“You can’t rip the heads off vampires with a kid.”
June 27
The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Baby was once again ready to be painted.
It took most of the night, but Dean slid out from beneath the car with a satisfied crack of his knuckles. Dean couldn’t sleep the night before and he slipped outside to the garage to repair any dings or nicks in the primer of his car so it could be painted. Dad would kick his ass for driving it unpainted, not that it was Dean’s fault.
Not that it ever mattered before if it was Dean’s fault or not.
And not that any of that mattered at-freaking-all.
Dean scrubbed up in the sink out in the garage. It only had cold water, but Dean scrubbed as much of the primer and bondo off his hands as he could before heading toward the house.
The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the car was ready for a paint job, and Dean was starving.
It was great being at Bobby’s because there was always food. Bobby wasn’t any five star chef, but damn if he couldn’t make bacon just the way Dean liked it. Not too crunchy, not too soft… Bobby made the baby bear bed of bacon.
Dean snorted at his own dumbass thoughts while he walked from the garage to the house. Not just for the food, it was good to be back at Bobby’s. Even Sam and Harry had been more relaxed the day before while they all lazed around and did a whole lot of nothing.
Sam jacked around on his laptop, Harry helped Bobby put all his hunting shit back on the bookshelves since the cat was out of the bag. Dean cleaned their guns upstairs and filled Bobby in on the shit show that was the Winchester’s last case.
“I think the kid thinks I’m one bad away from putting a bullet between his eyes,” Dean told Bobby when he was explaining why he was cleaning the weapons in the bedroom that had always been his and Sam’s.
“You tell him you won’t?” Bobby asked, staring Dean down with thoughtful eyes.
“No, I told him I’d give him a knife to defend himself with,” Dean said. He looked up and rolled his eyes at Bobby. “C’mon, man, of course I told him I won’t.”
Dean wasn’t sure how much the kid believed him, but the kid also thought they were going to ship his ass back to Britain - or wherever - so he clearly didn’t get Sam’s brains.
Bobby must have made a better impression than Dean had because the kid was stuck up his ass all day the day before. Dean used to be like that, when Dad would dump him and Sam off at Bobby’s. Dean was always relieved when he saw Dad return safely, but more than once he’d been bitter about leaving Bobby.
For Sam’s sake, Sam always liked Bobby’s better than hunting.
Dean just liked—
“Food’s ready.”
Dean only opened the door and Bobby was calling for him. Sam wasn’t awake yet, it was his tossing and talking in his sleep that kept Dean awake, but Harry was in the kitchen with Bobby already dressed for the day.
Not only was the kid dressed for the day, but he had on clothes that actually fit him. Bobby must have grabbed him some shit while they were gone. Harry kinda looked like a smaller Dean in his bootcut jeans and plain black tee. If his hair was lighter and eyes more hazel than green, Dean could have even mistaken him for Sammy when he was fourteen and less of a pain in the ass.
Except Sammy always liked Dean when he was fourteen and Harry didn’t even grin from his seat at the table when Dean walked in.
Tough crowd.
“Bobby, you’d make a great wife,” Dean teased, inhaling the scent of eggs, bacon, and biscuits.
“I ain’t your wife,” Bobby scoffed. He shook a spatula at Harry when the kid started to stand up. “Dean can fix his own damn plate, you’re not his wife either.”
Harry slowly sat back down and Dean nodded appreciatively at Bobby.
The kid had some whackadoodle ideas bouncing around in his head. They seemed to include thinking he wasn’t staying with his family, that Dean wanted to shoot him, and that the youngest person in the house making plates for people was normal.
Dean blamed the damn bullying aunt and uncle for it. Those people seemed to have done a number on the kid, twisted his head up on what family was.
And Harry thought Dean wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to keep Harry right where he was, with his real family.
“You fix that car?” Bobby asked after Dean made a plate and sat down to eat.
“Sure did,” Dean said. He flipped his biscuit in half and started loading it with eggs and bacon. “I figured I’d get her painted today, we could head out tomorrow.”
