Blood Debt

Chapter 12

It was the yelling that roused him, his brother's voice cursing or calling for help-Sam sat bolt upright, snapping awake as if icy water had been dumped on him. His gaze darted around the dimly lit room. Yellow curtains with flowers were closed against the gold of morning sunlight that edged its fabric. The room was painted a light color, maybe white, and a floral border ran along the top of the wall. An old wooden dresser was against the wall opposite the wooden-framed bed in which Sam lay. Beside the bed was a white ceramic lamp with a creamy colored cylindrical shade. His bedspread was a quilt made up of swatches of whites and yellows and reds.

Sam heard a rooster crowing, but nothing of his brother. He tried to remember where he was and how he'd ended up naked in a Grandma Moses type room. The last thing he remembered was Dean drinking his blood, slowly killing him.

"Dean," Sam choked out, fear suddenly clutching at him.

The cobwebs of sleep drifted away and more memories trickled in. He vaguely recalled Eli and Detroit helping him up some stairs. His brother...had been sitting in the Impala and had waved at him. He felt his breath leave him. They'd gotten Dean out. Dean was safe. He might be a vampire-Jesus, how the hell were they going to deal with that?-but at least he was ...alive?

"One step at a time, Sam," he told himself, his voice a mere whisper. On the dresser across from the foot of the bed, he saw his clothes neatly stacked. He staggered to his feet and lurched to the dresser, leaning heavily on it for balance. He tossed his clothes on the bed, and then stumbled his way back to the mattress. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled his clothes on. Once dressed, he stood, but his head swam and he staggered and fell back onto the soft bed.

"Crap!" Sam muttered. He lay there a moment, letting his lightheadedness fade. He sat up slowly and carefully got to his feet and this time met with success. Walking gingerly across the room to the wooden door, he twisted the enameled doorknob and pushed the door open. Soft voices drifted in to him. Following the sound, he found himself at the top of a long set of steep stairs, old green shag carpet tacked to the middle of each step.

"Oh, swell," Sam muttered and, with a death grip on the old wooden banister, took one step at a time, not wanting to take a header down the stairs.

Steadying himself with the wall, he walked toward the source of the voices and found the living room. Six people were inside, two asleep on the checker-patterned couch and four chatting between themselves from comfy chairs. The drapes on the windows were a faded blue and a sun-catcher of a hummingbird spilled a circle of bright colors onto the oak flooring. He looked at the faces he didn't recognize and cleared his throat.

"Hello?" Sam said tentatively.

A woman with bright blue eyes, short brown hair, and dressed in a spaghetti string top and faded jeans, smiled at him. "Sam, you should have called out and let us know you were awake. Are you hungry? I've got some pancake batter all ready for cooking, or there's some cornbread in there if you don't want to wait."

Sam felt drained from just the short walk and staggered over to an empty chair where he collapsed. "My brother. Dean. I thought I heard him."

The woman gave a terse nod. "Oh yes. Mr. Scream-All-Night." She saw Sam's startle looked. "He wants blood, Sam," she said gently then gave him a smirk. "And he lets everyone in the house know it. Again, and again and again. He sure has a nasty mouth on him. I had to look up a few of the things he called me last time I gave him his medicine."

Sam shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't know who you are. I don't know who any of you are. And I'm really confused. Where's my brother? Where are Lenore, Eli, Shelly and Detroit?"

The woman laughed, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, Sam. We've been in and out of your room taking care of you, but you've been pretty out of it since you've been here. I shouldn't be surprised you don't remember who we are. I'm Anya. This is my husband Nick," she indicated a dark-haired man to her right dressed in a Styx concert T-shirt and jeans, then pointed to a slighter version of Nick and the petite blond beside him, "his brother James, his wife Marcie, and that's Ben and Alicia, my sister, asleep on the couch. Your brother is downstairs with Lenore and her family. He's doing as well as can be expected, I guess. He's not doing as well as Nick did coming out of the vampirism," she squeezed her husband's hand, "but Dean has a lot more virus in him. Lenore, Eli and Shelly are all trying to get past the craving for human blood, so they're locked up too. Would you like to go down and see them? They're probably just getting ready to sleep."