Come as You Are
Summary: Unable to re-age Sam, Dean decides it's time to start hunting with his thirteen year old brother in tow. But things don't go according to plan. Sequel to Smells Like Teen Spirit.
Chapter Four
The first thing Sam notices, as he swims groggily towards consciousness, struggling with eyelids that seem to weigh a thousand pounds each, is that someone is crying.
He tries to remember how to move his lips. He wants to ask the crying person whether they're okay and if they need something and maybe see whether they know what the hell is going on, but he can't get the words to form and after that he notices the second thing, which completely wipes every other thought from his mind because the second thing is that his skull might very well be caving in.
Pain, white hot and violent, radiates from the crown of his head, crushing him. Sam cowers beneath it, curling into himself as if making himself small can somehow hide him from the agony.
It doesn't work.
He has no choice but to learn to live with it. Sam forces himself to breathe through the waves of pain, to slow his panicked pulse and racing thoughts. He's a Winchester, damn it. Winchesters don't give up because of a headache, not even a headache that makes it feel as though his brain is about to start leaking out of his ears, and definitely not when someone needs help.
Because he knows who the crying girl is now, and he remembers the other girl, the supposed-to-be-a-ghost girl, ambushing him and Yvonne in the school parking lot, along with a whole group of supposed-to-be-dead teens, and he doesn't know where they are now but if he wants to get out of this alive – and get Yvonne out of this alive – he's going to have to start figuring things out.
Sam forces his heavy eyelids to open, squinting against a glow that emanates from a low ceiling, stretching fuzzy beams of light towards him. He blinks and the glow focuses into a dangling bulb, casting just enough light to illuminate a small, windowless room, empty but for a risky-looking wooden staircase leading up to a trap door in the far corner, and Yvonne, huddled against the wall beside him, whimpering quietly to herself.
"Yvonne?" Sam hauls himself upright, swallowing thickly against a lurch of nausea. His head throbs menacingly and the room swirls. "Yvonne, are you okay? Did they hurt you?"
Yvonne sniffs. She shakes her head. "Not really," she says quietly, possibly the shortest sentence Sam has ever heard from her. He's not sure which of his questions she's answering. Maybe both.
"Do you know where we are?" he asks hopefully. "How long was I out?"
"Um..." Yvonne sniffs again. She wipes her tear-stained face with the back of her hand and sits up a little straighter. "I don't really... A few hours, maybe? We're in the woods. A cabin in the woods." She chokes out a sob. "Oh my God, this is literally a horror movie!"
"Shh!" Sam warns, glancing anxiously at the trap door. All is silent up above but he feels certain that their captors haven't gone far and that it won't be long before they make a reappearance. "It's going to be alright. We just need to stay calm."
Yvonne's eyebrows disappear behind her bangs. "Stay calm?" she hisses incredulously. "A dead girl just locked us in her basement!"
Sam ignores this very legitimate point. "My brother will be looking for us," he reassures the frightened girl. Remembering the cellphone Dean bought him, Sam feels his pocket. He finds it disappointingly empty. "Do you have your phone?"
Yvonne shakes her head miserably. "I think they took it when they grabbed me."
Sam tries to recall what happened in the parking lot but it just makes his head swim. Feeling for his blade, he lets out a sigh of relief when his fingers find the hilt. Allison Reed, whatever she is, obviously wasn't expecting him to be armed. Sam doubts that any of her other victims were.
"How many of them are there?"
"Um... like, seven or eight, maybe?" Yvonne's fingers twist in Sam's shirt sleeve and tug urgently. "And Sam, I think I recognised some of them. That girl that ran away to be an actress. And a guy that vanished right before graduation a few years ago. But what are they doing here? What do they want us for?"
"I don't know," Sam admits. He rubs his temple, grimacing, and leans back against the wall while he thinks. Allison Reed hasn't aged – Sam guesses that none of the teenagers have – so she's certainly not human, at least, not anymore, but she isn't a ghost, either. She doesn't chill the air or flicker in and out of sight, translucent and ethereal. She's something solid, something intelligent that hunts in a pack and stores prey in a basement. For what? To add to her clique of creepy kids? Or are they food? There are plenty of creatures that feed on human hearts or livers or...
Sam has to close his eyes until a fresh swoop of nausea ebbs away. He wants Dean. He'd even settle for Castiel, if it meant getting out of here before he finds out the answers to his questions.
"What else do you remember?" he asks Yvonne, mostly to distract himself from his gruesome thoughts. "What happened after they showed up in the parking lot?"
It's a good thing that Yvonne likes talking so much. Terrified as she is, she tells Sam all about the group of 'freaky ghost kids' stepping out of the shadows to swarm them, describing a few in detail, such as the pretty girl that apparently didn't run off to LA and the tall boy with a crowbar who turns out to be responsible for Sam's headache, and pointing out, somewhat unnecessarily, how completely horrifying it is to be swept into a car, driven deep into the woods, and locked away in a dingy basement.
