AU set around Season 6 where Sam's wall is constructed of sterner stuff and never comes tumbling down.

Chapter 1

They were wrapping up a hunt in Minnesota when Dean got a call from Bobby. The call started out by Bobby asking how their hunt was going. Dean told him it was a wrap and then asked what he was up to. The man had told him he was about fifty miles away, knee-deep in Vetalas.

"Vetalas? Bobby, those can be a real bitch to handle. You want some backup?"

"Nah, I'm out here with a few others—look, the reason I called is, I got wind of a small pack of werewolves. Maybe two or three. It's real close to you. You think you and your brother can take care of it?"

"Where at?" Dean asked, glancing back at Sam who was tossing the last of their gear into the trunk.

"About 45 miles east of your location. If you think you can swing by, I'll text you the coordinates."

"Yeah, we'll take care of it." Sam walked up and threw a nod toward the phone and Dean held up a finger as he listened to what Bobby was saying. After a minute he said, "We'll grab a bite and then get on it."

"Alright, and when I wrap up over here, I'll head your way. You boys be careful—hey and be sure to check back in when you're done."

"Okay, Bobby. Catch you later."

Dean ended the call and looked at Sam, "Bobby got a call about some werewolves in our area. Intel says it's a small pack; around two or three."

Sam thought it over, "Should be pretty cut and dry. Where at?"

Dean's phone chirped, and he pulled up the coordinates on his mapping app, "Looks to be outside Kingsdale."

Sam took a look as Dean zoomed in on the area, saying, "Looks pretty well surrounded by forest land."

"Yeah. Bobby said the attacks have been happening all along a popular hiking route that connects Kingsdale to some pretty nice backcountry camping. Campers have been going missing and the victims they've found, medical examiner is reporting some very suspicious bear attack wounds. Basically, the vics are covered in claw marks, and their hearts are missing."

Leaning in, Sam touched the screen and zoomed back out some. He moved the pin around on the map, looking at the surrounding area in all directions, and then said, "There's only a couple of roads that go in that general area. Depending on how dense the vegetation is, probably looking at a two-hour hike through the forest to get to those coordinates."

Holding the phone while Sam studied the map, Dean nodded, "It's going to be close to an hour away. If we left now, we should be able to get close to the den before dusk."

Sam took a step back, nodding, "Better get going then."

Parking alongside the ditch, they loaded up their gear while holding a brief discussion about their plan. Normally, loading up their gear meant grabbing guns and ammo, maybe a machete and some holy water; maybe an ammo bag. Today they were setting off on a long backcountry hike. They'd be far from shelter, food, and help. Not only did they need guns and silver, but they also needed to bring along basic survival supplies to get them through the night and even the next day or two if necessary.

Hoisting the hiking backpack over his shoulder, Dean fastened the sternum clip and cinched up the hip belt. Leaning forward he evened out the weight by giving the pack one final heave. Straightening up, he got the shoulder straps situated and then set off to follow Sam into the forest.

Walking past the tree line, the forest floor was carpeted with pine needles and a scant covering of the first leaves to fall that autumn. Looking around, Dean was happy to see very little brush. As far as he could see, it seemed a few vines and low-hanging branches would be their greatest obstacle.

Sam looked at his phone and then pointed out the direction they needed to head off in, "The coordinates Bobby sent are a hair over 8 klicks straight south-southwest." Sam looked up, and then said, "But, if we take the direct route, this wind will blow our cover in a hurry."

"Yeah, it's really picked up on the way over." Dean exhaled a cloud of white into the air and watched it dissipate. "What's it blowing at?"

Sam brought up his weather app and said, "It's sustained out of the northeast at 18 miles per hour, but it's gusting at twenty-five to thirty."

"Crap. That low-pressure system wasn't supposed to move in around 17:00. It's making an early arrival. The tree cover will knock the gusts down, but not enough." Dean sighed, "Gonna have to hunt the wind, Sammy."

"Yeah..." Sam's reply sounded distracted and Dean looked at him. He'd pulled out the topographical map and was wearing his thinking scowl as he examined it. Holding a finger to the laminated surface, he looked off into the distance, then took a step closer to Dean saying, "Alright, look. It's going to add about another two kilometers, but we can use this ridge to our advantage. Instead of hiking straight up it from the southwest, we can follow it around and go up the east face. We'll overshoot our landing, but then we can come in on a crosswind and intersect the target zone and still keep the wind in our faces." Sam shrugged, "Mostly."

