We couldn't have chosen a more hole-in-the-wall cafe for breakfast. It was a tiny place, barely big enough to cram in its six booths and three tables. Less space at this hour, fortunately, meant fewer people. The silence was a much-welcomed change from all the hustle and bustle of loud-mouthed truck drivers who traipsed our usual diner picks.
I chewed on a piece of toast while flipping through a local newspaper to try and find anything in our wheelhouse. Since leaving New York, we've worked one job. And even that only ate up a whopping day. If I had to spend another directionless minute in that car with these two and their bickering about which kind of music to play or what road to nowhere was best, I'd tear my hair out.
Dean nudged my knee with his beneath the table. "Find anything?"
I hated to admit it, but my third scan of the print yielded the same result. "Nope," I sighed, tossing the paper aside. "Nothing remotely decent in all of Nebraska."
"Hm," Dean hummed, knocking his knuckles on the tabletop. "What've you got?" he asked his brother, who sat across from us, half hidden behind his laptop.
"I've been scanning Wyoming, Colorado, South Dakota," Sam replied, hardly looking up from the screen. "A woman in Iowa fell ten thousand feet from an airplane and survived."
"Sounds more like That's Incredible than Twilight Zone."
"You know," I began, stretching my legs and leaning back, trying to look like this was a casual idea that just popped into my head and not something I had been ruminating about for days. "We could go back east. New York is beautiful this time of year."
Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow. "In July?"
I shrugged. That state was probably a hellhole right now. A packed city was the last place I wanted to be, but he didn't need to know that.
Dean gladly hopped on board my idea like he could read my mind. "'Course it is," he said brightly.
Sam pretended not to see the reason behind the suggestion. "What, you guys wanna do tourist crap in New York?"
"That…" I ticked a finger in the air. "And we could drop in and see Sarah."
"Yeah," Dean agreed enthusiastically. "Sarah—cool chick, man, smoking–" He blew a breathy whistle. "You two seemed pretty friendly. What do you say?"
By the hesitant look Sam sported, he was going to say no. "Nothing wrong with taking a little time off," I tacked on in a last-ditch effort. "I mean, when was the last time we did that?"
"Been a while," Dean added playfully out the side of his mouth.
"I don't know. Maybe someday," Sam said, brushing the suggestion aside and returning his focus to the laptop. "In the meantime, we have a lot of work to do, and you know that."
Dean glanced at me with fatigued eyes. Not from lack of sleep, just tired of his brother's stubbornness. "We do?" he asked.
"Yeah. We do."
I used my fork to shove the remainder of the hashbrowns around my plate. "Where?" I asked. Sure, we'd been working toward the same end goal for years. But as far as an immediate hunt went, there wasn't much to go on. "Nothing's popped up. Maybe the monsters just aren't biting this week."
Sam managed to take his eyes off his task long enough to look at me. "Well, we'll find something. We always do," he said.
"That's the problem," I mumbled around a mouthful of potatoes.
Dean snickered, reaching for my discarded newspaper to give it another once-over. He'd already finished his breakfast, leaving him only with his coffee and a free space where his plate had been.
Under his breath, Sam muttered a few headlines from neighboring states: a mysterious string of cattle deaths in Iowa. Some kids went missing in the woods of South Dakota. Then, "A local man in Colorado named Daniel Elkins was found mauled in his home," he read.
"Elkins?" Dean perked up. "I know that name," he said, grabbing his father's journal and purposefully leafing through the pages.
Sam's mouth shrugged downward. "Doesn't ring a bell."
Somewhere in the trenches of my mind, that name slithered around. It almost slipped by, but just before it disappeared, I caught it. The resurrected memory, although grainy, filled my nose with the earthy smell of crayons; I was young, maybe six or seven, busy coloring a picture of flowers on the coffee table in the living room. Mom and Dad spoke in hushed tones in the kitchen.
Most of their conversation I either couldn't hear or wasn't bothered to pay attention to, but their use of the name Elkins registered purely because it was mentioned alongside another last name I'd grown quickly attached to.
"When I was a kid, I remember my parents talking about John and a guy named Elkins," I said.
"Do you know what they were talking about?" Sam asked, shocked by the revelation. To be truthful, I was, too. My childhood memories were good, yet rare; I walled off that part of my brain long ago.
In the name of the job, I dug deeper within the memory, but all I could conjure was Mom's frustrated voice muttering something about John being reckless and Elkins having to clean up his latest mess. "I'm not sure," I replied, leaving my Mother's ruffled feathers out of it.
"Well, it sounds like the police don't know what to think about this guy's death. At first, they said it was some sort of bear attack, and now they've found some signs of robbery."
"That's where I remember the name from," Dean said, pointing to the address page. In John's short, sharp handwriting, D. Elkins was scribbled beside a phone number.
"You think it's the same guy?"
"It's a Colorado area code."
"I guess we found your something," I told Sam, taking cash from my wallet and tossing enough on the table to cover our food.
Deep in the heart of Colorado's wilderness sat a foreboding log cabin shrouded in trees and overgrown grass. Weeds crept up the front porch and wrapped around its banisters. A quick pick of the lock got us inside the musty building. Our way was illuminated only by the moonlight peeking through the center opening of blackout curtains and our flashlights.
We split up, each taking a room. I stayed on high alert while wandering through the structure blind. For all we knew, whatever killed Elkins could still be hanging around.
I found myself in the kitchen. Bottles of beer, whiskey tumblers, and discarded food wrappers littered the countertops, and the sink was full of unwashed dishes. The scene before me told the story of the man who lived here or at least part of it. He struggled, though I wasn't too sure with what.
"Looks like the maid didn't come today," Dean's voice echoed across the hall.
"Yeah, it's pretty bad in here," I replied, shining the flashlight under a stack of plates. I cringed and moved on.
"There's salt over here," Sam announced from the main room. "Right beside the door."
"You mean protection against demon salt, or oops, I spilled the popcorn salt," Dean asked.
"It's clearly a ring. You think this guy Elkins was a player?"
My light shined on a line of white flecks guarding the kitchen window. Now I knew why he appeared to be struggling so much with everyday life's mundane tasks; he was a hunter. "Had to be," I said. "There's salt lining the window."
Having seen enough of the kitchen, I followed the glow from Dean's flashlight into a room two doors down. He stood with his back to the doorway, facing a cluttered desk. I peered around, finding him looking through a journal about three inches thick stuffed with sticky notes and stray paper.
"That looks just like John's," I said.
"Yup." Dean flipped through the pages. "Except this dates back to the sixties."
"Wow. Long time in the business."
Upstairs, the second-floor level was in worse shape, if that were even possible. Debris scattered across the dark red runner that lined the short hallway. Two doors were on the right and one on the left. We were about to pass by the first when Sam stopped and entered. It wasn't hard to miss what caught his eye.
This room was much tidier than the others, holding only a desk, its matching chair, a bookshelf, and a black leather reading seat. Being in here was probably a nice reprieve for this man from the rest of the home, but now it was practically indistinguishable. The desk and bookshelf's contents were strewn around the floor: writing utensils, a lamp, loose papers, books, and scrolls. All of it was covered in glass shards and splintered wood.
A slight breeze fanned over the top of my head. None of the curtains moved, so I looked up, finding a shattered skylight. "Jesus," I breathed at the sheer brutality of it all.
"Whatever attacked him, it looks like there was more than one," Sam observed, carefully stepping through the clutter.
"Looks like he put up a hell of a fight, too," Dean commented, dodging debris until he reached the center of the floor and crouched down.
"You got something?" Sam asked from behind the desk, inspecting a gold pocket knife.
"I don't know," Dean said, running his fingers across the wood. "There are some scratches on the floor."
I tip-toed over a few open books and a discarded drawer to reach him. Some scratches were several deep gouges spanning feet. My fingertips ached just from looking at them.
"Death throes, maybe?" Sam wondered, inspecting the slashes as well.
