Bring Your Own Refreshments

There were far more stakes in the living room than any vampire in his right mind should be comfortable with, but the only one in evidence was tucking one into the waistband of his jeans and another up his right sleeve for easy access. Annie took one too, but she carried it. 'Can't tuck it away,' she explained to Dean, who knew that.

George took nothing.

'You sure?' Dean asked him.

George flapped his hands. 'What am I going to do, hold it in my paws?'

Good point.

'Ready then?' They should get going.

George squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. 'Almost.'

He took a plastic bag off the table. Then he reached underneath his shirt and came up with a necklace. A Star of David dangled on it.

Several strange things happened all at once. Mitchell was right next to George. He shouldn't have been able to bear this. According to Sam he'd really not liked the "religious stuff" and neither had the receptionist at the funeral parlour. Dean half expected Mitchell to jump back and hiss, but he didn't.

'Could you…?' George asked.

Mitchell held out his hand. 'Sure.'

To the surprise of Sam and Dean both – and who knew what Castiel thought of this thing – George dropped the necklace into the extended hand. Mitchell closed his hand over it and absolutely failed to burst into flame or hiss or even give any sort of indication of pain. He didn't even wince. Unaware of the stares he attracted, he slipped the necklace with the religious imagery into his pocket.

Well, I'll be damned, Dean thought before reality caught up with him and he realised that he'd already been there. Been there, done that, kept the handprint on the arm.

Sam's eyes were practically the size of saucers.

'Just be careful,' Annie fussed. She couldn't decide which of her two housemates she should worry about more, so she flitted from one to the other until Mitchell solved the problem by drawing both Annie and George into a hug. George yelped and looked embarrassed, but Annie threw herself into it. Dean suspected she would have cried if she could. He also noted that she was far more corporeal than she should be. She should have fallen right through Mitchell and George.

She didn't.

'Just poltergeist out if it gets too dangerous,' George returned.

'Rent-a-ghost.'

'Beg pardon?' George at last extracted himself from the hug to stare at Annie.

'Rent-a-ghost,' Annie repeated. 'It sounds nicer than poltergeisting. I've got to think about the effect I want to have.'

'Well, the only effect I am going to have is that of a complete lunatic,' George huffed. 'I've got to undress in front of vampires!'

'Yeah, George, there are things I'd rather not know,' Mitchell said, frowning.

This directed Annie's attention back to what they were about to go and do. She launched herself at George, who staggered under the onslaught as though she had actual weight.

Castiel beheld all of this with astonishment. 'What are they doing?' he asked.

Dean didn't miss a beat. 'Chick-flick moment.' Not that he could blame them for it. They weren't used to this. To them this wasn't just another hunt. This was their lives, their future. They had a stake – ha! – in this. Truth be told, George and Mitchell were taking most of the risks too. So, he'd tease and then shut up about it.

Annie overheard them: 'It's hug,' she said and then, because she still wouldn't know self-preservation and survival instinct – then again, she was already dead – if they danced naked in front of her, she smiled and asked: 'Would you like one?'

Castiel tilted his head and blinked in bewilderment. 'Why?'

'Because it's comfy. And nice.'

This did not inspire enlightenment. 'I have never had a… hug.'

He probably should not have said that. Annie launched herself at him and hugged him too. Cas staggered – did he feel her? – and then stood completely still for a few moments, before hesitantly hugging her back.

Well, I never.

'Right, time to go,' Dean said before he could be drawn into the whole thing. He might have to admit that on some level he craved that kind of comfort for himself as well if he didn't. Better not to go down that road.

Sam gave the good example, although Dean caught the puppy eyes at the display of so much affection before he hoisted his bag over his shoulder. Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder and was clapped on the shoulder in return and then Sam was out of the door before any chick-flick moments could ensue. Mitchell briefly clasped George's shoulder, patted Annie on the back and nodded at Dean and Cas before he followed Sam out.

'And then there were four,' Annie muttered under her breath. Hang on, did ghosts even have breaths?

Castiel frowned. 'I do not understand that reference.'

'Now's not the time, Cas.' He could educate himself on human culture on his own time as far as Dean was concerned. He had some vamps to hunt. 'You ready, George?'

The werewolf looked as though he might hurl at any moment. 'No,' he said, but he too took up his bag and made ready to leave. 'Annie, just don't look.'

'But…'

'Just don't.'

'All right.' She flapped her hands about awkwardly.

George hopped nervously from one foot to the other. 'We should go,' he said, consulting his watch. 'Moonrise is in less than thirty minutes.'

Castiel stood before them. 'Prepare yourselves,' he said and then gave them no time to do anything of the sort. Dean by now was somewhat prepared for the sensation of the world shifting around him suddenly and to ground to a standstill before he could even try to wrap his head around the fact that he was moving.

It still wreaked havoc on his stomach.

And even more on George, who looked a little green around the edges. 'You going to hurl?' Dean asked.

