August 12, 2006

It was a late night for the Berettas and Bobby. It took the better part of the evening (and early morning) to compile a list of potential hideaways that the vamps might've gone to with the Colt. In the end there were 14 different probable locations-ranging from a few abandoned industrial buildings to farmsteads, and a few caves-Because despite being a stereotype there is some truth in it. The three turned in around seven and slept until midday, knowing that the bright sun would make sure their intended targets were where they were supposed to be.

**SPN**

Dean didn't usually dream. Or, when he did he wasn't aware of that fact. For some reason today was different. He was sitting in the living room of his parent's house reading a book when it occurred to him that he was dreaming. He closed the book and glanced around at the walls-everything looked normal enough-but somehow he knew he was asleep. He turned to slip off the sofa when suddenly the room evaporated and a bright light replaced it.

He was floating now, weightless in a void. There was nothing around him, but instead of freaking the fuck out because he was going to fall, Dean felt calm. It's probably the light.

"It is." A voice replied.

Dean spun around to face the speaker and was greeted with a man about his age. He looked kinda like Alex-if Alex suddenly decided to start going to the gym and started dressing like a tax attorney. He had the same blackish-brown hair in a sorta mussed-up comb-over and the same piercing blue eyes. His clothes were pretty standard for an office worker-a suit and tie, but with a weird beige-ish trench coat that seemed to float in the void. It almost made it look like he had wings. Dean remembered most of his-ahem, adult-fantasies, and this wasn't too far off the mark-aside from the void, this guy was pretty much his type.

Well, since this is a dream, I might as well enjoy it… Dean smiled deviously, "So, figment of my imagination-what repressed urges are we going to delve into today?" The man tilted his head slightly and opened his mouth to speak, but Dean continued, "Because I swear I'm not a furry, even if I did have that one weird dream about foxes last week…"

"Dean, I am not a figment of your imagination." The man replied. "My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord and I am here to warn you."

Shit. "Uh…"

Castiel crossed his arms and waited for Dean to finish processing everything happening, "Once you have finished your embarrassment and self-loathing, I would like to talk with you."

Castiel lifted his arm and the void suddenly became the bleachers behind Dean's high school. It was a memory, as a teenaged Dean played football with a few friends on the empty field in the early spring air. "As you are aware, there is a demon who intends to unleash hell on earth."

"Yeah, Azazel-the one with the freaky yellow eyes."

"Indeed. I have come to warn you to be careful, you have a greater role than you know-you and your brother." Castiel warned cryptically.

"What does Sammy have to do with this?" Dean turned toward the angel.

"At the moment we are unsure, as things are not going according to the path we had anticipated. For now be careful, and watch for your brother."

Suddenly Dean was awake. Sammy was still sleeping in his bed and Bobby was on the pull-out. It was almost one and before Dean went back to bed he had something he had to attend to…

**SPN**

"So, that was another bust." Dean remarked, crossing off a former flour processing plant from their list. So far there hadn't been any success. Aside from a handful of vagrants and some particularly aggressive raccoons, there hadn't been any other people at the previous six locations.

"Well, here's hoping seven's lucky." Bobby remarked, pulling the station wagon onto the small side-road the factory had been on.

"Next one's on Mill Creek Road." Sam read, "An abandoned dairy farm."

When the car pulled into the front gates of the farm it was clear something was off.

"For an abandoned farm there sure is a lot of tire tracks coming and going from the barn." Dean gestured toward the deep groves in the muddy excuse for a driveway.

"Yeah, and those boards over the windows look pretty new." Sam gestured to the fresh looking plywood-still tan, as opposed to the much darker and faded plywood covering the farmhouse's windows on the other side of the main drive.

"I think this might be the place." Bobby turned to face the boys. "Remember what I taught you?"

"Clean decapitation is the only way to kill them. Bullets are useless." Dean pulled out a large machete.

"And?" Bobby added.

"Dead man's blood can weaken them, but it's not going to kill them." Sam held up a bottle of thick crimson blood.

"Coat the blades with the blood, that way even if you miss it still weakens them, if only for a little bit." Bobby eyed the barn, "Chances are they're resting right now-but it's a nest-there could be up to a dozen of 'em in there. So watch your backs, we all have to stick together on this one." Bobby sighed, "Vamps aren't a ideal first hunt-given that the things are malicious bastards, but as long as you aren't bit, you'll be fine." Bobby pulled out a bushwacker. "You boys ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Sam clutched the large knife as Dean nodded solemnly.

Three minutes and twenty-six seconds later Dean was reevaluating his decision of agreeing to hunt evil. Because this ugly sonuvabitch is a real pain in the ass! Dean managed to shove the quarterback of a man off him as he reached for his knife.

The vampire growled as he lunged at Dean, "Alright pretty boy, let's see how you look with a hole in your neck!"

Dean's eyes ballooned as he quickly dodged, narrowly avoiding the tackle. Sam was busy with a chic, and Bobby had just managed to take down two others at once. That meant that his and Sammy's were the last two left. The brute charged again at Dean-who was woefully unarmed. Suddenly Dean's knife flew from the ground and slashed at the man's chest before it landed in front of Dean. He howled as the cut allowed dead man's blood to seep in. Dean, reequipped with a blade, finished him off as Sam decapitated his combatant.

"Everyone okay?" Dean panted, looking around the room. Sam flashed a thumbs up as Bobby put his hand on his lower back to crack it.

"Thanks for the save there. The telekinetic dorky little brother thing is a real help." Dean smirked.

"Not the first time I've had to save your ass." Sam retorted.

"Really?"

"Eighth grade when Marsha Long's braces got stuck in yours?" Sam straightened his shirt, a shit-eating grin covering his face.

Dean scowled, "If I could've seen better I could've used the pliers myself."

"You wish…"

"As much as I love the back and forth, we did come here for a reason." Bobby chastised.

"Sorry Bobby." They replied.

"Look for some sort of safe or storage container-chances are they hid the thing pretty well." Bobby started rooting through a desk.

"Or they just left it out in the open?" Dean picked up a gun from a nearby table, showing it to the other two. It was the Colt, no doubt. Despite the age the gun looked brand new. It didn't have a single mark on it, and the accompanying ammo (which came in a bitchin' bandolier) was consecrated silver.

"So we have the Colt, what now?" Sam eyed the gun nervously as Dean handed it to Bobby.

"Now we wait for that sonuvabitch Azazel to make the next move." Bobby placed the gun in a holster as he led the way back to the car.