AU: Well, that's one way... (Sam/Dean, PG-13, post AHBL2)

[hellesgift]

Basically this is one long setup for some scenes I want to write later, plus it was written in installments for my best friend (hey chica!) and therefore is both disjointed and a total fanwank.  Oh, and I mixed up some vampire lore (years of Buffy have their impact) and I introduced a x-over character.  I think that's the whole confession...bless me, for I have sinned...

A month before Dean's one-way-ticket to hell, suddenly the supernatural took a sabbatical.

Nothing. Fuck-nothing to hunt. Like there was some demon-downtime and no one had thought to inform the Winchester brothers.

And Dean was not one to look a gift month in the mouth. This was the time to force Sam onto a donkey in the Grand Canyon, to plan the perfect prank, to pick up every gorgeous waitress and bartender he could find and make sure there were two for Sam, because this was it. This was all he was going to get, and he wanted to make it good for Sam. For both of them. But damn if he didn't want some good memories for his brother for a change. The last eleven months had been one crescendoing kill after another, and this momentary calm was to be savored.

Sam, big ol' walking buzzkill with bangs that he was (despite the frankly-noble best efforts of the brother who raised him) was having none of that, of course. Sam was researching, because Sam was going to beat this thing. Sam was going to save him.

It had been kind of sweet at first, an affirmation of love, but now it made Dean hurt like phantom claws pushing through his chest. Sam had lost weight and never seemed to sleep, and there was nothing else Dean could have done--he wouldn't change it for anything--but it hurt. God it hurt to see Sammy hurt like this.

He'd given up on trying to convince Sam to take a break, but the least he could do is feed the doofus, so he went out regularly, hat pulled low on the off chance that the police were more active than the supernatural world these days. He tried to find things that Sam might like, although recently that seemed to basically fall under the category of 'things Sam can eat without leaving the laptop.' A milkshake might be good. Or maybe some freakin' Ensure, get the boy some vitamins.

He was thinking about feeding Sammy, thinking about how he used to have to coax him to eat and whether it made him a complete girl that he felt kind of emotional about the turn of the wheel, when something hard and heavy came out of the darkness and he was falling, head killing him, ground reaching for him greedily, and he thought 'sorry Sammy.'

Maybe they weren't going to get their month after all.

****

It took Dean a second to recognize the chick when he woke up, because this time she had a lot more color, if you can say that about a vampire. This time she hadn't just lost a bunch of cow's blood, anyway, and she was actually kind of hot, and the leather-clad redhead beside her was kind of hotter, which was so not the point. The point, he realized a few seconds after opening his eyes and completing his usual post-concussion check, was that all his weapons were gone. And there were at least six vamps in the semi-lit space where they'd brought him.

"Lenore." Dean was never letting Sam forget this...if Sam ever got a chance to know it in the first place. "I knew the whole cowitarian gig was too good to be true."

"Do I look hungry?" She looked mad, to be honest, but there probably wasn't much difference with vampires. "Just shut up and listen, okay? With your luck, Sam's probably already on his way."

Dean smirked. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

She stepped closer to where Dean was still sitting on the ground, waiting for the world to stop spinning. "It is a bad thing, for Sam. And for you, if you care about him the way you say...the way I think you do, okay? We brought you here because Sam's in danger."

"And giving me a concussion would naturally help him out."

"Dammit." She leaned in and then leapt back, just evading his wild swing. Shit...should have waited till he only saw one of her. "Okay, listen," she growled, backing up to where the others were, but kept her focus on Dean. "We didn't hurt you, and you know from experience that we don't plan to. We just need to give you a few facts about Sam, and about what the future holds for him."

Dean couldn't help closing his eyes as relief swamped him at the mere thought. Sam had a future, thank god, and that was worth a little tete-a-tete with one of Sam's former charity cases. The moment ended when Lenore spoke up again. "You guys have had a quiet week, huh?"

"Guess word gets around in your circles, huh?"

"Yeah." She shook her head slowly. "Word gets around. Which is why you've had that quiet week...didn't you ever wonder why?"

The one nice thing about the automatic assumption that Dean was just the muscle in the Winchester Bros duo is that she didn't wait for his theories. Sam probably would have had to propose a few, but Lenore just barged right on: "Word just got out about your deal, Dean. Everybody knows you're out of the picture in a few weeks. All the things that want Sam...they figure they might as well wait till you're out of the way. Because I have to admit, if you have no other reason to exist, you do a pretty good job of keeping him safe." Her mouth twisted as she said it, but Dean wasn't going to worry about a half-assed backhanded compliment at a time like this.

