A/N: Well first and foremost I would like to apologize for the delay in posting! Thanks for sticking with me, despite the length of time between chapters. Secondly I'd like to thank all of the reviewers for my last chapter - GotTheShining, Benigma, Halcyon Impulsion, LamiaJade, riquitv, irishgirl9, MontyPythonFan, nurplegurl and deangirl1 - you guys keep me going! Special thanks to Benigma and Halcyon Impulsion for their inquiries and support! Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving to all my Canucks out there!
Warnings: The usual smacking around of the one that we call Dean. If you've enjoyed (or withstood) the chapters before this one, than you know what you're getting into. If the prior content has offended in any way this story is probably not for you!
Coming to consciousness for Dean was often something new and different every morning. The familiarity that most experienced upon waking up in their own warm bed was something that for Dean, and for Sammy, had always been saved for occasional trips to Pastor Jim's or Bobby's. Although hotel rooms all seemed to share the same or similar qualities, especially within a Winchester budget, there was still something very different about each and every one of them; it was as if the people, or perhaps other presences, had irrevocably altered each space, causing it to take on a life of its own.
Dean and Sam could lay their heads down in the same hotel that they had been in before and only two rooms over, and it would still be a completely new experience.
So when Dean first began to wake, he fought against that partial sense of panic that was brought on by the unending rotation of unfamiliar surroundings, a feeling that he realized he would never get rid of and even less likely admit to Sam. Perhaps, in the end, it was this that was the only thing familiar about waking.
Something didn't feel right, though.
Something felt really, really wrong.
And if that growing sense of unease had not been enough to wake the hunter completely, the sudden excruciating pain that swallowed his entire upper body definitely was.
The hunter groaned, his eyes popping open in sluggish surprise. The pain was not momentary; fire in his arms and chest did not subside with the passing moments, nor his wakefulness.
Memories suddenly joined the assault on his senses, and he found himself a little afraid and a lot confused.
He had been chained up... there was a woman...
It took him a few seconds to remember what she had done to him but the powerful hate that he felt towards her was there initially.
Automatically he moved his hand to his face, the stiffness and afflictions proving it to be a slow and arduous task. It was a movement that took him an eternity to complete, and he slowly and self-consciously swiped at his mouth, remnants of dried blood caking his face.
He laid there for a moment, struggling to make sense of what he remembered happening. Warily he looked down at his arms. The angry cuts were still there. Before passing out, he had held the freshest two wounds as tight as he could against his body, attempting to stop the bleeding. It had been Myah's will, though, and if he wasn't so stubbornly set on getting out of there and spending his last few months left on Earth saving people, hunting things and enjoying time with his brother, it would have actually been tempting to let himself continue to bleed, just to spite her.
It's not like he had much time left, anyway.
Thinking about the woman who was beginning to make Dean's life a living Hell caused him to clench his jaw angrily. He was disturbed at this prison he was in. Was his sole purpose being locked up here just to provide some sort of sick treat? And if that were so, then why him?
Why did these things always happen to him?
Better me than Sam...
Dean let out a moan and closed his eyes. He hated not knowing how his brother was fairing. Had he fallen into the grasp of the psycho-angry-vampire too? Or was he out there, somewhere, searching for him?
When they got out of this one, Dean was sure that he was in store for a few quips about late night snacking...
The hunter found himself trying desperately to avoid that last straggling possibility, purposely left behind the crowd... the one that unpopularly whispered tales of Sam, broken and bleeding on the floor of an already stained hotel room carpet...
No, he told himself. There was no way.
A pang of regret and guilt bubbled up from inside, something that was always there and only sometimes dormant. He had already managed to get his brother killed once. He hadn't been there for Sam when he needed him, and for that Sammy had died. He refused to believe that his baby brother could be dead, once more, because of him. Despite everything Dean had done to rectify his mistakes.
And here he was, screwing up again. If Sam wasn't already in danger, then he was going to be. Because Sammy wouldn't stop until he found Dean.
Because Sammy was a much better brother than Dean was.
Dean snorted, annoyed with himself. How on Earth could he ever consider himself be so important? He was definitely not worth extra body count to get to... unless you counted the demon population, perhaps. No, of course Myah hadn't killed Sam to get to him. Sure, she seemed to know a lot about them, but plenty a vampire nest probably did.
"You need to learn to let go of Sam, Dean. Life's so much more painful when you're holding on to others. Especially when you don't have much of it left…"
The sentence had given Dean chills. He had lay there, on the cold floor, pressing his inner arms against his legs and chest, trying to stop the bleeding, shivering, trying not to concentrate on how that witch could have known that about him, how close those words had hit Dean deep down to the bone.
He felt more aware now, though. He knew better. He knew not to trust that which he hunted. Just a guess, he dismissed. Just a lucky guess...
