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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

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Dean Winchester, Skin Walker

Chapter 2

Welcome to the Wild Side

From Chapter 1

The man's body would only show evidence of an animal attack. The woman's body however had two silver bullets in the head. With a deep sigh Dean decided to not even try. Let the locals try to figure this one out. The woman's body with a man's face and an extremely strange head of hair would keep the local coroner in beer for at least a week. Dean was tired, hung over and just wanted to go back to the motel and lay down. He prayed that John Winchester hadn't come back and that he would have time to clean up and calm down.

Dean trudged off in the light of a false dawn. It had been a hell of a night. It was still raining and the icy cold slush was trickling under the collar of his shirt. He felt tired but strong, a strange combination. He was changed. As the Shapeshifter had said he was something new under the sun. He just needed to lay low, make no sudden moves and get used to being a completely unique kind of monster.

Chapter 2

Sunrise was breaking in the East, throwing his shadow before him, stretching out long and thin, grasping at the possibility of harbor. The motel finally appeared out of the early morning fog and his shadow was determined to get there first. Wet, damp and miserable as he was that crappy motel looked like Nirvana. Best of all, there was no Impala in sight. Hopefully John would stay gone. The last thing Dean needed right now was his father sniffing around like an old hound dog, catching scent of the Supernatural wafting off his son.

Dean wanted a shower, food and a bed. Food was questionable but Dean knew the other two lay behind that faded door. Finally he arrived. He stood under the overhang and fished inside his jacket; semi-numb fingers tugging at the inside zippered pocket that hopefully had kept the key safe through this long annoying night.

Once inside he leaned against the door and simply breathed. It was a crappy motel room; sour, stale and smelling vaguely of mold but it was dry. He had become so used to the sleet pounding on his head that it was almost like something was missing. He focused on the bathroom door and trudged across the room, shedding clothing as he went. Only the leather jacket gained the safety of the bed. Everything else hit the floor.

As he crossed the bathroom he caught sight of himself in the mirror. There was mud in his hair and streaks of mud on his face that had only been partially erased by the rain. He looked like a stray dog. For just a moment he paused and leaned on the sink to get closer to the mirror. He looked like himself. He couldn't see any signs of strange until he tried casually to see what he could do. When his face started to freaking flow he backed off.

"No," he whispered. "None of that." He held the image of his face centered in his mind. Nothing strange, no flowing skin, just Dean; pure solid Dean that was all he wanted to see.

It was getting easier, he realized. He would have to watch it. If it was getting that easy he could possibly see himself reflecting every face he passed, a hundred faces in an afternoon if he were to walk the streets of a major city.

Once in the shower he luxuriated in the feeling of warm water on his skin. The water fell on the top of his head, so much better than the sleet then filled his ears and flowed over his back. He leaned forward and held on to the soap tray while the water massaged the back of his neck. His feet began to warm up bathed in the water running down his legs onto the tile. Water streamed from his hair, from the point of his elbows, from the end of his dick, and then splashed on to the floor. He could stand here forever just letting the water have its way with him.

Finally the water began to cool. He lathered up quickly, killing all the muddy marks on his body and got out of the shower just ahead of the burst of rapidly cooling water. The room was full of steam. He wiped the mirror and toweled his hair dry while staring at his face, his real face. There had been a moment in the shower when he had started to fantasize about fins and flippers and living under the water. He took it to mean he was finally ready to go to sleep. Day dreaming in the shower about living in the ocean could end up with a shark in his bed. He had to take hold of these fantasies. They could get him killed.

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"Dean, wake up, boy," something wacked him hard on his foot. His eyes flew open, his hands slid under the pillow going for his gun. When he whirled off his belly into a sitting position his gun was firmly clasped with two hands and pointed directly at John Winchester's face.

"Chirst, Dad" he exclaimed. "You should know better than that. I could have blown your damned head off."

"Well, you didn't." the older hunter shorted. "I can duck faster than that and I wanted you out of that bed like ten minutes ago. Get up. We got a job to do." John turned away and headed for his duffle. The bag was thrown on Dean's little table.

