Chapter Four

Sam heard Bobby coming up the stairs. The hunter was trying to be quiet but the boy still heard the softened stomping of his boots.

Bobby tapped lightly on the door before opening it. Sam had rolled over onto his side so that he wouldn't have to look at the man's face.

"You awake?" Bobby asked as he stepped into the room, "I brought you a sandwich; peanut butter and banana, your favourite."

"Thanks but I'm not hungry," Sam mumbled, staring at the wall.

He felt the bed dip as Bobby sat down beside him, "You should really eat something, son."

Sam heaved a sigh and felt tears of sadness and anger prick his eyes, "What's the point?"

He heard a rasping sound as Bobby rubbed a hand through his ruddy beard, "I know things seem hopeless right now but believe you me, your Daddy and brother are going to find a cure for this even if it kills them. I called a good friend of mine, a professor, and she's helping us search out a way to fix this as well. You have people on your side, Sam. We're not going to abandon you. We all have faith that we'll find a way to cure you… so why don't you?"

Sam shrugged and sucked in a shaky breath, "I'm a monster, Bobby. A werewolf. I could hurt someone; kill someone and then where would I be? Would Dad and Dean still defend me? Huh? No, they'd put me down like any other monster. Why are they even trying to find a cure? There isn't one! I know there isn't! Why didn't Dad just shoot me when he had the chance?"

Bobby glowered at the fourteen-year old, "You're not too old that I can't put you over my knee, Sam Winchester!"

The teen looked over his shoulder at the hunter, fearing that the older man might actually follow through with his threat.

"I don't ever want to hear you talking like that again, you hear me?" Bobby growled and Sam nodded frantically. He sat up on the bed and grabbed his pillow, hugging it as he stared wide-eyed at the hunter.

Bobby continued to speak, his voice holding less anger now as he saw how pale the younger man had become, "You're not a monster and you never will be."

"Your brother and Daddy won't let anything happen to you," Bobby said, "They'll take care of you until we find a cure."

Sam nodded and sniffed a couple of times, "You don't hate me?"

Bobby was taken aback, "Why on earth would I hate you?"

Sam lowered his head, his long dark bangs obscuring his eyes, "Because I'm a mon- I mean a werewolf."

Bobby felt the hot sting of tears in his own eyes, "Oh Sam, I don't hate you. Neither does Dean or your father. What happened to you changes nothing. You're still Sam. Is that why you came up here, you thought we didn't love you anymore?"

Sheepishly, Sam nodded and gasped a little as Bobby bundled him into a tight hug.

"We're going to get through this, son. Don't you worry about it," Bobby rumbled as Sam returned the embrace.

Releasing his hold on Bobby, Sam chuckled a little and wiped his sleeve over his eyes, embarrassed.

"Thanks Bobby, I kind of needed that," Sam whispered to the grizzled hunter and Bobby smiled proudly through his ruddy beard.

"Know what else you need?" The older man asked.

Sam shook his head, "No, what?"

"You need to eat this here sandwich before your brother finds it," Bobby rumbled and Sam burst out laughing at the image of Dean sneaking into their room and stuffing the sandwich into his mouth like a chipmunk that had popped into his head.

SPN

Dean thudded down the porch steps and into the salvage yard. Hands clenched in fists he stared at the junkers around him.

This was all my fault, Dean thought angrily, if I had been paying more attention to Sam then he never would have been bitten. Sam must hate me. I should have protected him, that was my only job and I failed.

Dean sat down heavily on the gravel, cross-legged and feeling guilty about his brother.

A scrabbling noise coming from one of the dilapidated cars made Dean jump but he smiled when Winston Churchill- Bobby's 'guard' dog- poked his wet nose out from underneath the vehicle and sniffed excitedly. A five-year old Sam had given the mongrel the name Winston Churchill after seeing it in one of the history magazines Bobby subscribed to. Dean had tried to convince his younger brother to change the name to something conventional like Rover or Fido or Rex but Sam had refused and the dog wouldn't listen to any other moniker Dean could think of.

The mutt sauntered right up to Dean, tail wagging and looking for affection.

"Hey boy," Dean scratched Winston's ears and the dog sighed with pleasure.

The screen door slapped open and Sam came running down the stairs toward his brother, half of a sandwich clutched in his hand.

Dean stood and brushed off the seat of his pants, "You okay, Sammy?"

His brother nodded and took a bite of his sandwich.

"Winston will probably be your new best friend if you give him some of that," Dean smiled and pointed at the spot where the dog had been standing only minutes before.

"Where'd he go?" Dean wondered out loud, and called the dog's name.

"It's alright," Sam shrugged but Dean could see that his younger brother was hurt.

"He's probably around here somewhere," Dean continued, trying to cheer his sibling up, "Might have caught the scent of a cat or something."

"Yeah," Sam mumbled, "A cat."

Dean frowned. He wondered if the dog could actually tell that Sam was different now. He wondered if Winston could tell that there was a predator far more dangerous than himself in the area.

Dean's gaze shot to his brother's retreating back as he heard the crunch of gravel beneath Sam's sneakers.

"Sammy, wait!" Dean called but his brother ignored him, the screen door slapping shut in his wake.

"Damn it," Dean muttered and crouched down, picking up a handful of pebbles and began tossing them at the rusted-out Pontiac in front of him.

SPN

Abigail Noonan slipped her glasses off and pinched the bridge of her nose. The light from the green glass-shaded banker's lamp combined with the tiny script she was reading was giving her a throbbing headache.

Leaning back in her chair, Abigail peered around the quiet library. She was alone in the basement- where the oldest archives were kept- and the silence was starting to become creepy. Abigail had been sifting through dusty, fragile tomes for close to five hours and had found nothing that could help Bobby's friend.

"Bloody Hell," Abigail swore and stared down at the book she was currently pursuing.

Five hours of searching and all Abigail had found was how to kill werewolves; everything from silver to holy water and cloves and iron was believed to exterminate the poor creatures.

There's got to be something about a cure, Abigail thought to herself for the hundredth time.

She stood and put her hands on the small of her back, stretching as she peered around her tiny corner of the library.

Abandoning her post for a moment, Abigail walked between the aisles of shelves, lips pursed in a frown as she sought out something, anything that could help Bobby.

It was growing late and she knew should get home to her family. But Abigail's mind was on another family, a family she had never met and probably would never meet. Abigail could not stop thinking about the little boy Bobby had spoken of, a child only a year or so older than her own son, Harry.

With a heavy sigh, Abigail Noonan ran her fingers through her hair, disheveling it, and turned back to the desk she had so recently occupied.

Racking her mind, Abigail fought to recall if she had ever read anything concerning a cure for lycanthrope in any of the books surrounding her. If Oxford proved fruitless, Abigail knew her way around Eton and Cambridge. Even a trip to a public library could reveal some half-forgotten myth or legend- something that had been useful to Abigail in the past.

Squinting in the green-hued light of the banker's lamp, Professor Noonan sat back down and shuffled the books around as though hoping some new information would appear where it had been hidden before.

Opening one thick text, its cover made of beautifully crafted leather and its pages gold-leafed, Abigail settled in for a few more hours of research, praying that the cure for the unfortunate lad wouldn't come in the form of a silver bullet.

Author's Note:

1. Edited by BerserkerHellHound.

2. Thanks to hugyourlittlebrother, cold kagome, SPN Mum, Souless666, horsegirlrule, PhantomBrat, Lucydolly22, and LeighAnnWallace for reviewing.

3. Please leave a review! They're wonderful to read!