(SPN/Vampire Diaries) Unbeing dead isn't being alive Pt. 2 for janie_tangerine)

[aurilly]

Dean parked the Impala in a clearing in the woods, deep within the Lockwood's land. The sun was high in the sky, and the chilly morning air had warmed.

Dean pocketed Ruby's knife and after a small hesitation added the angelic sword he and Sam had taken from Raphael's minions. He wasn't powerful enough or fast enough to kill an angel, but the sword might be enough to make it pause for a decisive instant.

"Here." He offered Bonnie a revolver with blessed bullets.

A fearful look flashed across her face, and she recoiled from the gun, hiding her hands behind her back. "I don't know how to use that," she said.

"Wonderful," Dean mumbled.

Bonnie glared at him. An invisible force plucked the gun from Dean's fingers. It hovered tauntingly just outside his reach, dancing away whenever he tried to catch it.

"I don't need guns. I can defend myself without them." The witch dared him to disagree.

He doubted that parlor tricks would be enough to fool demons but it was better than nothing. "All right, your funeral," he said, admitting defeat. "Lead the way, then, My Lady."

She pursed her lips but made for the woods. They walked in silence. Bonnie only spoke to point out tricky holes, hidden between the fallen leaves, which she knew from years playing in the woods.

"Stop," Dean told her after they've been walking for over twenty minutes, listening carefully to the noises in the forest. "Did you hear that?"

"What?" She asked, checking her surroundings.

Dean placed a forefinger over his own lips, signaling to her to keep quiet. Slowly, he pulled his knife out, keeping it close to his body. He moved stealthily, edging closer to the place where the shadows of the trees deepened and the trail took a sharp turn. A body lay face down on the side of the road. Dean recognized Damon's clothes and expensive leather jacket.

Behind him, Bonnie gasped and stepped past Dean, hurrying towards Damon. Dean grabbed her hand on the last second, jerking her back. "No," he warned. "It could be a trap. Stay here." Knife still in hand, he sidled up to Damon, keeping an eye on the shadows. With his right foot, he prodded the vampire's body. Some of the leaves moved revealing the edges of a protective sigil.

Dean squatted. He shoved the leaves aside and studied the symbols carved on the floor. "Someone didn't want vampires to come in here. This is an old protection against those touched by death: vampires, ghosts, zombies, ghouls. It sucks the power out of them."

"I've never seen anything like it," Bonnie said, coming closer and crouching next to Dean.

"I'd be surprised if you had," Dean said. "This isn't your average protection. Few creatures have the power or purity needed to draw this and make it work. A human couldn't do it." The only reason Dean recognized the symbols at all, was because he'd seen Castiel draw something similar once.

Dean scrutinized the woods with renewed intensity. The forest was too quiet for his liking.

"So, a demon didn't do this?" Bonnie asked.

"No, the symbols would've zapped their energy just as they did Damon's," Dean explained to her. "After all, you need to die first, before you can go to hell. This is the work of angels."

"Wait, angels?" Bonnie asked, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Nobody said anything about angels."

Dean shrugged. People, he had found out, were more willing to believe in demons than in angels. "You can still head back if you want."

"Very funny," she said. "Why are they kidnapping humans? I thought angels were the good guys."

Dean snorted. "Does the name Lucifer ring any bells? Believe me, most angels are first class assholes. Give me a demon any day; they're easier to kill."

"Is Damon even alive?"

"Yeah, he's just trapped. The moment we break the pattern he should regain consciousness." Dean regarded Bonnie with curiosity. "I thought you didn't like him."

"I loathe him," Bonnie said. "However, I'm willing to admit that he could be useful in a fight, and usually he can be trusted when Elena's and Stefan's lives are at stake."

"All right then." Dean used his knife to break one of the lines of the pentagram. "That should do it."

Seconds later Damon gasped and stood up. He spun around and gaped at them. "What the hell was that?" he asked, still looking dizzy. "It felt like someone dropped an anvil on me."

"I would've loved to see that," Bonnie said wistfully.

"Next time try not to get ahead of yourself," Dean retorted, feeling some schadenfreude himself.

Damon took a tentative step forward, as if he was still expecting to be slammed back by the force of the cage. When it didn't happen, his face morphed into a self-satisfied grin that made Dean sigh. So much for the vampire learning something from all of this.

"Why would an angel work together with a demon?" Bonnie asked, proving that she was smarter than she let on.

"Well, there's at least one thing that both, angels and demons, crave with the same intensity," Dean said. "The Apocalypse."

"You aren't joking," Damon said, flabbergasted.

"I wish," Dean said.

"So, wait, does that mean that angels are involved in this, too?" Damon rubbed his hands in anticipation.

"Yes, Damon," Bonnie said sweetly. "You need to keep up. Oh, right, I forgot. We had that part of the discussion while you were taking your nap."

Damon's fangs flashed. "Don't push me, witch," he snarled.

"Bring it on," Bonnie answered.

"Guys, stop it!" Dean stepped between them, pushing them apart. "Sam, Stefan and Elena are waiting. Remember?"

"Sure." Damon glared at Bonnie a moment longer before he finally looked at Dean. "How do you kill an angel, then?"

"You don't," Dean said. "Very few things work on them. Only another angel can do it."

