Whispers in the Night

Chapter 5: Hot-Blooded

"There's the Impala!" Dean called out when he spotted Baby parked at the pull-off. "Exactly where Chloe said she'd stopped. We're finally catching a break."

Peter parked the car next to the Impala, his war face already in place. "You said you have an extra machete?"

"You can use Sam's if he didn't take it." Dean opened the car door. "We'll be able to leave as soon as we smear ourselves with skunk cabbage and grab the machetes. How are you at dart-throwing?"

"Darts against vampires? Are you sure you're fully recovered?" Peter popped the trunk of the Taurus and tossed him a plastic bag.

"These aren't ordinary darts," Dean said. He reached into the bag for a handful of leaves and wiped himself down, clamping back the urge to retch.

"Care to clue me in?"

"You're not satisfied to know I got special darts? The stuff inside these babies is a poison. It makes vamps so sick they can't move for several minutes and that gives you time to behead them. You're better off not knowing what the poison is. We don't have many of them, so make sure each one counts."

Peter's frown deepened. "What kind of poison?"

Dean shrugged. "Your call. It's dead man's blood." As Peter's eyes bulged in shock, he added, "And don't bother asking me how I got it. We're wasting time."

Peter started to speak, checked himself, and nodded. "How many darts do you have?"

"Two for each of us." Dean headed to the Impala. "And don't give me any grief about what you see in the trunk."

Peter had his hands on his hips, but Dean ignored him as he raised the lid. He couldn't hold back a smile when he saw his gear—guns, ammo, blades, everything the well-equipped hunter needed in his arsenal. Hold on, Sam. Your badass brother's back and loaded.

Minutes later they were trudging down the dirt path that, based on the GPS coordinates transmitted from Neal's watch, would lead them to at least Neal and more than likely Sam too. He and Peter both smelled like rotten meat from the skunk cabbage. Was it worse than tramping in the sewers? Maybe. On the Winchester odor-meter it was hovering close to the bottom—well below sulfur but a damn sight better than freshly exhumed coffin stench.

Gotta give Peter points. He didn't complain. For a fed, he wasn't a total dick.

Power poles stretched along the path indicated something was getting electricity. Sam called about two hours ago. They should still be alive. The vamps would have taken them to their nest and probably hadn't started feasting. Unless they got provoked.

Were the vamps the cause of the missing person reports? Dean knew he should have followed up on them. He'd been sloppy. Now Sam was paying the price, and it was Dean's fault.

"He'll be with Neal," Peter muttered. "He'll be okay."

"Yeah, probably. It's just ... he's my brother, you know. It's different for you. I'm not saying you and Neal aren't close—it's pretty obvious you are—but you're not kin. You don't have the same blood flowing in you."

Peter didn't answer. The frogs were now their allies, helping to mask any sound they made. At the speed they were going, the signal appeared to be about fifteen minutes from the road. Peter had a device that enabled him to track the signal. Dean longed to have similar equipment for him and Sam. It'd make their lives so much simpler. Maybe they could work out a trade.

They were in stealth mode, hiding behind trees and on constant alert for vamps. The narrow path cut through dense woods. No way could Baby have plowed through it. The woods were a stroke of luck though. They provided good cover.