Set - just after Dean tells Sam about John's last words.
Sam had been quiet in the car. Too quiet.
Dean kept shooting worried glances his way surreptitiously. Damn. Sam had that set to his jaw, the one that meant he was hurting. Well, who could blame the kid, after finding out about his dad's last words. He could see that Sam was hurt and worried.
John Winchester had spent 22 years on the yellow eyed demon. He knew things about Sam that he'd taken with him to the grave. Sam was gonna worry about turning dark-side; gonna worry about his freaky new powers, and whether they were dark side stuff or not. What was worse was he was gonna worry about whether his own brother was telling him everything he knew, or whether there were still some secrets Dean hadn't passed on. Hell, he was gonna be second guessing every twitchy move he made, wondering if that was what Dean had been told to watch out for. Wondering if his brother was gonna actually kill him – despite Dean's assurances to the contrary. Dean felt the beginnings of a headache and let out a sigh.
"What?" Sam turned to peer at his brother through his overly long fringe of brown hair.
"I think my baby needs a drink at the next gas station. How 'bout you?"
Sam shook his head. "Just need to stretch my legs a bit. You know, I still think there's something screwy about Murphy's disappearing act."
"What? Everything looked fine to me."
"I don't know - can't put my finger on it," Sam huffed out a frustrated breath.
Dean shook his head. Bobby had asked them to stop in town to check on a missing hunter friend of his, by the name of Murphy. "Look, he organised for his neighbour to look after his cat and take care of the mail. He's out of town and probably just forgot to let Bobby know his plans. His place was fine – nothing suspicious, nothing out of place, so, case closed."
It got quiet for a few moments. Dean didn't want to spend another half hour watching his brother worry. "You need something to eat?"
Sam looked up, "Dude, didn't you get enough at that diner an hour ago?"
Dean grinned half heartedly, "You know me, fast metabolism or something. I need to keep my fuel tank filled on a regular basis."
"Whatever." Sam went back to looking out the side window.
Dean had seen Sam's jaw set again with inner pain. He knew what was really on Sam's mind. He clenched his own jaw. He should have told Sam right away about what their dad had said. Shouldn't have put Sam's trust in him at risk. But, how could you pass on something like that? Hey dude, dad told me to save you and if I couldn't, I have to kill you – but dad did love you you know. Geez, there was no easy way to pass on crap like that. Maybe he needed to tell Sam why he'd had trouble telling him. Sometimes, you shouldn't skip the chick flick moments.
Dean pulled into a gas station heading out of the small city of Roseburg in Oregon.
Sam got out, stretched his long body and wandered over to the side of the gas station. There was a newspaper bin at the corner of the building and Sam hunted through his pockets for some coins.
Sam never saw the creature. Never got any hint that he was in trouble. There was blinding pain and even as he sank towards unconsciousness he could feel something incredibly strong wrap an arm around his waist and pull him effortlessly off of his feet ... .
Dean was putting the fuel cap back on. He glanced towards his brother in time to see something moving blurringly fast. It struck Sam at the side of his head with something and snatched his brother around the waist and Sam was gone. The coins he'd been holding clinking to the cement.
"Sam!" yelled Dean. He ran. Got to the corner. Peered down an empty alleyway and knew that Sam was gone. Dean's heart was in his throat. Something had taken his little brother.
Pain tortured him.
Sam couldn't feel anything but the throbbing pain in his head. A moan passed his lips. He shifted, trying to put a hand to the aching spot on his head and froze for a moment realizing that his hands were restrained. With a gasp he flung himself into full consciousness; eyes open, blinking around, trying to see where he was and exactly how deeply into crap he'd fallen.
But there was nothing to see, only blackness. No light. No windows.
He was lying on a cold tiled floor, his hands over his head were tied to a smooth pole. A wrench at his hands told him right away that he wasn't gonna get them loose without losing a lot of blood, and the pole wasn't gonna shift any time this century either. His jacket and shirt were gone, his shoes and socks as well. His shoulders slid against the smooth cold tiles as he tried unsuccessfully to shift himself upright. Sam let his head drop back to the floor again, feeling tired and nauseous. Why couldn't he move? His brain couldn't seem to process the information for him.
His panicked breaths didn't echo back to him like they would in a bathroom, and no matter how far he stretched out, his body didn't brush against anything. The tiles underneath him were cold and huge – the kind that belonged in large expensive spaces. Sam's head throbbed harder with his movements. There was a sticky trail of blood down passed his ear and Sam slowly recognised the nauseating results of a concussion.
Then there was a sound. Soft and rustling. Sam froze, and found himself peering blindly in the direction of the noise, instinctively catching his breath so that he could hear better.
Another sound. Louder and more deliberate from behind him.
A cold, powerful hand wrenched him up right to sit with his back against the pole. Sam twisted himself out of the grip. "Who the hell are you? What do you want?"
A girlish giggle from his left and a light touch against the blood by his ear. The touch was gone again before Sam could begin to flinch away. There were more rustling sounds, the clinking of glass and the creaking of leather. People. Maybe five or six around him in the dark room.
Licking sounds. "Ooh, Raf. Taste him, he's delicious," crooned the owner of the giggle.
"He's so young, are you sure he's one of them," said a male voice softly, from the right.
"I'm sure, replied a deep baritone voice.
