mellaithwen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mellaithwen) wrote2006-05-01 05:27 pm
mellaithwen) wrote2006-05-01 05:27 pm
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Best Served Cold, 4/6
mcee told me to watch the Grey's Anatomy episodes with Denny in, since over here, livingtv has finished s1 and Ch5 is only starting to show it. But now after watching 2x13 I'm pining for him, and honestly he's so much more likeable than John. Bugger. Right, moving on. Usual warnings, I think there's swearing...can't remember, but safe to say there is even if there isn't...
Title: Best Served Cold
Chapters: 4/6
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Spoilers for Dead Man's Blood
Summary: Post Dead Man's Blood. The Vampires want revenge...and they won't rest until they have it.
For mmarinov and her patience
Chapter 3
mmarinov and her patience Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Lay me down. Wash this blood off of my hands for me while I cry out
He pulled again at the ropes. Thankfully now in front of him rather than behind, though it amused him that the vampires had yet to notice, or care about that much. Not that they had any reason to. Even in front of him, they were still impossible to get out of, only letting Dean see the damage he was inflicting on the precious skin so near to the blood-filled veins as he struggled desperately against the bonds. He wondered to himself if leaving him alone for such long spaces of time was part of the punishment. That’s what he was calling it, by the way. Torture seemed too dark and morbid, and if he was honest, it scared him a hell of a lot more than punishment did. After all, he had received the latter often.
From not handing essays in on time (though granted the teacher’s let it go when they saw the quality he could churn out when he wanted to) to not doing his very best on a hunt, and having the lecture of a lifetime from his father. And now being bled like a piece of meat in a butcher’s shop, ready to be chopped up into little pieces.
Now you’re just being ridiculous, half of his brain told the other half at the meat-joke, and he deduced that this half, the one that still carried an ounce of optimism, had not been the one feeling the brunt of the earlier torture.
Damn it.
He swore at his own inner monologue use of the word. He felt stronger than earlier, and a part of him put it down to the adrenaline rush at knowing that his family was safe. For now at least. After all, he wasn’t stupid enough to hope they wouldn’t try to come back for him. But since waking up he knew too things.
His captors? They were angry, incredibly so. And hungry, to which the thought made him shudder in disgust.
The second thing?
They had moved, this was not the same cell he remembered from before. It even smelt different, and he knew they were squatting in a different building, abandoned or otherwise, it would be even harder for a rescue to take place now. Maybe that was for the best. If he died, then that would ensure his family’s safety, not that he wanted to die. But he’d be more than willing for them, for his brother and father. His sense of surroundings had completely gone to pot, and quite frankly, he felt he had spent far too much time in the company of the dead for his liking.
And though he’d never admit it, the thought of being their meal again, scared him more than anything. He would not be used like that. Ever again.
His torso was blood, crimson trails sweeping down his chest, drying, and caking on his jeans, leaving stains that would be a bitch, he knew, to be rid of. The cuts stung, the blood, sticking shirt to skin, not to mention the worries of infection increasing with every moment he spent in the damp dreary room in god-knows-where. He had been feeling hot, but shivering ever since he had woken up, and had he been able to touch his forehead with his palm, he was sure there would be the beginnings of a fever.
Things just keep getting better and better.
*-*-*
When Adam strayed in, close after their female leader, they saw that their captive had resorted to staying, lying, on the ground. Both vampire’s faces were far from happy, glaring and clearly blaming Dean for all of their misfortunes when it was their fault for taking him in the first place. Or was it John’s fault for shooting Kate’s lover. Or their fault for going after Elkins and taking the gun? Even his thoughts were rambling, definitely an indication of the onset of a fever. Great.
Dean felt a feeling of pleasure that lasted for a miniscule second at knowing he had helped cause that grim reception, before realising it wasn’t in his best interest to do appreciate such things that could lead to his death. Or worse. Instead he tried to catch the conversation he had now missed. The other vampires were restless, and Adam was telling his leader that much.
“They’re freaking out, thanks to this piece of crap.” He kicked Dean in the groin, leaving the man to double up in obvious pain, unable to avoid the pain, or stop the cry before it left his lips. Adam’s eyes glittered at the sound, and watched Dean as he brought his arms up to shield from a second attack that never came. Instead, Kate was now in front of him.