"How do we get rid of them then?" Damon asked.

"There are ways. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

They waded through the forest at a slow pace. Damon walked slightly ahead of them, stopping every now and then and whiffing the air. The underground cellar of the Lockwood's old estate had just come into view when Dean slammed into an invisible wall, the impact knocking the air out of him. Seconds later Bonnie, too, came to stop.

"Wonderful," Dean cursed.

"What is it?" Damon stopped.

"We can't go forward," Dean said. "There's some kind of protection barrier in place."

"Against what?" Bonnie asked, poking at the invisible wall with her right hand.

"Against humans." Dean kicked against the barrier, furious. "Fuck! What the hell are they doing in there? Protection against creatures touched by death and against those alive."

"That'd stop pretty much anything from trespassing, wouldn't it?" Damon walked back to them.

"Probably the point," Bonnie said, still feeling her way around the barrier. She closed her eyes, and her forehead creased in concentration. "It's beautiful."

"What?" Dean watched her warily.

"The magic holding it all together. I've never seen anything like it." Bonnie stepped back and opened her eyes. "I believe that I can open a breach big enough to let you go through, but it'll take pretty much everything I've got." Her eyes shifted to Damon before she went on. "Don't trust Damon, no matter how charming he seems; he's a bastard."

"I knew it!" Damon said gleefully. "You think I'm charming." He grinned at her. "For the record, my parents were married when I was born. It was kind of big deal back then."

"Can you do it?" Dean asked Bonnie. He hadn't thought that she was so powerful. It usually took witches decades to fully tap into their powers.

"Only one way to find out." Bonnie sat down on the ground and crossed her legs. She raised her hands, palms facing forward, until they were inches away from the barrier. She squeezed her eyes close and pursed her lips. Her hands trembled with effort as they moved away from each other slowly. Beads of sweat built on Bonnie's upper lip and at her temples. She panted, fighting for breath.

"Are you all right?" Damon asked, sounding worried.

"Shut up," Bonnie said from between clenched teeth. "I need to concentrate."

"Excuse me," Damon said, stretching the word. "See if I care when you drop dead."

"Now," Bonnie gasped. The tremors had extended from her hands to her arms. The armpits of her blouse were drenched with sweat, as if she had been running for miles instead of just sitting on the ground.

"Now what?" Damon asked.

Dean didn't wait for Bonnie's answer. He touched the barrier in front of Bonnie's outstretched arms until he found a hole. Energy pulsed around him angrily as he tried to squeeze through, as if the barrier somehow could sense that Dean wasn't welcome.

"Clear," Dean called as soon as he made it to the other side. Bonnie's hands collapsed to her side and she crumbled to the floor. Dean took an automatic step forward, trying to see what was wrong, but Damon's iron grip on his forearm stopped him.

"Don't," Damon said. "She sacrificed herself so that you could come through, going back will undo her work. We need to keep going. Stefan and Elena are in danger, Sam too, probably," he added in an afterthought.

"Does it ever end?" Dean asked Damon.

"What?"

"The desire to protect your brother just because he's younger," Dean clarified, wanting to know if he'd ever be free of the all-consuming sense of responsibility for Sam that John and life had sown in him.

Damon stopped for a moment, his eyes lost in the distance. "Stefan is a big boy; he doesn't need protection, but he is my brother." Damon's tone was proprietary. "If someone is going to hurt him and screw him over, it will be me. Nobody else has that right. That hasn't changed in the last century and a half."

Dean nodded. "I don't want to hurt Sam."

"Enjoy the luxury while it lasts," Damon said. "Given enough time you will."

"I already have," Dean said. He and Sam had hurt each other a lot during the last war. Dean hoped that this time, whatever trouble was brewing in the horizon would spare them that.

He wasn't even sure if this new Sam could be hurt. Sometimes it was as if Sam were dead inside. There were pieces of him that were missing.

Damon jerked Dean back. Dean stumbled, but the vampire steadied him.

"What the fuck?" Dean twisted around, furious.

"Hush," Damon said, looking in the distance. "There are people out there. I can hear them."

Dean didn't like trusting vampires for intel, but it was better than nothing. At least he knew that Damon was invested in this, too. Dean pulled out Ruby's knife, gripping it tight.

"You can fight demons with a knife?" Damon asked dubiously.

"This isn't just any knife," Dean said. "It was forged to kill demons."

Damon tilted his head and frowned, studying the knife carefully. He turned his head around and closed his eyes, listening to some noise beyond Dean's range of hearing. With a blur of movement, Damon ripped the knife out of Dean's hands and disappeared.

"Fucking vampire!" Dean cursed, pulling out the gun Bonnie had refused to take. Dean was still cursing a blue streak when Damon came back.

The vampire's right hand was drenched with blood. It dripped from the point of the knife, down to the butt, and onto Damon's wrist and forearm. A maniacal grin stretched across the vampire's face. "I love this blade. It's a thing of beauty. Do you think it'll work on vampires, too?"

"It'll be my pleasure to test it," Dean spat angrily, yanking the knife away from Damon.

"Temper, temper." Damon let the knife go. "I just got rid of our demonic problem." He sniffed at the blood on his hand and crinkled his nose. "Sulfur," he said, sticking out his tongue as if to taste it.

