First Whiff of Wolves

Why? Why does he even try? I knew something was up when he suggested we get out for some fun tonight instead of diving head first into the next job. It's completely out of character for one, on any given night. Most especially when we've already found something to hunt. I may not be at the top of my game today, but as spaced as I've been I can still tell when Sammy's keeping something from me.

"Alright Sam, what is it?"

"What do you mean Dean? What's what?"

"What're you not telling me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Hmm, flat out denial.

"C'mon Sammy… you've got that nervous, nostril flaring, wide-eyed, sweaty look you always have when you're trying to hide something. Don't even bother arguing with me either. I've seen that look often enough to know it."

"Whatever man." Still pretending nothing's up, can't even look at me. God he's a terrible liar. He sounds annoyed but it's more about having been caught in the act then my calling him on it.

"Dude, I am in no mood to get jerked around today. Just tell me what the hell already and get it over with." All patience gone, I just want to get on with it. "So what's this about? My dream last night? Her? The job you found for us? What?" Still he said nothing, just stared straight ahead clenching and unclenching his jaw and fighting hard not to cave and just blurt it out.

Calming myself some, I took a deep breath and tried reason. "Listen, I know that at this point after, well… this morning… there's no getting around the emotional crap. Whatever happens we're going to end up having some sort of touchy-feely, chic-flick moment. I'd just rather get it out of the way now so things can get back to normal." Well, apparently that did it. On a sigh, he turned to me and let me have it.

"You're not going to like it." He warned me. I rolled my eyes, good god could he possibly drag it out anymore than this? "Yeah, so what else is new?" "It's about our next job…" he hesitated, "and about your dream." He didn't finish, tried real hard not to actually. I made it harder not to.

"What's that supposed to mean?" "Well… there've been a string of disappearances in New Hampshire. Over the last month or so three teenagers and a couple in their early twenties have gone missing." He took a deep breath before going on. I was completely confused. He looked like he'd rather face the damned demon again, hog tied and helpless, then finish telling me about our next gig. This was not going to be good. "Alright, so some kids go missing out in the woods. What does that have to do with us?" He gave me that anxious puppy look of his. "Sammy?" I hate it when he worries me like this. "A couple of nights ago they found a kid, fifteen years old, lying in a pool of himself in the middle of his own backyard. He'd been ripped to pieces by some kind of wild animal. He never regained consciousness and died in the hospital a few hours later… there was nothing they could do for him.

The papers are blaming a pack of wild dogs that have been spotted around the area. State Park officials up in Franconia are pointing fingers at a particularly vicious wolf pack that's been seen around the more popular campsites in the area. They've been caught attacking campers' pets, no humans so far… but the kids that disappeared are all from small towns in and around Franconia." One look at my face and he stopped.

I couldn't think, or rather I was thinking so fast that I couldn't keep up with myself. I couldn't breathe. My vision blurred and my ears were buzzing. I pulled the car over roughly, spraying gravel all over and around us as I did and nearly ditching the car in the process. I didn't trust myself to drive. Eyes wide with disbelief I turned to Sammy. "You're not serious. You can't be freaking serious" He shrugged helplessly. "You're serious. You're goddamned serious." Now I couldn't speak either. That was okay though, because even if could have I don't know what I'd say. Of all the papers that he'd searched through… I mean there's a whole freaking country full of evil for us to hunt down and destroy. My kid brother has to stumble on the only pack of werewolves I've heard of in sixteen years. The more I thought about it, the more agitated I got.

Sam watched me squirm around in my seat while I tried to figure out how to react. For the first time ever I couldn't stand being in the car. I felt as though I was boxed in, like the Impala was slowly but surely closing in on me. "I need some air." I blurted urgently, not even bothering to look at him. I just yanked the door open and literally jumped out of the car. I didn't even realize that I was running until I started to gasp for air, and then I just stopped and dropped to the ground sitting awkwardly in the grass between the highway from and drainage ditch. Head between my knees and trying to catch my breath I was sure I was going to be sick. The memories, the ones I hadn't written about, were threatening to take me over. I didn't want them. I wouldn't let them. I had to make them stop. I was hot, wet and uncomfortable with sweat. Not caring what happened to it I yanked the leather jacket off of me and tossed it aside to land wherever the hell it wanted to. Hugging my knees to my cheeks I just sat there and fought myself.

