CHAPTER 27

Bobby had known Sam since he was about three years old. The kid had been small for his age but made up for it with energy and managed to get whatever he wanted from the gruff mechanic by simply blinking those sad, puppy-dog eyes from under the shock of dark brown hair that he adamantly refused to let John cut. He had made himself right at home at Singer Auto Salvage the first time John Winchester had shown up on the doorstep, injured from a hunt and needing a place to crash with his two sons for a few days. Little Sammy had been the embodiment of curiosity, getting into every nook and cranny in both the house and the yard, followed like a shadow by the ever watchful Dean. The seven year old boy was much quieter and shyer than Sam but equally curious, though he learned more from observing than asking.

A thirty-something Bobby had been caught off-guard by his immediate and deep affection for the two boys and through the years, that had never lessened. He felt like he knew them better than they knew themselves and thought of them as nothing short of real sons.

Watching Sam yank the captured vampire up roughly and rework its chains around the old chair in the back of the van, however, was giving Bobby chills. Sam had always been the more outwardly sensitive one, his emotions a constant adornment on his sleeve. He had always questioned the blurry moral line hunters often found themselves straddling, never willing to come anywhere near it, let alone cross it. In fact, Sam's huge heart and gentle nature had made Bobby a little skeptical fifteen minutes ago, thinking the kid might be more hindrance than help during this unpleasant task. He had been prepared to do most of it himself, sparing Sam the guilt that would surely follow. But the young man didn't seem bothered in the least.

Sam didn't hang back or let the more experienced hunter take the lead; he simply secured the vampire forcefully, took a step back to dip a knife into one of the jars of dead man's blood, and sliced the vampire across the leg through his jeans. Only then did he remove the gag.

"Okay, now you know I mean business," Sam said, his words cold and threatening. He waited until the vampire stopped screaming before dipping the knife back in the jar and placing it against the vampire's cheek. "How do we find Diego?"

The vampire looked terrified already. "I don't know, I don't know," he gushed, throwing a pleading glance in Bobby's direction. Bobby swallowed, Sam's calculating and emotionless face bothering him far more than the screams of the vampire.

"Wrong answer," Sam snapped and pressed the blade into the vampire's skin, drawing blood and letting the dead man's blood soak into the wound. "How do we find Diego?"

"I swear, I don't know!" the vampire pleaded, gasping in pain. His fangs appeared when he cried out as the knife slashed a long, shallow gash across his face and he snarled up at his tormentor.

"What do you know?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know anything!" the vampire hissed, his eyes now narrow and glaring, showing the nature of the monster within. Sam sliced him again without even flinching.

"He's over two thousand years old!" the prisoner offered, sounding desperate, his words tumbling over one another. "I met him once about ten years ago. He's evil, like seriously evil, even on a vampire scale. That's all I know!"

"Not good enough," Sam shook his head, at least rewarding the vampire's efforts by refraining from cutting this time. "Diego has a friend of mine and I need to know where he's taken her," he explained.

The vampire looked genuinely disheartened. "How would I know?" he asked meekly, his face screwed up in pain from the poison seeping into in his open wounds. "Like I said, I met him once years ago."

Sam opened another gash in the vampire's thigh and placed the jar over it, letting drops of the dead man's blood drip slowly into it. The vampire threw his head back and howled blood-curling screams mixed with savage growls of rage and pain. Sam waited calmly until the noise subsided before he leaned over the vampire, his face hovering just inches away from the bound creature. "You'd better start being more helpful," he said as if scolding a child.

Bobby swallowed again, unable to tear his eyes from Sam at work much like he might feel compelled to stare at a gory accident on the highway. He knew Sam and Dean had captured and 'questioned' a few demons in the weeks before Dean's deal had been up in an effort to find out who held Dean's contract and then, once they knew it was Lilith, in an effort to find the bitch. Heck, he'd also been doing the same thing. But he didn't see how a few sessions of tossing Holy Water at a demon could possibly turn Sam into this. The kid seemed heartless, completely devoid of emotion. Either he was just a really good actor, or he had tapped into a dark side Bobby never would have imagined existed. Not in Sam. Sammy. The kid with the floppy bangs that used to bring wounded gophers back to Bobby's house to patch up. Growing up as he had, Sam had never been squeamish at the sight of blood but this was a whole new level of cold. What the Hell had the boy been up to during Dean's tour downstairs? How could someone change that much in four months?

