Supernatural Rewrite - 2x03 Refuge
Summary: While on a case, Sam and Dean meet fellow hunter Gordon Walker. They initially bond with him, but as they uncover more and more about the other man, the situation starts to go south.
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Gordon Walker, Original Characters, Ellen Harvelle
In the dead of night, a full moon hanging overhead, a young woman runs frantically along a path through the woods. She looks over her shoulder and sees something that frightens her further. She runs faster.
She rounds a corner and dives off the path into the trees, hiding behind one of them. While she catches her breath, she peers out around the trunk. As she does, a twig snaps directly in front of her.
Her head whips back around and she comes face-to-face with her pursuer. Before she can move or even scream, an axe, held by capable hands, lashes out and slices through her neck, decapitating her with one clean movement.
The Impala, now fully restored, drives along a country road. Both occupants appear to be in a good mood.
“So a couple of severed heads and a pile of dead cows, huh?” Sam says. “After our last case, I thought you’d want to steer clear of anything involving livestock.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he snaps, the corners of his mouth still turned up. “Besides, it’s the beheadings I’m interested in.”
Sam shakes his own head and looks out at the road in front of them. “How far are we?”
Dean presses down on the accelerator, propelling the car faster down the road. “We’ve got another 200 miles, give or take.”
A little over three hours later, they sit in the local sheriff’s office as he feeds them the company line. “The murder investigation is ongoing,” he monotones, “and that’s all I can share with the press at this time.”
“We understand that,” Sam says with his usual sincerity, notepad in hand. “But just for the record, you found the first decapitated body last week, correct?”
The sheriff chews the inside of his cheek, considering whether he can answer that. Finally, he nods.
“And the second, a Christina Flannigan, was two days ago. Is that also correct?”
The sheriff nods again just as his receptionist appears at the open office door. She points up at the clock on the wall.
Relieved to have an excuse, the sheriff jumps out of his seat. “Sorry boys, time’s up.”
Sam holds up his hand. “One last question - what about the cattle?”
Thrown off guard, the sheriff blinks at him, confused. “Excuse me?”
“The cows found dead - split open, drained,” Dean explains. “There have been over a dozen cases, haven’t there?”
The sheriff’s eyes narrow, still not understanding. “Yeah. What about them?”
“You don’t think there could be a connection?” Sam inquires.
The sheriff looks between Sam and Dean as though he thinks they’ve lost their marbles. “A connection with what?”
“The two murders,” Sam clarifies. “I mean, cattle mutilations and beheadings - that kind of sounds like ritual stuff, doesn’t it?”
The sheriff stares at him for a moment, then bursts out laughing, thinking he’s joking. But when he sees Sam’s continually serious expression, he stops. “You’re not kidding.”
Dean gives the least crazy smile he can muster and says, “Nope.”
The sheriff sighs. “Those cows aren’t being mutilated. You want to know how I know that?”
“How?” Sam asks. He holds out his notepad, prepared to write down whatever the sheriff says.
“Because there’s no such thing as cattle mutilation,” the sheriff says. “If a cow dies and it’s left out in the sun for a bit, the bloating will split it open in what can appear to be a surgical manner. Then the bodily fluids fall down into the ground and get soaked up. It’s science, folks, not Satan or whatever.”
Sam shifts, uneasy, in his seat, the notepad still blank. “Right...”
“What newspaper did you two say you worked for?” the sheriff asks.
It takes Dean a second to remember their cover, then he clears his throat and says, “Weekly World News.”
“Well, tell your boss I better not see any of that ritual nonsense printed in his paper,” the sheriff says before gesturing through the door. “Now, get out of my office.”
Next, they try their luck at the morgue. They don lab coats and approach the intern behind the desk.
“Why aren’t you at the meeting?” Dean demands to know, hands on his hips.
The intern looks up from the computer, startled, “W-what meeting?”
