Werewolf

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Chapter One

The rain was poaring down heavilly, and the Winchester brothers could barely see anything two feet infront of them, let alone John's journal to read the exorcism. Sooner or later the ink would be washed from the book and Sam would have no basis to get rid of the demon. No matter how close the book got to his face, it was still hard to comprehend the yoda-like written words.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, et secta diabolica, ergo draco maledicte et sectio, ergo draco maledicte et legio secta diabolica, ut Ecclésiam tuam secúra tibi fácias servire libertáte, te rogámus, audi nos."

The demon, writhing around in the disappearing devils trap they had created on the ground, screamed. Just as always, that thick black smoke burst out from the mouth, undettered by the rain. It was going back to hell where it belonged.

Immediately, Sam shut the journal and stowed it away inside his jacket for protection, shivering when the water from the book touched his somewhat dry shirts. But if it preserved the writing inside the book, he didn't mind so much.

"Where ... am I? What happened?" This was naturally what the man said as soon as he came round, with the demon gone from his body, he was able to do things for himself, something that he hadn't been able to do.

Dean made up a cover story, and this time it did not revolve around sleepwalking or 'this is nothing but a dream, a really, really vivid dream'. Sam wanted to pummel him the first time that he said it, as though it were intended as a joke, but it wasn't funny. Nothing about a possession was funny, even if the demon had gone back to hell, it would never be funny.

"Come on, Sam," Dean muttered when they were sure that Dr. James Frank from the Memorial Hospital in town was going to be okay. The brothers ran through the rain, heads bowed down so the rain wouldn't get in their eyes, to the Impala, almost flinging themselves inside the warm, closed off space. Dean realised then just how cold he was when he got inside, starting to shiver. No doubt he'd come up with a cold in a couple of days.

"Come on, now lets head to the Roadhouse," Sam sniffled, trying to wipe the water off his face with his hand, but because his skin was moist, it didn't have the desired effect. "Or at least get out of these wet clothes ..."

Dean shot him a glare quickly as he started up the car. "You're so not getting changed in the backseat," he said. "You'll probably dry off soon anyway. Its going to take us a couple of hours to get to the Roadhouse."

That was the truth, the Roadhouse was two-to-three hours from where they were, and even Dean's driving couldn't make that trip any shorter. Sam would just have to deal the best way that he could, sitting in clothes that would make squelching sounds everytime he moved on the upholstered seats. Talk about uncomfortable. But he dealt, he really did. Dean didn't seem to be much happier than him either.

Finally, after their clothes were partially dry, the rain had died down to a bare drizzle, and the hours had ticked by, the Roadhouse was infront of them. That made Sam silently cheer and want to do the Rain Dance ... Well maybe not. He almost jumped out of the car in his excitement, running around to get the bags - any bags, he didn't care if he got Dean's by mistake. He just wanted dry clothes and warmth.

Ellen had been alerted by the Winchesters that they were coming. This was only the second time they had come around, the first time was just over a month ago when their father died. Hopefully this time would be a little less desolate.

Dean knocked twice on the screen door and then entered, letting their presence be known to anyone inside. Naturally, during the day most human life in the Roadhouse was practically non-existant, except for a few overnighters who were too drunk to legally drive. The brothers only got a second to take in their surroundings when platinum blond hair obscured their vision. Jo.

"Couldn't stay away, could you?" she teased, a big flirtacious grin on her face.

Dean grinned, shouldering his weapons bag more securely. "Guess not," he replied, shrugging lightly so as to not dislodge any of his bags. "Hey Ellen!" he called toward the bar where a middle-aged, attractive woman stood, cleaning a couple of glasses. "How's it going?"

Ellen lifted her hand to wave at the boys. "Hey, just getting a little cleaning done, you wouldn't believe how many pathetic drunks were here last night. Bunch of unruly slobs ... How'd the demon hunt go?"

"Success," Sam said, dropping the bags by his feet and he sat up on one of the few stools around the outside of the bar. "Unfortunately the weather wasn't on our side."

Ellen nodded knowingly. "I hear you," she said with an eyeroll. "Tried to go out and get some more pretzels a couple of hours ago, the rain was coming down so heavy I could have had a shower out there."

Dean cringed; that was so not a good mental image. "I think our dad's journal copped the worst of it, though. I don't think the words as legible as they were before." He held out his hands, fingers wiggling in impatience, Sam pulled out the still-wet journal and handed it to him.

The writing was a tad smudged, though the general idea of the word remained the same. Exorcizamus had the 'zamus' taken out, but that was practically the first word to almost every exorcism. If not all.

"Ah, but Sam's like the walking, talking deal," Ellen assured, smiling at the youngest Winchester. "I'm pretty sure you guys will be alright with that one." She looked down at the bags at the boys feet. "You guys want a room?"

Dean nodded. "Yes, please." There was no way they could continue to travel around at this point, they needed a break, and Dean figured that he and Sam more than deserved one. "I'm thinking we're going to be stickin' around for a little while."

Looking up, Ellen eyed him seriously. "You're not going to stir up some trouble around here?" she asked, having more than enough of troublemakers in the Roadhouse.