"What do you mean, things that want Sam?" It hurt to spend even a second on his knees in front of this bitch, but kneeling was halfway to standing, and he was on his way.

"What, you think the last eleven months were normal? Or just the result of the whole gates of hell debacle?" She shook her head, and her groupies behind her muttered. "Sam's a hot property, Dean. Things want him for his powers. Demons, haints...all sorts of supernatural riff-raff have got a whiff of your brother, and he smells sweet."

Dean mostly managed to ignore the way the red-head licked her lips. "What powers? He gets visions...that hardly counts as some sort of super--"

"Are you actually that stupid?" Lenore shouted, and all but the red-head and Dean fell back a step. "Damn...I'd hoped it was just an act." She stepped forward, leaning menacingly into his space, and this time Dean let her. "Something changed," she muttered, voice low. "I don't know if he came back different--"

"He didn't--"

"--Or if the demon's death did something...but you have to know he's changed. He can control those visions now...how do you think you've found all the hunts lately? How do you think he'll find you?"

Dean shook his head, trying to force the three images of her into one by force of will. "He didn't come back any different than he...left." He hated even talking about that day, and he was surprised to see Lenore's expression soften slightly. Sam and his puppy-dog eyes, winning unlikely allies again.

"I don't know, Dean. But he's giving off signs of real power. And you know what power does."

"It corrupts?"

"It attracts." She sighed. "And I'm not going to pretend that we figured this out just to save Sam. If it was just that..." Shrugging, she looked back at the other vampires. "If it was just that, we wouldn't get involved. He's a nice guy for a mortal, but this...what we're suggesting is way out of bounds for just a nice human."

"Pretty too," the red-head suggested from behind Lenore.

Lenore frowned and shook her head, turning back to Dean. "But we can't run the risk that something gets more than a tasty snack when they get Sam. If something gets his powers--"

"He doesn't have powers," Dean yelled, and even as he said it he knew he was lying.

"We don't want to risk that, but we don't want to get rid of him ourselves."

"You could fucking try," Dean snarled, staggering to his feet, and Lenore leaned back but held her ground.

"We'd rather he stayed alive. And much as it amazes me to admit it...you seem to be the best guarantee of that eventuality."

"What--"

"We've got a proposal for you. A proposal for you, and chance for Sam."

And as much as he wanted to wring her neck and then take care of red and the gang, Dean stopped to listen.

****

Sam hadn’t gotten around to telling Dean about the change in the visions. Yeah, maybe the whole "I can control it now" thing was pertinent, but Dean had enough on his plate, what with the deal and everything. And Sam was getting pretty good at keeping secrets from his big brother. Dean didn’t know about the demon’s blood…and he sure didn’t need to know that Sam could tune in visions like flipping through channels on cable.

And the fact that Sam had permanent access to "The Dean Channel"? Yeah…not something Dean had to know.

The headaches were less blinding now, but they still weren’t fun, so Sam restricted himself to the occasional channel surfing. For example, there was no real reason to tune in to Dean when they were together-and they’d spent most of the last year together.

At first Dean had seemed unsettled, like he had to earn the intense focus of Sam’s attention somehow, but he’d gotten over that pretty quick. For the past ten months, they’d spent hardly a day apart, and if it was comforting for Dean, it was hell for Sam. Hell was knowing that soon Hell would have Dean, and Sam would be alone, really alone, for the first time in his life.

He found himself taking mental pictures when Dean wasn’t aware. The bright, vicious grin Dean sported after a kill. The warm softness he didn’t try to hide anymore when he looked at Sam. His smooth killing grace with a gun, the casual strength of his hands on the steering wheel. The way he filled a room, but always left a space at his side for Sam…

Dean was alpha and omega, the totality of Sam’s existence now, and it still wasn’t enough.

When he could feel himself sinking into the depths of looming loss, Sam used his newfound control. He augmented the scent and sight of Dean with his visions; snapshots of emotions and sensations that Dean would never share, maybe never even admit. And underneath the surface impulses, the firm steadiness of Dean’s love for Sam was a foundation for everything else. It anchored Sam when he started to drift into despair.

Sam didn’t dwell too much on the few nights when Dean was out and he’d tuned in to find real-life porn on Channel Dean…he’d shut it off pretty much as quickly as he could, as soon as he’d unscrambled the synapse-searing combination of images and feelings. He didn’t waste time figuring out the gut-twisting combinations of emotions he felt, because it didn’t really matter. Channel Dean played The Sammy Hour 24/7, even when Dean was physically with someone else.