“The meeting about the new, uh, regulations,” Dean says, feigning impatience. “God, kid, don’t you ever pay attention?”
The intern’s face turns bright red. “I’m going right now,” he stammers. He scrambles out of the room and down the hall before Dean can get in another word.
Now alone, Dean turns to Sam and asks, “Those Satanists in Massachusetts - they marked their victims, right?”
“Yeah,” Sam says. “With a reverse pentacle on the forehead.”
Dean grabs gloves from a box on the desk and hands a pair to Sam as they make their way over to the refrigerators. They put them on while they search for the door labeled for Christina Flannigan. When they find it, they open it and slide out the tray.
Christina’s body is covered by a sheet. Between her calves, a white, plastic container has been placed. Dean takes the box and sets it on a nearby examination table. He opens it, revealing Christina’s head and part of her neck. He brushes her hair aside to look at her forehead. “No pentagram,” he announces.
Sam moves the box away from Dean and turns it toward himself. He parts Christina’s lips.
Dean watches him, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “What are you doing?”
“Sometimes they’ll leave a brand inside the mouth,” Sam says. As he lifts up her top lip, tiny holes become visible in her gums. With his free hand, he pokes at them and sharp teeth pop out. He draws his hand back, surprised.
Dean tilts his head to get a better look. “Those are fangs. Vampire fangs.”
Sam lets Christina’s lips close. “Well, this changes things.”
That evening, they retire to a bar to reassess. Sitting at the bar itself, nursing two beers, they strike up a conversation with the bartender.
“We’re looking for some people,” Sam says. He passes a $50 bill across to him. “Is there any place in the area where people are known to squat? You know, somewhere where no one will bother them?”
The bartender takes the bill and laughs. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Do you know where you’re at?”
Sam’s face scrunches up, puzzled by the bartender’s reaction. “What do you mean?”
“Gary, Indiana is the most unoccupied city in America,” the bartender says. “A third of all houses are abandoned. So, yeah, there’s plenty of places to hide.”
Sam switches to a grimace. “Great.” He downs the rest of his beer.
He and Dean head out not longer after. As they do, a man a few years older than Dean gets up from further down the bar and follows them.
In the parking lot, as they near the Impala, the man calls, “Hey!”
Sam and Dean turn back. When the man reaches them, he asks, “You’re hunters, aren’t you?”
Unaccustomed to being approached this way, Sam and Dean exchange a hesitant glance.
“I heard you talking to the bartender,” the man continues. “About the abandoned houses. You’re looking for the vampires.”
When the brothers still appear wary, the man pulls up his top lip, uncovering normal gums. “No fangs. Don’t worry.”
Sam eases up a little, a realization blooming. “You’re the one who’s been killing them. You’re a hunter, too.”
The man smiles. “Gordon Walker,” he says, holding out his hand. “And who might you be?”
“Sam Winchester,” Sam says as they shake. “And this is my brother, Dean.”
As Gordon turns to take Dean’s hand, his eyebrows shoot up. “Really? I met your old man once - great hunter. I heard he passed. I’m sorry.”
Sam and Dean both look away for a moment and give, in unison, a pained, “Thanks.”
Gordon’s gaze drifts between the two of them, his hands back at his sides. “You’ve got some big shoes to fill. Though I hear you guys are pretty good as it is.”
Dean doesn’t take the compliment. Instead, he wants to know, “Where’d you hear that?”
Gordon shrugs. “Hunters talk,” he says. “Though I guess you probably don’t know that. You’re reclusive, like your dad.”
Made uncomfortable by the comment, Sam shifts the conversation back to, “The vampires - are there any more? Do you know where they’re hiding?”
Gordon shakes his head. “Every time I think I’ve tracked them down, they’ve already moved somewhere else. And like the bartender said - there’s plenty of places they can go.”
“We’ll help you, then,” Dean says. “The three of us can cover more ground. They can’t hide forever.”
Gordon chuckles. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve got this one covered.”
