Notes: Hello all! I hope you haven't forgotten about this story. I sure haven't! I've been working back and forth between this one and God's Permission to get the plots just right. I've had so many discussions with myself over how this is going to work out. Endings are always a bitch to write, in my opinion. Luckily, I'm not there yet! Also, fair warning, we are venturing very far from canon!

Note 2: Sorry for any mistakes, please feel free to point them out. Typos are like sand, they get in everywhere.

-:-

Chapter 2: Good Times

'I tortured people in hell, and I enjoyed it.'

Sam honestly didn't know what to think. He'd done things he was ashamed of, things normal people would find reprehensible, but he couldn't relate to his brother's story. He tried to understand, and he didn't blame Dean. Forty years in hell- it was truly incomprehensible to him.

That didn't stop him from catching himself looking at Dean with a new look.

After Dean's confessions, with all their secrets laid out between them, there was nothing more to say. They went a week drifting from town to town looking for cases that turned out to be explainable phenomena or human villains. Sam dreamt about Eric, Dean's nightmares seemed to increase for a while.

If the Winchesters were to have a creed, a motto, it would be "family first", but it wouldn't really be true. It would be words to say, to swear allegiance to, but not true in the sense that it's what the Winchesters did.

Dad chose the demon over them. He didn't talk to them for almost a year, because he was selfish. Dean was selfish too when he made the deal. Sam was selfish when he drank Ruby's blood despite swearing to Dean he wouldn't get help from Ruby anymore after he was gone.

Their selfishness made them sacrifice themselves, for the greater good and for each other. A paradox, perhaps, but truer than anything else in their lives, Sam thought.

Their motto should be: "It's easier to die fighting than to talk about it."

It's easier to go to hell than let your brother die.

It's easier to drink blood than admit you feel weak.

It was easier for them to go their separate ways, than to admit their relationship was screwed up beyond repair.

After a week of barely talking, things had to arrive at some sort of precipice. Naturally, a demon was involved. They were having dinner in a diner by the side of the road going north to Bobby's. They were only a few hours off, but Dean had pulled over after too many stomach rumbles from Sam.

They place only had two other costumers when they arrived, and one of them left shortly after. The waitress was a middle-aged fake-blond with a uniform that looked like it belonged in a costume store. Sam didn't pay her any mind, though, just focused on his coffee, praying the food would come quickly. It wasn't until the other patron left them all alone that he started listening.

There wasn't any noise. Not a sound.

He looked over the counter and leaned forward a little across the table to glimpse through the opening to the kitchen. Dean, sitting across from him in the booth, leaned backwards at the same time to look as well. They both jumped slightly when the door to the kitchen swung open and the waitress came through. She wasn't bringing their food.

Her walk was different as well - a small thing to notice, but important - it wasn't the walk of a middle-aged woman old before her time. She swaggered over to them, hands on her hips, smirking devilishly.

'I've been waiting for you Winchesters to roll by here on your way to ol' Bobby's for ages,' she told them. Sam was as tense as he could be, but he hesitated to reach for the knife in his breast pocket. 'Didn't know you'd actually be stopping here.'

'Do we know you?' Dean asked.

'No, but I sure know you two,' she said, then she frowned, almost pouted and put on an air of disappointment. 'But where's the third wheel? He's the one I want.' Sam automatically exchanged a glance with Dean, it was instinct, and they both silently agreed Dean would answer. It took less than a second.

'You mean Bobby?' Dean asked.

'You know, playing dumb really suits you, Dean,' she told him snarkily. Dean's jaw worked, but he let the insult slide off. 'I meant the vampire.'

'Why do you want him?' Sam asked.

'He got away,' she explained, 'we want him back.' Sam tried to tell his heart not to run off on him. He forced himself to unclench his fist when his nails threatened to break the skin of his palm.

'Well, you can't have him,' he managed to bite out.

'Fine, then I'll settle for you two. I should have a reward for being stationed in this boring dump for so long.' She was quick on the draw, lashing out at Sam's throat quick as a cat, but Sam was quicker and either she didn't know about the knife, or she hadn't anticipated Sam carrying it around all the time. Together, the two hunters made quick work of her.

