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Chapter 2

Squinting against the glare of the morning sun, Dean shoved his way through a mass of students, ignoring the group of girls that seemed to turn up wherever he went, tracking him with their eyes and whispering to their friends as he passed. Normally he would have given them one of his most charming grins just to hear their gasps and squeals when they thought he was out of earshot. But today he was just. Not. In. The. Mood. Chrissie, he decided, was some form of harpy in disguise. He wondered if she'd even got past the starter at dinner with her parents before rushing round to his. Not that he usually minded, girls couldn't get enough of him, it was a proven fact. But as soon as she'd gotten in the door she'd redirected their route from the hall leading to the bedroom to the living area where she sat him down for a 'talk'. When he'd heard the words where is this relationship going he'd frozen like someone had smacked him, which apparently was not the reaction Chrissie had been looking for. She was all set to storm out, taking Dean's only chance of getting laid tonight with her, and in his haste to get her away from the door and into his bed, he had offered to take her to dinner the next night. It was only when she was asleep and wrapped around him like some kind of octopus with double the usual amount of limbs that he'd realised what he'd gotten himself into.

Damn women. He banged open the door to his classroom, dropping his bag on the floor. Would've been cheaper just to get a hooker. His desk was overflowing with half-marked and unmarked work, notes from other teachers, notes from students, letters he was supposed to have handed out that were now months out of date. Sifting through it all, he felt around until he found what he was searching for. A pack of cigarettes, confiscated from one of his students. After everything, he felt he deserved one.

The sex hadn't even been that good. His mind had been too pre-occupied with the story in the paper, the headline burnt into his brain as if someone had stamped it there with a branding iron. Wild animal attack. When was it ever a wild animal attack?

After he'd finished college, he'd searched for months trying to find the most boring, normal town possible to settle down in. One with no legends, no stories, no mysteries, and no goddamned 'wild animal' attacks. For five years he'd successfully ignored anything and everything happening outside the town, closing himself off and losing himself in blissful suburban ignorance like the rest of the world. And he'd almost succeeded in convincing himself that monsters didn't exist and that these sensible, logical stockbrokers and bank managers and lawyers he was living alongside had got it right all along.

But this story, the little girl killed on the first night of the full moon, had happened in his safe town. It shattered his fine webs of self-delusion and reminded him of everything he tried so hard to forget. And now he didn't know what to do. Ignoring it was his first thought, or calling his dad to take care of it out of his sight so he could go on pretending. But if someone else got killed, another child…

The door to the classroom banged open and thirty sixteen year olds flooded in, shouting and laughing and ready to learn. From him. He threw the cigarette butt out of the open window before anyone could see him smoking. Irritation at having to be there filled him but he pushed it away, took a deep calming breath like they say you should, and told himself it was all okay.

Sam sat next to Jessica on Friday morning in Mr Winchester's class, wishing he was in bed. Or at least on the sofa that passed for his bed. As he had thought, last night had been a complete waste of his time. The werewolf had moved on and staking out the same place was useless. Chances were, it had been on the other side of town terrorising neighbourhood pets. Of course his dad hadn't seen it the same way. So now not only was he sleep deprived, he also had a nicely developing black eye. Jessica had exclaimed over it, fussing around him and making him blush from all the attention. He'd told her he got in a fight the night before, deliberately keeping it vague.

Mr Winchester called his name, startling him, and he panicked for a second before realising he was taking attendance.

Mr Dean Winchester, Sam had discovered yesterday after 'borrowing' several files from the school office before school hours had begun. He was twenty six, graduated from the University of Washington, and lived in an apartment building nearby. Sam also discovered from Jessica that it was a daily event for some of the girls to gather outside the school and wait for him to come in. One of them would call out a "Morning, Sir" and he would make their day with a smile. Dean Winchester also owned a really nice car. Sam had found that out for himself the day before, watching the Chevy Impala pull out of the car lot and seeing Dean at the wheel.

Jessica nudged him and he looked up through his hair at the teachers' desk calling out a hasty "Present" when he realised what was required of him. Dean was leaning against the front of the desk looking straight at him, a slight frown creasing his forehead and eyebrows. Sam looked back for a second before realising that Dean was probably looking at his black eye. He felt colour rise to his cheeks and quickly ducked his head so his bangs fell forward, concealing his face from view. Dean blinked as if coming out of a trance and looked down to continue taking attendance. Sam felt stupid, why the hell would this guy have any special interest in him?

"Okay, turn to page 97 and read, then do the exercises at the bottom of the page." Dean announced to the class. Paper rustled like bird wings throughout the room. Sam kept his head down and did as he was told before taking a quick peek through his hair at the front of the classroom. Dean Winchester was still leaning back against the desk, legs out in front of him crossed at the ankles and hands lightly gripping the edge of the desk at either side in what Sam had heard girls call his 'come-fuck-me' pose. He was looking straight at Sam in intense concentration, the frown still on his face.

