October in Red Lodge (2/2)

Vampires.

Sam didn't so much drift into consciousness as his brain snapped like an over-tightened rubber band from blissfully unconscious to fully fucking aware and what he was aware of was that he was sitting in a chair with a bag over his head, gag through his mouth, and ropes digging painfully into his chest, arms and legs.

Vampires.

He should have been more careful. He should have been more aware. God, he should have thought about this before walking around the hotel parking lot alone smelling like a double bacon cheeseburger and that particular metaphor really wasn't helping. Why couldn't Bobby have chosen something a little less food related?

The bag was yanked roughly off his head and he flinched back, from the light and from the thing standing in front of him, fangs out, eyes narrowed angrily. It leaned forward and Sam was really glad he was gagged, because the scream pressing against the back of his throat probably sounded something like a twelve year old girl and if he was going to be killed by a vampire, he'd rather go down with at least some of his dignity in tact.

"Wait! Step back, Ely."

Yes, please, step the fuck back so he could breathe.

Despite the command, Sam honestly hadn't expected the vampire to move away, let alone retract his fangs. He could hear his own breath around the gag, tight and desperate. Breathe. Breathe. With the teeth no longer inches from his face, Sam found his footing. Think. Just think, because he wasn't ten years old. He wasn't some scared little kid surrounded by an entire nest of vampires. He was a hunter, trained and tested and if he could get out of the retrained, he could maybe win, or at least go down fighting. He knew how to kill them and there weren't that many. Actually, now that he looked around, there were only two – Ely and the woman who'd spoken.

She was standing in an archway a safe distance away. With her long black hair over a dark shirt and vest, she looked almost normal, only Sam knew she wasn't. Vampires didn't take orders from humans and Ely had more than proven what he was.

"My name's Lenore, I'm not gonna hurt you." She stepped forward, sure and confident in her assertions, reaching out to pull the gag from his mouth. Her hands brushed his face and he forced himself to stay still. Don't move, don't flinch, don't show fear. Vampires liked fear, they liked the way it smelled – only, really, Sam didn't feel the same fluttered panic in his chest he had the last time he saw a vampire, a little over a year ago, huddled in the cage with fire radiating from his mark, sending wave after wave of something too intense to be simple pleasure through his body, but sharp enough to feel like it and Sam hadn't been able to think past the vampire's presence in the room.

Lenore didn't feel like that. Her touching him didn't make his chest seize up with fear, her being in the room didn't make it hard to take his eyes his eyes off her. Even Ely, who'd had his teeth right there in Sam's face, seemed to easily fade into the background.

But that wasn't right, because she was a vampire and just because she hadn't marked him, just because she couldn't assert her claim on him, didn't mean she wasn't a threat. Except Sam didn't think the mark had anything to do with it.

"We just need to talk."

"Talk?" His flicked his eyes back to Ely again, reassuring himself that he knew exactly where the other vampire was. "Yeah, okay, but I have a tough time paying attention to much besides Ely's teeth."

She held her head a little higher, like he'd insulted her. "He won't hurt you. You have my word."

"Your word?!" He strained against the ropes, because really, his odds pretty much sucked if he was tied down, but if he could get up, if he could get the ropes off, maybe he had a chance. "Oh, yeah, great, thanks. Listen, lady, no offense, you're not the first vampire I've met."

"That was the point." Oh great, of course she knew, every vampire in town knew and Sam's heart did race just a little faster at the reminder of what his blood smelled like to them – at her acknowledgment of that. Lenore continued, ignoring his reaction to her words and he didn't want to be grateful for that, but he was. "We're not like the other. We don't kill humans, we haven't in years as I'm sure you can tell."

"What?"

She tilted her head to the side just slightly and stared at him for several long seconds before speaking again, "You were marked."

Plain and simple, like that mattered, like that answered anything.

"Were marked." He returned her stare with his own, his jaw set in the determination not to back down and he was surprised to find that there was fear, but not as much as there should have been. Not until she reached forward with one hand, tracing the outline of the mark through his shirt.

His chest tightened as a sickeningly familiar tingle ran down his spine. The ghost of the memory of what it had felt like, but that wasn't much better, and there was that panic, just on the other side of his resolve not to flinch away from his nightmare.

After a moment, she pulled her hand away, but didn't step back. "That doesn't matter. You felt them, you were with them, you should still know."

"Know what?" He really needed her to step back, because regardless of his resolve not to show fear, regardless of her ability to look normal, she was still a vampire.

They spent several moments staring silently at each other before Lenore knelt, putting herself level with him as she leaned forward, searching his face and eyes for something. A phantom itch traced up his forearm, but he refused to look away from her, refused to acknowledge that part of him that wanted to crawl away and hide. He could feel her breath on his cheek as her hand crept back over the faded remains of the scars up and down his arm.

