A/N: Thank you so much for everyone who has read or reviewed this story. I'm still plugging away at this story. Big stuff going down this chapter. And I'm really glad to hear the positive feedback on Emma. It's always an uncertain thing to enter an OC into a world like Supernatural.

Chapter 13

You Won't Like Him...

"If your attack is going too well, you're walking into an ambush."

Infantry Journal

The pounding at the door came as a surprise to Emma, who had just watched Bobby put Johnny down for the night. They had opted to move him to the windowless bathroom. It wasn't an ideal solution, but getting to the bathroom required going through the entire room and getting past both Bobby and Emma. And their guns.

Emma still wasn't sure how easy she would find it to point her gun at something that looked like a human being. She was well aware they weren't human, at least not anymore, and they probably wanted to see her dead. She was still struggling with the idea of using the gun, a Winchester of all things, that she had once used to hunt with her father for the purposes of shooting monsters that looked like people.

She immediate grabbed for her father's old shotgun. It had been a few years since she had gone hunting with him-hunting without her father had never seemed right; she only ever went because she could go with him. Still, the gun felt familiar in her hands and she swung it upwards with ease. The butt found its place at her shoulder just as easily as it had a few years before in the woods with a stubborn hunter of a different kind.

Bobby gave her an odd look. It was somewhere between suspicious, appreciative, and surprised. He had a shotgun at the table, but to answer the now-frantic knocking at the door, he instead put his hand at the pistol in his waistband.

A voice came through the door. "Bobby! Officer Jones!"

"Louise?" Bobby asked through the only thing separating them from the outside world. It was a small town, and the name Louise could only apply to a small number of people that Emma could think of, and fewer still who weren't currently nursing home residents.

"Bobby! Let me in, please!" The woman sounded frantic, and Emma at first wanted to ask why the hunter was hesitating from just opening the door. He had warned her that he had grown paranoid in his old age, but she had never actually expected him to hesitate to save someone who was actually asking for help.

She never expected her own gun to stay at her shoulder, if her hold waivered just a bit.

"Please, Bobby. It's Dr. Roth! She's gone mad. I don't know what she is. She turned into a dog, Agent Jones, and she tried to bite me."

"She didn't actually bite you?" Bobby asked as he flipped one lock, then another, but left the latch in place so that he could open the door a crack to get a good look at the woman but not enough that she could fit through. well, unless she turned out to be a skinwalker and a chihuaua at that.

"Just scratched me to hell," the woman said. Her hand reached in to tug on Bobby's sleeve, and it definitely looked like a dog had gotten to her and clawed her up. To be honest, it looked worse than any dog scratches Emma had ever seen. She wondered if it was because the attacker had possessed a control of those paws that most dogs didn't.

Emma noted that Bobby's hand still hadn't left the gun at his waistband. That indicated to her that she should keep her gun at the ready. She watched as the hunter began to push the woman's wounded hand back through the door with platitudes to remind her that the latch needed the door to be shut before he could open it again. Louise didn't seem calmed by that, but she obeyed and allowed him to push the door nearly shut, flip the latch and reopen the door just enough for her to slip through.

All the while, Emma kept her gun up. She caught Bobby's eye as he ushered Louise inside, and she could have sworn that the hunter looked proud of her. Louise, on the other hand, was still wide-eyed with shock. Her hands shook as she met the hunter's eyes.

"You knew what she was, didn't you, Agent Jones?" the woman asked as she came inside. "I know you know. You didn't even hesitate or look at me like I'm crazy when I told you she had transformed into a dog. You must know what she is."

"She is a skinwalker," Bobby told her, as he shut the door.

"Or you are," Emma said, steadying the gun and trying very hard not to let it slip.

The vet assistant's head turned toward Emma and the end of her gun. Her eyes quickly flitted back to Bobby. It seemed she was just realizing that he had his hand at his back, and it didn't take long for her to put two and two together. "You can't suspect me of being one of those... those... things! Look at me! I'm human!"

