Chapter 3: Monstrous Summer Camp

AN: Hi, it's been awhile! I changed the writing style… I updated the first two chapters to match it, but plot-wise it stayed the same. Enjoy the new addition! ;)

"You're going out on a hunt, again?" Sammy had shouted angrily when Dean had been busy packing his duffel bag again. It had only been a few hours after Dean and John returned from killing some ghouls in Neath, Wales. It had been over a three and a half hour drive from their inn in London, but John had done it in less than two.

"Yeah Sammy, you know those monsters don't wait for us to go hunt for the kicks," Dean had reminded him. Sammy didn't know much about the evil yet and just wanted to be a kid without having to worry so much about stuff nobody else believed in. Dean understood that, heck, sometimes he'd wanted they were clueless about it all, too.

"You ready to go, son?" their had father asked the moment he got out of the bathroom. Dean couldn't do much more than nod and tell assure brother that he'd see him later.

John had decided to go on as many hunts with Dean before September arrived as possible, and thus Dean didn't get to spend that much time with Sam anymore. It had already been four weeks (which made it Wednesday, the twenty-third of August) since they went to buy the school supplies, and Sam had thrown countless tantrums every time Dean wa about to leave. Tonight had been no different, and so Dean sat in the Volkswagen Jetta Bobby had rented (since Bobby had no more use for it now that Rufus had brought his stuff and the Chevelle to London), thinking about his little brother instead of the task at hand. They were on a hunt, here, in London.

When John first mentioned that he thought about there being a vampire nest, Bobby had laughed and happily pointed out that Mister Dumbledore told them the Ministry of Magic was located in London as well, and they had the means and forces to go after anything that went rogue that had to do with "the hidden world" as Bobby now dubbed it.

Six police case files laid on Dean's lap, four women between the ages of nineteen and twenty-six had been found dead, three of them had come out of the River Thames. The pictures weren't pretty. The other one was found buried in Victoria Park, a decently sized park in the North East part of London, near Stratford. It had three small lakes and the body had been dumped in the soft soil close to some bushes to cover it up. Kathy Jackson, a nineteen year old blonde girl that stared with glassy dead blue eyes from the picture into Dean's.

The bodies varied from none to severe traumas. Up until a week ago, none of the cases were deemed related, since aside from the fact that they were all young and their blood was completely drained from them, they didn't have much in comparison. Her skin pale and blue was another clear identification that she was long gone. There was another picture next to it that showed her covered in mud in the dirty, shallow grave that she had been rotting in. Kathy had disappeared when she was last seen at the Sebright Arms for a live music concert a week or two ago.

It was pure coincidence they found Kathy. The police had been looking for a twenty-one year old man that went missing after a night at The Approach Tavern. They searched the area, including Victoria Park, and the police dogs found Kathy instead. Kathy had been … victim with her blood completely drained out, so that's when the police started to connect the cases.

The first victim, or at least the longest decaying body they found, was a twenty-four year old man, Michael Anderson, that some poor guy fished up out of a river a little over a month ago. Michael had some chain marks on his wrists, a bite in his neck, and a blue eye. Aside from that, his body was clean of any other injuries and the autopsy report stated that the cause of death was that he bled dry within a minute. The good doctor had made a note saying that it was a strange case since none of the injuries could have done that to him. About two weeks after they found Michael, the twenty-six years old Jenny McGarden had been found, soon after the twenty-three year old Danielle Abbott. All out of the same river. Just like Kathy, and the twenty-one year old boy missing, everyone of them disappeared after a night out in the city.

John figured that the nest had to be close to the locations of those pubs as that seemed to be the standard hunting ground. John narrowed it down to Hackney Road, the street where they had pulled over and settled in for an old fashioned stakeout. There was a creepy, old building that caught Dean's attention which he was now drawing in his very own hunter journal that his father had gifted him. John had told him that he would probably learn a lot more about the weird creatures that could go bump in the night than any other hunter, and that Dean should have a means to document it. Dean glanced out of the window when John returned with some food and plopped next to him in the driver's seat.

"I doubt that their hideout is the children's hospital, Ace," John said after a quick glance to see what his son was drawing. Dean felt his head heat up. "Though I admit it doesn't look very cozy," John added, surprisingly light hearted.

"It reminds me of The Murder Clinic," Dean said with a small scoff. "Just a little less isolated." John bit in his burger and gave the building another look. He swallowed loudly.

"Yeah, I suppose so." He was just about to gab his coke when someone knocked on the window. With a inaudible curse, John rolled the window down to talk to the officer.