Randall's dark eyes looking at him, looking into him and he can't move, because he's being held still and the feeling of teeth breaking his skin like needles and it hurts like fire, but it's not all bad, not really. He can feel it pulling at his insides and then it feels good and Randall pulls his teeth back and he's smiling. "Not nearly so innocent."

She tipped her head, looking deeper, her fingers firmer against the inside of his arm.

Fingers in his hair and the feeling of ownership rolling off the mark, seeping into his skin and he can't think straight, can't see past the haze of white hot pleasure and maybe if the fingers would stop tugging softly at his hair, sending little electric shocks straight to his groin he'd be able to breathe. God, he can't breathe for it and Dean is listening. Dean's hearing everything he never wanted him to know and Sam can't even look at him or offer a defense, because all he can feel is owned and it feels good. He doesn't want it to feel so good. "Filthy little boy."

He shut his eyes against the memories and when he opened them again, her eyebrows were drawn together in confusion.

"You don't know. How long were you with them?"

"I wasn't… I wasn't there for more than two days, only a few hours after they bit me."

His voice sounded more strained than he would have liked. He hadn't had flashes like that since before Stanford, hell, since the first few agonizing months at the Roadhouse when he'd woken screaming in the corner of his room with no memory of how he'd gotten there. Had she done that? She couldn't have. Vampires couldn't do that, at least he didn't think they did, but he doubted it would have been very difficult to read the fear in his face.

She scoffed and looked down at his arm, where her hand still rested, and moved her thumb over the scar. "How long ago?"

"Eleven years."

She stopped moving and looked back up at him, her face suddenly unnaturally in its stillness. "How old were you?"

"Ten."

Lenore didn't move away, but her disapproval was clear in the way her body tensed and she drew her head up higher. "Feeding is one thing, although even for our kind, feeding on a child is… unusual, but a mark is a more…" she faltered for a moment, searching for the right words, "intimate bond. I can't remember the last time someone marked a prepubescent child."

It was several long minutes before Lenore spoke again and when she did, she stood, taking her hand off his arm, "I apologize for the way you were acquired, but we took you because we thought you would be the most agreeable to what we have to say."

"Which is?" He still sounded small, but more level and that was one tiny little step across a whole ravine of issues this was bringing up for him and that ravine was about to get a lot bigger.

"This is the best pattern I can establish." Dean hunkered down over the map Gordon has set on the table and tried to concentrate on what the other Hunter was saying. "It's sketchy at best."

Sketchy, but definitely a pattern and where the hell was Sam? It had been hours since he'd left them at the bar, over twenty minutes since Gordon and Dean had made it back to the room, looking to collaborate on the job.

Gordon was looking at him expectantly, so Dean knit his brows, focusing on the marks and doing what worked best on Gordon – stating the obvious. "Looks like it's all coming from this side of town. Which means the nest will be around here someplace, right?"

"Yup, that's what I'm thinking. Problem is there's thirty five, forty farms out there. I've searched about half of them already, but nothing yet. They're covering their tracks real good."

"I guess we'll just have to search the other half." Fuck pretenses, it had been hours. Sam should have called or texted by now. Dean looked at the window then down at his watch, "What time is it? Where's Sam?"

Saying it out loud sent a familiar ache into the pit of his stomach, but he pushed it down. Still too early to get worried. Sam wasn't a kid anymore, he was a grown man. If he wanted to take off, he could. Didn't mean Dean had to like it. Didn't mean he couldn't worry like hell about it.

Gordon followed Dean's gaze, now back at the parking lot where the Impala sat just outside the door. "Car's still there. Probably went for a walk. He is the take-a-walk type."

"Yeah, he is but…" …but not without me. Not without telling me. Not without…

Dean's thoughts were interrupted by the door opening behind him and the relief that washed over Dean was wiped away by the look he saw on Sam's face. Haunted, dazed, confused, it was a jumble of not right and every instinct Dean had said to grab Sam and bring him in, sit him on the bed, check him for injuries. Something was wrong, but Gordon was there and as much as he knew they were brothers, he was a smart man and if Dean started running his hands all over Sam like he was desperate to, he'd figure their little secret out real quick.

Instead he settled for looking him up and down, doing a quick check for anything obvious that would explain his absence. Nothing. He was maybe a little more rumpled then when Dean had last seen him, but that was it. "Where you been?"

Sam swallowed thickly, keeping his eye contact with Dean, not even looking at Gordon, like he didn't exist and that was entirely unsettling. Even more so when Dean noticed Sam's hand rubbing against his forearm distractedly.

"Can I talk to you alone?"

