Hunter of the Shadows Book 3
Enemy at the Door.
Chapter 9.
Now…
Dean's frowning, eyes glowing a deep green, as he stares into the camera lens.
"If you're thinking that John Winchester was rapidly becoming the least of our worries, then you're quite wrong," he says, cryptically, and turns to Sam, who's sitting next to him, back against a log. "Can you pass me the mead, dude? Throats getting dry."
"Sure," Sam murmurs and happily obliges by pouring a rich looking berry red liquid from an earthenware flask into the wooden goblet sitting in front of his fatherbrother.
Dean grins with red teeth and explains to the camera "Lucas turned up a little while ago with the pups, and brought more booze with him," he nods happily, grin a little cheesy. "Good job, too. We were running low!"
He places a finger against his lips, whispering "Ssssh," and points down. Sure enough, there's a wolf puppy curled in his lap, all cute, fuzzy baby fur and sharp, pointed ears.
"Remember Matthew and his brother Logan from the Home Pack?"
Sam has the other one, rolled on his back and draped over Sam's legs. He's a bit more awake than Dean's pup, and is busy playfully batting at Sam's nose. Sam gently teases the pup by morphing his snout in and out, but yelps when he receives a swipe from a tiny claw for his trouble.
"Ow!" he rubs his nose and mock glares at the pup who, as if sensing when it's time to quit, snuggles closer to Sam's chest and gives out a little puppy sigh of contentment.
Sam, of course, falls for it and turns into a big, sappy girl. "Aw!"
Dean shakes his head. "Seriously, Sam. You're gonna start growing a womb next time you change!"
Sam pulls the bitchface to beat all other bitchfaces. "Shut up, Dean."
A small half growl, that somehow sounds like a question, has Sam unstoppering the mead flask again.
Tobius is lying wolfed out beside Dean, lapping genteelly from a deep, wooden bowl. He looks up gratefully at Sam when he leans over and pours some more mead into his bowl. With a quick lavish lick of thanks up the side of Sam's face, the large wolf goes back to his beverage.
There are several wolves lounging around in the background, in both forms, along with the two human hunters, but they all appear attentive as the boys continue with their tale…
Then…
In spite of how shitty things looked for us right then, there was one piece of good news to come out of it. We should have realised before, but our plates were already piled so high we wouldn't have noticed if a mortar bomb had gone off right in front of us.
Sam could see.
And as he came back from the brink, the purple glow faded and he seemed to be watching us, trying to figure out who we were, maybe.
By four o'clock in the afternoon, Sammy was gradually becoming more lucid. He seemed to calm down, and watched us with increasing recognition, but although he opened his mouth obediently to accept wolf's bane spiked water and small amounts of milk, he didn't say a word.
The wolf's bane managed to keep him from changing and prevented him from breaking his bonds, but we kept it at a low dose. Poor kid had been drugged up against his will enough times already.
By the time nightfall rolled around again, we were going stir-crazy from sitting there under house arrest all damn day, and not knowing whether Castiel had received any of Sire's desperate emails.
We couldn't run, there was no point. The guards stationed outside our quarters were some of the best in the NLSU, and they were just the start of it. Even if we got that far, we would still have to get passed the gates, and that most definitely wasn't going to happen.
Besides, with John Winchester out there searching for us, we were probably still safer here behind pack defences. Crowley, we could handle. A pissed off, demonised ex-father was another matter altogether.
But we also needed the doc. Worryingly, it soon emerged that Sam's addiction to the Sleepworm wasn't yet over. Although he was well on his way back, his body was still dependent, and it was suffering.
We woke up, in the darkest hour of the night, to Sam howling the place down.
"Reeeoooowwwwwlllll!"
It was the scariest, most heartbreaking noise I've ever heard coming from Sammy, and believe me I've heard a few. And even with the wolf's bane suppressing it, Sam's body was still trying to change.
The kid was bucking and kicking, fighting his bonds, which we'd replaced some hours before with white ace bandages, wrapped several times around his wrists and covered in iron manacles. It had killed me to do it, but it was a necessary evil under the circumstances.
But something was different this time. This wasn't the panic and rage of before, when his addled brain had him trying to rip out the Alpha's throat.
His sweat drenched body was shaking all over, breaths ragged and desperate, eyes clenched tightly shut, and teeth ground down hard, almost to breaking point.
Sammy, dude… can you hear me?
I glanced up at Sire in despair.
