Summary: Sam is bitten by a vampire. Dean walks out. That's not the end of the story. Wincest Deathfic Tragedy/Humour

Sampire, Dampire by frostygossamer

How it happened:

Sam and Dean had tracked down a nest of vampires to an abandoned gold mine in New Mexico. Even though it was the sunniest day of the year, they managed to get caught out in the dark. They thought they knew how many vamps to expect, but they had reckoned without the new vamp kid. Kids were always nasty. All pigtails and teeth, the little minx had gotten between Sam and the way out. He got bitten, that simple.

If Dad had still been around, Dean knew what he would have said. He would have said, sensibly, Sam was just another monster now and had to be put down. They'd come across this often enough, normal-looking guy matures into fiend, victim is infected with evil. It didn't matter who they'd been before, that life was over. Now they had to go. But this, well, this was Sam.

If Dad had been there, he probably could have done it, pulled the trigger, right then, but Dean didn't have it in him. He couldn't off Sam, his kid brother. Sam was all he had.

So he helped his brother into the Impala, and drove back to their motel. Sam passed out on his bed and Dean just sat and stared at him, lying there, for a whole hour, while he ...transformed, or whatever.

Sam finally stirred as dusk fell, and he woke to find Dean and the Impala gone.

Dean's story:

For a year, Dean travelled and hunted alone. He'd done that before. He was OK. But he didn't hunt vampire. In fact, whenever a tip-off or heads-up reached him that could be vampire related, he always found somewhere else very important to be.

He knew some other hunter would get to Sam sometime, it was bound to happen, but it wouldn't be him. He would maybe hear about it, eventually, third hand. But it would be too late, and he would learn to deal. That was easy to say.

It was hard missing him, his baby brother. He sometimes wondered if he'd done the right thing, letting him live, like that, as something they had been brought up to hate. He sometimes wondered if he should have stuck around. He couldn't help but blame himself for what had happened. He always did.

Just after dusk:

That final day, he found himself trapped in a cabin in the woods by a 200lb monstrosity. He wished to God he'd had the sense not to go there alone. But he'd been cocky again, and look where that had gotten him.

His right hand was mangled. He had to shoot with his left, not so easy. And his left leg was crushed, useless. All he could do was butt-shuffle into a corner, and try to keep the thing at bay, until his bullets ran out. And it was waiting until his bullets ran out. He could hear the crunch of it pacing, gnarling, outside.

He was going to die today. No one was going to miss him. He was finding it hard to care. He'd already lived a year too long.

He was on his very last round, when suddenly there was a crash and a horrible animal scream, then silence. Dean was still, listening intently. Then a shape appeared, almost filling the doorway, haloed in moonlight. A familiar shape.

"Sam?", Dean breathed, wondering if he was already dead.

"Yeah", Sam replied, kneeling beside him, examining his mangled hand and leg, and assessing his other injuries.

"Thank God you waited until dark to do this, you jerk", he joked. "Sunlight hurts like a bitch."

Dean felt stupidly glad to see him. Sam lifted him up, as if he weighed nothing, and carried him out to the Impala. Then he drove him back to his motel. He carried Dean inside, and laid him on the bed, propped up on pillows. There was only one bed, this was a sad single room.

Sam explained that he'd been following Dean around for months, making sure he didn't get into any kind of trouble, like this. He hadn't approached him before, because he didn't know how he would react, once he'd had time to think.

"I thought you would've killed me, right then", Sam said. "Dad would've, you know that."

Dean sighed. "I'm not Dad", he replied.

Sam nodded and took a breath. "I have a proposal", he began.

"Oh yeah?", Dean asked, disinterestedly, focussed on the pain.

"You're hurt pretty bad", Sam continued. "But maybe you'll heal, eventually. Maybe not so good, but maybe you'll heal."

Dean winced a little. "Maybe", he agreed. He'd give that long odds.

"And then what? You'll go back to hunting, and next time you will get killed, right?"

Dean sighed and closed his eyes, "I'm not trying to get killed", he lied.

"Sure you're not", Sam replied, knowingly.

