DISCLAIMER: Supernatural doesn't belong to me. Anna, however, and the plot of this story does. How dull.
The sun beat down on Dean's shoulders as he moved carefully down the street, shotgun at the ready. Across the small dirt street, Sam raked the hair from his eyes, grimacing at the sweat that slicked his hand through his chestnut shag. Pistol in hand he wiped the other palm dry on his pant leg. Somewhere up ahead a screen door opened and slammed shut in the wind repeatedly. A sign swung, creaking, over one porch and both men moved slowly toward the end of the street.
"Anything?" Dean muttered. Thank God, Anna had sent a pair of the ear buds with them when they had left San Antonio almost three months ago. The small receivers had been a lifesaver on more than one occasion.
"Nothing," Sam answered. "But I can feel something here."
"Well, you let me know if it's something that I need to shoot," Dean quipped.
"You're a little trigger happy today," Sam observed peering into a dusty window.
The ghost town they were in had decided to take the term literally and the boys were now trying to quiet a gunslinger's ghost that had recently taken to poltergeist bursts of activity, harming a few tourists during the last tour that came through. John had passed along the job to Dean and Sam without bothering to tell the boys where he had heard about the job.
"Shut up," Dean answered. Sam was right. Dean was on edge. In the almost three months since they Winchesters had left Anna in San Antonio he hadn't spoken to her once. Every time he called Dean only got the machine, and the one time she called them she had called Sam's cell. Dean was close to just turning around and driving to Texas just so he could see her. The cave dreams were less common now, but they had become dreams of him watching Lawrence kissing Anna and Dean screaming her name, begging her to stop.
"She's not avoiding you," Sam said gently. Dean clenched his jaw, annoyed as hell that Sam always seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.
"Leave it, Sammy." Dean pushed open the saloon doors with the barrel of the gun. He didn't want to talk about this now. He was quickly approaching the point of just pretending he'd never met the girl at all.
"She's been on a job," Sam pressed on. Dean stopped and turned to face his brother who just shrugged.
"She called me to tell me," Sam smiled apologetically. "She had hoped it would only take a day or so, but when she checked her messages and realized you'd called a few times she called me."
"She wasn't going to go hunting alone!" Dean forgot about the ghost and started toward Sam. "She isn't supposed to be hunting!"
"Dean, she got a call from the Den." Sam moved to meet Dean in the street. "They needed her help."
Dean swore and jammed his free hand in his jacket pocket, a move Sam recognized. Dean was hurting and frustrated, and nothing Sam could say would help now.
"She's with Thibideaux, then, and I'm stuck here in Podunk nowhere."
"I don't know," Sam shook his head. "Let's bag this bad guy and then we'll go yell at her. I'm supposed to call her tonight so we can all meet in San Antonio."
Dean clenched his jaw pulled his hand from his pocket to grip the barrel of the shotgun. He turned away from Sam and took a step back toward the saloon just as a burst of light erupted from the ground, throwing both brothers back onto a wooden walkway.
"What the - ?"
"Jee-sus!"
The Winchesters untangled their limbs and slowly helped each other to their feet. When Dean looked up he saw a column of blue fire moving slowly to the center of the street. Sam saw something more. In the center of the column was the figure of a man with large sideburns that followed the jaw line and led into a bushy handlebar moustache. Empty sockets burned black where his eyes should have been, and his forehead was covered by the brim of his weathered Stetson. A long duster covered the vest and guns the gunslinger wore above faded slacks. Spurs jangled on his boots as he walked.
Dean watched the man materialize slowly as he walked forward and his gaze was drawn to the sawed-off shotgun the ghost carried casually in one gigantic hand. In life the gunslinger was probably six foot six, but in death he seemed much, much bigger. Crap. The gunslinger raised his arm, leveled the shotgun at the brothers and squeezed the trigger.
Sam and Dean leapt apart, each diving for cover, as the blast sent boards and splinters of wood into the air. Dean rolled into a kneeling position and aimed at the gunman - who was no longer in sight. Dean stood slowly and moved out from behind the trough toward the center of the street.
"Dean!"
Dean motioned at Sam to stay put as he moved further away from cover. Behind Sam a door swung open and both brothers spun, aiming at nothing. The cling of spurs echoed off the storefronts and Sam turned back to Dean just in time to see the ghost rematerialize.
"Dean! Look out!"
"I'm looking!" Dean spun around. "Where is he?"
The answer came in a blow to Dean's chest that sent him flying backward, crashing into the barrels where Sam had been hiding.
"Dean!" Sam cried, pulling his brother up off the street.
"This job sucks," Dean grunted in pain.
"Dean! Are you okay?" Sam was frantically patting down his brother's torso for any injury.
"Yeah," Dean replied, slapping Sam away. "But don't tell Wyatt Earp. He might hit me again."