Dean frowns, not wanting to leave it at that. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” Gordon says. “I’m really a go-it-alone type of guy. But it was nice meeting you. If we run into each other again, I’ll buy you a drink.” With that, he turns and walks toward a red El Camino.
Sam and Dean watch as he gets in and drives off.
At a local history museum, the night security guard sits behind his desk, half asleep, until he hears a noise from somewhere among the exhibits.
Jolting fully into consciousness, he gets up and walks down the hall, searching for someone or something out of place.
As he passes a display on Octave Chanute, the father of flight, Gordon slips out from behind a model plane and brings up his axe. He swings.
The guard sees him just in time and ducks, then shoves Gordon, making him stumble. He runs deeper into the museum.
He doesn’t get very far before Dean appears, stepping into his path. He tries to backtrack, but before he can, Dean raises a machete and cuts clean through his neck.
As head and body hit the ground, Sam, with Gordon at his heels, approaches and look down at them. He kneels beside the head and peels back the top lip to inspect the gums. He finds the same kind of holes that Christina had.
Gordon looks to Dean, who is standing quietly, covered in blood. “So I guess I’ve got to buy you that drink.”
After Dean has changed and wiped the blood from his face and hands, he, Sam, and Gordon return to the same bar from before and sit together at a table, each drinking a beer as they share hunting stories.
Gordon laughs. “A kraken? Come on, be serious.”
“Unfortunately, I am,” Dean says, his mood light and relaxed, the alcohol starting to have an effect on him.
Gordon sits back in his chair, impressed. “You two really are something else. The tales people tell about you don’t do you justice.”
Dean smiles. “Thanks.”
Sam yawns. He turns to Dean. “I’m gonna go back to the motel. I need some rest.”
“So soon?” Gordon asks, disappointed.
Dean reaches into his pocket and pulls out the keys to the Impala. He tosses them to Sam. “Here. You can take Baby.”
“Yeah, the motel’s just down the street. I’ll walk.”
“Probably safer,” Gordon comments before taking a drink.
Sam stands up. “Okay. You guys keep having fun.” He navigates his way through the other tables and exits the bar.
Not much later, Sam enters a motel room, takes his jacket off, and flops down onto one of the beds. Almost instantly, his eyes drift shut.
Back at the bar, Dean is in the middle of another story, “...So I picked up this crossbow and I hit this guy right in the heart with a silver-tipped arrow. I was 16 years old. All I could think about was what other kids my age were probably doing just then - worrying about acne, going to prom... But here I was dealing with things they’d never even dream about. I guess that’s when I sort of embraced it all, embraced the life.”
Gordon nods, understanding.
“How’d you get started?” Dean asks. “Was it a family thing, too?”
Gordon hesitates. “No... not exactly,” he starts slowly. “I was 18 years old. I was home alone with my little sister, Angela, while our parents were out on their weekly date night. I heard the window break in her room, so I grabbed our dad’s gun, thinking it was a burglar. But when I got there... there was a vampire on top of her, its fangs already sunk into her throat. I shot at it, but it didn’t do any good. It just... kept going until it was done. Then it left, back the way it came. And when I got to Angela’s side, she was...” he’s unable to finish.
“I’m sorry,” Dean says.
Gordon barely hears him. “My parents blamed me, thought I should have been able to do something. I suppose they were right, in a way. So I left home, bummed around looking for information - how you track them, how you kill them. And eventually... I got pretty good. And, by chance, I came across the bastard who killed my sister.” His teeth bare themselves at the memory. “It wasn’t my first kill, but it was my best.”
Dean studies him. “That must have felt good.”
“It did,” Gordon confirms. “But what about you - have you found what killed your dad?”
Dean delays his response for a moment by taking another drink. Then he says, “No, not yet.”
“You will,” Gordon assures him.
Dean looks at him a little sheepishly. “Yeah. And hey... thanks for this, man. I can’t talk about this stuff with Sam.”