“Change of plans,” Bobby said to casually. Dean looked up and tried to warn Bobby with his eyes, they weren’t taking any damn—
“I got a case I need you boys to check out,” Bobby said. He was leaning against the kitchen counter and had his arms crossed over his chest. “I got a call from one of the boys in blue in Ohio, he’s thinking there’s a clan of vamps out there.”
“Great, tell him good luck,” Dean said, showing how interested he was by taking as big of a bite of his sandwich as he could.
“They got a body in the morgue without a head,” Bobby said. Dean just caught the way Harry scrunched his nose before he blinked and the look was gone.
Harry would suck at poker.
“We’re not taking it,” Dean told Bobby bluntly. “We’re done, out of it. Finished. I’m painting the damn car and we’re going to get Sam’s transcripts or whatever the hell he needs to apply to schools.”
“I guess Sam’s going alone then.” Bobby shrugged and turned back to the stove to flip the eggs he was still frying. “Harry, you mind lettin’ your brother know? I’ll get him some extra dead man’s blood, vampires ain’t nothin’ to jack with.”
“Don’t you dare,” Dean said when Harry hopped right up to go get Sam. Dean glared daggers at Bobby’s back, trying to figure out his game. “You already told Sam about it?”
“Yup. He was heading out for a run this morning, what was it, Harry? Bout five?”
“About that, yeah,” Harry agreed.
So much for any of the Winchester boys sleeping.
“Anyway, I told him about the case and he said he’d check it out, I figured you’d go with him.”
Dean actually set his food down so he could fully focus on Bobby. Also because it was really tempting to throw the damn biscuit at Bobby’s thick head and Dean didn’t like to waste food.
“Let me be really freaking clear,” Dean said slowly. “Sam is not going to go track a vampire clan. I am not going to go track a vampire clan. And before you get any more ideas, Harry is also not going to go track any vampires. We are not going after any ghosts or witches or demons either.”
How was that so hard to understand? Just because they were raised to be hunters didn’t mean they had to keep it up. Those were pretty close to Sam’s exact words when he left for Stanford.
“Fine.” Bobby turned around and raised his hands in a show of innocence that Dean didn’t believe for a second. “You can tell Sam, he didn’t seem to get that memo.”
He did, but Sam had a supernaturally thick head and a guilt complex the size of the freaking earth. Sam thought that he’d make up for twenty-two years of pissing Dad off by being the best hunter he could be, or something equally stupid.
“I will tell Sam,” Dean said, picking his food back up since Bobby thankfully didn’t want to argue about it. “And then Harry can help me paint the car.”
“You’re painting it?” Harry asked. “Why? What’s wrong with the grey?”
That conversation took up the rest of breakfast. Dean polished off three biscuit sandwiches and saw that Harry finished every bite on his plate while Dean explained how primer wasn’t something a car should be finished in.
And when that lecture was done, Dean went to find Sam to give another lecture.
“I’m going.”
Sam was freshly showered and was in the process of repacking his duffel when Dean found him in their bedroom. Sam didn’t even look up to see Dean’s glare, he just carefully rolled his clothes up in tight rolls and packed them beside the knives in his bag. Dean saw Dad’s journal was out beside Sam, a page on vampires opened up.
“You’re not,” Dean said, just as stubborn as Sam.
What the hell would Sam do on a solo hunt against a bunch of bloodsuckers? With his luck, Sam would end up getting turned and Dean would have to be the first person to find a cure for vampirism.
“I am.” Sam looked up and he was too calm, it was Sam’s most stubborn look. “Dean, I know you want to be done, but I can’t just walk away now. Not while people are dying.”
“Then go to medical school and cure cancer,” Dean said irritably. Sam’s lips curled in a grin and it made Dean want to hit him.
He didn’t, he didn’t need Harry guilt tripping him into another apology. But damn Sam and his newfound sense of duty.
“Sure, Dean,” Sam said, too compliant. “As soon as Azazel is dead, I’ll go back to school.” Sam zipped his duffel and slung it over his shoulder. “Until then, I’m going to go try and help some people. Excuse me.”