But despite the horror and the bad feeling in his intuitive gut, Bobby had to admit that if the vampire knew anything, Sam would surely get the information out of him. Better him than Dean right now. So he didn't interfere. Sam had told him how much this girl meant to his brother and Bobby had heard the truth of those words in Dean's voice when the elder Winchester had called and asked him to come and help. It was clear the girl meant something to Sam also and neither of these boys deserved any more heartache than they had already been dealt. So for now, he would let this new Sam do what was necessary, though it broke his heart to watch it.

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Dean pulled out of the parking lot of the motel with a heavy heart, not liking the prospect of having to torture someone again, vampire or not. He would do what it took, however, to find Tasha, and would deal with the consequences later. He had barely reached the main road when he pulled his phone out and called Sam, suggesting he and Bobby head to the abandoned field they had noticed not far from the motel that seemed to have become a dumping ground for old cars and fridges. They shouldn't be bothered there and would be free to make all the noise they wanted. He told him he'd meet them there in a while and hung up.

He decided not to bother with the morgue because getting in and out of there with large quantities of dead man's blood would be tricky, especially since the Medical Examiner there had met him already as Agent Plant, the FBI guy whose partner had been sleeping with his girlfriend. Instead he headed towards Grime's Bar. Tasha's car was there and she was always very well stocked up on dead man's blood. He could also check on Roar and his crew while he was there, maybe give them a little push to try harder because Tasha's time was quickly running out.

The bar was quiet when he pulled up with just four bikes sitting outside, presumably the four belonging to Roar, Two-Bit, Shank, and Paul, the ones who had been unfortunate enough to have seen Dirt's phantom Ironhorse and be next on his hit list. They had been hiding out at the bar ever since their sightings, thinking they would be safe there. Dean knew better but didn't feel the need to tell them right now since he couldn't destroy Dirt until the bikers had found Tasha. Right now he needed the gang's help.

He walked over to the red Fiero, which was still parked where the brunette had left it almost a day ago. He dug around in his pocket for her keys and opened the trunk. The Fiero had its motor in the back so there was just a tiny trunk space behind the rear lights. He dug around but all he could find was her clothes duffle and a small shovel. He kept looking and saw a small cloth bag tucked away at each side of the trunk. Curious, he pulled one out and peeked inside to find it was a spirit-repulsion bag, most often used in ridding a house of a poltergeist. He replaced it and went around to the front of the car.

Under the hood was the spare tire and some additional storage space. It was here that Dean found Tasha's weapons stash. She had shotguns, handguns, a large assortment of knives, holy water, rosaries, charms, amulets and finally, three large cooler flasks of what he was sure was dead man's blood. He took them out and placed them on the ground before slamming the hood shut.

He stepped back and looked at the car. It was an '86 notchback, a small sports car from Pontiac that had seen a limited time on the assembly line but had somehow found a cult following of sorts in the years since it was discontinued. He had made fun of it, naturally, but he had noticed when he'd taken a peek at the motor that it was an 8 cylinder and had to admit, if Tasha got a set of decent rims, a new paint job, and did a little fine-tuning to the motor, it wouldn't be a half bad ride. Well, for a chick anyway.

A new wave of worry for the missing girl struck him as he stood looking at her car. Without thinking, he opened the door and sank into the driver's seat, closing his eyes for a second as he took in the smell. It smelled like Tash. How the hell a car could smell like a woman, he couldn't explain, but it did. He felt closer to her as he opened his eyes and looked around. This is where she had spent much of her time, this was her space, much like the Impala was Dean's.

She had a Devil's Trap drawn on the roof above the seats along with an assortment of South American anti-spirit symbols that he remembered her explaining to Sam one day back when they had all been traveling together. She had claimed they could physically hurt a spirit much like iron did. He noticed another two cloth bags on the dash, one tucked into each corner much like the ones in the trunk and couldn't help but smile when he realized she had her car ghost-proofed.

Tasha was a good hunter. He had always thought she was smart and capable enough for hunting. She was more cautious than he and Sam were but that was probably a good thing. She'd have to be more cautious, he supposed, because she was lighter and smaller than they were. Faster maybe, but weaker. It was harder for her to confront monsters with supernatural strength than it was for the large Winchester men with their superior size and strength. He felt nothing but pride and respect when he thought of her hunting ability. She had hunted alone since she was eighteen, for six years now. Dean had always had his father or Sam or both; he'd only ever done a few hunts by himself. He couldn't imagine being alone for six years.

His heart sank as he thought about it because now, if he didn't find her, she was going to die alone also.