“Of course not,” Gordon agrees. “He’s your little brother, your responsibility. You’ve gotta keep your game face on.”
“Exactly,” Dean says. “I don’t know if you can tell, but, uh... I’m not really handling it very well. I feel like I have this...”
“Pit inside you?” Gordon finishes. “And it just gets bigger and bigger and darker and darker?”
Gordon reaches across the table and pats him on the shoulder. “Good. You can use that. It’s what’ll make you a great hunter. And there’s plenty out there that needs someone like you after it.”
In the motel room, Sam, still asleep, is startled awake by his phone ringing. He groans and begrudgingly answers, “Hello?”
“Hey, Sam,” Ellen Harvelle’s voice comes through.
Sam sits up, wide awake. “Ellen. Did Charlie find something? Did she get an alert?”
“No, not yet,” Ellen says. “I have a case I wanted to pass your way, if you and Dean are interested.”
Sam rubs his eyes. “I don’t think so. We’re in Indiana hunting vampires with Gordon Walker.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line followed by, “Did you say Gordon Walker?”
“No, no, no,” Ellen says, urgency suddenly in her tone. “You shouldn’t be working with him.”
“Why?” Sam asks. “He seems like a good hunter.”
“He is a good hunter. But not a good person.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he’s dangerous,” Ellen says. “If you don’t believe me, talk to Madi.”
“She used to work with him.”
“She did. Now Sam - you and your brother get out of there and let Gordon finish the hunt on his own. Do you hear me?” Ellen asks, though it’s more like an order.
Sam frowns. “Yeah. I hear you.”
“You know why I love this life?” Gordon is saying, his and Dean’s table now littered with shot glasses.
Dean takes a drink. “Hmm?”
Gordon does the same. “There’s no grey area. You just get to go out, find the bad thing, and kill it.”
Sam throws his jacket back on and hurries out of the motel room. As he’s about to start, on foot, to the bar, a truck - Madi’s truck - pulls into the motel parking lot and stops in front of him. Madi gets out.
Sam turns to her. “Madi?”
“Sam,” Madi says back to him. She looks anxious. “Where’s Dean?”
Sam points down the road. “He’s at a bar with Gordon Walker.”
Recognition and panic crosses Madi’s expression. But she makes no move in the direction Sam indicated. Instead, she gestures toward her truck. “Would you mind coming with me somewhere?”
“What about Dean?”
“He’ll be fine for now,” Madi says. “I need to show you something.”
“Show me what?”
Madi hesitates. “It’ll be easier to explain if you just come with me.”
Uncertain, but trusting Madi, Sam gets into the passenger seat without any further questions.
Madi breathes a sigh of relief. She gets back behind the wheel.
They drive through the city until they reach an abandoned farmhouse along the outskirts. The windows are boarded up and vegetation grows along the exterior walls and into a hole in the roof.
Madi parks the truck. She gets out. As Sam does the same, she goes to the back and pulls out a cooler.
“What are we doing here?” Sam asks.
In answer, Madi goes up to the farmhouse door and opens it. As she moves inside, she holds it open for Sam to follow. He does.
They step into a living room crowded with worn furniture. A half dozen people sit and stand about. They look up, wary, at the new arrivals.
Madi guides Sam through the room and into the kitchen, where a brown-skinned woman, seemingly somewhere in her mid-thirties, with black curls falling down to her shoulders, sits at a table, one of the legs replaced by a large pile of books. She is reading another, flipping the pages with one hand and casually holding a glass with the other. The glass is filled with what appears to be blood. She takes a drink.
Madi places the cooler on the table. When the woman looks up and sees her, she smiles. She puts the glass down and stands. She and Madi walk to each other and embrace like old friends.
“It’s good to see you,” the woman says.
“You too,” Madi responds.
Sam’s jaw drops open. “What the hell?”
