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It was, in all honesty, just supposed to be the not-so-typical typical monster of the week. They needed a break from their latest Big Bad, especially since they hadn’t found any leads in a few weeks, so when Sam spotted an article online that hinted pretty heavily at vampires in a nearby town, they jumped on it.
Which leads Dean to be outside of the monsters’ nest, a brick two-story in a nice neighborhood. Hell, they even have two cars in the driveway.
The only thing that would make this better is if Sam were with him, but his little brother went missing on a snack run and Dean can only assume he’s inside the nest now, bugging the vampires instead of Dean himself.
Distraction wasn’t the plan Dean would have gone with, and probably the last one Sam would have agreed on, but it’s the best one they have now so Dean rolls with it and starts looking for a subtle way into the nest. It’s the dead of night, the worst time to attack a whole nest of vampires, but Dean can’t wait for noon. The vampires will either feed on Sam, or kill him, and Dean can’t let them do that without putting up a good fight himself.
So instead of attacking in the middle of the day with backup, Dean finds himself jiggling a window lock and slipping inside, under the light of the moon, by himself.
He ends up in what looks like a bedroom, and to be completely honest the house is just as nice on the inside as it was on the outside. The room is fully furnished, with pictures on the walls, and even the bed’s covers have been rumpled, like a vampire definitely slept there during the day. Dean, far too used to sleeping in gross motel beds, scowls at the bed like it’s personally wronged him. He may just steal the blankets when this hunt is over.
For now he cracks the bedroom door, peers out, and then creeps into the hallway, being careful to not make any noise as he cases the first floor. Or at least, he is until he reaches the basement.
He hasn’t seen any vampires yet, honestly isn’t sure if they’re even home or not, but the moment he sees Sam all thoughts of ganking monsters leaves him. Those vampires hadn’t just gotten his little brother—they’d hung him from their fucking ceiling like a piece of meat. Even at six foot four, Sam’s feet dangle inches above the ground, his wrists tied together and looped over a hook that’s honest-to-God embedded in the ceiling. Blood trails down his face, and his chin rests on his chest, which rattles with each breath. Every terrifying thought Dean has about crucifixion, about suffocation, races through his mind at a startling speed and comes out in one gasp.
“Sam?!” Dean rushes forward, thankful to see Sam lift his head in response, but his worry increases when Sam can’t do much more than wheeze at him.
He really really doesn’t want to go back to thinking about the whole crucifixion thing, though, so instead he shoves his shoulder into Sam’s stomach, grabs him around the waist, and lifts.
Sam heaves in a clearer breath, then a second, but before Dean can get a better grip to lift him off the hook, Sam takes his next breath to yell “Vamp!” in his ear.
Dean drops him.
It’s the last thing he wants to do, but the hard truth is that he can only rescue Sam if he himself is alive, uncaptured, and not vampire food. So he drops Sam so he can stop the vampire from biting him, and the worst part is that Sam can’t even manage a proper scream—instead he lets out a choked, garbled cry, and Dean’s heart seizes even as he swings a machete through the vamp’s neck.
It turns out there’s four whole ass vampires living here, and Dean takes great joy in putting his machete through each and every one of them.
“God you suck, you know that?” he tells the last one.
Sam makes another one of those choked noises, and it’s absolutely pitiful and manages to go straight to Dean’s heart.
“Fuck, Sammy,” he says, and while he would normally take the time to wipe off the machete, stick it back in its holster, right now he doesn’t have to worry about the monsters—he drops the knife and goes to his brother.
Sam looks back at him with the kicked puppy look, but worse, because this time he actually got almost crucified, and Dean’s gonna owe him so many laptops for dropping him.
“I won’t drop you this time, Sam, I promise,” Dean says. His voice comes out rough, but obviously because he just beheaded four vampires, and not for any other reason.
This time, when he goes to lift Sam, Dean grabs him by the knees. His little brother is tall, and heavy, and currently utter dead weight, but Dean has carried him through fire before and he’s not about to stop now. The moment Sam’s hands come off the hook he drops forward, over Dean’s shoulder, and Dean curses when Sam lets out another agonized sound. Being upside down is the last thing Sam’s chest needs now, so Dean kneels where he is to set Sam on the ground, then maneuvers them both over to the wall so Sam can sit up straight. Sam manages to take in a deep breath, but the second sends him into a coughing fit, and Dean has to thump him on the back till it ebbs.
After that, they just sit and breathe. Dean’s breaths are quiet, but Sam’s are rough, like even now it’s a struggle just for air, and it’s not until the smell of dead vampire is really getting to him that Dean breaks the silence.
“How long?”
After that night, it could have meant a myriad of things. How long ago did they grab you? How long did they know we were hunters? How long were you waiting?
How long were you hanging?
Sam takes another deep breath, then breathes out. Breathes in; out. “Thirty minutes? Maybe?”
“Fuck,” Dean says.
“Yeah,” Sam says. They’re silent again for the next several minutes, then Sam nudges him. “You know I forgive you.”
Dean shoots him a look, scoffing. “Forgive me? For what?”
Sam nods, then takes another breath. He breaks out coughing again, but there’s a satisfied look on his face that has all to do with their conversation and nothing else. The coughing ends sooner than the last time. “Exactly.”
“Uh huh,” Dean says, and shoves himself to his feet.
“Where—” Sam breaks off, coughing again.
Dean gives him a pointed look. “You’re obviously not going anywhere anytime soon, and I spotted some killer blankets upstairs that no longer belong to anyone.”
Sam waves him on, still coughing, but by the time Dean gets back, lugging two large comforters over his shoulder, he’s already asleep. Dean covers him in one blanket and then sits down with the other to finally clean his machete.
Before that, though, Dean pats Sam on the shoulder. “Let’s not do this again, okay?”
Sam’s breaths, more even than they were before, are the only things that answer him.