A/N: Hey, Merisha! Just got my computer and my internet connection back, so away we go!
A/N #2: This is not a dream. Dean really turned into a wolf. Also, Dean as wolf (and what he does while four-legged) has a huge impact on the angst and comfort section of this fic later on, so I appreciate all the folks who are hanging in here. I know exactly where I'm going with this, and I don't think you'll be disappointed. I have borrowed (and you will recognize) some dialogue from A Very Supernatural Christmas, and I've made use of some paraphrased dialogue from Devil's Trap.
A/N #3: The Tibetan prayer? I made it up. And plot has crept in here despite my best efforts. Damn. This chapter does contain implied non/con involving a very young Sam Winchester.
Chapter 7 - the call of the wild
"Chinese food's in the front seat. Stone cold," Bobby said out loud. He straightened up as he closed the driver's side door, and even though he was on the shoulder of the road, he lowered his shotgun to his side, kept it down next to his leg. Not much traffic out this time of night, but the last thing they needed was some do-gooder passing by making a 'man with gun' call in to the county mounties.
Sam leaned against the Impala, cradled his arm to his belly. The lights overhead on the highway made his skin even paler, cast deep purplish shadows underneath his eyes. "Bobby, I know how this sounds…"
"Oh, you do, huh?" Bobby grunted as they walked back to the Chevelle. "I should be taking you to a hospital, Sam. You look like death warmed over. Have I told you that lately?"
"Only eight times in the last fifteen minutes. Nine times now," Sam muttered darkly. He stumbled a little as he turned and looked up at the hillside above. "Dean was driving by. They lured him in."
"How?"
Sam shrugged. "Made him think a kid was being hurt. He heard her scream."
"That'll do it." Bobby nodded. Fuglies who targeted children always enraged Dean the most. Bobby took his cell out, flipped it open, hit a number on speed dial.
"What?"
"Tow truck driver I know. Lives nearby. He can come out and get the Impala."
"Bobby, it's past midnight. Way past midnight."
"I know that. Hey, Winston? Yeah. Singer. Look, there's a 1967 black Chevy Impala out here on the shoulder on I-14, just past marker 321. I need it towed. Right now. Uh huh. Okay. Bye."
Sam stared at him. Bobby shrugged as he slipped his phone back into his vest pocket. "What? He owes me big time. Saved his ass from this snake thing down in the Ozarks. Now, you said that this critter…"
"Anya."
"She told you there were others like her. Five others, at the factory. Said they were a long way from home and their master had gotten sick."
"Sick in the head, that's right. She said back home they used to protect travelers in the mountains, but when they came over here things changed. They started killing them instead."
"And now they want Dean."
Sam nodded. "Not to kill. To take. He's…" Sam stared down at his boots as he stood by Bobby's car. He flinched as he reached for the door handle with his injured right rather than his left. "He's…he's special."
"And what the hell does that mean?"
"She didn't say."
"Well I appreciate the heads up, but Anya could have been a little more specific," Bpbby growled as he slid behind the wheel. He waited as Sam gingerly folded himself onto the passenger side. "She didn't happen to tell you how to kill the damn things, did she?"
Sam inhaled, a stuttering motion that made his chest hitch. "Yeah. She did. She told me this prayer. Said we should bless our ammunition with it."
"That's good news!" Bobby actually smiled, then he picked up on the vibe Sam was giving off and the smile dimmed. "Hell," the older man grumbled. "What?"
Sam shook his head. "She said by the time we get there, it'll be too late. We'll have to kill Dean too."
When Dean stared at John there was something in the air all around Dad.
Dean sat there inside his wolfskin, with his head cocked to one side, and he stared and stared. He was trying to wrap his head around what she was seeing. He tried not to stare, but he couldn't help himself.
Sometimes the second image was tall and shining and stood straight up, brilliant and gleaming and the face was flat. It shone like a mirror. The bright light hurt Dean's eyes and he tried not to whimper like some week old puppy.
The air darkened, churned red and black and the shadow hunched over. The edges were long and tattered, rustled in the air like torn curtains in a vacant house somewhere.
Dean backed up, blinking, and he snarled a little when three pairs of big bulging eyes and two sets of long yellow fangs pushed out into the air where the face would have been. It was directly in front of Dad's face, but Dad didn't seem to notice.
Dean flattened his ears against his head and chuffed softly to himself. Everything was fine now. He felt fine now. His legs were like springs, full of power and bounce, and he couldn't understand why he felt so tired before.