The body of the waitress ended up on their table, a big red stain on her uniform. Sam swore she saw her blink and try to speak, but his fingers didn't register a pulse and the wound was far too deep anyway. Dean had immediately gone to check out the kitchen. He returned just as Sam closed her eyes.

'The cook's dead,' he said. 'Must have killed him the second she made us.'

'You think the demons working with the vampires are also working for Lilith?' Sam asked.

'I don't know.'

'Eric got away,' Sam said, staring at the bloody waitress, willing her to wake up and tell him more. Dean came to stand beside him. Sam felt hollow, like he had betrayed Eric by not being even more adamant about his survival.

'She could be lying.'

'Why would she lie about that?'

'Because demons love to fuck with us,' Dean sighed. He wiped at his face, probably to check for blood. Sam did the same, using his right hand still holding the knife. It was covered in blood. Sam had planned to use the back of his hand to wipe at his jaw when Dean's hand shot out and grabbed it. Their eyes met. Sam wrenched his hand away.

'Jesus Christ, Dean,' he muttered, stalking away towards the exit. He needed air. He wiped the knife on his jeans uncaringly and put the knife back in its hiding spot. Dean was hot on his heels as he approached the car.

'Sam, wait,' Dean grabbed his shoulder. Sam spun around, knocking the hand away.

'I wasn't going to drink it!'

'I know.'

'Do you?'

Dean didn't answer, and that was more than enough for Sam. He walked around the car and got in. They didn't speak, but they didn't drive to Bobby's either.

XXX

'Maybe you shouldn't be hunting.'

'I'm going to find Eric.'

'Let's just take a break from each other, cool off.'

And then there were words they didn't say.

I can't look at you.

I don't believe you.

I don't trust you.

You're practically a demon.

You tortured people in hell.

You drank their blood.

Sam didn't know who said what, or left what unspoken. He was going to find Eric, or at least find out what happened to him. He had to know. It was a good reason to leave, he felt.

If that had been the only reason, he could have understood his brother. Of course Dean didn't want to put hunting on hold to find one man missing in action. It was the Apocalypse, and even Sam felt guilty for leaving. But it wasn't just that. They needed time away.

They needed to fucking stick together, Dean thought, but that was impossible. Sam wanted to find Eric, and Dean couldn't find it in him to stop his little brother.

Sam needed Eric. It was as simple as that. He didn't need Dean, not right now. Maybe when Sam had finally accepted that Eric was probably dead and buried, or burned, then he'd come back and Dean could put his little brother back together like when after Jessica died. He didn't know much about that kind of heartache, but he had gone through it with Sam before, and they would get through it again.

He knew the looks Sam sent him before he walked away. He could read them easily enough.

Sam thought he didn't trust him. He thought he hated him for drinking the blood, but he didn't. How could he? Sam had gotten an addiction, been saved, overcome it, and fallen in love. In just four months. All while Dean wasn't there. Technically, it was all his fault.

And he could see other looks too. The ones that said "how could you?" He would never be able to explain, because you couldn't explain hell. He couldn't explain the pleasure in torture to anyone who hadn't been at that level of pain.

So they parted, and maybe it was good. Maybe it would save them in the end.

XXX

Some places you always know you will return to, some you don't, some you hope for -tossing a coin in a fountain as if it will influence your future travel plans- and some you hope with all your heart you'll never seen again.

Fangtasia wasn't any of those places. It was a dead end, a last stop on a hopeless case, but Sam was determined to reach every end. The car he had stolen a handful of states ago was in bad shape, but he prayed she'd last in and out of the vamp-county.

He hadn't spoken to Dean in almost two weeks. It felt like two months. He'd gone back to the scene of the crime, retraced his first attempt at finding Eric, and then he had admitted to himself he only had one place left to check. Usually, he liked the long road, but this time it felt like America was getting bigger just to spite him.

He stopped by Merlotte's in Bonstemps since it was still light out. The place seemed much as it had the last time he had been there. There was a very pretty blond girl tending tables, and a young redhead playing hostess. There were a fair few locals in to have dinner. The very pale redhead approached and asked if he wanted a table.

Sam stared at her, all his muscles tensing. Maybe it was hypocritical, but Sam's hunter instincts still reacted at the sight of a vampire, even though she appeared to just be a waitress. It sure was a vamp-friendly town this Bonstemps.

