AN: I apologize for how long it took for me to get this chapter out. Real life...sheesh. Plus there were aspects I simply struggled with. Hopefully it came out okay.

I just kept making changes, it's not entirely beta'd. Sorry for any mistakes as a result.

There is a small section of this chapter with some fairly graphic violence.

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Problem-solving is hunting; it is savage pleasure and we are born to it.

– Thomas Harris, The Silence of the Lambs

Some people hated working under the pressure of a ticking clock. Others learned to live with it. Still others thrived. Dean was one of the third type. The higher the stakes, the smaller the margin of error, the more Dean's senses were heightened, the faster his mind worked, the quicker his reflexes were.

Dean was counting on that now. He'd faced these kind of stakes before. Hell, he'd faced down the end of the world. More than once. Yet, somehow, when it was Sam's life on the line, it always felt brand new. The terror was sharper, the adrenaline rush cold instead of hot.

But Dean didn't have time to indulge nerves. He drove the skidder at its maximum speed of like 15 miles per hour. He knew that at any other time, it would be totally awesome to drive the thing. Now, it was just too slow.

He didn't go east but north, to the Impala. He'd left both packs with Sam and Cas and would need supplies out of the car. And it just wouldn't be right to go Hunting without her if he could help it. Begrudging the time, Dean took a minute to change into clothes that weren't coated in mud, then drove around the town clockwise until he found Cas' crappy truck. He could easily see where the skidder had sat and where a road vehicle had been waiting. The tracks leading to the road were very clear, and Dean knew how to read them. The wheelbase was long enough that he would have guessed it was a truck except for the narrow width of the tires. It was a full-size car of some sort; probably something like a Lincoln Town Car, given what he knew of Baako.

Dean pulled out one of his backup phones and checked the area map. Decision made, he dialed Cas. It took a long time for the phone to connect, then the connection sucked. He supposed it wasn't surprising – there was no reason to have cell towers out this way; nobody lived in Gordes, and it wasn't exactly on a highway either.

"Hey, Cas. How's Sam?"

"...ear…"

Dean sighed, guessing the angel was saying he couldn't hear Dean. "If you can hear me, I'm heading east to a town called, uh, Coltrane. I'll check in when I get there."

"...sleeping. I...worry...ack…"

The phone went dead. Dean sighed and shrugged. He would have liked to have gotten a status update, but he'd heard enough to know Cas didn't sound any more constipated than normal, which meant things were probably okay. He briefly wondered if Sam was actually sleeping, or if the angel thought Dean should be, but he had other things to think about.

Like Hunting.

There was exactly one small town on the two-lane highway that ran east out of Gordes, and Dean was hoping, even betting, that the overconfident vamps had stopped there. It was full daylight edging toward noon when Dean arrived. Coltrane was just big enough to have one real club. A few judicious inquiries and he knew with reasonable certainty that at least one vamp had spent time there the night before. He made some preparations, scoped out the perfect location for his plan, and rented a motel room to resentfully grab a few hours' sleep before the bloodsuckers would be up and around, since he knew their daytime resting place would be well-hidden.

Dreams of Sam, red-eyed and crazed as vampire Gordon Walker had been, holding razor wire and begging Dean to kill him, kept his sleep from being anything close to restful. Dean would have preferred to just stay awake, but like any good soldier, he knew he had to do at least the bare minimum to take care of his most important weapon – himself – or he'd be useless when push came to shove.

Dean did some prep work, picked up some food from the local Biggerson's, and tried to call Cas again. Several times, actually. The phone only rang once, then switched to Cas' voicemail.

Sam, in the distance, "You have to say your name now, Cas. Remember?"

Cas, closer. "Uh. Castiel." A pause. "Now what do I do?" Rustling noises. Click.

For the first time in a long time, the ridiculous message failed to make Dean smile. "Just checking in," he said tersely. "I'm on their trail. Hang on – tell Sam to hang on." The rest of the times he tried, the phone simply went directly to voicemail without even ringing. Dean sighed and left a short text.

