Fic: Thicker Than Water 8/?
Title: Thicker Than Water
Chapter: 8
Author: dragon_fall
Fandoms: Supernatural/True Blood
Rating: R
Warnings: none yet
Summary: Dean and Sam roll into Bon Temps in search of answers and find more problems than they ever would have imagined.
Author's Note: Takes place after Lucifer Rising and at the beginning of True Blood Season 2. Since I started writing this months ago it is AU in the True Blood universe, but pieces from this season will be working themselves in.
Being a prophet sucked.
Chuck downed another shot of whiskey and hung his head. The sounds of the bar drifted around him; the mellow yowl of some country singer complaining about his wife leaving him, the sharp clack of pool balls as the three men in the corner played a friendly game. This early there were only a few people scattered around the dim interior, but he liked it that way. The fewer people hovering near him, the less he worried that one of them might suddenly get angel-struck and start reminding him of his prophetic duties. Which apparently didn’t include being paid for said duties.
He was, technically, homeless. His insurance company paid for a third rate hotel while they investigated the exact reason his house decided to implode like something from Poltergeist, but the room wasn’t home. It didn't have his posters, his books, his computer, his robe, or his favorite drinking glass. It was just a room. One that looked too much like one the Winchesters would spend their time in. Would the angels take it upon themselves to expedite the investigation, or whammy the insurance people to just give him his check and be done with it? Of course not. Freeing Lucifer from hell was all well and good, but helping Charles Eric Shirley get a place that didn’t rent by the hour was apparently out of their league.
“I’ll do this again, please,” Chuck said, raising his glass without looking up. It wasn’t until the sound of liquid sloshing against the sides that he knew he’d been heard.
He’d just visited the spot where his house had stood for the first time in months. The slick, black glass that had been his foundation was still there, yellow police tape flapping in the wind. Liberty Mutual said the whole thing was suspicious. That there was no way an accidental fire could have burned hot enough to leave nothing but a thick layer of shiny fulgurite, smooth as obsidian, in place of a two story house built before 1950. He’d been tempted (oh, so tempted) to explain to the smiling woman that an angel had fought an archangel practically in his fucking living room in an attempt to stop the apocalypse, and since he was at least kind of certain they hadn’t meant to destroy his house, it was accidental.
Chuck wondered if he slit his wrists now, if the angels would bring him back to life.
As if thinking too much about the feathered dicks (and how right had Dean been about that?) flipped a switch in his mind he felt it; the first stirrings of prophecy. With a name like prophecy it should have been glorious; a thing of light and wonder and singing choirs. Instead it felt like clawed fingers running across his brain from the base of his skull to his forehead and back down.
Chuck pulled out a handful of crumpled bills without counting and used his shot glass as a paper weight. He’d been going to the same bar for nearly ten years, and Daniel would put whatever he was short on his tab or return the excess.
The Hollow didn’t rent by the hour (so the management claimed), but its proximity to a bar and the interstate meant there was a lot of business. It was a little swankier inside than the faded exterior suggested. The air conditioning worked wonders, the hot water was - almost - endless, and there was free HBO. By the time Chuck stumbled out of the elevator and into his room lights were flashing behind his eyes, the smell of his grandmother’s chocolate oatmeal cookies and dry dust filled his nose, and his ears were ringing.
Yeah, being a prophet sucked.
“Oh come on,” Chuck moaned as he pressed his heels into his eyes, falling back onto a bed littered with notepads. In reality it did nothing to dull the pain but made him feel like he was doing something. Seconds later it started.
Since Lucifer charged out of hell the visions had been different, coming faster, harder. He gasped, back bowed as crimson metal flooded his mouth. There was too much information to take in, too much everything. Bodies writhed, people burned and above it all was laughter, or the lack of laughter; a yawning silence that was just wrong. Chuck curled into a ball as the vision faded, leaving him shaky and cold. With numb fingers he reached for the phone. It took four tries to get the number he wanted.
“Singer Salvage. Not in, leave a message.”
“My name’s Chuck Shirley. You don’t know me, but I know you…kinda… ah hell…”
Bobby sighed and held the phone away from his ear. It was the one downside to having a business phone. He was sick of telemarketer’s trying to hoc their junk to him like he didn’t have enough of his own, let alone incompetent, squeaking ones. He put his thumb on nine.
“Don’t do that!” the voice yelled with enough panic to make the hunter pause. “Okay… right… like I said, you don’t know me,” the man continued, voice strained. “But I know you. I know Dean and Sam.” There was a pause, and then the voice exploded. “Because of them my house blew up! Do you have any idea how hard that is to explain to an insurance company!?” Chuck groaned. “Anyway, I know you’re a Hunter.” There was no doubting the capital H. “You need to get to Delmar, Nebraska. It’s about ten miles outside Magnet, off the 81 in Cedar County. I don’t know what’s there, but something’s there that you need to get, understand? It’s important. People are gonna die if you don’t, a lot of people. Far as I'm concerned, I did my part."