"They were so strong, and fast." Yvonne shakes her head in wonder. "I don't know how they moved like that. It wasn't normal. And then one of them..." She shudders, one hand fluttering towards her neck. "Eurgh. One of them bit me."
Sam's stomach does a funny little somersault. He leans closer, gently moving Yvonne's collar aside to see the wound. He hisses sympathetically at the angry rows of punctures. It isn't a human bite mark. Too many teeth.
Dad used to tell stories about super-strong, super-fast creatures. Creatures with fangs and a thirst for blood.
Vampires.
Dad used to say that they were gone, hunted to extinction, but Dean said that Dad had been wrong. Sam remembers because Dean never used to say that Dad was wrong about anything and it always gives Sam a strange little thrill whenever it happens. He's less than thrilled now though. He wishes Dad had been right.
Overhead, a floorboard creaks. Yvonne lets out a small shriek and digs her nails into Sam's forearm.
What else did Dean say? Something about vampires being 'sparkly prissy boys' but Sam doesn't think he was being serious, just making a reference that had flown over Sam's head. Did Dean tell him how to kill them? Not a stake to the heart, or garlic, or sunlight. One of the books he's read must have said something but he can't remember. His head keeps pounding. Think. Think. He can't remember.
Footsteps now, moving towards the trapdoor, then the sound of something heavy being shoved aside, scraping across wooden floorboards.
"Oh my God," Yvonne moans.
Sam pries her fingers off of his arm and tugs his knife free from it's sheath. He climbs shakily to his feet. "Stay behind me."
Yvonne gapes at him, her mouth dropping open. "Where did you get that?"
"My brother gave it to me." Sam's hand is sweating, making the handle of his blade slippery. His heart pounds in his chest and suddenly his throat is so dry that he can barely swallow. He never had these problems when he was sparring with Dean, but then, he never had to worry about Dean eating him if he lost.
"Why did your brother give you a knife?" Yvonne asks.
This, Sam thinks, is the wrong thing to be worrying about right now and he finds himself frustrated by the question, which actually helps. Being angry is easier than being scared. It helps him to focus. He steadies himself with a deep breath, taking up the fighting stance Dean had taught him.
"To kill monsters."
Up above, the trapdoor's hinges screech as it swings open. Allison Reed descends the stairs.
She isn't particularly tall, nor does she appear particularly intimidating. She's wearing a yellow sundress that reaches her knees. Her lank blonde hair skims slender shoulders and her skin is so pale that she reminds Sam of a porcelain doll. Following her are two other teens; a dark-skinned boy with curly hair and a brunette with half a dozen piercings in her face. They stop at the foot of the stairs. Sam can't help focusing on their mouths. They don't look like they have fangs.
"Looks like we have a fighter." Allison glances at Sam's knife with an insulting lack of concern.
"Maybe this one will actually be worth the effort." The boy leers.
"Maybe the last one wouldn't have run dry so fast if someone knew how to control themselves," the girl with the piercings says pointedly.
"Now, now, children." Allison smirks. "Marco's a growing boy. He needs his vitamins."
"He always takes more than his share!" the girl complains.
"Well, this time there are two of them," Allison says placatingly, like a mother mediating between her kids. "And you can have first pick."
"No fair!" Marco protests. The girl looks at him smugly.
"Yes fair," Allison says firmly. "It's Jackie's turn. Jackie, which one do you want? Rambo or the wallflower?"
Jackie's tongue flicks out of her mouth, licking the ring in her lower lip. "I want the girl."
Yvonne's terror is so strong that Sam feels it hit his back like a wave. He steps sideways, shielding Yvonne from Jackie's hungry eyes.
"No." His voice is surprisingly steady. "Leave her alone."
"Or what?" Jackie taunts, grinning. "You'll stab me with that toothpick?"
Marco and Jackie laugh but Allison is scowling. She stalks forward, shrinking the space between them.
"Move," she orders.
"No."
Sam dodges the first strike, just. Allison's fist comes so close that he feels the rush of displaced air against his cheek. Yvonne screams. Allison growls and swings again and Sam slashes at her, ducking under her arm. The blade slides through the thin fabric of Allison's sundress and slices a long gash into her stomach. The vampire doesn't flinch - Sam's not sure she even notices the wound - and her next swing catches Sam in the shoulder, knocking him clear across the cellar.
The floor slams into him with what feels like the force of a freight train and the pain is like an explosion. He shatters. He can't breathe. There's no air. He struggles to move anyway. He has to get up. He has to fight. But his arm...
Sam recognises the unnatural jut of bone immediately. Dad's had half a dozen dislocated shoulders, relocated in motel rooms by Dean and, once, by Sam. He has to learn, Dad said, and never once did he let on how much it hurts, how each movement grinds bone against bone and sends sparks shooting up his neck and down his arm. Dad just had a shot of whiskey and told Sam to pull.
