Samuel's black van. Samuel, however, paused to look over Jamie's stash. In the back of her car, a relatively neat assortment of weapons and tools of the trade. He saw several spell books—huh, interesting—and some herbs tied loosely, hanging as if to dry. Not a hunter's most normal accouterments. She held a small leather-bound book in her hand. It looked distinctly witchy from the pagan symbols he could make out etched along the spine and cover. She didn't see how he studied the book.

"Where are Dean and Alex?" she asked, craning her neck slightly as if she expected to see them following behind Samuel. Worry. He heard worry there in her voice, although it was very carefully disguised and almost impossible to catch.

"Went to the vamp nest," Samuel explained. "They need blood from the fang that turned them for the cure to work."

Jamie paused, her expression sharp. "Right." She seemed very cautious and slow to believe. "Alex said the cure would only work on Dean?"

Samuel didn't know how Jamie knew the Winchesters, but he could see that her concern was genuine—and mostly about Alexandra. "That's probably true. We'll see," he replied. He held out a hand, smiling tightly, figuring it was time for formal introductions. "Samuel Campbell. I'm their grandfather."

She looked at him without hiding the fact that she was sizing him up. Stuck her hand out, too, shook his briefly. "Right. Jamie. Ward."

He smiled a little more at her. "You kinda remind me of my daughter," he said. Really, anyone in their twenties with a pretty face and blonde hair reminded him of Mary.

"…Okay." Jamie's expression showed uncertainty, but she made no reply to his sudden, out-of-place observation. Just indicated the small, leather-bound book she had brought in with her. "Look. I think I might have found a spell to fix Alex."

Samuel paused. He decided to test his theory. "You a witch?"

Her ice-blue eyes darted to his, she narrowed her eyes just slightly. "We gonna have a problem if I am?"

Samuel smiled just slightly. "If you can be useful, I don't care what you are."

She didn't smile in return. She seemed to be a very serious person, but not in the way Sam was. He saw how much pain she was trying to hide. How much, hmm, what was that? Vulnerability? Jamie opened up the book, which seemed to be a journal not too unlike Samuel's—handwritten pages, little sketches of things, pagan looking designs and spells jotted down across the tanned pages. "Okay, the spell I remember hearing about… apparently witches don't cast it anymore because, historically, it kills the witch who does the spell," she said, looking at a clipping pasted in. It had writing in a language Samuel didn't recognize, and an odd illustration of two circles overlapping each other. "I think because the disease transfers over to the caster, or like the life forces switch—there's not a lot of information on the spell, but I think it works. So, if the cure doesn't work for her… we can try this."

Samuel paused, frowning. Was she saying what he thought she was? And if so, why? "You willing to risk your life over this?" He paused, getting a sudden idea. And Samuel Campbell was a straightforward man… so, he asked, not hesitating. "You two… together or something?" When he got a surprised look from her, he shrugged mildly. "Hey, I'm from a different time, but we had lesbians back then."

Jamie's face registered a completely floored, did-I-hear-you-right expression. "Uh... no. We're not a couple." She seemed so surprised that she reacted with humor, she cracked a little bit of an awkward grin and looked down, chuckled just once, seeming to find the idea ridiculous. She was pretty, he thought, and she reminded him even more of Mary than before. Jamie composed herself, explained why she was willing to risk her life, without saying anything about it in specific. "Let's just say I owe Alex. Big time." She was telling the truth, Samuel thought. She seemed a little guilty about something. "And if I died casting the spell, saving her… hey, at least it would be on my terms. At least it would be for something important." She said all that with a straight face and a tone of voice that gave away nothing, but...

Samuel fixed her with a very curious look and didn't bother being anything but blunt. "Almost seems like, to me, you wanna die."

Mild surprise flashed across her guarded eyes, then he saw no other tells. "Interesting theory," she commented, evenhanded and not giving away anything else.

Samuel glanced toward the van, where Sam was waiting, arms crossed, expression impatient. "We're gonna go meet the kids over at the vamp nest," Samuel said, turning his attention back to Jamie. He was always looking for new people to add to his team, and this girl—who obviously hunted alone, was looking for something or someone to latch onto… he wanted to audition her. See if she was any good. "They might need backup if things get rough. You in?"