There was a moment of silence.

"So my thinking is", Sam went on, undeterred. "I'm not so thrilled with being alone either, or I wouldn't be wasting all my precious time following you around."

He watched the expression on Dean's face. It remained unreadable.

"OK, here's the thing. You want me to finish you now, or you wanna be with me?"

He waited for that idea to sink in.

Dean looked surprised. "You talking 'bout killing me, Sam?", he asked. "Didn't you just save my life back there?"

"Hell no! I don't want to kill you", Sam replied. "But you're gonna die, Dean, pretty soon. If that's really what you want, I can make it easier. But if not... I want you with me, understand?"

Sam's story:

After waking up alone in their motel room, Sam had had to acclimatize himself to becoming a vampire, alone. It wasn't easy.

First the craving. The hunger for blood was the most truly awful need to experience. Sam was filled with horror at the way he felt, sensing the heartbeat in a human breast, sensing the blood as it gushed through their veins, and needing as he's never needed anything before. He fought very hard to curb that longing.

He had no trouble picking up girls, or guys for that matter, taking them to lonely places and relieving them of a pint or two. But he stayed in control just enough to pull away before they ran empty. He couldn't take a life, that wasn't Sam. Although, as time went by, he did run into more and more people who really didn't seem to deserve his generosity, didn't deserve to be left alive.

There was the euphoria, the sheer joy of being so strong and so alive, the heightened senses, sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell. He could run faster, he could jump farther, he could climb higher, but he couldn't go out in the sun. Shame about that, but still, who needs a tan, really?

Then there came that glorious feeling of superiority over feeble mortals. Now that he wasn't human he was above their law, their justice, their morality. These things no longer applied. And their religion rejected him, so they could stuff their religion. Nothing was sacred any more. Right and wrong were getting hard to distinguish. Sam got confused sometimes.

Most of all he was lonely. Vampires aren't supposed to be alone. Everyone knows that. They hunt in groups, live as 'families'. Hell, even Dracula had his 'brides'. Sam needed someone and, well, there was only one person in the world Sam needed, same one he'd always needed, Dean. Dean would love him, look out for him, guide him, like always. Dean would keep him from going bad, before it was too late.

So he sought out his brother, found out what he was up to. Hunting alone? Stupid, so stupid. And for four months he stalked him. Dean, he thought, was pushing his crazy luck. He was going to get himself killed, acting that way. And Sam was gonna be right there.

Sam had a proposition, a proposal in fact. Sam wanted Dean to... Well, he just wanted Dean. And, if he timed it right, he might just get him, preferably willing. If not, well, vampires take what they want.

An hour later:

"So I take it...", Dean began. He stopped to cough, a little blood appearing on his lips. That last attack had hurt something inside.

Sam silently inhaled the perfume of his brother's blood, but hid it well.

"I take it we're talking you bite me, I turn. Then what? We ravage the county like a bloodsucking tag-team?", Dean gibed.

"No, Dean", Sam replied, patiently. "I'm talking I make you whole again. We live forever, together. I'm talking you, me, eternity."

Dean laughed and grabbed his chest, pain shooting through it, and more blood moistened his mouth.

He smirked. "Sounds kinda gay, Dude", he gasped, derisively.

"Yes", Sam replied, slowly. "Gay. You're getting there."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "Sam! Seriously, Dude", he retorted. "We're brothers, for God's sake."

Sam laughed this time. "Dean", he said, like he was explaining to a child. "I'm not human any more. I stopped being just your brother back in New Mexico. You wanna go on believing that, fine. You can be my brother. You can be my dead brother. But you have a choice. You can choose me. Choose me, Dean."

And with that Sam leaned forward and placed his lips on Dean's, resisting the urge to lick the blood off of them. Dean didn't struggle, although that might have been because of the pain when he moved. Or not.

"I missed you, Sam", he whispered. "Like crazy."

Sam smiled at him benevolently. "We never have to be apart again, D.", he promised.

