Chapter 2

"We need to find somewhere to stop," Sam murmured, pushing himself up to sit and turning his head to look at Dean. "A hotel. Something."

His eyes were still a bit glassy, and there was blood on his collar and all over his throat, even a bit up on his cheek and in his hair. There were also stains, little flowers of blood on his shirt. Dean was almost afraid of what he'd find if he pushed Sam's shirt up. Bite marks all over his stomach and chest, probably.

"We're gonna drive until they can't find us. Then we find a hotel," Dean said firmly, casting a worried glance at his brother. God, he was so pale. "Or a hospital," he amended.

"No," Sam said, shaking his head and then raising a hand to grab the door handle as if he was holding on for dear life. He was probably really dizzy. "No hospitals. Please, Dean. I...I'll be okay. I just need somewhere safe to rest."

"We can't stop now!" Dean insisted. They had only just gotten on the interstate. In an hour or so dawn would start to pink the horizon, but the sky was a deep navy now. Blacker than black, the dark before dawn.

"They won't travel in the daylight," Sam pointed out. Thus far, that had been true, and Dean had only seen one vehicle. "Please, Dean. A hotel."

Dean looked into those exhausted, desperate puppy-dog eyes until he couldn't stand it anymore. "Yeah all right," he growled, shifting in his seat and turning his gaze towards the road again. "There's another town coming up. Maxwell. We'll stop there and let you rest for a couple of hours."

"Thank you," Sam said softly, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes.

Maxwell was only a half-hour away, and the sky was just beginning to lighten as they checked in at the El Dorado. Dean had left Sam in the car as he negotiated for a room, and the kid was firmly asleep by the time he returned. He drove around to park in front of their room, then shook his shoulder lightly. "Come on," he said. "We're here."

Sam blinked sleepily and nodded, getting out of the car and shuffling towards the door like a zombie. Dean keyed them inside and then locked and bolted the door while Sam closed the blinds and drew the thick curtains, cutting off what little light there was.

"Gonna get some sleep," Sam muttered as he threw himself on the bed and fell almost instantly asleep as far as Dean could tell.

Dean wasn't remotely tired, even though he'd been awake for a good 20 hours and counting by that point. He paced for a few moments, then stared at Sam in concern. Was he even alive? He could hardly even see the rise and fall of his chest.

The older Winchester took a few steps towards him, intending to check his pulse, then paused as Sam shifted slightly and sighed.

Shaking his head, he strode to the bathroom and wet a cloth in the sink. He had brought their well-stocked first aid kit into the room with them and he opened it up, extracting bandages, and the strongest antiseptic he could find, and a suturing kit.

He was seriously considering going to the nearest hospital and raiding it for blood plasma, but that was an operation best left for later, so long as Sam could last. He didn't want to leave him alone, nor did he want to try to raid the hospital in the middle of the day. The vampires could still be on their tail, even though he hadn't for the life of him been able to detect anyone following them.

Dean sat down on the bed, careful not to wake his brother up, and raised his shirt. It didn't seem like the wounds on his neck were still bleeding, so he figured he'd patch up the smaller ones before tackling such a delicate area. He wiped at the spots of blood dotting Sam's chest and stomach, but frowned. There were no wounds that he could find. Where had the blood come from?

Shrugging faintly, but still frowning, he pulled Sam's shirt down again and began to wipe at the blood on his throat. He cleaned up the whole area, tugging his collar down and wiping away the blood that had run down onto his chest, as well as cleaning his cheek and ear.

Nothing. Not a single bite mark.

"What the hell?" he whispered in confusion. Sam had clearly been bitten, but why had the wounds healed without a trace?

Dean stared at Sam for a few long minutes then, his stomach knotting into a cold hard stone, he reached out and gently lifted up his baby brother's upper lip.

An instant later he was across the room, his gun out and cocked and pointing tremblingly at the centre of Sam's forehead.

Sammy was a vampire.

Dean stood where he was for a long time, his finger on the trigger, his hand shaking so bad he knew even if he could bring himself to take the shot, it'd be a miracle if it didn't miss completely.