Another blink, and Dad was gone. Sammy was here now. Dean wagged his tail so hard his body shook. He closed his eyes, sat down and leaned into Sammy. Sam laughed, and the sound made Dean very happy, so happy he actually grinned. The grin got even wider when Sam threw his arms around Dean's neck and hugged him, fierce and tight.
"Here, you big goof. I want you to have this."
Dean opened his eyes and pricked his ears alertly at the metal object in Sammy's hand. It was dull copper, a small face strung on a long black cord. He nosed it, and then sneezed explosively. His nose filled with this scent he'd never smelled before, heavy and spicy like cinnamon and nutmeg mixed with wet blood. Dean sneezed and Sam smiled a little.
Dean cocked his head slightly to one side. The metal made his nose leather tingle when he sniffed it again. He sneezed again.
The amulet was familiar, wasn't it? Didn't he have one like this before? Not exactly like this one, but…The eyes and mouth on this one was stretched wide open. It bared its teeth at him, all smiles and fangs, full of happiness and murderous glee.
A part of Dean wanted to bite the damn thing.
"Here, Dean. I want you to have this. Uncle Bobby gave this to me. I was supposed to give it to Dad, but he's not here."
Dean whined, low and rough. He laid his ears back and the corners of his mouth twitched up and then downwards. His shoulders sagged. If it's for Dad, you oughta give it to him…
"No," Sam said gently. "I want you to have it."
Dean huffed. Now it was okay. He relaxed then, and Sam smiled happily. Dean stood up on all fours, and Sam slipped the black cord around his neck. He held the amulet between his fingers and very carefully centered it in the middle of Dean's chest. It tickled against his skin.
It felt good. He felt good.
Dean snuffled at Sam's fingers and Dad was there again.
"Come on, bud." Dad stood up, and Dean stared up at him alertly, ears pricked. "Got some folks I really want you to meet."
"Anderton Ironworks' down the road a ways," Bobby shrugged as he turned the ignition off. "Thought we might do this blessing before we get there."
Sam just sat there, looking hollow-eyed and downright miserable.
Bobby blew out a breath. "Going up against something we don't know anything about is the best way I can think of to get killed. The only intel we've got came from one of those things. Not gonna run off and leave you and Dean like this, though."
"You don't believe me."
"I don't know what to believe. Haven't met too many of these bastards that were willing to tell hunters how to kill them." Bobby blinked as he looked out on the dark road ahead. "Matter of fact, haven't met any. Until now. We're gonna have to play this one by ear. Now I got some holy water and silver we can use. Came from Vatican City, so it's a little more supercharged than the regular stuff. Got a couple of machetes that were blessed by Pope John Paul 2nd in 2003."
Sam stared at him in awe. Bobby shrugged. "What? He owed me a favor too." He opened the door and stepped out. Bobby already had his flashlight on and the trunk open by the time Sam joined him at the back of the car.
Bobby glanced at the machetes racked in the top of the trunk compartment, then he glanced at the cast on Sam's right arm. "How much range of motion have you got in that arm?"
Sam compressed his mouth to a thin hard line. "I can handle a gun. Handle anything we're gonna use."
Bobby snorted. Right. Sam wouldn't admit it even if his right arm was falling off. "I got an idea." He glanced down at the guns, ran his fingers over an M4A1 assault rifle with an adjustable strap. "You can go full auto with this one. Don't wanna get close unless we absolutely have to, especially if the rest of 'em are as big as she is. We're gonna have to improvise. Okay. Let's hear the prayer."
Sam took a deep breath, and then plunged right in, slowly at first. "Zhi bde ngo g-yos g-yon…ma gzugs po khru…phar gzim nyi ma…'jag gnang dgos bde po…rta zhon."
Bobby's eyes widened. "Damn."
"What?"
"Did she tell you what it meant?"
"Um…go in peace, release these wayward, restless spirits from this tormented flesh…"
Bobby nodded. "Huh. Sam, that's Standard Tibetan."
"You recognize some of it?"
"I got the gist of it." The older hunter stared down at the contents of the trunk. His eyes unfocused a little. Bobby actually seemed a little flustered, which was a totally new look for him.
Sam didn't know whether to feel vindicated or uneasy. His right arm hummed with pain, sharp at times, and now dull, just below the surface of his skin. Sam pushed it down, relegated it to background noise. Right now Dean needed him. Until Sam got his big brother back, Sam could deal. Would deal.