As the two women break apart, Sam stares between them. He reaches under his jacket for his gun, but realizes he’s come unarmed. “Madi, what the hell?”
Madi turns back to him. “Sam, it’s okay.”
Eyes wide, Sam looks past her to the other woman. “You’re a vampire.” He looks over his shoulder into the living room at the rest of the farmhouse's occupants. “Are they vampires, too?”
“Yes... and yes,” the woman says. “My name is Iris, and I promise you, whatever weapon you were grabbing for, you don’t need. No one here is going to hurt you. And we’d, of course, appreciate the same courtesy.”
Sam sneers. “You expect me to believe that?”
Iris sighs. “I expect you to believe Madi wouldn’t have brought you here if she thought any harm would come to you.”
Sam falters. He glances at Madi. “I don’t understand.”
Iris goes to the table and opens the cooler. It’s filled to the brim with bags of donated blood. “You’ve been taught that vampires kill humans. In some cases, this is unfortunately true. But it isn’t always.” She picks one of the bags out of the cooler, then takes her glass to the sink and pours it out. “I typically drink bagged blood, but my usual supplier flaked out. We had to turn to cattle.”
“So you are responsible for the mutilations,” Sam says.
Iris nods. “Yes. And I have to say, it’s disgusting.” She pulls a knife out of her pocket and cuts a hole in the bag, pouring the contents into the newly empty glass. She takes a long drink.
Sam watches, perplexed.
When the glass is drained once again, she sets it down, grabs some more glasses from a cabinet, cleaner than the rest of the house, and takes them and the cooler into the living room. She passes the glasses out to the others and puts the cooler down for them to reach into.
As the vampires drink and talk quietly amongst themselves, Sam turns to Madi. “What is this? You brought them blood?”
By way of explanation, Madi says, “Another vampire came into town, turned a bunch of people,” she gestures into the living room, “plus the three you and Dean and Gordon killed, against their will, then left. Newly turned and on their own... it was hard to control the urges. There were a few human deaths before the news made it to me. I contacted Iris to see if she could help. She reached back out when they ran out of blood, but it took me a while to round some up. Then I heard about Gordon...”
“Iris isn’t one of them?” Sam asks. “I mean, she isn’t from here?”
“No,” Madi answers shortly.
“And this is a usual sort of thing for her?”
“What does she do with them once she gets them, uh, fed?”
“She takes them somewhere safe.”
Sam raises an eyebrow at the ambiguity. “How’d you keep other hunters from getting wind of the human murders?”
Madi doesn’t answer.
Sam scoffs. “They did hear about it, you just steered them away.”
“I did,” Madi admits.
“Except for Gordon,” Sam concludes. “What, he knows you well enough to know it was bull?”
“More or less.”
“Are you the reason Ellen thinks he’s so dangerous?” Sam asks. “Did you lie to her, too? To keep anyone from believing anything he said about you?”
“No,” Madi says firmly. “That he did on his own.”
“And Julie knows about all of this?”
Sam isn’t sure whether he believes her. “Do I wanna ask what happened between you and Gordon? Or how you know Iris?”
For the first time, Madi looks uncomfortable. “Those are stories better left for another time.”
Before Sam can say anything in response, Iris returns to the kitchen. “Did you get to the reason you brought him here?” she asks Madi.
But Sam’s already figured it out. “Now that Gordon’s got your scent, he’s gonna track you wherever you go. Neither of you can persuade him to stop, so you want me to do it.”
“No one else has to die,” Madi insists.
“What about Dean?” Sam asks. “You know if I agree to do this, he’ll have to be convinced, too.”
Madi is troubled by the statement, but unsurprised. “If you can convince Gordon, you can convince Dean.”
Sam shakes his head. “Madi, why are you doing this?”
Madi only shrugs.
Dean and Gordon have left the bar and gone to Sam and Dean’s motel room. On the desk, Gordon has laid out a map of Gary, on which he’s marked several locations. “They seem to keep to the edges of the city, but sometimes they’ll venture inside. It’s been hard to establish a pattern.”