Dean couldn't help but stare at Sam Miller. The kid obviously knew he was being watched and kept his head down so his hair hid his face. Where the hell had he gotten a black eye from? He didn't really look like the type to go out and get in fights, and besides, in this town there was practically nowhere to go on a weeknight. There was something about this kid that bothered Dean. He knew all anyone else saw when they looked at Sam was a quiet kid with an honest face and a pretty smile. But there was something that didn't quite add up with him, and only Dean could see it. It bugged the hell out of him.

"Mr Winchester? Sir?" He tore his eyes away from Sam, unintentionally fixing a glare on the poor girl who had interrupted his thoughts. The girl shrank back in her seat.

"What?"

"I..I finished the work. I was wondering what we should do next?" She said timidly.

"Just do the stuff on the next page." Dean winced a little at his tone, and looked up to find the rest of the class watching him like spectators at a bullfight, identical expressions of curiosity painted on their faces. Even Sam had let his hair fall away from his eyes and was watching with unabashed intrigue. Dean made a note to apologise to Bryony? Bethany? Britney? whoever she was after class.

"Alright, get back to work people." Most of the heads went down. Dean waited a second, then looked over to Sam again. The kid was looking down at his desk. Dean saw him stiffen minutely and knew Sam could feel his gaze.

The bell rang, startling Sam out of his doze. He jerked, looking around surreptitiously and hoping no one noticed. Beside him, Jessica giggled. He packed up his bag quickly and headed for the door, intent on getting out of the room before anyone could stop him and ask about his eye. Damn it, he thought, why did he have to do it in a place everyone can see? Jess followed him outside and caught his arm before he could run off.

"Hey, what's the rush? It's lunch, we've got an hour before we have to be anywhere. Come and sit with me in the cafeteria." She smiled sunnily. He couldn't help but return it. He'd never met anyone like her, always cheerful and friendly, even to people like him.

He was about to accept her offer when Dean Winchester strode purposely out of the classroom. He nearly tripped over the two, catching himself at the last minute.

"Sam. And, erm…" Dean's brow creased as he searched his brain for a name. Obviously coming up blank, he gave an almost-shrug and kept talking. "So, where'd you get the shiner?"

"He got in a fight last night, sir." Jessica answered for him. "Hey, you never actually told me what you were doing when you got it, Sam?" She turned to look at him questioningly. Under scrutiny from both Dean and Jess, Sam bowed his head and peeked at them from under the fringe of his hair.

"It was just a fight. I had an argument with a guy I know, it got out of hand." Sam had long ago learned the simplest lies were the easiest to pull off. And it wasn't exactly a lie… Jessica clearly bought it, but Dean frowned and tilted his head slightly to the side like he knew there was more to it than Sam was telling.

The considering look made Sam uncomfortable but he made himself meet Dean's eyes evenly. Jessica looked at one then the other in confusion.

"Okay, well I'm going to get something to eat. Sam, are you coming?"

"Yeah, sure." Sam said, keeping his eyes on Dean.

"Well I'll see you kids in class on Monday. Be good." Dean broke the staring contest abruptly, smiling full charm at Jess before spinning on his heel and striding off in the opposite direction.

Jessica had insisted on walking Sam to his car again after their final class, linking her arm with his as soon as they'd stepped outside the building. Sam didn't really know what he was supposed to do with her flirtatious behaviour, awkwardly smiling and going along with it. She seemed to find it sweet though, saying as much before stroking his face again and making aww noises about his eye. He was only half-listening to her when she pulled him round to face her, a determined look in her eyes.

"So, Sam, are you busy tonight? A few of us are gonna meet up, see a movie or something, as it's the weekend, and, well you know, I'd really like it if you'd come? Like with me?" She looked up at Sam, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. She gave a nervous giggle and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Sam was momentarily speechless. Did she just ask me out? "Sorry, I don't really do this a lot, or at all, actually."

"God, I…I really, really wish I could Jess, but after last night, getting in that fight and everything, my dad wants me to stay in this weekend. I'm really sorry." The lie slid out far too easily. Jessica looked down at her feet, her face turning a darker red. Sam closed his eyes. He hated having to deceive her but even more he hated having to embarrass her like this. When he looked at her again she had fixed a smile on her face, thin as paper.

"Don't worry about it. I understand. Some other time maybe?" Her big doe eyes blinked up at him.

"Maybe, I'd have to, you know, check."

"Oh. Well, I guess I'll see you at school on Monday then." She kept smiling blankly in his direction for a second longer and then looked down at the ground as if she couldn't bear to look at him. Without looking up, she turned on her heel and walked away quickly. Sam almost shouted out to her but it would be useless. It was never meant to be, better this way. No point deluding himself, he had a job to do. He got in the car and pulled out too fast, almost hitting someone and not really caring too much.