"Good evening sir, I have to ask you to move the vehicle," the cop said. John felt relieved, glad that it wasn't another smarty-pants that tried to be funny with their so called British humor. Just some guy that directly got to business.

"Good evening, officer," John said, thankful Bobby had pushed him to take the time and learn a British accent. "I'm sorry, but I can't move this vehicle. MI6 business." He proceeded to show the badge, but the blue-suit wasn't having it.

"Why is there a kid on MI6 business?" He asked. His forehead frowned and John assumed the guy had his eyebrows raised, but the hairs were too light to tell for sure.

"Listen officer…?"

"Carnago."

"Officer Carnago," John affirmed with a single nod. "I understand you're just doing your job, so am I." John's rough edges seemed to soften as a tired man started to shimmer through. "But I can't just go on ahead and discuss the details of my operation here with you." Officer Carnago straightened his back, he wasn't a very tall man, he might very well not even reach John's shoulder, but he still managed to have an imposing psyche. "Please, can we settle this? I don't want my cover to be blown," John said after watching Officer Carnago weighing his options for a bit.

"...Yeah, okay," Officer Carnago said, then looked on his wristwatch. "Have a good night, Agent Cantwell." John was mildly surprised, he didn't think Carnago would have been able to read his name off the badge in the dark. He hadn't given the officer much time to inspect it, anyway.

"Thanks, have a good shift," John said.

Angry, middle aged men in maroon robes followed Dean through Diagon Alley. They all had their wands drawn and were shooting rainbows of spells towards him. Dean grabbed his Vine wand out of the pocket of his robes, and aimed it at the nearing wizards. He tried to push his feelings in it, begged the wand to help him, but nothing happened. He had hoped that the wand would shoot some crazy mojo to the wizards out of loyalty to its owner, but apparently that was not how wands worked…

Dean started to run again, desperate to get away. A yellow spell hit his arm and he stumbled.

"We got him!" One of the men shouted. Dean caught himself with his hands and got back on his feet, he kept running. He zigzagged passed the customers, in hopes it would slow the wizards and their firing down, but he didn't risk looking back to check it. The shops were nothing more than a racing blur of colours. His eyes felt hot, hell, his whole body felt like it was burning up. He didn't know how long he'd be able to keep ahead of them. He took a turn into a narrow alleyway, and, to his delight, he saw the mystic, onyx black gleam of the Impala. It was as if he floated to the car, hope was quickly building up in his chest.

WHAM!

Dean shot up and hit his knee against the dashboard of the Volkswagen Jetta. His heart was hammering against his ribs. He looked to his right, were the sound had come from, and saw his father arguing with another man. He then noticed the yellow liquid against the window at the driver's side. He breathed, his shoulder slumped back a little. Just another nightmare… It hadn't been the first time this month that he had gotten weird dreams. He had several dreams about castles. Wizards and witches were also a recurring theme. Some times they were happy dreams. Then he was in an old castle with Sammy and they would shoot spells at each other, make each other look ridiculous and such. Other times the other students chased him in a frenzy. He'd run until he was taken out by them or reached the Impala. Once he got to the car, his family would attack him on sight, they'd tell him he had become one of the monsters and they had no choice but to end that.

Dean didn't know what to think about Dumbledore just yet, but he sure owed the old man for getting Bobby to teach there. It was a reassuring thought, having someone on his side in a castle full of magic. He suppressed a shiver.

With a loud thunk the man that had peed against their car landed on the hood, effectively breaking Dean's train of thought. Two other men hurried towards the Jetta and retrieved their buddy. Dean watched them scramble away. His father shook his head and got back into the car.

"Those idiots," he mumbled more to himself than to Dean. "Glad you got some rest, son, I think we're close to get some action." Dean just nodded, his father wasn't exactly the figure to tell about his bad dreams. Dean went back to drawing, and they waited in silence for something to happen.

After an hour or so, his dad impatiently ticked on the clock on the dashboard.

"It's passed five 'o clock! In less than an hour it's sunrise!" John said, frustrated. I couldn't have been wrong about the location, now could I? He asked himself. He had been so sure.

"Rudy said that vampires like to go out during the night instead of all being stuck at their nest. It's summer, so the nights are short and they're probably taking as much time as they can," Dean reasoned. John cranked an eyebrow up.

"Who's Rudy?"