Sam let out another blood curdling howl. His body suddenly went rigid, and was then assaulted by the most violent and soul wrenching convulsions I'd ever seen.
The bed was a four-poster, made of solid oak, ancient and immovable, but Sam's seizure was damn near rocking the thing across the stone floor.
Trying out the paging device, I gulped with dismay when it didn't go off. "Battery must be flat, Sire…"
He didn't say a word, just let out an angry growl, strode from the bed and ripped open the front door.
Even from the bed, I could see the guards barring his way with crossbows no doubt loaded with silver tipped arrows, but Sire wasn't attempting to leave.
"Go get the doc, now!" he ordered.
"Your Grace, if you would just send him an email…" one of them began, politely.
"My grandson is having a violent seizure!" he bellowed. "I don't have time for bloody emails, now MOVE!"
To their credit, they flinched but didn't move. Instead, Sergeant Fisher was called via radio and a runner was immediately sent from the guard house to find the doc.
Apparently, given the sheer size of the grounds, combined with the population size, it was often easier to use modern technology to communicate. The vast numbers of thought projections zipping around were just too dense to keep up with on an individual basis, though the more experienced NLSU officers were able to keep certain wolves under surveillance for law enforcement purposes.
Thought projection was best used during the day time when most non-lunars were asleep or dozing after a night's hunt, or during the actual hunt when only a handful of wolves formed the hunting party. It was why the kitchen staff only thought projected when absolutely necessary – they mostly relied on body language and strictly disciplined team work to get the job done because there were over twenty of them cooking at any one time.
But I digress...
Dave turned up minutes later, hair in disarray and panting from exertion.
"I came a quickly as I could," he said, eyes scanning us both, worriedly. "Marcus is in a bad way," he added quietly. "But he'll live. It's just going to take some time."
"That's excellent news," Sire replied, abruptly. Then he leaned out the door, looked both ways, grabbed the surprised doc by the shirtfront and swiftly yanked him inside. "And I thank you for informing us, but right now my grandson needs your help."
Dave recovered quickly from his virtual kidnapping off the doorstep, and headed straight over to the bed.
He didn't say anything for a while, just went through some checks as best he could, given that Sam was juddering away like a short-circuiting electric pylon.
"Right," he said after a few seconds. "I want to administer the last of the Sleepworm, but this time combined with a minimal dosage of a human anticonvulsant drug." He shot us an apologetic look. "It's not something I would normally consider, but given the severity of the seizure I think it's important to get this under control sooner rather than later. And besides, it can help to give him that extra nudge back to the real world."
I felt Sire's gaze on me.
The choice is yours, pup, but I would go with it.
For Tobius to agree to human drugs this must have been really bad.
I closed my eyes for a second. Thank you, Sire.
The words became stuck in my throat, so I thought projected my permission instead.
Go ahead, Dave. Whatever Sammy needs to survive this.
Dave smiled sadly and got to work.
Werewolves aren't exactly allergic to human drugs or anything quite as dramatic, but it does take our system a while to get over their influence. We rarely use pain meds unless they are derived directly from a plant source, and even then we prefer to ride the pain out unaided whenever possible. Pain killers mess with our metabolism, and make changes difficult and slow. Not good when you're in a tight spot, or fighting for your life.
I guess you could say that pain is a part of life for a werewolf, and it's something you have to get used to or you'd never want to change, and that could eventually prove fatal.
Werewolves have to change, if only for a little while, or we become depressed, lose sleep, and don't eat. This leads to weakness, both physically and emotionally, making us vulnerable to attack. In some cases, if the lack of change goes on for long enough, it can leave a werewolf in permanent human form, which ultimately drives them crazy. Assuming they live that long, 'cos if a stray gets hold of a weakened, depressed werewolf, unable change, they'll tear them apart, limb from limb.
Usually just for the fun of it.
Much to everyone's relief, the drug Dave administered to Sam started working right away, and fast. The convulsions stopped, and Sam went limp with a soft sigh, his head rolling back and forth across his pillow.
Dave pressed a hand palm down on Sam's forehead, holding it still, and smiled at the kid.
"Hello there," he said, kindly. "No need to be scared. I'm your doctor, but you can call me Dave. Your family are right here, Sam, and they've been anxious to see you."
And then we heard him, weak, breathless, and frail from being so sick, but he came through, and it was the sweetest sound.
Where... they?