Dean was blocking the doorway and didn’t move for a long time. He stood there and tried to picture Sam actually hunting a clan on his own. He couldn’t do it, he’d be a meal or get turned without anyone there to watch his back.
Sam was channeling the spirit of John Winchester pretty hard and it only left Dean with two options; let him go alone or go with.
And one wasn’t even a real option.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean groaned. He rubbed his face with his hands, barely resisting the urge to rip his nails down his skin.
“Three hours, Sam,” Dean said, half begging and half ordering. “Go eat then get your ass outside to help me and Harry paint the car. I’m not dragging this shit out forever.”
“Dean, you don’t have to go.”
Yeah, yeah he did. When did Dean ever let Sam put himself in danger when he could help it?
It didn’t mean Dean was happy about it though.
“You gonna be alright with Bobby for a couple of days?” Dean asked Harry.
Dean had immediately recruited his youngest brother to help him get started on painting the car. It wouldn’t be cured for two days, then it would need a finishing later after that, but at least Dean would have her damn near fully restored by the time he got back from Ohio.
Harry had a paint gun and the trunk lid that he worked on after Dean showed him how to do it with the driver door. It wasn’t hard, it just took some patience to get the paint even.
“Hm?” Harry had been fully focused on the trunk and he blinked big green eyes at Dean as he processed the question. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”
“Bobby’s a good dude,” Dean told him. Dean had the hood and it needed the most steady hand since it was the first part of the Impala that anyone saw. “And it should only be three days, max.”
“Right,” Harry said. “I’m fine.”
“There’s TV in there, hell, I think Sam’s old Nintendo might even be upstairs.”
Bobby bought it for Sam for one of his birthdays and Sam had geeked out over it. It was actually pretty sweet, Dean played it for nostalgias sake when he crashed at Bobby’s sometimes.
“And there’s plenty of books, if you like reading,” Dean went on. “Some shit might be cursed though, so check with Bobby before you just go grabbing shit. Oh, you know what? I’ll leave one of my cards with Bobby, I think he’s still got my bike from when I was about your age, maybe a little younger, he can buy some new tires for it.”
Dean thought that bike might have been a gift for his thirteenth birthday. It was a far cry from the knife that Dad gave him, but Dean had secretly loved riding that thing all over Bobby’s lot, jumping off dirt piles and thinking he was the most badass kid ever. Dean didn’t know why Bobby had it still, but the man was a pack rat so it shouldn’t be so surprising.
“Dean.” Harry called his name loudly and had his head tilted just a bit to the side when Dean looked over at his side of the garage - because of course the kid set up his makeshift paint booth as far from Dean as he could.
“I’m fine,” Harry said firmly. “I can entertain myself for three days.”
“Alright, alright,” Dean said. “No wandering off on your own though, and no… no drugs or - hell, you don’t even like booze.” Dean struggled to think of rules for normal fourteen year olds (who were just abnormal enough to not fall for mind control crap)…
“Oh,” Dean snapped his fingers before picking up his paint gun. “No unprotected sex, kid. You don’t need to catch crabs or a kid.”
When Harry stuttered out a half-agreement and half-denial, Dean grinned to himself.
Big brother duty finished, it was time to finally get his baby back on the road.
Or, at least, get her put back together and ready for him when he got back from freaking Ohio.
Dean gave Bobby a firm talking to before he left with Sam too. No hunting, no getting drunk off his ass, no seeing the foreign kid up with the phone lines.
“He has to eat, sleep, and for the love of God, don’t give him coffee,” Dean yelled from the drivers seat of Bobby’s truck they were taking.
Sam laughed in the passenger seat and Bobby raised the bill of his hat enough to show Dean his real unimpressed expression.
“I know how to take care of a kid,” Bobby said gruffly. “You two idjits just take care of those vamps and hurry back.”
Dean looked at the casual way Harry stood beside Bobby on the steps and nodded once more before he kicked the truck in drive and pulled off.
“We could always bring him with us,” Sam said when Dean checked the rearview mirror a few times too many.
“No, we couldn’t,” Dean said, forcing himself to not look back again. “You can’t rip the heads off vampires with a kid, Sam.”
