Disclaimer: Not mine!

Warning: Bit of grossness... the vampires come out to play. Oh, and swearing.

Author's Note: So, only one chapter tonight, because Croatoan is on, and I have karate, so I am buusssyyyy. But thanks to everyone who's reviewed! This chapter's for you!

Chapter 12: Calm Before the Storm

Dean snapped the phone shut and looked down at the list of things that were and weren't true about vampires. He frowned as he realized how many things weren't true.

He had called Joshua, put up with the question deflecting, put up with the pity… only to find out that the man knew nothing about vampires except for the slim possibility that they did actually exist. But he had given Dean the name of someone who might know something more.

Well, that person had been almost as useless, except for the end of that conversation when the dude had given him the name of someone else.

At least he hadn't had to call anyone else. The woman Joshua's friend had put him in touch with had known everything Dean could ever have wanted to know about the bloodsucking fiends. And then some.

Staking didn't kill them. Sunlight didn't kill them. Holy water didn't kill them. Decapitating did, but you would be lucky to get close enough to do that. Unless you were unlucky enough to be the one being drained of blood. In which case you were very, very unlucky.

The blood lust was more intense than any story or movie had ever depicted it. Drove them wild apparently. And they were strong. Twice as strong as the average human. They never aged, didn't get sick. Basically immortal. Apart from the decapitation. And they were better than hounds when they got your scent; once they had it, it was for life.

They had one weakness besides a gaping throat. Dead man's blood.

Dean had to admit, that was more than kind of gross. And weird. The blood of a dead man was the only thing that could incapacitate the already dead. Or the undead. Either way, it made them sick enough for a hunter to be able to take them on easily.

Dean looked at his watch. Holden had been gone near an hour. The prison was half an hour away. He wouldn't be back for a while yet.

Without another thought, Dean picked up his keys and headed out the door. He had a funeral home to visit.

He headed there immediately, but had to pass it by when he saw a group gathered there. He wasn't about to chance being seen stealing from the place, not when Sam's life depended on him getting the dead man's blood and getting out to that farm.

Instead he parked at the abandoned end of a car park and opened the trunk. He knew guns would be useless in any attack on the nest. He grabbed every knife he could find, planning on dipping each of them in what dead man's blood he could get. He counted twelve, actually a little amused at the amount he had accumulated over the years. Each had their own story, their own history, whether it be his story or Sam's. Or their dad's.

He paused, then, unwillingly giving himself time to grieve. He leaned over the trunk of the Impala, feeling the ache in his heart grow and grow. This would be so much easier if John were here. With his help, they could have found Sam ages ago. Hell, Sam never would have been taken in the first place. And, though he couldn't admit it just yet, he missed the old man. Missed his father with a ferocity that he tended to ignore.

He shoved the grief away as he stood up straight. Crying wasn't going to get Sam back. Crying wasn't going to bring his dad back.

Twenty minutes later he was back at the funeral home, and luckily the people were gone. It was still no easy task sneaking in, but ten minutes later he was sneaking out.

He chuckled to himself despite the reason for getting the blood, as he walked back to the car, two jars of the stuff in his pockets. And that was only freaky if he thought about it.

"Like taking candy from a baby," he muttered to himself, getting his keys out a pocket.

"Easier," Holden's voice suddenly said. "Corpses don't fight back."

Dean jumped, dropping his keys, and spun to find Holden, gun out and aimed at him.

"Jesus, dude, give me a heart attack next time," he answered nonchalantly. He refrained from grinning; the cop had no clue that his gun was empty. Dean had taken the bullets out while Holden was in the bathroom. Like he was going to chance being shot when he told Holden what was going on. Really going on.

Holden cocked the gun. "Who are you and what the fuck were doing stealing blood?"

Dean sighed. "I was kinda hoping this would wait until I had proof. You're not going to believe me, you know. You're going to think I'm nuts."

The gun didn't move. "Try me," the cop snarled.

