Not My Type

By AJ Wesley

Chapter Two

Dean closed the motel room door behind him and leaned back against it. Eleven hours. He'd spent eleven freakin' hours in that hospital before he'd found what he needed. He glanced around the empty room, his eyes pausing on the bedside clock. 8:16 p.m. He hadn't slept in nearly thirty hours. Terrific.

He pushed off the door and placed the supplies on the closest bed. The adrenaline rush was fading, leaving him bone weary and susceptible to all the fear he'd buried deep to get the job done.

He hadn't expected it to be so hard. Well, finding someone who fit the bill had been pretty easy. But then he'd had to wait for the old man to die. Dean had cajoled enough information from the duty nurse to know that the man was alone, no one coming to visit. There was no one to contact.

So Dean had become Sean Mullen, Robert Mullen's great nephew. No one had bothered to kick out the young man who sat beside his dying uncle. They'd even brought him breakfast and lunch. Not that he felt like eating.

He'd sat quietly for hours, but the quiet, the fear and anxiety became overwhelming. Dean finally leaned forward in the chair and began to talk. Softly. Not that Bob could hear a word of it, but still. No one should die alone. No one. Their dad had died alone.

Before Bob moved on, Dean had thanked him for his part in saving Sam's life.

His brother had been in the hands of vampires for nearly thirteen hours. The knot in Dean's gut tightened painfully. I'll call you sometime tomorrow. That was still four hours away. Bitch. So he was supposed to just sit around and wait for her to contact him?

Kate wanted him to sweat it out. Make him taste the fear so he would be willing to do anything to get Sam back. And he would…just not the way she planned. He was fairly certain she wouldn't kill Sam, not yet, anyway. But there were worse things than death, and that scared Dean more than anything.

Yeah, this was one of his more…risky plans. Certainly not one that had been on their list. Dean had kept this one to himself. Sam would've looked at him, eyes wide, and asked him if he were insane. But if Dean had to walk into the lion's den without Sam to back him up, a crossbow alone just wouldn't cut it.

The thought twisted his insides until Dean clenched his jaw, fought back the pain, and channeled it like he'd been taught.

Push it back, Dean, he heard his father say. Turn it into something useful. But that was getting harder and harder. His façade was cracking. One of these days—

Damn it! He was playing right into Kate's hands. Dean felt the anger rise, a new rush of adrenaline surging. He could do this. It would work.

And if Kate thought he was going to sit around wringing his hands until she called, she was wrong. Dead wrong. If there were vampires in this town, there would be signs, no matter how careful they were. Gordon Walker might have been a psycho, but he'd taught Dean a lot about Fangs. Dean knew what to look for and where.

He would be ready when she called.

~oooOOOooo~

Kate stood watching her captive, her tongue sliding over her lower lip. She'd taken too much last night; she knew that. But…damn. She had barely been able to control herself. He had finally passed out with a muffled plea, a whimper that drew her back to awareness. Never in her existence has she tasted blood like his. It was exquisite, and yet…something else…

She couldn't put a name to it, but whatever it was, it had nearly caused her to lose her leverage to a feeding frenzy. She would need to be more careful. She would need to rethink her plans. This one was worth keeping.

Two steps brought her beside him. She sat before him, fingers reaching out to brush the sweat-soaked hair away from his eyes. He jerked at her touch, another whimper escaping around the gag she had replaced. She lifted his bowed head in time to see his eyes flutter open. He bit down hard on the gag and used his legs to try to push away from her. A completely useless attempt, but Kate recognized instinct. He couldn't see her, but he knew who she was. His chest rose and fell in great heaving gasps, and she smiled, enjoying his fear.

"And here I thought you were just another hunter," she said, running a finger down his neck and under the collar of his t-shirt. Her smile widened when her touch elicited a shudder. "What are you, Sam?" She watched his brows draw together in confusion, then leaned in to whisper in his ear. "I don't think you quite qualify as human, either."

She remained there a moment longer, listening to the harshness of his breaths, the rushing of blood through his veins. But this close, the smell of his blood was intoxicating. Kate stood abruptly, stepping back. If she fed now, it would certainly kill him. And she needed to stay in control.

She turned and left the room.

~oooOOOooo~

Sam swallowed hard, trying to force back the nausea. If he hurled now, he was a goner. But even in the darkness, the room spun.

He felt weak, completely drained of strength, and so cold. He tugged at the ropes holding his arms over his head and winced at the spikes of pain the movement sent through his arm. It was a wonder he could still feel anything; his fingers were already numb. Sam groaned in frustration. Kate wanted Dean, and Sam was nothing more than a pawn to be used to make sure Dean played nice. Oh, and the occasional snack.

Snack. Yeah, right. How much blood had she taken from him to leave him feeling this sick? He remembered Luthor's nest, the cage they had created with chicken wire, the bound captives kept alive only as livestock. Sam shuddered, feeling increasingly colder, both inside and out. He didn't want to think anymore. He wanted to sleep. But he was afraid. What if she came back while he slept?

Wait. She had…hadn't she? It hadn't been a dream.

What are you, Sam?

The words echoed in the back of his mind. But… He hadn't had a vision, had he? No. No, he would have remembered that.

I don't think you quite qualify as human, either.

What…what did that mean, not human? Vampires weren't human, not anymore. Zombies, wendigos, baykoks, they weren't human. But he was. Wasn't he? Just because he had the occasional prophetic dream didn't mean—

A cold dread filled Sam's gut, spreading through him like ice. No. No, this wasn't right. He blinked into the darkness, shaking his head to clear it. He gave the ropes another pull, but there was no strength behind it. Anger rose to replace the fear. He hated being this helpless. He couldn't back Dean up like this.