George drew himself up to his full height, looking indignant. 'No.'

In that case, they should get on with it. If he looked around the corner into the street, he could see the funeral parlour. The curtains were closed, but he could tell the lights were on. Some vamp had put on something Dean did not classify as music at a volume probably audible at Bobby's.

'Well, at least we know they're home.'

Annie looked up and down the street. 'I don't think anybody lives here.'

'Not unless they're sleeping in their office,' George said. He became progressively more nervous. 'Just don't let me…' The last words were aimed at Dean and he didn't finish the sentence.

'Course not,' Dean said. He considered his team of very impromptu hunters and discovered that he quite liked what he saw. 'Let's go.'

Mitchell drove them to the hospital and parked in the car park as if this was a normal working day for him.

'Nervous?' Sam asked when Mitchell shut off the engine.

'A bit.' He managed a tight smile. 'The last battle I fought in was a while ago.'

Right. World War One. It was one thing knowing that a lot of vamps were a lot older than they looked, but another thing having your nose rubbed in it in such a matter-of-fact way. Once this hunt was out of the way, Sam had a million questions he'd like to ask.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a flask that he passed to Mitchell. 'Holy water. Just don't spill any of it on yourself.'

Mitchell considered this. 'You know, I've never actually tried that. Never heard of anyone who had that used on them neither. It might not work.'

'Better safe than sorry.' Sam was fairly sure that it would work. If the religious imagery worked on vamps, then the water was bound to have a stronger effect. Except George's Star of David hadn't had any effect on Mitchell whatsoever. Could there be a psychological component, a condition of some sort that religious imagery only worked if it was used with the right intent? He was itching to hit the books and get some answers.

Which was altogether better than the other itching he found increasingly hard to ignore.

'You all right?' Michell asked, frowning. 'Only you don't look so well.'

'Fine,' Sam said, just a little on the snappy side.

'Your hands are shaking and your heart rate's too fast.' Because of course a vampire's stronger senses would immediately notice. 'You do smell better than you've done so far, though.' And it was this last observation that apparently set the gears in his brain in motion. 'What are you on?'

Sam looked pointedly out the window.

'Shit,' Mitchell muttered.

The silence lingered for a few moments.

It might be up to Sam to break it. 'It won't be a problem.'

'Won't it?' Mitchell indicated the tremor in Sam's hand. 'You're sweating too and it's not warm in this car. I've been in rehab, mate, and I know what addiction looks like. What are you on?'

'Demon blood.' He really shouldn't have said that. He really should have kept his mouth well and truly shut. But it was a problem. He had arranged to meet with Ruby two days ago. He hadn't reckoned with Castiel barging in and sending them thousands of miles away. He had considered calling her, but even in his own head that had sounded needy.

And now Mitchell called him an addict and shattered his carefully constructed image anyway.

'Demon…?'

'Blood,' Sam said. It was too late to take it back and now that he'd begun, he might as well finish. 'I'm psychic. The demon blood makes me stronger. I can do more.' He should have known that such things did not come for free, that there was a price tag attached. 'I'm going to stop,' he blurted out.

Mitchell considered this with disbelief. 'Right.'

Can't kid a kidder, he supposed. Which didn't mean that he didn't want to stop. Kind of. When he could afford to. And the psychic thing was a part of him. The only thing the demon blood did was enhance what was already his. And yet…

Even a vampire could give up the thing that defined him. Mitchell had done it. The fact that he didn't point that out didn't really make things better, because they both knew he thought it. He really shouldn't mind so much what a vampire thought at all, but he did. He cared even more about if Mitchell was going to repeat any of this to Dean. Who would have Opinions.

I don't want this. Sam didn't want to be an addict. But he needed something to give him an edge over his opponent, so when Ruby had suggested this to him, he'd jumped on it. She never told him the consequences.

And I didn't ask.

'We should go,' he said.

What little regard Mitchell had gained for him had evaporated very rapidly. 'If your addiction messes this up, I'm going to find you and kill you when this is all over.' His eyes flashed black for a moment. The fangs were out too. If this was what Owen had seen, it was no wonder that he'd been driven over the edge.

All of that was gone when they left the car and walked into the hospital. Mitchell greeted the security people on duty with nods and smiles and was waved through without being challenged. Sam emulated that, but he needn't have bothered; no one gave him a second look.

'Lift's that way.'

Of course that was where their luck ran out.

'Mitchell! Mitchell!'

Before Sam could even try to work out where the sound was coming from, there was a tiny blonde woman in scrubs blocking their path to the lifts. Sam had a brief impression of a small kitten pretending to be a lion. She held up a phone in front of Mitchell's face.

'Where is he?' she demanded. 'What's he up to?'

'Hi, Nina.' Mitchell did a step back.

Nina was not to be deterred. 'Where's George?'

'Not here.' Mitchell tried to read the text on the screen, but evidently got nowhere. 'Nina, I'm in a bit of a hurry…'

'I got this text just twenty minutes ago,' Nina announced. At last she held the phone still under Mitchell's nose so that he could actually read the thing.