"No!" Dean yelled, swatting Damon's hand away. "Don't! You don't want to have that blood in your system. I've seen what it does to people. It's not pretty."

Technically, it was a lie. For all Dean knew, Damon would love to boost his powers with demon's blood. He was already a blood-addict in a sense. It would be just one more step down the slippery slope.

"What does it do?" Damon eyed the blood with curiosity.

"It changes you." Dean kept his answer purposefully vague. "Anyway, what was that stunt about?"

Damon smiled and bowed down with a flourish. "That was yours truly solving our stealth problem. I killed the demons guarding the entrance. Very quiet and hush-hush. I doubt anyone inside noticed anything."

"Of all the idiotic things to do!" Dean snarled. "What if there had been angels in there, too?" Dean wanted to bang his head against something. What the vampire didn't know about hunting could fill libraries.

"There weren't." Damon shrugged. "How are you planning to get rid of them any way?"

"I told you; there are ways." Dean might not be able to kill angels, but he could send them far, far away, courtesy of Castiel's teachings.

"Care to tell me how before we walk in there." Damon's voice was laced with anticipation.

Dean hesitated. "How good are you at controlling the bloodlust with fresh blood around?"

"I can control myself," Damon said in an even tone, his lips twitching with amusement. It didn't ease Dean's worries any.

"All right, here goes nothing." Dean swallowed and gave the knife back to Damon. Then, he looked around until he found a small wood stick. Painstakingly, he painted the Enochian sigils used to vanquish angels on the ground with it.

Dean stood up and dusted off the dirt on his trousers. Gathering his courage he started to unbutton his shirt. Dean's heart beat faster; his fingers were clammy and clumsy as he tried to pry the buttons open. He wanted nothing more than to call the whole thing off, or better yet, drive the wooden stick straight through Damon's heart.

"You reek of fear," Damon said, taking a step closer and breathing in the air around Dean with relish.

"You'd be scared too, if you were still a mortal and were about to ask a vampire to cut your chest open," Dean said, anger washing off some of the fear. He wasn't scared of vampires. He was scared of the fact that somehow he'd let himself be roped into working with one. "Just make sure to keep your blood to yourself. If you infect me I will kill you."

Damon chuckled. "Lay off the stupid threats, and tell me more about the part where I get to cut your chest open."

Dean snorted, amused despite himself at Damon's almost childlike excitement. "You need to carve those sigils on my chest. Just deep enough that blood can flow. It'll allow us to get rid of the angels."

"Nice," Damon said. He traced his left hand over Dean's smooth chest.

"What are you doing?" Dean flinched back.

Damon gave him an infuriating smirk. "Calm down, I'm just getting a feel of the canvas before I get to work." He placed the tip of the knife on Dean's skin and pressed.

Dean choked back the pain, forcing himself to stay still.

Damon didn't linger. The knife cut swiftly through Dean's skin, leaving a throbbing trail of pain on its wake.

Dean breathed deeply, in and out, riding the pain. Compared to other injuries he'd suffered during his life as a hunter it was manageable. Compared to the tortures he'd undergone in hell it was almost a caress.

The hot, wet contact of Damon's tongue lapping at his skin startled Dean, bringing him back to the present. He opened his eyes, not remembering having closed them, and shoved the vampire away.

Damon, the asshole, didn't even stumble. "Waste not, want not." He laughed. "You taste even better than you smell."

"Fuck you!" Dean snarled.

Damon's grin widened. "With pleasure. Hold that thought until after we've rescued our brothers."

The vampire's insinuations brought back memories that Dean wanted to forget. Being turned by a vampire once had been enough. He'd rather die for good. Fear gripped Dean, and he lashed out. He took a swing at Damon, but the vampire sidestepped the attack with maddening ease.

"Hmm, feisty. I like that. I'm going to enjoy you so much," Damon taunted him.

"Not as much as I will enjoy ripping your head off, believe me," Dean said, balling his hands into fists. He forced himself to let go of his anger. The vampire would just use it against him, and Dean couldn't afford it. He buttoned up his shirt and closed his leather jacket, hoping that it would be enough to keep the blood out of sight. "We don't have time to lose."

Damon's face turned serious. "You're right." He pointed down the trail. "The entrance to the ruins is not far away. What's the plan?"

Dean shrugged. "We storm the place; I banish the angels; you kill the demons and everybody is rescued. The end."

Damon's eyebrows rose. "That's your plan?" He gaped at Dean.

"I've worked with less in the past," Dean admitted somewhat sheepishly. More often than not carefully laid plans went to hell. Sometimes literally. Dean had learned to improvise.

"Wow, and I here I thought that Stefan had the market on stupid plans cornered," Damon said. "I owe him an apology."

"It's a good plan," Dean protested.

"All right then. Kill everyone, rescue the victims. I can make that work," Damon said. "Let's go."

Demons' bodies lay scattered around the woods as they approached the entrance. Dean counted four, although he suspected that more were hidden from sight.

They descended the steps to the underground cellar noiselessly. As setups for kidnappings and torture went, this one was one of the best Dean had encountered. Next to him Damon tensed, coming to a stop. The vampire clutched the knife on his hand and listened.

"What is it?" Dean whispered.