"And that's what they look like, when they aren't a dog," Bobby said as he nodded his head in the direction of the nearest chair. Louise hesitated. She didn't seem to know whether to go back and take her chances against her employer or to take the risk with the two people currently pointing guns at her head.

"Emma, I've known you for years."

"And I was attacked by one of these things earlier today," she said. "It tried to take me hostage, and might have really hurt me if it hadn't been for Bobby and his partner." Emma might have known that Sam, Bobby, Dean and Cas were not federal agents, but she didn't think they wanted everyone in town to know otherwise.

"You've already killed one of these things?" Louise asked as Bobby moved about the room to get something out of the duffel bag on the kitchenette counter.

"We have, and now we have to make sure you aren't one of them." He gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry if this means our date tomorrow is off."

"A date? You have to be kidding me," Louise muttered as her eyes noted he was withdrawing a silver knife from the bag. "If you come near me with that, you are going to be spending the next few weeks hospitalized."

Bobby sighed. "And this is why I can never keep a girlfriend." Despite the light-hearted words, the older man's face was dead serious. Emma didn't doubt that a.) Bobby probably had trouble keeping a girlfriend and b.) he wasn't going to back down.

#

The couple was unbelievably fast, and they had already escaped the lightly populated areas of Main Street to head to an old business area in the town. Sam had to wonder just why every town they went to seemed to have an abandoned factory or warehouse. And naturally, in each of these towns, the various monsters knew the deserted building and used it as a base.

The thought made him wonder if he and Dean shouldn't reconsider how they conduct a hunt. It would certainly shorten the whole process. They could find out what they might be facing, head for the old warehouse and eliminate the creatures without the lengthy investigation.

Sam had tracked a few skinwalkers since the encounter with the Alpha, and he had to admit some surprise that the two creatures still hadn't transformed. Typically, when these things were trying to get away, they moved to their quicker dog form. That they still hadn't was troubling. It probably meant a trap.

He could hear his brother's boot hit a puddle in the pot-holed parking lot. The sound of a splash was followed by a "son of a bitch" could be heard behind Sam. Under other circumstances, he might have turned around to see just how big the puddle had been and how wet Dean now was, but now wasn't the time. He would laugh at him later if it was worth laughing at.

The couple ran into the door of the warehouse and Sam grabbed for a small flashlight he kept in his pocket. Though it was bright enough outside with a nearly full moon, that wouldn't be the case inside of the old warehouse with its few dirty windows.

"Do you think we should call Cas?" he asked Dean.

The fact that there was some hesitation before his brother answered "No" spoke volumes. "He told me he'd know if something went wrong. And he might have a mess on his own hands at the apartment."

Dean had out a flashlight as well and held it in the same hand with his gun. "What do you think the odds are that this place doesn't have a few thousand places to hide?"

"Slim to none," Sam responded and waited for Dean to charge inside. Though both were more than capable of taking the lead, Dean tended to get pissy when Sam took it from him. Part of it came because he was the older brother, part because Dean went into alpha-male-mode while on a hunt, but Sam wasn't stupid enough to discount the biggest reason, which was the overriding desire to keep Sam safe.

"Come on out you bastards," Dean yelled out once they got inside. Though Sam knew there had never been any point of being stealthy as they charged inside, he wondered-not for the first time in their hunts together-at his brother's desire to taunt the monsters. Sam knew, however, that Dean considered this a tactic. The elder Winchester had the belief that if he got the monsters pissed off enough, they would begin making mistakes. Hunts didn't really allow for empirical data based upon a clear study of the method's actual effectiveness, so Sam had no support to argue otherwise.

All Sam could do was roll his eyes and prepare for the inevitable attack.

But it didn't come. There was the sound of shuffling, of something small and metal hitting the ground, but no attack. Sam held his flashlight up, scanning the wrecks of what looked to have once been a textile factory.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," Dean called out in a sing-song voice. "Just two of us against the rest of you sons of bitches." He let out a bark of laughter. "Get it? Sons of bitches!"