This was more than another 'I don't like Gordon,' talk. This was something else and Dean got the distinct feeling he wasn't going to like it. He turned back to Gordon, doing his best to hide his anxiousness behind nonchalance. "Mind chillin' out for a couple minutes?"

Gordon shook his head wordlessly and Dean stood up, following Sam out the door with his hands already shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, because otherwise, he was gonna grab that arm Sam wouldn't stop rubbing and make sure it wasn't what he was afraid it was.

Sam looked at Dean for a moment as the door closed, but didn't say anything right away. Dean waited, trying to be patient and getting close to failing, because Sam wasn't making eye contact anymore and that couldn't be good. Sam started down the stairs and Dean almost couldn't believe what he heard next.

"Dean, maybe we gotta rethink this hunt."

"What are you talkin' about?" Sam looked at him, nervousness clear in his furrowed brow. "Where were you?"

Sam stopped and gave a small, nervous smile. "In the nest."

Dean's hands moved faster than his thought and Sam's arm was stretched out and his shirt pushed back before Dean even realized what he was doing, but the faded scar of the mark was all that was there, except maybe some chaffing on Sam's wrists and if those fuckers tied up his brother, they were going to die for that alone.

"Dean, I know what you're thinking."

"Did they bite you?" He kept his voice low and leaned in close. At the shake of Sam's head, Dean breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Where'd they take you?"

"I was blindfolded, I don't know." He pushed the sleeve of his shirt back down.

"You gotta know something."

"We went over that bridge outside of town, but, Dean, listen, maybe we shouldn't go after them."

The words, 'are you stupid?' stuck in his throat, because Sam had that determined look on his face, like he really believed what he saying and Dean knew that look. "Why not?"

"I don't think they're like other vampires." Dean tried not to look indignant, but felt his eyebrows rise despite his best efforts. "I don't think they're killing people."

"You're joking." It had to be, because that was the only logical explanation for this.

Only Sam wasn't backing down, just pressing his lips together, holding Dean's eye contact in a way that said everything. He really believed that. Honestly, deep down, believed that they weren't killing people and they shouldn't gank them.

"Then how do they stay alive?! Or undead, or whatever the hell they are."

"The cattle mutilations. They said they live off of animal blood."

"And you believed 'em?" Because Sam believing anything a vampire said was just too much. When they were done having this conversation, Dean was tying his brother to the motel bed until he remembered who he was and what they did.

Sam held out his arms confidently in the face of Dean's obvious skepticism. "Look at me, Dean. They let me go without a scratch. Remember what Bobby said? To them you smell like a hamburger, but me?"

"You're a double bacon cheese burger with a side of onion rings. Yeah, I remember. Hard to forget." Dean hadn't been able to eat a burger for a week. Every time he saw one, he thought of a ten-year-old Sammy alone in the woods with a neon sign hanging over his head.

So, why had they let him go? How had they let him go? Because Bobby had made it sound like they wouldn't be able to control themselves around Sam, but here Sam was, telling him they took him, they talked to him, but never bit him and Dean believed him, because Sam wouldn't lie about that.

"You sure they were vampires?"

"The teeth in my face were hard to miss." Dean bristled, "No, look, you killed one of their nest, okay? They weren't happy about it, but they backed down. They just want to be left alone."

"No, man…"

Dean tried to read something in Sam's face that said he was lying – they were being watched, they were being listened to – but there wasn't anything there. Sam believed this. He really believed these vampires weren't going to hurt anyone, but Dean knew better. Dean remembered his baby brother lying in a bed with a vampire wrapped around him. Dean remembered washing off the blood crusted mark they'd left and Dean remembered that vampires were evil. They were sons of bitches that deserved to have their heads cut off for even existing.

"No way. I don't know why they let you go, I don't really care. We find 'em, we waste 'em."

He didn't wait for Sam to argue, just turned around and headed back toward the room, but Sam followed him.

"Why?!"

"What part of vampires don't you understand, Sam?" What part of the thing that haunted Dean every night didn't Sam understand? More than the men that fucked him, the cocks he sucked and every other dirty little thing that was done to him was the fact that he had failed Sam. That if he'd made that call a year and a half earlier he wouldn't have had to pull his brother out of a vampire nest, in shock and covered in his own blood. The thought of those teeth sinking into the inside flesh of Sam's arm was the thing that had woken him up in the middle of the night, sweating for fucking years.

"No, Dean, I can't… look, man, I can't explain it, okay?"

"You have to do better then that."

Sam ran his hands through his hair, looking up for a minute before making eye contact with Dean again, his face set in picture perfect desperation.

"I just know. Lenore said…"

"Who's Lenore?"

"Their…" There was a moment's hesitation followed by, "leader?"

