Author's Note: otherwise known as Blood Lust 2.0

October in Red Lodge (1/2)

"Dean, phone!"

Dean finished jotting down the order for his table and excused himself with a crooked smile and self assured nod that made the girls giggle and his eye twitch. By ten, the Roadhouse would be knee deep in Hunters and truckers, but starting at around six, a handful of local teens, especially girls, had a tendency to drop by for what passed as food.

Hell if he knew why, because it wasn't like there weren't better places to eat and Jo said it only happened when they were back in town. That was one of the many reasons Dean didn't usually hang around long. If they were in and out in under three days, rumors of their presence didn't have time to circulate.

Unfortunately, John's instructions to 'lay low' had turned into a three week stay, interrupted only briefly by the clown hunt that was - even if Dean would never admit it - creepy as friggin' hell. Not to mention that, since there were clowns involved, Sam had absolutely refused to have sex of any kind. Especially after Dean walked out of the motel bathroom naked, wearing a red nose and orange wig, which was totally hilarious, no matter what Sam had to say about it.

Grabbing the phone from Ellen's outstretched hand, he saw Sam at the pass-through, looking at him curiously and smiled, winking before turning his attention to the phone. "Dean."

"You're not answering your phone."

Dean frowned, momentarily caught off guard by John's accusing tone. He replayed the words and his frown deepened. Reaching back, he looked around the bar when he felt the empty pocket, confirming that Jo was indeed missing. "Son of a bitch."

"You okay?"

He swore again and looked up to see Sam, chuckling at something to his right. Fucking perfect. "Yeah, I'm fine."

John sighed, "You can't let your guard down just because you're at the Roadhouse."

"Do you have something to tell me?"

There was a short pause. "Yeah, look, I'm gonna be laid up here for a while."

Dean bit the inside of his mouth, trying to quell his growing concern. The last few weeks apart had done a lot of good. The fist that had lodged itself into his chest had loosened considerably and he kind of found himself almost looking forward to getting back on the road with John.

Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for Sam, who tensed every time John was mentioned. It seemed the more okay with the situation Dean became, the more uneasy Sam was. That unease was what had nearly gotten Sam killed on their last hunt. John had told Dean to stake out a certain patch of road and Dean had readily agreed. Sam had thought it was a waste of time and they'd been arguing when the spirit had shown up, catching them both off guard. If John hadn't gotten there when he did, 'run over' would have been the least of Dean's concerns.

Running a hand through his hair, Dean concentrated on the scratched up wood grain of the bar top. "Laid up? Last time I saw you, you barely had a scratch."

John grunted, "I thought I'd stop in and see Bobby."

Dean fought a grin. "He didn't shoot you, did he? You know he's been threatening to do that since I first told him you were back."

"I didn't think he was serious."

"Bobby's always serious when it comes to guns and people he wants shoot. How bad is it?"

"I'll be laid up a couple of months." Dean cringed, but there was an edge of self-satisfaction in his gut, because damnit if John didn't deserve it at least a little and Bobby wouldn't have shot him anywhere that would do permanent damage. "How are things on your end?"

Dean glanced over at Ellen, who was standing just out of earshot, and lowered his voice slightly. "Awkward. Ellen says she's okay with it, but… hell, I don't know and Sam refuses to have sex, even though everyone already knows. Ash keeps giving us the thumbs up when me and Sam go to bed and Jo thinks it's funny to put love songs in her CD player and blast them through the house first thing in the morning. If I wake up to 'Oh Lamoure' one more time, I'm gonna string her up and not feel bad about it."

"Oh Lamoure?"

"Erasure." Jo came out of the kitchen, grinning, holding Dean's phone up between her thumb and index finger. He groaned. "Damnit, I gotta go."

"Wait, Ellen tells me you went on a hunt?"

"Yeah." Dean pointed a warning finger at Jo, who mouthed 'oh, I'm so scared,' before tossing the phone over to him.

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the two of you hunting alone."

"We're big boys, John. We handled Chuckles the Clown just fine. I think we can take care of ourselves."

"I'm not talking about hunting, Dean." Dean shoved his phone securely into his back pocket.

"I know - the demon and everything. We'll call you if things get dicey. I gotta get back to work."

He hung up before John could protest and went over to the kitchen pass-through, slapping the ticket down. "I got two cheeseburgers. Sam, what did Jo put on my phone?"

Sam held up his hands in surrender, "I'm sworn to secrecy."

"Bullshit, you're just afraid of a little girl." A small, sharp elbow ground into Dean's back and he grunted.

Sam raised an eyebrow, "No, Dean, I'm afraid of a vicious little girl."

Jo opened her mouth to reply - probably to complain that she wasn't little, she was average and it wasn't her fault Sam was ginormous - but before she could say anything, Ellen interrupted. "Dean, I don't pay you to sit around and chat."

Sticking her tongue out, Jo jaunted off to take a loaded tray of beer to a table in back and Dean gave Ellen his best 'why always me' look before slapping the ticket again, glaring at Sam for his betrayal before going back to the bar.

He took a quick survey of his mostly empty tables before leaning his elbow against the bar, "Hey, Ellen."

"Yes, Dean?"

"Got any cases?"

She reached back behind her to take the folder Dean had been eyeing all day, passing it over. "Cow mutilations over in Montana, bodies split open, blood gone and there've been a few severed heads on top of that. Could be unrelated, could be our kind of thing. Honestly, I don't know. From the file, my gut says satanic rituals so I was thinking about sticking this on one of the religious nuts. Maybe Brandon and Mizuki if they aren't too busy."

