Hunter of the Shadows
Title taken from a line in Metallica's 'The Thing That Should Not Be'
Chapter 10
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"Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still see that damn collar." Dean pours some hot water from a kettle into a large stoneware mug and stirs quietly. "The colour of Sam's face, the blood..." He shakes his head in despair and falls silent for a long moment then gets to work.
"Still don't know what I was thinking that day, letting him go into that diner alone. I guess, even for werewolves, daylight brings a false sense of security. And I really thought he'd be safe in a public place." He pauses with a brief scowl. "But Gordon was more daring... more skilled than we thought."
Dean's obviously moved the camera into the kitchen area of the cabin. And now he's busy rummaging through a cooler, pulling out packs of dark red meat, possibly venison steaks. It's clear he's been here before because he's as familiar with the kitchen as he is with the Impala, turning on the gas stove and preparing the skillet, grabbing various seasonings from a cupboard over the freezer.
His face bears evidence of just how much strain and worry he's been under recently, and some might question the wisdom of talking about an obviously stressful past at this stage, but Dean continues on doggedly.
"Sammy needs to feed on fresh meat but I don't wanna..." He's having trouble getting the words out and he suddenly slams a hand down hard on the pine chopping board in frustration. "I'm just not ready to leave him on his own yet. Not to hunt." He's shaking his head again, but this time he's talking to himself rather than the digital audience sitting by the sink, talking about events the lens isn't yet privy to. "Not tonight."
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Another stroll down memory lane...
I stilled as my eyes shot to Sam's neck. The kid was still cringing, and whimpered loudly when I rolled him over to examine the collar carefully.
"Jesus!"
My attention was briefly diverted by Sam's fingers flexing helplessly round the cuffs and I spotted the same technique had been employed on his wrists. The inside of the metal contained tiny spikes about a half inch apart that punctured the skin. I wasn't sure of the significance of that but it didn't look good and had to be causing Sam some serious fucking pain.
But that wasn't the only problem.
The collar and cuffs didn't have a locking mechanism; they'd been sealed so neatly I couldn't find the join. There wasn't a mark that suggested they'd been welded closed either, so that just left...
"Yep." Gordon smiled, actually smiled at me. "Nothing like a little charm."
I growled angrily. I've seen some shitty torture devices over the years but this had to rank amongst the sickest and most degrading of all.
M'so... sorry Dean. I-I tr-tried... b-but it hurts... sooo bad!
Ssshhh Sammy, just breathe for me ok? Remember what Tobius taught you... breathe through it and try to relax. I gently rolled him back over into my arms and stared him straight in the eye. This ain't your fault ok?
But Gordon wasn't about to give us any time to ourselves. Guy definitely liked the sound of his own voice.
"Now, I'm sure Tobius – your Sire" he spat the word "could tell you all about that pretty jewellery your son is wearing." Gordon sneered, then cast an almost sad glance at Sam. "Sam is being poisoned by silver, slowly, oh so painfully, as it makes its way through his bloodstream in timed, measured doses. And it won't stop Dean, not 'til it reaches his heart. Sam'll be completely paralysed by then but he'll feel it all. So," he raised an eyebrow "you wanna keep talking, wasting time? Or how 'bout we get to the hunt?"
I tried to stall him, to give Tobius the right opportunity.
"What happens to Sam if you win?"
The guy shrugged.
"You die, I get to keep Sammy, use him as bait for other werewolves."
And that meant a painful existence, being kept weak, unable to change or defend himself. Probably a lifetime spent being poisoned with silver in just enough dosage to keep him close to death without ever going over the edge, without ever finding peace. It would drive him slowly insane until there was nothing left of his humanity, and that would give his human master an excuse to finally execute him. Not that Gordon needed an excuse.
I got to my feet and stepped forward, clutching Sam tight with fear and fury.
"And if I win Gordon? What then?" This was the catch, had to be.
He stared at me pointedly.