"Yeah, maybe." Dean glanced back over his shoulder at me. "Is there a pencil and paper anywhere?" he asked, gesturing to the desk. I tucked my flashlight under my arm and shifted a book or two, finding a pencil underneath. I tore a sheet of paper from a nearby pad and handed him both.
Dean placed the paper over some marks on the floor and etched the lead across them. Slowly but surely, a set of shapes emerged. "Look familiar?" he asked, holding up the paper.
"Three letters, six digits," Sam said. "The location and combination of a post office box. It's a mail drop."
"Just the way Dad does it."
After our brief stint in the post office, we piled back into the dark cab of the Impala with the unopened letter we retrieved. It sat in Dean's hands with just enough light from the cloud-washed moon shining down on it, his thumb pressed beneath a hastily scribbled set of letters reading J.W.
"So, what? You think John Winchester?" Sam asked.
"I don't know," Dean replied, fidgeting with the smudged white envelope. "Should we open it?"
"Elkins is gone," I said. "Even if it's not meant for John, does it really matter who opens it?"
Dean grimaced, looking guilty. "I guess not."
Too lost in thought, a sudden knock rattling the driver's side window sent us flying out of our seats. From my vantage point, I could only see a looming shadow hovering at the door, but Dean saying, "Dad?" put my fears to rest. He unlocked the doors, and John climbed into the backseat with me.
I scooted over, giving him room to rest his duffle bag between us. "What are you doing here?" I asked.
"I read the news about Daniel. I got here as fast as I could," John explained, but my ears seemed to have shut off entirely.
His reason for ignoring us for months was born out of fear for our safety, which was something I had to accept. However, there was one incident I couldn't choke down. Dean was on his deathbed, and John refused to so much as call, yet this person—someone he surely had a falling out with, just like everyone else he'd ever known—died, and he came running. It was salt in a wound I thought had long healed.
"What is it, Vic?" John asked abruptly. My eyes snapped into focus on his face. I'd been staring and didn't even know it.
Biting my tongue, I looked away, mumbling, "Nothing." Judging by the crease between Dean's brows, he noticed my mental absence. I pushed my hair away from my face and tried to play it off. "How long have you been around?"
"Long enough to see you three at his place."
"Why didn't you come in, Dad?" Sam asked, his voice quiet and much less assertive than it had been moments before.
"You know why. Because I had to make sure you weren't followed by anyone or anything." A smile so thin you might miss it crept across John's face. "Nice job of covering your tracks, by the way."
Dean sat a little taller, a gleam of pride in his eyes. "Yeah, well, we learned from the best," he said.
"Wait," Sam started, "you came all the way out here for this Elkins guy?" He beat me to it. That was my next question, so I eagerly awaited the answer.
John nodded, but the action was weighted with guilt. "He was a good man. He taught me a hell of a lot about hunting."
"You've never mentioned him before," I said, trying to reign in my bitter tone.
If John noticed, he didn't say anything and continued as usual. "We had a– a kind of a falling out. I hadn't seen him in years," he said. I fought the urge to roll my eyes—a falling out, exactly like I'd assumed. John gestured to the envelope. "I should look at that."
"Yeah, of course," Dean agreed, handing it over.
With the weight of the white rectangle finally in his grasp, John sighed. The sound of freshly sealed glue snapping open filled the car. "If you're reading this, I'm already dead…" he quoted and scanned the page. "That son of a bitch."
"What is it?" Dean asked.
"He had it the whole time," John said, offering no clarification.
"He had what the whole time?" I questioned.
"When you searched the place, did any of you see a gun?" John's tone was urgent, borderline frantic. "An antique, a Colt revolver?"
There were lots of weapons in there, but most I saw were knives. Any guns I managed to get my eyes on were rifles. "No, I didn't see anything like that," I said.
Dean didn't need to think about it long. His observance never failed him. "There was an old case, but it was empty."
John blanched. I'd never seen him turn so pale. "They have it," he said.
"You mean whatever killed Elkins?" Dean asked.
"We gotta pick up the trail," John asserted, jostling the backseat as he exited the car with force.
"Wait, you want us to come with you?" Sam asked, surprised and shuffling over in the front seat to see his father better.
John leaned in through the driver's side window. "If Elkins was telling the truth, we gotta find this gun," he said.
"What's so special about it?" I asked.
"Because it's important, that's why," John argued, deliberately keeping the details to himself.
Sam wouldn't take that for an answer. "Dad, we don't even know what these things are yet."
"They were what Daniel Elkins killed best—vampires."
"Vampires?" Dean asked almost incredulously. "I thought there was no such thing."
Sam remained calculating. "You never even mentioned them, Dad."
"I thought they were extinct. I thought Elkins and others had wiped them out; I was wrong," John admitted. Well, that's new.
"Well, what the hell do we do, slather ourselves in garlic and wait until the morning?" I asked.
John chuckled. "Most vampire lore is crap. A cross won't repel them, sunlight won't kill them, and neither will a stake to the heart. But the bloodlust, that part's true. They need fresh human blood to survive."
"Of course, the scariest parts are always real," I mumbled. Just like ten years ago when I learned that everything thought to be fiction was reality—only reality was so much worse.
"And they were once people, so you won't know it's a vampire until it's too late."
"So, what do we do?" Dean asked.
"Right now, we need to get some rest. Let's find a motel, set up there."
The nearest one was about seven miles out from Elkins' cabin and nestled under a shroud of trees, far away from the main road. The whole town seemed to be blanketed in woods, more than the usual places we visited, which was saying something. It was peaceful until I thought about everything that took shelter in the thick foliage—more than snakes and spiders or other wild animals.
Apparently, freaking vampires.
Even after all this time spent apart, there was no small talk, no questions about how we were doing or what we'd been up to. Neither of us asked John a single thing either, though I'm sure we all had our reasons for the silence. Despite that, it was nice to have everyone under one roof again. It felt complete, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that we were all safe.
Since it was already late, the boys fell asleep when their heads hit their pillows. I planted myself on the couch, hoping sitting here staring at the wall would bore me into sleep. It didn't work. My mind wouldn't shut off. I kept looking at Dean, then John, and back again.
Long gone were those horrible purple patches under Dean's eyes, but the memory of him in that hospital bed still lingered from time to time. With John present, the image came and stuck. I couldn't shake it; I didn't know how.
As I raked my fingers through my hair, my nails caught a few knots, but they smoothed out easily enough. The movement got John's attention. "You should get some sleep, Vic," he said from his spot at the table where he'd been stationed since we arrived, busy listening to his police scanner.
"Believe me," I began as I got up to grab a drink from the fridge. "If I could, I would." I tiredly cracked open a can of soda and took a sip. The effervescence snapped across my tongue, waking me up, at least for now. I ventured to the table, perched on the chair opposite John, and nodded to the scanner. "Anything?"
John shook his head. "Not yet. But it'll happen. Soon."
"And when it does?"
"We go after them."
I played with the soda tab. He made it sound so easy. Maybe it was for him, but we just learned they existed a few hours ago. "How?" I asked.
"There are ways. I'll tell you when we get closer."
Learning at the last minute wasn't anything new. It didn't bother me too much anymore. It was a hunter's job to adapt, whether you had years of knowledge or were going in blind.
John watched me for a few seconds before speaking again. "Something on your mind?" he asked. Now wasn't the time to get into it, but I wasn't sure when there'd be another chance. And if I didn't, the thought would fester in the back of my mind—more than it already was.
"Actually, yeah," I admitted.
"All right." He fussed with the silent receiver. "Go ahead."
"A few months ago, when Dean was… sick. He almost–" My throat tightened, stopping the word from passing my lips.
Regardless of my inability to say it, John knew and hung his head. "What about it?"
I internally scoffed at his nerve to ask that. "You didn't call, or text, or anything."
Dean stirred and shifted, almost as if he knew we were talking about him, and then settled back into sleep. John watched his son with an untraceable expression as silence lingered between us. "I thought it was for the best," he finally said. "If I stayed away–"
"What, we wouldn't get hurt?" I challenged. "We already did."