She crossed her arms, looked over at Sam with a tense expression, considering, then back at Samuel. She seemed as guarded as before, but he saw, before she agreed, that she was going to. "Sure." She shrugged, raised an eyebrow just slightly. "All dressed up, I need someplace to go." She tossed down her spell book in favor of picking up a fierce looking machete.


Under the cover of night, Dean and Alex made their way across town in tense silence. Their footsteps were hurried, and carried them to a portion of town that was a lot seedier and more run down. "You smell that?" Dean asked, abruptly pausing to contemplate the scent. They stood across the street from a series of buildings. In the shadows of an overhang, they were invisible to anyone who had eyes on the street.

Alex nodded, eyeing the ramshackle building that was sandwiched between an old bank and a condemned apartment building. "Yeah. This is definitely the place." She paused, the reality of it coming over her again. "I can't believe I can smell vampires." It was sort of cool and horrifying at the same time.

"Yeah. Trippy." Dean glanced at his sister sidelong. He seemed really grim, ultra-focused—and he was still having a lot more problems with his new condition than Alex was. Lights and sounds were bothering him a lot more than they were her. She guessed because she'd had blood.

"All right," Dean said, getting his game face on. "Stay close to me, all right?" His tone took on the familiar this-is-how-it's-gonna-be tone she was so used to. "You point out the dude who turned us, we pump him full of dead man's blood, slice him open, steal some of his juice back, then we blow this joint. Things get hairy, you got your machete, I got mine. You still remember how to use yours?"

She scoffed, not sure if he were serious or not. "Do you? I'm the one who's been hunting most of the year." He shook his head and groaned as, nearby, a train rumbled by on the tracks, brakes squeaking. Alex heard it too, but it didn't demolish her eardrums like it would have earlier. Dean started off toward the building, but before he'd even gotten a step, Alex stopped him with her arm. "Dean, there's a lot of vampires in there," she said. She could smell them. At least twenty. "What if they figure out something's up or we can't slice open the leader without a captive audience?"

Dean, on edge and vaguely sick looking, shrugged. He needed blood, bad. "We'll make it up as we go."

"Don't you ever get tired of doing that?" Alex asked, but she sounded sort of fond, not complaining like she'd meant to.

Dean smiled at her tightly, shrugging. "You know me." They crossed the street together, found that the iron door into the warehouse was unlocked. Dean reached for the handle, but Alex's soft voice cut him off.

"Dean." He looked back at her, waited. She was contemplative, a little upset. "If this cure doesn't work…"

He didn't let her finish. He didn't let her do the whole I'm-dying-and-I-know-it speech. "It'll work. Come on." And he gave her no choice but to follow.

She followed wordlessly into the dim warehouse. It was a disaster—ripped plastic tarps, junk and trash scattered in a tight hallway. Ahead, there seemed to be a bigger room, and that's where Dean was quietly heading. It was silent in here. No heartbeats around, no humans. It was oddly calming, because the humans were so distracting. Alex felt more focused here. More aware. And then, she smelled it, right before he appeared. Out of nowhere, a tall, pale guy with dark hair appeared, stepping out from a side room. Dean and Alex reacted in unison by jumping back—he was a vampire, they could smell it—and they mutually kept their cool, waiting to see what he'd do. And when all he did was say a very bored, "Sup," Dean took the lead, trying to play it cool. Alex stood behind him and slightly to the side, basically semi-hiding behind his shoulder. That guy looked familiar. Hadn't she met him before?

"Hey," Dean said, nervous. She could hear it. "We're, uh…"

"The couple Boris turned outside the bar, right?" The vampire had a lazy smile on his face. "Said to look out for you."

"Y-yeah," Dean replied, attempting a pleasant, nothing-wrong-here smile, glancing at Alex just briefly. "That's… that's us.

"I'm Robert," the guy said, and his eyes slid to Alex, he smirked. "Remember me, sweetheart? 'You look like the kind of girl who belongs to the night…'?" He asked, grinning lopsidedly. Alex frowned, that weird sense of deja vu hitting her again. Robert saw her confusion. "No? Ah. Anyway, glad you guys made it. Follow me."

The siblings exchanged a tense glance, complied. "So, you must be starving," Robert said, leading them through a doorway and into what felt like a walk-in cooler. Inside, there were blood bags—the ones that had been stolen from the blood bank. Dean hesitated, obviously unhappy with this new temptation, especially when Robert grabbed a bag and indicated that Dean should take it.