Bobby rubbed a hand over his eyes and groaned. This man might sound like he had fire ants marching around his asshole, but he knew Sam and Dean. More important, he knew what they did, and he knew the boys wouldn’t give his number to just anybody off the street. He did a few mental calculations. Damn it, that meant over a four hour drive.
“You think your head’s hurting right now, be glad you aren’t me.”
The Hunter stared at his phone as the line went dead.
Eric disliked puzzles.
After over a thousand years walking the earth, there should have been few things that confounded him. Humans, for all their cries to the contrary, were not a complicated species. Everything they did was geared to fulfill four basic needs; eating, sleeping, fucking, and shitting. In that way nothing had changed. Battles might be fought in boardrooms instead of blood-soaked fields, skirts might be shorter and transportation faster, but it all boiled down to the same thing. Which was why, when he found something that went against the grain, he was… fascinated.
Sookie Stackhouse was something that went against the grain. The woman had abilities that he only heard whispered about by Godric centuries before they parted ways. God-touched, he called them; those who could read the heart and soul. Outside her ability there was nothing special about the waitress from Bon Temps; average height, average build, average intelligence. Strange, how something so interesting could be contained in such an ordinary wrapper.
Even more interesting was the company she kept.
“She says she hasn’t seen him in nearly four years. That is, until he showed up in Bon Temps last week,” Bill explained to him.
Eric nodded. “And these men, these…hunters… they’ve shown no malice towards you or your progeny?”
Bill leaned back. “I doubt they know Jessica exists, but no… during the brief meeting we had they didn’t seem pleased at my presence, but neither did act overtly hostile.”
The blonde vampire sighed. All of his kind hated hunters as a matter of course; one didn’t like a bear when they lived in the woods, but he had an understanding with the local groups. These traveling nuisances could pose a real problem to the continued peace. “Very well. I’ll spread word throughout the county that there is a low level threat, and that everyone should be on the look out for two hunters driving a black car.” He cocked his head. "Sam and Dean, you said their names were?"
Bill nodded. "Yes. Hampton."
"I would like very much to meet these two hunters." Eric stood and straightened his suit jacket. "You will arrange it for me as soon as possible."
When Bill bristled Eric fought the urge to smile. It was so easy, getting a response out of the American vampire. "Is there anything else you require of me?" he asked through clenched teeth.
"No. That will be all." Eric waited until Bill put his hand on the door to speak again. "Give Sookie my regards."
After Bill left the blonde vampire examined the finger-sized dents on the push bar. It really was too easy to rile the other vampire.
"You're not coming in."
Bill resettled his weight. It was the shorter human who'd answered the door to the motel room, the one that seemed less inclined to be civil. If his behavior wasn’t enough to give one pause, the thick line of salt just behind the doorframe spoke for itself. "If I planned on harming you I wouldn't have made my presence known."
"Okay…" Dean drawled.” You’re still not coming in."
All vampires disliked hunters, and Bill Compton was no different. The policy of live and let live didn't apply. They were obsessed, anti-social individuals the lot of them, determined to destroy anything that didn’t fit into their narrow paradigm. "I have news from my Sheriff," he tried to explain. "May I please come in?"
"You and Nottingham can eat it," the human replied.
Bill mentally shook himself. He didn’t have time for this. Sookie was left alone with Jessica, and though he trusted his charge not to do anything foolish, he didn’t want to press his luck. "I only wish to deliver a message," he said soothingly, letting his will take hold. The human would be upset about being glamored later, but he would have to deal with it. He leaned forward, staring into the human’s eyes. Dean leaned back, wariness painted across his features. "I need to come in."
The human blinked, and then laughed. Hard. "Dude, I don't swing that way," he managed to cough out.
Bill stared, open-mouthed, as the human laughed at his attempt at glamour. The only other human he'd known that could resist mind manipulation was Sookie. "It didn’t work,” he muttered.
"Look who just caught up to the class. And the answer's still no, by the way.” The door slid a millimeter closer to closed, pressing against the human’s shoulder. “We have a strict policy against blood-sucking parasites."
Bill glared. "My sheriff, Eric, has requested a meeting with you and your brother. Tonight, at a bar in Shreveport called Fangtasia.” He paused to give the human time to digest his words. “It would be to your advantage to go to him if you wish to remain in this area for very much longer."
Dean watched as the vampire sped away. He still couldn't get over it. Sookie, sweet little Sookie, was dating a vampire. A stuck-up, prick of a former slave-owning vampire if the rumors in Bon Temps were to be believed. He shook his head as he closed the door. If blonde virgins were giving themselves willingly to vampires it really was the apocalypse.
