It worked.
The honeysuckle drew the silver to his hands faster than it had ever drawn Benjamins to his wallet. The wolfsbane and yucca suppressed the lycanthropy just long enough to get the job done. Now, the thyme, thistle and juniper were doing their work, speeding the healing of both the gunshot wound and the surgical incisions. Sam was still unconscious, thank goodness, but DJ had plenty of prescriptions—legal and otherwise—to manage the pain when he woke up.
"Fucking witches, man," Cass muttered, flopping facedown on the couch after the pair of them had managed to wrestle Sam onto the bed.
"Not a witch," DJ insisted reflexively, sagging into the recliner with a sigh.
"Whatever, dude, you just used hoodoo and holy water to keep my brother alive," the other man grumbled, turning his head to cock a sleepy eyebrow at him. "And money magic. You're a fucking witch; might as well own it."
"I'm too tired for this shit," he replied. "And anyway, you guys are goddamn werewolves; what were you thinking, working with hunters?"
Cass snarled again, teeth out and claws digging into the couch cushions.
"Jesus Christ, you're fucking feral; cut that shit out!" DJ snapped, irritated. "You think my dad is just gonna let those guys walk? Or your dad? He might be a dentist now, but he was a hunter when he was our age."
"Dad doesn't know we're hunting," Cass admitted quietly; DJ snorted into his beer.
"Well, he does now. First call dad made, guarantee it."
Cass whined and rolled over, showing his belly; DJ rolled his eyes.
"Yep; you're gonna get Garthed."
"Ugh; I hate it when he says that."
DJ laughed, and for a little while it was companionably quiet.
"What about your dad?" Cass demanded finally, looking at him sideways. "He doesn't care that you hunt? After what happened to the rest of your family?"
"I don't hunt," he objected; the other man just scoffed. "Not full-time, anyway. I'm in nursing school, man, I don't have a lot of spare time."
"You took out that poltergeist with us less than a month ago."
"It was a long weekend."
"DJ," Cass sighed, annoyed. "Your dad. Is he okay with it?"
He contemplated the last dregs of the beer, swirling them around the bottom of the bottle.
"He gets it," he said slowly. "I mean, he understands. He wanted me to have a choice, at least; he never had that, not really. He worries; I know he does. But he's proud of me too. He tells me all the time."
DJ glanced over at Cass to find him pouting predictably.
"Hey," he said, interrupting the brooding. "Your dad loves you guys, even if he doesn't love you hunting."
"Whatever; he loves Gertie, anyhow-the dental hygienist in the family," Cass muttered, mocking.
"Hey, Gertie could kick your ass. Hell, she has kicked my ass."
"Yeah, well, you shouldn't have been looking at her ass."
"It's a nice ass."
"Dude, that's my sister; say that again and I'll kick your ass."
The levity was disrupted by a pained groan from the other room; Cass was up in an instant, headed down the hallway towards his brother.
"I keep the good stuff under the bathroom sink!" DJ called after him, levering himself up out of the recliner with a groan of his own.
"Weed?"
"Vicodin, asshole. Stay out of my stash!"
He made his way back to the kitchen, skirting the tacky bloodstains spattered along the route, to roll another smudge stick for Sam; gardenia, sage, and lavender this time. By the time he'd lit it and brought it back to the bedroom, Cass had already coaxed Sam into swallowing a dose of painkillers and a sip of water and was settling his brother back against the pillows.
"You're all right, Sammy," Cass was saying quietly. "DJ fixed you right up."
"Hurts," Sam murmured lethargically, grimacing.
"Yeah, I'll bet," DJ said sympathetically, setting the newly designated smudge-mug down on the bedside table. "Try to get some rest, man; those pills should kick in soon."
Between the herbs and the meds, it didn't take long for Sam to nod off again. DJ nudged Cass and jerked his chin toward the hall, but the other man was immovable.
"I thought they were vetalas," he said abruptly. "Stupid, rookie mistake; truck stop vics threw me off. I've never tracked vamps across state lines before; they usually just find somewhere dark to hole up and nest, you know?"
"Yeah, I know."
"I was actually glad when we ran into the others; see, I was thinking we'd need help with the whole 'silver knife to the heart' schtick. But it was just a fucking vamp nest, DJ; a hack job, in and out. Simple."
"Cass…" DJ warned, but the other man continued, ignoring him.
"I don't know when they made us; maybe we went too wolf during the fight, or maybe they knew the whole time, god—" Cass sucked in a wet, ragged breath. "God, DJ, I almost got us killed."
"Hey, don't do that," DJ said roughly, bracing a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Don't go there. Sam'll be hurting for a couple days, but he's gonna be fine. You got away; you're safe."
"For now," Cass growled savagely, scrubbing at his face and messing up his already-wild hair. "They know our faces, man."
DJ shut his eyes, rolling his knuckles across his forehead and forcing a plosive breath out the corner of his mouth.
"We don't have to work it all out tonight, man. We've gotta sleep, get cleaned up—" he paused and tilted his head, eyeing Cass critically. "Any of that blood yours?" he asked.
Cass looked down at himself, fisting a handful of his ruined shirt and holding it out for inspection.
"Possibly," he admitted grudgingly.
"Come on," DJ cajoled, snagging his friend by the elbow and half-shoving, half-steering him down the hall. "Let's get you cleaned up."
"What are you, my mother?" Cass groused, twisting out of his grip.
"Bitch, get in the shower," he retorted, smiling and shaking his head. "Just throw your clothes out in the hall; I'll toss your stuff in with mine after I get some bleach down on the floor. And let me know if you need any stitches."
"Yeah, all right," Cass brushed him off, shuffling into the bathroom and kicking the door shut behind him.
DJ yawned, cracked his neck, and went to get a bucket. He had work to do.