Summary- Dean and Sam are hunting a werewolf in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. A dream hunt for Dean soon turns into a nightmare…hurt!angst!Dean, protective!comfort!Sam
Rating- M (Violence, gore, blood, swearing and just plan messy)
Disclaimer- All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter One: Our Lives
The Impala swept down the long, winding road, passing by a large sign welcoming people to 'Baton Rouge, Louisiana' in big white letters. Dean sat behind the wheel, his grip tight and his expression one of concentration as he steered the sleek muscle car along the rain covered road. Sam sat slumped beside him in the passenger seat, slumbering away the hours and catching up on sleep on this journey between their last hunt and the potential hunt here. Their latest hunt hadn't been the easiest one that the Winchester brother's had battled. Sam had been checking the internet for possible cases when he had come across an obituary of a thirty-three year old man, Robert Harris, who had died in his house due to a gunshot wound to the head, believed to be a suicide. Shortly after the death towns' people had started complaining of loud noises and flickering lights inside the house, blaming it on young vandals. Knowing what they did they came to the conclusion that it was probably a restless spirit they decided that they should look into before anything worse could happen.
When they had arrived in Tallahassee one week ago they had got right down to work; they had swung by the two story house that sat at the end of a long winding gravel driveway; the white house secluded from the world by the tall trees and fences that boxed it in giving it a surly atmosphere. Sam and Dean had carefully picked the lock of the large white door before walking into the large hallway. They decided that they should do a complete sweep of the house to see if there was actually a spirit haunting the house or just really bad electrics. Sam had taken the upstairs of the house while Dean checked the ground floor. Dean was holding his homemade EMF meter in front of him as he walked through each room with his sawed off shotgun filled with rocksalt in one hand and his EMF moving slowly around as he watched as the red light stayed off indicating no activity. Meanwhile Sam did the same with the video camera upstairs with his shotgun held in a firm grasp. Sam and Dean had decided that they would check their individual floors and meet back at the entrance of the house in fifteen minutes. Dean had finished his sweep of the house in the kitchen which was situated at the rear of the building, finding not even a blip of activity in the whole of the ground floor. He was leaning against the counter looking around the room which was almost completely empty except for a single chair which was placed at a small table. The entire house from what Dean could conclude was sparsely furnished, so this guy must have lived a lonely, almost anti-social life from the looks of things and the lack of photos of family and friends. Dean was about to go and wait in the hallway for Sam when he spotted the basement door.
Dean walked over to the door of the basement and opened it to reveal nothing but blackness; he flicked the switch that was beside the door and groaned in frustration when still no light filled the dark expanse before he pulled his flashlight out and started walking down the stone steps before his feet meet the stone floor of the basement. Dean scanned the light around the room and walked towards a box that sat on top of a small bench before flicking through the large number of pages; he was hoping to find something of interest at least, when all he came up with was years worth of credit card bills and other useless crap. Dean let out a sigh and turned around to go and meet Sam back upstairs when he was confronted with the spirit form of Robert Harris. The man was a concerning shade of blue apart from the dried blood that painted the right side of his head originating from the small hole that was in the side of his temple. His dark brown hair was combed back in a very smart fashion to match the very expensive suit that he was wearing. The worst part about the apparition though was the cruel sneer of his thin lips and the angry fire raging behind his lifeless eyes. Dean had only moments to take in the sight before him when he suddenly found himself in the air, careening across the length of the room. The wind was knocked from his lungs when his back collided harshly with the wall, his flashlight and shotgun falling from his grasp and simultaneously skidding across the room out of reach.
"Son of a Bitch!" Dean hissed under his breath as he pulled himself to his feet. He could already feel the starting of a nasty bruise down the right side of his back where he had impacted with the wall. Dean's eyes had slowly started to adjust to the dark as he glanced around the room trying to see where the spirit had gone. Dean caught a flash of his shotgun at the other side of the room from a slim beam of light that was obviously being projected by his discarded flashlight. Dean had made it within arms reach of his weapon when he was suddenly crashed into by a flying object, catching him of the side of his head and sending him once again to his feet; this time however he managed to call out before his world turned black,
"SAM!"