Dean leaned his head back against the wall, resigned. He was getting way too weak to want to argue, not with Sam. Even though what Sam was asking for was wrong. Even though the old Sam would never have wanted this. His strength was failing fast, but he couldn't quit on his brother, not now.

"OK", he whispered, with a chuckle. "I wasn't expecting much of heaven anyways."

Sam slipped his long fingers under Dean's collar, baring his neck, and stuck a kiss on it.

"Don't fuck around, Dude. Get on with it", Dean griped.

Sam bared his teeth, fangs sharp and lethal, and bit down hard on Dean's jugular, slurping his brother's blood like mother's milk.

Dean winced again, and let out a tight breath, through his teeth.

Sam took his knife from his belt, and drew it across his own wrist. Crimson blood poured over his hand. He placed the fresh cut against Dean's lips.

"You know what to do", he said.

Dean sucked on Sam's wrist, swallowing his brother's poisoned blood. It was warm, metallic and strangely sweet. All the while he kept his eyes steadily on Sam's. Sam held his gaze, encouraging him to drink deep.

When he let go Sam's arm, Dean's head flopped back again, his eyes closed. His ragged breathing became still and he seemed to sleep.

Sam stood up and pulled the drapes against the dawn, then sat and waited, waited for Dean to rise.

A couple hours later:

After a couple hours, Dean suddenly jerked and opened his eyes. It was already light outside, but inside the motel room, it was cool and dark.

Dean stirred and felt his chest with both hands, the pain was gone, it felt fine. Then suddenly he realised what he was doing, and gazed amazed at his healed right hand, which now looked as good as his left, apart from a little dried blood and dirt. He flexed his left leg experimentally. It seemed OK.

Sam, who had been dozing in a chair, noticed him moving and walked over to sit on the bed.

"Better?", he asked.

"Pretty good", Dean admitted.

Sam looked relieved. "OK, so it's daylight out right now. We should stay here until dusk, then we can go get you something to drink", he said.

Dean didn't like the sound of 'something to drink'. "You mean a victim", he corrected.

Sam chuckled. "Everyone can spare a pint, Dean", he remarked.

Dean grimaced, "Rationalizing, College Boy?"

Sam ignored the crack. He was toying with Dean's torn pants leg, like a cat with string. Dean's clothes were covered with congealed blood, and his senses were tingling.

"You wanna take a shower, Dude?", he suggested. "You're clothes've gotten kinda gross."

"OK, naked and vulnerable coming up", Dean agreed, snidely.

He got up, stretched and kind of walked, kind of staggered to the bathroom door and opened it.

"Wait", Sam yelped, and leapt inside to close the blinds for him.

"Don't want to get your newly healed skin all burned", he laughed.

Fifteen minutes later Dean re-emerged from the bathroom in a towel, skin still slightly dewy and palely radiant.

Sam was lying on the bed with his hands behind his head.

"You look pretty good for a dead guy", he japed.

"Don't rub it in, Sam", Dean retorted, and flopped down on the end of the bed.

Sam sat up and shuffled down the bed toward his brother. He touched his mouth to the nape of his neck, disguising a lick with a kiss. Dean turned his head to look at him over his shoulder.

"So this is how it finally happens", he said, matter-of-factly.

"What happens?", Sam asked vaguely, distracted by Dean's scent.

"I lose my gay cherry to my horny vampire brother", Dean explained, half-joking.

Sam chuckled. "I can wait, if you're not ready", he offered.

Dean shrugged. "May as well just go for it, I guess".

He stood up, dropped his towel and lay on his back on the bed, plumping up the pillows until he was comfortable.

Sam stripped off his clothes with unnatural speed and lay down beside him, his muscular chest pressing against Dean's, his hands on Dean's shoulders, their faces very close. Sam could feel that Dean's body was tense.

"It's not gonna hurt. We don't hurt like before", Sam assured him. "There will be blood, lots of it, but you're gonna like that, trust me."

Dean gazed at his long-lost baby brother fondly. It felt pretty strange that he was even thinking of going along with this, but he could sense Sam needed it. Sam's heart no longer beat, but he could feel the love oozing from him. Sam's flesh was cool, and his own was now only a little warmer, but Sam's eyes glowed with heat, like burning coals.

