AN: Thanks again for all the feedback, you guys are my heroes! Without further delay, the next chapter:
.oOo.
The tapered tops of the fir-trees are still black against a slowly graying sky when the relatively light rain let up. Eliot guesses the sunrise is less than an hour away and he's beginning to regret having passed up the chance to sleep. It is going to be a long and tired day.
Their respite lasts no more than ten minutes after that, before barks are once again echoing through the forest. Eliot thinks maybe it's not wolves they are dealing with after all, they usually don't bark like this, a pack of wild dogs seem far more likely.
"Fucking shit." Dean's eyes are widened enough that it's noticeable and even if he tries to conceal it his whole posture is tense. "There's more than one." Eliot can't see what's so shocking.
"Yeah?" He says. "Canines usually run in packs."
"Not black dogs." Dean breaks off and turns swiftly toward a noise in the forest. He then seems to process that the barking still places the dogs far away. "Black dogs have only ever been seen alone. Hell hounds on the other hand… But they shouldn't… Maybe they just weren't demonic enough…" The string of loose thoughts is interrupted and Dean moves his focus solely onto Eliot.
"Listen." Dean's voice is urgent. "If it's hell hounds they won't be killed with simple iron. Unless they're less demonic now that the demons are gone, but that's unlikely. Best scenario they're slowed down, but the only thing that'll kill them for sure is this." Dean draws out an ancient dagger from his jacket. He also pulls out a small pouch similar to the one he's given Eliot and pours its content in a circle on the ground.
"Step inside." The order is harsh but Eliot complies. He has no faith this circle of dust is going to keep the dogs from him, yet fighting about it seems pointless.
Dean turns and makes a beeline for his bag from which he withdraws two ugly pairs of scorched glasses. He puts one on and throws the other to Eliot. "So you can see them." He simply says.
Eliot wants to sigh because this is truly insane. Still there's something in Dean's demeanor and in the approaching sounds of dogs that make him comply with this insane wish as well. The glasses distort his vision slightly but work well enough. He figures he can take them off when needed be.
The pack is drawing closer. Weighing in the sound at which they're moving and the distance Eliot can bet they have minutes at the most. He's never known dogs to be this focused on a prey from such a distance, nor to dislike rain enough to wait for it to stop.
"You stay in that circle, okay?" Dean throws Eliot a look over his right shoulder. "Until you see for certain that a bullet through the brain kills them you stay put."
Eliot nods for answer. Despite this being just dogs, and even if he knows Dean is insane, a small worry is beginning to crawl through the hitter's veins. This might get ugly. The fact that Dean's just transferred the knife to his left hand to pull a gun from his waistband does nothing to calm Eliot down.
The iron dagger Dean forced him to take earlier is already in Eliot's hand. He's beginning to think that maybe it was stupid to leave the rest of the weapons in his backpack. Not that anything can be done about it now.
Seconds before the creatures finally breaks through the darkness and become visible Eliot meets Dean's eyes. In the moment there's no time for interpretation, but he knows he will see those eyes in front of him for a long time.
Years of training is the only thing that keep Eliot functional once the beasts circle close enough for him to see in the flickering firelight. Pure survival instinct shuts down his emotions, focuses his thoughts and keeps him calm. He knows he might panic later, but this is not the time.
There's five of them. Two grown-ups and three cubs, probably about a year old. It looks like cross-breading, but Eliot's no expert. For some reason Dean goes for the cubs first, even if they should be the lesser threats. He fires two bullets in rapid succession that drops two cubs to the ground. They twitch but stay down.
Everything's happening at once after that. Dean is reminding him to not leave the circle. One of the big hounds is attacking, unbothered by the dust. It sinks sharp teeth into Eliot's arm. The pain hasn't yet passed through the adrenaline as he stabs the iron knife up into the creature's skull. It dissipates leaving the knife and hand wet with blood.
If the circle ever worked it's been ruined by the scuffle. Eliot looks up to see brushwood moving on its own. He realizes he's dropped the glasses. A shot rings out as he sweeps them up and puts them on. Eliot can hear a cry of pain but the now visible hound doesn't go down. It takes two giant leaps and reaches him. He can't help but find it unfair that both of the big ones have chosen to go after him.