Which he did: '"Nina, I'm so sorry. Love you. George."' He rubbed the back of his neck. 'Ah, shit.'

Mentally Sam echoed the sentiment. And now that he thought about it, George had been busy with his phone before Annie had attempted to hug him to death. He'd had no idea that George had a girlfriend. It seemed a bit of a risk, what with his condition. Even more of a risk, actually, since Nina clearly didn't know the first thing about it.

'Where is he?' The pitch of her voice was going very shrill. 'If he's going to throw himself off a bridge…'

'He's not going to throw himself off a bridge.' Whether or not he survived the night was another matter, but this did not seem the time for bringing that up and Mitchell seemed to think the same. 'Nina, let go. I promise you, he's not suicidal.'

But Nina had grabbed a fistful of Mitchell's coat to stop him from going anywhere until she had the answers she wanted. 'No. No. He's not answering his phone and then a text like that. Where is he? Why aren't you doing something?'

Mitchell held her at arm's length. 'Because there is nothing I can do.' It audibly and visibly frustrated him. 'I promise you George is not suicidal.'

'But is he all right?' the tiny terrifying nurse demanded.

Mitchell spared one hand to rub his forehead. 'I don't know.'

'So why aren't you making sure?' She was like a dog with a bone. Sam got the impression that she didn't like Mitchell much even when there wasn't a crisis on and it certainly wasn't getting any better now.

'We should go,' Sam said, glancing across the hall at the big clock on the wall. Herrick could be here at any moment. The last thing he wanted was that the vamp got bored and went back home.

'And who are you?' Nina demanded.

'Mitchell's friend, Sam,' he introduced himself. He extended a hand, which she ignored.

'Listen, Nina, why don't you swing by tomorrow and we'll explain,' Mitchell suggested. 'Properly explain. Just do yourself a favour, please. Go back to work and forget you saw us. We'll explain later.'

She crossed her arms over her chest now that she had lost her grasp on his coat. 'Really? Why should I do that?' She considered him. 'There's always something weird about you. About George too, but you?' She made a derisive sound. 'And I should just trust you, should I? Why don't you tell me what's going on right now?'

'No time,' Mitchell said. 'Listen, just come to the house at around ten. We'll explain.' He pushed her away and made a beeline for the lift, leaving Sam little choice but to follow after him.

Even so, Sam half expected Nina to run after them, but when he glanced over his shoulder, she stood very still, mouth half open, looking at something beyond his line of sight. She was still looking at it when the lift doors closed and she disappeared from sight.

'I didn't know George had a girlfriend,' Sam offered by way of a conversation starter when the silence became too awkward.

'You didn't need to know.'

'I am going to stop,' Sam repeated, correctly identifying the cause of the resentment he heard.

Mitchell didn't mince words. 'You either quit or you don't. You're a bloody liability as you are.'

'It's not so simple…'

Mitchell misinterpreted. 'It's never easy.' He rubbed the back of his neck for lack of something better to do. 'Listen, Sam, it's hard enough staying on the wagon without another addict around. One who's drinking demon blood?' He made the same derisive sound Nina had just made at him. 'What kind of hunter are you anyway?'

It seemed wisest not to answer that, mainly because he wasn't entirely sure of the answer.

The roof was empty when they emerged. It was fenced off – so no chance of either of them accidentally going over the edge – and decently lit. The numerous cigarette ends on the ground testified to its regular use by hospital staff in dire need of a smoke. Mitchell, it seemed, was a frequent contributor, because he pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

Sam's eyebrows made a little involuntary jump. 'You smoke?'

'My nice little human addiction,' said the vampire as he exhaled. 'Everyone used to do it, before they knew what it did to your lungs. Not that I have to worry about that. Vampires don't die of lung cancer.'

Not that Sam was aware.

'And it's miles better than killing people.'

Ah. Yes.

'Want one?'

'I can still die of lung cancer,' Sam pointed out. Although most hunters certainly didn't live long enough to die of something as ordinary as that.

'Suit yourself.'

They waited in silence. Sam used the time to check over his arsenal of holy water, crucifixes and stakes, making sure that all of them were within easy reach. The bag itself he left in a corner. Even if Herrick would make a dash for it, there was nothing in there that could help him.

He was late. Mitchell smoked his way through half a dozen cigarettes before the door opened at long last and the man himself showed up. And he wasn't alone. He dragged out the tiny nurse by the back of her scrubs.

'Sorry I'm late,' the presumed Herrick drawled. 'I was told to bring refreshments.'

Damn it, Dean!

Next time: it turns out that the funeral parlour is not pet-friendly, but Dean doesn't care. Also, Nina is not a happy woman. And it shows.

You will be getting the next chapter on Sunday, since I'm going to be away Monday and simply won't have time to upload.

Thank you so much for reading. Reviews would brighten my day immensely.

Until Sunday!