"Sam found that healer," he argued.
The excuse made me want to drop my shoulders, but I didn't. I still sat tall. "But if he didn't–"
"But he did, Vic," John cut me off with a biting tone, quick to dismiss the very real fact that Dean would not have made it out of that hunt alive otherwise, and he couldn't even be bothered to send a text.
Rather than argue, I lowered my gaze to the table. No part of me agreed with him, but I didn't want to stir up anything while the boys were asleep; they needed rest. "You didn't see him," I said quietly. My voice broke, and I let it. "How bad it was."
"I know. "John's voice softened. "But he's here, and that's what you focus on."
Was it an excuse to shield his lack of presence in such a difficult time? Maybe. But even though I was still upset over it, he was right. Dean is here. Dwelling on what could've been had things turned from bad to worse is useless. It would distract from now, and I swore I wouldn't do that.
Before the conversation could continue, the scanner gave a static beep, signaling an incoming dispatch. "Unit 22, let me confirm. Mile marker 41, abandoned car. You need a workup?" a garbled voice asked.
"Copy that," another replied. "Possible 207. Better get forensics out here."
"There it is," John said, standing up. He took his jacket from the back of his chair and slipped it on. "Sam. Dean," he called, smacking their feet to wake them. "I picked up a police call."
Although he was still half-asleep and rubbing his eyes, Dean gave a mumbled agreement to his father's directive.
Sam, on the other hand, woke with a question. "What happened?"
"A couple called 911, found a body in the street," John explained. "When the cops got there, everyone was missing. It's the vampires."
Despite us not having a single clue about them or their behavioral patterns and his father's apparent knowledge of the subject, Sam remained doubtful. "How do you know?"
John turned on his way to the door, walking backward. "Just follow me, okay?" he requested exasperatedly, leaving the room.
"Vampires," Dean mumbled, amused as he pulled on his jacket. "Gets funnier every time I hear it."
On a lonely road smack in the middle of town, a tiny silver car sat abandoned, just like the operator had said. Since John insisted on handling the conversation with the cops alone, the boys and I remained at a distance, unable to discern much about the alleged crime scene. Sam wore a permanently irritated face the whole time, and I was beginning to wonder how long it would take him to say something.
I craned my neck, trying to gather more information from over here. It was useless. The car's windows were tinted, too, so there'd be no way of seeing what was inside unless we were close.
Not too long after, John broke away from the policeman and started his walk back to us.
"You know, I don't see why we couldn't have gone over with him," Sam complained.
Sure, I didn't love getting sidelined, but fighting for a spot speaking to some random cops alongside John wasn't worth the tsunami it'd create. "Gotta pick your battles, Sam," I said.
"Nobody is battling," he claimed. I lifted an eyebrow. It sure looked a lot like that to me. "All I'm saying is that we know what we're doing. He could give us some credit for it."
Dean's eyes rolled so hard I could almost hear them rattling around his head. "Oh, don't tell me it's already starting," he grumbled.
"What's starting?" Sam wondered. The question was ridiculous; he should know.
Thankfully, our already short discussion cut to a close when John came within earshot. Dean turned to face his father. "What have you got?" he asked.
"It was them all right. Looks like they're heading west," John informed with all the confidence in the world. "We'll have to double back to get around that detour."
"How can you be so sure?" Sam challenged without hesitation.
"Sam," Dean warned under his breath.
"I just wanna know we're going in the right direction," Sam bit back fast, trying to play it off as though he was genuinely concerned with getting the correct information and not doing it simply to get under his father's skin.
John's unwavering gaze landed on his youngest and stayed there. "We are," he said.
"How do you know?"
"I found this." John pulled his hand from his pocket, and along with it came something small, porcelain, and pointy, pinched between his fingertips. Tentatively, I took it, examining the object. It was light in weight, almost like it was hollow on the inside, yet so strong that no amount of pressure would snap the sharp tip.
"Is it a… fang?" I asked.
"Not fangs—teeth. The second set descends when they attack," John said, looking at Sam pointedly. "Any more questions?"
This time, Sam remained quiet. I'd like to say he learned his lesson, but I knew that wasn't true.
"All right," John barked, starting toward his truck. "Let's get out of here. We're losing daylight."
I turned to face him. "What are we looking for?"
"Nothing. You're following me," he replied, slipping by the passenger side of the Impala, eyes scrutinizing the length of the car as he passed. "Hey, Dean, why don't you touch up your car before you get rust? I wouldn't have given you the damn thing if I thought you were going to ruin it."
Almost instantly, Dean's eyes dropped down. I shot a glare at John's back. Even if he turned around, I resolved not to soften my thorny expression. Dean cherished this damn car. We'd just been a tiny bit busy lately, mostly with jobs John had given us himself. If he was angry at Sam for being a brat, I couldn't fathom why he needed to take it out on the one who obeyed his every order.
With John still facing away, I took advantage of his diverted attention and stood on my tip-toes to kiss Dean's cheek. His eyes fluttered closed. "It's fine," I whispered, offering him a reassuring smile. "Come on, let's get going."
"Vampires nest in groups of eight to ten. Smaller packs are sent to hunt for food. Victims are taken to the nest where the pack keeps them alive, bleeding them for days or weeks," Dean read from Elkins' journal. He glanced back at me from the front passenger. "I wonder if that's what happened to that 911 couple."
"Probably." I rested my arm across the top of the seat. "I'm sure that's what John thinks, too."
"'Course, it would be nice if he just told us what he thinks," Sam said. If the frustration wasn't evident in his voice, how he white-knuckled the steering wheel was a blaring sign.
I sighed and plopped back into the leather. The rarely used seatbelt jabbed into the center of my spine. Sam failed to realize that his little spats with John generally never ended in them fighting. Instead, his father would wind up taking his frustrations out on us—mainly Dean.
"So, it is starting," Dean said, clapping the journal shut and letting it fall to the wayside.
Sam remained clueless, but it was hard to believe he had no idea. "What are you talking about?"
"We've been looking for Dad all year. Now we're not with him for more than a couple of hours, and there's static already?"
"No. Look, I'm happy he's okay, all right? And I'm happy that we're all working together again."
"Well, good." Dean returned to the journal, and I watched the trees passing by, relishing the few split seconds of quiet, knowing they wouldn't last long.
"It's just the way he treats us like we're children," Sam broke the silence, just like I knew he would. "He barks orders at us, he expects us to follow them without question. He keeps us on some crap need-to-know deal."
"He does what he does for a reason," Dean droned, sounding like even he was getting tired of saying it.
Sam scoffed. "What reason?"
"Our job! There's no time to argue; there's no margin for error, all right? That's just the way the old man runs things."
"Yeah, well, maybe that worked when we were kids, but not anymore. Not after everything we've been through. I mean, are you telling me that you're cool with just falling into line and letting him run the whole show?"
In that regard, Sam was right. We'd done a pretty damn good job over the past year. Even before, when it was just Dean and I hunting alone, we got along just fine. More than that, we were good at it. No stone was left unturned, and no job went unresolved. However, all that independent progress seemed to be on a back burner whenever John returned.
Dean hesitated before saying, "If that's what it takes."
"Seriously?" Sam asked me.
I was always careful to try to honor John's choices. It only felt right after what he'd done for me. Then, when Dean and I began our relationship, I felt as if I had done everything John asked down to the last detail that would somehow make up for lying to him. After everything surfaced, that outlook intensified. Unless I feared it would endanger any of us, I did everything without complaint.
"It depends on the situation, Sam," I said, much to his dismay.
After that answer, he dropped the conversation. All conversation, actually. Dean and I spoke, mostly about the vampires—whatever lore was accessible through Elkins' journal, but Sam stewed in silence. We were still driving when night had fallen. My stomach grumbled, and I glanced at my watch. It was getting late, and we hadn't eaten since this morning. Even that was just a quick bite from a drive-thru we ate on the way to the crime scene.