Sam was standing across the street from his father, who was screaming something at him that he couldn't quite make out. The werewolf prowled silently behind him, bathed in sunlight, which Sam found strange for some reason he couldn't work out. His mind was slow, thoughts drifting in and out of his head like clouds, in no hurry. People walked past the figure of his father oblivious to the danger, pushing strollers and holding the hands of small children who tugged against them to be set free. They looked oddly at his red-faced father but kept walking, ignoring the werewolf. Sam tried to point out the wolf to his dad but he ignored Sam's warning in favour of waving fists in his direction. The werewolf was getting closer to the children and Sam started to panic. He tried to cross the street but every time he stepped off the curb, a black Impala came tearing down the road and forced him back to his side. The werewolf was getting closer…

An explosion had Sam lurching forward, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the parked Mustang. He scrambled frantically for the weapons hidden in the glove compartment, his fingers still clumsy with sleep. The rev of a motor filtered through to his clouded brain and he took a look outside. A car had backfired at the end of the street. Nothing had happened, no one was hurt. Laughing with relief, Sam collapsed back against the seat. A couple crossing the street in front of his car, heading for the line of restaurants on the opposite side looked at him like he was crazy, but for once Sam didn't care what other people thought of him and he continued laughing to himself.

His father had phoned him as he was leaving school that afternoon to tell him that the werewolf had been seen by a young woman half a mile south of the neighbourhood Sam had been watching the previous night. It had leapt at her while she was getting in her car, and only the fact that she drove a Land Rover with practically indestructible doors had saved her from being bitten. After heaping yet more blame upon Sam's already guilty conscience, Jim Miller sent him to stake out the rich side of town following the assumption that the werewolf would keep moving south. Sam had driven randomly until after nightfall although the residential areas were eerily serene and still tonight. Finally he had parked up at the first sign of life, opposite a small promenade of classy restaurants and one all-night café, looking cheap and out of place in the line up. He decided to wait and see if the werewolf showed while the customers were leaving.

Never mind that I haven't slept in nearly 48 hours. Reality returned with a bang. He was exhausted and his reflexes were too slow to try and take on anything supernatural, let alone a werewolf. There was a good possibility he would end up as the werewolf's next victim if he couldn't stay alert. Coffee. I need coffee. He slipped a hand beneath the driver's seat and withdrew a revolver of silver bullets. After consideration he pulled a wickedly curved knife into his lap as well. The knife was one of two that had been given to him by a shaman-turned-illegal arms dealer in Memphis that Sam had saved from a succubi a few years back. The blades were identical, almost weightless and made of pure silver. His dad didn't know he had them or they would have been taken and sold for beer money. Any non-essential weapons were an indulgence Sam wasn't permitted to have. Sam's mouth twisted at the thought of some pawn dealer sticking them in the back of a dusty box until they were dull and nicked.

Sam hooked the blade into his belt beneath the hoody so it rested cold against the thin skin of his belly, then slid the gun under his clothes at the small of his back. Armed, he stepped out of the Mustang and went in search of coffee.

Dean cursed to himself in a variety of languages. He was already nearly half an hour late to pick up Chrissie for her goddamned date, and now the Impala, his beautiful baby, was out of gas. It's almost as if this date isn't meant to be, he thought wryly, before sighing and getting out of the car.

"It's alright baby, I know it wasn't your fault." He said, petting the hood lovingly. He considered calling Chrissie on his cell phone and asking her to come and pick him up, but he shook his head. It was hardly the most romantic and sensitive thing to do. "Damn it, I didn't want a fucking date in the first place." He kicked a stone away from the Impala and turned to slouch against the driver's door. The full moon hung like a cut out paper picture above the rows of neat houses, faintly illuminating the empty street. The picture of six year old Casey Tomlins flashed across his vision before he pushed it away. The restaurant was a few blocks south. He could walk it in five minutes and then call Chrissie and pretend they were supposed to meet there. The gun loaded with silver was cold in the pocket of his good jacket.

Dean walked past expansive driveways filled with white gravel and perfect paving. Hedges trimmed evenly, as if someone had used a spirit level to make them perfect at waist height lined the brilliant green lawns and flowerbeds. The dead silence was unnerving and his eyes shifted back and forth, chasing shadows and creeping patches of light from the dim streetlights above. His hand gripped the gun in his pocket, almost whipping it out instinctively at the rustling of trees in the cool breeze. He was dangerously out of practice at this and for the first time in eight years Dean wished he had kept up with his training. Why were all the houses in darkness? It was only nine at night, surely someone should be up? There were no signs of life anywhere, the still cars and gardens like a landscape painted on canvas. You're just freaking yourself out. There's nothing there, you don't even know for sure it is a werewolf. He schooled his breathing and kept on walking. The back of his neck burned with imagined gazes and he tightened his grip on the gun.

The next street held restaurants and cafes and through the brightly light windows Dean could see people sitting at the tables, lost in their dinner companions and uncaring of the world outside the glass. He examined them like they were exhibits at a zoo, watching them put on an unknowing show for him. The Italian restaurant he was supposed to be taking Chrissie to was at the end of the street. He gave in to the urge to glance behind him. The street was empty, parked cars lining the road like sleeping guardians. Dean laughed under his breath at his paranoia and hurried across the road to the restaurant. He would phone Chrissie once he was inside.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw someone come out of the all-night café at the end of the block and head across to the other side of the road, towards the line of parked cars. Distracted by the movement, he barely had time to draw his gun as the werewolf lunged at him.