"A friend of Pastor Jim." Dean shrugged, he didn't know much about him either. Rudy had only come to the Church once when he and Sam were staying there. Sam didn't know about the Supernatural yet, so Dean didn't get much time to meet the young hunter.

"Hmm," was all John said. "Seems like we got company." He nods towards two people walking on the other side of the road. John didn't know why he was so certain that these two were the ones they had been waiting for, but he had never been one to question his gut feeling. Dean took a shift glance at the couple, a tall man blond hair combed back in gel, he was wearing dark jeans and a black leather motorcycle jacket, and a woman with short, light brown, curly hair in wide, ripped jeans, a tight, black tee that showed her stomach, and a dark red and green, oversized plaid blouse.

Dean carefully got two machetes from under the passenger seat and handed his dad one of them. Dean was glad they were sheathed in their leather cases as he and John hid the blades in their sleeves. John counted off on his fingers and they got out of the car simultaneously. They stayed on their side of the road, nonchalantly following the couple. They giggled and talked, and Dean had to strain his ears to pick up what was being said.

"Mhm, you're stron' alwite, and I can't believe you're gunna open your own pub!" the girl said, leaning in closer to the guy. Dean wasn't so sure if he even wanted to listen.

"Itsa big dream o' mine, yeah," the boy admitted, stroking the girl's' arm gently. They stopped and the girl giggled.

"On numbr sixtee-nine, hey?" she asked, giggling even more.

"Dus dat bring you on ideas?" he asked in a husky whisper. Yep, regrets were made. Dean thinks to himself. The couple proceeded to get into the building and John crossed the road with his son in tow.

"Going in this way would be a fool's errand…" John murmured. He scaled the building up. The ground level was in decorated by dark wood and there were no windows to look through. The upper levels were of the most red brickstones he had seen in a long time. It had a small tower with a clock on it at the left side. He noticed an open window on the first floor. The ground level stuck out further than the upper levels, which brought John on some ideas.

John walked to the left side of the building, where an iron fence was attached to it, and climbed up on the fence after a quick scan of the area. He helped himself balance on it by grabbing the wall of the building. Once he stood fully, he felt around the edge, it was slanted so there wasn't much to get a grip on, unless he'd manage to reach the low, decorative fence on top of it.

"Here, dad," Dean said, holding up a short piece of rope with a stone tied to it at one end. John smiled.

"Thanks," he said. He threw the end with the stone over the small fence and stretched to grab it. He putted some of his weight in the ropes, and then climbed up on the wall. He took a quick glance through the windows, but the coast seemed clear. Dean was struggling to get his feet between the iron bars to climb up on the fence, but he got on top quickly enough. John reached for him and Dean had to jump up a little to grab his father's hand. John pulled him up, glad it was the weight of a kid and not an adult. They got their machetes ready and entered into the dark hole that was the window.

They stood completely still, allowing their eyes to get used to the darkness inside. It was a narrow hallway, a dark, dusty green carpet was getting loose from the floor. The brown wallpaper with flowers was torn and withered and the place had these moldy, and festering scents about it. Laughter rose from the ground floor, at least six people by the sound of it. John pointed to the first door on their left and Dean nodded. They'd try to clear out the upstairs as silently as they could before dealing with the vampires downstairs.

Crouched, and aware of their own quickened heartbeats, they inched closer to the door. John glanced from the corner of his eyes to Dean, who gave an almost unnoticeable nod, and John opened the door. It moved inwards, creaking softly, but to their ears it was deafening. A dirty, a la seventies green tiled bathroom got revealed. They stealthily got to the next door, this one on the right side. They gave it a quick look-over and noticed the hinges on their side. Dean slowly opened the door. The room had the same green, rundown carpet as the hallway, and featured blue wallpapers with purple and orange butterflies. There were several mattresses on the ground covered in undergarments and syringes. They didn't go in.

There were two other, smaller bedrooms that both turned out to be empty as well, so they went to the second story. There was another bathroom, this time with yellow tiles, a master bedroom, and another room with two people chained up to the radiator. John and Dean inched closer, careful not to make a sound, and John squatted in front of the man Dean recognized as the missing twenty-one year old guy. John pushed his lips apart and against the upper gums, causing the fangs to appear. He let go and ended the guy's life with a single swing. The head came off clean and covered the woman and John in blood splatters. She opened her eyes wide, her dry, hoarse voice screeching soft. John grabbed her by the chin and checked for fangs. He found none.