"You know," his father continued. "I'm surprised I got as close to you as I did." John was checking the load in his hand gun and pawing through his bag for a clip, Dean supposed. "When did you turn into sleeping beauty? I expect you to be sharper than this. You get all fat and lazy waiting for me?"

Dean yawned and scratched an armpit. "Where the hell you been for three days, Dad? By the way, you look like hammered shit. What've you been up to?"

John plopped down on one of the rickety kitchen chairs and stared at his usually respectful son. "What's with the new attitude, Dean? And why is your ass still in bed? I told you to get up. We gotta go."

"Hey, you're the one who disappeared for a three days without explanation. Then you blow in here at the crack of dawn and expect me to jump." Dean threw the bedding aside and set his feet on the floor. "I'm not a kid any more, Dad. I don't want to be treated like one."

The bite of the morning air on his skin made Dean realize that he was complete naked. He grabbed a T-shirt off the floor and slipped it on.

"When the hell did you start sleeping nude?" John was strangely enough, shocked. "You should never do that. You know better. Something busts into your room in the middle of the night and you're going to be running through the parking lot with your ass hanging out. What's going on with you Dean? "

Dean felt his teeth begin to lengthen. This man, his father or not, was getting under his skin. Things had changed. He had changed and he wasn't going to be the quivering, deferential pup anymore.

"Listen, buddy," he started to say.

"What did you call me?" John roared. "What the hell happened to sir? I'm your father and I demand some respect."

"Well, good fucking do for you." Dean roared back. "You want respect? Well then earn it."

John's face was actually funny to look at. His mouth dropped open and his eyes expanded. "Dean, whatever the hell is going on just drop it. Drop the attitude. I came here to pick up my hunting partner, not some cocky bastard with an attitude. Let's get back on track. Get dressed and pack up your shit. The wolf I've been tracking busted loose last night. We have a dead shaman and a woman's body down a hole. Now come on. Let's hunt this bitch."

If he didn't think it would get him killed Dean would have started laughing. Here he was, being asked to investigate his own killings. God did have a sense of humor. Dean sat back down on the bed and pulled his duffle closer. Diving into it he dug up clean clothes and pulled his boots out from under the edge of the bed. He calmly started getting dressed without even a glance at John Winchester. He hoped John wouldn't notice the fang marks on his right boot. Dean wasn't in the mood to think up a quick, believable lie.

As he leaned over to lace up his boots John Winchester decided it was time to slap his disrespectful son on the back of the head. That didn't have the response John expected. Instead of Dean ducking and dropping his head the kid came up off the bed like a rocket and climbed into John's face.

"What the Hell, man? You want me to hunt, I'll hunt but you keep your hands to yourself. I'm not Sam and I'm not a little kid you can knock around anymore." Den came very close to punching his father in the gut. John raised his hands and backed away.

"Dean, what's the crap about Sam? I never laid a hand on Sam. If you're looking for someone to blame for Sammy leaving, look in the mirror." Dean noticed John didn't even acknowledge the accusation about knocking his older son around.

Dean wanted to transform so bad his teeth itched. He could feel his finger nails growing in to claws. It took a major effort of will but he got control back before he started sprouting fur.

"Let's go." Dean spoke between clenched teeth.

"Fine," John grabbed his duffle and headed for the door. "You just watch your mouth in public, Dean. There are other Hunters here and I would like to keep their respect even if somehow you've misplaced yours." John glanced over his shoulder as he opened the door. "Hey, are you hung over? Were you out last night maybe near the bar down the street?"

"Yeah, maybe" Dean replied still fuming. "What about it?"

"That could be a lead. That's where these people were killed."

John and Dean climbed into the Impala. The atmosphere was as unfriendly as possible. Dean stared out the passenger window while John got a death grip on the steering wheel. Even after John loaded a tape the tension in the air was still pretty thick. Dean was praying he wasn't broadcasting any kind of supernatural vibe. Sooner or later John would notice the feeling.

