Chapter Eleven
Dean stared wide-eyed at the monster standing before him. No, it wasn't a monster, it was Sammy, his little brother.
It was about the size of a Great Dane dog- small for a werewolf- and Dean wondered if it would get bigger when, and if, Sam had a growth spurt. The werewolf had shaggy, dark brown fur- the same colour as Sam's hair- and fiery green eyes. Its claws were were the length of the blades of steak knives and it had inch-long jagged teeth.
Sam- what had once been Sam- lowered his head and growled low in his throat, threateningly and lunged at Dean.
The older brother stumbled into the wall behind him and cried out in surprise. The werewolf snarled in frustration, its attack stopped short by the silver shackles around its legs.
"Sammy," Dean breathed. He had been trying to prepare himself for this night but now that it had come, he wasn't sure he could handle it.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean continued, his voice wavering, "I'm not going to hurt you."
Slobber dribbled down Sam's snout as his muzzle wrinkled around another snarl. Triangular ears perked up and Sam swivelled his head to the side as he stared at the door. The knob turned and Bobby's face appeared, concerned.
Sam threw himself at the door but didn't make it very far. He struggled and strained but the silver shackles continued to hold.
The grizzled hunter took in the youngest Winchester with a solemn expression before turning his grey eyes onto Dean.
"Y'all right, son?" he asked and Dean nodded woodenly.
"Uh huh," he muttered without taking his eyes off the werewolf.
"Sure?" Bobby pressed, taking in the young man's pale, sweaty face and wide eyes.
"Is Sam going to be like this every time?"
Dean had hunted enough werewolves to know that when they transformed, they became animals- ruthless killing machines- that seemed to have no humanity left inside them but he couldn't help but look at the creature before him and still think Sammy.
"They're always like this," Bobby said quietly.
Dean nodded and sniffed.
"You want yer Daddy down here instead?"
"No, I got it," Dean said, "I told Sam I'd stay with him."
Bobby nodded once and closed the door without saying another word. Dean slid down the wall until he was sitting with his legs bent, his hands resting on his knees.
"We're going to find a way to fix this," Dean promised his brother as Sam snarled and foamed at him, "I promise."
W
Dean rubbed his burning eyes tiredly and glanced at his watch. The sun should be rising soon.
Looking up, he saw that the werewolf had not relaxed- had spent the entire night attempting to get close enough to take a bite out of him- and sighed.
The creature- that had been straining to sink its teeth into him all night, suddenly froze, its fur standing on end and its tail held straight out.
Sitting up, Dean leaned forward in concern, "Sammy?"
His younger brother spasmed and let out a whine of pain. Sam's green eyes rolled back in his head and he collapse onto the floor, twitching.
"Sam!" Dean shouted but stopped himself from stepping closer. Even in obvious distress, Sam could still hurt him if he came too near.
Dean bit his lip, his hands clenched into fists as he watched the werewolf. Its paws scratched against the cement floor as if searching for purchase, its jaws snapping, yellow foam overflowing, its eyes rolling in panic.
"It's okay, Sammy!" Dean exclaimed, not knowing if his brother could even understand him but needing to comfort him anyway, "It'll be okay!"
The werewolf let out a high whimper and began clawing at itself, tearing through the fur on its legs, its sides and belly.
Dean grabbed the tranquilizer gun, afraid something was wrong and Sam was trying to kill himself before he noticed clean, pinkish skin peeking out from the tears in the dark fur.
Dean felt bile rise in his throat and he didn't think he'd ever get used to watching the transformation take place.
Bones began shrinking, twisting, shifting back into place. Organs squelched and popped unpleasantly loud and Dean's stomach heaved.
Pressing a fist to his mouth, Dean stared at the werewolf as it changed into his brother. The fur sloughed off and curled like burning parchment before it disappeared.
Sam lay curled in on his side, hands held up to his chest, breathing fast-paced and shallow. His eyes were shut tightly.
"Sammy!" Dean moved forward and landed on his knees beside his brother. Grabbing his sibling, Dean pulled Sam into a hug, feeling sweat-slick skin and the heat pouring off his brother.
"D'n?" Sam voice was raspy, exhausted sounding.
"It's alright, Sammy," Dean soothed, his fingers tangled in the damp hair at the back of Sam's head, "We got through it. You got through it."
"Dean," his brother spoke again, his voice a little more strong.
"Yeah?" Dean held his brother at arm's length, staring into Sam's wan face.
"Can I get dressed now?"
Dean bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud. Sam must have seen his expression, however, because he scowled at him and shoved Dean in the chest.
"S'not funny!"
Dean, chagrinned, nodded, "Sorry Sammy. Hold on a sec, I'll get your clothes."
Standing, he walked over to where he had been sitting and picked up Sam's garments, neatly folded and took the key to the shackles from his jeans' pocket as he made his way back.
