"Saving People, Hunting Things"
A Cabin in the Woods/Supernatural Fanfiction
Part 1 of 2
Author's Note: I apologize if this completely squicks you out. Fact of the matter is there's a severe lack of straight CitW fanfiction. Maybe I'll explore those possibilities later. But I needed this to happen.
Dedicated to iamandystark, my wifey. OTP: Poptarts 5evr
0o0o0o0o0o0o0
Marty could wax poetic the extent to which he will deny his stupid infatuation with Dana. Hell, the poor girl didn't have a clue.
Oh, there were the usual reasons why he shouldn't fuck up their friendship, the fact that she was completely out of his league, he was a semi-paranoid stoner who ran the website on the September 11th conspiracy, yadda yadda.
Nah, point is he had that little heartache so buried underneath the rest of his mental crap he had nearly forgotten about it. He just let it wither like the fling with Jules. At least…that was what he thought was happening until Curt told him that the asshole professor dumped Dana cold. He passed off his fury as righteous anger of his friend being wronged.
Things just got worse after that. Jules setting Dana up with Holden, for example. Oh, he was high enough to not let it get to him too badly. For a while. And then he was just downright irritated when Dana was more preoccupied with Holden than Marty's instincts going haywire.
And, of course, can't forget the whole undead homicidal maniacs attacking their vacation house and killing almost everyone.
And nothing says foiled love affair like fighting off monsters in the basement of a super-secret government facility that coordinated sacrifices to unspeakable cosmic beings.
But, here they are.
She was shivering at her place curled against his side…or maybe it was the cracking of the ground as the Sadistic Titan Gods of All Things Horrible writhed underneath them. In any case, as much as the weed soothed the oncoming panic of impending death, she was still fucking terrified. He was too, of course, but maybe the absolute absurdity of the situation calmed his nerves.
All in all, he was kind of upset that she turned a gun on to him, and he was enough of a self-serving douche to let her get tackled by a werewolf. But for some reason it only made him more convinced he was a total loser for loving the woman. He realized that maybe Dana was as much a coward as he was.
The stench of blood assaulted Marty as he pulled her closer, but he got over it. Well, that's what happens when you're in the middle of the apocalypse. Dana's fingers dug into his palm painfully, but he tried to distract her by humming the headliner for an obscure ska band that he knew she hated. A harsh cough of laughter shook her shoulders and he smiled.
The stone floor was really buckling now.
Now's the fucking time, Marty.
"Dana," he whispered. She looked at him sideways, her gore-splattered face tight with fear and determination.
Maybe he was a twisted bastard, but damn if she didn't look beautiful. Marty swallowed, the burning of his wounds distracting even through the haze of hash (particularly between his shoulders. Fucking zombies). But he (and Dana) were as good as dead at this point, so he inhaled sharply and gathered the last of his courage before they were smashed/eaten/torn apart. Fuck, if he has to have a deathbed confession, it might as well be the one measly thing that wasn't tainted by drugs, cynicism, or every other sin he's committed in his boring two decades on this world.
Marty was beginning to understand exactly why he was nominated the "Fool" in this operation.
"I—"
Unfortunately, a major cockblock (not that he'd get any within the next two seconds, but whatever) in the form of a bright white light filled their view.
Marty was pretty sure he was dead. Really, what else can you expect as you were already facing death for the past, like, six hours or whatever? But when the collapsing world around them faded only to be replaced by more woods and the pain between his shoulders only grew worse, he realized that they were still in the same shit world that they pretty much set up to be destroyed.
The third thing that registered in Marty's already over-worked mind was that three men were standing over them. A dark haired guy in a backwards tie and a rumpled trenchcoat, a taller guy who looked like a male model turned mechanic, and the tallest who looked like he could go hand-to-hand with a bear and win. The last two each had a sawed-off shutgun in their hands.
Marty wished he still had that pistol. Or the knife.
"That's the last of them," the giant sighed. "Looks like the spell worked."
"Survivors?"
"Looks like it's just these two, but it's possible some escaped before we got in."
"Jesus," the shorter one hissed. "How the hell were they able to get away with this for so long? And on nearly every continent too?"
"I think you remember how intelligent these things can be," Trenchcoat Guy said. "The magic here…it is very old. Protected even from the eyes of Heaven."