After going through a drive through for biscuits and coffee they pulled up in front of the bar. For the first time Dean saw the name of the place: "Mel's". To the best of his memory last night some of the letters hadn't been working. It didn't bother him then it still looked like a rundown neighborhood bar now, kind of harmless. Inside he had found what he thought was a treasure. The tall, rangy dark eyed woman had suckered his drunken ass out the door pretty quick. From a cozy bar to a muddy hole in the ground wasn't that far apart as a monster traveled.

Down the road near the woods there was a coroner's van and a couple of police cars still parked. John and Dean sat in the Impala and just watched. "We have to get a closer look at those bodies." John murmured. We need to figure out what we're hunting here."

"What the hell were you doing for three days while I was rotting away in the motel, Dad? Dean grumbled. "Three days and you still don't know what you're hunting?"

John turned at glared at his son. "Dean, if you are going to keep this up maybe you should just get out of the car and let me work by myself. I don't trust you to watch my back in your current humor."

"So you think this is humor, do you?" Dean laughed out loud for the first time, allowing himself to let go. "Maybe you're right. Why don't I just grab my duffle out of the trunk and go? Sammy did it."

John strangled the steering wheel again. "Normally I would say you would find out when you needed to know but this is the story. I've been following a trail of bodies from Sioux Falls for a couple of weeks. I thought at first it was a regular werewolf. The more I poked around the more often I heard it was a woman. I know wolves can be female too but this sounded a lot like the changes weren't following the phases of the moon. Too many of them were too close together. I'd pick up a trail and then it would peter out on me. Got to the point where I didn't know what the hell I was chasing. While you were in the motel where I hoped you would be safe I backtracked over our path trying to see if I missed a signal or something. I hear more and more about this tall good looking woman. Where ever she went somebody died."

John took a breath. "Then last night this happened. We have a one dead shaman. I hear they are explaining the death as an animal attack. We also have the body of a woman down in a tiger trap. If she's the wolf then there's something else out there. We have to get inside the coroner's office and find out the cause of death."

Dean considered John's words. Of course the man was getting a little close for comfort. If John found out about the silver bullets in her head he would suspect another Hunter. If John actually saw the woman's body wearing Dean's face that would open up a whole can of worms. Dean decided to stay and be helpful. He had to make sure her face was too damaged to be recognizable. Now he was kicking himself for not destroying the body no matter how tired or sick of it all he had been.

While they had been parked the coroner's van had been loaded with two black body bags.

Dean nodded out the window. John had been stuck on Dean's face instead of watching the action. "There they go now. I guess we should follow them into town. I have no idea what kind of building this place would use as a morgue."

They watched a little while longer as the van moved slowly down the road. The police cars never moved. Dean assumed that the cops were still scanning for debris or trace. He smiled grimly. "Good luck with that, boys." He thought about his coarse grey wolf fur. May they have joy of it.

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"Well isn't that just as convenient as all get out." Dean laughed.

They had followed the van at a very safe distance. Evidently the driver was most considerate of the dead and drove slowly and solemnly. When the man parked the van to the side of the county court house and stepped out Dean got a good look at him. He was old, dried up and looked more like a corpse than anyone should have been comfortable about. The old man went around to the back of the van and slid out the collapsed gurney with the first body. Wheeling it along he took it to a ramp under a sign that read "County Coroner's Office" and the gurney disappear through a pair of flapping doors.

Dean and John got out of the Impala which John had parked in the shadow of the building next door. As they approached Dean noticed on the other side of the courthouse building a similarly lit up sign that proclaimed "Police". Dean put an elbow into John's side.

"Look, Police, coroner and court house all together in one place. It's like one stop legal shopping."

"Shut up Dean," John murmured back. "Let's not spook our favorite corpse handler."

The old man had come back out for the second body. The two Winchesters slipped thought the double doors behind the man's back.

Now Dean had to make a move. Anytime now John would go looking for that woman's body and there was no way the man would not notice his son's half formed face.