Dean quickly unlocked the chains and kicked them to the side so they wouldn't be in the way. He handed Sam his clothes and busied himself with gathering up the blanket and gun while Sam dressed.
"How you feeling, Sammy?" Dean asked once Sam was clothed and standing. His brother was still pale and he swayed slightly on his feet.
"Like crap," the younger brother answered bluntly.
"Well, you sure look like it," Dean replied, trying to lighten the mood.
Sam glared at him and left the room, although he waited for Dean once he reached the staircase.
"Sam?" Dean asked when he saw his brother had his hand on the railing but he wasn't moving forward.
"This is going to happen for two more nights?" Sam asked, sounding like a little kid and Dean sighed.
"Unless we can find a cure," Dean answered quietly, "Yeah."
Sam sucked in a shaky breath.
"I'm sorry, Sammy."
His brother didn't reply, Sam just lifted his head and climbed the stairs slowly and deliberately as though doing so was a difficult task.
SPN
John stood half-way up from his chair when he saw Sam appear at the top of the basement stairs.
"Sam," he called and hurried forward, placing his hands on his youngest's shoulders, "Are you alright?"
Sam looked up at him- his face white and damp with sweat, his eyes dull- and smiled, "Tired, Dad."
John nodded and squeezed the boy's shoulder before letting him go.
"Bobby thinks it'd be a good idea for you to eat something," he told his son, "The transformation takes a lot out of a person."
"Okay," Sam agreed quietly and John lifted his eyebrows, surprised that he hadn't put up a fight or tried to weasel his way out of breakfast.
John nodded, "Sounds good. You… ah… want bacon?"
The eldest Winchester met Dean's gaze when his older son came up the stairs behind Sam.
"Sounds great," Sam commented and slowly made his way to the kitchen.
"How was it?" John asked. Dean sighed and ran his hand through his short hair.
"He's not Sammy when he changes," Dean told him softly, "He didn't know me at all."
John nodded. He knew as much. Werewolves were driven by hunger only. A man would kill his own mother without knowing the difference, when he transformed.
"Dean," John began, feeling like he should say something as to why he hadn't been down in the basement with them, "I-"
The young man shook his head, "Don't Dad… I know what you're going to say and I don't want to hear it. We don't need you down there. Sam and I got along fine by ourselves."
Dean turned towards the kitchen and walked away from his father, leaving John feeling hurt. He hadn't gone down because he knew Sam had a stronger connection to Dean than him. Sam wouldn't have wanted him to see him like that; with Dean, he was more comfortable. John just didn't want Dean to think that he didn't care about Sam.
Running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, John followed his boys into the kitchen and sat back down, picking up his coffee cup and watched Sam practically drool over the pan of bacon Bobby was cooking.
SPN
Dean smiled down at his brother as Sam snored softly on his bed, his belly full of bacon.
The older brother yawned widely and lay back on his own bed. He felt exhausted as Sam looked. It had been one hell of a long night.
How are we going to get through two more of these? Dean wondered as he stared up at the ceiling.
Sighing sadly, Dean rubbed at his tired eyes.
How could they do this indefinitely? What if there was no cure? Would John let him stay with Sam here at Bobby's?
Dean frowned; he knew Sam wouldn't want to do this month after month. But what other choice did they have?
Dad could put a silver bullet in Sam's chest, Dean thought and sat up, twisting around to punch his pillow in anger.
Like hell he will! I won't let him touch Sammy!
Laying back down, Dean had another thought, one that was far more worse than the idea of his own father killing his brother.
What if Sam asked him to? What if Sam begged Dad to do it?
Dean glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye, the thought of Sam asking to be put out of his misery making his stomach turn to ice.
His little brother looked so peaceful now, he even had a small smile on his lips.
If we can't find a cure, Dean told himself, I'll make sure Sam never feels like he needs to ask that of Dad.
With that, the older Winchester brother closed his eyes and promptly fell into a much needed slumber.
SPN
Sam was free! He was free! He stretched his long legs, felt dirt beneath his paws and grinned widely.
The full moon cast the forest in silver, washing everything a milky white.
He lifted his head back and howled, long and mournful.
Pain blazed across his shoulder and Sam growled, eyes watering as the wound leaked blood into the fur on his leg.
Keen eyes wide, Sam saw faint movement through the trees to his right and he leaped towards them, jaws open and ready.
"SAM!" the voice cried right before he slammed into his attacker, taking both of them to the ground.
The air whooshed out of his victim and the gun fell from limp fingers. Sam's nostrils flared at the acrid, burning scent of silver and he curled his lip, showing his fangs.
"NO!" the hunter begged and Sam lowered his jaws, biting down on the man's exposed neck.
Warm, coppery blood gushed out all around Sam's muzzle, coating his nose and squirting up into his mouth. Lifting his head, Sam narrowed his eyes. He thought he had heard something farther off in the woods… but now it was gone.