"I fucking hate gods. Worse than witches, if you ask me."
"Sorry, but…" Marty rasped, his head reeling from exhaustion, shock, pain, and confusion, "who the hell are you guys?"
0o0o0o0o0o0o0
The monster hunters—that's what they called themselves, weird, but he guessed nothing would surprise him now—helped Marty lever Dana into the backseat of the black Impala. Castiel, the white-collar angel, was helping Sam the sasquatch (not literally, but Marty was pretty sure he saw one of those in the House of a Thousand Horrors) pack up the trunk.
Apparently the angel had zapped them out before the place crumbled, and the three were able to send those titan motherfuckers back to whatever hellhole they spawned from. Impressive, seeing as the entire corporation with all their chemical fuckery was unable to control those guys for the past millennia without sacrificing a couple of kids every year.
So yeah, Earth was still spinning. Marty wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved. At least, everything was going fine until Dana slumped to the side in the backseat of the Chevy, unconscious.
"Fuck shit fuck." Marty skittered to her side in a panic, clambering over her legs to kneel in the backseat by her head. Dean swung the opposite door open to lean through.
"What happened?" Sam asked from the trunk.
"She's not breathing!" Marty shouted, patting her cheek frantically. "C'mon, Dana! Dana!"
Dean swatted Marty's hand away to search for a pulse. The hunter had a furrowed brow, and Marty did not like the implications at all.
"Dammit," Dean muttered. His hand dropped away and Marty was staring at him, frozen with dread. The guy shook his head. "I'm sorry, man, but—"
With a shuddering gasp, Dana's chest heaved. Relief was replaced with shock as Marty watched the wounds on her throat close up on their own. The skin knit back together underneath the clotted blood, until it was smooth and scar-less.
Everyone was silent for half a beat.
"I-I-I don't get it," Marty stuttered as he leaned back, his hands going through his hair. "She was fucking mauled."
"By what?" Castiel prompted.
"A werewolf," Marty told him. "It nearly tore her throat out!"
The angel and Dean shared a look.
"What?" Marty demanded.
"Kid, you're tellin' us this chick was bitten," Dean said pointedly, "by a werewolf."
"That's what I said," Marty agreed, the point going over his head. "Why are you just standing there, did your angel do some crazy hoodoo or something because I'm pretty sure werewolf bites—"
Then it clicked.
A werewolf. Dana was a werewolf. Well, shit.
"Whoa," Marty grinned despite (or perhaps because of) his shock. "I'm friends with a werewolf now. Awesome."
"Not awesome," Sam corrected from over Dean's shoulder. "She's not human anymore, man. Trust me."
Dana groaned, and Marty was interrupted from further questioning as his friend sat up.
"—the hell?" she muttered, blinking furiously. "What d'you mean; not human?"
"Now that we've established that she's alive, I will meet you later," Castiel told Dean and Sam in his flat, deep voice. "There might have been further escapees of the underground facility. The insubstantial ones, especially, could have fled before the structure collapsed." Dean nodded.
"Round 'em up and meet us in Denver tonight."
The angel disappeared.
"Yeah, he does that a lot," Sam said, noting Marty's and Dana's blank expressions.
"What did you say about me being not human?" Dana insisted, her pitch rising in barely restrained panic.
Marty looked up at Dean, who was still leaning through the open door on the other side of the car. The hunter was staring at him expectantly. What the hell? These guys were the experts on monsters, not him.
"Uh…" he started. "You know that werewolf that bit you before the ceiling began to come down on us?"
"Yeah…?"
"Well, um, not sure how much you know about werewolf lore. You know, when someone gets bit...they. Ah. Get turned. Into. A werewolf?" Real articulate, Marty. Good one.
"Wh—what? Are you saying—?"
"You wounds healed up. Like magic. I…I mean it could have been a different kind of wolf monster." Marty looked at Sam and Dean desperately. "It's possible, isn't it?"
"Big, furry, stands on two legs?" Sam asked.
"Well, yes, but—"
"Werewolf," the two hunters stated simultaneously.
"Can you give us a second?" Sam pulled his brother away from the car.
"So what d'you think?" Dean asked, his back to Marty and Dana.