Sam wishes he had whiskey. He wishes he had Dad.
Yvonne is screaming. With Herculean strength, Sam uses his good arm to push himself up. He staggers to his feet, determined to ignore the sway of the room and the wooden way his bad arm hangs at his side, but Allison blocks his path immediately. Jackie is standing over the screaming girl, reaching for her. Sam swings wildly with the knife he's somehow still holding but Allison twists and the blade finds only air. She sweeps out her arm, as if swatting at an annoying bee, and bats the weapon aside. It skitters across the floor and disappears into the shadows beneath the staircase. Sam gasps, snatching back his stinging fingers, and moves to follow it and,, again, finds Allison in his way. She moves like an animal, lithe, swift, and deadly. Springing forward, she presses her hands flat against Sam's chest and slams him back against the wall. He hits with a thud and a yelp as his shoulder erupts again in agony.
Allison smiles, wide, showing off all her pretty white teeth. Wider, until her upper lip draws back into a snarl and suddenly a second set of teeth appears, erupting from her gums. Horrible teeth, long and curved and alarmingly sharp. No, not teeth. Fangs. Terrible, vicious fangs. She doesn't look like a girl anymore. She looks like a monster.
Sam kicks out as hard as he can. He twists and shoves and jabs at her with his one working arm. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears, loud and frantic and drowning out even the sound of Yvonne's screams. Time seems to slow, to stretch, as Allison leans eagerly forward and sinks her fangs into the soft exposed skin of Sam's throat.
The world flashes white and red and Sam yells, a wordless howl of pain. His knees threaten to buckle, eyes rolling in his head. Allison's lips are cold as ice but the pain is hot, burning and blinding, and, suddenly, gone. Allison pulls back, releasing Sam abruptly and drawing away, leaving him gasping. He grabs at the wall for support, clamping his hand to his bleeding throat.
"What is that?" Allison touches her fingers to her lips, staring down at the smear of blood. "Why do you taste like that?"
"Like what?" Sam is confused, and oddly offended, by the disgust in her voice.
"You're bitter." The vampire spits on the floor. "You're tainted. What's wrong with you?"
The two of them stare at each other. Sam doesn't know what to say. What does Allison mean, tainted?
There's a creak and a blur of movement over by the stairs. Allison spins around and Marco, standing on the bottom step, widens his eyes. He makes a short startled choking sound and his head slides from his neck. It tumbles to the floor, followed quickly by the rest of him, and in his place stands Dean, wild-eyed and wielding a large bloody machete.
Sam's spirits soar. He sees his own relief reflected in his brother's face when their eyes meet across the cellar. The creases in Dean's forehead smooth out and a twitch of a smile teases the edge of his mouth, which Sam returns, even though his shoulder is throbbing savagely and blood is spilling between his fingers. Over Allison's shoulder, he sees Jackie drop a fear-limp Yvonne and turn towards Dean, hissing angrily.
"Catch." Dean tosses the machete. It sails across the room, above Allison's head, and Sam, surprised, only just manages to move in time. He throws out his good arm and and snatches the machete from the air, fingers closing around the smooth handle. Muscle memory kicks in; Sam adjusts his grip, aims, and swings, hard.
The sharpened blade slices through muscle, sinew and bone with surprising ease. Allison's head separates from her slender neck with a disgusting squelch and she drops, suddenly a pile of thin pale limbs, lifeless and still. Jackie lets out a grief-stricken howl. Sam swings again. A third body and separate head thump to the floor.
Castiel appears at the top of the stairs, his tie askew.
"You get the rest of them?" Dean barks up the stairs.
Castiel nods gravely. "And you found Sam." He has no machete. Sam wonders how angels kill vampires. "The girl?"
Dean moves aside. Half-forgotten in the corner, Yvonne stares at the headless bodies sprawled across the floor, at the blank faces of the body-less heads. Her mouth hangs open. Sam thinks that this might be the first time she has ever been truly speechless.
Yvonne's gaze travels from the bodies, to the heads, to the machete in Sam's hand, and finally up to Sam's face. A brief hopeful fantasy rises up unbidden in Sam's mind; the pretty girl falling gratefully into his arms, maybe even proclaiming him to be her hero before pressing her lips to his in a romantic gesture that Dean will somehow refrain from mocking relentlessly. And then Yvonne's expression crumples into horror and disgust, and the daydream deflates.
"Who the fuck are you people?"
A large bead of blood rolls down the machete's blade, dripping audibly into a growing puddle. Sam looks down. Allison's head is at his feet, staring up at him with flat accusatory eyes. Her lips are stained red with his blood. Blood the vampire had described as tainted.
Sam turns Yvonne's question over and over in his head but he can't find the answer.
He has no idea who he is.
To Be Continued...