“We did it when we were kids,” Sam pointed out.
“We were trained and he threw up when Andy shot Ansem,” Dean threw right back. “He’s not a hunter, he’s never going to be a hunter.”
The kid was scared of guns, for crying out loud. What would he do when he was face to face with some freaking poltergeist or witch? Dean already had to watch Sam’s back on hunts, he couldn’t keep them both safe.
Not on hunts anyway, if Sam would drop the whole damn thing then Dean could keep them both safe in some normal, boring, apple pie life.
Which reminded Dean…
“Call Ash, tell him we want called if he gets any lead on Yellow Eyes,” Dean told Sam. When Sam made his little surprised look, Dean rolled his eyes hard. “The sooner we put the son of a bitch back in Hell, the sooner we can be done with all this shit.”
Because clearly Sam wasn’t going to give it up until Azazel was dead.
“Yeah, okay,” Sam said. He cleared his throat. “Thanks, Dean. For… you know…”
“Shut up,” Dean said. He ignored the grin on Sam’s face and waited until he was finished on the phone to turn Bobby’s ancient radio up as loud as it could go.
Motley Crüe wasn’t a bad start to what Dean hoped would be a quick trip. One hunt, one demon…
Dean was starting to delude himself, but he had to cling to something.
Even in Bobby’s truck, they made good time to Ohio. Sam got them checked in a motel after playing fraudulent credit card roulette and Dean scouted out a place to grab grub, a drink, and start their search.
There was a bar not far from their motel so Dean figured they might as well stay there. Vampires liked to hunt at night, and bars were good places to hang out if you were looking for a victim to drink… or a Winchester.
Sam, nerd that he was, brought his laptop with him to charge and he mumbled something about research when they got there. Dean went to get them some drinks, Sam got a table in the reasonably packed bar.
Dean let his eyes wander while he waited on their beers, clocking every person in the bar. There were some guys Sam’s age getting rowdy around the pool table, too well-dressed and casual to be vampires. There was a middle aged man sitting on his own, his eyes on the TV in the corner of the bar. Dean didn’t like the look of him, there was something that set Dean’s pretty fine-tuned gut feeling off, but vamps usually travelled in at least pairs.
Aside from what looked like some giggly sorority girls - who would definitely need questioned later - there weren’t many others that caught Dean’s interest.
“Bartender said there’s a rowdy group of people out at McAllen’s Farm,” Dean reported to his brother when he brought back their drinks. The bartender said the group had been in the bar the night before, partying and not buying any drinks.
Sam hummed. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I think we should check it out in the morning, what d’you think?” Dean asked. It sounded like a group of vamps anyway, it could be the group that left someone beheaded in the local morgue.
“Sounds good…” Sam said, distracted by his laptop. “Hey, ‘I lived in a cupboard’ isn’t slang, that I can find, so…” Sam glanced up at Dean. “I think our brother literally lived in a closet?”
“He’s gay?” Dean asked, quirking a brow. “Probably for the best he never met Dad then, huh?”
Dad ranked ‘fags’ somewhere along the same lines as ghosts. He thought they were unnatural, disgusting, and needed salted and burned probably.
Dean only escaped having his ass turned black and blue when he’d been thirteen, if that old, because he said he thought the boy Dad caught him kissing was a girl. Thank God that Logan Vincent had long hair and a neutral enough name to sell the lie. Dean never kissed another dude and Dad never brought it back up, but he always had a sideways glare for Dean when they saw any dudes ‘acting gay’. As if Dean was likely to start wearing fucking eyeliner and skinny jeans.
Sam snorted and Dean could actually feel the tension between them drain away. It had felt rough since Dean slipped up and called Sam a freak in Colorado. Sam didn’t have to say anything stupid like how his feelings were hurt, Dean just saw his expression and knew he fucked up.
“Yeah, probably,” Sam muttered, going right back to skimming the internet. “Except I’m starting to think that even Dad would have been better than the assholes Harry was stuck with.”
Dean took a long drink of his beer and compared the kid’s options. On the one hand, asshole aunt and uncle that made the kid live in a closet. On the other hand, John Winchester.