"Oh great, so we're actually trusting the leader of a vampire nest, are we?"

"No!" Then, because they both knew that was a lie. "Yes, I told you, I can't explain it, but I just know she's not lying." Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam cut him off. "Never mind that there aren't any actually bodies that we can tie to them, but when I look at her, I know. She hasn't had human blood in a long time. There's something… non-threatening about her? Like I'm afraid, but that's just the memories and not because of her."

This was ridiculous. Just because Sam wasn't threatened by her, he thought that meant they should leave her alone?

"I'm going to that nest. You don't want to tell me where it is, fine, I'll find it myself." He waited a moment, hoping Sam would back down, but he didn't. He was staring back, just as stubbornly and finally Dean gave a soft huff, turning around and storming back to the room, Sam at his heels, probably intending on trying to talk him out of it again, which wasn't going to fucking happen, because Gordon was going to be there and Sam would have to keep up appearances…

Except Gordon wasn't there.

"Gordon?"

Nothing. Not that Dean expected it. He knew Gordon better than that and if he hadn't been so blinded by his concern for Sam, he might have remembered all those lessons Gordon gave him on how sometimes the best way to get information was to just listen.

"Think he went after them?" Sam looked anxiously around the room, his body tense and ready to run, but not for the same reason Dean wanted to run, not for the right reason. Vampires not being evil. That would be one of the most fucked up things Dean has seen in a long time. Actually, the second most fucked up thing. His dad appearing out of nowhere after eleven years took the cake for the most fucked up thing that would ever happen to him. Ever.

Sam was still looking at him expectantly, so Dean settled for, "Probably."

"Dude, we have to stop him." And he meant it. He really meant it.

"Really, Sam, 'cause I say we lend a hand."

"Just, give me the benefit of the doubt, would you?"

"We'll see." It's the closest thing he could get to saying Sam was right around the tight ache in his chest at the swell of memories. "I'll drive, give me the keys."

Sam started across the room, but stopped short, and as mad as Dean was at Sam for not wanting to kill the son of a bitch vampires, the next thing out of Sam's mouth practically had him seeing red. "He snaked the keys."

Gordon was going to pay for that.

He spent the ride – after having to hotwire his baby and the new starter was coming out of Gordon's ass – running over his conversation with Sam, trying to decide if they'd said anything they wouldn't want Gordon to hear. They hadn't mentioned their relationship in any way and Dean was thankful that he'd been paranoid for so long he couldn't remember any other way to be.

There was one problem, though, he was pretty sure Gordon would know Sam was or had been marked. That didn't mean he'd try to behead Sam anytime soon, marked was different from turned and Gordon might not like it, but he was a black and white kind of guy and as long Sam hadn't been fully turned, he was okay.

Bait was another matter. Gordon loved using bait and Sam would draw any vampire within smelling distance and that was a pretty wide stretch the way vampires smelled. He'd have to have words with Gordon. Really long, painful words that would make it very clear Sam wasn't bait and until the smell wore off, they weren't hunting with him again. Actually, hunting with him to begin with had never been the plan, so that one would be easy enough as long as Gordon didn't get any funny ideas and if he did… if he did, Dean wouldn't even bother putting a call into Ellen, he'd take care of it himself.

The other thing he was thinking about was Sam. It was hard to decide what Sam was thinking, because he hadn't said a damn word since they left that didn't involve directions. He was probably plotting his next move in convincing Dean the vampires were okay, even if they both knew there was nothing he could say.

If, by some twist of fate, Sam really could feel something in Lenore through some intangible vampiric link based on his having been marked, that didn't mean a damn thing. Lenore knew about it, she was the one that told Sam about it, so who was to say she couldn't manipulate it to make him feel whatever she wanted? Who was to say she wasn't feeding thoughts and ideas into Sam's head that weren't even real?

So, Sam could just stop looking at him that way from across those few feet separating them in the car. He could stop giving him puppy dog eyes and desperate sympathy glances and he could stop sighing and huffing and making all those noises that said he was stopping himself from saying things that wouldn't make a difference.

By the time they pulled up to the house, both of them were so on edge, they practically leapt out of the car.

It was a quaint little house, Dean gave it that. Granted, he'd only ever seen two other vampire nests, but he'd heard stories, done his research. Vampires usually lived in run down shacks and old barns and anywhere that looked abandoned so no one would come knocking. This wasn't abandoned. This was well kept with a manicured garden and cute, floral curtains hanging in the windows that were open to let in the afternoon sun.

It was about as un-vampire as a house could get. Hell, it was in better shape then Ellen's little one story behind the Roadhouse.

Sam started to run for the door, but Dean put his arm out and shook his head, starting at a slow walk. After a moment, Sam took the hint and followed him, tense, but no longer running like someone's life depended on it. Like a vampire's life depended on it.