Time was ticking by, and we appeared no closer to finding anything. A few times, I considered asking Sam if he wanted to switch with me—he could stretch his legs back here, and it'd give me something to do other than stare out of the window and fidget with my jacket zipper—but then I thought better of it. He probably needed the distraction.
Dean's phone rang, blaring through the otherwise quiet car. "Hey, Dad," he answered. "All right, got it." He snapped the cell shut and tucked it back into his pocket. "Pull off at the next exit."
An aggressive breath left Sam's nose. "Why?"
"'Cause Dad thinks we've got the vampire's trail," Dean said.
"How?"
"I don't know; he didn't say."
Really, there was no reason for John to explain how or why. Not right now. Regardless of what we were after or why we were after it, the gun was important. Crossing into uncharted waters like we were, we didn't have the time to debate strategy. John knew what he was talking about, so I saw no point in arguing if he thought we were onto them.
"Sam, just do what he says," I said. "It's no big deal."
The Impala's engine roared and sped up, doubling its speed to pass John. His truck's headlights tunneled through our windows and reflected off the rearview mirror. Suddenly, Sam slammed on the brakes, causing both vehicles to swerve and screech along the blacktop and me to slide across the backseat and smash into the door. John's truck barely came to a stop behind us. If the road had stayed the slightest bit slick from the rain earlier this morning, we'd have been in big trouble.
"Are you trying to get us killed?" I reprimanded through a tense throat as I righted myself.
Sam didn't utter a single word. He threw the car in park and climbed out.
"Oh shit, here we go," Dean complained under his breath. He and I piled out into the smoggy night. "Sam!" he called, to no avail. His brother was still charging onward.
John jumped out of his truck and angrily stalked over, meeting Sam halfway. "What the hell was that?"
"We need to talk," Sam stated sharply, towering over his father.
"About what?"
"About everything!"
For the first time in a long time, I felt exposed outside in the middle of the night. If we were close to the vampire's hideout, there's no telling exactly where they'd be. They could be watching us. "We are not gonna do this now," I implored urgently.
"Yes, we are!" Sam gritted, barely removing his fiery gaze from his father to answer me. "Where are we going, Dad? What's the big deal about this gun?"
"Sammy, come on, we can Q after we kill all the vampires," Dean coaxed, trying and failing to get between his brother and father.
"They're right; we don't have time for this," John said, his fragile composure crumbling.
"Last time we saw you, you said it was too dangerous for us to be together," Sam countered, his steadily rising voice bouncing through the surrounding trees. "Now, out of the blue, you need our help?! Obviously, something big is going down, and we wanna know what!"
John's teeth clenched audibly. "Get back in the car," he ordered.
Sam purposefully planted his feet. "No."
"I said, get back in the damn car," John repeated his demand as though it would matter.
Unwilling to back down from a challenge, just like his Dad, Sam retorted, "Yeah. And I said no."
Dean raised his voice just enough to break through their battle for dominance. "All right, you made your point, tough guy," he told Sam.
"We're all exhausted, okay?" I reasoned. "Whatever's going on, we can talk about it later."
It didn't matter, neither budged.
"Sammy, I mean it." Dean shoved his brother back toward the car. "Come on."
Thankfully, Sam gave in and went. John even fell back a few steps.
We'd almost gotten out of this unscathed when Sam mumbled, "This is why I left in the first place," and John's once-receding anger flared in his eyes as he turned around.
"What'd you say?" he growled.
"You heard me," Sam doubled down, pulling out of Dean's grasp and swinging around to stand toe-to-toe with their father.
"You left. Victoria, your brother, and me—we needed you. You walked away, Sam." John jutted a finger at Sam's chest, grabbed his jacket, and yelled, "You walked away!"
Things had come to blows before, but they'd never gotten physical. I feared that with Sam's newfound high-strung attitude paired with John's paper-thin temper, it would.
"Stop it, both of you!" Dean urged, but his plea was ignored. In seconds, his eyes darted from his brother to his father, finally settling on me. The concern in them echoed my own. Our brief exchange was all it took to know we had to do something and do it soon.
"You're the one who said don't come back, Dad!" Sam bellowed, not backing down from his father's furious advances. "You closed that door, not me; you were just pissed off that you couldn't control me anymore!"
"All right!" Dean elbowed his way in and forced them apart. "That's enough!"
As soon as that space opened up between them, I grabbed Sam and yanked him back with enough force that I heard his jacket's zipper rip down. He huffed and puffed and tried to tear out of my grasp, but I didn't let him shake loose. "This has to stop," I gritted.
"That means you, too," Dean told his father in a tone that left no room for argument.
The air surrounding us was so thick with tension that you could almost see it—stagnant seconds ticked by before Sam yanked away from me again. I let him go. He shrugged his jacket into place and threw himself into the Impala, this time in the backseat. To my surprise, John said nothing else and returned to his truck.
With both of them in separate spaces, my thumping heart finally began to calm down.
Dean threw out his arms. "Terrific."
"Just like old times, huh?" I mumbled humourlessly. A twig snapped in the forest behind us, and a chill rattled down my spine. I nodded to the car. "We should go."
"Yeah, we should." Dean gave one last look toward his father, then walked with me to the passenger side. He waited there until I got in, and I watched him like a hawk as he rounded the front until he was safely beside me.
Now that Dean was behind the wheel, we followed John to an abandoned barn. No one spoke. It was better that way.
We remained in our own vehicles until dawn broke over a thick line of grey clouds, casting a yellow light on the property. Eventually, Dean received a text from John telling us to meet him at the tree line. Part of me was nervous that the somewhat settled dust between him and Sam would kick up again, but I knew they weren't dumb enough to start a screaming match in front of a bunch of monsters. At least, I hoped they weren't.
Using the thicket as cover, we watched the hideout with rapt attention. It felt static—like a painting. Nothing was happening. There was no movement or sound except for the lake behind us, lapping against the shore. That is, until a beat-up, rusted Camaro pulled up, and the barn door opened. A tall man with shaggy brown hair stepped out without flinching in the sunlight. All he did was shield his eyes from its brightness. Another man got out of the vehicle—same thing for him—no reaction to the sun. The two exchanged some words and disappeared into the barn.
"Son of a bitch," Dean uttered in shock. "So they're really not afraid of the sun?"
"Direct sunlight hurts like a nasty sunburn," John said. "The only way to kill them is by beheading. And yeah, they sleep during the day—doesn't mean they won't wake up."
"So, I guess walking right in's not our best option."
"Actually, that's the plan."
"W—what?" I asked, watching him stand and walk back down the path we had traveled up. Dean followed, looking over his shoulder to ensure I was close behind.
Back at the vehicles, John slid a hidden compartment out of his truck bed that held several guns, knives, and other tools essential for hunting. It was pristine, each item in its place.
Meanwhile, Dean propped open the Impala's trunk and arsenal. It was a bit more cluttered, but being that there were three of us, we had more things.
"Dad, I've got an extra machete if you need one," Dean offered with ease.
"I think I'm okay. Thanks," John said, unsheathing a serrated machete.
It wasn't until then that Dean noticed his father's setup. "Wow," he mumbled, impressed.
I reached around him for one of the machetes tucked into the trunk, brushing the length of his side as I did, distracting him from the array of weapons. Dean's lips formed into a slight smirk, and his eyes lingered on my body long after I straightened up.
"Focus," I whispered.
"I am," Dean replied with a coy smile. "I'm very, very focused."
"So." John's deep voice shook through, and Dean's spine went straight. It was almost as though he'd forgotten his father was here. "You kids really wanna know about this Colt?"
To say I was floored would be an understatement. At best, I figured we'd be lucky to get snippets of information over the coming days. Certainly not all of it right now, and totally unprovoked to boot.
The boys looked just as shocked as me, but Sam managed to nod. "Yes, sir."