He reached over and opened the glove compartment. He found a large .45 that seemed way too big for a girl of her stature but chuckled, knowing she could pull it off. He flipped open the registry book and smiled at the car's Kentucky ownership papers. Natasha Dunn. She had been so proud to have a car almost-legally registered in her name. That little piece of normal. He still found himself amazed at how every hunter craved some part of 'normal, apple pie', even though most would deny it through the teeth. Since his return topside, even he'd been thinking about it more than he ever had before.

He was about to close the booklet when he noticed something else. The corners of a couple of small photos caught his eye and he pulled them out from behind the car's documents.

They were wallet size and printed on Wal-Mart photo paper, the grainy quality indicating they were taken from a cell phone camera. The first was a close-up picture of him, leaning against what he thought must be the Impala, looking off into the distance. The corners were creased and the edges worn, making it clear she handled the photo often. He thought again of the cold words he had spoken to her last night and a lump of regret formed in his throat.

The second photo was of him and Sam. They were sitting on the hood of the Impala laughing and drinking beer, completely oblivious that their photo was being taken. He couldn't help but notice the deep laugh lines around his brother's mouth and the merry glint in his eyes. He hadn't seen those things since he got back.

God, he missed those things.

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Sam decided things weren't moving fast enough. It had been almost forty minutes and they knew nothing of Diego that could possibly help Tasha. He was beginning to worry that the vampire really didn't know anything else. He asked Bobby if there were any syringes around, grinning devilishly at the vampire while he did so. Bobby nodded and, although Sam thought he detected a vague hint of disapproval in the older man's eyes, the mechanic moved to rummage through a couple of bags at the back of the van.

He ignored the look. Bobby didn't know Tasha; he didn't care for her like Sam and Dean did, so he couldn't understand just how much was at stake here. That and Bobby was a softie. He was all tough and mean on the outside, but Sam had known the man practically his whole life and knew that Bobby cared about everything very deeply and was practically a cuddly teddy bear under his greasy, gruff exterior.

Sam knew what he was doing. He and Ruby had tortured countless demons trying to find out where Lilith was and what her plans were. Ruby had coached him through the first couple of times, showing him how to use his powers to inflict pain before he exorcized the demons. He could still feel the thrum of the couple of mouthfuls of Ruby's blood that he had swallowed earlier, when Dean had gone to take a leak not long before Bobby had called to say he was in town.

There was a time when he would have felt sorry for the vamp chained to a chair in front of him. He once thought torturing something for any reason would make them as bad as the things they killed, that it was a tool used only by the sadistic and the evil. How naive he had once been.

He had given Lenore and her vegetarian-vampire pack a chance, had helped her get away from Gordon Walker because he believed that she could fight this terrible thing that was done to her, this beast she had lurking inside of her, but after what had happened a few days ago with the Rugaru, Sam worried that he had made the wrong decision. He'd been gullible and naïve. If Lenore finally gave in to the urges and killed someone, that would be on his head.

Bobby handed him the syringe and he dipped it into the jar of dead man's blood and pulled the plunger back slowly.

Can you fight your nature? Can you overcome a darkness inside? A physical evil running through your veins? Like the demon blood that ran through his veins? Sam had seen the way Dean had been looking at him since Cas had zapped the elder Winchester back in time and the Yellow-Eyed demon had described dripping demon blood into baby Sam's mouth. Dean had been treating him like he was the Rugaru, like he was on the verge of turning darkside. In fact, after catching him using his powers, it was almost as if Dean felt he had already turned darkside. Dean's hurtful words still rang through his mind.

'Do you even know how far off the reservation you've gone? How far from normal? From human? If I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you.'

He jabbed the head of the syringe deep into a gaping leg wound on the vampire and squeezed the plunger down hard, his lips pulling into a tight snarl as he felt the liquid shoot out. The confined space of the van filled with a deafening shriek and the tall hunter stood back, tilting his head sideways in discomfort at the volume.

Damnit, why couldn't his brother see he was saving people? Doing what he had to do to get rid of the demons without killing the meatsuit? Just like now. He was doing what he needed to do to save Tasha. He was doing this so his brother didn't have to.

He looked down at the vampire, whose head had slumped forward on his chest.

"Shit," was all Sam said as he grabbed the man by the hair and jerked his head upwards.

The prisoner's eyes were open, though barely. Sam smiled. "Thought we'd lost you there, Fang-boy," he jeered.

