AN: This chapter simply didn't do what I planned for it to do, but sometimes the muse is like that! At least she's (mostly) sober at the moment.

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We know what we are, but know not what we may be.

– William Shakespeare, Hamlet

Dean was going to kill his brother. Metaphorically. Never, ever literally. He wanted to scream at the universe to stop trying to get him to even consider it. (Seriously, though.) He wanted to yell at Sam for thinking it, even bringing it up, but he couldn't quite do it while the guy was on the floor out like a light, all the veins in his neck bulging with the poison of the dead man's blood. Couldn't do anything but scoop up Sam's head and shoulders and hold onto him for a few moments, the memory of the brutal beating Sam had endured leaving bloody, bruising fingerprints on Dean's heart.

Since there was nobody to see, Dean just held on until his hands were shaking a little less. Then he propped Sam's head against his leg and looked him over. He would have liked to get him off the cold floor, but the only option was the ugly chair, and Sam wasn't exactly up to sitting just now. Sam's face and neck were smeared with blood, so since at least Dean could get him cleaned up.

Dean glanced at Hooch and grimaced. He'd have used the man's shirt, knowing the Hunter would have understood, but it was filthy and stained with blood in multiple spots, some old, some new. With a sigh, Dean stretched over to close the man's eyes.

Then Dean tore off the other sleeve of his flannel. Since he'd already ripped one off to staunch the bleeding of his nose, he might as well go full Larry the Cable Guy. They'd gone in without jackets, but they'd dropped their bags in the doorway before coming in. "Be right back," Dean told Sam, easing his head onto the floor.

Dean lugged his entire pack over. He tucked the altar cloth they kept on hand for summonings under Sam's head (Hey, it was better than nothing.) He used the clean (well, cleaner) ripped-off sleeve and holy water to wipe the blood from Sam's face and neck, relieved that Sam didn't react to it. The wounds on Sam's neck had been deep enough that a human would have needed stitches, but there were already starting to heal. With the blood wiped away, at least Sam looked less like an extra in Hell Hazers. Or like he'd been drinking demon's blood. Dean shuddered and thought he understood why Sam would have preferred death to being turned.

Dean considered his brother for another minute. They had to find the vamps and get Sam cured, but he couldn't just leave the guy behind while he hiked out and tracked down and found the bastards. And there was no fucking way he was sticking Sam in the cage. There had been in enough cages in Sam's life. The Benders. Handcuffed in Bobby's panic room three times. Lucifer's cage twice. For that matter, Sam had been caged by this life since he was six months old.

And Dean was getting maudlin. He ran a hand over his face and grimaced to find dried blood there too. He used the last of the holy water and an unused corner of the sleeve he'd cleaned up Sam with to wipe it off. No point in tempting Sam more than he had to. He remembered all too well how overwhelming the bloodlust could be.

So…if he wasn't leaving Sam behind, the other option was to take him along. There would necessarily be a lot of temptation around for Sam, including Dean himself. Would it be better if Dean were a fang too, so he was physically able to stop Sam? And wouldn't tempt him? Or would he just be another liability, both of them too distracted by the teeming masses of humanity to focus on finding Baako and his little band of psychos?

"Just hedging my bets, buddy, so you sleep a little longer," said Dean softly. He took his boot knife and pressed it almost gently to the spot just below the meat of Sam's thumb and collected a couple teaspoons of blood in his emptied flask. At least if he HAD to turn himself, he would be able to do so without any argument from Sam. He cleaned the blood out of the threads and capped it tightly, then wiped off Sam's wrist, which was closing up fast enough for Dean to watch it happen. Then, with yet another grimace, he emptied the other flask (taking a fortifying gulp of the whiskey it contained first), a jar of holy water, and a stoppered glass bottle of Borax they had along. He used them all to collect as much of Hooch's blood as he could. Out loud, he complained to Sam that their job really sucked sometimes.

Dean returned to Sam's side and began to carefully check his ribs.

"'at hurts, jerk," came a soft complaint.

For one second, Dean's face disobeyed him and grinned widely. Then he put his game face on and went back to work. "That's cuz you got beat almost...to death, bitch." He would have sworn that Sam was no longer breathing when half-baked Baako had poured the blood into his mouth. The wait until Sam's body swallowed reflexively, then took another breath had lasted about 4,000 years for Dean. It had been a good fifteen minutes after that before Sam had actually stirred, and longer yet before he was aware. In those fraught moments, Dean wasn't surprised to learn that he'd far prefer a vamp brother to no brother. The rest they could figure out later, if necessary, like they always did.