"It's just a story—a legend really. Well, I thought it was," John laughed lightly. "Never really believed it until I read Daniel's letter. Back in eighteen-thirty-five, when Halley's comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo. They say Samuel Colt made a gun. A special gun. He made it for a hunter, a man like us, only on horseback. Story goes he made thirteen bullets, and this hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. And somehow, Daniel got his hands on it. They say this gun can kill anything."
"Kill anything like supernatural, anything?" Dean asked.
"Like the demon," Sam said.
"Yeah, the demon," John said. "Ever since I picked up its trail, I've been looking for a way to destroy that thing. Find the gun—we may have it."
The revelation sparked an urgency within me, my grip tightening on the blade. If the rumors were true, if this gun truly held the power described, then the conclusion of our fight was hurtling closer at an alarming speed. Despite the flicker of happiness, a hollow feeling gnawed at me.
I knew what the future would look like for Dean and me: the open road, still hunting—still doing what we were meant to do, only with one less anvil looming over our heads. None of that bothered me, though. In fact, I was excited about it. Undoubtedly, John would keep at it, too. But Sam, he'd be gone in a heartbeat. There wouldn't be anything keeping him around, not even us.
Through a slatted wooden window, we accessed the barn's hayloft and entered one by one, with John going first, then Sam, Dean, and finally me. I cringed at the sound of the floorboards creaking underneath our weight. It wasn't very loud, but I didn't know for sure how much noise it would take to set them off.
After a quick survey of the room, John nodded to tell us it was clear and disappeared behind some hay bales and down a short passageway. The barn smelled of spilled alcohol and manure. It was obvious that its previous owners had not cleaned it before they left, and the current occupants didn't care much for hygiene. Stray pieces of straw crunched beneath my boots. The sound brought me back to when I was twelve and the summer I spent volunteering at a horse ranch, but a scan of my surroundings swiftly planted me in the present.
Several vampires slept soundly in burlap hammocks hanging from the ceiling. Every step we took, I feared, would be the one that gave us away. Behind me, glass clinked against the wooden floor. I looked back with wide eyes as Dean hurried to pick up a beer bottle that rolled between his feet. His face was mere inches from one of the vampires. We both froze and stopped breathing. The vampire sighed in his sleep but didn't wake. Dean tentatively set the bottle back down and carefully but swiftly hurried to me.
"Guys," Sam called quietly from further within the barn. He was crouched beside a dark-haired woman tied to a beam. I moved closer to get a better look. Her eyes were closed, head lulled to the side. Splatters of blood covered her white shirt. Her chest moved, albeit slowly.
A feeble whimper echoed from an adjacent stall. "There's more," Dean said, getting up to inspect the noise. I handed Sam my pocket knife to assist in getting the brunette free and went to help Dean with the rest of the victims.
Beyond a locked metal grid were four people with duct tape over their mouths and around their wrists and ankles. Some were groggy and awake; some were not. Almost all of them were pale and washed in a thin sheet of sweat. The padlock keeping them trapped was secured by a hefty bolt. We'd need the key to open it, but we didn't have time to find it.
"Hang on," Dean whispered, locked on something behind me. He slid by with purpose and returned with a metal hook. He looked it through a hinge, got a good grip on it, and gave it a hard push. A sharp clank bounced through the room as the metal gave way.
For the second time since we arrived, I held my breath and waited. Thankfully, again, no one stirred. Vampires were sound sleepers. Who knew?
"Hey," Sam whispered urgently. The noise and his shifting of her ropes must have woken the brunette. "I'm here to help you," he told her.
The woman looked at him with drowsy eyes, then, suddenly, they snapped open, and an inhuman roar erupted from her lips, reverberating off the walls and jolting the vampires awake. Their expressions shifted from shock to excitement, like spiders finding fresh prey caught in their web.
Despite me having my own machete, Dean unsheathed his and shifted me behind him. Somewhere deep within the barn, John shouted for us to run. We didn't need to be told twice. Heart pounding, we bolted toward the exit. The vampires hissed and lunged after us. The barn doors loomed ahead. It seemed the faster we moved, the further away our escape drifted.
The vampires steadily gained on us; they were so close that the fingertips of one of them grazed my sleeve, but before he could latch on, we reached the end of the maze of stalls and burst through the doors. We didn't stop running, not until we were deep in the woods, back at the cars.
It wasn't until we came to a crashing halt, dirt kicking up around us, that we realized we weren't being followed. By anyone. Not even John.
"Dad?!" Dean shouted into the brush.
There was nothing but the sounds of our ragged breathing. I glanced around, pulse still pounding, expecting to see the vampires emerging from the trees at any moment. But there was no movement—no growls, just the oppressive quiet of the forest.
"John!" I shouted. Again, nothing. With no doubt in my mind that Dean was seconds before charging back into that barn, I wrapped my fingers around his arm to keep him here. If we had to go, we would, but we'd do it together.
Faint sounds reached us—twigs snapping, followed by the unmistakable shuffle of footsteps through dry leaves. Relief flooded through me as John rushed into the clearing, looking exhausted but unharmed. Rather than hightail it to the car, he stopped. "They won't follow," he said. "They'll wait till tonight."
Sticking around to talk felt like a bad idea. "Are you sure?" I checked, staring at the faint outline of the barn over his shoulder.
"I'm sure. Once a vampire has your scent, it's for life."
"Well, what the hell do we do now?" Dean asked.
"You gotta find the nearest funeral home, that's what."
If you had asked me just twelve hours ago how my day would be spent, I probably would've guessed reading a bit more of that book I never got to finish or catching up on sleep.
Nowhere on my list was a trip to the funeral home to collect blood from a corpse.
So as not to attract any unwanted attention, we left the Impala in a lot down the block and hoofed it through the woods butted up against the property. Unlike most other buildings, this one was longer than it was tall and painted a sickening beige. It reminded me of a strip mall, only without stores. It had two doors—one in the front and another out back. Three cars occupied the parking lot.
Every four minutes, a security guard passed before the glass entryway, and every six minutes, his partner followed, then turned back to make the same round again. That gave us about two minutes to dodge them. We'd have to worry about any employees once we were inside.
"All right, we'll let him come by again, and then we'll head in," Dean said in a hushed tone.
"Sounds good," I agreed.
Bugs chirped in the surrounding brush as minutes moved by. My legs tingled in anticipation of what we were about to do. The places we broke into were generally far more abandoned than this. It'd be the first time in a while that we had to dodge someone carefully—well, someone living, anyway.
The first guard's shadow appeared before he did. Dean tapped my leg and nodded toward the building. We sprinted from the woods and stopped at the backdoor. While I picked the lock, he stood guard. Once inside, the thick air, polluted with the sting of antiseptic, filled my lungs with so much force I felt as though I'd swallowed a brick.
Dean led the way, moving with purpose, his steps confident despite our unsteady surroundings. The harsh fluorescents cast an eerie glow on the sterile white walls, making everything look cold and uninviting. We slipped through the hallway, our footsteps barely making a sound against the linoleum floor.
We picked up speed, perhaps becoming a bit too comfortable navigating the empty hallways. Unexpectedly, Dean stopped short, and I smacked into his back. He ducked out of view, dragging me along into a tiny supply closet. Just before clearing the doorway, I spotted a looming shadow stalking in our direction at the end of the hall and the flash of a white lab coat.
The closet was cramped, filled with mops, buckets, and shelves stacked with cleaning products. My nose filled with the scent of bleach and disinfectant. Dean shut the door with a quiet click, and his eyes caught mine in the dim light filtering through the door's small vent. His lips curled into a mischievous grin, eyes twinkling with that devil-may-care charm that always made my heart skip a beat. A smile played on my lips. It would've been so easy to get swept up in the moment if it weren't for the footsteps on the other side of the wall growing louder and reminding us of where we were.