Sam wanted togetherness and so did he. Dean felt overwhelmed by his own love for Sam. All his life this boy had meant everything to him. Being parted from him for so long had been pure agony and, yes, he wanted to dissolve into his arms and forget the world.

He threaded his fingers into Sam's floppy hair and pulled him down into a kiss.

"I'm sorry, Sam", he breathed against his cheek. "I am so sorry. I made a huge fucking mistake. I never should've left you alone. I was supposed to take care of you. Forgive me."

Sam smoothed Dean's hair back from his green eyes. "Nothing to forgive, D.", he whispered. "We're together now. That's all that matters."

They sank into another kiss, as Sam's hands roamed over Dean's naked skin, their bodies rolling together. Dean let Sam do what he wanted with him. This time he needed to be not in control. This time he needed to be taken, used, lost in the rhythm, as his brother screwed him to the bed. Sam was on him, over him, around him, in him. Dean was totally his.

Sam's mouth traced the now silent pulse points of his body, neck, elbow, wrist, knee, ankle, groin, piercing the skin deep, licking and sucking. Dean could taste the tang of blood in his kisses. This was totally fucking wrong, and yet it was so achingly fucking beautiful.

It started in the pit of Dean's stomach, and the hunger grew until it was a demand. He ran his tongue along the sharp edges of his teeth and felt fangs erupting painfully from his gums. He longed to sink them down into Sam's smooth bare skin, penetrating the flesh, imbibing his essence, savouring those copper pennies.

Before he could think, he was biting down on the hard muscle of his brother's shoulder. Sam chuckled throatily and offered the soft inside of his elbow to his bite. Dean suckled on him, growling softly like a bear cub gnawing a carcase. Laughing, Sam rolled over pulling Dean on top of him, allowing him access to his entire circulatory system. Dean feasted. Soon both their bodies and the bed were covered in gore the colour of port wine, slick and viscous.

When they were finally done, they collapsed exhausted in the sticky mess. Dean was no girly cuddler but, this once, he felt compelled to wrap his arms around Sam and hold him so tight he couldn't have breathed, even if he'd needed to.

"I won't ever let you go again", Dean swore, lisping into his neck. "We're going nowhere if not together. I won't make that mistake again." And they fell into an unholy sleep, still as death.

Near dusk again:

Some time later found them lying intertwined, in a tangle of sheets stained with a cocktail of their vital fluids.

Dean stared out of the window, watching dusk approach. Strange, he thought, he used to think of this as day receding. He combed his fingers through his baby brother's sticky hair. Funny how this all seemed perfectly natural now.

Sam stirred and hummed contentedly into his shoulder.

"Now we both need a shower", Dean said with a chuckle.

"Uhm", Sam agreed. He propped himself up on one elbow, to look Dean in the eye.

"It's OK, right?", he asked. "You're OK with this now? No regrets?"

Dean sighed. "Regrets? If I could've found a way to make New Mexico not have happened... I might as well have died that day. I've been walking around like some kinda zombie. I was wrong to walk out on you, Sam."

"I understand why you left, Dean", Sam told him, lovingly stroking his brother's jawline with his thumb.

Dean stared into his eyes. "It was wrong", he insisted. "I let you become something inhuman. I was supposed to look out for you, Sammy. That's what I do. There's nothing else."

"It's not too late", Sam declared, pulling his big brother into a tight embrace.

"No, it's not", Dean agreed, and he slipped his hand under his pillow and brought out his pistol. He placed the muzzle against his brother's back, directly in line with both their hearts.

Sam felt the cold metal press against his skin and grinned. "Do it, Dean", he breathed.

Dean pulled the trigger.

The End

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Midnight:

Dean and Sam prised themselves from the dried-on sheet and sat up. This was a totally unexpected development.

Sam stroked his hand over the healed-up hole in his chest. "Somehow I think you forgot to get that round blessed", he grinned.

Dean facepalmed himself, grand gesture ruined. "Jerk!", he scolded himself.