"They just got through hell and back," Sam muttered to his brother. "Their friends are dead. She hasn't even eaten anybody yet. But she's also a werewolf, Dean."
"I don't think Marty is going to be too happy if we gank his girlfriend." Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Hell, if they can manage getting out of that alive, maybe he can keep her out of trouble."
"You think it'll be that easy?"
"What about Kate? Those werewolves can control the bloodlust better. It's not a full moon tonight. The one that bit her had to be a pureblood. Maybe the monsters are getting more human," Dean shrugged. "Wigs me out, but there you have it. I don't know man," he replied, groaning. "Fuck, I hate repeats."
"Maybe you're just getting soft."
"Maybe it's your girly sentiment rubbing off on me. Bitch."
"Jerk."
"Listen, if you guys are done deciding if I should be put down or not," Dana snapped, "maybe you can just drop us off at my house? Or the police station?" Marty's brow rose. He couldn't hear a word the two were saying. Super-wolf ears already?
Dana was attempting to keep from shaking judging by her white-knuckled fists, and Marty resisted the urge to wrap an arm around her shoulder. That moment was dead and gone.
"No go with the cops, missy," Dean said. "Hospital is out too, at least 'til you're cleaned up a little. They'll call the cops for you. Especially when they get two people covered in blood and guts."
"Home then?" Dana asked, her voice thin. Marty could tell she was about to hit her last string. An ugly thought came to mind.
"Do we still have one?" he murmured.
"I'm not takin' sides here, Dana, but your friend's right," Sam said. "This organization or whatever did its homework. Marty is non-existent. You are too. All records wiped and I'm pretty sure if we got a hold of your parents they would have no idea they even have a daughter. These people were scarily thorough. No one asking questions, nothing to clean up afterwards."
"How do you know all this?" Marty questioned, dumbfounded.
"Hacked into the system. It's how we found you guys," he explained. "There's been rumors about this area of disappearances every year going back centuries now. No one in the area seemed to find it particularly peculiar so we checked it out."
"We also have an angel who can do the digging for us," Dean added.
"What am we supposed to do, then?" Dana demanded. "And if I'm a—a werewolf or whatever…how is that going to play out?"
"You are going to crave human flesh. Hearts, to be accurate," Dean said, looking grim (it seemed to be his default face). Dana's face fell into disgust and shock.
"But some like you have been able to survive on animal hearts," Sam told her. "You can choose to control it. The bloodlust I mean."
"Isn't there a way to reverse it?" Marty asked, not liking how Dana was looking more and more pale at the concept. "I mean in the movies, you kill the head wolf—the alpha or whatever—and poof, human again!"
"We've tried that. It…didn't work out so well," Sam frowned.
"I'm stuck like this?" Dana rasped, her hand going to her throat as Marty passed a hand over his face in frustration.
"I'm so sorry, Dana, but yeah," he said, sincere in his sympathy. "Like I said, you can avoid killing people."
"Sorry to break this up, kids," Dean interrupted, "but we need to get outta here before anyone else shows up."
Marty was hesitant. These guys were monster hunters. Dana was, by all definitions, a monster. Even if they seemed to be willing to give her the benefit of the doubt in terms of trusting her not to turn wolf and kill them all, he wasn't sure if it would be completely safe.
"Where are you planning to go?" Marty questioned. Then he remembered what Dean had told the angel. "Colorado?"
"Sam and I are going to Colorado. I'm not going to play babysitter," Dean said. "You're both legal right? We have a motel in town you guys can crash at. There are a couple more things to help you out, but can we discuss on the road please?"
Dean slid into the driver's seat and Sam took shotgun. Marty sighed, settling into the backseat and buckled in.
Dana was quiet through the ride out of the woods. She stared out at the dawn yellowing the sky over the trees. Marty could probably go without camping or seeing another goddamn pinecone for the rest of his life.
"So, who were these guys, exactly?" Sam asked, twisting in his seat to look at him.
"You could probably tell more than we could," Marty said. "I think it was some kind of cult."
"Dude, this wasn't a cult," Dean commented. "It was a friggin' organization. These gods were in Germany. In Japan."
"As soon as possible we need to get in touch with Akiyama over in Toyko," Sam threw in. "People must have scattered once they realized their all-powerful gods disappeared." Dean grunted at him in agreement, then turned his attention back to Marty and Dana.