Less than two minutes later, Sam finally got something useful out of the vampire. The creature's shirt was cut to ribbons and pleading, whimpering sounds were escaping between his shallow, gaspy breaths. "Okay, okay," he whispered. "I only know one more thing and I'll tell you but you have to promise to let me go."

Sam let a drip swell slowly on the tip of his blade, watching with a blank expression as it reached its limit and broke free, dripping into the cut on the vampire's cheek. "Okay," he agreed nonchalantly.

"You promise?"

"Yup."

The vampire looked over to Bobby for assurance, who silently nodded his agreement to the terms.

"Okay" the vampire gave in wearily. "Diego's a vampire, but he's also a witch."

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Dean climbed out of the Fiero and closed the door quietly, his insides twisted in knots of increasing fear and worry. He put the flasks of dead man's blood in the Impala and went inside the bar to see Roar.

The room was filled with cigarette smoke and Dean waved his hand through the heavy air, figuring the three bikers in the room had to be chain smokers. The guy Dean thought was called Two-Bit was asleep on a bench in the far corner, the big guy Paul was sitting behind the bar concentrating on a notebook in his hands, and Roar was standing at a table, pouring over his map quadrants.

Dean was heartened to see they were at least still making an effort to find Tasha.

"Any luck?" he asked, nodding a greeting to Roar, who looked up when he walked in.

The stocky biker shook his head. "Nothin' yet."

Dean sighed, moving over to stand next to Roar and look down at the map. He knew he should get going but torturing the vampire could surely wait a few minutes. He was dreading having Bobby and Sam see him in action.

Roar pulled himself upright and folded his arms over his chest. "So," he asked cheerily. "Natasha, she your woman?"

"Uh, no, actually," Dean admitted. "She, uh…she used to be."

Roar chuckled. "I get it. You fucked up."

Actually I died. Dean didn't bother explaining.

"Don't worry man," Roar said encouragingly. "I got almost fifty riders out there now. We'll find her."

"Yeah maybe," Dean sighed, trying not to get discouraged. "Question is – when? Every minute Diego's got his hands on her…"

The gang leader snorted. "I got the impression she was a tough one," he offered. "She'll hold out."

Dean just nodded, not so sure. Yes, Tasha was tough, but Dean knew more than anyone what being tortured was like, what it could do to a person and what it took from them. It made him sick to his stomach to think of her enduring even five minutes of that fear and pain and it had been over twenty hours now.

Roar was chuckling to himself as if at some private joke. "You know," he said finally, evidently deciding to share, "That chick had the nerve to pull a Glock on me in my own bar. With my men right outside the door."

Dean narrowed his eyes at the stocky man. "You must have done something to deserve it," he accused.

Roar laughed out loud this time and slapped Dean on the back. "Well, I did make a suggestion she might have deemed a tad inappropriate," he admitted. "Still, that takes balls."

Dean allowed himself a huff of laughter at the thought; he could well imagine what the suggestion had been and could picture Tasha's pissed off reaction vividly.

"We'll find her," Roar repeated, sounding confident.

There was a long pause. Dean shuffled his feet, trying to force himself to get back in the car and go meet Sam and Bobby.

"So you and your brother and Natasha, you do this for a living?" Roar asked, looking genuinely curious. "Chase ghosts?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, pretty much. Been doin' it my whole life."

"The money good?"

The hunter couldn't help but let out a loud snort. "I don't think there's a hunter alive that does this for the money," he told the biker. "Most of the time people don't even know they've been saved."

Roar gave him an incredulous look. "What the fuck do you do it for then?"

Dean just shrugged. He didn't know the answer to that question. He used to know. He used to do it for his family, as a family, to be with his family. He used to consider himself lucky that he got to save people and be a hero, even if he didn't get the credit. Hunting gave him purpose. When Sam left for Stanford and Dean's world splintered, it was hunting that kept him going. When their Dad had disappeared, it was hunting that brought the brothers back together. That was when things really started falling apart. His dad died. Sam died. He died. And it all had to do with the hunting life.

And now it looked like might be Tasha's turn to die.

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Dean made it to the field less than forty-five minutes after leaving Sam and Bobby at the motel and spotted Bobby's old van parked near the middle in between a couple of abandoned, derelict cars. He stopped the Impala at the edge of the field, not wanting to risk puncturing his tires and made his way to the van carrying the three flasks of dead man's blood. He could hear a man's screaming as he approached.

What the hell? Did they start without him?

He picked up the pace and yanked the back van door open. Bobby was standing at the back and almost tumbled out when the door swung out behind him, but Dean hardly noticed. His gaze had fallen on his little brother slowly dragging a blade across the vampire's collarbone.