Sam was scanning the upstairs of the house but it was turning out to be increasingly plain and dull. Each of the four bedrooms and even the bathroom that Sam had entered hadn't set off any vibes let alone any disturbances on the night vision of the camera that he carried in his left hand. He walked into what he assumed to be the master bedroom expecting to find photos and items of personal meaning to the deceased Robert Harris and was piked to find only a king sized bed with plain white sheets and a wardrobe that was also white. Sam tapped the shotgun that he held in his right hand of his leg three times in frustrated boredom before he walked out of the bedroom and began descending the stairs. He was nearly at the bottom when he heard something that made his heart stop beating in his chest, and his breaths seize
"SAM!" the sound of his brother calling his name froze him for several agonizing seconds before the world crashed back down onto his and he leap the rest of the way down the stairs, his shotgun now raised before him, unwavering even in his panic. Sam ran towards the direction the sound was coming from and saw the basement door lying ajar,
"Dean, you idiot" Sam chastised under his breath as he too flipped the switch of the basement lights and unlike Dean was rewarding in the room being flooded with light. Sam quickly descended the steps and quickly rushed over to Dean who was lying on his side, a steady stream of blood flowing from a gash on his temple. Sam scanned the area quickly, looking for any threats, before dropping to his knees beside his brother just as a groan escaped Dean's lips, a hand coming to rest against the source of pain, yet he still had to open his eyes.
"Dean, man, hey open your eyes" Sam requested as he gently pulled Dean's probing hand away from the wound before Sam could get a good look at it.
"Sam?" Dean asked confused…wasn't I alone in the basement?...before opening his eyes to see Sam kneeling beside him, a concerned look on his face.
"Can you sit up?" Sam asked as he put a hand on Dean's arm, ready to assist him if need be.
"Yes, Samantha, I can sit up by myself," Dean said in a sarcastic voice as he shrugged Sam's hand off and pushed himself into a sitting position, his legs crossed in front of him, "I got a knock to the head, that's all" he said as his hand once again found the way to the source of his pain,
"Safest place" Sam said using Dean's sense of dark humour to lighten the mood,
"Gee Sammy, I never knew you were such a comedian" Dean said with a look of faux hurt on his face before chastising Sam, "And anyway, I'm an injured man here, you should show some compassion"
"Hey, it's your own fault. What were you doing down here anyway, we were supposed to meet in fifteen minutes in the hallway" Sam said as he took Dean by the chin and turned his head in his direction so that it could get a better look at the gash,
"I finished early, so, ahh" Dean flinched as Sam poked a little too hard,
"Sorry" Sam said as he turned Dean's face towards him to check his eyes for a concussion,
"It's alright. So, I thought I might as well check the basement…didn't predict running into our resident ghost" Dean grumbled, pissed off that he always got threw around by the nasty's,
"You saw Robert Harris?" Sam asked as he removed his hand from Dean's face, satisfied that Dean was going to be okay, might only need a couple of stitches and an aspirin for the headache that Dean was undoubtedly feeling yet not going to tell him about,
"Yeah, freaky bastard tossed me around before disappearing" Dean said before pushing himself to his feet and walking over to grab his flashlight and shotgun,
"Huh…well we should try and find the grave tomorrow- standard salt n' burn" Sam said as he followed Dean up the steps of the basement, flicking off the light and once again casting the room into darkness.
After they left the house they had went back to the motel and Sam had cleaned, stitched and bandaged Dean's head wound. The next night Sam and Dean were once again stood in another cemetery in another town, digging up the remains of Robert Harris; Dean had taken the first leg of the work and it was now Sam's turn. The following morning they had went straight to research and they had discovered that Robert had killed himself in the basement of his house; no one had found him for days and he was angry that no one had cared enough to know that he wasn't showing up to work or visiting the local market like he usually did. So now, Sam and Dean were here to put his spirit to rest and they watched as Dean doused the body that was only slightly decomposed with gasoline before Sam threw a canister worth of salt over the body. Dean let Sam do the honours and drop the match onto the pile before it ignited.