Inside was just as quaint as out, if a little darker. Even the old wallpaper and faded white trim were clean. They rounded the corner of the door into the front room and froze, because Dean didn't like vampires, but this? This was something else.

The girl, Lenore he figured from the way Sam had bristled, was tied to a chair, her pale skin painted in lines of red where Gordon must have been cutting into her with the knife he still had in his hand, tacky and red with dead man's blood. Lenore's eyes were glazed and Dean remembered that look. He'd done that to the bitch he killed after Sammy went missing.

Dead man's blood had a pretty profound affect on vampires. It poisoned them and made it hard for them to fight, but it didn't paralyze them completely. Even lashed to the chair as she was, Lenore could have fought. She could have bared her fangs, snarled, growled, acted like Dean had seen vampires act when they were cornered. She wasn't doing any of that, she was rolling her head back and taking it, groaning deep in her throat with the pain and it made Dean's world go just a little sideways.

Maybe Sam was right.

He clenched down on that thought quickly, before it showed in his face.

Gordon had heard them before they even came in, probably heard the car pulling up and recognized the engine rumble, recognized their foot steps, or maybe he just figured they were on their way and took for granted it was them. Actually, probably that last one, because Gordon was a cocky son of a bitch.

"Sam, Dean, come on in."

Dean tried not to look at Lenore. He tried not to feel anything for the undead bitch tied to a chair, rasping pathetically as the poison worked its way painfully through her system. Tried and failed.

"Gordon. What's going on?"

"Just poisoning Lenore here with some dead man's blood. She's gonna tell us where all her little friends are, aren't you?" She rolled her eyes to look at him, but didn't say anything and Dean couldn't help but remember how mouthy all the vampires he'd met were. Gordon gave a little smile, like a dare. "Wanna help?"

"Look, man…" because this didn't sit right with him. No matter what she was, this was torture and Dean remembered what that felt like. He remembered what it felt like to be pinned and helpless and wanting it to be over.

Gordon didn't hear him, or maybe he didn't say it loud enough. "Grab a knife, I was just about to start in on the fingers."

The way Gordon dragged the knife over her skin and the way she gasped, it was too familiar. It made Dean's stomach twist painfully and he made up his mind right there. He didn't trust her, he didn't trust Sam's opinion of her, but this was wrong. It was wrong in so many ways.

"Wow, wow, wow hey let's all just chill out, huh."

"I'm completely chill." Actually, he was too chill. Like he was waiting for something. Sam didn't see it, though. Whether it was something to do with this strange connection he had to Lenore and apparently all other vampires – and wasn't that just fucked up, because Dean really had thought they were done with all that when they killed the nest that marked him – or because he was Sam and he always cared, even when he shouldn't, he wasn't paying enough attention to what really mattered.

"Gordon put the knife down."

Gordon had waited for them. He'd been torturing her, sure, but he'd been taking his time. He could have done so much more by now, even in the short head start he had. So what was he waiting for?

"It sounds like Sammy here's the one that needs to chill."

Dean's eyes flickered between them, his thoughts running laps in his head, trying to piece it together, but he could see that Gordon was right. Sam all but bounced on his feet, barely containing the urge to go over there and help her.

"Just step away from her, all right."

"You're right. I'm wasting my time here, this bitch'll never talk." He pulled out a machete, eyeing its blade lovingly. Gordon wasn't even looking at Sam anymore. In fact, he was looking anywhere but Sam and, come to that, he'd barely spared Dean a glance since they'd walked in. "Might as well put her out of her misery. I just sharpened it, so it's completely humane."

It clicked. Just as Sam lunged forward, carried by anger and something Dean couldn't understand, announcing, "Gordon, I'm letting her go." He suddenly knew exactly what Gordon had been waiting for, but he was too late to stop it.

The knife was at Sam's throat before Dean had even taken the first step forward and Sam stopped, seething at the sudden threat, but unmoving.

For several moments, no one moved, finally, Gordon broke the silence. "Show me the mark, Sammy."

Sam's face went ash pale and Dean could hardly breathe. Showing anyone that bite was the Sammy equivalent of asking him to strip naked. Sam wore long sleeves in hundred degree weather to keep that scar to himself and the fact that Gordon had put a knife to his throat before even asking said he knew that. He knew exactly what he was asking and he was asking it anyway.

When Sam didn't move to comply, Gordon laughed humorlessly, "I always knew there was something off about you. Didn't know what it was, but there was something. So, tell me, how long have you been marked?"

They exchanged glances and the knife wedged deeper into Sam's throat, making him tilt his head back, to avoid getting cut.