"I'm okay," Dean said. Robert looked at him with a mild frown. Dean fumbled for a cover. "I killed so many people on the way over here, so…"

Robert's eyebrows rose, as if that surprised him. Then, beside Dean, Alex moved forward. "I didn't kill a bunch of people," she said, and grabbed the blood bag, much to Dean's dismay. "I'll take some."

She knew Dean wanted to know what the hell she was doing from the way he was looking at her. And also that he really, really wanted some, too.

"Help yourself," Robert said, grinning as she slurped copious amounts down. This was a strategic move, she told herself, this would make her even stronger if a fight popped up or something. "And hey, new guy…" Robert looked at Dean. "Company line is we, we don't just kill people anymore…" a smile grew on the vampire's face, "but you gotta tell me what that's like."

"Yeah." Dean returned the smile… inside, he was probably chopping this guy's head off with his machete. But outwardly, he just nodded, held the smile. "Yeah, first chance I get, I'll… I'll show you myself."

"Sweet," Robert said, pleased.

Dean looked at his sister, who had just downed a full bag of blood like it was nothing. Practically salivating and yet similarly reviled, Dean watched Alex the bag aside, wipe blood away from the corner of her mouth. She was both guilty and relieved. "Tastes just like Capri Sun," she said, and Dean gave her a look only oldest siblings knew how to give.

"Come on. I'll introduce you to everyone," Robert said, not paying attention. He exited the room, indicating that they follow.

Dean caught Alex by the arm as she made to follow. "You crazy?" he demanded in a whisper.

She yanked her arm back from him, replied in an intense whisper of her own. "I'm all in at this point Dean and besides, it'll make me stronger. Just might help me save your ass."

Ahead, Robert turned back a little toward them. "Lover's quarrel?" He snorted. "Hurry it up."

"Why do they think we're dating?" Dean grumbled, following Robert and Alex further into the warehouse, then through a hole in the wall, down some old stairs. They seemed to be in a different building now. Possibly the bank they'd seen. More vampires lurked around the foot of the stairs. Alex could smell the vampire who had turned her even more strongly… but he wasn't one of these.

"Ah, some of your new bunkmates, man," Robert said, looking back at Dean with a jaunty smile and indicating the sullen young men. All of them were handsome, Alex realized. Really, really handsome. Was there something to that? Alex wondered. "They're recruiters," Robert said, then looked at Dean. "Just like you."

"Recruiters?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Robert said, and stopped, fixed Dean with a smile. "Big man'll explain. I'm guessing your girlfriend here's gonna be a recruiter too, once she's compliant." Compliant? He smiled at Alex, eyed her in a way that seemed predatory and intentional, creepy. "You ever do any writing, sweetheart?"

Robert made to step a little closer, then Dean's arm shot out in front of Alex. "Hands off, man," he said, paused, seeming unsure of what to say next. "She's… uh, mine."

Alex looked at Dean sidelong. Really? He shrugged a little, like, what else was I gonna do? She refrained from rolling her eyes. Not the first time Dean had claimed to be her boyfriend to get a guy to back off, actually. But he always did it so needlessly. Robert appraised Dean, stepped back, nodded. "Right, sorry." He looked around, then kept on leading them further in. "This way."

They came into the main lobby of what used to be a very nice bank. No longer well-kept, the place had fallen into disarray. Trash and dirt, dust and cobwebs had taken over. It was nearly three stories high, with a large vaulted stained-glass ceiling above. An old desk was at the floor level, and at it sat a young teenage girl with dark brown hair. Kristen. The girl they'd been looking for. She was somber and pale, sitting in front of a laptop. Behind her, a guy with long curly hair leaned over her. He had a hand on her, and a chilling little smile on his face. Immediately, Alex recognized his scent. He was the one who had turned herself and Dean. She nudged Dean with her elbow even as Robert led them closer. Dean got her meaning, nodded subtly.

"Hey Boris," Robert said to the curly haired vampire. "Found the new converts."

Boris glanced up at the newcomers, pleased. "Be with you in a minute," he said, smiling slyly, then returning his attention to Kristen. He dictated to her, and she typed as he spoke "Put: 'Your skin is the black velvet of the night.'" He chuckled. "Stupid bitch'll eat that up, she'll be dying to meet." Boris leaned in and took a long sniff of Kristen's hair. She recoiled and Alex's more human side was filled with anger. This vampire, for whatever reason, was preying on impressionable young girls. And she couldn't wait to chop his fucking head off. She looked behind herself, assessing the situation. There were more vampires nearby, a couple tough looking male vampires lurked.

