Alrighty, this has been bugging at me to do, so here it is. This story just helps lay the foundation work...I just simply ask that you at least wait until Chapter 3 before deciding if you hate it or not. Dean kinda struggled with me a bit here...I think he's out of character, but it's the best I could get. Enjoy?
Timeline: Season 1 through 3, just about anytime. Or AU if you'd prefer. *shrugs*
Warnings: None that I can think of. Unless you have a thing against a father-figure Dean?
Spoilers: Nope, not here.
A year ago.
Dean was laying in the thick, white nest of bedding, every last inch of him cradled and supported in the softness. Not their usual fare at all, and the crushing lack of traffic was keeping him awake in the almost complete darkness. He turned his head; yup. Sam was passed out solidly, one arm snaked out and draped over the edge of the plush pillowtop mattress. He didn't begrudge the kid his sleep, but damn...he huffed, turning over to face the wall again. The absence of a creak, or the frame protesting was just as disconcerting as everything else about this hunt. Maybe he could sleep in the Impala for the night.
Bobby had called, asked them to help out a friend of his. She had a Kelpie problem in her pond, and he was elbow-deep in a skinwalker problem, couldn't get to her in time. Dean snorted mentally...old coot had forgotten to mention his friend was a witch. Damned things.
To be fair, the PC term was Pagan now, and she wasn't half bad. Apparently, she ran some form of a half-way house...they'd seen more ghosts in their three days here than they had in the previous three months, but all were courteous and polite, most lingering just long enough to pass on a message to Autumn before disappearing.
Well, except for her ghost dog. Dean shuddered, flipping back over to watch Sam in the darkness some more. He smirked, remembering that morning, Sam sound asleep on the floor of the living room, back against a crackling fire, arms wrapped around the mastiff-mix's barrel chest, face buried in Nateas' fur. The Kelpie had half-drowned him and the witch before they got it vanquished, but the beating had taken it's toll on the younger brother. The dog was massive, some mix of a mastiff and rottweiler and god knows what else, and built like a frickin house.
He was about to get up, go sleep in the damned Impala, when he hear the faintest whisper outside their bedroom door. He froze, ears straining, and heard the quiet rasp of rubber on carpet...someone was walking past their door. Only three people in the house wore shoes, and two were in this very room.
It took a moment to throw on jeans, stuff his feet into boots, slide the 9 mm into his waistband, throw the jacket to cover, cell into the pocket, and ease open the door. The slight noise had Sam furrow his brow, but didn't wake him, and Dean caught the glimpse of Autumn turning the corner of the stairs, Nateas' tail wagging eagerly behind. It was possible the dog still followed the same routines of needing outside, but considering he had seen it walk through walls without blinking, that seemed rather highly unlikely. He waited a moment before following.
She was headed towards the barn, the door already open and golden light spilling into the darkness. She paused by the door, dark blue eyes flickering over the fields and then towards the house, and he froze, pressing against shadows. She ducked inside, and he moved across the lawn, pressing against the wood to listen intently.
Heavy labored breathing, a whining sort of a whimper, and the witch's soft whisper. "Oh, Jack. Damnit. Stupid fucking hunters." Her voice trailed off, there was a yelp. "Sorry, sorry. Looks like it was clean though...Can you shift, or do I need to force it?"
The silence held long enough Dean risked peeking around the corner, and he froze, eyes landing on the massive grey wolf that stood in the barn, head hung low, panting. Blood spilled from a gash across it's back, the wound shallow and long across the shoulders. He squinted, considered...it looked like a bullet graze rather than a knife wound. Autumn kneeled beside it, jeans dusty already, eyes focused on the beast. "Jack? I need you to shift...if you don't I'll have to force it, and I know how much that hurts."
Dean was a step away from offering to help her move it when the air shimmered, twisting as the wolf quivered, whining as the panting increased, and the thing changed...
His gun was pulled and aimed as the werewolf stopped changing, a man resting on his hands and knees as he shivered, the fur hiding the wound missing now. He raised bright blue eyes to Dean, and jerked his chin. "Hunter."
Autumn spun, eyes narrowing. "Go back to the house Dean."
"That's a fuckin werewolf Autumn."
"Am. Not. Werewolf. Am Loup Garou," Jack spat, frame quivering, though the Hunter now sensed it was from the urge to change rather than cold.
"Same thing Fuzzy. Both mean you're a menace."
Autumn stood, and stalked towards Dean, shoving the gun away. "You promised to not harm anything while you were here. Jack is Loup Garou, not a werewolf. And he's wounded, so if you're smart, you'll leave. I've got this. He'll be gone by morning."
"I am not leaving you alone with a damned werewolf. Are you stupid? Do you know what those things do?" Though, he had to admit, the pale and shaking man didn't seem to pose much of a threat, blood dripping onto the dusty floor. He didn't have silver bullets in the clip, hadn't thought there were any weres in the area, but the regular ammo would at least wound it further.
"Am not a werewolf. Am Loup Garou." Jack snarled again, pushing himself to his feet.
"And they're the same thing."