Sam and Dean each took either side of the rows of equipment still loaded with thread. The stuff hung like fading spiderwebs, some of the strands long since broken, others holding strong to the ceiling where an assortment of mechanical pieces prepared to weave it into clothing of decades past. Dust clung to everything, creating a haze in front of the dual beams from flashlights as the hunters' footsteps stirred up the remnants of years past.

Still, they were seeing nothing, and yet every instinct that Sam had honed over years as a hunter told him that they were surrounded. He was seriously considering a silent prayer to Cas. If nothing else, the angel could illuminate the factory so they weren't hunting blind.

It made very little sense that Dean didn't take more advantage of the angel's regular presence. Sam wasn't selfish enough to want to pull the angel down at each and every hunt-though Rachel may have turned out to be a traitor, she had made a good point about the way they expected Cas to be at their beck and call. Still, the younger Winchester had hoped that given their friend's nearly constant presence at Dean's side might mean that they could rely on the fact they had a freaking angel to help them out rather than their own breakable bodies, guns and knives. But no, Dean liked the satisfaction of the hunt too much to just send Cas in to clean up the mess.

And then there were hunts like these, when Cas was no better at differentiating the creatures from humans. If there were any captives here, Cas's powers could prove to be overkill and harm any non-skinwalkers trapped in the factory. Still, a call to their friend couldn't hurt anything more than Dean's pride, right?

By the time the thought crossed Sam's mind, he heard the clank of metal hitting the floor again, but it definitely fell from further away than it had the last time. In a slow pan worthy of a cinematographer, Sam let his flashlight move upward toward catwalks that he hadn't noticed while in the front of the factory. The things had been laying in wait for them to walk to the back. At least a dozen of them.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean hissed as his own flashlight tilted upward and his gun began to fire just a few seconds before Sam pulled the trigger on his own.

Cas, if you're listening... We're going to need your help.

#

Bobby saw the fear in Louise's eyes. So much for that date. It still didn't change the fact that he was going to test her as a skinwalker, willingly or not. He gave her a heartfelt apology-or as close to one as a cynical hunter like himself could manage-and prepared to place the blade to her skin. Actually cutting her wouldn't be necessary, and though he'd told her as much, she obviously didn't find that reassuring.

Before he could bring the blade to her bare arm, however, there was the sound of barking and howling at the door. Bobby saw Emma shifting her shotgun between Louise and the new arrival.

Louise pulled back the curtains, only to have the sheepdog on the other side snarl and lunge itself at the glass. With a shout, the older woman shifted back in her chair enough that it clattered to the floor, taking her along with it.

"That's her! She followed me!"

Bobby reached down to offer her a hand as Johnny began to cry. Apparently the noise had finally carried through to the bathroom. Louise looked at Bobby's outstretched hand warily; she still didn't trust a man who had a gun in one hand and a knife wedged under his arm, and he couldn't really blame her for that. She moved slowly and pushed herself to her feet using Dean's nearby bed.

"You have a baby here?" Louise asked incredulously. "You know there are monsters-it's obvious you do-and you bring a baby to this town?"

"I asked the same thing," Emma said. And though both Sam and Bobby had tried to reassure her, it was obvious she still wasn't sold. The young woman turned her attention to Bobby. "Do you want me to get him?"

If it had been one of the boys, he wouldn't have even hesitated before rolling his eyes and calling whichever one had asked the question an idjit, then follow it all up with some sarcastic remark about leaving an inexperienced hunter to deal with at least one skinwalker while he took care of the baby. The moment's hesitation he did have because Emma wasn't one of the boys gave him enough time to bite his tongue and just nod.

