Monachopsis

Chapter LIV: Vampire Hunts Aren't Family Friendly

I woke up numb. Sam, Dean, and John had found the vampire's hideout close to dawn. I had been sleeping. Kind of. I seemed to float in the space between unconsciousness and coherence. I heard very little of the conversations held, and was oblivious to the many hours spent tracking.

I heard John tell Dean to, "Wake your sister."

But that had been so many hours ago. The sun had risen now. The light was pale in the way it was in the early morning, like the sun itself was squinting. 

Even knowing that vampires were a real-life deal, I guess my mind was stubborn about letting go of all the cliche tropes. I was distantly disappointed that the lair we found was not a dark, dank cave, or even a mausoleum. Instead, a row of sleek, flat cars were parked in front of an old, run down barn. There was nothing around for miles.

My brothers and I were crouched with our father in the brush on a hill overlooking the barn. The four of us watched in silence as a pieced-together car rumbled across an old bridge and up to the barn. It parked, and a man stepped out. I couldn't see what he looked like from here, but his leather vest had sparkling silver studs along the shoulders.

The barn door creaked open, drawing my gaze to another man who'd emerged to meet him. I could see a slim body beneath tight clothes, and a head of jet-black hair. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, but otherwise had no reaction to the light. He shepherded the other man inside and closed the door behind him.

"Son of a bitch," Dean exclaimed. "So they're really not afraid of the sun?"

"No," John sighed. "Direct sunlight hurts like a nasty sunburn. The only way to kill them is by beheading."

"My favorite," I murmured. I wasn't particularly interested in the conversation; after last night's episode, I was emotionally drained and numb. 

"And, yeah," John continued, glancing at me. "They sleep during the day. It doesn't mean they won't wake up."

"So I guess walking right in's not our best option," Dean said.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "You're welcome to try."

He rolled his eyes. I felt a flicker of amusement before going dark again.

"Actually..." John squinted at the barn. "That's the plan."

"Walk in?" I asked. He turned to me. "Really think we could pull it off? We don't even know how many are in there."

"There's only one way to find out," John said. He hauled himself up, my siblings and I scrambling after him.

We had left our cars up at the crest of the hill. The barn was a little ways off the main road, so there was little chance anyone would come stumbling across us. 

Beheading required machetes. They weren't my favorite. It was hard to have much control over a blade as long as your arm. Sam, Dean and I dug around our trunk for them. I was in the middle of looping the holster around my waist when Dean offered a fourth blade to John.

"Hey Dad," he said. "I've got an extra machete if you need one."

"Think I'm okay, thanks." John was standing at the back of his truck, weapons case open wide. Dozens of guns and knifes were fit snug into foam cutouts. Every single one of them shiny and clean. John held an unsheathed machete in his hands, though it was much more of a sword than a knife. The long blade reflected sunlight into my eyes.

"Wow," Dean said. He eyed John's fancy case, eyes bright with envy. 

John's state of the art equipment--in my opinion--was too flashy. Sure, it's automatic. But how fast is it when you're about to have your face melted by the angry spirit of a glassblower? Ever think of that?