FROM BAD TO WORSE
DISCLAIMER:
You know the rules; I own no rights at all to do with SUPERNATURAL!
AUTHORS NOTES:
I swear on John Winchester's journal that I wrote the first part of this chapter before I saw
YELLOW FEVER, so I'm sorry if certain scenes in a sheriff's office seem like a rip off, it's purely a coincidence. You know what they say: Great minds think alike. LOL
I hope you guys are still enjoying this story. Thanks to all who read and reviewed chapter 3. Here's chapter 4.
As always my beta for this chapter is: msokiedokie.
Chapter 4
Erwin, Tennessee
It was already mid afternoon when Dean pulled the Impala up outside the Erwin sheriff's office. He'd spent longer than he had expected at the hospital that morning, torn between wanting to be with his brother and wanting to get on to Tennessee. But he didn't want Sam to get suspicious and think that he was going to go back on his word not to hunt the werewolf on his own, which I have every intention of doing, so he he appeared anxious to be away from Sam and somewhere else or rushed off too soon, Sam would know, and besides Dean enjoyed time spent with his brother even when Sam was being a pain in the ass.
Before he'd left the motel he'd done some ground work, reviewing Sam's research on the hunt and then ringing the Erwin sheriff and telling him he was on his way, to help him sort out his current problems or rather Agent Dean Eastwood a federal agent was on the way.
When Dean entered Sam's room he wasn't expecting to see Sam sitting up in bed, his hazel eyes bright if a little bloodshot; but he was and he seemed surprising good for a man who'd had his appendix yanked out some 15 hours earlier.
Sam was quick to volunteer that when he'd woken he'd been nauseous from the high doses of antibiotics being pumped into him intravenously and lack of anything solid to eat in more than twenty four hours, and what little he had eaten had made a second appearance. The doctor on duty had prescribed something to counteract the nausea also intravenously, feeling better and hungry as a hunter, the irony of that thought not lost on him, Sam had consumed a light breakfast of fruit and toast before Dean had arrived.
Dean himself had gorged himself at a waffle house he had spotted the night before close to the motel which happened to be on the way back to the hospital. Now seeing Sam on the road to recovery made Dean even more comfortable with his decision to head on to Tennessee and finish this hunt that had stuttered to standstill due to Sam's unfortunate health emergency.
"So Dean what are you going to do while I'm laid up in here?" Sam asked out of the blue.
Dean wasn't sure if Sam really wanted to know or if he had an inkling of what he was planning to do, Dean didn't think he'd given any indication that he wasn't being honest with his brother, and I'm not but he doesn't need to know that.
Fortunately Dean had a planned story for such an occurrence. "Thought I might service and tune the car it's ten thousand miles overdue and there's that rattle in the motor."
"I didn't notice any rattle."
"One of the tires could fall off and you'd never notice."
Sam eyed his brother suspiciously before seemingly accepting Dean's observation about his lack of knowledge about the workings of the Impala.
He had stayed for another hour; he then retrieved his suit from the Impala and went back into the hospital changing in the men's room on the ground floor.
Getting out of the Impala, Dean shrugged into his suit jacket, checked he had his fake ID and entered the sheriff's office.
As he entered an electronic bell connected to the entrance door sounded, a young dark-haired man wearing a sheriff's uniform seated behind the front desk looked up at the sound.
Dean sauntered up to the desk pulling his ID from his inner pocket, he flipped it open and held it up for the young deputy to see, saying, "FBI Agent Eastwood to see Sheriff Washington."
"You're the fed?" The deputy asked as he stood and briefly examined Dean's ID.
As Dean tucked the ID back into his pocket he glanced at the deputy's name badge pinned to the upper left of his chest. "You were expecting someone else Deputy Mastrone?" Dean asked with a raised eyebrow. Might as well play the part of the federal dick to the max, It's what they would expect from the bureau.
"No, no one else." Deputy Mastrone answered quickly.
A door behind the deputy opened and a tall African American man came out. This has to be Sheriff Washington. Although wearing an identical uniform as Deputy Mastrone his baring bespoke of confidence and experience. He was in his mid thirties, muscular and fit looking, handsome, he reminded Dean of Denzel Washington, and they even share the same surname.
Seeing Dean he stepped around the desk, he smiled as he held out his hand, "I'm Sheriff Mike Washington."
The sheriff stood as tall as Dean's 6'1 and Dean liked him immediately, there was honesty and caring in his dark brown eyes. Dean returned his smile and took his outstretched hand, as Dean had expected The Sheriff had a warm firm handshake. "Agent Dean Eastwood, we spoke on the phone."
"Come into my office we'll talk in there, Adam will get us some coffee please, coffee Agent Eastwood?"
"Coffee sounds good, black."
Dean followed him into his office; he motioned towards a chair opposite the large paper strewn desk, "Take a seat Agent Eastwood."
As Dean sat he said. "Please call me Dean." Why did I say that it's not very FBI like?