"They are hurting Stefan," Damon hissed, and his face transformed. The veins under his eyes filled with dark blood and his face whitened.

Dean fought down the hunter instincts telling him to grab a stake and kill Damon then and there. "Don't do anything stupid," Dean warned him. "We need the element of surprise."

"I know," Damon snarled, flashing his fangs at Dean.

It was hard, but Dean stood his ground without flinching back. "How many people are there? Can you tell?" he asked in whisper.

"Do angels have heartbeats?" Damon asked.

"Their vessels do."

"All right." Damon concentrated, listening again. His nostrils flared.

"Mrs. Lockwood is here," Damon said, opening his eyes in surprise. "She's the one directing them."

"What?" Dean asked, taken aback. He and Sam had talked to her; they had used the name of the Lord in her presence and she hadn't flinched. "Fuck!" They had been so stupid. This whole thing had been a set up to lure Sam to Mystic Falls from the beginning. "She's the angel."

"Carol Lockwood is an angel? You've got to be kidding me!" Damon's face transformed back, momentarily startled. "If that woman is an angel, I'm the king of England."

"She's a vessel. Trust me, personality has nothing to do with it," Dean said. "She just needs to come from the right bloodline and give consent."

"Bloodline?" Damon questioned.

"The ability to become a vessel is hereditary." Dean wondered why he was explaining all of this.

"I'm starting to feel sorry for that Taylor kid," Damon murmured.

"Who?"

"Her son. Angel puppet or werewolf. His life must suck."

"He's a werewolf?" Dean tensed.

"I told you; his life sucks," Damon said.

"How come you've let him live so long," Dean inquired. Werewolves and vampires were natural enemies.

"He has yet to bark at the wrong tree." Damon shrugged. "Plus, Elena doesn't want him to die. That girl is lovely, but her taste in friends and boyfriends sucks. Hush," Damon said to Dean. "As far as I can tell we have five demons, three humans and Stefan."

"How can you tell demons from humans?" Dean was curious.

"Sulfur does odd things to the heart rate," Damon explained.

They closed in on the opening in the middle of the cellar, taking cover behind the wall separating the cells from the central room. The reek of blood, urine, sulfur and stale air washed over Dean. He glanced at the opening, being careful not to give away his position and studied the layout.

Sam was being held in the middle of the room. His body hung from the ceiling, supported by old, metal manacles. His feet hovered over a pentagram drawn with blood and decorated with Enochian sigils. Elena Gilbert and Stefan Salvatore were being held by two demons each. Their wrists had been cut. Carol Lockwood was using the blood seeping out of them to draw further sigils on Sam's naked torso. The fifth demon trailed behind her, holding a tray laden with bowls and candles.

Dean signaled Damon to wait. As long as the angel was in the room, they wouldn't be able to do anything. It was up to Dean to send it away. The vampire nodded in understanding, shooing Dean with a hand.

Dean gave him the finger, pulled out the angel's sword he'd stolen from Raphael's minions and stepped forward. "Let go of my brother, bitch," he called out to the angel wearing Mrs. Lockwood's face.

Mrs. Lockwood turned around with that typical, bird-like abruptness that all angels seemed to have in common. "Finally, the last Winchester appears," she said. She glanced at the sword on Dean's hand and laughed. "Do you truly think that you can kill me with that toy, child? I'm Azriel. I existed long before my father allowed you to come down from the trees."

"I bet it sucked, seeing how daddy loved the baby apes so much more," Dean said in a sweet voice. "You should have helped your big brother with his rebellion; you'd be rotting in hell with him now."

Azriel snarled. She raised her hand and Dean screamed as his insides twisted with an unbearable pain. The bones of his arms and legs cracked. He fell to the ground, unable to support his own weight. An invisible force lifted him and flung him across the cellar. He crashed against the far wall. His head broke with the force of the impact. He slumped to the floor, dazed, and watched helplessly as Azriel closed in on him.

There was nothing human about the angel. Mrs. Lockwood's skin seemed like an ill-fitting suit that could barely contain Azriel inside. The air crackled with power. Dean felt as if his skin was about to burst open. He was familiar with the sensation; he'd felt it before whenever Michael came close to him.

"You'll regret your words, Winchester," Azriel said. "When Lucifer and Michael rise again, I'll take great pleasure watching Michael erase you from existence."

"Newsflash, Azriel," Dean coughed out with the last vestige of his strength. "That battle already took place. It lasted three seconds, and your side lost. Lucifer got his ass handed to him by my baby brother. No wonder God liked humans best. Angels are just a bunch of whiny losers." The great thing about Dean's many issues with his father was that he knew exactly what to say in order to twist the proverbial knife inside the angel's heart.

Azriel face twisted into a murderous grimace. She raised her hands once more. A bright glow of light shimmered around her face and body, her fury so great that she lost the grip on her vessel and started to revert to her true form.

The burning heat of the angel's power singed the hairs of Dean's skin. He gritted his teeth against the pain. The fear fueled his strength. Swallowing back a howl of anguish he ripped his shirt and jacket open, revealing the sigils that Damon had carved.

Azriel screamed as the power of the sigils forced it away from this realm of existence and back to Heaven.

"Now!" Dean yelled to Damon the moment the power of Azriel died away.

