Best Served Cold, 5/6

[mellaithwen]

Title: Best Served Cold
Chapters: 5/6
Rating: PG-13 (if not higher)
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.

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

 

Don't let me die before I go to sleep. I can't keep going but I cannot start again

 

Dean glared at the door when it swung open, clenching his fists when Kate strolled in. She had grown impatient waiting for Adam, who she now treated as her second in command, and aware that her hunger was satisfied enough for now, meant that for all of her adventures over the last few days, she was bored, bored of waiting for the grandeur of getting her revenge. Tired of waiting for yet another rescue attempt that she knew would either leave her with two more corpses, two more captives, or nothing as she was defeated.

 

“Let’s see how long you can hold your own.” She said cryptically, before assuming a defensive stance, and challenging Dean with her body language. Hand to hand combat had been something of a necessity, being used less and less as time flew by and more and more unsuspecting passers by could be fooled by the dead-in-the-road trick they had perfected. There was no need for fighting, when the basics were nothing more than catching the victims by surprise, subduing them, kidnapping them, and bleeding them dry.

 

“A little unfair, don’t you think?” He replied, indicating his bound wrists, and feet. Not to mention the injuries he had already sustained at her malicious hand.

 

“Well I am a harmless little girl,” She mocked simply, feigning innocence, and making her appearance seem tackier.

 

He stayed where he was, waiting for her, and just as he had suspected, her impatience made her lunge toward him. He caught her fist in between his forearms, and simply stared at her, incredulous at the display of recklessness on her part. Granted she did have the advantage, but what if Dean won? What then? She was letting her anger drive her, and Dean saw it as an opening.

 

She pulled away, jumping back somewhat before lunging again and Dean jumped out of the way at the last minute, hitting the wall slightly to ensure his balance stayed intact. He couldn’t believe she was actually snarling in his direction. Spitting, hissing like an animal. Her fighting gave her the very air of one unhinged, and he supposed in all likelihood, that she was. Incredibly so.

 

“Why are you even doing this?” Dean asked, incredulous that the woman was still attacking when it was clear she had won. Her face looked pensive for a second, wondering which reason she could pick, before leaning in, and settling for;

 

“I like to practice.” She said, aiming another kick at his midsection, to which Dean narrowly avoided as he jumped backwards.

 

“Well, that’s bull.” Dean remarked, breathing hard, swallowing the excess saliva in an attempt to clear his foggy brain. His vision was titling too often for his liking, but fever or no, he could tell a lie from a mile away.

 

She struck at him once more, and too preoccupied with staying upright, Dean didn’t have the time to block. The blow hit him hard in the head, his vision not only swimming but now glittering with unwanted sparks, stars in the blanketing darkness edging too close.

He wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up. Jumping out of the way, dodging her kicks and hits, not when his head was pounding, his body still shivering, small droplets of sweat glistening atop his forehead. He waited for another attack and to his surprise watched her head tilt, listening to someone, before leaving the room.

 

It worried him that the blood rushing in his ears was loud enough to drown out all else.

 

Once alone, his first thoughts had been stay awake, stay conscious, stay alive, but then the voices outside got louder, and he couldn’t focus on his thoughts anymore when the squeals of panic demanded his attention.

 

“They took Adam’s head!”

 

And he knew full well who they were, his father, his brother.

 

Not coming for me, my ass.

 

 “That’s it Kate! We have to leave, we have to go!” She was hysterical in her screams, loud enough for Dean to hear, and smirk at. The male vampire was dead, or rather, eliminated, for good, and as much as he hated leaning toward being sexist, he supposed it would be easier now that the odds were two against two, male versus female. And by the incessant, come on! The girl was still crying he knew Kate wouldn’t be leaving like a coward.

 

*-*-*

 

Sam readied the arrow, well aware of how perfect his aim had to be if he wanted this to work. They had no more blood to douse the arrows in, and no time to let the vampire get away, their purpose was to distract alone, buying time for him to kill them indefinitely with the machete in its sheath.

