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When Benny enters the club everyone is dead. Blood coats the floor, the walls, the arms and legs and torsos that litter the floor, spread amongst the shreds of clothes that were once skirts and tops and pants. Heads are lined up before the entrance, mouths gaping, eyes wide with fear. Benny stops at the line and stares. Quentin enters the club behind him, bumping his shoulder against Benny’s. He looks around, eyebrows raised. The others crowd in behind them.
“Look at this mess,” Quentin snorts.
Andrea steps up to Benny’s other side, curling her fingers into the sleeve of his jacket. Quentin is annoyed at their meal being poached, but Andrea sees what he sees, understands the implications. “Someone got here before us.”
Laughter greets that statement.
Benny jerks his head around to see a young man sitting on the bar, booted feet dangling. He leans back on one hand, twirling a knife with the other. Blood is splattered across his face, his shirt, his pants. His brown hair is dirty with it, his leather jacket stiff with it. He grins wide with his human teeth.
“We certainly did,” he says, kicking his feet. “And what a party you missed.” The amusement dies from his face, though he keeps smiling, narrow-eyed and mean. He leans forward and points at them with his knife. “But then I guess you weren’t invited, were you?”
“Dean, do you have to pick a fight with everyone?”
A large man comes around the bar. His clothes are cleaner than Dean’s, but his face is still dripping red. He wipes a hand across his chin, licks his lips. Dean rolls his eyes.
“Sammy, I eat most everyone I run across.”
Sammy shakes his head. “You’re such a glutton, Dean.”
Dean shrugs and goes back to twirling his knife. “Great thing about being a vamp, Sammy; you don’t gain weight.”
Sammy turns to Benny and his nestmates then, tipping his head back in consideration of them. His hair curls just shy of his shoulders. “So,” he says, “who are you anyway?”
Quinten snarls. “This was our club.”
Dean laughs again. Sammy just narrows his eyes. He hums in consideration. “Not any more, I think.”
Dean opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, turning his head to look over his shoulder a moment before Benny feels the change in the air. The hackles on the back of his neck rise, and he hears a few low growls start up behind him. Andrea’s fingers tighten around his wrist. Sammy never looks away, but Dean’s attention is held fast to something behind him, his whole body going still, tense.
“Dean.” The voice is low, a train in the distance, a rumble of thunder, and it reverberates through the room. Benny’s nestmates shift around him in response. Andrea grips his arm tightly and sucks in a sharp breath. Benny glances at her to find her eyes wide, mouth slack. He narrows his eyes and looks back in time to see a man come around the bar from where Sammy had appeared just moments before.
He’s shorter than Sammy, wearing a trench coat over a sloppy suit. His dark hair is in disarray, and his eyes glow in the dim light of the bar, shining blue. He’s clean of blood and he picks his way through the gore on the floor, choosing his steps carefully, deliberately. He comes to stand by Dean and looks up at him. Dean’s body quivers with repressed movement. His expression shifts, the mirth replaced with a feral hunger. He licks his lips, leans forward slightly. The man reaches up and slides two fingers into Dean’s waiting mouth. Benny sees they are red with blood he had not noticed before. Dean’s eyes slip closed as he sucks.
“Soon,” the man promises, his voice low and as hungry as Dean’s expression. He pulls his fingers free and turns, coming to stand beside Sammy. Dean tracks his movement, tongue curling out of his mouth to press at his lower lip, chasing the taste.
Sammy is unmoved, ignoring whatever is happening behind him in favor of looking over Benny and his nestmates.
“Sam,” the man greets, then: “We have guests.” His eyes track over Benny’s group before coming to rest on Benny himself. He does not offer his fingers or a promise to Sam, but Sam does not seem to expect either.
“Sure do, Cas.” Dean is the one that answers, his voice light, almost jovial. The contrast to the darkness still in his face and the tense lines of his body is stark, startling.
“They said we took over their club,” Sam says, lips curling with a sneer.
Cas tilts his head. He holds Benny’s gaze for a moment before beckoning. Benny steps forward before he realizes what he is doing and forces himself to stop.
The corner of Cas’s mouth curls up. Dean jumps down from the counter and comes to stand on Cas’s other side, resting an elbow on his shoulder. He slides his knife under his jacket, tucking it into the waistband of his pants.
“That one has spirit,” Dean purrs.
Benny tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket and dips his chin down. “Well now, I know what these two are, but I don’t rightly know what you are,” he addresses Cas.
Dean laughs a full-bodied laugh, throwing his head back to reveal the column of this throat, daring, fearless. Quentin growls behind Benny, and it’s a mistake. Cas’s eyes cut away from Benny to stare at Quentin. The amused curl of his mouth is gone, face blank and hard. Cas lifts a hand, clenches it into a fist and twists. Quentin jerks down to his knees, gasping and clutching at his throat. He claws desperately at his own neck, gagging.
“Make no mistake,” Cas says, voice bored, uninterested. “You are only alive because we have no current interest in killing you. It is in your best interest to show us some respect.”
Benny believes it is whim only that has kept them alive this long. He knows that Quentin won’t die from Cas’s display of strength, but he has little doubt that Cas is capable of killing him from where he stands. The rest of his nestmates know it too, and he feels them shift away. He can feel them ready to bolt.
Sam huffs a laugh. “They’re about to run,” he says.
Cas releases his fist and flicks his hand. The door to the club slams shut, and behind him the rest of his nest breaks, scrambling in an effort to escape. Andrea holds her ground next to Benny, sliding her hand into his and clutching tightly. He knows this is the only sign of her fear. Pride wells in him and he hopes they are killed quickly.
As it turns out, they are not killed at all.
Sam and Dean are on the other vampires before any of them have a chance to realize what is going to happen. Cas does not move; he holds Benny’s gaze, and Benny knows it is a challenge. He stares back. He listens to the screams behind him, feels the splash of blood across the back of his calves, his thighs. Someone makes a break for it, scrambling to find a back door, streaking past Benny and Andrea in his peripheral vision. Sam follows him and kills him behind the bar. Benny does not look away from Cas.
As quickly as it started, it is over, and Benny and Andrea are all that is left of their group. Sam and Dean appear from behind them and come to stand by Cas again. Dean drapes himself over Cas’s shoulder once more. They are covered in blood, glistening red. Benny has never seen such brutality outside of blood lust, but these men are not feral. They are merely dangerous. Though Cas does not look away from Benny, Benny knows the challenge is over.
Dean taps his knife against his leg, drawing Benny’s attention. Dean grins again.
“So. Here’s the deal. You can join us or we can kill you.”
Sam tosses a quick look at Dean, but says nothing. Cas continues to stare. Benny looks away from them for the first time and turns to Andrea. Her eyes are wide, her face drawn. She gives a brief nod. Benny turns back to them.
“Brother, ain’t no reason for us to stay here now.”
Dean’s grin widens. He points his knife at Benny. “Good man.”
The three of them turn as one and head toward the back of the club. Benny glances at Andrea one last time and then they follow without looking back.