"Alright, Dean and I'm Mike," He said as he sat behind the desk, "Excuse the mess; I'm doing some much overdue filing, so why are the fed's getting involved in the animal problems of a small Tennessee town?"
Twenty minutes and two cups of coffee later they were standing in front of a map of Tennessee pinned to wall to the right of Mike's desk, Mike was showing Dean the pinned areas of the map and the significance of each of the different colored pins. The red pins represented where the victim's bodies were found, the blue pins where the two missing men's cars were found, and the yellow pins where the mutilated cattle were found.
Dean pointed to a section of the map where there was a concentration of 3 red pins and 2 blue pins. "Who owns this property here?" Dean indicated the area adjacent to the pins.
Mike hesitated before answering, "That, that's the Crocker place." The tone of his voice made Dean look at him.
"Something up with the Crocker's that I should know about?"
"Wade, Gracie and their daughter Rae-Anne." Mike answered speaking into his nearly empty coffee cup with sheriff stenciled on it.
"Mike, if I'm going to solve this problem, you need to tell me everything."
Mike sighed and then said, "I grew up with Gracie we went to school together, she was the prettiest girl, kind and sweet not a mean bone in her body. We both knew we had a future together, you know, even with the color difference, you see Gracie is white."
Dean nodded. "I know what you mean." He understood having once had a similar relationship with Cassie.
Mike continued, "Then.... when she met Wade everything changed he was fifteen, sixteen years older than her and had already put one wife in the grave, Gracie she was smitten she fell head over heels for him and up and married him when she was eighteen, just like that. Nineteen years ago that was. I never saw much of her after that, but that Wade he's a mean drunk, and he's drunk most of the time a cruel and vicious bastard, I think he hits her and abuses her in other ways, but Gracie stays, I don't know why and from what I've heard that daughter takes after her daddy, cruel, thoughtless a nasty piece of work."
"Has Crocker complained of cattle deaths?"
"No he's the only one who hasn't, do you think there could be a connection?"
"Maybe."
"I don't know if Crocker has any cattle left, all he's got left there as far as I know is some corn and a few dairy cows, he's let the place go to the dogs."
A poor choice of words in the circumstances. "How long since you or anybody's seen the Crocker's?"
"Saw Wade in town about five maybe six weeks ago, going into the liquor store, where else, but… Gracie I haven't seen her for a couple of years, why do you ask?"
"No reason just curious." But he had reason for asking, maybe the Crocker's are also victims of the werewolf or maybe one of them is the werewolf.
Dean left the sheriff's office a few minutes later, telling Mike he had all the information he needed for now and he'd be in after he'd done some investigating and/or solved the problem.
----- FBTW -----
In the circle of illumination the flashlight provided Dean checked the map, he wanted to be sure he was in the right place, he'd followed Tiger Creek Road until he'd spotted the old signpost bent over at a 45 degree angle pointing at the ground and not at the dirt track off to the left, the barely legible sign indicating this was in fact Miller Road, he'd followed that for a mile until he spotted another dirt track to the left, this one unmarked and hardly wide enough for an average sized car leading off at an angle into the dense trees the track was only visible for 12 maybe 15 meters before curving out of sight further away from the road. This was the track that led to the Crocker place and the area where the killings and disappearances were most concentrated, the hunting ground of werewolf.
Dean reversed the Impala back and onto the edge of the road turned off the engine and waited. The sun had gone down, fighting a losing battle with the inevitable onset of night the last of the daylight was clinging desperately to any open areas, under the canopy of the woods lining the roadside the darkness had already taken hold casting eerie sinister shadows that could conceal any number of things. The moon would rise shortly meaning the creature Dean was seeking would appear hungry for flesh.
Dean waited until the moon had risen, its light filtering through the trees casting swaying shadows across the car before going to the trunk and retrieving his handgun. He inserted a full clip of silver bullets and put another clip in the pocket of his denim jacket, then added a silver knife to his pocket alongside the spare clip.
He pushed through the brush at the side of the road, flashlight illuminating the uneven ground in front of him, looking for some sign that the creature he sort was inhabiting this area. He followed a vague trail deeper into the woods and away from the road. Dean panned the flashlight across the barely there trail and into the trees on either. Every now and then he caught a glimpse of the dirt track winding its way towards the Crocker place. A hundred or so meters further on the flashlight picked out something on the trail, Dean crouched down next to it to get a closer look. It was the carcass of some animal or what was left of it, which wasn't much. Dean thought it could have been some kind of deer but he couldn't be sure. Sam's research had said that some kind of deer lived in this area of Tennessee. Whatever it was the poor unfortunate animal was no doubt the victim of the werewolf.
Dean got to his feet stepped over the remains and continued on, he'd only gone a short way when a strange feeling of being watched struck him to add credence the feeling came the sound of a branch snapping off his left, he swung the flashlight and the gun up together pointing into the trees, the light caught the glint of something yellow, then a second later was gone leaving the branches shivering in its wake as whatever had been watching him moved away at a fast pace, as if it could sense he meant to put an end to it. Dean could hear it crashing through the brush its flight accompanied by the snap and crackle of twigs and leaves.