Dean. His brother would come. Sam knew that for certain. Dean would be prepared. So would Sam.

Okay. So, if strength wasn't an option, what was? Slowly, steadily, Sam began rotating his wrists.

He hoped it would be enough.

~oooOOOooo~

It had taken longer than he'd hoped, but Dean had found all the information he needed.

He stood on the grassy hill, eyeing the rusted ventilator fan that spun slowly in the wind. He could hear the roar of the ocean not a half a mile away, and ignored the sign that told him there was danger here. It had no idea.

This had to be the right place. He'd found clues, signs. Triangulated them. This was the only spot that would serve. It was dark and deserted, this old war bunker that had protected the coast from the threat of German u-boats during World War II.

Kate hadn't called yet, but she would. His phone was in his pocket, set to vibrate, element of surprise and all that. A grim smile touched Dean's lips. Time to get his brother back.

It didn't take much effort to pry the fan loose. In fact, that was the easy part. The hard part was that the shaft was the same size as the fan, about five-by-five foot square. Dean had to hunch over to fit, and remained awkwardly bent in half as he traveled its length. And the farther he went, the darker it became. He wasn't sure he wanted to risk his penlight.

A soft scratching noise reached his ears, and Dean paused, listening. Then he noticed the walls were moving. He pulled the penlight from his pocket and shielded the beam in his fist before turning it on. In the dim light, he could see that it wasn't the walls that were moving, but what was covering them. Thousands of crickets—thousands—moved about listlessly, circling, hopping, crawling on top of one another. And they weren't just your run-of-the-mill crickets, either. These were the big freaky-ass things with long legs, the ones that reminded Dean of leaping spiders. And damn, those things could jump. Just his luck, finding their winter hideaway.

"Aww, man," he muttered, attempting to stay dead center of the shaft to avoid disturbing them. It wasn't that he was afraid of bugs, just…well, after Oasis Plains, he could live a happy life if he never saw another one.

Ahead, there seemed to be a shift in the blackness, and Dean knew he was coming to the end of the shaft. He aimed the penlight at the floor and illuminated his path enough to see where it ended. Good thing, too. He peered over the edge at what looked to be about a six-foot drop. Not dangerous in itself, but the debris littering the floor would have cost him, if not in injury then in noise. Taking hold of the penlight with his teeth, Dean carefully maneuvered himself around so he could drop soundlessly to the floor.

The garbage ranged from old newspapers, to bottles and cans, to—hey! An old issue of Hustler. Okay, no. He didn't need that in his head. Dean stepped over piles of trash, searching for the next footfall as he moved. He had no idea how many vamps inhabited this nest. Talk about walking in blind. But Sammy was here somewhere, and Dean would walk straight into Hell to get his brother back if needed.

Off to the right, Dean saw the doorway, and the blackness beyond. He made his way over, the crossbow banging against his leg with each step. The machete was sheathed on his other leg, and the steel bolts coated with dead man's blood filled his pockets. He was in a war bunker, ready to go into battle. But this was a war of a different type.

Dean peered around the corner, but there was nothing to see, literally. Damn. He couldn't walk around with the light. He'd be a freakin' neon sign: Here I am. Come and get it! Even though he'd burned skunkweed to mask his scent, they'd still be able to see him in the darkness. But they weren't expecting him. Not yet. He would have to stick to the walls and check out each room.

Now…where was he? With a quick breath, Dean aimed the beam of the penlight at the ceiling and found what he was looking for. Two metal tracks hung about a foot from the concrete ceiling and continued down the hall. Dean turned off the penlight. The tracks were what had carried bombs from their storage to the surface. Their presence meant that this was the main hall. Once he had Sammy, it would lead them out.

Dean readied the crossbow and took a step toward the wall. Then paused. He took out the penlight once more and gave the wall a quick scan. No crickets. Tucking the light back in his pocket, he hugged the wall and made his way along the corridor.

The quiet was unnerving, and Dean began to wonder if he was wrong after all. Then the murmur of conversation reached his ears, making his heart pound faster. Could be kids hanging out, but at this hour he doubted it. Dean unlatched the crossbow and followed the sound.

It took him down another corridor, past rooms with no doors. He carefully crept past each entryway, making sure the room was empty before moving on. The voices were getting louder, but still hushed, like whoever was talking didn't want the conversation to carry. When he got close enough, he understood why.

"…freakin' starving. Why does Tracy get special treatment?"

"'Cause she's Kate's favorite. I don't know."

"And what's so special about that kid she's got?"

"Weren't you listening? He's one of the ones who wiped out Kate's last nest."

"Yeah? Then why's he still alive?"

Dean missed the response as the words played again in his head, confirmation Sam was still alive. Thank God.

He'd only heard two voices. He hoped that meant there were only two of them to deal with. Slowly, quietly, he loaded a bolt into the crossbow, then drew the machete from its sheath. Squaring his shoulders, Dean took a deep breath and plunged into the room.

It only took him an instant to aim before the bolt was released. He took off the other one's head before the vamp even knew what was happening. The first one collapsed to his knees as the dead man's blood took effect.

Dean stepped up to him and clicked his tongue. "Man, you know what happens when you badmouth the boss?"

The vampire glared up at him through glassy eyes.

Dean grinned without humor. "Heads will roll." He swung the blade.

As the body hit the floor, Dean spun, watching the doorway. When no one else appeared, he breathed again. Without looking back, he returned to the main hall, pausing only to load another bolt.

Time to find Sam.

To Be Continued...