Chapter Text
One Hit Wonder
The first time Benny fed on me, it was a necessity. We'd been ambushed, nearly 15 to 1 odds. They were a mixed bag of Purgatory’s most hated: vamps, wolves, shifters, things I ain’t never seen before. If it had been half that number, we’d have kicked their asses no problem. But that night, there were just too damn many. They hit us fast and hard. We fought with that synchronicity unlike any I’d known, except with Sam during the good times. It was pure. Like fucking poetry or the opening chords of "Whole Lotta Love"—heavy, raw, and tearing through everything in its path.
But then I took a hit to the arm. Must’ve hit a nerve ’cause suddenly my hand spasmed, and my blade dropped. Benny was there in an instant, taking the head off the bastard that hit me, but he also took the shot meant to disembowel me. Let me tell you something, a vampire's gut wound stinks worse than a human's—probably because of their… rarified diet. But gut wound or no, vamps are hard as hell to kill. Benny just wrapped his guts around his fist and kept fighting.
And it’s not like I was just gonna let that slide. We tore our way free and bagged ass like any sensible monster would. But later that night, Benny got in a bad way. He hadn’t been feeding well—not much for vamps to eat down in Purgatory—and it was a good chance he’d bleed out or get taken down by something else before he could heal.
Now, I’m not making excuses for what happened next. He warned me. But you know me—when family needs help, I don’t ask questions. And that’s what Benny was by then—family.
Benny looked at me, dead serious, and said, “Dean, I take a taste of you, it ain’t just the blood. There’s an enzyme in our bite—it’ll mess with your head, leave you chasing that high like a junky. You won’t stop wanting it.”
“Shut up and drink,” I told him, offering my wrist.
His hands were trembling when he said it, a rasp to his voice that sounded more human than I’d ever heard from him. “Dean... you don’t gotta do this.”
But I did it. Benny was down, guts spilling out like wet rope, the smell—rot, blood, iron—clawing at my throat. There wasn’t time to think, no time to weigh the consequences. It was survival, plain and simple. I sliced the blade across my wrist, skin splitting like paper, blood pooling faster than my brain could scream don’t do this. Benny’s eyes locked on mine, panic in them, like he knew what was coming. "Dean, don’t—" Too late. I shoved my arm at him, and before I could take another breath, his fangs were buried in my skin.
It was a fucking shock, like getting Tasered straight through the marrow. Pain, sure—hot and electric, exploding up my arm like fireworks under the skin. But there was something else—something that curled low in my gut, rippling through me like a wave of heat. Warmth, then a rush of something so pure, so raw, it made me gasp. A euphoria so deep it split me open from the inside. My blood was leaving me, but all I felt was full.
My vision blurred. The world bled out, just static buzzing at the edges, and it was just us. Just me and Benny, his mouth on me, and my body slackening into that perfect haze. The pain twisted into pleasure before I could catch it, before I could stop the pull. His grip on my wrist was tight, bruising, and fuck if I didn’t want him to hold on. The burn from his bite crawled through my veins, but under it, something darker coiled—a heat, spreading through my chest, down lower, making me feel alive in a way that had nothing to do with fighting.
I should’ve pulled away. I should’ve stopped. But all I felt was his breath, his mouth, his body pressed close, and something inside me wanted more. Needed more. It wasn’t just the blood he was draining; it was me—my thoughts, my fears, my control, all of it leaking away like it didn’t fucking matter anymore. There was nothing else in that moment, just the high. That perfect, fucked-up high, like fire on my skin and ice under it, pulling me into something I couldn’t fight. Didn’t want to fight.
It was intimate in a way I hadn’t felt in years. Raw. Brutal. The kind of thing that makes you feel too much and not enough all at once. He kept feeding, and I just let him, let that connection between us deepen until I wasn’t sure where I ended and he began.
And goddamn, it felt good.
It wasn’t until he pulled away, blood smeared across his mouth, that I realized what I’d done. He looked better already, the color back in his face, the wound knitting itself closed. But me? I felt... light. Like I could breathe for the first time in years.
That was the first hit. And let me tell you something—one hit was all it took.