'Sir?' she prompted when his silence became prolonged. His brow furrowed in slight embarrassment at the "Sir"; surely he wasn't that much older than her? Hell, she could be older than him- but no, she didn't feel old, like Eric.

'Sure,' he answered and she led him to an empty booth and lay a menu in front of him. He looked up at her, noting her friendly smile.

'You're a vampire,' he said, softly so that only she could hear. Her smile dropped slowly off her face. 'I don't mean anything by it. I just wondered if you knew the place called Fangtasia?'

'Oh, I don't go there,' she stuttered, shaking her head, but Sam could tell she had been there, in the same way teenagers snuck out to rave parties. Jesus, she really was a fledgling.

'Do you know the owner?' Sam asked casually.

'Pam? Sure,' she said.

'I meant the previous owner,' Sam corrected. She got an odd look on her face.

'Eric,' she said softly. 'He's gone.'

'Gone?'

'He's been missing for over six months, I think...' she trailed off as she thought back, then suddenly glanced at him suspiciously.

'Please, I'm a friend,' Sam told her in his most sincere voice. She threw a cautionary glance over her shoulder and leaned down closer.

'They say the Authority took him, for killing another vampire, the king-'

'Of Mississippi,' Sam finished.

'You know?' she asked sharply.

'I know some,' he admitted. 'But not enough.' He rose abruptly. 'Thanks,' he told her before pushing his way past and making his way outside into the fresh air. He stood for a moment and breathed. He had forgotten about the vampire organization. What if Eric had escaped the demons only to get caught by his own kind?

He had to ask Pam, just to be sure.

Fangtasia looked exactly the same; the same teenage fangbangers outside, desperate to get in, and definitely the same bouncer, looking Sam over with a hungry gaze. Inside the crowd seemed thinner, however, and there was a depressed or nervous air that lay over the heads of the patrons, as if the music was just a few decibels lower or the lights not quite as dim- fewer corners to hide in -though Sam couldn't really tell.

Was it just him, or was there a distinct lack of actual vampires in the place? There were a couple of young ones holding a small court in a corner, showing off to their adoring fangbanger fans.

The raised platform was empty; the thrown-like chair was gone. Sam had almost expected Eric to be sitting right where he had been that first night, long legs stretched out in front of him, eyes intense and all-seeing even in the dark club. But there was nothing there, and no one approached it either, except Sam.

He didn't step up on it, just stared at the empty space for a long while, until a presence was felt at his side.

'Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't suck you dry right here,' a female purred in his ear. Sam didn't move; he had expected to be made as a hunter the second he entered.

'I'm a friend of Eric's,' he told her.

'I know who you are,' she hissed, causing Sam to look at her. So this was Pam. She seemed a bit frazzled for a vampire, like she was over-working herself, but she was still beautiful, and no fledgling. Sam suppressed his shiver at her closeness. Her eyes were full of accusation. 'You're the reason for everything,' she spat at him.

'What are you talking about?'

She seemed to hesitate, biting back an angry retort before pulling herself together and presenting him with a disdainful look.

'Come with me.' She spun on her very long heel and marched away, plowing a path instantly through the observing onlookers. Sam followed obediently, curiosity and caution warring within him.

The office she guided him to was strangely normal. Sam hadn't quite accepted that the vampires actually ran a legitimate business, but the file cabinets and work-covered desk confirmed it. It looked a bit jumbled, as if it had just been ransacked, but Sam suspected it had something to do with Pam's tiredness. She turned to face him, leaning back against the desk and folding her arms across her chest. She looked every bit the angry boss.

'Why did you have to drag Eric into all of it?' she demanded.

'Into what?'

'What do you think?' she snarked. 'Into your damn Apocalypse.'

'You- you know about that?'

'Every vampire older than a toddler knows about it. The whole system is collapsing, all thanks to you.'

'Me?'

'You and your kind,' she gave him such a look of contempt Sam started to feel really guilty. He knew he had been the cause of Eric losing everything, but he hadn't considered the wider ramifications, though surely she was exaggerating? 'I was never a fan of the Great Revelation, but it was better than the alternative.'