"Wanna try again?", Sam asked, helpfully.

"Nah!", Dean retorted. "I feel like the moment has kinda passed. Why don't we just grab a shower and head on out."

Sam chuckled sympathetically. "Yeah, that's how it is. One moment you're feeling kinda 'Oh God, this is a desperate fucking tragedy' and the next it's 'OK, so what was the problem?'."

Dean was in the bathroom turning on the shower. "You coming in here or what?", he shouted.

Sam hurried to join him. Pretty soon the drain was running with brownish-red soap suds, as they scrubbed each other clean. There was dried blood in every crevice of their bodies.

"Hell, Sam", Dean griped. "I've even gotten gunk in my ears."

"Sorry about that", Sam laughed. "I might've been a little overenthusiastic."

After they'd finally gotten rid of all the crap, they went back into the main room, dressed and packed their things.

As they headed for the door, Sam stopped. "We'd better dump those sheets", he advised. "It saves questions", and he stripped the bed, rolling the ruined sheets into a bundle and stuffing it under his arm.

"Wonder why it is no one in these places ever hears a gunshot?", he mused.

"Because half of them are hiding out from the cops themselves, and the other half are too busy chopping up their girlfriends in the bathtub", Dean explained.

Sam grinned. "I know a great vodka bar close by. Hot place for hookups", he suggested happily.

Dean shot him a quizzical look.

"One, two pints tops. I promise", Sam swore, and he crossed his heart, which smoked slightly. "I totally love Bloody Marys", he snickered.

Dean let him out the door and followed close behind.

It was going to be a mite inconvenient doing all their hunting at night, but now they were going to have vampire moves, so there were compensations.

It was going to be hard to keep away from the dark side, and bring Sam back towards the light. But Dean had been able to do that himself, when he came back from Hell, so he knew it was possible, and that he could do it for Sam. Because Sam was his again, and taking care of him was his job. Nothing else.

1 AM:

They drew up outside a bar tastelessly adorned with an nauseating quantity of neon. As they went inside Sam tugged at Dean's sleeve.

"Don't try to turn anyone", he warned. "We don't need hangers-on. Love 'em and leave 'em, OK? It's just you and me, right?"

"Sam", Dean replied. "You know that was strictly a 'goodbye' fuck?"

Sam put on a pained expression. "Oh, you can believe that if you want, Dean", he chuckled.

Dean shook his head and continued into the bar. He ordered and they 'cased the joint'.

"Plenty of tasty tail in tonight", Sam remarked, sipping his drink and grinning.

Dean scoped out the dance floor, potential prey stood out from the rest like antelope on the savanna. He marvelled at how easy it had been to turn into a predator.

Sam was evidently enjoying the deafening noise, not like the old Sam. He had clearly been doing this for a while. Dean pulled Sam's ear close to his mouth.

"Remember that they're people, Sam, just people having fun. They're not 'tasty tail'. We're not hunting them, OK?"

"Sure", Sam replied quickly. Then he looked at his brother's serious face. "Sure, Dean", he said, "I know."

But Hell, Dean was used to picking up anonymous chicks in bars. How was this any different? A couple hours later there were a few extra females making their way home in a daze, with their panties in their purses, and the two hunters were feeling pretty damn pleased with themselves, as they piled back into the Impala.

"Do you suppose we can call ourselves 'Vampire Hunters' now, or does that give kinda the wrong vibe", Sam asked, his words slightly slurred by his high alcohol content, most of it not drunk from a glass.

"I think maybe we should keep the vampire thing on the down low, or we might end up being the hunted not the hunters", Dean pointed out, wise as ever.

Sam stifled a laugh. As Dean pulled out onto the highway, Sam looked sideways at him.

"You mean what you said about 'goodbye' fuck?", he asked. "Cos I kinda feel next time I get my Vlad on I'm gonna be looking at you."

Dean smirked out the side window, but Sam caught the deflection.

"Oh yeah, thought so", Sam rejoiced. "Once you've had Bloodsucker Sammy there's no going back."