Dean shrugged. "I wasn't lying about my name." Okay, so he had been, but 'Dean Winchester' was a dead man wanted for murder. He didn't really think that would help his case. "My brother and me, we're hunters."

"Hunters?" the cop asked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, there are things out there that are myths, legends… things from your worst nightmare. And me and Sam kill them."

To his surprise, Holden let the gun fall to his side. "You're right. I don't believe you." He got his phone out, dialling a number Dean was pretty sure wasn't for pizza. "And you are nuts."

Dean jumped forward quickly, putting a hand out and pushing the phone down. "Look, I don't care if you believe me or not. But my brother's still been taken by something. And so was your partner. And these things are still going to kill you, laughing as you tell them they don't exist."

He shook his head, sick of non-believers telling him he was crazy. It seemed to happen every time he went on a hunt. "I don't care if you think I'm crazy, Holden. Truth is, you're going to need me to get your partner back, to get your sister's husband back. Truth is, I need your help to get Sam back. Because even I can't take them all on."

Holden seemed to think about his words for a moment, phone still open in his hand. "And what are they?" he asked suspiciously.

Dean faltered for a minute. Then he cringed. "Vampires," he offered, knowing the man wouldn't believe him.

"Vampires? You're kidding me, right? You have to be. You really are crazy." Holden seemed intent on providing some excuse for the otherwise unexplainable explanation.

Dean put his hands up. "Look," he began once more. "Can you give me another explanation? Taking into account the drained bodies of the guards at the prison," he added, seeing Holden about to do just that. "And I found a tooth, at the place where Sam was taken. Actually, it's more like a fang. And that's what Sam called them, and trust me, the kid's not crazy."

Holden was quiet for a moment. "Okay, so what, we go in there with stakes and crosses?"

Dean gaped. "You believe me?" he questioned. "You believe me that easily?"

The cop shrugged. "It makes sense. In a weird, irrational way. So, stakes and crosses yeah?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope. No stakes, no crosses, no holy water, no sunlight. Decapitation is the only way to kill the bastards. But this," and he held up a jar of dead man's blood and shook it. "This is like poison for them."

Holden finally put his gun away. Dean let his grin go at the man's comfort in his useless weapon. "So, do you know where the place is?"

The cop shrugged. "I got the records of the prison. We need to sift through it a bit before we have anything solid though. What is with the grin?"

Dean grinned wider and he grabbed the clip from his pocket. He chucked it to the startled cop, who immediately checked his weapon. Dean laughed.

"Small consolation, Holden. That's useless against vampires anyway."

Sam looked up as a door above him opened, and he groaned as he felt the strain on his shoulders. He was in the cellar, a dank, dark, small space that smelled incredibly bad. It reminded him of Mordecai's cellar, except about three times smaller. It was below ground, and hadn't been used, he was told, in years.

His hands were chained above his head, he was thirsty, and he was hungry. He hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours. Nearly two days. Already his shoulders were aching, and it had only been a few hours. He was shivering, and his body ached from being thrown around like a rag doll. And there was no way out.

In all, he had decided it wasn't looking good. He was just wishing Dean would hurry up and rescue his ass. He'd even put up with his brother calling him a damsel if he would just show up in the next ten minutes. No, scrap that, he thought, his muddled mind remembering the door opening. The next ten seconds would be freaking awesome.

He concentrated on the footsteps, forcing his mind through the thoughts that wouldn't keep still. His head was fogged, because of the cold, and the pains, and just sheer exhaustion.

But he managed to concentrate on the footsteps, looking up as vampires descended the steps. He refrained from grimacing as Zane, Maria and a few others came into view. He wasn't sure what they wanted, but he was pretty sure it wasn't going to be pleasant.

The others stopped a few feet from the bottom of the steps, but Zane came on, until Sam could have reached out to kick him. He suppressed the urge to do that though, knowing he was otherwise helpless and that it would only aggravate the vampire.

