Title: Enter Avenger
Author: legoline
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating/Warnings/Notes: PG-13 for angst and a little gory. Gen fic. Spoilers for Dead Man's Blood. 2,060 words.
Summary: Kate returns and abducts Dean. Sam sets out to rescue and avenge.
A/N: Much love to transgenic_girl for the swift beta. Especially written for astri13 who wanted Avenging!Sam :-)
Disclaimer: None of the characters and places are mine.
Feedback: Is Love.



Enter Avenger
by Steffi

He should have fucking known when Dad said that once the vampires got your scent that it’s for life. He should have insisted on killing each and every one of them back then when they had the chance.

As if they could just kill Luthor and pretend that thus things were over and done with. As if they could just leave the other vampires behind, as if that Kate wasn’t going to take revenge. As if.

Dad must have known, after all it’s Dad – not even Sam doubts his expertise on the field of supernatural creatures. So it was probably idleness that kept him from hunting each of them down, or maybe his silly excitement over getting that colt that might not even work on the demon. It occurs to Sam now that his dad risked all their lives with pretending that killing a vampire’s mate would scare it away, not make it so fucking angry it and its pack will break into your motel room at night to abduct your brother.

Sam’s right eye is swollen so much that he can barely see, and his left hand feels like at least two fingers are broken. He’s limping a bit, too. He grits his teeth and thinks that at least he managed to kill one of those damn creatures when they burst into their room and dragged Dean away. And it was all he could do before a male vampire knocked him unconscious and left him lying on the floor.

He woke several hours later, and that was a couple of days ago. Days in which Sam’s called his father to tell him that he really did fuck up things this time and how does he feels about that? Hours in which Sam went to the library and looked for loal buildings that might be used as a vampire lair. Hours he spent driving around in the Impala, trying to find some sort of trace or hint. Nights Sam lingered on the interstate and in dark corners, hoping to surprise them while they were trying to lure people and feed on them. He’s tried to avoid the thought that the reason no one turned up might be cause they’ve already fed.

Then, on the third day he finally got a lead by a local psychic: “The soulless ones are hiding amongst those thirsty for knowledge.”

It takes Sam a couple of hours to figure that one out – but finally it dawns on him that the psychic was probably talking about the local college. So he packs his weapons, the machete and arrives at the college twenty minutes later. He parks the Impala at some distance away, because he’s not sure whether they’ll hear the car and recognise the sound. Hell, even he would recognise the sound of Dean’s beloved lady.

At least he’s taken care of his scent as best as he could. He smells like a camp fire now and it makes him feel sick on top of things, but that’s still better than the vampires already knowing he’s coming before he’s even entered the building.

It’s Sunday afternoon, so the hallways and classrooms are empty. Something’s drawing him to the main building and into the basement, so Sam follows his instincts. He walks quietly and yet every step seems to echo loudly in the empty corridors, like a stampede of elephants. He’d like to walk faster, to run because he knows time is working against him but he can’t – he needs to stay calm, and quiet, and careful. And that’s the hardest part.

The hinges of the door to the basement creaks as Sam opens it, he flinches and listens up, but there’s no movement down there. He pulls the machete out of his bag and grips it tightly. The flashlight he leaves inside – if he uses it it’ll only let the vampires know he’s coming. And he’s dependent on the moment of surprise.

He sneaks down the stairs, making stops every few steps to listen. At the end of the stairs the corridor turns left, and Sam follows it. Slowly. A couple of meters before he stops again to listen. Without any light down here that procedure can save his life. The corridor makes another turn, and very carefully Sam peeks around the corner. In the dim light he can see a dark shape, a silhouette guarding what appears to be a door. Bullseye, Sam thinks. The notion that the figure could be an innocent man who happens to be at the wrong place at the wrong time doesn’t even cross his mind – it’s a vampire, he feels it.

Things happen very quickly. Sam can throw a short machete from a distance of ten meters and slice someone’s throat – and so he does. Instantly the vampire sinks to the ground, where Sam is already beside him. He grabs the short machete, strikes out and with a wooosh! beheads the creature. The head falls to the ground with a thud, before dissolving into dust.

Sam grins, one down, couple more to go. For whatever they’ve done to his brother.

He takes a deep breath in and forces himself to calm down which is definitely easier said than done, because his heart is racing and his hands are shaking. Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, Sam pushes down the handle of the door and it opens a little, just enough for him to squeeze through. The room behind the door is a little less dark than the corridors, a couple of candles are burning, the air is thick with smoke.

Silently Sam moves forward and his heart stops when to his right, in the dim light he sees a figure sitting slouched against the wall. Instantly he knows it is Dean. And almost immediately he is by his brother’s side. When he gets a clear look at Dean, it takes him everything he’s got not to gasp out loud from shock.