He watched the blond set the Winchester-irony of all ironies-on the sinktop near the bathroom door. It meant the gun was as far from Louise and close to Emma as possible while allowing her to see to Johnny. It would even be out of his reach if she brought him out into the main hotel room. He had to give her credit for some surprising instincts; she'd have made a good hunter in another life. Bobby hoped she'd be able to just walk away after this night was over and that she wouldn't become a good hunter in this life.

He could hear her voice echoing off the tile walls of the blue and white bathroom-this hotel had really run with its color theme-and Johnny's cries melted into whimpers and finally a satisfied sort of cooing. With that seemingly under control, Bobby could place his focus back on the veterinarian's secretary.

He noticed she had worked her way into the room until she was now between the two beds, away from the front door, but had a direct line to some of the weapons. The move made perfect sense for either a terrified victim or a clever monster. He just wished he could decide which she was.

She noticed he was still holding the gun and the blade. "You can't seriously think that I'm actually one of those things."

"In my line of work, a person could never be sure."

Bobby moved back in the direction of the door and tried to position himself between Louise and what pieces of the hunters' arsenal remained in a duffel in the kitchen area. The thing outside was clawing at the door, and it was strong. Bobby had to wonder how long the cheap wood and creaking locks would hold against the assault.

"Bobby please. Stop that thing!"

The older hunter, not for the first time in the last few years, cursed that he was no longer closer to Dean and Sam's age or blessed with Castiel's ability to take the form of someone younger. Maybe then Bobby would have been in contention for the level-headed woman now caring for Dean's son, rather than the shrill woman panicking and edging along the walls and furniture to get further away from the door.

#

Another dog. Another decoy. But this time, Castiel was able to track the animal back to its handler, or whatever the name for it would be. It seemed odd, given that skinwalkers were part dog themselves, to consider this woman an owner or master, but it was clear that she had been the one to train the animal and the one it responded to. The semantics of it didn't really matter, he supposed as he appeared behind the woman and pressed his sword to her back.

"Were you planning on distracting me all night with real dogs?" he asked.

"It was an idea," she replied before yelling at the dog to attack. Castiel was quick with his blade and had to kill the poor animal who was only following a monster's orders. He turned his attention back to the woman, who was now facing him and looking like she was trying to decide whether to run away or attack. The angel didn't give her time to make the choice. He latched hold of her t-shirt and pulled her close enough that his blade was almost certainly poking uncomfortably at her stomach. "That thing isn't even silver. Do you really think it will do anything but piss me off?"

Castiel was certain he had been spending too much time around Dean. It was the only possible explanation for the smirk that spread across his face as he began to press it into the creature's body. "It can kill an angel. I think it can handle a petty little monster."

He allowed the angel blade to sink into her flesh. It was oddly nice to be using his blade once again against monsters, rather than against his own kind. Still, he eased her gently to the ground. She may have been the enemy, but she was gone now to some place where he was glad he couldn't follow. After having filled himself with all those souls last year, he knew a bit about where she was going; he understood some of the horror of Purgatory. He could still pity her for that.

The angel pressed his palm to the creature's head and forced her body to resume its dog form. Though he was going to be sending it to the bottom of a pit somewhere along the Maine coast-he'd found a surprisingly effective old well for this sort of thing there-he didn't want to risk that anyone who might stumble across the dumping ground later would find any bones that resumbled a human's.

He could sense nothing else now, no dogs, no skinwalkers, nothing. Castiel felt fairly confident now that he'd gotten the only skinwalker near the apartment, so he attempted to seek out his charges, new and old. Johnny seemed at ease, and Dean's adreneline was pumping. So far, it didn't seem worse than the usual hunt. And though Castiel was certain there was impending trouble, it was a state of being that Dean lived for, even if he'd deny it if asked directly.

Cas wasn't stupid enough to interfere on his own.

Through the noise and whispers that constituted the prayers of the multitudes that were a constant presence in the angel's mind, he thought he heard a familiar one. It drifted out quickly, but after a few moments of standing in the quiet forest, hand still clutching a bloody blade, he knew he heard Sam's voice again, asking for him to come.

