"It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end."
- Ernest Hemingway
X X X
When Sherlock and John returned to their flat, Castiel and the Doctor in tow, it was to find Sam and Dean knee-deep in books that looked ancient enough to turn to dust should someone actually attempt to turn the pages. Sam had his nose buried in one such book, obviously concentrating on his research. Dean, however, seemed to be asleep.
Castiel resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"Getting anywhere?" John asked as he shut the door behind him.
Sam sighed and set his book down, "No. In fact, all we –" he glared at Dean, "– All I've found out is that this vampire's behavior isn't really anything special. See, most vampires have a bit more control over their bloodlust, but sometimes . . . sometimes they just don't have the self-restraint to be able resist." He shrugged, "So, we're basically back to square one on our list of suspects."
During Sam's rant, while Sherlock and Castiel had listened dutifully, John had gone off to make tea while the Doctor snuck up to peer at Dean over the couch, a mischievous grin on his face.
Suddenly noticing the Doctor standing over his brother, Sam frowned, his eyebrows furrowing together. "Um, Doctor, what are you doing?"
"Shh, shh, just watch." The Doctor replied, his smile stretching his lips wide. He leaned closer to Dean, to the point that their noses almost touched, and poked the eldest Winchester on the nose.
Dean's eyes flew open with a start, obviously wondering who was stupid enough to poke him while he was trying to sleep, and found himself with an eyeful of the Doctor – literally. And it took the spans of about three seconds for him to flail wildly in response as if trying to fight the Doctor off, which, in turn, caused him fall off the couch with an undignified grunt.
Sam immediately burst out laughing.
"Shut the hell up, Sam." Dean growled from where he lay sprawled on the floor. "It's not funny."
But Sam was still laughing, as was John. Even Sherlock and Castiel managed to provide small, amused smiles of their own. And the Doctor, well, he was doubled over with mirth, practically dying in the face of his own brilliance as he struggled to stay upright. Dean, meanwhile, just gave them all the evil-eye and pulled himself to his feet.
He was never going to live that down, and he knew it.
The Doctor had to admit, though, that his silly little prank had definitely been an ice-breaker. Before that the air had been tense and awkward and hard to breathe, but now the atmosphere felt a bit more welcoming, as if they were more comfortable in each other's presences. It was a good thing.
"So, vampires, they normally stay in these groups of five or more?" John asked.
Sam nodded, "Yeah. They're called nests."
"So, you're looking for the nest, then?"
"Correction," Dean said, "We were looking for the nest."
"Were?" Sherlock reiterated.
"See, that's the problem." Sam replied, "All vampires have nests. But this one we're hunting, it's like he's a loner or something."
"Cas checked," Dean interjected, "And there aren't any friggin' nests anywhere in London. There are some a few towns over, but London doesn't have much to produce when it comes to the fanged community. The best bet we had was that vamp from the bar, the one you saw us kill, Sherlock. And, besides our killer, he's the only other vamp we heard tale of in this town."
"And that's unusual?"
Sam nodded. "See, from what we've heard, that particular vampire came from one of the nests a few towns over. He was just passing through here. This one we're hunting, though, he's different. He's been here too long for it to be normal. And if he had a nest, he'd have returned to it by now."
Sherlock nodded, "So, what do we do now, then?"
"The best we can do is to have Cas search for the vamp manually." Dean said.
"It has done a good job of hiding itself, however." The angel added, "So far I have had trouble pinpointing its exact location. I need time."
"Time is something we do not have much of," John said, "Not with the threat of more possible murders hanging over our heads."
"I will not let that happen." Castiel murmured, his eyes dark. "I will find him. I promise." Then, leaving those words echoing in his wake, he turned and practically disappeared into the air, the flutter of wings all that accompanied his departure.
An awkward silence followed, as if no one else was sure of what to say anymore, and after a few moments of no one meeting each other's eyes, John finally spoke up.