Dean finally caved, because he didn't think Sam could, "Before we moved in with Ellen, but it's gone now. Remember that nest you guys pulled us from a year ago? That was them, they caught up with us, but you killed them, so the mark's gone."

"Let me see it."

"Sammy, show him." Finally, Sam moved, shoving his sleeve up his arm and holding it out for Gordon to see. The mark was just a faded ring of puncture marks, pale and white against Sam's skin. "You happy now?"

Before either of them could react, Gordon grabbed Sam's arm and sliced a thin gash across the mark. Sam gripped the arm up higher and Dean moved forward pulling his gun, but the knife was back at Sam's throat almost instantly.

Dean seethed behind the gun, keeping it level with Gordon's head, wishing he could pull the trigger, but this was Gordon. Bastard that he was, he was still a Hunter and Dean had to at least give him a chance. "Let him go."

"You know, I've been following them for a year now and, you're right, they haven't killed anyone, but they will. Eventually, they always do, because they aren't human. They don't feel like we do. But it seems Sammy here needs a little reminder of that."

There was panic in Sam's face and it was a goddamned miracle he didn't cut his own neck on the knife as Gordon dragged him the few agonizing steps to where Lenore was tied to the chair, blood dripping slowly down his arm as he forced the cut over her face.

The affect was instantaneous. Lenore's teeth were out almost immediately and the fear in Sam's face as he watched his blood drip into her mouth made Dean's entire body freeze in anger. Sam had stopped moving altogether, caught in his own head watching her teeth and his blood and Gordon was going to pay for that. Forget him steeling the keys to the Impala and making Dean hotwire his own car, he'd just fed Sammy to a vampire and no one walked away from that.

"See that, Sam? See what she really is? Look at her!"

Sam's eyes finally focus, because he hadn't been looking at her as much as her teeth.

"See that? They're all the same. Evil. Bloodthirsty."

He might have gone on. There might have been more, or he might have stopped there, because Sam looked just about ready to agree if that's what it took to get his exposed, bleeding arm with its faded mark away from the sharp teeth straining to reach it.

Then Lenore did something Dean would have thought was impossible. The way it had been explained to Dean, Sam's blood was impossible to ignore for them. It called to them, drew them, made them crave him and Dean could believe that for the sake of shaking off Hunters, a vampire might – might – be able to turn an unhurt Sam away.

But Sam wasn't unhurt, he was bleeding little drops of candy into her mouth and Sam was fucking terrified, which only made it taste better if Dean believed everything they'd ever been told. Over all that, Lenore pulled her teeth back. She took deep, steadying breathes and turned her head away from the drip of Sam's blood and said one impossible word.

"No. No."

Even Gordon looked impressed, or at least he was distracted enough for Sam to push the blade away from his throat and back away, slowly at first and then more quickly, shoving his sleeve back over his mark and the cut that bled through the fabric.

Lenore managed another, "No. No!" stronger this time with her head turned stubbornly to the side, like not being able to see Sam standing there was going to make it easier. Hell, maybe it did. Dean didn't really have a lot of experience in that department.

Dean analyzed the situation as best he could without giving Gordon a chance to make a move. Sam was still afraid, his pupils were still blown wide and he hadn't taken them off Lenore while he gripped the fresh wound under his shirt. No, not the wound, because he'd had far worse then that and ignored it – he was gripping his mark.

"Sam?"

Finally, Sam was able to drag his eyes away from Lenore and look at Dean, nodding. Hesitant, at first, but then more firmly.

"All right, you take her and go." Then, just to be sure, "Lenore, that gonna be a problem?"

She shook her head vaguely, as much as the poison and the draw of fresh blood would let her. Gordon had backed up a few steps, and Sam swooped in, slicing the ropes with one of the many knives Gordon had left lying around and picked Lenore up, carrying her out as quickly as he could.

Dean read the tension in Sam's body, tried to imagine what Sam was thinking being that close to a vampire, saving one's life and if it had been anyone other then Sam, he wouldn't have believed it, but as stubborn as Dean was, Sam was a hundred times more so. He'd do the right thing up until the day he died and Dean would be right behind him.

For now, though? For now, Sam would take care of Lenore, who had more than proven she could restrain herself where Sam was involved and Dean was going to have a few words with his former teacher.

'Words' was putting it strongly. Words didn't exactly enter into the equation. Well, there were some words. "That's for my fucking car!" made it out of his mouth once.

Gordon didn't exactly sit himself down in a chair and wait for Dean to tie him up, so Dean'd had to kick his ass a little first. Gordon was good and he'd taught Dean a lot of things, but while Gordon worked alone, Dean had learned from so many others and, besides that, Dean was pissed.