“It sounds like they know how to cover their tracks,” Dean says, his mouth opening wide in a yawn. “Man, what time is it? And where is Sam? I thought he came back here for some shut eye hours ago.”
Gordon keeps studying the map. “Your car’s out front. Maybe he went for a walk.”
Just then, the door to the room opens and Sam steps inside, alone.
“Where you been?” Dean asks.
Sam briefly looks in Gordon’s direction before addressing Dean, “Can I talk to you outside for a minute?”
“Yeah, sure,” Dean says. He holds up a finger to Gordon, who nods, then follows Sam into the motel parking lot. Madi, nor her truck, are anywhere in sight.
“We’ve gotta rethink this hunt,” Sam says at once.
“What are you talking about?” Dean asks. “Where were you, anyway?”
Sam fidgets, then stuffs his hands into his pockets. “With Madi... in the house where the vampires are hiding out.”
Dean blinks. “What? What is Madi doing here? Is she the one who found them? Why didn’t you guys call me and Gordon?”
“Better question - how many did you kill?”
Dean gapes at him. “What do you mean?”
“They’re not hurting anyone,” Sam says. “They’re just trying to survive.”
“Is this some of Madi’s hippie crap?” Dean asks. “You’re not really buying into that, are you?”
Sam stands his ground, “It’s not crap, Dean. Not this time. I saw it with my own eyes. They’re drinking bagged blood. Or animal blood, if they have to.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Where are they?”
Sam’s eyes narrow. “I’m not telling you that.”
“Like hell you’re not!” Dean snaps. “Sam, I know there’s a part of you that still knows they’re dangerous. Come on.”
Sam exhales. “They’re on a farm just outside the city. I won’t tell you exactly where. And even if I did, they’re probably not there anymore. I’m not sure how much they trusted me.”
Dean turns back to the motel room. “Well, that helps to narrow it down, at least.”
Sam watches him go. “You’re actually going to try and search for them? After everything I just said?”
“Damn right!” Dean shouts over his shoulder. “They’re vampires, Sam. They’re not human. That means we kill them. End of story.”
“No, not end of story,” Sam argues. “We kill things - we hunt things - that are actively trying to do harm, not innocents.”
As Dean reaches the door, he turns back and gives a bitter laugh. “Wow, the next time the Impala breaks down, we’re staying somewhere other than Madi’s. She got into your head worse than I thought.” He opens the door, still facing toward Sam. “So are you gonna help us find them or not?”
“By ‘us’ do you mean you and Gordon?”
“No,” Sam says. “I’m not going anywhere with him. Madi and Ellen both say he’s bad news.”
Dean wavers slightly at the mention of Ellen. “We barely know her.”
“But we do know Madi!”
“Not really! Not since we were kids.”
“Okay, fine. But you are gonna trust Gordon, who we literally just met hours ago?” Sam asks. “Dean, you can’t use him as a replacement for Dad.”
“We can pretend all we want, but we’re both still hurting,” Sam says. “And that’s okay! That’s actually normal. But that’s not an excuse to make reckless decisions.”
Dean starts into the motel room. “Whatever-” He freezes.
Sam frowns. “What is it?”
“Gordon’s not here.”
Across the parking lot, a car growls to life, it’s headlights shining on. As it pulls out of it’s space, they can see that it’s Gordon’s El Camino, with Gordon himself behind the wheel. They watch as he and it peel out of the lot and shoot off down the street.
“Do you think he heard us? Do you think he’s going after the vamps?” Sam asks.
“Most likely,” Dean says.
Sam pulls the keys to the Impala out of his pocket. “Then we have to stop him.”
“Or we could lend him a hand.”
Sam walks around to the driver’s side of the Impala. “Would you just give me the benefit of the doubt? Please?”
