Chapter title is from, of course, AC/DC.

3

Highway to Hell -AC/DC

The road to Washington rolled by in a haze of rain and Rush. Dean had the stereo cranked to 12, because 11 wasn't enough to split his eardrums. It was too loud, and he couldn't even think over the raging drumbeat, but apparently Dean could.

"You're sure Metatron's not a problem?"

Sam rolled his eyes. This was the fifth time Dean had asked. It was all quiet on the angel front, and Dean hadn't been able to raise Cas, either by prayer or by cell phone, profound bond not withstanding, and that made Dean antsy. He got that, he did, but he didn't see how answering the same question over and over again helped.

"There hasn't been anything. No more viral videos, and we're not trending #Marv #SecondComing, so I'm assuming things went okay upstairs."

Dean harrumphed.

"And you're sure Crowley hasn't come knocking again?"

Sam sighed. "Bunker's devil proof, Dean. Unless we summon him, he'd actually have to knock. You'd know. You'd have heard him."

Dean harrumphed again.

"So who's this we're looking for again?"

Sam glanced down at his notes. "Jenna. Jenna Swade. Sociology grad student. Her roommate reported her missing last week." He held up the page with Jenna's picture. Pretty, but not his type.

Dean glanced sideways, and glanced again, only the second time more appreciatively.

And Sam did not roll his eyes, because, yes, he probably should have thought of that angle sooner.

He set the page down back in the folder and closed it, because Dean was humming now, other things on his mind. Yes, those other things, because that was how Dean's mind worked.

Normally.

Sam smiled. It was good to be back on the road.

He left Dean on campus, because it turned out Jenna's advisor was also a looker. His type, too, and he would have stayed for a chat, but he bowed out politely, and left Dean to it. He headed off to the county morgue, to follow up on the dried up bodies that had been found—a case of vamps if he ever saw one.

"They were all found under the same bridge?" He said as he scanned quickly through the paperwork in his hands.

"At the north end of town." The junior coroner looked to be fresh out of school, and still green. In this case, faced with three mummy-like corpses in various stages of decomposition, the green was literal. He wondered if Daryl—according to his lab coat—was going to throw up now, or if he would be able to hold it until after he left. Either way, he edged back unobtrusively, just in case.

"Uh, maybe you want to, take a break?" He offered politely. "Total exsanguinations are pretty rare. I want to make sure we get detailed pictures for our files, in case this is serial killer related. I may be a while."

Daryl looked at him with relief, throat working, Adam's apple bobbing in time with his swallows.

"Yeah, I'll just, um, be in my office if you, um, need anything else."

Sam nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. Poor Daryl edged towards the door, trying not to seem hasty. Sam turned his attention to the file in his hand again, smiling a little to himself as Daryl's footsteps sped up noticeably and within seconds was out the door.

As soon as the door closed, he looked up and around, checking for surveillance cameras before he pulled the syringes from his coat pocket. Opening one of the heavy drawers at random, he muttered a brief apology to its occupant while drawing the dead man's blood he needed. His cell phone rang as he finished.

"What'd you find?" Dean began without greeting.

"The bodies were found under a bridge at the north end of town."

"Fits. The coffee shop Jenna went to is not far from there."

"You think they're turning the kids?"

"Probably. Would explain why none of them have shown up as corpses yet."

"Four kids in a week, though? How big's this nest?"

He held the phone away from his ear as Dean blew out a tense exhalation. "Not small. You get what we need there?"

He looked down at the three tubes in his hand. "Better get some more, I suppose. I think I have time. Coroner's new to the job."

Dean chuckled knowingly. "Green, huh?"

He smiled in spite of himself. It was just like old times. "Yeah."

"Alright. I'll meet you back at the motel. If this nest is that big, we should plan it out before we go charging in."

"Right. See you in 30."

He had wanted to go back to the motel after dinner, but Dean stopped in front of the faltering neon sign like a bad habit, eyes sidling towards the door uncertainly, and Sam heaved a sigh. Dean looked a question at him.

"One game. No more. We still have enough cash left over from Jefferson."

Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but then he shrugged. "Fine."

Except the moment they were through the heavy swinging door, Dean put a hand out to stop him.

"Pool table." Dean said under his breath. "Tall, pale, and Pattinson."