After a few excruciating minutes of waiting, I slowly opened the door, peeking out to ensure the examiner had moved on. The coast was clear, so I motioned for Dean to follow, and we ventured out again, finally reaching our destination. The room was cold—freezing, actually—a stark difference from the humidity outside. I took the empty bottle from my pocket and untwisted the lid as we approached the cold storage units. With a deft hand, Dean opened one of the drawers, and I kept an eye on the door.
The metal mechanism rattled as the weighted slab rolled out. Dean lowered the sheet covering the body, revealing a woman with medium-length chestnut brown hair who looked to be in her thirties. I shouldn't have allowed myself to do so, but I couldn't help but wonder who she was, where she came from. How she ended up here so young.
Dean released a sharp, heavy breath. He looked up at me. "Maybe we should pick a different one."
"It might not be any better," I said. In fact, it could be worse.
Nodding in agreement, Dean took a syringe from his pocket and pulled off the cap. He sunk the needle into the corpse's vein and tugged back the plunger. Deep red goop languished up the clear tube, barely moving. I glanced up at the door. The window was frosted, but shadows could be made out through it. It was only a matter of time before the guard passed by again.
Eventually, the syringe was filled, and Dean emptied it into the bottle. "This is nasty," I complained.
"Tell me about it," he mumbled, starting the process again. Neither of us enjoyed this, but a few vials worth of blood is what stood between us and the Colt, and this was the only—humane—way to obtain it.
However, this time went by much faster, and so did the next. With the full bottle safely tucked away in my pocket, we retraced our steps to the backdoor and left.
Once at the Impala, I couldn't get the blood off my person fast enough, opting to slip it into a brown bag before putting it in the trunk. Now that all of it was over, I let my mind drift to other things. "You think John and Sam are doing okay?" I asked.
"What, you think they started a fight in the parking lot or something?" Dean joked, heading for the driver's side.
"I've seen them start a fight over what kind of pizza to get," I said, half joking, half not. It had happened. Years ago, but still.
"I'm sure they're fine." Although he didn't say it aloud, I could see the rest of his sentence behind his eyes as he climbed into the car; they had to be.
I got in the passenger seat and closed the door in one swift motion. "All this stuff about the Colt, do you believe it?"
Dean stuck the keys into the ignition and turned it. "I think so."
"Could it be that easy?"
"Getting our hands on it sure as hell isn't," he laughed. I did, too. That's for damn sure. My clothes still smelled heavily of embalming fluid.
"But the rest of it, the whole it can kill anything thing. Do you buy it?"
"I want to." Dean tapped the toe of his boot against the floorboard. "And you know, I've been thinking… Sam is right."
I lifted an eyebrow. "About what?"
"I want to be there when it happens. I mean, think about it…" Dean trailed off in thought. "We put a bullet through that motherfucker? Be one of the best damn days of my life."
Years ago, when I learned what forced the Winchesters into the life that ultimately saved mine, I vowed to be in this for the long haul—not only for myself and my own desire for vengeance but also for theirs. I went from having little left but a suitcase full of clothes and memories of my life before tragedy struck to gaining something I never thought I could have again—a family.
Somehow, the day I promised to see through was speeding closer. I rested a hand atop his. "Mine too."
SPOV
An hour and a half had passed since we arrived back at the motel and since Dean and Tori had left for the funeral home. Dad claimed the vampires would wait for nightfall, but if sunlight didn't hurt, what was really stopping them from cornering them on a backroad and picking us off when we were separated?
I paced back and forth; Dad sat at the table, jotting down notes in his journal. He was far too calm for my liking. I didn't want to start another fight, but it seemed to be the only way I was heard. "It shouldn't be taking this long," I said. "I should go after them."
Dad didn't shift his attention from the pages below. "They've got it."
"You don't know that, Dad."
"I do. I've seen how they work together; they're good," he praised, much to my surprise. "Sammy." His voice was different—softer. It made me stop.
"Yeah?"
Dad fiddled with his pen. "I don't think I ever told you this, but… the day you were born, you know what I did?"
I wasn't too sure what to expect. He rarely ever talked about life before hunting. "No."
"I put a hundred bucks into a savings account for you. I did the same thing for your brother," he said, almost wistfully. "It was a college fund. And every month, I'd put in another hundred dollars until–" he stopped and put the pen down. "Anyway, my point is, Sam, this is never the life that I wanted for you."
"Then why'd you get so mad when I left?" I asked.
"You gotta understand something. After your mother passed, all I saw was evil everywhere. And all I cared about was keeping you boys alive. And after Vic came along, I did the same with her. I just wanted you prepared. Ready. Except somewhere along the line, I stopped being your father, and I became your drill sergeant."
I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing. I moved closer and sat across from him but kept quiet.
"Sammy, when you said that you wanted to go away to school—all I could think about, my only thought was—that you were gonna be alone. Vulnerable," he admitted. I wish he would've told me all this sooner. "It just– it never occurred to me what you wanted. I just couldn't accept the fact that you and me—we're just different."
A humorless laugh left me. "That's what I always thought: that we were too different. That's why we never saw eye-to-eye. That's why we never got along. And maybe it was. But things have changed. "We're not different," I said. "Not anymore. With what happened to Mom and Jess… well, we probably have a lot more in common than just about anyone."
Dad's eyes welled with tears. He pressed his lips together in a smile stitched with sadness. "I guess you're right, son."
I couldn't help but replay his words, and as I did, a thought occurred to me. "Whatever happened to that college fund?"
"Spent it on ammo."
TPOV
As Dean and I approached the motel room, the hushed voices of John and Sam could be heard through the door. Dare I say, they sounded… happy?
"Are they laughing?" I asked in quiet disbelief.
"Sounds like it," Dean whispered back, a hint of surprise in his voice. Sure enough, when we cracked the door and stepped inside, Sam and John were sitting across from each other at the table, sporting smiles.
"Did you get it?" John asked expectantly.
"Yeah." Dean pulled the bottle from the bag and handed it over. "Man, some heavy security to protect a bunch of dead guys."
John weighed the bottle in his hand. "You know what to do."
About twenty minutes later, we'd just finished prepping arrows and loading crossbows. We had gone over the plan twice at my request. Dean's life would be hanging in the balance again. It shouldn't be this way, and I didn't try to hide my displeasure one bit.
When John handed me a bag to put in the back of his truck, I took it with much more force than necessary and chucked it. He cocked an eyebrow. "What is it?"
"This isn't right," I huffed and rested on the back of the pickup.
John's eyes flickered with regret, but it didn't last very long. "Vic, it's the only way."
"No, it's not. They'll come for us regardless."
"I understand why you're uncomfortable with it. I am, too. But we need to catch them off guard."
"And if we don't?" I contested. If we failed, Dean would be in their clutches. What then? I wasn't about to risk his well-being on a hunch. Not even John's.
Dean's footsteps echoed from the doorway as he came over, placing a hand on the small of my back. I leaned into his touch. "Everything is gonna be fine," he reassured.
I'd heard those exact words before, but they almost never turned out to be true. "We don't know that."
"You're gonna have one of those." Dean nodded to a loaded crossbow and smiled. "I'm not worried at all."
Dense trees curved over the road where the Impala sat, hood open, with Dean leaning over the engine, pretending to diagnose a nonexistent problem. Grass crunched in the distance. Boot heels clicked atop the asphalt. A tall, thin woman with messily waved brown hair and smudged black eyeliner walked up behind Dean. A male vampire exited the treeline, hovering nearby.
"Car trouble?" the brunette asked. Dean turned to face her but didn't speak. "Let me give you a lift," she coaxed. "I'll take you back to my place."
"Nah, I'll pass," Dean said. "I usually draw the line at necrophilia."
"Ooh," she taunted. The vampire moved so fast that all I registered was the sharp slap of her hand against his cheek. I flinched at the sound. Keeping myself where I was became even more difficult.
She roughly grabbed Dean's face with manicured fingers that dug into his skin and lifted him into the air. He clutched her wrists and struggled to talk in her clasp but still managed. "I don't usually get this friendly until the second date, but..."