That was one of those debates that Dean had no interest in having. He had a few questions for Harry, a few things to say to the relatives, but there wasn’t any need to make it some big thing. Harry was with them and that was all that mattered.
“Even odds,” Dean said lightly, his eyes already searching for something to change the topic. When Dean’s eyes landed on the same man again that he swore had just been staring at him, he pretended to get real interested in the menu board behind the bar.
“Hey, Sammy, don’t look now, but I think Tall, Dark, and Creepy is checking you out,” Dean murmured out of the corner of his mouth, hiding it while he took another drink.
Sam didn’t even look up.
“Yeah, I thought so,” Sam said evenly, too perceptive even when he was distracted. “Think it’s one of them?”
“Could be,” Dean agreed. Vampires were good at clocking hunters, it was all their extra senses and immortality.
“You wanna go out front, walk west, I’ll go out back and we’ll see who he follows?” Sam asked just as casually. He folded his laptop shut and chugged half his beer in a single go.
“Sounds like a plan,” Dean agreed after finishing his off as well. If it was a vamp, it could lead them right to the others. Vampires had some sick sense of loyalty in their clans, all the boys would have to do is get a message that they had one of them and the rest would show up for a fight.
They split up and Dean tossed some cash down to cover their tab while Sam said something about hitting the head.
Dean stuck his hands in his pockets and whistled carelessly as he strolled out the front door. Maybe they’d get lucky, have the whole nest of vamps dead by morning without even having to pull out the fed suits to check on the body in the morgue.
Crazier things had happened than Dean getting lucky once in a blue moon.
The man from the bar chose the better looking brother to follow anyway, Dean could just make out the shifting of shadows as he turned down an alley that Sam would meet him at.
It only took three more steps and the sound of Sam’s approaching footsteps for Dean to turn on the man behind him.
Dean pretended to stumble and when he bent down, he snatched the machete secured in his boot and turned to slam the man to the wall. Sam shagged ass to join him and was on Dean’s right hand side with his pistol drawn by the time Dean had his knife to the man’s throat.
“Let’s not be hasty, boys,” the man said, his fingers flexing at his sides and his eyes darting from Dean’s face to Sam’s. “Smile real pretty and we can chalk this up to a misunderstanding.”
“Show us yours and we’ll show you ours,” Dean countered with. He pushed the blade harder against the man’s throat when he didn’t immediately comply. “C’mon, let’s see those pearly whites.”
“Here, look.” The man slowly raised his hand to his face and raised his lips up to show Dean and Sam his gums that were smooth, unbroken, and definitely human. “Your turn.”
Dean kept the knife up while he grimaced enough to show his own gums. Sam must have too because the man relaxed.
“You can drop the knife now,” he said. “I think we’re all on the same team here, boys.”
Dean snorted. He might not be a vampire or anything that reacted to silver, but he was still a creep that followed Dean out in the alley. Dean was a good looking dude, but he doubted if that was what the man wanted.
“Yeah? That why you followed us?” Dean asked. “What’s your game?”
Dean already had a good idea, but he wanted it confirmed before he moved an inch.
“I’m a hunter, just like you are,” the man said.
“Yeah?” Sam still had the gun aimed high, just as wary as Dean. “How do you kill a jackal?”
“Gold knife to the heart,” the man answered. “How about a selkie?”
“Gunshot.” Dean dropped the knife and took half a step back. “You’re a hunter.”
Most hunters were alright, Dean met one here and there. But they were all deadly and usually didn’t play well with others. And Dean never met a hunter that Sam got along with- aside from himself.
“Gordon Walker.” The man flashed a smile and clocked the way Sam shifted himself around when Dean did, the way that they moved in tangent when they were on a hunt. “And you boys… Dean and Sam Winchester, am I right?”
Dean had never once been identified on sight by a stranger and had it work out okay.
Gordon offered to buy them both a beer to make up for the ones they ditched before. The three of them went right back in the bar and chatted lightly about their hunts.