Dean came to a rib that was soft under his fingers. Sam knocked his hand away even as Dean registered that there were multiple breaks there, definitely shards that could still puncture things you didn't want punctured. Almost certainly still fatal for a human.

"Stop it, Dean. It will be fine in a little while. You know that."

Sam was a curious mixture of strength and weakness right now. The hand pushing Dean's away had done so with more force than necessary, and he'd broken the damn wires right off his arms like the Incredible Hulk bursting through his shirt. But he was also trembling and his breaths stuttered, a combination of the dead man's blood and his battered body, no doubt, and his hands were still swollen so his fingers weren't really able to bend.

Dean scowled. Sam was right, but he wanted to fix something, do something helpful after the helplessness of watching it all go down from the other side of the bars. "I'm gonna kill all of those freaks," he promised, low and growly. "Baako twice."

Sam's mouth softened into something bordering on amusement, then his eyes caught on the bare skin of Dean's arms. "Nice look."

"Sun's out, guns out," answered Dean, a weak effort, but the best he could come up with as his mind churned over Sam's a bloodsucker and his heart isn't beating.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I don't suppose you found our phones and we can find out how far away Cas is?"

"I found 'em," Dean admitted. "Smashed." Sam swore perfunctorily, but Dean wasn't really listening. He was still busy contemplating the problem of how to track down the assholes who'd turned Sam. Every minute he waited the trail grew a little colder, but his normally decisive mind couldn't choose from the shitty options he had.

Option one: leave Sam. Alone in the middle of an abandoned town. Or even caged. Hard no.

Option two: take Sam along to the overwhelming noise and light and everything that he'd be experiencing as a new and starving vampire. He hadn't forgotten Baako's hints that Sam would be even hungrier than the regular newly-turned because his body had so much damage to fix. He also well remembered Benny drinking all the blood he'd brought after the vamp's old nestmates had hacked him up a bit, and his friend's words when Dean had been amazed at his healing: "A little rest, half a cooler full of AB negative – most wounds short of amputation will mend up."

Then there was option three, the one that Dad or Bobby would have kicked his ass for even considering: become a vamp with Sam's blood so that he wouldn't be in danger from Sam and they could help each other through the really sucky parts (pun intended), namely starvation and overstimulation. But then there would be twice as many Winchesters in danger of becoming permanently dentally enhanced. And shit, he didn't want to ever experience that heavy thrumming of other beneath his skin again, the alien feeling of extra teeth breaking through his gums, the knowledge of exactly what his body was craving. Becoming a fanghead was the only thing in Dean's experience that was even close to bearing the Mark of Cain. Both had made him feel addictively fast and strong, animalistic in a way that was both external and part of him at the same time.

"I need more dead man's blood," Sam interrupted Dean's musings and pushed himself to sit up, gritting his teeth but shoving off Dean's hand again when the older brother instinctively reached to help.

"Stop it, Sam. I mean it. Stop!" Sam was ignoring him, working to get to his knees despite the pain that made his eyes tighten and the broken ends of ribs that were undoubtedly rubbing against each other and tearing up Sam's insides.

"Dean." Sam stopped moving, breathing through his mouth. If his heart still beat, it would have been pounding. "You have to dose me or get away from me." He closed his eyes, and Dean figured the low light is still painful for him, not to mention the distraction of the sound of Dean's heart beating.

"We don't know what repeated use of dead man's blood will do to you, Sam. I'm sure it's slowing down your healing." And obviously, it hurts, Dean didn't bother to add, because that wouldn't sway Sam in the slightest. Even if he hadn't experienced it himself, he'd seen Lenore's and other vampire's reactions to it. "Making you weaker." He hadn't done it consciously, but he'd put his body between Sam and Hooch's corpse.

"That's kind of the point," Sam said in his duh voice that had been annoying Dean for a good thirty years.

"I'm not doing that to you."

"Then let me." Sam reached past Dean and grabbed his arm to push him away, but froze, his nostrils flaring. With a curse, Sam instead scrambled backwards until he bumped into the legs of the chair. There he sat, abused arms draped over his knees, hunching over his battered torso, and looking as miserable as Dean had ever see him, and that was really saying something.

"Sam." Dean looked at the ceiling. His brother always needed special handling when he was getting all self-sacrificial, especially when he worried that he was a danger to Dean. And the let's-be-vamps-together thing had gone over like bacon at a Bar Mitzvah. "We have a cure. We just have to figure out how to get it. And in the meanwhile, I know I smell like an all-you-can-eat buffet to you right now, but I also know if anyone can fight it, it's you."

