Not My Type

By AJ Wesley

This story first appeared in the fanzine Road Trip With My Brother 7

"Dean, we're driving on fumes."

"It's fine, Sam. I told you, I am not stopping for gas in New Jersey." He gripped the steering wheel with both hands in agitation.

Sam grinned. "Oh, I don't know. It's kinda fun to watch the attendant search for the gas tank for five minutes."

Dean's head canted. "There is that. But seriously, there's only," he squinted out the windshield at the mile marker that glowed briefly in the headlights, "six miles to the New York state line. She'll make it."

"Okay," Sam drawled, the I warned you implied. But he knew Dean was right; he always was in all matters Impala. The rebuilt and improved Impala that had christened the road less than three weeks ago.

Sam stared out the window, trying not to think too much about the last few months, and about the Christmas lights that adorned the houses on the hills in the distance. He couldn't remember the last time he'd celebrated Christmas with his family.

Family. Just Dean now…

The back of a hand slapped his arm.

"Hey, Sam. New York State Thruway. We're not that far, you know. When we're finished this gig, we can head upstate and—"

"No," Sam said, cutting him off.

"Come on—"

"Dean, I haven't talked to Sarah in months."


Sam sighed. "Dean. I can't just pop in and out of her life like that."

"Sure you can."

"It's not fair."

"Fair, shmair. I guarantee she'll throw herself into your arms with a great big smile when she sees you. Always works for me."

"Yeah, well, Mr. Girl-In-Every-Port. I'm not you."

Dean snorted. "Tell me about it. Sometimes it's hard to believe we're even related."

Sam gave his brother a withering look that was probably wasted in the darkness.

The lights of a small gas station/convenience store lit up the road ahead, and Sam waited for it…

Dean threw him a triumphant smile. "Told you she'd make it." He patted the dashboard lovingly. "That's my girl."

Sam grinned and shook his head.

Dean pulled up next to the pumps and killed the engine. "Fill her up, would you? I'm gonna hit the john. And then…" He looked past Sam into the store and smiled.

Sam followed his gaze and saw the blonde behind the counter. "Dean—" But Dean was out of the car and closing the door before Sam could say any more. "Don't be all night!" he hollered in his brother's wake.

Dean just waved.


Sam got out and stretched. His breath condensed in the cold air, but it felt good after being cooped up for most of the day. He dug his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out a credit card—he didn't even look at the name on it—and slid it into the card reader. Once the tank was full, Sam replaced the nozzle and leaned against the passenger-side door. He could see Dean at the counter if he craned his neck enough. From his brother's posture, he knew it was going to be a while.

Sam sighed and hugged himself against the chill, debating getting back in the car.

"Please, help. Someone help me!"

Sam straightened, pushing off the car with his hips, his arms unfolding as tension tightened his muscles. His gaze darted about, searching for any signs of danger.

The source of the plea was a teenage girl who had darted around the side of the mini-mart to his right. She spotted him almost instantly and ran toward him. She looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

"Please, can you help me?"

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"It's my sister. I can't wake her up." She grabbed Sam's jacket, walking backward and pulling him with her. "She said she wasn't feeling well, so we pulled over, but…"

Sam didn't need any more urging; he bolted in the direction she pointed, just to the side of the building. The girl was close behind as he rounded the car and saw the body on the asphalt beside the open driver-side door. "Did you call 911?" he asked urgently.

"I-I don't have a cell," the girl said. "Is there a phone inside?"

Sam dug into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and tossed it to her. "Hit *-9-1-1," he told her as he knelt beside the unmoving figure. She was lying on her side, long, dark hair obscuring her face. He didn't want to move her, just in case, but his fingers sought out her wrist, checking for a pulse. Nothing. Damn.

He could hear the girl behind him on the phone, and felt a pang of sympathy. He had to do something. Necessity overriding caution, Sam pushed the sister onto her back, hoping CPR would at least hold her until the ambulance arrived.

Her hair slid back, and Sam gasped. He knew that face.

"Kate," he said on a breath.