The last of his strength failed him and the world around Dean faded. The darkness of the Lockwood's' cellar and the smell of decay and putrid blood were too close to Dean's memories of hell. For a moment it was as if he had never left, as if his whole life afterwards, Castiel, Sam, Lisa, Ben, even Lucifer, were just figments of his imagination, something created by Dean's mind to protect him from the unbearable truth.

"Dean, watch out!" Sam screamed.

Dean opened his eyes in the last second and forced himself to snap back into focus, deep-ingrained reflexes making him follow Sam's warning despite pain and exhaustion. His reactions were too slow - raising his arm to kill the demon advancing on him seemed impossible.

Damon was engrossed in his own battle. The vampire thrust Ruby's knife into one demon's heart and slashed open the other's throat, before he rushed to Dean's rescue. The eye sockets and mouth of the demon crowding Dean flashed gold. The body of the host fell forward.

The last demon, realizing that it was outnumbered, turned around and opened its mouth. Black smoke started to pour out of the host. Damon dashed to him in a blur, stabbing the host repeatedly before the demon could finish its escape.

"Damon, no!" Elena Gilbert screamed. "That's Sarah!" She said in despair, but it was already too late. She babbled on, but Dean couldn't concentrate on her words, her voice going in and out of focus.

Dean tried to stand up, wanting to know how his own brother was doing. "Sam," he called. His voice sounded weak to his own ears. He gasped as a wave of dizziness and pain shot over him.

"Dean!" Sam called back, rattling the chains restraining him. "Salvatore, get these things off me," he ordered.

Damon ignored him. He freed Stefan and Elena first and checked that they were all right, before he rushed back to Dean.

Damon knelt in front of Dean and pushed Dean's shirt further up with more care than Dean would have ever gave him credit for. "Your blood smells wrong."

"Do I smell like a hamburger?" Dean asked in between gasping breaths, remembering the appetizing smell that human blood had had when Dean had been a vampire.

"Yeah, like a hamburger that has been lying around in the sun for five days and is only fit for flies and die-hard carrion birds," Damon said.

Dean chuckled. It came out as a weak coughing fit. The coppery flavor of blood filled his mouth. Dean tried to swallow it down, but his throat refused to work. The blood spilled over, trailing down the corners of his lips.

Damon shook Dean, trying to keep him awake and catch his attention. "Where are you hurt?" Damon's voice seemed so far away.

Concentrating was hard. Dean tried to listen to his body, see what hurt, but he couldn't feel anything. Even the pain on his chest, which had been a constant companion since Damon carved the sigils into his skin, had faded away.

"Nothing hurts," Dean said, letting his eyes drop. A part of him knew that absence of pain wasn't necessarily a good thing, but Dean was too tired to care. He just wanted to sleep for a while.

"Dean, Dean, stay with me," Sam called to him, sounding miserable.

The fear in Sam's voice warmed Dean. He wanted his brother to feel something, even if it was despair. Dean dreaded the possibility that Sam had somehow lost his humanity in hell, or that maybe, being Lucifer's vessel had irreversibly destroyed something in Sam.

Sam's anguish, the panic in his voice just because Dean might be dying, proved that at least something of the old Sam remained. Dean just needed to find it.

The Salvatores were talking, but Dean couldn't follow their conversation. Only Sam's voice had the power to penetrate the fog clouding Dean's mind.

"All right, do it," Sam said, and Dean cringed. Sam's tone had once more gained the dark, hard edge, devoid of emotion that Dean so despised. It was the voice of the Sam who didn't hesitate to use an innocent child as bait, the one who stood still while Dean's neighbors were slaughtered.

"Dean, drink," Sam ordered, using the same tone.

Something warm and wet pressed against Dean's lips. Dean's eyes fluttered. He could barely made out Damon's worried face, hovering over him. Sam sat behind Dean, supporting most of his weight and holding him still.

It took Dean an instant to realize that Damon was prying his mouth open with one hand and pressing his bleeding wrist over Dean's mouth with the other. Thick blood trickled from the open cut onto Dean's tongue. Dean tried to move away, to bend his head aside, but Sam's hold on him was too strong.

"Dean, stop fighting and drink." The edge of command on Sam's voice reminded Dean of John Winchester. Dean had been conditioned by years of training to obey that tone first and ask questions later. He swallowed.

"That's it," Damon said, doing something to increase the speed of the blood flow.

Dean drank.

The numbness on his limbs disappeared slowly, and the pain came back. Dean's chest ached; his stomach and intestines burned as something inside him twisted, rearranging itself. Damon's forearm, still pressed to Dean's mouth, muffled Dean's agonizing screams as awareness returned and the bones of his arms and legs knitted together.

A sudden, savage thirst filled Dean. This wasn't like the time the vampire on the alley had turned him. The taste of Damon's blood was almost addictive. Dean didn't know how to describe it. If somebody had asked, he would have said that it tasted like life. He grabbed Damon's arm and sucked. He regained his strength and freed himself from Sam's hold. However, he didn't try to escape; he pulled Damon closer instead and bit down on the vampire's wrist, craving more blood.

It took Dean's mind a while to clear completely. All at once, Dean became aware of where he was and what he was doing. The magnitude of what he'd just done hit him like a physical blow.