"You know, we could have some fun. I always like to make new friends," she cooed, lowering him into a hard kiss.
Red tinted my vision, dripping into my eyes like blood. It wasn't until John spoke that I noticed my death grip on the crossbow. "Ease up, Vic," he said quietly.
My breathing became labored. How much longer were we going to wait? We should've taken her down the second she stepped out—before all this even started.
Dean grunted in disgust when the vampire finally unstuck her nasty, over-glossed mouth from his. "Hate to burst your bubble, but I'm kind of already spoken for," he said.
Her grin grew, spreading her lips thinner than they already were. "Well, she'll just have to share."
"Yeah," he laughed. "She's not gonna be down for that."
"I can be convincing."
Dean grimaced. "On behalf of us both, I gotta say, no thanks."
Agonizing seconds crawled by before John finally gave his nod of approval. With swift precision, Sam fired, his arrow piercing the male vampire's chest. I took great pleasure in unleashing an arrow squarely at the brunette's back. A gasp escaped her lips as my shot found its mark, forcing her to release her hold on Dean.
"Dammit," she hissed, eyes finding us as we emerged from the treeline. "It barely even stings."
"Give it time, sweetheart," John drawled. "That arrow's soaked in dead man's blood. It's like poison to you, isn't it?"
My smile widened as hers wilted, and all that grimy arrogance rinsed away. She wobbled and fell back into Dean's arms. John instructed us to load her up into the pickup and that he would take care of the other one. As we left for the truck, the distinct sound of a machete slicing the air and a quiet thud against the asphalt could be heard.
I opened the truck's passenger door for Dean so he could plop the vampire into the seat. The arrow was still stuck through her chest, punctured just below the printed graphic on her black t-shirt.
Dean wiped his hands off on his jeans and faced me. "Good shot," he praised with a smile, lips glimmering in the moonlight.
I grimaced and beckoned him closer to wipe the remains of the vampire's sparkly gloss away with my sleeve. It smeared and stuck to the fabric. "God, what is this, glue?"
"Jealous?" he quipped, voice muffled.
I cocked my head and let my hand fall. "More like disgusted."
Dean chuckled, the sound rich and warm in the cool night air. "Either way, I made it out in one piece. Told you I'd be fine."
"Yeah, you did. Too bad the image of her slobbering all over you is permanently seared into my brain," I remarked.
"Well, I think I could help get rid of that," he said, pulling me closer by my hips.
I let my hands slip to his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath my palm. "Oh yeah?"
"Mm-hm," he hummed, tightening his grip on my waist. We couldn't lose ourselves in the moment, not with everything going on, but it was a much-needed respite for the both of us.
The sound of approaching footsteps drew our attention away from each other, and we began to part as John came into view. Strangely, for a split second, I was transported back to that forest in Oregon. I could almost smell my own blood. Dean's hand brushed against mine, tugging me back to the present. Thankfully, our days of hiding were long behind us, but we still wanted to be respectful.
My eyes refocused on John. His expression was no different from normal. He was still in hunting mode, sure, but he wasn't bothered at all by what he saw. "Let's get going," he stated, heading for his truck, dragging along his bloody machete.
Dean nodded. "Yes, sir."
Under the cover of large spruce and pine trees, we made a fire. I pushed my hair over my shoulder and bent down, absentmindedly poking the flame with a stick in an effort to keep it burning. Sam paced around the parameters of our makeshift camp with his machete. The vampire was secured to one of the many surrounding trees. She was still groggy but coming to more with each passing second.
"Toss that on the fire," John instructed, handing Dean a small, black drawstring bag from the back of his trunk. "Saffron, skunk's cabbage, and trillium. It'll block our scent and hers until we're ready."
Dean opened the bag and recoiled quickly after taking a whiff. "Stuff stinks," he said, sprinkling the dust into the fire.
As the powder hit the flame, my nose filled with the sharp, pungent odor of a perfume-drenched skunk. I stepped back. "God, that's terrible," I said.
"That's the idea," John said. "Dust your clothes with the ashes, and you stand a chance of not being detected."
The steady crunching of leaves beneath Sam's feet came to a halt, plunging us into total quiet. "You sure they'll come after her?" he asked.
"Yeah. Vampires mate for life. She means more to the leader than the gun. But the blood sickness is going to wear off soon, so you don't have a lot of time."
"A half-hour oughta do it."
"And then I want you out of the area as fast as you can."
"But–"
Dean tossed the bag aside. It landed near the base of the fire. "Well, Dad, you can't take care of them all yourself," he said.
"I'll have her." John nodded to the vampire. "And the Colt."
"There's a lot of them," I pointed out. Six vampires to one hunter didn't sound like great odds.
"I got it," he insisted.
"But after, we're gonna meet up, right? Use the gun together, right?" Sam questioned.
John had a good poker face, but his lack of eye contact told me exactly what was playing through his mind. He had every intention of booking it out of the state as soon as he got his hands on that gun.
"You're gonna leave again," I stated. It was obvious; why sugarcoat it?
"You still wanna go after the demon alone," Sam said in disbelief. "You know, I don't get you. You can't treat us like this."
"Like what?" John asked.
"Children."
"You are my children," he said, scanning the boys and then landing on me. "All of you; I'm trying to keep you safe."
"Dad, all due respect, but that's a bunch of crap," Dean said. A defanting silence fell over us. It seemed even the bugs stopped chirping. Three sets of eyes snapped to him, but one, in particular, was filled with a little more pique.
It had been quite some time since I heard Dean so blatantly speak out against his father's wishes to his face. It felt like a lifetime ago, even with the scars that constantly reminded me of that week.
John stared at his eldest for a few silent moments. I wondered if his mind had gone where mine did. "Excuse me?" he asked.
Similar to the last time this happened, Dean didn't raise his voice—he wasn't disrespectful, but he didn't back down or shy away, either. "You know what? We've been hunting. Hell, you sent us on a few hunting trips yourself. You can't be that worried about keeping us safe."
"It's not the same thing, Dean."
"Then what is it? Why do you want us out of the big fight?"
"This demon? It's a bad son of a bitch. I can't make the same moves if I'm worried about keeping you alive."
"You mean you can't be as reckless."
"Look… I don't expect to make it out of this fight in one piece. Boys, your mother's death…" John choked up. "It almost killed me. I can't watch my children die, too. I won't," he said adamantly.
"What happens if you die?" Dean challenged. "Dad, what happens if you die, and we could've done something about it? I think maybe Sammy's right about this one. We should do this together."
"He's right, John," I said when his eyes drifted my way. "You know it's true."
"We're stronger as a family, Dad," Dean said. "We just are."
John steeled his gaze and stood straighter. "We're running out of time. You do your job, and you get out of the area. That's an order," he added bitingly, narrowed eyes pinging between Dean and me.
I wanted to shout at him, to tell him that everything we'd done this past year was to find him, to help him. To end this. And for what? To get pushed aside when it mattered most?
It was quiet as the boys and I stayed around the fire, waiting to ensure the dust had sufficiently burned into its ashes. I stared at the dying flames; they reflected through my eyes, blocking my peripheral. I could sense Dean's presence before I saw him. He lowered himself beside me, the length of his leg matching mine.
Somehow, Dean managed to crack a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. Our minds were laced with the same thoughts—the same disappointment. After all this time, all this waiting, not being there felt like a betrayal to everything that we'd worked for. His hand found mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I squeezed back, letting him know I was with him, no matter what.
Several clanks at the back of the truck reminded me of John's presence. "All right," he called. His voice wasn't as tense, but it still had an edge. "Time to get going."
There was no chorus of "Yes sir" in response to his demand. We simply got up and did what we had to. John loaded up the vampire into his truck. The engine's roar feathered into nothingness as he drove away, and we climbed into the Impala.
"You know we can't let him do this alone," Sam said as we sped down the street in the direction of the barn.
"Wasn't planning on it," Dean said, gripping the wheel tighter in determination.