3 AM:

After he'd been driving for a few miles, with Sam dozing beside him, head lolling against his shoulder, Dean noticed a persistent pair of headlights in his rear-view mirror. He accelerated, hoping to leave their shadow behind, but the SOB kept on coming. He tried cutting his speed to let the tow truck pass, but the rig closed the distance between them, and began to try to edge the Chevy off of the road.

Dean's baby ended up in a ditch, waking Sam up with a jolt. Dean jumped out of the car, ready to give the other driver a piece of his mind, and a taste of his fists, when who should step out of the truck but...

"Bobby Singer", Dean exclaimed with a laugh. "We've gotta stop meeting like this."

Bobby advanced on the brothers with his shotgun at eye level.

"Hell's ass, I was afraid this was gonna happen", he growled. "I should've never promised to keep out of it."

Sam climbed out of the Impala and joined Dean on the roadside.

"Bobby", Sam said quietly, trying to calm down the situation. "You don't want to do this."

"Well, I'm goddamn sorry it had to come to this", Bobby replied, through gritted teeth. "But it looks like it's down to me now."

"Hey, Bobby", Dean objected. "Didn't you swear that you wouldn't try to take Sam down. Didn't we agree that you do that and we're not friends any more."

"That was before he got to you, Boy", the old man retorted. "I'm not gonna stand here and see you sad-asses both damned to Hell!"

Dean looked at Sam and Sam nodded. Faster than the eye could register, they were on the old hunter, and Sam had him knocked out, and pinned to the ground in the ditch.

Sam looked up at Dean and grinned. "Can we turn him, eh Dean? Can we?", he asked eagerly.

"Sam", Dean protested.

"Aw, but he's family, right?", Sam wheedled.

"Somehow I'm not sure he's thinking that way right now", Dean retorted.

Sam stood up and strode over to his brother. "Dean", he said. "We can't gank Bobby. He's been like a father to us, ever since Dad passed."

"I'm not saying gank him, Sam", Dean replied. "Just we don't need to recruit him. He's not exactly Twilight material, now is he?"

As the two brothers stood bickering, Bobby came to and reached stealthily for his shotgun. The boys stupidly had their backs to him, so Bobby pumped his weapon and unloaded both barrels.

"Bam! Bam!" echoed across the lonely highway.

The End

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4 AM:

Highest quality 'A1' 100% pure rock salt. Undeniable demon-stopper.

But not for vampires.

Bobby knew that, of course, and, given the time, he would have loaded his shotgun with the actual, priest-blessed, real 'I am', silver buckshot that was right now lying unused in his glovebox. He cussed himself in disgust.

He sat up. Dean and Sam were now sitting on the roadside picking lumps of salt out of each others back.

"Jeez, this stuff smarts", Sam griped.

"Not so chipper now", Dean gibed. "Seem to remember you finding it some chuckle-fest when you got me in the leg Thanksgiving."

"Aw, but that was different", Sam replied. "You were behaving like a jerk, as per usual."

"Was not", Dean shoved him.

"Was", Sam shoved back.

"Was not", another shove.

"And you can wipe that Cheshire Cat crap off of your face."

"Excuse me if I butt into your fascinating conversation, gentlemen", Bobby butted in. "But you two just gonna sit there and watch the ever-loving sun come up?"

Startled, Dean turned and looked toward the east, where the first golden rays of dawn were beginning to show above the horizon.

"C'mon, Sam", he shouted. "Let's get my baby back on the asphalt and get outta here."

They put their backs into pushing the Impala back onto the road. Bobby even lent a hand, force of habit after all these years, and the brothers took off for the mountains.

Bobby dusted himself down and got back into his truck. He reloaded his shotgun and started driving.

After about a half hour he came across the Impala, back in the ditch, apparently abandoned.

He stopped, got out and opened the Chevy's passenger door. There were two unassuming piles of ash on the two front seats.

Bobby took off his cap and, placing it on his breast, bowed his head for a moment. Then he hitched the car to his truck and drove home.

Definitely The End

A/N: Somehow this idea wouldn't lie down without a fight. But 'Third time's a charm' as they say across the pond.