There were several pictures of dead cows and the typical small town incident reports that blamed it on heat stroke and bloating. A few autopsies for the dead bodies as well, but nothing that screamed supernatural. Closing it, he raised his eyebrows and grinned at her. With a roll of her eyes, Ellen pulled two cold mugs out of the ice box and set them down, nodding, "Yes, fine, take it, go, but not until tomorrow and you've got chores."

He put the folder back and gave her a quick salute, "Yes, ma'am, we'll need the sleep anyway."

Sam woke up the next morning to Dean's side of the bed warm, but empty and the sound of the shower running in the next room. The clock read 7:15 a.m. and he groaned, rolling over and burying his head in Dean's pillow. It didn't matter that they'd gone to bed only four hours ago, Dean had said they needed to get an early start. Sam knew why, too, it was punishment for siding with John and making Dean stay in one damn place for so long. Usually, they were hard pressed to pry Dean out of bed before noon, hunt or not.

The shower cut off and he took another deep breath and imagined Dean in the bathroom, toweling water off his naked body. With a muffled moan, he moved his hand under the covers, rubbing his palm over his stiff cock.

It had been a solid three weeks since they'd had sex. Not that Dean hadn't wanted to, but since that first morning, when Sam woke up with Dean's mouth on his cock and Ellen had questioned Dean about the noises coming from their room, trying to get him to open up about their relationship, Sam wasn't taking that chance again. It was nice that she knew. It was nice that she approved, or near enough, but that wasn't necessarily an invitation to fuck like rabbits.

Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't masturbate. He opened one eyes and looked at the bedroom door, cracked open to the hallway and, most likely, Dean's way of ensuring that Sam had to actually get out of bed, rather than just jerk off and fall back asleep. Damn, his brother knew him too well.

He'd just sat up and shoved the covers aside when he heard the sound of Jo's door opening at the other end of the small hallway. Her footsteps shuffled along the scarred wooden floor and she yawned loudly as she slammed her fist against the bathroom door. "Dean, you've been in there twenty minutes. What the hell are you doing?"

There was a long pause before Dean answered, "Nothing?"

Sam chuckled and stood up, stretching languorously. His muscles ached from the abbreviated night's sleep and his head felt foggy. Oh, well, he could always get some sleep in the car. It was a good eleven hours to Montana, anyway, and it wasn't like Dean was going to let him drive.

From the hallway, he heard Jo sigh and continue talking through the door. "You're having sex aren't you?"

Sam's breath caught in his throat and he rushed for the door, opening it fully just in time to see Jo turn her back to him and yell out to the rest of the house. "Mom! Sam and Dean are fucking in the bathroom and I have to pee!"

A choked noise escaped Sam's throat and Jo spun around, stopping short when she saw him. Ellen poked her head through the archway separating the dining room from the bedrooms. "Joanna Beth, you watch your mouth. Dean wrap a towel around it and get out, there's only one damn bathroom in the house and you know better than to hog it. Sam, honey, put some pants on."

Sam closed his eyes, but it was too late. Jo knocked on the bathroom door again, yelling, "Dean, Sam has something for ya," with a broad smirk on her face that didn't falter, even when Ellen smacked her upside the back of her head.

Great. Just... perfect. His hands itched for something to throw at her, but there was nothing at hand and she was still smirking, one eyebrow raised, taking him in like he was a drink or something and that was just disturbing. At least his erection was wilting at the attention. Fighting the urge to stick his tongue out at her, he slammed the door and went to the dresser, pulling out a pair of clean jeans.

Outside the room, he heard Dean come out of the bathroom and quickly pulled his long sleeved shirt on before the door opened. Dean kicked it shut behind him and Sam tried very hard not to be obvious as he scoped him out - hair ruffled from the towel and still wet, body red and slick from the steaming hot water, hand holding the towel around his hips and, God, he was so hard up it physically hurt. Not that he was going to admit it. As long as Dean thought Sam was an impenetrable fortress of self control, Sam's ethics weren't in any real danger. If Dean got even a hint of how desperately Sam wanted it... well, rules be damned, Sam would be on his back on the goddamned kitchen table if that's what it took.

Clearing his throat, Sam pulled on a t-shirt and one of his button ups. Dean leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, "Like what you see?"

"You know I do." That's right, play it off, because it wasn't as if Dean couldn't see through him like a two way mirror.

Dean's fingers shifted against the towel, not letting it go, but not tightening and Sam fought the urge to fall to his knees and beg Dean to let him suck him. One hour. One goddamned hour and they'd be on the road. Dean's thumb dipped along his hip bone and under the knot of thin fabric, drawing Sam's attention there, and he breathed in sharply. "I..." Think, think, think. "Breakfast!"

With a crooked smile, Dean raised one inquisitive, "What about it?"

Sam pulled the door open, "It's, um... I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry, Sammy." And from the way Dean let the towel fall a little, exposing the barest hint of dark pubic hair, Sam knew he wasn't talking about food.

"I'll just..." Nodding to himself, Sam all but ran out the door, nearly knocking Jo over, who had just come out of the bathroom. "Sorry! Sorry, I was just... omelettes. Ten minutes."

Dean chuckled to himself and wandered to the dresser, not bothering to close the door as he pulled his boxers on, even though he could see Jo leaning against the doorframe out of the corner of his eye. Wasn't anything she hadn't seen. "You pickin' on Sam again?"

He shrugged, "Maybe. Nice touch with the alarm, by the way, but I'm on to you."

It had taken him twenty minutes, but he'd finally figured out that she'd rigged the alarm on his phone to go off two in the morning to Berlin's Sex.