"Sammy!" Dean banged on the bathroom door. The shower was still running, and there was no reason for his brother to be that dirty. "You die in there I'm sellin' the laptop." The door swung open and Sam came out, followed by billowing steam. "There any hot water left?"
"No." Sam rooted around his duffle bag. "Who was at the door?"
"Strip-O-Gram. It was for you, but I said I'd pass it on." Dean took a deep breath. "Apparently, we've been summoned."
"Summoned?" Sam slid into his jeans. "By who?"
"Seems the big bad vampires don't like hunters setting up shop." Dean grinned. "The Sheriff or whatever around here wants to see us tonight, at some bar in Shreveport. Fangtasy, or something.”
Sam ran his towel over his head, mopping up the worst of the moisture. “Some random person just came up and told you all that?” Dean mumbled something. “What?”
“It was Sookie’s boyfriend, all right?” his brother groused, searching through their supply duffle. “The douche tried to glamour me to get in.”
Sam froze. “And it didn’t work?”
“Nah. Guess having angels digging around your belfry is some kind of whammy repellent.”
Sam watched as his brother pulled out the box containing their homemade silver bullets. Dean had insisted on getting them out of the trunk when it became clear they might have to deal with vampires. Dean counted them, though they both knew there were exactly twenty left. Sam knew the signs. His brother was worried about not being glamoured, and what that might mean. As much as Dean hated to admit it, he was different from other people, and this was another reminder of just how much.
Dean had counted and recounted their artillery when his cell phone rang. "Yeah, Bobby?" he said, shoving the phone between his shoulder and cheek.
"You two still in Louisiana?"
The hunter rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah." A horn blared over the phone. "You on a job?"
"Got a call from someone named Chuck Shirley. Said he knew you two idjits."
Dean grimaced. He and Sam had agreed to never tell Bobby about Chuck and his books. Bobby had enough ammunition without adding the fact that they had fictional characters based on them (one of whom apparently looked like Fabio) to the list. "Surprised he was sober enough to remember the number," he covered.
Bobby grunted. "He seemed pretty keen on me getting to Delmar, Nebraska."
Dean shifted his grip on the phone. “Delmar?” He asked.
“Bought thirty miles outside Magnet. Down in Cedar County.”
The younger hunter blinked. They’d worked a job there when he was fifteen. The one thing he remembered was the fact that no matter what direction you looked in, there was nothing. Hours worth of nothing. “That's the middle of nowhere.”.
"Tell me about it. He says it’s important. Life or death important."
The younger hunter cleared his throat. "Well, he'd know." Before Bobby could respond he changed the subject. "You know of any charms to keep vampires from snacking on you? Old school vampires," he clarified.
"Vampires? When'd you get tangled up with vampires?"
"Long story." Dean rubbed his eyes. "Anyway, can you think of anything? Sigils, charms? Anything at all?"
They stunk.
Sam was willing to admit it, even if Dean wasn’t. The blessed thistle and angelica oil itched, and he was sure he’d have red patches when this was over, but Bobby said it was proof-positive against vampires. They’d slathered the stuff from the neck down, including Dean’s suggestion that they make sure they got their goods. Whether or not the rumor was true that some men had been found drained with exit wounds on their penis was up for debate, the possibility of it happening wasn’t.
Fangtasia was like any other hole-in-the-wall bar; a single-story cement block in Shreveport’s industrial district. The only difference was that the bars they visited didn’t have a seventy person line stretching into the parking lot crowded with Goths and wanna-be vampires looking ready to do murder.
“Looks like we found the place,” Dean grunted as they walked up, eyeing the line. “You’d think they had something better to do on a Wednesday night.”
“Yeah, like us,” Sam said in quiet agreement.
The door to the club was blocked by six feet of blonde woman sporting a leather bustier and black skirt. “I told you we’re closed,” she called out, ignoring the complaints that met her announcement. “We’ll be open tomorrow, dusk to dawn.” She turned her attention to them and Sam tensed seconds behind his brother. It wasn’t makeup that made her milk pale in the darkness.
The blonde smirked, the departing humans no longer holding her interest. “So, here’s our two celebrities,” she said, voice dripping sarcasm. “We’ve been waiting for you.” When they stepped closer her nose wrinkled in disgust.
“Hear that, Sammy,” Dean half turned as he spoke. “They rolled out the red carpet and everything.”
The bouncer pulled back the velvet rope. “Eric’s inside. He thought you’d be more comfortable if you met alone. Pity you didn’t think to extend the courtesy.”
“Oh, suck it up, princess,” Dean said as he slid past her into the dim interior.