After Gordon was thoroughly beat to hell and tied to a chair, Dean took a moment to consider what he was going to say, if he was going to say anything, because the thing of it was, Gordon knew Dean well enough to know he hadn't so much crossed the line as leapt the fuck over it. No one fucked with Sam. No one.

So, in the end, he didn't really say much. He leered and stared and occasionally nearly lashed out, but mostly just paced the room and thought and let Gordon think. It was hours before Sam came back. The sun was just coming up and Dean was finally starting to worry that maybe his trust in an entire nest of vampires based on the strength of their leader might have been a bad idea, when Sam finally – fucking finally – came through the door and he looked…

Fine – a little tired, maybe, and his shirt sleeve was up, revealing a puffy bandage that smelled overpoweringly like sage and a few other herbs Dean couldn't identify – but fine. "You okay?"

Sam looked at the bandage, fingering it nervously for a second before shrugging. "Yeah, I'm fine, just something to help smother the smell of my blood. Lenore was pretty insistent." He rolled his sleeve down over it. "I miss anything?"

"Nah, not much."

Except the part where Dean had come up with the most brilliant, understated revenge that he had ever concocted in his whole life and it was going to be hilarious. And possibly Gordon was going to hunt him down for it, because the man was all about his pride sometimes. That was why he hunted alone, because he didn't need anyone else. Everything with Gordon was black and white and pride. And Dean was all about Sam. Not much else to it, just Sam. So if Gordon was going to threaten Dean's existence, Dean was going to take a swing at his.

Dean ignored Gordon glaring daggers at him. "Lenore get away okay?"

"Yeah." Sam stared pointedly back at Gordon, "All of them did."

Gordon continued to glare wordlessly back. Dean knew that eventually, this was all going to come back to bite them in the ass. Gordon knew their secret. Gordon knew Sam's fear and really, after what Dean intended to do to him, Gordon was going to want some kind of revenge. If he knew what was good for him, he wouldn't pursue it, but Dean deeply doubted Gordon knew what was good for him.

"Then I guess our work here is done. How are you doing Gordy. Gotta tinkle yet?" Gordon's jaw firmed up. "Alright. Well, get comfy. We'll call someone in two or three days, have them come out, untie you."

If looks could have killed, Dean would have been incinerated. Of course, if looks could kill, Gordon would have been dust the second he put his hand on Sam with that knife, so maybe they were both lucky.

"Ready to go, Dean?"

"Not yet." He considered what to say next. I guess this is goodbye. Well, it's been real. But all he could think about when he looked at Gordon was Sam's face flush with fear and Lenore's mouth open and full of all those teeth and Sam's blood on her face and before he even realized he's swung, Gordon's chair was crashing back to the ground and his knuckles felt like he might have split a few of them open. Actually, that felt better.

"Okay, I'm good now. We can go."

It took Dean a full week to notice. Not because he had a blind spot for Sam, he did, but because he would have expected Sam to tell him something that important.

They'd waited a few days before going back to the Roadhouse. Dean wanted some time with Sam in a bed, a shower, the car, the hood of the car. He needed to reassure himself that Sam was okay. He needed to run his hand all over his brother's body and get up in him until there was no question in his mind that Sam hadn't been lying and that he was actually as okay as he said he was.

The arm stayed bandaged, but Dean didn't think anything about it until they made it back to the Roadhouse and Ellen asked, "You want me to take a look at that?" and Sam had turned a pretty shade of pink before shrugging, with a, "Nah, it's okay."

Dean knew that look. It wasn't okay. Still, he figured if it was something that needed taking care of, Sam would tell him. Only a few days later, the bandage was still there and Dean hadn't gotten a really good look at the injury, but he knew it didn't merit a week under a bandage.

Maybe Sam was more hurt by having to show Gordon the mark than he'd let on. He'd always been so careful with it. Dean was the only one that ever saw it and even he tried not to touch it too much, because it reminded them both of times and things they wanted to forget. Gordon seeing that had put Dean on edge, but it must have really messed with Sam.

He needed to get them out on the road again, away from other hunters, maybe on a case, somewhere he could take his time showing Sam it was okay. He was gonna pin Sam to a bed and take off that bandage and kiss and lick Sam all over his entire body, even the faded remains of the mark and the healed line from Gordon's knife until Sam begged to be fucked and then he'd lay Sam open and after, he'd do it again, until Sam forgot about what Gordon had seen, until just looking at the scar reminded Sam of nothing more than being fucked senseless for days on end.

Finally, he settled on telling Ellen they needed to check in with John. He was still laid up at Bobby's and he didn't think he'd quite convinced her that was the only reason they were heading out, but she didn't push him and Dean wasn't ready to talk to her about it, so they let it drop.