I felt Sammy sit down next to me. He didn't say a word. Didn't even look at me. Just sat there and let me have the time I needed to suck it up and get it together. I have the best brother in the universe… and don't you ever tell him I said so. It might go to that already huge, pretty boy head of his.

As soon as I'd reached some semblance of control I told him what I knew had to be done. "We have to head out tonight. A couple of hours at a motel to mold as many silver bullets as possible and to get some rest. Tomorrow morning we hit Franconia." "Dean… are you sure? I still think you could use a night…" I cut him off "Sam. The longer we wait the more people disappear. The more people disappear the larger the pack gets. You said five people are missing so far? Probably two or three more from the original pack. That's already eight at least. I don't want those numbers getting any higher. No one else gets hurt if I can help it." It was settled. We left then and there. I never looked back. Well, not intentionally anyway…

Sam has this thing about my unfinished emotional business. Whenever he finds out I have some he pesters me until I face it and deal with it. First it was Cassie, then the Shtriga and now this. Apparently it's his new hobby. His little way of amusing himself. Maybe it's payback for the Nair… All I know is that it's really, really annoying. Sometimes it would be nice to just let sleeping dogs lie, so to speak. No pun intended. Okay, a little pun intended.

So Sammy had this brain fart of an idea while we were driving up to Franconia. "I know it's been sixteen years and all, but we should see if the house was ever re-sold. If it's still in the Morgan family and it's not in too terrible a shape we could stay there. Maybe give the credit cards a rest for a while." Sure, that's a wonderful idea. I really want to sleep in the house where my ghosts wander and my nightmares are set. Let's get right on that. Well Sammy, in his infinite wisdom, decides to ignore the sarcasm and look up the current ownership on the house anyway. Take a wild guess where we're going to be staying while we're there? I'll give you a hint: there's a little white picket fence in the yard.

Apparently one of the Morgans survived it all. As relieved as I am to hear it I still don't necessarily want to meet whoever it is. We've caused them so much pain already that I doubt they'll be interested in catching up on old times. I mean, what the heck am I going to say? "Hi! It's Dean. Remember me? Yeah, my dad and I are the ones who are personally responsible for the deaths of the rest of your family sixteen years ago." I can see that going over real well. But does any of that stop Sam? No sir. He even contacted this last surviving family member personally and made the arrangements for us to stay there for as long as it takes. The way he's driving we'll make it before midnight. Don't think I haven't realized that it's about the same time we arrived that night so long ago, because I have.

Fade into darkness

The house looks the same. Same fence, same white sheer curtains billowing in the windows. The lawn is a little worse for wear and the flower beds have been left to grow wild, spilling over their beds all over the yard. The house could use a coat of paint, but deep down it was still the same. Well, except that we were all that was left… and she was gone.

There's a light on in the back of the house. The kitchen? The scent of coffee came to us on the evening breeze, making my mouth water in anticipation and my spine tingle at the deja-vu. At least some things hadn't changed.

At least now I knew who had survived: it had to be Mrs. M. I'd seen Jack die myself, Jack and Annie had been too little to have a chance at surviving the attack and Mr. Morgan had died of a bullet wound to the head. He'd been the suicide the papers had mentioned.

At least now I knew which ghost I'd be facing in the flesh. The rest, I knew, would creep through the shadows and pounce on me when I least expected them to. So I brace myself and follow Sammy through the screen door at the back of the house as he calls out a hello to let Mrs. M. know we've arrived. Only there's no answer. The tall willowy blonde woman I was expecting to see by the kitchen sink was nowhere to be found. All there was to see was a fresh pot of coffee and a note that read: 'Had to go. Be gone all night. Make yourselves at home. See you tomorrow.' I grunted my surprise. The poor woman probably didn't want to have anything to do with us. No wonder she'd gone out. Who would want all those memories and all that pain?

