are you fucking kidding me?; even more hunting husbands
The vamp nest is an old school New England farmhouse, two stories and a roof that sags over the porch, the ground floor lopsided from new rooms being tacked on over the years. The lock on the front door is so rusted that Sam snaps two lock-picks before the tumbler even starts to jiggle. The vamps probably go in and out through the back, but the yard is so overgrown that a guy could get lost in it. Dean hadn’t wanted to risk bumping into some bloodsucker taking is morning piss.
“Almost got it,” Sam whispers, easing the lock-pick back to reposition it. A few brown-red rust flakes follow it out, smearing on the back of his hand when he tries to brush them off. “Just another sec.”
“There’s a window around the side that isn’t boarded,” Cas points out.
“Yeah, if I – wait.” The lock clicks and Sam nods. “Got it.”
Dean eases his machete out of his belt. “All right. How many do we think are in there?”
“I counted three at the bar,” Sam says. “The bartender said they usually come in with two other guys.”
“Two more at the pool hall,” Cas adds, hooking his finger in Dean’s back pocket. He gets that way right before go-time, likes to be close.
Dean leans into him a little, tipping his head back until he can feel Cas breathing against his collar. Sam doesn’t quite roll his eyes. “That chick at the liquor store – I don’t know. Solid maybe.”
“So… at least seven, maybe eight,” Sam says.
Eight would make it almost three-to-one, but Dean has worked with worse odds and come out on top. “Okay, let’s do this.”
Just as he reaches for the doorknob, it rattles from the inside. The door creaks open on cranky hinges, and a short, blonde vamp snarls at them, her lips pulled back around a mouthful of nasty teeth.
Sam rams his machete through her throat. She hits the door on the way down, and it groans like a Halloween sound effect as it swings back.
“So much for surprising them,” Cas mutters.
There are two more waiting for them just inside, but they’re still blinking the sleep out of their eyes, and Dean and Cas take them down almost in tandem. The farmhouse falls silent, and Dean glances around the room. It has three doors leading in three different directions; Sam checks out the one on the left, then shakes his head, mouthing, “Kitchen,” as he gestures for them to keep going.
The next room has three vamps in it; Dean kills the one napping on the couch right beside the door, but the floor whines as he stumble-steps out of the blood spray, just loud enough to wake the other two up. The first one dies quick; the other one manages to shout before Cas takes off his head.
“That’s six,” Dean says, palming Cas’ hip.
There’s a grunt in the front room, then the dull, meaty thud of a dropping body, and then Sam comes through the door and says, “Seven.”
Cas brushes Dean’s wrist, his fingers skimming over the thrum of Dean’s pulse. “Upstairs.”
Just as the crowd back into the front room, footsteps shuffle and creak over head. A vamp runs halfway down the stairs, pausing long enough to shout, “Hunters!” over his shoulder. Two more come down after him, then two more, then two more.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean says.
Cas touches the small of Dean’s back, and then it’s on.