"If you ain't stupid enough to kill me, I'll give you the release spell for Sam." Gordon straightened up. "We go our separate ways." He snarled suddenly, a complete change from the almost cool indifference he'd shown so far. "For now. But I'll find you. John Winchester was a good man and a fine hunter. You'll be hunted all your lives; I'll see to it that you pay for his death."
Huh. Kinda figured the bastard would be on John's side.
"Don't think for a second that killing me anyway will be the end." Gordon continued softly. "Other hunters are out there, already know what you did. And I'm sure Tobius is here somewhere just waiting for his chance to strike..." He gave out a loud grunt and went down in the undergrowth.
"Correct!" Called out a naked Tobius standing over him looking smug and furious all at the same time.
To his credit, Gordon recovered quickly and flipped back onto his feet, gracefully tossing the knife from palm to palm as wolf and man circled each other menacingly.
"Gotta say, I'm impressed!" Gordon grinned. "Most werewolves ain't so bold... unless they've turned man-eater."
Tobius merely stared him down coldly.
"I'm curious; the only way in is the path Dean took." Gordon did sound genuinely interested. "How did you get passed all the silver traps?"
Tobius still refused to answer, just sneered at him, all pride and arrogance.
"Dean? Get Sam to the car, keep him warm and give him plenty of water." Ever so slowly, just for effect, Tobius' teeth lengthened, nose elongated, claws extended. "Mr Walker and I have a few things to discuss."
I'd seen him do this before. It's like a werewolf war dance, an intimidation tactic and it's pretty powerful, kinda like that thing the New Zealand All Blacks do before the start of a rugby match? Only Tobius ain't so vocal about it.
Sam was my biggest priority and worry right now. He was very sick and badly injured, and I only hoped Father would get the spell out of Gordon before it was too late. The poor kid whimpered in pain and fear, shivering with cold and I cradled him even closer.
"Ssshhh, Sammy. We're going now." I shifted, pressed his face into my neck, and with one last vicious scowl at Gordon, turned away.
Heading back to the car was tough going on Sam; even the slightest jolt was agony, though I held him tightly in my arms, trying to shield him from the worst. I could hear his heavy breathing, feel the way he held his body tighter than a high wire. He must have been biting clean through his tongue to keep from screaming out but fortunately the return journey didn't take nearly as long as the original rescue mission, and I soon found my clothes. Laying the boy down for a few hasty seconds, I yanked on my jeans, shirt and boots then stumbled from the undergrowth with Sam barely conscious in my arms.
D-Deeaann...c-can't mooove...hurts...s-siillver...para-paraaalysisss...pleeease...h-help meee...
He was breaking my heart, his thoughts in my head so weak and lost.
"We're gonna help you Sammy, just try and stay calm for me, ok? Can you do that, kiddo?"
'Kaaaay Dean.
"Good boy."
The Impala was a welcome sight and I sighed heavily with relief. Loading Sam into the rear seat, I immediately tried to remove the restraints. Silver is a fairly soft metal so it should have been easy, but guess what... the damn stuff had been hardened, probably in some kind of heating process using a tougher, harder metal to reinforce the silver.
My fingers singed on the collar and I growled, fighting my body's instinct to change. It was time to improvise. I needed protection; cloth... and started tearing off my button down, wrapping it round my right hand, noting with despair how Sam's eyelids fluttered weakly, only the whites of his eyes visible.
"Stay with me Sam, don't give up now!"
He didn't even get a chance to warn me; his mouth suddenly gaped open and liquid silver vomit erupted, spilling down his chin and over the seat.
The other passenger door ripped open to reveal an extremely worried, fully dressed and pissed off Tobius.
"Severe silver poisoning will do that; his body's trying to purge," he eyed the restraints. "I've not seen anything this barbaric in over three hundred years."
I was still tugging at the collar.
"It's been toughened; I can't get him free." There was panic in my tone but Sam had completely lost consciousness by now in any case. "Tell me you got the release spell."
Tobius pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I'm not sure I trust Gordon's word on this. It might make things worse."
"Tobius please..." I'd never heard my voice sound so lost and desperate. "How much worse could it get? Sam's dying! Ya hear me? He's fucking dying - again!"