The brothers shared a look and simultaneously pressed their hands to their chests. "We promise, cross our hearts," Sam and Dean spoke together, as though they were fraternal twins with the same mind set. Ellen could only chuckle.

"Alright, I'll trust you now. You make a move on my daughter though," she warned Dean specifically, "I will gut you bow to stern."

Dean held up his hands in the classic 'I surrender' style. "Don't you worry, Ellen. I won't." She had more of a concern about keeping Jo away from him. Wasn't his fault she kept flirting with him.

Ellen gave them a room key and assigned them a room upstairs and right down the hall to the left hand side. Room 40.

As soon as they got up to the landing, Dean glanced down the end of the hall out of habit, what he saw made him pause. A blond man, younger than Dean by a couple of years, stood in in the corner, facing away from the hall, his hands on both sides of the connecting walls. He was breathing heavilly, chest heaving like he was having trouble breathing. Sam unlocked the door, not noticing the man - not that he could be blamed, the man almost blended.

"Sam, could you take my bags in?" Dean asked, dropping the bags at his brothers feet, and nodding over to the man. "I'm going to make sure he's okay," he added in an undertone so nobody else but Sam could hear.

Nodding, Sam watched as Dean made his way down the hall, this was one of the reasons why he looked up to Dean. It was the simple fact that he was a good, kind-hearted person. He might be a brash hunter, but when he wasn't hunting something down, his true persona shone through. Someone who cared about others without consequence, or rather, unafraid of the consequences. Quickly, Sam unlocked the door and pushed it open, grabbing as many bags as he could carry, and chucking them in before getting the rest. He did not want to be out in the hall, just for some reason he couldn't do it.

"Hey, man," Dean began, thrusting his hands in his damp jacket pockets. "Are you alright?"

The man flinched, cursing himself internally for allowing others to see him like this. "I'm fine," he rasped, his throat parched. "I'm fine, just ... just leave me alone."

Dean wasn't ready to give up on this that easy. He was known for his determination and persistance.

"Is there anything I can get you?" he offered. "A drink? Or ... or something to eat?"

"No!" The man shouted, which really was a feat, taking into consideration of how dry his throat was. In an instant, he turned around and pushed Dean off his feet. "Get away! Just get away!"

Dean was more than surprised as he stared up into the bright, piercing blue eyes of the man, who immediately softened at the hurt expression the hunter on the ground was giving him. But there was no getting over the fact that he needed Dean to get the hell away from him right now. But there was no doubt if he went downstairs, he'd come across more of them and inevitably make it more worse than it already was.

"Meat ... Meat, please?"

Dean smiled and clambered up to his feet, favouring his chest that was still smarting from where he was knocked off his feet. That blow had been pretty hard, and that was saying something if it hurt Dean.

"I'll get you some meat," Dean assured, patting the man's arm and then running down the hall to the stairs, jumping them by two's. "Ellen! Do you have any meat? Any at all?"

Ellen paused in her act of wiping down the bar. "Why?'

Dean pointed up the stairs. "Some man needs it upstairs, could you give me some?"

Recognition surged through her, and Ellen immediately ran for the freezer. "Dear, God. Not now ..." It just had to be now, didn't it? She came back with still warm chicken, knowing that's what he preferred. "Here you go," she said, and then emphasised, "Hurry."

Dean nodded, and then took off as fast as he could. The man had slid down in the corner, clutching his stomach with one hand, while his other arm was draped over his knees with his head resting on the crook of his elbow. As if smelling the meat, his blond head lifted, and finally a smile - a genuine smile - cracked the stoic expression on his face.

"Thank you," he rasped, taking the chicken and wolfing it down in under five minutes. "Thanks for getting this for me."

Seated on the ground next to him, Dean nodded in acknowledgement to the gratifications.

"No problem," he said easily, shrugging. "I'm Dean Winchester by the way."

"Jeff Hardy," was the response. "You a hunter?"

Dean nodded proudly. "Born and bred, what about you?"

Jeff Hardy nodded, licking the juices off his fingers and wiping his hands on his jeans. "I wasn't born one, but ... I became one when I was sixteen." He nodded again, a small smile tugging on his lips. "You hunt alone?"

"Nope," Dean replied immediately. "I hunt with my little brother. My dad died recently ... he was a hunter, too."

"I hope you don't mind my asking ... What was it that killed your dad?" Jeff winced, apologetic about having asked such a thing about a recently deceased loved one of the man he was talking to. Normally, someone would have reprimanded him for that.

"Yellow-Eyed Demon," Dean replied, having no trouble talking about John. He immediately took the plate Jeff had set on the ground, brown juices still floating around on the plate. "I'll take that back out, Jeff. Seeing as I'm the one who brought it out." He extended his hand down, uncaring to the fact that the other hunters moist once-saliva covered hand slapped into his. He wasn't girly about that, he could easily wash his hands later.

"Thanks," Jeff said again, and Dean figured he had a habit of saying that word. "I appreciate your help, Dean."