If an all-out fight broke out, Dean was gonna need her help. And then, Alex noticed the cages on the side of the room. Young teenage girls, similar in looks to Kristen, filled the cages. There were six of them, and they were vampires. A few of them were sucking down blood from bags, through tubes. A few were laying on the floor as if bored or tired.

Boris chuckled, petting Kristen still. "Go get yourself some blood, sweetheart. Then march that little ass right back here, okay?"

She obeyed immediately, obviously afraid, and looked at Alex with an intense expression—it was a mixture of fear, hatred, pity, and apathy. Boris slowly swaggered out from behind the desk as Robert led Kristen away to go get blood. "Ah. My newest family members," Boris said, grinning at Dean and Alex. His eyes rested on Alex a little longer. "Sweetheart, into the cage."

"What?" Dean asked, even as a young, male vampire with gauged ears and a bald-shaven head man-handled Alex away from him, and toward a cage that had three other girls in it. Dean protested. "Hey—whoa, she's not going in there!"

Boris confronted him, held a hand to his chest, blocked him from following. "Relax, loverboy. It's just for a little while. Until we got her nice and tame." Alex shook her head faintly, telling Dean to relax. Not yet. She let herself be put into the cage, resigned herself to spectate. Glanced around at the girls she was sharing a cage with. They were all so young. They couldn't have been more than sixteen years old. Why was this happening? What was Boris's end goal? She turned to look out through the metal bars of the cage, gripping a cold rod in each hand as she watched her weakened brother out there with Boris.

"Glad you're here," Boris was saying. "Wondered if maybe that tall hunter chopped off one or both of your pretty little heads."

Dean didn't seem to have his normal confidence about him. "Nah. We got away." He faltered, seemed to rethink himself, realize he needed to play dumb. "Sorry, what's a 'hunter'?"

"You'll see if he finds us." Boris leaned close to Dean, an almost impish expression on his face. "You'll see him inside out." Boris laughed, entertained at the idea. "You eaten?"

"Yeah," Dean said, barely able to conceal his total contempt, glancing at Alex, who tried to silently tell him to stay strong, be cool.

"Good. You'll need your strength." Boris saw how Dean had looked at her and sauntered over toward her, eyeing her with great appraising interest.

"For?" Dean asked loudly, trying to get Boris's attention back.

Boris turned, slightly flabbergasted. "Robert didn't tell you?" He snorted, a little miffed, forgetting his fascination with Alex. "Figures." Without warning, Boris crossed the space between himself and Dean, got in his face, smiling eerily. "Say. How old do I look?"

Dean looked like he was having a hard time not balking. "Thirty-three?"

Boris grinned. "You're off… by about… six centuries?" He chuckled, backing up dramatically, spreading his arms wide to indicate the room that was full of their kind. "And these are the best days in the last six hundred years to be a vampire. Dracula? Anne Rice? Please. These stupid little brats are so horny they've reinvented us as Prince Charming with a Volvo. They…" he pointed straight at Alex. "All the naive little girls who believe the crap society pedals about our kind… they want a promise ring with fangs, so I give it to 'em. You—you go out and you get them, and you bring 'em home to me."

"S-so what's with the cages?" Dean asked. Alex could almost hear what he was thinking, cuz it's what she was wondering, too. How the hell were they gonna get her out of the cage she was locked inside of currently.?

"Oh, that's just, y'know… till they're obedient," Boris said, smiling easily. "Eventually these girls will go out, and they'll fetch me boys like you, and around and around we go…"

"What the hell for?" Alex asked tartly, speaking to him for the first time.

Boris turned to look at her slowly. "For the grand scheme! For the coming day of victory!" He paused, a chilling note of certainty in his voice "You'll see."

Dean swallowed, tried to act like he thought that was cool. "Gotta say, I'm impressed. This whole system, it's… it's all you?"

Boris laughed, as if the thought were preposterous. "Oh no, no, no, no.… I just… implement, y'know? Make sure you all fall in line." He pointed to the ceiling with reverence. "It's his… our father's…"

Dean followed his gaze, confused, and Alex did too. All she saw was stained glass. "Your father's?" Dean asked.

Boris contemplated Dean. "Aren't you the curious one?"