That is how Sam and Dean now found themselves driving into the small town of Baton Rouge, Louisiana two days later. Dean still had the stitches in but he now only had a small white bandage covering them so he looked like less of a Mummy and was glad that he was no longer getting stared at when they were in a dinner or the library.
Dean pulled the Impala into a motel that was just a few miles inside of the town; it was late at night and he had been driving all night and he wanted to get a few hours rest before they started their work tomorrow. Dean pulled the car close to the front office and killed the engine before turning around in his seat to face Sam,
"Sam? Sammy? DUDE!" Dean started shaking Sam gently at first but when that failed to elect a response he slapped him upside the head and starting laugh when Sam's eyes popped open and he sprung forward in his seat, ready to fight the demon or creature that had woke him from his sleep. Sadly for him it was just Dean grinning at him like a contented cat and shaking his head in amusement.
"Dude, you shoulda' seen the look on your face" Dean said as his laughter died down,
"Where are we?" Sam asked as he glanced around his surroundings, and choosing to ignore his older brother.
"Baton Rouge, Louisiana…I managed to get us here cause I don't drive like a grandma" Dean said before opening the door, sprinklings of light rain getting inside the car, "I'm getting us a room, I need my sleep too princess" Dean said as he exited the car and walked towards the office and opening the door, the bell above the door signalling his arrival. A small and stout man with a white beard and white hair sat behind the desk as he watched reruns of 'Family Fortune' on the small television set in front of him.
"Can I help you?" he said in a gruff voice, not taking his eyes from the show,
"Yeah, one room, two doubles" Dean asked as he pulled his wallet from his jeans pocket,
"Sure. How long?" he asked, this time getting up and pulling a set of keys off of a small board, the number twenty-three written of the red key ring.
"Three nights" Dean said as he accepted the keys.
"That's sixty bucks kid" The man said as he sat back down in his chair but kept his eyes on Dean,
"You take MasterCard?" Dean asked and was rewarded with a nod of the head, "Great" as he handed of 'John Collins' credit card and signed the receipt, "Thanks" before heading back out to the Impala and Sammy, leaving the Motel Owner to once again resume watching his television.
Dean walked into the room and threw his duffel onto the bed nearest the door, Sam following and dumping his duffel and himself onto the other bed. Dean pulled his duffel open and began pulling various items such as the knife that he always kept under his pillow, a clean pair of black boxer shorts and a gray t-shirt. He then proceeded to unceremoniously dump his duffel onto the floor at the end of his bed,
"I'm gonna take a shower" he announced as he walked over to the bathroom and opened the door,
"Leave some hot water for me Dean" Sam said as he too pulled out a pair of navy sweat pants and a white t-shirt.
"I always do" Dean said in a sing song voice as he closed and locked the door behind him.
"I'm serious Dean!" Sam shouted to the air, grumbling under his breath about stupid brothers.
Fifteen minutes Dean emerged from the small bathroom. The warm water had eased his aches and pains from sitting in the car for hours upon hours- not that he was criticizing his baby –but his whole body felt more relaxed and he was bone tired. Sam looked up when he heard the door open and put down the book that he had been reading, grinning at the sight of Dean's messy and wet hair as he walked over to his bed and pushed down the covers before slipping inside- carefully placing his knife under his pillow and closing his eyes.
"You better have left me water" Sam said as he walked towards the bathroom,
"Of course I left you water…" Dean said, his voice already slurring with the promise of sleep, the lazy smirk that would not doubt be on his face lacing his words.
"I mean hot water…" Sam said shaking his head at his brothers' idiotic logic.
Soon after Sam was also under his covers, sleeping soundly and deeply on his back, his hands spread across his chest above the covers; Dean was curled up on his side, the covers cocooning him, as soft snores filled the room from both Winchesters as they rested, getting ready to battle the day ahead.
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