Watch it, Dean, Sam willed as he smiled slightly at the woman. She raised a single brow.
“Let me guess,” she said, placing a hand on his chest. “You’re the one with the manners.”
“Uh… yeah…” Sam muttered as he followed his brother inside.
The interior of Fangtasia was completely normal, if you ignored the red walls and the posters of vampire moves. It had the same smell of leather and washed-cement, and under it the sour tang of alcohol. The bar was fully stocked with liquor, and he imaged the large fridge behind the register housed the Tru Blood.
“I see you decided to answer my summons.” The voice came from a circular couch. Sam could make out the top of a blonde head leaning against the red velvet. “That was… prudent.”
“Well, seeing as how you asked so nice,” Dean answered.
The vampire moved, faster than Sam had seen anything move other than a Wendigo. One moment he was on the couch, the next he was standing in front of them, blue eyes unblinking. “I did, as a matter of fact.”
Dean peered up at the vampire, but didn’t back away. Sam noticed his hand hovering towards his back, and wondered is his brother could get a shot off this close. “You wanted to talk to us,” he tried to smooth over.
The eyes shifted to him. “Yes.” He turned around and walked back to the couch. “I understand you have settled in Bon Temps.”
The two hunters followed. Dean’s eyes twitched to the entrance, and Sam noticed the bouncer was standing at the door, arms folded. “Yeah, you know…wine…women… the occasional corpse.” His brother shrugged. “What’s not to like?”
The vampire chuckled. “I am understandably concerned when two hunters enter my area, unannounced, and begin investigating near the home of a known vampire.”
“Bill?” Sam looked between his brother and the vampire. “Listen, we didn’t come down here to hunt vampires, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Sorry, Tiny,” Dean said with a smirk. “That’s classified,”
Eric leaned forward with the same dizzying speed he’d used before. “That oil won’t protect you,” he threatened. “We could drain you before you could blink.” He gave Dean a thorough once-over. “For a man supposed to be dead twice over, you look remarkably well, Dean Winchester.”
Both brother’s froze. “My name’s Dean Hampton,” Dean recovered. “Says so on my driver’s license.”
The blonde vampire smiled slightly. “I know exactly who you are. My sources are very thorough. I’ve even heard of your father. I understand he was a hunter of no small skill. A few of my kind were included in his list of kills.”
Dean leaned forward as well. “Listen… Eric… or whatever the hell your name is. We aren’t here hunting vampires.”
“We were here looking for someone and two bodies fell in our lap,” Sam continued. “Two women, both slaughtered in Bon Temps in less than a week.”
“One happened to be a friend of mine,” Dean finished.
The vampire said something in a guttural language, and the bouncer answered in kind. Sam drew a deep breath, reached for the coiled mass of darkness tucked into his center. He might need to get them out of here.
“Do you have any idea what is causing trouble in Bon Temps,” the male vampire asked.
“We think it might be a demon,” Sam answered before Dean could interject. “We’ve caught sight of it once, while it was trying to possess someone. After that it vanished.”
Eric leaned back at the word ‘demon’. Sam noticed the same reaction with Bill. A physical rejection of the concept of something existing after death.
“This…demon… has been killing women in Bon Temps? What kind of women?”
“A woman named Sarah Josh, and Nancy LaGuare,” Sam pulled out two police photos. “Both were killed within days of each other in roughly the same way.”
Eric glanced at both pictures. “I know neither of these women.”
“Good, we can go now,” Dean announced as he stood, and Sam followed suit.
“You are an acquaintance of Sookie Stackhouse,” Eric said without moving from his boneless sprawl. “What do you know about her?”
Dean bristled. “Why do you care?”
The vampire stood slowly. “Because I find her…curious…” he looked between the two brothers. “Just as I find the pair of you… curious.”
“Mr. Eric, sir? There’s a call from Bill Compton,” a small bottle-blonde clutching a cordless came from a back room. “I told him you were busy but he says it’s urgent.”
When the vampire went for the phone the two Winchesters headed for the exit, which was still blocked by the bouncer. “I don’t think he gave you leave to go,” she said with amusement, looking from hunter to hunter.
“Yeah…well… I haven’t asked ‘leave’ to do anything since I was ten,” Dean informed her. “So could you get the hell outta the way?”
The female vampire smiled, her fangs descending with an audible click. “Look at you,” she drawled. “I like my boys feisty, you know” she informed them, running a delicate tongue over the pearly fangs. “Gives them an extra kick.”
“Pam.”
At Eric’s voice her fangs vanished. Sam and Dean turned to face the other vampire. The look of perpetual amusement was gone, replaced by an expression edging on concerned. “That was Bill Compton,” Eric informed them. “Sookie has been injured. Both of them are on their way here.”