He dashed a quick look across towards the pool table. And sure enough, lounging against one corner of the green felted table, was a pale, spiky haired wanna-be, lifeless eyes skimming over the few people in the bar, looking for an easy mark. The bloodsucker must not have liked his choices much, because he sniffed the air as if he smelled something bad, then turned quickly for the door.

"Come on." Dean said, eyes fully alert now that the hunt was on. "Let's go find that bat nest."

They wound up ten miles out of town, down a long gravel driveway, deep into an apple farm nestled against the hills. There was a tidy double wide mobile next to a weathered old barn, the wooden planks pulling loose in places, the aged roof patchy with moss. A rusted tractor was parked off to one side of the structures, next to a new Ford truck and '92 Oldsmobile Cutlass. The collection of leaves over both cars suggested neither had been driven in a while. He exchanged a look with Dean, who shook his head.

Sam huffed quietly. Betting odds said that there were at least two more bodies in that neat little house, puncture wounds in the neck, eyes open and looking skyward for a salvation that never came. He hated this part of the job, being too late.

The creak of the wide barn door opening dragged his attention forward. A sketchy looking, long-haired vamp came out, idly tapping away on a cell phone. Their Edward wanna-be ambled up, and looked into the barn.

"How's our sweetheart?"

The taller vampire leered.

"Feisty."

Spikey-hair laughed. Sam grit his teeth and glanced over at Dean, a few feet to his right.

Think we're in time?

Dean shrugged, shifting and re-shifting the machete in his hand like a nervous tic.

Maybe.

Sam shifted, trying to find a line of sight that would allow him to see into the barn's open doors without being seen. Before he could take a step, Dean signaled for him to stay put and took off, circling the barn to the right where the slats parted slightly to get a look inside.

Sam bit back a curse and chewed on it for the minutes it took Dean to work his way back to him.

"They're it." Dean nodded in the direction of the two at the door. "We should get her out now, while the rest of the nest is out."

"She's still, human?"

"Think so. She's tied up at the far end." Dean turned the machete in his hand again. Sam frowned at the twitchy motion. He looked a quick question at Dean's hand and the machete in it.

Dean caught the look and forced himself to be still, shrugging that shoulder like he was trying to ease a stiff muscle.

"You go get the girl. I'll take care of them."

It was a bad plan. They were outnumbered if the rest of the nest came back, but their priority had to be getting Jenna out of there.

He took two syringes out from his jacket and handed them to Dean. "Be careful."

Without waiting for Dean's answer, he slid into the shadows and edged towards the door. Behind him he could hear Dean's suddenly louder footsteps as Dean sauntered up to the duo by the door, machete loosely swinging in one hand, asking loudly,

"What's up, bitches?"

The barn smelled of horse. Or cow. He hadn't been in enough barns to know the difference. He wedged his way in quietly through a loose slat, eyes straining into the dimly lit interior. A solitary light bulb dangled from the ceiling on a long coil of wire, flickering erratically. As his eyes adjusted, he saw Jenna, just as Dean had said, down at the far end of the barn. Her arms were tied up above her head, the rope going up and over one of the crossbeams to keep her in place. She flinched away when she saw him, totally freaked. He quickly lowered the machete in his hand. He looked around cautiously, but nothing moved in the shadows. Good. He sheathed the machete and made his way to her, one finger over his lips to indicate the need for caution and silence; not that she could have made any noise around the gag the vamps had bound around her mouth anyway.

Jenna's brown eyes were wide with fear, darting nervously from the machete tucked in his jacket to his face. She flinched back again when he pulled a knife from his pocket. He held up one hand, open in the universal sign of peace, and said soothingly, "Hey. It's okay. It's okay. We're getting you out of here."

He reached up above her head to cut the ties on her wrists first. "Did they make you drink anything? Water? Anything?"

She shook her head, her long ponytail flipping from side-to-side. There was a thud behind him—Dean—and Jenna darted a look over his shoulder towards the barn door. Another thud followed, and that should have been the two vamps getting taken out by Dean.

Except for that third thud. And then the fourth.

Fuck. The nest was back.

