Chapter 6:
"Dean?" Sam asked quietly, though he knew the werewolves could hear him. "What do you think? Madison or Lenore?"
Dean hesitated for only a second. "Madison," he quipped. And at, Dean and Sam opened fire.
Cat took her cue from them, since that was her decision too. She would have gone with whatever they decided because ten against one wasn't good odds, especially when eight of them were werewolves and two had guns. She wasn't sure what the code that they'd used was, but the bullets beginning to fly was enough for her.
Cat took out two of the werewolves on the fire escape before she spun to take on another that came at her from behind. Dean and Sam opened fire on two each. Then two others attacked, falling from the fire escape directly behind them.
Cat had just managed to get her gun around to point at it when it swiped it's hand across her neck. It didn't hit any veins, since she drew back, but it would definitely leave a scar, and the second strike, hitting the gun, sent it flying. Cat threw punches and kicks before it finally saw an opening and pounced. She hit the ground hard, barely able to hold it back as it snapped at her throat, but was able to get some leverage and throw it over her and into the wall. At that, she stood up and took a second gun from her jacket, shooting three bullets into its heart and then turning, ready to fire again, looking for more prey.
Sam had lost his gun almost immediately and fought with one for about ten seconds before he managed to get a silver knife out of his jeans. He sliced it at the werewolf and it dug deep into its chest, but missed its heart. Sam was able to stumble away and grab his gun, then pump four bullets into the werewolf.
Dean had gotten struck from behind and rolled with it, instantly getting back up, but the werewolf was quickly there, grabbing the gun from Dean's hands and slashing its vicious nails across his chest. Dean cried out as he was propelled to the left and into the brick wall, then fell to the ground. The werewolf leapt at him, but landed where Dean had been, not where he was. Dean then pulled a silver knife of his own from his jacket and, when the werewolf leapt again, the blade met its heart.
Dean shoved the werewolf off of him, standing up, but stumbled. "Sammy," he groaned.
"Dean!" Sam cried. He ran over to him, holding him up, as Cat took a few quick steps over as well. She touched her neck, which was bleeding, but she knew it wasn't bad.
"Okay. I'm fine," Dean rasped, leaning over as he clutched his chest. "Just a few scratches."
It was at that moment that they heard sirens quickly approaching.
"Oh perfect," Dean groaned.
"I'm surprised we had this long," Cat told him. "Let's take your car. It's closer."
"Great, fresh blood on the upholstrey," Dean replied, giving the keys to sam and slightly leaning against Cat as Sam ran over to the car and got inside, turning on the engine.
Cat got to the car and put Dean in the back. When he was completely inside, she quickly closed the door and jumped into the passenger's seat, slamming the door shut. Sam didn't wait for them to put on their seatbelts before she hit the gas.
The car swerved around the corner, taking off down the empty street, and Dean flew backwards, hitting his head on the car. "Ow," he groaned.
"Sorry, have to get us out of here," was Sam's reply as Cat put on his seatbelt.
"Next time, I drive," Dean told her as he put his legs up, knees bent, on the seat. He put his left hand on the seat in front of him as well, so he wouldn't fly forward, putting some pressure on his chest with his other hand.
"Sure, when you aren't bleeding from the chest, the next time we take down eight werewolves, you can drive," Sam replied.
They sped down the road and, once they turned onto the main street, slowed down. What they didn't need was to be noticed. The side streets were different, there was barely anyone around, but a main street and a fast car were a recipe for a car accident.
The three hunters drove for about ten minutes in silence, except for one time when Sam asked if Dean was okay and he replied with, "Peachy," before he got to their motel. Sam and Cat helped Dean inside, his shirt soaked with blood by this time, and lay him down on the bed.
"Oh the maids are gonna love this," Dean moaned as he started to drip blood on the sheets.
"I got first aid, you get towels," Sam said, walking over to her bag. Cat went quickly into the bathroom, grabbing all the towels they'd been given, soaking one in water, and brought them back to the bed. She put a folded towel on the wounds, soaking up the blood, as Sam came over with the kit.
"You feel woozy?" Sam asked.
"She's not that hot," Dean replied.
"Dean," Sam said.
"A little bit," Dean admitted.
"Let's get you fixed up," he muttered, opening the kit.
"I die, Sammy, you take care of my baby, okay?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "It's not that bad."
"You have a kid?" Cat asked, shocked.
Sam sighed. "He has a car."