Midnight Moon
Prologue
Sitting alone at the bar at midnight with a whiskey in hand is not how Dean Winchester expected his twenty-fifth birthday. No dad, no brother. Just him and this. . . oddly tasting whiskey. He put the cup down and stood up, barely able to stand up right without swaying. All he wanted was to be able to call his family and at least see if they were happy and safe. He knew they would be too wrapped up in their own worlds to remember his birthday, but that was ok. It wouldn't be the first birthday they had forgotten. Over the past year, he would drink to his families birthday's. This year, he would have to do it all again.
He walked out of the bar, the world tipping at an angle and he thought he was going to vomit. He called himself lucky when he didn't, judging by the quantity of alcohol he had drank. He got out to the Impala and crashed into the drivers seat. Arching himself off the seat, he stuck his hand in his pocket and fumbled with his keys, dragging them back out but his hand brushed against the fabric of his jeans and it took the keys from his hand. As he bent down to retrieve them, a wolf howled, it sounded a little close.
He sat bolt upright, keys in hand, wondering if he should take the son of a bitch down. He decided against it, if he couldn't stop shaking from the amount of alcohol his body was fighting off, how in the world would he aim and shoot a wolf dead?
Sticking the keys into the ignition and turning them, the Impala came to life. He sighed and fully relaxed. He turned out of the car park and onto the high way, turning on his music. He tapped the steering wheel in time with the beat of the drums and hummed along with the singer.
As he got into the middle of the highway, the engine shuddered and stopped suddenly, the music stopping halfway through the chorus. He stared at the dashboard with wide eyes, he couldn't believe his baby had just died on him. He smacked the wheel and got out, going toward the bonnet to see what went wrong. Everything seemed to be in order, but he knew something had to be wrong with the car, or it would not have given out on him.
The back of his neck prickled, sensing something was wrong. He was half-tempted to get back in the car and lock all the doors and wait until sunrise, but he had to get out of there, so he decided against it. The feeling grew. Grew until he was putting down the bonnet and making his way around the car.
There was a stick on the ground that he didn't see and he stepped on it and it rolled, taking him down to the ground, rolling his ankle badly. He bit back a cry of pain, bringing his leg up to clutch at his lower leg, near his ankle.
This was just perfect. He didn't think he could get back up and into the car, he didn't think he could get in the car and save himself from whatever was making chills run up and down his spine. Still, he wasn't going to go down without a fight.
He pulled out his gun and flicked off the safety. Anything that wanted to come and get him would eat a bullet, he wouldn't even hesitate to shoot whatever the hell that bastard was.
As the wind picked up, he could have sworn he heard a growl ripple through it. Ok, now he really had to get up and get in the Impala. Despite the fact that it probably would not go, it was still the biggest use of protection he had.
He dragged himself into a sitting position and fumbled with the door, trying to get a hold on the handle and open it. His hand was so sweaty that his grip failed a couple of times. The third time was the charm and he pushed himself up, using the door to help, left leg elevated off the ground. He went to climb in and then his worst nightmare happened.
Something bit into the hem of his jeans and pulled. His whole body gave out from underneath him and his upper body smacked onto the floor of the Impala and his head began to bleed as it was scraped along the rocky ground.
He tried to make a grab for anything to help keep him from being dragged into the forest, he wished he had just stayed in the Impala, or in the bar for a little while longer. He might not have been in this position if he had.
Using his bad leg, he kicked out at the thing, still making grabs on a few passing trees and thick weeds, even a bush at one point. Nothing he had gotten a hold of stopped him from being dragged off. It was either too slippery or the thing dragging him off was too strong.
That didn't stop him from trying. He was amazed that he managed to keep the gun in his hand, despite how much nature was throwing at him, trying to get him to let go of the weapon. He managed to catch a glimpse at the sky and his heart almost failed on him.
It was the full moon.
That meant there could only be one thing that was pulling him through the woods. A werewolf.
His struggling intensified, until he smacked his head on a passing tree and knocked him out.
When he woke, he was lying in a clearing, his body aching from everything it had just been put through. He could feel his heart pumping through his chest and his breathing was ragged and uneven.
Remembering what happened to him, he pushed himself up and tried to run. The most excruciating pain shot up his left leg and brought him back down with a howl of pain. He clutched at it and held back the tears that sprung to his eyes and made them swim.
Twigs snapped and he heard deep, monsterous breathing that made his heart almost stop. He began to crawl away, using his right leg, not his left.
The werewolf attacked him then, claws raking through his skin, throwing him around like a rag doll. The gun flew from his hand and landed five feet away from him. He punched and kicked, ignoring any pain that ran through him from the reactions.
Then the worst thing happened to him.
He was bitten.
His shoulder ached and he found his blood pumping all that much harder as the venom got into him. He started to shake as his body tried to fight against the toxins that had entered him, he knew it was all over for him now.
He punched the werewolf and crawled toward the gun. The wolf bit into the hem of his jeans when he was just mere inches away from the gun. He turned himself around, using most of the werewolf's strength to his advantage and kicked the wolf right in the face turned back around, grabbed the gun scrambled up onto his knees and shot at the werewolf as it lunged back toward it.
With a whimper, it went down, bullet hole through its chest.
Dean fell back down on his back and tried to ease his heavy breathing up a little bit. The adrenaline was hurting him and making him hallucinate a little bit. Within a couple of seconds, he realised that it was not the adrenaline. It was from the werewolf bite.
He pulled out his phone and thanked God that it worked. He called John, got voicemail, left a message saying he needed help badly and hung up. Called Bobby, voicemail, he gave up and didn't leave a message. He phoned his last lifeline. Sam.
It rang and rang and he prayed someone would pick up- that pretty little blond he saw Sam with once. Nobody did and he hung up.
Standing up, he knew he was on his own for this one.
Bitten and changing into a werewolf on his twenty-fifth birthday.
To Be Continued...
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