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The place Vicky called home was a small, badly-kept house in the depths of the council homes in the city. Paint was flaking off the windows and doors, and the bricks were crumbling in some places or covered in graffitti in others. Cracked tiles teetered dangerously on the roof, threatening to fall at any moment. It was sandwiched between two other houses which barely looked any different and had a tiny font garden littered with sqaushed cans and takeaway food boxes. As Sam got out of the car someone yelled at them from across the road and he glanced up. A small gang of yobs had turned the corner and were hooting and shouting at them, making rude gestures as they did so. Dean scowled angrily at them as he reached Sam's side, a rucksack hanging from his hand and a duffel bag draped over his shoulder.
"Nice place," he muttered. "You think we'll be introduced to her smiling sweet grandma, warm cookies held aloft any time soon?"
Sam shook his head and turned to follow Opium and Vicky, who were at the door of the house. They had completely ignored the yobs in a sullen, bored manner as if they encountered such people every day. Probably did, thought Sam. He and Dean trapised up the overgrown path to the front door, Dean kicking tins out of his way, Sam stepping carefully over them as if worried that in disturbing them he might mortally offend someone. Neither of them had ever been invited into a vampire nest before. Sure, Sam had been dragged into one gagged and bound once, and both of them had snuck into nests to hunt before, but this was completely different. A) this time they were being invited and B) this time they were coming to see a human and a vampire living together in apparent peace. Sam could practically taste the confusion and wary vibes spiralling off Dean, and was sure that his brother could sense his own uncertainty just as much. He forced a smile, muttering under his breath as they neared the door.
"What do you think Dad would say if he could see us now?"
Dean snorted. "I dunno, maybe 'get the hell back in the car and let me deal with killing the vampires you idiots'?"
Sam sniggered, shaking his head. "I guess so."
Vicky got the door open and human and vampire stepped inside. Sam wet his lips as the door swung shut behind him, a soft click sealing him inside. No way back now. Forcing himself to act natrually, he looked around.
Whatever he had been expecting - stone walls, coffins, bottles of blood stashed against the walls? - it was not this. The whole of the first floor was open in one huge room which was a combination of a kitchen, living room and dining room. The furniture was shabby but surprisingly comfy-looking and clean. But it was not the furniture that caught at Sam's attention. The walls were plastered with black and white photographs, some so anicent that they had turned brown and were faded and wrinkled with age. In one corner stood a huge bust of the head and shoulders of a woman, vaugely resembling a greek goddess but with peircings all the way down the side of her face. Spattered out across the coffee table was a combination of dry and wet clay, some larger peices wrapped in thick wet towels, some thinner projects cemented to the wood as they dried.
Sam had no idea what to make of it all, and from the stunned, blank expression on Dean's face neither did his brother.
Opium made his way forwards and dragged the clay-covered coffee table away to put it against the wall. Vicky, who had moved the the cupboard under the stairs, returned with two sleeping bags under her arms and dumped them on the sofa. Dean instantly raced forwards to claim the sofa, dumping the second sleeping bag on the floor to make it clear where Sam was going to be sleeping. Partly out of interest and partly to give himself something to do, Sam let his bags fall and stepped closer to the wall to examine the photographs. In one or two he could see a woman who vaguley resembled Vicky, a man who shared a likeness in the nose or eyes, a girl who had the same build. He glanced over his shoulder at Vicky, who was dusting off her hands and shooting Opium meaningful looks - the vampire had retreated to the kitchen table and was sitting there in a stubborn silence.
"Are all these people related to you?" he asked.
Vicky looked up and then smiled. She moved over to him. "Yes. That man over there is my father and the woman next to him is my mother. They're kind of family heirlooms - I'm the last one left and so they all ended up with me."
Sam didn't know whether to appear interested or sorry for her obvious losses. To save them from an awkward silence, he quickly pointed at one of the few colour photographs in the room.
"Is this a cousin? She looks exactly like you."
"That was my twin sister," Vicky said matter-of-factly. "She was bitten by a vampire two years ago. I met Opium a few months after that."