"Thought you might like it." Jo stretched up, her night shirt riding up to the top of her thighs. "You know, if you're going to tease him like that, you could at least put out, like, once a week or something."

"Oh, don't worry yourself there, darlin', I put out. It's Sam's got the hang-up."

Jo opened her mouth to say something and closed it, her brow knitted in confusion, "Wait, you're saying that Sam is the one that doesn't want to... Sam?"

"Yes, Sam, my brother, the one that just ran out of here like his ass was on fire." He considered asking her what the problem was, but he figured he already knew. Jo had gone to bed around the same time they had and while Dean had the excitement of an impending hunt to keep him going, she was probably just plain old exhausted.

"Huh. 'Cause the way I remember it, you were the one that turned tail and ran just about every time my hand got near your pants and Sam was the one..." She clammed up suddenly, her face going white, then red.

Dean's mind blanked at the implication and he stopped moving, shirt half on and bunched up around his arms. "You what?"

"Nothing." She shifted with an awkward grimace on her face and moved further into the room, sitting on the bed.

"Did you sleep with Sam?"

"No!"

There was enough disgust in her voice to convince Dean that she was telling truth, but that left the bigger question of, "Who did?"

Jo leveled him with a hard, embarrassed look. "Let's just say that you and I weren't the only ones Mom caught behind the weapon's shed."

"Who?"

"Sorry, Dean. What happens with Sam Winchester, stays with Sam Winchester. So sayeth the coalition of people who don't want to be murdered by you. But that's not why I came in here."

Dean narrowed his eyes at her, "I'm not letting this go."

"Yes, you are, because I'm not telling and if you ask Sam about it, he'll distract you and don't think I don't remember how easy you are to distract." Dean huffed and she gave him a coy smile. "It may have been bumpy getting started, but the few times I actually managed to touch your dick, you just about fell to your knees."

"Excuse me for being a normal, horny, twenty year old."

"You're excused." He shot her an annoyed frown, but she was smiling her usual bright, overconfident, self-assured smile that took up half her face and made Dean want to ruffle her hair more than kick her ass. Instead, he tossed a dirty shirt at her and she dodged it, laughing openly as she threw it back for him to stuff in the bag next to the dresser.

A few minutes of comfortable silence followed, in which Dean managed to get dressed and start packing. The sounds of eggs cracking and a beater hitting the side of a glass bowl filtered in through the open doorways from the kitchen. The sizzle of butter hitting a hot pan made Dean's stomach cramp up and remind him that he hadn't eaten since early yesterday evening.

Jo pushed back further on the bed, crossing her legs and pushing the hem of her shirt down between them. "Seriously, though, there was something I wanted to talk to you about."

He didn't answer her, but he didn't have to. It was one of those things left over from their relationship, the established truth that just because Dean didn't say anything, didn't mean he wasn't listening.

"I know mom doesn't want me hunting, but I thought maybe you could..."

"No way." Dean slammed his dresser drawer a little harder than necessary and he knew she'd flinched, but damnit, this wasn't fair of her.

"Dean..."

"Don't put me there, Jo." He choked up a little, half turned to look at her, even if he wasn't sure exactly what he was going to say. She's the closest thing to a mother I've had since four? You're like my sister? Don't make me choose between the two of you? Don't make me take sides in a fight that I have no business being in?

"You know I can hunt, Dean."

He stood up, zipping his bag and moving on to Sam's side, haphazardly throwing things in. "I don't know that, Jo."

Her feet thudding on the ground as she stood. "I trained with the same people you did."

The heat at his back told him she was standing close and he turned around, looking down at her sternly. "You've never been out hunting with anyone. You can't just go trouncing into something without help."

"Then help me."

"No."

Despite being shorter than him, Jo had inherited Ellen's ability to feel taller than she was. She could stand on her toes, still barely coming up to his chin and he felt like she was towering over him. He grit his teeth to keep from answering and was just about to make a run for it when Sam came around the corner, egg covered spatula in hand. "Hey, you two, breakfast is..."

He just managed to move aside as Jo turned and stalked off, slamming her door behind her. Sam stared at the door for a second before looked back at Dean, who still had his back pressed against the dresser. "What was that about?"

It wasn't that Dean didn't trust Sam with it - actually, if anyone could talk sense into Ellen, it was Sam, with those puppy dog eyes and his logic - it was that Dean didn't want to deal with this. Period. Not right now, anyway. He'd deal with it later, preferably when it wasn't an issue.

However, there was something that he did need to deal with. Dean turned on Sam and slammed a hand down on the dresser, palm flat against the particle board. "What happens with Sam Winchester, stays with Sam Winchester?"

Sam turned an interesting shade of red and hunched in on himself, saying, "Eggs are done," before turning around and hurrying off. Oh yeah, he was so getting to the bottom of that.

It was 62 degrees and sunny with an occasional breeze sweeping through the open plains. The Impala was parked behind a familiar cluster of trees behind the 'Welcome to Dunning' sign. The front doors were open, the music was a low rumble in the background and Dean's hand was down Sam's pants for the first time in weeks.

Sam raked his fingers through Dean's short hair and Dean nipped at Sam's lip, relishing the puff of air against his mouth. He moved his leg over Sam's to straddle him and slowly worked the length of Sam's cock. He'd wanted to bend him over the hood, but they'd ended up leaving at noon and, besides, after three friggin' weeks of celibacy, he wasn't going to last that long.

Moving his mouth lower, he bit at Sam's neck and was rewarded with deep throated moans and hips pressing more firmly against his. Sam hand move from Dean's head to his jeans and there was frantic tugging as Sam opened the zipper, pulling Dean's cock out, before leaning further back, making Dean fall forward a little.