Is this what Dad meant? he thought wildly. Sam's a monster and I have to kill him. But that was stupid. How could even the great John Winchester have known that Sam would get kidnapped and turned by some evil bitch of a vampire?

That thought brought Dean back to reality a little and he drew in a shaking breath, reaching up to wipe away the beads of sweat that had collected on his forehead and running his hand through his hair as he lowered the gun. He tucked it into the back of his jeans and moved to their gear, kneeling and unzipping the duffle bag.

The zipper was loud and he winced as he heard Sam shift and mutter. Swallowing, he waited for a few minutes for the younger man to fall back asleep, then rummaged through the bag as quietly as he could. Sam had Hunter training and the senses of a killing machine. He had to be silent as he got ready.

Sam had never slept so deeply in his life.

But something was wrong, and it made his sleep turn restless and uncomfortable. He dreamed that he was back in that cabin, his wrists and ankles bound again, as Angel gave him her painful, seductive kisses. The taste of her blood was hot in his mouth and he drank it down greedily, but the flavour lingered long after the warm, thick liquid slid down his throat.

He was scared as pain ripped through his body, and he jerked in his bonds. She held his head to her breast and murmured reassurances as he died.

"Dean," he whispered, pleading for rescue, and the sound of his own voice woke him out of the dream that had been far too close to a memory.

"I'm here, Sam," Dean said, and there was something wrong in his voice, too. Sam could hear it, and even though he couldn't figure out quite what it was, it made his blood run cold.

Then Sam realized that part of his dream had been real. He was bound spread-eagled to the bed, rope lashed tightly around his wrists and ankles, and probably tying him right to the metal frame of the small bed. He shifted and there was no give at all.

He turned his head to look at Dean, and his eyes were drawn inexorably to the machete laid across his big brother's lap. The blade gleamed in the sunlight that peeked into the room around the big thick curtains covering the window. From the quality of the light, it was afternoon. He must have been asleep for hours.

"Dean?" Sam said again, his eyes wide and his breathing speeding up.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean said softly, his green eyes shadowed. He wasn't looking at Sam, gazing down at the knife in his lap. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm so sorry." His voice broke a little on the last word and Sam realized that there were tears in his eyes.

"It...it's okay, Dean," Sam replied nervously. He tugged at the bonds again and the bed frame creaked. Dean put a hand on the hilt of the huge knife and he immediately left off struggling. "Dean, please. We need to talk about this. Can you let me up?"

Dean shook his head. "I can't, Sam. You... You're a..."

"A vampire. I know," Sam said, trying like hell to keep his voice normal when all he wanted to do was start screaming at the horror of it.

Dean's head shook quickly, as if he were denying it. "I don't know what I should do, Sammy," he whispered, his voice breaking again.

"Dean..." Sam said, swallowing hard. One part of him, the part that had driven him to drink until he had the courage to beg Dean to kill him if he went bad, wanted to call in that promise. Just cut off his head. It'd be over fast.

But a larger part of him didn't want to die. Wanted to believe maybe he could still make this work. "Dean, I'm still me. I swear to god, I'm still me. I'm not going to hurt you, or anyone else. Please...please untie me," he pleaded.

Dean left the seat abruptly and began to pace, the machete held in a white-knuckled grip. Sam watched him, his blood roaring in his ears, afraid to move, or say anything. It was obvious to him that Dean was trying to work this out for himself, and he had no idea which way the chips were going to fall.

Suddenly the older man stopped and looked at him, that little line forming between his eyebrows. Sam met his green eyes and felt something stir inside him, and abruptly he really, really didn't want Dean to untie him.

Dear god, he was starving.

This time it was the voice, as much as the puppy-dog eyes. Dean heard the fear and the...the plea in Sam's voice, and came face-to-face with the nauseating fact that his own baby brother was begging him not to kill him.

The same baby brother that Dean would die to protect. Die a thousand times, in horrible agony, if only Sam could live and be happy.

What was he thinking?