Dean looked at the map and the route Sam had figured out, saying, "Sounds good to me." Giving his brother's arm a smack, he added, "Let's get this show on the road and maybe we'll be lucky enough to have things wrapped up before it starts to rain."

About a third of the way to the target area, Dean brought their pace down to a stop and pulled out his phone. He was planning on getting an update on the wind from the app but ended up frowning down at the screen instead. "Damn it; lost signal." Sam was already pulling out his phone and Dean asked, "You?"

"One bar... but it's going in and out."

"We have the same damn phone plan. How is it you always have a stronger signal?"

Sam grinned, "Same plan; better phone."

"Whatever. Okay. So, old-school it is." Dean took out the compass from a small compartment on the hip belt and used it to get a quick reading on the wind. "Can't get specific on the speed, but I've got it out of the northeast still."

Sam capped his canteen and slipped it back into a side pocket on his pack, "We're making pretty good time. Might even arrive ahead of schedule."

"That would be good—" said Dean. He took a drink from his canteen and then finished his thought, "If we get there before dusk, I'd like to take a look around and see what the area can tell us." He took another drink and then muffled a burp that ended in a groan. Pounding a fist against his chest, he said, "Starting to rethink the extra onions on that burger."

Sam smiled. Shaking his head, he adjusted his pack, saying, "I told you it was a bad idea. Extra onions on a greasy burger before a 'wolf hunt. One burp from you within half a mile, it won't matter if you're upwind or not, they'll sniff you out in a hurry."

Following after his brother, Dean replied, "That's exactly the plan. Draw them out quick and put'em down hard. We'll be in and out with just enough time to swing by and get you some yuppie coffee on the way home."

Hiking straight into a gusting northerly wind for going on two hours gets tiring and uncomfortable to say the least. Wincing, Dean adjusted his pack again. He couldn't tell if it was the hatchet or the sawed-off, but something had been digging into his back for a while. A few times, he'd been close to stopping to fix the problem, but with just over a mile left to their target area, he didn't want to break their momentum. He'd just have to put up with the irritation for the last 20 minutes of their hike.

They came to the top of Sam's ridge and stood in the evening's golden light for a quick break. Dean took a few drinks from his canteen and looked out over the land. Standing on the ridgetop, the wind had a stronger bite but the day's final few sunrays had enough warmth left in them to take the edge off.

Sam checked their direction one last time before they turned and headed down to the valley below. The rounded peaks of distant mountains were making quick work of swallowing up the sun and by the time they got down to the bottom, the light in the forest lost that rich, golden glow and had slipped into a dusty grey-blue. They still had enough light to see by but the forest was telling them their time was running out, and anything they needed daylight for they'd better get it done in a hurry.

Smacking the back of his hand against his brother's arm a couple of times, Dean signed a brief request and then Sam was digging out the map and handing it over. They hadn't spoken a word over the last hour. Instead, they'd fallen back on using a spattering of ASL signs that they'd learned throughout the years. A werewolf's amazing sense of smell wasn't the only unfair advantage they had over hunters. Their hearing was fine-tuned to pick up sounds from at least a quarter mile away. If the conditions and the landscape were just right, sometimes it was closer to a half-mile. Signing meant they could still communicate in the red zone without giving their prey a hand in finding them prematurely.

Dean opened the map and looked over the coordinates Sam had plotted. They were every werewolf attack within the last three months. Sam pointed at a spot, and then at a cluster of trees off in the distance that surrounded a small opening in the forest. It was the epicenter of the attacks and the area they needed to scope out.

Nodding, Dean folded the map and gave it back to Sam. He released the sternum clip and slipped his pack off his shoulder. The relief from whatever was jabbing him in the back was enough to make him bite back a groan. He rolled his shoulders against the tightness from the absence of weight they'd bared over the last couple of hours. Squatting down, he got to work by pulling out weapons and other essential bits of equipment. Unclipping he canvas ammo bag from the side of his pack, he checked to make sure it was loaded with the basic essentials.