Eliot throws himself out of the way even as another bullet hits the wolf. He takes half a second to hope Dean's aim is sure enough that he never risked getting shot.
"Come on Fido, over here!" Dean throws the gun to the side, useless as it is. "Come and get me. I know you can smell it on me. I'm not meant to be here." The tone is somewhere between taunting and threatening. It seems to work as the creature stops to watch Dean, only feet from Eliot. Dean takes a slow step towards them.
"Come on then. Hey doggie, doggie, doggie." Eliot has time to pray the other man has a plan, then the wolf has made up its mind. It's going for Dean. Eliot goes for the gun.
The corner of Eliot's eye catches the wolf standing over Dean. He's holding it off with one hand at its throat while he searches for the knife with the other. Eliot's main focus is the Colt. It might not kill the large one, but one cub is still out there.
The reassuring weight is in Eliot's hand in the last moment. He hears a sound behind his back. Turns around. Fires. The cub crashes into a heap not three feet from him. Certain it's been at least incapacitated Eliot looks to Dean, hoping to help. He catches a glimpse of the beast with its stomach cut open only a moment before it dissolves.
Dean stays down, motionless, and Eliot's stomach lurches as he makes his way over. It's not an option right now, death. For one no one is allowed to sacrifice themselves for him, Eliot's not worth it. Secondly Dean can't leave him alone with this, he has no idea where to proceed from here.
Not much time is needed to determine that yes, Dean is indeed still breathing. He is drenched in something black that Eliot guesses is the creatures blood, but no crimson can be seen. From the looks of it Dean should be fine, but he isn't. Around them the forest is waking up to a new day, and the birds are beginning to chirp. Eliot doesn't think he's ever felt so lost.
Crouching next to Dean Eliot places two fingers on his throat, stubble scratches his fingertips but underneath the skin a strong, rapid pulse can be felt. Behind the closed eye-lids Eliot can see Dean's eyes moving, as if dreaming. He wishes he'd seen what happened, but guesses Dean must have gotten knocked out at the end of the struggle.
"Come one, wake up." Eliot demands as he tries tapping the other man's cheekbone. He receives no reaction. "Hey, Dean." He gives Dean a shake, then a harder one, but it's futile. Eliot sighs.
It's not that Eliot hasn't dreamt about hitting Dean, it just wasn't meant to be like this. He was meant to punch him in the face for being an idiot, not slap him to try and bring him back to consciousness.
There is not much force behind Eliot's hand as his open palm connects with Dean's chin, but the moment it's done he realize he had it all wrong. The habit of crouching on his feet instead of sitting down properly is what saves Eliot as Dean explodes up to deal with the threat. It's only pure luck the knife is left behind on the ground.
While Eliot is desperately trying to block Dean's attack without injuring either of them he wonders how he could have missed it. It is so obvious in hindsight. If he'd just remembered that look in Dean's eyes as the predators were closing in, he could have handled this much better. That look combined with irregular breathing, racing heart and moving eyes made it so obvious. Something - hell maybe everything - of what had happened had triggered a flashback for Dean. Eliot should have known.
Eliot blocks two attempts of punches from Dean, only to take a fist to the stomach. He steps back to regain his breathing, but there's no time. Dean tackles him and Eliot goes with it, rolling to the ground with enough speed to come out on top for a second.
"Look at where you are, you're not there." It's all he has time to wheeze around his cramping diaphragm before Dean breaks loose and they're on their feet again.
"Oh, I know this fucking forest. You won't trick me." Dean's eyes are in hard, cold survival-mode and the fact that his opponent is solely defensive doesn't seem to have sunk in yet. Eliot can guess that wherever Dean is it's in a forest, not unlike this one. That will make bringing him back far more difficult.
It's hard work, defending himself against Dean's relentless attacks. The kill-or-be-killed place he's back in can't have been pretty, and it gives Eliot a clue where the man might have perfected his rough but efficient hand-to-hand combat skills.