Dean met Sam's eyes steadily and didn't flinch at their unnatural redness. "Dean," said Sam slowly, either thinking hard or just that exhausted. "I'll fight it. I swear I will. But I will not hurt you. You need to dose me with dead man's blood, and not turn yourself. I mean, what if the cure only works once per person? Huh? Then I'm cured and you're stuck as a m-monster?"

Sam's voice had barely hitched on the word, but Dean had caught it. There had been too many times in their lives that Sam had thought that he was more monster than human, when really he was the humanest human ever to human, in Dean's opinion. He also had a point, which Dean really hated. "I'm not letting you dose yourself with poison. But I also won't turn myself unless we have no choice. I'm sure Cas is on his way – if you can hold out until he gets here, he can stay with you while I hunt down the Twilight rejects."

Sam's face twisted into a wry smile. "Not sure I'm on board with this plan. If I lose control, I'm faster and stronger than you are, remember?" He wrapped his arms around his knees in an obvious bid to cover up the way he was shaking.

"Not right now you're not," countered Dean. Vampire strength was coming, but for now, Sam's injuries and the dead man's blood were keeping him down.

Sam sighed tiredly and Dean knew he'd won. Sam's nostrils flared again and he winced, then buried his face in his sleeve. Dean remembered this – the waves of senses going on overdrive, sometimes scent, sometimes sight, sometimes sound, sometimes all three. "Just...stay over there, okay?" Sam asked, lifting his head and even smiling a little to take the sting out of the words.

Dean smiled back even though all he wanted to do was run across the room and fix everything somehow. "No problem. So, do you remember when you were six and got your head stuck in the banister at Pastor Jim's?"

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Dean had had some pretty shitty times in his life, and he thought the previous couple of hours ranked right up there. Sam had spent it alternating between periods of tired lucidity and increasingly painful, well, seizures was the closest word Dean had for it. Without warning, and with increasing frequency, Sam's new teeth would slide out and his eyes would get so red no white was visible. He'd fight hunger for a few minutes, then drop to the floor in violent paroxysms. He'd theorized that it was his body craving blood to heal itself. The first time the hunger had really hit, he'd smashed the chair against the wall hard enough to twist its metal frame, then dropped to the floor, crying out. When Dean had rushed to help him, Sam had yelled at Dean and pushed him away hard enough to send Dean staggering back a few steps. And he'd begged Dean to get away from him.

Sam should never sound like that.

Staying away during subsequent fits was hell in itself, as was watching the growing desperation in Sam's eyes. And fear. Sam was terrified that he'd hurt Dean. Dean didn't believe he would...but he had the vial of Sam's blood in his pocket now, because Dad had taught them to always prepare for the worst. Not that Dad would back the plan to deliberately turn himself in any way, shape, or form, but Sam was Dean's responsibility, and always had been.

In between Sam's spasms, Dean talked. After all of these years together, there weren't very many memories that he hadn't shared with Sam at some point, but he came up with some. Others that Sam had heard before he related again, usually with a ridiculously slanted version of events designed to make Sam smile.

Dean had turned off all of the overhead lights but one in deference to Sam's sore eyes (and he still couldn't figure out where the hell the electricity came from, since he didn't hear a generator). Sam was huddled in the far corner beyond the steps, as far as he could get from Dean and the door. And, at Dean's insistence, far from poor Hooch too.

Dean was telling yet another story. "Dad was beyond exhausted, and he was probably weak from blood loss. Plus his neck looked bad enough that going out in public was gonna draw too much attention. And you just. Wouldn't. Stop. Crying. Seriously, I thought something was really wrong with you. I remember asking Dad if you were sick and going to die." Dean cleared his throat and stretched out his legs. His ass had long since gone numb against the cold concrete.

"Dad said you were just teething, and since you were always an overachiever, you had like four teeth coming in at the same time. And, uh, that baby Tylenol stuff made you puke, like full-on Exorcist shit, so he didn't dare give you anything for pain." Dean narrowed his eyes and tried to make out Sam better. The guy looked so damn small all curled up, but Dean could just make out the glint of his eyes. Although he wasn't doing much talking anymore, it was a good sign that he was still looking at Dean. Typically, he buried his face in his arms when things were starting to ramp up. Dean wished he could see his brother better, well aware that Sam's vampire sight would allow him to see in the low light like a human could see at full noon. "Eventually, Dad figured out that only the red stuff made you hurl and you could take the other kind of baby pain meds, but this was when he didn't know that yet and didn't dare give you anything."

"Red dye 40. I'm allergic to it." Sam's voice was hoarse from all the yelling and he sounded exhausted, but Dean was grateful that he was actually talking.