Sam didn’t think about that, either.

And although there wasn’t a real good excuse for tuning in when Dean was only out on a food run, he had less than a month, now, and any time without Dean was wrong and painful. So it wasn’t prying or anything (not that it would have stopped him) when Sam turned the Dean-shaped key in his mind and-

-Pain Blood bitchLenore Sammydespair forever noSammyforever alone-

"No!" Sam shouted, pulling out of the vision with the taste of blood of his lips. Oh goddamm it, goddamn her…

If she had stolen his last weeks, his last hope…they were all dust.

****

Lenore pretended she didn't like this anymore. Pretended she'd lost the taste, but she knew better. Lenore was even lovelier when she lied, and her whole body was lying and lovely and lush as she pretended this was just business. As she pretended to ignore the way Alejandro looked at the pretty pretty puppy.

Lenore had said Alejandro was the right choice because he was old, because he was wise and wiley and still drank from humans but didn't kill. Hadn't turned anyone in centuries, and those he did turn weren't batshit crazy, which of course was not the goal here. So yeah, that was a reason.

But she didn't believe for a second that Lenore hadn't considered the way they would be together, Alejandro dark and lean and gorgeous in the affected, old-world way he still had after all these centuries, and the pretty human all-American and all gorgeous and tortured and sacrificing himself on an altar of love for his brother, sacrificing himself to Alejandro's dark eyes and darker embrace. Yeah, Lenore had never pictured that. Right.

When the pretty finally made his decision, it was like something went out of him. He closed his eyes and reached up, removing a thong from around his neck, and she knew she wasn't the only one who felt her fangs drop at the sight of it, of the pretty human with a strong, rapid pulse visible at his throat. He clenched his fist around whatever he'd taken off, and the veins in his wrist made her mouth weep till she tasted blood.

Alejandro murmured something soft, a low, vaguely comforting sound, and the human shuddered, dropped his head for a second, and then turned his face to the side, presenting...

Jesus, she thought, and the word burned her mouth as if she'd said it. The human stood there with his neck exposed, presenting his throat like a beta wolf, and she couldn't help but take a step forward. Lenore was a cool, soft length against her body, and her hands slipped around Lenore's waist, not really reaching for the pretty human but glad when Lenore caught her hands and held them tight.

Alejandro stepped forward, bracing his right hip between the blue-jean clad legs of his victim, and she felt it between her thighs, felt herself weakening as the human would soon. The pretty had his eyes closed, like he couldn't bear to watch what he had agreed to accept, and she remembered the taste of that despair, the taste of impending death and only Lenore's firm grip reminded her of why she'd ever, ever given it up.

When Alejandro leaned in, he paused, as if waiting for a struggle. He hadn't wanted to do this originally, didn't believe in turning humans anymore and probably didn't want the responsibility it would entail. Still, she was amazed he could force himself to pause, with the human standing tense but submissive in his grip. When he finally lowered his head to the human's throat, he kissed the skin softly, then licked the spot over the racing pulse. She couldn't help herself...licking up the side of Lenore's throat, she whimpered as Lenore's grip on her hands tightened and the soft cool body pushed back into hers.

"Do it," the human whispered, as if taking back a hint of control, and Alejandro obeyed. His fangs glinted briefly in the flickering light and then sank in. Pretty gave a low groan, and she could imagine the way his body tightened with the pain. This had always been her favorite part, although she loved the next part, too. She had loved all the parts.

She could tell when the drug-like effects of the bite hit: pretty's body arched slightly, and the hands that had come up to brace on Alejandro's shoulders clutched desperately, one hand still fisted around his necklace. Alejandro pushed his hips forward, holding with all his strength, and the human didn't even flinch at the grip that would have caused bruises if his body had any blood to spare. His breath was coming in little catching gasps now, and his back was bowed further back, as if the only thing holding him to this world was Alejandro...which wasn't too far from the truth.

Alejandro's skin was pinking, glowing with borrowed life, and in exchange the skin under his hands was turning pale and grey. The moans had quieted now, and she remembered this part, too, when the ecstacy passed and the pain of death came upon them. The human's grasp was weaker now, his blueing lips open as he panted through the agony, and she pushed up against Lenore, knowing that they'd both be wet, even if Lenore tried to deny it.