Tobius and I crowded round either side of the bed, peering down at Sam, hopeful and excited.
We're right here, Sammy.
He blinked wearily back up at me and a smile slowly emerged, exhausted and weak, but it was definitely a smile.
Dean…
I returned the smile.
Yeah. You're back.
He blinked again.
It was d-dark… and c-cold for s-so damn long… where d-did I g-go, Dean?
I stared at him, long and hard, then leaned down and brushed a hand gently through his sweaty, greasy hair.
I honestly don't know, kid, but it took forever to get you back.
His breathing was gradually coming back under control, his blinking grew heavier and his eyelids drooped. But like a toddler fighting to stay up a little longer, Sam jolted fully awake again, widening his eyes, trying to keep them open.
Don't wanna go back there, Dean. Don let me fall asleep…please… he whispered, desperately.
He was panicking and fighting his restraints again, tugging on his wrists, glancing desperately up at them secured to the headboard.
What's going on? Why am I chained up? Dean? Tobius?
Easy now, pup, said Sire. I'll have you free of those in just a moment, then we'll talk.
Sam immediately began to calm down, but eyed the chains with a deep seated fear that broke my heart. He'd been forced to wear shit like this way too many times already in his short life, and it never got any easier.
Time to run interference.
Hey, Sammy? Have you noticed something?
Huh? He turned his gaze back on me.
You can see, kid, in human form.
Sam's eyes widened.
I… I c-can s-see? He blinked, and a tremulous smile grew. I can see again! Thank God! What did you do? H-how did it happen?
We don't know, I answered him, smiling back. But we'll talk about that later, huh?
Tobius had immediately fished out a large iron key and began unlocking the manacles, while Sam was beaming from ear to ear with relief and happiness.
But the doc was about to wipe that shaky smile from Sam's face.
"With all due respect, I'm not sure that's such a good idea," Dave asked, shifting nervously from foot to foot, obviously aware that his suggestion could make him extremely unpopular. "Sam isn't fully recovered. If he were to attack someone else we could all be held accountable for it."
"He'll be fine," Sire immediately countered, barely letting the guy finish his sentence, which was just as well because, much as I liked the doc, my hackles were already going up.
Sam's eyes widened, while I perched on the bed, pulled him up into a sitting position and began gently rubbing his bandaged wrists.
What does he mean? Sam sounded like he was panicking all over again. Me? Attack… someone else? Who did I attack the first time? He looked around, suddenly, when something occurred to him. And where the hell are we?
All in good time, pup, said Tobius. He reached forward and grasped Sam's upper arms, studying his grandson's tired face with a fond smile. "It's good to have you back with us, Sam, and it's especially wonderful that you can truly see us now."
Sam nodded, a little surprised when his grandfather enveloped him in a brief, tight hug.
"I-it's good to b-be b-back," he rasped out.
His throat had to be sore from going so long without use, and then howling his lungs out just a few minutes ago.
Tobius stepped back and headed straight for the brandy. "Probably best to thought project for now, Sam, until your voice improves," he said, pouring out a generous measure and adding a little honey and lemon to it. "But in the meantime, here's the best remedy for everything. Drink up, lad."
Sam nodded, gratefully, took the balloon glass in both hands, and hunched over it. But the poor kid was obviously too weak and probably in shock, because his hands were shaking badly, slopping brandy all over the place, before the glass made it even halfway to his mouth.
Without a word, I guided it the rest of the way, letting him sip slowly.
He grimaced a few times. It probably burned a little on the way down, but the brandy and honey soon did its job, relaxing his muscles and soothing his throat.
Dave remained silent, watching his patient closely.
Tobius rubbed Sam's back in small circles, while I waited for Sam to give the signal that he was finished with the brandy.
"Enough?" I asked when Sam released the glass into my care.
"Yeah," he breathed out, slumping back against his pillows. "So, what's been going on?" His eyes searched my face. "Who did I attack?"
I scratched the back of my neck. "Uh, Sire? You wanna take this one?"
Tobius sighed. "I suppose I'd better. It was my idea to come all the way up here, after all." He nodded to the doc. "If you'll excuse us please, Dave."
"Of course," he replied, courteously. "Sam should be ok until the afternoon, but I've left a new pager on the desk. Don't hesitate to call if anything happens." He turned to leave, but then added I shall keep you informed of the Alpha's health but, if you'll take some friendly advice, I suggest you stay silent to all but Castiel until the matter is resolved.