He shoved Damon away, jerking back from him. He pushed Sam back and stood up, picking up the angelic sword. He pressed his back against the wall, thankful for the cover it gave him, and kept the sword between his body and everybody else.

With his free hand he scrubbed clean the blood on his mouth and spat, marginally aware that he was smearing it even more. "Get the fuck away from me, Sam!" He seethed with uncontrollable fury. He feared that if Sam came any closer Dean might actually kill him.

"You were dying, Dean," Sam said pleadingly. "It was the only way to save you."

"By turning me into a vampire? Again! How is that saving?"

"It doesn't work like that." Damon snorted, shaking his head. "The blood just heals you. You have to die with vampire blood in your system before you turn. Even then, you won't turn unless you drink human blood first. How come you don't know these things? Did you skip that class at Hunter school?"

Dean paused, digesting that piece of information. He looked at Sam for confirmation, and his brother nodded. "They're different from the vampires we've encountered before," Sam said.

Dean knew that. He'd known it the moment he saw Damon transform for the first time. Damon could walk during the day for fuck's sake. "You are sure I won't turn?" Dean asked Damon, surprised to realize that for this he was willing to trust the vampire more than he was willing to trust his own brother.

Damon gave Dean a flashing smile. "As long as you stay alive over the next twenty-four hours you'll be all right."

Dean glanced at Stefan for confirmation. The younger vampire nodded.

"You don't believe me?" Damon asked with fake outrage.

"No, I don't," Dean said.

"You wound me, Dean. After all we've been through together," Damon mocked him.

"Don't worry, Dean. We just need to make sure that you don't die." Sam tried to placate him.

Dean ignored him. It pained Dean to admit it, but Sam was the one he trusted least in this constellation. "Make sure I don't become one of you, Damon," Dean said to the elder Salvatore. "If I do, you better kill me for good before I turn, because you have my word as Winchester that if I become a vampire, the first thing I will do is drive a wooden stake through your heart."

Stefan tensed, shifting closer to his brother. Dean made a mental note to watch out for him.

Damon laughed out loud. "Believe me, hunter. You'd be dead for real before you could even finish the thought."

Sam scowled, leveling a cold, assessing stare at Damon. Obviously, Damon wasn't the only one with an overprotective kid brother.

"Everybody calm down, please," Elena Gilbert said. "Nobody is dying or killing anybody any time soon. Now, could you stop the testosterone-fueled posturing and help me clean up? Please," she added in an after thought.

"Elena is right," Damon said and winked at Elena. "We'll dump the bodies on the forest."

"No," Dean and Sam said at the same time. "We'll burn them."

The cleanup went faster than Dean expected. Having two vampires working with them sped up the process. Unlike to Castiel, neither Stefan nor Damon had any qualms about using their supernatural powers to help carry dead bodies.

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The Salvatores and Elena took the still unconscious Bonnie to the hospital. Sam, for his part, disappeared to talk with their grandfather as soon as they were back in town, claiming that he needed to tell him about the ritual Azriel had tried.

Dean let the lie stand. He didn't want to fight with Sam. More than that, though, he was looking forward to having some time to himself. Being in the same room with Sam made Dean's skin crawl. Dean wanted, needed, to know the truth about Sam, but as long as he didn't know how to get it, he preferred Sam to be far away from him.

Dean jumped into the shower as soon as he arrived at the motel. The warm water felt great, washing away the gore and dried blood on his skin. He felt fantastic, alive, in a way he hadn't in a long, long time. It was the vampire blood still coursing through his system, screwing with his perception like a drug. Dean didn't care. Was that how Sam felt when he drank demon blood? For the first time ever Dean understood how someone could become addicted to it.

He opened his lips under the shower stream, letting the water fill his mouth and throat and spill over, until the faintest traces of the treasonous taste had been washed away. He scrubbed the scabs of dried blood off his chest, marveling at the unmarred skin underneath. There were no scars left where the knife had carved the Enochian sigils.

Dean turned off the water after his fingers started to prune. He tugged back the curtain and toweled himself dry, before stepping out of the shower. He dropped the towel on the floor and padded to the bedroom, naked, in search of some clean clothes.

Someone whistled in admiration, making Dean jolt with surprise.

Damon was leaning against the far wall of the room, next to the closed window, as if he didn't have a care in the world. The corners of his lips curved up lazily, as his eyes traveled up and down Dean's naked body.

"What are you doing here?" Dean tried to keep his voice neutral, not wanting to give Damon the satisfaction of seeing Dean rattled. "How did you get in?"

"It's a motel room," Damon shrugged. "In a supernatural sense they don't belong to anyone. Vampires can come in and out uninvited."

"I know that," Dean snapped. He wanted the vampire gone.

"Then why ask?" Damon arched an eyebrow.

"What are you doing here?" Dean repeated his question, an edge of anger coloring his tone.

"What does it look that I'm doing?" Damon ogled Dean's body deliberately, lingering on Dean's crotch for an instant, before he raised his eyes to meet Dean's, a dark, hungry expression heating his gaze.