The end was almost there, and she tried to cement the picture in her mind: Alejandro's strong arms bracing the fainting body. The human's grasp had weakened, and slowly one arm and then the other fell back, opening him like a flower. His eyes were glazed with oncoming death, and she wouldn't have believed he had the strength to take a full breath, but somehow he managed a deep gasp. As his head fell back in ultimate submission, his last word whispered through the silence.

"Sam."

****

It had been centuries since he'd been here, a human dying in his arms. Alejandro held the limp, yielding weight and tried not to remember the last time, when he'd failed to save another beautiful boy and had sworn off this particular punishment of God. But here he was again, and the cold finality of what he had done hovered over the two of them like an angel of death.

With the last of his strength, the child had called for his brother...for his everything, really, and it had reminded Alejandro of the reason for his presence there, why he had agreed to this travesty. He could still feel the warmth of his brother's hand, that first night after Alejandro's turning. That night he had known that he was evil, and yet his brother had held him, whispered impossible promises that they had nonetheless kept.

Alejandro had stayed in their home until he could no longer see even the faintest hint of his brother's features in the great-great-and-evermore-great grandchildren. He still wore a vial of his brother's blood, an outward sign of the oath his brother had never demanded but that Alejandro had made that first night. Only willing sacrifices, ever.

This one, this foolish desperate sacrifice was willingness of a different kind, and the despair he had tasted in the human's blood had been bitter and beautiful. He remembered love like that, and he wished he could call out for his own brother. But it was an eternity too late. His brother had not wanted the gift that this boy had taken on himself.

Laying the limp form down on his cloak, he placed his hand along the cold cheek, despite the fact that the boy was too far gone to feel it. The failing breaths barely warmed his skin as he stroked a thumb across the bitten lower lip. "Estas bien, mi hijo. No necesitas sufrir mas. Te doy consuelo."

Reaching down to arrange him more comfortably, Alejandro found the human's right hand still clutched desperately around the trinket he had removed from his throat. It wouldn't have stopped Alejandro: as he gently opened the stiffening fingers, he felt no pain such as a crucifix would have caused. In fact, the pendant had only done damage to its owner...the human's dying grasp had driven the edges into his skin, filling his palm with blood.

With something approaching reverence, Alejandro lifted the hand, pressing a soft kiss to the pulseless wrist and then licking away blood. This wound, too, would heal with his gift. It was time.

Raising his own wrist to his mouth, he had almost broken the skin when a sharp, deadly pain hit him. Fire, deep in his gut, like that first night of his death, and for a brief, mad second he thought he might be sharing his child's pain. Then he heard Lenore's scream, and sensed--belatedly--the sudden chaos in the room. Looked down and saw the wooden bolt protruding from his abdomen.

He was old and had always known this would come someday, had accepted the inevitability of final nothingness...but he could not help but reach for the child he was failing, the brave and beautiful human lying still as death at his feet.

"Touch him and the next one goes through your heart." The voice was deadlier than the crossbow held in an unwavering grip. Alejandro looked up from where he had fallen to his knees, looked up into the eyes of bloody death.

****

"Sam, no!" Lenore's scream echoed through the room, and without a thought she shook off the small hands holding her and threw herself between Sam and his prey. She had remembered this human as softer, gentler. There was nothing but cold vengeance in him now.

"I'll shoot you if I have to. Get the hell away from him," this directed again at Alejandro, who had slumped over to press his forehead against Dean's shoulder.

Lenore didn't risk another look back, focusing instead on Sam. "Don't. Sam, listen to me. If you kill Alejandro, you kill Dean's only chance."

"Only chance for what?" the question rose to a anguished shriek at the end, and Lenore didn't even see the blow coming, just felt herself crash into a braced figure and then the wall beyond. Through the darkness threatening her vision, she saw Sam shove Alejandro away, dropping to his knees beside his brother as the ancient vampire was cast aside. "Only chance to die?...we still had time, dammit." Sam's hands clutched desperately at his brother as he pulled him into his lap. "Dammit, Dean, we have time...the hell...you don't go hunting without me, idiot. Can't trust you out of my sight..."

"Sam--" she didn't risk moving away from the wall, just leaned against the body supporting hers and tried to convey months of planning in the few moments they had left. "Sam, he didn't come for us, we came for him."

Sam dropped his head, rocking slightly as he whispered threats like promises into his brother's hair. "I know. Gonna kill you all--"

"No. Listen to me, Sam. He agreed to this. It's the only way." Somehow what had been easy to explain to Dean was like bitter gall spoken to his brother--which of course was why they had chosen to tell Dean in the first place. "If he's turned, he loses his soul. It's his soul that the demon wants, that was part of the deal. His soul--"

"Will go to hell?" Sam bit out, and she winced.