Whether Dean is simply unconscious or dead already it is hard to say, but when Sam touches his brother’s arm the skin is still warm, and Sam can make out Dean’s chest rising and falling faintly. He then allows himself to breathe out, just realising he’s held his breath all the time. However, the relief is of short, an insignificant duration. It almost instantly gives way to scorn.

Dean is so pale he looks more dead than alive. No, he isn’t just pale, he is white, like ivory. His chin has fallen to his chest, and his arms are hanging from his shoulders limply. Apart from the dark circles around his eyes the only colour in his skin are the countless red bite marks all over his arms, and throat, and - from what Sam can see – his chest, too. A rope has been wrapped around his neck and knotted to a brass ring embedded to the wall. It is then that Sam understands.

They have leashed his brother to the wall like a dog, a toy. The fact that a single, thin rope is enough to hold Dean in place says more about his condition than anything else ever could. They’ve played with him, tortured him – drank from him to make him suffer, always only so much he’d still survive, but nonetheless killing him slowly. Taking his strength from him, and it must have gone on for days now.

Sam’s eyes narrow. Anger’s building up now, more hatred than he ever thought he had inside him. He hates those vampires more than he hates the demon now, because they’ve played with his brother, humilated him when all that Dean’s got is what’s left of his family, and his dignity. Sam straightens and he grabs the machete, his knuckles going white.

He remembers that Buffy episode he once saw (Dean really loved that show), where that girlfriend of the witch got killed, and the witch’s hair and eyes turned black and she started murdering those people responsible for her girlfriend’s death. That, Sam thinks, is exactly the way he feels now. If he was in that show his hair would be pitch black by now.

His carefulness is gone. He walks over to where the three vampires are sleeping in their hammocks; he strikes out and beheads the first one, a male vampire. The creature screams before he dies, waking his companions. Before they know what’s happening, Sam’s already killed the other female. Blood’s rushing through his vains, he feels nothing but cold, fierce hatred. Now only Kate’s left.

Sam corners her, until she’s right where he wants her to be. She tries to fight but Sam’s too strong, too angry, he just hates her too much. All the mercy he ever had has vanished all of a sudden, and all he can think about is that this creature should die a slow, painful death. With no way to escape she’s sitting in front of him, shivering with fear. Her eyes are wide, and if she had a heartbeat it’d be going twice as fast now.

“What have you done to him?” Sam snarls. The coldness in his voice takes him and Kate both by surprise. She doesn’t reply and averts her eyes, she looks like she’s about to burst into tears. Silence. She’s whimpering. Sobbing.

“Tell me!” he barks. He places the machete against her neck so he that could strike any time if he wanted.

“We took revenge...” she stutters, wiping a tear from her right eye, “...for what he did to Luthor.”

The blade of the machete presses against her neck more tightly, drawing a thin line of blood and she whimpers, Sam’s mouth has become two thin lines. “We all did that to Luthor.” He manages to say quite calmly though his hands are shaking with anger. “Why pick Dean?”

She shrugs. It makes Sam even more angry. No one tortures his brother and dismisses it with a shrug, just like that. The vein in his forehead is throbbing violently.

“What does it matter?” she whispers, grinning bitterly. “I am almost dead anyway...and so is he.”

And that does it. Before he knows what he’s doing, Sam strikes out, and cuts off her head with all his might, with everything that he’s got, and her head comes off easily like he’s cutting through paper. Gratification diminishes his anger a little, she’s gone, dead, killed – and still she didn’t suffer enough. He should have made her to go through more, maybe poison her with dead man’s blood over and over again, but he didn’t have time for that. His grip on the machete handle loosens a little and he stares at the place where Kate’s dissolved into dust. He smirks, and the next moment he’s at Dean’s side again.

“Dean...” he says gently, while he frees his brother from the leash, pulling the rope over his head. Dean winces a little, his neck red and burned where the rope had been, and Sam also spots another pair of bite marks. He wishes there was still another vampire to kill. To cut into pieces. Carefully he places a hand at each side of Dean’s face and makes his brother look at him. “Dean...” he says again, “Can you hear me? Come on Dean, come on...” Sam’s begging now, but he doesn’t care. Dean breathing goes shallow, like he doesn’t have the strength to inhale and exhale properly anymore.

Finally, Dean’s eyes flutter open. His gaze is unfocused and it takes him a moment until he locks with Sam’s eyes. He looks tired more than anything else, and his eyes are empty and glassy. Hospital, a panicking voice shouts in Sam’s head, get him a fuckin’ transfusion!

But what he says is: “It’s over Dean. I’m gonna get you out of here. Just hold on. I need you to hold on a little longer.”

Dean just nods, he’s too feeble to speak apparently, and his eyes fall shut again. Sam carefully cradles his brother in his arms and lifts him up, almost like he is carrying an infant. Dean’s forehead rests limply against his chest, but Sam can feel his heartbeat, and that’s enough.

Dean’s not going to die. Sam knows. Dean’s not going to die as long as Sam’s got something to do with it.

He’s not going to let Dean die.

Period.

-end-