"How did you two end up here?" Dean asked. "I mean, by all accounts you two don't look like your typical horror movie survivors."
Marty laughed slightly. Horror movie. Huh. That's pretty much exactly what had happened. You would think that a couple of 21st century kids would have anticipated everything to play out the way it did, and yet they fell into every trope in the book. After a second, though, Marty thought that was probably the point.
"I really don't know how it happened, how we got roped into all this or anything," Marty admitted. "Curt—one of our friends—he said his cousin's cabin was open. Didn't think twice about it. Pretty sure Curt…" Marty trailed off, his throat closing up. "Ah, forget it. Sorry, my memory…those fuckers must have manipulated that too. Guess we'll never know now." His fists clenched in his lap as he pushed away the reminder of what he had just lost.
Dean and Sam exchanged another eerily silent conversation.
"Anyway, I found the capsule that brought those zombies up, got Dana out, and we went down into the evil lair. Uh, distracted the people aiming to kill us by releasing the horde of monsters they were keeping down there."
"Oh, yeah, that bit made our job easier," Dean muttered dryly. "Thanks for that." Marty ignored the jab, mostly because he wasn't entirely sure what the guy was implying.
"The director or whatever said that they've been doing this for centuries. So there's been others? In other countries, too?"
"Leave the worrying to us," Sam said. "You two have been through enough."
"What?" Marty exclaimed. "These assholes just destroyed my life, and Dana's! We deserve to know what the hell is going on. Are these people still out there? Are we going to have to keep on the run for the rest of our lives? You can't just—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down, Shaggy," Dean barked. "We are in nearly over our heads as it is, and we're hunters. What you and Velma back there need to do is get the hell outta dodge."
It was annoying, but the guy was right. Damage control with Dana and her…issue was a big enough disaster to deal with.
At least for now.
Slowly the signs of civilization—untouched by the chaos that had unfolded mere miles away—grew more frequent. The light of the morning sun was stronger now, and the brightness hurt his eyes. Strangely enough, just the thought of people waking up to a new day undisturbed was more surreal to Marty than thinking about what had just happened.
Dean pulled the car into the lot of a motel. It looked skeezy, but it was probable that the tenants wouldn't notice two college kids covered in blood if they slipped into the room fast enough.
"You're covered for another night," Dean told Marty as Sam was rummaging through the trunk for some basic supplies and clean clothes. "Clean yourselves up, whatever."
Sam walked over to Dana and gave her a small pack.
"Here, you'll need this," Sam said, handing Dana a slip of paper. "Garth; he's one of us. He'll help you out. Get you established in the world. You might want to keep your, um, situation quiet. Hunters…not all of them are as liberal as Dean and I."
"Christ," Dana muttered. "How many monster victims do you get? No, wait, I don't want to know."
"Yeah, you don't," Dean agreed.
"Thanks," Dana said. "You know, for everything else too."
"Saving our asses," Marty clarified.
"Next time you wake up ancient gods hell-bent on dominating the earth," Dean deadpanned, "maybe stall a little longer." The bitchface his brother gave him for that comment was truly epic, and perhaps enough to lighten the moment.
"Right," Dana said, looking unsure.
"Glad you're not dead though," Sam mentioned.
"I think you got as many thank you's as you're gonna get from us," Marty said, cocking a brow.
"You sure you want to hit the road with Cujo?" Dean asked. Dana glared at him, but only hefted the pack over her shoulder. Marty gave Dean a weary smirk.
"Dude, I just lived through the almost-end-of-the-world. How many people can say that?"
The brothers exchanged strange looks at one another and Dean grinned darkly.
"You have no idea," he said.
"Well, I think I can handle one werewolf." Marty chuckled. "Especially one that's already tried to kill me." He saw Dana flinch. Fuck, probably too soon to make light of that. Too late to take it back now.
Dean and Sam said their goodbyes and then got back into the Impala. The sleek muscle car peeled out of the lot, leaving the two to pick up the pieces of their shattered world. Marty was the first to head inside the room, Dana following behind after a moment.
"They are kind of assholes," Dana said, dropping the pack on a bed. The paper with the number on it fluttered beside it.
"They did pull us out of the pit in a sense," he commented, closing the door. "I guess they get a free pass."