Dean was all too aware that his weapons were on the other side of the room. The knife that he always carried with him was still in the bathroom. It was the kind of rookie mistake that Dean hadn't made in years. It showed that despite all, he wasn't still fully back in the game. He forced himself to remain nonchalant, meeting Damon's eyes with indifference. "Right now it looks as if you're checking me out," he said levelly.

"Think highly of yourself, don't you?" Damon mocked him.

"Well, enlighten me then. Why are you here?" Dean suppressed a snarl. The hell with it! He walked to his bed and rummaged around in his duffle bag searching for clean underwear.

"I came here to make sure that you don't die in the next twenty-four hours," Damon said. "You never know what can happen. I don't want a crazy hunter coming after me, so I said to myself, Damon, better safe than sorry. Go keep an eye on Dean. And here I am, keeping an eye on you." He bowed to Dean with a little flourish.

"I don't need a baby-sitter." Dean picked up the hunting knife hiding at the bottom of his duffle bag. "Get out," he told the vampire, pointing the knife at him threateningly.

Damon tilted his head. Then, without any warning, he attacked. Before Dean could so much as react, the vampire had thrown Dean against the floor, using his superior strength to keep Dean pinned.

Damon crushed Dean's wrist, forcing him to drop the knife. "It looks to me as if you do need protection. You never know when a vampire could come by and attack you," Damon said. His cold breath tickled over Dean's face.

A shiver ran down Dean's spine. He forced his muscles to relax. "If you said so," Dean said with a blank smile. Without warning, he head-butted Damon with all the force he could muster and used the momentum to twist away from under Damon and grab the knife back.

"You can't stop me with a knife and you know it," Damon said, edging closer. He jumped back when Dean tried to cut him.

"Very few supernatural creatures survive a beheading," Dean pointed out. "Vampires are no exceptions."

Damon laughed out loud. "You think you can cut my head off with that butter knife?"

"Believe me, I've done it before to stronger and more dangerous monsters." Dean smirked, feeling safer with a weapon between him and Damon.

Damon stepped back, raising his palms in a gesture of peace. "Fine, you win."

"I always do." Dean gave him his best come-hither look, the desire to fight it out for good with the vampire rising.

Damon licked his lips. "You don't stand a chance, hunter."

"You said that before. Yet here I am, holding the knife, and you aren't," Dean pointed out.

"All right, if you want me to bang you around that badly, I'm more than happy to oblige." Damon charged him.

Dean twisted around and drove the blade forward, letting well-honed instincts guide him. Damon grunted with pain but didn't slow down. The vampire's body hit Dean's, sending him reeling. Dean tried to regain his footing, but Damon was already there. The vampire struck Dean, knocking the breath out of him. Damon twisted Dean's arm in brutal grip and turned him around, immobilizing him.

It was over in a matter of seconds. By the time Dean's head had stopped spinning, Damon had taken control of the knife. "You were saying?" The vampire said with a grin.

Dean snorted and went limp under Damon. If the vampire wanted him dead, Dean would have been dead by now. That in itself was assurance enough. "Fine, I take it back; you won this one," he admitted grudgingly. "Now let me go."

"Oh, but I like you where you are," Damon whispered into Dean's ear.

"Too bad." Dean tried to push him off, but it was like attempting to move a concrete wall.

Damon moved even closer to Dean until the puffs of his breath caressed the side of Dean's neck. He nuzzled Dean's jaw. "You don't smell as if you want me to let go."

A spark of desire shot through Dean. He'd always liked self-confidence in potential partners; it was one his major kinks. Dean loved women who knew what they wanted, how and with whom, and were not afraid to say it. It was the same way with men, even if Dean was better at controlling his desire to act on it.

He is a vampire, Dean reminded himself sternly. "I'm not interested." Dean struggled against Damon's hold, suddenly terribly aware that Damon was fully clad while Dean wasn't. His treacherous pulse throbbed with fear or anticipation; Dean couldn't tell which.

Damon pulled Dean closer, hardening his hold, and thrust up his hips against Dean's ass.

"Stop that," Dean snarled, more angry at his own reactions than at the vampire.

"Why? You don't want me to." Damon nipped at Dean's throat, his fangs gracing lightly over Dean's pulsing carotid.

Real fear sparked through Dean, and he struggled in earnest. "Let go of me, damn it!"

"All right, all right," Damon said, releasing Dean and stepping back with a chuckle. "Your loss," the vampire said. With smooth grace he walked to Dean's bed and sprawled on it, crossing his hands behind his nape of his neck and watching Dean with open curiosity. It reminded Dean of a lazy cat contemplating a troublesome mouse, torn between lethargy and instinct.

Vampire, Dean reminded himself. Damon is vampire. Unbidden, the memories of Dean's brief hours as one of the undead assaulted him. It was enough to eradicate the desire still lingering in his body. He still remembered Lisa's fear and Ben's shock when Dean had shoved him away in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the burning hunger consuming him, telling him to kill.

Dean concentrated on that memory. He needed to remember what was a stake here. A glance at Damon showed him that the vampire hadn't moved. His hungry stare followed Dean across the room as he threw on a pair of jeans and an old, wrinkled t-shirt.

"Feeling better now?" Damon asked, when Dean had finished dressing.

"I'd feel even better if you were gone," Dean said.

"Are you sure that you don't want to give it a try? It'd be fun. I'll even let you top." Damon's lips curled playfully as he spread his legs wider.