Walking over to where Sam was tying a rope to his pack, Dean dropped his on the ground next to his brother's. Slinging the ammo bag over his shoulder, he watched Sam connect their packs with a quick-release knot. On hunts that brought them as far into the forest as they were, they always toted along their basic backcountry survival essentials. You never know what might go on and, that far away from civilization, they never went in unprepared. For the hunt though, small ammo bags would be enough to carry what they needed without hauling around a 20-pound backpack.

Dean watched as Sam pulled on the rope that hoisted their packs high into the branches of a tall tree and Dean hoped the wind would stay true to its forecasted direction. The last time he was able to bring up the weather app, it had shown that the wind was supposed to oscillate between the north and northeast until 9 am of the following morning. As long as that happened, they were golden. Otherwise, if it strayed off its projected path, it would carry their scent from the packs and very possibly screw their stealth straight into the dirt.

They came upon a clearing marked on the map as a hotspot and Dean got the sense that something was very wrong. The forest was too quiet. Yeah, it was early autumn and it was a cold night but with it being just after dusk, they still should have been surrounded by plenty of sounds. Stuff like: blackbirds nesting down for the night, squirrels making one last dash through the dead leaves, maybe even an owl if they got lucky. At the very least, it was still early enough in the season for the crickets to be out, but nothing moved. Even the wind that had been blowing through them for hours seemed to go still.

Dean glanced over at Sam. His brother's features seemed to mirror the same type of unease that was burning in his gut. They shared a look for a tense moment, and then Dean motioned for them to keep moving.

They covered close to another twenty meters before Sam made a fist in the air. They halted. Sam looked over his shoulder and then back at Dean, signing, Movement; 4 o'clock.

Dean replied, and my eleven.

Something moved again. It seemed to come from all around them. Dean whirled his finger in the air and they turned to stand back to back. Dean's eyes locked onto where he'd first heard movement. A twig snapped to his left. His gaze skipped over, following the sound. Not two seconds later a long, haunting howl cut through the eerie silence. He couldn't place it. It felt like it had come from his 2 o'clock. Wait—6 o'clock. What the hell. There was way too much movement out there for it to be just two to three werewolves.

His brother's back had been moving against his with easy respirations. Now, it expanded as he drew in a controlled breath. Adrenaline was pumping through their systems and that'll kick anyone's respiratory system into double-time. It tries to control you but, like Sam, the experienced hunter will harness it and make it work for them. Dean's breathing matched his brother's and soon they were in sync as the darkness of the tree line receded back, revealing the monsters hiding within.

Dean watched the advancing werewolves. Keeping silent was redundant at that point and he said, "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You notice anything different about these guys?"

Sam huffed, "You mean aside from looking like they just walked off the screen of an 80's monster movie?"

"Nope. That was pretty much it." Dean replied, watching in disbelief as the moonlight slowly revealed their full appearance. Their faces were a smash between a wolf and a human and they glared at them through glowing red eyes. Long, pointed ears were tucked back along their head and when they bared their teeth the thought: The better to eat you with! came to mind. Some moved on all fours and some stood on their haunches. Their bodies were covered in a silvery-grey fur that swayed and moved with the breeze. Most were unclothed, but a few wore torn pants, and that was just so cliché it made Dean grin with disbelief. Most of them were so large Dean was getting concerned that they were going to be more difficult to kill than the normal werewolves they were used to hunting.

A deep communal growl started to spread through the pack as a wave moves through the crowd at a baseball game, and Dean said, "I count seven." Sam answered with, "Add five from my end." Looking at the clouds of vapor curling around their snarling mouths as the werewolves slowly closed the gap, Dean cursed. What the hell was going on here?

Sam apparently had a similar thought because he said, "So much for two, maybe three, huh?"

Dean cracked a grin, "Bobby's going to have a conniption. Guarantee he rips his source a few new ones for the crappy intel—and, forget the species—I'm just talking about the number gap."

A snapped bark came from Sam's end. Dean had no idea how close the wolves were over there, but if Sam's view was anything like his, their time to stall was just about up. Leaning harder against Sam's back, Dean spoke toward his ear, "Alright. We drop what we can and then we'll have to dance. Count your rounds; keep track of how many you've spent and how many you've got left. Keep one step ahead of the smelly furballs—and Sam?"

Keeping his eyes on the wolves, his brother leaned his way, "Yeah?"

"Don't get dead."

He heard Sam snicker, and then reply, "Yeah. Same." Smirking, Dean pumped the sawed-off and watched the beasts charge.

TBC