All right. The sequel you've all been waiting for since you finished "The Change" five minutes ago, right?
Title: Flux
Summary: John is hunting a werewolf. The werewolf just happens to be his oldest son, who is on a hunt of his own in a small Michigan town. As usual, nothing goes as planned, and the family has a little impromptu reunion. Can things ever go back to the way they were? Wow, that summary sucked. Just trust me. It's a good story.
Warnings: You should all know by now that I hate John, so he's sometimes a jerk in my stories. I know he loves Dean, but, come on, the guy's self-esteem landed him in Hell. Great parenting, John. Really great.
Rating: T
Disclaimer: The show and its characters aren't mine. If they were, werewolves would look like werewolves and Dean would think more of himself as a person.
Flux
Heavy footfalls crunched over a debris-ridden floor as John Winchester traveled slowly through the decimated remains of the little house, gun drawn and held at the ready. He reached the kitchen and gazed around the scene. Fresh blood was splattered across the floor and stood stagnant in four puddles. A set of large wolf tracks led from the puddles to the stairs. A set of equally bloody bare human tracks led the way back. Those tracks were joined by large shoeprints as they led out of the house.
"Dammit," John muttered, stuffing his pistol back into the waistband of his jeans, sniffing the air and picking up the faint scent of smoke as if wafted through the house from somewhere nearby, "just missed 'em."
Three Months Later
Sam Winchester awoke to the sensation of being poked repeatedly in the arm. He cracked open his eyes, his gaze traveling across the darkened motel room. His brother's bed was empty. "What?"
"He's here," Dean hissed, drawing Sam's attention to the space on the floor between the beds, where the older man was crouched down, hiding.
Sam sat bolted upright in the bed, thin sheets pooling at his waist. "What?"
Dean nodded, his eyes wide with fear. "I heard the truck. Smelled his cologne. He found us. Sammy, he found us."
Sam swallowed hard, staring down at his brother in shock. He couldn't remember ever seeing the older man so scared, so certain that his time was finally up. "How close?"
"He tired to get in. I heard the door knob rattling. I think he went to the office to ask for a spare key or something. What are we gonna do?"
Sam pushed the covers away from his lanky frame and jumped from the bed. "We're gonna grab our stuff, slide out through the window in the bathroom, sneak around to the car, get in, and drive far and fast," he said, stumbling into a pair of jeans, "good thing we already packed, huh?"
Dean nodded slowly, crawling across the floor to the chair where their duffel bag sat, packed and ready for the next hunt. "Yeah, I guess."
"Get up off the floor. He's not gonna shoot through the windows."
"How do you know?" Dean asked, getting to his knees, but refusing to actually stand.
"Because he could hit me." Sam hated to see the hurt look in his brother's eyes at the statement, but also knew that Dean would see the truth behind it. After all, why would John risk killing his remaining son? He was only after a monster.
"Grab your knife," Dean muttered, slinging the bag over his shoulder and crawling toward the open bathroom door.
Sammy rolled his eyes, but did as he was told, lifting up his pillow to reveal the gleaming knife of pure silver his brother insisted on him sleeping with "just in case." Just in case, of course, being Dean freaking out and trying to maul Sam in the middle of the night, something that could never happen, not while he was in control.
Sam tucked the knife away and joined his brother in the bathroom. Dean was staring out the window with a certain intensity that the younger man had named his 'Tom Welling Stare,' after the crippling looks that TV's latest Superman was known to give things he was trying to x-ray or blow up. Dean, who wasn't as avid a Smallville watcher as his brother, hadn't gotten the joke.
"He's not out back, is he?" Sam asked.
Dean shook his head and turned around. "Not that I can see."
Sammy nodded, gazing through the glass into the darkness beyond, wondering what it must have looked like to his brother, who had gained a certain degree of night vision since being bitten by a werewolf nearly half a year before.
Dean sighed and grabbed the bottom of the window, bracing himself to try and fling it up, even though it had been nailed shut at some point, probably to prevent break-ins. He lifted it up like it was nothing, ripping nails out of wood and sending splinters flying. It was things like that that made Sammy envy his brother. Strength, speed, agility, and stamina like Dean's could easily come in useful in their line of work. Unfortunately, the perks didn't outweigh the fact that the older man was being hunted by his own father, a man who's orders had sent Dean into the situation that had ended with a painful curse.
"You coming?"
Sam snapped out of his thoughts to see Dean standing outside the window, gazing in at him with pleading eyes. "Sorry. Just thinking."
"Well, think in the car," Dean snapped quietly, disappearing around the side of the motel.
Sam put his hands on the windowsill and wriggled his long body through, falling onto the ground with a soft thud. He walked around the side of the building, staying close to the wall, only stopping when he saw the crouching form of his brother. He joined Dean, keeping his body low, and peeked around to the front of the motel in time to see the manager opening the door of the room they'd just exited and ushering John inside.
Knowing that it was their only chance at a clean getaway, the brothers sped toward the car. Sam dove in through the open passenger-side window and reached over to unlock the door for his brother. Dean slid in behind the wheel and started up the car, pulling away from the small motel as his father came running out of the room, glaring after his sons as they sped off into the night.
o0o0o0o0o
"So," Sammy said, finally breaking the silence that had fallen in the car after the brothers had sped away from their homicidal father, "you never did tell me why you wanted to pack up yesterday before we went to sleep. Did you-?"
Dean shook his head. "No. If I had thought dad would crash our party I would have shagged ass outta that town sooner. I wanted to pack early so we could head out faster."
"Head out where?"
"Found a new hunt. Figured we should get on it right away. We can start tonight if we drive through the day."
"Tonight?" Sam asked slowly, "you do know what tonight is, right?"
"Uh, Thursday? Don't worry, Sammy, they rerun Grey's on Friday."
"No. Dean, it's-"
"You really think I'd forget that?"
Sam shrugged. "Just wanted to be safe, that's all. Do you really think it's smart to go out tonight?"
"It's a small town," Dean defended, "besides, people are dropping dead. It's kind of urgent."
"Fill me in," the younger man sighed, accepting defeat.
Dean grinned. "Knew you'd cave. Anyway, over the past six weeks there have been six deaths in this town in Michigan. Each under 20. Each of natural causes. They died in their sleep."
"Weird, but is it our kind of thing?"
"All of them died on Wednesdays. Something's feeding off of them. I'd say it picks its victims on Thursday and spend the week munching until they die."
"What could do that?"
"Exactly what we need to find out."
"And you're sure it can't wait?"
Dean sighed. "Look, Sammy, I know you're worried, but what could it hurt? It might actually help. Remember that witch that took me in as a pet a couple of months back? These things trust their own. They'll never suspect a werewolf to turn against them."
"Whatever," Sam said quietly.
"Dude, what's up with you?"
The younger man shook his head. "Bad feeling, I guess. Probably just because of dad getting so close."
"Well, we doubled around, turned some corners, and I'm pretty sure he won't be able to find us again for a while. That make you feel better?"
"Not really," Sam muttered, "but it doesn't matter, does it? We're still going."
Dean smiled and nodded. "Yep. First stop is the high school. The last one to die was only 17. I figure we can pose as grief counselors and talk to his friends."
"Sounds like a plan."
So, how do you like it so far? Reviews make my world go around, and you don't want to mess up its orbit, do you? Tell me what you think!