Next
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Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed ^_^
Chapter: 8
Author: dragon_fall
Fandoms: Supernatural/True Blood
Rating: R
Warnings: none yet
Summary: Dean and Sam roll into Bon Temps in search of answers and find more problems than they ever would have imagined.
Author's Note: Takes place after Lucifer Rising and at the beginning of True Blood Season 2. Since I started writing this months ago it is AU in the True Blood universe, but pieces from this season will be working themselves in.
Being a prophet sucked.
Chuck downed another shot of whiskey and hung his head. The sounds of the bar drifted around him; the mellow yowl of some country singer complaining about his wife leaving him, the sharp clack of pool balls as the three men in the corner played a friendly game. This early there were only a few people scattered around the dim interior, but he liked it that way. The fewer people hovering near him, the less he worried that one of them might suddenly get angel-struck and start reminding him of his prophetic duties. Which apparently didn’t include being paid for said duties.
He was, technically, homeless. His insurance company paid for a third rate hotel while they investigated the exact reason his house decided to implode like something from Poltergeist, but the room wasn’t home. It didn't have his posters, his books, his computer, his robe, or his favorite drinking glass. It was just a room. One that looked too much like one the Winchesters would spend their time in. Would the angels take it upon themselves to expedite the investigation, or whammy the insurance people to just give him his check and be done with it? Of course not. Freeing Lucifer from hell was all well and good, but helping Charles Eric Shirley get a place that didn’t rent by the hour was apparently out of their league.
“I’ll do this again, please,” Chuck said, raising his glass without looking up. It wasn’t until the sound of liquid sloshing against the sides that he knew he’d been heard.
He’d just visited the spot where his house had stood for the first time in months. The slick, black glass that had been his foundation was still there, yellow police tape flapping in the wind. Liberty Mutual said the whole thing was suspicious. That there was no way an accidental fire could have burned hot enough to leave nothing but a thick layer of shiny fulgurite, smooth as obsidian, in place of a two story house built before 1950. He’d been tempted (oh, so tempted) to explain to the smiling woman that an angel had fought an archangel practically in his fucking living room in an attempt to stop the apocalypse, and since he was at least kind of certain they hadn’t meant to destroy his house, it was accidental.
Chuck wondered if he slit his wrists now, if the angels would bring him back to life.
As if thinking too much about the feathered dicks (and how right had Dean been about that?) flipped a switch in his mind he felt it; the first stirrings of prophecy. With a name like prophecy it should have been glorious; a thing of light and wonder and singing choirs. Instead it felt like clawed fingers running across his brain from the base of his skull to his forehead and back down.
Chuck pulled out a handful of crumpled bills without counting and used his shot glass as a paper weight. He’d been going to the same bar for nearly ten years, and Daniel would put whatever he was short on his tab or return the excess.
The Hollow didn’t rent by the hour (so the management claimed), but its proximity to a bar and the interstate meant there was a lot of business. It was a little swankier inside than the faded exterior suggested. The air conditioning worked wonders, the hot water was - almost - endless, and there was free HBO. By the time Chuck stumbled out of the elevator and into his room lights were flashing behind his eyes, the smell of his grandmother’s chocolate oatmeal cookies and dry dust filled his nose, and his ears were ringing.
Yeah, being a prophet sucked.
“Oh come on,” Chuck moaned as he pressed his heels into his eyes, falling back onto a bed littered with notepads. In reality it did nothing to dull the pain but made him feel like he was doing something. Seconds later it started.
Since Lucifer charged out of hell the visions had been different, coming faster, harder. He gasped, back bowed as crimson metal flooded his mouth. There was too much information to take in, too much everything. Bodies writhed, people burned and above it all was laughter, or the lack of laughter; a yawning silence that was just wrong. Chuck curled into a ball as the vision faded, leaving him shaky and cold. With numb fingers he reached for the phone. It took four tries to get the number he wanted.
“Singer Salvage. Not in, leave a message.”
“My name’s Chuck Shirley. You don’t know me, but I know you…kinda… ah hell…”
Bobby sighed and held the phone away from his ear. It was the one downside to having a business phone. He was sick of telemarketer’s trying to hoc their junk to him like he didn’t have enough of his own, let alone incompetent, squeaking ones. He put his thumb on nine.
“Don’t do that!” the voice yelled with enough panic to make the hunter pause. “Okay… right… like I said, you don’t know me,” the man continued, voice strained. “But I know you. I know Dean and Sam.” There was a pause, and then the voice exploded. “Because of them my house blew up! Do you have any idea how hard that is to explain to an insurance company!?” Chuck groaned. “Anyway, I know you’re a Hunter.” There was no doubting the capital H. “You need to get to Delmar, Nebraska. It’s about ten miles outside Magnet, off the 81 in Cedar County. I don’t know what’s there, but something’s there that you need to get, understand? It’s important. People are gonna die if you don’t, a lot of people. Far as I'm concerned, I did my part."