"So . . . is anyone else hungry?"
X X X
The flat was dark and quiet. Sherlock and John had retired early, leaving Sam and Dean to their research as Castiel hadn't returned yet. The Doctor had returned to his TARDIS, saying he had some things to check on, and that was that. The Winchesters were alone again. It wasn't long, though, before they both nodded off; Sam asleep on the couch – book perched precariously on his chest – and Dean curled up on the floor next to it.
Nothing stirred in the room. Well, that is, until Castiel appeared, his wings making no more sound than a whisper on the wind.
"I have located him." The angel said.
Sam promptly gasped in fright and fell off the couch, landing on top of Dean with a girly shriek and flailing in confusion.
"Sam -!" Dean gasped.
"What the hell are you doing, Dean!"
"You're the one who fell on me, dumbass!"
"Like it was my fault!"
Castiel stared, unsure.
But finally, after a few moments of struggle, the two finally managed to untangle themselves and get to their feet, leaving their pride crushed on the floor in the process.
"Hey, Cas." Sam said, disgruntled.
Dean just sighed heavily.
The angel frowned at the two. "I said that I've located him; the vampire."
The two instantly became serious.
"Where is he?" Dean growled.
"I need to speak with Sherlock first." Castiel murmured, "Get John and the Doctor and bring them here." Then he disappeared quietly, only to reappear moments later in Sherlock's bedroom.
"Sherlock Holmes," Castiel said, "I need to speak to you."
Sherlock was awake instantly, hand reaching for the knife he kept nearby as he slept. But then he recognized the angel and relaxed. "Oh, Castiel . . . what is it?"
"I require permission."
"Permission?"
"To use your living room."
Sherlock frowned heavily, annoyed by the way the angel was dancing around his questions. "Castiel –"
"I need to use it as an interrogation room." Castiel said finally. "I have a guest coming."
"Is this 'guest' the vampire you've been hunting? The one who's responsible for all these murders?"
"Yes."
"Then go right ahead."
Castiel nodded. "Thank you." He turned, obviously ready to fly off again, but paused before he did and glanced back at Sherlock. "Join the others," he said, "I will be back shortly."
X X X
Sam, Dean, John, Sherlock, and the Doctor sat in the living room, silent as they waited for Castiel to return. He hadn't been gone long, but in the time he had been absent Sherlock had dressed himself in something a bit more appropriate than what he slept in – which was generally nothing at all – and John had changed as well. The Doctor apparently always wore the same suit, so he didn't have to change, and since Sam and Dean had fallen asleep in what they'd been wearing earlier, they had no need to either.
And now all that was left to do was wait.
The sudden sound of wings testified to Castiel's arrival, and then the angel was standing in their midst, holding a beaten and bloodied young man in his arms.
"Like I said," Castiel murmured, "I found him. It just wasn't under the best circumstances."
John paled. "That's the murderer? But – but he's just a kid!"
"Vampirism is a terrible disease," Castiel replied. "It turns humans into bloodthirsty monsters, regardless of age or gender."
John did not reply, he merely stared at the young man, lips pressed into a thin line.
"I need a chair and a length of rope," Castiel said. "Strong rope; we need to make sure he does not get free, at all costs."
Sherlock got it for him, looking uncharacteristically subdued, but the angel did not notice as he deposited the young man – er, vampire – in the chair and restrained him within moments, making sure the knots in the rope were tight so he would not escape.
"Sam, Dean." Castiel murmured, "Get your weapons."
Snapping out of their trances, the two brothers turned to rummage around in their duffle bags, each of them brandishing a sharpened machete, the only weapon suitable for killing vampires. But, rather than the excitement that usually came with nearing the end of a hunt, Sam and Dean felt uneasy. This was going to be hard, and they knew it.
The Doctor tensed as he saw their machetes. "What are those for?"