Desperate not to dig this hole any deeper, Sam adopted a bright tone. "Well, you've still got her, then."
"She was killed by hunters four weeks after she was bitten," Vicky replied softly.
Sam's stomach plunged away. All he managed was a stuttered, "Oh" before turning and quickly making a beeline for Dean, who was setting up his bed on the sofa. He busied himself with his bags, determind not to look at either of the strangers.
"Right," Vicky said brightly, her voice ringing through the silent room. "I'm going to bed. You guys make yourself comfortable. Opium...?"
"I'll be up in a minute," he muttered, his voice almost inaudiable.
Sam and Dean exchanged a quick glance. So now they actually slept in the same bed together? How the hell did he get past the bloodlust? Vicky made her way up the stairs, and Dean looked over at Opium.
"You just gonna sit there, huh?"
Opium looked slowly at him, and then got up and moved away to retrieve a beer from the fridge before returning to his place at the table. Dean looked down at Sam, arching one eyebrow. Discreetly he reached over to his pillow and lifted it to reveal a rocksalt rifle, a silver knife and a flask of what looked like dead man's blood. For once, Sam didn't reproach him. With a vampire sitting up just a few meters away from them, he would feel much safer if his brother was armed. He gave Dean a small nod and retrieved a knife to slide under his own pillow.
Just in case.
The Impala shuddered to a halt and Sam scrambled out of the passenger seat. He looked around, gasping for breath as if he had just run a mile. No Dean. He whirled back to look at the car and saw instead a sharp cliff falling away before his feet. About two meters below him, a small ledge jutted out from the rock, amazingly flat and smooth. Dean was standing on the edge of the ledge, staring down into the darkness and nothingness below. He kicked at a stone and it flew over the edge. As it fell the darkness turned to a rushing, roaring river rapids, spiked with rocks, crawling with demons and evil.
Panic lanced through Sam and he threw himself forwards, almost stumbling over the edge of the cliff in his haste. His shout tore from his throat like sandpaper.
"Dean! Dean get off the rock its gonna break! DEAN!"
Dean looked up at him slowly. Blood was trickling from his lip. Was he hurt? What the hell had happened? Sam lay down on his stomach and threw out his arms, reaching for his brother.
"Dean, take my hand! I'll pull you up!"
Dean didn't move; he simply surveyed Sam's hands with a vauge interest in his eyes.
"Dean!" Sam cried again desperately. "Dean, please! Please!"
He did not know why it was so terrible that Dean was down there. All he knew was that something bad was going to happen, and he had to do something. He had to save Dean. Without Dean he would fall apart....
Dean blinked, and his eyes turned silver. Long, delicate fangs slipped out of his jaw, and his hands curled into claw-like grips. Sam froze in horror, his mouth agape in disbelief. Dean grinned at him.
"Take the plunge, Sammy," he said, taking a step backwards. Then he was stepping into the empty air and plummetting down, down, down, and somehow Sam was falling with him spiralling through slamming into the icy water so hard that his very skin seemed to rip away from his bones, his heart tore into peices and the demons in the water dived into his soul leaving inky black stains...
Sam sat bolt upright, panting hard, his whole body shaking wildly. Sweat clung to his skin and clothes and the sleeping bag was tangled around his body. He fought free of it, gasping for air as if he had been winded and staggered to his feet, swaying giddily. He couldn't see Dean... where was Dean... where was he...
The ground suddenly rushed up towards him and white dots exploded in front of his vision. He flung out his hands automatically - and strong arms closed around his chest and dragged him upright again, holding him steady. Sam hung limply in the figure's grip, shakily forcing in deep breaths to clear his throbbing head.
"D-Dean?" he groaned.
"You want me to wake him?"
Sam's fumbling mind slowly took in that it was not Dean who had replied. He forced his eyes open and squinted through the dancing dots before his vision, managing to make out Opium standing just behind him, still supporting him. He looked down and saw Dean fast asleep on the sofa, his mouth hanging open, soft snores growling from his throat. Sam blinked slowly, trying to make sense of the images.