It was much easier to believe that Sam was safe if he believed his blood-thirsty captor was faking.
And the little thought that worried him otherwise could just stay far behind with the pessimistic injured-or-dying Sam possibility. Far, far behind.
Dean was supposed to be good at pegging out the hidden agendas of those that they hunted. He was even talented at finding them in the people that they didn't hunt. It probably had somewhat to do with the fact that he naturally distrusted nearly everyone and everything, but even so, he just seemed to instinctually know the dark and dirty why behind ghoulish faces and pretend smiles.
But his newest adversary had him in the dark, both literally and figuratively.
And she must have put a lot of faith in his inability to move, now that he was no longer bound. He wasn't sure if this made him happy, or scared him. Perhaps the door just held a simple lock that he would be able to pick if given the right make-shift tool. Perhaps there was no way to pick a lock and it was bolted from the outside. Or perhaps it was just part of her twisted game, and visions of the movie Saw flew into Dean's brain. He had laughed at the film when he had seen it a few years back. Now he was hesitating at the thought of finding out what was waiting for him at the door...
It opened suddenly, an unfriendly metallic banging that caused Dean to jump, his scrutiny so intense that he irrationally wondered if he made it open.
But soon he was glaring up at Myah, and all thoughts were lost, save for those of loathing in its purest form.
She was not alone. A man followed behind her and Dean pulled details from his peripheral, his gaze unwavering from Myah's. The stranger had blond hair. Dark eyes. A few extra years on Dean. A few extra inches in height. A few extra pounds of muscle, too.
"I see that you've finally awaken," Myah said as she towered over him, hands on her hips. She flashed him a grin, and Dean noticed in a bemused state that her regular canines were also rather quite sharp.
All the better to eat you with... he thought to himself, giving her a rueful smirk in return.
"I'm so glad to see that you didn't bleed to death on me, Dean," the female vampire told him in a laced voice. "I knew that I chose a Winchester for a reason."
Dean flinched, but didn't answer. Right now, it would probably hurt to talk. Hell, with the hits to his head coupled with his unwilling blood donation, it even hurt to think. He concentrated on keeping his breathing even, instead.
She didn't seem to enjoy his silence, though, for she frowned. "What's the matter, Dean? Are you worrying about how much I know about you? Or why I chose you?" She paused. "You worried about widdle Sammy?"
She had hit the spot. Her captive's eyes flashed dangerously, but Dean forced himself not to humor her with a response.
Myah bent down and leaned over him, her face uncomfortably close to his. Dean's pulse began to quicken, against all his best efforts. Myah smiled, and Dean felt himself even more frustrated, more uneasy, knowing that she could probably hear his heart thudding against his chest, the blood gushing through his temples, thanks to her super vampire senses.
"You want to know why I picked you, Dean?" She questioned, trailing a nail not too gently along his jawline. He vehemently tried to move away, but she grabbed his jaw in her hand, forcing him to look at her. "Because you're cuter."
He made a move to shake her grasp, desperation disguised as defiance. A pinned-down dog at a kennel, about to take a shot. About to take the shot. She was too strong, and she laughed at his helplessness. Her fingers bit harder into his face. She moved closer, no longer smiling. Held him there, silence palpable and venomous, displaying her control over him.
Finally she pushed his head away, and it connected with the ground with enough force to cause him to see red momentarily. Myah got back to her feet and crossed her arms. A pause. A smile. "Besides," she began, and paced around him a little. "You'd be a fool to want to tick off the demons on Sam's tail."
Dean blinked at the ceiling. He was beginning to feel like his silence was a weakness, and that was a word that he chose to omit from his vocabulary. "So you picked damaged goods instead?" A statement, not quite a question. Meant to confuse.
To Dean's surprise, Myah was not thrown off by what he had said. Instead, she just laughed. "Oh, you mean your deal?" She stopped her movements and glared down at him again. Mockingly. "I already know about your deal, Dean."
For this, he had no words. Only a sick feeling deep in his gut.
She laughed again, reveling in his reaction. "I'm sorry dear… am I interrupting your last precious moments on God's green earth?" A quick flick of the hand had her fingers entwined in his short, tussled hair. She tugged, causing the hunter to wince. "Well that's just too bad."
After another prominent look—a moment that lasted forever as Dean seethed at her, nostrils flaring, expecting the curved blade to flash in front of his eyes at any second—she let him go.
Myah stood up, glanced at the man who had followed her in, and nodded her head towards Dean.
The stranger took a step up from behind her, and it was then that Dean noticed the tray in his hands. The man bent down and set it in front of the hunter; on the rusty metal platter sat a delicate china plate filled with mashed potatoes and tiny steamed vegetables. As if on cue, Dean suddenly realized how hungry he was, and had no idea how long it had been since he'd eaten last.