"Yes. Yes, I know, I'm sorry, but..." She shook her head. "He agreed, Sam. He knew he could control it...could be like us. And if he could stay, he could--" protect you, she thought, but couldn't say aloud-- "he could be with you."

"No." It sounded like a child's tantrum, the bitter denial of an already-accepted fact. "No, he wouldn't--"

"He would, Sam. He would do any--" she broke off, hand at her mouth, and Sam looked up for the first time.

"Anything for me." Lenore flinched at the look on his face, and behind her she heard a faint whimper.

"No," Sam said again, firmer this time. "No. I can't accept this. He's given everything for me...I can't--"

"S--Sammy." The whisper sounded like a dead leaf twisting in winter's grasp, and Sam jerked as if struck. He held Dean's body closer, pulling them together and bending to place his ear near Dean's mouth.

"Dean?"

"--'f you can't," Dean's eyes opened a little, but he was obviously beyond sight. Only the well-known heat against his back could be giving him strength to speak now. "--just--end it."

Without thinking, Lenore lurched toward them, and the scuffle of her movement almost masked the hopeless moan Sam gave. It almost drowned out the soft rattle of Dean's last breath, but she had known enough death to recognize the sound.

She spoke so quickly her words stumbled. "Sam, you have to decide. If you can't accept his sacrifice, then he'll die," and you'll die, too, she thought, but she knew it wouldn't have the right effect. "If you want him to...live, you have to let Alejandro turn him. He's the only one who can do it..."

She turned to where Alejandro had managed to drag himself against the wall. He had pulled the bolt out of his body, but she had no idea if he still had the strength to heal anyone but himself. Dark eyes met hers, and he nodded slowly, again accepting the charge she had begged of him.

Turning back to the brothers, she took in the sight of Dean's lax face, eyes slitted-open with nothing but white showing. Deadly pale skin, blue lips...no breath. No pulse visible in the strong throat.

"Sam, you have to decide now."

****

Dean was a dead weight across his legs, and Sam didn't want to think about that, didn't want to think about anything. He'd seen his brother hurt before. He'd seen Dean gutted by a demon, and during the last eleven months Dean's idiotic sense of immortality--or fatalism--had brought him pretty close to death more than once again. But Sam had never felt anything like this, like this emptiness where Dean was supposed to be. His body was heavy and lax, but somehow the weight seemed unreal without the solidity of Dean backing it.

"Come on, man, don't do this," Sam muttered, running his hand down from Dean's neck, where the pulse was faint and thready, to rest over Dean's failing heart. The blue tint around Dean's lips was deeper now, and without thinking, Sam leaned over and placed his lips on Dean's. With one breath, another, Dean's chest rose under Sam's hand, but after each artificial inhalation Dean's body sank back into stillness.

Shaking Dean slightly by the shoulder, careful to keep his head cradled gently, Sam said a little louder this time, "Come on, Dean. Please. Please, Dean." Over the past almost-year, he'd gotten used to getting his way with Dean, and he was almost offended when it didn't work, when Dean didn't open his eyes and do whatever it took to help his younger brother. There was no answering jibe, no concern-covering whine, no prank, no argument, no...nothing.

Nothing.

For the first time since this hell started, Sam truly forgave Dean. He hadn't understood before, but now--

Now, with Dean dying in his grasp, Sam understood why Dean had done what he had. Why Sam would do anything to save him now.

"Do it," he said before he could second-guess himself, and the dark vampire in the corner nodded slowly.

As their enemy moved toward them, Sam gripped Dean's body so hard it hurt his hands. He bent forward, hiding his face in Dean's throat for a moment, muffling a hopeless groan against Dean's cold skin. By the time the vampire was leaning over them, Sam could sit up again, could meet the creature's eyes. When it reached for Dean, Sam felt his lips pull back in a feral snarl.

"Don't touch him!"

It was crazy, considering what the thing was about to do to Dean, but Sam couldn't stand the thought of its hands on his brother. Pulling Dean up, manhandling the limp body until it rested against his chest, Sam propped Dean's head against his shoulder. Held him steady as the vampire quickly bit its wrist, blood welling thick out of the wound.