"I remember. When they stopped putting it in m 'n' m's, we used all our change to buy as many bags as we could and made ourselves sick eating them all." Dean paused and went back to his story. "Um, okay. Dad had that cut on his neck that I think he'd stitched himself –"

"That's where the scar under his chin came from, right?" asked Sam, and they both pretended that his voice wasn't reedy with pain and weakness.

"Yeah. He never said, but I think it was a hodag. You know how his journal says in big letters, 'watch for the barbed tail.'" Sam had said the last five words in unison with Dean and somehow it made Dean's throat close up for a second. He cleared it. "Yeah. That's like page three, and I figured that's what cut him that time, though I never asked.

"We needed somewhere to crash, but Pastor Jim was sick with strep throat, I think. Anyway, something that he didn't want to give to us. He gave Dad the name and address of this guy in Sioux Falls, South Dakota." Dean couldn't help a little smile at the thought of the man who'd played such a big role in their lives. "I wonder what Bobby thought of us, Dad barely on his feet and me glaring at him and you crying your head off." Dean pulled his feet beneath himself and stood with a groan, leaning against the wall to get off the hard floor for a while and maybe warm up. He could see Sam's eyes follow the movement and knew that the hunger had to be starting to hit him again.

"Bobby told Dad to lie down before he fell down. Dad wouldn't go to bed, but he sat down on the couch with you in one arm and me in the other." Sam was burying his face in his arms again, but Dean kept talking because distraction was the only thing he could offer his brother right now. "He was asleep in like two minutes. I was determined to stay awake and keep my eye on this sketchy guy, but even with you screaming, I dropped off. I mean, none of us had been getting any sleep.

"I woke up and just about freaked out. It was quiet, and you were gone." Dean shifted his shoulders against the wall and fought a shiver as he thought about the old, old memory. "Then Bobby says, 'Keep your shirt on, short stuff. He's fine.' He was sitting in his armchair and you were on his lap. He'd smashed a banana in some cheesecloth and stuck it in the freezer for a while. You were chewing on it, happy as anything because the cold made your gums stop hurting and you were getting little bits of banana too. That's when I decided Bobby was okay after all."

Sam started to say something and it turned into a choked-off cry. Dean's hands clenched into fists in frustration. When Sam curled onto his side and groaned in pain, Dean wanted to hit something. The only thing that kept him from punching the wall was the knowledge that splitting his knuckles would just make things that much harder for his brother.

"You can do this, Sam," he called, feeling like the world's worst cheerleader. "Try to focus on my voice and not the pain." Dean leaned forward but forced himself to stay back. "Listen to me, Sam." At first, Sam had seemed anchored by Dean talking him through these spells, but the last few spells, he'd seemed completely oblivious to anything except the pain. That wasn't about to stop Dean from trying.

Sam was beyond hearing anything. He rolled onto his back and threw his head back hard enough that it made a dull thud against the floor. Sam let out another aborted howl, and Dean knew that he had to be in agony to make sounds like that. Sam's head bounced off the hard floor again with the force of his shaking, then again, and Dean couldn't stand it anymore. He ran across the room and around the cage and hit his knees next to his writhing brother. He grabbed Sam's biceps to try to still him or at least keep him from bashing his head against the floor any longer, but Sam was shaking too hard for that. Talking nonsense as he worked, Dean pulled the upper half of Sam's body off the floor and moved behind him, so he hit Dean's shoulder with his thrashing instead of concrete.

He could barely hold his brother, and if Sam had been human, Dean would have sworn he was dying because of the sheer violence of his shaking and how long he went between breaths. Finally, the tremors tapered off, and Sam slumped forward, merely shivering now.

"Sammy? Are you –" Dean started and cut off when Sam shot up straighter and grabbed Dean's forearm in a grip so tight Dean could practically hear the bones creak. "Sam! Let go!" He pulled his arm, then jerked it, but neither so much as changed Sam's grip and Dean thought he's gonna break my arm.

Sam turned the arm so the hand was palm up and stared. Dean realized for the first time that there were two bloody little half moons where his fingernails had broken the skin when he'd clenched his fists earlier.

"Sam," he said, low and urgent, trying not to think about the fact that the dead man's blood he'd collected was on the other side of the room. "You can't. Not one drop, remember? We can fix this, but you can't taste even a little blood."

