The only sounds that can be heard is the gentle rustling of the leaves, stirred by the whisper-soft wind filtering by, and my own, nearly silent breathing. My feet tread soundlessly over the scatterings of leaves and branches as I creep stealthily around bushes and trees, the dark lighting providing the perfect cover.
My fingers flex instinctively around the trigger of my .45 ACP, and I resist the urge to brush my free hand over my thighs to make sure my knives, and flasks of holy water and salt, are still there. They are, of course, in this lifestyle it was be prepared or prepare to die. One slip up and I could very quickly find myself with a slashed throat or something along the lines of that.
Behind me, I can very faintly hear what may be the footsteps of my companions. I glance behind me for a few seconds and catch sight of them. They move seamlessly, winding gracefully through the foliage that seemed to create a maze of nature. Their guns are clenched tightly in their hands, and I can barely see the lumps left behind by their other weapons.
I shake my head and focus my attention ahead of me. I can't let myself become distracted by anything in this sort of situation. Being on a hunt like this meant life or death for us, and any distractions could very quickly cause a tragedy.
I was just about to hop over a fallen tree when a scream shattered the silence. I froze, feeling rather than hearing my companions stop directly behind me. I carefully climb over the tree and creep up the slight incline, peeking down into the clearing down below. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the scene down below.
To an average person the scene unfolding would seem odd at most, but I know just how violent and dark this situation can get if not handled properly. I silently creep down the slope, drawing my knife and looking around. Once I was sure the coast was clear I sped up and rush over to the reason for this little traipse through the woods; a young girl, barely older than myself.
The girl, whom the family had called Emma, looks up weakly at my approach and the fear there was quickly replaced with guarded hope. I crouch down in front of her, setting my knife and gun down directly next to me.
"You're Emma right?" I ask in a hushed whisper, ignoring my companions pacing around behind me. The girl nods and I offer a small smile to her. "My name's Faith, I'm here to help you." Hopeful tears well in the girl's eyes, her body shaking with palpable relief, as I help her sit up from the ground.
"Thank God you're here. That thing left only a few minutes ago, I thought he was gonna kill me." she whimpers out, and I nod absentmindedly as I quickly check her over for any wounds and, more importantly, bite marks. "What was that thing anyway?" she asks shakily, and I glance up, hesitating for a moment, before deciding on telling the truth.
"A werewolf." It's said bluntly, but that's honestly how I am at times, and anyways it prevents any confusion.
Emma laughs lightly and shakes her head. "That's crazy there are no such things as werewolves," she says, but I can hear the uncertainty in her voice, so I look up and fix her with a severe look.
"You saw the fangs and the claws, and from the state of your upper body, I'm guessing you narrowly missed being bite by him. Not normal human behavior and appearance is it?"
She shakes her head and looks off into the trees behind us as I quickly, but thoroughly, finish my search. I was just about to call one of the others over to help me get her up when Emma's eyes suddenly widened, and a terrified scream left her mouth.
I flip around quickly and immediately went into instinct mode. Four werewolves were barreling down the slope, eyes turning vivid green while there claws and fangs began to lengthen. I grab my gun and spring into action, pumping three of my silver bullets right into the one at the front.
My sudden movement triggers the others into action as they pull their weapons out as well.
My breath leaves me as I spot three more of the beasts appear from within the trees and I curse to myself. How are we going to take on six of these things? I reach for my knife and quickly realize that I left it over by Emma, but just as I go to grab it a pained yell shoots through the air like a crack.
"Sam!" a rough voice shouts, and I look up just in time to see one of my companions, no other than Dean Winchester himself, take off across the clearing to where his brother, Sam Winchester, is lying on the ground in a pool of his blood. Dean thrusts his knife into one of the two werewolves standing over the vulnerable form of the younger Winchester and putting a bullet through the head of the other. For a moment I am frozen in my spot when another voice snaps me from it.
"Faith!" Bobby yells, suddenly right in my face. He shoves another knife into my hand just as the other four werewolves reach us. Bobby quickly takes the attention of two of them, the other two deciding to head straight for me. I quickly snap out of my shock and plunge the knife right into the neck of the were closest to me. The other one lunges at me, and I quickly yank my arm up and shoot three times, each bullet puncturing through his chest. The silver soon takes action, and the monster sinks to the ground. I look up to see Bobby decapitate the last one, his breathing just as heavy as mine as we meet each other's eyes for a moment.
However, the moment of relief is cut short when reality sets in and I spin on my heels looking around the clearing for the other two members of my little family. Dean is crouching over Sam, attempting to stem the flow of blood with some of the cloth he had ripped off of his shirt. I shove my gun and the knife into my belt and race across the forest floor, falling to my knees next to Dean.
Sam is pale, and it's lucky I'm used to seeing blood and gore because the amount of the stuff that is pouring out of Sam's wounds was atrocious. I inhale slowly before quickly helping Dean start to stem the flow, once that was done, I pulled off my flannel, leaving me in my tank top, and begin to wrap the wound with it.
From what I could tell, the werewolf had slashed Sam in his side, hitting a minor blood vessel. I thank whatever benevolent force there may be out there that it wasn't a major artery or anything like that because we don't have the supplies on us to fix that. As we finish tending to Sam's wound and once he didn't look so dangerously pale, I glance behind me to check on Bobby and Emma.
My adoptive father had spent the last fifteen minutes or so keeping the teenaged girl calm enough, as to not attract the attention of any passing hikers or any of the animals that usually populated this area quite densely.
Eventually, Sam finds the strength to get up and, between the combined efforts of Dean and myself to keep him supported, we begin the trek back to our cars.
Now that the high from the hunt has worn off I can examine myself, and my other companions- besides Sam- of any injuries. Dean sports a couple of bruises and cuts while Bobby has a minor scratch across his cheek, where one of the weres must have caught him with a claw. As for myself, I am proud to say I made it out of the hunt unscathed, something that is quite uncommon considering the things we fight practically every couple of days.
The fifteen minute trek that had led us to the clearing took nearly forty-five minutes between having to practically carry Sam back and having to stop every few minutes to calm down a still extremely hysterical Emma, but eventually, we make it. It's a relief when we stumble out onto the gravel road that we had taken to get here and to see our cars.
Dean and I manage to get Sam into the passenger seat and put Emma in the back. Once everyone is settled, and we agree to meet at the hotel after the boys returned Emma to her parents, Dean pulls off down the gravel road. Bobby is already in the car, and after throwing my weapons in my bag and finding another flannel shirt, I get into the passenger seat.
Bobby and I remain silent as we head towards the interstate, the car bumping gently along the road. Directly after a hunt, the silence is quite normal for us. Bobby is a man of few words; he's one of those people that when he did talk, people listened to him. So, I enjoy the momentary silence, knowing that eventually, he would make me talk- if only to make sure I'm okay mentally instead of just physically- later at the motel. I close my eyes and drift, the soothing, and very familiar, rumble of the Chevrolet's engine lulling me into a light slumber.