Dean rolled his eyes at the blatant offer. "Yes, I'm quite sure."

"Want to take a rain check?" Damon offered.

"Thanks, but no thanks. What do you really want?"

"I told you; I'm just making sure that you don't die and come back as a vampire."

"And I believe you. Not."

Damon sighed. "Fine, if you must know, Stefan and Elena are having sex all over the house. Okay, they are in Stefan's room," Damon amended. "Supernatural hearing here." He pointed in the general direction of his ears. "They might as well be having sex all over the house for the difference it makes. Usually I don't mind, I even jerk off to it, but today I wasn't in the mood."

"Way more information that I ever wanted," Dean said.

"What, like you've never jerked off to your little brother having sex with some one else."

Dean couldn't say that he had. For the most part Sam's conquests were few and far in between, and when he did bother to hook up with someone, he did his best to keep them away from Dean. It was one of the reasons why it had taken Dean so long to figure out what was going on between his brother and Ruby. He pushed that thought down. It wasn't something he liked to dwell on.

"Please spare me your dirty fantasies." He wasn't going to call the vampire on his bullshit. "Go bother somebody else."

"I could, but the others will still be here long after you're gone." Damon shrugged. "I want to make the best of our little acquaintance. I didn't know hunters could be so much fun." Damon tensed, and he stood up from the bed. "Company's coming."

Dean tucked his gun under the back of his shirt and gave the room a quick once-over, mentally checking where all hidden weapons were.

"Relax," Damon said. "It's just Sam and Stefan. It seems that the sex is over." He checked his watch. "I could do so much better. Elena doesn't know what she's missing." He winked at Dean. "And neither do you."

Dean shook his head. Damon didn't let up. Some of the tension melted away from Dean's shoulders, but he didn't quite relax until the door opened, revealing Sam and the younger Salvatore.

"What's he doing here?" Sam asked, eying Damon suspiciously.

Something about Sam's tone rubbed Dean wrong. "I invited him," he lied, not knowing why. "What's Stefan doing with you?" Dean didn't trust his brother around vampires. Sam was too invested into capturing an alpha, and Dean didn't know what deals this new Sam might have been willing to make to achieve his ends.

Stefan smiled at Dean tentatively. Sam used a similar smile, when he wanted to hide how dangerous he truly was. Dean knew not to trust that expression.

"Sam was telling me how to recognize demons and get rid of them," Stefan said.

"Don't worry, Stefan. I already know how to do that. I've learned a lot from Dean," Damon said. "Whenever you get tired of the quiet, boring life in Mystic Falls, we can hit the road together and become hunters. Wouldn't that be great? You and me together, traveling around the country, killing to our heart's content."

"Hunting is about saving people," Dean told Damon, but he was looking at Sam when he said it, wanting to see his brother's reaction.

"Well, yes, of course, but you kill a bunch of things along the way, too. Right?" Damon asked.

"Yes, we do," Sam said. His lips curved into that tiny anticipatory smirk that Dean was learning to fear.

"Evil things," Dean clarified, "like vampires, or demons, or rogue angels." His eyes didn't leave Sam.

"Well, that's all right then," Damon said, clasping his hands together. "I've offed my good share of vampires already, and so has Stefan. I even branched out to include werewolves and as of late demons. I'm well-qualified for the job."

Stefan sighed. "Except for the part when you don't care one bit about saving anyone's life."

"You wound me, Stefan," Damon scoffed. "How many times have I saved you and Elena?" He said to Dean, "See, this is the thanks I get. Anyway, Stefan, if you don't trust me with saving people, we can specialize: you do the saving; I'll do the killing. After all, division of labor is the key to efficiency and progress. Why should the hunting business be any different?"

Stefan didn't bother to answer. He addressed Dean instead. "Thank you, for everything. If you ever need us, you know how to contact me."

"Stefan, you are absolutely no fun," Damon said. "Fine, we're leaving. Dean, if you ever change your mind about my offer, you know where to find me."

"What offer?" Sam asked.

"Nothing, just Damon being Damon," Dean hurried to say, glaring at the vampire.

Damon winked at Dean and sauntered away, dragging Stefan out with him.

Dean closed the door as soon as the two vampires were out and sighed in relief.

"What was that about?" Sam asked, watching Dean suspiciously.

Dean's face flushed and he looked away. "Nothing, I told you, just Damon being Damon."

Sam looked between the closed door and Dean for a moment, as if trying to decipher what had really happened before he arrived.

"Did they know anything about an alpha?" Dean asked, changing the subject.

"Stefan didn't," Sam said. "The vampire who turned them abandoned them before they finished transforming. They aren't really well connected with other vampires. Besides, they belong to a different vampire race. I don't know if they even have an alpha. I'll have Samuel look into that."

"Sure, do that." Dean tensed at the mention of their grandfather.

"Dean, are you all right?" Sam asked, watching him with an odd expression.

"Sure, why shouldn't I be all right?" Dean said with a strained grin. "Let's hit the road. The more distance between me and vampires, the better."

"You don't need to worry, Dean," Sam said. "I've got your back."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Dean said.

That was the problem.

-END-

Prompt:
Damon/Dean (gen or romantic)