 

She, with short blonde hair, strayed out of the door, taking a quick look around the woods surrounding their new nest. She surveyed it as closely as she could in the moonlight, before the immense pressure that slammed into her chest, and through the barn door, kept her in place.

 

He ran forward with great stealth, swinging just as she had thought about screaming.

 

The decapitated head rested at his feet, but he took no time in relishing in the kill.

 

The Winchesters could be damn-near perfect hunters when they wanted to be. They could sneak with the best of them, hide, and plan to perfection. Fight like mad men, even when they were at their most sane, but on occasion, there were some things that threw caution to the wind.

 

For Dean, it was whenever Sammy and his father’s life were in jeopardy.

 

For Sam, it was whenever Dean and his father’s life were in jeopardy.

 

For John, it was whenever Sam and Dean’s lives were in jeopardy.

 

No one messed with family, especially not theirs. The supernatural should know better by now, because with their track-record, nothing was left standing in their wake, and John was already regretting not having the forward thinking to hunt down the remaining vampires in the pack and killing each and every one of them before they had the chance to hurt his son.

 

*-*-*

 

The atmosphere seemed all the more tense the next time she came back in. Her jaw was set, eyes ablaze with yet more hatred directed at him. But the tinge of insanity he had presumed to have glimpsed earlier. Her eyes were clear, save for the fury that drove her ever onward, ever closer to him, making him cringe at the thought of his space being intruded by a creature of her nature.

 

The same one who had licked his cuts, tasted his blood, smeared it across her lips as she relished the taste of fresh-

 

Stop it.

 

He focused on the present moment once more, she was circling him, though there really was no need. He had resorted to slumping against the wall, his ankles aching, his feet burning, hot skin against the cold surfaced ground, his sides bruising and hurting, bleeding, and his head still throbbing. She looked him up and down, wondering if it was worth it. And obviously deciding it was.

 

“Do you know how long vampires mate for?” She asked casually, almost rhetorically. Dean knew, but he didn’t say a word.

 

“Life.” She whispered. “One mate, forever.” She was getting far too close now, but pushing her back would do no good, especially if she retaliated with more anger than he could withstand.

 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to lose someone you’re that close to?”

 

“If you were so close, why were you out looking for new friends?” Dean gritted out, head still spinning nauseatingly. She slapped him across the face, leaving the stinging impression of her hand on his cheek. His head flew to the side, but he wasted no time dwelling on the hurt before facing her once more.

 

“You and yours took him from me.” Her voice was changing, becoming more predominate, and precise, as though every word counted.

 

“He pulled the trigger to save the other, and to save you, I wonder how he’ll feel when he finds you?” Her finger danced across his chest, the nail catching in the rips of the material that had once been a favourite shirt of his. “I wonder how he’ll feel, when he sees your corpse?”

 

Still Dean kept quiet, watching her eyes as they stared at him squarely, unaware of the hand behind her back.

 

“I wonder...”

 

The move was quick, the last syllables of the word barely spoken before she pounced, her hand spinning, the knife shining. He saw it too late, and his body was too slow, too sluggish to comprehend the danger in time, or to obey his own orders of move! He managed to somewhat, but not enough. Blade found skin, and red pooled quickly from him. Another slice as the knife was pulled free, and Dean sank to his knees before falling onto his back, and lying on the ground.

 

For a moment she watched him as his uselessly bound hands tried to staunch the bleeding somehow before giving up, his head bobbing up and down from the ground as he tried to get a better look as the pain washed over him, agony increasing, panic levels rising. She didn’t leave until his head stayed still lying back against the ground. Conscious or no, he was giving up.

 

Her work was done.

 

Luther would have been proud, she was sure.

 

*-*-*

 

John reacted first. This particular pack of vampires were not exactly graceful, their fleeting numbers giving them the disadvantage of having to cope on their own, and now, small as they were, they’re hiding skills left much to be desired. The female he had shot a night or so ago, when to be exact he could never be sure, his mind tended to veer off toward the one-tracked-kind when one of his son’s went missing as Dean had. She crept behind the stacked crates, moving back and forth, weaving, trying to get closer, unaware of how painfully obvious her attempt-to-hide were to the skilled hunters, watching her every move. Waiting.