"Sam?"
Sam shook his head quickly and moaned as pain errupted in his head. Opium sighed irritably.
"C'mon," he muttered, and Sam felt himself being dragged backwards.
He would have struggled, but his head was hurting so much that he barely understood which direction he was going in. Opium suddenly deposited him in a chair and moved away. Sam cradelled his head in his hands, concentrating on breathing evenly. He vaugely recognized the sound of running water, and then a cup appeared before him.
"Thanks," he said weakly, reaching for it and taking a sip. "S'probably just... just my... head... concussion..."
Opium huffed and sat down opposite him, picking up his beer again. Sam took a few more gulps of water until the pain in his head reluctantly began to receed. He lowered the glass and looked up at Opium, suddenly embarressed. The vampire was pointedly avoiding his gaze. Sam wiped at the sweat on his forehead, suddenly aware of how terrible he must look.
"Sorry about that," he said hesitantly. "It was just a... a dream."
"Just a dream, huh?" Opium glanced at him with cool, silvery eyes. "Could have fooled me."
Sam flushed and looked away, biting his lip. More than anything he wanted to talk to someone about the twisted dreams that were destroying his sleep, but a cold-shouldered vampire was certainly not his first choice. He searched for a change of subject, and said the first thing that came into his head.
"So... how long have you been a fang?"
Opium regarded him icily, and Sam felt his insides shrink away. He quickly grabbed his cup and took another few gulps. He almost choked on it when Opium spoke - he had expected the vampire to remain silent until Sam gave up and went back to bed.
"I was a selfish, greedy fool."
Sam blinked at him owlishly. "Oh. That's..." he couldn't think of a decent response. "Why do you say that?" he asked at last.
Opium leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the table. He surveyed his bottle as he spoke, as if he was explaining his story to it rather than the person sat at the table with him.
"I've been a vampire for a thousand years. Vampires have been around as long as mankind, and ever since mankind arose there have been women who will sell their bodies." He trailed his finger around the rim of his bottle in a carefully controlled manner, although his voice was dark and cold as he spoke. "She was waiting near a bar. It was my friend's wedding night and we had all had far too much to drink. I can remember every single detail of her face in the candle light, burned into my memory. I asked her to leave with me, offered her a price, and she accepted readily. She even had a friend ready for my brother... It wasn't until later that we met her colony..."
His voice trailed off. Then he shook his head and flicked his bottle away with a sudden ferocity, sending it spinning across the table top. Sam watched him silently. He had never thought of it quite like that before.
"I'm sorry-"
"I don't want your pity," Opium snapped, rising sharply to his feet. "And for your information, I didn't need your help earlier at Lusing's nest either. Lusing would never actually kill me."
"Didn't look that way-"
"He's my brother," Opium hissed.
Sam stared at him. Now that he knew it, the sudden resembelence between the two vampires seemed startling. Sure they had different hair colour, but the same eyes, same jaw... and Lusing had even called him... what was it? I have a little something to sort out with my dear brother here. Sam wet his lips.
"But Lusing's killing people... we have to hunt him, Opium."
"I know," Opium growled. "The man I used to know is long gone. I tried to save him and failed. And if I can't save him from himself then..."
He broke off and shook his head. As if suddenly feeling he had said too much, revealed too much, he turned and strode over to the stairs. Sam watched until the vampire had climbed them and was out of sight. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet and made his way over to the sleeping bag to lie down again. He stared at Dean, the half light of the kitchen stealing across his brother's face.
"He said I had to save you... and if I couldn't... he told me I'd have to kill you, Sammy."
Sam lay in silence for a few moments, his brain too stunned with the coincidences to compute. Then he shut his eyes and was flung into the seat of the Impala once more, racing towards a Dean with vampire fangs and silvery eyes...
Done! Sorry about the lack of updates with this story but I've been on holiday to Sweden. In between swimming with jellyfish, trekking through woods and screaming in themeparks I had no time to write! Please REVIEW!!
SUPRNTRAL LVR.