She didn't respond to that and still had her back to him. He almost didn't hear her speak as he walked over to the television.
"What are we going to do, Marty?" she whispered. He paused, uncomfortable and unsure. He let out a breath.
"We'll figure things out on the road, yeah?" he said softly. "Go take a shower. I'll see if there's a number for a pizza place. I'm starved."
Dana swallowed, looking distraught, but she nodded. She grabbed the pack and brought it with her into the bathroom.
As soon as the sound of the faucet turned on, Marty dropped down to sit on the bed and took a few seconds to pull himself together. He was beyond his last stretch, that much was certain. But Dana was freaking out; he had to make sure they had a few hours to rest even if they couldn't attempt sleep just yet. Dana may have been healed, but she needed a breather as much as he did.
He found a number for a local pizza joint in the directory by the phone. Then he sat on the bed just tried to focus on breathing and not keeling over. By the time Dana walked out of the bathroom, he was able to force up the façade of nonchalance.
Dana was not looking at him as she tossed the blood-soaked clothes into the trash bin in the corner. The men's clothes dwarfed her and her expression was stony. Oh, he really didn't like that look on her face.
"Hope you didn't use up all the hot water," he joked awkwardly.
"It's not safe here."
"I think we've established that the bad guys are neutralized for now. And it's broad daylight. The monsters only come out at night, right?"
"I mean for you," Dana stated, her eyes flashing with frustration and sadness. "I'm a werewolf. You're rooming with a werewolf tonight." Marty chewed on his lip, choosing his words carefully.
"I don't know about you, Dana, but it's not even nine in the morning and I'm more worried about figuring out what to do tomorrow."
"A werewolf, Marty. I may not have killed you today," she said bitterly, "but what about tonight? Tomorrow night? I can't…I feel different already and I don't know what will happen if I…if I change."
"Do we have to figure this out now?" he said, exasperated.
"You can find somewhere else to go, Marty. You've done enough to—"
"Like hell!" Marty exclaimed, throwing a hand out. "Our families—Curt, Jules, Holden…they're gone. After all we've seen…there—there are monsters out here, Dana. In any case…you're—" Marty hesitated, his voice stuck in his throat for a second. You're all I got now too, he wanted to say. But he didn't. "Don't tell me you want to handle this alone."
Dana make a face at him, that 'don't make me say you're right' face that lightened his heart a bit as she bit her lip and shook her head.
"Now that we've gotten that straightened out," Marty sighed. "I need food. And a shower. And to sit down for a bit…"
"Oh shit, Marty," Dana gasped. "I forgot. Are you okay?"
"Eh, been better," Marty jested, but damn if that stab wound in his back wasn't hurting like a bitch. "Just need to wash up and rest. There're towels in the bathroom, right?"
"Yeah. And the clean clothes are in the pack by the sink," she told him. "I don't think I need anything but…we should probably clean your cuts, too." She gestured towards his face. "I'll go ask management for a first aid kit."
"Sounds like a plan," he smiled slightly, then moved towards the bathroom. "Pizza should be here in about fifteen minutes. It's already paid for, tip and everything. Courtesy of our friendly neighborhood monster hunters and their credit card."
He shut the door behind him. The shower was small, and he was pretty sure that was mold in the corner, but when the showerhead sputtered to life he nearly moaned as searing hot water came pouring onto his hand. He caught a glance at himself in the mirror, and it was like seeing a stranger. His stomach twisted, and he pushed away the thought.
As gingerly as he could, Marty removed his clothes. Getting his shirt off was the worst; he had to bite down on a towel to keep from crying out. The blood had dried and stuck to his skin, and his injured back ignited in protest.
He washed himself as best he could facing the water and avoided his back as much as he could. The soap stung the cuts, but he ignored it in order to scrub away every remnant of gore from himself and others.
As soon as the water ran clear and no longer tainted, Marty shut off the water and stepped out.
The jeans were way too big, but Sam had sense to pack a belt. Marty pulled those on and then eyed the clean shirt that was sitting in the bag.
He felt the blood from the newly reopened wound trickle down his spine. The muscles in his back were painfully cramped and he couldn't even reach to feel if the hole needed stitches. Judging by the hole in his blood-stained shirt and having welded the knife himself, the wound was nothing to sneer at. He didn't know anything about medicine, but leaving something like that untended was courting infection and he damn well wasn't going to die of blood poisoning at this point.
