Summary:

Dean and Sam fall into a vampire hunting pack's trap; Sam manages to escape but has to leave Dean behind. When he loses the trail to the nest, he calls on the vampire who's life he saved, Lenore, to help him find his brother. Kate, part of the nest that has Dean, decides Dean's punishment for helping to kill her mate, Luther, should include becoming a vampire himself. Post Croatoan.

Disclaimer: Nope. Don't own the copyrights to the Boys. But thank you Kripke for such fab characters and letting us play in your universe!!

Rating is for some bad-boy language and some violence.

Blood Debt

Chapter 3

Dean wasn't sure how long it had been. He knew several days had passed, he just didn't know if it was several like six or several like sixteen. He didn't think it had been much longer than a week or so, but feared he might be wrong. Still, he doubted he'd be alive if it had been working towards "weeks". He tried to count the times he'd been awake, tried to count the times Suzanne had fed on him or Kate had tortured him, but it was all a pain-smeared blur. His best guess said seven, maybe ten days. Where the hell was Sam?

Weighing the effort it would take to move against his demanding parched throat and very empty stomach, he gave in and attempted to push himself upright with his elbows and forearms. His arms shook with the exertion but he managed to sit up and get his back against the bars. His ribs, two of which he suspected were broken, were sharp knives of pain. The wounds on his back pressed against the cold metal and he winced, but he bit his lip to keep silent. Gingerly, he brought his hands in closer, protectively, to his chest, trying to be careful not to rattle the chains attached to the pins that punctured each hand. His hands were dull centers of pain, long dried blood flaking off now and again. With some concentration, he managed to twitch one finger on one hand, and two fingers on the other. He didn't have any real dexterity, but that didn't really matter because a goodly number of his fingers had been slowly, painfully, broken, thanks to darling Kate.

He looked at the bandages on the gunshot wound to his leg. He always had fresh bandages on it though he never recalled them being changed out. The leg still hurt, but not like it had. He'd like to peel off the bandages and get a look at it, but the last thing he needed was an infection in it. He slowly rolled his shoulders, trying to ease some of the soreness in them. When Kate took him for their quality time, his arms were pulled overhead and often he ended up collapsed, all of his weight on his shackled wrists, and in turn, his shoulders. He was really surprised he hadn't dislocated one of his shoulders by now. He studied the bruises and cuts the shackles had given the base of his hands. Like all his wounds, he'd have to say this for the vampires, they were fastidious about keeping them clean and tended. Somebody had even wrapped his ribs. It wasn't nearly as hard to take a deep breath. He let his head loll back against the bars. God, he hurt. He started to take stock of what hurt, then gave up. He wasn't sure there was any part of him that didn't.

Longingly he eyed the water and food that sat just outside the bars, just out of reach. Early on he'd tried to use his chains to drag the tray closer, but they'd let him work at it for ten minutes, only to take the food and water away from him. He had to ask for them, ask for them nicely. His smart mouth had cost him nights of hunger and terrible thirst, and was only making him weaker. His brother would find him, dammit. He just had to keep alive long enough so there was someone to find. His stomach cramped with hunger.

Crap. Fine. He was so hungry and thirsty, he just didn't really care.

"Hey twinkle-toes," Dean rasped and shook one of his chains loudly. "C'mon, Dude, ain't it freaking feeding time at the zoo, yet?"

The blond man glanced over at him. "What do you say, Scum?"

Dean bit back the multiple retorts that sprang to mind. Instead he gritted out what he knew he had to, if he wanted the tray pushed within reach. "Please, Master Thompson, I would like some food and water."

The man grinned at him. "Well, maybe the cow can learn some manners."

Dean literally bit his tongue to keep from saying anything under his breath. He'd discovered the hard way that Tommy-boy had damned good hearing.

Thompson got up and nudged the tray to within Dean's reach. "What do you say, Bitch?" he demanded.

"Thank you Master Thompson for your kind generosity," Dean said slowly, hating every word coming out of his mouth. He let his eyes show his fury, which Thompson only laughed at.

Dean had to work at it, but he managed to get the cup of water in without spilling it. He had to hold it between the heels of his hands, and it was painful to do so, but he was so damned thirsty. After he drank half of the water, he looked at the piece of fried chicken and biscuit on the other side of the bars. Slowly, painfully, he got each inside in turn and after devouring the biscuit, ate every last scrap he could gnaw off the chicken bones. He finished off his water then, having quickly learned they wouldn't let him hoard anything. He set the cup back on the tray. His tongue still felt like it wanted to stick to the roof of his mouth. He sighed. Not only am I going to behead bitchful Kate, but this bastard is second on my list.

Damn, he was still thirsty. Well, there was only one way to get more water.

"Thank you, Master Thompson," Dean said, watching the man sitting at the nearby table.

The man glanced at him and with a heavy sigh, got up, and refilled the cup of water.

Dean pulled the cup back in and emptied the cup.

"More?" Thompson asked.

Dean's brow lifted and he held the cup out hopefully. It was the first time Thompson had ever offered a third glass. Best he be pleasant about it.

"Yes, sir. Please." Dean said, more interested in the water than his annoyance at Thompson.