The first drop hit Dean's lower lip and ran off onto his cheek, the contrast of dark red against bluish white like something out of a sick fairytale. "It's okay, Dean," Sam whispered in his ear. Dean had passed out thinking he would again be rejected, and Sam suddenly wondered if Dean was somehow refusing to drink, as the next drops of blood seeped out of his half-opened mouth. "Dean, drink it. You have to swallow."

The vampire leaned in closer, pressing his wrist to Dean's lips to make a seal, but Sam could see that Dean's throat was unmoving. "Dean..." he moaned, rubbing firmly over Dean's heart, "Dean, please." The urge to make it an order was strong--Dean was good with orders. But this couldn't be ordered. And as well as Dean had always responded to orders, he'd always been even more responsive to need...at least to Sam's. "Dean--"

"It's too late," came a whisper from behind Lenore, and Sam promised himself that if this didn't work, that one would be the first he'd kill. The vampire above him hissed something vicious into the darkness, never moving his inky gaze from Dean's face.

"Hold him up," the vampire said in thickly accented English, and Sam complied, tilting Dean's head and bringing his hand up to Dean's throat to stroke gently, encouraging the work of gravity and nature. Blood spilled past the vampire's wrist and chased Sam's hand down Dean's skin.

"Dean," he said again, hopelessly this time. The evil bitch was right: it was too late. Sam had hesitated and lost everything. "Dean, don't leave me. Please don't leave me."

He almost didn't feel it: a slight, tiny movement underneath his hand. Then another, stronger movement, almost convulsive, and he jerked his head up. Dean was still pale as death, but his throat was working under Sam's shaking hand, and the vampire sighed deeply, closing its eyes as Dean's lips moved slowly on its bloody skin.

"Jesus..." Now that he'd gotten what he wanted, Sam watched half in horror as Dean drank from the creature's veins, blood slicking Dean's lips like gloss, blood on his face reminding Sam of too many other times. The vampire leaned in over the two of them, and it took everything Sam had not to shove it away...it took nothing more than the thought of Dean, which was, in the end, everything Sam had.

"That's right, Dean. Good job," he said, choking back something between hysteria and sobs at the thought of what he was encouraging. But this was to save Dean, and Sam had been prepared to do so much worse.

For a sick, horrified moment, he suddenly wondered if Dean had known. Had Dean taken this step because he knew what Sam was planning? Did Dean have to face this because he couldn't face...the other? Sam shook his head, forcing himself to focus back on the unholy communion between his brother and the vampire. Dean couldn't have known. Dean wouldn't have taken this step, sacrificed everything for someone who would consider...anyway, he wouldn't have ever believed what Sam had been planning. Sam had to hold on to that. It was important. Without the bedrock of Dean's faith, Sam knew he would be lost.

In the midst of his reverie, his eyes firmly fixed on Dean's pale, still face, Sam felt the vampire lean further over them. Before he could look up, push the thing a few vital inches away, Dean weakly turned his head. The seal between lips and wrist was broken, and blood trailed, sluggishly, down the vampire's fingers. It moved two fingers to Dean's mouth, as if coaxing a baby to drink, but Dean groaned and moved away.

"That's enough!" Sam growled, thrusting his hand between his brother and the creature. "He doesn't want--"

"It's not enough, Sam." Lenore's voice sounded very far away from their strange trinity. "Dean shouldn't be turning away."

"Dean shouldn't be fucking here, okay?" Finally giving in to instincts that had been screaming at him since this travesty began, Sam pulled Dean's body more firmly into his, away from the vampire who was swaying slightly above them. With the loss of contact, the vampire fell to the side, and Sam noticed for the first time that it was vividly pale...even for a vampire.

"What's wrong?" Clutching Dean tighter, Sam turned to the room beyond, almost shouting, "What's going on?"

Lenore stepped hesitantly toward them. "Alejandro...he's too weak, but Dean needs more. It may not be enough--"

And then Sam had no more time to think of anything but Dean--Dean who was curling up, fetal, and gasping, a horrible choking sound of more pain than air.

"Dean!"

*****

Lenore had never turned a human, but she knew that what Dean had drunk couldn't have been enough, despite the fact that it almost drained Alejandro. And although Dean was writhing in agony the way he should if he were changing, she could tell something was wrong. Maybe it was the horrified look in Alejandro's eyes. Maybe it was the agonized groans spilling out of Dean like blood.

"Dean, come on, man." Sam was trying to hold on to his brother, and without thought Lenore stepped forward, reaching out.

"Sam, you need to let go of him."