Marty made a face at the thought of asking Dana to take a look at it. He wasn't exactly comfortable being shirtless, especially in the company of women. But he really didn't have a choice in the matter, did he? Dean insisted on no hospitals.
In any case, he was too tired to feel embarrassed about his lack of physique at this point.
"Hey, Dana?" he muttered, opening the bathroom door. Dana was sitting against the headboard of one of the beds, her knees drawn up to her chest and a look on her face like she's been fighting a war in her head. The smell of pepperoni wafted through the room. The box was sitting, unopened, on the small bedside table between the two doubles.
He cleared his throat. "Um."
"Need something?" Dana asked.
Marty took a breath and stepped out, hunched with arms crossed in front of his chest.
"Yeah, uh…see, back at the cabin I kinda got hit in the back with a knife." Dana's eyes widened and he raised his hands to calm her. "I'm fine, I don't think it nicked anything vital! It just hurts like a mofo, and I can't reach back there to disinfect it or whatever."
"Turn around," Dana ordered, getting up from the bed and walking over to him. Marty obeyed, and heard Dana inhale sharply.
"How bad—?"
"We should take you to a doctor," she said. Marty turned back around to face her. Dana's brow was furrowed. "It looks like it needs stitches."
"I really don't want to get the cops called on this," he told her. His voice finally sounded as tired as he felt. "Maybe there's some of those moth things for cuts in the kit?"
"Butterfly stitches? I don't—"
"Those. Please, Dana."
She studied Marty for a second, then sighed and went to the bedside table. Marty followed and sat on the edge of his designated bed. The pizza made him light-headed with hunger, but first things first.
"Alcohol, stitches, bandage, tape," Marty listed off as she rummaged through the white box. Boy Scout training came back at the oddest of times. "It'll do for now."
Dana placed the items on the bed and clambered behind him. Even in his exhausted state, the anxiety of being shirtless in her presence washed over him.
He heard Dana rip open the tiny package of alcohol swabs and braced himself. He felt Dana gingerly wipe at the middle of his back.
"Shit," he hissed, fingers digging into the mattress as he flinched forward. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes. Fuck, that hurt.
"Sorry! Sorry!" Dana insisted.
"Nonono, I'm just a pussy," Marty panted. "Just get it over with."
He bit down hard as she went over it again, only letting a low grunt pass through his teeth. Her warm hand was on his shoulder now, and through the pain Marty heard her whisper frantic apologies as she finished disinfecting the wound.
A foolish part of him hoped that maybe she was apologizing for more than just the sting of the alcohol.
Her hands shook against his skin as she put the butterfly stitches in place and then taped gauze over it.
"Done?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at her. The burning was going down to a dull throb much to his relief.
"Yeah," she squeaked. She cleared her throat hastily. "Sorry, I tried to be quick…"
"Hey, hey, no," Marty insisted, shifting gingerly to face her. "No, don't worry about it. I've had doctors a lot worse than you. I swear."
Dana fiddled with the scrap paper of the alcohol wipes anxiously. On an impulse Marty reached out to still her hands with his.
"Thank you," he said in earnest. Dana swallowed and nodded.
"You're welcome."
She pulled away and slipped off the bed. After a beat, Marty picked up the first aid box and went into the bathroom to put on the shirt. Luckily it was huge, so he could take his time pulling it over his head without pulling the stitches loose. He examined his face in the mirror. There were some nasty bruises forming on his cheeks, but his nose had stopped bleeding a while back. He carefully went over scratches with the alcohol wipes and then placed the box on the empty pack.
The two of them forced down some of the bottled water in the tiny fridge and some pizza before settling in. Dana insisted that she wasn't going to be able to sleep. While Marty didn't want to wake up alone with Dana having slipped off in an attempt to spare him her newly-realized wolfy nature, he was fighting a losing battle.
He maneuvered onto his stomach and his last thought was how absolutely fucked up everything was. Marty awoke approximately ten hours later, as the afternoon sun was beginning to drift down and the cicadas were whining loudly. His body was incredibly stiff and sore, but he was alive.
And Dana had not left him.