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As soon as Dean walked into the cabin, he knew something was wrong.
The table was knocked over, the wood splintered down the sides. The rug was half rolled up, blood staining its center. Above, he was able to see two hooks: a telltale sign of vampires bleeding people out. A machete lay forgotten on the floor, one with a well used handle, dinged up from being kept in the trunk all these years.
Sam was nowhere to be seen.
Dean knew he shouldn’t have brought Sam on this hunt. It was just a few weeks back into hunting since the car crash, and Sam was still grieving John. He was a liability, John wouldn’t have liked it. More than that though, he was out of practice with a hurt arm. One wrong move and he could be seriously injured, or even killed. When Dean told him this, Sam just rolled his eyes.
“What are you, mom? I’ll be fine, Dean, don’t worry about me. I’m not a kid anymore.”
But now, surveying the cabin, he felt a weight in his gut. His dad’s words echoed through his mind, take care of Sammy playing on repeat. He pulled his oversized leather jacket tighter, as if somehow its weight would erase his father’s ever lingering disappointment. Get your head in the game, Winchester.
Dean did a mental catalogue of the space. There were only three rooms: the living room, which was thoroughly trashed, a bathroom that was grimy with disuse, and what had to be a bedroom. He crept through the doorway, one hand tight around the handle of his machete, the other wrapped around an old flashlight from his dad’s army days. The dim beam flickered across the room, casting a soft glow over a battered quilt on a king bed. That wasn’t it, though. Three more cots lined the walls, all looking rumpled.
Dean cursed to himself, looking frantically for any sign of his brother. He rummaged through the vampires’ stuff, coming up only with crushed beer cans and cigarette butts. He swung the flashlight over to the smashed windows and peered out. His eyes were immediately drawn to an old, weathered looking storm shelter, right outside by the back porch. Its wooden doors were streaked with dried blood, the rusted handles secured with a padlock.
He quickly smashed out the rest of the window, climbing through the remaining frame. He dropped down, being careful not to rustle any of the fallen leaves too loudly. Dean moved towards the shelter, eyeing the chains. They gleamed in the light; must be recently purchased, he guessed. He leaned his machete against the wall, taking out his lock pick kit. He gritted his teeth, jimmying the pins into the keyhole. After a few moments, the padlock clicked, popping open. “Bingo!” Dean hissed, tucking the kit away.
He gripped the machete firmly, swinging open the doors. They made a loud clattering noise and he winced. “Well, guess this won’t be a stealth mission.” He muttered to himself. Then, louder, he said, “Whatever bloodsuckers in there have my brother, know none of you are making it out of this place in one piece.”
He descended the stairs rapidly, scanning his surroundings. It was a large space, cement walls damp and dingy. There were shelves upon shelves of jars lining the edges. In the center, he saw two vamps standing over his brother. “Hey there, fellas.” Dean smirked, back in his element. This he could do, his dad made damn well sure of it. “Let’s get this party started.”
Dean moved towards the nearest vampire, swinging his machete towards its neck with brutal force. The vampire had no time to react. His swing hit, swiftly removing its head, blood spattering across Dean’s face. He grinned, turning towards the next one. This time, the vampire was ready. It lunged towards Dean, taking out a pocket knife. The blade slashed over Dean’s abdomen, ripping through the flesh and leaving a gaping tear. Blood oozed out of it, staining his grey shirt. The vampire hissed as the smell hit it, and its fangs extended over its teeth. It made another flick with the knife, Dean narrowly dodging it. He swung the machete again in retaliation, this time hitting the mark perfectly. The vampire’s head slid cleanly off its neck and thudded to the floor with a sick squelching sound.
Dean turned to where his brother was, but found the spot empty. “Dean!” He heard a pained groan from behind him. He swiveled, revealing Sam being held at knife point by another vampire.
Sam was bleeding profusely from a head wound, and the knife dug into his throat, making little droplets of blood well up. “You kill my brothers, I’ll kill yours.” The vampire jeered, the blade’s handle tight in his hand.
Dean froze. He needed to protect Sammy. He just got him back, he couldn’t lose him again. He had to play it smart. John’s voice rung through his ears, Dean, no matter what, don’t ever let them kill Sam. Keep them talking, hell, offer yourself up if you have to. I just can’t lose my son.
Dean raised his hands over his head in a gesture of surrender. “Your brothers? Well, at least you’ll join them soon. Sammy, now!” Sam jammed his foot over the vamp’s toes, making it yelp in pain and stumble back. It lost grip, knife tumbling to the floor. Dean moved quickly, promptly beheading the vampire. He chuckled in relief, embracing his brother.
“Thought I lost you there, Sammy.”
Sam smiled. “You won’t get rid of me that easy.” He paused, stepping back. “You... you got the fourth one, right?”
Dean cocked his head. “The what?”
Sam cried out as a machete, his machete, was driven through his chest from behind. Another vampire stepped out from the shadows, grinning. “Now you’ll have to suffer too, to live without those who understand you, hunter.”
Dean reacted on instinct, using his blade to decapitate it. It went through the flesh easily, disconnecting from the vamp’s body with a sinewy sound. Dean dropped to the floor, cradling Sam in his arms.
Blood gushed from his chest wound, Sam groaning. His hands gripped Dean’s coat collar tightly. There were tears in his eyes, glinting softly.
“Mom, mom please... please, it hurts, it hurts so bad.”
“Sammy, it’ll all be okay. It’ll be okay.” Dean put pressure on the wound, trying desperately to keep his brother alive. “I... I have sutures in the car, just... just let me get them.”
“Don’t... don’t go. I... I need you.” Sam choked out. Blood began seeping out of his mouth, staining his pale face. “Need you, mom...”
“Shhh, it’s okay, I’m here.” Dean whispered. Despite his shaking hands he tried to soothe Sam by brushing his hair back. “It’ll all be okay, Sammy.” He started humming Hey Jude softly. “It’ll- it’ll all be okay, Sammy.” His voice broke on the last words.
Sam sighed, the last of his breath leaving his lungs. He looked up to Dean, softly saying, “Thank you.” His eyes fluttered closed, the light leaving them. His chest stilled.
Dean let out a choked sob. “No, no, no, no.” He kept muttering, holding Sam’s face in his palms. “Sammy, Sammy come back. Please. I... I can’t do this without you.”
Suddenly, Sam’s eyes flashed open. He let out a huge heave, and for a moment, Dean could’ve sworn his eyes flashed yellow. He blinked and it dissipated. Sam wrenched the machete out of his chest, and before his eyes, the skin knitted itself back together. Sam’s breathing slowed, before picking back up again in a panic.
“Dean... Dean, what happened?”
Dean just took a deep inhale, lungs heavy. He knows nothing comes without a price, especially life.
“I... I don’t know, Sammy.”
But as he helped Sam to his feet, his father’s voice echoed through his head one last time.
That kid... that kid isn’t always right, Dean. Not inside. Keep an eye on him. If anything weird happens, if he starts turning into anything other than one of us, you might have to kill him.
He shook his head, once again pulling his jacket tighter. No matter what, he knew he would never be able to.