Dave gave a small bow and left.
Two hours later, after we'd laid it all on the line for him, Sam stared at us, eyes moist with guilt and self-loathing.
Oh my God. I attacked the Alpha? He shook his head and ran a shaking hand through his messy hair. I can't believe… I don't remember any of this. I didn't ask for any of this! I'm so sorry… what the hell have I done?
I really felt bad for the poor kid.
It had to be pretty overwhelming for him, being kidnapped, beaten and drugged, rescued, taken in and kindly treated by a huge pack, only to wake up and find out he'd gone postal and nearly killed their alpha.
Sensing he was about to freak out, big time, I wrapped an arm tightly round his shoulders, giving him a small, rough shake.
Hey! I said, sharply. You haven't done anything, ok? That wasn't you, Sammy. We know that, and so does Castiel. The dude's just following pack procedure.
He's right, Tobius backed me up without hesitation. He leaned down and cupped Sam's chin, gently forcing the kid to look at him. And you can't go around blaming yourself for this, Sam. If the wrong person overhears you taking the blame like you just did, it could be misconstrued as a confession. And then, well. It'll all be over bar the silver arrows.
Sam gaped, eyes growing moist again and his breathing sped up.
Had to admit, even I was a little shocked. I'd known of the death penalty a little longer than Sam, but it hadn't really sunk in.
Death by silver? That's harsh, but I guess it made sense. What else would you use to execute a traitor, and one who had tried to kill the pack Alpha at that? Silver would be the ultimate, final insult, and serve as a warning to any potential followers.
Even in England, a country where they haven't put anyone to death since 1964, a traitor in time of war can still be executed.
But still… this was Sammy. We weren't at war, and Sammy was no killer.
This was Sam, who had once killed a skunk for me to feed on, following a rock fall that had buried me alive and broken all four of my legs.
Sam, the kid who still had the occasional guilt trip over that poor critter.
But Sire continued, eyeing us both, cautiously.
In the meantime, Dave is quite correct; you say nothing about it to anyone, not even in thought projection. Tobius nodded at me. That goes for all of us. We only speak about this when it's just the three of us.
Sam shrugged, despondently. "I don't remember anything, anyhow."
"And it might be best to keep it that way," Sire replied. "Now. I think it would be a very good idea if we all got some sleep." He regarded Sam with a kind smile. "You especially, pup."
Sam didn't say anything, just looked down at his fingers, fiddling nervously in his lap.
I caught Tobius' eye, very briefly. We both knew what this was about.
Sam was scared. The Sleepworm had sent him to a dark place, a drug induced hell hole. The gradually reduced doses of the stuff, eventually combined with the anticonvulsant, had managed to drag him back out. Not surprising that he wasn't interested in returning to that place.
"We'll be right here, kid. We won't leave you, not at all," I whispered, giving him a nudge. "You won't go back there, Sammy, 'cos I won't let that happen, I promise I'll wake you before it does. And besides, Dave gave you something to stop all that."
Sam looked back at me, jaw clenching and unclenching.
"Ok," he muttered and slid down in the bed until only his head and shoulders could be seen above the furs.
I stretched out, yawning, and wrapping an arm around him, while Tobius just lay on the other side of Sam and gently rubbed the back of his neck.
Dean? Tobius? Sam sounded like a sleep toddler.
Yeah, Sam?
There came the rustle of fur, and I looked over to see him staring at me, eyes half closed.
What the hell are you guys wearing?
It's a Pack standard issue robe, Sam.
You look like you're in some kind of cult.
It's comfortable enough.
I'd rather be naked.
Well, you're in for a shock, kid, 'cos you're wearing one too.
Really? Huh. I guess you're right. They are comfortable.
I stayed silent, hoping he'd go to sleep.
I'd still rather be naked.
I smiled in the darkness. Sam preferring nudity over the robes nearly made me laugh, especially given his near terminal shyness.
Go to sleep, Sam.
On one condition.
Alright. I huffed. What is it?
We find some proper clothes tomorrow. I'm not facing a murder trial wearing a robe. That's just wrong.
"You're not going to face a murder trial," Tobius interjected, firmly. "We are going to resolve this. But you're right. We do need proper clothes for when we finally leave. Marcus was having the Impala towed up here, so I'd imagine it'll be here sometime over the next couple of days. Which means we'll have our own clothes soon enough. Now, get some damn sleep, the both of you!"