Bobby rubbed a hand over his eyes and groaned. This man might sound like he had fire ants marching around his asshole, but he knew Sam and Dean. More important, he knew what they did, and he knew the boys wouldn’t give his number to just anybody off the street. He did a few mental calculations. Damn it, that meant over a four hour drive.
“You think your head’s hurting right now, be glad you aren’t me.”
The Hunter stared at his phone as the line went dead.
Eric disliked puzzles.
After over a thousand years walking the earth, there should have been few things that confounded him. Humans, for all their cries to the contrary, were not a complicated species. Everything they did was geared to fulfill four basic needs; eating, sleeping, fucking, and shitting. In that way nothing had changed. Battles might be fought in boardrooms instead of blood-soaked fields, skirts might be shorter and transportation faster, but it all boiled down to the same thing. Which was why, when he found something that went against the grain, he was… fascinated.
Sookie Stackhouse was something that went against the grain. The woman had abilities that he only heard whispered about by Godric centuries before they parted ways. God-touched, he called them; those who could read the heart and soul. Outside her ability there was nothing special about the waitress from Bon Temps; average height, average build, average intelligence. Strange, how something so interesting could be contained in such an ordinary wrapper.
Even more interesting was the company she kept.
“She says she hasn’t seen him in nearly four years. That is, until he showed up in Bon Temps last week,” Bill explained to him.
Eric nodded. “And these men, these…hunters… they’ve shown no malice towards you or your progeny?”
Bill leaned back. “I doubt they know Jessica exists, but no… during the brief meeting we had they didn’t seem pleased at my presence, but neither did act overtly hostile.”
The blonde vampire sighed. All of his kind hated hunters as a matter of course; one didn’t like a bear when they lived in the woods, but he had an understanding with the local groups. These traveling nuisances could pose a real problem to the continued peace. “Very well. I’ll spread word throughout the county that there is a low level threat, and that everyone should be on the look out for two hunters driving a black car.” He cocked his head. "Sam and Dean, you said their names were?"
Bill nodded. "Yes. Hampton."
"I would like very much to meet these two hunters." Eric stood and straightened his suit jacket. "You will arrange it for me as soon as possible."
When Bill bristled Eric fought the urge to smile. It was so easy, getting a response out of the American vampire. "Is there anything else you require of me?" he asked through clenched teeth.
"No. That will be all." Eric waited until Bill put his hand on the door to speak again. "Give Sookie my regards."
After Bill left the blonde vampire examined the finger-sized dents on the push bar. It really was too easy to rile the other vampire.
"You're not coming in."
Bill resettled his weight. It was the shorter human who'd answered the door to the motel room, the one that seemed less inclined to be civil. If his behavior wasn’t enough to give one pause, the thick line of salt just behind the doorframe spoke for itself. "If I planned on harming you I wouldn't have made my presence known."
"Okay…" Dean drawled.” You’re still not coming in."
All vampires disliked hunters, and Bill Compton was no different. The policy of live and let live didn't apply. They were obsessed, anti-social individuals the lot of them, determined to destroy anything that didn’t fit into their narrow paradigm. "I have news from my Sheriff," he tried to explain. "May I please come in?"
"You and Nottingham can eat it," the human replied.
Bill mentally shook himself. He didn’t have time for this. Sookie was left alone with Jessica, and though he trusted his charge not to do anything foolish, he didn’t want to press his luck. "I only wish to deliver a message," he said soothingly, letting his will take hold. The human would be upset about being glamored later, but he would have to deal with it. He leaned forward, staring into the human’s eyes. Dean leaned back, wariness painted across his features. "I need to come in."
The human blinked, and then laughed. Hard. "Dude, I don't swing that way," he managed to cough out.
Bill stared, open-mouthed, as the human laughed at his attempt at glamour. The only other human he'd known that could resist mind manipulation was Sookie. "It didn’t work,” he muttered.
"Look who just caught up to the class. And the answer's still no, by the way.” The door slid a millimeter closer to closed, pressing against the human’s shoulder. “We have a strict policy against blood-sucking parasites."
Bill glared. "My sheriff, Eric, has requested a meeting with you and your brother. Tonight, at a bar in Shreveport called Fangtasia.” He paused to give the human time to digest his words. “It would be to your advantage to go to him if you wish to remain in this area for very much longer."
Dean watched as the vampire sped away. He still couldn't get over it. Sookie, sweet little Sookie, was dating a vampire. A stuck-up, prick of a former slave-owning vampire if the rumors in Bon Temps were to be believed. He shook his head as he closed the door. If blonde virgins were giving themselves willingly to vampires it really was the apocalypse.