"You've caused quite a stir up there, you know," Zane began, prowling like a caged dog. "They can't believe it. A hunter, a Winchester, in our very midst this whole time, and no one noticed."

"I told you that you were idiots," Sam said, grinning, unable to help himself. "But you just wouldn't listen."

His head snapped back as Zane punched him, blood flying from his nose immediately. He groaned, collapsing for a moment and pulling on his arms until he got his footing again. His nose continued bleeding and his eyes watered.

Standing back up, he shook his head, and again, blood splattered everywhere. Sam watched in disgust as it rolled down Zane's face. The vampire didn't seem to care, or notice for that matter.

"You've become quite the fascination," Zane continued. "Everyone's talking about our fight. Boreal's talking about how it will be the showdown of all showdowns. How we'll finally get to show you hunters how much better we vampires are."

"Good luck with that," Sam offered him. He watched as one vampire stepped forward, metal pole in hand. Zane took it, stepped to the side, and snapped it across Sam's stomach, driving all air from his lungs. He fell again, gasping and coughing.

Zane waited until the hunter was finished before continuing once more. "You see though, Boreal's convinced it will be on mostly equal terms," he said quietly as Sam got back to his feet, wincing as his shoulders throbbed. "He's a fool, of course."

Sam didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure what the vampire was getting at. Maybe he didn't want to.

"What, no smart ass comment, Winchester? Good, you're learning." The bastard grinned. "You see, the problem I have with Boreal's plan is this. I'm a betting man. Or vampire, anyway. I like odds, and I like odds to be in my favour. And at the moment, it's not quite there. Even weakened as you are, even if I fed on every human in that barn, I still think you would beat me in a fair fight."

"Damn straight I would," Sam interrupted. "Like Boreal said, you're pathetic."

Again the pole flew at him, hitting him in the ribs this time. Sam didn't fall, but cried out this time, feeling a sharp pain begin at his ribs. Nothing was broken, but he was sure they were fractured.

Zane dropped the pole, taking a deep, triumphant breath. "That idiot Boreal told us not to hurt you. He wants to see you fight in your prime. I want to see me win. I want to see me become the leader of our little nest. We've been doing this for a long time, and one conservative vampire and a puny little human are not going to ruin that for us."

He smiled and took a step back. Maria took a step forward, until they were standing next to each other. "I'm not the only one with a problem, Winchester. Maria has one as well. With you. Want to know what it is?"

"Not really," Sam answered, breathing heavily through the pain in his ribs.

Zane ignored him. "Her problem is this. You killed Marco. You murdered her mate."

"No I didn't," Sam retorted. Zane raised an eyebrow. "He wasn't human. He was just a bloodsucking bitch. Murder's reserved for those who actually have a pulse."

The vampire glared and rushed forward, grabbing a tight hold on Sam's chin. He winced, feeling the pressure as the bastard squeezed as hard as he could. Any harder and Sam's jaw would have been pulverised.

"You murdered him!" Zane spat. "And for Maria, it was like you cut off one of her limbs. She wants payback for that. You destroyed her life when you destroyed her lover!"

Sam didn't answer, couldn't answer through the tight grip on his jaw. But Maria stepped forward, and he could see the dullness to her eyes. The only spark was a small one, deep in there, promising vengeance.

He felt every muscle tense unwillingly, knowing that vengeance was going to hurt. Zane smiled as he felt it and stepped back, letting go of the hunter's jaw with a strong shake of his head. Sam turned back, concentrating on Maria, who had her fangs drawn. Even in the dark of the cellar, the teeth shone.

Maria took her place in front of him, lifting his shirt and running his fingers over his body. It wasn't done gently, but rather she ran her nails into his skin, deep enough to just bring blood to the surface. He groaned, putting his head back.

That was why he didn't see her head descend. That was why he didn't know until it was too late.

Her head fell forward, and before Sam knew what was going on, he screamed with the pain as she began sucking blood from his torso.

Come on, it's vampires. I had to have a feeding in there somewhere. On someone alive, too.