He nodded.
"Very well." Took a deep breath "Anaskasupatu!"
I have no idea what the hell that was, or what it was suppose to be, but that was of no concern right then because Sam's eyes flew open in panic at the sound of a loud metallic grating noise. The collar suddenly shrunk round his neck, choking him.
"Shit! Oh fuck no!" Call it a case of poor judgment, the fact was I'd panicked and made Sam's situation a damn sight harder.
Tobius stared at Sam's collar. Then his eyes lit up as if he remembered something.
"There's a set of bolt cutters in the Cayenne." He jerked his chin in that direction without shifting his eyes.
I scrambled from the Impala, raced over to the Porsche and wrenched open the rear door. Rummaging around in the tool kit, I finally laid hands on the sturdy iron bolt cutters.
Tobius grabbed them the second I passed them through the rear passenger door and got to work. Somehow he managed to slide the blades between the metal and Sam's skin; the muscles on his arms were bulging as he gripped the cutters and pushed.
Sam choked out a whimper of pain, now completely immobile which served as a blessing. Any movement on his part would have been dangerous at this stage. Sweat poured off Sire as he increased the pressure, and the blades finally began to make some headway through the collar. Tobius grunted, then suddenly roared, gave the cutters a sharp twist and a loud crack! startled us as the collar tore apart, and my wrapped hands gently pulled the pieces away from Sam's neck, wincing at the array of bloodied holes in his tender flesh.
Sam began keening low in his throat as Tobius started on the boy's wrists. The blades squeaked and crunched, bending the hardened silver and Sam's body jerked harshly when they nicked his skin. But it was unavoidable given how tightly he was cuffed.
Cold dread invaded my heart as dazed eyes stared up at me; Sam's irises were turning silver, a dull glimmer against the black.
"Father, look at his eyes!"
He paused to observe briefly then his actions once again became frantic.
"The silver's paralysed him and now it will claim his sight."
"Hurry for God's sake!"
We soon had his wrists, then his ankles free and Tobius was leaping behind the wheel, the Impala's engine roaring as we peeled out of the parking lot. Once again abandoning another rental.
I stayed in the rear seat holding on to Sam. More liquid metal spilled from his mouth as he gasped and choked. Poor kid's mouth had to be burning, 'cos the damn stuff sure singed my arm on contact. Keeping my hands tightly wrapped in the shirt, I wiped it off the seat and into the foot well.
"Easy Sam," I watched him anxiously, rolling him back onto his side and pulling him close, then glanced up to meet Tobius' anxious gaze in the review mirror. "He's going to be ok now, right? Sam will heal..."
Tobius was already shaking his head with remorse.
"There's a lot more we need to do. Still too much silver in his blood."
"So how do we help him?" I asked fearfully. "How do we get it out of him?"
Tobius stared at the road ahead.
"We bleed him dry."
And, shocking though the answer was, it made perfect sense. Essentially it was a crude transfusion process to cleanse the silver from Sam's body. Chances were the cardiac muscle would soon be under attack, but Sam's young heart was otherwise strong, fighting it off, though it wouldn't be long before that, too, was overcome by paralysis.
In other words, cardiac arrest.
Game over.
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I was dead against it, fearing Sam wouldn't survive the journey, but Tobius insisted on getting back to the rooms at his hotel where he had access to most of the essential equipment needed for the transfusion.
Sam's body continued to purge the liquid silver, some running down his face as tears, singeing his skin, and the poor kid retched painfully. His eyes were now completely silver, total blindness setting in; he was panicking, getting weaker, unable to see or move, and I could feel him losing heart.
Sammy don't give up, please don't give up on me.
He could no longer answer my thoughts and the only sign he was even alive the weak, thready pulse at his neck and the slowing breaths.
"Tobius, how long's he got?"
He didn't answer, just put his foot down. The Impala leapt forward with an eager growl and the miles slipped by as I held my dying son close, silently begging him to keep fighting. But there was a pressing question that needed an answer.
"So what about Gordon? Is he dead?"