"Oh, you don't know the half of it," Dean said.

Leaning in closer, seriously violating some personal space issues, Boris eyed Dean closely. Uncomfortably. "In due time." Boris's voice lowered to a whisper. "You… you want the private tour, don't you?"

Dean managed a smile through his revulsion. "Thought you'd never ask."

Boris stepped away, beckoned Dean on with a hand, turned his back on him. He began to walk the other way, and Dean seemed to decide it was now or never—the only vampires nearby were caged. And there was still that one bald guy, but he must not have worried to much about it—Dean reached into his pocket and took out the syringe of dead man's blood, uncapped it. He raised it, creeping up on Boris silently, ready to plunge the needle in—but then one drop leaked out and hit the floor. The single drop was loud, like fanfare. With superhuman speed, Boris turned, cutting off Dean's attack by grabbing his arm and ducking under it, suddenly positioning himself behind Dean to twist his arm behind his back, put Dean into a solid chokehold.

Useless and in a cage, Alex watched and shook the bars that held her back. "Dean!"

"You playing games with me, boy?!" Boris demanded—and Dean, weakened because he hadn't fed, dropped the syringe when Boris squeezed his arm hard enough to break it. Boris began chuckling lowly against Dean's neck, triumphant, and Alex wanted to break the fucking bars that were holding her back—and then suddenly, something changed. She felt it. They all felt it. Boris looked upward, as if he were hearing something—his hold loosened on Dean, and suddenly he let go and fell flat onto his back, his eyes still wide open. Was he dead? She didn't know, but she was losing her grip on the bars, her body was going limp.

"De—" Alex began, saw how her brother took a step toward her, alarm written across his face… and then suddenly, she fell down, losing consciousness. A series of quick visions spiraled through her mind: A man sitting on a bench in the night. A little girl in a frilly dress and with a flower in her hair. A graveyard filled with white wooden crosses. A cell dividing. An African-American man—reaching out, with long, sharp fingernails. A large, ivy-covered house. The girl again. Blood cells rushing through a vein. The graveyard, dissolving into a classroom with rows upon rows of empty desks. The little girl. A pond, the man with long, sharp fingernails standing beside it. A roadmap, where the highways pumped like veins. A red circle was drawn around Aurora, Illinois.

She kept seeing the same face, this man with the pointed fingernails, she kept seeing the little girl, and then blood. So much blood.

Suddenly, it was over, and Alex groaned, rolled over, stood up. Around her, the other vampire girls were doing the same. Suddenly, Boris slammed into the cage door almost, jingling keys around in the lock. "So, he thinks he's gonna come in here and shoot me full of dead man's blood?!" He asked. "I don't think so!"

Alex looked at her brother, panicked. He was laying on the ground, not waking up as fast as the rest of them had.

"Dean! Dean! Wake up!" she screamed, realizing that Boris was going to let out the girls and send them after him.

Dean rolled over, saw what was happening, and he scrambled to his feet, grabbed for his machete even as the cage next to Alex opened with a creak. "Go get him, girls!" Boris shrieked, laughing maniacally, rushing over to Alex's cage to let out those girls, too—they were hissing and panting, ready for blood, and Alex whipped out her machete with no time to spare, hacked one's head off in the madness before the cage door swung open. But that didn't even the playing field that much at all—and Dean took off running, Alex found herself grabbed and thrown as she tried to give chance. She groaned, blindsided, crumpled against the outside of the cage.

Boris stood in front of her, and behind him, she could see the bloodthirsty, brainwashed girls disappearing up the stairs after Dean. "Looks like your boyfriend's not the only one who's been naughty!" Boris said, eyeing her bloody machete. This curly-haired fucker in front of her was gonna pay, she decided. Game face on, she stood up slowly—her body didn't hurt like it would have, had she still been human. "What, no dead man's blood?" Boris sneered, looking at her machete in amusement. "Just a huge steak knife?" He grimaced, as if sympathetic. "That's really cute but… you're kind of out of your element right here. I'm pretty fast, remember how I got the jump on you in the alley?"

Alex was feeling the familiar surge of adrenaline she did during moments like these. But unlike before, there was a new, superhuman ability of sense. She felt faster, stronger, smarter than before. "Yeah," she replied softly, evenly. "I remember. But now I'm one of you, aren't I?" She smiled a little, feeling how the blood she'd drank before was strengthening her now. "You might find me a little faster and stronger than before."