A few fumbled moments later and Dean was pretty sure he had a bruise on his lower back in the shape of the music dial and his head could have done without being slammed into the top of the car, but Sam's jeans were around his knees and he was hunched down in his seat with one hand wrapped around both their cocks. It didn't even take a full minute before they came, but it was the best damn minute Dean'd had in what felt like a long time.

Dropping onto the seat next to Sam, Dean tucked himself back into his pants, but didn't bother zipping up, because that would have taken too much effort.

Sam chuckled, jeans still around his knees and making no discernable effort to rectify the situation. "So, you serious about that hunt in Montana, or were you just trying to get me out of the house?"

Dean zipped up. "I don't joke about hunting."

"Really? I've got a clown suit in the closet that says otherwise."

He rolled his eyes, but didn't bother responding while Sam pulled his pants up and wiped cum off his hands onto a dirty shirt before throwing it in the back. "Hand over the file."

Dean turned up the music and got the Impala on the road while Sam went over the details. A few minutes later, he heard a soft snore and looked over to see Sam leaned up against the window, file folder open in his lap. He chuckled to himself and settled back in his seat, enjoying the familiar smell and feel of the open road and the stiff leather seats. He'd admitted to Sam, and meant it, when he'd said the Roadhouse was home, but the Impala… The Impala was his. Well, his and Sam's, anyway, and that made it even better.

Turning the volume on the radio up a few notches, he softly tapped his hands on the steering wheel to the beat of Seek and Destroy, steeling another glance at Sam before settling his eyes on the road and letting the tension of the past few months bleed out of him.

Ten hours and three pit stops later, Dean pulled into Red Lodge, Montana. Like most of the motels they stayed at, it was one story, half run down, and Dean could put money on the ice machine being broken, but it had what appeared to be a working soda machine, and that meant it met his criteria.

Pulling up, he hopped out and sauntered into the lobby, careful to avoid the roach that scurried across the burnt orange shag carpet that was a genuine artifact from the seventies, stomped down to a hard mesh over the past thirty some odd years. The kid behind the counter wasn't more than a gangly teenager reading a magazine or comic or something else large and flimsy. His feet were propped on the counter and he didn't bother to look up when the door clanked against the broken bell hanging over it.

Dean finishing the perilous twenty foot trek across the lobby without any more signs of insect infestation and nodded amiably at the clerk. "Hey."

The kid flipped the page, still not looking up. "Sixty for the night, Two Eighty for the week."

"One night." Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a credit card. The boy took it, swiped the card, pressed a few buttons, tore off the paper and handed Dean a pen, all without taking his eyes off what Dean was now sure was a comic. Didn't ask for ID either, not that many of these places did and sometimes it made Dean wonder why he bothered making them.

As soon as Dean had passed over the signed receipt, a key was slapped down in front of him. "Room four, two doors down. Ice machine's broken, hot water works most of the time - odds are better later in the morning. Check out or pay up by eleven tomorrow."

Dean picked up the key, closing his fist around it. "Got it. Thanks."

Outside, Sam had already popped the trunk, grabbing their two duffels of clothes and their business suits, neatly folded in plastic. Dean tossed him the key, "Room four." Then pulled out the bag of arsenal and dragged it in after. The room itself wasn't bad - cleaner than the lobby and certainly not as colorful as most of the places they stayed - less of an assault to the eyes, more of a nod to neutral.

Kicking the door shut behind him, he dropped the bag to the side of the door and reached back, clicking the lock shut quietly.

Sam was already unwrapping the suits when Dean came up behind him, his hands finding the familiar purchase on Sam's hips, just over the low slung waist of his jeans. Sam chuckled and half looked back, "I thought we had a case."

Dean slid one hand forward, rubbing his palm against Sam's already stiffened cock and Sam bit his lip, holding his breath a moment before deliberately letting a low moan out. Dean rewarded him by undoing the top button of his jeans and slipped his hand in, wrapping his fingers around Sam's erection.

"God…"

"You can call me Dean."

Sam chuckled and then moaned again as the hand tightened, stroking him. "Three fucking weeks. I can't even think straight."

"Yeah?" Dean scraped his teeth against the back of Sam's neck and felt the shudder that ran down his brother's spine. Sam had this thing about biting. Dean wasn't sure if it had anything to do with the vampires, but he figured vampires, biting, there had to be a connection. What Dean did know was that Sam liked being bitten. Not hard enough to draw blood, but just that side of painful and especially over pulse points. It made Sam's knees give out like one of those girls in the romance novels Jo used to read. Nipping a little harder, he was rewarded with a deep throated moan. "Good thing I don't really need you thinking then."

Taking his hand out of Sam's pants, he put it on his back, gently pushing him down so he folded over, palms on the bed, his knees slightly bent. Tugging down Sam's pants was easy, as baggy as he wore them, and Dean couldn't say he was complaining.

Thing was, it wasn't like they hadn't gone three weeks before, more than that on a couple of occasions, because sometimes they got hurt. Sometimes one of them sprained or broke something. Sometimes they got a knife wound or that one time a lucky bullet found Dean's shoulder. And when that happened, they had to go back to the Roadhouse and lick their wounds until they were back in shape to Hunt.

So, holding out wasn't anything new, holding out when they were sleeping in the same bed together was. Holding out when Dean woke up with morning wood and Sam was just inches from him was. Holding out when he had to feel the press of Sam's naked legs against his when they laid down to sleep every night was and damnit, Dean was only human.