The name was barely off his lips when her eyes opened and her fingers clamped around his throat. He brought his hands up, tried to loosen the grip, but she was too strong. He couldn't breathe.

"Well, well. Fancy meeting you here," Kate said as she sat up, her hold not slackening.

Sam gasped, desperate for air. His vision was beginning to darken, but he was still able to make out the figure that stepped up beside him, snapped his cell phone shut, and leaned in close to his ear.

"Thanks for your help."

And that was the last thing he heard before everything went dark.


Dean was on a roll. Not only had he scored a phone number, but his caffeine and snacks were on the house. The clerk was cute. Really cute. He loved her dimples, and the way her cheeks tinged pink when he poured on the charm. Her nametag read "Crissy." Nice. Ah, if only they were staying. But they had a job to do.

As if on cue with his thoughts, a car horn sounded from the pumps. There was no mistaking its tone.

"That would be my rude brother," he explained.

"Your brother?" she asked with a sly grin. "Is he as good looking as you?"

"Nah." Dean made a face. "I'm much better looking."

Crissy giggled. Music to his ears. Unlike the blast of the horn that sounded again.

"Gotta go," he said long-sufferingly, pouring it on thick. "Thanks."

He grabbed the bag and backed toward the door. Crissy gave him a little wave, fingers only, her hand close to her face. So cute. He winked at her as he pushed the door open with his foot, then turned and left Crissy behind.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Sammy," Dean called, loud enough for his brother to hear on the other side of the pumps.

No response. Dean stepped to the right, trying to see around the island.

"—the hell?" He could see now that the front passenger-side tire was flat. A few more steps, and his heart went double time. Sam wasn't in the car. Okay. Okay. Don't panic. Maybe he just went to the restroom.

The rear tire was flat, too. A quick inspection confirmed that all the tires were flat.

Dean opened the driver-side door and ducked in, checked for anything that might give him a clue as to his brother's whereabouts. Nothing. Not a thing out of place. Except his brother.

His breath coming in quick, shallow pants, Dean pulled his head from the car and bellowed, "Sam?!"

"Lose something?"

Dean felt a chill spread through his body. He was certain there had been no one around just a moment ago. And that voice…

He turned, saw her standing across the parking lot. Her hair was different, but there was no mistaking who she was. Boots, hip-hugging jeans with a studded belt, and midriff-baring cami—she would have been hot, if not for the whole undead thing. He'd met her before, up close and personal.

"Where is he?" Dean demanded, resisting the urge to call her every name in his colorful vocabulary.

She smiled. "Nice to see you again, too."

"Cut the crap," Dean said, closing the distance between them. "Where's Sam?"

"Ooo, tough guy," she cooed. Her eyes raked over him. "I like that." She took a step toward him as a car rolled up behind her.

Dean's eyes flicked to the car, but he couldn't see past the tinted side windows. His muscles corded with barely contained fury.

"You know," she continued, "due to circumstances beyond our control, we seem to be in need of a…protector for the brood. Not that we have much of one anymore, thanks to you, but that will change. I think you'd fit the bill rather nicely. What do you say?" She smiled again, more seductively this time. "The perks are great."

"No thanks, you're not my type," he shot back. "I don't do hand-me-downs."

Kate's chin lifted. Yeah, he'd hit a nerve, and she was trying her best to hide the fact that it angered her. He allowed a smirk to touch his lips.

She backed up the few steps needed to bring her to the car and took hold of the back door handle. "I can be very persuasive…"

Dean moved closer.

Kate opened the back door.


Dean could see Sam, wrists tied in front and a length of rope binding his arms to his sides, preventing him from removing the gag that was jammed into his mouth. And no matter how hard Sam tried to hide it, Dean could see the fear in his brother's eyes. A fear that wasn't just for himself. Dean lunged forward, but came to an abrupt stop when Kate drew her knife from its sheath.

