Vamp (DR Story)

The first of a collection of stories from my desired reality (REALITY SHIFTING) ~~~~~~ wc: 1386

I slowly open my eyes, but not fully. I don’t know where she’s taken me; she could be in the other room or something. For the time being, I need to appear as if I’m still unconscious. 

I steady my breathing to match my previously labored breathing. I wait a few minutes. Nothing. I think she drugged me with something. I feel fatigued; like I can’t move efficiently. That’s gonna screw with my potential escape plan, for sure. It’s hard to fully open my eyes, but I do anyway as I try to move my hands. They’re bound to the back of the cheap wooden chair I’m seated in. My ankles are tied to the legs of the chair with rope.

 

It could easily be cut with a sharp object, but I don’t have one on me; not that I could get to, anyway. The vamp took all my weapons, except for the small kunai that I keep in my shoe. One could argue to not do that as my foot could be cut, but I find it convenient on occasion when my hands aren’t tied up. 

I look around to assess my surroundings and calculate an escape route. It appears that I’m in some kind of hotel; an old one, judging by the peeling wallpaper and the few light fixtures. The lights seem to flicker on and off about every two minutes.  

This stupid chair is in the middle of the room. Again, I try wiggling out of the rope that binds me to the chair, but nothing. Damn it. The rope’s too tight and so are the knots. Why do some vamps have to be smart? At this point, I’m sort of hyperventilating. I haven’t ever been a hostage before. Or bait. Guess I’m both now. I have no way of warning Sam and Dean; they’re probably on their way now anyway. Idiots. Suddenly, I hear a sharp knock at the door.  

The vamp opens the door slowly and slams it once she’s inside. I give the ropes one last try, and they still won’t move an inch. She stalks towards me and begins to walk circles around the chair. When she opens her mouth, a haunting voice flows out of it. 

“Pleased to meet you, Sparrow.” Against my better judgement, I decide to talk.

Maybe I can stall until the Winchesters get here. 

“How do you know who I am?” I glare at her. 

“I don’t think you’re in a position to be asking questions, your majesty.” She spits out. 

“Alright, here’s a simple one-- what do you want?” Straight and to the point. She doesn’t hesitate to respond. 

“You’re one of the most powerful psychics in the game, and you’re wondering why I’m keeping you here? You may be a strong clairvoyant, but you’re dumb as rocks.” She stops walking and steps right in front of me, reaching a hand into her back pocket. She pulls out a small silver knife. 

“Tell me about Lucifer,” She demands. “Or I’ll cut off your fingers... one by one. And we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?” A sly grin spreads across her face, as if she’s already got what she wants. 

The knife confuses me a little; she could just use her fangs. I don’t say anything, and she’s on me within seconds. She presses the end of the blade into my cheekbone, and I feel a sharp sting on my face. I can feel my own blood beginning to blossom at the tip of the knife. I try to pull away at once, but she grabs my jaw with her free hand and holds my head in place.  

I grunt. The blade digs deeper and deeper down into my cheek, and I grit my teeth, trying not to make a sound. I’m still breathing heavily; it hurts like hell. In one swift motion, she cuts down, leaving a stream of blood across my face. I cry out, then bite my lip. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction. She takes a small step back and examines me, figuring out her next move on how to get me to talk. 

“Why would you want to know about Lucifer?” I spit out. “You’re a vampire. He hates your kind.” I say, spitefully. 

“Shut it, pretty boy. You want the same thing done to the other side of your face?” She says, menacingly. “Does Lucifer start the apocalypse?” She jabs. 

“No, he starts up a burger joint. Can we talk about something else now?” I don’t want to give away anything, even if it doesn’t seem important. It very well might be, and I just have no idea. 

My witty sarcasm might possibly be the death of me. 

“I can’t believe you’re keeping this information for a couple idiots that share a single brain cell.” She chuckles, then glares at me again. I roll my eyes at her. 

“Listen, you--” She starts. 

Someone instantly bursts through the door, machete in hand. It's Sam. He gets one look at the vamp in front of me and dives for her. He tackles her to the ground, facing much resistance.  

I watch from my chair as her eyes change color... from brown, to crimson.

Oh, god. Please, not now.  

She seems to gain much more strength as she pushes Sam off her. He flies back and hits the wall, hard. He groans as he drops to the floor. 

Then she looks to me. 

“You’ll be first.” She says, grinning. When she spoke, her voice got deeper. It almost sounded like... No. Lucifer's in the pit. It can't be.

 Her eyes roll back in her head and flick back to brown, and Sam slices her head clean off, a look of disdain across his face. He’s breathing hard, harder than I’ve been breathing. 

Dean rushes through the swung-open door and does a double take at the scene in front of him. 

Me, tied to an old chair, and Sam, holding a blood-covered machete and standing over a decapitated fang. I have no idea why he showed up late, but a rescue’s a rescue, right? He drops his own machete on the ground. 

Sam wipes his weapon on his jacket as he lets Dean rush over to me.  

“What’d I miss.” He mutters, as he bends down to untie the binding restricting my ankles. I surprised myself back there with the talking and all. 

I guess the drug in my system was beginning to wear off or something. Dean gets the rope off my ankles and begins on my wrists. Sam struggles to get to his feet, then walks over and watches Dean untie me. He stands over us. 

“Sparrow, what-- I,” Sam takes a breath and looks at me, concerned. “What did she mean? When she said that... y’know. ‘You’ll be first.’” He asks curiously.

 

I know what she meant. I’m just not ready to tell them yet. 

“Get me out of here, then we’ll talk. Promise. Ah--” The pain in my cheek stings, and as soon as my hands are free, I place one on the fresh wound. They look at me with caution. 

“You good?” Dean asks, placing his own hand over top of mine. Our hands rest on my face as I tell them that I’m fine. He tries to lift my hand up to see my cheek, but I keep it firm on my face. Dean drops his hand. I look up at both of them. 

“We should leave. I just don’t know if I’m able to, she-- she pumped me full of something. Some kind of drug. It seems to be affecting certain areas in my body and not others. I can’t-- I can’t move my legs.” I try to shake my legs, but they won't budge. No one’s ever done this to me before, I don’t know what to do. I can’t do anything.  

Dean stands beside me and reaches one arm under my legs and the other around my back. He lifts me up in his arms, and we journey back downstairs. I sling my arm around his neck so I don’t fall. 

“Never do that again.” He says to me, with a serious tone. 

I roll my eyes. 

“It’s not like I tried to, dummy.” He ignores me. 

“We have to get that cut disinfected and patched up when we get back.” 

I nod in agreement.