The machete hung from nerveless fingers for a moment as he looked into those dark eyes. It was Sam. He knew deep down in his bones that it was still Sam. The rest...that was just window-dressing. It didn't matter, not really.

He set down the huge knife and pulled out a smaller one, approaching the bed and sinking down to sit on the mattress next to Sam's hip. Sam still looked scared, and he inched away just a bit, but there was hope in his eyes, too. "Dean?" he whispered.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean said, and again he felt that crushing despair coming over him. He had failed to protect Sam, had gotten there too late to save him from this fate.

And now he'd compounded his error, by treating Sam like a monster, by even considering hurting his Sammy. He was the worst big brother on the face of the planet.

"Dean, wait..." Sam said nervously.

"Shh," Dean soothed him, reaching out and brushing a lock of hair out of his little brother's eyes. "It's okay, Sammy. We'll make this work. I promise. I won't hurt you."

He reached out and sliced through the ropes that bound Sam's right hand. He felt the hand trembling faintly in the bonds, and the younger man drew his hand away from Dean the moment the ropes loosened enough to allow him to do so. Dean winced faintly, worried at the way Sam was acting, and leaned over him to do the other hand.

Sam made a soft sound in the back of his throat, like a whimper, as Dean's weight settled on him. Frowning, Dean cut into the ropes binding Sam's other hand, and then suddenly felt an arm come around and grab him hard by the back of the neck. "Dean," Sam whispered again, tugging Dean down towards him.

Startled, Dean glanced at his brother and his eyes widened as he saw the sharp fangs descend as Sam opened his mouth. "Woah, woah Sammy!" he exclaimed, immediately beginning to struggle, but the grip on him was like being held in a vice.

Sam's head snapped upwards like a striking snake, but Dean managed to pull back just a bit and the fangs sliced through Dean's shirt as if it was made of paper and sank into the meat of his shoulder instead of his throat.

It hurt. Dean let out a yell and pulled away with all of his strength, and the knife in his hand slipped, cutting deeply into Sam's forearm, then clattered to the floor on the far side of the bed, no good to anyone.

With a loud, animalistic hiss that assaulted Dean's ears, Sam shoved his brother facedown into the bed, pinning him with an arm in the middle of his back that felt like a concrete block. The older Winchester turned his head slightly to one side, seeing the spreading dark stain on his white shirt. Physically it was nothing, but it burned like betrayal.

There was a purring sound of tearing fabric as Sam ripped his left arm free of the bonds, breaking the already half-cut ropes. Dean could see as he lifted his left arm, that the wound was already closing. He felt Sam shift, still holding Dean down with one hand as he bent to untie his feet.

"Sam," Dean said desperately. "Sammy, it's me, Dean. You gotta get ahold of yourself. Do you need...is there something I can go get you?"

There was no answer for a few long minutes as Sam struggled to free himself with only one hand. He managed his right leg without too much trouble, but as he worked on the stubborn knot of the left his hand shifted slightly, losing most of the leverage.

Gritting his teeth, Dean suddenly heaved himself upwards, flipping himself over and trying to scramble away. But Sam was far faster than Dean expected, and grabbed him with both hands, dragging him back before he'd gone more than a foot. He wrapped his free leg around Dean and pinned him to the bed on his back. His left leg was still tied down and was probably bent at a painful angle, but all three other limbs were very efficiently holding Dean immobilized.

Sam's mouth was reddened with his older brother's blood. He gazed at Dean as if he was a starving man looking at a five-course meal. Not taking his eyes from his brother, Sam shifted and freed one hand, reaching back to finish untying his left foot.

"Sammy, please," Dean said softly, scarcely able to hear his own voice over the rapid thudding of his heart in his ears. He cleared his throat and forced his voice louder. Please listen. PLEASE. "Sammy listen to me. You don't want this. Why don't you let me go, and I'll get you some blood. Do you hear me? You can stay right here, and I'll be back with blood for you."

Sam closed his eyes and shook his head, though it was hard to tell if he was trying to clear his mind, or was just saying no. The knot finally parted and he yanked his leg up, shifting over Dean to straddle him, his big hands holding Dean's arms down.