A small mistake is all it takes. With all the adrenaline pumping through his body Eliot has forgotten the deep gash in his left forearm, and he uses it – wrong side up – for a block. No adrenaline in the world could take away the sharp pain that travels up his arm when Dean's elbow digs into the wound. Dean uses the moment to plunge into Eliot and bring them to the ground.
This time Dean ends up on top. He presses Eliot's lower body down with his knees and legs and wraps his left hand around Eliot's neck. When Dean's right hand finds a stone on the ground Eliot knows this will end soon enough, one way or the other.
Eliot's injured arm isn't strong enough to stop the stone's path altogether but he knocks Dean's hand to the side, making the stone hit the ground to the hitter's left. At the same time he uses his right hand to rip Dean's grip from his throat and bring him out of balance. Dean's upper body crashes down against Eliot.
"Look at me." Eliot stresses. They're close enough now that Dean shouldn't see much else, taking the forest out of the equation.
If Eliot had wanted to he could have used the momentum to try and swap their places, but he doubts it would do much good. He needs to bring Dean back, preferably before this ends in disaster, and he guesses that holding the man down is not the way to go. Eliot knows his own reaction to being restrained, and he surmises Dean's isn't much different. For Dean to break away now shouldn't prove very difficult, between his lack of oxygen and injured arm Eliot won't be able to hold on for long.
"You know me." Eliot searches Dean's face for a hint of recognition. The struggle slows down, as if Dean's fighting with himself.
"Benny?" Dean asks, his eyebrows furrowed. Eliot hopes that means he's coming back and loosens his grip on Dean's arms slightly.
"Eliot." The hitter corrects him. Dean's eyes sharpen, and then close as he rolls to the side. Eliot lets him go.
A few second pass as they're trying to regain their breaths. Eliot notices how wet the sprigs beneath him are, and how a root is digging into his shoulder blade. The sun seems to have risen somewhere beyond the clouds, and the treetops above him is bathing in yellow light.
"You back?" Eliot asks, turning his head to the right to look at Dean. The other man is lying on his back as well, close enough to touch. Eliot doesn't.
Dean only nods as answer, his eyes still closed. He keeps swallowing compulsively in a way that makes Eliot believe he's fighting bile rising in his throat. "Want to talk about it?" Dean shakes his head and Eliot looks back up at the treetops.
Eliot respects Dean's standpoint. It could just as well have happened the other way around, Eliot can acknowledge that, and if it had he wouldn't have wanted to talk either. In his experience talking about it seldom made things easier to bear, rather it brought all the shit up to the surface and left it there to simmer.
They lay frozen in position for several long minutes, backs soaking up the night's rain from the ground underneath. Eliot focuses on his breathing and tries to calm his spinning mind. He can't believe this night really happened, yet the sharp pain in his arm tells him it was definitely not a dream.
"The cubs?" Dean's voice breaks the silence, and Eliot pretends it's as strong and confident as usual. At least it's not far off. "They still here?"
Eliot looks over, not really understanding Dean's reasoning, but the man's already up and moving towards said creatures. The hitter feels battered and bruised – is in fact battered and bruised – but forces himself to pay it no heed. He sits up, using a nearby tree trunk to lean against.
The ancient looking knife is once again in Dean's hand as the man makes his way over to one of the still twitching cubs. The blade is pressed in between the ribs to pierce the heart, and the beast disappears in front of Eliot's eyes. Even after everything he has a hard time grasping what he sees. Dean finishes of the other cubs and moves to rekindle the embers of their fire. Eliot wonders when it found the time to die down.
"What the hell was that?" Eliot waves his hand around trying to include the clearing and the supernatural wolves and the attack and everything else that has happened, sans the flashback since Dean doesn't want to talk about that. He's incredibly exhausted and incredibly high-strung all at once, and his arm hurts more every second.
Dean grins, and after everything that has transpired it is damn good to see that smile even if Eliot can bet it's fake. "Well, I already told you, didn't I?" Dean wiggles his eyebrows. "You just didn't believe me at the time." Eliot growls but is secretly glad at the feeling of normalcy. Dean seems to sense he needs to clarify.