He reached under Sam's shirt and dragged his nails over the bent spine with just enough pressure to leave satisfying, pale red lines along either side and Sam arched his back like a goddamn cat in heat, breathing hard and heavy and, fuck, Dean wasn't going to last more than five minutes once he got in there.

Gripping the top of his brother's jeans, he pulled them slowly over his ass and down his legs, kneeling down as Sam stepped out of them. Before he could even nudge them, Sam's knee was on the bed, his legs spread apart and open and Dean smiled, leaning forward to run a tongue up the ridge of Sam's ass to base of his spine.

With a last drag of teeth over the top of Sam's ass, Dean shucked his own pants, tugged his shirt off over his head and reached into the bag to Sam's left, fishing out the lube with the ease of practice.

It had been a year, over a year, actually, since Jess had died and Sam had shown up at the Roadhouse. Over a year since they'd been sitting in a dirty basement, in cages too far apart to even touch and Sam had spilled his dirty little secret. He loved Dean. He wanted Dean. He'd always wanted Dean and Dean thought maybe, in one way or another, he'd always wanted Sam.

Not always like this, of course.

He slicked his cock and slowly slid it in, taking deep, steadying breaths to keep from coming.

There hadn't ever been a time before when he wanted this, but he'd wanted Sam's closeness. He'd wanted Sam's presence and when they'd kissed that first time, it had been about testing the waters. He'd thrown himself into it with a half-assed notion to test it out, because, what the hell – he'd done worse with people he didn't even know – and then it had been good. The kiss had been entirely unlike anything Dean had ever even thought a kiss was supposed to be and he'd thought, okay, if the kiss wasn't bad they'd take it a step further and a step further until Dean didn't remember what he'd been afraid of in the first place.

Sam pushed back against him, matching his rhythm and Dean dug his fingers into Sam's hips before leaning forward, bracing himself on the bed with one hand and using the other to pull Sam off and when Sam was little more than a shuddering mess under him, he let go, collapsing on Sam.

For a minute they lay there, panting, then Sam pushed him off and Dean wanted to protest, but they were both sweating and needed a shower and, besides, Sam was kissing him and Ellen always said it was rude to talk with your mouth full.

"Poor girl."

Sam looked down at the head in the plastic bin and said a silent thank you to himself for skipping lunch. He'd seen a hell of a lot of bodies in the past, but most of them were creatures. They might have looked human, but they weren't. This was some local girl. She had a reputation for keeping her head down, showing up to work on time, and was generally well liked by all accounts.

Then Dean said, "Maybe we should look in her mouth, you know, see if this wacko shoved anything down her throat. Kind of like the moth in Silence of the Lambs?"

Sam raised an eyebrow and shoved the bin around to face Dean. "Yeah. Yeah, go ahead." I dare you, but with an undertone of uneasy disgust.

The bin was suddenly facing him again and Dean was looking down at the table. "No, you go head."

"What?!"

Dean did look up then and there was a sadistic little smirk on his face. "Come on, man. Put the lotion in the basket."

Sam considered protesting but he knew Dean well enough to spot a self defense mechanism when he saw one. "Yeah, right, I'm the wuss, huh? Y… whatever."

Taking a deep breath, he reached down, focusing just to the left of her head while he probed her mouth. His stomach turned dangerously, "Dean, get me a bucket."

"Why, you find something?" And did he really have to sound that excited?

"No, I'm gonna puke."

Dean huffed, but turned his attention back at the disembodied head. "Wait." Sam pulled his fingers out and looked over at his brother, but Dean was focused firmly on the head now, all traces of impending illness gone, replaced with a serious frown in his eyebrows, "Lift her lip up again."

"What, you want me to throw up, is that it?" Pranks were one thing, but this was a person.

Dean shouldered him aside and reached in himself, pulling the lip up and Sam's entire body went cold as a fang popped out of the gums. Vampires. He backed up several steps without even realizing he'd moved, but Dean was already there, tossing his gloves in the waste bin. "Come on, Sammy, we're getting out of here." He didn't realize he'd put a hand over the faded bite marks until Dean grabbed his arm, pulling him along.

Dean paced the room while Sam sat on the bed trying to think through the persistent, panicked chant of 'vampires, vampires, vampires' running through his head.

Stopping, Dean pointed at Sam and took several breaths before talking and if his voice shook just a little, Sam ignored it. "We gotta think about this logically, okay, because… because that thing was dead, right? So, that means something killed it."

"Right, two severed heads. There were two."

"So, two vampires maybe and if something's killing vampires then it's probably a hunter."

Vampires. Vampires.

Sam clamped down on his arm like he was muffling his thoughts. "But there are never just two. Vampires are pack animals, Dean, they hunt alone sometimes, but they live in nests. If there were two, then there are more."

"Right." Dean paced again and Sam knew it was irrational. They had years more experience than when they were kids and this time they weren't going to be taken by surprise. That didn't make it better, though. It didn't stop Sam from feeling teeth sinking into him or the hands holding him down while they did it. It didn't stop him from hearing the phantom cat calls in his head of them taunting him.

"Dean…"

"I know, okay, just… let me think." He glanced at the window and Sam knew they were both thinking the same thing. It was night out. After their run in a year ago, Bobby had filled them in on vampire marks and the after affects, according to the few survivors. The mark itself was dead, no way was anyone going to be able to track Sam using it, but it left a kind of scent that Vampires would be able to smell in close enough proximity, the kind that said someone had wanted him, but hadn't gotten him and that was going to make him really, really attractive to them. Or, as Bobby had put it, "You two walk into a room together and Dean over there, he's gonna be a burger, plane and dry – tasty, but nothin' special. Sam, on the other hand? You're gonna smell like a double bacon cheese burger with onion rings on the side and they are you gonna smell you coming about half a mile away."