"No, they're not, actually. Listen to me. Go back to the house. He's wounded, and it's my job to fix him. He won't hurt me. None of the Garous would." Autumn shook her head, frame tense as she eyed Dean. "Either leave, or help me. I can't focus on him if you're threatening to shoot him." She spun from him, slinging Jack's arm over her shoulders as she led him to one of the stalls.
Dean took a mental step back, analyzing the situation. Yes, there was a werewolf, but his gut wasn't screaming alarms. He trusted Sam's judgment more than his own, but considering the kid was still sound asleep...with a disgusted sigh he thumbed off the safety, shoving the weapon away as he stalked over to the stall.
He wasn't expecting to see the surgical table, nor the rest of the equipment laid out. He shook his head, remembering Autumn mentioning she was a vet, and leaned against the door, arms crossed against his chest, watching. "So what makes a loup garou any different than a werewolf? Both were in my Dad's journal, he cross-referenced them together. They're the same thing."
Jack was sprawled on his stomach, but shifted enough to prop his head on his folded arms, keen eyes watching the Hunter. "They are not the same. You are Hunter. It is in your blood. You have been bred to be Hunter." The man's English was heavily accented, pain slurring it further, but even then, he could hear the sneer in it. Autumn lightly cuffed his head as she examined the injury, and he lifted a lip at her. "I am Loup Garou. It is in my family. Our family has a long line of Loup Garou. Werewolves are beasts, stupid killing monsters. Loup Garou...we are different." He flinched, and his shoulders abruptly drooped as Autumn removed the syringe needle from his flesh.
"Easy Jack. Let that set, okay. Dean, sit down, you're makin me nervous." She wasn't even looking at him, eyes focused on the thread and needle she was threading. "Jack, just relax. It'll be over in a minute, we'll get you back on all fours, okay?" The wolf just sluggishly nodded, breathing already deeper and steadier than before.
"What'd you do to him?" Dean inquired as he came closer, taking a closer look at the ripped skin. Yeah, that was a bullet, for sure. Nasty one too. "How'd that miss the spine, anyway?"
"I sedated him. Makes him less likely to shift on me." She adjusted her light, shaking her head. "Damned hunters. Most Loup Garous stay clear, but they've learned to shift as best they can when fired at. Helps displace the organs, make it less likely the shot will be fatal."
"Any Hunter would have used a silver bullet for the heart. The silver always seems to rot the flesh where it touches... why's this clean?" The injury, while bleeding and red and angry, showed no sign of the usual silver poisoning.
"Because it wasn't your type of hunter. This was a regular, 'let's-hunt-Bambi' type of hunter. Wolves are legal to hunt in this area, with a proper permit. I can't get the Pack's territory sanctioned as a preserve, and it's just outside of my area...I can't even mark it as no-hunting. Not that that would stop most of these idiots." She lightly pricked Jack's skin, and when he made no move, slid the needle through, pulling it clear on the other side. A quick knot, a snip, and she settled into the rhythm of suturing.
"Why do you both keep saying Loup Garous are different?" He wanted to help, do something other than make like a statue, but she was fully competent, movements quick and efficient as she closed the gash.
"They are. Werewolves are made when one bites a human, and it changes them, right? They're bloodthirsty, change with the moon, and hunt down human hearts. Messy and nasty, and plain ugly." She flicked a glance up at Dean, and when he nodded, turned back to Jack. "Loup Garou are different. They're bred like this...it's in their blood, like Jack said. Started way back in Europe, ages ago. It can only be passed by genetics...biting you won't get you changed, just dead, usually. They change into a full wolf, not some upright monster. And they can change whenever, not just when the moon is full." She quieted for a moment, focusing on navigating a shift in the gash. "Though, when in pain, or whenever they bleed, its instinct for them to change. Wolves are stronger and tougher than humans; they're safer as wolves."
She tossed a smirk at Dean, and closed off the last stitch, straightening to eye her handiwork. "Good." She smoothed ointment over them, and flipped off the light, shoving the dirty trash into a bag, the sharps into a marked bin on the table.
Dean considered the odd mix of barn and medical suite, frowning as he scuffed a boot in the dust. "Isn't it kinda...unsanitary to do stitches in here?"
"Not on these guys." She knelt down, face on level with Jack's, and rested a hand on his cheek. "Hey, buddy. You're all done, okay? You know the drill...come back tomorrow, I'll take them out. Just rest though, okay? Be careful shifting, and if you need anything, send Nateas." He nodded absently, eyes sliding closed again, and she stood, jerking her head towards the door as she finished tidying up.
She eased the stall door mostly closed, and flipped off the overhead barn light as she passed. "See, they have much better immune systems than we do. Higher metabolism too...and the healing is insane. He'll be good as new tomorrow, provided he doesn't tear it open shifting today." She eyed Dean, glaring. "You don't go hunting them, got it? I mean it Dean. I won't allow it."
Dean and Sam had headed out the next day, rested up and ready to roll again. He had told Sam about the Loup Garou, and had made some notes in his journal as they had all lounged after dinner that night, the quiet broken occasionally by wolf howls in the distance. He hadn't thought more of it...after all, they hunted werewolves, and he hadn't really heard of the Loup Garou before, it was rather unlikely to hear from them again for anything in the future.
Oh, if he'd had known how wrong he was.