"Ah-ah," Kate admonished, waggling the knife in a tsking motion. She slid in beside her prize. "Consider my offer," she said, drawing the flat of the blade over Sam's cheek. "I'll call you sometime tomorrow." Dean barely caught the frantic shake of Sam's head before the door closed and the car sped onto the road, leaving behind the stench of burning rubber.

Without a thought, Dean took off after it, his legs pounding the pavement as fast as he could push them. They were playing with him, allowing him to get close, so close he could see them through the back window. Kate turned to look at him, her eyes flashing white from the glow of the streetlight. She toyed with Sam's hair. Then she turned around, and the driver floored the gas pedal. Within seconds, the car, and Sam, were well beyond reach.

His legs burning, Dean finally allowed himself to slow, then stop. He bent in half, his hands braced just above his knees as he gasped air into his starving lungs. He looked up and watched the tail lights disappear into the distance.


The walk back to the gas station was long and arduous. He hadn't realized how far he'd run. The Impala was in sight, just a little farther.


Somehow he managed to focus, saw Crissy running toward him. She caught his arm, helped him the rest of the way.

"Dean, what happened? Are you all right?"

He nodded, unable to catch enough breath to speak. Crissy guided him to his car, and he leaned heavily on the trunk. All that firepower at his disposal, and he hadn't been able to do a damn thing.

"Where's your brother?" Crissy asked urgently, looking around.

"Took him," Dean managed before realizing what he was doing.

"Oh, my God," the girl said. "You stay right here. I'm going to call the police."

"No!" he responded too quickly. Then more calmly, he said, "Look, I'm a cop. A detective. I can handle this."

She seemed at a loss for words, then finally managed, "What can I do?"

"Just get back inside. I'm fine."

She shoved her hands in the pockets of her hoodie and started back in, glancing over her shoulder at him as she went.

Dean nodded, headed back to the Impala, then stopped. He wasn't going anywhere yet. "Hey, Crissy," he called, turning back to her. "You got any Fix-a-Flat?"

"Yeah," she said, eager to help. She ran for the store.

Dean sighed, running a shaking hand through his sweat-damp hair. They'd talked about the inevitability of the vampire's return. Dad had said—

Dad. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat.

Dad had said that once a vampire gets your scent, it won't give up. They'd discussed options and plans, but as time passed, the urgency waned. Not like they didn't have anything else to worry about.

But the plans were still there, and he knew what he had to do.

I'll call you sometime tomorrow.

Tomorrow? God… He'd lost his father; he wasn't about to lose Sam, too.

"Here you go," came Crissy's breathless voice from behind.

Dean accepted the cans a little more harshly than he meant to, but he didn't apologize. He moved with purpose to the car.

Hang on, Sammy. I'm coming.


Sam stumbled, nearly falling from the force of the shove. He wasn't sure exactly where he was, but it seemed to be an old bunker. The steady downhill slope told him they were underground. They'd stripped him of his jacket and hoodie, leaving only his t-shirt to fend off the cold dampness. It was dark, but his guides had no trouble finding their way at all, even without the benefit of flashlights.

Metal hinges squealed, too loud in the closed area. Another shove, and this time he did fall, hard. Sam bit down on the gag, unable to stop a growl born of anger and pain as he hit the hard-packed dirt. The ropes binding his arms were used to haul him backward until he came to a crashing stop, his back colliding with solid wall. The force practically knocked the breath from his lungs, but his protest lodged in his throat when the sound of a knife being drawn from its sheath reached his ears. He remembered that knife. Kate had run the flat of the blade over his face in the car, the edge along his throat. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to make him shudder. He hated giving her that satisfaction, but even though he tried desperately to mask his fear, she could smell it.

The ropes around his arms were cut. Sam tensed, waited until they fell loose, then struck out. He launched himself forward, knocking into Kate.

She grunted as he scrambled to his feet. His eyes had adjusted enough for him to see the doorway and the ambient light beyond it, and Sam made a break for it.

He didn't get far.