He'd assured them that over time it would fade to nothing, but with only a year behind them, it would still be pretty strong.

"Okay, Sam, I don't like this anymore than you do, but we can't just leave." Numbly, Sam nodded, really trying not to feel like he was ten. "We just have to make sure that whoever is handling this can do the job. Then we leave."

"And if they can't?"

"Then we call Ellen and get someone down here who can, but we can't leave till it's handled."

Finally, Sam nodded and the more in control Dean sounded, the easier it was to breathe.

"Good." Dean squatted down in front of Sam and put a hand on his knee. "We need to find that hunter. It's getting dark, we'll, uh…" he closed his eyes for a second to think and when he opened them, he was nodding to himself, "We hit the bars in an hour. Whoever this guy is, he's gotten two, so he's no amateur. Vampires like drinking and that means bars. Place this small, there aren't likely to be many of those."

When Sam didn't say anything right away, Dean hesitated, "Maybe you should stay here."

Sam shook his head quickly and stood up, nearly knocking Dean on his ass in the process. "No. No, I can handle this, just… give me a minute, okay?"

Dean stood up from his crouch. "You've got an hour. I'm gonna sharpen the machetes and get some dead man's blood."

An hour later, they were driving through the town, eyeing the bars. It wasn't worth going in every one of them. Vampires had a type. They preferred it dirty and rough. That meant nothing in a restaurant, nothing in a hotel, and nothing with a DJ, which left only one.

The Billy Miner Pub. It was small, rustic, the juke box they could hear from outside had a scratchy quality, and the patrons walking in and out were plain clothed workers and country types. It was just the sort of low key establishment vampires would be drawn to.

They parked the car down the street and wordlessly made their way to the bar. The plan was simple, Sam told himself, find the Hunter, shake his or her hand and get the hell out. Or, worst case scenario, they'd find the Hunter, go back to their room and call Ellen for backup. Either way, they weren't dealing with the vampires, not really, not face to face. He shook his head to himself just before they stepped into the bar. It shouldn't matter. He was a Hunter. He was trained now. He'd killed things far deadlier than a damn vampire, so it shouldn't, but it did, because it was vampires and just the word sent something close to panic running through him.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Find the Hunter and get out.

The bar smelled heavily of smoke and alcohol, just like every other bar and just like home. Something in that familiarity made some of the tension bleed out of Sam and he was able to relax and look less like a skittish cat looking for a tree to climb.

Dean sidled up to the bar like he always did, easy and cocky and giving, "How's it goin'?" Said with that smile that put everyone instantly off guard.

The bartender looked at them, his eyes landing on Dean before flickering almost instantly to Sam and then back at his brother. "Living the dream, what can I get for you?"

"Two beers."

The bartender turned his back to dig in the freezer and Sam decided to cut to the chase. If he left it to Dean, they'd be standing there for ten minutes playing How About This Weather. "So, we're looking for someone."

The man stood, popping the tabs off the beers before handing them over, eyes on Sam. "Sure, it's hard to be lonely."

Sam couldn't help the half smile, if only because of the surprised, half jealous quirk of Dean's eyebrows at the comment.

Pulling out a fifty, he clenched it between his finger, "Yeah, but um, that's not what I meant."

Holding it up, he waited for the bartender to take another look over at Dean before taking the bill, shoving it in his pocket.

"We're looking for someone, maybe two someone's. They would have rolled in sometime in the last two weeks. Loner type, spends a lot of time in bars."

Dean finished his first swig of beer and chimed in. "Rough around the edges, out at night a lot, but you wouldn't see much of 'em during the day."

The bartender thought for a moment, "There have been a few loners through here recently. A young woman took a room at the Super 8, an older guy started a few days ago at the mill, and that..." He started to point behind them and stopped, "huh."

Sam looked back, but didn't see anyone. "What?"

"Nothing, just, guy in his late thirties maybe early forties, dark skin. He was sitting right over there when you walked in."

Sam and Dean looked at the table together and exchanged a glance. Drink not even half finished, cigarette still burning in the ash tray. Dean took another gulp of his beer and set it down, "Thanks."

Gordon Walker was one of Ellen's armada. She generally referred to him as a walking, talking example of what not to become. Even John, who had abandoned Sam and Dean without a word, was better company than Gordon. At least John gave half a fuck about whoever he was hunting with. Gordon cared about one thing and one thing only. The hunt and his particular hunt was killing vampires.

According to Ellen, one had killed his sister and he'd been on a tear ever since. Vampires were evil, he killed them and he wasn't watching your back while he did it. It made Dean wonder what the hell Ellen had on him that made him jump and run whenever she called.

Either way, the boys knew he was good, but they also knew he was cocky. If Gordon was in town, he was working alone and the idea that he thought he could take an entire nest out on his own was… well, it was Gordon, was what it was.

Dodging around the back of the building, they ducked behind a corner and waited. The other thing Gordon liked, besides killing vampires, was testing people. He'd gotten the drop on Sam and Dean at the Roadhouse a few times, but always from a safe distance, especially after the first time he'd managed to catch Dean completely off guard and ended up with a dislocated knee that he almost hadn't been able to feel over the fire in his crotch.

Dean still looked at that as one of his fonder early memories of the Roadhouse - Gordon lying on the ground clutching his knee with one hand, his balls with the other, unable to form a coherent curse word. It was the last time anyone tried to sneak up on Dean for any reason. Except Sammy, because Sammy was like an extension of Dean's own body and Dean always knew when it was Sammy.