Boris didn't seem perturbed. "Maybe," he said, chuckling. He didn't appear worried in the least. "But you're new at this, and I've got a few hundred years on you. If you fight me, I'll kill you, sweetheart." He scoffed, then laughed sharply. "All you vampire chicks are the same… weak, useless. Good for one thing, and one thing only. Do you know how many girls just like you I've killed?"

She narrowed her eyes, taking in everything about him, sizing him up. "No. But as of today, your career snapping up innocent girls is over." This was who Alex was, and she felt confident again. Saving people. Hunting things. This was what she did… vampire or not. Last day on earth or not.

"Oh is it?" Boris asked, a smile playing on his face.

Alex paused, eyes going upward. She could hear the shrieks of vampires, the sound of Dean's blade hacking heads off. A little smile came over her face too. "You hear that?" She asked quietly. "My brother is upstairs right now slaughtering every last one of your precious little nest. And when he comes back down here, he's gonna find me standing in a puddle of your blood, holding your head in my hand." She looked at Boris again, let him know, exactly, how dead he was. "Sweetheart… I'm nothing like your other girls."

Boris's teeth slowly showed as his mouth widened into an almost flirtatious grin. "Oh, I like you," he said, then bit his lip for effect. "Feisty." He lowered his chin, looking at her from almost under his lashes. "Come on then. Let's tango."

And tango they did. Alex leapt across the dividing space between them, machete gripped like a sword—he jumped back, laughing when she swiped at the empty air where his neck had been a minute ago. He'd jumped up—was hanging by a single arm, casually, from the little balcony above. Still laughing, like this was a game he loved, he grinned down at her even as Alex realized if he could jump around like, that must have meant she could, too. And so she tried it, jumped with all she had, slashed her blade wildly just a second too late. He dodged to the side deftly and, grabbed her by the back of the head, smashed her forehead into hers, stunning her and letting her drop back down to the ground. She was recovering into a roll on the ground floor even as he jumped down. She was already standing and on the defensive—but her machete was several feet off, had been knocked out of her hand. It was in between them. At the same second, they both rushed for it, and when Alex saw Boris making to punch her in the face, instead of ducking the blow, she pulled an old trick out of the bag and slammed her forehead forward into his fist hard enough to break his knuckles—and in his stunned stumble, Alex's foot caught underneath the blade of her machete and she kicked upward, catching the hilt like she'd practiced a million times. And lunging forward, not giving him time to recover, she slashed her blade with all the strength she possessed. The machete found its mark, and the vampire's head sailed off even as his body went slack and fell over.

Breathing a little harder, Alex turned just a little to look at Boris's decapitated head. If she stayed alive long enough, would she become just like him? Lose all the humanity she'd once had? She looked down at her feet, where blood was beginning to pool just inches away from her foot. Upstairs, the noises had ended and she looked up just in time to see Dean appear. Instead of running to her or hurrying, instead, he seemed taken aback. He was covered in blood splatters, seemed weary. But he was alive.

"I, uh… I got the blood we needed," Alex said, her voice quiet and sort of hollow. Even though it should have seemed like victory, it felt more like defeat. Dean came downstairs slowly, his bloodstained machete at his side. He must have taken on all those vamps himself—he looked drained, pale, and the weird red cast underneath his eyes was more pronounced. "You okay?" she asked him.

He looked down at himself, seemed to brush aside her question. Just looked at her, then Boris's head. "Are you?"

Two words that she knew he really meant and wanted to know the answer to. It was time to stop lying. Both to herself and to him. There was a bench a few feet away, and Alex went to it, sank down there. She'd been trying to hide from this ever since… well, a long, long time. "No. I'm not okay." She stared at the ground, trying not to break down, because everything was wrong. Everything. "You're right. You were right." He sat beside her and she couldn't stand to look at him and see how sick he was, how unwell he looked, how screwed up their entire life had become as of just a few hours ago. Instead, she put her face in her hands, made a frustrated sound, then made fists and slammed them down onto the tops of her thighs, breathed out fast and hard, once.

For once, Dean said nothing. Just let her angst in silence. Maybe he was doing the same thing. Even though that was what they were after… the blood of the vampire who had turned them pooling at their feet, Alex didn't feel any hope whatsoever. Just despair and regret. "Do you ever just… wish this wasn't our life?" She asked, frustrated and not sure what they had done to deserve this. "The killing and the pain… the losing everything you ever had?" She was mad about it. "I mean, why? Why'd it have to be this way?"