No way he was eating this, though.
His eyes rose from the plate to Myah, whose own eyes had been on him the whole time.
"Eat it." She declared, her voice cold.
Dean frowned. "What, you mean, someone else gets feeding time for once?" He snarled.
"Eat it." She said again, her voice dropping slightly lower.
Dean narrowed his eyes and raised his chin in defiance. As hungry as he was, he wasn't about to trust this vampire—this wench—on any level. For all he knew, the food was poisoned, and he was not about to take that chance.
Not when Sam was going to find him soon.
"Dean, you eat your food or I'll make you eat it." Her voice held no nonsense, no trace of a lie.
Dean swallowed, wavering… he had felt the wrath of that tone of voice before. But still he didn't move.
"Sebastian." Her voice was directed to the stranger, whose dark eyes also held nothing but a serious determination. The blond stepped forward, and before Dean had the chance to flinch, the man knelt down and grabbed Dean's forehead. The man's other hand found its way to Dean's chin, and he began to slowly and painfully pry the hunter's mouth open.
Dean began to thrash, but once again his strength held no pull on what seemed to be another vampire.
Myah stooped over and picked up the plate from its antique-like tray. With heels clicking along the stone floor, she stepped up to the two men on the floor, and knelt down on the other side of Dean. She tisked. "You should have listened to me, Dean," her voice held some pity, some amusement. "You should always listen to me."
With those words, she grabbed a handful of mashed potatoes with her bare hand and shoved it in Dean's open mouth. The pinned hunter let out a strangled cry, trying to spit and to not choke. Before he had the chance to work the food out with this tongue, she shoved some more into his mouth, and Sebastian forced his mouth closed.
Dean's eyes widened in alarm even before Myah's fingers pinched off his nose. He began gagging and fought not to breathe in the clumpy, foreign substance in his mouth.
"Swallow or suffocate, Dean." Her voice stated it like a simple truth, just one of Sammy's random trivia facts that floated in the boy's brain, uselessly expelled upon occasion in the Impala. Dean was beginning to choke, his head and lungs beginning to hurt without the aid of oxygen. He tried to calm himself, to stop his legs from kicking. He tried to swallow the damn food.
The cement-like texture of the potatoes did nothing to ease his choking. He swallowed, eyes clenched shut in pain, and swallowed again. It wasn't until Myah was satisfied that he had no more food in his mouth did she let go of his nose. Sebastian followed suit, both hands dropping from the hunter's face.
Dean gasped for air, inhaling specks of leftover vegetable but he didn't care; he wheezed and coughed, unable to get enough oxygen for what he had lacked in just a few seconds that seemed like forever. Suddenly he felt a burning sensation at the back of his throat and he hastily rolled over onto his hands and knees, continuing to cough until the familiar sting of bile reached his mouth and he was throwing up.
Myah and Sebastian had stood up and away from the display, watching with amusement and disgust respectively as the hunter wretched up the fresh contents of his stomach onto the floor in front of them.
Dean continued to be ill for a full minute before feebly pushing himself away and against the wall. He shuddered, and although too weak to hold his head high, his eyes glared up at his captors with hate and humiliation, his face holding some color for the first time in a while as he flushed. Tears fell from his eyes and onto his freckled cheeks from the strain of heaving, and he couldn't stop his lungs from continuing to hitch.
Myah let out a sinister laugh. God, how he loathed her laugh, and the sharp grating on his insides that it caused. "I told you Dean," she smiled, placing the plate back onto the tray, "you should listen to me. I know what's best for you." She pushed the tray towards Dean with her toe. "Now eat."
His head snapped up at her in surprise, wide hazel eyes alight with disbelief and fear.
She nodded at him, the smile falling from her face once more. "I mean it."
Dean swallowed hard, already fighting with the food once more before it even came close to him. He was scared of getting sick, scared of giving in. But mostly he was scared of the helplessness of what had just happened, and of being forced to repeat it.
He dropped his eyes, and with a shaking hand reached over to spoon up some mashed potatoes with his fingers. He gagged and closed his eyes, commanding himself to regain control of his senses, over the situation. Just a few bites and they would leave.
He shoved the portion in his mouth and swallowed without thinking, without breathing. Told it to stay in his stomach. Begged it not to be poisoned… He opened his hazel eyes once more and glanced up at his captors.
Please, no more...
She just watched him expectantly. Didn't move. He reached out again. Forced another bit into his mouth. Swallowed without gagging.
The woman vampire nodded at him with what seemed to be approval. Maybe even a little bit of pride. She then nodded at Sebastian, who stooped and picked up the tray and left the cell. She turned to follow her cohort, the sharp details of her jacket spinning as she did so.
"Good boy." She said over her shoulder as she left the cell with a clang.
God how he hated those words.
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