Tobius glanced at me briefly in the review mirror.
"No."
I glared at him when that seemed all he had to say on the matter.
"We're going after him right? I mean, you heard what he said, he'll come after us some day."
"He will indeed." Tobius answered. "But we won't be going after him until we're ready, Dean. And Sam..." He took a breath. "The pup needs to change before anything else. We have no choice now."
There was something in his voice; I'd never heard him sound like this, so... concerned. Not much frightened Tobius Le Salle; he'd been alive too damn long.
"What aren't you telling me?" I eyed him warily.
He sighed.
"Later. There's time for that much later."
"Tobius!" I hissed in response, making it damn clear what I thought about all the cryptics.
Tobius tutted softly and shook his head. He was quiet so long I didn't think he was going to answer.
"There was something... different... about Gordon this time around." Tobius cast me worried look in the mirror. "He was stronger than before, faster... and yet..." Tobius trailed off, frowning.
"What?" I wanted to throttle it out of him but I'm pretty sure that wouldn't have worked. "Was he possessed? A turned werewolf? What?"
Tobius shook his head again, more certain this time.
"No. He smelled human and he could touch silver. There was nothing to suggest he was possessed either." His grin was cold, more of a snarl than anything. "Demons tend to boast of their achievements rather than hide them; modesty isn't their strongest suit."
Yeah, the black eyed bastards sure do love to gloat, but that gave rise to a nasty suspicion and I felt the tiny hairs on my neck stand on end.
"You don't mean... vampire?" I gave out a short nervous laugh, but up went my eyebrows when he didn't answer. "But you said he smelled human right? Surely vamps wouldn't smell human?"
"I just don't know." Tobius scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration, still keeping an eye on the road. "But it's the only other thing I can think of right now."
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We made it back in record time. It amazed me somehow; the amount of times we'd visited our place of R&R and I never once knew Tobius owned a luxurious hotel not much further than a day's ride away. Luckily for us we were much closer than that by the time Gordon kidnapped Sam from the diner.
Whilst I took Sam up the fire escape for the second time that week, Tobius parked up and made some phone calls.
I tucked Sam up in bed and tried to force feed him cold water but the kid's natural swallowing reflex was completely screwed. I couldn't tell if he was even conscious, the paralysis so advanced Sam was now cut off from the outside world with no way to communicate. He just lay limp and unmoving, skin freezing cold, breathing laboured and stuttering. I tried so hard to stay calm, to keep the despair from consuming me, but it was an impossible task.
I was startled out of my bedside vigil when Tobius laid a hand on my shoulder. Let's get started.
I nodded.
What do you want me to do?
I want you to not freak out.
I smiled shakily.
Tall order dude.
Tobius returned it with an understanding one of his own.
By the time we finished setting up the equipment, our bedroom looked like a mini science lab, with a portable Bunsen burner, and strange chemicals bubbling away merrily in glass tubes.
Tobius was using a pestle and mortar to grind up some strange smelling leaves and emulsified it with olive oil. With the addition of a little saline, he did something altogether complicated and scientific looking with the weird concoction, involving some kind of distillation step, then left out a sterile syringe and needle.
It's a natural chelating agent with an affinity for silver. It should help mop up the rest of the silver ions in Sam's system once his blood is replaced. No point using it now; there's too much silver for the agent to work effectively. It's at saturation levels.
I had no idea what he was talking about and didn't care so long as it worked.
I would normally use it on less severe injuries involving bullet and blade wounds, but I figured it couldn't hurt to try. His comforting thoughts droned on, offering peace and solace, the overall tone confident and hopeful.
Werewolf metabolism is far more complicated than that of humans.
Clay bowls were placed under Sam's hands and one on stand-by for his neck.
Technically we can't die of blood loss because we have a back-up system in place, but it does leave us weakened and unable to fight. And therein lays the danger.
The hunting blade was sharpened and washed in rock salt saline, then doused in ethanol and heated until the metal turned white. The cooling knife was washed one final time in the saline before Tobius leaned over and placed the sharp edge to the ravaged skin of Sam's wrist, slicing deep and swift. All the while he continued the science lecture.