Dean sighs. He closes the motel room door. “We’ll see,” he says. “But if we’re gonna do this, I’m driving.”
At the farm, Iris and the other vampires are packing their few belongings into a van hidden in a dilapidated barn. Madi is helping.
“We can’t keep moving around like this,” one of the vampires complains to Iris. “We just got here.”
“Yeah. When are we gonna leave Gary?” another asks. “You said we weren’t gonna be stuck here forever, that we’d have a permanent home.”
“And how many more of us are these hunters going to take before we get there?”
Iris glances at Madi. “No more, not if I can help it,” she says. “You will all have a home. We’ll go there once I know it’s safe. We just can’t have anyone following us.”
The vampires nod and begrudgingly keep packing.
Iris rummages through a bag. “I think I left my book inside. I’ll be right back.”
She slips out of the barn and walks toward the house. As she reaches the front door, she hears footsteps behind her.
She spins around and is confronted with Gordon, who is holding a syringe containing a red substance. He jabs it into her neck and presses the plunger, injecting her with the contents. Almost instantly, she collapses to the ground.
In the barn, one of the other vampires sees this through a crack in the door and lets out a yelp. Gordon turns his head.
Madi grabs the vampire's arm and drags them back to the van. She gestures to the others. “Get in.”
They all open their mouths to argue, but Madi silences them. “We don’t have time for that. We have to go. Right now.”
The vampires do as they’re told. Madi gets behind the wheel.
As Gordon starts in the direction of the barn, the van speeds out of it, breaking down the door and quickly disappearing down the road into the night.
Gordon looks back at Iris. “Guess it’s just you and me, bitch.”
Gordon has taken Iris inside the farmhouse and tied her to a chair in the living room. She is partially awake, though clearly in pain, her body trembling.
The front door opens and Sam and Dean appear in the doorway.
Gordon smiles at them. “Hey! Come on in.”
As they do, Dean scans the space. “Where’s Madi? Her truck is outside.”
“She took the others and left in a van,” Gordon says. He shakes his head. “You know, she used to be a good hunter, great even. Then she met this one and got soft.” He digs a knife into Iris’ cheek. She lets out a moan.
Sam focuses in on the vampire. “What’d you do to her? Why is she like that?”
Gordon holds up the empty syringe. “I gave her a dose of dead man’s blood. It’s like poison to vamps. It’ll be a while before she recovers. Which means we can have our fun with her first.” He tosses a knife at Dean. “Maybe she’ll even tell us where her friends went.”
Dean weighs the knife in his hands, uneasy. “If we need to kill her, we kill her. We don’t need to torture her. We can find the others another way.”
Gordon raises an eyebrow. “If?”
Dean tries to backtrack, “You know what I mean-”
“Do I?” Gordon asks. “I heard the little conversation the two of you had. It sounds like Sammy here doesn’t want to play anymore. Are you going the same way?”
“Good,” Gordon says. He picks up his axe, leaning against the wall. “I understand torture isn’t for everyone. If you want me to kill her, I can kill her. We can get out there and start hunting for the rest before the sun comes up.”
Dean hesitates. “Look, man, I’m not saying that most of these sons of bitches don’t need to die. The one who killed your sister? They deserved what they got.” He looks at Sam, then Iris. “But maybe... just maybe, it isn’t always the way to go.”
Gordon chuckles. “So you have gone soft.”
Without warning, he lurches forward and shoves his axe into Sam’s hand, then pulls a gun from his waistband and points it at him.
Dean drops the knife, grabs for his own gun, and aims it at Gordon. “What the hell are you doing?”
With his gun, Gordon directs Sam toward Iris. “I’m gonna let your brother kill this fang.”
“It doesn’t look like you're letting him do anything.”
“Oh yeah? Are you jealous?” Gordon asks. “Don’t worry - I’ll let you have some of the others, when we find them.”
Dean sneers. “If you hurt my brother, I swear-”
“If that’s what I wanted to do, I’d have done it already.”