A feral growl filled the room an instant before he was tackled. The other one: the girl. Sam crashed to the ground, rolled onto his back, and kicked her away. But before he could move again, a hand fisted in his shirt, lifted him off the floor, and tossed him into the cinder block wall. Sam's cry was lost in the gag as his shoulder impacted first, then his head. He sank to the floor, dazed.

"Feisty," Kate said as she took his bound hands and lifted them. "I like that. Spices up the blood." She pulled him until he was sitting upright, then fastened his hands somewhere above his head.

Sam winced as his abused shoulder protested the movement. Chest heaving, he glared at Kate with all the defiance he could muster. He could barely see her, but he knew she could see him.

Kate laughed, soft and amused. She slipped to her knees beside him, the lace of her cami brushing against his arm. Another quiet laugh, then she straddled his legs, sitting on his thighs. "I know you're afraid," she whispered.

Sam shivered, nauseated by her closeness. He felt her hands travel up his chest, ice-cold even through his shirt. Fingernails brushed his neck, and he tensed. But her hands kept moving upward into his hair, where her fingers lingered a moment before dropping to tug the gag from his mouth.

"Why try to hide it?"

"Oh, I don't know." Sam swallowed, trying to ease the dryness in his throat. "Maybe it has something to do with being human. But you wouldn't remember anything about that, would you?" He could see the white of her teeth when she smiled.

"Cute. You're cute. I might actually miss you."

"If you kill me, you'll—"

She slid closer—way too close—and leaned forward, her lips brushing his ear. "Baby, I'm not going to kill you. I'll leave that to your brother."

Anger overrode fear. "It won't work. He's not going to walk in here and—"

"That's exactly what he'll do," she snapped, cutting him off. Then she calmed, smiled again, toying with the collar of his shirt. "I saw how fast he put down that machete when Luthor had you by the throat." Her hands slipped up again, combing through his hair. "He'll come for you."

And Sam knew she was right. But Dean was a hunter. A damn good one. They had planned for this. Well, not this, exactly…

Kate nuzzled his neck, sending a ripple of fear up his spine. He tensed.

"Oh, come on…Sam, isn't it? I can make your stay enjoyable—"

"Go to hell. Oh, wait. You're already there." Wow. Dean was rubbing off on him. He smiled wickedly into the darkness.

"Or we could play rough." Her hand fisted in his hair, and then the knife was back.

Sam's breath hitched involuntarily, then stilled as the tip of the blade traced its way down the side of his throat to his collarbone. It made his skin prickle into gooseflesh. The breath stuttered out of him when the knife fell away, but caught in his throat when Kate spoke.

"How about a late-night snack?"

Sam gasped and tried to pull away, but there was nowhere for him to go. His throat was exposed, and he knew Kate could probably hear the blood surging through his veins. Sam closed his eyes, and said a prayer.

The pain came then, but not like he expected. He jerked as the tip of the blade pressed against the exposed underside of his left arm. She dragged the blade down, parting flesh, drawing blood. Sam had trouble filling his lungs again, but a yelp of disgust managed to free itself as Kate covered the wound with her mouth and drank. Her hand was still clenched in his hair or Sam would have headbutted her. He tried to buck her off, but her thighs just tightened against his hips painfully and she bit him. No more than a warning, but it hurt.

Sam stilled except for his heaving chest. He swallowed hard, fighting the nausea as an errant trickle of blood escaped her lips, tracking its way down toward his armpit.

A part of him kept expecting Dean to come bursting into the room, crossbow ready. But how could he? Dean didn't know where he was. He'd be searching; of that, Sam had no doubt. But for now, Sam had to endure.

He heard the clatter of the knife as it hit the floor, and Kate's hand encircled his arm, squeezing. Drawing more blood.

Sam groaned through clenched teeth, uncertain how much more he could take. Already he was feeling lightheaded, and his fogged mind screamed.

Dean! Oh, God, help me, please!

To be continued…

a/n: I know, I know! Cliffie! Sorry about that. Okay, not really. :) But rest assured, the fic is finished. I won't leave you hanging too long. I just need to format and look it over, then I'm good to go. In the meantime, hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for reading! AJ