"No problem," Dean said again, and then turned away, taking the stairs at a more slower pace than what he did before. He went behind the bar and washed the plate, knowing that Ellen had enough to do already. "Jeff's fine," he answered her questioning look. "Just needed something to eat and he was good to go."

"Oh," Ellen said, looking relieved. "That's good."

Watching her posture relax, Dean couldn't help but ask, "Do you know why he needed meat specifically?"

She smiled at him, though it had too much forced innocence in it. "Oh, no Dean. That's probably what he preferred at the time."

"You know him?" he asked, bowing his head down with raised eyebrows.

Jo came up next to him then. "Of course we know him," she said. "He helped us out a couple of months back with a poltergeist. Nasty rogue bastard that thing was." She splayed her arms out on the table with a coy smile. "Why do you want to know?"

Dean shrugged. "Helped him out upstairs when he seemed to be distressed or something." He patted the counter and then flipped around. "I better head on up to Sam before he thinks something is going on. He has a nasty way of thinking the worst."

Jo and Ellen shared a look while his back was turned, they were communicating.

"Well, you two should get some rest while you're at it," Ellen figured, putting on her motherly personality again. It came so naturally. "You both had a long hunt, and trip to get here. Don't want you passing out on my floor."

Dean chuckled lightheartedly. "Will do, Ellen. See you later, Jo." Hunters needed to get as much sleep as they possibly could, because between hunts and travelling, there wasn't much time for sleep, and any spare time should be spent sleeping or getting some money to travel. When he got upstairs, the hall was clear, so he pushed open the door to his room that was left unlocked. "All good," he told Sam, who spun around to face him immediately. "Nothing more to worry about."

A smile pulled on Sam's features. If anyone could instill peace like that, it was his brother. "So what happened?"

"I dunno," Dean admitted. "Got mad at me once and pushed me over, but all he needed was some meat and he was fine."

Sam frowned. "All he needed was food, and he made you run down and get it?"

There was something wrong with that picture for Sam, why would a person act in such a way if all he needed was some meat to make him better? Especially when all he had to do was walk downstairs and get some. The Roadhouse wasn't exactly void of food, it was real easy to get some. But also the fact that as soon as he had something, he was better again. Strange. Of course, Dean didn't think much of it, maybe Jeff just didn't have anything to eat for a while and just went crazy from the hunger. He'd seen it happen before.

"Did you get a name?" Sam asked.

"Sure did," Dean said, grinning from ear to ear as he sat down on the bed closer to the door. "His names Jeffrey Hardy - or Jeff, as he apparently likes to be called. He's a hunter, just like us."

Sam's eyebrows shot up so high that they were in danger of disappearing into his hairline. "He's a hunter? And his name is Jeff Hardy?" Dean nodded in confirmation. "Did you ask what room he's in?"

"You plan on stalking him or something? Just let it go, Sam," Dean advised. "He's fine now, its done."

That wasn't the reason why Sam wanted to see him. "I just got to ask him a couple of things, that's all. I'm just curious. Did you ask what room he's in, or not?"

Dean shook his head. "No, I didn't," he said. "I was more wrapped up in helping the guy rather than ask for what room he's staying in, Sam." He rested his hands on his knees and leaned in toward his brother. "When you help someone out Sam, those kinds of trivial things don't cross your mind."

"But I need to ask him something," Sam protested, sounding like a little kid again.

Closing his eyes, Dean took a breather before answering. "If he's downstairs tonight, I will tell you, Sammy. I promise I'll tell you he's there. Just hold off a little bit longer on the interview, pal."

Concieving defeat, Sam slumped on his bed, knowing he wouldn't be able to convince Dean otherwise. There was just no point in going from door to door, disturbing people. It might backfire and get them kicked out long before they wanted to leave. It was nice staying here, almost like the home they never had.

In a couple of minutes, Dean's body went lax against the headboard of the bed, and his soft snores filled the room. Up until then, he hadn't realised just how exhausted he really was. Sam smiled over at his big brother again, and snuggled down into the bed, finding the fetal position comfortable, and he fell asleep not long later.

Stomping up the stairs, Ellen went to door thirty-eight and almost broke it down with her fist, in a couple of minutes, it swung open and Jeff stood there, immediately looking guilty at the sight of her.

"Damn right you better look guilty! You want to be a little bit more careful there, Jeffrey?" she asked. "Now Dean Winchester may not be the sharpest, but he's definitely sharp enough to figure it out. Its his brother you got to worry about, he'll be onto you like a thumb tack!"

"Ellen, I'm sorry," Jeff apologised sincerely. "I was going to come down, but it just got overpowering, and I couldn't do it. I never meant for anyone to find me like that."

Ellen shook her head, slapping her hand against the doorframe near his face. He didn't flinch. "You best be careful from now on. Those boys are John Winchester's, and they've been trained almost all their lives to recognise one of you. Sooner or later they are going to figure it out if you keep behaving like this."

At the mentioning of Dean being John Winchester's son, Jeff's eyes went wide. He doubted there was a single hunter or demon out there who didn't know about him. He barely registered that shock when Ellen walked away, a loud thump echoing around the room with every step.

To Be Continued ...