Hide

Dean crept forwards, the inevitable snap of a twig under his boot threatening to give away his position. The forest floor was littered with them so it was impossible to dodge every one. His gun was held in two hands, pointed at the ground just in front of him for now, but it was cocked and ready.

A claw mark on a tree to his right caught his attention just for a moment. It wasn't deep into the bark, but it was all the confirmation he needed to know he was on the right trail.

He had been slowly making his way back to Kansas after the demon incident in Minnesota, like he was on a bungee cord that dragged him back to his family, when he'd caught wind of this hunt. He'd spend a day or two in a town and move on to the next. Most days he passed his time drinking at the bar, trying to forget the look in his brother's eyes when he'd sent him away, or flirting with women. But his heart wasn't in it and he hadn't been very successful.

This morning had been no different. He'd woken up with a thumping headache in a dingy motel room. At least the water pressure was decent enough, and the shower had cleared his head a little. Then he searched out breakfast in the nearest diner, and flirted with the waitress on automatic. She must have thought he looked like crap because she didn't rise to it. He ate his sausage, egg and bacon in silence. He didn't have Sammy's nattering to tune out, but he would have liked the option.

He went to the till to pay when he saw a newspaper on the counter. The headline caught his eye, something about two men going missing in the woods. "A large coffee to go as well, please," he said. The waitress at the till gave a nod and turned to the coffee machine to fill the order. She handed him the paper cup a minute later. "May I?" Dean asked, pointing at the paper.

"Sure you can, it's yesterday's," she replied, taking the bills he offered.

"You know these guys?" he questioned, taking a chance on it and turning the front page with its two photos of the victims to face her. In small towns like this, everyone tended to know everyone else.

She handed him his change, some of which he put into the charity box. That seemed to loosen her tongue. "I know one of 'em. Danny Roberts, he lived about a mile out. I'd see him every Sunday at church until a few weeks ago."

"What happened?"

"His girl died, she was only five. He sort of lost his way after that," she said. Someone cleared their throat behind Dean, and he stepped to one side to let the customer pay.

"Thanks," Dean said, and the waitress gave him a little smile. He turned and walked out. The Impala was parked just across the street. He sat on the hood to read the article about the two men and sip at his coffee. It revealed that they had gone to cut down a rotten tree that was in danger of falling over and had never been seen again. Their chainsaws and ropes had been found abandoned.

"It's the hidebehind!"

Dean jumped slightly at the strange voice. He turned to see an old woman with a cane, wrapped up warm in a fur-lined coat. "Sorry, what?"

"Those two boys," she said in a tone that suggested Dean was an idiot for not working it out sooner. She lifted her cane and jabbed the rubber-tipped end at the photos on the front page. "I told the man from the paper, but did he listen? No, no."

"How'd you know about that?" Dean asked. "The hidebehind?" He'd heard of them before, was pretty sure they'd gotten a passing mention in Dad's journal at some point, but he'd never gone up against one.

The woman shook her head. "Not the first time it's been here. Back in '75, a team of loggers went into those woods and never came out. No one was able to catch the thing. Only a matter of time before it came back." Her piece said, the woman wandered off towards the pet store. Probably to get some food for her hundred cats, Dean thought with a snort. Sam would have told him off for that one, but Sam wasn't here.

Lore on the hidebehind was pretty simple. Nocturnal, big, and hard to spot. It was known for taking lumberjacks, and that fit the MO of whatever was at work here. It also meant the two missing men were almost certainly dead, and the best Dean could do now was stop it happening to anyone else. The only mention of it in Dad's journal was in a sentence about creatures that had a aversion to alcohol. Dean went to the liquor store to find some cheap alcohol to throw at the teetotalling bastard. He wasn't going to waste any of the good stuff he had in the blue cooler in the trunk.

He briefly considered calling Sam and telling him what he was up to. But he didn't even pull his cell phone out of his pocket. Best not to bother him, was what he told himself. The old woman was probably right about the hidebehind anyway.

The flask of cheap alcohol was in his jacket pocket now as he followed the hidebehind's trail, weighing one side down. The pocket on the other side was occupied with another handgun, this one loaded with iron rounds just in case the gun he was pointing out in front of him with its silver bullets wouldn't work. But he was quite confident with his silver.

Dean had been looking for the hidebehind for little over half an hour. It felt like much longer without his brother watching his back and having a low conversation with him. Instead the forest was silent, unnaturally so, the tall pine trees not even swaying in a breeze.

It was another five minutes later when the hairs on the back of Dean's neck stood on end. He had been hoping to find the hidebehind's lair and kill the thing while it slept, but that clearly wasn't going to be the case. Cursing the Winchester luck, Dean stopped walking. He strained his ears to listen for any movement at all, and at the same time his eyes scanned the area directly in front of him. The gun was still pointed at the ground, but his arms were tense and ready to bring the gun up at the slightest movement.

To his left a twig snapped. He whirled at the sound, gun pointed squarely at the dark brown shape that was partly obscured by a tree. He only caught a glimpse of the creature, however, for as soon as his eyes landed on it, it darted away. It moved faster than Dean could follow with his gun. Instinct had made him look directly at the hidebehind, but what little lore he did know was that nobody could look directly at it. He would have to rely on the corner of his eye, and a lifetime of hunting, to kill it.

It hadn't gone far. Dean could still feel it watching him.

