Heart of a Soldier, Blood of a Hero

Oh no, there ain't no rest for the wicked
Until we close our eyes for good

I. Close Our Eyes For Good

There was no black dog.

And Dean was pretty sure he would notice if there was a friggin' black dog nearby.

Dean swiveled around in the field, cursing in his head and trying to avoid taking out his frustrations on the long stalks of God-knew-what. The only indications something was off had been the spotty signal as he'd gotten closer to the coordinates, and the abandoned graveyard less than a click in front of him that had been what led them to believe it was a black dog in the first place.

But there was nothing else, let alone any dead, mutilated bodies anywhere... Yet Sam's message had insisted this was the place-

A howl pierced the fast darkening sky to Dean's right before the thought was finished and he immediately tensed in readiness.

Gotcha.

Still, the sound had sent an involuntary chill to his spine, the word hellhound springing to mind.

Dean sucked in a breath. Hellhounds. Now those were some freaky monsters.

Pushing the thoughts of hell and demon deals that would come with, Dean focused on the hunt at hand. He would've appreciated having Sam there for backup, but the other man had skipped out on him, giving him the directions and saying he'd be there later.

Well, the hunt was now, Dean thought in anticipation as another howl sounded, this time closer and behind.

His grip tightened confidently as he raised his shotgun, then quickly double-checked the blessed scythe hanging by his side. He would shoot the thing full of rocksalt first, then decapitate it. Simple.

Another howl. Except from the left. Dean frowned, not liking how the thing was moving...as though it was circling.

Massive ghosts of the canine variety? Not good to mess with.

So when Dean turned and stared right into red eyes that were the only feature visible of the monster, he couldn't help but curse. Friggin' ghosts...

The eyes remained there, suspended in midair and unwavering even as they narrowed predatorily.

"That's just creepy," Dean muttered, holding the shotgun to first shoot the thing and keeping the blessed scythe by his side.

Even as he did it a thought occurred to him. Black dogs didn't have eyes like that. Like the fiery depths of hell. It was unnerving.

Without further hesitation, Dean pressed the trigger, braced against the kick, and reloaded in one breath. The shot hit right between the red eyes.

They blinked out for a barely a second before the slits showed again, pissed off and annoyed and holy shit there was a flash of pale white. Teeth. Sharp teeth. Freakin' fangs.

Dean looked at the monster, to his shotgun, then back at the monster again.

An uneasy feeling slowly sank in and his stomach dropped.

Not possible...

Yet the signs were there – creepyass red eyes, the controlled invisibility and only annoyance in the face of rocksalt, and the – though Dean may have been imagining it then – knowing look the thing gave him.

What the fuck did it think it was doing out of the depths of the darkest part of the world? Just happening to find Dean Winchester? Hell no.

But it was there.

Two more menacing growls came through the darkness.

Three of them were there. Hellhounds. Not a black dog. Shit.

Dean felt the hopelessly small container of salt he carried with him shift in his jacket pocket, knowing a circle would protect him long enough for him to think of another plan to get away.

But he wasn't sure how that would happen considering he was in the middle of a field half a mile from a dirt road through piss-poor' nowhere, and he would still be trapped. And he couldn't even see his attackers, the dark blanket of night making that impossible even if they were completely visible. The heavy, hungry panting and scrabbling of claws on dirt and stalks were all that let Dean know that the things were there.

Shit.

One pair of eyes flashed as the beast leapt through the air and in a split second Dean had dropped his shogun and lifted his scythe on pure reflex. In the next second, pain erupted in his arm and he fell hard onto his back.

On your feet. Always on your feet. It's easiest to be kicked when you're down.

The long-hammered in instructions of his father and experienced hunter John Winchester pulsed through him along with Dean's instincts and he crouched slightly on the balls of his feet and spun around to face the threat, despite the stinging cut from his shoulder dripping blood under his shirt.

The hound that had attacked him was shoulder-to-shoulder with its two comrades, leaving a bright flash of blood on the ground and Dean was briefly satisfied that at least he'd managed to cut the son of a bitch. But then the other two wanted retaliation and he heard them move. Flashes of red eyes and glints of pointed white of teeth and claws appeared as they altered in and out of view in the barely moonlit night.

Hellhounds could only be seen by people near death.

Dean could hear his heart thumping as fear-turned-adrenaline pumped through his blood. Not possible. No freakin' way. Nonono...

His year wasn't up. Four months left – and he should know, having mentally been counting down since that dooming day that he'd saved Sam's life. So why were there hellhounds here, after him, when Hell was supposed to be minding its own damn business and letting him live his last year?

Demons lie.

No, Dean denied, even as he sprang out of the way of another lunging animal and decided that maybe a salt circle would help, even if only for a little.

He'd had to kiss that bitchy demon.

That sealed the deal.

Dean twisted around as he heard the low growls and barks coming from all sides of him. A thin barrier of salt was now all that stood between him and three hellhounds with lightning speed and teeth that could ravage a living lion.

Or maybe it hadn't?

Shit.

The salt started to shift from the forced heavy breathing of the demon spawn, as Dean had known it would. Dropping the now almost-empty canister, he grabbed his phone from his pocket. Fight nor flight were options now, really, so Sam had better get his ass to this field right freakin' now-

There was a break in the circle.

All three hounds lunged at the same time, coming at Dean from different sides and the phone dropped, ringing drowned out by the savage sounds of flesh tearing. Thankfully not all of it from Dean.

There were three of them – hungry, filled with bloodlust, vicious hounds of goddamned hell – and only one him. A seasoned hunter, badass, and never going down without a fight. Even if it was useless.

A/N: *throws confetti for starting a new story when it's only a few chapters done*

I was going through updating withdrawal (cuz that's a thing), and also it is the birthday of the amazing, talented, ever-entertaining twin of mine – agent iz hyper! And because she timed her conception perfectly, it is also the birthday of our idol Eric Kripke and that of the freaking Impala. Damn iz. So this is dedicated to her, also because of her beta'ing skills which will be called upon x) And especially since I kind of ruined her video...*frowns* *kicks the world*

I started this idea a long time ago and sent it to iz, and finally I realized probably the only way for me to continue with this is if I knew it was already up and running. So I spiffed it up, and bam. Ready for a new ride.

My fingers hurt a lot right now so I'm going to leave you all with a final happy birthday to izzy and a hopeful request for you to review and let me know you're into this and all. *nudge*

~Dodo