After a minute, they saw a dark figure skulk around the corner, looking up and down the alley way and deflating as he realized there was nothing there. The moment he turned his back to walk off, they went for it – Dean with a knife in hand and Sam right beside him, helping to spin Gordon around and pin him to wall, the edge of the blade pressed precariously under his chin.

They glared daggers at each other for several seconds before Gordon broke into a wide grin and Dean relaxed back offering a hand that Gordon quickly took, giving it a firm shake. "Dean and Sam Winchester. It's been a while."

Sam hung back. He'd never really gotten on with Gordon, not even as a teacher, but Dean had. Dean had respect for him as a Hunter, especially a Hunter that killed the thing that gave his little Sammy nightmares. Gordon didn't discourage it, either. He was a loner, but three months downtime and balls that ached for a week aside, he'd also been one of the first to offer to teach Dean a few things.

"What are you boys doing past the state line? Last I heard you were holed up at the Roadhouse waiting for John to get up and running."

Dean gave Gordon a tense smile that clearly said it was none of his business, even if he was responding. "Yeah, well, the old man went and got himself shot."

"No shit?"

"Bobby did warn him." Gordon laughed out loud and Dean's smile eased up a bit. "Look, we came here on a case of cow mutilations and beheadings, figured out it was a fang at the morgue. We decided we'd better make sure whoever it was could handle himself."

Gordon motioned for them to follow him and they trekked back through the alley and down the street to where Gordon had parked his car. He pulled open the back passenger door and slid out his arsenal. It was a veritable smorgasbord of vampire killing devices – machetes and swords of all different sizes, arrows and cross bows, dead man's blood, a couple of pig stickers and even a flame thrower. Sam had to fight the urge to be impressed.

Dean ran a hand over the back of his neck, eyeing the rack, "That is quite impressive." Then his gaze shifted to Sam for a moment and Sam knew he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear. "Hey, you mind if we tag along?"

"Now, you boys know I work alone. Don't get me wrong, Dean, you're a great Hunter – Sam, too – but I've got this one covered. I've been on this thing for over a year. I killed a fang back in Austin, tracked the nest all the way up here. I'll finish it." The tray slid back into place and Gordon shut the back door to the car. "You know what, though, there's a Chupacabra two states over, knock yourself out."

Without waiting for a response, he hopped in his car, leaning out the window and looking back at them, "It was good seeing you again. I'll buy you a drink on the flip side," then drove off.

Dean waited till the headlights were out of sight to turn to Sam again, who was already opening his mouth in protest of what he knew Dean was going to say. "Dean…"

"Sam, I've got a really bad feeling about this, okay? We're just gonna tail him for tonight. Nothing happens and we leave in the morning, but it's one man against an entire nest and I don't care how good that one man thinks he is, those are still pretty heavy odds."

"But…"

"Come on, it's Gordon. We owe him that much."

They didn't owe Gordon anything. Except they kind of did, because Sam figured that half the reason Dean and him were still alive was all the stuff the other Hunters taught them and Gordon was one of those Hunters. Then there were the times he'd answered Ellen's call and pulled Dean's ass out of a fire or two. So, okay, fine, they owed him.

Deflated, Sam nodded. "Yeah, all right. Promise, though, tomorrow we leave?"

Dean looked up and down the street for a long minute before reaching a hand out and affectionately ruffling Sam's hair. "Promise, kiddo, first thing in the morning."

Sam cringed at the familiar endearment from his childhood, but figured he'd kind of earned it acting like a scared ten year old facing the boogie man under his bed. Still… Ducking out from under Dean's hand, he couldn't help the uneasy feeling in his stomach as they made their way back to the car.

Fine, so Dean had been right about Gordon needing the help. They'd come in like the cavalry and pulled his ass out from under a mounted chainsaw and if it hadn't been for them, Gordon would be just another headless corpse in the morgue.

He still didn't like it. He especially hadn't liked the look in Dean's eyes when he pinned that vampire to the board and brought the saw down. Sure, he understood it. Dean saw that vampire attack all those years back as the culmination of everything he'd done wrong. So, Sam could imagine it felt pretty good to drag that blade down and watch the body give that final twitch.

Understanding aside, though, he still didn't like it and he especially didn't like the dark cloud of self-satisfied victory that fell over his brother's face after or the approving smile Gordon had given Dean.

Gordon raised the shot glass, "Another one bites the dust."

"That's right." They both tipped their glasses back and Sam tried not to be annoyed at how proud Dean looked with himself. He shouldn't have been annoyed, a vampire was just another supernatural son of a bitch and Dean had put it down, just like they did all the others. Hell, more than the others, this should have been a relief. So, maybe it wasn't about the vampires, maybe it was about Gordon. Except he already knew all about Gordon and the unease that was rolling around his gut was more about something he was missing.

Gordon set the shot glass down a little more firmly than necessary, "Dean," then looked at the empty glass for a moment before chuckling to himself. "You gave that big ass fang one hell of a haircut, my friend."

Dean perked up a little at the word friend, "Thank you."

"That was beautiful, absolutely beautiful."

Dean picked up his beer and glanced at Sam, seeming to only now notice his brother's sullen expression and slouched shoulders. Sam knew better, Dean had been watching him since the docks, he just hadn't said anything. It was Dean's defense mechanism, tried and true – wait it out and see if it's still a problem in a couple hours, then poke at it and wait a few days to see if it's festered.

"You all right, Sammy?

Sam shifted his gaze to Dean and pursed his mouth tightly. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Gordon looked at him then and gave him that easy smile he gave everyone, the one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Lighten up a little, Sammy."