Sam was a little harder to convince. He seemed to be enjoying the time apart, but just because they were checking in, didn't mean they were going to start hunting with him again, so Sam caved too and Dean started mapping out where they were going to stop and what he was going to do first. The Roadhouse was relatively empty, giving him time to really think about it.

He'd forego the usual stop just outside of town and go straight through to the motel. They could stop early, because he hadn't called to tell John they were coming and if Ellen did it for him, he deserved to worry a little when they took longer then he expected.

"Dean, table four needs ketchup."

Dean turned around, leaning into the pass-through to the kitchen where Sam was helping with the dishes and his stomach dropped when he saw Sam rubbing the bandage under his shirt. He'd always done that on some level, ever since he was ten and it wasn't like Dean expected twelve years of being marked got rubbed out in one. So, he expected that when Sam was nervous, he'd run a hand over where the mark used to be, or squeeze it subconsciously. The problem was that what Sam was doing didn't look reflexive or subconscious. What he was doing was leaning against the wall, just out of immediate sight, his eyes closed, breath heavy in relieved pants while he vigorously rubbed the hell out of his arm like he had the worlds itchiest mosquito bite.

Then it clicked. It clicked in a big way and Dean didn't even realize he'd said, "Fuck that," out loud until Sam turned to look at him, green eyes wide and suddenly desperate. He didn't even try to deny it. There wasn't a point.

Backing out of the window, Dean clenched his fists at his sides and tried to get his thoughts in order. Except the only thought he could manage was how badly he needed to hit something. Actually, no, that wasn't right, he needed to kill something. Something called Lenore that he'd trusted with his baby brother alone and now he was fucking marked. Again.

Dean yanked his keys out of his pocket and started for the back door, vaguely hearing Ellen call after him, but not caring. Lenore was going to fucking pay. He was going to tie her up, then he was going to kill her entire fucking nest in front of her before he took her out. He was going to make her beg for it, he'd…

"Dean!" He was abruptly yanked around by his arm and he knew from the familiar grip of large hands that it was Sam, but he still pulled away, backpedaling. Sam tried and failed to hide the hurt on his face at that. "Dean, listen…"

"No. You said she was safe. I trusted that."

He'd also trusted that she'd been able to hold back with Sam's blood in her mouth, but maybe that had been a lie. Maybe she'd known if she played her cards right, she'd get him alone.

"Just hold on, okay?"

"Not happening. I should have fucking listened to Gordon." He started to turn around to leave, managed two steps even, before Sam said something that stopped him in his tracks.

"I asked her to." He didn't turn around, but he stopped moving. "It took all night to convince her, Dean, but I wanted it."

Now he did turn, confused and cornered and not sure what to make of that. "Why?!"

"Because, Dean, I don't like being a double bacon cheese burger, okay?" Dean blinked, unable to wrap his head around what that meant. "I don't like being a target and that's what I've felt like ever since the mark went away – ever since Bobby told us what that meant. Between being marked by someone I trust and having to look over my shoulder every time we step into a new town, I choose her. I choose to be marked."

"No, you…" Dean shoved his fists tighter into his pockets, the keys to the Impala digging painfully into his palms. "Damnit, Sammy, that's…"

Sam squared off, pulling himself to his full height. "Don't, Dean. I was marked for over ten years. This isn't new, this is… familiar. I can't… It's really hard to explain."

"Try."

Sam looked back at the Roadhouse, just far enough away that they thankfully didn't have to worry about anyone overhearing them. "It's safer, Dean, whether you want to admit it or not. Me being marked is safer than me running around like… like a double bacon fucking cheeseburger for the undead."

The staring contest lasted a full five minutes. At some point, the back door opened and Ellen came out, but she didn't approach them, just watched and waited. She'd get her answers eventually. Finally, Dean kicked the ground.

"Damnit, Sam. You better know what you're doing."

"I do."

Then, because Sam needed to be punished, even if Dean didn't think he could do it himself, "And you get to tell Ellen. I'm going for a drive."

Sam turned around slowly as Dean retreated and saw Ellen standing next to the back door, arms crossed over her chest expectantly and tried for one of his most reassuring, easy smiles. She returned it with a deeper frown. Shit.

"Dean, wait up!"

"So, Sam, what kind of burger are you now?"

"What?"

"I'm a regular burger, you used to be a double bacon cheese burger. So what now? What do you smell like?"

"Dude, don't be an ass."

"Come on, Sammy."

"Fine, okay, um, say all vampires hate onions. I'm a burger with onions. If they're starving, they won't care, but if they have other choices, why bother."

"I fucking love onions."

"Yeah, I know, I've woken up to that morning breath more than once, thanks."

"No, man. I love. onions."

"You are such a jerk.

"Yeah, but you love it."

"Just pull the car over already."