He waited, didn't dare to even breathe. There! In the corner of his eye, to his right this time, he saw the dark brown shape. Without turning his head, he fired. He risked a look when there hadn't been a cry of pain. There was nothing there, the shape was gone again.

Dean took a few steps towards where it had been. There was a chance he'd hit the thing. Hidebehinds were known for their silence, so maybe they didn't even have a voice to cry with.

Clearly the hidebehind wasn't dead, as something collided with his side. Taken by surprise, Dean turned and fired a shot blindly in the hidebehind's direction. He caught a glimpse of it as it ducked behind a tree. Chances were slim, but maybe he'd clipped it. Only when Dean stopped to try to listen for it again did he register his heartbeat thumping in his ears. And only a moment after that did he feel the sharp pain in his right side. He looked down. His jacket was torn, the shirt underneath stained red.

He knew by the amount of blood that had already gathered in his clothing that he probably didn't have much time left. So he slowed his breathing down as much as he could and focused on the tree right in front of him. He held the gun with two hands that were only beginning to tremble, but it was through sheer force of will alone that his aim remained steady.

The dark brown shape appeared ahead, but with his focus on the tree he wasn't looking directly at the hidebehind, and so it didn't run this time. He took a deep breath and fired the gun. There was no sound for a second, then a thump. He let one hand clutch at his side as he walked towards the hidebehind. It was just a lump of dark brown fur now, but he could see the rise and fall of a chest that was still breathing. One shot to the heart (and another to the head for good measure) later, he staggered away, leaving it for some tourists to find and marvel at.

It was as cloudy now as it had been when Dean had set out this morning so he couldn't find his bearings using the sun. He had, under usual circumstances, an excellent sense of direction. But now, after the hidebehind had had him spinning in circles, he was feeling slightly lost and a bit dizzy. He still had his gun out, so he used the hand that had been pressed into his side to stop and lean against a tree. It was bloody and left a red handprint on the bark. He tried to think. He needed to get back to the Impala, his baby with the really warm heater, because it was so cold.

He picked a direction based on broken twigs. His side was warm and slick. He tripped on a tree root, but managed to catch himself by grabbing a low branch. He didn't move with the economy he'd had before, each lumbering step noisy.

He tripped again, over a twig of all things, but this time there were no branches to hold on to, and he fell like a – well, like a tree. He giggled at that, but it was laced with the pain of landing on one's face. The forest floor wasn't all that hard, and it was quite comfortable...

No. He had to leave. He got to his hands and knees, but standing upright wasn't going to happen. His arms were already wobbling as he crawled along like a baby. He breathing was getting faster, his head lighter. He made it further this way than he thought he was going to. Then his arms gave under him without warning, sending him cashing to the ground. Dean didn't have far to fall, but it still left him winded. He was so dizzy he had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop the word from spinning.

He concentrated on breathing, spat out the dirt that had gotten into his mouth, and rolled onto his good side. He could feel his iron-filled gun digging into his hip, but it was nothing compared to the gash under his right hand. It was still bleeding, perhaps a little more slowly, but he wasn't really in a good position to judge. He didn't dare open his eyes to check for fear of throwing up.

He contorted until his left hand slipped into his jacket's pocket, coming out with the flask of cheap alcohol. It was the sort of stuff that kids would drink on street corners, cheap and nasty. Right this very moment, Dean didn't care. He took a few gulps, and then poured some roughly where the cut from the hidebehind's claws were. Even with his eyes closed, the alcohol hit its mark. With no one there to put the act on for, he allowed his shout of pain past his lips.

If there were any more hidebehinds in the area at least the alcohol would keep them away, or so he hoped. He didn't think he'd be able to shoot very straight right now. His phone was in his hip pocket. He should call for help. He had to peel his hand off his side to reach for his phone, his palm stuck to the fabric of his shirt.

He finally opened his eyes to stare at the screen as he contemplated who to call. Castiel had called him two days ago, and the solitary confinement Dean had placed himself in meant that Cas' number was the first name on the list of people who'd called him recently. He just had to hope that the angel was somewhere close. His fingers trembled slightly as he fumbled with the buttons. The screen appeared slightly blurry but he was almost certain he was calling Cas.

This was confirmed as the phone rang out. Dean heard a click as it switched to voicemail. "You have reached the voicemail of..." an electronic woman's voice said. "Say your name." Sam. The voice sent a pang of something painful right to Dean's heart. "I don't understand." That was Cas. "Just say your name," Sam's voice said again, sounding almost as crackly as Cas' did sometimes thanks to the cell's microphone. "C-Casti—" There was a beep. Dean realised he was supposed to say something, but he just ended the call. Cas might not even know how to listen to voicemails anyway.

Dean wasn't going to call Sam. The kid hated him for essentially saving his life, and Dean understood. He wouldn't bother Sammy with his problems, not now. He'd just have a nap here where he lay and hope that he'd be able to get up again and find his way to a bed. He'd been an idiot, going out on this hunt alone, but what was done was done.

He was a coward. He'd faced down ghouls, demons, and even the Devil without flinching. But the betrayal and hurt in Sam's eyes wasn't something he was ready to face yet. If he ever would.

Cas would call him back. He would.

To be continued...

Author's Note: I've done my best with this to sound as American as I can, but if I've made a mistake I'm sorry. Researching what sort of monster Dean would be up against and how to kill it made me feel a bit like an actual hunter! I'll post part two of this tomorrow. Thanks for reading so far! :)