"Out of all fucked up things we had a left behind hellhound that met a regular black dog, and they made sweet, sweet love and had babies. Then for sport the little family hunts and kills humans, until they were hunted down and killed by us. Just another day of the Winchester saga."
"So the dust-circle, and the knife?" Eliot's still unsure about where it all fits in.
"Goofer-dust keeps hellhounds out, but the one that first attacked you was the black dog. Which is why you could kill it at all. The only thing known to kill a hellhound is this…" Dean holds up his knife. "Not much else is of any use against those sons of bitches. I'd guess the puppies were incapacitated by the iron – being half black dog – but it couldn't properly kill the hellhound part of them."
Eliot's head is spinning with the realization of how much he has to learn before he can feel protected again, now that there is a whole new world of threats. A sudden thought floats to the surface that makes Eliot's blood feel like ice.
"They're not like werewolves, are they?" He tries to keep any trace of worry from his voice but judging from Dean's sudden shift in stance he can guess he failed. It shouldn't surprise him that Dean seems to read him with the same ease that he reads Dean.
"Why princess, did the doggie nibble your finger?" Dean's voice is light and teasing, but the way his focus is suddenly all on Eliot tells a different story. When the bait is left hanging Dean continues. "It shouldn't be different from a regular dog bite, but I'd rinse it out with holy water to be sure."
"So nothing worse than possible tetanus, blood poisoning, or rabies then." For once it's Eliot who fires off the smirk. He's got all his shots of course, but even vaccinated he'll need complimentary injections against possible rabies. It will be his seventh time.
Dean's having M&Ms for breakfast as Eliot slices away the two trashed shirtsleeves to tend to his injury. The main gash is deep enough to need internal stitches, and Eliot hasn't brought the right thread for that. Nerves dictating the sensory and motor functions of his left hand run through the area, and Eliot will have to get back to the civilization and do the stitches properly there. Any half decent job he can mange with the stuff he's carrying will risk the weakness in his grip becoming permanent.
The rabies shots will force him to a hospital as soon as he gets back, Eliot knows of no other place where he can get vaccinated fast enough. He might even allow the doctors to stitch his wound to save him a few unwanted questions.
After cleaning his arm thoroughly with both holy water and antiseptics Eliot tries to stem the bleeding with a compression bandage. The unnaturally white gauze stands out against the dulled colors around them. He hopes it will make do for the ten hours it will take them to pack up camp, walk back to the cars, drive the hour to the nearest decent ER and get the postexposure vaccination.
"Are we done up here?" Eliot asks Dean as he starts preparing his oatmeal. He phrases it as a general question, because admitting that he's done up here no matter what isn't Eliot's style.
"Yup." Dean says, eyeing Eliot's newly donned dry clothes enviously and trying to hide how cold he is. "As soon as you've finished your wholesome and nutritious breakfast we can be on our way." Eliot has a feeling Dean's never eaten oatmeal voluntarily in his life.
"Good. Now for God's sake put some clean clothes on or you'll scare people to death once we're back to civilization. You look like you've butchered someone." He doesn't mention that Dean looks frozen, or that a set of dry clothes that's not Dean's lies in Dean's backpack. Dean should already know those things anyway.
For once in his life Dean complies without fuzz, which Eliot doesn't know how to interpret. It's like he can't wait to literally feed the darkened shirt to the fire and Eliot can't help but wonder what memories are triggered by the garment. The hell hound's blood turns to a heavy smoke that smells terribly before the fabric catches fire and is gone.
"I look like a dork." Dean complains, looking down on himself and the functional clothes he's now wearing.
"And you are an idiot." Eliot adds as he finishes his breakfast. "Now help me close down the camp so we can get out of here."
It takes them twenty minutes to get everything packed and ready to go. Eliot knows he's pushing it when it comes to using his left hand, but he's not good at sitting back and watching someone else work. If he's honest with himself he also hates to look weak. So he does what he can with his right hand and helps with his left where it's inevitable.
Getting his backpack on is a bitch, Eliot can swear the rainwater has made his stuff much heavier. As he looks up after the maneuver he finds Dean watching him, yet the man turns away without comment. Eliot is grateful.