. .>. .>. .>
Anna hated the woods. She hated camping. She hated being without running water and a toilet. Anna hated this job. She wanted to be back in her warehouse cataloguing the cache of books she had found. She wanted to be barefoot. She wanted to talk to Dean. He had sounded close to frantic in his messages, and her being stuck here in the middle of nowhere with Rin-Tin-Dick was pushing her close to the edge.
"Hey sweetheart," the wolf drawled. "Don't go spacing out on me. I like my women quiet, not stupid."
John Genchy was as attractive as every other wolf Anna had met. She had a fleeting thought that it might be a result of natural selection - ugly wolves will be culled to make way for the Adonis of the breed. At just over six feet, John was imposing with sea-green eyes and sharp, angular features. His skin was fair and his shaggy mop of sand colored hair gave a boyish softness to his almost overpowering size. He looked like a Norse god, and Anna thanked the heavens she preferred Mediterranean looks. The last thing she needed was another man in her life. Moreover, John was an ass- a pretty ass, but an ass nonetheless.
"You call me sweetheart one more time and I'll make you your next woman," Anna seethed. Tibbs was going to pay for this. Of all the times he could have broken an arm it had to be now.
"Long as you make her blonde," he smirked. Anna snapped.
"That's it. Screw this. I'm going back to electricity." Anna spun on her heel and took two steps before a hand stopped her. She threw an elbow back to damage the guy, but his arm wrapped around her as his hand clamped over her mouth.
"It's here," John murmured. "Stay still."
Anna stiffened and breathed in quietly. She felt the shimmer of power run through the hard body at her back as he released his wolf enough to heighten his senses. Anna stayed as still and silent as possible to help him.
"It's close. We're going this way." He pulled her. Anna allowed the wolf to pull her off toward a nearby cave. Their SUV was parked at the bottom of the hill around the back of the small opening and Anna was all in favor of heading that way. She nearly stumbled over his legs when John stopped.
"Shit. Thibideaux is going to kill me."
"What is it?" She pitched her voice low.
"I'm sorry, Anna. You have to get to the car. It's too close, and it's huge."
"You have to be kidding!" she hissed. "I was sent to hunt, not run away." The wolf spun her around to meet his eyes.
"You'll die," John said evenly. "And if you die, I might as well too, 'cause Thibideaux would have my head when I got back. Go." He pushed her toward the car.
Anna studied the face of the man she had considered an irritant for the last week and sighed. With a nod she stepped past John and squeezed his shoulder for luck. He nodded in understanding and before Anna had cleared the mouth of the cave she looked back to see a large brown wolf loping toward the trees.
At the foot of the hill Anna was relieved to see the SUV sitting exactly where they had parked it, and she glanced over her shoulder with a grimace.
"Sorry, pal. I'm on the clock."
Anna moved to the back of the automobile and pulled open the rear doors, throwing the tarp off a half-dozen weapons. She lovingly stroked the handle of her gleaming machete but reached past the weapon to grab hold of her trusty shotgun and her favorite Beretta. She tucked the handgun into her pants at the small of her back and slammed the doors shut. Then, shotgun in hand, she climbed the hill to follow Tibbs' buddy after their quarry.
At the edge of the woods Anna slowed and listened for any sign of where he had gone.
"What are you doing here?"
Anna jumped and swallowed a scream. She spun around and slapped John with a satisfying crack.
"Don't do that!" she hissed.
Both of them glared at each other for a moment before John stepped closer and grasped Anna above the elbow.
"I told you to go back," he shook her gently.
"And I told you no," Anna pulled against his grasp. She was getting damn tired of men telling her what to do and where to go. "I won't let you get killed just so Tibbs can rest easy. If he didn't want me here he should have-"
"He didn't want you here and he did say so," John growled with frustration. "He suggested the Winchesters, but the Council insisted on you."
Anna frowned and chewed on the inside of one cheek. After a long moment she swore and took a deep breath.
"Alright," she sighed. "I'll-"
Before Anna could finish her sentence she found herself in John's arms and flying through the air. She registered a burning sensation in her arm a second before the ground rushed up to beat the air from her lungs. She bounced away from John and rolled away as he flashed into his wolf's form.
"Run!" he growled as he jumped toward their attacker. Anna frowned. She hadn't been aware that they could talk in their wolf form, but breathing was more important right now. Taking shallow breaths to regain her wind, Anna stood and leveled the barrels at the Shadow-Bear that had just emerged from the trees. When it swatted John away she fired, hoping the saltpeter would do some good.
The bear roared, enraged, and charged toward Anna. John was struggling, trying to get to his feet and screaming at her to run, but Anna stood her ground. She pumped the chamber and took aim for another shot, aiming right between the glowing blue eyes.