She finally chanced looking at her brother sidelong. He was looking down at his lap, and his wan profile was distressed. "I wonder that every day," he said, speaking down, not looking at her. They were silent for another very long moment before Dean spoke again. "You were right too. I haven't forgotten Hell. Not for one day." His voice broke on that last word, he shut his eyes against what looked like great amounts of pain. Not knowing what else to do, Alex hesitated, then put a hand on his back. Let it remain there.

Dean forced a smile, and it was a valiant attempt, but Alex could see how close his constant pain was to the surface. "So hey, you know what I'm gonna do?" He asked. "If this cure of Samuel's doesn't work on you, I'm not even gonna try it." What? Alex looked at her brother oddly. He shrugged, still not looking at her. "Just, screw it. We'll go be vampires together. Vampire vampire-hunters. Could be fun, right?" He finally looked at her, and it was like he couldn't stand the thought of the other alternative.

"Could be fun," she echoed blankly. They both knew if the cure didn't work, she had to die. But neither of them said anything about it. And reaching out for help from the only person she had left, Alex looked at her brother, at the point of tears. "Dean, when Cas finds out what's happened to me." Her face was twisting painfully. "I'm not human anymore."

Dean had this way of sometimes surprising her with his ability to empathize and put away his own bad attitude about the subject matter. This was one of those moments. He put his arm around her, thought a second. "Neither is he," Dean said. Sounding like it was hard for him to say, but he said it anyway. "Maybe he won't mind, huh?"

Of course he'd mind. And she couldn't keep acting like things were going to be okay. She was too emotionally exhausted and she'd tried, but… no. She just needed to know that Dean was going to help her when, not if the time came. "Dean, if the cure doesn't work on me… you guys have to do the right thing."

He stiffened slightly, understanding that she was asking him to be the one to kill her. "No. Don't say that."

Alex looked at her brother through pained, pleading eyes. "You've been helping me and doing the right thing since the day I was born. Don't you dare stop now."

His arm tightened around her, and they said nothing else, both too upset and realizing there wasn't much left to say. That's how Samuel, Sam, and Jamie found them. Big brother with his arm around his baby sister. Blood flooding the area before them, carnage scattered throughout the old building.


Back at the motel, Samuel mixed up the cure quickly as Dean had more and more trouble being around the three humans—Sam and Dean were at the table where Samuel was working as fast as he could. Jamie stood off watchfully and silently. Alex sat on one of the beds, looking every bit as though she were just waiting for the guillotine to fall. Thump thump, thump thump. There were too many heartbeats in the room, Dean was barely able to function at this point, his thirst was so great. He felt like he was dying, past hope. And every time any of the humans got closer, he had to fight himself off the urge to drink them. They all smelled so good.

"If this works, you know it's not gonna be a kiddy ride, you know that, right?" Samuel asked.

"Yeah, no, got it," Dean replied, wincing against all the noises that were bothering him.

"So what'd you see in there?" Sam asked, leaning across the table. Getting closer.

His brother's words were loud and cloying, he didn't understand them, and Dean was annoyed with his brother's closeness. "What?"

"In the nest," Sam said, his voice clanging around in Dean's head, mixing with the loud thundering sound of his heartbeat, "what'd you see in there?"

Thump thump, thump thump. "Sam, I can't hear you—your blood is so frickin' loud, okay? Just—just back off!" Dean demanded. Sam did, and then Dean saw Jamie behind him again, recognized her scent as Sam's drifted away—it was different than Sam and Samuel's. Softer, sweeter. And he couldn't stand the sight of her in that red dress with all that damn blood-warm skin showing. "Why are you even still here?" He asked her rudely, glaring.

Samuel glanced up at Dean briefly, pointedly. "Try being a little more polite to the lady, Dean. She's here as backup."

"Backup?" Dean echoed, confused.

"She's got a way to maybe fix Alex if this doesn't," Samuel said.

Dean realized what that meant and decided to pick a fight. "With what, with your witchy crap?" He went over to her and trying to be intimidating, even though he was falling apart and every sound was like nails on a chalk board. "I don't think so."