 

Sam’s teeth were bared, as he took in a deep breath through his nostrils, flaring in anger as he realised it was she who had caused his brother pain, and she would be the one to which justice would be carried out. Ten fold, if Sam had anything to do with it.

 

She dared a chance and looked over to her prey, before stopping. They were gone, but as she crept forward she was shoved back into the wall, suddenly. Only one hunter, the older one, standing in front, glaring with a deep, dark, fury, that made her want to smile through her terror, while Sam, continued through the lair, intent on finding Dean and destroying the last of the pack while his father took on the widow.

 

“Where is my son?” John asked calmly, a contrast to his true feelings, his voice cold and calculating as he held the machete in front of him, with Kate backed into a wall. She laughed, “Why would I tell you?”

 

John paused. To anyone else, unaware of the ways of the eldest Winchester, they might have thought him stalling, searching for words that would make him more intimidating, and indeed this was the same mistake Kate herself made.

 

Thwap!

 

The sound cut through the air and hit something with a thud. There was a cry, before a final bang as the body hit the floor. John continued to listen, and Kate could do nothing but. Footsteps, a swing, the blade no doubt shaking from the speed, and a final, sickening slice, and a constant rhythm of a head rolling...

 

She swallowed rather than cringe in front of the hunter. Her lover’s murderer.

“Because sweetheart; your nest is empty. You’re the last one here, and there’s no use in not telling me.”

 

“You’re terrified he’s already dead, why should I help you after you killed Luther?”

 

“That’s what this is all about? Revenge?”

 

“Among other things,”

 

“So why the hell didn’t you come after me? I’m the one who shot him, not Dean!”

 

“But why kill you when I could hurt you more through him?” She asked simply, before cackling madly. The sound reverberated all around him, laughter bouncing off of the dank walls, and shooting past his ears, hitting him square in the face as he lost reign of his emotions, his only thoughts of his son, his son in pain, his son taken because of her, and now she laughed? Now she was pleased?

 

“Dad!” John heard Sam cry suddenly, and the laughing only increased. John could take no more. He knew Sam would never have called if he hadn’t found something, and in retaliation to the maniacal laughing, he cried out, almost like that of a last soldier on the battle field of ages, as he brought the machete down in a swift motion, slicing her head straight off her shoulders, and stopping the laughter from continuing on. He was running in Sam’s direction before the headless body had a chance to fall to the ground.

 

“Sam?” He called back, and another “Dad!” met his response, guiding him closer to his son.

 

Sons, he hoped. He rounded the corner and saw a fenced barrier opened. He stepped through the hole and stopped short. Sam was kneeling next to his brother. Dean, his strong soldier, with his eyes close, and pallor ghostly save for the harsh multicoloured bruising to his skin, lying, propped up against his younger brother’s bent knees, his wrists at his side, skin shafted, sitting as though there were no bones inside.

 

He lay so still, save for the occasional shake that worried him to no end. So steady, and unconscious, maybe even-

 

No, no, he can’t be.

 

John felt the bile in his throat as he saw the ropes tossed away into the corner, that Sam must have gotten rid of and he could see the condition of his oldest’ wrists. Raw and bloody, much like the rest of him. His ankles looked slightly swollen, and he could see the same nasty rope-burn marks circling them too. A gash on his temple had left a long trail of blood on the side of his face that had since dried, covering the bruising sustained there, and fingerprints on his neck. John could see his son’s clothes were torn and ripped, with red shining through. God, what had they done to his boy?

 

The worst though, was where Sam’s hands lay, large palms held directly over a growing patch of red, staining Dean’s stomach, Sam’s hands and the floor beneath with crimson liquid.