"Dean..." he whispered suddenly, lowering his head. Dean swallowed and closed his eyes as he felt Sam's lips brush against his throat, almost like a kiss.

"C-come on, Sammy," Dean whispered helplessly, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. "Don't do this."

Sam suddenly drew back, sitting back on his haunches and dragging Dean up into a sitting position. With those freakishly strong arms wrapped around him, Dean was no more able to move than before, but Sam's lips weren't on his neck, so he took that as a good sign.

"It's OK, Sammy," Dean began in a soothing voice, raising his arms awkwardly and placing them on Sam's upper arms. He pushed gently, but there was no give at all. It was like being wrapped in concrete. "You just let me go now, and I'll go get you what you need."

Sam lowered his head to Dean's uninjured shoulder, and Dean couldn't help but tense as he felt his younger brother nuzzling him. Teeth that were way too sharp to be human scraped at Dean's collarbone, but didn't break the skin.

"I can't," Sam said in a rough voice that told Dean he was holding back tears. "I can't, Dean. I'm so hungry. You...smell so good," he finished in a groan, and this time the teeth sliced into Dean's skin just below his clavicle. Sam licked at the tiny wound, which wasn't even as deep as the one in Dean's shoulder.

Swallowing hard, Dean stilled, feeling that soft tongue sliding rhythmically over the little spot of pain on his chest. As he gazed over Sam's shoulder, desperately trying to figure out what to do, he felt his eyes drawn towards the machete.

No, he thought firmly, putting the thought out of his mind and lowering his own forehead to Sam's shoulder just to get the damn weapon out of his sight. Even if I die, I won't cut my own fucking brother's head off.

"Do it, then," he said suddenly, even surprising himself a little.

Dean felt Sam stiffen under his hands. "What?"

"Bite me, just...not on the neck, you know? Take enough to take the edge off," Dean said wildly. "Then I'll go get you something else. It'll be okay, Sammy. Just do it."

He felt a little like that time he had tried to get Sam to take a free shot on him in the face. Only it was much, much worse.

"Do you mean it?" Sam asked plaintively, and that was what really told Dean that Sam was hanging on by a thread. Any other day Sam would have refused outright, and then surrendered after an argument.

Dean swallowed hard. "Yeah, yeah I mean it, Sam. Go ahead."

Sam wavered only a moment before he loosened his grip on Dean just a bit - just enough that he could take Dean's arm and shove the sleeve up. He brought the arm up, and Dean worked really damn hard not to pull away.

Just breathe, Dean. He's my little brother. I can do this, he told himself firmly, closing his eyes tightly as Sam's teeth sliced into the big vein in his wrist.

It wasn't as horrible as he was expecting. Too bad vampires in his world didn't have some kind of 'pleasurable kiss', like in some of those really trashy books he'd come across doing 'research', though.

It hurt like a bitch.

Dean held still, partly because every instinct he possessed was screaming for him to hit Sam as hard as he could and run. Partly because he was afraid that doing anything at all would set Sam off and he'd end up getting his throat ripped out after all.

Sam's lips pressed hard against Dean's wrist, his throat working for long minutes, until Dean was starting to feel dizzy and was really beginning to think that just sitting here and waiting for Sam to stop on his own was the dumbest idea he'd ever had. The older Winchester had just raised an arm - it felt like it weighed about thirty tonnes - to try to push Sam away when the younger man pulled himself away, his eyes closed as he gasped for breath. The stains around his mouth were deeper now, his teeth dark with blood.

But he had let go of Dean completely, and the older brother took the opportunity to scramble away as quickly as he could, ending up on the far side of the room with bursts of darkness edging his vision. He swayed in place, bracing himself on the table, and blood running down his hand to pool on the varnished wood. "Jesus," he gasped.

"Okay," Sam whispered suddenly, his eyes still closed. The fangs had withdrawn, but even though he'd probably taken a pint and a half of blood, the kid looked like he was hanging on by a thread. "Go, Dean. Please. Before I lose control again."