He sawed faster at the thick twist of rope. He wanted to turn and look, to make sure Dean was okay, but he had to focus on his part. Jenna was staring around him, wide-eyed and wider-eyed as the sounds of heavy fighting continued from the open doorway. Finally, the last bit of rope gave way. Jenna stumbled backward clumsily as her arms fell down by her sides, numb and stiff with exhaustion. He steadied her before she fell over, then reached for the grubby gag around her mouth, using both thumbs to gently loosen it from her face.

The second the gag was off, Jenna screamed.

What the hell? Sam thrust a hand over her mouth to silence her, then jerked it back when she almost bit him. He tried making calming, shushing noises, but she carried right on, screaming and screaming, high and panicked with unreasoning fear. She was staring fixedly over his shoulder, her eyes dilated to black, blind scared by something. He turned involuntarily to look.

That's when he saw IT.

IT looked like his brother. Same clothes, same height. Except IT was bathed in blood, standing in the middle of a slaughterhouse scene, gore oozing down its forearm, a dripping vampire head dangling in one hand. Two dozen or so beheaded and dismembered vamps were strewn at odd angles around It, their brackish blood puddling where the rough cuts of their body parts had fallen. The flickering light in the barn reflected off the wet jawbone blade in its other hand. Its lips were peeled back in a vicious, victorious snarl, and its eyes were ... demon black.

Dean?

Sam recoiled, stumbling back in reaction before he could think. The thing that looked like Dean snarled, but didn't advance toward him. It just stood there, holding the oozing vamp head and the First Blade aloft, waves of anger and death shimmering from it almost as a visible aura.

Dean?

The drumming of his heartbeat drowned out all other sounds. He could feel himself gasping and gasping, but he couldn't stop. Whatever he'd been thinking scattered into the wind. The drills from his childhood must have kicked in—focus on the mission. Focus. His hands finished cutting through the bonds at Jenna's ankles—God knows his brain had nothing to do with it—and he hustled her out of the barn. The thing just turned in place where it stood, tracking their movements with its night black eyes. As soon as they were clear, Jenna bolted from him. It was just as well. He took another deep breath to steel himself, and turned back into the barn.

To face his brother.

Later when he'd had time to think it through, he knew it was a coward thing to do. Maybe part of him hoped if the thing killed him, he wouldn't have to sit there and face the consequences of what he'd done. Wouldn't have to face the fact he'd turned his brother into a demon. Somehow. Some way. He'd known there had to be a catch in the fine, fine print. If the thing didn't kill him, he was still depending on the fact that Dean would never hurt him. That Dean would be strong enough to still be...there. He'd told himself he would face it, and gank it, but Sam had known he had not a single chance against that demon, a demon powerful enough to take out the Knights of Hell.

When he got back inside, the thing was gone. Suddenly, his knees shook. He wanted to sit down, but he couldn't. He had a job to do.

He had to track it. Hunt it and kill it.

Do what needed to be done.

No. He couldn't.

He got in the Impala and drove, muscle memory and reflex taking over. He washed up a little at the first gas station he came to, filled up the tank, and kept driving. He didn't stop except to gas up and get coffee so he could keep going, keep running. He'd seen a lot of shit in his life, but the image of Dean standing, gloating, surrounded by mutilated, chopped up body parts, even if they were vampire parts—no.

That wasn't Dean.

That wasn't his brother.

His eyes were sandy by the time he stumbled into the bunker. It wasn't until the heavy metal door closed behind him with a secure, sinking thud that he finally allowed his legs to jello out. He sank down on the steps and dropped his head into his hands, shaking from head to foot.

The first thing was to summon Crowley and beat the truth out of him. Figure out exactly what Crowley did. He took a shaky breath. When he was sure his legs would support him, he stumbled down to the storeroom for supplies. He was fiddling for the light switch when he heard Dean's voice.

"Sammy?" weakly.

He heard the shiver of exhaustion in it, and he recognized the tone, the inflection.

Dean.

He fumbled for the light switch and pulled apart the iron-lined bookcases to where the voice had come from and stopped short. Dean sat there, dead center of the devil's trap, caked in dried black blood, and other stuff. The First Blade lay a little to the right of him, not far from his hand. Dean's key to the bunker lay on the other side. There was blood on his face, blood gumming up his hair, blood spatter in creative directions all on his clothes.

Dean looked up at him with Dean's green eyes, his face pale under the gore, the whites of his eyes showing.