Undeterred, Dean moves around to get a better angle on Gordon. As he does, he gets a view into the kitchen, where empty bags of blood are piled up in the sink. He frowns.
Sam grips the axe firmly in his hand, though his gaze isn’t on Iris, but Gordon. “We’re done here.”
He raises the axe up. As he’s about to bring it back down, a shot rings out. Gordon is propelled backward as a bullet rips through the shoulder of his gun hand.
His gun goes off, shooting past Sam into the wall behind him, before clattering to the floor.
With Gordon stunned and unarmed, Sam takes the opportunity to tackle him to the ground.
Dean, his own gun unfired, looks around and finds Madi standing just beyond the front door, pained etched across her features and a gun hanging loosely from her hand.
She steps inside and goes to Iris, quickly untying her. She holds out the rope for Sam to use on Gordon.
As Sam takes it and binds Gordon’s wrists and ankles, Gordon looks up and sees Madi. He laughs. “Perhaps you’re not as soft as I thought.”
Madi doesn’t respond. Instead, she slings one of Iris’ arms around her shoulders and helps her stand. The two of them slowly make their way out of the farmhouse. Dean watches, but makes no move to stop them.
Sam lifts Gordon up and places him into the just vacated chair. When he’s done, Dean, his gun still trained on Gordon, says, “Hey, can you go check on Madi and, uh, Iris?”
Sam glances between the two hunters warily, but says, “Okay,” and goes outside.
When they’re alone, Dean finally puts his gun down. He goes into the kitchen, finds a clean-enough towel and uses it to press into Gordon’s wound. Gordon barely winces, his expression gone hard, his eyes staring straight ahead.
“You’ll be able to tend to this yourself, won’t you?” Dean asks.
Gordon doesn’t answer.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” Dean says. He looks into the kitchen at the blood bags and continues, “I’ve got to admit, I’m not crazy about the idea of vampires being good. It makes the job a hell of a lot harder.”
“Then don’t let it,” Gordon says. His eyes drift up to meet Dean’s. “Letting that grey area in won’t do you a bit of good. Not now, not ever.”
Dean sighs. “Maybe it will, maybe it won’t. I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m not that one that was just shot and tied up by people I once considered friends.”
He bends down and picks up the discarded knife. He tosses it a few feet in front of Gordon. “With you being injured and all, I’m guessing it’ll take you a few hours to get to that and cut the ropes. By that time, the rest of us, vampires and all, will be long gone. Do yourself a favor - don’t try and follow.”
With that, he drops his hand from Gordon’s shoulder and moves past him out the door.
Outside, the sun is just starting to come up. Dean finds Sam waiting for him beside the Impala. Madi’s truck, along with Madi and Iris, are gone, the van left abandoned off to the side of the house.
“Did I miss anything?” Sam asks.
Dean shakes his head. “Not really,” he says. “Did Madi and Iris get out okay?”
Sam nods. “Yeah. They went to meet up with the others. Then I guess they’ll be leaving the city for who-knows-where.”
“Good,” Dean says. “I guess our work here is done.”
As he opens the door to the Impala, Sam asks, “What made you change your mind? Why’d you let Iris go? Why are you ‘good’ with letting the rest go?”
Dean fidgets with the door handle. He doesn’t answer for a moment, then says, “I was just thinking... all the hunts we’ve been on in our whole lives? How many have we killed that didn’t deserve it? I know that’s the way Dad raised us, but... this seems like as good a way as any to start to settle that score.”
Sam’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised by the response. “So you’d be open to not killing in the future?”
Still somewhat uncomfortable with the notion, Dean slides into the driver’s seat, out of Sam’s view. “We’ll see how it goes.”
Sam smiles, optimistic. “Good.” He walks around to the passenger side and gets in.
Dean starts up the engine and they drive off, leaving Gordon and the farmhouse in the dust behind them.