Swallowing, Dean forced himself to stand up straight and clamped a hand around the bite in his wrist. It wasn't big, and he had first aid supplies in the car. It'd stop bleeding soon, but he'd lost enough blood that he was a bit shocky.

He took another step toward the door and picked up the keys to the Impala, already trying to figure out exactly where the best places were. A butcher shop, maybe? No, that wouldn't work. He wasn't prepared to raid the local blood bank, even if there was one within a hundred miles of this backwater place.

But there was one thing that was chief on Dean's mind. "You'll wait here for me?" he asked suspiciously. "Sammy, promise you'll be here when I get back. You won't go running off trying to save me from yourself or some shit?"

There was silence for another few seconds, then Sam nodded, opening his eyes and glancing over at his big brother. He offered Dean a wry, and somewhat tremulous smile. "I'll be here," he said. "It's broad daylight out. Where would I go?"

"Okay," Dean said. "That's a promise. I'll be back soon." He grabbed his leather jacket and reached awkwardly for the doorknob. He opened the door, watching as Sam flinched away from the flood of sunlight that entered the room. Gritting his teeth, Dean left the room and closed the door behind him. You damn well better keep that promise, Sam. I don't want to have to hunt you down again.

Dean was gone a lot longer than he'd intended, and it was well past dark by the time he pulled into the hotel parking lot again, cursing roundly as he screamed into a space right outside their door. While he tried to trust Sam's word, and he was pretty sure Sam wouldn't leave in broad daylight; considering what had happened it was hard to believe that his younger brother wouldn't change his mind right around sunset and vanish on him.

Especially considering the new holes Dean was sporting. If Sam wasn't emo'ing about that one, Dean would eat his sunglasses.

Dean grabbed the large insulated thermos in the passenger seat and got out of the car, pulling out his hotel room key on its large plastic fob.

The curtains were still drawn, so it was impossible to tell if there were any lights on inside the room, but when Dean unlocked the door and opened it, a spill of light came through the doorway. "Sammy?" he called, edging through the door and looking around. "I brought dinner."

Just one of the lamps was on, illuminating one far corner of the room and leaving the rest in darkness. The lamp had little tassels on it that cast weird shadows on the ceiling. Sam was seated next to the lamp, at the small table, leafing through a newspaper.

For an instant, Dean's heart squeezed at how normal the sight was. If it weren't for the fact that Dean had just spent the last six hours travelling to the nearest sizeable town, executing a raid on a red cross bloodmobile, and driving back like a bat out of hell, he'd think nothing strange had happened.

Until Sam looked up and Dean could see the strain around his eyes and mouth, the way his hands gripped the newspaper just a little too tight, crinkling the paper. "You...you got it?" he asked. "I was afraid you weren't coming back..."

"What, are you shitting me?" Dean returned, incredulous. "Like I'd do that! I just had a bit of trouble getting what you needed."

Sam bobbed his head, his eyes sliding away from Dean's and fixing on the thermos in his hand. "Can I have it please?" he asked, his voice a little breathless and desperate in a way that churned Dean's stomach.

"Yeah, yeah sure," Dean said, forcing a smile to his lips that felt as false as it probably looked. He crossed the room, trying not to think too hard about the knife in his boot, and the dark splotches on his shirt, hidden under his leather jacket.

Sam held very still as Dean approached, and didn't move until the older Winchester set the thermos down. He reached across the table and picked up it up, unscrewing the top with hands that were visibly shaking. "Did...did I hurt you?" he asked, his eyes focussed on the object in his hands.

"Nah," Dean said, his voice deliberately casual. "Forget about it."

"Cut the crap, Dean," Sam replied, his voice gaining an edge. He looked up and met Dean's green eyes, frowning. "Did I hurt you or not? I don't really remember much about before you left."

Dean felt his expression go a bit slack. He shook his head seriously. "You bit me and drank a bit, and then I left. It's no big deal, Sammy. Really. It won't happen again, right?"