Dean might not be happy with his intervention, but Castiel knew Sam wouldn't call him for nothing. The Winchesters were obviously in danger, and the angel would see to it that they stayed safe, God help anything that got in his way.

#

There had to be limits to the number of times a man could be strung up like this. Dean's arms were tied above his head, high enough that his toes could only barely touch the ground and certainly not enough that his feet could support his weight. It wouldn't be long before the strain become too much and one, maybe both, of his arms popped out of socket. Sam was in a similar situation, but the skinwalkers hadn't managed to haul him up high enough that he was as uncomfortable as Dean.

Damned moose.

The skinwalkers were all in human form. None had transformed, and Dean thought that at this point, it was a little silly for them to still be protecting their alternate identity. There was probably an ulterior motive, and Dean probably wouldn't like it. That was just how life worked.

Being in human form hadn't prevented them from getting violent. It had been all fists and knees and elbows. Dean thought it odd that none of them were using a weapon, and aside from a split lip and abraisons from the cement floor, no blood had been spilled either. That seemed odd for monsters known for their bloodlust.

He hoped they didn't pull the old "misunderstood creature" act. Not after two people had died in this town. It wasn't that Dean would buy it if they tried, or even that he would feel guilty after ganking their doggy asses. But Sam would feel remorse, and Dean would, as usual, be left to clean up the mess that a hunt had left on his brother's psyche.

"You do realize that you're going to have to do a lot more than this to keep us from kicking your sorry asses when we get free."

"You seem to assume that's a possibility," the "bride" they'd followed said. "That's downright adorable."

The "groom" laughed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "We've all either gone several years without or have no experience attacking a human. Once you fall off the wagon, it's incredibly hard to get back on. The only reason Elsa was allowed back around people is because she and our alpha have a ... 'close' relationship." The guy had just used finger quotes and everything. He seemed like, skinwalker or not, he was a major league douchebag. Asshole probaby had a pink polo shirt with a permanently popped collar somewhere in his closet. Hopefully, Dean would get to kick his sorry ass first. "And you killed Elsa.'

The whole bunch of them looked deadly serious and incredibly pissed. It was only as one in the crowd, an old lady, began to laugh that Dean noticed the pack was now parting, making way for something to come through. Two of the monsters in human form were leading a snarling, snapping husky. "The alpha has big plans for you."

"I think you'll remember Harry, or as he's been called by the assholes who thought they owned him, Bright Eyes," the "groom" said. "He's tasted blood, nearly blew our cover completely. He'll do us one last service before he's put down for good."

Dean noticed movement at the back of the crowd, a familar, awkward, yet fluid movement. He glanced over at Sam to see if he had noticed as well. From the look his younger brother flashed him, he had.

"Big plans?" he asked. If the alpha wasn't there, they needed to know where she was instead. "What, you're going to turn us? Let your friend eat us?"

"Oh, you'll die. And so will Bobby Singer, Emma Wennerstrand, and little Johnny Winchester," the man said. Dean tried not to feel ice in his veins at the idea, and the bastard picked up on it. "That's right, Dean. We know about Johnny, too."

"Our Alpha's seeing to him, personally," the younger woman said. "She considered turning him and letting you see it, but she doesn't like defects in our pack, it only makes us weaker. She wants us stronger. But she did want you to know she was going to kill your little boy, just like you got our Alpha killed, like you killed the Mother, like you have killed countless of our kind. She wanted you to hurt, and I agree."

Dean's eyes met those of the figure at the back of the pack. "You know, your alpha's really going to regret that she wanted you to tell us that. Right before our friend kills the bitch. 'Cause trust me, you won't like him when he's angry. And he's royally pissed right now."

Dean closed his eyes and prayed his brother did, too, as the things released ole Bright eyes and a trenchcoat wearing angel suddenly filled the room with a crazy-bright light. Dean managed to catch only the slightest shadow of wings before his eyes shut completely.