Bobby sensed this. He glanced at Sam and nodded, satisfied. "All right then. Time to go to work."
The others hid in the shadows as they walked through the factory. Dean positioned himself between them and Dad, stalked proud and stiff-legged, with his tail and ears raised alertly. Three left now: Cujo, Lassie and Toto. They were ink black in the shifting darkness, as dark as Dean was light. A rumble came from the darkness.
…shi pa…
…dead…
…bu…
…boy…
Dean chuckled, a low rumbling sound, deep and low in his throat. It was Cujo.
Got your dead boy right here, punk.
He locked eyes with Cujo, lifted up one corner of his muzzle to reveal sharp white teeth.
Cujo blinked, and Dean smirked a little.
Dad laughed. "Come on, Dean."
Dean went.
It was one of the larger rooms, a storage area, with a large wire cage in the far corner that reeked of human blood and human fear.
A man and a woman was in the cage. The man was older than Dad, heavyset, balding, gone to fat now. He wore blue jeans and a red and black plaid shirt, and his scent was diesel fuel, No-Doze, sweat and beer.
The woman was about Dean's age, with light brown, shoulder length curly hair. She had on painted on blue jeans and a red belly shirt that was covered with small black plastic pony beads. Twenty or so jelly bracelets (blue, green and red) adorned her left arm. She was barefoot, and she was still bleeding; a trickle of blood ran down from her nose down the side of her mouth.
Dean padded to the front of the cage and looked in. The fear smell got even stronger, and both humans backed away to opposite corners.
The air around Dad rippled, and Sam was back again. He was wide-eyed, and his face was streaked with tears as he stared at the man in the cage.
"He touched me, Dean," Sam whimpered. He trembled and shook.
Dean jerked around and stared at him, ears pricked, wide eyed.
"He hurt me." Sam stammered. "I didn't tell you…I couldn't…"
Dean made a sound, a low mournful noise, somewhere between a whine and a moan. The ground seemed to slip and slide out from underneath his paws.
Dad was there, suddenly pale and clutching his side. His fingers were slicked with blood, and Dean's nose filled with the scent, thick and coppery.
John dropped to his knees, and Dean bounded over to him, pushed up against him. "Intel about the job was wrong...it was her..."
"Wasn't feeling well that day…just wanted to close my eyes…" Sam whispered inside Dean's head, a small, bright spark that set off a series of awful images that froze Dean in place.
John's voice, low and shaky, and Dad shouldn't look like that, shouldn't look pale and weak. "Exorcism didn't work…"
They hurt my family, Dean thought to himself. They hurt Sam…
"…when I woke up he was on top of me…"
They hurt Dad…
"…let my guard down…"
He breathed in and out, and the air tasted like fire and rage, heavy and thick, burned him right down to his core, fed by what he was seeing inside his head. Dean saw it all, saw Dad with the journal, watched as the woman batted John effortlessly into the far wall and then started carving on him with her knife.
"…different kind of demon…"
Saw Sam, pinned down, helpless...
"…hurt me...I couldn't stop him…"
Dean threw back his head and howled.
…hurt them…
Dean turned and charged at the cage gate.
…kill them…
He smashed through the metal like it was tissue paper.
…kill them all…
He was closest to the woman when he landed inside the cage. She was soft, and she fought him like, well, she fought like a girl, flailing helplessly. Dean had her by the throat, and it was so quick, he pulled and ripped at her in a blur of teeth and claws.
The man thought he could run while Dean was tearing at the woman.
He thought wrong.
Dean lunged at him, sunk his teeth into his right leg, tasted blood and quivering flesh that screamed and cursed and fought just as badly as the demon bitch did.
Good.
Dean's head filled with the smell of Dad's blood, filled with Sammy hurt, Sammy scared. The man's right leg snapped nearly in two as Dean bit down hard and dragged him backwards. Dean didn't hesitate, and he didn't flinch.
He never saw the way Dad's face shifted and darkened, from ashen grey to deep blood red. The two extra sets of eyes blinked, and its mouth was set in a fierce, fanged grin. The smile got wider as Dean ripped the trucker's left arm from its socket.
"Perfect," it breathed. It changed, back and forth, from Sam to Dad, and then it was Sam again. "Mine now. Now and forever. Too late, Anya. Too late..."
Next: Bobby and Sam show up at the factory.