“Why are you doing this?” She asked, crouching down before him, her hands resting on her knees as she cocked her head to the side and stared at the shaking form at her feet. He was shaking, tiny tremors betraying the freeze his body was convinced he was under even though his skin was on fire.
“What have we ever done to you?” She asked, unaware, or unperturbed by his worsening condition, though he wouldn’t be surprised if she could smell it on him.
Dean snorted, she was asking again. The same questions with different words. His father had always hated his habit of patronising demon’s, snorting in their face, mocking their enemies so simply but she barely even noticed the sound anymore. She was still staring at him, and Dean was tiring of finding spots to stare at other than her curious, and angry gaze.
“Someone has to stop you,” Dean said simply, rasping somewhat. “You’re a murderer,”
“So are you,”
Dean looked at her, knowing that wasn’t true. Though his black and white interpretation of the world had often made him question a human’s right to live at all with the monstrosities at their hands, but he had never actually killed one. The only things he had killed were creatures. Werewolves were the worst he supposed, they tended to change back into their human form almost instantly, leaving Dean standing there as the shot man or woman, sometimes even a child, appeared at his feet, looking so innocent once the fur had been shed, and the claws retreated into fingernails.
“I hunt with my family, you hunt with yours.” She broke in, her smile devoid of any happy thoughts. And that stopped him cold. He looked up at her, unable to hide his surprise.
“I can taste it in your blood,” She said, off of his look, “Can smell it in theirs. You’re the oldest of two...”
Dean wondered if this was all supposed to be a revelation to him, and resisted the urge to shout out duh! But he would be lying if he said it didn’t disturb him how much information she could garner from their scent and –he shuddered again- taste.
She looked back at Adam.
“Have you caught their scent?” She asked, referring to the remaining Winchesters at large.
“No, they’re long gone by now, guess this guy wasn’t too important after all,” He said, gesturing toward Dean as if he wasn’t awake and listening, who in turn growled, and Kate grinned, standing up, and bending over her prey.
“Hear that? No one’s coming for you now, no one.”
Dean lay his head back down on the ground, his head still spinning, his body burning, and his eyes glazed. He barely even registered the fear he should feel at the words, he just felt numb. Cold, hot, tingling, yes, but mainly, just numb.
*-*-*
“They’re probably just masking it with something,” Adam said in a whisper, “Hiding their scent until they’re ready to try and get him back, to find him.” He continued, having waited outside for his friend, and now walking with her away from their captive.
“I know, and when they get here there’ll be nothing left to find. We probably don’t have much time, go see if you can find out how close they are,” She said simply, taking the authoritative position her lover had left behind.
*-*-*
“Sam,” John couldn’t believe they were having this conversation again, but he had to admit to his son’s point.
“We have to try again. They’ve had him for nearly a day, Dad, yes we’re down one man, but they’re down over half of their pack. We can take them, I know we can.”
John looked at his son, whom he knew to be more than capable, but he couldn’t shake the image of him being choked two nights ago. How his boys had come to his rescue, and almost gotten killed.
“Where have they gone, Sam? We have a better chance of saving your brother here than if we took to the road and searched.”
“Maybe we should get help...” Sam said carefully, leaving the suggestion open, receiving a quirked eyebrow that told him to continue, or rather, explain himself.
“The law enforcing kind.”
“And what are you going to tell them, Sam? Vampires took your brother?”
“No,” He said, tense, “Just that he’s missing,”
“They’ll want to do it by the book that means reporting it, and ignoring any leads we might already have.”
“We have to do something.”
“Well we can’t go to the police. What happens when they ask for a name, Sam? We can’t give your brother an alias if he doesn’t know what one’s being used, and we sure as hell can’t give his real name.”
Sam wondered if his father knew why that was, and chose to feign ignorance.
“Why not?”
“Because in case you hadn’t noticed, Dean Winchester is buried in St Louis.”
“So you heard about that, then.”
“You’d be surprised how many people remember your number when they find out your son’s dead,” He said, slyly, then added, “And suspected for murder. Got a lot of messages that day.”
Sam looked at his father, and again wondered if maybe that had affected the older man. He hadn’t said anything about the faith-healer incident, but maybe seeing his son accused of murder and dead had irked him somewhat.