'Alternative?'

'But now the Authority is gone, and no one knows who they can trust,' she carried on as if she hadn't heard him. 'And there are demons and creatures everywhere, all out for blood, in the open. It won't be long before the whole world goes to hell- though not literally,' she added sarcastically. 'And it all started the night you came here, looking for your brother. I told Eric not to help you, two hunters out for his head, but no, you were different.' She pushed away from the desk and started pacing. 'It wasn't long before he was gone for days at a time, and then the Authority came looking, accusing him of working with demons!'

'Pam, please,' Sam tried to cut in, but once again she barreled over him.

'As if Eric would ever work with hell-spawn, the idea is ludicrous! But he didn't come back after that...' she finally ran out of steam, her back to him, head down.

'Pam, please,' Sam tried again, 'I need to find him. He's gone missing. He was captured, by demons, but I know he escaped. Has he tried to contact you?'

She was silent for a long moment. What wasn't she telling him? The stiff back told him nothing. Then a voice came drifting through from the open door to Sam's left, leading presumably to further storage or perhaps the basement.

'You lied.' Both of them spun towards the door. Only Sam gasped in surprise.

'Eric.'

The vampire was leaning heavily against the doorframe, skin sickly pale even for a vampire, with dark circles under his eyes, which were very bloodshot. He was wearing a dirty grey t-shirt and jeans, and staring quite fixedly at Pam, who raised her chin defiantly.

'I did what I had to do,' she declared. 'You're not fit to take care of yourself.'

Sam wanted to run to Eric, to embrace him, to feed him even, but he felt confused over the lack of acknowledgement.

'I told you to find Sam Winchester, and here he is, but not by your invitation.'

'Han är inte bra för dig,' she said insistently in Swedish. Sam suspected she was saying something nasty about him. 'Ser du inte? Allt är hans fel!'

'I did not ask your opinion on him,' Eric growled low, showing some strength for the first time. Pam subsided, looked away and then walked out back into the club. Finally, Eric turned his eyes to Sam.

'Sam,' he said, sounding absolutely exhausted. He reached out and Sam reacted immediately, walking straight into the vampire's embrace. He squeezed his eyes shut at the weak hug he received. The important thing, he told himself, was that Eric was alive and in his arms. He grabbed the vampire's shoulder and held him at arm's length to get a look at him. Eric gave a weak smile at Sam's scrutiny.

'Not as handsome as you remember?' he asked.

'Are you all right?' Sam asked.

'As well as can be expected,' Eric sighed. 'I'm a bit tired still, but I'm getting stronger every day. I would have called, but I was out of it for some time. I only made it back here through sheer instinct, I think.'

'You're alive, that's all that matters,' Sam said.

'Oh, they had no intention of killing me,' Eric said with a bitter smile. Sam frowned, but no more information was forthcoming. He closed the distance between them and gave Eric a slightly desperate kiss, which was returned. When they parted, Eric was leaning against Sam, clutching at him.

'It's all going to hell, Sam,' he whispered. The hunter swallowed nervously.

'You mean, more than usual?' he tried to lighten the mood.

'We have to kill Lilith,' Eric told him. He looked up at Sam with eyes that reminded the hunter instantly of his brother for a second. Eyes of a man who had seen hell, or something close to it. Sam wondered what a two thousand year old vampire had to see to get that look. 'Promise me, everything we do from now on goes to killing Lilith.'

'Okay,' Sam agreed at once, 'I promise.' Eric straightened and kissed Sam again, deeper than before. Sam felt out of place in the kiss, and in Eric's grip, weaker than usual. He didn't know what to make of it all. Eric's behaviour made him nervous. What had happened?

'I need blood,' Eric whispered when they parted. 'Real blood.'

'Then take it,' Sam was helpless to say anything else.

'No, no,' Eric shook his head, 'you need your strength. If we're going up against Lilith, you need all the strength you can get.' The vampire buried his face in Sam's neck, but didn't bite. Sam put his arms around his lover, and suppressed the urge to shiver.

tbc...

Note to Swedish people: sorry if I got something wrong. Norwegians prefer to speak Swedish and write Danish. (Translation: He's not good for you. Can't you see? It's all his fault!)