So Sam poured us each a cup of coffee and I pulled out our equipment and set to work melting silver bullets at the kitchen table. Sometime after one Sammy fell asleep on the couch. I covered him with the quilt that was handy and went back to cleaning our 'tools'. I didn't want to sleep until the sun rose. Nightmares are easier to deal with in the light of day. When dawn finally came our guns practically sparkled inside and out, our knives were so well sharpened you could slice a hair on them and every bit of silver we'd managed to get our hands on in the past year was melted into enough ammunition to fit every type of gun we own. I was not going to take any chances with this one.

Through the night I'd fought the urge to wander the house to see what, if anything, had changed. My ghosts were calling to me, stubborn as I am I decided to let them wait. I'd face them on my own terms and be damned with 'em. Now that morning was here I just wanted to lay down and sleep. I didn't even bother looking for a bed. I just grabbed up the other quilt, a throw pillow in the living room and lay down on the floor by the couch and Sam. I don't even remember closing my eyes.

I just kept hitting and hitting it, trying to get the smelly bastard off of me. His foaming mouth and sharp teeth were inches away from the soft skin of my face. I should have been afraid, but I felt nothing but rage. It was his fault they were dead. The heat of my lust for revenge pumped through my veins, fuelling me and giving me the kind of strength no ten year old boy possessed. It wasn't until I felt its claws tear into my shoulders and calves that I finally tasted fear. It's flavor the thick and metallic one of my own blood. I heard a scream… loud and agonized… somewhere it registered that the scream was coming from me…

I'm not sure if it was the far off sound of gunshot in the dream or the soft footsteps in the kitchen, but something woke me so suddenly that I shot halfway across the room knife in hand and ready to fight for my life. It was no small relief to realize that unlike last time, the knife wasn't at someone's throat. Sammy was in the kitchen humming quietly to some yuppy music station he was listening to. My stomach growled at the scent of eggs and toast. There were no strange sounds, nothing out of the ordinary… unless you counted the fact that we were even in that particular house again. I could almost believe that Sammy hadn't heard me launch myself across the room, except that he poked his head in a second later. "Well good morning sleeping beauty." I scowled. There's nothing worse than a morning person at the butt-crack of dawn.

"What time is it?" I managed to croak out, voice as rough as coarse sandpaper. He made a show of fingers, seven of them, smiled that bit of mischief of his and turned back to the kitchen. I was in for one hell of a day. Barely and hour's sleep to go on, preliminary research to do, a werewolf pack trail to pick up and Mrs. Morgan to face after all these years. To top it all off everywhere I turned this morning I saw the shadow of the blonde little pixie in my mind. Deep breath Dean. Better get on with it. The sooner it's done and over with, the sooner you can leave this place and start to forget any of it ever happened.

Sam met me at the table with a cup of coffee and that smile again. I took a sip, fantasizing about the ways I could wipe it off of him, and immediately started to feel a little more human. I looked at him over the edge of my cup and couldn't help but smile, early morning or no. He was wearing a pale yellow apron with ruffles framing the front pocket. His hands were coated in foodstuffs from whatever he was making for breakfast and his cheeks were flushed with pleasure. Cute. My little brother the homemaker. "If I'd known you could cook, Francis, I'd pay the extra and get the suite with the kitchen more often. I like the apron by the way, definitely your color dude" I couldn't resist the nudge. I know it was a jerk thing to say, but damn it; it was his fault I was back in this hell to begin with. It didn't matter anyway because it didn't faze him a bit. "Ha ha Dean. Say whatever you want, but you'll be singing my praises and taking it all back by the time you get a taste of breakfast." He took another long swig of coffee and turned back to the stove. Who knew my brother could cook? I sure as hell would never have guessed. I may have found an actual advantage to this college thing…

Some breakfast , a lot more coffee and a long hot shower later we packed up the car again and headed into town to get some actual work done. I wanted to head out to Franconia State Park while he did the book-geek stuff, but Sammy wouldn't let me out of his sight. Something about him not wanting to take any chances… whatever that means. So we spent the whole day touring the local library, police station, hospital and public records office researching every missing person in the last twenty years.