"He's the only one who gets to call me that." And the look Dean gave him for that, one raised eyebrow and thinned out lips, said he'd be getting PMS jokes later, maybe a tampon under his pillow if Dean was feeling viscous enough.

"Okay, no offense man, just celebrating a little. Job well done." Holding out his hands in a gesture of surrender, Gordon continued the smile and Sam didn't have to ask if Dean saw what Sam saw in it, but he wasn't sure if Dean really cared and that was just as bad.

He needed to get out of there, take a second look at those incident reports and figure out what was he was missing. Pushing back, he stood up from the table. "Look, I'm not gonna bring you guys down. I'm heading back to the room."

Dean looked him up and down a couple times, carefully assessing it, before tossing Sam his key. "Remind me to beat that buzzkill out of you later."

He rewarded him with a roll of his eyes and slipped his hand down to squeeze Dean's shoulder before walking out.

Back in the room, Sam threw his jacket over the chair and sat on the bed, staring at the wall blankly. Funny thing, faced with Dean and Gordon's bonding, the vampires didn't seem so bad, after all. He'd rather deal with blood sucking monsters than Dean sucking up to another Hunter. And it shouldn't have bothered him, except it did and it wasn't just that it was Gordon, because Gordon wasn't great, but he wasn't anything Sam hadn't dealt with before.

No, because, push comes to shove, it was the whole situation with John that had him twisted in knots. How the more they hung around John, the more Dean relaxed, took orders. John said stay, they stayed. John said go on out and have a hunt, Dean found a case. And if Sam asked Dean, he'd deny it up and down, but Sam knew better.

Dean hadn't forgiven John by a long shot, but he was slipping back into things the way they'd been when they were kids. John was their Commander in Chief and Dean was the obedient little soldier, doing what he was told, when he was told to. Only Sam wasn't up for that and now that he thought about it, he hadn't really been up for it then either.

Gordon was just exacerbating the situation.

He needed to talk to someone. Picking through his jacket, he came up with his phone and flipped it open, thumbing through the contacts until the blue line lit up 'Ellen' on the screen. They hadn't checked in yet. Even just hearing her familiar, steady voice would probably calm him some at least, but if he called her, he'd have to give her the run down and he wasn't as good as Dean at bullshitting her. Not that Dean could get anything past Ellen, either, but at least he'd be able to say, "vampires" without his voice shaking like a scared child locked in a cage waiting to be eaten alive by a nightmare he thought he'd left behind.

Cursing, he threw the phone down next to him and clenched fists in his hair. He needed a drink.

The vending machine outside was practically an antique and the selection was shit, but it worked. He gripped the cold can, letting the chill of it numb his fingers almost painfully. The memories of his childhood before John disappeared were vague and jumbled. Most of the time he didn't bother trying, but with everything that had gone on lately, he'd put a little more effort into it.

He remembered ratty motels, some worse than this, but never anything better. He remembered stiff mattresses and Dean curled up next to him under thin blankets on cold nights, or sprawled half naked over the sheets on warm ones. He remembered public access cartoons that he could barely see through the static.

The most vivid thing he remembered, though, was resenting John and sometimes even Dean for doing what John said.

Popping the tab on the soda, he took a long drink and stopped as he heard a rustle behind him. Looking back with his eyes, he started to put the soda back up to his lips and stopped, waiting for a second, before shaking his head and walking back towards his room.

It wasn't a long walk. A few steps down the gritty road and around the car, through the joke of a horse fence put up in front of the room. He stopped to look at them and huffed out a small laugh. Dean probably loved those. That was probably why he'd picked this motel in the first place - that and the sign advertising rooms for $60 a night.

His brother really did love a good western. He'd have to remember that in January, maybe buy Dean a pair of spurs, or some chaps for his birthday. Maybe he'd wear the chaps. Dean wasn't really into kink most of the time, not that Sam hadn't tried to get him there on multiple occasions, because, despite what he let Dean believe, he wasn't completely naïve when it came to sex.

He'd been to college. He'd done the rounds of experimenting and dating and casual messing around and maybe he'd never taken it very far, but what he lacked in actual experience, he made up for in hours upon hours of porn and wet dreams.

Jess had found his collection once, cocked her head to the side, holding up an old, half busted cassette titled, 'Cock Hungry Pool Man.' He'd stammered over the start of several explanations for nearly a full minute before she'd rolled her eyes and walked past him, slapping the cassette to his chest where he'd caught it awkwardly and given him an amused smile, never mentioning it again.

She hadn't had to. She'd known him. They'd been friends before going out and if he hadn't mentioned that he straddled the fence on his own sexuality, she'd probably heard it from one of their many mutual acquaintances and if he knew her like he thought he did, she'd probably gone looking for the tapes, just to see what he'd say.

Taking another long drink from the can, he shook his head and went forward into the room. So, yeah, kink was something Dean wasn't really into, but Sam figured maybe that would change if he was patient enough, or if he found the right card, like Westerns. He leaned against the closed door and quirked his mouth at the thought of Dean coming into a room to find Sam wearing only chaps and a cowboy hat.

Might work. Might work really well, actually. The only real problem was how to buy the stuff and hide it long enough to surprise Dean with it. The other problem was that Dean was always warning Sam about thinking too much and he was always saying things like, "Dude, if you don't get your head out of your ass and start paying attention, you're gonna get us both killed."

His only consolation, really, as the familiar chime of a phone hitting something coalesced with the sharp, blinding pain of something hard hitting him upside the head was that at least it wasn't both of them.