Licking his chops, Sam stepped off the fallen hunter, trying to decide if he should stay and feed.
BANG!
Sam screamed as the bullet ploughed into his chest, missing his heart by inches, and he stumbled away from the body.
"Sam, what have you done?!" The voice is so familiar that he can't help but whirl around at the sound, chest heaving and lock eyes with his brother.
Dean is standing there, his own eyes wide with fear and horror, staring down at the body at Sam's paws.
The fur along Sam's spine raises up and he too, glances down and sees… John. His father. He's killed his own father!
Sam begins backing away from Dean, whimpering.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. He hadn't meant to hurt anybody. John shot him first.
Sam's eyes widen even more when he sees Dean raise the gun in his hands, his face devoid of all emotion.
Laying his ears back against his skull and tucking his tail between his legs, Sam lowers his muzzle, knowing what must come next.
Sam cries out when the second bullet hits his chest and falls over, stumbling over his own paws. Landing heavily on his side, he grits his teeth in pain and silently prays that Dean's final bullet will be true.
From the corner of his eye, Sam watches his brother approach him and he doesn't move. He closes his eyes; he can't bear to look at Dean's face anymore.
Sam grunts quietly when Dean puts a boot on his shoulder and his keen hearing picks up the sound of the gun being cocked.
Just do it, Dean, Sam thinks, it's all I deserve.
Sam's breath catches when he feels his brother press the barrel of the gun against his already wounded chest; this time he will not miss.
"I'm sorry we couldn't save you," Dean whispers and pulls back the hammer-
W
Gasping, Sam sat up in bed, hands grabbing at his chest as though he expected to find gunshot wounds.
"Sam? Sammy?" Dean called from his own bed and the young man flinched.
"I- I didn't mean to!" Sam cried, "It was an a-accident!"
"Sammy, Sammy," Dean's voice said, much closer now. He had moved to his brother's bed and now grabbed Sam in a crushing hug.
Tears of grief rolled down Sam's face and he trembled helplessly.
"It was just a nightmare," Dean murmured, "That's all. Nothing bad's happened."
"I'm s-sorry, Dean," Sam whimpered, "I'm s-so sorry!"
"Hey, shhh," Dean muttered, trying to get through to his brother, "It's okay."
Sam shook his head and pulled himself away from Dean forcibly, scrambling off the bed and heading for the door.
"Sammy! Where are you going?"
Sam could hear his brother following but he didn't care. Practically leaping down the stairs, he ran into the living room where Bobby and John were sitting.
The fourteen-year old ran to his father and wrapped his arms around the older man's neck, squeezing tightly.
"Sam? What's wrong? Son?" John asked, his tone concerned as he tried to pry his teenage son away.
"I'm sorry, Dad," Sam muttered against his father's shoulder, "I never meant it to happen."
"Sam? Sam! What are you talking about?" John grabbed his son's arms and pulled them off his neck.
When his father released him, Sam wiped his teary eyes.
"I- I…" he stammered, terrified his father would be angry at him, "I had a nightmare."
John opened his mouth, appeared to think about what he was going to say, cleared his throat and continued, "What was it about?"
"You're pale as a sheet," Bobby interjected before Sam could speak, "Sit down."
Sam gratefully sank into one of the veteran hunter's wing-backed chairs.
Dean was in the living room now, sitting down beside John.
Sam took a deep breath and told the gathered men his nightmare.
Dean immediately reacted, "But that'll never happen, Sammy! We'll make sure it won't!"
Sam lowered his head, "So I'll always have to be chained up like some animal."
The silence in the room was thick.
"Not like an animal, son," Bobby spoke up, "For your own protection. And only until we find a way out of this mess."
Sam wanted to blurt out: What if there is no cure! But he bit his tongue. He nodded though, in understanding.
The quiet in the room was broken by the shrill ring of a telephone and Bobby jumped up, nearly running to grab the receiver.
"Yeah?" All three Winchesters could clearly hear him speaking in the kitchen.
"Abby, how are ya?"
Sam and Dean exchanged glances. Abigail Noonan! Bobby's British friend!
"You don't say? Really? How?" the excitement in Bobby's voice was clear and Sam couldn't help but smile when Dean winked confidently at him.
"That's amazing! I'll tell 'em right away!"
Bobby poked his head into the living room, a grin on his face.
"Abby thinks she's got something that can really help Sam."
Author's Note:
1. Thanks to Lucydolly22, 3DBABE1999, batsareamazing, OrionRedde, SamDeanLover28, L.A.H.H, Violet Eternity, SPN Mum, quoththeraven5, Littleflower19, deanssammy and Guest for reviewing.
2. Thanks to everyone who favourited and followed.
3. Looks like Abby's finally come through for the Winchesters! And not a moment too late! Please leave a comment and I'll try and write another speedy update!