I slid forward in the backseat. "He's gonna be pissed," I added.
Dean shook his head. "Doesn't change a damn thing."
Regardless of our differences, we could all agree on one thing. We'd rather have an angry John than no John at all.
One vampire hovered around the outside of the barn, keeping watch while, presumably, more waited inside. I picked up a rock settled in the soil nearby and chucked it across the property. It banged against the side of one of their cars and rattled to the dirt with a muffled thump. I held my breath as the vampire neared, moving slowly. He stopped at the front of the car and took a long drag of air. I tried to calm my pounding pulse and hoped that the God-awful dust we smeared all over our clothes did its job.
The vampire let out a hmph and turned on his heel to head back. I sprinted from the brush and swung my machete through the air. It connected to his neck and sliced out the other side. His body collapsed, thankfully away from the car, so no extra noise was made. Sam grabbed ahold of his feet and dragged him back into the bushes while Dean and I made a beeline for the entrance.
Inside, the vampire who drove that eyesore of a Camero took a long drink from a bottle of amber liquor in their makeshift living area. He stood, bottle tight in hand, and angled toward the door. Dean broke away from me, swiftly moving behind the vampire. Sensing a presence, he turned, and shock etched onto his face.
"Boo," Dean said, a smile in his voice. He swung the machete, blade severing the vampire's neck in one swift motion.
Now that the coast was clear, I hurried to the metal cage. It seemed everyone was accounted for. With any luck, they hadn't taken anybody out since we were last here. "We're gonna get you guys out," I reassured.
Dean stepped over the vampire's body and met me by the cage with a crowbar. "Told you we'd come back," he said, popping the second hinge.
A couple of the victims were too weak to open their eyes, let alone stand. But the alert ones assisted us in getting them to the Impala. In total, there were four of them. After being tied up in that tiny room together for days, they had no issue squeezing into the backseat of the Impala.
For the first time since we were kids and the backseat was loaded with so much luggage and gear that I couldn't fit in with it, I sat up front between the boys as we brought the victims to the hospital. It was close—a quick ten-mile drive that got knocked down a few minutes by Dean's lead foot. They promised to omit the whole kidnapped by vampires thing.
Just down the road from the barn, several cars were parked behind John's truck. As the boys and I exited the Impala, we carefully made our way through the forest until we found a good vantage point. I readied the crossbow, taking aim at one of the four vampires standing opposite John. Among them were two who had been asleep in the hammocks, a spiky-haired male and a blonde female. Surprisingly, the brunette who had been tied to the post was also here. I couldn't understand how she had been turned into this… thing, and she chose to join them.
However, it was the fourth vampire, standing at the head of the brood, who commanded our attention. He stood tall, shoulders squared. Even seeing John holding the groggy brunette, his mate, with a knife to her throat did nothing to lessen his cocky attitude.
"Kate, you all right?" he asked.
"Luther," she mumbled, mouth agape and breathing shallow. "Dead man's blood."
"You son of a bitch," Luther seethed to John.
John didn't waste time acknowledging his jab. "I want the Colt, Elkins gun. Trade."
"Is that what this is all about? I mean, you can't shoot us, all right?" The vampire spread his arms wide as if to show off his clan. "We'll kill you."
"Oh, I don't need it for you. I'm saving it for something else." John tightened the blade to Kate's throat. "Put the Colt down, or she goes first."
"All right. Just don't hurt her." Luther pulled the gun from the band of his jeans and set it down on the ground. He held his hands up in surrender. This seemed to be going according to plan, but my shoulders stayed tense. It couldn't be this easy.
"Back up," John instructed. Luther complied, but it wasn't enough. "Further." The vampire obeyed, taking two more steps away. John dragged Kate along with him to pick up the gun.
"It's a nice move," Luther said. "You almost made it."
Kate swung around, sending John crashing back against the grille of his truck. The Colt slipped from his grasp. The wind howled around us, whipping branches into a frenzy and making aiming difficult. Luther advanced, hauling John upright before striking him across the face, the force throwing him into the open truck door. Shards of glass exploded as the window shattered upon impact, showering John with fragments as he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
Though it was a challenge to line up my shot, I took the risk and managed to land a hit on the blonde's chest. Our sudden appearance drew the attention of the remaining vampires, who charged. Dean paused his descent down the short hill to shoot his crossbow, sending the other male vampire staggering to the ground.
Nearing the edge of the grass, I lifted my bow, ready to shoot Kate or the other brunette—whichever target came easiest first—when the sickening thud of a blow connecting to a body came from behind. I spun on my heel, breath catching in my throat when I saw Sam in Luther's clutches.
Without hesitation, Dean charged in, grabbing his brother's discarded machete with fierce determination. I raised my crossbow, aiming directly at Luther's head. Shooting him would be a risky move. It wouldn't kill him, but if there were a single chance it'd slow him down and get him away from Sam, I'd take it.
"Don't!" Luther shouted, wrapping his arm around Sam's throat. "I'll break his neck! Put the blade down. Crossbow, too."
Everything inside was screaming to pull the trigger, but Sam's deep gasp for air stopped me. And when Dean set down his machete, I finally lowered my crossbow.
We were totally helpless; Luther knew that, and I hated it.
"You people," the vampire spat the words like a curse. My eyes wouldn't leave the vice-like grip he had around Sam's neck. "Why can't you leave us alone? We have as much right to live as you do."
"I don't think so," John's authoritative voice commanded everyone's attention as he raised his arm. A loud pop echoed off the trees, followed by a bullet slicing through the air. It found its mark, striking Luther squarely between the eyes. Staggering back, he released his hold on Sam. Dean swiftly collected his brother and planted him safely between us.
Wind whipped around Luther, seemingly coming from within and fanning outward. Flashes of light struck just beneath his skin, illuminating his skeleton. He collapsed, supporting himself with a hand clawed into the pavement until one more beam of light where the bullet had entered sent him face-first into the ground.
It worked. That's all I could think about. The gun worked.
"Luther!" Kate screamed. The sorrow in her voice was deafening. Despite what she was and what she'd done, I pitied her. Fueled by anger, she began to charge at John, but the last remaining vampire, the girl we'd once thought to be a victim, stopped her.
"Kate, don't!" she said, dragging her back into their car. They peeled away, tires screeching. None of us could seem to unstick our feet from the blacktop below our boots to go after them.
John's gaze ticked down to Luther's lifeless form, and shockingly, when he looked back up, he sported a satisfied smile. He instructed us to deal with the poisoned vampires, load them into his truck bed, and go pack up while he disposed of the bodies.
Even after we arrived at our room and began packing, I was ramping up for the inevitable verbal lashing we'd receive over what we'd done. There's no way he'd let it slide. I went over all the reasons why he'd be wrong and was preparing to recite them when he inevitably came to talk to us.
If we hadn't shown up, a bullet wouldn't have been used. But if we hadn't shown up, he wouldn't have made it out alive. We'd be stuck grieving him. The vampires would have kept the Colt, and our chance at killing that demon would've disappeared right along with it.
As I messily folded and shoved a shirt into my bag, the door creaked open, and John strolled in. "So, kids…" he began, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
This was it. I turned, along with the boys, and prepared my list.
"Yes, sir," Sam replied.
"You ignored a direct order back there."
Sam nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Yeah, but we saved your ass," Dean interjected bluntly, and my myriad of thorough reasons flew out the window. I really couldn't top that.
John regarded him with resigned acknowledgment. "You're right," he said.
Dean looked just surprised as I felt that his father gave in so easily. "I am?" he asked.
"It scares the hell out of me. You three are all I've got. But I guess we are stronger as a family." John forced in a steadying breath. "So, we go after this damn thing. Together."
The tension that had been building evaporated, replaced by a solidarity I hadn't felt in a long time. Whatever happened after the demon was dead, whatever directions we all went in, all that mattered now was finishing this.
Thank you for reading! Only four more chapters to go in season 1! I can't believe it, but I'm so excited!
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