"Sammy!" Dean banged on the bathroom door. The shower was still running, and there was no reason for his brother to be that dirty. "You die in there I'm sellin' the laptop." The door swung open and Sam came out, followed by billowing steam. "There any hot water left?"
"No." Sam rooted around his duffle bag. "Who was at the door?"
"Strip-O-Gram. It was for you, but I said I'd pass it on." Dean took a deep breath. "Apparently, we've been summoned."
"Summoned?" Sam slid into his jeans. "By who?"
"Seems the big bad vampires don't like hunters setting up shop." Dean grinned. "The Sheriff or whatever around here wants to see us tonight, at some bar in Shreveport. Fangtasy, or something.”
Sam ran his towel over his head, mopping up the worst of the moisture. “Some random person just came up and told you all that?” Dean mumbled something. “What?”
“It was Sookie’s boyfriend, all right?” his brother groused, searching through their supply duffle. “The douche tried to glamour me to get in.”
Sam froze. “And it didn’t work?”
“Nah. Guess having angels digging around your belfry is some kind of whammy repellent.”
Sam watched as his brother pulled out the box containing their homemade silver bullets. Dean had insisted on getting them out of the trunk when it became clear they might have to deal with vampires. Dean counted them, though they both knew there were exactly twenty left. Sam knew the signs. His brother was worried about not being glamoured, and what that might mean. As much as Dean hated to admit it, he was different from other people, and this was another reminder of just how much.
Dean had counted and recounted their artillery when his cell phone rang. "Yeah, Bobby?" he said, shoving the phone between his shoulder and cheek.
"You two still in Louisiana?"
The hunter rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah." A horn blared over the phone. "You on a job?"
"Got a call from someone named Chuck Shirley. Said he knew you two idjits."
Dean grimaced. He and Sam had agreed to never tell Bobby about Chuck and his books. Bobby had enough ammunition without adding the fact that they had fictional characters based on them (one of whom apparently looked like Fabio) to the list. "Surprised he was sober enough to remember the number," he covered.
Bobby grunted. "He seemed pretty keen on me getting to Delmar, Nebraska."
Dean shifted his grip on the phone. “Delmar?” He asked.
“Bought thirty miles outside Magnet. Down in Cedar County.”
The younger hunter blinked. They’d worked a job there when he was fifteen. The one thing he remembered was the fact that no matter what direction you looked in, there was nothing. Hours worth of nothing. “That's the middle of nowhere.”.
"Tell me about it. He says it’s important. Life or death important."
The younger hunter cleared his throat. "Well, he'd know." Before Bobby could respond he changed the subject. "You know of any charms to keep vampires from snacking on you? Old school vampires," he clarified.
"Vampires? When'd you get tangled up with vampires?"
"Long story." Dean rubbed his eyes. "Anyway, can you think of anything? Sigils, charms? Anything at all?"
They stunk.
Sam was willing to admit it, even if Dean wasn’t. The blessed thistle and angelica oil itched, and he was sure he’d have red patches when this was over, but Bobby said it was proof-positive against vampires. They’d slathered the stuff from the neck down, including Dean’s suggestion that they make sure they got their goods. Whether or not the rumor was true that some men had been found drained with exit wounds on their penis was up for debate, the possibility of it happening wasn’t.
Fangtasia was like any other hole-in-the-wall bar; a single-story cement block in Shreveport’s industrial district. The only difference was that the bars they visited didn’t have a seventy person line stretching into the parking lot crowded with Goths and wanna-be vampires looking ready to do murder.
“Looks like we found the place,” Dean grunted as they walked up, eyeing the line. “You’d think they had something better to do on a Wednesday night.”
“Yeah, like us,” Sam said in quiet agreement.
The door to the club was blocked by six feet of blonde woman sporting a leather bustier and black skirt. “I told you we’re closed,” she called out, ignoring the complaints that met her announcement. “We’ll be open tomorrow, dusk to dawn.” She turned her attention to them and Sam tensed seconds behind his brother. It wasn’t makeup that made her milk pale in the darkness.
The blonde smirked, the departing humans no longer holding her interest. “So, here’s our two celebrities,” she said, voice dripping sarcasm. “We’ve been waiting for you.” When they stepped closer her nose wrinkled in disgust.
“Hear that, Sammy,” Dean half turned as he spoke. “They rolled out the red carpet and everything.”
The bouncer pulled back the velvet rope. “Eric’s inside. He thought you’d be more comfortable if you met alone. Pity you didn’t think to extend the courtesy.”
“Oh, suck it up, princess,” Dean said as he slid past her into the dim interior.