The best way to describe it: in a human that back-up is called the endocrine system. Though it's not quite the same, ours works in a similar manner and involves the synthesis, transportation and action of specialist hormones. In humans the structures and functions of these hormones are somewhat different to ours and work in very different ways, therefore the endocrine system isn't the best analogy, but it's the closest I can get.
Sam didn't make a sound nor did he flinch, and that made me even more anxious. The blood that pulsed into the clay bowl wasn't dark red, more of a pale grey-pink and the smell of silver filled the room. Tobius threw open the balcony doors allowing some of the air to clear, then went to work on Sam's other wrist.
"Do you want to do this next part?" Tobius raised a worried eyebrow and held out the blade. I virtually gulped at the thought. I trusted him but understood what he was implying: this was personal, between father and son. Taking the knife in a shaky hand I pressed the blade to Sam's jugular. Drawing in a deep breath and silently reminding myself that this was to save his life, I drew the blade across. This time Sam gasped and choked but the blood free flowed down his neck, soaking the pillow, and filling the third bowl.
"What now?" I asked sadly.
"We wait, drain him completely," came the soft reply. "Then give him some of our blood to help kick start his system into producing his own."
It wasn't really the answer I was looking for, and I think he knew that. Were we too late? Would Sam get his sight back? What about permanent damage? I guess only time would tell.
And boy did it take a lot of time. Sam was a terrible blue-grey colour by the time most of his blood was removed and the transfusion due to begin. After bandaging the wounds on Sam's wrists and neck, Tobius injected a hefty dose of the chelating agent and we were good to go. I lay next to him on the bed, left arm out straight, hand squeezing a small rubber ball to keep my blood pumping. Tobius kept me talking, about our plans to help Sam with his first change, our next vacation, Sam's training, anything, just gently steering me away from any attempts to talk about Gordon. He had his reasons and I knew that he'd tell me eventually, but it didn't stop the frustration piling up.
Half way through I became dizzy and listless, and he left the room, quickly returning with some chopped raw steak which I hungrily chewed my way through and washed it down with a glass of creamy milk. While I was busy feeding, Tobius checked Sam's eyes. The news was good so far; the whites were returning to normal, the black band around the irises thickening.
"Though the irises and pupils are still silver I'm willing to bet if Sam was conscious he would have some limited sight back."
Sam didn't stir once, not even after the third unit and Tobius insisted that was enough for now. It was his turn. While he took my place on the bed and hooked himself up, I sank back into the armchair he'd drawn up by the nightstand, and stroked Sam's hair. The knife wounds were beginning to slowly heal, filling my heart and soul with relief. He still felt so cold, yet there was a thin sheen of perspiration across his cheeks and forehead.
"That's a good sign it's working, and that Sam's giving it all he's got." Sire whispered gently. "Now get some sleep my son."
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Author's notes:
As we can see, Dean is no longer merely using the video journal as a tool to record the events in his and Sam's lives; he's also using it as a sounding board, much like talking to himself in the mirror. A kind of self-help therapy, though I think he'd fix me with that look if he ever heard me say it out loud.
Dean Winchester and 'therapy', don't really go together very well in the same sentence, eh?
On the note about the Rugby, given that Tobius was born in France and spent a good deal of his long life in England, I'm assuming he's more of a fan of Rugby than, say, American football. Therefore, it's conceivable he's spoken to Dean about it at some stage.
The New Zealand All Blacks, who first competed in 1884 (so, been around a long time then!) are famous for the Haka (Maori dance) they perform at the start of the match. It's reputed to centre their strengths and focus their mind , "drawing vital energy into the heart and lungs.", but personally I think they do it just to scare the living shit out of their opponents. It must work, 'cos they rarely lose a match, and, frankly, it scares the crap out of me! LOL!
Also thought it was a nice touch, given that Supernatural is filmed in Canada. The Canadian national rugby union is just as famous in its own right.
Kind regards,
ST xxx