"Hurry up, Raf," whined a third male voice. "I'm starving!"
Vampires. Sam guessed and felt his heartbeat pick up speed. Oh hell.
"He's getting scared," said another female voice from further away. Rustling sounds. Stilettos clicking sharply on tiles, eight, nine steps. Her hair brushed his cheek as she bent to run a hand over his chest. 'I love to hear their heart beats flutter when they guess the truth."
"Turn on the lamp, Crystal," said the smooth deep baritone voice mildly. "Let him see."
The cold hand lifted from Sam's chest. The stilettos clicked away again.
"Samuel Winchester." The deep baritone again, resonating through the room with authority. The owner of the voice straddled Sam's thighs, shifted upwards until Sam could feel the brush of clothing against his chest. The pole behind Sam pressed hard between his shoulder blades as Sam tried instinctively to back away.
Light flared and Sam squinted his eyes around to the source. Sam saw a girl – vampire - in a tight green dress straighten up by an expensive lamp, one black stockinged knee resting on the arm of a black leather lounge. There were five other Vampires in the room. A lounge room that screamed money and opulence. Three more identical couches edged the room, a dozing male vampire draped over one like a cat. Three other Vampires sat at an expensive black bar while a forth worked to make a blood red cocktail. A persian rug had been rolled away from the pole in the centre of the room. Sam could see the stains of old blood in the grouting where he sat on the sleek black porcelain tiles.
The vampire on his thighs shifted closer, capturing Sam's attention. He peered closely into Sam's face and brushed Sam's hair away from his eyes. "Samuel Winchester, you are about to die," whispered the dominant Vampire into his ear. He settled back on Sam's thighs again looking curiously at him.
Sam couldn't help the defiant glare that he shot back at the vamp. Raf was pale and ageless looking. Handsome – and he had a strong streak of that 'allure' stuff that Vamps have – Sam could feel his groin twitch with anticipation despite the concussion headache and the fact that he didn't swing that way. Raf's long brown hair was combed back and pony-tailed away. He looked to be about thirty years old. His face was smooth and his skin pale and perfect. He was dressed in a grey silk dress shirt and black suit pants with a black leather jacket. Expensive, stylish. Not the usual look for Vampires, thought Sam.
"Nothing to say, Samuel? Don't you want to know why?" murmured Raf, lifting Sam's chin and examining his face intently.
Sam thought about spitting in the Vamp's face; thought about struggling. But, what was the point? He huffed out a breath. "Just get it over with," he said between clenched teeth.
Raf felt his forehead furrow with curiosity. "My, but you are young to be so uncaring for your own life, Samuel."
"Raf, hurry up!" said one of the males, prowling impatiently around the room.
Something flickered in Raf's eyes. Old eyes - unlike the body that they were in. Eyes that had seen an awful lot more than they should have, and there was something – odd - about them. They were green eyes, noted Sam. Exactly the same colour as Dean's eyes. God, Sam was gonna have to close his eyes when they started in on him. He didn't want to see eyes that looked like Dean's when he drew his last breath.
Raf smiled, his teeth slowly elongating. "We hunt hunters now, Samuel. We got tired of being slaughtered by hunters even though we weren't killing people." He smiled icily, "It's a case of survival you see." He sighed softly tracing a finger over Sam's bare chest. "I just wanted you to know."
Sam turned his head away.
Raf wrenched Sam's head brutally back around to face him, and then he stroked his other hand surprisingly gently down Sam's cheek, and then down his naked chest. "You're very attractive, Samuel," he said softly. "I would have considered turning you if you'd been anything other than a hunter."
Sam wrenched his head away again. The other Vampires were watching him hungrily.
The bite at his neck was sudden, vicious and agonising, like acid and fire together. Sam couldn't help the gasp of pain that escaped his lips, his back arching against the pole. He saw one of the other Vampires smile and lick her lips before he screwed his eyes shut, panting against the agony of the bite, feeling his life's blood being drawn from his body. Bye Dean, thought Sam. Now you won't have to worry about making that decision dad gave you.
Abruptly Raf wrenched his mouth free. He sat back, blood trickling down his chin, his eyebrows lifted high in surprise as he stared at the boy beneath him. Benjamin stepped closer thinking Raf was done and wanting his share. Raf 's head whipped around to him and he hissed.
Benjamin jumped back into a defensive crouch. "Raf? What? What is it?"
"Everybody out," said Raf.
"But ..." began Crystal.
"Out!" hissed Raf again. "Go downstairs, get the packing finished and take Nathanial with you."
There was a hasty scurry of feet. The giggly one woke the dozing vampire and dragged him to the door before he was fully awake, all the while shooting wary glances Raf's way.
Sam unclenched his eyes and looked back up at the Vampire in his lap, dizzily.
Raf sat still on Sam's thighs, pressing his fingers to the wound on Sam's neck until the bleeding stopped. He waited for the door to close behind the last of his kin. Raf bent closer, millimetres from Sam's face and slowly and deeply he breathed in Sam's scent. He ran his hand over Sam's face again, gently, musingly. "If you are what I suspect, Samuel Winchester, then you are far too precious to kill." He stared down at his prisoner for a moment, his expression thoughtful and contemplative. Again he bent close, millimetres away and slowly breathed in Sam's scent. "So, let's find out shall we?"