By the time we pulled into the drive again it was close to ten. The sun had gone down hours earlier and there were no lights on anywhere in the house. Had Mrs. Morgan come home yet? Was she in bed? Should we knock? Should we just go ahead on in? "You think she's home? I don't think we left a light on when we left." Of course we didn't. That would be a normal thing to do. We on the other hand turn all the lights off when we leave the motel of the moment for awhile, and sometimes set traps in them so we can tell if someone or something has been there when we get back.

"Listen Sammy… why don't we just head over to a motel for tonight. She'll be in bed by now if she is home. No sense waking her up now when we could just as well come by tomorrow instead." Thank God he didn't argue. Why he was so set on staying in that house I just don't understand…

We checked into this little hole-in-the-wall job 'Big Bob's Cabin' twenty minutes later. The room, as usual, was a bit grungy. This particular one was filled with stereotypical backwoods-type decorations. I took one look at the antlers mounted on the wall and walked right back out the door. I caught Sammy as he left the rental office. He took one look at me and laughed. "That bad in there, is it?" "Hell yeah! I am not going back in there until I've had at least a couple." "All right, well Bob in there told me about a bar about ten minutes from here…" He didn't have to say anything more. "Get in the car, I can make it in five."

I should have known the night was going to hell when I stepped into the motel room and saw the antlers. One of the young local guys at the bar recognized Sammy and I from sixteen years ago. He bought us some beers and then spent the next three hours entertaining Sam, telling him all about the last time we were here. Most of it was about me, since Sammy had spent most of the time at the house with Peter back then. I've had more enjoyable conversations with angry demons. Sam seemed to enjoy himself just fine though, so I just sat there and worked on a beer buzz. By the time we stumbled back to the room I was too drunk to care what the décor looked like.

I had a feeling that something was different before I even opened the door, it was gooseflesh on my arms before the knowledge even registered under the haze that surrounded me. I mean, Sam and I swept the room like we always do, checking windows and doors to be sure everything was how we left it and nothing had been there while we were gone. I didn't think I was drunk enough to miss anything… certainly not something that big… and yet I did. We both did actually. If Sammy hadn't turned on the bathroom light before closing the door I would most likely have just pulled off my pants and crawled into bed, completely oblivious except for the feeling of something being slightly off teasing the edge of my thoughts.

As it was, light spilled from the bathroom and across the bed to reveal quite possibly the most startling sight I've ever seen. A small blonde was sprawled out on her stomach, fast asleep in my bed. She looked almost childlike in sleep and although her eyes were closed I'd bet my Impala that when they open they'll be a smoky charcoal grey. She was the last surviving Morgan, only she wasn't Mrs. Morgan like we thought. She was little miss Annie Morgan, the little blonde eight year old who'd stolen my heart and had haunted me for the last sixteen years. The one who recently had begun to infiltrate my dreams again. The one I thought was dead. What the hell was she doing in this motel room, on my bed, in the middle of the night… alive

I took a step back with the force of the shock that ripped through me. She was alive. Did Sam know? Is that why he'd wanted us to stay in the old house? Did he know she'd come here tonight? The possibilities ran rampant in my mind… until I heard him shuffle out of the bathroom and stop dead in his tracks. I knew without even having to look that he had no idea who she was. "Dean?" his whisper was loud enough to wake the dead. "I thought you promised: no more bringing them back to the motel." "I didn't pick her up Sammy. She came with the room." He whipped his head around "she what?"