Even with double- and triple-checking his preparations, the waiting was interminable. Finally, he positioned the Impala appropriately and took a deep breath. He ran a hand down her hood to calm himself and took a second to appreciate the way she seemed to sink into the night, as if aware that she needed to stay unnoticed right now and shouldn't shine in the streetlights.

Dean stepped into The Orbit and hated it immediately. It was too crowded, too young, too neon, the "music" more beat than notes. Dean's age and wardrobe should have made him stick out like a sore thumb, but he knew that blending was about far more than just appearance. Dean practically melted into the wall and knew that most eyes simply skated over him. He was invisible in a crowded room, exactly the way he'd been taught.

It was only a minute before Dean caught sight of his prey. Christopher was slumped alone and disconsolately in a corner booth. There was a drink in front of him, but he didn't move except to shoo away the few people who stopped by and tried to talk to him. Dean hadn't heard of anyone matching any of the rest of the nest's appearance in town, but he was still a little disappointed. He had hoped to get at least two of them together in the interest of saving precious time. He plotted his next step, wondering idly if the young vamp looked so depressed because of the strobing lights and pounding music, neither of which were conducive to a vamp's enhanced senses. Then Dean decided he didn't care.

For fifty bucks, a cute little thing agreed to lure Christopher out to the alley behind the club. Dean had pulled out Sam-worthy puppy dog eyes and told her that he needed a chance to win "his ex-boyfriend" back and wanted privacy for it. The girl, who looked at least half-stoned, thought that was sweet and agreed easily.

It was less than 10 minutes later that the emergency exit door opened in front of Dean, but by then he was all coiled aggression.

"Oh, I forgot my purse. I'll be right there, sweetie," the little ditz was saying, then the door closed, leaving Christopher looking a little confused. Before he had time to do more than that, Dean had buried a syringe of Hooch's blood in his chest. Dean would have sworn that after his initial surprise, the vampire looked almost amused. Not that he cared about the guy's moods. In no time, Dean had secured his wrists and ankles with a dozen zip ties each place, fixed a hood over his head, and dumped him in Baby's trunk. He'd have to take the time to burn the body when he was finished, just in case the half-baked airhead remembered enough to describe Dean to the cops if a body was found.

That was okay. It was a good policy anyway, since coroners tended to get weirded out when they found an extra set of teeth.

Christopher didn't attempt to fight when Dean dragged him into the front room of an empty old farmhouse he'd located before taking his catnap. He didn't even try anything as Dean tied him to a moth-eaten wingback chair. The vampire was recovering, could hold his head up, but he didn't so much as snap his teeth. He watched in silence as Dean poured more of the dead man's blood over his favorite Bowie knife.

Alistair poured acid over his blade. It was one of his favorite tortures, just above burning pokers and just below feeding people pieces of themselves. This knife he kept so sharp that the merest caress of the blade would split skin like butter. He poured slowly, until the bitter cinnamon smell of the corrosive liquid permeated the room and covered even the smells of piss and old blood. The guy on the rack cringed and whimpered at that smell. His eyes were long gone, but he knew what was coming.

With a smile, Alistair handed the knife to Dean, who slid it down his subject's stomach. After the whisper of the blade's slide was gone but before the cut registered in the victim's pain receptors, the acid began its work. The peeling edges of the wound blackened and shriveled and the cut begin to bubble. It spread slowly, hungrily eating at the skin and filling the room with a smell like burnt rubber. The soul screamed. Everyone screamed when they used the acid. When the screaming tapered off, Dean raised the knife again.