Sam licked his lips, then looked up at Dean almost in desperation, but he didn't let go. "I...I can't…"

"You can, Sam. I know you can. Let go of my arm." If Sam didn't let go in the next 30 seconds, Dean was going to have to pull his boot knife and stab him so he could use the pain and confusion to get away. Even knowing that Sam would heal with vampiric speed, Dean abhorred the idea of causing him more pain. Not to mention being attacked might wake up Sam's newly predatory nature. But Dean was running out of options. Nice work, genius. Get close to the new vamp. Don't take your best weapon. Assuming they got out of this with their humanity intact, Sam was so going to rip him a new one for this.

Dean got his feet under himself and surged up and back to get away. Except he didn't get away. Sam just tightened his hand even farther and Dean went to one knee with a grunt of pain. His fingers were swelling and the pain went all the way up to his elbow, and he was pretty sure there was something broken inside the arm now. "Sam! Focus! You're hurting me. You have to let go. Just open your hand." Hopefully he sounded encouraging and not like his arm was about to fall off, which was kind of what it felt like.

Sam canted his head and opened his hand so fast that Dean fell on his ass. Sam blinked like he was waking up. "Dean," he whispered. "The vampires are back."

"What?" Dean asked incredulously, cradling his arm and curling both of his hands closed to try and at least mute the scent of blood.

The low rumble of an engine reached Dean then. Even to human ears, it sounded like the same heavy diesel engine Baako and company had left in.

Dean versus four and a half vampires while down to one usable arm? Awesome.

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AN: Larry the Cable Guy is a comedian whose "uniform" includes a shirt with the sleeves ripped off. (Incidentally, the rest of his ensemble is very Bobby Singer-chic.)

Hell Hazers II was the horror movie that was filming while our boys investigated strange deaths around set.Dean was a hell of a PA. LOL

The Incredible Hulk is a character created by Stan Lee. When he loses his temper he turns into "an enormous green rage monster," to quote one of the movies he appears in.

Twilight is a book and movie series about vampires.

sylvia37: *hangs head in shame* I know! There's a lot of meanness in this one. I promise schmoop at the end, though!

Atlasina7: Don't feel bad! I think we're all here for some good ol' Sam whumpage!

Timelady66: Thanks! I love that theory! I recently read a story where a vamp runs away as soon as he realizes that he's unknowingly attacked the Winchesters. Yes, he's a badass genius.

writingtrainingwheels: You did! I love "Sam Winchester, king of taking the third option." Yeah, isn't it intriguing to think about how they both ended up as vamps in Chuck's scenario? So many possibilities! I love it when one of the guys uses his voice to help the other through something painful, so there's a lot more of that in this chapter. More stories, too. Like I could go an entire story without mentioning Bobby. *g*

Christine: But it gives us such lovely angst! And leads to the best thing of all (IMO), schmoop!

bagelcat1: Yup, and now they REALLY need Cas. Glad you can handle a little bus-tossing. LOL How could you apologize? People are obviously enjoying this, and I appreciate your kind words. A hint of broments here, and I promise that more are on the way.

muffinroo: I love smart readers! The dead man's blood seemed like something that Sam would figure out, and be willing to do to himself. And something Dean would not want to use in Sam. I have no laurels on which to rest, so I guess I'll keep writing. LOL

waitingforAslan: Oh, thank you! The line you liked about it being a mistake to ignore Dean was all Janice, so I can't take credit. More of Dean's stories in this chapter. I love a smart and strong Sam, and I'm so glad you do too! And the self sacrifice between the two of them always gives me warm fuzzies. As does your lovely review!

Kathy: I feel so sorry for Hooch too! Cas was a long ways away, unfortunately. I'm glad you like my made up facts too. I sure would be helpful to have Jack around at this point. By the way, I can't take credit for the twists and turns of this story; it's all bagelcat1, but I'll pass along your compliments. Nice that you thought about the dead man's blood as a weapon immediately. I never thought about what would happen if Sam threw the key poorly! That would have been an even bigger disaster!

sfaulkenberry: It's an intriguing idea, isn't it? Sam really should know better by now than to expect that Dean could kill him, like you said. Your reviews always make me smile so much. My brain is always scattered, so no worries on that account. I love that you're reading Scorched Earth again. I have a lot of stories that I go back and read again, and I consider it a massive compliment if you do that to one of mine. Thanks as always for reviewing.

Shazza: Oh, I love how you put that! No, Dean can't and won't hurt Sam because it goes against everything he is.

radpinapple: I'm so excited that you're reading, especially since I enjoy your writing very much! It's always dangerous to read a WIP but I promise to update quickly. Thank you so much for your kind words! The concept is not mine in this case -- it's a story I'm writing for bagelcat1.I'm right with you on enjoying the angst and whump. :-) Thabk you again for the encouragement!