He didn't even look up, and upon reflection it had been poorly phrased. "Sam...you need...you can't hold him through this. He'll bite...it's instinctive, during the change." Instinctive pretty much any time, but she'd spent a long time working past that instinct. Dean hadn't had any time. "Sam, let me--"

"No." It wasn't a shout, but somehow it echoed through the darkness around them. Sam was still clasping Dean's convulsing form, and the tight line of his arms showed how much effort it took. "If he's going to hurt me...we'd better find out now."

"Sam, that's not fair--" and then she broke off. For a brief moment Sam looked up, and something flickered dark at the back of his gaze. She stepped back hurriedly.

If this didn't work...if this didn't work, they would have to kill Sam.  Except now she knew, knew somehow deep in bone, that they never could.

Damn...damned and doomed they were, now, without Dean.

Sam's gaze was once again locked on his brother, and his lanky body was hunched around him as if these death-throes could somehow be warded off physically. As if the shelter of his body could be anything more than torment, now, and she waited, watching Sam's face for the first signs of pain as Dean tore in to him.

There was plenty of pain, but no blood...from what she could see, Dean's face was buried in Sam's stomach, and Sam's arms were braced around him. The weird pieta seemed somehow motionless and eternal, despite the fact that Dean was still twisting with the torment of Alejandro's blood. But where Sam held him there was an epicenter of peace. Sam curled himself around Dean's upper body, and Lenore's eyes blurred for a second, something wrong with the light or the air or something as a faint glow seemed to surround them.

Then the random scuffling of Dean's boots began to slow, a rhythmless thudding against the sandy floor. A deep, muffled groan clawed its way past Dean's locked jaws, and Sam held on tighter, muttering something unintelligible as he pulled Dean physically into him, as if they could share one body. For a second Lenore could almost hope, and then she watched as one hand lost its death-grip on Sam's shirt, falling limp to the side as Dean's body sank into lax death.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, the sound dying into silence. With a wordless sob, Sam sat up straight, holding his hand behind Dean's neck as Dean's head fell back, revealing the dead-white, still face. Long, trembling fingers searched, hopelessly, for a pulse, and then Sam shifted, holding his cheek next to Dean's white lips for a long moment, then moving down to rest his head on Dean's chest. "Please..." he whispered again, and Lenore could see when the final, oppressive silence registered, when Sam accepted the absence of Dean's heartbeat. Sam clutched Dean's body closer, so hard that Lenore's body ached in sympathy, and then he looked up.

Lenore had seen death before. Hell, for many years she'd been death. Now she saw destruction. The destruction of worlds. Reaching behind her, she took a moment's comfort in the cold hand that slid into hers. And then the hand in hers tightened to the point of pain, and a sharp voice said, "Look!"

It took an eternity to drag her eyes away from the flickering death in Sam's gaze, but when she managed to break away, her own grip tightened and her blood stirred.

Dean's eyes were open...fixed on Sam.

****

Looking up into Sam's wide eyes, Dean could vaguely remember when Sam was the center of the universe.

His memories were fragmented, like a weird shuffling of half-images, but he remembered Sam's place in them...front and center. A memory of feeling his mom's tummy jump, Dad's hand on his shoulder saying, "That's your little brother, buddy.' A memory of grey skin and a body stretched out along a ratty bed and the absolute blackhole of despair till it was fixed, till he fixed it, because he always would or die trying. A memory of yelling and fists and a young voice saying, "Thanks, Dean...you didn't have to" and the utter certainty that yes, he did, because no one fucks with the Winchesters. The memory of Sammy saying, "You're not supposed to say the f-word" and laughter through a bloody nose. Memories of departures and returns and fights against the world and fights within the circle, but always Sam, always Sammy. The center of the universe, since before he was born.

Not any more. Sam was not the center of Dean's universe now.

Now Sam was the universe.

Dean looked up and saw something scared and scary flickering in Sam's eyes, and it was all he could do to expand the universe a few inches to check for injuries, check to see that Sam's okay. There was some blood on Sam's shirt, but he could smell that wasn't Sam's...licked his lips experimentally and found remnants of Alejandro. He looked back up into Sam's gaze, and the flicker was gone, replaced by blazing, blinding hope and a smile that trembled but stuck. Incredible warmth touched his cheek, and it took a second to recognize 'hand', to pull together the evidence and understand that the warm places, his back, his shoulder, now part of his face, were where he was connected to the universe, where Sam was touching him. The rest was cold nothingness and didn't count.