Dean shook himself. He'd nearly spilled the blood while caught up in his memories. It had been a long time since they'd hit him so hard. Given their line of work, forcing someone to talk was sometimes unavoidable. Usually, it was a demon, which was easier, since holy water and words were their best tools, so they didn't often have to literally spill blood. Maybe it was the stakes – Sam's humanity – that made it hit Dean so viscerally now. Or maybe just the fact that Sam wasn't there to spell him, to offer him a beer when he needed a break, to remind Dean that he was only doing what he had to with a smile or a warm hand in his shoulder. That he wasn't a monster himself. That he was still human.

Whatever the reason, Dean had to steel himself before he could take the befouled knife and face the vampire.

Dean was prepared to face Christopher's ridicule for his lapse, but the guy just looked resigned. "I was watching for another vampire, you know," the latter said before Dean asked a single question. At Dean's raised brow, he continued. "I had no doubts that you or your brother would come after us. I just thought he'd be out for revenge. Or that you would both be vampires. I thought he might hold out and change you instead of tearing out your throat." He shrugged, an almost delicate movement. "I've never seen a newly changed overcome the bloodlust, but we have all heard about you Winchesters."

"You thought…we'd come after you? And you still stopped in the first stupid town you came to?" That didn't make one bit of sense to Dean.

"I knew my life was over as soon as my father decided to pursue your brother."

Dean studied Christopher, adjusting his expectations and approach. The guy looked like some emo teenager. Or one of those artist types who thought it helped sell their brand if they were perpetually depressed. But there was obviously more going on beneath the surface than fake angst. Dean waited, since Christopher obviously wanted to talk.

"And you are operating under the assumption that I wish to live."

That caught Dean off-guard. "You didn't ask to be turned, did you?" he asked.

"No. Father rescued me from a lynch mob, if you can believe it. He loves to 'save' people. Except then he turns them into monsters. Then with a careful balance of kindness and cruelty, he remakes his 'children.' Gives us an education. Trains us. Feeds us. Makes us completely reliant on him for decades. And molds us in his image until we talk like him. Dress like him. Revel in causing pain like he does." Christopher looked at Dean, anticipating his next question.

"Wait…"

"Yes, I'm over a hundred years old." He laughed with such bitterness that Dean wondered how he'd kept his hatred so hidden back in Gordes. "Father keeps his favorites close. But he keeps me close because he is fascinated by the fact that I've never embraced my darker nature. I am a failed experiment. Instead of worshipping him, I loathe him. But I hate myself even more." He said 'embraced my darker nature' in clear, mocking imitation of Baako.

Dean turned that over in his head. "You wanted to be caught. Wanted to sic the Winchesters on the rest of the nest. But...you also killed Hooch."

"Yes. I've never managed to say 'no' to Father. Whatever you do, I deserve it, and more." Christopher bared his teeth for the first time. "I hope you kill them all." He settled back and frowned at Dean a little, eyes glittering with what looked like regret. "You may not believe it, but I am sorry about your friend. And I'm sorry that you had to kill your brother." There was unexpected sincerity there, as well a glimmer of memory.

An ironic smile curled Dean's lips. "I didn't. And there really is a cure for vamps that haven't snacked on human blood yet, so I need to know which of your little band donated the blood to turn Sam."

Christopher stared, shocked. "How – how did he – ? How did you get away from him?"

"He let me out of the cage and handcuffed himself to the bars so he wouldn't hurt me."

Christopher's mouth moved a few times with no words coming out. "The bloodlust…the madness..."

"He's been to Hell and back. He can handle it." Dean didn't bother to tell the shocked vamp that he'd handled it, too (though it had been a near thing).

"It, uh, it increases exponentially over time," Christopher explained carefully, still looking dumbfounded. "He will rip his own arm off to get away – may have already. I'm sorry. Truly, I am. He is far stronger than I ever was."

"Don't worry about Sammy." Dean set the knife down on the table. "Listen, Christie, I get it. Your life – or death? Whatever – sucked, but if you answer all my questions, I'll take your head quick. You'll hardly feel a thing. So whose blood was it?"