"Did you drink their blood?" Dean whispered to the woman. He was met with her hollowed out, scared to death grey eyes. Reluctantly, she shook her head. "We're going to get you out of here, is it correct that there are six of them?" Dean asked. The woman shook her head again, and looked down at her chained wrists. Dean followed her gaze, she stretched her fingers out to count eight. "Eight?" Dean asked, somewhat amazed. The woman nodded and Dean smiled. "Thank you." And with that John hit her with the butt of the machete and knocked her out.

"It'll be over soon," was all he said. There was only one more level to go before they'd have to face the ones downstairs. As quietly as the squeaky, wooden stairs allowed, they got into the tower, just beneath the levels of the clock on the outside. The room was laid out as an office and there was a man sitting with his back towards them, drinking something out of a big plastic cup through a straw.

John signaled for Dean to get a move on, and Dean obediently took a step into the office. He tried to move as fast as he dared towards the vampire, who was still drinking from his cup. He was getting close, just three more steps and he'd be in reach to behead the creature. The drinking stopped, a loud, content aaah followed. Dean was frozen in place. The vampire tilted his head to each side, audibly cracking his neck, then placed the empty cup on the desk in front of him. John was gritting his teeth, the kid had to hurry.

Dean took one big step forward and swung the machete. It went through the unsuspecting vampire like a hot knife through butter. A clean cut, no resistance. John let out a heavy sigh.

"You alright, son?" he asked. Dean slowly turned around, the machete once again raised in hand.

"Yeah, let's g-get his buddies and get outta here," Dean said in the lowest whisper he'd permit himself, however it failed to completely conceal the trembling in his voice. John smirked.

"Atta boy." Dean gave a weak smile at the praise. "Is there anything noteworthy on the desk?" John asked. Dean turned and gazed over the now bloody papers.

"No, just some local maps," Dean answered. He squatted down to check the vamp's pockets, but aside from a few receipts, they were empty.

"Check the drawers," his father said as he checked the bookshelves and archives at the wall near the stairs.

"What are we looking for?" Dean asked over his shoulder after he found nothing but a dead cockroach in the drawers, which was almost noteworthy of itself.

A loud "Crack!" sounded. Dean jumped back, hitting his hip against the corner of the desk. His machete clattered on the floor. He grimaced. Grunts and the ripping sound of fabric forced Dean to look up. His father lied on his back, pounding in the side of another damn fang. The vampire didn't seem to pay much attention to the ongoing assault, he was only focused on John's neck. Dean's eyes widened. Not daring to look away, he felt around for his machete. Cold sweat formed above his brow. His fingers connected to the polished wood of the handle and gripped it firmly. He pushed himself forward as fast as his young legs would carry him, readying himself to slash. The vampire ducked. Dean's pupils flared. A rough hand grabbed his upper arm, nails boring itself into the flesh. As a ragdoll Dean flew through the room. He hit the wall with his back, smacking the air out of his little frame. The vampire chuckled. John took his chances and pushed the vampire off him. He grabbed his arms and twirled them to his back.

"Dean, now!" He shouted. With a groan, Dean pushed himself off the floor. He leapt, his body protested, he fell. The machete slid away over the floor, and the vampire snickered. John gave him a headbutt and let go of the vampire's arms. He fell to his side and grabbed Dean's machete. He threw it with a vicious spin. It got half through the vampire's neck. John got up and pushed through the rest of the neck as he looked into the dark brown, still somewhat amused eyes of the vampire. He turned to look at his son.

"I'm sorry," Dean said immediately. John walked over and kneeled next to him.

"Are you injured?" He asked. Dean tapped over his body, he was pretty beat up. He cringed when his hip felt wet. John took the liberty to examine it. The area was already discoloured in purple and yellow, and in the middle the flesh was somewhat tattered despite the blood clinging to it. John reasoned it looked worse than it was. The wound itself wasn't so deep, it just bled a little excessively due to all the sudden movements. John grabbed one of the strips of his blouse and tore it off. He hesitated, wondering if he should pour some whiskey over it, but decided against it. The bleeding probably cleaned the wound decently enough anyway. Instead, he tied the wound up and offered his son a hand to get back on his feet. John handed Dean his machete and picked up his own, then signaled for Dean to follow him.

They got downstairs, it was completely quiet and dark. Dean squinted, but he barely could make anything out. He'd loved to have night vision right about now. They stuck to the walls, each to the other side, until they met each other again at the other end. No other sounds had been heard, which made them believe the sun had risen and the vamps were sleeping. John decided it'd be riskier to continue on like this, and switched on the lights. The TL lights buzzed softly as they flickered on, illuminating the space. The grunge girl lied on her stomach about three feet away from them, dead.

