"According to Dr. Cox, this is the place."
They had stopped at an intersection, two narrow roads between half-withered houses. The Impala was blocking nearly the entire lane, so they had had to drive two blocks further until they found a spot to park the car.
Still humming Foo Fighters, Dean fetched the EMF-meter from the trunk. The rain had gotten stronger, so both slipped on jackets over their FBI-suits. They walked back two blocks, entered a narrow alley and looked at the spot that was indicated in the file-copy the coroner had given them.
"Well, I could never tell if we didn't have the file."
"Ugh." Sam looked at the big, dark crimson puddle in front of them. This must have been a hell of a find for the two kids who reported the body. The whining noise of the meter told them what they had already expected: Spirit-activity. A lot of activity, to be precise.
"OK, another thing we can rule out is "Pet Cemetery". Zombies don't give up EMF."
"So what pisses off a dog so bad that it starts mauling people? After death? Never heard of that." Sam raised his brows at his brother - who wasn't looking at him but at the gory ground.
"Really? You never heard of the Cŵn Annwn in Wales, or Barghest of Yorkshire? Not even the Gytrash, which is first mentioned in Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre?"
"Sam."
Dean was still crouching next to the blood-puddle, which was going to be washed away by morning looking up at his taller brother, slowly shaking his head in wonder.
"You know, sometimes you really scare me."
Sam grinned and started an explanation, when he noticed Dean's eyes widen.
"What is it?"
"Please tell me you hear that!"
Sam listened – and clearly heard the loud growl. It must have come from around the corner, but the growling was so loud, the dog couldn't be far away. To make matters worse, a second growl started. And a third.
"If it makes you feel better – I can hear it too."
"Absurdly, it does." Dean swallowed but it really made him feel better. Even though he knew it wasn't hellhounds they were chasing, the vicious growl had touched deep hidden fears. He rose from his squatting position, looking around for an escape-route. There was only one way out, the other direction was closed off with a high fence. They could probably climb over it, but if a spirit would be deterred by a simple fence…
"You don't happen to have the shotgun with you somewhere?"
"Oh yes Dean, it's stored in my left boot!"
"Just asking, wiseass. OK, maybe…"
"Wait, I think they are leaving."
Sam was right, the growling was getting quieter. It seemed to disappear in the distance.
"Maybe it was real dogs?"
Sam and Dean were sneaking nearer to the corner – until the pathway was suddenly blocked by three giant dogs, growling so quietly there was nearly no sound at all.
They were dark, nearly black. Their heads were covered in scars, blood was gluing together the short fur between their torn and battered ears. More blood was sticking everywhere across their lean, muscular bodies. They were covered with open wounds, which like angry evil grins seemed to mock everyone who saw them. Foaming spit was dripping from their jaws, the teeth bared, bloody and shiny-white at once. One of them was missing its tail; another one had a broken leg – the bone protruding from a nasty wound. Still, it didn't seem to slow this creature down. They looked terrifying and really, really pissed…
But worst of all were the eyes.
Grey and empty. Two angry, red-glowing dots where the pupils should have been. Like the last embers of a campfire, buried deep in the remaining ashes you find in the morning.
"Sam…"
"Move slowly."
"What??"
"Fast movement is pretty unwise in front of an angry dog."
Slowly they retreated, not daring to let the dogs out of sight. When one of them – the smallest – started to follow, the others did so too.
"Sam…"
"Don't run, they'll only chase us."
The smallest dog was still leading, its eyes fixed on the two hunters. They were creeping slowly, but there was no mistaking their intentions. When they stopped, the brothers stopped too.
Sam gave up any hope this would end well. These dogs were on the hunt – and they were their intended prey.
"Run"
They turned and ran, the dogs accelerating on the spot. Three sets of claws were scratching the gritty surface of the road. The fence was close. Sam was only slightly faster, but with his long legs he reached higher and cleared the fence first. Dean was a split-second after him.
A split second was all it took. The pack-leader gripped his leg and yanked him from the fence. A fierce, hot pain shot through his head as it hit the tarmac. He heard his brother scream and felt the teeth of the dog in his calves, tearing at him, dragging him away from the fence, thrashing its head while doing so.
Nonononononononononononono!
The rest of the pack joined their leader, ripping at him, jerking at his jacket and shirt and pants.
Nooooo!
His heart was banging against his ribs; beating so loud that he couldn't even hear the dogs anymore. He kicked and fought, connecting with solid bodies yet never causing any damage, never managing to slow them down. They just kept on ripping his clothes off him, shaking their heads with fury and anger, clawing at his chest, his legs, his arms, their powerful jaws never letting go of the parts in their muzzles.
Panic rose, made his vision fuzzy, bringing back memories of fire, desperation and pain.
So much pain…
****
A shrill sound pierced the street.
At once, the dogs stopped and looked towards the entrance of the alleyway.
Sam, already climbing back across the fence to help his brother, saw a dark figure against the grey light. The sound – a whistle, he realized – sounded again and the dogs turned around and ran towards the figure, their battered bodies moving as if in play, the tails wagging happily. Just before they reached the figure, they vanished. An eye-blink later, the human shape was gone too.
"Dean!!!"
His heart was cramping painfully as he ran, sliding the last half meter across the gravel, already on his knees.
"Dean!"
His brother was on his back, eyes open, staring blindly in the falling rain.
No-no-no-no!!!! I cannot loose him, not again! Please, No!
It was only a fragment of a second before Dean blinked again. He coughed and moaned when the pain set in. He was panting and started to curl up, hugging himself.
"You alright?" Sam felt a ton of bricks rumbling from his heart, a giant iron clamp releasing him. Heartbeat set in again.
"No…"
Dean's voice was hoarse, more a rough whisper. It shouldn't have been so comforting to hear it, but it was the sweetest sound Sam had heard in a long time. Slowly, his brother uncurled and lay on his back again, looking up at Sam and taking a deep but careful breath.
"Are you crying?"
"No." Sam wiped his eyes and attempted a grin "Must be the rain."
****
"Why did they stop?"
They had risen from the ground, walking back towards the Impala, Sam supporting his brother who actually allowed the help. A sure sign that he was hurt. Of course he is hurt. He was nearly ripped apart... Again. Dean was limping, but so was Sam whose knees were torn and bloody from the slide to his brother's side. When they reached the car, they started to inspect the injuries.
Apart from a nasty bite in his calf, Dean had been lucky. He would probably be stiff and covered in bruises tomorrow, but no severe damage had been done.
Well, except to his clothes. They hung in shreds, his jacket was an ensemble of straps, held together only at the seams. His suit-pants didn't look much better, the legs were ripped and when he moved you could see his skin and sometimes a glimpse of his boxer-shorts.
Both Winchesters shivered from the adrenalin slowly leaving their bodies. And from the cold. They were soaked. Not one single spot remained dry; they were completely wet and the chill went right through to the bones.
"Someone called them. With a whistle. Didn't you hear it?"
"No, I was kinda distracted. Who can call ghost-dogs with a whistle?"
"Don't know, not for sure. I'll have to look in some books, maybe call Bobby. But first – ", Sam crouched, carefully lifting the bloody trouser-straps from his brother's lower leg, "first we get this cleaned up and looked at by someone. You definitely need stitches and we don't have any tetanus-shots in the first aid kit."
"That someone can take a look at your knees as well. You have gravel sticking in them!"
"Yeah, it hurts"
Dean laughed out, wincing a little.
"At least we don't need some complicated explanation. Dog-attack is a pretty common reason for visiting a hospital. Or so I'm told."
"Yah... Who is driving?"