"He must have some friends? Other vamps he hangs out with?" Sam was yelling at the screaming prisoner. "You gotta give us something!" He stopped and looked up when light flooded the van and Dean didn't miss the reproachful look Sam threw at Bobby when he noticed Dean standing there.

Dean swallowed. He took in the bloody mess the vampire was in and the thick but familiar stench of blood wafting out the van doors into the hot afternoon air.

Jesus, did Sam do that?

"You started without me?" he managed, trying to come to terms with the fact that his little Sammy seemed to be vying for the coveted position of Alistair's apprentice.

"Yeah, Bobby had some dead man's blood after all," Sam shrugged, reaching for a machete on the van floor. Before Dean could say 'boo', the younger Winchester swung the large blade in a sweeping sideways arc and separated the vampire's head from his body.

Dean just stood on the grass, the van door still held open in his hand and a horrified look on his face.

Sam noticed it and mistook it as Dean's suppressed memories of his suffering in Hell rearing their ugly heads. After all, Dean had never been squeamish. He ushered Bobby out of the van and jumped out himself, nudging Dean away from the door so he could slam it shut. He picked up two shovels that had been left on the grass for when their work was done and handed one to Dean.

"We weren't getting any more outta him," Sam assured his brother simply as he sliced the shovel into a soft-looking patch of dirt. "Let's get him buried."

Dean threw Bobby a glance, purposefully avoiding the younger Winchester's eyes, and noticed the grizzled older hunter actually seemed a bit pale. It was obvious who had done the interrogating. Where had this new side of Sam come from?

Dean knew that the capacity to turn into a monster dwelt within himself; he had been one for ten years downstairs. Hell, with only a quick glimpse of the sliced-up vampire, he could see at least ten untouched spots that would have been more effective. He would have sliced between the fingers and toes, across the arches of the feet, crushed the knees, pushed spikes into the armpits…

Godamnit. He had that potential, but not Sam. Please not Sam. Sam had always been so sensitive, so firm on that moral line and so against unnecessary violence. So compassionate and caring. Heck, the kid had quit hunting to be a civilian for years, had wanted nothing more than a house and a job and a wife, maybe even two point five kids. What had happened since then? What had happened in the four months Dean had been gone? He thought of the Yellow-Eyed demon's taunting words after he had made his crossroads deal.

'How certain are you that what you brought back is one hundred percent pure Sam?'

He dug his shovel into the dirt next to the small hole his brother had started. "You uh, you certainly went to town," he ground out.

Sam shrugged. "Had to Dean; he's our only lead."

"I know, but Jesus… I just wouldn't expect this of you." He regretted the words as soon as they were out. Just a couple of days ago Sam had chewed him out for being insensitive about Sam's whole demon-blood thing, for looking at him like he was about to go Vader. He didn't have it in him to get into this debate again now.

"I did it for Tasha," Sam defended. "If we're gonna find her, we gotta play hardball. You're not the only one worried about her, you know. I'm willing to do anything for her too."

"Or to her, apparently," Dean mumbled, again regretting the comment as soon as he had made it. He had been prepared to torture the vampire for Tasha's sake also. He had been willing to cross that line. He couldn't really blame Sam; in fact, he should be grateful he'd been spared the dirty work.

Sam gave him his patented huff of disapproval but didn't say anything.

"So, what did we find out?" Dean asked finally, changing the subject.

"That this Diego's a witch," Bobby informed him.

Dean looked up sharply. "A witch?"

"And a vamp," Bobby confirmed.

"That would maybe explain the Jedi powers," Dean said skeptically. "But where does Diego being a he-witch get us? How does this help us find him?"

Bobby shrugged. "That was pretty much all the intel the vamp had."

Sam kept shoveling and didn't look up. "There's one person who might know," he said quietly.

Dean practically growled. "You mean demon, Sam, not person. She's not human."

"No, but she was a witch, remember? Can't hurt if I just ask her."

Bobby watched the pair digging and shook his head, wondering why they just couldn't seem to see eye to eye on anything these days. It didn't take a genius to figure out they were talking about Ruby.

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A/N: Okay, kind of a dark chapter for Sam, I know, but this is season 4 now and he is drinking demon blood. Hope I did him justice – he always had good intentions, even if his judgment was clouded by the d-juice. Some action with the ghostbike next chapter - so stay tuned. I hope you're all still enjoying and, as usual, I would love to know what you thought of this chapter.