Not much farther, they found two vamps curled up against each other in a hammock. John slashed without a second thought. The blade got stuck just over the half of the second vampire and John had to force his way through. The cut was half smooth, half frayed. John's eyebrows furrowed, he thought the blade was better than that. Fortunately, none of the vampires had woken up when the light turned on, and they made quick work of them.

They went back upstairs, to the only surviving victim. John had found the key on one of the vampires, and removed the shackles. After some poking, she woke up and Dean offered her a cup of water. She accepted it gratefully. John gave her the rundown of what happened, and she took it better than Dean had expected. The girl offered to make up a story to explain what happened, but John decided against it. He recalled the United Kingdom being pretty big on their autopsies, and didn't wanna risk the exposure.

A lot of dragging, sweating, and the awful scent of burning flesh and hair later, they left in the Jetta. It wasn't long after when the girl stumbled outside, screaming. A simple traffic cop that had been writing fines, hurried towards her, and the smoldering heap was found. It was near impossible to ID the two victims, but with that and the testimony of the only survivor, the police finally got a move on with this case.

Dean fell on his bed, his face buried itself into the pillow. He was absolutely wrecked. The needs to shower and sleep battled for importance, but neither won.

"Dean! Bobby got us breakfast!" Sam shouted, oblivious to his older brother's current state.

"Mhm, that's great," Dean mumbled into his pillow. He attempted to get up, but his body didn't comply.

"And Dumbledore sent an owl, saying he found a place for Bobby and me to stay." The way Sam said it caused Dean to open his eyes.

"That's good, right?" he asked, not sure why Sammy sounded not more enthusiastic. Sam nodded, but Dean wasn't buying it. "Sup?" Sam's cheeks turned pink.

"I wish we could've done this sooner," Sam admitted, his voice small. "It would've been better if your school didn't want you to sleep there, but at least we won't be going from one town to another all the time," Sam elaborated, his eyes fixed on the floor. Dean felt a twinge in his chest. He didn't know what to say to that. Fortunately for him, the silence didn't stretch long.

"Dean, Sam! Food. Now!" Bobby's gruff voice shouted. Not giving it much thought, Dean turned around and swayed his legs off the bed. He and Sam joined Bobby and their father at the kitchen table.

"How's that hip of yours?" John asked.

"It's alright." Dean dragged a plastic box with "DW" scrabbled on it towards him. He liked the English breakfast, it was fat, had meat a-plenty, and was steamingly hot. The first bites were eaten in silence, but it wasn't long before plans were being made.

"I want you two to clean up and then we can hit the road," Bobby stated, pointing his fork to John and Dean. "I took a look on the map, it's going to be over a five-hundred and seventy mile journey to Dufftown," he grumbled, definitely not looking forward to it. Dean swallowed a big clump of eggs and asked:

"What's in Dufftown?"

"Dumbledore got me and Sammy a place in the village," Bobby explained simply. "Now if yer done stuffing yerself, you can go an' shower." Dean got up and threw his box in the wastebin. A shower sounded great.

AN: Thanks for the reviews! They made me really happy!

Pssht! Jaden Xiang, I'm glad you find it so engaging and that you love the story so much! I hope this chapter meets your expectations. :)

All the mentioned places/pubs are real but have nothing to do with actual cases as far as I am aware. I merely used the spots to write this fanfic. (The hospital I referred to is the Queen Elizabeth Hospital.)

The Murder Clinic is a movie from 1966 where the staff and patients of an asylum get killed by some hooded maniac. Fun times indeed.

MI6 is the Secret Intelligent Service in the UK, they actually publicly announced their existence in… Was it 1994? I think so, but don't quote me on that.

Rudy was introduced to the audience somewhere in season 10, but Sam and Dean already knew him. Pastor Jim Murphy was a friend of the family and appeared in season 1.

Gotta love that 90s grunge and dem 80s greaser fashion (remember that kid from Indiana Jones? Mutt Williams?), lol. The Greasers vs Jocks bar fight is my fave moment. :D

I imagined the building the vamps used is the strip club Ye Olde Axe that opened in 1993, but I'm not sure if it was abandoned in 1990 or if something else was located there. I have no idea about the actual layout, so I just did whatever I wanted, lol.

Dufftown was mentioned in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Sirius Black was sighted there, and Hermione responded with "Dufftown? That's not far from here!" so I figured I'd use it. :)