Jamie rolled her eyes mildly at him, shook her head, not really giving him the time of day. "Get over yourself," she muttered, and he realized he shouldn't have gotten so close. He could almost taste her, and he was intoxicated with the thought of biting into skin, tasting lifeblood, drinking it all down to the last drop. "You wanna back up a little?" she asked tersely, as if she could read his bloodthirsty thoughts. He heard how her heartbeat picked up a little. He was making her nervous. And somehow that made her blood smell even better...

"Dean." Samuel waited for Dean to back up, which he did. But it was hard as hell. Cagey and getting desperate, he backed up, shaking.

"Hurry it up, grandpa," he growled, realizing if they didn't get it done soon, they'd have a bloodbath on their hands, courtesy of his insatiable desire.

"All right," Samuel said, injecting the sludgy mixture he'd concocted with Boris's blood from the syringe they'd used to collect the sample. He divided the cure into two coffee mugs. "Alexandra?"

She got up, appearing peevish at the use of her full name, but accepted the coffee mug from Samuel, sniffed it, made a face. Dean was almost sweating bullets at this point, but didn't want to take his until he knew she was okay. "Ladies first," he told her.

Shaking her head slowly, she looked brave but scared. "Together," she said. "On three." Just like they always did shots together. Or had, in the past. He wished they hadn't fallen apart. "One, two, three," she counted, and in unison, they chugged the potion. It was absolutely disgusting and lumpy, tasted like the foulest waste imaginable, and Dean could barely swallow it, yet made himself.

"Ugh…" Alex commented when she was done, frowning deeply, then looking at Dean, watching him. He waited. Nothing happened. He still heard heartbeats, still felt an insane desire for blood.

"I don't think it—" he started, then sudden, violent sickness came over him and he barely spun around in time to retch into the waste basket. His body expelled everything he had, he heard Sam ask if it were working, he heard Samuel say that maybe he was dying, he felt his sister with him, holding onto his shoulders…

And suddenly Dean stopped throwing up and went rigid, almost screaming in pain as he looked upward into darkness, felt his eyes explode and stomach shrink in on itself and mind combust. And then he remembered what he'd forgotten as his body writhed in pain yet remained ramrod straight: Alex, laying there in a pile of trash bags with blood on her mouth, him rushing to her as she'd stood up, then shoved blood into his mouth. But… why? Everything rushed his mind. Lisa, Ben, Jamie, Samuel, Sam, Boris, the nest… he collapsed, curled in toward his stomach, unaware of anything happening in the real world, just sure that he was in pain and dying. And then, it all ended as abruptly as it had begun. The maddening noises, the pain, the sound of hearts beating. He was laying on the ground, panting and sweating and human. Stunned, he sat up slowly even as two sets of hands helped him—Alex and Sam. He looked at both of them, dazed and relieved, then realizing Alex appeared the same as before. A little paler than normal, expression gaunt and resigned, like she had a death sentence.

"Did it work?" He asked dumbly, voice soft with threadbare hope.

Alex shook her head, appearing exhausted and defeated. "No."

No? Still in mild physical shock from the cure, Dean looked over at the spot where Jamie was waiting. Only, she was a little closer than she had been, and her arms weren't crossed anymore. He didn't say anything and didn't have to. He was desperate. He didn't care. He wanted Alex to live.

"I guess that mean's I'm up," Jamie said, a tight little smile on her face. Samuel looked at her oddly.

"You sure about that?" He asked, and Jamie gave him a quick, pointed look, as if she were telling him to say nothing.

"You always get in bad shape after magic," Alex pointed out as Jamie came over to her. "If this spell isn't a sure thing, I don't want you to get messed up over it."

"It's okay," Jamie said, still smiling tightly. Almost nervous or hesitant. "I'll be fine. We should try."

Alex didn't seem too hopeful but agreed anyway. "All right."

Jamie took in a deep breath, as if steeling herself. In one hand, she had a little journal and opened it up, held it open with one hand, gripped Alex's neck at the side. The men all stood back a little as Jamie began, in a low voice, to recite an incantation in an language none of them recognized. She struggled to speak the more she said, and both Alex and her seemed to grow weak, slumping toward each other. And then, black like charcoal began to creep up Jamie's hand and arm as she chanted faster. Her eyes began to burn white and the black continued to edge up showing on her neck now then her jawline, as if she were taking on the disease itself—and then there was a sound like a sonic boom and with it, both girls fell over as if dead.