 

“Dad?” Sam’s voice was so much quieter now, as he tried to stop the bleeding, and it snapped John out of his stupor. He practically flew over to his eldest, landing on his knees and trying to rouse him carefully,

 

“Dean? Dean? Come on, Dean, wake up,” He was stroking the boys hair, matted with sweat and blood. “Dean,” He said more firmly, hoping a direct order would be enough to rouse the boy, but it was not. As soon as he touched the boy’s skin he felt the heat, but knew from the shivering that his body was cold.

 

He quickly shed his jacket and shirt, using the shirt to press against the wound on his son’s stomach. Sam’s hands fell away, still stained with so much blood, and he helped lift Dean up as John wrapped the warm jacket around his son’s body, before putting his hands beneath the boy, and getting to his feet, lifting Dean into his arms and taking fast strides out of the lair.

 

Sam followed without a word, running to keep up as his father raced to the truck, the keys left in the ignition in their hurry to get in. John said nothing as he put Dean in feet first, lying on the backseat, his head resting on his father’s knees, as Sam wordlessly got into the driving seat, and turning the keys in a swift move, pushing the truck to its limits in hopes of getting to the hospital quicker.

 

“Sam, head for the cabin,” John said, still stroking his son’s hair with one hand, and keeping the other pressed firmly over the bleeding wound.

 

“No,” Sam said firmly, stepping on the accelerator further.

 

“Sam!” John couldn’t believe his son was picking this time of all to rebel against his orders, but Sam only had Dean’s best interest at heart.

 

“We’re taking him to the hospital.” Sam said simply, continuing to drive.

 

“They’ll ask too many questions, Sam, we can’t.” And as much as Sam wanted to hate his father for caring about such a thing when he himself could barely breathe knowing of the fire condition of his brother, he could still see his father’s face as he looked down at Dean. He could still see his father’s shoulder and arm moving and knew full well that he was still stroking his brother’s hair, telling himself everything would be fine.

 

*-*-*

 

The long roads still stretched out before them, but Sam was now more than relieved to see the beginnings of a town appear. Shops and houses on the sides of the roads, they passed a church and Sam felt himself breath again. He scanned every sign until finally seeing the ones directing him to the main hospital, though he supposed it was more like a large clinic considering how small the population of the town looked to be.

 

The building, seemingly white, loomed over them as Sam stopped right outside the doors to the ER, and his father wasted no time in jumping out, and reaching back in carefully for his son, holding the weight all on his own as the doors opened automatically and they called out for assistance. The response was immediate, almost surprising but they didn’t know what they looked like. They had garnered attention from the get go, both of them breathing heavily, covered in blood, and holding on to an unconscious burden, too pale and still for any doctor’s liking.

 

An emergency gurney was thrust beneath their noses, and doctors and nurses were taking Dean away from his father’s grasp, shouting orders across each other as they assessed the damage. John and Sam followed quickly, and as they made their way to the trauma room, the doctor questioned quickly.

 

“What happened?”

 

“Knife wound to the abdomen,” John said, meticulously, pointing out the life threatening wound, rather than the minor wounds littering his son’s body. “He’s lost a lot of blood,”

 

“Do you know him?” He asked, as they neared the double doors.

 

“I’m his father,” John said simply, and the doctor nodded in understanding of the grim, sad, and pained expression.

 

“Is he allergic to any drugs that you know of?” A voice, one of the interns asked, as procedure proceeded.

 

“No, no, nothing, just-god, just help him.” But when he moved to follow his son, Sam by his side following suit, as Dean was pushed into the trauma room, one of the nurses closest to him stopped them.

 

“I’m sorry, sir, you can’t go in there,”

 

“What? He’s my son!”

 

“You have to let them do their jobs; I promise you a doctor will come talk to you about your son’s condition as soon as they can.”

 

And she disappeared behind the double doors that swung for a moment before staying completely still. Two Winchesters stood in the semi-bustling corridors staring at the spot as the activity around them didn’t cease, but they stood completely still.

 

TBC

Chapter 6

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