"Well see, Doctor, most of the lore you hear about vampires is wrong," Sam said. "They don't burst into flames in sunlight, garlic and crucifixes do nothing against them, and stakes don't kill them either."
"In fact," Dean continued, "The only way to kill them is by decapitation."
The Doctor sucked in a sharp breath, looked positively horrified. "Isn't – isn't there another way?"
"There is not." Castiel said. "The only way to reverse the vampirism only works if the human-turned-vampire in question has not ingested human blood, which he obviously has."
"Then . . ."
"Death is the only solution." Sam said softly. "I'm sorry, but we don't have any other options."
Dean nodded. "All we can do is try to get as much info from him as we can before we gank him."
And that was just about the time that the young man woke up, his eyes slowly filling with fear as he realized that he was tied down.
"Wh-what?" He gasped, "Wh-where am I . . . what's going on?"
"Hey, calm down." Sam said, "Do you remember what happened to you?"
The young man stared at him blankly a few moments before understanding, followed by horror, finally dawned on his face and he began to tremble violently, tears welling up in his icy blue eyes. "You mean . . . you mean the –"
"- The murders," Dean finished, interrupting him. "The murders you committed."
The young man tensed as he saw the anger in Dean's eyes. "Look, wait, I couldn't stop myself, okay! It wasn't my fault. Someone – someone must've slipped something in my drink, and it made me into this – this bloodthirsty, murderous, abomination." He began to sob brokenly, "I couldn't help myself!"
"Despite your intentions, you're now a danger to yourself and everyone around you. There's no way we can allow you to keep living." Sam said in a near whisper.
The young man hung his head, shoulders shaking with sobs. However after a few moments he raised his head again, tears still streaming down his face, but his eyes were different now. Before where they'd been alight with fear and life now they were blank; dead and uncaring.
"Then k-kill me . . ." The young man gasped. "Please, just do it quickly."
The Doctor looked horrified.
"I don't want to hurt any more people," the young man begged, "So kill me, please."
Dean stepped forward, the hand in which he held his machete hanging loosely at his side. "One last thing, what's your name, kid?"
The young man sucked in a deep breath, letting his shoulders slump in defeat as he did. "Connor," he murmured finally. "My name is Connor."
Dean nodded, "Alright. Close your eyes, Connor. I promise, this'll be over quickly."
Connor swallowed hard and did as he was told, letting his eyes flutter shut as he tilted his bead back. In response Dean stepped closer and raised his machete, eyes as hard and unfeeling as Connor's had been just moments before.
"Don't -!" The Doctor tried, stepping forward, but Sam intercepted and held him back.
John, not wanting to see, turned his head away, and even Sherlock lowered his gaze. Castiel, however, watched the scene calmly, his eyes unblinking and steady as ever.
Crunch.
And then, just like that, it was all over.
X X X
After cleaning up the mess and disposing of the body, Castiel returned to the flat at 221b Baker Street, noting the depressed atmosphere that hung over the place the moment he stepped foot in the living room. It was an emotion that was still sort of alien to him, though – depression, that is – and he wondered if he'd missed something. They'd finished a hunt victoriously; they'd won. Why was there reason for everyone to be depressed?
"We won today." Castiel stated to the rest of the room's inhabitants, confused.
The Doctor threw a hard look his way. "I'm sorry, Cas. But this doesn't exactly feel like a victory to me."
"Maybe not a victory per se," Sam murmured, taking the liberty of replying for the confused angel. "But think of all the people we saved by stopping Connor, Doctor. And see, sometimes – especially in this line of work – you have to focus on the good things, no matter how small they are."
"Either that or you can just go insane with guilt," Dean interjected. "And I don't know about you, but I'd rather choose the former option, thank you."
"Still . . ." The Doctor murmured, his voice nearly a whisper.
Castiel put a hand on his shoulder, offering him a small smile. "Trust me, Doctor. It gets easier. It does."
The Doctor nodded. "All things do, in the end, I suppose."