Sam hesitated, but shook his head with a stubborn cast to his face. "No, it won't." He finally got the top off and reached inside, pulling a plastic bag of blood out of the thermos. Dean had gotten three bags from the bloodmobile he'd held up, which he hoped would be enough to at least take the edge off. He'd then packed the rest of the container with as much ice as would fit, to keep it fresh, which wasn't very much. He hadn't wanted to take the ones that had already been cryo-frozen, in case that ruined the blood somehow.

It had been tough enough to steal the damn stuff in the first place.

"You gonna be okay, Sammy?" Dean asked suddenly, watching as his little brother eyed the bag of red liquid dubiously.

"I'm already dead, Dean," Sam said sourly. "How much worse can it get?"

Dean opened his mouth to tell Sam in no uncertain terms that he shouldn't think like that, when Sam closed his eyes and sank his teeth into the plastic bag, sucking the blood out of the resulting holes as if he'd been starving in the desert and this was the best food he'd ever tasted.

Stomach roiling, Dean closed his mouth and forced himself to watch as Sam closed his eyes with a look of rapture on his face, draining the first bag dry and immediately grabbing the next one.

Jesus, Dean thought as he watched Sam down the second bag as quickly as the first. The third one went down more slowly, a rivulet of blood escaping and running down Sam's long neck as he tipped it up and squeezed it to get the last few drops.

Finally, and in no time at all, Sam lowered the third bag and dropped it onto the table on top of the other two. They sagged there like broken water balloons, a little sad-looking and stained with red.

"You've uh..." Dean said awkwardly, gesturing vaguely towards his own throat. Sam grabbed a tissue from a box on the desk and mopped up the blood that had dripped before it could hit his shirt collar. Part of Dean half-expected him to do something weird, like lick the tissue or eat it or something, but he just wadded it up and dropped it on top of the empty blood bags.

Sam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced at it before looking up at Dean. "Thanks I...really needed that."

"Was it enough?" Dean asked. "I mean, I dunno if I'll be able to run around robbing blood banks all over the continental United States - there's some pretty tough security around those places. But was it at least enough for now?"

Shaking his head, and then shrugging, Sam got to his feet. "It took the edge off. I think - I hope - I'm just really hungry because I basically got drained dry last night," he said, an awkward tone in his voice. "Maybe I should go find a cow, or something." He glanced distractedly at the empty bags of blood and traced a finger around the holes he had made with his teeth, then sucked the drops of blood from the digit.

Dean made a soft noise in the back of his throat and looked away, his stomach churning. It was bad enough watching him drain the bags in the first place, but that had somehow gotten to him even more.

Sam looked up at the noise. "Are you okay?" he asked seriously.

Struggling to get a handle on his nausea, Dean looked up and waved it off casually, hoping he didn't look as green as he felt. "Psh, yeah," he said. What was he supposed to say? Just about anything he could think of mostly involved hysterical screaming or tears, anyway, so he just chose to ignore it until it went away.

De Nile, it wasn't just a river in Egypt.

Sam wasn't fooled, but he obviously concluded that it wasn't worth arguing about. He moved to gather up his trash. "We need to find Angelica," he said, not looking at Dean as he spoke. "As soon as possible."

"I'm more inclined to get as far away from her as we can, for now, Sammy," Dean countered, frowning. "We've gotta regroup, and figure out what all this means, for you. I mean...we don't even really know what's changed, yet."

"What's changed is that I'm stronger, faster, and I can't die unless someone cuts my head off," Sam said ruthlessly. "I have to drink blood, and sunlight hurts. I'll be a better hunter now."

"Yeah, maybe so, but..." Dean protested.

"But what, Dean?" Sam asked, meeting Dean's green eyes for the first time without flinching. There was determination in Sam's eyes and Dean knew from long experience that he might as well just give up and give in, because Sam wasn't backing down from this one.

Not that that ever stopped him.

"But you gotta wonder," he said quietly. "Why she just let you go."

Sam's lips thinned. "I don't have to wonder. Because I'm going to kill her, and then it won't matter."

Dean scratched the back of his head ruefully and nodded. "Okay." This is such a bad idea...

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