My heart thumped at the thought of finally seeing my baby but, instead of crowing about it, I grinned when I sensed Sam opening his mouth again, and clamped my hand over it.
Seriously, dude. Not another word. We'll talk again in the morning.
While Sam finally relented and gave way to sleep, I stayed awake a little longer. Tobius, I knew, would be keeping one ear open while he dozed, so that wasn't the reason for my insomnia.
Sam's peril aside, when we first came here I'd found myself beginning to enjoy our stay; getting to know my uncles, and learning more about the pack. The food was amazing, and everyone had seemed happy and friendly. Marcus had appeared to respect us, and I'd been looking forward to spending more time with the guy. I was pretty sure that he meant it when he'd asked for the same in return.
But, even though Dave had assured us he was recovering, that didn't mean the Alpha would forgive Sammy, or even understand that it wasn't the kid's fault. Guy nearly had his throat ripped out. It's a little hard to be understanding and reasonable after something like that, I guess. And we didn't know the Alpha all that well.
I just had to hope that he wouldn't hold it against Sam, and that he would support us.
Sadly, I might have considered this place as a part of our family someday, but now? After everything? I wasn't so sure. Pack had kind of lost its shine.
It had me wondering how we would be treated from now on by the likes of Castiel and Missouri. If Sam's 'crime' was punishable by death, they surely wouldn't be so welcoming in future.
No matter which way this turned out, I felt pretty sure I could kiss my prime celebrations goodbye. Soon as we proved Sam's innocence and Crowley was implicated, maybe we'd be shown the door faster than a surprise prostitute in a convent, and welcomed back just as often.
And you know what? I was ok with that. So long as Sam and Tobius were alive and happy, the rest didn't matter.
Sam moaned and gasped in his sleep, but Tobius murmured quietly to him, and carried on stroking the kid's neck and scalp until he settled back down again.
I wondered if Sam's subconscious was replaying some of his time in captivity. I'd sure had some of my own less than reassuring flashbacks, and some of them were beginning to merge.
I still sometimes dreamt of Sam after Gordon Walker had taken him from right under our noses. We'd found the kid eventually, tortured and bound in silver from neck to ankles, and each manacle had small silver spikes that were slowly poisoning him.
He'd gone blind as a result of it, and it had taken weeks for him to get his sight back.
His recovery from Jake's silver sword up at Mont Noir had taken even longer, not surprisingly. Sam's sight had eventually restored itself in wolf form, but it was in human form that his eyes let him down. Until now, of course.
Finding him chained to a tree, out of it and drugged with that damn Sleepworm shit… now that was an image that fought for first place in My Worst Nightmare photo album. And it had way too many competitors already.
Another question struck me, keeping me awake even longer.
Was the restoration of his sight down to the Sleepworm? Or would it have happened anyway? No way to tell, but I really hoped for the latter, 'cos like hell was I going to thank that smug bastard Crowley for it.
Crowley… oh boy. If there was one loose end I wanted tying up more than anything, it was that sneaky, lowlife, so called Uncle of mine, preferably with barbed wire.
I no longer felt ambivalent towards Crowley; I plainly, simply, no holes barred, downright hated him. Just wanted to go out, find the bastard and throttle him senseless. Maybe poison him with his own Sleepworm, except I'm not sure I could wish that stuff on anyone, tempting though it sure was.
All I knew was that killing him was too good for the bastard, and even a slow painful death would end in his relief all too soon for my liking.
I can hear you thinking from here, Dean, Sire whispered.
I looked over at him and caught his green eyes flashing in the darkness.
Are you ok? he asked when I didn't reply.
I guess so.
We stared at each other in silence.
I can't read your actual thoughts, only your projections, he said, quietly. But don't think I can't guess at what's running around inside your head. I know you better than you know yourself.
Another long silence.
Crowley will get his comeuppance, young pup, for what he's done to Sam, to all those other children and their families, and for what he's done to Marcus. I can promise you that.
I had nothing further to add.
Get some sleep, my son. You're going to need it.
I had no doubts about that. No doubts at all.
No, I didn't want Crowley dead, not even by fair trial and execution. That just seemed wrong somehow.
But, had I known how far the little shit would go for the Alpha seat, I might just have changed my mind about that…
TBC...
If you're real nice to me I might consider posting the next chapter on Sunday. And as next instalments go, chapter 10 is rather insightful.
Cheers for all your wonderful reviews.
Much love,
ST.