Sam didn’t say shit, Dean already knew he didn’t like Gordon. Gordon wasn’t bad though, he even offered to clean up the nest for them, making their presence pointless.
“Hear that, Sammy?” Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder, thinking they might have actually gotten lucky for once. “We can head back in the morning.”
“Or we could stick around and finish the job,” Sam said stiffly.
“Nah, I’ve got it covered, Sammy,” Gordon said, eyeing Sam with something that made Dean bristle. Gordon was a little too aggressive, a little too ‘all I do is hunt things down and kill them’, but taunting Sam wasn’t ever cool.
Only Dean could taunt Sam and —
“Don’t call me Sammy,” Sam said.
Only Dean could call him Sammy, sometimes Bobby.
Sam slapped down his empty beer and stood up, glancing down at Dean with a question in his eyes as he did.
“I’m headed back to the motel so we can check out the body in the morning,” Sam said, all sassy in the way he blatantly disregarded Gordon’s offer to take care of the clan. “You coming?”
“I’ll catch up,” Dean said. Gordon had cash, the pool table was open, Dean could use a few drinks and a game or two. There wasn’t any rush, Dean could grab a few hours of sleep and if Gordon wanted to deal with the vamps himself, Dean would drag Sam’s ass back to Bobby’s first thing in the morning.
Sam didn’t look happy about it, something Gordon commented on the second he left.
“Little bro playing daddy?” Gordon snorted, catching an immediate stink eye from Dean. “Sorry, man,” he said quickly. “I heard about your dad, he was a good man.”
“He was a good hunter,” Dean said, not a correction, but an addition.
“I’ll drink to that,” Gordon said, raising his beer.
Hell, if Gordon wanted to keep buying drinks, Dean would drink to whatever he wanted.
Gordon filled Dean in on the case he was working during their next drink - good old Johnny Walker. The head in the morgue wasn’t a victim, but a lone vamp that Gordon caught a few days before.
“They’re trying to collect the others before heading out.” They had moved to the pool table with another mixed drink and Gordon talked hunting while he lined the pool stick up and sucked ass on the break. “I wanted to wait until they were all back in the nest and preparing to leave before I took them out.”
“By yourself?” Gordon didn’t nail a single ball so Dean stepped up and easily knocked three in back-to-back.
“You’re stripes,” he smirked, stepping away and leaving the table open for Gordon.
Gordon didn’t seem upset by getting his ass immediately handed to him by someone ten years his junior, he just swaggered over and bent to take a half-assed shot.
“I work better alone,” Gordon explained, barely making a ball in. “Always have.”
Dean drained the rest of his third - fourth? - drink while Gordon missed his second shot.
“What got you in the game?” Dean asked, because everyone had something. Dad had Mom, Sam had Jessica, Dean had his dad.
“My sister.” Gordon held the pool stick stiffly and backed away for Dean to take his turn. “She was turned when I was twenty. A group of bloodsucking freaks caught her at a bar like this one. One day she was my sister, a monster the next.”
Dean missed his shot, cursing under his breath. That was nothing like - like anything. Yeah, Dean went to sleep one night and woke up to find out Sam was having visions of death, but that was different.
A freaking vampire was a lot different from a psychic.
“Rough,” Dean said, stepping away from the table and beginning to think of calling it a night.
“Like you couldn’t imagine,” Gordon said with perfect calm, sinking his shot with the que ball following. “Fuck.”
Well… Dean could stick around a bit longer, kick Gordon’s ass at pool.
Gordon was an intense dude, one who didn’t socialize much, but anyone who lost at pool and bought round after round of drinks was good enough to Dean.
Dean returned to the motel a little after one, thinking maybe Sam would be asleep and Dean could shut off his alarms. They’d sleep in, check out, Dean would let Gordon take care of the vampires.
Easy, peasy.
They’d be back at Bobby’s by dinner time tomorrow and shit would find a new normal.
That was a great plan, until Dean stepped in the motel and Sam wasn’t there. Not only was Sam gone, but his phone, wallet, and laptop were there on the nightstand between the two beds.
And Sam didn’t go to the fucking bathroom without his cell phone. Not willingly, anyway.