“How did you find out? I mean before the phone calls?”
“Saw a sketch on the front of a news paper that looked suspiciously like your brother. Read the article,” He paused for a moment, “Dean Winchester, twenty-eight, deceased.” His tone was hollow and Sam almost flinched.
So it had irked him...
“You know, you never called back when I told you about Dean...dying.”
John sighed, avoiding his son’s gaze.
“I-I didn’t know what to say.” He said after a while. “I couldn’t have gotten over there; it wouldn’t have done any good.” And when Sam was about to retort, his father cut him off with a hand resembling Dean’s own attempt to rid the moment, saying, “Don’t Sam.”
And the boy complied, scanning the surrounding area, left with the image of his injured brother still searing in his mind’s eye, now doubling with memories of Dean on a hospital bed telling him there was no stopping his death. Suddenly his father’s hand was against his mouth, clasping somewhat and pinching his cheeks, as he put a finger to his own mouth.
“Shh,” He hissed suddenly, though Sam had been silent as it was, and slowly guided them away from view, just as he had suspected upon hearing the crackling of the leaves.
And then they saw him, lurking, crouching down and searching the area, sniffing something, but so far not them. They were still hiding their scent. He growled, aware that he would now have hunt the old fashioned way-something he hadn’t done for some time. He wondered if maybe he relied too much on his nose to attack, and he cursed himself for being so stupid when he was tackled suddenly, and pinned to the ground.
He snarled, and bucked against the hold, but Sam was on his shoulders and John on the rest of his body, keeping him down.
“Where have they taken him?” He asked, in anger, practically spitting in the vampire’s face. Adam stayed silent, smirking, and making Sam frown at the homicidal thoughts running through his head suddenly. John reached into his pocket quickly, taking out a bottle and uncorking it with his teeth. He was vaguely aware of Sam reaching for the machete, keeping it even closer than before, as John tilted the container, until tiny droplets fell to the vampire’s skin, sinking through his shirt and burning. The water fizzed, small billows of smoke lifting from the searing skin. He cried out in pain, but otherwise remained quiet.
“You’re not getting out of this alive,” John said simply, machete still at the man’s neck just as Adam had had it against Sam’s earlier. Adam scoffed, as if he didn’t know as much, but if they thought that threat was going to get them anywhere-
His inner monologue was cut off abruptly as the blade changed course, now resting on his hip, and straying downward, the man’s eyes saying the silent threat, and Adam gulped. Un-dead or no, that would hurt. He bared his teeth at the man, daring him carefully, but the blade did not falter.
“Where is my son?”
Nothing, no response and so John moved the blade again, closer to the more sensitive areas of a man’s anatomy.
“Where,”
His voice was low, dangerously so, threatening and eerie as Sam looked on. The blade made a slight rip in the vampire’s trouser folds.
“Is,”
Another tear and the blade was through to the skin, the sentence continuing, the anger only escalating to calm fury, something deadly in a Winchester.
“My son?”
He pressed down...
“Okay, okay!” Adam cried, pleading and as the blade retreated somewhat, though not completely, he whispered more quietly, “Okay,”
John waited, staring hard at Adam, who swallowed before he spoke. “Keep on the road, second turning,” The knife was back, and threatening once more as he sped up his speech. “T-there’s a farm up ahead, small barn at the b-back.”
John looked at him, a grim expression on his face as he weighed up the honesty of the vampire, who still looked quiet afraid for his body’s well being. Finally he supposed he really was telling the truth, he removed the blade, allowed Adam to take a calming breath, relieved, and then John swung again, the Vampire’s last expression being that of horror as his head was lopped off and rolling away with open-dead, even more so than before, eyes.
The silent staring of the Winchesters at the decapitated head of their enemy only lasted a moment, before Sam recalled the information, the priceless news they now grasped.
“Dad-”
“I know, Sam,” John cut his youngest off mid speech, already aware of the ever persistent want to find Dean sooner rather than later. The words of the now-headless Vampire were spinning around his head, echoing in the back of his mind. Sam watched him, with something akin to relief to know that they would finally get Dean back, as he opened up the trunk, handing the second machete to his son, while he used a cloth to wipe away the splatter on his own.
“We’ve got work to do.”
.
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