Dean leaned in. "Dad, I'm going to go scope the place out. Find out if there's anyone else around. Why don't you wait for the guy to come back with the other body then follow him? I'll be back as quick as I can."

John wrinkled his brow. "Who put you in charge of issuing orders, boy?"

"Don't argue; not now, damn it." Dean snapped back and then ninga'd up the hall and out of sight. He had noticed an arrow painted high on the wall with the word "Police" stenciled below it. Just as he expected the hall lead straight into the police office. There was no one there.

A place this small most likely had sent everyone out to the scene of the double murder. This had to be the highlight of the entire police year. Dean swiftly found the locker room and transformed into the spitting image of one of the retained officers whose picture hung in the hall. He thought he could possibly create himself a uniform. He had never seen a naked shape shifter running around but it was just easier to steal a uniform out of an open locker. If was only the work of a minute and Lt Daniel O'Bannon was back on the force again.

Dean grabbed a police rifle out of the carelessly unlocked gun case and fled back down the hall. The entire change had only taken under ten minutes. He hoped the John hadn't pulled anything too difficult to clean up in the time he was gone.

As he flung himself around the last corner he breathed a sigh of relief. There was John with his back turned, watching the old man wheel the second gurney down a side hall. Dean slithered up behind john and poked at him with the rifle barrel.

"Alright man," he growled as low as possible. "Put your hands up. What are you doing here? Come to peek at those bodies again, you sick bastard?"

John raised his hands slowly and Dean stepped back out of range of his father's hands. Good thing he did too because the first thing John tried was whirling to try and grab the barrel of the rifle." Dean clicked the safety off.

"No you don't," he growled again. "Now you just walk in front of me and get on down the hall.

Just then the old man from the morgue came to find out what the noise was all about. Dean hoped that the face he was wearing wasn't the face of a dead man.

"As I live and breathe," the old man quavered. "Is that you Daniel? I thought you were in Florida."

"Just visiting," Dean whispered, hoping to disguise his voice. "They called me in to cover while they went out to the murder scene."

"Well stop by and visit before you leave again, Dan. Coffee's always ready." The old man waved and headed back down the hallway to the morgue.

Dean herded John Winchester down to the police station and locked him in one of the open cells against the wall. Dean slammed the cell door and luckily it locked with a padlock so he didn't need a key. He had no intention of letting John Winchester back out that night so it was all good. John was sputtering and mumbling but there wasn't a lot he could say especially when Dean pulled his deaf old man act.

"Don't do any good to talk to me." Dean told his father in his most irritating manner. "Talk to the regular cops when they come back. I'll just tell them I found you sniffing around the corpses. That should do it." Dean turned away and stopped at the locker room by the back door. There he turned back into Dean Winchester again and tried as well as he could to put everything back where he had found it.

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He hated to do it but he bopped the old man on the head. The old guy never saw him coming. After the old man went down Dean checked his breathing and tried to make him as comfortable as possible with a pillow under his head and a sheet from one of the gurneys s wrapped over him. Walking over to the occupied tables Dean pulled the sheet off the shape shifter's face. Yes, this would have caused a lot of trouble. She definitely had made excellent progress in copying his face. Extending one hand he grew an impressive se t of claws and opened her face from forehead to chin. While he was in there he thought "What the hell" and went feeling around for his bullets.

Finishing his treasure hunt he looked over the mess he was leaving behind. No way was any one going to see Dean Winchester's face in that welter of ruined flesh. No way was any one going to see a face at all. Checking the old man again who was breathing deeply as if he was just sleeping Dean strolled out tossing his bullets with one hand, up and down, very clever.

He got back into the Impala and used his extra key. He would come back in the morning to get John perhaps or perhaps not. He thought he'd think about it overnight and see if he could come up with a good lie. John deserved a night in jail. The man had smacked Dean out of bed at ridiculously early hour. Dean though he'd go have a nice dinner with the money he found in the glove compartment and see what happened after that.