Christopher ignored the nickname. "I'll answer every question you have. But I don't know whose blood it was. By the time I left the punishment room, the receptacle was already full." He tilted his head in thought. "Bernice begged Father to let her be the one. Though her...proclivities amuse him, he has never let her make any children before. But he may have chosen to turn Sam himself. I simply do not know for certain."

That was disappointing, but Dean found that he believed the man. Vamp. Christopher was tired of life, Dean thought. Tired of being trapped as a monster. Hanging around where a pissed off Dean could find him was the monster version of suicide-by-cop, apparently. Dean growled. Why did he suddenly feel like he was the monster here?

Christopher was pathetic, and killing him would not only not get Dean what he needed, it wouldn't begin to enact revenge for what had been done to Sam – what he was still going through. Nor would Christopher's blood provide the cure that Sam needed. Not that Dean was going to take a bloodsucker at his word. He'd take blood from each of them.

"So, where is the rest of the nest? Where are you staying?"

Christopher shook his head. "Father told us to separate. Though I am certain Matthew and Bernice are together. They...enjoy each other's company when Father is not there to be jealous."

"First of all, ew," Dean couldn't help but comment. "Second, any idea where any of them would go?"

"Matthew and Bernice will be in the nearest big city, anywhere they can party and that there are enough people that a few murders won't cause a major stir." Christopher licked his lips. "As for Father, I have no idea. He will probably be in one of his hidden homes that even we know nothing about. He is incredibly paranoid, which is why he's been alive since the pyramids were built."

Dean grit his teeth. When it was so easy to nab Christopher, he should have guessed that the dude couldn't help him at all. "What kind of place do Bernie and Matt like to hang out?"

Christopher gave it some thought. "They'll stay in some expensive hotel, probably. Father taught us that it can be effective to hide in plain sight. And they'll go to high-end clubs or bars. They like the high they can get when they drink someone who's been using illegal drugs. They sometimes even let people see their teeth when they're feeding and then leave them alive just so they think they've gone crazy."

"What are they driving?"

"Uh...Cadillac XTS, I think. Black."

Figured. Big luxury car.

Christopher continued. "Father will use something different, again because he doesn't trust me." There was a hint of sadness in the tone. He hated his maker, but he also craved his trust, maybe even his affection. The Winchester family dynamic may not have been simple, but these vamps were like the freaking Corleones.

"Anything else you can tell me?" Dean's attention had wandered a little bit, thinking about how long this would take. What Sam would be going through as the Hunt dragged on.

"Only this. Matthew is erratic and violent, but Bernice…" The vampire's eyes darted back and forth as he seemed to search for the right words. "Her hero is Elizabeth Báthory." Dean shook his head. The name meant nothing to him.

Christopher tried again. "She enjoys being cruel, causing pain. Revels in it. And Father is wily and strong. Have a care, Hunter."

"You don't think I can kill them all," Dean guessed, picking up the machete.

"I do not. But I hope I am wrong. And you do have a rather formidable reputation, so..."

Christopher's eyes tightened at the sight of the weapon in Dean's hand. There was fear overlaying the resignation now, but he didn't flinch or beg. Dean sighed. He was getting soft, and he couldn't afford to be. Not when Sam's life was on the line. But still...

"In a sec, you're gonna open your eyes and find yourself in Purgatory. You don't need to eat there, so if you feel hungry, just ignore it cuz it's all in your head. Find a band of vamps to join and watch out for Leviathans. And if you come across a fang named Benny, tell him that Dean said he should trust you. And if he doesn't listen, call him a vampirate and he'll know you're telling the truth."

Christopher's mouth fell open. He probably had a million questions, but Dean didn't have time for any of them. Swish. Thunk. Dean collected the blood he needed and took a breath, wondering if he should feel guilty that he didn't feel guilty.