Watch it, Dean, Sam willed as he smiled slightly at the woman. She raised a single brow.
“Let me guess,” she said, placing a hand on his chest. “You’re the one with the manners.”
“Uh… yeah…” Sam muttered as he followed his brother inside.
The interior of Fangtasia was completely normal, if you ignored the red walls and the posters of vampire moves. It had the same smell of leather and washed-cement, and under it the sour tang of alcohol. The bar was fully stocked with liquor, and he imaged the large fridge behind the register housed the Tru Blood.
“I see you decided to answer my summons.” The voice came from a circular couch. Sam could make out the top of a blonde head leaning against the red velvet. “That was… prudent.”
“Well, seeing as how you asked so nice,” Dean answered.
The vampire moved, faster than Sam had seen anything move other than a Wendigo. One moment he was on the couch, the next he was standing in front of them, blue eyes unblinking. “I did, as a matter of fact.”
Dean peered up at the vampire, but didn’t back away. Sam noticed his hand hovering towards his back, and wondered is his brother could get a shot off this close. “You wanted to talk to us,” he tried to smooth over.
The eyes shifted to him. “Yes.” He turned around and walked back to the couch. “I understand you have settled in Bon Temps.”
The two hunters followed. Dean’s eyes twitched to the entrance, and Sam noticed the bouncer was standing at the door, arms folded. “Yeah, you know…wine…women… the occasional corpse.” His brother shrugged. “What’s not to like?”
The vampire chuckled. “I am understandably concerned when two hunters enter my area, unannounced, and begin investigating near the home of a known vampire.”
“Bill?” Sam looked between his brother and the vampire. “Listen, we didn’t come down here to hunt vampires, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Sorry, Tiny,” Dean said with a smirk. “That’s classified,”
Eric leaned forward with the same dizzying speed he’d used before. “That oil won’t protect you,” he threatened. “We could drain you before you could blink.” He gave Dean a thorough once-over. “For a man supposed to be dead twice over, you look remarkably well, Dean Winchester.”
Both brother’s froze. “My name’s Dean Hampton,” Dean recovered. “Says so on my driver’s license.”
The blonde vampire smiled slightly. “I know exactly who you are. My sources are very thorough. I’ve even heard of your father. I understand he was a hunter of no small skill. A few of my kind were included in his list of kills.”
Dean leaned forward as well. “Listen… Eric… or whatever the hell your name is. We aren’t here hunting vampires.”
“We were here looking for someone and two bodies fell in our lap,” Sam continued. “Two women, both slaughtered in Bon Temps in less than a week.”
“One happened to be a friend of mine,” Dean finished.
The vampire said something in a guttural language, and the bouncer answered in kind. Sam drew a deep breath, reached for the coiled mass of darkness tucked into his center. He might need to get them out of here.
“Do you have any idea what is causing trouble in Bon Temps,” the male vampire asked.
“We think it might be a demon,” Sam answered before Dean could interject. “We’ve caught sight of it once, while it was trying to possess someone. After that it vanished.”
Eric leaned back at the word ‘demon’. Sam noticed the same reaction with Bill. A physical rejection of the concept of something existing after death.
“This…demon… has been killing women in Bon Temps? What kind of women?”
“A woman named Sarah Josh, and Nancy LaGuare,” Sam pulled out two police photos. “Both were killed within days of each other in roughly the same way.”
Eric glanced at both pictures. “I know neither of these women.”
“Good, we can go now,” Dean announced as he stood, and Sam followed suit.
“You are an acquaintance of Sookie Stackhouse,” Eric said without moving from his boneless sprawl. “What do you know about her?”
Dean bristled. “Why do you care?”
The vampire stood slowly. “Because I find her…curious…” he looked between the two brothers. “Just as I find the pair of you… curious.”
“Mr. Eric, sir? There’s a call from Bill Compton,” a small bottle-blonde clutching a cordless came from a back room. “I told him you were busy but he says it’s urgent.”
When the vampire went for the phone the two Winchesters headed for the exit, which was still blocked by the bouncer. “I don’t think he gave you leave to go,” she said with amusement, looking from hunter to hunter.
“Yeah…well… I haven’t asked ‘leave’ to do anything since I was ten,” Dean informed her. “So could you get the hell outta the way?”
The female vampire smiled, her fangs descending with an audible click. “Look at you,” she drawled. “I like my boys feisty, you know” she informed them, running a delicate tongue over the pearly fangs. “Gives them an extra kick.”
“Pam.”
At Eric’s voice her fangs vanished. Sam and Dean turned to face the other vampire. The look of perpetual amusement was gone, replaced by an expression edging on concerned. “That was Bill Compton,” Eric informed them. “Sookie has been injured. Both of them are on their way here.”
Next
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