So, after leaving this story for about a year with just the bare bones of the outline rattling around on my desk, I have decided to come back to it and not only finish it but also give it good revamping. I have sought out some critiques as well as having had some come unbidden which have helped out lots! So kudos to them and I am still welcoming more critiques!
Other than that the same disclaimers apply. I do not own them, and I doubt that they'd be willing to trade a slightly used Hyundai for them...
"I still don't see it anywhere Dean," Sam whispered into his cell phone, hoping that the creature of whom they were speaking would not hear him. The meadow below them remained suspiciously quiet, the bait they left out to tempt the animal untouched. They managed to climb up into two sturdy trees, keeping themselves out of a direct line of sight and giving them the advantage. Their posts didn't offer much in the way of camouflage as most of the trees did not have their leaves in yet, except for the quakies. They could both see the target easy and there was no place for the creature to hide. The trees also kept them out of claws reach long enough to shoot if they were seen.
"It will come eventually," Dean whispered back. He was positioned across the meadow. They covered the eastern and western sides, leaving only one direction from which the werewolf could enter or plan to make an escape. They hoped.
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The north was blocked by a large dam, which only left the south uncovered, so long as the werewolf couldn't fly or teleport. Dean smiled as he thought this. That would mean the creature wasn't a werewolf after all and they'd probably be screwed anyway, so it wouldn't matter all that much if it could fly.
"It's still too cold out for it to have gotten much in the way of wild game and it's definitely still too cold for any campers aside from those crazy enough to hunt up here. It has to be hungry for something." Dean moved his phone away from his ear, cutting off any response of Sam's that might point out different.
As if the weather were trying to make Sam's point for him, some melting snow slid off the branch above Dean's head and down the back of his shirt. Dean began to thrash wildly, trying desperately to dislodge the half-frozen slush from off his back. Cursing profusely Dean fell ungracefully out of the tree, landing in yet another pile of slushy snow and sliding into the shallow creek running from the dam.
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The rifle Dean was holding before the fall landed with better luck than did Dean, and caught itself in the mixed branches of a few beaver toppled trees. Sam couldn't help it, managing to stifle only the loudest of his laughs as he climbed down from his post to see if his brother had injured himself in his fall. It was too dark to see much of anything, but from the amount of whispered curses that carried back towards Sam he didn't think Deans injuries could extend much farther than wounded pride.
By the time Sam got up to him, Dean had managed to pick himself up. He was digging through the snow trying to find his cell while simultaneously shaking the snow and bits of ice from the creek out of his clothes. Picking the phone up Dean trudged through the shallow water to retrieve his rifle. "I thought it was spring? Why is there still so much damned snow in May? I thought Utah was a damn desert anyway?" Dean's outrage at the audacity of a spring that could still even consider having snow was very apparent. "All the way up here it was nothing but scrub brush and now it seems we are traipsing through the woods to Granma's house for Christmas dinner, whose idea of a cruel joke is that?"
"How 'bout we call it a night?" Sam asked, not bothering to answer Dean's questions; effectively avoiding an argument which would have taken them nowhere. He could hear Dean's teeth chattering in the dark as his sodden clothes tried to freeze. "I think there should be a motel down in Duchesne. At least I thought that's what it was."
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They had stopped in a small town on their way through to Colorado when they heard the rumor of a possible werewolf terrorizing some of the ranch owners, some deer hunters a while back and a few of the day trippers that were hoping to scout out a nice campsite for Memorial day.
Their waitress had been chatty, telling them that if they were headed up to Yellow Pine they'd better be careful because of the animal attacks. The attacks were not something that was native to the town and at first the people had figured it to be a hungry grizzly.
Until they were unable to find a bear, nor any of signs of the beast, there were also the facts that the attacks on the ranches had started in the dead of winter and that they seemed to have a lunar pattern. The brothers heard this from the waitress in between her Utah grammar lessons. "It's Doo-shain, nobody ever gets it right the first time."
With their newfound information on the proper pronunciation of the town, a map of the campgrounds in the area and the hint of a new creature to vanquish the brothers decided to stay and see if they could take care of the problem.
It was a full moon after all, and out of all the monsters they had gone up against recently, a werewolf should have been a piece of cake. This idea stayed with the brothers as they traveled further up the side of the mountain, even though the thin air was cold already and once the sun went down the temperatures dropped to freezing. They also discovered that most of the access roads had still been closed; only a few of the campgrounds being opened, due to the melting snow.
Undeterred, the brothers had set up their trap, convinced that they could take care of the werewolf in one night.
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It seemed, though, that this full moon the werewolf had made other dinner plans, it hadn't shown a hair all night. Leaving the meat where it was Sam and Dean began heading back towards the Impala, Dean slightly in the lead wanting to get to the heater. He paused just long enough to unlock the trunk, letting Sam stash the two guns. Dean slid into the driver's seat, first pulling some dirty clothes out of the back to sit on, and turned the ignition over.
Cranking the heat up and the volume on the stereo he folded himself into the seat, waiting for Sam so they could find a motel and a shower with lots of hot water. He looked again into the backseat, hoping to find his bag so he could at least put on a dry shirt, but came up empty handed. Sighing he glanced down at the clothes he was sitting on to prevent the water from getting on the leather. Thinking about it now he should have checked to see what he could have changed into before he placed them on the seat to sit on.
It was a little late now, his dripping had soaked through already and he could see that it was probably pointless to have put the clothes down in the first place; they weren't helping his seats much now. Cracking the window a bit, he called out to Sam. "Will ya bring me a dry shirt out of the back?" There was no answer, not that Dean was expecting one, he had the sinking suspicion that Sam was probably laughing at his graceful dive into the snow.
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Sam was busy unloading the guns and putting them into the weapons case. He didn't hear Dean's request for a dry shirt over the sounds of the stereo but he didn't need to. Still snickering Sam pulled Dean's bag from the trunk a slight worry in the back of his mind about Dean catching ill and turned. Standing right behind him was the creature that they had been hoping would make an appearance all night. It was close enough for Sam to touch it if he wanted. Neither moved, standing absolutely still.
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"Sam, stop being a slow poke." Dean called through his chattering teeth, wanting to get into that nice hot shower he was dreaming of as soon as possible. His wet clothes were sticking to his skin in that uncomfortable way that only a freezing wet shirt can and the heater, though on full blast, was not helping warm him up much. "Sam?"
There was still no answer from the back of the Impala. Sam had not closed the trunk yet either so Dean's vision was limited in that respect. He glanced into the side mirror, every hunter sense on high alert, all thoughts of a shower gone from his mind. Slowly he pushed the door open, in an attempt to prevent the standard creak and reached into the glove box for the small handgun kept there. "Sam, you better not be playing around or I am so going to kill you," Dean thought. He crawled from the car as quietly as he could, the water in his boots making them squelch.
He left the car and stereo running, masking what little sounds he was making. Crouching low, trying to make himself less noticeable, he drew the weapon out a little in front of himself. It wasn't loaded with silver but the bullets could still penetrate, hopefully giving him time to get to the guns that were loaded with the lethal stuff.
The seconds seemed to crawl as he steeled himself to leap out from the relative safety of beside the wheel well. He couldn't hear anything, except for the rattling as the knife like wind cut through the quakie's leaves and his sodden clothes the same. "Here goes nothing."
Dean jumped into the small square of light coming from the open trunk with a battle cry that would have done well to scare off Viking raiders dying on his lips. The scene that met his eyes was almost peaceful.