Thompson refilled the cup and then walked away. Dean savored the water slowly, trying to chase away the cotton that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his mouth. He hadn't much more than finished the water when a sudden hard yank on the chain attached to his right hand pulled him up against the bars, his right arm pulled through. His ribs shrieked agony at the sudden jerk. Suzanne gave an extra hard yank on the chain and Dean groaned as his shoulder ground into the bars. The dark-haired woman knelt by his arm and, with practice eased, cut off the bandages on his forearm with a knife. Dean clenched his jaw as she gave him a pleased and hungry look then buried her fangs deeply in his forearm. Dean choked back his cry of pain. He wouldn't give the bastards any more pleasure than he had to.

She's third, Dean thought to himself and pictured himself taking his machete and putting an end to the undead bitch. The light-headedness swept over him and he struggled to stay conscious, wondering as he always did if this might be the final time he drifted off. He was almost beginning to hope it might be.

He felt her teeth release his arm, and then her tongue cleaned away the last of the blood before she wiped the bite down with some liquid Dean figured was a mix of alcohol and iodine. She slipped a fresh bandage on his arm and then tossed in two drink boxes of orange juice and a small bag of cookies.

"Eat and drink up, little hunter. You must keep your strength up, especially for what's to come," Suzanne purred.

"Why? You sign me up for a marathon?" Dean asked and pulled his arm back through the bars. He winced and gently rubbed the fresh bandage. Damn their bites hurt.

"We had some delicious new food come in last night," Suzanne said as she stood up and stretched. "You're getting a bit old and stale, so I'm done with you. That means you're all hers now."

"Swell," Dean muttered. "I can't wait."

Dean reached a trembling hand toward the orange juice, but his vision went monochrome and the world went away.

The painful tug on his hands roused Dean from his stupor. He managed to get his feet under him as he was hauled out of his cage; his wounded leg still hurt, but he could put some weight on it now. He felt weak and everything hurt. There were noises and flashes of color around him but he couldn't focus enough to pick out anything specific. The pull on his hands stopped and he collapsed gratefully. Then the pull from the chains came from above and his ribs complained as his arms were pulled overhead. His hands began bearing his weight and he moaned; the shackles began to bite into his bruises and bloodied wrists and he forced himself to his feet. The pull stopped, but he couldn't sit down. All he wanted to do was sit down. Or lay down. He just wanted to go back to his nightmarish sleep. Even the nightmares were better than what he knew was coming.

Vengeful Kate.

His cheek stung where she slapped him but he hardly responded. It was a mosquito bite compared to his hands and ribs.

She was screaming something at him, then she punched him in the stomach. He doubled over, unable to take a deep breath, his ribs screaming pain. He gasped, trying to get oxygen as the pain wracked him further. His eyes watered and his knees gave. He finally got some shallow breaths in and got his feet back under him. She backfisted him next, and he tasted blood in his mouth. It felt like she'd loosened a tooth this time. He struggled to get some clarity and managed to shake away the cobwebs. She stood in front of him, staring at him with hatefilled eyes.

"Hello, Bitch," Dean said. "What game we playing today? Charades? Wait, don't tell me. I know. Two words. Two syllables each. Luther's Widow. Oh, wait a minute. That's not charades. Luther was left rotting as road kill."

She hit him again in the face. He saw sparkles and laughed weakly. Hell, it had been worth it. "So whaddaya want this time, Bitch?" Dean said.

"I want you to die as slow and long and painful a death as I can possibly give to you."

"Not before my dad puts a bullet in your brain just like he did to Luther. Blam. Splat. Sizzle," Dean said and grinned broadly at her.

"Hard for him to do that when he can't find us. They've been chasing Charles across several different states. They'll never find you, Dean. You're mine. For as long as I want you. You're mine."

"You really ought to see someone about this stalking obsession of yours."

She turned her back on him.

Dean took the moment to let the pain come through. He was still struggling to get a good breath in. Hanging from his wrists just wasn't helping and he tried to get his feet under him better and get some of the weight off of his wrists.

Kate turned back around and approached him. She grabbed his hair and yanked his head back as she kissed him. Blood rushed into his mouth. His eyes widened and he tried to pull away from her.

No,no,no,no,no,no, his mind screamed. He used every last bit of energy to pull both feet off the floor and shove her away. The pain in his hands and ribs was excruciating. He spit the blood out, then tightened his stomach as hard as he could. He felt his stomach cramp and threw up what little was there. The pain from his ribs went beyond agony and for the barest of moments Dean just wanted to die. The bile seemed to burn away most of the blood in his mouth, but there were still places where his mouth tingled and he could feel a strange sensation wash over him.

She walked up to him, her hips swaying, blood still dripping from her mouth. "Don't you want to be with me, Dean?" she asked.

Dean felt his resolve weaken, but shook his head, fighting her influence with everything he had. "I told you before, Bitch, I draw the line at necrophilia." He gave her a weak grin.

When she ran her fingers along his bruised cheek, he shuddered at her touch. Oh, God, did he want her to touch him. No! he screamed at himself. He instead imagined himself with the colt, putting it to her forehead and blowing her freaking brains out.

She leaned in close and whispered in his ear, "It doesn't matter to me, Dean. I'll kill you slowly whether you're man or vampire. Either will be just as delicious. Either way, you'll eventually be my dog on a leash, grateful for any attention I give you. Either way, you'll eventually die."

"Go to Hell," Dean growled.

"Oh, I plan to take you there. A little tiny piece at a time," she said, then exposed her fangs and bit deeply into his shoulder.