Dean resented every second it took to haul the body outside and burn it. Then, even though it was the middle of the night, he called Cas again as he drove toward Taylorville, the only town of any size nearby. He hoped that the next two vamps were just as cocky as Christopher had implied.

"Hey, Cas. It's Dean. Got fang number one, going after the rest since I still don't know whose blood I need. Call me if you can. Lemme know...how Sam's doing."

Dean dropped the phone on the seat and turned up the music as high as it would go. But as Dean sped recklessly fast down the dark road, even the stylings of Lars Ulrich couldn't drown out the echo of Christopher's warning about Sam.

He'd rip his own arm off to get away.

He didn't know if he actually prayed or not, but more than planning the next phase of the Hunt, Dean found himself thinking, please take care of him, Cas.

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AN: The Corleones are the fictional mob family in the Godfather books and movies. The Countess Elizabeth (or Erzsébat) Báthory, known as the "Bloody Countess" is listed in the Guinness Book of World Records as the most prolific female serial killer in history. Among other hobbies, she liked to bathe in the blood of virgin girls she'd tortured to death, as she felt it would make her look younger.

Lars Ulrich is the drummer for Metallica.

sylvia37: Isn't that an interesting idea? Sam as a vampire and a Hunter? And I like seeing him protective too, even though that's more of Dean's thing typically.

bagelcat1:Thank you so much! You know me – I can't resist those bonding moments. And I appreciate what you said about Cas. I was very worried about capturing his voice. If you read the other comments, there were other readers who liked the brotherly moment between Cas and Sam too, so that was a good call on your part. I guess most people probably don't know what a skidder is. I happened to grow up near a river, and saw them at work sometimes pulling big trees from the water. I am always so grateful for your encouragement – you have no idea!

Christine:Heh. I love it when people (monsters) underestimate the Winchesters. Them getting their comeuppance is one of my favorite things.(Does anyone actually use the word comeuppance? Maybe just me.)

muffinroo:I am glad you liked that! It was specifically requested by bagelcat1, but I love the idea. Yeah, we've talked about it. I wrote a story I never posted called Nobody's Favoritebecause I was a little bitter about Sam never being the one to bond the most with anyone...not even Miracle the dog. But it was a little too crabby, because I love Dean too, and it sounds like I resent him, when really I just wanted Sam to get his due, too. But I digress...hehe

radpineapple:Aw, what a wonderful compliment! Sorry to make you wait so long for the next chapter. It was unintentional. I really enjoyed writing a little Cas and Sam moment, so I'm glad you liked it. I hope you continue to like it, even if this chapter and Christopher might be different from what people expect.

BruisedBloodyBroken:Thank you! And Janiceisawesome! Sorry you had to wait for this chapter.

Shazza:Me too, on all of it. Though I kind of made you wait for a big Dean vs. vamp showdown, since Christopher wasn't exactly a typical monster. I promise there will be more action and some badass Dean soon. Plus more Cas and Sam moments.

supernaturalsammy67: *blush* *sputter*Thanks so much! I'm glad you found Cas in character. I had a hard time with him. For whatever reason, the boys' "voices" are much easier for me to find. I'm glad Sam's not alone, too, though I think he is in for a hard time even with Cas there. I'd love to get your opinion on Christopher, not exactly a typical vamp.

sfaulkenberry:You know Sam can't catch a break when I'm doing the writing. Heh.And I do love badass Sam along with you, too. I love all of your questions, especially asking if Dean will use razor wire the way Sam did against Gordon. Nope, not razor wire, but I expect the rest of the vamps will get what's coming to them soon! More Cas and Sam moments to come.

Kathy:Why am I not surprised that you want the rest of a mentioned flashback? And I thought of you when I wrote about Bobby. I'm glad I surprised you with it being Cas who came back. I didn't know if I was being sneaky or not. One of your comments gave me an idea for later (which I can't tell you yet!), as you so often do. Yup, Dean shouldn't have gone alone but...what wouldn't he do for Sam?