"Oh, god Dean" Sam leaned over him and there was a moment of smooth clarity, like shifting into gear as Sam's forehead pressed against his, and the human heat seeped into him, and he thought, okay. Yes.

Yes

He could probably have stayed there all night, but slowly things started to come back. The realization that Sam was unique, the one and only, gradually narrowed to the present, and Dean felt it echo in him: only Sam. Only. The only one who mattered. The only one...

...who had a heartbeat, a pulse...

The only human.

The total holy-shitness of his discovery of the meaning of the universe had to wait, because 'only human' meant 'only target'. Only prey. Dean felt himself move more than actually moving himself, felt something more and less than muscle pull him upright, shaking off Sam's clinging grip like he'd just shed his soul.

The others in the room...they were significant, too. Significant only as they affected Sam, maybe, but that was pretty damn significant. They looked totally different to his eyes now: the surface glamor muted, but the deeper ties pulling him. These were his kind, now, his kin.

Glancing at the redhead, he was in time to see her lick her lips and lean forward. Lenore moved with her, as if they were both pulled by something. Pulled by him, Dean realized. He could feel it in him, tugging them towards him like puppets on strings. The three tall males standing by the wall looked fascinated, like groupies to his rockstar, and Dean felt it rise in him: he could have them, if he wanted. This could be his family, his pack, and they could rule together. He moved forward, feeling them sigh and sway toward him. All this power, this belonging...

But he needed warmth, and they didn't have that.

He needed blood, and they had none to share.

He needed...

"Sam," he said, voice thick with the scars of screams.

Sam staggered a bit as he stood, and Dean moved toward him saying, "Sam, let's go." The hand that fell on his shoulder was only shaking a little, which was cool, because hey, Sammy had an excuse. He just hoped emo-boy would get over it soon, because it was becoming rapidly obvious that Dean was going to need more than emotional support any second now.

Turning away from the assembled vampires, he leaned in, pausing inches from Sam so that he could have the pleasure of Sam closing the gap, bending down to press forehead to forehead again in that weird fraternal kiss. The warmth seemed to spread into his brain, and it reminded him of the other critical thing: keeping the universe safe.

"You folks get the word out: Sam's mine. No easy fucking pickings here." He didn't move from Sam's loose embrace, but his words were pitched outward, echoing metallic through the watching space. "And same goes for you," at this he looked up, leveling his eyes at Lenore and then sweeping the room. Every part of him that didn't touch Sam was ice cold, and he used that chill, freezing them where they stood. "He's mine. Hands off."

He allowed himself a moment of Sam's warmth, storing it up before disengaging himself gently from his brother. Keeping a hand on Sam's back till the last possible moment, he moved over to where Alejandro had propped himself against the wall. He remembered the last moments in this one's embrace. This one had saved him, almost against his will. This one had made him. This one...

'Sire' his mind suggested.

But it might not be his mind making the suggestion, because...'child' ...he felt, with a wash of strange, gentle pride that wasn't his.

Dean knelt in front of the other vampire, sorting through the incoming sensations to find the important things: warnings, advice, hunting, hiding, sunrise.

He didn't have enough time for the whole Mr. Miyagi-deal right now...he had to get Sammy back to the hotel. Dean had to consolidate this new him, something he could only do with Sam. Alejandro nodded, slowly, and Dean figured he could work the whole mind-mojo thing in the next few days, learn more, and grinned as he felt Alejandro agree again. "Cool," he muttered, and the ancient vampire's fond indulgence swept through his mind like a mental pat on the back.

"Dean," Sam's hand was on his shoulder again, nothing mental about that, and Dean leaned into it, warmth outlining Sam's hand down to the fingerprints. "Dean, I think we need to get out of here, right? Lenore says sunrise...you can't stay out, Dean, and I don't want you here." His voice shook a little, like a kid on the verge of exhausted tears. The last eleven months had been endless stress and conflict for both of them, and the last couple of hours hadn't been twins in a hot-tub, either.

"Yeah, Sammy, let's go."

Sam was pulling on him, hands still trembling. "Sunrise, Dean, it's--"

"About two hours from now," Dean said, grabbing hold of Sam's hands where they were fisted in his jacket. He squeezed gently till he felt Sam's grip relax, but he didn't pull away. "It's okay, Sammy. We've got time." And damn if it wasn't true. Dean beamed, delighted, watching Sam's tentative response until he got an actual view of teeth. "Right?"

And Sam relaxed, and the Universe smiled. "Yeah. We've got time."