He took off in the direction the animal had taken, dodging in and out of the trees going as fast as he dared; the werewolf was outpacing him the sounds of its retreat were getting fainter, it was getting away. Dean picked up the pace the branches of the nearby trees whipping across the exposed skin of his face and neck.
A few paces on and the trees thinned out and opened up onto a small clearing a fallen tree lay across it, the trees at the far side of the clearing still moving in the wake of the werewolf, he was gaining on it.
He launched himself up and over the fallen tree in a style an Olympic hurdler would envy. His landing on the other was near perfect except for the sound of a metallic snap and intense pain that shot up from the ankle of his right leg, bringing him down flat on his front, the flashlight and gun forced from his grip skittered away quickly swallowed up by the darkness. He slid forward on the damp slimy mulch of leaves and mud before he was jerked to a stop by something pulling on his painful ankle.
Winded and breathless Dean rolled over; pain again radiating out from his ankle, as he got some damp mildew smelling air back into his starved lungs he lifted himself up onto his elbows and looked down at the offending limb which he feared from the pain was broken. He groaned low in his throat, it might be broken; it sure hurts like a sonofabitch. But it was hard to tell how much damage had been done seeing as he couldn't see his foot it was encased in the steel jaws of a gin trap, blood was already seeping into the denim of his jeans leg where the sharp teeth of the trap pierced the hem of the thick cotton material.
"Sonofabitch." Dean exclaimed in frustration he shimmied forwards towards the fallen tree trunk taking some of the pressure off his trapped foot. The trap was attached to the tree trunk by a chain wrapped around it, he pulled on the chain hoping to pull the chain loose but it was anchored under the tree and he couldn't move it a fraction and to make things worse the movement caused the steel jaws to penetrate deeper into his flesh, he could feel one of the metal teeth grinding against a bone in his ankle.
That was a bad idea, Dean. He looked around for his gun but he it was out of sight as was the flashlight. Then he remembered the silver knife in his pocket. Dragging it out the moonlight filtering through the trees glinted off the silver blade, with a deep breath he pushed it in between the jaws of the trap his trapped bleeding ankle the only thing keeping the trap closing right up, he tried to lever the jaws apart releasing the jaws a little before the blade slipped and the jaws closed even further into the tortured flesh.
Hissing in agony at the increased pressure and pain Dean threw the knife away in disgust, grabbed either side of the trap threading his fingers in between the teeth and tried to pull them apart, but the trap was old and rusty and seemed almost fused around his ankle.
Then he heard a sound that sent chills racing down his spine, a low growl coming from the trees at the edge of the clearing where the werewolf had gone. Crap now I'm really in trouble, its coming back.
Dean reached for the discarded knife causing the trap to sink yet further into his ankle, he groaned as he stretched farther, finger tips touching the handle before he curled his hand around the hilt. As quickly as possible he swung himself around and scooted backwards the chain clanking against the trap until his back was against the tree trunk the knife clutched in his suddenly sticky sweat soaked hand, he could feel a film of perspiration along his forehead and his upper lip. A huffing, snorting noise came from the trees, then the branches parted and the werewolf's head appeared the yellow eyes centered on Dean, the jaws parted slightly and a deep growl emitted from the depths of its throat, saliva dripped from the long yellowed fangs. It ventured further into the clearing never taking its eyes off of its next meal. It lifted its head skyward and emitted a long earsplitting howl from deep in its throat almost like to was calling to something, and then it looked back at Dean the strange eyes glinting with intent.
"Nice doggy you don't wanna eat me, I'm not very tasty… too boney."
Dean could have sworn the creature smiled at his attempt at humor it took three steps closer then without warning it launched itself at him, it's jaws opened wide and angled towards his neck a split second before it made contact he thrust the knife forward into the hairy chest where he hoped was its heart, the knife buried itself deep into the animal as its full weight slammed into Dean crushing him between it and the tree knocking the breath from him for the second time in five minutes the dripping fangs glancing off the soft skin of his neck and its large canine head knocked against Dean's cheekbone slamming his head back into the tree trunk, the world tilted around him and the smell of wet dog surrounded him invading his nostrils, the dead weight of the animal, god I hope it's dead, the blow to his cheek and the back of his head combined with the red hot pain pulsing up from his ankle sending him down into oblivion.
Dean didn't see the other smaller werewolf emerge from the trees, seeing its dead mate it too howled, a howl filled with lose and sadness. It sat on its haunches and watched as the dead werewolf changed back to its human form, the unknown man's naked body lay sprawled across Dean, the man's still warm blood leaked from where the knife was embedded in his chest soaking into Dean's clothes and the damp ground underneath him.
The still living werewolf whimpered at its loss then stood and with a last look at the two men one dead one living it bounded from the clearing quickly blending into the surrounding woods.
TBC
The fun begins. Dean is in big trouble and Sam's is unaware of his brother's peril.
Thanks for reading.
